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His Juliet


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A/N: This is a seriously edited and revamped version of my earlier story "My Juliet." I like this one a lot better.

For those of you waiting for the next chapter of "Right Under His Nose"... my apologies. This was just begging to be rewritten. :)



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He had never liked Gryffindors. The whole lot of them were loud and brash, show-offish and sickeningly righteous. The Gryffindors made him sick, with their high-and-mighty, foolishly steadfast, holier-than-thou attitudes… sometimes it was just too bloody much to handle. Everything they did was praised by the teachers, whereas anything accomplished by any of the members of his own House was cause for immediate suspicion. It was a conspiracy—a conspiracy against the other Houses, especially Slytherin. Those damn Gryffindors had even won the bloody House Cup every year—every year—since he had arrived. Those brave Gryffindors… those noble Gryffindors…


Those Gryffindors who had no idea the horrors in store for them.


He looked down at his plate and smirked, glad to be on the right side. Those courageous Gryffindors wouldn’t be so stalwart if they could see what he knew was going on. Especially Potter.


Potter. Yet another sickening thought. He clenched his fork and scanned the Gryffindor table, searching for Potter and his disgusting little followers. They weren’t at breakfast yet. Most likely they were in their tower, plotting another bout of rule-breaking which they wouldn’t get in trouble for. This was another conspiracy against him and the rest of the Slytherins… bloody Potter and his bloody gang, romping around Hogwarts like they owned the sodding castle.


It made him sick.


Potter, however, most definitely did not know what was going on behind closed doors while he was traipsing around in the Invisibility Cloak he thought no one knew about. The thought bolstered him up slightly as he stood to leave the Great Hall.


But then he saw her.


A flash of red was his first warning signal. What else could it be besides her hair… that famous, deep red hair? He adored it; nearly worshipped it… her hair was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen… and he had seen a lot of beautiful things in his life.


Entranced, he watched as she and her gorgeous hair hurried to the Gryffindor table. She sat down next to her friends and smiled broadly. Immediately her face was hidden by the head of another bloody Gryffindor— that overeager, over excitable little prat who was a year younger than he. He felt a surge of irrational jealousy rise within him when she laughed at whatever it was the prat had whispered to her.


He should be the one making her laugh. He should be the one she smiled at. He should be the one on the receiving end of her twinkling gaze.


He should… because he loved her.


Immediately he berated himself in his mind. It was getting too dangerous to be thinking things like that. What would happen if he slipped and mentioned something? Disaster, most likely. Slytherins, especially older Slytherins, did not fall in love with Gryffindors.


Especially Gryffindors already in love with Potter.


This infuriated him most of all. What did Potter have? What had Potter done? Nothing. Potter was nothing—a stupid prat with messy hair and ugly glasses who just happened to be good at Quidditch. Yet the whole of sodding Hogwarts insisted on worshipping him like he was worthy. She insisted on loving him like he deserved it.


She’s filth, he told himself. She’s worthless. She’s not worthy to kiss the hem of your robes.


But he didn’t believe himself. He never did.


“Oi! Are you going to move?�


Heat slowly crept up his cheeks when he realized he had been standing and staring. Staring… again. Desperately hoping no one had followed his gaze and determined just who he had been staring at, he hastily grabbed his bag and climbed out from behind the table. He nearly ran out of the Hall in pursuit of the dungeons, determinedly not looking at the Gryffindor table. The dungeons would be empty, they always were. No one ever wanted to spend any extra time in there... they were too afraid of the Professor.


He felt a smirk start. The rush of heat that had overwhelmed him when he had seen her was finally starting to fade as he thought of what he would do when he was out of the Great Hall, finally away from all those bloody Gryffindors. Unfortunately, the door to the Great Hall opened before he could reach it. Before he had a chance to divert this eyes to the ground, he saw who had entered.


Damn Potter. With his damn best friends. Damn it.


Potter had been chuckling at something, but his laughter died away as he registered just who was standing in front of him. Their eyes met and they both stood rooted to the spot, staring. He hated everything about him, from that disgustingly unkempt hair to his red and gold tie to his shabby trainers. Potter was, of course, flanked by his minions, who glared with equal fervor.


This situation was certainly familiar, and he knew what he had to do. He had just opened his mouth to make a scathing remark about those weaseling friends of Potter’s when he heard—


“Hey, Potter, aren’t you going to keep me company?�


She had appeared by Potter’s side. Against his will, his breath hitched. His eyes traveled up to her brilliantly red hair as he fought to keep a sneer on his face. He never could quite keep his composure when she was so near. Keeping his mouth shut was the best option, even if it did mean swallowing the insults he had on his tongue.


Her eyes (those lovely, lovely eyes) landed on him and narrowed. He forced himself not to gulp. It wasn’t fair for someone to have eyes like that. None of it was fair. It wasn’t fair that she was a Gryffindor. It wasn’t fair for him to have to act like he did around her. It wasn’t fair that she was in love with Potter when he himself was already so deeply in love with her.


The noise in the Great Hall quieted slightly. It wasn’t a terribly noticeable change, but just enough to startle him out of his reverie. Not wanting to subject himself to her penetrating gaze much longer (and also wanting to avoid curses sent from Gryffindors to protect their precious Potter), he shifted his bag on his shoulder and pushed his way out of the hall.


He even pretended not to notice when her arm brushed against his. But he noticed.


Merlin, did he notice.


Damn! He was flustered; his heart was pounding and his breathing was heavy. She always made him like this—and he hated it. He hated being in love with her. She was a Gryffindor, with outlandish hair and an outlandish personality to match—definitely not the type of girl heralded as good wife material for any respectable Slytherin. But the thing that truly bothered him about her was that she now belonged to Potter. He had watched from afar as Potter had pursued her. It had taken him the better part of their last two years at school to get her. But now Potter had her, and it made him sick.


Because she belonged with him, not Potter. Potter didn’t deserve her. She was wild and needed someone to tame her, not let her free. He wanted desperately to be the one to whom her heart belonged. But he never would be… and he never could be.


Just as well, he thought bitterly. She’s repulsed by the sight of you.


Heart heavy, he reached the dungeons and pushed the door of his Potions classroom open. Luckily, it was empty. Good. He needed some time to collect his thoughts after seeing her. He set about the task of arranging his cauldron and ingredients for the day’s work. Almost immediately, his head filled with images of her. Her hair was shining in the bewitched sunlight in the Great Hall… her lips were twitching in a smile… her head was thrown back with laughter… her cheeks were flushed… bloody hell. The whole reason he had come down here early was to get her out of his head, not to dwell on how her sodding cheeks had looked.


He sighed, tired of this never-ending battle within himself. Everything he had ever been taught said to ignore her, to lock all good thoughts about her in a Gringotts vault and throw away the key. But she did things to him… made him forget who he was and how he had been raised… made him forget his House and his allegiance to the wizard she had dedicated her life to fight against. Whenever he saw her, his spirits would lift and his brain would freeze. But then she would leave and he would be filled with disgust at himself. He would scold and berate himself for thinking such things about a girl so close to Potter and the “good side.�


He would try to make himself stop loving her. But he never could.


The next fifteen minutes passed in relative quiet. The dungeons were always soothing to his frazzled nerves. No one, save him and a few select Slytherins, ever spent more time than was absolutely necessary in the lower regions of the castle. He loved it… the cool stone, the flickering torchlight, the echoing, twisting corridors. The Slytherin dungeons were far away from everyone else. He liked to think of it as keeping the best House as separate as possible from the rest of the school… but he knew how everyone else viewed it. The lowly Slytherins were down in their dungeons, in the bowels of the school, while the almighty Gryffindors sat in their bloody tower, being heralded as the best and lording their presence over everyone. He didn’t know nor care where the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff common rooms were. They were mediocre Houses that demanded no real attention. He applauded himself for even knowing their names.


Unfortunately, their crackpot Headmaster seemed to think that the physical separation of the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms should be made up for in classes. This was why he was forced to spend Potions, by far one of his best subjects, locked in the dungeons with the Gryffindors.


The Gryffindors, who were now banging into the classroom. He glanced at his watch and saw that class began in five minutes. Glaring, he watched as students slipped in, some laughing, some hastily scribbling last-minute paragraphs on their homework. His own essay was already out on his desk. It was perfect, in his opinion, and his opinion was always right.


Potions was something he prided himself on. He told himself it was because the Professor favored him and the rest of the Slytherins.


He would never admit that half the reason he liked Potions so much was because it was the one subject in which he could best Potter.


Where was Potter, anyway? It looked like everyone except him and his little friends was in the classroom. He twisted around to look at the back where Potter always sat, surrounded by his worshipers… but Potter wasn’t there. He scanned the rest of the classroom and saw the door open. Potter’s friends walked in, bickering about something and making an obscene amount of noise. Typical.


He was about to turn back to his cauldron when he saw her for the third time that day. And, for the third time, his heart began pounding and his head spinning. She was standing outside with Potter. Potter glanced inside the classroom and apparently didn’t see him staring, because he then took her waist in his hands and drew her near.


He knew he shouldn’t watch, knew he would torment himself with the image later, but he couldn’t help himself. His stomach tightened as he watched Potter pull her close and place his forehead on hers. She glanced into the classroom and whispered something to Potter, then laughed when he whispered back.


He loved her laugh. She was still laughing when he turned away, because he saw Potter lean in to kiss her.


A minute later he saw them enter the classroom and concentrated on not growing red. Potter had a silly grin on his face that made him appear to be five years old. He himself preferred Potter’s scowl… it meant that Potter was unhappy, the only emotion Potter deserved to feel. Almost automatically he shifted his gaze from Potter to her face. Her cheeks were again flushed and she was biting back a grin. His eyes traveled downward and he saw that she was holding Potter’s hand.


Potter, who always had anything he ever wanted.


Potter, who had taken everything away from him.


Potter, who was with a girl he didn’t deserve.


Severus watched as Potter set up Evans’s cauldron for her and sighed. He would always love Lily Evans. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.



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A/N: Like the twist? If you did, review! I adore getting feedback from you guys.



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