Higher

They hadn't even suspected, not once did the thought cross their childish naive minds. They pretended to care, pretended to listen, if only they knew that dirty little secret he was hiding, would they be so kind? He knew their kind, the pitiful that's what they were. They pitied him, comforted him to make them feel like they had accomplished something. He may as well not have existed that's how much he meant to them; just another poor child with no where to go, another lost sheep that's wandered from the flock. But that hadn't mattered, none of that did. In fact now that he thought about it not much had mattered back then.

Severus stared intently into the vile of transparent electric blue liquid. How long had it been? Too long that's for sure, but he didn't need it now it was saved for those who did. He couldn't easily forget a time when he had been in need; the need was so great he wondered now how he had stopped. A violent shudder ran involuntarily down his spine causing his teeth to chatter slightly. The memories of that time were particularly painful.

'Only one swig and they could be gone.'

But no, how many times had he fallen into that trap? That voice nagging softly at his brain, pushing him beyond his limits. It persuaded him in its heavenly voice, like the call of a siren and he had fallen more times than he could count. Yet he had managed to break its spell, not many he knew of could; it was still there of course, still nagging, still whispering like a ghost in a dream.

'Watch him, as he floats so heavenly like in his dream, you could forget it all you know.'

And for the longest time he had, how many times had he forgotten? Only to have the reality smack him in the face like icy cold water and needles. Now, however, the need was no greater than a mild craving, and the voice a timid whisper, the trap was set but he was careful. But as the voice said, it was true, he could forget.

In fact now that he thought about it, he had had a troubled childhood. It hadn't occurred to him then, he was too far-gone to realize that he was only a step away from hells gate. But since then he had realized the reason behind the pity and the lies. You would think he would want to forget, want to remove it all from his mind, but he had fallen to many times and the impact was painful.

But his childhood wasn't the only thing that was troubled; it always came back to him; that sneer, that smirk, those words. They pierced his brain with ever syllable. No wonder he had fallen. But even then he was still a child; it had taken him so long to grow up, another thing that he had realized with time. And children can be so cruel.

Higher


Chapter 1: Christmas Pudding


He didn't know why he was so popular; people admired him from every angle. It wasn't that he was particularly good looking, he wasn't very nice, he wasn't exactly the top of the class and to make matters worse he had a horrible nagging voice that could make even a banshee cringe. So why was James Potter was so incredibly well liked?
 

Severus couldn't see any part of James Potter that he could possibly like; yet people followed him around like a bad smell. Girls fell over each other to get near him and teachers went out of their way to give him good marks, not that he deserved them. In fact, he wouldn't be much
surprised if one of them had started a James Potter fan club. Though whoever started this pathetic club was obviously so blinded by that one
accomplishment that James Potter had been riding from first year; the youngest chaser in Hogwarts history. Well whoop-de-do for Potter.


It was sad; he could have wept for them if he didn't feel so much rage towards them. It wasn't that he was jealous of James Potter, at least that was what he kept telling himself, he was just sick. Every time he saw them, their stupid faces shining with admiration for their self acclaimed king he felt he was going to be violently ill. He wouldn't have traded places with Potter for every Galleon, Sickle and Knut in Gringotts.


But that wasn't the only reason he resented James Potter with every inch of his being. No, it was a lot more personal than that.

"Morning Snake ready for that big, important potions exam?"


Severus shuddered. Not a moment's peace, not a single tick of the clock when that voice wouldn't haunt him; course through his brain like
electricity leaving him burning, steaming at the ears with rage. Potter knew, how he had found out was well beyond Severus' knowledge, but he
knew and he was intent on using it to slowly and very carefully torture him.


He didn't turn around, but apparently he didn't need to. Potters voice, together with the image of his face, contorted with that sick pleased smirk; those thick tasteless glasses magnifying the relentless malice and twisted humour that glinted in his docile brown eyes. Combined, they were enough to drive Serverus to the brink and push him roughly over.


"You want to hope she's not there Snake, wouldn't want to fail."

His mind fell blank, she did that to him; she disarmed him and left him open and vulnerable. And Potter knew, Potter knew everything; knew his
secret, knew his weakness and it was everything Severus could do to keep Potter quiet. There was only one solitary barrier preventing Potter from spilling his secret. It was, unfortunately, the same thing that was held in. It was like water holding up a dam; it would eventually fall, everything rushing out in a torrent of water and drown everything in its path.

Her, Potter didn't even need to say her name to make the thoughts fly out of Severus head. Lily Evans, she was the cause of this endless
torture, she was the reason he failed classes, she was a siren and he was under her spell. She was so angelic, so talented, so perfectly His. And the only thing keeping Potter quiet, the only reason the damn had yet to crash was because he was scared. It was stupid, but then again so was Potter. He was scared if she found out; she might change her outlook on everything. Might decide the sun didn't shine out of Potters ass and might just see how worthy he, Severus, was.

Of course the whole story was a load of dragon dung, despite the blinded, infatuated way in which Severus viewed Lily, the kind of way that shut out all her faults, what little she had, and made her seem just so perfect in just the right way. She was so far gone with Potter not even the very strongest memory charm cast by the very strongest wizard; could make her forget just how very in love with Potter she was.

Laughter filled the hall; Potter had won. It was true, he wasn't ready; in fact as long as she was here he would never be ready, and Potter knew that. Potter relished the fact and strived to keep it as alive in Severus head as it was in his. Severus scowled at his half-eaten porridge suddenly feeling every inch of hunger disappear to be filled with a sick burning rage. If only they knew how rotten Potter really was will they still be willing to lick his shoes?

He stabbed his spoon into the remaining porridge and started stirring it roughly. If only Potter and his Marauders were in there what fun life would be. To hear their feeble little screams for mercy, that they hadn't meant a word they had said and that he was so superior and was so very deserving of Lily. Of course fantasy was always a world more preferred.

He glared at the porridge bowl, his face flushing not only with rage. He stabbed a little porridge covered Sirius Black deeper into the thick white sludge, yes the Marauders all had to go, not just James. 

He tried his best to shake the thought form his head, it was true he wanted so bad to get rid of them, but he had other things, life, to think about. They'd pay their due; even if he had to sell his soul to the devil himself he would get revenge on James Potter and his Marauders. As the saying went, revenge is a dish best served cold. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that, it always seemed so far away.

Every where he went he would hear their fan club talking about how great each and every one of them would be. And though he tried not to listen to the children's' buzz it was like a great rush of water slowly wearing him down.

Severus stood up ever so slowly from his seat, careful not to raise his eyes. He was too humiliated, like every other morning, to look anyone in the eyes, especially Potter. He had got this down to an art by now, how many times had he had to keep his eyes downcast in fear he would start blushing furiously? But it didn't matter, they would pay, it was people like that that made Severus so very sick.

He gathered his books that were sitting on a nearby chair, pretending to be studying his shoes as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. He edged his way around the Slytherin table, easily dancing out of the way every time someone 'accidentally' pushed their chair out. Yes he had got this down to an art; there was only one thing he hadn't prepared for.

"Ooof" They collided. She had been so soft and so warm in that brief moment of contact, but now that it was over it hadn't been worth was he
received.

"Oh gosh I'm sorry Severus." He glanced up, her words were kind, her face so soft unlike Potters. Her eyes were so forgiving; not glinting with malice and hate and everything that Potters' were. How she could possibly see anything in Potter when she was so much better, so much more deserving, was a mystery.

"Better watch where you're going Snake!" He knew it was coming, he could see it from a mile away, could smell it on the breeze. Couldn't resist could he? Not for one moment, not even the most prized moment in Severus' life, he just couldn't keep his mouth shut, because that's what Potters do best.

"Don't listen to him." She whispered as she glided past him, and he couldn't stop his eyes from following her. Her movement was so graceful, her hair so sleek and beautiful, like molten lava that had been spun into silk. But as she moved closer to the Gryffindor table He came into view.

It was pointless to pine, she would never be his; to her he was just another poor lowly soul that's teased by her semi-boyfriend. What did he matter in the grand scheme of things? He was just another walking kick me sign, another practical joke waiting to be pulled. And he had no right what so ever to feel so infatuated with her. Potter was really getting to him?

Conjuring up every last ounce of dignity that had survived that encounter he lowered his head and walked, defeated, out of the Great Hall towards the dungeon where his fate would be boiled in a cauldron.

**

He, as Potter had said, didn't pass the potions exam. In fact everything that Potter had predicted was exactly as it was. The whole lesson he was watching her, it was like she had turned on some magnet and his eyes just refused to look anywhere else. Her eye brows furrowed so slightly giving her that look of concentration; her delicate pearly white hands gripped the glass vials. He blushed again for the umpteenth
time that hour, he knew why she did this, he knew perfectly well. Potter told her to, he would imagine it now…

"Okay Lily I want you to look as cute and innocent as possible, he'll definitely fall for it. Stupid as the day is long isn't he? He'll never get you."

"Oh James your so smart and handsome and…"

"Severus," Severus' head snapped up at the sound of the potions masters voice, "Severus, Severus, Severus, what are we going to do with you?"

Professor Tink was shaking his balding head slightly, his beady mousy eyes; his whole face looking down on him in pity. That's right she had landed him here, the dank, dark, musty smelling office of the school potions master. Tink had obviously gotten fed up with his lack of interest in the exam and this was the fourth time his cauldron had bubbled over spilling sticky, over cooked muck all over the dungeon floor.

"You could be great Severus," Tink continued taking a seat opposite him still shaking his head, "I know you have it in you, you're not stupid Severus if you would only apply yourself you could be top of the class."

Severus didn't speak, it wasn't that he wanted to fail, far from it; he just didn't have a choice. If she was removed from the class then he might just stand a chance, but it didn't seem like that would be happening too soon. He was doomed to fail potions and there was nothing he, nor Tink, could do to stop it.

"I know you could pass this class Severus, and don't think I'm forcing you to do anything you don't want to, but may I suggest private tutoring? I could arrange a time and date for tutoring sessions after the Christmas break, if you're willing that is. So what do you say? I for one don't want to see you fail a class you could me getting top marks for."

Tinks' small beady eyes studied him from under his thick bushy eyebrows, but the question had fallen on deaf ears. How could he have forgotten? If he had only listened to the buzz in the school instead of turning a stubborn deaf ear he could have been properly prepared, he could have, then, avoided it hitting him so suddenly like this. Christmas holidays, the most loathed time of the year, of course apart from summer holidays. His home wasn't the haven from the ever-scrutinizing eyes of his teachers and peers like it was to so many others. It wasn't an escape from work like it should be; it was literally a hell on earth.

"I'll let you think about it then. Go on the feast is about to start, it want you to get back to me as soon as you've made up your mind, have a good holidays then."

Tinks' voice was a barely audible echo in the back of Severus' head, but that last sentence stabbed at him like a very blunt kitchen knife. It was almost like Tink could read his thoughts and was punishing him just like Potter would. Tink stood up from his seat, his eyes and face still sympathetic, but it now seemed like more of a sarcastic sympathy.

Severus mechanically followed suit, his limbs moving without thought or command. He blindly walked through the deserted dungeon, he had lost
Tink a while back but it hardly mattered. He wasn't going to the feast as Tink had suggested, he felt right now that he could never feel hungry again. So instead he expertly made his way down the twisting turning paths that lead towards the Slytherin common room.

He slumped down on the nearest chair; his insides doing a funny flip flop inside of him. His mind had gone blank; he didn't know what to think. How many times had he asked to stay here for the Christmas break? Only he didn't have a good enough excuse, if only they knew the truth they'd be begging for him to stay.

It was his fault though, he and his stupid pride. But He had a good reason for not telling them; they'd put him in an orphanage for sure. He'd heard about orphanages, seen them in movies, there was no way he was going to one of those, he'd rather go home. And that brought him all the way back to the beginning.

He sighed heavily wishing now he'd heeded Professor Tinks advice and attended the feast. It would have been the last decent meal he would have eaten until the holidays finished. It was too late now thought; they'd be almost finished. So instead he settled for sleeping. It would be the last good nights' sleep he got for a while.

**


The morning came too fast, like someone had yanked the sun up out of hiding four hours early. It wasn't that he was tired, in fact
the moment he realized he was awake all the dreadful memories came flooding back and made him more awake than if someone had thrown icy cold water all over his face.

During breakfast he tried to forget everything while the other children babbled incessantly about visiting their parents and what they were getting for Christmas. And as usual Potter was shooting weird glances at him from the Gryffindor table, it was the only time in Serverus' life he was glad Potter was such an ass. But even he failed to rid Severus' mind of the dread that engulfed him; hell even Lily had lost
her appeal.

The train ride, too, went unnaturally fast, like two or three extra engines had been added bringing him faster then even towards his doom. Before he knew it he was sitting in the loud smelly bus that would complete his trip to hell. He tried everything he could to forget what lay ahead. Tried thinking of Potter, of Lily, he even contended himself in watching a fly strut around on the face of the sleeping man behind him. But no matter what, no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't forget.

With a horrible contraction of his heart, like someone had filed it with ice and squeezed it very hard, cold dread spread through his veins to every limb. He was home; if he could call this pathetic shack a house. He didn't have a home; they said home is where the heart is. But unfortunately for him his heart was buried six feet under, what that did that say about his fate?

The bus shuddered to a halt and with a deep shaky breath Severus climbed to his feet and dragged his trunk, which at the moment felt it weighed about as much as his stomach, off the bus. Of course there was no use denying it, he was here and there was no where else to go. He'd just have to wait it out until the holidays were finished.

It wasn't even that bad here, really, he liked being alone, and humans can last a long time without food. But that wasn't what bothered him; the hunger and the loneliness were just soft whispers at the very back of his head. The things he dreaded the most were the memories.

He glanced around the horrible beaten shack, every where he looked he would see her face, every item a remembrance of her, her voice, her hair. His mother was a brave woman, no body he knew could have gone through what she had and kept sane. Some of the things she told him, the stories would send shivers down his spine, even now.

He could still here her voice in his head, not beautiful like most women's' voices, but strained and raspy, like she'd just been screaming for hours on end. But that didn't matter, it wasn't the voice that told the story, it was the manner in which the story was told.

Severus had never met his father, something he was very glad about. Not even his mother, from his knowledge, knew who his father was. He
remembered her telling him, when she was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen, a time when Voldemort was gaining power and neither Wizard nor
Muggle was safe. A Death Eater, a desperate follower of Voldemort, had raped her. At the time Muggle murders and rapes were common, a countless number of girls had fallen victim, his mother was just another percentage.

But she had been the unlucky percentage, instead of dying or being killed afterwards, she fell pregnant. Nine months later she gave birth to him, a living replica of the man that had taken everything away from her. But still she cared for him, raised him; took to jobs to feed him and send him to school. She was a battler; they had less then nothing, old tattered clothing and barely any food.

She could have thrown him out, could have given him to an orphanage, but she didn't. And as he grew he knew she found it hard to look at him. She would always say, when she was really mad, how much he looked like his father. She didn't know how far it cut him, to know he looked like the same person that had caused her so much pain.

"Oh but it's not your fault," She would say, "You can't help that."

But despite all these words, every way in which she proved she didn't blame him and loved him, the letter from Hogwarts pusher her over the edge.

She knew his father had been a wizard and had stubbornly turned a blind eye to the obvious signs he was showing. That of course didn't stop him
from studying; he wanted to know everything he could about his gift. He found books in old Muggle book stores about magic, he wasn't sure if it
was the real thing but it didn't matter. His mother was furious; she wanted to believe he was normal, never wanted to him to be like his father.

However when her worst fear was dropped in her lap by a handsome tawny owl, it was hard to ignore. She had refused, which had to be expected,
she wrote them a letter back saying that her son would never be one of them. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn't ignore what was so
plainly in front of her. He had persuaded her, threatened to run out on her in order for her to accept. His stupid words still haunt him to this day.

"Mum you cant deny it, you know what I am, you've known for ages, there's no use fighting it, I might as well learn how to use this power then I can rid the world of people like him."

She hadn't argued after that and he had felt so guilty. The look in her eyes had almost made him retract everything he had said. But she agreed, quietly, without another word she agreed. And that had been the very worst day, in a long series of bad days for Serverus.

Severus heaved a long sigh heavy with the burdens his memories brought him. It was like this every year without fail. He had been in the house
five minuets and already his brain was being bombarded with memories and there was nothing he could do to stop them. It was like stepping into a flash back to his childhood, back to the days when life was easy and full of love and happiness, back to the days when she was there.

Severus' body shivered slightly as more painful memories forced their way into his brain.

'Remember why you're alone? Remember why you're hungry and miserable? It's all your fault, all his fault she died.'

No, there was no one he could place the blame on but himself. He had to live with the reality of what he had done; not a soul to comfort him, to lead him into a false reality by telling him it wasn't his fault because it was. He killed his mother.


Heaving another great sigh Severus climbed to his feet. No use trying to hide it, she was gone and nothing could bring her back. Gathering up
every last inch of resolve he had, he left the old mouldy kitchen table he had, at some point, seated himself at and walked to the broken screen door that lead straight to her.

He remembered it like it was yesterday, his very first year at Hogwarts when Christmas holidays had come around. He had been so excited, just
bursting with stories to tell her. That day the train and bus rides had taken so long as if they were trying to prevent him from getting home. He wished now they'd succeeded. He had burst through the front door, a huge stupid grin plastered on his face to find her lying there, cold and motionless on the kitchen floor.

He remembered, being the naive child he had been back then, he had tried to wake her up, tried to convince himself she was merely sleeping. He was the only person capable of leading himself into that false reality; there was no one else, then, to do it for him. But he was being foolish; she had been dead for weeks, maybe months for all he knew.

A cold shiver ran down Severus' spine when he reached her grave. It was a crooked mouldy wooden cross he had made out of an old floor board,
splattered with blood from where he'd cut himself in his clumsiness. Across the horizontal plank of wood, in messy blotchy writing, the word 'mother' had been written with black ink. He hadn't stopped crying that whole week; and he didn't remember eating or sleeping.

He was actually quite surprised he had managed to bury her and make the cross, he had been grief stricken as any child would have been. Of
course he didn't cry anymore, he couldn't, every tear had already been spent. Now that he thought about it, he had taken it pretty well. He vowed that he'd go on and become a great sorcerer; that he'd never ever be like his father. He'd come up with a million excuses why he was alone, and he'd gone back to school.

He gave a short hollow snort of laughter; he had been so bull headed back then, didn't care about anything. He hadn't even realized she had died because he wasn't there. If he hadn't been so selfish maybe she'd still be here and he wouldn't be lying for his life.

That was another thing that still baffled him, no one had found out. He'd been going to school for the last five or so years with second hand books and stolen robes. Yet either everyone was too stupid to notice or they turned a blind eye to it. Didn't anyone find it strange that since that middle of first year he had never once gotten any mail? And it was a known fact that the school had sent several owls home about him. But then again, not very people noticed those kinds of things about him.

But even the teachers, as mentioned before several owls had seen sent here about his behaviour, didn't the school find it absurd that every time the owl would return with its letter still in tow? Surely his lame excuse

"My mother's an actress she's on a travelling show right now, but she'll be back soon," surely they couldn't believe shed been on a travelling show for five years. That is, of course, unless they were turning a blind eye to it.

Severus absently patted the soft ground beneath his feet a few times before standing and retreating back up to the dilapidated shack. He glanced around the inside of his 'house,' it was in a terrible state of disrepair.

Many of the floorboards were rotten and broken; the mouldy wooden table had a broken leg and was being propped up on top of a three legged stool. The cupboards in the kitchen were either missing doors or their doors were barely hanging on one hinge, and where the kitchen sink should be there was a large gaping hole. It was in a very sad state; Severus wondered again just how he'd survived this long.

During the summer holidays he took part time jobs either Muggle or not, it didn't matter, as long as it got him money. He would sometimes go weeks without food until he was so weak with hunger it was impossible to go on. He did anything possible to raise enough money to buy school supplies; sometimes some sacrifices just had to be made. But still even he was surprised at his endurance.

He bet Potter had never worked for anything in his life; it was people like Potter that made him sick to the stomach. He had everything handed to him on a silver platter, had the best life anyone could ask for. Yet he still managed to be bitter and resentful, like he was rebelling against his perfect life.

"That's right Potter," Severus started out loud, "Lap it up, 'aint getting any better than you get it."

He was just about to open his mouth to speak again when, with a loud bang that shook the whole house and made one of the cupboard doors fall
off its hinges, the door burst open and in its wake stood a furious Professor Tink. His small beady eyes glinted in the fading afternoon sun and his tiny nostrils flared. He looked just about ready to commit bloody murder, but when he spoke his voice was strangely calm.

"Come with me boy."

**

AN: gripping? There's more to come remember, I'm writing up chapter two as you're read this. Well maybe not, but I'm working on it a lot of the
time. Hope you enjoyed