Chapter Text
When Severus had graduated at the top of his class at Medwarts. He hadn't planned on working immediately. But things change and now he's been working for 3 years here at the Order of The Phoenix Psychiatric Institution. Needless to say he hates it here and would like to burn it down along with its patients and staff.
More specifically the Fourth Floor.
Why?
Well in Asian Culture the number 4 is considered bad luck and is often associated with Death.
But if you were to ask him on a deeper personal level?
The Marauders were on that floor.
Who?
The Marauders were four of the most dangerous and psychotic patients in the Institute.
The whole darn Fourth Floor smelled like bleach, old paper and something faintly metallic that he still couldn't figure out despite working here for years. Most of the staff avoid it like the plague, leaving him the only keeper who maintains it. No matter how many times he threatens them, berates them or mocks them. It all stays the same.
Attendants create half-bake excuses. Young keepers traded shifts with trembling figures and faces pale. Even senior attendants, people who have made this profession their life's purpose, spoke about the cursed Fourth Floor in hushed tones as though the walls themselves were listening. One could never be too careful around these loonies.
Officially on paper, the Fourth Floor housed high-risk psychiatric patients deemed too dangerous for transfer to different Institutions. Unofficially it's where the Institute buried problem patients too intelligent to kill and far too mentally unstable to release.
And on that same floor Severus was on his way to make his nightly rounds. One thing he truly abhors here were the uniforms, Merlin why did they give him the female work uniform? So heavy and hot, this could suffocate him any day now. What a tragic end for the weird orphan no one liked.
Severus was brought out of his musings when the elevator shaft groaned and stopped. He got out and started walking. The sooner he finishes his rounds the better. The floor itself looked ordinary enough. White walls. Dim overhead lights. Polished floors scrubbed so thoroughly you can see your reflection glaring back. And yet something still felt wrong with it. Like the entire floor possessed a pulse hidden beneath its sterile exterior.
Most keeper's lasted less than a month.
Severus lasted 3 years.
By then, the other attendants no longer bothered to swap shifts. Some had all together avoided talking with him. As if he along with the Fourth Floor were figments of their imagination.
It suited Severus perfectly.
He disliked conversation. Disliked unnecessary sympathy even more. The institution valued efficiency above all else, and Severus excelled at efficiency. Medication administered precisely on time. Incident reports written with clinical detachment. Violent episodes handled with an almost unnerving calmness. He never raised his voice. Never reacted emotionally. Never allowed the patients the satisfaction of seeing discomfort on his face.
The Fourth Floor had noticed.
Especially its occupants.
In Room 4A was Sirius Black, who carries himself less like a psychiatric patient and more like a murderer let loose in the wild. He has dark curls and silver manic eyes. He smiled too easily, laughed too loudly and carried a dangerous charm that often fooled the guards before it was too late. Their blood on his knuckles, their bodies bruised and laid bare on the ground. After that, no guard dared to go near him lest they become his next victim.
"Snivellus returns," drawled a voice from behind reinforced steel.
Severus did not look up from the medical chart in his hands. "You missed medication rounds yesterday," he said flatly. Sirius grinned. "And yet I survived the tragedy."
Severus turns his head and glares at the maniac. "You threw a metal tray at a keeper." Sirius merely laughs and raises his hands to his face, joy evident in eyes as he recalls the night before. "He ducked quite poorly. For a man of his size, it should have been an easy dodge. The absolute buffoon haha!"
"He required six stitches." "Then he learned something valuable." The grin widened lazily when Severus finally drew near his cell. Most people made the mistake of believing Sirius Black was impulsive before anything else. It was easy to think so. He shouted when angry, laughed at inappropriate moments, and possessed the sort of reckless charisma that filled a room before he even spoke. But Severus had long since realized the violence was rarely random. Sirius watched people too carefully for randomness.
Tonight, he was watching Severus.
Again.
Always.
Severus scribbled something onto the chart before moving to the next room.
James Potter in Room 4C was worse.
Sirius at least looked unstable.
James looked perfectly sane.
That was what unsettled people the most about him. He spoke with polished confidence, joked with doctors during evaluations, remembered names, birthdays, and personal details. He could disarm people within minutes of meeting them. Severus had once watched a newly hired psychiatrist walk into James's room with authority and walk out forty minutes later visibly shaken, unable to explain what exactly had gone wrong.
James Potter looked up immediately from the chessboard spread across his table.
Unlike Sirius, James maintained an almost perfect appearance within confinement. His dark hair remained untidy in a deliberate sort of way, his posture relaxed, his expression open and intelligent. If not for the locked doors and surveillance cameras, he could have passed for a university professor rather than a psychiatric inmate with a history severe enough to erase entire sections of his public records.
"You're four minutes late," James said pleasantly.
Severus paused, subtly checking the pocket watch on his hips.
"You counted."
"I always count the minutes of your sweet arrival." James smiled.
It was a deeply practiced smile. Charming enough to disarm strangers. Sharp enough to unsettle anyone who looked at it too long. A white knight moved between elegant fingers. "You changed brands of coffee," James continued conversationally. "You're less irritable tonight. Barely, but enough to notice."
Severus stared at him without expression.
"Take your medication Potter." James chuckled softly. "See? Less irritable."
The pill cup remained untouched on the table. Severus wrote another note, already moving towards the next cell.
Behind him, James spoke again.
"You should sleep more, Severus."
The use of his first name made something cold crawl briefly beneath his skin. It utterly disgusts him how easy it was for this man to make him feel uneasy.
Severus continues walking to Room 4B.
Remus Lupin was the easiest to deal with out of the 4 imbeciles.
Unlike the rest, Remus rarely causes disturbances. He spoke politely to the staff and took his medications on time. If Severus himself hadn't witnessed this man rip a keeper's throat out using his mouth. He would have assumed he didn't belong here. But alas Merlin often makes mistakes and decides to give this semi-attractive man deliriums that caused him to believe that he was a werewolf trapped in a human body.
He looked up from his book when he heard Severus's footsteps. Stood up to greet him and even showed him his medicine cup like a good pup.
"Good evening Mr. Prince. I love the book you got for me. May I know if there is a sequel for it?"
Severus wrote something down on his chart before he greets Lupin. "Hello Lupin. Good to know it suits your tastes. As of the moment there isn't a sequel but if it did I'll be sure to grab a copy."
Remus Lupin merely smiles and sits back down on his bed and reads another book.
Severus, satisfied, turns to the last cell on the floor Room 4D.
Peter Pettigrew.
Most people forgot Peter was even there.
It was as if the man himself was merely air.
He suspects that's the way Peter himself prefers it. But he wasn't at all fooled for even the quietest of men could be deadly.
Peter Pettigrew sat at the small desk inside his cell, shoulders hunched, chewing anxiously at the edge of one fingernail. He startled the moment Severus approached the door, watery eyes darting upward.
"S-Sorry," Peter muttered immediately, despite nothing having happened. "Thought you were someone else."
Severus checked the room automatically.
Blankets folded.
Desk organized.
Medication untouched.
"You missed your nightly dosage."
Peter's gaze shifted toward the neighboring walls.
"He doesn't like it when I sleep too deeply."
A pause.
Then quietly: "I miss things."
Severus stared at him for several seconds before stepping away from the cell. Not sure what he meant by that but the man went back to his rapid mutterings. That was the end of that. As once he's in one of the random muttering sessions of his, probably not even the act of Merlin could tear him away from it.
By the time Severus arrives back at the First Floor. He was exhausted, joints aching and tummy faintly rumbling. He mentally takes note to grab a snack at the cafeteria before he works on the files. And while he was at it, he should replace his coffee again. He doesn't like his routine being flaunted back into his face. Stupid Potter.
The fourth floor became quieter after midnight.
Not peaceful. Never peaceful.
But quieter in the way abandoned churches were quiet, heavy with the feeling that something was still there, breathing softly beneath the silence.
On those nights, Severus often found himself seated alone behind the keeper's station, paperwork spread neatly before him while security monitors flickered overhead. Four cameras. Four rooms.
Four pairs of eyes.
Watching back.