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Father of the Man by testingt [Reviews - 2]

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“Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year.” Sirius Black

*

“Rive’ rat! Show off!”

But how the hell was Severus supposed to muck up a spelling test? How did they manage to do it?

This time it was Poulton, Cartwright, and Davies, with several of their cronies acting as a wall to keep the recess monitors from noticing. Their kicks and punches were methodical and centered on his torso and legs; Severus applauded their ability to learn from experience. Last month they’d blacked his eye, and the headmistress had tracked them down even though Severus had refused to say anything.

But they’d learned. No visible marks, no problem.

He’d learned from experience too. His first year, he’d learned that complaining to adults made the next beating worse, and that there’d always be a next one. His second year, he’d learned to save struggling for when it would make a difference.

Here it would not; there were enough of them to immobilize him. So he stared at them coldly, knowing that his silence would infuriate them more than any resistance he could put up.

The strategy could be said to backfire, in that they’d probably stop sooner if he gave them the satisfaction of watching him fight ineffectually. But he hated to feel helpless worse than he hated the pain, and this crowd was unlikely to do serious damage. He sneered at them as they hit him.

If only he could hex reliably. To protect oneself was legal. But most kids were teens with wands before they achieved any sort of consistency, his mum said. He’d be at Hogwarts by then and protecting himself would be irrelevant; he needed the power now.

“You fucking apes!” he snarled. And this time, it happened. Their arms got longer; their faces changed; hair covered their visible skin. Apes. Or ape-boys: the horror in their eyes owed nothing to bestiality. Severus was still laughing when the Magical Accidents Team had finished Obliviating the witnesses.

But when Paine and his gang spotted him on his way home—nothing. No power. Even though then he was fighting in earnest; Paine meant business. All Paine had heard was that something funny had gone down with Snape over recess; for Paine that was enough.
*

Poulton and his crowd circled warily for a few weeks. They didn’t remember anything happening, but they felt uncomfortable about what they didn’t remember. His mum told him that Obliviation often worked like that. But therefore, Severus hadn’t taught them anything.

Instead, they’d taught him. Not to leave marks. Not to do anything that would have to be Obliviated, erased. Then he could teach them a lesson. No visible marks, no problem.

Emotion, intent, words. Could he use that? Could he focus enough, without a wand yet? He practiced, cautiously, on his father when he was drunk. Not even his mum caught on. Five weeks later, when Davies tripped him, he was ready. He coiled protectively around his belly when he landed, but laughed up at them. “Planning to kick me? I’d watch your feet, if I were you.”

One started hopping, then another. They stared at him, confused and furious. He smiled back. Ingrown toenails. It happened. Just not usually to five boys at once. On all ten toes.

Chilblains.

Jock itch.

He was getting the hang of what he could get away with. He couldn’t do it always, but they could never guess when he could.

Nor could he.

They came to an unspoken agreement: he did nothing to draw attention to himself, in class recitations or in demeanor, and they pretended he didn’t exist.

That worked for him.

*

But it didn’t work with Paine’s crew. His little hexes, however unreliable, had them scared; but for them scared meant worse attacks than before. He was pretty sure the last one had broken two ribs; his Mum had left him, tight-faced, and returned with that foul potion she’d used that time they got his arm.

He varied his route home, but they knew the neighborhood as well as he. And they knew where he lived.

*

Their ambush this time was well-chosen; no snoopy mothers on this block who might interfere. They didn’t waste time; they tackled him and, once down, started punching and kicking. He curled ineffectually around himself; they liked that.

And something bloomed in him, fed by fury and despair. He uncoiled suddenly, hitting, and his hands drew blood where they touched the other boys. He laughed, seeing them recoil; it was as though his fingers were razors. He savored the sensation, feinted at them. He slashed them with his fingers, and watched them run. All of them.

None of them told where they’d got the slashes. They’d have been asked if he’d had a knife, and he hadn’t. Now had he?

But they knew he couldn’t do it always, any more than he could always hide.

If he could only control his magic, he could protect himself better. He’d been trying and trying to learn curses, but his Mum said he was too young.

He was too young, too small, too weak.

Still, Severus kept trying. It was all that he could do.



Father of the Man by testingt [Reviews - 2]

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