Chapter Text
25th August, 1975
There was silence at Spinner’s End, Number 9. Within those walls, silence was never a synonym for peace; more often than not, it meant tension. Which, all things considered, was still preferable to the alternative.
A table had been set up just beyond the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. The house had never been designed to accommodate a dining room. It was clearly intended for a single man who worked in one of the nearby factories and was too exhausted to concern himself with something as mundane as setting the table. It was a house built for the kind of man who would sit in an armchair with a whisky and call that supper.
As it happened, that was exactly the sort of man who lived there. The problem with the owner of Spinner’s End, Number 9—as with every previous owner—was that the men of the Snape family had bowed to the social expectation to marry and produce at least one heir, generation after generation.
An heir to what, none of them had ever really known. For decades, perhaps even centuries, anyone unfortunate enough to bear that surname had barely scraped by.
Every man in the Snape family had married a relatively quiet woman; ‘pliant’, as Tobias’ father, Ernest, had always described his wife, Patricia. Women who did not complain or aspire—or at least never admitted to aspiring—to be anything more than mothers and housewives. Each of them had fathered a single son and raised him in accordance with Snape tradition: one stroke of the belt is worth a thousand words.
Then Eileen came along.
Eileen was different; Tobias had always known that. At first, it had been exciting. She was a mysterious woman on the run from a family she would not even name, eager to defy convention and utterly uninterested in social expectations. It had been thrilling when Tobias was eighteen.
Now, however, Tobias was forty. The lively sparkle in thirty-eight-year-old Eileen’s eyes was no longer exciting; it was childish. Her mysterious origins were no longer intriguing; they were something to hide, something to be ashamed of and never to mention. Being different was no longer charming. It was something to be discouraged. Something to be punished.
But Eileen had never given in. She had desired a child more than Tobias had desired an heir, and she had yearned for a home more than Tobias had needed a house. So the table appeared in the only small patch of empty space the house offered. No matter how hard Tobias tried to turn every meal into an argument, Eileen never allowed that to stop her from sitting down and sharing mealtimes with him.
Like a family.
Severus had never understood why she kept trying. As far as he was concerned, they might as well have eaten separately—preferably in different rooms and without speaking to one another. Sitting in that chair while his father sat at the head of the table, stuffing himself without so much as a word of thanks, and his mother forced brittle smiles while her leg trembled beneath the table, made him feel sick.
“Not hungry, Sev?” she asked softly, glancing at the plate piled high with bangers and mash.
Severus looked at her. The mere thought of eating any of it made his stomach churn.
“Not very.”
“The boy’s never hungry, Leen,” his father muttered between mouthfuls of sausage. “It doesn’t take a genius to work that out. Just look at him.”
Severus was used to remarks like that. He received between five and fifteen of them every day, most of which were exactly like that one: half-muttered to his mother as though he were not even in the room. They did not stop at his being skinny. His father found fault with almost everything: the way he spoke, moved, walked and stood; when he was too quiet; when he did something; and when he did nothing at all.
By then, he had become completely numb to it. He reached for his glass of water and lifted it to his lips with deliberate indifference.
“The salad’s very good, though,” he added, pulling the bowl towards him.
Eileen had a habit of adding some of the magical herbs she grew in a pot beneath the sitting room windowsill to her salads. Growing herbs and brewing potions were the only magical things she could still manage; they were discreet enough to escape Tobias’ notice. Every now and then, she would slip Valerian leaves into Severus’ meals or stir one of her homemade elixirs into his porridge to provide him with what little nourishment he could get, despite their poverty and his constant nausea.
Severus knew. It was their secret. Comments about the food were the only way he could share a quiet moment of complicity with her when his father was present.
Eileen smiled and nodded as she took the salad bowl from him.
“It can’t be genetic, can it?” Tobias went on, shovelling another great spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
He was right—it wasn’t genetic.
His father stood at over six foot three and carried with pride more than sixteen stone of muscle, most of which he had earned through hard labour—a fact he never failed to complain about yet somehow insisted ennobled him. His mother was slender, though not unusually so for a woman. She was even taller than average.
Severus had no idea why he had turned out the way he had. He was fifteen, yet his body showed no sign of ceasing to resemble that of a thirteen-year-old. While his classmates changed, he remained exactly the same. Perhaps it was a curse—perhaps he was doomed to stay that way forever. He scarcely cared. In fact, if it irritated his father, he did not mind in the least.
“I reckon it’s ingratitude,” Tobias grumbled, spraying a mouthful of wine as he spoke. “Maybe the boy thinks food just appears on his plate by itself. That no one has to work to put it there.”
“Tob,” Eileen said quietly.
It wasn’t a genuine warning; there was no conviction behind it. It was the sort of timid plea that said, ‘Please. Just for one evening. Just this once, let us have dinner in peace.’
Severus had stopped caring about peace a long time before. The only reason he never rose to his father’s bait was because doing so would have been exactly what the man wanted.
Tobias ignored his wife entirely, fixing his son with a look of such utter contempt that Severus awarded it a solid eight out of ten. He sometimes scored his father’s expressions: zero for ‘surprisingly mild’, ten for ‘he’s about to kill me’.
Tobias held his gaze for a moment before turning away with theatrical disdain and resuming his meal as though nothing had happened.
Eileen glanced anxiously around the room, as she always did, searching for a topic of conversation that could fill the silence without provoking the man seated beside her. No easy task.
“So, Sev,” she said, forcing a crooked smile. “Are you excited about going back to school?”
School, thought Severus.
That was a relatively safe topic. His father disapproved of his attending a wizarding school, but he was happier at the prospect of his greatest disappointment leaving home again.
Nicely done, Mum. Nine out of ten.
“It’s all right,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m looking forward to getting back to studying.”
Tobias gave a derisive snort.
“Studying…” he muttered.
Both Severus and Eileen pretended not to hear him.
“Aren’t you looking forward to seeing your friends again?” she asked.
Severus lowered his gaze to his plate. He pushed his spoon into the mashed potatoes, took a small scoop, then dropped it back onto the plate.
“Of course,” he mumbled.
His mother studied him with quiet, measured concern. His father let out a bitter laugh.
“Oh, please…”
Severus’ eyes snapped up to meet the man’s hard stare. It happened sometimes. He would promise himself that he would not take the bait, but eventually he gave in. It had been happening more and more ever since he was given a wand. Knowing that he could cast a curse at him if necessary had given him a quiet sense of power that was slowly pulling him out of the bubble of terror in which his father had kept him imprisoned.
“What’s funny?”
Tobias’ nostrils flared.
“Don’t you dare use that tone with me!” he barked.
Severus held his gaze, but said nothing. Not because he had nothing to say. Because he knew he would not be the one to pay for his own defiance. He folded his arms and looked back down at his plate.
Satisfied, Tobias picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth and tossed it carelessly onto the table.
“You know perfectly well he hasn’t got any friends to go back to,” he spat, turning to his wife. “The only friend he has is the neighbour’s daughter he sneaks off to see at night, thinking we don’t notice.”
“Tob!” Eileen exclaimed.
Meanwhile, Severus had lowered his head until a lock of black hair slipped across his forehead. The familiar pallor of his face gave way to a faint flush on his cheeks.
“If he were sneaking off for a bit of snogging behind our backs, at least that would be normal for a fifteen-year-old,” Tobias sneered. “But of course not. He goes there to chat. Mark my words, one of these days they’ll be brushing each other’s hair.”
“Tob, that’s enough.”
“It’s all right, really,” he went on relentlessly. “That little redhead needs a girlfriend. I can’t imagine she’s having much of a life either.”
Severus was on his feet before he realised it.
The chair scraped violently across the floor—a noise that had earned him countless harsh rebukes over the years—and he stood facing his father, his head still bowed and his hair still hanging across his face.
Tobias rose cautiously, his expression verging on an amused grin. He took a couple of slow steps forward until he was standing directly in front of his son.
“Tobias, please!” Eileen cried, already on her feet and ready to step in.
“What are you going to do with that?” he hissed, nodding towards Severus’ pocket.
Without thinking—a reflex born of more than one ambush in the corridors of Hogwarts—Severus’ hand went straight to his wand, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
“Are you going to show me one of your little magic tricks, boy? Or are you going to face me like a man for once?”
Severus considered it. The man standing before him was at least three times his size; he wasn’t foolish enough to imagine that he could beat him in a fair fight. But Merlin, how he wanted to show him one of his magic tricks…
Perhaps one he’d never had the chance to try before. The one that tied the victim’s tongue into knots? Or the one that stitched their lips together? Or maybe the one that left their bones as brittle as glass? Or even better, the one that covered their body with deep, bleeding bites as though a savage dog had torn into them.
He pictured them all. He saw his father dangling upside down before him, begging to be let down. He saw him clutching at his chest and fighting desperately for breath, his face slowly turning purple as he pleaded for mercy. He saw himself refusing.
He saw himself laughing.
“Tobias,” Eileen said steadily.
She had stepped between them, her arms outstretched. She met her husband’s intense gaze without flinching.
“Tobias,” she repeated. “No.”
Slowly, his eyes moved from his son to her. His expression did not change in the slightest, but the fist he had been clenching gradually relaxed. He said nothing. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and looked at Severus from beneath lowered brows, his expression a familiar mixture of pity, resentment, and disappointment. Severus had come to interpret that look as ‘you’re not even worth it’.
Then he turned away and walked towards the bedroom, his nose in the air, with the unhurried composure of a man utterly convinced of his own righteousness.
Eileen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She turned back to Severus, offered him a trembling smile, and bent down until their faces were level. Cupping his cheek in one hand, she brushed her thumb gently across his skin.
“Go to your room, Sev,” she murmured. “Get some rest. These are your last few days of the holidays, after all.”
Severus did not even try to return her smile. He knew he couldn’t.
“Don’t go in there,” he whispered. “There’s no point. You’re trying to reason with an animal. It’ll only bite you.”
Eileen let her hand fall from his cheek and stood up straight. Much of the tenderness disappeared from her face.
“That’s your father you’re talking about,” she said firmly. “Your family.”
Severus wrinkled his nose.
“You are my family,” he mumbled through gritted teeth.
Her expression softened again, but only slightly. She tucked the stray lock of hair back behind his ear and nodded towards the other side of the living room.
“Go to your room,” she repeated.
Severus gave up. There was no point. Nothing he did or said ever made any difference. He did not look at her as he walked past her and crossed the room.
It wasn’t really his room; it was a cupboard that had been emptied, furnished and covered in pale blue wallpaper to hide the cracks in the walls. Severus hated that wallpaper. While not particularly ugly, it had been hung carelessly and the floral pattern slanted slightly to the left. Even worse, it wasn’t symmetrical. On the wall opposite his bed, there were exactly forty-three little white roses from the far right-hand side to the centre, but only forty-two on the other side. It was unbearably irritating.
Severus knew because whenever he needed to distract himself from his surroundings, he counted things. At Spinner’s End, the walls were not thick enough to allow for a private conversation, and the men were not calm enough for one to be conducted in whispers.
“Do you have any idea what sort of son you’re raising? Do you realise that nobody wants him around, not even at that school for lunatics you insisted on sending him to? Even among freaks, they think he’s a freak!”
“How can you call your own son a freak? Can you even hear what you’re saying?”
Thirty-three… Thirty-four… Thirty-five…
“I know perfectly well what I’m saying! You’re too soft—that’s your problem! You know what my father did if I refused the food he put on the table? He’d belt me twice, send me to bed and put the same plate in front of me at breakfast. If you’d just let me do my duty as his father—”
“I don’t care what your father did! You’re not allowed to—”
“DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT I’M ALLOWED TO DO!”
“LET GO OF ME! LEAVE ME NOW!”
Forty… forty-one… forty-two.
There were only forty-two. It was awful. Who in Merlin’s name would hang wallpaper with an uneven number of roses? A madman, that’s who.
Hours passed. He couldn’t say exactly how many, but it was long enough for his father to fall asleep and for his mother to lock herself in the bathroom with the tap running, trying to drown out the sound of her sobbing. It must have been quite a while.
When Eileen finally found the strength to come out, Severus knew she would pass his room and open the door just a crack to watch him sleeping, as she always did after the worst evenings. He closed the book he had taken from his trunk, put out the light and pulled the sheet almost all the way up over his face.
He could tell when she arrived because there was one particular floorboard that creaked exactly where she always stopped to look in on him. He heard her sigh, then stifle another sob. The floorboard creaked once more and the sliver of light beneath his door disappeared. His mother had turned out the light and gone to bed.
He waited a little longer just to be sure. Not that it made much difference; his parents knew anyway. Nevertheless, he preferred to keep the habit as much his own as possible.
The worst thing about his father was not the scolding, the insults or the shouting, although he could happily have done without those too. The worst thing of all was that his father was right. About everything.
Severus was indeed an ungrateful son. He would never be grateful to his father for putting food on the table. He would rather have starved to death than shown him so much as a shred of appreciation.
It was true that he snuck out at night, and he did it for no reason other than to talk to her. It was also true that he wasn’t especially interested in snogging. Not that he wouldn’t have liked to try. He was curious, and she was beautiful. He was simply far more interested in her lips when they smiled at him and told him about her day.
It was also true that Severus was a freak. Everyone knew it. His father knew it, his classmates knew it, and he knew it too. The only two people incapable of seeing it were his mother and her. Severus told himself that his mother was simply too blinded by maternal devotion to see him for what he really was.
Her… Severus did not know. All he knew was that, for some reason, she had never noticed, and he hoped with all his heart that she never would.
He slipped quietly out of Number 9’s front door. Spinner’s End was neither a peaceful nor a respectable neighbourhood, but the people who lived there were consistent. Once you knew them, you knew how to behave around them. Most of them were not truly dangerous. They were simply lonely and preferred to be left alone. They caused no trouble if nobody bothered them.
The usual group of regulars from the pub at the end of the street were out and about. At that time of night, some were still inside drinking, while others wandered unsteadily along the pavement, muttering to themselves. It was the same faces every night, yet they never exchanged a word with one another.
The elderly woman who lived in the flat next door was, as always, out on her balcony. She was very old, with long white hair spilling down the back of the rocking chair on which she sat. She always wore the same scowl and watchful expression. She observed everything that happened in the neighbourhood, though no one knew why. She never did anything about it, not even when fights broke out or someone collapsed in the street. She never intervened or called the authorities; she never even rose from her rocking chair. She simply watched, at every hour of the day and night.
There was a rumour among the local children that she was a witch. Severus could never help but smirk whenever he heard someone say it.
If only they knew…
There was also a beggar sitting beneath the lamppost outside Number 9. He didn’t speak one word of English, but would occasionally mumble something in French as he asked passers-by for spare change. Severus had no idea why a Frenchman was in the middle of Cokeworth asking people for money. It was a place where every penny was counted and put aside, and no one had any to spare. Yet the French beggar was there. He would disappear every so often, only to return a few days later and remain for a while, gently rattling the coins in his tin.
He crossed the road and made his way to the great oak tree in the middle of the only green space in the neighbourhood. It was a tiny corner of paradise, nestled amongst the peeling grey walls of the surrounding buildings and the looming factory chimneys. Somehow, all that decay seemed unable to touch it.
He sat down at the foot of the oak, between two of its large roots pushing up through the earth—his usual spot.
He waited there for a long time, completely enveloped by the silence. Before long, he found himself lying beneath the tree, propped up on his elbows with his head tilted towards the emerald canopy above him. His eyelids were growing heavy. He was exhausted—he always was. But he would wait a little longer, just in case. Just a few more minutes, he told himself, as the sliver of moonlight filtering through the leaves became increasingly blurred. Just… one more minute…
“Sev!”
Severus’ eyes flew open as he sat bolt upright. He turned so quickly that his head spun; just in time to see her skipping across the grass as though the gentle August breeze were carrying her in the palm of its hand.
“You’re here,” he murmured.
It was meant as a simple observation, but sleep still clung to his voice, and he came across as unsure whether he was looking at a dream.
Lily did not seem to notice. She huffed and sat down beside him, unconcerned by the dry earth clinging to her white dress.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Severus added.
“Sorry…” Lily sighed. “It was my sister. She just wouldn’t stop talking!”
Severus frowned. “What was she talking about?”
“Everything!” Lily exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “She finished that course she was doing in London, remember? I told you about it.”
He nodded silently.
“Well, she got the job in the end,” she continued. “And she’s met this boy, this… junior executive. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
“Oh,” Severus whispered.
Lily gave a short giggle.
“She’s completely lost her head,” she said. “Honestly, she wouldn’t stop talking about him. Even Mum had had enough towards the end. Dad had to rescue her with some excuse. She’s talking about marriage already!”
Severus blinked, pausing to absorb the words.
“Marriage?” he echoed. “Isn’t she… sixteen?”
Lily sighed. She lowered herself gently onto the grass, her dark red hair spilling through the green blades.
“You know what it’s like,” she said softly. “All girls dream about their wedding.”
Severus narrowed his eyes as he considered the idea.
“All girls?” he asked.
“Hm?” Lily murmured, as though rousing herself from a daydream. “Oh, well, I don’t know. Lots of them.”
She turned her gaze back to the night sky. Severus could almost hear her thoughts. He knew she was probably imagining her summer dress lengthening into a wedding gown and herself walking slowly down the aisle with a veil over her face and a smile on her lips.
He wondered who was waiting for her at the end of the aisle.
“Do boys think about it?” she asked after a while.
Severus swallowed and quickly looked away.
“How should I know?” he muttered. “I’m against marriage.”
Lily turned to face him, her eyebrow raised. She searched his face for a moment before letting out a chuckle.
“You’re against marriage?” she repeated in disbelief.
“Yes, I am,” he replied firmly. “It’s just something grown-ups do to convince everyone around them that they’re happy. They never really are.”
Lily’s smile slowly faded as she watched him in silence. He kept his chin tilted upwards, his gaze fixed among the leaves above, pretending not to sense her eyes on him. After a few moments, she folded one arm behind her head and turned back to the sky.
“What a depressing thought…” she murmured.
Severus lowered his head quickly. The words stung a little. Not because he disagreed with her—that was precisely the problem. He was depressing, and he was well aware of it. He didn’t want to be that way, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t fathom how everyone else managed not to, or why they failed to see things the way he did.
Then again, she would never understand. Not with a mother who was always ready to defend her and a father who told her how proud he was of her at every opportunity.
Severus was not angry; he was frustrated. He did not feel envious. He simply felt alone. He wished so desperately that she would understand, even just once…
“Your sister certainly has a lot to tell you,” he grumbled, still with his head bowed. “For someone who claims to hate you.”
It was Lily’s turn to lower her eyes. He had upset her, and he realised it immediately. He always did. He was painfully aware of the effect he had on people, and most of the time—including that one—it wasn’t intentional. He simply said things as they were. But people did not want to hear that. They just wanted to be happy.
Severus swallowed quietly, turned away and wrinkled his nose.
“Sorry…”
Lily fidgeted nervously with a few blades of grass beside her. She cleared her throat, shook her head and turned back to him with a warm smile.
“I haven’t even asked you how your evening went,” she remarked.
He looked back at her. For a moment, he simply took in her smile, then tried to return it.
“That’s true,” he nodded. “You haven’t.”
Lily nodded back and waited.
A full minute, perhaps even two, passed before she realised that the conversation was not going to continue on its own.
“Well?” she prompted.
“Well, what?”
She giggled.
“I asked you how your evening was!”
“No, you didn’t,” he replied. “You just said you hadn’t asked me.”
Lily laughed harder, pushed herself upright and gave him an affectionate punch on the arm.
“You know what I mean!”
Severus had no idea what she meant. But she was laughing, so it didn’t matter.
He rubbed his arm and let out a deliberately theatrical “Ouch!”, which made her laugh again.
“So, are you going to tell me how your evening went or not?” she insisted.
Severus sighed. He tried not to let the thought wipe the smile from his face, but he was not particularly successful.
“It was… normal,” he said with a shrug. “You know… the usual.”
Her expression slowly turned sombre.
“They’ve been arguing?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, they’ve been arguing,” he muttered, burying his face between his knees.
Lily hesitated. She opened her mouth, took a breath, then closed it again. She chose not to ask. It was unusual for her; she was a curious girl. Especially when faced with someone who shared so little about himself. That was how it had all begun. Severus was the least forthcoming boy she had ever met, and she had therefore been drawn to him instinctively.
But that evening, she decided not to probe; perhaps because there was nothing to probe. Severus never said anything beyond, “They’ve been arguing.” No matter how hard she tried—and she had been trying for years—she had never managed to make him say anything more. She was beginning to give up.
She lay back on the grass and sighed again.
“Do you think Slughorn will put us in the same class this year?”
Severus smirked. “Why? So you can lose every challenge again?”
Lily punched him on the shoulder again, this time a little harder.
“I do not lose!”
“Oh, you do,” he replied smugly. “Six to three last year.”
“That’s because I got distracted helping Mary!” she protested.
“Sounds like your problem,” he shot back. “And Mary’s.”
Lily huffed. “You’re mean…”
Severus grinned again. He lowered himself onto the grass beside her and followed her gaze up into the night sky.
“I know.”
Lily laughed once more. She shifted slightly, edging a few inches closer, and her little finger brushed his by accident.
Severus stiffened before his mind had a chance to control his body. He scanned his surroundings, desperately searching for something to count. There was nothing.
He settled for the stars.
One… two… three…
“This is going to be a magical year,” whispered Lily, seemingly oblivious. “We’re both prefects, and we’re heading into our O.W.L. year with the highest marks in the whole school!”
“Mhm…” he breathed. “A magical year…”
He dared to turn his head to her for less than a second before snapping it up again.
Twelve… thirteen… fourteen…
“Nothing can ruin it, Sev,” Lily said.
Fifteen… sixteen… seventeen…
Nothing can ruin it.