Seven Sins of Severus Snape

Chapter 4 - Envy

He can’t sleep. The weather outside is foul and rattles the windowpanes as he stares at the ceiling. Down the hall he can hear the boy’s godfather snoring, a horrific sound in itself. His arm throbs painfully where it lies against his steadily rising and falling chest. The curse has lasted longer than he expected but then he perhaps should be fighting it more than he is.

At the stroke of one, from the grandfather clock downstairs he rises from bed. It is not unusual for sleep to elude him. Donning his thin black robe he pads soundlessly down the hallway towards the stairs. His mothers voice echo’s silently in his mind, ‘A glass of warm milk cures lots of things’. A wry smile quirks at his lips unchecked at the thought of his mother, a witch for whom milk may have cured many things. He doubts mere milk can cure his problems. Gritting his teeth against the cold of the wooden floor beneath his bare feet he unconsciously finds himself pausing beside the boy’s bedroom door.

The door is closed.

Would it be any other normal teenagers room he would not bat an eyelid but the boy is far from normal. A professors old habits die hard, and as he goes to reach for the handle to the door has to refrain himself from opening it. He is no longer the boy’s professor. He should not care anymore.

Removing his hand from its hovering position above the door handle he turns to continue his trek down to the kitchen. He hears it then. The sound is just a whisper even in the silence of the hall. Those without his experience might interpret the sound as something innocent but he knows better. He knows those sounds. He knows how they are made, and what the wizard must look like that’s making them.

A shudder runs up his spine, and ends in an angry snap at the back of his skull. He refuses to acknowledge the well of emotion that bubbles up in his chest as images so long repressed spring to mind. Gritting his teeth he pushes the unmanageable emotion aside in favor of anger as he reaches for the door again. This time he has no hesitation in gripping the handle and pushing it open.

It is dark in the room. Lit only by the fire embers still flickering in the hearth his onyx eyes take a moment to adjust to the room. There is no mistaking the identities of the two pale figures entwined on the bed. The lily-white skin of the boy radiates the glow of the fire, like an iridescent moon trapped beneath a bronzed sunrise. From where he stands he can see the perspiration glistening like rivers between the muscles of the elder boy’s back. Despite the curtain of fiery orange hair obscuring his view he can see the boy’s face beneath his tormentor.

He can see too, the leather strap wrapped tightly about the younger boy’s neck.

In silence he watches their frenzied movements the couple unaware of their audience. The younger boy’s lips have begun to turn blue as the strap is tightened with each thrust from the elder boy above him. The scent of blood taints the air as the couple crescendo together soundlessly.

It is only now he realizes his breathing matches that of the younger boy’s desperate gasps for air. The strap is loosened quickly as the elder boy rises from the bed. The younger boy still wreaths about in the sheets choking for air, the red welt around his neck so stark against his pale skin. Automatically his fists clench as he sees for the first time the crimson puddles and smears on the bed spread. It is only apparent where the blood has come from as the younger boy rolls over exposing his back that is shredded and cut in a pattern much like a patchwork quilt.

He knows he should not feel this way. That it should be with outrage that he has discovered the pair but it is certainly not anger that fuels his rapid heart beat and sweat soaked palms.

He is discovered quickly.

The red headed boy stands in shadow by the window seat, staring at him through the darkness. He matches the younger wizard’s stare with one of his own emotionally devoid expressions. There is an unspoken conversation that passes between them, as the focus of the tension lies gasping for air on the bed. The stare continues and he will not be beaten down. Anger fueled by an emotion entirely foreign to him rises in his chest as the boy on the bed lets out a final choked gasp before shooting his own neglected load all over himself. He watches as the boy collapses not breathing on the bed. A twitch of a smirk catches the corner of the red heads lips and he realizes that he himself is erect and hard. Finding himself unable to control the shuddering fury that rises from deep down in his chest and threatens to explode from his fingertips he snarls angrily at the red head.

Without thought he turns and strides from the room. A boy will not mock him. He will not lower himself to exacting revenge on something he has no desire to claim for himself. Ignoring the part of him that reminds him the younger boy may need medical attention he takes the stairs down to the kitchen two at a time. His mind is awash with fiery images of his own life, and his own misdeeds. He is no saint and he will not play the innocent party when he himself has dealt out worse to his master’s captives during his time in service.

Bypassing the fridge he goes straight for the decanter of amber liquid nestled in the cupboard above the sink. What milk will not cure, whisky will.

Throwing himself into the chair at the table he sips liberally from the bottle in an attempt to drown the feeling he has now identified in his chest.

Glaring at nothing he grips the neck of the decanter so tight his knuckles turn white.

Severus Snape is envious of no one especially not of a Weasley…

TBC>>>>>

A/N *Rubs hands together secretly* Oh, I believe this just got interesting...*winks*