The Summer of 1973

The night was cold and nebulous, when Severus heard the weak knock on the door. His mother was asleep, he had just finished organising the last supplies of food in the cupboard above the kitchen sink. With slow, measured steps he headed for the door. The key clicked inside the lock. The door swung open. Seuthes was standing in front of him, his drenched clothes dripping to form a pool of water beneath his feet. The rain had started about an hour earlier, but already the street had turned into a semblance of a river.

The brothers didn't exchange a word. Seuthes took off his coat and entered the living room, then lit the fireplace with a curt incantation, and sat on the floor in front of it, stretching his hands toward the fire, and glaring into the flames.

For a long time Severus stood, leaning against the doorframe and staring at his brother's soaked back. There were a lot of things he wanted to ask, a lot of things he wanted to say. Did Lily know? Did Dumbledore? Or one of the pratty Slytherins, or even worse – the insufferable quartet of Potter, Black and Pettigrew, and their silent shadow Lupin? He could draw some conclusions just by looking at the hunched form before the fire. Evidently there was something wrong... but of course there was. When hadn't there been something wrong? And in fact, he knew for certain of one very wrong thing and it could very well be the cause of Seuthes' distress. It was, after all, the cause of Severus' own.

"How is she?" Seuthes asked at last, as though reading his brother's mind even as his back was turned toward him.

"Alive. She tries to ignore me most of the time. Asleep right now."

Seuthes nodded. Silence reigned again. A few minutes passed before Severus too entered the room and sat next to his brother.

Legilimency was something neither of the two was particularly good at. Occlumency, on the other hand, that both of them had mastered over the last two months, tragic as that may be. So in less than ten minutes, months of events and information were exchanged.

To be perfectly honest, there hadn't been that much to pass. As had been the case with Seuthes for that first month, Severus' memories too were just a string of repetitive days. In contrast, however, ever since May his brother's daily routine had become quite colourful. It consisted of him storming the halls of Hogwarts, and responding to every slight with cold verbal attacks, mixed with uncanny curses. That had earned him many enemies — professors and students alike, including those from his own House, for due to his actions the crystals in the Slytherin hourglass had been rapidly disappearing. Seuthes couldn't have cared less. He had a remark for every single insult and the readiness to jump out of the way of every single curse sent his way.

"Tell me, Travers, in what way are your parents related to each other?" he'd said one time, and disappeared behind the door before the older boy had understood the implication of the question.

"Baneberry, Pettigrew? Everyone has the right to be stupid, but you're abusing the privilege." That, after said boy had attempted to ruin Snape's potion by switching the Slytherin's Mistletoe Berries with the Baneberry Potter had passed down to him. Pettigrew, however, in his stupidity had only managed to swap his Mistletoe berries with Seuthes', and had ended up adding the Baneberry to his own potion.

That same day, Seuthes had for the first time put his invention to the test by summoning Peeves on Potter, Black and Pettigrew. It had been well past curfew and naturally, the loud noises couldn't have escaped Filch's cat's notice even if she'd been on the other side of the castle. Snape had acted quite foolishly, he admitted to himself, by trying to reach his dormitory as fast as possible, and thus running into the surly caretaker. If it hadn't been for his Slytherin qualities, he was sure to be skinned alive on the spot. "Mr Filch, I was just looking for you!" he'd managed to choke out between heavy breaths. "Gryffindors– I saw... three Gryffindors... near the library. I think they might have... broken something." For Pieves, of course, hadn't missed the opportunity to push one of the nearby armour suits to the ground.

But while Snape had got back some of his vigour after his visit to the Hospital Wing, not all things had changed for the better. Lily, for one, had been actively avoiding him. Seuthes had neither apologised, nor even tried to talk to her, and on her part, she hadn't seen fit to talk to him either. Severus couldn't blame her. Sev had hurt her, so she'd had no reason to try and figure out what was wrong with him. But he could blame his brother. And he did. Lily was their only friend. They couldn't afford to lose her.

Tobias came home sometime near the end of July. And very quickly Severus learnt that informing his father of Eileen's situation had been a mistake. A mistake because the man tended to turn his grief into anger — a tendency his sons would soon adopt. And anger, some buried part of Tobias' mind knew, was something solid, heavy. Something in which he could ram his fists until the pain went away. Grief, on the other hand... Grief was like a fog, inevitably forcing him to lose himself and wander endlessly through the depths of emotions he could not understand.

That was when Severus was struck by sudden realisation. His father wasn't the only person the brothers could lean on. There was one other person who, despite claiming the opposite, cared for Eileen and who, perhaps, would handle the situation better than her alcoholic son-in-law.

"Seuthes," Severus called, startling his brother from his silent brooding. "Do you know where Grandma's house is?"

He could see in Seuthes' eyes the same urge to beat his head against the wall Severus himself had experienced when he'd first thought of the possibility that Elvyra Prince might be willing to help.

"I can't... I can't believe I didn't think of that!" Seuthes groaned and covered his face with both hands.

"Do you know where she lives?" Severus repeated.

"Yes, I bloody know where she lives, damnit!"

"Then, by Jove, go get her!"

Seuthes straightened a bit giddily, then seemed to think of something. "Why me?"

"You've been there before." Seuthes made a move to object, but his brother cut him off, "For Merlin's sake, Seuthes! Fine, I'll go!"

"No, alright. But you'll have to hide. Do you still fit in that place?"

"I'll be fine," Severus replied wearily.

The next day, a few hours after noon, he was curled in the dark space behind the walls where he'd so often hidden as a child, waiting anxiously for his brother to turn up and report how things had gone. Seuthes was supposed to take the Knight Bus and, if all went to plan, apparate back home along with his grandmother. That was supposed to take about twenty minutes to half an hour, perhaps a bit more if he added the time needed to convince Elvyra of the severity of the situation.

But it had been more than two hours now (or at the very least, that's how it felt, for he had no way of checking the time), and Severus was still in the dark. Quite literally. Time seemed to drag. There was a very real possibility that it had been just a few minutes, that it was only his own mind that made the time pass so slowly. But then... The wait was excruciatingly long. His limbs had started to feel numb what seemed like an hour ago and there was still no sign of his brother. He couldn't risk peaking out either. There was no way for him to know where anyone in the house was. And it had been so long... Three hours... Four... Maybe more. Eventually, the silence lulled him to sleep.

Madam Pomfrey never read the Daily Prophet. She liked to think herself above petty gossip and that paper was nothing if not yellow rubbish. There was, however, a well established gossip club among the staff and if they found something to be particularly interesting, there was no missing their speculations on the matter. If only one were to set foot in the staffroom during such heated discussions, they would be bombarded with questions related to the matter at hand. "Did you hear the news, dear?" and "Tell us, now, what do you think has happened here!"

The main participants in these discussions were Silvanus Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures professor, Anelia Lochty, the astronomer, Madam Hooch, and of course, Numaer Asumptotos who, for all his cheerful blabbering, was more of a listener and seldom shared what details he knew of the students' lives. Perhaps Slughorn too deserved an honourable mention. He wasn't a member of the club per se, but liked to know which way the public opinion was leaning in relation to potential additions to his collection of connections. It was also important to note Minerva McGonagall's role in these parleys. Similar to Asumptotos, she never revealed her inner thoughts before the public. But one thing was certain — she listened. She listened very carefully, and later shared all the details with whatever unwilling victims she could find. Oftentimes said victim was Poppy herself and that was precisely the reason she was currently sipping tea in Minerva's office.

"Here!" McGonagall said, pointing at a small article on the last page of the Prophet, as she always did on such occasions. But there was a noticeable lack of the cheerfulness that usually marked this exact exclamation.

Poppy pulled the paper more toward herself so she could see it better, and read:

-~oOo~-

Another Pureblood Family on the Brink of Extinction

Late in the afternoon yesterday, August 3rd, we said goodbye to the daughter of George and Elvyra Prince. Our readers might remember that this name is associated with a Curse — the Prince Curse as it is known among the public. Indeed, Eileen nee Prince was said to be the last bearer of the Curse, for she married into a Muggle family, and poisoned her dynasty with perhaps something worse — Muggle blood. The Daily Prophet interviewed the last remaining Prince — Eileen's mother. Unfortunately, Mrs Prince refused to elaborate on the cause of her daughter's death. It is our belief that Eileen could not take the death of her child. Sources report that her health has been deteriorating ever since she gave birth to twin boys in January of 1960. Seuthes Snape's life was sacrificed for the good of our world on June 2nd, 1961 — a tradition kept by the Princes, for which the Daily Prophet is immensely grateful. The funeral will be held according to muggle traditions in the early hours of August 9th.

-~oOo~-

Madam Pomfrey stared blankly at the text for a long time after she'd finished reading it, then closed it, and tossed the newspaper on the desk between herself and her colleague.

"Well, what do you make of this?" inquired Minerva.

"Ha! It is your job to share observations, Minerva," Poppy replied, though there were a lot of things she 'made of this'. It felt almost as though all the pieces of the puzzle had been rotated the correct way and now all that was left to do was to put them in place. She would just need a bit more time on her own to think things through.

"My observations? Humph! My observations are that the bloody Prophet is as tactless as ever! 'Poisoned with Muggle blood'! It's about time they stopped with this pureblood nonsense! And the poor boy, it all–"

A knock on the door announced Flitwick's presence.

"You wouldn't mind him joining us, dear, would you?" the Deputy said, and waved her wand at the door.

The little Charms Professor wobbled over to the desk, nodding in greeting to both women.

"Ah, Poppy, I see you too have been forced to endure Minerva's indignation with the Prophet today," Flitwick said as he settled in an armchair next to the matron's.

"Off with it, Filius, I've invited you both to a cup of tea. You could have refused."

"Yes, yes, of course. I didn't mean any disrespect." The tiny man reached for his own mug that had just appeared on the desk. "I presume this has to do with the Snapes?"

"The Princes," Minerva corrected. "I cannae believe they keep bringing in this curse. I never thought they killed their children over that, what monstrous..." she didn't finish her thought. "Are there physical signs of these things, Poppy?"

"Family Curses? I don't think so. Though not everyone would agree, some researchers are adamant that there would be signs if the person they tested actually was cursed. As with every conspiracy theory, as you might expect."

"Well, I don't believe for a second that boy Snape is cursed. Lost his brother for naught."

"I distinctly remember you commenting on the boy's demeanour only two months ago," Flitwick chimed in. "And I quote, 'That child is such a menace, I swear he must be cursed!'."

McGonagall was unabashed. "We both know that is not what I meant," she said matter-of-factly. "And if something was wrong in that house, that would explain Snape's behaviour."

"I had noticed he is always out of it after the holidays," observed Flitwick. "Much worse this time. Barely scraped a passing mark, and he's always been one of the best in my class. Not as good as Miss Evans, of course, but good."

Poppy didn't elaborate. Those were confidential matters and she wasn't about to betray the boy's wavering trust, tempting as it might be.

"Well, he's never been one of the best in my class," Minerva said, and she appeared to be almost proud of that fact. Considering she'd only known Snape for two years, it was remarkable how dislikeable the boy had managed to make himself in the Deputy's eyes. And that (as far as Poppy knew) with spending no more than a few hours in detention. "The Headmaster did say we should let him be," McGonagall added pensively after a moment.

The morning of August 9th, as if to taunt the people gathered inside the small cemetery, was bright and warm. Black figures were silently watching as the wooden coffin was lowered into the ground. Old colleagues, neighbours, people Severus had never met before. Some were wearing posh black robes — witches and wizards who had known Eileen in her youth and had come to pay their respects. Others were more modestly dressed, likely residents of the town, who had met the deceased only in passing. In the middle of the crowd there stood with lowered heads Elvyra, Tobias, and Severus, the only family Eileen had left. For the past six days each of them had retreated to a different corner of the house to mourn in peace. If you could call it mourning... If you could call it peace. Because ever since he had first seen his brother's distant eyes, a void had opened in the centre of Severus' chest and sucked in his entire being until it became too difficult to talk, to breathe, to think. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how it had happened. All he knew was that his mother had somehow managed to reach her wand while her children had been away. Severus wasn't ready to learn more details, not yet.

In some weird way he felt insulted that the world would keep spinning after such a tragic loss. Life would never be the same, it had no right to keep going, there wasn't supposed to be a world without his mother. People had no right — no right! — to be happy, and yet here they were, acting as though the difference between today and a week ago was insignificant. And some of those people were here, in this crowd! Among the shattered souls escorting Eileen on her final journey. Severus felt the nearly irresistible urge to draw his wand and curse every single one of them, watch them writhe for their insolence to stand there, seemingly completely unmoved, and act as if this gathering was just a convenient occasion to gossip and not a worldwide calamity.

The thought of all he had lost came unbidden into his mind, provoking the same flashes of memories that had been tormenting him for the past six days. His mother caressing his head in the middle of the night after he had woken up soaked in sweat; his mother applying balm to the bruises on his back; his mother selflessly putting herself between a raging husband and two terrified children. And with these thoughts inevitably came the regret, all the things he could've done differently, all the things he could've done to prevent this, all the things he could've been doing this very moment if only his mother was still alive. The incessant guilt threatened to drown him, as more and more images flooded his mind. Every single time he had disrespected his mother, every time he had raised his voice against her, every time he had accused her of something... So many times it had happened and so much time had been lost, when he could've used that time to be with her, to make her happy.

He remembered, years ago, when a kitten had hung about Spinner's End, a small ginger creature, rubbing its head against his leg. He had seen it, some weeks later, its lifeless form in one of the abandoned gardens where mutts were known to gather. He still remembered the sorrow he'd felt at the time, but at least then he'd been able to cling to the possibility that the kitten had been happy, that it hadn't been miserable, and had used its life to its fullest; that its death had been just the way of nature.

There were no such comforting illusions now. His mother had been so miserable she had been unable to take it anymore. In some ways Severus despised her for her weakness. Hadn't he been enough a reason for her to keep fighting? How could she leave her children motherless, how could she have been so cruel? But every time Severus' thoughts drifted in this direction, disgust and self-loathing washed over him. How could he be so selfish? De mortuis nil nisi bonum, the saying went. This was no time for him to accuse her of anything, when he himself had had his part in her death. If only he hadn't made Seuthes leave the house, if only he had poked his head out into the room for no more than a second... He should have done it, why hadn't he done it!

But, of course, these were irrational thoughts. Staying put had been the most logical thing to do, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise. He didn't have the strength to think anymore and he certainly didn't care if anyone saw his weakness. The tears that had been threatening to fall for the past half hour, came streaming down his face.

Seuthes was the spitting image of a raging teenager. Sometime after the initial shock of finding his father bawling his eyes out over his mother's limp body, her wand still only inches away from her motionless hand, had gone away, the unbearable amount of despair had found an outlet in his mad rage. He kicked, he slammed, he threw anything and everything his hands could reach, not caring what he hit or whom. And oftentimes the 'whom' was Seuthes himself, his hands swollen and littered with cuts from broken glass. Deep down he knew it was wrong, and when that knowledge surfaced during the rare occasions he was too exhausted to keep demolishing the house, he felt like a right scum, a son of his father.

As if to prove this point, at some point Tobias' grief too morphed into fury, though unlike Seuthes' his was often directed toward his sons, Eileen and, though he didn't admit it, himself. But he mostly expressed it by yelling strings of profanities aimed at his late wife. Something Seuthes thought was for certain a deliberate attempt to antagonise him further, and hence responded accordingly by lashing out on his father and earning himself a thrashing in turn. Severus, meanwhile, was just a soulless shell, so deep inside his mind he had retreated. His body was like a rotten plank left to the flow of a turbulent river, swept by the waves, attacked from both sides, but passively continuing on its way to the calm ocean, where the turmoil would finally come to an end.

He was finally snapped out of his trance about two weeks later, after witnessing a particularly gruesome exchange between his brother and father that had left Seuthes with a broken nose and Tobias with a black eye, and a dark bruise on his chest. It was a miracle Seuthes hadn't used his wand, but that was perhaps the result of his less than lucid state.

Tobias did not tolerate being blamed for his wife's death and when Seuthes had provoked him once more, the argument had been a brutal battle of will, shouting, and running toward each other with murderous intent the same way wild animals would fight to take the leadership of the pack. What he lacked in size Seuthes had compensated with the wooden leg in his hand of the chair he'd broken the previous day.

"Don't test me, you little coward!" Tobias had roared, and Seuthes had charged toward his father in a fit of rage. Coward. That was the word the eldest Snape had been using to describe his wife and son, and Seuthes seemed to take it as an affront to his dignity. If he had to be honest, Severus was beginning to get tired of the word as well.

"Here, let me," he said quietly, as he took one of his brother's bruised hands — his own doing. Seuthes didn't protest when a cold balm was applied to his knuckles. The blood on his face had already been cleared with a cloth that had started out white but was now a deep crimson. It had hurt like hell while the cloth had been pressed against an area that had already been hurting, and his eyes had watered against his will. Severus had then given him a Pain Reliever and covered his nose with some other paste. His nose would likely never go back to its original position, it had been broken thrice by now. Its already hooked shape was now even more exaggerated. The problem was that there was now a noticeable difference between the two Snapes. Severus should probably send his brother to Pomfrey at the first convenience so she could at least somewhat put his face in order. He'd have liked to fix it himself right now, but he didn't know the spell and in any case, magic was forbidden in this house now that his mother...

"I will kill him, I swear," Seuthes hissed, gingerly probing the skin on his knuckles with one finger, then lifting a hand to touch his face.

"No, you will not," said Severus firmly. "In fact, you won't even leave this room."

"And why wouldn't I?" inquired his brother, the indignation in his voice mixed with a touch of mockery.

"Because I've had enough of you. You are not the only one grieving, Seuthes. The rest of us should be allowed the courtesy of breathing without you lashing out on everyone. You're just like him and you're not even drunk."

Seuthes was seething, but kept quiet. A blissful surprise, he seemed to once again be reflecting on his actions. Severus sighed and stood up, leaving his brother to sit on the mattress. "We're leaving in a week, you have to pull yourself together," he added, surprising even himself for he wasn't ready to face the world either.

One last glance confirmed Seuthes had no intention of charging downstairs just now, so Severus stepped out of the room and headed toward his other patient. For the first time he hoped Elvyra hadn't left so soon after the funeral. Hiding from her was decidedly tiring and uncomfortable, but having her keep an eye on the volatile occupants of the house would have made living there that much more bearable for him.

Tobias was still lying on the couch, exactly as he'd left him, breathing heavily and grunting in his sleep. The balm appeared to have had an effect, the eye hadn't swelled and had instead almost returned its natural colour. Severus reached the armchair and finally let himself relax. He was exhausted. Extracting these two from each other's clutches had been a feat enough, but then he'd had to brew some of the quickest potions he knew would help fix the damage. It was a mark of how tired Tobias was to have accepted anything magic.

Exhaustion could be relief, but at that moment it only served to lower Severus' mental defences and allowed the painful memories of his mother to again roam unrestricted in his mind. Things had got better in the last few days, but there was still a lot to be desired. What he needed most right now was a good night's sleep.