Christmas Eve at Spinner's End
December 20th, 1978
It was Severus Snape's last year at Hogwarts and although he had spent a majority of his time relentlessly studying, potion-making and meticulously crafting spells that would send even the most experienced spell-caster into a coma, he found that he hadn’t an inkling of care for anything concerning his education.
He had spent the last few weeks of his fleeting life in a dazed state. He walked the halls of Hogwarts as a ghost, his lithe body navigating the twists and turns of the castle with a practiced ease, almost floating. This was a sharp contrast to the Snape that, up until a few weeks ago, walked with a perpetual air of contempt; his shoulders drawn up to meet his ears, his thin lips curled into a sneer of disgust at any and all things around him, his dark onyx eyes constantly flitting about the room to scan the halls for any sign of his tormentors and his bony hands curled into a tight fist around his weathered school bag.
His colleagues, though having never associated themselves with a potential death eater, noted that he would spend an uncanny amount of time sat by the great lake. Every day, during those last few weeks, he would be spotted walking lazily out of the dining hall, his untamed raven locks billowing behind him, towards the great lake. He would, in a practiced sequence, reach into his tattered schoolbag, pull out some sort of muggle contraption that confused the purebloods, but the muggleborns and half bloods instantly recognised as a cassette player. He would then proceed to drape himself across the yellowed grass and nod along to whatever song was blasting into his eardrums at the time.
James Potter, in particular, was peeved by this. He had been too busy with the humongous pile of homework the unforgiving teachers had given him to take notice of Snape's new disposition. This day, however he had finally managed to put a dent into said pile so he decided to his way into the Hogwarts fields. The biting air, like pinpricks on his handsome face, sent a jolt of excitement up his spine; the winter holidays were fast approaching meaning less days until he could sneak out to muggle bars with Sirius, drink to till their livers are begging for reprieve and stagger back to the manor in fits of giggles.
He was strolling the grounds, restless, waiting for something to happen. He turned a corner and spotted a head of greasy raven locks. His lips curled into an amused smirk. Finally, some entertainment.
James Potter had never put much thought into Severus or why he treated him the way he did or why he still chose to play cruel pranks on him even after burning his friendship with Lily to the ground. Severus was a wannabe Death Eater and that was the bottom line is what James’s had ingrained into his mind so he would not have to face his cruelty or reason with his childish actions.
Yet a part of him still felt a twinge of guilt anytime he saw Severus flare with anger because he had done it. He had pushed and prodded and poked at Severus until that foul word spilled out of his mouth. He had flipped Severus over and humiliated him in front of the entire school. He had burst into fits of laughter whenever Severus’ eyes welled up and he became all red in his pallid, sickly face.
These kind of thoughts were always uncomfortable to sit with. They would rush in and flood his brain during dinner whenever he saw Severus walking towards the Slytherin table with a visible limp – a result of his earlier ministrations. His stomach would churn and his mouth would dry up like the desert. His eyes would be glued onto him and he'd eventually scoff at himself for daring to even think of feeling sympathy for a future Death Eater. His eyes would flit away eventually and he'd forget all about it because so long as he did not have to look at Severus or even acknowledge his existence, then he was good, he was perfect, he was the James Potter all of Hogwarts had deemed him to be. He was a good man.
Severus was draped over the grass, his lithe figure sinking into the soft soil. His onyx eyes were half-shut and his head was moving up and down, in shaky little awkward nods and his pale fingers tapped an unrecognisable rhythm on the blades of grass. His greying robe had been discarded to the side and his tie was loosened.
This alarmed James. Severus was the nearest person he had ever encountered. Although James was well aware of Snape's crippling financial situation, having thrown cruel comments about it many a times, the Slytherin somehow managed to look put together everyday. His loafers, though worn out, were always shined, his shirt and trousers perfectly pressed and his robe spotless except for the conspicuous scar of age. Although he was clearly lacking in the hair department, seeing as the raven locks slithered past his shoulders and fell limply over his sallow face, he still made sure to maintain an acceptable level of personal hygiene no matter what his financial situation was at the moment. This was ingrained in him partly because he never wanted to appear unclean in front of his cunning housemates lest he have the last remaining shred of his dignity snatched and partly because he never wanted Potter to make him feel the way he did on the train to Hogwarts that day.
James took long, proud strides towards the homely boy. Severus was still lying serenely on the grass, a lazy smile gracing his lips. James’ eyes travelled down the long column of his throat and stopped at a rectangular like object. His hands twitched in excitement. He reached towards it and snatched it roughly before looking up to inspect it in half amusement, half curiosity. Severus's eyes snapped open, his hands shakily cupping his ears. He was confused for a brief before he noticed Potter's muscular figure hovering above him.
“What do we have here Snivelly?”, Potter began. Severus swallowed hard at the nickname. It never ceased to send him into a fit of anger however his limbs felt heavy that day, the energy sapped out of him, his chest heaving with the effort of trying to stay up.
His feet scrambled up into a defensive stance and he felt that there was no point in fighting it anymore, Potter was just going to take and take and take until there was nothing left so he decided that he will just let him have it. He tucked a stray lock behind his ear, his hands eventually crossing over his stomach.
“Can I have that back please?”, the skinny boy gestured at the cassette player. James's eyes widened for a slight second. Severus sounded tired. Snivelly was never tired, he screamed and thrashed and cursed until he was heaving in exhaustion and his pupils were blown wide and black. Today he was slow, almost lethargic in his movements. He heaved another sigh as if just standing was taking a toll on him. His eyes, usually blown wide with rage, were now glazed over as if a thick film had shrouded them. The firm hands he used for precision in potion making now shook as he gestured at the muggle contraption.
“No.”, James wanted to push him further, he was not going to settle for that lousy reaction, he wanted Snape's sharp tongue, the slew of dark curses that usually spilled out of his mouth, the flared nostrils and furrowed brows as he struggled to contain his boiling resentment. Not this. This sudden calmness from the most resilient boy he had ever known.
James clenched jaw, his hands tightly gripping the muggle object. He flung it into the undisturbed water and with a quiet plop, it sank deeper until there was no trace of it left on Hogwarts grounds. He flipped around to gauge Severus's reaction. He was half expecting him to jump into the lake to retrieve it himself. Snape loathed it when they destroyed his belongings, it seemed to get a rise out of him more than anything they ever did. James knew exactly what buttons to push to get him to explode into one of his fits of rage. This ought to do it.
Snape heaved a shaky sigh, his chest visibly expanding and contracting. He wanted to say something, anything. He might have found something to live for if he did. But he didn't. He picked up his bag and left quicker than he had been there.
James swallowed the ball of anger lodged in his throat. His words turned into rubble and he found himself standing there thinking about Severus longer than he would have liked.
The sun had started to set on the Hogwarts ground colouring everything in an orange hue. James felt heavier than he had ever been. His skin crawled as he made his way back into the warm common room. The rest of the marauders had been splayed out on the crimson couches. He had heard their boisterous laughter spilling from the room before he even entered it. They asked him if he was up for a game of exploding snaps to which he politely refused before carrying his shaky form into his room. He went about doing his nightly ministrations in uncomfortable silence and the only thoughts his brain could muster up were those of onyx eyes and trembling hands burned into his retinas.
December 23rd, 1978
Severus’s affinity for potions was inherited and fostered by his mother. His earliest memories were of her in a long black cloak, her signature Prince hair cascading down her skeletal back as she made precise stirring movements to whatever concoction she was brewing at the time. He remembers most distinctly her velvety voice as she went on long winding lectures about how a bezoar was the perfect antidote to any poison or how stirring anti-clockwise would only bring about trouble and that he should be careful when picking herbs for the Felix Felicis because most of them looked similar and if you picked the wrong one, you'd end up at Saint Mungos faster than you could say it. Although most of her speeches sounded like a long jumble of over complicated jargon, little Severus would hang on to every word. He would move his head in vigorous nods, his hair flying everywhere, to show her that he was listening intently and she would send him a suspecting tiny smile before they both doubled over in a fit of giggled having both been aware that he could not understand a lick of what she was saying.
These memories, which he usually kept lodged in the furthest recesses of his mind, would usually resurface whenever he brewed. He wondered why they never discussed the patches of red and blue across the long column of her neck or the noticeable limp in her gait. He was only six but he was sharper than all the kids at Spinner's end combined, he supposed it was an open secret between them; Tobias did it.
His father would come back from the pub reeking of week old sweat and beer and then he would pounce on her like a predator all the while whispering cruel words into her ear. Severus would be stood at the top the creaky staircase, his pupils blown wide and his tiny fists clenched in anger but paralysed with inaction. Tobias's hands knew no limit when it came to Eileen, he found it quite pleasing to treat body like a wet rag. His feral grin seemed to widen every time his hands wrapped around her bony wrist. He pushed and and poked and prodded at her till she was incoherent and her incessant pleas slurred. He was resigned to beating the magic out of her. Severus's eyes would well up in frustration, his teeth grinding against each other as he wondered why she would not just take her wand and fling him across the room in one swift motion. The thought echoed around his skull for most of his childhood.
He thought about his father's death as he brewed his own poison. He wondered why his mother was so crushed by it, why she remained immobile and refused to get out of bed to wash, why she knelt day and night at the alter near their bed, a Christian cross clutched tightly to her chest, why she prayed to a God she did not believe in much less had any faith in, why she never got rid of his work boots or why she made sure to set the table for three at tea time. He asked her one warm summer night as they sat on wicker chairs watching the dazed mosquitoes lazily circle round the clearing. Her response had been short, clipped: “He is my husband.” He also wondered why he never confronted her about it, why he never got up and threw a fit. Why was she talking about a dead man like he was alive? Why does she pray for him night and day? Why did she never pick up her wand? Severus had a lot of ‘whys' he wanted answered but he loved her more than he hated him so he never insisted.
He was currently standing at the dingy stovetop he used to dangle his little legs over. The kitchen window rattled with the force of December winds, the mesh curtains, a peculiar design choice by his mother, billowing aggressively. His fingertips had gone numb from the cold, his hands rendered awkward and stilted as he found it hard to manoeuvre the stirring spoon. The rest of his body was not fairing any better; he shifted from one leg to another in a desperate attempt to find a comfortable position. His thin cardigan did little to keep the frost from seeping into his bones, a blush had quickly spread to his cheeks and the tip of his nose.
The crispness of the air made every breath sting, his chest heaved with the effort to stay up, he had been shuffling in front of the stove now for most of the day. The clouds were closing in on the sun and the air was more unforgiving than ever. The kitchen was now bathed in blue, the orange flame on the stove now stark against the hue. Severus's attention was now all on the embers, his pupils widened to accommodate for the tiny kaleidoscope before him. His mouth hung slightly open as he took in the scene before him, a small moment of beauty, so tiny and so fragile and only his.
His lips quirked up in one corners as he moved to extinguish the flame. The steaming cauldron now simmered down to a viscous liquid. He wondered if it would be uncomfortable to down but he supposed it did not matter much, he had lived his short life in a state of perpetual discomfort so what was one last moment before he kicked the bucket?
He took a deep, steadying breath. He couldn’t afford to have his hands tremble when he poured the liquid into the small glass vial. He thought about Lily as he watched the potion drip into the vial, his eyes glazed over and his mind completely shut off. He wondered if he'd be standing here, pouring a suicide potion into a drinking vial, if she'd forgiven him for calling her that godforsaken word.
He wondered if he could have seen her graduate Hogwarts with all O's or tie the knot in that wedding dress she'd had her eye on since she was a ferocious red-headed first year. He thought about her kids and what they might look like if she married that dimwit Potter or what Lily and he might look like if they had grown old together as friends, their hair and teeth sparse and far inbetween and their eyes wrinkled from decades of laughter. He chuckled bitterly at these thoughts and shook his head gently as he watched the last drops fill the vial.
This minuscule vial was going to be his demise.
He had collected the ingredients from the forbidden forest over the weeks leading up to Christmas break. He would lie rigidly in his dorm bed until the clock struck midnight, that was his sign. He would hurriedly untuck himself from the emerald green sheets and slip into his robe. His socked feet making no noise as he padded down the long, swirling Hogwarts stairs, all the while ignoring the withering stares of the moving portraits. Once he made it to the forest, he would carefully manoeuvre his limbs so as to not disturb the variety of creatures slumbering. They had an unwritten agreement; they would not harm him if he did not harm them. Simple as that. He would collect his herbs and make his way back sheepishly to his dorm to receive the few hours of rest he could manage. He would stash the herbs under the thin mattress and then slip seamlessly in just as he slipped out.
December 24th, 1978
Like many other industrial towns before it, Cokeworth, having peaked in the fifties, was now wracked by a long procession of poorly built houses, sagging under the weight of the freshly fallen snow of last night. Its residents held a general air of misery, though justified as they had spent decades in its infamous coal mines and gotten little out of it except for a rampant cancer that had killed off half the town's population by the age of fifty. It had become an unwritten rule amongst the residents to not discuss the matter or connect the dots because then they’d have to come to terms with the injustice they had suffered and those topics were better left untouched. And so they went on with their grey lives, finding occasional reprieve in the greasy pub by the corner or the hymns and chants of the town priest at Mass, their rosaries clutched to their chests and their mouths spilling a tune they did not understand.
Spinner's end was located at the edge of Cokeworth, completely indistinguishable from the rest of the town till the walls started sagging under the weight of Tobias's anger, Eileen’s hopelessness and Severus's melancholy. The house withered away over time till all that was left was the moth-eaten furniture and the bitterness of the residents. Despite several attempts at trying to get him to agree, Severus had refused to invite Lily over. The red-head was far too pure to be tainted by such things. He wanted her to continue living in her utopia of fashion magazines and muggle books, lest she be disgusted by him. He was far too proud to show her any of what was going on in that house of horrors.
Severus had woken up at dawn to pray at the altar at the edge of his bed. His life had always been a conflicting tug of two, his magic and his religion. Although magical folk did not believe in God or Christianity or Catholicism for that matter, Severus found it hard to shake off the habit beaten into him. He had grown up Catholic, a heavy wooden cross rested on his chest at all times. He stopped wearing it when he was back at Hogwarts out of a crippling fear that James would snatch it or do blasphemous acts with it. Potter was a pureblood and therefore would not comprehend the importance of religious paraphernalia. Severus doubted he even knew of the existence of a “God" and so he stashed it in the first drawer of his splintered bedside table along with his rosary and leather bound bible. On this day however, the raven decided to wear it on his neck, the wood a comforting weight on his chest, right above his heart. A step closer to God until his final act.
Shortly after his prayer, Severus got up on creaky knees and headed towards the kitchen for cleaning supplies. He started off with his sorry excuse for a bedroom. He rounded up all his records; Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, The Beatles and labelled them in bright red letters “FOR MUM". Aside from potions, Severus had inherited his love for music from his mother. Oftentimes they would sit together by the kitchen table as a classical record spun on her dusty record player as unsaid apologies and frustrations merged with the dramatic violin and flowed through them and for a split second, they'd ascend to a place far away from Spinner’s End, a place so irrefutably and completely theirs where Eileen did not have to hold up an ice pack to a bruised cheek and Severus did not have to pretend not to see it.
He put the labelled box at the centre of the freshly made bed and made quick work of emptying out the rest of his worthless belongings in a black trash bag. He lowered himself to his knees once more and began scrubbing the stained floorboards, the scent of bleach worsening his dizzy state. He oiled the wooden floor so that it would regain the shine it had when they first bought the house. By the time he got up to draw the curtains open to let in light, he had beads of sweat running down his face and strands of hair sticking to his neck. He was finding it increasingly difficult to stay up and so lowered his body completely, sagging against the edge of the bed as he fought to regain his breath.
The day was spent scrubbing, dusting, mopping and washing the house from top to bottom to make it clean for his final day. He even went out to the little garden his mum had stopped tending to since his father’s death and plucked a bunch of flowers to decorate the dreary house.
He went to the kitchen, now bathed in a golden hue from the winter sun, and pulled everything from the fridge. He then proceeded to prepare an assortment of food. He laid out the mushroom soup, custard tarts and chocolate filled eclaires on the wooden table and sat straight to devour them. Severus’s never ate much at school, even during the feasts, he knew he'd have a hard time keeping it all down if Potter and his friends decided to mess with him, which they frequently did. They'd filled his pumpkin juice with toad slime during 4th year which led to a humiliating visit to Madame Pomfrey. He always avoided her because she made him feel as if it was his fault he was in the med bay. She would shake her head in disappointment and tut at his wounds and send him off with a withering glare as opposed to the marauders who were received with warm smiles and motherly hugs. It infuriated him to no end but he kept his mouth shut because there was no point in trying to convince her that no, he was not a future death eater and no, he did not do anything to deserve this maltreatment. People like her always had a hard time believing him and it just frustrated him so much so that he felt he was ripping part at the seams.
This day, however, he ate to his heart’s content as Mozart's Requiem reverberated through the tiny kitchen. He dusted himself off and packed up the rest of the food leaving a little note behind for his mother to find: “Heat up the soup for 3 minutes and let it cool down for 1. Enjoy".
He rinsed his hands shortly before padding to the old bathroom. The floral wallpaper had a yellowish hue to and the edges had started to peel. He sat at the edge of the clawfoot tub as he watched the tap gush his bathwater. He shed his tattered clothes and lowered himself into the lukewarm water with a serene sigh. His head felt fuzzy as he traced random patterns onto the edge of the tub. The only sound that could be heard in the silent bathroom were the occasional drips of water from the leaky faucet.
He thought about doing it here. He thought about submerging himself and never coming back up for air. He quickly shook the thought out of his head. He did not want to make a mess. He did not want blood splatters or water splashes or a rope dangling from the ceiling; it would be too much of a burden for the people who were going to remove his corpse. He was going to pass cleanly, without any fuss or struggle.
He had gone out the previous day to buy an assortment of hygiene products ranging from expensive shampoos and body washes to intricate hair styling creams. He figured he would spend the last few galloens he had earned doing entitled pureblood Slytherins' homework on something for himself. He worked the shampoo into his hair as he watched the sun's rays tilt and distort against the water's surface. He submerged himself entirely to wash out the suds and came back up renewed.
He dried himself and sat before the vintage mirror his mother had come to adore over the years. Severus inspected the reflection closely. He raised one pale hand and traced his face from the top of his forehead to his chin. His hand found his hooked nose and his breath hitched. He had inherited his nose from his father and had always hated the fact. It was his most conspicuous feature, the subject of many taunts at school and the source of his refusal to stare at a mirror too long. The longer he stared, the easier it was to morph into his father.
He picked up his wooden comb and began running it through his hair, the bristles getting caught up in a tangle every once in a while as the faint hint of lavender flooded the bathroom. His hair was another thing inherited from his mother. It exceeded his shoulders and was pitch black in colour, a sharp contrast to his pallid complexion. Although he found it quite charming, it was the subject of many taunts at school with James often labelling it as greasy and basing all his other clever nicknames for Severus around the fact. Now that he had out it through a good wash, it seemed reinvigorated, shining against the soft pastels of the walls. He began braiding the thick strands with patience and tied off the ends. He let two front strands fall against his face and dried his hands on a towel
.
He had also picked up a pair of expensive dress pants, a white button-up and new dress shoes at a fancy shop in Knockturn Alley. The shopkeeper’s face twisted into an expression of what could only be disgust when she saw him walk in. This did not deter him in the least and he looked her dead in the eye as he dropped five-hundred galleons on the counter, money he had spent sleepless nights earning, writing footlong parchments of essays. The Slytherins usually regarded him as invisible, only acknowledging him when they wanted their schoolwork done or whenever they fancied a torture session.
He buckled his belt and swiped his hands over his body once more. This was the neatest he was ever going to look. His hair was in a flowy braid and his clothes had been freshly pressed and ironed. He looked healthy, rejuvenated and ready to die. He wanted to pass clean and respectable. After a life of much humiliation, he was justified in seeking a dignified death, even if it was at his own hand.
He walked towards the wicker chairs that had been collecting dust outside, the witnesses to many uncomfortable silences overlooking a green field that stretched out for kilometres. He lowered himself onto the splintered one and settled with a sigh as the wind spun the notes and melodies of a Queen record round and round the clearing.
The sun had started to rise, a canvas of orange against the pale winter sky. The warm rays bathed him for a last time. Severus always felt that mornings carried an infinite sadness in them; the sun would rise, set and rise again. There was no point in which it would stop and breathe, the world went on, even as he struggled to keep up with it, his feet blistered and heart aching and it would continue to go on even as he passed, even as the earth consumed him and the rot settled in and even as every trace of him withered away. And why should it not?
He unearthed the potion vial and downed it. He just hoped he wouldn't smell when his mother found him.
The effect was almost euphoric, it was as if every nerve ending of his had been exposed and all that was left was colours. His eyes drooped as a lazy smile settled on his face, the two unruly strands of his hair billowing in the harsh wind. His lungs had expanded to house a big breath and his head spun as his fingers started twitching. It was like the world had narrowed down to his little corner at Spinner’s End.
His head flooded with thoughts, like a wave crashing against the shore, retreating and coming back with full force and he was floating in the middle, unable to drown and unable to crawl back to shore.
He mind swirled with thoughts of his mother and the countless silent nights spent brewing by the kitchen counter, her shawl an ill-attempt at hiding the bed sores and cigarette burns, her laboured breaths deafening against the quiet kitchen. He recalled her slender fingers buttoning his crisp white shirt and black trousers as she readied him for church every Sunday. It was his only pair but she made sure to wake up an hour before he did to wash and iron every stubborn stain and wrinkle on it so it always looked as good as new. His mind travelled back to yesterday this time, when she was bidding him goodbye because she had finally mustered up the courage to visit an old witch she had befriended back at Hogwarts halfway across the country. He was so truly happy for her that he could have burst at the seams.
He thought about Lily. Lily, with eyes wide as the sun and hair so red it burned his eyes. His mind went back to that day her parents had taken them to the big lake by their house. He remembered her dress as if it happened yesterday; dark green that sparkled against her fiery head. He remembered how the water lapped against their feet, the sound of crashing waves drowning out their giggles. They must have been ten at the time, now that age seemed so far away to Severus. He was a mere seventeen years old and the emptiness he had stuffed in a faraway cupboard in his mind as a ten year old had now metamorphosed into an inescapable beast.
His eyes rolled to the back of his head, the whites entirely visible, as if a demon had taken hold of him. His mind swirled with flashes of red hair. He saw a bony hand reach out to him. He heard his fathers boisterous laughter echo in the few cubic centimetres of his skull. He saw the shopkeeper's wrinkly hand. He saw Malfoy's toothy grin as he yanked him by the lapels of his school shirt, whispering taunts and a miscellany of slurs he couldn’t even begin to uncover. He heard a distant howl and shivered. He saw Potter's slender fingers encase the cassette player before hurling it at the lake. He imagined himself sinking much like that player.
With a shuddering breath, he felt his body go rigid. His hand, heavy as a boulder, clutched at the cross lying unassuming on his chest. Every nerve ending was alive with light as his body unravelled completely, his limbs stiffening and his breath hitching for the last time.
..........................................................................
Severus Tobias Snape passed on a cold morning on the 24th of December. His body, taken in for examination by the healers that had arrived on the scene immediately after, having been alerted by a disruption in the magical energy of his district, had been confirmed to have shown signs of an overdose of Felix Felicis. It is said that a drop more than the recommended amount would send the consumer into paralysis and shortly, death.
Eileen had just been returning from the shops when she spotted a black shapeless figure. She could not decipher any expression on his pallid face as she bounded the steps of the raised foundation upon which he sat, her movements awkward and stiff in the biting cold.
She could hear faint traces of a Queen song echoing. It made sense, Severus had a strange affinity for the band, though one would never expect such stiff, cold person like him to enjoy the band's flamboyance.
She hobbled over the stiff figure of her son on the chair and called out in a strained voice for him. Between being locked up in her room all day and having Severus at Hogwarts for eight out of the twelve months of the year, her voice had withered away with time and it took a hefty effort to restore it to its once timbre quality.
“Severus?” the skinny witch asked. He was silent, but that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for the young wizard. She was no stranger to silent spells, she had had enough of those in her time.
Her feet staggered two steps closer to the rickety chair, making no noise so as to not disturb him in case he was napping. She asked herself why he would be napping in the cold at this time of day but quickly shook the creeping thought away; her suspicious mind had a tendency to reach the most macabre conclusion and she had the tendency to always be right.
Her mouth dried at the sight. He was stiff as a rock and his lips had taken on a sickly blue hue. Right then and there, her nose had registered the scent of Rue. It was overpowering in its entirety. Rue did not usually have such a pungent aroma, it was added in small quantities because an overdose was deadly. She distinctly remembered Professor Slughorn chastising her for being too generous with the Rue when they brewed it in 6th year.
"Miss Prince, I sure do hope you are aware of what an excess amount of Rue can do to a potent potion such as this one. You'll be dead before you can even utter the words ‘liquid luck'. Let this incident be an isolated one lest you end up six feet under by tomorrow."
“Severus”, she called out again, her voice breaking in-between each syllable. Her chest constricted and her throat had closed up, it felt as if a she had swallowed a boulder and it refused to come out.
A shaking hand reached out to touch the young wizards face, the lanky fingers cupping his face. Severus ran cold most of the time due to his skinny stature but that day felt as if the little heat he stored had dissipated from his body and flooded the earth below.
Eileen had lost her voice that day calling out for her son. The Aurors that had found him had reported that she was found alongside him, clutching at his bony body and stroking his hair rapidly, the sobs and shrill calls for her son reached them kilometers away.
The lead auror on the case reported having to physically detach her from the young wizard's corpse as an incoherent string of sentences flew out her mouth at lightening speed. The image of her limbs thrashing every other way and her mouth foaming with spit had been burnt into his retinas and he was sure he would never forget it, but what he most distinctly recalls are the haunting melodies of the thin record filling the silence that was left after Eileen had been subdued with a tranquilizing potion:
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James Potter had spent a large portion of his winter holidays at Hogwarts plotting another intricately designed prank with his friends. They had decided to stay at Hogwarts that year because it would be their last until graduation and they wanted to take in the school that they had spent a majority of their adolescence in. Up until the 25th of December, he had not thought of Severus Snape except for when they decided they needed a victim.
So it was not much of a surprise to the little students that had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the Winter holidays that his face had become ashen when he read the news regarding his victim's untimely death.
From the information that was gathered from the onlookers, nothing seemed out of the ordinary that day as James Potter had entered the great hall, Black and Lupin behind him (Pettigrew had been forced to return to his grandma's cottage), to begin his Christmas Feast which was not particularly interesting to anyone.
He had been laughing boisterously with his gaggle of friends, as he usually did, when the owls began dropping in, dive-bombing past each other in an effort to reach their owners. James had just begun to unclip the newspaper from the snow-white owl when he felt the hall go silent. They had apparently beaten him in reading the day's news and were now all sending each other cursory glances.
James face was the picture of an amalgamation of confusion and hesitation as he unfolded the neatly folded issue of The Prophet. His eyes perused the text multiple times before he registered the words on the page:
TRAGEDY STRIKES SPINNER'S END
“Severus Snape was found dead on the 24th of December at his childhood home of Spinner's End after overdosing on Felix Felicis (also known as Liquid Luck).
The sixteen year old wizard was found by a team of Aurors that had been alerted by a disturbance in the magical energy around the neighbourhood. The team reported having to administer a sedation potion to the boy's mother and physically remove her from the scene as she muttered hysterically to herself.
Mr. Snape's untimely death was ruled a suicide by the investigations team as all evidence (autopsy results) points to a voluntary overdose of the deadly potion. Theories of the tragedy being an accident were quickly shut down by the Department of Magical Education as Severus's records show impeccable potions results thereby eliminating the question of a badly brewed potion.
The student’s mother, Eileen Snape, has refused to speak with reporters despite numerous attempts from the latter. The Auror Investigation team have stated that they will be opening up multiple social programmes related to teenage suicide and have requested the sympathy of the public in times such as these....
The world around James had contracted and twisted itself and caved in upon him as his eyes perused the paper. His vision had gone blurry halfway into reading the paper, the words jumbled up and the letters hopping from one corner to another, swirling into tiny, indecipherable blotches of ink. The hand grasping the paper had gone white at the knuckles as he tried and failed to control his breathing. His chest heaved in a failed effort to take in air, it felt as if there were no more oxygen left in the world for him. The ringing in his ear had been increasing steadily till he felt like there was a swarm of bees buzzing around in his head.
“Prongs?”, coaxed the scarred boy next to him. Moony was the best of them. His affinity for books and reserved demeanour made up for his intimidating tall stature, gangly limbs and scars that stretched from his forehead down to the chin. He'd broken out of his skin and returned to it so many times that he was not phased by much anymore. Transforming into a bloodthirsty beast every full moon did that to a person, much less having Snape discover him that day. So what if he gained a silent appreciation for the boy for not having spoken a word to anyone about a werewolf on school grounds? It made much less sense than having him banished from school grounds and wizarding society as a whole.
James failed to register the words of the tall boy. His head felt entirely too heavy for his shoulders. He let out a short breath, the only sign that he was alive and breath. The whole world had come to a stop in his little corner at the Gryffindor table.
James’s thick brows furrowed as he cast surveying glances at his schoolmates. His brain was muddled, his friend's faces had contorted into varying expressions, the most popular one being hesitation.
He had just learnt of his schoolmates death. The schoolmate he had spent his entire school career picking on.
Sirius balked. He couldn't think of any reasons that would cause his friend to look like he had just ran a marathon.
“James what’s going on with you?”
The bespectacled boy swallowed loudly.
“Fucking hell mate, you’re sweating buckets", Sirius loudly exclaimed. His face was etched with exasperation as he snatched the paper, now wrinkled from Potter's iron-clad grip on it, and examined it.
The contents baffled him. How could snivellous of all people have killed himself.. From what Black knew, the skinny boy had been far too resentful to end his life as abruptly as he did, he wanted to join the Death Eaters, hadn’t he? Black was so sure that the raven would end up as another one of the Dark Lord's bootlickers, that any other conclusion seemed laughable to him.
“Well, that’s proper fucked", the black haired heir muttered to himself as he sat back down, his hands flying to support the shaggy black head in a crossed position. “I have to say, wasn’t expecting the little bugger to actually do it. Pity though, I had an impeccable prank planned for graduation”.
Remus turned to him with his eyes ablaze. “Would you just shut the fuck up for once in your life Sirius?”, the werewolf hissed.
Remus had to admit that the black-haired boy sometimes enraged him. Where Remus would be concerned about his grades and future, the latter would be plotting the next prank on some innocent student.
Black could ramble all day long about how he despised his family and that they were, as per his words, “piece of shit blood purists” but he was still a Black at the end of the day and there was nothing akin to Black pride in this world.
The most ancient and noble house of Black. Sirius came from a long line of nobility, achieved through a protective layer of apathy and coldness, rising through the ranks of wizarding society and eventually establishing themselves as something more than human. Magic was in its purest and most powerful form when it danced in their veins, essentially putting them, as they believed, above others.
He talked, walked and even ate like a Black, one could even say that the only thing severing him from his family is his affinity for rebellion; they were too prim, too proper and he was a wild fire, uncontrollable in its entirety and unconforming. Padfoot would sit for those long family meetings and social affairs Walburga deeply enjoyed in his uncomfortable robes, listening idly to some git drone on about the rise of a new Dark Lord, a new era in the wizarding society then immediately go up to his room to flip through muggle motorbike magazines.
Muggle interested him, sure they were pathetic and often helpless at times but that was no reason to go about slaughtering them, is it? His mother seemed to think otherwise. Muggles and muggleborns disgusted her at best, enraged her at worst and Walburga’s rage was like no other. Sirius himself had been the recipient himself for many years before the insufferable arguments got to him and he took off for the Potter's, leaving behind a slew of insults that hung heavy in the air and a burnt off name on the family tapestry, courtesy of Walburga's slender wand and proliferating rage.
James was overjoyed to have Sirius stay with him but later on he would learn that the other boy was not much different from the Slytherins they provoked in the halls. He still grinned like a rabid dog anytime he sniffed out Snape in the halls and James swore he once heard his friend call him “Nothing but a pitiful half blood”. The prank he played on the night of the full moon was enough proof that the black heir still carried a hint of the infamous “black madness” other purebloods liked to discuss in dark corners. He laughed and laughed as James's chest heaved, trying to steady his shaking hands in Dumbledore’s office after having rescued a terrified Snape from the werewolf's clutches.
He had actually come close to killing Snape. The git was unlikable at best, detestable at worst but surely taking away his life was not justified?
James thought of the look of absolute pleasure on Sirius's face that night, the toothy grin he kept flashing as he rambled on about how stupid Snape was and that surely he could not have fallen for such a dangerous joke.
Snape had suspected that Remus was a werewolf for a long time, he just had to see it with his own eyes. As much as he hated Lupin for his cowardice, he was fascinated by his condition and wished to develop an anti-werewolf potion, one that would make life much easier for the likes of Lupin. It was a great opportunity and in hindsight should have seemed stupid to take on but Severus was nothing if not determined. And so he went and was unsurprisingly paralyzed with fear as Potter snatched him away from the beast. He had handed over his life to Potter that day, courtesy of Dumbledore and his proposed Life Debt all while Black's laugh echoed in the recesses of his mind.
It had taken a lot of time and meaningless apologies for Sirius to be tolerated by Remus after that day. Even now as they sat in the Great Hall, just having been notified of Snape's death, he still could not brush off that boiling anger and resentment he had developed for his friend after that night. The night where Remus laid in bed, frigid with fear that he might have taken another life as Sirius came barging in the room, his boisterous laughter bouncing off the infirmary’s walls.
Despite the various conversations had with Sirius, he could not be convinced of the fact that what he did was “proper fucked” in James's words. He genuinely saw it as a joke and it would remain that way to him forever. So what if he took it a little too far? It excited him and gave him something to do when he was bored.
Bored.
A bored Sirius was a dangerous Sirius.
Sirius Black doesn’t experience boredom like other people do. He absolutely abhors it, down to every last nerve ending. It claws at him and weighs him down heavier than any boulder ever could. It crawls underneath his skin and buzzes with impatience, often sending him into fits of rage. The first-year Gryffindors knew to avoid the common room whenever Sirius was afflicted with these fits. They'd come in after one of his infamous tantrums and everything would be in tatters, pillows thrown and parchment torn into a million minuscule pieces. Everyday was a test. A new experience. A way to see how far he could go to satisfy his boredom without crossing a line.
James's stomach churned as he tried to take in Sirius's words. He loved the dog animagus like a brother. He had even gone around parading him as a brother and vowed to never leave his side in a spur-of-the-moment display of adolescent melodrama.
Sirius's words sickened him, the pumpkin pie he had been scarfing down up until a few minutes ago was threatening to come back up. James swallowed thickly before standing up and all but sprinting to the bathroom. He pushed open the stall door and stuck his head down the toilet boil, all his stomach's contents now floating in the porcelain bowl.
It was getting increasingly more difficult to breath, his hands flying up to claw at his neck, his fingernails drawing blood. His pupils had dilated to the size of dinner plates his stomach roiled once more, sending the panicking boy into another vomiting fit. This time, it was nothing but bitter bile that came up, some of it slumbering on his mouth.
His brief, panicky breaths transformed into full on hyperventilation as he tugged at his tie. Just then, he heard the stall door being forced open and felt himself being dragged away from the porcelain bowl as a dainty hand pulled him in roughly by the collar.
Lily let out a venomous snarl as she pushed him up against the porcelain tiles of the wall before grabbing his face in one hand and smashing the back of his head into them. A deep, sharp pain penetrated the back of his skull, the bones rattling in their place. He swore he could actually see the blood pool in her eyes as she forced him to look at her.
“YOU FUCKING DID THIS.”, her breathing was rapid as she spat the words in his face, her voice cutting through both their heavy pants.
Lily’s fist collided with his nose and with a sickening crack, blood began to spurt out like a fountain. His vision had gone a hot, searing white as his hands flew up to meet the broken cartilage.
“YOU FUCKING RUINED HIS LIFE.”, her voice had cracked as her fists continued to collide with his face. So much of the warm sticky liquid gushed out that it was almost impossible to tell where it came from. He could physically feel the bruises forming as blood pooled and coagulated in all his extremities.
“YOU GODDAMN BASTARD”, another punch, this time to the stomach leaving him doubled over in a blooming pain.
“I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU JUST LIKE YOU KILLED HIM", this time a kick to his face. He was now on the floor in a neat little bundle of blood. The warm liquid had started to seep into the cracks of the bathroom tiles. He felt blood bubble up in his throat, trying to escape so he titled his head to the side and sputtered it out, the substance now coating every inch of his body. His glasses had fallen at the very first punch and now lay shattered by his equally battered body.
The thought of using a wand to hex the living daylights out of James had not even occurred to Lily as her knuckles continued to tear as they collided with his bloody face. Just reading the first sentence on that bloody paper had sent her into a spiral, her head swam with unanswered questions until a screeching thought had come to the forefront of her mind.
James did it. He had managed to make Severus's life so suffocating that he felt he had no way out but this one.
She had had her fair share of fights with Severus, eventually cutting all ties with him after he called her that filly word. She was not angry at him for it, she was disappointed that the smartest person she ever knew would utter such filth. Severus was as composed and clever as any student their age could be so it was quite a bit difficult to ignore his slip up. Besides, tensions were rising within the wizarding world and getting caught up with a potential Death Eater would only lead her to an early grave and with that she walked away from the scene of her friend’s humiliation. She was too young to give him grace for something he said in his weakest moment and it gnawed at her at every second, a dark pit in her stomach, growing larger by the second.
But the love remained and she found that she did not mind. The love was there but it didn’t save them. It didn’t magically patch up the open wounds nor did it make the scars disappear.
Her clothes were now splattered with James's blood but she found that she did not care or she was too out of it to care. Part of her liked it. Magic was powerful but nothing compared to feeling the boy's nose shatter at the collision of her fist. Her fury was immeasurable, so much so that it couldn't be subdued by a wand, a mere hex or two to make the boy suffer. She wanted to feel the press of her body against his as she tore into him, the heat of his blood as it coated her limbs, the sound of his brain rattling in his skull as she smashed his head repeatedly against her knee.
Remus was the first to find them. He had gotten up intending to check on James after the latter fled the scene. Sirius went right back to inhaling his lemon tart as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
The werewolf's ears had picked up a series of grunts emanating from the bathroom. It took him only three long strides to barge in and discover the bloodbath that had been occurring while he was in the hall.
James was unrecognisable. His face had swelled to the size of a cantaloupe. A bloody cantaloupe at that. The boy's long limbs were splayed out on the floor like pieces of meat at a butcher shop as Lily tore into him with the force of a lion.
Remus ran to stop Lily's assault on James. He clutched at her arms in a futile attempt at paralyzing her, which proved to be a difficult task as it only earned him an elbow to the stomach.
Lily thrashed and bit and kicked in his arms as he struggled to pull her off the now passed out boy. She was now vibrating with anger, sending shockwaves to Remus as he clasped her hands and put them behind her back.
Her legs thrashed and flew all over the place as she spat profanities at the unconscious boy. It was as if the red-head's brain had switched off, leaving only her corporal faculties alive, which at that moment, had wanted to tear James from limb to limb, like a rabid bear.
Her breaths came out in wheezing gasps now, as if her throat had turned into a whistle. Tears spilled uncontrollably from her eyes, blurring her vision so that she could not decipher who was James and who was Remus. Her voice had gone hoarse now and the profanities turned into whimpers and gasping breaths.
“You fucking killed him...”, her voice had trailed off to a whisper now, as if coming to some kind of realization.
“You did this to him, you caused all of it...”, another whimper. Remus found it easier to hold her off now, seeing as her limbs had gone slack. Her eyes were now half-hooded and red-rimmed, the white grates of her teeth grit against each other.
Just as Lupin was about to drag her away from the bloody mess she had caused, he heard the clatter of hurried footsteps making their way to the bathroom. “Shit.”, he muttered to himself. “What have you done Lily?”. Lily gave no response has she continued to gasp for air.
The door to the bathroom once again flew open. This time, it had been Professor McGonagall who had discovered the trio, all in various states of distress. She gasped, speechless, at the sight before her before using a levitating spell to escort both James and Lily to the infirmary, muttering a deadly “I’ll deal with you later Mr. Lupin” and taking off, her robes billowing behind her.
Lupin stood still, paralyzed with fear at what he had just witnessed. This somehow, seemed even more gory than his monthly transformations and that was saying a lot considering that during said transformations, his body would tear and repair again in its entirety.
In the furthest recesses of his mind, he entertained the thought that he deserved the beating, not James. Because not doing anything was worse than doing something.
He could have done something, anything. The rest of Snape's life might have turned out differently if he had, but he did not and it was now much too late to rectify his cowardice.
Cowardice had always followed him around, from his young years to his formative ones. It clung to him like a bad smell and no matter how much he tried to rid himself of it, it would not budge. No matter how many conversations he had played out in front of the mirror or how many breathing practices he did, he could not utter the words out loud. Then he’d go home and ruminate on long past conversations that he had fumbled or silent body signals he had missed and bash his fists against his head. This made his brain rattle in his skull which in turn made him panic at the thought of permanent brain damage which eventually lead to him lying in a foetal position on his bedroom floor, hyperventilating into a brown paper bag. And so the cycle continued until something or the other interrupted it.
This took a toll on him physically and mentally but it did not sting as much as seeing Snape the week after the incident. He had been walking favouring one leg over the other, and his eyes had been flitting about the room constantly, on high alert. Remus had nearly killed him that day so his behaviour was a bit understandable, that he would be very anxious because at that point, he believed nothing was off limits for the so called marauders.