Post by Anjelica on Apr 25, 2010 10:29:32 GMT -5
This is one of my favorite Severus/Rolanda Fan Fiction. It made me shed tears. It's as if the story really existed in the books but JKR over there just did not mentioned it.
Made by one of my favorite authors, Charlothiena. You could view her profile here.
www.fanfiction.net/u/1469939/Charlothiena
Never Told by Charlothiena
A/N: My stories shall be updated soon. This is just a plot bunny that appeared to me last night. Covers all seven books...Might be a bit OOC, but I tried to keep it as in character as possible, so sorry if I failed. Thanks for reviewing, to everyone who has reviewed my stories so far. Sorry to those I haven't, as yet, got back to.
Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, I wouldn't be bothering to attend sixth form in the hope of getting a good job any more. Nope, sorry folks, I'm not J.K, and these characters and places belong to her. If they did belong to me, these two quite possibly would end up together, she would be in it more, and he wouldn't die.
She watched him speak to Quirrel from over the staff table. She watched how Quirrel shivered under the heat of his gaze. He could strike fear into the hearts of both students and faculty, and showed no remorse for doing so. He had done terrible wrong in the past, but never said a word about it. Never seemed to think, to remember, to be sorry. She knew it was different. She'd seen him stare blankly into the flames of the staffroom fire, she'd seen the quiet words he'd spoken to Dumbledore, to Poppy, to Minerva. The only people he truly trusted enough to tell what was really on his mind.
*
He watched her across the table. He admired the way her eyes glint like fire in the candle-light, the way the moonlight turned her hair to a shimmering silver. The stars, through the ceiling above, seem to shine on her, for her. Just for her. He knew she is kinder than he to the students, true, she accepts no nonsense, and upholds the laws of flight at every turn, but there is that softness in her tone, that gentleness of her hands when she corrects the grip of some first year who is yet to spread their wings. The older students love her-she's someone who they can tell their secrets, who they like, who they hate, and who they like too much. They come to her depressed, stressed about exams or love, or homework. They leave her elated, as though they are flying. In truth...so does he. He pondered her, across that long, wooden table, and for a second, their eyes met, gold and black, shielded by ever floating candles. She watched him, as he watched her. He pretended he hadn't seen, and turned his face away.
*
She watched him as he argued with Minerva about Potter and his...misdemeanour with the flying car and the Whomping Willow. She didn't understand how he was acting. She herself had crashed a flying motorcycle into Greenhouse two accidentally ten years before. Sirius and Pomona had been the angry ones then-it was Pomona's greenhouse, and Sirius' bike. Severus, when he had learnt of it, hadn't been angry with her at all. He had called her stupid, and laughed at her when Poppy diagnosed a broken leg and banned her from flying for a week, but he hadn't acted like this. He even seemed...concerned. That time. She was sure the Chocolate Frog that was left on her bedside table on that first, painful night was from him.
*
He couldn't bear to see such sorrow in her eyes. The Weasley girl, she said, had been one of her best students. She couldn't bear to think that Ginny was gone forever, trapped in the Chamber of Secrets, at the Monster's mercy. He had to physically restrain her from leaping at Minerva, or Lockhart, or both, as Minerva told Lockhart to go and rescue her, as it was his area of expertise. He knew, and she knew, that Lockhart had no expertise, and that, he would chicken out, or, if he went, he would fail. He was the one who pulled her back as she started shouting at Minerva, begging her to see sense and let someone who knew how to at least duel go instead of Lockhart. He knew she meant for Minerva to let her go. He half-cursed, and half-thanked her for her Gryffindor courage.
*
They were shouting at each other, hot-headed, both as furious as the other for the supposed wrong. She was shrieking at him for being such an inconsiderate git, for being narrow-minded, for insinuating that Potter had been helping Black, and for outing Remus Lupin's secret. She screamed that he didn't deserve his Order of Merlin award. She called him a coward, a bastard, a traitor. She yelled that she hated him. He started shouting at her then, calling her foolish, naive, childish. He said he hated her. She slapped him round the face, and it stung, as she ran away into the castle. Her words stung him more than her slap.
*
He couldn't believe it. He had been waiting, for she had been late. He'd given a dance to Aurora Sinistra, and to Minerva, both who had smiled at him, and thanked him, as friends. He sat awhile at a bench in the Entrance Hall, looking up at the staircase, drinking a small glass of wine. She was still not here, and he was still waiting for her. A minute passed. Then, there she was, peeking around a stone pillar at the top of the first flight of stairs, dressed in a gown of gold, to match her eyes. She looked so hesitant, so anxious, and kept tugging at her dress. She wasn't used to them. Then she saw him, waiting, and her face transformed into a smile that threatened to melt his stone heart. But she wasn't his tonight, and as the handsome, thirty-something governor took her hand, and lead her to dance, he turned away, and lowered his head, hiding his eyes. She had looked so radiant, so beautiful. But she wasn't his tonight. Another man, a handsome man, who had never done evil, had her hand in his, her eyes gazing into his as they twirled and swayed around the floor.
*
He saw them kiss, behind a pillar of the courtyard wall, as he walked with Karcaroff. She, still radient, still beautiful, held secure, and warm in his strong arms. His golden hair glinting in the candlelight. He was American or something, wealthy, pureblood. Never a Death Eater. Never marked, feared, or hated. He was worthy of her.
*
He smiled as she snook up on Umbridge, and turned her mousy-brown hair as pink as the fluffy cardigan she wore while in full view of all of the students in the corridor. She winked at him, and he stopped himself from laughing by taking points off of a couple of Gryffindors snogging by a statue. He decided not to tell the Umbitch. He decided that, after attacking Minerva with her Aurors, and making the students suffer, the despicable woman was getting what she deserved.
*
He had been looking at Lily in the Mirror of Erised. He was wishing his life away, he knew, merely looking at his Lily again and again, as though to imprint her in his memory. He felt so guilty, not only about her death all of those years ago, but because of how he felt now. About her. He shouldn't be feeling this way, he knew that. He couldn't be in love with her.
*
She had come to his side, looking also in the mirror. He had refused to look at her. He had asked her what she saw, and she had answered. She said that until a while ago, she would have seen herself as the Captain of the winning team in the Quidditch World Cup, hoisting the trophy into the air as the crowd screamed her name. Now, she said, she couldn't see that anymore. He looked in her golden eyes then, and then back at the mirror. Lily...was no longer there.
For a moment, a heartbeat...his hand almost touched hers.
But then he left, robes billowing about him, leaving her watching the silent, lying glass. It had to be lying. She told herself that desperately, then, and later. For now, in the glass, even when he had left, all she saw was him and her, together, hands touching in a way that made it seem that even Death couldn't ever come between them.
*
She dreamed of him. He was stood before the Dark Lord, being insulted and mocked. She saw him getting hit by the Cruciatus curse, and she felt his pain as if it was her own. This dream plagued her every night that he was away from the castle. She begged his pain would end soon, even if it was just a nightmare.
*
He saw her watching him, holding Septima Vector back as he and Draco fled from the castle grounds after slaying Dumbledore. He looked in her golden eyes, and saw pain, anger, loss, betrayal. So many emotions that he had, in his full honesty, hoped she would never feel again. It almost broke his heart, that he had been the one to cause them. What hurt him more, though, was that he had grown to care about her, and he'd never told her.
*
She had dashed through the rubble, through the crowds of wounded, through the screams and the cheering and the pain. She had to find him. He was innocent, so Hermione Granger had just said. He'd confessed his innocence, he was innocent, he...
She ran on through the castle, shouting his name, her pleading calls only met by echoes. She had to find him. To tell him...
She was directed to the Shrieking Shack by Harry Potter himself.
She made her hesitant way into the eerily silent house. She stepped into the room where Harry had said he was. She didn't want to believe it. She couldn't bear to. That couldn't be him, lying there, all alone, surrounded by his own blood, his eyes closed forever, him, gone forever. She was ran across the wooden floor, sinking to ground, gathering his unmoving body into her arms, cradling him close to her. Begging her eyes, and the words of those children, to be wrong. That he was just injured, unconscious. That in a moment he'd open his eyes, and start yelling at her for holding him like this, or mocking the tears that mixed with her mascara, forming dark waterfalls on her pale cheeks. She rocked his body gently, holding him as if she'd never let him go again. The tears kept coming, even onto the moment that Minerva McGonagall, and Poppy Pomfrey appeared in the door, to take him away.
The pain of his passing was terrible. But worse, worst of all, was the ache of regret, and the fact that she had never told him.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed.
Made by one of my favorite authors, Charlothiena. You could view her profile here.
www.fanfiction.net/u/1469939/Charlothiena
Never Told by Charlothiena
A/N: My stories shall be updated soon. This is just a plot bunny that appeared to me last night. Covers all seven books...Might be a bit OOC, but I tried to keep it as in character as possible, so sorry if I failed. Thanks for reviewing, to everyone who has reviewed my stories so far. Sorry to those I haven't, as yet, got back to.
Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, I wouldn't be bothering to attend sixth form in the hope of getting a good job any more. Nope, sorry folks, I'm not J.K, and these characters and places belong to her. If they did belong to me, these two quite possibly would end up together, she would be in it more, and he wouldn't die.
She watched him speak to Quirrel from over the staff table. She watched how Quirrel shivered under the heat of his gaze. He could strike fear into the hearts of both students and faculty, and showed no remorse for doing so. He had done terrible wrong in the past, but never said a word about it. Never seemed to think, to remember, to be sorry. She knew it was different. She'd seen him stare blankly into the flames of the staffroom fire, she'd seen the quiet words he'd spoken to Dumbledore, to Poppy, to Minerva. The only people he truly trusted enough to tell what was really on his mind.
*
He watched her across the table. He admired the way her eyes glint like fire in the candle-light, the way the moonlight turned her hair to a shimmering silver. The stars, through the ceiling above, seem to shine on her, for her. Just for her. He knew she is kinder than he to the students, true, she accepts no nonsense, and upholds the laws of flight at every turn, but there is that softness in her tone, that gentleness of her hands when she corrects the grip of some first year who is yet to spread their wings. The older students love her-she's someone who they can tell their secrets, who they like, who they hate, and who they like too much. They come to her depressed, stressed about exams or love, or homework. They leave her elated, as though they are flying. In truth...so does he. He pondered her, across that long, wooden table, and for a second, their eyes met, gold and black, shielded by ever floating candles. She watched him, as he watched her. He pretended he hadn't seen, and turned his face away.
*
She watched him as he argued with Minerva about Potter and his...misdemeanour with the flying car and the Whomping Willow. She didn't understand how he was acting. She herself had crashed a flying motorcycle into Greenhouse two accidentally ten years before. Sirius and Pomona had been the angry ones then-it was Pomona's greenhouse, and Sirius' bike. Severus, when he had learnt of it, hadn't been angry with her at all. He had called her stupid, and laughed at her when Poppy diagnosed a broken leg and banned her from flying for a week, but he hadn't acted like this. He even seemed...concerned. That time. She was sure the Chocolate Frog that was left on her bedside table on that first, painful night was from him.
*
He couldn't bear to see such sorrow in her eyes. The Weasley girl, she said, had been one of her best students. She couldn't bear to think that Ginny was gone forever, trapped in the Chamber of Secrets, at the Monster's mercy. He had to physically restrain her from leaping at Minerva, or Lockhart, or both, as Minerva told Lockhart to go and rescue her, as it was his area of expertise. He knew, and she knew, that Lockhart had no expertise, and that, he would chicken out, or, if he went, he would fail. He was the one who pulled her back as she started shouting at Minerva, begging her to see sense and let someone who knew how to at least duel go instead of Lockhart. He knew she meant for Minerva to let her go. He half-cursed, and half-thanked her for her Gryffindor courage.
*
They were shouting at each other, hot-headed, both as furious as the other for the supposed wrong. She was shrieking at him for being such an inconsiderate git, for being narrow-minded, for insinuating that Potter had been helping Black, and for outing Remus Lupin's secret. She screamed that he didn't deserve his Order of Merlin award. She called him a coward, a bastard, a traitor. She yelled that she hated him. He started shouting at her then, calling her foolish, naive, childish. He said he hated her. She slapped him round the face, and it stung, as she ran away into the castle. Her words stung him more than her slap.
*
He couldn't believe it. He had been waiting, for she had been late. He'd given a dance to Aurora Sinistra, and to Minerva, both who had smiled at him, and thanked him, as friends. He sat awhile at a bench in the Entrance Hall, looking up at the staircase, drinking a small glass of wine. She was still not here, and he was still waiting for her. A minute passed. Then, there she was, peeking around a stone pillar at the top of the first flight of stairs, dressed in a gown of gold, to match her eyes. She looked so hesitant, so anxious, and kept tugging at her dress. She wasn't used to them. Then she saw him, waiting, and her face transformed into a smile that threatened to melt his stone heart. But she wasn't his tonight, and as the handsome, thirty-something governor took her hand, and lead her to dance, he turned away, and lowered his head, hiding his eyes. She had looked so radiant, so beautiful. But she wasn't his tonight. Another man, a handsome man, who had never done evil, had her hand in his, her eyes gazing into his as they twirled and swayed around the floor.
*
He saw them kiss, behind a pillar of the courtyard wall, as he walked with Karcaroff. She, still radient, still beautiful, held secure, and warm in his strong arms. His golden hair glinting in the candlelight. He was American or something, wealthy, pureblood. Never a Death Eater. Never marked, feared, or hated. He was worthy of her.
*
He smiled as she snook up on Umbridge, and turned her mousy-brown hair as pink as the fluffy cardigan she wore while in full view of all of the students in the corridor. She winked at him, and he stopped himself from laughing by taking points off of a couple of Gryffindors snogging by a statue. He decided not to tell the Umbitch. He decided that, after attacking Minerva with her Aurors, and making the students suffer, the despicable woman was getting what she deserved.
*
He had been looking at Lily in the Mirror of Erised. He was wishing his life away, he knew, merely looking at his Lily again and again, as though to imprint her in his memory. He felt so guilty, not only about her death all of those years ago, but because of how he felt now. About her. He shouldn't be feeling this way, he knew that. He couldn't be in love with her.
*
She had come to his side, looking also in the mirror. He had refused to look at her. He had asked her what she saw, and she had answered. She said that until a while ago, she would have seen herself as the Captain of the winning team in the Quidditch World Cup, hoisting the trophy into the air as the crowd screamed her name. Now, she said, she couldn't see that anymore. He looked in her golden eyes then, and then back at the mirror. Lily...was no longer there.
For a moment, a heartbeat...his hand almost touched hers.
But then he left, robes billowing about him, leaving her watching the silent, lying glass. It had to be lying. She told herself that desperately, then, and later. For now, in the glass, even when he had left, all she saw was him and her, together, hands touching in a way that made it seem that even Death couldn't ever come between them.
*
She dreamed of him. He was stood before the Dark Lord, being insulted and mocked. She saw him getting hit by the Cruciatus curse, and she felt his pain as if it was her own. This dream plagued her every night that he was away from the castle. She begged his pain would end soon, even if it was just a nightmare.
*
He saw her watching him, holding Septima Vector back as he and Draco fled from the castle grounds after slaying Dumbledore. He looked in her golden eyes, and saw pain, anger, loss, betrayal. So many emotions that he had, in his full honesty, hoped she would never feel again. It almost broke his heart, that he had been the one to cause them. What hurt him more, though, was that he had grown to care about her, and he'd never told her.
*
She had dashed through the rubble, through the crowds of wounded, through the screams and the cheering and the pain. She had to find him. He was innocent, so Hermione Granger had just said. He'd confessed his innocence, he was innocent, he...
She ran on through the castle, shouting his name, her pleading calls only met by echoes. She had to find him. To tell him...
She was directed to the Shrieking Shack by Harry Potter himself.
She made her hesitant way into the eerily silent house. She stepped into the room where Harry had said he was. She didn't want to believe it. She couldn't bear to. That couldn't be him, lying there, all alone, surrounded by his own blood, his eyes closed forever, him, gone forever. She was ran across the wooden floor, sinking to ground, gathering his unmoving body into her arms, cradling him close to her. Begging her eyes, and the words of those children, to be wrong. That he was just injured, unconscious. That in a moment he'd open his eyes, and start yelling at her for holding him like this, or mocking the tears that mixed with her mascara, forming dark waterfalls on her pale cheeks. She rocked his body gently, holding him as if she'd never let him go again. The tears kept coming, even onto the moment that Minerva McGonagall, and Poppy Pomfrey appeared in the door, to take him away.
The pain of his passing was terrible. But worse, worst of all, was the ache of regret, and the fact that she had never told him.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed.
