August 1973

Their kiss changed things, while they bizarrely also stayed the same.

It was confusing for Petunia while simultaneously being the most wonderful time she could recall.

She would visit Ivy (Eugene) often, whenever she could get away from her parent's questioning gazes and Lily's loud presence in their shared room. When she went to bed at night her mind would be alight with images of magical sunshine, soft curls, wide grins, lush fields and careful touches that sent goosebumps across her skin and prickling bubbles into her bloodstream.

Most of their time together was spent in the Occamy enclosure, either playing with Ivy and her siblings or simply taking walks through the forest surrounding their nest, Eugene pointing out small creatures hiding in burrows or flying above their heads. Newt Scamander's menagerie was vast and every creature seemed more magical and fantastical then the last. They would talk, about their families, about magic, about beasts but somehow they never discussed what they now meant to each other. Eugene would simply take her hand, brush a finger across her cheek or kiss her and Petunia revelled in his touch and attention like she had been starved for years. They didn't need any words.

The enclosure they spent almost as much time in was the one containing Eugene's Hippogriffs. He told Petunia that his grandmother had been breeding them all her life but his father refused to take up her mantle, letting the remnants and offspring of that original herd live out their days in his home instead.

Of course Eugene had a favourite and in the way he treated him, Petunia could see a reflection of her and Aspen. But instead of tightly-stretched skin, Hippogriffs were covered in a mixture of gleaming fur and downy feathers, their avian eyes bright and sharp, not milky-grey like Aspen's.

Eugene's favourite was named Icarus ("Way too pompous for my taste, but my uncle picked the name and I was too young to protest, not having mastered speech yet") and had russet-coloured fur and feathers, gleaming like the setting sun whenever he rustled them in a prideful display. After bowing to him and approaching him carefully, Icarus let Petunia pet his sharp beak and muscular neck, tolerating her attention while Eugene kept watch.

"He looks dangerous."

Eugene shook his head in mocking disagreement. "No, no, he looks comfortable, Petals. Look at that broad and soft back - no poking bones, no cold, slippery skin -"

Petunia interrupted him with a glare. "Aspen is not uncomfortable!"

At least not when she padded his back with enough blankets.

Eugene chuckled at the expression on her face, maybe able to guess the words she left unspoken, but before Petunia could protest further he had silenced her with a soft kiss that left her head empty.

She never tried to mount and fly his Hippogriffs and Eugene didn't urge her to try, sitting down in the shade and watching them riderless swoop through the air with her instead.

They looked at other creatures. One time Eugene took her to feed the mooncalves, strange four-legged beasts with cup-sized, round eyes and a tiny mouth they used to pluck floating pellets out of the air. Another time he showed her the Nifflers with a warning to take tight hold of her braid ("If they try to steal your hair for nesting I'll do my best to save at least a few strands.") and it soon became obvious that this caution stemmed from personal experience. The mole-like creatures were swift and quite enamoured with Eugene's golden curls and the small buttons at Petunia's sleeves, trying to rip both off in increasingly sneaky attempts. Neither of them were able to completely stop them, Eugene's scalp and Petunia's wardrobe suffering for it. She wasn't sure which hurt worse.

They rarely encountered Newt Scamander in their wanderings, only crossing paths with him a few times in the corridors. Sometimes he'd have an absent minded greeting for them or a quick smile. But he never asked why Petunia was there or gave any sign of recognition and he never questioned why his son was holding her hand. Petunia couldn't really decide if she was relieved by the lack of attention or slightly insulted. It almost felt like the both of them didn't even register to him.

"He's occupied with the Nogtail," Eugene explained after another such encounter, noticing Petunia's frown while she looked at his father's back disappearing into the eternal twilight down here. "He just gets like this when there's a problem he's trying to solve."

Petunia tore her gaze away, redirecting it to the winding path in front of them. They resumed their walk while she pondered what Eugen had said on their way to another beautiful and fantastical creature he wanted to show her.

The Nogtail … Petunia hadn't really thought about that creature since its unconscious form had disappeared into Newt Scamander's suitcase, but now the memory crawled back to the front of her mind, small, mean eyes and gleaming strings of saliva connecting a forest of teeth. "What problem?"

Eugene sighed, a rare occurrence. "He's trying to find a way to keep it alive without it blighting a farmstead."

"Why?"

"Because that's just who my father is."

A very faint echo rippled through her thoughts, Newt Scamander's voice all those months ago: 'Nature is unfairly cruel to them'.

Petunia could not be called soft-hearted. If she disliked someone or something, that dislike penetrated through every aspect of their being and she wouldn't find anything to mitigate her opinion. When she thought of the Nogtail, she remembered Farmer Wilson's sunken face, the visible ribs of the innocent little piglets, Snowflake's watery eyes and her own panicked breathing.

No, she really didn't feel any sympathy for the creature responsible. But she could see why a man like Newt Scamander might - to him, the Nogtail was innocent of those crimes, because it was simply following its nature, just like a wolf could not be accused for killing a sheep that was unattended.

Maybe it was unfair of her to blame the Nogtail for its very being, but Petunia didn't care about fairness. Life had never been very fair to her either.

Eugene's next words confirmed her own thoughts about Newt Scamander. "To my father every creature is worth protecting. If he doesn't find a solution he will never be able to put a ban on Nogtail hunting. It's currently quite a popular pastime for wizard nobility and as they are technically helping solve a problem there is no chance of stopping them on petitions of undue cruelty."

"But if the Nogtails stop being a pest …" Petunia didn't need to finish her words, Eugene already nodding.

"That's his hope, at least."

Petunia's mind flashed back to Farmer Wilson, his stringy, hay-coloured hair disordered because he tugged his shaking hands through it too often, the skin peeling from his nose courtesy of his sunburn and the hollows under his eyes from too little rest and nourishment. "He won't just be saving the Nogtails."

"My father somehow quite often becomes an unwilling hero. Just like you."

Petunia shot him a questioning look, not bothering to voice her doubt.

"I remember when you told me about your attempt to chase him off," Eugene grinned. "Very heroic."

Petunia ignored his teasing, but Eugene wasn't that easily deterred. "Did you know that the Ministry also keeps a whole stable of albino dogs in case the nobles get bored of hunting? You could make a career out of it, if you nab that poodle."

Petunia scoffed. They wouldn't want her at that magical Ministry, not a muggle with no talents except a scathing tongue and home-cooked meals. "I don't think Mrs Francis would appreciate that."

"Hmm, you never know."

"Are you trying to get me to commit a felony?"

Eugene winked. "You know me too well."

Petunia narrowed her eyes but felt her mouth curve into a smile despite herself. "You're a menace."

"Who's the one with crimes under her belt?"

"Those are 'crimes' only in your world."

"Ah, but aren't our worlds overlapping by now?"

Petunia felt heat wash over her cheeks and silently cursed her complexion because she knew how sickly it looked when her skin was blotched with red. "Only the parts that suit me."

Eugene crowded a little closer, his voice lower and strangely intimate. "And am I suitable?"

Petunia refused to answer. "So what creature are you showing me today?"

Eugene laughed but let her get away with it, continuing to walk through the darkness as a steady warmth at her side.

It wasn't the last time they encountered Newt Scamander in the corridors, he was often hastening from one end to the other, papers and bundles clutched in his arms, but now Petunia didn't mind that his eyes never rested on them for more than a few blinks.

Instead of the burning sting of his disregard, she only felt a simmering curiosity if he'd made any progress concerning the Nogtail - and what his life as a Magizoologist must be like.

September, 1973

Candles were bobbing above his head, bathing the Great Hall with flickering, orange light, their shine reflected in the glaze covering the big roast sitting right in front of Severus. The Slytherin table was groaning under mountains of food that had manifested from thin air just moments ago at the snap of the Headmaster's fingers, stacked pyramids of sausages dripping with fat, the roasts with the shining honey crust, sizzling bacon, potatoes prepared in all possible ways from baked to mashed, a sad little portion of assorted vegetables and beans, silver boats filled to the brim with aromatic gravy - it was more food than Severus had seen during all of his summer break combined.

But even though it was sitting right in front of him, the tantalising smells making his mouth water and perfuming the air with a malty and sweet note, he couldn't touch it.

He could, he amended, but he wouldn't have a chance to digest it before it was forced out of him again.

His dark eyes flitted across the faces around him, some new and young, most of them familiar and eliciting a sting of deep hatred in his gut. He had imagined many times how he would retaliate against all of the students sitting and feasting around him, feed them some of his own concoctions and watch what effect they would have on humans as opposed to rats. Though he could barely tell a difference between the two beings when he looked around at their small, greedy eyes, pinched faces, crumbs of meat and fat shining on their quickly working chins - pests, the lof them, bottom feeders but thinking of themselves as leaders and shining examples of wizardkind.

At least Malfoy had graduated this year, taking most of his obnoxious and unimaginative but cheerfully brutal cronies with him. As of now it was still undecided who would take his place, Rosier and both of the Carrow twins having a silent confrontation over the food, eyeing the others while ripping meat off bones with their crooked, sharp teeth. Severus' eyes wandered further down the table, not interested in their little rivalry, halting when he met startling grey-green ones.

Black. Too young yet to take over but already being flattered by everyone around him simply due to his lineage. Not that he was holding court, the way Malfoy had so enjoyed doing - instead he was cold and stand-offish in his pride, not letting anyone close. The most animated he ever looked was when he sneered at Severus and prepared to throw a non-lethal curse his way after ambushing him in an empty corridor.

Not that Severus didn't give as good as he got when it came to the brat. He had already invented a new spell that would make Black's toenails grow backwards and he couldn't wait to use it and see him suffer. Judging by the manic gleam in Black's eyes he must be planning something similar.

Regulus Black was one of the few Slytherins whose disgusting, rotting innards hid behind a pretty facade that had miraculously emerged despite the long-standing tradition of inbreeding every Pureblood family was immersed in. His hair was long, like Severus', but slightly curly and always maintained well. His face, a bit too slim and pointed to be conventionally attractive, was saved by high cheekbones and his best feature, those startling eyes the colour of forest mist.

Almost as pretty as his Gryffindor brother, Severus thought and felt his face split in a mean grin. If there was one sore spot for Black, it was definitely his older brother, maybe the only person his fellow Slyhterins loathed with more fervour than the half-bloods besmirching their own house - Severus among them.

He was only one of few who wasn't purebred but still sorted into Slytherin, and his brethren either suffered in silence or learned the demeaning art of boot licking, degrading themselves so far that their fellow classmates wouldn't see the need to add to it. Severus stuck out because he refused to do either, fighting back instead of cowering or flattering.

But he was growing weary. He knew of a simple way to get it to stop, he'd just have to join their favourite little group. No matter how much they looked down on him and how much they might wish to, his fellow Slyhterins couldn't deny that Severus was among the best of them when it came to slinging curses and brewing up dangerous potions. They would have to accept him into their circle of budding criminals, whether they really wanted to or not.

But to do so he would lose something much more precious. Despite himself his eyes ghosted from his own table all the way across the hall, catching a glimpse of vibrant, fiery hair. He watched as Lily dodged a small tomato Potter - why him of all people, why always Potter - had thrown at her, her face scowling but her eyes laughing. And then that laughter was aired when her own missile of mashed potato landed perfectly on Potter's nose. Severus could barely hear it over the chatter echoing from the high, curved ceiling, but he could imagine it ringing next to his ears like the tinkling of bells.

He would never be able to sit beside Lily and laugh with her. He would always be bound to this table, where no one wanted him to be, least of all himself. They didn't even want him partaking of 'their' food.

But he would remain here regardless of their dislike or his status. All because an old, lumpy hat had decided he was 'ambitious' when Severus was barely eleven. There was no margin for change or growth - or error. He was and would always be a Slytherin and he would have to either learn to blend in or continue suffering.

Suffering because his veins were tainted with filthy muggle blood. Just as he was forced to suffer during summer break, at the hands of that same filthy muggle, just because the other half of his blood contained magic and it made Severus better than him.

Half Blood. What a simple and yet perfect way to describe him. Only belonging partly in either world, which equated to belonging nowhere.

He watched as Lily started talking and giggling with the pudgy girl next to her and he wondered if he would even be welcomed should he actually manage to sit at her table. Would Lily be happy and greet him with her dimpled smile? Or would she look uncomfortable, seeing as he didn't fit in with her new friends.

Years ago, before he had sat on that three-legged stool and let a hat read his thoughts, their world had consisted of only the two of them. In a small town crawling with muggles, they had been the only special ones, the only worthy ones, and Severus had never wanted anything else in life but to always stay with Lily. With the green-eyed girl who made flowers dance and who didn't scorn him for his origin, didn't laugh at his stringy hair or ill-fitting clothes.

But after the Sorting everything had become muddled. He wasn't the only wizard in Lily's world any longer, he wasn't special to her the way she was special to him. He was left behind in the company of sneering and derisive classmates who didn't care about anything but his origin and his unwashed clothes.

For a delusional second his thoughts flitted to another girl, left behind even more thoroughly than him. A girl not pretty like Lily, but with dour lips that were always twisted bitterly and with big eyes washed off all colour. He remembered his glee when they left her behind at the train station for the first time and she was forced to remain while he had stolen Lily away from her.

And now Lily had been stolen from him by … the Sorting? Her new friends?

Growing up?

Severus cut that line of thinking, feeling his stomach turn with not only hunger but something that edged too close to loathing for him to associate it with thoughts of Lily. Instead he distracted himself with the roast again, now ripped into and greatly diminished, but still tempting him the way food always did.

Eyes the colour of blueish dust stared at him from his memories, accompanied by a voice full of exasperated anger.

For God's sake, eat something!

His fingers had already ripped a string of meat free before he could doubt himself, stuffing it into his mouth without hesitation or grace. Taste exploded across his tongue, savoury, full-bodied and with just a tang of subdued sweetness. His stomach rumbled in approval.

He could feel the stares boring into him from all over his table now. Conversations had halted and an oppressive silence settled over his shoulders.

Severus shrugged it off and reached for another piece of meat. They wouldn't stop him here, under the eyes of their teachers.

They'd wait for the dungeons, but Severus didn't care.

He would adapt. He would emerge from whatever suffering they planned and he would continue to do so until they knew it wouldn't change him.

Or until they had ground him down into the dust so thoroughly he cracked and was forced to mould himself into something new that could thrive here. Something in their image.

In a house of snakes, he would either learn to survive their venom or be devoured whole.

This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but I wanted to post it sooner rather than later. As always, thank you for all the support you're showing this story, it means the world to me. I'm one of those people that get incredibly awkward when it comes to online interactions, I never know what to say to express my thanks. Just know that I read each and every comment multiple times and they always give me a huge boost of happiness, so honestly, you guys make my day, not the other way around ^^

Also, no Slytherin bashing intended in this chapter! The observations are coloured by Severus' perception and this is just my headcanon on how it could have been to live in that House during the rise of Voldemort as a halfblood or muggleborn, when pureblood ideals were pushed to the extreme and children would be the first to accept their parent's teachings. And sadly, children are capable of great cruelty.