Chapter Text
Severus Snape sat at the long oak table in the staff room, his black robes being immaculate despite the hours he had already wasted brewing replenishing stocks for the hospital wing. The sickly-sweet aroma of that abominable tea they insisted on serving at every meeting clung to the air . He steepled his fingers, elbows on the table, and let his gaze drift across the familiar faces. Another year. Another intake of dunderheads. The same tedious cycle of incompetence and the faint, mocking hope that this time the universe might finally grant him the mercy of a quick, quiet death.
Just like every year since Dumbledore had forced him into this miserable profession and saddled him with the Slytherin snakes. The same tedious pre-term staff meeting, the same insufferable ritual. Yet this year the old man looked positively gleeful, those infernal blue eyes twinkling with malicious delight behind half-moon spectacles.
The old coot was definitely up to something. He always was. Severus watched Dumbledore smile benevolently at the assembled heads of house, and felt the familiar coil of suspicion tighten in his chest.
“Isn’t this going to be such an interesting year?” Dumbledore said lightly, reaching for yet another biscuit with those infuriatingly twinkling eyes.
Minerva, seated beside him, arched one sharp eyebrow. She looked as though the weight of every incoming dunderhead already pressed on her shoulders especially the Muggle-born she would have to shepherd through the usual chaos. Her voice came out clipped, the no-nonsense tone she reserved even for the Headmaster. “Why so, Albus? This year might prove more pleasant than the many before it.”
Dumbledore merely smiled at her and took another biscuit.
As if she could possibly forget, Severus thought, keeping his own face carefully blank a mask he had perfected over long, bitter years. The Golden Boy is finally arriving. Potter. Haunting these halls with that reckless, arrogant face and his mother’s eyes. The very idea made something ugly twist in his gut.
“Oh, Minerva,” Dumbledore chuckled warmly, “we will have a rather odd sort of first-years this year.”
Pomona Sprout leaned forward, a smudge of greenhouse dirt still streaking her cheek. “Such as?”
“Many interesting children are coming this year, aren’t they?” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “Children from both sides names not seen at Hogwarts for quite some years. Malfoy, Zabini, Longbottom, Nott… and Potter.”
Potter. The name landed like a curse.
“I don’t think the children will pose any real problem,” Sprout said, her voice bright with that typical Hufflepuff sentimentality.
How quaint. Severus inwardly sneered. All that unnecessary optimism.
“You are absolutely right, my dear,” Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling. “All children are interesting. It is only time that reveals how wonderfully they turn out to be.”
Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes. The old man’s platitudes were as predictable as they were nauseating. Yet the truth sat cold in his stomach: he was not remotely prepared to face that boy. Why should he want to look upon the face of the man he had hated more than any other? The child would be just as arrogant, just as pampered, strutting about the castle with an entourage of future sycophants, walking the grounds as though he already owned them. Severus would make certain the little brat was reminded of his place repeatedly, and with great pleasure.
Minerva’s face had grown even sterner than usual. “Albus, as I mentioned in my letter only days ago, the boy’s letters are not being opened. He has received none of them.”
Dumbledore smiled serenely, as though they were merely discussing the weather. “I have sent Hagrid to check on the dear boy.”
Minerva’s lips thinned. “Hagrid! Surely you could have found someone better, Albus. The man means well, but he is hardly the most discreet or articulate choice for dealing with Muggles.”
Severus allowed himself a small, internal nod of agreement. At least on this point they were aligned. Hagrid was a well-meaning oaf, but discretion had never been among the half-giant’s virtues.
Sprout, after a moment of deep thought, spoke up again. “And don’t you think the boy would be in rather a lot of danger once he arrives?”
This time Severus could not hold back the sneer that curled his lip. “Why on earth would you think that? After all, he is the precious Boy Who Lived. Everyone will be falling over themselves to pamper him.”
Both Albus and Minerva turned to him with identical looks of disappointment. As if he were some wayward adolescent rather than a grown man who had survived far worse than their disapproval. The condescension burned.
Sprout, bless her sentimental Hufflepuff heart, continued undeterred. “Didn’t you tell us he has been living with Muggles and has had no contact with our world? Even if the child knows he is a wizard, he would have no idea where danger lurks, who is safe to trust, or who might wish him harm. Celebrity or not, he is still only a child.”
Now the boy might actually fall into worse company the same sort his damned father had kept. Severus allowed himself one fleeting, bitter hope: that the brat had inherited at least something from Lily. Anything at all.
While he was still turning that thought over in his mind, Dumbledore spoke again. “So, does anyone have suggestions?”
Filius Flitwick squeaked enthusiastically, “Why don’t we assign the boy some sort of mentor? I would be delighted to guide such a promising young student.”
As if Potter could ever be Ravenclaw material. His father had possessed a natural talent for magic and had done nothing but boast about it, never bothering to truly master its delicate art.
Severus fixed the room with his usual glare. “And who exactly would take on that charming responsibility?”
He could physically feel Dumbledore’s infernal twinkling gaze boring into the side of his face. The old man couldn’t possibly be considering him for this. Severus would rather walk straight into an early grave. Protecting the brat was already more than enough.
Minerva thought for a moment before replying, “Whoever becomes his Head of House, naturally.”
Severus exhaled slowly. The boy would end up in Gryffindor there was no question of that. Good. No need for him to worry. He could simply agree and escape the weight of those damnable twinkling eyes.
“I suppose this is the best option,” Sprout said brightly.
Flitwick nodded in agreement.
Dumbledore turned his gaze directly to Severus. “And you, Severus? What is your opinion?”
Severus glared at the old coot and gave a single, curt nod.
He should not be worried. It was not as though Potter would ever become his responsibility.
—------
Little did Severus Snape know that day what future had written for him.