Severus keeps watching as the new wave of first years enters the Great Hall, watching them with a careful eye. He does his yearly routine of trying to pick out who would end up becoming a snake, trying to find the tells that usually give them away before the Hat ever touches their heads.

There is usually an edge or hint of nervousness in their eyes. His Slytherins usually fall somewhere on a spectrum of being aloof and haughty, or broody and mistrustful.

It’s usually all in the eyes, he muses.

“Where is Potter?” Pomona asks, gazing down at the wild gaggle of new idiots. He bites back a sneer at the words, trying to find someone who would, undoubtedly, end up becoming a massive pain in his side. He spots a few with cocky grins who could match the bill, boys with a stature like the elder Potter.

He tunes out for the next while, rather bored with the whole procedure given how many times he’s seen it. When the sorting begins, however, he begins to listen in so that he can clap for the newest additions to his house. His own applause cannot compare to the applause of Slytherin’s table, and neither can that drown out the awkward array of pity-claps from the other tables.

There is a good mix of Half-Bloods among the Pure Bloods, as well as a few Muggle-Born.

One is a girl with her head held high, her face set into a defiant expression as if she’s daring to be challenged. There is something feral and calculating in her eyes, though Severus recognizes that she’s Muggle-Born. He will need to cultivate that spark, fan it into a flame that she can control. And, of course, like every year, he will have to warn the others to behave and not to give her too much grief.

Slytherins, after all, have to watch out for their own. The other Houses surely won’t.

“Potter, Harry!” Minerva calls out far too soon for Severus, and Severus watches a boy he hadn’t noticed before begin his trek to the Hat.

He is small and scrawny, his shoulders hunched as if he isn’t sure what to do with all the attention, his face pink as he sits down. His hair, hiding the famous scar, is a mess of black curls that look like they haven’t met a hairbrush in their time, and a rather poorly kept together set of glasses rests on his nose.

He mustn’t have inherited Potter’s charm and love for being the center of attention. Maybe he’ll warm up to it after a honeymoon period. Either way, it’s already quite obvious where the boy will go. The sorting is more courtesy at this point for him. Of course, he’ll go to Gryffindor, just like his father before him.

Silence overtakes the entire Hall as everyone waits, watching him with bated breath. Even Severus cannot deny how he waits quietly as the Sorting takes longer than is usual for most. Then: “SLYTHERIN!”

There is silence for a moment before the Hall breaks out into more applause than it did for the other Slytherin’s, likely a ploy to get on the hero’s good side. The Slytherin table, in spite of their shock, claps heartily. Keeping the surprise and unhappiness off his face, Severus claps as well.

At least this way, he can give the boy a guiding hand, ensuring he doesn’t end up like the elder Potter.

He is a strict and cold man, but nobody has ever even insinuated that he doesn’t know how to be the head of Slytherin. And Potter or not, the boy is a snake- though one that will inevitably cause Severus many headaches.

Severus looks over to see Minerva and Pomona looking faint, held frozen by their surprise at the turn of events.

“Has… the Hat ever been wrong, Albus?” Minerva asks quietly.

Albus gives Minerva an amused look, but Severus catches the calculating look behind those eyes. “Not as far as I’ve seen. Young Harry Potter is a Slytherin, it seems.”

“What if… defeating You-Know-Who… changed something in him?” Pomona asks hesitantly, making Severus sneer.

“Is it so impossible to believe that your hero could be a Slytherin?” he snaps, causing the other staff to fall into silence, but luckily the students are too engrossed in Potter’s sorting to properly notice the tension at the staff’s tables.

As it is, Potter barely pays the applause attention, fumbling as he gets off of the stool and slinking over to a girl with bushy hair who gives him a warm smile as if they know one another.

Interesting. A Potter in Slytherin. Oh, James Potter would be turning so hard in his grave that he might as well be a maraca. Severus gives the boy a nod as he sits down at the table and pays special attention to how his own godson switches places with one of the Half-Bloods to be able to sit beside the Boy Who Lived.

They whisper something to each other, then Potter straightens his posture and tries to look impassive, but his eyes are far too open, too full of something almost akin to fear.

Once Draco looks away, Potter looks to his Housemates and once he's sure none of them see him, Severus watches as a pale hand reaches out and grabs a bread roll, hiding it in his robes.

It's definitely odd behavior, Severus thinks, but then again, the boy has been an odd boy so far. Perhaps he wants a snack in between meals.

It's nothing too serious. But it's enough to note for future reference.

With a small sigh, Severus turns back to the proceedings, effectively pushing Potter out of his mind. He will be Severus’ problem in several days, but not yet.

Stupid old man, Severus thinks in frustration before he pauses to ensure his mental shields are all the way up. He couldn’t even warn any of us that classes will be pushed back by a week. The Ministry had decided to enforce a mandatory screening for students.

Something about wanting to catch certain things early. Certain illnesses, certain issues, certain… hazards to the children’s lives.

We can’t lose another one.

Severus does his best not to think that maybe having Draco in Hogwarts might have something to do with that. And Lucius might be many things- a bastard among one of those things, and a fame-hungry manipulator, sure, but luckily, he actually cares for his son.

Who would have thought? Severus certainly feared when he found out that Lucius would be having a spawn, but then he’d been made godfather and realized that the boy was changing things in his father. It wasn’t long before Lucius had swallowed his pride and decided to play for both sides of the war, becoming another spy in the closest circles of the Dark Lord.

Severus had been there, standing beside Lucius as the man's hands had trembled on his cane. They both knew that if Dumbledore turned the man away, then no place on Earth would be far enough from the Dark Lord. Not even Azkaban could compare to what would await them, should their cruel Master find out about their wavering loyalties.

But the Headmaster has never been anything but a marionettist in a war of dark and light, and the more pieces for him to move into place, the better, of course.

“Over the course of five days, everyone will be inspected and given a screening to ensure their safety as students of Hogwarts. Think of it as a mandatory check-up. If I find out that one of you tries to get out of this-” his eyes try to meet Potter’s to give him a warning, but the boy has his eyes on the ground, “I will give you a month in detention. You won’t like what happens. During the exam, you will obey whoever the examiner is. The notices will be put up later tonight, and on there, you will find out when your appointment will take place, as well as who will be examining you. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” his first-years reply quietly, though obviously with some hesitation.

“Good. Classes begin Monday after the next. That doesn’t mean you can slack off and not do some self-study, especially of Potions, given that I teach the class. Do not disappoint me. You’re dismissed.”

The group disperses quickly, leaving behind Potter, who stands there as if it pains him to do so. “Mr. Potter, I believe I dismissed everyone. Is there something you need or are you simply trying to disobey me before classes even begin? I assure you that your hero status doesn’t bar you from receiving detention.”

Potter shifts from foot to foot, before those green eyes dart up to meet Severus’. Severus’ breath stops in his chest for a moment. The boy has Lily’s eyes. “Sir… what are they looking for… in the screening?” he asks, eyes genuine and nervous, as though it's taking all of his courage to ask.

Severus gives the boy a look. “Magical illnesses, any signs of abuse, and other such things. Why? Are you afraid of needles or something?”

Potter doesn’t react to the bait, rubbing his palm over his arm. “And… If they find something?”

“Well, then it’ll be handled properly.” Severus narrows his eyes. “Are you hiding something, Potter? Is there something I should know?”

Potter averts his eyes and turns pink. “No, sir. Thank you for answering.”

He quickly turns and hurries over to Draco, who deliberately places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, whispering into his ear. Potter nods quickly, taking a breath in before he relaxes marginally and says something too quiet for anyone but Draco to hear.

How curious… Severus meets his godson’s eye. Draco nods at him in understanding, leading Potter up to their quarters.

For a few hours, he puts it out of his mind. Then Draco finds his way into Severus’ quarters as if he owns it, taking a seat on the seat opposite Severus, looking at his hands, thinking. “You have something to say, Draco?”

“He’s odd. Potter, I mean. There’s something-” he waves a hand vaguely at his head, “off about him.”

Frowning, Severus looks over the papers that Dumbledore handed off to him. “Maybe it’s a ploy for attention. I’m sure that being an attention-seeker is in his blood, Slytherin or not.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Draco responds quietly. “Hermione noticed it as well. Hermione says that it’s textbook trauma… The food hoarding, the flinching, the… the bruises.”

He mentally notes the budding friendship between Potter, Draco, and Granger, putting it aside for later.

With a small sigh, Severus rubs the bridge of his nose. “Did she now?” It’s easier to acknowledge one aspect of it than the latter half, so he says, “I’m sure she’s a licensed medic- however, I suggest that we wait for his assessment to draw conclusions. Has Potter himself been complaining about his home life? Suggesting his family isn't worthy of his presence, perhaps?”

Draco fidgets. “No… He doesn’t speak about it. Well… he doesn’t speak much outside of it, but when asked about his family, he doesn’t say anything against them. He just makes an excuse or changes topics. All I know about them is that they never told him that he was a wizard and that they told him his parents died in a- in a, um, car crash, whatever that is. But I saw him when I was shopping for my clothes and he was wearing rags and he had a black eye!”

“You were with your father?”

He nods. “Yes. Father told me to befriend Potter because it looks like not very many people have in the past.”

A student’s word is one thing, but an adult who has extensive experience with trauma is another. “I see. I’ll look into it.” Draco lets out a soft breath as if a weight has been taken from his shoulders and he nods. “Thank you for telling me.”

Yes, Severus will need to think more deeply about this issue. Potter hasn't been meeting many of Severus' expectations of him, from landing in Slytherin to his nervous politeness to the way his eyes keep darting to and fro, always on the watch for new threats.

Harry is observant, clever, and he has that same spark of ambition in his eyes as the other Slytherins.

The boy has a revolution in his eyes.

He doesn't act like a celebrity, but there's a fire in his eyes that overflows with determination, like someone who's spent their entire life staring up with hungry eyes at a dream that they're not willing to let go of.

What are you hiding, Potter?

Harry hides his trembling hands in his robes as he stands outside of the infirmary door, looking left and right at the empty hall before he finally musters up the bravery to knock.

Maybe that’s the reason I wasn’t a Gryffindor… he thinks to himself as the door opens, revealing his Head of House. The man gives Harry a brief lookover before he steps aside and ushers Harry in. “I’ll be supervising your assessment and Madam Pomfrey will be the one in charge of the assessment.” He leads Harry into an area of the infirmary and hands him a Johnny gown. “Change into this and then open the curtains so that we know you’re ready to begin.”

He quickly leaves, shutting the curtains behind him. Harry shakily puts the hospital gown on, taking in deep breaths. He can’t mess this up. If he messes this up, then he’ll be sent home, and he doesn’t think he would last until the end of the year if he is. Uncle Vernon was so happy to send him away… He’ll be so angry if he has Harry dropped off onto his doorstep a second before summer.

Harry pulls the curtains open slowly, looking up to see Professor Snape standing there with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

“Poppy!” he calls out for the medi-witch suddenly, making Harry jump, his palms sweating profusely. Professor Snape gives him a look that makes him feel like the man can read his mind, so he looks away awkwardly, not really caring how cowardly it makes him look.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” the nurse says, giving Harry a smile. “Now, lie down for me, please. I’m going to cast some spells on you to ascertain your physical condition before we move onto a mental assessment. Does that sound okay to you?”

Harry looks between Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey nervously, his stomach twisting as Madam Pomfrey takes out her wand. He remembers Uncle Vernon’s “wand”, a useless branch that he’d used on Harry when Harry was 6 and read a book about magic. Stupidly enough, he’d asked his Uncle if magic was real.

He learned pretty quickly after that not to ask questions involving magic.

He tries to say nothing, but the words tumble out before he can stop them. “Will it hurt, ma’am?” His voice sounds nervous even to his own ears, but the woman doesn’t look at him with derision or mock him for it, instead, her gaze softens slightly and she shakes her head.

“It’ll be painless, though it might feel a little bit like your skin tingles. If you feel that, I assure you it’s only the spell looking for any past injuries and illnesses for documentation.”

He nods and lies down quickly, even though his instinct is to run. After a few moments, he feels the tingle that she was talking about, but he forces himself to breathe. Breathe in, breathe out.

“Oh,” Madam Pomfrey says and he hears her shuffle over to Professor Snape, who grumbles out something that Harry can’t hear past the rushing of wind in his ears. “Harry, will you stand up, please?”

Harry obeys quickly, standing up. He lets the nurse turn him around and open the gown slightly to peak at his bruises, ignoring the burst of pain when she presses her fingers against one of the welts. She tells him to lie back down and he does so, watching as a floating piece of parchment glows in a pulsating red that seems like it may be urgent.

Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey murmur to each other in quiet tones some more.They look over the results of the floating parchment that's throbbing rather like a wound that's particularly sore. 

“Severus, we need to talk to the Headmaster about this,” Harry hears Madam Pomfrey say, and his heart begins pounding in his ears even faster.

He sits up quickly, almost too quick that he worries he might pass out but the dots at the corners of his vision clears, so he sits there, looking up at them with wide eyes. “Wait. Please...” He should know better than to speak out of turn, but he doesn’t think he’d survive another beating so soon. He licks his lips and tries to think of the right words to say, the right sequence of sentences that can help him remain a student. “I don’t know what I did wrong, but I- I’ll be better.”

He's mildly aware of the shaking potion bottles on the table in the corner, but he doesn't pay it any mind, too focused on the two adults standing in front of him.

Two pairs of eyes stare back at him, both with anger and horror in them. It makes his insides tremble and he wants to cry because he’s only just got here, but he doesn’t cry. He doesn’t trust himself to be able to speak if he does. He doesn't cry often, but when he does, it's usually painful sobs that rip their way out of his throat, and he feels the tightness of his chest tell him that that might be what he's dealing with if he cries.

He should really know better than to beg, so he looks between the two of them, mind racing but feeling oddly empty at the same time. His breathing is too fast but his chest still feels tight, like there's no air entering his lungs, so he breathes harder, trying to breathe and speak and not shatter under the tightness wrapped around his chest.

“Please, Professor,” he turns to the man, who has such a peculiar look in his eyes. “You can- you can punish me here for what I did wrong, right? I won’t tell anyone if you do, you have my word. I can do whatever chores you need done, I can be your- your test subject for potions. I don't even really need much food, or a bed, or anything really. I can work with the house elves for most of the day except for classes. I'll do whatever you want,” he says slowly and calmly as if his hands aren't shaking under the sheets and his heart isn't pounding so hard in his chest that he feels like it's trying to escape.

It's manipulative, of course, to bring up potions because he knows the man is the teacher of the subject, and to make himself seem so subservient and at the other man's mercy, but it usually works on Uncle Vernon because the man likes to feel powerful, to feel like he's in charge all the time. Pride is useless if he has no power to back it up.

"Mr Potter," his professor says quietly, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"I just can't go back yet, sir, but I'll do anything you want if you let me stay, I swear that you won't regret it." Seeing the man's expression remain inscrutable, he makes a gambit. "I have enough money in my vaults if that's- that's something you need, for your potions. I don't need it, but if you have need for it and you promise not to send me back-"

He wouldn't survive being sent back. He's sure of that. He doesn't need money or food or anything else, as long as he can be free from the Dursley's.

He doesn't care what he has to do to stay. Too much is depending on this one dream, and he doesn't care what he has to sacrifice to stay. He keeps his eyes on Professor Snape, begging, trying to find what could get him to allow him to stay, but the man seems only more and more upset by the suggestions.

"Mr. Potter, stop talking," the man grits out, anger in his eyes burning as if Harry had said something offensive. 

Insulting the man wasn't his intention. He's awfully wrong-footed, he doesn't know what the man could be allured by and all of the things that Uncle Vernon usually liked wasn't pleasing the man. He doesn't know what to do and it's dangerous, it's terrifying, because a cruel man is easier to work with than a man whose motives aren't yet known.

A beating, Harry could take. He could take almost anything just to make this one dream of his work. He could take anything as long as he has hope.

Hope doesn't survive in the Dursley house for long, though. There's no place for hope in dark cupboards and cold corners.

Losing his composure, terrified he's lost, Harry begins to yell past the lump in his throat, "I can't go back, I can't, I can't, I won't, you can't make me, I-"

The potion bottle shatters at the same time that Professor Snape yells out,  “Mr. Potter!”  Harry flinches back, certain he's just ruined his chance of staying at Hogwarts altogether. Before he can apologize, however, in a tone that sounds almost choked, the man says, “I assure you, nobody is sending you home. We just have to alert the Headmaster about your injuries after this assessment. It’s protocol.”

Harry quiets down but his body does not listen to his order to stop trembling. He's made a fool of himself.

Madam Pomfrey, who had turned around earlier- Harry didn’t notice when- turns back around to face him, giving him a sad smile. “That’s right, Harry. Telling the Headmaster our findings is a part of the process so that he can keep everyone safe and- and document what needs to be documented. Next, I need to ask you some questions next. Is that okay with you?”

Gauging the truthfulness of the adults, Harry nods, if only because Draco told him that Professor Snape is his godfather, and that means that he could be trusted a little bit more than normal adults.

“Here, have a drink of this,” Madam Pomfrey says, handing him a blue potion. At his suspicious look, she clarifies, “I assure you, it’s only Calming Draught.”

“It’s safe,” Professor Snape says after Harry looks to him. “It’ll taste minty and a bit bitter, but it won’t have any adverse side effects.”

Harry opens the vial and with a single movement, he downs it. Immediately he feels his mind clear and his body stops shaking so violently. Instead, his muscles relax as if he doesn’t have to keep looking out for dangers everywhere. Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey take their seats, and Madam Pomfrey runs through a list of questions that he answers truthfully, though a small part of him wonders why he does so.

In normal circumstances, he would be more afraid, he wouldn’t utter a word for fear of being punished… But he’s so calm that he answers their silly questions, even though he doesn’t quite understand why he does so. Nor why they ask the questions they ask.

They ask questions like “has your family ever hurt you” and “how many times a day do you eat” and “do you feel safe” and other questions about his family.

They also ask him things like “do you ever have thoughts about hurting yourself or others” and “do you have trouble falling asleep” and “do you have recurrent nightmares of bad things happening” and things to make sure he isn’t missing any screws in his head.

He answers so many questions. By the end of it, he’s tired and sleepy, and their faces show that they’re perhaps just as tired as he is. Maybe they also took the potion for it to work on Harry? That would explain why they look exhausted and sad and maybe a little like they regret having this entire conversation.

Right when Harry is falling asleep, he hears Professor Snape murmur something that sounds an awful lot like “I’m sorry” as he runs his fingers through Harry's hair, but that doesn’t make sense so he thinks it must be his imagination. His uncle always did say he's a very imaginative boy, to think that people would care about a freak like him.

So many words in the English language, but none of them can properly encapsulate that he’d trusted this man, had placed all faith in him- and for someone like Severus, that has weight, has meaning. Spies aren’t meant to trust, but he had. He had, and that’s what makes this entire situation hurt worse. 

Because the Headmaster had failed Potter, and by doing so, failed all of those who care for him. People like Lily. Like Minerva.

Like Severus.