Just away from Potter's eyes, the Pensieve held memories even more horrible and scarring. Chapter One told of Snape's first use of the killing curse. In chapter two, a horrible incident showed Severus just how little has changed since his school days.
In The Pensieve's Keep
by Meg Kenobi
Rating: PG-13 for now. No bad language, but violence and disturbing imagery.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I know you're shocked. I make no profit from writing this.
Author's note: This has become sort of an interesting project; recreating the worst moments of a life. Exhausting, though. Feel free to make suggestions
Chapter Three:
"Severus, dear, it is the natural order of things, a young man learns at first from his tutors and his parents, but darling, we have exhausted our knowledge on you, you learn so quickly, so well, it is time you go to a school where they can teach you properly," she smiled sadly as she spoke, the corners of her mouth cracking with dried blood as she consoled her son.
Severus pushed the trolley with quaking arms, the station was huge, full of filthy muggles, brushing by him, touching him; no one touched him, save in anger. He had not tolerated his mother's touch in years, and yet these vile beings allowed their contaminated flesh to graze his. His posture imploded from the proud pureblood to a curling terror, leaning close over his owl's cage, greasy hair grazing his precious books.
"You're strong and brave; you'll have no trouble adjusting. You already insist upon doing everything for yourself, dear."
He had no idea where the platform was, how to board. He watched other wizarding families until he figured how to bridge the barrier, too proud and too afraid to ask. He was terrified and alone as he entered the crowded station. His pen friend was attending Beauxbatons and unlike other first years, he had no friends from earlier schooling or other programs.
"And besides, Love, your cousin James is starting there this year as well, so it is not as though you will be alone; you already have a friend." He couldn't bear to tell her that his 'dear' cousin had pushed him from the broom when he had fallen and broken his arm last year, James having lured him out flying on a dare.
A dark haired, undeniably handsome young man jogged up from behind him and grabbed him violently, gripping his shoulders and wrenching him back into his compartment.
"Well, well, if it isn't my ickle little cousin. Snivellus, meet my new friends. Sirius went to quidditch camp with me this summer. Unlike some, my unfortunate relation, he can actually fly. All you do is fall, if you will recall," two of the other three snickered, having obviously been told of James's antics. "Anyway, this is Sirius's mate Remus. And -- what was your name?"
"Peter, Peter Pettigrew," the plump boy said eagerly, extending his hand. Sirius yanked him back.
"You dolt, he's not a friend. Why would you want to touch him? Just look at that greasy hair. Imagine what might be on his hands." The four laughed again.
"You watch out, Snivellus, we'll be watching you. Now get back to your trunk before someone steals one of your beloved books. Go get your own compartment, stick that beak in a book, and start studying one of your dark little spells, because I still haven't forgiven you for being related to me." With that, James seized the back of his robes and threw him gracelessly out of the compartment.
A chubby, round-faced girl was smirking at him; she had been watching the charming Black and Potter and had already called her allegiance. She mimicked his angry sneer, inclining her head sharply so her auburn, mousy hair spilled across her face like his, mimicking someone being tossed into the hall. Two of the other girls in her compartment giggled.
"Don't be cruel, Molly," the third said softly, her hair red like fire, falling in sleek waves around a beautiful fair face. Severus implored her acid green eyes desperately as he rose, his heart pounding in ecstatic hope, but she merely closed the door, watching him in pity. He decided to hate her perfect beauty.
"I know you were hoping for Durmstrang. Yes, for the Dark Arts they are exceptional, and for Potions, Beauxbatons is marginally better, but darling, the connections you will make at Hogwarts will be so much more important."
A boy was helping him to his feet, glaring at the two girls through a curtain of silvery blond hair. He straightened, looking down his nose as if at something particularly foul.
"Pathetic. The nerve. That Evans, filthy little mudblood yet acts like she has a right to be here. And her little friend there, Father has told me all about her. Pureblood family, yet an insult to their blood; they live in absolute squalor, and apparently her father's a roaring drunk. Just like those damned Weasleys. There's one over there, by the far door. Red hair, looks like he hasn't bathed in a week? Yes, that's the one. He's in fourth year, absolute vulgarity of a pureblood, obsessed with Muggle studies. It's humiliating to all of us."
"How -- how do you know all this?"
"I'm in second year, besides, Father tells me things. He's in line to be Minister, after all. Your name would be Snape, wouldn't it? You look enough like your father, he works at the Ministry, of course. My father, too. I've seen yours around when I visited Father. He told me about your family, naturally. Still upholding the honor of the true wizarding world, even though so many insist on violating it."
"Moreover, darling, you need to get away from here." Her voice was tensing, her eyes clouding with tears. "You need to get away from your father, from this awful place. You will learn, you will grow stronger than him. You're already a better man than he is. You deserve to go where they will accept you, love you."
"C'mon, we're starting a "purebloods only" compartment, my girlfriend and I along with Lestrange, you'll do well once I introduce you, Snape, just as well as your father, at least." Severus stared back at the others, congregating and laughing amongst themselves, absently aware he was crossing some invisible line into the future as he stepped from the glaring bright into a dim compartment, shades pulled on the windows and door, full of angry faces.