Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter, not his clothing, not his wand, not his hair, nor any of his bodily fluids.

Chapter Two

The common room was as loud and chaotic as usual; where one would have attempted to hide in the dormitories if that space, too, hadn't been overrun with hyperactive students. Language was thrown back and forth at astounding decibels, disregarding the particular details of any conversation and creating jumbled and confused noise. Little meaning and no sense, it was most definitely the Gryffindor common room.

"Professor Flitwick said--"

"—and then there was--"

"No way! You're serious?"

"Yeah, that's what he said! But then I--"

"Hey, you okay? That looked painful!"

"Don't worry; the quill just missed his eye! He's got a scrape though!"

"You--"

Crammed at the end of a table and generally ignored by the end-of-school-hours-excitement, Remus found himself patiently trying to explain a Transfiguration question to Peter, who looked even more dumbfounded than usual.

"… do you understand now?" Remus asked for what felt like the fifth time, although it was probably closer to third, considering the space of an hour and the volume of explanation. Peter scratched at the back of his head with his quill.

"… yes?" he offered helpfully, by means of a reply.

Remus sighed, "Okay then." Peter was obviously lying, but it seemed easier to let nature take care of it - James would be out of detention soon, and he knew a handy copying spell. Tomorrow all four boys would have an identical copy of Remus' hard work.

And would probably get detention for it.

He turned away to face his own homework, trying to prevent himself from mentally counting the seconds before James and Sirius returned from their detention. Considering that they had managed to land a detention already was worrying - they usually lasted at least the first day of term before chaos ensued.

It was his fault, he supposed. They always sat together during classes (which resulted in neither one ever paying even the slightest amount of attention to the class), but Potions, the back of the class, James Potter and Sirius Black... like a moth to a flame (and only slightly less flammable in terms of literal flames) they would end up scrubbing floors in detention.

They had clearly been conversing about things that were not related to potions in any sense. Due to his bad habit of paying attention to class work, Remus was rarely in time to stop the chaos they caused at every five-minute interval. He had been positive that, with James asleep, no harm could be done in their last lesson of the day, and was proven wrong once again. Sirius was just that type of person: stubborn to the point that he would not stop kicking his sleep-deprived friend until the boy woke up and broke a rule.

"Uh… Remus?"

He glanced up from his parchment, having finished one sentence of many in the brief interval given. Peter scratched the back of his head again, and Remus considered mentioning to him that he was doing it with a quill full of ink, but didn't bother.

"Yes?"

"This question…" Peter trailed off and pointed to his parchment. The same question Remus had been explaining to him over and over again for the last hour.

He repressed the urge to sigh with frustration. Why did he have to be the patient one? James and Sirius were smarter, but he always ended up playing the teacher. He couldn't blame Peter – it was a complex question – but being the only one around meant more explaining and re-explaining and finally giving in and completing the work for Peter. The Never-Ending Cycle of Doom, which happened all too often while James and Sirius played in detention.

Then again, it was still better than actually having them around while he tried to do homework, hyperactive and immature as they were, and get no work done at all. But still…

It was going to be a long night.

By the time James and Sirius had stepped past the portrait of the Fat Lady, the majority of students had retreated to their dormitories, leaving behind a couple of sixth and seventh years too engrossed with their homework to care about the hour. And in the usual corner, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew waited. The look on Remus' face was enough to tell the duo that he wasn't going to stay awake for much longer.

They had better get to the point.

"Marauders," Sirius began dramatically when he and James reached the table the others were seated around. He had lowered his voice to one that could be dubbed as the 'conspiracy' level, "prepare yourselves for a once in a lifetime opportunity."

- - - - -

Classes on the first day finished somewhat uneventfully. Harder theories, more work, more sleepless nights guaranteed. Granted, he had no need to stay up late at night, however Severus thought it more therapeutic doing his work under darkness. Not because he was depressed or following the usual Slytherin stereotype of 'darkness is my friend' thing. Night time just felt cleaner. Cold, empty and dark. And that was how he liked it.

Following the familiar path through the dungeons to the Slytherin Common Room, he heard the sound of scrubbing, and laughter. Having fun in detention.

It was a laugh he recognised. It had been directed at him for years. Calling him tauntingly for all his years at Hogwarts, the Greasy Haired Git, Snivellus, much to the amusement of all.

Marauders.

It wasn't as if coming to Hogwarts he had a magical prejudice against all Gryffindors automatically. He had actually been quite willing to make acquaintances with them, so long as they themselves thought nothing of the typical Slytherin stereotype. However he was almost disappointed to see that house prejudices had been burned into their collective brain, and the ones that didn't know were informed quickly. Almost disappointed, as Severus quickly realised that his first year self had been deluded and that morons like that weren't worth his precious time. So he allowed nothing but indifference to those of other houses. But then again, they weren't particularly special in that respect - he barely tolerated people in his own house.

The entrance to the Slytherin Common Room wasn't like the others. The Ravenclaws had their statue, the Gryffindors and their portrait and the Hufflepuff's suit of armour. The Slytherins had none such niceties. Rather, the entrance to their common was marked by a crack in a dungeon wall, inconspicuous and secretive, reflecting the house it guarded. Severus always found it rather amusing, thinking about the vast numbers of students from other houses who had over the centuries roamed the dungeons looking for the monument which marked the Snake's house. They had, of course, been stupid and unsuccessful. A snake will not be seen unless it wants to be seen.

"Sejanus." Not only a password but a reminder of what happened to those who overstepped their limits.

Sejanus was a man in Roman times, who thought himself fit to take the place of emperor, regardless of the bloodline, nor his true station in life. He died at the hands of those he attempted to usurp, and his body was torn to pieces by the masses.

A lesson.

His ambition was admirable, but his will weak. He was killed by hands that should have worshipped him, abhorred by the masses that should have adored him. A wasted lesson really, as nobody in the house but Snape ever bothered to research the common room's passwords.

The Slytherin Common Room was not a place to socialise. It was divided into small societies of its own, each linked into their own intricate system of hierarchy within the house. Treat those higher with respect and loyalty and you have their unspoken assurance that house loyalties in turn will protect you through to your final year. Forget your place and there's a good chance you will not survive a Hogwarts education.

Of course the house of Salazar valued blood and heritage, but those with neither who had been unfortunate enough to be sorted into the house were tolerated. They were meant to be neither seen, nor heard. Silent loyalty, silent tolerance. Slytherins protected Slytherins, and so forth. In this way the Slytherin house cultivated its ambitious; should you want a place of power, the struggle was momentous, and only those with the will to take what they deserved would make it. Anybody else could just fill in the ranks.

Severus knew his place, and had a talent for keeping his mouth shut - he fit in well enough.

As Severus walked in, the chatter was silent and subdued. The nervous first years were discovering their place, taking advantage of the small lenience given to newcomers. In later months the chatter would die out completely. Those at the top of the social hierarchy occupied the most desirable places in front of the fire on plush sofas and winged armchairs, the less fortunate were left in the cold. The firelight cast a glow upon the green that adorned the room, but could not reach into its depths; places that had probably been hidden for centuries. Neither moonlight nor sunlight ever reached the dim dungeons.

Severus had never felt more at home.

He made his way to the fourth year dorm rooms, crossing the common room. He warmed inside at the thought of his room, soon he would be drawing the curtains around his bed, taking out his experimental potions diary and…

A cold grey stare caught his eye. It was an order, not a request.

Lucius Malfoy, though only a sixth year, held the position of unofficial King on the unofficial hierarchy. Those that accompanied him in front of the fire watched restlessly, careful not to look too interested. Trying to keep their eavesdropping inconspicuous.

Lucius surveyed the room lazily, resplendent on his throne. No time to exercise power like the present. All it took was a glance and Severus was at his side within seconds, his face carefully blank.

Lucius imagined the boy would go under a guillotine with as much expression.

Severus was respected somewhat more than the average fourth years, due to his unquestionable skill in potion making in the classroom, which exceeded those of most seventh years (out of the classroom he exceeded the skill of most aurors). In different circumstances, this may have been seen as threatening or rude towards those above him; but with Severus' careful discretion, he had become merely an increasingly valuable asset to all of Slytherin. Respected at least, if not liked.

Lucius kept the boy waiting several minutes, staring him down. Severus did not weaken.

"How are our projects progressing?" Lucius finally spoke, his cold voice low under the crackle of flames.

The lazy drawl set Severus's nerves on end. Six months of brewing potions the great Salazar himself had been unable to manage, for this pampered brat. They had better pay him well.

"They are progressing as I told you they would progress. Three weeks and you'll have your poisons."

Lucius gave a satisfied nod. At least this part of the Dark Lord's plan is coming along nicely. Inwardly, he let out a sigh of relief, his outside keeping its cold composure. At least one thing could be counted on - Snape would be loyal. And if Snape succeeded... if Snape succeeded, the world would be his. Or at least a good portion of its wealth would.

"Very well. Let nothing distract you. I will not tolerate failure."

"As you pointed out during our first, very pleasant meeting a few months back." Severus began to grow tired of this. He had told the conceited buffoon all he needed to know - were the constant threats really necessary? They were implied in the very nature of his task; had been implied in the distribution of the task; and were now given out almost daily - couldn't Lucius have just stamped "I WILL KILL YOU" onto his forehead?

Lucius gave a wave of his hand. Severus was dismissed.

He walked up to the dormitories, this time undisturbed.