Disclaimer: don't own anything.
How It All Began
Him
The breeze is cool on his skin, whisper-soft and feather-light like the hands of a loving mother that he has never had. His parents' marriage has been in tatters even before he was born, and he can't for the life of his remember one single time when they haven't been arguing or avoiding each other like the plague. The Snape family has never been a happy one, he muses scornfully, and he can't help the sad, lop-sided smile that tugs at his lips. He is but a child of nine, but he feels like he's at least twenty, and the irony washes over him in a heart-tugging wave of emotion that he can't quite describe, but he brushes it away like it doesn't matter. And for all he knows, perhaps it doesn't, to other people, but it has become such a crucial part of his existence that it seems impossible for him to ever be rid of it.
Her
She stomps her way through the field, the tall grass snagging at her dress and scratching her skin, but she doesn't waver in her stead, and before she knows, the greenery has bowed down in front of her, her trail of footsteps clear in the sunken earth. There are tears in her eyes, her fists clenched and her brows set in a deep frown, but there's also a spark of something else hidden behind the mist, something strong and loud and just wanting to break free. She doesn't think, doesn't remind herself of the pathetic excuse of a reason that made her storm out of her house in a whirlwind of anger and fury, and really, does she have to if it's making her so damn frustrated in the first place? She smirks, an action rare coming from her, and dabs at the water droplets obscuring her vision. If her friends had been here, they would have had a serious fit. "I mean, this is sweet little Lily Evans we're talking about. You know, the girl-next-door type that goes around the neighbourhood with a plate of freshly baked cookies?" – she mimics, her voice tinged with mockery and derision. She knows that her behaviour is, quite frankly, completely out of character, and she would have probably freaked the hell out and thrown a tantrum had this been a different situation, but put in her position once again and she is sure that she wouldn't have altered a single reaction.
Him
The sound of someone crashing through the undergrowth startles him from his self-pity. He's up on his feet in an instant, looking around for the perpetrator, and the girl in front of him blinks back at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity, regarding him with tear-filled eyes and an aura of intrigue so palpable that he has to physically stumble away from her because he's afraid, dammit, of her scrutiny, and damn the world if it laughs at him for being such a coward, but he's unprepared for the attention, and resolves to stand still and stare at her to try and drive her away.
Her
There's already someone in the clearing, a small boy she assumes is around her own age, and she freezes in her track, because she can't help the flip-flop of her heart as his cold, apathetic gaze rakes over her.
Him
Her red hair is a blazing flame trailing down her back, her dress white and pristine like the first tufts of snow in December. The gold embroidery, so beautiful and intricate and unlike anything he has seen before, whispers of wealth and high class, and with the gentle halo cast around her by the setting sun, it's as if he's meeting a princess from a fairy tale.
Her
He is an enigma, a mystery that she can't quite lay a finger on; to her, he is a creature from another world, an illusion lurking in the depths of the impenetrable shadows. He's ethereal and mystical in his own twisted little way, with his raven hair and dark, dark eyes that twirl and dance like the ocean, and she puts her hand out to try and see if he's really there and not just a ghost of her imagination.
Him
He watches as she stretches out her palm, tentatively at first and gaining confidence with each ticking second, and he presumes she's just being polite, but she does not seem to have any intention of giving up any time soon, and so he takes her hand and shakes it.
Her
"I'm Severus Snape. What's your name?"- he enquires, his voice just as composed and calculating as his eyes had been a few moments ago, but there's a hint of uncertainty in his tone, and she smiles at him, not because she feels compelled to do so, but because it has become a habit, and she grins wider as she feels his grip relax around her fingers.
"I am Lily Evans. Nice to meet you."
Written as a gift for a friend. Reviews are appreciated and welcomed.