Before Harry Potter

Before Harry Potter, Lily, James, Severus, and their friends/enemies existed in what us Potterheads like to call the "Marauder Era". Read to figure out what happened when J.K. Rowling wasn't looking
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or the drawings/Cover art

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4. Back to Spinner's End

 

                Severus hopped off the train as it came to a screeching halt, pulling his heavy trunk along with him.  He stumbled unskillfully on the steps, and fell onto his hands and knees, scratching his palms badly on the pavement.  He could hear the infuriating laughter flood his ears as he picked himself up, and wiped his bleeding palms on his frayed and tattered robes. 

                Grabbing his trunk, and hauling it over to a trolley, Severus looked out for where his mum might be, searching for the mess of straight black hair that was like his own.  He felt a sinking disappointment arise; she wasn’t there.  Although half of him knew that she wouldn’t be, he couldn’t help but hope that she’d change her ways and appear just this once.  He remembered how Lily used to invite him over to stay at her place sometimes.  Her mum would always refuse though, maybe because of his slightly unhealthy, dirty look, or maybe just because she didn’t want a boy in her house while her girls were still underage.  Either way, he always felt the same sinking feeling in the pit of his gut every time he approached a taxi on the Muggle street just on the outskirts of King’s Cross Station: the unsettling realization that he’d have to spend the rest of the summer with the man who resorted to Muggle dueling to deal with matters, and a woman who was blinded, and couldn’t care less about him or the world around her. 

                He climbed into the cab, partly listening to the man on the car stereo, mostly not.  The driver helped load his trunk in the back along with him.  Severus couldn’t help but appreciate his kindness even though he was a Muggle.  He muttered thanks to the man, blushed, and looked down at his shoes in shame it had been his goal for the last few weeks at school to stop caring about those inferior to him; Muggles, and Muggleborns.  He called it the “Getting Over Evans Project”.  He was glad that he was a decent actor, otherwise his gang might suspect some means of treachery on his part, therefore he was even more glad that they didn’t possess the mental capacity to be able to uphold the art of Legilimency. 

                The shadowy, dank neighborhood of Spinner’s End looked how it always did:  cold, littered, and familiar.  Just the way that the river wound its way around the trees on the outskirts seemed semi-creepy.  He unconsciously thanked the driver, and handed him a wadded up handful of Muggle currency, not even bothering to count the amounts.  He dragged his trunk up the empty driveway, and towards the thin wooden front door.  It had begun to hang off of its hinges, but not quite to the point where anybody would notice if they hadn’t been observing it for quite a while.  Lily would probably notice. 

                Ever so gingerly, he grasped the knob in hand, and twisted.  There was a squeaking, reminding him that it probably hadn’t been oiled since the summer previous.  He stepped inside, attempting to prevent the smell of his mother’s perfume burn his nostrils, and the stench of his father’s beer give him a raging headache.  It was all so blurry.  The sitting room was empty, except there was a crackling fire despite the fact that it was summer, and the books were stacked neatly on their shelves.  Maybe his mother had gotten out of bed and done some cleaning for once.  Either that or his father had brought home another woman to sleep with while his mother sat in bed not caring. 

                Past the sitting room was a door, which led to a hallway and a staircase:  the staircase had his mother’s bedroom.  He liked to imagine that his mother was like Rapunzel when he was young, because Rapunzel turned out to be a happy girl with a happy man with a happy life, and that’s what he wanted for her.  But he realized that Muggle fairytales were meant for Muggle children, and Muggles didn’t like to believe in that sort of thing, and that was why they wrote down ludicrous ideas such as Rapunzel and Cinderella; to entertain small minded children who would grow to be narrow minded adults, and would soon come to give their own Muggle children or grandchildren the same stories to read.  And yet, they only came to the same conclusion:  it wasn’t real.  Maybe that’s why his mother was always so blank and mentally “not there”.  Because maybe the time that she had spent with his Muggle father had transformed her into something to the likes of what he was.  She neglected what was there, as did Muggles.  That was just his theory though.

                He dragged his trunk down the hallway as quietly as he could, trying not to let the edges catch on the filthy matted carpet.  He could hear giggling from his father’s bedroom.  He was probably in there with another one of his lady toys.  He rolled his eyes, and opened the door just to the right of his dad’s and entered.  The walls were plastered with a gray toned wallpaper.  There weren’t any posters or pictures posted upon the headboard of his twin sized bed, nor were there any carpet on the floor; just an assortment of simple floorboards, and a dusty blue carpet that was nearly as boring looking as the walls were.  He sighed, noticing yet another stain on the once clean sheets of his bed, telling him that his dad had another accident with the beer in his son’s bedroom.  Severus would bet that in the time he was away, his dad forgot that he even had a son, until he found the front door unlocked, and the usual dusty carpets spotless. 

                He sighed, and stripped the bedclothes from the creaking mattress, peeling off the sick stain, leaving behind the old scratchy material of the mattress.  He lied back, resting his head into his old pillow, listening to the sounds of a mattress creaking in the room beside his, of the sounds of the owls hooting outside, of the hinges on the door squeaking every now and again.  And now, he came to the conclusion that he rather missed the sounds of the Black Lake trickling overhead. 

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