Just a drabble of sorts. This has nothing to do with My other Story.
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The first time I saw him, I was five.
It was Halloween and from what I could remember, we visited my Grandparents grave every year on that day. My parents would huddle up in front of the tomb stone as my two older brothers would fool around behind my parents back. I always felt out of place, so I always stayed out of the way. I stood there staring up at the night sky, twinkling back at me. I didn't hear footsteps; I was alone then I wasn't. I looked up at the tall dark man next to me.
He was beautiful…to me anyway.
He looked down at me with his hard dark eyes, and brought his finger to his lips.
Telling me to be quiet.
I stayed quiet.
When my parents were finished, I was scared for the man next to me. They were going to see him.
They never did.
My Father was running with my Brother's their laughter ringing through the air. My Mother scooped me into her arms. I looked over her shoulder to see the man standing next to my Grandparents grave, watching our family walk away.
My whole life I knew who Severus Snape was. My Father made sure that my siblings and I knew who he was. I never knew what he looked like until I was thirteen. That day my life changed. The man that I saw that night so many years ago was no longer living. Then how come I saw him? Why did I have to see him? He was dead right?
I became obsessed with him by the time I was seventeen. I couldn't go a minute without thinking about him. My parents were both surprised when Every time I brought a boy home he was a Slytherin and had a likeness to the potions Master.
By the time I was twenty-five my Mother caught onto me. She had invited herself into my home without me being there. I came home to find her going through the boxes and boxes of things about him and his actual possessions. After that happened, I knew I had to stop.
She said it was Unhealthy. I said it was Love.
When I was 27, they let me out of 's. I was Harry Potter's sick child, The screw up. Several Months later I died.
No, I didn't kill myself. The sad part is I don't even know how I died.
I knew I was dead when I watched them lower my casket into the ground. Funny isn't it? I went to my own funeral. They laid me to rest next to my Grandparents. I didn't know what to do, I sat there all night, by my headstone. It was snowing but I couldn't feel the cold, I couldn't feel anything. I wasn't shocked either when his pale hand came into view. I looked up into those eyes, that had taken my heart so many years ago and grabbed his hand.
I was Home.
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