Challenge #29—Weekly Quick Fic #9

Never got the chance to upload it in time for the challenge. Oh, well. No reason not to share it regardless.


Warning: I have been told that my point was a bit lost on the reader, as one of my betas asked if I hated Dumbledore. This is not the case at all; I'm merely showing the affects of terror on a frightened young boy's perspective, and maybe hinting to the possible repercussions of such a distortion of sight.

I repeat, I do not hate Dumbledore. This is not a Dumbledore!bashing fic.


Still shaking from the adrenaline of a near-death experience, young Severus Tobias Snape was numb as he was led to the Headmaster's office in the dead of the night. There, he sat in silence as he was informed that he couldn't tell anyone of what had occurred, threatened with expulsion if he did so, and given the supposedly placating information that James Potter and Sirius Black would be in detention for a mere week. He didn't open his mouth to object to these conditions—didn't even nod his head to show he understood. It was with a disturbing quiet that he was escorted back to his dormitories, slipped beneath the covers of his four-poster bed, and cast several privacy and silencing charms about him.

Only then did his shaking intensified, and the choked sobs clawed their way from his throat. Curling in on himself, he cried into his hands as alternating waves of dread and mortification washed over him. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could only see the monster that had snapped at him in that cramped little tunnel, attempting to rip him to shreds with the indifferent malice of a predator. If it had lunged just a bit closer—if Potter hadn't snatched the back of his shirt at just that moment—

Wrestling with a demon of fear that powerful was a struggle that took up most of the night, and by the end of it he was exhausted beyond sleep. A flare of resentment for James and Sirius was only extinguished by the gaping hole of anger he felt for his headmaster in the wake of his fear. Terrified out of his wits, the conversation had been completely one-sided as the old coot stared him down from across his desk. Through the tinted lenses of lingering terror, the undercurrents in that conversation had been twisted into something sinister.

You're not worth the trouble to defend, Professor Dumbledore had politely told him. It was not explicitly stated, or implied in the tone—but the Slytherin could hear it all the same. I have more faith in the integrity of the souls of these Gryffindors than in yours—I won't punish them because they haven't done anything worth punishing. They were just having fun, you see. You've blown everything out of proportion. If you try to complain about it to others, I'll have you expelled. You are expendable to me, and I will ruin your education to keep this from getting out.

He could feel it sliding down his throat—the toxic feeling of a burning hatred, like acid coating his organs until his entire body was aflame. Curled up on his bed, Severus Tobias Snape vowed not to cry, or to trust Albus Dumbledore with his life, ever again.


Prompt: Toxic