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Chapter Text

PART I

Chapter 1

Bookworms

It was autumn - Hogwarts was surrounded by blazing clusters of orange and yellow leaves. The air was mild and the sky was clear, but as the evening wore on, the air cooled enough for the students to put on their winter clothes. The large chimneys filled with light and crackling.

The only place that wasn't heated was the school library; although every precaution had been taken to prevent fire, a fire could be so catastrophic that the risk was never taken. These books were no laughing matter.

The fourth year who was most often seen there didn't joke about them either. In fact, he almost never joked, at least not happily.

He was serious.

He walked, arms full of books, through the shelves of the library, dark and silent, his uniform marked with the heraldry of Slytherin. This boy didn't seem to care about his hair: it had been neglected for a long time and hung miserably, greasy, on either side of his sickly face.

On that warm October day, the first in a series of strange scenes that were to change his life, the student's mind was fully occupied with the book on shamanic potions he had just discovered. That is, until he felt his forearms and head hit something hard, and his books fell to the floor with a thud.

"Watch where you're going, SNAPE," a familiar voice hissed.

Severus Snape picked up his books and looked up at the man he had accidentally bumped into. A tall young wizard, who must have been over six feet tall, was staring at him with contempt. His short blond hair fell over his arrogant grey eyes, which shone in the centre of his pale face. The Slytherin robe looked completely different on him.

His tall stature, the fact that he was in his final year and captain of the Quidditch team, none of this had helped Lucius Malfoy's natural smugness. Since the beginning of the year, he had snubbed Severus whenever he saw him, whether in the corridors, the Great Hall, the dormitory or the common room. At least he was aware of his existence, which had not seemed to be the case during his first three years at Hogwarts.

Severus was a good student, surprisingly bright in some subjects, and his reputation among the Salazar clan had begun to grow - slowly, for the boy was not pretentious and not the type to squirm in his chair to give a good answer. He was also known for his coldness and dark mood. Most of the time he walked alone, with a lithe, spider-like gait...

Then he raised his eyebrows. Lucius Malfoy gave a small aristocratic grunt in return, then continued on his way, crushing the roll of parchment his comrade had not had time to pick up. Severus sighed and picked it up, placing his books on a table and trying to put them back together again. But as misfortune never comes alone, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and a lilting voice, unfamiliar this time, reached his easily irritated ears.

"Ah! I've been looking all over for you!"

Severus turned to find a pupil of his age, looking like a character from a little girl's fairy tale, staring at him with a bright smile.

"May I ask to whom I am speaking?" the Slytherin muttered.

An irresistible feeling of disgust washed over him at the sight of those forget-me-not eyes and shiny golden curls.

"Gilderoy Lockhart!" the blond boy said, taking his hand and shaking it. "And you're Severus Snape, aren't you? May I call you Severus?"

"Well... as you wish. Why were you looking for me?"

"I saw you at the banquet... I'm new here, actually... Beauxbatons, my old school had some problems with... anyway. I wanted to say hello, but I didn't get the chance until today."

"Well, hello," Severus said. But I've got Transfiguration tomorrow, so I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Precisely," Lockhart replied, fixing him with his bluish gaze. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Have you got that homework too?"

"Yes, but more specifically, I have a deal to offer you."

The young Slytherin shivered with annoyance. Whatever this deal was, he already knew he was going to turn it down.

"Actually I know you're a very good student, and you know my reputation, and I thought..."

"Which one?" growled Severus.

"What do you mean by which one?"

"What reputation?"

"Haven't you heard? Strange. You see, Severus..."

Severus twisted his parchment slightly.

"You see, Severus, I am also an excellent student. And since we're both gifted people, I thought we might make... a great team."

His comrade raised an eyebrow.

"We're not from the same house, it would be rather unwelcome, if not completely ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" exclaimed Lockhart. "What's ridiculous about wanting to improve? Think about it: together we could progress much faster, and I don't give a damn about all this House stuff."

"Not me, sorry," Snape replied.

Without another word, he walked out of the library.

* * *

The next day did not begin happily. Severus Snape had climbed out of his canopy bed to discover in the boys' shared bathroom that his hair had become greasy again during the night. Still lightly asleep after a long night of revising, he had run ice water over his face, unaware that Lucius Malfoy was standing at the sink on the right. He had noticed it when he had looked up: the young man was wetting his hair, his eyes lowered, and the long, light strands of his fringe hanging in front of his rounded eyelids. Lucius had then shifted his strange gaze to his left.

"Do you want a photo, Snape?"

Severus said nothing. Lucius had then taken the small pot of wax which he had placed on the edge of the washbasin and, once his hands had been coated with it, had pulled his hair back. It was not often that Severus had aesthetic thoughts about his classmates, but he had to admit that this hairstyle did not suit him at all. The blond young man washed his hands and sighed, either tired or worried. He quickly dried himself and headed for the dormitory.

"Good luck for the exam," he said in a drawl before leaving.

And then he disappeared.

* * *

Two hours later, Professor McGonagall was supervising the Transfiguration test. Her stern gaze peered behind the transparency of thin glasses. Finally, she called Severus.

Under her stern gaze, Severus Snape passed every exercise with flying colours, achieving the highest mark he had ever achieved in a Transfiguration test. He even beat James Potter and his friends, scoring twenty points for his house, and was warmly congratulated by his classmates, who patted him on the back... A small smile spread across his face and he couldn't help it.

"It's always like that in Potter's face!" exclaimed Walden Macnair.

"Look at Black's..." another muttered, giggling.

Severus' eyes sparkled: a little revenge on Gryffindor to make up for a very bad week.

Returning to the Slytherin dungeons was just as pleasant, as the Quidditch team, returning from training, also made a point of cheering him on. Severus Snape had no close friends, but his 'personal style' was not despised; his darkness had given him a sympathetic aura, and many Slytherins admired (or feared?) his talent and mysterious knowledge of the Dark Arts.

"Well done, Snape," Lucius Malfoy said nonchalantly as he walked past him to join the other boys in his group.

Yes, this week has undoubtedly been the best since the start of term.

Chapter Text

In Gryffindor Tower, three Marauders sat in antique armchairs, discussing how their day had gone.

"Did you see the way he was strutting around? All that for a lousy grade?" spat young Sirius Black as he popped a fudge into his mouth.

"I don't think it's worth talking about," said Remus Lupin.

"There's no such thing as a humble Slytherin," reminded James Potter, busy polishing his brand new 1974 Nimbus.

The dinner bell signalled the end of the discussion; the three boys picked up their things and made their way to the Great Hall.

In the noisy atmosphere of the vast medieval hall, at one end of the Slytherin table, the final year students were busy discussing their chances of winning the Interhouse Quidditch Cup.

"Gryffindor have a clear lead at the moment..." said Pimprenelle.

"We have a very good Quidditch team," argued Alexander Avery, "but so do they... They have two very talented players who are also excellent students. Not to mention a certain Remus Lutin."

"Remus Lupin," Severus Snape corrected in a sweet whisper between two spoonfuls of peas.

"But we also have excellent students," Lucius Malfoy replied haughtily. "And without wishing to boast, far beyond the expertise in pranks that Gryffindors, as we all know, are specialists in."

A chorus of jeers greeted the observation. A few seats away, Severus Snape nodded his head, hatred in his eyes.

"Well, I see the Slytherins are still having a good time," Dumbledore said, turning to McGonagall.

"Especially when it comes to making fun of others," she pointed out as she wiped her mouth with her napkin, her left eyebrow raised.

"How prejudiced you are, Minerva," old Dumbledore tempered with a knowing look. "Hm... this chicken curry is a delight."

"Peas aren't bad either," McGonagall replied.

But at the same time, at the other end of the room, Lucius Malfoy's classmates weren't laughing anymore. One of them suddenly leaned over and pointed at another student: "Look... Snape. Snape."

Parkinson, Avery and Malfoy turned their heads towards their younger classmate, who was sitting two metres away, staring in amazement at the peas on his plate. This was hardly surprising, as those peas had begun to jump around on the plate, emitting high-pitched squeaks. Walden Macnair's eyes opened wide.

"It's not me," Severus ranted.

Macnair grabbed his fork and tried to crush one of them; it jumped just in time and disappeared into a corner of the room.

"Help me, Julius," he said with a smile as he shot a fiery glare at his opponent.

Julius Baxter stretched out his arm to help crush the peas, but they dodged his attack and then landed in a supersonic leap into the nostrils and ears of the students around them, who then began to fight back in a disorderly fashion, trying to crush the little green balls that were jumping up and down on the table and in the air, screaming.

"What's the meaning of this?" exclaimed McGonagall, rising to her feet and neutralising the angry food with a wave of her wand.

The belligerents sat down again and ten peas fell from Snape's nose. He thought he heard muffled laughter behind him.

"Black, you son of a bitch," he hissed. "You'll pay for this..."

The confrontation was not long in coming.

James Potter, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had followed Severus Snape as he left the room alone just before dessert, the Slytherin not wanting to comment on the scene that had just taken place.

"Blaaaack magic...! Blaaaaaack magic! "

Severus turned to recognise Sirius's voice. Sirius was chanting his 'incantation' and waving his long arms. To add insult to injury, his grey eyes and black hair made him almost believable in his role, except for his mocking tone...

"So, Black, I hear you practice cooking spells? Are you planning to turn yourself into a cake or an animal? Black magic... I don't think that's the right formula. In any case, there's not much left to do to complete the transformation."

"Ah-ah!" replied Sirius, "And you, Snape, where have you hidden all those peas? Don't tell me you had room to put them..."

"...up your nose," James finished.

"Stop it," Remus gasped.

The Slytherin thought for a moment that he was defending him... Then he realised McGonagall was coming. She headed straight for Severus, while Black and his friends stood back.

"So, Mr Snape, are we having fun with the dancing peas?"

"It's not me," Snape replied, "it's him!"

He pointed at Sirius Black. His voice suddenly softened as he continued: "Just ask the people around him, Professor. I'm sure they saw him use his wand..."

"Do you really think that person would report him? There is nothing to prove your claim, Mr Snape. But if it really is you... I would be disappointed in you."

She turned on her heels. Severus lowered his head and looked at Sirius. He had pushed his hair back from his face and was about to do another impression in front of a hilarious James.

"Professor, oh Professor," he said in a sweet voice. "It's him, Professor! It's him, Professor! Pff..."

He turned back into Sirius and yapped: "How is it possible to be such a brown-noser?"

Severus jumped and grabbed him. Remus and James jerked away.

"You stupid idiot! I hate you!" he hissed as he tried to hit him.

"Argh, don't touch me, you'll get me dirty!" spat Sirius, pushing him away violently.

It was then that the Slytherins decided to leave the Great Hall. Seeing what was happening in the corridor, the older students moved to join the fight. They surrounded Sirius and Severus with their tall stature.

"Sirius Black..." began Evan Rosier, blond hair and square jaw, glaring at his younger classmate.

"Listed in the official Encyclopaedia of Parasites..." Malfoy finished.

James and Remus threw themselves between them.

"Parasites yourselves!" shouted James.

"And here come Lutin and Potter to the rescue," chuckled Alexander Avery.

"It's been a long time since we crushed a Gryffindor, hasn't it, Avery?" added Rosier.

Crabbe and Goyle, who had remained with the others, rubbed their hands together at the prospect.

"Come on, guys," Malfoy said. "We're not going to get our hands dirty with this vermin."

Rosier waved Severus towards him.

"Accio!" cried Lucius Malfoy, waving his wand.

A huge cauldron appeared in his hands.

"Stupefix!" James and Remus replied in unison.

But Avery and Rosier had countered their stun spell, and the contents of the pot in Lucius's hands, spurred on by them, slowly poured over Sirius's head, covering him in peas.

The Slytherins burst into laughter, except for Severus Snape, who remained silent.

All in all, it was a perfect day ...

He thought to himself a little later as he buried himself in the sheets of his bed.

"Son of a bitch... turning you into an animal... do you think he knows we want to become animagi, and that he's found out about Remus?" wondered Sirius as he stepped out of the shower.

"You're being paranoid, mate," James replied, not wanting to worry Remus.

In truth, Severus Snape didn't know, but in a strange twist of fate, he had unwittingly touched the enemy's weak spot...

Anyway, the bookworm had trouble sleeping that night, without knowing why. He dozed off around midnight and woke up around three o'clock in a state of torpor. An hour later he finally returned to the gentle slope of sleep, but that was when he heard a scream.

The lamps on the bedside tables immediately lit up; all the students in the dormitory had sat up in their beds, looking around, trying to understand what had happened. Except for Malfoy.

He had sat up too, but he was pale and panting. His hair was falling in front of his wide open eyes.

"Lucius? Are you all right? Did you have a nightmare?"

"I think so," he said, calming down. "Don't worry, it's nothing. It's nothing."

"Hey look Goyle, a pea from earlier... Look at him, he's made it this far..."

"Spare us the details, Crabbe!" groaned Wilkes.

"I'll turn off the light and go back to sleep," Macnair said ingenuously.

"Good idea. Good night, boys!"

"Good night!"

The lights went out. Severus heard the clock in the great green room ticking softly. Was he really never going to sleep? Yet he had hours of sleep to catch up on... Moonlight and starlight streamed through the window, the curtains of which had not been drawn, dimly illuminating the room, which had turned blue and black. The teenager heard the half-hour bell ring; he still wasn't asleep. A few minutes passed and he heard the sound of rustling sheets. Footsteps on the floor. A figure crossed the room. Severus heard him enter the bathroom quietly.

He had decided not to bother listening, as it was probably one of his classmates who had gone to the bathroom. However, unexpected sounds reached his ears through the wall: it sounded like someone vomiting. The student remained in the bathroom for perhaps fifteen minutes, and then Severus saw him come out and make his way back to bed.

He tried to clear his mind so that he could go back to sleep. Four o'clock in the morning. There was a strange glow in the window. The Slytherin discreetly tried to see what it was.

The same person who had been ill earlier was now standing in front of the high windows. It was definitely them.

Lucius Malfoy was standing up and staring away, smoking a cigarette, the blue smoke rising in wisps and illuminating his tired face. Behind him, the stars of the night twinkled faintly.

To be continued

Chapter Text

The third week in October was uneventful. Young Snape's nights were peaceful and he spent most of his free time experimenting with new potions. Sirius seemed to have calmed down after his Slytherin misadventure, but actually he and James were raging mad, and it was Remus who soothed them. The main thing was that the first match of the season was approaching, between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and the preparations for that match were keeping the two Marauders - especially James, the more gifted one - very busy. But Severus was under no illusions: the calm of his enemies could only be a sign of preparation for a new twist, born of the unbridled imagination of Black and Potter, those vile creatures who seemed to have no end of ideas on the subject.

As for Lucius Malfoy, he hadn't said a word to him in those few days, and the fourth year was getting used to the idea that the little interest this cold and pretentious boy had shown in him had been given mechanically and indifferently, like a leader handing out points to his soldiers.

"Hello Severus! How are you?"

"You?!" exclaimed Snape, glaring murderously at the Ravenclaw.

"Ah Severus, Severus, Severus, I'm beginning to think you're avoiding me..."

As he said this, Lockhart patted his hair - but at the touch, he withdrew his hand immediately. He sat down on his left in the Great Hall.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a distant tone.

"My History of Magic homework. It's due the day after tomorrow," the Slytherin replied curtly. "And I need to concentrate, if you know what I mean."

He leaned over his copy. Lockhart glanced at it discreetly. Then he spread the parchment in front of him, opened the book and wrinkled his forehead. Severus continued his work in silence, sighing in exasperation from time to time, while his classmate's gaze seemed strangely drawn to the right.

"Why bother?" the Slytherin suddenly thought aloud. "I'm going to get another bad mark."

"A bad mark?" exclaimed Lockhart, seemingly confused. "But you're a very good student... I was told..."

"Not in the history of magic, unfortunately. Last year I only had a C. Catastrophic. I wonder if I shouldn't ask the best in the field for advice..."

He turned his terrible eyes to his neighbour.

"You see who..."

"Um... No," Lockhart replied, scratching his chin.

"James Potter, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. I'll probably go and see them tonight... They're very nice. On the other hand, they must be in the Gryffindor common room right now..."

"James Potter... Isn't that the Broom Master?"

"Indeed."

A quarter of an hour later, Lockhart realised he had forgotten an urgent task and left the room, much to Severus' relief.

"LuPin," Evan Rosier corrected, "it's LuPin."

"I got that," grumbled Avery. "But he looks like a leprechaun. He's got a long nose and big eyes."

"What are you doing at Gryffindor's front door?" gasped a dark-haired young man with green eyes who was passing in the corridor.

"We were looking at the paintings, Russell," Rosier said.

"If that's silliness again, to lose us points..."

"I was also teaching my eldest some onomastics," Rosier claimed.

"Onomastics, you see..."

"Angus, we can still move around, can't we?"

"Avery, don't play games with me. I know when you're up to no good. That silly story about the peas has discredited us enough. If only I'd been there, it wouldn't have happened... "

"He deserved it," Rosier said.

"I don't want to know, Evan. We could have lost fifty points."

A blonde head passed behind Rosier and disappeared behind the Fat Lady.

"So take up real challenges instead of being unproductive agitators," Russell continued. "Since the Headmaster is a Gryffindor, we must redouble our efforts."

"That's just it," Rosier explained, "we're putting these young mutts down. You have to train them early."

"It's solidarity," Avery added.

"Solidarity, really?" replied Russell coldly. "Well, I'll leave you to it, I have things to do..."

He walked off and disappeared into the dungeon.

"I don't give a damn about his shitty calculations..." Rosier hissed, curling his lips.

"He's a nice guy, I know him, but he's becoming a real idiot these days."

A head of wavy blonde hair emerged from behind the Fat Lady and walked past them.

"Hello, friends!" the boy said.

"Hello."

He walked away.

"Do you know him?" gasped Avery, turning to Rosier.

"No, I don't."

"Who was that?" blurted James, his eyes wide with fright as the blond boy emerged from the Gryffindor tower.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, Ravenclaw," Remus replied with a small smile. "Former student at Beauxbâtons, but of English extraction. Very good reputation. The school and him. Excellent at Quidditch, but stopped playing after an accident when his team was 350-20 up. Knows the best dental potions and has faced ghouls, vampires, ochre jellies, Norwegian trolls and carnivorous plants".

"How do you know all that, Moony?" gasped Sirius.

"You just have to listen to people," Remus replied, patting him affectionately on the shoulder. "The few words of his that I overheard one day on the way while he was talking to some girls told me a lot about him, considering he only seems to open his mouth to talk about himself."

Unfortunately, Severus was to see Lockhart again the following afternoon, during the Slytherin and Slytherin Fourth Years' Combined Charms lesson. At the end of the lesson, Gilderoy turned to the taciturn, undertaker-like teenager and gave him a bright smile and a furtive wink.

"Ah, Severus, such modesty!"

The Slytherin tried to control his hands so as not to strangle him on the spot.

"You didn't dare call yourself a Hogwarts History of Magic scholar - but James Potter and Sirius Black told me what you were really all about, and that you knew all about... dark magic and anything remotely spooky or dark. Don't make that face, there's nothing to be embarrassed about... No, it's not embarrassment..."

There was a hint of concern in his voice.

"You're angry," he continued, "angry with Sirius for praising you? Yet Lucius Malfoy told me there was no one better than you..."

At Lucius' name, Severus made a sudden movement.

"Lu..."

"Yes," Lockhart cut in sharply, "a senior in your house... Lucius Malfoy. During the first few days of school, I asked him for some information to help me find my way around this new school, and he told me that James Potter of Gryffindor wasn't too bad at Quidditch, and that 'the best student in this school is Severus Snape'."

Suddenly, Severus seemed so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the looks his fellow students were giving him and Lockhart as they murmured: a mixture of fear and disappointment.

"That's not what the teachers will tell you," Severus suddenly replied sharply. "They only give marks for the subjects they like to teach, which they have sometimes chosen rather arbitrarily..."

"Of course," Lockhart agreed, smiling and moving his eyes like someone who didn't get a joke.

Stupid Lockhart. He, Severus, did indeed have good grades. Potter and Lupin had good grades. But according to the prize list, the best in their class was Black. But he didn't seem to make the slightest effort to be so brilliant. That... idiot.

Yes, because he, he was stupid! It was unfair, so unfair. That bastard, those bastards who never missed an opportunity to break the rules without ever worrying about the consequences and who always got away with it without any real punishment, sometimes even with honours... Those lazy, carefree, vain nobodies... They thought they were so much better than everyone else, but pretended to like everyone, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and all the rest, and always had their noses in the air, spouting nonsense to show off. They were all too blind to see what he really was.

He had seen him on the stairs just before. He was with Pettigrew and Pettigrew had pretended to throw up when he saw him.

"No, Peter," Sirius had laughed, "he's the one who's going to end up sick from doing such disgusting things..."

Pettigrew had burst out laughing; Black had stared at Snape with a half-smile on his lips, motionless as a statue.

His black hair, like raven's wings, framed his full, healthy face, the fine bridge of his nose, his clear eyes, with their long, rounded curve, shining like enamel... Sometimes Severus wondered if he realised what he looked like.

Severus himself had not immediately noticed, for he rarely paid attention to people's faces, rarely to those of girls, and even less to those of his male classmates. But the strange attitude of some of the female students towards Sirius had made him observe his physiognomy, and he had noticed. He had hated him then. Now he hated him even more.

"You're pathetic, Black," Snape had snapped, his teeth clenched and his stomach clenched.

Then he had turned suddenly to show him his contempt, his cloak flapping elegantly as he walked away, and his reflection in the corner of a mirror had suddenly spat at him.

The big day had finally arrived.

A large number of students, not all from the two competing houses, had come to watch what promised to be the most exciting match of the year.

In the Gryffindor lounge, three girls had chosen to stay in the warmth of the room to, among other things, comment on the spectacle before their eyes: one of their classmates had fallen asleep on the table where he had been working on an urgent assignment.

"He's actually quite cute..."

"Don't talk too loud, you'll wake him up..."

"When he sleeps like that, he looks less tired than usual..."

They giggled.

"But Black is much more handsome... It's a pity he has a bad temper... And that he's a Black."

"Anna, shhh!"

Remus Lupin moved and raised his head, causing the three teenage girls to fall back; he pulled himself up suddenly, looking dazed.

"I fell asleep," he realised, rubbing his eyes.

His eyes fell on the trio.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

"Well, they're at the game."

"They're already there! What time is it?"

He took his watch from his pocket.

"Oh no! It's been over an hour!"

Remus got up quickly, put on his cloak and shawl and ran out of the tower. He ran through the dungeon and the park, and swam to the edge of the Quidditch pitch.

He took a minute to catch his breath, then looked up.

There was nobody in the stands and the pitch was deserted. The game was over, he had overslept... He was about to turn away when the sight of a stain startled him. Intrigued, he walked towards it. No, his eyes didn't deceive him.

There was a tiny puddle of blood in the middle of the field, and scattered drops on a path leading off the field. Accidents were not uncommon during matches, and some teams were known for their particular approach to the role of the batsman. It was rare, however, for blood to be spilled.

In doubt, Remus ran again, this time towards the nurse's office, knots in his stomach.

To be continued

Chapter Text

Severus had not left early to watch the match either, Quidditch not being one of his usual interests. Nevertheless, he closed his book that day and made his way to the stadium. It was a cold November day, the sky was grey, the clouds almost blue in places. It had rained all day yesterday, and the players had repeatedly asked Merlin to keep the clouds away during the match.

The Gryffindors knew that this match would be the toughest of the three. Malfoy was out for revenge, and if the Captain in Red was to be believed, Potter would be the target of low blows.

The stands were already full when Severus arrived, but he managed to find two empty seats at the back. Not having thought to bring a book to pass the time, he began to stare at the crowd. Most of the Slytherins - he clearly recognised Crabbe and Goyle - were almost at the other end of the stand, and he was relieved to see Gilderoy Lockhart already sitting in the middle of a group of Slytherins. Just as he spotted Pettigrew, all alone, a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

- Severus, do you mind if I sit next to you? There are no seats left.

Short-cropped black hair, a shadow of fuzz over his lips and his chin hidden beneath a thick school scarf: it was Walden Macnair. Severus nodded and the other sat down.

- I've brought some food, if you want some...

From his bag he took out small bottles of beer and chocolate frogs.

- Thanks, Severus said, but I don't drink beer.

- Astronomy lessons have become unbearable, haven't they? It's impossible to get all those star names into my head... Let alone spot them on a map... And in a sky that changes all year round! What's more, I don't see what use it is to us. I don't want to be an astronomy teacher...

- You should explain it to the teacher...

- So she can give me a room? Besides, she's our headmistress, she'll pigeonhole me.

- Look, the teams are arriving on the pitch, Severus said, leaning forward slightly to get a better view.

Dressed in their green robes, the Slytherins followed their captain. Lucius had disciplined his blond hair with Gomina, as he did every day at Quidditch practice; you could see the concentration on his face. There was only one girl in the team, and she would have stood out in any group: her long, thick, straight black hair, her haughty eyelids and the regal way she strutted around the square made her an unforgettable figure.

They all arrived at the centre of the pitch, where Bellatrix Black's long hair was tied into a knot; like the other team, the Slytherins had to listen to their captain's speech first.

- Have you seen who the Seeker is? said Macnair.

- It's true, it's hard to imagine her playing Quidditch, his neighbour replied.

- It's Malfoy's idea, said Macnair. I'm sure she's very good at flying, but we all know why he put her in the team.

He punctuated the sentence with a sneer and suddenly looked very ugly. Severus was obviously not aware of all that was going on in his house, but what he suspected was very unpleasant.

- Severus, are you all right? Have a chocolate frog, it'll fix you up. They say chocolate is very good when you're 'tired'. It must be because you're working too hard, you'll end up dropping dead if you carry on like this...

He placed a box on his lap with authority. Severus thanked him and put it aside for later.

- Ah! exclaimed Macnair, who must have changed the subject, I like Quidditch a lot, but seeing who the captain is doesn't make me want to join the team. I can't stand that guy, with his airs and graces and the way he thinks he's the boss.

Severus was taken aback by his classmate's words. A little removed from the life of his house, he had never imagined that there could be internal rivalries within the Slytherin family, and more importantly, this was completely out of character with what he had seen so far. For Macnair to talk to him like that about Lucius Malfoy was completely unexpected. But the surprise was also tinged with disgust, and Severus, making a virtue out of necessity, thought it best to stay away from all these false friendships.

- And he's really scary... They say he puts curses on anyone he doesn't like... And have you seen those eyes? A real executioner's face... Ah! I'll get it this time!

He swatted away the fly that had been hovering around them for the last five minutes with a quick wave of his right hand.

- That guy should have been Prefect, he continued, wiping his hand and looking at Malfoy, who was busy with his speech. He actually wanted to be. Did you know that? But the teachers preferred Russell. Less prestigious family, but respectful of the Mudbloods... Hmm. Speak of the devil.

Angus Russell, a young man with short, curly dark brown hair and green eyes, walked as best he could along the line towards them. He was wearing a green and white scarf and the prefect's badge.

- But you're a long way off! he shouted.

- We had trouble finding a place to sit, Macnair replied.

- I wonder where I'm going to sit... Russell sighed, scanning the stands. Oh, I'm glad I came... You've got nothing at all... except that.

He pointed at the beer.

- Be careful Macnair, you seem to drink a lot. And no one is unaware of the ravages of alcohol...

- It's all right, it's all right, you know very well it's not strong.

- Do you drink, Snape?" the Prefect asked, turning to Severus and looking very surprised.

- No, I don't.

- I was just thinking...

He started to rummage in his bag.

- Well, then... Here's this first.

He handed them two small pennants, representing the coat of arms of their house.

- Beautiful, aren't they? Pimprenelle Diggory made them. Look what's written on them...

- Victory for Slytherin, Severus read mournfully.

- But I think I've got something better... (his whole right arm disappeared into the bag) No... Yes, I have. Ah!

He waved a large silver-green pompon triumphantly, placing it on Severus's lap, then another on Macnair's.

- I'll leave you, I'll try and find a place to sit... I hope we'll win and above all that we won't get in trouble... I told Lucius to play in a civilised manner. If he doesn't, he'll hear me!

He walked off.

- I can't imagine Malfoy being reprimanded by anyone, muttered Macnair.

'Fellow Hogwarts fans, the match is about to begin!" exclaimed Melusine Brooks, the dynamic Hufflepuff student in charge of the match commentary. "Remember, last year's Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match ended with Gryffindor winning the Cup! Will James Potter, the Star Seeker, lead his team to victory again? Or will Lucius Malfoy, the dark and mysterious Lucius Malfoy, lead the Slytherins to victory this time?'

The proud captain of the Gryffindor team didn't look pleased that his name wasn't even mentioned; the Slytherin captain frowned at the words 'dark' and 'this time'.

'The two teams face each other... Let's take a look at the members... For Slytherin: Sanchez in Goalpost - Malfoy, Jones, Beckett are Chasers - Wilkes and Friedrich are Beaters - Bellatrix Black is the Seeker. For Gryffindor: Hopkins is Keeper, Morel, Salinger and Sirius Black as Chasers, Smith and Conrad as Beaters, James Potter as Seeker. In the middle, Mr Gaspard releases the Quaffle, the Golden Snitch and the Bludgers. And the game begins!'
Macnair opened a bottle and rehydrated himself.

'It's Morel who grabbed the Quaffle first! Jones, Beckett and Malfoy are in hot pursuit! Jones narrowly avoids a Bludger... Malfoy to Morel! Morel passes to Sirius Black... James Potter and Bellatrix Black on patrol... Sirius approaches the goal and Sanchez gets ready!'

- NO! NO! shouted Macnair, clenching his fists.

'But Sanchez catches the Quaffle in mid-air!'

Snape and Macnair breathed a sigh of relief.

'Sanchez passes to Malfoy! Jones Malfoy. Jones Malfoy. Black tries to intercept, but to no avail - but how does Jones get the ball that far? How does he do it? What's going on? A Bludger seems to have hit Malfoy's broom with full force, sending him tumbling, but Malfoy has the reflex to throw to Beckett, who's unmarked! Beckett... Beckett scores! 10 to 0 for Slytherin! Malfoy gets up and rubs himself, seemingly only a little bruised and dishevelled.'

Cries of disappointment from the Gryffindors. Severus spotted Angus Russell (he was sitting between McGonagall and Sprout, apparently they had made room for him) waving at them; realising that Severus had seen him, the Prefect began to make pantomime gestures. Severus and Macnair reluctantly each picked up a pompom and began to chant, one waving with his left hand, the other with his right: 'Victory, Slytherin. Victory, Slytherin. Victory, Slytherin.'

'Mr Gaspard asks Malfoy if everything is all right. Apparently it is, and the game goes on!'

- Speaking of Malfoy, Macnair said, putting down his pompom, do you know why he never spoke to you?

This was the second big surprise in a match full of revelations for Severus. Until now he had thought he was the only one who had noticed that Lucius Malfoy never spoke to him, and that this was normal.

- You'll laugh, Macnair said. He thought you were Dumbledore's pet!

- What? exclaimed Severus.

- Unbelievable, isn't it?

- I know who Dumbledore's favourites are, and I can tell you it's not me.

- If you ask me, he's probably jealous of your good results.

- I'd be surprised, considering his.

- Maybe he wants to be the only genius at Hogwarts.

'Draw! 10-10!'

- Oops. I think we missed something.

The two Slytherins, seeing Russell's distraught waves to the supporters, thought it best to repeat their cheers, which ceased abruptly when Sirius Black flyed proudly past them and turned to Severus to make a face at him. Severus threw his pompom in his face and Macnair threatened him with his empty bottle.

'The Quaffle is back in play... Salinger passes to Morel... At the other end of the pitch, James Potter makes a phenomenal dive... He seems to have seen the Golden Snitch! And he's not the only one! Bellatrix Black is heading for the same spot! But they suddenly stop... as if the Golden Snitch had completely changed direction... Meanwhile, Potter's team is back on the offensive!'

The match continued, punctuated by the episodic antics of Sirius Black, who taunted the Slytherins on his Nimbus whenever his team scored. He was eventually caught by his captain, who told him to concentrate on the game instead of 'acting like a troll'. After three-quarters of an hour, Gaspard blew his whistle and all the players went down for five minutes. Macnair took the opportunity to open a box of Chocolate Frog.
- Oh no... the High Auror... I've already got it...

He opened another and replaced the frog after taking the card.

- Dumbledore! You've got to be kidding me!

He opened the last one.

- Another famous Auror... which I already have, of course... No luck today.

Severus reached for his box and opened it, the small Batracian sweet jumping into his hand. The card was marked 'Dark Lord'. Macnair, who had bent down to see what his comrade had stumbled upon, couldn't believe his eyes.

- Wow! You've got the Dark Lord! It's an ultra-rare card! I didn't even know it existed!

This brief note was written under a painting of a hooded figure:

A great traveller and explorer of the world of spells, the man who calls himself 'The Death Thief' has seen his power grow considerably since 1970.

The magical image seemed frozen, no face to be seen beneath the black hood. Then suddenly the head rose, white and featureless, darkened in places like a moon, the patches hollowing out to form the relief of a skull that suddenly grew, as if from the map, to open its bony jaw and flick its forked tongue under Severus's nose; he flinched.

- Cool! said Macnair, who seemed to regret giving him the frog.

- Take it, I don't collect them, Severus said.

- But I gave it to you... (the thirteen-year-old Slytherin's face reflected a Cornelian dilemma) Or... If I exchange them for my two Aurors, is that all?

- If you really want to give me your two Aurors...

- Take them! And I'll give you Dumbledore too! exclaimed Macnair, gloating as he looked at his brand new trading card.
Severus tucked them away in his pocket; they could always be used as bookmarks.

'The game will resume soon! The captains are making their final recommendations to their teammates.'

- James, don't let that praying mantis scare you, the Gryffindor strategist said to his catcher. I'm sure Malfoy only put her there because he knows you're easily intimidated by girls as long as they're not completely hideous.

- But...

- Don't deny it, James. Be merciless! And that goes for the Beaters too! Just because she's a girl doesn't mean you shouldn't throw the Bludgers at her. They don't mind doing it. We're going to give that Malfoy scum the defeat of his life. This isn't just a match, remember. Godric Gryffindor is watching from where he stands.
'The players get on their broomsticks... I remind you that Slytherin leads 50-40. And here we go again! Lucius Malfoy dashes towards the opposition goal with the Quaffle in his hand! Oh dear, I know some people who must use and abuse their Omnioculars...'

Professor McGonagall covered her face.

'Morel seems to appear out of nowhere and rushes towards Malfoy! He's pushed him to get the Quaffle! Is that legal?'

- FOUL! the Slytherins shouted, as their Prefect, straight as a spike, closed his eyes and held out his hands like the village elder who had just seen his prediction come true.
'The referee just blows his whistle and Morel tries to force his way through to score... Beckett and Jones pounce on him with Malfoy close behind... POTTER IN PURSUIT OF THE GOLDEN SNITCH! Look at the way he's flying, it's wonderful!'

The Gryffindor Seeker seemed to win over three quarters of the crowd, who gave him a hearty ovation; Severus, his lips twisted in annoyance, felt a drop of rain fall on his hand. The Black girl struggled to keep up with the bespectacled hero. But suddenly she was right behind him.

'It's incredible!' exclaimed Melusine Brooks. 'In the blink of an eye, Bellatrix Black was propelled to Potter's side!'

McGonagall's voice broke through the loudspeaker: 'It seems she has used Apparition, Miss Brooks, and that is strictly forbidden.'

'Professor McGonagall, you don't mean what you're saying,' a male voice shouted, echoing loudly throughout the stadium. 'Everyone knows that a student at the beginning of their fifth year cannot Appear! And even less on a broom! And most importantly, it's IMPOSSIBLE within the confines of Hogwarts!'

'Mr Russell, please return the megaphone to Miss Brooks.'
Severus glanced through his binoculars at the boos. James Potter was still in front of Bellatrix, approaching the Golden Snitch that had just stopped. He was less than a metre away. He held out his hand... It was too late for the Slytherin Seeker.

At that moment, Severus saw through the magnifying glasses a black ball, twice the size of the Golden Snitch, strike the golden ball with full force and send it far, far away from Potter.

'My friends... my friends... it's incredible what has just happened! At the last minute, just as James Potter was about to catch the Golden Snitch and help his team win, one of the players managed to throw a Bludger into it!'

The Slytherin captain flew to Wilkes and handed him his bat, then resumed his position. Eric Salinger cast an accusing glance at the fifth year.

- You know, Salinger, the Cheyenne called him 'Piercing-Sight', Wilkes replied with a shrug, a small, condescending smile on his lips.

'Lucius Malfoy did it!'

- This guy is not normal, Macnair concluded, as all the Slytherins, including his neighbour, applauded Lucius' feat by waving their flags, banners and pompoms, and Professor McGonagall wore a despondent expression.

'But the game goes on! I remind you that the score is 50-40 in favour of the green team. Black has the Quaffle, will he be able to equalise? Salinger, the Gryffindor captain, and Morel, the third chaser, rush to his side! Black zigzags between them to break their trajectory! The Slytherin beaters go wild and the chasers try to get the ball back! Ah, my friends, what a game! There's no doubt that the rain that's starting to fall hasn't dampened the enthusiasm of these passionate players! In fact, Salinger has just punched Bellatrix Black as she retreats to the other end of the pitch! The referee gives Salinger a yellow card! Sirius Black evades a Bludger and runs off alone, his teammates being closely marked by their opponents! Sanchez... Sanchez... No! Black has equalised! 50-50!'

Sirius waved at James, who congratulated him. The rain grew heavier and some of the players pulled the hoods of their Quidditch robes down over their heads.

- Are you afraid of getting wet, My Lord? said Salinger as he climbed up to Malfoy.

His long brown hair flowed down his wet face. Lucius glared at him, his voice almost a whisper:

- You hit girls? Are you so afraid of me?

- Afraid of you! You're joking, Salinger spat. I'm not one of your house elves, you corpse-eater!

- Really? Malfoy replied calmly, receiving the Souafle sent by his guardian with his right hand. I would never be afraid of a miserable... Mudblood.

- I'll... the Gryffindor hissed.

- Kill me, Salinger? Or just fight me? Everyone knows that if you won last year, it wasn't your fault. Well... you can always try.

He left with the Quaffle.

'Salinger chases Malfoy! Morel is coming to help him! But Black stayed at the other end of the pitch, it must be a tactic.'

'Oh,' said McGonagall's voice with irony, 'feel free to point it out...'

Severus focused his binoculars on Black. Black stood by the hoops guarded by Sanchez, staring blankly, and if it weren't for the rain dripping down his cheeks, Severus would have thought Sirius was crying. He stood motionless on his broom while Sanchez, his face hidden by his rain-blackened green hood, slowly twirled in front of the three hoops.

'Salinger's caught up with Malfoy! He seems to be in a biblical rage! He's staying with him to take the Quaffle! He's pushed out of the way for a moment, but he's back at it again, while Malfoy makes some complicated moves to get rid of him! Here we see Salinger using the strategy known as the Leech! Simple, but effective.'

- Lucius! Don't let them! cried Macnair suddenly, standing up and waving his pompom like a madman.

'Jones and Beckett come in and grab Salinger... they start dragging him! Salinger slaps them to get them off him! Mr Gaspard joins them at full speed, blows his whistle and separates them.'

- Gentlemen, please! This is not a judo match! Salinger, next warning, you're out! Jones! Beckett! You too! Malfoy, to midfield with the Quaffle!

'Malfoy moves to midfield and passes to Jones. Jones passes to Beckett. But the Quaffle is intercepted by Morel! Morel runs towards Sanchez's goal and, with Jones on top of him, unleashes a long pass towards Sirius Black! But Black is knocked off his feet at the last moment by a Bludger and goes down spectacularly! Fortunately, he gets up at the last moment! That was a close one! Oh-!'

The megaphone fell from Melusine Brooks' hands as a great, horrified scream echoed through the stadium.

- Damn it! exclaimed Macnair, who had just pulled his hands away from his eyes.

All Snape had seen was Black, who had been unable to catch the Quaffle because a Bludger had hit his broom: he had fallen as the ball landed in Beckett's arms, but had picked himself up just before hitting the ground... Just as Black had risen, Severus had seen a flash of red, followed immediately by a loud thud.

Potter had gone down first, and Dumbledore and McGonagall had come running, followed by Angus Russell, white as a sheet. Voices began to buzz around Severus.

'He's been hit in the head... Is he dead? It's really terrible... It's terrible. He didn't see it on the way up... His nose... A fall like that...'

James was two metres away from the body with the unrecognisable face, his mouth opening and closing without a single word coming out. McGonagall ran towards him, while Dumbledore looked after the chaser.

- Calm down James, calm down, she stammered, supporting Potter whose legs were wobbling.

- Sirius... Sirius...

- He's still breathing, said the headmaster. I'll take him to Madam Pomfrey straight away.

Gaspard blew his whistle and Lucius, who was standing next to Bellatrix, watched as the two teachers left for the nurse's office.
- Did you see the way McGonagall clenched her fist and looked at me?' Malfoy whispered to his neighbour. I thought she was going to slap me. She may punish them, but she's got a soft spot for her little Gryffindors. It's about time she realised who the good people in this school are. Personally, I don't mind that Black's pretty little face is a bit bruised... He more than deserves it.

- Ultima angustiae, Bellatrix muttered.

Lucius looked at her with a smile that expressed both disbelief and admiration.

- You dared, he said.

But seeing Russell, his face dripping with rain, watching them suspiciously, he said no more.

Remus Lupin ran through the cloister and reached the corridor that led to the infirmary; he entered. James, Peter, McGonagall, Madam Pomfresh and the rest of the Gryffindor team were there, more or less close to the bed where a person lay with a bandaged face.

To be continued

Chapter Text

The mail began to arrive in the Great Hall, where the students were busy eating breakfast. It had been decided that the next match would be postponed until the end of the season, but the students were most concerned about the injured Chaser; that morning, even the Ghost of Gryffindor came to enquire about young Sirius Black's health.

"We just saw him in the infirmary," Remus replied with a high-pitched chuckle. "He could play the lead in The Romance of a Mummy ."

It was very rare for the teenager to come up with this kind of highly questionable joke, even since Sirius had begun to have a dubious influence on him in the field of humour.

"And he's still not awake," James finished, picking up Remus's muffin that had inexplicably fallen to the floor.

"I hope he comes back soon..." Sir Nicholas commented, his face grave.

"Anyway, Madam Pomfresh said she could probably fix his nose. And my mum has already sent me parcels of treats for him by owl express..." he added, showing the parcels to the ghost. "She's loved him ever since he came to stay with us for the holidays..."

"It's true, we'd give the Black boy absolution in a heartbeat," said Peeves, who had just slipped in next to Near-Headless Nick. "He's got the face of an angel, but the temper of a demon! Say, children..."

He fluttered his eyelashes and took on a honeyed voice.

"...don't you think that's strange?"

"What do you mean, Peeves?" growled Sir Nicholas.

"I mean... there is justice in this world, isn't there? This is what happens when you laugh at other people's faces... He's been punished by God! I'd be careful if I were you, James!"

"And why is that?" the teenager asked sharply, frowning.

Peeves gave a sort of satanic laugh – if you can have a satanic laugh when you're wearing a bright orange suit with a big bow tie on top – before exclaiming, rolling his eyes, "Look how I ended up!"

And he disappeared like a burst soap bubble.

"Don't listen to him, he's mad," said Near-Headless Nick.

One last bird flew into the Great Hall – it was a cormorant – and dropped an envelope on the Slytherin table before turning gracefully away.

"Look! A letter from overseas for Snape!"

"Is it your parents, Severus?"

"... Uncle... Salem..." Macnair understood over the barely audible murmur of his comrade, who was busy reading the short letter he had just received.

When he had finished, he unfolded the newspaper that an owl had brought him by ordinary mail. The headline read: 'VOLDEMORT defies Ministry of Magic'. The young Snape started to skim the sub-headlines ('Hornet Crush Victory', 'Latest in Potion Science: Interview with Bhima Agni') when Avery's voice interrupted his reading.

"You should open it, Bellatrix..."

Severus glanced to his left. Bellatrix Black was holding a red envelope in her hand.

"No need," Bellatrix replied calmly. I already know what's inside.

"How can you be so calm?"

"You get used to everything."

She placed the letter on the table and lifted her long hair, tilting her head slightly to show her elder a thick red line at the back of her neck. A plural murmur of disgust followed her gesture, while another sixth year, whose name Severus could not remember, stared at the injured neck, mouth ajar and eyes wet.

"It's moving, Bellatrix..." Avery worried, pointing to the letter.

"I don't care about her letter," Bellatrix replied, holding it still with her right fist.

But the letter exploded, bloodying the girl's hands as if it had been filled with razor blades; the Slytherin leapt from her chair, tears in her eyes.

"The bitch, the bitch," she hissed as she left the Great Hall, her hands wrapped in her briefcase.

"The CPKC has struck again," Lucius commented quietly as he continued to open his mail.

Severus dared to ask Evan Rosier – who was in the same year as her – who Bellatrix was talking about.

"It was her mother who sent her the letter," Rosier replied soberly before leaving the table with Wilkes.

"The CPKC?" Avery gasped.

"The CPKC, the Crazy Parents' Kids Club," Lucius explained. "Haven't you heard of it? You're lucky."

"You, you've got a letter from your dad."

"Yes, he's telling me off about my pocket money. He wonders where all the money I spend goes. What does he think? Studies are expensive nowadays..."

"Oh, Lucius," said a girl in sixth year, "are you still planning to let your hair grow out when the year is over?"

"Yes, and I can't wait to see my dear mother's face."

"I don't understand how anyone can get used to this,' said Alexander Avery, his eyes resting on his coffee as if it had been filled with disgusting caterpillars."

"You can get used to a lot of things," Angus Russell said. "Even the worst. Mushrooms, for example. I used to hate them when I was a kid; now I like them."

"There's a difference between mushrooms and pain," replied Avery.

"Russell says weird stuff sometimes..." a fourth year muttered to Macnair.

"Anyway, I need to speak to Bellatrix tonight," the Prefect said. "We need to have a little chat."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Lucius.

"It's not my fault if you take it personally," Angus replied dryly.

He got up and left the room. Severus thought he would be leaving soon, too, as Flitwick's class was due to start in fifteen minutes. It was boring, but what followed was more interesting: Potions. Besides, Sirius Black wouldn't be in class today.

There was no one in the dungeon when he entered, as the break had not yet ended. The stillness of the room was restful. Severus enjoyed the silence for a moment, then sat down by the wall, his frozen hands occupied with setting up his potions kit on his desk. His classmates arrived, some talking about the latest essay, others about Sirius's accident.

"Phew! I know someone who'd be happy if he died," James said, turning to his enemy.

"I'm not a killer, Potter," Severus replied. "I don't rejoice in other people's deaths."

But they had no time to argue further, for Bhima Agni, the headmaster of Ravenclaw, burst into the room like a bright flame in his ample saffron robes. The door slammed behind him.

"He's got them, we're done for," one boy whispered behind Severus.

"Hello, everyone," Agni said in a voice leaden with annoyance. "I believe I have some things to return to you."

It was not without satisfaction that Severus saw the look of concern on James' face as the teacher stepped into the middle of the rows, a bundle of parchments in his hands.

"Let's start at the top of the pile... to save my nerves... Severus Snape?"

Severus raised his hand. Agni handed him his paper.

"It's excellent again. You are the eagle that soars above the plain of mediocrity, Mr Snape. Sirius Black, It's fine... Where is Mr Black?"

"He's... recovering from his accident," James said.

"Will you give him his test? ...Remus Lupin? Can do better. Although it's still better than your disastrous potions. Right, then. I've just passed the only three acceptable papers. Miss Ollivander? Perhaps you'll find your BUSES in a Chocolate frog box? Mr Macnair, that's too short. Mr Pettigrew..."

A very short, chubby boy raised a trembling hand.

- It's very bad. And from what Professor McGonagall tells me, your fourth year is likely to be similar to the first three... Are you planning on being a fifth wheel for the rest of you life, Mr Pettigrew? Mr Potter, I'm not interested in rushed essays written between two classes. You've got me used to better things. Miss Hopkins, you didn't understand..."

James turned to Remus with an expression that seemed to say, 'But how did he guess? Beside him, Peter looked exasperated.

"That's it," Agni concluded once all the copies had been distributed and his anger seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. "Today I'm going to try to teach you the potion known as 'Sleeping Beauty'. Who can tell me what it is?"

Severus and James raised their hands simultaneously.

"Yes, Mr Potter?"

"It's a sleeping potion."

Severus rolled his eyes.

"Of course, Mr Potter, but what's so special about it?"

"During sleep, which can be very long, the body does not age."

"That is correct. Five points for Gryffindor."

Julius Baxter, a Slytherin, raised his hand.

"Mr Baxter?"

"What's the point of learning it if you never get a chance to use it?"

"For the love of science, Mr Baxter. Don't you know what it is? More seriously, if you ever need a good night's sleep, it can be very useful. And most importantly, it will serve as an example of a new kind of distillation. Mr Pettigrew, make yourself useful and fetch the stills from the back cupboard."

Peter stood up and went to look in the cupboards.

"I don't see any stills, Professor."

"You're not just stupid, you're blind too," Agni said she joined him.

Peter backed away from him in fear as the Potions Master took his turn looking in the cupboards.

"Where the hell are they? There were about ten of them..."

Muffled laughter broke out among the students; Agni turned abruptly.

"Novalis must have taken them for his alchemy lessons," he muttered. "There are a lot of final-year students... But perhaps he's not using them now... Pettigrew, please return to your place. Let's see... I need a serious student... who won't get 'lost' in the corridors..."

Agni gave James a sharp look from under his thick black eyebrow.

"Mr Snape? Go ahead, if you don't mind."

Severus rose and crossed the room, unable to resist a wry smile at the sight of James Potter's glorious 7/20.

Potter handed Peter the initially blank piece of parchment he had just written on: 'A filthy cockroach has just come through this door'. Peter read it and added, 'What a dickhead', before handing it back.

The Slytherin thought it best to take the more conventional route to Novalis' class; between the revolving staircases and Peeves prowling around looking for trouble, it was better to be careful when walking alone. So it was no problem for him to reach the familiar fork in the road.

On the left, the dark spiral staircase led to the Planetarium; the Headmistress of Slytherin was probably there right now, deep in what she called 'meditation'... Severus took the long corridor to the right, which led to the Alchemy classroom.

Animated portraits of its greatest figures lined the corridor; Zozimus, Synesius, Theosebia, Agrippa, Paracelsus and Flamel stopped what they were doing for a moment to say hello... The floor was also decorated with a kind of hopscotch: on the first panel was painted a raven, then an ostrich, a dragon, a pelican and finally a phoenix. The painting looked very old, like everything else at Hogwarts. Below the raven, at the base of the hopscotch, was the inscription 'Ludum tuum est'.

Alchemy was not taught until the fifth year, and remained an optional subject. Severus Snape, however, owned the first seven volumes of the 'Great Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Alchemy', a popular classic that he had read when he was just seven years old. Of course, he didn't understand much of the text when he first read the first volume, but the photographs of the crystals and rocks had fascinated him from the start. He found beauty in them.

As he walked up the corridor, he thought with pleasure that, although he hadn't attended these classes, he already knew about the yellow transparency of Sicilian sulphur, cubic as if Nature had wanted to give substance to its arithmetical thoughts; he knew that lead, which the common people believed to be of that bluish black, so dense and perfect, could take the form of translucent crystals of various shapes and colours; he also knew that Lucius's eyes, when they met the light, had the blue clarity of Smithsonite coloured with copper.

He paused, horrified to realise that he had just waxed lyrical about the eyes of one of his male comrades. In truth, apart from the Smithsonian analogy, he knew very little about Lucius Malfoy, except that he was an insufferably smug young man. He didn't even know why his name sparkled in a strange way when he heard it... He didn't care, although this as yet unexplained fact sometimes helped him to cope with the harshness of his life. And his life consisted of relentless work, accumulating readings and exercises, taking endless notes by candlelight, his wrist weak and nervous. But deep down, young Snape knew that each volume he read was like another rung on the ladder to the glittering heights where all that made up other people's lives and his own torment no longer mattered.

"So, Eric: sulphur with mercury..."

Severus was standing outside the classroom door. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked.

"Yes? Come in," Novalis's voice said.

The Slytherin entered; he had been here before, studying the stones in the display cases along the sides of the dais. His eyes darted from Novalis to the thirty or so students present – from the last years of all the houses – and, at the back of the classroom, to Lucius Malfoy, who, like all his classmates, had just looked up at the newcomer.

"Good morning, what brings you here, young man?" Novalis asked.

"Professor Agni sent me. He needs his stills for the Potions class."

"His stills?"

"He thought you'd taken them because..."

"I didn't take his stills, young man, it must have been someone else. But you see..." He pointed to Eric Salinger, who was standing in front of a blackboard covered in bizarre formulae. "We're doing theory today, so you can take ours. They're in a box in the back cupboard over there... We haven't used them since the start of term. You can go and get them."

Severus walked down the centre aisle, just as Salinger had resumed his exercise resolution, and all eyes had returned to him. Except one.
But why is he staring at me like that... Straight ahead, Severus, straight ahead, don't look back...

He managed to reach the cupboard without an accident and took the box. Turning, he noticed that Lucius Malfoy was still staring at him, his face resting on his folded arm.

What's going on? What's he looking at? But... he's smiling at me! He must be joking... Maybe he thinks I'm going to drop the box.

Severus began to walk slowly up the line, his eyes fixed on an imaginary point on the horizon. But his attempt to escape was stopped by a hand he felt pulling weakly at the fabric of his wizard's robes... He was now standing next to Malfoy. He recognised him out of the corner of his eye, just before he felt two funnel-shaped hands under his ear. Warm breath whispered words he didn't understand, but he had the strength to turn to Lucius – he had no choice. What could he do? If he repeated the whole thing, he'd look ridiculous; moreover, he risked being reprimanded by Novalis. Well, perhaps it was mockery, and Lucius' face had the exact expression of someone who had just laughed at someone – young Snape knew that kind of expression well, having seen it on Black's and Potter's faces countless times.

"No, look closely Eric... you were wrong here... and here..."

There was nothing left to do but sadly leave the room and take the stills to Agni.

"Wasn't he the one who took mine?" Agni said in surprise. "Well... students stealing equipment, it's starting to get worrying... I'll tell Argus to be more vigilant, or we'll have to lock the classroom doors."

The matter of the failed whisper haunted Severus for the next few hours. His gaze alternated between the bubbling of his potion and the jagged relief of the desk as he considered the explanations and their degree of credibility, while the ghost of Malfoy's voice kept reappearing on his cheek. He did not meet the young man at lunchtime, and as soon as Mrs Chourave's lesson was over, he hurried back to the flats of his house, trying to forget all about it in his astronomy calculations.

"I'm not at all pleased to see people from my house, under my responsibility, practising black magic during Quidditch matches!"

If the Slytherin common room wasn't in the basement, Angus Russell's voice would have echoed for miles.

"Aren't you going to say anything, Bellatrix? What have you got to say to defend yourself?"

"I had nothing to do with Sirius Black being struck by that bludger," the girl replied, continuing to write on her parchment.

"You could at least stop writing!' hissed Angus Russell, who, at that mystical hour when all honest Englishmen prepare for tea, by some mysterious means of bodily transformation, resembled Mrs Sprout's kettle more than an honourable prefect.

"But I tell you, Russell, I didn't do anything."

"I saw him, Bellatrix. The chaser was motionless, as if stunned. Oh, I know, stupefying charm is easy to detect, while other spells are much less so... The Ultima Angustiae, for example."

The girl stopped writing; the Prefect must have been right.

"I can read lips, Bellatrix, you confessed your crime to your captain at the end of the game... am I wrong?"

"Then you must have misread."

"Oh, it's a very difficult spell to cast and requires great power, but it's virtually undetectable. It's well thought out, you just need a piece of the target's body and to hold it to cast the spell... No need to stare or point your wand at them... Just hold the sample between your thumb and forefinger... The sample?"

He straightened as if he'd just realised something.

"AVERY! ROSIER!" he shouted as he ran up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

He turned in front of the archway, his cheeks burning.

"Bellatrix, you've got detention every night for a month. You'll have to take it up with Filch. I'll tell him you've been very badly disciplined..."

Severus understood the severity of the punishment; the Ultima Angustiae was a particularly dreadful morbid hallucination spell. The two accomplices who had taken Black's sample appeared behind the Prefect. They seemed to have heard the whole discussion from the room above.

"Don't make a big deal out of it," Rosier protested. "We just wanted to give him a bit of a scare to break his concentration."

"A bit of a scare?!" cried Angus. "A bit of a scare?! Do you want me to let you experience your own death? Do you want me to? I can!"

Avery and Rosier looked at each other.

"Er... no," they replied with pitiful grimaces.

"I'm trying to stop our house being seen as a breeding ground for future black magicians, and what are you doing? You're having fun casting Ultima Angustiae like swatting a fly! You've got to be kidding me!"

Avery and Rosier bowed their heads, but Bellatrix did not.

"What are you all going to do when I've had my NEWTs and there's no one left to look after you?"

Severus had never seen Angus Russell in such a state. Realising that it would be impossible for him to work in the Slytherin vault, he turned and headed for the library, where he had a book to borrow.

He wasn't quiet for long, but in the second after he'd been disturbed, he remembered that afternoon in the library, just like today, at the beginning of October, when he'd suffered the first attack of the blonde weirdo of Ravenclaw and had been pushed aside by Lucius Malfoy. Yes, it's the same again, always the same...

"What is it?"

Severus turned and the look that fell upon him had the immediate effect of petrifying his heart muscle.

"What are you reading?"

"Wh-What?" stammered the young Snape, still in shock at the eyes suddenly fixed on him.

"This book..." Lucius said with a small smile. "What is it?"

"The Secrets of the Liches," Severus replied, showing him the cover as he looked down. "Have you read it?"

Lucius Malfoy's face turned pink with embarrassment for a second.

"No," he admitted. "And I've never seen it on the shelves of the library..."

"That's because it's from the stock. Agni gave me permission."

"I see..."

His long fingers turned the pages, stopping at the author's name.

"Snape, it's practically dark magic..."

"Agni agrees with me, he says I have to know it."

"You have to know it?"

"He told me he couldn't see me ending up an apothecary when I graduated," Severus replied shyly, turning his head away.

"And he sees you doing what... job?" Malfoy asked coldly.

"That might make you smile..."

"Go on then."

"Professor... of Defence against the Dark Arts."

Lucius laughed.

"Indeed..." he said snobbishly, grinning. "Fighting the Dark Arts... Only Dumbledore could have invented such foolishness! But I know this isn't the first book about Black Magic you've read."

"I've got them in other ways. My mother had many of them. And Agni has allowed me to borrow some from the library stock this year. Some of them you can't find anywhere else, or they cost a small fortune."

"You're a great book snatcher, I see... I know another one, the greatest book snatcher who ever lived."

Lucius Malfoy smiled, but Severus felt terribly uncomfortable. It was the first time they had spoken together. He did everything he could to control the trembling of his hands, while his stomach tightened in a terrible knot. Suddenly, he had the impression that the older student had moved closer, leaned over.

"Agni is a good teacher," he whispered. "He's signed a lot of authorisations for me. For me and others. I've heard a lot about you, Snape... I think we like the same things. We both know which paths are the most exciting. We reject the easy, conventional paths that lead to the comfort of an uneventful life. Because that's a life already taken for granted, a life of death. The most exciting paths are the most vital ones... And what do you want to live for? Greatness... To unravel fabulous mysteries... To push back the boundaries of what has been done... You know as well as I do that good and evil are just invented fictions. And you were tired of stupid little spells that were just good enough to make your coffee without any effort... The greatest magic is only accessible to the best ones, and it is the best ones who turn to it."

He was silent for a moment.

"You spend a lot of time with Macnair these days, don't you? Are you friends?"

Severus thought it best to tell the truth.

"Well, not really. But since we're in the same class..."

Malfoy's face changed; it looked like relief.

"Macnair is not a very interesting person," he said.

"Lucius?"

A third year called out to him.

"What's up?"

"Russell wants to see you."

"Can't he wait?"

"No, he said he was in a hurry, he had to have tea with Mrs Sprout."

Malfoy sighed.

"I'll be with you in a moment. Well, um... Good reading, Snape."

He left with a strange, crooked smile, probably unaware that in five ridiculous minutes, a cosmological revolution had just taken place in his friend's universe.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making."

The dark-haired wizard, renowned for his knowledge of dark magic, had just finished reading the list; his eyes were as empty and cold as the entrance to a tunnel.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few..."

He seemed to glance at the palest Slytherin child for a moment, as if to point him out.

"Who possess, the predisposition..."

It wasn't just a feeling. It was Draco Malfoy he was staring at, folding the long panels of his black cloak.

"I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."

This poetic introduction was followed by a long silence.

Snape was pleased to see that Lucius'son had absorbed every word, his grey eyes wide with wonder.

During this first lesson, the Potions Master lashed out at Potter and everyone was severely criticised except Draco Malfoy, for whom he seemed to have some sympathy.

to be continued

Chapter Text

When did this story begin? Who was the hero, where was his past and where was his present? Had there always been only this scene, and the openings that made it possible to perceive it, and the language that made it possible to grasp its contours?

"Won't you come and play with me?"

He didn't know enough to answer the invitation. He didn't have the strength to speak. He didn't have the strength to move because he couldn't feel his legs.

The trees were reflected in the shadows on the tarmac.

The dark-haired boy took a step backwards on the hopscotch. He put his hand to his chest like a wounded Madonna.

"Are you sure?"

Then the boy opened his chest, as if his vague uniform had been his skin, a single hard shell to which a handle could plausibly have been attached.

Plausible?

Terror wafted through the air like perfume. The air began to pound, to hurt.

At the back of the square opening, something glistening moved in the darkness. The boy - how old was he? Eleven? - put his hand in. He pulled out the glistening thing, a fish that wriggled between his fingers, throbbing and writhing; he threw it to the ground. Its movements slowed down. It was dying.

"Who are you?"

The hero had bothered to ask, despite his fatigue.

Ask? Yes, why!

"Oh, my name is..."

Snape, my name is Severus Snape...

Severus woke with a start, his heart pounding. It was not yet dawn. To his left, Julius Baxter snored loudly.

Sirius Black had been awake for a long time; the ticking of the clock seemed to increase his boredom, excitement and loneliness. He had read on the calendar that it was 20th November 1974. It was not his calendar.

The door opened.

"Ah, you're awake."

"Good morning!"

Madam Pomfrey took a chair and sat down beside the bed.

"What's up? Are you all right?"

"My stomach hurts, my neck hurts, my back hurts, but otherwise... I got hit with a bludger, didn't I?"

"Yes, in the head, unfortunately. But don't worry, there shouldn't be any trace of it in a few weeks... You were unconscious for a few days. Your friendd were very worried about you, you know, they were always hanging around me."

"I don't know what happened to me."

"It happens a lot in Quidditch..."

"No, that's not it..."

I heard his voice, I tell you, said someone in the corridor, along with the sound of trampling.

There was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" said Madam Pomfrey.

Three youths burst into the long room.

"SIRIUS!"

There was a flutter of capes and the Marauders' clique landed in front of him. James had a tear in his eye and a hand over his mouth; below his shoulder, Peter's chubby face expressed joy; two heads higher, Remus was smiling, but his features were drawn and his eyelids puffy – even Sirius looked better.

"Hi guys", Sirius said with an odd smile. "This is the last time I'll ever play Quidditch, I guarantee it..."

His gaze left the Marauders' faces and seemed to disappear behind them.

"I like it this time of year, don't you? On the other hand, the ground outside is a bit dirty as soon as it rains."

"It's freezing, Lucius, so the orange leaves, talk about a heat! November is depressing for me."

"Lucius loves beauty, except when it sticks to the soles of his feet."

The five final year male Slytherins, Malfoy, Sanchez, Russell, Parkinson and Avery, were on their way to Professor Binns' boring History class.

"Oh, Snape!" the blond teen exclaimed as he spotted a familiar dark spot.

Severus turned and waited for Lucius to come to him.

"We need to meet. Have you got a minute to yourself today?"

"To you?" the dark haired boy repeated.

Lucius frowned.

"No, not to me, to you..."

"Ah. Yes, excuse me," Severus stammered, shaking his head. 'Yes, I have a few minutes to myself."

"How about tonight? Are you free tonight?"

Severus, looking more at the tiles than at his interlocutor, noticed that his elder's right leg was shaking with nervous excitement.

"Yes," he said.

"What time do you finish?"

"Four o'clock."

"Can I wait for you then?"

This tiled floor suddenly reminded the ninth grader of something.

"It's up to you," he replied. "By the way, what did you tell me in alchemy class?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Yesterday, when I came to get some stills, you said something to me and... I didn't quite hear."

"Ah, yes," Lucius Malfoy said, smiling lightly. "I remember now... Didn't you notice? I asked you if you'd seen Salinger. Well, Angus - you know, the prefect - was doing his Arithmancy in class, so he didn't look at what Salinger was writing on the blackboard. So Avery - you know who that is? - would make 'Get me out of Hogwarts' appear on Salinger's back. And every time Angus looked up or Novalis' eyes left the blackboard, Avery would make them disappear... It was really funny. Well, I'm late... See you tonight, don't forget!"

Severus continued on his way; a little further on, a group of first years, small and huddled under their bookbags like dwarves on their way to the mine, scurried across the dungeon with the voices of small birds, then swerved to his left.

"That's Snape, he's in fourth year. I love the way he looks, he's very dark," little John whispered to his two friends Jack and Jim.

"Oh, Severus!"

Severus turned his head to the right; it was Dumbledore.

"I am glad to see you. How are you, Severus?"

"Surviving, Headmaster," the student replied in a squeaky voice.

The place he was in reminded him of the first time he'd been in his office, and the memory filled him with anger.

"If you have any problems..."

"I'm fine, Professor Dumbledore."

The memory of Lucius had just replaced that of the office. I'll see him tonight, he doesn't despise me, I'm valuable to him... Severus looked sincere, joy clouding his face. It was unusual enough for Dumbledore to take notice.

"Good, good..." the old wizard murmured. "Perfect. Still... Be careful who you associate with."

The Slytherin raised an eyebrow.

"And... this little dungeon?" Dumbledore added with a smile before walking off in the opposite direction.

Because of his good results (or at least that was the 'official' reason, although there was nothing official about it, and Dumbledore had even advised Severus not to shout it from the rooftops), Severus had been granted a private room by the Headmaster of Hogwarts so that he could train in the art of Potions in peace and quiet.

"It suits me perfectly, Headmaster, and I thank you again."

This numbness... The Slytherin was still in shock. He turned his head from side to side as he left the classroom.

It was four o'clock.

"Who are you waiting for, Snape? Your girlfriend?"

"Mind your own business, Potter," Severus replied, suddenly feeling like himself again.

"How long are you going to wait?"

"Um, I think your servants are calling you over there..." He pointed to Lupin and Pettigrew. "I heard that Black was awake? I had my doubts about the integrity of his brain... I'm sure the bludger didn't help."

A flash of contempt crossed James's eyes.

"He could be beaten by all the bludgers in the world," the Gryffindor said, "but he'll never be more repulsive than you."

He left Severus biting his lip at the door to the classroom and joined his friends who were waiting for him in the infirmary. Once there, they found that Eric Salinger, the Muggle-born Captain, was already there. Sirius Black was still in bed, but he was holding a record in his hand and looked very excited.

"Are you feeling better since this morning?" asked James.

"Yes, don't worry about me," Sirius replied. "Oh, boys, I'm glad to see you! Eric's brought me something funny, look... It's a Muggle record. Look at that guy, doesn't he look like Snape?"

"He really does! All in black with long greasy hair... Look at him, Peter."

"In fact, they all look a bit like wizards in this group."

"Maybe they are wizards," says Remus. "Look at the name... Black Sabbath..."

Salinger bursts out laughing.

"The guitarist is a bit of a weirdo, but I think it's for the show," he said.

His four young friends looked at him as if expecting a translation.

"It really does look like him," Sirius muttered.

"What are you doing next year, after your ASPICs?" James asked.

"Quidditch in a big team?" Peter suggested.

"I've thought about it," Salinger replied. "But with what's happening with the dark wizards, I'd rather try to work at the Ministry. They need a lot of wands. I think it's my duty to do it, even if it means giving up Quidditch."

"Do you want to become an Auror?" Remus asked.

"Why not."

"It makes me laugh so much," Sirius said.

"What's funny?"

"That guy who looks like Snape."

"We get it, Sirius."

"Well, I'm off, little elf," Salinger said. "Get well soon!"

Salinger gave Sirius a gentle pat on the shoulder and left.

"Will you play 'Pink Floyd' for me?" Sirius exclaimed.

"Yes, I won't forget..."

"Here, I've brought you some of your favourite books," Remus intervened, pulling a few volumes out of his bag. "That'll keep you busy."

"Thank you, Remus. My poor head must look like that bedside table Peeves smashed," Sirius groaned. "I haven't dared look in the mirror since I woke up."

"You haven't changed much," James reassured him.

"That's true," Peter confirmed. "You really don't want to look at yourself?"

"Well, it won't make much difference anyway," Remus said with a slight smile. "You were ugly before."

"Yes, he's right," James said. "You were very ugly."

"I know I was."

"Pff... We know you're good-looking and that girls like you, Sirius!"

"He wants us to tell him so..."

"I think you look better than me," Sirius muttered, unheard.

"Ah, I wonder what you'd look like if you were a dog..."

"I've already managed to make my ears and paws appear, so I've seen them," Sirius explained, suddenly animated again. "I can't wait to get there. I've been thinking, we'll be able to do lots of things when we get there! For a start, we'll be able to see Remus as a wolf. And when I'm this giant dog, I'll finally be able to beat Remus at wrestling."

"Don't be too quick to boast," Remus replied, cracking his knuckles.

"By the way," Peter cut in. "What happened to you during the match, Sirius? You don't have to talk about it, but... Actually, something strange happened just before you fell..."

"That's right, it did. You weren't in the game at all."

Sirius sat up straight and tucked his pillow behind his back.

"Strange... That's the word. I only have a vague memory of it, and I'm sure it must have been damaged by the bludger. Do you remember when the Slytherins surrounded me? They were terrifying, weren't they? With their hooded robes, blackened by the rain. And did you see the way they came at me? All in a circle. And they said things to me... without speaking. I heard my bones rattle... and my heart beat... and it was like suddenly nothing made sense, like I'd never feel joy again. It's really hard to put into words... Anyway, it's over now and I hardly remember it, I can't feel it anymore. So much the better."

"The Slytherins never surrounded you, Sirius," James said, his face worried.

"I thought it was strange, indeed," Sirius replied, laughing. "I was talking to Eric about it earlier. He said it's like I had a 'bad trip'. He thinks I was hallucinating because I was too tired. Or that I'd 'smoked too much' and that 'explained everything'... I wonder what he meant."

After waiting in vain for about ten minutes for Lucius Malfoy to arrive, Severus decided it would be best to return to Slytherin's dunjeons.

In the common room, Rosier and Wilkes, the almost inseparable pair, had taken over the two softest armchairs and were warming their pale faces, fists and feet by the hearth; two of his classmates, Daisy Ollivander and Julius Baxter, were chatting. Most of the pupils, however, were busy studying. Alexander Avery was writing in silence, his eyes half closed behind his thick-rimmed glasses, his ferret perched on his shoulder, nibbling at his earlobe. Bellatrix was also reading, but sitting in mid-air, while Angus Russell paced the room, wand in hand.

"What are you up to, Gussie?" Bellatrix asked from her height.

The young man, usually so kind and understanding with everyone, gave her an icy stare that would have frightened a Dementor.

"Black, take it down a notch, will you? Just because your mother made you walk around with books on your head all your childhood doesn't give you the right to look down on everyone. And I remind you that some of you have detention in an hour."

"We don't forget," Rosier said. "Hello, Severus."

"Good evening, Evan."

"I'm sure they're up there," Angus whispered to himself as he continued walking and then climbed the stairs.

"You know what, Bellatrix?" Avery said. "I think he doesn't like you."

"I've noticed that."

"You haven't seen Lucius Malfoy, have you?" Severus asked as neutrally as possible.

"He just went to look for you," Avery replied. "He's been busy with his work on his ASPIC special project and hasn't had time. I think he'll be back soon."

Severus was relieved to hear that and, remembering that he had something to ask the Prefect, went up to the dormitory.

The final year paced the vast room and its twenty or so beds, his wand swaying slightly from side to side. There were few people Severus liked at Hogwarts. Angus Russell was one of them: despite his handsome face and perfect hair, he was a serious student who respected the rules under which all were equal, and had saved him on several occasions from the mischief of Potter and Black.

"Angus?"

"Yes?"

"Um... What exactly are you doing?"

"Trying to keep young Macnair from self-destruction."

"I was curious... how you learned to lip-read."

"From a book. I also learnt to recognise the signs of a lie... That could come in handy as a Prefect. Are you interested, Snape? I could lend it to you, if you like..."

"Oh, yes. Thank you."

"And while I'm thinking about it," the young man added with a knowing smile, "the spell you need is 'Capillus Grassus'."

"What do you mean?" Severus replied suspiciously.

"If you want to give Potter's hair a makeover. Because it's Potter you need this book for, isn't it? And if you want to add some little animals, here's 'Milliari Vermiculi'... I invented this one, some years ago. But... don't tell anyone I gave it to you. Be discreet, the golden rule. Uh-oh... I think you're boiling, Angus..."

His staff swung like a pendulum. He stopped before a carpet beside Macnair's bed and lifted it.

"A hollow-sounding slab. Look, a nice bottle of elderberry wine... You, my dear, will end up in the toilet!"

The Prefect took the bottle from its hiding place and went into the bathroom.

Severus went back downstairs, thinking with pleasure of the look on Macnair's face when he found his hiding place empty. His joy was short-lived, however, for Lucius Malfoy had just entered and he saw him walking towards the person levitating beside Avery. The ivory left hand, still marked by the scratches of the red letter, hung in the air beneath the pleated skirt, level with Lucius' face. The blond Slytherin reached out, took Bellatrix's hand and planted a kiss on it.

"I hope they don't hurt any more," he said softly, his grey eyes resting on the girl's dark ones.

Severus shivered from head to toe. Modesty made him look away quickly to meet Avery's questioning gaze. Had he noticed his reaction? And himself, had he really been shaking or had the shiver he'd felt not gone beyond his skin?

"Take your filthy hands off me, Malfoy," Bellatrix replied.

Severus blushed with embarrassment, embarrassment at being caught in the act of strong emotion, at discovering his attachment (he could think of no other word to describe this feeling of concern for a particular person who, rationally, should mean nothing to you) to Lucius Malfoy, at discovering that such a scene embarrassed him, that Lucius Malfoy was likely to provoke strong emotions in him. A completely ridiculous and inexplicable attachment, in Severus' opinion, and therefore all the more shameful. The last time something like this had happened to him was at primary school in London, when there was a little girl he didn't dare look at. She never looked at him either, but he doubted it was for the same reason.

"Lucius," Avery interrupted, "Severus is here. I believe you were looking for him."

"I apologise for the delay," Lucius said in an unapologetic tone.

"Bellatrix makes him blush," Avery added, turning to Severus with a foxish grin.

"I'd still rather go out with Severus than Malfoy," Bellatrix said.

"Did you hear Severus? You've got a ticket with her, use it," Lucius said nonchalantly. "She's been pushing me away with the utmost cruelty for months."

"Are you going to date Bellatrix, Snape?!" exclaimed Julius Baxter, who had just caught a glimpse of the discussion.

"Not at all," his classmate protested, as if accused of a crime.

"Severus is a serious boy," said Lucius, approaching him and staring at him without embarrassment. "He's got better things to do than flirt. Shall we go upstairs?"

The use of his first name, the piercing yet blurred stare, the association of 'flirting' with 'going upstairs' nearly made the young Slytherin stagger.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said, looking nauseous.

Lucius pouted in doubt and walked up the stairs to the older boys' dormitory.

"I've got some books at home you might be interested in. Our library is very old and very well-stocked. My father put me there when I was five, like a baby in the middle of a playpen. I've read almost all of them. But not necessarily understood them."

Humour without a smile. He headed for his desk. Angus came out of the bathroom and left the room.

"Sit down. I heard you're very good with potions. I've got some very interesting books about that. You'd be hard pressed to find them anywhere else. If there's anything you're interested in... Did you finish that book on necromancy you were reading in the library?"

"Yes, it was interesting," Severus replied, his voice already deep and cutting.

He tried to calm himself as his heartbeat slowed, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his face in his hands.

"And what are you reading?"

The dark teenager risked a glance at his comrade, those purely moving flames of pale gold, as bright as needles stuck in the flesh. He felt again the pain of such total attachment to one thing, an unbearable intensity rather than pain, an intense wonder bathed in unbelievable joy.

"I can't remember the title... It's on my desk."

He was so glad it existed. That ridiculous thought lit a fire in the centre of his body. He bent over slightly, as if he were buckling under its weight.

"Wait, I'll get it."

Lucius stood and walked briskly to his comrade's desk.

"Sorry, I think I've dropped the bookmark."

He bent down to pick it up.

"Oh, a Chocolate frog... Don't tell me you collect them? 'The number one security man at the Ministry of Justice since 1971, the High Auror defeated the giant Beornid in single combat in 1972 and cleaned up Romania. This very powerful wizard has kept his identity secret in order to fight the forces of evil.'  Very amusing. The High Auror... Do you know what they say about him? They say his parents were killed by black wizards, which is why he became an Auror. He was made head of the Auror Office when Crouch arrived. He can't be happy about what's happening now... You know, more and more people are siding with him, even if it's secret."

"Him?"

"Voldemort."

He watched his reaction. Severus had none. His face remained impassive. Lucius smiled as he stared into his pale eyes, a twinge in his chest. There was something almost childish about the smile.

He is so handsome. How can anyone be so beautiful?

Lucius spent over an hour with him in the empty dormitory, discussing poisons. He never snubbed him again. He greeted him whenever they met, and even stopped to chat with him several times over the next few days. Severus realised that Lucius was far more important to him than the little girl from primary school. The icing on the cake was that Gilderoy Lockhart stopped coming to see him; no doubt he had found a good student from his house to follow. The days without Black passed quickly. At the beginning of December, the top ten averages for the first term were posted in the hall...

"Did you see that? Russell's in first place now!"

"So much for playing nice with the teachers..."

"Anyway, with marks like that, he'll have no trouble getting into the Ministry."

"And Snape and Black are both second..."

The publication of these rankings had several immediate effects.

Over the next hour, the school's best pupil was given new nicknames by his detractors. In addition to '160', which had followed him ever since his friend Alan Jodorowsky had made him take a Muggle intelligence test, and others relating to a poker which we won't mention for the sake of his personal dignity, he had now acquired the charming nicknames of 'Bootlicker Number 1', 'Hogwarts' Big Head' and, especially from the most conservative and anti-Russellan section of Slytherin, who at the time ran their hand carelessly through their long, thick, shiny black hair, 'First-Rank Muppet'.

Far away from all this media hype, the second best student at Hogwarts was trying to pass the time in the infirmary as best he could, using his prodigious intelligence to perfect a new and sophisticated version of the Dungbomb, which he dedicated to James Potter in honour of their 'immortal friendship'. The dedicatee, too moved to say a word, accepted the prototype with wet eyes, at least until the invention, not yet fully developed, exploded with full force. Back in the sickroom, Pomfrey fainted when she saw the state of the place.

As for the second best student ex-aequo at Hogwarts, he continued to practise lip-reading in order to complete his sharpened hearing and with a discreet and serpentine nudge, send the scourge who had unfairly shared his place on the podium.

And he soon had something interesting to listen to... If James Potter was to be believed, Sirius Black had his moments of torment in the evenings: the green paint perhaps, the disgusting smell of medicinal plants and disinfectants no doubt, and at night, when the drugs were no longer working, he was woken by pain. Remus suggested that his companions pay him a nightly visit to cheer him up and show him that his friends were there.

The shrewd Slytherin had to seize the opportunity. Soon Black would be back, and there would be nothing to stop Potter from combining the most vile ways of ridiculing him. Severus had almost gotten used to this lull, which made the fear of the infernal duo's future reunion all the greater. Besides, he did not relish being humiliated in front of his new friend, Lucius Malfoy.

The attention of this young man made him happy. It was something other than the small, cruel satisfactions, the meagre pleasures of revenge, that he managed to extract from his torturers from time to time. It was something other than the compliments of the teachers, for though that appreciation filled him with a joy higher than all others, it was too tainted by the thought that Black and Potter were also entitled to it. It was something both more powerful and more subtle, spreading through his body. Undeniably physical, even physiological. He felt lighter when he walked, when he slept, and the hours passed quickly. It was as if a little of Macnair's alcohol had been diluted in his bloodstream, or a bad mood that parasitised his whole body had been removed.

Pff. One way or another, they would ruin everything, of course. But this time he would find it hard to bear. Just the sight of that filthy hypocrite Potter's treacherous face made him twitch. He had to leave Hogwarts. More than ever, he and his minions had to be expelled. His sanity was at stake.

The young Slytherin thought about it. He devised an unstoppable plan to get them caught by Filch without being punished himself.

At the hour when the Marauders were supposed to be with their comrade, he quietly left his house and went in search of the caretaker. The mewing of Mrs Norris soon alerted him that Argus Filch could not be far away.

"Who goes there! It's you again, Peeves! No... I can hear the footsteps of a pupil... Yes, you felt them too, my pretty..."

"Mr Filch!" exclaimed Severus, suddenly throwing himself in the way.

"Oh... what is it now?"

"I've got a really bad stomach ache... So I wanted to know if I could go to the infirmary..."

"Little liar..." growled Filch. "You've been caught and you're trying to sneak away..."

"It's the truth, Mr Filch,' Snape insisted, trying to put on a pained expression.

"Well, since you want to go to the infirmary so badly, I'll go with you..."

The Slytherin smiled inwardly; Filch was so predictable... They went straight to the infirmary. The caretaker told Severus to be quiet when he heard the sounds of conversation coming from the sickroom.

He entered the room abruptly, his lantern shining on Remus Lupin, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew, seated next to Sirius Black.

"So, sweethearts, you're making a nocturnal visit? You know that's against the rules, don't you?"

"Snape..." Sirius spat.

"Go back to your rooms and I'll tell your Headmistress! With all the stupid things you've done since the beginning of the year, I wouldn't be surprised if you were expelled..."

The Marauders rose and joined him in single file before leaving.

James muttered an insult as he passed Severus, then Peter gave him a look that was meant to be impressive. Finally, Remus turned to him and gave him a look of such contempt that Severus felt bad, without knowing why. It slightly disturbed his immense satisfaction, but Filch thought he looked rather pleased for someone who was supposed to be in the grip of severe abdominal pain.

To be continued

Chapter Text

The Bloody Baron floated up the stone stairs, his handsome suit stained with silver blood, his face unusually sad...

"Alas," he monologued, "must loneliness be my lot forever? I frighten even my fellow ghosts, the pupils of my own house... Oh, but there's Miss Bella's pet. "

Standing in front of one of the stained glass windows, a grey cat with beautiful green eyes watched him, moving her majestic little head like an owl. Behind her, large shredded flakes of bright white fell into the darkness like pieces of silk, without making the slightest noise.

A bright salamander slid its long, slender body down the steps. A boy with a haggard look on his face followed.

The student felt the ghost's coldness chill his blood as he descended the stairs.

"Good morning, Baron," he said.

"Today you're not the first one up, Severus Snape."

The ghost gave a dark sneer.

"You're one of the few people not afraid of me, you know that?"

Severus refrained from commenting as the departed soul continued its meanderings up the tower. He stopped further down and opened one of the small windows. The smell of snow and the stillness of the morning reminded him of London, with its lampposts and powdery snowdrifts on the pavements.

He yawned, shivered and closed the window.

For the past few days he had been prone to insomnia again. He blamed the cramps that were tearing his legs. He had looked at himself in the large bathroom mirror after getting dressed and had the impression that he was taller than he had been in September. A very slim teenager who looked older than most of his classmates, with a narrow forehead, a hooked nose and long black eyes. But why did it matter? He hardly ever saw himself.

He found the Prefect in his pyjamas in the common room, sitting in an armchair, knees bent in front of him, barefoot. Severus was taken aback by the unusual expression on his face. His eyes were blank, the corners of his mouth drooping, his eyebrows frozen in noble immobility. He studied his face more closely, as he had studied his own not long before: dark brown hair, the wavy curls of the fringe over pale green eyes, a straight nose, and definitely something Greek in the features. Severus had never noticed all those silver rings on his fingers, and thought it was a pity he didn't have broader shoulders. When Russell became aware of his presence, he pulled his face back, like a comic actor's putting on the grimace that had made him successful and was now his trademark. His eyebrows twitched immediately.

"Ah, so much to do this holiday, Severus..." he sighed.

It was the first time he had ever called him by his first name.

"Did you work all night?" the younger student asked.

"No! I got up early... But it's the last day.

He yawned.

"It should pass quickly," he concluded.

The first lesson passed quickly indeed; Gilderoy Lockhart, who sat next to Lily Evans, no longer gave Severus those little winged winks, which was a good thing. The second lesson was a Transfiguration lesson, and ran from ten to twelve; it brought together the two dozen students from Gryffindor and Slytherin.

With Black and Potter a few feet apart (yes, they were still there, they just had been detained after their nocturnal escapade), Severus' fears were lessened: when Black sat next to Lupin, it was the shy Gryffindor who got the brunt of his jocularity. Severus had noticed this over the past three years... He almost admired the patience with which the less hysterical member of the gang treated Black. Sometimes Black would tell him the latest jokes from his vast repertoire of trolls, harpies and goblins (which Severus did not laugh at at all), sometimes he would sketch the professor and then proudly show the result to his neighbour; he would give him fake jelly beans (Remus was amazed that he always got 'earwax' or 'spinach'), draw 'The Adventures of Remus' (in which Remus was bizarrely given short pointed ears) – but did he ever follow the lessons? This was the question that haunted Severus Snape, who couldn't understand how this idiot managed to get marks similar to his own in most subjects, except Potions.

"Today we are going to practise gastronomic metamorphoses. You will use these feathers as your starting objects."

Severus watched the snowflakes fall between exercises – he got them all right the first time. Hogwarts was beautifully decorated at the moment. For the first time in his school career, he would be spending the Christmas holidays there, and he was not at all sorry.

"Miss Hopkins, you're saying the formula wrong... Now, Mr Snape... Mr Black, I asked you to turn this feather into a bun, not tickle your neighbour's neck with it. Hmm, that's better."

Sure, that idiot knows a thing or two about tampering with food...

With a grimace, Sirius then transformed his feather. He had given Remus even more of his clowning since he knew he was a werewolf, no doubt to console him for his misfortune. Although the shrewd Slytherin was unaware of it, he was beginning to have doubts about R.J. Lupin's 'illnesses'. The chestnut-haired boy seemed to be a very fragile teenager: every month, as the full moon approached, he fell ill. The irises around the pupils of his grey eyes became speckled with amber. And after that, he was constantly tired, sometimes to the point of exhaustion.
Yet to Severus, the case was undeniable; Sirius's antics were congenital and had nothing to do with his comrade's lycanthropy. Black was merely a nitwit who had fallen into a marmite of potion of Liquid Luck as a child, and who proved to be particularly evil to those who saw him in his true light.

"Perfect, Mr Potter. It's a real bun, congratulations! I give Slytherin and Gryffindor five points."

A silent rebellion made Severus raise an eyebrow: if he were a teacher, he would have already taken ten points off Gryffindor for Sirius's indiscipline.

"You can eat them when you've passed," McGonagall concluded with a smile.

As dinner time approached, this suggestion was eagerly accepted. Remus, his tummy beginning to chirp, looked down at his green pretzel roll; holding successful roll in his right hand, Sirius patted him on the back with his left hand to make him turn.

"Mr Black," McGonagall interrupted with an annoyed look, "Mr Lupin would like to be able to follow the lesson. Stop bothering him."

"I just wanted to give him my bun," Sirius replied.

"It's a nice gesture, but I know you always have an answer for everything."

Ah-ah. Take that, you little bastard.

So the bun remained on its owner's desk, and Remus, livid and blinking, hunched over his desk, crushed by the abysmal emptiness rumbling in the centre of his stomach. The Slytherins giggled. Severus wasn't laughing, but next to him the hamster head of Julius, his dorm neighbour, was chuckling jerkily. As for Macnair, he was far too tormented by the mysterious disappearance of his bottles to notice what was going on. "It can only be the Bloody Baron," he muttered.

Remus looked up at the class clock with tragic eyes: it was a quarter past eleven. Fortunately, the Transfiguration professor turned his back on them for a moment, and it was without the slightest disbelief that Severus saw a beautiful little golden bun land on Remus's desk, while Sirius Black's ink eraser, propelled by a vengeful arm, struck the gnarled Julius on the forehead, to the silent applause of Potter and Pettigrew. Minerva McGonagall spun around, eyes glittering, as the last half of the roll disappeared into the mouth of the supposed werewolf.

"Professor!" shouted Baxter. "Black threw his eraser in my face!"

"Mr Black!" shouted McGonagall. "Pick up your things and get up."

Yes, get him out of the classroom... Please, get him out of the classroom...

"Yes, stand there, in front of my desk. Faster than that. There you are. You really are unbearable when the four of you are together. I'm deducting five points from Gryffindor for disorderly conduct. And five points to Slytherin for unwarranted laughter during my lessons."

Julius Baxter opened his mouth wide but nothing came out. As the minutes passed, the pink gradually returned to Remus's cheeks as he came back to life, but seemed confused at having unwittingly caused this loss of points. His migration did not calm Sirius, however, and McGonagall had to call him to order several times.

"...Mr Black, stop moving and concentrate on the lesson..."

Then came the astronomy lesson, which had been moved to the end of the afternoon because of the cloudy weather; it took place indoors, in the planetarium.

Melle Méliès explained the positions of the stars and planets in her usual semi-comatose voice. Her brown hair was cut very short, and her heavy round earrings shone in the darkness from either side of her neck like two golden stars. Sometimes you could see her eyes, or rather her long doll's eyelashes, beating out the rhythm of her sentences and her slow, very slow, very slow glances... It had been a long time, and it was dark and hot under the starry dome... Remus Lupin fell backwards onto the carpets, falling into a deep sleep.

The Gryffindor never showed up for dinner.

"Where's Gus? He doesn't come to meals anymore," Avery said in surprise.

"The last time I saw him eating was yesterday morning," Lucius said.

"He's eating," someone chuckled. "So he's human..."

"Angus, human? You're joking!" exclaimed Parkinson.

Sanchez raised his forefinger and said sententiously: "Too much food weighs on the mind."

"You're doing it right!" exclaimed Rosier.

"I've been wondering what he's doing in Slytherin for five years," said another.

"He's a poor little lost Hufflepuff," said Bellatrix.

"Do you think a Hufflepuff would have done what he did three years ago?" said Lucius.

"Yeah, you're right," Avery agreed. "It's more Gryffindor."

"What did he do?" asked Bellatrix.

"We were all in front of the chasm," said Sanchez. "It's not far from Hogsmeade. It's more than six metres from one side to the other. In the Middle Ages, Muggles used to judge there women suspected of being unfaithful or practising magic. They had to jump over the abyss, or die. Avery said that you'd have to be mad to jump that, and that he wasn't surprise that they condemned so many women. Angus replied that he wouldn't hesitate. We didn't believe him, of course. So he took off and jumped. Once on the other side, he burst out laughing and started laughing at us. He could have killed himself."

"He did it to get noticed, that's all," Bellatrix said in her deep, beautiful voice. "I can't stand people like him, who wear their opinions like shirts and grovel before teachers..."

The arrival of Angus Russell brought the discussion to a screeching halt. He sat down in front of Lucius.

"Have you finally decided to eat?" Lucius asked.

"I'm working... Not like some people who like to chat with everyone."

"You have to eat, Gussie," Bellatrix said in a honeyed voice, "you're so thin."

Angus's nostrils fluttered.

"My body isn't for you, Bellatrix," he replied dryly.

Avery burst out laughing and even Lucius smiled. The laughter was on the Prefect's side as he plunged his fork into a meat dish and pulled out a huge steak, which he attacked furiously. Bellatrix, her cheeks flushed, looked furious.

"Everything's ready for tonight," announced the other prefect – Pimprenelle Diggory, a copper-haired girl. "You had a great idea, Angus. It will relax us a bit."

Russell had thought it would be interesting to organise a small party, as few students would be at Hogwarts during the Christmas feast.
Pimprenelle had decorated the common room with as much talent as Professor Flitwick. Severus was almost the only one to keep his uniform on, nibbling on three snacks before sitting down on a sofa. He was thinking about how to spend his holiday when he noticed a glass of golden liqueur being handed to him and he looked up: it was Angus. Dressed in a strangely cut grey robe with a green headband around his forehead, he suddenly looked like an ancient augur handing him a mysterious potion. It was only then that Severus realised that the conscientious student with the best grades was undoubtedly on his way to becoming a very powerful wizard, if he was not already one.

"A glass of that spiritual spirit, Snape?"

Severus nodded.

"Come on... You have to enjoy yourself now and then."

He had said the words with a twinkle in his eye, much like Dumbledore when he gave double meaning to his sentences.

"I thought you were all for temperance," Severus joked.

"Not when it comes to a few drinks on a holiday. This'll loosen you up a bit."

"Let's go then."

"Happy Yule."

The Prefect handed him his glass and then abruptly left him to join Wilkes, Rosier and Avery, as if he'd just remembered he had something to tell them. He approached the small group and played with his index finger: "Ah, boys," he said cheerfully, "I've discovered a few things about our astronomy teacher and headmistress... If you only knew... You wouldn't dare go to her classes."

"It's not your job to spy on teachers," Rosier replied. "You could get into trouble."

Angus shrugged.

"What's the point of working hard to get top grades?" came Julius's voice from behind the sofa. "When I'm out of Hogwarts, I'm going to join the Guy and do what I want."

"Baxter, you're such an idiot that You-know-who wouldn't want you to wash his dishes."

No more Julius Baxter for five minutes.

"Where's Macnair?"

"He's gone to get more butterbeer."

"Severus?"

Dark hair hung in Severus' field of vision. He looked up: Bellatrix was leaning over him.

"Are you tired?"

"A little, yes."

She walked around the sofa and sat down beside him.

"Hasn't Lucius Malfoy been to see you recently?"

"Yes, he has. Why, what's so special about that?"

He took a sip from his drink. Not bad.

"I just wanted to tell you to watch out for him," Bellatrix replied. "If you're looking for friends... There's me, Evan, Roger... You can trust Avery too, although he's got bad company."

She twisted one of her silky black locks around one of her fingers.

"Bad company," Severus thought. He remembered Dumbledore's words. Pfft. He was old enough to know who was good company. Bellatrix didn't hesitate to break the rules shamelessly; a bit like Sirius Black. He liked Evan Rosier, despite his thuggish ways. The same was true of Roger Wilkes. Severus hadn't liked Avery for some time – no doubt because of his insinuations about his blushing.

"Yes, well... Why would I suspect Lucius Malfoy?" Severus asked.

He took another sip of the liquid that was warming his gullet.

"He's a hypocrite."

The beautiful girl was becoming increasingly unpleasant. But he couldn't hate her completely. He had doubts and suddenly hated himself.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, determined not to give up until she told him everything.

"First of all, he's a Malfoy. I can see what kind of person he is. He thinks of himself first. He's only interested in other people as a means or a reflection of his own power."

"Very well, then. All you have to do is go and tell him."

"He already knows what I think of him. But I doubt if you know what he thinks of you."

She got up and ran towards the Rosier/Wilkes group, leaving him standing there. Young Snape's eyes grew moist; he swallowed his drink in one gulp to ease the growing pain in the pit of his stomach.

His head felt heavy. Only small, fog-shrouded islands of conversation emerged from his drowsiness.

"He-who-must-not-be-named..."

"Do you think he's the new Grindelwald?"

"If Voldemort hasn't taken over yet, that means Dumbledore is stronger than him. In fact, there's a point that Voldemort has to reach in terms of recruiting his followers and showing his strength; when he reaches that point, it's all going to be decided, because the opportunists are going to come in. And at that point, barring a miracle..."

That was Russell's voice. Avery's voice followed.

"A lot of people already think like him, you know. All this Muggle scum imitating us and mingling with us... Our powers are weakening and our identity is crumbling. If this continues, the wizarding world will soon be a memory."

"Nonsense! If you were as interested in Muggle science as I am, you'd discover that Muggles are smarter than wizards... Spells are useful, but they don't give you real knowledge."

"So those are all those books you're always reading..."

"Among others... so?"

"Don't you get tired of reading all the time? You think just because you read all the time that makes you smarter than everyone else?"

"Oh, of course, you're a great scientist, you uneducated idiot."

"Angus, give her a break..."

"She's the one attacking me."

"What are you doing on holiday, Walden?"

"I'm going hunting with my dad..."

"What about you, Daisy?"

"I'm visiting an uncle in London, you know him, he runs the famous wands shop!"

"But whose idea was it to invite the Bloody Baron?"

"I'm suddenly feeling a bit cold, girls..."
"Hey! Look! Snape's asleep!"

"What are we going to do? We can't just leave him here..."

"We can take him upstairs."

"Leave it, I'll do it."

Before he fell completely asleep in that familiar place where his body knew it could let go, Severus saw a signet ring gleam for a moment near his face.

The next morning, all the Slytherins leaving Hogwarts for home gathered in the common room, dressed in civilian clothes. Now that he knew some of his classmates better, Severus was able to 'see' more than he had last year because his attention was focused on specific points.
First there was Lucius. Dressed in icy black and adorned with glittering jewels and silver hair, he was busy filling out the forms the Prefect was handing him. The dark colour of his clothes turned his eyes blue – combined with the eerie pallor of his hair, it gave an unhealthy quality to his beauty. So you could be blond and have the plastic darkness of a black mage... It was as if there was an unsettling 'tinge' to Malfoy: it was repulsive, but just as subtly and powerfully attractive.

The Prefect shifted his swampy, dark-ringed gaze to Bellatrix. Like them, she was parked not far from the vault door, wearing a crimson cloak to go out in the snow. Lucius looked at her approvingly.

"Ah, poor Lucius," Angus sighed, stuffing the papers into his bag, "you really don't know how to handle girls. It's well known that if you want them to be interested in you, you have to act indifferent."

How dare he... It's the world upside down, Severus thought.

Lucius gave the Prefect a look that Macnair would have described as 'murderous'.

"Shut up, Mr Know-it-all," he replied haughtily.

"You're really... mean," Angus said with a hurt look.

"Not everyone is named Albus Russell."

"Unfortunately not, I haven't reached his level yet."

Lucius chuckled.

"Anyway, you're on the right track, you already look like an old granny..."

Angus frowned, looking amused. As for Bellatrix, she had just caught sight of the two boys; Severus thought he saw a child running towards his favourite toy with a face full of anticipation. She left her companions to join 'Bootlicker Number 1'.

"Be a good girl, Black," the Prefect replied before the brunette had said a word, "don't come into my compartment later."

Bellatrix wore the same look of fury she'd shown at dinner the night before. But contrary to Severus' expectations, the young witch looked both innocent and haughty immediately afterwards, fiddling with her long hair, which was far more worrying.

"Tell me, Russell," she said suddenly, "is it true that when you were younger, you had one leg shorter than the other? How did you walk? Did you have a walking stick like the old people or a crutch like the cripples?"

Lucius' eyes twitched. The Prefect opened his mouth for a moment, then exploded: "Go fuck yourself, Bellatrix!"

Severus wondered if this story of infirmity was true, as he had always seen Russell with two legs of equal length. In any case, Bellatrix called him a "loser" and turned back. Angus lowered his head and closed his mouth, about to say something, when he was interrupted by three tiny blonde Slytherins waving an obviously home-made Christmas card in front of the Prefect; Lord Malfoy retreated from the brats and disappeared from Severus's field of vision.

"Merry Christmas, Angus!"

"Thank you, children." The young man smiled. "If you want me to help you with your holiday homework, just send me a copy of your exercises by owl... Well, I think everyone's here."

He raised his voice.

"Is anyone missing? Then line up and follow me to the carriages!"

Severus thought that Lucius would find it hard to go unnoticed at London station, dressed as he was. He heard Walden Macnair wish him a happy holiday, then saw the students of his house disappear after the Prefect. Two seconds of silence.

"I thought I was going to have the dormitory to myself," a voice said behind him.

Severus turned; it was Lucius Malfoy, sitting on the couch as if it were his personal property. He was slumped over, but not like one of those dull jocks, no, he was slumped over like a lord.

"I often stay at Hogwarts for Christmas," he continued, accentuating the feline ellipse of his eyelids. "But this is the first time I've seen you stay."

"My father preferred that I stay here."

Lucius looked pained for a moment.

"Oh... why?"

"I have much work to do," Severus lied.

"I see. Well... It's all right, I'll have company. But I'll only be here for the first week, then I'll go home. I have things to see there."

On my own... With Lucius. For a week. A mixture of fear and joy overwhelmed young Severus.

"I think I'll do some training today," the aristocrat said.

Picking up his equipment, he headed for the Quidditch pitch; Severus Snape remained silent for a few minutes in the deserted common room, then went downstairs to lock himself in his dungeon, not coming out until around seven o'clock.

With part of his body still hoping to find the Captain in the Great Hall, he made his way back up to the human levels. But the pounding in his chest was empty. He saw only girls and second-year children at the Slytherin table.

On the teachers' side, the Potions Master was in the midst of a chess debacle at the hands of the Slytherin Headmistress. Bhima Agni called to the student as he passed.

"Mr Snape, if you see Mr Malfoy, why don't you ask him how his Potions Mastery is going?"

"The two of them shouldn't have any problems," Miss Méliès interjected in a lethargic tone, moving her Bishop with one of the small hands that barely protruded from her long black crenellated sleeves.

"I told you about the subject: Putting glory in a bottle."

"That's very ambitious."

"More than ambitious. It will be calibrated for one of my rats, so it can be done, but still extremely difficult. No one has ever done it before."

"Interesting. A kind of derivative of Felix Felicis?"

"No, it goes far beyond that. However, Malfoy is exceptionally talented."

Agni turned to Severus.

"Mr Snape, it'll be another three years before you can show me what potion you'll be able to invent. But I have every confidence in you."

Lucius wasn't in the hall for dinner. Severus thought he might only see him two or three times a week. Maybe it wouldn't be any different from the usual. Such silly feelings , chasing after a boy like a prepubescent girl, Severus, I am very disappointed in you. Ignoring the churning in his stomach, he read until ten o'clock at night, then decided to take advantage of the holiday by going to bed early. He woke up an hour later. Someone was coughing.

Severus knew that Lucius was suffering from a cold at the moment, the bloom of his cough had been perfectly imprinted on his mind: when he heard a cough, he immediately thought of Lucius, when he heard his cough, he knew he was near, and every cough now had a Malfoy aura and that magical resonance, that ineffable quality with which everything to do with Lucius glowed.

The Slytherin opened his eyes; there was blue smoke between the pillars of his schoolmate's four-poster bed; he had seen it before.

"Snape," the distant figure of Lucius whispered. "Are you awake?"

"Yes, I'm awake."

"Come here."

The invitation was accompanied by a gesture. Incredulous, Severus rose and walked over to his blond comrade's bed. He was lying there, his sheets pulled loosely up to his waist. The thin white shirt of his pyjamas was undone at two buttons. Severus noticed the signet rings on his right hand, holding the cigarette. The same hand beckoned him to sit down on the bed. Young Snape tensed.

"What's the matter?" said Lucius, furrowing his brow. "There's nothing to be afraid of, I'm not going to hurt you, you know..."

He took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled a magnificent cloud of blue smoke. Severus sat down shyly on the edge of the bed.
"Make yourself more comfortable," the other said, straightening up and making room for him.

Snape crossed his legs and sat down on the bed, his heart pounding as he faced the handsome Slytherin Captain. New emotions were stirring within him, as vaporous as the blue smoke that was dispersing. More uncomfortably than ever, he was torn between the imperious desire to flee as far away from his comrade as possible, and the desire to be close to him – or rather, to be brought close to him by those arms that knew so well how to grasp the Quaffle.

"Have you ever heard of it?" asked Lucius, pulling something out of the drawer of his bedside table.

He held a packet of cigarettes up to his nose.

"Magic Smoke," he read, exhaling exhaling a magnificent Dumbledore of smoke.

"You're good at that," Severus said.

"Try it."

He handed him his cigarette. Severus knew how to smoke, he'd tried a pipe when he was a child, but he couldn't make circles. Still, it seemed easier to spit out shapes with these magical cigarettes; he managed to exhale an awkward snake – a tribute to his house.

"Not bad for a start," Lucius said approvingly as he picked up his cigarette again.
He placed it back in his mouth. This cigarette, Severus thought, was surrounded by his lips, caressed by the warm breeze of his breath and perhaps touched by the wet sweetness of his tongue... The teenager tried to clear his mind and Lucius threw his head back, exhaling a puff of smoke that proved to be a serpent worthy of the name; the vaporous saurian slowly reached the dark-haired boy before wrapping its length around him like a rope binding a prisoner. Lucius passed his cigarette back to his comrade, but all he managed to produce was a small viper that broke apart as it tried to wrap itself around the older student's torso.

"You still have a long way to go."

Lucius yawned and stretched.

"You can finish the cigarette," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Good night," Severus said.

"Good night, Severus."

He returned to his bed, put down the cigarette and lay back against the mattress and sheets with a sigh; no doubt he would have liked Lucius to be a part of his bed. To sleep in it as a mummy sleeps in a sarcophagus, silent and free of all cares for eternity, protected by the impenetrable strength of wood. No doubt his vague desire had the softness of this layer, identifying it with the amorous devotion to which he aspired. Or, deep down, the delight of tiredness that knows it will end.

The morning light had filled the room by the time he awoke.

Lucius Malfoy was busy getting his clothes out of his trunk, deciding which ones to wear.

"Good morning, Severus," he said without looking up.

"Good morning."

What Lucius was doing reminded Severus of something Bellatrix had said a few days earlier, when she had once again rebuffed the Captain's compliments and advances: the girl had claimed that a man who spent three hours in his bathroom in the morning 'could not really like women'.

The Seeker's various jibes at Lucius' personal habits bothered him again.

"Let's see..." Lucius said, stifling a cough. "We both like black, the colour of those who have no illusions."

He flicked his wand and Severus Snape found himself in a black and purple robe, straight from the Malfoy wardrobe.

"Just as I thought. Purple suits you better than me. You can keep it if you want... I give it to you."

"I can't accept it."

"Think of it as a Christmas present," Lucius replied with a shrug. "I hardly ever wear it. It suits you perfectly."

Feeling as flushed as the inside of a stove, poor little Snape wondered what would ever stop the dizzying feeling in his stomach.

Long after those events, Severus still looked back on those few days as the best Christmas of his life.

On the morning after Christmas Eve, he woke just after Lucius and they went down to the common room together. They were the first up and had spent the whole of the previous day with Lucius in the library.

Under the tree, Severus found the seventh volume of the Encyclopaedia of Alchemy – "Here's your Christmas present, congratulations on your results, Your Aunt" – a book that caught the eye of Lucius, who had received a box of moist hand-wipes among his expensive gifts.

They were leafing through the books they had received when there was a strange noise in the fireplace.

"Merry Christmas everyone!"

A disappointed face had just appeared in the middle of the fireplace.

"It's just you..."

"Good morning," Severus said as he approached the fireplace, followed by Lucius.

"So the Prefect isn't too bored on his holiday?"

"Well, let me surprise you again, Lucius... But I'm working. Yes, I've moved into a small cabin not far from the manor, where I can read and think in peace... This eremitical life doesn't do me any harm, I must admit. Was Santa Claus generous?"

"Not enough for my taste," Lucius replied.

"Oh," said Angus's head in the flames.

"But I'm really working."

"I'm glad to hear it. Well, you don't know what happened to me yesterday? Because of what she told me before she left, I'd completely forgotten to get Bellatrix to fill in her card. So yesterday, out of the blue, I went to see her..."

"Look at that..." said Lucius, his gaze brutally icy.

"Yes..." Angus continued, smiling. "The worst part of the story is that her mother thought I was her boyfriend. Can you believe that? She called her a 'whore' and me a 'blood traitor'. I was thrown out of the house like a piece of rubbish. Bellatrix was insulting her mother and vice versa. Mother and daughter, you should have seen it, things got heated..."

He nodded, looking thoughtful, and bit his lower lip, cheekbones high.

"And how are you, Snape? You look pretty good to me."

"No wonder... Gryffindor numbers are dropping," Lucius replied in his place.

"Not all Gryffindors are idiots, please, Lucius," Angus protested with an indignant air that Severus found very funny.

He smiled inwardly, but it didn't last long: the Prefect had suddenly begun to stare at him in an indescribable way, so intently that his eyes seemed to light up. What was he looking at?

"I've seen that dress before..." he said.

A strange feeling of guilt washed over Severus.

"Lucius, this dress is yours, isn't it? Didn't you wear it to the Christmas banquet, last year?"

The blond youth seemed taken aback, as if he didn't know what to say. The dark-haired teenager in the fireplace grinned wickedly, giving his eyes a sharp, mocking korrigan insolence.

"I see. Having said that... My role as Prefect ends here."

"What are you insinuating?"

"Nothing at all..."

The Prefect's face turned to the right as if he saw something.

"Oh," he said, "I think there's someone else on the line... But... don't push... I'm Angus Russell, nice to meet you... Argh... Lucius, I think it's your pater".

Angus's head disappeared, replaced by the far less kind face of an older man. His short silver hair fell in a long fringe to one side of his face, but it was clean and almost wrinkle-free; what was most surprising were his eyes, cyan blue with pupils as small as pinheads.

"Lucius, how is it that this individual occupies your line?"

"This is not my line, Father."

"Lucius, I told you a Malfoy wouldn't get involved with a penniless Russell."

"But I'm not compromising, Father... you know very well I hate him!"

"How come he's a prefect instead of you? I don't understand!"

"Dumbledore..."

"Dumbledore is an incompetent. He may be a great wizard, but he's not fit to be Headmaster. Speaking of incompetence, I received your owl today. It is unthinkable, UNIMAGINABLE, that I should give you money again."

"But Father, I need some..."

"What do you need? What for? Oh, I know what for! You've got yourself a courtesan..."

"What? Not at all!"

"Don't tell me it's for your potion again, that's ridiculous. Find another excuse."

"But it's the truth! The ingredients..."

"Are three cockroach legs and a bezoar really that expensive?"

"A Malfoy cannot afford to invent a potion for the common man, Father."

This argument seemed to give Abraxas Malfoy pause for thought.

"Will you send it to me tomorrow, Father?"

"Apply to the Ministry for a grant!"

"Are... are you joking?"

"Not in the least, Lucius."

His face disappeared.

Severus had run down the winding stairs of the South Tower to say goodbye to his housemate, who had told him the day before that he would be leaving at dawn.

The snow had stopped falling, and the lawns, pavements and roofs of Hogwarts were covered in a thick, immaculate blanket of snow. The ghosts were astonished to see this awkward, unathletic teenager running at full speed at such an early hour.

As he crossed the dungeon and then the portico, the dark-haired boy wondered if he could call Lucius 'his friend'. But what kind of friend? He wasn't interested in the silly, hypocritical friendship between James, Sirius, Remus and the mosquito Peter. Could he have a 'friendship' with Lucius? Wouldn't Lucius push him away as soon as his other older friends, especially Avery and Parkinson, returned? Severus thought he had given up all hope of friendship long ago. And yet he had long dreamed of it. But I was hopelessly alone, alone, alone, and ridiculously sad. He arrived at the other end of the cloister, deserted and snow-covered. A black bird had landed on the fountain. Severus turned.

Yes, he had seen something here, even though he was only in his first year. The thought of friendship as he crossed that courtyard, seeing and smelling the same snow, suddenly reminded him that he had seen something there. It had struck him at the time, because of the pain he had felt. What was it? It came back so quickly... Two boys in cloaks and hood. He'd seen them from behind, and the way they were talking suggested they were at least fourth year. Each carried a cage, and they had released their owl. One said they flew together like those two birds, in the same direction; the other said their friendship was the most beautiful thing in the world. They held hands more in defiance than in oath.

That day Severus had wished for such a friendship, but was it still what he wished for today? Was it not something else?

Ignoring the cawing raven that seemed to be taunting him, he continued on his way, but he would not see Lucius again until a week later, on the evening of the first day after the holidays: as he made his way to the Great Hall for dinner, he heard a cough and was startled.

His cough comes from the back of his throat, and when he coughs I can really feel that he's alive, a bit like listening to his heartbeat with my ear against the wall of his chest.

He recognised the sound and turned round. It had only been a week since he had seen Lucius, but fear gripped him, for it was a cut, and that could be enough to give a person a veneer of strangeness.

And so it was: Lucius' face was even more pale than it had been during his sickening days of October.

to be continued

Chapter Text

PART II

Chapter 8

Strange visitors

Rustling and billowing with smoke, the Hogwarts Express had just pulled into the station, but it wouldn't be leaving for another half hour.

A middle-aged woman with pursed lips and a very dark-haired man with grey eyes emerged from one of the stone pillars on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. They were dressed luxuriously and accompanied by a child of about twelve, also dressed in dark colours. Behind them came a dark-haired teenager with a queer outfit.

"Come on, hurry up Sirius, you're behind again."

The boy quickly rejoined his parents and brother. His mother gave him a rueful grin.

"What awful clothes," his father muttered. "This Mudblood is a bad influence on you. And to think we trusted you... We let you go on holiday with your friend. Of course, you failed to mention that he was Muggle-born."

"My dear, you know Sirius cannot be trusted," Walburga Black said.

"Dad, he's the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he's not just anyone. And I had so much fun with him! If only you could imagine the amazing things he showed me!"

"We can imagine, Sirius, you haven't stopped talking about it for three days."

But Sirius was not listening. He had just turned his head and was smiling, his eyes gleaming. His mother looked at what was in his field of vision: a mixed family of middle-class wizards.

"Isn't that your friend Romulus over there with his parents?"

Sirius put down his trunk and ran across the platform.

"Disrespectful... loud... unbearable..." Mrs Black groaned.

"Don't overdo it, my dear, Sirius is only a child," her husband said.

He sent for the trunk and the trio joined the Lupin family.

"Good morning, sir, good morning, madam," Sirius said with a charming smile. "I'd like to wish you a very happy New Year."

"Have you recovered well from your accident, Sirius?"

"Yes, thank you for the sweets."

He turned his head towards Remus. His dark circles had disappeared and his face had taken on some colour; the holiday had put some weight back on him.

"Remus! It's so good to see you again, old boy!"

"Did you have a good holiday?"

"Excellent! I'll tell you all about it when the others get here."

"I like your coat."

"It's Muggle."

"Hello, Mrs Black," Mrs Lupin said as the rest of the family arrived.

"Pleased to meet you," Orion replied. "Sirius can't get the word 'Muggle' out of his mouth. What a disgrace to us and to his blood... Fortunately, he honoured us with his school results. He talks a lot about your son. He told us how much he enjoyed staying with you last summer".

"He's an absolutely adorable boy," Mrs Lupin said coldly, ignoring Mrs Black's haughty expression.

"But how he's grown in just a few months!" Mr Lupin exclaimed. "He's become a young man. Have you seen, Remus, he seems to have caught up with you."

Sirius' cheeks, reddened by the cold, turned even redder.

"Yes, and he has almost a baritone voice now," Mr Black added.

"I've brought your presents, Remus," said Sirius, who didn't seem very happy about the previous part of the conversation.

"So did I."

"What about your photo album? Did you remember your photo album?"

"Yes, I hadn't forgotten."

"Great!"

"James and Peter have just got on the train, I've just seen them."

"Then perhaps we'll leave you to it," Mr Lupin said.

Orion Black hugged his son, but his wife just gave him an irritated look.

"Behave yourself," she murmured dryly. "Look at your brother, is he being silly? And next time, there'll be no talk of Muggle holidays or escaping your family traditions. As luck would have it, you're not here the week of Gretell's taxidermy..."

"It makes me want to puke," Sirius grumbled through clenched teeth.

Mrs Lupin hugged her son.

"Good luck," she murmured.

She looked as if she had tears in her eyes.

The two teenagers climbed into the nearest carriage, waving their hands. Once in the corridor, they had to find the compartment where their friends were. They pushed open the first door and found a group of sixth year Slytherins.

"Hello, cousin," Sirius said.

"Goodbye cousin," Bellatrix replied.

If the holiday seemed to benefit Remus, it had the opposite effect on her.

Sirius opened the next door. More Slytherins. Lucius Malfoy. Dishevelled. At least compared to usual.

"Sorry," Sirius smiled wryly as he closed the door.

"Did you see that? If Malfoy is neglecting his hair, something must be wrong."

"Maybe he pulled it out when he realised what a cunt he was," Sirius replied.

He looked at Remus who burst out laughing.

Having opened all the doors in the corridor, they moved on to the next carriage; they didn't have to look far: James and Peter were on their way.

"Come on, we've reached the end of the train!"

The emotional reunion ended with Remus and Sirius settling into the compartment occupied by Peter and James.

"What's that girl's coat?" James asked Sirius.

"It's not a girl's coat, all the trendy Muggle boys have them, James."

"Trendy?"

"Fashionable! Eric gave me some of his clothes because they were too small for him."

"You don't get your hair cut anymore, do you?"

"Yeah, I'm going to let it grow for a while and see."

Remus grimaced, took off his woollen cloak, hat and thick scarf and sat down by the window, snug in his unbleached Irish turtleneck.

"You wouldn't believe the stuff I saw at Eric's!" exclaimed Sirius as he took off his coat, revealing a jumper with more colours than rainbows and trousers that were very tight at the top and very flared at the bottom. "They have the equivalent of our brooms, except they can't fly. They call them 'motorbikes'!"

The young Chaser told them about his other discoveries as the locomotive pulled out of the station.

"By the way, Remus, didn't you want to show us your photos from your childhood?"

Remus took the photo album out of his suitcase and handed it to James.

"You're really tiny there..." James said, flipping through the first few pages. "And this is the one you told us about... when your parents took a photo of you when you were just a little wolf cub. And there! Look at that face...!"

Sirius snapped the album out of his hands. He leaned his head back into the book and grinned from ear to ear.

" ...little cheeks... !"

"Pass it to me," Peter squealed, squirming in his seat.

With a sweeping gesture, Sirius passed him over without even looking at him. The door opened.

"Excuse me, boys. Is this compartment full?"

"There are two seats available," James said, pointing to Remus' side.

A dark-haired, immaculately dressed man in his fifties entered. He was of medium height, dressed in British Muggle style: bowler hat, umbrella stick, black clothes.

"I'd like to introduce myself," he said, shaking their hands. "McAlistair. Erwin McAlistair. Are you a Black?"

He turned to Sirius.

"Yes. How did you know?

"The features of your face. You must be fourth or fifth year."

"Fourth year. I'm Sirius. James Potter, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. Why did you come to Hogwarts, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Professor Dumbledore will explain everything to you when we arrive," the Scot replied.

The stranger's arrival had postponed the distribution of gifts until they returned to the dormitory. They were not bored, however, as McAlistair asked them questions about the school, wanting to know if things had changed 'since he was a student'. Fifteen minutes later, the door slid open again to reveal a tall man Sirius Black would have described as a 'hippy'. Dressed in a dark blue coat with a pink floral shirt and trousers far too short to be worn in winter, the man was in his thirties and wore small round glasses with smoked lenses. Under his pointed Medicomagus hat, his long, wavy blond hair fell slightly over his shoulders.

"I couldn't find another place, boss!" he called.

"It's OK, Gwénolé, come here. This man is Gwénolé Kouign-Aman, my assistant."

"Hello, little apprentices," he smiled.

"Where are you from?" asked Remus, noticing the black and white crest on the huge suitcase.

"Originally I'm French. But if I don't have an accent, it's because my father is British."

He sat down next to McAlistair, who pulled a newspaper and a sandwich out of his bowler hat.

"That's travelling light!" Gwénolé shouted.

"Take it."

"Oh, thank you, boss, you guessed I was a bit hungry..."

"You're always hungry."

Erwin McAlistair buried himself in a newspaper while his assistant devoured the sandwich; when he turned it over, Peter, Sirius and James could read 'Disappearance of Beauxbatons student' under the headline. The subtitle read: 'Student missing for a week still not found'.

Sirius sighed, glanced at Remus, his tired head bobbing weakly against the glass, then showed James the Led Zeppelin's vinyl record Eric Salinger had given him.

The train pulled into the station a few hours later, when it was already dark. The four Marauders were extremely surprised to find that McAlistair's landing was immediately greeted by the exclamation of a familiar professorial voice.

"Erwin, my friend!"

Minerva McGonagall rushed towards him, her face aglow. Hagrid, standing nearby, glanced at the visitor's umbrella.

"Minerva, how good to see you again! It's been so long."

"Do you know each other?" Gwénolé asked.

"We were at Hogwarts together," McAlistair replied.

"I'd almost be happy," said the Transfiguration teacher. "But what happened is so tragic..."

She sniffed and put a hand to her eyes; McAlistair handed her a handkerchief.

"Thank you," she said, wiping the tear from her eye. "Who'd have thought it could happen? Nobody thought..."

"Don't worry, Minerva, we're here to sort this out."

As Severus Snape entered the Great Hall for the Homecoming Dinner, he was surprised to see that the Gryffindor colours had been replaced by black.

This momentarily dispelled his unease. A few minutes ago, Lucius Malfoy had left to sit with the others without so much as a hello, even though they had spent the first week of the Christmas holidays together.

But Severus was not worried. All of his teachers were alive and well just a few feet away from him – including the ones that mattered – so who could he possibly be worried about?

He sat down next to Macnair and noticed that there were two new faces at the teachers' table.

"Happy New Year, Severus," Macnair said.

"Happy New Year."

"Have you seen those guys? I wonder what they're going to teach."

Severus could see that he was eager to present his theory, but the sound of a spoon being struck against a crystal cup ended the opportunity: McGonagall announced that the Headmaster was about to speak. The witch's forehead was furrowed in a pained expression. Dumbledore stood up.

"Good evening everyone," the director announced in a dull voice. "You may have noticed that we have two guests... May I introduce Erwin McAlistair and his assistant, Gwénolé Kouign-Aman, Medipsychowizards. They're here to listen to you, so don't hesitate to visit them if you need any advice or support. I hope you'll give them a warm welcome. As for me, I'd love to be able to wish you a Happy New Year 1975 right now, but unfortunately I have to move on to a much more serious subject."

The old man's face, usually so lively and cheerful, darkened and his features froze in great sadness.

"Some of you may have heard at the end of the holidays that one of your classmates had died."

Obviously, many of the students were unaware of this. Their eyes turned to the chair where Remus Lupin should not have been. But there he was.

"It was a great shock to us too," said Dumbledore. "Who would have thought that such a pleasant, lively young man as Angus Russell could have taken his own life? There is no easy explanation for such an act, and it must give us all pause for thought."

Murmurs of astonishment ran through the room. Some Slytherins covered their faces. Russell's friends in the other houses also seemed very affected. Alan Jodorowsky, the Head Prefect, pushed his plate away from him so as not to touch it again. Walden Macnair shook his head as if he was not surprised.

Stunned, Severus turned his gaze to Rosier and Wilkes, who were staring at each other wordlessly.

"Is this a joke?" asked Bellatrix, averting her eyes from the empty chair opposite Lucius Malfoy.

"I don't think so..." Roger Wilkes replied.

Another Sixth Year, the one Severus had noticed on that November morning when Bellatrix had been bawled out, was staring back at the girl with his grey, shadowy gaze, just as he had when she had shown everyone one of the wounds her mother had given her in the middle of breakfast.

"Bellatrix... You seem thoughtful all of a sudden... Why is that?"

The boy's eyes were riveted on her low shoulders, and they began to sparkle with a wet gleam like the last time. Severus knew his name now. It was Lestrange.

"That should make you happy, shouldn't it?"

Bellatrix bit her lip.

"I wouldn't be the one to regret him," she said dismissively.

Dumbledore sat down again. Lucius Malfoy's face showed no sign of emotion.

to be continued

Chapter Text

Though a popular figure at Hogwarts, the older Slytherin Prefect had never been unanimously supported within his own house, let alone by the Toujours Purs.

His death, however, brought him a resounding plebiscite. Those who had always liked him spoke of his many qualities of heart and mind. The younger ones repeated that he was "always there to help". The girls praised his chivalry. As for Alexander Avery, who only a week before had thought that his classmate Gussie had become "a real idiot at times", he had shed all his reservations about the deceased.

There was only one Incorruptible.

"It's actually a very good start to the year," Bellatrix said one morning. "We won't have to put up with that nosy ant any more."

"Stop it," Wilkes said. "I never wanted Poker-in-the-Arse dead... I mean, Russell."

"Neither did I," said Rosier.

"I suppose a Slytherin Prefect who likes Muggles is not a viable human being."

"You, Bellatrix, you're such an abomination," Pimprenelle Diggory spat.

"Really, Perlimpoponelle? He was a Blood Traitor and deserved to die, we should all celebrate his death."

Rodolphus Lestrange, the tall, well-proportioned, dark-skinned boy whose unusual behaviour Severus had already noticed, nodded, his chin as low as ever, giving the impression that his pale eyes were still heavy with reproach.

"Well said, Bella," Lucius whispered, turning to her. "Shall we marry?"

Paler than ever, he bit into his last piece of red jam toast to the muted gasps of Pimprenelle Diggory and the disgusted looks of his classmates.

"Suicide? But why?"

An anxious buzz had filled the Great Hall after Dumbledore's announcement.

"When did it happen?" "I never thought..." "He was always so cheerful..." "He must have had a sentimental problem." "Who is he?" "The prefect, you know, the one who's cute."

There was a hush around the Slytherin table. Pimprenelle Diggory was being comforted by her best friend, and Roger Wilkes fought back a small tear at the sight of this moving scene.

"What an actress she is," Bellatrix muttered. I'm sure she won't be thinking about it in three days.

Avery was staring at Parkinson and Sanchez. Severus tried to make out what they were saying.

"He finally dit it," Parkinson said.

"But I thought he'd lost interest," Sanchez added, stroking his black goatee.

"That's all you have to say..." Avery hissed, his eyes widening behind the lenses of his glasses.

"What else can we say? We weren't the ones holding the knife to open his veins. It was up to you to stop him, not us."

"Of course you're innocent."

"If you like being whipped in public, Avery, go ahead. It's not my thing."

"When you've had enough of your childish bickering, you can send me an owl," Lucius said haughtily, stopping his peas from mashing.

"I knew it," Macnair muttered, looking at Severus who was looking at Lucius.

"What did you know?" Julius asked curiously.

"Nothing," Macnair replied, looking puzzled.

"It's sad he's dead," Ollivander said. "He was a nice bloke."

"I don't usually like the nerds," Baxter said, "but you have to admit, Russell often came to help me with my homework."

Severus wondered if he should take that personally.

"Diggory's not going to help us like he did," Baxter continued. "She's like my sister, she can't look at herself in the mirror when she's less than 80%..."

"That guy was a walking encyclopaedia," Macnair said. "Diggory knows nothing compared to him. And did you see? Dumbledore sent us the psychiatrists."

"Are you going to see them?" asked Bellatrix abruptly, turning to them.

Macnair didn't answer. Baxter said he wondered what psychiatrists were for.

"Medi-psycho-magic is used to heal the soul," said Daisy Ollivander.

"Rha, you girls and your soul stories..."

With a knot in his stomach, Severus Snape sighed, tired of the cackling of his classmates. He was relieved to leave the table at the same time as the others.

"Severus, I need to talk to you," Macnair muttered as they left the Great Hall.

But his classmate did not hear him: Peeves had just burst in like a bomb.

"He's dead…!" he shouted. "Little Gussie's dead! Dead-dead-dead! Angustus Russell... Degustus Russell... Anguille Russell! Russell the Cripple!!! By Merlin, if he'd died up here, we'd have had a new Moaning Myrtle! That was a close one."

But where did these nicknames come from? In any case, Peeves' attitude was deemed highly inappropriate, and the Bloody Baron intervened to stop the poltergeist's eulogy.

"Severus," Macnair repeated. "Do you have a moment?"

* * *

The Chocolate Frog collector led him into a deserted classroom, closed the door and sat down awkwardly on a lectern.

His large, sullen eyes darted between the furniture and other objects around him, finally settling on Severus. Walden's hair was straight, short and dark, with a bowl cut that had obviously been freshened up during the holidays... He, too, had suddenly grown taller; it had to be said, he was well watered.

"Honestly, Severus, can you believe that suicide story?" he said as Severus sat down.

"Why do you ask me that? He killed himself, didn't he?"

"That's what they tell us. But think about it: this guy had everything, there was no reason for him to kill himself! There must be something else."

Severus thought back to the morning of the last day of classes before the holidays, when he had seen him sitting in an armchair, his gaze so dead. Who knew?

"What if he didn't die of natural causes, Severus?"

"What..."

"What if he din't commit suicide? And who would benefit from that crime, as that Roman whose name I can't remember used to say?"

"What are you trying to tell me?" asked Severus in his most velvety voice.

"What the hell do you think?"

"You think Russell was murdered?"

Macnair shrugged.

"Of course I do, it's all too obvious!"

"By who?"

"Lucius Malfoy," Macnair whispered, leaning forward. "Think about it, they can't stand each other. It's a war between them, who's going to rule Slytherin! And Malfoy has a grudge against Russell, he's been overtaken by him several times... First, the distribution of badges in fifth year. Malfoy wasn't entitled to one, even though he comes from a very rich and respected family and thinks very highly of himself... Then came another humiliation. Russell is top of his class this year, whereas Malfoy usually is. And that's not all, Severus... I recently heard what happened with his Potion Project. You know he took that as his first subject for his ASPIC?"

Severus said yes. Lucius was like him, passionate about making potions.

"Well, at the beginning of the year he came to propose his project to Agni. It was a very difficult thing. And you know what? Agni refused to let him do it alone... Yes. He made him get together with Russell!"

So that's why Russell was always telling Lucius to work... And Méliès said "the two of them" may not have any problems...

"He basically said: it's Russell or nothing. Can you believe that? Very humiliating. And the third humiliation... The humiliation of love. Malfoy has wanted to date Bellatrix since last year. Understandable: she's a Black and she's... she's pretty good. But she preferred Russell, the eternal rival... And you know what? Apparently her mother caught them fucking during the holidays."

Severus almost fell off his seat.

"What?!"

"I knew you would be surprised," Macnair said with a proud smile. "I learned it from girls in fifth year."

"That's not possible," his comrade murmured, eyes wide.

There was no way Bellatrix and Angus had slept together, and there was no way Macnair would use the verb 'fuck' about it.

"They heard it from Russell himself."

"But they hated each other."

"It might be a love-hate relationship," Macnair professed with Confucian seriousness.

As Severus looked incredulous, he added: "Didn't you notice that every time they argued, her cheeks got all red?"

By Merlin, was Walden Macnair so bored that he watched everything the others did?

"Because she was angry."

"No, no, Severus, the reality was that she was 'inflamed'... And then, because you're innocent, you explain that it was anger."

Snape was surprised that Macnair seemed to have a functioning brain after all. What he said was far from stupid. But what exactly did he mean by 'innocent'?

"Russell said that he and Bellatrix...?"

"To be precise, he said that he was her boyfriend now, that Bellatrix's mother had surprised them, that it had been hot and that she had told her daughter that she was just a whore."

"Wait a minute... When did Russell tell them this?"

"Actually he didn't tell them, they heard him without him knowing... Apparently he was talking to somebody else. Oh yes... I remember now. It was Christmas morning. They were listening on the stairs.

Severus stifled a chuckle. I'm not that innocent...

"What's so funny?" Macnair growled, frowning.

"Have you ever heard of Chinese whispers, Walden? Angus spoke to me this morning. He said that when he went to see Bellatrix to get her to sign some papers, her mother mistook him for her daughter's 'boyfriend' and threw him out, calling Bellatrix a... um, you know what. And I think he said that the argument between the two women had become 'heated'".

"Well..." Macnair said, looking very disappointed.

From that day on, Severus Snape gave little credence to Walden Macnair's 'information', especially when it led to Lucius Malfoy being accused of murder.

The night after the suicide was announced, a strange dream unfolded in his mind, no doubt influenced by Macnair's ramblings.

In this dream, the students of Slytherin gathered in a vast amphitheatre to form a large orchestra, all waving large silver-green crepe pompoms; in the maestro's chair, his prefect's badge clearly visible, Angus Russell conducted the assembly with his wand. Everything was going smoothly when Lucius Malfoy suddenly appeared behind him: dressed in a large black robe, a smile on his lips, the blond hid a huge ice pick behind his back. He drove it violently into Russell's back, causing him to collapse on his desk, dripping blood.

Awake with a pasty mouth and greasier hair than the night before, Severus opened his bedside table, took out his bottle of headache potion and took a long swig.

"My poor Severus... Macnair's stupidity will eventually infect you, so choose your company more carefully."

He buried his slender feet in his old slippers – they had once belonged to some more or less distant member of his indeterminate family – and walked through the dormitory with his clothes and soap under his arm.

The route took him past Russell's desk. There wasn't much on it – the young man had packed his Memento Mori skull and school supplies before leaving on holiday – but there was still the portrait of Paracelsus, pinned to the wall.

Severus saw again the chaos that had once filled it, Angus sitting at his desk between two piles of books, addressing his readings as if they were conversation partners, suddenly shouting "No, no, no!" and then starting to write furiously. Sometimes he would stop reading and writing, scratch his chin and stare at some indeterminate point, his eyebrows furrowed, then look amused and continue reading.

The fourth year blinked and went into the bathroom, where he noticed that Saline the salamander had insisted on accompanying him; he told her to go to the canopy, then stood in the shower and rubbed soap into his hair, thinking that Russell's death would certainly not make his life any more pleasant. After all, he didn't know who would be appointed to replace him. Russell had been Prefect for three years, and in those three years he had protected him from the Marauders several times, and there had been no serious problems in Slytherin.

He stepped out of the shower and sat down by the sink. To think that just a few months ago he had stood face to face with Lucius Malfoy, who had asked him if he wanted his photograph. Everything had changed since then. He'd even found himself in his bed... No, on his bed. In any case, could he have imagined in September that a few months later he would be so involved with Lucius Malfoy? The future was always full of surprises, Severus thought. Things had often gone badly, could they now go well?

Lucius emerged from one of the showers, walked around some of his noisy, half-naked comrades and turned to face him. He said nothing.

"Maybe it was I who should have said good evening to him last night. Maybe he's angry with me," Severus mused, suddenly overcome with fear.

The Pureblood approached the nearby sink.

" We should have changing rooms... don't you think? My clothes are wet."

"Yes. This isn't very practical."

He began to comb his hair slowly, lazily; today he seemed to have given up the gomina. Was he ill again, as he had been in October? He was certainly too pale. Severus was getting to know his face very well, and he couldn't stop looking at it. But Lucius, if he had been in Lucius' place, what would he have seen? A teenager staring at him with his two pools of dark water with a trembling glow, as vulnerable as a beggar waiting for a piece of bread to be thrown to him. There was a roughness in the gnarled, pale thinness of the body, but also a feminine preciousness in the contrast between the blackness of the hair, the eyelashes, the eyes, and the candle wax paleness of the complexion that made his eyes particularly piercing... a childlike awkwardness, finally, in the cheeks, stained with a diffuse redness between the two curtains of black hair. Yes, how could this tall, self-confident young man take pity on this fragile, ridiculous thing begging for mercy?

"How was the end of your holiday Snape?"

"Fine."

Lucius closed his eyes for a moment.

"You can't stand them, can you?"

"Who?"

"Your classmates..."

"I have to admit that I don't enjoy their company very much."

"I don't blame you. What's more, you're entitled to specimens from what I understand..."

"It's always the best ones who leave first," Agni grumbled rather angrily that Monday. This did not stop Sirius Black from trying to fly a parchment to Remus Lupin's distant desk. Unfortunately, the letter landed on Severus Snape's table. He opened it with an evil smile: Brilliant... A joke about goblins.

Mr and Mrs Borbôg have a muscular dog. What is its name?

The answer was written backwards. He turned the paper over.

Answer: Bulldôg

Severus turned to Sirius with a sad look and raised his hand, handing the paper to Agni.

"And you, Mr Black, have you ever thought of throwing yourself out of a window?" Agni said.

I love that man, Severus thought.

After class, the headmistress of Slytherin, looking as sleepwalking as ever ("high" as the sons of Muggles would say), came into the Common Room and instructed Diggory to gather all the students together.

The situation reminded Severus Snape of what Lucius's father had said about Russell, and in particular about his family...

"Walden," Severus murmured, "Malfoy's father seems to hate Russell."

"He does?"

"Maybe because he was a Mudblood."

"No, he wasn't. Russell came from a very old family, aristocratic. A family of pure blood, Celtic and Anglo-Saxon... I asked my mother. On the other hand, they're a very poor family. They suffered a reversal of fortune in the last century and, although they still have their castle, they've been very poor ever since. They're also crippled by sickness and disease. Rumour has it that the Russell family fell victim to a curse in the 19th century, and it has been with them ever since."

"The rumour?"

"No, the curse. Malfoy's father must despise all poor wizards. As for his son, we already know his opinion. He's arrogant, thinks he's the best at everything. So you see, I wouldn't be surprised if it was he who..."

There he goes again.

"...killed him. Frankly, it's frightening. I'm all for killing Muggles, Mugglebloods and werewolves, but not other pureblood wizards – there's a limit to what you can do."

When everyone was assembled, Méliès brought out a wooden box. A large label on the side read Should I happen to die during the 1974-75 school year.

"From what I've been told... he had prepared some for the last ten years or so, and regularly updated the current year's."

Rosier and Wilkes looked at each other, startled.

"I'll start by reading you the letter that was inside," Miss Méliès announced.

She began to read in a haughty, unemotional voice. She sounded bored...

"My fellow Hogwarts students,

if you're reading this today, it's because my odyssey has come to an end. Have you ever touched your legs when you have 'pins and needles' in them ? The blood stops circulating there. That must be the case with my whole body today. Yes, it must be like those stone feet you sometimes put on, the warmth of the moving blood has left them...

I don't know what caused me to pass from life to death, but there are some practical details to take care of if this has happened (but it has, since you are reading this letter). Firstly, you'll find some very useful little reminders in this box.

Secondly, I'm leaving you in charge of my pet, Melanie, since my mother's thoughtlessness has been proven.

I know life without me will be difficult, painful, but for the brave one-piece bricks that you are, this ordeal shouldn't be too hard to overcome. I'm confident.

The late A. O. Russell".

"He really had it all planned..." Crabbe murmured.

"He was an organised mind," Miss Méliès said as she folded up the letter.

She took some parcels from the box.

"Pass them around," she said. "I think they should be hung in the Common Room."

They were frames of advice, with illustrative photographs. Most were of students at work. Severus could read on the ones that passed through his hands: "First thing to do? Learn the basic textbook", "Teamwork is the way to go" (a childlike Angus Russell with a high, bulging forehead, surrounded by classmates in the library, smiling like a baby who's been given a flower), "Serious students are always rewarded".

"Shit, even dead he'll still be watching us..." Evan Rosier said.

Avery seemed to hesitate, then raised his hand.

"Yes," Miss Méliès said.

"Didn't he leave a letter explaining what he had done?"

"No," the professor replied.

Petrus Parkinson looked up at the ceiling; apart from the bare stone vault, there were only hooks and pieces of chain, the remains of who knows what instruments of torture.

"And how... how did he kill himself?" asked Parkinson.

"Don't you read the press?" replied the astronomy teacher.

"They don't say much about it in the Daily Prophet. Just that he committed suicide at home."

"I don't know any more than you do, I'm sorry," she said. "By the way... Each of you will have to see the psychic wizards in the infirmary. By order of Professor Dumbledore."

"Each of us?!" exclaimed Bellatrix.

"Yes, Miss Black. Each of you."

Bellatrix said nothing more.

"But it will take days," Diggory said.

"It's possible. I'm off to the planetarium. If you need anything, come and see me."

Once she was gone, Severus thought it best to escape Macnair's company and the conclusions he would draw from all this... So he went to the library, a place his classmate rarely set foot.

There was an empty table next to the one where Alan Jodorowsky, the Head Prefect, was sitting. Snape sat down, watching the last year out of the corner of his eye. He wore his Muggle origins on his hair (an Afro hairstyle) and seemed preoccupied: he wasn't turning the pages of his book and was biting his lower lip.

Then came Eric Salinger, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and a good friend of Sirius Black. Please, I hope Black isn't coming...

He sat down beside the Ravenclaw.

"Are you all right?" he murmured.

"I can't concentrate."

"Because of him?" asked Salinger.

The head boy nodded.

"Yes, well... I can't believe Angus is dead..."

"The same goes for me."

"The more I think about it," the Ravenclaw said, trying not to speak too loudly, "the more I don't understand why he did it... He was always joking... You were never bored with him. And for the last two months he's been radiant, you know. He looked so happy. I feel like I'm missing something. I know he didn't have a nice childhood. He told me about his father, who died from drinking too much when he was a kid... about his old house 'full of loneliness and rotting antiques'... But all the plans he'd made and talked about... He said he was going to travel after his ASPICs, take the Oxford entrance exams, do the regatta races and make a fool of all those rich boys..."

"Speaking of rich cunts, remember when he beat the shit out of Malfoy earlier this year?"

"How can I forget such an imperishable memory..." sighed Jodorowsky dreamily.

Beat the shit out of Malfoy, let's not exaggerate, Severus thought as he remembered the scene in question.

In early October, he had attended a session of Professor Flitwick's Duelling class in the Great Hall.

* * *

"Is there a volunteer to challenge Mr Malfoy?" the Master of Enchantments asked the crowd of students in the hall.

Lucius stood on the platform, waiting for Flitwick's orders – as everyone knew, Hogwarts' shortest professor had been a champion duelist in his youth. Eric Salinger seemed very tempted by the idea, fidgeting like a dog on a leash.

"Why not Salinger?" whispered McGonagall to Flitwick.

He didn't have time to reply; Miss Méliès had intervened, sarcastically.

"Salinger? Malfoy will make mincemeat of him. Be sensible, Minerva, and avoid the massacre."

"She's right," agreed Marlene McKinnon, the old lady who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts (a fighter as formidable as Flitwick... despite her grandmotherly looks).

"Russell?" called Méliès.

The boy approached the three teachers, smiling.

"Yes?"

"Minerva, do you have any other students to suggest?"

McGonagall replied with an offended look on her face that Russell would be fine.

"Come, my boy," Méliès said.

"With pleasure, Professor," Russell replied.

He climbed up onto the terrace.

"Greetings," said Flitwick.

They greeted each other, then stepped back to find themselves about ten yards apart.

Russell was quicker with a disarming spell, but Lucius managed to dodge it and retaliate immediately.

"Lagardum Inflamae!"

Russell's cloak caught fire and he immediately cast an incantation: a small cumulus cloud appeared above his head and extinguished the fire with a waterspout. It was an easy spell to cast, and it provided a brief barrier of protection. Flitwick seemed to be having the time of his life.

Looking a little pitiful in his soaked clothes, his dark fringe sweeping over his eyes the colour of a dying lagoon, the dark-haired young man pointed his wand at his opponent.

"Petrificus Totalus !

"Niger Ophiuchus!"

One broke the other, and a black mist spiralled around the prefect. The students murmured in admiration: they had probably never seen such a spell before.

Russell seemed unable to move his wand. But he uttered a few obscure syllables and Lucius's clouds instantly dissipated.

McGonagall and Flitwick applauded, while Miss Méliès dominated them with a small smile that said: They're in my house.

As for Angus Russell, he now looked at Lucius with an apologetic expression. A flash of bitter anger crossed the blond Slytherin's face. He raised his wand and cast a very powerful spell.

"Algos Guiôn!"

There was a flash of white light and Russell fell to his knees; his lip seemed to be split and his mouth was bleeding. Lucius then had a moment's hesitation that proved fatal... Just as Flitwick whistled a stop, the Prefect grabbed his wand and cast one last spell – the same one. "Generation of Promise..." His opponent was thrown against the back wall and fell back onto the stage, flat on his back.

He wasn't hurt, but he had lost.

"Severus Snape!" the Psychowizard shouted. "Your turn."

Obviously, it was the assistant who was looking after the younger ones. Gwénolé Kouign-aman ushered the Slytherin into the infirmary, then led him to a side room.

"Have a seat, please."

The adult sat down behind a desk. His long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he wore a wizard's candle on his forehead.

"Now then... Severus Snape... Fourth year... Slytherin... Very good student... Congratulations, Severus."

He smiled at him.

"Thank you."

"How well did you know... Angus, Severus?"

"A lot of people called him Russell, actually," Severus lied. "As for me, I only knew him as a prefect."

He annoys me with his dripping professional kindness... He's trying to win you over, Severus, don't let him.

"So tell me how you feel about losing Angus Russell."

"I'm sorry that he's dead. He was a serious person."

"Um... We're going to do a quick examination. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, I don't."

Gwénolé Kouign-aman stood up and lit his magic candle. He walked around the desk and leaned over the Slytherin.

"Relax... it won't take long."

He lifted the boy's chin with his wand and fixed his eyes on his. The attention was so intense that his eyes seemed to light up. A strange feeling came over Severus, not for the first time. He wanted to sink into that gaze, to sink into it like into the arms of a loving mother. A slightly unpleasant sensation, like peeling a tangerine, but as brief as a sting. He could really trust him completely and confide in him, his fears, his doubts... Could he? No, he mustn't see all that, his fears and his shame!

The sound of a window slamming.

Severus gasped; the assistant had stepped back, staring at him in astonishment. He looked annoyed.

"You seem resistant to introspection... My techniques are not yet perfected. Um, Severus... You're a sensitive, introverted teenager, you keep everything to yourself. It's not good for your health. It's a shame, because I'm convinced you're a person who can be very enriching to be around, and who has great potential for self-fulfilment."

"Can I go?"

The man sighed.

"If you really want to... But if you need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to come and see me or my boss."

* * *

Severus left the infirmary disgusted with himself, again, but on a different level. In any case, he was determined to read the other book Russell had lent him on facial expressions, so that he too could penetrate the secret thoughts of his fellow students and no longer be trapped himself.

It was after midnight and he was still thinking about it in the darkness of the dormitory. He thought of the look of astonishment in the Psychowizard's blue eyes, of the wealth in which they were made to live at Hogwarts, of the feeling of being 'out in the open' that he had felt when the man had examined him, of the fact that sleeping in a four-poster bed did not change the fact that he was poor and wore faded underwear. But the frenzy of his inner monologue, irritated by the combination of tiredness and irritation, was interrupted by the realisation that someone was in the bathroom. The water was running. Someone was vomiting.

The Slytherin counted three vomits, which he guessed were painful; it looked like the patient was trying to spit himself out.

Then nothing.

Severus listened. As long as the person was vomiting, he didn't want to interfere, but the silence worried him, especially when he thought of Lucius... Maybe Lucius was very sick, maybe he needed help... Fear drove him to the bathroom.

It was indeed him. At the far end of the vast room, one of the stalls was open. The young blond man was sitting on the floor, as pale as a corpse, his eyes red, his cheeks wet.

"Aren't you feeling well?"

"Leave me alone," Lucius replied, turning his head away.

The teenager then saw the Pureblood's mouth tighten, saw him collapse and vomit again. He closed his eyes and stepped aside. Severus Snape rarely felt compassion for his fellow man, but to see Lucius Malfoy suffer like this was unbearable.

Panting, the aristocrat stopped emptying himself.

"I'll get the nurse," Severus concluded.

"NO," Lucius replied, his eyes hard and his hand on his chest.

"I have some medicine..."

His older brother fixed him with his terrible light grey drakôn gaze.

"But what language do I have to say it in, Snape, for you to understand? Mind your own business! Leave me the fuck alone! Get the fuck out! Get the fuck out!"

Severus backed away slowly and Lucius shut the door.

The dark-haired boy's heart was beating fast and he left the bathroom as if in a dream. From the room he had just left, an indistinct hissing sound interspersed with hiccups could still be heard.

Tears, tears as pure as his eyes... A wave of grief washed over him as he remembered the Sorting Hat ceremony... The ominous figure of McGonagall. The anxious mass of first years. That voice in his head...

"Where shall I send you, my boy? Ravenclaw? Slytherin?"

The first faces at the table in the house of the great Salazar... A dark-haired girl with a mischievous look in her eyes, sizing him up as the Sorting Hat deliberated.

"...the desire to prove your worth..."

Two blonde boys beside her, talking to her...

"...interest in the Dark Arts..."

A little further on, the boy he had passed in the corridor five minutes earlier, when a prefect was leading them towards the Great Hall. Very thin, with hair he'd never seen before, almost white. Another boy, dark-haired, with thick glasses, and the one next to him, who looked like a Roman, with his curls flattened on his forehead and his green headband.

"To Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat exclaimed.

It was undoubtedly a wonderful journey, sparkling with dreams and prospects that had begun...

to be continued

NB : - Please comment if you want to read the next chapter, because I have no motivation at all...

- Who killed Angus Russell ? A poll.

Chapter Text

I

The wonderful journey had lasted only a few hours. He had found himself at the intersection of the wings, where the staircases start, there had been a sort of great buzzing, or stamping, a crowd of little black heads climbing a staircase like a wave, a name being chanted like a sports slogan, joyously, drunkenly, and then...

The boy lay on the flagstones of the castle terrace.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon.

The cold sun gently caressed his motionless face, sometimes obscured by a cloud of shadow. He was still lost in thought, his thoughts strung together like the beads of a jigsaw puzzle, words sometimes incomplete, sketches of words, strange images without images – sometimes they emerged vertically, seemingly uncontrolled by the previous one, without breaking the solitary rhythm, they flowed, quietly, silently, as far as the eye could see, so that he forgot even his own existence and when he came back it was to find a strange life, like when you are a child and when you come home after a long holiday your parents seem like impostors.

Since it took him a moment to recognise himself, since by some strange optical illusion he had managed to believe that there had never been anything but these thoughts, he told himself that this life of Severus Snape was not everything, and could not be so important...

- Malfoy has quarantined you, it seems...

The boy opened his eyes. The January light was so harsh that the landscape he saw was, at first, monochrome. There was a dark-haired girl crouched upon him, the curves of her limbs softening the fall of the folds of her felted skirt; behind her, sitting on a ledge, was Evan Rosier, his hair white but his eyes blue, long smooth fringes sweeping over his big eyes, his legs dangling along the stone tooth; leaning against a window was Wilkes, his hair a little longer, his eyes dark, his knees resting on the floor.

- Hello, Severus murmured in confusion.

The colours returned, gilding Evan Rosier's wheat hair, slightly reddening Wilkes' blonde, imprinting Bellatrix's red mouth. Severus had an unobstructed view of her bosom from his position, and he admitted to himself that there was a certain majesty to such a thing. So this was what Lucius liked so much...

- You've fallen out with him, haven't you?

There was no irony in her voice. There was even a motherly smile on her lips.

- Why do you say that? Severus asked.

Oh, he knew that... Ever since he'd caught Lucius vomiting in the dormitory toilets, Lucius had been turning his head away whenever he saw him, arguing loudly with Avery, when he wasn't giving him mean looks. Severus understood. He had seen him weak and had to pay for it.

- For I see you wandering all alone, like a poor little baby without its mummy... Bellatrix said.

Severus did not know what to say; he sat up, feeling the touch of his heavy, greasy hair against his cheeks. He had been in a state of utter despair for several days now.

For several weeks, however, he had believed that his tour of the Realms of Hell had come to an end. After going from surprise to surprise, discovering that what he had previously perceived of Lucius Malfoy from an almost stellar distance was almost entirely distorted by his perspective, Severus had finally found himself in a position he had never thought possible, he who had dreamed so much of recognition: close to Lucius, Lucius Malfoy speaking to him as an equal, Lucius Malfoy flattering him... He had believed in a friendship with the most important Slytherin at Hogwarts, the captain of the Quidditch team, the only son of a powerful family, justly renowned for his knowledge of dark arts; the one he was... How wrong he'd been – or worse, he'd ruined everything on that cursed evening.

He suffered all the more because he had only himself to blame, stupid for believing that Lucius could be interested in the Hogwarts Fleabag ('Let's use Potter's words'), and he couldn't stop blaming the young fool who had buried the only hope of his life with a stroke of his clumsy paw in a stupid and so unreasonable act of compassion.

- I don't know what happened between you and Malfoy, Bellatrix said, but I think a lot of you, you know? This house is full of losers, but someone as good as you at Potions and Dark Arts doesn't come along very often... Would you like to come to Hogsmeade with us tomorrow?

She offered him her friendship... Wasn't that just another illusion? Something inside him hurt, Lucius' interest in her no doubt, but Bellatrix was a prominent member of Slytherin House, respected and listened to, and the idea that she would consider him, offer him entry into her gang... At last he would not be alone, far from the fools and close to the people who mattered.

But this prospect, which would have been extremely satisfying a few months ago, no longer gave him any pleasure, for suffering had brought him to a new level where nothing could give him joy.

He hesitated for a moment.

The day before.

- How devoted you are to your friends, Sirius, you're a peach! More than that! You're the chocolate mousse of friendship! Is it because your mother...

- Is a heartless old hag?

- Yes, is it because your mother is a heartless old hag that you're so helpful to us, your best friends?

- Helpful? Where did you hear Sirius being helpful? a sarcastic voice said.

- Moony, why are you being so hard on me?

- The full moon is coming. He bites.

- By the way, Moony, how's your girlfriend?

- What girlfriend?

- Laodemia.

- Stop it... Remus growled.

Laodemia walked behind a shelf with two of her friends; she was a Gryffindor with the build of a colossus. James giggled and Remus buried his head even deeper in his book, as if he wanted to disappear.

- Peeeter, Sirius said in his deep, gentle voice, pet Peeeter... Hey! Pet Peter, doesn't that sound similar?

- Sirius, stop...

- Pet Peter Pettigrew!

- Peter, your name is a poem, James concluded, smiling through his dishevelled hair.

- Shut up, Pince is looking at us.

- Remus, I think you're a bit tense today... Something's wrong with your girlfriend, isn't it?

The werewolf buried his head in his hands and then in his book, overwhelmed.

- Is it possible to have a bit of silence in here?!

The command silenced the marauders. Lucius had risen from the desk where he was working alone, having recently returned from the sports field.

- Well, he's combed his hair today, Sirius muttered.

- Sirius, one more word and I'll kill you, Remus hissed.

The Slytherin sat down and continued writing with unusually ethereal gestures. His wet hair was elegantly slicked back, accentuating the nobility of his posture.

- Enemy at three o'clock... James whispered.

A hooked nose appeared between two books by Kassandra Blatavsky not far from Lucius. Then it disappeared.

- Any news in the paper, Monsieur Black?

Sirius shrugged as he lazily scanned the headlines.

- No, he said. Personally, her disappearance doesn't bother me at all.

- She couldn't have done you much harm where she was.

Sirius held up a copy of the Daily Prophet from the 10th of January with the headline 'Missing English student from Beauxbatons' under a photo of a young blonde girl.

- Wrong, he replied with a grimace of disgust, Narcissa may have spent most of the year in France, but my father sometimes invited her to stay during the holidays.

- Your cousin disappearing during the holidays, Peter said, scratching his head, and then that Slytherin dying... Strange things are happening right now.

Severus hid behind the Botany shelf and sighed. Lucius was a few metres away, and Severus was hesitant to apologise for what had happened yesterday. He didn't have the courage. It didn't help that the Gryffindors might have witnessed the scene.

- Severus!

- Walden?

- Are you all right, Severus?

- No, I'm not all right.

- Why aren't you?

- Why are you asking me this, when your 'are you all right' and 'how are you' question is pure convention, and my answer, regardless of the reality of my physical or mental state, is supposed to be 'yes, and so are you'?

Macnair looked at him blankly for a few seconds, his mouth agape. Then he said: - Are you sure you're all right, Severus?

Young Snape's eyes darted to the right, then to the left.

- Yes, I'm fine.

- It's a lovely view from the window. Not a cloud in sight.

- Indeed.

Macnair had a sex change during the night? If this keeps up, he'll start talking to me about knitting, Severus mused.

- I wrote to my great-grandfather – he holds an important post in the Ministry archives – to find out about the Russell family. I received his reply this morning. I wanted to tell you about it in DADA, but McKinnon would have put me in the role of the vampire.

- Tell me everything, Walden, I can't wait.

- Well, first of all, everything my mother said about me was true: 'noble, foolish, broke and cursed'... What's more, according to my great-grandfather, Russell's father, Bonimentus Russell, was a hard-partying seducer who died of it. Their family crest is a merman, and their motto is 'Fluctuamus sed fluamus libenter', 'We float, but we sink willingly'.

Severus grinned wickedly, his eyes sparkling like nuggets. From what he'd heard yesterday, it wasn't in the water that Russell's father had drowned... And Macnair would do well to draw his own conclusions.

- So... what conclusions do you draw from his death?

- I don't know yet. Well, I'll leave you to it, I have to go to the Medipsychowizards.

- Didn't you go yesterday?

- Yes, I did.

He left. Severus pretended to be interested in a book on mandrake cultivation, watching the Potter Club out of the corner of his eye. When will they think to leave? They're taking up seats for nothing. Roger Wilkes' voice behind the animated photograph of a horrible root baby startled him.

"I'm knackered... Practice was awful today. Did you see Malfoy? He played like shit. If he does that in the next match, we'll get beaten by Hufflepuff... I don't know what he did over the holidays, but he looks exhausted." "Still nothing with Bella anyway," Evan Rosier's face replied from the other side of the shelf. "Ha ha!" "Here, Snape..."

They walked around the shelf to join him.

- We're looking for books on the goblins for a presentation... Rosier said, fixing his open, calm gaze on him.

The light from the window illuminated the blond lashes of his oversized eyes. He leaned slightly towards his younger comrade, and Severus could see the pale freckles that tinted his nose.

- Roger hasn't done anything yet, he's a sportsman.

The square jaw, the shoulders and arms wrapped in the black cloak, the relief of the white neck, the striped tie, the jumper and the flannel trousers with their fluid, harmonious movement: Severus' eyes moved mechanically from his face to his feet. He was only slightly taller than himself, just like Wilkes... Severus had never paid much attention to physical appearance, but he had often thought Rosier was almost handsome. Today, the 'almost' seemed superfluous.

Lucius was not the only face on which it was pleasant to rest one's eyes, but he had been the first - that blond young man whom Snape had seen just before the Sorting ceremony, and whom little Snape had identified some time later as 'Lucius' or 'Malfoy', a fourth year student. Since then, his magnetic uniqueness had never faded, and perhaps because his blood flowed faster, the sight of him made the moment seem more colourful. As if this face was more alive than the others, Severus thought bitterly, when in fact it was just living faster.

These were the faces that had coloured his life, made it more 'exciting', and there had been others since he had entered Hogwarts...

"I find it hard to believe that a teacher would give permission for such a book." "With all due respect Miss, it's true. Look at this. Agni. It's written just here." "I'm perfectly capable of reading. But we all know the Slytherins." "In that case, Miss, it's discrimination, I'll complain to the Head of my House." "That's fine. I'll get your book." That was many years ago, the dark haired boy in a blue jumper talking to Mrs Pince, a frail teenager leaning against the counter, balancing quietly on one foot with grace and a kind of feminine nonchalance. In his memory, his long-lashed grey eyes matched the blue of his clothes. Severus wanted to get to know him, to become his friend, but he knew he could never do that. He was still in the junior dormitory, so he didn't know all the names of the older boys in his house. He thought he saw the boy again in the library a few days later, then forgot about him, remembered him a handful of times since then, but never saw him again.

- What's on your mind?

- On second thought, I think you'll find the most information in Janotus Mineur's book on leprechauns. And if that's not enough, there's the bibliography...

- Thank you very much. You're an ace, Snape, Rosier whispered.

'Forced sincerity,' Severus thought. 'I don't really like him either, to be honest. But I can't help liking him when he's nice to me.'

- Quiet! Pince hissed.

- All right, all right, Rosier said.

The librarian continued her tour.

- You old hag, Wilkes muttered.

Severus left the library at closing time, not daring to approach Lucius.

He came out a few metres behind him, surrounded by a handful of students. The young man looked thoughtful now, neither cocky nor haughty.

- He's handsome, isn't he? a voice suddenly whispered in his ear.

The phrase petrified him. It was Peeves.

- What are you talking about? Severus murmured.

The flamboyant ghost grinned and held up a book of French poetry – the poltergeist was known to recite poetry extemporaneously, and had no doubt stolen it from the library - which he began to leaf through.

- Come, Baudelaire... Oh, Lucius, you are BEAUTY.

The blonde-haired, cold-eyed young man turned as he heard the word spoken so loudly. Severus felt his blood instantly freeze in his veins. This couldn't be happening, this was a bad dream, a delusion of his fear... Let him die if it was true - self-preservation is a very small thing, considering that he wouldn't have minded disappearing by exploding like a lump of earth at that moment.

- Yes, corrected Peeves, Bellatrix's beauty is special, you agree with me, Severus...

Lucius, realising that the sentence had nothing to do with him, went on his way, much to Severus' relief. But Peeves had not spoken his last word... He was bored that day and had decided to put to good use some observations he had made recently: during the Christmas holidays, at the bend in a corridor, his gaze had fallen on two Slytherins engaged in deep conversation. To be more precise, the conversation was mainly led by one of the two Slytherins, while the other merely nodded and avoided his classmate's gaze. But the more the first one spoke, the more the other one seemed encouraged to expand on his answers, and the older student seemed very interested in what the less talkative second one was saying. The dull little student's cheeks, usually so pale, glowed with an unprecedented flush. His left hand, which never trembled in front of anyone... trembled slightly. Peeves had seen it all; he had seen Lucius Malfoy. A smile spread across his evil face.

- I didn't know you were checking out the girls, Peeves, Severus replied, quickening his pace.

- You're mistaken, replied the spirit seriously, following him. I've got something for you in this book.

- Do you?

- 'I am beautiful, O mortals, like a dream of stone'... Don't you think it portrays him well? said Peeves, pointing at Lucius's back.

- You think what you want.

- Don't be so disturbed... ‘And my chest, where each has bruised in turn, is made to inspire the poet with LOVE...’

Severus gasped, feeling a pang in his stomach.

- 'Eternal, and... silent, as is matter...' Peeves read more quietly, enjoying the look of disbelief on the teenager's face.

They reached the main staircase. It was crowded with students on their way to the Great Hall for dinner. Severus stopped in panic, not knowing what to do to get rid of the stalker, who continued to read, emphasising certain words.

- 'I throne in the blue like a misunderstood sphinx; I unite a heart of snow with the whiteness of swans...'

Lucius had stopped to talk to Avery.

- 'I hate the movement that moves the lines, and I never cry and I never laugh.'

But I've seen him cry and laugh... thought Snape. Crouching on the floor, looking terrified. Laughing shyly at dinner. Urged to speak in his ear in alchemy class, and then happy and smiling like a child.

- 'Poets, faced with my great attitudes, which I seem to borrow from the proudest monuments'.... Hum, it's really all him, isn't it? '...will spend their days in austere studies; for to fascinate these docile lovers, I have pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful: my eyes, my great eyes of eternal clarity!' Oh, Snivellus, you're looking at them, aren't you, his pure, clear eyes? You should tell him how you feel, don't you think? I think you're his type.

The Slytherin looked at him in dismay.

- Yes, Severus, you must declare yourself. Open your heart.

- Declare... what?

- Come on, you know what I'm talking about, the ghost whispered in her ear. You think it's not obvious? You think we can't see what you are? HE, LUCIUS!

No, no, no, please, not that, not that...

Some of the students stopped, their eyes landing on Peeves, Severus and Lucius. Lucius and Avery turned to the ghost.

- Snape has something to tell you, Peeves shouted.

Severus tried to grab him, but to no avail.

- Snape, look at your ars-!

- PEEVES !

The striking spirit suddenly stopped its flight. A man with glasses had just called out to him. He reached him.

- Still bothering students and talking nonsense, I see? said Gwénolé Kouign-Aman.

Peeves muttered something unintelligible.

- Albus Dumbledore was too good to keep you here, McAlistair commented as he joined him. Excellent reflexes, Gwénolé.

- Thanks, boss!

The poltergeist apologised and shuddered away. The Medipsychowizard took off his glasses, sunk his ultramarine eyes into Snape's and smiled. A shrewd and penetrating gaze, piercing and persuasive... The Slytherin had the same impression as when he had first tried to probe his soul: that look was familiar. Where had he seen it before? He hadn't just seen it, he'd heard about it. 'The wizard's eyes brighten as the pupil opens...' A wry smile. 'I see...' But those eyes weren't blue... 'You can tell when you're practising Occlumancy.'

- Tell me, Severus, Gwénolé said, staring as intently as ever. Would you be interested in my Breton dancing lessons?

The Slytherin replied no and hurried into the Great Hall.

* * *

He ate almost nothing at dinner. His fork turned the food over, cut it, weighed it, tried a few bites, without hunger, without noticing the astonished gaze of his tablemates on the silent, bent statue, repeating the same gestures like an exhausted patient. What Peeves had said had suddenly filled him with an enormous sadness, a sickening burden... For he had been under the impression that the ghost was telling the truth. That was it... And this word of the riddle, without really surprising him, had shattered his nerves.

And yet, deep down, was that really the source of his pain? Sometimes he had the impression that it was a sap that rose from some indefinable source – which had now disappeared for him - to spread through a dark tree that was his body, an insurmountable bile.

Down in the flats of his house, he went to the dormitory and drew the heavy green velvet curtains. When the last candle was extinguished, the green fabric turned black; the sheets and blanket that covered the boy seemed to dissolve, then thicken, and he felt as if his throat were being stuffed with cotton wool.

* * *

The former Slytherin Prefect was less of a topic of conversation than he had been earlier in the week when Severus Snape walked up the stairs to Potions the next morning. Inside the classroom, he could hear James Potter's voice saying that there would be fewer detentions now.

Agni finally appeared and Severus saw him in the doorway talking to a student from another class. It was Lucius, and the Potions Master had his hand on his shoulder. An unpleasant sight. So there was another favourite student in his life...

Lucius retired; Agni walked through the archway and greeted the students.

- First of all, I'd like to return the homework I gave you over the Christmas holidays. It seems that some of you have given up forever on opening a book. It's as if the world was born and developed inside your omniscient little heads.

Half the class frowned, trying to work out the meaning of that last sentence.

- Mr Lupin, said the Head of Ravenclaw, handing him the first copy in the pile, hard work always pays off in the end.

The Gryffindor's face lit up; James and Sirius congratulated him. Severus was sorry he'd been beaten by Lupin, but the sight of that Pettigrew maggot's green face ('the anticipation of punishment') consoled him a little.

- Mr Potter, it's better than last time... Mr Black, it's right. But with a little work, it could be much better. Miss Ollivander, it's too garrulous. Miss Hopkins, it's just about right.

Severus wondered if he had handed in his paper on Monday. Perhaps a page had slipped and Agni would tell him to redo the missing page. Or maybe he'd just misplaced it.

- Miss Delurette, it's clumsy as usual. Mr Macnair, it'ss average. Um, Mr Snape...

Agni had practically whispered his name and handed him his copy, looked embarrassed, opened his mouth, then finally said nothing and continued with the distribution. Macnair was amazed that he had managed to get a better mark than Severus Snape. The latter looked at the red number next to his fine, careful handwriting, as unearthly as a green moon against a blue sky. 'You have unfortunately fallen into the trap of going off topic.'

- The last one... Pettigrew, of course. If only hanging out with Black and Potter could make you better... but it doesn't seem to.

The tiny teenager turned his tearful eyes towards his two friends, as if hoping they would come to his defence.

As for Severus, the knot in his stomach grew, and he tried to keep from crying for the entire interminable hour, trying not to look at the Marauders, who were probably laughing at him profusely. The bell rang for his release, and ignoring Potter's whispered 'Don't feel so clever anymore', he headed for the exit, planning to go downstairs and lock himself in his dungeon for several hours...

No sooner had he gone down the first corridor to his dungeon than he found Peeves.

- Oh... But you look very sad, Snappy-Snape. Is it because of what I said to you yesterday? Did I touch a sensitive nerve in Slytherin's little black beetle? From evening to morning we see him buzzing about, silent, docile and mute, desperate for silence and obedience, opening his mouth to receive favours and compliments... And so ugly, so ugly, that his mother must have squealed when she saw his twisted face after he had been put under water!

Seeing Severus's forehead turn red, the spectre pirouetted with excitement.

- Poor woman! To give birth to such a thing! And this child who doesn't even clean his ugly face! Who revels in his filthy face and hair! By Merlin, his poor father must have had to wash him himself, lest he bring shame on his family!

At the look of horror on the teenager's face, the ghost stopped his taunts. Severus waved his wand, trembling, the skin on his arms raised in gooseflesh.

- Immobulus, he hissed.

The wraith barely had time to react before it was frozen.

The boy took the first staircase he came to and galloped down it to hide his tears, but his suspended breathing made the time seem threefold. His head began to speak to itself, as if he were hearing and feeling things that weren't around him, things that had suddenly returned from another universe: water, moss, an iron comb, a clatter against wet flesh. Screams, unspeakable things, a small animal, him.

And suddenly he saw his father again: he took his chair, pulled it over to his mother, sat down facing her, his bushy nose as violent as an arrow, and began his trial.

Mum...

Dead for so long already... A weak little woman.

And the snivelling little Slytherin insect stopped into a hole in the depths of the school, and wept silently, like a shrub overwhelmed by sick sap.

To be continued

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Dark humors, part II

II

The snow falls ceaselessly, countless and howling with light like the Sun.

For the little boy scratching his parchment with his pen and blackened fingers, it is the cloak of his solitude and the purity to which he will never be entitled.

Sometimes he turns his gaze to the window. Smoky, populous London has become as silent as the abyss at night when the snow falls.

Poor little bookworm, lost in the abyss of the world.

Poor little creature with dark eyes that had never seen the light of a fairy.

Books had opened up a wonderful beyond for him, a world of names and thoughts where he could forget who he was, forget that he was alive. Forgotten, his own name; forgotten, everything he had ever experienced; forgotten, his body and its sufferings, the sound of his father's heavy shoes coming up the stairs to his bedroom.

Sometimes, through his books, with his back to the window, he could see the light of another world.

He would say to himself that if he put all the effort of his mind into studying and reading, he could leave the purgatory from which he could glimpse the Light from above and experience the world of full sunlight, where the merits of souls are recognised and where suffering is finally soothed in a blissful warmth.

He told himself that life was a long sleep and that one day he would wake up.

Yes, there had to be a place where the righteous were rewarded.

There had to be...

When the young Slytherin opened his eyes again and wiped away his tears, he saw that his precious grimoires were lying on the floor of the rough dungeon.

The book that Angus Russell had lent him, 'Truth of Faces', which he had been using to practise recognising the expression of someone who was lying, was open to one of its last pages. It bore the stamp of the bookshop where it had been bought: Chemin de Traverse, Fleury and Bott, 1969.

However, Severus had never noticed the few words written in pencil across the page in an unfamiliar alphabet, as if they were a hastily made note. There was something childlike about the handwriting.

Panta chroa gèras èdè
Leukai t'égénon to trichés ék mélainan
Gona d'ou pheroisi.
Ego dé philèmm' abrosunan touto kai moi
To lampron érôs aéliô kai to kalon lelogché. (Sap.)

At first, the Slytherin wondered what it meant and who this 'Sap' was. Then he wondered where he was.

He stood up and lowered his head. His feet were on the same path that led to the alchemy classroom.

He was standing on the Black square.

He recalled what the alchemy teacher, Novalis, had said about the Great Work that produces the Philosopher's Stone: 'Black is the first step, but it is not the easiest. For it is the return of matter to its raw state, the loss of all man's illusions about the world. Only those who achieve Perfect Black have a chance of creating the Philosopher's Stone and successfully transmuting both body and soul."

Judging by the narrowness of the corridor and the tiny doors along it, he must have been in the western part of the dungeons, in the service corridor reserved for the house-elves. Lunchtime was just around the corner. He wasn't hungry, but he knew that if he didn't eat, hunger would catch up with him unexpectedly.

Carried along by the melancholy transparency that follows an outpouring of grief — a deep slide as sweet as intoxication — Severus was about to turn back when he heard voices.

Frowning, he stopped at the door from which they seemed to be coming. It was the quavering voice of an old man.

“I understand that the young master didn't want his mother to stop looking after Her if he died. Poor Madame; she's so sensitive. Since the young master died, she has almost completely lost her mind and hardly remembers her son. She's all alone now and poor old Stinky won't be able to console her. Oh, poor Madame! First the father, then the son! It's the Curse on the Russell family — what misfortune! And it's all the fault of mad old Stinky! Of course, the Master was never very cheerful. But Stinky had recently started seeing Mister looking joyful and had thought he was no longer depressed. Stinky would never have imagined that Mister... If only Stinky had known! The young gentleman was always kind to Stinky. He gave him a medal for his loyal service. He lent him clothes when he was cold. Stinky had looked after him since he was a baby. But Stinky was supposed to protect him, and he failed. He has to face the consequences.”

'Hand over that sword!'

The voice belonged to Miss Méliès, the Slytherin headmistress and astronomy teacher. Severus remembered what Russell had said about her at the Christmas party. 'If you knew what I've learnt, you wouldn't dare go to her classes again...'

'Please, Madam Professor,' the first voice resumed, 'let Stinky pay his debt. If he cannot atone, let him deal with Miss Melanie!' If my mistress cannot look after the familiar in its current state... Oh, oh, poor mistress! Stinky can look after Miss Melanie!'

'Shut up, you stupid elf! Someone's listening.'
Severus shuddered. There was no time to flee, as the small door opened immediately, revealing a hand with hooked nails that grabbed him and pulled him inside. Two brown eyes with arched eyebrows glared at him, and a feminine mouth twisted into a suspicious pout.

'Well, Severus Snape?' What were you doing there?

'I got lost.'

The student was now confronted with a bizarre scene. Miss Méliès had her arms folded as if waiting for further explanations. At her side, a stunted house elf with a short white beard and a black butler's dinner jacket was carrying a funerary tablet. Attached to the tablet was a black-and-white photograph of a dark-haired boy — the same boy he had noticed in the library in his first year. Beneath the photograph, in capital letters, was written 'REST IN PEACE, LITTLE ANGE'.

"Are you all right, Severus?"

The boy in the photo...'

Stinky frowned, changing the position of his hands and moving his second hand away from the final syllable of the word 'angel'.

REST IN PEACE, LITTLE ANGUS.

Was this his epitaph? So Russell was the boy in the library...

His incredulous eyes scanned the rest of the dungeon. The contents of his dungeon paled in comparison to those in the young woman's study. From floor to ceiling, bent shelves creaked under the weight of jars filled with unknown minerals, organs and bizarre foetuses. On the desk, in a large aquarium, a dark, half-fish, half-snake creature swirled quietly. It resembled the glistening organs of the dissected bodies bathed in formalin around it.

Severus recognised Miss Melanie, the late prefect's dreadful eel.

'The Gryffindors and other merrymakers don't understand why we're so fond of black magic, blood, bones and all those 'slimy things',' said Melies, dipping his clawed hand into the greenish water. "But that's because life is full of anatomy, nonsense and despair. You and I know this, and we create art to make life worth living.

'Is that Russell's eel...?'

'It's not an eel,' Stinky the elf corrected. 'Eels don't look like that. It's a moray eel.'

Judging by the number of times Severus had seen the prefect monologuing with it in the dormitory, handing out little crisps, the pet had to be able to speak.

'I don't know what you were doing here,' said Miss Méliès, 'but you're just in time. You're going upstairs to show this elf where the Slytherin dormitories are. He must take this moray eel back there.'

The old elf clasped his hands together and lowered his ears.

'Madame doesn't want Stinky to take care of it, does she?'

'Your... master wrote these words in the letter he left us: "Given that my elderly mother has proven to be unreliable, I am entrusting you to look after my pet. It's written in black ink on vellum. Take a look. Now, the door you can see opens onto a staircase. Climb it and you will find yourself in the dungeons of your house.'

The house elf resigned himself to his fate and followed Severus up the stairs, levitating the aquarium with his outstretched hands.

'Moray eels are born from the tears of the Nereids,' he explained to the sorcerer's apprentice as they climbed the stairs. 'Each time its master sheds a tear, the eel grows in size.'

This one was very long — its master must have cried a lot.

The stairs indeed led them behind the panelling of the luxurious Slytherin common room.

'Where should we put it?' asked Stinky.

'I suppose we should take her up to our dormitory where she was before,' said Severus.

'But who's going to look after it?' asked the elf.

'I don't know… I suppose I will if nobody else offers. In that case, it would be best to leave it here for the time being.'

Stinky placed the aquarium on a pedestal table. Saying goodbye to his deceased master's pet, Stinky used his species' powers to disappear.

The moray quickly attracted a handful of spectators, mainly from the final year.

'Look who it is!' exclaimed Parkinson. 'It's Miss Melanie!'

'I thought we were going to be rid of that horror,' said Gabriel Sanchez, the Quidditch team's keeper.

'Do you remember when Big Bob put it in the toilet and flushed? We had a good laugh that day,' said Parkinson.

'But it's... It's impossible to suck up an animal that size,' Severus objected.

'At the time, six years ago, it was much smaller,' said Parkinson. 'Fish like that mutate at some point in their lives. Still, Russell, who'd never cracked before... He couldn't stand the fact that his moray eel had disappeared. He cried like a fountain, his face red as a strawberry. If Malfoy hadn't got it, I think I would have slapped him to shut him up.'

Does this idiot think he's funny? A bunch of idiots, thought Severus. If someone had killed his salamander, he might not have cried in front of everyone, but he certainly would have been upset.

'In those days, Big Bob was the law,' said Sanchez, smoothing his goatee beard. 'But Russell refused to pledge allegiance to him, and his appearance was also working against him. He was a little tramp, but as proud as a peacock and as fierce as a stray cat! He used to kick me under the table with his big shoe...'

'You had it coming.'

'Maybe I did. But he didn't do anything like the others, and that didn't work in his favour. For example, he always wrote an extra scroll, as if he couldn't be satisfied with the maximum required.'

'Like me,' thought Severus with worry. 'Maybe I'll end up like him, with a noose around my neck.'

'And then... He smelt of cologne. He talked like an adult. He was a big, arrogant oaf. And he always had a cold. You can't imagine what it's like to always have a cold like that.'

'I'm sure it was Big Bob who put a sniffling spell on him,' replied Avery.

'You're criticising, but you were taking part too.'

'At least I feel remorse!' replied Avery. 'Poor Angus; he couldn't even run away from us with his injured leg.'

'Who was Big Bob?' asked Severus.

'Robert Nott. He was in his final year when we were in our first. Every year, he chose a first-year student to be his scapegoat.'

Severus found it hard to believe that Angus Russell had been Slytherin's lame duck... Yet many things now made sense.

He remembered Angus giving him a tip about filling Potter's scalp with vermin while he was searching for Macnair's bottle that day. 'I invented that one,' he had said. He also remembered Bellatrix's insinuations about one of his legs being too short, Peeves delivering a eulogy for Degustus Russell, and Avery accusing his classmates of not feeling guilty about their friend's suicide. Angus, his 'friend', who never called him by his first name.

Many things could be explained. And yet it was the same person: the charming boy he had seen in the library four years ago. He thought he knew everyone around him. Yet like the others, he was living through his dreams.

The illusions of the young Slytherin who had just arrived at Hogwarts had lasted only a few hours.

He had been standing at the crossroads where the staircases diverge. Suddenly, there was a roar and a crowd of small heads climbed the stairs like a wave. A name was chanted like a sports slogan or an incantation. They were celebrating their god.

'POTTER! POTTER! GO POTTER!"

The quick pupil with the binoculars hadn't missed the target. And everything had been over.

'I found this on the stairs, Headmaster,' the caretaker muttered. 'He looks shocked.'

Now he was on the terrace, high above the castle, where the clouds were gliding by like ships. It was three o'clock in the afternoon.

He was still lost in thought.

'So,' said Bellatrix, 'is Hogsmeade all right?'

An earlier discussion came to mind, and he saw the opportunity.

'Just a minute. On the last day before the Christmas holidays, at the party, you told me that I didn't know what Lucius thought of me. What exactly did you mean by that?'

He was finally going to find out. Whatever it was, he couldn't have stooped any lower given his situation.

'What I meant was that you think Lucius has a certain image of you, but that's not true.'

'Is he criticising me?' Severus asked anxiously, his back still turned to the girl.

'Oh, it's not that!' she laughed. 'When I say what he thinks of you, I mean that he doesn't think the same things about you as you think he does.'

Would she guess that I admire Lucius? That I... Does that mean he despises me?

'How do I explain this to you? Some people have special morals. When Malfoy talks about friendship with you, it goes far beyond that, I'm afraid. What he thinks of you... How can I tell you without frightening you?'

'If he was hanging around with you, it wasn't to study Arithmancy,' sneered Rosier.

'Hey!' hissed Wilkes. 'He looked traumatised. It's the shock of his life.'

'Lucius is… homosexual?' murmured Severus.

He'd never thought he'd have to interpret Bellatrix's words that way, nor her flushed cheeks. Him, Lucius... Two contradictory images came to mind: the disgusting sodomites his family spoke of and the illustrious figures of dark magic known to have committed every transgression — the luminous enamels of darkness he had admired since childhood.

'You really are innocent. It's obvious that he is,' replied Bellatrix.

Innocent, innocent... They had all said the same thing. To him, Lucius had always been the epitome of masculinity, undoubtedly because he played Quidditch and had a "penetrating" sailor's gaze, solid as a rock. This gaze was well known for landing on Bellatrix. And perhaps even for the "male" in his name...

He momentarily forgot the blushing Lucius from the library, the Lucius with the nervous twitch in his leg and the Lucius in the alchemy class who squirmed in his chair like a child. It never occurred to him that Lucius' "manhood" had never chosen the colour of his eyes or the sound of his last name.

'Just because it seems obvious... doesn't mean it's true,' Severus continued.

Macnair had accused both Lucius and Bellatrix of various things. But, after all, it wasn't the first time she'd said it. Severus had hoped to learn something new, but she was resorting to the same old tricks and interpretations that made him see reality through his own personal filter, just like Macnair.

'I have it on good authority,' Bellatrix replied.

Severus turned around abruptly, making the girl recoil. It was Macnair again. Although... No, it couldn't be him. Bellatrix wouldn't listen to a fourth year, and Macnair had never suggested that Lucius was homosexual. He hadn't seen much of Walden Macnair in the last few days; he spent all his late afternoons at the Medipsychowizards. 'At least they listen to me.'

'Well, Hogsmeade it is, then.'

'Perfect! Evan, have you got any chocolate fudge left?'

'Take the packet,' replied the blonde in a disillusioned tone.

'Bellatrix, if you keep eating like that, you're going to get as fat as a barrel,' teased Wilkes.

'Nonsense. Severus, we're going to the lake to say hello to the Kraken. Are you coming with us?'

'I can't. I've got DADA in five minutes.'

'Ah, McKinnon...' said Rosier. 'That's a serious one.'

Five years later, they would slaughter the same woman with the utmost cruelty. Rosier laughed and whispered a few words into Severus's ear, making sure Bellatrix couldn't hear him: 'If you're interested in Bella, I think she prefers it when guys say nasty things to her.'

His younger brother frowned and left the terrace.

He was halfway to McKinnon's class when he saw a joyful figure coming towards him.

It was Dumbledore.

'A lovely afternoon, isn't it, Severus?'

'It is indeed.'

'How have you been?'

'Well, actually...'

'Come to think of it... Mr Kouign-Aman, one of the Medipsychowizards you spoke to at the beginning of the week, was very surprised by you.'

'Surprised?'

'He thinks you have Occlumency gifts. It's a very rare talent. I am a specialist in Occlumency myself. If you would like me to, I could give you lessons to help you develop this ability.'

'I don't... I don't know if...'

'I'm not asking you to give me an immediate answer; just take some time to think about it. Come and see me in my office when you've made up your mind.'

"I found this on the stairs, Headmaster,' Argus Rusard grumbled. 'He looked shocked. If only I could catch the little scoundrels who did this. It's a pity you banned corporal punishment when you took over from Mr Dippey.'

At this, the caretaker let in a little man with black hair covered with pink liquid. He was carrying a large cardboard sign, which was hanging from his neck by a string and read 'WASH YOURSELF''.

Albus Dumbledore left his desk and approached the boy.

'Good evening,' he said. 'Tell me, what happened to you?'

The child remained silent.

'He won't tell you anything. He doesn't talk,' said Rusard.

The old wizard touched the liquid and smelt it.

'It's shampoo.'

'It's everywhere! And who's going to clean it up again?'

'Leave me with him, Argus, please."

'Good luck,' muttered Rusard, furrowing his brow in doubt as he slipped away, looking vaguely disgusted.

Dumbledore smiled as he watched the new pupil. His dark hair was cut into a short bob and framed a face with childlike curves, despite his prominent nose.

'We're alone now,' he said. 'What's your name?'

'Severus Snap',' replied the Slytherin, his eyes shining.

'I think there's great sorrow in your heart, Severus Snape. You're sad because you're away from home, and you thought your friends would be like the other boys at the other schools. But there's no shame in crying.'

The boy's chest heaved and big tears rolled down his round cheeks.

'Come on,' said the headmaster, putting his hand on his shoulder.

He led him past a firebird with magnificent wings.

'Look at it, Severus,' he murmured.

The old wizard's voice was soft and whispery, like the sound of grey ash being stirred in a barely glowing hearth.

'It's a phoenix. It was born in the sun of the distant, lofty city of Heliopolis, and its tears can cure all ailments. It burns with all its splendour for a while, then dies and rises from its ashes. Look how beautiful it is... Doesn't that comfort you?'

The young Slytherin wiped his eyes and shook his head.

Nothing can console me.

After dinner, Severus went downstairs to the hiding place provided by Dumbledore's mercy and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Despite all his vague moral qualms, his reflection expressed the truth of his being: the sarcastic, cynical boy had always been unhappy. His body reflected his cruel truth, not an insignificant appearance masking his true soul. He was skinny, black and pale, like a root without sunlight, surviving on the frail glow of his books.

He hated that hair. Everything about his face, everything about him, disgusted him. He opened the drawer of his bedside table and looked in the mirror again, holding the scissors. Lucius could love everyone else in the world, but he would never love someone like him. What had brought him to this point? He wanted to punish them, and himself, wash up and disappear. Lowering his arm, he looked at the scissors, morbidly reminiscent of doll's limbs separated from their bodies.

He was startled by the sound of a door, followed by a deep but youthful voice.

'Nice little hideaway... How did you get it?'

Severus didn't have time to turn around. Lucius's voice became a touch on his back, his arms around Severus's waist and his chin resting at the juncture of his feverish shoulder and neck.

'I'm sorry about what happened last time,' he said softly. 'I was upset. I didn't mean what I said.'

His right arm relaxed and he stroked his cheek.

'What happened to your hair?'

'I cut it.'

'Why did you cut it? It was such a beautiful colour.'

'I... I wanted a change.'

Severus couldn't think of a better answer.

'It's a shame,' Lucius replied. 'I really like long hair.'

The teenager dropped the scissors. Lucius immediately grabbed them and put them in his pocket.

'Don't you think it would suit me?'

He cast a spell.

'Just a test,' he said, releasing his grip.

Severus turned around to see the mirage of beautiful, long hair now gleaming with a moon-like glow on either side of Lucius's face. But his eyes were strange; he looked as if he were drunk. It wasn't alcoholic drunkenness, but it was similar to the way he had looked at him and smiled in the alchemy class.

'Are you coming to Hogsmeade with me the day after tomorrow?'

'Actually... I've already promised Bellatrix.'

'Black? Would you rather see Black?'

'No, I wouldn't.'

Severus's face looked so beautiful in the candlelight. His long black eyes looked so intense, as if filled with pain, immense. Lucius ran his hand through his youngest comrade's cropped locks, which were growing back between his fingers, and held him close; Severus wished the embrace would never end.

Life was good. Why had he ever doubted that? Could there have been times when he would rather have remained in the nothingness of sleep than face what life had in store for him?

That evening, Severus returned to the common room with a light heart. The two Medipsychowizards were a few metres ahead of him; their room was on the way to the Slytherin dungeons.

He saw the assistant hand McGonagall's friend a bouquet of white roses.

'Here. I picked them myself. Would you mind giving them to Minerva?'

'I suppose you picked them in Miss Sprout's greenhouse?'

'Er... Yes.'

'Ah, love, Gwénolé... What wouldn't we do for love?'

'Do you think that...'

'I'm sure of it now.'

'And yet, I haven't been able to read his mind.'

'I may not have Occlumency like you, but I know how to ask the right questions.'

The assistant scratched his chin.

'It's not surprising when I think about it. It fits perfectly.'

'Elementary, my dear. Elementary.'

to be continued