Hey all!
This is yet another experiment for me. I've never written anything even remotely like this in the past, I don't think. And I don't even know where it came from! I intended this to be about Snape's hatred for Harry. DX
But I like how it was turning out, so I just went where it took me.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it. All rights to Harry Potter and affiliated products belong to Ms J.K. Rowling and the other proper entities.
Summary: Her eyes had been sparkling and excited. She'd looked pleased with herself when he had reached over and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her mouth lifting up into the crooked smile she'd used to flash at you when you were children.
Rating: K+
Genre: Angst/Romance
Warnings: None.
Her Eyes
You see her eyes.
You see her eyes, staring at you out of his face, and it makes you ill. Her glorious, glittering, glimmering emerald eyes. Those same eyes that used to look upon you with the naïve love of a little girl for her very best friend. Those eyes that she'd turned away from you to fix onto him, shining with the love of a woman for a man. Eyes that had coolly swept over you the last time you'd met, hardening with something you strongly suspected to be disdain. What had you been doing, to cause her to look at you like that that last time?
Oh, yes. You had been watching her and her new boyfriend.
Pity you hadn't hexed the bastard.
And the next thing you'd heard, she'd married the obnoxious prick. And then they'd had a baby. And then she was dead.
Dead.
Gone.
Forever.
And then this child, her child, fixed you with the same look of deepest loathing that she had once fixed on the child's own father, and you wanted to fall to pieces. But you were in a classroom full of eleven year-olds, so you held yourself together. You picked on the hopeless, stupid boy on the other side of the room for a distraction, hoping that in the meanwhile, this little boy that has her eyes in his face would turn away and not look at you.
It's the first time you've ever wanted those eyes to look away from you.
You remember—you'd once wanted to stare into those eyes forever. For longer than forever. You'd never wanted to look away. She had been the most beautiful thing on the face of the planet. Bright, bubbly. She'd glowed. Shined. It had hurt to look at her sometimes, knowing that she was beautiful and you were… not.
He had made sure you (and everyone else) knew that you were not. He had gone out of his way to make sure that those beautiful eyes had been turned on him at every possible opportunity. They had often been cool, and hard, and full of passionate dislike—but they had been turned onto him. And away from you.
That day—you hate to think of that day—that she had finally turned off bright sparkle of happiness that had shined in her eyes every time she saw you… you'd wanted to die that day. But you'd been sure that if you apologised… if you tried to make her see… if you said the right things…
But you slowly saw the cool look in her eyes turn frigid when they were turned on you. And you knew that she was gone.
And you were okay with that.
Really.
You were.
Sort of.
As long as she didn't go to him.
And for a year, you survived. She didn't look at you anymore, but she didn't look at him all that often, either. It had been a small comfort.
Until the Christmas in your final year, when you'd heard a gaggle of younger girls buzzing with the gossip that she'd finally, finally, said yes to the bastard that she had once looked at with so much dislike.
You hadn't wanted to believe it, so you had ignored it as an idle rumour. It couldn't be true, you'd told yourself. She hated him. She hated him even more than she hated you. You were firmly convinced of it.
Until that Christmas dinner.
You remember it like it was yesterday.
You'd just come into the Entrance Hall from the dungeon. Your Housemates had gone ahead and were already seated at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. It had been particularly cold that day, lightly snowing, but otherwise a fairly pleasant day—perfect Christmas weather. And you'd happened to turn your eyes to the door to the grounds, and had stopped in your tracks.
She was talking with him. That wasn't unusual that year; he'd been Head Boy to her Head Girl, after all (Dumbledore had finally lost it). You'd overheard them talking at the beginning of the year; both of them had been strictly detached and businesslike. And you'd seen them speaking a few times since. But you'd never seen them talking like this before.
Her eyes had been sparkling and excited. Her heavy, fiery hair had shined in the light from the torches framing the front door, shadows dancing within the curls. Her skin, always delicately freckled, always pale, had been glowing in the firelight, with a pretty flush across her face. She'd looked pleased with herself when he had reached over and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her mouth lifting up into the crooked smile she'd used to flash at you when you were children. Except this smile was so much happier, contained so much more fondness for the person it was aimed at.
You don't remember what he'd looked like. You hadn't been able to look at him. Your stomach had lurched violently as you stared at this perfect creature across the room from you, standing, talking, laughing, flirting with the Devil.
Then he'd said something—you'd heard the deep, rumbling baritone echo across the hall unintelligibly. She'd giggled. Then he'd reached forward and claimed one of her tiny, tiny white hands in one of his oversized, grubby paws, and started to tug her toward the Great Hall. She'd gone along willingly, still giggling.
She'd cast her eyes around the Entrance Hall, and they'd settled on you.
You'd gotten to bask in the echo of the glittering happiness in her eyes for all of half a second before they'd hardened into dislike, sliding away from you. You watched in sickening horror as they warmed again when they rested on the wanker at her side and they'd disappeared into the Great Hall.
She'd never looked at you again. She was always looking at him.
And then, fourteen years later, her eyes were fixed on you again. But it was all wrong. The face was wrong. It was his face. Her eyes did not belong in his face. Her eyes belonged set in porcelain skin, dusted with sun kisses, and framed by bright red, flaming hair that shined almost ginger in the sunlight and darkened to auburn indoors. Not in his small, stupid, skinny face, and topped by his ridiculous black mop.
This child was the thing she had died for.
You hate this boy.
He cost you everything.
And it makes it easier to hate him when he dares to use her beautiful, shining eyes to glare hatefully at you like that.
- E N D -
I hope you enjoyed it! Review and let me know what you think!
Thanks for reading,
Sparkly Faerie