FIC: Dawn (R)
Title: Dawn
Type: Fic
Age-Range Category: One
Character: Severus Snape
Author:
corferreus
Rating: R
Click to View [Warning(s)]Non-graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Physical/Emotional Abuse, Hurt/Comfort.
Summary: Severus Snape, age 9 - a summer morning within the Snape household.
The door was unlocked.
With his hand still on the drooping doorknob, Severus turned back. He flicked a half-hearted thumbs up to Old Phil who waggled his peaked cap at him and started up his vehicle. The motor whined in protest, but, in the end, the milk float moved out at a snail's pace.
Severus didn't dare move until it'd become a mere speck in the distance.
Then, he opened the door cautiously, stopping its swing before it could creak. He sucked in his stomach and wiggled in through the small gap. Afterwards, having closed the door after him with great care, he stopped and listened.
The house stood steeped in silence.
Dust motes drifted by, ghost-like, in the gloomy hallway. One of them got up his nose and Severus fiercely squeezed the tip of it until the urge to sneeze went away.
Thinking it over, he tiptoed towards the kitchen. It was always better to ascertain the position of one's enemy straight away. Even if one didn't necessarily mean to fight back.
The smell alone betrayed him, Severus thought as he wrinkled his nose in protest to the sickening mix of cheap tobacco, cheap alcohol and cheap cologne.
Asleep and slumped down on the table, the heavy-set man, dressed in an overly-stained boiler suit, dwarfed Severus' mother's dainty kitchen chair. In front of him, half-filled and dirty plates and cups and other tableware lay in disarray amid various food spills. There was a fat house fly buzzing about a brown smudge, just inches away from one of his father's beefy forearms.
There it was again, that old and familiar hot, sticky muddiness choking the back of Severus' throat.
The vicar from the church his grandmother had dragged him to, when he'd been too young to say no, had called it hatred. He'd also threatened Severus with hell's eternal fires of damnation, if he did not repent for his mortal sin.
It was why, he'd made sure, before leaving the small village overlooking the Thames, to break every window in the rectory. Even if, at home, his father, belt in hand, had been waiting for him, and no amount of his mother's tears could save him.
Spare the rod and spoil the child, spare the rod and spoil the child, his father had muttered all the while.
The hatred hadn't gone away. It was Severus' oldest companion, after all.
The massive man shifted in the chair, making its joints groan painfully, and Severus took an involuntary half-step back.
He winced as soon as he'd done it, hearing the raw crunch of crockery shattering under his foot. Coming in, he'd been so careful not to hit the fallen teacup, but now his luck ran out. Barely breathing, eyes peeping under his lowered brows, he dared a quick look towards the head of the table.
His father had slumped even further, almost nose-diving into his plate. The more he'd drink, the louder he would snore, Severus had discovered this a long time ago, but, he still moved quietly, keeping his feet light and at as far a distance as their cramped kitchen would allow.
He stopped at more than an arm's length. Even so, the stench was revolting enough to send even Severus' empty belly cramping. Biting down on his tongue, he endured the pain, as he kept staring.
On the table the pack of cigs yawning-open near his father's hand was almost full. He'd drunk so hard and he was on his second pack.
His thin lips pulling into a sneer, Severus turned his head and checked the date on his mother's kitchen calendar. Sure enough!
Supposedly, his father's pay day was in two days, or so he'd said, but, if there was another thing Severus had learned, growing up in his family, money didn't lie. The people behind it did.
Every end of the week, his mother would put her hard-earned shilling notes, still smelling of soap and bleach, into her husband's ruddy hands. The reverse wasn't true; his father's money was his.
They could bloody well starve if they didn't like it, he'd rant again and again. Or they could just conjure it, couldn't they, the bleeding pair of hags, he'd laugh and spit at the ground at their feet.
His mother would just purse her lips and not speak, keeping Severus behind her at all times. Even then, the hatred would only blaze stronger inside of him. Until the lightbulb sparked out, or the window glass cracked, or the furniture wood splintered.
His father's eyes would widen, but the fear didn't last for long. His mother would then bear the brunt of Severus' rebellion.
It had taken him dozens of tries since Severus had come to understand he was the cause of the uncontrolled bursts of energy to learn how to keep it tightly leashed around his own person at all times.
But, thanks to his father's 'teachings', Severus had honed his magic subtle. It moved not under the weight of a thought, but slinked under the shadow of one.
That's what he used now as he pointed his forefinger straight and closed his eyes. He drew in his mind the likeness of his father's baggy pockets, then crooked his finger.
He opened his eyes to see a sundry of objects floating gently towards him. He curled all of his fingers into a fist. Then, making sure there was no hidden debris, he crawled under the table, letting the fringed edge fall free to curtain off the outside.
His father's belongings crowded in after him, a couple of them banging softly against the low underside. Severus frowned, but there was no following sound besides his father's snoring.
The wand would likely be easier to use, his mother had told him, ruffling his messy hair, when he'd demonstrated to her the extent of his control. Her smile had shown off her pride in him, but the look in her eyes had been pained. Unlike other Wizarding children, he could only practice magic in this way.
There were no artefacts, no charmed objects, no magical books in their house. Not even his mother's wand had remained in her possession. For all intents and purposes, Eileen Prince, a proud daughter of one of the oldest Wizarding lines, was almost a Squib.
It hadn't always been like that. Severus had memories, as vague as the tail-end of a dream, of his mother singing him lullabies and making shiny stars spark out of thin air to make him laugh, when he was little.
But yes, a wand could be of help, he thought as he pressed his open palm firmly on the ground. One by one, his father's wallet, his heavy ring of keys, a wrinkled handkerchief, a stick of unwrapped gum, a couple of lint-covered peppermint candies, and a bunch of loose change settled in front of him.
Sitting cross-legged, Severus quickly divvied up his loot. He tore in halves the stick of gum, stuck one half inside his mouth and rewrapped the other, setting it aside. He dismissed everything else besides the wallet.
He sorted through the worn, sticky banknotes, removing a couple that looked like they could still be used at the market without losing one's face. He hesitated, took another one, then thought better and slid it inside the stack he'd put back inside the aging leather wallet. Greediness led to foolishness, after all, he told himself as he chewed steadily though the gum's sugary coating.
He scrabbled from his hiding spot, then, keeping his eyes on his father's slumbering form, retreated to the kitchen's door. One hand held on tightly to the few notes he'd stolen, and the other tightened and relaxed in turns, bringing his father's things to land safely inside his pockets again.
When everything was settled, Severus finally let go of his breath, almost swaying in place. His muscles felt jittery and there was a faint sheen of sweat covering his brow. Carefully closing the door behind him, he staggered towards the back of the house.
Outside, the sun had finally pierced through the early dawn clouds. Light streamed through the dense, deeply-green crown of the old ash tree that stood at the centre of their back garden. Its leaves started chattering in waves, stirring awake under the meandering wind's touch.
Standing in the doorway, Severus raised his face towards the whitening sky and closed his eyes. He felt nearly weightless, here, in the open, in his and his mother's garden. He gave himself a full minute to enjoy the feeling, letting the soothing breeze cool down his heated body. Here, he was safe.
The trill of a robin, perched on of the lower branches of the ash tree, brought him back to the present. He quickly exchanged his shoes for work boots, then went out into the garden.
Under his feet, the moist earth broke down into clumps, sticking somewhat unpleasantly to the soles of his heavy footwear. He walked on, ignoring the squeaking noises. His father, although born and raised in the country so to say, hated it with a passion. He disliked the garden and despised them for enjoying it as much as they did. What kept it safe from his suspicious eyes was the many rows of produce Severus' mother could painstakingly cultivate each year.
Severus stared now at the leafy lines of tomato, cucumber and bell-pepper plants growing out at the font of the garden. Flowers, white and yellow, were in full bloom, inching their heads towards the sun and standing guard over the still-unripe fruits of their labour.
They were growing quite tall this year, he mused happily, all the better to hide behind.
For, deep within the garden, far away from what could be clearly seen without some sort of visual aid, there were patches of plants not meant for Muggle eyes, his father's especially. It was the only form of magic still left to his mother, and the one she'd been fervently teaching to Severus since he could learn to keep a secret.
However, the growing and reaping of the plants was only the beginning. Then came the gathering of all the other materials, the complex and varied ways of storing and preparing them, and finally the brewing. Outside of the existence of his mother's plants, everything else remained in the abstract realm of theory. But Eileen Prince had not backed down.
If she didn't have books to show him the Wizarding World, then she'd write and draw it for him from her own mind. Sheets upon sheets of the cheapest paper were filled by her, night after night, under the guise of her insomnia-driven cleaning bouts.
In the morning, he'd reach under his pillow, feel the crinkle of the new pages and smile.
During the long springs and summers and autumns they'd worked side by side in the garden, she'd teach Severus everything she could remember from her own schooling days, insisting on what was more at hand: Herbology and Potions. He had a knack for those two subjects, she'd alway maintained, but there was nothing to stop him from achieving Outstanding in all of them. Nothing.
Just let him get to Hogwarts, she'd tell him, a rare smile on her too-thin face. He'd have his own wand, his books, his broom. Even the sky would not be the limit for Eileen Prince's bright, precious boy.
Severus would, of course, accomplish all of his mother's aspirations, there was no doubt. He knew his strengths and he would not allow himself any weaknesses. But, he wanted more. He wanted through all the greatness, all the riches he could attain to secure his mother's release from her tormentor. That was his hidden desire and what he hoped Hogwarts would be able to give him. Just two years from now, and he'd...
He stopped right in front of the ash tree and stooped down. Clumps of dittany grew out in vivid green patches in the mulch near its roots, with wisps of thin smoke clinging to some of the outside straggling bushes. Severus was careful not to touch any of them as he reached near the base of the tree trunk and gave three knocks on a certain stretch of bark.
A shallow, darkened crevice shimmered into view. Severus didn't rush, first rummaging around, to make sure their treasure was still within. Once reassured, he then slipped inside the newly-looted money notes. He knocked three times on the bark near the opening, and soon it'd winked completely out of view.
Having finished, he rose and stretched, hearing joints pop painlessly in his back. He wiped his hands on his white as snow handkerchief and left the garden. He didn't stop to see if his father had woken, instead choosing to walk straight out of the house.
The front lawn, by comparison with the back garden, was small and neglected, and very much under his father's responsibility. With a disdainful look, Severus crouched down, spread his fingers, anchoring them in the loose soil, and sent off tendrils of heat to dry out any leftover dew. Then, he sat once more, cross-legged, chewing thoughtfully on his piece of gum.
His mother, like his father, had lately started taking night shifts for the better pay. They'd let her off by 8 o'clock, and once she'd come home, Severus planned to take her to have some hot breakfast, far away from this madhouse. Buy themselves some hours of quiet with the pocket change Severus had received from helping out Old Phil with the milk delivery from that week.
He hummed and made the coins ring inside his left pocket. Within the other one, he had a round piece of salted caramel, a present from Old Phil. His youngest daughter lived in France, and he'd sworn this was a sweet of the highest delicacy.
Severus smoothed his fingers over it, going again and again, like over a talisman. He'd put it under his mother's pillow that very night, so she could find it first thing in the morning.
Minutes passed slowly as the sun turned even brighter. Severus was starting to really feel the heat.
A long car passed on the road in front, honking and raising billows of dust in its wake. It stopped a couple of houses over, and from it emerged a man and a woman, middle-aged, probably a couple. They immediately turned towards the back seats and started gesticulating.
At once, two young girls sprang out from the car. The smaller one had a full head of flame-coloured hair and looked as lively as quicksilver. Severus watched her from underneath his bangs, not knowing why she'd so thoroughly captured his attention.
The family appeared to be moving in the neighbourhood, as far as Severus could judge from all the action. When a moving truck, even noisier than the car, stopped right behind it, the suspicion turned to reality.
The girls squealed with joy as one and ran towards it. In passing, the red-headed sibling seemed to notice Severus' presence, and smiling widely, sent a cheerful wave in his direction. Not waiting for a response, she'd already rushed back to the house, carrying some sort of package, by the time Severus had thought how to respond.
Too slow to act, he was left with a pang in his chest, an unaccustomed gleeful grin on his face and a hand half-raised in greeting. He huffed, shaking his head. That little girl had something unexpected about her, something that kept tugging at his mind. Could she be magic, he wondered. Was she just like him?
He climbed to his feet, ready to go over and snoop around, when, suddenly, he came face to face with his mother's figure. She'd somehow managed to sneak up on him
Gray-faced and too-thin, with hands ravaged by the too harsh detergents she dealt with daily, she seemed smaller than ever under the still-rising sun. Her smile remained unchanged though, warm and inviting and all for him.
Severus raised himself up on his toes and caught her in a hug.