Part Third: The Hart Subvertant: Prologue Part 2

Prologue: Like a Plant Kept in the Dark, Part 2

The evening the Snape family returned from their summer visit at Malfeasant was one of Tobias Snape's bad nights. His son knew without being told that something had not gone the way he had wanted in his business dealings with Abraxas Malfoy.

Perhaps he might have been a happier man, under different circumstances. Perhaps if he hadn't lost so much money, perhaps if he hadn't been a Muggle trying to establish himself financially among wizards, perhaps if the nights in Orkney weren't so long and gloomy, if Snape Hall hadn't required so much maintenance, if he could have accepted that he was merely a small businessman and not a great business tycoon of national importance, like his wife's cousin Abraxas Malfoy, he would have felt more contented with his own lot in life. Perhaps if he had a wife who wasn't a tremulous, overbred beauty, if his son had been more like Abraxas Malfoy's son Lucius and not an introverted lad who didn't know how to pretend he wasn't leagues ahead of his father in native intelligence and intellectual curiosity – perhaps then, his father would have been satisfied with his family.

But as it was, he curried favour and plotted new schemes to get ahead, and then brooded and nursed his grudges when those schemes fell through, for nothing he attempted ever seemed to live up to his expectations. His son could hear him pacing the corridors late into that night, pausing before drips in the roof and cracks in the masonry and holes in the screens, as though taking an inventory of grievances against the house. Now and then the footsteps would approach his bedroom door, and he would hold his breath until the footsteps passed, watching to see if the knob of his door would turn, and bracing himself for whatever would come next.

Ever since Severus was a very young boy, his father would now and then get angry at him for something during the night and would come into his room to confront him about it; he was now almost used to being woken up out of a sound sleep by a slap or a blow and having to defend himself from his father's latest charge of wrongdoing while still half asleep. The night after the Malfoys had departed from their fortnight's visit to Snape Hall earlier that summer, his father decided that Severus had adopted too many of his cousin's uppity, superior airs and went into his room to take this point of contention up with him. He initiated this discussion and woke his son up by punching him hard enough to bruise his eye socket.

By the time he was ten years old, Severus had developed some facility at defending himself from unknown charges and appeasing the wrath of a completely irrational authority figure. He had also begun to find it difficult to sleep.

As such, he was still awake on the night a little post owl scratched at his bedroom window, in July of 1971, the summer before he turned eleven. He went to the window and collected a letter on what felt like thick parchment. Lighting a candle, he saw that it was addressed in emerald green ink to:

Mr. Severus Snape

Seventh Gable Window, Third Floor

Snape Hall

The Western Cliff Above Nornsay Village

Isle of Wyre

Orkney

It was sealed with purple wax in the shape of a four-part coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake occupying four quadrants around an elaborate letter H. Severus looked nervously around him, then furtively opened the envelope – it was addressed to him, after all, and his father hadn't told him not to. It was rare that he ever received anything in the mail, other than a yearly birthday letter and new book from his Grandmother Prince, or an embossed birthday card from Aunt Druella Black with a Sickle coin in it.

The letter inside read:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Snape,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

His Hogwarts letter. Severus breathed a long sigh of relief – now and then his father would berate him by implying that his son would probably amount to no more than a sissy, a half-wit, or a Squib, and he was hugely relieved to see that at least one of these was absolutely not the case.

He went back to bed and finally managed to drop off to sleep with his letter under his pillow, secure in the knowledge that at last, he was going somewhere he would be absolutely out of his father's reach.

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Severus brought the letter downstairs to his mother the next morning – she was as delighted as he was to see it. "You've gotten your Hogwarts letter! My great and powerful wizard – you're going to be brilliant," she cried excitedly, clasping her hands in front of her like a little girl. Then she bent over the list of things to buy with a look of concern. "It's a year earlier than I expected though – usually they wait until the new students are eleven, and your birthday isn't until January. You'll be one of the youngest students in your year, Severus, will that be all right?"

"I don't mind," he said. "But we have to buy all these things. Robes and books and a wand."

"Well... I'll write some letters," she said, putting her arm around him and letting her cheek fall onto the top of his head. "It'll be all right."

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Severus would later learn that the letters she wrote were to her Aunt Druella Black, asking for her help in readying Severus for school.

Druella Black was a rather distant relation by marriage, but one who had often taken an interest in Eileen and referred to her as her great-niece and Severus as her young great-great-nephew. Severus remembered Aunt Druella from the fortnight he had spent at Malfeasant, a diminutive, prematurely white-haired woman in sumptuous mourning, whose tiny, birdlike stature was nonetheless belied by a presence befitting a Chinese empress.

When Severus and his mother came to visit her the weekend before his first year at Hogwarts was to begin, she held court like an empress, too; she received them and accepted their greetings from the depths of a large, sumptuous armchair when they were ushered into her glittering parlour. They all sat and made small talk for some time. Aunt Druella was talking to his mother, but she was looking at Severus, her shrewd blue eyes taking him in from the tips of his much-polished boots to the fine, decades-old black frock coat that his grandfather had worn as a boy, missing nothing.

Then Aunt Druella dispatched him to the garden for half an hour while she talked to his mother alone. "Go on, now, dear. I'll call you in for tea," his mother told him, her hands fluttering distractedly. He wandered the garden, which was very neat and laid out in precise rows, hands deep in his pockets, wondering for the thousandth time what the grown-ups were talking about, what everyone was talking about that had to be kept so secret from him.

Then a meek little house-elf came out to collect him, and he went in to tea.

Tea at Aunt Druella's was a less cosy affair than at his Grandmother Prince's; instead of sitting around a tea table laden with delicacies, they all sat at little tables beside their armchairs, sipping sweet, weak tea from priceless antique china cups and nibbling daintily on tiny tea sandwiches and petit fours. Aunt Druella made conversation by asking the two of them what Severus had been studying. "I hear you're quite a Latin scholar, my lad."

"Yes, Aunt. I've been studying it with Mother for years." As before with the guests at Malfeasant, Aunt Druella began to quiz him in basic Latin, then stopped with a tiny scowl when it became obvious that he was more conversant with that ancient tongue than she herself was.

"Don't show off, darling," his mother said, in a soft, nervous whisper.

Severus blushed, then switched back to English. For the remainder of their visit, he answered all of her questions very politely and obediently, only venturing to speak when a question was posed to him.

On their way out, his mother stopped beside Druella's elegant armchair and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Auntie, you're so kind to us," Eileen said, fairly quivering with gratitude, then turned to her son. "Come, Severus, say good-bye to your Aunt."

Severus imitated his mother's behaviour, bending down to kiss Druella's soft, powdered cheek. "Thank you, Aunt Druella," he said, although he wasn't exactly sure what he was thanking her for. It seemed the right thing to do.

Druella stopped him with a surprisingly strong grip on his wrist and beckoned him to her again. "You're a good boy, my young Master Severus," she said, aside to him, and deigned to put a little kiss on his cheek. "And a good son, who honours his mother. Be sure to write me, and let me know all about what they teach you at school."

"I shall, Aunt," he said, nodding.

"Good, good. Oh, and you might want a little something for sweeties on the train, if I remember my old school days." She reached into her pocket and pressed something into his hand. He thanked her again, and put his hand in his pocket without looking at what she had put in it, but knowing from its weight and feel that it was a gold Galleon – more money than he had ever possessed in his life.

As his education progressed, he would grow used to the pattern of going to see Aunt Druella every year before school started, and then making the rounds of the shops. She always told him he was a good son, and always made sure he started the year with a small amount of pocket money.

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Severus and his mother made their way to Diagon Alley after the visit with Aunt Druella. They acquired his school robes and uniforms, all of which of course didn't quite fit him. Severus would often find that his tall but slight build meant anything long enough in the sleeves was invariably too big in the chest, which always made him look even taller and thinner than he was, but there was no time to make new ones to order. Then it was into another shop for his student cauldron, and then into the bookshop. His mother's indecisive fluttering about with his booklist in her hand soon attracted the attention of a Flourish and Blotts clerk – shopping with Eileen Snape always took longer than with other people as she checked and re-checked everything and was reassured by the shop staff that she did indeed need the things that she had come in to the shop to buy – so Severus took the opportunity to go off and wander through the stacks.

One title caught his attention immediately – Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard – and he pulled it down from the shelf. In another moment, he was completely lost in it.

"When attack is offered, any number of spells, charms, hexes and curses can be offered to parry or negate such attack. The following is a comprehensive list of magical responses to aggressive action... "

It was exactly like opening moves and defences in chess – an aggressive action was offered, and was countered with defensive action.

Banishing Charm, Bat-Bogey Hex, Blasting Curse... Confundus Charm, Conjunctivitis Curse, Densaugeo Curse, Diffindo Charm... Disarming Spell – oh, now that looked interesting –

Disarming Spell: Used to knock an aggressive opponent's wand out of reach. Invoked with straight wand indication at wand hand, incantation EXPELLIARMUS, said with resolve...

Severus looked up, gestured with an imaginary wand – Expelliarmus, he muttered under his breath. He bent back over the book –

Extinguishing Spell: Used to counter flame attacks. SEE: Incendio...

Finite Incantatum... Incarcerous, or Binding Charm... Jelly-Legs Jinx...

Reductor Curse: Disintegration spell, manifested as a blast of golden energy. Invoked with straight wand indication at object to be affected, incantation REDUCTO, said with authority –

"Mother, can I have this book too?" he asked when she came to collect him after her shopping was done.

"What are you reading?" She turned the book over and looked at its cover. "Severus, that's a Defence Against the Dark Arts reference book, that's for people studying for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, are you sure you want that one? I don't think you need it yet, maybe in a few years."

But he was extremely interested now, which meant that he wanted the book, badly. "Aunt Druella gave me a Galleon, is it all right if I buy it for myself?" he asked.

"Well, all right, if you want to," she told him, distracted. "Hurry along into the queue now, and then we'll get some lunch."

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"Come along, Severus, we're going to get your wand," his mother told him after they had finished lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. Severus closed his new Defence Against the Dark Arts book with reluctance – he would always be the kind of person who could be drawn out of an interesting book only resentfully – and readied himself to leave.

"Mightn't we get an owl?" he asked as he followed her down the street, peering in the window of Eeylops Owl Emporium. "The list said I could bring one to school."

"Owls are expensive, I'm sorry," she told him, her thin little hands working in front of her. "Hogwarts has a whole Owlery full of school owls, for when you want to send letters. Can't you just use one of them?"

"All right, sorry," he said instantly. "I don't want to have to take care of one anyway."

"Come along, darling." She led him to another shop. The sign outside read: Ollivander's – Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

"Ah, Mrs. Eileen Snape. Nine inches, willow, supple and pliable, with a core of Selkie skin, I remember like it was yesterday. And here is young Master Severus," Mr. Ollivander said when they arrived. People only rarely referred to him as a lad, or a boy, as something in his manner had always suggested a young man. Ollivander came forward, peering at Severus, already tall and thin for his almost-eleven years, with an expression far too grave for a child's face.

"Something serious, with a great deal of power in reserve, and with a long history, I would think," Ollivander muttered. He brought down wands of mahogany, hawthorn, ebony, alder, rowanwood, hornbeam, and fir, but when Severus picked each one up, none of them felt more than totally inert, just a long stick of wood in his hand. Before long, the countertop was stacked high with wand boxes, his mother was looking distracted again, and Severus was almost ready to claim some kind of wild affinity with whatever stick of bloody kindling was put into his hand next, just so he could get out of there.

"Not an easy sort of fellow, are you, young man. I wonder... " Ollivander climbed nearly to the top of a towering stack, his hand fishing into the back of a shelf – "This particular wand I've had for over twenty years. I've never made another like it."

He opened a dusty box and set it on the counter in front of Severus. The wand inside was long and slender, carved of a satiny brown-red wood so dark it was nearly black, with an octagonal handle slightly raised at the top and bottom like the bell guard of a sword. It was otherwise devoid of any kind of ornamentation, but this total simplicity nonetheless had its own sort of elegance. Severus came forward and raked an approving eye over it.

"Black Scottish oak – ten and a half inches, quite rigid, with a core of salamander tendon. The salamander, you see, is a fantastic reptile that lives in the hearts of volcanoes – it swims in fire and darkness and incredible pressure, and comes out unscathed. Their bodies are even more resilient than those of dragons, but due to the habitat they prefer, they can't be hunted. I've only come upon one once, just as it emerged from its fiery home to die... I only managed to dress the one forelimb before the entire body fell to ash. Oh, I wonder." He pushed the box across the counter to the boy. "Give it a try, just to satisfy an old man's curiosity."

Then he picked up the wand, and it knew him, and he it, instantly. No celestial choirs sang, no prophecies were fulfilled, no cosmic alignments of the stars were suddenly bearing down on him; he just felt a mysterious bone-deep certainty that this one and no other was to be his. This wand felt absolutely familiar from the moment he touched it, like a very old friend and ally who had at last been reunited with him. It felt like a weapon that had seen him through countless struggles, like a sword used so often that it had become an extension of his hand.

He looked back at Mr. Ollivander.

"This one," he said.

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Severus and his mother stayed at the Leaky Cauldron that night, then got up very early for the trip to the train station. He dressed in his new school robes, and began to yank a comb through his hair – like usual, his mother took the comb away from him after a minute and smoothed his hair for him. As always, only she was neat-handed enough to comb his hair tidily without tugging. Then she put the comb away and bent over him to straighten his collar. She stood there for a long time, just looking at him with a little, melancholy smile, her black eyes burning in her pale face, her throat working in her high lace collar.

"Mother? Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine. Just thinking how grown-up you look, all of a sudden," she whispered, stroking a tendril of unruly black hair away from his eyes. "Come on, then, let's get your trunk and get you to the station."

Of course it turned out to be more of a case of Severus getting his mother to the station, as she had a hard time with maps and the bustle and commotion of Muggle traffic and roundabouts and crowds and train loudspeakers made her nervous and edgy. Finally, he got her down to Platform Nine, and she showed him how to slip through the barrier onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

The platform was already full of parents and their children, all between the ages of eleven and seventeen, and all carrying trunks, suitcases, and various animal cages, all hurrying around a bright red steam engine labelled HOGWARTS EXPRESS.

Severus's attention was caught a moment later by a screech from a woman in very old-fashioned high-necked black robes and black lace cap a ways down the platform – she had apparently discovered that her son had left the house with a dirty face, collared him roughly, and was now giving him a shrill dose of what for about it. The boy – a tall, rangy, dark-haired fellow with rather feral grey eyes – sullenly stood for a few rather violent licks with his mother's handkerchief before pulling away, then took out a cricket ball from a pocket of his robes and began bouncing it against the station wall, hard, in a monotonous, aggressive rhythm. Severus discreetly cut his eyes away as he and his mother passed them, but his mother paused a moment to wave a hesitant Hello to the other boy's mother, who she evidently knew, but not well. The other woman took a moment to nod a curt, imperious greeting to Mrs. Snape, then was back to berating her son for his slovenliness, and on his first day of school, too.

"Your cousins ought to be here any minute – you'll likely meet them on the train," his mother was saying. "You know, Tamora and Abraxas's son. And Aunt Druella's daughters ought to be here too, though I can't recall how old they are now. They'll all be in your House, you know, all of our set end up in Slytherin. Well... " she pinkened slightly – "most of us, at least. That's it, darling, ask the Hat to put you in Slytherin. It'll do it, you know, if you ask it to – "

Then they both glanced toward a commotion to their left – the dark boy with the cricket ball had apparently gotten frustrated with his mother's scolding and said something cheeky, and that good lady wound up and gave him such a meaty and resounding slap across the cheek that everyone nearby winced sympathetically. Severus felt a moment's acute sympathy, then thanked whatever powers that be that he was there with his mother and not his father, or he might have been in the same situation himself. He gave the boy a tiny, commiserating look, but the other boy looked angrily away.

While the dark-haired, grey-eyed boy seemed to be having a time of it, most of the other students around him were looking nervous and excited to varying degrees, as well as a bit scared and depressed to be parted from their parents. A little redheaded girl was crying, her arms around her mother's neck, while her father patted her compassionately, and a blonde and very Muggle-ish sister of about nine looked on in mortification and tried to act as though she wasn't with them. "Oh, Lily, you're going to make me cry too," her mother said as they passed. "There, there, sweetheart, you'll see us at Christmas... "

The blonde Muggle girl looked very prosaic and Muggle-ish indeed in her pigtails, little print frock, and white Mary Janes – and she looked scornfully at Severus's ill-fitting school uniform robes as he passed. He shot her such a filthy look in return that she actually blushed and averted her eyes.

His mother led him down the platform a little ways away from all the other students and their parents, and leaned down to speak to him seriously. "Now... you're going to get on the train," his mother said, in a desolate little voice. "I've been trying not to think of this, since you got your letter. I only wanted to think, I'm so glad he's going away to school, where he'll be safe and happy." There was no need to mention which impediment to safety and happiness that she was glad to see him escaping. She took both his hands in hers and looked down at him with a sadness so acute it went through him like a knife. "But I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss you very, very much, every day. You're my comfort, darling, you always have been. I don't know what I'll do without you now."

"Then I won't go," he said, stoutly. "I won't."

"No, no, I want you to go to school. You're far too clever to be kept home with your old mother. Just promise me you'll write me, lots and lots of fat letters, so I can know all about the wonderful things you're learning." She looked away from him, and he saw her blinking hard.

"I will, Mother, I promise."

Many of the other parents were comforting their children, trying to soothe their fears at leaving home for the first time; an arm around a child's shoulders here, a hug there. But Severus Snape was the only child on the platform comforting his mother, who was on the verge of tears because she had to be parted from him.

"You'll love school," she said, striving for a gaiety he knew she didn't feel. "You're so clever, the cleverest boy anywhere." She bent down and put her arms around him, held him very close to her heart for a long time, and he hugged her back sombrely and unashamedly.

Good-bye. I love you, he whispered. He thought of her up at Snape Hall alone with his father, and a tightness grew in his chest.

"I love you, too," she said, with a last embrace and a pensive little kiss on his forehead; she then turned away and dabbed discreetly at her eyes with her flimsy lawn handkerchief. "Go get on the train, now."

He boarded the bright red train, found an empty compartment, stowed his luggage, and went immediately to the window. His mother was lingering on the platform, looking disconsolately up at the train. Their eyes locked the instant he appeared at the window, and they waved good-bye to each other one last time.

The last thing he saw before the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station was her slender, frail silhouette, hand lifted in farewell, her black eyes looking wistfully after him.

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"Awwww, how sweet. Bobbins got a big hug from Mumsy, and now he's all misty," came a sneering voice from behind him.

Severus turned away from the window to find himself facing three pairs of eyes, one grey and resentful, one bespectacled and archly amused, and one colourless, obediently mirroring the attitudes of the other two. He recognised the boy who had spoken to him as the one who had been taking a fearful scolding from his mother when they arrived – his eyes were red, his face was still smudged, and he was tossing the cricket ball from one hand to the other. The other two, a skinny fellow with unruly black hair and glasses, and a little, lumpen, unmemorable sort of boy, were totally unfamiliar.

"Can't a bloke say good-bye to his mother, when he's not going to see her for months?" Severus shot back instantly, his eyes flashing, throwing his shoulders back – he would always be roused to instantaneous fury by even the appearance of an affront offered to his mother. "What business is it of yours?"

The three of them closed ranks between him and the compartment doorway. He had violated their code, refused to assume the cowering stance of a lone outsider against greater numbers. There are inalienable social codes of dominance and submission ingrained into all living creatures; in a wolfpack, a weaker male must assume a submissive posture in the presence of the alpha male, or be attacked. Perhaps the codes of the wolfpack were not that far off from those of young boys away from home for the first time, and at almost-eleven years old, Severus had not yet learned not to counterattack with all of his defences at once when offered opposition. He studied the tall, dark, grey-eyed boy's sulky face for a moment, remembered the scene with his mother on the platform, and then zeroed in on the chink in his armour with the same vicious and unerring precision that would later make him the most feared teacher at Hogwarts –

"You're jealous," he said, disgusted. "Because your Mum doesn't love you, and mine does."

A hush fell; the kind of hush that follows when something is said that is so pure, so true, and so hurtful that everyone who hears it is momentarily stunned.

"You are so dead," the dark-haired, grey-eyed boy snarled in outrage – evidently he had believed he had the perfect right to mock another boy's mother, but when that fellow offered the same in return, he became furious. His fist closed tight around the cricket ball in his hand.

Just then, a thin, pallid, ill-rested looking fellow with light brown hair appeared in the doorway, looked in and seemed to size up the situation immediately, as though he had seen the other three get into this kind of scrape numerous times before. "Come on, Sirius, James, let's not get into a row on the way to school," the peaky fellow implored with a pained expression. "Let's go, before all the other compartments fill up."

"No, wait, Remus, this little prat's been really disrespectful," the fellow with the glasses, James, said. "He needs a lesson." He sounded thrilled at the idea of administering such, his eyes glinting diabolically.

Then the grey-eyed boy's arm came forward, aiming the cricket ball at Severus's face – at the same moment Severus's wand snapped forward, and he was pointing it at the cricket ball – Reductor Curse: Wand indication at object to be affected, incantation REDUCTO, said with authority –

"Reducto," Severus whispered resolutely through gritted teeth –

The cricket ball never reached its target; it instead floated to the floor of the compartment as ash. It would have been difficult to say who was more surprised, Severus or the four boys before him.

"Now will you sod off?" Severus snarled at them. "Try that again and I'll hex you all into the next world."

"I don't think you can do it," the grey-eyed boy, Sirius, sneered. "How do I know you didn't just get lucky, ponce?"

"How do you know that for sure?" Severus asked, his eyes and wand tip locked on Sirius and James. "How do you know my parents aren't the worst Dark Wizards in the world, who've taught me more curses and hexes than any seventh year at school? Do you want to risk it?"

As an adult, Severus Snape with his wand at en garde was a sight to make most people feel like running the other way – and there was something of that in his manner at that moment. He held his new wand in front of him like a young Borgia assassin might have held his dagger, and the look in his eyes gleamed with anarchistic purpose. His moment of beginner's luck with his first Reductor Curse made him feel tough, invincible, and oddly righteous; he hadn't started this fight, but now that his blood was up, he was more than willing to finish it, once and for all.

But a girl's high giggle came from outside the compartment before any of them could respond – "Well, what have we here," someone's familiar drawling voice said, from out in the corridor, and then three people appeared in the doorway – a tall young man with a pale, pointed face and striking silver-blond hair, followed by two girls, one blonde and one dark. Severus recognised his cousins Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, both much grown up from the previous summer, and another girl with long dark hair who he didn't know. All three of them wore school robes and ties striped in silver and green.

Lucius's blasé grey eyes took in Severus's aggressive, wand-out stance with amusement. "Now now, boys, you'll want to play nicely with my cousin Snape. He's the worst character you can imagine." Lucius swept into the compartment, shouldering rather aggressively between the much shorter and slighter Sirius and James. Lucius greeted Severus with a handshake, grinning down at him. Nice work, he murmured. Severus smirked back.

"Oh yes, absolutely right," the dark girl said, exchanging a smile with Lucius. "He knows more Dark magic than anyone, Snape does. He's terrifying," she sighed, as though she admired terrifying men more than any other kind.

Lucius put his hand on Severus's shoulder. "Young Snape here stayed at our house for part of last summer – and I'm now in awe of his cursing abilities. Believe me, you don't want to get on his bad side."

Sirius, James, and their lumpen friend were now looking at Severus apprehensively. Their attitudes tried for scepticism, but their eyes were round. "He shouldn't be reading Dark magic – it's against the law," Sirius said, but with much less conviction than before. The dark girl giggled at him.

"Someone should call the Aurors on him," the one called James ventured.

"Don't be a prat – if you call the Aurors on him, everyone'll hate you. Nobody at school ever likes a squealer," sniffed the dark girl, slipping past the other first-years into the compartment, and seemingly accidentally knocking into Sirius Black as she went. She turned to Severus, indicating the seat across from him. "Is this seat taken?" she asked.

"No, none of them are," Severus said quickly. "Please, sit down. Narcissa, come have a seat," he called to his other cousin, who wafted disdainfully past Sirius, James, Remus, and the little, lumpen boy, and took the seat beside the dark-haired girl. She gave Sirius a long look of reproach as she passed him.

Lucius took the seat beside Snape, then looked up at the boys in the doorway. "Oh look, it so happens that this compartment's all full up now," he drawled lazily. "You four will want to go find somewhere before they're all taken." It was an overt dismissal, and the four of them exchanged looks and filed away, but not without several glowering backwards glances from Sirius and James at Severus, who glared back at them impassively.

"We'll talk later, Sirius," the dark girl called after them. Severus watched Sirius as he retreated – clearly, he was in disgrace with his three companions for some reason. Interesting... he resolved to find out more about this Sirius character.

Once the others were gone, Lucius sprawled contentedly in his seat and looked at each of his companions, as though well satisfied with the small court he had assembled around himself. He had only gotten taller and more good-looking in the year since Severus had last seen him, and had grown his platinum hair to past his shoulders. On some sixteen-year-old boys this might have looked foppish and affected, but on Lucius it looked classical, timeless, princely. His uniform was brand-new and perfectly pressed, and instead of the standard white uniform dress shirt, he wore a probably custom-fitted shirt with a starched collar and French cuffs clasped with gold cufflinks monogrammed with a stylised M, as was the gold signet ring on the first finger of his right hand. Most of the boys at Hogwarts would be wearing ties for the first time, and their attempts to tie them properly would lead to some amusing gaffes of dress – but Lucius Malfoy's tie was done in a crisp Windsor knot, fastened with a little tie pin in the shape of a gold serpent. Some boys his age might have suffered from adolescent acne, but not Lucius Malfoy – he had a complexion any girl would envy. As always, his cousin's presence made Severus feel uglier, shabbier, and less sure of himself than before, but at the same time it was safe and reassuring.

Lucius indicated the two girls with him. "You've already met Narcissa Black, of course, and this is her older sister Bellatrix. Bella, this is my cousin, Severus Snape."

"Your cousin on which side?" Bella asked, interested.

"His grandmother Octavia Prince is my father's aunt, or cousin, or something," Lucius said offhandedly. "His mother was one of the Princes, you know, from Orkney."

They chitchatted about families and school for awhile. Lucius was going into his sixth year, Bellatrix was going into her seventh, and Narcissa was about to become a fourth-year. Severus glanced at Narcissa, noted rather objectively that she looked very pretty and nicely turned out, had gotten taller since he had seen her last, and that her hair had grown down to her waist; and then his eyes stole back to Bellatrix. Then he couldn't stop stealing little glances at Bellatrix. Her face was a pale, perfect oval, her hair was a long straight sheet of brown silk, and her eyes were dark, insinuating, and intense. As he watched, she reached into her pocketbook and came out with a little gilt compact and lipstick, and rouged her lips a dark, satiny red.

"Bella, you know Mum said we couldn't use paint while we're in school," Narcissa said primly.

"Well, Mum's not here, is she?" Bella replied, powdering her patrician nose. She noticed Severus looking at her and gave him a diabolical little smile, pursing her red lips at him. He blushed and stared down at the toes of his boots.

"So I see you've met my annoying cousin Sirius," Bellatrix said. "I'm not surprised he got into a fight practically before the train left – he can't do anything right. Totally incorrigible. He and that Potter are like a couple of wild savages when they get together. My aunt says Potter's a bad influence. She won't even let him in their house."

"Something off the trolley, dears?" A pleasant grey-haired witch pushing a little cart laden with refreshments paused in the doorway of their compartment.

The other three bought snacks and drinks for themselves, cakes and pasties and pumpkin juice and sweets – Severus tried not to look at a red lollipop disappearing between Bellatrix Black's rouged lips – but he declined when the trolley witch got around to him. He had only a few Knuts left, after having spent the Galleon Aunt Druella had given him in Flourish and Blotts. "No, thank you."

"Oh no, Snape, we can't all have lunch in front of you. Get some Chocolate Frogs at least," Lucius urged.

"Well... " Severus leaned toward his cousin's ear, embarrassed. "I had some pocket money, but I bought a book with it. I'll just wait till we get to school."

"Nonsense, that's more than four hours off." Lucius turned toward the trolley witch – "My dear lady, I'm celebrating my reunion with my young cousin here, who I haven't seen in a year, so I'll be treating him to lunch." He nodded at Severus. "He'll have whatever he likes."

Half an hour later, with a hearty lunch sitting warm in his stomach, listening to the other three gossiping about school, to Bella teasing Narcissa and Lucius teasing Bella, Severus finally relaxed and let himself feel comfortable. Perhaps if he stuck close to his cousins, school wouldn't be as bad as all that.

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The train finally arrived at the Hogsmeade station, and was met by an extremely tall, wide, simply gigantic fellow with wild dark hair and whiskers calling, "Firs' years, follow me, firs' years, over here." Severus reluctantly said good-bye to his cousins and fell in with the other first-year students following the huge fellow down a darkened path. The huge whiskery fellow introduced himself as "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts" as the first-years struggled to keep pace with his giant strides.

Then they all reached the end of that path, and Hogwarts Castle appeared, suddenly looming into view on the horizon on the opposite side of a great, dark lake. Wow, Severus murmured.

It was vast, sprawling, grandiose, with myriad towers and turrets, and thousands of twinkling, arched windows. Severus was used to ancient castles; he had grown up in one, as the original foundation for Snape Hall had been built before the time of William the Conqueror. Hogwarts in all likelihood was not quite as old as his ancestral home, but Snape Hall had long passed the time when anything further would ever be built on to it; long passed the limit of what could even be properly maintained of it. As an adult, Hogwarts would become precious to him because it was the object of such veneration, because generations upon generations of wizards had devoted all of their imaginations and magic to its upkeep and its expansion. In time, the sight of this castle would become to him both magnificent and reassuring, indicative as it was that somewhere in the world, history was respected in a more than superficial sense, and care and attention were being paid to an object of beauty. But for now, he was a boy lost in a rare moment of pure, ten-year-old wonder.

He was distracted from this reverie by Hagrid's bluff voice calling to the first-years again – "Firs' years, follow me, mind yer step now into the boats."

The little group of first-years stepped down into a fleet of tiny rowboats, each with a bright lantern set astern. Severus waited until Sirius, James, Remus, and their lumpen little friend crowded together into a boat, and made certain to board a boat other than that one. As the boats glided across the still, mirrorlike waters of the lake toward the castle, he turned away from the whispered, giggling speculation of the other students around him, wishing to be alone with his amazement at the scene before him: the black waters, the tiny pool of light from the lantern, the mountains before them and the great castle dominating the horizon. It was like a tableau from one of the stories he had read in his mother's library, and he didn't want anything to ruin it, especially not some sullen boy with a shrewish mother and a dirty face.

They arrived through the ivy curtain and to the stone stairwell on the opposite shore almost too soon to suit him, and Hagrid knocked three times on the castle door. The door was opened by a tall, slim witch with black hair, wearing smartly tailored emerald-green robes. She looked to be perhaps in her late forties, and carried herself like someone in authority.

"I've brought the firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid told her. Ah, so this was the Deputy Headmistress then, the one who had written his Hogwarts letter.

"Thank you, Hagrid. Children, if you would follow me from here." Professor McGonagall had a crisp, resonant voice with a slight Scottish burr to it, much like his Grandmother Snape's, which made Severus warm to her a little.

She threw open the heavy wooden door, and the group of students followed Professor McGonagall into a torchlit entrance hall and up a sweeping marble staircase to a grand foyer. The stone-flagged floor seemed vast, the ceiling was ornamented with heavily carved stone arches, and a grand tapestry depicting the school crest Severus remembered from the purple wax seal of his Hogwarts letter hung from an upper balcony.

"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus," someone near Severus carefully read aloud from the scroll on the tapestry – he turned toward the speaker, and saw that it was the little redheaded girl who had been crying on the platform. "Does anyone know what that means?"

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon," Severus said instantly. "Or you might be able to read it as Let sleeping dragons lie, I suppose."

Several heads turned to look at him, and the little redhaired girl grinned at him. "How did you know?" she asked.

Severus shrugged. "It's Latin."

"You speak Latin?" she asked, sounding impressed.

"Yeah, a bit. But no one really speaks it anymore. People mostly just read it and write it," Severus told her.

"You learned it in school?" She was looking up at him with the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

"My mother taught me at home," he said, blushing faintly.

"Neat," the redheaded girl said, falling in step beside him as they passed under the tapestry and followed Professor McGonagall through the foyer toward a great stone landing. "All the Hogwarts textbooks are full of Latin, so you're lucky. I only got taught some French in grammar school. I'm going to have to get a Latin lexicon for all the spells or something."

Severus turned toward her with a shy smile – perhaps some of the strangers at school were friendly. "They taught you French in school? Bonjour, comment t'appelles-tu?"

The little redheaded girl giggled. "Je m'appelle Lily Evans."

"Je m'appelle Severus Snape. Comment trouves-tu Hogwarts?"

"C'est pas mal, mais le château est très grand et sombre, n'est-ce pas?"

This short, happy, French-primer exchange was interrupted by someone jostling him from behind. Fecking show-off, Sirius Black's voice hissed from behind them.

Bloody Neanderthal, Severus hissed back, his hand going for his wand.

Matters might have escalated from there, but then Professor McGonagall shot them both a look like to burn a hole in the wall behind them, and they both quieted down.

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Professor McGonagall led all the first-years through the foyer, and lined them up just before a huge pair of elaborately carved double doors at least two storeys tall. "I will come back for you once we're ready to begin the Sorting," she informed them all. "Wait here, and no pushing or shouting. You may want to tidy yourselves up a bit," she said, casting a disapproving eye over James's dishevelled hair and Sirius's dirty face. A moment later, she had disappeared into the Great Hall.

A moment later, several of the castle ghosts made their appearances through the back wall on their way into the first day gathering, provoking screams from many of the first-years. A shrill squeak came from Lily Evans, and she turned and tried to burrow straight into Severus and the girl next to him.

"Don't worry, don't worry, they won't hurt you," Severus said, detaching her from him with a little, awkward pat. "They're not the dangerous sort of ghosts. They live here, er, haunt here. My mother told me that each House has its own ghost who sort of runs the place. It's tradition. See – " he pointed – "that fellow is the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin House ghost, and the one with the ruff is Nearly Headless Nick from Gryffindor House, and that must be the Grey Lady. She's from Ravenclaw. And I don't see the Hufflepuff House ghost yet, but he's supposed to be a monk or something."

"They're friendly ghosts, then?" she asked, looking nervously up at him. "Like Casper?"

"Who?"

"You know, Casper the Friendly Ghost. He has a cartoon show on telly," Lily told him.

Severus's brows creased. "What's telly?"

Lily stared at him, distracted from her terror of ghosts that walked in daytime by the shocking discovery that there were boys of her own age who had never heard of television. A second later she was distracted again by Professor McGonagall returning to collect them.

The group of first-years followed Professor McGonagall into the vast, candlelit Great Hall. Severus was impressed but not totally floored by the vastness of the hall, the mullioned windows, the hundreds of floating tapers, and the enchanted ceiling that showed a dark, starlit sky, as he had seen similar niceties of décor in the homes of wealthy relatives. Lily Evans, however, goggled at everything in a manner that made him chuckle to himself.

"Not been away from home much, have we?" he asked, aside to her.

"Hey, I'm not the one asking "What's telly," now, am I, mate?" she retorted merrily. "Where do you live, a desert island?"

"Er, yeah, sort of," he said, nodding. "Where do you live?"

"Little Whinging, Surrey," Lily replied.

"What the bloody heck sort of a name is Little Whinging?" he queried, giving her full benefit of the infant version of his dreaded sinister eyebrow. "It rather sounds like someone whining at low volume, doesn't it?"

Lily giggled. "Evidently, silly boy, Little Whinging is that place where people don't have ghosts, and do have tellys," she shot back.

"Bully for all you Little Whingingians, then," he sneered, but that only made this absurd Lily girl laugh even harder.

They probably could have continued this amusing sort of repartee for some time, but the first-years had now arrived at the front of the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall brought out a three-legged stool and a tall, pointed, patched and generally disreputable-looking wizard's hat. This hat seemed in all ways shabby and unremarkable until a rip in its brim opened, and it began to sing:

Oh, hats, we have so many names

Bowler, trilby, boater, cloche,

While I may not be a tall sombrero

Of all hats, I know the most.

I'm the smartest headgear in the world

The wisest millinery,

For I can look inside your mind

And see where you should be.

I'm the one, the only Sorting Hat

You'll put me on just so,

We'll have a chat, a good confab

And see where you should go.

Perhaps you'll go to Gryffindor,

'Mongst Godric's noble children,

He loved the bravest, truest hearts

The strongest were his brethren.

Perhaps you'll join House Hufflepuff

Of gentle Helga's favoured,

She loved the hardest working souls

Who in her classes laboured.

Or you could be destined Ravenclaw

Of Rowena's brilliant minds,

She loved the curious and clever

More than any other kind.

Or perhaps you'll go to Slytherin

And join Salazar's disciples,

He loved all wise, resourceful folk

With ambition none could stifle.

So all you boys and girls, come on

I promise I won't bite

Come have your little chat with me

On this September night.

I've sorted students all these years

I've picked up this and that

So now let's have a heart to heart

On where you'll hang your hat!

Everyone applauded as the hat finished its song. It took a bow to students and teachers alike, and fell silent again. Professor McGonagall turned to the first-years again – "Now, as I call your names, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and put on the hat to be Sorted."

She bent over a long roll of parchment – and Abington, Cassandra, a plump little girl with long flaxen braids was the first person to take a seat on the three-legged stool and put on the hat. After a few seconds –

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted. The Hufflepuff table applauded loudly as Miss Abington went to join her House-mates.

Black, Sirius was next, and Severus watched as the dark-haired, grey-eyed boy who had accosted him on the train went to take Cassandra Abington's vacated place on the stool. He glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix and Narcissa Black were giving Sirius a blasé round of applause as he came forward. Sirius rather sulkily clapped that hat onto his head – and then for perhaps half a minute sat having what looked like an intense silent debate with someone, or perhaps with himself. Then the rip in the hat's brim opened -

"GRYFFINDOR!" bellowed the hat.

This, for some reason, caused a commotion at the Slytherin table. Lucius and Narcissa looked scandalised, and Bellatrix Black stood up with an outraged gasp of What? The three of them and several other Slytherin students hissed and shot filthy looks at Sirius Black, but the Gryffindors applauded and cheered enthusiastically as he hopped off the stool and scooted over to their table.

The Sorting continued. Severus watched, disappointed, as the Sorting Hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" a second after being put on Lily Evans's head. That was annoying – he had rather hoped that she would be a Slytherin, so he could have an excuse to talk to her again. He didn't like her, not like some ridiculous boys liked girls, but she was fun to talk to, and he liked it tremendously when people seemed impressed by his cleverness.

The peaky-looking fellow who had urged his friends not to pick a fight with Severus came up to the stool after the name Lupin, Remus was called – disappointingly, he was Sorted into "GRYFFINDOR!" as well. Lupin had seemed a decent sort, someone a bloke could be friends with, and it was a shame to see him claimed by that lot of Gryffindor blowhards. However, when the lumpen sycophant called Pettigrew, Peter and the bespectacled instigator who answered to Potter, James were Sorted into Gryffindor as well, Severus had to conclude that was no great loss.

Then finally the list of first-years had got nearly to the last of the group, to Snape, Severus, and he took his place on the vacated stool. He anxiously approached the Sorting Hat, then put it down on his head.

A second after the hat slid down around his ears, Severus became aware of a little voice speaking to him. "Difficult... very difficult indeed," that voice said, in his ear, in his head. "A keen mind, a fine, shrewd, and curious mind, cynical and wise beyond its years. You've loved books from the start, you've never met a challenge of the intellect you didn't like, did you, young Master Snape? You'd be a natural for Ravenclaw, my lad, with your intellectual peers – "

NO, Severus thought, no, my mother wants me to be in Slytherin.

"Are you sure?" the hat asked. "Plenty of bravery here as well, a powerful desire to help someone in trouble, someone very precious to you, though you've been thwarted at every turn. In Gryffindor, you might find encouragement, my boy – "

Severus looked at Lily Evans at the Gryffindor table – then at Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter, who had all one after the other already been sorted into Gryffindor, and thought about sharing a dormitory bedroom with their little gang for seven years – NO! he thought, NOT Gryffindor, anything but Gryffindor! If you put me in Gryffindor, I shall find where you're kept the rest of the year and bloody disintegrate you while you're sleeping. I mean it, I know Reducto.

"All right, all right." Severus thought the Sorting Hat chuckled, which annoyed him even further. "Are you sure?"

YES, Severus thought. My cousins will never let me hear the end of it if I end up in anything but Slytherin.

"Hmm...but what was your mother's house?" the hat asked.

She was a Ravenclaw, but she'll understand, Severus thought. Please, my grandmother was in Slytherin, my cousins and everyone I know is in that House.

"But are your cousins your friends, as well? What was your mother's name?"

Eileen Mircalla Prince Snape, he thought in reply.

"Ah, I remember her – the brightest girl of her year, and the gentlest. You've not got her mild temperament, but you're far more like your mother than you know, young Master Snape – she means more to you than anyone else alive, it's all here, in your head, in your heart. I've never been wrong yet," the Hat averred. "Mightn't you consider her House?"

Will you just put me in Slytherin, you stupid old hat? Are you trying to make trouble for me? What is it going to take to make my wishes any clearer? he bellowed mentally.

"Well, if you're sure... "

I am bloody well sure, Severus thought insistently. His face was burning, he had now sat on the stool longer than any other first year.

"All right... better be... " The rip in the brim opened – "SLYTHERIN!"

Severus exhaled a long sigh of relief, and went to join his cheering cousins at the Slytherin table.

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At the table, Bellatrix was fuming to Lucius. "Can you believe that Sirius? The Blacks have always been in Slytherin, both his parents were Slytherins. He just asked the Hat to put him in Gryffindor to tick off his mother for giving him a clout on the platform today, I just know it. Our aunt is going to kill him when she hears this, if I don't kill the little prat first." She looked daggers across the Great Hall at her cousin, now tucking into the feast at the Gryffindor table.

"The Sorting Hat took an awfully long time with you," Lucius observed, looking curiously at Severus. "What did it say?"

Severus shrugged. "Wanted to put me in Ravenclaw," he said, forking up some grilled fish. "Seemed to think it was the right thing to do, because Mother was a Ravenclaw."

Lucius frowned delicately. "She was? I thought she was a proper Slytherin like everyone else – excuse me, like everyone other than Sirius Black. Ah well, no matter." He leaned across the table and shook Severus's hand. "Welcome to Slytherin House, Coz – home of the unacknowledged legislators of the world."

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Despite the presence of various Gryffindor bullies, Severus was completely enamoured of Hogwarts from his very first glimpse of the castle.

First, there was just the castle itself. During those first few months, Severus had many a long, meandering ramble through every area within limits for students, just looking at all of it – the paintings, the braziers, the elaborate windows, the view from the high turret walk. Then there was the library – he had lived for so long in a house where the budget for books could not keep up with his voracious reading habits, so to suddenly have access to a vast room filled to the ceiling with books was a luxury unimaginable. Meals were another delight – like most growing eleven-year-olds, he was always hungry, and was used to rather plain fare at home. To sit down to a table laden with golden platters of eggs and bacon and beefsteak and roast turkey and lamb chops and fresh fruit and vegetables three times a day was heavenly – almost daily he wondered if it was possible to send some of it home to his mother.

The dormitory where he lived with the other Slytherin boys of his age was almost shockingly comfortable. At home, he slept on a narrow Scotch oak child's bedstead that had probably been put together in the seventeenth century and a mattress that felt at least that old, and he never had enough firewood in winter – but here he had his own four-poster bed so wide that he couldn't touch the edges of the mattress with both arms spread, a sinfully comfortable featherbed, and a wonderful fat squashy down comforter that went pfffffuhhhh when he flopped down on it. With the heavy green velvet draperies drawn, his four-poster felt like having a room of his own; and the velvet was so thick that he could read half the night in bed by the light of a Lumos spell and never disturb the other boys in the room. Not only that, but the fires never went out, and there was always enough firewood to spare.

The Slytherin common room was also impressive – a long, pleasantly dim stone underground chamber hung with rich green tapestries, and with green lanterns dangling from the ceiling. The light was wonderfully soothing, like being underwater. There was always a great blaze going in the vast, intricately carved stone hearth, which faced any number of deep, high-backed leather chairs and sofas and little cushioned footstools, and tables with chessboards and decks of Exploding Snap and Self-Shuffling Playing Cards – the sort of room where he imagined a wizard king like Macbeth entertained noble lords. Severus decided that when he grew up and became famous and rich, he was going to do the big hall at home up just like his common room.

Then there were the other Slytherins. They were to him an incredibly impressive lot, raffish and self-assured. Their school uniforms were always accented with bits of subtle luxury: monogrammed cufflinks and signet rings and heavy antique pocket watches. They always remembered to put out their boots for the Slytherin house-elves to polish, and they all knew how to tie a perfect Windsor knot and what fork to use at supper. The two prettiest girls in school, the sisters Bellatrix and Narcissa Black, were both Slytherins, and they queened it over the other girls with effortless hauteur. The undisputed lord of all the Slytherins was his cousin Lucius, who liked to hold court in the common room next to the fire; Severus immediately noticed that you could tell who was important in the social pecking order by who was sitting in the armchairs closest to Lucius. Now and then his cousin would remember his existence and deign to notice him – "Snape, old man, what's going on with you?" – which guaranteed him at least some measure of status.

And then there were his classes.

Severus had spent almost eleven years longingly watching his mother and the adults he knew performing magic all the time – and had long been impatient to get started learning it himself. Now, the entire Wizarding magical canon was being thrown open to him – and he set about systematically and voraciously absorbing everything he could.

Very early on, Severus found that any worries he might have had about being underprepared for school because his mother, rather than hired tutors, had been responsible for his primary education were totally unfounded. On the contrary – his mother's homeschooling left him more advanced than most students of his age, far more advanced than some. His early education in the meanings and pronunciation of Latin gave him a tremendous advantage, as most spells in the Wizarding canon were based on this ancient tongue. When faced with a worksheet of incantations to be matched with their specific spell, he could have matched them up flawlessly even without studying.

As often happens with very bright and talented students with more of an affinity for the company of older people than those their own age, Severus quickly earned the favour of all of his professors at Hogwarts. Defence Against the Dark Arts was at that time taught by Edgar Bones, who had taken up teaching after a long and distinguished career in Magical Law Enforcement. He was a tall and imposing figure with long black hair liberally threaded with white, an eyepatch, and a swagger, who liked to pepper his lectures with hair-raising anecdotes about his experiences in the field that were just as exciting as something Edgar Allan Poe would have written, if he had been writing about wizards. To Severus, the classes were enthralling, and there seemed no job more fascinating than that of an Auror.

His other classes were equally rewarding. Severus's work in Transfiguration and polite classroom demeanour appeased even Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, Slytherin's archrival. He showed such effortless facility with Potions that their Potions master, Horace Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin House, made an unabashed pet of him practically from the first. Potions was his next favourite subject after Defence Against the Dark Arts, but it was the one in which he was undeniably the most talented. Potions were just so easy, almost intuitive, for him. It was usually his last class of the day, and invariably the most relaxing when he was working alone. Indeed, the only annoyance he encountered in Potions class was the inevitable presence of some dolt who couldn't brew his or her way out of a paper bag, and who was nominally supposed to be his lab partner.

He got along all right with those dolts as long as they listened closely and followed his directions – by his fourth year, he was beginning to suspect that Professor Slughorn paired him with the slow learners on purpose, so they could benefit from his example. He supposed he should have been flattered, but truthfully, he would far rather have worked alone. He loathed compensating for someone else's incompetence with a passion, and the spectacle of a lab partner blithely making mistakes or failing to comprehend directions oftentimes made him entertain ideas of drowning such blithering idiocy in the cauldron and seeing what effect that had on the day's potion assignment.

Professor Flitwick once said, after a week of Charms classes in which Snape's hand was almost always the only one in the air when questions were asked: "I'll make a deal with you, Mr. Snape – why don't we just assume you already know the answers to all the questions I ask in class, and if no one else can answer, I'll just call on you."

"But sir, I wanted to try and win some points for my House," Severus pointed out.

"All right, all right, if no one else can answer correctly and you do, I'll give you an automatic point for Slytherin. Does that meet with your approval?"

"Yes, sir, thank you."

No one was surprised when he took points for Slytherin every class session. By the end of his first year, it had become a given that if Slytherin House had lost points somewhere throughout the day, Snape was one of those stalwarts who could be relied upon to make them up, and who could be counted on to bring glory to Slytherin House by appearing in the Honours List in most subjects at the end of term. In all, he was well on his way to becoming one of those quiet, studious, well-behaved and ambitious students who could be found in any school, anywhere; a member of that small underclass that most often goes unnoticed by classmates until years later, when one reads about their unsurprisingly impressive achievements in the Daily Prophet or the alumni magazine.

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But, as could also be expected in any school, anywhere, Severus's sort of self-absorbed pedantry made him the object of much derision from some of his fellow students, and the four Gryffindors he had met on the train were the worst of the lot.

Sirius Black's defection into Gryffindor when everyone knew the Blacks of Grimmauld Place had always been in Slytherin appeared to have brought the wrath of all Slytherin House down on his head, especially that of his cousin Bellatrix. Sirius retaliated by tormenting all the Slytherin first-years on general principles, and Severus in particular – after the scene on the train, he was now Black's very favourite target. As Severus was slight and not much of a fighter, and often took himself off somewhere to study or read, Black not infrequently found his opportunity.

Black, Potter, and Pettigrew fell in step behind Severus as he left Defence Against the Dark Arts class one morning in October, on a day he had answered a question about countercurses that had earned five points for Slytherin. Black and Potter had been so rambunctious during the practical part of the session that Professor Bones had ended by subtracting five points each from Gryffindor, and they were clearly smarting under their loss.

"What did you do, Snivellus, eat the bloody textbook?" sneered Black.

"Yah, Snape, smartypants, whyn't you just teach the class for him?" Pettigrew taunted.

"Is it my fault that you're all a lot of blithering idiots who can't be arsed to do your homework?" he snapped back instantly.

The group of them cornered him in the hall, descending on him en masse, like a swarm. Potter got in front of him, stuck out an ankle, and sent him sprawling; Pettigrew ever-so-accidentally sent his books into every corner of the hallway, and Sirius Black was just in the right place to ever-so-inevitably tread upon the middle of his back, heavily knocking the wind out of him.

Snape was reaching for his wand when two older boys in Slytherin ties and scarves appeared at the end of the corridor – when they saw what was going on, they hurried over to break the scuffle up. Snape recognised the two new arrivals as Evan Rosier and Cassius Mulciber, two fourth-years he knew by sight from the common room.

The burly blond Evan Rosier collared Black immediately, dragging him away from Snape. "Knock it off," he snapped, pointing an imposing finger down into Black's face. "I'm sick of you and your punk friends always ganging up on him, he's not done anything to you except show you up in all your classes – maybe get off that fecking broomstick and read a book once in awhile yourself, damn you."

"You leave him be, yah bastard, he's just a kid," Mulciber said, shaking Potter viciously. "And while we're at it, if I see any of you three doing the same to any of the other first-years in my House again, I'll crack your heads together for you, understand?"

Someone rather shamefacedly offered Snape one of his books – he looked up at Remus Lupin, who had held himself aloof from the other three when they knocked him down, but hadn't done anything to dissuade them, either. "I wouldn't've thought you'd pick such hooligans for friends, Lupin," Snape said, sitting up and snatching back his book.

Lupin cut his eyes away in embarrassment "Come on, all of you," he peevishly called to the other Gryffindors. "This whole thing is stupid. Don't we all have something better to do?"

"Yeah, good idea – all of you Gryffs have something better to do. Go do it. Now," Mulciber ordered, chivvying the Gryffindors down the hall.

Evan Rosier stayed behind, helping Snape collect his books. "Don't you worry, kid, we Slytherins look after our own," he said. "The way that little prat Black keeps trying us, he has it coming, I tell you. You all right?"

Severus nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

"All right then." Evan extended a hand and easily raised Snape to his feet. "Come on, let's get some supper."

Evan Rosier would, in short order, become Severus's best friend. Rosier was three years older, had turned fourteen that August to his eleven in January, but Severus was tall and intellectually mature for his age, and the two boys had so much in common that the age difference ultimately didn't matter much. They treated each other much like a bluff, easygoing older brother looking after a wise-cracking, precocious younger one.

They were both only children, who had grown up in isolated rural areas, who had often been left to themselves growing up. They also both had tough fathers who hit them and mothers they both loved and pitied; all of which led to an intense kinship between them. They were both afraid of heights and didn't like flying lessons, and they were both good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Arithmancy. They were also both very much of the opinion that Lucius Malfoy was rather full of himself, and preferred playing chess or studying together or scheming to obtain the really creepy books from the Restricted Section to paying court around the fire. Plus, Severus was the only person who knew about Evan's unrequited love for Felina Nott, a girl in his year who was always paying breathless court to Lucius Malfoy, and likewise only Evan knew that Severus had an intense and totally hopeless crush on Bellatrix Black, six years his senior, but never teased him about it.

Evan made Severus feel safe and understood, and Severus amused and interested Evan and made him laugh. And as there is little that can guarantee a boy's contentment with his schooldays more than one really good friend at school, his first four years at Hogwarts passed like no time at all.

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Severus's fifth year at Hogwarts, his O.W.L. prep year, was his first year without Evan there to lean on and the year his mother started complaining of chest pains, tiredness, and shortness of breath in her letters. He immediately urged her to see a doctor, but her replies were invariably the same – it was nothing, perhaps later. To her son, this of course translated as Your father loathes doctors and hospitals and thinks they're all out to gouge him for money. Severus reassured himself with the knowledge that there was no history of heart trouble in their family and that she was only thirty-six and in good health. Nonetheless, he continued to ask for updates as to how she felt every time he wrote to her.

The O.W.L.s were coming up at the end of the year, and Severus was absolutely set and bound to do as well as he could on all of them. He set about studying for the tests with the same systematic and concentrated effort he brought to every mental challenge he undertook, refusing to acknowledge the stress he felt; but as a result, his insomnia worsened, and now and then he would have moments where his heart would race and his hands would shake for no reason, and he would know it was time to take a break and remember things like food, and showers, and downtime.

Potions class was his unexpected respite from his worries about test results and his mother's health – because, surprisingly, he became reacquainted with one particular Gryffindor.

Severus habitually arrived early to all his classes and parked himself in the hall outside the classroom with the book open on his bony knees, and the first day of fifth year O.W.L. prep Potions class was no different. Today, however, Lily Evans arrived a few minutes early to class as well, with her thick red hair in loose plaits and her nose lightly sunburned, and parked herself next to him. She was working on a big wad of what smelled deliciously like Droobles Blowing Gum.

"Hey, Snape," she said, blowing bubbles.

"Evans," he said, not looking up from his book.

"Everyone picked lab partners last night in the common room while I was studying, so it looks like I'm the odd one out of Gryffindor. Seeing as how you're the least annoying Slytherin I know, can I pair with you?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm the least annoying Slytherin you know?" he asked, slanting the sullen teenage version of his sinister eyebrow up at her. "I shall vote for you for Biggest Flirt in the school yearbook, truly."

"Come on, every Slytherin in our year is a moron except you, and you know it, and I'm pretty clever too." Her bubble popped, and she blew another one. "I swear I won't cause any accidental explosions." Lily leaned against the wall and slid down to sprawl next to him, nudging him with her shoulder.

Severus actually laughed. Her summation of the mental powers of the other Slytherins in his year was admittedly quite true, and the prospect of a lab partner who could be trusted not to cause any accidental explosions was tempting.

"Well, all right then," he said. "Just be sure not to cause any intentional explosions either." He indicated her bubble-blowing – "Got any more of that?"

"Yeah, sure." She passed him a wrapped chew of gum from her book bag.

"Thanks."

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By the end of the class, Severus was, despite himself, rather impressed with Evans as a lab partner. She was pretty clever, as she had said, and she hadn't, as promised, caused any accidental explosions. Far from it – the two of them had compounded their potion flawlessly, and Professor Slughorn had shown it to the others as an example. Then they had finished their assignment so fast that they ended up with some extra time at the end of the class session to collaborate on and complete the homework assignment the Potions master had assigned. By the end of that session, they were both finished with Potions work for the day and felt quite good about it.

"Well, that was painless," Lily said to him when class let out. "With most of the other lab partners I've had, I usually end up having to explain the difference between shrivelfigs and their toes."

"That's nothing," he scoffed, with a scornful crack of his Droobles. "Last year I had to stop this one bloke from tasting undiluted oil of wormwood. Now I'm thinking it might have done the gene pool some good if I'd let him."

Lily laughed till her shoulders shook. "All right then, I guess you do have at least two brain cells to rub together, yah stinking Slytherin," she teased, grinning and wrinkling her sunburned nose at him. "Want to partner tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you just know I'm your best hope for getting an exceptional O.W.L., yah bloody Gryffindor," he shot back satirically.

Lily shrugged and blew another bubble. "Yeah, so, what of it?" she asked, as though that was the most obvious thing in the world.

Severus grinned faintly. "At least you're honest. See you tomorrow."

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"Hey, Snape," Lily greeted him the next day. She tossed him a chew of Droobles, and he caught it deftly.

"Hey, Evans. We're doing Invigoration Draughts today. Ought to be a breeze," he told her.

"Cool." Lily had put down her bag and was taking her seat next to Severus when James Potter elbowed his way in between them.

"What are you doing talking to this wanker, anyway, Lily?" Potter said, looking very self-righteous indeed.

"Er, hello, trying to get a good mark in Potions," Lily said, as though that was the most obvious thing in the world. "Remember all those times I partnered with you fourth year and you kept setting things on fire?"

"Come on, Lil, that was a joke," Potter implored.

"Well, it wasn't funny. Bugger off," Lily snapped.

Potter turned toward Severus, finger pointing at his chest. "If I hear you're giving Evans a hard time, you'll have me and Black to answer to," he declared.

"Here I sit, quaking in my boots," Severus replied insolently – and that familiar diabolical spark flared in Potter's eyes. Matters might have escalated from there, but then Professor Slughorn swept into the classroom and told them all to take their seats and start getting their ingredients ready for the practical session.

"Sorry about that. Some of the lads in my House can be a trifle overprotective," Lily said, absolutely deadpan.

"If I hear you're giving Evans a hard time – what, does he think I'm going to poison you with Droobles, or something?" Severus muttered to her.

"Are you?" Lily asked, with a bright, facetious grin, blowing a huge bubble.

"Let me see – " Severus officiously rifled through his notebook with the air of a bored bureaucrat going through paperwork. "No, you're not on my To Be Poisoned list for today. Actually – " he rifled some more – "Yes, I need you alive for the nefarious plot I have in mind for your downfall," he very affably replied, which made Lily dissolve into giggles.

"I know this is where I'm supposed to come back with the expected cheap shot at your House, but somehow I just don't feel like it today," she said, with the air of one confessing to a great weakness indeed. "So I hope you won't feel neglected if I don't persecute your snaky arse for a few hours, all right?"

"All right, but you have to tell everyone in your common room that I was a tremendous arse to you later. I have a reputation to protect, you know." He blew a huge, thoughtful bubble at her, which only made her giggle again.

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By the time O.W.L.s arrived, Severus and Lily had gone through a lot of class sessions with excellent marks, a lot of Droobles, and a tremendous amount of sarcastic banter. If one or the other had had a bad day or was feeling anxious about tests, they both could be relied upon to tease the other into better spirits. What he liked most about Lily was that she never called him things like egghead or smartypants. She always seemed impressed and interested when he volunteered some obscure bit of magical arcana. She would say something like, "Bloody hell, Snape, where do you get this stuff?" with a big grin and an admiring pop of her Droobles. And wonder of wonders – she had his same sort of arch, bone-dry sense of humour, which none of his friends had appreciated since Evan finished his seventh year. Sometimes he could convulse Lily over with giggles without even trying, which made him feel clever indeed.

Yes, Lil was a great girl and a fantastically good sport, and he liked her. He wouldn't have said he fancied her, not like that idiot Potter with his tongue hanging out every time she passed, but... he liked her, more than he liked any other girl he knew. She just had a tang to her that no one else could even approach. She was clever, probably the cleverest girl he'd ever met besides his mother, and she was a lot of fun. And she wasn't hard on the eyes, either, but he wasn't going to spoil their easy camaraderie by telling her so.

On the morning of fifth-year O.W.L.s, he had woken up with a low-level stomach-ache, and his hands were shaking when he arrived for his first test of the day. Lily, sly little minx that she was, noticed his anxiety and all but mugged him with a Cheering Charm, then tossed him another chew of Droobles.

"Cheer up, Snape, you're going to do fecking brilliant. Stop upsetting yourself."

"Thanks," he said, with genuine gratitude. "You're pretty brilliant yourself."

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Lily turned out to be absolutely right – he did a brilliant job on the O.W.L.s. After a year of preparation, and once his anxiety cleared, everything seemed to fall seamlessly into place from then on. Transfiguration was a snap. Charms was a breeze. Arithmancy was so easy that he finished his equations, checked and double-checked them, and had enough time to snatch a twenty-minute catnap at the end of the test session, which made him feel much refreshed, just in time to go in and absolutely clobber the Potions O.W.L.

"Hey, Snape, how'd you do, how'd you do?" Lily asked as they filed out of the hall, bouncing up to him.

"My dear Lil – I didn't just take the Potions O.W.L. No, I took it by the throat, I slapped it around, and I made it cry for its mummy," Severus said airily. "Easier than pie. Yourself?"

"My experience was quite similar," Lily said, equally airily, shoulders going back and chin going into the air.

"Of course it was. I taught you well," Severus said, nodding smugly.

Lily giggled. "Of course you did," she said. "Without you, I wouldn't know the difference between shrivelfigs and my toes. I would have tasted the wormwood."

Severus was laughing by this point as well. "What have you got next?" he asked.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Ah, me too."

"You ought to make that one cry for mummy as well, Mr. Auror Academy Class of Nineteen-Eighty-Two," she teased, giving him a light swat on the arm. Lily had by this point known about his ambition to become an Auror like Professor Bones for some time.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence. If I ever have to bring you into custody, I promise I'll be very, very polite about it and only rough you up slightly," he assured her, playfully tossing one of her messy red plaits over her shoulder – which only made her dissolve into giggles again.

The two of them spent the break in this sort of silly, innocent chatter, never noticing a bespectacled Gryffindor some ways down the hall, watching them with potent envy in his eyes. While it would never have occurred to Severus that he had something Quidditch hero Potter wanted very badly, it is entirely likely that Potter would have given a great deal to engage in the same sort of easy banter with the pretty Miss Lily Evans. It is also very likely that perhaps Severus had, all unawares, earned Potter's enmity because Lily Evans liked to talk to him and not to Potter just as surely as he had all unawares earned Sirius Black's hatred because his mother had given him a hug and kiss instead of a slap on the platform their first year.

The proctors called the fifth-years in for their Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., and Lily and Severus nodded to each other and wished each other good luck. They both took seats on opposite sides of the room and readied their quills.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was his very favourite subject and always had been, and he had set himself the task of getting a perfect score on this test. He concentrated almost comically hard on the test paper in front of him, his nose almost touching the page.

His eyes ran down the list – oh yeah, he knew all of these. This was going to be a snap. Practically from the moment the test began, his quill was racing across the page – yeah, how about a few extra details on that one, maybe a quote with citation there – why not an alternate theory from Slinkhard, as well. He noticed that he was reaching the bottom of the page and began to write smaller... miniscule by the time he got to the bottom of the page... he raked his hair back from where it was flopping on the table, glanced around at everyone else for a moment – no one had written half as much as he had. Yes, he was going to ace this.

After the test was over and he handed in his scroll, he took the test questions paper and wandered blithe and unseeing across campus still totally absorbed in it, trying to calculate his grade by assigning himself points for each question – Give Five Signs That Identify a Werewolf – hah, he'd given all ten, thank you very much. He sat down in the cool shade of some bushes by the lake, still musing over the questions for anything that he hadn't received full marks on... no, it really looked as though he'd actually done more work in this subject than the Ministry had ever expected him to do. He spent a moment musing happily over the idea of being called Officer Snape, of bringing in hardened criminals, of solving crimes by brilliant deductions like C. Auguste Dupin in Poe's The Purloined Letter.

Finally, satisfied with his work, he took a deep breath and let himself finally relax. His O.W.L.s were over, it was a beautiful day, and he was well pleased with himself. He tucked the Defence Against the Dark Arts paper into his book bag, and started back toward the castle.

But then James Potter's airy, malicious voice bawled, "All right, Snivellus?" from behind him – and something in Potter's tone made Severus go instantly for his wand.

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Oh, bloody hell. Oh, how really fecking wonderful.

If one was going to end up in the Headmaster's office over a bullying incident, it would have served his pride so much better if he'd been in there with bloody knuckles and a brilliant black eye, spitting, You should see the other bloke, through his chipped teeth.

But there was no glory whatever in being there because one had been the victim of bullying – more specifically, had been the victim of being turned upside down and pantsed in the bargain, before Lily Evans and half the school, no less. McGonagall had led him to the Headmaster's office and told him to wait there for Dumbledore – and she was about as brusquely and professionally sympathetic as could be imagined with the reserved and less than popular Slytherin who had drawn the ire of her beloved Quidditch hero Potter.

The Sorting Hat was sort of gibbering to itself in one corner when he came in. "Ah, Mr. Snape," it said when it saw him.

"And to think you wanted to put me in Gryffindor," Severus snapped at it. "Do you just always put the worthless and incorrigible people in Gryffindor, and give them some meaningless hoo-hah about how brave they are to shut them up? Is that your real criteria for them, or some nonsense? How does one quantify bravery in an eleven-year-old, anyway? It's not like they've liberated Scotland at that age or any such shite – care to elaborate on your selection criteria for me? Hmmm?"

"Clever, so clever," the Sorting Hat babbled. "Clever, deep, and disaffected. Why didn't you let me put you in Ravenclaw? You would have done well in Ravenclaw."

"Shut up," he said rudely. "You have got to be the single most worthless magical artefact I ever saw – the only way you could be made useful is if we all drew lots out of you for our Houses. And your songs are pure doggerel and your rhymes don't scan, did you know that?"

"Well, I never." The Hat hmmmfed, and fell silent.

And then the Headmaster came in to have a talk with him that sounded suspiciously like some sort of counselling session, which only added insult to injury.

Severus had always liked the Headmaster before that day – Dumbledore always remembered his name and didn't say it like he thought it was funny, and never failed to congratulate him on making the Honours list in so many subjects every year. He'd even chatted with him once or twice in the library, when Dumbledore had spotted Severus reading a favourite volume of his. The last such volume had been Ars Alchymia, a biography of Nicolas Flamel by Buckminster Swain – Dumbledore had told him a few amusing personal anecdotes about Flamel that made him feel almost as though he had known the alchemist himself.

Now Dumbledore was looking at him ever-so-compassionately across his desk – and Severus's eyes went over the Headmaster's shoulder to a hanging on the wall behind him: a Gryffindor House banner, with a Gryffindor school tie in the style of the previous century draped over it. Dumbledore told him in an achingly sincere and sympathetic voice that the boys who had humiliated him were being punished by their Head of House, and emphasised how sorry he, Albus Dumbledore, was that he had been hurt and upset. The sincerity and sympathy poured into his voice as he told Severus that he did not deserve to be bullied and that steps were going to be taken to insure that this kind of incident would not happen again. And Severus looked at that Gryffindor banner over Dumbledore's shoulder, and remembered Professor McGonagall's perfunctory attitude of apology toward him, and didn't believe a bloody word of it.

"Now, son, is there anything else you'd like to tell me? Anything at all?"

If he felt he could have, Severus would have told the Headmaster that he hated Remus Lupin, because Lupin had been entrusted with a position of authority within a House that was supposed to be distinguished by its bravery and nobility, but when it came time to actually step up and live up to those ideals, Lupin dropped the ball every time. He would have said that he hated Peter Pettigrew because he was a spineless idiot who would have done anything anyone told him to do, and who took shite from Black and Potter and still kissed their arses for it. He could have elaborated at length about how he hated Sirius Black with a scabrous passion because Black had started off by insulting his mother and continued to insult his mother, which was all the more upsetting now because his mother's health might be failing and he had no bloody idea what to do to help her. He wanted to see that bastard Black in Azkaban, or dead, or kissed by a Dementor, or worse. And he could have spent hours enumerating the reasons why he hated James Potter and everything about him, hated his smirking eyes, his stupid round glasses, his messy black hair, his insolent, arrogant manner, his ease on a broomstick, the fact that he was willing to use torture to get a bloody date – not even Lucius Malfoy was low enough to do that. He hated the way the Gryffindor faculty bent rules for him because it suited them, turned a blind eye to what he did because he was a good Quidditch player; he hated every damned thing about Potter and everything that would ever come from Potter. He hated Potter's entire family tree back to the time of the Conqueror and every descendant that would ever spring from Potter.

But instead of telling Dumbledore how he really felt, he kept his demeanour very quiet and polite and listened to every word Dumbledore said, his expression completely unreadable and his black eyes impenetrable – and shored up more fury and hatred in his heart with every pulsing second. Now, not only did he despise all four of his classmates, but he knew for certain that Albus Dumbledore was not to be trusted.

"No, sir, I'm fine," he said.

When the Headmaster was finished making his nice speech, he told Severus that he wished that every student at Hogwarts could shrug off incidents like this with his grace.

"Thank you, sir," he replied, with cool, baleful politeness, and left the room.