Severus arrived in the Great Hall on Monday morning after breakfast had already begun. He accepted his cup of coffee from Albus, cradling it near his face. The aroma of the coffee, dark and exotic and bitter, was enough to lift his spirits. He took full breaths of it, savoring the smell until he was ready to taste it.

Draco had returned and was sitting next to Harry, filling their plates with bacon and toast. Harry was taking small careful sips of pumpkin juice and watching Draco. With a discreet wand motion hidden by the table, Severus cast another eavesdropping spell on them as he began serving himself breakfast. He hadn’t spoken with the Potter boy since their unfortunate conversation about the Sorting Hat. The boy had seemed quite shaken, but now was returned to his typical quiet behavior. His huge green eyes were rather unnerving when he actually made eye contact, Severus decided when the child looked up at the Head Table. His green eyes were clear and calm and this unnatural child who rarely fidgeted looked at Severus with uncanny self-possession. Severus suppressed a scowl by taking a large gulp of his hot coffee.

Draco nattered on about polite nothings while piling more food on Harry’s plate. The smaller boy, who had eaten three pieces of bacon and two slices of toast, finally stopped him by announcing that he wouldn’t eat any more.

“Harry, you should eat, look at how skinny you are. Do you want me to be in trouble with Professor Snape?”

Potter slumped in his chair and pushed the plate away. “My stomach feels odd,” he said. “I ate too much.”

Draco pouted, but he relented after Harry agreed to wrap the extra toast in a napkin and take it with him to class. Severus bit into his own slice of toast, the perfect golden-brown crunch and the sweet strawberry taste of the preserves flooding his mouth, and watched the interaction between the two boys with amusement. Draco, the perfect pureblood child, his breeding and family history allowing him to dominate the majority of his peers, had finally met his match. Harry, who was timid and flinched at the smallest noise, stood up to him. He didn’t let Draco push him into eating more than he wanted to eat, or into eating anything that he didn’t want to eat. He hadn’t stuttered or apologized once. It was uncharacteristic behavior for the usually frightened boy.

Severus watched Harry more closely, noted the tensed shoulders and the hand that Harry kept on the strap of his bag. The boy flinched and looked as though he was ready to run when Draco leaned a fraction of an inch closer to him.

“Calm down, Harry,” Draco said as he took a serving of scrambled eggs. “We’ve discussed this. I’m not going to hurt you, so put your bag down and stop trying to run away like that.”

Potter nodded, but his fingers remained clenched around the strap of his bag and he leaned away from Draco. “Tell me more about your weekend, Draco,” he said.

“Harry, Harry,” Draco shook his head, “I know it’s hardly your fault that you come from such a Gryffindor family, but really, you should know better than to try to distract a Slytherin. It can’t be done that easily, you know,” Draco took a bite of his scrambled eggs and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

Harry jumped into the pause, saying “What …” when the conversation between the two boys was interrupted. The youngest Mr. Weasley, red-headed and gangly like his older brothers, stepped up to the Slytherin table. His hair was untidy and looked as though he’d just run his fingers through it. With a flick of his wand under the table, Severus expanded the eavesdropping spell to include Weasley.

“…none of your business, Malfoy. I’m here to talk to Harry, so shove it,” Weasley was saying. He turned toward Potter and continued in a less confrontational tone of voice. “Hey, Harry, mate, I’m sorry I haven’t seen you much since the train ride. I just … you know … I just want you to know that I didn’t really mean what I said about Slytherins on the train. I figure that if you’re a Slytherin, they can’t be all bad, right mate?” With a sidelong glare at Draco, Weasley extended his hand to Harry.

“Get lost, Weasley,” Draco said with his lips twitched into a sneer. “Even a lame-brained Gryffindor like you couldn’t honestly think that Harry would accept that pathetic apology. You figure that not all Slytherins are evil, Weasley? It’s plain as anything that you think Harry’s the only good Slytherin around, or are you going to apologize to me for insulting me on the train as well?” His cheeks paled with anger and Draco raised one eyebrow in a classic Malfoy expression. Severus hid his smirk at his godson’s mannerisms by taking another sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Malfoy. Everybody knows about your family’s evil tendencies. If You-Know-Who were still here, I bet it’d take three seconds for you and your dear old dad to turn Harry over to him.”

Draco’s complexion paled further. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to tell filthy lies, or were they too busy begging for enough scraps to feed you all?” He took a deep breath and the sneer on his face intensified. “Stay away from Harry, because he doesn’t want filthy lying beggars for friends.”

“Better poor than a supporter of You-Know-Who,” Weasley said, his cheeks and ears flushing pink. “You’re the one who shouldn’t be allowed near Harry, you’re just trying to corrupt him or sell him to the Dark. You don’t care for Harry at all, you only want the Boy Who Lived.”

Severus cast a surreptitious glance around the Head Table to determine whether any other faculty member had noticed the dispute between Draco and Weasley. Most of the professors had already left for their morning classes, but Albus remained, his attention focused on extricating a sticky toffee from its wrapper, and Quirrell was still next to Severus, casting apprehensive glances at the shadows that lurked underneath the Head Table. Helping himself to another scone, Severus decided that there was no need for his interference unless the pair drew their wands.

“You need to be honest with yourself, even if you can’t stop lying to other people, Weasley. Your only interest in Harry is the scar on his head and the fame he’s gotten for it. Wait, I forgot … there’s his trust fund as well, isn’t there?”

The Weasley brat’s complexion turned even pinker. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Draco. “Bloody hell, you great lumbering prat, now you’ve gone and scared away Harry.”

Severus’s gaze jerked to Potter’s empty seat and he realized that he hadn’t noticed the boy leave. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that the timid child had ducked out of an argument that centered on him. Severus cast a last look at the argument between Draco and the Weasley before canceling the eavesdropping spell. Draco was pale and held himself still with all of the Malfoy dignity and reserve while Weasley was turning a bright pink hue. Severus smirked and swept off to his first Potions lecture in the dungeons.

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First year Gryffindors and Slytherins had Potions that afternoon. Severus made his trademark entrance, taking the time to observe Potter as he strode to the front of the classroom. The boy’s shoulders were hunched and he cast wary glances at both Draco and the Weasley brat. The infuriating boy wouldn’t know how to be subtle or hide his feelings of Salazar himself showed up to instruct him. Severus scowled and turned to face the class. “Assigned partners today, children,” he said in his smooth “question me and die” classroom voice. “Mr. Malfoy and Weasley. Zabini and Patil. Potter and Granger. Parkinson and Finnegan …” He watched as the annoying Gryffindor encyclopedia moved to sit with Potter, while Draco slammed his Potions text down on the table next to Weasley.

Ten minutes into the lesson, Granger’s hand shot into the air. As Severus made his way through the classroom to the table Granger shared with Potter, he wondered if Madam Pomfrey should be asked to run some tests on Granger’s hand. It spent enough time in the air, making a frantic attempt to reach the ceiling or a Professor’s attention, that it couldn’t be getting an adequate blood supply. “Yes, Miss Granger?” Severus asked.

He didn’t understand why this pair of students would have encountered a problem. Harry alone was more than competent enough to brew this potion, and the Gryffindor girl prepared extensively for her classes.

“Sir, he’s trying to ruin our potion,” Granger said, letting her hand fall down to her side. “He’s adding ground coral, which isn’t even mentioned in the directions, and he wants to put in jellied Flobberworms instead of pickled Flobberworms. It isn’t fair that we should be forced to work with partners like this, we aren’t getting a chance to fully make the potion and learn on our own, and I don’t want some ignorant boy ruining my grade.” The girl finally paused for breath, lifting up one hand to twine her brown curls around her fingers.

“I do hope that you aren’t questioning my teaching methods, Miss Granger, though I doubt that you are yet capable of understanding the more complex potions that require two or more brewers to complete. You may not understand the importance of cooperation in brewing potions, but surely you can understand the possibility of learning from your partner, and so it will be ten points from Gryffindor for your lack of respect. Mr. Potter, if you would be patient enough to explain the changes you’ve made?”

The Potter boy looked up for the first time, his fingers pausing in their shaky motions. The knife he’d been using to dice the Flobberworms was wiped clean and set on a sterile cloth. “Y-Yes, sir,” Harry said. “T-The jellied Flobberworms are more potent than pickled Flobberworms, but they are not often used because it can be difficult to stabilize their properties without the salt added in the pickling process. However, in this case the ground coral provides an alternative source of ions to stabilize the Flobberworms, and yet it doesn’t change the other ingredients in this potion.”

“Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter. You’ve clearly done the background reading and you explained that well.” Severus saw a quick flash of emotion in Potter’s eyes before the boy bent again to his task. Granger was frowning at the boy, one hand clenched in a fist and resting on her hip, but she turned her attention back to the potion when Severus glared at her.

Making his way back to the front of the classroom where he could observe all of the students, Severus reflected that the pain of complimenting Harry Potter was almost certain to become a fixed event in his life. The boy did deserve the praise, and there had been something in that brief flash of emotion across Harry’s face that made Severus want to compliment him again. A Slytherin always warranted compliments in a Gryffindor-Slytherin Potions class, Severus reminded himself. His students needed the boost of self confidence that Severus’s praise gave them, however cheapened it may have been by his obvious favoritism. Perhaps the other professors, with their pretense at fairness, didn’t insult his Slytherins, but they never praised his students either.

Severus watched Harry Potter, the small boy with his untidy hair falling into his face as he stirred his potion. Granger fluttered at his side, preparing ingredients and making herself into a nuisance. Though the girl was less talented than Harry at Potions, she had much more self confidence. It showed in her sure motions, her speech patterns, her constant questions and her hand stuck in the air. Even Neville Longbottom, potions-making disaster that he was, showed more confidence than the subdued, uncertain Harry.

Severus decided to ignore the small part of his thoughts that focused on the fact that he had complimented James Potter’s son. Harry was a Slytherin, after all, and the Slytherins who weren’t raised as Draco had been often needed a self confidence boost. There was no harm in complimenting a Slytherin. There was no harm in complimenting Harry, not when it was essential to gain his trust in order to gain revenge on James Potter. There was no harm in it at all, and if the expression, a split second of surprise and pleasure and hope and happiness, all mixed together into a bright flash, crossed Harry’s face again, it would be only an incidental side effect.

Severus kept Draco and the Weasley boy after class, of course. The two of them had bickered through the entire period and their lack of cooperation had been evident in the miserable excuse for a potion that they had produced.

Severus sat at his desk, the two boys standing before it. He kept his attention on the essay in front of him, focused on the ridiculous assertion that a third year Hufflepuff had made about the use of gosling feathers in healing potions. He dipped his quill in Slytherin green ink and scratched out a comment in the margins of the essay. If the child put gosling feathers in a healing potion, there would be an empty desk in the third year Potions class. Through his eyelashes, Severus watched Draco and the Weasley child wait for his attention. The Potter brat would owe him for this. Severus was not a nursemaid, meant to sort out childish quarrels, chasing after all of the students to give Potter a chance at happiness.

Severus marked another error on the essay with elegant green strokes of ink and surreptitiously continued to watch the two boys. Draco held himself with Malfoy poise, but Weasley had begun to shift his weight from one foot to another. Severus set his quill down. “Well, gentlemen, what have you to say for yourselves?” he asked. Weasley thrust his hands behind his back when Severus directed an intimidating glare at him.

“It was an accident,” the boy said. Words tumbled out of his mouth as his shoulders shifted. Weasley made a belated attempt to stand up straight with his shoulders held back. “He was, well, he’s corrupted poor Harry, he’s just waiting to turn him over to his father and probably make him into a mini Death Eater just like himself. Harry was perfectly normal before he met Malfoy, perfectly fine, and now he’s been bewitched and …”

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Weasley. I believe you’ve made your point of view quite explicit. Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco held his head high and his calm eyes met Severus’s gaze without hesitation. “Professor, this boy started the argument by disrupting our breakfast in the Great Hall. I wasn’t aware that riffraff were permitted to approach the Slytherin table, but Harry and I were eating our breakfasts when he showed up and began making unfounded accusations.” Draco tilted his chin and sneered at the Weasley boy. “He then proceeded to completely ruin our assignment in class today, disregarding all of your instructions and …”

“Enough,” Severus said. “I am appalled by the manner in which you choose to resolve your differences,” Severus began. Weasley made a show of contrition, staring at the floor, but Draco met his godfather’s gaze without a flinch. “You are engaged in an argument over a human person, not an object, and yet you persist in acting as though he were not present and capable of rational thoughts and decisions on his own behalf. Deal with the conflict between you in a fashion that does not alienate or upset Mr. Potter. If I observe any repetition of this thoughtless, immature behavior, you will both be serving detentions. Is that understood?” After a chorus of “Yes, sir,” Severus dismissed Weasley and turned his attention to his godson.

“Well, Draco?” Severus asked when the other boy had left. “Apart from this mroning’s altercation, how are matters with Potter?”

Draco slumped into a chair near the desk, dropping his pureblood mask and manners. “I don’t know what to do, Uncle Sev. You saw him at breakfast today? I want to make him eat more, but the way he flinches away from me whenever he contradicts me makes me afraid to push him too much.”

Severus nodded, watching his godson kick the legs of the chair. The rhythmic sound of Draco’s boots hitting the wooden chair vibrated and lingered. “Don’t make him eat more than he wants to eat, Draco. The important thing now is to earn his trust.”

“But why is he so resistant to the idea of eating? You can tell that he’s hungry by the way he looks at the food, all sad and wanting and, well … hungry.”

Severus shook his head, unhappy with the lack of knowledge. “I don’t know, Draco. Work on earning his trust and perhaps someday we’ll understand the reasons behind some of his peculiar behaviors.”

“I do wish we knew why he sleeps in the closet,” Draco said.

Severus watched his godson, the pale antithesis of the Potter boy. Even when Draco was slumped in a chair with no regard for posture, his eyebrows alone possessed more self confidence than Potter in his entirety. “Why don’t you go find him and try to calm him down enough to eat dinner. The Weasley incident upset him enough that he’s probably hiding somewhere … try the library. He’s often in the chair near the fourth window along the east wall.”

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After Draco left, Severus retreated to his office with the stack of third year essays. He was contemplating the abysmal quality of the essays and wondering if the students’ intelligence decreased every year or if his non-existent tolerance for stupidity was being worn away like spun sugar dropped into the ocean. Severus was detailing with precise green letters in the margin of a Ravenclaw’s essay the exact disastrous consequences of combining eagle feathers with dragon’s blood when he was interrupted by a quiet knock on his door. “Enter,” he said.

Severus was finishing his comment with a prediction of the lifespan to be expected for any wizard idiotic enough to make these elementary mistakes in Potions and ignoring the boy who had entered his office. A quick glance had informed him that it was Potter and that the child was in no more distress than was usual for him. The child probably wanted someone to hold his hand and coddle him with platitudes and reassurances after this morning’s incident in the Great Hall. Severus played the waiting game with Potter, marking another Hufflepuff essay before looking up at him.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” Severus was unwilling to coddle the boy. Potter would have to learn how to deal with his peers and it would do him no good to run to an adult whenever he had a problem. Severus was paid to teach, not to nursemaid the brat. He didn’t offer Potter a seat or food, breaking his usual tradition with the boy. There was no need to encourage him in this habit of running to Severus whenever he had a minor problem.

“P-P-Professor?” Potter said. Severus sneered at the boy’s stuttering. “I-I was w-wondering if I could ask you s-some questions.”

Harry Potter had never sought out Severus’s company before of his own will. They had spent time together, when Severus forced food down Potter’s throat or taught him how to brew a potion, but the boy had never looked for him of his own accord before. Was this the beginning of a fragile trust developing between them, a foundation upon which he could build the architecture of his revenge? Severus didn’t understand what could have prompted the boy to seek out his Head of House if he wasn’t seeking comfort after the stress of the morning. Potter must be unsettled after his friends had argued over him like a plaything, calling each other’s motivations and intentions into question. Still, even though the boy’s fragile emotional state was understandable, Severus would not coddle him.

“Don’t expect any assistance with your Potions assignments from me, Potter, not after you’ve proved yourself more than capable of completing them.”

The boy took a half-step back towards the door. “I-It’s not that, s-sir. I was w-wondering if you could t-tell me anything a-about my parents.”

“What?” Severus demanded. The blood paused for an instant in his veins and his hands came up to clutch at the edge of his desk. He wrapped his fingers around the smooth solid wood. His heartbeat resumed its normal rhythm, and he felt his pulse pound through his fingertips against the wooden desk. Potter’s parents, James and Lily Potter, the torment of Severus’s life at Hogwarts – their son had sought him out, come to visit Severus of his own accord, only to remind him of the torment his parents had inflicted? Severus didn’t know who had set the boy up to do this, didn’t know who would have told him about Severus’s misadventures with the elder Potters, but when he learned who had done this, that person would be made to pay. “Get out,” he told Potter.

“P-Please, sir,” the boy said, taking another step backward. Potter was shaking, his shoulders trembled just as his voice trembled. “I-I just … I thought …”

“You thought you could waltz in here like the savior of the wizarding world and mock me, you insolent brat? You thought that your fame entitled you to ask inappropriate questions of your professors? You thought that everyone would be bewitched by your celebrity and care about your dead parents?”

Potter took several steps backward, his mouth opening and closing. He brought his arms up to wrap them around his thin body, his shoulders hunched forward and his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Get out,” Severus said again, and the boy fled.

Draco came to the Potions office that evening, when Severus was leafing through his old Hogwarts yearbook. There were so many pictures of the cheerful, popular James potter. There were photos of him joking with his friends, photos of him flying, photos of him with Evans in Hogsmeade, but there was not a single picture that showed a hint of the things he had done to Severus. Potter’s crimes had been seemingly washed away without evidence, just as the blood that had once flowed through the man’s veins was washed out of his grave and into the earth. There was no record of his transgressions against Severus, and the only record of his life was a collection of old photos and a son who had been created in his image.

“Uncle Sev?” Draco asked as he came to stand in front of Severus’s desk. Severus closed the book and locked it away in a desk drawer, turning back to look at Draco. “I thought you’d want to know that I’ve found Harry, sir. He was hiding in one of the abandoned classrooms near the Charms classroom, in the dust and dark away from everyone. He’s … not so well, really. I didn’t know that the thing with Weasley would affect him so much. He isn’t eating, and he won’t say anything even if I ask him a direct question.”

“It’s uncanny,” Draco continued when Severus made no response, “the way he looks at people as though he’s judging them, like he can see right through a person and tell if they’re likely to hurt him or not. But now, he’s stopped doing that and he looks … just lost. I wouldn’t have fought with Weasley if I’d known he’d take it so badly, Uncle Sev. I really wouldn’t have done it if I’d known.”

“It’s not your fault, Draco,” Severus said. His hands clenched around the edge of his desk again and his magic hadn’t thrummed through the air, unstable and angry, like this since he was a child. Harry Potter, taunting him just as James Potter had done, mocking him for the wrongs that James Potter had inflicted on him – the scene ran through Severus’s brain again and again. “Just leave him be for tonight, Draco. Perhaps he’ll be better in the morning.”

“How exactly will he feel in the morning, Uncle Sev, after Weasley interrupted breakfast, making him too upset to eat anything at lunch, and now he skipped dinner entirely? You know he’s too thin to miss meals like that.”

Severus suppressed a sigh. Draco was determined to torment him in the absence of the Potter brat. “You can hardly force him to eat. He’ll be hungry in the morning and doubtless he’ll eat again then. Stop acting like a Hufflepuff, Draco.”

He was subjected to a full force Malfoy glare before Draco stalked out of his office.

Perhaps this was a double-sided revenge, perhaps the Potters had sent their brat here to torment him. He would not be taunted about his past by a malnourished boy. Draco could mother the little brat, coax him into eating and coddle him, give him the attention he craved. Severus would have no part of it, would not mollycoddle a boy who resorted to starving himself in order to get attention and sympathy. The Potter boy was an irritating brat with a pathological need to be the center of everyone’s attention. He would have no attention from Severus, that much was certain.

Severus left his office, closing his door behind him with an effort not to slam it shut. He stalked down the hallway, black robes billowing. The Potter brat would learn not to taunt Severus Snape, he vowed to himself. He’d been a fool to think that the son could be different from his father, but he would be fooled no longer.