In the weeks before he arrived, it was nothing but Potter, Potter, Potter. Harry this, Harry that. Not a single staff meeting went by without someone rhapsodizing about the blasted boy, or discussing his impending debut as a first-year student.

Would he be in Gryffindor like his parents? – Unthinkable, that the Boy-Who-Lived should end up in any other House.

Would he dazzle them with brilliance, stun them with amazing spellwork? - Snape refused to be dazzled, stunned or otherwise impressed, no matter how the brat showed off.

Would he have his father’s good looks, his Quidditch talent and mischievous sense of humor? – Snape, for one, expected an exact replica of James bloody Potter, a conceited Quidditch fiend who delighted in humiliating his fellow students.

He mentioned none of this to the other teachers. They’d only think him biased, and would idolize Potter even more determinedly. McGonagall was the worst by far. The boy became the designated star of Gryffindor before he had even set foot into the school.

On September 1st , Snape sat in his usual spot at the teachers’ table and watched the first-years being led into the hall like a gaggle of scared chicks. The same every year. Hands tugging the unfamiliar school robes into place. Scuffed sneakers and those ridiculous canvas shoes peeking out from under black hems; pony tails held up by pink elastics; round, childish faces pale with excitement. Later in bed, most of them would secretly cry their eyes out, hyped up on far too much sugar and adrenaline.

Every year, he watched each child as they sat on the Sorting stool and predicted the House they were going to end up in. Most of the time, he guessed correctly. Siblings often ended up in the same house; Ravenclaw had a definite surplus of female students; children who pushed back the hat from their eyes usually became Slytherins, while future Hufflepuffs often folded their hands as they sat down on the stool. Snape didn’t know if anyone else noticed these things. He, for one, took in the information and filed it away. Know thine enemy, as they said.

This time, he kept an eye out for Potter. There was a boy in the front row, dark-haired and with an arrogant air about him, who fit Snape’s image of the brat. He watched him until McGonagall called “Eisner, Ladislaus”, and the boy came forward to be Sorted into Ravenclaw. Next was “Finch-Fletchley, Justin”, who folded his hands as he sat down and promptly became a Hufflepuff.

Where was Potter? You’d think he’d want to stand out from the crowd, draw attention to himself.

Next in line, “Granger, Hermione” was Sorted into Ravenclaw. “MacDougal, Morag” became a Gryffindor, looking ridiculously pleased with herself as she bounded over to their table. The Great Hall rang with boisterous applause as always when a new member was welcomed into Gryffindor House.

Draco Malfoy became a Slytherin as soon as the hat touched his head. With a proud look at his godfather, the boy got up, and Snape allowed the tiniest of smiles to grace his lips. Except for Dumbledore, he was the only teacher who applauded Draco as the boy went to sit with his House. Following longstanding tradition, the other Houses hissed and booed as Draco passed by. The applause from his snakes could not drown out the sound, nor could his own, defiant clapping.

The next Slytherin, a tiny black girl with glasses, seemed intimidated at having hundreds of older students booing her as she crossed the hall. Shoulders hunched, she broke into a run, almost tripping over her robes before she could duck onto a bench and become invisible. Snape kept his eyes on her, satisfied when he saw Lydia Winter, a fifth-year Prefect, slip an arm around the girl. He could rely on his snakes to look out for the little ones.

Finally, McGonagall called for “Potter, Harry”. Ignoring the whispers from students and teachers alike, Snape leaned forward in his seat. Here he came, the future star of Gryffindor, the prodigal son returning from the Muggle world.

A boy reluctantly slunk forward, his lowered face half-hidden behind a straggle of black hair. As was his ingrained habit, Snape took in every detail about the child. Slightly built and small, Potter was dwarfed by most of his year mates. His sneakers, by far the scruffiest Snape had seen, seemed too big for his feet. Skinny hands clutched the edge of the chair as he sat down, one of them coming up to push back the hat that had slid over his eyes.

Push back the hat? Snape blinked. He must have been mistaken.

From the corner of his eye, he could see McGonagall’s expectant smile. The boy sat there almost apathetically, his face betraying no emotion whatsoever. Perhaps he was bored with the proceedings? Snape sneered inwardly. Prince Potter, made to wait his turn like any lowly first-year.

How much longer? Even the damn Sorting Hat seemed to believe that Potter deserved special treatment. Or perhaps it enjoyed keeping everyone in suspense, heightening the drama. As if anyone would be surprised to see Potter Sorted into-

“Slytherin!”

The Great Hall had never been so silent. McGonagall clutched her roll-calling list more tightly, her fingers crumpling the edge of the parchment. All eyes were fixed on Potter, the only person who seemed oblivious to the sudden tension. The boy slipped off the stool and stood there, looking rather ridiculous with the old, battered hat on his head.

Potter in Slytherin. An oxymoron by itself. And yet all the signs were there; Snape had simply chosen to ignore them in this particular student.

Hesitantly, the boy reached up and took off the hat. His tousled black hair stuck up, and now Snape could see the famous lightning bolt, the scar they made out to be a mark of honor. As everything else, it was not what Snape had expected. Beginning somewhere under the boy’s hairline, it snaked across the pale forehead and split the boy’s right eyebrow in two; jagged and scarlet, it looked as if it were bleeding. Snape had always imagined it to be rather small and faded. This… looked painful. Disfiguring, even.

McGonagall seemed to have gathered enough of her wits about her to take the hat from the boy. Potter slowly walked down the steps that led to the House tables. Still, no one moved or whispered as they’d done before.

A sudden clapping broke the silence, and Snape turned his head towards the sound. Dumbledore was applauding Potter, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was the only one doing so. After a moment’s hesitation, Snape raised his hands and joined in. His House took the signal and began clapping as well. Potter looked up at the sudden noise, and Snape thought he’d seen something like a smile cross the boy’s face. It was gone as quickly as it had come. Potter lowered his head again, hunching his shoulders like his fellow Slytherin before him. His untidy hair fell into his face, hiding the angry scar.

None of the other students booed as Potter sat down with his Housemates. Snape watched some of the Ravenclaws put their heads together and whisper, while a few Gryffindors glared at the Slytherin table. Prefect Flint returned the glare with equal fervor, then leaned over to Potter and pushed something into his hand. A chocolate frog, Snape knew. Flint always kept a supply in his pocket for the Sorting. Potter glanced up at Flint and down at the chocolate frog. Again, the not-quite-smile flashed on his face and was gone in a matter of seconds.

The rest of the Sorting held no surprises. The latest Weasley joined Gryffindor House and received noisy applause as he sat down with his many brothers. Snape noticed that the boy threw a quick look over at the Slytherin table where Potter sat. Potter looked back with a strange expression on his face. Snape did not know what had just passed between the two boys, and he didn’t particularly care. He wanted the ceremony to be over and his snakes safely in bed. Only then would he be able to relax, and somehow wrap his mind around the fact that Harry James Potter had joined the Snake Family.

During the Feast, Snape glanced occasionally at his House table to see how his new students were faring. Draco sat between two hulking boys whom Snape recognized as Crabbe and Goyle junior. His godson’s perfect table manners stood in stark contrast to their open-mouthed chewing. The little girl next to Lydia Winter was talking animatedly to Theodore Nott, a skinny boy in second-hand robes. Nott’s mother had died not too long ago, Snape recalled. Many of his snakes had lost family members; in this respect, Potter was no exception. Snape watched the dark-haired boy as he ate. Potter’s table manners were appalling. The boy did not cram in the food like Crabbe and Goyle, but he seemed unsure what to do with his cutlery. Eventually, he speared an entire roast potato with his fork and began to nibble at it, ignoring the trickle of gravy that dribbled down his chin. Snape shook his head and turned back to his own food. Potter was certainly a mystery, in more than one aspect.

By the time the pudding was eaten and the Headmaster had tormented his staff with the infernal caterwauling he liked to call the school song, Snape was more than ready to leave the Hall. Some of his younger students seemed ready to nod off over their plates, while others nearly bounced off the walls with sugar-induced energy. He nodded at Flint, who ordered the first-years to follow him to the dungeons. They trailed after him like little geese, with Potter bringing up the rear. Snape saw the boy slipping something into his pocket as he left the table, but couldn’t make out what it was.

“Severus,” said a voice behind him. McGonagall stood there, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She looked decidedly unhappy.

“Yes?”

She sighed. “Look, I realize you and James never saw eye to eye, but… Harry’s different. He seems like a nice boy.”

Bloody Gryffindors, rushing in where angels feared to tread. Not that he wasn’t used to it. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Did you by any chance listen to the Sorting Hat, Minerva?”

“Of course I did, but-”

“Indulge me, then: What House did it say Potter belongs to?”

He could almost see her grind her teeth. “Slytherin, but-”

“Indeed. And if I’m not mistaken, that implies that Potter is my responsibility from now on?”

An angry nod. “Of course he is, but-”

“So, if I understand you correctly, you’re worried that I’m going to neglect my duties as his Head of House? Perhaps you’re implying that my Slytherins aren’t as well cared for as they should be?”

“Severus, there’s no need to jump down my throat. I know how you care for your snakes. I just-”

“In that case, kindly refrain from interfering with my inner-House affairs. Good night, Minerva.”

He turned away and left the Hall. He knew she was disappointed, affronted even; not so much by his sarcasm, but by the fact that Potter would not come to live in the Lions’ Den. Her golden Gryffindor, surrounded by slithering serpents. It must have dented her pride considerably to see him leave the Hall with the wrong group of students.

A moment to treasure, for sure, but now was not the time for gloating. He had his own welcoming speech to deliver, and it would not do to keep his new snakes waiting. The sooner they were off to bed, the better.

There was a persistent rumor at Hogwarts that first-year Slytherins had to undergo a number of harrowing initiation rites before they were accepted into their new House. Snape had heard everything from tales of kissing a live adder to being forced to walk across white-hot coals. He, of course, always featured as the dark conductor of these affairs, overseeing them and advising his prefects how to perfect the torture.

He did nothing to disabuse people of their notions, although it amused him to imagine their disappointment if they knew the truth. As he walked into the Slytherin common room and saw the pale, anxious faces turned up to him, he wondered if some of the older students had been telling tales on the train. Best to put things straight right from beginning.

“Whatever you have heard about any so-called initiation rituals is utter rubbish. You have been Sorted into Slytherin House, and this is it. There will be no fooling around with poisonous reptiles or hot coals. Welcome to the Serpents’ Lair.”

Their faces brightened visibly, and he continued. “While you are here, your House acts as your family. Every member of Slytherin House is equally welcome, and I expect you to keep this in mind. Outside of this room, you are to show a united front. You do not fight, and you do not insult a fellow Slytherin. Likewise, I will not issue any reprimands outside these walls. Keep in mind, however, that I expect each and every one of you to uphold the honor of Slytherin House; you will be polite and respect your elders, you will study hard, and you will assist your fellow Slytherins in any way you can. If you decide that you are above these rules, you will find the consequences to be most unpleasant.”

A few of them nodded while others listened warily, still waiting what he had to offer them in return.

“If you need assistance with your schoolwork or other things, you may approach me or the

prefects at all times. This includes problems with students from other Houses, difficulties at home and… personal issues. It is my duty to assist you with any of these; if you feel more comfortable confiding to a prefect, you may rest assured that he or she will not disclose your problems to anyone else.”

He nodded at the six prefects who were standing silently to one side. Thankfully, three of them were female; as dedicated as he was to his House, he’d rather not live through any more excruciatingly embarrassing conversations through closed doors in the girls’ bathroom.

“We have a number of inner-House activities and schedules, some of which are mandatory. First-years are required to sign up for study groups which are supervised by an older student. Your tutors will regularly report to me and inform me about your progress and study habits. We have twice-monthly House meetings that you will attend, as well as quarterly meetings of students in the same year. As far as non-mandatory activities go, there is a chess club, a dueling club, a drama group, and of course the Quidditch team. Captain Flint conducts the try-outs, although you should know that first-years are not chosen for the team as a rule.”

“As for your daily routine, you’re to wear your school robes to all classes, unless you are specifically told to don other attire. You may wear your own clothes in your free time, as long as you look presentable. All used garments are to be turned in for cleaning once a week, and nothing should be worn for longer than three days, at the most. Two in the case of socks and undergarments.”

He paused to let this important bit of information sink in. Flitwick and McGonagall thought he was being pedantic, lecturing his first-years on socks and underwear, but at least his Slytherins never smelled as if they’d been pulled out from under their beds.

“First-years are expected to be in their dormitories by nine; lights-out is at ten o’clock sharp. Anyone who uses Lumos to read under the sheets will be summarily expelled and have their wands snapped apart.”

He delivered this with a perfectly straight face, and smirked inwardly at the wide, impressed eyes staring up at him. Draco, of course, was hiding a smile behind his hand.

“At eight o’clock in the morning, you will present yourself fully dressed and groomed in the Great Hall; skipping breakfast is not acceptable. You’ll find Hogwarts food to be plentiful and varied; all the same, I expect you to follow your prefects’ example and eat a balanced diet. Vegetables are not intended as table decoration, and even if you’ve heard rumors to the contrary, the human being is able to survive on a single helping of chocolate pudding a day.”

There were some careful smiles at this, and some of the students relaxed their stance ever so slightly. Potter, he noticed, was not among them. The boy was watching him almost suspiciously, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Snape continued. “As the Headmaster mentioned, you’re not allowed to enter the forest on Hogwarts grounds unaccompanied. A number of highly dangerous magical creatures live in there, and they’ll regard any under-age wizard or witch as fair game.”

A hesitant hand came up at that.

“Yes?” Snape asked.

“Do these… creatures ever come out of the forest, sir?” asked Theodore Nott.

Snape nodded at the boy to let him know his question was appreciated. “They do not stray anywhere near the school,” he said. “Generally, they stay inside the forest. They respect our territory, as we should respect theirs. A number of them are sentient, and have agreed not to intrude upon school grounds.”

“What does “sentient” mean?” Pansy Parkinson wanted to know.

“It means that they are able to think and reason, and do not live a life based on mere instinct, as animals do.”

“My father says Muggles are like animals,” said Aelfric Urquart, a narrow-faced boy with brown hair. Snape sighed inwardly. He’d have preferred not to address this issue today, but had known that it would come up sooner or later. It always did.

“Hogwarts school policy,” he said, allowing his voice to take on a slightly sharper tone, “states that all students are treated alike, regardless of their blood status or lineage.”

He gave Draco a look, satisfied when the boy did not even blink.

“I’ve encountered many pureblood wizards and witches who proved themselves worthy of their family names by excelling at what they did. I’ve also seen many examples of half-blood or Muggle-born Slytherins who did their House proud. As I said before, every member of Slytherin House is equally welcome.”

And that was as straightforward as he could hope to be. It was a narrow ledge he’d been walking for years; discouraging blood discrimination while keeping in mind that some of his students had Death Eater parents, and those parents did not approve of politically correct pish posh. And it was their approval he needed if he wanted to influence their children.

“Your first study group meeting will take place tomorrow afternoon,” he continued, secretly relieved to return to safer terrain. “Your tutors will help you organize your schedule and give you a brief tour of the grounds and castle. After that, I want each of you to write an essay on the following topics: yourself, your impressions of Hogwarts so far, your expectations of a magical education. That will be all for now. Good night.”

“Good night, Professor,” some of them chorused, while others said nothing, clearly dismayed at having been given homework this early in the term. Snape watched as boys and girls parted ways and followed their prefects to the dormitories. As before, Potter was the last in line. He seemed to keep a distance between himself and his classmates; whether unconscious or deliberate, Snape could not tell. The boy had listened carefully to everything he said, but there had been no childish curiosity on his face. Apprehension, yes. Apprehension and the air of a soldier venturing into hostile terrain.

No… as much as it pained him to admit it, this Potter did not belong in Gryffindor. No one with that look in their eyes had yet ended up in the Lions’ Den. Potter was a Slytherin, for better or for worse… and what sweet revenge it was, imagining James Potter’s expression if he could see his son’s green and silver badge.

Snape left the common room, using a little-known short cut to get to his quarters. His desk brimmed with paperwork that wanted his urgent concentration – lessons to be planned, summer homework to be graded – and sooner than he’d thought possible, he’d forgotten about the little, dark-haired boy in the first-year dormitory.