Madam Pomfrey took charge of him right away. "You look horrid, Young Man." She said brusquely.
"I always look like this." He said quietly.
"It's unhealthy, Boy, unhealthy!" She barked, "What have you been eating?"
"Nothing."
"Really?! Come now, tell me or I can't help you."
"I really haven't eaten anything. I'm not ever hungry."
"Oh my...Oh Dear..." She suddenly looked very concerned . She glanced at Professor Southby, "Is this true?"
"He doesn't eat much. You don't suppose...Could it be...?"
"I've never known any one with it; it's very rare these days...but, yes, it's possible. What's his family like?"
Severus was confused. What was very rare? What was wrong with him? What did his family have to do with it?
"Mother, Syrene, powerful, but a coward. Not at all strong-willed. Father, Severen. Power-hungry, hate-filled, cruel. The Mad Curser."
"No! You're his son?!" Madam Pomfrey looked sharply at Severus. "Then I'm afraid it probably is..."
"What can be done?" Scythrop asked quietly, "I only know a bit about it. We must act quickly."
"It's beyond my power and capabilities. I cannot-"
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!" Severus' whisper erupted into a shout, "TELL ME!!"
"It's not my place to tell you." The nurse said slowly.
Severus whirled to face Professor Southby. "TELL ME!" His voice rose with his growing panic, "AM I DYING?!"
Scythrop ignored him and looked at Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, run and fetch Professor Dumbledore. This is a situation the Headmaster himself must attend to." His expression was deathly serious.
"Yes, Scythrop." She hurried out the door, leaving Severus staring at the Potions Master. Then she poked her head back in the room, "Do what you can for him. God knows he needs it." That said, she was gone again.
"What's wrong with me?" The boy repeated calmly. "Why can't any one tell me?"
Scythrop sank down to be level with his young student. "Don't be scared. Fear only makes it worse." He said gently.
Severus opened his mouth to question him again, but Scythrop silenced him. "I cannot tell you. Dumbledore will."
Severus was trembling. He felt very cold and it suddenly occurred to him that he was still wearing his cloak, which was damp from the snowball attack. Scythrop seemed to realize it at the same time. He took the boy's frigid hand and led him over to one of the beds in the infirmary. "Sit down." He handed him a fleece blanket, "Wrap yourself in this. You must be frozen."
He pulled of his damp cloak and sat down, wrapping the blanket around himself. It took him a long time to get warm. It was when he began to feel less numb that Dumbledore breezed into the room, followed by Madam Pomfrey.
The Headmaster looked sadly at the scrawny boy. "I was afraid this would happen. Syrene warned me that he's half-starved."
"I'M NOT HUNGRY!" Seveus exploded. "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT?! TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!!"
"Don't be so angry, Severus." Dumbledore said calmly, "You're going to kill yourself."
"What?" He asked weakly, "What is wrong with me?"
"It's not so much anything wrong with you as it is with your father."
"My father?" He was puzzled.
The Headmaster peered at Severus through half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes burning into him. "Severen's not fond of you, correct?"
"He hates me."
"That's what's wrong." Dumbledore sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the boy. He looked very troubled; very upset, as if the world were falling apart. He appeared very deep in thought, like he were contemplating exactly how to put it so that Severus would understand. "You have a conflicting soul, Severus," He said finally, "You don't want to be like your father, but you don't want to compromise who you are either. All those troubled feelings are brewing inside you and the contempt is most dominant. This happens sometimes."
"What does?" Severus felt very disturbed. He bit his lip, wondering what was coming next.
"You're feeding off your own hatred. The way your father feels about you...it's unnatural. He did this to you. There's much power in hatred. One evil rises from another..."
Severus stared at the Headmaster in disbelief. "My father's dislike for me is keeping me alive?"
"In part. You do a pretty good job of keeping every one angry at you, Severus. That helps. Haven't you ever wondered why you feel content to have every one hate you?"
"But Headmaster...What's so bad about it? I'm alive, aren't I?"
"Just barely. If he doesn't stop, you will die at the hands of your own father."
"He'll never love me." The boy said quietly, "He wishes I were never born."
"Then the only thing to do," Dumbledore decided, "Is to try and counter it."
Severus sat there pitifully, unsure of what to do. A few tears slid down his cheeks. He looked at the three adults surrounding him, then down at his hands. He'd never felt so small and helpless. His whole being felt numb.
"You've got to try and fight it, Severus. You've got to! Do not let your father do this. Do not let him kill you. He wants to; oh he wants to so badly. Don't let him."
He looked up at Dumbledore, his face very white. His eyes held a mournful look; his face, a frightened yet determined expression.
"How? How do I stop him?" His voice was so low, they almost didn't hear him, "He's miles away from here."
Dumbledore beckoned Professor Southby forward. "Scythrop, I'll leave this to you. I know you care about the boy and you know what must be done."
"Yes, Headmaster." Scythrop nodded gravely. He stood Severus up, still wrapped in the blanket and sank down to once again be level with his young student. "Leave us, please."
Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey both looked solemnly at the two; the frightened boy and the troubled young man. Then they left the room together, shutting the door on the way out.
Severus stared at him through inky eyes. Professor Southby's cobalt eyes blazed back into his. They just looked at each other for a moment. The only sounds were Severus' drawn out breaths and maybe the frightened thud of his heart. He wondered what the Potions Master would do to him.
What he was expecting -what ever that may have been- certainly wasn't a hug. But there, it happened. Scythrop folded him into his arms, hugging him gently. The boy was struck silent by such a simple act of kindness. No one -that he could remember- had ever hugged him before.
"You're talented. You're smart." He could hear the teacher's voice. The words of praise filled him with warmth and a dull ache began in the pit of his stomach. "I'm proud of you. And, Severus?"
"Yes, Professor?" He whispered.
"Your life is worth living."
Severus smiled. He laughed. His stomach hurt, but he felt warm and safe and almost happy. He hadn't felt that way in weeks. Years. And he knew, he just knew, why his stomach ached like that. "Professor?"
"What Severus?"
"I'm Hungry!" He hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. He hadn't been hungry in weeks.
"Good to hear it, My Boy." The teacher conjured up a bowl of chicken soup. He pulled a little vial full of silver dust out of a pouch on his belt and sprinkled it into the bowl. "That's Spiritus. It's honest to goodness soul food. It'll make you feel better."
He began eating. It felt good going down. Halfway through the soup, however, he seemed to realize something important. He stopped eating. "Professor Southby?"
"Yes?"
"Tomorrow's my birthday, Professor."
"Is it now? Thirteen already, Severus?"
"Yes, Sir."
"That's wonderful," The young man smiled kindly, "That it's on a Sunday."
"Why's that?"
"No classes."
"But I like classes. I love learning."
"You like my class so far?"
"Oh, yes, Sir. Much better than when Professor Zeppelyn taught it."
"Glad to hear it. You've got a talent for mixing things. You'll be great with potions someday."
"I'd rather do Dark Arts. That's my favorite. Except...I don't really like Professor Visle."
"I know." Scythrop smiled again. He and Nickolai Visle had very different views on, well, everything. Apparently, Nickolai and former Potions Master Leandra Zeppelyn had been very good friends and her retirement didn't sit well with the Dark Arts teacher. He was not at all happy with her replacement and was not fond of Scythrop in any sense.
Then the smile disappeared from his face. "Severus, have you ever gotten a birthday present?"
The boy's pale face brightened. "Sure." He said. "I got the family watch."
"The family watch?"
"It was Mum's. Been in the Serpeaux family for years. It usually goes to the first-born son, but Mum was an only child, like I am, so she got it."
"May I see it?"
Severus pulled the watch from his pocket and handed it to Scythrop. It truly was a wizard's watch; it had no numbers, but rather phrases like "late," "early," or "dinner time." A green snake wound around the middle of it and the single, gold hand was twisty and turny, but it was supposed to be like that. The gold case had a fancy "S" etched in it.
"This is very nice, Severus."
"Mum's whole family's been nothing but Slytherins. That's why it's got a snake on it. My grandmother says some relative of mine actually knew Salazar Slytherin, but I dunno if it's true."
"That's the only thing you ever got?"
"Uh-huh. My father says giving me stuff will make me weak." His thin face clouded over, "And Mum agrees. She wants me to be strong; to stand up to him. Because she can't. I have to work for anything I need." He shrugged, "But I get along okay."
"Your parents don't deserve you, Severus. You're a good boy; too good for them."
"You think so?" Severus was quiet, as always, "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"
"I never say anything I don't mean. Never." Scythrop told him, "You should know that by now. I'm not like most Slytherins. If you don't cross me, I'll be nice to you. I look out for people whom I know are decent. I wouldn't do a thing for Lucius Malfoy."
"There aren't many who would." Severus said dryly, "Oh, he's got his 'friends' but they'd desert him as soon trouble rears its ugly head. And he wanted me to be a part of that; he wanted me to join them."
"Did he?"
"Yes. He said he was 'pleased with my recent behavior.' He likes the way I've been treating Peter Pettigrew. He likes how mean I've been. He also likes how smart I am. Lucius is a clever one. He's devious. Thought I'd be flattered." He smiled wickedly, "I turned him down."
"Good for you. You certainly don't need him."
"I know. I'm fine on my own. I don't need any one."
"Severus, that's not true. You simply cannot exist on your own. Not in your current state; not with the curse hanging over you. No friends, no help with the Detestari."
"...That's the curse...?"
A nod, "That's the curse that will kill you if you don't let people into your life, if you don't make friends and let people care about you."
"Why would my father put a curse on me? I don't understand." Severus said slowly, "Does he really hate me that much? 'Detestari' ...that's Latin for 'detest,' right?"
"I'm afraid it is. As for your father, I can't say why Severen would curse you. I don't know him very well. But I know him enough to correctly say that you are not like him."
"I hope I'm not like him. I don't want to be like him."
Scythrop looked at Severus. He felt an overwhelming amount of compassion for the lonely boy. But he wasn't sure exactly what Severus was feeling. He had five siblings. He'd never been alone. He'd never been on his own like that. He simply didn't know what it was like. "You all right there, Severus? Cheer up a bit. Tomorrow's your birthday."
"My birthday's never been cause for a celebration. My father only sees it as one more day to criticize me and my mother doesn't want me either. She says my birthday only serves to remind her that I shouldn't have been born. She says she regrets it because she doesn't like to see me suffer; she doesn't like to see Father hurt me."
"Well, we'll celebrate."
"Why are you doing this? You'll gain nothing from this."
"I may gain a friend. I like you, Severus. That is possible, you know, for people to like you. People just might want to be friends with you. They just might care about you."
"Ivy likes me..." He said slowly, "...I think. And maybe Claudius. And there's this Hufflepuff girl that always stares at me. But that might be because she thinks I'm weird."
"You should let them be your friends. It'll be good for you. It'll make you stronger; help you fight your father."
"They won't want to be friends with me. I ruined that for myself," His voice was so low, "Because I wanted to be by myself."
"They keep coming back, don't they? They still talk to you. They still sit with you. The circle has not ended. They still want to be your friends. That's why they keep coming back. Friends don't just leave one another."
"There's some other reason, isn't there, that you're doing this? Not just because you like me."
"Yes, I suppose there is. But that is my reason, and mine alone."
"You feel sorry for me, don't you? You think there could be nothing in the world worse than being me."
"Perhaps I do. But there are things I know -things I was told, which have happened; things which may come to pass and things which, I pray, will not come to pass. Roswitha has told me, Severus, and Roswitha has never seen wrong."
"Who is Roswitha, Professor?"
"She is my sister -one of them- and she is a pure soul, a true seer, and a very powerful one. There is nothing she has seen that has not happened, unless it was changed by the person to whom it will happen."
"She's seen me?"
"Oh yes, My Little Friend. When I wrote home about you, she wrote back to me with all sorts of visions."
"What'll happen to me?"
"I cannot tell you." The professor's tone was serious. He looked very grave and very concerned.
"Why not?"
"It is never wise to know too much about one's own future. That's one of Roswitha's favorite phrases. She won't tell me what she sees about me. These, she says, are shadows of what may come to pass, but, so far, she has not seen wrong."
The frightened look once again crossed Severus' face. Scythrop looked at him, all huddled up and withdrawn, his eyes glittering with fear, and he smiled in a caring sort of way. "Do not trouble yourself over what you do not know, Severus. Nothing is certain. The only thing that stays the same is 'everything changes.' These things may also not come to pass."
"I don't understand. I do not understand why this must happen. I don't understand what I have done to deserve this. Is it my fate? Is it written in the stars that I must suffer?"
"The stars do not tell the future, Severus. That is something only a true seer knows." The teacher said knowingly, "This must happen to you so you learn from it. So you become strong. So you are not your father's son."
Severus looked wordlessly from the Professor to the bowl in front of him. All the old emptiness came rushing back. He'd been happy for a brief fleeting moment. And then the happiness came crashing down. He no longer felt hungry. In fact, he felt nothing at all. Only that familiar numbness.
He knew something. Professor Southby was keeping something from him; something big. He knew it. There was some horrid thing the professor wasn't telling him, something that would greatly change the course of his life. And he didn't like it.
He looked back up. The young teacher suddenly looked old and tired; as if the whole problem, starting with the snowballs and ending with Detestari, was draining him of all his energy. Severus felt bad for Professor Southby, but he certainly hadn't asked for the man to get involved.
He pushed the bowl away. "I can't eat this any more." He said softly.
Scythrop felt defeated. He had tried his hardest to do all he could for the boy, to make him feel loved and wanted. "Go then. Go back to the Common Room. Do your homework. But stay away from James Potter and his friends."
Severus stood slowly. He picked up his cloak and headed for the door. When he reached it, he stopped and looked back. "Thank you, Professor. You did all you could. I suppose it's up to me and my father now."
Scythrop nodded, causing his dark hair to fall into the blue pools of his eyes. "Yes, Severus, it is."
The troubled boy wandered the empty halls, thinking about what he'd been told. it was a curse, the Detestari. He understood that. But, he wondered, had his father pointed a wand at him; uttered some ungodly phrase, and placed the curse on him? Or was it a curse of a different kind.
He trudged down to the Library to see if he could look it up in one of the charms books. Maybe then he could make heads or tales of the situation; find out exactly how bad off he was. It was in the first book he picked up, the Index of Charms and Hexes, and what he read sent chills up his spine.
DETESTARI
Detestari, commonly known as the "Hatred Curse," can only be performed by a highly skilled wizard. It requires a great amount of concentration, precise wand movements and an intense dislike for the cursee. Banned in most of North America and Africa, Detestari is one of the most deadly curses created in Medieval Europe. It robs the cursee of every
emotion except anger or hatred and can only be fought by the exceptionally strong- willed. The weak, however, will eventually lose the desire to live. They will distance themselves from every one until they die a miserable death. Most people who exist under the curse have no appetite and do not need to eat. The hatred of of the curser becomes enough to sustain the cursee and they live off their own contempt. There are only two ways to end the effects of Detestari -if the curser changes his opinion of the cursee or if the curser dies. There is no counter curse. This is a favorite among Dark Wizards, as it causes a more painful and drawn out death than the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra ( for more about Avada Kedavra, see page 1566).
Severus slammed the book shut. His throat was dry, his hands shaking. There was no way his father would change his mind about him. And there was no way he could kill his own father either. "...Until they die a miserable death..." Surely he couldn't have been that disappointing of a child. What was it that Scythrop knew? Would he die? Was his father going to kill him? Tears slid down his face. How could he save himself?
No one noticed the pathetic boy hidden in the corner of the library. No one noticed the tears rolling off his pale face. No one asked what was wrong or what they could do to help. No one cared. They went about their lives as they always had, happy, worry free. They never wanted to know him, never wanted to be his friend. And it was killing him...
"I always look like this." He said quietly.
"It's unhealthy, Boy, unhealthy!" She barked, "What have you been eating?"
"Nothing."
"Really?! Come now, tell me or I can't help you."
"I really haven't eaten anything. I'm not ever hungry."
"Oh my...Oh Dear..." She suddenly looked very concerned . She glanced at Professor Southby, "Is this true?"
"He doesn't eat much. You don't suppose...Could it be...?"
"I've never known any one with it; it's very rare these days...but, yes, it's possible. What's his family like?"
Severus was confused. What was very rare? What was wrong with him? What did his family have to do with it?
"Mother, Syrene, powerful, but a coward. Not at all strong-willed. Father, Severen. Power-hungry, hate-filled, cruel. The Mad Curser."
"No! You're his son?!" Madam Pomfrey looked sharply at Severus. "Then I'm afraid it probably is..."
"What can be done?" Scythrop asked quietly, "I only know a bit about it. We must act quickly."
"It's beyond my power and capabilities. I cannot-"
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!" Severus' whisper erupted into a shout, "TELL ME!!"
"It's not my place to tell you." The nurse said slowly.
Severus whirled to face Professor Southby. "TELL ME!" His voice rose with his growing panic, "AM I DYING?!"
Scythrop ignored him and looked at Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, run and fetch Professor Dumbledore. This is a situation the Headmaster himself must attend to." His expression was deathly serious.
"Yes, Scythrop." She hurried out the door, leaving Severus staring at the Potions Master. Then she poked her head back in the room, "Do what you can for him. God knows he needs it." That said, she was gone again.
"What's wrong with me?" The boy repeated calmly. "Why can't any one tell me?"
Scythrop sank down to be level with his young student. "Don't be scared. Fear only makes it worse." He said gently.
Severus opened his mouth to question him again, but Scythrop silenced him. "I cannot tell you. Dumbledore will."
Severus was trembling. He felt very cold and it suddenly occurred to him that he was still wearing his cloak, which was damp from the snowball attack. Scythrop seemed to realize it at the same time. He took the boy's frigid hand and led him over to one of the beds in the infirmary. "Sit down." He handed him a fleece blanket, "Wrap yourself in this. You must be frozen."
He pulled of his damp cloak and sat down, wrapping the blanket around himself. It took him a long time to get warm. It was when he began to feel less numb that Dumbledore breezed into the room, followed by Madam Pomfrey.
The Headmaster looked sadly at the scrawny boy. "I was afraid this would happen. Syrene warned me that he's half-starved."
"I'M NOT HUNGRY!" Seveus exploded. "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT?! TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!!"
"Don't be so angry, Severus." Dumbledore said calmly, "You're going to kill yourself."
"What?" He asked weakly, "What is wrong with me?"
"It's not so much anything wrong with you as it is with your father."
"My father?" He was puzzled.
The Headmaster peered at Severus through half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes burning into him. "Severen's not fond of you, correct?"
"He hates me."
"That's what's wrong." Dumbledore sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the boy. He looked very troubled; very upset, as if the world were falling apart. He appeared very deep in thought, like he were contemplating exactly how to put it so that Severus would understand. "You have a conflicting soul, Severus," He said finally, "You don't want to be like your father, but you don't want to compromise who you are either. All those troubled feelings are brewing inside you and the contempt is most dominant. This happens sometimes."
"What does?" Severus felt very disturbed. He bit his lip, wondering what was coming next.
"You're feeding off your own hatred. The way your father feels about you...it's unnatural. He did this to you. There's much power in hatred. One evil rises from another..."
Severus stared at the Headmaster in disbelief. "My father's dislike for me is keeping me alive?"
"In part. You do a pretty good job of keeping every one angry at you, Severus. That helps. Haven't you ever wondered why you feel content to have every one hate you?"
"But Headmaster...What's so bad about it? I'm alive, aren't I?"
"Just barely. If he doesn't stop, you will die at the hands of your own father."
"He'll never love me." The boy said quietly, "He wishes I were never born."
"Then the only thing to do," Dumbledore decided, "Is to try and counter it."
Severus sat there pitifully, unsure of what to do. A few tears slid down his cheeks. He looked at the three adults surrounding him, then down at his hands. He'd never felt so small and helpless. His whole being felt numb.
"You've got to try and fight it, Severus. You've got to! Do not let your father do this. Do not let him kill you. He wants to; oh he wants to so badly. Don't let him."
He looked up at Dumbledore, his face very white. His eyes held a mournful look; his face, a frightened yet determined expression.
"How? How do I stop him?" His voice was so low, they almost didn't hear him, "He's miles away from here."
Dumbledore beckoned Professor Southby forward. "Scythrop, I'll leave this to you. I know you care about the boy and you know what must be done."
"Yes, Headmaster." Scythrop nodded gravely. He stood Severus up, still wrapped in the blanket and sank down to once again be level with his young student. "Leave us, please."
Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey both looked solemnly at the two; the frightened boy and the troubled young man. Then they left the room together, shutting the door on the way out.
Severus stared at him through inky eyes. Professor Southby's cobalt eyes blazed back into his. They just looked at each other for a moment. The only sounds were Severus' drawn out breaths and maybe the frightened thud of his heart. He wondered what the Potions Master would do to him.
What he was expecting -what ever that may have been- certainly wasn't a hug. But there, it happened. Scythrop folded him into his arms, hugging him gently. The boy was struck silent by such a simple act of kindness. No one -that he could remember- had ever hugged him before.
"You're talented. You're smart." He could hear the teacher's voice. The words of praise filled him with warmth and a dull ache began in the pit of his stomach. "I'm proud of you. And, Severus?"
"Yes, Professor?" He whispered.
"Your life is worth living."
Severus smiled. He laughed. His stomach hurt, but he felt warm and safe and almost happy. He hadn't felt that way in weeks. Years. And he knew, he just knew, why his stomach ached like that. "Professor?"
"What Severus?"
"I'm Hungry!" He hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. He hadn't been hungry in weeks.
"Good to hear it, My Boy." The teacher conjured up a bowl of chicken soup. He pulled a little vial full of silver dust out of a pouch on his belt and sprinkled it into the bowl. "That's Spiritus. It's honest to goodness soul food. It'll make you feel better."
He began eating. It felt good going down. Halfway through the soup, however, he seemed to realize something important. He stopped eating. "Professor Southby?"
"Yes?"
"Tomorrow's my birthday, Professor."
"Is it now? Thirteen already, Severus?"
"Yes, Sir."
"That's wonderful," The young man smiled kindly, "That it's on a Sunday."
"Why's that?"
"No classes."
"But I like classes. I love learning."
"You like my class so far?"
"Oh, yes, Sir. Much better than when Professor Zeppelyn taught it."
"Glad to hear it. You've got a talent for mixing things. You'll be great with potions someday."
"I'd rather do Dark Arts. That's my favorite. Except...I don't really like Professor Visle."
"I know." Scythrop smiled again. He and Nickolai Visle had very different views on, well, everything. Apparently, Nickolai and former Potions Master Leandra Zeppelyn had been very good friends and her retirement didn't sit well with the Dark Arts teacher. He was not at all happy with her replacement and was not fond of Scythrop in any sense.
Then the smile disappeared from his face. "Severus, have you ever gotten a birthday present?"
The boy's pale face brightened. "Sure." He said. "I got the family watch."
"The family watch?"
"It was Mum's. Been in the Serpeaux family for years. It usually goes to the first-born son, but Mum was an only child, like I am, so she got it."
"May I see it?"
Severus pulled the watch from his pocket and handed it to Scythrop. It truly was a wizard's watch; it had no numbers, but rather phrases like "late," "early," or "dinner time." A green snake wound around the middle of it and the single, gold hand was twisty and turny, but it was supposed to be like that. The gold case had a fancy "S" etched in it.
"This is very nice, Severus."
"Mum's whole family's been nothing but Slytherins. That's why it's got a snake on it. My grandmother says some relative of mine actually knew Salazar Slytherin, but I dunno if it's true."
"That's the only thing you ever got?"
"Uh-huh. My father says giving me stuff will make me weak." His thin face clouded over, "And Mum agrees. She wants me to be strong; to stand up to him. Because she can't. I have to work for anything I need." He shrugged, "But I get along okay."
"Your parents don't deserve you, Severus. You're a good boy; too good for them."
"You think so?" Severus was quiet, as always, "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"
"I never say anything I don't mean. Never." Scythrop told him, "You should know that by now. I'm not like most Slytherins. If you don't cross me, I'll be nice to you. I look out for people whom I know are decent. I wouldn't do a thing for Lucius Malfoy."
"There aren't many who would." Severus said dryly, "Oh, he's got his 'friends' but they'd desert him as soon trouble rears its ugly head. And he wanted me to be a part of that; he wanted me to join them."
"Did he?"
"Yes. He said he was 'pleased with my recent behavior.' He likes the way I've been treating Peter Pettigrew. He likes how mean I've been. He also likes how smart I am. Lucius is a clever one. He's devious. Thought I'd be flattered." He smiled wickedly, "I turned him down."
"Good for you. You certainly don't need him."
"I know. I'm fine on my own. I don't need any one."
"Severus, that's not true. You simply cannot exist on your own. Not in your current state; not with the curse hanging over you. No friends, no help with the Detestari."
"...That's the curse...?"
A nod, "That's the curse that will kill you if you don't let people into your life, if you don't make friends and let people care about you."
"Why would my father put a curse on me? I don't understand." Severus said slowly, "Does he really hate me that much? 'Detestari' ...that's Latin for 'detest,' right?"
"I'm afraid it is. As for your father, I can't say why Severen would curse you. I don't know him very well. But I know him enough to correctly say that you are not like him."
"I hope I'm not like him. I don't want to be like him."
Scythrop looked at Severus. He felt an overwhelming amount of compassion for the lonely boy. But he wasn't sure exactly what Severus was feeling. He had five siblings. He'd never been alone. He'd never been on his own like that. He simply didn't know what it was like. "You all right there, Severus? Cheer up a bit. Tomorrow's your birthday."
"My birthday's never been cause for a celebration. My father only sees it as one more day to criticize me and my mother doesn't want me either. She says my birthday only serves to remind her that I shouldn't have been born. She says she regrets it because she doesn't like to see me suffer; she doesn't like to see Father hurt me."
"Well, we'll celebrate."
"Why are you doing this? You'll gain nothing from this."
"I may gain a friend. I like you, Severus. That is possible, you know, for people to like you. People just might want to be friends with you. They just might care about you."
"Ivy likes me..." He said slowly, "...I think. And maybe Claudius. And there's this Hufflepuff girl that always stares at me. But that might be because she thinks I'm weird."
"You should let them be your friends. It'll be good for you. It'll make you stronger; help you fight your father."
"They won't want to be friends with me. I ruined that for myself," His voice was so low, "Because I wanted to be by myself."
"They keep coming back, don't they? They still talk to you. They still sit with you. The circle has not ended. They still want to be your friends. That's why they keep coming back. Friends don't just leave one another."
"There's some other reason, isn't there, that you're doing this? Not just because you like me."
"Yes, I suppose there is. But that is my reason, and mine alone."
"You feel sorry for me, don't you? You think there could be nothing in the world worse than being me."
"Perhaps I do. But there are things I know -things I was told, which have happened; things which may come to pass and things which, I pray, will not come to pass. Roswitha has told me, Severus, and Roswitha has never seen wrong."
"Who is Roswitha, Professor?"
"She is my sister -one of them- and she is a pure soul, a true seer, and a very powerful one. There is nothing she has seen that has not happened, unless it was changed by the person to whom it will happen."
"She's seen me?"
"Oh yes, My Little Friend. When I wrote home about you, she wrote back to me with all sorts of visions."
"What'll happen to me?"
"I cannot tell you." The professor's tone was serious. He looked very grave and very concerned.
"Why not?"
"It is never wise to know too much about one's own future. That's one of Roswitha's favorite phrases. She won't tell me what she sees about me. These, she says, are shadows of what may come to pass, but, so far, she has not seen wrong."
The frightened look once again crossed Severus' face. Scythrop looked at him, all huddled up and withdrawn, his eyes glittering with fear, and he smiled in a caring sort of way. "Do not trouble yourself over what you do not know, Severus. Nothing is certain. The only thing that stays the same is 'everything changes.' These things may also not come to pass."
"I don't understand. I do not understand why this must happen. I don't understand what I have done to deserve this. Is it my fate? Is it written in the stars that I must suffer?"
"The stars do not tell the future, Severus. That is something only a true seer knows." The teacher said knowingly, "This must happen to you so you learn from it. So you become strong. So you are not your father's son."
Severus looked wordlessly from the Professor to the bowl in front of him. All the old emptiness came rushing back. He'd been happy for a brief fleeting moment. And then the happiness came crashing down. He no longer felt hungry. In fact, he felt nothing at all. Only that familiar numbness.
He knew something. Professor Southby was keeping something from him; something big. He knew it. There was some horrid thing the professor wasn't telling him, something that would greatly change the course of his life. And he didn't like it.
He looked back up. The young teacher suddenly looked old and tired; as if the whole problem, starting with the snowballs and ending with Detestari, was draining him of all his energy. Severus felt bad for Professor Southby, but he certainly hadn't asked for the man to get involved.
He pushed the bowl away. "I can't eat this any more." He said softly.
Scythrop felt defeated. He had tried his hardest to do all he could for the boy, to make him feel loved and wanted. "Go then. Go back to the Common Room. Do your homework. But stay away from James Potter and his friends."
Severus stood slowly. He picked up his cloak and headed for the door. When he reached it, he stopped and looked back. "Thank you, Professor. You did all you could. I suppose it's up to me and my father now."
Scythrop nodded, causing his dark hair to fall into the blue pools of his eyes. "Yes, Severus, it is."
The troubled boy wandered the empty halls, thinking about what he'd been told. it was a curse, the Detestari. He understood that. But, he wondered, had his father pointed a wand at him; uttered some ungodly phrase, and placed the curse on him? Or was it a curse of a different kind.
He trudged down to the Library to see if he could look it up in one of the charms books. Maybe then he could make heads or tales of the situation; find out exactly how bad off he was. It was in the first book he picked up, the Index of Charms and Hexes, and what he read sent chills up his spine.
DETESTARI
Detestari, commonly known as the "Hatred Curse," can only be performed by a highly skilled wizard. It requires a great amount of concentration, precise wand movements and an intense dislike for the cursee. Banned in most of North America and Africa, Detestari is one of the most deadly curses created in Medieval Europe. It robs the cursee of every
emotion except anger or hatred and can only be fought by the exceptionally strong- willed. The weak, however, will eventually lose the desire to live. They will distance themselves from every one until they die a miserable death. Most people who exist under the curse have no appetite and do not need to eat. The hatred of of the curser becomes enough to sustain the cursee and they live off their own contempt. There are only two ways to end the effects of Detestari -if the curser changes his opinion of the cursee or if the curser dies. There is no counter curse. This is a favorite among Dark Wizards, as it causes a more painful and drawn out death than the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra ( for more about Avada Kedavra, see page 1566).
Severus slammed the book shut. His throat was dry, his hands shaking. There was no way his father would change his mind about him. And there was no way he could kill his own father either. "...Until they die a miserable death..." Surely he couldn't have been that disappointing of a child. What was it that Scythrop knew? Would he die? Was his father going to kill him? Tears slid down his face. How could he save himself?
No one noticed the pathetic boy hidden in the corner of the library. No one noticed the tears rolling off his pale face. No one asked what was wrong or what they could do to help. No one cared. They went about their lives as they always had, happy, worry free. They never wanted to know him, never wanted to be his friend. And it was killing him...