1972-1973: Easter

It seemed the twins' enthusiasm had rubbed off on their mother too. As Severus appeared on the doorstep late the night of Maundy Thursday, he was greeted by a warm smile, and ushered to the kitchen, where Eileen placed a bowl of porridge in front of him, and prompted him to try it. Five minutes later he was joined by his brother, who was treated with that same warm greeting, and who accepted it with the same dose of perplexity Severus had. Then both kids were sent to bed, their mother kissing them goodnight.

But go to bed they didn't. Thoughts from merry to horrifying tormented them for hours before the exhaustion of the long travel home finally took its toll. Something wasn't quite right, but neither of the brothers could put their finger on it. At first, Seuthes had assumed his mother's cheerfulness was a result of Russ' successful potion. His hopes were crushed, however, when Severus explained that though magical, the Elixir didn't do wonders overnight. It was supposed to take at least half a year for it to cure depression, and even then one would need to still take it for some time in the likely scenario they've developed an addiction to the potion.

The brothers' questions remained unanswered. Each time they tried to gather information from Eileen herself, she'd say something along the lines of 'What's there to be sad about, dear?' or 'Yes, Severus, I'm quite all right. No need to worry.'

For better or for worse, Tobias had found a job in a mine up at Lancashire and was spending most of his nights in the dongas there. It was an unsteady job, only last year there had been a miners' strike lasting nearly two months, but then again, Tobias wasn't a steady worker either. And in any case, without his presence and the looming smell of alcohol, the Snapes' house almost felt like home.

For the first time in years the school break felt like an actual break and not just a change of one predatory environment with another. Life was getting better.

In the wee hours of April 26th Seuthes was still reading one of the Arithmancy books he'd brought from Hogwarts, when the sound of breaking glass came from below. Curious, he set the book on the mattress, and crept down the stairs. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but as he reached the kitchen, he saw a dim light seep beneath the kitchen door.

He stood on the landing of the stairs, his ears strained to catch any noise that might come from the lit room. There was a thud of something heavy hitting the ground, followed by another piece of glass shattering. And then came the gagging noises. In an instant, Seuthes was standing in the doorway, staring at the horrific sight before him.

His mother was lying on the floor in a pool of blue liquid, shattered vials scattered around her. Foam was dribbling from her mouth and Seuthes watched, paralyzed by horror, as her body jerked violently, a convulsion rippling through her muscles. Her son could do nothing but stare.

"What are you doing!" someone screamed, but it felt as though the voice was coming from a mile away and Seuthes barely even registered its presence.

His feet were glued to the ground, his eyes fixed on the spasming body before him, his mind locked in a mix of fear, anger, guilt, and all of these feelings overshadowed by shock and panic that rendered him completely useless. He watched, though he didn't see, his brother rummage through the cupboards in a desperate attempt to find an antidote; watched as Severus chanted — shouted — spells and not a single one of them shot from his wand, for in his haste the words that left his mouth sounded nothing like what he'd intended. Something clicked in Seuthes' head in that moment. It wasn't the click of an idea, it was the click of a heavy door locking forever a part of his consciousness in an impenetrable fortress.

"... Seuthes! Seuthes! Do something, you idiot!" his brother was shouting, but Seuthes couldn't make out the words. Almost in a daze he stepped closer to his mother, took her form from Severus' arms, and let her lean against him. It was an unconscious movement, perhaps some celestial being was guiding his hand as he forced her to open her mouth and pressed two fingers to her throat as he'd seen some of his father's 'mates' do, when one of them became too drunk to stay on their feet. Eileen gagged again. At some point, while Seuthes had stood paralyzed in the doorway, Severus had vanished the blue liquid from the floor, and wiped the poison still on his mother's lips. Now vomit was dripping down her jaw, and Severus rushed to wipe it away once more. Her body stilled for a second, then relaxed slightly as the convulsions lulled, and Severus, a bit calmer now, finally managed to cast a spell to purify his mother's blood. After a minute of tense anticipation, she relaxed further and closed her eyes, her breathing even, her heartbeat steady.

Severus slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the cold bricks. Across the room, Seuthes was lying on the floor, his mother's head resting on his chest, his unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling.

"Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore called. The tall witch (who'd been trying to escape the staffroom as hastily as possible after the last meeting before the beginning of term) stopped and turned toward him, a questioning look fixed on her face. "You don't happen to have received an owl, do you?"

Well, of course she had. But Dumbledore realised his poor choice of words only after his colleague had started to point it out to him, "Albus, what kind of question is this? Received when? From whom?"

"I just got word from the Hogwarts Express," said Dumbledore. "One of the students is missing. Severus Snape."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, then shook her head. "No, I haven't been notified. I'd ask Horace, maybe they wrote to him directly, not to the school."

Very unlikely.

"Thank you, Minerva, I think I shall ask Horace myself," Dumbledore replied with a kind smile, though as he turned away the Transfiguration Professor noticed a grim expression set on his face.

To no-one's surprise, Slughorn hadn't received an owl. And combined with what little Dumbledore knew of Snape's home life, his absence was a good cause for concern. And so, five in the afternoon saw the greying wizard looking curiously at Number 2, Spinner's End. The house looked old and shabby, in no way a suitable place for a child. But Dumbledore could sense magic extending one of the walls, and made the informed guess that the exterior might just be for the muggles' sake. He knocked on the door.

There had been muffled voices coming from inside the house, but they stilled once Dumbledore had announced his presence. There was the sound of someone running up a flight of stairs, then the Headmaster noticed a pale hand pulling lightly at one of the curtains on the ground floor and a black-haired boy peeked out the window at the unexpected guest. Snape dropped the curtain, letting it fall back to its place where it obscured any view of the inside of the house. He then stepped closer to the door, and opened it gingerly, looking up at Dumbledore with a mix of fear and confusion.

"Sir?"

The Headmaster smiled reassuringly, "Good afternoon, Mr–"

"School!" Snape shrieked, slammed the door in Dumbledore's face, and rushed back inside the house. He emerged a few minutes later, a string of apologies pouring from his mouth, "I'm so sorry, Professor! I completely forgot! I–"

"Calm down, Mr Snape, you are not in any trouble. Perhaps we can take the conversation inside? Are your parents home?"

A horrified expression crossed Snape's face then. But only for a second. It was quickly replaced by a mask of calm.

"Oh, no, sir. I mean– I'd prefer if we talked somewhere else. No– I, uh... my mother's here, but..."

Dumbledore let the boy ramble on. He noted that Snape didn't seem injured at all, but there was this distant — haunted — look in his eyes... Dumbledore had never seen such firm Occlumency barriers in anyone this young. The boy was still talking when the older wizard focused his attention back on the conversation. He lifted a hand to stop the flood of words, and said:

"Where would you like us to go then, Mr. Snape? I should think my office is the obvious choice, but I am open to suggestions. A muggle restaurant? A park? Though I would prefer if we talked somewhere the curious ears of our fellow witches and wizards will not be able to overhear us."

The boy was silent for a moment, then took a step backwards so that he was once again inside the house and not on the doorstep as had been the case until now. "I, uh... Would it be a problem if I go get my things and talk to my mother?"

"Not at all, my boy," smiled Dumbledore and mimicked Snape's gesture by taking a step backwards. In his case, toward the street.

"There's ah... a playground — a park, over there, sir. With benches. If you want to sit somewhere, sir."

Dumbledore smiled politely again, and waited for the door to close. He then extracted his wand, a simple flick and a replica of his favourite cushion chair appeared on the pathway to the Snapes' front door.

Snape emerged from the house about fifteen minutes later, stopping on the doorway dumbstruck at the sight of the respected Albus Dumbledore casually sitting in a red cushion chair in the middle of a rundown neighbourhood, reading a Quidditch magazine.

"Well," said the Headmaster, not lifting his eyes from the page. "Where are we going?"

Snape shook his head slightly, as though convincing himself that his eyes were deceiving him, then said:

"Hogwarts, Professor."

With a nod of his head Dumbledore stood up, brushed some invisible dust off his robes, and vanished both the magazine and the chair.

"Have you apparated before?"

Two minutes later, the two of them were walking in silence all the way from the Hogwarts gates, where they'd apparated, to the seventh floor and up the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore pulled the closest chair and waited for Snape to sit, then took his own seat behind the desk, and steepled his fingers. It took about a minute for the boy to feel uncomfortable enough to speak.

"Did you want to talk to me about something, Professor?"

"Ah, but Mr Snape, I am fairly certain there are a lot of things that you wish to tell me."

For one, what so traumatic happened to create these walls of yours.

There was silence for a moment before the boy replied, "I don't think I understand what you mean, sir."

"Have you heard of Occlumency, Mr Snape?"

The Slytherin seemed taken aback by the question, but gathered himself quickly. "The art of defending your mind against penetration."

Interesting, Dumbledore thought, leaning back in his chair, a textbook response.

"And have you practised it?"

This time Snape averted his eyes as though in shame. "My mother taught me. It didn't really work."

That prompted the Headmaster to raise his eyebrows. Eileen had taught Occlumency to her thirteen-year-old son. Something extremely dangerous that could prove damaging for anyone, let alone a child this young.

"She taught you during the break?" inquired Dumbledore.

"Oh, no, it was a long time ago."

"A long time ago," Dumbledore repeated. "Then tell me, Mr Snape, what happened this past week?"

He looked at the boy's eyes then, and watched as their already black colour became darker still, watched as those doors slammed shut and locked themselves with heavy chains and unbreakable latches. Snape's face, however, remained impassive, it was only those distant eyes that gave him away.

"Why would anything have happened?"

"My boy, you forgot to take the train to Hogwarts," said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eyes as though it was a legitimate reason to suspect something had happened. Which it was. In all his years as a professor at Hogwarts, the Headmaster couldn't remember a single instance when such a thing had occurred.

As if to confirm Dumbledore's suspicions, Snape averted his gaze and his muttered reply was more for the wall to hear than for the man in front of him.

"I didn't keep track of the date, Professor."

The Headmaster sighed and closed his eyes, contemplating how to handle the situation. It seemed slow but steady steps worked much better with the little Slytherin than the strides he usually took with others.

"You will, of course, tell me if something is troubling you?"

Snape's eyes shot back to those of his professor, a combination of confusion and askance in them. But Dumbledore didn't acknowledge the unspoken question, instead waiting silently for a response. It came in the form of a nod and though he knew the nod wasn't genuine, the Headmaster saw no reason to antagonise the boy further, and let him leave the office and join the rest of the students where they were just entering the Great Hall.

But Seuthes didn't join the others. He heard their loud voices ringing off the stone walls and made a special effort to avoid them. A narrow passage took him to the dungeons and from there he managed to slip into the deserted common room unnoticed. Dumbledore had asked a house-elf to take Snape's luggage to his dormitory, so it was already there when he arrived.

It took the last of Seuthes' will to climb into his bed and draw the curtains, and it was an unconscious movement to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. He felt numb, exhausted, and a thought creeped into his consciousness that nothing he did was ever enough. The facade he'd put on for Dumbledore and even Russ had slipped as soon as he'd left the office, and he now loosened the chains holding the door to the dark fortress inside his mind closed. Memories and thoughts slipped through the crack between the gates and began roaming around until their presence overshadowed any and all hope or will to move forward.

He stayed there, unmoving, on the verge between sleep and the strange existence void of thought, filled with only numb emptiness. The only thing penetrating the silence inside his head — the annoying sound of the endless monotonous ticking of the clock, wearilessly counting the passing seconds.

It was hours later that the loud bang of the door announced Wilkes' presence and awoke Seuthes from his half-wake state. "The hell am I doing," he hissed so faintly he was the only one that heard a sound, and pushed himself upright. He'd let the void of emptiness consume him just like it had his mother, and he couldn't allow that. He wasn't so weak as to stop fighting, he wasn't so cruel as to leave Russ alone at a time like this. Though perhaps Russ would be all too happy to be rid of his shadow and freed from the constant fear of being discovered. Maybe with him gone, Tobias wouldn't be so stressed. Maybe with him gone, his father would look at his wife the same way he had done before she had forced him to carry this heavy secret on his shoulders. Maybe with him gone, they would all have a chance to be happy again.

No.

Seuthes shook his head, as though to rid himself of the unwanted thoughts. Despite what his father had said more than once the last time they'd met, Seuthes wasn't a coward. And leaving his brother to deal with everything alone was a cowardly move.

To an extent, he had already done that. He was here in Scotland while Severus was down in Great Manchester, taking care of their mother. Alone. I didn't have much choice, though, did I? he told himself. It had all happened so fast... Dumbledore had been standing right there, in front of their door, and Seuthes hadn't been able to come up with a plausible cause not to leave with him. Not without telling the Headmaster of his mother's state and Seuthes thought... hoped that if he just ignored it all, maybe it would go away. Still, they couldn't leave her alone, not like this. They couldn't send word to Tobias either. The man was absolutely unreliable and unpredictable, not to mention he'd been the one who'd started it all.

And so, Severus and Seuthes were now both alone and with no-one to talk to. There were people who would listen, of course. But there was a difference between talking and listening. In the following week Seuthes found that many people liked to pry into his personal life. Lily, Hagrid, Dumbledore... Even Potter had asked what's wrong with him but had quickly answered his own question with, "Was the oil bottle labelled 'Shampoo'?". Sure, they would listen, but Seuthes didn't have anything to say. Or rather, he had too much to say. And if he couldn't say it all, why even say anything at all? It would only be more painful, he would only have to relive it again.

So he'd pushed them all away. He'd insulted every single one of those who tried to extend a friendly hand. Pelted them with the most biting words he had at his disposal. Lily had been first, and she'd run away with tears streaming down her face. Hagrid had been next and of all of Seuthes' victims, the gatekeeper seemed the least moved. Quite literally, for Seuthes had cast a Blasting Curse, when everything else had failed, and the giant man had still been standing on his two feet as though it had been but a fly landing on his shoulder. Next was Rosier, much to Seuthes' surprise. And even more surprising was the fact that no-one had tried to beset the half-blood Slytherin even after he'd insulted one of the most influential students in the House.

No-one had been spared Snape's verbal attacks, and that included the Headmaster himself, and in full view of the Deputy no less. Professor McGonagall had been quick to reprimand the culprit, but had pressed her lips in a thin line and let the boy go on his way upon noticing Dumbledore's silent request to do so. Dumbledore, however, obviously hadn't explained his motives because had Snape been paying attention to his classes, he would have noticed that the Transfiguration Professor was much colder toward him than usual. Whether that was a result of his confrontation with the Headmaster, or of his poor performance in every single one of his classes, was anyone's guess.

The days passed in a blur. His nights interrupted by nightmares more often than not, Seuthes spent his days in a constant fight with the sleep that threatened to render him unconscious and screaming in the middle of every classroom. It was a fight with his own mind and Seuthes was losing. The constant strain he was putting on his barriers had long ago begun to take its toll and Snape was nothing more than a dazed shadow crawling its way through the narrow corridors of Hogwarts.

It was on a Friday in the middle of May that sleep finally emerged victorious during what would have been an interesting period of Defence, had Seuthes been in the right mind to appreciate it. But the boy's barriers betrayed him in the most inconvenient of moments, for in that time Professor Dimova had just been performing a nasty spell that hit him square in the chest and some strange acid he couldn't identify at the moment started eating at his robe. Whether he would've been able to avoid the attack two months ago was impossible to tell, but he certainly hadn't been in any position to defend himself ever since Easter. And he stood no chance now that he'd been deprived of sleep for a month.

His eyelids dropped closed and Seuthes descended into the depths of his own mind. It was a scary place and had been for a long time. But it wasn't the flashes of that fateful night in the kitchen that scared him most. The imaginary scenarios his mind was supplying were more frightening than reality ever would be. Images of his mother's bloodied face were taking turns with that of Russ, followed by the outline of Azkaban and a few dozen aurors leading Seuthes toward it. He saw his father holding a knife, red droplets splashing next to the disfigured face of Eileen Snape. An indescribable rage bubbled inside the young Slytherin's chest, but there was nothing he could do but scream in despair.

Something cold was pressed against his lips; someone pulled back his head. A thick liquid was tipped down his throat and a burning sensation went through his mouth, which took Seuthes' mind off his thoughts for a solid three seconds, by which time his mental barriers had somehow locked the unpleasant images away. Another vial was pressed to his lips, and this time Snape drank it of his own accord, relishing the burst of energy that the Invigoration Draught was evoking. He felt... oddly calm and awake — a stark contrast to his state in the past weeks.

Opening his eyes wasn't as difficult a feat as it had been until now and for the first time in about a month he felt the desire to look around and take in his surroundings. He wasn't in Dimova's classroom anymore, instead surrounded by paperlike blue curtains that indicated the bed he was currently occupying was one of those in the infirmary. Further investigation told him he wasn't wearing his own clothes but a hospital gown. Which didn't ring a bell until he thought about it a bit too long and realised someone must have undressed him first before clothing him with said gown. And even then, he wasn't angry. He was trying to be, but something seemed to be preventing him from becoming too emotional. A Calming Draught, perhaps, that would be a good guess.

"Mr. Snape, I see you are awake," Seuthes heard the familiar voice of the matron and saw through the curtains her silhouette moving toward him. In normal circumstances his glare might have been comparable to the one that in ten years would send students scurrying away. As it was, it was no more than a knitting of his brows that looked more like confusion than anything else.

Madam Pomfrey opened the blue curtain rather distractedly and as Snape glanced up at her face, he was met by an expression that perfectly matched his own. Though no doubt Pomfrey's knitted brows actually were the result of her confusion. In addition to the notepad she normally carried, the matron was holding a thick book in one hand, and staring at it as though the words there were all Greek to her. Finally, she set the book on the bedside table, summoned a chair, and turned her attention to her patient.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, and poised her quill above the notepad.

Seuthes contemplated the question for a second, then, referring to his change of clothes, replied in a cold voice, "As though I've been stripped of all privacy." And that was all the animosity he could muster at the moment.

Madam Pomfrey had obviously been planning to write down his answer, but seeing as he hadn't interpreted the question in the intended way, she leant back in her seat, and paraphrased, "Physically, Mr. Snape. We will discuss your privacy in a minute."

"I'm fine."

"Define 'fine'."

"That means 'satisfactory'."

The matron sighed exasperatedly. "I believe we've had this discussion in the past, young man. Answering my questions can only help you. Now, describe how you are feeling, if you will."

This time it was Seuthes' turn to sigh in annoyance. "I suppose that would be the expected result after being drugged with Invigoration Draught. Though I admit it seems to have worked."

This time Pomfrey noted something on the paper, and glanced at the book that lay open on the bedside table. Once again, her features formed the bewildered expression from earlier. She wrote down something else, her eyes focused on the book rather than her notes. It appeared something wasn't quite the way she wanted it to be, but she didn't let on as to the cause of her distress.

"Should I take your answer to mean that you are not in any physical pain?" the matron asked at last, startling the boy from his staring curiously at her.

"Pain?"

"Your chest," the witch clarified, and only then did the Slytherin remember that he'd been hit by one of Dimova's curses.

"No, I'm not in pain."

Once again Pomfrey noted the answer on her paper, once again she glanced at her book, and once again she seemed dissatisfied with the result. The process was repeated after each answer Seuthes gave and by the fourth one the woman decided to try a new approach. Instead of writing in her notebook, she scribbled the reply on one of the pages of the thick tome. The boy hadn't believed it possible, but her expression now turned even more confused and a fair bit agitated.

"Now to your privacy," she turned back to her patient, making him start for the second time that day, "I'm afraid I saw your scars, Snape."

Even with the Calming Draught and even with his already vampire-like complexion, Seuthes' face paled considerably. Now was not the time for the staff to start prying into his life.

"I have to ask — how did you sustain these injuries?" Pomfrey asked. When Snape opened his mouth to respond, however, she spoke again before he'd been able to utter a word. "I can tell you right now, boy, that you did not fall down any stairs."

"It's none of your business," Seuthes snarled, and pushed himself to a sitting position. He'd have tried to go further, but some magical barrier seemed to be holding him in place.

"It, in fact, is. Tending to the students' well-being is my job."

"I beg to differ," responded Snape. "Had that been your job, you would have demanded that half of Gryffindor House be expelled. For the well-being of the rest of us. Of course, only if you were any good at your job."

"Is that so? And what of Slytherin?"

"Slytherins are smart enough not to boast about things that can be grounds for expulsion."

"You're a mouthy snake, aren't you?" the witch tutted good-naturedly. "In any case, that is unimportant. Who did this to you, Mr Snape, and are they still a threat?"

"They are a muggle," Seuthes spat. "They shouldn't be a threat to any wizard, and I assure you they're not. I was just too stupid to realise that until recently."

Madam Pomfrey fixed him with a calculating look, then turned her attention back to her book.

"Mr Snape, what is your name?" she asked.

That was an unexpected question and one Seuthes hadn't been asked often. But there was only one answer he'd ever given, and it was "Severus Snape."

Madam Pomfrey sighed for what must have been the thousandth time today. She was getting increasingly frustrated by whatever was wrong with Snape's file, and if the boy continued to be as useless with his answers as he'd been until now, she might very well break her oath and hex him right then and there.

"I can apply a balm to get rid of those scars," she said curtly.

Snape looked up at her and she could almost see the inner dialogue in his head.

"That won't be necessary. Am I free to go now, or will you wish to interrogate me under Veritaserum as well?"

The matron fixed him with a disapproving look, but didn't comment on his tone, answering his question instead. "That will be all." She shoved a hand in a pocket of her robe and extracted two vials. "Dreamless Sleep," she said, handing the boy the first one. "You will need to take this before going to bed. And this one is–"

"Draught of Peace," Snape interjected. "No need to treat me as though I have an intellectual disability."

"A what?"

"Healer my arse," the boy muttered quietly.

"Language, Mr Snape. As I was saying, you are to take three drops of this draught when you feel you need to. No more than twice a day," she cautioned. "The house-elves took care of your clothes. Off with you now."

As had become customary, once Snape left, Madam Pomfrey slumped on a chair in her office, and started going over everything she'd learnt about him. He'd been brought in by Narcissa Black, who had apparently heard the commotion in Dimova's classroom. The boy had been screaming and sweating, and holding his hands in two small angry fists. An angry red burn had thankfully been the only damage Dimova had inflicted upon him (seriously, it was time they got rid of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor as had been the case for the past few years), but the boy's violent reaction seemed to be in response to some internal struggle instead.

She'd removed his robe and shirt to heal the burn, and in his writhing he'd turned enough for her to see the embossed scars on his back — one going from his left shoulder blade down to the right side of his lower back, the other marks few and smaller, but still there.

The door burst open and much to Pomfrey's dismay, Snape irrupted into her office. His expression — a mixture of anger and horror — made it clear that the potions she'd given him had worn off. The boy's voice was both frightened and frightful as he demanded that Poppy not tell anyone anything. And then he was gone, leaving the matron to once again ponder his strange behaviour and that of everything connected to him.

The most mysterious of which were his thrice-damned files that kept baffling her no matter what she tried and how many different explanations she came up with. She'd thought perhaps the problem was with her own notebook, as unlikely as that seemed. So she'd tried taking notes directly in the files and had watched as the notes disappeared before her eyes. For a moment she'd even entertained the notion that the black-haired Slytherin might not be who he was pretending to be. After all, if he wasn't Severus Snape, the magic wouldn't recognise him as such and thus wouldn't transfer the notes under his name. But looking back at it now, it seemed a ridiculous idea. The magic had recognised the boy as Severus Snape on more than one occasion.

Yes, Madam Pomfrey had labelled the child a puzzle that needed solving more than a year ago. But only now was she beginning to realise that he was one of those one-coloured puzzles that took a very observant eye and a lot of patience to figure out.