Sands of Time

Chapter 11

Harry followed Snape into the Headmaster's office with a certain amount of trepidation. Did Dumbledore know what they had been discussing, or was he calling them to talk about something more mundane, like the Death Eaters or Voldemort?

The office was cheery as usual. Fawkes sat in one corner, nibbling at a strangely shaped seed, and a bright fire crackled in the fireplace. The Headmaster sat at his desk, his head bent over a letter he was writing. Harry frowned. Something about the office seemed wrong, though he couldn't think of what it was.

Dumbledore didn't look up from his writing, leaving them both standing and waiting for him to acknowledge their presence.

"Headmaster...Headmaster Dumbledore. Albus!" Snape demanded.

Dumbledore didn't look up.

Snape's scowl grew larger and larger, then abruptly disappeared as something caught his attention. He strode over to one of the many portraits of former Headmasters that lined the wall. Snape stared at it for a moment, then moved on to the next one, and the one after that. He stared at them all in turn, while casting the occasional glance at the still writing Dumbledore. There was a strange expression on Snape's face that Harry couldn't place.

The portraits had been there for years. Just what had Snape noticed?

Harry wandered over to look at the portrait nearest him. A glance at Dumbledore revealed he was still writing and humming some type of tune under his breath. He seemed determined to ignore them. Harry studied the portrait.

The plate underneath the painting said that this was Headmaster Charles Vertlang and that the date was 1599. The man himself had dark, curly hair that was streaked with grey, giving it a peppered look. The face was nothing special, though he would smile cheerfully and wink at Harry, almost making him laugh. Something about the eyes made him look again. They were brown, but that amused twinkle within them was very familiar...

It couldn't be. He glanced at Dumbledore, then back at the portrait. Vertlang was gone.

"Severus. Harry. Why don't you take a seat?" asked Dumbledore genially.

Professor Snape sent a warning glance Harry's way before sitting down. Harry glared back at him. Snape wasn't going to scare him into not talking. This was his problem too.

"Why do the portraits look like you, sir?" he asked before Snape could speak.

"Have you ever noticed how owners begin to look like their dogs, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"That has nothing to do with it!" snapped Snape. "And you know it, Albus." His eyes narrowed. "If Albus is even your name."

Dumbledore looked amused at the accusation.

"It's one of my names," he conceded, leaving Harry gaping. "As is Charles Vertlang, Orel Swartz, and countless others."

Harry's mind was racing. Butterflies. Stones. Gryffindor's diary. He denied everything of course, playing with my words like he always does, his eyes twinkling with some inner amusement. That was it.

"And Salazar Slytherin," said Harry into the growing silence.

Dumbledore actually winked at him.

"Ten points to Gryffindor, Harry. You really should have let the hat put you in Slytherin, you know. You would have been a great asset to the house," he said.

Harry stared at him. Why had Dumbledore brought that up?

Snape snorted loudly in disbelief.

"This is ridiculous," he spat out, standing up angrily. "Good day to you, Albus. Let me know when you get your sanity back." He swept out of the room, nearly slamming the door on his cloak as it flared out behind him.

"Lemon sherbet?" Dumbledore held out the sweet. Harry declined. He didn't recognize the man sitting in front of him. What was that advice? Don't take sweets from strangers.

"I wouldn't worry about Professor Snape," continued Dumbledore, though Harry hadn't been thinking about him at all, except to think that perhaps he should have followed him when he left. "He's just upset he didn't figure it out sooner, though I didn't give him half as many clues as I gave you."

"How?" asked Harry, even though he dreaded the answer.

"If you wouldn't mind fetching Professor Snape, Harry. There's no use in explaining this twice." Dumbledore smiled at him.

Harry did mind. Snape was likely to hex him or worse if he approached him now. But he did want to get out of here. He was alone with one of the darkest wizards of all time, and the fact that he had been alone with the Headmaster plenty of times before was not comforting.

"He'll be in his private quarters. Two doors down on the left from his office. The password is 'Voldemort'."

Harry gave Dumbledore an odd look. That was a strange password for Professor Snape to have, even if he was a Death Eater.

"Nobody ever says his name," explained Dumbledore.

Harry nodded and headed out the door. A tension he hadn't even felt disappeared as soon as he left the room.

It all seemed very unreal. Salazar Slytherin had lived almost a thousand years ago. He couldn't be alive today, and he couldn't be Dumbledore. Little things kept coming back to him though. How Dumbledore had set him up to face Quirrell in his first-year. The gleam of triumph in his eyes when Harry told him Voldemort was back using Harry's blood. Those were the obvious things.

But if he was Salazar Slytherin, he had to have known about the Chamber of Secrets. He could have stopped the basilisk at any time.

Harry's felt a chill go through him at the thought. Just how many other things had Dumbledore known about, yet didn't stop? He had been the Transfiguration professor when Voldemort was at Hogwarts. He had to have known what was happening then as well, and that time someone had been killed.

Too soon, he found Professor Snape's quarters and said the password. The door swung open and Harry stepped in, looking around curiously. This was not a part of Hogwarts he had ever expected to see.

The room was small. Harry could see no bed, so he assumed this was some type of sitting room. A surprisingly comfortable looking leather chair sat close to a fireplace that wasn't lit. Shelves groaned under the weight of books and random potions ingredients. A threadbare carpet lined the floor, pitted in places, perhaps from potion spills.

Snape sat in the middle of the floor, parchments and books scattered about him. He had the Founders book open and was using it to cross-reference with the countless other manuscripts that were scattered about.

"Professor Snape," he said tentatively while closing the door.

Snape glanced up at him, his dark eyes inscrutable, before returning to the books.

"He gave you the password," he said in the calmest tone Harry had ever heard out of Snape. It reminded him of being in the eye of a hurricane. Any moment the storm would start up again.

"Er, yes. He wants you to come back so he can explain."

Snape didn't even look up this time.

"Sit down, Potter and make yourself useful." He gestured at the pile before him. Harry took a seat.

"But Dumbledore-" he tried again. Snape stared hard at him, causing the words to die in his throat.

"Did the hat really want to put you in Slytherin?" the older wizard asked reluctantly.

It wasn't the question Harry had been expecting. He nodded cautiously.

"Why?" Snape asked. Harry thought back to that day. He had almost forgotten the Sorting Hat's words in his panicked relief at not getting into Slytherin.

"It said I had 'a thirst to prove myself'. Does it make a difference?" he asked.

Snape grimaced.

"Not to you, but it would make a difference to me, which is probably why he mentioned it so blatantly. He's trying to make us get along," he said in a disgusted tone. Harry thought that this wouldn't be a good time to point out that Dumbledore's plan was working. Snape hadn't snarled at him once during this conversation, though he doubted that would last.

"Do you believe him?" Harry had to ask.

"No, that's why I stormed out in anger," said Snape sarcastically. It took Harry a moment to decipher the sarcasm.

"You do believe it's him!" he exclaimed. Snape rolled his eyes.

"If only the Sorting Hat looked for brains as well. Yes, Potter. He is Salazar Slytherin and he had us in the worst position possible, which is why I deemed a strategic withdrawal wise."

"You ran away," said Harry.

"One more Gryffindor comment like that and you can wait in the corridor," Snape snapped, though it didn't have as much force behind it as usual.

He watched Snape look down at the book again, staring at the words blindly. It took him a moment to realize why Snape was acting so oddly. It wasn't that Harry had almost been sorted into Slytherin, though that was certainly part of it - Snape was in shock. He was as confused as Harry about Dumbledore's revelation. He knew Dumbledore had set them up.

"You wanted time to think and plan. That's why you left," suggested Harry.

Snape nodded. He almost looked pleased that Harry had figured it out.

"He switched the portraits. Always the same ones for over a decade, and then he changes them today," said Snape. That explained why Harry had thought the office was different. He had seen those portraits as well, even if he hadn't consciously noticed they were changed.

"And calling us together to his office?" Snape mused to himself. "Using Malfoy of all people. It pointed towards an ambush, but an ambush that required us both. Just think what he could have gotten us to agree to on shock value alone." Snape looked disgusted.

"But what if this is what he wanted us to do?" Harry asked.

Snape gave him a sharp look.

"Then we've already lost. He's had a thousand years to plan this out. We've had ten minutes. Who do you think will win?" He was right, though Harry hated to admit it.

"What do we do then?" he asked. Snape gave him a considering look, then grimaced at something.

"We make him wait." He seemed to choke over the word 'we'. "And I form a plan." There was a very predatory look in his eyes. "Find something to read, Potter, and stay out of my way."

*****

A/N: Just so everyone knows, the vert in Vertlang means green while Orel is a name meaning golden, just as Albus means white. Every Headmaster who Salazar has 'been' has a colour in his name. It's probably never going to come up in the story, but it's another of Salazar's little jokes.