Unfortunately for Severus, the Marauder's decision to pretend that he didn't exist ended the next day after Herbology. And for whatever reason, they decided to begin with his clothes.

"What, someone taught little chimney boy how to dress?" James began, wand out and menacing and he and his troupe circled in on their favorite victim behind the deserted greenhouses. Severus barely had it in him to snarl in return.

"Leave me be, Potter."

He had been enjoying his new apparel and did not need the likes of them to screw it up for him.

But with four wands now pointed at his face, that prospect was looking more and more unlikely, and so he pulled his out too.

"Oh, Snivellus forgot," sneered Potter. He was wearing his Quidditch jersey already despite having hours to go before the match. "Professor McGonagall is the Head of Gryffindor, not the Head of Slytherin. She does not care about slime-filled snakes, and that means she does not care about you."

Severus would wonder for many years why he said what he said next, and what, if anything, might be done so that he could go back in time and stop himself from saying it.

"She does too care!"

Undoubtedly it was a very childish, stupid thing to say. Black laughed and shot Potter his "look," the one that meant Severus was about to be crushed like a piece of meat.

"We'll see about that."

And little by little, thread by thread the Marauders tore apart the expensive new garments Severus had gotten from his teacher; tore apart each miniscule fraction of hope that still remained in the pale, bony body that someone, somewhere, had cared for him. It was all gone, all she had told him was long gone, until he stood in nothing but an undershirt, pants and now muddied socks. Even his shoes were ruined, dashed like his Professor's false promises. He could hear them laughing.

"And just what is going on here?"

But there she was… Severus didn't dare to hope it, when she had never come to his aid before. Nevertheless, there she was- the fact was indisputable. Her hair was pulled in the usual tight bun and her arms were crossed. She looked mad. She looked furious.

Severus grinned in spite of himself.

"Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew- detention with me each afternoon for the next fortnight at least."

Her watchful, flashing eyes glimpsed Potter's Quidditch uniform.

"Ah. I address the Captain of our House's Quidditch team, I see. Until I decide otherwise, Mr. Potter, you are officially banned from the field. I suggest you apologize to the rest of our House; I fear our chances of winning the Quidditch Cup are now quite gone."

Their mouths hung so wide; it was a wonder their chins didn't fall off. How stupid the famous Potter and Black looked! Oh, Severus wished he had a camera.

"Well? Why are you still here?"

The Fab Four most definitely did not linger.

"Here," offered Minerva, helping the disheveled but gloating teenager to his feet. "What on earth…" Her voice trailed off as she held the shreds of his new clothes in her hands and took in the mess all over the grass. There was nothing to say. He hung his head in shame.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" He choked. "I'll pay you back, I swear!"

"Nonsense. Come with me. We'll clean you up."

He was still crying as he sat on the edge of the familiar bathtub as she cleaned the scabs that had appeared on his knees. She was attempting in vein to conceal all of her anger in case the child decided for unfathomable reasons that it was directed at him. But this was difficult when the Hogwarts Matron's report on his history kept flashing before her eyes.

"Shh, shh," she soothed, running a wrinkled finger over Severus's tear stained cheeks. "I do not care about the clothes. I will get you more- whatever you like."

This was met with another wracking sob.

"But- but he said…" Severus did not dare to repeat it. She might still tell him it was true.

"Oh, darling," Minerva cooed, pulling him to her chest. "Sweet, sweet darling."

He could not help it. Pressed against her thin bosom, he could not help but cry and cry and wail until he couldn't anymore. After almost ten minutes of this, he spoke at last.

"Aunt Min? Can I- can I stay here tonight with you?"

She did not answer. She just nodded and dressed him for bed.

She'd never done that before, but she did it without thinking, like instinct.

Taking care of her son was becoming instinct.