Chapter Text
Severus was exhausted with Lily. It was always the same back-and-forth between the two of them, a routine they had perfected over the course of four years.
The two of them would be together, and Lily would suddenly say she disapproved of Severus for something. Severus would try to appeal to their friendship, or what little he was trying to hold on to, and Lily would ignore it and repeat what she had just said. He would come up with a lame excuse (which he wasn't proud of), but Lily would brush it aside and accuse him (or whatever she was critiquing at the time) of being 'dark', as if she even knew what that meant. Of course, she wouldn't object when Potter and his friends were guilty of the same thing, but whenever he pointed this out (which he made sure he did), she would brush it off and say they weren't 'dark'. And then, on top of that, she would find a way to say something positive about Potter to highlight how 'not dark' he was, and of course he had to lose his temper when that happened. Predictably, she would pick a very, very specific part of what he said and turn it on him, and he would be left tongue-tied. It always ended the same, though: she would take the high road and admit Potter's faults as a disarming olive branch, but she would hold on to her original point.
A younger Severus would be ashamed of himself for falling for it every time, for feeling the wave of euphoria at the sound of Lily validating his very-warranted concerns. But each passing argument had dulled him to it, to the point where their last argument involving Lupin had made him feel numb, superficially relieved that Lily hadn't joined Potter's side. Had their friendship really been reduced to such a repetitive, argumentative cycle? Surely, there had to be more to it than this. He supposed there was something else, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember. It wouldn't hurt to try.