His Masterpiece

Chapter 1

This chapter has text from L'Assommoir by Émile Zola (1877).

*****

1975

When Severus came down the stairs one August morning and found his mother asleep in a chair, her head resting on her folded arms atop the greasy kitchen table, he knew at once that his father had not returned home the night before.

He took a step backward, hoping to ease out of the kitchen before she awoke, but it was too late. The creaking floorboards was enough to rouse her, and she jerked upward, one side of her face red and wrinkled from her knitted sleeve, her eyes still veiled with tears. She scrubbed at her face, saw the morning sunlight streaming through the dirty windows, and said, "Oh! Severus. What time is it?"

"It's eight," he answered, taking another half-step back.

"Let me make you some breakfast," she said, standing up to dash about the wretched little room.

"You really don't have too-"

"Don't be stupid. Sit down."

Severus bit back a sigh and dropped down in one of the rush-bottomed chairs, bracing his chin in his hand.

"Your father stepped out for a moment. To the shops."

Severus hummed, not bothering to give her a proper response.

"You just missed him."

He glanced around. This little crooked house in Cokeworth was full of broken things. From the chipped milk jug, to the missing drawers, to the woman pulling out a pan to fry the bacon on. Above the window his mother had set up a line of clothes to dry, protected from the rain. Pinned to it was a shawl full of holes, and a pair of trousers stained brown with old mud, the last rags which dealers in second-hand clothes declined to buy. Lying on a shelf above the stove, tucked underneath the milk jug was a bundle of pink pawn tickets.

His mother, Eileen, set down in front of him a strip of bacon and a slice of buttered bread. Severus had only just taken a bite when he heard the front door open and a string of muttered of curses. Eileen was rushing out of the kitchen and Severus gobbled down what was left of his breakfast in case he needed to make a quick exit.

Tobias Snape stood on the threshold, still a little hungover and slow-footed, his eyes bloodshot and his clothes smelling of liquor and perfume.

"You! It's you!" Severus heard his mother yell.

"Yes, it's me. What of it?" Tobias replied.

"Where did you spend the night!? Whose bed did you crawl into!? Tell me now, where have you been!?"

"Ah! There's the music! If you don't shut up I'll blacken your eye and go right back to where I just came from!"

"No, no, don't do that..." Eileen whimpered, more upset at the threat of his leaving than his pulled-back fist.

Severus heard his father stomping around. He wished they would take it upstairs, so that he might at least escape the kitchen. "It's a mess in here! You never clean! God, look at you. Do you even wash yourself now?"

That insult hit a little too close to home and the fire inside Eileen roared back to life. "Who are you to criticize me? I'd like to see you do better! Do you think Amy will cook and clean for you? Oh, I know all about her! You think she's so great because she puts on airs. Hah! You want a blueblood, well there's hardly any blood that's bluer than mine! Amy is nothing but a cheap whore! Every man on the street's had her!"