Confrontations

After the feast, the students filed out, and I leaned over to Potter.  "Go with 
the Slytherins.  Keep them in the common room until I get there."

"Sir?"

"You won't need a password; the portrait opens for staff."  He blinked at me, and 
I raised my eyebrows. "Now, Mr. Potter.  I have business to attend to here."  

He looked past me at Albion, and nodded.  Potter is many things, but he has never 
been other than quick-witted.  He left in a rather impressive swirl of robes.  
Hah.  If he kept that up, I might stop disliking him quite so much.

But there were other matters to attend to.  I followed the newest member of 
Hogwarts's teaching staff out into the hall.

"Albion."

He turned and looked up at me; I towered over him. "Snape."  Oh, God, but he hated 
me.  I narrowed my eyes and spoke through clenched teeth.

"If you have accusations to make, make them to Dumbledore.  Leave my apprentice 
alone."

Albion drew himself up.  "He has a right to know what you are.  A right to know 
what dangers you may present."

Hrr. "I daresay he knows better than you what I am." Albion had no answer to that.  
I stepped closer, and he backed up until his shoulders hit the wall.  "I would 
advise you not to interfere with his apprenticeship."  I turned on my heel and 
walked off.

"Snape!" he called, from behind me.  "I will be watching you!" I did not stop or 
give any sign that I had heard.

Defence professors.  My favorite prey.

I entered the Slytherin dorms silently, letting the portrait fall shut behind me.  
Potter had Petrified one--no, two--seventh-years.  I crossed my arms and did a 
quick survey: the rest of the seventh- and sixth-years were arrayed at one end; 
the younger students hovered uncertainly near the doorways.

"Mr. Potter."

"Master."

His voice did not shake, nor did he take his eyes off of the students.  Potter 
learned about enemies in a harder school than most of these children had yet 
dreamed of.  I know my House; they had expected him to be weak, despite--perhaps 
because of--his reputation.  Hah.

He had survived Voldemort.

He bid fair to survive *me*, and I am a hard taskmaster.  I will be harder yet 
before this is through.

"What happened?"

Potter undid the Petrificus curses with two quick flickers of his wand.  "Nothing, 
Master.  Not a thing."

"Good.  I would *hate*, Mr. Potter, to think that my House failed to offer you the 
proper respect.  Or that you failed to offer them consideration."

"No, sir."

Hrr. He is practiced at lying to me; I will give him that.

I beckoned at a small boy.  "First-years to me.  Here."

They stood before me; the youngest children of my House, the ones I was sworn to 
protect--from themselves, if necessary.  I reached out and laid one hand on the 
head of the nearest.

"Name?"

"Salazar Sindar."  Old family; mostly Ravenclaws and Slytherins.  Good blood; I 
wondered if he would do it justice.  I moved to the next.  "Jessica Parkinson."  
Ah yes--Pansy had told me before she left that her young sister was starting at 
Hogwarts come autumn.  Next.  "Maria Drago."  Next. "James Gardiner."  Next. 
"Mallory Lestrange."  Hrr.  One to watch; quite a few members of the Lestrange 
family are in Azkaban--and with reason.  Next. "Stephen Archer." Next and last. 
"Jacob Sindar."  

"Brothers or cousins?" I asked, looking from Salazar to Jacob.

"Cousins, sir," Jacob answered.  "Second cousins.  I think."

"Very well."  I crossed my arms and took a step backwards to look at them all.  "I 
am Professor Snape, head of Slytherin House.  This is my apprentice, Mr. Potter.  
I expect you will treat him with all the respect due to me."  I narrowed my eyes 
and looked at the older students, who shuffled their feet.  "All of you."

I glanced back over my shoulder at Potter; he looked faintly surprised.  
"Apprentice Potter."

"Master?"

"Go and talk to Professor Albion.  Find out what he wanted to tell you."  

He frowned, and I raised my eyebrows. "Discreetly, Potter." It would be best if 
Albion believed my apprentice mistrusted me enough to go behind my back, after 
all.

That drew a wicked grin from him. For a Gryffindor, the boy really does have a 
cunning streak; I had no doubt that I had been understood. "Yes, sir."

He slipped out through the portrait hole, and I turned back to my students.

"Well.  I trust everyone enjoyed the holidays?"

They gathered around me.  I have always been close to my House, entwined in the 
lives of my students.  I am in them, in their blood like one of my potions.  
Subtle.  Insidious.

Keeping them to me, where they are safe.  Away from the darkness.

Young Salazar tugged at my sleeve and told me about the owl his parents had got 
him for school and how he'd already learnt the Jelly-Legs curse.

John Royce and Sarah Kane, two sixth-years, told me about the paper they'd been 
working on together, about the history of arithmancy.  I promised to read it 
through before they showed it to Professor Vector.

Jessica whispered in my ear that Pansy had said to say hello to me.

I have never fathered children, and yet I call over one hundred children my own: 
every Slytherin in the past thirteen years is my son, my daughter, my student.

Even Draco Malfoy.

I bent my head to listen to soft-voiced Nigel Nephtys, who had apparently visited 
France with his father, and spoken to a full-blooded veela.  He blushed fiercely 
as he said it.

Ah, students.

* * *

When I got back to my rooms, Potter was waiting for me, reading some more of "The 
Myth of Purity." 

I removed my outer robes and hung them by the door.  "What did Albion have to 
say?"

He shrugged.  "That the Weasleys are worried about me being your apprentice."

I raised my eyebrows. "You must have known that."

"Well, yes."  He pushed up his glasses and looked away.  "Also that--you're 
supposed to be a Death Eater.  And to want to be the next Dark Lord."

Hah.  "So it is as I said, then.  The truth is worse than the rumor."

He frowned and looked confused.  "How is--I mean, what's worse than that?"

I sat down across from him.  "Truth is always more dangerous than rumor, Mr. 
Potter.  What is true about me?"

He held my gaze for a long time before answering.  "That you're a spy.  Or were a 
spy.  For Professor Dumbledore."

"And."

"And.  You're Head of Slytherin House.  And a teacher."

"Which means?"

"You--um, you have control over students?"

I nodded.  "And?"

His frown deepened.  "And--" He broke off and looked at me, his eyes wide, his 
breath coming fast.  "And you're cruel.  And--and you killed Lucius Malfoy."

"Yes."

"But you're not--I mean, you're not good, but you're *good*."

I reached out and touched his scar.  My Mark burned sharply, as if the contact 
stirred it to life.  "It is not a simple distinction, Mr. Potter.  They say many 
things about me; if what Albion has told you is the worst of them, I will be 
surprised. Rumor is mutable and transitory, but nothing they say about me will 
change the truth--and the truth is not a pleasant thing."

He nodded, and I withdrew my hand.  "Go to sleep, Mr. Potter.  Tomorrow is a long 
day."

He set the book down and retired.  I stayed awake for some time, working in my 
private laboratory. If Albion interfered with my apprentice again, he would live 
to regret it.