She was radiant.

She always was – whenever James Potter was around. She could never keep the grin off her face – she shone like the sunshine, and James Potter basked in it.

Everyone knew she was in love with him. James knew it, too. He was always in a euphoric mood, singing and waltzing around the castle with Sirius Black and laughing uproariously at the poorest joke. He was the happiest man, and he made her happy, so why should anyone else be dissatisfied?

Severus Snape looked on. Severus Snape watched the easy conversation ebb and flow between the two. He watched as Potter would run a hand along her arm and Lily would touch his shoulder, how they would jump up at every opportunity to touch each other, how they would seek each other out, like a moth towards a light.

He watched on that October afternoon, where it was chilly enough to be a proper autumn day but bright enough to be considered otherwise.

He looked up from his textbook – the sound of the self-proclaimed 'Marauders' traveled far, and with them – as always – was Lily. Her hair, auburn and coppery and crimson with flecks of gold in the pale sunlight – glinted as she ran from the group, shrieking, and Potter followed her, laughing.

'No! Please! I didn't mean it!'

'Oh, you didn't, did you?'

Lily was still laughing – they all were. Stupid prats. 'Peter! Remus! Help me!'

'This is your battle, Evans,' Pettigrew said solemnly, standing a good deal away from the gallivanting friends. He was grinning, too.

'Wise words, Pete,' Potter said, and with a few final strides, he scooped up Lily in his arms and lifted her onto his shoulder, his arm over her back.

Lily wasn't even trying to pretend she was resisting.

'James! I didn't mean it!' The girl was still laughing, and Potter was now smiling triumphantly. 'The giant squid would make a poor date! You were right – can you put me down?'

'Too late!' Potter said, and in one fluid movement – Lily was tossed into the lake.

She resurfaced a moment later – her hair plastered to her cheeks and her clothes clinging to her lean body, and the smile never leaving her lips. It threatened to invade her whole face; and indeed, it had.

'Something to confess, Evans?'

She shook her head exuberantly. It must have been freezing, thought Snape – and yet she treaded the water and continued to sparkle at Potter. Only for Potter. And he knew it, too. She dimpled at him, and he glowed back, waiting.

'Go out with me, Potter!'

And in an instant, he was in the water, treading along side her, and was about to open his mouth to make one of his oh-so-witty comments, but Lily had grabbed his face in both hands and captured his smiling lips in a fervid kiss.

Snape never hated someone so much as he hated James Potter, right in that moment.

They were the golden couple – not so much in popularity, but the adoration they shared for each other – how Lily would play with Potter's mess of hair in public (sickening) and the constant hand-holding (revolting) and the glances that Potter often snuck at Lily while she wasn't looking – like she was his whole world, like she was a goddess, and he couldn't believe that she had chosen him.

Often, they were in the library – performing tasks that Professor McGonagall set out for them – and then Potter would put his head in Lily's lap, and she would lazily twist a strand of his hair around her finger, and whisper things in his ear.

Sickening.

Revolting.

And Severus Snape hated James Potter.