❝ he and i are closer than friends, we are enemies linked together, the same sin binds us ❞ | in which lilium snape is bound to harry potter by fate, destined to stand on either side of a war that will soon be waged. she is cursed by prophecy, or so...
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ACT ONE, chapter three : wrap yourself in petals for armor (control, control)
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Lilium S. Snape was eleven years old, and she was not here to make friends.
The girl had no interest in talking to any of her classmates, especially not when they were all talking about this.
Usually, keeping to herself didn't bother her. While other students played games or told jokes or received mail, she entertained herself with sketching or reading or engorging herself on whatever feast was laid out for them. Or playing pranks round the castle. Professor Quirrell hates me, she would think pleasantly, sipping her tea.
But today, her fellow classmates were talking about their parents.
And at breakfast too — if you could believe the audacity!
'I'm a Half—Blood', 'I'm Muggle—Born', so on and so forth. Seamus' mother was a witch but his dad was Muggle. Hermione's parents were Muggles. Ronald was a Pureblood. While he didn't say it, everyone knew both of Potter's parents were magical. Lilium wasn't even sure if her mum was a witch or not.
Lacking a mum, Lilium had always felt a deep sort of incompleteness. Without her, she would never be whole. Like a puzzle with a piece missing. Like a family free with a branch gone. Without her, Lilium would soon cease to exist; there would be only emptiness. When she was very little, she imagined Snape had simply invented a mother for her because he thought she'd liked to have one — or to simply make her stop asking.
"Did I like her?" Lilium always asked first.
"Not... particularly."
"Where is she?"
"She had to... go away... when you were barely more than a year."
"Why, Sev?"
"She just had to go away."
"A long way away?"
"Yes. Very long."
"Is she dead?"
"No. I'm... quite certain she is not."
Lilium grew used to the strange answers Snape had for a majority of her questions. By the time she was eleven, she no longer believed in a sacrificial mother made up by Snape, she believed in one who had simply left. These things happened, of course, to everyone — not just Muggles. But even when Snape was there, she still missed having a mother — in some deep way she couldn't explain.
Potter was sitting not far away, gaze focused firmly on his plate. He looked a bit uncomfortable at everyone's conversation about parents, an expression a lot like longing on his face.
