First thing I've published in a while... I hope you enjoy it.

Occasionally

Occasionally, Snape allowed himself to dream. It was dangerous, of course; the Dark Lord was watching his every move, looking for any sign of disloyalty: the slightest slip of his intensely trained mind could have detrimental results. But even the Dark Lord's talent for Legilimency paled in comparison to the rigorous training in Occlumency that his mind had endured for the years directly after his demise. So, on occasion, he allowed dreams to enter into his heavily guarded conscious.

Every single one of them was of Lily. He didn't really have any other options seeing as he was stuck in a dead end job that he despised in order to protect the son (and spitting image) of his mortal enemy for a man who had failed on his part of a bargain. Even worse was that now he was putting his life on the line each day because of those eyes. However much he hated James and Harry, he couldn't let the eyes of Lily Evans leave the earth forever. And, much as he hated to admit it, he often looked at Harry in order to remember them properly.

So when he was sure of his safety he would close his eyes and let his mind wander.

When he was younger, a teenager and young adult, he would spend hours creating his own world in which James Potter had never existed or, better yet, it had been Black or Potter to have called Lily a mudblood. She would break down and cry while he held her. And she would gaze into his eyes and then she would finally see the truth: that he was (and always had been) there for her. Potter was irrelevant; it was Lily and Severus and Potter could go play his games to his heart's content.

Snape wouldn't have any reason to care about what Potter did if he and Lily were together.

In the beginning his dreams were juvenile fantasies.

Soon, however, he found it hard to separate his fantasies from his actual memories, no matter how hard he tried. So, instead of continuing the romance and family life he had created for himself and Lily Evans, in the spare moments he had to dream of her, spent every second trying to remember the smallest details:

The twenty seven freckles on her nose that had eventually faded- save for the one in the corner between her nose and left eye.

During their third year, she had tried splitting her hair a new way. There was a small curl next to her right ear.

She bit her lip on the right side whenever she was deep in thought.

But, no matter what lengths he went to, even reliving his own memories, he could never quite remember the exact sound of her voice.

So, on the occasion that he got a chance to dream, they were silent dreams, where they lay on the grass by the lake smiling. Only smiling.

The only thing left for him to desire was to see those eyes one last time. To help him dream. To help him remember.

Well, please review.