He was staring at the scene that unfolded before him, but his childish eyes were focused at the grey wall at the other end of the room. There were wine stains on it, red, like blood. Parts of it were peeling off, revealing the ugly brick underneath. There was a single frame decorating it. Pressed flower's, from his mother's childhood. The glass was broken. They never bothered to fix any of it. Or perhaps they couldn't afford to. He never asked his parents about it, out of fear. Fear, that his father would lash out at him or his mother would sigh that deep, painful sigh of hers if he brought up such a topic. Even at such an age, his mind had learnt to discern between acceptable and unacceptable topics.

He felt like he was drifting. He was in a sea of grey, and nothing mattered anymore. Not his mother's anguished screams, his father's fists coming down on her, the sound the crockery makes as it crashes to the floor. None of it was real and he was floating in his own tiny world and for the first time in his life he felt safe. It was like a dream.

And, like all dreams, he was rudely pulled back by reality. his glossed-over eyes refocused on the image of his father approaching him. The man who stood in front of him, absolutely seething in fury and smelling of cheap alcohol, was glaring at him in a way Severus knew meant unpleasant things for him were to follow. His eyes momentarily flicked to his mother, collapsed in a heap near the corner. But before his little legs could carry him away from his doom, his father grabbed his arm.

He winced at the pain, blinking away his tears. Crying would only irk Tobias Snape more, he knew.

All he could do was wait for the pain to hit him. And when it did, it was blinding, much worse than ever before. He didn't know much more.

It was moments, or perhaps hours later when he wore to find himself on the floor, his mother bending concernedly over him. She had some sort of cloth in her hand, presumably to clean both their wounds. Her face was bruised, lips swollen, and he knew he himself probably looked similar. He felt sore and hurt as she helped him sit her. Tears were streaming down her face now.

"Severus, dear, I'm sorry," she whispered softly to him.

He frowned, confused. What was she sorry for? She hadn't hurt him...

"Why?" he asked, his childlike voice contrasting with the tone of his question.

She sighed. He never liked it when she did that.

"For not protecting you from him. For not being a good enough mother."

Severus tilted his head slightly and then wrapped his hands around her. Then, he said the words that broke Eileen's heart, hearing it from her eight year old son.

"It wasn't your fault."

Notes: For the British Literature Challenge on The Golden Snitch. Prompts: grey, cruelty, pressed flowers, unpleasant

Also for the Through the Universe Challenge. Prompt: Severus Snape.

And for the Mother's Day Event: Eileen Snape