Work title: The monster within
Author: DoraRussel
Beta-Reader: littleminx921
Rating: Mature
Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence
Relationship: Eileen Snape/Tobias Snape
Characters: Eileen Snape, Severus Snape, Tobias Snape
Additional Tags: Major Violence, Domestic Violence, Child Abuse, Abusive Father, Death of Character, Murderer, Songfic, Ominousoctober22
Summary: He remembers the birth of his inner monster. What he couldn't foresee was the consequences it would bring.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the related characters. The Harry Potter series is created by JK Rowling and owned by Warner Bros. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Harry Potter story belong to Warner Bros.
Initial notes: This is, by far, one of the most dark stories I've wrote in my life (counting originals and fanfictions). Please, if you're sensible to graphic descriptions of violence and death, DO NOT read this story. Domestic violence is also describe in detail, be aware.
It's always good to remember that I DO NOT agree with any kind of violence, towards anyone, regardless the matter. We don't combat violence with more violence. Having state that, I'm going to let one last warning: this story, even though it's fictional, addresses very real topics, so if you identify in any sort of way with it, ask for help!
This story was written as a response to the Trick or Treat Prompts, from the Ominous October event, hosted by Potions and Parchment and HP Fanworks Central. I chose the Trick prompt: "They feel themself slowly becoming a monster."
Big thanks for answering my call for help littleminx921. Hope we can work together in the future!
Something's dying inside of me
You make me feel like I'm fucking drowning
(I need to cut you out, I need to cut you out)
You made my world come crashing down around me
(I need to cut you out)
I can't tell when my father's aggressions started, not precisely. One of the first times, I was almost seven years old. I was such an innocent kid, trying to get to the back door, to our backyard. My mistake was that on my way to the door, I noticed one of my shoes was untied so I stopped to fix it. In front of my father's old TV. While he was watching the game.
"Stupid boy!" His scream came together with the back of his hand, hitting my face so hard that I was thrown a few steps away.
I was so mortified by his action that I stayed in the same way I landed, facing the wooden floor, unable to comprehend what exactly had just happened to me for several minutes. My head was spinning. I could sense the metallic taste of blood on my mouth. It was like my brain — in some sort of a sick way — was rearranged inside my own skull. When I was finally able to register my surroundings, I found my mother's eyes. She was close enough to me and I could perfectly see her features; and what I saw never left my mind, ever . At that time, I didn't have the maturity necessary to understand why she wasn't moving to defend me, to rescue me from what was happening.
I remember I was weeping because of the ache on my face, however what hurt the most, what broke my spirit and tainted my soul, it was the brief exchange of glances that my mother and I shared: it was at that exact moment that I first understood, it wouldn't matter how close she was to me — a few steps or a thousand miles away, standing just on the other side of the living room or in another country —, she wouldn't move not even one single step to get closer.
Now, many years after this episode, I know that the shining that I could distinguish in her eyes and I thought that was from the tears she wouldn't allow herself to cry, was actually from most visceral fright, capable of paralyzing her whole body; the same one that would keep controlling her actions 'till this very day, clouding her senses, making her comply with things that came back to terrorize her dreams every other night, transforming them into nightmares capable of making her scream so loud that I could heard from my own bedroom.
Your eyes cut like daggers
I don't feel a thing 'cause I'm so dead inside
I think that after this day, I realized that if something was to happen in retribution of my father's actions, it was to be my responsibility. My mother clearly wasn't able to do anything — revisiting her lack of action, I can say that that was the moment when the monster inside me gained its first projection. My mind didn't create a "flight or fight" scenario — oh no, it was fight or die for me.
So I started slowly.
I tested the waters.
If he demanded something, I tried talking back as a response, not complying with his will — at least not immediately. At the beginning, I was punished hard for my audacity. Every fucking time he raised his hand to me, I felt the monster on my chest roaring. I didn't struggle against his violence — no , the monster inside me fed from the pain, growing stronger and stronger each time I was humiliated, awaiting for the right moment to really fight back.
This time I'll fight for myself as you try to fuck me over
I bet you never cared, I knew you never cared
You make me feel like I'm fucking drowning
(I need to cut you out, I need to cut you out)
You made my world come crashing down around me
(I need to cut you out)
Its time finally came.
I'm feeling the monster, the beast slowly stretching its claws, while my father is screaming obscenities at my mother. She is doing the dishes — muggle style, as she always does when my father is at home.
He is unhappy with the food. This isn't a new thing. When there isn't something wrong with the food, it's at the house: dirt on the carpet, dust on the furniture — there was always something wrong for him to complain about, especially when he was drunk.
"I knew I should have married Margaret. Fifteen fucking years by your side and you still don't know how to make a medium rare steak. Pathetic …"
I can see my mother's body shaking, but I know better than to presume she is crying.
"Fifteen years ago you at least had a nice arse to…"
"Enough." I'm speaking before I can think. It's a natural mechanism by now, to talk back to my father's verbal aggressions, to my mother or to myself.
"Shut it. I'm talking to your mother."
"You're not. You're insulting her. Again . So I say it one more time: enough ." My voice is calm but I can feel the rush on my body. The palm of my hands are starting to sweat, while the monster finishes sharpening its claws.
"Or what?" Father's dry laugh drew my attention to his features: he manages to be thinner than me, although his belly is swollen enough from all the drinking, prominent over his shirt. But what really captures my full awareness of the figure I was taught to recognize as my father , is the yellow in his eyes, where the usual white should be, in conjunction with the disfigured smile on his mouth, two disgusting ponds of saliva on the corners of his thin lips. He is not a man. He is not a human being. At this precise moment, I'm not sure yet of what he is — I just know that no human being should look like this .
And suddenly, in the space of a blink, I am on top of his chest, hitting his face over and over again.
Black is all that I see
One punch, his head turns left. Another punch, his head turns right. There is bleeding coming from his nose and mouth, but the sight doesn't stop me — works as a fuel instead, and my next punch produces a specific sound that I am, unfortunately, very familiar with: I just broke a bone. Mine or his? It doesn't really matter right now.
There's a demon staring straight through your eyes (1)
I change the modus operandi .
With both hands on his neck, I start to squeeze harder and harder. In my head, I'm repeating over and over again "How does it feel, father? To be on the other side for the first time?" . I know I'm smiling because I can see myself reflected in his sick yellow eyes — however it's not completely myself, no. I've never seen this kind of anger, this kind of aggression on one's own features before, whether reflected in someone's eyes or on the few mirrors I've stared at. This thought came simultaneously with my mother's screams. For the desperate sounds she is making, it's clear to me she has been screaming for a long time.
"Severus, son, please. Stop!"
I abruptly stop the pressure on my father's neck. His eyes are still open. I keep staring into them, waiting for his next blinking so I can blink too. I can hear my own heartbeat accelerating, even though I have the feeling time is slowing down. An eternity after my hand has relaxed its tightness around his neck, I lost my inner battle against the natural need to blink. In the fraction of the milliseconds that my lashes close and open, I understand what has happened. What I've just done.
Acting purely on autopilot, I get up from the floor, carefully enough not to touch my father's body. The situation is so disturbing I feel like I'm going to be sick. As I tripped on my own legs, leaning on the walls in a desperate attempt to not fall, I heard the hopelessness in my mother's voice.
"Tobias? Oh no, Tobias!"
When I search for her, she is kneeling on the floor, right beside my father's body. Our eyes meet and again, on the fraction between one blink and another, I see my own beast, my monster crawling away inside myself reflecting through my mother's eyes.
I'm left alone.
Me, my mother and the body of my father, murder by my own hands on our kitchen floor, while the sink faucet, left slightly open, produce creepy dripping sound.
Final notes: (1) Lyrics of the song "The Black", from Asking Alexandria, released in 2016.
There is a lot that I still need to study and practice, but I'm feeling more and more confident with these stories I'm writing as a response to the Trick or Treat Prompts, from the Ominous October.
Anyway, hope you liked! If you feel so, leave me a comment about what you think of this one and what you would like to read next!
