Impossible

I've written this small one shot, originally based on Snape and Lily from Harry Potter (hence Asphodel and 'always' having quite a big role in this) but it isn't a fan fic. I hope you enjoy it as much I enjoyed writing it.

The song for this is, like you guessed, Impossible, sang by James Arthur. I had this in my head through writing this and, listening to some of the lyrics, it suits the one shot quite well.

Love, RJ

Always... In my eyes, 'always' is a peculiar word. It has so many meanings, so many situations in which it is said. Never has anyone said that word to me. No one has said it to me except for Charlie.

But he's gone.

He's gone because of me and I couldn't do anything about it.

Sometimes I hate myself; I hate me and my witchcraft. In the many lives I have lived predeceasing this one, I've lost so many people that meant the world to me. Despite the many people I have loved and lost, Charlie meant the most to me. It still hasn't changed.

Young we were, indeed, when Charlie and I first met. Spring blossomed in the April of 1912 and my family and I were destined on a great journey that we thought would give us a new life away from England and the evil Griffiths, who were the cruel landowners on our estate. At this point, my magic was down to a minimum. It was sparked by passionate emotion, you see.

The Titanic stood high above me, my all black haired family with unusual eye colours standing around me. Her bow pointed proudly towards the town hall, 'Titanic' written in paint as white as newly made parchment in a paper mill. As we boarded the ship of dreams (as it was so proclaimed), a boy with sandy hair and deep brown eyes caught my attention. He was around my age and the small grin tugging on the corners of his mouth suggested that stereotypical bad boy demeanour. Carelessly, his hands were slung in his tweed trouser pockets and his brown paper boy hat was askew on his head.

It wasn't until the Saturday night on the Titanic that we met properly.

"Lillian Redwood, get out of my sight!" yelled my mother. I had just dropped her prized glass horse ornament, the last remains of my dead grandmother's possessions. The shattered pieces lay scattered on the rug as a constant reminder of the over-active trigger in my brain that would spark my magical genes.

My hair, as black as the night sky, flew behind me as I ran away from the cabin, my jade eyes saddening with regret. I didn't even bother waving goodbye to England, with its rolling hills and large capitals. Its traditional festivities and thriving farmlands were abandoned by my hurting heart. Strange looks were thrown my way as I desperately searched for somewhere, anywhere, to hide and forget my sorrows.

As I ran down the corridor of the 'F' floor, a small nook under the stairwell caught my eye.

"Perfect," I muttered, crawling beneath the stairs, and then straightening my blue skirt.

Leaning against the wall, I held out my hand and whispered, "Asphodellum," and a large white lily bloomed from the palm of my hand.

Asphodels were my favourite flowers. Their white colour represented purity, something I then found ironic compared to the sins of my so called gift. Though purity wasn't the quality of the flower that I cherished most, oh, no. It meant 'my regrets follow you to the grave', something I related to involving nearly every loved one I had lost in my short life.

"Are you a'right there, Miss?" came a clear English accent. I looked up to see the same incredible brown eyes from when I was boarding Titanic. "Goin' to say some'in', Miss, or shall I jus' leave?"

"No, you can stay," I forced out, shifting a little to the side, not letting my asphodel slip from my fingers. The brown eyed boy sat beside me, also edging to the side so that about an inch remained between our knees.