This is dedicated to kilara25 who has inspired me to write this piece. This is a fanfic of her fanfic, "Girl in the War," so please take note and go read the original! It's pretty awesome :)
"Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princes who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love."
--Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
Verdant—the color of fresh grass.
He is lucky. This is what he thinks when he sees her walk in. Her hair is not a burning red, but an untamable mop of black curls. It curls down the nape of her neck like a slithering snake. It is nothing like Lily's straight auburn. Ugly glasses frame Lily's eyes, also making the girl bearable to look at.
He sits amongst his colleagues watching the scruffy edges of the Sorting Hat touch Rose Potter's head. She is sorted in Gryffindor, as if she would be sorted into anything else. He sneers at her back, already imagining her new house fawning over the insipid girl. When she seats herself, she will undoubtedly begin regaling how she brought the downfall of the Dark Lord. The weight of his stare presses into her back, drilling holes into her body.
A part of him still denies Lily's marriage with Potter. He can still imagine their first years of schooling, a time when Lily Evans & Severus Snape were still inseparable. Despite being sorted in separate houses, their friendship persisted. They weren't friends of each others friends, they had different tastes that way. Regardless, they shared mutual hatred of Potter and his band of miscreants. They humiliated him constantly. They teased Lily, pushed her because of her ignorance for magical customs. Those years meant something. When Lily began dating Potter, he thought it was a moment of weakness. They argued terribly and he made a mistake. Surely she wouldn't pick Potter over him. But the days trickled by...and she was no longer his Lily, but Potter's. It digs at him. He avoided any attempts of reconciliation, too busy stewing in his own bitterness. And just like a fool, when she died, he realized what a fool he had been.
To him, Rose Potter is the living embodiment of his worst mistake. He stares at her because maybe if he stares hard enough, she will disappear, releasing him from his self-imposed shackles. At one point, she turns to look at him. She flashes a smile.
Lily's smile.
It's directed at him. Just for a moment—just for a moment he lets himself indulge.
He looks away.
Zipping across the field, Snape watches Potter's spawn chase after the snitch. It is easy to forget she is Lily's daughter as she dives, does loops and glides across the air. Red and gold gossamer threads Potter, marking her as the property of that man. When she catches the snitch, Gryffindor roars in approval. Minerva catches his eye knowingly.
"It's been awhile since I last had the cup"
He huffs in reply, but dips his head in acknowledgement before turning to the game.
The Gryffindors stamp and cheer before running onto the fields. They hoist her into the air like a champion. For all intents and purposes, she is their champion-their heroine. They chant Potter over and over again. His lips curl into a sneer. It's like watching a scene from his schooldays being replayed It's a twisted parody of his own life. She beams, snitch above her head. The gold flashes across the stadium, and the Gryffindors cheer even louder. Her head tilts back, as if basking in glory. How typically like her father. Let her enjoy herself. Gryffindor may have won 110 points, but at the end of the week they will lose all of it.
"You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down — kill them all —"
"If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the daughter?"
"I have — I have asked him —"
"You disgust me."
He wakes to those memories. His breath short and spastic, and sweat covers his brow. Dementors make the nights unbearable and his memories haunt him. Memories of James Potter humiliating him and Lily cutting out his heart with words. Helpless sobs of his mother and his father drunken ramblings. How the Prince family refuses to accept the blood in his veins, only acknowledging the muggle filth. How he swore devotion to a Dark Lord for promises of a better world and sold his soul in the process. Digging in the broken shambles of a house only to find everything he ever wanted gone. Beautiful Lily was dead, but her daughter was alive, and by God he was going to save what pieces of her left behind.
"Professor, please."
Snape snarls at the girl. Thirteen years he waited for this moment. Tucked away at Azkaban, the disgusting piece of filth escaped his rage. While the urge to destroy the monster Lupin was somewhat quelled, he would relish having Sirius Black at the end of his wand. Azkaban was too kind of a fate for him. When he escaped…Snape knew he would find him. Torture him. Kill him. Black will not slip through his fingers again.
But he does, and Snape fumes for days. Potter that damned naive Potter allowed the murderer to escape. How could she not see? Her parents were dead because of Black. Black's devotion to the Potters' was nothing compared to the Dark Lord's persuasion. Confronting the headmaster when Black escapes only solidifies his rage. He will not, cannot accept that Sirius Black is an innocent victim. Perhaps he is not guilty of betraying the Potters', but Black was hardly innocent. Not in his youth and not ever.
Scowling into his porridge, he spots Potter eying her new Firebolt with adoration. She carelessly toss her curls, laughing at the single feather that accompanies it.
His heart breaks just a little.
He stares when she walks into the ball.
The French girl is a complete idiot.
Using her Veela heritage in public?! Not only was it a needless demonstration of power, but also a blatant disregard for international statutory laws. Just like Potter he thinks. Rules don't apply to them. He wants to throttle Bagman and Dumbledore for allowing part creatures into the castle. None of the students understood the dangers of creature blood. Their ignorance combined with adolescent hormones was a failed potion waiting to happen. Why broadcast such sensitive information? Bloody broadcast the information because it was critical to student safety. It was also illegal, extremely illegal, for students with subpar control over their animalistic sides to be mixed with regular students. Then again, Dumbledore always had a fondness for breaking the rules. Especially for his favorites.
He scowled when the French girl's allure reached around the room. At least his Slytherins were disciplined enough to not drool after the girl. Lustful? Yes. Drooling? No.
Other couples entered the hall. Chang and Diggory was predictable. His eyebrows rose when Krum and Granger entered. He would have thought Granger's blood heritage would deter the Bulgarian's interest. Perhaps Durmstrang has focused less on blood purity? Then again, with spawning of Grindelwald and Karkaroff's own unsavory relations with Dark Lords, Durmstrang needed to appear less anti-muggleborn. At least in public. Still, watching Krum's face, he wonders if the boy actually likes Granger. His eyes wander to the last couple. Although the entourage of people back from Longbottom's increasingly constipated face, his eyes are only on Lily's daughter.
She is resplendent in bottleneck green dress robes, a far cry from the expected scarlet and gold. The color matches her eyes, Lily's eyes, and he is reminded of her. The dress is snug, and he can trace her developing curves and slender limbs that school robes have hidden. His mouth is dry. This was no longer a girl, but a women. He doesn't know quite what to feel.
"So," he drawls, "All the glory has gone to your head Miss Potter. What part of no outside assistance escaped your mind?"
Her face turns red, "The other champions receive clues from their headmasters, and Cedric Diggory has the student body at his disposal. I don't need any help, I already have something in mind, I simply need some guidance for implementation."
Snape is silent, and shuffles abysmal papers aside, "take a seat Miss. Potter, and tell me what you require."
Her body practically sags in relief as she sits down. "Mermaids," she licks her lips nervously, "the second task is somewhere in the Black Lake."
She continues, "I already have a potion to help me move underwater. Human transfiguration is too difficult; I don't want to risk anything. Gillyweed…is painful." She hands over a potion's book.
He skims the protocol, and raises an eyebrow The potion was higher than NEWT level potions and more of an apprentice's research paper. "Miss Potter, this potion is well beyond your capabilities."
"That is why I came to you," she retorts, "Sir."
"I will assist you with the more delicate areas. Report to my office promptly at seven." He eyes her beadily, "I will not tolerate any nonsense."
She straightens her back, "Yes Sir."
She seethes in her chair and Snape raises his wand, "Again!"
It is, like every other attempt, far too easy.
He falls into the well of Rose Potter's memories. The scenes of her childhood return with bitterness: the cupboard, Petunia's angry face, chocking on the Snitch during her first match. The scenes flash faster—Diggory's corpse—the Dementors swarming her fat cousin—Lily's pleading screams echoing—Sirius Black welcoming her to Grimmauld Palace happy to see his goddaughter
—whispering obscenities. Whispering James. His hands knotting in her hair while he pushes her to the wall. Lips are mere centimeters from her own, and his hands finds her hips. They clutch her hips, bruise her hips painfully. Mouth finds her neck, breathing in her scent. He leaves kisses across her neck...murmuring how beautiful she is, how much she looks like her father, and how he misses him so much. There is a stench of Firewhisky from his mouth, a mouth also approaching hers. Her heart beats in excitement, dread, and terror. She is speechless and scared, unable to push him away because she is afraid of what happens if she says no-
"Protego!" she screams, and Snape flies backward, colliding into the wall. He pushes himself forward with determination.
"What was that?" he whispers, unable to believe, almost desperate to not believe.
"Nothing—"
"DO NOT LIE TO ME!" Snape screams, and she begins crying heaving sobs. He clenches his fingers, nails drawing blood from his palms.
"Why didn't you—how long," he finally settles, "How far?"
She does nothing but cry, looking furiously away from him. He throws a salve across the room.
"ANSWER ME!"
Hiccupping, she refuses to say anything. His voice catches in his throat, because her expression—her expression is enough.
"I will kill him," he says quietly.
She lunges towards him, wand pressed to his throat, eyes bright and determined
"No!" she screams. Her wand hand is steady, "He didn't mean it! He's just lonely after being in prison for so long," her voice is pleading, almost as if she is pleading with herself, trying to justify what has happened
He should feel enraged at her fondness of monsters. Lupin was an animal, but Black is disgusting through and through. His heart should ache for this stupid naïve girl who has never experienced unconditional love. It's not meant to be a game of give and take. He should feel these things. Instead, he does not. He feels cold inside, as if his world has collapsed all over again. He was supposed to keep her safe, to do this right.
"He is your godfather."
She turns away, as if to not wanting to face the truth. "My entire family hates me, is it so awful I want him to love me? He loves me. I cant—I can't lose that. Please professor."
Sirius Black dies anyway.
It was easy to arrange something. Subtle hints dropped around Grimmauld Palace near the house elf Kreacher, scathing remarks to the insane Bellatrix, and taunting words to rile Black into rushing into the Department of Mysteries by himself. If the girl finds out and hates him, so be it. Because he sworn to protect her, even from herself.
Nagini's posion seeps into him. Rose appears, seemingly out of nowhere underneath her invisibility cloak. Palming a vial of his memories, he pushes it into her hand. He hopes she understands.
"It'll be okay" she weeps, "Hermione has an antidote. Just stay awake for a little more."
He feels himself fading away, and grabs onto her shoulder.
"Look at me," he pleads.
Verdant—the color of fresh grass.