-Snape's POV-
I glance toward Slughorn, hoping I appear casual as I pretend to look at him and not at the smiling girl at his side. I sharply avert my gaze as she shifts, causing the light to bring out the exquisite gold undertones in her hair before she laughs, the sound pure and unaffected over the banal chattering covering the rest of the room.
"But Professor," I can hear her protest archly as I pretend to be absorbed in a Butterbeer, "If I'm not well-rested how can I hope to lead my house in the quest for the House Cup against the enormous and indisputable power of Slytherin?"
He actually guffaws, causing my opinion of him to sink further just when I'd thought that this was impossible before he retorts, "Ah, but Miss Evans! This conflict of interest would cease to exist if you'd simply accept your destiny and come to Slytherin-"
She laughs again, warmly. "Perhaps you'll lay ahold of my children, professor."
He nods in an obnoxiously certain way, offering a smile of his own. "Be sure of it, Lily." He gazes at her more sharply before adding, "And in the future, I think it will be best if you call me Horace."
I glare at them in a mixture of disgust and envy, but suddenly her eyes flash toward where I stand in the corner, landing somewhere millimeters to my left, a thin eyebrow arching slightly before she turns and walks out of the room amid continued protestations from Slughorn and the majority of the other students there, all of whom seem to have wanted to talk to her more before the evening's end.
She's gracious about the cries, but effectively ignores them as she steps through the doorway, again increasing my respect of her, respect I'd sooner die than confess to anyone.
No one notices when I follow her a minute later.
I wonder sometimes if she's not responsible for my being invited to these gatherings at all, despite my aptitude in Slughorn's subject of choice. He took no notice of me whatsoever except for to occasionally praise a potion I'd brewed until one day in April of our fifth year when he approached me in the middle of class and, with customary bluster, invited me to his next gathering. Nothing seemed amiss until the end of his speech, at which point he shot a pointed glance at Lily, who looked down at her nails in a way reminiscent of Dumbledore, acting for all the world like she had no idea what was going on. For a painful month I feared that puffball of a professor was trying to play matchmaker, but it soon became obvious that he could care less if I lived or died, leaving me perplexed about why I continued to be invited- and about why I continued to come.
I blink at the darkness of the corridor before seeing Lily paused at the end of it, gazing intently at a portrait. I take a moment, before she realizes that I'm there, to really look at her, to wonder for the hundredth time why she even bothers with this when I've done nothing but discourage her- I used to suspect that she had a long-term plan, was using me to some end or wanted something, even that she was planning to humiliate me with the help of her fellow Gryffindors- but it's been a long time and she's never asked for anything, used me, mocked me, or hurt me- and that's more than I can say for anyone else at this godforsaken place. I can't wait to get the hell out of here- except for that being out of here means not seeing Lily ever again, and that's the best case scenario, since if I meet her outside of Hogwarts it will be as enemies, glaring and despising the other person and everything they stand for, at least externally- and that's another best case scenario.
I don't like to think of the worst case.
But tonight we're still just students, and I start walking again, unsurprised when she hears me almost immediately and starts to walk, more slowly than usual, toward the main staircase.
I follow closely behind her, waiting for her to speak, regretting, not for the first time, the self-imposed regulations that now govern these⦠interactions such as they are, even though they're primarily of my creation.
We do not directly address one another or outright acknowledge that we have heard the other person speak. We do not make eye contact. We do not, under ANY circumstances, touch.
We always leave one another before the rest of Slughorn's party breaks up.
It was the beginning of sixth year when I noticed that Lily and I always left Slughorn's events at around the same time, an hour or so before anyone else, traveling the hallways toward our common rooms in close and silent proximity. When it happened for the fifth time I had opened my mouth to accuse her of following me and to demand what the hell a mudblood like her meant by it before I realized, to my great confusion, that I was the one following her.
Of course, it's been a long time since I've been able to think of her as a mudblood now.
I'm not sure who I hate more for that- her or myself.
It was after the winter holidays that year that she started talking as we walked. At first she had the gall to actually try to make conversation, but if there's one thing I've perfected over the years it's the art of stoic silence. Eventually she started to make statements, initially annoying me even more- her presumption that I would care about her petty thoughts struck me as somehow inappropriate, if not downright insane- but despite that, and my own misgivings, I couldn't help but listen to her. She's easy to listen to, but I'd rather die than admit that, either.
Ironically, I'm pretty sure it came as a bigger surprise to me than to her when I finally started to make statements of my own back at her. I think it was the night she was babbling about the Polyjuice potion she wanted to make the next day, leaving out a crucial ingredient as she described her plans. I know everyone around here thinks I'm a malicious evil bastard, but not even I was prepared to let a fellow student blow up because they forgot the milkweed.
It didn't occur to me until months later that she had probably misquoted the directions on purpose to get a reaction.
It should have made me hate her. Somehow it just increased her appeal.
Exchanging statements back and forth ought to have been ridiculously awkward at first, but somehow it wasn't- half because we were both so freakishly good at it and half because she seemed to take it all in stride, as though it was what she had anticipated all along and all she wanted or expected in the world was this bizarre interchange. I should probably have hated her for that, too.
That's the thing about Lily Evans. She's so goddamned difficult to hate.
At the beginning of this year that she started to sit on the main stairs once we'd reached them instead of turning left immediately. I wondered fleetingly what she'd do if I continued on my way- whether she'd keep talking to the air or turn left toward the Gryffindor common room- but somehow, amusing as the experiment would have been, I had no real desire to find out.
That's the other thing I'll never admit to anyone- I enjoy her company enormously, far more than is appropriate or safe or prudent. It's the whole reason I won't speak to her directly, twisted as that probably sounds- if I did, I would like it. And it's dangerous to like things, especially when they're just going to vanish. It's the story of my life. No need for these interactions to cause me more long-term pain than necessary.
I don't know if she understands, but she doesn't push. She never did.
And I can't hate her.
We reach the main stairs now and sit down silently, facing definitively away from each other. I wonder sometimes what we would look like to a passerby- they would probably think we were two strangers reciting separate monologues or something equally laughable. Somehow, though, no one ever passes while we're speaking, a fact for which I'm sure that she, despite her accepting, all loving, FOOLISH Gryffindor attitude, is nearly as grateful as I am, especially since she's been dating-
"I guess that was Slughorn's last party this year," her voice rings out softly in the deserted hall, and I fire back my agreement without directly acknowledging what she's said with the lazy ease of someone who has done this many times before.
"I'm glad to finally be done with Slughorn's fiascos of parties."
Out of the corner of my eye I see her eyebrow arch lazily and know that, if this was a normal conversation, she'd be asking me teasingly why on earth I continued to come if I really felt that way- but this isn't a normal conversation and she plays admirably by the rules, shifting slightly as she replies softly, "I'll miss Hogwarts in general."
It hits me like a punch in the gut as her voice echoes down the corridor that THIS is why I ultimately continued to come the god-forsaken parties- just to hear that voice, gentler than a caress in the darkness- and I quickly add it to my unacceptably long list of things to never tell anyone.
"I'm ready to move on and see the world," I state firmly, my voice echoing much more loudly than hers, and I flinch at my angry tone as bitter memories crash around me and I wonder if she'll mistakenly think the anger is directed at her-
But she evidently doesn't as she fires back somberly, "I'm sorry that not everyone's time here was as good as mine." She hesitates, and I know without looking that she's biting the corner of her lip nervously before continuing slowly, "I went to the first Aurors orientation session yesterday. I was-" she hesitates again and it would be comical how valiantly she's trying to say the right thing if I didn't know what was coming, if I could ignore the undertones of hurt and confusion in her voice. "I was disappointed" she continues, placing just enough emphasis on the word to make it noticeable without making it an accusation, before pausing again. "I was of the impression that a fourth person in our year had undertaken the coursework necessary for-"
If she were anyone else I probably would have taken some perverse satisfaction from watching her continue to struggle, but she's Lily and somehow that changes things. "I initially hoped to become an Auror," I interrupt her, "but in light of certain-" and I'm glad she can't see me flush as now I'm trying to find the right words to tell her, of all people, what I plan to do, "recent opportunities that have presented themselves, I've decided on a different course of action." I feel her shoot a dubious, slightly disappointed glance at me before looking quickly away, and I know she's understood my full meaning as clearly as if I'd shouted I'M ON TEAM VOLDEMORT. I flinch, wondering fleetingly why I feel like I owe her any kind of an explanation at all before I continue, "Other houses fail to realize how deeply entrenched anti-Slytherin prejudice is outside Hogwarts. I'm- no one-" I fight back a growl of frustration before I state, not knowing how to convey to someone like her what it's like to be without connections and friendless, hated by nearly everyone, "I need to make my way alone, and there's no future for me within the ministry."
The air is thick and I can almost feel her struggle, know that she can't understand and I can't make her, despite the fact that she wants to, know that she wants to talk to me about it and is fighting to find the words to do so without directly acknowledging me or what I've said. I've decided that she's not going to reply when she sighs and nods slowly.
"I'm not impressed by most of my peers," she states firmly, and I can feel myself frown as I'm temporarily oblivious as to where she's going with this. "It hurts me unimaginably to think that any of those who have managed to gain my loyalty and respect would," she gulps and I fight the urge to turn toward her as she continues, "would use their innumerable talents to help a person so unworthy of them." There is a miniscule pause before she says with strength, certainty and more venom than I'd thought she had in her, "Voldemort is not WORTHY of anyone extraordinary. He is not WORTHY of my friends."
Friends. I find myself uncomfortably caught between 50 different emotions and reactions, strongest of which are the immediate and competing urges to lie and cruelly tell her she isn't my friend and she's a fool to think she is, that I hate her and all that she stands for, to hex her for daring to say the Dark Lord's name, and to throw myself at her and beg her to forgive me for- well, everything, both for how I've treated her and for what I know I'll do later. Much as I try to fight it, though, what I am more than anything is touched and shaken by her high opinion of me and by what I need to do despite this- but somehow I manage to say coldly, almost as though I didn't hear her,
"We all must decide for ourselves who and what is worthy."
"We all must choose for ourselves what to believe," she agrees readily. "I only wonder if we're all honest with ourselves about what that is, especially when it's easier to lie." She pauses again before saying carefully, "Hate is not a valid method of life. It is not fulfilling, it is NOT empowering. I will NEVER believe that anyone who I care about doesn't realize that, however hard they try to hide it from themselves. Those who have been promised power by Voldemort," she continues, spitting his name like it's a curse, "are being lied to. He doesn't care about them. He will NOT reward them. They're just his killing machines." She pauses, and I feel rather than see her shaking before she hisses, "They're no more than his bitches and anyone with any sense who stopped to really think about it would agree with me."
Some vague corner of my mind registers the fact that if I were a halfway competent follower of the Dark Lord I would be hexing her into oblivion by now without remorse, laughing coldly as she writhed on the floor in pain until she was too scared to ever speak again, but somehow I'm just exhausted, wishing I could make her understand things I know she can't, life in Slytherin, what it is to be a half-blood in the current political climate, how my best chance of survival and success is to be branded with the dark mark and have done with it, that power means something different to her than to me- but she interrupts my reverie to continue, voice shaking slightly,
"I wonder sometimes how many people in this school truly believe that I deserve to be killed."
And it comes as another blow that not only do I not believe that, but that she's right and I should, or anyway I'll be expected to- I'd realized it before, but somehow it's different to hear it put that way, to hear her voice say it- deserve to be killed- and I hope again that I never see her after Hogwarts, not because I won't want to, but because of what I'll probably need to do if I encounter her.
I register the terrible, painful pause that is stretching between us and my mind reels as I try to think of a way to tell her I do hope for her safety without directly saying it- and it comes to me with a grimace as I bite out, "I've heard that two of the Gryffindors in our year are now engaged to be married. Much as I believe the girl in question could do better," I hiss, voice dripping with barely concealed hatred of Potter, "I've been hoping to find an opportunity to wish her a LONG, healthy, and happy life with her unworthy-"
And to my surprise I'm cut off by a disbelieving, sharp snort. "Some ridiculous third year started a ridiculous rumor that James and I are engaged. We're not."
I fight the urge to look at her, to say the words 'you're NOT?'
"I'm young for that kind of thing," she says lightly, as though she'd heard the unspoken question before continuing "Anyway. I've been meaning to ask my friends what they're going to be up to this summer."
Friends. I swallow uneasily, fighting against showing any emotion as I realize that the words 'I'll be training as a death eater' are grossly inappropriate and offer a half-truth. "I'm apprenticing with a curse-breaker in Egypt."
No real need for her to know that's just a way to pass the days before nights of instruction and brutality.
I see her smile and she says carefully, voice warm and kinder than I deserve, "I- really, really admire- people- so much sometimes." She looks upward at the enchanted ceiling that shows a clear, cloudless night before smiling just a bit mischievously, and when she speaks again her voice is full of teasing and laughter. "I'm not tired."
I blink in brief confusion before she lowers her voice, whispering confidentially, "It's been my secret dream for the past seven years to go swimming in the lake at night."
The invitation could not be clearer, nor the fact that she doesn't expect me to take her up on it as she hesitates for a fraction of a second, smiling in my general direction before walking toward a little- known side door that will lead her out into the idyllic May night.
Sometimes, right before I go to sleep, I marvel at the irony that, in my seven years at Hogwarts, the closest thing to an actual friend that I've had is a Gryffindor muggle-born whose existence I usually try not to acknowledge and who I've never had a traditional conversation with.
I slip out the door and into the night, hardly believing that I'm following her as it shudders shut behind me with a groan.
---
-Lily's POV-
I know he's not gonna follow me and I know I shouldn't care, but, I mean, he's Severus. And that changes things.
I expel a frustrated breath and try not to be angry with myself over things I can't change, the fact that I'd been too cowardly to whisper 'goodbye Severus," despite the whole bullshit 'we don't talk to each other directly' thing. God. I didn't even have the guts to give him the Felix Felicis potion I LABORED over face to face- I had to resort to pretending to bump into him at the beginning of Slughorn's party to drop it into his pocket only to be terrified all night that he was going to find it or feel it or whatever.
But I know he never really puts his hands in his pockets.
It really frustrates me a lot, how badly I've screwed things up with Severus. I try to tell myself that I did all I could to be his friend, but I know that's bullshit. He's difficult and all, but he's not heartless or cold, whatever people say.
I should have tried harder.
I just don't get where he gets this whole 'evil' reputation. I've never heard bigger lies. He's only evil where evil is a synonym for BRILLIANT. It's not like it's a crime to know about the dark arts, and you'd be an asshole too if everyone you met treated you like shit for no reason whatsoever. God it pisses me off. No one that brilliant and fundamentally kind should need to be so lonely. Of course it's going to lead to bad things and so yeah, okay, he's turning to places he shouldn't now and there's SO much emotion inside him- why is everyone so cruel? It's just their weakness.
I should have tried harder.
But I guess I'm weak too, in my own way.
We ARE friends, though. Even if we can't be in the normal way.
Goddamn. He deserves it in the normal way.
I yelled at Slughorn for never inviting him to his parties toward the end of fifth year. Of all the bullshit- it's not like Severus hasn't always been at the top of our class, especially in DDA and Potions. I mean, sure, he does experiment more than he should during class, but it always leads to brilliance eventually- and that's not even mentioning all the non-verbal spells he comes up with in his free time-
God. Voldemort doesn't deserve that.
Voldemort doesn't deserve HIM.
Anyway. I yelled at Slughorn and he smiled in that maddening way that he has and made some joke about how I was free to invite whoever I liked to accompany me.
I'm pretty sure it was the only time EVER that I couldn't think of a snappy retort to throw back at him, but it worked out okay. I think my silence struck him more than any snappy retort could have, and Severus started to come to the parties.
I don't know what I really hoped for- it seems so silly, NOW, that I thought he and I would end up laughing at someone else's joke and our eyes would meet or something and all old grudges would be forgotten. He distanced himself immediately at the parties and I wondered why he even bothered to come.
I didn't plan to walk back with him. Anyway, not the first time. It was totally an accident.
And then it wasn't anymore, exactly.
I got ahold of myself, though, once this had happened repeatedly and neither of us had spoken. It was just getting ridiculous, and I left the next party before him.
I almost laughed with joy when I realized he was right behind me.
God. It really makes no sense that I think so highly of him. Not really. It's not that I feel sorry for him. I never did. The first time I managed to get him to talk to me- or I guess, really, AT me- by pretending to forget the ingredients in Polyjuice Potion, of all things, like I would make such a stupid mistake- he said, voice shaking so slightly anyone else probably would have missed it,
"I don't need pity from anyone" and I fired back too quickly for it to be untrue,
"I'd be much too scared to pity anyone more intelligent than me," and out of the very corner of my eye I saw him stifle a smile.
Of course, now that I know him better I know that he's not, really. I mean, in some ways he is, but there are a lot of things Severus just doesn't understand. He'll learn though, as soon as he's ready to let someone teach him. I wish he was ready now, but I can't make him be, so I try not to push and to help as much as I can. I don't know if it's really worked, but I've tried.
He will learn though, I know it. He's gonna be one of those old men who follows Quidditch religiously, with a wife who cooks all his meals and twenty squealing grandkids who he spoils beyond belief with potion kits. I know he will. He's too good of a person, deep down where it matters, for it not to work out for him like that.
Maybe this whole ridiculous war thing will be over by then and our grandkids will play together.
Anyway, though. He was easy to talk to. Surprisingly so. I'm not sure exactly when it crossed the line into real friendship. Maybe it was the night I was wearing the silly strappy shoes and tripped and he dived forward to catch me before I could fall, righting me more gently than I would have expected. And then- as I put a hand on his chest to steady myself I felt a little shiver race through me. It wasn't arousal, or even really attraction, but sharp, intense awareness, and it was seeping through my body. Our eyes met and held and he took a small, sharp breath before we stepped apart.
After that we didn't ever touch or look at each other, in a deliberate, almost ridiculously meticulous way. I think it seemed dangerous to both of us somehow. Instinctually. I can't really explain. It's one of the few things in my life I haven't analyzed to death. I guess if I'm honest with myself I'm a little scared about the conclusions I'd need to draw. Anyhow, things were bizarrely better after that. I think it forced us to realize, somehow, that we were both just human, and for whatever reason, really enjoyed one another.
Funny, the things random moments can show us.
I guess the real turning point for me, though, was the week after my dad was attacked by death eaters. I wasn't even sure if Severus knew or cared, but I couldn't really complain. I mean, he was hilarious after the party that night. We sat on the stairs for a really long time, not looking at each other, and I spent most of it in a state of totally uncontrollable laughter- God, I really CAN'T understand what most people think of him, how they can overlook his wit along with everything else in their stupid determination to hate him. After a week of being treated like glass by my friends even after it was obvious my dad would be okay it was so wonderful to laugh and not feel guilty about it, you have no idea.
I think that night was the longest we ever spent talking, and we both jumped up at the sound of laughter down the corridor, the end of Slughorn's get-together. In our rush our eyes met for a brief moment and he said, in an intense whisper, "I was SO sorry to hear about the attacks on the muggle population a week ago," before hastily lowering his eyes and stalking toward the dungeons.
Even knowing he couldn't hear me, maybe BECAUSE I knew he wouldn't hear me, I whispered 'Thank you," before turning left toward Gryffindor.
I guess I'm going to miss talking to him a lot. I mean, I'm not stupid. After tonight we'll ignore one another totally and given a year or so we'll be enemies, fighting on opposite sides of a war. I guess in some ways it's miraculous we've had this much time- I was scared when I started to date James that he'd expect to come with me to Slughorn's, even issued a halfhearted invitation, but he just looked at me kindly and squeezed my hand, saying,
"Lil, that's your thing- I wouldn't intrude on it." I offered a feeble protest and he laughed gently. "Do you think I'm stupid, Lily? It's your time, like Quidditch practice is mine. We won't shrivel up and die because we spend a few nights a week apart." He contemplated, smiled mischievously. 'But if you wanted to steal me some dessert, that would be awesome."
I think that was the moment I realized how much I could love him. I feel a little guilty sometimes, since I wouldn't have minded him at the parties if he would have let me walk back with Severus- but then, he doesn't even know I'm friends with Severus. It's the only thing I keep from him. I mean, I love James, but he wouldn't take it well.
Neither would anyone else, I guess.
I really do hate people sometimes.
I stop abruptly, realizing I've reached the lake shore, and look upward as I kick off my shoes. The stars are swirling and glittering and I smell orchids half a second before I realize that Severus is here. For a crazy, inexplicable moment I wish that he would put his arms around me and we could look up at the sky together before I flush and try to get ahold of myself. It doesn't really work, though, because the next thing I realize is that I either need to strip in front of him or go into the water in my emerald dress robes, which, for obvious reasons, is not an option.
Fighting hard against the voice in my head telling me that James would kill me I yank the robe off in one fluid motion, barely wasting a second between hearing it hit the ground and diving cleanly into the freezing water.
I yelp despite myself as I float to the surface, feeling like the cold is slicing through me before I see Severus's incredulous, slightly amused expression in the moonlight. Despite my best efforts and the sub-human temperature of the water I burst out laughing because, come on, some things are just funny and get even funnier if they're shared with someone else. It takes me a minute to realize that he's laughing too, not the cold, derisive laughter I've too often heard him direct at others, but warm, low laughter that gives me a comfortable feeling somewhere in the pit of my stomach, and I have the courage to address him directly for the first time in over a year as I call,
"You know, it's really shockingly ungentlemanly for you to leave a witch freezing in the water all alone. I'm sure I read it in one of my mom's etiquette books somewhere. It's rule number 58." At his incredulous expression I laugh harder before taunting lightly, "What? Scared of a little cold?"
He's smirking now, but it's a kind smirk, and though he's got his laughter under control his eyes are twinkling so brightly that they rival Dumbledore's as he retorts,
"I'd say it's better to be scared than stupid."
"You think I'm stupid?" I fire back in mock-disbelief before shrugging, letting out another laugh as I say earnestly. "Oh Severus, sensible is so OVERRATED on a night like this." As an afterthought I add, "Anyway, it's warmer now."
He eyes me dubiously but he's kicking off his shoes and I feel a small thrill of anticipation as he shakes his head, doubtless at what an incredibly bad influence I am before his own robe is discarded.
He's in the water before I can enjoy the view.
Not, obviously, that I would have been enjoying the view.
He grimaces as he surfaces but his reaction to the cold is admirably contained as he says briefly, meeting my eye and addressing me directly for the first time since he called me a mudblood two years ago, "Lily, I never thought you were stupid, and despite recent evidence to the contrary, my high opinion of your intelligence remains intact."
I want to talk more, now that we're actually talking, but of course this moment would come just when words just don't seem necessary. I settle for smiling impishly before splashing him enthusiastically with water, laughing at the shocked look on his face before he splashes me back.
A ridiculously giddy and juvenile water fight ensues, the end of which finds me breathless, giggling, and hanging onto his shoulders in a mad effort to prevent him from dunking me under the water. He arches an eyebrow in what I can only assume is surrender and shoots me a genuine smile that causes me to look at him in surprise before I shoot him a grin so wide it feels like it's going to split my face in two- but suddenly our legs brush together and we're not smiling anymore as neither of us makes any attempt whatsoever to disentangle our limbs.
I am not breathing. I mean, I am literally not breathing and how we're managing to stay afloat is beyond me because both of have stopped treading water and did I mention that I am not breathing as I wait for three years of mutual, sharp, and exquisitely hidden longing to be resolved at last before I wonder suddenly if it will be resolved. With anyone else the resolution would be inevitable, a foregone conclusion, a quick, intense kiss, quickly over, quickly forgotten. But, I mean, it's Severus. And that changes things.
For one thing, I could not possibly forget.
The moonlight is lighting our faces and his eyes are burning into me and I know, without ever having kissed him, that it would be nothing like any other kiss I've ever had. It wouldn't be gentle and firm and confident but hard and desperate and searching, bursting with passion and raw emotion, leaving me whimpering and writing and gasping and aching for more-
My hands tighten on his shoulders as his hand caresses my hip, lingering where the waistband of my panties begins, and I gasp as my eyes flutter shut. I feel his breath whisper against my cheek and I wait, not breathing.
And then he's pushing me so, so gently away from him even as warm lips caress my cheek, oh god, for one exquisite moment his lips are making love to my cheek and I feel sharp confusion and disappointment warring within me before I catch a glimpse of his face as he turns away and hoists himself onto the shore. It's half a moment, but I see enough to realize how unspeakably much it cost him to push me away, and even though I can't understand why he did it, I know absolutely, as the moment passes and dies, that it was for the best. Even if we're both burning.
He's stronger than me in so many ways.
I manage to throw myself onto the shore a minute later and we lay next to one another for what feels like a long time but really can't be. I think it feels longer because we've reverted to form and aren't speaking, aren't looking, aren't touching. Just feeling. Eventually we simultaneously, reluctantly reach for our robes and pull them on, still looking away from one another. Somehow I feel like I need to speak even if I can't bring myself to address him directly, saying carefully,
"I guess that- if I meet anyone from Slytherin after graduation- we'll be on different sides of a war."
He is silent, and I can see him shaking slightly out of the corer of my eye though I'm not sure if it's emotion or cold that's causing it before he says, so softly I almost don't hear him, "Those in Gryffindor would be wise to consider me an enemy."
I reflect, hoping he won't leave before I figure out how best to say what I mean. What I need him to know.
"I try to forget injury, never kindness," I whisper before forcing myself to speak louder. "If anyone were to come to me in friendship, at any time, for any reason, I wouldn't turn them away. It wouldn't matter what had transpired, I would never turn them away. I hope- no one ever feels they have no where to turn. There's ALWAYS somewhere to turn. There's always a choice." I swallow, trying to pull myself together before I repeat dumbly, "There's always a choice. And I never forget my friends."
He shakes more violently but is silent and long moments pass before he begins to walk past me toward the castle. I bite my lip, in agony at all that I can't do, all that I can't figure out how to say before I reach out and grab his hand, whispering, "Good luck, Severus," squeezing it gently and loosening my hold.
Time is still for a moment and I see him swallow hard before he squeezes it back and then drops it as though burned, nearly running toward the castle.
I feel like the ground is swallowing me, but it obviously isn't and I stuff my hands into the pockets or my robe before I gasp and pull out a small vial I'm sure wasn't there this afternoon-
I blink in confusion at the clear liquid that I know must be Veritaserum, that I know must have taken him ages to make, longer even than the Felix Felicis took me- and then I hear a crumpling sound and reach further into the pocket to find a note where the words
Good luck, Lily.
are written in bold, neat lettering.
I sink to the ground slowly and am grateful for the darkness as I start to sob.
-Happy New Year to all the Lily/Snape fans out there! Please make my day and leave a review :-D -
