A/N – I lied. I promised the Quidditch match, and then poor Severus demanded that I give his father's death its proper due. So here it is – Augustus' death and its aftermath. Watch also for an appearance from our favourite Auror.

Disclaimer – I don't own any of Harry Potter's canon characters or concepts. All else is probably mine. Don't sue.

Bastard 15 – Blood Feud

The call came in just before dawn, the absolute worst hour of the morning. After long, long years in the field, Alastor Moody knew – better than any other – that nothing good ever came of such a summons, and in this case he was proved right once again.

Knockturn Alley was shrouded in dirty yellow fog, a bone deep chill emanating from more than the cracks in the cobblestones. The Aurors – those who had discovered the body – were huddled in a black robed group around a small brazier, their eyes lowered and their every movement cowed and furtive, as if they wished to wash their hands of it but knew they dared not.

Moody strode up to them, tailed by his newest apprentice – a young boy only just out of Hogwarts – and demanded to know what the hell they thought they were doing. "Why are you huddled together out here? Young Harcourt here has more idea of crime scene procedure than you fools…"

Reilly, the senior Auror on scene, normally a solid, reliable man – his face was white and slack, now – spoke up defensively. "It's been Marked, Moody."

"Marked?" he growled. "I don't care if it's been personally signed and autographed…"

But Harcourt – nineteen year old Dane Harcourt, Lord of High Clan Harcourt – understood the significance of those words, even if Moody did not. "Marked?" he repeated faintly. "By whom?"

Reilly gave him a longer, more assessing glance, paying attention this time – to his features, to his bearing – and evidently reassessing what he saw. "The Threefold Scar," he said grimly.

Three silver scars, running diagonally downward at a forty-five degree angle from right to left, on a black background. The simplest, oldest, and most infamous arms in British wizarding heraldry.

Malfoy.

And then, as somewhat of an afterthought, "He's still alive."

They had tortured him quite viciously, taking their time about it before they placed the spell that kept the smallest part of him alive no matter what they did (quite an ingenious spell actually) until someone tried to heal him, which caused it – as they had found out – to backlash quite spectacularly and put him out of his misery.

It had been an unusually…emphatic murder, a statement and a claim; these days Moody was more used to dealing with random Death Eater attacks than such precise, personal – and above all public – executions.

There had been no need to ask who had finally gotten the better of Augustus Snape, for they had left their Mark for all to see. The real question had been why: why they had made it so public, and why it had been so viciously personal.

He had not appreciated Harcourt's casual explanation of "Oh, because Augustus Snape killed Marcus Malfoy". That blasé statement had spawned a whole number of other questions, such as how and where Harcourt had picked up that little gem of gossip, and whether, given that knowledge, he had known or at least suspected that something like this was coming. And if he had, then why hadn't he warned Snape or, indeed, any of his superiors and supervisors?

Dane Harcourt, Slytherin and High Clan, had turned suddenly dark and unreadable eyes on him, and had told him that sons had a right – and a duty – to avenge their fathers, and that the Ministry had no right to interfere in what should be private High Clan business.

"But they left him lying here on the street for all to see!" Moody had snarled. "Marked, no less, with their own seal. I'd call that pretty damned public…"

"Yes, but this is a private vengeance feud. That's what their mark means – it's a warning to others not to interfere. That's why there are no witnesses, although it would be impossible not to notice him. And that's why the Aurors on scene wouldn't touch the body when they found it –"

"Mr. Harcourt," he'd growled, "do you want to become an Auror or not? If you do, you'll have to rid yourself of the notion that the High Clan is in any way above the law…"

Harcourt looked genuinely shocked. "But sir!"

"Listen to me, boy, no accident of birth is going to convince me that a Malfoy is in any way better or worse than a muggle. No one – not even old Brandon himself – can simply kill someone like they did here and expect to walk away from it. They may think themselves superior to anyone else on this earth, but they're no different from the rest of us – they eat and they piss and they die just like any other men."

Now the boy was offended.

"And why are you so defensive? I thought you didn't even like the bloody Malfoy."

"I don't," Harcourt said, rather lamely. "But whether you love or fear or despise them, you don't say such things about them. It's just not done…"

Yes, the boy had a serious problem, one that would definitely have to be overcome if he was to be any good as an Auror. It was a pity, really, because he was one of the more promising apprentices Moody'd had for quite a while.

The huddled, useless crowd of onlooking Aurors and medical personnel and other miscellaneous bystanders parted to reveal a skinny, dark haired boy with piercing black eyes – the resemblance to the victim was unmistakable – and Harcourt straightened his face and his back to greet him. "Snape," he said coolly. "I hadn't thought to see you so early."

Young Snape eyed him sullenly, but offered no obvious disrespect. Evidently there was still some respect left, despite the direction of Harcourt's choices. "I received a message," he said flatly. "News and rumours travel swiftly through Knocturn Alley – especially of events of such –" he raised a brow – "public significance."

His calm was amazing. His father was lying horribly dead not ten feet away and he was displaying nothing other than a vague irritation and distaste. Even the Malfoy brothers – those two juvenile murderers – had been too rigidly impassive at their father's funeral, it had been possible to see and sense their grief and anger.

"So, boy," he growled, "are you willing to cooperate in the Ministry investigation, or are you like Harcourt here," he jerked his head towards his apprentice, "who believes in High Clan tradition and vengeance rights?"

Snape bowed his head and looked back at his father's corpse – his eyes seemingly fixed on the three deep cuts slashed over the heart. Then he turned back to Moody, face impassive. "Leave it, sir. There's nothing to be gained, raking over old feuds and hatreds…"

Moody was a man who placed great importance on first impressions. And his first impression of Severus Snape – the too quiet, too sly boy who cared more for the family's reputation than his father's death – would stay with him for more than thirty years.

But then…

Snape smiled suddenly. "Let the Malfoy have their day."

And that smile, and those words, put the final seal on it.

Other than Snape himself and the two perpetrators, Dominic de Sauvigny was the first of the students to learn of Augustus Snape's fate. He'd had the bad luck to be sneaking back to the dorm after a late night with his Ravenclaw girlfriend – Isabelle Clearwater, of the Suffolk Clearwaters – and had met Severus along the way. In a splendid mood, he'd hailed the other boy cheerfully, but had somehow found himself pinned up against the wall, wand digging into his throat.

"You parasitic mongrel," Snape had hissed viciously, his eyes quite mad, "I should send you back to him in pieces…"

Dominic gaped up at him, astonished at the completely uncharacteristic outburst. However, despite his complete willingness to shelter under his cousin's wing, the Hat had not placed him in Slytherin for nothing, and in seven years he had learned quite a lot that Dumbledore had never meant to be in the curriculum. A twist, a flick of the wrist, and a hearty shove later – he outweighed the other boy by a good ten kilograms – and he sent Snape staggering back, giving himself room and time to bring his wand up just in case. He was not a brilliant dueler like Snape, or like Lucius, but he knew enough to defend himself, and he had practiced against him often.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he snarled. "Send me back where?"

Snape eyed him a bit more cautiously then, his eyes losing a little of their madness but none of their hatred or wariness. Finally, as Dominic's grip on his wand whitened and his breath quickened in what was almost terror, he saw the sanity return to Snape's eyes, and the recognition. Almost mutually, they decided to abandon their confrontation, and then continued on their way without looking back.

The next morning, he mentioned the matter to Lucius before they went down to breakfast. Normally Dominic preferred to have as little to do with Lucius as possible, finding Luc far less capricious and more approachable than his elder brother, but Luc was nowhere to be found.

"Is there something wrong with Snape?" he asked Lucius, getting straight to the point as he still preferred, even now. "He tried to kill me this morning."

Lucius laughed. Carefully fixing his school tie, the elder Malfoy admired himself in the mirror. "He's never at his best in the mornings, you know that."

"This was a bit more than a bad mood, Malfoy. He pinned me up against the wall and threatened to send me back to someone or somewhere in pieces."

Satisfied with his appearance, Lucius gave an approving nod. His eyes shifted to meet Dominic's. "Did he? Rather extravagant of him…"

"I want to know if he had reason," Dominic insisted. "What happened last night?"

A slow, infinitely satisfied smile curled Lucius' lips – a crueler, more feral smile than Dominic had ever before seen, or wanted to see again. He shivered, suddenly, and wished that he had never asked such a foolish question. "Don't worry about it –" he began, but Lucius shook his head.

"No, cousin; you're old enough and strong enough to know the truth. If you haven't heard already, you'll hear it this morning at breakfast…"

"What?" Dominic demanded, irritated now.

"Augustus Snape," said the new Lord of Clan Malfoy, with great nonchalance. "It seems he ran afoul of something even more poisonous than he in Knockturn Alley…"

Dominic swallowed, knowing damned well what – who – the older Snape had run afoul of. "Oh." For the life of him, he could not come up with anything more sophisticated. "Ah. Well, that would explain it…"

"I would recommend, though," Lucius said neutrally, "that you stay away from Sev for a while…" he raised an eyebrow. "Just until he cools down."

"Right." He would make damned sure that he stayed away from Snape, no matter how long it took him to recover his composure. He had no wish to be on the receiving end of the morning's madness again, even if Lucius seemed to find it all vastly amusing.

There were some times when he wondered whether it would have been better for him had he gone to Beauxbatons after all, instead of insisting on Hogwarts. Certainly it would have been much safer –

He would never have met Lucius, or Snape, or Lestrange or any of the other leaders of Slytherin, and he would never have gotten involved in the cutthroat politics or the cruel, vicious games.

But he would never have met Luc, either.

Every man had a price, and Dominic's was his dream of the ambitious, brilliant leader who would take the House of de Sauvigny to heights unseen and undreamed of. For that dream, for that man, Dominic would overlook any sin, excuse any crime…

By breakfast, most of Slytherin House had either heard the rumours or had received word from their parents, and so were giving the three main participants of the tale a very wide berth. The rest of the school, whose rumour network was less efficient, learned of the shocking torture-murder from the Daily Prophet, where 'Prominent Death Eater Murdered in Knockturn Alley' was blazoned across the front page in bold face type, and a suitably gruesome picture put the finishing touches on a masterwork of responsible journalism.

Severus Snape was left to wonder whether if there was any truth to the rumour that Marcus – and now Lucius – Malfoy held the controlling block of shares in the newspaper. It was the only thing that could possibly explain that headline, and the story that made no mention of Malfoy involvement, blood feuds or anything else that in any way resembled the truth. But even despite that, it seemed that everyone knew who had killed his father, and why – rumour was like that, in the wizarding world. It sped through Knockturn and Diagon Alley and the drawing rooms of the rich and powerful, through the quarters of the house elves that wizards so took for granted and the corridors of Ministry power, and through the common rooms and dormitories of Hogwarts in some kind of mass human osmosis.

No one said anything, of course. It was not the Slytherin way, and the rest of the school was too intimidated by him – with, as always, the inevitable exception of Black, Potter, Lupin and their nonentity of a fourth. But even the so-called Marauders held back, and for that he supposed he was indebted to Black, who for all his insolent disregard for his heritage at least knew better than to mention the matter at such a sensitive time.

In public, at least.

"Is it true, then?" Pettigrew asked, rubbing his hands gleefully together. "The old Slytherin lords are killing each other off?"

Sirius eyed the smaller boy balefully. "It's not funny, Wormtail. Snape was high in Voldemort's graces – he shouldn't have been so easy to get to."

"And how," James drawled, eyes dancing, "do you know that, Padfoot?"

"How do you think I know?" Sirius scowled. "My esteemed father still cherishes hopes that I'll come to heel –"

James snorted, but Sirius continued over him. "And so tries to take me in hand, whenever he emerges from his drunken stupor long enough to remember his responsibilities. Last holidays, we had a delightful father and son chat…"

Remus winced at the vicious contempt in Sirius' voice. "So what are you saying?" he asked, hoping to divert his friend's attention from his father. "The Malfoy brothers pulled off a brilliant coup?"

"No. I'm saying they were allowed to."

Lily had been listening silently, taking everything in, but at that she drew in a deep, shocked breath. "Then that means…"

"Yes, it's very likely."

"But…but what about Kate?" Her green eyes were worried, and James took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "If they have joined, then…"

Sirius shrugged. "What about Kate? She's only a mudblood…" He raised an ironic brow. "You don't think Lucius would value her above his vengeance?"

There were times when Sirius' heritage revealed itself in more than his magnificent arrogance and charismatic presence.

"Well, Kate, your Malfoy protector outdid himself last night."

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, Kate turned with a wry smile to meet Snape. "Yes, I know. I gather everyone knows…"

They were standing on the parapets of the castle, looking out over the familiar view. The wind was cold and biting and the sunshine was watery at best, but it was better than being inside, where the air was thick with intrigue and rumour. "One of the many dubious virtues of our world. Everybody knows everybody else's business."

Kate raised a brow at the use of our, but let it pass. "I would have appreciated more warning, though."

He turned to her then, watching her intently. "You did not know of it?"

"No. I would not have approved, had I known – I don't know what price Lucius paid, but it was entirely too high."

"So it was only Lucius, then, who paid the price?" His voice was politely skeptical. "I find it hard to believe that they did not act together on this…"

Her lips tightened. "I assure you, Snape, that as of this morning there was no Mark on Luc's arm."

"That is no indication that there was no price on my father's life. Payment can be deferred…and made in different coin. You know that He aspires to ultimate power, and you know how He intends to claim it."

"A pureblood paradise? Yes, I've heard the propaganda." Kate's voice was tight, defiant.

"Then you know what He will demand of Luc. There will be no allowances for soul bonds." As always, Snape's voice was dark, rich, and persuasive – such a shocking contrast to his physical appearance.

"It will not come to that."

"It is inevitable. Luc is a Slytherin, Kate. He is ambitious, and he intends to come out on top, no matter what it takes – you know what he has been promised. He sealed it when he chose vengeance –" she whirled around to leave, to flee the insidious voice of what she knew to be truth, but he put out a hand and grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him again. "If you stay with him you will die. He will sacrifice you to his ambition, Kate – he'll build his dream of the House on your blood…"

She turned on him, wrenching her arm out of his grasp. "I will not listen to your lies any longer, Snape; let me go!" She fled down the stairs, the sound of her clattering footsteps echoing from the stairwell.

As he turned back to look over the view from the castle walls once more, he was smiling – a very satisfied, very cruel smile.

A/N – Thanks to all my reviewers. Next chapter, I promise, the Quidditch match.