Not far and he’d be well past the damned Gryffindor entrance. From there it was a clear shot to Slytherin House. Must walk faster. The halls were ominously empty. He was late; he'd spent too much time trying to perfect his potion.

Severus’ heart began to pump furiously. He loathed crowds; he loathed the emptiness more. It was so forlorn, so…dangerous. Yes, that was the word. They always came out when the rest were gone, particularly since Dumbledore gave them detention and notified their parents of the Levicorpus incident. He flushed heatedly, shamed all over again, even though it had been nearly a year ago. Their pitiful punishment hadn’t halted their cruel pranks, only driven them underground, and he sensed their presence now. Grasping his wand firmly, he whirled around.

He was right! The astonished looks on their smug faces would have delighted Severus if he weren’t furious and afraid. Without waiting for the Marauders to make the first move, he threw a chest-crushing hex that lifted James off his feet, slammed him into Lupin, and the two fell in a heap.

Sirius immediately fired back, joined by Peter, though Severus easily deflected both spells. He shot Peter a boil-inducing charm which the dimwit wasn’t quick or clever enough to counter. His body instantly broke out in oozing sores. Back and forth it went, James joining Sirius to battle Severus, the Marauder shouts echoing through the halls in contrast to Severus’ silent, focused dueling.

“That is enough!” roared Professor McGonagall. A quick Immobulus stopped them all in their tracks. Amazingly fast for a prim old woman, she hurried over to the students frozen in place. “I’m going to release you, and then we’re all going to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office. If I even think one of you is plotting a hex, I’ll turn you into a toad.” She waited a few seconds for it to sink in, then pronounced the countercharm.

They started raving at once, which Minerva fixed by silencing them all. They continued to yammer away until they realized no one could hear them, at which point they resentfully followed her long, swishing cloak to Dumbledore’s office.

“What have we here, Professor?” the Headmaster inquired with a tiny frown, which was barely visible behind his immensely long white beard. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his crooked nose to study the boys. He knew full well the only reason they could be here, as this was hardly the first time these five had made an appearance together.

“He started it!” Potter fumed, rubbing at the spot on his gut where the spell had hit him.

“We didn’t do anything,” Sirius agreed. “He just started firing.”

Dumbledore turned to Severus, who crouched warily against the wall, keeping his eyes on his enemies. “Mr. Snape, what do you say?”

The boy’s black eyes peered back at the old man, occasionally flicking over to the Marauders. As usual, it was four against one. Whatever he had to say would mean nothing. He hung his head and said nothing.

“Minerva, please take these boys outside. I’d like to question them individually.”

“Of course, Professor Dumbledore.” She shooed the Marauders out of the office.

Dumbledore softened his already gentle voice. “It’s only me now, Severus. Tell me what happened.”

Severus lifted his head, his face set stonily. “What’s the point? They’ll lie and you’ll believe them.”

“Humor me.” Dumbledore sat down at his desk and picked up a piece of candy. He offered the bowl to the boy, who gave a bemused look at the action, then shook his head.

“They were following me,” said Severus quietly. “I knew they’d do something, they always do, so I surprised them and struck first.”

“Mm-hmm,” said the man. It didn’t sound comforting. “So you really did, in effect, start the fight.”

“Yes, sir, but they…” What was the use? Better to take the penalty and be done with it. The bastards had been tormenting him from the first year, it wasn’t as if the Headmaster would give a rat’s ass now!

The old wizard sucked on his candy for a full minute before responding. “Severus, fighting is not the answer. You said they always do something to you. Have you spoken to Professor Slughorn about these boys?”

Snape shook his head again. His hair, extra greasy from the fumes of his potion, clung to the sides of his face. “They’re Gryffindor. What could he do?”

“He could notify me.”

Without willing it, Severus snorted derogatorily; then, realizing what he’d done, his eyes grew wide. If he riled the Headmaster, he might be expelled. At the very least, he’d have an owl sent home, detailing the events from a warped viewpoint. Severus didn’t care if his mother knew, but his father might well take it as an excuse not to let him return to Hogwarts next year. As miserable and lonely as life here was, it was still better than home.

Dumbledore stood up, prompting the boy to slide further away. Just because he’d never heard of the old wizard hitting a student didn’t mean it never happened.

“Come here, Severus.” Dumbledore motioned him over. He stayed put against the wall. Stymied by the evident reluctance, the man moved around the desk to approach him. Severus braced for the blow; he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of cringing or crying out. Albus reached out to grasp his shoulders and stared hard into the boy’s eyes. The instant Severus felt the Legilimen's touch, he clamped his mind shut. He would prefer to be struck than to have his mind invaded.

Smiling wryly, Dumbledore let him go. “Occlumency? Who taught you?”

“No one, sir. I’ve always known how,” he answered hesitantly, although the pride in his voice shone through.

“Interesting.” The old wizard walked back to his desk. He’d get no information through Legilimency, and Snape was not exactly cooperating on his own. But why? That was what he couldn’t understand. One boy alone does not start a duel with four others, especially a bright boy like Severus. Did he think the Headmaster was so partial to Gryffindor as to side with them, no matter the circumstances? “Severus, do you believe me to be unfair?”

“I—I don’t know,” he stammered, caught off guard.

“I may be old, but I’m no fool, son. Neither are you. What could you hope to gain by attacking four students at once?”

Severus opened his mouth, not even sure what he planned to say.

“I don’t believe you would do so unless you felt pressured,” Dumbledore answered himself. “Unless you felt there was no alternative. Which brings us back to where you told me these lads frequently harass you. Why do you not come to me when this happens?”

“It’s not always all of them at once,” Severus said softly. “Should I inform you when I fight back, so I can be punished, too?” Because it was evidently not meant as insolence or a challenge, Dumbledore let him go on. “Should I relive my humiliation on the off-chance the torment will stop? You can’t be everywhere, and they’ll lie about their part in it. It’s easier to pretend it never occurred.”

“Bullying cannot be tolerated.”

In a voice very nearly a whisper, Severus said, “Sometimes it must be.”

A wave of sorrow washed over Dumbledore. He was failing in his duty to protect this student. How many others might there be who felt as isolated and persecuted? He strode to the door and flung it open, then stood there glaring at the four young men. Sirius and James put on innocent faces; Peter looked positively wretched, since Minerva hadn’t even attempted to cure his sores; of the four, only Remus had the decency to look ashamed.

“Minerva, escort Mr. Pettigrew to Madam Pomfrey. Remus, come in here, please.” He turned to Snape. “Severus, you may go. You will be serving two weeks detention with me, starting tonight.”

Sirius and James tried to hide their smiles at this last comment. As Severus passed, he heard a low snicker, making him grit his teeth. He was to be punished, while they would surely be let go with a slap on the wrist or less. He hadn’t expected anything else, but it still rankled. The door shut behind him.

“Remus, look at me,” said Dumbledore.

He sounded annoyed, angry even. For Remus, who had only ever known the man to be kind and helpful, the tone alarmed him. He didn’t want anyone mad at him, most of all not Headmaster Dumbledore. The teenager raised his eyes slowly to the man’s face.

“Why were the four of you in the corridor?”

Remus wanted to lie, wanted to make it out to be wholly Snape’s fault, but he couldn’t. He hated lying and he hated the way his friends constantly picked on Severus. Sure, sometimes it was funny, but mostly he wished they’d just quit it. If he weren’t afraid in the back of his mind that they’d stop being his friend, that they’d turn their malevolence on him, he’d be more forceful in demanding they quit.

“We were following Snape,” he admitted in a high voice that didn’t sound remotely natural to his ears.

“Why?”

“James and Sirius wanted to. They…they planned to ambush him.” He dropped his head, unable to bear the Headmaster’s accusing gaze telling him he was not only a snitch, he was a horrible person!

“Are you telling me you had no part in it?” Dumbledore asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You were there.”

“I only went because they did.”

“Yet you had no intention to participate?” Dumbledore clucked his tongue and shook his head in disbelief. “Why else would you be there?”

A single tear rolled down the boy’s face, hidden by his shaggy hair. His chin nearly touched his chest. “Because I’m a coward. I didn’t want them to laugh at me. I don’t have a lot of friends, and I don’t want to lose the ones I have.” He wiped at his face with his sleeve.

“So you’re willing to bully another boy who has few friends,” observed the Headmaster. “To laugh at him and make him feel the way you don’t want to feel. That’s rather cruel and hypocritical, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Remus choked out before the guilt sent him into a fit of sobs.

It was at this moment Dumbledore opened the door once more. The two youths waiting outside stiffened and their eyes widened on hearing their friend weeping piteously. They exchanged horrified glances. What had Dumbledore done to him?

“You three, as well as Mr. Pettigrew, will be serving two weeks detention with Mr. Filch.” Their dismay grew by leaps and bounds. “And I would advise you all to be on your best behavior with him. He doesn’t really like students.”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Narcissa had interviewed seven men. She’d openly dismissed all the women who applied with the simple reasoning that the demon spawn in her charge was too unmanageable for one woman alone. She’d gleaned this from experience. References had been checked, all she needed to do was make a choice. None would refuse the job, considering the pay she offered. She flipped through the parchments.

Mr. Burly. She liked the name, it sounded competent, it sounded—oh, hell’s bells, it sounded big and strong! Hopefully mean, too, but she couldn’t expect everything. He was a sturdy man, young and full of energy. Yes, he’d do as the flying coach.

As for the tutor, well, pickings were a bit slimmer. Apparently word had gotten out in the teaching community that Malfoys could be ‘difficult’. Go figure. She had to choose between an intellectual who probably hadn’t removed his face from a book long enough to glimpse the real world, or a man who quite possibly had never read a book. Erring on the side of caution, and not wishing to endure a lecture from Abraxas, she decided on the egghead, Mr. Fulton. At least he was capable of teaching; she hoped Damien was capable of learning.

The following morning Mr. Burly showed up promptly for the flying lesson. He remained in the foyer, where Narcissa gave him specific instructions and rules while waiting for the elf to bring Damien. On the child’s approach, Narcissa did a doubletake and her jaw dropped open.

“Damien, what have you done to your hair?”

The lad raked a hand through his now platinum blond locks. “Nothing, Mother.” He looked up at her with eyes the exact same shade of gray as her husband’s.

Her stomach made a little leap. She snatched him by the arm and dragged him into a nearby sitting room. “This is not funny! How did you do this?”

“Father did it,” he whimpered, pulling away and rubbing his arm. “Before he left for work. He said I should look more like the family.”

Narcissa suppressed an urge to vomit. “Go to your teacher,” she breathed.

The boy skipped off and Narcissa slipped down onto the sofa. This was insane, this whole idea from start to finish. Adopting a child was one thing; buying an heir from a relative was another. Changing his appearance to ‘look like the family’ was certifiable! What was next, changing his name? But then, hadn’t Lucius said that option was available? Had he already secretly selected a name?

“Oh, Lucius,” she whispered. “What is happening to you…to us?”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus knocked nervously on the Headmaster’s door, wondering what terrible things Dumbledore had dreamed up for his detention. The door opened magically and he inched inside.

“There you are, Severus.” Dumbledore came clomping down the steps from his upper level. “What would you like to do?”

“Sir?” Evidently he hadn’t heard right.

“For your detention. Have you any preferences?”

The boy returned a confused stare. “That’s your job, isn’t it, sir? To assign me unpleasant tasks, I mean.” He’d really rather not heap coals on his own head.

Dumbledore put an arm around his shoulders and led him into the office, pushing him gently down into a chair. “Severus, I don’t want to punish you. I believe you were defending yourself today, but to make it fair I had to give detention to everyone involved.”

Severus’ ears perked up. He’d assumed Potter and his filthy gang had got off scot free, as usual. Ah, shit! Did that mean they’d be showing up here? On impulse he twisted around to glance at the doorway.

Sensing the lad’s anguish, Dumbledore patted him on the back, smiling. “The other lads are serving their time with Mr. Filch. Now, as I was saying, there are a variety of things you could do. Personally, I thought it might be nice to teach you a few spells to help you blend into the wall, to make you less of a target, if you get my meaning.”

He truly wasn’t going to be punished! Being used as he was to undeserved castigations, escaping retribution for his deeds seemed almost miraculous, certainly unprecedented. He didn’t quite know how to react. Gratified and touched by this unexpected and simple show of compassion, Severus blinked back an unaccustomed wetness clouding his sight.

“Yes, sir, I’d like that.”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Lucius came home to a quiet house. Funny, he’d thought with Damien around there’d be more life, more clamor. He shrugged off his cloak and pulled off his gloves. Momentarily he heard a mumbling noise in the parlor closest to the foyer and went to investigate. Damien lay on the floor, his arm extended under the sofa, calling softly to something.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Damien wrenched himself upward in shock, pinching and bruising his arm and causing him to squeal in pain. “Nothing.”

“How do you address me?”

“Nothing, Father,” the lad amended. He continued to steal glances under the sofa.

“Don’t lie to me, son,” Lucius warned. In two strides he was close enough to yank the boy to his feet. Holding Damien in one hand, with his wand he levitated the sofa a meter into the air, revealing a tiny white kitten that swiftly scurried under a chair. “Where did that come from?” he drawled, lifting an eyebrow.

“Mr. Burly found it when we went flying,” Damien babbled, looking up in fear at the man clutching his arm. “I liked it and he said I could have it and grandfather didn’t say I couldn’t have it and—”

“What did your mother say?” He let the couch bang down onto the floor. The sound of it made the kitten mew pitifully.

Damien pulled feebly at his arm. The circulation was cut off; it hurt and felt numb at the same time. “I didn’t ask her, Father.”

Lucius let him go. “Stand up straight. From now on, you will not lie to me or there will be severe consequences. Also, you will either ask me or Mother if you want something.”

“Can I have her, Father? Please?” His pleading gray eyes looked up at Lucius.

“May I have her,” Lucius corrected him.

“May I have her, Father?”

“I suppose. Make sure the house-elves clean up after the creature.”

“I will!” He threw his arms around Lucius, who recoiled instinctively, then relaxed and returned the embrace. It felt odd, but nice.

“Go fish her out of there,” Lucius said, gesturing toward the kitten. “I’ll see you at supper.” He Apparated into his bedroom, where Narcissa seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time lately. The expression she greeted him with made him wish he hadn’t come at all.

“Hello, Lucius,” she clipped. Daggers shot from her piercing blue eyes.

“What did I do now?” he moaned.

“You changed Damien’s hair and eye color. How could you do that?”

“First of all, I didn’t change them,” he remarked with a smirk. “I charmed him so anyone looking at him sees blond hair and gray eyes. What’s wrong with that?” He flipped his own hair over his shoulder.

“What was wrong with him the way he was?” she exclaimed.

Lucius laughed out loud. “You, who think he’s Satan’s child, dare ask me a question like that? Smacks of hypocrisy, my love.”

In a voice filled with weariness, she said, “You can’t make him someone else, Lucius.”

“I’m training him up as a Malfoy, Narcissa. If he looks like one, all the better.” He headed toward the bathroom, then stopped and turned around. “Why can’t you try to like him? He’s just a little boy.” He didn’t wait for an answer. A few moments later the sound of the shower drowned out any reply she might have made.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

“That’s still a rusty pile o’ crap!” Filch growled at Peter, who cowered against the wall in one of the dungeons.

“But I—I tried to clean it,” Peter mumbled, holding the corroded manacle of a chain in one hand, a polishing rag in the other.

“How are we supposed to get the rust off without our wands?” asked Sirius, tired from the exertion himself.

“It’s called elbow grease, ya lazy chimps,” said Filch, patting his pocket where all four wands sat comfortable and safe. “If I can do it, you can.”

James piped up, “Why do we have to clean these anyway? No one ever uses them.”

“We can always hope, can’t we?” grinned Filch, showing his filthy teeth. He tossed a bottle of cleaning solution at James, who caught it easily. “Get to it. If I tell the Headmaster you’re not workin’ like I said, he just might extend your time to three weeks. Maybe even four.”

Grimacing, the boys began to scrub feverishly. Filch sat down on a stool he’d brought with him, picked up Mrs. Norris, and stroked the cat lovingly. He despised children, especially wizard children, who thought themselves better than mere Squibs. Let them work with their hands for a change and see how the rest live!