The Eyes

Chapter Thirteen

The sickening squelching sound of boots on wet gravel crunched like the cracking of bones beneath steel shoes. The thick and acre smell of smoke putridly raised from the stench-filled chimneys of a place that was named, aptly, 'Cokeworth'.

The dark, grisly grime that covered every window barely hid the face of an elderly woman with narrow eyes and thin lips, looking outside to stare and busy her nose in the affairs of others. A cold breeze filled with the smell of putrid carcasses hung in the air, making Harry gag.

The never stopping furnaces far off in the distance kept billowing smoke out of their chimneys, but soon Harry's attention was caught by the swinging open and close of doors, which hatefully rattled at his passage, his and Snape's.

There was such vivid contempt within the very bricks, such undying spite hanging around the air, and such terrifying sadness and grief hidden beneath the caked dirt of the streets that Harry walked closed to Snape with each passing step, until he came to stand by his very side, desperately looking around for something, anything, that did not bear such overwhelming emotions.

And yet he could not find it.

Among all the hatred of generations of workers enslaved to machines that could feel no remorse in shattering bones and chewing, spitting and devouring limbs in and out of their frames however, there could be no further sight. This was a place of unholy hatred and anger, but among such fearsome hatred, there was no place for the sickening cold grasp of ancient beings, for there was no 'thought', and no desire for knowledge.

Work, Eat, Sleep. Work, Eat, Sleep. Work, Eat, Hate, Sleep. Work, Eat, Hate, Sleep. Hate, Work, Hate, Eat, Hate, Sleep.

Hate.

Hate.

Such hatred spiraled like a never-ending maelstrom, and blinded that which normally could not have been blinded. Maybe that was the answer, maybe that explained many things, or maybe it explained none.

Snape's house was a thin looking and gaunt mansion of sorts, or at least, it believed itself such. It was in fact a house pushed by both sides by other similar houses, with a dirty front, a dead backyard and dark, ash-covered windows. Yet it held a dignity to it, a sort of old, matronly gaze beckoning anyone to dare say something about the ratty tabby of her appearance. The dignity of old, of the rich made pauper who dares anyone to say a single word.

That single emotion of lingering sadness for the good times gone by, never to return. That nostalgic feeling that deeply carves into the heart of people, making them cringe in the middle of the night as they wake up not from nightmares, no, but from the bittersweet memories of happy moments of the past.

Harry did not know –and yet he did, oh if he did- why his eyes stung with tears as he stepped inside the house.

"Your room is upstairs," Snape said, looking back at Harry, who seemed to have gone into a world of his, looking around, as if he hadn't heard him.

Snape said nothing, but merely watched him move his fingers across the furniture, as if looking for dust. He wasn't looking for dust, of course, but it still puzzled Severus.

"It's empty," Harry said politely, looking up at Snape as if expecting him to understand what he was implying.

"Empty?" Snape inclined his head to the side, puzzled.

"Devoid?" Harry hazarded.

"Of what?"

"Of them," Harry murmured, his voice barely audible if not for the silence that had crept like a stalking spider on unsuspecting preys on them. "It's empty."

"Why?" Snape asked, but Harry simply shrugged.

"Boring, maybe?" he hazarded as a reply. "They don't…care for us, none of them do. A few toy, but that's all."

"Toy…with us?"

"Yes," Harry said. "No more than a bored man gazing at a line of ants walking on the sand would," he added. "But the gaze…the gaze is enough to turn the sand into melting glass."

"I see," Snape said. "I was thinking tomorrow we could visit the ministry," he continued. "Would you like that?"

"If that is how it is meant to end, I do not dislike it," Harry said. "I am sorry," he added, lowering his gaze.

"You have nothing to apologize for, especially not to me," Severus said. "It was not your fault."

"It wasn't yours either," Harry said. "Life just…happened?"

"Life just happens," Severus repeated those words once, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe if I understood what you're referring to."

"Everything," Harry said with a knowing nod.

Snape shook his head, and moved to the kitchen. "The bachelor's dinner is not going to be anything special. I warn you now, Harry."

Harry just nodded, and followed him in the kitchen. His eyes looked curiously at everything around him, as if it was the first time he had seen such things as a table, a chair, or even a sink.

"They're empty," he said once more. "They're all empty," he giggled.

He was like a child at a fair.

"Are they truly everywhere?" Snape asked, and Harry just nodded, humming as he went about opening and closing the cupboards, surprised and smiling all along at was what –or better yet what wasn't- in there.

"They're nowhere to be found!" Harry yelled loudly from the floor above, ten minutes later. "They really don't like this place!"

Somehow, Severus did not know whether he should feel proud or ashamed of the fact that whatever monstrosities made people mad by merely looking at them would utterly ignore such a place. On the other hand…

He still remembered the words.

He could not forget Trelawney's words.

Even as life moved on and no one remembered the woman –if not for that dreadful accident falling down the stairs that ended her life, after she was drunk on sherry one night too many- the thought still remained firmly entrenched within his brain.

There was only one way to end it.

He could not protect Harry from those things.

He could give him a merry Christmas, of course, that much was true.

But in the end, there was only one way out of that hell.

Lily would understand.

Author's notes

…

Nearly there…the end is near…Christmas is too…why not…*chuckles*

How bad is it to mix Christmas Spirit with Lovecraft, I wonder?