Observations

Severus, at eleven years old, was a lanky, bony child with a sallow complexion. He appeared sleepless, the warrior of his own personal war. His face shown with resentment and animosity, an expression worn in hopes of detracting people’s attention from his pitiful state. I may be a target, but the first one to mention it will live to regret it, his very presence seemed to convey.

Beyond the fury, lay an emptiness Sevy (as I eventually nicknamed him) longed to fill. Yet he seemed to know not how, or what with.

As he stood within the crowd of first years at the front of the hall, there was a space between he and the others. There always was, no matter where he went. Practically none but myself was courageous enough to be near him. Sevy was not one who appreciated being crowded. He wouldn’t harm a soul, but they didn’t know that.

He became a Slytherin, predictably. How could one so consumed by shadows be anything else? After Sevy was sorted, I noticed there was only a smattering of polite applause at my table. And to make matters worse, I observed several of my housemates glaring at the boy. One went so far as to hiss and toss pieces of food at him until I quelled her. He hid it behind a snarl, but I could tell these reactions wounded Sevy deeper than anything else could. His barely touched plate of food proved this.

The popularity of Sevy sadly didn’t improve later that evening. Many hours later, Sevy awakened from a nightmare with earsplitting screams. So loud they were, that they alerted me all the way in the Prefect dorm.

As I arrived in the room, I discovered the child curled into a fetal position, his flesh was moist and a ghostly hue. Sevy’s dormmates, unlike me, appeared annoyed by him and his disturbance. I hated them for their apathy, they hated me for my lack thereof.

Taking on a motherly role, I settled myself onto a corner of Sevy’s bed and stroked his dampened locks. His response to this slight gesture would forever haunt me.

I was regarded with a mixture of dread and terror in his coal black eyes. Upon contact, Sevy gave a small shriek and lept away as if burned. Whatever horrors the boy had faced in the past must've been unspeakable to cause such a reaction.

Every night these hideous dreams of his occurred, each one leaving Sevy crying out. Because of this, the headmaster thankfully allowed silencing charms to be placed round his bed.

Despite the vocal dreams that humiliated him, Sevy still remained quite personable towards me. He'd engage me in conversation whenever neither of us was occupied. Numerous hours were whiled away chatting with the sarcastic brunette. My mates thought me mad for this, but they were too frightened to say it aloud. After all, I was much like Sevy in that I wasn’t one whose temper you tested.

I was surprisingly open with Sevy, as was he with me. It was a release for him. For me, that release came as a relief, giving me hope that I might one day rid him of his demons.

Sevy allowed me to know a great deal about him. I found out so much that I never dreamed he’d reveal. Among many things, he mentioned a petite redhead from his year who’d ask him to sit with her on the train. He’d been too shy to even look her in the face. And story after story was told about the animals Sevy rescued and aided when he was growing up. One of which being the beloved raven he’d taken to school with him. He never spoke of the darker aspects of his childhood though, and I respected his privacy.

As I’ve said, Sevy’s fellow Slytherins were nothing but cold to him. A reaction that was quite preferable to the treatment given by a few of the Gryffindors. Namely three boys of his year by the names of Peter, Sirius (who was by far the most aggressive) and James. Another boy, Remus, was mates with them, but never shared in their cruelty, instead defending the Slytherin. According to Sevy, the group taunted him endlessly for his adoration of books and the art of potion making. Despite the fact that Remus shared an interest in the former. Thankfully, Sevy’s housemates had enough house pride to defend him. Though pride was the only reason for it, that was enough for Sevy.

The teen endured the Gryffindor taunts in secrecy, none but his Slytherin and Gryffindors classmates being aware. He'd never told a soul, not even me. Until that one fateful day when things worsened.

On that day as Sevy came out of Charms, he turned a corner and was ambushed by three (omitting Remus) Gryffindor boys. Not surprisingly it was the trio that harassed him in class. At this point they’d dubbed themselves the Marauders, in order to toughen their image. Not that he needed to, as Sevy discovered. When said Slytherin walked into the common room that night covered in gory injuries, he simply growled something about ‘that bloody Whomping Willow’ and stormed off towards his room.

Not for another two days did Sevy finally admit the truth to me. I wanted to report them, but Sevy flatly refused, saying he’d pay them back for it eventually. And for some reason, I believed him.

Sevy was quite the actor. He hid his envy of the close-knit Marauders behind a venomous mask. He appeared to loath them, being only remotely civil with Remus. Though the wrath he displayed didn’t frighten the Marauders, and the abuse continued. It seemed to come more often in fact, going from twice a month to twice a week.

Amazingly enough, Sevy never complained, never even spoke of the Marauders and their beatings. Not since the first incident did Sevy excuse his wounds, replacing all words with scathing glares. Pretty soon though, the Slytherins knew the truth anyway. A few had heard the Marauders alluding to the incidents and others had seen the insults hurled in class. Two and two were quickly added together.

If there was only one thing that impressed me about Sevy (though there were many, in fact), it was his resilience. The worse life was for him, the less it appeared to effect him. He simply threw himself headfirst into his studies. Obviously not the least bit phased that this was the very source of his torment.

Though the Slytherins were still unnerved by the scrawny youth, they were warming to him. Anyone who could keep their dignity in tact and swallow so much earned their complete respect. In spite of everything, once Sevy’s housemates were on his side, I finally realized he’d make it through Hogwarts stronger in the end.

After I graduated, my life took a very dark turn. I opted for wealth and power, in place of the simple life I privately yearned for. I kept in touch with Sevy throughout all of this. I lied to him, making him think I’d chosen the happiness over tradition.

Though Sevy admitted to missing me terribly, he seemed to finally be finding peace within his life. Only later did I realize he’d been doing the same as me; burying his pain and never speaking of it.

Sevy’s one love, learning paid off for him, for many a letter told me of his accomplishments. The biggest one being the perfect score he had gotten on his OWLs in fifth year. He was the first one in fifty years to do this. The joy in his letters shed light into my darkening world.

I didn’t tell you what my path entailed, but I’m sure you’ve inferred that I joined the Death Eaters. It’s true, I did, along with several of my former housemates. It was no shock seeing fellow Slytherins in the circle. For so many of us have grown up with the dark mark tattooed on our minds that it was inevitable.

What did shock me was who joined us one night. It was none other than Peter, the chubby, teary-eyed Gryffindor who tagged along after the Marauders. It was worrisome that someone as weak as Peter would turn to the dark side. Haughty though he may have acted, Sevy was almost as insecure as Peter. I worried that the compassionate Slytherin who’d once held a funeral for a dead bird he found, would drown his spirit in the cult, like Peter. Label it what you will, but that’s what the organization basically is. Death Eaters are mindless, generic sheep. Sevy was never a sheep. That is, until the day he became one.

Just six months after Peter joined us, Sevy followed suit at the age of sixteen. He was as horrified to see me as I was him. We both wanted more for each other.

Peter never left us. Sevy, on the other hand decided to become a spy for Dumbledore after a year of service. He confessed this to me in the strictest of confidence. Death Eater though I was, his belief in me didn’t waver.

At the time I was twenty-two years old.

Severus was only seventeen.

Yet he was the wise one. The student had surpassed the teacher.

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