Sixteen

Sixteen

by

MMM

Chapter Six

There were other poor neighbourhoods in the magical world, some of them poorer than Knockturn Alley; there were other streets that peddled Dark Arts, some even more illicit than Knockturn Alley. But in terms of reputation, Knockturn was in a league of its own: it's the place parents always warned children against, the place third-rate thriller writers sent their Dark wizards to dwell and hatch evil plans, the place where all the ex-cons were dumped.

In a sense, that was what Ministry had built Knockturn for. Two hundred and fifty-five years ago, long before human set foot on the rock they named Azkaban, the Ministry of Magic built a string of prisons along the half-mile of open sewer that zigzagged across the Alley to combat the rising crime rate. Thus, Knockturn Alley was born.

The first people to moved into Knockturn were families of the convicts, then the ex-cons themselves once they were released. To supply the day-to-day needs of these families, shops soon opened alongside the prisons: at first innocuous grocery stores, butchers, fishmongers, then later on, thriving bookshops that had no books, successful hairdressers with no scissors, all dealing in various banned Dark Arts curios. The Ministry soon found the neighbourhood a headache and when the Azkaban Prison opened a century ago, the Ministry promptly moved away, leaving rows and rows of empty cellblocks behind. A cunning entrepreneur bought these prisons from the Ministry for a Galleon. The cells were then converted to flats and rented out at dirt cheap rate. More poor families, mainly ex-cons, single mothers and immigrants, moved in, often residing in the same cell the father had once been detained at the Ministry's pleasure.

Even though the jails and the jailers had long departed, the residents of Knockturn had passed down the look of convicts through the generations. There was an aura of grease to all of them: greasy hair, greasy foreheads, greasy robes. People here wore the same clothes day after day and lived like animals in cramped flats. Many children never learned to read or write and remained illiterate all their lives. Of those who could read, most would have gone on to apprenticeship when they turned eleven. To Snape's knowledge, he was the first person to go to Hogwarts in nearly twenty years. Some Aurors called Knockturn Alley the 'holding cells', partly referring to the history of the Alley and partly to the fact that half of the population born in Knockturn would wind up in Azkaban at some point of their blighted lives.

As Snape looked up at the unpainted ceiling of his room and listened to the irritating buzzing of flies, he wondered whether his room was a punitive cell from that bygone era. Compared to the Trenton Estates, it certainly seemed that way.

It's been over a week since Snape parted with Hawick and returned home. His father had merely lifted his head when he came back, not bothering to say one word. Snape thought his father's skin looked more sallow than two weeks ago, his breaths more laboured but he couldn't be bothered to talk to him either. He was too angry and worried about himself to think about much else.

Without his pay from the Trenton Estate, Snape had no hope of buying a complete set of textbooks. Looking around the second-hand bookshops today, he knew he was at least ten Galleons short, not counting potions ingredients or parchments and quills. He was so agitated for the past week he had forgotten to post his letter to the O.W.L. Examiners and missed the deadline to get a remark for his Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. Just as well, thought Snape. One less textbook to buy.

Snape picked up his booklist and scanned it again: most publishers had put out new editions, effectively forcing him to buy new books. There is nothing so degrading as the constant anxiety about money and the constant humiliations it exposes you to, Snape thought. Poverty cuts down your dreams, eats at you like cancer ...

He remembered what Sirius Black had said about money being unimportant and sneered bitterly. Of course they could say that, Potter and Black were so rich they never had to worry about money in the first place. They had never earned one single knut all their lives, never felt the sharp, hard edge of poverty against their flesh. Hypocrites, Snape thought contemptuously. That's why Potter and Black are: hypocrites. Hypocrites who never practise what they preach: talk about how they hate Dark Arts, then hex people for the fun of it.

He shot down a fly, imagined Potter's face on it but it did nothing to ease his distress. He had already cut down his expense by eating only one meal a day. He tried to find some temporary work but with only one week left, he held out little hope. So bad was his father's credit history, even the loan sharks refused him a loan.

Snape knew there were a couple of people who might be able to help. For instance, Mrs. Neil, the kind lady who held reading classes for children would definitely lend him a couple of Galleons. She had been like a godmother to him but Snape was too ashamed to ask: Mrs. Neil had seven kids of her own and was feeding at least a dozen more toddlers from other families, taking her money would amount to stealing food from starving children.

There was only one way left.

He lifted his wand, hitting yet another fly (he's getting good at this) and steeled his nerve against what he's about to do: one thing he swore to himself that he would never do, no matter how hard-up he was.

To steal.

Strictly speaking, it isn't stealing, Snape thought, justifying the plan to himself. It belongs to him. His father should have paid for his schooling.

Half-convinced, Snape tossed over and listened intently but heard nothing except his own empty stomach grumbling loudly. Putting a hand on his abdomen to ease the twisting pain, he held his breath and listened again: the gentle snoring of his father's drunken light sleep. He hopped off the bed quietly and picked up his bag. He was already dressed.

He found his father on the couch again, which meant Snape had to move even more quietly. The flat was completely dark and Snape could only make out the faint blue-black outline of the furniture. He tip-toed across the lounge, his hands stretched out in front, feeling his way in the dark.

He knew exactly what he was looking for: the bottom drawer of the kitchen cupboard, where his father put his liquor money in a leather pouch. Snape thought it poetic justice that after being falsely accused and punished for stealing so many times by his father, he was finally carrying out the act. He only hoped there was enough there to pay for the new edition of Advanced Potions Theory.

He kneeled down onto the kitchen floor and held his wand out, checking for wards. There was one simple one and Snape dispersed it silently, one ear listening intently to any movement in the living room. He pulled out the drawer with each hands grasping the edge, lifting it up slightly to minimise the noise. There was the usual assortment of broken crystal ball and dusty cups but no leather pouch. Snape closed his eyes and remembered that his father had gone to the off-license earlier. The pouch must be still in the pocket of his robes.

Snape swore silent but furiously. He contemplated his next step: he could stun the old man and take the money away from him forcibly. His father was quite good at duelling but Snape could now subdue him easily. However, he wasn't sure he was ready to take the step up from burglary to robbery. He looked into the drawer again; his knees were starting to hurt.

He was about to close it when he noticed a gleam at the bottom of the drawer, beneath a rolling pin and the measuring spoon. He fished it out. It was the size of his palm and felt heavy and cool. Under the blue hue of complete darkness and Snape's desperation, it looked like silver.

Snape loosened the clasp of his bag and dropped his prize into the bag. There was a noise from the living room, the complaining squeak emitted by the springs of the sofa as his father turned. Snape closed the drawer quickly and perhaps too loudly, for his father was beginning to stir.

Snape wasted no time getting out of the flat, not caring how much noise he made. He didn't think he could return home after this. If his father didn't know about the theft now, then he would definitely know the moment Snape returned home with brand new books.

Not daring to stop, Snape headed straight for a park, leaving Knockturn behind. Surprisingly, he felt very little guilt, certainly less than what he had felt before. In fact, he was so thrilled by his own daring and resourcefulness that he jumped the moment he was safely out of Knockturn.

The August night was fine and warm and Snape sat on a park bench to examine his find more closely under the streetlamp. It was an intricately designed insignia: on the border were two snakes intertwining, swallowing each other's tail. In the middle was a crest, depicting a sword, a quill, a ferret and a dragon, decorated by colourful gems. Even by the gloomy orange streetlights and covered with dust, Snape knew at once it was a magnificent object, which made its appearance at the Snapes' household even more puzzling.

But it's worth a lot of money and that's what matters, Snape thought as he tucked the emblem into the inside of his robes carefully. He dozed off on the hard bench, feeling happy and vaguely hopeful for the first time in weeks.

***

Snape woke with a start and thought it was a Patrolman shaking his shoulders, telling him to move off and stop being a public nuisance but when he opened his eyes, he was completely alone. The first thing he did was to reach for the silver emblem and felt the welcome weight in the pocket of his robes. His stomach, sensing Snape's new-found wealth, complained again.

Snape sat up, stretching his stiff muscles and aching bones. It was early morning and the shops won't open for another couple of hours. He had five Galleons, ten sickles and five knuts in savings and he reckoned the silver badge was going to bring in at least thirty Galleons. With that kind of money, he wouldn't have to rough it out for the next six days, sleeping out in the open like a bum.

A cool morning breeze blew through the park and Snape's thought returned to the origin of the badge. It was odd that his father hadn't sold it already. There was nothing of value in the flat as far as Snape remembered. Even his mother giant cauldron was sold a year ago. Judging by the amount of grease and dust on it, this had been in the drawer for a long time. How could his father not have noticed it?

With its origin at best undetermined, Snape obviously couldn't pawn the silver badge in a regular pawnshop. He would have to take it to a street dealer, someone who won't ask too many inconvenient questions. He thought of Blodget, the man who told him about the Trenton job. Blodget was into all kinds of shady dealings and he was Snape's best hope for a relatively fair deal: Blodget might be too dim to sense his desperation.

Snape washed his hands and face in a public toilet and shaved the best he could using the graffiti-covered mirror. His hair was literally dripping in grease and he felt filthy but decided he could do nothing about it. That would have to wait till he got a room in the Leaky Cauldron. He brushed his hair aside, straightened the creases on his robes and set off for Blodget's flat.

***

Officially Blodget lived in Sector B, another remnant from that bygone era in Knockturn history, though his flat would be difficult to pinpoint on a map. To get there, Snape had to navigate through the bowel of Knockturn, alleys and mews overgrown with wards. He listened to the muffled sound of the shops behind him and heard a sharp cry, which was immediately silenced, its echo louder than the cry itself. Snape shivered but he knew that cry was as much part of Knockturn as the Dark Arts and the crimes. The Alley had a life of its own, much like the Hogwarts Castle but its spirit infinitely more sinister.

'What is it?' asked Blodget, rubbing his beady eyes when he opened the door. 'Oh, it's you.'

'Can I talk to you in private?' Snape said.

'I'm going off to work now,' said Blodget. 'I have business to attend to.' He was in his pyjamas.

'Very well, then. This is business,' said Snape, pushing his way in and closing the door behind him. He slid the blot shut without looking.

'What's it you want?' asked Blodget.

Snape pulled out the silver badge and put it on the table. He had polished it the best he could with the hem of his robes.

Blodget was speechless.

'I need a valuation on this,' Snape said, in his best business-like voice. 'You've got an hour to get the money. One question and I'm taking my business elsewhere.'

Blodget remained motionless; Snape thought he might have been Petrified by the badge till his lips started to tremble.

'Where did you get this?' said Blodget. 'You didn't steal this, did you?'

'It's a family heirloom,' said Snape impassively. 'And I said no questions.'

'Family heirloom? Your family?' Blodget laughed derisively and Snape felt a sudden flash of anger. He lifted his wand and a Strangling Curse turned Blodget's laughs into a choking noise, his face turning blue. As Blodget struggled to free himself from the invisible strangling hands, Snape's jaw clenched: a lowlife like Blodget had no right to laugh at him or his family.

Snape's hand dropped to his side only when Blodget's eyes started to bulge. He stood over him while Blodget rubbed his neck and recovered his breath, spitting and heaving loudly.

'That teaches you who's in charge, doesn't it?' Snape said, kneeling close to Blodget's wrinkled face. He grabbed the silver badge and shook it in front of Blodget's eyes. 'Now, how much?'

'I don't think it will sell,' said Blodget, his eyes never moved away from Snape's wand. 'What you have there is a Malfoy family crest. The gems and silver will make something if you melt it down but as it is, no dealer would touch it. I mean, you know the Malfoys, Severus.'

Malfoy crest? Did his father burgle the Malfoy Manor?

Snape left without saying another word.

***

Snape sold everything he owned except the school robes he's wearing. The hardest thing to part with was the Encyclopaedia of Hexes and Curses he had saved up a whole year for but he bit his lip and handed it over when an old witch offered one Galleon and two sickles. He was in no position to bargain, even though it was virtually brand new. At the end, all his worldly possessions were sold for three Galleons and ten sickles. He looked at his empty room and the meagre coins in his hands. One more summer, he told himself, then he would be free of the poisonous tentacles of Knockturn Alley forever.

With his moneybag full of knuts and sickles, Snape went to Diagon Alley immediately. He had done a deal with a man in a second hand bookshop who promised to sell him all the books for ten Galleons after much hard bargaining. Snape was still a few knuts short of ten Galleons but it shouldn't matter ... hopefully.

He pushed the door open and the doorbell clanged loudly against the frame. Though it was the last week of term and Diagone Alley was swarmed with Hogwarts students, few would come to this place, which specialised in damaged texts. Even he avoided this place if he could: last year he had bought a History of Magic book here that smelt like bad eggs.

'Be with you in a minute,' a voice shouted from the back of the store. 'I'm with a customer.'

'Look who's here?' Potter drawled, in the manner of a boy who had just captured a rabbit and about to set it on fire. Snape pulled out his wand. 'Hey, Sirius. Snivellus is here.'

Snape looked over Potter's shoulder and saw Sirius Black taking a package from the shop assistant. Black quickly hid it under his robes and smiled at Potter but somehow, Snape felt he was really just humouring Potter. For once, Black was as keen to get out of his way as Snape was.

'And he's even filthier than ever, Sirius,' Potter continued, which was the truth. He had been so busy today he hardly had time to wash. 'I think we can squeeze a bottle of oil out of that.

'Sod off,' snapped Snape. He didn't want to cause a scene here. Just walk away, walk away ...he told himself but he felt his whole body boiling with rage and his feet rooted to the spot.

'You can use it to make a Potions bomb,' said Black, who had come over to join Potter. 'It's probably toxic.'

'So tell me, Snivellus. How did you do in Defence Against the Dark Arts?' asked Potter. 'Didn't do too well, did you? Professor Olsen told us all about it.'

Snape was shaking furiously. He wished he could think up some good insults but Potter and Black were always so ... perfect. He closed his eyes and walked to the counter, praying that his non-respond would make them go away. He was handing over his money when he felt a sharp corner of a book hitting his back.

'Hey, Sirius. Five points if you can get him from here,' shouted Potter.

'You two stop it,' said the elderly shop assistant. 'You'll have to pay for those.'

Potter threw two Galleons towards the man, which hit Snape at the back of his head and bounced off onto the counter.

'Here, I'm buying the lot.' He pulled more books from the shelves and handed a stack to Black. 'Ready?' he asked.

The sight of two gold coins glittering on the counter infuriated Snape more than anything else. He's used to being pelted with books and curses but the gold coins were too much to take. The gleam of the gold coin shone sharply into his eyes and the spot where the Galleons had hit him throbbed in pain. The injustice made his body shake: why should he have to sell everything he own to go on at Hogwarts when Potter had two Galleons to throw away?

The pressure that had been building up inside him since June finally erupted. He didn't know what curse he had used on Potter: all he wanted to do was to silence Potter, make him feel a tiny bit of pain he was suffering. A sharp red light emitted from his wand and knocked Potter off his feet. A cut appeared on his chest and Snape fancied he saw some blood but apparently the curse did little damage as Potter was on his feet again immediately.

'You bastard,' roared Black. Potter and Black raised their wands simultaneously.

'I'm looking at two right now,' said Snape through gritted teeth. Snape let off a stunner again and saw two bright orange lights shot from their wands. His own wand flew from his hand but before Potter's full body bind hit him, he saw with satisfaction his stunner had hit Black squarely between the eyes, where it would do most damage. Potter kneeled down, his back turned but with the full body bind, Snape couldn't reach for his wand to hit him with a good curse.

The curse was beginning to wear off when he felt the wooden tip of Potter's wand against his temple.

'You're going to pay for this,' said Potter, kicking him in the side. No sign of Black, which meant he was still out cold and Snape smiled.

'Go ahead. Why don't you?'

But before Potter had a chance to do anything, a hand twisted Potter's arm and took the wand away easily.

'Dad,' said Potter. 'I thought you are in the Leaky Cauldron. What are you doing here?'

'Why are you doing this?' asked Harold Potter, peering intently at his son.

'He started it,' said Potter, quickly putting his wand back into his pocket. 'Look what he's done to Sirius and me, Dad.'

'I've watched the whole thing from the shelf behind you,' said Harold Potter gravely. 'Unfortunately for you, James.'

Potter's lips trembled; Snape thought he was going to cry but he held himself together.

'He's a Dark Wizard,' said Potter suddenly, grasping at any straws he could find. 'He's ...'

'I don't care, James,' said Harold Potter shortly. His voice was low and he talked as though he's under great strain. 'Is that how you treat a fellow human being? How you behave when you thought no one's looking? Don't you remember what I've told you many times?' Harold Potter's eyes glittered and he had to reach for a shelf for support. 'True honour comes from within and right now, James, I don't know who you really are within. I never thought my son would be a bully, someone who amuses himself by inflicting pain and humiliation on others.'

'But Dad,' said James. 'He's nothing. I mean, he's into Dark Arts and everything. He deserves it.'

'That's exactly the kind of thing I expect a Dark Wizard to say, James.'

His father stumbled out. He avoided his son's eyes, evidently the sight of his own son brought him unimaginable pain; Potter shot him a look full of hatred and followed his father out.

'You,' shouted the shop assistant, standing over him. 'Out.'

'But I didn't do anything.'

'So I did it?'

Snape looked around and saw the mess they had made. When he hit Black, he had sent him crashing straight through a row of bookshelves, which had toppled like dominoes.

'Out,' he repeated. 'I'm not having hooligans like you in the shop.'

It was humiliating to ask but Snape knew here laid the last hope he had for an education.

'Please,' Snape pleaded. 'Just sell me those books and I'll be out of your way.'

'No,' said the assistant brusquely. 'Either get out or I'll call the Patrol.'

Snape's cheeks flushed and walked out: the humiliation of having to ask and then refused was too much to bear.

The bell clanged once more as he pushed the door open, it sounded earth-shatteringly loud and with that, the world had ended.

***

The truth was no one except himself had ever expected much from him. No one would miss him if he didn't turn up, no Professor would be particularly disappointed. He wasn't spectacularly talented. Hard-working and not the dimmest, that's what they thought of him. Quite a few, like Olsen, would have celebrated the demise of Snape's academic career since they had hated this greasy apparition from the very first class. Professor Bannockburn, the Potions Professor, might be disappointed, but she had always liked Snape more for his talent in Potions than his personality. Potter and Black might feel slightly let down that their favourite victim hadn't turned up but they would find a suitable target in no time. Not as universally hated as he was but still unpopular enough that no one would ever come to help.

Potter's right. He's nothing to anyone. He thought of the disappointed look on Potter's father and felt an unending wave of jealousy. He wished he had someone he could disappoint so greatly.

Snape sat on the steps of a boarded up shop all afternoon. He fiddled with the silver badge he nicked from his father, fingers tracing the engravings and watched the slowly thinning crowd of students and parents as the afternoon wore on. He felt alone and unwanted. Even though a few Slytherins had walked passed, none had come to say hello or asked what's wrong with him. They had always pretended he was invisible anyway.

At five thirty, he listened to the metallic rattle as the shops shut and the assistants headed off to the Leaky Cauldron. It was the thirty-first of August, the very last day of the summer holiday. Tomorrow, all the faces he saw today would board the Hogwarts Express, leaving him behind. The sky was slowly darkening into a robin-egg blue. The alley was deserted and a cool draught blew through the street, whipping up piles of rubbish.

'Are you going to sit here all day, kid?' asked a voice beside him. Snape was about to snap when he recognised the familiar baritone voice but it couldn't be ...

Snape turned and saw the blue-grey eyes of Horatio Hawick looking back at him. Hawick was sitting next to him.

'How did you ...'

'Think, Severus. Use that wonderful deduction of yours.'

Oh.

'Blodget,' said Snape. 'He told you?'

'Show me the marks, too,' said Hawick. 'That was one mean Strangling Curse.'

'He deserves it,' said Snape bitterly but nonetheless felt ashamed of his lack of control. He wondered how much Blodget had told Hawick.

'Why don't we go somewhere more comfortable?' said Hawick. 'The step is hurting my back. At my age, you have to watch your posture all the time. How about something to eat?'

'I'm not hungry.' He hadn't eaten all day but he didn't want Hawick to see him like this.

'But I am, Severus,' said Hawick, his arm guiding Snape up. 'Just come with me.'

Their destination was a basement curry house, a cellar full of wine barrels. As Hawick gently pushed the door open, a dozen shadowy figures turned to look at them from the bar. They sat at a corner table and Hawick ordered curry for both of them and a large glass of dry sherry for himself.

'I have no idea how ... hard up your family is, Severus. Why didn't you come to me?' said Hawick, leaning across the table.

'I ...' Snape began. His first instinct was to deny everything, that there was nothing wrong with him but Hawick would see through it at once. 'I'm used to solving all the problems by myself,' he said finally.

'I know you are a tough kid. You handled far more than anyone your age could and I admire you for that. But you're not alone anymore, Severus. I want you to remember that,' said Hawick thoughtfully. His eyes reddened and he reached across the table and put his hand on top of Snape's. 'Your parents are my best friends and I owe them my life. They have made a huge sacrifice for me and I would not see their son being humiliated. This is the least I can do,' Hawick looked away. 'I know how you feel about the Death Eaters and why you want none of that,' continued Hawick. 'I'm fine by it, as long as you don't shop me to the Ministry.'

Snape felt a burning sensation in his eyes. He was afraid he was going to cry. He shut his eyes and frowned, trying to control his volatile emotions. Hawick's kindness overwhelmed him; it was easily the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. At that moment, he felt the sun was shining through the clouds and had shone on him and him alone, dispersing all the cold misery he had been harbouring inside.

Hawick clearly noticed Snape's discomfort and changed the topic promptly. It was the most wonderful time Snape had since, well, the last time he was with Hawick. Hawick was funny with a sharp intellect and knowledgeable in every single discipline of magic. By the time the plates were cleared, Snape felt he had never been closer to anyone in his life.

'Have you heard from your mother, Severus?' asked Hawick casually and lit a cigarette.

Snape shook his head. 'Not a word.' He wondered why Hawick asked: may be it was the sherry but Hawick did redden slightly as Snape looked at him.

'I'm just thinking about her,' said Hawick. 'It's very unlike her, leaving you and your father. Of course, it's been almost thirty years since I last saw her.'

Seeing Snape would prefer to drop the topic, Hawick inhaled deeply and ordered another glass of dry sherry.

It was almost ten when they parted. Hawick had found a room for him in an inn close by. Snape blushed when Hawick paid the rent for him but one glance at the comfortable room told him he couldn't afford it.

'Give me a list of things you need. I'll have them send up tomorrow evening. The next morning at the latest,' said Hawick quickly, pulling him aside. Snape offered the little he had in his money bag but Hawick refused: 'It's my fault that you didn't get you pay check from the Trenton. Let me make it up to you.'

'Do you want me to see you to the station tomorrow? Under a disguise of course,' asked Hawick.

'No,' Snape said sharply. 'Don't come. Please.' He didn't want Hawick to be anywhere near Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. The last thing he wanted was for Hawick to hear the taunts and the jeering from his classmates, telling Hawick how miserable and pathetic he was at Hogwarts.

His anxiousness must have nonetheless told Hawick his troubles at school, for Hawick stilled abruptly and his sparkling eyes looked deeply into Snape's dark ones. Snape could see Hawick was putting two and two together and he was angry with himself for getting emotional.

'Remember this, Severus, because it is very important. In the real world, it doesn't matter whether you can catch a snitch or how well you look on a broomstick. It's brain that counts and you've got more than enough of it,' said Hawick, seizing Snape's right forearm tightly. 'Hogwarts may seem to be everything to you now but trust me, it's nothing. What counts as talent at Hogwarts is no more than an illusion. The whole school is designed for show-offs and never picks out the very best,' gulped Hawick, clearly trying to hold back his own emotions. 'Who you are inside, what you are capable of, no one can ever take that away from you. Just remember that, promise me.'

Snape didn't remember how he responded except he was again trying hard to control his feelings. When he went to bed that night, Snape was once again visited by the shame of betraying Dumbledore's trust but he also felt aggrieved. Snape couldn't see why he shouldn't be Hawick's friend, even if he's a Death Eater. At least Hawick cared about him, unlike everyone on the so-called good side, hypocrites like Potter and Black.

Not everyone, a voice reminded him. Dumbledore cares.

But does he really? Snape pondered and reached no conclusion when he drifted to the darkness of sleep.

End of Chapter 6

A/N: Ah, this series is slow-moving isn't it? Took me six long chapters to send Snape on his way to Hogwarts but this is, finally, the end of the beginning.

The history of Knockturn Alley is inspired by Dennis Lehane's Mystic River. (The book is actually much better than the movie as it also serves as a study of a working class neighbourhood.)

James and Sirius as rich, spoiled brats who flaunt their wealth and power, hypocrites who do not care about their human beings is partly due to the Snape-cam effect. It is biased because we see them through Snape's eyes. For example, the hints of Sirius's troubles at home are there, Snape just hasn't processed the details yet.

However, I also think we should take the Pensieve seriously i.e. I don't believe in the fashionable theory of biased Pensieve or the event it depicted as isolated incident. If you think James and Sirius are bad in this chapter, they behave worse in the next one, despite James's father words to his son. Remus doesn't fair much better: he's as much a moral wimp as he was in the Pensieve, which would lead to some rather interesting consequences later on.

Posting from now on would be slow as I have exams till mid June, then a summer job following closely. (Yes, like Snape I have to finance my education somehow, though it won't be as terrible as the jobs he had taken. Hopefully.) I might be able to post chapter seven in June but after that, the series would probably be on hold till September/October.