Translations:
moenia, moenium—the walls or fortifications of a city. (Latin)

The rumor mill that was the Gryffindor common room never failed to be absolutely stunning. James had learned this long ago, but was reminded of the fact when a second year boy greeted him with, "Lupin's got himself a slave and it's Snape can you believe it isn't it great?"

James shook his head, clearing his throat. He'd barely climbed through the portrait hole, but he could see the knot of Gryffindors huddling around the worn leather armchair that was Moony's second bed. He noticed that they were also gathered in a perfect semi-circle, as if someone had raised a defensive Moenium spell around himself. The crowd parted long enough for him to spot a long-suffering Remus glaring in his direction.

He cleared his throat again. A few heads looked up. "Er...Snape's not Remus's slave." More heads looked up. Lupin looked relieved. "He's, er..." He was tempted to say, Sirius Black's, but there would be no stopping that rumor. "Well," he said finally, "he's mine."

The room went quiet, then a buzz broke out. The inevitable questions were thrown out of the former Lupin gaggle. Everyone wanted to know the whys and hows and whether or not they could borrow Snape for their potions homework.

He sat down and answered as much as he could, both annoyed and pleased with the attention. At first he was deliberately vague as to why and how he'd gotten hold of Snape, but then he realized that the girls thought it romantic to save his helpless, embittered worst enemy from a life of torment at the hands of another Slytherin.

The dramatic tale evolved, finally concluding with, "...so, you see, at that moment I realized that, even though we had struggled against each other, battling for supremacy, for five long years, I could no more leave him to the mercy of Lucius Malfoy than I could my own mother. I was bound by a code of honor." James heard gagging noises to his left and turned to see Lupin apparently choking on a peanut. He winked and Moony rolled his eyes, making a show of hiding behind his book.

Story finished, he sat back to look over his gaggle. The girls were looking dreamy-eyed and the boys had puffed up at the word honor. Still, he didn't see the one face he truly wanted to see.

Never mind, she would hear about it soon enough. Meanwhile, he tried to steer Dora Trelawny away from the perception that he and Snape would gradually lose sight of their differences and become loyal, inseparable, desperately in love best friends who would then sacrifice themselves for each other after a long and heroic quest. The thought of being close to Snape, let alone inseparable, was enough to make his skin shiver and his head itch as if it hadn't been washed in weeks.

At last he extricated himself, explaining gravely that he had to look in on his poor slave, lest the unfortunate creature be frightened by his new circumstances. Sympathetic looks followed from the gaggle of ladies (and three lads), and disgusted frowns from those on the fringes who were listening in but trying to pretend they weren't.

Finally, he managed to make it up the stairs and into the dormitory.

---

Snape woke when he heard footsteps creaking on the stairs. For a moment, he was back at Malfoy Manor, curled in the guestroom's closet, praying his master hadn't thought to use a tracking charm.

Then he opened his eyes and saw the round, wood paneled room with its five curtained beds. Even more frightened now, he crawled away from the wall and into the center of the room, wincing as the blood flowed back into his numb legs and tingled mercilessly. He settled on his heels, hands behind his back, and bowed his head in time to hear the door creak open. At least the position held off the tingling in his legs.

"Snape? Where—oh." Potter's eyes fell on him. "What are you doing?"

He felt his back stiffen and his face heat. "I am greeting you, Master," he explained, "as one of my station is expected to do."

"Station. You mean slave." Potter's voice was toneless, but his lips curled and Snape's belly tightened.

He kept his voice equally dead. "Yes, Master."

"I don't remember you calling Malfoy 'Master'."

"I wouldn't have, in public. He preferred to keep the knowledge of my station quiet outside of certain circles. Keeping a slave in a public school is considered bad form—unless he is attending his owner, of course." He added the last part on, still hoping Potter wouldn't consider pulling him out of Hogwarts before he had completed his education. At least he and Potter were in the same year.

Potter surprised him by shrugging and leaning against a bed post. "Why? I thought an educated slave was worth more. And anyway, get off the floor. You look ridiculous."

"Yes, Master." Snape struggled to his feet, numb legs awkward and throbbing. "Sorry, Master." He held off answering until he had braced himself against a bed post, hoping that his new master would care more about getting information than punishing his new acquisition for the breach in decorum. "An educated slave is worth more, but most slaves are educated in their master's home, and the curriculum is focused on the master's desired skill. The training is...extreme, and most finish their training by the time they are fourteen." Whether they had completed their mastery or not. "However, the Malfoy household desired a broader range of skills from me, as well as the...benefits that were available with a slave in Hogwarts." He was deliberately vague, hoping Potter wouldn't press him for details, but would come to see keeping his slave here as an advantage.

The room was quiet for a moment, though Snape could hear the whooshing thud of his own heartbeat in his head.

"Well, don't call me 'Master' outside of this room. In fact, don't call me that at all. It sounds really prattish."

Snape could have snorted. For once he and James Potter agreed on something; all it had taken was the enslavement of one rival to the other. "Yes, Master. Shall I continue calling you Potter, then?" he asked politely.

"Trelawny would probably go mad if you called me 'James', so yes."

Snape considered his next question, not wanting to risk speaking out of turn but also needing to know the information. "Master, will we be continuing a show of animosity outside of Gryffindor, or would you prefer I openly attend you as a slave at all times?"

His owner snorted. "I doubt we'll have to put on a show." He peered at Snape, startlement visible through his round-rimmed glasses. "You're a lot more pleasant as a slave, though."

You're a lot more pleasant as a master, Snape caught himself almost thinking.

Potter continued, his voice cooling. "The only thing I want from you is you to keep out of my way. The less I see of you, the better."

"Yes, Master." It was perhaps the most welcome order he had ever received, other than attending Hogwarts. "Shall I sleep in the common room, then? After you are done with me, of course." He kept his voice steady, trying to hide his eagerness. The common room was nice, it had a fire and a warm rug. And it was away from Potter and his gang.

"McGonagall would have a fit! No, you'll have to sleep with us. You don't snore, do you?"

Snape shook his head. "No, Master." He wouldn't have survived into adolescence if he had.

"Alright, then. Just keep quiet and leave us alone. I don't care what you do otherwise. Except calling me 'Master'." I told you, don't do that."

He flinched at the rebuke, but Potter did not pursue it.

So he would have to attend his master and his master's friends all night. It was disappointing and worrisome, because he had no doubt that Potter would soon discover the various ways an owner could torture a slave all night while still enjoying plenty of rest himself. Still, he had to say the words.

"Yes, M—sir. I will do as you command."

Potter rolled his eyes and started to turn away, then stopped, his face tensing. Snape felt his own heartbeat speed up.

"There's one more thing. Sirius tells me you can't betray a secret that I've told you to keep?"

"That's correct, sir."

Potter licked his lips, fingering the fabric of the bed curtains. "Remus is...a werewolf." Snape couldn't repress a flinch. He didn't want to think about how a werewolf would factor into Potter's games. Potter kept speaking, his voice growing authoritative. "You will not speak of it to anyone, is that clear? If anyone finds out because of you, I'll use every technique that's in those books in the library. You know which ones I'm talking about?"

"Yes, Master. I will not speak of Lupin's...illness. I will obey you." He knew he sounded desperate. Of course he did. Those had been Lucius' favorite of all the restricted section. Potter would begin to experiment with them soon, he was sure, but taking them all at once as his master had promised would destroy his mind, if not his body. Despite everything, he wanted to live and be sane.

Relaxing, his master nodded and began pulling parchments out of his bag.

---

It wasn't long before the other Gryffindors returned, Lupin with a stack of books, Black with a heavy basket and an armful of empty mugs and Pettigrew trailing behind with Black's book bag. James got off his bed and took the basket from Black, using the oppurtunity to paw through the contents.

Snape nearly forgot to stand when they came in. He was engrossed in the lessons he had missed, as Potter had loaned him his books and parchment and even allowed him to work at the desk that seemed to accompany the extra bed.

But, in truth, his first instinct was to snarl at the trio, not to stand in respect. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, and Snape slid back into his seat.

The Gryffindor quartet opened the basket, releasing a heady scent of fresh bread and sweets and various other after-hours treats. They must have charmed the house elves somehow. Snape looked on out of the corner of his eye as the feast began, wary of the party atmosphere and expecting to be called to attend at any moment. Instead, the group seemed content to forget his existence, except for when Black cast a silencing charm over his shoulder so Snape could not hear the laughter and giggles, but only see the friendly jostling and vying for food. After awhile they bent over a crumb-covered parchment, making marks and ticks on the parchment and rude gestures at each other.

It should have pleased him, to be ignored so thoroughly. The last thing he wanted was to be put into service. But instead he felt the familiar rage, thumping like a tribal drum in his chest. Potter's gang was his enemy, his nemesis and it was hard to look at their happy exclusion of him and not want to hex the tower down around their heads.

He swallowed the burning egg that seemed to have grown in his throat and tried to finish his essay. His quill poked a hole through the parchment, which he tried carefully to smooth out. It had been all right when it was just Potter. His master had behaved in a strangely civil manner then, but now he was back with his friends, as cruel and disdainful of Snape as he had ever been. And Snape was left alone, with his borrowed texts, waiting to be called into their circle for their pleasure.

He hated this life.

Forcing himself to turn back to the abused parchment, Snape did his best to quell the pounding rage in his chest and focus on proving his worth as an educated slave.

---

When Potter's gang finally scattered across the room to their own beds, Snape quickly extinguished the light at his desk and settled down on the soft, thick carpet. He was as quiet as possible, hoping that the Gryffindors would forget his existence just for this first night.

He lay down on his back on the floor staring at the ceiling for a long time—it seemed to him, anyway. He knew he wouldn't sleep, but he wasn't stupid enough to try tossing and turning. It was harder sleeping in the room; at least in Slytherin he would be left to his own devices in the common room when he wasn't wanted.

He heard the sound of rustling sheets and shifting limbs from Potter's bed. Snape froze, waiting.

"Snape?"

Snape dug his fingernails into the carpet. "Yes, Master?"

"Where are you?"

"On the floor." Snape's fingertips sung into the thick pile as well.

"Oh." A pause. "Why?"

For this, Snape had no answer.

Fortunately, Potter seemed too sleepy to either pursue the matter or punish his slave for insolence. "Well, all right. G'night, then."

There was the rustle of blankets again, and then the only sound was of Black and Pettigrew snoring.

---

Snape woke just before dawn, feeling groggy but surprisingly warm. There was a blanket tucked in around him, smelling musty and bearing the Hogwarts crest on one corner. He sighed; the house elves could not stand to see a child go cold, and it had taken no small amount of bargaining to get them to leave off on the days his punishments included losing the "civil comforts."

Hoping none of the boys in the dorm had seen him, he shook off the blanket and sat up, intending to hide the evidence in the trunk Lupin had indicated was his. But as he began to fold the blanket, he noticed that his master's bed was...empty.

The sour taste of panic filled his mouth. He was never allowed to sleep later than his master; that was an unforgivable sign of disrespect and inattendence. At the very least, Lucius would have kicked him awake and made him spend the next three nights kneeling by his bed.

Snape bit his lip, looking over at the pale morning light slowly filtering over the foggy mountains. What was his master—and, as he looked around at the other empty beds—his three friends doing out of their dorm room at first light? The answer was obvious, of course: the four boys were the most notorious pranksters in the school. He wondered who the new victim would be, now that Snape was available to much more intimate abuses. He wondered if he would be punished for being either asleep or awake when they returned.

Most likely, he would be punished regardless, so he might as well make some use of the time.

Sighing, he settled down at the desk, hoping to catch up enough on charms before the scheduled test this morning.

On his desk was a stark square of parchment, bearing an untidy scrawl:

blockquote Snape,
What the hell were you doing sleeping on the floor last night, trying to trip us. I shouldn't have to tell you, but if you dare breath a word of this to McGonagall or anyone, hanging upside down without your pants will seem like a pleasant afternoon. And burn this note. /blockquote

On a sigh, Snape Incendio'd the note, glad it was one of the few bits of wandless magic he knew. He stared at the small pile of black ash on his charms essay. Oddly, his first reaction was to laugh; the anger and offence in the tone seemed so juvenile when compared with Lucius's subtle, sadistic promises. Lucius knew there was no need to threaten a slave; the threat was carried in every breath and gesture of the master. Of course he wouldn't alert McGonagall to his master's foibles. He wasn't that eager for pain. But it was encouraging to know that Potter was not familiar with wizarding slavery on a personal level. It might give him some freedom before Potter realized the power that rested in his hands.

He brushed the ash off his charms paper and went back to work.

---

James was furious. He and Sirius had been trying to stuff Moaning Myrtle into the girls' toilet and weave a spell which would release her the the next time the toilet flushed. They'd almost had it when James had heard the bathroom door open and a moment later had turned around to find a red-faced McGonagall standing, hands on her hips, in her dressing gown.

She had dragged them out by their ears. They had been met by a red-faced Remus and Peter, whose shoulders were each caught in the dirty hands of Argus Filch.

McGonagall had dragged them all into her office and given them an ear-ringing tirade on Ghosts' Rights and the cost of repairing Hogwarts' plumbing. She had sentenced them to spend the rest of the day cleaning every toilet on the grounds. Lupin, with his sensitive hearing, was actually rubbing his ears when they were finally thrown out.

Red-faced and silent—though more from the unbearable shame of having been caught than any sympathy for Moaning Myrtle—they trudged back to the dorms. The sun was just coming up, which meant none of them would have more than a half-night's sleep today.

The moment Sirius made it through the door, he had grabbed Snape's collar and was hauling him off his chair, a bottle of ink upturning on a sheet of parchment. The other boy's face became even paler, and James saw a shaking hand grip the edge of the desk for balance.

"Sirius," he yelled. "What are you doing?"

"The little freak snitched on us," Sirius growled, giving Snape a shake. "Tell me we're going to make him pay for that."

Snape was shaking his head, staring at the maroon carpet in front of James's feet. James froze, unwilling to defend Snape in front of his friends, but also unwilling to let someone he was supposed to be responsible for suffer for something he probably hadn't done. Amazing, he'd never cared whether Snape was actually guilty before.

"We're going to skin you, you little worm, we're going to peel the skin right off your bones," Sirius hissed. James watched Snape shudder and felt himself blanch.

"Pads, that's enough." James stared at his best friend. He had never seen him like this before. "Let him go, he hasn't done anything."

Sirius turned to him, an ugly snarl on his face, before shoving the slave into the desk and turning back to his own bed.

James took a breath and stole a glance at Snape who was holding his hip with one hand and staring at him with black eyes. Normally he would have hissed something about rudeness and staring, but now he felt compelled to make up for Sirius's behavior. He walked over to Snape's desk and righted the upturned ink bottle—he would be stealing one off Sirius to replace it—and Evanesco'd the mess on the parchment out of existence, leaving the tight scrawl underneath intact. He was showing off a bit, but without a wand, Snape would have had to recopy the essay by hand. This was the nicest thing he could think to do for the slave that didn't require him to actually look at him.

Still, he felt Snape's eyes on him as he went back to his own bed and closed the curtains so he could change.