golden snitch: prompt of the day challenge, (dialogue) "greasy hair and shampoo bottles"

house: hogwarts, slytherin

points: five :)

characters: avery, sirius black, lily evans, remus lupin, james potter, peter pettigrew, severus snape

author: like firing/dee

word count: 672


"ay, you!"

"um—me?"

"yes, you! snape, is it?"

"yes sir."

"what does this potion smell like to you?"

"the things i love most, of course."

"and they are?"

"sir—do i have to say?"

"the class is waiting, mr. snape."

"parchment, rain, and—er, lavender."

"hm," james potter smirks from the back of the room, "you'd think he'd smell greasy hair and shampoo bottles."

"shampoo bottles?" sirius black peeps up, finally bothering to pay attention, "i don't think snivellus owns shampoo bottles."

"they'd be empty, of course."

/

"lavender?" lily asks, "that's the most non-creative smell in all existence, severus! couldn't you have come up with anything a little more original?"

"what do you mean? i swear, that's what i smelled—"

"oh, shove it. we both know that you smelled something different. a flower, probably," her eyes brightened, "hyacinth, perhaps? she's quite pretty, you know—"

"no, no. it wasn't her."

lily's face fell. "then who could it have—"

"leave it, lily. please."

"fine," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "you'll tell me someday."

/

severus snape hated the slytherin commons. he didn't understand why they had to be under the lake, of all things. whenever he settled down properly with a nice novel propped up on his lap, facing the eerie green glow of the window the giant squid would always interrupt his brilliant thought process.

it was highly disturbing on both a psychological and immediate level.

and then he starts to hear the whispers—"why does snape keep talking to the mudblood, of all gryffindors?"—and he is glad that no one else thinks it a good idea to sit across from the window next to the den of the squid.

"you understand," he tells the creature sometimes at night, and he hates himself for it.

/

they talk about their lord.

"our lord," avery reminds him.

/

james potter and sirius black think that they are better than him. they don't state it, but they mean it.

"hey, greasy," sirius snickers, and james laughs along.

"you got any shampoo bottles?"

it's not even that funny, but they both crack up into peals of laughter. peter pettigrew hesitates before joining them, looking forced to do so the whole time. remus lupin sighs and leaves his friends.

severus thinks that he can see remorse in the eyes of the man he suspects to be a werewolf.

/

"what'd you smell?" lily pressures him again. "it had to have been a girl. i know it was!" when she sees no reaction from him, she tries again, "a special boy, maybe? someone special?"

"it doesn't matter, lily."

"yes, it does! i know all the girls here. i can find you the perfect one! unless you want me to find a boy—"

"first of all, i don't think that there's any harm in informing you that i am affirmative toward witches. second of all. everybody loves you. nobody loves me."

"i do!" she takes his hand and laughs.

"i know."

/

"mudblood!"

he can't take it back.

/

he is in the library when he sees james potter kissing somebody on the quidditch pitch. no decency, he thinks, until he sees the red-haired individual ensnared in his arms.

"i'm sorry," he says later.

"you are past sorry."

/

severus is not sure why he receives the invitation. it seems to be mocking him, all red and gold, sparkling calligraphy spelling out a name he loves and a name he hates.

he debates burning it. throwing it out his window. simply putting it in the dustbin.

he goes anyway.

"i'm sorry," he says one more time.

she looks into his eyes and says, "i know."

forgiven. never the same.

/

he knows the last words she heard were "avada kedavra!"

he knows that she died lily evans potter, not lily evans snape.

he knows that her son is alive and will live the same fate as him.

/

"i smelled lilies," he cries, "i loved you."

maybe it is a voice he hears in the silence offering a response. maybe it is his own cold heartbeat.