Severus liked to sleep. It was the one time he wasn't harped on by his parents, the one place where he was safe. His bed, as unkempt as it was, was the only place he felt at peace. The sheets were soft, not by the quality, but by use and wear, and his pillow was nearly beaten out of feathers. Sometimes, when he was dreaming, he thought he could fly. He would spread his arms, letting the wind take him high into the sky. Flying was by far the most pleasant experience he had. So much that during the morning and afternoon, he would walk around with his eyes half-closed; hoping that he could find a way to be awake and coherent while sleeping at the same time. Then his father would come to beat him over the head and demand why his son was walking around like a drunkard. So he could only fly when he really needed to, and only when he was in the darkness of his room.
From downstairs, there was the constant screaming: his nightly lullaby. When he heard something crash onto the ground, he turned over, facing the wall. Enough. He didn't want the world anymore. At least…not for tonight.