Title: The Potion Master.
WC: 321
A/N: Professor Snape sees the new intake names on the parchment from which Professor McGonagall calls them to be Sorted, and reacts to one in particular.
Snape belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just another fan fic writer. ;-)
There it was, one name amongst so many others: Potter, Harry James.
Potter.
The hated name burned more bitterly than wormwood gall.
Not the original, of course, the original lay entombed; no six feet of good English earth to take his flesh and bone back to the clay. This Potter was merely a facsimile, created with one of whom Potter was unworthy.
Another Potter.
Potter's son.
And he would be required to teach the little dunderhead. One in another year full of them, each as arrogant in their assumptions and ignorance of the wizarding world.
The boy would be Sorted into Gryffindor. No other outcome was possible.
He would undoubtedly generate a clique around himself, a fervent following of those impressed by his power. (What did a babe-in-arms know of power?) Or seeking his favour.
He would be the natural ringleader, the instigator of this group.
The Potion Master's lip curled.
As had his father.
Wash your mouth out!
It's more the fact that he exists.
I still exist, Potter. The last laugh.
"The sins of the father are visited upon the sons and so unto the fourth generation."
It was not his own father he saw, but Potter, the progenitor of Hogwarts' newest celebrity.
Severus Snape drew the sleeve sharply down over his examination of the pale skin of his inner forearm, unblemished still (as it had been since That Night). He closed the button with swift precision.
Potter's son would undoubtedly have inherited the same inflated personal opinion, the same big head. Whatever nonsense this generation's pampered little prince had been spoon-fed, regardless of the family who had sheltered him, (and many had offered, Pureblood among them) this child would learn he was nothing special. No harbinger. No prophetic child.
Just another Potter who thought he was.
He would need cutting down to size.
"Because he exists," Snape told his glittering-eyed reflection in the window and exited Minerva's office.
