The most lovely thing about being a sixth year was the free periods. Ideally, the free time was to be used for studying, but as they were only two weeks into the school year, there was plenty of time left for procrastination. James used his time to stroll down by the lake, looking for something to amuse himself and take his mind off the conversation he'd had with Moony before breakfast. He walked along the edge of the lake, scanning the still waters for a glimpse of the giant squid, and watching the grass on the other side for some sign of—Snape. He was looking for Snape. Without realizing it, he had developed the habit over the years of strolling the grounds near the lake, waiting for Snape to arrive, which he always had. Picking a fight with Snape had been one of the easiest ways to relieve his boredom, even if he had not always come out the victor in their confrontations.

And he was still looking for Snape, though if he saw him now he was more likely to stroll in the opposite direction. He didn't know how to deal with the other boy now that he couldn't in good conscience pick a fight with him. He wondered, not for the first time, what mad impulse had driven him to rescue Snape from the Malfoy family.

He caught sight of a flash of red hair out by the willow. He squinted, adjusting his glasses, though he knew already who it would be. James crept closer to the willow, and the long figure and red hair resolved clearly into Lily Evans, propped up against the tree, long legs stretched out in front of her. Books were scattered around her and one was even spread open across her legs, but her face was tilted up towards the sun as it hung above the forbidden forest.

And suddenly it didn't matter that he was sixteen and skinny and only had to use a shaving charm every five days—he was in love.

He started to walk in her direction, but his heart started to race and his palms started to sweat and he began to remember that the last time she had seen him, she had called him an arrogant, bullying toe-rag.

He'd rescued Snape. That had to count for something. Absolution for being...an arrogant, bullying toe-rag. Of course, it had been his actions that had caused Snape to lose his position at Hogwarts and get shipped off to Malfoy Manor...and there was any use thinking about this? He should just go up to Lily and start...talking.

Right. After all, he'd managed to fit his whole left foot into his mouth; it was time to start working on his right. His feet apparently had fewer concerns than his brain, however, because, while he was thinking, they were carrying him over to the willow.

Lily looked up when his shadow blocked her ray of sunlight. Her eyes flickered open and stared at him, before a familiar expression of dislike colored her green eyes.

Damn.

"Hullo," he said, originally.

"Potter."

James winced. Her voice couldn't possibly have gotten colder, could it?

"I, uh, saw you sitting here and I thought I'd ask you if you'd go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?" After a brief stumble, he'd managed to smooth out the delivery of this familiar line. Good. He hadn't been turned down yet.

"Potter, you're disgusting."

"What?" Where had that come from? "What did I do?"

Her green eyes flashed, making his mouth get drier and his palms get sweatier. "You—you—you don't even see it, do you!"

James shook his head, his eyebrows attempting to meet in the middle, even though that was Moony's department. "No. I mean—no, I don't. Will you please just explain it to me?"

"You have a slave! You took Snape and you made him your slave." Her lithe body was tense and her voice was strained with passionate fury. And would his libido just leave him enough blood in his head to think, please?

"No—I mean, yes, but he was already Malfoy's slave --"

"So that makes it just fine, then?"

"No! Er, not the slave part, but there was nothing I could do about that."

Lily looked at him skeptically.

"Really, you can't free him. Look it up. The geas is a part of him, he can't survive without it, anymore."

"So you just thought it would be alright to claim him like a cheap broomstick? You couldn't hurt him enough when he was Malfoy's slave?"

Bollocks, did he have ogre engraved on his forehead? "I haven't hurt him. I didn't buy him to hurt him."

"Oh? Then what did you buy him for?" She still looked disgusted, but had the ice in her voice cracked, a bit?

"I --" Wanted to impress you, wasn't the best answer, nor was it the fullest, at least, he didn't think so. He reached around for the first thing he could think of that wouldn't get him slapped. "It was my fault he was exposed. Malfoy took him out of school because of that."

"Why would you care?" But this time, her tone was curious and the angry lines of her face had smoothed out.

Potter shrugged. "I never meant for it to go that far. Snape's a person, after all." Strange, that he hadn't started thinking of the other boy that way until he had realized that he wasn't one, legally.

Lily was staring up at him thoughtfully. It was unfair that he could stand above her, the sun behind him, one of the best duelers in the school, and this girl could sit on the ground in her rumpled skirt and jumper and still intimidate him half to death.

"Maybe," she said, still staring at him.

"Maybe...?" Maybe what? Maybe you're telling the truth? Maybe you're not lake scum that the squid scraped off one of its suckers after all? Maybe I'm madly in love with you and want to elope right now? What?

"Maybe...I'll go with you to Hogsmeade."

It felt like someone had pulled the top off a bottle of champagne in his chest. "You will? Really?"

She scowled. "You know what the word maybe means, right?"

He nodded. "Yes. I mean, maybe. I mean, yes, I know. Maybe." He stopped nodding. He was running out of foot to put in his mouth.

But Lily was smiling, her green eyes sparkling with something that made the champagne turn into fireworks.

He grinned back at her, delighted to be able to look into her eyes and see the little smile lines around them. "So," he said, finally, to keep the moment from getting awkward. "I'll see you then?"

Lily hesitated, then nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

---

Snape pressed his forehead against the door frame to McGonagall's classroom. He shouldn't be this tired, not from a single sleepless night and an odd encounter with a Gryffindor, but clearly the last three months in Lucius' hands had worn him down more than he had realized. Surprising, considering all the replenishing draughts and healing potions Caligulus Malfoy had forced him to drink to keep him from keeling over in the middle of the sale and ritual.

He shook his head and went in, glad he was the first one to arrive. Before he could sit down, McGonagall's sharp voice halted him.

"Mr. Snape. Come speak with me for a moment?"

"Yes, Professor." He approached the broad desk hesitantly, remembering that this was his new master's head of house and wondering what it was she wanted from him.

"Where are you in the material I gave you?"

"Inanimate to semi-animate transfigurations. I've just finished with the reptile family, but if you just give me a few more days—"

"Take as many days as you need, within reason. You've already gone through almost two weeks of material in as many days. That's quite impressive." Snape felt his cheeks start to warm. McGonagall had rarely complimented him, even when she hadn't known he was a slave. "However, today will be a practical lesson on animate to animate transfigurations with insects. I'm afraid I can't let you participate."

Snape felt something small and heavy drop into his insides. He'd been afraid of this, that the professors who hadn't known of his status would start to shut him out of their classes, embarrassed to be teaching a slave. He felt the path to the Potions Guild growing longer and more impossible by the day. He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say.

"Mr. Snape, I don't believe anyone has every looked so miserable at being let out of a lesson."

Snape looked away, staring at the door to the supply cupboard.

"If you'd like, you may work on catching up in my office. I have some reference materials that aren't in the school library. They may prove helpful to you."

Snape's eyes jerked up to look McGonagall in the face. He'd never been talented at Transfigurations, but the subject had always secretly fascinated him. He couldn't count the number of times he had wished he could turn himself into something else, something entirely different than what he was. The thought of having access to the Professor's private references was exciting to say the least.

Why was she offering this to him? Did she want something in return? She didn't seem likely to want any of the things he could offer. And was the straight, thin line of her mouth curving up ever so slightly at the edges? Of all the things that had happened this morning, that might be the strangest.

"The books on the third shelf up pertain to this year and last year, and below that the years preceding. The shelves above that contain more advanced subjects. Do keep in mind that top shelves contain some rather rare and peculiar texts, which I will ask you not to touch. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor." He didn't even try to conceal his eagerness.

"Very well. The password to my office is 'tortoiseshell.'"

"Thank you, professor." He started toward the plain wood door that he assumed led to McGonagall's office, but glanced back when he heard the door opening. He froze when he saw Potter shuffling in. He almost ran for the door, but Potter lifted his downward gaze long enough to catch sight of him.

Then the gaze slid away and Potter threw himself into a seat by the back, pointedly avoiding looking towards the front of the classroom where he and Professor McGonagall were standing. Snape decided to take that as a dismissal, and bolted for the door.

Inside, he found a narrow, spiral staircase leading up. Suddenly he was unsure. Was this a trap? He had never been inside a teacher's office before and he wasn't sure what to expect.

He wasn't about to go back and ask, not with Potter out there. So he climbed. The staircase wasn't long, but he was breathing hard by the time he reached another plain, pine door. He said the password again and the door swung upon, revealing a round, neatly cluttered room. A large desk stood in front of a narrow window and the walls were lined with bookcases. He wondered which bookcases Professor McGonagall had been referring to, but as he went to examine the title, he found that, indeed, each book on the third shelf up pertained to something that was on the syllabus for this year or last year, just in extraordinary detail. He imagined that every principle and spell he had learned by rote was discussed and debated somewhere on this shelf.

Amazing. Though he wondered how long McGonagall had been teaching for her to arrange such an expansive collection by class instead of subject. He vowed then and there never to become a teacher.

He glanced at the higher shelves and found books on Animagi, self-transfiguration and spontaneous transfiguration, as well as books on spells, curses and potions that he assumed related to the subject somehow. On impulse, he glanced at the top shelf, and suddenly felt as if one of the bookcases had fallen on his chest.

A set of gold-embossed letters on a stiff leather spine read, Erinyos Acerbos Transformare, Lape Tragane.

To transform dark curses, by Lapis Tragen. An interesting title on its own, but Snape had seen references to it during his furtive studies over the years. It was the only text to discuss the possibility of removing the geas that bound him to his master.

Of course, it would be on the one shelf he wasn't allowed to touch. It was also just out of his reach, and he couldn't wandlessly Accio it to him without potentially bringing the whole shelf down on his head. And that would not endear him to McGonagall.

But if the universe had wanted to make things easier for him, he would have been born free and Gryffindor with a famous potions master for a father, instead of a faceless stud carefully selected from the breeding stock.

It was a practical lesson, so McGonagall would have to at least introduce the subject before she could come up here and check on him. As quickly and quietly as he could, he dragged the chair out from behind the desk, took off his shoes before climbing up and tugged the hefty volume from its place on the shelf and cradled it as he stepped down. He laid the book on the desk before replacing the chair and picking out several more volumes on the subject he was supposed to be studying.

Having scattered the books around him to provide camouflage, Snape settled down the floor to read.

Snape had meant to skip around briefly, only looking for confirmation or denial of his hopes. But from the first page he became engrossed in the reading, unable to tear his eyes away from the next word. His Latin was excellent and Tragen was a master at unraveling complex ideas clearly and concisely, making each new leap of logic seem the most natural discovery in the world.

Until a hand grabbed his shoulder and a sharp voice said, "It seems that Mr. Potter has rubbed off on you. I do believe I asked you not to touch the books on the top shelf?"

Snape startled and snapped the book shut. A wave of dizziness overcame him and he briefly shut his eyes. It passed in a moment and he was left staring up at the sharp and narrow face of Professor McGonagall.

"Professor, I—I --" He bit his tongue and looked away, realizing that there was nothing he could say. He had done exactly what he had been told not to; worse, he'd been reading a book that might hold a way for him to escape his servitude. If Potter heard...and he would hear...

"Yes? You have an explanation?"

Snape shook his head. "No, Professor. I just—I wanted to read it."

"Yes, I'm sure you did. Can you tell me what you read?"

Snape blinked at the non sequitur, but he nearly went cross-eyed when he realized that he could not remember any of what he had read. The last—he glanced at the clock on the other side of the room—two hours were lost to him. But it had seem so simple, so clear and obvious when he was reading—his first clue that he had been under thrall.

"You realize now why that book was on the top shelf, I trust?"

Snape stared at the woven carpet threads by his feet. He could not remember the last time he had been so stupid, and he was going to suffer for it soon. "Yes, Professor."

"Lapis Tragen was a Gaelic witch who lived as a nun in medieval Ireland. She charmed her books to enthrall the reader, but strip the contents of the book from the reader's mind the moment the reader's eyes left the book, to prevent the other nuns from realizing what she was and what she was doing. Something she was a bit more clever at than you, I'm afraid."

Snape stole a glance up. There had been no change in inflection, but that last had sounded like humor, like a kind of gentle teasing. But that made no sense; this was Deputy Head-mistress McGonagall and, beyond everything else, he had broken a rule.

"Were you looking for anything in particular, or just browsing the forbidden?"

Was this her idea of a clever interrogation? If he told her what he was looking for, she would realize that he was considering escape and the punishment for that would probably break him. He remained defiantly silent.

"Ah." He glanced up in time to see McGonagall stare at him from over the rim of her glasses. "So you were aware that this volume mentioned the particular geas that binds you. I assume that was what you were looking for?"

"I..." He trailed off, staring at McGonagall's pointed shoes. He wanted to beg, but didn't think it would do any good; McGonagall was bound by law to report him to his master. But out of habit and desperation, he pulled his knees under him and pressed his forehead into the soft carpet. If nothing else, it hid the fear that he could feel twisting his features.

"Severus..." He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched, but didn't try to crawl away. "There's no need for this."

Because she was going to be merciful and punish him herself or because it wouldn't do him any good anyway?

"Come now, sit up. I'll get you some tea." She pushed on his shoulder, half-forcing him back into a sitting position. From there, she guided him up and over to the over-stuffed chair she conjured to stand in front of her desk. She poured two cups of tea and took her own seat across from him. Snape curled himself up in the chair, ignoring the proffered cup.

"Severus...there's no need to be so upset. What's wrong?"

Snape opened his mouth to explain, but couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound ridiculous and melodramatic. He wasn't sure that when he said 'flayed alive' that McGonagall would understand that he wasn't speaking metaphorically.

"Surely you don't think James would hurt you for borrowing a forbidden book, not after all the after-hours reading he's done in the library."

"Not for that, no. But I..." He licked his lips, determined to explain. McGonagall did look concerned, enough, perhaps, that she might give him some punishment of her own rather than handing him over to his master, if she understood what would happen to him when that happened. "The book might...if I removed the geas, I could..." He licked his lips. "Masters tend to take exception to their property thinking about running off."

"I see." McGonagall was quiet a moment. "I still believe you have less to fear than you think. But there is no reason James needs to be told, though I don't suppose I'll be able to trust you alone in my office in the future."

"I—" It was far more mercy than he had been expecting. "Thank you."

"I do understand your reasons. I imagine you've had a difficult time of it, these last five years." Something had softened on her severe, sharp-featured face. McGonagall looked almost sad, pained.

Without understanding why, he said, "It's been easier since Lucius left. And Hogwarts has always been...safer." Than what, he didn't expect he needed to clarify.

McGonagall stared at him, then nodded. "Thank you, Severus. Please, drink your tea."

Hesitantly, Snape reached for the cup and sipped it. It was warm, which was nice, and the house-elves had put enough milk and honey in it to mask the bitter taste.

"You understand that Tragen only wrote about theory. She was quite brilliant, but given the circumstances she could do very little in the way of practical experiments."

What was McGonagall going on about? On any other day, he might have been interested, but he was too worn out from the fear and confusion that had made him feel as if he had been riding a mad, panicked Thestral for the last few days. And months.

"One area she researched was dark curses that bonded to their victim in such a way that they could never be removed. Your geas falls into that category."

Snape stared, deathly quiet. Was McGonagall really going to tell him how to break the geas? Was it a test? Was he supposed to shake his head and refuse to listen to the one chance at freedom he might ever get?

"She believed that, because the victim needed the bond to survive, the only way to free him was to transfigure the curse, leaving the base magic the same but changing the parameters."

That made sense, in a brilliantly simplistic way. He found himself asking, despite his fears, "Was it ever tested?"

McGonagall nodded, setting her tea down on the desk. "I believe so, but it was never written in any text I have read. You must understand, the type of geas that binds you requires the sacrifice of innocence in order to form. That's why it must be done within a few hours of birth, the time when a person's soul is purest. It is also why adults cannot be made into slaves." She paused, giving him a look that might have been pity. "To transfigure that bond you would need to make a sacrifice of innocence that would equal what was taken from you as an infant."

Snape looked away, eyes shifting over the rows of books lining the wall. After fifteen years with Lucius, there was little chance he had any innocence left to sacrifice. He rubbed his eyes, too tired and defeated even to try and hide his emotions from the professor.

"Severus, I am sorry. Even if the sacrifice was made, altering the geas would likely take more skill than any wizard living has."

"I—thank you, Professor. For telling me. And for letting me..." he nodded to the pile of books that still lay on the floor. He wished now he'd read them instead, since McGonagall had already told him he wouldn't get another chance.

"Of course. You're in my house, now, after all. You are welcome to come to me whenever you feel the need."

Snape glanced up, uncertain of what that meant. "I—I'd better go, or I'll be late for potions."

McGonagall nodded and he made his way down to the dungeons.

---

Standing down the hall from the potions lab, Snape scrubbed his face with his palms and tried to order his mind. Too much had happened—and not happened—in the last twenty-four hours and he didn't know how to make sense of it. He wasn't sure who was hurting his head more—Potter or Lupin or McGonagall.

Snape waited until he saw the last of the golden bunch scramble into the lab before entering himself. He had never taken a class with his master before so he didn't know the etiquette. He hoped that he would be able to guess Potter's wishes once he saw how he was seated, or at the very least remain unnoticed.

When he walked in, he was surprised to find the quadruplets split, with Black and Pettigrew at the far back corner of Gryffindor territory. Potter and Lupin sat near the front of the room and as far from Black and Pettigrew as they could manage. There was an empty seat in the table next to him, but Snape wasn't sure if he was expected to sit there or not. He stared, hoping Potter would be uncharacteristically merciful and just give him some direction.

Of course, none was forthcoming, so he held his breath and took a seat in the back row, as far from Potter and Black as he could get, without joining the Slytherins. He didn't particularly wish to sit next to Lucius's former house mates, who would likely consider him fair game now that he was no longer Malfoy property.

Slughorn stood at the front of the class and twirled his wand. "Good morning, class. The potion of the day is Succurri Salve. Now then, who can tell me what it is used for?"

Out of long practice, Snape had his hand up before the question was even completed. However, this time Slughorn's eyes ignored him and roved the pool of sheepish students, until he spotted Aaron Longbeak tentatively poking his fingers into the air.

"Very good, Longbeak!" Slughorn pointed his wand in Aaron's direction, which made the boy flinch back with a worried frown. "What can you tell us about he potion we will be making today?"

"Well, sir. Uh, it's a healing potion. You put it on your skin and it, uh, heals you."

"Yes. Well, is there anyone else who knows the properties of Succurri?"

Snape felt his fingertips begin to go numb, but he kept his arm raised.

"James Potter, I believe your father was one of the co-inventors of this potion. Surely you can tell us a bit about it."

Potter leaned back, flicking his hair out of the way. "Well, sir, I wasn't quite born when he invented it, you see."

"But surely he must have discussed his work with you, his only son."

"No, not really."

"Ah. Well, then. This is a mite disappointing. Miss Evans, I see you flipping through your book. What can you tell us about this potion?"

Snape finally lowered his arm, tucking it close to his chest.

Evans, who was sitting just a few seats in front of him, looked up from her book, then closed it carefully. "It's a healing salve—salve because it's applied topically. It's used as a base in a lot of more advanced healing potions, but on its own it's a good anesthetic and will heal injuries from the inside out, which makes it popular with certain Quidditch players."

"Hm, I hadn't heard that. Do you know why?"

"If you apply it properly, it will heal the bulk of an injury and numb any pain, but the bruise or bump will still look like it's there. Quidditch players seem to think that this makes them look heroic and manly." She cast an unsubtle eye in Potter's direction.

Snape, despite himself, could feel the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. In another world, he thought he might have genuinely liked Evans.

Slughorn also seemed amused, clearing his throat of what sounded like a muffled chuckle. "Well...that's an—" He cleared his throat again, hiding his mouth with a pudgy hand, " --interesting point of view. In any case, excellent explanation. Five points to Gryffindor. And, now, open your books to page twenty-six. You will find the directions there. Please let me know if you need any assistance."

Snape had no book, but he hardly needed one for this potion. He had made it frequently over the last six years, in whatever hidden alcove Dobby or Elby managed to secrete him into. He had brewed this potion with a fractured arm and a concussion in near-pitch dark with the cobbled together ingredients his house-elves had managed to scrounge for him.

He laid his supplies on the table. This morning, he had reached into his robe pocket to find a small cloth bundle. Inside, he had recognized the ingredients he would need for precisely this potion. He had studiously not thought about how that had come about, but a little of the pressure on his chest eased. At the least, the house-elves would keep him from failing for lack of materials.

They were excellent materials too—pure, fresh and of the extremely potent variety. It wasn't until Snape was carefully sorting them, delicately grinding the salamander droppings and peppermint and crushing the yew seeds that he noticed the odd nature of the two feathers. They were deeply orange, almost red, and had a shimmer to them, even in the dim light. It took only a moment to recognize where they had come from. A phoenix. The down feather of a phoenix.

He almost tossed them into the fire under his cauldron. Phoenix feathers were extraordinarily rare and powerful. If he was caught with them, he would be accused of stealing, and the punishment for stealing something of such value would be severe. Snape didn't even want to consider how the house elves had gotten hold of them.

He hesitated in destroying them, however. He would probably be a potions master before he handled ingredients like these again, and he did not want to waste this opportunity. If the potion was brewed very carefully, Snape could have a supply of healing salve so powerful that it would easily last him for months, no matter what Potter chose to do to him.

Well, he had not survived so long by being timid. Snape adjusted his cauldron and began the potion. Stirring constantly and tapping his foot to time himself he began adding half the yew seeds, half the peppermint and half the salamander droppings. Swept up in the rhythm of potion making, he added the first phoenix feather without missing a beat. He did almost pause, though, when the surface of the potion flashed orange, then settled into an enchanting emerald shimmer. That had never happened before, but it was beautiful.

He was going to have to fail this assignment, he realized. Slughorn would recognize immediately that the potion was far too powerful from the ingredients that would be provided to him. Oh well. He could bottle most of it, then add some sort of impurity—a strand of his hair would do—that would force Slughorn to Evanesco it.

He began to add the second half of each ingredient in the same order, watching the potion shimmer brighter with each addition. He reached down to find the last phoenix feather to complete the matrix, but his hand found only the flat, dusty surface of the desk. He looked around, but could find no trace of the second feather.

He felt along the surface of the desk, then the floor below it. This was ridiculous. He was in a dungeon; there was no draft strong enough to move even a feather much farther than a few inches.

He peaked back into the cauldron, which was beginning to boil. He wanted to turn down the heat, but without a wand he couldn't manipulate the flame, couldn't even turn it off once it had been lit. He watched the shimmering emerald surface begin to darken.

He dropped back to his hands and knees and, crawling under the table, he looked around frantically for the feather. No trace. He chewed his lip in frustration.

Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. A long, impossibly thin snake flicked its tail at him, then turned its head just long enough for Snape to make out an orange feather.

The snake slithered into the waiting hand of Evan Rosier, sitting a few seats over, who plucked the feather from his fangs. He leaned down so he could look at Snape, crouched under the table, and gave him a leering grin.

"No," Snape hissed, "You idiot, I need that to complete the potion. You have no idea what will happen if—No!"

He watched helplessly as Evan dropped the feather into the fire. It flared a brilliant orange for a moment, then disappeared.

Snape swore to himself. He turned and saw his own cauldron rocking back and forth, nearly tipping itself over. In a few seconds, Snape guessed the potion would either spill itself onto the floor or explode within the cauldron, spraying scalding sludge and twisted bits of cauldron ricocheting through the classroom.

It wouldn't be the first time someone had done it, but it would be the first time for him. And the last, because Potter would have him stripped and sent back to his dungeon before he could even start picking the cauldron pieces from his skin.

Biting his lip, he crawled out from under the table and, bracing his right hand on the floor, reached underneath the cauldron, throwing his hand into the flame. He bit his tongue bloody trying to hold onto his cry of pain as his flesh was seared, but the flame died quickly as the safety spells recognized a human hand.

Reflexive tears blurred his vision and he wiped them away with his good hand, trying to check on the contents of the cauldron. For a moment, it seemed to settle down, congealing into a black sludge. He sat back on his heels and cradled his burned hand, trying to breath through the tightness in his throat.

He had hoped, when he had found the potion ingredients in his pocket this morning, for a chance to ease his own coming pain. Now it seemed to have gone the way of most of his hopes, lately.

Then he noticed something odd. Bubbles began rising again from the black sludge and Snape felt his stomach tighten. The little bubbles intensified and the cauldron began to vibrate with their force.

There was truly no mercy in the universe, not for him.

He scrambled to his feet and ran to Slughorn, who was peering intently into Lily's cauldron. "Professor Slughorn, there's—"

Slughorn rounded on him, fleshy nostrils quivering. "Mind yourself, boy. You have no business speaking to me that way."

"But sir—"

"I'm working with a student, slave. Go back to your cauldron and finish the potion or I'll have you out of this classroom."

Snape stared at him, stunned. Slughorn had known he was Malfoy's slave, but he had never treated him like this before. "But, sir, my cauldron—"

"It is the school's cauldron. And I'll give you one last warning—"

"It's about to explode!"

"Then Evanesco it. You know the spell." Slughorn turned back to Lily, who stared at him as if she had just seen a unicorn murdered.

Snape turned back to his cauldron and saw the bubbles erupting over the edge and splattering dark sludge on the stone floor. He felt as if the sludge had found its way into his belly, twisting and burning his insides. He'd just gotten this chance to have a life, and now he would lose it because of his own greed and Rosier's cruelty.

He approached the cauldron, hoping that if he got close enough the explosion would kill him or damage him badly enough that Potter would just let him die. About ten paces away, his feet froze, as if they had been Obrigesco'd to the floor. Of course, the geas wouldn't let him kill himself.

Snape closed his eyes, awaiting the explosion.

"EVANESCO!" someone shouted behind him. The potion vanished, leaving only a thin, black line of smoke hanging in the air.

Snape spun around and found Lily standing with her wand out, her lips compressed into a thin line. Snape stared at her, but she did not meet his eyes.

"Well," Slughorn muttered shakily, "Good thinking Miss Evans. Well done. Five points."

Lily said nothing, merely shoved her books into her bag and extinguished the fire beneath her potion. Without a word to anyone, she stormed out of the classroom.

"Ah, yes," Slughorn said, trying to regain control, "You should be just about done. When you've finished, please feel free to...leave."

The quiet Snape hadn't even noticed quickly began to fill with the usual chattering buzz, albeit somewhat more excited.

Briefly, Snape wondered what the rumors would say. He would never find out; by tonight he would either be dead or in a cell at Potter Manor, wishing he were. He had just proven himself incompetent and untrustworthy, not qualities that a master might abide in a Potion Master slave.

Without waiting to be dismissed, slipped out of the classroom and ran down the hall. He kept running, even though his lungs burned and his legs trembled and almost buckled with every step. He didn't stop until he fell down on his side behind his boulder by the lake, coughing and wheezing and for a few blissful seconds focused only on getting air into his collapsing lungs.

When he could move, he merely pulled his legs up, burying his face in his bony, shaking knees.

---

James paged idly through his potions notebook, waiting for the classroom to empty. Remus hovered by the door, staring at him, but thankfully Sirius and Peter filed out with the rest of the class. He wasn't sure he could explain to them why he was doing what he was about to do.

Stalling wasn't making it any easier, so he approached Slughorn, who was at his desk, arranging the green bottles of all different shades he had collected from the class into some mysterious order.

"Professor?"

"James, my boy!" Slughorn sat back, grinning up at him as if he hadn't almost allowed a cauldron to explode in the middle of his class. "What can I do for you? I have your sample right here, shall we test it together?" He held a bottle of pale green potion up to the light of a candle.

"No, that won't be necessary." James took a breath and grabbed the hippogriff by the horns. "Is there any reason you didn't help Snape with his potion before he nearly blew up the potions lab?"

Slughorn lowered the potion. "Mr. Potter, if you hadn't felt the need to bring an unprepared slave into an advanced potion making classroom, the situation would never have arisen."

"Headmaster Dumbledore told me that there was no rule against it."

"That does not make it proper or appropriate. James, you must understand that a slave in a situation like this is...an eyesore, a blemish on what would otherwise be a fine class of burgeoning young wizards."

"Snape is a wizard."

"No, Snape is a slave and thus an eyesore—in more ways than one." Slughorn offered James something that might have been a conspiratorial wink.

James found himself balling his fists in his pockets. Slughorn had always rubbed a nerve in him, and the ingratiating gesture made him feel nauseous. "You were alright with him before. And you must have known. You're head of Slytherin."

Slughorn went red and suddenly James felt icy cold all over. He had no doubt that Malfoy would have hurt Snape at every opportunity, but he never thought that a professor would know about it and allow it to happen here, at Hogwarts. But Slughorn's reaction was telling him that he had known, and that he'd done nothing.

"Why? How could you let that happen here?"

Slughorn slumped against his desk. "James... What could I do?"

"Stop them! Professor McGonagall would never let us do anything like that." He didn't know what 'that' was, exactly, but if he couldn't flush a ghost down a toilet, he certainly couldn't torture a living person just for kicks.

Slughorn shook his head slowly. "You don't understand. Lucius Malfoy and his father...you would not cross them, not on behalf of a slave. Anyway, I had no grounds; Snape was their property."

So that was it. That was the angle he needed to stop treating Snape like something slimy and nasty that should be in a sealed ingredients jar on a shelf. James felt something squirming uncomfortably in his belly at the thought that he was about to do more or less exactly what Lucius must have done. "You don't think that there is a reason Snape is here? You know who my father is. He wants Snape to receive the best instruction available, but if you don't think you're capable of delivering that..." He let his sentence trail off ominously, though the truth was he couldn't come up with any credible threats. He had no idea what his father could do against Slughorn, though being the best Potion Master in Britain had to count for something.

Slughorn seemed to think so because he blanched, staring at James in horror, almost like the look he'd seen on Madam Pomfrey's face when he'd seen Snape's back. It was clear that Slughorn had his own priorities. The man's blubberous face contorted through several different expressions, making him look as if his Polyjuice had just worn off.

Finally, he settled on a sickly, grimacing smile. "I see. Well, certainly Snape has promise. And if Benjamin Potter wants him trained, I suppose it's the least I can do. Every great inventor needs competent help, after all..."

"I really wouldn't know."

"Right." Slughorn twitched with the effort to maintain his smile. "Move along, then. And tell your—boy—to talk to me about remedial lessons after class on Thursday."

"Yes, sir." James collected Remus and escaped into the hallway, finally allowing himself a nice, long shudder.

Remus looked on sympathetically. "That bad?"

James shrugged. "You were there."

"But I didn't have to talk to him." Remus gave his own theatrical shudder.

"He isn't that bad, it's just that—"

"Most invertebrates have more backbone than him?"

James snorted before he started walking down the hall. "Invertebrates, hell. The house-elves chocolate pudding has more spine than that man. I can't believe that he let Malfoy do...that."

Remus ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair. "You really ought to talk to Snape about what 'that' is."

"I can't imagine he wants to talk about it anymore than I want to hear about it."

"Sirius was right."

That stopped James in his tracks. "What?"

Remus shifted his gaze to stare at something past his head. "Sirius was right. Snape really does think you're going to...hurt him."

"Oh. That's not...I mean, what am I supposed to do about that?"

Remus said quietly, "Does that phrase sound at all familiar?"

James started to shake his head, but then Slughorn's words rose in his mind. What could I do? "I'll talk to him, alright? Just as soon as I figure out what to say. Unless you have any brilliant ideas."

Remus grinned and slapped him on the shoulder, then turned on a heel to face the corner they were approaching. "Ho, James. You have a damsel in distress at ten o'clock."

Sure enough, as they rounded the corner, James caught sight of Lily Evans, sprawled awkwardly on the stone floor, quills and books and parchment scattered around her. As he watched, she rolled with endearing gracelessness to her knees and began to gather her things.

A spotty third year was already rushing over to help. A quick flick of his wand and the boy's shoelaces sprang loose and knotted together. The third year tumbled forward and rolled conveniently out of sight behind a suite of armor.

James strolled up, gathering spilled parchment, quills and notebooks as he approached. He knelt down and held the items out to her like an offering. Lily quickly started stuffing them in her bag, turning toward him with an embarrassed half-smile. Her expression faltered when she realized who was helping her. Hastily, she closed her bag and stood up.

"All you alright?" James asked when it looked like she was about to bolt.

"I'm fine. I must have tripped." She started walking.

James jogged a pace to keep up. "That fellow over there did as well," he said, gesturing to the third year who was perched on the armor's pedestal, struggling with his laces. "Filch must have over-waxed again. So are you going to lunch?"

Lily nodded, looking ahead.

"Can I come with you?"

She hesitated. "That was awful, what happened to Snape." She sent him a challenging look.

James was caught off-guard by the change of subject. Did everything have to come back to Snape? Still, he felt about a foot taller as he remembered his conversation with Slughorn. "I know," he said, trying not to let his chest puff out too much, "I talked to Slughorn; it won't happen again. He said he'd treat Snape like a student."

Lily stopped and looked up at him, her green eyes full of an expression he couldn't recognize. It wasn't anger or disgust, so he must be moving up on the ladder.

"So," he said, having no need to fake nervousness, "have you made up your mind about Hogsmeade?"

"Potter, you just asked me out six hours ago."

"Well, I've made up my mind."

"Of course, you were the one that asked me." She was shaking her head, but James could see her reluctant smile. She rolled her eyes. "Yes. I'll go."

"To Hogsmeade?"

"To lunch." James felt his face fall, but Lily continued. "And maybe Hogsmeade."

"Maybe, I can do maybe."

"So I've noticed."

---

Snape stayed curled under his grey rock until well after the sun had fallen past the mountains. It wasn't as if coming in late was going to make much of a difference.

Eight years. He'd been brewing potions for eight years and he'd never come so close to blowing up a lab as he had today. If he'd still belonged to the Malfoys there was the slightest chance that Caligulus might recognize the incident as an aberration in a long line of successful potions and let him off with a weekend of harsh discipline.

But this was the first potion Potter had seen him brew as his slave and he was less likely to be so forbearing. It wasn't likely that the son of Benjamin Potter would be as desperate for a Potions Master as the Dark Lord had been.

If Potter was truly merciful, or at least less patient than Lucius, he would be dead before the sun rose again. If Potter chose as Lucius had, Snape would returned to the same hell he had left behind only a few days ago. The thought made his belly twist and his throat tighten. The last months had come so close to killing him, to breaking him into something weak and crawling and hopeless. That had been Lucius's intention, of course. Destroy the soul and break the mind long before the body drew its last breath.

He had made Snape cry for death, but stay awake for days waiting for the meal of rotten apples and mouldy bread because he would only be fed if he was awake, and he never knew when the food would be sent. He had debased himself for healing potions he knew only prolonged the torture but eased his pain for a few brief moments.

He had come so close to breaking, so close to letting go of the last thread of defiant sanity that clung to his bones. It was so tempting just drift away and let his body obey Lucius's obscene demands and take his brutal abuse and give up on the sad, pathetic entity that was Severus Snape. He sometimes wondered if he was already broken and just hadn't realized it yet.

Maybe he should have given in. Lucius would have killed him once he was no longer interesting, and he would not have to suffer the pain all over again to slake his new master's blood lust.

The insane urge to scream with fear and desperation became unbearable. He shoved his hand in his mouth to keep silent, biting down hard and tasting blood.

With the suddenness of a snakebite, the world began to shrink. The grass, the grey boulder, even the air, began to press closer, crushing the air out of him. He felt his own warm blood began to choke him and struggled, trying to pull his and away from his mouth, but he couldn't remember how to make his lungs work and his body move. His vision began to blur and Snape struggled desperately to take a breath. His heart was beating so hard he was afraid it might break.

"Snape! Can you hear me? Snape!"

The voice twisted and echoed, but the vibrations of feet pounding shook his bones. He struggled to move his eyes towards the voice but he was falling, out of his body, out of his mind, towards a landing he couldn't see.