Chapter 13: The Gathering of Serpents

"Let's move somewhere a little more private, shall we?"

Snape rose from his chair and made his way to a door that none of the other students were allowed to enter. Hermione had told him that it was her godfather's private laboratory, and filled with all his experiments.

"Are you coming, Potter?"

"... No way. You could be a child molester."

The look on the man's face was decidedly unamused. In fact, he looked downright livid at the suggestion.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor. Potter, I would thank you not to have such torrid thoughts about my character."

"That's not fair! How could I possible trust you? Your blackmailing me! And so what if you're not going to molest me? You could do anything else you wanted, like cut me open and drain my blood for your potion experiments."

"You have a rather sick imagination, you know that?"

"This is kind of a sick world."

"I beg your pardon?"

Harry said nothing, shuffling his feet and looking off at nothing. Snape made an irritated sound.

"You realize that teachers take an Unbreakable Vow not to intentionally harm their students upon accepting a Hogwart's position?"

It was the first Harry had heard of it, but it did sound like the sort of thing the school would require. He merely shook his head.

"Well, they do. Now will you come or do you wish to further insult me and risk twenty more house points?"

"Why do we need to do this privately anyway," Harry muttered, reluctantly following the man into his personal domain. The lab was even larger than the classroom, and several intricate pieces of equipment were set here and there. There were rows of locked cabinets. No doubt they stored the man's many rare and expensive potions ingredients. It all made Harry feel very out of place. The doors slammed shut, making him jump.

"Because this is in regards to the events of last night. I believe since my goddaughter isn't shooting a hundred questions at you a minute regarding your recently discovered talent and Draco isn't pursuing your friendship like the politician he is, you have kept it to yourself? Look me in the eye when you answer."

Moving to the other side of a work table, Harry finally looked straight at him. In the dark gloom of the laboratory, his black eyes looked unnatural and eerie.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?"

"Why have you not told them? It is a rare and precious gift. Anyone would be honored to have it."

Harry snorted. "Anyone who doesn't mind being compared with Voldemort, you mean."

"That's Lord Voldemort, and I suggest you not forget it. Are you suggesting being compared with the most powerful wizard in Britain is somehow a bad thing? Please help me here, Gryffindor logic escapes me."

"Exactly. You're a Slytherin. Voldemort's a Slytherin. I'm a Gryffindor. I don't want to spend my life with everyone saying I should have been put in Slytherin. I'm not in Slytherin. I'm never going to be in Slytherin. I don't want to be in Slytherin. I am where I'm suppose to be, and no one has the right to suggest otherwise. Would you want people saying you should have been in Ravenclaw because you're smart with potions?"

Snape seemed to consider that. While it irked him that the boy should be so completely ungrateful for his gift, he couldn't argue that the resulting attention might not be all positive. But that was not all Potter was thinking when he decided to keep his talent to himself. No, there was a definite sense of insecurity and self-loathing at the thought of being compared to Voldemort, if not Slytherins in general.

So the boy didn't like Voldemort. He certainly wouldn't be the first, but if his Master wished to use the boy in the future that information could prove invaluable. If Potter ever learned exactly what his parent's role in the war was before they fled Britain, that might further complicate matters.

"You do have a point, but you can not hope to keep this secret long. You seemed to have no control over when you speak parselmouth, and I dare say the school is riddled with snakes. Magical statues, care of magical creature's class, personal pets, and a very wild forest not a stones throw from the castle... it will only take one encounter. One slip of the tongue..."

"But until then..." Harry said, shrugging.

"Yes, until then you get to play the good little Gryffindor. You may go."

Harry quickly made his way to the door.

"But be prepared for additional questions later," Snape said, smirking. "My Master and I will likely have more."

A shiver ran up his spine as he walked away, his thoughts now clutching at dreadful images of Snape and Voldemort snickering over their afternoon tea while they discussed his downfall. His stomach lurched, and he rushed into the nearest bathroom. It was, unfortunately, the girl's lavatory. He didn't mind so much with his head half way in the toilet, but once his stomach was empty he was glad it appeared to be empty.

"I'm starting to hate my life," he mumbled to himself.

"Welcome to the club."

He let out a startled cry and stumbled out of the stall until he smack into one of the sinks. Floating above the stalls was a ghost of a rather geeky looking girl, her arms crossed as she looked imperiously down at him.

"You know this is the girl's bathroom."

"Er... yes, well... It was kind of an emergency."

"Of course it was. No one ever comes in to my bathroom unless they absolutely have to. No one wants to be bothered by plain, moping, Moaning Myrtle."

Seeing the ghost looked as if she were about to cry, he rushed to come up with words to placate her.

"Well-well, I don't usually make it a habit to visit girls' bathrooms, b-but I'm glad I did this time. I haven't met very many interesting ghosts, you know."

Immediately, her watery eyes seemed to dry and she threw him a rather odd looking smile. Much to Harry's horror, he realized she was trying to be coy.

"You think I'm interesting?"

"Er... oh, yeah, definitely. I mean, the only ghost I've met is Sir Nicholas. I've seen a few other ghosts from afar, but they're all... you know... old."

She let out a mousey little giggle.

"It's true... I'm the youngest, newest ghost in Hogwarts. Myrtle Tetherwood. Eleven years old, died 1948 in this very bathroom. And you are?"

"Harry Potter, at your service."

"Hee hee, nice to meet you. What brings you to my little purgatory? I hope you aren't seriously sick, but if something should happen you are welcome to share my toilet."

"Er... that's very...um, generous of you, but I'm not that sick. I just had a little chat with Snape is all."

"Oh him. Well, I guess that explains it. Every so often I get girls coming in here crying about 'that greasy, wretched man'. As if they know the meaning of wretched. If they had to put up with half of what I had to with Emily Hornby, then they wouldn't be such babies! I mean she the reason I died after all. But I got her back! I made sure her Hogwart years were the most miserable seven years of her life. Hee hee hee..."

"Er... that's...um... Good for you. If you don't mind my asking, how did you die? Did Emily Hornby kill you?"

"Oh, no. I could beat her down in a real fight," she said. Harry frankly didn't think she looked like she could fight off a determined toddler. "No, I ran to the bathroom after she made fun of my glasses. When I finally stepped out I ran into a set of big yellow eyes, and then... I died."

He couldn't help but gape. There were things in the school that could kill you like that? Actually, now that he thought about it, it wasn't that odd. Voldemort was said to have office in one of the towers after all.

"Oh, that's awful."

"Isn't it? Hee hee. You better clean yourself up and go. Snape patrols the corridors for stray students after he finishes grading papers. He likes to give Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs detentions for lolly-gagging."

Taking her advice, he went to the set of sinks to wash out his mouth and cleanse his hands. He was curious to note that one of the sinks had a faucet designed to look like a snake. Remembering what Snape had said about magic statues, Harry whispered a little hello to it while Myrtle was busy rambling on about how awful it was being dead. To his amusement, the faucet hissed back:

"Could you please shut her up? Hee hee?"

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Saturday afternoon found Professor Snape climbing the stairs to the far Eastern tower. The first week of term, always one of the most stressful, had long worn away at his nerves. There would be so many detentions this week the Sleuw's wouldn't have to lifted a finger until the Monday after next.

He paused at one of the tower windows, looking out across the grounds to see a few of those students who had escaped punishment. Draco and Hermione were headed towards the lake, hand in hand. Following a ways behind was Potter. He was carrying a large basket with the help of one his new Slytherin girls, Natalie Cypher. Bringing up the rear was Clyde Houghton, sandwiched uncomfortable between Crabbe and Goyle, and Ron Weasley with a blanket under his arm trailing behind.

Gryffindors and Slytherins out having a picnic together. If violence didn't break out, then Hogwarts would have one more miracle added to a long list of them. Shaking his head, Snape climbed the rest of the way up the tower until he came to a blank wall.

"Verdania," he said, tapping on of the stones. Nothing seemed to happen, but he moved forward anyway, passing through the wall with all the ease of a ghost.

"Cutting it close, aren't you, Professor?" Bellatrix chided, lounging comfortably on a chaise. Pettigew had pinioned himself almost out of view between a set of bookcases and tried to pretend he was invisible.

Their master sat behind a magnificent mahogany desk, scanning files while a quill hovered off to the side, making notes on the man's unspoken thoughts. He looked very much at ease in the school tower, and Snape couldn't help but think for the thousandth time that perhaps Voldemort had chosen Lestrange as headmistress because he knew he'd end up running the school anyway.

"The dungeons are a bit further away than your office, Headmistress," he said dismissively, taking a seat in one of the reading chairs. "Besides, I saw something interesting on the way here that I thought relevant to our meeting."

Voldemort looked up from his papers, to show the man he had his attention.

"Potter is out on by the lake having a picnic..."

Bellatrix lest out a rude snort.

"...with some Slytherins."

Now the woman looked stunned. She stood from her seat and stalked over to a telescope by the open window. She looked through it silently for a long time.

"Is that Draco?" she asked finally.

"Yes, and your niece Hermione Granger. She is Potter's best friend since they met in summer lessons. They're quite close I hear, and since Hermione is inseparable from Draco..."

"Interesting," said Voldemort, and the quill beside him was suddenly writing very quickly. "So he has not been taken in by Gryffindor's anti-Syltherin sentiment?"

"I don't think Potter realizes he's suppose to dislike Slytherins," Pettigrew spoke, able to control his stutter with Nagini gone and Voldemort currently in a pleasant mood. "No one dares say anything bad about Slytherins in front of Granger, and even fewer talk to Potter... if he knows, he doesn't care."

"He's more interested with keeping peace with my goddaughter than proving he's another Gryffindor neophyte," Snape concluded.

"Draco encourages this?" Bellatrix asked, sounding disappointed.

"Draco is like Potter, he's only interested in keeping Hermione happy. He's already a Slytherin prince, he doesn't feel the need to prove it to anyone. He keeps the other first years in line and off both Gryffindor's backs. Whether they will become friends or not is anyone's guess. Again it probably depends on Hermione."

"When did that little mudblood become such a player?" she grumbled, stalking back to her spot on the chaise. Snape turned an icy glare at her.

"Your niece is not a player. Potter and her have a genuine friendship, and Draco and her have always been close. You, 'Cissa, and Lucius were the same way."

Bellatrix sneered at him, but said nothing more. Voldemort looked amused with them both.

"I want you to talk with Draco, Severus," he said, "Encourage him to get along with Potter. Keeping an eye on him will be easier if he has friends in Slytherin."

"I will, my Lord."

"Now, all of you, tell me what you have gathered on the boy."

Pettigrew went first, as he had the least to say. He confirmed mostly what they already knew. Potter's best friend was Granger. His second closest friend was Clyde Houghton. He was on the outs with most of his house because of the negative attention he'd brought to Gryffindor during the welcoming feast, but that was starting to die down. There were a few tidbits about his habits- the boy was almost miserly with his school supplies (although he spared up enough scrap paper to doodle rather unflattering pictures of Snape and Ronald Weasley), was usually quiet and reserved, and was the object of some affection for the Weasley twins (he suspected Fred had a thing for the younger boy). Nothing fantastical had happened in the first week, and any anti-Voldemort sentiments never went beyond vague grumblings. Once Pettigrew was done, he was allowed to leave, but with a newly assigned task and small bundle under his arm.

Bellatrix went next. Her information was limited to official documents, most of it involving Potter's life before he moved to England. He attended a German muggle primary school in Cologne, and received fair marks. He was not part of any teams, but there were several awards for art, including first place for a city wide competition. The Potters had settled as artists in a small studio apartment, and did fairly well for themselves. James Potter dealt mostly with clay sculpture and dabbled in glass and metalwork. Lily Potter was interested mostly in watercolors. There was no evidence of magic being used or even talked about in their house, although without access to German Wizarding records there was no way to be certain. There was nothing to suggest that Harry knew his parents were anything other than eccentric muggles. They were shot to death in their studio by a robber, who overdosed on heroine before he was ever caught. Their work had been auctioned off, and placed in their son's trust fund. It was all muggle money, but it put Harry in fairly good standing.

Or would have if the relatives he was living with hadn't been bleeding it out as fast as they could. Potter's relatives were as muggle as they came. His aunt was a housewife, his uncle sold drills, and his cousin was likely the biggest, stupidest boy in the county. There was no sign of a British education, although WYRA reports said he was fluent in English and competent in math and science.

"He was either home schooled, self-taught, or years ahead before he came to England. Despite his parents withholding his wizarding heritage, he did well in Timbal's summer lessons. He'll be no more handicapped than the other muggleborns, perhaps less with my niece lecturing in his ear twenty-four-seven."

"And how does Mr. Potter feel regarding his parent's death?Is he angry? Depressed? Does he still grieve?" Voldemort asked, schemes and manipulations flying across the parchment beside him.

"I don't know. There's no psychological records. He never went to a councilor, WYRA never reported any behavioral abnormalities, and he seems well adjusted."

"But one can't forget coming home to find their parents with their brains splattered across the living room," Snape said, his finger following the lip of his tea cup.

"What? Where did you find that information. It's not in the reports."

"I don't put much faith in second hand information," he said, looking up her with a rather wicked expression. "Neither should you. Your records are woefully incomplete and misleading."

"Really, Severus?" asked the Dark Lord, looking intrigued and amused at once. "Why don't you fill us in?"

Snape's report was definitely more interesting. He had samples of Harry's art work from WYRA, no masterpieces by any stretch of the imagination, but the talent was clearly there. He had his own first hand accounts of the boy's relatives, his living conditions, the extent of his first outburst of accidental magic, his magical aptitude test, the presentation of his wand, glimpses and impressions from their brief connection through occlumency, and a myriad of other pieces of information with the promise of more to come.

"He may not be anti-Slytherin, but he holds no love for you, my Lord. He still retains his memories of his parents and his former life, and though he doesn't object to being removed from the Dursely's, he does seem to resent your policy of removing muggleborns from their families. He has a rather naive belief that muggles should be given a chance to care for their wizarding children."

"Do you think removing these memories would help endear him to me?"

Snape thought for a moment, and was surprised at how quickly the answer came to him.

"No. He's a Gryffindor. If he believes you or anyone has acted against him in such a manner, he'll mark you as an enemy for the rest of his life. It's better to work around his stigma, unsettle the foundations of his grudge. Show him a kindness and he will loath himself for having thought you incapable of it."

"More flies with honey, is it? And how precisely would I show this... kindness?"

"As an opportunity presents itself. Doing it now would only make him wary."

"So sit and wait. You know I am not a patient man, Severus."

"He is not going anywhere, my Lord."

Voldemort chuckled darkly. His grin was definitely predatory when he looked back at his servants. Lestrange had come up short. No surprise really. Her position allowed her access to many records, but limited her exposure to the students themselves. Severus, on the other hand, had exceeded his expectations. His duties as both a Hogwarts teacher and a WYRA official had placed him in a very convenient position to gather intelligence on his target. That the man was on good terms with some of Potter's closest associates was just icing on the cake.

Plans were starting to take shape in his mind, possibilities unraveling. The quill beside him went about like maddened humming bird, flicking spots of green ink as it went. He could imagine his enemies rolling in their graves as Harry fell into his grasp, molded into something dark and beautiful and owned.

"You have done well, both of you," he said, mostly to ease the headmistress' obvious resentment at having been so clearly outdone. "But as Severus is in the best position to watch Potter, I will charge him with keeping me informed of his activities. I'll expect a report at least once every two weeks. You may both go."

Severus hesitated a moment, and Voldemort gestured for him to speak his mind.

"Potter doesn't know about his parents yet, but it's only a matter of time before someone lets the truth slip despite the Taboo on their names. How do you wish to handle the matter when it arises?"

Voldemort thought for a moment.

"I will trust your judgement and cunning in this matter, Severus. Handle it in a matter that curve in rebellious actions on his part," he said, then paused as another thought came to him. "Restrict access to his family vault. The financial hold Hogwarts has over him may prove useful in the future. You have my permission to use whatever means you deem necessary."

Severus bowed in acknowledgment. The two servants exited the room together..

On the stairs, Bellatrix whirled around to snarl at the other man.

"Who do you think you are, showing me up like that? Know your place."

Severus merely smirked.

"My place, dear Bella, has always been by our master's side, serving him in every capacity I can... Even those that you can not."

She hissed at him like a savage cat, whirling around to stalk down the stairs. He watched her go, pondering his own foolishness for provoking her. She was still the headmistress after all and in a position to make his life... difficult. He gave a mental shrug. Oh well. Even potion masters needed to find a little fun where they could.

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Sorry, not a lot happened in this chapter. More happens next chapter and I hoped to have it posted earlier next week.