Title: Not in Love
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Severus Snape/Lily Evans, unrequited
Prompt: For the Love Your Fandom challenge at 5_prompts.
Picture number 13
Warnings: Angst that comes along with unrequited love that you messed up yourself, I guess.
Spoilers: Kind of through Deathly Hallows
Summary: Eight was far too early to be in love, he knew.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn’t belong to me. If it did, we’d know a heck of a lot more about those Marauders. Also, the song “More Than a Memory” by Garth Brooks was on repeat during the writing of this. And I was pretty ticked at the time. XDD
Eight was far too early to be in love, he knew. No one could know what love really was and fall into its trap before they even got their Hogwarts letter. It didn’t make any sense. Those stupid books that girls read didn’t even say that it could happen in a way like that. It just didn’t happen. At eight there were more important things than love. At eight, picking between the swings and the merry go round should have been your hardest choice. No one, not even people in the age when they married at fourteen, fell in love at eight.
Picking the swings was always easy. They were her favorite, and she would always be there before he got her, with an empty swing beside her that she saved all morning in hopes that he would come.
He couldn’t have been in love at eight.
Eighteen was supposed to be too young too. At eighteen you were still fresh and new to the world. You hadn’t had the time to show the world what you had to offer. You had your whole life to make everything happen to you and to change the world. You had just gotten everything the world would give you to start with. At eighteen you were supposed to use it. Love wasn’t there because you didn’t have the time. There was money to make and an apartment to find and everything else in between. Love shouldn’t have fit into the equation.
Ten years after swinging together every day over the summer, she never even looked at him. Eighteen was too young to be in love, and he couldn’t let himself fall into that kind of trap. She was engaged, after all, and to that Potter.
It couldn’t have been love at eighteen, either.
Twenty eight was a time to find a nice girl, date her some, put a ring on her finger, have a mess of kids. Twenty eight was when things got really serious. That was when it was all right to say you were in love. In love, though, with a girl you could take out on Friday night and show off to anyone and show them that, yeah, he could get a girlfriend, and, yeah, she was prettier than yours. Now was the time that falling in love was all right. Now he could do it.
It was hard to love a dead person. They couldn’t return it for obvious reasons, and it was only worse when the stone they were under had some other name on it. Twenty eight was a year to be in love with someone who could love life.
Twenty eight was the wrong time to love a girl in the ground.
Thirty eight was too long to be in love with someone who could never give it back. By thirty eight you should be watching your children grow up. Little kids with sparkling green eyes, maybe. By thirty eight, some girl you met when you were a child should be all gone, completely forgotten. She hasn’t talked to you in twenty some years and couldn’t, even if she wanted to, for sixteen. Thirty eight is when it should certainly be forgotten. It’s time to admit that nothing will happen and go onto something better.
Thirty eight has to be the wrong time to be in love. Severus Snape has never been right about much of anything, he decides, especially matters of the heart.
She would haunt him, he thinks bitterly to himself and can’t stop his knees from giving out. She only a few feet in the ground beneath him, but he’s never felt so incredibly alone and far away. How is it that she could trap him under her spell for so long? Thirty eight is far too long to be in love.