The Mentor

Chapter Four:

When it pours

Professor Flitwick stood on a pile of books so that he could see over the podium as he lectured. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear his own voice droning on and on as he looked out at the class of sixth years with growing concern. He knew himself to be a far more interesting instructor than say, Professor Binns, the ghostly History of Magic instructor. Goodness, he hoped as much; Flitwick had been one of Binns's students many years ago, when Binns had actually been alive, and even as an adult he could remember the agonies of trying to stay awake in that class. Yet it seemed that every student before him was fighting various levels of sleepiness, just as if Binns was lecturing to them. Crabbe and Goyle were all but snoring openly, and even Miss Trenton, usually his most attentive student, was staring somewhat dreamily at the gray sheets of rain that sluiced the window.

Maybe it was the weather, he assured himself, as he drew a particularly complex diagram on the board. This had been an unusually rainy spring. Nothing had a chance to dry properly, and the castle walls were cold and slightly damp to the touch.

An enormous, heavy sigh interrupted him in mid-sentence. He turned, irritated, and to his surprise saw that Miss Trenton was crimson-faced, her hands clasped to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. The Hufflepuffs were giggling madly and every Slytherin eye was cast balefully at Sophia. Flitwick set down his wand with an equally weighty sigh.

"Really Miss Trenton, it can't be as bad as all that. Five points from Slytherin."

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said in a voice that throbbed with sincerity.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Professor," Pansy squeaked, nudging Malfoy in the ribs. "Suck up."

Several Slytherins chuckled, and Regina Dee's laughter grated particularly roughly on Sophia's ears.

Flitwick knew from long experience that every fight wasn't worth picking and he moved quickly over Pansy's interruption.

"Perhaps it would be best if we called it a day, hum? We've only ten more minutes to go, and you can use the extra time to work on your midterm scrolls. Class dismissed."

The students roused themselves and began to gather their books. Sophia, seated in the first row between Ursula Howard and Draco Malfoy, shoveled her books into her bag as quickly as possible. This must be how Neville Longbottom feels in every class, she thought to herself. She raised her chin proudly; if Longbottom could tolerate feeling so stupid every day in every class then surely she could survive her current embarrassment.

"Please stay for a moment Miss Trenton."

Sophia bit her lip and stepped up to the podium, certain that she was facing a detention. Flitwick waited until the other students had left the room before he turned to her with an understanding smile.

"Are my classes so very boring, Miss Trenton? I thought you rather enjoyed Charms."

Of course that was a bit of a joke. Sophia Trenton was his favorite student, and he was her favorite teacher and he taught her favorite class. Not that either of them had said anything of the sort during their six-year acquaintance; it was a tacit fact. Had it not been for Sophia's cool reserve he would have treated her much more warmly, for he liked her enormously. Flitwick was a realist, however, and was aware that she would never open herself enough to accept such fatherly treatments. He had to content himself with tutoring her privately, as he had been doing for three years, and he was enormously proud of her dueling skills.

"I am truly sorry, sir. I really don't know what came over me."

"Perhaps it's the weather. I've noticed that many of your fellows find it difficult to concentrate."

"Still sir, it's no excuse. It won't happen again."

Flitwick nodded gravely. Had she been practically any other student he would have tried to joke her out of her somber mood, but he knew Sophia well enough to recognize the futility of the endeavor.

"You seem to have made great strides with Mr. Pucey," he said by way of changing the subject.

"Yes, I've found that most of his problems lie in his concentration and wand technique."

Flitwick did not miss how her eyes lit up when she spoke of her success with Adrian Pucey.

"I'm glad dear, but I must let you go now so you won't be late to your next class. Please let me know if I can be of any help."

"Thank you sir."

* * *

Ursula Howard and Adrian Pucey were waiting for her outside Flitwick's classroom. The threesome hurried off to Potions. Sophia had to speed walk to keep up with the others, who were taller and had much longer legs, but she didn't complain.

"Did he give you detention?" Adrian asked.

"No."

"Good. We have only three days left to work on our mid-terms, and I don't want to loose any time because of some ruddy detention."
Sophia and Ursula exchanged small, conspiratorial smiles. This Adrian Pucey was quite different from the angry, frustrated boy that Sophia had begun to tutor three weeks ago.

"If you tell me to swish and flick one more ruddy time I'll shove my wand up your arse," he had threatened after almost twenty minutes of practicing the basic technique over and over and over again.

Sophia had suppressed a glare. Really, did he think that she found this exciting? She had better things to do than to tutor some thick-witted Quidditch player or anyone else for that matter. Still, she wasn't about to fail Snape's challenge to prove herself, even if it meant making Adrian Pucey swish and flick all week.

"Alright," she had sighed, trying to think of another tactic. "Look. Charms is kind of like Quidditch."

Adrian snorted, but Sophia continued on. "What do you do as a Beater?"

He glared at her like she was the stupidest girl in the world. "I beat the bludgers back."

"Right. You just smack the bludgers any which way, sending them all higgledy-piggledy over the field. I could do that."

"Yeah, you probably would. It's not like that. There's a lot more to it. You have to time your swing just so. And you have to make sure you aren't just sending the bludger away from you. You can't send it flying into one of your teammates. It takes a lot of...technique..." Adrian trailed off as he finally caught on to her meaning.

"Precisely. And so does magic. Especially Charms. Good technique equals predictable results, and you only get that through lots and lots of practice."

Adrian had nodded. "Same with Quidditch."

"Precisely. So, let's try it again."

Adrian still wasn't a master of Charms, but his technique had definitely improved and he was far easier to tutor now. Sophia was confident that he would pass Charms with a reasonable score.

The threesome had just enough time to slide into their seats before Snape entered the room in a whorl of black robes. Sophia smiled at Draco who sat on her left. He smiled back and stroked her thigh under the desk, causing shivers of delight to prickle her flesh. She didn't know if it was the sprint to class or Draco's touch, but Sophia felt far livelier than she did in Charms. She was in such a good mood that didn't even really feel like dredging up an icy expression to use whenever she looked at Snape, but she forced herself to do it out of principle. Not that it mattered; as usual, he looked around and over her, never at her. It was as if she didn't exist.

* * *

Severus, like Ian Squeltch, knew the value of seeming to place your attention one place when it was actually somewhere else. Normally he would sweep down the aisles, reveling in the loathsome glares of his students. At that moment he seemed to have his large nose buried in a very thick book, but his attention was far from the printed page.

It's not working, damn it, he thought as he glanced up and gave the class his usual scowl. They were in groups of two creating the Dexterious Augumentus Potion. Some of the groupings were predictable; Potter and his red-haired sidekick: Crabbe and Goyle, who together probably wouldn't make half the mess that Longbottom would make, even with his partner, Granger, hissing instructions in his ear.

Then there was Trenton and Malfoy. Snape had to turn his attention to his book. He couldn't stand the predatory glint in Malfoy's eyes as he looked at Sophia. Severus gritted his teeth. Snape had given her her own clique to rule over like a queen. So why was she paired with Malfoy and reduced to uncomfortable giggling every time he patted her bum?

He knew the answer of course. His attentions flattered her. She wasn't entirely fooled by the boy's attentions, it showed in a certain wary gleam in her eyes, but they no doubt appealed to ego and her libido on levels that she couldn't possibly understand. She thinks she can have it all, he thought snidely. Well my dear girl, there's a price to pay for everything. How many kisses is your soul worth?

He had decided days ago that he would simply have to overcome his absurd affinity that he had for Sophia. It was wonderfully perverted, but given his entire situation it was highly improper and potentially lethal; too many lives depended on Severus Snape, and his lust for her was in danger of clouding his judgment. As one Slytherin to another it was entirely proper for him to...admire and respect her, so long as no one knew about it.

Snape ground his teeth. He didn't have time for her stupid waffling. Neither did she, for that matter. His plan had been set into motion long before the child came to his attention, but now that unbearably soft part of him was desperate to save her from her own naivety and perhaps, through her, pull a few others back from the abyss as well. He did not dare analyze the desperation that pulsed just below his rage.

* * *

Madame Pince glanced up from her book and watched the six Slytherins sit down at their regular table and begin unpacking their books and scrolls. As a whole she did not like it when so many members of any House sat together, especially Slytherins; no matter how vigilant she was in her supervision, the end result was too much noise, too many candy-sticky tables, and too many spit-balls to clean off the ceiling. However, these children were relatively well behaved, and working in a group seemed to be beneficial, as they could prod one another to make sure they all stayed busy and spent a minimum amount of time daydreaming.

Pince idly watched the shortest of the group, a spindly-looking green-haired girl, stand up, stretch and walk towards the shelves holding a slip of paper in her hand. Seeing that all was quiet and calm, Madame Pince went back to reading her book.

Sophia wandered through the maze of tall shelves. Navigating through the library had been a daunting task when she was a first year, but now she knew precisely where to look for any book she needed. Actually, that was the topic of her essay, navigational charms. She was certain that she understood the theory, but she wanted to add a little more about the history to her paper.

She turned the corner, and there was Ron Weasley, standing right where Sophia's book should be, and Ron was holding a thick tome. Of course Hermione Granger and Harry Potter stood close by and eyed her suspiciously.

Sophia spared the last two a cool glance and walked up to Ron. A quick look at the book he was holding confirmed that it was the one she needed and she knew that the library didn't own a second copy.

"Are you planning to check that out?" she quietly asked very, very politely. She did not like to deal with anyone outside of her class, but she could show an underling a modicum of courtesy if she needed to do so; to do otherwise would reflect poorly on her.

Ron turned towards her looked down his nose as if he just spotted something disgusting. "Why do you want to know?"

Sophia glared at him, indignant that her careful courtesy was so brusquely dismissed. "Because you aren't the only one who needs it. Trust a Weasley to match his second-hand robes with second-hand manners."

Sophia turned on her heel to leave, but not before she saw the angry red blush creep over his face. She wasn't worried about turning her back to an angry Gryffindor, because everyone knew that a Gryffindor would think it beneath his honor to strike an opponent in the back.

"Take that back," Ron said loudly.

"Shhhh!" Hermione hissed.

Harry snorted disdainfully. "Let her go; you can't expect any better from one of Malfoy's gang."

Sophia's dramatic exit was ruined as she stopped abruptly. She felt like she had in fact just been struck in the back. For the first time all of the consequences of her association with Malfoy came crashing down upon her. She had just been called one of his gang, one of his followers really. Malfoy...just like Malfoy...rude, arrogant, petty, tacky Draco Malfoy. One of "Malfoy's gang"...Potter didn't even know her ruddy name!

Sophia revealed none of her horror when she turned and smiled maliciously at the indignant trio. "Hum...scar-head, Hogwart's charity case, and the Muggle-born beaver. My, hasn't House Gryffindor come down in the world?"

Sophia strode away with her head held high like a queen, but she felt almost as common as any of the three that she had just weakly insulted.

* * *

Sophia's thin face blazed with a mottled, angry blush but no one mentioned it as she quietly took her place at the table with the rest of the Slytherins. Ursula Howard was gazing stupidly at her scroll and Leo Dee was facedown and snoring softly into the open book before him.

Sophia was determined to copy out what she could on a fresh scroll, reasoning that she could add the rest about medieval navigational charms latter. It took her five minutes to finish the first paragraph, but it was so peppered with angry blots and cross-outs that she finally crumpled it up in frustration.

"I just can't concentrate," she grumbled.

Regina Dee had long ago given up the pretence of studying and instead was filing her nails. "Really? Well, isn't' that saying something? If Flitwick's pet is having problems then the rest of us must be in deep trouble."

"The library is not the proper place to sharpen your claws, Regina," Sophia said, meeting Regina's dark blue glare with a feral grin. This confrontation had been building ever since Snape had made her a tutor.

Regina rolled her eyes and began to pack up her things. "Do you really think that I'd fight some sort of duel with you or something? Me, duel with a Trenton? You're sort aren't worth bothering with. If it wasn't for that git Snape I wouldn't even be seen in public with you."

"Then leave."

"I am leaving, but not because you told me to. Come on, Leo."

Leo looked sleepily up at his cousin, then over to Sophia. He packed quickly, silently, and offered Sophia something that might have been an apologetic look as he hurriedly followed Regina out of the library.

The remainder of the study group sat silently for a moment.

"You would have smeared her, you know," Ursula said.

"She's a hoity-toity bit o'fluff and not worth bothering with," Ian added.

"I want to play Quidditch," Adrian said.

Ursula glared at him. "Keen on Quidditch, hum? Brute."

Adrian frowned even more deeply than usual and opened his mouth to speak but Sophia cut him off. "Let's do."

Ursula stared at her in surprise. Sophia had never before shown the slightest bit of interest in Quidditch. "You want to play Quidditch in the rain?"

"I need to hit something."

Adrian looked at her with something akin to respect. "Let's have a go then."

* * *

Minerva McGonagall looked out the window of Dumbledore's office and pursed her lips. "Will you have a look at that. Severus, I'm afraid to tell you this but I think some of your house have gone quite mad."

"What are you going on about?"

"Take a look for yourself."

Severus Snape looked over Minerva's shoulder. The rain had slowed to a heavy mist and the sky was a dull gray. Even the wide lawn looked colorless and the Forbidden Forest was an ominous black smear in the distance. Between the castle and the forest four small figures in Slytherin green cloaks swooped and dodged on broomsticks. It was too far away to clearly identify them easily, but he was certain that they were two girls and two boys.

"What is it, Severus?" Dumbledore asked from his seat by the fire where he was warming his arthritic hands.

"Four of my House seems to be playing an impromptu game of Quidditch."

"I hope Poppy has some of her Pepper-Up potion ready; they'll need it," Albus said amiably.

Severus grimaced as he squinted at the Quidditch players and tried to figure out who they were. He watched without particular concern as the largest, a hulking boy dove in from the side and knocked the smallest girl off of her broomstick. She was perhaps ten feet off the ground and landed face-first in the mud.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, his mind, as always, turning back to his mission. Most witches and wizards would be surprised to know how few Death Eaters and sympathizers there actually were. Severus himself did not know the exact numbers, but he knew that there weren't enough to win the war at this point. Both sides were more or less in the building phase now, coalescing their power. Snape was prepared to provide an answer to Voldermort's numbers problem, but on the Potions Master's terms. The Dark Lord demanded fresh young recruits; Snape would hand him a small army, with himself in the lead.

Of course, this army wouldn't have even finished schooling at Hogwarts (Severus was already working on that). It would be young, cock-sure but undisciplined and in constant need of supervision and easily torn apart by petty personal issues. It would force the war into the open, where Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix could deal with it. After all, one of the Dark Lord's main weapons was surreptitiousness; all of that "He Who Must not be Named" nonsense worked in Voldermort's favor, as it added to his frightening mystique. Severus felt a pang of something akin to guilt when he thought of the way House Slytherin would be dragged into the light and torn to pieces as families were forced to take sides. He viciously kicked the feeling aside; regret was yet another emotion that he could not afford to feel.

Snape was not a fool. Sophia was in many ways as weak as any other teen and just as easily exploited. Wasn't that in fact what he was doing? Though Trentons were notorious fence sitters he was certain that, without his influence, she would join Malfoy when he finally revolted and left to join the Death Eaters. Still, he couldn't have been wrong, could he? Had he imagined that tiny spark of defiance, that glimpse of iron will and individuality buried beneath all of the acquired layers of duty, obligation and mindless conformity disguised as ill-considered tradition?

Outside, the young girl picked herself up out of the mud. He was too far away to make out her features, but he recognized the long cloud of frizzy black hair and the absurdly tiny but defiant stance. The girl raised her hand to the large boy hovering on his broomstick above her and made what was undoubtedly a very rude gesture.

Severus Snape smiled thinly.

* * *

Sophia, Adrian, Ian and Ursula played an increasingly dirty game of modified Quidditch until it was almost dark outside. Soaked to the skin and covered with mud they piled into the castle, laughing and heedless of the muddy trail they were leaving behind them.

"Did you have to slam me into the ground? Repeatedly?" Sophia asked Adrian. Her feet slid and Adrian instinctively grabbed her elbow to steady her.

"No. But it was fun." he smiled down at her.

"Oh, belt up," she smiled back and punched him in the arm.

"Mrs. Norris!" Ian yelped.

The foursome skidded to a halt. Before them stood the scrawny cat, her baleful yellow eyes enormous in her thin face. She instantly took off down the hall, no doubt to find Mr. Filch.

Sophia exchanged horrified glances with the other three. Filch hated all students on principle, especially muddy ones. They'd have detentions for a month if he caught them. Already they could hear him tromping down the hall ahead of them, grousing.

"Scatter!" she hissed, and everyone took off in different directions.

Sophia dodged to the nearest corridor. She skidded around the corner in a wide arc and pounded down the hall, her heart racing. Down the left hall, dodge around the right corner...again to the right...she could still hear Filch yelling. Eventually she had to stop. She leaned against a wall to catch her breath, and as she looked around at the endless maze of torch lit corridors that spread out and branched before her. Only then did she realize that she had just done something very stupid.

She doubted that anyone, even Dumbledore, knew every hallway in Hogwarts, and Sophia herself knew even less. Sophia was a bookworm, not an explorer; she had absolutely no idea where she was.

A tentacle of panic wrapped itself around her heart, making it skip a beat. How would she find her way out? Would someone find her bones years latter, wearing muddy tatters, slumped against this wall? 'Well, this is very jolly,' she thought.

She shook off the panic. She might be stupid enough to get herself lost, but she was a witch after all, not some helpless Muggle. Sophia took a few deep, calming breaths and looked around her.

No, this area didn't look familiar at all. She considered trying to follow her own muddy trail back to where she came from, but that was impossible. She didn't have an endless supply of mud to shed; the hallway behind her looked quite clean. Besides, she was trying to get away from Filch, not run into him.

She shivered and wrapped her cloak around her tightly. She was wet and muddy from head to toe, hungry and alone. Sophia sighed miserably and was surprised to discover that it was so cold in the corridor that she could almost see her own breath.

She must be deep underground. Now that she thought about it she realized that she should remember that damp chill; it could only come from the dungeons. And if she was near the dungeons, then she couldn't be too far from the Slytherin common room.

Sophia excitedly drew her wand and performed a navigational charm using the common room as her focus. Yes, she was very close. She walked a bit farther, to where the corridor branched, and performed the charm again. Slowly, she managed to work her way towards the common room.

The last turn dumped her out into the deepest and darkest part of the dungeons, near Snape's office. Thankful that there was no one to see her, she inelegantly wiped her cold, runny nose on the corner of her filthy cloak and picked up the pace. She stumbled slightly on the uneven stones and her foot tangled in the other corner of her cloak. She cried out in surprise and fell violently to the floor. Her scream echoed through the cavernous dungeons, disturbing the haunting silence.

Snape's heavy office door swung open. "Potter...!" Snape's growl died on his lips.

Sophia found herself almost centered in the long oblong of light emanating from Snape's office. She blinked owlishly up at the black silhouette of the Potions Professor, who loomed in the doorway like a shadowy specter. They silently stared at each other for a long moment. Sophia noticed a slight tremble in his hands where they gripped the doorframe.

Sophia was suddenly aware that she was sprawled out in a very vulgar position on the floor. Her cloak and outer robe had both fallen open, revealing her uniform blouse, skirt, tie, and jumper. She had a feeling that her skirt had ridden up, for a cold breeze caressed its way high up her thighs.

Crimson-faced and utterly humiliated, she pulled the hem of her skirt down sharply to cover the pink knickers that she was now certain she had been flashing at him. She twisted from her side to a sitting position then rocked to her feet. Her hip throbbed in protest. Snape did not make the slightest move to help her, but she could feel him staring at her with a strange intensity.

"Were you digging in the gardens, Miss Trenton?" There was a slightly ragged note in his voice that he couldn't quite place.

"No sir," she said.

"Then why are you covered with mud?"

"I was playing Quidditch, sir."

"Quidditch."

"Yes sir."

"By yourself?"

"No sir."

"Where are the others?"

"We...split up sir."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Filch, sir."

"Oh."

"Luminos," Snape softly whispered, and his wand lit up his features.

A cadaver's face showed more emotion than Snape's.

"Follow me," he said curtly.

Once again Sophia found herself following Snape's swirling black robes down into the darkest parts of the dungeon, their way lit only by their wands. For a terrified moment she thought that he might be leading her to his flat. Sophia wasn't entirely disappointed when they made a turn just in time and went in the opposite direction instead. Right, left right until finally Snape came to a halt.

"You will press the stone to open the passageway. You will make a left, then a right, and then another right. At that point you will be almost directly before the common room "

Snape turned to leave.

"Sir!"

He paused, but did not turn to look at her.

"Which stone do I press?" she asked.

At this point Snape turned and smiled at her nastily. "You're a bright girl. You'll figure it out."

She glared at his retreating back. It was dark as a moonless night and she had only the light of her wand to see by. How would she figure out which stone was the right one to push? Bloody hell, where was the suave Professor Snape who had dined and danced with her? She was starting to wonder if she had dreamed him up.

She leaned her hot forehead against the cold stones and rolled her head gently back and forth. Would she ever stop making a prat of herself? Especially in front of Snape of all people. She was so determined to be the perfect Slytherin ice princess around the nasty lying prig; instead she flashed him.

No. Now was not the time to dwell on such things. She might die of embarrassment if she continued. With Herculaneum effort she brought her mind back to the task at hand.

She began to randomly press stones. The wall remained unmoved. She pressed exceptionally rough stones, then exceptionally smooth stones. The wall remained unmoved. She bent down to press low stones, stretched up to press high stones. The wall remained unmoved. Frustrated, she shone her wand on the wall and began to press mossy stones. It was only when she squinted closely, trying to determine if she was looking at a shadow or moss, that she noticed it.

A snake, coiled into an "S" shape, carved into a stone just below eye level.

Sophia pressed it, and a portion of the wall silently slid aside. No wonder he can sneak up on us so easily, she thought with a small grin. Now that she was in familiar territory, she moved swiftly and confidently towards the common room.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson smiled up at Draco, who was holding court in the center of the Slytherin common room. That was how she liked to think of it, "holding court," for Draco was princliness personified and she would make a superior queen. She felt so alive next to him, as if raw energy pulsed from him and into her. Pansy sat at his right side, on a short squashy hassock. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him, guard like as usual and laughing stupidly at Draco's jokes a beat or two after everyone else. Blaize, Millicent and Regina sat beside her like ladies in waiting. Other, lesser Slytherins gathered round showing various degrees of interest.

"You don't really think they'll make the Granger beaver Head Girl, do you Draco?" Pansy, who knew that her blue eyes were her best feature, always widened them as she looked up a Draco, never realizing that he thought that the effort made her look like a startled frog.

They had discussed little else that evening. Dumbledore had announced at suppertime that the faculty was preparing to review applications for Head Boy and Girl, and that the decision would be made and announced after Easter Holiday, before the end of the school year. Draco had grinned broadly, imagining the shining "HB" badge on his chest, until Weasley opened his big mouth.

The Gryffindor table was on the opposite side of the room, so Draco shouldn't have been able to hear the Weasel over the din of babbling voices, but the prat had a very deep voice and had never learned the art of volume control, especially when he was excited.

"I'll bet Hermione's already written up her letter," Ron had said.

Draco could not hear Granger's response but from the embarrassed flush of her face and duck of her head she probably already had. And then it occurred to him; Dumbledore would doubtlessly make that mudblood Head Girl.

"With McGonagall and Dumbledore's support there's no way she won't be made Head Girl. Fancy that, a Gryffindor mudblood given charge of Slytherins."

The assemblage mumbled darkly. Intrahouse relations had been spiraling downward since the Triwizard Cup, but they had finally reached an all-time low after Voldermort's attack on Hastings. It seemed that every subsequent week there was a new attack, abduction or murder associated with the Dark Mark and those who bore it. Even relations with Ravenclaw, which were unusually fairly convivial, were now cold and formal. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had gone from wariness to open hostility in a matter of days, angering Slytherin offspring from neutral families and of course making them more susceptible to Draco's manipulations.

"Well, there's been Mudbloods for Head Boy and Girl before," Leo Dee said somewhat lamely.

From the corner of her eye Pansy saw Sophia Trenton sneak quietly through the entrance and slowly make her way around the crowd towards the sixth year dorm. She looked filthy. Still smarting from the pummeling she had taken at Ursula Howard's and Sophia's hands, Pansy was eager to humiliate them whenever possible. Pansy held her tongue for the moment, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

"Maybe we don't have to take that sort of shabby treatment anymore," Draco said darkly, quietly, so that his audience had to lean in closely to hear him. It was a trick that his father had taught him; the more people had to strain to hear you the more carefully they would listen to what you had to say.

"Sophia, were you pig wrestling?" Pansy asked shrilly.

Sophia stopped at the entrance to the girl's dormitories and shot Pansy a withering look. Pansy wrinkled her nose triumphantly.

Draco glared venomously at Pansy. Trust Pansy to be so wrapped up in her petty personal vendettas that she completely ignored the larger issues. Still, he had to admit, Sophia did look like a golem or something. She was even dirtier than Ursula and Adrian had been when they had clumped through.

"Oink," said Millicent, who was promptly joined by Blaize and Regina. "Oink, oink, oink!"

"You were playing Quidditch with Pucey and Howard and Squelch, weren't you!" Leo Dee moaned.

"Yes," Sophia said shortly, remembering how easily his cousin had pulled the weak-willed boy away.

"You were playing Quidditch?" Pansy asked skeptically, and with good reason; Sophia was not known for her athletic skills.

"Yes Pansy. Quidditch. I'm sure you've heard of it before."

Draco smiled at her. Not his nasty smile, or a smirk, or even his self-consciously charming smile, but a genuine smile that was rarely seen on his face. Only a true Slytherin would act so haughty while covered with mud. Prior to this he had only seen her as a toy, someone to be used and ditched when she no longer amused him. Now he wondered if she would make a useful ally after all.

"Come back here after you've cleaned up. You've heard about the announcement at dinner?"

"Just now, yes."

"Well, we Slytherins have a lot to discuss. Join us."

The last thing Sophia wanted to do was leap into yet more Slytherin politics. Potter's barb had punctured much of her joy regarding her friendship with Draco. Suddenly, associating with him seemed to offer little advantage. She had already known what kind of boy Draco was, but now she was forced to see herself for what she really was, and she didn't like it one bit.

Still, it would not do to reject him openly. Only a Gryffindor would openly challenge a more powerful enemy. The Malfoys were infinitely more influential than the Trentons in the Wizarding world, and Draco could ruin her with a word. She did not have to like him, she rationalized, merely use him, and it would be much easier to do now that she no longer desired him.

Use him up and drop him quick, that's all his kind is good for, she told herself.

"Sure," she said casually, not missing Pansy's pout.

* * *

Ursula Howard was drying her freshly washed hair with a towel when Sophia entered their room.

"Hey, I thought Fitch got you," Ursula said, smiling.

"No, I took a long route," Sophia said truthfully, tugging off her rubbers. She didn't want to admit that she had made herself hopelessly lost any more than she wanted to admit that Snape had helped her find her way back.

"I heard that Adrian made it. Did Ian?"

"Oh no. He was only a corridor down from me. I heard Filch catch him, shouting something about polishing trophies. What horrid language that man used!"

"Rotten luck."

Ursula tossed her towel onto a chair and sat on Sophia's bed. "You've heard about the announcement at dinner, haven't you?"

"Draco took pains to make sure that I know."

"He's really against Granger becoming Head Girl, isn't he?"

"That's an understatement."

"Sophia," Ursula bit her lip and watched her friend struggle to remove her soggy layers of clothes. "He sounds like he'd leave the school if she gets it."

"Mrph?" Sophia responded from the tangled depths of her jumper.

"He'd take a lot of people with him, if he does. Do you really imagine that he'd divide the House like that?"

Sophia finally freed her head. Her face was very flushed, but how much of it was from her fight with the jumper or with anger Ursula couldn't tell.

"We do not engage in public dissention. You know that as well as I do,"

* * *

Less than an hour latter Sophia found herself clean and warm in fresh robes and sitting on Draco's left side. Her impromptu dinner, a filling but unsatisfying meal consisting of butterbeer and sticky buns from Draco's personal stash sat before her. Draco occasionally reached down and played with her wet green-tinged curls. She was pleased that his touch sparked no arousal in her now.

She nibbled a bun and watched him. She had to hand it to him; he was an excellent public speaker. So poised, so eloquent, so handsomely, wintery blonde. He quickly dismissed any dissention and Sophia felt him slowly drawing everyone in the room to his side.

'Almost everyone,' she thought. She caught the discomforted looks that flickered across various faces. Ursula's lips were pressed very tightly, like she was nursing a wound and struggling to not cry out. Adrian was wearing what Sophia now recognized to be his thinking frown. Ian Squelch, who stank strongly of trophy polish when he finally arrived, also seemed unconvinced. Even Leo Dee looked uncomfortable. A smattering of other students looked as if they wanted to speak up but lacked the courage. She didn't blame them.

Draco's words rushed over her like the rain-swollen brook that cut through the Trenton estate every spring. He had almost finished his letter of intent for Head Boy. Of course he would get it; Sophia noticed that he never questioned the idea. What bothered him was that Granger, McGonagall's pet, might make Head Girl.

It was time, Draco said, for Mudbloods to understand their proper place in the wizarding world. Muggles and Mudbloods existed only by the forbearance of Purebloods. Mudbloods had no business taking on leadership positions. Of course, Slytherins had suffered this for years, but now they had a powerful ally, one who would uproot uppity Mudbloods and help the Purebloods. They only had to grasp the opportunity.

Sophia felt vaguely ill and sat the sticky bun back on her plate; she didn't know it at the time, but the lack of appetite in times of stress that would plague her for the rest of her life started with that gesture. She squelched the urge to knock Draco's caressing hand away from her. His very touch made her feel dirty in a way that the muck and mire of the Quidditch field never would.

On one hand, she agreed with Draco. Dumbledore's preference for Muggle-borns (Sophia hated the word "Mudblood"; it was tacky, and reflected poorly on people who used it) Gryffindors, and non-Slytherins in general was highly annoying. Purebloods, by virtue of upbringing, ancestry and...well, blood, should of course be at the top of the social strata, with Slytherins leading the others. But she didn't want to kill or banish those of weaker bloodlines. Murder seemed to be an extreme punishment for an accident of birth. Besides, it simply wouldn't be practical to kill off all of the Muggle-borns, if for no other reason than there weren't enough purebloods to run the wizarding world alone. She was perfectly content to allow Muggle-borns to function in wizarding society, albeit performing the many unglamorous but necessary menial jobs that needed to be done.

Everyone in the room knew that the "ally" that Draco was referring to was in fact Lord Voldermort. Draco had made cryptic little remarks about the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters ever since she had met him, but his comments had become slowly less veiled as the years progressed, particularly after the events at the World Quidditch Cup a couple of years ago. It was almost a relief to hear him speak so baldly.

Draco spoke poetically of strength and power under Voldemort's rule, but Sophia only saw groveling servitude. Did serving a Dark Wizard like Voldemort make a wizard strong or was it the sign of a weakling hiding behind the robes of the powerful? Wasn't that below the dignity of a Pureblood, a Slytherin? Wasn't it beneath the dignity of a Slytherin to surrender his or her own will and become a lap dog, a puppet, begging for favors? Wasn't it petty and stupid to sell one's soul to evil personified, to commit heinous acts of depravity, torture and murder just to satisfy some childhood vendetta?

She could not speak. Brilliant responses flitted through her brain, but her tongue refused to say them. She smiled, nodded, and made "mm-hum" sounds when appropriate, but she could not say a word, could not voice a single objection. She felt bullied, pummeled, gagged by his harsh words and dubious logic.

She told herself that she was not silent because she was a coward. It was simply not astute to speak up at this time. Besides, she could think whatever she liked but Trentons never involved themselves in politics such as this. No, Trentons were not heroes; they were smart enough to stay neutral, let others take the damage of the fight, and then side with the winners. That was the secret to survival.

None of this was her problem.

Really.

It wasn't.

NEXT: The holidays are a time to relax...unless you're a double agent with a cantankerous mother, you have a student with a new tattoo and you have a crush on a girl who has a flighty mother with an affinity for French cuisine. No one said life was easy for Severus Snape.