Allow me to start by painfully disabusing some of you of your more inaccurate impressions of this story. Serpent's Tears is not Snape/OC. Sorry. Not happening. The reason Snape is listed as one of two main characters is because other than Sarah Levine, my OC, he is the most important person in this fic. If you doubt me (although I can't imagine why), look at the rating. Now look at it again. Yep. T. This one will remain T for a while, although by the time I get into, say, seventh year, I'll probably be up to M and need to rewrite this again.

While we're on that topic, Sarah is an OC in the same class as Harry. She is a normal child. Let me repeat this. Sarah is a normal child. She has a normal childhood, a normal stay at Hogwarts, a normal (actually, slightly higher than normal) amount of interaction with Harry Potter and the Bad Things That Happen Every Year. No, thus far, there is not a lot of plot. Considering that I have (as of the writing of this note) gotten precisely one reader upset about the lack of action, and many, many more who think this is a nice change of pace, I'm not going to speed things up. They'll speed up on their own.

This is the first fic in a trilogy. It will cover Sarah's first seven years at Hogwarts, and will be succeeded by Viper's Kiss, which will begin at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts and cover a further seven or so years, and Cobra's Heart, which starts at the Epilogue and takes off. In the second two-thirds, I gleefully violate the "Sarah is normal and will have a normal life" rule that is so inherent in this one. Sarah is a strong and determined witch, and this will play a part in all three segments, but strong and determined doesn't mean you change the world at eleven. Having a crazy f-ed up life means you change the world at eleven. Get it? Harry had a shit load of bad luck when he was young and never, no matter how much he wished, had a normal life. What I am trying to do with Sarah is show how you can take a normal girl and end up with a heroine.

Okay. Author's rant over. Moving on…

First chapter of first fanfic, so please point out rampant errors and other things I should fix. The writing gets better as it goes on; maybe someday I'll take the time to rewrite the first couple chapters, but for now, they stand as is.

There is no posting schedule; I had one for about two months and then my teachers were evil and gave me oodles of homework. I'm starting college this year, so craziness is expected. I will not post more often than once a week, but other than that…

Thank you to MyNameIsErnest for betaing this. Some of it was fairly awful (and there were some really bizarre typos) before you fixed it, so thank you again.

The Obligatory Disclaimer: Not mine! Hogwarts isn't, McGonagall isn't, Diagon Alley isn't, etc. Any references to outside books aren't owned by me either. There is no money being made off of this (as much as I could use it!).

I turned eleven on March 15th, but the letter didn't come until the 24th. It must have gotten lost, or something, because when it showed up, it was pretty mauled. There were even two holes in the upper corners.

The mail came just after noon, landing with a thud on the doormat that made Charlie bark.

"Mum, mail's here!"

I didn't get a response and I didn't expect one. Mum was upstairs doing the dishes and wouldn't be able to hear me. There was a long running argument between Mum and Dad about our dysfunctional dishwasher. Dad thought we should junk it and get a new one. Mum believed that "since I am doing all the dishes anyway, why expend more money on something that isn't going to work?"

I grabbed the stack of mail and ran upstairs. Our home was traditionally British. The ground floor had the entryway and Dad's office, the first floor had the kitchen dining room and living room, and the second floor had three bedrooms.

Upstairs, I stood halfway in the kitchen reading off the letters to Mum. "We got," a pause to interpret the return address, "a bill." I dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. "Bill, bill, junk, bill, letter from Miriam."

Miriam was my older sister by twelve years. We'd both been born in the States, but we moved over here when I was five, for Dad's work. Miriam had returned to the States the next year for school. She was notoriously forgetful, and I suspected the letter contained my birthday card. "Bill, junk, junk, newspaper, and…" I frowned.

"What?" She'd stopped doing the dishes and now bent over to pick up the bills. "And hand me the newspaper."

I gave it to her, still staring at the last letter. "It's for me." It certainly was abundantly clear that it wasn't for anyone else. The address read, in neat, slightly archaic handwriting:

Miss S. Levine

1st Bedroom at the Top of the Stairs

79 Duchess Place

Chester

Cheshire

Mum raised an eyebrow at me. "Well? Who's it from?"

"I dunno." It was odd: a letter without a return address. That wasn't all that was odd. The handwriting on the front was in green ink and there was a smudged wax seal on the back holding the flap closed. "There aren't any stamps."

"It'll say on the inside. Open it." Mum had deposited the bills on the counter, the junk in the rubbish bin, and the newspaper open on the table where she was reading it.

I tore the flap just above the seal and dumped the contents into my hand. Unfolding the first sheet of paper, I began reading to myself. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." I looked up. "Mum, it's a letter from a school."

She grunted. "That's nice. But we've already signed up for next year."

'Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class. Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock. Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards). Dear Miss Levine, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' I looked up sharply. "It's a school for magic."

She gave me the look, the one that meant I'd better stop messing around or else. "Sarah. What does it really say?"

If she didn't want to believe me… "Read it." I thrust the letter out at her.

She took it, and I watched her face rapidly change from slightly flushed to pale. "It's a joke." Her voice was flat. "What are those other papers?"

I looked at the other sheets. "A supply list and," I paused for a moment. The supply list was the oddest one I'd ever seen. "That's odd. A personal letter." I began reading it aloud.

To Miss Levine,

Congratulations on being accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As you come from a non-magic family, a staff member will arrive at your house to help you purchase your school supplies on Saturday, July 25th. I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts.

Sincerely,

Professor McGonagall

There was a moment of tense silence. Mum frowned slightly. "I think you should put this in your desk drawer and forget about it until July. And this will be our little secret, okay?" she added. "No need to go telling Daddy, alright?"

I snorted. Even eleven-year-olds can tell when they're being patronized. But I still folded the papers and put them in the envelope. Stamping upstairs, I threw the letter in my bottom desk drawer, where I… forgot about it.

School ended for the summer and my life continued as normal. A secluded child, I spent much of my time reading- mostly fantasy. I spent a good two weeks trying to find Narnia in any wardrobe I saw before reading The Magician's Nephew and giving up. By the middle of July, I had completely forgotten about the odd letter.

The 25th of July dawned sunny and clear. We had no plans for the day other than going to synagogue in the evening- we weren't Orthodox Jews, but we followed the Torah. I was in Dad's office, trying to decide which books he'd let me get away with reading, when the doorbell rang. Charlie, stubby legs flying, came bounding down the stairs, barking at the top of his lungs. More sedately, Mum followed. She pulled open the door; an action followed by several moments of awkward silence before the man on the other side spoke.

"My name is Professor Snape." His voice was sharp and cold, with just a hint of a sneer lurking in the background. "I am a teacher," his lip curled slightly at that word, "at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Here he paused and looked around the entryway. "I was told you were expecting me." Somehow in three sentences he managed to give the impression that he was immeasurably better than we were.

"Oh," Mum said, very quietly. "You're the one in that letter."

His lip curled again into a full sneer. "Yes." He packed more into one word than most people I'd met could put in four-thousand. I didn't say anything in response, just waited and watched. He was the most complex man I'd ever seen. I suspected that if he put even the slightest amount of effort into it, he could be very charismatic, but he seemed instead to be putting a great deal of effort into being not at all attractive or pleasant. He was either extraordinarily odd or hiding something, and I couldn't figure out which.

By this point, Mum was looking very faint. "I thought it was just a joke," she said by way of explanation.

"Ah." He stood there, a full foot back from the doorway. By all evidence, he neither knew nor cared that Mum hadn't invited him in yet.

She finally picked up on this and waved him in. We made our way up to the living room with her muttering apologies every step of the way. At the top, I threw myself onto the couch, invited Charlie up beside me, and examined the professor as he and Mum sat: her next to me, and he in the chair opposite us.

He was tall and skinny, although not to extremes. Greasy black hair, far longer than I'd seen any man's, fell in clumps framing a pale face. An overly large hooked nose marred what was otherwise a handsome face, with delicate arched eyebrows, black, glittering eyes, and full lips. He was wearing what must be wizard's clothes: something that looked rather like a black overcoat, except lighter and reaching down to the ankles, buttoned up and all but covering a black formal shirt.

"Is this a joke?" I asked, surprised that Mum hadn't gotten there first.

To his credit, he scarcely blinked. "No. And," he added, forestalling further protests, "I can prove it." He pulled a straight, pale brown stick from his sleeve and waved it at Charlie, sleeping by my side. "Engorgio," he said quite clearly.

I watched in amazement as Charlie grew to almost twice his normal size. Reaching my hand out, I paused and asked, "May I?" At Professor Snape's nod, I touched my dog, first gingerly and then more firmly. It wasn't a trick. Magic was real.

Mum, dead pale, looked like an extra vampire for a B horror movie. "It's… real?"

For answer, Professor Snape pointed his stick at Charlie again, and muttered, "Reducio." Charlie shrank back to his normal size, seemingly unfazed by the changes. Professor Snape turned to me. "Do you have any other questions?" He made it sound like I had done something wrong.

Ignoring his tone, it only took me a moment to start firing questions. "Can I do that too? What's the stick? Is it necessary? Will I get one? Will it cost money? Is there tuition? When do I come home? Are the other students friendly?" I finally paused long enough for him to answer.

It immediately became clear that I'd done something wrong because what emotion had been on his face vanished and was replaced by a mask. "In order: Yes, my wand, yes, yes, yes, no but you will need supplies, December 15 through January 5 and for the week preceding Easter, some of them." He stared stonily over my head for this whole speech.

As I tried to sort out the answers, Mum began asking questions. "What if we don't celebrate Easter?"

He solved it immediately. "Then I would not mention it to anyone." At Mum's raised eyebrow, he said, "Ours is an insular society. Being different can be-" he paused briefly, "uncomfortable." He looked at Mum. "Is your husband here?"

"Yes." She looked puzzled.

Face stony, he elaborated. "I wish to explain things once."

Satisfied, Mum yelled for Dad. When there was no response, she told me, "He's outside. Go get him."

I ran out and brought him up with a minimum of explanation.

Professor Snape looked at the three of us, all seated side by side on the couch, and proceeded to speak only to my parents. "Your daughter is a witch." Dad raised both eyebrows. "A female magic-user, as I am a wizard." He enlarged Charlie again and left him that way. "Witch and wizard are the generic terms. Muggle is the term for any non-magic user. Muggle-born is used for a witch or wizard whose parents are both Muggles. Half-blood for one parent a Muggle, one not. Pureblood for both parents magical."

I drummed my fingers on my knee. "Will anyone care that I'm a, a-" I stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "Muggle-born?"

He looked directly at me for a moment before staring six inches over my head. "Yes."

"Why?" I hated sounding like a whiny child, but it came out anyway.

His lip curled slightly. "You are not like them. Slytherin house will be the worst about your blood." His voice was so carefully controlled I almost couldn't tell where his sentences ended.

"Slytherin?" More new words.

For all the emotion in his voice, he may as well have been reciting a lesson. A boring lesson. "Hogwarts had four founders and each created a house. Slytherin is one of the four."

Getting information from him was like pulling Charlie away from his dinner bowl: Difficult and fraught with danger. "What are the other three? And why do the kids from Slytherin not like Muggle-borns?" I didn't have so much trouble with the new words this time.

"Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Because Salazar Slytherin wanted the school to only accept purebloods."

Dad raised an eyebrow. "Egotistic lot, aren't you? Are all of the houses named after their founders?"

He almost smiled; I could read it in the twitching of his lips. "Yes. Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin."

"Is there a lot of bullying at this school?" Mum's voice was soft and faltering.

His voice went monotone flat again. "Hogwarts is a boarding school and relationships are a bit-" again the slight pause, "odd. First year students are at the bottom. Hogwarts is a seven year school. In your fifth year, two prefects are selected from each house, a boy and a girl. In your seventh year, a Head Boy and Girl are chosen from among the whole school. Those students are the only ones who have any real authority over you."

I stared at him, refusing to be intimidated by tall, dark and scary. "You didn't answer the question."

He looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time since his arrival. "Gryffindor and Slytherin despise each other, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff do not get along. Most students only befriend students from their own house."

He still hadn't answered the question, but I let it go. "What else do I need to know?"

A gleam came into his eyes that I would later discover meant trouble. "Nothing." There was a silence that almost became awkward. "There are, however, several things that would be helpful for you to know."

"Like?" Seriously, his refusal to give information was getting on my nerves.

"On your first day you will be sorted into one of the four houses. Each house has a teacher who acts as its head. Minerva McGonagall is current Head of Gryffindor and Transfiguration teacher. The other house heads are Pomona Sprout, Hufflepuff and Herbology, Filius Flitwick, Ravenclaw and Charms, and-" He stopped abruptly, almost as if he was uncertain whether to go on. "I teach Potions and head Slytherin," he finished in a quieter voice.

I drummed my fingers again. "You said Slytherins didn't like Muggleborns." I waited but he didn't respond. "Why did the Headmaster send you then?"

He was definitely avoiding my gaze. "I am not sure." The pause that followed this pronouncement stretched on seemingly indefinitely. "The school year starts on September 1st, and ends June 30th. There is a three-week break around Christmas, and a week break preceding Easter. Students may choose whether they wish to stay at the school for these breaks."

Mum leaned forward on the couch. "Do we have any choice in whether or not she goes?"

It was amazing how expressive his eyebrows were, especially when there was no other emotion on his face. "Many families would consider this an honour, to have a Muggleborn member accepted into Hogwarts. To answer your question, yes you do have a choice. If she does not go, someone from the Ministry will be by to modify your memories and block off her magic." As if reminded of his own magic, he pulled out the wand again and shrank Charlie.

It could have been a threat, but it wasn't; rather, he said it as cold fact.

"I want to go." My voice was surprisingly steady. Mum and Dad shared a glance before nodding.

Professor Snape gave no sign that he'd heard our decision. "There is a street in London where you can purchase your supplies. You will need my assistance."

I deciphered this as meaning that he was going to take us to a place where I could get my school supplies, and so when he stood, I followed.

"Sarah." Only Mum could say my name so you heard the h. I looked at her, pleading. Surely they hadn't changed their minds already? Her next sentence put that to rest. "It's Shabbat."

I sat, defeated. Bloody Jewish law and its bloody minutiae. Three thousand years of "tradition" said I couldn't leave the house on Saturdays.

"Ah." Professor Snape remained standing. "Then I shall leave and we should meet in London tomorrow. At 1 o'clock, at the Charing Cross tube station. Above ground, preferably."

Dad nodded. "We haven't been to London for a while." Standing he said, "Thank you for all your help."

They shook hands and Dad showed Professor Snape out.

Dinner that night was… interesting. We talked about what this could mean for our family. I brought the letter and read it aloud. Mum thought I should go. If I had this talent, she wanted me to learn how to use it. Dad wanted me to stay. He didn't think that I was ready to be away from home for nine months out of the year. It took a while, but Mum won. In the morning the three of us walked to the Chester train station, and bought tickets to Euston station in London. From there we caught the Northern line to Charing Cross. We were early, and Mum popped into a couple stores while we waited.

About 12:45, Professor Snape turned up. He came out of the Tube station, having changed nothing about the day before. I wondered if he had a closet full of identical black robes. "Good." He gave a curt nod. "The street is over this way."

We followed him across the square, down one street, over another and deep into London. The quality of the shopping hadn't gone down much when we stopped in front of a grungy looking tavern sandwiched in-between a retail store and a music store.

"This is it?" I asked, incredulous. He'd dragged us across London for this?

Both parents frowned. "Music Tape?" Dad asked. "Is this street you're talking about through there?"

Professor Snape shook his head. Turning to me, he asked, very quietly, "You can see it?"

I nodded. "But why can't-"

He cut me off. "There are Charms on it. Muggles cannot see it."

"Then how-"

"Take their hands and lead them in." I noticed that he didn't volunteer.

I grabbed my parents' hands, and, with Professor Snape holding the door open, led them into the tavern.

Dad's jaw hung open. "Well, I'll be-" Mum shot him a glare. "Blessed?" he finished, weakly.

"Through here," Professor Snape said, weaving his way through people.

I couldn't open my eyes any wider. True, the room was low ceilinged, dark, and mostly empty, but my parents couldn't see the door in. And I could. "What's it called?"

The professor didn't turn. "The Leaky Cauldron." Heading out the back door, he stopped before a brick wall. I watched in puzzlement as he pulled his wand out and began tapping bricks. "Voila," he said as the wall dissolved. I could touch the sarcasm in his voice.

In front of me was a long street, alleys branching off, filled with people mostly dressed in long robes. Stores of all shapes and sizes lined the street, while the sidewalks were occupied by vendors, all yelling at the top of their lungs.

"Dragon blood! Guaranteed pure! 10 sickles an ounce!"

"Expandable purses! Only as big as you need them!"

"Chudley Cannons versus Puddlemore United! Tickets here!"

I hurried to keep up with Professor Snape as he strode down the street, clearing a path by force of personality. The four of us eventually huddled in the entryway of an old marble building that would not have looked out of place next to Westminster Abbey, out of the way of passer-by.

Professor Snape stared at my parents. "Gringotts Bank is the only wizarding bank in Britain. The goblins that run it are used to dealing with Muggle relatives. I will wait here." His curt tone was almost becoming familiar.

I nodded, and the three of us walked in. Goblins, it turned out, were short humanoids, all about four feet tall, male, wrinkled and almost green, sparse hair, and pointed teeth. One of them smiled at me, displaying far too many of those teeth. "Yes?"

I hadn't a clue what to do now. "I'm going to Hogwarts in the fall," I faltered, "and my parents, well, they're…"

He cut me off. "Muggles?"

Relieved, I nodded.

"Griphook!" he snapped. Another goblin, with a pointier nose, came running up. "A new student vault, and a Muggle currency exchange. Room 7 should be open."

The goblin- Griphook?- nodded. "Follow me." His voice was rough and snarly.

We wandered down corridors that grew less and less ornate. Finally, Griphook ushered us into a small meeting room.

After we sat, Griphook began speaking. "Wizard currency is substantially different from Muggle currency. The smallest unit is a bronze Knut. 23 Knuts to a silver Sickle, 17 Sickles to a gold Galleon. The current exchange rate is £5.241 to 1 Galleon."

Mum jotted notes before looking up again. "How much would you recommend we convert?"

Griphook looked pleased at being asked. "For seven years or just one?"

"Give me the numbers and then we'll talk." I recognized this mode- Mum was a lawyer, although with Dad's raises she didn't have to practice. But she could still switch to lawyer mode on a moment's notice.

I tuned out the rest of the conversation. When they were done, Mum and Griphook leaned forward and shook hands. "So," I asked, standing. "What didja get?"

"We'll put in, every August, the equivalent of a year's tuition at a public school. Low security vault, three per cent interest, 5 Galleon yearly service charge, reduced to 3 if we- meaning you- keep the vault after graduation. And we're withdrawing 40 Galleons now for supplies."

I understood about a third of what she said. "That's nice."

We walked back out to the entrance hall where another goblin brought us a small moneybag and a key.

"You will not be able to access your vault for at least two more days," Griphook told us.

Mum nodded and thanked him. Clutching my money firmly, I re-joined Professor Snape. When we were all gathered again, Professor Snape pointed down the street at a smaller building. "Your most important piece of equipment is your wand."

Mum and Dad remained outside as the professor and I walked in. The wand shop was small and dusty, packed with modified bookcases. Each shelf was filled with what looked like miniature shoeboxes. A stooped old man with wispy white hair, and thick glasses came out from a back room. He spotted us and grinned, displaying unusually neat teeth. "Ah! Severus Snape, 13 and ¾ inches, maple and unicorn hair, a very strong wand, very strong indeed. Quite complex, too. Hard to read."

Standing very straight, Professor Snape said, "Mr Ollivander, this is Sarah Levine. She needs a wand."

"Ah," Ollivander said again. He peered intently at me, pulling a roll of measuring tape from a pocket. "And which is your wand arm?" At my confused look he elaborated. "Your dominant hand, as the Muggles call it. Such strange folk, Muggles."

"My left." I held it out hesitantly. "I'm left handed."

He began by measuring my arm, from shoulder to finger tip. When Mr Ollivander let go, the tape continued measuring me. Fidgeting slightly, Mr Ollivander said, "Each wand is unique, Miss Levine, absolutely unique. Twenty different wand woods, each able to be paired with a different core. I use dragon heartstring, unicorn tail hair, and phoenix feather." He stopped abruptly, and, muttering under his breath, he puttered around, pulling boxes off the tall shelves. Pilling them at my feet, he opened one and handed the wand within it to me. "Nine and a half inches, willow and unicorn hair. Give it a wave."

I waved it, feeling slightly foolish. It gave off a loud bang like a cracker and emitted black smoke.

"No, no. Evidently not," Ollivander said not at all put out.

The next one put the lights out, forcing Professor Snape to restore them with a lazy wave of his wand. The third screamed. The fourth knocked over a shelf. And so it went on.

Ollivander was now discarding wands without letting me touch them, but he finally came up with yet another box. "This should work. Twelve and ¼ inches. Ebony and dragon heartstring." This one produced a burst of gold sparks and the smell of roses. "Very good, very good. A very strong wand, yes, quite powerful. Yet it appears so simple. Almost deceptively so."

Professor Snape's eyebrows flew up. "Very fascinating." His voice was bone dry.

I paid for my wand and we left the store. "He's, um, different." I glanced over at Professor Snape.

"He is odd. Brilliant, but odd." He seemed distracted, but I couldn't tell why.

And then we were off, down Diagon Alley. I was fitted for robes, bought a hat, quills and parchment, and explored the Potions shop. In there, Professor Snape handed me a different, more expensive set of potions ingredients. Over my protests, he explained icily that this one was of a better quality. When he showed up at the register, the terrified attendant knocked off 10% from the price.

The bookstore was equally fascinating. As I wandered around, collecting books, he went and bought some of his own, before going and standing outside. When I joined him, he handed me two books. Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, and The Failed Curse: The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord.

"How much do I owe you?" I put the books carefully in my bag.

He looked at me as we re-joined my parents. "Think of it as a gift."

I snorted. I could already tell that the professor wasn't one for presents.

"Fine. A loan, then. And you can pay me back by reading them." He was being sarcastic again. It was starting to annoy me.

Mum glanced at him briefly, before turning to me. "Is there anything else you need?"

"A cat!" I liked Charlie, but cats were better. More solitary, less demanding. Especially if it was magical.

Mum sighed. "We'll ask for one that gets along with dogs."

Half-an-hour later, I walked out of the pet store with a gorgeous Siamese kitten, magically bred for longevity and intelligence. Professor Snape had remained outside with my parents, talking very quietly and very fast.

He turned to me, catching my eyes with his. "Miss Levine." It was the first time he had called me by name. "All Hogwarts houses are equal but different. Gryffindors are brave, Ravenclaws intelligent, Hufflepuffs loyal, and Slytherins cunning. Never let anyone tell you that you are bad simply because you were sorted into one house over another. I will see you at Kings Cross on September 1st." With that he walked away; finding an open spot, he spun on his heel and disappeared with a crack.

A/N: Until next week! Review if you liked it (or even if you didn't; how else am I supposed to know what to fix?)!