"Soon"

by CNGB

Special thanks to:

J. K. Rowling, who wrote the Harry Potter series.

To you, who is reading this.

Word count: 2,989

Rating: K+

Warnings: Domestic violence and child neglect.

Categories: Angst; Crime

Legal junk: I do not own Harry Potter.

Listening to: "Another Brick in the Wall part three" by Pink Floyd

A young boy, probably in his pre-teen years, was sitting by himself under an oak tree, away from prying eyes. He was sure that there was a moon far beyond the suffocating gray clouds that haunted the sky above him, but he was unable to see it. He wished that he could; the moon had always been so pleasant to look at, all though he had never been able to understand why he thought this. Perhaps it was that it was always so white . . . he had overheard some of those Muggle women going on about how white was supposed to resemble purity after one of them got married. . . . Of course, he supposed that it didn't really matter why he liked it, just that he did . . . and that it wasn't there.

"Hey," came a gruff voice from somewhere in the darkness, "aren't you that, uh, Snape boy?"

Severus flinched at the bright light of a flashlight. That was hardly necessary. And the man, who was the man? Whoever it was was definitely one of those disgusting Muggles—if he had been a wizard, he would have used a wand for light. "Yes."

"What are you doing out here? It's late. Your parents will be worried."

"They won't be worried."

"Yes, they will."

Severus was beginning to get a little annoyed with the Muggle's idiocy. "Fine, I'll leave."

And leave he did, without paying the man much more attention than that.

Severus, unlike the pathetic Muggle man, knew that his parents wouldn't be worried about him, and if they were, then they were imposters. Severus was sure that they would be arguing with each other, too busy to notice that their son was somewhere else, away from home. Of course, neither of them would care very much. Perhaps his mother would be a bit more concerned than his father, who cared about nothing and no one, but only just a bit.

No, Severus had learned only a few years prior not to trust his parents for actually paying attention to him. They were always—always—too preoccupied with their own troubles and worries to care too much about him. Once, when Severus was six or seven, he ran away. Sort of. Severus never intended to disappear forever, but only for a few days . . . make them pay. Make them worry about him . . . . It was a cry for attention one-hundred percent, and after two days of them never even walking outside (except once, when Severus's father walked out at the crack of dawn to check his stupid Muggle mail), Severus realized that they were not coming, that they didn't care . . . and he cried for what seemed like hours and hours and hours. Finally, though, he decided that it was not in his interests to die of either starvation or thirst, and he went back to his house. Luckily, they were not arguing at the time. His mother, though, had been sleeping on the couch, and if memory served right for Severus, her lip had been busted.

Now, a year later, Severus knew that the idiot he had just left behind knew nothing of what his parents felt, but he did. And he wasn't about to go home to listen to them argue some more.

He hated it when they argued.

Besides, I'd really like a good sleep.

Severus had been on his way to Dream Land when the stupid man had shone that stupid light on his face. He just wanted to sleep, and if that meant that he had to sleep with the winter insects, then so be it. Severus certainly didn't have a problem with a little bit of sacrifice, as long as he could get some peace and quiet.

Peace. Quiet. He loved it. Oh, how he loved it! When he thought about the possible reason of why he loved it so much, the only plausible explanation that he could come up with (other than it was "just the way he was born," of course) was because he never got much when he stayed in his own house. His parents were always fighting, blah blah blah, and never shut up so he could just get some well-loved rest. Then, one day, he realized that they he could easily sneak out of the house and just leave, and not come back until they themselves had quieted down.

Severus stepped out of the woods and his shoes hit the pavement. If his Spot had been infiltrated (Contaminated, he thought bitterly, by stupid Muggles.) then he knew that he couldn't return there. Or at least, not at that certain time; maybe in an hour or so . . . .

What had the man been doing there, anyway? Severus had always went there since he stumbled across it (not that it was pleasurable to the eye or something; he just liked it because it was far from Spinner's End and didn't have any other human visitors other than him that he was aware of) when he was nine, a year ago, and no one had ever interrupted him. A bird had been responsible for waking him up one morning a couple of times, but never more than that.

As he crossed the street and walked towards his Second Spot, he decided that as long as the man didn't turn up anymore, it didn't exactly matter. Severus would go back soon enough—Probably tomorrow, he thought bitterly—and no one would interrupt him a second time.

But for now, the old Davidson place would do.

The Davidson place was always deserted, and Severus had heard many cock-and-bull stories about it being haunted over the years. One tale he had overheard was that the husband accidentally killed his wife, and died that very same day—oh, but that part—the reason why—was a mystery. Another story he had heard was that the man had refused to let his disturbed son be taken to a mental hospital, and the woman had cried for ages. Then one day the psychotic son killed both of his parents and then, when his older sister came through the door, choked her to death.

Whatever happened, Severus didn't particularly care. He knew that it wasn't haunted, because he had read in an old book that his mother owned that ghosts could be seen and heard, and he had never seen anything at the Davidson house. Of course, seeing as it had been abandoned for over a decade, it wasn't exactly in meant condition. But, hell, it was more welcoming than his house.

Severus stepped into the weedy yard and smiled a little. Because of the fear that the haunting stories produced, no one ever, ever, came around . . . not even the adults. Indeed, Severus doubted that he was going to be disturbed at all once he was inside the house.

The door creaked rather loudly as Severus pushed against it—one of the few things that bothered him about the place. But then again, Severus figured, it was sort of like that old Muggle saying . . . what was it . . . "can't have the bad without the good" . . . yeah, something like that.

The creaking door allowed Severus to go through it, and he walked into the dusty living room and sat down on an ugly red chair that was by the unlit fireplace. And so, he sat. And stayed.

After a few minutes, he was suddenly aware that white flakes were falling—he could see them through the window that was across the chair. Severus smiled a little—he always did prefer the cold weather over the warm. The fact that it was snowing now after it had suddenly just disappeared for a solid week (something that Severus had never heard of until then) . . . it was sort of like the snow was just for him, for his birthday. Severus would be freezing tomorrow, but he didn't care, because tomorrow was going to be white . . . .

Severus was awoken—When did I go to sleep?—by something small and furry rubbing against his legs. He lazily looked down at his feet and was somewhat bewildered to see a white cat with red spots decorating its back. Severus supposed that it could feel his gaze on its back, because it looked up to reveal blue eyes.

"Hello."

"Meow."

Severus yawned, and the cat mimicked him. "Are you a parrot or a cat?"

"Meow."

". . . I'm going to call you Parrot."

"Meow."

Severus settled back into the chair, and realized that light was shining from the window. The light, though, was not yellow, but gray, and he noticed that snow was still falling, though not as heavily as it had been in the night. Severus yawned, stood up, and stretched, and Parrot rubbed against his leg a second time. The poor cat was probably cold—he certainly was, at least—but there wasn't much that he could do about it. Severus's father would probably realize if there was cat feces in his house, and then Severus was in it for sure. Then again, he supposed that he could sneak it in for a few minutes and then slip out of the back door. That wouldn't be too hard.

Yawning for a second time, he walked towards the door. He was going to have to go home again (if not for the warmth, then at least for the food) eventually, and he figured that he mise well do it then. If Parrot wanted to follow, then it could. If not, then oh well.

Besides, he was ten now!

The snow was starting to really build up in Cokeworth, and Severus, despite how much he loved the cold, found himself wishing that he had a coat on. Luckily, though, the snowflakes weren't unbearable and Severus could still move fairly easily.

Within fifteen minutes Severus found himself at the backdoor of the Snape house. He had learned from experience that it was better for him to enter through the back door rather than the front, unless he wanted to see his parents arguing with each other, like he had so many times before. Shockingly, though, Severus was met with blissful silence when he entered the kitchen. Thoughts flooded into his head at once. Had they left him? Did they go to the market? Did they kill each other? Severus's stomach twisted painfully as his mind registered the last thought.

Swallowing, Severus tiptoed to the living room and scanned the area. Nothing. One by one, Severus checked all of the rooms of the house, but was met with no one. Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he returned to the kitchen and forced himself to calm down while he made himself a sandwich. By the time that he was done, he had convinced himself that they were simply gone for the time being and that he should enjoy himself while the silence lasted.

Parrot had not followed, but Severus didn't care much. It wasn't always good to let yourself get so attached to things . . . .

Instead of staying on the absence of his parents, Severus's mind focused on other, more positive things. Like the fact that he was ten, and next year he would be eleven, and then he would be free, free, free from the eternal hell that was his home life. He would go to Hogwarts and be Sorted into Slytherin, like his mother before him.

Unfortunately, a year was a very long time to wait. But then again, Severus had been able to wait for ten years already, so he supposed that he would survive. It was just so unbelievable, though, that he was ten! Ten! Not too long ago was it that he had been seven, desperately wishing that he was eleven, and now he was ten, still desperately wishing that he was eleven.

Smiling to himself, Severus finished the sandwich and washed the dishes. It appeared to him that it hadn't been washed in quite a few days.

Just as he was finishing up, the sound of the front door opening and closing met his ears. His stomach immediately did a few flips, but no yelling was to be heard . . . . In fact, Severus realized that the footsteps only belonged to one person, not two. They were lighter, so he supposed that it was his mother and not his father . . . .

Severus turned out to be right. Smiling slightly, she walked towards him and handed him a book entitled Modern Day Vampires by William Craig. "Happy birthday, Severus," she said, and hugged him. The hug offered no warmth, and was rather quick, but he accepted it anyway. Severus was thankful that she had even remembered his birthday, since he was fairly sure that Eileen and his father had been arguing for days now. When had she gotten the time to glance at a calendar?

"Thank you." She nodded, and was about to leave, but Severus had a question. "Mum, where'd he go?"

His mother stiffened, but turned towards her son to answer all the same. "Your father is out with some of his friends." And with that, she disappeared from the kitchen.

With a relieved sigh, Severus decided that being out of the house was much better than being dead and started to flip the pages of his book. He didn't know how long his father would be gone, just that he was, and he might as well use the peace and quiet to his advantage.

The book that Eileen had given him for his birthday turned out to be fairly interesting. Severus had read a few books on vampires, but nothing that was as in-depth as the one he was reading now. Apparently Craig had made a few "friends" in Transylvania and had done some thorough research while there. Of course, vampires were dangerous Dark creatures, and not to be messed with, but they were still interesting to study. That was Severus's opinion of the matter, anyway.

Severus wasn't exactly sure when his father entered, but he knew that it must have been at least an hour, because he was on page eighty-three when the drunken man stumbled through the first door, red-faced and had the stench of liquor engulfing him.

Over the years, Severus had learned when to sense danger before it happened and had enough brains to run from it when he did. That was why he was shutting his book and getting ready to retreat back to the Davidson place—in a split second Severus had decided that it was much too cold to go to the woods. "EILEEN!"

For some reason, Severus had stopped moving, stopped putting on the blue Muggle coat that was hung by a nail on the wall, stopped breathing, and just listened. He was not able to really move on his own accord. It was as if his body was working against him, as if he was no longer in control of his own movements. Was he even in control of his own mind anymore? The only thing that he was thinking was to shut up. He knew what was happening was not any kind of magic; his mother didn't have her wand pointed to him. So what was it? Fear? No. Fear would make him run from what he was sure was about to happen. Anger? It would do the same, as Severus had the philosophy that anger was a useless emotion that should be vanquished from the human heart. He stood there, still as a person in one of those Muggle pictures his dad had in the house, immovable,not really knowing why he didn't bolt.

After only a few moments, Eileen came to the kitchen, scowling and looking very angry at her husband.

"Fix me lunch," he slurred.

"Do it yourself, Tobias."

Severus knew that her response was a mistake before he seen the anger flash through Tobias's. Severus wished that he would calm down, or better yet, that they would go away. He had only had a panic attack once before, but as Tobias advanced (albeit, stumbling as he did), Severus recognized the "twitchy" sensation going up and down his arms, the strange breathing, and, of course, the inevitable nervousness that came with one. Run you idiot!

But run he did not. In fact, Severus found that it was impossible to run. Due to his nerves, he was leaning against the wall—he had no faith that his legs would support him anymore.

Severus shut his eyes tightly and found that he could no longer hear anything at all. What was going on? After only a few moments, he realized that his breathing was starting to come back under his control and the tingling movements that had once been crawling all around his skin were starting to retreat. He did not hear Tobias striking his mother or Eileen sending a jinx to Tobias that made him fall to the floor, nor did he hear their yelling. He did, however, suddenly feel that he was somewhere very wet and cold.

Yet, Severus still made no move to open his eyes or uncover his ears. He simply sat there, where ever there was supposed to be, until he had the distinct feeling that his buttox was starting to become numb.

Relief swept through Severus's insides as he realized that he was no longer in the kitchen, but sitting on the considerably snowy porch of the Davidson house. Accidental magic!

He smiled a little and lied down—it did not matter to him that his back was getting damp, he was just so relieved to be away from his arguing parents. Severus even smiled a little at the thought that he was gone. It was almost like a little bit of foreshadowing.

One more year.

While I don't specifically love Severus Snape's character, he definitely is one that all Harry Potter fan fic authors should try to tango with (not that the real Professor Snape would like to tango . . .).

To be perfectly honest, I'm hesitant to say that Severus was an actual victim of (physical) child abuse, though I do agree that it's perfectly possible. Rather, I am on the much smaller train of the "domestic violence" writership. Whether I'm right or I'm wrong, it doesn't matter. Just remember that this little one-shot isn't Rowling's work (obviously), but is mine, just another fan's, and what you see in here is my own view.

Just so you know, about the Modern Day Vampires book that appears in here: It's sort of a joke. Throughout the books, at least, he's described as looking like an "overgrown bat." Besides that, he has pale skin and black hair. C'mon. It'd be a sin if I didn't put something about vampires in here!

Finally . . . happy birthday to Professor Snape!

- CNGB