Fic Post: Snapeshots
Nov. 18th, 2005 11:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gwendolyngraceA while back I posted in my LJ with the first three of what have turned out to be a series of thirty little vignettes on Snape. They are all drabbles or double-drabbles (i.e., exactly 100 or 200 words each) and they are my take on the new, canonical Snape we're given in HBP. (SPOILERS for HBP, of course.)
I'm pretty happy with how they came out. The challenge was fun in and of itself, to tell the beginning of his story in drabbles. I have a sneaking suspicion this Snape has more to say, but I want to leave him here for now.
Anyway, enjoy.
Title: Snapeshots
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gwendolyngrace
Rating: PG to PG-13
Spoilers: All books
Category: Genfic
Wordcount: 4100
Summary: Portraits of the Death Eater as a young man.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. Characters belong to JK Rowling.
Archive: Please ask, but generally yes.
Feedback: is my drug of choice.
I.
Bugger Beltaine, Tobias thought. And everything to do with it.
It had been Midsummer’s afore Eileen knew for certain, and then Lammastide afore she told him. Married quickly, in time for Samhain. Then it were a busy Yule season, with the baby coming only three days past twelfth night. Born in a blizzard, to boot. Eileen had wrapped two cloaks ‘round herself to keep them both warm on the way home.
Two bloody weeks twixt Christmas and the boy’s birthday. Tobias scowled, knowing where his holiday bonus were bound to go each year. Fatherhood was bloody going to kill him.
II.
It happened first when he were four. Mam was out, Da had worked overnight and was asleep in their big bed, and he was thirsty. He went to the kitchen, pulled open the icebox door with both hands and peered inside, but the milk jug was empty. The only other drinks were the tall glass bottles, but they were for Da only. He shut the door. He couldn’t reach the water pump by himself, and he oughtn’t wake Da. He returned to the icebox. Gingerly, he picked up a bottle. It were cold to the touch. As he brought it out, the glass frosted. He peered at the golden liquid inside. Juice, mayhap? He frowned at the bottle, unsure how to open it. The cap popped off and clattered to the floor. Severus gasped. It smelled like sour apples. He tipped it up carefully for a taste. Then he drank the whole thing down.
He cowered in the corner while they rowed. What angered Da more than anything, apparently, was that all the bottles now held apple juice, when they hadn’t before. What pleased Mam, though she wouldn’t say it where Da could hear, was that he had done magic.
III.
Books were safe, to ask for. Books from Mam’s side even had moving pictures in. Gran Snape always sent a jumper for Christmas, and trousers or summat else for birthday, so there were no point expecting anything else. Three year ago, he had asked for a broom, but the look on his mam’s face told him he wouldn’t get one.
But this year, he would be eight, so mayhap. He waited until she asked. But the look returned.
‘Not … not with anything else,’ he added quickly. ‘Mayhap … just that. For both?’
She sank onto the edge of his little bed. ‘Severus … isn’t there anything else you want?’
He shrugged.
‘I’ll have to ask your father,’ she said softly.
‘Won’t understand,’ Severus muttered almost before he thought the words fully. He regretted it instantly. She just shook her head.
‘He will. It’s just … brooms are expensive, love. And … nowhere ’round here’s safe to fly it.’
He nodded like he’d known this already. She tucked his covers around him nervously and affected a smile. ‘We’ll see,’ she told him, kissing him goodnight.
They gave him a bicycle. His da thought he’d cried happy tears. He didn’t argue.
IV.
Life got much worse after the mill laid off 100 workers, including his father. He got work at the pub, meaning he came home in the early hours, stinking of alcohol. Mam could think most of it was spilt if she wanted. But other people’s pints wouldn’t make Da near so mean; only his own did that. At first she waited up for him; then she thought he’d go straight to bed if she were asleep when he came in. Severus could hear him climb the stairs each night, stumbling, but snapping his leather belt, looking for someone to blame.
V.
Given the choice, he’d take all the books away. Eileen assured him they were good for the boy, but he’d rather see him outside, playing with other boys. Normal boys. Whatever were supposed to be normal, even for wizards, he were certain his ... son ... wasn’t it. So Tobias stayed at the pub, forgetting, working for his drinks, until Mick sent him home. But walking back, that’s when memory reminded him. His son hated him, hated everything about him. And it made sense, in his fog, to beat the ingratitude out of the boy. Only morning made him sorry.
VI.
He had never been on a train until they went to London for his eleventh birthday. His mam took him to Diagon Alley and bought him his own wand, a real Ollivander wand. They looked in the window of Flourish and Blotts, but she took his hand and led him away to a used bookstore. While she talked to the manager about healingcraft, Severus wandered down the aisles and found ... an answer. Vindictus Viridian’s guide to Curses and Counter-curses left the bookshop concealed in the lining of his coat, where the breast pocket seam had torn the year before.
VII.
If Severus was happy to go to Hogwarts, Eileen was overjoyed for him. She feared for him there, of course - but the way Toby was going, she feared more for him to stay. She even considered owling her parents to ask if Severus could spend the summer in Sheffield with them. Doing so might upset her uneasy peace with the Prince family, however. Perhaps with Severus gone for several months, Toby would improve. His chief complaint was that the boy made him feel ignorant, inadequate. Thankfully, he stopped short of saying his son frightened him. She knew it, anyway.
VIII.
Dear Mam,
Hogwarts is everything you said it’d be. I guess you know by now I’m in Slytherin. It sounded the best, anyway, so I’m glad. The beds have curtains! And our common room is a dungeon. There are four other boys in my dormitory, but I’m already friends with some older students, including the Head Boy (also a Slytherin). His name’s Malfoy, and he’s brilliant! Yes, I’m eating vegetables. No, I’m not going for the Gobstones club. Don’t worry, I shan’t try for Quidditch - we can’t anyway until next year.
Anyway, I’m fine, so don’t fret.
Love,
Severus
IX.
Slughorn noticed him, naturally. But while he showed promise, the lank-haired, sullen boy came of no blood and possessed no social skills. Thus far, the only credit to his name had come when Bellatrix Black tried to hex him their first night in the common room. According to Lucius, he had reacted instinctively, backing her into a corner with a stream of jinxes. In the face of such obvious training, no one seemed to mind that his name meant nothing. Perhaps, if his other marks were high, he might be worth grooming. Perhaps. But then there were disturbing signs, too.
Such as sleeping with his wand under his pillow. Rosier confirmed this; he had tried to rouse Snape one morning. Snape had lashed out with a spell almost before waking. Lucius took him under his wing, and the others followed Lucius’s lead, but already he was developing a reputation - powerful, to be sure, but odd, gravely studious, and coiled with anger. More than cauldrons bubbled in Potions lessons - an intense rivalry was brewing between himself and Sirius Black, fueled, doubtless, by Bellatrix and possibly Narcissa, too. Slughorn sighed. He would have to keep an eye on this one.
X.
‘Psst. Put your powdered bicorn in before the armadillo bile.’
‘Thanks.’ Lupin scraped up the powder and sprinkled it into his cauldron.
‘Oi, Snape, this potion looks about as slimy as your hair.’
‘Shut it, Black.’
‘Do you always use armadillo bile for shampoo? Or did you do it special for Evans?’
‘Leave me out of this, Potter.’
‘Not so cocky without your upper-form friends, are you, Snivellus?’
‘Say, Black, do you wet the bed here, too, or is that just at home?’
‘You--’
‘Quiet,’ Slughorn threatened without looking up from his stack of essays.
‘Later,’ Potter promised Black.
XI.
Slughorn pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘What jinx, exactly, was that again?’
Severus bit his lip. ‘Convolvolus, sir,’ he mumbled.
‘That’s quite advanced, Snape.’ He sounded impressed, though trying to be stern.
‘I suppose, sir.’
‘Well, I don’t want you to think you can go about hexing anyone who teases you. Bound to be difficult, of course, with ... with your ... challenges, but just exercise some restraint, in future.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell Lucius to bring you along, next time I have a little meeting.’
‘Yes, sir!’ With a little more colour in his cheeks, Snape looked up, smiling.
XII.
Severus Snape was unquestionably the gawkiest kid Lucius had ever seen in Slytherin. One expected these things in Ravenclaw, but in Slytherin, it bordered on embarrassing. Fortunately, the little freak also knew a wealth of deliciously horrible curses, some of which Lucius suspected he might have invented. Bellatrix complained, loudly, that he wasn’t cool enough to be allowed; but Dolph Lestrange found him amusing, and Avery and Rosier reported that he could be useful down the line. Anyway, Lucius suspected Bella’s real problem was that Snape was too capable, and anyone who threatened Bella was rather entertaining to keep around.
XIII.
Dear Severus,
I’m glad to hear that you’re fitting in so well at school. Yes, there were some Blacks and a Potter or two when I was there, but I’m surprised they’re both in Gryffindor. Usually the Blacks are in Slytherin. I’m also very pleased that you say Professor Slughorn likes you. I was never invited to his club, of course, but he’s supposedly very influential, and as he’s head of your House, too, he could be a great help to you later. Provided you stay out of trouble, that is! I had an owl from him about that hex. Where did you learn it - from the library? Or is it those older friends of yours teaching you? Don’t let them pressure you into learning dark magic. I’ve heard things about the Malfoys.
Your uncle invited me down to London for a short stay, and while your father can’t go, due to work, I could use the time away. So if you won’t be too lonely, I think perhaps you should stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. I’ve owled Professor Slughorn about it and he assures me it’ll be fine.
Take care of yourself. Eat vegetables.
Love,
Mummy
XIV.
Rosier and Avery stayed over Christmas, but Malfoy, the Lestranges, and all the Blacks went home. Wilkes, a Hufflepuff third-year, told Lucius he’d look after the first-year Slytherins. At least Potter and Black were gone. Christmas at Hogwarts wasn’t half bad, Severus thought, with the fire crackling in the common room and practically the whole library at his disposal. Professor Slughorn gave him access to the Potions classroom, so he could practise his Illusion Emulsion. Rosier asked why he’d want to work over break. ‘Because ... I’m going to beat that Mudblood, Evans,’ Severus told him, instinctively hiding his own bloodline.
XV.
Owls found him with his presents: a few new quills, a book on Paracelsus, a new jumper (sleeveless, and too big) plus a couple shirts (also too big), and a small cake. He buried the Muggle clothes in his trunk and read the book in three days, despite classes. His notes from the break helped him produce an Emulsion that Slughorn called perfect. Potter tried to hex him for his success, but he expected that and left Potter with a nose that would not stop dripping. Lucius invited him to sit with the older students at meals. Life was good.
XVI.
Black and Potter ambushed him coming out of Herbology. They vanished his cloak and conjured a snowman around him, so he couldn’t reach his wand to melt the snow. By the time he fought his way out of the snow coffin, he had missed Charms entirely and was more than ten minutes late for History of Magic. Unfortunately, Professor Binns took no notice of his dripping robes and would hear no explanation; fortunately, he deducted only five points from Slytherin for tardiness. Overnight, he developed a beastly cold that Pepper-Up barely touched. No sign of his cloak, either. Bugger February.
XVII.
To Rosier’s knowledge, Snape has never changed clothes in front of another wizard. He has never seen Snape bathe, though Medford swears he has seen him return to the dormitory with dripping hair. So the general agreement is that he must do, occasionally - at least as often as he brushes his teeth. Admittedly, he could do both more frequently. But there is an unspoken etiquette in the dorm: ‘I am not my roommate’s keeper.’ Nevertheless, each night, Snape shuts his curtains while still clothed, there is a rustling and the creak of bedsprings, and then long, thin fingers place the empty robes atop his trunk at the foot of the bed. Most mornings, he must rise ahead of everyone, for he is usually returning from the bathroom, nightshirt balled up with his toiletry kit, by the time Rosier is groping for fresh socks. Rosier adds this to Snape’s lexicon of curses, and the hand he curls around his wand in sleep, and reaches his own conclusions. He keeps his guesses to himself. He wonders if there’s any way he could drop Snape a hint how strange it makes him, but decides against offering advice. It’s his own problem, really.
XVIII.
Slughorn’s club was rather exciting, if you kept from saying or doing anything stupid. Evans was there, naturally, but so long as she didn’t attempt to be ‘nice’, he could stand it. Avery called her an upstart, which just proved Severus was right to conceal his father from them.
He generally haunted the edges of the club, watching, listening, but not calling attention to himself. Lucius’s shadow. Would he get invitations next year, too? Of course; Slughorn constantly compared his and Evans’ work in Potions now, calling them top students, and he was in the professor’s own house. Why not?
XIX.
There was no owl telling him not to come home over Easter, but he stayed at Hogwarts anyway. Nott, Wilkes, and Lucius kept him close now, often asking for hexes or obscure facts about dark spells he had researched. Lucius spoke of finishing his N.E.W.T. courses and assuming the family interests. His sly glances at Severus implied that there might be a future for him working for a Malfoy enterprise. Severus longed to please him, and secretly loathed the day Lucius would leave Hogwarts forever. The Head Boy offered a sort of protection that he knew would disappear with him.
XX.
Exams took precedence over nearly everything else after the holiday. Black and Potter’s taunts paled compared to revising. He stuck close to the common room and the library. Only invitations to a more private club than Slughorn’s made him pause from his books and notes. Lucius, Bellatrix, and Rodolphus Lestrange valued his extensive knowledge of curses enough to include him in certain late-night raids on the Restricted Section. Later in the common room, they would judiciously, cautiously, test their discoveries. Next year, he was sure, whether or not his friends were around, he would be prepared for the Gryffindor menaces.
XXI.
His mother met him at the train, but they didn’t immediately hop onto one heading home. A wandtap to his trunk shrank it enough for the Tube. ‘We’re staying with Uncle Erasmus for a few days before going home,’ she said as they emerged onto the London streets.
‘Da’s getting worse, then?’ Severus asked acerbically.
Eileen stopped dead, tugged roughly on his arm to pull him back. ‘Not a word about your da, do you hear me? Not a word. I shan’t have you making him out a monster. Anyway, no, he’s fine, praise Merlin.’ She tugged again and they walked on.
Erasmus Prince could have been Eileen’s father instead of her half-brother. Nearly twenty years separated them. Severus grew nervous under his slitted, suspicious stare, so like Grandfather’s. Supper was more like a catechism than a meal, with him at table.
Next morning, Eileen wasn’t to be found in the flat. When Severus asked, Uncle Erasmus remarked that surely he had homework for the summer, and suggested an early start. Thus dismissed, Severus went to his uncle’s library, doubling as his room. When he heard his mother return several hours later, he decided he didn’t care where she’d been.
XXII.
That first summer were probably the worst. He were surprised how small the town felt, now, how much odder the others thought him. They only wanted to ride bicycles and play football. He returned, again, to books. Books didn’t look slantwise at a body, anyway.
Reading indoors were safe enough by day, but round six, he would wander through the alley into the neighbourhood, seeking a quiet place to hide until dusk drove him back to the house. Despite Mam’s assurances, he could tell by looking that the less time he and Da spent in the same room, the better.
XXIII.
Black and Potter seemed determined to prove that without Malfoy, Severus had no protection. It started on the train with a plot to dump out his bookbag in the corridor. He countered by cursing Potter’s Standard Book of Spells to bite him whenever opened.
Strike: they sealed him into a bathroom cubicle with a spell.
Counterstrike: he switched Black’s scarab beetles for sylphids, earning Black a detention for blowing up his desk.
Strike.
Counterstrike.
Attack.
Retaliation.
There was an odd comfort in the pattern, if no satisfaction. Escalation was inevitable. The only question was who would go too far first.
XXIV.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions….
Bugger all. Bloody detention.
XXV.
A week before Christmas holidays, Professor Slughorn fetches Snape from Transfiguration.
Packing up, Severus wonders whether they know he replaced Potter’s broom polish with time-released boot-black. They walk, not to Slughorn’s office, but to the Headmaster’s.
‘Please, sit down,’ Professor Dumbledore says wearily. He recognises this tone.
‘They’re lying,’ he says sharply.
‘What?’ both Professors say in unison.
‘Potter … Black ….’
Professor Dumbledore chuckles. ‘No … this has nothing to do with your rivals, Severus. Your uncle owled. You’re to go to London straight away.’
The bottom drops out of Severus’s stomach. Expelled? Breath quickens, lip trembles. He must not blubber. ‘What have I done, sir?’ His voice squeaks embarrassingly.
‘Nothing we know of …?’ the Headmaster answers, eyebrow raised, then sighs. ‘I’m sorry, Severus. I thought you would know … that is, I think someone in your family should be the one to tell you.’
He looks from one to the other. ‘Tell me what?’ Curiosity supplants fear. ‘Has something … is it Da?’ He scowls hearing the words, how uncultured they must sound to these important men.
‘Don’t leave him hanging, Albus.’ Professor Slughorn sits heavily. ‘Severus, m’boy … your mother’s ailing.’
Nothing makes sense after that.
XXVI.
A sea of black robes. Severus never appreciated the phrase before the funeral. Mam died at St. Mungo’s, but would be buried in Da’s family plot. Da and Gran Snape in her ‘wheeled-chair’ headed the reception line, Uncle Erasmus and Severus's Grandparents Prince last, Severus bridging the gap. Severus edged closer to Erasmus to escape the smell of mothballs from his grandmother’s shawl.
Later, he overheard two witches muttering under the small talk: ‘Surprised about the burial, is all. It’s on account of the boy, is it?’
‘Boy? Which boy, Hettie?’
‘The boy, Ursula, don’t be daft: that half-blood Prince.’
XXVII.
‘Out of the question,’ Erasmus says flatly. ‘Had I wanted children, I would have married.’ He is too tired to play host to Tobias’s pleas. ‘Father already turned you down, I take it?’
Tobias nods. Amazingly, he has not touched liquor since learning of Eileen’s illness. He wonders how long it will last. ‘Aye, I tried, but … there’s summat moody about the boy. Smeggin’ ’ell, I’ve never known what to do with him. He should be with his own kind.’
‘Living here would not solve that,’ Erasmus snaps before he can stop himself.
Muscles twitch in Tobias’s jaw. He bites back comments about one bastard raising another; remembers that he needs this favour. This isn’t his first encounter with Prince pride. No reason to stir the pot. ‘You’re closer than I am, mate,’ he manages finally.
Erasmus crosses his arms, forming a response. Tobias presses on, ‘It would only be over summers, right? I’ll … I’ll take him for Christmas, if you like. Mayhap your father would … or he could stay at school, holidays; Eileen said--’ his voice catches unexpectedly.
‘Merlin! You’re his father, Snape!’ Erasmus sneers. ‘Act like it.’
He’s right. Tobias knows he can’t argue.
XXVIII.
Severus had crept down from the library to listen. On the train north, he grabbed a chance to bring his uncle ’round.
‘I’ve been thinking, and … well, with Diagon Alley, and the trains, and … and your library, and all ….’
Erasmus’s eyebrows jumped. ‘Did your … has Tobias talked to you?’
‘No,’ Severus told him smoothly. ‘I just … I’d rather live with wizards.’
Erasmus leaned forward, head in his hands. ‘You belong with your father, Severus.’
‘No, I don’t--see--’
‘Severus,’ Erasmus cut him off, ‘it’s not possible. My father is too old to look after a child, and I--’
‘I’m not a child!’
‘You most certainly are a child, Severus, and your insolence proves it!’ Erasmus whispered dangerously. ‘And I do not have the temperament, as I have just proved,’ he concluded, slumping back in the seat.
A few seconds later, Erasmus said, grudgingly, ‘It happens that your father and I spoke about many things last night. I have agreed to accompany you to Diagon Alley and to King’s Cross Station each year. It will be easier for all concerned, I believe. It’s not ideal, I know. But that’s the way it must be.’
XXIX.
Severus had no idea what to expect for Christmas that year. He wasn’t sure he wanted anything to commemorate the season. But two days before Christmas Eve, he decided it didn’t really matter.
His father knocked on his bedroom door and entered, carrying a heavy box. Tobias wrestled with an open flap as he sat and put the box down on the floor awkwardly.
‘Found summat I thought you might like,’ he mumbled. ‘Your mam’s old school things. Her books and the like.’ He frowned appreciatively and nodded to himself, staring at the box. ‘She’d have drug it out, but … seems to me you may as well have them all now.’
Severus stared at the box, too, and said nothing.
Then his father said: ‘I know I can’t … I don’t understand about spells and wands and all. But I hope … I mean to say, this is your home, Severus. Like it or not, we have to do for each other, now.’ His voice was unsteady, his eyes stayed fixed on the cardboard box.
They sat in silence. His father seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but Severus couldn’t think of anything right to say.
XXX.
Alone, he dug through the box: books, a gobstone sack, remnants of Mam’s life before she’d met his father. Before the “mistake,” he thought bitterly. The events of his mother’s death had solved some puzzles Severus had never quite understood. Why had Mam been afraid of Grandfather Prince? Why were their visits so infrequent? Why did his father hate him? He thought of the two biddies at the funeral parlour. They certainly had no trouble naming the source of family friction.
He’d show them. If he applied himself the right way, doors would open. Wilkes and Avery ran the secret meetings now. He’d learn Legilimency, Occlumency, any dark art he could, make himself indispensible. His friends whispered of a man cautiously gaining a toehold on the wizarding world. If he continued to hoodwink them, perhaps he’d become invaluable there, too. And when they exalted him above all, then, he’d show them what mixed blood could do.
Comforted, he picked up Advanced Potion Making. Slughorn had issued no invitations this year, but so what? Slughorn was a fool. An idea formed. Severus snorted at the irony and, feeling rebellious, inscribed the back: This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.
Finis
I'm pretty happy with how they came out. The challenge was fun in and of itself, to tell the beginning of his story in drabbles. I have a sneaking suspicion this Snape has more to say, but I want to leave him here for now.
Anyway, enjoy.
Title: Snapeshots
Author:
gwendolyngraceRating: PG to PG-13
Spoilers: All books
Category: Genfic
Wordcount: 4100
Summary: Portraits of the Death Eater as a young man.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. Characters belong to JK Rowling.
Archive: Please ask, but generally yes.
Feedback: is my drug of choice.
I.
Bugger Beltaine, Tobias thought. And everything to do with it.
It had been Midsummer’s afore Eileen knew for certain, and then Lammastide afore she told him. Married quickly, in time for Samhain. Then it were a busy Yule season, with the baby coming only three days past twelfth night. Born in a blizzard, to boot. Eileen had wrapped two cloaks ‘round herself to keep them both warm on the way home.
Two bloody weeks twixt Christmas and the boy’s birthday. Tobias scowled, knowing where his holiday bonus were bound to go each year. Fatherhood was bloody going to kill him.
II.
It happened first when he were four. Mam was out, Da had worked overnight and was asleep in their big bed, and he was thirsty. He went to the kitchen, pulled open the icebox door with both hands and peered inside, but the milk jug was empty. The only other drinks were the tall glass bottles, but they were for Da only. He shut the door. He couldn’t reach the water pump by himself, and he oughtn’t wake Da. He returned to the icebox. Gingerly, he picked up a bottle. It were cold to the touch. As he brought it out, the glass frosted. He peered at the golden liquid inside. Juice, mayhap? He frowned at the bottle, unsure how to open it. The cap popped off and clattered to the floor. Severus gasped. It smelled like sour apples. He tipped it up carefully for a taste. Then he drank the whole thing down.
He cowered in the corner while they rowed. What angered Da more than anything, apparently, was that all the bottles now held apple juice, when they hadn’t before. What pleased Mam, though she wouldn’t say it where Da could hear, was that he had done magic.
III.
Books were safe, to ask for. Books from Mam’s side even had moving pictures in. Gran Snape always sent a jumper for Christmas, and trousers or summat else for birthday, so there were no point expecting anything else. Three year ago, he had asked for a broom, but the look on his mam’s face told him he wouldn’t get one.
But this year, he would be eight, so mayhap. He waited until she asked. But the look returned.
‘Not … not with anything else,’ he added quickly. ‘Mayhap … just that. For both?’
She sank onto the edge of his little bed. ‘Severus … isn’t there anything else you want?’
He shrugged.
‘I’ll have to ask your father,’ she said softly.
‘Won’t understand,’ Severus muttered almost before he thought the words fully. He regretted it instantly. She just shook her head.
‘He will. It’s just … brooms are expensive, love. And … nowhere ’round here’s safe to fly it.’
He nodded like he’d known this already. She tucked his covers around him nervously and affected a smile. ‘We’ll see,’ she told him, kissing him goodnight.
They gave him a bicycle. His da thought he’d cried happy tears. He didn’t argue.
IV.
Life got much worse after the mill laid off 100 workers, including his father. He got work at the pub, meaning he came home in the early hours, stinking of alcohol. Mam could think most of it was spilt if she wanted. But other people’s pints wouldn’t make Da near so mean; only his own did that. At first she waited up for him; then she thought he’d go straight to bed if she were asleep when he came in. Severus could hear him climb the stairs each night, stumbling, but snapping his leather belt, looking for someone to blame.
V.
Given the choice, he’d take all the books away. Eileen assured him they were good for the boy, but he’d rather see him outside, playing with other boys. Normal boys. Whatever were supposed to be normal, even for wizards, he were certain his ... son ... wasn’t it. So Tobias stayed at the pub, forgetting, working for his drinks, until Mick sent him home. But walking back, that’s when memory reminded him. His son hated him, hated everything about him. And it made sense, in his fog, to beat the ingratitude out of the boy. Only morning made him sorry.
VI.
He had never been on a train until they went to London for his eleventh birthday. His mam took him to Diagon Alley and bought him his own wand, a real Ollivander wand. They looked in the window of Flourish and Blotts, but she took his hand and led him away to a used bookstore. While she talked to the manager about healingcraft, Severus wandered down the aisles and found ... an answer. Vindictus Viridian’s guide to Curses and Counter-curses left the bookshop concealed in the lining of his coat, where the breast pocket seam had torn the year before.
VII.
If Severus was happy to go to Hogwarts, Eileen was overjoyed for him. She feared for him there, of course - but the way Toby was going, she feared more for him to stay. She even considered owling her parents to ask if Severus could spend the summer in Sheffield with them. Doing so might upset her uneasy peace with the Prince family, however. Perhaps with Severus gone for several months, Toby would improve. His chief complaint was that the boy made him feel ignorant, inadequate. Thankfully, he stopped short of saying his son frightened him. She knew it, anyway.
VIII.
Dear Mam,
Hogwarts is everything you said it’d be. I guess you know by now I’m in Slytherin. It sounded the best, anyway, so I’m glad. The beds have curtains! And our common room is a dungeon. There are four other boys in my dormitory, but I’m already friends with some older students, including the Head Boy (also a Slytherin). His name’s Malfoy, and he’s brilliant! Yes, I’m eating vegetables. No, I’m not going for the Gobstones club. Don’t worry, I shan’t try for Quidditch - we can’t anyway until next year.
Anyway, I’m fine, so don’t fret.
Love,
Severus
IX.
Slughorn noticed him, naturally. But while he showed promise, the lank-haired, sullen boy came of no blood and possessed no social skills. Thus far, the only credit to his name had come when Bellatrix Black tried to hex him their first night in the common room. According to Lucius, he had reacted instinctively, backing her into a corner with a stream of jinxes. In the face of such obvious training, no one seemed to mind that his name meant nothing. Perhaps, if his other marks were high, he might be worth grooming. Perhaps. But then there were disturbing signs, too.
Such as sleeping with his wand under his pillow. Rosier confirmed this; he had tried to rouse Snape one morning. Snape had lashed out with a spell almost before waking. Lucius took him under his wing, and the others followed Lucius’s lead, but already he was developing a reputation - powerful, to be sure, but odd, gravely studious, and coiled with anger. More than cauldrons bubbled in Potions lessons - an intense rivalry was brewing between himself and Sirius Black, fueled, doubtless, by Bellatrix and possibly Narcissa, too. Slughorn sighed. He would have to keep an eye on this one.
X.
‘Psst. Put your powdered bicorn in before the armadillo bile.’
‘Thanks.’ Lupin scraped up the powder and sprinkled it into his cauldron.
‘Oi, Snape, this potion looks about as slimy as your hair.’
‘Shut it, Black.’
‘Do you always use armadillo bile for shampoo? Or did you do it special for Evans?’
‘Leave me out of this, Potter.’
‘Not so cocky without your upper-form friends, are you, Snivellus?’
‘Say, Black, do you wet the bed here, too, or is that just at home?’
‘You--’
‘Quiet,’ Slughorn threatened without looking up from his stack of essays.
‘Later,’ Potter promised Black.
XI.
Slughorn pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘What jinx, exactly, was that again?’
Severus bit his lip. ‘Convolvolus, sir,’ he mumbled.
‘That’s quite advanced, Snape.’ He sounded impressed, though trying to be stern.
‘I suppose, sir.’
‘Well, I don’t want you to think you can go about hexing anyone who teases you. Bound to be difficult, of course, with ... with your ... challenges, but just exercise some restraint, in future.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell Lucius to bring you along, next time I have a little meeting.’
‘Yes, sir!’ With a little more colour in his cheeks, Snape looked up, smiling.
XII.
Severus Snape was unquestionably the gawkiest kid Lucius had ever seen in Slytherin. One expected these things in Ravenclaw, but in Slytherin, it bordered on embarrassing. Fortunately, the little freak also knew a wealth of deliciously horrible curses, some of which Lucius suspected he might have invented. Bellatrix complained, loudly, that he wasn’t cool enough to be allowed; but Dolph Lestrange found him amusing, and Avery and Rosier reported that he could be useful down the line. Anyway, Lucius suspected Bella’s real problem was that Snape was too capable, and anyone who threatened Bella was rather entertaining to keep around.
XIII.
Dear Severus,
I’m glad to hear that you’re fitting in so well at school. Yes, there were some Blacks and a Potter or two when I was there, but I’m surprised they’re both in Gryffindor. Usually the Blacks are in Slytherin. I’m also very pleased that you say Professor Slughorn likes you. I was never invited to his club, of course, but he’s supposedly very influential, and as he’s head of your House, too, he could be a great help to you later. Provided you stay out of trouble, that is! I had an owl from him about that hex. Where did you learn it - from the library? Or is it those older friends of yours teaching you? Don’t let them pressure you into learning dark magic. I’ve heard things about the Malfoys.
Your uncle invited me down to London for a short stay, and while your father can’t go, due to work, I could use the time away. So if you won’t be too lonely, I think perhaps you should stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. I’ve owled Professor Slughorn about it and he assures me it’ll be fine.
Take care of yourself. Eat vegetables.
Love,
Mummy
XIV.
Rosier and Avery stayed over Christmas, but Malfoy, the Lestranges, and all the Blacks went home. Wilkes, a Hufflepuff third-year, told Lucius he’d look after the first-year Slytherins. At least Potter and Black were gone. Christmas at Hogwarts wasn’t half bad, Severus thought, with the fire crackling in the common room and practically the whole library at his disposal. Professor Slughorn gave him access to the Potions classroom, so he could practise his Illusion Emulsion. Rosier asked why he’d want to work over break. ‘Because ... I’m going to beat that Mudblood, Evans,’ Severus told him, instinctively hiding his own bloodline.
XV.
Owls found him with his presents: a few new quills, a book on Paracelsus, a new jumper (sleeveless, and too big) plus a couple shirts (also too big), and a small cake. He buried the Muggle clothes in his trunk and read the book in three days, despite classes. His notes from the break helped him produce an Emulsion that Slughorn called perfect. Potter tried to hex him for his success, but he expected that and left Potter with a nose that would not stop dripping. Lucius invited him to sit with the older students at meals. Life was good.
XVI.
Black and Potter ambushed him coming out of Herbology. They vanished his cloak and conjured a snowman around him, so he couldn’t reach his wand to melt the snow. By the time he fought his way out of the snow coffin, he had missed Charms entirely and was more than ten minutes late for History of Magic. Unfortunately, Professor Binns took no notice of his dripping robes and would hear no explanation; fortunately, he deducted only five points from Slytherin for tardiness. Overnight, he developed a beastly cold that Pepper-Up barely touched. No sign of his cloak, either. Bugger February.
XVII.
To Rosier’s knowledge, Snape has never changed clothes in front of another wizard. He has never seen Snape bathe, though Medford swears he has seen him return to the dormitory with dripping hair. So the general agreement is that he must do, occasionally - at least as often as he brushes his teeth. Admittedly, he could do both more frequently. But there is an unspoken etiquette in the dorm: ‘I am not my roommate’s keeper.’ Nevertheless, each night, Snape shuts his curtains while still clothed, there is a rustling and the creak of bedsprings, and then long, thin fingers place the empty robes atop his trunk at the foot of the bed. Most mornings, he must rise ahead of everyone, for he is usually returning from the bathroom, nightshirt balled up with his toiletry kit, by the time Rosier is groping for fresh socks. Rosier adds this to Snape’s lexicon of curses, and the hand he curls around his wand in sleep, and reaches his own conclusions. He keeps his guesses to himself. He wonders if there’s any way he could drop Snape a hint how strange it makes him, but decides against offering advice. It’s his own problem, really.
XVIII.
Slughorn’s club was rather exciting, if you kept from saying or doing anything stupid. Evans was there, naturally, but so long as she didn’t attempt to be ‘nice’, he could stand it. Avery called her an upstart, which just proved Severus was right to conceal his father from them.
He generally haunted the edges of the club, watching, listening, but not calling attention to himself. Lucius’s shadow. Would he get invitations next year, too? Of course; Slughorn constantly compared his and Evans’ work in Potions now, calling them top students, and he was in the professor’s own house. Why not?
XIX.
There was no owl telling him not to come home over Easter, but he stayed at Hogwarts anyway. Nott, Wilkes, and Lucius kept him close now, often asking for hexes or obscure facts about dark spells he had researched. Lucius spoke of finishing his N.E.W.T. courses and assuming the family interests. His sly glances at Severus implied that there might be a future for him working for a Malfoy enterprise. Severus longed to please him, and secretly loathed the day Lucius would leave Hogwarts forever. The Head Boy offered a sort of protection that he knew would disappear with him.
XX.
Exams took precedence over nearly everything else after the holiday. Black and Potter’s taunts paled compared to revising. He stuck close to the common room and the library. Only invitations to a more private club than Slughorn’s made him pause from his books and notes. Lucius, Bellatrix, and Rodolphus Lestrange valued his extensive knowledge of curses enough to include him in certain late-night raids on the Restricted Section. Later in the common room, they would judiciously, cautiously, test their discoveries. Next year, he was sure, whether or not his friends were around, he would be prepared for the Gryffindor menaces.
XXI.
His mother met him at the train, but they didn’t immediately hop onto one heading home. A wandtap to his trunk shrank it enough for the Tube. ‘We’re staying with Uncle Erasmus for a few days before going home,’ she said as they emerged onto the London streets.
‘Da’s getting worse, then?’ Severus asked acerbically.
Eileen stopped dead, tugged roughly on his arm to pull him back. ‘Not a word about your da, do you hear me? Not a word. I shan’t have you making him out a monster. Anyway, no, he’s fine, praise Merlin.’ She tugged again and they walked on.
Erasmus Prince could have been Eileen’s father instead of her half-brother. Nearly twenty years separated them. Severus grew nervous under his slitted, suspicious stare, so like Grandfather’s. Supper was more like a catechism than a meal, with him at table.
Next morning, Eileen wasn’t to be found in the flat. When Severus asked, Uncle Erasmus remarked that surely he had homework for the summer, and suggested an early start. Thus dismissed, Severus went to his uncle’s library, doubling as his room. When he heard his mother return several hours later, he decided he didn’t care where she’d been.
XXII.
That first summer were probably the worst. He were surprised how small the town felt, now, how much odder the others thought him. They only wanted to ride bicycles and play football. He returned, again, to books. Books didn’t look slantwise at a body, anyway.
Reading indoors were safe enough by day, but round six, he would wander through the alley into the neighbourhood, seeking a quiet place to hide until dusk drove him back to the house. Despite Mam’s assurances, he could tell by looking that the less time he and Da spent in the same room, the better.
XXIII.
Black and Potter seemed determined to prove that without Malfoy, Severus had no protection. It started on the train with a plot to dump out his bookbag in the corridor. He countered by cursing Potter’s Standard Book of Spells to bite him whenever opened.
Strike: they sealed him into a bathroom cubicle with a spell.
Counterstrike: he switched Black’s scarab beetles for sylphids, earning Black a detention for blowing up his desk.
Strike.
Counterstrike.
Attack.
Retaliation.
There was an odd comfort in the pattern, if no satisfaction. Escalation was inevitable. The only question was who would go too far first.
XXIV.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions.
I shall not use Mr Potter or Mr Black as unwitting subjects to test silencing solutions….
Bugger all. Bloody detention.
XXV.
A week before Christmas holidays, Professor Slughorn fetches Snape from Transfiguration.
Packing up, Severus wonders whether they know he replaced Potter’s broom polish with time-released boot-black. They walk, not to Slughorn’s office, but to the Headmaster’s.
‘Please, sit down,’ Professor Dumbledore says wearily. He recognises this tone.
‘They’re lying,’ he says sharply.
‘What?’ both Professors say in unison.
‘Potter … Black ….’
Professor Dumbledore chuckles. ‘No … this has nothing to do with your rivals, Severus. Your uncle owled. You’re to go to London straight away.’
The bottom drops out of Severus’s stomach. Expelled? Breath quickens, lip trembles. He must not blubber. ‘What have I done, sir?’ His voice squeaks embarrassingly.
‘Nothing we know of …?’ the Headmaster answers, eyebrow raised, then sighs. ‘I’m sorry, Severus. I thought you would know … that is, I think someone in your family should be the one to tell you.’
He looks from one to the other. ‘Tell me what?’ Curiosity supplants fear. ‘Has something … is it Da?’ He scowls hearing the words, how uncultured they must sound to these important men.
‘Don’t leave him hanging, Albus.’ Professor Slughorn sits heavily. ‘Severus, m’boy … your mother’s ailing.’
Nothing makes sense after that.
XXVI.
A sea of black robes. Severus never appreciated the phrase before the funeral. Mam died at St. Mungo’s, but would be buried in Da’s family plot. Da and Gran Snape in her ‘wheeled-chair’ headed the reception line, Uncle Erasmus and Severus's Grandparents Prince last, Severus bridging the gap. Severus edged closer to Erasmus to escape the smell of mothballs from his grandmother’s shawl.
Later, he overheard two witches muttering under the small talk: ‘Surprised about the burial, is all. It’s on account of the boy, is it?’
‘Boy? Which boy, Hettie?’
‘The boy, Ursula, don’t be daft: that half-blood Prince.’
XXVII.
‘Out of the question,’ Erasmus says flatly. ‘Had I wanted children, I would have married.’ He is too tired to play host to Tobias’s pleas. ‘Father already turned you down, I take it?’
Tobias nods. Amazingly, he has not touched liquor since learning of Eileen’s illness. He wonders how long it will last. ‘Aye, I tried, but … there’s summat moody about the boy. Smeggin’ ’ell, I’ve never known what to do with him. He should be with his own kind.’
‘Living here would not solve that,’ Erasmus snaps before he can stop himself.
Muscles twitch in Tobias’s jaw. He bites back comments about one bastard raising another; remembers that he needs this favour. This isn’t his first encounter with Prince pride. No reason to stir the pot. ‘You’re closer than I am, mate,’ he manages finally.
Erasmus crosses his arms, forming a response. Tobias presses on, ‘It would only be over summers, right? I’ll … I’ll take him for Christmas, if you like. Mayhap your father would … or he could stay at school, holidays; Eileen said--’ his voice catches unexpectedly.
‘Merlin! You’re his father, Snape!’ Erasmus sneers. ‘Act like it.’
He’s right. Tobias knows he can’t argue.
XXVIII.
Severus had crept down from the library to listen. On the train north, he grabbed a chance to bring his uncle ’round.
‘I’ve been thinking, and … well, with Diagon Alley, and the trains, and … and your library, and all ….’
Erasmus’s eyebrows jumped. ‘Did your … has Tobias talked to you?’
‘No,’ Severus told him smoothly. ‘I just … I’d rather live with wizards.’
Erasmus leaned forward, head in his hands. ‘You belong with your father, Severus.’
‘No, I don’t--see--’
‘Severus,’ Erasmus cut him off, ‘it’s not possible. My father is too old to look after a child, and I--’
‘I’m not a child!’
‘You most certainly are a child, Severus, and your insolence proves it!’ Erasmus whispered dangerously. ‘And I do not have the temperament, as I have just proved,’ he concluded, slumping back in the seat.
A few seconds later, Erasmus said, grudgingly, ‘It happens that your father and I spoke about many things last night. I have agreed to accompany you to Diagon Alley and to King’s Cross Station each year. It will be easier for all concerned, I believe. It’s not ideal, I know. But that’s the way it must be.’
XXIX.
Severus had no idea what to expect for Christmas that year. He wasn’t sure he wanted anything to commemorate the season. But two days before Christmas Eve, he decided it didn’t really matter.
His father knocked on his bedroom door and entered, carrying a heavy box. Tobias wrestled with an open flap as he sat and put the box down on the floor awkwardly.
‘Found summat I thought you might like,’ he mumbled. ‘Your mam’s old school things. Her books and the like.’ He frowned appreciatively and nodded to himself, staring at the box. ‘She’d have drug it out, but … seems to me you may as well have them all now.’
Severus stared at the box, too, and said nothing.
Then his father said: ‘I know I can’t … I don’t understand about spells and wands and all. But I hope … I mean to say, this is your home, Severus. Like it or not, we have to do for each other, now.’ His voice was unsteady, his eyes stayed fixed on the cardboard box.
They sat in silence. His father seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but Severus couldn’t think of anything right to say.
XXX.
Alone, he dug through the box: books, a gobstone sack, remnants of Mam’s life before she’d met his father. Before the “mistake,” he thought bitterly. The events of his mother’s death had solved some puzzles Severus had never quite understood. Why had Mam been afraid of Grandfather Prince? Why were their visits so infrequent? Why did his father hate him? He thought of the two biddies at the funeral parlour. They certainly had no trouble naming the source of family friction.
He’d show them. If he applied himself the right way, doors would open. Wilkes and Avery ran the secret meetings now. He’d learn Legilimency, Occlumency, any dark art he could, make himself indispensible. His friends whispered of a man cautiously gaining a toehold on the wizarding world. If he continued to hoodwink them, perhaps he’d become invaluable there, too. And when they exalted him above all, then, he’d show them what mixed blood could do.
Comforted, he picked up Advanced Potion Making. Slughorn had issued no invitations this year, but so what? Slughorn was a fool. An idea formed. Severus snorted at the irony and, feeling rebellious, inscribed the back: This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.
Finis
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Date: 2005-12-30 03:21 pm (UTC)Oh wow...these are wonderful, truly wonderful. I can almost visualise the scenes. Tobias is great. I'm no good at his character - all I seem to do is write him angry. :o)
I do believe that Snape was loved as a kid - albeit not as much as he needed - and that his Mum died while he was at Hogwarts - leaving him to more or less go off the rails.
[i]‘You belong with your father, Severus.’[/i]
The wizarding half of his family disowning him - thus making him grimly determined. If this turns out to be canon...eeeee.....
Your drabbles are the best! :o)
"Black and Potter ambushed him coming out of Herbology. They vanished his cloak and conjured a snowman around him, so he couldn’t reach his wand to melt the snow."
I had to laugh at this...mean as it is. It's just the visual of a SnowSnape. Poor Severus...
*hides smirk behind hand*
I've also got a quick PRESTO question... Thread VIII has run over 200 posts now - I'm thinking of starting IX. Trouble is - as Snape's no longer Hogwarts Staff, or sat at the High Table... would he be better off in the Death Eater thread? Or maybe that would disorientate the older PRESTO lurkers...?
I will start thread IX in the High Table anyway - may I please leave the placement of PRESTO with the mods? ;o)
Thanks!
Date: 2005-12-31 06:34 pm (UTC)I do like to think that I've hit a good balance with Toby - frustrated at the turns his life took, but trying his best to do right by Eileen and Severus, too, for that matter. It's just that he's so frightfully clueless and more than a little scared of his son, unsure how he managed to generate offspring quite like him.... I think of their relationship as a cycle of resentment - he resents Sev because he doesn't understand him; Sev in turn resents Toby because he picks up on Toby's fear/blame; Toby then resents Sev because he picks up on his son thinking him inferior; etc.
And yes, I've always thought that Snape's situation was not one where he was never loved, never cared for, but one where he *was* loved, where his mother *was* a positive influence, but then something happened young to take that influence away. Death and divorce were the only likely candidates - and since learning that Toby was a Muggle, divorce made little sense. That left Death. It also explains how he came by an advanced textbook early enough to have filled its margins before the end of his fifth year.
Regarding the PRESTO question, I'd leave it at the High Table. He's primarily a teacher. Lockhart, Quirrel, Umbridge, and Lupin all have threads there, even though they only taught DADA for one year apiece.
Re: Thanks!
Date: 2006-01-01 02:14 am (UTC)*nods* I agree. But while that must have been awful for Snape as a kid - Harry also had a shit upbringing...so I guess JKR is trying to hammer home her belief about "choices" rather than background.
Although Harry is getting scarily close to turning into Snape's shadow with all the "mirroring" that's been going on the past 2 books....
And I'm also willing to bet on this mirroring continuing to the reason why Dumbledore trusts Snape. Despite everything, he can still love - like Harry.
Gods...if this is true then the final book is going to put all us Snape fans through the emotional mangler.
I wonder if Tobias is still alive...? Many fics have Teen Snape murder him as an initiation/rite into the DE's. As much as I wish he will be proved to be still alive in canon, I'm not holding out a great hope. Even less for Eileen. :o(
As for PRESTO - I will start a new thread as usual then. It does seem a shame to let the thread die until movie 5/book 7...but I guess with no fresh gossip, and JKR having a break with giving us clues...ah well.