(A/N: Howdy! This is the last chapter that has content from the original version of this story, so the next chapter will be 100% new content, and I'm so excited to jump into the meat of this story, which will take place during GoF, OotP and HBP. Enjoy Chapter Two, folks!)

Chapter Two: Promises

(Slytherin Common Room, June 1994)

(Third Year)

Sighing over her Transfiguration essay for the fourth time that day, Thalia Nott gave up. She slammed her book shut, rolled up her scrolls of parchment, and forcefully shoved them back into her knapsack. "Bloody boring… stupid assignment… waste of my time," she muttered, throwing all of her things into her bag, huffing and puffing the whole way. She'd never admit that the concept of transfiguring one's hat into a paper airplane seemed stupid and utterly confusing to her, or that so far all she'd managed to do was get the hat into a crumpled up piece of paper. No, not ever.

She was granted a much wanted distraction in the form of Draco Malfoy. He came bursting into the common room, hair disheveled and robes wrinkled and spattered with mud. Crabbe and Goyle stumbled in after him, one buffoon holding his books, the other holding his bag. Sometimes she pitied the oafs, serving Malfoy like their fathers served his; it seemed pathetic. Though, when you considered the intelligence level of the pair, it was probably an act of kindness that Draco ensured they never choked on their own dinner or something equally tragic and admittedly predictable.

"Filthy Gryffindors! So damn rude! The gall of these morons I swear, Goyle…" The boy shouted, his anger so strong it resulted in accidental magic, the common room fire surging—the flames erupting so large they licked the frayed ends of the tapestry above the fireplace. Thalia flinched as she felt the heat from the flame, which matched the rage in his eyes—wait, did one look swollen? The girl looked around to see the rest of the students that had been lounging on the couches had fled, leaving her the only bystander to the boy's temper tantrum. "It's disgusting! The things they're allowed to get away with! You know if any of us down in the dungeons punched a student, we'd get detentions for a month! But perfect Potter and his Potty Gang get a free pass!"

Thalia rolled her eyes. Draco seemed obsessed with Harry Potter and his friends, giving them a hard time, and getting frustrated when he didn't win their little spats—which to his agitation—and her amusement- was often. She personally didn't have anything personal against the group of Gryffindors, unlike the rest of her housemates in her year. "Twenty galleons says you actually deserved to be punched Draco," she called from her spot reclined back on one of the over stuffed leather couches, grinning from ear to ear, her arms crossed behind her head casually.

The blond wasn't facing her, so she had the pleasure of seeing his shoulders tense, his fists clench, and his back stiffen. The girl could already picture the scowl now firmly implanted on her friend's face.

He turned to face her slowly, and she was rewarded with the scowl she knew he'd wear. "Have something to say, Thalia?" he spat, stalking over to her couch, towering over her, and had it been anyone else, they'd probably be intimidated.

"Well since you so courteously asked," the girl said, grinning smugly, relishing in the way his face changed color, rivaling the most vibrant Weasley red. "You did open your mouth and say something stupid, right? That's why Potter… no… Weasley. That's why Weasley punched you. Correct?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at the older boy, fighting the urge to giggle with glee as his face passed red, working its way towards purple. Honestly she was doing him a favor. He shouldn't be so easy to work up. She was teaching him patience… while providing herself with immense enjoyment of his suffering.

Hearing snickers behind Draco, she refocused her attention on the two gargoyles flanking her friend. "What? Did one of you fart or something?" she asked, never having the patience for the two idiots.

"No! Its just that... well… it weren't Weasley tha' did the punchin'." Crabbe said, blushing and rocking back and forth on his large feet.

"Wait… you mean… Potter? He doesn't seem the type…" Thalia said, frowning. Surely the oaf was confused.

"No! The mudblood! The girl one that Potter keeps around like a pet!" Goyle cheered, grinning jovially, as if proud of his ability to distinguish a girl from a boy.

"Wait… surely you don't mean—Granger? Hermione Granger the bookworm?" she asked, fighting back a snicker herself as she watched Draco avert his gaze. "It WAS her! You got punched by a girl?" she asked, trying to decide between laughing at her friend, and being furious with Granger. She punched him? How positively vulgar! No matter what he did—she was sure he'd done something to merit the backlash—but to punch him? Barbaric and unacceptable. The mudblood would pay for what she'd done; Thalia would make certain of it.

"Shut it. Just… sod off the lot of you," he moaned, stomping up the steps to his dormitory.

Thalia stood, turning to Draco's lackeys. "Don't follow us, understood?" she ordered, and seeing the big dopes nod, she followed, always finding it curious how boys couldn't get into the girls' dorms, but girls had no trouble at all climbing the steps to the boys' dormitory.

She saw a few second years lounging around in the dorm. Thalia pointed to the door. "Out! The lot of you! MOVE. Unless you'd like me to tell my brother I caught you snooping 'round his bunk," the girl smirked, raising an eyebrow. The whole house had a deep fear of her brother, and though she wasn't exactly sure why, she guessed at least a part of it came from how quiet he was. The fact remained it was a useful tool she utilized often. The third year grinned to herself as all the stragglers leapt up and left the room.

The curtains to Draco's bed were drawn shut. She left him be and went over to the sink, and wet a washcloth with warm water. Thalia moved over to his four poster bed, pulling back the curtains. "Here. For your face. So it doesn't swell too badly," she muttered, pressing the cloth into his hand.

"You're not supposed to be up here." He complained, but didn't move her hand away from his face.

"Like that's ever stopped me before…" she chuckled, frowning as she got a better look at his face. "What did you do, Draco? She hit you hard," Thalia whispered, fighting the urge to touch the swelling bruise on his cheekbone.

"We went to go watch the execution of that bloody pigeon that attacked me," Draco began, sitting up slightly, his lips drawn tightly into a scowl.

"Buckbeak the Hippogriff… I remember. Your father was very cross about that one," she whispered, knowing better than to stop him while he was sharing—a rare occurrence to begin with.

"Potter and his minions were there too, so I asked them if they'd come to see the show…" Draco snarled, his fist clenching. "She called me a cockroach and I thought she was going to hex me, but when she lowered her wand to walk away the brat doubled back and sucker punched me," he mumbled, pale skin flushing crimson. "It was humiliating."

"She shouldn't have punched you… that's true- but you know better than to provoke her," the small girl whispered, frowning. "You care too much about them. They get under your skin far too easily," she noted, lifting the cloth from his eye to get a better look. "It's definitely going to bruise, but once the swelling's gone down a bit I can put a concealment charm over it, if you wanted." She murmured, gingerly patting the swelling just below his eyebrow, a frown settled onto her face.

"Why are you helping me? This gives you enough ammo to extort me for months," Draco said, half teasing, raising an eyebrow and wincing as it tugged on his sore eye.

"I may decide to do that, yet, Malfoy," the teen said, grinning. "But deserved or not, I'd rather she hexed you. Using your fists to punish someone is so childish and barbaric… we'd have been whipped if we did that at home," the girl said, shuddering slightly," Thalia seethed, furious. The younger Nott clenched her fists, her eyes alight with a vengeful burn that Draco knew too well.

"Don't do anything stupid, Lia." the boy muttered quietly, his embarrassed anger vanishing from his face, replaced with careful concern.

"We promised each other years ago that bruises on our skin would not go unanswered for anymore." She muttered darkly, reminding the Malfoy heir of a whispered vow spoken by bruised and battered children long ago.

Draco sighed. "Thalia, just sit down. Merlin, you can't do anything," the boy groaned, closing his eyes and draping his arm across his forehead. "You're making my headache worse…"

What he didn't say is that it was nice to have someone care, even if that someone was a bratty little princess of a first year. He'd never had people want to protect him. Just do his bidding because they feared him—err, his father.

"Well I'm not just going to sit idly by while they high five about attacking you like cavemen!" she snapped, crossing her hands about her chest, huffing irritably. She knew she was irrationally angry, that the majority of her anger was not with some offended Gryffindor princess, but rather the parenting styles of two men who believed mistakes were to be worn on your skin.

(Nott Estate, 1989)

Thalia Nott barely flinched when her bedroom window groaned open, silently sneaking out of bed to shut her bedroom door, placing a pillow against the bottom of it, dampening any sound from the inside of her bedroom. "Are you okay?" She whispered, pulling open her dresser and removing a small first aid kit she kept there. She wished this was an unusual occurrence. She was no stranger to whippings. She and her brother had had their share, but at least their father seemed to spend more time sleeping off too much firewhiskey than being awake and angry these days. It seemed Mr. Malfoy could find his son's breathing offensive enough to warrant a "lesson".

The blond boy sat on her bed and shrugged. "I just couldn't sleep." He whispered, picking at a stray thread in her quilt.

Thalia stepped closer to him, and noticed the small cuts on the insides of his palms. A rage filled her that no nine-year-old should know, much less understand. Murder. Her entire body shook with the desire to murder Lucius Malfoy. She sat down, and carefully began to clean and wrap his hands. "One day, you, me, Theo… we'll all be far away from them, right?" She asked quietly, staring at his hands, her eyes welling with tears.

"Yeah. One day." He muttered, and she could tell he was fighting back tears of his own.

"And one day, they will answer for every mark they left on us." She met his gaze, her eyes bright with a burning fire of pure hatred. She took his hand. "Promise me. We'll make them answer for it. You and me." She nodded to herself, and the corner of Draco's lips quirked upwards, an almost smile taking over his lips.

"Yeah. You and me."

"Look, I'll write a letter to my father, and this will be dealt with," he muttered, looking away from her, pulling her out of her memory.

"No! You can't tell your father!" Thalia screeched, small arms tightening around the pillow she'd pulled into her lap, the small girl's eyes wide with fear.

"Why the bloody hell not? They struck me, Thalia," Draco spat, his tone venomous.

"Yes! And he'll do worse if he finds out you let them!" she said worriedly, her voice dropping as if Lucius Malfoy could hear them all the way from Scotland. "Draco…"

"Shut it. You don't know anything. Are we clear?-Not a damn thing!" he snarled, his gaze icy cold as he recoiled, moving to stand. "I think you should leave now."

"I didn't mean, I just… Draco, you know how he is—"

"Well that man is my father, and I'll not listen to this!" he gestured toward the door. "You don't know what you're talking about." He said icily, his glare settled over her, and Thalia flinched.

Stunned, the girl's eyes filled with tears. "I-I just didn't want you to get hurt anymore. I-I wouldn't say anything," she whispered, her voice broken and almost pleading. She turned and ran from the dorm, pushing Goyle out of the way as she fled down the stairs and out of the common room, taking off into the labyrinth of the dungeon.

The next day, Thalia gave Crabbe five galleons to tell Tracey Davis that Draco Malfoy required a vial of her befuddlement draught and to leave it with Goyle- who Thalia bribed with a copy of Wild Witches Weekly (collective shudder, shall we?) and to finish it off, she gave 7th year Marcus Flint a whopping hundred galleons. His mission was to terrify a Gryffindor Prefect into snagging Hermione Granger's knapsack and deliver it to Goyle, who was to have everything waiting on her in the broom cupboard down the hall from the portrait hole to their common room. The first rule of shenanigans—never directly steal, or brew a forbidden potion yourself. Get easily bought minions to do it for you.

The plan was simple, lace her books and parchment with the potion, and possibly soak her entire bag in the draught, depending on time. The effects wouldn't have her severely confused, but would definitely cause the little know-it-all some embarrassing fumbles on her exams. Hopefully enough to get the snotty little know-it-all held back a year. To truly hurt your enemy, know where to hit them for maximum impact. The snotty little over achiever loved her perfect scores more than anything. Perfect target.

Thalia waited until after midnight prefect rounds, knowing she had until two AM until they'd return. She snuck down the stairs and out of the common room, the dungeon hallway dark and empty. As the girl neared the broom cupboard, she felt a hand close down on her shoulder. Jumping slightly and turning around, she let out a loud sigh.

"My office. Now," Professor Snape ordered in his nasally monotone.

Thalia grumbled and followed, her arms crossed in front of her petulantly.

Severus Snape knew Thalia Nott would be a difficult student the moment he'd met her. She had the intelligence of her brother, but it was paired with a gall and tenacity of being the youngest, female daughter of a rich, pureblood family. To say he was less than surprised to discover Gregory Goyle ogling topless witches, and that the delegating Nott was responsible was an understatement.

The slender man lifted Hermione Granger's bag, a bottle of a badly brewed Befuddlement Draught, and the copy of Wild Witch Weekly he'd confiscated from Gregory Goyle onto his desk. The middle aged wizard sat behind it, weaving his long fingers together in front of him patiently. "Care to explain yourself?"

Severus fought the urge to smirk when the dark haired little witch scoffed. She huffed and rolled her eyes as she crossed her legs. "Goyle. Oaf. Should have gone with Crabbe. Bloody snitch."

"Actually, of the two, your safest bet was Goyle, though why you'd trust either of them to pull something like this off effectively shows your arrogance and foolishness. You should be glad I'm the one who found Gregory practically skipping down the halls with this trash, instead of any other unassuming staff member," the teacher scolded, gesturing to the dirty magazine. "Where did you even get this?" he asked, flipping it over so the witch shimmying on the cover was face down on the desk.

The teen shrugged. "I found it," her cheeks darkened to an unflattering shade of crimson.

"Yes, let's pretend that was believable and get on to the meat of it. I'm exhausted and you should've been in bed long ago," he muttered, shaking his head. "What did you intend to do with this potion?" he asked, lifting the bottle, inspecting its consistency through the tinted glass.

"That twit Granger punched Draco, Professor, with no consequences! I was just going to make her a bit confused during exams," she exclaimed, fighting the urge to lift her nose, a bad habit that she'd been trying to curb.

"Miss Nott, I'm sure you've already discovered that Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter are the three students who could light the school on fire, admit their wrongdoing, and not be punished," he drolled, yet again fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Life at Hogwarts will be much simpler for you if you learn to accept that."

"Potter's the Chosen One, not Granger, why's she so bloody special?" the girl spat, unable to contain her repulsion for the girl.

"You could say she fell in with the right people," the Head of House lamented, tilting his head to the side, eyeing the young girl in front of him. "There's a lesson to take from this—you are the company you keep, Ms. Nott."

"But she's a Mud-"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you," the man's tone was suddenly sharp and serious, rather than the irritated understanding it had held before, holding a glint of residual anger and resentment that couldn't possibly have anything to do with the girl in question.

Thalia gulped. "Sorry, Professor," she even had the good decency to look down at her clasped hands in embarrassment.

"You're not to do anything more to exact whatever revenge you feel Ms. Granger deserves," Snape ordered, his gaze narrowed on the girl. "You behaved stupidly, and had anyone else caught you, you'd have detention for a month, maybe more."

The girl sighed. "He's my friend," she muttered quietly, wringing her hands together. "His eye is purple, Professor. It was barbaric and cruel. We're magical. Its so primitive to strike someone with your hands," Thalia's voice was small, concerned and frustrated.

The man sighed. He felt for the girl, as much as it pained him to admit. He knew the struggle of seeing someone you cared about suffering, and feeling helpless on the sidelines. "How d'you think Ms. Granger would feel about an E on her next Potions assignment?" he almost surprised himself, the words slipping out before he'd fully thought them over.

The girl's face was priceless, her emotions flittering over it quickly like a slideshow; shock, surprise, uncertainty, and finally settling on a dazzling grin that slid into a smirk. "Oh, Professor she'd hate that!" the girl practically bounced in her seat. "You mean it? You'd do that? For Draco?" she asked, her eyes hopeful as she looked across the desk at her Head of House.

Severus nodded, unsure why he was offering something so trivial to an thirteen-year-old. Perhaps he was in a giving mood. Perhaps he was just as irritated with Dumbledore for picking favorites as he was with the Gryffindor Trio for being nearly beyond reproach. Or maybe, unbeknownst to even himself, he saw a bit of himself in the girl—chasing revenge for her loved ones, beyond reason, caution, or rules.