The day had started so ordinarily, like any other. They had crept around the school, trying to avoid the Carrows and get through until bed-time. The pureblood revolution she had heard talked about for so long had quickly turned into a nightmare unless you were one of the chosen few, and Pansy Parkinson was no longer in that elite group.

To begin with it had all been so wonderful. Slytherin was the only House to be in and – yes – she had enjoyed the power her house and prefect badges had given her. She had free rein to bully and torment whomsoever she chose.

Then the punishments had started and she'd been expected to prove herself a loyal supporter of the Dark Lord which she did so willingly, at the start. The older pupils, Gryffindor boys especially, had been easy enough to curse and it had been a long time since she'd seen Longbottom snivel, just like he'd done in their first year. That it was her making it happen added a certain guilty pleasure to the situation.

She wished Draco had been there to see it but he, as he had predicted, did not return. He was out there, somewhere, at the Dark Lord's side as one of his trusted inner circle, Pansy had no doubt. He never wrote to her, which was upsetting, but she assumed it was because he was too busy. They had the old society to sweep away and a new one to establish. She would have to put childish notions like romance aside until the final victory had been achieved.

As the year progressed things began to change. Potter still hadn't been captured and rumours of terrorist attacks began to spread. Milicent Bulstrode's father had been ambushed on his way to a meeting in Godric's Hollow and was still in a coma in St Mungo's. Three muggle youths had been captured in the vicinity, and summarily executed, but everyone knew, deep down, that this had been the work of wizards. One of her own father's workshops had been razed, and the words "Death Lover" were daubed on the walls.

Within the school, constant demands were being made on pupils to prove their loyalty to the regime and any deviation from the party line could have dire consequences. Mistrust and doubts about the loyalties of one's House mates, room mates, even began to surface in Slytherin. A fourth year in her House had been caught listening to Potterwatch and was accused of consorting with the enemy. He had been dragged from the school by masked Death Eaters and his fate was unconfirmed, rather than unknown.

Her own downfall had begun one day in late February. She had been called from her class and told to present herself to second year Muggle Studies, taught by Alecto Carrow. She entered to find a girl huddled, shivering and crying, in the corner. She was a small, dark haired child, who reminded Pansy of herself when she was that age.

'Welcome, Miss Parkinson,' gloated Carrow. 'This miserable little wretch has informed us all that muggles are intelligent creatures. Can you believe that?'

'No, Professor.'

'Of course you can't. Nobody can. If this girl cannot learn she will have to be taught, won't she?'

'Yes, Professor.'

'Then teach her, Miss Parkinson. Teach her as only a pureblood can when faced with such stubbornness.'

As Pansy raised her wand the girl begged and soiled herself. Pansy didn't even make it out of the door before she vomited.

Pansy had not been punished for her failing, she was simply cast aside. Those who were still in favour ostracised her for her weakness, whilst those she had dominated and bullied outside Slytherin now took their revenge. It was never direct action, as a Slytherin she could not be beaten up, but she could be tripped or shouldered aside in the corridors "by accident", have ink poured in to her bag when she wasn't looking, or talked about as if she were not there. "Whatever became of Malfoy's slut?" they would say, loudly, pretending not to see her as she walked past. As long as you weren't seen by the teachers or enforcers there was nothing she could do about it.

Then it changed. Potter...Potter...was in the school and the Dark Lord was demanding him, or else. Pansy knew enough about his methods now to realise that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. If he attacked the school anything could happen. He would destroy anything, and anyone, that stood in his way to get at Potter and fulfil the prophecy. They were all going to die...unless...She had to do something. She had to stop the nightmare that would otherwise come and destroy them all. She was scared, that's all; scared and alone.

However, the memory of what she said that night would remain in the minds of those who heard her, those fateful words which would forever be associated with the name Pansy Parkinson. Nobody ever asked her why she said what she did, and wouldn't have believed her anyway. She was branded as the girl who wanted The Boy Who Lived handed over to Voldemort. She was seen and heard betraying The Chosen One. It was years later, and in a country far away, that she found out the significance of the name "Judas".

'But he's there! Potter's there! Someone grab him!'

All the other Houses stood and drew their wands, but they were facing the wrong way; not towards Potter but towards the Slytherins – towards her.

It was McGonagall, of all people, had saved her from being lynched on the spot.

'Thank you, Miss Parkinson. You will leave the Hall first with Mr Filch. If the rest of your House could follow.'

Pansy found herself leading her House out of the school to Hogsmeade, via a tunnel, and they followed her even though there had been differences in recent months. She had not been chosen as a prefect without reason and her sense of responsibility and duty to her younger charges took over. House loyalty was ingrained in her, like everyone else, despite everything. She saw the younger Slytherins safely home through the floo network, or hidden, before considering herself.

'That's it,' said Pansy, as the last of her charges disappeared through the fireplace. She looked at the small group of senior Slytherins who remained. 'It's our turn. We can get out of here, go home.'

'Are you mad?' asked Daphne Greengrass. 'You're going to miss this? This our big chance. This is where we make our names.'

'What do you mean?' Pansy asked. 'Don't you understand? There's going to be a war, and we're going to die if we stay here.'

'"And gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day." ' It was Theodore Nott, the most bookish Slytherin, who had spoken. 'It's you who doesn't understand, Parkinson. Anyone who's here with the Dark Lord today is going to be right at the heart of it. He'll never forget that we came to join him. There are only two sides now, so you'd better choose which one you're on.'

'Theo's right,' said Tracey Davis. 'You have to decide where your loyalties lie.' She took Pansy's hands. 'Come back to us, Pansy. Do what you know is right, and he will forgive your lapses.'

Pansy allowed herself to be led by the others towards Voldemort's headquarters. As they neared it a figure appeared from the gloom.

'Professor Snape!' they shouted, in relief. 'We've come to join you.'

'You bloody fools! Get out of here now, whilst you still have the chance. Go!'

'Severus? What do we have here?' They froze . The voice needed no introduction, even though they'd never met him. Voldemort stepped in to the light and none of them could bring themselves to look at his face. 'Slytherin volunteers to my army! I welcome you, my children; your loyalty shall not be forgotten when we have our victory.'

'My Lord,' Snape interjected, 'I have taught these children for many years. I can assure you they will be no assets to you. They will be a danger to themselves and anyone fighting alongside them. They are worth twenty men to those inside the school.'

'Come, come, Severus! I am sure they will fight well and bravely, yet...Blood will be spilled tonight and we, as a society, will need to make good our losses. These loyal young people have many years ahead of them producing fine, healthy children for my cause.'

Voldemort turned to them. 'Your professor is right, as professors tend to be!' They tried to return what they assumed was his attempt at a smile, but couldn't do it. 'You shall stay out of the battle, that is my order, but you shall help my fighters by bringing them refreshments and tending to their wounds.' Then he was gone.

Snape turned to them with a face more terrible than they had ever seen. 'Remember that I saved not only your miserable hides tonight, but your very souls. Would that somebody could do the same for me.' Then he, too, was gone.

War, as a camp follower, was not glamorous. They spent the night fetching drinks or stirring soup, and their only contribution to tending the sick was either cutting cloth into bandages or watching people die of their wounds. There was no rest and no thanks. Millicent Bulstrode began to complain they were being treated worse than House Elves and Pansy's retort that it was better than being a brood mare, which was obviously their perceived role for the future, didn't go down well.

By the early hours of the morning they were all deathly tired, and had no clue as to what was going on. All they could gauge about the battle was periods of noise and periods of quiet but they had no idea which side was winning or losing, if either.. Eventually they saw a small group of their side heading towards the school, as if in procession, and it was quiet again.

Then all hell broke loose as a much larger group swarmed through the camp, smashing everything in their path. Pansy was hurled to the ground by a curse and trampled in the melee. By the time she came round everything was still but the camp was in ruins, with bodies everywhere. She appeared to be the only one moving and took her chance to finally run.

Pansy found a large bush that offered shelter and she crouched under it, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself to keep out the pre-dawn chill. She was shivering enough from fear as it was and she wanted to stay as still as possible to avoid detection, by either side. In the dark and confusion either side could consider you an enemy and there was no time now for quarter to be asked for or given.

As dawn broke she heard a tumultuous roaring from inside the school. She knew, as soon as she heard it, that it was a victory roar but it came from the wrong side. There were too many young voices in it. This was the victory roar of the defenders, not the attackers, which could only mean that Voldemort was defeated. Pansy Parkinson had picked the wrong side and to the victor would go the spoils.

She stayed under that bush for...she didn't know how long. Perhaps she even slept a little, she didn't know. Eventually hunger forced her to move. She needed to get to safety. She wanted to go home. The rustling of leaves as she tried to escape her shelter immediately drew attention to her.

'There's one under here!' She heard footsteps running towards her cover and froze. 'Come out! We've got you surrounded!' Pansy lay still until a blasting curse struck close by, close enough she could feel the force from it. 'Come out or you get the next one! Makes no difference to us; you'll be just another corpse.'

Pansy pushed her way free, ignoring the branches that scratched at her face, and stood to face her captors. They were two men, thick set but with recent wounds. She didn't know who they were but assumed they were not on her side, whatever that was any more. They looked at her robes.

'Slytherin, eh? Is that was the master race do, hide under bushes? Name?'

'Lavender Brown.' It was the first thing she could think of. The heavy blow of a hand to her face knocked her to the ground and she looked up to see two wands pointing at her.

'Bitch! Lavender Brown's in the mortuary. She died a hero. Name!'

'Pansy Parkinson.'

She was dragged roughly to her feet.

'Arm!'

She didn't know what these men wanted with her, or who they were, so just stood, dumbly. She soon found out when she was grabbed in a headlock and her sleeves forced up. They were looking for her Dark Mark, the sign that she was a Death Eater.

'Her arms are clear, she's just one of their hangers on. Where's your wand?'

'I don't know. I ran away when we were attacked...'

'Attacked where? Answer!'

'Our camp, I don't know...I was looking after the wounded. Please, can I go home?'

She was searched for a wand, more thoroughly than was necessary, but nothing was found. 'You're going nowhere. Move!'

One of the men grabbed her arm and she was dragged towards the school. She couldn't believe the damage it had suffered. Walls were blown through and the main doors hung from their hinges. Inside she could see even more damage and a vast throng in the Main Hall, moving with the tired but upright stance of victors.

A man she recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt approached, and the men holding her adopted a deferential stance. 'Caught one in the grounds, Sir, trying to sneak out.'

Shacklebolt looked at her, his eyes filled with loathing. 'Parkinson.'

'That's what she says her name is, Sir, but I didn't recognise it. Is she important?'

'Please, I didn't...'

Shacklebolt turned away. 'She's the Judas. Put her in with the rest and we'll get round to processing her, eventually.'

She was frogmarched down a set of stairs. She knew where she was and hoped these men were taking her to the Slytherin common room, but they didn't. Eventually they got to a door, guarded by two further men.

'Open up, we've got another one for you. Not a Death Eater.'

'Checked her for a wand?'

'Thoroughly!'

'I bet you did!' said one of the guards, eyeing her, and the men laughed.

'Perk of the job,' said her captor, with a grin.

The door was opened and she was thrust roughly inside, tripping and falling to the floor. She looked up to see she was in one of the underground storage rooms they had jokingly called "dungeons" for years. There was no window, the only light coming from several lamps on the wall. This was a room that hadn't see daylight, perhaps, since the school had been built a thousand years ago. It was cold and dank and the walls glistened with moisture.

'Pansy! Oh, Pansy, you're safe!' Tracey Davis was beside her, helping her up and hugging her. 'I thought you were dead, along with...' She broke down in tears.

'Dead?' asked Pansy, in horror. 'Who's dead?'

'Daphne, and Theo, when we were attacked. I saw their bodies. I don't know where Mili is; I tried to find her, but...'

'What's happened?' Pansy asked her.

'I don't know, I don't know anything any more.'

'We lost, Pansy, that's what happened.' The voice came from the other side of the room, from the shadows where the lamps couldn't reach. 'We lost the war and now we're going to lose everything else; our homes, our money...our sons.'

Pansy moved towards the shadows, recognising the voice even through the thick layer of resignation.

'Narcissa?'

AN: The story idea was suggested by SnarkyAndProudHufflepuff 's "Challenging Pairing Challenge" topic/44309/97766068/1/The-Challenging-Pairing-Challenge

The title is based on a quote by Friedrich Nietzsche "The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind."

As always, I thank Euclidian for his amazing editorial work and ability to ask the right questions.