XVII

There are a lot of things that Severus Snape would have done differently in his life. There were so many mistakes he had made—or rather, one large mistake, unparalleled by any other, which caused a domino effect, until the very last few moment of his life. But as he sat on the Hogwarts express once more, for the first time in over a decade, he finally felt as if he couldn't make a single mistake in that moment.

Lily lied against his shoulder, sleeping soundly. He had not yet found a dose of tiredness enough to bring him to sleep. Every now and again Lily would snore; stir a bit in her sleep and then calm down. He put his left hand in her hair; slowly and carefully stroked the silky fire-like strands. She looked so peaceful and vulnerable as she slept. He smiled to himself, before chasing away the thoughts which infested his mind. Lily had shared a compartment with him, for James and her had hit a very rough patch, she didn't know who else would accept her, seeing that he had told most of the school's population that it was over, and there was one reason which was the most important to her.

He looked out the window; trees sat upon rolling hills and passed by quickly as the train sped on. The night sky was covered by clouds. Lightning hit the ground in a bright flash of purple and thunder soon followed. Rain began to bead on the large windows. One more pang of thunder erupted through the train. He felt the weight rise off of him. "What's happening?" Lily had awoken startled.

"We're clearly having…wonderful weather," he replied sardonically.

She leaned her head against him. "You make a wonderful pillow." He snorted at the comment, thinking it absurd. She stroked his arm lightly, before lifting her fingers from him, mentally chastising herself. She opened her mouth to say something, but the compartment's door slid open before she had a chance to say a word.

A middle aged woman appeared. "Anything from the trolley?" She looked upon the two expectantly. She stood there, ignored by the two. "Anything from the trolley?" she repeated once more patiently.

Lily snapped up. "Oh—um—some jelly slugs would be fine. Thank you." She handed her fourteen knuts, and then turned to Severus. "Do you want anything?" He shook his head. The woman with the trolley pushed the cart away.

Lily waved the light green colored candy in front of Severus. "Come on, you know you want some." She took one slug and chewed it happily. "Mmm. It tastes so good Sev."

"Stop trying to…convince me. I am not a child. You know very well that I don't like sweets. Go on, you can eat the vile substance on your own." He crossed his arms defiantly.

"Have you ever tried one?"

"No, but—" he said idiotically. She shoved a gummy slug into his mouth before he could continue. Unlike himself, he consumed the candy. "Never do that again." he scowled at her.

"Oh you know you liked it." She resumed her position, leaning on him as if he were a wonderfully comfortable pillow. He put his hand out and she handed him the slug on call. She had finally found something that he liked. "I win." She smiled.

They were nearing the end of their train ride, though secretly they were both hoping it wouldn't end. "My mum hasn't seen you in a long time, Sev." It was hard for Lily to simply say one of her parents. She was used to having both. Though she had lost her father months ago, it felt as if it only had happened days ago.

"I'm well aware of that Lils." He looked back at the past, remembering the last time he saw her parents. Her father was in his coffin, his face pale and the smell of death emitted from his body. His eyes were closed; Lily had gotten her eyes from her father. He remembered hiding behind a tree silently, waiting till the service ended. When the people filed away he walked toward the grave. He left just as he heard someone walking toward him from a distance. And then, he remembered seeing her mother in that same manner, only a year and one day after. He watched as several men carried a coffin to the ground. He felt tears coming, but they never truly did. She had always been a second mother to him. After the service he left three dark magenta colored roses on her grave, as they had always been her favorite.

"Do you want to see her? She would be happy to see you. I'm sure of it. It would take her mind off of things…"

Severus wasn't sure how to comfort her. He had comforted her once before, and it was only because she had flung herself into his arms, before he had the slightest chance to react to her. "I have to go home before I visit."

"Thank you," she smiled a tiny smile sadly. She snuggled closer to him. Closing her eyes briefly, she waited for the train ride to come to a quick ending. As the train was brought to a stop the wheels screeched loudly, but neither he nor she shifted. They waited till the last person had gotten out of the train, before they finally took their bags and headed for the exit.

Severus stood in front of a rather old building: Just at the edge of the pathway he had stopped, before he would do anything ludicrous. A pale yellow house stood in front of him. The roof was dilapidated, the grass long an unkempt, the windows were covered by a thick layer of dust and the chimney's bricks had long ago started to fall from their position. He dared to call this hazardous and dreadful place his home.

And so, with a few ounces of bravery, he stepped toward the door, grabbed the door handle and twisted it till he heard a loud click. He stepped over the threshold. The house smelled of mold and whisky—a smell that he had made sure he would never smell again in his life, up until this moment. He stood still in the dark room.

He shut the door behind him and then looked around—nothing. He climbed up the stairs reluctantly, masterfully making sure that not an old step would creak beneath his feet. Once he got to his room, which was on the farthest corner of the small upper floor of the house, he put his shrunken suit case on his cot. Slyly, he made his way back down the steps.

There was only three meters separating him from the door. Anticipation never tasted so sweet. One steps, two, three, he continued on counting satisfyingly, until five steps away from the door he heard the clumsy footsteps of a fully inebriated man tumble through the house in a large ruckus. He swore rather loudly, before turning to something that even in his adult life had found a way to terrify him.

There a tall, slowly balding man with black hued grey, greasy hair, a hooked nose and a large half-drunken bottle of whiskey stood at the corner or the living room, holding onto the wall. "What 'ya doin' 'ere boy? I thought I said not ta come back 'ere! What kind 'a idiot are ya?" His words were unbelievably slurred to a point where only Severus could understand them. He looked at his son with his blood shot eyes emotionlessly. He took a swig from his bottle and belched loudly. You could smell the whisky on him from any room in the house. Whatever intellect he had possessed in the past was long gone. The horrid man was Tobias Snape—the man he had unfortunately called his father, but only by blood.

"You shouldn't worry about seeing me too frequently around here. I have things to do. In fact, I was about to leave. So, if you don't mind, I will leave. I would appreciate it if you would turn around, stop drinking that corrupting drink and possibly cease to exist in the time I am gone." He turned to the door handle.

"Don't ya leave just yet. Yer mother ain't 'ere no more. Put on your apron and go make me some dinner!" He had grown accustomed to shouting orders at any woman, and Severus. "What ya waitin' for? I'm not ready ta starve ta death!" His stomach growled hungrily at the words.

"I will do no such thing." His father's mighty fist came quickly, and even quicker came Severus' hand to block it. He pushed his father to the wall menacingly. The glass bottle slipped from his father's hand, crashing against the floor, causing the shattered glass to scatter. "I'm not who I used to be father," he spat venomously. "There is a certain person who taught me about torture. Throw a fist at me once more, and you will regret it you drunken halfwit. I'm sure you will not remember this, as your brain has turned to slush by now—all the better. This only ensures that I will get to taste the sweet taste of revenge." He took his wand out of his pocket, and jabbed it into his father's neck as a warning. "I urge you not to forget." He added even more pressure the single spot. "I can take your life away swiftly…" He put his wand down, before walking into the kitchen.

He came back to the man, who was still shivering with fear. He threw a broom and dust pan at him. "What do I do wit' it? This is a woman's job!" He fumbled the broom, confused with the simple stick with overused bristles at its end.

"It isn't obvious, is it?" He paused after his mordant comment. "Do the woman's jobs as you say. You are worth nothing more, nor do you even deserve to clean up your own mess."

"You speakin' French boy?"

"Now." His voice was at the dangerously low and quiet level he had used in his classroom while teaching. Smirking, he walked toward the kitchen. If his muggle father succeeded with the simple task he would reward him with a meal, if he could fashion one out of the few things in the fridge and cupboards.

As the pasta boiled and the vegetables roasted in the oven he brought his attention to the many areas of the kitchen where his father had foolishly stowed a massive amount of liquor. He opened each and every area where he found the liquor. With a flick of a wand they all shrunk at once, and with a second flick they all floated gracefully into the garbage can. The bottles were more worthless than garbage, and the liquid inside them even more so.

It had taken him a full hour before the food was finally finished. He carried a large bowl and a plate over to a table, whose paint had long ago peeled away. He heard snoring erupt through the house loudly. He went over to a worn out couch in his living room. His father lied on the floor, anchoring his head on the couch's arm rest. He pondered on the best way to wake his father up. Perhaps I should bring his food and drop it over his head. It would be amusing to see if he would eat it off the floor. But something possessed him to walk over to the only bookshelf in the room. He grabbed a thick book, which was bound in black leather.

Like he had done with his many he students, he lifted his arm and hit his father upside the head with the book. His father screamed at that startling and painful wake up call. "What do ya think you're doin' boy?"

"I somehow created a meal for you; though I rather watch you starve and die a slow, agonizingly painful death."

His father darted out of the room suddenly. The sounds of regurgitation echoed through the house. Once his father had brushed his teeth he stumbled over to Severus. "Ya shouldn't treat your father like that if ya know what's best fer ya."

"Ah, but what could a decrepit drunk man do to his son? I have warned you once. Consider yourself lucky that I am in a good mood—good enough to not act upon certain occurrences." He looked at his father more closely. Age was evident on the man's face. His once vibrant blue eyes were now bloodshot and clouded with his drunkenness. Just as he was to further elaborate on his previous statements, Severus heard a very quiet scratching noise. At first it was very slight, but his will adept ears could hear it well. Then, it became a ruffling sound, followed by a distinct hooting.

"What is tha' boy? Is it your magical crap?" Severus sent him a petulant look. "Ah, don' look at me tha' way boy! Ya well know it's crap!" He started laughing at his son. 'Doesn' even know what da hell kind of crap hocus-pocus is. What a moron I've made."

"So now you are calling me your son? Admitting it now, are we? Who would have thought you would ever say those words. How touching." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall tired of the incessant argument, yet unable to stop himself from the pleasure it was to anger his father so.

His father was too caught up in the argument that he didn't notice a small brown owl float past his head and onto the banister behind him. The owl's yellow eyes watched them intently as the two men fought through words, not fists—a rarity in the Snape household. "What does it matter anyway?" he asked nonchalantly. The alcohol had finally fled his system enough. "Ya think I care?"

Severus scoffed. "Care would be an enormous overstatement. I think blatantly disregard is the perfect way to state it." For a long time they stared at each other; the owl's gaze intensified. His father, who looked tired of the events, had sat down on the pale brown, old, wooden floor, not bothering to walk the three steps to the couch, yet his gaze never faltered. "Old codger," Severus whispered.

The man was infuriating, improper, ill-mannered, simplistic, and wasteful and so many other hateful things that Severus could waste his life spending time on describing him. His father's clothes were ragged; long being worn out from overuse, his skin was slightly tan, but covered in a layer of disturbing grease and his old hands were curled up, stiff and calloused from the work he had used them for in previous years. The man was broken down, but held onto his strength as if it were the only thing he had left. When Severus was young he thought his father had drunk because he had done something wrong—his thoughts quickly changed. When he got older, precisely on his ninth birthday he knew his father drunk because there was nothing in his father's life. His father had given up to easily. Once Severus' mother died his father drank more, it seemed that he had actually cared for her. It was odd to think of it that way, but through the abuse of alcohol Severus had finally begun to understand his father's emotions. It was strange that in the oddest and most unwanted of situations you could learn more about life, and the people around you than in the time you actually spend with them. Things in this world are beyond comprehension; simply understanding something in this world is one thing, but truly knowing and feeling it under your skin is another.

Severus put his arms down, and closed his eyes. He was tired of the fighting and the relentless hate they held for each other. No, he would never love his father, it was a waste of time; it was a waste of energy to keep on quarreling like that. "Get up," he muttered, walking away from the room. His father looked at him in shock, but soon followed. It was unexpected, so much so that Severus himself wasn't completely aware of his own refusal to continue the quarrel. He pulled a chair out roughly and sat in it. His father quickly sat down as well. "Not a word." His voice was threatening. His father decided to leave it be.

They ate their meal in silence. The only noises were the clatter of forks and knives against grey ceramic plates, and the sound of a small animal of the avian variety scavenging throughout the house in search of food. Patiently the bird waited for Severus to pay any amount of attention to him. Little did the owl know that Severus was fully aware of it, and that he was waiting for the right moment to make his way to his room to see what the bird held for him. And so, the brown bird kept on staring at him intensely, waiting and following the task it was sent out to do ever so zealously. A tiny hooting began to go through the household, but his father did not respond to it, as if it were normality.

Slowly, but surely his father had grown annoyed at his pretending to ignore what was going on. Aggravated, he began to tap his fingers against the rim of his chair. One last hoot was what had done it. "Boy, tell me what that noise is or I'll shoot you!"

Severus only snorted, slightly amused by his father's impatience. "If you are so intrigued by the mundane thing, then why don't you simply prance over to the thing creating the noise and shoot it instead?" As if the owl had understood what Severus had said, it flew up the stairs quickly. Severus smirked and pushed his plate away.

"Worthless…" His father continued eating his meal. Eventually, he was satisfied that the noise had fled. He starred at his empty plate before leaving the dirty dishes for Severus to clean. How he had gotten through life so far was a mystery to Severus. Though without a doubt, he knew that someone had come to help his hopeless father every so often, or his house would have been filled to the brim with filth by then. "Quit watchin' me. Go stare at somethin' else." The air had an odd component in it. The feel of another fight brewing had sent Severus away from his father. He had learned enough to know that an unwanted battle was never worth fighting, because in the end it would only end up hurting both sides for a foolish and worthless cause.

Night was nearing. The sounds of the animals that weren't affected by the cold began to resonate through the air, somehow entering the house through the small cracks in the kitchen's door. Just as he had done earlier that day, he walked up the creaky staircase. It was all surreal to him, and it hadn't hit him until that moment. He stopped midway, and turned back to see the way his home had looked two decades ago; in its dilapidated, filthy, aged glory it stood like a soldier, refusing to fall, so the memories of his horrid childhood couldn't be buried by rubble.

He entered his room to see the brown owl perched on his bed post. Too worn out by the last few hours, he fell onto the uncomfortable cot. The owl starred at him hauntingly before suddenly closing its eyes. Using a flick of his wrist the lights turned off. He turned and observed the greyness of his walls before falling asleep. As he slept he saw that same greyness in an endless surge of placid ripples. The last thoughts he had on his mind was how he had never stepped out of that door since he came back here. Somehow he knew the in its indifference, his life at home would never be the same again.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it. I know it is a bit different from what I usually post, but I believed it needed some…new flare.

Do you have any suggestions or direction where you want the story to go? I am only curious…

-E.S. Grey