ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 # 🦁✨🌼
-', ༄ ❪ 𝚂𝙸𝚁𝙸𝚄𝚂 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 ❫
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ━ two teenagers learn
what it is to fall in love, to fight
,to lose and to stumble but become
stronger despit...
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ᵒ .༄ ࿐ ࿔* ✨🌙💫 ♯ ❝HE WISHES HE COULD BE HALF THE PERSON YOU ARE LILY! ❞ ⋆⋅ ━━━━ ‧ ༻✩༺ ‧ ━━━━ ⋅⋆
WHEN FIFTEEN YEAR OLD ANNABELLE HAD BEEN SIX YEAR OLD ANNABELLE, SHE HAD LOST HER GRANDFATHER. AT THE TIME THE CIRCUMSTANCES PERTRAINING his dead remained unsolved to her, but that did not mean she could not see the heartbreak painted on her mother's face.
Her father had been there to console her mother, with his arms wrapped around her shoulders and her head tucked away in the crook of his neck. Annabelle remembered vividly when the news had arrived. The muggle phone had rung, and the second Lillith had picked up it up it was clear that whatever words were exchanged were less than joyful.
Dinner that same night was silent, even as her grandmother arrived to join them. The moment her nana didn't muster a smile in her direction, she knew.
That same melancholy expression that had been etched on her mother's face that night was now displayed on Lily Evans face. But instead of mourning the loss of a person to the world, the redhead was grieving the loss of a person still alive.
And while Annabelle would be first to admit Severus Snape was a horrid little boy, he had been the first boy Lily had trusted to lead her into this new world, this magical world before she even knew she had been a part of it. He had shown her she was not weird or strange, but perfectly herself, a witch.
If anything, Annabelle had to give the boy credit for that. For making Lily confident enough to embrace her magical blood before anyone else could bring her down for it.
And now, Severus Snape was the very same boy bringing the girl down for her own blood.
Mudblood.
The word left a bitter taste in her mouth as she regarded Lily's crestfallen, tearstained face. Her eyes were red rimmed and her cheeks looked blotchy as she leaned her head on her drawn knees. On one side of the redhead, Marlene was sitting, whispering comforting words while Julia on the other side was rubbing gentle circles on her back in a form of solace.
Mudblood.
The word remained ringing in her ears even if the boy muttering it was long gone from their sight.
She was stilling steaming in her own anger, resisting the urge to stop her pacing and instead of finding a way in the Slytherin Common Room to completely obliterate the greasy git.
Mudblood.
Annabelle knew, deep in her bones, that one day, this day would haunt the Snape boy. And she hoped its ghost would never stop tormenting him.
