Quidditch practice was a disaster. Sirius refused to speak with him, but continued to beat the Bludgers at his head with far more force and frequency than was necessary, causing James to fall off his broom twice and miss half the Quaffle passes. James got off the pitch tired and bruised and ready to pound his best friend right into the Whomping Willow, but Sirius stole out of the locker room without looking at him. James groaned and punched the shower. Then winced when he found that the ancient granite was harder than his fist.

He didn't understand Sirius. He'd seemed off since the beginning of the year, snapping at everyone in snapping range. He'd even gone after Lily, who had promptly turned his robes purple and charmed his wand to sing the Hogwarts Tune every time he tried to hex someone. And this morning James had been almost certain Sirius had meant the things he had said, had wanted to do those things to Snape.

As James pulled his robes on, he tried to think back to when his best friend had turned into a lunatic beast.

He'd seemed fine at the end of fifth year, if to have to go back to Grimmauld Place. But that was nothing unusual; Sirius hated his family. But then, James hadn't been paying as much attention as he should have been. He had already been distracted by Snape and what he had seen that day after O.W.L.s and by the other student's sudden disappearance.

Sirius had shown up on his doorstep in the middle of the summer. He'd looked pale and drawn, but he'd been joking and whining that he just had to get away from his family for awhile. James's mum had taking an instant liking to his friend, and Sirius had quickly reverted to his usual high-spirited, prankish self. He'd kipped three weeks on the couch before one day packing up his messy sprawl, kissing James's mum on the cheek (she'd turned bright red) and waving good-bye. In all that time, Sirius hadn't mentioned anything being wrong, other than the usual odiousness of Sirius's parents. But then, James hadn't said anything about the plan he was forming to rescue his worst enemy, either.

Something had happened that summer that had changed Sirius into this high-strung, foul-tempered arsehole that bore only a passing resemblance to his best friend. Maybe he'd been kidnapped and replaced on his way back from James's home? It didn't seem likely. Maybe he had been dosed with Morosa draught. But those symptoms usually wore off within a week. Maybe he was being Imperio'd to drink it?

James shook his head. His theories were wild and he knew it. Carefully, he swept his tangled, disjointed thoughts into the whirring box in his mind and decided to let his subconscious deal with it. Because figuring out why Sirius was acting like such a pig-headed prat had to take second string to figuring out how to make Sirius stop acting like a pig-headed prat, even if he had to tie him up and Silencio him himself.

Finally, he ruffled up his hair and walked up to the great hall for dinner.

---

Snape opened his eyes in time to see the sun falling over the mountains. Groaning, he rubbed the sore spot where his head had been leaning against the gray boulder that shielded him from Hogwarts' view. He shifted, feeling stiff and sore, but not chilled. Looking down he found a Hogwarts blanket tucked around him once more and sighed. One day the house-elves' attentions were going to get him into trouble.

He stood up, ignoring the popping and creaking in his bones, and stretched. After folding the blanket neatly into the dinner basket the house elves had also brought him, he dusted off his books and turned to face Hogwarts. If it were up to him, he'd spend the rest of the night—and all the following nights—under this boulder, covered in the house elves' charmed blankets. The thought was hopeless and stupid. If he tried it, he'd be accused of running, punished, and lose what freedom he had. Besides, last week he hadn't ever expected to see the outside, let alone Hogwarts' lake again.

A slave at a public school was a scandal; a slave studying at a public school was an outrage. Now that he'd lost the identity as the Malfoys' odd but brilliant chairty case, they couldn't continue to allow him to stay without losing face. With no possibility of becoming a real potions master, no chance of spying for the Malfoys in that elite circle now that his position was revealed, and certainly no appeal as a pleasure slave, he had become entirely worthless. Rather than simply execute him, Lucius had chosen to let him die of of slow starvation and torture; it was apparently more entertaining that way.

Then, there was Potter. Snape was sure he was supposed to be grateful for the reprieve, but he couldn't help wondering what Potter had planned and if it wouldn't have been better to have died in a few weeks under Lucius' hand than to suffer a possible lifetime under Potter's.

But that was another useless line of reasoning. He couldn't kill himself, and even if he could, he'd fought too long for his own survival to surrender it now.

He had taken advantage of Potter's edict that he was to keep far out of sight and out of mind and spent the afternoon—and part of the evening, now—working on his wandless magic. He wasn't terribly adept, but if Potter didn't get him a new wand he would be helpless otherwise.

Even if his new master did get him a new wand, he had learned that even the possessions he had once viewed as an extension of his body could be taken away on a whim. His knowledge and his magic could not be stripped so easily.

It was dusk by the time he made it into the castle. It was about the time Slytherin upper years would have been expecting his services. He wasn't sure when Potter would want him in the dormitory, or in the common room where he could gather favors from the Gryffindor upper years. Previously, his true status had only been known to the Slytherin Seventh years, and Malfoy's closest followers, but now the secret was out.

He wondered what he'd be traded for tonight. The Slytherins had wanted him for equal parts sex, torture and homework. He was hoping that the Gryffindors were as academically pathetic as their Slytherin counterparts.

The common room broke into whispers when he slunk into it. Snape ignored them, even though his face still turned red, making his spots stand out even more. Good. If it made him even more repulsive, maybe they'd take advantage of his brain instead of his body.

Nobody looked his way, nobody stood to claim him. He glanced once more around the shabby, bright room and assumed he must be expected to entertain the quartet. He hated the curved staircases, and the way the curled iron left him open to the stares of others as he dragged himself up to meet whatever fate had been designed for him that night. He could almost taste the eagerness and disgust.

He slipped through the dormitory door as quietly as possible. The room was lit by the usual string of colored stars twinkling under the wooden ceiling and torches flickering on the wall. Good. The things he feared most were things few chose to do when the lights were on. Since nobody seemed interested in him for the moment, he pulled out some borrowed parchment and was able to recover enough ink to finish his notes from the spilled bottle by mixing a little water in.

Slipping into the desk he was dangerously beginning to think of as his, he chewed on a nib as he outlined his potion essay. Most of his teachers, with the exception of Slughorn, had given him work—sometimes sandwiched by sympathetic looks—to help him make up for the first few weeks he had missed. Slughorn had simply ignored him when he'd stayed after to see if there was anything he could do to make up the material. The corpulent professor had gone about cleaning up his lab as if he had not heard Snape's quiet, dignified pleas. Even when the desks were clean and the cauldrons put away, Slughorn had merely handed him this year's syllabus without a word.

At least he was far enough ahead in potions that he could probably make up the point difference, since he was already years ahead of the class. And one day, did circumstances permit, Slughorn would know what it was like to beg and not be heard.

---

His breath hitched a few hours later when the twinkling ceiling lights dimmed and winked out. He'd been lucky the night before; Potter's gang had been too busy plotting mayhem to call him to their beds. But tonight they were angry and frustrated and brooding about their afternoon detentions. Black's earlier words drifted into his mind. He'd partially expected them to haul them to the middle of the room and beat him bloody, but they apparently each preferred a private catharsis. Lucky him.

He knelt on the carpet. He hadn't been called for and he certainly wasn't going to offer, but he had no doubt one of the gang would notice him soon.

"Snape?" Potter's voice was pitched low, though there was no chance of the others not hearing him.

"Yes, Master," Snape whispered back, then flinched. He had forgotten Potter did not like to be called that. He waited to see if he would be punished right away or later.

"Why are you sitting on the floor?"

Why are you asking inane questions, Snape almost snapped back, nearly biting his tongue off to stop himself. It was hard having his former rival as a master; it was too easy to forget, and thus incur punishment. He leashed his tongue and answered, "I am waiting for instructions."

"Instructions?" Potter had forgotten to whisper. "It's eleven at night, who could possibly be giving you instructions?"

Snape sat silent, speechless. He realized that there was no way to answer that last question that would not bring some kind of punishment upon himself. He hoped Potter would answer his own question, because Snape couldn't guess whether it was as naïve as it sounded or an opening gambit to some long, painful game Potter was playing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Black sit up in his bed and part the curtains. "Read between the lines, James," Black growled. "He's probably waiting for you to bugger him."

"Sirius!" the werewolf yelped.

But Potter was silent and Snape felt the tremor spread through his whole body. He had no idea what they were playing at. The uncertainty was why he hated mind games.

He held himself still, waiting to see how this would go.

Potter broke the silence. "What the hell is wrong with you, Black?"

"With me? It's your slave that—"

"That what? He isn't even doing anything."

"It's more the fact that he exists, right?" Snape could hear the sneer, the same one that had been on Black's face when Potter had first said those words.

Potter was silent again and Snape struggled to see his master's expression through the dark. Either this was one elaborate mind-fuck, or he was caught in the middle of some private battle between the Siamese twins of Hogwarts. Neither would be preferable.

"That was different. And this is a dumb argument. Snape, why exactly are you on the floor?"

Wonderful. He'd likely be safer sandwiched between mating dragons than in the middle of this crossfire. Knowing better than to disagree with his master, Snape offered the most convenient parcel of truth. "I was waiting for permission to use the bed, master."

"That's just—oh, bugger it. Just go to bed, Snape. You don't need my permission to sleep in your own bed. Sirius, just shut it for tonight."

Sirius snorted but said nothing.

His own bed? He supposed that meant he wasn't supposed to crawl in with Potter. Not yet, anyway.

He scrambled up, fumbling with the bed linens even as he tried to maintain his nonchalance. He had to play along, but he did not like how the night was going. Even Potter wasn't so dense he couldn't hear the truth in Black's words. Despite the pissing contest with Black, there could be nothing innocent about ordering a slave into the bed next to yours. If Potter really hadn't intended on using him, he would have just ordered him to go to sleep on the floor. Slaves never slept in a bed when in the presence of their betters. Which meant a slave alone in a bed wasn't meant for sleeping, and wouldn't be alone for long.

Snape forced himself to lay flat on his back, legs slightly spread, open and vulnerable. His heartbeat was shaking his chest and his lungs felt so constricted it hurt to breathe. Stupid. He'd done this before, and it wouldn't hurt any worse than it had the hundreds of other times it had happened. But this first time was always the worst. After that he would know what to expect. So he just had to get through this once.

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for the rustle of linen, the soft footsteps and the whisper of a silencing charm as they drew apart the bed curtains.

The minutes stretched, with him flinching at every huff and snort. He could tell neither Potter nor Black were asleep. They must be biding their time.

He knew this game. He forced the cramping muscles in his arms and legs to relax and used the moonlight to count the rings holding his bed curtain to the frame. It helped, counting. The first assault would be awhile in coming. The counting and the knowledge of even a short respite eased the pressure on his chest and let him breath a little bit.

After he was done counting the rings a dozen different ways, he focused on his breathing. He knew his time was growing short, and the realization made his breath speed up, but he kept his eyes open and thought of Slughorn, thought of using dozens of Sectumsempras on the corpulent body until the quivering mass of flesh ceased to move or beg or breathe. He thought of a dozen different ways to exact revenge, the excitement and the fierce satisfaction from the fantasy allowed him to keep his eyes open and his body waiting.

It was a long, long time before his dry eyes registered the cold, gray light filtering in from the windows. He blinked, bringing his hand up to clear his eyes. It was almost dawn and yet he was...untouched.

He held his breath and listened around the room. He was good at telling when people were faking sleep and the soft, shallow breathing around the room whispered that he was safe. At first he felt a panicked rush, not understanding. Then, he realized what must have happened.

Potter and Black were new to this game. It was just possible that they had forgotten to set alarms...and fallen asleep. His sigh turned into a muffled, almost crazed chuckle. Merlin, could it really be that easy? Oh, there would be consequences, but those consequences weren't likely to be much worse than what he was going to get anyway.

He didn't think anyone would wake up until near breakfast time, not after they had apparently lost half their sleep the night before. Sleep for himself was ridiculous; there was no way he could close his eyes and stay sane thinking about what might be on the other side of them when he woke. He scrubbed his face with a palm. The only thing left to do was start his day.

Quietly, he rose and padded his way to the showers.

---

James pulled his pillow around his ears, trying to drown out the trilling faeries circling around his head.

"No, go 'way..."

A fairy poked its wand into the back of his neck insistently.

"Stop, lea' me 'lone."

He heard the creature huff and buzz around his ear. Without warning, it dove up one of his nostrils and wriggled.

"Ah!" He bolted upright and sneezed; they fairy was hurled dripping into his bed cover. Quickly, it got to its feet and stared up at him defiantly, hands on its hips.

"All right ! All right , I'm up...just go away, please."

Sparing a disgusted look for its snot covered wings, the fairy fluttered off the bed, leading its smirking cohorts into the glass sphere that sat on the table next to his bed.

James struggled out of his tangled sheets and flung aside his bed curtains to find Remus sitting on the end of his chair with a smirk to match that of his fairies.

He lifted a hand to his rumpled hair. "Some bloody great birthday present, Moony. Ta ever so."

Moony rolled his eyes. "It was either that or listen to you moan about missing breakfast every morning. Hurry up and we'll still make it."

"It flew up my nose!" James whinged, pulling on his robes. He was tempted to fall back into bed, but wasn't sure what the fairies would do to him if he did. Looking over at the bed next to his, he found it empty.

"Where'd Snape go?"

Moony shrugged in a 'who knows' way. "He was gone when I woke up. Look, James, about what Sirius said..."

"Sirius is full of it. You heard what Snape said."

Remus fiddled with the tattered ends of his tie. "I'm not sure about that. He sounded pretty certain and," his eyes darted to the center of the floor, "did you see how Snape reacted?"

James shook his head and looked toward the door. It had been too dark for him to see, but, then, he hadn't tried very hard.

"It was pretty dark, but he didn't look shocked or anything. He looked kind of scared, actually."

Shoving his books into a bag, James shook his head. "That's stupid. Everyone knows I'm not...like that. And...with Snape? I'd rather eat dead lizard brains."

Moony was silent for a moment, then shrugged. James followed him downstairs, ignoring the niggling that there was something Remus wasn't saying.

---

Snape took a risk and left Gryffindor tower before any of the boys had woken up. He knew Potter might be angry that he had slept through his expected first night with his slave, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to function through class if he had a beating on top of his already sleepless night. It would be easier to bear at the end of the day, when he would have at least some of the night to recover.

He pressed his forehead against the library table, trying to will off the headache blooming between his eyes and the churning in his stomach. He'd already finished his second Transfiguration essay and was struggling through Arithmancy. He was tempted to crawl under a table and sleep through his study period, but, dammit, he had three weeks of missed classes and he had to catch up.

Forcing his head up, he reached for the nearest tome and opened it to stare at the blurry lines.

He was staring at the same lines forty minutes later when he felt a body fall into the chair next to his.

"Fancy meeting you here." Lupin's voice cut through the dazed fog in his head. Snape froze, then started to fall to his knees.

"No, don't do that. I just want to talk."

Warily, Snape settled back in his seat and nodded. He'd heard those words plenty of times before, but this time they were in the library. With Madam Pince.

Lupin peered over the titles scattered on the table and winced. Snape was glad he had kept the treatises on wandless magic in the care of the house elves.

"Advanced Integration of Ratillii's Spiral Theorem in Modern Arithmancy. Have you actually read this thing?"

Snape doubted that Lupin was here because he wanted to discuss esoteric arithmantic theorems, so he answered honestly. "No. I needed a chapter for reference."

Lupin looked relieved as he scanned the pages. "So you don't actually understand all this?"

Snape was tempted to lie just to see the expression on the werewolf's face, but knew it wasn't worth the risk. "No. The second chapter gives a good overview of Ratillian Arithmantic Symbols. The rest of it..."

"Has more shit than a fat dragon."

Snape couldn't hold back an surprised snort.

Lupin's expression changed. "Sn—Severus, about what Sirius said last night..."

Snape started at the sound of his given name, then listened with a growing sense of suspicion.

"He sounded like...like he meant it."

Oh roasted dragon balls, was that what this was about? Half-blood Lupin was having trouble accepting the reality of pure-blooded slavery?

He considered lying, but that was dangerous, not to mention pointless. He considered refusing to answer, but that was dangerous and foolish. At least this way he might have some control of the information.

"Yes, he was telling the truth." He kept his voice neutral, but kept watch on Lupin out of the corner of his eye.

The werewolf seemed almost to wince, and a line formed between the two bushy eyebrows. "So...you did expect James to, you know, to—"

"Take advantage of his slave?" Snape answered softly. He shrugged. "It's what happens."

"But James isn't, I mean, you aren't—" Lupin stuttered to a stop, turning bright red.

At least this conversation was turning out to be amusing as well as humiliating, Snape thought. "I'm a slave, I don't have a gender except when it comes to breeding." He didn't even try to keep the bitterness from his voice. "I am instrumentum vocalis, a tool with a voice. Potter can use me all he wants without threatening his masculinity."

The werewolf's reaction wasn't strong, but the pinching of his thin lips and the slight wrinkle in the nose revealed his disgust. The look vanished as Lupin seemed to cast about for something to say, finally settling on, "Oh...sod."

Snape found himself fighting the up-twitching in the corners of his mouth in. "Well said, Lupin," he replied. Then he tensed, suddenly unsure whether the familiarity would get him into trouble or not.

The werewolf just gave a half smile that was surprisingly friendly. "Ta ever so."

Snape felt the corners of his mouth tugging upwards again. The awkwardness eased slightly from the air between them. Despite the content of the conversation, it was nice to speak to a person almost as if he were an equal. It wouldn't last, and there was always the chance he would end up paying for it later, but for now it was...pleasant.

"James won't, you know. Do that to you, I mean."

Snape shrugged.

"What, you don't believe me?"

So much for that pleasant feeling, he thought. "I believe you. Lucius wasn't much for it, either." At least, not without a plethora of mind games and torture preceding. Even then, sex had never been the main objective.

"But I thought you said..." Lupin's voice was plaintive and confused, but free of anger or annoyance.

"I'm hardly the most attractive thing he could take to his bed." As long as what he wanted was consensual. "That...wasn't what he used me for, most of the time."

His eyes fell to the table. With Lupin, it was hard to detach himself enough to describe his life without feeling something akin to a boot against his chest as he spoke. Perhaps it was that Lupin truly didn't understand what he was and what he had to do. "Lucius preferred to use me as a bargaining chip for those who were not quite as charming as himself or as well prepared for their lessons."

Lupin's mouth stood open. "That's...barbaric. They would...and then make you do their homework?"

Snape shrugged again. "Only sometimes. I usually just helped them with it. That wasn't so bad; it helped me remember that I might be a slave, but at least I didn't spell cat with a K."

For a moment, Lupin looked even more horrified. Snape wondered if it was the mention of his enslavement or the academic travesty that was Crabbe and Goyle.

Lupin was silent for awhile, and Snape massaged his throbbing temples. He shouldn't be talking; he should be studying. He should certainly not be talking with such familiarity to his master's friend. But this was the first truly civil conversation that he could remember having with anyone human. It almost felt as if it was a different person doing the talking, as if he'd traded places with some freeborn Gryffindor and he got to play the part for a little while. It was nice.

"Huh."

Snape looked up to find Lupin staring at him. "What?"

"It's just strange is all."

Snape sighed and closed the tome. "Could you be a bit more abstruse? Someone might understand what you were saying."

"Ah, there it is."

"There what is?" Snape was beginning to get annoyed, and a little worried. He'd thought Lupin wasn't going to play games with him. At least, not yet.

"The sarcasm. I was commenting on the fact that you'd managed to speak to me for a whole five minutes without once cutting anything with that tongue of yours."

Was Lupin a mind reader? "It's in my best interest now to keep you happy."

"Which is why you snapped at me just now?"

Snape felt cold wash over him. He'd gone to far. "My apologies, sir. I meant no disrespect." He started to get to his knees.

"Stop!" Lupin looked even more pale than usual. "I never said I minded. I was just surprised, is all." He chewed on his lower lip. "I don't like this slave and master routine. It's just weird. You never acted like this before."

Snape relaxed fractionally. "Potter said the same thing. Really, baiting you was the easiest way to make my former master happy." Snape deliberately emphasized his vulnerable position and smoothly glossed over the fact that his hatred of the quartet had been quite genuine—and might be, now, still. He wasn't sure. Neither Potter nor Lupin were behaving like he'd expected.

At least Black was staying in character.

They sat in silence that was only slightly awkward for a little while longer. In a way, that was nice. He'd felt awkward and uncomfortable on an hourly basis for much of his life, but almost never had another person acknowledged his humanity enough to feel the same around him. Finally, Lupin looked at his watch and sighed.

"I've got class now. I'll see you at supper, I suppose." He gathered up his books.

"I suppose." He stood up and almost bowed to the departing boy, before stopping himself. Instead, he offered a slight nod, as he'd seen Lucius do with the few people he'd considered semi-equals.

Lupin smiled and left. Snape wiped his hair back and shook his head, trying to clear out the almost-pleasant feeling that had seeped into his chest.