My Juliet
A/N: This is my first published HP fanfic. Reviews are welcomed and appreciated.
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He had never liked Gryffindors. The whole lot of them were loud and show-offish and just downright annoying. Especially – especially – that damn Potter.
Everything the Gryffindors did was praised by the teachers. They had won the House Cup every year since he had arrived. Those brave Gryffindors. . . those noble Gryffindors. . .
Those Gryffindors who had no idea the horrors in store for them.
He looked down at his plate and smiled, glad to be on the right side. Those courageous Gryffindors wouldn’t be so stalwart if they could see what he knew was going on. The thought bolstered him up slightly and he stood to leave the Great Hall.
But then he saw her.
She had just entered the Great Hall, cheeks flushed and hair flying. She hurried toward the Gryffindor table and sat down next to her friends. One of them spoke to her and laughed when she answered. Her hair was still everywhere and her eyes sparkled; he could tell, even from this distance. He loved her eyes. . . he loved everything about her.
Immediately he berated himself in his mind. It was getting too dangerous to be thinking things like that. What would happen if he slipped and mentioned something? Disaster, most likely. Slytherins, especially older Slytherins, did not fall in love with Gryffindors. Especially Gryffindors already in love with Potter.
She’s filth, he told himself. She’s worthless. She’s not worthy to kiss the hem of your robes.
But he didn’t believe himself. He never did.
“Oi! Are you going to move?”
Heat slowly crept up his cheeks when he realized he had been standing and staring. Hastily he grabbed his bag and climbed out from behind the table, hoping no one saw what, or more specifically, who, he had been staring at. He nearly ran out of the Hall in pursuit of the dungeons. Hopefully he would have a full ten minutes to recover before he saw her again.
The door to the Great Hall swung open before he reached it. Before he could divert his eyes to the ground, he saw who had entered.
Damn Potter. With his damn best friends. Damn it.
Potter had been chuckling at something, but his laughter died away. Their eyes met and they both stood rooted to the spot, staring. This situation was certainly familiar, and he knew what he had to do. He had just opened his mouth to make a scathing remark about those weaseling friends of Potter’s when he heard—
“Hey, Potter, aren’t you going to keep me company?”
She had appeared by Potter’s side. Against his will, his breath hitched. His eyes traveled up to her brilliantly red hair as he fought to keep a sneer on his face.
Her eyes (those lovely, lovely eyes) landed on him and narrowed. He could hear the noise in the Great Hall quiet. Not wanting to have to dodge curses from Gryffindors sent to protect their precious Potter, he shifted his bag on his shoulder and pushed his way out of the Hall.
He even pretended not to notice when her arm brushed against his.
But he noticed. Merlin, did he notice.
Damn! He was flustered; his heart was pounding and he was breathing heavily. She always made him like this. And he hated it. He hated being in love with her. She was a bloody Gryffindor, with outlandish hair and an outlandish personality to match. But the thing that really bothered him was that she now belonged to Potter. He had watched from afar as Potter pursued her. It had taken him the better part of their last two years to get her. But now Potter had her, and it made him sick.
Because she belonged with him, not Potter. Potter didn’t deserve her. She was wild and needed someone to tame her, not let her free. He wanted desperately to be the one to whom her heart belonged. But he never would be. And he never could be.
Just as well, he thought bitterly. She’s repulsed by the sight of you.
Heart heavy, he reached the dungeons and pushed the door of his Potions classroom open. Luckily it was empty. Good. He needed some time to collect his thoughts after seeing her. He set about the task of arranging his cauldron and ingredients for the day’s work. Inadvertently his head filled with images of her: brilliant copper hair shining, mouth smiling, cheeks flushed. . . bloody hell. The whole reason he came down here early was to get her out of his head, not to dwell on how her sodding cheeks looked.
He sighed, tired of this never-ending battle always raging inside him. Whenever he saw her, his spirits would lift and his brain would freeze. Then he would scold himself for thinking such thoughts about a girl so close to Potter and the “good side.”
He would try to make himself stop loving her.
But he never could.
The next fifteen minutes passed in relative quiet. His pulse had just reached normal when the door to the dungeons smashed open. Students slipped in, some laughing, some hastily scribbling last-minute paragraphs on their homework. His own essay was already out on his desk. It was perfect, if he did say so himself. Potions was something he prided himself on. He told himself it was because the Professor liked him and the rest of the Slytherins.
He would never admit that most of the reason he liked Potions so much was because it was the one subject in which he could best Potter.
Where was Potter, anyway? It looked like everyone except him and his little friends was in the dungeon. He twisted around to look at the back where Potter always sat, surrounded by his worshipers. But Potter wasn’t there. He scanned the rest of the classroom and saw the door open again. Potter’s friends walked in, bickering about something and making an obscene amount of noise. Typical.
He was about to turn back to his cauldron when he saw her for the third time that day. And, for the third time, his heart began pounding and his head spinning. She was standing outside with Potter. Potter glanced inside the classroom, then took her waist in his hands and drew her near.
He knew he shouldn’t watch, knew he would torment himself with the image later, but he couldn’t help himself. His stomach tightened as he watched Potter pull her close to him and place his forehead on hers. She glanced into the classroom and whispered something to Potter, then smiled when he responded in another whisper. He finally turned away when he saw Potter lean in to kiss her.
A minute later he saw them enter the classroom and concentrated on not growing red. Potter had a silly grin on his face that made him appear to be five years old. Automatically he shifted his glance to her face. Her cheeks were again flushed and she was biting back a grin. His eyes traveled downward and he saw that she was holding Potter’s hand.
Potter, who always had anything he ever wanted.
Potter, who had taken everything away from him.
Potter, who was with a girl he didn’t deserve.
Severus watched as Potter set up Evans’ cauldron for her and sighed.
He would always love Lily Evans. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
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