Disclaimer: That thing where I say that I don't own all this stuff.
The morning came much to early for Sirius. Unfortunately, the person at the door wouldn't stop banging, and Sirius finally stopped attempting to ignore it, lurching out of bed and sleepily undoing the latch. Evan's bright and cheerful face greeted him. "Good morning, Sirius! We have half an hour until breakfast. Lessons start after that. I thought you might want some help getting ready. Can I come in?"
Sirius yawned, and opened his door wider. "Be my guest." Evan stepped—no, bounced in, and threw open the wardrobe doors.
"The bathroom that we all share is to the left of this hallway. Go get freshened up, I'll pick your clothes. Hurry! We shouldn't be late for this meal as well." Sirius, still half-asleep, mumbled something in response and stumbled out to find the bathroom.
After waiting his turn behind Avery and a massive sized flax-haired boy, Sirius truly woke up when the shower spat ice-cold water on him. Frantically, Sirius searched for the knob to turn the water warm—it wasn't there. Sirius took the fastest shower he had ever taken, and was wide-awake and shivering when he tumbled back into his room. Evan looked up from his seat on the rumpled bed, blue-green eyes sympathetic. "You've been introduced to the cold shower, I see. We're not allowed warm showers during the summer—all of us are here to be toughened up, and Lord Malfoy implemented the cold shower rule six years ago with that aim in mind. Before you ask, Warming spells and the like won't work. Sorry for not warning you."
"Yeah, well a warning would have been nice," Sirius said testily, plodding over to the bed. There were some robes laid out next to Evan—Sirius blinked owlishly at them, not recognizing them in the least.
"Your robes for the day. I took the liberty of transfiguring some of yours to work for the day and not embarrass you."
The robes were still made of the same thin, summer material that they had presumably been before, but now they were black, a color he seldom wore. The Black family crest adorned the right arm sleeve and the front of his robes in silver stitching. Sirius sighed, but decided that Evan probably knew more about appropriate clothing for the circumstances than he did. "Trust me, you'll want plenty more robes like that before the summer is over. I hope you paid some attention in McGonagall's class in between playing practical jokes." Evan tossed the clothing at him and strolled out, calling back, "I'll wait outside for you. We can go to breakfast together."
The door swung shut, and Sirius changed hastily, unwilling to face the Malfoys if he was late again. No doubt they reported straight to his mother, and his mother was nasty enough to…well, he didn't want to think about what she could do with the information she held on Remus. It was just all-around best to keep his head low and hope that having made friends with Evan Rosier was good enough for Walburga Black's ambition and blood-pride.
Breakfast was a much lighter and more informal affair than dinner, Sirius decided with relief. The grand Dining Hall didn't seem as shadowy and pompous as it had last night, and the table of adults seemed much more human and relaxed somehow, even mad Bella Black, the cousin he'd clashed the most with at school and the occasional unfortunate family reunion. I can't believe I share the same last name as that, Sirius contemplated, eyeing the statuesque woman seated near the middle-end of the table and currently taunting the man across from her, scarlet-slicked lips lazily moving. Gorgeous, of course, but no sane man would want to get into bed with a viper. She could very well bite off important…bits. Wouldn't put it past her.
The adults, all but a mahogany-haired man with a broad chest and a tall woman with stunning amber eyes, left. The children from the third table also obediently departed with Narcissa Black—soon to be Malfoy—and Lucius Malfoy. Makes sense, the younger adults taking charge of the littles while some of the older adults whip us into shape. Or whatever they do. Mother was not very specific about what actually happens in this place, and Evan kept evading the topic last night after the game.
"Bonjour, mes jeunes amis. I am Alodie Anais, you will call me Alodie, oui? I will teach you advanced etiquette, you will learn many things of société, how to succeed as those of noble heritage. I trust you will all listen and learn well."
Alodie's accent was only slightly flavored with the French lilt, and it was soothing and melodic. In contrast, as her male counterpart spoke, it was in a rough baritone and all very British.
"You'll be directly under Alodie here, and to me. I'm Karston Nott. Anna's my daughter—" here, he nodded towards the quiet-voiced brunette who'd won the game last night—"but don't get it into your heads that I'll be playing favorites. I'm to get all of your spellwork up to snuff, and you'll be sore and half-dead by the time I'm finished with you—but by Salazar, you'll know how to fight! Not just fight, you'll win. You understand me?"
When the group uneasily murmured yes in a ragged chorus, a frown bloomed on Nott's ruddy face. "First lesson. How many of you have forgotten what I drilled ye for last year?"
Sirius nearly jumped out of his seat when almost immediately, the entire table as one said, "None, Sir! Addressing our elders and betters, Sir!"
Just like those army pictures in the Muggle big screen places that James, Remus, Peter, and I snuck into once. Sirius swallowed a nervous kneazle that seemed to be permanently lodged in his throat. I hope I survive this summer so I can tell the others that I went to an honest-to-goodness Wizarding foot camp thingy, or whatever it's called!
"All yours, Alodie. I'll take over when you're done with them." Nott strode out, leaving Sirius, Evan, and the rest to turn to Alodie.
She brought her hands together briskly. "Allez! We go to the Small Parlor!"
They trooped out quickly, following the French woman down to yet another room—this is supposed to be the small parlor? It's as big as the entire Grimmauld Place! Sirius forced himself not to stare like a Muggle. If he was going to be learning social graces, it probably wouldn't do him any favors to be caught with his mouth hanging open. Everyone found seats, on one or another of the scattered upright, Victorian-style chairs that must have been specially placed there for their lesson, since it didn't seem to fit the décor of the maroon-and-marigold parlor.
"Now, review first. We have a new monsieur, and he must work doubly hard to catch up to the rest of us, oui Monsieur Black?"
"Wha- oh, oui, uh, yes. I'll work hard," Sirius stammered, feeling like a dolt. Bugger all, I need James here to jump in. I'm no good at this polite Pureblood ponce thing. Even James is better than me, and he didn't grow up in a blood-obsessed family like mine.
"Good, good. Now, Monsieur Rosier and Mademoiselle Nott. She is the foreign wife of old ancestry, older than yours, and her husband has left her in your care while he takes care of business. Begin."
Sirius watched in fascination as Evan, without so much as an eye-blink, transformed into a slicker version of what he despised in Purebloods—pandering and insipidly charming. Ugh. I could never do that!
You have to. Remus and maybe the Headmaster are on the line here.
Oh, shut up.
I'm you. I can't shut up.
Well then at least keep quiet and let me concentrate on the lesson so I can fake that disgusting act!
With no response to that forthcoming, his mind fell silent. Sirius breathed a sigh of gratefulness, and focused on the scene. Alodie soon stopped the role-playing and picked a new scenario and new people. Sirius noticed that everyone eventually went, in groups of two or more, and Alodie sometimes paused the scene to correct or instruct on some fine point or other.
"Monsieur Snape, you are speaking to Mademoiselle von Kuhler, whom your…guardian, let us say, considers a good match for you. Her ancestry is older than yours. You are in stage three of the courting process."
Sirius observed the skinny menace of his school skeptically. Snivellus, married? Yeah, right. No girl would take that greasy-haired, hook-nosed, sallow-skinned bat! I bet he doesn't even know how to talk to a girl…well, except for Lily, but he sure bungled that up by himself, didn't he? Still, it would be a good laugh. Sirius watched carefully, ready to stifle any guffaws he was sure would want to escape his mouth.
And then opened said mouth in pure shock.
"I was just thinking of you, Miss von Kuhler." Snape's voice had suddenly taken on a whole new life of it's own, alluring and sincere. He had straightened, his hair was out of his face, and his stance was confident as he took the mousy-haired girl's fluttering hand as if it were a precious treasure.
"And what, pray tell, have you been thinking of me, Mister Snape?"
"Oh, but I could not settle on just one, mon ange. I cannot separate your exquisite beauty from your quick wit and intelligence, no more than I could separate a bird's wings from it's body—it would be callous to do so, and most unworthy of you."
"My own poet, such beautiful words from your lips tonight! Yet how can I trust that it is you and not thoughts of my family or money speaking?"
"Lady of my heart, would you be as cruel as to doubt me? I am below you in every way, and I will not pretend to be any better than the dirt beneath your foot. But you hold my very life in your noble hands today, tomorrow, and for all tomorrows for as long as the stars watch over us. I can do nothing but hope for your favor."
"Monsieur, you truly touch my soul with your words. My hands will be gentle—I can promise nothing more. I wait for my family's decision, you understand."
"Mon ange, you make me the happiest man in the world tonight just by your words of hope. I abide by your family's decision."
"Fin! Fin! Excellent, tres bon. Monsieur Snape, you took a calculated risk with the pet names, but it was very good. Very sincere indeed, rather than crude. Mademoiselle von Kuhler, you played it safe and indeed, no mistakes, but no inspiration either. Still, a very good performance on both sides, I have no complaints."
Blimey! That—how—when—Sirius thoughts were in a jumble, churning madly and spitting out random words. Just how had slimy Snape gone, in an instant, from the slouchy, sulky snake Sirius was familiar with, to an elegant and genuine noble gentleman? And those words, those absurdly romantic and passionate speeches that didn't seem to belong to Snape and yet seemed beautifully poetic and real coming out of his mouth? There seemed to be nothing to describe the transformation—and the rapid dwindling right back to the black bat of Slytherin once Alodie had called a halt. Acting skills, it's got to be an act, just that he's good at it. Sirius tried to compose himself as he heard his name being called.
"Ah, Monsieur Black. I will not force you to perform today, but you will read this and practice and show me what you have learned in two days, bon? You must study hard. Here." Alodie handed him a thickly bound, glossy covered book. Scrawled in large print was the title: "Pureblood Passion, Dining, and Society: Living Art." Great. More homework. Just what I need. Sirius looked up dolefully, and caught Snape staring at him with—wouldn't you know it—that infuriating smirk of his, the one that silently mocked him. I am years ahead of you, Black. You'll never get it right, Black. You're just a blot on society, on this way of life. You're the embarrassment, the shameful secret, the mistake.
Sirius sent a searing look back at Snape. I am not a mistake. I have nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed for, and I'll prove it by beating your act in two days. Resolved, Sirius sat back and listened as closely as he ever had to an instructor, determined to outdo Snape.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of rules and peculiar, outdated manners. Alodie paired Sirius with Evan to learn the basics of polite small talk and how to play peacemaker between feuding families or individuals. Lunch found Sirius unable to form a thought in his head except Want. Food. Now. Mister Nott took over when the hour break after lunch was over—which Sirius had mostly spent splayed out on his bed, prone. And then Sirius found himself in a different sort of work out altogether: this one physical.
"Dive! Damn it, I said dive, not roll, Avery! Black, did your mother drop you on your head as a baby? You do know how to cast spells silently, don't you? Focus, von Fuhler, this isn't one of your pretty tea parties with vapid conversations. Nott could have killed you three different ways in the time it took for you to get your shield up. Snape, stop slinking around in the background and holding back, if your classmates can't keep up with you that's their problem, not yours. Greengrass, your entire technique needs to be looser, do you have a stick up your arse? Nott! That was an elementary mistake, I know you know better than to be disarmed! Black, that attack was so pitiful it couldn't even have stood as a defense. For Salazar's sake, boy, are you a squib? Start casting some effective spells!"
When Mister Nott finally called time and stopped his derisive running commentary on their performance, Sirius was dripping and his leg and shoulder throbbed ferociously—the shoulder a victim of Lestrange's burning curse and his leg having got in the way of Snape's cutting hex, neither of which he was in the least bit familiar with. Around him, the others were gathering, all bearing at least one or two injuries, and three of the students were missing. Sirius vaguely remembered Mister Nott dragging them out of the fight and calling a house-elf, presumably to transport them somewhere to be healed.
"Well, for those of you who managed to last the battle, congratulations. On to my real thoughts—that was complete shit. Rosier, you were a little slow with your wand and I noticed that your bone-breaking curse took three tries. You won't have that time in a real fight. Nott and Lestrange, both of you lost your wands to someone else once. That should never happen. Snape, your attack was fine, very inventive hexes you used, but you tend to over-think things. Black, you obviously need plenty of help learning new spells and practice casting silently. Your reaction time's fine, but your defense is weak, and your attack would be a hell lot better with a wider repertoire. I'd ask either Rosier or Snape for some help on that point. The rest of you—focus, focus, focus! None of you were fast enough, ready enough, or powerful enough. You'd die in a heartbeat in a real fight."
-x-x-x-x-x-
If Sirius thought that would be it, he was very wrong. Nott allowed a house-elf to heal the injuries, and two of the three missing came back looking sheepish but healed (the last one, the house-elf informed Mister Nott, was victim to a very grey curse that caused his blood to boil dangerously close to disaster point, and if he didn't get complete bed-rest for the rest of the day at least, he might spontaneously combust, heated blood bursting into flames all over the body), but they were not allowed to rest before launching into the next exercise.
They were placed into pairs to do more traditional dueling. This, Sirius actually knew well. His parents had insisted that he and Regulus become proficient with traditional dueling, never mind that it was a ridiculously archaic method of solving feuds and quarrels that often ended in the death of one of the duelers. So, placed against a boy going into fifth year at Hogwarts—Sirius was fairly certain he was one of the rowdier Ravenclaws—Sirius managed to win. Mister Nott pit him against a sixth year Slytherin, whom he beat as well.
"Hmm. It seems you're better at dueling than free-fights," Mister Nott mused. He tapped his knuckles on his wand as stared into space, then faced Sirius again. "You obviously need the most help with learning new spells that will do some serious damage. The spells you're using are all either defensive or first-level defensive, or at the best, distractors." His eyes scanned the dueling students, and he jerked his head decisively. "Mister Snape! Stop dueling Avery and come here." Oh no. Not him. Anyone but him, even that pompous ass Lestrange is better than Snape…
"Mister Snape, your dueling is proficient enough. For the next few weeks, you'll be using this time to teach Mister Black here some of the hexes and curses you know. Make sure he's up to an acceptable standard." An aghast look crossed Snape's face. Good. I'm not the only one who doesn't want to do this. Maybe he can convince Nott not to…
"But Sir, I—"
"Mister Snape, did I say you had a choice?"
"No, Sir."
"Then?"
"Nothing, Sir. I'll teach Black." The poisonous glare Snape shot Sirius didn't fit the deferential tone, but Karston Nott ignored it.
"Good. See to it that he's got a working knowledge of all the Levels but Three and Five. You can use the side-room for it." He gestured one large hand towards a door on the opposite of the empty room they'd been taken to for the physical training. Snape turned on his heel and headed towards it—Sirius hmphed and hurried after the sallow boy.
"Get in, Black," Snape said curtly.
"I'll take all the time I want," Sirius retorted, deliberately slowing down. Snape rolled his eyes and crossed his arms impatiently.
When both of them were in the smaller but just as empty room and Snape had shut the door with a clang, Sirius leaned against one of the walls, idly playing with his wand.
"So, Snape, would you like me to levitate you upside-down again?" he taunted.
Snape laughed. "Levitation? You think we're here to learn how to hang people upside-down in the air for shite and giggles? I thought you were unnaturally thick, Black. I should have guessed that you're not just as thick as two planks, you're a rock-solid brick and just about as smart as one. Pulpapulpito!"
Sirius didn't get his shield up in time, for he hadn't been expecting the sudden attack. He collapsed, his chest a mass of agony, muscles clenching and lungs straining to breathe. Then the crippling pain stopped and only the echo of the spell was left, his heart beating unnaturally fast as he slowly clambered to his feet again.
"Enjoy that? That was a muscle-cramping curse. Category fourth level out of five. It's considered Dark because if the caster is powerful enough and angry enough, the very heart could cramp and give the victim a prolonged heart attack. Excruciating way to die. Also Dark because if you aim for a pregnant woman's stomach, you could cause her to miscarry or, if she's extremely lucky, bear a child with brain damage and physical disabilities."
"Damn it, Snape, you could have killed me!" Sirius burst out, finally able to force his chest to relax and allow him to speak.
Snape raised an eyebrow. "That was much shorter and far below the force it takes to affect the heart. But consider it a reminder that I, too, am capable of…murder." His voice turned into a hatred-filled sneer. "Besides, you did try to kill me this year. You and Potter. It's too bad the animal didn't end up snacking on me, isn't it? Oh, but don't worry. You've the protection of Rosier—for now. His pets never last long in that position."
"Evan's a friendly person, unlike you, you git. Leave my friends out of this. You're not worthy to even call them by their names, snake," hissed Sirius, anger forcing him to forget the dull ache of his chest.
Snape merely leaned a wiry shoulder against the opposite wall. "You'll be able to cast Dark curses in your sleep when I'm done with you. I'm not keen on the idea of teaching you spells you can use against me, but somehow you've fooled the others into thinking that you can be made into a proper heir of the Black family, so I will give you the training necessary to fulfill that role. We'll start with simpler spells." And Sirius, to his bewilderment, found himself learning how to cast a nightmare hex with a coolly professional and snide Snape.
When the boys stumbled out two hours later, Sirius had mastered most of the Level One spells of the "Dark Arts Essentials", as Sirius mentally dubbed the ranking system for the unorthodox curses and spells. He could cast spells that forced a person into an unnatural sleep for twenty-four hours, give someone nightmares until you lifted the spell, cause loss of balance, conjure some fearsome animals: snakes, lions, human sized predator birds, and bears among them. And he didn't know what to make of Snape anymore.
The bastard was still a bastard. Sirius knew that hadn't changed. But it was like the volatile, explosive boy Sirius knew from Hogwarts had been replaced by a acidly-smart and intensely focused person who couldn't, no matter how Sirius tried, be provoked into a rage. Just who is the real Snape anyway? The slimy wanker from school who's way too Dark and sneaky to be any good, or the acidic but efficient—and skilled—Snape here, in his element as it were, surrounded by Dark Arts aficionados? Oh, he's still way too interested in Dark stuff for anyone's good, and obviously he's good at it. In fact, I don't understand how we ever managed to get one up on him at Hogwarts. He's obviously good enough with his wand to retaliate, even if most of the spells he would use would probably get him in trouble. Still, I don't think he cares, since he gets so many detentions anyway. So why is he holding back at school? Sirius didn't know the answers to any of his blossoming questions, and he doubted Snape would tell him if he asked. He had to content himself with rejoining the group for a final lecture from Nott before being turned loose for the rest of the evening.
-x-x-x-x-x-
"How did your lesson with Snape go?" Evan wanted to know. He was lounging in a transfigured armchair in Sirius' room, while Sirius sprawled out on his bed.
"Fine. I don't understand him, though," Sirius complained.
"Oh, don't worry. No one understands him. Not even himself, or Lucius Malfoy, I suspect," Evan laughed, running a hand through his blond locks.
"What does Lucius Malfoy have to do with him?"
"You didn't know? Lucius Malfoy is his…well, his guardian I suppose you could call it. Or sponsor. Either way works."
Sirius frowned. "How does this guardian thing work? I thought Snape had a father?"
"You really don't know?" Evan sat up, regarding the dark-haired boy on the bed thoughtfully. "But then I suppose you being in Gryffindor would have cut you off from most of the people who know about Snape, and he tends to be closed-mouth and very secretive about himself in particular, everything in general. Keep that in mind, by the way—if you ever need someone capable of keeping a secret, Severus is the best. You just have to make sure you have something he wants to keep him from deliberately spilling, but that's a Slytherin trait anyway. Even I would do the same with any information I got my hands on." Even smiled comfortably, a trifle smugly.
"Oh, but you wanted to know about Snape. I'm afraid I don't know everything. I suspect that only Lucius Malfoy knows everything, and perhaps not even him. But I do make it my business to know everything I can. So, Snape. It's not widely known, but he is not a Pureblood." Evan chortled at Sirius' face.
"But—I thought—Slytherin, and he comes to this every summer—" Sirius stammered, taken aback at this revelation.
"Oh yes, but there are a number of Halfbloods in Slytherin. They simply have to work harder to fight against the bad blood. Severus Snape was born to the youngest daughter of the Prince family, all of whom have died now except for Severus, and his father was pure Muggle. His mother died in his second year at Hogwarts. According to old Pureblood rules, in that situation the Muggle parent has no say over the child. Lucius Malfoy stepped in to become his legal guardian, and I've heard rumors that Snape's old man actually sold his rights to his kid for more alcohol, and that when they pulled Snape out of the house, he wasn't in good shape. Cuts and bruises and a couple broken bones, that's what I heard from my parents back then." Evan grimaced—Sirius, both fascinated and horrified at such a bleak past he hadn't known his classmate possessed, didn't know whether Evan had pulled a face at Snape's misfortune or at the disgusting ways of Muggles.
"The Prince family had by then all died out except for a distant cousin who lived in Russia and wasn't willing to take on the responsibilities of a child, so Snape began staying at Malfoy Manor and Lucius petitioned for his right to join the Summer Gatherings, despite his unfortunate Muggle of a father. The summer after second year was the first time he came to Chateau Malfoy, and he's been coming back ever since. In return, he's already pledged his service to Lucius in Potions. Even as a kid he was unnaturally talented with brewing. Lucius hasn't had to go to an apothecary for a potion for three years. Then Snape's father died." Evan's eyes glowed in a way Sirius didn't like, a gleam that uncomfortably reminded him that Evan, for all his apparent friendly manners, was a Slytherin, followed much of the old Pureblood tradition, and was probably sitting at the head of their table for a reason. "Officially, Snape's father died from a fatal heart attack, accumulating numerous cuts and bruises when he fell down the stairs and onto a pile of empty alcohol bottles, just about seven days ago. Unofficially…" Evan trailed off, looking pointedly at Sirius for him to draw conclusions.
Sirius sat back, his mind whirling with all the new information he'd just received. He'd known the barest facts about his opponent's background—he knew his mother was dead, and his father hadn't been the affectionate kind. Sirius had gathered that much from several off-hand comments Lily had made once. He'd brushed it off. No one could have as bad a family as he, after all. His own mother still featured prominently in several heart-stopping nightmares, and his father had simply stood back and let it happen. Like the time she whipped me bloody for being Sorted into Gryffindor. Or the time she blinded me temporarily because she heard that I was dating a Halfblood. But a parent who drank, who beat his own young child and sold him like a sack of potatoes to the highest bidder…Sirius shuddered. If that's true, I don't blame him for joining the Muggle-haters here! Doesn't give him the right to be an ass the rest of the time, though.
Snape's words earlier that day floated back into his mind. "It's considered Dark because if the caster is powerful enough and angry enough, the very heart could cramp and give the person a heart attack. Excruciating way to die. I, too, am capable of…murder." Sirius shuddered and changed the topic.
-x-x-x-x-x-
Severus regarded his hands. He was alone in his room. Like always. He preferred it that way. It was better than the times when he wasn't alone…it was just better this way. His hands seemed foreign to him, pale things that rested limply on his drawn-up knees as he leaned against the bed's headboard. These hands didn't belong to him, they belonged to a stranger—a murderer.
Oh, he'd killed before. Everyone who'd been here a couple summers had, at some point or another, watched the life leak from a suitably innocent creature—perhaps puffskeins one year, rabbits the next. Nott, always efficient and focused on preparing them, had made sure that none of his students 'graduated' his class without having a part of their soul dying, and he'd come up with the brilliant idea of making everyone to take care of the animal for the week before forcing them to kill it. He'd thrown up the first time, and been punished for his weakness. Now, Severus could kill whatever they put in front of him in at least a dozen ways, perhaps more. Not with the Avada—that wasn't taught until they were sure you were old enough to understand how serious it was, the Unforgivables. But what did it matter? Severus considered the Death curse one of the milder Dark curses albeit its illegal status and automatic life sentence in Azkaban because it killed instantly with no pain, no realization—one minute you're alive, the next you're not. Simple as that.
But all the animals in the world hadn't prepared him for an actual human being. He'd borrowed one of the Malfoy unregistered wands. Lucius had promised that his graduation gift would be an unregistered wand for himself, but until then, he had to make do with one of the generic ones the Malfoys kept on hand. Lucius and Lord and Lady Malfoy had known his intentions without him speaking it. They'd groomed him for this task, after all, the final proof of his renunciation of the unworthy part of his blood. It was the only way they'd spared his father's miserable life at all, for daring to raise his eyes, let along his hand, to a Pureblood woman. He'd prepared himself, gone home, waited for his father to arrive back home from his day job at the factory. Tobias Snape had come stumbling home at one in the morning, drunk and mean. A specially-prepared potion had sobered him up soon enough, with the unfortunate effect of copious amounts of vomit.
Severus remembered, as if in a dream, how he'd told his father exactly what he thought of him, all the hurt, the pain, the repressed anger, the drinking and beating and abusing his wife and son. Tobias Snape had laughed in his face and told him to stop being so high and mighty. And with that, Severus had the excuse he'd been waiting for, the reason to let out the potent Dark magic he'd avidly learnt in hopes first of defense and protection, then for revenge.
Sectumsempra had been invented purely for his father's benefit, meant to emulate the cuts Tobias Snape had given his young son and cowed wife with the broken beer bottles. It was one of those cuts that had finally killed Eileen Prince, as she slowly bled out from a jagged cut inflicted by her husband and Tobias Snape, drunk as always, had broken Severus' nose and arm. Severus had watched his mother die, the dullness of her eyes fading into darkness. It had been then that he'd sworn that one day he would watch his father die the same way he'd watched his mother die.
Pulpapulpito wasn't his invention. The muscle-cramping curse had been in a side-note in one of Lucius' books, and Severus had perfected it his fourth year at Hogwarts, practicing on the rats and mice the house-elves brought him. And slowly, over the years of Summer Gatherings, Severus had envisioned Tobias Snape in place of whatever they had him kill.
But it didn't change the fact that Severus was now a true murderer. He'd killed his own father, watched impassively as the unregistered wand, held in his rock-steady hand, scored Tobias' face, arms, legs, and chest cut after cut, watched as the impersonal wand aimed for the cardiac muscle and seized hold, squeezing and squeezing until the man in front of him had convulsed one last time on the stained, dank floor of the house at Spinner's End and fallen still, bloodshot eyes still open in horror and agony. It had been easy work to push him into the heap of ever-present bottles and listen to them shatter and drive their jagged edges into the dead flesh, easy work to erase his magical presence and silently Apparate to Chateau Malfoy where he'd avoided the Malfoys and gone straight to the bathroom and locked himself inside, scrubbing his flesh raw and washing off the Muggle blood the Purebloods considered less than human.
I am a murderer. I've killed another person, a helpless Muggle no less. I am truly Dark now. I'm sorry, Lily. You were the only one who tried to help me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…
Author's Notes
The chapter title is both a musical and mundane term. An overture in general is someone in some way approaching another for something, "making an overture." Rather obvious- this chapter digs into Severus and Sirius interaction. Musically, an overture is an instrumental introduction to a composition, whether it be an instrumental, choral, or dramatic piece. A concert overture, on the other hand, is an instrumental piece that stands alone and is usually based on a literary theme.
*Bonjour, mes jeunes amis – hello, my young friends
My French comes from Google Translate. Forgive any errors now and in future chapters.