The Underbelly of a Snake

~ ONE: the assignment ~

The chair's back angled farther as the sallow skinned dark haired man within grew more comfortable. A magazine entitled Potion Accoutrements was splayed open above the desk and hovering before him, the pages turning by way of the wand held loosely in his fingers. With a well-trained eye he disregarded the advertisements and bore straight for the articles and reviews. He particularly disliked the extraneous or anything serving no purpose for him.

It had been a most difficult and disappointing summer for the Potions Master , and he was thusly looking forward to the new school year -- both old and new students to torment and denigrate. Not that he wasn't interested in educating the hormone riddled youth, for there was the odd one who showed promise now and again, but he felt he'd earned the right to deliver unto them a harsh dose of reality. If only he had had an instructor as considerate when he had attended Hogwarts, certain activities in his life may have been avoided -- this entire summer, for instance, he mused with a sliver of self-pity.

Snape's body tensed momentarily at the recollection of the past two months. Dumbledore had asked him to again spy on those he had once held in esteem. Snape had made contact almost immediately, infiltrated the deadly circle, and even murdered again to prove his loyalty. It was all for naught -- Voldemort knew. The twisted husk of a creature calling himself Lord Voldemort knew without doubt the Potions Master 's dedication was unequivocally to Dumbledore. If only Snape was so convinced.

The double agent had barely escaped with his life, defeated, belly to the ground, returning to Hogwarts feeling more miserable with himself than ever. Dumbledore had known the risks, and he'd also known the incursion might fail. Snape hadn't been able to face Dumbledore for weeks afterwards, the shame searing into his soul just as the dark mark had once seared into his flesh those many years ago.

Very seldom was Snape receptive to intrusion -- however, this was one of those moments, for he had no desire to further entertain his masochistic thoughts. "Come in," he uttered impatiently at the firm knock upon his office door.

"Relaxing before the feast, Severus -- a moment's peace before the arrival of the new year and the students with it?" Dumbledore smiled behind his great white beard, sucking on his favourite candy of the month, and seated himself in the chair before the desk. It squeaked quite audibly.

Snape slipped his wand into his robes and leaned forward in his soundless chair. He'd found his audience more attentive if they were compelled to remain still rather than succumb to shifting around nervously while in his presence. He laced his fine fingers upon the table, "Attempting to, yes. And to what do I owe this disturbance?"

Dumbledore fidgeted very slightly, as though he were about to impart news he knew would not be to Snape's liking. The chair squeaked again. He cleared his throat, "You are to have an assistant for the first term of the year."

"No," the reply was immediate and firm, accompanied by the narrowing of cold black eyes.

"Other instructors have had them throughout the years, Severus."

"Not I. Not now, and not ever," his defiance curled his lips into a disdainful sneer. He loathed the concept of teaching assistants, for they were invariably young, eager to please and filled with immature unrealistic notions -- not to mention the disruption their presence customarily caused in a classroom.

Dumbledore continued to ignore the noisy chair beneath him, "I would be most grateful if you accepted this assignment with less resistance."

"I've made my feelings on the subject quite clear before -- they haven't changed. Explain to me why another professor cannot fill this role."

"The assistant professor is an academic." Dumbledore's expression was resolute and he appeared to have one hundred and one reasons at his disposal as to why the Potions Master was the logical choice.

Snape was not swayed. He grinned maliciously, "Then direct him to Vector or Sprout."

Dumbledore eased farther into the creaking chair, indicating he was not leaving until he received the response he came for. "HER parents are long time friends of mine. Further, they are creators of enchanted objects and are even now diverting all their efforts to items useful to us in these dark times. And finally, Vector and Sprout have assistants as well this year."

"How convenient," Snape drawled unhappily and then voiced with sarcasm, "A year of book learned professors in the making, fumbling about clumsily -- I cannot think of a better year awaiting me."

Dumbledore's chair sounded once more as he rose from it. He slipped a scroll onto Snape's desk gingerly. "Thank you, Severus." He paused at the door and added, "By the way, I was warned Ms. Serpentine can be quite impertinent and rebellious at times."

"Then I will handle her accordingly." Snape grinned wickedly, another target for his natural enmity.

Dumbledore opened the door and called back cheerfully as he departed, "You may wish to fix that chair -- you must find it a nuisance."

Snape buried his face in his slender fingers, proof once again the Universe was an abysmal place, dispensing the most cruel scenarios it could devise upon the Potions Master . All he really desired was peace and quiet for just one year -- one year to work through certain issues before he considered booking a room at St. Mungo's and writing off the probability of ever leading a satisfactory existence. He'd petitioned the Universe for temporary serenity five years ago and the request seemed to have fallen on deaf ears year after year.

With a distasteful vocalization, he reached for the scroll Dumbledore had left behind -- the assistant professor's sponsorship, he surmised. He opened the scroll without ceremony and immediately skipped to the bottom -- the signature. Prof. Ahmed Ahlistiban. Snape raised his brows curiously, for he had occasion to meet the Indian potion master at a convention seven years past and found him to be somewhat knowledgeable. Not as knowledgeable as he was, for certain, but Ahlistiban had some clever ideas and was something of a radical in the potions community. Just what he needed, Snape grimaced, an assistant with independent thought.

Snape's eyes returned to the top of the scroll and he read quickly to obtain the gist -- he'd no desire to spend any more time than necessary on this project.

To whom it may concern:

I write to offer my support of Sylveria Serpentine of Budapest with respect to the art of instruction. I have both had her for a pupil and worked alongside Ms. Serpentine in a tutorship capacity.

Ms. Serpentine is capable in the field of potions with a solid working knowledge of elixir components. Although she has a tendency to rush processes, this is unreflective in her methods of instruction.

As a teacher, Ms. Serpentine shows considerable patience with students and makes every effort to see the appropriate knowledge is passed on to the recipient.

I have no hesitation whatsoever in recommending Sylveria Serpentine for either a professorship or assistant professorship position and would be delighted to correspond with any who desire further information regarding Ms. Serpentine's talents.

Yours sincerely,

Prof. Ahmed Ahlistiban

New Delhi

Snape dropped the scroll upon his desktop and rose from behind his desk. He stood tall, straightened his complex series of black robes and vacated his dungeon with grace and head held high. He still had remote hopes of salvaging the year.

~ * ~

As Severus Snape delicately sliced the roast beef upon his plate, his roving eyes hovered momentarily at the far end of the Ravenclaw table. Three individuals stood out, primarily as a result of their age -- a man in blue robes, an attractive long haired brunette in red robes and a pale woman sporting a well worn classic witch's hat folded down the back of her head. He scowled and returned to his meal.

"So, Severus, I hear Headmaster has dumped an assistant in your lap this year," Hooch's firm voice rang clearly from his right hand side.

Snape rolled his eyes and thumped his utensil holding hands onto the table with force as he hissed, "Yes."

"Well if it's that brunette, you must introduce me," Hooch smiled slightly, her yellow eyes glistening with want.

"You are truly incorrigible. With my luck I will be stuck with that Weird Sister look a like. Thank Merlin it's only for one term." Snape looked at Hooch squarely and narrowed his eyes with query, "How is it you are spared teaching assistants?"

"Likely because no one wants to be a flight instructor any more," Hooch spoke almost sadly.

Snape returned to his dinner, ill wishing to give this conversation any more attention, "If the brunette is indeed Ms. Serpentine, I'll convince her that a career in the broomstick is more certain to provide future employment than the cauldron. We can then both embrace the school year somewhat more enthusiastically."

"Now who is incorrigible?" Hooch smiled.

Suddenly, Vector's voice sounded conspiratorially directly behind and between Hooch and Snape. The Arithmancy teacher had crouched down inconspicuously, "I just found out Ms. Ryall, my assistant this year, is the witch in red." Vector paused dramatically and then added as she shot a grin at the Potions Master , "Bad luck, Severus."

Snape barely contained his rage. He gently placed his knife and fork on the plate and glared down at Vector, ignoring Hooch's grin. "Why is everyone so interested in my having an assistant this year?" he spoke through clenched teeth.

"The new teacher's pool is how long she'll survive with you Severus." Vector pulled out quill and parchment and turned to Hooch, "How long can I put you down for, dear?"

"Three weeks," Hooch replied firmly.

Vector scrawled on the parchment, oblivious to the figure now looming behind her in blue robes.

Snape grinned maliciously, Vector's diabolical bet discovered by Dumbledore.

"I am surprised at you, Madam Hooch and you Professor Vector," Dumbledore leaned over and gazed at the parchment.

Snape's grin widened with the hope of chastisement, putting an end to this foolishness.

"Three and eight weeks respectively? Put me down for six weeks," Dumbledore smiled and carried on his way cheerfully.

Vector continued scribbling, adding the latest bet.

Snape picked up his fork and stabbed at his vegetables vindictively, "I think it's time I put in for a transfer. I know Durmstrang is in need of a Potions instructor."

"Come now, Severus, we wouldn't target you like this if we didn't care," Vector implored.

Snape made a distasteful noise -- since when did anyone truly care about his welfare, he thought.

Hooch remained fixed on Vector, "Tell me about Ms. Ryall."

Snape ignored the remainder of their conversation, preferring to suffer in silence. He berated himself for sparing a moment to cast a glance over at the end of the Ravenclaw table once more. He spied Ms. Serpentine filling her dining goblet from a hip flask beneath the table. Once the flask had been promptly emptied into the goblet, she slipped it into her robes and drank from the goblet as though she were dying of thirst. Snape shook his head, suddenly finding another confrontation with Voldemort more appealing than the term presently awaiting him.

~ * ~

Knowing Serpentine would be early for the first class of the first day, Snape entered his classroom with his usual high energy ten minutes before first bell. He was pleased to see her flinch at the suddenness of his arrival and turn around from one of the ingredient shelves she had been purportedly inspecting.

Snape slid towards her, his dark robe ensemble billowing behind him and snapped with a silky yet deadly tone, "Ms. Serpentine, understand you are not here with my consent or approval. In fact, I'd rather you were not here at all." He gestured with slender fingers towards a small desk off to the side of the classroom, "You will sit there and you will not interact with the class or the students during the first week at the very least. You will remain silent and attempt to learn that art which you seemingly most covet." He paused dramatically and added, "And pay attention for I am loathe to repeat myself."

The pale witch in muted green robes simply stared without reaction, projecting a thoughtful and scrutinizing expression.

When Snape realized she had a desire to voice her mind he folded his arms across his chest and sighed in aggravation, "Do speak up now in the hopes it will eliminate future idiotic queries."

Her tone was calculated, and slightly accented, "I am only wondering whether or not you are this antagonistic all the time, with strangers or with your students. Leading me to wonder whether the reason is due to lack of control over a particular situation or are you simply having a bad day."

He arched one of his eyebrows severely and hissed, "Try not to wonder too much, Ms. Serpentine. You might hurt yourself."

"If I do, I promise not to be the only one to suffer," a malignant grin slithered across her thin colourless lips.

He was about to lose a fraction of his composure when the classroom door opened and students began to file in. He shot a volley of icy daggers at his undesired assistant before venturing to his desk, where he retrieved the attendance list. From the corner of his eye he noted Serpentine sliding behind the desk he had previously indicated to her. Impertinent did not begin to describe her adequately, in his mind.

~ * ~

After one of the most stressful first days of a school year, the Potions Master was eager for the distraction of the staffroom. As he straightened his desk, he observed Serpentine gathering together the few pieces of parchment on which she had scratched out some notes throughout the day.

"You did not make as many notes as I would have expected, Ms. Serpentine," Snape commented casually.

"Regrettably, I witnessed very little of intrinsic instructional value." She paused significantly and then added, "Unless, of course, inflicting students with ill deserved cynicism and hostility is integral to this curriculum."

"In future, you would do well to harness your thoughts," he seethed.

She advanced towards him as he stood elegantly at the side of his desk. Her brown eyes narrowed, "Or what? You'll give me detention."

"Don't tempt me," his voice was dangerously soft.

She cocked her head to the side as though evaluating the veracity of his threat and then smiled, "There's nothing you could do to me I have not yet experienced and survived, Professor Snape."

A maniacal grin spread across his sallow visage as he replied with cruel delight, "That sounds like a challenge, Ms. Serpentine."

"Then I expect not to be disappointed," she turned and sauntered out of the classroom.

"Foolish woman, you have no idea what I am capable of," he whispered to himself. "And you don't ever want to know." A sudden chill swept through him, once more dredging to the surface atrocities from his past -- atrocities that were not as distant as he would have preferred.

~ TWO: a summons ~

Departing the potions classroom, Snape strode hastily up to the staffroom where nearly half of the Hogwarts instructors were chattering noisily about a range of subjects, each holding a desert dish with cake in various states of consumption. The Potions Master realized his error at once -- he'd completely forgotten today was Hooch's birthday. The immensely irritating gypsy, Trelawney, had the victimized Hooch in a corner, divining her forthcoming year based on her birth date as well as the current position of the stars.

Typically, when he was fraught with stress, as he was at this particular moment given his most recent confrontation with his troublesome assistant, Snape either took to the staffroom for the distraction often provided by observing his fellow professors or he opted for the solitude of his dungeons. This late afternoon, however, he chose incorrectly.

Snape was about to slink out of the boisterous surroundings when Vector approached him in a portentous manner, all smiles, pressing a plate of chocolate cake and a fork into his hands.

"Is she still alive?" Vector inquired humorously.

"Who?" Snape was confounded, his flight response taking hold of his mind, prodding him into departing immediately.

Vector frowned, "Ms. Serpentine -- who do you think?"

Snape rolled his eyes, "She's absolutely charming." He succumbed, scanning the staffroom for an empty secluded chair in which to settle himself, eat his cake and then vacate.

Vector pressed in a most irksome fashion, "So I understand from Ms. Ryall --"

Snape narrowed his eyes and spoke firmly baring his discoloured teeth, "I really do not care. In fact, I would prefer to never discuss her again." He gathered his robes in one hand and glided towards his targeted chair, next to which stoically stood McGonagall holding an empty plate. She would know better than to engage him in idle chit chat. He sat down, crossed one leg over the other elegantly and balanced his plate on extended splayed fingers.

Half way through his obligated participation in the festivities celebrating Hooch's birth, the staffroom door opened and Serpentine entered. Snape's teeth began to grind when she made her way towards him.

"Professor McGonagall, thank you for the book. It was most helpful," Serpentine held out a small aged book to the Transfiguration professor, who took it from her and slipped it in a robe pocket.

"You're welcome." McGonagall paused and then inquired sincerely as an afterthought, "Where did you school, Ms. Serpentine?"

Serpentine's reply was immediate and nonchalant, "I didn't. I'm self taught -- I had my parents and other tutors for teachers since I was very young."

Snape's quiet cutting tone interjected smoothly as he didn't even pause in gathering some cake on his fork, "You wish to be a professor and you've never attended a school?"

Serpentine replied, "I believe self schooling and tutoring will bring a unique perspective to the formality of a scholastic institution and provide a type of diversity that can only prove beneficial to both the school and myself. And this is precisely why I am here at Hogwarts -- home to some of the foremost magic instructors in the world, desirous to learn what makes a superior formal instructor. I'm certain Headmaster Dumbledore sees this advantage as well."

"You do have a clever way with words, Ms. Serpentine," Snape's silky tone was barely audible, intended solely for the would be professor at his left. He placed some cake into his mouth and allowed his teeth to scrape against the metal tangs annoyingly as he withdrew his fork from his mouth. Once he'd swallowed he tilted his head and glared up at Serpentine, "But we know you are only here on Headmaster's good graces. Your true talents, if you have any, remain to be seen."

McGonagall interceded in true Dumbledore fashion, "Some cake, Ms. Serpentine?"

"No thank you, Professor. I typically don't care for sweets." Without another word, Serpentine turned and departed with an air of serene preoccupation.

"Well, that could have gone better," McGonagall voiced dryly.

"She's an annoying, ill mannered, know it all."

"Sounds like someone else we know."

Only McGonagall and Dumbledore could have escaped Snape's acid tongue with a remark such as the one McGonagall dispensed just then. He silently finished his cake and swept from the staffroom without delivering birthday felicitations to Hooch.

~ * ~

The dark mark burned and itched, demanding attention. Snape's face grimaced in discomfort once more before he felt he could no longer tolerate the remainder of the evening meal. Without a word to anyone he slipped from the head table and down the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. As he neared the door the high-pitched voice belonging to Vector's assistant, Ryall, reached his ear.

"She's not very nice. I'm glad she didn't come to dinner tonight."

Snape glanced to the side, Ryall speaking to the blue robed wizard apprentice professor whose name he never concerned himself with learning. The Potions Master gripped his left forearm and rubbed the mark as he made his way with less grace than usual to his dungeons.

Snape's personal quarters were airy and spacious; the grey dungeon walls devoid of artwork or tapestries -- only highly organized and tidy bookshelves where appropriate. The floors were white marble throughout, bearing strategically placed furnishings of wrought iron and dark durable jarrah wood. Snape was particularly fond of uniquely crafted wrought iron pieces, lured by the curves and stark nature of the metal. Unlike Muggle wrought iron, a wizard's crafting of the same yielded far finer and intricate results. Detail was very important to Snape.

However, at the moment, the sallow skinned man in anguish did not care for such refinements. His lips curled back in agony as he thrust himself between the bed curtains and fell with his back onto the bed, clutching his left arm to his chest. He had tried everything he could think of to relive the suffering -- potions, spells, salves and simple cold water. Relief was only bestowed when Voldemort ceased the summons -- minutes, sometimes hours. And the longer the summons went unheeded, the more intense the torment.

Snape cursed the day he took the mark. Slytherin ambition was a cruel master, riding his every waking moment until he submitted. He had never intended on surrendering to anything in his life -- but the Potions Master had never anticipated meeting someone like Voldemort either.

~ * ~

A graduating year Severus Snape had sat as relaxed as possible in a comfortable leather wingback chair while the then only not quite human figure of Voldemort strode around his lounge, stalking his new recruit. Lucius Malfoy, after having delivered his classmate and wearing a very smug expression indeed, had been dismissed by his master with one flick of a bone white hand.

"The wizarding world has grown complacent and apathetic," Voldemort had said as he paced before Snape, whose eyes roved back and forth, never leaving the persuasive orator. "Muggles and Mudbloods are interacting freely with our kind once again, polluting the very essence of our superiority." Voldemort had turned sharply, stepped before Snape and placed his hands on the chair's arms, leaning forward towards the young long raven-haired man.

Snape had been able to see every unkind line etched into Voldemort's pasty white flesh, made so by his obsessive hunt for immortality. He had sat rigid with fear while his expression had betrayed nothing of his inner angst. Voldemort had been preoccupied with his speech, unable to detect the young man's apprehension.

"We will soon be diluted into nothing if we do not act now. And you can provide some of your great talents and skills towards that end. Not only do I need you, Snape, but all of wizard kind needs you and will bow down to you for your capabilities. You will be their champion in these misguided times." Voldemort had closed the gap, his hot breath on Snape's ear as he whispered enticingly, "I know what it's like to be a suppressed genius surrounded by weaklings and those who could never understand what it truly means to wield powerful magic. I see you, Snape, alone night after night, waiting for recognition and acknowledgment that might never come."

Snape had shivered slightly as Voldemort licked his lips, the sound in his ear distressing. However, the successive words uttered from Voldemort's mouth had more than made up for the discomfort.

"I, Lord Voldemort, see you for all your brilliance, Snape. I can give you the power you seek. I can give you the avenue down which you can explore those dark talents and desires you haven't told anyone else about. Not only do I know about them, oh yes, but I can help you refine them. I can give you your every desire."

Snape had waited an entire lifetime to hear those words. He had feared, more than anything, that if he had not accepted Voldemort's perverse generosity right then and there, such an opportunity would never avail itself again. In truth, Snape would have given himself to Voldemort halfway through the oration, but instead remained still and listened, hanging on to every luscious promise.

The time for supplication did arrive, and Snape had fallen to his knees prostate before Voldemort who clutched Snape's left forearm with cold bony fingers, burning his lifelong brand and mark into the young man's virgin flesh. Snape had made assurances that night as well, but as any good member of Slytherin house knew, promises were made to be broken.

~ * ~

The second day of the school year was not particularly improved for the Potions Master , coloured as it was by the fact that he had not slept all night. As he loomed about the potions classroom ominously, eyes like a hawk for students who were unknowingly failing to follow instructions and threatened to combust the entire dungeon, Serpentine finally pulled out quill and parchment and commenced writing. While she had remained still and quiet as per his instructions, she had made no attempt to obscure a sense of boredom throughout the day. Snape likewise attempted to ignore her, but her silent presence might as well have been one of torturous screams.

So engrossed was Serpentine in her writing, she did not sense the Potions classroom vacate of students and Snape towering over her, sporting an expression of disdain.

As he absorbed the contents of one of the pieces of parchment written upon, he began, "One would think it bad enough that a Hogwarts assistant professor is blatantly ignoring the goings on of her second day, but to be caught designing a failed potion -- especially when said assistant has proclaimed potions to be her forte, is quite unforgivable." Snape folded his slender arms across his chest and sneered.

Serpentine released her quill, gripped the edges of the desk and tilted her head up to gaze directly at her antagonist with her dark circled sleepless eyes. He discerned she wished to wipe the smirk from his face and inflict some manner of harm upon him.

Snape glanced at the potion she was devising and further challenged, "Is that creation of yours to result in someone's demise or transform them into a vaporous spectre?"

"My mind is occupied," was all she sputtered out.

"Indeed," he raised a cruel brow, spied another piece of parchment and snatched it out from under her. He scanned its contents, "A letter to your parents. How very thoughtful, and how inappropriate for this particular locale."

Her response was incomprehensible, emitting a mixture of agonizing groans as she clapped her hands over her face in disgust. "It's their weekly owl," she muttered between slender fingers.

"What?" He prodded quizzically, dropping the parchment on her desk.

She sighed heavily and her hands collapsed in her lap, defeated at divulging personal information to Snape. "My parents demand I send them an owl once per week." Snape could see the candour disappear from her face as she quickly summoned her wits about her. Serpentine gathered together her papers and rose from her chair stiffly. She faced Snape with a threatening hellfire glare, "This area of my life is off limits to you, Professor."

"As you wish." He grinned salaciously nonetheless. As she strode to the door he called out in a calm deadly tone, "It would be advisable, Ms. Serpentine, if in future you were more attentive while in this room."

Serpentine heard, but did not respond. She never even paused in her rushed departure from the classroom.

Snape shook his head -- it was only the second day and he was already wishing for the first school break. He reminded himself once again her maddening presence was only for the first term of the school year -- the second and third she would be inflicted upon Hagrid. Snape almost pitied Hagrid -- almost, he thought with a wry smile playing upon his lips.

~ THREE: masks ~

Outside, the crisp autumn air made itself known as the sun was setting, painting enchanting hues of purple and blue above the horizon. The decaying scent of turning leaves was in the air, cementing the season of loss.

Against the sun was a shape -- a winged shape with a long serpent like body. It sped towards Hogwarts growing larger and larger until its identity could at last be established. If one listened intently enough, the beating of leathery wings could be discerned on the wind engulfing the region this evening.

As the azure, emerald and magenta coloured wyvern was almost at its evident target, the Forbidden Forest, Snape's curiosity lured him to the landing site. He had been for a solitary and peaceful early evening walk on the grounds when he discerned the winged beast in the sky. He hadn't thought there were any wyverns in the Forbidden Forest, and presumed it had a rider -- very curious indeed. By the time he arrived at its locale, the wyvern's rider was standing before it, stroking the sleek scaled head adoringly. Its cat like deep green eyes rolled from side to side, blinking heavy purple eyelids every so often. Otherwise, it remained completely motionless, seemingly tame.

The rider wore a very thick heavy cloak and an all too familiar collapsed witch's hat. Snape was about to retreat from this vicinity when he heard Serpentine speak in broken hisses to the wyvern.

Snape's accusatory voice filled the silence upon the completion of the assistant professor's conversation with the wyvern, "You're a parselmouth!"

Serpentine continued caressing the wyvern's azure face lovingly, replying without facing the antagonizing Potions Master , "Wyvern is a distant cousin to parseltongue, Professor Snape. I've been learning it for over twenty years. I make every effort to comprehend and be understood by all those I encounter." She now turned and glared at Snape with a cruel grin forming on her thin pale lips, "Let me know if I ever need to further clarify my words for you -- I'd hate for there to be any misunderstanding between us."

"The wyvern is yours?" Snape, hooked nose raised haughtily, motioned with expressive slender fingers, his back straight and taut as a drum, shoulder length slick black hair cresting his fine robe collar.

"Yes. Her name is Diamont and she's been my companion for 26 years."

"One would require a substantial hide to endure your inflammatory personality for such a prolonged duration," Snape commented dryly, taking in her thick dragon scale/leather protective ensemble. The tips of her boots and gloves bore metal points -- she obviously took the handling of such exotic beasts seriously... which was why she was spending the second and third terms with Hagrid, thank Merlin.

Serpentine gave Snape a peculiar look just then -- a challenge. What additional insults could he sling in her direction? Despite his maltreatment of her, she never once voiced a complaint to Dumbledore or anyone else for that matter. She oddly seemed to enjoy their verbal sparring matches.

In which case, he'd be delighted to entertain her scathing wit with an equal dose of his own. "Tell me, Ms. Serpentine, how deep does the wizard blood flow in your veins?" he arched a thin black eyebrow in curiosity.

She narrowed her eyes appreciably, "Plenty deep for your elitism, Professor. All lineage lines are magical, traceable to Ancient Egypt in fact." She stepped forward closer to Snape menacingly and whispered evocatively while jabbing a steel pointed finger at his chest through his immaculate black robes, "And what about you, Severus Snape? Where does the pureblood line deviate in your familial history?" Her eyes flickered over his upper torso ravenously, as though she desired to will his entire vein arterial system to the surface for closer inspection.

Snape felt the tip of her glove press into his breast bone -- not enough to cause serious physical harm, but its threatening presence was certainly felt and growing uncomfortable with each passing moment. He dropped his head slightly and grinned, the edges of his lips curling as he whispered smoothly, "Likewise, Ms. Serpentine, likewise." He held her brown eyes with his cold pitch eyes and added, glancing down at her gloves, "I don't believe that is appropriate physical contact with a professor."

"It is, however, appropriate for handling all manner of beasts -- particularly the surly ones," she grinned salaciously and pressed her fingertip into Snape's chest to reinforce her point.

Snape was certain she broke his skin, and just before he withdrew his wand to dispense a counterattack she would not soon forget, she dropped her arm and stepped back -- a satisfied grin slow to vacate her pale visage. If she persisted in testing his boundaries, she would eventually discover they fluctuated on an ongoing basis, making prediction and assumptions impossible. The Potions Master routinely wielded his volatility as an effective weapon, and she would not be spared its wrath.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Professor," she very slightly cocked her head to the side and for a moment resonated an aristocratic air, which Snape found particularly confusing given both her unpleasant demeanour and her bland wardrobe.

"Certainly, Ms. Serpentine. But take care with the games you play and the manner in which you conduct yourself -- I seldom lose," he smirked darkly and strode purposefully towards the castle, feeling rather superior and smug.

~ * ~

Snape stood before his full-length mirror, set into a stark wrought iron frame with jagged points creeping onto the reflective surface teasingly. He stared at himself for considerable moments -- not out of physical vanity for he knew better than anyone he was unattractive, but in appreciation of his sharp mind.

Snape's wardrobe was custom tailored for his particular style. While it comprised of varying items including robes, trousers, frock coats, vests, tunics and capes, they were mostly interchangeable. With the exception of a series of white shirts, his attire was entirely black. The material he chose was of the highest quality, draping over his willowy frame perfectly, accentuating his desired sleek and menacing image. The edges, including sleeve and pant cuffs, hems and collars, were often severely pointed -- definitely a warning. Snape's detail orientation appreciated stylish button fastenings as well as silk embroidery patterns, cleverly woven into his ensemble and only discernable if situated in close proximity of his person. He had numerous years to perfect the fine art of intimidation through a plethora of methods, and he overlooked no concept or tactic lending him an edge over others.

His fingers slid up his frock coat to the collar and began unbuttoning the tiny closures. He enjoyed the sensation of the smooth fabric against the pads of his fingers. The fastenings undone, he rolled his shoulders and shrugged the coat from his torso fluidly, ignoring the slight pain at his breastbone. He placed his coat temporarily upon a wrought iron rack next to the mirror, following which he unbuttoned his crisp white shirt. Slowly, with deft digits at the upper edges of the shirt he opened the fabric, revealing his smooth naked sallow chest, a small spot at the breastbone offensively flecked with dried blood. His left hand's fingers slid leisurely across his breast to the centre of his chest and the cruel mark bestowed upon him by his somewhat infuriating teaching assistant. His delicate index finger irritated the wound, sending a slightly pained thrill through his core.

Pain was a dichotomous concept to Snape. He both feared and embraced it, but mostly, he enjoyed delivering it. Unconsciously while deep in twisted thought, he worried the wound until it began bleeding once again. He brought a blood-covered finger to his lips, snaked out his tongue and licked at the coppery fluid sensuously. A soft long sigh escaped his lips. He had always marvelled at the tremendous amount of blood a human could tolerate losing before succumbing to unconsciousness.

With his wand in his hand, and a few well-chosen words, his chest wound healed and cleansed itself. Wrapped in thoughts about pain and blood, impulsively, he reached for the bottom drawer of the bureau next to the mirror and tugged on the black metal handle gently. His hand delved into the drawer and from the very back he withdrew a simple white mask --a mask evoking terror from all who recognized its significance and who themselves never deigned to wear such a mask.

Standing in front of the mirror wearing his custom tailored stylish black trousers and his white shirt wide open, he lifted the mask to his face and peered through the eyeholes -- his reflection was that of a man both compelling and terrifying. It would be a lie to say he did not miss that man -- presently reduced to mildly terrifying. The first time he donned the mask would be forever etched in his mind.

~ * ~

A small group of Death Eaters had gathered around Voldemort for their evening's assignment. Snape had been given the signature white Death Eater mask and black hooded cloak shortly after he had Voldemort's mark branded into his arm. But he had not slipped into the garb of Voldemort's followers until the night he first took a life. It had also been the first time Snape had truly experienced unkind thoughts towards Lucius Malfoy. There had been a few firsts that fateful evening.

Voldemort had instructed the select group to end the lives of a prominent London dwelling wizard family, whose crime was that two members of the targeted family were working within the Ministry of Magic as liaison to certain Mudblood families. Their deaths had been both necessary and a warning.

Malfoy had been far too talkative and excitable, causing Snape to cringe throughout the evening, questioning the basis of their friendship. At evening's end, he had considered inflicting the Imperius curse upon Malfoy if nothing else to cease his inane babble. Snape had been thusly grateful Malfoy was unable to witness his exasperated expression behind the white mask.

Once inside the targeted wizard home, Snape had managed to extricate himself from Malfoy and entered the bedroom of a teenage girl who slept with her window shades open, the pale moonlight bathing her young skin. Snape had known full well what was expected of him, and he had no intentions of disappointing the man who appreciated the variety of Snape's evolving skills. Without the fanfare Malfoy and some of the others carelessly employed, Snape had instead uttered a simple curse with immediate binding results.

"Avada Kedavra," his silken voice had projected from behind the white mask as bright green light flashed forth from his wand, engulfing the girl and taking her life before she had an opportunity to scream in desperate fear.

Her fate had been perhaps the most benign of all her family members... most having suffered under the Cruciatus curse and other distasteful atrocities before succumbing to death itself. It had not been until some time later Snape had developed the confident techniques of a master torturer.

~ * ~

Returning from the owlery and sending off her weekly obligatory message to her parents, Serpentine ventured towards the Forbidden Forest, intent on spending the unusually warm Saturday afternoon with Diamont. Walking just past Hagrid's hut, she called for the wyvern several times. The trees rustled and the majestic creature emerged.

Serpentine knew immediately something was amiss, and her heart seized slightly in her chest at the thought of Diamont injured or unhappy. The wyvern's head dipped low and her eyelids were half closed in a combination of shame and pain. Serpentine emitted a panic stricken scream when she observed her companion's wing bearing a deep wide gash and oozing black blood.

She had not expected to attract the attention of Hagrid himself, but felt relieved upon his comforting arrival. He immediately concluded the reason for her aggrieved concern.

"Madam Pomfrey's gone fer the weekend, Ms. Serpentine. Would yeh like me ter fetch Professor Snape for yeh?" Hagrid asked helpfully.

"No," her reply was immediate. "I can make a salve."

"I'll stay with her then."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Serpentine gave the keeper of grounds a grateful look and sprinted towards the castle.

As it was Saturday, the classrooms would be empty, and a good portion of the students in Hogsmeade. Serpentine didn't particularly care she appeared as a demon tearing through Hogwarts down to the dungeons, however, she was appreciative there were few witnesses to her ungainly movements. She was intent on creating a healing salve and returning to her beloved Diamont as quickly as possible.

~ * ~

The Potions Master had just begun grading the fifth year's first assignment of the term, beginning with Hermione Granger's, when he heard his classroom door barge open. Silently he pushed back his chair, rose from his desk and slipped to the slightly ajar door between his office and classroom. His eyes narrowed inquisitively as he noted Serpentine hurriedly gathering ingredients from around the room, tossing them onto a table where a stainless steel bowl rested. She was making an ointment of some sort.

Her deft slender fingers moved quickly and adeptly. It was apparent she was no stranger to elixirs and capable of accurate measurements by sight and touch alone. From the components, Snape deduced an animal healing salve. He observed her stand back with her wand pointed at the bowl of ingredients now requiring stirring and utter a few words. Nothing. The spell had been correct, but the spatula refused to move of its own accord within the bowl. She repeated the mixing spell to no effect. Her disgruntled face flushed and she returned her wand within her robes.

Manually, she combined the ingredients in the bowl, her wrist movements quick and sure. As he wondered if she had forgotten the rose oil, she paused in her task and set the bowl upon the work table. She bent down and reached beneath the table, her fine fingers grasping a bottle in the farthest tray. As she righted her body, her hat caught the edge of the table and fell to the stone floor.

Snape's eyes widened slightly and his black brows furrowed at the sight of white hair tied tightly in a bun at the top of Serpentine's head. Her facial age, however, was unreflective of the hair colour, arousing considerable speculation. She immediately returned the hat to her head, almost in panic, and proceeded to add an appropriate measure of the rose oil to the salve.

She paused momentarily and began listing off ingredients from memory, pointing to the remnants on the table with each recall. Satisfied, she picked up the bowl and continued mixing as she strode from the Potions classroom, leaving the most irresponsible chaos in her wake. Snape frowned and returned to his grading.

~ * ~

"Thank you, Hagrid," Serpentine expressed her gratitude again as she finished applying the salve to Diamont's wing, the sticky residue clinging to her fingers.

"Yer welcome. She'll think again 'fore tryin' ter squeeze herself where she don't fit," Hagrid nodded hopefully.

"One can hope."

"How long've yeh had her?"

"26 years. Since she was almost a baby."

Hagrid confessed, "I've always wanted ter have a dragon. But, yeh know, people say they're too dangerous ter be kept."

Serpentine smiled, "Wyverns are supposed to be tamer, but I don't particularly ascribe to that theory. We had a family of wyverns in the forest near my parent's castle in Budapest, and I watched them for a time. I think they can be quite dangerous."

"How did yeh come by Diamont?" Hagrid asked sincerely.

Serpentine's expression grew grave with the recollection and told the story nonetheless. "I'd been secretly observing the wyvern family for some time. I didn't think they noticed me, but I realized later they did. In hindsight, I'm surprised I wasn't attacked -- but I imagine they concluded a very young girl could do little harm to them.

"One day I stole into the woods to study them as usual, and to my horror I discovered they had been viciously attacked and were left for dead except the mother who was near death and the youngest one, Diamont. To this day I've no idea what or who could cause such a horrifying atrocity and why. I came out of hiding and approached them. I was fascinated, enraged and distressed at the same time.

"The mother had known I'd been watching her family and she pushed her baby towards me. I didn't want to believe what she was telling me by such an action, but logic indicated she wished me to care for her surviving offspring. I managed to take the baby wyvern away before the mother gasped her final breath. Diamont cried but remained at my side as we left the forest. Wyverns are highly intelligent creatures. My parents desired me to give her to a proper keeper, of course, but I raised such a fuss they allowed me learn to care for her."

Hagrid's eyes blinked at the heart warming tale, "That's a great story, it is."

"She turned out all right, despite my many errors."

Diamont smiled just then -- her scaled mouth line curling up slightly, as though assuring Serpentine she had indeed learnt well.

"I better return to the Potions classroom before Professor Snape finds the remnants of my work." Serpentine gripped the bowl and spatula in her hands. "Thanks again, Hagrid," and she swept towards the castle.

~ * ~

Snape waited until he was certain Serpentine had finished cleaning and restoring order to his classroom before calling her name with his most agitated voice possible. He heard a bowl clatter to the floor in response -- he sadistically took pleasure in her display of anxiety. Several moments later she pushed opened the door, portraying an air of affected aloofness.

Snape barely looked up from the parchment before him as he spoke in a clipped tone, "I trust this is a performance you will not repeat in front of the students. I do not wish to give them the impression they can create a potion and tidy up long after the fact or whenever they feel it appropriate."

"And if there's a life or death situation involved?" she challenged, folding her arms across her chest, leaning in the doorway.

He fixed his eyes upon hers and further chastised, "A healing salve for your pet is hardly a life or death situation, Ms. Serpentine."

"No, it is not. But that is also not what I intimated with my question."

Snape slid the quill from his fingers into the well and straightened his posture severely. He remained silent for several long moments and spoke coolly, "And certainly not what I was driving at with my point. You have a problem with authority, Ms. Serpentine."

"Only certain individuals, Professor Snape." She sighed in a rather irritated fashion, unfolded her arms and retreated from Snape's office saying, "Your classroom has returned to its original state of cleanliness and orderliness. Good day to you, Professor."

The Potions Master observed her depart without uttering another word. She seemed rather preoccupied, and unwilling to engage in what had become their almost ritualistic verbal sparring. He shrugged and returned to grading the parchments before him -- she was nothing more than an irritant, warranting only as much attention as required to perform his duty and obligation to Dumbledore.

~ * ~

Snape was about to curl up with his current reading material, a new lexicon concerning the matter of native African herbs, for the remainder of the evening when he found himself struck with a craving for mint ice cream. Mint ice cream was an indulgence only creeping upon him every few months. Ill wishing the hunger to distract him from his reading, he decided to embark on the short journey to the kitchens in order to retrieve a tiny portion of desert and satisfy his whim. As he slipped down the dungeon corridor, he noted a pale light emanating from beneath the door of the potions classroom. He scowled in perturbation and listened intently.

A cauldron was bubbling and a single person seemed to be moving about. A goblet was set down rather suddenly, followed by the intruder moving across the Potions classroom rapidly.

Snape flung the classroom door open angrily and entered, black heavy silk robes billowing behind him, wearing an extremely agitated expression. The trespasser, discovered to be Serpentine, had been staring into the mirror upon the wall he often used to satisfyingly reveal a student's ineptitude with respect to poor potion preparation and its catastrophic results. Upon his entrance, she whirled around facing the opposite direction so he could not look upon her face.

"Oh, so it's you making all that racket," Snape chastised with severely arched brows, closing the door behind him firmly, and making his way towards the simmering cauldron. "A little secret potion making?" he goaded with a devilish grin as though he'd caught a student cheating on a minor classroom test.

Serpentine strode across the room, obscuring her features with her folded witch's hat and reached out for the condemning parchment on the worktable next to the cauldron.

"Accio Parchment," summoned Snape, the revealing potion recipe immediately flying into his waiting slender hands.

By the time she reached Snape in the hopes of snatching it out from under his black prying eyes, he'd already discerned its purpose.

"Cosmetic changes? I thought your eyes were already brown in colour." Snape's voice intoned with incredulity and a hint of accusation.

With a few well-spoken words from Serpentine, who now clutched her wand like a lifeline, the contents of the cauldron vanished, leaving it in a state of cleanliness. She seemed incapable of responding. Speechless, for the first time in his presence, he was amused.

Snape reached over to her with his empty hand and lifted her hat from her head, unveiling tightly coiled white hair. He dropped the hat onto the worktable next to a crystal box. "You're an albino, aren't you?" He queried softly -- more of a statement than a question, really.

Serpentine tilted her head to the side towards the Potions Master , revealing a pair of ruby red eyes. Eyes currently enshrouded in exasperation and soul deep pain. "I would ask that you keep this discovery to yourself, Professor," she requested quietly, reaching for the crystal box, her physical body vibrating with barely contained fury.

"Certainly," Snape replied with a wild grin upon his face, delirious to possess such ruinous knowledge. "The potion didn't take, I presume?"

"No. No magic, charm, potion or anything has ever been able to change my hair and eye colour. Even Muggle hair dyes do not work. I tried to cut my hair to make use of a wig and it grows back overnight. It's so frustrating," she pounded a fist on the potion preparation table for emphasis, jolting the candle and quivering its flame.

Snape instantly comprehended the reason Serpentine desperately desired to appear 'normal'. While wizarding albinos were extremely rare, they were viewed as misfits for they were considerably weak in many respects, often not surviving past 30 years of age. There were two types of wizarding albinos -- the majority comprised of those with very little magical capabilities whatsoever, and a select few possessed slightly more power than that and were often referred to as albino half wizards. In any event, they were the freaks of the wizarding world. Moreover, the Potions Master knew all too well what it was like to live with an indelible mark of infamy. He wouldn't admit he sympathized with this weakened witch before him, but he understood the indignity.

Serpentine opened the crystal box, fishing out a pair of brown contact lenses and placed them in her eyes one after the other. "This is why I never went to school when I was younger. Why I was taught away from those my parents felt would ridicule and torment me."

"And why you fight so hard to prove yourself," Snape observed wryly. He hadn't been blind to her passionate attempts at learning the art of instruction. He had just as soon not paid it any heed for he had better things to consume his time and mind with.

Serpentine sighed wearily. "I thank you for your confidence in this matter." She blinked false brown eyes at Snape.

He was ravenous to know, "What type of an albino are you?"

A hardened expression materialized on Serpentine's visage as she threatened, "This area of my life is out of bounds to you, Professor Snape. As I said, your confidence is appreciated, but if you continue to delve in this matter, I will not be responsible for what befalls you. Do I make myself perfectly clear or would you prefer an additional euphemism?"

Snape swallowed hard once yet maintained his confident sneer, "As you wish, Ms. Serpentine." He held out the parchment containing the useless potion instructions.

"Incendio," Serpentine spoke through clenched teeth, the parchment catching flame in Snape's hands. She shot one more volley of icy daggers at him before turning on her heel and departing the dungeon.

Snape stared wide-eyed at the burning parchment in his hands. For an albino, she at least had the basics. He unceremoniously deposited the nearly ashen paper into the cauldron next to him where it sputtered and died helplessly. A deviant grin slowly spread, like an old friend, across the potion master's thin lips -- he relished in harbouring secret knowledge proving useful at any given moment. While his interactions with Serpentine were relatively harmless, he saw in her the propensity for malevolence, and would retain this trump card close at hand lest her motives avail themselves as anything other than benign.