Snape's Story

"So how are you feeling today?" He appeared sober, but ill and disheveled. It was clear he had not taken a razor to his face since the last time she had seen him. Inhaling deeply, she could detect the faint scent of soap, he had showered; but his white shirt was rumpled and buttoned wrong.

"Like shit. Thanks for asking." He growled. "And before you start, I do not want one of your infernal potions."

"Alright." She said patiently, making a note on the parchment before her. "Any nausea or diarrhea?" He glared at her silently. "What about any hallucinations?" Silent glare. "Well alright." She smiled pleasantly at him. "Why don't we talk some more about your father. You said," She picked up her notes and read, "that he was a muggle who died in prison. Why was he in prison?"

"For killing my mother." His voice was flat and emotionless.

"That's horrible." She gasped before she caught herself.

He watched the play of emotions across her face; shock, pity, sadness, before she regained control of herself. 'And you don't even know the half of it, you stupid little chit.' He thought ruefully. 'If you did, you'd be curled up in the corner, sucking your thumb, crying for your Mummy.'

"How did it happen?" She asked softly. "How did he..." Her voice trailed off.

"Murder her? He was drunk, he was angry, he beat her to death with his bare hands."

"How old were you? Where you there when it happened?"

He stared down at his hands and shook his head. "I was in the States when it happened, so I would have been 19 or 20."

"I didn't know you spent time in the States." She leaned towards him, clearly interested. "How long were you there?"

"I'd say there is quite a lot about me you do not know." He sneered. "I was there for 6 months as part of an accelerated Potions Apprenticeship."

"Were you able to come home for the funeral?"

"I suppose I could have. But I chose not to."

Again, the counselor looked surprise. "But she was your mother."

"She was a cunt who resented me and blamed me for her failing marriage. She never once extended any caring or concern towards me. Why should I care that she's dead?"

She frowned and jotted down a few notes. "Why do you think she resented you?"

"She told me on numerous occasions that she wished I'd never been born. That if it weren't for me, they'd be happy." He sighed heavily. "My mother was an ugly, hateful woman who married an ugly hateful man. Together they produced an ugly hateful child."

"Okay stop right there." The counselor laid down her quill and pinned him with her eyes. "I do not allow self deprecation in my sessions. Anytime you say something negative about yourself, you must in turn say something positive about yourself. Her eyes widened as the man before her began to laugh, his eyes gleaming with mirth. "Something funny?" She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Oh I just have to say that up until this point, I've been a bit disappointed in you." He was still chuckling. "But now? Well now, you've out done yourself. This is exactly the type of touchy, feely, Kumbaya mumbo-jumbo shite I was expecting from you. Well done."

"I'm glad I've amused you." She said seriously. "But I'm still waiting."

Now it was his turn to quirk an eye in confusion. "Waiting? Oh right, for me to say something positive about myself. Fine. I'm brilliant."

She wrote on her parchment. "While that is true. You insulted your appearance, so you have to say something positive about your appearance."

"Oh bloody hell." He murmured running his hand wearily over his face. "Fine. If you think my nose is big, you should get a good look at my cock." He looked up at her, waiting for her reaction. He smirked as he watch her cheeks flush crimson.

"Not what I had in mind." She said, writing quickly. "But for the time being I'll allow it."

'But will you allow it in your pussy?' Snape thought, feeling a flush of his own warming his body.

"Back to your parents." She cleared her throat before continuing. "You said your father was abusive to both you and your mother. She never tried to protect you?"

"Protect me?" He snorted in disgust. "She was glad when he turned his anger towards me, rather then her."

"What types of things made him angry?"

"Breathing? My very existence? Because he hated the fact that his son was a Wizard? I never really knew what would set him off. He was an angry, violent drunk."

Frowning, she wrote briefly. "How long did this last?"

"Until I was sixteen I suppose." He rubbed his index across his lips. "I reached my adult height at sixteen and I could fight back. After landing him on his arse a time or two, he decided it was best to just forget I was there."

She looked up at him, her eyes sad. "Was there no one in your childhood who gave you love, affection, anything?"

"My grandmother." He said softly, folding his hands in his lap, his face almost wistful.

"Tell me about her. Was she muggle or magic?"

"Magic. My maternal grandmother." He chuckled ruefully. "She was a barmy old bat, but she seemed to like me. Crazier then a drunk Grindylow, but a brilliant Potions Mistress. She let me brew potions with her." A sad smile touched his lips. "I think that's when I learned to love the art of brewing."

"What happened to her?"

"She died the year I entered Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry to hear that." The counselor said sadly.

"Why?" His mask was back in place. "People die."

"What about your father?"

"What about him?"

"You said he died in prison. How?"

"Liver failure. Better then he deserved, the wretched old tosser."

Frowning, she made a few notes. "Did you go to his funeral?"

"Why? To spit on his grave?" He let out an ugly chuckle. "I let the muggles deal with him. I'm not even sure where he's buried, if that's what they do with unclaimed bodies. They could have tossed him in the Thames for all I care."

"You seem angry."

"Do I?" His eyes were dark and unreadable.

"Yes." She said calmly. "And you have every right to be. You're childhood sucked, Severus."

"And this is supposed to make me feel better somehow?" He smirked.

"No. But recognizing that it wasn't your fault might. It wasn't about you, it was about them. They were the bad guys in this, not you. You were just a little boy, who deserved love, attention and affection and you didn't get it and that sucks."

He raised an eyebrow and remained silent.

"And this is where the Serenity Prayer comes into play." She smiled happily.

"Oh goody." He drawled sarcastically. "I was wondering when we would revisit that."

She rolled her eyes at him before continuing. "What happened to you in your childhood, you could not control. We don't get to pick our parents or the circumstances of our birth.

He sighed loudly and folded his arms across his chest. Unperturbed, she continued.

"I would like you to go home and write a letter..."

"To my dead parents?" He interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Yes." She said, her eyes excited. "Write a letter saying anything you've ever wanted to say to them. Curse them, get angry at them, tell them how much they hurt you."

"And what shall I do with this letter when I'm done. I can't very well owl them in Hell."

"I don't give a damn what you do with the letter. Burn it, tear it into a million pieces, wipe your arse with it, it doesn't matter. I just want you to let your emotions out, to get angry at how they treated you." Her voice became serious. "But when you are done, I want you to tell yourself that it wasn't your fault. It was a circumstance you could not control and I want you accept that it happened and then I want you to leave it in the past."

"So that is my assignment?" He asked, standing up as the soft chime signaled the end of their session.

"That. And don't drink."

She smiled to herself as he muttered "don't drink" under his breath as he headed out the door.