Chapter 1 - Life Goes On

A/N 1: It's good to be back, and I hope I have some returning readers!

A/N 2: Remember where we left off? Nott Senior was closing in on Archie Delingpole in order to kidnap him and hold him ransom for The Mirror of Merlin. Snape tricked Karkaroff into murdering him. The Mirror's magical properties were destroyed, and Dumbledore told The Daily Prophet it had always been a hoax. That should do.

A/N 3: Bear with me; it's a long chapter, with quite a bit of exposition.

A/N 4: There's a little bit of none-too-subtle foreshadowing in this chapter, which should alert you to the non-canon direction the story will eventually take! I hope you enjoy it.

Evening in the Slytherin common room, 8th April, 1995.

"Finally!"

It was the overstressed first syllable that made her sound so stroppy. Snape pulled Alicia Mayhew up from the rug to stand beside him.

"You're being rude and remarkably demanding for one who refused to make the trek up to the owlery. Do we need to have words?"

That question needed no answer.

"Sorry Zabini. Thanks for getting Theo's letter."

As a matter of fact, Alicia had good reason for not wanting to go trooping through the castle, but she knew Snape wouldn't have agreed. Squirming out of his grasp, she slunk back down to her spot on the rug next to Harry and Malfoy. It was hard for her to disappear from view given the shocking pink cardigan she was wearing, but she gave it her best shot.

"Told you." She said, as she copied them and leant back on the sofa.

What she'd told them was Snape was in a prickly mood since he'd returned from his unexplained absence, which was a shame as the days following Wilberforce Nott's death had been particularly wonderful. Odd that such a solemn event should be the precursor of carefree merriment, but there it was.

Malfoy had confided that Theo was dreadfully poorly the evening of the ministry inspection. That was confirmed a week later when Snape finally allowed them to visit the hospital wing in small groups. Not one group witnessed Snape cuff Theo around the back of the head and tell him to stop malingering. Nor was he threatened with a potion of Snape's own concoction; a potion so foul it was guaranteed to shock the recipient out of his or her feeble state. And when those things didn't happen, you knew a person was sick. They learned of Nott Senior's death. That brought long moments of introspection to many in the dungeons. Few knew the man, but they'd heard tell of him. 'One of the Old Guard' was how many of their parents had spoken of Wilberforce Nott. He was admired, and not a little feared. And when certain Slytherin parents regarded a person like that … well, it spoke volumes. They all took a few moments to regret the times they'd brushed straight past Theo when he was looking downcast, or the times they'd gone hurtling off on an escapade and not noticed he hadn't joined them until too late. They hadn't the first idea what had happened, but they knew. Knew all about that scary, murky world so many of their parents inhabited. So why on earth were the Easter hols wonderful? Harry puzzled over that one and came to the conclusion that when things were dire, there's really no option but to seize happiness. If it wanders across your path, you grab it. You'd be a fool not to - and the Snakes were anything but foolish.

Snape's usual practice during the holidays was to resent his students for coming from families so abysmal they were unwelcome in the school breaks. He much preferred to live in denial of his students' presence, and go cavorting around Hogsmeade like a sailor on shore leave - only with a much larger appetite. When he did enter the common room, he would do so only to glower and reproach them for any stray hint of happiness. Unfair, but then Severus never laid claim to nobility of purpose. However, this time he was on board with the gaiety.

The only time he'd been to Hogsmeade was to take his Slytherins on a jaunt there. They had a fine time, due in no small part to Miles Bletchley. Despite numerous unpleasant discussions with Snape regarding the perils of gambling, Bletchley ran a forbidden book on the number of greetings their housemaster would receive from the young - and not-so-young - witches of the town. A verbal greeting counted as one point, a lascivious wink, two. Embraces, hugs and the like scored three points. And should any lusty wench's hands venture below Snape's waist, Bletchley had promised a double pay out. The latter was teenaged boys' imaginations run wild, but it added to the lark. Unfortunately, the book-maker let the cat out of bag when he whooped with joy as the greetings, winks and hugs surpassed forty seven - the highest number wagered on, and he realised he could keep all the money. Snape pulled back from Polly Pinkerton, occasional barmaid at The Hog's Head, eyed the older students, and knew at once what they'd been about.

"You all wagered on so few? You wound me!"

He then proposed they attempt to win back their money by betting on how many times his slipper connected with Bletchley's backside. But that never came to pass, and one glorious spring day after another brought extra joy to the Snakes as they picnicked on the lawns, challenged Gryffindor to moderately friendly quidditch matches, and gained Snape's permission to go swimming in the Black Lake.

Whilst Snape was up in the hospital wing, the younger students took the opportunity to play pranks on older students. Blaise Zabini was a favourite target. Not that he was disliked - as a matter of fact, several of the younger girls regularly swooned in his presence - but the preening peacock of the fourth year was such a deliciously easy target. Cologne was spelled to turn acrid ten minutes after Blaise had liberally doused himself in it. Hair products once applied mutated into flurries of dandruff. Face cleansers caused blackheads to appear around his nostrils. They were all short-lived spells, but still long enough to have Zabini pulling at his hair and swearing revenge. Great fun for the lower years, though. They loved it.

Once Zabini recovered his sangfroid, he and the older years paused the wholesomeness of spring picnics and healthy dips in the lake to smoke up a storm in the disused woodsheds, make repulsive cocktails with the few dregs of alcohol they could rustle up, or go and snog significant others in the long grass near the Dark Forest. Snape never cottoned on to any of that; it had been bloody marvellous.

oOo

Harry weighed up Alicia's remark; was The Git returning to form? Hard to say. Of course they all wanted to hear about Theo, but she was annoyingly impatient; he'd been tempted to tell her to button it himself. He looked up to see his housemates sitting erect, eager for the first news from Theo regarding his new situation at The Delingpoles. Zabini held the letter aloft.

"Well … my, my! Never let it be said that the Delingpoles do things by halves. Just look at how exquisite this letter is!"

"We don't want to look at it. We want to hear what's in it!" Called out Alicia.

Zabini enjoyed her impatience. He was certain Alicia was the one who tampered with his cologne. He took a few slow paces around the room showing everyone the ornate parchment. It was rose tinted with gilded edges, and hadn't been folded in the usual manner, but rolled and held in its furled state by a rose grosgrain ribbon several hues darker. An illuminated crest was just visible near one end. Harry's eyes were drawn to it and he realised why as its sum parts started tripping delicately up and down the scroll before singing aloud the family motto, 'acutissime ac diligentissime semper'. Harry felt an elbow in his ribs.

"What's the name of the Weasley hovel? The Pig Pen? The Rats Nest?"

"The Burrow." Answered Harry, too distracted by the tiny voices to take in Malfoy's cheap barb.

"Yeah well, they could sell that place and maybe buy one sheet of that parchment."

The all-singing, all-dancing letter had somewhat stolen the thunder from his nasty jibe, but he didn't mind. Potter was alright, he'd decided. The bespectacled show-off had risen in his estimation with his modest conduct following the drama of the two Notts. Potter hadn't spoken of it, even when folk went digging for details. And far from missing the limelight, Malfoy thought he detected relief in Potter that Snape didn't emulate Dumbledore and insist everyone bow down to the sainted Harry Potter at dinner in the Great Hall. Fair do's, he supposed; Wonderboy was kind of okay.

Snape was only a few feet from the muttered insult, yet he too didn't pick up on it. He was listening to the Delingpole motto - acuity and diligence always - and pondering just how far the current standard bearers had fallen, and whether it wasn't time for a new motto? He snapped to, and realised what Malfoy had just said. Good, thought Snape. He was greedily harvesting any bad behaviour - with a goal in mind.

"I won't have such disrespectful talk in Slytherin. Keep talking like that, Mister Malfoy, and you'll cost your housemates an early lights-out."

Snape looked from Malfoy to take in the rest of the students.

"In fact, that might not be a bad idea. There've been far too many late nights recently. You're all getting peevish."

Harry stared at all the relaxed and contented faces and wondered what on earth Snape was on about. Alicia was the only person looking bothered, but that wasn't unusual for her. Snape ploughed on despite all evidence to the contrary.

"Tiredness has made you fractious and petulant. Let me warn you now, one more ill-tempered word from anyone, and the whole lot of you will be up those stairs and into your dorms."

Zabini, Snape was delighted to note, had been too intent on teasing the younger students with the slow reveal of the letter's contents to hear his uncalled for chiding. The fourth-year now sat down and carefully tugged on the grosgrain ribbon. This he slowly rolled up and placed on a nearby table. Several times the ribbon attempted to uncoil itself, but with ponderous deliberation he experimented with repositioning it, until eventually it remained sitting obediently coiled. Next he began to carefully unfurl the parchment, admiring its smoothness as he went. It was all a not-so-subtle ploy to rile his younger housemates, just payback for their pranks. It worked.

Curious the effect of words, though. A person might think they've shrugged them off, but no. They've lingered somewhere and sown seeds. Where before there was serenity, impatience bloomed and tempers began to fray.

"Hurry up!" Called out Elsa Tobin. She then eyed Snape nervously, "I mean please hurry up."

But Zabini was enjoying this far too much. He slowed down even more. Arno Van Den Berg noticed, and grew rattled.

"Perhaps we should all go to bed while Zabini opens the letter - if he hurries he might be ready to read it while we have breakfast tomorrow!" He huffed, quickly plastering a grin on his face - hoping this would be sufficient to turn ill temper into a 'quip'.

Zabini continued with his painstaking progress, and Snape watched his house grow restless. He did feel a little shabby, but, really, this was a gift. He'd had a bugger of a day, and needed more than anything time and space to think things through. No use sequestering himself in his quarters; some pest was bound to come in and break his solitude to ask a silly question or tattle on a housemate. His hope, on returning to the castle, had been that his students had enjoyed a bit of riotous rule-breaking. Then he'd be able to scold them soundly and send them off to bed. No such luck. Even Licorus Black could find nothing to reproach the Snakes for. But once the thought of sending the lot of them to bed early had entered his head, he hadn't been able to shake it. They didn't deserve it, but so what? Much in life was undeserved, both the good and the bad, and he could always make it up to them tomorrow.

Even that most affable of souls, Adrian Pucey, caught the impatience bug.

"As Zabini is taking such an extraordinarily long time for such a simple task, I have a word game we may play in the meantime - it'll hopefully stop us all falling asleep." He announced. "See who can rearrange these words into the correct order: Move. Get. On. Zabini. Bloody. A."

Synchronised perfectly, the heads in the room tilted to the side as they all began to mentally reorder the jumbled instruction. Snape won that little word game, and as it was now officially 'his turn', he decided to reciprocate.

"Here is a special one just for you, Mister Pucey: Are. Old. Too. You. Not."

Pucey understood perfectly what his housemaster deemed him not too old for. Furthermore, he felt - in light of his not infrequent trips to Snape's study - that his housemaster could have tried a little harder in formulating his word puzzle.

"Know. Sir. That. Already. I." Muttered Pucey.

oOo

But Zabini eventually heeded the whispered warnings that Snape was back to his habitual grumpiness. He stopped being provocative and read the letter aloud. Mellowness once again blanketed the room as Nott's words were read out. Theo was safe and thankful, and so very, very tired. He'd never realised how tense, how much on his guard he'd been. He felt so different now. In fact, he sobbed like a baby at the drop of a hat. And that was a good thing, he told them; he wanted rid of all his tears before he came back and Millicent started teasing him. The girl in question laughed.

"I will do, too - if he starts that malarkey!"

The Snakes smiled; they knew Millicent was as soft as butter when needed. Theo told them of the long walks in the Gloucestershire countryside he'd had with Claude Delingpole. Death, Claude told him, caused resentment and anger to spew forth, but that was nothing to be ashamed of. Ride it out and acceptance and joyful memories would eventually come in their wake. So that was what Theo planned to do. His father had once been kind, and Theo planned to cherish those memories. Snape listened as Zabini finished the letter and reproached himself once more for his uncharitable attitude to Claude and Audrey Delingpole.

He was glad they'd all heard the letter together, and part of him thought it would do them good to have an early night and mull over Theo's words. But now they all seemed so calm; he couldn't imagine anyone giving him cause to scold and send them to bed. Just as he was reconciling himself to their company for another few hours, Astoria Greengrass rode to the rescue.

"What I can't understand is why Theo didn't just go and stay with another relative if his dad was so mean."

"It's not that easy." Muttered Alicia with feeling.

"Our aunts and uncles are always begging us to stay with them, aren't they Daphne?"

"Be quiet, Tory." Said Daphne.

"Yeah, be quiet." Said Alicia, "You don't know what you're bloody talking about. You're just a lame brain."

"Don't call me that!"

"I will!" Said Alicia.

"Will you now? Well, I'll call you to your face what everyone else is calling you behind your back: big, pink blob!"

No sooner had the final 'b' sounded from Tory's lips than a furious Snape grasped her collar and propelled her out of the room.

"Good!" Said Daphne, "She deserves it. And don't listen to her, Alicia. No one's been saying that."

Alicia hung her head and a tear plopped into her lap. After a minute or so she spoke.

"It's true. I do look like a big, pink blob. I hate this thing." She said, pulling at the cardigan sleeve, "It's so ugly."

"Rubbish." Said Harry, putting his arm around her. "Pink's a great colour. It's Malfoy's favourite; all his underwear's pink!"

"True!" Said Malfoy, "Potter favours lavender, but I'm a pink man through and through!"

Alicia gave a watery laugh

"Why do you wear it if you don't like it?" Asked Tracey.

"Have to." Answered Alicia, "My aunt gave it to me. She only wears pink, and thinks all girls should."

"Well, she's not here now." Said Tracey, "Take it off if you want."

"She knows if I don't wear it. Then she gets cross … it's not good …"

Snape paused in the doorway holding onto a thoroughly chastened Tory Greengrass' shoulder. He stared intently as Alicia rubbed her fingers along the back of her right hand. He knew of the severity of Pure Bloods, yet Alicia's unconscious act still chilled him. He prodded Tory forward.

"I'm sorry, Lissy. No one else did say that; it was just me. You're clever, I'm not. It made me mad when you called me a lame brain. Sorry."

Alicia Mayhew, Snape observed, was more resilient than a rubber ball. Her bottom lip stopped all its wobbling, and a grin broke out.

"Bet you are now!" Said Alicia, taking in the tell-tale red eyes of someone recently dealt with by Snape. "Only kidding! The pink is yuck, but what can you do about crazy aunt gifts?"

The rapprochement was going too smoothly, and Snape stepped in to remind everyone of his earlier warning. They were all duly despatched to bed.

oOo

He can't be serious, thought Alicia Mayhew. I've had to wear this hideous fuchsia cardi' all day and then I got called a fat, pink blob in front of everyone. Now I'm in trouble?! She saw Harry falter in his steps, as if he was going to object to Snape on her behalf. She gave him a shove to the boys' stairs. Thanks but no thanks, Potter. If Snape's mad at me, you'll only make things worse.

Snape would have liked to let Alicia pass unhindered to bed, and not simply because he craved solitude. She was tired, and he realised she'd been out of sorts all day. This was something more than a childish fit of sulking over being forced to wear a cardigan she didn't particularly care for - and his suspicion was that it was a thoroughly unpleasant 'something'.

"Miss Mayhew, since when has it been acceptable to call anyone 'lame brain'?"

Snape beckoned her closer, and Alicia scowled. She should have bloody well known the evening wouldn't end without 'having words' with Snape.

"Hold out your hand."

She didn't know what was going on; he wasn't holding a ruler, but maybe he was going to summon that awful, stingy one out of his desk? Sticking out her short arm, she prepared for her palms to be tingling all night. But Snape turned the hand over and laid three light slaps on the back of it. Alicia couldn't believe it; it didn't hurt at all. Most un-Snapelike. And yet he stared intently at it, as if waiting for it to grow crimson under the feeble onslaught.

"Other one."

Snape placed his left thumb and forefinger on her wrist, raised the hand, and peered down in search of the tell-tale marks. There they were, five white crescent-shaped scars. Old, but he still couldn't bring himself to issue anything but light taps.

"No. More. Fighting. Or else."

Or else what, thought Alicia, you'll thrash me with a feather? Flay me with a handkerchief? But she got into enough trouble without inviting more, and kept shtum.

"I presume your aunt's cardigan was the reason you refused to go through the Great Hall and up to the owlery?"

"Yes. I do look like a pink blob, sir." She answered.

"You do not."

He put his arm around her to shepherd her to the girls' stairs, but not before giving her a slight squeeze.

"The colour looks exceptional on you. It goes well with your dark hair. And furthermore, if I ever suspect you've curtailed your movements over something as ludicrous as the colour of an item of clothing, I'll …"

She cut him off.

"I won't, sir. I won't do it again." Then, in an effort to make him feel better about the piss weak punishment he'd doled out, she rubbed her hands and added an "Ouch!"

"Bed, Miss Mayhew."

oOo

Harry quickly shrank back around the doorway to the boys' dorms. It had angered him when Snape called Alicia back. She was the sinned against, not the sinning. But Snape hadn't bawled her out; he'd given a sham punishment, and then been kind to her. Well, as kind as Harry imagined Snape got, which could easily be classed as standoffish for most people. Glancing down at his watch, he saw it wasn't even half past eight yet. Twenty seven minutes past, to be exact. He ought to be pissed off that his evening had been cut short, but he was feeling nothing but warm contentment. This was definitely a weird house - with an even weirder housemaster. But somehow it worked.

The alcove seat was far too inviting, and he slumped down into it and let his thoughts overtake him. As a little boy, he'd soon realised that The Dursleys, while technically a family, were a piss-poor rendition of one. His own parents were unknown to him, and so he'd created 'Fantasy Family'. The bones of said family were mainly fuelled by Enid Blyton. Loving mummy was ably abetted by an army of 'help' - these, note, were paid and most definitely not child labour. Daddy was a little remote, but constant, upstanding and respected by all. Siblings were there for adventures. They seldom fell out and when they did, it was over noble matters, such as fighting to shoulder the blame when they were caught scrumping apples in the farmer's field. He wasn't too sure what 'scrumping apples' was, but it was definitely a pursuit of he and his fantasy siblings. Above all, Fantasy Family were relentlessly happy, orderly folk, whose fantasy life ran like clockwork.

He found out all that was bollocks at The Burrow. The Weasleys were way better than Fantasy Family, but they had a flaw.

"Count yourself lucky you don't have a sister." Ron would groan.

"Brothers are the worst, and I've got SIX of them." Ginny would grumble.

"Mum's addicted to fussing." George would say, "Lucky you; you don't have to put up with all that."

For all their chaotic warmth, he was still an outsider. No one in Slytherin had ever said, "Lucky you. At least Snape won't give you three feet of lines because he's in a shit mood and you left your jumper on the sofa arm." They either gave him a commiserating shrug, or a "Sucks to be you, Potter!" And he did likewise the next time cranky Snape doubled their prep time for whispering during morning inspection.

From the get-go he'd been treated as one of them, at least by Snape. And come to think of it, the Snakes hadn't been far behind - despite their callous reputation. He was no longer an unwanted adjunct to the family. Nor was he treated as an honoured guest. He was just one of them. Of course that meant that he was subject to Snape's unfair and ridiculously early bedtime the same as the rest of them. The thing was, Harry found that he didn't mind in the slightest. If Molly Weasley had done her nut and packed Ron and his sibs off to bed, Harry knew he'd have been excused - allowed to sit in the parlour with a book while the others bitched and moaned upstairs. That's what an in-group doesn't get: outsiders envy the whole experience, not just the fun times. He was delighted to be in the midst of everyday Slytherin life with all its attendant joking, teasing, squabbles and Snape tellings off.

"You have three seconds to get in your dorm, Potter!"

He basked in the luxury of rolling his eyes, then scuttled down the hallway to join Malfoy and the gang.

oOo

Snape waited for Potter to close the dorm door, spun around on his heel, and deliberated.

"That one." He murmured to the empty room.

Shoes still on, he threw himself onto the longest of the sofas before summoning his whisky bottle and tumbler from his quarters. Oh, the perks of being a despot! And why should he not have seized those meagre advantages? His role as head of Slytherin House certainly brought more than its share of trouble. No doubt Filius had noted his absence that day and sniggered over lunch about Snape's 'extra-curricular Hogsmeade activities'. Minerva might have joined in with the sniggers, but she could just as easily have sat lips pursed and disapproving; it all depended on her mood. But alas, there'd been no romps with the effervescent Polly Pinkerton. Not that day. That day had been very different.

oOo

Same day, 11 am

Snape stayed hidden behind the south transept pillar of St Wulfstan's Church. He wasn't tempted to peer around. He'd taken a look at the open coffin earlier when the Reverend Eustace Hardbottle had grown so perplexed at the absence of any mourners, he'd gone to check with his verger that it was indeed the correct time and date for the funeral of Wilberforce Nott, late of that parish.

The severity of Nott Senior's demeanour had always leeched out into what was, objectively, a handsome face. The aquiline nose appeared hawkish, the soft grey of his eyes glinted like sharpened metal, and the pleasing lack of fullness to his lips was taken too far by their forever being thinned into a streak of distaste. But since the morticians had plied their wretched trade, the man practically glowed a sickly yellow. Snape gave a nod to the stained glass depiction of St Jude, and silently offered thanks that Theodore hadn't attended this dismal rite. But some would come; of that Snape was certain.

Sure enough, no sooner had Vicar Hardbottle recited the last prayer than the church door opened. A mass of heavy steps sounded up the aisle, and Snape pulled back to look around the sandstone column. Jasper Flint pulled out a long pin from his lapel and stuck it in Nott's body with a severity that caused Hardbottle to gasp.

"He's gone." Flint confirmed to the newly-arrived guests.

Severus slid back further, and saw the fathers of Pucey, Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy. They abruptly turned to exit the church, only Lucius feeling any embarrassment at what had just happened.

"Thank you, vicar." He said softly, before looking down at Wilberforce Nott. "He was a complicated man." He added by way of explanation.

Snape slipped out of the vestry door and raced along the southern wall, crouching under the stone embrasure as the men stood in the vestibule.

"He's dead, as I assured you he was." It was Lucius speaking, "We took an unnecessary risk coming here."

"Some of us, Malfoy, are prepared to take risks in the service of the Dark Lord." Said Pucey Senior.

"I came!" Objected Lucius.

"Unwillingly. A fact I shall be sure to relay."

Crabbe Senior walked down the church steps.

"No one's around, but we should leave."

"Soon, Crabbe. Don't you lose your nerve like Malfoy!"

"And the Mirror?" Asked Jasper Flint.

"The Mirror was a hoax." Said Pucey bitterly.

"Dear, dear," Crooned Lucius, "and there you were, Pucey, thinking poor Wilberforce had substituted the Mirror with a forgery, and faked his own funeral. Might I suggest less cheese at supper? It over-stimulates one's imagination, I believe."

"As I said before, Malfoy, some of us know no limit in the service of the Dark Lord. We are prepared to explore every possibility."

"Indeed." Replied Lucius, "Your unknown limits caused you to murder two of the brightest young followers the Dark Lord had. Perhaps I shall relay that fact to him when he returns, hmm?"

"As you wish, Malfoy. But let me say this, Christopher and Hugh Delingpole brought about their own deaths by failing repeatedly to bring us the Mirror. Furthermore, I consider it our duty, whilst in waiting, to rid our ranks of all the callow and the ineffectual."

Snape didn't need to look. He knew Pucey's remark was aimed at Lucius, as did all present, though not one spoke in his defence. The crunch of gravel in several directions signalled they had dispersed. Snape rose a little and looked through the embrasure. Only Lucius was remaining. He watched the man drop his head to his chest in defeat, and wondered how his one-time friend was ever going to survive the return of the Dark Lord. No smugness there. Lucius had been kind to him once, and however much he tried, Snape couldn't forget it. He kept watching. Lucius breathed in deeply, drew himself up, and affected that supercilious look he'd made his own. A few seconds later, and he'd apparated.

oOo

Snape sat on the cold stone and stretched out his legs. To his left, Vicar Hardbottle and the sexton were staring into the grave of Wilberforce Nott. This they did for a respectful minute, before the vicar turned and left, and the sexton began shovelling earth atop Wilberforce. Not one word, Snape reflected. Not one of them had spoken a single word on Nott Senior's death, other than confirm its veracity. He supposed it was justice that such a singularly hateful man in life should be afforded no regard in death. It also had the added advantage that no one much cared how Nott had died. It was simply enough that he was dead, and that meant no suspicion falling on himself or Karkaroff.

The sexton finished, and Snape walked towards the fresh grave. He couldn't pray for Wilberforce Nott. The man had been vile. But he did offer thanks for being able to turn Adrian Pucey and his siblings away from their terrifying father. He was thankful, too, that Nott was free of Wilberforce, and he had the burgeoning hope that others might be freed from similar oppression. He turned his back on Wilberforce Nott and walked away.

oOo

Snape was about to pour his fourth glass of whisky, but wisely put that on hold to recap the events of the last few weeks before the smoky, peat-filled fug of whisky overload shrouded his brain. He had engineered Nott's death. Karkaroff cast the fatal spell, but it had all been Severus' doing. Both of them were in the clear; none of the Death Eaters mourned Nott. Albus' fake news of The Mirror of Merlin being a hoax had been swallowed hook, line and sinker. No vengeance would be sought for the destruction of it. Christopher and Hugh Delingpole had been murdered by Pucey Senior. Snape was thankful it hadn't been Lucius. Theodore Nott would be forever scarred by his father's actions, but the kind hearts and simple goodness of the Delingpoles, allied to Theodore's own tenacity, would see him through. They were the good things, but there was so much besides.

Lucius' position was looking perilous. Snape feared for him when The Dark Lord returned; he'd seen the ruthlessness with his own eyes. His mind ran apace, and he wondered if he could somehow use Lucius' weakness to his own ends. Next, Alicia's small, chubby hand sprang to mind, and he found himself panicking. How could he hope to keep his Slytherins safe when they had families like hers? Families that wielded instruments of correction so cruel they'd make Salazar himself blanch. What child would be brave enough to turn away from them?

So many questions. He couldn't hope to answer them. Not that it stopped him from brooding.

"Bugger!" He exclaimed, "All this, and I still have to face Minerva."

The thought of that conversation had him reaching for the whisky bottle.