A/N: I've been planning this one for a while. I never write Snape-centred fiction, but I loved writing him. I love Snape as a character, even though I hate him as a human being. Truthfully, a lot of me went into writing him (that's not something I admit proudly) but I hope you get a sense of his bitterness in this. Reviews are very very very appreciated.

The Slug Club.

The hum in the room was so cheery it seemed artificial. A brass band was performing on a raised platform, the musicians attired in gold dress robes. House elves flittered about offering food in lilliputian portions. People chuckled, chatted and took their chances with the nonentity celebrities; all false smiles and flattery.

Lily was holding a fluted glass filled with something fizzy. She was smiling as if to herself. Big, gold hoops dangled from her ears, swinging as she nodded her head along to the music.

Severus awkwardly manoeuvred his way through the older students to get across to her. No one made an effort to acknowledge him as he tried to push past, forcing him to retract his limbs at odd angles to squeeze through. By the time he had reached her, he'd already decided it was best to leave.

"I think they're famous," Lily mused, motioning towards the band. "I think Marlene's mum was playing them when I went over her house once."

"Why does it matter?"

His abrupt tone caught her attention. She probed him with her generous eyes. "What's up, Sev?"

He finally allowed himself to study her properly. Her dress robes were flowing and long, the material rich. Her make up was heavy and her fingers were pregnant with rings. Big, bulky ones that he thought were garish. But she'd gone to a lot of effort. That's what he took away from the assessment. Although she had underplayed it, she had been genuinely excited about the invite. He felt a pang of guilt as he complained, "I want to go."

"But we've only just arrived!"

Why was she always so shocked when he expressed his desire to withdraw? She knew how he loathed this sort of company. He had painfully explained how awkward he felt around these sort of people. Everyone was so well dressed—even their skin seemed to be of a finer quality than Severus'. He was aware of how oversized his dress robes were. Second hand, not in bad shape, reasonably new with a wide floppy collar. But they were big and slack and fell limply around his body, like a scarecrow's sack of an ensemble. Highly self-conscious, he kept pulling up the sleeves. He hadn't noticed at all until he'd put them on in his room and Mulciber had taken the piss out of him. "Who the fuck are you trying to impress, Snape? You look like a fucking bat." All of his friends had joined in on the taunts. "Poor bugger, can't even pay for new dress robes," they lamented, pushing him about. But they reassured him that they were only taking the mickey, and had quickly grown bored and moved on from the subject anyway. Still, it had put a damper on his confidence.

His self-consciousness was heightened because they were the youngest in the room. It didn't matter for Lily. She was striking and well known, and the older students greeted her in passing with "Alright Evans?" and "Enjoying yourself Lily?" None of them spoke to Severus, despite the fact he stood beside her.

"What the fuck am I doing here?" he muttered, plucking a glass off a passing tray.

"You were invited. You deserve to be here."

He sneered at Lily, wishing he could tell her to grow up. No one cared if you were invited unless you mattered.

He spotted Slughorn moving through the crowd, first identifying him by his pretentious chortle and then by his robust belly. His dress robes had a superfluous tailcoat that flapped about him as he turned from student to guest. Severus recognised a Quidditch player but couldn't name him or even think of the team he belonged to—he never much cared for Quidditch.

He knew that Lily was flattered to be a part of the Slug Club. She loved this sort of rubbish, because it gave her the opportunity to feel connected and important. It was a big deal in her eyes, being the only Fifth Years there. He watched her as she watched the room, gazing at those who were dancing. He watched with bitter ire as her eyes came to rest on a tall boy in the year above. He was handsome and blonde, dressed in yellow robes and platform shoes. Awful. So flamboyant. And yet, Lily was fixated on him.

"You know Patrick—"

"Who?" Snape demanded.

"Patrick Sullivan. That blonde boy. He's Hufflepuff Keeper."

"Why would I give a damn about Patrick Sullivan?"

Lily sent him a pointed look. "Well, he's nice to begin with."

"Nice to you, maybe."

"Stop being a prat. Look who he's talking to. Is that Ruslana Lynch?"

Severus' beady eyes now snapped in the Hufflepuff's direction. Lily was right. Ruslana Lynch was listening to Sullivan prattle on, all the while wearing her trademark lofty expression. She was obscured by beautiful fur trimming around the collar of her cloak. Ruslana Lynch. Standing only ten metres away. "Merlin's balls. It is."

His eyes flittered back towards Lily in time to notice her alarm. She clutched her glass tightly. "Can't believe Slughorn invited her. Do you reckon he taught her?"

"I'd assume so," Severus replied. "He collects students, you know. The promising ones."

"Lynch, though. That's a tad controversial. She supports all that bullshit about Donovan's Social Pyramid."

"Yeah, but she's a brilliant Dark Arts trader."

"Right, because that's a reputable job," Lily rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her glass and keeping her eyes on Lynch. "Especially after that scandal in the papers about her harbouring illegal, magical artefacts."

"So what? She's good at what she does."

"But she's not a very good person."

"But why should that matter?" Severus persisted. He could tell that Lily was getting frustrated so he bit his tongue, sensing that he'd already said enough. He wondered if he could rectify this. "I'm just saying, Slughorn had a reason for inviting her, you know? He keeps in touch with the rich and powerful."

Lily shook her head, staring into her glass.

Great, he'd already fucked things up and it was only eight o'clock. He would have been keen to talk to Lynch, and had been genuinely excited to recognise her. But he'd stepped on Lily's toes, and there was hardly a way to withdraw from the hostility between them. Showing interest enough to persist in a conversation with the witch would only aggravate the issue. Lily was refusing to look at him, firmly staring ahead at the room. He sighed in frustration, feeling an ugly flush crawl into his pallid cheeks. He knew he had to make things right if he wanted the night to be bearable. He swore beneath his breath, swore into his glass as he took a gulp.

"Sorry, alright?" he spat. The apology only seemed to injure her more. He tried to make his tone less harsh. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Of course not," Lily replied sarcastically. "You never mean anything by it."

He wanted her to just accept the apology so they could both be on the same side again. "Why are you taking it so personally?"

"Who are the rich and powerful, Sev?"

"What?" He blinked in surprise. What the fuck was she on about now?

"Never mind," she huffed, looking away.

She was letting it slide. He exhaled, glad that she wasn't going to hold it against him. He finished off his drink and turned to her. "We should go. Let's have a fag."

Lily sighed, fingering her glass. Her eyes flittered around the room, as if she wanted to be in anyone's company but his. She couldn't stand his whinging. "It's only been half an hour."

They were both scowling. Severus was sweating terribly. He just wanted to leave, or at least sink into the wall behind him and disappear. Lily seemed to have other plans. She was watching those who were dancing on the small dance-floor with longing in her eyes.

"If you want to dance, just go," Snape said.

"But I can't dance alone…" she sent a pointed look in his direction. His stomach flipped. He shook his head before she even began to ask. "Please, please, pretty please?"

"There is no way in hell, Lily."

"You just need to loosen up!"

"That's impossible."

Panic was setting in, and he began to sweat even more profusely. His hands were slick.

"Fine," Lily replied coolly. She handed him her empty glass and stalked directly over to Patrick Sullivan, tapped him on the shoulder and presented him with her best smile. He laughed at whatever it was she said. He offered his hand, and she accepted, and so, Sullivan led her towards the dance floor.

Severus was stunned, standing stock-still with both empty glasses in limp hands. Did she fancy Sullivan after all? No, Lily couldn't possibly fancy that smarmy bastard. She couldn't fancy him, he was a complete shithead. The only reason he was in the room was because he could catch a Quaffle. No, Lily couldn't possibly fancy him.

She was doing this to punish Severus.

Feeling bitter, he planted the glasses on a nearby table and stormed towards the door. His angry exit was intercepted by Avery. "Leaving already?"

"Yeah."

"Spoken to Ruslana yet?"

Out of all of his friends, Avery was the one Severus trusted least. This was, in Severus' mind, an indication of Avery's cunning. Where Mulciber was brutish and rash, Avery was always cold and collected. So, if the question had come from Mulciber, Severus wouldn't have minded. But from Avery, it was loaded.

"Decided not to," he said, trying hard to appear nonchalant.

"What's stopping you?" Avery's blue eyes were piercing.

"Nothing. This party is shit so I wanted to take off."

He began to move towards the door, in an attempt to circumvent both his friend and the impeding conversation. Avery intercepted Severus once more, deliberately stepping in front of his path. He was almost as thin as Severus, with a gaunt face and ash blonde hair that gave him the appearance of an old man trapped inside a young body. Physically, he was hardly any more intimidating than the scrawny, weedy boy in front of him. He was all thin lines, like a stick drawn figure. But Avery's gesture carried weight behind it. Authority. Severus couldn't challenge it. "It's Evans, isn't it?"

He shook his head, wishing she could be left out of it. He hated his mates talking about Lily. Whether it was to use her as the prime example of a mudblood or to talk about her budding body, he had a great distaste for their conversations. Her name in their mouths was a curse, and it made him cringe.

Avery was aware of that.

He clasped Severus' shoulder, gripping him tightly, with great urgency. "Lynch is on the same page as us, you know? She understands that life is a struggle. The weak have to be crushed."

Severus wanted to tell him that Lily wasn't weak. She was one of the brightest in their year. She was daring, much more daring than Severus. She was not weak. But he didn't have the balls to say it. He chewed the words in his mouth and swallowed them down. His friend scoffed, unimpressed with the silence. "Just fucking shag her and be done with it. I'm sick of you trailing after that mudblood like she's worth a damn."

He shrugged Avery off. He wanted to retreat. Avery sensed his discomfort and knew that he had achieved his objective. He began to slink towards a group of older Slytherins. He wore a smug smile. "See you later, Snape."

Even the prospect of leaving no longer held any satisfaction. To leave now would not be a defiant withdrawal; it would be a shameful retreat. Severus stirred, unsure of what to do. He wanted to march right over to Lynch and demand a conversation, as if to prove himself. He also wanted to march right up to Sullivan and punch him in the face. In order to compromise, he sprung forward and took another glass off a tray, took a sip, and refused to do anything.

Lily wasn't a mudblood. She wasn't weak or unclean. She was here, wasn't she? She was here out of her own merits. She was outstanding. She had influence. More influence than Avery did.

Too much influence, Severus thought, as he eyed Patrick Sullivan, who laced a hand around Lily's waist. What a dope, he thought. Absolutely moronic. Something snapped. He wasn't sure what motivated him to do it, but he did march right over to the pair to interrupt their dancing. Severus thrust his drink into the Hufflepuff's hands. "Mind if I cut in?"

Sullivan gaped at him. Lily grinned, impressed. "Of course not!" she waved Sullivan off. "Thanks for the dance, Pat!"

Lily weaved her hand into the crook of Severus' arm and pulled him towards the other dancers. She beamed at Severus when she stopped and faced him. Clearly this bold gesture had atoned for his earlier mistakes. Still, the prospect of now having to actually dance did not enthrall him. He felt his entire body stiffen in response to the saxophone's solo. "I don't know why the fuck I did that."

Lily rolled her eyes, taking his hand and pulling him along to the music. She danced naturally, as if she were a leaf responding to a breeze. She gracefully embraced the rhythm with her lissom limbs. In contrast, he could feel his body locking up more and more until soon he was twitching rather than dancing.

Lily laughed. "You're such a spaz."

The song graciously came to an end with a smattering of applause. Before Lily could encourage another, he dragged her off the dance floor. She wrapped an arm around him and led him through the crowd. "Was that really so bad?"

"It was awful."

She smiled at him and he felt her arm tighten. "There can be worse things than dancing."

They found their way to one of the bay windows and leaned into the sheer, gold drapery. Finally, they were feeling comfortable again. They watched the room, commenting on the celebrities and the fashion interests of their peers, laughing at the idiot who showed up in paisley dress robes. He didn't so much mind being the youngest of them there when they were being so unobtrusive. It was nice to just observe—to not get involved. To not be dancing or fighting or mingling. This was easy. How easy it was to be unattached beside Lily. How much more easily they got along.

Lily smiled at him, her green eyes darting over his robes. "You look positively dashing, by the way."

"Shut up," he grumbled. He paused awkwardly. "You look really nice."

She beamed back. Her smile was contagious. It made his mouth twitch in the best possible way.

"Miss Evans! Mr. Snape!"

They both flinched palpably. Slughorn waddled across towards them. His walrus moustache rippled beneath his rosy cheeks, and the tailcoat of his fern green dress robes flapped in his excitement. The two teenagers exchanged quick glances, and Lily straightened up.

"Hello Professor."

"Is my star duo enjoying the party? Have you tasted the bat liver canapés? Lily, my, my. You look radiant."

Lily smiled weakly.

"And Mr. Snape. I was meaning to ask you if you'd met Ruslana Lynch."

Ah. Shit. He could feel Lily tense beside him. He suddenly wished she could understand what it would mean for him to talk to her. He swallowed his pride. "No, I'm not really interested in meeting her."

"No?" Slughorn replied. Severus could feel Lily studying him with sceptical eyes. "Severus, I insist. She's the reason I can procure such fine boomslang skin," he said with a cheery wink.

They were both towed towards Lynch, and at least Severus could pretend it was against his will.

Lily wasn't buying it though.

Ruslana Lynch was a beautiful woman who had aged elegantly into her forties. Her skin was tight, except for a few select wrinkles that were carved around her mouth, permanently pursed in a scowl. Her eyelids were heavy, drooping over an unimpressed gaze. She held a long cigarette holder which she hardly bothered smoking. As Slughorn pained himself with the formalities of flattering the infamous witch, Severus exchanged a pleading look with Lily.

With a blatantly forced smile, Lily introduced herself to Lynch and the wizened, gold-toothed man beside her. They were integrated into the previous conversation very poorly.

"We were just discussing Carlotta Pinkstone's latest demonstration," Lynch said, lazily examining Severus' robes.

"Carlotta Pinkstone," Severus said surprised. "You mean—"

"The witch who deliberately used magic in front of all those muggles," the wizard supplied. "It was in the papers recently—"

"Azkaban," Lynch finished. "Ten year sentence."

"She'll be out for parole though," Slughorn added hastily. "It's not as if she killed anyone."

"She might as well have," the wizard replied. "The Ministry takes the Statue of Secrecy very seriously."

"The Statue of Secrecy," Lynch mused for a moment. "enacted the same year as the Salem Witchcraft trials."

"1692," Lily responded.

All three adults turned to look at her. Severus closed his eyes, wishing he could disappearing through the floor. There was an awkward pause. The gold-tooth wizard took a nervous gulp of his drink. Slughorn chuckled uneasily. Lynch examined Lily Evans, unimpressed.

"Without the Statue of Secrecy, we wouldn't have such wonderful education facilities," Slughorn said diplomatically.

"With the Statue of Secrecy, we must send our children away to hide in an unplottable castle to ensure their safety," Lynch replied darkly.

"What are you suggesting?" Lily's voice was bold and ready for an argument. It was the voice she used for her stupid muggle-loving egalitarianism. "It's unrealistic to strive for a utopia where we can all get along—"

"No, but we can strive for a society where there is no persecution from muggles."

Persecution from muggles?" Lily spat. "Which side has been doing the killing!"

"Now, now," Slughorn said nervously.

Lynch drew herself up to her full height. She was terrifying. "I think you've forgotten the witches and wizards who were burnt at the stake."

"And you're forgetting the pureblood maniacs that are killing off muggleborns—"

"Scum. They need to be weeded out."

Lily looked genuinely shocked. She spluttered. Her face was turning red. Severus reached forward to grab her arm, as if restrain her.

"You—you—arrogant—disgusting—if anyone is scum it's you."

She took a quick step back, as if reeling, said goodbye to Slughorn and stormed out of the room. Lynch scoffed, clearly pleased with herself, but no one else moved in their little group. Severus felt sick. His eyes flittered from the door to Lynch to the rest of the room, as if terrified that someone had seen it all. His hands were slick again.

Why did Lily have to be so damn dramatic? Why did she have to care?

Slughorn teetered on the spot, mirroring Severus' uneasiness. "Oh dear," he said anxiously, but more as an attempt to reconcile the situation.

"It's fine," Severus said. "She just gets worked up sometimes."

"Silly girl," Lynch said.

The rest of the conversation was a blur. Not longer did Severus care about meeting Ruslana Lynch. That had all been spoiled. He felt awkward and distracted and unable to enjoy himself. His shoulders were bunched up under his ears. He just wanted to leave, now more than ever.

When it seemed a polite enough interval in the conversation, he thanked Lynch and said goodbye to the others and finally retreated across the room. No one tried to stop him from leaving.

He knew where Lily would be.

He arrived at the Astronomy Tower to find that she was not crying, as he had expected, but that she was sitting stonily on the edge of the rampart glaring up at the night sky. Her skin was white in the pale light of the moon. There was no real sense of solitude, for the night pressed its cold face against their bodies. They always came up to the Astronomy Tower, even though it was out of bounds. He walked up to stand near her. The very weight of his presence must have been felt, but she never acknowledged it. Maybe it wasn't as weighty as he thought.

"Do you want a cigarette?" he asked because he had no idea what else to ask.

After a long pause, she nodded. He fished one out of his pocket and lit it with his wand. He let her have the first drag, and then decided it was acceptable to sit down beside her. She still didn't look at him.

"I didn't agree with anything she said," he told her, almost defiantly.

"I never said you did."

"So what's your problem."

She sighed, seeming sad that she had to explain it. Lily sighed a lot around him these days.

"You said Lynch was one of the rich and the powerful. And people like Lynch are the ones in control."

"Well, not always—"

"No," Lily said. "That's exactly what you meant by it when you said it."

He huffed.

"And I, by very nature, fall into the latter category. I'm the scum, I'm the one who needs to be weeded out. I'm weak. Isn't that right?"

"She never called you weak."

"But that's what she meant, wasn't it?" Lily replied cuttingly. "It's survival of the fittest, isn't it Sev? And according to who is powerful and who is weak, I won't be the one surviving."

He hated her for saying this. For the truth of it.

"But you're not weak."

"What difference does that make?" she snapped. "What different does that make when I'm not the one who decides who lives and dies?"

He didn't want this shoved into his face. She never let these things drop. She just couldn't see it from where he stood. He was a half-blood. He was in the in-between, neither identified as the weak or the powerful.

Lily wouldn't die. She was stronger than him and she was cleverer.

But if she kept insulting people like Ruslana Lynch then she was practically asking to be exterminated.

"You're not weak," he repeated again, almost sadly.

She nodded. "I know." The way she looked at him, it was clear that she though he was the weak one. He was. He was the weak one. She handed him back his cigarette with a sense of finality. "I'm not scared either."