Fandom: Harry Potter.
Summary: Lily's back from France, and Snape wants to know why she didn't even tell him she was going.
Author's Notes: I'm only good at cold!Snape, not nice!Snape. And I really needed to write something. So I spawned this. It's not written well, but you know what? I don't care. xD
Disclaimer: Severus is mine, all mine! ... No, he's not, really.
“Sev, Sev!” the small girl called as she ran to the boy in question. Severus Snape was sat in the park, on the floor, plucking out blades of grass from the ground.
“Sev! I just got back from France!” She continued to run to him, her breathing rapid now, her red hair was flying behind her, almost like a raging fire.
“C’était super!” she exclaimed excitedly.
The grin that was plastered on her ruddy face was slowly but surely vanishing as she caught her breath – Severus didn’t look as happy as she’d thought he would. He carried on plucking his blades of grass moodily.
“What’s wrong, Sev? I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”
“I am, Lily.” He replied. She waited for him to tell her what was wrong. He tried not to sound too disappointed. “You said we could go to Diagon Alley together. To get our things for Hogwarts.”
“We can, Sev! Don’t you want to hear about my holiday? Sev it was brilliant.”
Her grin had made its way back onto her face as she sat down opposite him in her summer dress. Still, Snape seemed unhappy.
“We said the second week of August, it’s been and gone now.” replied Snape, apparently ignoring her excitement.
“I had to go with mum.”
Lily’s hands flew to her mouth and her eyes widened as she remembered.
“Gosh, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot!”
They both sat in silence for what seemed like an age.
“You could have told me you were going on holiday.”
Lily looked abashed and ashamed of herself. She would’ve told him, she was going to tell him! Petunia had said that if he was Lily’s friend, he’d understand if she didn’t want to tell him. Then she’d dragged Lily off to play with her.
She didn’t answer him for a while, and instead fixed her attention on the hem of her summer dress as she fingered it.
“J’ai a-” she stopped herself, frowning; she didn’t know how to say what she wanted to say in the correct French. She pulled out a small piece of fabric from her small pocket and placed it on his lap.
“I got you something.”
Snape looked at her in surprise, as if he didn’t believe her. She nodded and he unfolded it eagerly. It was a handkerchief with a simple lily in the centre. It held the beauty of something only the French could pull off, and in the corner was the name of the place she’d got it from in cursive writing.
He smiled, paused, looked at her (he couldn’t help but notice that her holiday had really brought out her freckles) and said: “Your holiday was good, then?”
She smiled widely at him, but did not answer his question. She really wanted to show off and to speak that one line of good French that she’d learnt off by heart from Petunia, but now wasn’t the time.
“Severus?” she began. There was a slight anxiety in her tone of voice.
“You’ll still come to Diagon Alley with me, won’t you?”