Roonil Wazlib

It's actually not "always" - mostly because I am a little spitefully annoyed that people read it as romantic whereas I read it as indicator of his guilt - that his hand in his former best friend's death haunts him "always". Just like Dumbledore was "never free" as Harry put it to Aberforth - that his guilt in abdicating his responsibility to his family, and his hand in Ariana's death haunts him.

Deathly Hallows is filled to brim with themes of remorse: Dumbledore's, Snape's and it's even stated to be how you repair a soul that has been fragmented (which is why Harry offers Voldemort a chance -"try for some remorse").

Snape's guilt is brought to our notice in other books too - when Barty Crouch as Moody makes a jibe about "some spots don't come off", Snape reflexively touches his arm with the Dark Mark. Basically, I see that as a defining emotion that leads him back to the landscape of morality. It is explicitly what Dumbledore taps into ("I wish I were dead" "what use would that be to anyone? If you truly loved Lily Evans, your way forward is clear")

My favourite line and the one that I think embodies where he ends up and his growth from wanting to save only Lily's life at 21:

Dumbledore: How many people have you watched die?

Snape: Lately those who I cannot save.

She never once imagined Hermione as black before Cursed Child was casting for its first premiere on the stage. Her PR people probably pressured her to make a public statement to address the real racist backlash, and advised her to be as ambiguous as possible.

–> Part 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 -

Disclaimer:

Unlike most of things I write, this story will deal with a lot of heavy real world problems such as drug use, alcohol use, casual sex, suicidal idealisation and an absolute metric-fuckton of mental illness. There will also be the less ‘sensational’ real world problems, like poverty, capitalism, the failures of government and conservatism.  (And also explicit sexual content but I generally get more complaints about there not being sex or not enough sex or not explicit enough sex, than there being any.)

Anyway, my hope is that despite dealing with very emotionally heavy topics, I can write about them in a light sort of way. I want to write about community and friendship and how humans, when it comes down to it, are social creatures who survive because they take care of one another and watch out for one another, even when there’s nothing in it for them. Humans who care. I want this to be a story about humans who care.

Tags: alcohol use, marijuana use, cigarettes, smoking, reckless behaviour, lack of self preservation, anxiety issues, chronic illness, deportation, racism, the fucking Tories, ptsd, super unhealthy coping mechanisms, Down and out Draco who’s friends with muggles, various OC’s

suggested rating: Mature

-

A clock gently ticked in the quiet room. The hands read three twenty-five. Draco groaned softly, a faint puff of dust swirling above his head as he moved. He pressed his hand to his chest, every beat of his heart echoing in his head with a thrum of dull pain. He slowly pushed himself up, gripping the musty sheets until his head stopped spinning. The curtain covering the only window was too thin to block out the sunlight and filled the room with a sickly yellow hue.

The bed creaked as he stood up, almost stumbling over his own feet as he crossed the linoleum to the kitchen a few feet away. Draco stopped abruptly as he stepped in something sticky and pulled his foot back with a grimace. He stared at the refrigerator and then reluctantly returned to his bed, flipping his pillow out of the way and grabbing his wand.

“Scourgify,” his voice came out rough.

Draco aimed the spell at the floor and his feet and then threw another one over himself, frowning at the rough prickle of magic over his skin.

His button-up shirt was wrinkled and smelled like cigarette smoke. His hair was getting long, reaching the top of his shoulders, but it was tied back into a messy knot at the nape of his neck where he didn’t have to see it. He started to look too much like his father when it got long. He’d have to hack it off soon, seeing ghosts in the mirror messed with his head.

He shoved his wand into the back pocket on his slacks and went to the fridge, tugging on the handle and then pulling harder until the seal on the door finally popped free.

The fridge’s meagre contents rattled. Draco squeezed his eyes shut at the brilliant light inside, fumbling around blindly until his fingers found the little switch that turned off the light and held it down. He opened his eyes and grabbed the first bottle he saw, some shit brand of orange juice, before quickly closing the door.

Draco twisted off the top of the bottle, gulped down a third of the orange juice, and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the freezer, refilling the bottle of orange juice to the top. He screwed the cap back on, mixing it together with a few lazy twists of his wrist. Before he left, stepped into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet was open, the mirror turned against the wall. He splashed some water on his face and grabbed a couple painkillers from the medicine cabinet, washing them down with his shitty cocktail.

The small apartment block was a square with the centre open, a couple floors ringed with railings outside narrow doors leading to narrow apartments. Below was a small stone courtyard with a few concrete benches and concrete planters filled with limp, dead grass and the hints of flowers that might have once been there.

“Ey, Draco!” A young black man raised his hand in greeting courtyard, the faint sickly sweet smell of weed floating up from the cigarette in his hand.

“Samuel,” Draco waved back and headed down the stairs crossing the concrete and dropping onto the bench beside the young man with his tight cropped black hair.

“How’re you doing, man?” Samuel asked.

“Spent the night in my own bed,” Draco said.

Samuel made a tch noise, “That’s good. You gotta stop hoeing around.”

“What are you, my mother?” Draco asked.

“Nah, just a friend,” Samuel said. He lifted the cigarette to his lips and took a pull, letting the smoke slowly drift back out of his mouth before he spoke again, “You’re gonna get hurt. All it takes is one bad guy.”

“I’m careful,” Draco said, “I have my wand after all.”

Samuel laughed and then coughed lightly, “What you need is some brass knuckles. Or a knife. Not that little stick of yours.”

“It’s not a stick; it’s a wand. Hawthorn with a core of unicorn hair,” Draco said.

Samuel snorted, “Yeah, yeah. And you can’t show me any magic cause it’s against the rules. I know.”

Draco ignored the comment and nodded to Samuel’s spliff, “Be careful Tom doesn’t catch you with that; he’ll throw you out in a heartbeat.”

“Tom ain’t never around this time of day,” Samuel said. “And I need it, for my nerves, you know?”

Draco nodded.

“Side’s we’re not all that different,” Samuel nodded to the bottle in Draco’s hand.

Remembering his drink, Draco brought it to his lips and drank enough to feel the burn of the alcohol mixing with the citric acid.

“Tom’ll throw any of us out in a heartbeat. He hates all of us,” Samuel said.

“Except, Mary,” Draco said.

“Hmm,” Samuel said.

“It’s impossible to hate Mary,” Draco said.

“That would be assuming Tom ever liked anyone. He probably doesn’t even like puppies,” Samuel said.

Draco laughed and asked, “How is the kitchen job working out?”

Samuel nodded and quirked a slow smile, “Good. Like, I know most people hate that sort of thing, but I like it.”

“I thought you had trouble being around a lot of people,” Draco said.

Samuel waved his hand, a faint wisp of smoke slipping through his fingers with the movement. “Nah. It’s just me and the dishwasher. The kitchen’s bustlin’, and they’re shouting and movin’, but it’s pretty quiet in the back. I load up the machine, and you can hear the water rushin’ around; it’s like my own little ocean.”

“And your boss is cool?” Draco asked.

“As long as I do my job, he doesn’t mind,” Samuel said.

“I hope this one works out for you,” Draco said.

“Me too, man,” Samuel said, “I could use a break.”

Samuel took a long slow pull, closing his eyes and holding his breath, taking a single moment of peace in a crazy world. “Alright,” he said slowly, opening his eyes, “I better get goin’. Don’t want to be late.”

Draco nodded.

Samuel stood up and passed the nub of the spliff out to Draco, “You want the last?”

Draco took the smouldering end, “Thanks.”

Samuel nodded, “See you around, man.”

Draco put the cigarette to his mouth, breathing in smoke until he could feel the burning heat on his fingertips. He flicked the end onto the ground and smeared the ash across the concrete, coughing faintly as his breath ran out. The smoke dissipated into the air as he leaned back on the bench and stared up at the small square of blue sky above him, watching the clouds as they drifted by.

“-aco! Draco!” There was a laugh, “I know you’re down there; I heard you talking to Sam!”

Draco blinked, and blinked again, trying to focus.

“Come up here, space case!” A woman called from the floor above him.

“Comin’,” Draco said hoarsely.

“Hurry up!”

Draco cleared his throat as he slowly stood up, “Keep your pants on, Elle.”

His head was swimming very gently as he moved, like a soft fog had filled his mind and slowed all his thoughts down to a trickle. He took his time coming up the stairs, dragging his free hand along the cool metal railing as he walked, feeling the faint edges of the chipping paint.

“Don’t pretend you have something better to do,” Elle said as he came around the corner. Her curly brown hair was loose and wild around her face. Dark circles ringed her eyes as she looked up from the old armchair she was sitting in beside her front door.

“Neither do you,” Draco said, “Why do I have to rush?”

“Because it’s not about me,” Elle said, “We have a new neighbour.”

Draco looked around and saw no one.

“She’s inside,” Elle nodded to an apartment down the walkway, “ Her name is Naja. She’s setting things up for her and her kids. Two, a boy and a girl.”

“Kids, here?” Draco said, leaning back against the railing.

“It’s going to get loud,” Elle laughed softly. “I told her you wouldn’t mind showing her Bohdan’s shop.”

Draco nodded, “Sure. I’ll see if Mary needs anything.”

“Thanks,” Elle said with a tired smile.

“You doing alright?” Draco asked. “You seem more tired than usual.”

“Hmm,” Elle said, closing her eyes and dropping her head back against the wall, “My body hates me. Just the usual bullshit.”

“Need anything?” Draco asked, sipping from his bottle.

Elle shook her head, “My brother is going to come by this weekend and help me out.”

“If you change your mind-”

“I know, you’re here,” Elle said and smiled, “you wastrel.”

Draco chuckled.

A door clicked open three doors down, and a short brown skin woman stepped outside, relocking the door behind her. She was wearing a blue blouse decorated with white flowers and a pretty purple hijab.

“Naja,” Elle called, “This is Draco. The bloke I told you about.”

“Hello,” Draco said, “Welcome to the neighbourhood.”

“Hi,” Naja hurried over to them, “Sorry, were you waiting for me?”

“We were just having a chat,” Elle said. “You got everything moved in?”

“Most of it,” Naja said, “My parents will help me move the bigger things tomorrow. They’re watching Aleena and Darain for me right now.”

“Draco might be able to help, if he’s around. He runs errands for me sometimes, buys Mary’s groceries, that sort of thing,” Elle said.

“Not before noon,” Draco said.

Elle snorted, “Even before noon. He just whines more.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Elle said you wanted me to show you Bohdan’s.”

Naja blinked, looking lost for a second.

“The local shop I told you about,” Elle said.

“Oh. Right,” Naja said, “I don’t want to bother you. I can always go to the Tesco’s by the station.”

Elle waved her off, “It’s no bother. Draco is a layabout.”

“Rude,” Draco said.

“But true,” Elle teased.

“The nice thing about Bohdan’s is it’s only a few blocks away,” Draco said.

“Oh, that would be convenient,” Naja said.

“Sorry,” Elle interrupted, squeezing her eyes shut, “I can feel a migraine coming on.”

“Oh. Right! Okay. No problem,” Naja said.

Draco held his hand out and helped Elle to her feet. Letting her catch her balance against his shoulder before letting go.

“Sorry to leave so soon. It’s was great meeting you Naja. You can knock on my door any time. Any time, understand?” Elle insisted.

Naja nodded, “Yes. Thank you again!”

“Good. See you later, alright?” Elle said and went back into her apartment, leaving Draco and Naja alone on the walkway.

“Ready to go?” Draco asked.

“Ye-yeah, sure,” Naja said.

“I’m going to ask Mary if she needs anything first,” Draco said, waving for Naja to follow him as he headed back down the stairs and across the courtyard. Naja struggled to keep up with his long legs, and Draco belatedly adjusted his stride.

He knocked on apartment four, “Mary! It’s Draco!”

There was a long pause, and eventually, shuffling footsteps coming to the door. The chain on the door rattled and fumbled, the lock slowly sliding open, and finally, the door opened.

Mary was old and hunched; her wispy hair was dyed a reddish-brown with about an inch of grey-white roots showing. Her glasses took up half her wrinkled face, and the front of her pink sweatshirt had a picture of songbirds and flowers on it.

“Draco, dear!” Mary said with a delighted smile. “Look at you; you’re as handsome as always.”

“Am I not the picture of beauty?” Draco said with a grin.

“You are! And such a good boy!” Mary looked around him at Naja, “Who is this?”

“Mary meet Naja. She’s moving in here,” Draco said.

Mary squinted at Naja through her glasses, “Oh, hello dear. You have one of those- those- what are they called?” she pointed around her head.

“A hijab?” Naja said, doing her best to hide her anxiety.

“It must be nice not having to worry about how your hair looks,” Mary said, “When I was your age, I went to the salon every week to get my hair done. Still, that was easier than pinning it up every night.”

Naja laughed with relief, “I’m afraid I still worry about my hair. But at least when I have a bad hair day, no one has to see it.”

“I do so love meeting new people; you’ll have to come have tea with me once you’re moved in,” Mary said.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Naja said with a cautious smile, “I’d like that.”

“Call me Mary, dear,” Mary said.

“We’re going to the shops, Mary,” Draco said, “Do you need anything?”

Mary bobbed her head, “Oh, yes, yes. I wrote a list. Let me find it.” She shuffled back inside, and after a lot of crinkly paper rustling noises, returned with a list written on the back of a receipt and a folded twenty-pound note. “Here-”

Mary clasped her hand over his, papery-thin skin and knobbly joints squeezing tight, “I want you to buy something for yourself as well. A muffin or a danish, something nice.”

“Very well,” Draco said.

Marry patted his hand and let go, “Don’t forget, you promised to have tea with me.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Draco said.

“And be careful-”

“I will,” Draco said.

“And if they’re out of something on my list, you don’t have to worry about it,” Mary said.

“I know, Mary,” Draco said, “We’ll be back soon.”

Mary held her arms open, and Draco bent down to let her hug him, returning the embrace with one arm around her shoulders.

Mary waved at them until they left the courtyard and stepped out onto the street.

“Still waiting on that rent, Malfoy!” A grumpy man with a stained t-shirt yelled out the door or the first apartment as they walked past.

“I’ll get it to you, Tom,” Draco said flatly.

“Hurry up or you’re out on your ass!” Tom snapped and slammed the door shut. The small maroon plaque on his door read ‘Manager.’

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Mary seems nice,” Naja said.

“She’s wonderful,” Draco said, “Her family lives in america and can’t afford to come see her very often. She gets lonely.”

Draco walked slowly, matching Naja’s pace.

“Umm,” Naja said carefully, “Elle told me a bit about you.”

“Sounds about right. If there’s something you want everyone in the complex to know, tell Elle. She likes to gossip,” Draco said.

“You don’t mind?” Naja asked.

“It’s expedient,” Draco said.

Naja blinked and looked down at her hands, “I hope this isn’t rude, but Elle said you were gay-”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“-and I wondered if maybe that was why you were here?”

“Here?” Draco asked.

“At these apartments. You seem very… posh.”

“Posh,” Draco repeated with a smile.

“I just wouldn’t have imagined someone that looks and sounds like you living in such- such a cheap place,” Naja said.

Draco huffed a laugh, “So you thought my parents disowned me?”

“Or, well, maybe…” Naja said nervously.

“I never got the chance to tell my father I was gay before he died,” Draco said.

“I’m sorry,” Naja said quickly, ducking her head in embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” Draco said, “It’s been years now. And I could say the same for you. This isn’t exactly the first place someone brings a couple of kids.”

Naja laughed faintly, “…That’s true.”

“So. You tell me your tale of woe, and I shall tell you mine,” Draco said.

“It’s not very exciting,” Naja said, “I was born here, but my husband wasn’t and ….he got deported. We thought his visa was fine until they came and took him away. I’ve been working on getting things fixed so he can come home, but we can’t afford a lawyer or someone to help us with all the paperwork, and with two kids-”

“It makes things difficult,” Draco said.

“Yes,” Naja said emphatically, “And Darain has been acting out. I know he’s upset about Fahmi being gone, but I-” She shook her head, “…They will be starting school again soon, and then I will have more time. We moved here so they could keep going to their old school. I didn’t want them to lose their friends as well, and this was all I could afford. My parents are helping as much as they can, and Fahmi is doing whatever work he can find to send money to us but, it’s- it’s taking a lot of time.”

“If you need any help, ask. I’ll do what I can,” Draco said.

Naja smiled up at him, “You have all been so nice to me.”

“I am a delight,” Draco said. He stopped in front of Bohdan’s. The shop windows were cluttered with glowing neon signs and sun-faded advertisements for beer and cigarettes. A large cowbell clunked as Draco pulled open the door.

“Welcome! Can I help you?” Bohdan called in a thick Ukrainian accent. “Oh, Draco, it is you.”

“This is Naja,” Draco said as she stepped inside, “she’s new to the neighbourhood.”

Bohdan’s demeanour changed instantly, becoming bright and cheerful, “Hello! Hello! Welcome! I hope you like it here. I carry everything you need and if not, tell me, and I will get it just for you!”

The store was small and made smaller by the narrow aisles and tight-packed shelves. The products tended to be strange brands, boxes with tears and water damage, dented cans and products that would be outdated in a few days. But the prices couldn’t be beat.

Draco collected Mary’s things as Naja asked Bohdan about a growing list of things she used for cooking. Bohdan was writing down a list of ingredients next to the cash register when Draco came up, dropping an armful of things onto the counter.

“What is all this for anyway?” Bohdan asked, scratching his stubbly cheek with the stub of a scuffed eraser.

“Biryani,” Naja said, then in the face of his confusion, waved her hand, “Curries, tikka, that sort of thing.”

“I see, I see,” Bohdan said, straightening up, “I will find them and make a shelf just for you.”

Naja smiled, “Thank you but it’s fine if you can’t-”

“No, no, no,” Bohdan said quickly, shaking a finger at her, “Just you wait and see. I will find everything. You will never need to shop anywhere but Bohdan’s. You will see.” He began ringing up Mary’s groceries and putting them into a bag.

Draco dropped Mary’s twenty-pound note onto the counter, “And a bottle whisky, whatever’s cheapest, and a pack of cigarettes on a separate bill.”

He opened his rather thin wallet and grimaced, he really needed to go to the bank.

There was a basket of cling wrapped muffins in front of the till and Naja pointed to them, “Mary said to get something for yourself.”

“It’s fine,” Draco said.

Bohdan stopped and gave Draco a disapproving look. Naja’s was more disappointed.

Draco grabbed one of the muffins and tossed it onto the counter, “Fine. And this.”

The bell over the door clunked as they left. Draco held the plastic bags in one hand, eating the muffin with the other. It was banana nut, the inside a bright unreal yellow colour and dry, but the flavour wasn’t bad. He chewed slowly, his stomach giving an uneasy lurch at the first solid food of the day.

“It’s your turn,” Naja said, “I told you my story.”

“Ah, right,” Draco said with a sigh, “There is so very much wrong with me, but I suppose it boils down to: I was raised in a cult.”

“I- what?” Naja nearly tripped on the pavement and stumbled. “Did you say a cult? Truly?”

“Truly,” Draco said.

“You’re not joking?” Naja asked.

“I am not,” Draco said idly, “My father joined when he was just out of school. I don’t know if he actually bought into all the shite but or just wanted power but,” he shrugged, “I supposed it didn’t matter whether he believed it or not.”

“Did your mother- was she also-?”

“She never officially joined, but she supported everything my father did,” Draco said.

“Was it one of those weird religious cults?” Naja asked, and hesitated, “Oh, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to! I didn’t mean to pry; it’s just- just… well, a cult. That’s the sort of thing you only see on the news.”

Draco smiled faintly, tossing the muffin liner in a bin as they passed. “…It wasn’t a weird religious cult. Unfortunately, it was one of the blood-purity, only certain people are the right sort of people, and we make up the rules, kind of cult.”

“…Oh,” Naja said.

“I don’t believe any of it anymore, but I did for an embarrassingly long time.” Draco awkwardly pushed up his sleeve and turned over his arm to show Naja what was left of the dark mark. After Voldemort died, it turned into something like a scar, pale white and shiny tight compared to the rest of his skin.

“They branded you?” Naja said softly. She reached her hand up and brushed her fingertips over his arm before realising she was doing it and quickly pulled back, “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Draco said. “The funny thing is, at the time, I wanted it. I was proud to be just like my father. I thought… I thought maybe he’d start to respect me, that other people would-” he shook his head.

“How old were you?” Naja asked.

“Sixteen,” Draco said.

Naja’s eyes widened, “You were just a child.”

“No sixteen-year-old thinks they’re a kid,” Draco said, pushing his sleeve down.

“Maybe not, but your parents should have,” Naja said sternly.

Draco pushed a tired smile onto his face.

“If you don’t mind,” Naja asked, “How did you get out?”

“The leader of the cult was killed, my father was thrown into jail, and my mother had a mental breakdown, and I, well, I had almost died a couple times and decided it just wasn’t for me,” Draco said.

Naja laughed awkwardly and slapped her hand over her mouth, “Sorry! It wasn’t funny. I mean-”

“I was trying to be a bit funny,” Draco said, “it’s easier that way. Anyway, after all that, there wasn’t much money left, and I used most of it to make sure my mother was taken care of. So I ended up here.”

Naja stopped in front of the apartment building, wavering uncertainly, “Sorry, I need to go pick up my kids before it gets any later. But thank you for showing me the shop and, well, everything. I was a bit nervous about moving here, but it doesn’t seem too bad anymore.”

Draco nodded, “It was nice to meet you, Naja. I’m sure we’ll see each other quite a bit from now on.”

Naja nodded and waved, turning and running over to a beat-up little car parked next to the building.

Draco stayed there, feet stuck to the ground after she left. He felt heavy and tired, and the sky looked grey like it might rain. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes, slowly pulled off the plastic, and pushed it open, lighting one with a cheap plastic lighter. He breathed the smoke in until it stung and held it in his lungs until his head began to swim. Draco stood there, staring at nothing, smoke swirling out of his mouth, a weight building in his chest.

He shook his head and finished the cigarette, stubbing the butt out on the ground. Draco turned on his heel and head back into the complex; he had promised to have tea with Mary.

-

💜 Next update will be tuesday pst 💜 

new stories always make me nervous, especially one with such a different tone.

 ≧ ﹏ ≦ I hope some people will like it 💜

Tags below v 💜 hope y’all don’t mind a scattershot of tags for the first chapter 💜 please don’t feel obligated to read it if it’s not your jam 💜 💜 💜

everyone in the staff room:

One of my favorite Luna scenes in Order of the Phoenix! Blatant Luna is life.

snape: lockhart, if the next two words out of your mouth aren't "see ya", the third will be "oh my god, my crotch, you've punched me in the crotch."

lockhart:

snape is introduced at a young age wearing a “women’s blouse”, which petunia uses to mock him

snape, when appearing to neville as a boggart, wears neville’s grandmother’s clothing when neville uses riddikilus on him

during “snape’s worst memory”, james turns snape (who he sees as a potential romantic rival) upside down and strips him/humiliates him in an attempt to impress lily, and after snape yells at lily and calls her a mudblood, lily covers up her (justifiably) hurt feelings by commenting on his dirty underwear

snape’s patronus, confirmed by jkr to be a symbol of “true love, love everlasting”, unlike james’ stag, mirrors lily’s patronus by being a doe (which much of the fandom considers to be a sign of obsession, despite never levelling the same accusations against tonks’ wolf patronus mirroring remus’)

most, if not all, of the significantly positive/grounding forces in severus’ life are women (eileen, lily, narcissa, mcgonagall) 

If you go by the freudian/jungian interpretation of the wand as a phallic symbol, Snape’s connection to the cauldron is a yonic/vulvic symbol.

there’s a lot of focus on snape’s looks - eg that his most recognizable trait is his hair, which seems odd to focus on

speaking of hair, his hair length

has to be “rescued” by james during the werewolf incident, and damsels are often seen as feminine

often described in ways more coded to the feminine 

it’s so interesting to me that these kinds of things get internalized to the point where most readers wouldn’t even necessarily pick up on them overtly. and yet, snape is in the traditional position a nonconforming male character often falls into - the bully, the bad guy, the evil person.stereotypes are often cast as a villain and it’s esp common for male villain characters to be androgynous. he’s done nothing worse than many of the other evil characters and yet it is is snape who is so thoroughly villified by fandom, snape who is the fandom punching bag.

and i do wonder if this underlying tension of snape’s gender and sexuality, that we recognize these nuances in snape’s performance of gender without necessarily evaluating them at a conscious level, contributes to that. that’s not to say that everyone who dislikes snape does so because of that, but just in a general sense of how snape is turned to as the paragon of evil in a book where characters like umbridge, the malfoys, voldemort, pettigrew etc all exist… it seems directed at him for a specific reason, somehow. not just that he’s done bad things, but a particular kind of loathing that seems much higher than demanded for the actual level of his crimes.

I don’t have anything major to add, just a few add-ons to points already raised.

-  To add to @prosnapeblogging‘s point about Freud/Jung and wands as a phallic symbol/cauldrons as vulvic…Snape dismissed ‘foolish wand waving’, and waxed lyrical about the cauldron instead.

-  To add to @severusdefender‘s point about cauldrons and cooking, it’s also that witches - as opposed to wizards - are traditionally depicted with a cauldron, and stirring pots.

-  Occlumency is a form of defense and because it isn’t attention-seeking or aggressive, it could be considered a more feminine role. Snape is so good at it that he fooled Voldemort, who is the most aggressive person in the entire series.

-  Snape is the one who is has to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin. Not Dumbledore, who is a supposedly genius in everything and has more free time on his hands. No, Snape has to take time away from his teaching schedule to make medicine for another person. And not just any person. One of his abusers. He is forced to maintain his abuser’s good health all year long and whenever he expresses concern over his abuser’s loyalties, he’s told he’s overreacting. That sounds so much like the female experience.

Snape not having slept in three days and shakily drinking coffee like it's ambrosia: I will meet god under the microscope in eleven days.

Dumbledore entirely unfased: Wonderful! Remember to keep us updated on your progress!

Eyo, another batch since I can’t really seem to help myself

I currently have Abraxas Malfoy as ‘mycroft’ since personally I can’t see Draco as Tom’s equal/ better. (Sorry Draco haha)