Hearts are Blind (Severus Snape X OC)

The King's Tale

A/n: Happy Halloween, my readers.

The King's Tale

My father was charming.

He was handsome, with a stone-carved square jaw and large, moss-colored eyes that became red-rimmed and flecked with blood when he drank. It was those half-closed lids—that heavy swagger in his steps—that made me never want to drink. I didn't want to become what he became: a heavy-fisted, quick-talking, copper-headed stranger. He was explosive and unpredictable, but he was also funny and extraordinary. He ran through the house, cackling with glee on his highs and he crawled through broken bottles of beer in the kitchen, groaning and growling, during his lows. The first time he hit me, I vowed I'd never drink. The first time he hit my mother... I vowed I'd never hit; I swore I'd never fight; I promised I'd never harm someone else. I wouldn't become my father. I wouldn't stoop to his level. I wouldn't fight back...

And my mother was blind-sided by him. She was tethered to him, by her own highs while he was happy and sober. He spun her around the living room, holding her waist, kissing her face. He had that twinkle in his green eyes that drew the women in. He had those broad shoulders and strong arms that made her feel safe. He had that silken voice that sang lullabies against her cheek and lassoed her heart over and over again. And the moment was only ever just that: a moment.

He would hit her again and I would cry. I would hold onto his arms, my own feet dangling several feet off the ground, hands secured around his solid bicep, screaming for him to stop, please stop, PLEASE STOP—STOP-STOP-STOP-STOP!

He was like a floundering giant, having stubbed his toe on a little, blue-eyed sapling, in which he attempted to rip from the earth. He only thought of expelling his frustration and anger as quickly and violently as he could. He would wash the blood off her face in the morning and cry in her lap. He would lug himself around the yard, pulling weeds in the garden, washing the windows, fixing the broken drawer in the kitchen and he would hold her and weep, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

It was enough for her; it was always enough for her... It was never enough for me. I didn't forgive. I didn't forget. I kept it building inside me like a balloon. Having nowhere else to place it, my resentment lay dormant and waiting for its bursting point. I didn't know when it would happen. I ascertained that it never would. I could easily keep it buried, as long as I had Hogwarts to dispel some of it. I poured myself into ridiculous shenanigans—that usually led to my getting injured, scolded, or punished. I felt responsible for every drunken fight and I subconsciously longed for retribution. I wanted things to be hard for me. I wanted to be annoying. I wanted to be hated and shoved and bothersome.

But all I received was love—sweltering and intoxicating love from my peers. Eventually I stopped fighting it. I stopped coiling up that part of me that wanted companionship and I accepted it. Because everyone made it too easy to be wanted. They made it too easy to be happy. And Hogwarts became the best parts of my life.

I'd go home during the summer months and for quick visits during the holidays. Many times father was kind. Things were joyful and he hugged me tight, his cheek pressed to mine.

"You're the best wizard I know." He'd say and mother would mutter that I was the only wizard he knew.

Because my father was a muggle and as far as anyone else was concerned, my mother was, as well. I guess that's where her passive aggression came from—her little comments from the corners of her mouth; her long-burning resentment towards me...

Because my mother was not magic.

She came from a long line of magical blood, but she was born without. It was a shock to her mother and father and older sister, but they didn't treat her any different. They didn't look down on her or rub their abilities in her face. They were kind to her... But she was not kind to herself. She thought that she was cursed; that her soul was missing from her body. Her life was like a big slap in the face. She began to hate magic, but only because she longed for it so deeply.