Monday, September 3.

"Salazar," Severus said to the blank wall concealing the entrance to the Slytherin common room. That was always the first password of the year, which would have been a security risk if it didn't change the very next morning. The tradition at least preempted the need to give out the password to the Head Boy ahead of time, as Gryffindor and Hufflepuff did. The common room was luxurious as always. The dark, leather-clad furnishings were all donated by wealthy graduates. It was the largest of the four House common rooms, mostly because a smaller room also would have been claustrophobic with the lack of windows. The location under the lake did not allow for vertical expansion of the complex. Instead, all the dormitories and bathrooms radiated outwards from this central area, which itself was naturally divided into various sub-sections by its support columns.

Severus paused at the first line of pillars to observe the students. They appeared just as schismatic as ever. The prized area near the great hearth was presided over by the seventh-year prefects, holding court amongst the other older and high-status purebloods. The four first years were tucked into a distant corner where they wouldn't be readily noticed. There was a handful of halfbloods defensively positioned behind a group of pureblood quidditch players, including halfblood quidditch captain and sixth-year prefect Gwenog Jones. No sign of the only muggleborn, nor of Felix Rosier, the fifth-year prefect and current highest ranking representative of the Sacred Twenty-Eight after the seventh year prefect Augusta Selwyn. Actually, no, there was Felix, sitting alone and half-hidden in the darkest corner of the room. That was peculiar. Yes, Felix was not exactly the typical ambitious Slytherin student, but if anything that should make him more of a target for cunning hangers-on hoping to use him as a stepping stone into higher society. Was he repelling them, or were the others that incompetent?

A seventh year re-entered the room from the dormitories and caught sight of him. She grinned widely, and not in a friendly way, then bowed mockingly. "Look everyone, we're in the presence of royalty! Hail the Half-Blood Prince!"

All eyes turned towards him. Severus could have strangled her. Yes, the younger students all knew him as their strict Potions Master, but the relationship with a Head of House was different. He had no desire to let students define it for him, particularly ones who could regale the others with memories of him as a bullied and unpopular teen. As it was, he kept his face unmoving and cast a nonverbal Silencio on her before she could say anything more. He stuck her feet to the floor for good measure. It was too late, though. All the seventh years were now snickering, as were a few of the pureblood sixth years. Severus considered for a moment, then looked over at Felix, who had if anything shrunk even further into the corner. Too bad for the boy, but Severus had to make use of him and his bloodline just now. "Mr. Rosier, please direct all students fifth-year and below into their dormitories."

The way the two seventh-year prefects stopped laughing and scowled at the snub confirmed his action beautifully. Felix hastened to comply, not meeting his eyes. Fortunately for everyone, the junior years had heard him just as plainly as Felix had. They did not need much urging to vacate the room. As soon as the last fifth year was gone, Severus waved his wand, casting a silent Muffliato encompassing the whole room. He strode forwards with confidence, voluminous black academic robes billowing about him dramatically. He ignored the more impudent seventh years for a moment, instead making eye contact with the cluster of mixed quidditch players and halfbloods. "Would anyone else like to return to their dormitories now?" He concealed a smirk as the silenced girl who had spoken out first mouthed obscenities at him; fortunately, no one was looking in her direction anymore. No one else said anything, but Augusta rolled her eyes and picked up her feet to rest on the low table in front of her. Severus chose to ignore her for the moment. That wasn't someone he wanted to alienate unless he had to.

"It may have escaped your notice, but I am now your Head of House. I do not suffer disrespect."

"Yes, your highness," another seventh-year muttered. Severus silenced him as well.

"'Professor' or 'sir' are perfectly adequate, Mr. Colchis." He had never regretted his pretentious old nickname more.

"I don't take orders from a man with a muggle father," another boy spat. Silencio, Levicorpus.

Severus advanced on him. "You do, actually, Mr. Prentiss, at least, you do if you wish to realize your goal of a position in the Ministry." He made eye contact with the poor lad and invaded his completely undefended mind with Legilimency. I may not be as well-connected as Professors Parkinson and Slughorn were, but I can end your dreams if I so choose. It would be easy, and no one would suspect me. He withdrew his thoughts as soon as the boy's eyes widened in fear.

Two other seventh years had the gall to fire off a pair of jinxes at him. He blocked them easily, disarmed both, silenced them, and hoisted them up by their ankles, all in less than three seconds. "Protego totallum," he intoned, shielding the group of silent, mixed-blood sixth years. "Anyone else?"

Vivian Vandamme's curse was actually Dark. Severus deflected it onto a crystal vase, which melted. He quickly disarmed Vivian and pinned her harshly to the ceiling. He regretfully set aside his lofty ambitions of reformation and redemption for the seventh years, but not for the younger, more impressionable students. He instead resigned himself to keeping order amongst the senior terrors through continued intimidation, and protecting the juniors from bullying.

"Are we done with this tantrum yet?" No one else spoke or attempted to curse him, so he walked easily to into the lounging area before the hearth and sat down on one of the couches. He lazily flicked his wand again, releasing the various charms. Three bodies crashed to the floor. "I wish to speak with Ms. Selwyn and Mr. Orwell," he announced. "Everyone else may leave."

It was an opportunity for the idiots to bow out gracefully without further punishment. Unfortunately, not everyone took it. All the sixth years and half the seventh years fled. The three who had already tried to curse him idiotically tried again. He immobilized all three before they finished their incantations without bothering to get up. "You would do well to recall who recommended me for this job," he said. He waited a moment for all the sixth years to escape before raising his wand again. To make it entirely clear he was referring to the Dark Lord, he pointed at each of their foreheads and cast a tricky glamour charm of the Dark Mark. "If that is still there by morning, I imagine someone will give you detention. It won't be me. Get out of here." As soon as they could move again, the three fools grabbed the nearest copy of the Standard Book of Spells Grade 7 and retreated to the bathroom. Severus dropped his original Muffliato and recast it around just himself and the two seventh-year prefects.

Augusta smiled at him ironically. "Hail the Half-Blood Prince. I missed seeing that kind of thing after you graduated. Second year just wasn't as entertaining without you and Black throwing hexes in the corridors every day."

"None of that from you, either, Ms. Selwyn."

"Of course not, sir."

"Did you just come visiting to jinx a bunch of your helpless students, sir?" George Orwell asked idly.

"No, I came to talk with you two."

"Oh? Why?"

"How fares Slytherin House?"

"Strong as always, not as pure as it should be," Augusta answered with a pointed sneer at Severus.

Severus snorted. "I disagree."

"You wish to befoul us with more than your ancestry?"

Severus again ignored the insult. "I see it has escaped your notice we are now the smallest of the four Houses."

"Not everyone is destined for greatness," George simpered.

"No," Severus agreed silkily. Certainly not the twats in this particular class. "Tell me, what is your ambition, Ms. Selwyn?"

Augusta scoffed. "I'm heir to the House of Selwyn. I'll inherit, obviously."

"And do what? You could get all 'T's this year and still win your inheritance so long as you continue breathing longer than your father," Severus said scathingly.

"How dare you, you son of a muggle-loving-"

"The same way I dared mar the faces of those three," he interrupted, jerking his head towards the bathroom hallway. "Yours is not an ambition, Selwyn. It is pathetic complacency and the path to ignominy for your family." Augusta scowled.

"We could tell our parents what you did," George said, gesturing towards the bathroom.

"Be my guest," Severus answered. "You will be telling them nothing they do not already know." No, his role in the war had been widely circulated and commented on back in 1981, and yet remained publicly ambiguous for all that. Few of the Light side believed him capable of fooling Albus Dumbledore. None of the Death Eaters who had themselves been under Voldemort's Legilimency believed him capable of fooling the Dark Lord.

"What do you want?" Augusta asked.

"Nothing extraordinary. I want order in the House. I want us to have the respect we deserve. I want our students to excel. I want us to win the House Cup. I want us to prosper." He studied the two lazy rock-lizards before him. It was obvious they didn't care. They just wanted him to go away and leave them alone to their pleasant, privileged lives. He was wasting his time. "All I require from you two is to maintain discipline amongst your fellow seventh-years. The behavior they displayed this evening is unacceptable. If they continue to displease me, they will be punished, and so will you."

"Gonna give us detention, Professor?" George asked, grinning with all his teeth.

"I can assure you, whatever punishment I devise, it will be effective," Severus said, assuming the unforgiving tone and expression he had honed in the war. It was annoyingly clear that these seventh years, Sorted while he himself was still a student and the war was at its height, would only respect him as an ex-Death Eater. He would have to seek actual student allies for his plans elsewhere.

George's grin disappeared, and he looked sulky. "Yes, sir."

"Good. In that case, I'll bid you both good night. And I'll be sure to complement your families regarding your cooperation." He stood up and left without a backward glance. It was only day three, and disaster had struck...

Monday, September 10

Despite Petunia's advice to pace himself, Severus met with the sixth year prefects on schedule. Peredur Burke was a complete and utter berk. He was pureblood. He was cheerful. He didn't mind answering younger students' questions. Otherwise, he never enforced discipline, his grades were mediocre, and his plan in life was to work at and eventually inherit his grandfather's antique shop in Knockturn Alley. He was almost indistinguishable from Augusta Selwyn in that regard, but even more foolhardy in that he would actually need decent NEWT scores if he wanted to avoid disaster handling the Dark artifacts that made up the bulk of the family business.

The other sixth year prefect, Gwenog Jones, was a delight. She was a half blood, and she was motivated. She liked to lead, which had earned her both the captaincy of the Slytherin quidditch team and her prefect's badge. She was the one who had taken charge of the first years after the Welcome Feast. She had a personality as blunt as her beater's bat. She easily dominated a room, including Severus' quiet, organized office when she first entered, sitting down without awaiting instruction and almost propping her feet on the desk before Severus' glare warned her not to (he was perfectly capable of domination himself when so inclined).

She had opinions, lots of them. And she was vocal about them. Severus leaned back in his chair and just listened for awhile. "It's annoying, Professor, so many Slytherins are lazy! They're just rich and waiting for their inheritance. I don't know why some of them bothered coming to Hogwarts at all if they don't care about learning more than grade-four spells and just pay smarter people to do their homework..." Severus did not ask who she was talking about. He had a good idea already from potions classes and Petrus' files. "We could have won the House Cup if we'd been smarter about it and kept the trouble makers in line..." Yes, they could have. "And we should have won the Quidditch Cup last year, except Tracy was an idiot and kept Jules as keeper because of his father. I'm not going to make that mistake, let me tell you..." Severus fished around in his desk while she ranted until he found a packet of potions-grade tea leaves. He conjured a teapot and cups for them both, cast a silent Aguamenti and boiling charm, and brewed the tea. "Everyone's so moody, so touchy. It's 'blood status this, blood status that. Oh, no, you can't mention Azkaban because my second cousin once-removed is there'..." She absentmindedly accepted a cup and kept talking. "Some of them take it out on halfbloods or mudbloods or lower years."

"Muggleborns, Ms. Jones. The other term is crude and unbecoming."

"Oh, you don't like it? Weird, I thought it was unanimous Slytherin vocabulary. I've even heard the muggleborn say it. Anyway, I always redirect the bullies away from juniors, but personally speaking, I prefer to just ignore it when it's too annoying. It's more effective than feeding the trolls..." Severus felt a slight pang. It seemed Gwenog managed the indignities of being a halfblood in Slytherin far better than he had as a student. "I'm going to do something real with my life, not coast on a family name or marry some rich idiot."

"Oh yes? What is your ambition then?"

She leaned forward, face alight with passion. "I'm going to be Captain of the Holyhead Harpies and lead them to the World Cup!"

Severus offered a genuine smile. It was an uncomplicated and honest ambition. Refreshing. "And what is your plan to accomplish that?"

She sat up straighter, shoulders back. She was proud. That was appropriate; she was actually earning her pride unlike the arrogant, privileged nincompoops. "I'm already quidditch captain. I'm going to make sure we win the Quidditch Cup both this year and next year. Professor Slughorn told me he'd be sure to let talent scouts know when my games are..." An easy promise for Horace to make, since the Hogwarts quidditch schedule was published in the Daily Prophet. Tickets were available for sale to the wizarding public, although Rolanda had some discretion as to who got them, with players' families and professional team representatives naturally given preference. He would point that out to her eventually so she would not wrongfully feel indebted to Horace. The wily old spider had only known her for two years before his retirement. He was impressed Horace had recognized her potential as a second year and decided to keep in touch with her, but Petrus was the one who appointed her the team captain. Severus highly doubted Horace had a direct hand in that.

He decided it was his turn to talk. He knew enough about the other fifth through seventh years to conclude Gwenog was far and away the best and most promising of the bunch. So he would invest in her as his ally in the quest to reform Slytherin House. Not that he would inform her of her role, not now, and probably never. "Ms. Jones, if it is indeed your wish not only to play professional quidditch but to lead your chosen team to the World Cup, then I must demand nothing but excellence from you. I surmise Professor Slughorn invited you into his club in your second year after your first quidditch match. That is an accomplishment, but mere talent on a broom is insufficient for your goals. You must demonstrate talent in leadership and in strategy on and off the pitch. Your goals for this year are therefore twofold: to win the Quidditch cup of course, but also to win the Head Girl badge for next year."

"Is there actually a competition for Head Boy and Head Girl, sir?"

"Of course there is. The competition is to win the Headmaster's approval."

"But he's biased in favor of the Gryffindors! Everyone knows that."

"Indeed," Severus agreed. "Life isn't fair. You will face many competitions in your life in which you are at a disadvantage. But you told me your goal is to win, not to 'play a good game' like a Hufflepuff or 'fight the fight' like a Gryffindor. Thus, you will learn how to triumph despite disadvantage." That was certainly what Severus had learned from his time in Slytherin.

"Do you want me to cheat somehow?" Gwenog asked, sounding offended.

"On the contrary, I believe you'll find the only way to win the Headmaster's approval is to honestly follow as many rules as possible. The trick with him is to figure out what the rules are." Gwenog was correct that Be a Gryffindor was definitely one of the rules, unfortunately, but that could be overcome. Albus would happily overlook minor rule breaking in service of a greater good.

"So, what are the rules?"

"You'll figure it out."

"That's..."

"Unfair? Yes, it is. He doesn't write his rules down like Professor McGonnagal and Caretaker Filch do, and he's inscrutable at the best of times. But if you can learn to successfully navigate around someone like him, someone who refuses to cave to traditional manipulation and intimidation tactics, someone who is suspicious of flattery, someone who makes himself unavailable to most, and using your own resources, not appeals to authority, that is the greatest skill I can teach you. Apart from brewing Felix Felicis, but that would definitely be considered cheating."

Gwenog's eyes glittered. "I think I understand, Professor."

"Good. I have high hopes for you, Ms. Jones."

The third week of September, he met with the fifth year prefects. They were not bad, but they were sad.

Erika Rath was the other quidditch team beater. She fit the athlete stereotype not at all. She was protective of the first- and second-years in the halls, although she tended to hex potential bullies rather than exercise her formal authority as a prefect. She had also started an informal study group for the first-years, which amounted to sitting at the same table as them, quietly doing her own work whilst fielding questions as-needed. She told him her goal in life was to be a wife and mother and provide well for her future children. She glared at him after this admission, daring him to scoff, until he calmly informed her his best friend was a homemaker as well. Her attitude made a lot of sense when he recalled the notes he had taken regarding her family over the summer: oldest of five children, her mother was arrested and sent to Azkaban for holding during the final year of the war, not for fighting or espionage but for simple theft. The woman was released after a month but could not recognize her youngest son when she returned home. The child died of neglect when Erika returned to Hogwarts, and the mother was returned to Azkaban, leaving the four siblings in the care of their father who had been paralyzed from the waist down some years previously after being caught in the crosshairs of a fight between aurors and Death Eaters. The experience made her too distrusting for Hufflepuff, too compromising for Gryffindor, and perfectly survive-at-all-cost determined for Slytherin. All he could think at the end of the meeting was that she would have been so much happier in Hufflepuff.

Felix Rosier did not have an ambitious or manipulative bone in his body, and he lacked the instincts for leadership that might have made his law-abiding ways influence the other, rowdier and meaner boys in his class. Instead, the studious heir to the Rosier family had no friends at all and spent most of his time either in the library or patrolling the halls with Erika. He never took points or gave detentions to his Slytherin tormenters who wanted him to be more like his father, a Death Eater who famously died in the war. He also never punished the cruelly misguided Gryffindor seventh years who called him a Death Eater and cruder variations thereof and hexed him in the halls. He just avoided them. Severus felt for the boy; it was his information that had led Alastor Moody to Evan Rosier and Anna Wilkes in the spring of 1980, when Felix was eleven. He couldn't say that, obviously, but he told the put-upon lad he didn't have to have an interest in politics and prestige, and that it was perfectly acceptable for him to take Professor Parkinson as his Slytherin role model for a long and satisfying academic career even as a scion of a Noble House.

In sum, meeting with the six Slytherin prefects individually had been so painful, Severus decided he couldn't bear to do such things more than strictly necessary.

Author's note: Severus will have his work cut out for him to keep control of the Slytherins without always falling back on reign-of-terror tactics that come naturally to him. Thank you for the reviews, will continue to aim for Friday updates, but I am likely to get off-schedule sometime in the next few weeks (life busy-ness, you know).

Edited: OC name change for continuity. Whoops.