Chapter Five: Skunk Cabbage
Severus stared though his window. In the distance he could see red and green dots falling and raising into the sky like a swarm of flies. He could just barely hear the announcements being said above a whispering crowd. Snape stared disinterestedly through his window towards the quiddich game of his school career. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. His house had to stop the Gryffindors or else they'd win the house cup. He looked back down to his lap. A pile of transfiguration and charms homework lay ready for his pen. And yes, even though it was Friday, he wanted to get it done now, thank you very much. In the pit of his stomach he knew that this was only an excuse to not go outside in the massive swarm of people.
Snape never liked quiddich. He frowned into his started essay. An embarrassing memory bubbled up into his consciousness. He bit his lip to stop the moan of sudden remembrance. He was only five or so, trying to ride a broom for the first time. The calm floating sensation twitched under his fingertips and suddenly it was bucking out of control, hitting him in the shins and groin. He gripped the handle only to have the broom jump more. A girl was laughing at him. He held back tears…
Snape hit himself on the forehead with his charms book. Why are you so pathetic? He asked himself. Someone had hexed his broom into doing that to him, and although he never knew for sure who it was, he had some idea who it might have been... someone whose name began with "J" and ended with "ames".
The rumble of the crowd a few miles away woke him from his day-mare. He heard, in a sound no more than a whisper, the scream of the announcer, "Gryffindor Scores!" His stomach dropped.
He couldn't go out there. All those people weren't worth his trouble. Plus, his hair hadn't returned to its normal jet-black state yet; it was now a deeper, richer shade of magenta. And if he showed up with his Slytherin tie and his hair dyed a Gryffindor color, there would be hell to pay. He didn't feel like getting mauled. Again.
He busied himself with his work, not letting himself glance out the window or try to hear the score. Not letting himself sense that Potter was one of those red dots in the sky.
Not letting himself wonder if Lily was there.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Regardless, hours later when his essays and reading was done, he couldn't help but hear the earth-quaking cheer of the crowd. "SLYTHERIN WINS!" For the first time in two hours, Severus raised his head to see the green swarm heading back to the castle. Chants of "Sly-the-rin! Sly-the-rin!" echoed across the vast grounds. Girls were jumping up and down frantically. He could just barely see Lucius being hoisted above the crowd. He was the Slytherin seeker and probably made the winning shot.
Snape had to be honest with himself: he wasn't expecting his house to win. He had seen the prick, Potter, practicing obsessively through his window day and night. The fact they won didn't cause him any sort of elation. Just a calm sort of, "Oh, that's nice," in the back of his head. He didn't really care either way… in fact a minute part of his soul felt sorry for Potter. But he rarely listened to that minute part anyway.
Calmly, serenely, wearily, placidly, he collected his books to return to the library, like an old man. A savage thought suddenly made him smile. If James had won, the Gryffindor house would have had a party. And if they had a party, Lily probably would have done something as congratulations … a sexual something (Severus imagined James and Lily snogging in one corner of the common room). James lost. Meaning no sexual something. Snape giggled.
Lost in his sexual, giggly thoughts he made his way up to the library, passing a few giddy Slytherins on the way. He returned his books, taking his time to look at a few new potions manuals. After spending a while looking at the newfound use of yew sprouts (astonishingly they could be used as a substitute for kelpie weeds) he lazily made his way back from whence he came, glancing at tapestries and statues as he passed. Ulric the oddball, Hambleton Quince, and a number of other wizards stood proudly in their solid, marble state.
What he saw next was such a shock that he almost missed it. Amid the marble stood a pile of shifting red fabric. A face, so pasty that it seemed to be made of wax, blinked to life. Glasses hung on the white nose. A bottle of firewhiskey was clutched in its leather-covered hand.
The bane of his existence, James Potter, was in the middle of the hallway, utterly alone and utterly pissed.
The head rolled in his shoulders. For a moment, Potter didn't ever seemed to see him, until his eyes grew wide and he erupted, "Everybody! Everybody, everybody! Lookit!" He yelled, waving his arms for a crowd that wasn't there. "Snnnape's here te ruuuin our party!" He took a long swig from the bottle of firewhiskey, spilling some on his muscular chest. "He'ssss a party-pooper. He poops parties."
Snape stared incredulously. James was drunk as a skunk and no one was around. He wondered if he was a violent drunk like his father.
"Doun't ou raise yer eyebrow at me, Mister soberpants!" He waggled his index finger at the wall.
He bit back a smile. There comes a time when a person is so drunk that they can no longer function, let alone hit anyone. His father sometimes got like this. Severus only had to wait a little while before Tobias Snape could no longer lunge toward him and hit him. It took a while, but once it happened his father would sit and talk to himself for hours.
Yet, Potter didn't even seem like the violent type of drunk, anyway. There was a soft rosy color in his pale dimples and a smug smile across his face. His euphoric expression didn't match his father's mad, angry eyes. Potter merely seemed in ignorant bliss, as he hobbled towards him.
"Snnnnaaape!" He proclaimed, grabbing onto Severus' Slytherin robes for support. "GUESS WHAT!"
He raised an eyebrow, "What?"
"YOU'RE A GIT!" James admitted this to the world, a triumphant grin plastered across his victorious face. He then did what seemed to be some sort of victory dance mixed with a strange form a tribal dance Severus once saw in an African program. "Snape iiiissss a greasy git! A greasy git! A greasy git!"
The smile didn't fade from Severus face, although his eyes narrowed. Oh, the opportunities. What to do? For Severus, the question was- what curse to use? He had been reading up on a charm that not only turned one's hair, but one's entire body, baby blue…
"Sevoourousses mother smells like shit! He's a greasy git! A greasy git."
Or there had been a curse that resembled the act of muggle castration…
"He makes love like a mole, takes exams like a troll, he smells like shit, the greasy git!" He finished his drunken sonata with an off-centered bow.
Or he could always use Avada Kedarva…
"You likes ma song, Snnnnnape?"
Oh, I'll show you how much I like your song, Severus thought maniacally, pulling his wand from his robes. Revenge was sweet. Now he could take revenge on James for making him look like a fool in front of Lily. A truly evil smile crossed his lips. He wondered if Lily would appreciate Potter's head on a silver platter. Maybe not…
"Hey, maaaaaaan," James said, leaning against the stone wall for support. "Guess what?"
"I know. I'm a greasy git," Severus mumbled, racking his brains to remember the castration spell. He held his aim on Potter, wand poised and ready.
James ignored him, staring into his empty firewhiskey bottle. "Nope. I just ate a bunch of pills that the doctor gave me for my depression to go 'way…" he sighed into the bottle, "…mighta had too much."
Snape's gut clenched, "What?"
"And then I had a lot of whiskey. But… but," he belched loudly. "I checked the back of thbottle… and itsays itsays 'do not use with alcohol'."
Snape blinked. "Oh shit," the concerned words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"Yeah," James smiled strangely, a faraway unhappiness behind his euphoric eyes.
"Y…Potter… you need… you need to go to the hospital wing!" Snape stammered.
Potter let his body slide down to the floor, the back of his scarlet uniform catching on the rough stone. "I don't really wanna. Don't really care. Lily doesn't love me. Life is stupid right now," James said. Even in his euphoric state, he noticed the look of panic on Snape's face. "Oh…itssssoookay… this isn't a real suicidal thingy." He yawned. "This is more like a 'come save me' thingy. Nope. Ima gonna wait around here until someone who loves me comes to save me. Maybe it'll be Sirius. I hope its Lils."
Snape could do nothing but gape. "Don't be an idiot. No one knows that you're here! Your friends can't save you if they don't even know you're in danger. Think about it."
James smiled that wide unhappy smile again. He spread both arms out, like an eagle, like he was nailed to a cross onto the marble wall, and uttered, "Fate."
"Are you implying that you're going to rely on fate to save you?"
He paused. "You talk too much," James belched. "Go 'way."
Snape stared, in total confusion. The wand that had been about to curse Potter's nether regions was lifeless at his side. He couldn't curse him. He would feel too guilty trying to hurt someone who was about to commit suicide… but it wasn't his problem. Potter could eat his own liver with a rusty spoon for all he cared. Perhaps he should just "go 'way" as the bully had said. For all the pain he caused him, he would deserve it. Just walk away, a little voice inside his head whispered. Walk away, it's not your problem. He would do the same if it were you…
He began to turn around. Until a deeper voice, a harsher voice, told him that it was wrong. His feet shuffled awkwardly, until he stood firmly in front of the drunken boy. "Potter. Get up. Go to the hospital wing. We don't need a teen suicide."
"I can't get up," James whispered. "Carry me?"
He flicked his magenta hair out of his eyes. "Yes you can. You're just being spoiled." He tapped his toe impatiently. "Get up and fight me you prick!" "…Maybe later," said Potter.
Just walk away, you tried, there's nothing you can do. Perhaps he should just leave him. "Why isn't Lily saving me?" He heard James mutter into his knees. A lifelessness came over Potter, the rosy color in his cheeks fading again. Severus watched as his eyes became droopy and tired. His breath caught in his throat.
"POTTER! You mustn't go to sleep. You could fall into a coma. You could die and never wake up!"
"I'm ok…" he growled.
"No, you're not!'
But despite his best efforts, James could not pick himself up. He appeared as a puppet with tangled strings, the life in his legs fading fast. Finally he rolled onto his knees and pressed his head against the cold stone wall. "I'm dizzy," he whispered, and Snape could tell. He was turning more and more unnaturally pale by the second.
Why did he, of all people, think it was a bad thing that James Potter was about to die?
God.
Damn.
Conscience.
Hoisting him onto his shoulder, Severus chose the stupid path. He chose to follow his conscience, although his mind was telling him that he was an idiot.