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It seemed that the news that the lack of expulsion for Potter’s little stunt was just as big as the boy’s superb flying skills. Snape almost regretted his decision to let the boy stay in school, but ultimately, that decision was made by Dumbledore and there would have been no way he’d let his dear Golden Boy out of sight. Granted, Snape didn’t want the boy out of his sight either – making him grudgingly admit that he’d never truly go through with a threat of expulsion – but he wanted him to learn from his mistakes.

Smash the growing’s of James Potter before they could take root in his son.

As he walked swiftly down the steps to the dungeons, the previous incident in the Teacher’s lounge intruded upon his thoughts, slowing his walk and furrowing his brow. It seemed that Minerva had been genuinely concerned that’d he expel the boy, or at least attempt to. She’d been furious as well, though something in the way her eye glimmered struck him that Potter wouldn’t have gotten any punishment if he’d been in her house.

And she told him not to play favoritism. What a hypocrite.

“Really, Severus. Don’t play coy with me, we all know you hate the boy – it’s rather obvious – but you can’t expel him! You just can’t.”

“I will do whatever I deem correct.”

“What you consider correct and what someone else does are two extremely different things.”

“Are you insinuating that I am too harsh?”

“Rather, you go to extremes when it comes to judgment.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when a Gryffindor crosses my path.”

“Don’t play that card with me, it goes both ways.” Pause. “Or, did you perhaps go too easy on the boy simply because he’s in your house?”

“And I thought I was the one who went to extremes in judging.” Frustrated sigh. “Potter has been given detention for the remainder of the term. Satisfied now?”

“Moderately.”

“Good. Because I have a class I need to prepare for.”

Honestly, that old bag could’ve been the boy’s Grandmother with the way she acted.

Outside his office now, Snape paused, surveying the door. It was ajar, the barest glimmer of light streaming out into the dark hallway. With a flourish, he pushed open the door, one hand automatically searching for his wand – just in case, but there was no need. Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch captain was standing in front of his desk, wringing his hands. Marcus was a tall boy with coarse black hair and grey eyes that seemed to shift around the room just a tad too much for anyone’s liking. Snape brushed swiftly past him to his desk, waiting almost a full minute before saying anything.

“Yes, Flint?”

Marcus Flint swallowed. “I heard that Potter can fly.”

Snape nodded, his lip curling. “Yes, that seems to be the rumor flying around now.”

“But can he, I mean… is he good?”

“I didn’t witness it.”

“Zabini said he caught the ball a foot from the ground.”

Snape had the horrible feeling that he knew were this conversation was going. “I am not allowing it,” he said curtly, figuring he better stop the question in its tracks. “First years aren’t allowed on the Quidditch team for a reason.”

“Please, Professor!” Flint suddenly cried. “We need the best team we can get to win the house cup! Just bend the rule this once, for the sake of beating Gryffindor at least!”

“Are you suggesting,” Snape spat, his eyes flashing, “that I reward Potter’s rule-breaking?”

“Detention for the rest of term is hardly a reward. Please sir, just let him tryout at least. If it’s all rumor than no harm, but if he is really good we need him on the team!”

Snape was silent for a long moment, at war with himself. Letting Potter tryout would be giving the boy a reward for his behavior, it would be giving him special treatment and putting him above the rules. On the other hand, not letting Potter be on the Quidditch team might mean they wouldn’t get the Quidditch Cup. The other houses were becoming increasingly determined to beat them. Who was more important, his house of the boy? 

He rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he snarled, getting to his feet.

“You’ll allow it?” Flint gasped.

“I’ll see if the Headmaster will allow it,” Snape bit out. “I will be present at the tryouts and if he’s not good enough my permission is withdrawn. Understand?”

“Absolutely!”

Why was this boy such a headache?

-

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Albus Dumbledore’s blue eyes were twinkling merrily at him, something that Snape had taken to imply amusement and a way of sophisticated mockery. If he had been a man with less control, his face would’ve been brick red right now. Instead, his lip curled, his pallid face livid with fury. Blast it, if that man made one more crack about—

“Well, Severus, I must say I’m impressed. For you to put aside your prejudices for the sake of the House—”

“—Is pushing me closer to changing my mind,” Snape snapped. He took a breath before continuing – getting short with Dumbledore was never a wise thing to do, even if he considered him somewhat of a friend. “Does Potter,” he said slowly, hating the words coming out of his mouth, “have permission to tryout for the Slytherin Quidditch team?”

Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment longer. “Yes. Potter has permission to try out.”

Snape nodded stiffly and turned, his black robe billowing behind him. Just as his hand gripped the door-handle Dumbledore spoke again, making him pause.

“Not what you expected, is it Severus?”

Miserable pause. “When should I get my stuff?”

“Oh, but you see Professor you have it all wrong. That’s not what happened at all.” Cocky smile. “He attacked me first, it was merely self defense! And then a bit of revenge…” Bashful grin, a mocking glance.

Yes, James Potter always seemed to have an alibi, a different point of view, an explanation. His son had done no such thing. It was a discomforting feeling, as though he had seen James but encountered her. Or at least, some warped version of her.

“No,” Snape found himself saying. “He doesn’t—” He abruptly cut off, as though seeming to realize what was about to tumble from this mouth and clamped his jaw shut. But, the damage had been done, if it were possible, the sparkle in the old man’s eyes increased. “Its just,” Snape continued quickly before Dumbledore could produce his own conjectures, “He—” again he cut off.

He couldn’t say it.

“He’s more like her than you expected.”

Slowly, Snape nodded. Even as he did, he felt the incredible urge to pull out his wand and start hexing the paintings off the walls. “He’s still full of his father!” He spat out, recovering himself. “No regard for rules, a desperate need for attention, no consideration for the property of others.”

Dumbledore sighed and turned away. He was quiet so long that Snape had almost decided to leave, but again he was interrupted before he could step out.

“What model are you going to get him?”

Snape stared. “What?” he asked too surprised to sound malicious.

“I’d recommend a Comet 260, or – if you’re feeling generous – a Nimbus.”

Snape was dumbfounded. He opened his mouth, couldn’t think of anything to say that quite covered his shock, and closed it again.

Dumbledore smiled. “I’d, of course, reimburse you regardless of what you get him.”

-

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Harry Potter was a scrawny boy of eleven with jet-black hair that was always a disaster and bottle-green eyes. He was, albeit strained, friends with Malfoy. And, he was a Slytherin.

By sorting, and choice.

He had never really felt accepted into the house until now. Sure, before they had greeted him politely, some degree of respect hanging in the air, but it had always felt awkward, as though everyone was doing it grudgingly. Now, after he had publically sided with his house – before the Gryffindor’s no less! – the attitude had completely changed. Even Zabini – who Harry had always considered to be on good terms with – behaved differently. True, his character wasn’t exactly fuzzy to begin with, but the attitude now… Harry wondered how he had ever perceived his previous behavior as friendly. But, the most notable change was the names.

It wasn’t Zabini anymore, it was Blaise. It wasn’t Malfoy, it was Draco. And it wasn’t Potter, it was Harry.

“So,” Blaise said clapping hair on the back. “You’re not expelled, are ya.” It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Harry replied his smile faltering slightly. “But I’ve got detention until Christmas.”

Draco looked up. “Are you serious? You must be the first Slytherin to get detention from him… ever.”

“Thanks Draco, that just made me feel that much better.”

“I’ll see if I can get him to shorten it,” Blaise said. “After, you know, a month of good behavior.”

Harry let out a hollow laugh. “Good behavior… more likely than not I’ll be adding weeks to my sentence with every passing day.”

“Harry?”

Harry turned slightly surprised. The girl nervously brushed a strand of long dark hair and he recognized her as Daphne Greengrass. She had tried to defend him at the broomstick practice. 

“Oh, hello. What’s up?”

“After the…” she trailed off pointedly. “Well, that Weasley boy wanted me to give this to you.” She held out a folded piece of parchment. “I didn’t read it!” she added hurriedly a rose tint accenting her cheeks and before Harry could say anything she had stuffed it into his hand and darted away.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “You know Harry, I think she’s growing a fondness for you.”

“Shut it,” Harry mumbled, feeling his face flush. In effort to avoid Draco – who was sharing smug smirks with Blaise – he opened the note and felt his heart fall.

Potter. Consider our truce, nullified.

Harry felt his fist clench, crumpling the ripped parchment within it. What, because he had decided to side with his house instead of the Gryffindor one? He wasn’t in Gryffindor, he was in Slytherin and it was about time he’d accepted that fact. If the situation had been reversed, he wouldn’t have expected Ron to side with the Slytherin house. That would’ve resulted in the instant exile of his person from the house – well, in a manner of speaking – and so it was the same for him. Why couldn’t he understand that?

R—Weasley was being stupid.

“What’d the blood traitor say?” Blaise asked, attempting to look over Harry’s shoulder. Harry stuffed the crumpled parchment into his pocket and turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Blood traitor?”

“Yeah, don’t you know?” Draco drawled smugly. “They’re the worst purebloods, give the rest of us a bad name. Arthur and his family are filthy muggle loving fools. Way Arthur goes on about muggles, you’d think he’d want to be one of them.”

“Want to be one of them?” Harry repeated blankly. “Why?”

Draco shrugged. “Beats me, all I know is that he’s obsessed with muggle stuff. Works with it at work. My father loathes the Weasley’s, says their besmirching the name of wizard. And I agree, a total disgrace.”

Blaise shrugged, “Of course, it’s my policy to hate anyone that comes in contact with muggles.”

Harry snorted. “I guess I should keep my back watched then, shouldn’t I?”

Blaise smirked in reply. “Harry Potter, ever the exception.”

“What about me?” Malfoy suddenly shot.

Harry and Blaise turned to him. “You associate with mudbloods and blood traitors?” Blaise asked quizzically.

“No…”

“Then why would you even—” Blaise shook his head, leaving it at that. He and Harry exchanged amused looks. As Blaise decided to entertain himself further by poking at Malfoy’s rather stupid question, Harry found himself pulling the note once more from his pocket, flattening it out, and glaring down at the four words hastily scribbled across it. He did want to admit it, but this felt like a greater let down than it should have. Somehow, he’d gotten it into his head on the Hogwarts Express that they’d always be friends, best mates from that moment on until they graduated. Scabbers biting Goyle’s finger, eating Berti Bots Every Flavor Beans. It was amazing to think that, now, whatever semblance of a friendship had been dried and crumbled, parchment smashed and thrown into the trash. He knew he should have expected this. After all, Slytherin and Gryffindor did not get along as all. But he had hoped.

He stood, abruptly, and tossed the paper into the fire, watching as the flames licked the inky words off the page, leaving black nothingness in it’s wake. There, it was done. Forgotten, a wistful memory.

“So, what did the message say?”

Harry turned to see Draco observing him with interest, his grey eyes flickering down to the burning paper. Harry surveyed him for a moment, then chuckled though the sound held no mirth in it.

“Let’s just say, the blood traitor and I have nothing more to do with each other.”

Malfoy’s smirk broadened. “I told you, on the train, didn’t I?”

Harry did not nod, but it seemed it didn’t need to. “That takes care of everything then.”

“Not quite.” Harry was smirking now. “Tomorrow, we are going to see Hagrid.”

Malfoy frowned. “Can’t you take Blaise with you, or something?”

Harry shook his head. “A deal is a deal.”

“But—”

“A Slytherin never goes back on his word to his friend.”

Draco stared at Harry for a long moment. Harry chuckled, and smacked him rather harder than necessary on the back. “I’ll see you tomorrow after classes on the front steps then, friend.”

At that moment, Blaise called them over to get started on their History of Magic homework, preventing Draco from responding. He gave Harry a sour look, but non-the-less nodded and then swept back over to the table, looking sulky. Harry resisted the urge to do a fist pump. This was his revenge. Blaise looked questioningly over at him. Harry shook his head, and muttered, “later” while Draco was busy getting his textbook out of his bag. While it was true that he’d have rather asked Blaise to join him, making Draco uncomfortable was his goal in life at the moment. And since Draco didn’t want to go he was definitely going.

 -

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“Finally.”

Harry set down his quill and stretched, feeling stiff after sitting in one attitude for the last hour and a half. Blaise sighed and set his quill down as well, a yawn escaping him.

“Not my best work…” he grumbled slightly, proceeding to stuff it into his bag. “But that old codger will just have to live with it.”

Draco murmured something that sounded like an agreement, but as he still had another paragraph to go, he seemed to be trying to remain concentrated on it. Harry was just re-reading his finished essay on the foundations of the goblin society when a tap on his shoulder made him jump. He turned around to see a dark haired boy standing there. He was a great deal older than Harry was, his arms burley and stocky, though rather short. His black hair was coarse and thick, though seemed to more manageable than Harry’s was. His front teeth looked slightly too big for his mouth

“Harry could I have a word?” he asked, his voice hinting at an excitement just waiting to bubble over. “Marcus Flint.” He held out a hand and Harry, though slightly confused shook it.

“Sure…”

Marcus Flint glanced once at Draco and Blaise before leading Harry away from them to an area of the common room that was vacant. Harry surveyed him curiously for a moment before broaching the question.

“What is it?”

Marcus seemed hardly able to control himself. “I am the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team,” he said in an undertone though very fast. “I heard you can fly very well.”

“I— but first years aren’t allowed on the house teams!”

Marcus shook his head. “I pulled some strings to allow you to tryout. No promises on getting in, of course, but better safe than sorry. Anyway, we’re having the tryouts tonight. Grab your bag and met me down on the Quidditch Pitch in fifteen minutes. Don’t…” he glanced back at Draco and Blaise. “Tell your friend just yet. You’re the only first year that got an okay.”

Harry nodded, hardly daring to believe it. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll be there.”

He went back to the table and began shoving his books and papers back into his bag.

“What’s up?” Blaise asked raising an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

Harry nodded, wondering what to say. He looked up and met Blaise’s eyes. He blinked, looked over at Marcus then back to Harry.

“No way…”

“What?” Draco asked without looking up.

Harry, panic rising, caught Blaise’s eye and, shook his head pointedly. They would no doubt talk about it later, but right now in a room full of first years was a bad idea. Draco in particular didn’t seem the type to just let it slide that only Harry was being given the opportunity to tryout for Quidditch. Blaise frowned, but seemed to be on a similar train of thought because he said, “The exception to all rules is ditching us.”

Harry glared at him. “I’ll be back, don’t wait up though.”

At last, Draco looked up. “Where you going?”

Harry opened his mouth but Blaise – seeming to realize that he didn’t have any cover – said, “You said you had a headache, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” relief flooded him. “I’m just going to grab some medicine.” And with that he darted out of the common room, a sinking feeling telling him that Zabini wasn’t just going to cover him without getting something in return.

Slytherins seemed to work that way, at least, until they were sure loyalty was deserved.