A/N: This was the original Always poem, and as requested, I have put it up.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Only in my dreams.

~Always~

As Severus stood, wand raised,
He muttered the horrid curse,
What he had done; he was dazed,
Dumbledore could not be cured by any nurse.

Steadying himself, he ran,
Anger with Dumbeldore rose,
Killing him: their sick plan,
His best friend and mentor, and the fate he had chose.

His thoughts flew back to the days,
When he had been with young Lily,
Best friends in so many ways,
After, her glares were chilly.

After he called her that word,
They had fallen apart,
His days sad, for they were blurred,
Young Lily hated him: that was sharp as a dart.

Now fast forward a few years,
He begged at the old man's feet,
His heart ached; a thousand spears,
"Hide them all," he begged, Lily was too sweet.

Seeing the plead in his eyes,
At this man's awful mistake,
"Severus," he spoke, "be allies,"
Feeling the man's heartache.

"Anything!" The man had pleaded,
Seeing this Dumbeldore stood,
"I will do my best," Dumbledore knew he needed,
Potion's Master, Snape now would.

Meeting in his office sat,
A depressed Severus which lasted too long,
Poor Lily dead, in trust that,
She bestowed upon was wrong.

"The boy lives," Dumbledore spoke, "he has Lily's eyes you know,"
"Don't! Gone...dead," Severus croaked,
Dumbledore didn't yet know,
His Patronus was a doe.

There was no twinkle there now,
In the blue eyes of Dumbledore,
"Severus, after all this time?" he allow,
"Always," Severus tearfully fell to the floor.

Now looking in his blue eyes,
"Severus...please," he had begged, though he seemed calmest,
"Avada Kedavra," Severus cried,
Remembering what he had promised.

His killing,
Though it was a plan it hurt him,
For he was not happy nor willing,
To rid a man's life, it was grim.

Now his own death had come,
Harry was whom he needed,
To give him the memories of his mum,
And to prove his innocence, he pleaded.

"Look...at...me," he asked Harry,
As green found black, he saw no more,
Hoping Harry would believe the memories, and not be wary,
Always he remembered, as his last bit of blood had poured.