November 1972. Hogwarts.

Alya was hunched over the Potions textbook, trying to extract from the porous pages any useful information for the paper she had to write for the next day. She had had a whole week to prepare it, carefully and calmly, but her visceral aversion to the hated subject had led her to postpone the task until Sunday evening.

It was almost midnight and Little Black was not even halfway through the essay. The Slytherin common room was practically deserted at that hour, except for a very few students, including Alya and Regulus, who had decided to keep his sister company.

While Alya tried to complete her homework, Regulus killed time by practising a simple levitation spell. For weeks Professor Flitwick had abandoned the use of feathers as objects to levitate, urging first-year students to practise with larger, heavier elements. Young Black had managed to lift the heavy Transfiguration book up to the ceiling, to the height of the black chandeliers. He was watching the result of his magic with a slightly bored but satisfied air.

Alya, instead, was only huffing and cursing softly as she feverishly flipped through her Potions volume, which appeared as cryptic as a sphinx. She understood nothing of the chapter she was reading, so trying to string together sentences that made sense was proving beyond difficult. Of course, if she had jotted some notes down during the lesson, things would have been easier, but Alya had the bad habit of not listening to the slightest word Professor Slughorn said. As if under the effect of a spell, whenever she was in Potions class, Alya totally lost her ability to concentrate, wandering with her mind in thoughts which had nothing to do with ingredients, measurements, boiling times and side effects of any concoction presented during the Potions hour. But the fault was not some unknown spell cast on the listless young student; it was simply boredom.

"You could have asked Philippa or Melyssa to help you. They do pretty well in Potions," Regulus said, interrupting his sister's stream of grumbles. Now, he was floating the Transfiguration book like a light balloon, carrying it above Alya's head. Little Black froze her brother with her gaze.

"Never! I don't need their help," she blurted dryly. Alya was too proud to ask Philippa for help; she would never give her the satisfaction of seeing her in trouble. The tacit competition between the two girls hadn't died down yet.

"Indeed, I can see how you handle yourself!" Regulus commented caustically.

Without taking her eyes off the volume of Potions, Alya drew her wand and pointed it at Regulus' Transfiguration book, which floated blissfully above her head.

"Tomum pungo!" she recited seriously.

The Transfiguration book began to thunder here and there convulsively, like a balloon pricked by a pin, until it glided ruefully to the ground.

"Hey! No need to react like that!" grumbled Regulus, frowning as he picked up the book from the floor.

Ignoring her little brother's grumbles, Alya threw her head back, massaging her closed eyelids over her tired eyes.

"I'll never be able to finish! I'm hopeless!" she sighed with surrender.

"Why don't you try asking Snape? His notes are known to be even more comprehensive than Slughorn's own explanations!" advised Regulus, in a low voice, nodding fleetingly towards a young boy sitting in a corner of the common room library.

As always, Severus Snape stood in the background, waiting until the last moment before he slipped into the dormitory (perhaps to be totally sure that his roommates were already asleep when he arrived): his long hooked nose plunged between the pages of a very old-looking book, covered with a thick black cover, on which it was impossible to read the title. His greasy black hair fell over his face, like two slightly floppy curtains.

"Reg! We do not share our air with Severus Snape," Alya admonished him, sternly. "He is a half-blood! His father is a Muggleborn. We must stay away from him." Little Black explained sharply to her brother. Regulus squinted his eyes.

"Snape's a half-blood? And how the hell did he end up in Slytherin?" whispered the young wizard, indignant.

"I have no idea. Apparently, the Sorting Hat is so old that it occasionally loses its way," replied Alya, shrugging.

Severus Snape didn't enjoy a good reputation among his fellow House members in Slytherin. His impure origins, together with his grumpy and unsociable behaviour, made him unpopular. He had no friends and was often left on the sidelines, ignored like an annoying stray dog. The only person who would speak to him was Lily Evans - apparently the two had known each other since before they entered Hogwarts - and this only made matters worse: Lily Evans was a Gryffindor and, like Snape, had been born into a Muggle family. Most Slytherin students were pureblood scions who despised those who did not share their ideals of magical purity. The entry of Severus Snape, whose father and surname had nothing to do with the wizarding world, had been seen as a source of disgrace to the House of Slytherin. It didn't matter that Snape was one of the best students in his year, dedicated to study and eager for knowledge. His presence was unwelcome and intolerable.

The only one who, inexplicably, seemed to have taken Severus Snape under his wing was Lucius Malfoy. Many had been shocked to see the aristocratic Prefect - and now Headboy- approach the lonely mate, but had been very careful not to criticise the blond boy's actions. Lucius Malfoy, like his entire family after all, was too rich and influential, and no one would dare oppose his actions.

Anyway, the gossip wasn't long in coming, if only as a vain attempt at an answer for such a strange friendship. It was rumoured that Severus Snape, despite his Muggle birth, felt a fervent curiosity for Dark Magic, a passion which bordered on obsession, and that in a fit of courage he had asked no less a question on the subject than the blond and impeccable Headboy of Slytherin. It was common knowledge - although no one spoke openly about it at school - that the Malfoys had always been wizards who didn't disdain the Dark Arts, even if they professed to be connoisseurs of the subject only on a theoretical level. In ancient times, their ancestors had certainly made use of such practices now banned from society.

Sensing what a well of obscure knowledge Lucius Malfoy must be, young Snape had been disproportionately admiring and reverent towards the platinum-blond haired scion, and the latter had greeted such flattery with his trademark flirtatiousness. He had greeted the shy Severus as worthy of his considerable and longed-for consideration: of course, the young Malfoy would never treat a second-year boy, of half-Muggle descent to boot, as his equal. No, he would merely grant him a few crumbs of his attention, just enough to turn Snape into a loyal subordinate.

Occasionally, Malfoy would reward Snape by lending him short texts or small volumes from the private collection kept at the famous Malfoy manor, all covered in thick black leather covers with illegible titles: these were undoubtedly forbidden books that would never be found in the Hogwarts libraries. Severus Snape, very grateful for that precious gift, lavishly guarded the Malfoy volumes like rare and precious talismans, allowing himself the luxury of reading them exclusively at night, within the safe walls of the Slytherin common room.

Alya cast a quick glance towards Snape and the book he was immersed in up to the root of his nose at that moment. Another Malfoy text, surely.

Little Black clicked her tongue in disapproval: she had never liked Snape. She found him unpleasant and unfriendly. Besides, she was well aware of how her strict parents would react if they found her getting along with a Halfblood, even one belonging to her own House.

Therefore, Alya had always kept her distance from Severus Snape since first year, ignoring him as her other classmates did. She advised Regulus to do the same, so as not to tarnish the family's noble reputation.

***

6th November, 1972. Hogwarts.

Like every Monday morning of her second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Alya had to go to the castle dungeon for two interminable hours of Potions. She couldn't explain why, but every time she stepped inside Slughorn's cell, time seemed to stretch to infinity, making every minute seem as long as a month. The only positive note was that, that year, the Slytherins didn't have to share the cauldrons with the Gryffindors; with them were the Hufflepuffs, more docile than their red-gold mates, and at least this guaranteed a more relaxed, less competitive atmosphere. Given the outcome of the last Quidditch match, facing the Gryffindors - especially Sirius and his clique - early on a Monday morning would have been unbearable for Alya.

At the end of the lecture, the professor invited the students to hand in their papers and Alya was almost ashamed to look Slughorn in the face when he reached his desk, handing him his parchment: he was well aware of the mediocre work she had done and was already anticipating the bad mark he would surely receive.

What a good start to the week! commented little Black caustically, inwardly, as she walked out of the hated subject room. Alya walked together with Philippa, Melyssa and Beth towards the cloister on the ground floor. The second-year Slytherins had half an hour free before their next class, so the four girls decided to laze around in that part of the castle where they could admire a portion of the open sky. Other classmates imitated them.

Alya leaned lazily on one of the little walls that surrounded the cloister's courtyard and let her gaze wander around her, with bored disinterest. Not far from her and her little group of friends, she saw Snape, hunched over, his back leaning against a pillar. As always, he had his hooked nose buried in sheets of parchment, covered in thick writing. Alya looked longingly at those sheets full of detailed notes; getting her hands on them would certainly have solved her problems with Slughorn's essays.

At that moment, little Black saw one of Snape's precious parchments slip from his fingers and flutter over his head, at a point too high to catch it.

"Hey, Snivellus!" the annoying drawling voice of James Potter emerged from a shadowy corner of the corridor. Unfailingly, along with the young, bold Gryffindor was Sirius - at Potter's side, of course - Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, a little further back. Lupin looked at his friend, who was posing as leader of the group, with a serious, unconvinced gaze. Pettigrew, on the other hand, seemed to be in the throes of excitement. Other students present, like Alya and her friends, pretended not to notice, but watched the events closely from the corner of their eyes.

"Don't hide your pretty face behind books, Snivellus!" insisted James Potter, advancing towards Snape with his wand outstretched in front of him.

"Yeah, don't deprive us of the sight of your majestic hooter!" echoed Sirius, in a scornful tone.

Some of the boys around couldn't help but laugh. Pettigrew, from behind Potter's back, squeaked smugly. Lupin continued to observe the scene with a serious and conflicted expression, but in silence.

The young Slytherin squared off the two Gryffindors with deep hatred gushing from his liquid black eyes, which alternately flashed from Sirius to Potter, and vice versa.

"Potter, you slimy worm --" hissed Snape softly, adding another series of vulgar insults that made Alya wince, scandalised by such language.

"Mind your tongue, Snvellus! That there's only slime coming out of your dirty big nose!" growled Sirius, suddenly threatening.

"Let's see if your notes say how to be nicer!" mocked Potter, with a mocking grin plastered on his face. He raised his wand to the paper still suspended above Snape's head and with a spell made it fold in on itself until it took on the appearance of a paper aeroplane, and then induced it to fly up in front of his brown eyes, circled by round, glittering glasses.

Snape made to get up and pounce on Potter, but Sirius blocked him, threatening him with his wand.

"Stay where you are or I will petrify you like a statue!"

Helpless without his wand in hand, Snape had to obey, though he did not spare himself in spitting more hateful words at the two bullies.

"Don't you dare touch my notes, Potter!" he shrieked, furious.

"I have not the slightest intention of touching this parchment, Snivellus!" retorted James Potter, in a falsely reassuring tone. "Not least because, with all the grease you must have left on it, I would risk it slipping through my fingers."

More laughter arose from various parts of the cloister. The Slytherins continued to feign indifference, but none of them were persuaded by the idea of defending their mate, including Alya and her friends.

"Indeed, Snivellus, I wonder how you can read them. The words seem to have melted away," added the arrogant Gryffindor, feigning puzzlement. Potter turned the tip of his wand towards the centre of the paper and pronounced coldly:

"Verba tabescunt"

The black letters transcribed on the parchment began to drip ink all over the sheet, reducing to a doughy, shapeless mass.

James Potter triumphantly showed Snape's now indecipherable notes to Sirius, who burst into laughter, much like a bark.

"You're right James! These notes are just useless. You should throw them away, Snivellus. Or you could use this paper to blow your nose!" commented Sirius, cruelly. Potter chuckled smugly and, inspired by his companion's words, crumpled up the parchment and threw it in Snape's face, now livid with rage. He seemed to be on the verge of bursting; he was about to draw his wand from his bag, but unfortunately Sirius was quicker.

"Expelliarmus!" he exclaimed, disarming the Slytherin.

Snape's wand flew a couple of metres away, rolling all the way under Alya's feet. She did not move, well determined not to get involved in the disputes between those unpleasant Snape and his twin brother. The latter seemed to notice his sister's presence only then and glared at her with an icy glance. Alya merely squared Sirius with an air of disdain.

But before Sirius could even say anything rancorous towards Alya, Pettigrew squeaked worriedly from behind his friend's back:

"McGonagall's coming! Let's scram!"

Potter immediately assumed an innocent air. He slung his bag over one shoulder and turned a false smile on Snape.

"I hope to catch you around soon, Snivellus!" he mockingly dismissed himself, before disappearing with his gang into an opening in the corridor.

After that, all those who had watched the scene with amused curiosity went back to focus on their previous activities, pretending that the young Slytherin, the victim of Potter and his friends' anguish, didn't even exist. No one took the trouble to help or console him.

Snape, his jaw rigid as granite and his lips tightened in anger, threw what remained of his parchment of notes into his bag.

When he reached to pick up his wand, neither Alya nor her friends gave him a glance, deliberately ignoring him.

After all, he is only a Halfblood, little Black commented inwardly, without feeling the slightest pity, with the same cold indifference she had inherited from her mother.