Everybody knew Harry Potter was a juvenile delinquent. Everybody knew he was a bad egg and they were lucky he didn't murder them in their sleep. Everybody knew he attended a secure center for incurably criminal boys. Everybody knew his father had been a worthless, unemployed drunk, his mother had been an addict who prostituted herself for drug money, and both of them had died in a car accident, taking five other people with them and leaving their equally no-account son with the Dursleys. Everybody knew the Dursleys were fine, upstanding members of the community who did their best with their no-good nephew.

Someday, Mark Evans was determined he'd find this 'Everybody' and kick him in the balls.

The 'facts' everybody knew were completely opposite to what the younger neighborhood kids knew about Harry Potter. To them, Harry Potter was a hero. Harry was the person who, when he could escape his relatives' house, showed them the best places to hide from bullies. He'd been known to distract Dudley, Piers, Gordon, Malcolm, and Dennis and take beatings the gang would've given to little kids. To the little kids, Harry was their protector. Oh, he couldn't protect them all the time. Rumor spread faster than wildfire, and it was well known to the small fry of Little Whinging that Harry was their very own modern-day version of Cinderella, only without magic, without rescue, and with a lot more beatings.

It was the grown-ups and older kids who believed what 'Everybody' knew. Harry had protected the younger ones a bit too often for them to believe what they'd been told about Harry Potter. They all stayed away from him like they'd been told, but that didn't make them believe. Even they weren't dumb enough to believe everything they were told was true. A few of them had put together the clues from how Harry looked and behaved with things they'd seen on the telly and heard in school and then spread it to the others—their protector's Aunt and Uncle hurt him.

Mark thought the grown-ups should know better, especially his parents. His parents worked with kids like Harry, so he figured they should have noticed something. When it came to Harry Potter, though, grown-ups never seemed to notice much of anything.

It was August fourth, and he, Mark, was supposed to be getting a visitor. He'd received a letter the month before written on funny paper with green ink in a strange, old-fashioned handwriting talking about a place called, “Hogwarts.” It really sounded cool. Magic! Maybe even fairy tales were real, but who knew? Mark just hoped that his bruises wouldn't be mentioned; Harry had rescued him yesterday, but not before Dudley had managed to get a few licks in. He had some older ones, too. Four days ago, Dudley and his friends had given him a beating for 'cheeking' the fat tub of lard.

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't been able to save him that time. Mark wished he could do something for Harry—he figured he owed the older boy because Harry had saved him more than once. His eleventh birthday had just barely passed, which was why he guessed he'd gotten the letter. It had come with a thick packet of information, and a promise of someone coming to explain everything and take him shopping. He couldn't wait! He supposed that whoever was coming could be a right git, but he hoped not. It just stood to reason that if there were gits in the regular world, then there were gits amongst magic people, too.

Mark had long ago decided that he'd be the absolute best and rise as high as he could. His parents had reinforced that and pushed him to be the best in everything; as long as he worked hard, however, they didn't complain if he didn't succeed. He just hoped that he could fit in better at the new school. While he hadn't exactly been ostracized, he hadn't had many friends, either, especially with the strange things that always seemed to happen around him. Since he'd received the letter, he'd decided that those strange things just had to be magic.

Mark got up and fetched the letter. He ran his fingers over the nubbly paper and examined the seal again. Hogwarts... He wondered what kind of place it was. Was it underground? Was it in a huge castle and guarded by dragons? For that matter, were dragons, trolls, and unicorns and all that make-believe stuff real? It was too much to contemplate without more information. He flopped down on the couch, grabbed the remote, curled up, and flipped on the telly.

~*~*~*~

Severus stalked out the front doors of the castle and headed towards the edge of the anti-apparation wards. He didn't want to be doing this; he hated MMuggleborn orientation meetings only slightly less than he hated shopping and snot-nosed brats. He was just lucky that he didn't have to take the Muggle transportation to get there because the Muggleborn in question lived around Potter's neighborhood and since he'd had to guard the damned brat a few times, he was passably familiar with the area.

Silently, he cursed the circumstances that had forced to him to do this. Dumbledore couldn't because he was embroiled at the Ministry. Hagrid, Vector, Brown (the Muggle studies teacher), and Sinistra were out of the country, no one in their right mind would send Trelawney, Flitwick couldn't blend well with the Muggle world, and both Sprout and McGonagall had three appointments and didn't have time. He had been left as the odd man out and as such, required to do a Muggleborn orientation for Mark Evans and his family. Personally, Severus thought it would be a hell of a lot more efficient to gather all the Muggleborn first years and their families together at once and do it en masse. Then again, since when was anything ever done the efficient way?

Severus scowled, closed his eyes, and Apparated to Little Whinging. With his scowl firmly in place, he stalked down the street, checked the house number again, and made his way to the Evans’ house. He loathed these meetings with all his heart. Schooling his face into a neutral expression—it wouldn't do to scare the brat off—he rang the bell and waited, cursing the necessity that had brought him there.

It was opened by a pale blonde woman, beautiful, he supposed, in a wrung-out dishrag sort of way. He preferred his women with more color and fire... like Lily. Ruthlessly, he suppressed the thought and affixed a facsimile of a pleasant smile on his face. “Good afternoon, Madam,” he said, holding out his hand. “Recently, you have received a letter about your son, Mark?”

She nodded, shook his hand, and escorted him into a sitting room. “To be truthful, it wasn't much of a surprise, seeing as my Grandmother was a witch, Mister--”

“Snape,” he replied. “Professor Severus Snape. I'm the resident Potions master at Hogwarts.”

She seemed to examine him minutely before she said anything else. “There's no question of not sending Mark to your school,” she said. “I would imagine that he must be trained to use his magic before he accidentally hurts someone.”

Severus repressed the urge to snort. “Not exactly, Madam,” he replied. “If you had turned down the invitation, his magic would be bound, and your family's memories of the letter would have been erased.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Erasing memories? What right have you to do that?”

Severus leaned forward and favored her with a piercing look. “We are merely protecting ourselves, Mrs. Evans,” he said. “Long experience has taught the magical world that humans innately distrust and fear what they do not understand, so we continue to exist by allowing the majority of the humans on this planet to believe that magic is nothing but children's tales and parlour tricks.”

She nodded slowly, and seemed to be getting ready to say something when a boy came running into the room. He stopped, panting, and offered a winning smile that still didn't manage to draw attention from the bruises on his face. “You must be from Hogwarts, sir,” the boy said, holding out his hand. “I'm Mark Evans.”

Inwardly cringing at the thought of touching the grubby boy, he took the boy’s hand and shook it. “And what, might I ask, happened to you, Mr. Evans?” he asked.

The boy pulled a face before answering. “We've a gang of bullies in the neighborhood, sir,” he said. “They spend their time beating up younger kids and vandalizing the park.”

Severus sent a questioning look at the boy's mother, who nodded. “Have you read the orientation materials?” he asked finally.

“Yes, sir,” Mark said with a sharp nod. “I'm guessing that the packet isn't comprehensive, and I can find more information in the shops and Hogwarts's library?”

Severus studied the boy for a moment before nodding. “You may,” he said. “It would be in your best interest to learn as much as you can about your new world before September the first.”

“Thank you, sir,” the boy replied.

Severus stood and motioned to the boy and his mother. “Come,” he said. “We must complete your school shopping.” He watched dispassionately as Mrs. Evans picked up her purse and looked inside. The child flashed him a smile before running off. A few minutes later, Mark returned, a little cleaner and damp looking. Both of them followed him as he left the house. He paused to allow Mrs. Evans to lock the door behind her before signaling for the Knight Bus. He ignored the gasp of surprise when it arrived, as well as Stan Shunpike's blatherings about prices as he paid the man for their fares and told him their destination.

Not wanting to linger, Severus rushed them through The Leaky Cauldron, and to Gringotts, waiting impatiently whilst they exchanged Muggle money for galleons. He hurried them to Madam Malkins', checking the time every few seconds with a muttered, tempus, then to the other shops as quickly as humanly possible. The only place he lingered was Slugs and Jiggers Apothecary, where he made sure that the boy had not only the freshest ingredients, but the Slytherin kit, with all the extras a serious Potions student needed. He made sure that Mark purchased a few extra books on ingredient reactions, along with all the other required texts and a few others that had caught the child's interest. Luckily, the second wand the boy tried in Olivander's worked for him, and they spent all of five minutes in the Magical Menagerie before coming out with a pet. It was with a sigh of relief that he led them out of Diagon Alley and signaled the Knight Bus.

Severus dropped them off at their door with their shopping, then Apparated back to Hogsmeade. As he began the walk back to the castle, he reflected that it was a damn good thing that Lucius or another Death Eater hadn't been in the Alley. He didn't like the idea of explaining to the Dark Lord exactly why he'd been sheparding a Muggleborn student around the alley... even if there was a chance that he was merely squib-born.

~*~*~*~

Mark dragged his trunk behind him as he looked for a compartment that wasn't completely full on the Hogwarts Express. Everything he'd come across so far in the Wizarding World had been absolutely brilliant, though if he hadn't read the orientation packet, he would've been absolutely clueless as to how to get onto the platform. He'd spent hours examining his new books, trying to learn as much as he could before school started. He wondered though, if the 'Harry Potter' mentioned in his books was the same as the one who lived in his neighborhood. He'd find out eventually. If they were one and the same, perhaps he could help him somehow to repay all the times that Harry had saved him from Dudley and his gang. He hated owing people.

Mark spotted an almost-empty compartment, opened the door, and dragged his trunk inside. “Is it all right if I sit here?” he asked the blonde girl who was already there.

The girl looked up from her book. “I guess,” she said. “As long as you aren't a Mudblood,” the last word was said with a sneer.

Mark yanked his heavy trunk into place and slid into a seat. “What's a 'Mudblood'?” he asked.

“If you have to ask, then you are one,” she said. “Daddy says I'm not to associate with Mudbloods.”

Mark kept his face schooled into an expression of innocent inquiry.

The girl finally sighed and relented. “A Muggleborn. They're not as good as purebloods, 'cause they've got dirty blood.”

Privately, Mark thought that what she'd just said was a load of shite, but he needed a place to sit, so he didn't say so. “Ah. I'm squib born,” he said. “My parents were really proud when I got my letter, because they didn't think I had magic, either. My great-grandmother was the last to have magic in my family.”

The girl sniffed. “Not much better than a Mudblood, then.”

Mark barely refrained from rolling his eyes. It was obvious to him that the girl was the worst kind of snob. Not only that, but she'd been taught to be a bigot. His parents had taught him that prejudice of any kind was idiotic, and he believed what they'd said. Not that they actually followed through with what they'd said, considering their attitudes towards Harry, but at least they hated people on an individual basis.

Instead, he just stared at her for a few minutes before standing up. “I'll be back as soon as I find another compartment,” he said. Mark left and started wandering the train, looking for a better compartment—one that didn't have bigoted idiots already inside. So preoccupied was he with looking for a free compartment that he didn't notice the blond-haired big kid that he bumped into until he did it.

The boy shot him a snobby look. “How dare you, Mudblood?” he said, looking angry. “Crabbe, Goyle, hold him. This Mudblood here needs to learn his place!”

The two hulking boys behind the blond, who both greatly resembled Dudley in both size and the stupid expressions on their faces, grabbed Mark and held him tightly between them. The blond drew his wand and twirled it around his fingers. Before he could use it, though, a familiar voice interrupted him. “Picking on firsties now, Malfoy?”

Mark smiled a little as he saw Harry Potter walk up behind The Git. The blond kid turned around and sneered. “Don't see that this is any of your business, Potter,” he said.

Harry leaned against the wall and studied his fingernails. “This is getting rather old, Malfoy,” he commented. “Every time I catch you picking on the younger forms, you sneer and posture, then my friends and I hex you silly and you go and whine to Professor Snape. Why can't you learn from your mistakes and leave the ickle firsties alone?”

Malfoy didn't reply, he just sneered, gestured to Crabbe and Goyle and left.

“Thank you, Harry,” Mark said with a little smile.

Harry studied him with a puzzled look on his face. “You look familiar,” he said, “but I'm sorry—I don't know who you are.”

Mark smiled. “It's all right,” he said. “I live in Little Whinging, and you've rescued me a few times from Dudley and his gang.”

Harry nodded. “Looking for a place to sit?” he asked. “There's enough room with my friends and me if you want; we'll keep gits like Malfoy away.”

Mark smiled and nodded. "I just need to retrieve my trunk," he said. "You're the first friendly person I've met." He turned and went back the way he came.

Harry followed. "I'll help," he said. "What do you mean, anyway?"

Mark sighed. "The girl in my compartment is a bigot," he explained. "Called me a 'Mudblood'... whatever that is. She said something about it being a Muggleborn, but it sounded rather nasty to me."

"It is; it's a really rude name for someone who's a Muggleborn," Harry said with a frown. He hesitated. "There are a lot of people in the Wizarding World who don't like Muggles and Muggleborns, Mark."

Mark shrugged. "I s'pose there are gits everywhere," he said. He walked into his previous compartment, grabbed the handle of his trunk and, without a word to the girl who still occupied the compartment, started to drag it out.

"Let me help," Harry said. He picked up Mark's trunk and started to carry it down the corridor.

"Why are you helping me?" Mark asked curiously. It was a question he'd always wanted to ask Little Whinging's version of Cinderella.

Harry flashed him a little smile. "When I was a firstie, a couple of older blokes helped me," he said. "I'm just returning the favour."

Mark didn't know if he believed Harry or not. To him, Harry was just following through with his normal pattern of protecting the younger kids from bullies. He nodded, though, to show his acceptance and followed the older boy to a compartment.

Harry went inside, and, without a word, heaved Mark's trunk onto a luggage rack. He smiled at the kids inside, whom Mark assumed were his friends. "This is Mark," he said," I just rescued him from Malfoy, and he's from my neighborhood, so I invited him to join us."

A red-haired boy gave him a warm smile. "Ron. Ron Weasley. Play chess any?"

Mark nodded. He was actually pretty good at chess. Not a master, by any means, but he was fairly good for his age.

Ron pointed towards a girl with hair the same shade as his. "That's m'sister, Ginny," he said.

"Hi," Ginny said with a smile. "That's Luna Lovegood," she said, nodding towards a girl with scraggly, waist length dirty blonde hair. "And that's Neville Longbottom," she gestured towards a round-faced boy who was holding a strange-looking plant.

A girl with bushy brown hair gave him a smile. "Hermione Granger," she said before she turned back to the book she was reading. Mark looked at Harry, who gave him a little shrug. Mark sat down next to Neville and examined his plant as closely as he could without touching it. The rest of the journey passed pleasantly. He even played a game of chess with Harry's friend, Ron, and lost spectacularly.

Harry even pointed him towards the boats as they got off the train. The boat ride was different: he'd never been in a self-propelled boat. As Mark and his fellow first years followed Hagrid, a giant man who told them that he was both a professor and the gamekeeper, his stomach twisted and roiled with nerves. He could barely listen to the stern-looking woman who identified herself as Professor McGonagall. The ghosts in the entrance hall gave him a bit of a turn, but even that only served to increase his nervousness. The talk of the other first years around him, all speculating on how they were Sorted into houses. Someone even mentioned being forced to fight a dragon!

Mark was slightly relieved when McGonagall brought out an old, patched hat, and a little awed when it opened its 'mouth', which was a long rip around the brim, and began to sing.

"In times of old, when I was new,
And Hogwarts barely started,
The founders of our noble school
Thought never to be parted.
United by a common goal,
They had the selfsame yearning
To make the world's best magic school
And pass along their learning.
"Together we will build and teach"
The four good friends decided.
And never did they dream that they
Might some day be divided.
For were there such friends anywhere
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Unless it was the second pair
Unless it was the second pair
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,
So how could it have gone so wrong?
How could such friendships fail?
Why, I was there, so I can tell
The whole sad, sorry tale.
Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those
Whose ancestry's purest."
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose
Intelligence is surest"
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those
With brave deeds to their name."
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot
And treat them just the same."
These differences caused little strife
When first they came to light.
For each of the four founders had
A house in which they might
Take only those they wanted, so,
For instance, Slytherin
Took only pure-blood wizards
Of great cunning just like him.
And only those of sharpest mind
Were taught by Ravenclaw
While the bravest and the boldest
Went to daring Gryffindor.
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest
and taught them all she knew,
Thus, the Houses and their founders
Maintained friendships firm and true.

So Hogwarts worked in harmony
for several happy years,
but then discord crept among us
feeding on our faults and fears.

The Houses that, like pillars four
had once held up our school
now turned upon each other and
divided, sought to rule.
And for a while it seemed the school
must meet an early end.
what with dueling and with fighting
and the clash of friend on friend.
And at last there came a morning
when old Slytherin departed
and though the fighting then died out
he left us quite downhearted.
And never since the founders four
were whittled down to three
have the Houses been united
as they once were meant to be.

And now the Sorting Hat is here
and you all know the score:
I sort you into Houses
because that is what I'm for.
But this year I'll go further,
listen closely to my song:
though condemned I am to split you
still I worry that it's wrong,
though I must fulfill my duty
and must quarter every year
still I wonder whether sorting
may not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,
the warning history shows,
for our Hogwarts is in danger
from external, deadly foes
and we must unite inside her
or we'll crumble from within
I have told you, I have warned you...
let the Sorting now begin." (HPatOOtP)

The song shocked him a bit, and only served to enhance his nervousness. He shifted from foot to foot as the professor began to read names, calling his year mates up to be Sorted. It seemed forever, but it was finally his turn. "Evans, Marcus," McGonagall called.

Mark made his way up to the stool with trepidation, sat on it, and pulled the hat down over his head. "Hmmm, yes... Good mind here," a voice said, startling him. It took half a second for Mark to decide it was the hat. "Not bad, not bad at all," it said. "But you don't like learning just for the sake of learning. Ravenclaw won't do for you at all. Plenty of courage here I see. As much as you like to plan, you have been taught to do what is right and hang the consequences. Be careful of that--it could lead you to a lot of trouble. No, not Gryffindor. Hufflepuff, though. That has possibilities. You are loyal to a fault and you don't mind hard work. My, my! Such ambition! Yes, the only real possibility for you is... SLYTHERIN!"

Mark slowly slid off the stool, took off the hat, dropped it back on the stool and walked quickly to the Slytherin table. He sat down at the end of it and, after the end of the Sorting, chatted quietly with a podgy boy who seemed friendly. After they were released from the feast, he watched closely as the prefects led them to their dormitory, memorizing the way to it as well as the password. He kept his face carefully blank through a speech his new Head of House, Severus Snape, made. At long last, they were sent to bed. Mark carefully put the list of rules he'd been given away before climbing into his pajamas and crawling into bed. As he began to drift towards sleep, his last coherent thought centered on the fact that he now owed Harry Potter more than ever, and if there was a way to somehow make sure the older boy never had to return to Privet Drive.

~*~*~*~

Severus Snape rubbed his temples wearily. He felt as if there were hammers pounding on the inside of his skull. The first day of term was always one of the worst for professors. Now that the children had been sorted, he had to go through any records of previous schooling that they had, magical or Muggle. The records ranged from homeschooling, to Muggle school, to dame school, and even to private tutors.

There were always some students coming into his House whose previous education was... lacking, and it was up to him to see that it was remedied. For the Muggle-raised, and there were always a few, there were classes in wizarding tradition and culture, etiquette lessons for all of them, and peer tutoring groups to arrange. It was necessary for them to present a united front and not to give other professors reasons to deduct points--thus the tutoring program. Within the first month or so, he would find out if any of his new Slytherins had been abused, and they would see him for mandatory counseling sessions. Statistically, it was more likely the misfits, the loners, the abused children ended up in his house than anywhere else. He didn't receive all of them, but he discovered more than his fair share in his House.

And of those abused children, more of them were likely to be half bloods and Muggleborn than pureblood. Severus sighed. He had at least one Muggleborn this year, and it could cause problems due to the Dark Lord's return. He had, as usual, threatened dire consequences to those attacking fellow housemates. He just hoped it would be enough... well, that and the punishment he had in store for the first little dunderhead who stepped out of line. However, he would have to keep a close eye on the children of the Death Eaters and Mark Evans--a very close eye indeed.

~*~*~*~

The first week had passed quickly for Mark. In between his classes, he had been spending quite a bit of time in the law section of the Hogwarts library, looking for something to help Harry. He didn't want to seem to be a stalker, but he had watched Harry when he could, trying to catch signs of what he knew was true. So far, he hadn't found anything, but he had heard some... rumors about where to go for help if you were both a Slytherin and had problems at home. Mark knew that Harry wasn't in Slytherin, but he was in trouble at home... He shifted from foot to foot outside his Head's office, trying to convince himself to go in and ask for help.

The other kids said Professor Snape'd help. But his Head of House was awfully intimidating, and to be truthful, Mark was a little wary of him. He took a deep breath, screwed up his courage, and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Professor Snape's voice called.

Mark opened the door and walked inside.

"Sit down," Professor Snape ordered. "What is it?"

Mark bit his lip before answering. "Sir," he began quietly, "if I told you that I know that there's a bloke in this school whose family abuses him, is there anything that could, legally, be done about it?"

Professor Snape steeped his fingers in front of his face and frowned slightly. "If," he stressed the word slightly, "it can be proven, the child will be taken from their family and placed in ministry care... which is not always a good thing."

Mark plucked at the fabric of his robes. "How do you prove it?"

Professor Snape shrugged. "There are several ways," he said. "Pensieved memories, Veritaserum, physical evidence... Mr. Evans, who, may I ask, is this mysterious student?"

Here Mark hesitated; even new firsties had heard about the legendary enmity that Professor Snape held for one Harry Potter. "Harry Potter," he said quietly.

Professor Snape straightened up, gave him a nasty glare, crossed his arms over his chest, and sneered at him. "His family not give him enough pudding? Not buy him the latest toy that he wanted?"

The tone of voice made Mark mad. "So you're just like all the other adults," he snapped. "More comfortable believing lies than accepting hard truth." He stood up and stomped towards the door.

"I didn't dismiss you, Mr. Evans," Professor Snape said. Somehow, the calm voice he used was scarier than if he'd been shouting. He stood up, strode over, and loomed over Mark. "Sit back down."

Mark shot him a glare of his own, stomped back to the chair, and flopped into it. He scowled blackly at Professor Snape and crossed his arms over his chest.

Professor Snape's tone was reasonable this time. "What makes you think he's abused?"

"He's neglected and abused," Mark corrected. "Could be the welts you can see on his back and shoulders sometime when his shirt slips. Or it could be the fact that those idiot Dursleys call him names all the time--you can hear them from the street. Or it could be that they let their fat elephant of a son beat the shite out of Harry whenever he feels like it. Or it could be that they use him for slave labor; we see him slaving away for them while they sit around and give orders. Or it could be the fact that they don't feed him; I've seen him nicking food out of rubbish bins. Have you noticed his clothes? How they don't fit and the condition they're in? The Dursleys only give him clothes that Dudley has worn and half-destroyed! Choose one, professor! Hell, choose all of 'em!" He sent the professor another glare.

Professor Snape sat back down, leaned forward, and studied him intently. "I... see," he said finally. "Go back to your dormitory, Mr. Evans. I shall… look into the matter.."

Mark stood up and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him and giving it a kick for good measure. Stupid adults. Couldn't see past their own noses! He strode away from his Head of House's office towards his common room as he'd been told to do. Silently, he swore that if the professor didn't do something soon, he'd figure out a way to repay his debt to Harry... somehow.

~*~*~*~

Silently, Severus locked and warded the door, then opened up the secret passageway to his rooms. He swiftly walked down it, closed the passage way and then flopped into his most comfortable arm chair. He closed his eyes and slumped into its comforting embrace. Could he have possibly misjudged Potter? It was possible, he acknowledged to himself, that he had allowed his hatred of the boy's thrice-blasted father to blind him to the fact that Harry Potter and James Potter were not the same person. Perhaps he had allowed himself to lose sight of the fact that Harry was Lily's son as well, and had been raised by Petunia, of all people. Severus knew that Petunia was jealous that her sister had magic and he was very familiar with her spiteful nature.

He needed to examine his memories... see if things were really how he remembered them with Harry Potter. And there was only one way he could think of to do that-- Dumbledore's Pensieve. Severus scowled. He hated asking to borrow things. It made him feel like he owed the lender, and there was no such thing as a Slytherin who enjoyed owing people things. It was always better to have favors owed to you than to owe favors to others. He pushed himself up and went over to the fireplace. He threw a handful of floo powder in, and waited until the fire turned green. "Headmaster's office," he said.

"Severus?" Dumbledore said.

Severus cleared his throat. "It has come to my attention that I need to... reexamine some things. May I borrow your Pensive, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore gave him a searching look. "Very well," he said. He stood, went over to a cabinet, opened the door, and began the process of returning the contents of the pensieve to his head. A few minutes later, after Dumbledore had finished, Severus pulled his head out of the fireplace and waited. With a flare of green, Dumbledore's hand came through the Floo, holding the pensieve. "Thank you, sir," Severus said, accepting the item.

After the fire returned to a normal color, Severus removed some of his memories concerning Harry Potter, put them in the pensieve, and entered it.

~*~

"I will teach you how to brew fame, bottle glory, and even put a stopper in death." Severus ignored the droning of his other self and focused on Potter. The great thing about Pensieves was that you could see things in memories that you'd never consciously noticed at the time. The boy was writing down every word. When his past self verbally attacked Potter, the child flinched briefly before suppressing the reaction.

Potions class after potions class, the pattern continued. Severus didn't like what he saw; he had turned into his father--a vicious bully who picked on those weaker and smaller than he was. As far as he could see, the only difference was that while his father had usually been drunk, he had been stone cold sober. He saw himself punish Lily's boy for things he hadn't done, for things that weren't his fault. He saw himself belittle and berate the child for little to no reason. Examining his memories also had the effect of showing him his own House in a different light as well. He was aiding and abetting in providing the Dark Lord with a whole generation of Slytherins who were convinced of their own superiority--a whole generation of spoilt little sods who needed their backsides tanned lest they make the same mistake he had.

~*~

Severus exited the Pensieve with a thump and returned his memories to his head. Fortunately, he had a plan for freeing the mutt already. He had been holding it in reserve to taunt Black with. It was just too bad he couldn't taunt the mutt with the knowledge that it was he who had arranged for Black's freedom. "DOBBY!" he called.

The little elf appeared with a pop. "Yes, Professor, sir?" he asked.

Severus allowed a nasty smile to slide over his face. "How would you like to help Harry Potter and hurt bad wizards at the same time?"

A look of Slytherin-esque glee slid over Dobby's face. "What can Dobby do?" he asked.

~*~*~*~

Mark opened his copy of the Daily Prophet and grinned widely. Professor Snape had come through! Scanning the headlines was enough to prove that. PETER PETTIGREW FOUND ALIVE IN THE DMLE read one headline, which was followed by, SIRIUS BLACK FOUND INNOCENT. The next jumped out at him, VERITASERUM TESTIMONY PROVES VOLDEMORT ALIVE, and the next one, BLACK TO WIN CUSTODY OF GODSON, HARRY POTTER. Other headlines such as, WIZENGAMOT CALLS FOR VOTE OF NO CONFIDENCE and AMELIA BONES TO SIT AS INTERM MINISTER followed. He sighed happily. He had cleared his debt and managed to set in motion some good things. And best of all, he'd done it sneakily enough that nobody knew that he'd had anything to do with it.