The taste of control
Severus had always known pain.
The sting of a slap. The burn of a hex. The sharp, biting laughter of his peers. He had grown accustomed to it, had learned to endure it in silence. But this—
This was different.
This was power.
The Gryffindor boy had limped away, clutching his leg, his face pale with confusion and pain. No one had suspected Severus. No one had even looked at him. And as he walked away, the whispers curled around him like smoke, their voices warm, approving.
“See how easy it is?”
“They’re weak.”
“They deserve it.”
Severus exhaled slowly, his fingers tingling with the remnants of magic.
For the first time, the weight pressing down on him felt lighter.
For the first time, he had control.
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It wasn’t enough.
A single hex, a single moment of satisfaction—it had faded too quickly, like a drop of ink in water, spreading thin until it was nothing. The laughter in the corridors still rang in his ears. The Marauders still whispered behind his back. His father still existed.
The next time had to be bigger.
More satisfying.
More permanent.
The whispers knew.
“Patience.”
“Plan it properly.”
“Make them feel it.”
Severus listened.
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It started as all things did—with laughter.
Severus was walking up the stone staircase to the library when he heard it. The cruel, sharp-edged laughter of Sirius Black and James Potter.
“Snivellus,” James called lazily. “Going to read more about how to wash your hair? Or did you give up on that?”
Sirius chuckled, leaning against the railing. “Leave him, James. He’s got better things to do. Like crying into his pillow.”
Severus kept walking.
They weren’t worth it.
Not yet.
James flicked his wand.
Severus barely had time to react before his foot jerked sideways, his balance stolen by an invisible force.
For a single, terrible moment, he felt weightless.
Then he was falling.
Pain exploded up his spine as he crashed down the stone steps, books flying from his grasp. His vision blurred, the breath knocked from his lungs. The world tilted.
Laughter.
Sirius and James howling with amusement. The distant, muffled sound of a teacher shouting.
Severus lay on the cold stone, his body trembling. His ribs ached, his palms scraped raw, but none of it mattered.
The whispers hummed softly, sweetly.
“It’s time.”
Severus closed his eyes.
And he smiled.
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The next morning, the whispers guided him.
Severus sat in the library, his quill scratching against parchment, his ink-stained fingers steady.
It had to be flawless.
James was too well-liked. Too surrounded by people. A public attack would be foolish.
Sirius, though.
Sirius was reckless. Overconfident. He went places alone, trusting his name to shield him from consequence.
Severus had watched. Had waited.
He knew where Sirius went after dinner.
Knew which corridors he used to sneak out after curfew.
Knew that tonight, he would be alone.
Severus dipped his quill into the inkwell, the whispers purring in the back of his mind.
“Hurt him.”
“Make him afraid.”
“Make him feel as small as you did on those stairs.”
Severus would.
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The castle was silent.
Severus stood in the shadows of an empty corridor, his breath slow and controlled. He had been waiting for twenty minutes. The whispers were restless, hungry.
Then—footsteps.
Sirius.
He strolled past without a care, his wand twirling between his fingers. Arrogant. Untouchable.
Severus moved before he could think.
A whispered curse.
The torches in the corridor snuffed out.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
Sirius stopped. “What the—?”
Severus struck.
A flick of his wand—Sirius’ feet yanked out from under him. He hit the floor hard, a grunt of pain escaping his lips.
Severus advanced, his footsteps slow, deliberate. His wand burned in his grip.
Sirius cursed, scrambling to push himself up. “Who—?”
Severus flicked his wrist.
Pain blossomed in Sirius’ leg as his muscles seized violently. He gasped, his body convulsing, his fingers clawing at the stone.
Severus crouched beside him, tilting his head. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” His voice was quiet, almost gentle.
Sirius’ breath came in sharp gasps. His eyes were wide, dark in the pitch-black corridor. “Snape—?”
Severus smiled.
And pressed his wand to Sirius’ throat.
“How does it feel,” he whispered, “to be powerless?”
Sirius stared at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
For the first time, Severus saw something new in his eyes.
Not amusement.
Not arrogance.
Fear.
It was intoxicating.
“More.”
“Make him scream.”
Severus’ fingers tightened around his wand. He could do it. He could break him. Right here. Right now.
Then—
“Severus.”
The whispers shattered.
A voice. A real one.
Lupin.
Severus’ head snapped up, his pulse hammering. Down the corridor, a dim light flickered—Remus, his wand glowing faintly.
Severus’ grip faltered.
He had seconds.
Seconds before the moment was lost.
Sirius’ breathing was ragged beneath him. His lips were parted, his pupils blown wide.
Severus leaned in close, his breath ghosting over Sirius’ ear.
“Next time,” he murmured, “no one will find you.”
Then he was gone.
The whispers screamed in protest as he slipped into the shadows, leaving Sirius gasping on the floor.
But Severus wasn’t worried.
This was only the beginning.