Work Text:
Severus can recognize the boy right away, as soon as the newest students file into the Great Hall to be sorted. That mop of black hair and the shape of his face is practically a carbon copy of his father, and then, when he gets closer to the front—Lily's eyes, Severus thinks he catches a glimpse of.
(It makes something unpleasant twist in his gut, and he fights back a sneer. James Potter's offspring has no right to claim anything from Lily.)
The boy is looking around with something like wonder, an innocent sort of awe as a redhead chatters away next to him. It seems strange for a child from a magical bloodline to be so clearly unfamiliar with magic, but then, Petunia Evans was about as far from magical as you could get. With her influence—no, there's not a chance he saw any magic until the day he had to.
Even with so many years since he last saw her, Severus' intense dislike of Petunia remains. And he has no doubt that she raised a spoiled little boy. Surely that will be a carbon copy of James as well—a child who expects the world to bend at his feet.
But still, what an oddity it is for someone so wholly famous in their world to know absolutely nothing about it.
The sorting begins, and Severus tunes it out, bored after years of the same old. None of the placements of the children are particularly surprising, not with the way they all carry themselves, and Severus barely contains a roll of his eyes when the Malfoy heir has barely had the hat touch his head before it calls out the only house his father would ever accept.
Eventually, they reach the latter end of the alphabet, and Harry Potter gets called to be sorted.
Whispers spread through the room, everyone's attention held tight, and this time, Severus does roll his eyes. As if this is anything to watch. As if Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, will be anything other than a Gryffindor. They should just send him on his way already, spare them all this waste of time. The little hero doesn't need any more attention than he already has.
Potter sits down on the stool, and he looks nervous as the Hat comes down. Severus waits for the instantaneous call of where the boy belongs, but it...doesn't come. Harry Potter sits there, unmoving, the Hat silent as well.
A minute passes. The whispers in the hall rise to muttering, everyone exchanging glances, concern, confusion. Albus' expression is perfectly placid, but Severus knows him well enough to spot the slight disquiet in his brow. Minerva is slightly less subtle, her lips pinched, her eyebrows drawing together as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
They hit two minutes. Albus' fingers twitch against the table with something like nerves.
And then the Hat calls out, "SLYTHERIN!"
The Great Hall falls dead silent.
Jaws have dropped, eyes are wide. Incredulous looks are leveled up at the platform, at the savior of the wizarding who has just been placed in the most unexpected house. Who has been sorted into the place most consider the evil house and nothing more. The defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now will spend seven years in the same house as his greatest foe.
Minerva manages to shake herself from the shock first, lifting the Hat from the boy's head. That action seems to break the spell over the room, and the mutters begin again, a chorus of voices that cannot believe what just happened. Even Severus' fellow teachers are whispering amongst themselves, only Albus, Severus, and Quirrell not saying anything.
Potter's legs shake as he rises to his feet after a murmured word from Minerva, and his feet hit the steps heavily as he makes his way off the platform. As he heads not for the table of red and gold, but silver and green.
Severus catches a glimpse of his face as he turns—stunned, a little gray. If Severus weren't so stunned himself, he might sneer; Potter is brand new to the wizarding world, has not a lick of knowledge about them, but apparently he already has a bias against Slytherin. Why is Severus not surprised?
Not quite looking at anybody, Potter sits down amongst the other First Years at the Slytherin table. Malfoy is across from him and smirking like he won some great feat, like he had anything to do with this at all. Potter doesn't seem to notice, blinking at the table a little rapidly, like he's trying to wrap his mind around what just happened.
All of the rest of them are trying to wrap their heads around it, too.
The rest of the sortings resume, because they have to. But everyone is off-balance, Minerva looking deeply concerned, and the redhead whom Potter was with earlier has a very nervous expression on his face as he approaches the stool, very different from his energetic confidence from before. Apparently no longer sure of whatever sorting he'd been hoping for.
If Harry Potter can be sorted into Slytherin, are any of them truly safe?
(The boy is sorted into Gryffindor, and the look of sheer relief on his face makes Severus withhold a sigh.)
It takes a little while, after the sorting is already complete and food has been served, before Potter manages to shake himself. He offers tight smiles to those around him—rather noticeably avoiding Malfoy's gaze, however, not that Severus can blame him on that front—and even starts to hesitantly engage in conversation with some of them as he begins to eat, but there's a pinched, worried quality to his eyes that is obvious if you're looking.
Poor little hero.
And then it truly hits Severus, what this unexpected event really means. Fucking hells—Harry Bloody Potter is in his house.
Merlin help him.
Seeing the boy with a snake over his heart, with silver and green coloring on his robes, is one of the oddest things in the world. James Potter's features do not belong in that attire, have never fit at all. Slytherin is subtlety and control, and James Potter was certainly never either of those things—any of the traits that really make up Slytherin House, separate from all the things people say about them. And now his offspring is in this house? His famous, entitled offspring?
It makes no sense. Not a lick.
Instead of calling on him, Severus ignores the boy completely, too unsettled by the sight, too disgusted, to be able to spare him a glance. And he's one of Severus' snakes—whether Severus hates him or not, whether or not he thinks the Hat made a gigantic mistake, it doesn't change the colors Potter wears. And Severus cannot tear a Slytherin student down.
But that doesn't mean he has to pay him any attention, either.
Days pass, lesson after lesson, and it gets harder to ignore him completely. Maybe it's his depth of hate, maybe it's his unfortunately bubbling curiosity, but he can't help but find himself examining his most unlikely student. Searching him for what made the Hat make the decision it did, what makes Harry Potter a Slytherin instead of what he obviously should have been.
And what Severus finds is not anything he likes. The boy is—quiet, but attentive. Nervous when attempting to follow written instructions, but adept at following Severus' demonstrations, no matter how quickly he goes. His essays are subpar, a mess, really, but sometimes...sometimes he'll hit upon an excellent point, a truly clever idea, and he doesn't even seem to realize he does it.
He is guarded, too. Wary around all his peers. And Severus would think it just a reaction to his house, that he is still biased against all the Slytherins despite being one himself, if he didn't seem to act the same way around his professors as well. Any time Severus sees him interacting with the other teachers, there's a distance to him that is—extremely odd.
Severus might call it distrust if that didn't seem so preposterous. What cause could this boy possibly have for being so distrusting of people he doesn't even know? Of people, in particular, who are meant to guide him?
You know Petunia, Severus' mind hisses at him, when he sees Potter shift subtly backwards from a widely-gesturing Pamona. You know the type of woman she is, the type of man she would have married. You know how much she hated magic, how she resented Lily. Do you really think that wouldn't have transferred to Lily's son?
It's—ridiculous. This is the Savior of the Wizarding World; he is not an abused child. There is not a world in which Albus would allow that to happen. Severus is...projecting. His own experiences are clouding his judgment. This is Harry Bloody Potter, and he is perfectly fine.
Severus watches, far, far too much. More than he wishes he did. Why couldn't the boy have been a Gryffindor like he was supposed to? Then Severus never would've had to notice these things. He wouldn't have to pay attention the way he does for one of his own, wouldn't have been so curious by the oddity and pulled in. Harry Potter would be exactly what he expected of the boy, and he would not have to waste so much time wondering about things that are ridiculous.
But Severus is far too familiar with those reactions. Intimately, personally familiar. He's always been able to tell which students have a bad home life, always been able to provide a little bit of help to his Slytherins who need it. He is good at that. He's made it his business to be.
It just. He was never supposed to see it in Harry Potter.
It's been two months of this when there's a troll in the castle, and Potter apparently finds himself saving a Gryffindor girl from the creature, because of course he does. He never should've been there at all, such a stupidly Gryffindor move that it actually infuriates Severus. Potter is a snake, no matter the whispers, no matter Severus' own thoughts on the matter. And Slytherins do not go running foolhardy into situations they are unprepared for.
(He was still successful, Severus thinks, with grudging respect, much against his will. Idiotic, brainless, but he still took down a troll. Was there some ambition in there, maybe? If it could be shaped, honed...)
Severus drags Potter to his office, because the boy is his student and he can discipline him how he sees fit, no matter the points he's been awarded by a proud-looking Minerva.
Potter's expression is schooled into something calm, unbothered, a skill Severus is sure some of his fellow Slytherins have taught him. But he's not even close to perfect at it yet—his eyes (so green, so familiar) give his wariness away. His twitching hands betray his anxiety.
It settles unpleasantly in Severus' gut.
"Sit," Severus instructs sharply, sweeping around his desk to take a seat as well. Potter hesitates for a moment, and then lowers himself into the chair across the desk from Severus. He places his hands in his lap, but they still twist against each other. His eyes flick around the room as if searching for an escape before snapping back to Severus' face, like he's had to remind himself to not show his nerves.
"You will not do something so foolish again," Severus intones. "Do you understand me, Mr. Potter?"
A flash of confusion. Not what the boy was expecting. "I...Yes, Sir." It nearly sounds more like a question than a confirmation, so unsure. So not what James Potter's son is supposed to be.
Severus sighs sharply through his nose. He leans forward, folding his hands on the desk and grabbing Potter's gaze steadily. "You do not have to like me," he says. "I do not have to like you. But you are a member of my house, Potter, and that means quite a lot. Loyalty is one of our traits, even if the other houses like to pretend there's nothing positive in us—loyalty to our people, our families. And you, even if you dislike where you've ended up, are now part of that family. Is any of this getting through your thick skull?"
Potter's eyes are wide, his lips parted. Really not what the boy was expecting.
"Were you worried?" Potter asks, sounding faintly incredulous.
Severus' eyes narrow. "No," he says shortly, but he...is not quite sure if that's even close to true. Hell. "I just do not appreciate idiocy from my students."
There's something resembling a smile on Potter's face now. It is small and hesitant, and the wariness is still in his eyes, but it has—softened, somewhat. Lessened. Like somehow Severus' words are a positive thing instead of an insult.
"You will have detention with me every afternoon for the next week," Severus tells him, leaning back once more. "Or until I deem you have sufficiently learned your lesson about moronic acts of bravery." He shakes his head. "For Merlin's sake, be smarter."
"Yes, Sir," Potter says.
"Good. Dismissed." Severus turns his attention to a stack of papers on his desk, like this conversation is pointless and officially done, and thankfully Potter takes the cue without any further word. He gets to his feet and begins heading towards the door.
"Oh, and Potter," Severus calls out, without having even given himself permission to speak. He looks up nonetheless, meeting those green eyes when Potter pauses and turns back to look at him. "If there are any troubles at home—I will handle it."
Potter's eyes widen, and he seems to stop breathing for a moment. Severus just holds his gaze steadily, trying to convey how much he means that statement even if he never meant to offer that promise. That they might've gotten off on a bad foot—might even still be on a bad foot, really—but that doesn't change the fact that Harry is one of his, now. That Harry is a snake no matter what people expected of him, and Severus will always look after his own.
"I—" Potter stutters, and then shakes himself, that calm mask slamming back down. Severus would expect nothing less. "I'm fine, Professor."
Severus snorts and looks back down at his papers, picking up his quill. "I'm sure," he says indulgently. "But the offer is there nonetheless."
Potter doesn't move for a long few moments, simply breathing. It's heavy and shaky, and Severus grants him this brief reprieve until the boy seems to calm himself somewhat, becomes more put together again. Able to face the world.
"I believe I dismissed you," Severus says firmly, once the boy has collected himself.
There's a quiet huff, almost like a laugh, and Potter says, "Yes, Sir," before slipping out the door.
Severus' hand stills once Potter is gone, and he sighs, setting down the quill to instead rub a hand across his forehead. How in Merlin's name did he end up so invested in a boy he wanted so desperately to hate?
There's nothing to it now, he supposes. He's in this; he just has to accept it.
But he'll be damned if he likes it.