The Underbelly of a Snake

Title: The Underbelly of a Snake

Author name: Xandria

Author e-mail: xandria@akasa.bc.ca

Category: Drama

Keywords: Snape Lucius Voldemort

Rating: R

Spoilers: All four books

Summary: Severus Snape explores his past and those decisions that led him to his current situation -- teaching at Hogwarts, agonizing over loyalties and contending with an upstart of an assistant who's not quite as advertised.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Themes of rape and incest are explored.

~ FOUR: duplicity ~

"Madam Pince has confirmed that no such book exists, Severus," Hooch stood in the doorway of the staffroom, hands firmly upon hips and yellow eyes gleaming in friendly accusation.

"While it is unlike our illustrious librarian to neglect the administrative process of a newly arrived volume, I do know for a fact that it does exist because I came across it in the restricted section only last week." Snape exhaled noisily and dramatically closed the book he had been reading for the past fifteen minutes in solitude. He knew Hooch would unlikely allow him to continue until he physically led her to the library and inserted the recently acquired tome on broomstick magic directly into her demanding hands. They had been casually discussing the subject matter at breakfast this morning, and she had this afternoon searched for the conferred volume in the school's library. Evidently, she elicited the assistance of Madam Pince, who had neglected to catalogue the book upon its arrival, and therefore refuted its very existence. Snape sneered at the incompetence but was also willing to aid one of the few Hogwarts professors whose company he actually enjoyed from time to time.

A satisfied smirk spread across Hooch's face as Snape rose from the chair and swept past her with determination, flowing robes billowing behind him. He did not concern himself with whether or not Hooch was trailing him through the halls of Hogwarts for he knew she would be hot on his heels, eager to perhaps prove him wrong. He could not help but admire Hooch for her determination when keenly interested. If only his students were as dedicated, he mused sadly.

Snape strode gracefully with purpose into the restricted section and the vicinity he had been in last week verifying the components of a particularly dangerous and obscure potion. While his personal library was comprehensive, he did not possess every single tome regarding potions, nor did he desire to do so. In fact, he was rather particular concerning those volumes he absorbed into his refined collection.

He felt Hooch directly behind him observing him with critical hawk eyes. An amused smile played upon his thin lips, for he knew despite her scepticism he would have the volume presented to her within several minutes. His delicate fingers traced the leather book spines on one of the shelves as his dark eyes scanned the titles. His hand froze when his ears detected a student calling out in an urgent tone from the opposite side of the bookshelf before him.

"Ms. Serpentine, Ms. Serpentine, I need to ask you a question," an unfamiliar boy's voice sounded.

She must have been moving past the student's study table, for her voice was in the exact same proximity. "Certainly, Mr. Cranston." A chair slid out and Snape presumed she seated herself either next to or across from the inquiring student.

Hooch stared quizzically at Snape and he hissed at her to remain silent, baring discoloured teeth. As she comprehended the reason for his distraction, she folded her arms across her chest indignantly and rolled her eyes in acknowledgment of this illicit observance.

"Well, I don't really understand why with some potions, you can increase the amount of one ingredient to make it more powerful and with other potions, increasing the amount of the main ingredient doesn't do anything. And then with other potions, you can ruin a potion by adding too much of something. How do you know which is which?" The first year's voice was laden with frustration as though he had spent the last several hours agonizing over this concept. Snape was mildly impressed -- a student with clever questions.

"First of all, it is always extremely important to follow potion directions precisely. Quite often, there's no margin for error and the results would be devastating if there were any deviation within the recipe." Serpentine's gentle accented voice paused as though determining whether or not the student had absorbed her words. He had never heard her speak with such a tender tone -- he had not thought her capable.

She then continued, "Some potions can become supersaturated when the potion is cooled controllably. It is a specific combination of components that dictates whether or not supersaturation is possible. What this means is that the main component becomes far more effective than it would in other potions of different ingredients or if the temperature is not modified to that end. When you add more of the main component in a supersaturated potion, you increase the potion's effectiveness accordingly -- but it does have a cap or ceiling, so you cannot usually add an infinite amount to produce extreme results, although extreme results can occur in some circumstances. Increasing the amount of a component in a non supersaturated potion environment will result in either no change to the potion's effectiveness or produce undesirable results." She paused again.

Hooch sighed in boredom and Snape quieted her with a flick of his wrist and an icy glare. She narrowed her eyes impatiently, but waited nonetheless for the potions master to extricate his attention from spying on his teaching assistant's capabilities as a tutor. To appease her, he half-heartedly searched for the volume in question while listening intently to the conversation on the opposite side of the bookcase.

Serpentine astutely continued with an example, "What is in the draught of living death?"

Cranston replied immediately, "Asphodel in a wormwood solution. But I don't know exactly how to make it."

"That's okay. That particular potion can also be supersaturated. Under typical creation processes, adding more asphodel will not increase the potency of the potion. However, if you very slowly lower the temperature, you can add more asphodel to increase the potency -- so much so, that it will cause actual death. Now, asphodel is also used in one of several trance-inducing potions. However, regardless of what is done to the trance inducing potion with respect to temperature and amounts, its effects are fixed and can in no way be changed. Likewise, most ingredients added to a wormwood solution cannot be supersaturated. And finally, related ingredients, that are plants from the same species, will invariably have the same effects in solution. What does this tell you?"

The boy responded slowly, thinking as he spoke, "In the example you gave, ingredients of the same type as asphodel will change the effect of the potion if you add more in a wormwood solution but not when used in other solutions. But you have to control the temperature to make it work better."

Snape discerned a smile in Serpentine's voice, "Precisely."

"How come Professor Snape doesn't explain it that way?"

Hooch sucked in her breath, no doubt fearful for the response and its subsequent effect on Snape. If Serpentine were unwise to deride him before a student, the remainder of her term would be excruciatingly unpleasant, rather than simply unpleasant.

The assistant professor responded immediately, "Several reasons, Mr. Cranston. The first of which is that this topic is actually beyond the scope of first-year potions. Professor Snape covers this topic in more detail in the second year. Professor Snape sensibly attempts to imbue first-year students with analytical processes of potion making rather than theories. You will not find theory helpful if you do not possess skilful potion making techniques. However, I am sure if you were to ask Professor Snape these types of questions immediately after your class, he would offer you an appropriate response."

"He doesn't seem very open to questions though."

"You, Mr. Cranston, might find yourself surprised. The majority of students do not share your interest and enthusiasm. Year after year Professor Snape has students who express little or no desire in learning about potion making, beyond what will give them a passing grade. It is very frustrating for a teacher to have students without interest in the curriculum presented. However, if the student makes a genuine effort at comprehension, you'll be surprised at what the teacher will disclose. If you are truly keen on potions, nowhere will you find a better instructor than Professor Snape."

"You're pretty good too, Ms. Serpentine."

"Thank you, but I am only very temporary. You will learn far more from Professor Snape."

"Thanks."

"You are welcome," Serpentine's chair slid across the hardwood library floor.

Snape attempted to absorb what he had heard, disbelief washing over him -- Serpentine had actually complimented him. She had purposely cast him in a positive light in the presence of a student. Moreover, she had been correct in all facets of her litany.

His fingers and eyes finally settled on the book he was searching for. He tugged it from the shelf and thrust it into Hooch's waiting hands. She scanned the title and pulled the book to her possessively. She knew further conversation with Snape would be impossible -- the wheels in his mind were spinning at a breakneck pace.

As Hooch departed the restricted section, her attention was called upon by Serpentine.

"Madam Hooch, do you have a minute?" Serpentine inquired in a hushed tone.

Snape silently slid forward, his back straight and pressed tightly against the bookshelf, listening once again to an intended private conversation.

"Of course, Ms. Serpentine. What can I do for you?"

"This is rather embarrassing, and I would greatly appreciate your confidence in this matter..."

"You have it," the broomstick coach's voice was somewhat gruff as usual, but she was one who could be trusted with secrets.

Serpentine spoke slowly, "My parents forbade me from learning to fly the broomstick. Now that I am far enough away from them, I would really like to learn and was hoping you could extend me a few private lessons."

"By Merlin's beard, why ever would your parents refuse you the broomstick?" Hooch inquired sincerely. Her thick robes rustled, hands on hips again. Snape was surprised this posture did not permanently affix itself to her.

A very vivid and clear picture of Serpentine's home life formed in Snape's mind. They seemed to control every aspect of her life and while he would conjecture this resulted in her ill-treatment of others, he knew that was unlikely. Snape had had a fairly typical and routine upbringing, his contemptuous personality forming of its own volition. He suspected the same of Serpentine, for the focus of her hostility was directed rather than expansive. Regardless, her parents were evidently manipulative and she understandably desired to loosen the binding shackles -- or at the very least, rattle them.

"My parents have always been obsessive regarding any accidents that might befall me. Therefore, they would not allow me to indulge in activities where I could come to harm. It is preposterous, I know. But would you have some time for a couple of lessons?"

"I would be pleased to give you some instruction, Ms. Serpentine. How about this evening after dinner?"

"Is it wise to fly on a full stomach?" A fraction of fear crept into Serpentine's voice.

"It should be no different than on an empty one, unless you find food distracting. How did you come by this notion?"

"I have a wyvern and whenever I engage in adventurous flying habits, I have noticed it is most uncomfortable on a full stomach."

"Forgive me, Ms. Serpentine, but you fly on a wyvern and not on a broomstick -- one which could toss you off its back in a moment's notice and the other you control?"

Serpentine stifled a laugh, "I see the contradiction, but where the wyvern was concerned, I gave my parents no choice. This evening after dinner then. Thank you, Madam Hooch. And thank you for your confidence."

Snape heard Serpentine's robes rustle off into the distance, followed shortly by Hooch's who could now read up on the latest broomstick curses. Snape still had approximately one hour before his final class of the day -- deciding to spend that hour in his office, further absorbing recently overheard conversations.

~ * ~

The potions master sighed in satisfaction as he entered the final mark of the latest assignment for the fourth year students into his ledger. It was already fairly late in the evening and he felt he had spent far too much time as it was grading assignments. However, he never delayed demands and duties immediately accomplishable. He had just stowed the ledger into his centre desk drawer when a solid knock wrapped on his office door.

"Come in," he grumbled, contentment dissipating quickly, ill wishing to entertain a precocious student's absurd questions before venturing to his private rooms.

Serpentine entered obtrusively, carrying two short glasses and what appeared to be a fairly aged liquor bottle. If he had only completed his marking 30 minutes previous, he would have been spared her unwanted arrival. She set the two glasses and a bottle of 40-year-old scotch on his desk firmly. "What's this?"

She quipped quickly, "A temporary peace offering. A bribe. A bid. Take your pick." She withdrew a piece of parchment from her robe pocket and continued, "I request your assistance with respect to the vaporous transformation potion."

Snape leaned back in his chair casually and scrutinized her silently for considerable moments, inflicting upon her as much unspoken discomfort as possible. Finally, he remarked acidly arching his brows, "The one you were constructing on your second day when you should have been paying attention?" He had no intention of making her request for his aid an easy one. In fact, he would rather enjoy seeing her beg -- he withheld the smirk threatening to appear on his lips at this thought.

Serpentine barely contained her fury, but she was persistent, revealing a capacity for diplomacy he might not have otherwise thought she possessed. "Yes, the very one. However, you cannot deny I have since given you and your classes their due reverence. Further, I have reached an impasse with respect to fine-tuning the potion in question and would be most grateful for your expertise."

The potions master continued to dissect the powerless witch before him. He stared deeply into her glassy eyes, revealing she had already partaken of at least several glasses of the single malt scotch before him now. Did she routinely drink, or was it to steel her nerves, he wondered. He suddenly caught and dismissed his senseless ruminations -- why did he care except beyond what could be used to manipulate her. Curiously, she stood before him quite calmly -- likely the alcohol's influence.

Serpentine reached for the bottle, intent on pouring them each a drink. However, she was halted by Snape's cold criticizing tone.

"Not this evening, Ms. Serpentine. I think you have already had quite enough to drink." Snape enjoyed watching her struggle to withhold her immediate reactionary biting tongue.

She withdrew her hand from the bottle, narrowed her eyes somewhat and inquired evenly, "When would be a suitable time for you, Professor?"

"Tomorrow evening," he replied simply, leaning forward in his chair dismissively.

"Is the early evening acceptable?"

"Yes, it is." He curled his long slender fingers around the neck of the bottle and proclaimed with a salacious grin, "I will keep this here until tomorrow evening."

Serpentine nodded in agreement and withdrew from his office without another word.

With thumb and forefinger, Snape easily worked the cork free from the bottle and proceeded to pour himself a single measure of her peace offering -- even if it was a temporary one. He acknowledged the courage she had mustered to approach him for assistance with a potion evidently important to her. Then again, perhaps she was something of the same ilk as he -- speak and act to derive specific desired selfish results. Obfuscation of true intent was a highly honed skill he possessed and one he could even admire on those rare occasions he witnessed it in others. These were personality traits he could respect to a certain degree provided he was never the recipient of said scheming attentions. If such was the case, woe be to the one who attempted such manipulation.

~ * ~

Extra candles illuminated the potion master's dungeon office as he and the possible future potions instructor poured over several older volumes from his personal library, nearly empty glasses of scotch at hand. Serpentine sat directly across from him in the squeaky chair, paying it no more heed than he usually did. Snape wondered if she comprehended its purpose.

Snape admitted to possessing inconclusive answers with respect to her potion, but he had a far clearer grasp of what would be required than she did. They conversed and they researched. Snape interjected now and then with various comments -- some snidely flippant and others valuable. Serpentine knew enough to either ignore his wry remarks or respond with her own calculated scathing retort. Despite their temporary truce, their insatiable appetite for sarcastic exchange was difficult to renounce.

Sensing an odd discomfort throughout his being, Snape lifted his eyes from the tome he'd been investigating and found Serpentine staring at him. He had no idea how long she'd simply been boring through him with those false brown eyes. Her expression revealed nothing. An uncomfortable silence ensued and he reached for his glass awkwardly. After taking a sip of the very fine aged scotch, he tore his eyes from hers and resumed reading with his head bent down. Moments later, glancing at her from behind veiled black hair, her focus had returned to the volume before her. She was beginning to unnerve him. His instincts shouted at the top of their voice for him to distance himself even farther from the albino. His curiosity, on the other hand, desired to grasp the reason behind the ravings of his instincts. Curiosity it always seemed got the better of him.

A short time after his inner monologue waged war with no clear victor, Serpentine suddenly announced, "I have to go, Professor. I do appreciate your time on this. Is it possible to resume again later this week or next?"

"Yes, it is. Tomorrow evening, same time?" The sooner this duty he'd committed to was complete, the sooner he could extract himself from her sphere of influence.

She nodded, "Thank you." She gathered her notes, stacked the books neatly and departed hurriedly as though she might be late for another appointment.

~ * ~

Still early in the evening, the potions master decided upon a glass of brandy and resuming his indulgence in Ingredient Substitutes For Deadly Potions. Locking his office behind him, he proceeded down the hall and into his private rooms.

Snape paused at the jarrah wood hutch in his living area, practiced fingers removing the slender cork from the bottle of brandy, and poured a good measure into a large snifter. He stoppered the bottle and pulled his wand from his robes. Pointing at the glass of amber fluid, he projected a short burst of bluebell flames to heat the alcohol for optimum consumption temperature. Satisfied, he returned his wand to his robes, and carried the warm glass to his winged back reading chair, which he settled into comfortably drawing Ingredient Substitutes For Deadly Potions into his lap.

Snape lifted the snifter and inhaled the contents, allowing the pleasant aroma to wash over him. He brought the glass' edge to his lips, curled his tongue back and received a small amount of the potent liquid in the well beneath his tongue. He removed the glass from his thin lips, tipped his head back slightly to keep the brandy in its place and sucked air into his lungs with his breath slowly. After a few moments of enjoying the palate in this manner, he closed his lips, flattened his tongue and the drink visibly made its way down his sallow throat. He shut his eyes briefly as though having just received a coveted lover's kiss.

The ritual complete, he opened the book to his last read chapter and proceeded with the next, for he was loathe to cease reading anywhere other than the end of a chapter. Snape's black eyes roved the material before him but he did not absorb the words. He began the chapter again... and again. He clenched his teeth in frustration and surrendered to his mind's meanderings.

Sylveria Serpentine, the insolent wretch from Budapest. Why Hogwarts and not Durmstrang, he reflected with another sip of his imported brandy. And why did his mind pay her any attention at all? She was an albino weakling -- albeit a seemingly bright one in some respects, with the queerest teaching methods. Some of the students seemed to like her well enough, but he observed something compulsive and potentially malevolent within her. Again, the mirror reflected cruel details of his existence and those life-altering events.

~ * ~

Snape had outwardly unquestioningly followed Voldemort for almost 3 years. Many of their ideologies had been compatible, but Voldemort's methods of execution had left much to be desired in Snape's mind. Calculated systematic death and destruction had been necessary, but Voldemort and many of his followers had suffered from arrogance and the delusion they were untouchable. Snape had preferred more earthly reassurances of tasks completed, and had taken no chances beyond what was necessary to achieve his obligations. Additionally, Voldemort's ultimate scheme and desires had not resonated with Snape as deeply as they had with many of his fellow Death Eaters. Thusly, Snape's mind had been fertile ground for planting the seeds of dissention and deception.

Snape's evening task had been routine -- apprehend a specific young Ministry employee for torture and questioning. Whereas most of his counterparts had performed these investigations at the victim's residence, Snape had believed this to be most unwise and therefore had a private location, unknown to any, for such activities.

Corwin Nesbitt had lived alone, and was also something of a recluse, only entertaining a variety of relatives from time to time for dinner. As such, Snape had not intended to find anyone with Nesbitt when he apparated into his bedroom very late in the evening. The acrid sting of healing salves and medicinal potions had penetrated behind the white mask and assaulted Snape's senses viciously. Nesbitt's exposed flesh had been covered in a thick sheen of sweat, and his breathing laboured. Hunched over the bed had been an elderly man with long white hair and wearing blue robes. The elderly man had turned at the sudden appearance of the Death Eater, a very grave expression upon his visage -- Nesbitt was dying.

"You're too late. He's almost dead." It had been the unmistakable voice of Albus Dumbledore.

Snape had frozen for a moment, his heart beating wildly in his chest as he had found himself unnervingly face-to-face with his old professor from Hogwarts. He had always known this day would descend upon him, but had preferred to disregard its inevitability -- a trait he seldom entertained.

Dumbledore had scrutinized the black hooded cloaked and white masked wraith before him. He had peered intently with sad blue eyes, desirous to know the true face behind the signature Death Eater uniform. Suddenly Dumbledore had spoken, "Severus?"

Snape's mind had screamed for him to disapparate, but he had found himself incapable. He had never felt this intensely gripped with panic in his entire life, and had simply stood rigid to the spot. How had Dumbledore known that it was he behind the mask, he pondered?

Dumbledore had stood from the stool on which he had been sitting and faced the dark figure before him. He had forced a friendly smile on his small lips surrounded by a white beard, "Corwin is my nephew. We were supposed to have dinner this evening. He returned home from work today very ill. I do not expect him to survive the night. I am afraid you'll have to find someone else to amuse yourself with."

Snape's lips had twitched into a sneer behind the mask. While he had taken pleasure in inflicting pain upon others, he had never done so without a reason. If anyone else but Dumbledore had spoken those incendiary words, their next breath would have been their last. It had been in that awkward moment that Snape had rapidly reviewed his involvement with Voldemort and the limitations of their relationship.

Dumbledore had taken one step forward and spoke softly, "Do not let Corwin's death be in vain, Severus. I understand why you have allied yourself with Voldemort, but I firmly believe his new world order is not one you buy into completely."

Snape had found his voice then -- quiet, cutting and sarcastic, "You cannot begin to know my mind."

Dumbledore had taken another tentative step forward and had spoken gently, his voice devoid of criticism or condescension, "That is where I think you are wrong, Severus. I know you want to make a difference. Then make a difference -- but not as a pawn for Voldemort."

"What then?"

Dumbledore had been only two steps away from where Snape had stood stiffly, projecting an air of dire elegance. "His vision is flawed and you know that. It is only a matter of time before he and his followers are executed or imprisoned. It is an unhealthy environment, Severus, and many on both sides will die. But this is where you can make a difference."

Snape had known full well what Dumbledore had been inferring, but he had wanted the old man to voice it, "I fail to see how."

Dumbledore had taken in a deep breath, evidently pleased their conversation had progressed this far, "As a spy. You already possess information helpful to our cause, and you could garner so much more in time."

Snape had stated flatly, "You are asking me to betray Lord Voldemort."

"I am asking you to turn your back on the false hopes and dreams of a man who would not only deceive his own followers, but would sooner see them die than risk his own life to attain his cruel ends." Dumbledore had paused, "You do not have to decide this evening. I will be here for a few days when you wish to discuss it further."

Snape had known he would return within 24 hours, and begin his ultimate descent into treachery -- ultimate at that point in his life, for he knew not what the future would bring. He had glided past Dumbledore towards the bed on which the rapidly fading man lay wheezing. Snape had reached out a gloved hand and had forced open the young man's eyes, and then his mouth. He had verified pulse, breathing and temperature. He had turned to face his onetime professor and headmaster, "Poison."

A twinkle of hope had sprung into Dumbledore's eyes, "Then there is an antidote."

Snape had replied straightforwardly without emotion, "No, there is not."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because that particular poison is my creation," Snape had disapparated then, already mentally preparing for his confrontation with Malfoy, whom he had very strong suspicions was involved. In fact, Snape had imagined Malfoy had thought this interference with his assignment most comical whereas Snape had seen it as a juvenile prank serving only to impede their objectives. Objectives he had been questioning for some time and which had that evening culminated in his duplicity towards Voldemort and his fellow Death Eaters.

~ * ~

As though it were alive and listening to Snape's inner conversation, his left forearm began to itch and burn with a summons from Voldemort. Snape's body went suddenly rigid, the brandy snifter falling from his fingers and crashing to the white marble floor, scattering tiny shards of glass in a wide arc. He grimaced and clutched the dark mark with clawed fingers -- needing it and loathing it... Snape was a living dichotomy. The mark had demanded attention far more frequently these days, much to Snape's grave concern. If only he'd been a better spy, if only his mind did not waver, if only he was not so undecided...

Conflicting thoughts waged war through Snape's sharp mind and he suddenly had a terrible thought. If Dumbledore could send a spy to Voldemort's circle, why could the dark lord not send one into Hogwarts in the guise of an albino teaching aide? However, Snape further mused, Voldemort would no more send a weakling wizard to do his bidding than he would a Mudblood -- or would he? If life had taught him anything, it was to never underestimate anyone.

Rubbing his thrumming forearm once more vigorously, Snape growled dismissively under his breath, deciding upon a sleeping draught to cure his relentless undesired thoughts. The advantages of his craft -- any concoction was easily at his fingertips.

~ * ~

Settling beneath his goose down comforter, Snape shut his eyes, his mind beginning to numb from the potion coursing its way through his veins. He had one more thought before slipping into unconsciousness. Whenever his dark mark burned with the summons, Serpentine's whereabouts were unknown to him. He cursed his presently unfocused and quickly tiring mind -- if he'd only thought of this sooner he would have traipsed up to her rooms to verify her present location. His body like lead, sunk deeper into the firm bed, a silent curse on his lips, wishing his final thought before embracing sleep was not of his temporary teaching aide and the likelihood of her insurgence.

~ FIVE: a scheme ~

Without an appetite, Snape picked at his breakfast with a fork delicately balanced in his hands as his face wore its customary dour expression. He presently cursed the Universe for their diabolical plots by occupying his mind far too excessively, preventing him from reassessing his life -- particularly at this critical juncture. On the other hand, the Universe's agents of irony might believe those circumstances engaging his time cajoled him into reviewing the past, which, upon reflection, could potentially form the basis of his coveted reassessment. He made a displeasing noise, as he could spend the entire day warping logic to his purposes and still arrive at no gratifying conclusion.

When Hooch grumbled under her breath and settled down heavily next to him he commented sharply, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"You think I would know by now. Any witch who wears red robes on a consistent basis requires far too much handholding and maintenance in a relationship." Hooch immediately drank back half of her chilled orange juice and set the goblet down heavily.

Snape smiled slyly, "I presume we are discussing that femme fatale, Ms. Ryall."

"Yes," Hooch acknowledged through gritted teeth. "Tricia showed up at my door early this morning in tears."

"At the onset of your arrangement, you did inform her that the likelihood of permanence or heartfelt romance was virtually nil, did you not?" Snape and Hooch both believed successful relationships of intimacy with fellow professors or assistant professors could only be based in the physical, without involving aspects other than lust or friendship.

"I did, but she has taken it upon herself to confide in me all the troublesome areas of her life. This morning she whinged on about how Ms. Serpentine threatened to feed Tricia's cat to the wyvern." Hooch roughly selected a roll and scraped at the butter with her knife repeatedly.

Snape snickered audibly, a sound seldom heard. In his vivid imagination, he could verily see Serpentine vindictively dangling Ryall's cat by the scruff before Diamont as a tasty morsel.

Hooch paused in buttering her bread, "I thought you'd find that amusing. I would also find it amusing if it were not for the fact that it was up to me to calm her down."

"Did Ms. Ryall give any indication as to why Ms. Serpentine was desirous to rid her of her feline in such a gruesome fashion?" Snape nibbled on some bacon, finding his appetite slowly returning with the arrival of Hooch and her gossip.

"They have not gotten on since day one. I'm sure you can relate, Severus. Apparently in a heated discussion earlier this morning, Tricia called Ms. Serpentine a drunk. Ms. Serpentine did not appreciate that remark and let loose with a series of threats -- one involving Tricia's cat." Hooch's knife clattered noisily on her plate as she guided the bread to her firmly set lips.

"Aptly so?" Snape referred to the comment of Serpentine's reputed affection for drink.

Hooch swallowed before replying, "I don't believe so. I've never seen her intoxicated. And she has arrived at our flying lessons completely sober." Hooch shrugged.

Snape grinned wildly and asked melodramatically, "How are the flying lessons progressing?"

Hooch shot Snape a brief glare and reminded, "You are not intended to have this information -- you are not supposed to have heard that conversation in the library."

Snape rolled his eyes and muttered into his raised goblet of juice, "Understood."

With Snape's agreed-upon silence, Hooch disclosed, "She'll never play Quidditch. She tries to rush at times, and is a little foolhardy. I wouldn't be as concerned if her abilities were better than they are. The reality is she needs quite a bit of practice. But, she is at least enthusiastic."

Vector's voice interrupted them from behind, "Well, Severus, it is the first of December and your assistant professor is still your assistant professor. The only one who remains in the teacher's pool is Minerva. Unless, of course, you dismiss Ms. Serpentine today -- in which case Filius would claim the pot at 12 weeks."

Snape calmly pressed his goblet of orange juice to his lips and spoke over the rim malevolently, "What, Sibyll was unable to predict the outcome of this pool and has lost already?"

Hooch chuckled and Snape's smile was washed away with his orange juice.

"Just keeping you apprised," Vector's saccharine smile was nauseating. Snape was pleased to see her leave as quickly as she had arrived.

Hooch nodded, "12 weeks. And neither of you has attempted to kill the other."

"No, but she may yet kill a cat," Snape sniggered once more at the thought and pushed back his chair. "Good luck with your Ms. Ryall. I do not envy you." He sauntered off to the potions classroom -- wishing to spend a few moments plotting his next course of action where Serpentine was concerned. After all, if she was indeed a spy for Voldemort and/or she was at Hogwarts to kill him, it was in his best interests to apprehend her before she could fulfill her obligations to the dark lord.

~ * ~

Serpentine arrived earlier than customary to the potions classroom -- her first full day of instructing on her own. Snape eyed her and discerned she was surprised to discover him languishing in the classroom. A very wicked smile suddenly slithered across his sallow face.

"Ms. Serpentine, "his voice was silky smooth, gilded in cunning.

She scrutinized him blatantly and approached his desk with confidence, "Yes, Professor Snape. What can I do for you?" Cynicism dripped coolly within her query.

"I am so pleased you asked." He steepled his slender fingers in front of his face between them and spoke thoughtfully, "Since I was kind enough to assist you with your vaporous transformation potion I would like you to extend me a favour."

She responded sardonically, "Excuse me while I go fetch my diary, would you, I believe it is a momentous occasion when Professor Snape asks a favour of a teaching assistant."

"You won't be rid of my request that easily, Ms. Serpentine." He grinned maliciously.

"Very well then." Her voice was now laden with sarcasm, "What can this humble assistant professor do for the potions master of Hogwarts?"

He ignored her viperous attitude. "I wish you to take me for a ride on your wyvern."

"What?!" She blinked in incredulity.

"I believe one of the first lessons I imparted to you was that I am loathe to repeat myself. I believe you heard me. Perhaps you would like to reformulate your ungainly remark into a suitable question."

Serpentine narrowed her eyes, "Explain to me why you desire to fly on a wyvern."

"That is not quite a question, however, it does bear a response. A whim. A death wish. Curiosity. Take your pick."

Serpentine could not help but smile at the rationale's format, similar to the one she had given him with respect to her requisition for aid in her potion creation. She folded her arms across her chest and slowly nodded, "Very well. But I have one more tiny request and then we can wipe the slate clean."

Snape grinned at the ongoing bargain, "Yes?"

"Now that the theory of the vaporous transformation potion has been completed, I desire your assistance in the actual creation process."

Snape could hardly believe his fortune. She had not only strolled into his trap, but she fixed herself into the execution chair without a means of escape. He paused dramatically and eyed her distrustfully as though evaluating the new terms to their agreement. "On the condition that we make the potion this Friday evening and fly on Saturday afternoon." He paused yet again as he observed her mentally check her calendar. He leaned forward and whispered harshly through gritted teeth, "I will brook no refusals, Ms. Serpentine."

She cocked her head to the side slightly, "All right. Consider it arranged."

Students began filing in, oblivious to the tension pervading the room. "Excellent. I believe the class is yours for today," he unfolded his fingers and expressed dramatically with a wave of his arm, his black robes shimmering enticingly.

This would be far easier than he had originally anticipated. While the annoying little charms professor may lose the teacher's pool, Minerva still had a chance to claim the prize. Exposing his teaching assistant as one who is allied with the enemy garnered the same consequences as dismissing her from his classes, did it not?

~ * ~

At the end of Friday's last class Snape and Serpentine leaned with their backsides against his potions classroom desk. Both were eager for this evening -- albeit for different reasons. They eyed the students impatiently as they departed the classroom enthusiastically.

Once the last of them had vanished, Snape turned to Serpentine and instructed, "I'll go to the back storeroom and retrieve the necessary components. You set up the cauldron."

Serpentine nodded and withdrew her wand from her robes.

Snape circled the back of the desk and disappeared through a small door leading into his private storeroom of potion ingredients.

As he gathered the uncommon components, he listened to Serpentine repeat a spell for setting up a cauldron with water and start its fire several times. He shook his greasy black haired head. He couldn't imagine the mortification of never knowing when a spell would fail or succeed. He detected neither water nor flame and presumed her spell had failed completely. What he did hear was the distinct skittering of a wand across the stone dungeon floor.

Snape arranged ingredients upon a black lacquered tray when his sharp ears discerned another voice from the classroom -- a voice immediately injecting a shock of hostility through his core. He slipped silently to the wall next to the small doorway and listened intently.

"Imagine my surprise when my son tells me that Sylveria Serpentine is now giving instruction at Hogwarts," Lucius Malfoy spoke with a slippery tongue.

"Your son?" was all Serpentine managed to reply with.

"Draco is my son," he paused, his voice now emanating directly from Serpentine's location. "Why such a long face, my dear? Are you not pleased to see me?"

"Hello, Lucius," she spoke with a hint of disdain.

"I have missed you," the pointy faced blonde haired man purred, ignorant of her evident aversion. Snape knew of Malfoy's blindness all too well -- once he had grown accustomed to this particular exasperating trait of Malfoy's, he had learned to exploit it to his own ends.

"Lucius, you're married," she protested his advances.

"So? Tell me you don't miss the time we spent together... those very long nights abroad." His voice wavered as Snape imagined he was deluging her with what appeared to be unwanted affection. "You smell wonderful, Sylvie. I could eat you alive."

Snape cringed at Malfoy's last comment -- he could indeed. Snape's stomach churned with recollections of Malfoy's gratuitous exploits. Snape was well aware of his unkind nature, but the blonde wizard of breeding was by far the most despicable human being.

"Lucius, I really don't think this is the time or place for this," Serpentine insisted loudly, as though attempting to lure Snape from his concealed location of observation.

The potions master had no intention of interfering on her behalf, and much preferred to amuse himself with the display of anguish in his classroom from a distance. It was completely rational that Malfoy and Serpentine knew one another. The evidence against her was building at a phenomenal rate, he mused.

"Then you pick one," the pale sadist murmured.

"Please, Lucius. We had an agreement. I expected you would honour this agreement."

Snape could not believe she used the word 'honour' in a sentence where Malfoy was concerned -- it was quite contrary.

She added quietly, "And this is simply not a good time for this discussion."

Malfoy's tone grew very cold and agitated. "If you insist. But we will speak again soon, my dear, mark my words."

"That's fine," she forced the only words she could from her mouth.

Snape listened closely, straining his ears -- their conversation had given way to the insistent sliding of robes and hungry lips on flesh. His own lips pulled back in distaste as he heard Malfoy groan quite audibly in pleasure. Serpentine, however, remained entirely silent. Some time later, he heard Malfoy vacate his classroom.

Waiting several lengthy moments, Snape entered from behind his assistant, carrying the tray of ingredients. Serpentine appeared whiter than usual -- if that was at all possible. She was visibly shaken and her fingers had curled under the edge of his desk and were still clawed into it fiercely. He eyed her suspiciously and curiously, a salacious grin playing upon his lips.

Serpentine rolled her eyes, "Don't give me that look, Professor." She added as an afterthought, "You wouldn't happen to have any concentrated acid within reach, would you?"

"Why?" he questioned with a drawl.

"To ensure I've burned out every trace of Lucius Malfoy from my person."

Snape gingerly set the ingredient tray down on a preparation table and inquired quietly, "You don't care for Lucius?"

He noted that his familiar use of Malfoy's name was not lost on Serpentine and she likely pondered their relationship and history as much as he did theirs. "No," was all she could muster, sealing her lips defiantly.

"It appears, Ms. Serpentine, at one time you did," Snape stared down at her critically over his hooked nose with brows raised.

Serpentine cast a discomfited glance at the floor and chuckled, "Oh yes, once. And the only way I'll discuss this subject further is with at least two bottles of wine between us." Courage returned once more to the albino who stared confidently into Snape's black eyes.

"That can be easily remedied," Snape grinned wickedly.

Serpentine looked over at Snape and shrugged, "Why not? The potion can wait another day."

Snape gazed at her hungrily then, anticipating the tale that would tumble freely from her mouth, providing him with more fuel for his fire of triumph over her.

~ SIX: libations ~

Once Serpentine had retrieved her temporarily discarded wand from the corner of the potions classroom, tossed aside in a moment of anguished frustration, Snape led her into his office and directed her to his comfortable antiquarian velvet couch with walnut clawed feet wrapped around Austrian crystal. She seated herself rigidly, deep in thought regarding her inflaming encounter with Malfoy. Not entirely confident in her current capabilities, distracted as she was, he lit a fire in the hearth and breezed out of his office to fetch the promised libations.

Upon his return, Serpentine had moved from the couch and was inspecting the contents of his office with scrutinizing eyes. It would be very plain for her to see the potions master was a slave to order and tidiness, as every item within his office seemed to have a particular place. Her focus was currently fixed to his jars of pickled once living organisms, or parts thereof, lining a section of one wall.

Silently, Snape filled a goblet with white wine, his black eyes remaining fixed on their inquisitive target. He dismissed the unmade potion in the other room. It was irrelevant -- his only desire presently was to spend as much of this evening with the albino as possible and if she divulged her innermost in the process, so much the better. He observed her systematic focus shift to his mammoth collection of books spanning two walls, seemingly searching for something -- his private collection, no doubt. She stepped backwards next to his desk and took in a cursory glance at the orderly quills housed in several cups, parchment lined perfectly on one side and the central surface area devoid of clutter.

Serpentine was startled, her hand instantly clutching her chest, when he voiced softly behind her, "Here." Snape grinned, thoroughly amused with her anxious reaction to his verbal invasion.

She glanced up briefly, ignoring his smirk, and took the cool goblet of wine into her hands. "Thank you." She held it for a time, absorbing its chill, and then drank. "This is quite good." She resettled herself upon the couch.

"It's the driest in the cellar. I took you for a dry, almost sour and definitely not sweet oriented wine drinker," Snape set a wide bucket of ice with three bottles nestled inside upon the floor nearby. His presumption had been based on what he'd observed with her preferred consumption habits -- all things sour, such as cranberry and lemon were indulged in while most sweet substances were selectively avoided.

"You are correct," Serpentine admitted, shivering slightly -- at the ice-cold wine or at the thought of the potions master taking close notice of her drinking habits. He observed her power momentarily dissolve with a grin on his face.

He filled his own goblet and seated himself across from Serpentine in a massive high backed purple velvet armchair, a low standing table between them. He rested both his arms on the chair arms, one hand wrapped around the goblet stem, its metal cup beginning to sweat from the cool wine it contained. He appeared as a great black bird resting upon its perch, searching for prey. He crossed a leg comfortably, his fine robes shifting softly.

The potions master drank in his teaching aide, as he drank from his goblet. Serpentine's clothing was specifically designed to detract interest -- her robes of green and black were simple, almost bland and purposely chosen for the aforementioned reason. The odd piece was trimmed in velvet or satin, but no other adornments or jewellery was ever worn by her. Yet there was a vein of the aristocrat within her -- he witnessed it in the quality food and drink she consumed and at times in her mannerisms, such as the formal way she held her dining utensils or from time to time standing elegantly before the classroom bestowing a lecture upon mostly undeserving students. He suspected her desire to flaunt a more expressive wardrobe was strong, but such desires were overridden by the desperate need to maintain a low profile. How deeply she loathed who she was -- that was painfully clear.

Snape further studied the albino seated across from him. He found her a curious mix of youth and age, and began to wonder how long she had thus far lived. With his goblet halfway to his lips he inquired smoothly with unblinking eyes, "How old are you?"

She scrutinized him, and replied coolly, "I am 37."

"You seem younger." Snape realized immediately after he spoke that his words could be misconstrued and perceived as a compliment, whereas he was merely stating a fact with respect to her age. He regarded Serpentine, whose face revealed nothing -- he wagered she wouldn't know what a compliment was as he doubted she was gifted any beyond those already granted her by a handful of students and tutors throughout the years.

Comprehending the subtext of his comment, she imparted, "With respect to my youthful personality, I still find much fascination in the world -- yes, that is true."

"I didn't think albinos typically lived past 30," he confronted with a deadly tone, thin lips pressed against cool metal and soothing liquid sliding down his throat.

Her expression darkened to sackcloth, her eyes containing the very fires of hell just then, "The Cruciatus curse is nothing compared to the torturous agony of having healing elixirs and spells inflicted upon you constantly when your own body is designed to reject such intrusions."

Snape knitted his black brows together, not expecting to have struck a monumental nerve in what he considered benign surface conversation.

"I live as a result of magical engineering. My time in this world is still quite limited -- the extent of which is unknown. One day I will simply cease to awaken. But we're heading into territory that is off limits to you, Professor." She chided with a wicked grin behind her goblet, hastily obscuring a very sensitive aspect of her life, and regaining the control eluding her for a time.

Snape's eyes narrowed and his tone dripped acidic sarcasm, "Of course. But you'll gladly share the details of your libidinous relationship with Lucius Malfoy."

"Only after enough wine," she held out her empty goblet.

As he refilled both their goblets, he remarked quietly, delving into her false brown eyes, "Pray, what secrets will you tell after three bottles of wine?"

"The more appropriate question, Professor, is could you keep up?" She grinned devilishly and settled back into the couch comfortably. "For I never divulge to someone who drinks less than I."

The potions master was not the drinker Serpentine purportedly was, but this could easily be remedied with a potion. A sly smile spread across his lips and he replied over his goblet, "Most assuredly."

As though reading his mind, Serpentine challenged with a cocked brow, "Without magical aid?"

Snape drank deeply, and replied smoothly, effectively diverting the conversation, "Another challenge, Ms. Serpentine? You know I'm prepared to meet you on any battlefield."

She gazed at him curiously, tucking her feet beneath her more tightly and momentarily clenching every muscle in her body, and then finally releasing the self imposed tension. She was an odd creature -- one he intended to break as quickly as possible, given the circumstances. He had no desire for a prolonged investigation.

~ * ~

Their conversation was somewhat strained for the duration of the first two bottles of wine. Snape refilled Serpentine's goblet whenever his was nearly empty. By the third bottle, Serpentine was considerably more relaxed and stretched her length out on the couch she seemed to become quite comfortable upon. Even Snape eased further back into the corner of his massive chair, draping one leg casually over the arm. Intoxicated may have been an understatement regarding their condition for neither had eaten since lunch and by now dinner was long since over.

"Lucius Malfoy," Snape finally announced with a slight slur in his voice.

"First, share with me how you know him -- other than the obvious that he is Draco's father." Serpentine drank deeply and gazed at Snape as though already plotting to find other excuses to submit him to an alcoholic stupor in the future.

"Very well," Snape peered over his goblet with glimmering black eyes and continued, "It's really no mystery and is quite simple. We schooled together at Hogwarts some years ago and were in the same house."

"Did you get along well?" Serpentine inquired sincerely, propping her head up with her hand and bent elbow. With her other hand across her waist, she dangled the goblet by the rim lazily in her fingers over the sofa's edge.

Snape hoped that she would not clumsily drop the fine goblet on his floor -- given his current state of inebriation, he would be unable to rely upon an appropriate curse for such an occasion. He sipped more wine and cradled the goblet, tipped on an angle, in his lap. "Our relationship has transmuted over the years. Presently we are cordial with one another." He had no desire to divulge further on the matter of his relationship with Malfoy as that would lead to other queries he wished not to respond to. "Enough about my relationship with Lucius Malfoy -- what about you?" Snape's lips curled into inquisitive malicious glee.

Serpentine waved her goblet before her passionately and began her narration with an enthused voice as though she were orating a children's bedtime story -- she was, after all, quite intoxicated, "It was a very long time before I managed to venture on a holiday without the accompaniment of my parents or tutors. Before then, they would rarely leave me to my own devices, fearful I would somehow come to harm. When two of my female witch friends were planning on a wild sojourn to a resort in Transylvania, they offered I go with them, and go I did."

Gazing at Serpentine intently, Snape devoured the tale she spun. He restrained commentary, not wishing to disrupt the flow of her tongue loosened by the quantity of wine imbibed on an empty stomach. He only hoped in the morning he would recollect all she had imparted.

She continued, a slight smile playing on her lips as she spoke candidly, "I was completely out of my element. Aria and Delphine were there for the purposes of indulging in parties and finding a couple of men to take to their beds for guilt free uninhibited physical intimacy. My own foray into sexual activities was a private affair; thusly I did not shine to the atmosphere with the same enthusiasm as my friends. After a couple nights of my resistance, they dared me to spend some time with a man who'd been supposedly eyeing me since our arrival. I've never been one to walk away from a dare or challenge."

Snape filed this last tidbit of useful information away for future reference.

"So, I walked over to the man in question and introduced myself. He bought me a few drinks and we talked. His conversational skills left something to be desired but we were not there to engage in dialogue, and we both knew it. I was incapable of flirting, but nodded and smiled throughout his frivolous chatter and eventually, we spent the night together -- and the several following until my holiday was gratefully over. That was Lucius Malfoy and five years ago."

The potions master was taken aback at how irately she spat out the last phrase. He could only speculate the reason for her extreme dislike of Malfoy.

As though he subversively placed the question in her mind, she continued, "We had an agreement. The time we spent together in Transylvania was physical only and a one-time arrangement. Eventually, however, I learned he was married, which does not sit well with me as I'm certain his wife did not consent to his extramarital affairs -- I'm sure I was one of many. While virtue is not one of my traits, I do respect the relationships of others. Do not think, Professor, I felt slighted by Lucius. He was, at best, what you English call an insufferable prat." Serpentine paused to drain her goblet and continued, "I've been repulsed by him since and quite frankly hoped I'd never run into him again."

Snape was rather hoping for more lurid particulars and was somewhat disappointed with her recount, but there was time enough to extract such from her if it proved necessary or for his own amusement.

"So there you have it. Shocked?!" Serpentine reached over, straining her body, to place her empty goblet on the table when she slid from the couch and onto the floor with an ungainly thud, the goblet rolling beneath the sofa harmlessly.

Snape set his empty goblet aside and slowly rose from the comfort of his chair. He took a few hesitant steps and peered over the table to see Serpentine suppressing a fit of laughter. She looked up at Snape and burst into a silly little laugh, holding her hands to her stomach.

"I have a question," he asked in mock seriousness.

"Yes?" she choked back successive laughter, her lips forming an inane grin.

"Was he a capable lover?" Snape queried with a humour laden sneer on his face, knowing full well his question was petty, but he had to know -- the alcohol coursing through him demanded it.

She stared at him for a moment, snickered a couple times and then replied seriously, "Lucius was too self absorbed. I don't think he'd know how to give a woman an orgasm with a map and explicit step by step instructions." No sooner had the words slurred out of her, than Serpentine covered her mouth with slender fingers and widened her eyes in shock at having uttered the disparaging reply. She launched into hysteria, only to be joined a moment later by Snape.

Once their laughter died off, Snape, who still leaned over the table, now using it for support as he was weaving back and forth considerably, suggested, "You should remove yourself from the cold floor. It must be uncomfortable."

"I think I'm stuck," she burst into a tiny fit of laughter now.

Snape voiced his thoughts, "Some magic is not recommended while under the influence. So..." He moved around the table shakily, bent over Serpentine unsteadily and snaked his willowy arms around her upper back beneath her shoulders. He suddenly realized precisely how intoxicated he was as the room spun dizzyingly around him.

"You're drunk," Serpentine slurred as he struggled to pull her upright.

"You're very observant, Ms. Serpentine." He chastised sarcastically, "Your surveillance skills are truly remarkable, and your deductive reasoning is in a class unto itself, approaching deity levels, in fact. However, you are not aiding in the progression of moving your body from the floor back to the couch."

"Oh," she intoned apologetically and threw her arms around his shoulders.

"Better," he lifted her upwards a couple of feet and deposited her unceremoniously upon the sofa. She was curiously very light in weight, he noted. Snape subsequently staggered, lost his balance and found himself seat upon the floor with his back against the couch. He resigned himself to this awkward position with a sigh, for he knew standing erect would be beyond him at this juncture. He leaned his head back upon the couch seat and stared at the stone ceiling of his dungeon office.

"Are you cold and uncomfortable now?" Serpentine inquired, suddenly leaning over Snape's face as she turned her body towards him.

He gazed up into her alabaster face, now tinged slightly pink from alcohol. "I am uncertain." He blinked, his body quite numb.

"I would share the couch with you, but I've grown rather possessive of it and wish it all to myself." Serpentine stretched herself like a cat upon the couch, languishing, with her face close to Snape's, studying his profile intently with bleary eyes.

"I'll know what to give you for Christmas, then," he spoke matter of factly.

"You would give me your antique couch?"

"If you were truly that fond of it, yes." Snape found he was temporarily immobile; his neck angled harshly, the back of his head on the sofa and his eyes staring straight above at the darkened ceiling. He eventually turned his head sideways so that he gazed directly into Serpentine's unrevealing face. He never realized how gaunt she was until this moment, with severe angular cheekbones -- what did Malfoy see in her, he wondered, as she was not attractive.

She continued with a wry smile, "That's very kind of you."

"I'm not terribly attached to it," he replied dismissively.

"What are you attached to, Professor?" she probed, laying her cheek upon the couch so she could meet his cool eyes directly.

He was silent for a time, ill wishing to divulge his mind to her for he was not that intoxicated, and then pronounced, "I believe we best sober ourselves -- particularly if we still wish to ride your wyvern tomorrow."

"In hindsight, you should have made a sobering potion prior to consuming all this wine," she smiled.

"I believe you're correct, but I'll make do. I'm sure I can manage so simple a recipe." Snape forced his body upright and detachedly assisted Serpentine in likewise assuming a vertical position.

Within Snape's potions classroom, he fashioned a sobering potion with minimal challenges. He ladled out two portions of viscous orange fluid in goblets and handed one to Serpentine. They drank theirs back simultaneously.

"Ugh, why do these have to taste so horrid?" Serpentine pulled a sour face.

"And you cannot add a thing to camouflage the taste without compromising its effectiveness," Snape stared into his goblet, slick with the residual orange brew, as though willing a more pleasant tasting drink to fill it. They would be sober in approximately half an hour -- after which they could freely imbibe other liquids.

"Well, thank you for an entertaining evening, Professor. I'll see you as planned tomorrow," Serpentine held out her empty goblet to the potions master.

"Yes, you will indeed," his spidery fingers brushed hers as he took her goblet in his slender hand. He held her eyes firmly for a brief moment before she departed, grinning lasciviously as he imagined tightening the noose around her neck.

He suddenly realized he didn't wish to expose her because of her likely alignment with Voldemort -- but because he could. It was very base, very simple -- another person to lord over. If Serpentine believed she could manipulate him and obscure her true intentions, she would be in for quite a surprise. He would see her thrown into the Hells of Azkaban within a fortnight. He had, very fortunately, been spared the horrors of imprisonment and had only faced a brief trial -- brought to an expedient halt and resolution by Dumbledore after numerous months of spying.

~ * ~

Snape had enjoyed the small historical city of Celle with its cobblestone roads and steeply staired cafes where one could order the finest pastries and libations in Germany. Northern Germany had always been a favoured locale for his private musings -- so much so he had obtained a very small basement apartment with reinforced thick mortar walls... it had been ideal for his needs while a Death Eater -- and even after that.

It had also been in this quaint domicile Snape had met with Dumbledore to discuss the terms and conditions of the younger man's infidelity to Voldemort. Ironically, the most comfortable furnishings had resided in a room that had been used specifically for the Death Eater's insidious investigations.

Dumbledore had sat fairly rigidly on an ornate red velvet sofa while Snape had sat opposite on its companion seat, deep in the chair as though it were a throne. Snape had given the impression of calm, but deep inside his being had waged a war of infinite proportions -- instinct, desire and rationality pummelled one another relentlessly until there had remained only a void. In the end, the betrayal had been entirely his conscious decision.

Snape had been somewhat amused as Dumbledore's kind blue eyes had continued to stray to the array of devices on the opposite side of the room. Embedded in the stone wall had been strategically placed metal loops, some of which had borne manacled chains, which could easily be shortened or lengthened as required. A stainless steel table with drawers had brandished a wide variety of bladed instruments and Muggle surgical equipment, obtained through a retired physician from Hamburg. Neatly stacked against the wall had been several galvanized steel buckets.

Snape had found that a creative combination of physical, mental and magical interrogation garnered the sought after results from nearly all targets. Unlike many of his colleagues, whose methods Snape had considered barbaric by comparison and often had not yielded the desired outcome, Snape had scientifically taught himself the art of breaking a person's mind and accessing coveted information.

All his life he approached matters methodically -- testing, retesting and extrapolating. The art of examination had been no different. It had not been long before he could wrench any subject's deepest and darkest secret from them by simply analyzing their personality and acting accordingly. Sometimes he had never required resorting to physical techniques at all -- his probing questions and cutting tone had been enough to cause the strongest to open their mind to him. He had excelled as an investigator -- and Voldemort had known it.

Voldemort had arranged significant targets for Snape, as they could not have been left in the incompetent hands of the likes of Lucius Malfoy for fear they'd not survive before revealing all. That was -- until something more twisted had begun festering inside Voldemort and he had developed an unhealthy hunger to engross himself personally in certain assignments -- that had been his undoing. Better to have sent Malfoy to execute the Potters, and he might have lived. However, Snape felt it had worked out for the best, for he had no idea how long he could have carried on the charade of devoted Death Eater while dissention was wending so passionately in his mind.

And there had sat Dumbledore complacently, a wise and powerful wizard bargaining with Voldemort's master interrogator.

"I wish full immunity from all future trials, judgments and imprisonment," Snape had said casually, inspecting his white fingernails for any traces of his earlier activities, and gratefully finding none.

Dumbledore had replied immediately with a consoling smile, "You will have it." Then he had added somewhat seriously, "Provided the information you deliver is helpful."

Snape had glared momentarily -- Dumbledore testing the veracity of his devotion. Snape had placed himself in his former teacher's robes for a fleeting moment and realized he would have issued the same subtle threat. He had sighed in slight perturbation before continuing, "Lord Voldemort has taken to a more hands on approach recently. He had previously left certain tasks to various followers -- depending on their area of expertise," his voice had been thick, each word timed perfectly reflecting the information's magnitude. "However, he is presently indulging and delighting in the execution of others personally. Unfortunately, he does not confide in anyone -- or he hasn't yet."

Dumbledore had eased back on the sofa, listening and carefully absorbing the information flowing freely from the traitor's thin lips. Even after this first meeting, Snape had assured himself exemption, for the quality of his divulgences had been impeccable.

~ * ~

Dumbledore had been correct -- Snape had desired to make a difference. He disregarded the notion of good and evil, finding them utopian concepts, defined by each individual for their selfish motives. Over the years he observed the hypocrisy of the Aurors and the supposed forces of good, as they employed the same tactics he had once used. Voldemort had also been correct -- Snape had desired prosperity amongst wizard kind, without the influence of Muggles and Mudbloods, and he wished to contribute towards that goal... but not at the expense of senseless bloodshed and death.

The albino lapdog for Voldemort, if indeed that was what she was, and he did suspect it strongly, would require a different approach than he had typically employed to gain desired information. Dumbledore clearly trusted the Serpentine family, so Snape could not usurp authority. He could, however, delve until exposure was attained or until he captured her in dubious activities. Unfortunately, the herding of those activities put him at great risk, he reflected before embarking upon some special potion creation of his own.

TBC in Chapter Seven