Snivellus
By SXS
Disclaimer: I don't own any copyrighted aspects of this story nor did I intend any copyright infringement.
It wasn't his name, but it wasn't that far from, honestly. You couldn't really call it a nickname, because it wasn't affectionate or endearing in any way. Not to mention, the people that had come up with it were the exact opposite of friends. He didn't know where they came up with it, or why they started to hate him—was it just because he had said he'd wanted to be Sorted into Slytherin? Was it that snide comment about having brains, not brawn on the train?
Not that he cared what they thought, anyway. Whenever they said "Snivellus" or "Snivelly" or whatever idiotic variation they had of it, he had just brushed it off. It was their stupid, brutish way of attempting to insult him, and he didn't mind one bit. By "their," he primarily meant those show-offs, those bigheaded "Marauders," or whatever they called themselves. They were the ones who had come up with it, anyway.
Sometimes, it wasn't just them. There were a couple of Ravenclaws and some Hufflepuffs that had referred to him as "Snivellus" once or twice, but that had never really affected him either. None of his friends—or rather, Rosier, Mulciber, McNair, Nott, and the rest of them—ever called him "Snivellus." And even if they did, he didn't think he would mind, anyway. It was just a name. Sure, the name itself implied he was weak and undesirable, but he didn't have to be likable or desirable to any of them, anyway.
So what was so different when she called him "Snivellus?" It was right after he had addressed her as…well; he vowed to himself he'd never call anyone or anything by that name again. Not after what had just happened—not after that disgustingly pronounced, usually ineffective name of his rolled off her tongue.
"Snivellus," she had called him. Snivellus. And even though it had never hurt before when anyone else called him that, it was stinging like hell as she gave a smirk and continued to yell at Potter.
Because even though Sniv—er, Severus Snape was hanging upside down, his pallid boxers showing, his legs trembling and aching, and his head getting woozy from the blood-rush, he still knew that Lily Evans, his best friend—or used to be, anyway, as of now, had just called him that very name that established him as inferior and despicable.
Snivellus. From that time on, every time anyone called him that, it stung.
