fic: Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
title: now I'm bound by the life you left behind
pairing: severus/lily, severus.
rating: pg-13
words: 1,271
notes: for
livlovlaugh ♥
He pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the compartment window, watching the rivulets of rain trail down the glass. This same rain inspired a pulse of pitter-patter on the iron roof of the train. The normally peaceful sound now only served to heighten his moroseness; like it was the thundering of the millions of tears he would never shed that he could hear on the roof.
His thoughts drifted to the cold dungeon where it all started.
Is anyone sitting here? My name’s Lily by the way, Lily Evans.
Like he hadn’t known. She’d saved him unwittingly on more than one occasion when James Potter would see her and run after her, without tormenting him as he had planned and dragging his cronies with him.
He only knew a handful of things about her: she was a muggleborn, and yet, she was one of the top students in their year. She loathed James, loved Potions. He vaguely remembered that she’d been in his class last year when Slytherin and Gryffindor had had Potions together.
The train rumbled on, carrying him steadily closer and closer to the home he despised with all his being.
That’s incredible. How did you know to do that?
It began like that. He would make an adjustment to the abysmal instructions in the textbook, experimenting, discovering improvements for each potion they studied in class. She would always be in awe of him when, determinedly, she would follow the book’s instruction and not achieve a potion as perfect as his. Not that it was ever phenomenally far behind. Here in his mind, he could admit: she was a very gifted Potions maker.
From there it grew. Tiny smiles she gave him in the corridors, sharing ingredients in class.
Alone and friendless, it was something very new to him to have someone so interested in his wellbeing.
Your jaw! What happened?
Sometimes he found her too curious for her own good. But he picked up on the shiver of concern lilting her voice as she asked. She was referring to the distinct swelling on the left side of his jaw where the bastard Potter had struck him. He didn’t reply, didn’t tell her of how he’d lay in the middle of a teeming corridor, pinned down magically by Black and punched repeatedly by Potter.
A few months after that day, he had been sitting in the library, revising for the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam he would sit in a week’s time. He picked up the flowery scent of her perfume first, before he sensed her sidling up to his table in the back corner.
She asked if he wanted to study for Potions with her. He surveyed her for a moment and then nodded. They studied mostly in silence, quill scratching and muttering words in the hopes of memorising them. An hour later, she started to pack up her bag and said she needed to get back to her common room.
If I don’t see you before school ends, will you write this summer?
He stared at her blankly until she shrugged and hastily hitched her bag onto her shoulder before walking away.
Were they now friends? In his fifteen years, he had had only a handful of actual friends, and all of them he had broken contact with when he had gone on to Hogwarts. The chauvinistic Slytherins he often sat with could hardly be considered friends. They treated him like dirt in any case and he knew that if they had any inkling that he was a half-blood, he would be quickly scorned from their ring.
Severus?
An empty classroom he’d pulled her into after Potions. The question on his mind, “Why are you doing this?”
She frowned, puzzled. Doing what?
“Talking to me, sitting with me,” he mutters, a tiny flush working its way to his cheeks before he could stop it.
She didn’t answer, and he tensed slightly when he felt her drawing closer. Her small, soft palm slid over his cheek, turning his head to face hers. And then her lips were on his, gentle, probing, caressing. His eyes were wide open and so were hers until they slowly fluttered closed.
Her other hand gripped the front of his robes, and when her she slipped her tongue between his lips he forgot how to breathe. His left hand hung awkwardly at his side, and he hesitantly held her waist with his right hand.
They broke apart, breathing heavily, and he stared at her fuzzily as she gave him a small smile and left the room.
Again? Potter disgusts me sometimes.
They were in another empty classroom, a different one from the last time. He had a bloody gash across his right cheek and she had pulled him into classroom when no one was looking.
She mopped him up and healed the wound. He watched her closely. It had been months since their kiss, and he was beginning to think he had quite possibly imagined it, as it hadn’t been mentioned it since.
He longed to slip his fingers into her hair, to press her against the stone wall, to fasten his lips on her neck.
He was caught completely by surprise when she reached up and kissed his cheek where the deep cut had been a minute ago.
A kind of reckless abandon filled him, so he took her hands and walked her backwards to the wall, holding her hip with one hand and sliding the other under her hair to cup the back of her head. He stared down at her, her lithe form less than an inch from his, and realised he had never felt so content in his life as far as he could remember.
Her green eyes twinkled and he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. Her arms slid around him, one around his neck and one around his waist.
Here at last, he had his triumph over James-fucking-Potter.
Lily Evans. He liked the way her named sounded in his head. He liked that he had cause to think of her, speak with her. It was an honour indeed to consider yourself a friend of Lily Evans, the brilliant, beautiful, kind-hearted girl that everyone adored. Here in his mind, he could admit: yes, she was beautiful.
And then, in an instant, all was ruined.
Leave him ALONE!
Never had he felt such an instantaneous gratitude and utter affection for someone in his life. Potter gaped at her and then turned to glare at him.
And he didn’t know how to respond. So he made quite possibly the most fatal, dooming mistake of his life.
I don’t need help from filthy little mudbloods like her.
He regretted it instantly, a yearning for the last few minutes to be done over filling him. He watched her blink, and it was as though he could see a light snuff out in her eyes, as clichéd as it sounded. That was the minute he knew she had lost all feeling for him.
Now, at the close of his seventh year, he was a man. But a broken man. The kind of brokenness that went hand in hand with seeing his enemy and his only love together. For she had finally given Potter what he’d always longed for, agreeing to date him a few months into seventh year, after Potter had apparently deflated his ego.
He was returning to his father’s house for the last time, purely for the sake of his mother, before he would finally be able to get away from that hellhole.
At the platform, he watch Potter and Lily walk by, hand in hand, Potter taking her to meet his family.
Here in his mind, he could admit: there would never be any other.
fin.
pairing: severus/lily, severus.
rating: pg-13
words: 1,271
notes: for
livlovlaugh ♥
He pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the compartment window, watching the rivulets of rain trail down the glass. This same rain inspired a pulse of pitter-patter on the iron roof of the train. The normally peaceful sound now only served to heighten his moroseness; like it was the thundering of the millions of tears he would never shed that he could hear on the roof.
His thoughts drifted to the cold dungeon where it all started.
Is anyone sitting here? My name’s Lily by the way, Lily Evans.
Like he hadn’t known. She’d saved him unwittingly on more than one occasion when James Potter would see her and run after her, without tormenting him as he had planned and dragging his cronies with him.
He only knew a handful of things about her: she was a muggleborn, and yet, she was one of the top students in their year. She loathed James, loved Potions. He vaguely remembered that she’d been in his class last year when Slytherin and Gryffindor had had Potions together.
The train rumbled on, carrying him steadily closer and closer to the home he despised with all his being.
That’s incredible. How did you know to do that?
It began like that. He would make an adjustment to the abysmal instructions in the textbook, experimenting, discovering improvements for each potion they studied in class. She would always be in awe of him when, determinedly, she would follow the book’s instruction and not achieve a potion as perfect as his. Not that it was ever phenomenally far behind. Here in his mind, he could admit: she was a very gifted Potions maker.
From there it grew. Tiny smiles she gave him in the corridors, sharing ingredients in class.
Alone and friendless, it was something very new to him to have someone so interested in his wellbeing.
Your jaw! What happened?
Sometimes he found her too curious for her own good. But he picked up on the shiver of concern lilting her voice as she asked. She was referring to the distinct swelling on the left side of his jaw where the bastard Potter had struck him. He didn’t reply, didn’t tell her of how he’d lay in the middle of a teeming corridor, pinned down magically by Black and punched repeatedly by Potter.
A few months after that day, he had been sitting in the library, revising for the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam he would sit in a week’s time. He picked up the flowery scent of her perfume first, before he sensed her sidling up to his table in the back corner.
She asked if he wanted to study for Potions with her. He surveyed her for a moment and then nodded. They studied mostly in silence, quill scratching and muttering words in the hopes of memorising them. An hour later, she started to pack up her bag and said she needed to get back to her common room.
If I don’t see you before school ends, will you write this summer?
He stared at her blankly until she shrugged and hastily hitched her bag onto her shoulder before walking away.
Were they now friends? In his fifteen years, he had had only a handful of actual friends, and all of them he had broken contact with when he had gone on to Hogwarts. The chauvinistic Slytherins he often sat with could hardly be considered friends. They treated him like dirt in any case and he knew that if they had any inkling that he was a half-blood, he would be quickly scorned from their ring.
Severus?
An empty classroom he’d pulled her into after Potions. The question on his mind, “Why are you doing this?”
She frowned, puzzled. Doing what?
“Talking to me, sitting with me,” he mutters, a tiny flush working its way to his cheeks before he could stop it.
She didn’t answer, and he tensed slightly when he felt her drawing closer. Her small, soft palm slid over his cheek, turning his head to face hers. And then her lips were on his, gentle, probing, caressing. His eyes were wide open and so were hers until they slowly fluttered closed.
Her other hand gripped the front of his robes, and when her she slipped her tongue between his lips he forgot how to breathe. His left hand hung awkwardly at his side, and he hesitantly held her waist with his right hand.
They broke apart, breathing heavily, and he stared at her fuzzily as she gave him a small smile and left the room.
Again? Potter disgusts me sometimes.
They were in another empty classroom, a different one from the last time. He had a bloody gash across his right cheek and she had pulled him into classroom when no one was looking.
She mopped him up and healed the wound. He watched her closely. It had been months since their kiss, and he was beginning to think he had quite possibly imagined it, as it hadn’t been mentioned it since.
He longed to slip his fingers into her hair, to press her against the stone wall, to fasten his lips on her neck.
He was caught completely by surprise when she reached up and kissed his cheek where the deep cut had been a minute ago.
A kind of reckless abandon filled him, so he took her hands and walked her backwards to the wall, holding her hip with one hand and sliding the other under her hair to cup the back of her head. He stared down at her, her lithe form less than an inch from his, and realised he had never felt so content in his life as far as he could remember.
Her green eyes twinkled and he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. Her arms slid around him, one around his neck and one around his waist.
Here at last, he had his triumph over James-fucking-Potter.
Lily Evans. He liked the way her named sounded in his head. He liked that he had cause to think of her, speak with her. It was an honour indeed to consider yourself a friend of Lily Evans, the brilliant, beautiful, kind-hearted girl that everyone adored. Here in his mind, he could admit: yes, she was beautiful.
And then, in an instant, all was ruined.
Leave him ALONE!
Never had he felt such an instantaneous gratitude and utter affection for someone in his life. Potter gaped at her and then turned to glare at him.
And he didn’t know how to respond. So he made quite possibly the most fatal, dooming mistake of his life.
I don’t need help from filthy little mudbloods like her.
He regretted it instantly, a yearning for the last few minutes to be done over filling him. He watched her blink, and it was as though he could see a light snuff out in her eyes, as clichéd as it sounded. That was the minute he knew she had lost all feeling for him.
Now, at the close of his seventh year, he was a man. But a broken man. The kind of brokenness that went hand in hand with seeing his enemy and his only love together. For she had finally given Potter what he’d always longed for, agreeing to date him a few months into seventh year, after Potter had apparently deflated his ego.
He was returning to his father’s house for the last time, purely for the sake of his mother, before he would finally be able to get away from that hellhole.
At the platform, he watch Potter and Lily walk by, hand in hand, Potter taking her to meet his family.
Here in his mind, he could admit: there would never be any other.
fin.