Beloved

He would have liked to see them suffer, each and every one of the cursed trio.

Pressing his fingers against his temples, Severus tried to think of something else--anything else. It was becoming harder and harder to do so.

What it must be like to be one of them, he thought wearily, the muscles in his jaw clenching and relaxing. One of the privileged. One of the popular.

One of the kids who'd had a normal life, a normal family. A family who loved instead of loathed, had an abundance of riches rather than rage. He'd hoped fervently that Hogwarts would be an escape, that he could be someone else other than the tormented boy unable to do anything to help his family, to help his mother.

To help himself.

But Hogwarts had been a respite so temporary as to not be one at all. Sitting on his bed in the Slytherinquarters, Severus thought about his first days at Hogwarts, six years before.

He'd been in awe, plain and simple, upon his first unguided steps around Hogwarts. He'd known of the place, even read about it and heard occasional stories when his father was in a mood to talk rather than shout. But words did it no justice, and he kept his amazement held close to him, ashamed of his naiveté.

"Unbelievable, eh?" The first person to speak to him at the famed school had spoken from behind him, and when he turned and saw the small, fine-boned boy behind him, Severus had had no idea how to react.

The Snapes were not, as a rule, good at social interactions.

"Hm," he said noncommittally, feeling ten kinds a fool as he tried on a smile. What was one supposed to say in situations like this?

"I'd really no idea it was so big," the boy added, tugging at one of his ears in a nervous gesture.

Severus opened his mouth to say something clever, something stupid, anything to respond to the kid who was obviously trying to make an effort. He never got a word out, however. A wild battle cry sounded down the corridor, bouncing off the damp stone and making both Severusand his companion wince.

"Oy, Loopy, where did you run away to? We've exploring to do, and tons of it." Two first-years skidded to a halt beside the boy, expectant looks on their faces. The larger of the two, a hard-faced handsome youth, swatted the boy across the head good-naturedly as he spoke. "We're goin' to try each door."

Unable to stop himself, Severus spoke nervously. "I don't think we're supposed to do that."

The third boy paused in the act of running a hand through his messy ink-black hair and quirked an eyebrow. "Well, look at the teachers' pet, and classes haven't even started yet." Lowering his voice confidentially, he eyed Severus. "You know, it'll be hard for you to make friends if you're such a boring git."

The handsome boy snorted then, clapping a hand to the smaller boy's shoulder. "You're certainly not going to win them with your looks," he exclaimed, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Okay, Potter, lead the way. Lupin'll bring up the back, broad-shouldered lad that he is."

The three made their way down one of the myriad hallways of the castle, and of them, only Lupin, the small boy, had risked a glance back at him.

Severus stood where he was for a few moments, rubbing long fingers over his slightly beakish nose and stinging from the insult.

He was in a different place, away from his family, away from his father, among different people, and things had not changed at all.

Six years later, Severus was still in awe of Hogwarts, of the building and the knowledge and the magic it held.

But he was also miserable.

~~~

Dea lay awake, staring at the ceiling with her arms tucked under her pillow. She'd tried to finish the novel she'd started, but it failed to hold her attention. So she'd thrown it next to her bed, and every now and again she could see the hero from the corner of her eye, flexing now between yawns.

Stupid git.

She closed her eyes, thinking over the day. She couldn't remember a day where she'd been noticed once, much less more than once. But Dumbledore had called for her, spoken to her, remembered her name. He'd even gone so far as to conjure a chair identical to one from home. That took talent, she thought admirably.

And then there was the boy from Slytherin house. Severus Snape In the years since Deahad begun making herself less noticeable, she'd taken great joy in watching people. She watched the way they behaved in their best moments, their worst moments, moments when they thought no one was looking.

Whereas James Potter constantly acted as though someone, somewhere were watching him, Severus Snape conducted every bit of his life as though bleakly and surely alone. He rejected help, curbed friendliness with the curtest of refusals, and spent hours studying. His face was nearly painfully thin, his nose a bit too large, his hair unkempt. She wondered if he ever bothered looking in a mirror--and what he saw when he did.

Yawning broadly, Dea's mind wandered off-topic, to the corduroy chair in Dumbledore's office. She fell asleep with the phantom feel of the familiar fabric tickling her fingers.

~~~

"I forbid you to go!" Her thin face had contorted into a caricature of what it normally was, the weary, faded prettiness giving way to a frantic fanaticism. "I forbid you to go and mingle with those... people." Her eyes darted to and fro as though searching for her husband. He'd been gone for a week, and Severus was starting to think--hope--someone had killed the malevolent git.

Severusclutched the letter in his hand, his pallid face flushing. "Father went. You went. I'd like to go." He barely resisted the urge to raise his voice at her. Never like him, he vowed. He would never be like his father.

"Your father and I..." She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest and weeping. "When your father and I went, there was a hierarchy, Severus. There was a way to things. Now they treat those Muggleslike us. Equals. Sometimes better." She stretched a bony hand to his face, the fingers first caressing, then clutching. "Severus, I forbid you to go. You'll become like them."

Better than becoming you, the boy thought, backing away from his mother.

He would never be weak.

He would never be like her.

Severus awoke slowly, weary of the dreams that plagued him. There was never any change in them, always the same dreams, always about his family.

The ones with his mother weren't always so bad. She'd been a pretty woman at one time, the liveliness in her eyes long faded by time and circumstance, the color of her hair faded to a dull, mousy brown. Severusdidn't remember a time when she wasn't spouting the preachingsof his father or cowering from him.

He'd been too unlucky to inherit his mother's looks, inheriting instead the thin-lipped visage of his father, the pale skin and dark hair. In weaker moments, Severusthought he could probably change his looks a little, make himself more presentable, but looking in a mirror sickened him. Looking at his father's face sickened him.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his threadbare socks hitting the cool floor, Severus closed his eyes and tried to think of the worst thing that could happen to him in the day.

If the worst didn't happen, he could consider himself lucky.

He got to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class early, sitting in the back. It was the only class he looked forward to, the only one he saw as being useful. He hadn't any intention of planting screaming trees or mixing a potion to turn a stick into stone. If he had the right wandwork, there was nothing he couldn't do that a potion could.

He was the first student there, as was his habit. The empty room was, in its own way, comforting. It spoke of knowledge without other students--something he would have given greatly to experience. He had spent the entire semester covertly keeping tally of the other students in the class, who actively hunted him, who taunted him when given the opportunity, who stayed silent. And always, always, he kept his eyes on the exits.

But when the second student entered the DADA classroom, Severusdropped his quill on the floor in surprise. He'd never before seen her in the class, never noticed her walk in, never ranked her in one of the many categories he had for people. Surely Amadea Middlemarch had never been in this class before.

"What are you doing in here?" he said flatly, picking his quill off the floor and depositing it roughly on his desk.

Damn, she thought, wincing. She'd hoped to take a seat and not be spoken to. But the ill-tempered Slytherin's luck had held for two days straight, apparently. "I've been in here all semester, Mister Snape," she mocked his formality of the day before. She contemplated sitting with her back to him, then at the last moment chose a seat beside him.

No one chose the seat beside Severus Snapeunless it was the last one in the classroom.

"You've never seen me in here before." It was a statement, not a question.

"You've never been in here before," he insisted.

Dea rolled her eyes and turned back to the front of the classroom. There was no guessing with some people. You do them a favor, they treat you like dirt. "You're a certain little know-it-all, aren't you?" she asked mildly, flicking her eyes to the side to look at him.

His eyes narrowed to slits and he tightened his fingers on his quill. "Well, pardon me, Miss Middlemarch. It's only that I think I would have noticed you." As her dark eyebrows shot up, he realized what he'd said. Hastening to explain himself, he rushed on. "You've a pureblood name, but you've an American accent. I would have noticed that." He looked at her intently and watched as her dark eyes grew faraway.

"You'd be surprised," she said softly as other students began to file in, "What you would and wouldn't notice."