What did you dream about last night?
Lily.
Not real Lily: the temper-to-match-his-own, and far-to-Gryffindor Lily; he really doesn’t have any use for her. She hurts too much. She’s like his memories, something taunt and unhappy and an expression in green eyes that freeze him in a spot before she disappears and with her, the memories, and anything of worth inside of him. That Lily he doesn’t remember. That Lily is still too much alive in Remus and Sirius and in that boy who has her eyes and his face.
He dreams about the Lily that should have been.
It’s never anything profound or lascivious. His dreams are actually rather dull. She talks while he works. She’s pushing a stroller. She’s wearing a pale yellow dress that’s see through (maybe not all that dull…) and he laughs there: a deep rich baritone laugh that he’s doesn’t recognize. Not it matters to her. When he moves to change rooms or scenes (it is his dream after all) he will spare a glance backwards to her and there she is, green eyes patient and waiting.
It’s the Lily that should be. Alive. Vital. His. The other one he can cast aside too easily, forget the reasons why he remembers her most days and treat her son as he would James’ child. He won’t say he doesn’t love her too- just not as much.
Besides, it’s better this way. Safer.
Here, he has control.
Severus Snape
Harry Potter
233
Not real Lily: the temper-to-match-his-own, and far-to-Gryffindor Lily; he really doesn’t have any use for her. She hurts too much. She’s like his memories, something taunt and unhappy and an expression in green eyes that freeze him in a spot before she disappears and with her, the memories, and anything of worth inside of him. That Lily he doesn’t remember. That Lily is still too much alive in Remus and Sirius and in that boy who has her eyes and his face.
He dreams about the Lily that should have been.
It’s never anything profound or lascivious. His dreams are actually rather dull. She talks while he works. She’s pushing a stroller. She’s wearing a pale yellow dress that’s see through (maybe not all that dull…) and he laughs there: a deep rich baritone laugh that he’s doesn’t recognize. Not it matters to her. When he moves to change rooms or scenes (it is his dream after all) he will spare a glance backwards to her and there she is, green eyes patient and waiting.
It’s the Lily that should be. Alive. Vital. His. The other one he can cast aside too easily, forget the reasons why he remembers her most days and treat her son as he would James’ child. He won’t say he doesn’t love her too- just not as much.
Besides, it’s better this way. Safer.
Here, he has control.
Severus Snape
Harry Potter
233