A Cloud Before the Moon

Chapter 1

As long as he could remember, when his mother was displeased with him, she would lock him in the dungeon. It seemed that she was often displeased. If he cried, if he appeared inattentive or unhappy, if he disobeyed, or, simply, if she was feeling out of sorts, Mother would banish him to the dungeons. At first, he was terrified of being shut up in the dark, cold, filthy place, and would huddle himself in a corner, shivering with cold and fear of the rats and spiders.

By the time he was five years old, Severus no longer feared being banished to the dungeons. In fact, he had come to think of it as a private sanctuary where no one would bother him. He could stay by himself, and would not be disturbed there by his parents, nor by Lucius Malfoy's vile cronies, the troll-like Crabbe and Goyle. They might chase him down the stairs, taunting him and guffawing stupidly as they lumbered after him, but they never followed him into the recesses of the damp, musty rooms. Down there, he had set up a space for himself, and had plenty of room for books and cauldrons and vials and an assortment of potion ingredients which grew more extensive and sophisticated as he got older. He would prepare increasingly complex potions and drafts simply for the pleasure of it. He would often spend an entire day in the dungeon, reading by candlelight, to the soothing sounds of simmering liquids.

Severus was not quite the son his father had hoped for. More accurately, in fact, he was a huge disappointment. A colicky, sickly infant, he did not grow any more loveable with time. Oh, he was obedient enough. Severus would do exactly as he was told. Yet, there was something defiant in his obedience. To Balthazar's ears, every "Yes sir" the boy uttered seemed to drip with irony, disgust, and even, perhaps, a tone of superiority. Of course, the child was very bright. Though he wouldn't admit it even to himself, Balthazar knew this unpleasant, homely, socially backward, stubborn boy was unquestionably his intellectual superior. Balthazar was afraid of him.

There were constant fights in the house. Balthazar and Eris Snape had not gotten along very well for years, but their solution was to avoid one another as much as possible. However, having a child in the house made communication occasionally necessary, and the only communication that seemed to take place involved shouting and insults. To make matters worse, Eris was deprived of her escape. In the past, after a bad fight, she would take off for weeks or even months to the house of her sister Doris. Now that she had a young child, she dared not leave him alone with his father and the house-elf for more than a few days at a time. She may not have liked the boy much, she may not have paid him much mind, but she was, inescapably, his mother.

Doris was blessed with daughters. Eris would have given anything to have daughters. What she did not see however, because her visits were less and less frequent, were the problems that could accompany raising three little girls, all beautiful, strong-headed and unwilling to share attention with one another. The older two girls were so different, their wants, needs and interests were so dissimilar, that they lived in a sort of uneasy détente without major incident. Eventually, Narcissa and Andromeda would becme virulent enemies, but for now, they got on primarily by mutual avoidance.

Doris' youngest, Bellatrix, utterly changed life in the Black household. Bella demanded utter and complete attention. The exquisite child was the apple of her parents' eyes. They would grant her every request, unable to resist the slightest hint of a pout on the little Cupid-bow mouth or the flutter of her thick eyelashes over her large dark eyes. Narcissa, who had always been the absolute darling of the entire Black family, was livid. More than once, she had attempted to cause the untimely demise of her baby sister. But Bella was no ordinary baby; she was remarkably capable of taking care of herself.

When Doris Black suggested to Eris that Narcissa could benefit from some time in the country with her dear aunt, Eris was elated! Finally, she would have some company. Finally, she would have someone with whom to share her misery. No more suffering alone with that beastly pig of a husband and that horrible little brat. She immediately hired a decorator to turn the largest bedroom into fit accommodations for her niece.

It had taken a substantial bribe to prod Narcissa into spending the summer with her Snape relatives. She was accustomed to the city. She was accustomed to luxury and style and elegance. The Snapes' rundown dump, in the middle of nowhere (it seemed to her), was beyond bearing. Her room wasn't bad, but the heavy-handed gilding and the effusive floral pattern (walls, rugs, bedding, you name it) was unmistakably provincial. Then there was the fact that she was the one who'd been sent off. That snotty little rugrat had won the battle.

Still, there were compensations. For one thing, Aunt Eris thought the world rose and set on Narcissa. HFather would have nothing to do with the Muggle businesses, but Narcissa had seen the magazines her mother hid away. They had things that you just couldn't find in Diagon Alley. Aunt Eris had opened a charge account for her at the best London stores. And the locals were all enchanted with the new girl. In particular, she had really hit it off with the Malfoy boy. Narcissa was sure there was real promise for that relationship. She wasn't going to let it slip through her fingers; especially when Aunt Eris told her that the Malfoys were wealthy and powerful. Even if it meant spending most of her time at the dreadful Snape house, she would make sure that Lucius Malfoy would not forget Narcissa Black.

In this house, too, there was a little brat to put up with, but Severus was an improvement over Bella. For one thing, he certainly could not compete with her for anyone's attention or affection. No one liked him much, really. And he was such an odd, awkward, little thing. Narcissa found a certain pleasure in ridiculing whatever the boy did. She always knew she could get a laugh by pointing out her cousin's clumsiness, his ridiculous lisp, or one of his other short-comings, all the many features of Severus Snape that made him so very much her inferior. Best of all, she knew she wouldn't get in any trouble. Nobody cared. Not even Severus, it seemed. Oh, it bothered him, no doubt, but it was the oddest thing. The boy never tried to fight back. He just tolerated her tormenting, her insults, her goading, as if he simply accepted it as his lot. She suspected that he loathed her, and could retaliate if he wanted, but he never let on.

The Snapes wished their son were more like Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape wished he was more like Lucius Malfoy, too. Lucius, an elegant boy with slick blond hair and sharp patrician features, was cunning and ambitious beyond his years. Later on, as he reached adolescence, he would develop into a tall, thin, elegant young man, while Severus would generally be described in terms such as "skinny" and "gangly", with his sickly pallor, bad skin, and a large hawklike nose, out of proportion to his narrow face. His unhealthy appearance was accentuated by comparison to a thick scalp of greasy black hair, the appearance of which he rarely attempted to improve.

Unlike Lucius, Severus seemed to lack the social graces necessary to ensure future success, and to his parents' bitter dismay, did not seem to care. Despite their frequent reminders of his shortcomings, Severus failed to show any interest in improving himself, at least as far as they could tell. It was true, however, that he was quite intelligent, and early on, developed a reputation as a sneaky, cunning boy.

It seemed to Balthazar Snape that his son intentionally contravened his plans to form a bond with the Malfoys. Severus did not seem to care that his Black cousin, in his stead, had weaseled her way into Lucius' affections. It was not so. Severus had genuinely attempted to become Lucius' indispensable confidant, but Lucius seemed to prefer to surround himself with his intellectual inferiors. Severus tried to make up for his youth and lack of social skill by exhibiting a fierce loyalty to Lucius and a willingness, even an eagerness, to prowl and spy on others, to do, in fact, whatever it was that Lucius or his father should ask of him. He was clever, tenacious and carried a chip on his shoulder, a combination that made him invaluable to Lucius, but also presented a potential threat. It would be quite some time before Severus would come to understand that. He did, however, recognize why Lucius kept the two trolls around him. They showed little talent for spell-casting or potion-making, but they were quite proficient at causing physical pain by non-magical means. Sometimes they would torment Severus for their own amusement, or that of Lucius, who would then apologize for his companions' "exuberance".

Chapter 2

When Narcissa turned sixteen, it was Eris Snape who arranged a party for her niece. She considered it an honor to hold it at her house. It also happened to be Severus' ninth birthday, but that did not seem to concern anyone. All of the Snapes' and Narcissa's friends and acquaintances were invited. Severus had no friends to invite, but did not really care. In fact, he thought it was a perfect excuse to remain in the dungeon and stay out of the way of his parents, the Trolls and Narcissa's friends. Unfortunately for a boy with his name, he had a noticeable lisp, and Narcissa would call out in a crowd of her friends, "There's my cousin, Theveruth the Thlimeball!" At nine years old, based strictly on appearance, the nickname was really undeserved. His pale young face was as yet unblemished, and his hair was actually quite nice - thick and black, if a bit unruly. Of course, spending his time in the dark dusty dungeon, exposed to all sorts of fumes, tended to make it limp and lifeless, but it only took a good scrub to bring back its luster.

Severus had remained in his room most of the day, to avoid the hustle and bustle of preparations being made for the party. Mother appeared at his bedroom door. "The party starts in half an hour and you haven't even started to get ready!" she shrieked at him.

"I'd rather not." he responded in a softly defiant voice.

"You will make it your business to look presentable and attempt to make a good impression on our friends - especially the Malfoys!"

Why? You certainly haven't gone to all this trouble for my benefit, he thought. He slowly hissed, "No, I will not!" and waited anxiously for her to banish him to the dungeon.

"You're a nasty little boy, who refuses to cooperate!" she spat at him. "And you are not going to hide away this time. Go and wash that filthy hair, right now!"

He glared at her, trying to control his temper, but he felt his face growing hot and his temple pounding. Clenching his fists, he shouted "No!" Then he took a deep breath, reined in his anger and hurt, and whimpered pathetically, "Mother, I am sorry. Please do not send me to the dungeon."

His mother laughed unpleasantly. "You're not fooling me, boy. I know that is what you're hoping I will do." Severus' heart sunk. She asked again, "One last time, are you going to clean yourself up?"

His face contorting with anger, he shouted "NO!" His mother looked at him in a strange, cold way. She pulled her wand from her robe and pointed it at him. For a moment, he wondered if she intended to kill him. Instead, she shouted "Piliungo!" Nothing happened, but his mother smiled at him disagreeably. Yet he still felt no change, no effect at all. What did this mean?

Then she spoke. "If you will not do as you are told, if you want to remain filthy and disgusting, you will have your wish. Enjoy!" And with that, she turned and left him alone, perplexed, filled with uncertainty and foreboding. His mother - his own mother! - had put a curse on him, and he had no idea what it was. For the moment, however, there seemed to be no ill effects, and he made his way down to the comfort and safety of the dungeon. He spent the rest of the day and most of the evening there, preoccupied with his potions and a book he had "borrowed" from his father.

The boy was fascinated with the tales he read about the Dark Arts. The books he read were from his father's secret library, which he had found hidden in the wall of a passageway behind a large and hideous portrait of Demyan the Dybbuk. Upstairs, he could hear talking and music, which he could ignore, but he had less success ignoring the grumbling in his stomach.

Much later that night, when all the guests were gone, Severus crept upstairs. After discovering that his mother had spitefully ordered the house-elf to dispose of all leftover food, he headed to the bathroom. He let in a bath and immersed himself in the steaming water. A few drops of a violet potion sent gentle waves coursing through the liquid, and as he lay there, he practically fell asleep. After some time, he climbed out and wrapped himself in a towel, picked up his wand, and waved himself dry. Then he grabbed a brush and began dragging it through his hair. It met with more than the usual resistance. He tugged at it and a knot of greasy hair came out on the bristles. Puzzled, he looked in the mirror. His hair looked as if it had never been washed. Perhaps he had been too tired to wash it properly. He stuck his head under a shower of hot water. This time, he poured a generous amount of his cousin's flowery shampoo on his head and vigorously rubbed it into his scalp. Once again, he waved his wand and dried his hair. Looking in the mirror, he was horrified to see that it still looked filthy and greasy. What was wrong with him? He paced back and forth anxiously, pulling at his hair distraughtly. His mother's words came to mind. "Pili- pili- Piliungo?" His eyes widened in horror. He knew she was not very fond of him, but still! How could she do this to him? Didn't he have enough to cope with? There was nothing he could do about it at the moment; however, he would confront her in the morning.

The next morning, he came down to breakfast and found his mother and Narcissa cheerfully chatting about the wonderful party. As he sat down, they both fell silent. His mother glared at him. "Well, there you are," she snarled. "You ruined everything, you know. You . . ."

"Why did you do this to me?" he asked softly, his black eyes fixed on her intently.

"You earned it," she replied matter-of-factly.

Narcissa looked at her aunt curiously. "What is he talking about?"

Severus responded. "My dear mother put a curse on me. My hair will not come clean."

Narcissa laughed. "Don't blame your mother because you won't wash your hair."

Severus felt his face grow hot and his temples throbbed. He hissed, "I did wash it! Twice! And look at it!"

His mother said dismissively, "We'd rather not. We are eating."

Narcissa tittered and he stalked out of the room. Then he stopped, came back to the table, scooped up a handful of sausages, and stalked out again. He thought of all the most terrible curses he had read about, and considered which ones he would most like to use on his mother and cousin. If only he dared.

His mother called after him. "Perhaps, if you apologize and ask politely, I might take that into consideration."

He did not respond. There was no way, no chance, no possibility that he was going to beg her for forgiveness. He was so angry he nearly choked on the sausages he was stuffing into his mouth. Dismally, he hoped the curse might wear off eventually, but even if it did not, it was less odious than the thought of apologizing to that woman.