NEVER FORGET: PROLOGUE
(Sequel to Never Say I Love You)
A/N: I'm… baaaaaaack! Did you guys miss me? Well, the wait is over. Here is the much awaited sequel you've all been asking for! I hope that I do deliver. Without further ado, here's the Prologue. And nope, I still own nothing but the plot. And any OC's you may stumble upon. This switches to 3rd person POV, by the way. :) –Chesca
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London, August 1993
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A nondescript yellow cab pulled over a cobbled street, next to a dingy-looking bookshop. A beautiful, regal-looking woman stepped out, her waist-long raven hair gracefully falling forward across her shoulders as she did. Her curious emerald eyes surveyed the spot right next to the bookshop with a mixture of apprehension and wonder. She straightened her navy ankle-length wrap dress as she turned back towards the taxi behind her.
"Seraph, come on out,"
"Coming mom," a soft voice came, as a boy of eleven stepped out of the vehicle. He looked almost exactly like his mother, except for a few small details; his ebony hair was a few shades darker, his lips were of the same fiery red, but thinner, and the most peculiar thing was his nose – it seemed to be too big for his small face –but he liked it nonetheless. So did his mother; she said it made him look all the more handsome.
The cab pulled away as the mother and son pair walked towards what seemed to be a normal-looking pub. Well, as normal as it could be for a pub that appeared only to magic-folk.
Seraph glanced at the sign up above as he and his mother entered the establishment. The boy frowned thoughtfully.
'The Leaky Cauldron?'
On the other side of the door was a small, normal-looking space indeed. But those that occupied it were far from being so –the green-skinned woman sitting at the darkest corner, eating raw liver, was the most odd to Seraph's wandering eyes. He stared at the spectacle until he felt his mother nudge him.
"Come Seraph, we need to get your things."
The little boy nodded and followed his mother towards the bar, where a wizened old man was wiping glasses with a dish cloth. The man turned to them with a smile.
"Anything I can get for you –"
"Callista de Noir. This is my son, Seraph. We were wondering if you could tell us how to get to the alley? We've just arrived from California," the woman explained. The old barman nodded.
"The name's Tom," He turned to the boy. "Starting at Hogwarts this year, little man?" The boy nodded.
"A little black owl came into my room on my 11th birthday, sir! I am excited to go!" he said eagerly. His mother smiled at his antics. Tom on the other hand, let out a chuckle.
"Very well then, let's get you on to Diagon Alley!"
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France, August 1993
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A man lay on a sterile hospital bed, oblivious to the world. His pale green gown blended in perfectly with the linens covering his unconscious body.
A woman in pale pink robes came in, ready to begin her task; one that she had been doing for the last decade. She took out a cherry wand and cast a cleaning charm on the sleeping man. The man fidgeted and opened his eyes. Sapphire blues met the healer's chocolate ones.
"Eloise," the man croaked. "Must you wake me up every morning by tickling me with those infernal cleaning charms of yours?"
The healer, Eloise, smiled at the man.
"Good morning Mr. Black. How are you feeling today?"
The man smiled sadly.
"I'd be okay if I could feel my legs and walk again. Better if I could remember anything else other than my presumed last name engraved on this stupid locket I have." He gestured to the heavy golden necklace around his neck that was found with him when his body was said to be discovered by rescuers in a "muggle bombing".
Eloise nodded in understanding.
"The spell damage was severe, but we are doing all we can to help you walk again. The memory loss seems to be temporary, but we are hopeful that you will regain it all gradually, in due time."
The man called Mr. Black, sighed.
"Eleven wasted years."
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Scotland, August 1993
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The dungeons were always cold all year round. It was ideal and preferable, especially when dealing with five to seven bubbling cauldrons all at the same time, on a daily basis.
It was one such day in August that Severus Snape was to be found bottling Calming Draughts and Dreamless Sleep potions for the Hospital Wing. The calmness of the dark space under the lake soothed him. And that, he needed as much as he could get, for in a few days, those brats would be back again from their summer break –ready to torment him with their mere existence. He hated teaching those dunderheads, really. They had no appreciation for the delicate art of Potions Making. But, there was nothing else he could do. For eleven years, the dungeons of Hogwarts had been his home, his safe-haven, his life.
The Potions Master sighed as he finished labeling his last batch of potions for the Hogwarts Infirmary. He flexed his neck muscles as he rubbed the sore spot. He decided that he would just deliver the potions after dinner.
It was late in the afternoon when he exited his personal lab and made his was to his quarters. A fire was blazing in the hearth, no doubt the work of house elves. He grabbed a decanter of scotch and a clear shot glass, before making his way towards a worn-out, but comfortable couch near the fire.
A few shots later, Severus Snape was oblivious to the world.
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An eleven-year old Severus Snape sat by his lonesome on a swing, his pale, knobby knees and legs dangled from the wooden seat. His little hands grasped the chains that suspended him from the heavy metal bar above.
"Hello," a soft voice called from behind him. Little Severus twisted in his seat without letting go of the chains. He found himself staring at a pair of lovely emerald eyes.
"Lily?"
The auburn waves bounced against rounded shoulders as she made her way towards him.
"Alright, Sev?"
Severus stared at his childhood friend and once love interest. One hand let go of the chains and reached out to touch her. But before his hand even connected, Lily's fiery mane dissolved into long, raven locks.
"Master?" The little girl asked.
Severus pulled his hand away.
"Who - who are you?"
The emerald eyes of the now, strange girl, sparkled; but she did not say a thing.
"Who are you?" The young Severus asked again. He felt like he knew this girl, but he could not very well remember her name. He reached out for her.
But once again, even before he could get to touch her skin, the hair changed.
The raven darkened to inky ebony and shortened to a boyish crop. The eyes remained emerald, although the lips thinned out a bit –and the nose, oddly, began to resemble Severus' own.
"Hello," the voice shifted just a bit. Severus was now looking at a little boy. He let go of the other chain in his hand and stepped down from the swing.
"Who are you?"
Severus found that his voice deepened to the baritone of his adulthood –his physical form followed suit. Severus Snape, the man, crouched down in front of the boy. He gently let his fingers brush the boy's cheeks. This time, the image did not morph; the little boy remained.
"Who are you?" Severus heard himself ask, as he stared into those brilliant green irises he found himself drawn into.
The little boy smiled, the smallest of smiles.
"I am you."
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Severus woke up with a start. The fire in the grate was still burning brightly as he shifted in the couch. A bottle of scotch lay on its side, on the floor, empty.
"Merlin," he rubbed his temples as he felt the beginnings of a headache come on. Gently, he eased himself out of the couch and made his way towards the bathroom. A dose of headache and sobering potion later, the thirty-three year old Potions Master found himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, frowning thoughtfully.
For a man with too many horrors in his past, he rarely dreamed –or have a nightmare, for that matter –but when he did, it was almost always that dream.
Lily… the strange girl… and the little boy. When he spoke to the first two, he has his eleven year old self. But when he spoke to the boy, he becomes his adult self; The dream would start and end similarly every time, too: with him in that chained, wooden swing, and with the little boy answering his query.
"I am you."
Emerald eyes softly whisper, before the vision ended and Severus finds himself waking up.
He sighed as he ran his hands under the cold tap and splashed water against his pale face. For eleven years, he contemplated on what could be the significance of that dream. And for eleven years, he found himself unable to do so -it was most peculiar. The vision would just be pushed back far into his mind until he dreamed of it again, like almost an afterthought.
It was, and has been, a never-ending cycle.
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A/N: Sooooo? What do you think? The next chapter would be longer and would officially begin our story. IN the mean time, I would really appreciate feedback and any suggestions you may have. Thanks for reading! -Chesca