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.
