I called her petal.
She had the beauty and grace of a whole garden, but I called her petal; A single pinnacle of beauty in a dark, twisted world.
Everyone else called her Lily, which seemed quite fitting as it was her name. But she was a petal, my petal.
From the moment I first witnessed her indisputable magic as mere children, I knew I loved her. The way her hair captured the glittering rays of the afternoon sun, or the way her smile lit up even the darkest winter twilights. She was the only woman, perhaps the only person I've ever loved.
And the only one I've ever lost who truly mattered.
It happened on Halloween, her death I mean to say.
It happened because of my error.
It happened because of my master, my Lord. He was her murderer, the man I had pledged my eternal service and devotion to killed the purest, most beautiful woman in the world, the woman I loved.
But I had my vengeance. I switched. I left this Dark Lord and joined the side of the light. But I was a double agent, my life was lived in shadows.
And now the day of reckoning is approaching and there is very little left that matters. There is her son, and there is this red box.
The red box, half the size of my coffee table in length and its width almost surpassing the table itself. I had filled this vast space with the remainders, or the reminders of my live. Each treasure, each photograph, everything was retired into this red box, with gold velvet on the inside, and cold painted metal on the outside. Yes, Gryffindor colors because the box itself was a gift, for my 12th birthday she purchased this magnificent box and said we could hide our treasures there, our secrets, and even though we were in different houses, myself in the noble and ambitious abode of Slytherin, and her in the disreputable tower of Gryffindor, she said under the Gryffindor colors, but in a box full of Slytherin secrets, we would always have each other.
My petal.
So now I sit, Dumbledore dead by my hand, her only son one of my most loathed nemesis, and my work all a lie, a lie to the dark Lord who would kill me in an instant with no effort, and the other half dedicated to the people who hate me, dedicated to those who believe me a guilty man, a cruel cretin. But I fight for them, unbeknownst to the Order of The Phoenix. I carry out the will of Albus Dumbldore, all in the name of love. In the name of Lily Evans.
And thus I thrust open the heavy lid of my large box, the box I once shared with my beloved and before me lays the ruins of a great friendship and a great era, the era of Lily and I.
And I wonder in a world where violence is more prevalent than love, how can it possibly be that love is all I am concerned with? Her son, her awful son is just like the awful "man" she married.
James Potter.
What a joke.
But no matter, for he has no place in this box. No, this box was for Lily and I. And I close my eyes, and reach my long fingers into the disorganized contents of my life and when my hand makes contact with something, closes around it, and retrieves it from the wreckage of love, my eyes rest upon two twigs, oak twigs. Long since dead, feeble, they would surely break before they would bend. And I smiled.
It was the summer before the glorious days of Hogwarts, the summer of innocence and youth and questions, and I explained all about wands, fascinated myself.
"My mother has one, she can do just about ANYTHING with it," I told her as we sat on the swing set together, my feet scuffling in the sand, while hers swung back and forth too short to reach the ground, "Its how we harness our magic, how we refine it to do whatever we please! There are spells and subjects, and 7 years, and the very first step is getting our wands."
"What are they made of?" She grinned, her bangs slightly covering her soft green eyes, "Glitter and glass?"
"No those are the muggle wands you see in silly joke shops," I grinned at her wide eyed curiously, "They're made of wood, different kinds, oak mahogany, birch, and inside them they have unicorn hairs, or dragon heart strings or the feather of a phoenix, and every wand is special to you. Its your greatest gift as a witch or wizard."
"I want one!" She jumped from the red leather strap of her swing, her small hands relseasing the chains that held the strap as she jumped in front of me, taking my hand to my delight and leading me towards a grove of trees.
"You'll get one!" I assured her, certain my face was a deep shade of red as my hand clamed up inside her warm palm.
"I want one now," She smiled and jumped up to the nearest oak tree, plucking two twigs and tearing off the greenery decorating them. They were bendy, thin, uneven and looked absolutely nothing like any wand I'd ever seen, but I took the twig she held out to me with pleasure.
"Now, teach me a spell," She said commandingly brandishing her twig as though it was a baton and she was head of a parade.
"Lumos," I said, remembering one of the common incanations my mother frequently utilized, "It means light, it makes your wand light up."
"Lumos!" She shouted flicking her twig forward, and to no surprise nothing happened, ut she ignored reality in its entirety, "Now you light yours too! And when it will never get dark for us, because we can light up anything, we can find light in the gloomiest places, we're never in the dark, we're always and forever in the light!"
"Lumos!" I called out, laughing not surprised when the twig remained an unlit twig, "Together in the light."
"Together!" She exclaimed, and handed me the twig, "I mustn't be late for dinner, but take my twig and bring it tomorrow. We'll have more adventures."
"3 o clock by the swings?" I grinned, pocketing both out twigs.
"As usual!" She returned the smile and hugged me briefly, my heart pounding like a very, very, very loud drum, like the footsteps of giants. And as I watched her frolic into the sunset, down the bright muggle street with the pretty muggle houses and their white picket fences, I wished, on the first star appearing on the darkening horizon that we would be best friends forever. The naïve wish of a child.
I think I already loved her (Though I had no idea what love was) as I strolled lazily back to my own house, through the bad part of town, where my imaginary wand could not light the gloom and I wished she was with me, for her smile glowed brighter than the frail stars above. And home was rarely happy with a miserable father and a meek mother, and a piercing desire to be more than the shabby little boy who lived on Spinners end in muggle squalor. I fingered the twigs in my pocket as I walked into my house ignoring my fighting parents who were engaged in a shouting match and I went straight up to my room and I placed the twigs on my desk and imagined they lit up the world, and assured me everything would be ok, because Lily and I would never be trapped in darkness. We'd be in the light, we'd be safe. We'd be together.
I dropped the twigs, the rotting wood to the floor as the memory burned, but quickly retrieved them, placing them gingerly on the table that was not covered by the large box, and pushing the twigs, and the memory aside, I reached in yet again, and when my hand rose from the box, clutching in my palm was a photograph, a photograph of Lily and I in our third year.
My heart ached.
Author's Notes:
This is my second story as a part of "The Death Eater Series" in which I attempted to humanize the army of Lord Voldemort haha.
Bella is my first story of the series and it has received wonderful reviews from wonderful readers, so if you enjoy this, I would suggest reading a bit of Bella as well, which is the diary of a young Bellatrix Black and her coming of age story.
This of course, is my account of the love of Severus Snape, because I love him and I love Lily and I love them together.
So please review if you've read, it would be very sweet
And I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it shall be updated soon.
Thank you so much for reading, truly.
Love love love
Your devoted and hopeful author.