Old Sins, Long Shadows

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Hermione had dropped him home and left. She offered to buy dinner in repayment for dinner at Morpeth Arms. 

"We can talk about our options", she had said. 

But he didn't want to talk anymore. He could feel the walls straining as the memories raged against them. They wanted out. They wanted him.

Severus sat quietly by the fire, drank his whisky, occasionally picked up a dried tomato or a piece of prosciutto and cheese to bite on thoughtlessly. His jaw chewing out of muscle memory. Nothing more. He took a large swallow of whisky.

Had he thanked Neder for the food? Or the fire? Or his glass of whisky and the bottle sitting nearby? He should take more care in the future. Neder deserves more consideration. But then, he knows Severus. Known him since he was eleven...or twelve. Since whenever the school bullying started.

Drinking didn't really help. It was better than potion addiction. He could control drinking. He didn't drink all day. He didn't need a drink. He didn't shake for lack of a drink. There was no craving, no desperation to drink. He had seen that in his father. Needing a drink. Going to the pub after work. Coming home drunk. That's when the shouting and the screaming started. And the beatings.

He gazed into the fire, melancholic and introspective, forcing his mind fortress to repair itself. Seeing Dolohov again awakened  so many bad memories. So much hurt. So much pain. So much evil. His walls of occlusion held...until they didn't.

He thinks the world is a horrible place. Horror was all he knew, all he had ever experienced. Perhaps the world wasn't to blame. People. People, including wizards, especially wizards, are the horror. The horrors they wrought. 

The world, Earth, Nature...just exists. The stream in Cokeworth would still flow without people. The trees would still grow without people. Snow would still fall on the mountains around Turin...without people. The planet just is. It's people that spoil it. Spoil their own lives. Spoil other people's lives.

His mind was all over the place. Leaping, jumping about, trying to catch and put back crumbling bits of walls being beaten down from the other side. The other side where the memories are kept. He tries to ignore their cries, their calls to be set free. Once free they only torment him. There is no escape. 

The process begun. Occlusion. Walls. Discipline. Manage. Clear the debris. His gatha repeats: Discipline the mind. Control the emotions. 

Occlude. Fortify the great bulwarks of defense in his mind fortress. 

Stabilize. Fill the rifts. Cement the cracks. Pull together the fissures. Pour in more concrete. Memories pound their fists. Attempt escape. Grab for him. 

Beat them back! Close them off! Reinforce the walls. 

Discipline your mind. Control your emotions.

Discipline the mind.  Power of the will to overcome. Reason dictates the self. Resolve is fortitude. Resolve to mend what is broken. Persevere. Overcome doubt. Discipline is power. Discipline is freedom.

Control your emotions. Control the chaos. Find order. Dictate behaviour. Mind over matter. Keep the walls up.

A memory slid through a crack. The terror of a child. A young boy, four or five, held up by one arm. A drunken father swinging a belt. The sting. Burning. Foul names. His mother cowering in the corner, bruised and bloodied. Hold back. Push back against the collapse of the walls. 

Discipline your mind. Control your emotions.

Another crack. Another memory. Hogwarts would be different. He would be free. His own kind. Acceptance. No. He was different. His robes, second  hand. His hair unkempt. Bookishness mocked. Talents ridiculed. Even the adults. The teachers. The Masters. Dismissive. Cruel. His cries of bullying could not be true. It was his fault. Just like home. All his fault. Hold back.