So I've decided to add two more bits to the first part. Well, they forced me to write them, really. The first is a continuation of the regular arc we know. Here it is.


It was dark as he hobbled back to the Slytherin dungeons. Nobody had better see him, he thought, his pain turning to rage. He stumbled and nearly fell down the stairs. Concentrating, he performed a Disillusio and slipped through the common-room like water, noting Lucius and Narcissa snogging by the fireplace with cold detachment. Potential blackmail material, he concluded, filing it away in his brain, and slipped up the stairs like a ghost.


The morning dawned bright and miserable. Severus had been kept awake most of the night by the pain, only falling into an exhausted doze as the grey light was beginning to outline the shapes of the beds in the dormitory. He'd healed the cuts on his chest, but there was nothing to be done about the stripes inflicted by the school cane. The black robes he favoured hid the blood, though, and he was determined not to show weakness. A night of sleeping on his stomach must have done him good, right?

Or so he thought until he entered the Great Hall.

Seeing his stiff gait, the Gryffindors smiled, some even sniggering. Potter and Black didn't dare say anything to him, not with Lily sitting there staring daggers at them, but their gloating, gleeful expressions seemed to surround him even as he turned, wrapping him in malediction. God knew it wasn't anything he wasn't used to on a daily basis, but it still turned his stomach, made him hate himself, the world and everything in it…

"What's up, Severus?" said Mulciber as he approached the Slytherin table. "Bloody Gryffindor-loving headmaster give it to you again?"

He shrugged as he made to sit down. It was nice to get some sympathy. Lily Evans could go hang. "Yeah," he muttered.

"One day," Avery chimed in, "we'll get back at them all…"

Severus lowered himself onto the seat, and gasped with pain. He stood straight up again.

James Potter sniggered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lily speaking sharply to James, the loathsome toad holding up his hands in protest, but it was all peripheral; the agonizing pain in his skinless, flayed flesh from hip to knee-hollow demanded his full attention. He grabbed up a roll from the table and took a savage bite to stave off his hunger pangs. "See you later," he mumbled to his friends with his mouth full, and fled.


How he dearly wished he could skive off lessons for the day. Unfortunately, today was Potions, his favourite—not to mention that Slughorn would not forgive the absence of his star pupil. Before that, though, was History of Magic—two classes sitting down. He didn't relish it, but he was strong. He could take it.

Slowly, he started towards the History of Magic classroom. Each step was as though he walked on knives, and he could feel the blood running down his legs again thanks to his ill-advised attempt at sitting. Walking got harder and harder, and finally, as he approached the classroom, he found himself leaning against a wall, panting. Just as well the corridors were empty; he didn't want anyone to see him like this…

"Hey there—you all right, mate?"

A tall, redheaded boy came up from behind him. Severus groaned inwardly. Even this wish was to be denied him, it seemed. "If you take the mickey, I'm cursing you."

"What?" Looking down at him, the face seemed genuinely confused. "No, why should I? I just—you seemed to be having a spot of trouble, I wondered if you needed help…"

The boy came around from behind him. A Gryffindor, older, not in his year. He couldn't put a name to the face yet. Purest of purebloods, mocked by the Slytherins for being a Muggle aficionado, so stupid he didn't know what electricity was, hopeless at brewing, had a girlfriend with big knockers. "Seems I can't get you lot to leave me alone." It sounded lame even to his own ears. Severus straightened, meaning to stalk off, but swayed with sudden dizziness.

The boy was at his elbow in an instant, supporting him. "Steady on there, mate…Oi!" He glanced down in alarm. "You're bleeding!"

Severus sneered up at the squeamish boy contemptuously. "What, you've never been caned before?"

"Hard enough to draw blood?" He stared in shocked sympathy. "Golly, no!"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. The realization that, even when they did get flogged, Gryffindors got off so lightly that the very concept of the cane drawing blood was inconceivable to them so incensed Severus that he moaned. The big lummox next to him pushed his pasty face and red hair closer to him. "Here, lean on me," he burbled. "Let's get you to the Hospital…"

Severus shoved him away so violently that he, Severus, stumbled and fell to the floor. Drat! "Get away from me!"

The Gryffindor knelt by him, still all stupid, anxious concern. "What is it? What's wrong? Where does it hurt?"

He slipped supportive hands under Severus' arms, bracing him, pulling him up. To Severus' shame, he was so weakened that he leant into the support so freely given, allowing the boy to pull him to his knees. Once upright, though, he realized what he was doing—accepting help from Potter's House. Terror swept him at the thought that the rest of the Potions class would soon be coming this way, and with them his friends, some already loyal to the Dark Lord, seeing him consorting with this—"Blood-traitor," he spat.

The boy reared back, then placed his hands on Severus again, gently. "What on earth is wrong with you?"

The tone was less offended than tolerant, chiding. Severus gritted his teeth. Like a big, affectionate dog, the idiot Gryffindor refused to take offense, couldn't understand when he wasn't wanted. The thought of dogs reminded him of Black and the werewolf, and the fierce anger gave him strength. "Get your hands off me," he said coldly. "Go back to your girlfriend—" her name came to him suddenly. "Prewett. Managed to get into her knickers yet? Heard the whole of Gryffindor Tower was getting stuck in with her…"

Painfully, stupidly predictable, Neanderthal Man from Gryffindor Tower could be guaranteed to bristle whenever his delicate womenfolk were insulted. "Shut it," the idiot snapped. "Right, I can see you don't want to be helped, but whatever somebody did to you, don't take it out on me. And leave Molly out of this." He rose to his full height—pretty impressive, the fool made up in height for what he lacked in intelligence—and strode off. Severus breathed a sigh of relief, and started the laborious task of getting back on his feet.

It was harder than he thought without anyone to help him up.


The start of the History of Magic lesson found Severus Snape standing at the rear of the classroom, in the alcove reserved for caned boys unable to be seated. The students filed in, and Severus wondered, not for the first time, why he wasn't able to just die from embarrassment. His Slytherin housemates refrained from teasing on general principle, because of the presence of the Gryffindors, although he knew a few, who resented his good marks, were secretly gloating.

There was nothing secret about the gloating of the Gryffindors.

"Ahhh, Sevvie. Hurts, does it?"

"Shouldn't have hexed Potter, snake!"

"Did he mark you nicely? Let's see, Snivellus."

That was Black, of course, walking up to him—Black by name and black by nature. Dark Arts, his foot—this boy was Darker than he'd ever be—"Let's have a look. Don't be so bashful, now." The boy's wand flicked at the hem of Severus' robes, and only Severus' grab prevented them from being lifted.

"Stop it!" Lily's voice rang out. "Sirius, stop it! James, stop him!"

"What for?" James Potter's voice was unpleasant. "Still fancy him, do you?"

"How dare you!" And with that, Lily slapped him.

Severus sniggered. That was the one thing that could have improved his day…

But Potter, in a fury, rounded on him. "Levicorpus!"

He tried to dodge it, but his reaction time was so depressed he couldn't even evade, let alone counter. In a flash, he was hanging upside-down in the position he detested. His robes hung down about his ears, but they weren't thick enough to muffle the roar of laughter that went up from the students as Potter flicked down his trousers with practiced ease and the roomful of students caught sight of his bleeding, flayed legs. The Slytherins, if they gloated, kept it quiet, but the Gryffindors made no secret of their glee.

"Whoa! He got it all right!"

"Ooh, does it hurt, Sevvie?"

"Teach you to show us all up at Potions!"

"Swollen Snivellus!"

The room filled with jeers and catcalls. He felt their dislike swirl and eddy around him as they yelled choice comments about his anatomy and the effect of the caning on his future sex life and virility. His face flamed, and he wished for death. It was clear, though, that for most of them, this was a capital joke at his expense. Or perhaps the expense of Slytherin House, or just of those who didn't like Potter—he couldn't tell which. But as he hung there, hearing them laughing at his pain, he vowed to have his revenge. That girl saying he wouldn't be able to 'take it up the bum' any more, he'd see to it she was screwed by a dozen Death Eaters. That rat Pettigrew with the high-pitched, wheezy laugh, he'd gut him and watch him die as he heard his screams. Potter he'd burn alive. Black—

The laughter never ceased as Lily hit Potter on the arm. "Liberacorpus," came the subdued incantation, and he landed in a heap on the floor.

"Now, now, settle down, students. You may stand, but no lying down in class, Mr Snape."

Boring as ever, Binns came into class just in time to see Lily stalking out of the classroom, James chasing her out like a lovesick puppy, and the rest of the room in an uproar as Gryffindors and Slytherins hurled insults at each other. Severus struggled to his feet, smoothing down his robes to cover himself,

The class subsided, and the taunts and insults devolved into hissing and evil glances directed at him, standing there trying to remember what Binns was saying as the rest of the class took notes about the Land Reclamation Project of 1183.

About halfway through the class, he began to note that Binns' voice was even ghostlier than ever. The man is fading before my eyes, he thought. The tedious voice droned on, and he wondered why it was beginning to buzz.

He only noticed something was amiss when the classroom began to tilt.

Oh, no! He tried to right himself, but it was too late. His ears filled with a rushing, roaring sound as the effect of standing so long took its inevitable toll. If he could just get his wand-hand to his pocket and incant Enervate – he tried to move it, but his limbs weren't responding to his commands. He barely managed to break his fall by bracing himself against the wall as he slid to the floor.


The warm feeling of being in bed dissipated as he blinked his way to consciousness. It came back to him, with sick misery, where he was, what had happened. The first thing he did was try to struggle to his feet, and was unsurprised to find his feet shackled with an Impediment Jinx. He fumbled in his pocket for his wand—thank goodness he'd fallen on it, else someone might have liberated him of it—and cast a silent Finite through his robes.

Listening, he was able to make out, "…and so the Project succeeded in returning various tracts of land to the Merpeople. The effort at re-flooding them we will be discussing next week." There was no way of hearing Binns' ghostly presence as it floated out, but the hubbub of raised voices indicated that the lesson was now at an end.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

As he did, a chant rose up. It started low, but steadily increasing in volume as more voices were added. " Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted!"

God, he hated their taunting, ugly voices. He wished them silent—"Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted!"—he wished them dead. He wished for a chunk of plaster to fall from the ceiling and crush them. He'd dance on their mangled corpses. "Snapey fainted! Snapey fainted!"

He rose to his feet, trying to ignore them. But a group of them gathered round him, dancing around him in a circle. " Snapey-Snapey fainted! Snapey-Snapey fainted!" He clamped his mouth shut. He knew, from past experience, that anything he said would be taken and twisted against him.

One of them cried in a sickeningly-sweet voice, "Oo, I'm Sevvie, I'm a girl! I'm swooning!" Raucous laughter burst out. He fantasized about grabbing those sneering lips, slicing them off, watching the mutilated mouth scream—

Eyes down, fixed resolutely on the floor, anger roaring in the top of his skull, he turned blindly to go. His hand touched a Gryffindor boy.

"OW! He hexed me!"

The boy screamed, and Severus looked up in astonishment. He'd have liked nothing better than to hex the damned fool, but he hadn't. And yet the boy was holding up his arm, and the sleeve of his robe had a smoking, hand-shaped hole where Severus had touched it.

Some of the girls screamed, and a few of the boys took a tight grip on their wands. "Right, you started it."

He could see it, frozen in slow-motion. The fight – the consequences – the return to Dumbledore's office for punishment for the second time in as many days. He had to avoid this unthinkable consequence, and while there remained anything to do to save himself, he would. And he did, hating himself, them, and life:

"Imperio."

He knew he was a powerful wizard, and the sight of them all, slack-jawed and gormless, hardly surprised him. He elbowed through the mob, making good his retreat. But he paused at the door. Much as he would like to order them all to gut and disembowel each other, he could hardly do so without fear of detection.

He sighed. There was only one option for a good Slytherin to take. He raised his wand.

"Obliviate."