This chapter includes: A LOT of Severus Snape, plenty of Mistletoe Potter, Mrs Figg, Percy Weasley, Fred and George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Fawkes the pheonix, mentions of Ginny, mentions of Lily, mentions of Avery and Mulciber, mentions of Bellatrix Lestrange, mentions of James Potter, mentions of Lord V, mentions of Albus Dumbledore, brief mentions of the Dursleys, brief implication to the Snapes.

Here, we continue our journey, following Mistletoe, our heroine, and Severus Snape, an almost-forgotten character, as they begin their journey, unaware of the perils that lie ahead, as I do. Oblivious to the impending doom, a hanging sunset close, so close to crashing onto the hard surface of the Earth at any time.

Very soon, so very soon, both are about to learn a lesson.

INTRODUCING HUMILITY

It was strange, Mistletoe thought, to be rudely stored in the pocket of a stranger. Particularly one who deemed himself a wizard. But as their journey continued for quite some time, Mistletoe stopped worrying about Uncle Vernon's Frugal shares, and began to contemplate the fact that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't going to see her relatives for quite some time.

There were quite a few things Mistletoe had realised concerning Severus Snape:

1. He was a wizard, the male equivalent of what he had called her, a witch. Which meant that whatever she could do, he most likely could too.

2. He had an instrument of value, a wand precisely. He had pointed it continuously at the space between her eyes, which evidently depicted the wand to be something of danger. Practically lethal. Like, say, a gun.

3. He had a wand. She didn't.

But being held in a pocket, one so constrained she could not stand up nor crouch without being rudely careened forward, back, up or down (there really was no difference; any way was met painfully), thinking came not as easily and contemplation was constantly interrupted by stumbling and slight leaps as Severus Snape went up, then down, a long set of stairs. She'd given up yelling at him. For one, he didn't answer, though she knew he could hear, as he had when she had farewelled his uncle with financial advice. For another, talking to him meant shouting to him, and she wasn't prepared for a hoarse soundbox.

Her uncle had mentioned a school called Hodgewarts. It almost interested her to be with other witches and wizards like her. She thought about Saint Cuthberts' Fine Institution for Young Ladies, imagining their obtusely-angled noses and their finely-starched skirts. At a daily social gathering like that, she would fit right in. Then she thought about Hodgewarts. What sort of people would be going? The Weasleys? The Malfoys? Hell, even children like Severus Snape? She shuddered at the thought of such grim, sombre children.

Quite a while later, she woke only to realise that she had fallen asleep. They were still travelling, and Mistletoe couldn't help but wonder whether the wand of Snape's would, by any chance, speed things up.

"Are we there yet?" she said loudly, voice a little hoarse.

He grunted. She assumed they had almost arrived at their destination.

"How long has it been, five years?" she muttered. "From a wizard, I expected more."

And the next instant, she was flung out of his pocket, enlarged, bounded, and rudely shoved into a chair almost simultaneously. She blinked.

Her eyes swept swiftly across the room she was held in, inspecting every corner for clues. She was placed in a tiny sitting room, heavy with the ominous feeling of a dark padded cell. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast y a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it were not usually inhabited.

Snape sat on the old armchair, back rigid, not allowing himself to relax. After a brief inspection of his features, she realised that he held an expression of annoyance.

She glared at him. If anything, she should be the one unhappy, she should be the one feeling out of place. He had kidnapped her! He had stored her in his pocket for eternity, and now that she was finally out, the least he should feel was admission of guilt.

"Severus Snape," she spat, "what do you want from me?"

Snape scoffed. "Oh, never worry, Potter. I wouldn't want anything of yours."

"What am I doing here?" she shrieked. As she reached out to hit him, she discovered a rather inconvenient truth – her hands were tied up.

She struggled relentlessly. The ropes binding her wrists together were most likely done using Severus Snape's wand, she deduced. "How DARE you!"

In defence, she tried to enter his mind. She knew he almost felt it right away, but probed deeper, slithering under the strong defence he had enacted around him. There was nothing keeping her out, and for a second, just a second, she saw his life flash before him as it had with Mister Malfoy...

She was out faster than she could comprehend. Suddenly, her mind was spinning and whatever sense of triumph she had felt before quickly fled. It seemed like Snape was retaliating.

All too quickly for her to prepare, she was flung not only out of his mind, but also into hers. Like some strange phenomenon, her life was placed before her, spinning crazily as if Dudley had grown bored and was fast-forwarding the tape.

She cried out, helpless, feeling so exposed as Severus Snape witnessed her entire life. And suddenly, Legilimency, or whatever the heck it was, stopped seeming like such a marvellous talent.

-witchery-

Severus Snape was witnessing a rather strange childhood, one almost similar to his own and yet so different. It was how his should have turned out, how hers shouldn't have and how Dumbledore was such a ruddy idiot to place a child as important as Potter under the care of such arrogant Muggles.

He stared at Lily Evans' daughter, a girl who seemed more like Petunia Dursley by the minute. He hated the way Lily's smart mouth curled with such distain. He loathed the way her beautiful auburn locks were brushed up in such a posh way that they lost their natural touch. And, more than anything, he despised himself for having stood in the shadows, invisible, alone, shaking and forgotten as Dumbledore gave Lily's child away that fateful night of Halloween, thinking it was all for 'the greater good'.

"Let's play a game, Piers," the girl sneered. So like Lily, and yet Lily would never dare talk that way. "I'll close my eyes and count to twenty. By the time I've finished, you'll be gone. Far, far away. Is that clear?"

A fat, stout boy who reminded Severus vaguely of Wormtail back in his days nodded his head feverishly and took off before the girl had even begun counting. Severus shrunk away in disgust at the disconcerting expression on the child's face and decided to jump forward instead.

This time, their setting morphed into a rather formal gathering taking place under a blanket of stars during the summer heat. An outdoor orchestra played inside a huge, magnificent gazebo, and a crowd of well-dressed Muggles waltzed with their partners semi-casually on the lush grass. Severus darted round, trying to spot that tell-tale auburn...

A sharp, familiar giggle sounded behind him. "Why thank you, Ray," Mistletoe chirped to her elderly dance partner. Severus looked tentatively behind him, surprised to find a child fitting in so well in such an event. She seemed the only child around.

"I do hope you looked into those charts my uncle gave you. They provided adequate assistance, I hope?"

Severus blinked. Never had he imagined such a young child saying those words. Her companion, it seemed, was not at all surprised.

The Muggle, Ray, chuckled. "Yes, yes, they did help. Of course, I had told your uncle I wanted them marked. He must have forgotten. The last graph, the –"

"The one printed on the lilac paper? That was by far the best, wasn't it?" The girl injected innocently.

The Muggle looked rather surprised. "Why – yes. Yes. How did you –?" The man shook his head then continued. "As I was saying, the last graph was by far the best. I must say, you uncle's work has become much more impressive of late."

Severus scoffed lightly, moving forward and away as he did. The unfamiliarity of the situation astounded him. Rapidly, time lapsed.

Among the next few seconds, he found himself standing in an extremely decorated (for many prizes hung on the walls), extremely posh-looking (a very fancy wallpaper and immaculately polished floorboards), extremely Muggle school corridor. He blinked, deciding to surf ahead again, but stopped, almost hesitantly at the last instant when he noticed the girl running in a sneaky, silent manner down the corridor and past him, oblivious to his presence. The Potter in this memory was closest to the present day's for she was just as tall except Severus's crafty eyes picked up the shortage of perhaps an inch or two of hair.

Curious, Snape followed her.

At the sudden halt of his figure, he quickly discerned that the girl must have reached the people she had meant to spy on. At the sight of her calculative frame and darting eyes, Severus realised with slight disappointment that the girl was eavesdropping on the thoughts of her suspects. Judging by the girl's sneaky demeanour, however, he guessed that they were not far off. Briefly, he wondered what interested the Potter brat so much.

He was right. A pair of female Muggle teachers were strolling down an adjacent corridor, discussing a serious topic in hushed voices. Edging forward, Severus managed to make out what they were saying.

"– Potter? That is one child I wish I'd never met! She frightens me at times." The younger teacher looked slightly sheepish as she smiled embarrassingly at her companion.

The other, older muggle nodded curiously. "Perhaps you could tell me more about her demeanour? I am rather interested in getting to know my new music students more."

Her informant shuddered. "There have been – incidents," she said quietly. In the background, Snape noticed Mistletoe freeze slightly. "Of course, nothing has been proven but..." The woman leaned in. "She scares the other children."

"You mean she's a bully?"

The Muggle hesitated, oscillating between informing the new teacher of her student's devious past and simultaneously gaining attention and the other hand, and keeping her fears to herself. As a teacher himself, Severus knew what it meant to hold the confidence of his students. Finally, it seemed her thoughts were decided. "Nothing is set in concrete as it is but some of the staff and I... we have our suspicions."

"Only some?"

The teacher nodded reluctantly. "It would seem that others find her a brilliant child," she muttered bitterly.

"I, personally, find her rather gifted in the affairs of music. She converses with the flute rather well, her posture concerning the violin is remarkably experienced and she holds no qualms against piano either."

"Oh, yes, she writes her mind – and others too – during English. It always seems as if she had simply plucked ideas from each student of the class and arranged them together to form a montage masterpiece. I don't know how she does it – either she's incredibly talented or she is the most amazing cheater I know for I swear, even when I keep my eyes trained on her at all times –"

"Having fun, are we?"

Snape's head snapped up and the familiar voice of Lil – Mistletoe Potter. The solidity of her voice compared to the others in this memory assured him, though he was already assured at the sight of her venomous glare aimed at him, that this was definitely the real Potter.

"Enjoyed sifting through other's heads, did we?"

And, as suddenly as the memory had come, it went. Severus Snape had seen enough of what Mistletoe Potter had not meant him to see to realise one thing: unless someone could stop it, this girl could very likely become the next female counterpart to the Dark Lord.

The two of them were splattered across the dusty floor, both slightly panting. For a while, neither spoke, then Severus said rather smoothly, "I do believe it was rather hypocritical of you, Potter."

Mistletoe's eyes were slits, glaring with all their luminous glow at Snape, the unwelcome, bitter stranger who had stolen her from her rather comfortable life then proceeded to read her mind. "Do tell, pray," she spat.

"Do you not, Potter, on a regular basis, read the mind of any soul within the five-mile vicinity of your own ever since you were, according to your aunt, four? Do you not, Potter, constantly eavesdrop in the private thoughts, feelings and life of others who you may not even know? Do you not use your skill to your advantage in the classroom? Is that not called cheating? Are you not, I ask, cheating your own fate?"

Mistletoe stiffened. She kept her eyes trained on a dusky patch on the couch behind Snape, unsure for once, of what to say.

"Just like your father," Snape continued to taunt. "You are just like him. Would it satisfy you to know that he and his little friends tried to kill me during my school years?"

Mistletoe was caught. On one hand, she had never met either of her parents, and by the likes of it, neither were the best. Dying in a car crash? Drunks? They weren't good role models, obviously. But on the other hand? She had her pride, her family's dignity and the name of Potter to defend.

"Do not even start lecturing me on reading your mind, Potter," Snape continued to snarl.

Perhaps defending one's parents wouldn't be the best move. Mistletoe retreated to solely insulting Severus Snape himself.

"Of course, Snivellus," she purred. "I wouldn't dare start lecturing you, would I? I'm not your master."

The almost instantaneous paling of Snape's face was incredibly satisfying. After all, no one got the best of Mistletoe Potter. No one.

-witchery-

Severus Snape found himself in quite the predicament. He couldn't breathe.

Of course. The brat was his daughter through and through. The stupid, stupid nickname. Why, of all things the girl decided to remember, she would remember that?

-witchery-

His whole life, Severus Snape had been forgotten and unread like a miniscule Potions footnote, avoided and shunned to extremes like a curse of bad breath, hated, taunted, laughed and mocked at merely for the state of being there and breathing.

His parents, if he could call them that, forgot him more than once and only remembered his existence long enough to give him a name, a room the size of a dog-house, and food and water occasionally.

Petunia Evans saw through Severus as just another statistic that filled up her neighbourhood. Just another dark figure that made the background seem a little less bare. It was people like Snape who made people like Petunia.

Lily Evans, the only woman in his life who ever truly mattered, always hesitated when Severus smiled at her before returning the greeting. He had never been to her house, never met her mother, never even been inside the Gryffindor common room no matter how many times he had offered her the dungeons.

James Potter and his gang of Marauders always hated him. There wasn't much wrong with the fact. Gryffindors like Potter had always hated Slytherins like Snape and rich, spoilt boys like Potter had always teased and taunted on poor, ragged boys like Snape.

Even in the eyes of his fellow Slytherins, he was invisible, the first wave of triumph at his Sorting long gone. Avery and Mulciber had regarded him with suspicious and doubtful eyes when the three of them first met. He was, after all, a half-blood. Third last of the power pyramid. No one special.

Bellatrix Lestrange never ceased taunting him of his disgusting inferior blood. Even after he had received the Dark Mark, he'd always be the last picked for raids, always the one blamed when things turned sour and always, just always the one to rid the bodies.

Albus Dumbledore, the great man who gave everyone a second chance, had refused Snape's request for the post the Dark Lord had always been interested in for almost a decade, on the grounds that he was far too valuable. He knew, at all of those Order meetings, that he wasn't and would never be trusted or accepted. It would always be Dumbledore informing him of plans, always Dumbledore who bothered asking for Snape's opinion, but even he only did so out of pity, wanting the rest of them to pity Snape too.

It was almost enough for him to break down, just as he had those years back when he realised it was Lily Evans and her daughter the Dark Lord wanted. Lily Evans.

With Severus Snape's life, nothing was ever fair. And for the record, it had taken him almost a decade to come to an understanding that Lily Evans, nomatter how much her daughter reminded him of her, was indeed truly, dreadfully dead.

As we have now seen, it would be simple to say that Severus Snape has had a rather harsh life. No one cared about him, no one thought of him, no one ever bothered with him.

Even as Death, even as a haunted spirit of what I once was, I could feel the pain, his want for the numb etherized feeling he could never truly achieve with Occlumency. Snape would seek to not only hide what he felt from others, but to hide it from himself too. It would be one thing of Severus's life he would never truly manage to achieve.

It is time, however, to give Severus Snape his chance. His mind is set out to accomplish some good in the world. He doesn't care if Mistletoe Potter is set out on a road directly opposite to his, but it was time the Light saw him as, though he hated seeing it as such, one of them.

The wave of triumph soon diminished when Mistletoe realised that Snape was now not only terrified, he was also angry. Furious in fact. Oh, and he had a wand. She hated it when people pretended they were superior to her. She was special, wasn't she? She was a witch and she just had to be a powerful one too.

Snape was breathing deeply. Any minute now, Mistletoe thought. Any minute he would round his forces at her. She figured he probably wouldn't kill her – she was too valuable. He had gone to the trouble of kidnapping her, of course. His efforts of forcing her to his school would be wasted otherwise.

So when Snape pointed his wand at her, and she in turn glared at him defiantly, bracing herself for inevitable pain, she was rather surprised to find the twirl of his wand do nothing to her physical presence except to release the ropes she had already forgotten were tied around her wrists.

She stared at him incredulously, mouth agape, unsure of what to say. "You...you..."

Snape, instead of seeming smug for rendering her speechless, inclined his head and walked out the door. Back to his old self, she thought. The self where he was so repulsed by her presence he couldn't even look at her.

She felt furious, glowering at his retreating figure. Why wasn't he angry? Why wasn't he showing any emotions? Didn't he have anything to say to her?

"Where are you going?" She yelled at his back. "Don't just leave me here."

He paused, then said without turning round, "come."

She sighed, trudging reluctantly and desperately trying to keep up with his fast, relentless pace. She was bought down a dim hallway, about has cheerful as the rest of the house. Snape stopped abruptly, causing Mistletoe to almost bang into him, then he opened a door she hadn't noticed before, pushing her roughly into it.

"This will be your room until you learn some respect," he said.

"I'm hungry," she muttered, hating the whining tone that was obvious in her voice. Severus must have noticed it too, for he replied bitterly, "You will be given provisions when you learn how to ask for them."

And then he left, slamming the door shut in

a dramatic finish.

-witchery-

For a few seconds, Mistletoe blinked at the door, dazed. Slowly, she felt her eyes begin to water, tears starting to build up. She sniffled a little, hating the way things had turned out. It was meant to be a peaceful day spent bugging Uncle Vernon till he sold his Frugal shares, sticking up to Aunt Tuney till she relented and let Mistletoe spend away till she'd bought half the bookshop in the shopping centre down the road, and what was more, the day was supposed to be normal.

Her stomach growled. She glowered at it, commanding it to stay silent. Unfortunately for Mistletoe, she was incredibly hungry, missing breakfast then being kidnapped. Reaching for the door handle, she was just about to run after Snape when she remembered what he had said.

"You will be given provisions when you learn how to ask for them."

She scowled darkly again. No doubt he would use the opportunity to humiliate her once more if she were to find him and demand for food. He expected her to ask him nicely! Her! What was he, Severus Snape, compared to her, Mistletoe Potter? Nothing. She'd show him.

-witchery-

It was almost exactly as the clock tolled for noon when Mrs Figg finally received Dumbledore's letter. His wonderful phoenix with its magnificent golden-red plumage gazed at her with expectation and wisdom. She tentatively unwrapped the string around its foot, pulling out the small scroll of parchment it wound itself around.

Unrolling the tiny parchment, she read the emerald ink:

Dear Arabella,

I apologise profusely for not contacting you sooner. It has only recently come to my attention that the child you were entrusted to watch over, Mistletoe Potter, no longer resides in Number Four Privet Drive along with her family. Her change in residency was not within my notice, but as she lived elsewhere with her family for quite a few years now, it is safe to assume that she is still reasonably protected among the Muggle neighbourhood.

My concern, however, lies not with her protection. An acquaintance of mine who has already met the child reported back to me a strange aura concerning the girl. Was there anything wrong, strange or out of place, even for a wizarding child, when you had known her? I would truly appreciate your knowledge.

Albus Dumbledore

Mrs Figg scratched her head. Strange? No. There had been nothing wrong with the girl, nothing out of place. From a distance, she would only assume that the Girl Who Lived fitted too well in with her family. Never once had the Dursleys requested her services. Never once had they treated her harshly and never, not once, had she witnessed anything even remotely magical about the girl.

The only things she had found strange was what the other neighbours, more daring to speak to the girl, had her told her – that Mistletoe Potter, though she was a darling, had a rather annoying habit of speaking one's mind. But surely, interrupting others was something only expected of children like young Mistletoe Potter.

No one had ever bothered reprimanding the child. The girl would smile, her dimples would form, embedded into her rosy cheeks, her eyes would light up and sparkle and whatever reproach on the tongue of any person would be forgotten. She was such a pretty girl. It wasn't her fault.

So when Arabella Figg read Albus Dumbledore's letter, she only needed to think for a few, brief seconds before she shook her head and wrote a concise reply back.

All was well, she thought as she watched Dumbledore's phoenix fly off to Hogwarts. All had to be. You-know-who was gone, Mistletoe Potter had saved them all, and she was going to grow up a powerful, beautiful and much-admired witch.

And that, Mrs Figg thought, was that.

-witchery-

Now, it so happened that September the first was approaching. And, because the start of September would mean a new school year at Hogwarts, a new wave of eager students and another year approaching Merry Potter's year for Hogwarts, everyone was extremely excited.

One Percival Ignatius Weasley was standing a little further back from the large crowd that was his family, his proud green and silver robes worn proudly and finely starched as he proudly tried on his uniform.

Ambition, Merry Potter (the Merry Potter) had said to him. That was what he had. His house valued ambition. And because he had plenty of it to reap, he belonged in his house almost instantly after the Sorting Hat was placed onto his sweat-laced red hair.

His youngest brother, Ronald, never truly understood him. He was too much like the rest of his family, just like William and Charles, never truly acknowledging the fact that, yes, Slytherin was just as much of a house as Hufflepuff, as Ravenclaw and, though he thought of it reluctantly, as Gryffindor. It was simply a house. Not a pack, not a race, not a social class and not, not a secret underground force of blood purists who practised different methods of torture on Muggles under the watchful eyes of Professor Snape, no matter how much Ronald was inclined to believe it as such.

Thankfully, his twin brother Fred and George were still with hope. As much as they were mischievous, their penchant for going against the family tradition just had to land them into Slytherin. Their house was for the sly and cunning, and Fred and George, as they had proven to him many times with their sometimes (though he hated to admit it) ingenious pranking, certainly held those qualities.

"Oi! Percy!"

Percy turned round to find the twins motioning for him to join them. When he expressed his distaste by wrinkling his nose, Fred and George skipped joyfully up to him like little schoolgirls and each grabbed an arm.

"Say, Perce," Fred (or was it George?) chirped excitedly, like he often did when he asked Percy's opinion on a prank, "what would you do if me and Forge are sorted into Hufflepuff?"

"Forge and I," Percy corrected sternly, though he couldn't help but twitch his lips at his brother's sheepish expression. "Hufflepuff? Honestly? Being in Hufflepuff would mean the Apocalypse. The two of you are about as loyal as a nest of snakes."

"See, Gred?" The other twin piped up, "I told you Hufflepuff would be out of the question."

"And don't even consider Ravenclaw, you two," Percy chastised. "Witty you may be, I consider the two of you as more sly and cunning than anything. And wriggling your way out of punishment? That has got to be self-preservation."

The twins beamed at Percy's judgement, happy that their rebellious older brother approved.

"And what about dear old Gryffindor?" The two of them chimed in together. "Being in that house –"

" – is clearly in -"

"-our blood."

"There's definitely -"

"- the reckless spirit -"

"- in us somewhere."

Percy snorted. "There's nothing reckless about the two of you. You twins are the most planned, calculative brats that ever stomped the Earth, I swear."

Fred and George grinned. "Did you hear that, Forge?" One of them gushed, "Percy just gave us a backhanded compliment."

The other twin grinned. "Who've you been hanging out with, Perce?"

Just as Percy was about to answer, his youngest brother Ronald huffed at them. "With bloody Slytherins, that's who," he muttered darkly.

Percy stiffened. The loyalty imbedded deep in him felt the urge to give Ronald a good telling off, but he knew Ron would never listen to him.

There was once a time when Percy thought of himself as a sort of role model for his younger siblings, Ron and Ginny. Especially Ron. But neither ever seemed to listen. When Ginny wasn't droning on about the Girl Who Lived and begging her brothers to lend her a broom, she was off on their mother doing girl things, talking about girl problems, things Percy knew he was no expert in.

And Ron? Why couldn't Ron just see that being in Slytherin didn't mean being a Death Eater? Sure, most Death Eaters were Slytherins, but not all Slytherins were Death Eaters. How could Ron even go so far as to suggest that he, Percy was a traitor to his family and his blood?

"Oh, come on, Ronnie," one of the twins guffawed.

"You can't honestly believe -"

"- being in Slytherin is any worse -"

"- than being in Hufflepuff."

"And being in Hufflepuff means –"

"- the end of the world."

The twins beamed once more at Percy, waiting for his approval. Flushed, he nodded gratefully at the two.

"'sides," the twins continued, "We're going to try our luck at Slytherin. And you'd better be there to join us."

Ron gulped, nodding a little uncertainly. Even though Ronald held no regard for Percy, it seemed that Fred and George were his idols. Percy doubted Ron would hold back at all on setting the house on Fiendfyre – as long as it meant pleasing Fred and George.

And Ginny? Like Ron, she too had the trademark Gryffindor recklessness. Percy only hoped she would be good enough as a Slytherin.

Towards the approaching September, Percy Ignatius Weasley would only hope that the twins would enter Slytherin (and not Gryffindor) accepted as he had been. There would be no reason for him to hold hopes over Gryffindor. Why should he? In his universe, in his little world, Slytherin would be all there ever was to Percy. His ambition would ultimately be his downfall in the years to come but as an innocent schoolboy who aspired to become someone great, Percy had no other dreams.

And thus, he would remain this way for a long time.

-witchery-

Hardly winter and she was shivering. Why was it so cold? She was under a thick, coarse blanket wrapped tightly around her, and yet Mistletoe knew, just knew that if she were to open her eyes, she'd see her breath in the darkness.

He was scared. So frightened. Every night, he'd cry himself to sleep, hoping, just hoping that he'd be discovered, that someone would care enough to get his parents into trouble, take him away, far away to a tropical island where the sun never set, and adopt him.

The same dream every night as his tears enveloped his shivering palms, wishing he had another name, wishing there'd be an old, tall tree with outstretched arms that would send him into the sky when he climbed it, into another realm where pain was unheard of and suffering was non-existent.

There were days when the boy would deliberately place himself into harm's way, just so someone could pluck him back, check to see if he was alright and expose the bruises, the scars and scabs that ran incongruously along his thin ribs and arms. Then, he would brace himself for the comfort, the promise that none of it would ever going to happen again, that Sev deserved better, and the disappointment when any adult would never be seen again.

No doubt, they had heard of the Snapes' strange behaviour and thought better. No one ever gave him the chance, just one tiny little chance to prove that he was alright, that he wasn't crazy, or lying, or attention-seeking. Just one little chance.

-witchery-

It was midnight now. Mistletoe knew it was even with eyes closed, for two streets away, Kenneth Smith had woken to the sound of his alarm clock, preparing himself for his shift.

Kenneth had been lucky to find his job, for he had been unemployed for almost two years by the time someone had finally needed him. It hadn't been easy. Kenneth had dropped out of school before he could graduate. All he had to recommend himself with as a primary school graduating certificate and a rusted trophy from the race he'd won at a swimming carnival eight years ago.

But he'd looked his boss in the eye, really looked and said, "Just give me a chance, man." A chance was all he needed and he was grateful his employer had thought enough of him to keep him (and give him a raise) for two years.

Mistletoe shivered again, mind racing to the little boy she'd remembered him as.

Severus Snape was just a bitter man who had never been loved.

The shame she felt at insulting him, at taunting him just as others had (how could she ever stoop to their level?), others she knew were below her, make her gasp for air. She was right when she breathed out again – there indeed was a small cloud being exhaled from her mouth.

It was a universally acknowledged fact that Mistletoe Potter wasn't nice. Ever. So giving Severus Snape the chance he deserved surprised her about as much as the gratitude she felt for his determination to change her. Not that that would ever happen.

It was time the underdog got his say in things.

-witchery-

Notes:

I tried doing a number of things in this chapter. First and foremost, I cannot imagine Mistletoe bonding with Snape, at least not until the very end. Second, I have never believed, not for one second, that Percy belonged in Gryffindor. He was extremely ambitious and he resorted to extreme measures just to achieve his ends (i.e. divorcing the family). He should have, in all honesty, been a Slytherin. As for Gryffindor, I honestly don't see anything brave about pulling pranks on enemies instead of facing them full on. As for taking advantage of their talent and creating a booming market out of prank-manufacturing, to me, that merits the Twins some clever thinking – not Gryffindorish at all.

This chapter is also partly dedicated to Arabella Figg, who even as a Squib, was given far less attention and lines than I think plausible. I mean, seriously? They should have given us clues, made her semi-mysterious, if she was gonna turn out to be a Squib.

Hope you liked this chapter, folks. Review with comments or any idea as to whichever path Mistletoe should take: Light, Dark or Grey.

MaskWithATruth