Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter.

A lonely boy of seven years old sat in his room, his dark, greasy hair slopped over his face as he read a thick book of his mothers.

Before he'd managed to obtain the books, they'd been painted thickly with dust, as though she'd bought them and left them untouched, unopened on the bookshelves. Not that she'd have the time to read the books anyway. She was too busy keeping his drunken father happy, trying to keep herself and the little boy out of his violent tirade, but she lived to protect her little boy.

Every night, when the tyrant had either gone out, or gone to bed in a drunken stupor, his mother would come to the little boy's room to teach him how she used to live her life, her parents loving and doting on her, her friends laughing, joking and sharing secrets with each other, her school life, her hopes of going from wanting to be a singer, to dancer, to champion of the game of Gobstones.

The boy knew she missed it all, missed her old life. But there was nothing she could do.

He sometimes heard her crying, so quietly so his father wouldn't hear her and hurt her.

Other times she faked a smile and blocked out her emotions.

Sometimes the boy thought it was his fault his father was the way he was, thought if he wasn't around then his family could be happy. He never opened up to his mother and always kept himself guarded.

Loneliness and self loath poisoned his seven year old body. This was a boy with no friends, no real family, no love or affection, a child who grew up before his time. An old man in a child's body.

A boy who would hate anything and everything until one small, fire-head, green eyes little girl would change his world from this young age.

A girl he'd love for the entirety of his life, but suffer heart ache after heart ache along the way.

Now, in his teens, he sits in the cold dormitory in the dungeons, going over the regret in his mind.

He'd lost the love of his life in just a few short words that he never meant to say. And that one heartbreaking word hurt the most.

He should've told her his feelings for her, the feelings that were too strong to fight, not call her a word he so despised.

In just another few short years, the love of his life, Lily Evans, would soon become Lily Potter. And soon after, would become the mother to Harry Potter.

And now here he was, in his thirties, with that God forsaken Potter child, the spitting image of his father, the boy who kept Lily's eyes. The boy who shouldn't have been allowed to have those eyes, he himself was dying.

He gripped Harry's robes, uttered "Look at me." And died, looking into Lily's eyes.

Severus Snape was home at last, with Lily, where he felt he belonged.