Mar. 6th, 2006

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My father was a Muggle. He hated my mother, hated the pride he beat out of her and the weakness that replaced it, hated the magic he couldn't take away, hated the child she bore him.

He was a proud man, Tobias Snape, even in his most drunken moments. A tough and temperamental merchant, dealing with both the Muggle world and the Wizarding world, his marriage had opened up to him. Oh, he loved the money, even as he spit after the wizards and witches who bought his goods, cursed their names and their unnatural ways. But Galleons, sickles and knuts were just as good as pounds and pennies, I suppose. The Galleons even better, since they were of the beloved gold.

I feared him and his brutal strength. I learned to avoid him, ignoring the calls and even the pained cries from my mother. I learned to know when he was in one of his moods from a look, a word... a gesture even. I learned to defy him with silence, even as the pain took my breath away. I learned to hate him ... No, he taught me to hate. Taught me how good it felt to truly despise somebody and wish nothing other than their death.

Lessons I gather were valuable, in all their horrible nature. I would probably not have been the man I am today, had Tobias Snape been the kind man, my mother foolishly thought she had married.

She was the last Prince to be foolish. I learned my lesson well.

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