((AN: I wrote this a while back for a HP roleplay group I was heavily involved in at one point. Specifically, I wrote these three pieces for A Dream in order to win the coveted part of roleplaying Professor Snape. I ended up getting a majority vote, so I'm assuming what I wrote wasn't too badly written. I figured I'd post some of my stuff up on here, and see what others may say about my cryptic chicken scratch.))
A Dream Within a Dream, Within a Dream... : Pt. 1 Childhood Cruel
Staring out the window. Watching the outside flash by. Rain streaks on the glass. Severus inhales, and goes back to reading his book. Even thought it had only been his first year at Hogwarts, the others in the train compartment with him knew enough by now to not bother him while he was reading. Fortunately, the food trolley had just come by, and now most of them were involved in their pumpkin pasties, or licorice wands. His own stomach contracted slightly with the first beginnings of rumbling hunger, and he forcefully tensed his abdominal muscles to prevent any sound from being heard. The young Severus Snape buries his head further behind his book, but now not really concentrating it... On the long train ride back to London, the boy who in many years time will become the formidable Professor Snape, slumps further in his seat. He finally falls asleep, being lulled by the rhythmic movements of the train.....
Lightning flashes and Severus wakes up. A deep roll of thunder came to his scared, young ears. He whimpers softly, and pulls his the bed sheet over his head, trying to hide away from the noise. Another flash of lightning that he can see through the thin cloth that was meant to act as a bed covering, and the four year old boy cowers. Eventually, as the minutes pass, the lightning and thunder begins to diminish. His eyes start to close, until he drifts off to sleep again....
He awakes, startled anew by the noise of a door slamming. The walls in this house were painfully thin, and the slightest big noise came crashing through the rest of the house like... like... well, like thunder and lightning he supposed. The sleep addled brain of this boy tries to reason through this, until another loud sound is heard.
Eileen? Where's my dinner? You lazy bitch. I'm out all day and half the night looking for work and soaking wet because of the rain and all you do is sit on your fat arse all day.
The sounds of his mums voice floats through to him in then, muffled in the kitchen. Comforting clinks of glasses and plates, homey sounds. Sounds that he associated with his mother getting his meals, then sitting together afterwards and her telling him stories, the most wonderful stories. Stories of wizards and magic, dragons and fairies. Severus loved hearing those stories his mum had to tell. She told him that she knew he would see all of this for himself one day, that everything she told him was true. Magic was something that they both had, she said. Sometimes she would show him things that real magic could do. Like the time she had gone out somewhere, and brought back a sweet for him. It had been a frog made out of chocolate that could really jump! And then another time when she'd used what she called her wand, to make him really float in the air! And one day he, himself, would see all manner of wonderful things, she said... But she would only do these things when his father wasn't around. She said that Severus would understand one day. That sometimes grownups had to do things sometimes that didn't seem to make much sense...
A crash coming from the kitchen wakens the small boy from the light sleep he'd dropped off to again. His fathers voice, raised in anger yet again. The lighter sound of his mothers voice, trembling, then raised in protest. The sound of a hand hitting flesh. Slap. His fathers voice again, growling and scary now.
Severus puts his bed covers over his head, burrowing his head under his pillow, trying to hide the sounds. He knew his mother's face would be all manner of colors tomorrow. It always happened like this. His father would yell, and make loud noises, and then she'd be colorful the next day.
That bad feeling he usually got when things like this happened, for they happened so often, twisted painfully in his stomach. He tries not to think how his mum would sometimes cry when she would try to explain how she'd been clumsy and tripped, and that's why her face was all purple and red.
And like what usually happened, when this very young boy thought about his mother crying, it brought about another reaction in him. One that mimicked hers, because, really, even as young as he was, he had a feeling of what was really happening. Something wasn't right with mummy and daddy. Sometimes bad things happened. And he knew it was his fault. He'd heard his father say it before, that he was weird, just like his mother. That he wasn't natural, and he'd grow up to amount to nothing, like her. After, when his father was gone away, his mum would say it wasn't true. But if it wasn't true, he would always think, then why did he always flinch when his father put a hand out to him. His father would laugh that cruel laugh of his then, and call him a coward.
His breath hitches and a tear escapes one eye. He closes his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. Just like every other time...