AN: I love Snape as a snarky git, of course, but I always imagined he'd be a little kinder to his own charges, especially those who suffer at the hands of bullies. I took some liberties with the canon character Tracey Davis. I hope you like how she bonds with her Head of House.

Summary: Living with three bullies has taken a toll on Slytherin First Year Tracey Davis, but her Head of House seems a little too frightening to approach. Luckily, Professor Snape is too smart to overlook his troubled charge. After bonding with Snape, Tracey realizes how lucky she is to be a Snake. One-Shot. Mentor!Snape

Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K Rowling

Into the Snake Pit

Tracey Davis was seriously beginning to wonder if she'd been sorted into the wrong house. Sure, Slytherin had a reputation for producing some evil people, but that didn't mean everyone in the house was a complete prat, did it? Though looking at her roommates, one could really begin to wonder. Millicent was a ruthless bully, and Daphne and Pansy were under the impression that good looks could make up for hideous personalities. Tracey seemed a bit un-Slytherin by comparison. She was at Hogwarts to learn magic, not to discuss her blood status, or to hex Gryffindors in the corridors, and certainly not to be bullied every night since the start of term.

There was something about Tracey that the other girls really didn't care for. Daphne simply didn't like the look of the skinny, brown-headed girl. Pansy took one look at her and decided she was a Mudblood. "Cut from the same mould as Granger, that one," she'd told Millicent early on.

Things started off with exclusion. The other girls pretended she didn't exist, which suited Tracey just fine. But then the Remembrall incident happened. Pansy and Daphne shrieked with laughter over Neville's broken wrist. Tracey didn't see what was so funny about it. Gryffindor or no, she wasn't one to relish in someone else's suffering. But this wasn't acceptable to her fellow Slytherins so Tracey became the bad guy. Millicent took to shoving her in the corridors while the other girls giggled behind their hands. The boys would throw food at her during mealtimes. Things got really ugly before Transfiguration one day. Blaise, pretending to be hit by the Confundus Charm, stumbled into Tracey and ripped three buttons off her top. She squealed and tried to hide her exposed chest and camisole behind her arms amid her classmates' laughter. Of course, McGonagall reattached the buttons with a wave of her wand, but that didn't stop the nickname "Racy Tracey" from catching on.

It got to the point where Tracey found herself on a Monday evening curled in a ball on her four-poster bed, green silk shades drawn tight, her stomach churning with anxiety. She felt ready to throw up when the door opened and three pairs of feet clicked across the stone dungeon floor. Her heart skipped and she tightened her grip on her wand—something she knew to keep close when her roommates were around. She hid her head under her pillow and shut her eyes tight. Maybe the girls would leave her alone if they thought she was asleep.

No joy. She heard giggles beside her bed and the curtains were pulled back with a rush, her pillow pulled roughly from her face. "Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!" drawled Pansy. "Getting your beauty sleep, Racy?"

Tracey rolled over, rubbing imaginary sleep from her eyes. "Yes," she lied.

"Bloody terrible liar," growled square-chinned Millicent. "It's eight in the evening. Only babies go to bed at eight in the evening. Are you a baby, Trace-Trace?"

"No!" Said Tracey hotly, trying to sit up, but Millicent pushed her roughly back down. Pansy and Daphne stood by, their eyes glinting nastily.

"I think you're a wee wittle baby, Trace-Trace," drawled dark-haired Pansy.. "Do you need your nappies changed?" She hopped onto Tracey's bed, flipping her onto her stomach. "Does someone have a dirty nap-nap?"

"Hey, stop!" yelled an affronted Tracey, her face going red with humiliation. Millicent leaned into her back so she couldn't get up while Pansy pulled at her pyjama bottoms. Daphne mimicked 'Stop! Stop!' in the background. Though Tracey kicked and squirmed, Pansy managed to yank the pyjamas to her ankles.

"Ooh, look!" she shrieked, "Pretty pink knickers! How lovely! We'll just have them off, shall we?"

Tracey panicked as Pansy's fingers looped into the waistband of her underwear. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she couldn't fathom how she'd ever overcome the humiliation. No doubt Blaise and Draco would be hearing all about this tomorrow! But no sooner had that humiliating thought crossed her mind when there was a terrible bang like firecracker, as stress evoked her magic. Pansy was thrown from the bed, bowling Millicent and Daphne over in the process. Tracey didn't waste a second yanking up her pyjama bottoms and sprinting for the door. "Yeah, you better run, Racy!" Millicent hollered as she tried to free herself from the tangle of girls. But Tracey was already down the hall, tearing through the common room and out the concealed stone door.

She made a few sharp lefts as she sprinted down the cold dungeon corridors, remembering with horror that it was past her curfew. After a few minutes, she slowed to a trot, feeling uncomfortable among the eerie dancing shadows from the torches on the walls. She wondered anxiously what would happen if she ran into a prefect at this hour. Or worse, Filch. But then her heart swelled when she realized she was standing in front of her Potions classroom door. Sure, it was a spooky room in and of itself, but at least it was familiar. With trembling fingers, Tracey gently pushed on the door. It was open!

The thin crack of light from the corridor poured into the pitch-black classroom, illuminating a few desks and dusty glass jars on the shelves. The room was terrifyingly dark. Nervously, she groped her hand on the counter just inside the door and was relieved when her fingers made contact with an empty glass jar. She racked her brains, trying to remember that charm Hermione Granger was always doing to light a bluebell fire. Tracey cast the spell, but the resulting flames were pathetic compared to Hermione's. Weak, blue embers filled the bottom of her jar. Surely they wouldn't provide enough light to brave the darkness of the Potions classroom. But the thunk of something—could it be someone's footsteps in the corridor?—was enough of a motivator to hurry into the blackness.

With her bluebell jar held aloft, Tracey padded into the classroom, her knees thudding into a desk. She paused, experiencing that alarming feeling like she was being watched. She squinted every which way and almost had a coronary at the sight of a shadowy figure by the blackboard. Was that a blue-lit Peeves lurking in the shadows? Mercifully, it was only her imagination. When she made it to Sanpe's long, solid teacher's desk in the front of the room, Tracey slumped down into the chair behind it, blowing into her jar to stoke the embers. The only sound was that of her thumping heart reverberating off the dungeon walls.

And so she sat, hunkered down at the teacher's desk in the Potions room, clutching a jar of bluebell embers to her chest. It was only then that Tracey could reflect on the events of the evening. It didn't take long for the first of many fat tears to roll down her cheeks.

To say she had a horrible night would be an understatement, as there was absolutely no way to sleep in a spooky Potions classroom shrouded in eerie blue light. After a fitful night, Tracey waited until she knew her housemates would be at breakfast before sneaking back to the dorm for a change of clothes and her school bag. She was exhausted, and barely managed to muddle through the day. Later that night, she returned to her Potions classroom hoping for a bit of sleep. This time, she was sure to bring a pillow. But even with a pillow, Tracey could hardly sleep. She tried to stretch out along Snape's desk, but it was much too uncomfortable, and nothing, not even her jar of bluebell embers, could alleviate her fears of the pitch darkness. Every sound sent her body into high alert. By morning, she was anxious, exhausted and completely on edge.

That day, Tracey had bags under her brown eyes and was well beyond tired. If her roommates wondered where she was nipping off to at night, they hid their curiosity well. Everything fell to pieces that day in Transfiguration. At one point, Tracey felt a hand shaking her shoulder roughly. She raised her head in confusion to peals of laughter from her classmates. Evidently, she'd fallen asleep in class.

Professor McGonagall was not pleased. She spoke through tight lips. "Miss Davis, sleeping is not permitted in class. If you cannot stay awake, I suggest you try going to bed at a more reasonable hour. Ten points from Slytherin and I shall be speaking to your Head of House about this."

And things got worse on Thursday when she dropped off again in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "M-M-Miss Davis, you n-need to wake up," stuttered Quirrell. "I'm s-s-supposed to ad-address your Head of H-House for these m-m-matters." Tracey felt sick. Professor Snape would absolutely murder her.

On Friday evening, Tracey sat a corner of the common room beneath a low green lantern, attempting to eke out a Charms essay on no sleep. She barely noticed a Fifth Year amble up to her, and only became aware of him when he blocked out her light. "Ahem," he grunted, "You Tracey Davis?"

"…Yes," she replied, wary of the stranger.

"I've just seen Professor Snape. He asked me to give you this."

Tracey's heart sank as he dropped an envelope on top of her essay. Wearily, she opened it up and groaned as she read it. Miss Davis, Due to your recent bouts of narcolepsy in both Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, you will report to my office tonight at 7:30PM for detention. I will not tolerate my students sleeping in class. Rest assured, we will be eliminating this problem of yours. Professor S. Snape.

Tracey wanted to cry. This was awful! She folded up her letter and made to put it away, but someone snatched it out of her hand. "Hey!" Tracey cried, whirling around. Pansy held the note between her fingers. "Give that back!"

"Ah, ah ah," Pansy chided, holding it out of reach. She strutted back to a cluster of leather sofas where Daphne, Millicent, Draco and his goons were sitting with a few boys from the Third Year. Pansy made a show of opening the letter before squealing, "Oooh! Look! Racy's got detention with Professor Snape! How exciting! Look everyone! Racy Tracey's gonna be punished for nodding off in class twice!"

Utterly mortified, Tracey felt her face glow red as the others laughed. Daphne even clapped her hands with glee. One of the Third Years, a boy she recognized as Miles Bletchley from the Quidditch team, was patting the seat next to him on the couch. "Hey Tracey, come here."

Tracey looked down, hoping to ignore him, but unfortunately, Millicent and Pansy were already striding over to her. They grabbed her arms, yanked her forcefully from her chair, and frog-marched her over to Miles. A slimy smile crossed the Third Year's face as they plunked Tracey down beside him. He slung an arm around her shoulders like they were old friends. "Tracey! There's a good lass!" He gave her shoulders a little shake.

"What do you want?" she asked coolly, wishing he'd just leave her alone.

"No need to be rude, dear lass. I only wanted to warn you."

"Warn me?" she repeated, "Of what?"

"Why, warn you of detention with Professor Snape, of course." His eyes danced over to the others' faces before fixing Tracey with a sinister smile. "Professor Snape may be our dear Head of House, and sometimes he does seem to favor us Slytherins in Potions. But you must remember that he still holds his Slytherins to the highest of standards. So when one of his charges misbehaves enough to land detention, he takes it very, very seriously."

Tracey felt her stomach turn over. She didn't like the way he drawled and put emphasis on particular words, and she certainly didn't want to encourage him, but she couldn't stop herself from asking, "How so?"

Miles looked her dead in the eye. "Why, he'll beat you of course."

"What!" Tracey shrieked, no doubt her face drained entirely of color. She looked around at the others for some sort of backup, but they all looked very grave indeed.

Miles continued. "And he's ruthless, I might add. When I was a First Year, I stole a leaping toadstool from the Herbology greenhouse and Professor Sprout wrote me up. The next night, I got a letter from Professor Snape, just like yours actually, telling me to report to detention. Merlin, I was so scared—and for good reason too, I might add. Snape beat me so hard I couldn't sit down for days!"

"It's true," said another Third Year earnestly. "I'm his roommate. He slept on his belly for an entire week!"

Tracey felt lightheaded. "S-S-Surely, he wouldn't do that to a girl?" she squeaked.

Miles laughed coldly, patting her on the shoulder. "My dear, sweet, little Firstie," he drawled, "of course he would. This is Professor Snape we're talking about. He believes in equality of the sexes." Tracey gulped, and Miles gave her another little shake. "Now, let me discuss the procedure so you know what you're dealing with. First, Snape makes you take your robes off. If you hesitate, he'll charm them right off of you. Then he makes you go over his lap. And he yanks down your trousers and pants and gives it to you on the bare for a good five minutes or until you're bawling your eyes out! And all the while, he's lecturing you on your transgressions. And when that's done," Miles' tone darkened and he paused for dramatic effect. "He makes you bend over his desk…And he pulls this evil rattan cane from a little drawer…And he swishes it though the air so you can hear just how vile it is…And before you know it…CRACK!"

Tracey screamed as Miles slammed his hand hard down onto the table. "You're—you're lying!" she spluttered, but he shook his head.

"Am I?" he asked. "Would you put it past Professor Snape?" Tracey thought about that for a moment, her mind swimming with examples of Snape's severe attitude and ire over the slightest thing. No, she decided, she couldn't really put it past him.

Pansy reread the detention summons aloud. "'Rest assured, we will be eliminating this problem of yours,'" she quoted gleefully, "I think that pretty much speaks for itself, doesn't it?"

Tracey gulped audibly as Miles checked his watch. "Oh, dear me, look at the time! It's a quarter after seven. Pip pip, Miss Davis, better get moving! Professor Snape doesn't like to be kept waiting!"

As Tracey walked slowly to Professor Snape's office, she felt like a condemned woman marching to her death. Her heart thudded in her throat and she was utterly terrified. But her terror increased three-fold as she rounded a corner and nearly walked into Professor Quirrell who was deep in conversation with the last person she wanted to see; Professor Snape. "I-I-I" she stammered, praying Quirrell didn't think she was making fun of him.

Snape didn't even take his eyes off Quirrell before addressing her, his voice hardly more than a hiss. "Miss Davis, go back to your common room."

Pitifully, she held up her detention summons when she realized her voice had failed her.

He glanced at her again, distracted, before returning his penetrating black gaze to Quirrell's face. "I will contact you tomorrow with a new time, Miss Davis. Return to your common room. Now."

Tracey didn't need a twice telling. She turned on her heel and all but sprinted from the corridor, not stopping at the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room. She tore right by it and only slowed when she reached her Potions classroom. Once again, she pushed open the heavy door, found her jar, and cast the bluebell embers. She padded over to Snape's desk to lie down, hardly believing her luck at postponing detention. But then again—she rolled over onto her side and gazed into the embers—Miles had disclosed what her fate would be and it wouldn't be pretty any day. She shuddered, praying detention wouldn't be as awful as it sounded. Then finally, mercifully, after staying awake terrified out of her wits for several hours, sleep overtook her.

There was a whistle blowing in her ear. The Hogwarts Express? A tea kettle? Impossible. The whistle was accompanied by a cool breeze and a little bit of rain. Perhaps she was resting outdoors…

Groggily, Tracey opened her eyes, becoming aware of her Potions room and her nearly extinguished jar of bluebell flames. Instantly, the feeling of being watched hit her full force, and she realized she hadn't been imagining the bit about the rain. Her face was definitely wet! She snatched her jar and blew on the embers to stoke them, looking madly in all directions, feeling bile rise in her throat. And then she found herself face-to-face with an evil-looking man hovering just above her. His mouth split into a wide, wicked grin baring several teeth; his eyes danced manically. He took a huge breath, swelling himself up like a bullfrog, before blowing an enormous raspberry in Tracey's face, splattering her with more phantom saliva.

Her heart clenched as she scrambled backwards off the teacher's desk, falling into an ungracious heap on the floor. "AAAYYYEEEEEEE!" she shrieked, scooting backwards along the floor. She bumped into desks and knocked over several chairs as Peeves the Poltergeist dive-bombed her, cackling happily.

"Ickle Firstie out of bed! Ickle Firstie out of bed!" Peeves sang happily, zooming over to a supply cupboard and knocking it over with a clatter. Tracey screamed as phials and scales smashed and scattered across the floor with a clang that could raise the dead. The Poltergeist blew a final raspberry before disappearing through the wall.

Heart hammering and crying her eyes out, Tracey pulled herself into a little ball on the floor, wondering whether or not that Poltergeist could have stopped her heart. She had never been so distressed and scared in her life. Her bluebell jar had smashed at some point, so all Tracey could do was close her eyes against the darkness and wait. Wait for Snape to kill her, which probably would happen sooner rather than later, as the sound of his boots thundering down the corridor was growing louder and louder.

The classroom door flew open, smashing into the stone wall with a deafening clang. In a billow of black robes, Severus Snape appeared in the door way, illuminating every torch with a single flick of his wand. Tracey covered her face against the glare while Snape's critical dark eyes scanned the destruction, taking in the broken glass and upturned furniture. Finally, he focused in on the completely broken-down child on his dungeon floor. There was absolutely no color in his face as he strode across the room, grabbed the girl by the arm and yanked her roughly to her feet. His eyes were blazing as he threw her into one of the few chairs that had been left standing.

"Explain," he hissed.

For a moment, utter terror silenced Tracey, but Snape's palpable fury kick-started her voice. The whole incoherent story poured out. "I-I-I—didn't want to get pantsed—been staying here instead—too scary though—fell asleep in class—got detention—a-a-a-and Mi-Mi-Mi…" She spluttered; fear flooding her as she remembered what Miles had told her. "A-A-And I don't want—I don't want you to beat me with the caaaannneeee!" she wailed.

Snape leaned up against a desk, folded his arms across his chest, and quirked an eyebrow in response to that bizarre statement. The child had completely lost it, he decided. Her head was buried in her arms, legs pulled into her chest, rocking herself and bawling loudly. He narrowed his eyes and resisted stuffing his fingers in his ears against the din. The child was not regaining composure and her gasps suggested she was at risk of falling faint. He'd had about enough of this, and had half a mind to put a firm stop to it, but when he made a move towards the girl, she instantly sprang to life. Tracey scrambled off her chair, moving away from him until her back pressed into the cold dungeon wall.

"No, no, no, no, no," she chanted. Her fearful, saucer-sized brown eyes darted around the room as if looking for an escape. Finding none, they locked onto his. "I'm not gonna be able to sit for a weeeeek!" she howled, wringing her hands.

At this display, Snape stopped in his tracks, wisely choosing not to take another step towards the girl, who resembled more of a trapped animal than a human. When he spoke, his voice was cool and steady. "I do not know what you are expecting me to do to you," he breathed, "but I can assure you I will inflict neither physical nor psychological harm on you in any way." He raised his wand and murmured "Accio Calming Draught." He maintained eye contact and listened to the sounds of her labored breathing echoing off the dungeon walls. A small vial drifted through the classroom door right into his hand. "A Calming Draught, Miss Davis," he said quietly, levitating it over to her, "I daresay you are in dire need of one."

Slowly, Tracey raised a trembling hand and plucked the vial out of the air. She unscrewed the top and swallowed it in one gulp. Instantaneously, the potion took the edge off. The worst of her anxiety seemed to evaporate right out of her pores. "Ahh," she sighed involuntarily.

Snape waited a minute to be sure the Calming Draught was having its full and desired effect before addressing the girl. "You will report to your dorm room at once, Miss Davis, as it a quarter past two in the morning. Tomorrow, we will meet in the afternoon, as I have several important items to discuss with you…including why you have evidently taken up residence in one of my classrooms, why I have found said classroom in a state of utter chaos, and why you are under the false impression that you will be beaten with a cane in detention."

Apparently, his words did not have the desired effect, because at once, Tracey started screaming again. "No, no, no, no, I can't go back to my dorm room! Please, please, please, don't make me. Please!"

It had been a few years since Snape had seen a child in such a state of distress. He sighed, realizing he was in for a long night with this girl. "Miss Davis. Miss Davis," he barked sternly, cutting her off mid-cry. She caught herself and peered up at him through swollen, tearful eyes. "Evidently, this course of action is most upsetting to you. Instead, we will go to my office right now and settle these issues tonight."

Tracey seemed to sag with relief upon hearing this, causing Snape to smile slightly. "You—you promise?" She whispered, and with his nod of assent, she surprised him by launching herself across the room, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle, and burying her face in his robes.

Snape patted her on the shoulder, rather amused by the young Slytherin's display of affection. "Come on now, child, let's go. It is as if you were hit with the Jelly-Leg Curse." But she didn't let go and it took him another moment to realize she was crying again, except this time it was out of relief and was creating a damp spot on the front of his robes. "Alright now, let's go." Snape bent down and scooped the emotionally-wrought First Year into his arms.

Tracey didn't protest to being plucked up and carried like a child down the dimly lit dungeon corridors. In fact, it she saw it as an incredible relief. She took in deep, calming breaths, wrapped her arms around Snape's neck, her fingers clutching at the back of his robes. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, hearing nothing but the relaxing echoes of his boots against the stone floor. When she whimpered slightly, he tightened his grip on her and patted her back soothingly. "There there, Tracey, you're okay…" he promised, his voice somewhat detached. She nodded into his neck and hugged him tighter, smiling at the sound of her given name.

Snape unlocked his office door and walked straight through the gloom to a second door in the back, figuring the girl could benefit from a less intimidating location. He uttered a password and the second door creaked open, leading to his quarters. He stepped into his sitting room and made to deposit her on a sensible wingback chair close to the fire, but she looked up at him imploringly. "Sit tight, Miss Davis," he said curtly but gently, before disappearing into another room He returned moments later levitating a pot and two cups of tea, and lowered the set onto a sturdy wooden table.

"Thank you," she squeaked in a shaky, weak voice.

"Drink," he told her, taking a seat on the dark sofa opposite the table and her chair. "Yours is laced with another Calming Draught, as I am fully expecting another episode from you before the night is out." Tracey squirmed and flushed, becoming fully embarrassed by the fact that Professor Snape had to carry her out of the dungeon. He saw the look on her face and smirked. "Relax, Miss Davis. You are free to cry as much as you feel necessary."

She managed a single nod before taking a sip of her tea. The second dose of Calming Draught radiated relaxing waves through her body. She sighed in response to the pleasurable feeling.

Snape was quiet for a few moments, allowing Tracey to adjust to the potion in her system. He prodded the fire into a stronger, warmer blaze and sipped his tea before addressing the girl again. "I would like you to tell me why sleeping in your dorm room is suddenly beneath you," he said, his voice quiet and velvety, but with a slight edge to it, as if he was trying to check his natural sarcastic tendencies.

Tracey gulped. "I—I can't say," Tracey whispered, avoiding Snape's dark eyes and looking down into her teacup.

"I assure you, Miss Davis, you can and you will."

"I'm just afraid that—well, a lot of it has to do with my roommates. Well, all of it, actually," she told her teacup, still unable to make eye contact with Snape. "I'm worried that you'll think I'm not a real Slytherin if I rat on them…" She trailed off, hoping her professor would say something, but he stayed silent, watching her intently. She continued in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "Actually…I wonder if I'm even a real Slytherin sometimes. I don't feel like one…The other children…they hate me." She drew a shuddering breath and wiped the new wave of dampness from her eyes on the back of her sleeve.

She heard the rattle of china as Snape set his down his teacup. "Miss Davis—Tracey—look at me." She obeyed immediately and his dark eyes bored into hers. "There is a difference between 'ratting' and going to an authority when your safety and well-being are threatened. But your concern on the matter is most Slytherin indeed, and I would not fret over your placement if I were you." He paused before adding, "And for what it's worth, I consider you a valuable asset to my House and I wouldn't have you anywhere else."

Her look was curious, as if daring herself to believe it. "Really?"

He gently inclined his head, a small smile playing on his thin lips. "Really." She beamed.

She stared at him a moment longer, watching the orange glow of the fire cast warm shadows across half of his face. At that moment, Tracey realized she felt safer in Professor Snape's sitting room than anywhere else in the castle. She decided to open up. She told him everything; about how she didn't laugh when Neville took that tumble off his broom, about how her buttons scattered across the floor while her housemates chanted 'Racy Tracey!', and lastly, about how her roommates had treated her last Monday. By the time she told about Pansy's attempt to tug down her knickers, Tracey was crying again. "And that's why," she told him in a shaking voice, "I decided to sleep in your Potions room." He stayed silent as she described her terrifying, sleepless nights in the classroom, and how she nodded off in her lessons during the day.

"I see, Miss Davis." Snape looked very grave indeed. It was as if his mind was reeling; flashing back to events from his own school days. But he soon returned to the present and to the young girl before him. "As you know, there is no excuse for a student to be out of bed past curfew, nor is there one for falling asleep in class. But, given your situation, simply punishing you would not be prudent, as your actions were the result of several contributing factors. Rest assured, your housemates will be called to my office later this week."

Tracey allowed herself a deep shuddering breath and a long drink of tea. "Thank you for being understanding of me, sir. I know I still broke the rules and I'm still going to be punished, but…" she gulped audibly, thinking about Miles Bletchley's warning. "At least I know it won't be as bad since you understand."

Snape nodded. "We will be discussing the subject of your detention in due time, Miss Davis, but first, you will tell me how one little First Year girl managed to singlehandedly destroy an entire Potions classroom." She appeared startled, but relaxed when she saw he was smiling, clearly pleased with his own joke.

"I—er—well, it wasn't exactly 'singlehandedly', Professor. I had some—er—help."

Snape's smile deepened. "I figured as much, Miss Davis. Care to disclose?"

Tracey was about to launch into a description of Peeves' antics, but her nerves were still so frayed from his prank. She started trembling, and her eyes drifted over to the spot on the couch next to Snape. She fixed him with another imploring, brown-eyed stare, not knowing where to begin.

It was as if Snape could read her mind. His voice was velvety with a trace of wry humor when he spoke. "It's a quarter to three in the morning, Miss Davis, and here I am talking to you. As you can see, I'm feeling rather generous tonight." He took a deep breath, reflecting on how soft he'd become. "If sitting nearer to me would help speed this process along, then by all means, do come over."

Tracey didn't need another invitation. She was off the wingback chair in the blink of an eye and curled on the sofa, leaning into Snape in the next moment. Startled, Snape looked down at the brown head that had worked its way under his arm and was burrowing itself into his robes. Of course, he hadn't given her express permission to touch him, and he had half a mind to shove her off. But in the end, he decided that that would be counterproductive. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Whenever you're ready, Tracey."

Tracey's voice was muffled as she spoke into Snape's robes. She found it easy to talk to him, however, with his arm around her shoulders, as if that one protective gesture kept all the evils of the world at bay. Snape listened to the tale of Peeves' destruction and decided instantly that it sounded like very typical behavior for the school's resident Poltergeist. He put Tracey's mind at ease by regaling her with a few stories of Peeves' most notorious antics. He was pleased to see the girl look up at him, her cheek resting against his arm, a smile on her face as she listened to him. "So as you can see, Miss Davis, you are not the only one to have suffered at the hands of that good-for-naught phantom. And now you have a story of your own to tell."

She smiled, nodding against his arm before he redirected the conversation again.

"As you correctly guessed earlier, your detention will not be waived, as your actions have earned you one." He felt her bristle against his side as if she were planning to recoil. He held her fast, since, in Tracey's case, physical contact seemed to be most effective means of reassuring her. "However," he continued, "I think a suitable detention would be for you to restore my classroom to a semblance of its former glory."

"You mean—you mean you're not gonna…"

It was Snape's turn to bristle at the bastardization of the English language. "'Gonna' is not a word, Miss Davis," he hissed. "But to answer your inarticulately phrased question, as I have alluded to before, no, I do not intend on beating you with a cane. Neither now nor ever in your entire career at Hogwarts."

She turned into a dead weight in his arms, positively sagging with relief. "Oh, thank you, Professor Snape!"

"Yes, that's very good," he patted the top of her head and shoulders until she relaxed back into her former position of resting her cheek against his arm. "Now, I think, would be a good time for you to disclose why you thought caning was even an option."

Tracey sighed. After another brief reassurance from Snape that she wasn't being a 'rat', she calmly repeated everything that Miles Bletchley had told her in the common room. When she was through, Snape smirked wryly, muttering something under his breath about 'insufferable brats.' "Miles Bletchley told you a lie to entertain himself and his friends at your expense. Are you aware of that?"

"I am now, sir."

"I will be setting up a meeting with him as well," he muttered darkly. "As for right now, Miss Davis, it is an absolutely vile hour of the night and I have no idea what to do with you." He glanced over at an old rusted clock over the mantel piece and released a semi-audible hiss at the hands reading three AM.

"Sir?" Tracey asked gently. "Could I possibly spend the night here?" Her stomach turned at the thought of being sent back to her dorm.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid that would be highly inappropriate."

"Please? I just want to stay somewhere safe tonight." She cuddled a little closer to him for good measure.

Snape rolled his eyes. "You are acting quite bold, Miss Davis."

"I'm sorry, sir," a blushing Tracey said quickly, but Snape was already transfiguring the tea cosy into a heavy green quilt.

"All the more proof that you are a true Slytherin," he told her, standing up to drape the quilt over her. "I will summon a House Elf to sit with you tonight. Plan to meet me in your Potions classroom tomorrow at eleven for your detention. Understand?" She nodded her assent as he nudged her feet with one of his own. "Shoes off, will you, Davis? What, were you raised in a barn?"

Tracey looked like Christmas had come early as she kicked off her shoes and snuggled down under the warm blanket. "Actually, yes, I was. I grew up on a farm." She did not miss the very obvious smile that crossed his face.

Snape bent down to tuck the quilt more securely around her shoulders. He was surprised at himself, half wondering why he was being so gentle, and half fearing that it might ruin his frightening reputation. "Don't expect to make a habit out of this." She shook her head, understanding that sleeping on her professor's couch would be a one time deal. "But do remember that you are free to make an appointment with me at any time. Scary as I might be, I am your Head of House, and am required to take interest in the welfare of my Slytherins." He pushed a stray hair off of her face, and she blinked heavily and sleepily under the touch.

Then she said something that truly shocked him. "I am blessed to be a Slytherin. I have the best Head. Thank you for listening to me." She blinked a few more times under his warm hand before dropping off into the deepest, most restful sleep she'd had since arriving at Hogwarts.

Snape remained still for a few minutes, pondering the child's heart-felt words. He waited until her breathing became slow and even before summoning an Elf and retiring to his own room. He was not a typically sentimental man, but in cases of bullying, he was known to behave differently. He would not let anxiety and fear permeate every memory that child formed at Hogwarts. As he settled into his own bed and let sleep wash over him, he swore to himself that he wouldn't let the child—the little girl dozing so peacefully on his couch—suffer for seven years at the hands of bullies. Not if he could help it, anyways.

Which he definitely could.

AN: Thanks for the read! Hopefully you made it all the way down here. Yes, I know it was a long way. I really love reviews! ~Lillianne

And thanks to AnneNevilleReviews for helping me clean up some errors.