AN: A hero of mine, Markus Zusak, once said to me something along the lines of: When you write to please other people, it doesn't mean as much. Just sit down and start writing, write for you; everything else will follow along.
Of course, that was paraphrased; I can't remember his exact wording. But that's what I'm doing here. Just let it floooow…. I'm not usually a huge fan of Snarry…. It just happened. 0.o I finished and I was like, wtf was that? I don't remember writing that!
Btw, I'm sorry I've been gone so long. I didn't even write this one recently, it was lying in my files…. Sammi… meh…
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter nya nya.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
This is the worst part here. The empty page. It just stares at you with its empty, un-feeling gaze. Mocking you. Mocking me.
But she always loved it. It was her favorite part, she used to say. All the possibilities.
She always loved how she said she could take an empty page and fill it with something remarkable. I told her all she ever seemed to fill it with was the twelve uses of dragon's blood.
That made her smile. She said it was the idea that counted. But that smile, that smile kept me going. It was my world. The only thing that made me want to live; I only made it through the night to wake up in the morning and see her wonderful smile.
When she smiled, her eyes would light up; they were the most beautiful shade of green. Not quite like emeralds I'd say, something more reminiscent of a Japanese beetle. Slightly iridescent. But beautiful. So, remarkably beautiful. I'd go as far as to say they were impossibly beautiful.
That simple perfection was my life.
So I supposed it may suffice to say that when I saw them, for the very first time (well, not the first actually, I had met him as a baby); when I saw those beautiful green eyes again, after ten years- ten years of having not, I wasn't sure what to feel.
I was struck down by two different emotions at once.
The first- pain. Those eyes brought me back to the last time I'd seen them. Filled with tears and pleading with me to help save her baby's life. The next I heard any news of her, she was gone.
The next- love. Love for those beautifully sparkling eyes. Afterwards it bothered me a little, realizing I was feeling that romantic wonder for an eleven year old boy. Well, a lot actually. It bothered me a lot.
For several reasons. But again, there were two main problems.
This boy was a student. Twenty years my junior, and under my care. Completely illegal. That shock of black hair, intelligently flashing glasses… Beautiful.
The boy was absolutely gorgeous. In a way completely different from Lily. And yet… Very much the same as well. He had his father's face, his father's body.
But he had his mother's eyes. Her beautiful eyes…