„I see the new coming, it is the old."
(Bertold Brecht)
It was good that she had gone away. He stared at the empty seat. Yes, it was good. Better that way, for everyone involved.
The door opened. Oh yes, he wasn't allowed to be alone. Confidently and nonchalantly, Harry Potter walked in, just as if the room was his. The boy probably believed that he owned the world by now.
Hero of the nation, saviour of the wizarding world.
Severus' face showed no expression at all.
Amazingly, no scorn was in the green eyes, no defiance or contempt. He couldn't quite make out what was in them, but it was something he'd never seen in Potter's eyes. Severus' shivering still wasn't under control, so he balled his fists. At least it wasn't visible that way.
Potter sat down. As if taking a seat was an important event that had to be honoured appropriately.
'Um... Hermione went home,' Potter informed him. 'I think she may need a break. She said she needs to sleep.'
The boy might as well have said that Granger had had enough of him. His repellent character, his coldness, his invidiousness.
Severus glared at him, but Potter was just annoyingly calm. Merlin, how could a human being be that self-satisfied? The boy rummaged through his pockets and brought out a little box with the initials L.E. and a small bottle of firewhisky.
'Open it once you are alone. And the whisky, well, it's not ideal, but it won't kill you.'
Funny.
That was Potter as he lived and breathed and told other people what they should and shouldn't do.
The boy took a deep breath. Probably in order to mock him, he asked Severus how he was.
'I'm alive,' he answered bitterly. 'Do you expect gratitude?'
Potter hung his head.
'I don't expect anything,' he answered quietly. Completely out of character.
Severus' eyes flickered to the bottle. How much did he wish to be numb right now. Feel nothing.
'Give that to me,' he ordered, with an embarrassing rasp in his voice. What a weakling he was. Just like his father. Potter opened it and handed it to him carefully.
'I can do that myself,' replied Severus, a little angry now. He took a sip, actually a big gulp from that bottle. The alcohol warmed him, gave the desired effect. He was drunk immediately. Potter fidgeted on his seat.
'Did your relatives survive?' asked Severus, though not particularly interested. He'd heard nothing from the Dursleys throughout the whole year.
'Yeaaaah...,' answered Potter hesitantly. Severus didn't like the tone. He didn't answer and the boy obviously took that as a sign to keep talking. Potter asked for some of that whisky, thought the lack of a reaction meant yes.
At this very moment, he did not look like his father at all. Chewing his nails, scrutinising Severus' battered face and the small room and... not seeming happy about any of it.
'I haven't seen them for a year. And I don't want to, either.' Potter's face hardened while he waited for the malicious comment. It never came.
'Uncle Vernon has taken out a restraining order. I am not allowed to go near them or contact them in any way.'
Now Severus was surprised.
'What have you done to them?'
Rage flitted across Potter's face. And... hurt.
'I haven't done anything. They hate magic, always have. I lived in a cupboard for ten years and was their elf and if I didn't obey I got...' he stopped abruptly. His tone had been an accusing one.
A swearword escaped Severus' intoxicated lips and his hand went through his hair.
That made Potter laugh. James Potter would never have been able to utter such a bitter, humourless laugh. Life had spoilt him too much.
'I've got to go,' explained the boy. 'You'll be getting more visitors and... well... get well soon.'
Severus was alone. Probably only for a few minutes. Something (someone) was missing. No it wasn't.
He caressed the initials with his long, white fingers and opened the box. There were three things. A picture, a ripped out page from Lily's diary and a letter from Harry Potter. For some reason, he read that first. It was long, longer than anything Potter had ever presented in Potions class. Well written with good vocabulary and legible handwriting.
There were dozens of explanations, descriptions and... apologies about the events of all his school years. Severus found the energy to be angry. Angry with Dumbledore who seemed to have lured these damnable kids into all sorts of dangers. They had been tested from day one. Severus sighed and put the letter aside.
A picture of Lily. Happy and maybe fifteen years old, waving and smiling.
He put it back as if he'd burnt himself. He didn't read her words either. Yet. He put everything back and went to sleep instead.
When he woke, he felt sick to his stomach. If he didn't want to vomit all over his bed, he had to either press that button and get someone or try and get to the toilet himself. He decided on the latter. He swung, no, lifted his legs from the bed and used every opportunity to support himself. The drip, in which he got caught a few times, had to come with him. But he made it. Almost insane from the pain, but he made it. He felt dirty, so he decided to take a shower.
Take a shower was a euphemism for the agonising stunt he performed, but he made it. After a while, he decided that the shower, now almost unbearably hot, did not succeed in making him feel less dirty. He gave up and risked a glance into the mirror.
His left eye was still almost swollen shut, the right one blood-red. A deep gash decorated his hairline. He wondered if he would be famous for a scar on his forehead. He highly doubted it.
Jagged lines crossed his body, the burnt skin was bright red and stood out from the rest. Should he be happy that they hadn't emasculated him? Not that it mattered.
A grey dressing gown hung on the door, so he put it on and shuffled back to the room.
His glance first fell on the two mugs of tea and then… He'd lost his mind. He had actually gone crazy. He himself sat on the chair, with grey hair, hooked nose and shabby suit. Severus staggered and everything went black. When he woke again, he was covered in the sticky cream and laid in his bed.
His father sat in front of him. The last time he had seen him, ten years ago, he hadn't been able to utter one coherent sentence. He'd smelt of alcohol, cigarettes and sweat. Now he just smelled of cigarettes.
'There is nothing to take,' said Severus through clenched teeth. The thought that he was now poorer than his father, that he didn't own a single book or a robe, depressed him.
Ten years ago, his father had asked him for help. And Severus had offered board and lodging. Stupid, yes. But it had been his father who had pleaded, ill and poor. Three days later, he had disappeared. With half of Severus' savings. He never came back.
Now the old man looked sad. Close to crying actually. What a pathetic little creature.
'I know, Severus. I was there. There is nothing left from our house.'
Our house. Tobias hadn't paid a penny for the mortgage. Severus had bought it just before the compulsory auction. Why he had done that puzzled him. Certainly not in order to cherish the good memories.
His father tried to apologise. But he never managed to bring himself to say it. Another trait that he had passed on to his son. Severus could count the number of times he truly had asked someone for forgiveness on one hand. Lily…
Maybe Tobias thought that there was still gold in his vault? Severus had no vault.
'Get out of my sight,' he bellowed, satisfied that his voice sounded icy. 'Go!'
When the man made no attempt to move, Severus underlined his words by throwing a glass of water in his direction. Bad aim, hands not steady enough. It fell to the floor and, finally, the unwanted visitor rose from the seat.
'You have become like your mother,' he breathed. 'I'm sorry.'
Severus could feel his expression contorting and turning into a grimace of hatred. The door slammed and he flinched. Damnit.
DAMNIT.
