The trees had begun to turn, and the hues reminded him of Lily, who loved the autumn, but the news he received that morning on the breakfast table was no good. "Sick and dying", everything a reminder of the mortality of even wizards, scrawled in an untidy print on the corner of a greasy news rag that stank of fish and vinegar, delivered he knew not how nor wherefore by some anonymous owl. How did you respond when you learned the only parent you wouldn't disown at the first opportunity, the only one who actually cared, lingered fleetingly in this world, one foot on Death's threshold?
He wondered what he would recall when she did die, whether there would be any more memories than joy at his OWLs, or whether he would ever see her again alive. A gaggle of third-years brushed past him, yelling at each other, and yanked him unceremoniously from his reverie.
It was then Lily walked up to him, and he was tempted to question her.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," he responded too quickly, but without malice.
"I know something's wrong." She looked away into the trees, and he seemed to see in her face that Hogwarts was now home more than home was, that Hogsmeade was simpler than Petunia or Mr. Evans or even her mum.
"Why don't we go get a butterbeer, and you tell me what's wrong?" But this was the old Lily then, and he wasn't sure if it was a worthy try.
She stared up at him from the photograph, big green eyes, green as emeralds. They had noticed, of course (it was inevitable), that he and Lily were no longer friends. Or at least, they were no longer what he had thought friends were, which was what they had been.
And he would finally be accepted among the Slytherins, despite his horrible Muggle father, and maybe even secure the approval of some of the purebloods. Except that they hated Lily, as he really didn't, for the mere fact of her parentage, when her parents were good people. And they didn't approve of him, nor his mother, for Tobias Snape's sake, which had never been any sort of a trade off in his opinion, but it wasn't really right. He didn't like his mother's marriage, and wasn't over fond of Muggles, but condemning all of them? Seemed foolish.
Still… It was tempting, very tempting. He would gain power, acceptance, and prestige by joining, and they did not condemn, as Gryffindors always did, the Dark Arts. A sponsorship for his long hoped for potions mastery was to be counted upon with such connections, as probably was further training in the murky areas of magic. He did not think for even one brief moment that it was no worthwhile trade-off, that it was a foolish soul-selling and no fair bargain.
Wouldn't it be worth a bit of sacrifice to gain things he longed for so? To fulfill his blood as the Half Blood Prince?