Why He Hates Muggles | By : OddDoll Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2848 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Why He Hates Muggles
Chapter 9
By Odd Doll
Wednesday, June 16, 1976, cont.
Severus stared, unabashed, while Charity buttoned her blouse. His
astonishment left him mute, his mouth open. His mother reacted first, holding
Charity tighter.
“That must have been horrible, Charity. Have you ever told anyone else about
this?” she asked.
Charity was oddly calm. Her tears dried up, but she spoke in a shuddering
whisper. “I told Faith.”
Mrs. Snape pulled back from the girl, to look at her face. “You mean that
your other sisters don’t know?”
“No. Nobody knows.”
Mrs. Snape cast an uneasy glance at her son, and then stood. “Why don’t you
two go into the parlor and talk for a while. Give Charity a chance to settle
down.”
She held her hand out to Charity, and helped her to her feet. She rose
stiffly, but only her red-rimmed eyes betrayed the flood of emotions she had
just released. With a pang of empathy, Mrs. Snape recognized her false calm for
what it was – the mask of one desperate not to provoke the anger of others, or
reveal her secret fears and shame. She gave her a quick hug and led her to the
door. Severus, his face as blank and closed as Charity’s, followed behind. She
watched them walk silently down the long hall, before turning to raise her wand
and mutter a spell at the long-forgotten strawberries.
Severus pondered the Snape family pecking order – his father had his mother
firmly under his thumb and his mother had Severus firmly under hers, despite his
assertion that she never made him do anything he did not want to. He liked
Charity, and his sympathy for her was genuine, but the thought of trying
co
comfort her gave him a squirmy feeling in the pit of his stomach, something like
the time Sirius Black transfigured his mashed potatoes into a mass of
flobberworms.
They sat on the velvet-upholstered furniture in the same places they had
chosen the previous week. Charity lowered herself into the chair with a ladylike
tug on her skirt, while Severus flopped onto the end of the couch, head back,
and stared at the ceiling. They remained in place until the paintings began to
whisper.
“Why is it that the Snape men always choose those timid, mousy little
things?” his Great-Aunt Lavinia said from her spot on the back wall. Her voice
was cultured and rich, as if she had just swallowed a spoonful of thick, sweet
cream. A glance at the painting showed that her voice was the only lovely thing
about her. She resembled her brother, Grandfather Snape, to an alarming
degree.
“She’s such a pretty one, though,” her husband, Great-Uncle Edwin, said from
his place beside his wife. “Reminds me of Brenda when she was a girl.”
“Have you kissed her yet, young man?” asked Grandfather Snape.
Severus threw his forearms over his eyes and groaned. It is now official, he
thought. I’ve died and gone to hell.
“Grandfather, if you don’t learn to keep your mouth shut, I’m going to turn
your face to the wall. And that goes for you, too, Aunt Lavinia.”
He heard a soft chuckle and raised his arms from his face an inch to peek out
a Charity. She was smiling. He lowered his arms and sat up to look at her.
Great-Aunt Lavinia snorted. “Young people have no manners these days.”
“I’ll wager that’s what they said about you when you were a kid.”
“Did you ever actually know any of these people?” Charity asked.
“My grandfather and Uncle Edwin died before I was born, but Aunt Lavinia died
about five years ago. I didn’t know her that well. She lived up in Scotland most
of her life.”
“Do you ever actually do that? Turn them to the wall, I mean.” she asked.
“No. They would just go and sit in somebody else’s painting.”
She opened her mouth a fraction and then said, “They can do that?”
“Sure,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. It was amusing to watch her
reactions to things, but he did not want to seem like he was showing off.
“So,” she began, but hesitated a moment before asking, “how do you ‘kill’ a
magic painting?”
“You burn them. You hear that, Aunt Liv? It’s the fireplace for you.”
Charity started to laugh but after a second her face fell. Severus wanted to
kick himself for his tactlessness. The ice had been broken, though, and he found
the right words.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” he said.
Charity could not meet his eyes. He watched her stare at the threadbare
carpet beneath her feet while his anger grew.
“It’s not your fault,” he said again, his voice hard as iron. “It’s the fault
of those sadists who thought it would be a good idea to put a brand on your
chest. If they’d sent you off to school like they should have, it never would
have happened.” He thought about telling her he knew how she felt, but he did
not want to think about what that might reveal. “It’s not like you wanted it to
happen,” was all he said.
“No.” she said.
He had an idea. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He sped down the hall to the
kitchen, where his mother was setting cauldrons of berries on the stove.
“Mum, is it all right if I teach Charity some things?”
“What did you have in mind?” she asked as she pointed her wand at the
stove.
“Well, there are some exercises that they taught us in school, to focus
power. I thought it might help her control herself. You know, if she ever gets
hurt or scared again. And she might enjoy trying out a wand.”
Mrs. Snape concentrated on the stove and mumbled a short charm to start the
heat. She turned to Severus with a smile. “That’s a good idea, and very
thoughtful of you. I think at this point we have nothing to worry about her
telling our secrets to her parents.”
He pursed his lips. “Right.”
His heart felt unusually light as he raced back to the parlor. Severus never
did things for people. They never asked, for starters, and he spent most of his
time in an aloof bubble that kept him unaware that others might have needs. He
was exercising social muscles he did not know he possessed and the experience
left him giddy.
“How would you like to learn some magic?” he asked Charity as he entered the
parlor. “There are some things I can show you that might help you keep it under
control.”
“That would be great,” she said. She frowned. “Today?” she asked. “I was just
thinking that I need to get home soon.”
“Well, next time, then. That will give me time to think about what would be
best to start with.” He was rewarded with a smile as big as the one she wore
when she first entered the house.
She stood, saying, “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much that means to
me.”
He followed her out to the hall and helped her with her coat. “If you wait,
I’ll get my coat and walk you down to the road.”
“That would be nice, but don’t bother. It would be a shame for both of us to
get soaking wet.”
“All right, then. Will you be coming tomorrow?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t know. I never know about
Thursdays.” She looked up at him with an apologetic smile. “If I can’t make it,
I will try really hard to be here on Friday.”
He watched her from the door until she disappeared into the muggle road, and
then went to his cellar to make his plans.
Mrs. Snape heard the crack of her husband apparating into the foyer at
precisely 5:00 p.m. Of all the days for him to come home on time, she thought.
Her wand shook in her hand as she pointed it at a stack of strawberry-crusted
cauldrons. One batch of berries still bubbled on the stove, and the rest of the
kitchen was spattered with bits and drips of pink goo. Her husband’s heavy tread
thumped down the hall and his angry, derisive voice greeted her from the kitchen
doorway.
“Do you intend to feed us tonight?”
She did not turn to face him, afraid that the fear in her eyes might fuel his
anger. He ruthlessly crushed any strength or resistance she displayed, but
harbored a paradoxical hatred of signs of weakness. She had learned stoicism
early in her marriage.
“It will be a little late tonight,” she said as she levitated the now clean
cauldrons to the table under the window.
He let out a sigh of bitter sufferance and crossed to the refrigerator. “Take
your time. I’ll just have a snack.”
Mrs. Snape released a breath she did not realize she had been holding. She
just never knew how he was going to react from day to day. This time she was
lucky. Now, was the timing right to bring up a sensitive subject, she
wondered.
Where’s Severus?” he asked as he rummaged among the contents of the
refrigerator. “Do we have any of those pickles left?”
“They are in the back on the top shelf. Severus is in his cellar, I
think.”
“Perfect. I brought some things home for him.” Mercury Menes nes disposed of
potion ingredients that were too stale for commercial use, but still acceptable
for a fifteen-year-old boy to use while puttering in the cellar. Gaius brought
them home when he could.
“That’s good. He was saying you used up a few of his things while he was at
school.” She took up a ladle and used it to pour the scalding berries into jars.
“Charity was here today,” she said.
“Is that the reason you are so far behind?” He shoved aside a stack of jars
that were cooling on the counter with the back of his forearm, and set down the
bread, mayonnaise and pickles he held in his hands.
“Sort of.” She thought about what to say. She did not want to make it sound
like Charity was a problem. “I had them in here helping me, because I wanted to
set her down and ask her a few questions.”
“Oh, about what?” Gaius Snape set out the bread with a serious air, as if it
were the first pickle sandwich he had ever made, instead of the
five-thousandth.
“I’m getting a very bad feeling about what is going on with that girl. Would
you believe she’s a firestarter?”
“An uncommon, but totally useless gift,” he said.
“True, but in a girl who is subject to abuse, it’s a very dangerous
liability.” Her voice rose in pitch and volume and her anger flared. “She had a
terrible, completely avoidable accident, and she blames herself for it. You
wouldn’t believe some of the things they are doing to that girl because they
think that she is evil. She’s completely isolated from the world, they won’t let
her go to church…”
Gaius snorted. “Is that such a bad thing?”
Brenda turned on him and said in a harsh voice, “They branded her! Can you
believe that? They burned a cross right into her chest to drive the devil out of
her heart.” She realized she had raised her voice and turned back to the jam
jars. Her hand shook and strawberry jam slopped from the ladle onto the counter
top.
Gaius Snape heard his wife express anger about once a year, and each time it
left him flummoxed. “All right,” he said. “What would you like me to do about
it?”
“Nothing, really. I thought that since she is here, the British authorities
might be called in to get her in school. I want to write to Albus Dumbledore,
but I wanted to ask you about it first.”
“Okay. He always liked you, and he might have some influence.” He shrugged.
“I guess it would do no harm. Her parents are just muggles, anyway.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, and relaxed. “I’ll write to him tonight.” She
composed the letter in her head, unmindful of the irony of taking up the cause
of an abused girl, when her own child had lived with abuse his entire life.
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