Summary: It isn't easy to get to close to Severus Snape. It's not impossible; after all, sometimes one simply falls into unusual friendships. The problem is, there is frequently an obstacle in the way. More often than not, that obstacle is Severus Snape.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: Tremendous thanks to the Harem Ladies, most especially Susan, and to my beta, June.

Chapter 2

When Narcissa turned sixteen, it was Eris Snape who arranged a party for her niece. She considered it an honor to hold it at her house. It also happened to be Severus' ninth birthday, but that did not seem to concern anyone. All of the Snapes' and Narcissa's friends and acquaintances were invited. Severus had no friends to invite, but did not really care. In fact, he thought it was a perfect excuse to remain in the dungeon and stay out of the way of his parents, the Trolls and Narcissa's friends. Unfortunately for a boy with his name, he had a noticeable lisp, and Narcissa would call out in a crowd of her friends, "There's my cousin, Theveruth the Thlimeball!" At nine years old, based strictly on appearance, the nickname was really undeserved. His pale young face was as yet unblemished, and his hair was actually quite nice - thick and black, if a bit unruly. Of course, spending his time in the dark dusty dungeon, exposed to all sorts of fumes, tended to make it limp and lifeless, but it only took a good scrub to bring back its luster.

Severus had remained in his room most of the day, to avoid the hustle and bustle of preparations being made for the party. Mother appeared at his bedroom door. "The party starts in half an hour and you haven't even started to get ready!" she shrieked at him.

"I'd rather not." he responded in a softly defiant voice.

"You will make it your business to look presentable and attempt to make a good impression on our friends - especially the Malfoys!"

Why? You certainly haven't gone to all this trouble for my benefit, he thought. He slowly hissed, "No, I will not!" and waited anxiously for her to banish him to the dungeon.

"You're a nasty little boy, who refuses to cooperate!" she spat at him. "And you are not going to hide away this time. Go and wash that filthy hair, right now!"

He glared at her, trying to control his temper, but he felt his face growing hot and his temple pounding. Clenching his fists, he shouted "No!" Then he took a deep breath, reined in his anger and hurt, and whimpered pathetically, "Mother, I am sorry. Please do not send me to the dungeon."

His mother laughed unpleasantly. "You're not fooling me, boy. I know that is what you're hoping I will do." Severus' heart sunk. She asked again, "One last time, are you going to clean yourself up?"

His face contorting with anger, he shouted "NO!" His mother looked at him in a strange, cold way. She pulled her wand from her robe and pointed it at him. For a moment, he wondered if she intended to kill him. Instead, she shouted "Piliungo!" Nothing happened, but his mother smiled at him disagreeably. Yet he still felt no change, no effect at all. What did this mean?

Then she spoke. "If you will not do as you are told, if you want to remain filthy and disgusting, you will have your wish. Enjoy!" And with that, she turned and left him alone, perplexed, filled with uncertainty and foreboding. His mother - his own mother! - had put a curse on him, and he had no idea what it was. For the moment, however, there seemed to be no ill effects, and he made his way down to the comfort and safety of the dungeon. He spent the rest of the day and most of the evening there, preoccupied with his potions and a book he had "borrowed" from his father.

The boy was fascinated with the tales he read about the Dark Arts. The books he read were from his father's secret library, which he had found hidden in the wall of a passageway behind a large and hideous portrait of Demyan the Dybbuk. Upstairs, he could hear talking and music, which he could ignore, but he had less success ignoring the grumbling in his stomach.

Much later that night, when all the guests were gone, Severus crept upstairs. After discovering that his mother had spitefully ordered the house-elf to dispose of all leftover food, he headed to the bathroom. He let in a bath and immersed himself in the steaming water. A few drops of a violet potion sent gentle waves coursing through the liquid, and as he lay there, he practically fell asleep. After some time, he climbed out and wrapped himself in a towel, picked up his wand, and waved himself dry. Then he grabbed a brush and began dragging it through his hair. It met with more than the usual resistance. He tugged at it and a knot of greasy hair came out on the bristles. Puzzled, he looked in the mirror. His hair looked as if it had never been washed. Perhaps he had been too tired to wash it properly. He stuck his head under a shower of hot water. This time, he poured a generous amount of his cousin's flowery shampoo on his head and vigorously rubbed it into his scalp. Once again, he waved his wand and dried his hair. Looking in the mirror, he was horrified to see that it still looked filthy and greasy. What was wrong with him? He paced back and forth anxiously, pulling at his hair distraughtly. His mother's words came to mind. "Pili- pili- Piliungo?" His eyes widened in horror. He knew she was not very fond of him, but still! How could she do this to him? Didn't he have enough to cope with? There was nothing he could do about it at the moment; however, he would confront her in the morning.

The next morning, he came down to breakfast and found his mother and Narcissa cheerfully chatting about the wonderful party. As he sat down, they both fell silent. His mother glared at him. "Well, there you are," she snarled. "You ruined everything, you know. You . . ."

"Why did you do this to me?" he asked softly, his black eyes fixed on her intently.

"You earned it," she replied matter-of-factly.

Narcissa looked at her aunt curiously. "What is he talking about?"

Severus responded. "My dear mother put a curse on me. My hair will not come clean."

Narcissa laughed. "Don't blame your mother because you won't wash your hair."

Severus felt his face grow hot and his temples throbbed. He hissed, "I did wash it! Twice! And look at it!"

His mother said dismissively, "We'd rather not. We are eating."

Narcissa tittered and he stalked out of the room. Then he stopped, came back to the table, scooped up a handful of sausages, and stalked out again. He thought of all the most terrible curses he had read about, and considered which ones he would most like to use on his mother and cousin. If only he dared.

His mother called after him. "Perhaps, if you apologize and ask politely, I might take that into consideration."

He did not respond. There was no way, no chance, no possibility that he was going to beg her for forgiveness. He was so angry he nearly choked on the sausages he was stuffing into his mouth. Dismally, he hoped the curse might wear off eventually, but even if it did not, it was less odious than the thought of apologizing to that woman.