He mourned her death as no one else had. Some say it was because he had a hand in causing it, but very few knew the real reason. He had loved her, and as he had inadvertently caused her life to end, he never forgave himself. He hated that he had been the reason no one would ever see the flash of anger in her bright eyes, or see her twist her fiery hair around her finger.
He hated that she was gone.
He hated that she had never loved him.
He hated that it was his own fault on both accounts.
Their seventh year was the last time he would have a chance, a chance to make her his for forever. But she would hardly speak to him, never meet his eyes, avoid him in the halls. But he could see what she tried to hide from him. She was saddened, and betrayal was plain in her eyes. He saw it clearly in the few glances she would give him.
He could only guess that she’d heard about him over the summer. She’d heard the rumors flying around, about the rise of a Dark Lord, about those who were skilled enough trying to help him. About the few students at her school who were suspected of being in his innermost ranks.
He wanted to be mad at her, to yell at her for ever considering him to be part of something like that. But he couldn’t. Because she had it right. Entirely right.
He hated that too.
He never knew for sure though. It was just the only conclusion he could come to.
She wouldn’t let him explain; let him say anything in his defense. He tried eventually, around Halloween, to see if he could get a word in, if he could change her mind.
But all she’d said to him was:
“I don’t want to hear it!” She was crying when she looked at him, her face full of hurt.
She reached to her neck then, her hand grasping at something.
“Here. Take it,” she had said. “I don’t want to remember you anymore.”
Into his hand she’d dropped the necklace he’d given her so many years before, when they were just children on a playground, saying she could remember him wherever she was that way. He felt as though his heart went with her, as he watched her turn and walk away. The silver, solid, heart in his hand was all he had now. She gave him it, maybe to compensate for what she was doing to him. Or maybe she had meant what she said. He guessed it was the latter.
He clutched the only heart he had, cold and hard in his hand. It didn’t help the ache he felt, the empty hole now taking over his chest. He wished he would die, that if she couldn’t be in his life, then he wouldn’t have a life at all.
But he didn’t have that kind of luck. The pain never dulled. If anything, it got worse.
She had always worn that silver necklace.
He remembered it clearly, every time he had seen her with it on. Because he had given it to her. Even when they had fought before, she would always have it on, and it would give him courage to see that. He tried to block the memories from his mind, all they’d done together, after she’d stopped talking to him altogether, but the necklace prohibited it.
He saw it as it gleamed in the sun, the heart pendant resting in the hollow of her chest. He remembered it being longer then the ones she had worn before, hanging down past her collar bone. She never seemed to mind though, oblivious to the noise it would make, bouncing around when she walked, banging off of tables when she sat down at them.
It was a dreadful heavy thing, as they both found out during their terms of wearing it. A solid silver heart was all it was, not the latest fashion, not something to be overly proud of. But they both wore it for a time. It was the only thing that lasted between them. Their friendship was slowly whittled away.
Wear it they did, every day it was theirs. She wore it constantly, refusing to let anyone else so much as touch it. She was irrationally protective of it since the day he gave it to her. It gave him great pride to know she liked it so much.
She didn’t take it off in the dead of winter, when, under the layers of clothes, it would undoubtedly be freezing to the skin. She refused to remove it in the summer, when the heat would make it scorching to the touch. She didn’t want it to be away from her.
She wore it swimming, during flying lessons, and pick-up games of Quidditch. Always it hung around her neck.
Nothing but a solid, silver, 3 dimensional heart on an unremarkable silver chain. It hung limp around her neck, adding little to her outfit, or improvement to her presentation.
It has sentimental value, she would say to anyone who voiced their query of why she wore it. He couldn’t agree with her more when it passed back into his possession.
He remembered how it sparkled in the sun, casting odd patches of reflected light every which way. If the angle was just right, it would light up her face. He remembered that the most clearly.
He remembered it when she swam, how it would dangle down below her floating form, a misplaced color in an imagined painting. It stood out from the background of the blue water and her pale skin. It must have been harder to swim with the weight, he had always thought so. But it didn’t matter. It was always there, hanging around her neck.
It was difficult for him to become accustomed to a first, to get used to seeing something he gave her right there in front of him. Every time he gave her a hug, he could feel it against his own chest, hard and cold. He never got used to the feeling of in impacting on his ribs when she leaned over to ask him something.
But it didn’t bother him in the slightest. It was just strange. It made him feel closer to her, a feeling he had been afraid to expect, despite how much he wished for it.
He did ask her once, to explain to him why it was exactly, that she wore it all the time.
She’d looked at him like he was crazy.
“It’s from you!” She’d said, bewildered that he could wonder why else.
That was one of the best memories of his life.
It had been hers. Her silver heart necklace. No matter how many times he tried to picture her without it, he couldn’t.
Why couldn’t he have been the thing that would have always been with her?
That thought pained him forever.
Despite the pain the necklace triggered, he wore it every day from when she had dropped it into his hand. It was the only part of her that he could hold close to him. Under his layers of always black robes, the small trinket was there.
The day she died, she took more of him with her than ever before. It was his fault. He would always believe it, and it tortured him. He had taken her out of this world.
He went to see her after she died. He had to tell her how he loved her, even if it was only in death that she could know.
He went to her funeral to say goodbye, to tell her what he should have told her years ago. To tell her he loved her.
He was alone, there in the early silence of the morning.
He whispered in her ear how he loved her. He told her how he missed her. He told her how he wished he had said all of this before. He told her how it could have made it different.
He told her goodbye.
He took the necklace from around his neck and laid it down beside her cold, stiff form.
He turned on his heel, tears stinging his eyes, and walked away from her. He left his heart with her that day, both literally and figuratively. He would never be able to forget her, never be able to love anyone else, never be able to move on. He would never not be thinking about her.
He would never see her again.
Author's Note That's my Snape/Lily. It was supposed to be a challenge entry -- a 500 word description. But, as you can see, I got a little carried away. I hope you liked it at any rate!
Write a Review Her Silver Heart Necklace: Her Silver Heart Necklace