A Stifling Beginning Part 1
Chapter 7: A Stifling Beginning Part 1
Severus lay on his bed, staring up at the low ceiling, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. The room was dark, save for the flickering light of a solitary candle on the nightstand, its flame swaying in time with the crackling fire in the hearth. The other beds around him were quiet, his housemates deep in sleep, their steady breathing filling the silence. His eyes were drawn to the closed curtains of the bed across from him—the one belonging to Gintoki Sakata.
The unfamiliar boy had made an impression, even if Severus wasn't entirely sure what to make of him.
The others, Mulciber, Avery, and Rosier, had quickly retreated into their own beds, as if walking on eggshells, unsure whether to be wary or welcoming, although Mulciber had looked as he wanted to say something before Avery wordlessly stopped him. Severus wasn't much different. He found himself studying Gintoki from a distance, observing his every move, yet unsure of how to approach him—or if he should at all.
As the quiet of the night stretched on, Severus' thoughts drifted back to earlier, to when they had all arrived in the Slytherin common room for the first time.
5 hours ago… in the Slytherin Common Room
They'd filed in, casting furtive glances, their faces marked by the sort of quiet excitement and caution that most new students seemed to carry, unsure of what they were stepping into. He could feel some eyes on him. He had felt their disapproval when he walked towards the Slytherin table after he was sorted, the silent judgment burning, even before the Prefect had stepped forward to speak.
He internally sighed. They don't even know I'm a Prince yet…. It doesn't matter. To them, I'm halfblood who they can tolerate, or a muggleborn they'll eat at first chance. Severus had known what kind of den he would walk into based on his mother's stories when retelling her… no… his house. He just didn't expect to feel such isolation from the house he'll spend the next couple of years with.
The Prefect, a sixth-year boy with a sharp, angular face, had wasted no time in setting expectations. His voice had been low, controlled, his words deliberate and filled with the kind of condescension that seemed to ooze from every Slytherin. He'd explained the rules of their house in a way that felt more like a warning than a welcome.
"Make no mistake," the Prefect had said, his cold eyes scanning the first years, "you are here because you possess what it takes to be a Slytherin: ambition, cunning, and a relentless pursuit of your own goals. But do not mistake these walls for a sanctuary. Here, blood means everything, and if yours is tainted—if you have failed to prove your worth—you will be nothing. Understand?"
Severus stood near the edge of the common room, trying to melt into the shadows. The words of the Prefect still echoed in his ears, each one leaving a sting that he couldn't shake. Blood means everything... His fingers curled into fists as he mentally replayed the moment when he had stepped onto the platform at King's Cross.
Before he had boarded the train, there had been that moment with his mother, Eileen Prince, the last words she'd whispered in his ear. She had seemed distant, her tired eyes searching his face as if trying to gauge something, trying to understand what was going through his mind before he left for Hogwarts. She had always been like that—guarded, pragmatic. But there had been a sadness behind her words that day.
"Severus," she had said, voice soft yet firm, "remember that Slytherins value their bloodlines above all else. They will look at you, and they will see only a halfblood. Some may tolerate you, but many will never truly accept you. And if you're smart, you'll keep your head down, stay out of trouble, and prove your worth." She paused then, her hand gripping his shoulder with a strength that surprised him. "Do not trust them, Severus. They will show you the sharp edges of their ambition. Use it. Don't let them use you."
Her warning had been cryptic, but Severus had understood. He had felt the weight of it as he clutched his ticket to Hogwarts, the reality of what was to come settling deep in his gut. And now, standing in this cold, dimly lit common room, it felt like her words had been a prophecy. His blood—his halfblood status—had been the mark he would never be able to erase, no matter how much he proved himself.
He could feel the glances of the other Slytherins lingering on him as if they were sizing him up, weighing him. In the Prefect's words, he could hear the echoes of his mother's advice—blood was everything, and his would never be enough. Severus clenched his jaw, forcing the bitterness down. He wouldn't be cowed by their looks, their assumptions. If this house had anything to teach him, it would be that his ambition was stronger than their narrow definitions of purity.
The Prefect had continued, emphasizing that everything in this house—every conversation, every secret—must stay within the walls of Slytherin, and that anyone who failed to uphold this expectation would have a short, unpleasant stay. Once the Prefect finished, the crowd had parted like water parting before a rock. The first years scattered, some looking for a place to sit, others murmuring to each other.
"Prove myself..." he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. I'll show them. I'll prove my worth to them, even if I have to carve it out from the very shadows they cast upon me.
He stepped forward, letting the shadows cling to him as he made his way toward an empty armchair in the corner. The other first years were talking in hushed tones, already beginning to form their alliances. They hadn't dared to approach him yet, and he knew they wouldn't—he was an outsider here, a reminder of the very thing they sought to avoid. But I'll show them, he thought again, his resolve hardening.
Severus sat down, pulling his knees close to his chest and gazing into the flickering fire. His mother's face flashed before him, the quiet resolve in her eyes mirroring his own. Eileen Prince may have warned him, but in some strange way, she had also prepared him. She had shown him the harsh truth of Slytherin, and he would use that truth to his advantage.
The rest of the house might never truly accept him, but that would never stop Severus Snape. Blood may be everything to them—but power? Power was what mattered most to him. And in time, he would make them all see that.
His thoughts twisted and churned like the fire before him, the coldness of his surroundings mingling with the heat of his ambition.
It wasn't long before two boys had made their presence known, both boys striding toward Severus with a certain arrogance that only someone with their bloodlines could carry so effortlessly. He remembered their surnames from the sorting: Mulciber and Avery. Both purebloods, especially Avery as his family is from the Sacred Twenty Eight.
Mulciber had been the first to speak, his voice dripping with disdain. "I don't think I've heard of your name before," he sneered, his eyes narrowing in on Severus. "Snape, is it? No matter. You've got the look of a half-blood, or worse, a Mudblood."
Severus's teeth ground together at the word. He knew they would come for him eventually, the fact that he was a half-blood was always going to be a point of contention, even among the other Slytherins. But he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of backing down.
"My mother was a Prince," Severus replied stiffly, his voice betraying none of the anger that bubbled under the surface. "You've heard of the Princes, I'm sure."
Avery snorted, his eyes and lips curling with into an amused smirk. "A pure-blood family, yes, but one that would have done better to remain far from the likes of your father. I'm surprised a pure-blood witch would associate with someone so… unremarkable." His eyes flickered with sharp calculation, lingering on his worn robes and unkempt hair. "Then again, I suppose when you're raised in a house like yours, it's no wonder your clothes look as if they've been sewn together by a Muggle. I see your mother is living her dream."
The words stung hard and redness crawled up to his ears, but Severus clenched his fists tightly, refusing to show weakness. "I'm here because I belong here," he said, his voice cold and level. "Slytherin values ambition and cunning. I have those in abundance, no matter my blood."
Mulciber scoffed. "Your blood's been diluted, Snape. It's too bad, really. A waste." He drew closer to him, his wand twitching in his grasp warningly.
Severus's gaze searched for a prefect but then remembered words from the older boy earlier.
Do not mistake these walls for a sanctuary.
He internally cursed and his eyes caught silver hair — his hair color standing out amongst the dark robes. Sakata had been lounging lazily in one of the armchairs, ignoring the attention Severus was drawing. His lack of reaction to the conversation was… perplexing. He looked entirely unfazed by the tension in the room, as though he was completely indifferent to the power dynamics around him. His posture was slouched, almost lethargic, yet there was something about him that made him uneasy.
And then it happened.
Sakata snorted loudly, breaking the tension in the air.
Mulciber, clearly annoyed, shifted his focus from Severus to the silver-haired boy. He stepped toward him, his tone laced with thinly veiled hostility. "And what about you, then?" he sneered. "A Mudblood, perhaps? You have no etiquette, no sense of decorum. How did you even get sorted into Slytherin?"
Severus couldn't help but notice the way Sakata didn't even acknowledge the question. The boy's silver eyes flickered lazily toward Mulciber, but his gaze was almost dismissive, as if he couldn't care less about what Mulciber was saying. Severus could feel the others' gaze shifting to Sakata, the unspoken judgment still hanging in the air.
Before Mulciber could press further, the door to the common room swung open with an authoritative bang. The room went still. Severus's eyes darted toward the entrance, where a figure stood in the doorway, casting a long shadow. The tall, blond figure stepped forward, his presence commanding attention from everyone in the room. One murmured his name in recognition.
Lucius Malfoy.
Severus recognized the name. He was from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, a name that carried weight, power, and prestige within the wizarding world. He was one of the most well-connected, influential Slytherins, and his family reputation preceded him.
Severus felt a chill run down his spine as Lucius walked toward Sakata without a moment's hesitation. The other students stared in stunned silence as Lucius's gaze met Sakata's, his movements graceful and confident.
"I see you finally made it here," Lucius said, his voice smooth, with a hint of a smile.
The entire room froze. The weight of Lucius's words hung in the air. Everyone knew what this meant. Lucius Malfoy, at the top of the Slytherin hierarchy, was acknowledging Sakata. The very idea seemed to send ripples of disbelief through the room.
Severus glanced at Mulciber and Avery, their faces slack with surprise. Even they had been caught off guard.
Sakata, however, seemed completely unbothered, as though he had anticipated this interaction. Severus couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. This boy was no ordinary first-year.