She could have walked straight out of an ancient legend. Dark hair was pinned elaborately on top of her head, exposing a graceful neck to sight. The dress beneath her unbuttoned robes clung to soft curves, a gentle but tantalising hint of what lay beneath the layers of clothing. A soft pink tongue darted out to moisten her full lips as she approached, but the coolness in her eyes told Severus that she wanted little to do with him. Of course, he knew this already. What would a beauty like this woman want to do with the greasy, slimy Severus Snape? She was here to please the Dark Lord, or following his direct orders.
Truth be told, Severus was as uninterested in this woman as she was in him. He was barely able to survive the crushing weight of grief on his chest, which seemed to grow heavier with every breath. But he couldn't give a sign of his pain here. He was dry eyed, calm, unperturbed that his best friend and love was being hunted down. In this particular circle, Lily wasn't the bright, laughing young woman who charmed everyone she met. She was a mudblood, and her life was as worthless as any other of her kind.
As the woman drew nearer, her lips parting even as disgust flared in her eyes, Severus closed his eyes and imagined the fire and gleaming emeralds that he feared would soon be extinguished.