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And then it happened. He didn't remember much about it, to begin with. The whole incident was just a swirling, white-hot patch of pain that he couldn't bring himself to investigate further, in case, by some hellish miracle, it started to hurt even more.

But it wasn't in the nature of a Slytherin to hide away from the facts for long.

The taste of soap lingered in his mouth for the rest of the summer, and he wondered – when he was rational enough to wonder – whether this was purely psychological, or whether Potter put something in his jinxes to ensure their longevity. It would be just like the bastard.

He spent the holidays wandering around the streets and broken-down factories that bordered Spinner's End. He was angry with everyone except Lily – and it was hard to rationalize why he wasn't angry with Lily, but rationality, at that moment, was not his strongest desire. Vengeance was his strongest desire.

But he was trapped in a muggle hovel with paper-thin walls – and, even if the walls hadn't been paper-thin, his parents' arguments would have been perfectly audible. They would have been audible from the moon. So he took his lust for vengeance onto the streets, and was vaguely surprised when his furious footsteps failed to melt the tarmac on the pavements.

Mostly, he spent his time in an abandoned warehouse a little way back from the river, where it was cool and shady in the simmering summer heat, thumbing through the beloved pages of Moste Potente Potions and imagining which poisons he would feed to James Potter and Sirius Black if he had the chance.

He had to stay away from his own house because his parents were arguing worse than ever – his presence seemed to trigger it – and his father had been quick to notice the absence of Lily. He'd asked Severus in the first week of the holidays why his 'little red-head friend' didn't call round anymore.

"I liked her," he'd muttered darkly. "She was good for keeping you out from under our feet."

Well, if that was what they wanted, Snape was only too happy to oblige.

In the third week, he gave in and walked up to the park that stood opposite Lily's house. It was deserted, because the weather was too hot even for the sun-starved English. He sat on one of the swings and balanced Moste Potente Potions on his lap, looking at a poison that turned the victim inside-out, and fervently imagining the spectacle that would ensue in the Great Hall if he slipped this into James Potter's pumpkin juice.

After about half an hour, the door of her house opened, and after ten apprehensive seconds in which he tried to arrange his face into a casual expression, he looked up.  

Snape gave a deep, shuddering sigh. Petunia Evans was making her way towards him from the house. She made a great show of doing this reluctantly, in case anybody who saw them happened to think they were friends.  

"What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" said Snape coldly, not looking up from his book.

"She doesn't want you here."

There was a high-pitched, nasal quality to Petunia Evans' voice that grated on Snape's nerves.

"This is a public park," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm allowed to sit here."  

Petunia leaned against the side of the swing. Horrible as she was, she was not quick-witted. It took her a while to think up her taunts. They were usually, however, right on target, and today was no exception.

"You really upset her, you know. She cried when she told me what you did. In front of the whole school. I'm glad you don't have any friends now."

Snape stared straight ahead. There was a pounding in his ears. Think of Hogwarts, he thought. Think what would happen if you got expelled and ended up having to live in this world, with people like her.

"Now she's got a new freak friend," Petunia went on, with casual contempt.

Snape looked up, and saw her mouth twist cruelly. She knew she was on to something here.

"She's out with him today. He's still a weirdo, but at least he's got proper clothes," her eyes lingered on Snape's grey hooded jumper, several sizes too big, and his tattered jeans, at least two inches too short. Then, slowly, as though relishing every word, she said: "It's that Potter you're always going on about."

This, he hadn't been expecting. No restraining thoughts of Hogwarts occurred to him in the split second it took him to draw out his wand and point it at her.

"You're a liar," he shouted. He was on his feet, and trembling with rage. "You're a liar!"

Petunia backed against a tree. Her face was white. "You're not allowed to do magic outside of school!" she protested.

"We are for liars!" Snape improvised wildly. "We're allowed to turn liars into slugs. In fact, we're supposed to turn liars into slugs. I'd get detention if I didn't turn you into a slug!"

"All right, all right!" she wailed. "He's called Roger Davies or something, not James Potter!" Recovering herself a little, as Snape lowered his wand, she added:  "He's still better than you. He washes his hair…"

And with a glance to left and right, making sure that anybody who saw her noticed her contemptuous expression, she stormed back into the house.

Snape's vision blurred with anger. His insides gave a furious lurch, as though he had taken the potion that turned the drinker inside out. For a moment he stood, gripping the chain of the swing hard, forgetting where he was, and even who; forgetting everything except his hatred.  

But Snape's tragedy was that, even in moments of extreme emotion, he still retained a glimmer of rationality. There was an icy core at the centre of his brain, that all the combined heat of his deep-seated love and obsessive hatred couldn't melt. There, it was always winter, but never Christmas. Exactly the same caution that prevented him from telling Lily how he felt about her, or punching the Slytherins who insulted her, or ever truly enjoying himself (except when he was making other people suffer), kept him from cursing Petunia Evans.  

Slowly, he mastered himself, breathing deeply through his nose. He prised his hand off the swing's chain, noting dispassionately that its pattern was deeply imprinted in his palm.

He knew enough of Lily's frankness to believe that she was not at home; if she had been, she would have come out to tell him to leave by now.

He also knew that Roger Davies had a crush on Lily. He was a Ravenclaw prefect in their year, and the only pure-blood wizard in Lily's Magical Ethics Club. Most people assumed he had simply joined up in order to impress Lily, and it was certainly true that she hadn't stopped talking about his impassioned speech on Muggle Rights for weeks after he'd made it. But he had a reputation for being highly-principled in any case. It was widely known that he had persuaded his family to pay their House Elf wages. Apparently, the Galleons paid to the House Elf had by now formed a teetering pile in the kitchen, which the Elf shuddered to look at. Davies would occasionally glare reproachfully at his mother whenever she tried to dust this money off and use it for shopping.      

This was just the kind of pointless morality that Lily admired, so it was plausible (and the thought sent a cold shudder through him, despite the summer heat) that she would go out with him.

He moved off the swing and sat with his back to a tree that screened him from Lily's house (because Petunia was squinting spitefully at him from the kitchen window). He would just wait for her to come home, that was all, and force her to believe he was sorry.    

Lily had not spoken to Severus for three weeks now and, to celebrate this sad anniversary, she buried her ledger, in which they had written their riddles and conversations, at the bottom of her school trunk, underneath a horrible flowery pink blouse that Petunia had given her last Christmas. (Petunia's resentment had no other outlet than the buying of horrible clothes for her sister, which Lily was always too kind to refuse to wear. Snape had teased her mercilessly when she'd worn the blouse, though he had actually found her quite attractive in it).

She hadn't spoken to anyone about her lost friend. Such a large portion of her life, her secrets, her affection, had been tied up in her friendship with Severus, that nobody could really understand her once it was gone.  

She felt like a jigsaw puzzle with a crucial piece missing, so that nobody could tell what the picture was. How could she tell Meg Valance, or even Mary Macdonald, about her worries? How could she share puzzles and riddles with them? How could she crystallize her own sense of right by arguing with them? They had exactly the same ideas of right as she did.  

Now she had to forget the portion of herself that she had poured into the friendship with Severus. There was no recovering it; it had been mangled by abused trust and wilful stupidity. If she took it back, it would poison her: make her bitter and cruel, like he was. Forgetting was the only option, as far as she could see. For a few minutes, she felt sick with longing for her old self, and it glimmered before her eyes - her own dear, trusting soul. She was sad and bitterly angry at the same time.

But she pushed it aside. It was time to put away childish things.

That was why she was meeting Roger Davies. It was the one thing everyone agreed on about Roger Davies; he was a grown-up. He didn't have dark ambitions or Death-Eater friends. He had responsibilities and a social conscience. He was all the bare ingredients of an ideal man, but something must have happened in the assembly process, because what all these bare ingredients amounted to was an earnest, humourless Quidditch captain, who was keen on campaigning and questionnaires.

He made her feel half-dead. But, since her mind was a rage of pain and misgivings whenever she permitted herself to feel alive, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

She was going to meet him in the little wooded scrub-land by the canal. He knew Manchester, that was another plus-point about him. He worked in a muggle soup-kitchen there every other weekend.

She stepped under the trees, and felt her shoulders sag with relief. It was very dark in here, even at the edge of the wood; a nest of tangled roots and peeling bark that shut out the sound of the wind and smelled of damp earth. She felt so exposed outside; it would be wonderful to be invisible and enclosed.   
It was a Sunday - and it made her think of church - the silence being stirred by plaintive organ music, like dust motes in a breeze, the sun coming out suddenly from behind a cloud, and throwing stained-glass glimmers into the assembled congregation. There had been something so sad about the whole thing - or was it just the fact that nostalgia was intrinsically sad?

No, it was sad. A place of pleading and remembering. But there had been hope too. Not the kind of electric hope that courses through the crowd at a football match, but a serene hope linked inexplicably in Lily's mind to the sun coming out suddenly and illuminating the stained glass windows. A wonderful sense of certainty and security prevailed, and whether or not it was groundless didn't seem to matter. That had been Lily's experience of church. The morals and the stories she could not now remember, but she remembered the atmosphere - sad and hopeful at the same time.

And she longed to feel again the serene conviction, the untroubled certainty of those mornings. You were doing what was right just by turning up; you were distinguishing yourself by doing what you were told. You didn't have to think for yourself, or decide whether or not you could trust people.

The breeze blew at her back, raising goose-bumps along every inch of her skin – the first goose-bumps she had felt since she'd broken up with Severus. Roger Davies had Apparated behind her, at a respectful distance, and was now respectfully clearing his throat. He didn't try to sneak up behind her, startle her, and then accuse her of behaving like a 'squealing Hufflepuff' when she screamed.

And that was a good thing, of course. It was progress. She just wished progress didn't have to hurt so much.

The Revelio Potion allowed people's true characters to show momentarily on their faces. It had been invented, the book informed him, by a mad recluse in the twelfth century, who was convinced that the inhabitants of the nearby village, who sometimes came to offer him food, were demons. He invented the Potion to restore them to their true state and, after several disastrous attempts, in which the potion simply killed the poor people whom he had persuaded to drink it, the monk found himself looking at a horrifying assortment of creatures. The villagers' faces became animalistic, in strange and differing ways. Some people acquired long fangs, others furry muzzles, hooves, scales or snouts. They took on the appearance of the animals that symbolised their vices. Unfortunately, the villager with fangs tore his throat out.    

Snape looked up from the page. The suburban dusk was quiet. Birds twittered around him. Every now and then, a car would rumble past, wending its way home.

At half past nine, he stopped reading his book (partly because there was not enough light, and partly because he couldn't concentrate for all the horrible images that started to occur to him, of what Lily might be doing with Roger Davies). But he didn't have to wait long. It was a quarter to ten when she came around the corner, looking like a ghost in the pale twilight.    

Snape got up, but remained hidden behind the tree. She wasn't alone. Davies was walking with her. From his hiding place, Snape could hear the monotone rumble of his voice, though he couldn't distinguish any words except 'unethical' and 'reprehensible'.

"I know," Lily was saying mechanically. "I know."
There was an odd, jerky quality to her movements, as though somebody else was pulling her sinews and twitching her nerves, animating her from within like an ill-fitting glove-puppet.

They came to a halt outside the front door, but Lily – out of automated nerves – kept on talking about magical ethics.

"I mean, the improvements that wizards could make to the quality of life in the muggle world are - ,"

Very suddenly, as though he had to do it before he lost his nerve, Davies kissed her.

Snape gave a low moan. For a few seconds, he clung wretchedly to the hope that she would slap Davies, but she didn't. She suffered the kiss. She didn't return it, or smile, or squeeze his hand – she just accepted it with a kind of solemn, trembling blankness that was somehow worse than any passion would have been.
The errant curtain of hair fell across her eyes again, and she made no move to push it back. For Severus, it seemed like the final curtain on everything. That's it, it said. The show's over. You can hang on to your ticket stub – for all the good it'll do you – but please clear the theatre, because we have to get ready for the next show – starring Roger Davies as 'The Second Quidditch-playing Moron to Ruin your Life'.

"Well, I'd better go in," she said, with the same solemnity. "Goodnight, Roger."

With the last lingering remnants of his self-control, Snape watched the door close behind her, watched Davies (who was grinning as though he'd been Confunded) disappear down the street. Then, for a while, he knew no more. For maybe half an hour, the ice cube of rationality at the centre of his brain dissolved, along with the rest of his world.       

When his fury had subsided, he found himself on his knees on the dirty floor of the warehouse he'd been sheltering in for most of the summer, with a plan fully formed in his mind. Every inch of him was trembling, his knuckles were bleeding, but he knew exactly what he had to do, and this calmed him down. Slowly, he gathered up the torn pages of Moste Potente Potions, being careful to collect them all. The page bearing Lily's birthday greetings, and her love, had been torn into pieces, and it took him a long time in the gathering gloom to locate every piece, but eventually, he was satisfied. He would have to repair it the muggle way, since he wasn't allowed to use magic in the holidays. The blood from his knuckles had stained his grey sweatshirt, but he doubted his parents would notice. They were so astonishingly preoccupied with hating each other, he sometimes wondered that they ever found time to eat and sleep.

He walked through the streets, contemplating his plan. The rusty glare of the streetlamps made his vision harsh and grainy, but his head was amazingly clear. He stopped outside the doorway to the house in Spinner's End, listening to the shouts proceeding from within. Then, taking a deep breath, as though about to plunge into icy water, he opened the front door.

Three hours later, he was lying on his front on his bedroom floor, with Moste Potente Potions propped up in front of him. He had used spellotape to fix the pages back in place. The page with Lily's message on it was now reconstituted; it had been like completing a jigsaw puzzle, and it had soothed him. Despite the cuts and bruises, he had found that his hands were remarkably steady as he worked. It was good to finally have something to do. And now he had something to think about too: a purely intellectual something that could distract him whenever he was tempted to think about Lily kissing Roger Davies, or the scene by the lake: revenge.

He flicked back a few pages to the title-page where Lily had written: 'Dear Sev, Happy Birthday! Lots of love, L.' and, his eyes slightly unfocused with hatred, thought about what he was going to do.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports was trying to revive the Triwizard Tournament. Janus had been sent over by Durmstrang as a sort of scout, to investigate the possibility of holding it at Hogwarts, since neither of the other schools were prepared to be absolutely open about their locations, especially in the climate of fear that Voldemort's rise to power was generating. Severus knew that the Heads of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would be coming to watch the opening Quidditch game of the term in October.  

James Potter would want to do something very spectacular. And if the idea to do something daring and reckless hadn't already entered his thick head, it could be planted there. He was utterly predictable.

And Severus knew just what kind of stunt James Potter could be tempted with. The best of it was that he, Severus, wouldn't have to get his hands dirty at all. He could just sit back and watch Potter humiliate himself.

When the stunt failed and resulted, if not in deaths, then at least in severe injuries, then Hogwarts, Gryffindor and, in particular, James Potter, would be disgraced. The Heads of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would boycott the Triwizard Tournament, and the idea would have to be abandoned. (Snape considered this prospect with some regret, because he had been thinking of trying out for school champion himself, as - he knew - had Lily, but the likelihood was that it would go to Sirius Black or James Potter - Dumbledore was so biased towards them).

Ulysses Santacruz had been a very famous Argentinian Seeker. He had, however, been bored, and, as Snape's father was so fond of saying 'the devil makes work for idle hands'.

Not that Ulysses' hands would have been considered idle by anyone else's standards; it was just that he was so good at catching Snitches, even on his primitive, nineteenth-century broomstick, that they genuinely appeared to zoom straight into his waiting arms. Ulysses hardly even had to stretch. His team-mates, too, though phenomenally successful, were getting fat and cynical because they never got the opportunity to play; as soon as they mounted their brooms, Ulysses had caught the Snitch and the game was over. Some of them decided that it wasn't even worth turning up. It was not unusual to find Ulysses marching out to meet the opposing team alone, his broomstick slung jauntily over his shoulder, his little black eyes twinkling like the night sky. As he shook hands with the Captain of the opposing team, a pitying smile could be seen to play around the corners of his mouth. This generally unnerved his opponents so much that they were still on the ground, staring in bewilderment at each other, by the time Ulysses had zoomed down again, the Snitch cradled tenderly in his hands.   

Ability had been a curse for Ulysses Santacruz. Therefore, he decided that he would make a Snitch of his own. One that would test him to his very limits, and Ulysses Santacruz's limits were unlimited.

The Dark Snitch was many years in the making. Ulysses could be seen making notes for its design whilst on his broomstick, half-heartedly stretching out his arm for the Snitch. It was simply not enough to enchant the Dark Snitch to be exceptionally fast. As fast as they were, Ulysses always seemed to know where they were going. He therefore began plans for a Snitch that was cunning, a Snitch that could defend itself, a Snitch that would be a worthy adversary. And, in case that was not enough, (because Ulysses had noticed that Snitches tended to give up, and become very docile, as soon as they thought they were about to be caught) he enchanted the Snitch to open when he was close to it, and release a paralysing potion that would immobilize him, thereby enabling the Snitch to zoom away again.

After five years of careful planning and testing, during which Ulysses occasionally turned up to work with magical burns or temporarily paralysed limbs (but was nevertheless still able to catch the Snitch), he finished the Dark Snitch in time for the Quidditch World Cup Final of 1849: England vs. Argentina. He substituted his new invention for the regular Snitch that had been intended for that game.

Records of precisely what ensued were scarce owing to the fact that the players could never be induced to speak of it, even under Veritaserum, and the spectators were somehow transported to Paris, with no memory of who they were, and no idea why they were speaking Spanish, as opposed to French. When their memories were painstakingly reconstructed by Ministry of Magic employees, it became clear that the Dark Snitch had consumed the referee in some sort of green fire and somehow knocked every player other than Ulysses out of the air.

Ulysses himself had vanished. He was last seen, many decades later, by a muggle goatherd on a mountaintop in Peru. According to the goatherd, (whose memory was subsequently modified) Ulysses had a long white beard and was zooming after 'some kind of flying black marble' on a broomstick.       

As the Snitch was never caught, that particular Quidditch match was technically still going on, though the last player (aside from Ulysses) to have played in it died in 1964.   

Snape knew all this because, painful as it had recently become, he was very fond of Quidditch, rather as Lily was fond of Andromeda Black - they were both unable to meet the standards of their obsession, their obsession was exceedingly cruel to them, but they were awed by it nevertheless.

He also knew, however - as only a wizard interested in the Dark Arts would - that Ulysses Santacruz had drunk unicorn blood in his feeble old age, in order to survive longer, to catch his precious snitch. Snape had read about this in Agrippa's Almanacke, under the chapter entitled 'Absolute Last-resorts'. In the feeble half-life that had ensued for Ulysses, he pursued the Snitch to the mountains and glens of Scotland, and then - because his supply of Unicorn's blood had run out - he travelled to the Forbidden Forest in the Hogwarts grounds, seeking a fresh kill before he resumed his search.

Severus knew the rest because he had so often sat detention in Dumbledore's office and been left alone there while the Headmaster went to fetch them cocoa. Snape had found the portraits of the previous Headmasters and mistresses of Hogwarts to be very informative, when they weren't cursing and muttering about his obscure blood-line.

Phineas Nigellus Black had told him the story of how the Centaurs in the forest battled Ulysses Santacruz. Even in his aged and feeble state, Ulysses had snatched the arrows out of the air with consummate skill. Finally, however, there were just too many of them. When his body hit the floor, he was clutching twenty arrows in each hand, but his body was stuck with hundreds more, like a pincushion. The Dark Snitch, settling mournfully on the body of its defeated master, was shut up by them in a box made of dragon-hide (which is impervious to fire), and presented to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, during a brief period of highly co-operative civility between centaurs and humans, for safe-keeping.

Unfortunately, they had presented it to the wrong Headmaster. Phineas Nigellus Black hated Quidditch, granted, but he was fascinated by powerful objects, and under the distinct impression that his family should possess all of them.
It was hidden in the Black family vault – a cellar underneath the Hogwarts dungeons – to which at least two easily-blackmailable people had the key: Narcissa and Bellatrix Black. Severus made a mental note to start with Narcissa. She was a lot easier on the ears than her cackling sister.

A simpler revenge would do for Black, Lupin and Pettigrew, thought Snape; something from his book of Potions, perhaps. As he flicked through its pages, an expression remarkably like tenderness settled over his pale face. He thought of Lily and her immoderate affection for books; he remembered her lovingly running her fingers down the spine of her favourite library books, but he had to stop, and turn his thoughts back to his revenge, because it occurred to him that even now she could be running her fingers lovingly down the spine of Roger Davies.
This story takes place in the summer holidays just after Snape and Lily have taken their OWLS. I wanted to write the story of how Snape becomes a Death Eater, and thought I should start from here. Hope you enjoy! (NB: Roger Davies isn't the philandering legend mentioned in the Harry Potter books, who goes out with Fleur Delacour and Cho Chang, but that guy's dad, Roger Davies Sr.)

EDIT 2011: Expanded with material from the chapter formerly entitled 'The Forest' (and some new stuff).
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Veronika-Art Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2015
"He made her feel half-dead. But, since her mind was a rage of pain and misgivings whenever she permitted herself to feel alive, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing."

Beautiful and sad story... 
LuxminderO831 Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2012
I love the way you've taken the Harry Potter world and made it your own. You just take these insignificant little details from canon and expand on them with an apparent ease that delights me! I can't stop reading your chapters, damn it. You really get inside you characters. Have you ever published anything?
ls269 Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2012
:hug: You're a sweetie! Your comments have cheered me up no end today!

No, I've never published anything. I'd love to, one day - and this fanfic has been really helpful in building up my confidence, but I have trouble falling in love with my own characters the way I fall in love with other peoples! :faint: Since finishing 'Sympathetic Magic', I've been trying to write some original fiction, but I'm not sure I'm totally in love with it yet. I miss Sev and Lily! :cries:
CreativeLittle1 Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2010
My, my. It appears that Severus is almost as good as concocting up revenge as he is concocting up potions.

Yet again, a joy to read.
ls269 Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2010
Thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed it! :hug: When he's angry, that boy can be fiendishly inventive! :mwahaha:
WeAreSevenStudios Featured By Owner Apr 7, 2010  Professional Artisan Crafter
I love this one! :love:
The first part is especially poignant... I do love obsessive love (in literature, at least).

He was angry at everyone except Lily, but it hurt to think about Lily, so he dwelled on the anger instead.

Story of his life, poor guy. :cry:
ls269 Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2010
Sigh, poor Sev indeed! :( I always feel most sorry for him in Spinner's End, where he has no magic to distract him, and a home full of shouting.

Thank you so much for your kind comments, I'm really happy you're reading! :hug:
Veronika-Art Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2008
Oh I love how you write... how you go from the story to the book and the history ....

I love this part:

"But Snape’s tragedy was that, even in moments of extreme emotion, he still retained a glimmer of rationality. There was an icy core at the centre of his brain, that all the combined heat of his deep-seated love and obsessive hatred couldn’t melt. There, it was always winter, but never Christmas. Exactly the same caution that prevented him from telling Lily how he felt about her,"

I wish I had more time to read... I will try to make it!!! I am very thristy for stories like this!!!
ls269 Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2008
Thank you so much! :hug: I love writing about Severus, even in his angry and hate-fueled moments, because he has so much intelligence and imagination. "Always winter, never Christmas" is from Narnia, and it's my favourite quote to describe Severus. It just about sums up his life, poor thing! :( Don't worry about having no time to read, I have very little time to write! I got out of the habit when I was on holiday, and now I'm finding it difficult, but the encouragement of the lovely people on DA is so helpful. Thanks again for reading. :)
Veronika-Art Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2008
Yes, I noticed that Narnia Quote... I love Narnia... and it seemed appropiate for Snape.

I really like the way you write, it`s very nice reading ... it reminds me of Laura Esquivel and Como "Agua para Chocolate", very good book!!!
ls269 Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2008
Oh, I've seen the film of that, "Like Water for Chocolate", it was wonderful! So romantic! I'd love to read the book. Unfortunately, my Spanish is very, very bad indeed, but I might be able to find it in translation. Thank you so much for comparing my writing to such a beautiful story :hug:
Veronika-Art Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2008
There is a translation of the book... very very beautiful indeed!!! Great style and prose... and you just reminded me so much of it!!!
ls269 Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2008
Thank you, I'm honoured! :hug: It looks like a great book, I think I might get it. I just love books with loads of sensuous descriptions i.e. about food, clothes, etc. That's why I love writing about the Slytherins - especially Narcissa - because I get to describe her beautiful clothes, and all her cosmetics and poisons in detail! :)
alggsfan Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2008
r u planning to write a part 2?i hope so i wanna see what happens to snape and lily!
ls269 Featured By Owner Apr 11, 2008
Yeah, I hope so, I really want to write about Snape's revenge on James Potter, and more about Ulysses Santacruz (named, not very imaginatively, after Brazilian footballer Ulysses Delacruz!) I hope to get round to it soon! Thanks very much for your comments.
Veronika-Art Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2008
Ulises de La Cruz is actually from Ecuador...:giggle:
ls269 Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2008
Oh, sorry, I just saw him one World Cup (you'd think I would have noticed what team he was playing for!) and thought "What an amazing name!" :giggle: I collect names for this story, so if you ever hear any good ones, just let me know. My favourites so far are Oblivia Black and Meg Valance.
Veronika-Art Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2008
Well, I live in Ecuador so I hear his name often!! NO worries, I am not into soccer, but I do like Quidditch! :D
ls269 Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2008
My boyfriend is very into Soccer, so I have to watch quite a lot of it! :D England are playing Croatia tonight, in fact, but I'm not very hopeful that we'll win!
alggsfan Featured By Owner Apr 12, 2008
please hurry!
MelissaLianne Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2008
OoO... Snape's really sinister! Awesome job =D
Chaobaby7 Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2008
I love this, I just feel so much for Severus.

ls269 Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2008
Thanks very much! Poor Sev... nothing goes right for him, but I'm going to write about his revenge on James Potter (creep!) so he'll get to be happy... well, vindictively happy, which is better than nothing, I guess.
Chaobaby7 Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2008

I can't be doing with James either.

reject4lyf Featured By Owner Nov 8, 2007
oh my god ur amazing!!! i nearly cried!
ls269 Featured By Owner Nov 8, 2007
Thanks! Sorry about it being sad. I really want Sev and Lily to get together, but at the same time I love tragic, unrequited love! It's so hard!
ls269 Featured By Owner Nov 8, 2007
Thanks very much! Now I just need to figure out how it ends! I really want to continue this story, because I'm not too fond of James Potter, and would love to see Snape get his own back!
Tonks07 Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2007  Hobbyist Photographer
great story! You seemed to really get inside Snape's head, and I love the bit about the dark snitch. :heart:
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