Spinner's End, Snape House
Pain was never an unfamiliar feeling for Severus Snape.
Ever since he was young, it was clear from the start that life had no intention of being kind to him. His earliest memories were a blur of shadows, sharp words, and colder nights. He remembered the first time his father's hand had met his face — the stinging shock, the burning humiliation — but most of all, he remembered his mother's gaze, impassive and distant, as if she were a spectator to someone else's misery.
He learned quickly that tears solved nothing, that crying only made things worse. Pain became a constant, like an old friend, the only one he could count on. He knew pain was reliable, that it never failed to remind him of who he was: nothing. Nothing special, nothing wanted, nothing but a mistake that both his parents regretted. The scars on his back — two long, deep lines that cut across his thin shoulders — had appeared mysteriously when he was only three. He could not recall the exact moment, just the aftermath: the blood, the confusion, the questions he never dared to ask. His mother had offered no comfort, only a cold cloth and a muttered incantation to stop the bleeding. "Be still," she had hissed, her voice filled with annoyance more than concern. "Stop squirming, boy."
The scars never faded, never healed completely. They were always there, like silent witnesses to a crime he did not remember committing.
The worst part wasn't explaining his scars to the neighbors or trying to choke back his tears. It was knowing that his parents, in their own twisted way, actually loved each other.
His father was a violent and abusive man, but his mother was no less vicious. She matched his cruelty blow for blow, word for word. The hits, the screams, the breaking of glass — it was their routine, their dark dance.
As a child, Severus had thought they despised each other, that their hatred was the cause of all the chaos. But he remembered a moment that shattered that illusion — his parents sitting side by side on their bed, tourniquets wrapped tightly around their arms, taking turns plunging needles into their veins. He watched as their expressions softened, almost tender, in the dull haze of addiction, while four-year-old Severus stood starving in the doorway, forgotten.
He had been so small then, his tiny hands clutching the fabric of his oversized shirt, which hung on him like a sack. His stomach had twisted with hunger, but even more with confusion. How could they be so gentle with each other after all the screaming, all the fights? He'd watched his mother's trembling hands carefully tie the strip of cloth around his father's arm, his father murmuring something almost soft in return, their eyes meeting in some shared, secret understanding. It was the only time they ever looked at each other like that.
Severus had waited, hoping for a glance, a word, some sign they remembered he existed. But they were lost in their own world, bound together by a need he couldn't understand. The sweet, sickly smell filled the room, and his mother's voice slurred as she laughed, a sound that was foreign and unsettling to his ears. His father's rough hand brushed her cheek, and she leaned into it, closing her eyes, the tension in her face melting away.
Severus's stomach growled loudly, but still, they didn't notice. He had stood there, watching, as they fell deeper into their stupor, their bodies sinking into the stained mattress, their hands entwined like they were sharing some dark, twisted secret only they could understand.
His mother's head lolled back, eyes half-closed, and she whispered something Severus couldn't make out, something soft and sweet. And his father, that cruel, hardened man, had smiled — an expression so alien on his face that it made Severus's skin crawl. They were at peace, for once. United in their shared escape from the misery they had built around them.
Severus felt a hot tear slip down his cheek, and he angrily wiped it away. He knew better than to cry; he'd learned early that his tears only invited more cruelty. But the image stayed with him, haunting him. He couldn't decide which was worse — the hatred they unleashed on him daily or the sick, twisted affection they shared in those moments of self-destruction.
Severus had slipped away quietly that night, his small feet moving silently across the worn floorboards. He'd found a stale crust of bread in the kitchen and chewed it slowly, feeling the dry crumbs scratch his throat, his stomach still aching with hunger. He knew, even then, that he would have to find his own way to survive.
As he grew older, the moments between his parents remained the same. Explosive fights followed by sickly-sweet tenderness, as if their cruelty toward him was just a side effect of their love for each other. They were bound together by their addictions, by their need to hurt and heal in equal measure. Severus learned to navigate the unpredictable tides of their relationship, to stay out of the way when the air grew thick with tension, and to disappear entirely when they reached for their needles.
He found solace in the few things they couldn't take from him: his books, the whispered words of ancient spells, the flicker of magic he felt in his veins. The one thing that made him feel different, special, not entirely broken. But even magic had its limits. It couldn't erase the ache of his empty stomach or the bruises on his skin or the cold, gnawing loneliness that had taken root in his heart.
When he was eleven, he had found a friend and an escape. Lily was a beauty, bright and full of life, with her fiery red hair and green eyes that sparkled like jewels. She seemed to belong to a world so different from his own — a world of warmth and light. He often wondered how someone like her could want to be friends with someone like him.
Lily was everything Severus was not: cheerful, confident, kind. She lived in a house with a loving family, a father who hugged her, and a mother who tucked her in at night. He'd seen it himself — the way her parents looked at her with genuine affection, not like a burden or a mistake. She had a sister, too, who might have been cold to her, but at least Lily was never truly alone. To Severus, it was like something out of a fairy tale.
But somehow, she saw something in him, something worth befriending. Maybe it was his magic, a secret they had discovered together by accident in the playground when he had made the swing ropes dance without touching them, making her laugh with a delight he had never seen before. Or perhaps she sensed the darkness in him and, in her boundless optimism, believed she could chase it away.
She would laugh at his jokes, listen to his stories, and even bring him sandwiches from home when she noticed he often had none. She made him feel... human, like he was more than the unwanted son of Eileen and Tobias Snape. With Lily, he felt seen, felt real.
For a while, she was his light, his reason to hope. He'd look forward to the moments they could steal away, hiding behind trees or running down to the river, where they would talk about magic, share secrets, and dream about the future. It was during one of those moments that he had told her about Hogwarts, the magical school he had read about in his mother's old books, his voice filled with excitement he could barely contain. He remembered the way her eyes had widened, the smile that spread across her face.
Hogwarts was their shared dream, their escape plan. For once, Severus felt he had something to look forward to, a place where he could be himself, where maybe he wouldn't have to hide or be afraid. A place where he wouldn't just be Eileen and Tobias's son, the boy with the bruises and scars. He clung to that dream like a lifeline, counting the days until they would be on that train together, leaving behind the misery of Spinner's End.
But reality had a cruel way of shattering dreams.
Hogwarts was not the sanctuary Severus had hoped for. It was a place where old wounds were reopened and new scars formed. It was where he quickly realized that Lily Evans was not just his friend, but also a target for the jealousy and disdain of others. She was sorted into Gryffindor, and he into Slytherin — a chasm that seemed to widen with every passing day. Her laughter, once so freely given, became scarce, replaced by worried glances and whispered warnings.
And then there were the Marauders: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. They made it their mission to make his life miserable, their taunts and pranks following him like a shadow, always waiting for him around every corner. Severus could never understand what he had done to earn their hatred, why they seemed to relish in his suffering. Maybe it was because he was poor, because he was different, or maybe just because they could.
The worst part was that they didn't see him as human, either. To them, he was nothing but "Snivellus," a joke, a nobody, someone to step on to feel taller. And Lily, for all her kindness, for all her friendship, seemed to drift further away, caught up in her new life, in new friends who didn't know his darkness, who didn't see the shadows under his eyes or the bruises on his arms.
At first, she tried to defend him, to stand by him, but slowly, she too began to change. She laughed at James's jokes, even the ones made at Severus's expense, and started spending less time in the library with him and more time at the Gryffindor table. He would see her in the corridors, always surrounded by others, always with a smile that wasn't for him anymore.
He felt the sting of abandonment, sharper than any of the blows he'd ever received at home. He would watch from the shadows, his heart twisting painfully whenever she looked at him with that mixture of pity and frustration, as if she didn't know what to do with him anymore.
One day, after another humiliating encounter with the Marauders, she pulled him aside, her expression strained. "Sev, why can't you just... let it go?" she had pleaded, her green eyes wide with something he couldn't quite place — pity, perhaps, or disgust. "Why do you have to make it so hard? Why do you have to...pick fights with them?"
He had stared at her, stunned, feeling a cold wave of disbelief wash over him. "Because they hate me, Lily!" he had spat, his voice louder than he intended. "Because they won't stop, no matter what I do! And now... now you're one of them."
Her face had crumpled, her lip trembling. "I'm not like them, Sev. I'm your friend. But you — you keep pushing everyone away, even me."
And there it was, the sharp, biting truth. He was losing her. He was losing his only friend, the one person who had made him believe he could be more than the darkness that surrounded him.
That night, as he lay in his cold dormitory bed, he felt the old ache in his back flare up again, the scars throbbing with the same pain that had been stuck with him from the tender age of 3. He felt the urge to just jump, to jump from the highest point, to escape it all. But instead, he stayed still, the weight of reality settling on his chest like a heavy stone.
He was losing her. And without her... he was losing himself.
Severus closed his eyes, feeling tears slip down his cheeks. He had once believed that pain was the only thing he could count on. But now, he wasn't so sure. Now, he knew there was something even worse than pain.
It was hope. Hope had slipped through his fingers like sand, leaving him with nothing but empty hands and a broken heart.
Pain may be a bitch...but hope?
Hope was a killer.