Even in his daydreams of being an exalted Death Eater, skilful and powerful, Lily showed up. It embarassed Severus. One minute he'd be thinking of finally getting some appreciation for his skills in the Dark Arts, not to mention Dark Potions-and then the next, he'd imagine Voldemort rewarding him for some particularly skilled new draught. Rewarding him with his Lily.
Ridiculous.
But it wouldn't be too long before Lily loved him again, better this time. He was sure of that. After all, if they could become best friends through accidental meetings in Manchester, imagine what they could become if he had her all to himself. And he'd be older, richer, possibly handsome, though he burned with embarassment when he realized his daydream self was dressed as richly as Lucius and looked suspiciously like Black, but even more like Potter. (They're not any better than me, he told himself furiously, but he suspected he was lying.) He imagined the handsome Snape slipping his mother's pearl ring onto her left hand, dreamed of giving her his well-loved potions book and seeing her eyes widen at his discoveries.
She was muggleborn-he winced at the memory of calling her the other, worse word-and that would be a problem. But it hardly seemed possible that Death Eaters would kill her for the accident of her birth when she looked so lovely in their greens and silvers.