Promises Broken

I sit silently, watching him.

He's laughing, joking with his friends, the Evans girl hanging on his every word.

My own friends are sombre-faced and serious. Whilst the Gryffindors chat about trivial things, normal things for people of our age, we Slytherins have always been obsessed with what will become of us once we leave school and step out into the big wide world.

My future has been planned out for years; ever since the age of eight, when a forbidden night-time visit to my father's laboratory led me to make, unknown to me, a solution that was found difficult by children twice my age.

Terrified when I heard footsteps upstairs, I left the solution where it was and ran. The next morning, my father found the solution and demanded to know who had made it. At first I was too scared to admit to it, but when the blame looked as though it was to be shifted onto my younger sister, Artemis, I came forwards, scared of what might happen to her if I didn't.

I'll never forget the look upon Father's face. The delight in his eyes; the smile on his lips as he encouraged me to make the solution again. From that moment on, he pushed me forwards in Potions.

Unbeknown to me, my father had been working secretly alongside a Dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, since before I was even born. Father went to the Dark Lord and told him that, should my father die, I would be ready to take his place, brewing Dark potions and doing whatever I could to help.

When I arrived at Hogwarts, I discovered that other children's parents had promised them to the Dark Lord. I quickly befriended the children, and they me, and as we grew older we discussed when and how we would join the Dark Lord once and for all.

I had never met anyone like James Potter before. So arrogant, so confident and sure of himself. I hated him. I still do. I really, truly despise him.

But now...

Now there are other feelings. I loathe him, but I think I love him.

Love. My father has brought me up to believe that love is an emotion for the weak. Only pitiful people feel love, he told me. I believed him. I swore to myself, I promised myself that I would never fall in love. But even I have to break promises from time to time.

Every time I look at him, it's like being born again. My stomach tingles, my knees turn to water, I feel as though I'm going to faint.

I look at Lily Evans. She's laughing at something James said, gazing adoringly at him whilst he gazes back at her and lovingly sweeps a strand of hair away from her face. I hate her, which is stupid, because even if she didn't exist, James would find someone else to love. It wouldn't be me. It will never be me.

James and his friends will get married, and have children, and lead happy friendly lives. They'll never turn to the Dark Side. Why would they need to? They would gain nothing from it. They feel empathy and happiness and all those other emotions that I will never feel.

Maybe I could feel them. If James held me in his arms, if he told me he loved me and would never leave my side, then I would be truly happy, for the first time ever.

He looks up, catches my gaze and quickly looks away again. He mutters something to Sirius Black, who laughs. At me, probably. I don't care. Just that split-second's worth of eye contact was enough to send me soaring on a high. James Potter is like some lethal drug that I crave. When our eyes meet, or if my arm 'accidentally' brushes against his when we're walking towards each other in a corridor, I feel dizzy and light-headed, as if he's drained some of my energy. Sometimes I feel like hitting him when he walks past me, just so I have a chance to touch him.

Love.

It truly is the best feeling in the world.

James Potter will hold my heart in his hands for all of time; whether he will throw it down and stamp on it, or whether he chooses to cherish and embrace it, is entirely up to him. He holds my heart, but I do not hold his. Lily Evans holds his. She will hold it for eternity, as will James hers. There is a difference between she and I, though; James knows of Lily's love.

He will never know of mine.

I can do nothing, for I am Severus Snape, the hated Slytherin.

The person whom James has despised since day one, ever since our first day, when Evan Rosier pushed him over and I turned his hair blue. An utterly juvenile prank, but we were only eleven. Because we were eleven, it was enough to make him hate me. Ever since I was small, if someone hated me, then I'd hate them back.

We're not eleven any more. We are eighteen, about to leave school in less than two weeks. I doubt I will get a chance to talk to James again, so all I can do is wish him the best for his future, even though his future will not involve me.

Good luck, James. I've loved you for so long, and I've hated you longer. Whilst my hatred gradually fades, though, my love will do anything but fade. If I let it, it will grow stronger and stronger until the frustration at not being able to have you will kill me.

I can't let it do that. To the outside world, I will always hate you. That's the way it will be, because it has to be.