Chapter Text
Severus hated many things about the Winter season; however, the concept of Winter Holiday definitely took the cake. He would be stuck inside his small bedroom all day, wrapped in his covers, re reading the same few books he had finished weeks ago.
Library trips were reserved when his mother had time off, and he couldn’t remember the last time she had time off from work. It made him anxious, looking at the pile of four books on his desk that he had finished. They were overdue. And he knew that his mother would have to sigh, pay the fee, and then deal with the aftermath when they got home. And even though she had time off right now… he knew the fee would be more than five quid and he didn’t want to stress her out more so than she already was. He thought he would go by himself and maybe hove them in the deposit box, and just take the bus home. But then, he would need bus fare… He closed his eyes and placed the duvet over his face in despair.
The anxiety of those damn overdue library books… he didn’t even want to reach for them again. Each time he’d turn the page he’d remember the predicament he was in, and it would only make it worse. Even at eight years old, Severus knew what stress was. And it would form on his forehead, tightening his jaw, and flexing his knuckles, he would deal with headaches if he thought about his problems too much. Not only that, it would make him stutter. But that was another can of worms.
He lifted the duvet, and glanced out his window, covered in a thin layer of frost which made it too blurry to see what was outside. He could go out, make snow angels and snowmen, build a fort… He sighed. No, he knew the theatre that would cause. He knew there would be a risk of catching a cold, playing in the snow. And if he caught a cold that would mean a trip to the doctor, which meant his mother had to take more time off, his father would yell at her… he groaned and fell back onto his bed, covering himself with the duvet- now dealing with an aching headache.
It was too early in the day to take a nap, and it was too bright to even consider the idea anyways- he didn’t have curtains that would black out his room. He rose from his bed, and walked down the narrow creaky staircase into the living room. To his luck, his father wasn’t home. He never asked where he was- frankly he was too happy to care about where that man spent his time, as long as it wasn’t at home.
His mother was on the couch, watching television. She was watching some French soap opera show that Severus didn’t quite understand- there was a lot of conversation, mostly done with expressive gestures and slaps to the face, once he saw a character with a funny looking moustache slap a maid on screen.
But the soap opera shows his mother liked to watch, although he didn’t understand what exactly they were saying, made him feel relieved. It was a soundtrack of bliss, he thought- he wasn’t here to ruin it for his mother. Eileen Prince would make herself a cup of Orange Pekoe tea, and sit on the couch, her eyes glued to the love affairs and dramatic feuds of the Bandeaux Manor.
Severus walked over and sat next to her, leaning back on the couch lazily. The maid was back this episode, and she was talking to the old lady who Severus assumed was possibly someone’s grandmother. They both looked very serious.
“Would you like to watch something?” She asked, looking over at him. Severus avoided looking back at her. Mostly because she hadn’t used any makeup to cover the reminisce of her black eye. “It’s okay.” He answered, simply. She looked back at the television.
“It’s your birthday next week.” She said once the commercial break came on. He sank further on the couch, despising the topic all together. She looked at him and smiled, placing her hand on top of his head. It was warm from holding her drink. And it felt nice.
“I…don’t w-want anything.” He said at once, his eyes watching an advertisement for floor polish. “Nonsense. It’s your eighth. You know what that means, right? Another year closer to Hogwarts!” She chuckled sweetly, ruffling his hair. Severus looked up at her, and forced a smile.
His mother had discussed with him at length the realities of the Wizarding world, and would read to him when he was younger about the magical beasts he would see and tame, would show him moving photographs of the castle in Scotland, and describe to him the rules of Quidditch. She would tell him these stories with excitement in her voice, but Severus saw nothing but sadness in her expression.
Of course, Eileen Prince was indeed always sad-looking. One of Severus’ neighbours had said it while he had been outside reading: “She’s a sad looking woman, your mum.” He remembered feeling angry that they had said something so rude. But they were one-hundred percent right.
Still, when Eileen discussed Hogwarts, and the Wizarding world, she was forced to relive a life she had walked away from almost eight years ago. And, that was something Eileen Prince made an effort never to say out loud. But even for Severus, being so young, could easily tell she missed it dearly.
Therefore, he made an effort to not ask too many questions about it. He was excited about it, thrilled to see everything in person, but in a way- he hated when his mother would talk about it all- he could see the regret so clearly.
“It’s one whole year closer of receiving your letter. We’ll get it in the post. And if we don’t get it in the post, an owl might tap on your window!” She chuckled, raising her brows. Severus parted his lips, imagining a white owl tapping on his frost covered window to no avail. He worried if the owl’s beak might break, and decided he would have to wipe it down his window the night before his eleventh birthday with a cloth to make sure it wouldn’t.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the heavy footsteps going up the porch. You could always hear if someone was coming up the porch steps- the walls and doors of Severus’ house were so thin and crippled, no wonder why it always felt so cold. Severus knew at once it was his father.
He knew and memorized everyone’s steps- his father's were the ones that would make his mouth feel dry and his heart sink. He quickly got up from the couch, and Eileen quickly turned off the television- which was a shame, because the advertisements were just over. The image of the Bordeaux Mansion and tacky violin music was silenced at once by the black pixels controlled by the sad-looking woman, now robbed of her perfect day.
Severus reached the bottom step of the stairs once the door had opened, cold wind blowing into the small living room, and the broad tall man who carried with him the scent of alcohol and gasoline would have to kick the door closed. The scent of orange pekoe disappearing.
“Need to get the damn oil changed.” He scoffed, locking the door shut, and everyone else inside with him. Severus was about to run up the stairs but Tobias Snape had caught his glance and quickly snapped his fingers at him. “In such a rush, are we? Sit down.” He scoffed, pointing at the couch. Severus clenched his jaw, and slowly walked back to the couch, but instead of laying on it lazily, he sat at the very edge of the cushion, staring at the staircase with desperation.
“The car isn’t working?” His mother asked, her voice soft and cautious. She was trying to feel out if he thought it was her fault. Tobias took off his hat, tossing it on the small hook by the door and shook his head, kicking off his boots. “Car can’t work all that well when it needs it’s oil changed, does it?” He sneered. “N-no, I suppose not…” She chuckled, shaking her head.
“Call Bertie tomorrow. Let him handle it, he owes me anyway.” Tobias ordered, walking over into the kitchen and taking out a bottle of Carling Beer. Severus came to hate the colour of the burnt orange labeling of that bottle. Severus assumed Bertie must be the man who fixed their lights a few months ago, he had a utility kit and everything- he looked like one of those handymen in the cartoons. Severus wondered if Bertie had also fixed cars, do handymen just know how to fix everything?
“We’ll need it fixed by tomorrow. I need to pick up something.” She said, putting her mug down and looking over at her husband. Tobias scoffed, raising a brow at her. “What the hell do you need?” He asked. Severus looked back at the stairwell- he didn’t want to hear this. But of course, Tobias knew that, which only made it worse.
“It’s Severus’ birthday soon.” Eileen chuckled shyly, looking up at her husband with hopeful eyes. “He already got a present, don’ he?” He scoffed, now standing right in front of him. Severus looked up at the tall man, dirty blonde hair that was wet from snowflakes, eyes evil and narrow. Eileen scoffed, furrowing her brows in confusion- “What present?” She asked.
Tobias tilted his head, a sneer quickly developing, and handed Severus his empty bottle of beer. “There. You got yourself a nice little jar to put things in.” He laughed. Eileen looked away, probably at the remote control. Severus cringed, staring at the orange label with nothing but hate. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?” He scoffed, raising his hand and swatting Severus’ head.
Severus quickly looked up at him, now with a headache, and began to stammer, “Th-Th-” He shut his eyes, his jaw felt so tight he wanted to cry, the words just weren’t able to come out. They never wore, not around such company. “Spit it out!” Tobias groaned, clearly getting more upset. “Don’t.” Eileen sighed, placing her warm hand on Severus’ shoulder.
“Can’t say a damn thing. Go on, run off then.” He hissed, snapping his fingers again. Severus felt a wave of relief. The torture was over. He quickly shot off the couch, and ran upstairs, hearing the beginning of an argument behind him, and quickly shut the door of his bedroom behind him.
He leaned against the door, holding the bottle in his hand and looked down at it. He thought of smashing it against his desk, maybe stabbing it into the side of the drunk man downstairs as a nice little thank you. He had seen it done in a movie once. He sighed, and placed it on his desk- he’d throw it out in the bins later.
He glanced at the frost covered window again, and thought again of a white owl tapping on it. It would be a nice sound, he thought. A light tapping sound. Nothing like the cries he was now hearing downstairs.