The Prince's Tale
All characters belong to JKR, all their thoughts/actions here are entirely my own.
1. Moth To A Flame
1969 Spinner s End -
Severus ! Where are you ... you little freak!
He awoke, his senses long since trained to come to attention, at the sound of that voice, however weary he might be.
His father Tobias Snape, was evidently standing at the foot of the stairs, most likely in no fit state to climb them. This meant that he could either, attempt to ignore the summons, and risk the consequent escalation of punishment if he was wrong, or go down and try to placate him by giving him what he wanted: something to take his drunken rage out on. He listened, now for some small sound, any sign of his mother's presence ... but heard nothing. Which meant that either she'd already suffered his spite, or was like himself, waiting, contemplating it. Then, a small movement, in the next room, a creak from the old iron bedstead, gave him his answer.
With a sigh, he knew what he must do. By the time he had resigned himself to it, a second bellow issued from below.
Severus! ... you idle whelp ... get your sorry arse down here ... NOW !
He steeled himself inside, now part of a familiar defensive process, and put on the insolent, sly face his father expected to see. Give him what he wants, rather than protest, it always made it easier in the his mother's sake, he would go down.
This had been going on for some time. Severus' young body already bore the scars. The thick leather belt that held up his father's work trousers, was the weapon of choice, when his fists weren't enough.
Under his shabby clothes, his chest and arms were blotched with the discoloration of old bruises, and on his back, the welts from the last time the belt had been used, were still red and raised.
He didn't care any more. He was used to it now, he'd already learned to withdraw his mind, his consciousness, from his body and hide it away in a private, safer, inner space. All he had to do was endure, to bear it long enough to deflect his father's anger. Just long enough to sate it and then she would be safe, and he could curl up somewhere and deal with it in his own way.
Of course he had his magic, but to use it now would only mean worse punishments to come, since that was the defining factor in his father's hatred of them. And he knew the rules, his mother had taught him some things. He did not wish to lose the possibility of The Letter, not now.
What else was there?
In this suffocating, shabby world he inhabited, it seemed there was nothing else, but this constant waiting for pain, and a distant possibility of escape.
Oh no, not quite, there was, now, a very small flame, merely a flicker perhaps of something, he would not yet dare to call it hope, in case it guttered out. But there was, someone, who had started to make a difference ... Lily.
Even to think her name in this place seemed as if it might somehow dirty it. Ever since he had first seen her in the run down playground, with her spiteful Muggle sister, he had begun to find his mind running to her. As a moth to a flame he was caught in the spell of her, like something impossibly sweet and intoxicating, offering some light in his darkness.
A flame, like the colour of her hair; the only colour in this endlessly grey existence.
He stood now, and taking a deep breath went downstairs.