Professor Snape's opening speech for first-years Potions Class was by far one of his best. Though the words never varied from year to year, his performance had improved with age, Snape believed, and he enjoyed the awe and fear that his stern, seductive tones always inspired in the impressionable little dunderheads. He had almost smiled at the eagerness on Draco's face, but had managed to restrain himself.

Naturally, the only student who appeared unimpressed with his oration was Harry-bloody-Potter! The little monster not only had the gall to be unappreciative, he wasn't even listening! His dark head was bent over his desk and he appeared to be scribbling something – defacing his schoolbooks with juvenile doodling, no doubt! A lesson in intimidation was clearly in order.

As he challenged the insufferable boy in his most devastating, insulting tones, Snape was surprised by Potter's unabashed stare. His negative replies to the questions Snape barked at him were blandly unapologetic, and he refused to be daunted by his teacher's sneering. He even had the nerve to counter Snape's fearsome attack with quiet, borderline insolence! Snape took points on principle, simply because the boy annoyed him, but he was secretly impressed by the child's audacity. Few students had ever challenged Snape's antagonism. The brat had courage, at least – stupid, foolhardy, Gryffindor courage!

When the Longbottom dolt managed to melt his cauldron on his first try, Snape blamed Potter unjustly, just for the pleasure of it. Let the spoiled youngster learn from the start that life was never fair. Potter's haunting green eyes had flashed briefly with resentment, and he seemed inclined to argue, but one of his chums (another Weasley, heaven forbid!) distracted him, and he visibly curbed his frustration. Snape dismissed the class with a warning scowl at Potter.

Don't challenge me, brat. I will prevail, and you will regret it.

The boy hurried out without a backward glance. Snape smiled maliciously to himself. The Wonderboy of the wizarding world had no idea of the war he had ignited with his petty little defiance. Snape resolved to dedicate all of his malevolent skills to making the boy's life miserable. He had at least five years to crush the insolence out of the pampered pest, and he would enjoy every minute of it. So what if the boy was plucky? So what if he had his mother's gentle eyes? His conceit and insolence were pure Potter - and Severus Snape would never again be bested by a Potter.

When his third-years drifted into class with the subdued despair of veteran Potions-students, Snape unleashed his most scornful tirades, happily exercising and honing his acerbic skills at their ill-fated expense.

.........

"Twenty points, Professor Snape?" Minerva surveyed the Potions Master with stiff reproach.

"Well-deserved, I assure you, Professor McGonagall," Snape replied smoothly.

"But it is only the first day of classes!" Minerva hissed. "How could anyone lose twenty points on the FIRST DAY?"

"Ask your Gryffindors, Professor," Snape retorted. "It's a shame your House has so many unruly members. No doubt they will settle down as the term progresses and they learn to pay attention and obey rules."

"No doubt," McGonagall eyed him with cool annoyance. "No doubt it will be a long, challenging term for *all* the Houses."

"As you say, Professor," Snape smirked, accepting the familiar dare with amusement. "Best look to your Lions, Minerva."

"And you look to your Snakes, Severus," the witch warned with a fond snort. "I can assure you – *I* will be watching them!"

Snape offered her a little mock bow and held out her chair for her at the Head table. Minerva took her seat with an irritable flounce and gave him her best glare. Snape claimed the seat beside her without misgivings. Their good-natured rivalry was robust at times, but never acrimonious. Snape knew when he took unjust points from Minerva's House, she would only find some way to even the score – either by (justifiably) deducting Slytherin points, or rewarding over-generous points to Gryffindor. The two teachers might manipulate points for their own sport, but neither wished to push the point system too far. They both knew that blatant abuse would render the system meaningless, and neither wished to demolish a very effective student incentive. So they kept the competition friendly and mostly fair. Snape accepted without rancor that the hapless Griffindors would earn the lost twenty points back with predictable speed in the next Transfiguration class.

"How is your godson adjusting to Hogwarts, Severus?" Minerva inquired.

"Fairly well, I think," Severus glanced over at the little Snakes lining the Slytherin table. "He's a touch spoiled, but he's very bright and seems to make friends easily – at least within his own House."

"He's very like his father," Minerva commented. Her tone implied this was not a favorable resemblance.

"Draco has lead an insular life," Severus agreed neutrally. "He has had no other role model but Lucius. I am hoping when he discovers his own individuality – his own innate character - he will cease to emulate his father so assiduously."

"I'm sure you'll be a good influence on him, Severus."

"I hope to have that opportunity," Severus shrugged. "I believe the boy has potential. I mean to help him develop it."

"Draco is very lucky to have you for a godfather, Severus," Minerva said in a rare display of genuine affection.

Snape snorted. "I don't know about that. I just don't want him to follow in his father's footsteps – not if I can help it."

"I hope you succeed. His upbringing will not be easy to overcome, I fear."

"Don't expect miracles, Minerva. . .the boy's a born Slytherin!" Snape smirked. "I think he'll be willing to change, but only if there's benefit to be gained. I shall endeavor to enlighten him on the *advantages* of decency and integrity."

"Good luck with that," Minerva eyed the Slytherin table with wry pessimism. Snape chuckled.

.............

The Potions Master was enjoying the all-too-brief respite of a half hour break between classes – a rare anomaly in his overcrowded schedule. It was uncommonly warm for the first week of September, and the sunshine and clear blue skies had called him out from the dungeons to breathe in the fresh, balmy breeze. Contrary to school myth, Professor Snape did like sunshine and fresh air. . . he just rarely got the opportunity to enjoy them. Between classes, grading papers, potion-making and his private research, he didn't have much spare time left for strolling the grounds.

He took advantage of the break to stretch his legs, roaming the covered walkways that framed the grassy quad between school wings. When he noticed Professor Hooch's first-year class gathered in the open quad, he started to turn away to seek a more secluded route, but the sound of his godson's voice made him pause. He slipped into the gloom of a shadowy portico to observe the beginners attempting their first flying lesson.

Snape wasn't a personal fan of flying – he preferred the convenience and speed of apparation or floo travel. But he did appreciate the finesse of skillful broom handling, and even enjoyed a good Quidditch match – strictly as a spectator, of course. He watched Hooch's dour coaching, smirking at the clumsy broom commands of Weasley and Granger, and admiring Draco's keen aptitude.

When Longbottom rose erratically and careened around the quad like a drunken loon, Snape snickered. He knew better than to interfere – Hooch was notoriously territorial – so he hung back in the shadows, deriving guilty pleasure from the dolt's misfortune. He wasn't surprised that Longbottom was so hopelessly inept – the boy was a useless lump as far as Snape could tell. He was only surprised the clumsy fool had merely broken his wrist instead of his neck.

As a clucking Hooch herded the child off to the hospital wing, Snape turned to resume his stroll. Belligerent voices raised in argument caught his attention and he paused, glancing back at the huddle of children left alone in the quad. Draco and Potter appeared to be having some sort of disagreement and Snape watched curiously.

The boys were too far away to hear clearly but it wasn't hard to grasp the gist of the dispute. Draco apparently had something Potter wanted – something the spoiled Brat-Who-Lived was demanding rather haughtily. Snape smiled when his godson perched confidently on his broom and swooped into the air, taunting Potter. Draco had been flying a broom since he was four – his technique was quite competent and graceful for a child his age. Potter bickered briefly with his cohorts, then clambered aboard his own broom and pursued Draco with more daring than dexterity.

Snape had to admit Potter was unexpectedly talented, despite his inexperience. Though it was obviously his first time on a broom, the boy soared straight up to Draco, several stories in the air, without the slightest hesitation. He handled the school broom with the negligent ease of a natural born flyer, and aggressively confronted his fair-haired godson. Snape snorted with disbelief when Draco hurled the contested object toward the roof of Gryffindor tower and Potter immediately spun to dive after it.

As Potter rocketed toward the stone tower at break-neck speed, it occurred to Snape to be alarmed for the reckless brat. Potter was so focused on the small hurtling object he chased, that he didn't even seem to notice the looming tower wall ahead.

If Potter kills himself, the Headmaster will not be pleased.

Snape raised his wand, wondering if he could erect a cushioning shield from this distance. Before he could cast the spell, he saw Potter reach out, wobble precariously on his broom, then execute a fantastically swift pivot, halting mere inches from a tower window. Snape gasped in spite of himself. The boy hovered, smirking at Draco and holding one arm high. Sunlight glinted off the small object in his hand.

BLOODY HELL! Snape froze, shaken and stunned. He watched with confounded wonder as the Potter boy descended to the quad and hopped off his broom, to be hailed by a circle of cheering housemates.

Once his heart had plunged from his throat back down to his chest, Snape began to seethe. That bloody fool! Stupid, irresponsible brat! He could have been killed! He SHOULD have been killed! How in HELL did he manage to turn like that? Reckless, brainless boy! I'm going to break his bloody neck! Of all the harebrained, infantile. . .

Snape found himself trembling with anger and fright. Breathing hard, he stalled a few minutes, struggling to regain his composure. He was determined to conceal his alarm before confronting the troublesome brat. He straightened his shoulders, carefully arrayed his robes to billow effectively, and prepared to swoop down on the unsuspecting boy.

Before he could move, he spotted Professor McGonagall stalking from Gryffindor tower toward the cluster of students. Her green robes swirled with a turbulent flair even Snape could appreciate. She descended upon Potter with a feral gleam in her eyes.

"Never. . .in all my time at Hogwarts. . ." McGonagall was nearly speechless with shock. "Potter! Follow me. . .now!" She whirled and marched back toward the tower, agitation radiating from her rigid form like a smoldering aura.

His triumphant glee deflated, a mortified Potter trailed after her, his thin shoulders slumped in dread.

Serves him right! Snape approved, only a tad disappointed to have missed the opportunity to castigate the horrid child. He's Minerva's problem after all – she can deal with him!

As the remaining children milled about in the quad, Snape stepped out onto the grass and caught Draco's attention with a summoning wave.

Draco ambled over with a fair imitation of the Malfoy smirk on his pert face. "Yes, Professor?"

"That was a skillful display of flying, Malfoy."

"Thank you, sir!" Draco's face lit up proudly.

"I believe Madame Hooch instructed your class to remain on the ground until she returned – did she not?"

Draco's face fell and he blushed. "Uh. . . well. . .I. . ."

Snape arched a warning brow at his stammering godson.

Draco sighed, his expression sagging into a sulk. "Yes, sir."

"You may be brighter and more accomplished than your classmates, but that doesn't give you liberty to ignore the rules, Draco."

"Yes, sir." Draco frowned, trying to work out if Snape's words were a compliment or a rebuke.

"I expect you to set an example for your housemates - particularly those who have not had the advantage of your breeding and social status."

Draco nodded glumly. "Yes, sir."

Snape laid a solicitous hand on the boy's shoulder and gave him a tiny smile to reassure him that he wasn't angry. "I expect great things from you, Draco. You have a promising future ahead of you here at Hogwarts. I desire to see you win points for Slytherin on your merits – not lose points for misconduct. Please don't disappoint me, lad."

Draco blushed again, and stared sheepishly up at him. "Yes, sir. I won't, Uncle Severus – I promise."

"Good lad," Snape smirked approvingly. "And it's *Professor Snape* here at school, Draco – don't forget."

"Yes, Professor!" Draco flashed him an impudent grin.

"I see Madame Hooch returning – go back to your lesson now, cheeky boy!" Snape scowled, only his eyes betraying his mirth.

Draco sniggered and strutted back to his class. Snape gathered his robes about himself pensively and paced back to his dungeon.

.................

"MCGONAGALL!" Snape's angry bark caused a startled hush to descend upon the staff room as every head turned to stare at him.

"Yes, Professor Snape?" Minerva answered primly.

Severus ignored the mild rebuke in her tone and dropped into the chair beside her, lowering his voice. The other teachers returned to their own conversations. "Excuse me. . .Professor McGonagall. . .please tell me that the rumor I have heard is untrue," he snapped.

"Well, that depends, Severus," Minerva smiled. "Which rumor are you referring to?"

"Tell me you did not reward Potter's foolhardy stunt today by. . .by appointing him to the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"

Minerva frowned. "Don't be ridiculous, Severus. I do not reward recklessness. I gave Potter additional homework as punishment for his irresponsibility."

Snape huffed peevishly, and Minerva grinned.

"Of course, I also assigned him to the team."

"What?"

"I take it you witnessed his performance on the quad? Have you ever seen such lightning-fast reflexes? Did you see that turn?" Minerva gushed happily. "And on his first time on a broom! That boy is a natural born Seeker!"

"He's . . .he's a first-year! First-years aren't allowed to join House teams!" Snape protested.

"Well, normally, no. . . but given Harry's extraordinary aptitude, Albus agreed to make an exception."

"He had no right to – that boy is spoiled enough as it is! Making exceptions for him just feeds his deluded notions of self-importance!"

"Nonsense, Severus. Harry is neither spoiled nor delusional. He's merely gifted at flying."

"I am going to formally protest this. . .this blatant favoritism, Minerva!"

"Oh, Severus! Don't make such a fuss. If the boy wants to play Quidditch, what harm can it do?" Minerva said sweetly. "You know perfectly well that Gryffindor hasn't fielded a decent Seeker in years. Now, we may finally give your Slytherins a run for their money!"

"That's not the point!" Snape snorted. This thought had occurred to him, but he wasn't going to admit it.

"You know, dear," she murmured slyly, "You really shouldn't contest this. People might assume you are simply envious. Obstructing my house team's opportunity for a winning season could well be construed as favoritism toward your own team."

"I am not concerned by any dubious competition, Minerva. I merely object to the preferential treatment Potter receives, simply because he happens to be the Boy-Who-Lived!"

"I'd hardly call encouraging his talents preferential treatment, Severus. Hogwarts has always recognized and honored students with exceptional abilities," Minerva chided. "We are allowing Harry to join the team based on aptitude. His unfortunate celebrity has nothing to do with his potential as a Seeker."

"Ah – it's just a coincidence, I suppose," Snape replied snidely.

"Perhaps not," Minerva conceded. A shrewd spark twinkled in her knowing eyes. "More likely, his talent is hereditary. As I recall, his father, James, was a gifted Chaser in his day. Wouldn't you agree?"

Snape stifled his furious curse with great effort. He rose stiffly, struggling to reclaim his wounded dignity. Glowering at his colleague, he hissed between clenched teeth. "James Potter was an arrogant, insufferable fool, possessed of more vanity than brains! I suggest you keep a tight rein on his son, Minerva, or the brat will end up just like him!" He emphasized his warning with a defiant sneer and swept from the room in a huff.

"Oh, Severus," Minerva sighed regretfully. That's what you fear most, isn't it? That the child will be another James? Poor boy – will you never forgive?

With a sharp pang of remorse, the elderly witch watched the Potions Master storm out. She could not blame Snape for his resentment, for she knew he'd been tormented as a student by James Potter and his cronies. Like the Headmaster, she had disregarded his mistreatment, and her guilt lay heavy on her heart.

Harry's not like James, Severus – whatever you assume. I think he's more like you than you realize. I hope in time you recognize that, and give the boy a chance.