A/N:In which Severus has three meetings, and does not understand the most important.

Chapter 7: Three Meetings

Severus shrugged on his outer robe with a curse under his breath. Somehow, the sleepy murmur of Bella in his bed increased the indignity of being forced back onto this path. It seemed alien and familiar all at once; pressing a slow kiss to her cheek and relishing her smile, then turning to check for the fifth time that his left sleeve would roll up quickly and efficiently. Twisting halfway out of his outer robe, he rolled his shirtsleeve up to his elbow with a few smooth motions and lifted his chin almost unconsciously, as if presenting to some ghost Lucius.

Snorting, Severus rolled down his sleeve and slid his left arm back into the robe. It was definitely a remove-the-whole-robe gesture, then – he couldn't imagine how silly he'd look, dangling his robe off one shoulder and flashing his slightly darkened Mark in Lucius' face. Of course, strictly speaking, revealing the Dark Mark in a similar way was certain to be ostentatious (or, as Bella had repeatedly put it, ridiculous); there was only so much he could do to make it look valid.

Severus let a half-smile rise briefly to his face. Validity certainly wouldn't be a problem, since Lucius had persisted in keeping that ridiculous concealment act in force. I wonder how long it's been since he actually looked at it, he mused, fingers tugging absently at his sleeve.

The half-smile dwindled. How long has it been? Severus found himself asking. Not of Lucius, unfortunately – of himself. It only took a moment to shove up the robe sleeve and wrestle open his shirtsleeve, and – there.

There. As always, Severus could not help touching it, wondering why such a simple thing could cause such pain. That was a stupid question, of course, but still. It was a luxury to wonder, and he would give that to himself, at least. Especially now, with the familiar ritual of manipulation swinging into play. Touching the Mark, now, felt like touching the past – the old, hungry past.

Severus rolled down his sleeve with a grimace. Resurrecting that old part of him – those old, faintly forgotten parts of him – would be easy. Too easy, perhaps. Easy enough to lose him this round of things?

Perhaps.

Apparating cleared his head, but not his fear. Severus bit his lip as he surveyed the darkness around him – ah, that park – but could not quite bring himself to make the next jump to Malfoy Manor. The next place he found himself in was familiar – another park – and that somehow soothed his fear. Severus straightened, remembering now that he could deal with his yearning for recognition, and could certainly deal with the remnants of that old grasping for status. He remembered this second park, clearly – that bush there, that tree there. He remembered deciding, here, that he would not be cowed.

Severus took a deep breath. This meeting with Lucius would go as planned, he knew, despite the fear still clouding his mind. Lucius had the most to lose, now, if the Dark Lord truly made a triumphant, public return, and caught him with that foolish, glamoured plaster over his arm. And, by the end of this meeting, if not before, Severus would make sure he knew, with perverse satisfaction in the doing.

Well. No time like the present…

The cold bit into his bare hands as always, taunting the way he always forgot warming charms when he might need them most. Malfoy Manor, tonight, was dull in the distance; entirely without the light and activity that had filled it on Severus' last visit. Draco's twelfth birthday party, perhaps? No, actually, the eleventh; Severus remembered expounding to Bella on the irony of being excluded from the one Malfoy event they invited everyone to.

Severus smiled grimly. He'd almost forgotten that, before now – well, more fuel was always welcome to the fire, new-sprung and of new focus since that first moment Severus had seen Bella scan that first day's headlines.

The smile disappeared long before Severus encountered even one obsequious house elf, and in the place of Severus was Professor Snape, tired from that dreary potions conference the day before, frozenly polite as always. To pass the time while Lucius almost all too obviously made him wait in one of the myriad antechambers the stupid Manor possessed, Severus examined himself dispassionately in a splendid mirror on the opposite wall, and marvelled privately at the length Lucius must have gone to choose such an obnoxiously forthright one. The next thought that occurred, of course, was how Lucius had decided to have Severus steered to this room in particular, and was the one that followed his stiff stride after the house elf when it returned for him some minutes later.

Soon, Severus was coolly shaking hands with his former friend, and examining him just as sharply as he himself was surely being scrutinised. Lucius looked calm, as always. A week ago, that calm, composed look would have fooled Severus.

"Oh, I'm not troubled at all – I used the time to shed some of the exhaustion from the convention."

"Well, splendid!" Severus mirrored a thin version of Lucius' pleasant smile back at him, wishing he could gather up the venom he planned to slip through the cracks of the man and spit it in his face, all at once, just to break that irritating, pleasantly calm expression on Lucius' face. Severus knew, from the slight squint and the way Lucius skilfully avoided looking him directly in the eye, that he was nervous. Yet, he still wished, irritably, that he could actually see more signs pointing to the fearful heart that lay beneath his former friend's cool exterior.

It was no surprise, therefore, that one reason Severus had even considered joining the Dark Lord was his almost reliable ability to unnerve Lucius Malfoy. The way Lucius could shake, too, in their Lord's presence, had been Severus' small comfort in a time where there were few other to hand, and now he could not help wishing to somehow superimpose the wild-eyed Luciuses of before upon this cool, calm man.

"Sit down, sit down," Lucius said pleasantly, as they were ushered into a small, cosy drawing room Severus faintly remembered from days gone by, thereby revealing the first chink in his armour: desire to start the conversation. "Dobby, wait, for god's sake. Will you have anything, Severus?"

Severus sighed and shook his head slightly, settling easily into what looked to be the least comfortable chair. Lucius feigned indecision, then ordered his usual glass of obscure, undoubtedly excellent champagne, and did not break the silence that ensued once the house elf's squeals were gone.

"So, then," Lucius said, disinterestedly, walking over to the window. "I hear that Hogwarts is quite the exciting place these days."

"You wouldn't be far wrong, for this last week," Severus replied. "I suppose you heard of those novel pranks on the upper years from your son…?"

Lucius smiled faintly. "Yes, yes – did blood truly feature?" When Severus nodded, Lucius' smile widened. "Goodness. How extreme."

"Even so," Severus said, shrugging. "Masterful execution, for such a crude prank, down to the spell used." Summoning an empty glass out of thin air, Severus casually filled it with water and began to sip, ignoring Lucius' faint sneer. "Caligo, I believe – when the house elves were done with the bedding, they insisted that only a glassful or two of real blood was used." Actually, Severus had stood over them and terrorized them into giving an estimate once he'd found the bloodstained sheets had been sent to them instead of to him to analyze. From the way Lucius glanced at him, Severus assumed that he would guess something similar.

Which was fine. Lucius would probably have done the same.

"That does intrigue – Caligo at Hogwarts? Under Dumbledore's canny old nose?" Lucius, obviously having given up on trying to unnerve Severus with the height difference, threaded his way to a seat almost opposite him. "Has he begun to accuse Slytherins yet?"

"Oh, I went ahead and begun accusing them myself," Severus said, his tone almost airy. He cleared his throat, trying not to savour Lucius' fleeting look of consternation. "I've never seen the point in protecting children that don't know to cover their tracks."

"Ah," Lucius said, calm again, externally – Severus took pleasure in taking another sip from his glass before answering the inherent question – "What do you mean, cover their tracks?"

Severus' iron – well, in this case – self control failed momentarily, and he almost smiled. "A simple spell could have set the blood to degrade, or set that spreading spell to fail. The second choice would have been particularly amusing, since the prank was played in the seventh year girls' dormitory." Severus took another sip of his drink, enjoying how Lucius' lips thinned as the pause lengthened. "No Slytherin with a hint of sense would have gone through with that prank without thinking of a way to make it go undiscovered. Therefore, if one of my current Slytherins is so without sense, I will have no qualms in hunting him out and handing him to Dumbledore so," Severus Banished the near-empty glass, "justice may be done."

"But the crime, as it were, is still one that cannot be traced back to the perpetrator," Lucius said, wonderingly. "The blood used –"

"But the cockerel was killed before its exsanguination," Severus pointed out. "That, in itself, eliminates several of the younger years with grudges against anyone in the seventh year girls' dorm. As does their choice of victim – the use of such heavy-handed nonsense against Gwen Mulciber simply baffles me, as I am hard pressed to think of someone she could have offended so violently. If anything, I would have thought the prankster would target Andrew's daughter instead."

"You mean Wilhemina?"

"Exactly. Ringleader of a thousand schemes, and as like to offend someone as to put on her shoes? And even then, the only explanation for the prank that would make sense to me is if she did it herself."

"I imagine she didn't take too kindly to hearing that."

"As smart as she is, I think she'll remain a brat well into her old age." Severus said, snorting and shifting slightly in his chair. "Involve the Ministry, indeed."

"So your justice does not include such drastic measures," Lucius prompted, looking momentarily satisfied.

"Of course not," Severus said simply. "It was only a prank – a tasteless, heavy-handed one, to be sure, but only a prank. The most Dumbledore will do is express his disappointment, perhaps ban the perpetrator from visiting Hogsmeade and the chicken pen, and watch the young fool like a hawk till they leave Hogwarts." He sighed. "All in all, something appropriate to make the little idiot cry and be sensible for the rest of the year – or, at least, until I can dig up some old law that will let me kick her out of my house."

Lucius smiled. "Still as arbitrary as ever."

Severus gave him a look of mocking surprise. "What, you've given up on accusing me of being unfeeling?"

"How can I, when you just showed such depth of feeling?" Lucius said, waving his hand in a mocking gesture. "If it was for Slytherin, then all the better – you guard the old coven from shame, and that is admirable."

Severus smiled, letting his expression give it edge. "So the old accusation stands."

"But diminished, Severus," Lucius said, his tone almost earnest. "Surely that counts?" The champagne arrived in a loud – unnecessarily loud twinkle, set on a floating platter between the two men, and Severus smiled on, the activity made easy by watching Lucius' glass wobble its way into his hand. He never had been good at keeping all spells smooth when he was highly disturbed, though if one did not know him well, one would assume – "So. I didn't drag you here for unimportant gossip." Lucius sipped elegantly at his obscure champagne, and waited for his stupid hint to sink in.

"Well," Severus said, striving to keep the malice from colouring his tone, "I shall be brief, then – no doubt, you have other more important things that await your attention –" Here, he stood, shrugged off his outer robe, and rolled up his left sleeve with quick, decisive movements. "Now, as you can see –"

"Must you be so crude, Severus?" Lucius snapped, face paling as he saw the slightly darkened Mark. "You know, you will not advance in life if you don't let go of this – this habit of trying to make everyone around you look stupid –"

"Nevertheless, you requested that I be brief," Severus said calmly, now rolling down his sleeve. A lie, of course – he had planned to shock Lucius as much as possible, and such a revelation of the vulgar tattoo that had nearly put them both in Azkaban was, as ever, a sure way to do so, especially now. "The attacks on the Philosopher's Stone last year and this summer were orchestrated by the Dark Lord, of course –"

"Of course?" Lucius' tone began to become angry. "And you are just now deciding that I should be informed?"

"No one knew until the end of the summer term, Lucius," Severus said tightly. "I only just decided that he was not in the country some weeks before term began –"

"And why have you not joined him?" Lucius asked, snidely. Severus gave him a hard look.

"If I have to explain that to you –"

"So you have not contacted him, then?"

For a moment, Severus fought a traitorous smile. Calm, cool – not smiling, that was the way to ensure this conversation went in the direction he chose. Not smiling. "Even if I was able, why would I?" He let the surprise surface on Lucius' face before going on, and rejoiced at how long it took – or rather, did not take. "He left us at a key time. A pivotal time, Lucius. That he tried to steal the Stone is encouraging, but it leaves certain important questions unanswered. For one, how exactly did the Longbottoms destroy him, yet leave such integral portions of his soul alive? Can such an action be duplicated? If so, why should I, or you, or any of us that remain, serve a Lord so weakened?" Severus stood, putting his itch for laughter to better use by pacing jerkily. "Despite it all, my faith prevailed. I stayed in a stationary, useless position that would protect me and keep me on the path he desired for ten years. What I simply wish to know, first, is whether my efforts have been in vain. At this point, our Lord surely knows that that is a question he must answer. Once he does, I am his."

"And how do you suppose he will?" Lucius said, his tone strained.

"He will announce his return, with small signs or large," Severus said decisively, unable to stop himself pausing briefly to pray fervently that that would never happen. "Once he does, I will contact him."

"Ah," was all Lucius said to that. Severus sat down slowly, deep satisfaction welling up in him. Small signs, indeed – with that, Lucius would feel justified in his paranoia, after this conversation. It was almost too delightful for words – "I see. You've been most helpful, Severus –"

Severus stood, despite the fact that that last sentence had almost been a plea for him to stay – stay on, help me, Lucius' tone said. "It's getting late, no doubt. It was a pleasure, as always –"

"Have you told any of the others yet?" Lucius asked, rising slowly to his feet as if that would erase the obvious desperation of not acknowledging that Severus was leaving.

"No, but I intend to fill Avery in when he comes down to answer his fool daughter's cry for help on Thursday," Severus said, shrugging on his outer robe. "Why – do you think I should –"

"I see no need to alarm anyone just yet, Severus," Lucius said pointedly. "Unless there is one of those signs you spoke of. And it might be years before one surfaces…"

"I believe I see your point," Severus said, after a meaningful pause. On closer examination of his former friend's stiff expression, he decided not ask why Lucius thought the news of the Dark Lord's better-than-expected health alarming. "Once a sign emerges, however –"

"Of course," Lucius said, leaning forward to clasp Severus' hand in a brief, yet strong grip. "Do stop by again, if you feel the need to."

Severus smiled. The old insult, that old reminder of his not being normally welcome in this foul old house – well. It could not hurt him now. Perhaps it was time to make Lucius understand that.

"If," Severus said, calmly, "I feel the need to." He gave Lucius a small, negligent nod, and left the drawing room, only half conscious of the fact that one of the cringing house elves that had been outside the door followed him to the exit. Before, such a thing would have enraged him, being a solid reminder of the fact that Lucius would never acknowledge him as an equal in matters of class. A reminder that no matter what he did, he'd always be relegated to a group of those not trusted to remain unattended in the house. Now, it seemed a reflexive strike of a desperate man.

You've shown yourself so transparent of late, Lucius. However did I miss it, in the old days? "Tell your master that I thank him for the courtesy," Severus said smoothly to the house elf following him, on the spur of the moment. "I'm sure even he gets lost in this place."

"Oh, well done, Severus," Bella said, her tone rich with approval. "I'd give my wand to have been able to see the look on his face when you said that."

"No need," Severus said, trying not to smile too hard. "I've brought Albus' second pensive for just the thing –"

"He trusts you with that? I can't imagine how much he has to transfer from it to his primary one, if that's the case." Bella slid out her arm from around his waist, the better to accept the as-yet empty stone bowl.

"Oh, this one's always empty – I believe it's a smaller model than the one he normally uses," Severus said, as Bella ran her fingers over the runes around the edge of the bowl. "Perfect, therefore, for fobbing off onto suspect men such as myself."

Bella simply grinned, handing him the pensieve. "Go on, fill it. I can't wait to see the whole thing…"

Severus, eager to revisit the whole satisfying evening, did not make her wait long. And though Bella distracted him with her laughter and several kisses at inopportune moments, Severus was able to pinpoint the moment of his victory nevertheless – the moment he'd shown the Mark.

"I still hold that it was an inelegant move," Bella insisted, when they'd withdrawn from the pensive and sat side by side, discussing the conversation. "It would've been far more effective to make him believe that he extracted the whole truth from you – maybe if you'd led him to ask to be shown –"

"But he's the worst person for surrendering control of a conversation to, even by design," Severus said, drawing her closer. "Face it – you're prejudiced against it because it was my idea."

"And the rest wasn't?" Bella said, giving him a mocking look. "You know, sometimes –"

"It was the only one you argued against," Severus pointed out, accompanying his winning point with a covert attack on her neck. "Wasn't it?"

"Oh, don't, you fool – don't you need to be at Hogwarts by –"

"Yes, by midnight tonight, which, as you have to have noticed, is in and hour and a half."

Bella stuck out her tongue at him. "An hour and fifteen minutes, by your clock."

Severus smirked. "Semantics," he muttered, into the flushed skin on her neck. After he whispered the same thing into more – ahem – sensitive areas, she stopped complaining, and settled down to spend the hour and fifteen minutes left to them in a far more agreeable manner.

It surprised Severus when he woke up at six, as usual – after rushing around to shower and clothe himself, he could not help but mutter in disgust when he decided a Tempus would not be amiss, and found that he was quite on time. Something about the whole thing galled him – was his body still so used to the combination of Bella and late nights on weekends that it simply carried on when faced with it again? Severus clearly remembered being too exhausted last night to bother with removing more than his shoes before heading for bed, and had looked forward to keeping his students waiting this morning and smirking to himself as they fearfully wondered why, and now, the only way he could achieve that would be to cool his heels within his rooms for two or three hours.

Muttering to himself, Severus cast about for a book or magazine to both entertain and shield himself with at breakfast. The only thing worse than being forced to linger pointlessly in these rooms was having to endure an early breakfast without such fortification, especially nowadays, with Lockhart's horribly unpredictable time of entrance. A sufficiently boring-looking book was usually enough to deflect the attention of a Lockhart that was Horribly Early for Breakfast; two was the safer amount for a Lockhart In Good Time, depending on how long the bastard had had to fortify his cheery, obnoxious self with tea or coffee before the meal.

Armed with the Treatise on Beginnings of Fennel Use and a dreary-looking copy of Concoct It (a quite useful edition on cauldrons), Severus made his way up to the Great Hall briskly, ignoring the flinches he earned from students as he passed them. He almost smiled when he heard someone whispering furiously about how he wasn't supposed to be back this early – I assure you, Miss Bertram, I'm just as pissed off to be here as you are to see me – and sighed in relief when he entered the Great Hall to see that Lockhart was nowhere to be found.

Still, better safe than sorry. Severus set up his book and magazine almost grimly, calculating angles and their impact on the visibility of their dreary covers with the ease of practice. Just as he'd helped himself to some soothingly hot porridge, Lockhart appeared – blearily smiled at Severus – moved away.

Breakfast went by quickly, after that, partly because Treatise wasn't as boring as it sounded, and partly because no one bothered him because of the books. Severus, once done eating, closed it with a triumphant snap – after this reassuringly good start to the day, he could almost look forward to his first class.

Then Dumbledore appeared at his elbow, and spoilt everything. "Ah, Severus! Just the man I wanted to speak to – done with breakfast, aren't you?"

Of all the bloody times – "Well, yes," Severus said, slowly. Couldn't you just leave me in peace, just this –

"Come along, come along, I won't keep you long," Albus said, smiling Severus into submission. He led the way to the little antechamber of the Hall with brisk strides and questions about Severus' trip to the 4th Convention, which had been his cover for meeting 'secretly' with Lucius and secretly with Bella, and these only stopped once Severus had set up the silencing ward.

"Now, then," Albus said, his smile becoming muted and serious, "how did it go?"

"Quite well," Severus said. "I thought I said I'd give you the pensieve this afternoon, after –"

"Oh, you did – I simply couldn't wait," Albus said. "How well was quite well?"

"Well enough that Lucius'll be paranoid all year, as we discussed," Severus said impatiently. "Look, if you want the pensieve now –"

"No need, no need," Albus said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Simply wanted to hear what you thought."

Severus couldn't help bristling at that. For Merlin's sake, after all we discussed – "I hope you haven't rethought the need to check the rest of the Slytherin team's broom, Albus, because if you –"

"Of course not," Albus said, interrupting him swiftly. "There is evidence that Lucius has ties to Marjorie Malkin, that's all – if he is paranoid, he may decide to pull further strings in that direction."

Severus blinked. "I do hope –"

"I said further strings, Severus. And I have warned her, yes," Albus said tiredly. "She told me she had no use for my warning – just that. I think she means that Malkin has already fired her." He sighed. "From the way she said it, I'm not sure I believe any other meaning is possible."

"Ah," was all Severus could think say. She told you? And not me? "Has she been able to procure employment elsewhere?"

"So far, no," was the simple answer. "I assured her, of course, that Mr. Black would attend here whether or not she could pay. I hope you don't mind her continued stay in your house…?"

"No," Severus said, hoping the anger stiffening his expression did not transfer to his voice. "Not at all."

Albus sighed again. "She led me to understand that her son does not know," he went on. "If you could keep him from trying to prove anything to –"

"I will, Albus." It was harder than he thought to keep back the sarcastic reply of how he and Antares were on the same level in her estimation at last, and even harder not to turn round and tell Albus of the whole thing. Since everything else seemed to reach him first, he might as well know –

"Cheer up, Severus," Albus said, patting him on the shoulder. "At least the House cup is guaranteed for Slytherin this year, eh?"

"Not if I find the fool behind those pranks," Severus said absently, because he couldn't think of anything less dangerous to say. "I'm quite willing to beggar the House for points for her sake –"

"Her sake? So you've decided the prankster is a she, then."

"I'm fingering that Avery for it, in fact," Severus said, seizing on to this relatively innocuous subject with relief. "Discovery would dampen her spirits quite nicely, I think."

"You don't suspect anyone else?"

"Oh, I do. I just think a girl, and that girl in particular, is the most likely," Severus explained, shrugging stiffly as he did so. "She's quite the little gang leader in her own right – tolerates no insubordination. And if you think of the myriad rules those little tyrants impose on their fellow witches – well. Mulciber breaks one, so a vicious prank is played on her. Easy enough."

"So you're not considering that any of the boys – say, Mr. Black, could have done it?"

Severus went still. "Albus, Caligo was used. That alone rules out everyone below third year –"

Albus gave him an indecipherable look. "Including the talented?"

Ah. It was like second year all over again, wasn't it? Severus fought to keep his voice controlled as he answered, slowly, "Albus, you cannot seriously be implying –"

"All I wish," Albus said, his tone almost sharp, "is for the correct person to be caught. Often, that means we must suspect everyone."

"Of course," was all Severus let himself say, before he left. The look on Albus' face as he slammed the door behind him was hard to decipher, but did not suggest anything but determination, similar to the determination that had landed Severus in trouble just because he knew certain spells that others hadn't, even when he hadn't been guilty –

Well. Severus would prove him wrong – dead wrong. Antares' prowess meant nothing but that he was talented, and Severus was going to make sure that one way or another, everyone in his House understood that.

Unfortunately, Antares did not seem inclined to better his reputation today. Or perhaps he had not been for some time – Severus had hardly noticed, with all the frantic planning and preparation that had gone into his meeting with Lucius over the last two weeks. In either case, the boy was noticeably quiet, and sat apart from his understandably worried-looking friends, and busied himself throughout the lesson by botching his potion and glowering at everyone.

Last term – last year – any other time, Severus would have curtly ordered the boy to remain after class and browbeaten him into dropping the angry nonsense that was his stance and air. Now, of course, everyone expected him to prod and poke at Antares until either one of them lost control. Unsurprisingly, it was usually Antares.

As it was now.

"I see – you've lost the ability to understand English, as well as every whit of sense in your head," Severus said, surveying the enraged Antares with what he hoped was a maliciously pleased air. "By all means, wait – I'm sure everyone wishes to know if you really can turn a darker shade of red than your disgusting attempt at a potion."

For some reason, that broke Antares' tense stillness. The boy slammed down his stirring rod without a sound and turned for the door.

"Class dismissed," Severus said negligently, watching in wonder as Antares tried to storm out from the classroom in public for what had to be the first time. "Oh, and Black? Detention – oh, someone call him back, I don't think he can hear me – ah." Severus smiled at the remaining students. "Gone." That seemed to shake them from their edgy fascination. The Gryffindors were the first out, looking stunned; Severus had done the unthinkable this time, and ignored Lupin's usual disgrace of a performance in favour of focusing on Antares' own, and it was easy to see that neither of Lupin's pack wanted to stick around to find out why. The Slytherins left at a more sedate pace, led by an irritatingly cheery-looking Draco Malfoy.

All was silent, after that, except for Severus' sighs, which grew more exasperated as he saw more and more of the shoddy work that had gone into the potions for today. Gritting his teeth, he moved past Lupin's ominously smoking cauldron and stopped reluctantly in front of Antares'. Really was a shame that he'd effectively lost his best, or at least second best student this year to politics. Especially since he could see that the boy's potion was still nowhere near as bad as some other examples in the class, despite how –

"GET OFF ME!"

Severus looked up, alarmed. What could –

An audible thud followed the shout, deciding him. Frowning, Severus drew his wand and strode for the door. It opened on a distressingly familiar gathering of students, silent with – Merlin –

"Drop him this instant, Mr. Goyle," Severus said slowly, disregarding the sense of preservation that told him he really should wait and gloat, instead of – "Now, Goyle."

Antares hit the ground clutching at his bloodied face, his body curling up in almost the same position as was Draco not three steps away. "Don't even speak, Goyle – detention, and ten points from Slytherin –"

"But sir, he punched –"

"When I say don't speak," Severus said coldly, "surprisingly enough, I mean don't speak. Begone, the rest of you – fifteen points from Gryffindor, for every minute you stood by and watched this."

Neville Lupin went red. "But we didn't –"

"Five more points, for inability to obey a professor. Get out of here, all of you." Severus glared at Goyle and the bloody-knuckled Crabbe, who were foolishly trying to slink away. "I suppose you're not stupid enough to think that applies to you, are you?" They shook their heads fervently, the motion reminding Severus vividly of their fathers. That two men so daft could have been so cruel – but this was important, this was an important moment. It wouldn't do to botch it. "Draco, can you speak?"

"Mfi can," Draco said hesitantly, his frame starting to uncurl as Severus approached him. "He – he 'it me –"

"If I were you, I'd be worried about his mother appearing," Severus said snidely, ignoring the confused tangle of feelings that surfaced with the thought of her. "She was always good at revenge. Do you not agree, Mr. Black?"

Antares stayed silent. Still, even. "Ah," Severus said, tone as unconcerned as possible, "I think you got off a tad better than he did, Mr. Malfoy. Be that as it may," Severus dragged Draco up onto his feet, his grip firm enough to put fear back into his posture, "fighting in these halls is forbidden. That goes doubly so for Muggle fighting –"

"He shtarted it!"

"I'm sure he did," Severus said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes as he let go of Draco with a sneer. "Ten points from Slytherin, nevertheless."

Draco, now beginning to nurse his jaw, looked outraged. "For what?"

If Severus was not mistaken, that was a movement from Antares. He ignored it. "For not knowing when to allow your enemy a graceful retreat. I assume you two can escort your friend to the Hospital Wing?" Crabbe and Goyle nodded again, their nods almost in sync. It sickened Severus, watching those familiar gestures copied onto far younger, far more stupid frames.

Or perhaps it was just the thought of what he was about to do that made him really sick. "I suppose, Mr. Black, that you can walk yourself. In case you did not hear, you have detention tonight. Oh – make that all this week, for so obviously breaking the rules in my presence." Severus made for his door, and, passing through it, slammed it shut. The wards went up automatically, for which he was absurdly grateful. It was one thing to leave Antares to what could easily become another beating, but quite another to hear it.

It took only a quarter of an hour for Severus to convince himself that leaving the classroom ostensibly to make a trip for somewhere – anywhere – would not look suspicious, whether he missed the entrance and assembly of his next class or not. However, by then, there was no sign of Antares or the other three boys. Severus paused on the threshold of his door and tried not to panic.

It didn't work. The fireplace in his office was lit in minutes, and Severus was scanning the ominously empty office of Madame Pomfrey in more. "Poppy? Poppy?" He tried not to grind his teeth, tried not to think of whether those hideous little bastards had somehow dragged Antares off to some other, less conspicuous place just to –

"Oh, for the love of – Severus! Just the man – I really do not understand what's wrong with your House this month. Fighting – Muggle fighting, for goodness' sake –"

"What? Who's there? Is someone in the ward f–"

"Yes, someone is in the ward, Severus," Poppy snapped, barely giving Severus a look as she bustled about the office in search of something. "Three bloody someones, at that – I suppose I should be glad your House gives me practice, I haven't reattached a tooth in three days –"

"What?" Severus asked, in genuine surprise. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle had had enough time to really –

"Of course you don't know," Poppy breathed suddenly, conviction colouring her tone. "The excuses that boy gives – hah! Falling down stairs, ridiculous –"

"For Merlin's sake –"

"You know, I don't think I'll do your dirty work for you this time, Severus," Poppy said fiercely, waving a jar of something at him. "You find out what's going on. Maybe you'll finally realise that I'm not joking when I say there's a discipline problem in that filthy house of yours."

"Poppy –"

She left, banging the door closed behind her with a will, but not before Snape caught a minute glimpse of an angry-looking Blaise Zabini. Sighing in relief, he pulled his head out of the fireplace. However bad Antares' injuries were, his friends looked to have gotten him to the right place.

Of course, that still left Poppy's mysterious anger at him in question. Teeth reattachment – definitely not the sort of thing one needed regularly, and almost certainly involving Antares. Severus sighed again – Merlin, but it didn't look good. Two weeks into term, and the boy was already, literally, a bloody mess –

Bella will kill me, Severus started to think, automatically calculating how on earth he'd present this all to her. Then he froze, remembering again that she hadn't even bothered to tell him about the slight problem of her unemployment, and –

But that solved nothing. Severus collapsed into his chair, hands twitching, determinedly ignoring the noise of students filtering into the classroom. This put quite a different light on the prank – Antares' talent could probably have stretched to somehow learning how to perform a Caligo or some similar spell, and it was plain that his motive, by now, was probably sufficiently strong to carry him through twisting the neck of the first daft chicken that ventured near his hand.

Severus wearily shook his head. It still didn't make sense, dammit – as smart as Antares was, who would have told him how to get past the numerous alarms on the girls' dormitory? And how on earth would he have gotten past the wards that Wilhemina Avery had put on the door in secret since fifth year? Those wards were the firm reason he believed Avery had done the deed in the first place. He'd only ever discovered them by mistake, on a bleary night of head counts after a scare from some lunatic student out for revenge on a former sweetheart.

More importantly, only her dormmates knew of the wards. It had to be them or her, and none of them were the sort to spill blood to make a point.

Gritting his teeth, Severus forced his mind away from those thoughts, rising to his feet. He had a lesson to get through, before he could do anything else, nevermind how important it was to find out why on earth Antares didn't think of telling Severus that his bullies were still terrorizing him.

Now, how to meet with the fool boy without arousing suspicion…

It took longer than Severus would have liked to think to remember why Antares was now waiting sullenly outside his classroom door, looking faintly ill. "Get in and close the door, Black," he said coldly, ignoring the twinges of guilt that peppered him as he took in the boy's drained, sickly appearance. The lack of bruises suggested the use of one of those awful all-purpose Consanescerum-based potions – the ones that tasted like tar and felt like ashes going down.

For a long, foolish moment, Severus felt like asking which one. Then Antares sat down at the desk that had already been set up for his use, crowded with half-full cauldrons of various useful potions Severus had tested the sixth years on a few hours before, and the moment, miraculously, passed, leaving Severus with the far more correct desire to get down to the bottom of things as quickly as possible.

"When were you going to tell me you were still being bullied, I wonder?" Severus said, watching sharply as Antares began to decant one of the finished potions into vials with bored, practiced motions. "Antares –"

"You wouldn't have done anything," was the low answer. Severus gritted his teeth against the urge to explain himself – he knew firsthand how poor it was a consolation to be told your suffering was for some greater purpose. Not that it ever had been so for him, at Antares' age, but – "You told me that yourself, first time it happened. What was I supposed to do?"

And, indeed, what would Severus have done, surprised, as it were, just before his pivotal meeting with Lucius? Severus did not try to believe he'd have done anything other than snapped at the boy. The realisation of how useless he must surely look to Antares stung, and made Severus glare at the boy and silently turn away, instinctively suppressing his strange need to explain. There really wasn't an answer he could give, and surely none that Antares would accept, angry as he looked under that artificial calm.

After a while, Severus found himself trying again. "And those horrible excuses you gave Pomfrey, I thought –"

"Leave it, all right?" Antares burst out, not even looking at him. "God." He set down a full vial with what was surely unnecessary force, seizing another and starting to fill it, all without looking up. "I'm not as stupid as you think, for Merlin's sake – Quidditch practice starts this week, all right? And everyone knows –"

"Poppy's not stupid either," Severus pointed out. "She's worked here for years, boy. Don't you think she'd know what injuries a practice would cause by now?"

"And I suppose you just want me to tell her I'm being bullied," Antares snapped, looking at him for the first time, his eyes narrowed. "For fuck's sake, everyone would know it was me! How long d'you think I'd last after that, then? Look, I'm handling it –"

"Like you handled it this morning?"

Antares went red, and Severus half wanted to hit himself. The boy needed help, not more bullying –

"Leave me alone," was all Antares seemed to be able to say, firmly, though his hands were shaking a little now, as he set down another full vial of potion. "I'll handle it."

Severus glared at him again, making for his office. There was a time when pushing would have done any good. That time had obviously passed, and no amount of trying on Severus' part was likely to bring it back again. Now, all Severus had left to work with was the shaken, defiant little fool behind him, so work with him he would. Sighing, Severus sank into his seat, leaving the door wide open so he could watch the boy. Maybe another opportunity would come again, soon – sooner, if Severus could somehow pin the stupid prank to Wilhemina and make her fear his disapproval enough to curb the behaviour of her peers towards Antares.

The detention went by slowly, after that, but it still went by. Every so often, there was a too-loud clink or splash from Antares' direction; Severus ignored them, for the most part. Towards the end of the detention, they became more frequent, forcing Severus to snatch a look at his clock and debate as to how he could plausibly account for releasing the obviously stressed Antares from his detention early. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to hurt himself further in this –

The classroom door banged open. "Professor! Professor!"

Severus rose at his desk, scowling. Why on earth hadn't he locked it, this evening, suspicion notwithstanding? "Oh, for Merlin's –"

"There's been another prank," the Slytherin boy said, ignoring Antares as he rushed toward Severus' office door. He gulped, rubbing absently at a dark smear on his arm. "It's – it's worse –"

Severus forced himself to pick up his wand and begin to usher the boy towards the classroom door again, forced himself to drop his hesitation and confusion clean away. It was time for decisive action, by Morgana – "Where?"

"Fourth year's dorm," the boy babbled, barely noticed the stunned-looking Antares as he hastily dropped his materials and made to follow them. "It's – all of the beds, not just one, and some," the boy took a sharp, slightly hysterical breath, "some on the floor, and in trunks, and –"

"That will do," Severus snapped, cutting him short. "You, Black, did I say you could leave your duties? Close the door and attend to them immediately – my door will open for you only when you have finished." The resultant, if feeble protest at that pronouncement was cut off with a slam of the door and an imperceptible twist to the wards; only then did Severus actually look at the boy nervously leading him back to Slytherin and realise that it was Montague – Basil's boy, for god's sake, whose face was tight with fear, who was still convulsively wiping at his arm, at the streak of blood that somehow wasn't going away, only smearing itself further onto his fingers. "Montague –"

"None of the blood comes off," he said, shakily. "It's weird, that's all – Adrian and Charles wouldn't do that to our own dorm, sir, I know you think it's them that –"

"Let me see your arm," Severus said, ignoring the boy's babble with some effort – effort that became useless when he touched the boy's bloodstained arm and felt the slight pull of a strong Caligo. Sure enough, the small bloodstain spread easily to his fingers, yet did not diminish naturally in size. "When did you discover the prank?"

"I didn't, sir," Montague said, staring at the blood on Severus' fingers in morbid fascination. "It – I think it was Adrian that got in, first," he ventured, slowing as they approached the entrance to Slytherin. "He took his shoes off, but the blood wouldn't come off –"

"The blood is the least of my worries tonight, I assure you," Severus snapped, giving Montague a quelling glare. "Recte nunquam est. Go in, Montague, go in." Severus nudged the reluctant boy through into the common room, waving the door closed behind them as he himself passed through.

The room was packed with his students, smears of blood in evidence on the furniture and on several green-looking students, most of whom were fourth years. The nervous chatter died down as Severus passed through, ignoring the guilty looks from those bloodied fools in damning proximity to the stained furniture. The scent of blood, mingled with the sweet smell of burnt meat, became stronger as he and the nervous Montague got closer to the dormitory that had been attacked. As Severus waved the stained, stinking door open, an acrid tinge to the smell became apparent, tying the two strong smells together.

He wasn't surprised, therefore, to find that the exsanguinated chicken the boys had found had been roasted as well – whole, with their feathers, hence the acridity. Stiffly casting a Bubblehead charm for himself and, on consideration, Montague, Severus quickly hunted out four more chickens in a similar condition, their small bodies twisted awfully out of shape. Blood seemed to be everywhere, splattering onto shoes and coating fingers with magical ease – also helping to cover the perpetrator's tracks, if any had remained. Now, any sort of readout on this room would show several footprints and the mark of many hands. Not that one would help at all, from the very nature of who was and was not allowed in this room –

"S-sir?" Adrian Pucey poked his head around the door, looking tentative. "The house elves sent one again – to – to er…"

"Whose idea was it to keep them from cleaning this mess in the first place?"

"Mine, sir," Pucey said guiltily, opening the door a crack wider, but hesitating to step into the room. "I'm sorry – I just thought –"

"You did well, Pucey," Severus allowed, straightening from a crouch over the five dead cockerels with an absent wipe of his hand on his cloak. "Tell the house elf that they may enter and clean up the mess."

"Yes sir," Pucey said, edging away from the door, still looking thoroughly guilty. Severus ignored it – what he knew of Pucey and his friend's foolish little pranks dictated that they probably were not responsible for either of these recent, garish works. The pair of them would suffer a healthy amount of public suspicion, of course, for as long as Severus did not find the true culprit, as would anyone mildly enterprising in that way. However, the way he saw it, Pucey and Warrington could always stand to be taken down a peg. What was really at stake was the integrity, the relative peace of Slytherin, which would go down like a house of cards if the rumours of who did it all and why flew about for too long.

And, of course, Albus would have more chances to be sympathetic, and more chances to accuse Antares. An all-round win-win situation, Severus thought grimly, but only if I win. He sighed as Montague edged out of the desolate room, eagerly giving way to the fussing pair of house elves that popped into the room only seconds after Pucey had left. The elves immediately drew one of their strange circles, and started leeching the blood from the various surfaces in the room into the circle.

Severus drew back, observing silently as the blood exposed smelly sheets and unfortunately stained clothing. The bed in the centre of the room took the longest to become clean again, if as discoloured as the others, with a large damp spot on it being the last to turn that yellow-brown. Probably where the birds had been killed, if they were indeed killed in the dorm. That possibility, one that he had not seriously considered before, made Severus' mind race with the various questions it engendered.

Severus sighed. Winning looked like it would take some doing.

A/N: Some acknowledgements, first: the, er, Lucius theory is patched together from the many things I've read in fandom over the past year – an essay about the lord-vassal structure of the wizarding world, another essay about the true relationship between Severus and the Malfoys, and lightningwave's delicious descriptions, to name three. Synthesis is one of my favourite things about being a writer, and having such wonderful ingredients to draw on is my favourite thing about writing in HP fandom.

That said, I'm really puzzled as to what happened to this chapter – I didn't intend it to come over all noir-y at the beginning, or all gory at the end. It was q bit of a strange write in places. Hopefully, though, you enjoyed it; if you didn't feel freer than air (bleh) to tell my why. Next chapter is from Antares' POV, and should be along in about a week if I can sort it all out in that time.