He was sure he had just broken into Snape's memories, that he had just seen scenes from Snape's childhood. It was unnerving to think that the little boy who had been crying as he watched his parents shouting was standing in front of him with such loathing in his eyes.
from 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix', Seen and Unforeseen, by J.K. Rowling
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While flipping through the stack of paperwork, Severus moved his fingers across the centre of his forehead, softly massaging the skin, bidding the ache to leave. He scrawled the day's report on a piece of parchment spread before him on the desk - Longbottom had successfully melted his twelfth cauldron today this semester, Potter's absymal absent-mindedness had costed him ten marks, for confusing between a mimbulus' root and a salamander's leg and caused his Babbling Beverage to evaporate, the Granger girl, well, merited her ten full points as usual.
Moving the tip of his quill further down, he jotted down the deserving scores into the space located next to each of his students' names. The quill's sharp end halted at the line of a name.
Malfoy, Draco.
The corners of his lips gravitated, turning into a deep frown that did not speak of concentration. Severus gripped his quill tighter and closed his eyes. That name could have bore a worse curse to him than of Voldemort's, always sending chill down his spine, giving his innards an unpleasurable squirm.
He dropped the quill onto the desk and his body craned backwards to lean against the headrest of his chair, inhaling deeply. He loved the air in his room - pregnant with the smells of innumerable types of potions and ingredients fermenting in jars of preservers. It gave him comfort where he could find in no other place.
Because your only confidant is gone.
Severus released the air in his chest and opened his eyes to stare blankly at the space between him and the ceiling above. He could hear his conscience laughing somewhere in the furthest recesses of his mind, something about still being able to lounge in a big, plushy chair and sip Firewhisky every evening after an enjoyable day at work of hunting traitors of the Dark Lord and killing wizards, that is, if he had not pulled back from his former post of a Death Eater.
But would you remain in the same position in the heart of the man who had lured you into the clan?
Would Lucius still love you, and choose you instead of Narcissa?
Perhaps it is right, this conscience. If he had not called his job off some eighteen or nineteen years ago, he would not have to sit in this cramped room, spending each day beating potion-making senses into slow minds which had only reduced to further imbecility every other semester.
And to rub salt to the wound, a handful of despicables in his class obviously had a sense of decorum far more deficient than most, and it consisted of no other but the students of his own house. Apparently too big-headed to admit that their skills of concocting potions are just ... disappointing.
Like Draco Malfoy for instance.
"Professor Snape!"
Severus snapped out of his stupor and bolted up in his chair, seeing a flustered Draco standing in the doorway of his office. He was breathing hard, beads of sweat trickling down his face, his expression looked like he could break down and cry any minute.
"Anything the matter, Draco?" Snape asked softly, scanning the boy's figure for any trace of injury or funny limbs sprouting from his body. His immediate guess was another duel occured between Malfoy and Harry Potter.
Draco stepped closer to Severus' desk, taking gulps of air and leaning his hands against the furniture for support. His shoulders rising and falling rhythmically with his bated breath. Snape got up from his seat and rounded his table towards the fifth-year Slytherin.
"Draco?"
"It's Father, Professor," Draco had finally looked up, and was turning to face his Potions master fully. He grabbed the sides of Severus' robes. Severus could feel the wave of panic coursing through him now.
"Wh- "
"Father ... the Ministry ... they're sending him off to Azkaban,"
~~*~~
A day in the life of Severus, 1974
It is a merry Christmas eve indeed down at the Great Hall, where tinkering of goblets and cheerful chattering and laughter soar all over the great interiors of Hogwarts. Along the Entrance Hall, the ceiling is decorated with colourful mistletoes and a huge Christmas tree erected in the centre of the Hall, a large and colourful Christmas banner hung in mid-air over their heads.
But one boy refuses to blend his spirits with the celebration. He shuns himself away from the gathering, seeking solace under the trapdoor of the Divination classroom. His head leans against the brick wall, legs pulled up to chest-height, a thin streak of light from the torches outside pours through a broken partition on the wall, illuminating his gaunt face on one side. His oily hair is shining sleekly in the darkness, a few strands masking his eyes. The dusty, confined space of the underground tunnel seems perfect enough for easing the troubled thoughts of an adolescent.
A greatly disturbed adolescent.
He inhales a deep intake of breath and heaves a sigh, particles of dust swirling frantically in the air by the strong gust in front of his face. His right hand has its fingers loosely closing around a crumpled parchment. Outside, divided by the North Tower, the continuous tune of merry-making is audible. A single tear trickles down his cheek, pursued by a small sniffle made by his nose. He makes no attempt to wipe it away, letting it roll down to his chin and fall onto the front of his robes.
A muffled roar of laughter rises from the shallow voices of hundreds of students and staff. The sudden burst of cheers in the Hall causes the parchment in Severus' hand to re-crumple within the tightening of his bony fingers. He inches himself closer against the wall, trying to separate himself from the holiday mood as far as his thin body can manage.
"There you are!"
A voice breaks the pin-drop silence of the hole. Severus' gaze shoots up as his head turns sideways to see Lucius, bending slightly due to the low ceiling (or his growing height) and making his way towards him. His face wears a gleeful grin which smears wider across his pale face as he approaches closer. Severus is at lost on whether he should strike an Imperiatus curse on his friend and order him out of the tunnel, or simply conceal his tear-streaked face with a smile.
The latter seems sufficient.
"I've been looking all over the school for you," Lucius continues, settling down next to him and carefully folding his legs. Severus, who has been guarding his face with one arm to hastily wipe his eyes, puts on the heartiest smile he can possibly fake and directs his gaze to Lucius. "Why weren't you at dinner? McNair put a Cruciatus on Potter's head, swelled even bigger than McGonagall's ass!"
Severus snorts appreciatively, silently registering it to his mind that that might have been the cause to the sudden racket in the Hall awhile earlier.
"I vouch it wouldn't make any difference on the idiot's head, as fat as it already is," Severus replies dully. He tucks the parchment between his legs and covers it with his arm. When his eyes make to counter Lucius', the grey depths are already staring closely into his face, narrowed in concentration. Severus notices the wrinkle between Lucius' eyebrows. "What?"
"Have you been crying?" Lucius enquires curiously, attempting to peer into the other's face but Severus simply shrugs it off with a shaky chuckle. His dark orbs avoiding Lucius' instantly while inside, he silently curses himself for his own humanity.For having the ability to cry and let others be aware of it.
"D- ... don't be ridiculous. You know I've - uh - been staying up late doing homework and deprived of s- " He is cut in mid-sentence when Lucius grips Severus' chin and forces his gaze against his. They are locked in a strong, steady fixation of staring into each other's eyes; Lucius' steely ones delve accusingly into Severus' cold, black depths , which mirror the unspoken pain he has been trying to restrain from everyone's knowledge. Lucius', especially.
He slaps Lucius' hand away from his face, again tearing his eyes away from staring any longer into the grey pair, reclining himself even closer against the wall.
"Sorry," says the young Malfoy, while warily draping an arm around Severus' shoulders, who is now gluing his eyes on the wall. He feels Lucius' hand descending on his shoulder and swallows a painful knot in his throat. Lucius' voice has toned down gently. "If you could just ... tell me what happened ... you were missing at the table and ... I had thought something bad had happened, and here you are with a puffy face ..."
Severus clenches and unclenches his fists, biting his lip so hard that it would split bleeding if he bites any harder. He reaches down to take the letter, which has been sandwiched between both of his knees, and hands it over to Lucius, who accepts it without further question and immediately smoothes out the wrinkly parchment in his hand.
Dear Severus,
I apologise that ill news have to be brought on such a time, but your mother has been admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital. She was found lying unconscious in the living room and your father is nowhere to be seen. I advise you to come over, this is an emergent situation.
Sincerely,
Uncle Romulus
When Lucius has finally read the entire letter, he turns his head to look at Severus, whose forehead is resting against his knee, hugging his legs in such a miserable fashion that sympathy sweeps over Lucius at that instance. His arm returns to Severus' shoulders and brings his face closer to the side of his head.
"Severus, I'm sor- "
"He's done it," Severus' voice muffles against his thighs, and he silences for a moment to recollect his thoughts and tries to string them into a sentence. His head rises from the grotto of his lap and turns a heart-shattering face towards Lucius. He tries to harden every angle of his body to squeeze the tears back into their ducts, which are threatening to spill.
The moment Severus' lips part again to speak the dam of his eyes broke, and tears spill anew. Choking sobs emit from his open mouth, replacing the words meant to be spoken, so that Lucius can understand the maddening sorrow that has been stalking him like a shadow for his fourteen years of living. He wants to explain the reason why he spends too much time on studying, neglecting his own physical well-being; so he can keep his mind busy, allowing no space at all for the horror of his own background to invade. He dires for Lucius to know that his father is a drunkard and a wife-beater who has sworn by blood oath that he will not rest in peace until Severus and his mother die; their deaths are the price to pay for the cost of his life's burden. He needs Lucius to know that his broken family is the reason to his sorry excuse of a human. Lucius must know that his mother is the only thing he has and cares for in this world.
Lucius' free arm comes up to cover Severus' racking chest, and pulls him closer in a firm, assuring hug. He rocks the skinny, black-haired, sobbing pile in his arms and offers the comfort of his chest for Severus to cry all his pain into. No words are spoken, only the poor boy's deadened sobs can be heard around the little space of the underground.
His uncle fails to mention that they have found his mother lying unconscious in a pool of blood, with the centre of her forehead split open. Her wand broken in half, situated a few feet away from where she laid.
On the first day of Christmas, Severus finds out that the Ministry of Magic has his father arrested and finds him guilty of assaulting his mother with the Imperius curse. He had taken control of her body and forced her to point her own wand to her face.
Avada Kedavra.
On the first day of Christmas, Severus packs his belonging to return home for his mother's funeral.
