A/N: So after reading and re-reading Vladimir Nabokav's classic, "Lolita". An idea sparked in my little head. In many ways, pedophilia on Humbert Humbert's part aside, he and Severus Snape are actually quite similar. Humbert Humbert lost Annabel, the love of his love, when he was just a boy. He grew into adulthood trying to find her again and he finally did in a "nymphet" named Dolores Haze. This sparked an inappropriately strong love and obsession for what was, in reality, just a child. Severus Snape lost Lily Evans, the only person that he ever truly loved. In his later years he desperately yearned to seek forgiveness for the friendship he destroyed and for a life that he believed was taken away because of him. From a Nabokavian standpoint, it would only be logical that those memories of seeing Lily for the first time would be brought back to life upon laying eyes on a certain little Ginevra Weasley. I will try to keep "squicky" scenes out at all cost but if this still isn't your thing or if Snape/Ginny grosses you out, don't read any further. If not then enjoy!


I'd be willing to forget most of the nights that I've seen first years get sorted, but seeing Ginevra Weasley for the first time would never be one of them. Among the gaggle of dirty-faced, snot-nosed little brats…there she was. Her vision made my otherwise stoic and emotionless breath hitch in the depths of my lungs. Lily….. The name of my lost beloved ghosted across my lips before I could stop myself. I suddenly felt like that broken little boy I was so long ago.

The memory of my dearest soaring through the air from that swing set reflected in the little one's eyes, which were brown instead of green. That was the only thing different about the two. It was also the only thing that kept me from getting up from my seat and rushing to her so that I could sweep her into my arms. The urge to do so was still strong regardless. I had to make the greatest of efforts to keep my lips from trembling. Beautiful girl….beautiful, beautiful girl! I never meant to hurt you, my little fae! I was already going mad; hopelessly unable to avert my eyes from the youngest Weasley. Then-as if the cruelest of gods was toying with my current emotional frailty-her eyes met mine. It was a mere, slight second yet one of the most significant seconds of my otherwise loathsome and pitiable life.

The following day was just as hard to get through as the night was. As per usual, the First Years were my beginning class of the day. It was an entire repeat of the Sorting Ceremony: I could not keep my eyes off of Ginny Weasley. The way she held her face in her hand out of boredom and fatigue, the way she brushed the tip of her quill against her chin—everything about her was what Lily used to be. She would have been openly yelled at for not paying attention due to my tradition of embarrassing every Weasley on their first say of school, but I just couldn't do it. She was so painfully much like my Lost Lily. It was as close as I could come to having her back again: a thing I wished for every day and night since she died.

Before I laid eyes on little Ginevra I was convinced that having my best friend back would be quite the wonderful thing. But, alas, it was indeed not. I had so much to say to my Ghost. I knew this girl wasn't the adorable, tiny Lily Evans I remember from my own first year at Hogwarts. It wasn't a complete, wishful delusion yet the fact that this child wasn't my dead best friend made wanting to tell her all the things I couldn't tell Lily all the more strong. Of course I did attempt to tell Lily how much I loved her but by the time I did…it was much too late. She had lost her love for me completely; my Lily was head over heels for James Potter. No longer did she sit next to me in every class, no longer did she tell me her secrets or what troubled her in everyday life. James split us apart-something that was even more vile than the countless times he humiliated me every chance he got.

In my eyes this was a second chance. I could never forgive myself for hurting Lily—no matter how much her James hurt me. Perhaps she even sent Ginny to me, as some sort of intangible sign that she could still accept my forgiveness. Weasley or not, the child bore too many similarities to the only person I ever truly loved. Her eyes now appear green to me. That unadulterated and pure shade of emerald instead of the light brown they actually were. Her nose held the same shape as Lily's did, her skin an exact replica of that fair peachy complexion covered with freckles that I so mourn for. Ginny's hair-just as red and passionate-was cut in a childish bob, so close to the haircut Lily had when we were eleven.

Another thing struck me about this Ginny Weasley: she didn't look at me the same way the others did. There was nervousness, yes, but no fear or disgust. If I knew any better, she acknowledged me as a human being and—more importantly—her professor. Merlin only knows the stories her older brothers have told her about me. Those twins have most likely informed her that I resembled a giant bat because of my black robes and that my nose was larger than any they had ever seen before. Ronald would tell her that I was a mean, old greasy git who had never heard of the word "bath". I didn't need to hope that she didn't believe her brothers. She told me clearly with her expression that she didn't find me to be some sort of revolting monster that deserved to be disrespected and ignored.

She regarded me with undeniable sincerity! What was I to do? All these years of living without Lily grew me into the soulless humbug I am known as today. Yet lo and behold! Here was this crystalline beacon of red-haired hope just when I was ready to retire all of my humanity. How could this have been coincidental? I cannot even tell you if any other student had ever LOOKED at me the way that Ginevra Weasley had. You see, I really had no other choice but to return her kindness. I was not going to do it in front of this class or out in the open. Oh, no! That would be much too dangerous and a complete risk to my reputation. It would have to be a moment when there was no one else breathing the air except for only us. But when would this be? Hours? Days? Weeks? My poor and beaten brain couldn't even bear to think about it. On with today's lessons.