Here is a little fic that laid forgotten for years in my hard drive and that I finally decided to post… last year. Beta work by Stillhalfasleep, who may not even remember she did the job, but thanks anyway, dear! Set around OotP, in an entire different universe from Unforgiven Pride.

For Merlin's sake! Public Relations were Lucius's job, not his. But oh! How the blond had smiled and insisted, with his hand on his heart, "The man's your cousin, Severus! We really can't do without you. And he asked very specifically after you, you know."

His cousin. The present Head of the not-so-high-any-more Prince family, as Lucius phrased it, before adding, rather tongue-in-cheek, "Except for you, of course… But they still have money enough, I am told, and you know that our Lord needs it."

There was an implied threat there. Lucius did not need to voice it. Money flew freely from the Dark Lord's hands, particularly when it was not his own. Bribes and rewards could be incredibly generous but, when he was out of funds, the Death Eaters had to show how grateful they were and committed to the cause by giving their master access to their vault.

Snape had met his cousin a grand total of twice in his life, at family gatherings. The memories of these occasions were burned in his mind, but he had almost none of the man himself, amongst a blur of hostile or scornful faces.

He was only a boy then, about to enter Hogwarts, and paraded around to prove that, at least, he was a wizard. The next generous invitation had been after his OWLs and all the congratulations he got for his perfect scores had been an admonishment not to disappoint when he would take his NEWTs.

"If he had been a dog, he would have been wagging his tail," Lucius insisted. "He seems rather eager to sit up and beg, but he wants to do it for you." He paused, inclined his head, considering his friend. "You can't tell me you won't enjoy it?!"

Snape sneered. Yes, the Princes acknowledged him now, as proven by all the family announcements and attached invitations that found their way to Hogwarts and ended straight into the bin of Professor Severus Prince Snape, Head of Slytherin House.

But needs must, he told himself, resigned to a business dinner arranged by Lucius with Augustus Prince, and a handful of other sympathisers and prospective contributors with their respective Death Eater sponsors.

"At least you will escape the Yule leaving dinner at Hogwarts, for once," joked Lucius. "Just imagine, my friend," he said, in a tantalizing tone. "Fine dining, a good night in one of our best guest rooms…" His smile slipped a little and his voice hardened involuntarily as he breathed, "We can trust Narcissa to make sure of it," but he pulled himself together so quickly, Snape could almost believe he had dreamed it, if he did not know better.

"A handsome breakfast 'en famille'," Malfoy went on, as if nothing had happened, "And then… Imagine, Severus. Returning to the school in the glorious, chilly morning and..." He paused for good effect. "Not a student in sight!" He smirked. "It's me doing you a favour."

Snape almost smiled to his almost friend.

§§§

The pair of equally tall, thin, pale-skinned and raven-haired wizards saluted each other, Severus Snape with cold condescension and Augustus Prince with all the deference you must pay to a Barbarian chieftain who holds your life in his hands - or to a high ranking Death Eater.

For once, the Potions master felt grateful that the nose he inherited from his father always drew first looks, relegating the Prince family likeliness to the background.

The dinner went smoothly, if incredibly boring as far as Snape was concerned. Too much food, alcohol and so-called festive colours, not to speak of the insipid conversation. Obviously, you could not just truss up the rich geese, you first had to rub them up. It almost compared with Slughorn's idea of a little get-together, only with Lucius in the starring role. It did not improve his mood that he had to wear rich dress robes. He hated the way they impeded his moves and that some of Lucius's perfume still clung even after several purifying charms.

When Lucius opened bottles of a sparkling elf-made wine, Augustus Prince, intoxicated as much by the alcohol as by the company, began to express his admiration of the Dark Lord. Malfoy tutted and gave him a pointed look to remind him that he had not yet earned the right to call him that. He apologized profusely, calling him instead "You-Know-Who".

Snape's snort cut short the expression of his raptures. Prince instantly stiffened and swallowed hard, while bright red spots appeared on his cheeks. He looked uncertainly at his young cousin, as if expecting the worst.

All eyes turned to Snape, curious to understand what was brewing there between the Potions master and his kinsman.

They were met with a very thin smile, and an icy, very slowly articulated, "Who are you referring to, exactly?"

Cold fear showed on Prince's face. "I mean... I mean… Our great political leader?" he said as if he was not so sure himself.

"Of course," was Snape's only answer.

"Not that your own achievements, my dear cousin...-" He faltered under the unblinking stare of the "dear cousin" and looked despairingly at Lucius Malfoy who rose to the occasion, as usual, and turned the conversation towards more gratifying subjects – namely how to concretely express their appreciation of the great political leader.

The rest of the dinner carried on to its smooth, still boring end.

Augustus Prince finally left, having signed for regular financial support of a very discreet charity in a tax haven. A very significant financial support, that practically forced the other sympathisers to commit themselves more generously than they intended, to avoid looking mean and lose face.

The other Death Eaters present admired, but as none belonged to the intimate circle of the Malfoys or the Dark Lord, they did not linger and resigned themselves to take their leave, obviously frustrated not to be in the secrets of the Inner Circle but pretending in front of their sponsorees.

Lucius watched Severus, infinite amusement on his face as they walked together through the ostentatious halls of Malfoy Manor. "Profitable evening, wasn't it?" he said with obvious satisfaction. "Another batch of rich subscribers..."

"Is that what you call it these days?"

"Always so blunt," tutted Malfoy. "But I was right! We would have achieved nothing close to this result without you. And you must admit Augustus was ready to eat out of your hand if you had been a little more gracious."

"Don't complain, he ate in yours. And it is Augustus, now?"

Malfoy chuckled. "For the price, he deserves it."

"You will do what you want."

Lucius grinned sharkily. "And you will do just the same, as usual. Still, I don't need to be a Seer to guess that the dear Augustus could be even more generous if I promise him that you will soon display a greater appreciation for family ties, if he proves he shares the same values."

Snape could not answer, as the door to the Mistress's sitting room opened for them.

The Lestranges were already there. As they shared pleasantries, the Dark Lord joined them, with his inevitable pets, the snake and the Pettigrew.

Peter Pettigrew made himself almost invisible in a corner, although Bellatrix managed to kick him as he hurried past her. Voldemort fondled a rather sleepy Nagini, who was still in the process of digesting all the treats she had been bribed with by the house elves to stay away from them. He asked benevolently, "Did you enjoy the family reunion, Severus?"

"Somewhat."

"Severus opened his mouth twice and it was enough to get all we wanted from Prince, and even more," Lucius said appreciatively. "And he wasn't even polite."

Voldemort cackled briefly, "Tell me, I'm curious."

Lucius smirked. "So am I. What was that, the foot in the mouth your cousin nearly choked on?"

Before Snape could answer, he recounted the entire episode, complete with mimics and tone.

Everybody now hung on to Snape's answer.

"Nothing spectacular, I'm afraid, My Lord," he said mildly. "My great-grandmother Prince didn't tolerate loose language. I understand that she couldn't bear the usual epithets the rest of the family graced us with but as she couldn't stand either to have the name of Snape pronounced in her house, she insisted we were referred to in her presence as... You-Know-Who."

Laughter took a time to subside, Voldemort maybe laughing the hardest.

"I thought they had totally disowned your mother?" asked Narcissa, always ready to sympathise – all the more since she still missed Andromeda.

"As they had to," interjected Bellatrix, calling her younger sister to order with a stern look.

Narcissa gracefully acknowledged the lesson, echoing softly, "As they had to, of course. Still, it seems they did not cut all relationships with Severus and his mother."

Snape drawled, "They simply could not afford to totally ignore my mother. Some senile nutter in the family apparently forgot to cut her out of his will and she could lay claim to some small but apparently vital part of the Estate and the business. So, my grand-father insisted to... assess... my progress once I received my Hogwarts' letter. Something like keeping an eye on a high-risk investment I understand." He turned to Malfoy. "I'm sure there is a proper term for this, Lucius?"

"If they considered you had high potential, it's called Venture Capital," the blond answered seriously.

They all heard Bellatrix' loud snort. "Capital," she muttered, loud enough to be heard. "Capital bastard, yes. And nothing more than a half-breed."

Rodolphus glared at his wife, irritated by the pitying looks of the others – except Snape, of course, who made a point to ignore her. He was well placed to know that the silly bint he married could never let go of a grievance, but he was frankly tired to play the oblivious husband when she ranted jealously against Snape as if all she cared about him was his blood status or his supposed dubious loyalty.

It had been fifteen years, for Merlin's sake! But there had been Azkaban and the Dementors... Bella had spent the years there obsessing about power, blood and torture, and her unrequited love for the Dark Lord, of course. But also about Snape's betrayal when he dared ask to spare Potter's wife and give her to him – that odious, disgusting mudblood all males, even the Death Eaters and her own husband, watched hungrily wherever she went.

Not to speak of the worst personal sting, the day when Snape told the Dark Lord that, if he really wanted him to bed one of the Black sisters, he certainly preferred the blond, because he did not have to close his eyes and imagine someone else.

Rabastan sent him a seraphic smile that made Rodolphus long to hex him. Twisting the knife was all it was, as good as telling him that he may be the younger, unimportant brother but that he was at least blissfully free, being a bachelor. And as he once dared to phrase it, before his elder Cruciated him, "Our Lord can't fuck Bella proper any more, but he still loves to fuck with her brains."

As if it was not enough that his wife was unable to give him an heir and was a cheating bitch in the bargain, she was now raving mad as well – not that she had not been a little touched before, Rodolphus admitted ruefully. To top it all off, the Dark Lord so immensely enjoyed counting points that he could generally be expected to encourage rather than chastise Bella, even if it meant humiliating as faithful a follower as her husband.

It was better than one of his indiscriminately distributed rounds of Cruciatus to be sure, but damn irritating nonetheless. He would not even put it beyond their Master to have Snape brew some kind of fertility potion one day, give it to Bella and send her to bed with a random wizard (Please! Merlin! Not Snape again), while telling her the child would be His. And she would believe it, like everything else he told her.

He tried to evaluate when they would be free to leave and if he would have the time to find a little mudblood and make her pay for all the frustrations of the evening, or if he would have to make do with a girl of one of his favourite brothels – quite tedious, because it would cost a small fortune if he damaged her.

"Yeah, yeah," Rabastan's voice interrupted his bitter musings. "We all know your father was a waste of even mudblood space, Severus. I can sympathise with the Princes. It must have been enough to wear the patience of a saint to watch a mudblood eat proper wizard inheritance."

Bellatrix seized the opportunity of the round of false sympathy to approach the stoic, indifferent Snape and stage-whisper, "I didn't realize that 'mudblood' was considered loose language. Your great-grandmother must have been particularly uptight."

"No, my dear Bella," answered Snape coldly, "But the last time I checked, ''mongrel' and 'whore' still qualified in well-educated circles."

She stiffened. The words hung between them for a time, as their eyes met, suddenly conveying a burning "I remember everything, and every word" between them.

The others soon returned to ponder on Prince's donation and their budget, though Voldemort's eyes lingered a little longer on his two favourites, a faint smile on his lips.

Snape fervently hoped that he was not making plans to set him up yet again with Bella or another pureblood bitch. The sex was rarely worth all the bother, even if he knew that it achieved more than the Dark Lord's apparent wish to reward his trusted spy, desolately celibate at Hogwarts.

Voldemort enjoyed making all of them bend over backwards to fulfil his most outrageous wishes, but he was above all a man who bore grudges and never forgot a humiliation.

Particularly those he endured as a poor but handsome young man at the hands (literally) of pureblood bitches like Hepzibah Smith, who made Tom Riddle pay for everything with his person as well. Even her death had not been enough to quench his need for revenge.

The members of the Inner Circle never dared to acknowledge overtly that Voldemort was a half-blood. Bella was even delusional enough to refuse to believe it. It was a well-kept secret from the lower level followers, the only official acknowledgement of any blood line of his being that he was the last Heir of Slytherin.

'Rewarding' Snape afforded the Dark Lord a very twisted kind of revenge by proxy, by reducing to shreds the pride of his purebloods followers. He loosed his half-blood stallion on their females when they forgot who they were speaking to. Or when they went a little overboard with the insults about half-bloods when Snape irritated them – which is to say, practically all the time.

When she was sure nobody looked anymore, Bellatrix brushed against Snape. She could not help herself, despite everything. "I could almost be tempted to offer consolation," she whispered. "Remember... I am quite good at consolation..."

"Don't waste your pity on me, my dear Bella," he answered dangerously low, which made his voice the painful murmur of a razor blade on silk. "Being only a modest Potions master, I am sure you remember I have such an execrable taste."

Bellatrix gasped at the double entendre, the memories... She clawed his hand, leaving red, oozing trails. He did not even blink, but absently healed himself with a wordless, wandless spell and joined the others without even a glance back.

As Bellatrix flounced behind him muttering angrily, her sister somehow blocked her path.

Narcissa ignored her sister's shrewish, "So, you think that selfish little cur needs you to protect him?" and managed to enrol her in the happier task of handing his sainted cup to the Dark Lord and fawning at his feet. Platonic (Alas! Snake anatomy was not even remotely helpful) adoration of her Dark God never failed to placate Bella and Voldemort enjoyed bathing in said adoration – almost as much as in the refined sadism of using Severus against her or his decadent, over-confident pureblood followers.

He knew that the worst kind of hurt was the hurt to their pride. There was a time for crude, efficient punishment like Crucio, and there was a time for finesse... and enjoyment of their hypocrisy or servility.

He smiled to himself as Snape offered a grateful and warmer "Thank you" to Narcissa than the simple offering of a cup of tea warranted, which she answered with a cold nod but a slightly hooded, lingering look.

Lucius managed a thin smile, shrugged and turned back to his discussion with Rodolphus Lestrange who shrugged with the same fatalism. It was much safer to pretend neither cared about the way the Dark Lord chose to compensate Snape for failing to deliver James Potter's mudblood wife and keeping him fawning at the feet of Dumbledore nine months out of twelve in such a lonely, dismal hole as Hogwarts: by offering him "worthier women".

Their women.

At long last, Snape could invoke his duties on the morrow... No, it was already today now, he thought tiredly. He bowed before his Master, who caught his hand and made him lean.

"They're all yours, Severus," he murmured softly, tantalizingly in his ear. "You can arrange the Princes' fate to your pleasure, with my blessing. They are your family, after all... Your very own. And it wouldn't change the outcome, since you would inherit everything and you're already mine."

Snape stilled and dared look the Dark Lord in the eyes.

"Don't be so surprised. I still remember the feeling... And, this time of year, I find it exquisitely poetic to play Father Christmas to you, though I'll leave the look to Dumbledore."

"Thank you, my Lord," Snape answered as fervently as he could manage.

"Bellatrix would be happy to lend a hand. You owe her at least a little fun."

"If you say so." Snape's eyes swept over the room and his fellow Death Eaters. They certainly would be just too happy to oblige.

He shook his head. "With your permission, I think I will wait. We don't know yet… The Princes might still prove useful to your cause, apart from their money. But I'm grateful, my Lord. Nobody's ever..." Snape stopped, for once feeling at a loss, even as he felt Voldemort entering his mind.

He did not have to fake, for once. He saw his master through the red haze of never forgotten and never forgiven humiliation... Impotent rage... Wishes of revenge – and wells of bitterness for being born what he was and not what he should be. There was an echo that was not just him.

It was no act when tears welled in his eyes. The hooked hand played almost fondly in his dark tresses until he could blink them away.

Snape could not help wondering what it said about him and his place in the world that the Dark Lord, whom he dedicated his life to destroy, was the only one who could offer him genuine understanding.

The hand now pulled more insistently at his hair, though with no brutality, and Snape opened his eyes obediently, offering them to the Dark Lord, with his resentment against Albus Dumbledore and his self-righteous members of the Order of the Phoenix who dismissed him for an unemotional, unfeeling bastard but would just laugh in his face if he ever let them see that he could indeed feel.

His master already knew all there was to know about the Half-Blood Prince but he never seemed to tire of watching Snape's memories. He had been fascinated from the first time Lucius had deigned to sponsor Severus and introduce him. It had been quite a shock to everyone – the interested first of all – when the unattractive, awkward, almost outcast young graduate suddenly found himself amongst the favourites of the Dark Lord for no other apparent reason than a gift for the Dark Arts.

It was only after Dumbledore explained about another destitute half-blood named Tom Riddle that some idle remarks or favours suddenly made sense.

For once, there was no mistaking the worship on Snape's face.

Very satisfied with himself, the Dark Lord purred, "Go to bed, Severus, I can see you need it." Louder he announced, "Narcissa, will you make sure our spy here gets the proper warrior's repose?"

"With pleasure, My Lord."

§§§

On her return from holidays, Minerva McGonagall took stock of the remaining signs of a massive hangover on Severus Snape's face and general bearing.

In fact, he had been hungover every time Albus sought him out, since the students left. The Headmaster was rather worried, because he had no clue how to understand what ailed his Potions master.

As far as he knew, nothing happened. Severus had not been summoned since the Yule dinner party at Malfoy Manor, which was nothing more than a fund-raiser. There had been no owl or message, no hint of bad news.

On Christmas day, he had barely emerged from his drunken stupor to laugh and sneer when Albus Flooed in to see why he had not shown up all day, wish him a merry Christmas and deliver a box of rare potions ingredients.

He might dose himself with Pepper-up and hang-over potion, he looks dreadful, thought the older witch with did not really expect Snape to open up with her when he refused to confide in Albus, but she asked all the same, "How were the holidays, Severus?"

She was surprised when he declared sadly, "I was offered the best present I dreamed about when I was younger."

No doubt her face betrayed her shock because he suddenly realised he had volunteered personal information and sneered, "A pity I've outgrown such toys."

Without even a nod, the Potions master strode away briskly, leaving the Head of Gryffindor shaking her head before she walked to her duties, too.