Lying upon the sagging mattress in his empty room Severus counts the cracks in the ceiling with a methodicy that frightens. Or would if he were not alone in the dark, cavern-like space. Gradually a sound reminiscent of leaves scattering across winter-bound earth fills the air. Incrementally it rises to an intensity that raises a frothing of spittle to grimacing lips and a mad glint to pinprick eyes. As suddenly it stops as the confused young man passes away into the arms of sleep. He dreams.
…
The clock set on the old man's desk strikes twelve even as the door opens. Staggering in with a blank tear-streaked face Severus drops a heavy, dripping bag upon the polished wood. Within it rock several fairly heavy objects. The older man smiles as he slowly stands, "Oh my poor child - come here to me." Ignoring the bloody transference stains the bearded man carefully extracts the memories of this event from his tool's greasy head. Abruptly he shoves the man away from him and begins to shout. As the confused youth crumbles into a quaking heap on the blue-carpeted floor Albus tells himself it's for the best. What after all is the worth of one man's life? More so what is the worth of such a pitiful abomination as this?
…
The dream again. Albus yelling as the blood-stained outfit stiffens and adheres to his thin, anemic skin. Albus yelling as his august face twists into a gnarled mask of demonic origins. The carpet lurid and worn beneath his shaking hands. The desk a wall before his eyes - cold and hard it is as impassible as the door behind him. Angry, they're always angry the adults. Minerva backhands him knocking his head against the desk edge which flays his scalp. Potter laughs as Sirius slams his head into the inch-thick ice. Mulciber rapes the muggleborn bitch. She tends his wounds, Lucius laughs as he palms her breast. He is aroused, he is bleeding, a disappointment destined to be punished. Mother's wand; Malfoy's smile as he unbuttons his trousers; Albus smiling.
…
He breathes, blinks. The ceiling spins slowly as he endures the sensations of the earth gently tilting to fling him off into darkness. Touching the cold floor he smirks in a tic like manner. Again and again the ugly expression flashes across his corpse pale face. The band he wears warms as the unsettling glow in his eyes dims to a cold, impersonal hatred. The tics continue for a while finally stopping as the warmth grows to a harsh burning. Standing he grabs a vial from the shelf by his bed. Drinking it he stands silently taking huge breaths as he subverts all that isn't the Git. Soon he is the strong, unlovable Bastard the Headmaster demands during the course of the day. Now he is Snape - briefly an expression of helplessness ripples over the stark face and then the mask is set.
