Happy Birthday Rose!
Hope you have a great day.
Have some angsty Severus genfic. Because surely that's what everyone wants for their Birthday. Or quite possibly not.
Title: Little Green
Author ell_dee
Rating PG
Disclaimer Not mine.
Notes The title has nothing to do with anything but naming this thing kicked my arse. Hugs and kisses to shikishi for the beta.
Severus cowers at the top of the stairs, his hands pressed against his eyes, cheek rubbing against the smooth grain of the banister as he rocks slowly back and forth. He can hear them arguing, hear the raised voices and the dull thump of something, or someone, hitting the wall in the parlour but he has to strain to make out more than the odd word.
His fathers voice is slurred, words running together in a litany of abuse and obscenities. Severus doesn’t have to imagine the smell of alcohol on his father’s breath as, with rage fuelled by too much whiskey and too little joy, he screams into his wife’s face.
He wants to run to his mother, to comfort and protect her, but knows all that would achieve is to turn the blind anger of his fathers hatred onto him. Knows even at this young age that it hurts his mother more to see his bruised face than to look at her own.
And so he sits silently on the stairs, listening and praying for it to end, mouthing ‘die, just die’ under his breath. Tears run down his face and splash against the rough wooden steps.
He hears a sudden broken off scream and sees a flash of green light from beneath the door and then silence. It is now eerily quiet and yet he still daren’t move. Seconds pass but they feel like hours, he scrunches up his courage and makes his way downstairs. Making sure to keep to the side of the stairs so they don’t creak. He learned to creep before he learned to run.
At the door he stops and presses his ear against it. Hears nothing from the other side. He tries not to think about what he will find as, with shaking hands, he slowly pushes the door open.
His father is laid out on the floor, a look of terror in his open, unblinking eyes.
His mother stands in the centre of the room, blood matting her long brown hair, a deep purple bruise stains her cheek. Her mouth hangs open and he can see that she has lost yet more teeth. Her wand hangs loosely in her broken fingers but she holds her head high and tries to smile at him as she whispers ‘it’s over now’.
He wishes he could believe her.
Have some angsty Severus genfic. Because surely that's what everyone wants for their Birthday. Or quite possibly not.
Title: Little Green
Author ell_dee
Rating PG
Disclaimer Not mine.
Notes The title has nothing to do with anything but naming this thing kicked my arse. Hugs and kisses to shikishi for the beta.
Severus cowers at the top of the stairs, his hands pressed against his eyes, cheek rubbing against the smooth grain of the banister as he rocks slowly back and forth. He can hear them arguing, hear the raised voices and the dull thump of something, or someone, hitting the wall in the parlour but he has to strain to make out more than the odd word.
His fathers voice is slurred, words running together in a litany of abuse and obscenities. Severus doesn’t have to imagine the smell of alcohol on his father’s breath as, with rage fuelled by too much whiskey and too little joy, he screams into his wife’s face.
He wants to run to his mother, to comfort and protect her, but knows all that would achieve is to turn the blind anger of his fathers hatred onto him. Knows even at this young age that it hurts his mother more to see his bruised face than to look at her own.
And so he sits silently on the stairs, listening and praying for it to end, mouthing ‘die, just die’ under his breath. Tears run down his face and splash against the rough wooden steps.
He hears a sudden broken off scream and sees a flash of green light from beneath the door and then silence. It is now eerily quiet and yet he still daren’t move. Seconds pass but they feel like hours, he scrunches up his courage and makes his way downstairs. Making sure to keep to the side of the stairs so they don’t creak. He learned to creep before he learned to run.
At the door he stops and presses his ear against it. Hears nothing from the other side. He tries not to think about what he will find as, with shaking hands, he slowly pushes the door open.
His father is laid out on the floor, a look of terror in his open, unblinking eyes.
His mother stands in the centre of the room, blood matting her long brown hair, a deep purple bruise stains her cheek. Her mouth hangs open and he can see that she has lost yet more teeth. Her wand hangs loosely in her broken fingers but she holds her head high and tries to smile at him as she whispers ‘it’s over now’.
He wishes he could believe her.