September 6th, 1975

"I could definitely play for England," James said indignantly. "I'm the best chaser Gryffindor's had in years." Okay, so he didn't know that for sure - but he'd scored thirteen goals in the final in May and made an idiot of Gary Brocklehurst.

"Are you going to tell Laura and Kelsey that, or should I?" Sirius asked, glancing up at him. Peter snorted. James kicked a foot at him.
"Shut up, Pete, you don't even play!" he said. Peter sighed, clasped his hands together, and then unclasped them.
"James," he began. "I know, I know. You enjoy touching balls, so you want me to share in the fun. But in my selflessness, I've decided you can have all of it. No need to share." Sirius laughed and even Remus snorted into his parchment. James flipped Peter off, and leaned back against the tree.

The four of them were sprawled out beneath the oak, the path from the Gamekeeper's Hut to the castle to their right and the hillside sloping down to the lake on their left. Sunshine poured over the grounds, staving off Autumn as well as it could manage. James mussed his hair. "You guys suck. I just want Quidditch to be back on already." He blew a raspberry. "Ravenclaw's holding tryouts tomorrow, so I don't know what John's waiting for."

"Ravenclaw tries out their whole team, though," Sirius said, rolling from his stomach onto his back. "Every year, no guaranteed spot. You don't really want John to do that, do you?"
"You'd be playing reserve for Livia," Peter grinned. James' mouth dropped open.
"I wouldn't!" He moved forward on his hands and knees, crawling towards Peter, who scuttled backwards like a crab. "You git, I would not!" He aimed a playful whack at his mate's face. Peter dodged to the right.
"How are your cheers?" Peter asked brightly. James managed to grab a fistful of his shirt and tried to get on top of him, lifting his leg up. Peter rolled to the left, wriggling furiously. James got his other hand on Peter's shoulder, trying to pin him down. Sirius and Remus were laughing. James glanced upwards for a moment, and froze. Cathy Roshfinger and Lisbete Moult had seen him wrestling on the grass, and Cathy was laughing. Sure, they were younger than him, but not by much, and they were still girls. All the girls talked. He straightened up, lifting his hand off Pete's shoulder to fix his hair. Lisbete whispered something to Cathy.

Peter moved. James gasped, and his head crashed into the ground. Peter's face was above him. It flashed light and dark. Dirt and grass swirled round his mouth. His shoulder slammed into the ground. Had he been able to open his mouth, he would've sworn. He grasped at Peter desperately, and Peter grabbed him. A bit of dirt lodged itself in his eye. People were shouting. Peter's knee hit his stomach. One of his hands came loose, and he grabbed wildly at blades of grass. None of it stuck. His hand flew into Peter's nose. The earth changed beneath them. Suddenly, he was submerged. Water and mud filled his mouth. Peter's weight left him.

He broke the surface, coughing and spluttering, squinting. Blurry outlines of Remus and Sirius were running towards him. He retched, emptying the mud and water into the lake. He touched his fingers to his face. His glasses were gone. He was sitting in the shallows of the lake, crushing a bed of reeds, water lapping at his chest. He turned his head. What appeared to be Peter sat only two or three feet away, blood dripping down his face.

"Peter!" he said, reaching out. The movement made the world spin. Sirius splashed through the water.
"James!" he shouted, grabbing him by the sides. James groaned. He was hauled upwards, and Sirius pulled at his arm, draping it over his shoulders. His legs felt like jelly. Remus was kneeling in the reeds, saying something to Pete. Two girls - probably Cathy and Lisbete - stood on the bank. "Fuck, James," Sirius said. "Come on, mate. Walk with me."

He was drenched. His hair was flattened to his forehead, and his robes hung heavy round his shoulders. The handful of steps to the bank shot pain right through his legs. He sagged upon reaching the grass, and Sirius held him tighter. Lisbete rushed forward.
"James!" she said. "James, are you alright?" He squinted at her. He'd never really spoken to her - she was just friends with Cathy, Dale's little sister, who they all sort of kept an eye on on Dale's behalf. A 'birthday girl' badge was pinned to her magenta robes.
"Happy birthday," he managed. Bile rose in his throat from the effort.
"I've got your glasses," she said. She moved. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the swaying. "Oculus reparo." Sirius said something, and James was jabbed in the cheek. He opened his eyes, and found his glasses haphazardly pushed up his nose.

"Pete alright?" James mumbled, adjusting his glasses.
"He looks worse than you are," Sirius said, a definite tone in his voice. "We should probably get you up to Pomfrey."

With a lot of grunting and groaning, the lot of them convened together; James leaning on Sirius, and Peter hobbling next to Remus, accompanied by the two girls who were hanging around for some reason. James kind of wished they weren't. He smelt like a dirty lake, his hair was dripping wet, and his face was caked in mud. At least it hid the burning of his cheeks. It felt like it took them forever to get up the hill, and the pain was so constant that he began to feel numb.

"You really couldn't levitate us?" he croaked. "Come on, there's two of you for each of us."

"It's character building!" Remus retorted, smiling. Peter did not look half as happy. James felt like shit. It seemed so dumb to be so hurt from rolling down a hill. Surely that was a one-in-a-million sort of thing. If only Peter hadn't wormed around so much.

He said as much to Madam Pomfrey when they arrived, and she gave him a withering look. "He's a wormy bastard!"

"You climbed on top of him, did you not?" she asked, moving her focus to unravelling some bandages.

"In my defence, he said some really shitty-"

"Language, Mr. Potter," she said, not looking up. Finally, she seemed to have the bandages the way she wanted them. Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Do all of you really need to be here? Given the story, only Mr. Potter and Mr. Pettigrew were injured, correct?"

"I suffered extreme trauma from having to be in such close proximity to James for the journey up here," Sirius said.

"Oi!" James said.

"Mr. Black, I have no doubt you have sustained trauma from your proximity to Mr. Potter, but it began many years ago and is now so chronic that it can't be treated, so you're free to go." James opened his mouth to protest. "Mr. Lupin, do you have any such complaints?"

There was a glint in his eye, but he ultimately said, "No."

Madam Pomfrey looked round to Cathy and Lisbete, who were still standing there. Cathy was fiddling with the bracelets around her wrist, and Lisbete had a lock of gold hair wrapped around her finger.

"Do you girls have any genuine reason to be present?" she asked. James turned to get a better look at them, ignoring the throbbing in his neck. He honestly didn't know why they'd come along to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even cleaned him up yet, and Lisbete kept staring at him, as if she couldn't believe how he looked. He felt suddenly very itchy.

"We wanted to make sure they were okay," Cathy said. "We saw it all happen."

"They will be okay," Madam Pomfrey said. "Now, if all of you could leave, I can get to making them smell a little better."

September 12th, 1975

Regulus' footsteps echoed through the chilly stone corridor. Sometimes, he wondered if they had enchanted the dungeons to be colder so that the other houses came down into the Slytherin domains less often. If so, it would have rather given the other houses a disadvantage in Potions, he thought. It wouldn't be a fair thing. He pushed the idea out of his mind, and took the next turn.

"Why are we in such a hurry?" Gibbon asked, almost jogging to keep up. "Professor Slughorn won't be mad if we're late. He's never mad at you." Regulus said nothing. It was true - whether it was due to his family or his abilities, Professor Slughorn had taken a liking to him since the day he'd arrived in the castle. It was about the principle of the thing. If he followed his brother's footsteps in being a lazy layabout, soon enough the name of Black would mean nothing at all, and there would be no 'family' cushion for his children and grandchildren. That was an odd thought. He pushed it to the back of his mind to be contemplated at a more convenient time.

They reached the dungeon, and slid in to take their seats. "Good afternoon, Professor Slughorn," Regulus said.

"Ah! Good afternoon, Regulus. Mr Gibbon," Professor Slughorn said, inclining his head.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Gibbon said. Professor Slughorn went to another desk, welcoming them to class. Regulus glanced at the board, and the writing confirmed his suspicions. After a long first week of introductions and outlines, and this second week of theory, they would finally be brewing.

"I'm happy to prepare the cauldron if you fetch the ingredients," he told Gibbon. The other boy nodded, and headed for the storage cupboard. Regulus went to the racks of cauldrons and selected his. Gibbon's was fair enough, but when it came to Regulus' grades, he wasn't risking it. He had a respectable silver cauldron, purchased the summer before last that met all the newest guidelines for thickness and weight. Gibbon had had the same since first year, and Regulus suspected it was a sliver too thin, which could impact insulation and the amount of heat they could safely use. Grandfather Arcturus liked to say that potion-brewing was much more delicate than casting spells, and in the case of the former, a wizard would always be hemmed in by substandard equipment.

He returned to their station and placed the cauldron down. From his bag, he retrieved a lotion and wiped over the cauldron, getting rid of any dust or bugs that had settled since their last lesson. He lacked a natural inclination for cleaning charms, and he disliked using too much unnecessary wandwork in his brewing, so he wrung out the cloth by hand over a basin. Mother had never been one for Potions, and she often complained that he looked like a house-elf when he brewed at home. It was no matter, though; she never actually stopped him. She'd just never needed to worry about the nuances of potion-making. She'd never had to worry about her grades at all, whether they were high or low. She'd had his father's heart for their entire lives, practically. Regulus was the second son, and while a sizable fortune awaited him after school, it did not include land, nor a seat on the Wizengamot.

Gibbon returned with the ingredients, laying them out across their bench. Regulus nodded approvingly. "Thank you," he said.

"Of course," Gibbon replied. He glanced over his shoulder, and then took a step closer to Regulus than he would've liked. Regulus straightened up, and looked at him expectantly. Gibbon stiffened for a second, and then moved closer again. Very important, then. "Who's missing?" he whispered. "Of us?"

Regulus looked around, taking a quick count of the Slytherins - they always arrived early. "Rosier and Crabbe," Regulus answered, turning back. His mind was ticking away - had something happened? For a moment, dread surged in his gut, and he wondered if they were being told they would be prefects next year. But that was illogical, he told himself. Not only was it far too early for any such thing to be considered, but they were not likely candidates, either. He ran through their profiles. Alfreck Rosier was quiet, though not so much as him, and had an elder brother in Sirius' year. Both boys were recruits. Alfreck was a cousin to his own cousins, making them kin, of a sort. Deborah Crabbe was a plain girl with large shoulders and little sense, and had an elder sister in sixth year who made her look part-veela. They'd met at a gala when they were very young, and his mother had told him in private after they were introduced that she would disown him if he ever married someone so dull.

Unable to come up with a reasonable conclusion, he looked at Gibbon. The door creaked, and he thought his friend might have a fit - but no, it was just a group of Gryffindor girls. There was just a minute to spare until class would properly begin, and Rosier was still missing. He had never been the early sort, but he was punctual. Unless they had been sent to the Hospital Wing - but Gibbon's reactions suggested that whatever had occurred would be evident from the moment they walked through the door. The boy had returned to his personal space, just giving him looks.

Professor Slughorn returned to the start of the classroom, waving his wand as to summon the roll. Regulus clenched his jaw. They'd easily lose two points each for tardiness, five if they skipped class entirely. Unless there was an appropriate reason for them to be gone - but if there was, why would Gibbon not tell him? Slughorn glanced upwards, cleared his throat -

The door to the classroom opened, and both Rosier and Crabbe appeared in the doorway. Almost everyone turned to look. Gibbon stepped too close once more, and nudged him.

Oh.

They were holding hands. Crabbe's cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of pink, and Rosier walked with his back up straighter. Regulus' mind turned rapidly. The Rosiers were a fine family with roots in France, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, highly respectable. The Crabbes had run English for centuries, and had also intermarried with the Blacks, as most pureblooded families had at one time or another - his grandmother was a Crabbe by birth, in fact. But that had been a love match, approved solely because there was no fair reason to oppose, and he liked to believe his grandmother was the best of the Crabbes - Deborah was one of the worst. On a technicality, he and Deborah were closer related than he was to Alfreck, given they were second cousins by blood rather than having mutual cousins. He knew quickly enough that Aunt Druella would never approve of her nephew's choice in girlfriend. He and Alfreck had matching grades in Charms and Astronomy, but with the distraction of a girlfriend and his family's disapproval - well, that could be mitigated easily.

A rare smile crossed his face, and he turned his attention back to the class. Professor Slughorn's eyes were slightly raised, but he said nothing. "Welcome. We were just about to begin - in future, maybe leave a little earlier, eh?" He waved an airy hand. "Thank you to those of you who have already set up. As you can see from the board, today we will be brewing our first potion for your fourth year, which is the Wit-Sharpening Potion." They spent the first ten minutes going through the instructions and doing a quick revision of what they'd learned in their previous lessons. Finally, they were permitted to work on their own.

"Can you believe it?" Gibbon asked, as Regulus lit the fire. "Rosier and Crabbe." Regulus made a non-committal sound, now turning his eyes to the ingredients. Grandfather Arcturus had visited thrice over the holidays, and each time had resulted in a thorough check-up of Regulus' brewing abilities (Sirius had stalwartly refused). He could be an idiot like that. As well as an in-depth revision of the previous three years' topics, he'd been given an introduction to those upcoming. So really, it was his third time creating the Wit-Sharpening Potion, not the first. That knowledge allowed his shoulders to relax, if only slightly. He measured out the amount of the base needed, and poured it into the cauldron. It settled heavily, a sluggish grey-green. Not entirely appetising.

It only took half a minute of ignoring him for Gibbon to spill his guts. "I saw them this morning. Near the statue of Herpo the Foul and the bass-lick -"

"Basilisk," Regulus corrected.

"-and I think he'd just asked her. I was the first person they told," Gibbon beamed, his chest puffed out.

"Oh?" Regulus said, turning his head. It was enough for Gibbon to continue.

"They're properly dating. They're in love," he said eagerly. Love? They were fourteen. Love was the sort of thing that came from years of partnership and marriage and working side-by-side, not from thinking someone was fit. He expected that rubbish from Crabbe, but from Rosier? Perhaps he'd overestimated Alfreck. He wondered, briefly, what Mulciber would make of it. Arrangements made by your parents were one thing, but he wasn't sure what the Dark Lord would make of frolicking around fancying and snogging any pureblood girl that came into view. Maybe it was okay. Maybe it was fine. But Regulus thought it was probably a distraction.

Well, at least he'd have something interesting to write Mother about.

The rest of the class passed without much ado, aside from Rosier choosing to work with Crabbe, and their potion turning a sickly pink as a result of more time spent staring at each other rather than at the instructions. Professor Slughorn clapped his hands together and congratulated Regulus and Gibbon on their efforts. Regulus actually did smile then, and Gibbon went all bouncy, as if they weren't levied the same praise at the end of each brewing session.

Time went on quickly; he spent most of it in his dormitory, pouring over his homework, and then drafting his weekly letter to his mother, highlighting specific quotes of Professor Slughorn's and coming up with descriptors for Rosier and Crabbe's relationship. 'Confusing' wouldn't satisfy her, even if it was true. Gibbon stayed a while to finish his History of Magic essay, and then scampered off after much complaining to get some fresh air. Regulus eyed him as he left. His broom was hanging on the wall, and it would've been gathering dust if he didn't clean it so often. Quidditch tryouts were next weekend, and while existing players were rarely outed, it was still a risk. His legs itched. But if his owl hadn't reached his mother by her breakfast tomorrow morning, he'd be in for a hiding - well, a howler, at least. Given Sirius' complete disdain for following the family rules, Regulus seemed to have to follow them well enough for the both of them.

He'd reached the part of the letter where he turned over questions to his mother when the door to the dormitory opened. Hm.

"Rosier," he said. "You look happy." His silvery hair was ruffled, his tie barely tied, dangling off his neck.

"Gibbon told you?" he asked, sitting down on his bed, which was on the other side of the door from Regulus'.

"Yes," he said. He finished his sentence, and set his quill down. "I expect half the world knows now. He's very excited for you." Excited that he'd known something Regulus hadn't, more like. Rosier paled.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, hands frozen on the buttons of his shirt. Huh. Perhaps he hadn't transformed into a flobberworm with legs.

"You were almost late to Potions, and arrived with her, before partnering her for the lesson," he said. "Gibbon probably told Mulciber, too, or at least one of the others." Rosier leapt off the bed, tearing at his buttons.

"Do you know that?" he asked, pulling his arms out of his sleeves. "Did Gibbon say he'd gone to Mulciber?" Regulus said nothing. "Black, come on."

"It's a theory," he admitted. "But I wouldn't be surprised. What does surprise me is that you underestimate how quickly word can travel through Hogwarts. You've never been at the receiving end of a rumour?"

"Have you?"

Regulus had come back to Hogwarts after Christmas in his first year to find that his cousin's elopement with a mudblood and her pregnancy were more commonly known than he would've liked. She was Rosier's cousin too, but their mismatched surnames meant that most of it had been directed towards Regulus, his brother, and poor Narcissa.

"She's a Crabbe," he said instead. "Pureblooded as far back as anyone can trace."

"I'm not a blood traitor!" Rosier rounded on him.
"Rosier," Regulus said. "I more or less just pointed that out - she's a pureblood. So why do you care if people know?" If Rosier could say it aloud, maybe he'd realise his mistake and remedy it. Regulus wouldn't have even minded rewriting his letter if his dormmate had done so. A relationship lasting a few hours wasn't anything to waste time on.

"I -" Rosier threw his shirt to the ground so hard Regulus was surprised it didn't cry out. He grabbed tufts of his blond hair, grunting, hunched over. Guilt nipped at Regulus' stomach. He put his letter aside and slid off his bed.

"I know," he said, looking up at the ceiling. "I wasn't sure if you did."

"I'm not an idiot, Regulus," Alfreck said, voice brittle. "I'm not Andromeda. Obviously - Debbie's a pureblood." Debbie? That sort of nickname did make him question Alfreck's idiocracy. "It's not like I'm going to marry her. But she's pretty -" Is she? "-and she likes me -" Does nobody else? "-and I like her. Don't write your mother about it." Alfreck straightened up from his twisted position. Sirius had once called the Rosier boys 'brick shithouses'. Vulgar words, but the sentiment was right. Regulus had to look up at him.

He told his mother about nearly everything. Partly because she always found out, whether he told her or not, and the round of questioning that came after an omission was thoroughly unpleasant, to say the least. But partly, too, because it was easy. She was easy to talk to, unless he angered her. But when she was calm and happy and being written to weekly with plenty of information, she was nice. He couldn't tell Gibbon or Alfreck half of what he thought, but with Mother, he got out at least three-quarters. She'd find out one way or another about Alfreck and Crabbe. He'd get the interrogation of his life - how was she supposed to believe that his dormmate had a relationship right under his nose and he never noticed?

Alfreck looked at him. His eyes were the same as Andromeda's. Big and brown.

"Fine," he said. "I'd keep it under better wraps, if I were you. You shouldn't be ashamed of who you're with. If you are, you ought to change something."

September 20th, 1975

Her hair seemed to shimmer in the soft orange glow of morning light, winking stars at him. Her fingers wrapped around a golden goblet, and she raised it, laughing about something. In the din, he couldn't hear her, but he knew how it would sound. He swallowed down another mouthful of soup.

There was a chorus of hooting as the owls flew in, all at once. Their wings were outstretched, and they soared above the students, some of them even doing dives and circles. One such owl went to Potter, who seemed to recognise it immediately. Severus laughed softly. Of course he would have a show-off owl. Perhaps pets really did resemble their owners. He'd never had one.

An entire parliament of owls seemed to be headed for the Slytherin table, interestingly enough. Some looked almost regal, not needing to resort to the childish tricks of Potter's to make an impression. But the others appeared to be - school owls? Strange, Severus thought. What was even stranger was when one swooped down and landed next to his bowl. It clutched a black envelope in its beak. Ice slushed through his veins. Nobody wrote him; not with an envelope like that, at the very least. He was lucky to get a scribbled word from his mother at Christmas. When he'd gone round more often, Mr. and Mrs. Evans had sent him small gifts for his birthday, but they hadn't for his fifteenth. It didn't matter. He didn't want some muggle token.

The letter was definitely addressed to 'Severus Snape'. There was not a single witch or wizard in the world called Snape except for himself. It couldn't be a mistake. He turned his head, looking down the table at the others who had received mail. Raimund Rosier and Warren Avery held black envelopes in their hands, as did Wilkes. He looked back over to the Gryffindor table, where Lily and McKinnon were chatting, and Potter was feeding his owl. There were no glances over to the Slytherins; no mischievous snarls beyond the ordinary. Either another culprit was pranking the house, or -

The owl dropped the letter into his soup.

"You stupid bird!" He admonished, throwing his hand towards it. The brown thing flew off before Severus made contact. He snatched the letter from his ruined breakfast, frowning. Wilkes had opened his, and was reading from a black sheet of parchment. Therefore, it seemed unlikely there was some prank concealed. Severus broke the seal, and slid the letter from the envelope.

Severus Snape, it began.

I am writing to invite you to a meeting in Dungeon 19 commencing immediately after breakfast. This is related to what we have previously discussed, under new direction passed on to me. Don't be late.

M.M.

How subtle. Instead of having a private word, Mulciber had to take the liberty of sending letters to everyone, so those not invited would wonder. A stroke of genius. How was it that Mulciber had ended up as the cream of the crop from the recruited seventh years? If that was the best they had, perhaps the role as a sort of leader ought to have gone to someone younger. Someone smarter.

Seniority wasn't everything.

He returned the letter to its envelope and slipped it into the pocket of his robes. With his soup now inedible, he contented himself with reading his latest borrow from the library. It wasn't anything too complicated; just a history of the creation of certain jinxes and hexes. He thought it rather amiss they never covered that in class. Mostly, they focused on the practical elements of spell-casting, the theory only really touched on when the spell was first introduced, and the history almost never. It was if the school wanted them to stay ignorant, he thought. Many people seemed happier not knowing the ins and outs. It gave their simple minds less to ponder. He wasn't like that, though. He understood that magic was more than wand-waving and mumbling, unlike some. He had thought Lily was like that, too. He looked up from his book to where she sat. Now, more often than not, she seemed to spend her time laughing with all sorts of people. The whole of Gryffindor house seemed to be determined to lead her astray.

He sighed a long-suffering sigh, and ignored Padgett's question.

After another ten or so minutes, he caught Regulus standing and excusing himself, with that Gibbon hot on his heels. He craned his neck to see further down the table; the seventh years appeared to all still be seated. Nevertheless, he wasn't keen on being late. Regardless of how dim-witted he thought Mulciber was. He left the Great Hall quickly, doing his best not to look towards the Gryffindors.

His feet carried him down to the dungeons easily, and he started on his way. Dungeon 19 was used for Alchemy lessons, he'd heard, and sometimes Professor Slughorn would use it for his own personal brewing. Severus had only been in there once or twice. He took a wrong turn at an empty portrait and had to double back, but he was still the third to reach the dungeon. Regulus was leaning against the stone wall, arms folded across his chest, and Gibbon was practically bouncing.

He stopped when they made eye contact.

Severus frowned. Maybe the Blacks weren't so dissimilar. And Gibbon would believe anything Regulus believed - he was a real mutton-brain.

"Good morning," Regulus said, inclining his head.

"Good morning, Snape," Gibbon added, somewhat brighter. Severus eyed him with distaste.

"To you," he replied, and stayed on the other side of the closed door. The others arrived in a slow trickle, but all of them were there before Mulciber and Yaxley arrived.

Mulciber was silent. He approached the door, and retrieved a large, rusted key from somewhere on his person. He then pulled out his wand, murmured a spell, and guided the key into the keyhole and turned it. If the door was opened by a key and not a charm, Severus could see no reason to use magic for the sake of it. They filtered in. Benches for Alchemy were towards the back of the dungeon. At the front, there was a circle of chairs assembled, as well as a blackboard. A single portrait hung in the classroom, and the elderly wizard was fast asleep, snoring gently.

Severus took a seat next to the Rosiers, both Raimund and Alfreck and then their cousin Evan. Crouch took the seat on his right, grinning maniacally.

"I still don't understand why he's here," Wilkes said, eyes narrowed. His gaze met Severus'. He froze, forgetting how to breathe. He swallowed. But then his gaze passed over to Crouch. Severus scolded himself silently. They're like dogs, they can smell fear. Don't show it. "He's a second year and could spill everything to his father at any given moment." That was a fair point. Severus looked to Mulciber, who jutted his jaw out.

"Crouch, here," he said, leaning across to pat Crouch on the shoulder (the boy looked as though he was about to wet himself with excitement), "says he is dedicated to the cause. His father treats him awfully - doesn't he, Barty?"

"He's never home!" Crouch said, more fiercely than Severus expected. "Never, never, never! Mother cries and cries and he doesn't care! He'd fuck every man in the Ministry rather than come home to us!" His voice hadn't broken yet. His eyes were wide and wild, and Severus could hear his rattling breaths.

"He's too obsessed with catching dark wizards, isn't he, Barty?" Mulciber asked encouragingly.

"That's all he cares about!" Crouch said, stomping his foot. "I'll show him a dark wizard!"

"He might take interest in you, then," Mulciber said, sounding almost...sympathetic? The boy was putty in Mulciber's hands. Crouch nodded, and looked up at Mulciber, a pout on his lips. Mulciber tapped his shoulder lightly, and straightened up. "Crouch is loyal to our cause. Beginning his training now - even if it's only the very basics - will ensure he's through and through by the time he leaves school. I've run it by the necessary people and they agree."

"Very well," Wilkes said, not looking as if he was at all well. Something about it all made Severus' insides twist. Their meeting began without any further comments, and Severus listened keenly, though kept his face neutral. Last year, they had sort of formed a group, but the closest to 'meetings' they'd had were whispered discussions at the end of the Slytherin table and quiet asides while 'helping each other study' in the common room. Mulciber blathered on a fair bit, all cryptic about letters he'd received and such for so long that Severus contemplated using an Unforgivable on himself. Finally, it got to the good part.

"That leaves us here at Hogwarts," Mulciber said, "in the thick of it, for now. We're obviously not expected to leave school as prodigies -" you aren't, Severus thought, "-but we will have an advantage if we begin to look into different types of magic and do extra study now. And if we can convince others to see things our way - even if they don't want to go all-out - we'll be better for it. After all, it's not fair that we and the other purebloods at Hogwarts should have to suffer in the way we do, and while we can't change the admission policy right now, we can - er, cultivate things a bit more. Tend the garden."

"With scissors or a razor?" Selwyn grinned, and Yaxley laughed coldly.

"Shut it," Mulciber growled. Both of them complied. Idly, Severus wondered when Mulciber had refined his speech so much. It did give him an air of marginally more authority, at least. It felt less like the show was being run by a dog - now Mulciber appeared to have monkey-like intelligence. He barked out sentences that vaguely followed the structure laid out in nursery school. Sometimes, Severus wondered if the muggles might have some worthy ideas on the necessity of English and Mathematics in the school curriculum.

For all Mulciber went on, the point ended up being that they would be meeting regularly, it was a secret, et cetera. Their first 'task' was to familiarise themselves with the dungeons. "There's so much stuff down here," Mulciber said. "We gotta know it like the back of our hand, because it is ours!" Eloquent. Severus stood with the others and followed the absolutely-conspicuous crowd. He was beginning to think that the 'orders' had really been given by a drunk Macnair. The only thing they achieved in any sense was scaring a little Hufflepuff girl who was lost looking for her common room and thought to ask the group for help given their number of prefects.

"You've been here for three weeks," Jugson said, towering over her. "Haven't you learned yet?" The little girl shook her head.

"There's too many doors," she said in a small voice.

"That's Hogwarts for you," Jugson replied. "You'll be worse off if we help. You'll never remember it on your own if you never need to."

"Please," she said. "I really didn't mean to cause you any trouble. You can just point me the way. Please." Her eyes were very red and her cheeks bright pink. Severus glared at her. He knew the sort. They'd never had to fend for themselves, never had to tough it out and find things by their own skill.

"What would your parents think?" asked Jugson, taking another step towards her. She was almost looking straight up at him. "About you not even being able to get back to the place you sleep every day?" She turned white, but didn't look away.

"They'd say it sounds like a very big castle and everyone gets lost sometimes," she said, voice quivering. Severus inhaled sharply. Idiot.

"Sounds like?" Yaxley asked.

"Yes? They've never been here. How could they? They're norm - they're mug - muggles?" Severus wanted to hit her. Fucking idiot Hufflepuffs. She came across a group of prowling Slytherin boys and thought to not only ask them for help, but to advertise that she was muggle-born. Lily would've never been so stupid. At least if she'd revealed it, it would've been to rile them up on purpose.

"So your parents never attended Hogwarts?" Mulciber asked, swaggering to the front. "They never learned magic?"

"No?" the little girl said, fidgeting with her jumper. Severus swallowed, and picked a spot on the wall to stare at.

"My family has learned magic for centuries," Mulciber continued. "We've worked very, very hard and we do lots of stuff for the magical community. My grandparents purchased all-new equipment for St. Mungo's over the summer." Severus shifted.
"St. Mungo's?" Her voice was high and fluttery.
"The hospital," Yaxley said.
"That's very nice of them," she squeaked.

"It is," Mulciber agreed. He and Jugson were both now barely two feet away from her. "Has your family ever done anything like that?" She shook her head mutely. Severus tried to focus on the wall. On the light and shadow of the stone. Her frizz of hair kept poking into his line of vision. Unkempt, like Potter's. "Why are you even here, if your parents don't know magic? What's the point in coming here? Do you know what a squib is?"

"A squib?"

"Did you know that each time a mudblood like you gets magic, one of our brothers or sisters or cousins lose their magic? You take it. And then they can't live with us, they can't come to school, they can't do anything because people like you have their magic."

"What's a mudblood?"

It got darker. Severus' vision snapped a way. He could see Yaxley muttering out of the corner of his mouth, wand pointed at the glowing torches. He seemed to care more for showmanship than skill.

Typical.

"Do you read the Prophet?"
"Is that the newspaper?" The lights continued to go out. Mulciber and Jugson cast long shadows. Severus slowed his pace, dropping to the back of the group with the younger boys. Regulus looked half a ghost in the flickering light, and Crouch grinned like they were going on a picnic.

"Does it feel good to be a little thief?" Selwyn crooned. "A little fucking mudblood troublemaker?" He'd heard of this happening. Everyone had heard of it - but nothing had ever been proven. Slytherins knew better than to run to a professor over shared smiles and late nights. He had never witnessed it, however. Never been important enough, never been asked to come. He wondered idly if this had been Mulciber's plan all along. If the task was a ruse.

Maybe Mulciber wasn't such an idiot.

"I didn't mean to upset you-"
"Why the fuck are you here? Go home!" There was bustling, and Jugson ended up booted to the back, fists clenched. The group shuffled around him and Wilkes. Protect the prefects. They were the easiest to recognise if the girl decided to tattle later.
"I'll go now, I'm really sorry-"
"I thought you didn't know where the common room was?"
"I - I can find it!" More lights winked out. Severus could scarcely see, and kept in place more by following the tap of shoes against the stone floor than any sense of sight.
"If you can find it," Mulciber growled, "then why ask us in the first place?"

The last light went out as they reached the end of the long corridor. There was nowhere for her to go.

Somebody laughed.

Severus stared at the runes etched into the wall, studied the way the flashes of spells illuminated them. He couldn't quite make them out. Their script was harsh, in long slashes and gnarled knots that made him queasy. A noise came from nearby. His eyes snapped away. They'd adjusted to the dim dungeon light. Crouch's eyes were wide, lips upturned. Regulus was as stiff as a board. Gibbon murmured. Her noises sounded like his mother's. But she wasn't his mother. She was like Tobias, taunting for the sake of it, playing victim, playing hard-done-by. The stupid bitch couldn't find her common room. So tragic.

Lily wouldn't have been like that. Lily would've said something smart and she would've gotten herself out already. She would've fought her way out tooth and nail. Used her magic for something. This useless lump just kept whimpering. Surely she'd learned at least one spell by now. She had a wand and books; what more did she need? Obviously she didn't read the news. She seemed woefully unprepared for incidents like this. They were so common now. You had to choose to be ignorant of them.

Mulciber herded them away. After a minute or so, the torches lit once more. "Did anyone discover something about that part of the dungeons?" he asked, sounding rather pleased.
"Stupid halfwit mudblood Puffs wander through," Selwyn volunteered.
"The torches take around four or five minutes to re-ignite after being extinguished," Yaxley said. Such insight, Severus thought dryly.
"There were old runes inscribed on the walls," he said. "Which you would have noticed if it wasn't dark." The jab at Yaxley was a risk, but worth it to see his face shrivel up.
"If the girl had been able to see better, she could've identified us," Yaxley said. "If you'd like to be reported to Professor Slughorn and Professor Dumbledore, that's your choice, but I don't." Yaxley's lips curled in a smile. Severus gritted his teeth. Yaxley had probably come up with that excuse after the fact.

"Whatever," Mulciber said. "Runes, Snape?"
"Yes."
"What type?"
"Not a script we learn in school."
"He's an O.W.L student," said Wilkes. "We learn more at N.E.W.T level."
"It wasn't anything we learn at school," Severus said, eyes narrowing. What did Wilkes think he was, an idiot? He hadn't learned all the scripts yet, but he could recognise most. Whatever the runes had been, they were completely foreign to the style they usually learned.
"I can return another time and examine them more closely," Wilkes said, as if Severus hadn't spoken at all. They came to an agreement, and Severus eyed Wilkes rakishly. So that was the type of person he was.

They moved from the darker, deeper parts of the dungeons closer to the surface, only a level beneath the basement. Portraits began to line the walls, many of them slumbering or reading rather than engaging in conversation - rather unlike the array of Gryffindor portraits that hollered for attention as you tried to walk through the tower. Their footsteps echoed through the corridors, and there was the slight rush of water through the pipes. They stayed silent for the most part. Occasionally, Mulciber pointed out a portrait or mark of interest. Severus felt rather as though he'd unwittingly joined a lackluster tour.

Finally, they moved to circle back to Dungeon 19 to 'discuss their findings'. It had been an entirely unilluminating waste of nigh on two hours. He thought of the History of Magic essay that awaited his return, and how it could have been all but done by now. He stayed relatively flanking the group, behind the prefects but just in front of Regulus and Gibbon.

"Shut up! Shut up, you tosser!"

Severus froze. An icy chill scraped his spine. Gibbon ran into the back of him.

"Sorry," Gibbon said. His heart lodged in his throat. His hands turned freezing, sweat clinging to his palms. What were they doing here, why were they here, why couldn't they just -?

James Potter bounded around the corner, wand already out. "Rictusempra!" A bolt of silver burst out. Severus dropped as quickly as he could. Selwyn ended up being the victim, and the sixth year ended up on his hands and knees, laughing hysterically. He smacked his fist into the stone, tears pouring down his face, as the others fanned out towards the walls. Yaxley grabbed beneath his arms and hoisted him up, staggering as Selwyn writhed manically.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Jugson barked out. "Unprovoked use of a hex against another student."
"Ten?" Potter put a hand to his chest, staggering. Severus straightened up, sliding in behind Evan Rosier. "It was a charm, not a hex! That should only be five points deducted."
"Not ten," Black agreed, apparently appearing from nowhere. "Now, that's unjust. That's why people like you don't have seats on the Wizengamot, Jugson."
"Not that that makes a person," Pettigrew piped up, again pulling the strange schtick of popping up at random. "But the rest of us have to have talent to get authority."
"Which you don't," Black summarised.

"What reason do you have for prowling around the dungeons anyways?" Mulciber demanded.
"What reason have you lot? Going off for a mass wank to You-Know-Who?" Potter taunted. Pettigrew snorted.

"That'd explain the noises I heard from your room, Reg," Black said, smirking. "Or maybe it was just you and Gibbon." Severus turned to look at the pair. Regulus said nothing, but his eyes were steely. Gibbon, however, had turned a violent shade of tomato.

"That's not true!" he shouted. "We're not poofs!" His brows were knitted and chin jutted out. It made him look as if he were four rather than fourteen. Severus truly couldn't fathom why absolute dunces like that were included in their activities. Regulus was a Black, but he was a fourth year all the same; was Mulciber so easily cowed that a fourth year got to make demands on his friends joining too?

"I'm a prefect," Jugson reminded them, taking a step in front. His emerald badge gleamed on his chest. "I'm conducting an activity. Let us through."

"We have a prefect with us too, actually," Potter said, grinning. He turned aside with a look that made Severus shudder. "Remus." Again, from nowhere, one of them materialised. What the hell were they doing? Illegally apparating around Hogwarts? How was that even possible? And there was no way their Disillusionment Charms could be so well perfected. They had but one brain cell between them.

"Hello," Lupin said dryly, raising his hand in a wave. "I'm Remus. Token prefect." Yes, token. How someone like Lupin could be named prefect was beyond him. If he could be one, Severus should've been so named. He was intelligent, he was hard-working, he didn't allow people to get away with breaking school rules right beneath his nose!

"Well, you're not a very good one, are you?" Severus snarled, finally emerging from the back. "Letting them get away with every crime under the sun. Not to mention your mysterious disappearances every month," he sneered. Now that was surely something even an idiot such as Lupin didn't want the world to know. His eyes flicked to meet the glances of the other Slytherins, silently saying, 'yes, that is what I think - it makes sense.'

But instead, the tall boy snorted. Severus flushed hot.

"Ooh, look, Peter! Snivellus has his monthlies!" Potter drawled, taking a step forward.

"Don't worry, James," Pettigrew said. "I'm sure all the Slytherin boys share their tampons."

"Shut up, you fat toad!" Severus shouted, drawing his wand.

"Leave," Mulciber commanded darkly. "Now. You've no reason to be in the dungeons."

"There are other Gryffindors in the dungeons," Black said, wearing a sinister smile. "We were helping her find Snivy here." Severus froze. When she'd caught his eye this morning - had she meant? He hadn't known. How was he supposed to know that from a look? And of course they would follow her down here. Potter could hardly last the day without bothering her. He was always hanging around; every time Severus looked over, he was only a few feet away, sending her glances.

He looked to Mulciber, whose eyes were narrowed. They didn't need two Gryffindor prefects poking around, even if they were only fifth years. Selwyn was still cackling in the corner, with Yaxley pinning him to the wall. It must've been a strong spell to resist Yaxley's attempts at a counterspell, if only because he was a sixth year. Not because Yaxley had any particular skill. He didn't.

"Snivy?" Avery asked, sneering. Severus glared at him, clutching his wand tightly.
"Piss off," Severus spat.
"You don't want to play with us?" Black said, pouting horrendously and batting his eyes. "But Snivy, I just wanna pway with my wovewy wittle bwother."
"You're breaking his heart!" Potter said, putting his arm around Black. "Shame on you, Slytherins. Remus, you ought to take points." Severus glared at Lupin. He seemed a little surprised, but he swallowed.
"They need all the points they can get," Lupin said weakly. Severus scoffed. Potter and Black were even insufferable to their so-called friends.

"I said leave," Mulciber said.
"Now," Jugson added. "Or I'll be turning you in for not backing up a fellow prefect, Lupin."
"I only have to back you if I think it's just," Lupin argued, drawing himself to his full height. He was long and lanky, as tall as Mulciber but without the bulk. Scars lined his thin hands and loose threads dangled from his robes.
"You think hexing at random is just?" Jugson asked.
"It was a charm, actually, not a hex," Potter corrected, smiling easily.
"Move." Lupin and Pettigrew scuttled back, Pettigrew grabbing at thin air. Potter glared defiantly up at Jugson and Mulciber, and shrugged.

"Alright then," he said. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."
"Bye, Reg!" Black waved. "Don't forget to wash your hankies!"

And they left. They really did leave, around the corner and out of sight. Severus couldn't breathe properly until they reached the dungeon, and he kept looking back over his shoulder, expecting the band of brutes to appear once more firing spells. They never came. Jugson and Mulciber had got them off his back. Severus hadn't even been hit by one spell. And none of them said anymore about it, not to him nor Regulus. He was the last to enter the dungeon, and shut the door behind him, feeling safer than he had in a long time.