Potter and Black's moratorium on bullying lasted a blissful, too-short twelve days, and finally came to an end with a very spectacular flare. It only figured that they would choose to act out in Severus' second-favorite class: Potions. The rest of the day had passed without any ill omens. Potter and Black had both been giving Severus evil looks as usual, but they'd been doing that for a week and a half, and so far no harm had come from it. Perhaps he'd scared them after all; perhaps they would finally leave him alone.

Potions class began, and Fortescue started by demonstrating how to deal with the various ingredients for today's project before adding them in the proper order. The man considered himself a comedian; twice, he "accidentally" dropped potions ingredients to show the class just how wrong the whole thing could go if they botched it up. Nobody laughed; bright orange fire shooting toward the ceiling wasn't really anything to laugh at.

Severus hoped desperately that none of the students on either side of him were going to botch it up.

"All right, class," said Fortescue. "Go ahead and take steps one through eight, just as I've shown you here. Get to work; you have forty minutes, and then we can start on the next steps."

Forty minutes? Child's play. Immediately, Severus began to prepare his potion. This was kids' stuff; bored and unchallenged, he let his mind wander.

He'd had very little luck so far with the Quester's game. The answer to the riddle (if there even WAS one, he thought bitterly to himself) wasn't coming no matter how hard he chewed. Even if it were hidden someplace in the library, he had no idea where to look.

Crushed bicorn horn: check. They'd probably already found the blasted answer anyway and were on to something else. It really wasn't fair. There were six of them and one of him; how could he possibly compete?

That he hadn't been purposely included in the game in the first place wasn't important.

Essence of belladonna, infused with pixie talons: check. It was a boring, boring potion, but that grimoire, on the other hand... He didn't even know what it was about or why he'd grown so obsessed. Perhaps it was simply ennui; now that everyone (including Malfoy) was leaving him alone, he had too much time on his hands. Maybe he simply craved the edge that grimoire would give him.

"Incendio," he said under his breath as he lit his fire underneath his cauldron. It couldn't be too hot; if this stuff came even close to boiling, it'd be ruined. Time for the diluted bundimun sap - gods, what a dull potion this was. Of course, his obsession could also be explained by the fact that his ancestor's portrait was magical.

Severus had had the scare of his life that morning when he paused in front of a portrait of large, frumpy-looking woman in a pink dress. He'd been staring at her for a second, amazed that anyone who looked like that should want to be painted, when she'd done something he'd never expect in a thousand years: she spoke. "Get out of it, kiddo, this isn't your House," she snarled, and Severus was so startled that he'd run right back down the stairs, taken the long way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and was fifteen seconds shy of being late.

The portraits could talk.

Maybe it had been obvious to everybody else, but until that point, he hadn't known. There were no portraits in his own home, and none of these had spoken to him before. He knew pictures could move and express themselves; even chocolate frog cards did it, as well as the photographs he'd seen, and he knew things like suits of armor spoke - but portraits? They could TALK, and not only that; they could converse. This changed everything. Severus had already spent hours in front of the two portraits of Veneficus Princeps, studying them, analyzing them, even muttering a little to himself when no one else was around. He'd sketched out nearly every detail of them both, and in all that time, Veneficus had never said a word to him. Why? Perhaps he was used to being stared at?

Aconite, aconite, where was the aconite - ah, there it was. Carefully, Severus began shredding it into thin, even pieces.

Perhaps Veneficus simply didn't like to talk. He couldn't know, after all, that a descendant of his was the one standing there at odd hours, gawking at him. Perhaps if he did, he'd be willing to -

"Thirty two minutes passed, ladies and gentlemen," said Fortescue, and Severus quickly checked his own progress. Excellent - he was early. Adding his final ingredient, he turned up the heat on his fire just a little and settled back to wait. There was nothing more to do until new instructions came along.

Perhaps being half a Prince - Princeps - would give him an advantage. If Veneficus were in cahoots with the Grey Lady (and at this point anything seemed possible), then maybe knowing he was dealing with another Prince would make Veneficus amenable to helping. Maybe Severus would not need that final clue after all. He could hope. It certainly couldn't do any harm to ask.

"I'm going to put the final instructions on the board now," said Fortescue, gesturing with his wand. "I'll need you all to pay very careful attention; if you do this wrong, you could end up with hiccups for the rest of your life! Ah - no, no, Mr. Abbott, I am NOT being serious, please do not turn that particular shade of green, it disturbs me. All right? Everybody ready? Here we go!"

It happened so quickly. Professor Fortescue turned his back to write on the blackboard - only for a moment, just a moment - and suddenly Severus was in the air. He never even heard the spell that did it. Abruptly and so quickly that he didn't have time to scream, he was flipped upside and dropped head-first into his cauldron.

It was the perfect width to pin his arms. He was trapped.

So much heat, so much FIRE - the half-cooked potion burned into his face, his scalp, his eyes. It slid between his lips when he tried to scream and scalded his throat, flooding into his lungs when he tried to inhale. The inside of the cauldron was too slick for traction; his weight pushed him down, twisting him into a neck-breaking curl, submerging his head completely. He could not breathe. He could not BREATHE. He was going to die.

Somebody pulled him out. And people - so many people - were laughing.

" - fell right into his cauldron!"

"Did you see that? Kicking all over like a giant frog!"

"Quiet! Everyone, this is NOT a joke! Mr. Snape, are you all right?"

Severus could make no coherent answer. He was gasping, sobbing, coughing up potion in frame-wracking sobs. His biting bitter-gnats, not yet dead, had swarmed all over him the instant he'd been dumped in, and he'd inhaled them as well as swallowed. Their ticklish gnawing inside his stomach and his lungs only added to his fear. Breathe. He felt like he could not breathe.

"Somebody better tell him to get new underwear."

"I said be silent!" snapped Fortescue at whomever had spoken. "Mr. Snape, I'm going to take you to the hospital wing. You're all right. Do you hear me? A little burned, a few bitter-biting gnats in your system, nothing that Smethwyck can't handle, do you understand?"

Numbly, Severus nodded. His scalp was on fire, but he was shaking; breathe. He had to keep breathing. That feeling of drawing in liquid when his lungs tried to find air -

"Off we go, then. And the rest of you, you listen to me. That was NOT funny. If I find out who did it... no horsing around while I'm gone, do you hear?" He escorted Severus out of the room.

Severus was still coughing up bits of potions and now-dead gnats when they finally arrived in the medical wing.

Smethwyck fussed, and Fortescue fumed; there was a brief moment of flirting between the Potions professor and the young Ms. Pomfrey, but Severus missed that exchange. The only thing he could do was breathe in great, ragged gasps, even though it made him cough, even though it hurt, because air was something he would never take for granted again.

"Calm down, Mr. Snape," somebody told him, but he could not. Severus could not calm down. He could have died. Nobody else seemed to care about this. Nobody. The attack had come without warning, and nobody even cared.

His teacher left. "Calm down, Mr. Snape," he said as he went, but Severus could not. The nurse tried to give him a Calming Draught, but he was coughing so badly that he vomited it back up.

"Calm down, Mr. Snape."

Calm down. Calm DOWN?

If his teacher had not turned around, he would have died, because nobody else had been willing to help him. This thought, which was worse than the lack of air, far worse than the feeling of burning, slimy liquid covering his face, made him groan and clutch his stomach.

Smethwyck and Pomfrey poured various medicines down his throat, and at one point even attempted to apply a Cheering Charm. These things served to make him stop sobbing, but they did little to ease the cold, heavy anvil that had settled in his gut.

Severus knew who'd done it. He hadn't had to see who it was to know. Potter and Black, moving like one mutated being sharing a single brain, had prowled forward and spelled him bodily into the cauldron with frightening precision and terrifying intent. They were nowhere near when Fortescue had pulled him out. They'd intended to leave him in there.

He. Would. Have. DIED.

"Calm down, Mr. Snape," said somebody who didn't care, and in spite of the calming draughts and cheering spells, Severus again began to cry.

"Poppy, sometimes, drastic things have to be done," murmured Smethwyck sympathetically, pointing his wand, and promptly knocked Severus out.

Severus did not try to fight the blackness. He slipped into it with relief.

Severus woke up in a small, curtained-off area in the medical wing. Night had clearly fallen; it was dark, warm, and wonderfully quiet. Nothing in his body burned, tickled, or bit. He felt wonderful.

"Glad to see you're looking better," came a voice from his bedside. Feeling no need to hurry, Severus looked toward it.

There sat Malfoy.

The older boy had a few textbooks spread out; it seemed he'd been doing his homework next to the bed. Severus observed him, studying his books and his casual clothes. Nearly a full minute passed; his thoughts took their own time to come home. "Hello," he finally said, unable to summon the will to move. Everything just felt so nice.

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. "I see the calming draughts finally caught up with you."

"Yeah," said Severus, and was surprised to note in a vague fashion that his voice sounded slurred. "Yeaaaah," he said again, testing. Yes; it was definitely slurred. How strange.

Malfoy's lips quirked in an uneven smile. "I should take a photograph of you this way. I don't think anybody would believe it if I told."

"Oh, don't tell," said Severus dreamily, and almost lifted one hand to emphasize his words, but then decided not to bother.

"Don't tell? Why not, Severus?" Malfoy asked, amused.

"Because..." This took a moment to answer. Severus' thoughts were as relaxed as his muscles. "Then it would be bad."

"Bad?"

"Laughed at again."

"Ahhhh. I see." Malfoy closed his book. "Being laughed at is a real horror for you, isn't it?"

Severus seemed to recall that he'd hated Lucius for bothering him before, but right now, for the life of him, he couldn't remember why. "It's awful," he confided.

"I see." Malfoy leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, and watched.

A few minutes went by before Severus realized he was still there. This seemed like a friendly thought, so he shared it. "You're still here."

Malfoy laughed this time, softly. "Yes, I am. I'm glad you noticed."

"It's hard not to," said Severus conversationally.

"Really?" Malfoy looked pleased.

"Yes. You're very loud."

At this, Malfoy laughed uproariously. Severus half expected Smethwyck or Pomfrey to come along and shush him, but no one did. He felt no surprise at this. In fact, he recalled everything that had happened in Potions class, but had no feeling of surprise or anger about that, either. Everything was simply lovely.

"You really are amusing in this state, Severus," chuckled Malfoy. "Please call me Lucius. 'Malfoy' reminds me too much of my father."

"Looshus," said Severus, then giggled.

"Yes, indeed," said Lucius. "I still want to speak to you, Severus, but I think this isn't the time. Tell you what: when you're better, come to me, and we'll talk."

"Mmkay."

"I mean it, Severus. I can provide you with exactly what you need."

"Kay." A beat. "What I need?"

Lucius patted him on the knee. "Protection. When you're ready, Severus, come to me. We'll talk." He stood. One flick of his wand scooped all his papers and books neatly into his bag. "When you're ready." He turned and left the ward.

Protection?

What a fascinating concept. Severus thought it sounded very nice, and he would like to think about it. Later, he'd think about it. Closing his eyes, he dozed.

Three hours later, voices woke him up.

"Careful! Be careful with them."

"I am, I am... oh, Merlin. Be careful!"

"We're fine, we're fine, shush. Where's Smethwyck?"

"I'll find him." Footsteps retreating.

Voices. Voice - what was familiar about - those voices? Struggling to be more awake, Severus rolled over on his side and listened.

"Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry."

"Not... your fault," replied the Questers' leader, and now Severus knew his name. Charles sounded bad. Hoarse, weak, breathless, he began coughing wetly.

"Charles!" said somebody else who sounded like Lily. She then promptly began to cry.

Footsteps returning. "Out of the way, out of the way - what's all this, then? Mister Montgomery, Miss Evans, what on earth have you done to yourselves?"

There was a sound of rustling; Montgomery groaned, Evans yipped, and Smethwyck muttered. "Merlin's beard, I know where this came from. Power to Rule the World, am I right? Every seven years, this happens. Someone should talk to the Grey Lady about this - Poppy! Get in here, you need to see this."

Severus' head was spinning. The calming draughts had still not worked their way out of his system; he wanted to hear more, needed to, but his body was giving him no option. As Pomfrey and Smethwyck continued to fuss, darkness stole over him once again, and in moments, he was asleep.

It seemed the race for the grimoire was not going to be nearly as simple as he'd thought.

Severus was released from the hospital wing the next morning once the nurses were convinced he had, in fact, calmed down. He peeked quickly to see where Charles and the others had been, but there was no sign of them now.

Had he dreamed the whole thing? He was sure he hadn't. The Questers had come in last night, and two of them - at least two - had been severely injured. Somehow, the portrait was involved, but which one? How?

There was only one way to find out. It was time to talk to the portrait. Whatever it was that had happened, Veneficus would know - and if the Grey Lady was not going to give any more clues, perhaps Veneficus would instead. There could be no more putting it off.

Severus studied his feet as he moved through the halls, grateful for the perfect October weather - it meant most people were outside this Saturday afternoon and out of his way. "Ready or not," he said very softly, "here I come."

On a whim, he decided to visit the larger portrait upstairs, near the Ravenclaw's tower. The slug-slime had long been cleaned from the hallway, but Severus swore he could still smell the stuff whenever he passed through. Nervous, he stopped in front of the portrait of Veneficus Princeps and stared.

Austere, Veneficus stared back.

There was something powerful about the portrait of Veneficus Princeps. The master of his domain, Veneficus towered over the earth on his great black horse and smiled as though the very secrets of life and death were already his. The potions in his hands glowed and bubbled with malevolent fervor; even standing in front of him took courage. Severus had done it before. He'd sketched in front of it, sitting with his back against the far wall, taking notes and making comparisons. Never had Veneficus spoken to him, and never had Severus tried to start a conversation, but now, it was time to end the silence.

"Hello," said Severus, and waited.

The horse on which Veneficus rode snorted once and pawed the painted earth. A long moment of silence passed. "You're one of mine," Veneficus finally said in a low, smooth voice that bothered Severus for reasons he could not pinpoint.

"Yes, sir, I think I am," replied Severus, feeling very, very small. This life-sized portrait was suddenly looking more three-dimensional than he liked.

The darkness behind his ancestor shifted, undulated. "You think or you know? Stupid little pissworm, you have to try harder than that."

Well. THAT was unexpected. Taken aback by the aggressiveness, Severus hesitated before answering. "I - "

"Quickly!" snapped Veneficus.

"I know, sir, I KNOW. The headmaster told me," replied Severus, still a bit shaken. This conversation was really not going as he'd envisioned.

"Do you, now? Just because the headmaster told you, hm? Pitiful little sperm-wipe. You'd believe anything you were told, wouldn't you? You're reprehensible. Get out of my sight."

Shocked, Severus had no idea how to respond. His mouth fell open. "What - "

"OUT OF MY SIGHT!" thundered the painted man on his horse, and the horse reared up with a horrible, screeching neigh and the darkness behind him shifted, bubbling as if it were going to come reaching out of the portrait after him -

Severus didn't stop to think about how ridiculous that idea was. He simply ran.

|| Part Four - A Different Point of View, II ||

"Hey, James."

"Yeah, Sirius?"

"Whaddaya wanna do?"

"Dunno. There's not much to do today."

"Yeah. I know," said Sirius, and both of them sat in sweet, companionable silence.

The day was simply beautiful; with winter coming, it was anyone's guess how much longer Scotland would provide them with days like this. Determined to enjoy it, they lay on their backs in the soft grass down by the lake, and knew true peace had come to them. It was a gift. It could be gone tomorrow; a dark lord was on the rise, homework was due, and who knew what lay on the horizon? Why let the day go to waste?

Behind them, higher up on the hill, Remus tried yet again to explain Transfiguration to Peter Pettigrew. Peter was a nice kid, but a bit dull; James and Sirius and Remus were all flying through their classes, learning with an ease that had already caught their teachers' attention, but Peter... well.

Peter just tried really hard.

"So basically what you're saying is the thing has to turn into something else from... uh... the inside out?" Peter said.

Remus winced. Below in the grass, James and Sirius could practically feel it, and they couldn't help grinning at each other.

"Not exactly, Peter," said Remus.

"But it DOES work inside and out, right?" Peter asked helplessly, and clutched his book. "It doesn't transform them halfway or just on the outside, right? Right?" He sounded panicked.

"Awww," murmured Sirius for James' ears only. "Poor kid's really screwed up about this. I'm thinking he may not pass this one."

"Yeah, you're right." James considered; the clouds over his head made him think of a Quidditch match. "Maybe we should do something to help him out a bit."

Sirius rolled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow, ignoring the drama behind him as Peter began to cry and Remus comforted. "What?"

"Mmm.... I dunno, exactly. But after pulling off what we did in Potions, mate... I have to say, I'm feeling like we can accomplish pretty much anything." Quietly, they began to laugh. They tried to hold it in, they really did, but laughter like this was contagious, and in a few moments both of them were guffawing.

Remus heard it and gave them a stern look from his perch higher on the hill, but Peter's angst kept him from giving them his full attention.

Sirius was wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Merlin... when his robe flipped up and his legs - "

"I know, I know, and then he flashed the whole CLASS - " James had both sleeves over his mouth, trying to be quiet.

Remus sent more dirty looks in their direction.

"Sorry, sorry," choked James, waving his arm at Remus. He held himself in for one moment, and then exploded. Rolling onto his back, he laughed so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks, and Sirius joined him.

Peter had stopped sniffling and was staring at them both, mouth open.

"Gaping like a fish!" cried Sirius between breaths, and Remus had had enough.

"Will you two STOP it? It wasn't that funny!"

"Was!" James managed. "Kicking! Like a frog, both legs!" Sirius renewed his laughter.

Remus winced. "Okay, maybe it was a little funny to look at it, but it still wasn't a good thing to do."

"Not a good thing! Remus, he tried to KILL James!" Sirius suddenly shouted, his laughter gone. "Kill him! KILL. HIM. What does being dumped into his own greasy cauldron have in comparison to that?"

"Nothing. I suppose," said Remus hesitantly.

Peter looked back and forth between the three: Remus, always thoughtful, Sirius always challenging, and James just smiling happily at the sky. He looked up at the sky, too, but whatever James saw that made him happy, Peter could not see it. He wanted to see it. He wanted what they had: that power to be happy, to make others happy. He wanted it a lot. "I think it was bloody brilliant," he suddenly said, ignoring Remus' surprised look. Sirius looked at Peter and grinned; James held up one hand with the thumb pointed skyward, clearly approving.

Peter was thrilled.

"You're corrupting him!" Remus accused, and James and Sirius started laughing again.

"Corrupting... ahaha!"

"Guys, I'm serious," Remus insisted, but suddenly he was unable to keep a straight face.

"Yeah, corrupting... like Black Donald!" shouted Sirius with accompanying devil-horn hand gestures, and Remus laughed in spite of himself.

"Corrupting," James said, smirking. "We're not corrupting him, Remus! We're helping him out. Nothing like seeing the good guys win once in a while, is there, Peter?"

Peter, ready to agree with anything, grinned and nodded frenetically.

"There you go, then," continued James, sitting up. "And you know what else? I bet if the three of us helped Peter, he'd pass Transfiguration with flying colors. What do you say, Peter? Interested?"

"AM I?" Peter cried.

"Corrupting him to better grades, that's what we're doing."

"All right, all right, you two, I got the point," Remus said as he shook his head and smiled. Maybe they were right. It was a stupid prank in the end, after all, and now here these two were, sacrificing their afternoon to help out poor Peter. They weren't the bad guys. Remus wasn't sure yet that Snape was, but he certainly knew what Snape wasn't: one of Them. He wasn't one of Them - this special, special group of friends - but Remus was. It was a position he wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

Remus spent a moment feeling a little sorry for Snape, but it passed. There was Transfiguration to learn, and James was right. Between the three of them, Peter would get it, and then between the four of them together, they could "get" anything.

They stayed on the hill until the afternoon had long passed, and barely noticed the time going by.

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