The terrified squeaks and squeals did nothing to change the young man's mind. He was utterly set on poisoning the lot of them, he needed the experience.
The bloody mice he'd nicked from a storage cupboard at the school, there were only five of them. That was quite enough, however.
He picked one up by the tail and put the tiniest grain of bluish-black substance into its mouth. He only had to wait a minute or two before blood poured from the mouse's nose and the squeaking stopped forever. With a grin he dropped it back into the cloth bag where four mice remained. Starved for days as they were, they set on their dead fellow almost immediately. He picked out another one.
To this one he dropped some yellow liquid into its right ear, the thing stiffened for a moment before it went into wild spasms that snapped a good many of its bones. When it had broken its own neck, he put it back in the bag.
Three more times he did this, each mouse dying in its own special way. Each time he recorded the results; the dosage, the time, and the effect.
With his experimenting finished, he was left with five useless dead mice. He grinned, having already decided the best way to dispose of the disgusting little vermin.
From his pocket he pulled five, small, empty bags jovially labeled Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. One mouse per sack and onto the snack cart it went when the old cod wheeled it past, she did not notice.
He ran a hand through his greasy black hair and looked at the reflection of himself in the window. It was, of course, the same or similar reflection he saw day to day. This, he supposed, was how he looked when he was a little happier than was normal for him. His hooked nose covered the center of a strange smile that was promptly concealed when a group of his peers passed by. He looked into his dark eyes and wondered idly if they had even seen him. He wondered if he could really even see himself. It didn't matter much, though, as he was going home. Soon he would in the place where he let his outward senses go on concentrated on his thoughts. It was all he could do to shut out the fighting...
Something small and furry collided with the side of his head making him look at the doorway.
"Severus, that is repulsive!"
It was Lily, the stupid girl. He only looked at her with a brow slightly raised, then lowered his eyes to the dead mouse on the seat beside him.
"You think it's funny, don't you? Severus, I recognize that potion and that is a horrible thing to do!"
"Shut your stupid head, Mudblood. I still have some of that poison and you don't look too much different than a mouse, do you?"
She looked furious. Of course he didn't think she looked like a mouse, he thought she was pretty in a vapid kind of way. Someone else came to stand beside her.
"What's all this?" said Potter in that annoying tone he always had.
Lily gave an exasperated "mmph!", pointed at the dead mouse and stormed off.
"You're sick, Snapey, you know that?"
"You're a git, Potter, you know that?" Severus said coolly, rising.
"What's going on? Oh, Snivellus trouble again? I tell you, just use the repellant."
"Piss off, Black. D—" That was as far as he got; the repellant turned out to be a stream of soap bubbles spouting from the end of Black's wand.
"Hey, you were right, mate. Works a treat, that stuff."
They laughed. Severus muttered some words of a spell that turned any oral noise Potter or Black made into the mews of a tiny kitten. This was a new one he learned and had been itching to give it a go.
"Mew! Mew!" it was a ridiculous thing, Severus laughed silently as they meowed at him. In all probability, they were telling him to undo it. Rather than admit that he hadn't learned how yet, he went for the next best thing.
"You know," he said. "I do need to try poisoning larger mammals. What do ya say, pussycats?"
Silently, Lupin came down the corridor and undid Severus' spell. He didn't say anything, just undid the spell and leaned against the door frame. His eyes were on the Severus.
"Thanks mate," said James looking almost surprised that he failed to mew.
"Anytime," he murmured, not taking his eyes from Severus.
For kicks, Severus came right up into his face. They were only a couple of inches apart.
"What are you staring at?"
"You tell me," said Lupin unblinkingly. He shrugged and walked away, Black and Potter had already gone.
Severus sat back down with a a confused and irritated cocktail. He fingered a raised burn on his left forearm and smiled in a wicked sort of way. He hurt now, but soon they would burn. He would make sure that they did.
Not now, though, not for a long time. It was the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and he had the whole summer to plot revenge.
An hour later, Severus was dozing against the window of his compartment as the train screeched to a stop. His mind was still in slumber as he stood up and gathered his things, taking the dead mouse with him and slipping it into Lily's purse while she was busy holding the door open for the non-prefects.
He saw his father and mother waiting for him. His father looking impatient. His mother looking like a phantom as she always did in public. He sighed and put away his hatred for another summer.
She smiled wanly when she saw him, her smile continued to widen until her husband glared at her. She faded away again.
Severus took his time weaving through the crowd, not in any sort of hurry to get. That, and it made his father angry at him. He didn't mind that, took the attention off of his mother. Perhaps tonight she could go without a beating and he could sleep without the screaming. You'd think after over ten years of being married to the civilized, wife-beating cave man she'd get used to it.
She hadn't yet, she still secretly hoped the neighbors would call the authorities.
They, unfortunately, had gotten used to it.
Heads down and eyes squinted against the early summer rains, the Snapes trudged home.
Trudging as the Snapes were implies more than the brief definition. Surely enough it includes walking in a tedious and heavy-footed manner, but that's not all there is to it. It goes beyond that taking more the connotation as definition than the actual dictionary version.
Trudging, in fact, is putting it lightly. It would take more than Cheering Charms and Prozac combined to bring so much as a smile-like wince to their sallow faces.
And that, dear readers, is a vague idea of just how dreary this scene is.
They arrived at their house. Severus went into his attic, his father to the basement and his mother to the kitchen to cook dinner.
From is attic window Severus could see the world. He could see the muggles, he could see the wizards...he could see anything. It was an enchanted window, after all.
Here he could be anything. Never would admit it even to himself but Severus would give up his magic and pure-blood heritage if only to have a father that didn't beat his mother.
Or to have a mother that stood up for herself, and her son, once in a while.
He set the window to show a dark and rainy knoll on which he and his kind met.
Unwatched, now he could admire his brand more closely. He layed on his bed and pulled back his left sleeve. The Dark Mark lay embedded in his flesh looking charred and red and inflamed. The Dark Lord did not need him now, or the Mark would've had a slightly clearer quality.
With a delighted half-smile on his face, he closed his eyes and remembered the night he was taken into the circle.
He could smell his flesh burning once again, see their eyes glittering from the dark of their hoods. The Lord was not there, he had other business. He had been there at the beginning of the ceremony, but left after he'd approved the initiate. Severus would never forget that face, he saw it every night and every morning. It came to him all the time when he thought of his own personal liberation, of being rewarded by his master for some deed. Some great and wonderful act that would play power right into Voldemort's hands.
With a dark and sinister state of peace in his mind and soul, Severus fell to sleep.
His last thought as he drifted off was of Potter.
Oh, the things he would soon do to Potter.