Work Text:
He thinks all the warmth will leave him when he returns home for the summer. The last letter from his mother didn't make it sound like anything was better between her and his father He's wrong; there's some warmth at the promise of spending the last week of the holidays before school with Lily and her family, even the thought of Petunia cannot sour his mood. Peeking out of his room shows a quiet house, so he tentatively steps out into the hallway. His steps are light and his eyes constantly look around for signs of his father. There are none. For once he must have been able to get up for work when he is supposed to. Severus relaxes and he heads into the kitchen. There's not much in. Usually, when it's like this he'd go to Lilly's. But he doesn't want to do that so soon into the summer holiday. He cuts and boils the vegetables that are still good, lightly salt them. He eats over the kitchen sink and directly from the drained pot to have less dishes to do. Eventually, he pulls out the remaining cold cuts and opens the bread box to choose the only pieces that have some softness to them. They still feel stale.
He had seen his mother's things at the front door, her shoes and threadbare coat. He knows she must have worked late last night. She probably didn't eat. Severus cuts the bread in two and puts it on a plate before grabbing her a glass of water. A trip back down the hall and he presses his ear to the door. There was no sound. Sleeping still, then. Awkwardly, he opens the door and slips into the room. His hip lightly bumps it closed. It stays cracked. He scoffs quietly at the door as if it's a personal offence it didn't close, but he just shakes his head at himself; he knew the door needed a slight shove to close it completely. The plate and glass is out at her nightstand. She doesn't even move at the sound of him moving around the room to tidy it up for her. Severus hated that it also means he's technically tidying up for his father, but he can live with that for the small smile his mother will give when there is one less thing for her to do later before going back out. She isn't always around and doesn't always know what to say- sometimes she doesn't say anything. But she was tired and worn down by life. He could understand that. He already felt like that at times. If whether he felt that more acutely at school or at home is a toss up. It would depend on his mood that day and what thoughts he was dwelling on.
After he puts away the last thing he stands at the end of the bed and lightly shakes his mother's foot, "Mum." It shakes with his movements but she must be dead asleep. He wonders if she was able to sneak a potion before going to bed. He hopes so. She needed it despite what his father said. Severus smiles at her and walks around the bed slightly to shake her knee, "Mum." No movement. Her side. "Mum?" Her shoulder. "Mum?" A rougher shake. "Mum!" His hands frantically push her onto her back to press his ear to her chest. He'd hear her heartbeat and it would prove she is just under the influence of a potent potion. She's the one who taught him, so she'd know how to make something potent with as few ingredients as possible. The side of his face is pressed high on her chest, his ear and a portion of his cheek lays against cold flesh. He stares at her neck as he keeps his face there. There's no thrum of a pulse in her thin neck, there's no rise of her body, no eye movement under her eyelids, no flaring of her nostrils as she inhales in her sleep. "Mum." She is cold. She's cold. Did his father feel her cold when he woke up? Did he know his wife was dead and decided to work than deal with it? Or did he just wonder off and leave it to Severus to find and deal with. His vision swims as his eyes begin to sting and burn. By the time he sits up his mouth is dry and his eyes feel swollen. Her skin almost feels warm where he had laid. His hand cups a cheek. It's still cold. He's never thought he was warm, but next to her he feels like he's burning.
The sound of the front door opening and closing makes his eyes narrow and he stands from the bed. Absently, he grabs the lamp with the burnt out bulb. It's been broke for years and kept as a decoration because it has the prince crest on it. The family that ousted his mother, the family that pushed her to rebel, the family that refused to help when she pleaded for it- when she pleaded for them to at least take him. She'd be warm and he'd be warm. If it weren't for his father this wouldn't have happened. If he didn't exist- Severus would make him cold, too. His father stumbles onto the couch, dropping down into a disgusting heap as he kicks off his shoes. From where stands he can smell the alcohol. Did he even come home last night? Did his mother die alone in bed without the comfort of someone holding her as she drifted off to sleep? His hand tightens on the body of the lamp and he mechanically removes the lamp shade. He brings his arm back to hold the lamp a distance above his father's head. It'd only take one quick movement.