❝ 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 TWO, chapter thirty—five : why would you ever kiss me? i'm not even half as pretty you gave her your sweater, it's just polyester but you like her better
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Everyone had gone mad!
Lili couldn't believe her eyes.
The Yule Ball was officially coming, and Lili couldn't imagine anything worse than attending any "well—mannered frivolity" as her Head of House put it. McGonagall sat everyone in Gryffindor down to teach them how to dance because she refused to have them besmirching Godric Gryffindor's good name by "behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons". Lili was far too clumsy and uncoordinated to ever successfully manage something like dancing, though she did enjoy watching Ron dance with McGonagall, especially when the twins teased him endlessly about it.
Rita Skeeter wouldn't shut up about teenage love in the shite she dubiously called a newspaper.
Poor Hermione.
Lavender and Parvati went on and on about what they'd wear and how they'd do their hair and who they hoped would ask them to the Ball. During class, girls were constantly giggling and passing notes, fingernails painted with hearts and cupid's arrows. Lili couldn't walk down a single hall without seeing some boy asking some girl to the Ball.
Lili pitied the lot of them.
Viktor Krum constantly had a gaggle of (apparently brainless) girls following him, but he was always glancing at Hermione. Lili kept arching a purposeful brow at her best friend who swiftly elbowed her in the ribcage. She yelped, made a face, and rubbed a hand at her now aching stomach.
Even when Lili tried to escape to Hagrid's hut for a cuppa and a chance at a conversation that didn't revolve round waxing poetic.
But even bloody Hagrid seemed to be falling for Madam Maxine, that big French Headmistress.
And then, bloody then, during a Snape dinner, out of absolutely nowhere, Sev had the audacity to say: "Lilium. Do you have a dress?"
Lili's fork dropped loudly onto her plate and she fairly gaped at him, "What the f—?"
"Language, Lilium."
"Beg your pardon. What the f—ck did you say?"
Sev sighed hard and pinched the bridge of his nose. Apparently giving up on correcting her less than polite language, he asked her very slowly, "Do — you — have — a — dress?"
