Bother

Disclaimer:

I do not own Snape, oh no, ma'am

I do not own him, Sam I Am

I do not own him in a box

I do not own the sexy fox

I own not him, though I say 'damn'

I do not own him, Sam I Am

Chapter Two - Masochists To Which I Cater

*** Stones to throw at my creator

Masochists to which I cater ***

He could feel his left eye swelling to mammoth proportions, having taken the

brunt of his father's rage and uncertainty. Wiping away the remaining tears, he

took small consolation in the fact that his father had never looked at him that

way before; with anger and disgust, yes, and pure unadulterated hatred, but

never, never, fear. It had been an almost tangible thing, swimming in the larger

man's bloodshot eyes as he floated near the ceiling, terrified by the heretofore

unknown circumstance that, until that moment, had never even crossed his mind as

being within the realm of the possible.

*****

"BOY, PUT ME DOWN!!" the man roared, his arms flailing wildly as he stared into

his son's unblinking black gaze.

At the sound of his outraged voice, the boy visibly shook himself from the

trance he seemed to be in, and Gerald let out a high, thin scream as he

plummeted towards the kitchen floor. When he stood up, the fear was gone, and

his son was cowering in the corner, awaiting the inevitable beating.

The mottled-grey owl had arrived from out of nowhere, it seemed, effectively

postponing the violence until later. With a flutter, it dropped an

antique-looking envelope on the table and sat beside it, ruffling his feathers.

His attention suitable diverted from the boy, Gerald snatched up the letter.

The words were written in emerald ink, and addressed to Mr. Severus Snape.