DISCLAIMER: I am making no money off of this, and this site isn't either. This is purely fan-fiction written by a weird person who has absolutely nothing better to do than write this stuff. I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Snape, etc. J.K.R. does. I don't own Erik the Opera Ghost either—Gaston Leroux created him (or simply wrote about him, I don't know…)

Chapter 4

Snape and Erik appeared amid a cloudy dream of memory. Erik still clasped Snape's hand, as though the tired older wizard or he were dying. The image soon surfaced, and the pair found themselves within the Snape family's residence.

A portly man of great girth gazed into space, vodka bottles scattered around his feet on the floor. "That . . . is my father," Snape whispered, pointing towards the obese villain.

Tobias Snape, at age forty, had definitely come into his early decline. He had a great stomach, as mentioned above, and the crudest, ugliest face on earth. Someone might have hacked it from a piece of wood and affixed it to the body of the fattest hog ever raised. His hair, once dark brown, now contained streaks of definite gray.

"Honest to Merlin, I'm most grateful that I inherited nothing more than his nose and eyes," Snape muttered viciously. For, indeed, the two male Snapes shared only those semblances.

At this moment, Tobias simultaneously burped and passed wind. The stench pervaded the entire room. Even Snape and Erik, as time-travelers, found it necessary to cover their mouths and noses. (At least whatever Erik had for a nose . . . Snape wondered still about this oddity but decided to make no mention of it . . . ) After this eruption, the man reached out, took a long swig of the bitter liquor, and cut himself large slices of cheddar and brown bread from the sideboard. He ate this in two bites, swallowing more vodka to follow.

The pair observed a young boy of about ten ("Me," observed Snape, devoid of emotion in his voice) climbing cautiously down the staircase outside the study in a way so as to not disturb his father. Snapce, looking at himself, decided that he did not seem much different at that age than he did now at age 40-odd. He had the same loose black hair, the same austere features, the same painfully lank figure. He did observe the smallest difference in the eyes, however; young Snape's eyes reflected a cold fear, now they expressed a sharp melancholy or hatred. Though, perhaps, he could attribute the difference to the light.

All at once, alerted by the mere creak of a floorboard, Tobias stood. His eyes flashed lighting, and his weight on the wooden floor was thunder enough.

Quickly, considering his immense bulk, Tobias Snape stepped across the room like a giant after his prey. He scooped up young Severus as though wanting to eat him alive. The boy made no attempt to wrest himself away, or scream.

"You beast!" Tobias roared. "You dare come and bother me in mine quiet! You dirty little bastard!"

Here the great man began to unwind his very hefty and very lengthy belt. Little Severus shivered, but did not attempt to defend himself. He seemed almost like a puppet, unable to feel or think for himself.

Erik looked away, cringing as Tobias proceeded to lash his son. Once, twice three times . . .

"Tobias!" A female voice spoke above the whacking. With a drunken gleam, Mr. Snape turned to see a woman standing in the doorway.

"My mother," explained Snape.

Mrs. Snape had pale skin, black hair, and delicate hands. Her waist, trim and slender, supported an aching, displaced back and a heavy head. She made the best attempt to look fresh and beautiful, however. Her entire being appeared gray: her dress, her once-blue eyes, the bruises on her skin. Behind her, a potion-proof brewing apron specially charmed to prevent injury from backsplashes, lay on the floor.

"She liked to dabble in brewing now and again. It reminded her of happier days, I think," older Severus sighed.

A little girl of seven or eight poked her nose cautiously from behind a bookcase.

"My sister, Sylvia."

She retreated as quickly as she had appeared.

"Tobias," entreated Eileen Prince-Snape, advancing slowly. "Tobias . . . please . . . don't lay a hand on him today . . . "

Guiltily, Tobias laid young Severus down on the ground. "He don' scream anymore," he murmured. "I don' understand i' a' all . . ."

"You've hurt him too much already, Tobias. He's learned not to scream, because when he does you only hit him harder."

Tobias digested this, then turned to the boy. Severus sat motionless on the ground. "Is what she say true, boy? 'Cause if it is, I'll jus'--"

"No!" Eileen stood straight, a martyr about to embark on her mission. She weaned Sylvia from behind the bookcase, stalked across the room, and deposited her in Severus' arms. Then she faced her inebriated husband, a militant courage in her eye. "Leave the room, children," she murmured softly, but Tobias raised his hand.

"No, stay. You need to see--"

"Leave! Now!" Her tones sounded urgent.

"I'm their father, y' know, they'll do as I--" Here Tobias punched his wife full in the cheek "—say!" He grabbed Eileen forcefully, putting his thick sweaty lips to her neck. His tongue began to massage the pale white skin, and his hands moved to undo her front dress buttons.

Here Eileen took advantage of his distraction to say gently but firmly again, "Children, go now, leave your mum and father."

Severus did not move, petrified, holding Sylvia's hand sensitively. Soon mother's dress was half off; even then, it took the flash of a breast to initiate any action from the young boy. Only at that moment did he dash out of the room with his little sister. As the clouds gathered, Erik and older Snape could hear the agonized groans and whimpers of Eileen and the ferocious growling of Tobias as the latter as good as raped his wife.

To Be Continued!!

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