(no subject)
Have you ever had one of those days where you never really woke up?
Me too.
TRAGIC
Sum: Does nothing matter, only if you die? Is to survive your only goal? SS/LE/JP implied RL/SB. R&R
Rating: PG-13 to R (lots of swearing)
Disclaimer: Severus Snape is not mine. But I still love him.
Author’s Note: If you don’t like SS. Don’t read this. If you like SS. Don’t read.
If you are just gosh darn confused, like I am, I think you will enjoy.
Chapter One: Evening Primrose
“Coward!”
a sharp, angry word echoed to the bottom of his heart.
His voice…
…whomever it was… was harsh and vicious
angry
righteous.
“Kill me like you killed him, you coward!” he’s louder now.
Why? I don’t deserve this. I’m not a coward. James Potter is a coward.
“Coward!”
No, I’m not…
James’ Messy hair almond-shaped Green eyes
The shadowy figure was coming closer
“Coward!” A mad gleam in his eyes. A crooked, evil smile.
…A ruby-encrusted blade that fell on his body with a thwak!
“NO!”
The sixteen-year-old Severus Snape screamed himself awake. Droplets of sweat tangled in his black hair. The hangings whispered with the wind as the moonlight shone down upon his grayish face. His breath came heavy as his leaned forward into his hand, trying to make sense of the nightmares that were plaguing him. A coward? Why was he a coward? Perhaps he wasn’t very brave, but Severus had never done anything to be called a coward. He minded his own business. A lonely breeze cooled his hot face. The masculine voice sang with so much honor and truth (the hint of desperation fizzing out from his memory) that his denials could not prevent the steady flow of shame. Something in that voice stabbed at him; an unconscious guilt that plagued old memories. His father circling him dangerously, he backed into a corner, crying. A crazed grin emitted rancid whiskey breath as he grabbed little Severus’ arm. “You’re nothing but an ungrateful little bastard!” He was shaking him madly now, a bruise forming under his calloused fingers. “Stop sniveling. Get up and fight you little coward!”
He shivered violently, trying to shake down that stupid memory. His father, Tobias Snape was and fool who wasted his life away with drinking. What he said doesn’t matter, Severus assured himself. But it didn’t help the sliding feeling of something slimy in his stomach. That feeling began to grow, the feeling that even though his father was a fool and James Potter was an idiot, Severus had never really fought them back. Perhaps I am a coward, he thought as his stomach gave a lurch.
His mouth ran oddly dry. Why did Potter look so different? Why was he dreaming about Potter at all? He got enough of his mocking during the day, now he couldn’t escape from the ignorant jock’s visage even in his dreams. The cool wind from the open window froze the salty sweat on his brow. He fisted his temple, staring into his quilt. And yet… it wasn’t his face… not exactly. This dream-Potter’s nose was smaller, his chin more feminine and rounder, and those eyes… those eyes had to be Lily’s! Was his subconscious trying to make James Potter look more beautiful?
It wouldn’t have been the first time. When his silent wishes bubbled up into his dreams he often found a handsomer James Potter who liked him. His usual dream-Potter flooded him with complements, carried his books, was his best friend.... But his eyes always stayed the same, those deep brown eyes, filled with admiration. Lily’s eyes had appeared in this dream. Why?
He blushed. He admitted internally that he had had a growing crush on that girl for quite some time. How could he resist when her hair fell so elegantly onto her notes in Potions, when their hands brushed as certain intervals as he stirred the caldron? She was just so gorgeous, pretty, well liked, funny, smart and nice. She was even nice to him, while others scoffed at him. Although she was so far above him, he couldn’t resist…
… even when she smiled that winning smile and asked him, “Can I see you’re notes, Snape?” and he gave it to her…
…even when she stole the ideas he wrote in his potions book day after day…
…even when she got the credit and fame for being a “potions prodigy” from Slughorn and he didn’t even get noticed…
…even when she let him touch her knee under the potions table and then she would run to Potter the after class…
Even then… he couldn’t resist the hope that someday, somehow, Lily Evans could love him. He thought about using a love potion but what he wanted was deeper than that. He wanted true devotion, so that given the choice she would choose him. But all that seemed so impossible now that it ached to think about it.
James Potter, the bane of his existence, and Lily Evans, his dream-girl, seemed to have been morphed together in his dreams. His breath hitched fearfully. Could he be developing a crush on Potter too? No. That’s not possible. In the dream Potter had called him a coward. Why would he do that if he liked him?
A ghost of a sunrise peeked through the fog. Pinks and grays outlined the horizon, while pinpricks of stars dotted the sky. Severus stared into the morning, poised like a cat against the windowsill. He listened to his own breathing and pondered what other wonders the day would bring.
Me too.
TRAGIC
Sum: Does nothing matter, only if you die? Is to survive your only goal? SS/LE/JP implied RL/SB. R&R
Rating: PG-13 to R (lots of swearing)
Disclaimer: Severus Snape is not mine. But I still love him.
Author’s Note: If you don’t like SS. Don’t read this. If you like SS. Don’t read.
If you are just gosh darn confused, like I am, I think you will enjoy.
Chapter One: Evening Primrose
“Coward!”
a sharp, angry word echoed to the bottom of his heart.
His voice…
…whomever it was… was harsh and vicious
angry
righteous.
“Kill me like you killed him, you coward!” he’s louder now.
Why? I don’t deserve this. I’m not a coward. James Potter is a coward.
“Coward!”
No, I’m not…
James’ Messy hair almond-shaped Green eyes
The shadowy figure was coming closer
“Coward!” A mad gleam in his eyes. A crooked, evil smile.
…A ruby-encrusted blade that fell on his body with a thwak!
“NO!”
The sixteen-year-old Severus Snape screamed himself awake. Droplets of sweat tangled in his black hair. The hangings whispered with the wind as the moonlight shone down upon his grayish face. His breath came heavy as his leaned forward into his hand, trying to make sense of the nightmares that were plaguing him. A coward? Why was he a coward? Perhaps he wasn’t very brave, but Severus had never done anything to be called a coward. He minded his own business. A lonely breeze cooled his hot face. The masculine voice sang with so much honor and truth (the hint of desperation fizzing out from his memory) that his denials could not prevent the steady flow of shame. Something in that voice stabbed at him; an unconscious guilt that plagued old memories. His father circling him dangerously, he backed into a corner, crying. A crazed grin emitted rancid whiskey breath as he grabbed little Severus’ arm. “You’re nothing but an ungrateful little bastard!” He was shaking him madly now, a bruise forming under his calloused fingers. “Stop sniveling. Get up and fight you little coward!”
He shivered violently, trying to shake down that stupid memory. His father, Tobias Snape was and fool who wasted his life away with drinking. What he said doesn’t matter, Severus assured himself. But it didn’t help the sliding feeling of something slimy in his stomach. That feeling began to grow, the feeling that even though his father was a fool and James Potter was an idiot, Severus had never really fought them back. Perhaps I am a coward, he thought as his stomach gave a lurch.
His mouth ran oddly dry. Why did Potter look so different? Why was he dreaming about Potter at all? He got enough of his mocking during the day, now he couldn’t escape from the ignorant jock’s visage even in his dreams. The cool wind from the open window froze the salty sweat on his brow. He fisted his temple, staring into his quilt. And yet… it wasn’t his face… not exactly. This dream-Potter’s nose was smaller, his chin more feminine and rounder, and those eyes… those eyes had to be Lily’s! Was his subconscious trying to make James Potter look more beautiful?
It wouldn’t have been the first time. When his silent wishes bubbled up into his dreams he often found a handsomer James Potter who liked him. His usual dream-Potter flooded him with complements, carried his books, was his best friend.... But his eyes always stayed the same, those deep brown eyes, filled with admiration. Lily’s eyes had appeared in this dream. Why?
He blushed. He admitted internally that he had had a growing crush on that girl for quite some time. How could he resist when her hair fell so elegantly onto her notes in Potions, when their hands brushed as certain intervals as he stirred the caldron? She was just so gorgeous, pretty, well liked, funny, smart and nice. She was even nice to him, while others scoffed at him. Although she was so far above him, he couldn’t resist…
… even when she smiled that winning smile and asked him, “Can I see you’re notes, Snape?” and he gave it to her…
…even when she stole the ideas he wrote in his potions book day after day…
…even when she got the credit and fame for being a “potions prodigy” from Slughorn and he didn’t even get noticed…
…even when she let him touch her knee under the potions table and then she would run to Potter the after class…
Even then… he couldn’t resist the hope that someday, somehow, Lily Evans could love him. He thought about using a love potion but what he wanted was deeper than that. He wanted true devotion, so that given the choice she would choose him. But all that seemed so impossible now that it ached to think about it.
James Potter, the bane of his existence, and Lily Evans, his dream-girl, seemed to have been morphed together in his dreams. His breath hitched fearfully. Could he be developing a crush on Potter too? No. That’s not possible. In the dream Potter had called him a coward. Why would he do that if he liked him?
A ghost of a sunrise peeked through the fog. Pinks and grays outlined the horizon, while pinpricks of stars dotted the sky. Severus stared into the morning, poised like a cat against the windowsill. He listened to his own breathing and pondered what other wonders the day would bring.