Title: House of Pain, Eyes of Sorrow

Genre: Book/Movie

Category: Harry Potter

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own it. The precious rights belong to JKR. My apologies.

Summary : Potter knows his secrets now; and there's nothing he can do to stop the floodgates that have been opened. Snape centric.

Warnings: Mild language and violence (possibly graphic), as well as child abuse. You've been warned.

Rating : T

Chapter 1: The Beginnings of a Tremor

The bottoms of his robes billowed out behind him in their characteristic fashion, his hands clasped together tightly behind his back as he paced back and forth across the dimly lit room. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched tight, forcing the muscles in his partially sunken cheeks to become even more visible. His strides were long and brisk, though the spider-like qualities he possessed were starting to show themselves.

His seemingly endless pools of darkness that some would presume to be eyes were as hollow and empty as ever; flashes of anger or perhaps hatred being the only signs of life within them. His footsteps echoed listlessly against the vile-lined walls of the room, his pace never faltering.

"I don't believe this!" he hissed to himself, his eyes narrowing once more. "How—how could I have let this happen? Damn that pathetic Potter and his lessons!" His breath was becoming more shallow the faster he paced, his knuckles clenched so tightly together that they had turned a sickening shade of white, ghastly for even the sallow-skinned Potions Master. He didn't even voice pain as his brittle nails cut into his flesh, small droplets of blood trickling down his shaking hands.

His heart was pounding, though possibly not as loud as the ache that was storming through his head. He clenched his teeth so hard he was sure a few of them had broken inside his mouth, though as the moment, he could have cared less.

The anger that had so recently surfaced was still growing, if that were at all possible. He could feel it burning throughout his veins, threatening to force itself out of his skin one way or another. A vein throbbed in his neck, pulsating faster and faster with each new footfall.

Memories that he had pushed away to the far side of his mind, memories that he was so sure he had locked away and burned, found their way back to the front of his mind, teasing him ever so gently with their presence. But he was not one to be fooled, he knew they were there, mocking him with all the authority that they held over him. And all he could do was watch, helpless to the fact that they would not silence themselves any longer.

He was like a volcano on the edge of erupting, and though throwing the cockroaches across the room and scaring the wits out of his much loathed student released some of the anger, it didn't make it subside either. His fingertips felt like they were on fire, his forehead throbbing. He didn't even flinch as glass and a few mangled cockroaches crunched underneath his feet; he just turned on his heal and strode towards the other side of the room.

His eyes unfocused before, now took attention of the Pensieve that still sat on the edge of his desk. The Potions Professor could feel the heated anger singe his nerves as he made his way towards the cause of his madness. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he swung his arm out in a wave of fury, knocking the medium-sized object off his desk, sending it crashing to the floor.

He stood there, momentarily frozen. His eyebrows descended further as he saw that indeed, none of the contents had spilled to the floor, but were merely skipping along its mysterious surface. He stood transfigured to the floor, gaping in horror as what felt like a tidal wave of ice flooded over his body and sent him crumbling down to his knees.

Without a reason or any thoughts to back him up, he stared into the swirling mist, terror befuddling his eyes. He knew better than to take such action, but for some reason, the calculating, rational voice that always told him what to say or do, evaporated before his presence, forcing him to act without thinking about the consequences first. What lay before him sickened him—disgusted him, but he could do no more than stare down at it and watch the unruly scene unfold as he felt the familiar feeling of being sucked down into a tunnel. Only the light at the end of this one was not good or angelic. No, this one was taking him straight to Hell.

The small house, barely standing by the looks of it, came into full view. He loathed it at once. The familiar dull, grey sky (as he saw it, even though the sun was shining amidst the others scattered about), and the eerie silence that always seemed to come before the storm. Before he knew it, he was in a small room, mostly bare, with only a small rocker and a threadbare, worn couch in the corner. There was no television, no radio, no silly Muggle inventions; though there weren't any magical ones either. The walls were empty, completely devoid of any signs of life or living presence. And the light bulb that hung dangerously above in the center of the small room had stopped working properly ages ago.

He braced himself, knowing all too well what was going to play out in front of his eyes; and once again the feeling of utter helplessness took control. He watched as his younger self, a raven haired boy about the age of five stared out a cracked window (the only one in the room), peering up at an ageless sky that held no bounds. At that moment, he recalled the exact fantasy that was playing through his head at the time, though unfortunately, that fantasy was soon to be short lived.

The silence of the room was broken as a fragile figure was pushed in, causing both heads to turn in the individual's direction. All at once, emotions that he hadn't felt in years intruded his senses, forcing their way in whether Snape liked it or not. He stood pale faced as he watched his younger self pull himself up from his perch at the window, fear already a staple in the youth's onyx eyes.

His small legs carried him over to the crumpled figure that laid on the floor.

"Mum," his small voice whispered, brushing a familiar curtain of dark, greasy hair out of her lifeless eyes. "Mum, are you--"

"Don't touch her, you filthy little prat!" a voice boomed from just beyond the door. "You won't touch her if you know what's good for you, you little mutt!"

The small boy cringed at the sound of his father's voice, an immediate indication that peace would not be near him for days to come. He closed his eyes tight, preparing for the slap that was about to erupt across his face, and sure enough, within seconds, it was there, a red mark the size of his father's rather large hand. The force of it alone knocked the small child back aways from his mother who had managed to push herself up into a sitting position, tears streaming down her sunken and pale cheeks.

"Please, Tobias, don't! He doesn't know! Please!" she begged, at her husband's feet, her hands clasped together tightly as though she were praying.

"Oh, is that right? He doesn't know, does he? Well, what a pity for him, eh?" he mused, a deranged smile playing about his lined features. "Well, Eileen, how about you tell the boy then?" he urged, his voice holding a quiet casualness as though he were talking about the weather.

"Tobias, please, no, he doesn't--"

Her pleads were cut off by another smack, only this time, it was against her skin, which within itself looked like a used cutting board. Fresh drops of blood snaked their way down the corners of her mouth, after effects from biting her lip and tongue.

"What—are you crying over there?" the tall man exclaimed, his eyes wondering viciously over to his son who was huddled in the corner, too afraid to move, let alone speak. "I'm talking to you, boy! Now answer me! Are you crying?" he taunted menacingly, his black eyes shining despite the curtain of hate that hung in them.

"Y-Y-yes, Father," the young Severus mumbled truthfully, endless tears rolling off his cheeks and littering the dirty floor below.

The elder Severus could feel the bile rise in his throat, though he knew he was stuck, forced to watch this twisted game play out once more.

"I thought you remembered the rules of this house, Severus. One being the fact that no son of mine CRIES! Do you hear me?" he spat angrily, carelessly stepping away from the woman that he had begging on her knees to the small child that lay huddled in the opposite corner. Without warning, he pulled the boy up by the worn collar of his t-shirt, forcing him to his feet. Without so much as a glance, he turned abruptly, dragging the poor child behind him.

"Tobias, I beg you, please, he's not yet old enough—"

"Silence!" the black haired man commanded, striking the woman again. "This boy is plenty old enough to know what he is, isn't that right, Severus?" he questioned, flashing the young boy his yellowed teeth. When he received no response, he dug his hand into the child's head of hair, yanking the boy's head closer to his. "Take a good look at your mother, Severus. Does she look different to you?" His voice was laden with silk and spite, not to mention utter contempt.

"N-n-no," young Severus stuttered, unable to meet his father's death gaze. He could feel the grip on his hair tighten as he realized that was not a good enough answer.

"Well, how about if I told you that good ol' mummy's a witch! Does that make her look any different now?" he hissed, the elder Severus instantly recognizing the tone, one that he seemed to use himself whenever he chose to chastise a student.

The young Severus' eyes filled with more tears, knowing that the answer he was about to give would not be acceptable nor meet his father's standards.

"N-no," he replied, his voice hovering on the edge of a whisper. "S-she l-looks the s-s-same to m-me," he murmured, thinking that if the grip on his hair got any tighter, surely his hair would fall right out.

"Does she really?" the taller man taunted, his yellow teeth baring through his thin lips. "So you fancy the idea of her being a witch, do you? You want to grow up and be just like her, eh? Well, that, my boy, can be arranged!" he yelled, throwing the child across the room, laughing as he landed on the floor with a dull thud. The elder Severus could see the small pool of crimson start to puddle around his younger self, he shuddering involuntarily in the process.

"Now, Eileen, do you see what a fine little Prince you've got there?" he laughed wickedly, a maniacal smile spreading about his face. "Oh, look at that, he bleeds just like you do," he taunted, jerking his wife's head in the direction of their son who was still lying semi-conscious on the floor. "And since he wants to be just like his filthy witch of a mother, he shall be treated exactly the same! I do wonder if he'll try to babble about as you do when you're receiving your punishments, dear. Let's see, hmm?"

And with that, the elder Severus watched as his younger self was beaten, repeatedly kicked and punched into oblivion until he was conscious no more, his mother's screams and pleas fading into the background of his mind. It had been something he'd locked away ever since.

Snape immediately felt the urge of being pulled up once more, though instead of materializing in his office, he was loaded into another memory, one a few years later than the previous' day and age. He cursed himself silently for having to pull out more than one.

He was back at the house: house, for you could call it no home due to the fact that no actual family lived there. It was the lifeless being who claimed to be his mother, himself, and a man that assumed the role of father, though he did not act as one.

He was inside the house again, but this time he was in the lavatory; unfortunately for him, the only one in the house. Dirt and grime caked the linoleum covered floors, and dust grew in thickets along the window sill. A spider was quickly spinning a web in the corner nearest young Severus, who was perched atop the toilet seat (lid down, of course) with a book balanced between his knees. The elder looked on, silently thinking—no, knowing that the Crucitaus curse would be less painful than what he was about to witness. He remembered having to hide in there to prevent his father from seeing his mother's old magic books he had found in the basement. And this time was no different than the rest, with the exception of being caught, that is.

The elder Severus' heart unknowingly ached in his chest as he observed his younger self wrapped up in the magic spells within the old and worn spine. Across the front in faded gold letters the title read "A History of the Dark Arts and its Defenses". He loved that book, and had surely read it more times than he could remember, but the feeling he received each time he opened the mysterious volume brought unwanted tears to his eyes now for he knew the fate in which he and it would suffer.

Without even a chance given whatsoever to hide, the rickety door burst open, almost falling off its hinges from the force, the trespasser eying the young boy hastily. Though this time, Severus did not cringe or flinch when he saw those dark, empty eyes; he merely shut the book and kept his own eyes glued to the floor, his brain working a mile a minute, his mouth as silent as ever.

"So, I see you thought you found the perfect spot, hmm? Thought that I wouldn't figure out what you were doing in here for hours on end, perhaps? My boy, surely you know that I am smarter than that; and quite frankly, I'll always be a hell of a lot smarter than you! Even your mother isn't this thick, trying to hide things from me like this! Still want to be a little witch I see?" his cold voice taunted the nine year old, who was fighting desperately to keep the stray tears concealed in his eyes.

"What's this?" he questioned, stepping further into the neglected room, "Are those tears? Are you going to cry?" His voice could almost be deemed evil if not for the calmness and easiness of it. "Severus, Severus, what ever are you so afraid of? Surely not me when you have all those pathetic spells right at your fingertips!" he laughed, yanking the large tome out of the boy's small hands. "Hmm, let's see here," he began, his tone laden thick with sarcasm. "Ooh, look, why it's a temporary—invisibility—spell," he stated dryly, emphasizing every word of the incantation's title.

The young boy could feel the sweat bead upon his forehead, his eyes growing wider by the minute. If his heart were beating any faster, surely it would beat right out of his chest. He swallowed the mouthful of saliva that had built up on his tongue, fear gnawing at his heart. Dread became seemingly inevitable as he watched his father carelessly turn the pages, a ripping sound reverberating throughout the humid and dim room.

"Ah yes, I believe your mother may have tried this one on me before, a vanishing spell; but it didn't work now, did it? What a pity," he mumbled out the corner of his mouth, his voice as sardonic as ever. "And as I suspected, you'll probably be just as talented as her, a failure in every sense!" he shouted, slamming the book shut and pulling a lighter out of his pocket, a demented grin lighting up his hard face.

A few tears escaped the small boy's eyes. Absentmindedly, he reached out for the precious volume of spells, all the while knowing in the back of his mind that the gesture would be futile. He watched in horror as his father lit the old book, tiny flames licking at the corners of the worn and yellowed pages. Suddenly, an anger flooded through the boy like he never felt before. It was as though the flames were burning him instead, lighting the anger inside of him, searing him from limb to limb. Without realizing it, he ran forward, his hands clasping onto the inflamed book, trying his best to seize it.

"You actually think you're strong enough to take this from me? Ha, you've got some nerve, boy! Too thick for your own good!" he yelled, smacking young Severus across the face with the burning volume of spells, singing strands of his hair in the process. "Just like your mother! You never know when to quit!" he barked, pushing his son to the floor, more laughter flooding from his lips.

The older man paced around the child, licking his thin lips manically, eying the child vicariously. "You know, I don't think this is burning fast enough, perhaps this'll help," he remarked, pulling out a small bottle of alcohol from a nearby cabinet. Flashing another devious grin, he casually tossed the flaming book into the dirty trash bin, pouring the flammable substance all over it. His grin widened as larger flames danced before their eyes. "Ah, yes, that's much better," he added, grabbing the young child by the hair and shoving his face towards the flames. "You didn't need that silly little book anyways, now, did you?"

The young Severus bit his lip, blood trickling down his chin. The anger that he hid inside would not go away, and only grew like the flames in front of him. His tiny hands balled into fists, the anger readying itself for an extension, or perhaps, an exit.

"NOOOO!" he screamed, accidentally inhaling some of the toxins that were on fire inches from his tear-kissed cheeks. "Stop it!" he tried to yell, though he was temporarily over come by a coughing fit. He grimaced as his head was pushed further towards the glowing bin, the pages crumbling and burning right before his red and bloodshot eyes. "Please...," he whispered, closing his eyes tight, salty tears streaming uncontrollably down his distraught cheeks.

"Aw, are you sad? I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO CRY!" the dark haired man shouted, seemingly at the top of his lungs, pushing young Severus straight into the flaming trash bin, knocking both over. "No son of my cries or did you forget? Are you that deft? You can remember those silly little spells but you can't remember anything I say? You are a disgrace to the Snape name, you nasty little git!"

The older Severus glared at his father, all the while remembering that the burning of that book was more painful than anything physical his father could have done to him. He watched silently as his younger self clawed desperately into the burning bin, not caring whether or not his hands got burnt. He was awestruck as a small voice to the side of him muttered, "Finite incendio," and the flames were extinguished. His eyes slowly wondered over to the doorway where his mother stood, dark curtains of hair threatening to cover the small twinge of light in her dark orbs. A small, almost unnoticeable smile crossed her thin lips, a mix of satisfaction and long lost happiness marking her features.

In that moment, pride welled in the younger Severus' chest as what his mother was became clear in his eyes. He wanted to beam so badly at her, though the thought of his father standing but a few yards away lingered in the back of his jumbled mind.

He'd never once had the opportunity to see her cast a spell. He knew that his father had forbidden any such thing, his dislike of magic going back further than what Severus knew. He only remembered how many times his father had stated that it was a terrible thing, and that one's mind should not be wasted on something so worthless and imaginary.

Before the boy could even utter what he wanted to say, his father had swept across the room, tearing the wand out of his mother's hands. He watched in horror as she was shoved out of sight, the door slamming shut and locking from the outside. Tears continued to fall, though the only sounds he heard were his father yelling, his mother not making any sounds this time.

At long last, he felt like he was being pulled up, only to his dismay, he was back in another memory, one that he didn't realize he had set aside. His eyes wondered over the scene set in front of him, the image crystal clear and almost brilliant, if not for being so sad.

It was night time, though no moon light was shining through his bedroom window. Rain was pouring down outside, thunder rumbling and lightning making its magical marks in the night sky.

The young Severus lay on his bed, once again staring out into the vast sea of the storm. A small, purple bruise graced his cheek as the lightning once again highlighted his bedroom. He did not jump, nor show any fear of the rain, like some children his age did. He embraced its dark beauty and longed to be outside, savoring it. What did make him jump was a quiet knock on his bedroom door. He stirred immediately from the fantasy and sat up, watching as a sliver of light caught his eyes and his mother's thin frame slowly came in.

For once, she was not shaking, nor trembling, or even looked afraid; all of which meant that either his father was already asleep, or he had left, like he'd been doing on a regular basis. Taking note of the small smile on her slightly aged features, he gave a timid smile back, scooting over to make room for her on his twin-sized bed.

"I figured you'd still be up," she said, her voice quiet and calm, much more steady than it normally was. "I've got something for you, Severus," she stated, the smile growing a bit wider as she slowly sat down next to him, clutching an old wooden chest in her hands. Setting the chest down on the floor, she turned to him, he taking note of how young she actually looked when her face was not turned up in fear or littered with marks. "Lumos," she whispered as she pulled out her wand, the tip holding a faint glow; just bright enough to where he could see a small envelope in her other hand.

Without a word, he took it, a look of surprise and curiosity spreading over his tired face. With slightly shaking hands, he carefully broke the red seal that was holding the envelope flap down, protecting its precious contents. His eyes widened as he saw was written on the crisp sheet of parchment.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster : ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confef. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Snape,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no longer than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

The elder Severus could do nothing more than watch the scene, his eyes glistening in the din of the room. He had never felt such happiness since then.

"But mum, isn't this the school you went to?" he asked excitedly, his hands shaking so bad that he had to set the letter down, due to fear of ripping it apart. The sudden joy slipped off his face as he a thought came to mind. "Father isn't going to let me go, is he?" he questioned sadly, his face falling downcast.

"Your father and I...," her voice trailed off, her eyes growing distant in the faint light. "Look, Severus, I've already talked to your father and its been settled that you're going, whether he likes it or not."

He was surprised at how firm her voice was, he never hearing her use that tone before. He was quite shocked, but at the same time, the happiness slowly leaked back making him remember the letter that lay in his lap.

"I'm really going to go? To Hogwarts?" he smiled once again, staring expectantly into his mother's eyes.

"Yes, you are. I've already sent back a reply." She became quiet, as though hesitant to continue her chain of thoughts.

"What is it, mum?" Severus asked, still staring at her with those same eyes, his hand slowly holding hers.

"Well, Severus, you know we don't exactly have much money. I've been saving up because I knew this day would come, but I've only got enough to get you a new wand." She looked disappointed, rather in herself than in her son. He could see faint traces of tears in her eyes, and what looked like faded bruises on her cheeks.

"What's wrong with that?" he stared up at her, confusion lacing his features.

She studied him for a long moment before slowly pulling him close to her, burying her face in his dark head of hair. "Thank you, Severus," she whispered, willing herself not to cry.

"For what?" he whispered back, saddened somewhat by her slightly quivering frame.

"For not turning out like your father," the simple reply came quietly out of her lips. She squeezed him tighter then slowly pulled back. "I almost forgot. Here," she said quietly, leaning over and putting the forgotten chest in front of him.

He stared at her once again, unsure of whether or not he should open up the beautifully carved piece for fear of ruining it somehow. He ran his small, thin fingers over it, marveling at its aged elegance. She nodded at him, and he obeyed, carefully lifting the lid. A treasure of books lay before his obsidian eyes, and he knew that the ability to sleep would be rendered useless that night, the urge to tear into the books already nipping at his brain. It didn't matter to him if they were used or not, they were magnificent to him regardless. Without thinking, he threw his arms around his mother once more, taking in the scent of jasmine.

"Thanks, mum," he whispered, his head still buried in her shoulder. He could feel her tears hitting the back of his neck, but he said nothing more.

The memory faded from view as he was pulled upwards, landing back in his office, a dumbfounded expression set upon his face. It had been ages since that night though he could still smell a hint of jasmine in the air. He was still for a moment, staring straight ahead, lost in thought. Looking back, that was perhaps the only happy memory he could conjure.

No wonder I've forgotten it, the sarcastic thought crossed his mind, a familiar sneer settling upon his face. Now is not the time to get all sentimental, you silly sod! He pushed himself up from the floor, his eyebrows narrowing in the process as he settled back into his own skin. You are no longer a meandering eleven year old with dreams of becoming the greatest wizard since Merlin, now are you? Before he knew it, he was pacing again, anger welling up once more. Though this time, he wasn't exactly sure where it was coming from.

Clenching his jaw, he bent down to retrieve the Pensieve, somewhat wearily as to make sure he would not somehow fall back in. He'd had enough of his childhood to remember for one night, and clearly did not need to be entertained by anymore. Rather roughly, he set it back on the desk, cursing silently to himself and something about the "old fool and his stupid ideas".

But before he could let out any more, a familiar sensation took over his left arm. The mark was burning.

Author's note : Well, what do you all think? Not my first try at fanfiction, but my first try at the Harry Potter fandom. I tried to make the letter of acceptance into Hogwarts look more authentic, but my computer wouldn't upload it the right way onto the site so I had to settle for what it appears to be now. Well, review and let me know how I've done. Thanks!