Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter


Lily was drumming her fingers on the Gryffindor table in a rapid-fire manner, making one continuous noise instead of four separate ones.

Did it always take this long for the Start-of-Term Feast to start? Where was Professor McGonagall with the First Years? Where was Snape going? What in Hecate's holy name was the female Black petting? Why was she paying attention to Snape and Black? Where were the rest of the students? Didn't they know she had a limited amount of time before the drops wore off and she died from all of the magic around her? Oh Gods, she was going to die. She was seventeen, and she was going to die

"Lily, calm down, you're going to be fine," Alice soothed, placing a hand over her drumming fingers from across the table.

"Yeah, carrot top, you're gonna be fine," Mary said with a wink and a wry grin.

"I hate it when you call me that," she grumbled, but otherwise let it go.

Before she could resume her panicked thinking, the large double doors creaked open to admit Professor McGonagall and the First Years fresh off the lake. Lily watched them walk in with nothing more than a passing interest, but sat up straighter when the stream of nervous eleven-year-olds was cut short.

Others took notice of this as well, if the whispers rippling through the Hall were any indication. She counted them when they finally came to stop – thirteen! – there were only thirteen First Years! Her Year was 56 strong.

"Zeus-a-mercy! Why are there so few?" she heard someone exclaim down the table. To her left, Mary snorted at that. Who even said 'Zeus-a-mercy' anymore anyways?

Nevertheless, they were right. There were too few First Years.

Back home in Cokeworth it was so easy for Lily to forget there was a war going on, removed from the Magical World as she was.

A horrible, terrifying, very real war.

Parents didn't want to send their children away for ten months at a time, even though the wards around Hogwarts were unmatched. Not even Gringotts could hold a candle to their security – the Founders had taken their task of protecting their students very seriously, and so had every Headmaster and Headmistress that followed.

The pitiful group of eleven-year old's was a jarring reminder of the war, and not just for her, she could see it in her friends' eyes. Even the Marauders' smiles seemed forced at the sight of such a small Year group.

Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on the stool just as Dumbledore slid into his seat, smiling innocently at the Transfiguration Professor who glowered up at him before primly turning around to face the First Years. Lily couldn't help but smile at the sight.

A seam ripped open on the Hat, signaling it was about to sing its introductory song, but Lily and several others at the Gryffindor Table were distracted by Sirius and Peter shooting up out of their seats, somehow managing to look properly solemn in the process.

Student and Professor alike couldn't help but wait resignedly to see what the two Marauders would do. It became obvious when they began to sing along with the Sorting Hat, loudly and off key. How they knew the lyrics was beyond Lily, as the Hat changed the song every year.

Laughter blossomed across the Hall at the two boys. The Sorting Hat appeared torn between outrage at them knowing what it was going to sing, and being flattered that they wanted to sing with it. When the song ended, the Hall erupted in applause and more than one wolf whistle. Lily could've sworn that the Headmaster was the source of at least one of those whistles. The Hat bowed to Sirius and Peter, as much as a hat can bow, and they bowed deeply in return.

"Messrs Pettigrew and Black, that will be five points from each of you, for disrupting the Sorting Ceremony – a new record for you boys, losing points for Gryffindor so soon," Professor McGonagall said, her face set in a severe frown. The effect of it was completely negated by several of the staff members seated behind her doing their best to hide their smiles, Dumbledore included. Flitwick's shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

The stern Professor gave the boys one last hard stare before she opened the roll of parchment in her hands and got the Sorting underway by calling the first new student, "Aaronson, Aaron!"

Mary winced. "Oh, that poor tyke, stuck with a name like that."

Alice was torn between agreeing with her, and reprimanding her for calling an eleven-year-old a "tyke". Lily merely shook her head at her friends.

It wasn't long at all before they reached the last student, called up as "Willow, Caedmon". Once he was sorted and had scampered off to his table, Professor Dumbledore stood and smiled at his students, his eyes squinted and twinkling merrily. "Welcome! Welcome! To old students and new!

"I can see many of you practically salivating where you sit, so I shall save the lengthy announcements for after the banquet. Tuck in!" Food appeared on all the tables and students eagerly filled their plates.

The Hall filled with the noise of a hundred conversations, a familiar comfort for Lily. As much as she loved her parents and Cokeworth, this was where she belonged.

"Oi Evans!" Tiberius McLaggen called from down the table.

"Yes, McLaggen?" she called back, spooning a heap of mashed potatoes on to her plate.

"Are you ready for the Quidditch season this year? I think one of our new First Years could give you a run for your money!" he let out a loud guffaw, high fiving his mates. Lily had bested him year after year at tryouts for the position of Beater, and, needless to say, he was a little sore about a girl taking what he thought was his rightful place.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see James about to come to her defense, but she beat him to it. "If we've a First Year that can outfly me, I'd hate to see what you look like next to them, seeing as how I've kicked your arse from here to Wales and back four times now. Or is it five?" She smiled at him sweetly, taking a sip of her Pumpkin juice. McLaggen looked away with a grumble, his face red.

Black leaned over Mary, ignoring her indignant spluttering. "Evans, I think I love you. Marry me?"

"You at least have to take me to dinner first, Black." Lily replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Does this not count? We're at supper! Together!"

Lily laughed. "Sorry, no."

"Och, you girls are so demanding," he said with a shake of his head and a wink to let Lily know he was only joking. He turned back to the other Marauders and rejoined their conversation.

Lily was surprised that James hadn't jumped in, given what they had been talking about even if it was only jokingly. She put it out of her mind and turned her attention to Alice and Mary, who were now bickering about whether or not one had to harvest Aconite under a full moon or a new moon. Lily knew better than to try to get involved.

All too soon, the headmaster rose to his feet and the hall fell silent.

"Ahem – now that we have all been sufficiently fed and watered, I have a number of start-of-term notices for you all.

"First Years should know that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students, unless they are accompanied by a member of the staff. A number of our older students would do well to remember that." His twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Marauders who looked as innocent as a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Any interested in playing for their House team should contact the lovely Madam Hooch. However, only Second Years and up are eligible to play, as it has been for the past six years now." Again, the headmaster's eyes flashed in the direction of the Marauders, namely James who was the reason for that rule.

No one knew exactly what it is he had done, only that he was to blame. The rumors surrounding the situation were absolutely hilarious, though. Black was the source of the majority of them, of course. The Head Boy looked sheepish under the scrutiny of his peers and professors.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker of our marvelous castle, has asked me to remind you all that magic is prohibited in the corridors between classes, as it always has been. Those caught doing so will serve a night of detention with Mr. Filch.

"And since Messrs Black and Pettigrew serenaded us earlier this evening alongside the Sorting Hat, I do believe we shall save the school song for a later date. Off you trot! Straight to bed! Classes begin bright and early tomorrow morning!"

With the headmaster's dismissal, Pandora was at Lily's side, somehow getting there from the Ravenclaw table from clear across the Hall before her two friends even had the chance to stand up.

"How did you-" Mary was cut off by Pandora grilling Lily.

"How are you feeling? Are the Drops wearing off?" the Ravenclaw asked, a glint in her eye that spoke of fiery pain should Lily lie.

"I'm fine, Dora – honest!" Pandora didn't believe her. She never did. "The Drops aren't wearing off either, but they will before too long."

"Well then, we had better go see Madam Pomfrey straight away, shouldn't we?" Pandora said, eyeing her red headed friend critically. She had once seen Lily take a Bludger to the thigh, shattering her femur, and claim that she was fine. She'd Stupefy her best friend and levitate her there if necessary.

"We're coming with," Mary declared, her arm linked through Alice's.

"We want that story you promised us," Alice agreed with a decisive nod of her head.

Lily stared at them.

Mary's free hand was planted firmly on her hip and her head was tilted to the right, a knowing smile on her face, like Lily had already agreed to let them tag along. Alice's free hand was clenched tightly in a fist by her side and the slant of her eyes promised retribution should she be left out. Lily rolled her eyes at the lot of them. "You two will just follow after anyways, so you might as well walk with us.

"Come on then. I know a shortcut – Remus showed it to me."

{Furius Draconis}

"Miss Evans – Miss Wulfhart? Miss Storgarth, Miss Macdonald? Whatever are you girls doing here? It's only the first day! Surely you four aren't injured already?"

"Lily's run out of her Veiling Drops," Pandora answered bluntly, making Lily roll her eyes.

"What? Severus forget to brew them?" Pomphrey asked, not noticing the widening of the girls' eyes. She said to herself, "That is entirely unlike him."

"I, um, guess he did," Lily answered, pointedly not looking at her friends who were doing their very best to burn a hole in Lily's skin with their eyes.

"I'll speak to him in the morning about it. In the meantime, you'll have to remain in the Dampening Room. Do you recall where it is?"

Lily nodded, "Yes Madam Pomphrey."

"I have a vial of Drops here, brewed before the end of last term, just in case something like this happened. You'll have to double to dose and put them in every three and a half hours instead of seven – it should last you at most a day. Severus will surely have a batch ready by then."

Lily smiled (grimaced, really) and took the vial, "Thank you Madam Pomphrey."

"You're welcome dear – congratulations on making Head Girl! – now, in to the Dampening Room with you! And off to your Towers, girls, Lily cannot have visitors in the Room – off with you!"

Lily all but ran to the Dampening Room to escape her friends' angry and questioning glares. It was still, technically, in the Hospital Tower, but a floor down in what one might call the Basement of Hogwarts. Below the ground level, but not deep enough to be considered the Dungeons. The Headmaster had the House Elves build it just for her, once they realized how strong her Videns Magia ability was.

Her friends had no choice but to leave, especially with the fierce Patron eyeing them. They walked in silence for a while, until they came to the Hallway that Pandora would have to take to reach the Ravenclaw Tower. They came to a stop and stared at each other.

"I thought that-" Alice began, looking at the other two girls in confusion.

"That she had washed her hands of Snape? Yeah, I had too," Mary finished for her, bitter as can be.

"We're obviously missing an important part of the story, and we won't get it until tomorrow – and we only will if she's back on the proper Drops." Pandora's tone, coupled with her glare made any argument die on the Gryffindors' tongues. She saw this and quietly bid them goodnight, splitting from them and headed towards her dorm.

{Furius Draconis}

Severus closed his door with a satisfying snick. Layers of comforting wards sprang up with a few flicks of his wand and the murmured incantations. He pushed off the door and took a look at where he would be living for the next ten months.

The wall to his left was all window, stretching from floor to ceiling, looking out into the depths of the Black Lake. His bed was positioned alongside the window with his trunk stowed underneath. A small nightstand with a gas lamp stood by the head of the bed, while adjacent to the foot of his bed was a writing desk. Behind it and along the same wall as the door he just walked through was another door to what was most likely a bathroom.

To his right, a fire was crackling sedately in a small fireplace, it's flickering warmth contrasting with the glittering inky green glow coming from the lake. An armchair identical to those in the common room was situated before the fire with a small side table next to it; a thick white fur rug rested before the hearth.

He'd be moving that to by the bed, so he wouldn't be putting his bare feet on cold dungeon floor first thing in the morning. Standing in the far corner was a modest bookshelf, one much too small for all the books he had, he'd have to add expandable charms to it, but he could do that later

Severus tugged his stiff school robes off over his head, leaving his hair staticky, and threw them at the armchair for tomorrow. A slip of parchment fell from one of the pockets.

He stared at it for a second, unrecognizing, before he caught sight of Malfoy's unmistakable handwriting on the outside. On the train, he had decided against reading the message in such a public place, and with the arrival of the summons to the Headmaster's office via Fawkes, he had forgotten about it.

It can wait a few more bloody minutes he decided, pulling on his favorite cable knit sweater he packed at the top of his trunk. He undid the laces on his boots and then clumsily toed them off, kicking them to the side and leaving them were they lay.

Severus scooped up the square of parchment and allowed himself to flop over onto his bed, sinking into it just right, before he unfolded the missive the Pureblood had given to him when they shook hands on Platform 9¾ and read it.

With every word, his incredulity and anger grew.

{Furius Draconis}

The following morning, Severus stalked up to the Great Hall, missing his custom bleary-eyed glare that rarely dissipated until after he finished his second cup of coffee. He had questions that needed answering.

As per, his dear friend had beaten him to the Great Hall. Her platinum blonde hair, swept up into an elegant bun, made it easy for him to spot her sitting at the Slytherin table. He took the empty seat next to her.

"Good morning, Narcissa," Severus said, deceptively calm.

"Good morning, darling," she returned, finally deciding on a jam to spread on her toast. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough," he answered dismissively. "And yourself?"

She looked at him, whatever amused remark she was about to make died on her lips upon seeing the glint in his eyes, flashing behind the ragged hair hanging in his face. "Severus?" she asked cautiously.

He pulled a slip of parchment from a pocket and handed it to her, never blinking. "From your fiancée."

She set down her slice of toast and knife, taking the small square of parchment from him, her heart hammering in her chest. She prayed to Ywailles and Drucoir that this was not about what she thought it was.

She unfolded the missive and read:

Severus,

It has come to my attention that Narcissa harbors affections for someone aside from myself. I'm certain you understand this is unacceptable.

I need you to keep an eye on her and those that she gives her attention to. Report back to me who she spends the most time with, aside from yourself.

You will be compensated for your efforts.

Lucius

Narcissa could feel his gaze boring into her, daring her to be anything but forthcoming. Her eyelids fell shut; she was incapable of redirecting him from a topic, especially if it was something like this. She had been lying circles around her two older sisters since she could talk, but she had never been able lie to him. He would undoubtedly discover how Lucius behaved towards her. She didn't want him to find out this way, she didn't want him to find out at all.

"Later, darling," she said tightly, refolding the note and placing it in one of her pockets. She tried to return to her breakfast, to act as if all were normal, but the tremor in her hand gave her away.

He saw this and stood, dragging her up with him. Linking her arm with his, he walked them out of the Great Hall. Her heart sunk with every step. She couldn't keep this hidden from him.

Once they were out of the general population's earshot, he said in a low voice, "You were not surprised by the contents of that letter."

"No. I was not." Narcissa admitted, her free hand fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

"Care to tell me why?"

She drew a halting breath. "I'd rather not."

He stopped them mid step and rounded on her. "Narcissa, what Malfoy has requested of me is ridiculous and you know it. Am I to drag every word out of you? Piece it all together to get my answers?"

She couldn't look at him.

He let out a hissing breath and grabbed her arm tightly – not painfully, never with her – and walked her into the nearest classroom, shutting the door and warding it against intrusion and eavesdroppers. "Narcissa," he said. "Tell. Me."

She looked up at him, to better beg him to leave the situation alone for now, and instantly regretted it. Hard as his words had been, his eyes were soft and pleading. Just as he could never deny her anything, she could deny him nothing, not when he looked at her like that.

She folded her arms over her midsection, hugging herself tightly, and looked away before admitting slowly, "Lucius has certain… expectations of me, once I am his wife, and now as his fiancée."

"Such as?"

Her voice was lifeless. "He is always first in my attention and affection. I put his needs and wants ahead of my own. I bow to his word. I do not challenge him. I do not disobey. I am his in all things." The grip on her stomach tightened noticeably.

Silence stretched for what felt like an hour to Narcissa, before Severus spoke. "And he was the best candidate for your hand in marriage?"

She gave a sharp nod.

"What would happen if you failed one of these expectations?"

She remained stubbornly silent on this. He didn't need to know.

"Narcissa…" he warned. She could sense his magic gathering and pooling just beneath his skin, restlessly swirling. A testament to how angry he was.

But she didn't want to tell him this. There was nothing he could do about it.

He was protective of her, she knew that, just as she was protective of him. And he was protective of women found in abusive relationships, almost ferally so. She didn't dare imagine how he would react should he find out she was less than a year away from entering in what was sure to be an abusive marriage.

Discovering the abuse of a woman was one of the few situations that could make him completely lose his temper, and he was in possession of an extraordinarily explosive and almost psychotic temper*. Something she had seen only once before, when they were in Sixth Year.

They had been patrolling the Dungeons and Ground Floor when they came across a couple in the broom closet. It had been obvious that the girl was… less than enthused to be there. Severus had pulled her out and locked the boy in the closet and then asked her, gently as he could, if the boy had been forcing himself on her. When she answered in the affirmative, Severus had become rigid with rage, but he still managed to speak to the girl gently.

He had made sure she was not hurt, and reassured her that this had not been her fault, and that she hadn't deserved it. He recommended Madam Pomfrey as someone she could go to and speak to, should she need it. She had surprised them both by launching herself at him and hugging him, grateful tears pooling in her eyes. Severus took it in stride and then sent her on her way.

As soon as she had rounded the corner, he blasted the storeroom door open, startling both Narcissa and the boy inside. He hauled him out of the closet by the front of his robes and slammed him against the wall, maintaining his grip on him and snarled: "You bum-fucked shitworm, you think you're so manly, forcing yourself on women? I see now that's the only way you're able to get any action, you're so fucking ugly. I can also see that the only way to make sure you learn your lesson is to beat the shit out of you. So why don't we go somewhere we won't be interrupted and I coat the walls with your intestines, you miserable cum stain?**"

Needless to say, Narcissa had been stunned beyond all belief, and the boy had pissed himself. Filch had found him hours later in a different broom cupboard, moaning in pain and absolutely no memory of how he had gotten there.

She didn't dare imagine how he would react to her being in a similar situation if that was how he reacted to an unknown woman.

"It's nothing-" she tried to say before he cut her off.

"It's nothing?" he asked in a soft voice, but not a kind one. Like a sheer veil covering a black mamba that slithered ever closer.

The classroom became stifling hot, his magic reflecting his burning rage at the thought of someone inflicting pain on Narcissa. He was much too smart to not come to the conclusion that whatever Lucius would do to her should she fail to reach his expectations wouldn't be agreeable.

"Narcissa, my dear," he said, his voice falsely pleasant. "If he so much as looks at you the wrong way, I will kill him."

A jolt ran through Narcissa; Severus never said anything he didn't mean.

"He has done nothing yet," she said, trying to placate him. His anger made it difficult for her to breathe. It was all encompassing and impossible to escape. "And he will do nothing until we are married. He has promised me as much."

"Oh? How kind of him," he snarked before his eyes slid close, focusing inward to calm himself. Narcissa didn't deserve to feel the weight of his fury. Malfoy did.

Taking in a deep breath, he took her hands in his, resisting the urge to grip them with all of his strength. He looked her in the eye, hating how diminished she looked, and came to a soul deep decision – Malfoy was dead. "You will come to me the very first instance that you even think he is going to harm you. Do-not-argue. You are not marrying him until this school year is over, correct?" She nodded, and he continued, "Then I have until then to rise above him in the ranks."

"Severus," she started hesitantly, but he was having none of it.

"I'll not stand by and let him break you!" his words came out harsher than intended, but Morgana, he meant it.

To hell with his morals, Narcissa needed him to be at the top of the Dark Lord's forces and nothing could stop him from ruthlessly climbing there. Nothing.

He continued in a low voice. "The power to protect you is within my reach, I swear by Drucoir, I'll not rest until I have it."

Another jolt ran through Narcissa; by swearing on the Name of Protection, he tied his entire being into that promise and if he failed, the backlash would be similar to breaking an Unbreakable Vow, except instead of just dying, his magic would burn him from the inside out. Only the gravest promises were sworn on one of the five Names, as the entities behind them were the source of magic. Narcissa had learned to think of them as slumbering gods of old as they didn't require sacrifices or offerings, and only exercised their awesome and devastating power when their names were used, and you never, never, used their names in vain.

He held her gaze a moment longer before he left the room, taking the privacy wards down as he went. She was unable to tear her gaze away from where he had stood. Had he been this way with Evans? This protective? This vocal about protecting her? This fierce? She liked to think not, that he was only this way with her.

But Narcissa knew better.

Severus was an intense person by nature, he knew no other way to act.

{Furius Draconis}

Storming back down to the Slytherin Dungeons, the few students that were out and about jumped out of Severus's way. The air around him was staticky and he had a glower worthy of Hades himself. He needed to fly – or to smoke a cigarette – before he could speak again.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't have left Narcissa like that, not after a conversation like the one they just had, but he was too angry to trust himself. He would never act as his father did by lashing out at those around him in his anger. He never wanted to put himself in a situation where that might happen to Narcissa.

"Mr. Snape! There you are, I was surprised to not find you at breakfast," Severus stopped in his tracks, and turned to see Hogwarts Matron striding after him. He flexed his hand. Do not kill Madam Pomfrey, she doesn't deserve your anger.

"Madam Pomfrey," he nodded stiffly once she reached him. "What do you need of me?"

"The Veiling Drops for Miss Evans," she said, getting to the point, knowing that the Slytherin Prefect did not like to dally on pointless conversation.

He stared at her in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Drops, Mr. Snape. She came into the Hospital Wing last night after the feast. I gave her a vial I had left from last term, but I doubt it will last her even today."

He had forgotten to brew the Drops for Evans?

Of course he had. His mother killed his father and he was pressured into joining the Knights of Walpurgis all in the span of a day. Anyone would forget to brew a damned potion for a person they no longer spoke to in a situation such as his.

It almost made him laugh, the absurdity of what his life was now.

"Ah," he said instead. "I must have forgotten. My apologies. I'll get it done straight away."

He was about to walk away, the conversation done for him, but Madam Pomfrey called him back. "Severus, you know my office door is always open to you, should you need an ear to listen."

Besides his mother and Narcissa, Madam Pomfrey knew him best. She knew his tells for nearly all of his moods, and could not help but offer him a place to unburden himself of his troubles when she saw that he needed it, which he obviously did.

He looked at her with a small smile and replied as he always did, "You are too kind, Madam Pomfrey."

{Furius Draconis}

Regulus Black, scion of the Noble and most Ancient House of Black, was intrigued.

He, and many of his housemates, had received a short missive from the Lestrange twins before term began, letting them know that Snape was to be left alone. No reason was provided, only the clear threat of taking Snape's place as Slytherin's favorite hexing target should the twins be disobeyed.

The frail order most likely would be disobeyed within the first week or so. It was inconceivable to even entertain the idea that a Pureblood would take Snape's place as the House's favorite chew-toy, and so it was the perfect opportunity to challenge the Lestranges' power. Of course, Regulus wouldn't disobey it. He was smarter than that. No, he'd leave that risk for some other Slytherin, so he could sit back and watch the ripples it would make in the hierarchy.

Besides, he got the impression that the order hadn't come directly from the Lestranges; that they were nothing more than messengers in this. If he was right (he was rarely ever wrong) then he wasn't about to antagonize some unknown force that had the Lestranges on a short leash.

Regulus was actually looking forward to someone hexing Snape, not just for the mild amusement of watching the Half-Blood be reminded of his place, but because of the potential fallout that would ensue. Would the twins step in to maintain their issued order and therefore their position in Slytherin? Or would they let it slide, so they couldn't be accused of lowering themselves to the Half-Blood's level?

A thrill went up his spine. He loved Slytherin politics.

Despite that, he never did take much of an active role in the powerplays, preferring to watch and snicker behind his hand whenever a housemate lost their footing. That's not to say that he never did anything. He had, after all, had a hand in getting Snape onto the Quidditch team.

Halfway through his Third year – Snape's Fifth – his favorite cousin Narcissa had approached him for an audience with the Quidditch Captain. She claimed that she had discovered someone who could fly blindfolded and still save more Quaffles going through the Goalposts than their current Keeper. Jumping at the opportunity to be rid of the irritating Jugson and possibly improve the team, he'd all but dragged her over to Heir Nott who had been Captain at the time.

Narcissa expertly extracted his agreement to watch the mystery Slytherin fly without the customary favor-debt trade – in fact, he had said that he'd be in her debt if this potential player was as good as she said he was. Later that day, when they saw that it was Snape of all people that Narcissa was sponsoring, Heir Nott looked like he had swallowed a lemon. It was only because two Blacks were involved that he stuck around to see if Snape was any good.

And, Salazar, was he. Heir Nott had their Chasers do their worst to him for an hour, and they scored on him only five – five – times. Jugson could only save five in the same amount of time. Grudgingly impressed, Heir Nott had the Beaters join in, to see how Snape held up. He evaded the Bludgers to the best of his ability, taking hits every now and then, but he still saved far more goals than Jugson could've done in the same situation.

Heir Nott had been borderline gleeful by the time he had them all land. Momentarily forgetting that he and Snape were not on equal social footing, he had clapped the teen on the back and announced with a sharp grin that he had the spot.

They hadn't lost a game since, even if Regulus failed to catch the Snitch. Nothing got past Snape.

Getting on the team granted him a reprieve from many of the more vicious attacks he endured; they stopped altogether the week of a Quidditch match. No one wanted to incur the wrath of the Quidditch team, should their Keeper be unable to play. They didn't much care for Snape himself, but rather the way he defended their Goalposts like a blood-frenzied demon. If they lost him, they lost their advantage, and that was unacceptable.

Jugson, on the other hand, became all the more vicious in his attacks, even landing Snape in the Hospital Wing a time or two. An impressive feat, considering how durable Snape was from years of being on the receiving end of dark magic. Jugson's standing in Slytherin had fallen drastically following his removal from the team. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had been replaced by another Pureblood, but a Half-Blood? He was practically regarded as one now. He didn't seem to realize it, but he slipped lower in the hierarchy with every attack he launched against their star Keeper.

Regulus had long suspected that Narcissa had a different motive than most would've in getting Snape on the team. She didn't care for Quidditch in the slightest, and therefore did not care about the Quidditch Cup. He was slowly coming to the conclusion that it was Snape she cared for.

Grinding stone drew his attention to the Common Room entrance just in time to see Snape storm in, head held high, and furious with something. Regulus unconsciously shied away from his unrestrained magic, sharp and feral. The miniscule amount of activity paused as the few Slytherins present watched Snape's trek across the Common Room with a morbid fascination.

His disappearance down the stairs to his dorm let the Slytherins return to preparing for the day or quietly chatting. A tension was in the air that hadn't been there before.

Regulus had never seen Snape so… expressive before. Not even when an upper year used him as a scapegoat and landed him a month of detention with Filch. He had merely nodded and accepted it with dead eyes when any of the other Half-Bloods or Mudbloods would have at least tried to protest it.

Snape reemerged moments later with his Moontrimmer gripped tightly in his hand, his magic foreboding and gathered around him like a thundercloud. If he hadn't felt it himself, Regulus would have never believed the amount of power that rolled off of Snape, making him readjust his opinion of the Slytherin Prefect accordingly.

Perhaps Narcissa had been on to something when she befriended Snape, and therefore aligning the lesser branch of House Black with him. He would wait and see how the next few weeks played out before making any sort of move. Gather what intel he could on the extent of Snape's power, and what shadowy power held sway over the Lestranges and interest in Snape.

He could only think of one such power, the rising Dark Lord, and if it was the Dark Lord who commanded the cease-fire on Snape, they had all vastly underestimated the Half-Blood.


I am screeching I can't believe it's been over a year since I've updated. Y'all know that shocked Pikachu meme? That was my face when I looked at the date for when I last updated.

Anyways, I'm changing the name of this story to Furius Draconis. This story started out as a re-write of one of my previous stories, If a Great Wave Shall Fall, but it changed and didn't want to follow that plot anymore so Path of the Damned doesn't really fit anymore. Good news is, I've got this story all planned out, it'll have 20 chapters and the sequel will pick up where this one ends. The next two chapters will be posted soon, I promise, they're already written and y'all deserve it.

And I made up the Names of Power; they're like the wizard gods basically. They're like manifestations, faceless and formless, kinda how the Lares of Roman culture were before they adopted the Greek gods. Their names aren't used lightly, and never in vain, or you'll be cursed horribly. They're kinda like the root of all magical power. There's five in total, the name of Power is Ryedeam, Protection is Drucoir, Knowledge is Hyvret, Death is Bremour, and of the Hearth is Ywailles.

*From Harry Potter wiki

**Took inspiration from Steven Pressfield's Gates of Fire, it's about the 300 Spartans at the gates of Thermopylae, and naturally as soldiers, they have a colorful way of speaking