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Severus Snape sat on the cold hard floor of the darkened Great Hall with his back against the stone wall. A foul mood and general annoyance lay on his chest and buzzed in his head, as they constantly did for at least the past year—probably longer. The other 7th Year Slytherins lounged in his general area, some staring into space in a thoroughly bored manner, while others dozed in the sleeping bags that scattered the floor. Hogwarts was on a lock down. A large amount of Death Eater activity had been reported in Hogsmede that night and was apparently still occurring; Dumbledore thought it best to take immediate measures of enhanced security—thus, the presence of the entire student body in the Great Hall at one in the morning.
Snape clenched his jaw even tighter, his eyes focused unblinkingly on a spot across the Hall where the steps that led up to the professors' table met the corner of the wall. At this time that particular corner held six 7th Year Gryffindors, and Snape's hand curled around the edge of the nearest sleeping bag as he watched them.
The three boys were handsome, charming, and popular; the three girls—beautiful, smart, and admired. There probably wasn't a better looking group out there or, Snape thought bitterly, a closer one.
Remus Lupin sat with his back against one of the walls of the corner much in the same manner as Snape, though not nearly as stiffly. He had sandy brown, deep brown eyes, and Snape could just make out some of his scars creeping up his neck from under the collar of his shirt. Snape's lip curled into a distasteful sneer as he considered how Lupin had come by those scars. The marauder had a book propped up against his knee. It was closed, but he held it with of his fingers marking his spot between the pages. He was currently in a deep, and seemingly hushed, conversation with the girl next to him—Alice Franks. Alice sported what could only be described as a longish pixie cut and was the only girl in the school who could pull it off—though many had tried. Her round golden-brown eyes matched the soft feminine roundness of her face. As Snape watched, she flicked her dark brown bangs out of her eyes and leaned in closer to continue her conversation with Lupin. Some said that these two would make "such a cute couple," but Snape knew better. Alice was in a serious relationship with Frank Longbottom, who was in Auror training, and Lupin was never in a relationship. Period. It certainly wasn't for lack of admirers though, and Snape was sure Lupin's status was due to his condition. This fact was the only thing about him that Snape could grudgingly approve of.
Lounging against the base of the stairs was Sirius Black. He, as always, looked completely at ease with his dark hair falling casually into his face. What was unique to the majority of his peers was the serious look on his face, which he rarely wore, but which had, admittedly, grown I bit more common over the past months. Snape wondered if it had anything to do with the girl in his arms—Mary McDonald lay next to him, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder and one arm draped innocently over his waist. Her long brown hair splayed over his arm, which was wrapped around her holding her to his side. She was so still Snape might have thought she was sleeping, but for the fact that he could clearly see her blue eyes open and staring unblinkingly at the night sky in the ceiling. Every now and then Black would lean down and whisper something in her ear, and they might have a short exchange. Snape studied them more closely. They clearly weren't dating. Black, a notorious player, was never in anything that lasted more than a week or so, and Snape knew that Mary had started something with some Ravenclaw—Snape wondered where he was right now—a few months ago. And yet, there was clearly a stronger bond between them than just friendship. Snape shook his head slightly and turned once again to the true object of his nausea
Leaning against the second wall that made up the corner was James Potter, and on his lap with her back pressed up against his chest was, what Snape knew was or would ever be , the prettiest girl he had ever seen—Lily Evans. She had fallen asleep comfortably in his arms, and Snape felt a pang in his chest as he acknowledged this. He felt his hands ball into fists as Potter tightened his grip around her waist and shifted to pull her even closer to him. Her head rested against his shoulder, tilted slightly so that her nose lightly brushed the nape of his neck and Snape jealously thought that he was sure that Potter could feel her warm, even breath coming from her slightly parted lips on his skin. Potter lightly ran his fingers up her arm and began lightly playing with her long ginger hair. Snape's hand tightened around his wand, his anger and irritation rising. Potter had spent the last hour staring adoringly at her, and Snape didn't like it—he ignored the fact that he had spent the last hour staring at them.
How could this have happened? How could she be with him? She swore time and time again that he was an immature prat previous years! It was only a matter of time, he thought bitterly, before she fell for Potter's charms. Everyone did. Only Snape still saw what a bigheaded git he was! Thus, Snape took the time to relish the silent curses he was shooting at Potter—even if it was all only in his head for now.
Snape instinctively sat up a bit straighter when Lily stirred and her piercing green eyes fluttered open. She didn't sit up, but, much to Snape's dismay remained laying in Potter's arms, who, noticing that she was awake, grinned down at her before leaning forward and placing his lips briefly on hers. Snape thought his insides would explode from despair and fought to swallow back the bile that was rising in his mouth. He clasped his right hand over his left forearm.
One day, he swore, he would get revenge. And one day, he knew, he would get what he wanted.
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