A/N: A short story about Snape remembering Lily's death. Sort of cliche title. As always, read and please review.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Snows falls outside, blanketing the Hogwarts' grounds in fluffy white slush. Severus stands by the window of his sleeping quarters scowling at the wet mush, drawing his robes closer around him. He always hated this time of year. And he hated this day.

He moves away from the window and into the spare room across from his bedroom that he regarded as his study. He looks around the room, his eyes scanning over the bookcases, his messy desk, and stopping on his calendar. October 31.

He stalks up to the desk and grabs the calendar, throwing it across the room. The calendar smashes against one of the bookcases before falling to the floor broken. But that sound is not enough. The sickening crunch not satisfying enough. His anger is not abated. He begins pulling books off the shelves, throwing them to then floor and ripping some to shreds. He swipes across his desk, the papers flying up and floating down to the floor. Even that wasn't enough. It wasn't catastrophic enough. He tries blowing things up and even setting his desk on fire, before quickly putting it out.

He stares at the small scorch mark that was left on the desk and sinks into his chair tiredly. He is just so tired. Fifteen years worth of tiredness. Fifteen years of anger, 15 years of sadness. 15 years where nothing he did helped him to forget. He looks around at the chaos that he called his study. It just makes him feel worse, cementing the fact that he was just destructive. He couldn't leave anything pure. He had done too many wrong things in his life, too many mistakes made and regretted.

He thinks back to her, to the girl he remembers. He thinks back to her time as his first friend, running around their neighbourhood. They played that weird muggle game and stared up into the clouds. He loved just being next to her. He loved how her red hair fanned all around her as they laid in the grass. He loved how she smelled of the daisies that were in her backyard and the cinnamon from the pies her mum used to bake.

He thinks back to their times in this very castle: running through the halls, eating in the Great Hall, attending to classes, doing homework in the library, Hogsmeade visits, holidays. She was his whole life at Hogwarts. She was what woke him up in the morning. She was how he ignored all the bullying and insults, because none of that mattered. She mattered. She didn't think he was anything like those were saying of him.

He dreamed of her often, dreaming she'd be his and only his. That she'd never leave him. Some dreams, they'd dance together without a care in the world, her small hand in his.

He reaches into his desk, the last drawer, and pulls out a crisp photograph from its bottom. He had charmed it long ago to resist ageing, to preserve this memory for ever.

It was an image of just him and Lily outside in the Hogwarts courtyard, their hair and robes covered in a light layer of snow. Lily had gotten a muggle camera for her Christmas present that year and wanted to take a picture of him. He wasn't in the best mood that day and at the time, she was almost overbearing with hounding him down. They must have taken a dozen shots that day before she said they couldn't take anymore.

That summer, she presented him with this picture. He was scowling at the camera while her right arm was draped around him, smiling brightly. Her hand was extended in front of her and out of view of the camera.

He reads her message at the bottom, "Here's to more fantastic pictures. Love Lily"

He traces his fingers over the last two words.

Lily loved him. He had loved her all along. All this time.

Always.