A short fic about a photograph. We never hear about it, but I like the idea that it could exist. Please enjoy!

Disclaimers: This world, with all it's amazing characters belongs to J.K Rowling!

The photograph was a beautiful one. The girl in the centre sat in long, lush, grass, scattered with daisies. You could see a beautiful apple tree in the background, the house had no fence. Her legs were splayed out in front of her, her hands holding her up; you could tell she was at ease in the garden.

Her long red hair was sweeping down her back and tumbling over her shoulders. Her green eyes sparkled in some long forgotten humour towards the taker of the photo. Her mouth was open in a wide smile, as if she was laughing, the tiniest dimple gracing her cheek.

She was wearing muggle clothing; a pair of jeans, cut off just above the knees and a green top almost the exact shade of her eyes. Her bare feet stretched luxuriously in the grass before her.

Possibly the strangest thing about this photo was that it didn't move, a muggle photograph, and in the hands of the owner that was very strange indeed.

Not that the photo was new anymore. Now it was faded, the colours only half as bright.

There was the faintest line of a rip down one side that seemed to have been repaired by magic multiple times, but it was withstanding the magic and opening at the edge and becoming dog-eared.

Over the right hand side there were a few indentations from someone writing on a piece of paper over the top of it.

There was also a stain of coffee from the edge of a mug that someone had tried to wipe away, which simply smudged it.

Near the bottom there was a large wet splotch, as though someone had cried over it, or spilt water on it. It was hard to tell.

One corner had ripped of entirely and become fluffy looking over time. There was a stain over the edge of it. You couldn't tell what had done it.

Something had formed a worn arc around the girl's face, like a stroking finger.

There was also a large crease across the corner, where it had been inadvertently bent, then smoothed back out, as if the photo had been carried on the owner's person, everywhere (which, in truth, it had).

Then the owner turned the photograph over.

The other side was an aging yellow colour from the years that had passed since it was new. There were more stains on this side, and the crease was grey with dirtiness from when the owner had tried to smooth it out.

Under the more recent shabbiness there were a few faded words which had been, incedently, written by the girl's mother. It read: Our Lovely Lily, 1969 taken by Petunia

But the last three words had been scribbled angrily out. The owner plainly didn't care for the muggle, Petunia. It was Lily the owner cared about.

The photograph was flipped back to the front side. A slender pale finger stroked the line of the girl's cheek once more. Then Severus Snape slipped the photo back into his robes, where no one would ever see it.

Hope you liked it. I loved the idea of Snape and Lily, it was such a sad little story and I felt like writing a bit about it. Please rate!