A/N: Yo. I just wrote this for no specific reason- I got my hands on the keyboard and I just started typing....and I kept typing....until I wrote a ficlet, which is something I haven't done in forever. So, read please! And review too, my dears, because I wrote most of this while listening to Queen (the best band that ever LIVED) and it's hard to judge something you wrote when your brain is thinking about Freddie Mercury instead of Lily, Remus, Snape, Or Jamesie-poo. Alright, well, here it be!
I have found, in the amount of time that I have spent in this world, that I have never experienced a feeling quite like the one I experienced the night I danced with her.
She, within her own self, was everything that could be considered bright and beautiful about this world. She, within herself, held all the things which I think- I think I could be in love with.
She doesn't realize this, of course. Being who she is, she quite obviously has no idea that everything she does, everything she is, has the ability to drive me up one wall and down the other, spending sleepless nights just thinking about that one question she asked me yesterday, that one look I saw her give to someone else. How does she do it?
Of course, I know that it's quite wrong for me to feel this way. Wrong to talk to her the way I do, wrong the amount of space I leave between us (which isn't at all much) wrong the way that I feel so deeply about one person who I must never, ever show more than a carefully maintained friendship with.
This friendship of which I speak is like a tiny, delicate garden, if you'll excuse my simile (Sirius, of course, would insist it was a metaphor- really, he should have read that dictionary I gave him in third year instead of chucking it in the fire and hexing me). A garden created solely because of a secret of mine that she discovered and kept- a garden that is, I must say, quite as I must appear to others- crisp, cold, and nothing worth much note.
We didn't used to be like that. We were very close, as close as you could get, without loving. Well, I mean, I did- I do- love her, but isn't that obvious? How couldn't I?
It was only once James started to pursue her that we were forced to grow apart. Forced because she could no longer be with me without a dark haired boy jumping out of the bushes and being obnoxious, and I could not one night without said dark haired boy questioning me endlessly about everything about her- from her favorite color to her nighttime routine to how she like her meat (which, it might be interesting to note, was impossible to say, as she was a vegetarian)
And so we were apart.
And when she could no longer resist him- that which we all knew was inevitable- it happened.
She loved him.
And maybe you have heard- or seen, or felt- that when the one you love is happy, you, too, are happy. And so I was. I was happy. At least that's what I told myself. Over, and over, and over again, until the words "I am happy" were practically scarred into my brain, in every thought and emotion, it became instinct to tell myself this.
I am happy.
And so we are gathered here today, and I watched the couple wed in holy matrimony.
And I was happy, because that's what I told myself.
But then came time for dancing and, of course, she had to dance with me.
She had to be bright and beautiful and everything I remembered her as, but a thousand times more resplendent.
She had to be kind, she had to apologize for our growing apart, she had to thank me- for, she said, "Being so wonderfully Remus".
And she had to kiss me.
As a friend, she kissed me. And then she left my arms and kissed James with an emotion so deep and so real that it brought back every inkling of guilt I had ever felt in loving her.
I will be happy. I told myself I am happy.
It's utter crap, but still I am happy. I will be happy.
&&&&&&
Ah. I remember her.
She was that red headed girl, right? I had forgotten...
Of course I'm being sarcastic, you idiot fool. How could I ever forget Lily Evans, the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts? Queen of Gryffindor and chief consort of James Potter.
This girl, this girl is possibly the very worst thing that happened to me at Hogwarts. This is saying something, as it is rivaled closely with that- that prank, if you can even call it that, that her idiot boyfriend- or, husband, I suppose- and his friend pulled with the werewolf.
Speaking of the werewolf, I am completely sure that he was completely enamored by her.
Enamored. That certainly wouldn't describe how I felt about the mudblood.
Ha. I remember calling her that. Mudblood. A nickname from such a long time ago. Fond memories. Really. But luckily, "Snivellus" never died out. I would have been heartbroken had Black dropped that darling little nickname- the one that I had thought, after 13 years, I would never have to hear again.
Oh yes, Lily Evans. Of course.
Lily Evans was one of the very few people at this world that was actually worth all the talking about and popularity she received. She was a person so naïve that she didn't realize all of first year that she shouldn't speak to me. She hadn't been informed of the most noble and ancient code of Gryffindor and Slytherin, and when she did, she seemed to completely disregard it.
I seem to recall that she tried to say hello to me once a day and have a conversation with me at least once a week. Always, she addressed me as "Severus", and she always looked like she was trying very hard to make me respond. I never did respond, actually. I don't know that, if I did it again, I would change anything. But more than once, years and years later, I do feel something- I don't know what- when I think of a flicker of pain that would go through her very green eyes.
After that year, she no longer bothered. I'd tell myself that this was better, and I did, in fact, believe this.
But here is a small story that nobody in Gryffindor will ever tell you. They probably don't know it happened, and I prefer it that way.
One night I was studying for OWLs when Evans walked into the library. She looked around, I believe, and every other table was filled. Other than one that Black, Potter, Lupin, and that bumbling tagalong Pettigrew were all sitting at- but as Potter was leering at her, she avoided it and instead chose to sit at the table I was at. Of course, I was by myself. I tend to be alone, and, again, I prefer it that way.
We were silent for a few minutes, and then something came flying at my head. It was what looked to be a crumpled ball, and I realized a moment later that it was a note that had been flung from Potter to Evans.
"Oy, Snivelly! Didn't oil up that paper beyond comprehension, did you? Only, it was meant for Evans!" shouted a voice.
I turned around and looked into the eyes of the most obnoxious Mr.Potter. I sneered, and didn't even bother to tell him what an idiot he was. From the bags and quills sent chasing after them a moment later by Madame Pince, I didn't need to waste my breath.
Evans was eying the note, so I relinquished it and she read over the contents quickly.
"Prick." She muttered, and incinerated it with the poke of her wand.
I couldn't help but let out a hollow laugh.
"What did he say?"
Evans stared at me for a moment, as this was the first civil thing I'd ever said to her that wasn't at a prefect meeting.
She quickly regained her composure, however.
"Something about knickers." She said grimly. I dared not probe further.
I nodded. "Typical Potter," I replied, "Always knows the way to a girl's heart."
She laughed lightly, then we were silent. Finally, Evans slammed her book shut.
"Why didn't you ever talk to me?"
"What are you talking about, Evans?" I sighed, pretending I didn't know what she was talking about. Of course, I knew perfectly well.
"You know perfectly well." She retorted. "First year. You never once spoke to me, and you have never spoken to me since."
"Because I'm in Slytherin and you're in Gryffindor." I said, giving the most obvious reason.
"Who cares about all that hogwash?" she hissed, "I thought better of you, Severus."
"Why do you care whether I talk to you or not, Evans?" I asked in an exasperated way, trying not to let on I'd been wondering for five years.
"Because..." she trailed off for a moment "Because I find you terribly intriguing, and I've always wondered what it was like to be you."
"Not as glamorous as you seem to think." I snarled "But I'm glad to see you find me such an interesting study."
She glared at me. "You know I didn't mean it like that."
"Yes, well..." I trailed off and looked at her. Her green, green eyes were very nice, and I found myself saying, as though in a daze "I think you're interesting as well."
I winced. How utterly and completely stupid. Unlike myself entirely. But it made her eyes light up and she smiled at me, and I realized, at that exact moment, I am happy.
The conversation we had that day was ruined by a fiasco a few days after OWLs, when I called her a mudblood. After that, she never spoke to me again, besides at prefect and later, Order of the Phoenix meetings.
Looking back, it was all rather sad, I suppose. I think that sometimes I would actually feel something akin to remorse. But really, there's only one thing I actually remember and I actually feel something about every time. Very strange, and it doesn't make sense to me at all, but I think about making Lily Evans ( I can't stand calling her Lily Potter- the sound of it makes me sick) smile, and then I remember that all because of that one little thing I was happy.
And so when I remember, I am happy.
&&&&&&
My wife, Lily Eva- no, Lily Potter.
It sounds very nice to me. I mean, every time I hear that, I get shivers up and down my spine. I get goose bumps and I feel like I might, just possibly be sick.
....Ok, so I've thrown up twice in the last half hour.
Look at it from my perspective; the most pretty, popular girl when we went to Hogwarts is marrying me.
Perhaps that's not good enough to impress you-let me try again.
The girl- not, the woman- in the next room over is the same one who I've been in love with since I was 14 years old. She was the one who I gave my first kiss to, and she's just.... she is who she is, and quite honestly, if we spend the rest of our lives together, I'd only be upset because it isn't long enough.
I really hope she knows that, because if she decides not to marry me at the last minute....
......I'm about to throw up again.....
Ok, even I have to say, this is disgusting.
Padfoot says I'm being ridiculous, but now I'm trying to subconsciously channel Lily and apologize for every time I've ever made sarcastic comments about her knickers.
Because, you know, I actually do have great respect for her knickers. They're...you know....her knickers.
But alright, I'll try not to concentrate on that right now.
Ok, so now I'm standing at the altar....
.....where is she?????
Oh. Oh.
Oh. My. God.
I am seriously marrying a goddess.
And not just because her hair frames her face at a perfect angle, or because her emerald eyes are uncannily bright, and she's smiling at me like she's never going to look at another man again.
But that does help.
No, it's because of the way I notice her bite her lip when everyone stares at her. The way she's trying very hard to contain herself when she already told me that, and I quote, that she'd "much rather jump into the charming groom's arms and run away laughing like maniacs." (Because, you know, that's the sort of stuff Lily lives for). The little human things that are so irresistible that they can't be as real as they seem.
And now I'm mumbling something about sickness and health and suddenly my lips are on hers and there's only the feeling that I am happy.
The thousand thoughts I had before about knickers and barf are gone and replaced, intoxicatingly with my wife Lily.
Oh, God, I am so happy.
And because I have her, I will probably be happy the rest of my life.
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