I dont own the Harry Potter characters
Very few people, if any, could say that they knew the true, whole and complete Severus Snape, for there was much more to his character than many percieved. To his students, he was a snarky, middle-aged, aggrivated, cold, heartless, greasy bat. To the death eaters, he was cold, ruthless, the Dark Lords Servant. To one person, he had been a friend.
The students referred to him as Snape, or Greasy Git, or Dungeon Bat. He was a mean, cruel man who had never had sex, had no sense of humour, and took great pleasure in ruining the lessons of his students by punctuating every other sentence with a cold, snide remark, and often detention. He was nothing to his students; they would assume he sat in his quarters all day marking essays as cruelly as possible, and supervising detentions where the students were forced to sort potion ingredients, clean cauldrons and write lines. They were not aware of his sacrifices, his constant danger, or the constant battles that raged in his mind. They had no idea that the act he adopted before them was not his whole self at all. They assumed that he was evil, selfish, and cold. It suited him that they did not know. It was better that way.
The Death Eaters and Dark Lord referred to him as Severus or Snape. To them, he was ruthless and cold, easily carrying out coldblooded killings and rapes to the Dark Lords satisfaction. He was a loyal servant. He was to be admired for his outright lack of emotion and ability to kill without remorse of his actions. He was unloving; he wished only for his own rise to power and to be seated next to the greatest Dark Wizard of the age. He was cold; he could enter a room where countless people were being tortured and ignore the screams of pain and anguish surrounding him. He was talented to the point that the Dark Lords merest whim could be carried out in a flash - if the Dark Lord wanted a potion, then Severus Snape would provide. It was taken as plain knowledge that Snape would do nothing to upset his master. He was scarred from youth; his unloving father, his parents arguments, the first ten years of his life spent in a run down Muggle dunghill; his scars gave him motivation for revenge. They assumed he was cold and calloused. It was better that way.
But only two people had ever truly known Severus Snape. One was a wise old man whom Severus had been forced to kill; his name was Albus Dumbledore. The other was a beautiful young witch, who for several years was Severus' only true friend; her name was Lily Evans.
Lily had always referred to him by his first name, or by Sev, or Sevvy. She knew the part of him that had been locked away from the rest of the world. She alone knew that he was not heartless, that he had emotions. She alone understood that his childhood memories hurt him. She alone drew out the part of him that had never before felt or given love; she alone was who he loved.
She knew, better than anyone, that beneath the cold armour that Severus wore on a day to day basis, and beneath the greasy hair that hung lank and lifeless by his face, there was a young man who was willing and waiting for the love of someone who could transform him into something other than a heartless old bastard. She knew he possessed a sense of humour; at times crude, at others slightly cruel, but it was humour nonetheless, and it was humour that nobody else was aware of. She knew that he did use shampoo, and that his greasy hair was not his fault. Lily knew, in truth, the whole of Severus Snape. Lily knew that he had a heart. Lily knew that he was not merely a bookworm who wanted to rise to Dark heights and have his name written in wizarding history; she knew that he craved knowledge of both good and evil, and that despite his darker tendencies, he was good at heart.
She did not know that he was the Death Eater that sent the Dark Lord after Lily and James' Potters son.
She did not know that he was the Death Eater that begged Albus Dumbledore to protect them.
She did not know that he would still mourn her eighteen years on.
She did not know he lived his life for her memory.
She would never know that he risked his life for her son to repay the guilt he felt.
She would never know that he loved her son like his own because he was a part of her; niether would her son.
She would never know that he loved her with a passion so deep that the thought of her brought warmth to his heart on the coldest nights.
She couldn't ever find out that he spent evenings gazing at the photograph within his desk drawer, wishing merely for another day to see her, another hour to tell her.
In short, she would never know that he loved her as a soulmate, as a friend, as a lover, and as a wife, despite the fact she married and loved another.
She was the part of him that nobody else knew about.
She was the reason that nobody knew him.
Because she was his deepest, darkest, best kept secret.
Sorry, just kind of felt like this... bit of a timefiller