A/N: Okay, so here's chapter three. A little bit of background here. I'm not entirely sure about it myself but I'm sure readers shall make of it what they will.
There is something about Tobias Snape (the character traits you shall see through the course of this fanfic are not invented. Such people honestly exist.)
It should also be implied that wizarding homes aren't necessarily without the aid of house-elves.
Chapter Three: Who's Calling?
To say that Dinah Snape loathed the telephone was an understatement.
As a witch it was hard to believe she could possibly have use for one when she could quite easily contact someone via owl or the Floo Network.
And yet she did have one - the very same one she had growing up as a child. Oh, and she did resent it and all it stood for; the memories it held and the torment it still gave her.
She recalled all those nights when her father, completely inebriated, would yell pick-up lines, laugh with and serenade to the women in that brothel, the very place he had just returned from.
It always woke Dinah up and she could never get to sleep… at least not with him in the house.
She had once attempted to creep into her parents' bedroom and sleep at her mother's side, but once her father had entered the room, a rage overcame him (and it took next-to-nothing to set him off.)
He had dragged his seven-year-old daughter from the bed by her hair and when she hit the floor with a thud, yanked her to her feet, digging his grubby fingernails into her scalp and all but threw her at the wall. "You dare to sleep in my bed?" he had growled.
If the sound of her daughter hitting the deck wasn't enough to wake Eileen, those words were and, fighting with the bedsheets in which she had entangled herself, scrambled to where her daughter sat crumpled on the floor crying.
"Don't hurt my Dinah," Eileen wept. "Please, Tobias. She doesn't mean any harm. She's only seven."
Why Eileen Snape should have ever tried to reason with the unreasonable nobody could understand.
The neighbours could certainly hear what was going on; they knew the family wasn't normal.
The police had been around on countless occasions, courtesy of the neighbours' vigilance. The unfortunate thing was that the local police were actually fed up of seeing that place, or perhaps moreso, the family that resided within its walls.
The place itself, from the outside looking in, appeared rather ordinary but there was always something unsettling about it. Where all the other houses had colourful front doors, flowers in hanging baskets suspended over windowsills and lush grass and gardens, Number 34 looked downright miserable.
The front door and window ledges were caked in dirt and grime and the paint was chipping, the brass door-knocker scratched and without shine.
The front lawn was overgrown with weeds and there was decidedly-more dirt than grass.
The only thing regarding the outward appearance of the residence as having care put into it was Mr. Snape's car. That had to be in pristine condition and, if it weren't, then there would be hell to pay.
This must have been the fifth time so far this year that the police had been called out and it was only March.
Every single meeting ended the same. It always ended with the bobbies leaving empty-handed. They never got to arrest Tobias Snape for his misdeeds; they never realised he was manipulating the situation in his favour; anything to escape culpability.
It was so easy to say "She fell down the stairs" or "I warned her but she didn't listen. She won't be doing that again." To an outsider, Dinah Snape was the most accident-prone child in Manchester.
All those years she lived with that man and just hoped that he'd leave her and her son alone.
He had left twelve years ago now and was living with one of his mistresses in Hull. That said, a lot could change in twelve years and it was doubtful he still lived with that particular woman, knowing what he was like. Nothing ever pleased him for long and he would hop from bed to bed like a flea from rat to rat.
What good was hope to her though? Within three months there went the telephone. It was him. Would she never be free?
Bringing herself from her reverie she took in her own surroundings. The living room was dark and dingy… in fact, it could be likened to a dungeon and, if one were completely honest, the cellar was likely a more pleasant place to be than this. (Truth be told, the cellar door hadn't been opened in fifteen years. There was no telling what state it was in now.)
The house as a whole was sparse. Gone were her father's gaudy ornaments from inside and precious car from outside (the man honestly preferred his possessions to his family.)
Her father's collection of artwork that littered the walls of the house was also gone, along with their cheap gilded frames. Dinah never knew how much the frames had actually cost but they certainly looked cheap and nasty.
Dinah didn't really spend much time here, what with working away at Hogwarts for nine months of the year, so the general appearance of the house wasn't of the most importance to her, though she had never cared much for appearances. As long as the place was tidy and without clutter she could avoid unnecessary anxiety.
The garden, at least, was presentable these days. A flick of her wand at midnight sorted the garden out, though the neighbours had been a little perplexed how the weeds could be there at eleven o'clock and have disappeared by six in the morning. Honestly, did the Snape woman not sleep? Did she venture into her own garden in the middle of the night and pull all the weeds up?
The obnoxious tone made her shudder. She dreaded the very idea of picking up that phone. Who knew who was on the other end? Police? Cold callers? Or worse…? She hoped not.
"Hello?" she questioned after a short pause.
No sooner were those two syllables out of her mouth that the receiver was now about two-feet away from her. That shriek turned her blood cold.
The angry voice at the other end ranted and raved. It was as though the aggressive caller had verbal diarrhoea.
When finally permitted to speak, Dinah shakily returned the receiver to her ear. "I don't have it," she spoke softly. She was fortunate that when she slowed down her tone calmed. Perhaps it was this slow speech that intimidated her students.
More yelling from the other end of the phone was the result.
"I cannot give you what I don't have. I'm still trying to pay these debts off," she said. Despite shaking with unreleased anger, such emotion was left from her speech.
Debts? That was another matter entirely. The party on the other end of the phone was the cause of said debts and took it upon himself to accuse his daughter of his own actions.
She had hardly noticed her son silently entering the vicinity, a look of disbelief on his face. He didn't understand how she could be so calm and level-headed when teaching a class of would-be rambunctious teenagers, yet, when faced with her own flesh and blood, could morph into a nervous wreck.
Dinah would have loved to tell her father to shove his demands and insults where the Sun didn't shine. She'd love to, if only just once, tell him the truth about himself and have him listen, without resorting to abuse. But that would never happen.
Even with the continuous screaming on the phone, Rigel made sure he was heard. "Don't listen to him, Mum."
Dinah turned to see the most precious thing in her life leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded and a warm smile on his face. He looked so much like his father.
Straightening himself up, Rigel strode with confidence to where his mother stood, took the phone from her hand and placed it, rather carefully, back on the receiver.
"Why d'you put up with it?" he asked. "You know it's all lies. You know what he wants that money for and you still try and bargain with him."
It was true enough that this time she hadn't come quite so close to 'bargaining' with her father, as Rigel put it, but she had done so on countless occasions in the past. Rigel was honestly fed up of the telephone himself. The only calls they really received these days were from his grandfather and that was reason enough for him to throw the device out of the window. Rigel hated his grandfather and all he stood for. He never really knew the whole story but there was some instinctive theory in his mind that Tobias had treated his daughter abominably.
The phone started ringing again. Rigel glared at the device before uttering a rather slow-spoken "Shut… up…" which might certainly have given his mother a run for her money.
The boy was so pleased that he and his mother were spared from having an answering machine; therefore if the phone remained unacknowledged then Dinah wouldn't get hurt and, to Rigel, that was the only thing that mattered.
The pair remained in silence as the phone continued to ring, though there was certainly slightly-dissipated tension once it had stopped.
With the ceasing of the repetitive tone, which, if one had listened to it enough, Rigel might have described it as a castrated owl, activity arose in the fireplace as his mother was summoned to Hogwarts by the Headmaster himself.
Of course, the most this did was stress Dinah and she felt rather upset enough, as she angrily snatched a handful of floo powder from the pot on the mantelpiece and threw it into the fire before stepping in there herself.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Dumbledore's Office," she said in a monotone voice.
Rigel knew how his mother felt about intimacy and feelings. She hated being touched, she struggled to show affection, even to her own son. He didn't mind so much though. He knew she loved him and he more than understood why she wasn't one for cuddling, if his grandfather's verbal treatment of her was anything to go by. What else he had done to her, Rigel didn't really want to know, despite his constant musings on why his mother was the way she was.
No, he didn't mind not receiving a hug or kiss goodbye. "I love you, Mum."