I'm a ravenclaw!
I cannot live without my soul!
The meadow was still. One lonely stranger sat underneath the shelter of a willow tree, gazing up at the bright stars. With a long index finger he traced pictures from the glistening dots. His mouth whispered words silently, words of pain and anguish, as he gazed up into the whirlpool of space. His dark eyes resembled the black hole of his soul, as he waited for her, the white-petal flower, to redeem him.
She ran with spirit, tripping over the long shoots of grass and stumps that hid in the darkness. Toppling over and grasping for breath she looked forward, gazing at the silhouette of a willow tree. The beauty of it was striking, the way the branches hung down with delicacy, swaying in rhythm with the wind. But she could see nobody there; no one was waiting for her. Maybe she had been tricked. She willed herself to continue, to look out into the distance and have faith.
He felt a gust of wind flow through his hair. He relaxed his tense brow and unknitted his eyebrows. She was late but he reassured himself that she would arrive. Unable to relax his anger, he grabbed a stone and hurled it across the meadow, releasing a savage growl. The stone hit a hollow log that created an echo for miles. From a nearby bush a flock of newly awakened birds soared out, shocked by the disturbance.
She shuddered at the noise; there must be a beast nearby, something that was searching for a kill. She realised the growl had come from the opposite side of the willow tree. Fear engulfed her and she silently cursed herself for being so foolish; in these dangerous times an enemy would try any means to lure an innocent woman out alone in a desolate place. She continued forward though, remembering the promise she had made to her love.
He heard heavy breathing, and instinct made him draw his wand. Such a rough sound surely couldn’t come from the one he loved. He rose to his feet and carefully encircled the willow tree.
She could hear footsteps, so quiet and stealthy; she did not know which direction they were approaching her. Then suddenly, she saw a long wooden stick pointing out from one side of the bark, like an amputated branch.
“Expelliarmus! ”
The spell was spoken twice. Firstly, it came from a sweet and tender voice with a hint of panic. Secondly, from a more mature but less gentle voice, deep and meaningful but not sinister. Both wands shot away from their owners. They were both left standing with their right hands raised.
A collision of two bodies occurred; they clutched each other in a fierce embrace, showering one another with kisses. Long slender fingers slipped through auburn hair, which shone gold under the stars. A small white hand clutched onto a fistful of mattered black mane, whilst she kissed the coal-black stubble on the man’s cheek. Occasional muttered words were spoken that were cut off by more kisses.
“No!” he yelled, but she kissed him once again. “Stop!”
“I won’t stop,” she insisted. “You asked me to come. I doubt you have any other plans for the evening, so please let’s carry on.” She pulled him even closer, clutching his outdoor cloak so tightly that the material began to tear.
“I didn’t come here for this,” he said, and wrenched her away. He pushed his long hair behind his ears and looked away from her, ashamed. She glared at him, wondering why he was being so hostile. “I came here to tell you something.” He tried to return her gaze, the truth flooding back into his mind, after having banished it hours ago, but he was unable to face her. He had betrayed her and soon she will not want to be close to him.
“What did you come here to tell me?” she asked.
He didn’t reply but moved further down the meadow. She followed after him but he paid no attention. Assuming he was just being mysterious, playing games with her mind as he often liked to, she boldly ran up to him and knocked him down into the grass. His face came in sudden contact with the fresh soil. The shoots rose up above him. He felt so small. She bounced on top of him, massaging his back and giggling.
“Now tell me, please Severus, before the sun arrives and we flee in disgrace. What did you come here to speak to me about?”
“A prophecy,” he murmured into the grass, his voice swallowed by the earth.
“A what?” the witch asked, curiously.
“This is no joke, Lily. I overheard a Prophecy yesterday that you should take heed of.” This time Severus spoke clearly, facing the young lady with an expression of deep remorse.
“Prophecies are fables. You always used to say as much yourself; they’re invented to scare people into doing things. Come on Severus, did some hag in Knockturn Alley scare you?” she cooed, stroking his hair gently. “Of course, if you insist on going to such grotty places then. . .”
“I wasn’t in Knockturn Alley. I was on an assignment. He had sent me to an interview with Dumbledore. I didn’t know what it would lead to, I didn’t know I’d overhear something, and when I overhead it I didn’t know what it meant. Lily, it would be insulting for me to apologise and even worse for me to beg your forgiveness. But the least I can do, out of the love I still have, is warn you. The Dark Lord has coveted your son.”
Silence stretched throughout the meadow. The two figures stood huddled together, both wishing the other would speak. Eventually Lily’s lips parted, “How?” she gasped. “How did The Dark Lord find out about the prophecy?”
Severus lowered his eyes to the ground, looking at the black dirt beneath him, wanting to sink into the substance. “I told him.”
Lily lifted herself up, her face consumed with anger, eyes flickering with rage. She looked down at Severus, not knowing whom she was looking at.
“Tell me everything, every little detail.”
The previous night.
Severus scraped a stool across the dusty floorboards. It left a snail-like trail of two parallel lines. The inn was filthy; with spider-webs at every corner; cats, toads and owls roaming freely; and an ant nest just underneath the floorboards. Severus squirmed a little, although by now he had become rather thick-skinned. He sat down on the rickety stool, after placing it the other side of a door, which was slightly ajar so that a pool of light spread across the floor. His nose tickled at the sweet smell of sherry that was wafting through the gap.
He wondered why such a respectable person like Dumbledore would be conducting an interview in this disgusting place. He leant forward so that the stool let out a skin-crawling creak. He listened to the conversation.
“Divination is the most difficult of all the magical arts, Professor, if you do not have the Sight then…” Severus heard a dramatic gasp, “…there is very little I can do for you. It is a gift granted to only a few, it cannot be taught by reading textbooks and you will find some of your most able students unable to fathom it.”
Severus grinned in agreement. He remembered the single term he'd endured Divination, the struggle of not being able to see something through a circular piece of glass or a few soaked tea-leaves. He had transferred to Arithmancy not long after, a much more worthy discipline.
“Of course, I am one of those who have been privileged with the Inner Eye; I inherited it from my Great-Great-Grandmother,” the woman hesitated for a while, and Severus could hear humming through the door. “I am so sorry Professor, but it appears that you do not have the Gift.”
“That is fine Miss Trelawney; I came here to see if you have the Gift. Now, which topics do you intend to teach at Hogwarts?” asked Dumbledore in a patient tone.
“Are you doubting my Inner-Eye?” squealed the woman in hysterics. Severus saw flapping shadows formed in the light from the door as she reassembled all of her many shawls.
“No, madam, please sit down and explain…”
“You don’t even have faith in my subject; I can tell, you know.” Severus could distinctly see her pointing a long bony finger at Dumbledore, accusingly.
Dumbledore grabbed hold of her; she froze and went completely rigid. Severus thought she was having an epileptic fit, so he moved further forward, ready to enter and give aid. However she opened her eyes and focused on Dumbledore. She spoke in a harsh voice, one that starkly contrasted her own.
“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ...”
A great crash and Severus was knocked over. Glass shattered all around him and a barman shouted with a coarse Scottish accent at him. “What are you doing blocking the corridors? Look what a mess you’ve made of my butterbeer bottles!” Severus backed away, and by doing so tumbled into the room, falling over a table and knocking over a lamp. The barman jumped in after him, yelling at Dumbledore, “this clumsy beggar’s been eavesdropping on your conversation, sir!”
Severus picked himself up and opened his mouth to apologise; he didn’t get chance, however.
“I am outraged, Professor Dumbledore, that there would be anyone listening in on our conversation. Maybe he overhead me reveal…” Both men looked at her with great anticipation. “…about my Great-Great-Grandmother’s sacred gift, maybe he is jealous.” With these words of anguish, Miss Trelawney flounced out of the room.
“Wait please madam, wait.” Dumbledore quickly grabbed her by the arm. “I think we will be able to find a place for you at Hogwarts, can you start next term? Now I have to begin my interview with Severus Snape.” Miss Trelawney let out a great snort.
However, Severus was unable to be interviewed because at that moment his Dark Mark began to burn. He felt it twitch, and then his forearm began to heat up, and little shoots of pain ran up to his shoulder. He knew this irritation would turn into agony if he didn’t respond immediately.
“Severus.” Dumbledore approached him; he lifted his head up attentively. “How much did you hear?”
“None of it sir, I couldn’t quite hear the words spoken, though I could tell what was happening,” Severus said, quickly applying some Slytherin cunning. “Now I have to go, I’ve got another appointment that is very pressing. Can we meet in a more comfortable place; say the Leaky Cauldron, tomorrow at noon?”
After receiving an assuring nod from the older man Severus swiftly marched around the corner. He pulled up the sleeve of his robe and looked with pure hatred at the tattooed symbol that had turned blood red. He filled his mind with thoughts of loyalty and obedience; of duty and self-sacrifice and touched the Dark Mark.
He appeared in an old warehouse, derelict and abandoned. Somewhere that Muggles never dare enter in fear that it may be haunted. As he stepped over a few discarded needles and a small packet that once held white powder, he sneered. Some Muggles obviously came here when taking desperate measures.
He shuddered when he realised that it was only the Dark Lord who was present. He wore velvet-black robes and a hood over his head so that Severus could not see his snake-like appearance. He was glad of this; it was enough to turn any young man’s stomach.
“Come here, my young servant.” With one skeletal hand, made of wire-thin bones and deathly white skin, the Dark Lord beckoned Severus to come nearer.
A knot formed in his stomach as he approached. He made a low bow and waited for permission to rise. He had never been alone with his master and he sensed the vulnerability of his position.
The Dark Lord pulled up Severus’s head with both of his ice-cold hands. He forced his head still so that his eyes were focused on the void of darkness underneath his hood. A glow of red appeared in the shape of two slit-eyes, they focused in on Severus’s own eyes. And then he felt it, like someone was pushing a great weight onto his brain and seeking entry into his mind. After one painful tug, the force entered, and Severus immediately felt woozy, his mind spinning with different images. The alien being was searching for something, dismissing every irrelevant piece of information until it was found.
He located it, the interview between Miss Trelawney and Professor Dumbledore. The hysterical woman was prancing around the room, fidgeting with her many shawls. Then the harsh voice was released from her mouth, the cold words spoken, and the interrupting barman blocking the rest of the Prophecy.
“Young man, this vision I see, did it take place in the Hog's Head just a few moments ago?” the hissing voice spoke.
“Yes master, by someone who claims to be an authentic Seer, one with the gift of foresight,” Severus replied with humility.
“Very good, young man, you have served me well.” Severus heard a sneer from the voice under the hood. “You may go now.”
“You betrayed me!” Lily squealed, her face turning purple with rage. They looked at each other; two opposite sides of a coin, one side battling to be free.
Many memories scurried through their minds; Lily tried to comprehend the man she was facing and Severus tried to keep his heartbeat still and his mind focused. Almost like gazing through the open ceiling of a pensieve, Lily and Severus brought forward many moments from the past.
Severus had known very little love in his life. His parents hadn’t loved one another and he doubted whether they had ever loved him. He had been brought up in a household lacking romance and comfort. Severus had learnt at a young age how to shut down the heart and use his wits. Only his intellect could help him survive.
Facing her, he remembered Lily at a young age; they were barely sixteen the day he realised he loved her. He had never understood it, having spent most his teenage life blocking out his father’s Muggle inheritance. Why now, was he falling for a Mudblood? It took many months to realise he hadn’t fallen in love with a Mudblood; he had fallen in love with a young woman.
She stared back at him with defiance. She wondered why she was in love with him. He wasn’t like James. He didn’t open doors for her or read poetry; nor was he pleasing to the eye or in possession of soft and amiable features. He was strange and always had been, yet it was this obscurity she had been drawn towards. She remembered Potion lessons, how she would gaze over to the corner and watch the skinny boy work. He would be completely engrossed, pouring mixtures out of vials and then scribbling something quickly in his textbook. She was infatuated by the way his mind worked. Eventually she had plucked up to courage to ask him for help. It had been this small action that had sparked their relationship.
Persevering for months, Lily tried to get close to Severus. The wall that surrounded him made him believe her motives weren’t honourable. He was nervous, deep down, of the idea of affection. He didn’t want to believe someone could care for him. Many times she was close to giving up, believing it was the most futile quest. It was the moment her patience had run out that Severus responded finally. He let all the emotion out that clogged inside his soul. She listened beside an open fire. They had found an empty classroom, one frosty Christmas Eve, when few others remained at Hogwarts. He spoke of his family troubles and she listened with a sympathetic ear. He soon moved the conversation on to his ambition, his desire to become a great wizard.
“I don’t want to be what everyone believes I am,” he confessed. Lily reassured him, saying she accepted who he was.
It was a shame that, later in the year, the most handsome and charming student took a fancy to Lily Evans. James Potter put up a fight that he refused to lose, his head so enlarged he failed to notice that he had a rival. For many months Lily would give him the cold shoulder; he took it as encouragement to continue pursuing her. This didn’t work for long, though, as Lily was not confrontational and disliked the friction she’d caused between herself and a fellow Gryffindor. She began warming to him, finding his jokes funny and his mannerisms quirky and tolerable. She soon became accustomed to his being around; he would sit next to her at lunch and insist on being her partner in Charms. She never chose to socialise with him, but when he chose to speak to her she never refused his company. Eventually Lily began spending time with James and his friends, leaving less time to spend with Severus. During the last few weeks at Hogwarts, Severus grew sharp and harsh around her. An argument marred their departure.
Why she accepted Potter’s proposal, Severus still didn’t know. Many hours had been spent pondering it since. He sat alone in his grotty Muggle home cursing himself to find a reason. He only blamed himself. He blamed his own nature, the part of him that he couldn’t change, not even for her. How could she resist Potter, when the alternative was a sallow-skinned and hook-nosed monster? He chastised himself for ever wanting someone as beautiful as her.
Now she chastised herself for ever believing a charming smile and handsome body was what she really wanted; for believing that Severus had a dark past, a black soul and a future of danger.
In the meadow they stood face to face. The choices they had made had left them betraying everyone else for each other. But this was the ultimate end; they were now betraying themselves.
Thank you to chances and 3secondfish for all your help with this so far!