The Potion Master could not understand the hisses of parseltongue. The language still made him tense with fear. Yet now, inside his carefully guarded mind, the meaning revealed itself. Terror washed over him. Until now, the only thing belonging to him had been his thoughts. Neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore had ever been able to breach his formidable defences. Yet, his new Master had slipped by unnoticed. He clamped down on his panic. No weakness! Not here. Not now. But, oh god, ... what had he by done accepting that mark? The hand slipped from his wrist. It made him feel strangely bereft. Clasping his skin behind his back to preserve the warmth, he stood still not to draw attention.