Author's Note----- Ah! Another wonderful fic! In a big way this fic is
connected to SECRET LONGING OF LUPIN (Which wasn't so good) and A
Bittersweet Memoir. This is only the first chapter. The title of this fic
is based on a song by Led Zeppelin. I don't take credit for the song or the
band. Most of the writing in this fic was inspired by The Cure. I wanna
know if you want more before I update this, and if I don't get any reviews
on this one, the story will cease to continue and I'll quit the project
altogether. I don't want to do that, but I'd like to know who reads my work
or not. Plus I'm bored. So I really need to know if you want more.
Thankees!
Disclaimer----- Blah, blah, blah. These characters do not belong to me. They are the product of Miss J.K. Rowling and shall remain exactly what they are. This was not written for profit. So don't sue those with no cash.
DAZED AND CONFUSED
The world is constantly changing. There are often things that happen that you don't really expect. Sometimes things happen so swiftly and abruptly that their passing often means an odd sort of feeling; the indescribable yet perfectly articulate impression that you've somehow withstood hurricanes and monsoons of the greatest caliber, but with nothing to show for it. Nothing but battle scars. I have such a scar. But the said scar is not visible in the slightest, but incomparably deep, sadly permanent. And these hurricanes, these monsoons that rush passed you and take everything you have but leave you with not but a deep, crippling gash on your conscience also give you a momentary feeling of numbness, a blissful state of confusion. I am dazed and ...confused.
Can you understand what I am talking about?
I can hardly expect that you do. Let me please give you some backing. I have a story to tell. Doubtless, you've heard this many a time. But I'm truly honest. Hear me out. I want to talk. I want you to listen. I need your comfort. I need your sympathy. Lend me your ear. I need your attention. Most of all I need your affection... Sirius.
Can you hear me out there? Can you taste my tears? Can you hear me when I say I need you? Do you know just how alone I am?
This is pointless.
I'm just rambling, aren't I? I'm not talking to Sirius. He can't hear me. I can't love him anymore.
I can't go on like this. The rambling must stop. I'll make this coherent. I'll make this understandable and hopefully neat. I want you to hear me like you've never heard me before. The story must be told. The tale must begin.
I don't suppose I can even begin to depict to you, the eager listener, whoever you may be, God, Sirius, stranger, whoever, the occurrences that have taken place in my lifetime, in my thirty plus years of worldly experience.
Well.... Perhaps I can. I might have before.
...
Yes, yes I have before. I've recounted my wonderful affair with Sirius before. But it seems as though I'm in a world of confusion, now. Everything's a daze. I can't concentrate on one particular thing for too long, because these thoughts and regrets of my past actions are eating away at my sanity.
Straight out of an Edgar Allen Poe book it seems. I feel so Byronic. Such a horrible feeling. I want to fall asleep and never wake up.
Hmmm. I don't know what to think anymore. This has happened so swiftly that it possibly can't be real, it can't! Such terrible, terrible things have happened. A series of unfortunate events happening each one after the other. It seems as though the ground has crumbled beneath my feet and I'm falling down into the abyss of confusion and utter peril that is my life now.
My dear Sirius... our dear Sirius.... No, no, this isn't happening, this isn't REAL!
And to think we never spoke to each other– really, truly spoke to each other after that one night where our most distant and discrete secrets flooded forth from our tongues, into each other through our brushing lips. That night where we touched upon those inner labyrinths of emotion that were secreted away for shame of lost pride and masculinity. But it could have gone much farther. It could have gone much deeper than it already had been. Just thinking how much more of a deeper understanding we could have had for each other, how much MORE we could have explored things if we hadn't let our pride get in the way makes me so... so... helpless and scared and angry. All at the same time.
But maybe I was a bloody fool to believe that Sirius would remember that night, that one night we spent together, only so many moments. I was a fool to think that such things could be carried between us so casually.
I was a fool to not approach him about it, for fear of rejection.
And now he's gone.
He's in a place where he might as well be dead.
He's being kept in a virtual Hell for something he possibly could NOT have done! And James... oh God, James... and Lilly, and their innocent little boy, Sirius' very Godson, James' pride and joy, Harry... and Peter, poor Peter! Why did it have to be them?! I would have gladly given my life to know that they were all safe. I would have handed myself over to the Dark Lord to secure their safety.
But they are all gone. And there is nothing I can do about it. Not now. Not ever.
Poor Harry... perhaps never to see a single shred of the Wizarding world courtesy of that awful aunt and uncle of his. I can't concentrate at all! This rush of immediate guilt is threatening to crush me beneath it massive consuming weight.
I feel so alone.
I feel like breaking down into tears.
I've done that so many times it seems a regular duty.
Wake up in the morning. Look out at the gray sky with fatigued eyes. Force some cold, sour tea down my throat. Stare at the wall for hours. Breakdown in tears, usually sobbing myself to sleep.
Every other day something new would happen. Owls arrived from old friends and co-workers seeking to console me, or visits from various members of The Order in person. Usual conversations consisted of:
"Hello, Remus. How are you feeling?"
"Just fine..."
"Dumbledore would have come himself, you know, but..."
"I understand." Dumbledore was always occupied with something. It didn't actually matter what it was, it was just always mandatory that he attend to it.
Sometimes they actually broke down and talked to me about Sirius, Peter, and the Potters. They'd usually simper things like:
"I know you were so close to them. I'm so sorry that you're the only one left..."
Or...
"James and Lilly were wonderful people... and that Sirius one clever and dedicated man... Merlin have mercy."
Or...
"I know, we all miss the Potters. We never knew that it would happen to them. We weren't prepared. You must be in a dreadful state of mind." I was.... Heavy hands were then always placed upon my shoulder to console me. And it always ended the same. I would heave a little sigh. "I can't change anything. The best I can do is move on."
But after I say it I always have this unsettling feeling. As if something weren't at rest. As if this weren't over.
I still bring myself to think about Sirius. I think about how to change things. How I could have changed things between Sirius and I. We could have shared a life together. We could have been lovers. But after that one night, I'm afraid, our pride invariably got in the way. And so we never continued on with that sort of relationship. And now it's too late.
I took comfort in other people during that period. I was desperate for affection. Sirius could not supply that. We couldn't supply that to each other mainly because Sirius and I had never spoken to each other about it after that night. I never tried to approach him about it, he never approached me. The entire ordeal was left to the fates and nothing more. Either that or it was placed high upon a shelf, never to be bothered again, to sit and collect dust.
So there was silence. Silence as we never communicated in the way we so wished, silence as I slowly sunk inside. There was no conflict, however. It was all silence and nothing more, during that sixth year at Hogwarts, merely one year after that one night we never spoke of. The sixth year at Hogwarts. The year I thought I was in love with Severus Snape.
Even now I still think he's quite handsome, wherever he may be. His skin was never that sallow, nor his hair ever really greasy, or his nose quite as hooked as my comrades would comment daily.
For a Slytherin he was quite a stunner in his younger years. That I am not ashamed of admitting. Hell, he was beautiful.
Well, to me at least. But I think I always had a fondness of the pallid and pasty look, myself. He did often look like he'd popped mysteriously out of an old horror novel, complete with vampires and mad scientists.
Now that I think of it, the distinctness of that pale and pallid look only belonged to Severus at the time. He was thin, with towering height, though you couldn't really define his exact height due to his habitual tendency to slouch while walking, and sparkling onyx eyes. I'll never quite get over those onyx eyes, not as long as I live, because they DEFINED Severus down to the last detail. It wasn't his full mouth, or those high, definable cheekbones or that long stringy black hair falling limply into his face (though they are quite pleasant features) that really described him. It was his eyes. You know, people say that to look into someone's eyes is to see their soul. If that were true than Severus would be, doubtless, baron of feeling. You could look into his eyes and see nothing, yet still carry hope that a few tattered shreds of him were left. You could see those broken pieces of him swimming and glinting in the darkness of those onyx pupils, little glittering slivers of a past gone wrong, little sparkling shards of truth, something that wasn't hidden, at last.
This was all mainly because Severus, to me, was an absolute mystery. From the very first time I saw those glittering slivers in his eyes I knew that he was something I had to figure out. I think I may have made a game of it, getting inside his head. Because Severus was just so damned intriguing. Maybe I wanted a different explanation for the person I came to know as Snivellus. Maybe I wanted an excuse to ignore Sirius for a while. As they say, love is very fickle nonsense once you realize your infatuation was built on hatred, or lust, or revenge, or merely bitterness.
I seem to be rambling again. I mustn't do that. I have more self-control than that. I know I do. Recent events have nothing to do with this habit of rambling. They are no excuse. My sincerest apologies to you, the unidentified listener.
Yes, I was talking about Severus, wasn't I? An absolute mystery if there ever was one, that boy. For a while I was captivated and obsessed. I wanted to know everything about him.
So began the Study Of Severus Snape.
I began to stalk him in the halls whenever I gained the chance. I noticed that he was pale, bird-boned perhaps and moved in such a way as to suggest the alert, self-possessed twitchiness of a spider. His manner was that of something quiet and reserved. Barely a word escaped his pale lips, and when he did choose to speak it was always something quiet, unless he was angry or annoyed. But I didn't mind. Understand that person who was ridiculed as much as Severus must have suffered bitterly, and for that turned bitter himself. It's a common thing.
Severus was never really a bold person. He seldom made eye contact with any other human being around him, eyes usually cast downward, observing the ground quite intently. It was so much like me that I could hardly laugh. The floor can be a fascinating thing if you stare at it long enough. Cobblestone is something you shouldn't take for granted, really.
But when he did look up it was often a shy, unsure look. He reminded me of a caged animal at times. It made him all the more mysterious.
I bet this is an obvious shock to you, listener, if you do know who Severus was. But that was put aside for the moment. After all, Severus and I had a few select similarities.
We were both outcasts.
Perhaps in different ways and categories, but we were still outcasts. So I immediately took a liking to him. In a way I had to; in a way he was like me. Do unto others as you do unto yourself. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't.
Usually I had double Potions, or Care Of Magical Creatures with Severus, so I never missed an opportunity to attempt a conversation with him (bold move, Moony.) or take sidelong glances at him from a distance. At rare moments he would catch my eye and quickly look away as if I'd slapped him or threatened him, or he may have glared, black eyes flashing as if to say "Get away from me...". Other times he seemed not to notice. But I think I should know better. Severus always knew if someone was watching him. Always.
There were only a few occasions in which I was near him in one of the many Hogwarts corridors when he coincidentally dropped his books or a quill and I would tentatively, nervously assist him. Again, that glare, as if I'd done something horrible, as if this weren't my place (though now that I look back on it, it truly did appear as though I were stalking him, which I was, but it wasn't supposed to be that evident.), but there was something more to it. Those glittering slivers of Truth swimming in the onyx pools of his eyes whispered to me something of amazement, something of disbelief and the voice steadily grew in volume as it moved to the slight crease between his ebony brows. I was caught in the moment, as I always was, and I think he was to. But then reality would set in, and we would both realize that we were in a hall surrounded by people, and he would narrow his eyes apprehensively, whip his hair away from his eyes and skulk off in the other direction.
Encounters like this were scarce, though, in their curtness. At first this was all innocent. At first it was sort of a game. At first it was a kind- hearted (or so, I thought) attempt to get closer to an individual; whom I had something in common with. But, like a psycho mystery novel or a teenage self-help book (I have a tiny habit of collecting muggle books... little obsession of mine since I was eleven years old), it turned into quite an obsession. Little by little, day by day, no matter how gallantly I fought it (which wasn't very gallantly, to say the least), I began to observe how commonly attractive he really was.
I watched him in the Potions classroom while he measured his ingredients skillfully and poured them slowly into his cauldron. His hands moved in a very precise way. Exact, but graceful at the same time, small and white, with fine, delicate fingers and long clean nails. There was something strangely feminine about his hands, exceedingly exquisite for a boy's hands. They looked a bit pampered, though I could plainly tell that he cared little to nothing about his hands.
A lot of us knew about his obsession. It was very plain, very obvious, his fondness of the Dark Arts. It scared many off. But it didn't affect me. Severus had the power, but not the whim to use it, much less harness the idea of having power. You could plainly tell that Severus couldn't hurt a fly.
I would watch him on lazy Saturday afternoons in the spacious Hogwarts lawn near the edge of the lake. He often settled near or under one particularly large oak tree, busy brooding, or absorbed in a book. His dark eyes sometimes scanned the area, his eyes locking on no one until he saw me.
Our eyes would lock on each other for quite a while. I must have looked strange to him. Quiet boy with amber eyes and hair of the same tint sitting amongst a crowd of laughing friends, just staring at him. Not smiling. Not laughing. Just staring at him in awe. I've mentioned before how appealing he was. So I don't think that I should give you a reason as to why I had been staring at him. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. It was clear from the beginning. Well...
He distracted me from everything and everyone else. From the moment I saw his eyes I was quite truly reserved.
Does this sound like a love story? I'm sorry to say that it start out that way, it truly did, but love can be a very fickle thing. I mean, you kiss someone and suddenly you want to walk to down the isle with them. In that department, I am inclined to say, I am quite a fool.
It was lust at first sight, nothing more than an illusion of love from the very beginning. Because I was hurt. Because I was damaged. Because I wanted Sirius to love me but ultimately knew that he couldn't possibly harbor such an emotion for his best friend. For me. For Moony. I was torn.
And here is where my story, dear listener, really, truly, honestly, genuinely begins. This is where I must jump headfirst into the act of dictating this tale to you.
The Series Of Unfortunate Events is a chronicle by Lemony Snicket
(A.K.A Daniel Handler). I've been a recent fan, but I wanted to mention
the title in this fic. I do not own the books, though.
Thank you,
The Absynth Fairy
P.S.: Next chapter... if you want it... is coming soon.
Disclaimer----- Blah, blah, blah. These characters do not belong to me. They are the product of Miss J.K. Rowling and shall remain exactly what they are. This was not written for profit. So don't sue those with no cash.
DAZED AND CONFUSED
The world is constantly changing. There are often things that happen that you don't really expect. Sometimes things happen so swiftly and abruptly that their passing often means an odd sort of feeling; the indescribable yet perfectly articulate impression that you've somehow withstood hurricanes and monsoons of the greatest caliber, but with nothing to show for it. Nothing but battle scars. I have such a scar. But the said scar is not visible in the slightest, but incomparably deep, sadly permanent. And these hurricanes, these monsoons that rush passed you and take everything you have but leave you with not but a deep, crippling gash on your conscience also give you a momentary feeling of numbness, a blissful state of confusion. I am dazed and ...confused.
Can you understand what I am talking about?
I can hardly expect that you do. Let me please give you some backing. I have a story to tell. Doubtless, you've heard this many a time. But I'm truly honest. Hear me out. I want to talk. I want you to listen. I need your comfort. I need your sympathy. Lend me your ear. I need your attention. Most of all I need your affection... Sirius.
Can you hear me out there? Can you taste my tears? Can you hear me when I say I need you? Do you know just how alone I am?
This is pointless.
I'm just rambling, aren't I? I'm not talking to Sirius. He can't hear me. I can't love him anymore.
I can't go on like this. The rambling must stop. I'll make this coherent. I'll make this understandable and hopefully neat. I want you to hear me like you've never heard me before. The story must be told. The tale must begin.
I don't suppose I can even begin to depict to you, the eager listener, whoever you may be, God, Sirius, stranger, whoever, the occurrences that have taken place in my lifetime, in my thirty plus years of worldly experience.
Well.... Perhaps I can. I might have before.
...
Yes, yes I have before. I've recounted my wonderful affair with Sirius before. But it seems as though I'm in a world of confusion, now. Everything's a daze. I can't concentrate on one particular thing for too long, because these thoughts and regrets of my past actions are eating away at my sanity.
Straight out of an Edgar Allen Poe book it seems. I feel so Byronic. Such a horrible feeling. I want to fall asleep and never wake up.
Hmmm. I don't know what to think anymore. This has happened so swiftly that it possibly can't be real, it can't! Such terrible, terrible things have happened. A series of unfortunate events happening each one after the other. It seems as though the ground has crumbled beneath my feet and I'm falling down into the abyss of confusion and utter peril that is my life now.
My dear Sirius... our dear Sirius.... No, no, this isn't happening, this isn't REAL!
And to think we never spoke to each other– really, truly spoke to each other after that one night where our most distant and discrete secrets flooded forth from our tongues, into each other through our brushing lips. That night where we touched upon those inner labyrinths of emotion that were secreted away for shame of lost pride and masculinity. But it could have gone much farther. It could have gone much deeper than it already had been. Just thinking how much more of a deeper understanding we could have had for each other, how much MORE we could have explored things if we hadn't let our pride get in the way makes me so... so... helpless and scared and angry. All at the same time.
But maybe I was a bloody fool to believe that Sirius would remember that night, that one night we spent together, only so many moments. I was a fool to think that such things could be carried between us so casually.
I was a fool to not approach him about it, for fear of rejection.
And now he's gone.
He's in a place where he might as well be dead.
He's being kept in a virtual Hell for something he possibly could NOT have done! And James... oh God, James... and Lilly, and their innocent little boy, Sirius' very Godson, James' pride and joy, Harry... and Peter, poor Peter! Why did it have to be them?! I would have gladly given my life to know that they were all safe. I would have handed myself over to the Dark Lord to secure their safety.
But they are all gone. And there is nothing I can do about it. Not now. Not ever.
Poor Harry... perhaps never to see a single shred of the Wizarding world courtesy of that awful aunt and uncle of his. I can't concentrate at all! This rush of immediate guilt is threatening to crush me beneath it massive consuming weight.
I feel so alone.
I feel like breaking down into tears.
I've done that so many times it seems a regular duty.
Wake up in the morning. Look out at the gray sky with fatigued eyes. Force some cold, sour tea down my throat. Stare at the wall for hours. Breakdown in tears, usually sobbing myself to sleep.
Every other day something new would happen. Owls arrived from old friends and co-workers seeking to console me, or visits from various members of The Order in person. Usual conversations consisted of:
"Hello, Remus. How are you feeling?"
"Just fine..."
"Dumbledore would have come himself, you know, but..."
"I understand." Dumbledore was always occupied with something. It didn't actually matter what it was, it was just always mandatory that he attend to it.
Sometimes they actually broke down and talked to me about Sirius, Peter, and the Potters. They'd usually simper things like:
"I know you were so close to them. I'm so sorry that you're the only one left..."
Or...
"James and Lilly were wonderful people... and that Sirius one clever and dedicated man... Merlin have mercy."
Or...
"I know, we all miss the Potters. We never knew that it would happen to them. We weren't prepared. You must be in a dreadful state of mind." I was.... Heavy hands were then always placed upon my shoulder to console me. And it always ended the same. I would heave a little sigh. "I can't change anything. The best I can do is move on."
But after I say it I always have this unsettling feeling. As if something weren't at rest. As if this weren't over.
I still bring myself to think about Sirius. I think about how to change things. How I could have changed things between Sirius and I. We could have shared a life together. We could have been lovers. But after that one night, I'm afraid, our pride invariably got in the way. And so we never continued on with that sort of relationship. And now it's too late.
I took comfort in other people during that period. I was desperate for affection. Sirius could not supply that. We couldn't supply that to each other mainly because Sirius and I had never spoken to each other about it after that night. I never tried to approach him about it, he never approached me. The entire ordeal was left to the fates and nothing more. Either that or it was placed high upon a shelf, never to be bothered again, to sit and collect dust.
So there was silence. Silence as we never communicated in the way we so wished, silence as I slowly sunk inside. There was no conflict, however. It was all silence and nothing more, during that sixth year at Hogwarts, merely one year after that one night we never spoke of. The sixth year at Hogwarts. The year I thought I was in love with Severus Snape.
Even now I still think he's quite handsome, wherever he may be. His skin was never that sallow, nor his hair ever really greasy, or his nose quite as hooked as my comrades would comment daily.
For a Slytherin he was quite a stunner in his younger years. That I am not ashamed of admitting. Hell, he was beautiful.
Well, to me at least. But I think I always had a fondness of the pallid and pasty look, myself. He did often look like he'd popped mysteriously out of an old horror novel, complete with vampires and mad scientists.
Now that I think of it, the distinctness of that pale and pallid look only belonged to Severus at the time. He was thin, with towering height, though you couldn't really define his exact height due to his habitual tendency to slouch while walking, and sparkling onyx eyes. I'll never quite get over those onyx eyes, not as long as I live, because they DEFINED Severus down to the last detail. It wasn't his full mouth, or those high, definable cheekbones or that long stringy black hair falling limply into his face (though they are quite pleasant features) that really described him. It was his eyes. You know, people say that to look into someone's eyes is to see their soul. If that were true than Severus would be, doubtless, baron of feeling. You could look into his eyes and see nothing, yet still carry hope that a few tattered shreds of him were left. You could see those broken pieces of him swimming and glinting in the darkness of those onyx pupils, little glittering slivers of a past gone wrong, little sparkling shards of truth, something that wasn't hidden, at last.
This was all mainly because Severus, to me, was an absolute mystery. From the very first time I saw those glittering slivers in his eyes I knew that he was something I had to figure out. I think I may have made a game of it, getting inside his head. Because Severus was just so damned intriguing. Maybe I wanted a different explanation for the person I came to know as Snivellus. Maybe I wanted an excuse to ignore Sirius for a while. As they say, love is very fickle nonsense once you realize your infatuation was built on hatred, or lust, or revenge, or merely bitterness.
I seem to be rambling again. I mustn't do that. I have more self-control than that. I know I do. Recent events have nothing to do with this habit of rambling. They are no excuse. My sincerest apologies to you, the unidentified listener.
Yes, I was talking about Severus, wasn't I? An absolute mystery if there ever was one, that boy. For a while I was captivated and obsessed. I wanted to know everything about him.
So began the Study Of Severus Snape.
I began to stalk him in the halls whenever I gained the chance. I noticed that he was pale, bird-boned perhaps and moved in such a way as to suggest the alert, self-possessed twitchiness of a spider. His manner was that of something quiet and reserved. Barely a word escaped his pale lips, and when he did choose to speak it was always something quiet, unless he was angry or annoyed. But I didn't mind. Understand that person who was ridiculed as much as Severus must have suffered bitterly, and for that turned bitter himself. It's a common thing.
Severus was never really a bold person. He seldom made eye contact with any other human being around him, eyes usually cast downward, observing the ground quite intently. It was so much like me that I could hardly laugh. The floor can be a fascinating thing if you stare at it long enough. Cobblestone is something you shouldn't take for granted, really.
But when he did look up it was often a shy, unsure look. He reminded me of a caged animal at times. It made him all the more mysterious.
I bet this is an obvious shock to you, listener, if you do know who Severus was. But that was put aside for the moment. After all, Severus and I had a few select similarities.
We were both outcasts.
Perhaps in different ways and categories, but we were still outcasts. So I immediately took a liking to him. In a way I had to; in a way he was like me. Do unto others as you do unto yourself. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't.
Usually I had double Potions, or Care Of Magical Creatures with Severus, so I never missed an opportunity to attempt a conversation with him (bold move, Moony.) or take sidelong glances at him from a distance. At rare moments he would catch my eye and quickly look away as if I'd slapped him or threatened him, or he may have glared, black eyes flashing as if to say "Get away from me...". Other times he seemed not to notice. But I think I should know better. Severus always knew if someone was watching him. Always.
There were only a few occasions in which I was near him in one of the many Hogwarts corridors when he coincidentally dropped his books or a quill and I would tentatively, nervously assist him. Again, that glare, as if I'd done something horrible, as if this weren't my place (though now that I look back on it, it truly did appear as though I were stalking him, which I was, but it wasn't supposed to be that evident.), but there was something more to it. Those glittering slivers of Truth swimming in the onyx pools of his eyes whispered to me something of amazement, something of disbelief and the voice steadily grew in volume as it moved to the slight crease between his ebony brows. I was caught in the moment, as I always was, and I think he was to. But then reality would set in, and we would both realize that we were in a hall surrounded by people, and he would narrow his eyes apprehensively, whip his hair away from his eyes and skulk off in the other direction.
Encounters like this were scarce, though, in their curtness. At first this was all innocent. At first it was sort of a game. At first it was a kind- hearted (or so, I thought) attempt to get closer to an individual; whom I had something in common with. But, like a psycho mystery novel or a teenage self-help book (I have a tiny habit of collecting muggle books... little obsession of mine since I was eleven years old), it turned into quite an obsession. Little by little, day by day, no matter how gallantly I fought it (which wasn't very gallantly, to say the least), I began to observe how commonly attractive he really was.
I watched him in the Potions classroom while he measured his ingredients skillfully and poured them slowly into his cauldron. His hands moved in a very precise way. Exact, but graceful at the same time, small and white, with fine, delicate fingers and long clean nails. There was something strangely feminine about his hands, exceedingly exquisite for a boy's hands. They looked a bit pampered, though I could plainly tell that he cared little to nothing about his hands.
A lot of us knew about his obsession. It was very plain, very obvious, his fondness of the Dark Arts. It scared many off. But it didn't affect me. Severus had the power, but not the whim to use it, much less harness the idea of having power. You could plainly tell that Severus couldn't hurt a fly.
I would watch him on lazy Saturday afternoons in the spacious Hogwarts lawn near the edge of the lake. He often settled near or under one particularly large oak tree, busy brooding, or absorbed in a book. His dark eyes sometimes scanned the area, his eyes locking on no one until he saw me.
Our eyes would lock on each other for quite a while. I must have looked strange to him. Quiet boy with amber eyes and hair of the same tint sitting amongst a crowd of laughing friends, just staring at him. Not smiling. Not laughing. Just staring at him in awe. I've mentioned before how appealing he was. So I don't think that I should give you a reason as to why I had been staring at him. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. It was clear from the beginning. Well...
He distracted me from everything and everyone else. From the moment I saw his eyes I was quite truly reserved.
Does this sound like a love story? I'm sorry to say that it start out that way, it truly did, but love can be a very fickle thing. I mean, you kiss someone and suddenly you want to walk to down the isle with them. In that department, I am inclined to say, I am quite a fool.
It was lust at first sight, nothing more than an illusion of love from the very beginning. Because I was hurt. Because I was damaged. Because I wanted Sirius to love me but ultimately knew that he couldn't possibly harbor such an emotion for his best friend. For me. For Moony. I was torn.
And here is where my story, dear listener, really, truly, honestly, genuinely begins. This is where I must jump headfirst into the act of dictating this tale to you.
The Series Of Unfortunate Events is a chronicle by Lemony Snicket
(A.K.A Daniel Handler). I've been a recent fan, but I wanted to mention
the title in this fic. I do not own the books, though.
Thank you,
The Absynth Fairy
P.S.: Next chapter... if you want it... is coming soon.