Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable part of this story. It was all blossomed from the mind of J.K. Rowling. No, I will not state the disclaimer for every single chapter I write; that would be a waste of my time and your time.
I hope you enjoy. I welcome constructive criticism openly and please, no flames. I got rid of the preface, so this probably sucks...
I'm not ashamed of saying that this chapter is not one of my best, but the plot is still forming. Advice, comments, etc. would all be appreciated!
Chapter 1:
"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" Severus snarled.
Never had Severus said something so vile as that.
"Fine," I retorted, adding acerbically, "I won't bother in the future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus." I turned on my heel and started walking away, head held high.
Now, I lay on my back, thinking about the day's events. How could he say something like that? He has known me since we were little! He knows my feelings, my secrets. He knows what hurts me the most. The words floated around in my head over and over. Filthy little Mudbloods... Has our entire friendship been a lie? Thinking back, I remember the first time I had ever seen Severus Snape. I can recall the scene so clearly, as if it were yesterday.
"Stop it!" Petunia had yelled. I showed her the flower that I could make larger and smaller. I didn't understand what I could do then; I was able to concentrate on something and change or maneuver it somehow, not knowing the mechanics of it. I wasn't able to understand why I was so different until Severus stepped out of the bushes, obviously having eavesdropped on what we had said. I remember how he explained to me what we are, opening a new world to me. My endless questions must have bothered him. I laughed a humorless chuckle. Reminiscing about him gave me a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Stepping out of my gloom, I decided to walk down to the Great Hall. At the Slytherin table, Severus was sitting with Avery and Mulciber, his creepy friends. I sighed and walked over to an empty Gryffindor table. I was about to sit down, but realized that Snape was heading my way. Groaning internally, I treaded briskly outside, as to avoid coming in contact with him. Walking alongside the lake, I identified my friend Mary Macdonald reading by a tree. I waved and strolled slowly to her side.
"What're you doing here?" She asked over her book.
"Just getting some fresh air." I sat down next to her, resting my head on the tree trunk.
"Thinking about that Snivellus again?" She assessed my expression knowingly.
It was common knowledge that Severus was called "Snivellus"; it was a popular name among many Gryffindors. James Potter and his "gang" had come up with the nickname ages ago, incessantly picking on Severus. Severus. The one I used to call a friend. A turmoil of bitter thoughts raged in my brain.
Judging the look on my face, Mary quickly changed the subject.
"I heard James Potter stood up for you," she stated bluntly, slyly winking.
"Yes," I replied, my voice monotone. Then muttering, "the bloody idiot."
She frowned. "Most people would be flattered by the gesture. I even heard that he saved Snape from the Whomping Willow."
"He's an arrogant git," I snapped. "I wouldn't doubt that he was the one who spread the news of his heroism."
"He fancies you, you know."
Disliking where the conversation was going, I huffed, stood up, and walked across the wide span of grass back to the castle.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
That night, I dressed down into my dressing gown, reading a book with a dim candle lit. Mary came up, quietly knocking on the door.
"Snape's at the door," she declared, a look intrigue on her face. "Says he'll sleep out there if you don't come out. I suggest you go out there. It'll be bad news for him if a group of groggy Gryffindors wake up to find him in the way of their food."
I grunted and walked towards the entrance of the common room. The portrait of the Fat Lady opened wide, revealing a very sallow-looking Snape. I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrow.
"What do you want?" I demanded.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not interested."
"I'm sorry!" He pleaded once more. It was too late, unforgivable.
"Save you're breath." I huffed. "I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here."
"I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just –"
I cut him off, accusing. "Slipped out? It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years," the words were rolling off my tongue now, streaming out of my mouth with no pity. "None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends—you see, you don't even deny it! you don't deny that's what you're all aiming to be! you can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?"
He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but said nothing.
"I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine." I was about ready to slam the door in his face.
"No—listen, I didn't mean—"
"—to call me a Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood Severus. Why should I be any different?" I had heard him in the halls, taunting the third and fourth years.
He was about to say something, but I was so infuriated I stepped inside the portrait hole and walked away.
I sat down heavily on a common room armchair. Leaning my head back, I grabbed a crimson cushion and buried my face in its cool underside. Not caring who heard, I let out a lengthy howl, the sound muffled by the pillow.
At this rate, I would never collapse into a restless slumber. Getting up from the chair, I avoided making too much noise while slipping out of the portrait hole.
The Quidditch pitch was exactly what I needed. The grass crunched under my feet and the air was fresh and crisp. A thin layer of mist laid atop the field, rolling in plumes as I walked toward the shed.
Barely anyone knows my secret. I love to fly. The feel of the wind in my hair, the roar of air in my ears, everything about it is appealing. I began when I was in my second year. The summer before, I implored my friend, Emmeline Vance, to teach me to fly. Her brother had been on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts, resulting in a Quidditch-obsessed family. She invited me over that summer and showed me the ropes. Putting aside all modesty, I was pretty good.
A thrill of adrenaline rushed through me as I charmed the locked shed open. After rummaging around for several moments, I finally found it—the box of Quidditch necessities. I grabbed the Snitch and grinned. Its golden surface was smooth, flawless and silver wings still folded in its side. Pocketing the Snitch, I began walking along the side of the field. As to not wake any of the Hogwarts inhabitants, I quietly summoned my broom and waited.
I had gotten my broomstick in the third year. That summer, I worked on neighborhood chores vigorously, earning me enough Muggle money to convert into wizard money and buy a cheap broom. Every year I practice Quidditch in the summer alongside Emmeline and, of course, her aggressive brother. Soon after beginning practice with me, the Vances learned that I had the fastest reflexes, so made me the Seeker. I tried my hand at all of the other positions, but they soon realized that Seeking was the job for me.
Hearing the faint whistle of my broom, I slightly crouched in preparation to jump on. As it came whizzing by me, I grabbed the handle and hoisted myself on while soaring through the air. I reached into my pocket, fingering the smooth sphere. Finally, I brought it out and flung it into the air. It fell for several feet and then its wings began to waver. The next second, it disappeared into oblivion.
I waited two minutes before speeding off to find it. A feeling of ease flowed through me as I raced to find it. Little did I know that someone was watching me.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
The sun started to break through the cleft of the mountains. I did not want anyone to see me, so I caught the Snitch one last time before landing on the grass. Sighing contentedly, I trudged through the dew to put away the snitch.
The box was gone.
Crap.