Idiots. Every day of his life he was surrounded by idiots. Idiots and damn fool meddlers, which were almost the same thing. One of these days, he was going to break down and laugh right in the Dark Lord's face. He would be killed, of course, but even his death wouldn't erase the memory of being laughed at. Someone deep inside his mania, the Dark Lord would know he was a laughingstock.

It would almost be worth it.

Really, how stupid could that girl be? Hermione Granger, "brightest witch her age" - completely incapable of thinking. So clever and insightful that she could "see" that he was working on the side of the Order and then decide to inform absolutely everyone of her brilliant idea. He did not intend to let his death be the result of a clumsy Muggleborn Gryffindor stumbling blindly around, trying to bestow her pity and understanding where it was thoroughly unwanted.

Rather like another girl, so many years ago...

They had met in detention, of course. There was no other way he would have spoken to a Gryffindor girl, particularly a pretty redhead who always seemed to be surrounded by lackeys. When he'd thought of Lily at all, he'd assumed she was another rich pureblood, like the popular girls in Slytherin. Someone who would look down on him just for the blood he'd been born with, if she knew the truth.

They'd been assigned to scrub out cauldrons, old Slughorn apologising to the girl for putting her to the trouble but explaining that he had to respond when students started setting each other on fire in the classroom. But since she was such a trustworthy student, he didn't need to supervise her, important places to be going and all that... He'd barely noticed Snape was in the room before he wandered off to have a drink.

Then Lily winked at him and made a face at the door where Slughorn had departed.

He'd ignored her at first. Once Slughorn was out of the way, Snape had magically scoured his allotment of cauldrons and set to examining the unguarded classroom for components he could use in his experiments.

He hadn't expected Lily to pay attention to what he was working on. He certainly hadn't expected her to make suggestions.

Pretty, popular, Pureblood (he thought), and actually intelligent as well? The perfect woman - and perfectly out of his reach.

"Severus Snape," she'd said at some point. "That's such an unusual name."

His pale cheeks had gone red. He'd been certain she'd guessed his secret - that Snape was not, after all, a wizarding name. It was something he kept hidden from his Slytherin dormmates, and yet... if there was any chance of anything, with this girl, it was better that she knew right away. "I'm half-blood," he blurted out. "I'm a Prince on my mother's side."

"A prince!" she laughed. "You're royalty?"

He had been confused. "No, of course not. We don't have royalty in the wizarding world..." Unless she knew something he didn't! "... do we?"

She laughed. "Well, I wouldn't know! I'm Muggleborn."

"You're what?" How could that be? She had so many friends! "Do your dormmates know?"

"Of course they know." Lily gave him a funny look. "Don't tell me you hate Muggles. I know a lot of Slytherins are like that. Well, Gryffindors aren't!" She folded her arms and glared at him. "It would be pretty stupid of you to hate Muggles if you're half one anyway."

"I don't hate Muggles!" he insisted. "But nobody knows about me in Slytherin. They'd be horrid if they did." He shot her a look. "You won't tell, will you?"

"Don't be silly," she teased. "When would I ever talk to a smelly old Slytherin?" She pinched her nose and made faces at him.

It was silly, it was childish, it was... a relief, compared to the burden of dealing with his fellow snakes all the time. He smiled back at her.

"A Prince," she mused quietly. "I think it sounds romantic. The Half-Blood Prince."

It was their little joke, and the foundation of their brief friendship. He was the Prince, and she was the Flower. He'd even written the phrase on the back of the potions book they shared in their secret study sessions.

But those sessions had been forced to remain secret.

Her dormmates knew she was Muggleborn, Lily had said. He simply couldn't be seen associating with her, not with times the way they were. Maybe someday it would be safe. Maybe if he married her and she took his name, no one would realise.

Maybe never happened.

He lost track of Lily for a while after events had driven them apart. There was no sense crying over spilt milk, and once it was clear that a plan had gone wrong, you had to discard it and try something else. It wasn't until after the incident that he noticed - the girl was hanging around with the animal. Lupin. A disgusting beast that should never have been allowed to attend Hogwarts, should have been locked up in Azkaban for life after what had happened...

That day in the Headmaster's office, Lupin couldn't even speak through his pathetic blubbering. He'd begged Severus to forgive him, begged the Headmaster to show mercy. Black and Potter had been thoroughly unrepentant, while Peter mostly hid behind the other boys and stared at Severus. Snape had been nearly apopleptic with rage. They had tried to KILL him! How could Dumbledore possibly take their side? They should all HANG by their THUMBS! And yet Dumbledore had been so "impressed" with James Potter for "taking responsibility" by backing out of the act at the last minute that he'd let them off with nothing but a warning! And the Gryffindors had gone off actually SUPPORTING their bestial pet, fondling him and telling him it would be all right...

Then to find Lily joining their little club, transferring her unwanted protectiveness from him to Lupin, the pathetic animal that clearly thrived on pity... well. She clearly wasn't such a perfect girl after all.

Long years of teaching at Hogwarts had produced many similar disappointments. Snape had long since given up on the thought of romance. His life had no room for love. But a companion, someone to talk to, someone who could understand just a little of the life he had led... He harassed the students mercilessly, hoping for one, just one, to rise above the challenge, to blossom into a true mind.

But students remained students. Their interests, their torments, were petty. Meaningless. After the Dark Lord's defeat, they all acted as if the world were perfect and carefree. Year after year, they stared at him blankly and melted their cauldrons and felt each other up in the hallways and scattered before his disapproving gaze. They were NOTHING.

In those ten terrible years, he had been forced to consider the backstabbing, hypocritical, twinkly-eyed old fool Albus Dumbledore the closest thing he had to a friend. At least he understood what it meant to choose the lesser evil - to make decisions whose cost could never be counted.

Then Potter Junior arrived at Hogwarts, and the world began to change again.

In Draco Malfoy, of all people, he had almost found the protege he'd sought for so long. The boy had been a slow learner. He'd come from a ridiculously spoiled upbringing. He preferred whining over plotting. He received privileges and thought they were nothing more than he deserved. He wasn't willing to work.

Clearly, his problem had been a lack of sufficient motivation.

The more Snape piled on the stress, the more he impressed the boy with the need to juggle alliances and play a deadly game with multiple masters, the more Draco appeared to be thinking. He was still a novice, but he was learning. If he survived the year to come, he might finally be able to appreciate the unique misery of Snape's existence. Or he might turn out to be the imperfect weapon that spelled Snape's downfall.

What would be, would be.

Where did the young Malfoy believe Snape's true allegiance lay? Or Draco's own? He could not be sure. The boy, at least, had the sense not to blurt out his theories and accusations for everyone to hear. It meant that neither of them could truly trust each other - but neither could they truly betray each other.

It was a relationship that no meddling Muggleborn could hope to understand.

What had that girl been thinking, arriving alone and unprotected on his doorstep? Perhaps she thought he would be grateful for her "understanding". Perhaps she thought he would cry in her arms, like that despicable werewolf. Hermione Granger was an endless puzzle of mediocrity. How could anyone read and absorb so much from books, and yet be so completely unable to take the next step to truly understanding things on her own?

Idiots and meddlers, all.

---

It was all too horribly familiar.

Hermione stumbled along at Ginny's side, the halls of St Mungo's a blur around her.

Why did Ron keep getting himself into these fixes?

She hadn't been there last time, either. When Ron had drunk the poisoned mead, she'd only learned after the fact how very ill he'd been. Harry's quick thinking (he wasn't a total idiot, just stubborn as anything) had saved him then, but she hadn't really dared to believe that he was all right until she could see it for herself. This time - it didn't sound like he was going to be all right.

She burst into a cluster of Weasleys huddled before a closed door and grabbed for Harry's hand. "What's going on? What happened to Ron?"

Harry's face was pale and his eyes were red with vanished tears. "The locket," he murmured quietly. "I should have known... there were so many deadly traps in the way already, I should have guessed it had one last trick to play..."

"What did it do?" Hermione asked. "We couldn't even get it open last year."

Harry shrugged. "We didn't know it was Slytherin's then. So I thought, maybe it was like the Chamber. And I asked it to open..."

"... in Parseltongue," Hermione concluded. "Harry, that was brilliant!" She would have thought of it too, of course, she thought to herself. But Harry needed cheering.

Harry nodded miserably. "The locket sprung open, and Ron went to pick it up to see what was inside. But as soon as he touched it, it slammed shut on his finger. I got it back open, but his hand was bleeding... It bit him. His hand started to turn black..."

"What happened to the locket?"

"The mediwizards have it. They're trying to see if they can figure out what the curse is, to know how to counter it." Harry's face screwed up like he was trying not to burst into tears again. "It was my fault. I was an ass to you. You wouldn't have let this happen."

Hermione tried to smile, though it was hard with the shaky feeling inside. "How could I have stopped him? You said it yourself - Ron reached for the locket. He wasn't thinking. It wasn't your fault. And he's going to be all right, isn't he?"

No one spoke.

"But we're here with all the doctors... healers," Hermione corrected her slip. "They took care of Katie!"

"After several months in hospital," Ginny said glumly.

At last the door swung open and a red-robed witch appeared. "We have managed to stop the curse from progressing," she explained. "However, we won't be able to reverse the effects until a batch of mandrake can be prepared. The patient is sleeping, but if you would like to see him, you may come in two at a time."

Of course, Ron's parents went first, and came out crying and holding each other.

Harry and Hermione went in together. Ron was lying asleep in bed, his face pale, most of his body hidden under the sheets, except for...

"Oh, Merlin," Harry whispered. "His wand arm."

Ron's arm, to the elbow, had been turned to black stone.

---

Author's Note:

Yes, this is honestly my best theory as to the origin of the term. No pureblood-mad Death Eater Slytherin is going to go around calling himself the half-blood ANYTHING. Riddle hid it. Snape hid it. He might have been happy that he was half a Prince, but he wouldn't logically have invented a title like that. It's nothing to be proud of, unless there's a secret prophecy about the House of Prince that we haven't yet heard. It just sounds SILLY.

So who would think that Prince was an awfully cool name and tag it on him like a royal title? A Muggleborn.

And why did Snape call himself that in front of Harry? Just to make Harry mad. NOT because he's been secretly going around calling himself the Half Blood Prince in his head all these years. Unless there's some hidden prophetic reason for that to be a proud title, it's just DUMB for him to actually be calling himself that. :)

Also, you may notice Snape's version of events differs slightly from Lupin's. It's been a long time, people remember things differently, and they're all guessing at other people's motives anyway.