The M Word
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Warning: Spoilers for book 5 & 7
Mudblood.
Mudblood.
Mudblood.
What a difference eight little letters made. Out of every permutation possible for those three vowels, five consonants, he chose those exact letters, stringing them together without really thinking of the consequences he forever held against himself. He chose the words that implied the most condescending meaning, the most hurtful meaning, and the most regrettable meaning.
"I don't need help from filthy Mudbloods like her," he snapped in humiliation and pain. He was fed up with James Potter's bullying. He was tired of Lily defending him, as if he couldn't protect himself. She froze, facing him, her eyes shrinking into tiny green slits. Never had she heard so much contempt in his voice. She gave him a long, hard stare, but he could not return that stare. They stood in the middle of the entire school, outside, the sun shining mockingly. Every eye stared at him, James Potter aiming a wand at his neck. His face flushed.
Never had he gained so much popularity.
Never had he seen so much anger and hate in her eyes.
Never had Lily hated him so much.
"I don't need help from filthy Mudbloods like her."
Those words, the sentence they formed, each little bullet, permanently wounding a fallen comrade who no longer trusted him.
Those words, the sentence they formed, each like a stab in the back. He had taken too many stabs and missed all is chances.
Those words, the sentence they formed, one too many words setting the fire that burned the bridge between two friends.
Everything became sort of slow motion after those words escaped his lips. He never saw Lily angrier or more passive-aggressive than ever before. Her face turned red, then cooled, but it never lost that grudge against him.
"Apologize to her!" James shouted angrily. "Apologize!"
No words slipped out of his mouth. No words needed to be said, really.
James muttered a curse at Snape, and he felt himself, mouth filled with soap, hanging from mid air, his gray trousers pulled down.
Shame traveled through his veins like the cold acetone his mother used to erase the mistakes she made with her nail-coloring paintbrush.
Shame destroyed the only part of him that he ever looked up to.
But only shame would listen to him now.
But what whirled Severus down that spiral of despair was not his own shame. Rather, it was her disappointment and her lack in faith of him that brought him down.
He hated that he liked her. He hated that he found her nice and pretty. He hated the smell of lilacs that followed her everywhere, just like he did.
He hated thinking about what could have been.
But he could never, even with all his might, hate her.
He eventually forgave James for every mean, nasty, bigoted knife that came out of his smug mouth. Be he never forgave himself for slipping the only flower he ever held from his rugged, uncouth fingers. He never forgave himself for losing his lily. His Lily.
Occasionally he saw her walking down the halls with a group of friends, completely ignoring his existence. When she walked alone, she stopped. She stopped to say a cold hello, letting the two-syllable word cut his heart with its sharp edge. What hurt even more was that whenever she said it, the words never stuck to his head like everything else.
"Hello."
He'd rather she didn't saw anything.
A/N: Makes no sense. I just felt like writing something really angry and repetitive.