The autumn term passed largely without incident. Malfoy had some kind of minor spat with Narcissa, and went around cursing first years with a perpetual scowl; Potter and his friends become heroes of house Gryffindor by turning the Slytherin Quidditch robes pink; a big fight exploded in Potions that ended with both Potter and Malfoy's friends in a week's worth of detention.

There were skirmishes between the houses, but no outright battles, and Sev suspected Malfoy was lying low - probably at Voldemort's orders. So far as the Death Eater leader was concerned, his followers at Hogwarts were very much a hidden asset, and for now, at least, he wanted to keep them that way.

Sev had no trouble getting permission to attend the Christmas meeting; he always stayed at the school for the holidays in any case, and the uncle who acted as his nominal guardian was content to let him come and go as he pleased.

The seven of them spent the first week of the holiday at the Malfoy family mansion. It was very much as Sev had imagined it, a cold, inhospitable place staffed by petrified house elves. They saw very little of Mr. Malfoy, an imposing and icy-voiced man who was obviously the role-model for Lucius's best evil scowls. There was no sign of his mother at all.

The one thing that Sev did find in the Malfoys' favour was that they had a rather extensive library of books of dark magic. Those volumes that he hadn't found in Professor Malachite's collection were generally a highly unpleasant read, but he consumed them avidly all the same. In Sev's world, no knowledge was bad knowledge.

On the sixth day, Sev was woken even earlier than usual by a blazing pain in his arm. He wasn't surprised when he pulled back his sleeve to find the Dark Mark tattooed there burning black.

He quickly dressed and found the other boys milling about in the hallway. Nick Avery was the last to emerge from the room he was sharing with Colin, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, c'mon," he groaned. "He's even in this country now, it would kill him to keep office hours?"

"We go when we're summoned," Malfoy reminded him sharply. "Come on." He led the way to the main room, where a fire was still burning. "We'll travel by Floo Powder - I can Apparate, but I don't suppose any of you can."

Sev suspected he could if occasion demanded it, but although he had learnt the skill he had yet to find reason to test it. Unlike Malfoy, he didn't feel compelled to show off his magics just for the sake of it. Why show everybody when you could hide your skills and keep everyone off-balance?

He didn't recognise the name of the mansion Malfoy gave them to teleport to; he filed it away on the off-chance that it belonged to a family who had gone over to the Death Eaters. That was a possibility, but it was just as likely that the true owners had been killed off to make room for the Death Eater leader.

Two of his followers had made the trip from Durmstrang with him, the snooty professor Dolohov and his young lackey Igor. They greeted the young Brits with an air of disinterested contempt, and ushered them into Voldemort's presence.

Sev was probably the least nervous of the seven of them, for all that he had most to worry about. Aside from Malfoy, he had seen the most of Voldemort in person, and he thought he had a fair enough handle on how his mind worked. The Death Eater leader was certainly deadly, but there was logic behind his actions, not random cruelty. He was building a reign of terror, but he was doing it on purpose, and with a specific aim in mind.

That aim, of course, being to establish himself as absolute ruler of the wizarding community. It seemed to be a common enough goal, although Sev couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Nearly all the people he interacted with were shallow and uninteresting - why would he want to take on responsibility for a whole country full of similar types?

Voldemort smiled at them all. Sev had no doubt that James Potter and the like would fully expect him to be as icy and grim as, well, Snape himself, but in fact the opposite was true. Voldemort was a very handsome man in his middle years, with an easy, light manner and a ready smile... but Sev knew to look at the eyes, and Voldemort's eyes were very sharp indeed. He might seem friendly, even playful, but he was a very, very dangerous man, and highly intelligent with it.

"Ah, gentlemen." Voldemort lounged casually back in his chair as he regarded them all. "So we meet again."

Actually, it was the first time all seven of them had confronted him together. Nott and Goyle were more recent recruits, and presumably had been taken to see him by Malfoy on some other occasion. Voldemort liked to assess each of his new recruits personally; partly, perhaps, to encourage their awe and fear of him, but also Sev suspected because, like Snape himself, he had a great talent for judging people at first glimpse.

"Lord Voldemort." Malfoy bowed his head in a way that was probably best termed 'arrogantly respectful'. Malfoy held on tight to his position of authority, but he wasn't stupid enough to try to challenge someone as high above him as Voldemort.

Voldemort gave a nod in return. "Lucius." Then he nodded to Snape. "Severus." Sev held in a slight smile of acknowledgement. Clever, very clever - accenting Malfoy's superiority, yet at the same time pointing out that Snape had his own amount of power, too. It took a careful balance of appeasement and prodding to keep Malfoy in place, but Voldemort played him effortlessly.

"Gentlemen, the time of my ascension grows near," he told them with the edge of a triumphant smirk. "Soon, very soon... and I will need faithful followers in position when that time comes."

"What do you want of us?" asked Malfoy eagerly.

Voldemort drew his wand, and Colin, Nick and the younger boys shrank back fearfully. The Death Eater leader smirked, but merely gave a flick of his wand and muttered a simple transportation spell. A pile of seven scrolls appeared on the table beside him, and he gestured for the boys to take them.

Sev took one and unrolled it, scanning the message at his usual rapid speed. It was presented as an official letter, not unlike the ones that were sent out from Hogwarts. As he unfurled it, the letters swirled to personalise it to him.

The Serpent Academy of Slytherin Excellence

Dear Mr. Snape,

You have been selected from a number of young hopefuls to take part in the Serpent Academy pilot program this summer. The Serpent program is a further education opportunity for talented older students of House Slytherin.

The program starts immediately after the school term ends, and I hope that we will see you there.

Yours sincerely,

L. V. DeMorto
Head of Program

Sev smirked slightly at the blatant anagram of the signature. Anybody with the slightest knowledge of the Death Eaters could decipher it - and yet what could they do? It was the kind of casual arrogance that was a hallmark of Death Eaters and Slytherins both. Voldemort wanted his enemies to see what he was doing; see it, but be unable to stop it and unable to prove it.

"So we're a nest of serpents, are we?" grinned Nick Avery. Voldemort held up a hand to correct him.

"No, you are one serpent. A team, thinking and acting and moving as one, for the sake of the cause."

"A seven-headed serpent," Snape suggested, whilst Malfoy scowled. No doubt he wasn't too thrilled about being lumped in with everybody else as part of a team.

"Quite, quite." Voldemort chuckled, an earthy, deceptively friendly sound. "And many heads are better than one, are they not?" Abruptly, his expression clamped down and cut off the good humour. "You may go. Malfoy, Snape, a moment."

They both lingered as the others trooped out dutifully. "And some heads are better than others," he said, for the benefit of them alone. "Malfoy, watch your men carefully. I trust you to weed out the weak and the valueless."

Malfoy gave a coolly triumphant smile. Voldemort turned to Sev. "Severus, you do the same." Before Malfoy could looked annoyed, he elaborated "They all know, whatever we say of teamwork, that Malfoy is their leader. They may be more likely to relax their guard around you. Watch everybody around you very carefully."

Sev nodded respectfully, and caught the almost imperceptible accent Voldemort gave to 'everybody'. Malfoy didn't realise it, but his second-in-command had just been detailed to keep as close an eye on him as on those below him.

As Sev followed the others out, he reflected that it was almost a pity that he would never let Voldemort know his true loyalties. The Death Eater leader had just the right sort of brain to appreciate the irony.

Malfoy offered the boys the run of his parents' mansion for the remainder of the holidays; Sev was the only one not to take him up on it. He would learn far more at Hogwarts than around a group of boys he'd already observed for six years and besides, the reason he gave Malfoy was a true one - he much preferred the solitude.

Few students stayed at Hogwarts outside of termtime, especially during a holiday that was so based around family. With the threat of the hidden Death Eaters growing in everybody's consciousness, the wizarding community preferred to keep their loved ones where they could see them. There were far too many tales these days of people disappearing and whole households blasted out of existence.

It was easy enough, then, for him to find time to seek out Dumbledore and Malachite.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was obviously itching to act. "We need to move now," he urged.

"We need to move later," Sev corrected pointedly. "The winter holidays aren't over yet, and Voldemort can still recall his troops to give them new orders."

"Will it be any different when the new term arrives?" Malachite wanted to know.

Sev nodded. "He's brought us to him by Portkey all the other times, and it has to be Vitae who sets it up for him. Without that, he'll have a great deal of trouble getting us out of the school all together."

"Unless he comes down to the village."

"He won't do that," spoke up Dumbledore, quietly but firmly. Sev nodded.

"He's too smart for that. There's a lot of power concentrated in this school that could harm him at this stage in the game, and I don't think Malfoy or Vitae is important enough for him to risk that."

Malachite looked to the headmaster. "So I make my move against her just before term begins. Do you have your man?"

"Flitwick?" The headmaster nodded, and broke his first smile of the grim planning session. "I haven't told him the details, but he knows we'll be needing him on site - and not just as a teacher. He's a powerful Charms man, and a championship duellist to boot."

"What about Gryffindor?" To his credit, Malachite at least tried to contain his automatic sneer of distaste. "They'll need a new head of house, and you can't hand that to a new man."

Dumbledore nodded, as if he'd thought this through already. "I was thinking of Minerva, actually."

"McGonagall?" Malachite actually started to smile. "Yes, she's been here... why, it must be six, seven years now? She's young, but she takes her Transfiguration classes with a fist of iron. A fine choice, I think. She's just what those rowdy Gryffindors need to keep them all in line."

"So glad you approve," said Dumbledore, with a slight twinkle that made it difficult to tell if he was being wry or serious. The headmaster turned to Snape.

"Severus, you think these plans will be enough to throw Voldemort off track for a moment?"

Sev nodded slightly. "But only a moment. If you bring your substitute right in he'll have no chance to try and lever in another spy. But it won't take him long to start thinking of revenge."

"All to the good," shrugged Malachite. "The angrier he is, the more careless he'll be."

Sev shook his head. "Not Voldemort. You may make him angry, but he'll be clever about his vengeance all the same. He wants people to be afraid of him, and for that he needs to seem to strike everywhere at once."

"Well, if he strikes at us he'll be in for a surprise," scoffed Malachite. "He can't think to hurt Professor Dumbledore, and I myself have more than a few little surprises up my Slytherin sleeves."

Sev simply nodded, reserving his judgement. Malachite might be right, but he himself preferred to trust cold facts over self-confidence.

Sev liked the holiday season well enough, but mostly because it marked long days of being left to his own devices. He had no objection to goodwill towards all men, provided he wasn't expected to either take part in it or receive it. Who would take noisy, overcrowded parties over curling up alone in the dorms with a good book?

The other boys might return from their homes boasting of the extravagant gifts their parents gave them, but all Severus was used to receiving were books from his uncle - and he certainly wasn't disappointed with that.

His mother's brother was a well-meaning man, but he wouldn't have had much clue how to raise any child, let alone one as coolly self-possessed as his young nephew. His attitude to Severus was mostly one of affection, confusion, and slight relief that he seemed to be capable of raising himself without too much intervention. His uncle might not be too clear on a lot of things about him, but he'd realised pretty quickly that his nephew liked books. The more books the better.

Though, even now he was close to graduation, his uncle still underestimated the level of his education, Sev was always happy enough with his gifts. Even if they were basic books, they were still books, and they were somehow better for the fact that they were his to keep and never had to be returned to someone else's library.

So if Sev was a long way from the type to go crazy with Christmas excitement, he was mildly pleased when the day arrived, and made his way promptly enough to see what the owls would bring him.

As he had two years ago, he found himself with an unexpected delivery on Christmas morning, and this time it wasn't another summons from Voldemort. He frowned as a sleek white school owl delivered a soft package - unlike most of the young wizards, he didn't have any crazy relatives with an urge to send him unsolicited clothes.

He tore open the package with a certain amount of caution, and smiled at the familiar silvery fabric revealed. A note fluttered out, and as he picked it up he recognised the handwriting.

You gave it to me, and I don't see why I should give it back. But I know you're up to something, so think of this as a temporary loan until I come back to beat you up and make you tell me.

It was signed simply with an L. Snape shook out the invisibility cloak and held it up thoughtfully. Yes, this was one Christmas present that would definitely come in more handy than his uncle's textbooks...