Pretty Hate Machine

Pretty Hate Machine

By Daphne Dunham

Part the First

"Severus," Darius Snape murmured thoughtfully as he looked down at the child in the bassinette. "Stern, severe, uncompromising. A fine name for a Snape. A name to embody all that we are - all that he will grow up to be. And do."

Standing beside him over the child, Circe looked at her husband, a quizzical expression on her fair face. "All that he will do?" she questioned, her heart skipping a beat at his vague call for action.

Darius looked at her and nodded with self-assurance. "Of course, love," he replied with that cruel smirk of his. "I'm going to teach him everything I know. He's got to defend the family name, after all. Take pride in being one of the few Pureblood families left. He'll be valuable to The Cause someday, I'm sure. Tom will be most pleased."

Circe was silent a moment. "Perhaps he won't like your politics, Darius," she said softly, hesitantly.

Darius looked up at her sharply, his dark hair swishing about his ears and a displeased glimmer in his black eyes. "They were your politics, too, not so long ago," he reminded her in a menacing tone. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll make them your politics again."

Circe didn't need reminding, though; the memories of her past were fresh enough in her memory. She'd been very popular at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and she used her status as a Pureblood to her every advantage. As a child, she and her Slytherin friends had played tricks on Mudbloods at the school constantly - sabotage their potions in class, put hexes on their schoolbooks so they read backwards, and the like. She particularly remembered how she and her cousin Olive Hornby had mercilessly teased Myrtle Hodges, an especially sorrowful-looking Muggle-born with the most hideous coke-bottle glasses she'd ever seen; Myrtle died mysteriously soon afterwards, and even then, Circe hadn't felt the slightest bit of remorse for her cruelty.

She'd met Darius Snape at Hogwarts. He and his best friend, Tom Riddle, had been interested in politics at the time. They were conservative, pro-Pureblood, brilliant, and had their eyes set on the Ministry of Magic. After Hogwarts, though, their plans changed: Tom had gone abroad, and Darius and she were married. Circe's family had been thrilled with the match, as with Darius's name came all the manner of respect and wealth that she was expected to marry into. After all, Circe was not only a Lestrange, but she was a distant niece of one of the greatest sorceresses of all time, her namesake; she owed it to her family to marry well.

It didn't take long for Darius to start to rise through the Ministry ranks. He was too talented and too ruthless a wizard not to. He was a respected man: Assistant Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and as a politician's wife, Circe knew she was expected to be loyal to her husband as well as his career. It was difficult to be supportive, though, when Darius started receiving strange letters from abroad - letters from Tom - Voldemort, as he preferred to be called. Suddenly, Darius was talking about something called The Cause. He had grown increasingly irritable, withdrawn. He spent countless hours in his study, reviewing what he said was politics, but she knew was really Dark Arts and plotting. He refused to tell her what, exactly, Voldemort was planning, but she knew it involved radical actions to purify the wizarding world - things like denying Mudbloods admission to Hogwarts and raiding Muggle villages. Needless to say, their schemes would not be approved by the Ministry, and consequentially, Circe was tentative in her support her husband's activities.

And then Severus was born - Severus Ewan Snape, to be precise. Circe had wanted to have a child for years to no avail, and becoming a mother had changed her somehow. Made her softer, more tolerant, more gentle. The moment he was born, she'd fallen madly in love with her dark-eyed, soft-skinned son, and suddenly, she didn't care so much about the natural superiority of Purebloods; she didn't care about The Cause; and she certainly did not want to see Darius use Dark Arts. She only wanted what was best for Severus, and as Darius seemed increasingly driven by his anti-Muggle mania, she wasn't so sure anymore that he and his political agenda were part of that equation.

It terrified her to think of Darius poisoning her innocent son with his hatred and affinity for Dark Arts, and every time her husband alluded to teaching Severus - to grooming Severus - to follow in his footsteps, Circe grew increasingly uneasy. She secretly vowed not to give Darius any more children to corrupt, and she even half-hoped that Severus would be a squib so Darius couldn't teach him, but she knew he wouldn't be - not if his heritage had anything to do with it.

Circe nodded sadly at Darius's threat and turned back to her son in the bassinette. As she looked into the glittering dark eyes of the beautiful little child - her beautiful little Severus - she knew she'd give up anything to protect him. If need be, she'd give her life to bar her tiny son from harm, from evil, from his own father.

Part the Second

"Are you almost done with your Latin, Severus?" Circe Snape asked.

Severus looked up from his seat at the desk and saw that his mother, a sweet but perpetually sad woman, was standing behind him. He nodded as Circe drew close. She peered over her son's shoulder and on to the parchment upon which he was feverishly scratching. Severus drew back and let his mother critique her work. His handwriting was tiny and cramped, and Circe had to squint to read it.

"No, sweetheart, you conjugated that verb wrong - it's video vidi visum," she told him gently as she scanned the work she had assigned him.

Severus frowned as Circe placed the parchment back on the desk before him. Much to his dismay, she'd had him studying all afternoon, and he'd quite had enough of it. All he wanted to do was play with his Junior Wizard's Potions Kit. It had been a gift from Grandma Lestrange for his seventh birthday last week, and he'd used it so much he was almost out of asphodel already.

"Erasi," Circe murmured, tapping her wand to the parchment. Instantly, Severus' tiny letters vanished from the parchment, his mistakes erased. "Now, fix it before your father comes home, and then you can go play with your potions kit - I know you're aching to."

"Can I?" Severus asked anxiously, seizing his quill and ink bottle with renewed frenzy. He looked up at his mother and smiled appreciatively.

Circe nodded and grinned at Severus. She smoothed his hair tenderly and traced the outline of his cheek affectionately with her fingertips. "As long as you promise not to test out your new concoctions on Zoe. She's still recovering from your Shrinking Solution, you know."

Severus blushed, but Circe only giggled. Just yesterday, Zoe, the house elf, had dutifully volunteered to be a test subject for the potion Severus had created from his kit. He hadn't known the solution only worked on animals and inanimate objects. Severus's father, Darius, had been furious to come home from work at the Ministry of Magic to find that his house elf had a head the size of a Quidditch snitch. He'd threatened to take the kit away, but in the end, Circe had been able to set Zoe's head right again with an Engorgement Charm, and Darius had forgotten all about it.

"I promise, mum," Severus quickly vowed, dipping the quill in the ink bottle anxiously and setting to fix his Latin verb conjugations.

Darius Snape was in a foul mood when he came home, which was typical. He just hung his robes by the door and skulked away to his study until supper time. It was probably just as well that he secluded himself. After all, Severus had to admit he was rather afraid of his father, and if she was honest, he thought Circe was, too. There was an intimidating presence about Darius - an air of superiority and command. He was very stern, and Severus didn't think he'd ever seen his father smile - with the exception of the cruel way his lips curled back over his teeth when he was berating Zoe or shouting at Circe, of course.

They ate their supper in an ominous silence, a silence which was broken only when Darius, finding his plate not hot enough for his liking, cast a half-hearted Cruciatus Curse at Zoe.

"Miserable wretch!" Darius roared at her from under his sheath of rather greasy-looking, black hair. "Sorry excuse for a house elf! I should've given you clothes ages ago!"

"Yes, Master Snape," wept the convulsing house elf. "Zoe is so sorry, sir. Zoe promises it will never happen again."

Severus watched, wide-eyed, as a woebegone Zoe left the dining room, whimpering and twitching sporadically from her punishment. He couldn't say he particularly cared for the elf, but he pitied anyone forced to suffer the wrath of Darius Snape.

"Darius, you know I don't like you using the Unforgivables in front of Severus," Circe scolded gently from her seat at the table once Zoe was gone.

Darius swiftly turned his hooked nose towards his wife, casting her a glare so vicious Severus could have sworn he saw the fires of Hades burning in his father's otherwise black eyes.

"Silence!" he bellowed, hurling his goblet across the room so it shattered against the opposite wall.

At that, Circe recoiled with a start and fell suddenly mute.

"I don't recall asking you for your opinions," Darius sneered.

Severus held his breath anxiously as Darius' eyes bore down on his mother. The tension was thick in the room, and Severus half-expected that his father would hit Circe; he'd done so for much less egregious offenses, after all. Darius, however, said nothing more, but turned back to his meal with a scowl. Severus glanced sympathetically over at Circe, whom he noticed was trembling.

An ominous silence again pervaded the room, and Severus was quite grateful to be excused from the table that night.

After supper, Severus escaped to his favourite hideaway in the Snape residence: the window seat in the corner of the living room. As he was a rather small boy, he was able to sit on the ledge by the window completely hidden with the aid of the drapery. It was one of the few windows of the house that hadn't been smashed at some point in one of Darius' rampages, and consequentially, Severus felt safe there: it was like a sanctuary, one of the rare crannies that his father hadn't managed to penetrate with his malice.

He liked to read here - and he did so frequently. In fact, Severus was already quite a proficient reader and, aside from the volumes in Darius' library, there was little in the house he hadn't attempted to peruse. Circe hadn't liked him to explore his father's collection, but Severus couldn't help it: when he came across The Book of Wikked Wizards by Geoffrey Jankyn, he simply couldn't resist. He'd seized it, half-expecting to see his father's name among the series of biographies and stories about the most terrible wizards of all time.

And so, Severus folded his legs and propped the volume of his latest literary excursion in his lap. He managed to read up to the entry on a sorcerer called Comus when the drape shielding him from the darkness of the Snape house was suddenly withdrawn. He was startled to find Circe, the only one who knew of his hiding place, standing before him.

"Reading again, Severus?" she said softly, her maternal smile beaming down on him as she peered around the drapery at him.

As he was a boy of very few words, Severus only nodded. Circe leaned closer, peering over his shoulder to see what the boy found so engrossing. Her eyes widened as she saw the title printed on the book in her son's hands, the book he had been engrossed in. Circe took the volume from her son's hands and glanced at the binding to read the title. She frowned when she saw that her suspicions were correct: it was The Book of Wikked Wizards, a catalog of Dark wizards that Darius had made into his book of rules to live by long ago.

"Where did you get this, Severus?" she asked softly but sternly.

"It's Darius's," he replied guiltily, although he didn't know what, exactly, he should be feeling guilty about. He was just reading a book, after all, and Circe was perpetually encouraging his avid interest in reading.

"Kindly stay out of your father's library, Severus," she said gently, banishing the book with a swift wave of her wand.

"Yes, mummy," he replied rather sheepishly. It was very rare when Circe scolded him, but when she did - however gently it was always done - it somehow affected him far greater than Darius' more harsh reprimands.

"Now," she said, the soft smile returning to her lips, revealing that her anger with him was short lived. "I do believe it is well past a certain little wizard's bedtime."

"Mummy! Nooooooo!" Severus screeched, thrashing wildly.

He was having a nightmare again: a violent one in which Darius, his face contorted in rage, was torturing his mother with the Cruciatus Curse. Such nightmares were not a rarity for the child, and he frequently found himself awoken in the middle night to his own cries of terror, his nightshirt soaked in sweat and his blankets strangling his arms and legs.

"Severus?! Sweetheart, wake up!"

Severus finally managed to jerk his eyes open, and he saw the real Circe Snape sitting on the edge of his bed. Her great azure eyes were staring at him with concern as she gently shook his shoulders to force him from his sleep. Tears filled Severus' eyes as he looked at her, the horror of his nightmare intensifying at the sight of her.

It was evident that Circe Snape had once been beautiful, although her loveliness was now thwarted more often than not by the bruises of Darius' latest rampages and the swollen, bloodshot eyes of her sorrow-filled tears. Her hair was soft and the colour of gold, and her cheekbones were high and elegant. In the days before she'd married Darius Snape, Circe used to smile in such a way that her cyan eyes twinkled like stars, and her slender body and long legs were the envy of her friends. She looked perpetually tired now, and while still quite tiny, her figure was more frail-looking than femininely dainty.

Severus had seen pictures of her around the house and in albums. He knew what Circe had once been, and he often wondered what made her do it - what made her give in to becoming the bride of the truly Dark wizard who became his father, what compelled her to snuff out her own happiness. He wondered, but he knew better than to ask.

"Oh, Severus," Circe cooed, taking her son in her arms. "It was a dream, sweetheart," she murmured comfortingly, holding him close to her and stroking his back affectionately. "Just a dream."

When he had calmed, Severus lied back down and watched his mother as she tenderly tucked the blankets around him once again.

"Good night, Severus," Circe said as she leaned over to kiss him on the forehead.

The memory of his nightmare lingered, however, and he grabbed her hand suddenly as she made to leave the room. "Mummy, don't go," Severus begged her softly.

Circe stopped short and turned back to her son with a sweet smile. "All right, Severus," she consented. "But just until you fall asleep, love."

The boy nodded his dark, little head and seemed much relieved as Circe sat beside him on the bed. "I love you, mummy," Severus whispered.

Circe grinned earnestly. "And I love you, Severus," she told him softly. She ran her fingers tenderly over the round of his cheek and took his hand in hers.

Circe stayed with Severus until the rhythm of his breathing betrayed that he had fallen back asleep. She didn't know, though, that as she stood to leave, Severus stirred. He felt the dampness on her cheek when she stooped to kiss him on the forehead, and he realized that she was crying.

"You're the only thing good in my life, Severus," she murmured sadly in his ear, thinking he couldn't hear her. She sniffled then, and left the room quietly as Severus rolled over onto his side and drifted back off to sleep.

Sleep did not claim Severus for long, though. No more than an hour later, he was awoken by the sound of voices from downstairs. Loud, angry, voices. And crashing sounds - like dishes breaking or furniture being thrown. Alarmed, Severus jolted when he heard them and tiptoed to stand at the top of the stairs to find out what was going on.

It was his parents. They were yelling. Again.

It wasn't a surprise to Severus that Circe and Darius were fighting. They were always yelling, it seemed. Circe tried to avoid scenes in front of her young son, but he nearly always heard them - sometimes saw them, too - despite her efforts. He didn't know exactly what they fought about. Sometimes it was a trivial matter. Other times, he heard the word "politics" tossed around quite a bit, usually interspersed with words like "Riddle," "Dark," and "Mudblood."

"I'm going to meet him, and you're not going to stop me!" Darius was shouting. "Tom has great plans for the purification of the wizarding world, Circe! And while you may be a traitor to Purebloods, I most certainly am not!"

"Please don't go, Darius," Circe was pleading. "Please! This isn't politics anymore - this is just violence! Have you even thought about what kind of example you're setting for our son?!"

Merlin's beard, they were fighting about him, Severus realized. Instantly curious, the boy crept down the stairs to better hear what was being said.

"I won't have Severus growing up exposed to this hatred! He deserves better!" Circe was pleading.

"My son will be raised in any manner I see fit!" Darius barked.

Severus had reached the living room now, where the sounds were emanating from. He peered around the doorway to the room, watching the scene taking place inside. Tears filled his eyes as he saw Darius grasp Circe by the shoulders and shake her. He was bearing down upon her, screaming in her face, and she balked and stumbled backward, cowering under Darius' ominous form.

Circe's eyes turned on Severus, then. She saw him standing in the corner of the room, tears streaming down his cheeks. Her expression changed from one of Darius-induced terror to concern for her son the instant she saw him. "Severus, leave the room," she said softly to him. "Don't watch this."

It was difficult for Severus to hear her over Darius' ravings, but he did. And so did Darius. Now alerted to his son's presence in the room, he shifted his gaze to Severus then as well. A cruel smile parted his lips as he regarded the child. "Come here, Severus," he demanded, his eyes glinting with fury. "Come watch how pathetic your mother is."

"No, Severus!" Circe cried, struggling against Darius, who just handled her even more roughly.

His eyes still on Circe and Darius, Severus started to back away awkwardly, not knowing what to make of the scene and wishing he had just stayed in bed and minded his own business.

"You leave this room, boy, and she'll get it ten times worse," hissed Darius in rebuttal.

Severus paused at this, conflicted. He wiped tears from his eyes and felt all the more frustrated. He didn't know what to do - what to think. He wanted to obey his mother, but if he did, Darius would make her suffer; he would hurt her. Severus couldn't allow that to happen - not if he could help it. Reluctantly, Severus inched forward again, trembling with terror.

"Yes," sneered Darius. "That's it, Severus... A nice Snape family moment."

Darius laughed wickedly then, a madman laugh, and Severus cringed. He hated Darius Snape. Hated him with every fiber of his seven-year-old being. Severus dropped to the floor and curled himself into a tight ball in the corner of the room, covering his face with his hands, and he cried as he listened to his parents continue to rage at one another.

"P-please, Darius," Circe whispered desperately. "Don't do this... He's just a child!"

But Darius wouldn't listen to his wife's pleas. He just kept yelling incoherently and shaking Circe violently.

"Don't make him watch this, you sick bastard!" she yelled at her husband.

It was then that Darius swung his arm back and struck Circe across the face with all his might. She shrieked at the blow, stumbled back from the force of his fist, and fell to the floor in a sobbing wreck. Darius towered over her ominously, his wand pointed threateningly in her direction. Circe held a quaking hand to her cheek where he'd struck her and stared back up at him with her wide, fearful, innocent eyes.

"Watch yourself, witch," Darius hissed, wagging a patronizing finger in her tear-streaked face, "or I will make sure you never see your son again."

A sharp and dramatic popping sound pierced the air then, and Darius Disapparated from the room, leaving nothing behind but his broken wife and distraught child. Circe remained collapsed in her heap on the floor, her hands to her face and sobbing so hard her tiny figure shook violently. Severus wiped his tears on the backs of his hands and made his way towards her.

"Mummy?" he whispered, tapping her on the shoulder.

Circe looked up at him, her eyes puffy and red and a bruise forming on her face where Darius had struck her. Despite her tears, she forced an affectionate smile on her face and reached her arms out for him.

"It's all right, Severus," she cooed, although her voice was wavering slightly with her own emotions. "Darius is gone. He can't hurt us."

A greatly relieved Severus sidled up beside her on the floor, snuggling comfortably against her warm body. He felt safer with Circe's arms protectively around him, and the memory of his father's latest act of cruelty began to fade at once. Circe kissed the top of her son's head and caressed his cheek adoringly.

"Where's Darius going?" he asked softly.

"He has a meeting to go to, love," she replied softly, smoothing back his shoulder-length, black hair affectionately.

"What kind of a meeting?"

Circe was quiet a moment. "A political meeting, Severus," she said at last. "With a friend... a friend he hasn't seen in a while."

Severus wasn't quite sure exactly what politics were, but he did understand the pain in his mother's voice when she spoke, and he deduced that these politics - whatever they were - were not good. Circe cleared her throat uncomfortably before Severus had the chance to ask another question.

"Severus," she said in a barely audible tone, "how would you like to go away on holiday - just you and me?"

Severus was silent, pondering Circe's question. He was old enough and certainly smart enough to know that his mother didn't really mean they were going on holiday; she meant they were leaving and never coming back, and he wished she'd be honest with him about it.

"We could go anywhere you want," Circe added, this time more cheerfully. "To Grandma and Grandpa Lestrange's, to the sea, to the moors, to another country, if you wish, Severus. Any place you like. Would you like that?"

Severus looked up at his mother's hopeful face. He saw the bruise forming on her cheek where Darius had hit her; he saw the years of enduring Darius's verbal and physical abuse echoed in the perpetual pain in her eyes. He remembered how cruel Darius had been to her, had been to Zoe, and had been to him. Suddenly, leaving Darius seemed like a remarkably good idea.

And without hesitation, Severus nodded his consent.

Part the Third

The cottage was beautiful, a small home set on a hill overlooking the village below. It had once been the servants' quarters of a larger estate, Villa del Fiore, about a mile up the beaten road. Of course, Cottage del Fiore was much smaller than the Snape residence at Bedford Place. Downstairs were only a small kitchen, dining room, and living room; upstairs were only two bedrooms, both small but cozy. However, the cottage made up for its meager size with its rustic appeal - endearing eccentricities like the vines which grew on the east side of the house and the way it was furnished in what looked like dusty but rather exquisite antiques. Indeed, it would have taken an extremely unimaginative individual not to be instantly bewitched by the charms of the cottage.

"La casa e bella, no?" asked the rather round man with the dark mustache who'd shown them the cottage.

Circe nodded. "Si, molto bella, Signore Canelli," she replied with a satisfied smile. "Quanto costa?"

The man enumerated a sum, an amount in a Muggle currency that Severus didn't understand. He didn't think Circe did either, as she bore no real reaction to it. Instead, she just paced around the living room once more as though thoughtfully considering the figure. It was clear she had already made up her mind, though: she was determined to live here, in Cottage del Fiore.

"Quando possiamo... er..." - she hesitated and thumbed anxiously through the English-Italian dictionary in her hand before continuing - "muoversi dentro?"

"Ora," the man replied, his kind eyes twinkling. "Oggi - si gradite, naturalmente."

Circe nodded. She surveyed the house once more with satisfaction and turned to Severus, a twinkle in her cyan eyes that hadn't been there back in England.

"Welcome to our new home, Severus," Circe told him with a broad smile.

There was paperwork to be signed, of course - a lease for the rental of Cottage del Fiore. And Circe insisted on buying new linens and cleaning the rooms from top to bottom. But at the end of the day, the Tuscan cottage was theirs, Cottage del Fiore was their home.

It occurred to Severus that they were hiding from Darius - he was too intelligent a child not to realize this, after all, but he had to admit he was rather happy with this new life. Although she was constantly watching over their shoulders, looking perhaps for a sign of her husband, Circe seemed much more at peace. She smiled much more, even laughed from time to time, and a rosy colour had returned to her cheeks - the same colour Severus remembered seeing in photographs of her in her youth.

Life in the Tuscan countryside was quite different from what Severus was used to. They lived their daily lives like Muggles now: dressed like them, talked like them, and even used their electricity rather than magic to aid in performing the less than desirable tasks of daily life. After years of listening to Darius criticize the uncouth quirks and mannerisms of Muggles, Severus was inclined to agree: he did not care to perform his Muggle chores of washing dishes and taking out the trash.

But Circe was adamant that they not use magic. She knew that had she used her wand, there was chance Darius would be able to trace it and find them - a risk she was not willing to take. Consequentially, she had her wand stowed away in the china cabinet. If both of them were honest, though, not using magic was a small price to pay for the ability to live life free of the tyranny of Darius Snape. Just because magic was forbidden, however, did not mean that all magical arts were. Indeed, there was still much that Circe could teach her young son about who he was - things like potions and astronomy, things that were practical in the wizarding world but did not require the use of wands or incantations.

Potions was the easiest thing for Circe to teach Severus. Although Transfiguration had been her specialty, she'd been quite good at Potions during her days at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as well. Indeed, there was much she could do with the subject given just the few items readily available to them, and it didn't take long before she had developed quite an elaborate garden full of traditional herbs as well as more exotic ones. Echinacea. Asphodel. Eyebright. Wormwood. The stores went on. She'd even obtained various, crude, Muggle instruments such as a mortar and pestle and an old-fashioned iron cauldron to assist her in the education of Severus. Making potions became an obsession with Circe, her only connection back to the wizarding world and her only way to ensure that her son received any sort of practical training in magical arts.

"We may be living as Muggles," Circe had told him with a determined look on her face as she helped him grind some dried willow leaves for a medicinal paste. "But my pride refuses to completely deny you your identity, Severus."

Of course, Circe's potions work was more than an interest: it was also a matter of survival for them. Each week, she sold the less exotic potions - the ones that didn't involve squick or hard to find ingredients like armadillo bile or billywig stings - to Muggles in their marketplace as holistic medicines. They would never be wealthy from Circe's vending, but it was enough to pay their rent, put food on the table, and provide Severus with a book or two now and then to satisfy his insatiable quest for knowledge.

It wasn't long before Circe became a fixture in the village marketplace. Although she'd become quite skilled at dressing herself like a Muggle, her fair features and broken Italian made her stand out against the swarthy beauty of the indigenous Tuscans. Nonetheless, she developed quite a pleasant reputation among the villagers: Circe was considered eccentric but was widely admired; she was intensely private but perpetually kind. No one knew the terrible secrets of this kind stranger; no one knew that she was really a runaway witch with an intensely vile husband after her.

"Are we better than them?" Severus asked Circe one afternoon.

She was watering some flowers in the garden. He was sitting beside her, intently watching her work, his Latin book in hand. Merlin's beard, it was hot. She longed to have been able to use a Quick Grow Charm instead of toiling over the flowers herself, but that was forbidden.

"Better than whom, love?" she asked softly. She wiped some perspiration from her brow and looked up at her son inquisitively.

"The Muggles," Severus replied simply. "Are we better than them because we have magic?"

"What makes you ask that, love?" Circe asked.

"Darius," Severus said slowly. "He told me we are."

Circe frowned and turned back to her gardening, pondering how to answer the question. Darius has already had an influence on him, she thought bitterly. "Not better, darling, just different," she said at last.

Severus was quiet then, as though he was processing this thought in his mind, turning it over to see if it suited him. She wasn't sure what he thought of her answer, but it was the best response she could provide.

Several months passed by in this fashion: Circe would take care of her son in her tender and maternal fashion, Severus would study and help her make potions, and they'd go to the marketplace. Severus' violent nightmares had even subsided. Indeed, away from Darius, away from the ominous Snape residence, Severus and Circe were quite content. These days were, as Severus would later ruminate over many a shot of Firewhisky, the only truly happy memories of his childhood, the only times in his youth during which he felt safe and loved.

This contentment, however, was not to last forever. And, indeed, it came to a screeching halt one afternoon towards the end of the summer. The mother and son were just stumbling home from an afternoon in the village open air marketplace when a deep and heartless voice uttered the words that would change their lives forever.

"Thought you'd go on holiday, darling?" asked the voice, which emanated from the darkened living room behind them. The term of endearment had been spat sarcastically, and Circe froze in her footsteps in the foyer of the cottage, not daring to face the man who had spoken, for she would recognize his cruel and condescending cadence anywhere.

It was none other than Darius Snape. He was here. In the cottage. He'd finally found them.

Severus whirled to face his father with a determined look of fury. He may have been a child, but he wasn't stupid. He knew the consequences of Darius finding them. He knew this meant things would go back to the way they'd been before - Darius hovering over them like an ominous cloud whether or not he was actually there; a bullied and beaten Circe constantly on the verge of tears and frequently nursing a wound awarded to her by her husband's heavy hand; and Severus feeling trapped, his loyalties torn between his two parents. And this was a life Severus Snape was loath to return to.

Cackling wickedly, Darius rose from where he was sitting on the sofa in the living room. He swept to the foyer of the cottage, where Circe and Severus both stood, staring at him in disbelief, in his trademark fluid stride. He proceeded to grip Circe's arm tightly, his fingers pinching her so tightly the skin around them had turned white.

"Just try to run now, love," he hissed, his black eyes flickering with fury.

"Darius, you're hurting me," whimpered Circe, avoiding his piercing eyes. She tried to struggle against him, but Darius didn't let go: his fury only mounted. Circe shrieked and shirked back humbly in anticipation of pain as Darius raised his other arm, poised to strike her.

"Leave her alone!" cried Severus, desperately tugging on his father's raised arm.

Darius turned an infuriated pair of eyes upon his small son. "Let go of my arm, boy," he hissed through clenched teeth. Severus clung to him still, though, too frightened by the minion-like expression coating his father's face to move. Darius shook Severus off his arm with such might that the small boy fell back, down to the floor in a heap.

"Don't touch him, you monster!" Circe screamed at Darius with a gasp of horror as she watched her son fall. She struggled to rush to Severus, to help him up and comfort him, but Darius' grasp remained firm, and she could not.

"I warned you, witch," hissed Darius, continuing his tirade unaffected. "And now it's time you suffer the consequences... I believe kidnapping could land you in Azkaban, could it not?"

Circe squirmed, flinching at the mention of the name of the notoriously unpleasant wizard prison. "You can't put me there!" she murmured urgently, more as a question or statement of disbelief at Darius' threat than anything else. "I'm the mother of your child! Severus needs me -"

Rising from the floor, Severus scrambled over to the china cabinet in the neighboring room. Purposefully, he riffled through the drawers, searching for his mother's abandoned wand, the wand she had deserted months ago in order to protect them, in order to delay the inevitability of this moment when Darius was finally able to locate their place of hiding. He found the wand lodged in the bottom drawer and picked it up as quickly as possible. A determined scowl on his face, Severus wedged his way between his arguing parents.

He mustered all his anger, all his fear, and all the power his seven-year-old self would allow him, and he aimed Circe's wand at Darius. "Crucio!" he shrieked, mimicking the curse he must have heard his father utter against Zoe the house elf at the Snape residence in Bedford Place a hundred times.

Darius' eyes bulged as a bolt of light catapulted from the tip of his wife's wand and hurdled towards him. A child wasn't supposed to even know this curse, let alone be able to perform it, and yet, as Darius collapsed to the floor, howling and writhing in pain as the light overcame him, Severus had done it. Remarkable as it was, a mere seven year old with little official magical training had performed one of the Unforgivable Curses.

As Darius attempted to collect his wits again, he regarded his son with an odd fascination - a horror, even - at the realization of how astonishing an instance this was that his son could perform the Cruciatus Curse, and he gasped and gaped as it occurred to him how truly powerful a wizard Severus must have the capability of becoming to possess such powers so young.

"Severus! Where?! Where did you learn how to do that?!" whispered Circe in horror, pulling her close to him.

"From him," the boy murmured, extending a finger to implicate the dark wizard who'd fathered him.

Circe turned a pair of suddenly hardened eyes upon her husband. "Look what you've done to him! Look what he's learned!" she screeched. "This is your fault, Darius! I told you! I warned you!" She turned back to Severus then with maternal concern, embracing him again and kissing his forehead. "Baby, we don't use that curse," she told him with a sudden softness and tenderness.

Tears overflowed Severus' eyes at seeing his mother's reaction to what he had done. He didn't fully understand the weight of his actions, and yet he suddenly knew that whatever it was he had done, it was loathsome. Circe rocked him like a baby in her arms. "You didn't know, Severus... I know you didn't know... it's all right, my darling... But never again, baby," she whispered desperately. "Never again."

Darius just watched as Circe coddled their son. There was a wicked glint in his eye, an amused and entertained one, and it was quite clear that he construed Severus' use of the Cruciatus Curse as a victory over his wife: he had succeeded so aptly in having corrupted the son whose innocence she'd sacrificed so much to protect. He had won Severus, the boy who was the pawn between them and the symbol of their marital strife.

And Darius Snape was satisfied.

Part the Fourth

There would be a trial, of course, for Circe Snape. Darius was only too eager to press charges against her for kidnapping Severus, a crime punishable by a prison sentence. It was the perfect opportunity for him to dispose of Circe's threateningly positive presence in Severus's life, to make sure that she never saw their son again as he had threatened months ago the night they fled Bedford Place. Consequentially Darius was anxious to use his clout in the Ministry of Magic to ensure a hasty (and biased) hearing for his wife.

It was a public trial, and Darius - in one of his many poor parental judgments - had brought Severus. Severus didn't remember much of the trial, nor did he fully understand the consequences of the day's events, but what he did recall tormented him for the remainder of his days. He remembered the cold stone and the heavy wood and iron which comprised the foreboding courtroom buried deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. Severus remembered how ashen and terrified Circe's face had been as she was made to sit, chained to a chair in the center of the courtroom.

Severus watched from his seat beside his mother's brother, Marcus Lestrange, as Romulus Malfoy led the proceedings. The latter peered menacingly down on Circe from the benches of the Wizengamot, his plum-coloured robes contrasting ominously against his white-blonde hair. "Criminal hearing of the seventeenth of August, 1967," said Malfoy, his voice slick, "into alleged" - he sneered at that part and cast Darius a knowing look - "child abduction offenses committed by one Circe Lestrange Snape of Bedford Place, London.

"Interrogators: Romulus Malfoy, Head Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic; Bartemius Crouch, Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement; and Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock. Court Scribe: Dolores Umbridge. Witness for the prosecution: Darius Snape, Assistant Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and husband of the accused" - Darius shifted smugly at his seat in the Wizengamot benches at the mention of his name - "Witness for the defense: none."

Severus remembered that the interrogators asked a series of questions then, most of which surrounding the time Circe and Severus spent in Tuscany. Severus could tell by the reactions of the interrogators that his mother's answers were damning her as she spoke them: there was little Circe could do to deny that she'd taken Severus from his home and father, after all. The boy was hopeful, though, as the sage looking wizard called Dumbledore peered at Circe with surprising gentleness from over the rims of his half-moon spectacles.

"And next, Mrs. Snape," he said softly as he examined a note on the parchment before him, "we come to the issue of the Cruciatus Curse performed against your husband with your wand. Do you accept responsibility for this charge as well?"

Circe nodded weakly. "My husband had hit our son. It was like he had gone mad. I was afraid for our lives," she replied, looking down at her chained hands sadly. "And then Darius came towards me, so I picked up my wand and performed the Cruciatus Curse on him."

Across the courtroom there were echoes of shock and horror at Circe's admission of guilt, and the wizard called Crouch raised his eyebrow suspiciously. "Surely you knew that use of the Cruciatus Curse against a human being is considered Unforgivable, Mrs. Snape?" he asked sharply.

Again, Circe nodded, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "It was all I could think to do to protect my son and myself," she rebutted desperately. But they weren't listening. No one was listening, actually - no one except the wizard called Dumbledore. "It was self defense - I swear it!"

Severus watched the scene, appalled. Despite being under oath, Circe was lying: She never cast the Cruciatus Curse at Darius - it had been Severus. I cast the curse, Severus thought desperately. It was me. Tell them it was me, Mum! Why was she lying? Severus was frantic, and he stirred anxiously in his seat, yearning to stand up and yell out the truth, but Marcus Lestrange only urged him to hush.

Severus was too young to understand that Circe Snape was lying to protect him. It wasn't until years later when he learned of something called the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry that Severus realized that Circe had lied under oath for a reason: if the Wizengamot had found out that it had been Severus who had cast the Cruciatus Curse that fateful night in Tuscany, he might have been forbidden from ever gaining formal education in magical arts. The curse had been cast from her wand, and it would therefore be difficult to prove that it had been anyone other than her who had wielded its power. Indeed, it was the perfect lie to protect her son from a bleak future. Only Darius knew the truth, but she knew he wouldn't protest - it helped his case for locking Circe in Azkaban too much for him to bother.

"So, let's get this straight, Mrs. Snape," interjected Malfoy with annoyance. "If I am to understand correctly, you kidnapped your son, hid in a foreign country as Muggles for three months, and when your husband - wrought with concern for his son - was finally able to locate you, you cast the Cruciatus Curse on him?!"

"No... Well, yes, but that's not how it was - not really," she tried to explain frenziedly. "You haven't heard me. I had my reasons. My husband is a Dark wizard! He's an evil man, I'm telling you! And he beat me - and he'll do the same to Severus if you send me away."

There was another peal of appalled murmurs across the courtroom at Circe's accusation regarding Darius' tendency towards Dark magic. Crouch urged for silence, his voice cutting the din authoritatively.

"Mrs. Snape, these are serious charges you make against a wizard who is not only a respected employee of the Ministry but your own husband," snapped Crouch. "The court is quite disinclined to listen to your vindictive babble."

Circe looked around her frantically, trying to meet eyes with someone who would believe her, but only Dumbledore beheld her with the slightest bit of sympathy.

"Mrs. Snape, do you have anything more to say in your own defense?" asked the bespectacled wizard gently.

"No," she whispered, lips quivering as though struggling to hold back tears. "I-I... would just like to say that I love my son. Anything I've done - that I've been accused of doing - has been with his best interests in mind."

And with Circe's words, it became apparent that the end of the trial had come at last. Romulus Malfoy cleared his throat authoritatively, and Severus held his breath as the judgment on Circe was passed. "All those who find the defendant innocent of charges?" asked the blonde wizard.

There was a very soft murmur from an overwhelming minority of the Wizengamot - the kindly wizard called Dumbledore among them, Severus noted.

Malfoy's lips parted into a cruel grin as he stared down at the prisoner in the chair of chains. "All those who find the defendant guilty?" he asked.

The response to the latter judgment was devastatingly immense, much to Severus' anguish. Even his uncle, who had remained stoic throughout the trial, seemed distressed at the verdict. Severus stood very still, frozen as he watched the scene.

"Circe Lestrange Snape, you have been found guilty of child abduction and illicit use of an Unforgivable Curse," Malfoy sneered. "You are hereby denied custody of your son, Severus Ewan Snape, and sentenced to -"

Although he knew it entailed a lengthy stay in Azkaban prison, Severus didn't hear what, exactly, Circe's sentence was, for upon the pronouncement the decree, Circe let out a wail, a horrified, terrified moan that sent chills down Severus' spine.

"You don't understand!" she pleaded. "My husband is a Dark wizard! Will no one listen to me?!"

"Mrs. Snape, please contain yourself!" scolded Mr. Crouch.

But it was clear that there would be no calming Circe Snape. She was inconsolable; she had lost everything - her freedom, her son, and her self-respect.

"Noooo! Severus!" she wailed. "My son! You don't know what you're doing! Severus!"

Severus stared aghast at his mother as she struggled violently against the chains that bound her. She craned her neck so she could see her son, and when their eyes finally met through the confused bustle of the courtroom, tears were streaming down her once pretty face, and a wild desperation crazed her once twinkling eyes.

"Come, now, Mrs. Snape, don't make me call the Dementors," hissed Romulus Malfoy.

"Severus! Mummy loves you!" she cried desperately. "Mummy will always love you, Severus!"

Whether or not the Dementors actually came to take Circe to Azkaban, Severus never knew, as in the next moment, Darius had descended from the Wizengamot benches and had his hand on his son's shoulder. Severus did not look up at his father, though. Instead, his kept his eyes fixed on his mother until Circe Snape's desperate, tear-streaked face and her vehement proclamations of her love for him were burned permanently in his mind.

"Come, Severus," said Darius without emotion. "You don't need to see any more of that nonsense."

Infuriated by his father's cruel apathy, Severus shirked back from Darius, shrugging the latter's hand from his shoulder in a violent, jerking motion. Darius gaped as Severus, motivated by an unearthly wrath from within, broke free from the crowded courtroom and fled. The boy heard his father calling him in the distance, but he didn't care, and he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Severus burst through the great wooden door at the entrance of the room. The dim torchlight illuminating his path, he raced through the gloomy corridors, up the eerily winding stairs of the Ministry, and out into the busy streets of London.

And still, Severus Snape ran, his mother's voice echoing in his mind.

Severus didn't remember how he'd managed to find his way back to Bedford Place that night, but he eventually did, and when he finally burst through the front door of the house, he found himself face-to-face with the ominous form of Darius Snape, who was poised to greet him in the foyer and was clearly somewhat less than ecstatic about his son's passionate outburst at the Ministry of Magic.

"Thought you'd go on a little jaunt, Severus?" Darius murmured, his voice low and dark and dangerous.

The tone of Darius' voice would normally have sparked fear in Severus. Today, however, was different. Instead, he was a boy consumed in rage, and he stood obstinately before his glowering father, his eyes so hot with fury he felt they could burst and his hands clenched into tiny fists of resentment. It was the first time in his life - but not the last - that Severus Snape was quite convinced he could kill someone if given the opportunity and the means.

"I hate you! I hate you!" Severus screamed vehemently at his father. "You made my mummy go away! You took her away!"

Darius wasted no time in winding back his hand to strike his son across the face for being so impertinent. Consequentially, Severus fell back to the floor from the blow, clutching his aching cheek as tears streamed down his face, mixing with snot and blood from his smarting nose. An unsympathetic amusement flickered in Darius' cold, dark eyes at his son's grief. Indeed, as Severus would reflect in years to come, his father took perverse enjoyment in making him suffer.

"Your mummy went away because she doesn't love you," Darius hissed, standing over him sinisterly. "Now stop your foolish sniveling, boy."

Severus' eyes burned with renewed hatred for his father, and in that instant, he resolved not to give Darius the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt him in the future...

He vowed never to cry again.