The Scarlet Serpent

Severus tried very hard not to squirm in his seat. When he was a student he used to bring his books to the Great Hall, scribbling in margins as he ate his toast. It got him teased as a First Year but also propelled him so far ahead of his classmates that by Third Year they were all coming to him for help, and any teasing had dried up.

Of course teachers weren't permitted to read at the long front table, particularly not on the first day of the term. Flitwick had patted him on the arm as he passed by and Severus and Minerva had a surprisingly spirited discussion about the state of their House Quidditch teams, but for the most part the professors had settled into their own conversations. Snape was twenty-seven and the youngest professor by decades. Even after a year back at Hogwarts he still felt like a child dressing in loaned robes. It took every ounce of willpower to refrain from tugging on his collar.

"Good crop of students this year," Sprout piped up from Severus's shoulder. "We seem to be recovering our numbers well."

Severus glanced at her, eyebrow raised, and Sprout continued: "So many families sent their children away during...well, in that awful time. Hogwarts was seen as an epicenter of the conflict, what with so many..." she trailed off, her eyes darting down to the bottle green collar Snape wore.

"Do continue," Severus invited. She knew how she wanted to complete the sentence. With so many Slytherins joining the Death Eaters. So many Slytherins, Snape included, who through family pressure or friendly acquaintance, through blind devotion or a hunger for more and mightier power, saw Voldemort and his reign as a means to an end.

Sprout huffed and repeated, "It is nice to see our numbers recovering."

"It's been seven years," Snape reminded her. "Perhaps everyone has decided the past can remain in the past."

The door at the back of the Great Hall banged open and Hagrid strode in. His bulk played up the illusion, but Severus would swear that the First Years got smaller every year. This bunch were particularly bedraggled, water-logged and squelching from the rain that still beat against the enchanted windows. The great oaf could have just brought the little ones up in the carriages with the rest of the school. What was the point of the boat ride over the lake if miserable English weather kept you from even seeing the castle?

One of the Ravenclaw prefects took pity on the soggy ensemble and pointed her wand at the nearest student, who squeaked in alarm as she was hit with a drying spell. Snape reached for his goblet. At least the wine refilled. This was going to be a long sorting.

Sprout was right that they had recovered their numbers after the war but they had been recovered unevenly: a glance at the four long tables in the hall could tell you that. Snape had had a conversation with Dumbledore last year, after the Sorting Hat placed only six students into his House. "Fifteen new lions and only six new snakes!" Severus pointed out, throwing dark glances at the Sorting Hat. "What is it playing at?"

The House had dwindled to half the size of Hufflepuff, the next smallest. Part of that was a generational problem. Many Slytherins had become Death Eaters, and many Death Eaters had either been captured or killed. But surely fairness had to play a factor. Shouldn't the Sorting Hat be partitioning each class equally into the four quadrants? If this trend kept up there would be no Slytherin House in a few years' time.

But Dumbledore, that old Gryffindor, had merely shaken his head and put the Sorting Hat away, murmuring something about the unknowable power of magical objects. "If we reject the wisdom of the Sorting Hat in this matter, all of its credibility will be lost."

Severus thought he had given up on hope, but if he had he would not feel as crushed as he did as name after name was called and student after student went to Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. The other houses thumped and clapped with each new addition and the Slytherin table glowered, crossed their arms, and, eventually, hissed as yet another student went yet another way.

Snape caught the eye of Doomsday, one of the prefects, and shook his head. Even though he wanted to hiss as well. It would do them no good to look like sore losers.

A boy joined the table. He gave Doomsday a quick hug before taking his place at the long bench. Relatives always had the strongest bonds. A few names later Slytherin got two girls, one after another, and they sat side by side. Giggling. Snape took another sip from his goblet to hide his smile. Troublesome First Years.

But the line left was rapidly dwindling. Upshot, Varshay, Vindicutt...were they only going to get three Slytherins? There was only one boy left, with shocking red hair, and Snape had been in the Order long enough to know a Weasley when he saw one.

He downed the rest of his wine, already plotting what he could say to Dumbledore. Only three Slytherins! Could the Sorting Hat be unilaterally trying to squash an entire House? He should demand a re-sort. A trial. An inquiry into the mind behind the hat.

In front of him the flame-haired Weasley was tense on the stool. If Snape had been paying attention he might have heard the boy moan. "Oh, please," Percy whispered to the ratty old hat. "Please don't."

But the Hat had rarely been swayed, and it knew minds: its own and this boy's. The seam parted for the last time that year: "Slytherin!"

Severus stood up, and he wasn't the only one. Two more red heads rose from Gryffindor table. "No!" Charlie Weasley, Gryffindor's Seeker and a middling student, had to be grabbed by his older brother. Bill was level-headed and well-liked and even Snape couldn't find much of a reason to take the piss out of the charming Fifth Year. Which made it all the most surprising—shocking, really—to see the dumbstruck fear on his face.

"I'm sorry," the littlest Weasley squeaked. He was still holding the Sorting Hat, trembling as he looked between his brothers and the green-draped Slytherin table.

No one moved. The little Weasley seemed incapable of it and the older ones were wrestling between brotherly devotion and English decorum. Snape broke the quiet. His chair scraped the floor as he pushed away from the table. As he walked, he glanced at Doomsday again, who started clapping. The rest of the table swiftly joined in, with whistles and hoots for good measure.

Severus held out his hand. First Years really were tiny, and this one looked all the smaller for the too-big clothes he was wrapped in. Percy Weasley stared up at him, all glassy blue eyes and freckles. "I can't," he moaned, trembling. "I'm a Gryffindor."

Snape didn't dare look over his shoulder. He could feel Minerva glaring daggers into his back. She hadn't cared a whit about his Sorting questions last year, but he'll bet everything he had in his vault that she would be storming Dumbledore's office right alongside him.

The small hand was cold and clammy when it finally found Severus's. He rubbed the fingers absently, willing Dumbledore to start talking, to fill this blasted silence. "Did you know our Common Room is under the lake?" he said, a little inanely. "It's always a sight on a stormy night like this."

Finally Dumbledore was on his feet, calling for the feast to begin. Gasps around the room as the trays filled with food. Snape tried to tug little Weasley towards the Slytherin table, but Percy had dug in his heels. And then they were no longer alone at the front of the room.

"Percy!" the other Weasleys were there, each kneeling in front of their younger brother.

"What did you say to the Hat?" Charlie demanded, smoothing Percy's wet hair behind his ears. "Why would it put you in Slytherin?"

"What's wrong with Slytherin?" Doomsday had appeared at Snape's side, arms folded.

"Come on, Luke," Bill Weasley chided. "If your brother ended up with my lions wouldn't you be trying to steal him away?"

Luke jutted his chin out. "Doomsdays have been Slytherins for generations!"

"And Weasleys have always been Gryffindors." Bill had his hands up, placating. "We're on the same side here. There must have been some mix-up."

A gentle voice from the head table: "Perhaps you all would like to eat your dinners. You may join me in my office after the feast." Dumbledore peered down at the group, his eyes twinkling as they landed on Percy. "And I'll remind you that greatness has come out of every House." He touched his wand, and the hand still tucked inside of Snape's instantly warmed as Dumbledore's spell dried Percy off. The boy's shivers subsided.

Charlie mussed the younger boy's hair as he stood up. He glanced furtively at Snape before his gaze landed on Doomsday. "If any of you lot hurt him..." he began.

Bill put a hand on Charlie's arm. "What he means is—look, Mum asked us to watch out for Perce, yeah? And it's hard to do that from the Tower."

"Bill?" Percy squeaked, the first time he'd spoken up in this whole conversation. "I want to—can't I go with you?"

The Weasleys both cast distrustful looks at the Slytherin table. Snape sighed. He hardly had rose-colored glasses. He knew that not all the animosity between the Houses was born of school rivalry and Quidditch games. Molly Weasley had lost both her brothers in the War. Bill and Charlie might be old enough to remember uncles who had been there one minute and gone the next. There was no getting around that many of those sitting at the green-draped tables were the progeny of Death Eaters.

The crux of the problem was that Snape thought those children deserved an education, too. In this he and Dumbledore were allies. The way to prevent another War was to tear down the divisions that had caused the War to begin with. Never mind some black-haired child squirreled away in Surrey. Voldemort had been defeated, in the end, by sacrifice and unity and, as silly as it sounded...by love.

Maybe there was wisdom in that silly Hat. Maybe the littlest Weasley was a sacrificial lamb in the name of new beginnings. New blood in an old House rivalry.

Snape pushed Percy gently into the arms of Doomsday and retreated to the high table. Minerva caught his wrist as he walked by. "Which one of us is going to tell Molly?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You have the whole Feast to figure out what to say."

.

They all ended up in Dumbledore's office after the Feast. Every time Severus stepped foot in the cluttered space he felt fifteen, called before the Headmaster after the whole mess with the Whomping Willow.

Percy looked stricken but to the Weasleys' credit none of them were protesting. Bill just glanced between all the professors. "I suppose I should write to Mum. Blimey, I don't even know what to say."

"It has been many years since a Pureblood family has been sorted against tradition," Dumbledore said, which wasn't an answer. "Honesty is best."

"We don't want a repeat of the Blacks," Severus muttered, voicing the infamous last incident, the one the other adults were no doubt thinking of. He'd been a First Year when Sirius Black had ended up in Gryffindor House. Of course, it didn't help his fate—Black still ended up a murderer, wasting away in Azkaban rather than fighting alongside the Dark Lord like his younger brother. But it had been a different time, war raging just outside the castle walls, family loyalties firmly drawn. The Black family was on the side of the Dark Lord. And Sirius had betrayed that by going to Gryffindor, the haven of the already-flourishing Order of the Phoenix.

Black's cousins started fights in the hallways, jinxing the First Years Black had befriended. But Potter was from his own long line and even at eleven seemed to relish the chance to fight. It had all ended in a Howler from the Black matriarch, declaring for all of breakfast to hear that Sirius was no longer welcome in the family home. That he should consider himself disowned and dishonored.

Of course he was truly dishonored in the end, and Severus could never allow himself pity for the man who'd betrayed Lily to the Dark Lord. But there was pity for that little First Year, stunned and alone under the force of the screaming Howler.

Times had changed. The war was over, for one thing. But families stayed in their own Houses. Oh, sure, every once in a while a clever Abbot could end up in Ravenclaw, or a slower Longbottom may go to Hufflepuff, but for families who fought in the War the line between Gryffindor and Slytherin had gotten more concrete, not less.

Percy sniffed and all eyes in the room flicked towards the smallest boy. "I always knew it," he moaned. "I always knew I wasn't good enough to be in Gryffindor."

"Oh, Perce." Charlie dropped to his knees in front of his brother.

"I'm not brave! And I'm not…not good. I get so mad when the twins break my things!"

"We all get mad at the twins," Charlie soothed.

Severus snapped his gaze up to Minerva. Hogwarts being swamped with Weasleys was one thing, but there were twins among the bunch? He cast his mind back to the dinner he'd had with Molly and Arthur. There had certainly been a lot of children, all red-haired and freckled.

"And I want…" Percy fisted his hands in his shirt, his robes slipping off his shoulders. "I want things. And the Sorting Hat knew it! It said I was ambitious."

"That doesn't make you bad!" Bill looked pleadingly up at the adults in the room. "There's no bad houses, Perce. Didn't Luke come visit us at the Burrow this summer? And the Doomsdays have been Slytherins for generations."

"What else did the Hat say to you?" Dumbledore asked. He had finished placing the ratty cap back in its place behind his desk. "If you don't mind my asking. I know it can feel like a personal truth, being scrutinized for the Sorting."

Percy shuffled his feet, pulling away from his brothers again. Pulling back towards Snape. He backed into Severus's leg and stayed there, huddled at his side. Two snakes in a den of lions. "It said I should forge my own path. That I could help rebuild bridges?" Percy shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I don't feel like I can do any of that."

Dumbledore smiled. "Those are my thoughts exactly. It was a surprising Sorting, to be sure, but your brother shows great wisdom: there are no bad Houses. Your time at Hogwarts may be different than what you imagined. You won't be in your brothers' shadows in Gryffindor House. But isn't that marvelous? Being a third son, it must feel rare and precious, to be able to strike out on your own. Seize the opportunity!"

Percy stared at the Headmaster and then started nodding so rapidly Snape had to put a hand on his head to stop it from bobbing. "Yes, sir! I'll—I'll do my best."

"Hang on a mo'!" That was from Charlie, who was straightening up. "So we're just going to let this happen? Not ten years ago half the families in Slytherin House were trying to kill us! This isn't about some dumb rivalry between kids. Percy could be in serious danger! You know that lot calls us Weasleys blood traitors for siding against You-Know-Who."

"I am sure that Professor Snape is more than capable of keeping Percy safe," Dumbledore soothed.

Snape seethed. Of course this would all fall to him. Either he had to find a way to end generational strife or he was a failure as a teacher and a Head of House.

He almost said as much to Dumbledore but, surprisingly, both of the older Weasleys perked up at the Headmaster's assurances. "Do you swear, sir?"

Charlie was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was too distractable for Potions, his energy put to better use on the Quidditch pitch, though he also shadowed that great giant like a second dog, trailing Hagrid around the Grounds and peppering him with questions. Lord knows how he'd take to Care of Magical Creatures, now he was finally old enough. Snape made a mental note to keep an eye on this older Weasley. He could have sworn he overheard him crowing to his little lion friends about finding bowtruckles with Hagrid, even though that would mean going deep into the Forbidden Forest. Which was, of course, forbidden.

Despite himself Snape almost found himself smiling, covering it up with a cough. "I won't interfere in the pecking order of children, but you have my promise that no harm will come to your brother."

As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to call them back. A weight seemed to settle in the office. Wizarding promises were strange things, and with so many powerful magical objects about he was afraid he'd just entered into a contract he wasn't prepared for.

"Here here!" Called a voice from the wall, and all the portraits around the room broke out in a round of applause.

It was Minerva, silent until now, who ended the festive mood with a sniff. "So long as I don't have to be the one to break this news to Molly…"

"I'll contact the rest of the Weasley family," Dumbledore volunteered. "Bill, Charlie, if you don't mind leaving that task to me?"

"You can have it!" Charlie shouted in relief.

Both Weasleys ruffled Percy's hair again. "We'll see you around, Perce! And you'll have to root for me when we play Slytherin this year."

"I think you'll have enough supporters amongst the lions," Severus interjected sternly before Percy could promise social heresy.

Bill engulfed Percy in a hug. "Take care of yourself. If you have problems let Luke know. Or Professor Snape, of course." He glanced at the professor, then held his brother at arm's length. "You know, this might be a good thing. You'll get some new stuff for once. Mum will have to knit you a green jumper! You can stop wearing Charlie's old scarlet one."

Percy looked pleased at the prospect. Then he frowned. "I can keep the old one, though? If I…if I want?"

"Course you can, Perce." It was a three-way hug now. Snape rolled his eyes, feeling a pang of what had to be gratitude, right? That he never had such messy familial relationships of his own. "You'll always be a Weasley."

Minerva maneuvered her charges out of the room, and Dumbledore gave Snape a look that could mean a thousand different things, and old Phineus Nigelus (another cursed Black relative) yelled from the walls to never let the lions get him down. And then Snape walked out of the office, still grasping Percy Weasley's small hand.

A Slytherin Weasley. This year was shaping up to be full of surprises.