Golden Snitch, Prompt of the Day: "Thank you."
To Jenny (Claude Amelia Song) for being the kind soul she is!
Summary: the first time he saw her red hair, his breath caught in his throat.
When he first saw that red hair, his breath caught in his throat. She stood with her back turned to him, and right then, right there, it was like seeing Lily again, when she was eleven, when they had first started Hogwarts, his heart full of hope and dreams—he expertly pushed the thought of all those delusions and shattered dreams to the back of his mind.
Lily.
His greatest delight and his greatest sorrow.
Even after the first time, catching a glimpse of that hair—auburn, red, so painfully familiar, hers—made his head turn, unwillingly. He, Severus Snape, couldn't afford to be seen while he eyed the seventh Weasley. Yet, here he was, following her gestures again as she brewed her assigned potion.
Severus sighed.
The hands was definitely not Lily's. They were not as graceful, not as expert. But, the more honest part of his mind told him, they could be. They had the same potential he had seen in Lily's. And he still hoped that they could turn into Lily's.
Every time he caught that beautiful, long, red hair he stupidly hoped another girl would look at him, another set of eyes.
In vain.
Those lively eyes were never green but always hazel. Those freckles never disappeared.
It was Ginny Weasley's face his own black eyes were met with each time.
Oddly enough, the cruel disappointment had slowly faded into a dull pain which he could easily handle, and he was getting used to it, to Miss Weasley having Lily's hair.
.
This was the umpteenth time that Ginny felt his gaze on herself. When she turned, she could see those black, deep orbs quickly changing, turning into something scary and cold. She wasn't sure of it as she never managed to properly catch his eyes, but she was sure—she felt it—that the gaze that he fixed on her was fiery, ardent—almost loving—but whenever she turned, the light faded as if a bucket of water had been thrown on the fire that burnt into his eyes.
When she looked at him, his gaze was stern, stony. Dead.
After some time, looking at those empty eyes became saddening and disappointing; if at any time, there was love in them, Ginny wished—needed—to see it.
She didn't understand—she didn't understand herself, her wishes, his deeds—yet she never stopped staring back at him, searching for answers that she was sure would never come.
For she was a Gryffindor, a student, a Weasley, a blood-traitor... and he was a Slytherin, the Head of the Slytherin House, a Professor, a Death-Eater. And it didn't even matter that she was not a proper Gryffindor—not brave enough to question him—because the true reason of Ginny's confusion was that he seemed to run away from anything.
She had no hope to understand him. How could she when it was clear he started running away long before she came to Hogwarts?
"Miss Weasley." It was his voice.
"Professor."
"What would you be doing here? So close to my office?"
"Thinking."
He raised an eyebrow.
She looked at him; it was as if death and life were contending in those black eyes, too deep to be understood. She thought to spot a question in there though. "Of you," she whispered, mentally reprimanding herself for saying it aloud.
His eyebrow got higher, then something inside him seemed to be shut down. "I recommend you care about your life and nothing else."
"Can't I do anything for you?" She bit her lips.
"No, it's too late for me." His voice was bitter. "Now leave before I give you detention." Then, staring after her as she left, and talking to her red hair, he finally allowed himself to speak those two words that only Lily had ever heard coming from his mouth, "Thank you."