Warning: While this is a Severitus, it is also SSSB slash.
Though merely twenty-five, it had been many years since Severus Snape could truly be called a young man prone to giving into whims. Indulging in the simple pleasure of sleeping past sunrise was not unheard of for the young man but certainly a rarity. It was a nearing the end of July, and, as there were no dunderhead children to teach in the summer, Severus allowed himself to laze the morning away.
As the sun filtered in through the threadbare curtains, the man cursed his decision to spend the summer in his home at Spinner's End rather than in his dungeons. He pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes tiredly. If the properties of Dreamless Sleep Potion were not so addictive, he would allow himself to take it on a nightly basis. He could not afford to give way to something as mundane as addiction, though, so he endured the unending nightmares that contained more memories than he would like to acknowledge.
The bell tower near the edge of town began to clang out the hours as Severus sat on the edge of the bed and placed his bare feet upon the hardwood floor. Eight o'clock, he mentally acknowledged. He let out a hiss at the cold lacquer that seemed to seep into his skin. His trip to the washroom to relieve his bladder proved to tax his anger when he caught sight of a copy of the Daily Prophet from weeks back. He sneered at the flashy, grinning picture of the Weasleys. He had the unfortunate privilege of having the oldest Weasley boy, Bill, in his class. There were many more Weasleys to come if the picture was any indication. There were seven of the little cretins, all ranging from the little girl of about two or so all the way to twelve-year-old Bill. Apparently, the family had won the Daily Prophet's annual Grand Prize Galleon Draw and had decided to take a vacation. "What a waste," Severus muttered as he splashed water on his face and cleaned his teeth.
Bill, as ridiculously Gryffindor as he was, had a knack for Potions. He spent as much time playing pranks as he did listening in class, but his marks in Potions were Outstanding. His secondhand cauldron and tattered books rivaled those of Severus's own when he was in school, and the Weasleys would have done their family a better service if they had spent the money on their children rather than vacation. His lip curled when he noticed Bill bouncing his fat, tattered rat, trying to get it to react for the picture. As a familiar, it looked to be on its last leg in life.
Using his wand to flick the old Prophet into the rubbish bin, Severus exited the washroom and made his way through the empty house to the kitchen. Not for the first time, he considered getting a house elf, if only to keep the dust from accumulating. As per usual, the thought was banished almost as soon as it entered his mind. House elves made good tea and their meals were grand, but they could not replace the personal touch that came with personally making something for consumption.
When his breakfast of toast and tea was finished, Severus collected the new Prophet and sat. He took a sip of tea and swallowed the scalding liquid thickly when he saw the headline: Sirius Black: Escaped.
Blinding fear spread through Severus as he looked into the angry, gaunt face of his childhood nemesis. It was not an emotion he was familiar with. Even prostrating himself before the Dark Lord, knowing he could be found as a spy and a traitor did not invoke such fear within the young man. It was not fear for himself. No, it was fear for someone who had much more to lose, for someone whose death would affect the Wizarding World as a whole: his son. Harry Potter.
