Chapter 8: A merry little Christmas
The next stop on the memory train was again platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross station. It couldn't be the beginning of the summer holiday's, though, because snow covered the ground and the people waiting for the train were huddled in thick winter cloaks, scarves and gloves. Students were running towards their waiting parents, being gathered into outstretched arms and showered with affectionate kisses. All students apart from one boy. A stout looking woman with greying dark hair was glaring down on him, her arms folded disapprovingly across her chest, her voice harsh and shrill at the same time.
"I don't think I've ever been this disappointed in my whole life. What the hell did you tell that bloody hat to be sorted into Gryffindor?"
She spat out the last word in disgust, looking even more appalled than before.
The boy in front of her mumbled something under his breath, which seemingly didn't help to calm her anger.
"Now, where is that other boy?" she asked impatiently, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him along beside her. "That … something … Snape?"
"Snivellus?" the boy asked, now equally appalled. "Why would you want to see him?"
His question was answered with a sharp whack across the head.
"Because we promised his parents to pick him up as well and drop him off home, since we were coming for you anyway. So, which one is it?"
She scanned the slowly dissolving crowd with small angry eyes. Her son pointed towards a small raven-haired boy standing beside the archway, watching passers-by with a lost and somewhat desperate look.
"That's him."
Still dragging her scowling son behind her the stern witch swiftly walked up towards the other child. Upon reaching him she gave him a disapproving look before she addressed him.
"You are Snape?"
The boy nodded, crouching slightly in front of her towering posture, but looking at her steadily nevertheless.
"Your father asked me to take you along. He didn't have time to pick you up himself. Come."
Without another word or glance she stormed through the gate, her son trailing behind her by his collar, the other boy following as fast as he could. Outside the station a huge dark limousine waited for them and before either of them could say "Pumpkin juice" the two boys found themselves beside each other on the backseat as the car sped off at an insane speed. Snape slid as far into his corner as possible, while Sirius slouched into his seat with an expression of utter revulsion.
"Your parents don't even have time to pick you up, Snivelly? Looks like they don't really want you here, doesn't it?"
The handsome face was twisted by a cruel smile as he eyed the other one, waiting for a reaction. When there was none he added:
"Well, that's not really surprising. Nobody wants you. Not here. Not at Hogwarts. Nowhere. Doesn't that hurt?"
The smaller boy's lips curled into a sneer that was to become famous in later years.
"And how does it feel to be the biggest disappointment in your mother's life, Black? She didn't seem overtly happy to see you, either?"
Sirius turned a bright shade of red. His brow furrowed as he obviously tried to think of a witty remark. When he couldn't find one he turned his gaze towards the window and busied himself with watching the dark streets flashing by. They didn't speak another word until the car stopped with screeching brakes. The door on Snape's side opened without a sound. His small bag suddenly appeared beside the left back wheel and after he had got out the car sped off again.
He picked up his bag carefully, glanced up towards the one lighted window in the dark house before him and walked towards the huge wooden entrance door.
He had to ring the bell twice before his mother finally opened, greeting him with a warm but somewhat distant smile. Her eyes seemed to have trouble focussing on him and a big dark bruise on her right cheekbone made her face appear a little bizarre.
"Severus! You are already here. We nearly forgot about you coming today." She turned around and walked inside again. Her son followed her, sighing quietly, but with an excited little smile on his face that made his dark eyes shine.
Shivering slightly he entered the living room on the first floor, where his father sat in front of a blazing fire in a heavy armchair of dark red velvet, reading a book. His mother was just settling herself on the chair's armrest, curling up against her husband's side comfortably and smiling at her son.
"Good evening, father", the boy said quietly while placing his bag on the floor and slowly walking towards his parents.
"Thank you for arranging a lift for me."
His father put the book to the side and looked at the boy as if he had trouble remembering who he was. Then a smile flashed across his face, as usual stopping shortly before it reached the eyes, and he got up from his chair, nearly pushing his wife to the floor in the process.
"Severus!"
He swept the boy into his arms with a swift movement. The little face lit up with happiness and the boy placed his arms around the man's neck carefully. He practically trembled with joy.
"I heard you've been sorted into the same house as Malfoy's son."
The boy nodded, smiling proudly.
"Yes, father. I'm a Slytherin, just like Lucius and I'm already head of class and Professor Dumbledore said he …."
"Dumbledore?"
His father put him down onto the round living room table rather harshly, pulling up a chair for himself and settling down on it, watching his son closely.
"What did Dumbledore have to tell you? What did you talk about with that old fool?"
The boy frowned a little, obviously disapproving of his father's spiteful voice and the headmaster being titled an old fool.
"He told me I was doing very well and that my parents should be proud of me. I earned a lot of house points for Slytherin and maybe we'll even win the house cup", he added, a hint of pride in his voice.
"So, Albus Dumbledore thinks he can tell me what I'm supposed to do and what not to do."
The boy shrank away from the deadly whisper and the balled fists, throwing a worried glance towards his mother who was now joining them at the table. She put a reassuring hand on her husband's trembling arm, humming an incoherent melody quietly under her breath.
"Well, boy, you can tell him that it takes a lot more than good marks and a few house points to earn a Snape's respect!"
He breathed heavily, obviously trying to restrain his raising anger.
"I told you Not. To. Touch. Me. Without. Asking."
Before either son or mother could react the old Snape had pushed his chair back and grabbed his wife by her beautiful long hair, forcing her to crouch down onto the floor. As his arm flung upwards, his hand clenched into a fist, the boy suddenly jumped from the table, clinging to his father's arm and looking up at him with big angry eyes.
"No! Don't hurt her. She didn't do anything wrong."
His father stared at him disbelievingly while his arm slowly sank down. The boy let go off him and sank down beside his mother. Slowly, tenderly he straightened her dishevelled curls.
"That's what you learned during the last four months? To deny your father the respect that he deserves? To question my judgement?"
Fury was blazing in the older man's eyes. He gave his wife a casual kick in the ribs, while stroking her hair at the same time. Then he grabbed his son by the arm and pulled him out of the room, up the stairs and into a small chamber with a little bed, a dusty desk and an enormous bookshelf. All the time the boy struggled to free himself from the grip, clutching doorframes and pieces of furniture with his free hand to stop his forced voyage towards punishment.
Once inside the room his father pushed him onto the floor, whipped out his wand and yelled "Crucio!"
The child's whimpering was pitiable. He crawled under the bed in a vain attempt to escape the hot searing pain that rushed through his body only to be pulled out again by the leg.
When his father finally murmured the counter curse he had taken out a heavy black leather belt from under his robes and slapped it against his left hand playfully.
"I will teach you more valuable lessons than that old fool. Lessons that you will need to survive in that crazy place. Lesson number one: Never stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves."
The belt whistled through the air and met the boy's back with a thud.
"Lesson number two: Never rely on others to help you. Nobody will."
Another whistle, another thud.
"Lesson number three, and this is a really important one: Never, ever, think you can tell your father what to do. Never, Ever."
The belt came down again and again until the cloth of the boy's cloak ripped under the constant strain. His skin didn't hold out much longer.
After what seemed like an eternity but probably wasn't longer than a couple of minutes the old Snape straightened up, a little out of breath, and wiped the stained belt on the bed covers.
"Get yourself cleaned up and then come down. Supper should be ready in about half an hour."
Once his tormentor had left the room the boy crawled onto the bed, wincing with every move, and started to undress slowly. He managed to strip off his cloak and shirt with some difficulty before he passed out from pain and shock.
Dumbledore's face twitched slightly and Harry couldn't help thinking that this was not exactly what the headmaster had wanted to see. Maybe he hadn't known all this, either. Maybe omniscient Albus Dumbledore had lapsed in his concentration at one point and now regretted it dearly. He didn't end the curse, however. Little beads of sweat were slowly making their way down his temple, past the still closed eyes. Harry would have given his right arm for a glimpse inside the headmaster's head right now. But then, he already had enough to do with the glimpse he was getting into his teacher's head right now.
Author's note: Thank you so much, all of you who read and reviewed. You guys are incredible!
Now I'm sure it was a wise decision to finally start writing publicly. You really push my creativity and I promise I will try to repay you by updating fast.