Chapter One: The Beginning (Ten years later)

Severus Snape scowled at the double doors leading to the Great Hall and made an effort to keep his fingers from tapping on the table. He never did like attending the feasts, but he was impatient for this one to start. Or, to be precise, he was impatient for the Sorting. He studied the closed doors, waiting for them to open, waiting to see the first years brought in, and one boy in particular.

Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts. And soon, he would be sorted into a House, and he would get to see what the boy was really like.

He'd heard that Hagrid had taken the boy to pick up his school supplies, and had been gone to speak to the groundskeeper after that, to see what he could learn. Hagrid often accompanied him to gather potion ingredients in the Forbidden Forest, and he grew others for him. Most times, he tolerated the giant's company, and let the man speak to him without replying much, but this time he'd engaged the man in conversation, and steered that conversation toward Harry Potter. And Hagrid, genial soul that he was, had been happy to detail his visit with the boy. He'd also been somewhat unhappy with Potter's relatives, and quite willing to detail that as well. Severus tapped his finger against his glass, then stilled it with conscious effort as his mind replayed the facts that he had gleaned from Hagrid's rambling discourse.

Harry Potter was a small lad. 'He's just a wee bit of a thing. Looks like a good wind would blow him right over. Skinny as a half starved mouse, that 'un. Mind, if the way his cousin acted while I was there, snatchin' at the food without so much as thought, were any indication of normal happenin's then I ain't surprised.' Well, Potter might be undernourished, or he might just be a lad with an active system and a slender build. Besides, at Hagrid's size, most people were small. He might have misrepresented the boy's size.

Potter was supposed to be a rather polite and quiet child. 'Hardly a word out of him at first. Was afraid he didn't have no spark at all, but he warmed up quick. But he's got a good head, and knows his manners that one. Nary a stop, that he didn't say his please and thank you.' Again, Hagrid was hardly the best judge of what good manners were versus passable ones, but the thought that the boy might not be a hooligan was a pleasing one. So were the possibilities that Potter had a good mind, and some spirit to him.

Potter had been completely ignorant of the Wizarding World until Hagrid arrived. 'Didn't know he could do magic. Didn't even know magic existed. His relatives kep' it from him. Told him Lily and James died in a car crash, of all things! Said to his face that they intended on stampin' the magic out of him when he were a young 'un. Didn't know the first thing about magic, nor money, or nothin'. Blimey, I had to be the one to tell the poor lad how his parents really died, and why everyone on the street were starin' at him and tryin' to shake his hand.' That made him angry, a cold formless anger quite as potent as anything the Marauders had ever induced in him. Well, it was possible that his relatives had only done it as a sort of protection, to keep him from getting into trouble, but he doubted it. Not when Hagrid had let slip who Harry Potter had been living with.

Harry Potter had been raised by his aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley. He knew Petunia, though only Dumbledore knew that he would have known Lily's sister. If the way Hagrid had spoken of her had been any indication, she was as spiteful an adult as she had been a child. In which case, he doubted she'd withheld news of her nephew's magic out of anything other than spite. He also doubted she'd been at all kind to a wizard child in her home. She hadn't been to her magically talented sister, and she'd loved Lily before magic came between them.

There were plenty of other things that Hagrid had let slip, or implied. That Harry was nervous in crowds, but delighted by even the mundane forms of travel. That the boy's clothing had been second hand, at best, according to Hagrid's off hand comment that the lad 'cleaned up right smart, not wearing those oversized clothes of his'. That Harry was money-conscious, and cautious, a trait more normal to children either raised responsibly or self-sufficient, but not to a pampered child such as he might once have assumed the boy to have been. That the boy was shy, hesitant about asking questions. An odd trait, considering neither James Potter nor Lily Evans had such reservations.

The creak of the huge double doors being pushed open shook him out of his thoughts. He sat up, watching as small group of students came shuffling into the hall. He spotted Draco Malfoy's platinum blond hair, just like his fathers, the red that marked another Weasley, and finally...tousled black hair, over green eyes rimmed by dark-framed glasses. Harry Potter. Severus sat up straighter, watching the boy as the first years lined up and the Sorting Hat started it's song. He didn't bother listening to the sorting song, he was too busy watching the boy.

The black unruly hair was all James. The green eyes were Lily's. The facial structure was cast more after James, so much so that a first glance would say the boy looked almost exactly like his father, especially with those glasses. But a closer study revealed a more...delicate cast to his face. A little higher cheekbones, slightly more pointed chin. Lily's influence refined James' features in subtle ways. Not something you'd notice if you weren't looking for it. But he was.

That had been part of his own preparations for Harry Potter's coming to Hogwarts. He and Lucius had met once and twice a month almost every month for the past ten years, working on their positions and what they needed to do.

For Lucius, he had introduced the man to aspects of the Muggle world that could be pleasing, or at least interesting, to a man such as Malfoy. And he had given the man pointers on what a Muggle-born or Muggle-raised child would find confusing about Wizard society, things they would not have seen and comprehended, things that they might find fascinating. Things they might find frightening, or disconcerting. His own experience as a boy and his position as a school teacher had left him numerous opportunities to study and understand such things, and a chance to refine the arguments that a man like Lucius might use to defend the pureblood point of view without sounding prejudiced and derogatory. Lucius had listened to those arguments, and begun to put them into practice, especially in discussions with Narcissa and Draco.

He had also introduced Lucius to the world that existed for those who were not rich and powerful. As much as Lucius' views of blood purity and superiority had needed to be altered, so did his responses to the 'disadvantaged' and poorer folk of society. Lucius would probably never lose that air of aristocratic superiority and arrogance that he had, but several doses of close exposure to life beyond the walls of his manor and the ministry had tempered it a bit.

He still remembered to look on the older man's face after an overheard conversation where one townsman had been heard to stoutly declare 'least it's honest labor, it is. Not like those rich city toffs, with nothin' to do but sit and watch other men do the work. I can say my hands have done things, I can, an' that's more than any o' them can say.' The man had been roundly toasted by everyone else in hearing distance. Severus himself had taken a rather ironic pleasure in meeting Lucius' eyes and raising his glass in salute.

His own preparations had involved confronting the ghosts of his past. His grief and guilt over Lily was a private thing, but Lucius had gotten him drunk enough to release the emotions, to work through some of his turmoil. He would have been furious, save that he had verified, and Narcissa had confirmed, that Lucius had made sure to not overhear the details. Lucius's method had consisted of getting him drunk to the point of explosion, or tears, then removing the alcohol and leaving him behind silencing spells, checking on him every half-hour until the explosion had run it's course. Usually when he had passed out. He had been humiliated the first time it had happened (Lucius never did say what drink he'd given him, but it had been potent, and not easily identified as alcohol), when he had returned to consciousness and sobriety to find tear tracks on his face, his clothing disordered and his hands raw with pounding them into the stone.

Lucius had offered him a potion for the headache and nausea, had a house elf bring him water to clean up with, and asked if he remembered what he had done and said. He had. Lucius had asked if it had helped. It had. He was still embarrassed, and had apologized to both Malfoys for his behavior. But Lucius had only shrugged and said that the outburst had been the entire point. Narcissa had forgiven him, but there had been an odd look of understanding and compassion in her eyes, and she had warmed up to him a great deal after that first time.

He had refused to drink with Lucius after that, until the Malfoy patriarch had sworn him an oath not to do it again without warning. And until Narcissa had pointed out, quite reasonably, that there were no better methods. He was too paranoid to be caught off guard with either a potion or a spell. Too good a dueler to be overpowered with the latter, and too good a Potions Master to be tricked into taking the former. He was, by nature, too self contained to voluntarily reveal his emotions, much less discuss them. And he was quite capable of rationalizing and locking away his feelings and his responses, of presenting to the world only the face he wanted them to see.

They'd negotiated, and agreed after the second year that Lucius was permitted to get him drunk on Halloween (the night his memories were the worst anyway) and in return, he had days where he dragged Lucius into the Muggle world. The first time he had outfitted Lucius in cotton trousers and a plain shirt and showed him around his hometown had been almost worth the embarrassment. He hadn't liked showing Lucius the poverty of his upbringing, but teaching the older man that those less fortunate had a pride and ferocity of their own had been satisfying, in it's own way.

He had also dueled Lucius multiple times, at the older man's insistence. They had discussed the Marauders antics, though he hadn't told Lucius about the worst of them. It had taken time for Lucius to see how deep his anger ran, his hatred, and even more time for the older Slytherin to force him to confront it. After that, Lucius had dueled him, often using the Marauder's favorite taunts to get a rise from him, or some of the hexes that brought out his worst memories. He'd even gone so far, once or twice, as to conjure a glamor of himself looking like James Potter or Sirius Black. Losing his temper (and losing the match for a mistake made in anger) had given Severus better control. The satisfaction of beating someone with James Potter's face had done much for unhealed hurts. The sheer catharsis of dueling had helped as well.

"Potter, Harry." The name called, the name he was most interested in hearing, jarred him once more from his thoughts. He focused on the now smaller group in front of the Hat as the skinny, dark-haired lad stepped up and settled onto the stool. Draco, he noticed, had been sorted into Slytherin. Well, he'd expected that, and that was good. He could keep a better eye on the boy that way.

The Sorting Hat was taking it's time with Harry Potter. He wondered why. Then, just as he was starting to get nervous, the hat shouted "Gryffindor!" The boy pulled off the Hat and dashed over to sit at the Gryffindor table.

Gryffindor. Well, that would make his task of getting to know the boy a bit harder. Still, it wasn't impossible. Nor was the result unexpected. After all, Harry's parents had both been Gryffindors. So had Hagrid. And the expression on the lad's face, relief and joy and shy amazement...it wasn't James. That expression was like the one Lily had worn.

Well. The boy might look like James Potter, but he wasn't his father's son. Not completely. For one thing, he appeared to be a great deal quieter and more shy than his father had been. It remained to be seen whether his actions in class, once he got settled in, were more his mother or his father.

The last child, Blaise Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin. The Headmaster started the feast, and Severus helped himself to a fair helping of everything in reach.

Potter...Harry Potter, in Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy in Slytherin. That would make his plans and Lucius's more difficult. But not impossible. He would have to owl the older man and see what he thought. For now...

For now, there was dinner. He would have Potter in Potions later this week, and then he would see what the boy was made of. He would plan his strategy in handling the boy from there.

***FWBtD***

The schedule dictated that First Year Potions for Gryffindors and Slytherins would be Friday morning, the first class of the day. That gave him plenty of time to settle his new students, remind his older ones of the rules, and observe Harry Potter.

Physically, he was forced to concede that Hagrid had been right. The lad was on the small, skinny side. He ate at meals, not so little as to seem unhealthy, but less than one might expect a child of his age to eat. And while he couldn't hear conversations at the Gryffindor table from his own seat at the staff table, it did seem that the boy was quiet and rather withdrawn, as opposed to the brash, loud figure his father had been. And he did appear somewhat nervous in crowds. In other aspects...

The boy had made friends with the youngest child of the Weasley brood. Ronald, if he recalled the name correctly. The two of them got lost, got into fights with Peeves, fell into trick stairs and discovered trick doors with much the same regularity as every other first year. Weasley always looked a bit unkempt, and Potter's hair was always a mess. Not having had them in class, he couldn't say what level of preparedness they showed upon arriving, but at least Potter's book bag was always with him, and was always filled, at least partially, with paper and books. That was something at least, though a part of his mind whispered nastily that they were most likely books on Quidditch or flying, or books that highlighted Potter's fame and special status as the Boy-who-lived. The thoughts made him itch to hex the brat. He forced them back.

He listened from his corner of the staff room. The boy was, educationally, a typical First Year so far. He was no better or worse than most of his classmates. Some of the teachers expressed slight unhappiness and puzzlement. He contained the urge to sneer at them. Yes, the boy might have inherited his parents skills. But he'd only known he was a wizard for a month. He'd been raised in a magic free environment. Neither Lily nor James had come to school with that handicap. James had been raised in pureblood society, with the best of the best and magic surrounding him from his first breath. Lily had learned of magic from Severus himself three years before they went to Hogwarts, and had known at least a few things. But Harry Potter...well, even if he'd been the next Merlin, he had to have time to adapt before he could display that fact, and one month compared to ten years wasn't that long to make up the difference.

It was Wednesday before the knock he'd been expecting came, and he opened his office door to admit Draco Malfoy. "Draco."

"Professor Snape. My father said I should speak to you if I had a problem. And since you're my Head of House as well...if it's no trouble..." Grey eyes looked up at him.

"Of course. Come in." He gestured the young man into his office and shut the door, then indicated for Draco to take a seat across the desk from him. "What seems to be the problem? You have not yet attended my class. I have heard no rumors of your having particular problems settling into Slytherin either." He folded his hands in front of him.

"It isn't that sir. It's just, my father..." Draco paused. "My father suggested I become friends with Harry Potter, sir. But he's already friends with that Weasley. And he's a Gryffindor. And he rebuffed me before the Sorting." Draco's face twisted in a scowl.

Severus suppressed an urge to sigh. "His status in Gryffindor might prove troublesome, however, the difference is not insurmountable. I have known Gryffindors and Slytherins who maintained an alliance, and some who were even friends, though it will require considerable effort on your part, and possibly his as well. It will be up to you to convince him to make such an effort, as well as convince him of your sincerity. The same can be said of his friendship with Weasley. It is not an insurmountable obstacle. As for his rejection of you...tell me how the encounter went. In detail."

He listened to Draco's explanation, and suppressed a wince. The boy had still taken after the worst of his father. Even with he and Lucius both trying to moderate his world view. Then again, he was young, trying to make a good impression, and drawing upon the habits of a lifetime of exposure to upper echelon pure-blood society responses. Under pressure, his response was understandable. He sighed, then linked his fingers in front of him, flexing his hands idly as he thought through the best way to explain things to the boy in front of him.

"I have not been able to monitor Potter's life. However, I do have some sources of information regarding him. Enough to tell you that your approach was the absolutely wrong one to take with him."

Draco winced, eyes going wide. Severus held up a hand to silence him, and continued speaking.

"According to my sources, Potter was raised by Muggles. How affectionate, I cannot say, but whether a loving family or no, several facts were made clear to me. First of all, he was raised in total ignorance of the wizarding world, up to and including his own role in it. He does not fully understand that he is famous, as of yet, or what that means in this place. He has no concept at all of Wizard history, or society, or of current politics. Your family name means nothing to him. The concepts of pure-blood, half-blood, and privilege mean nothing to him. I doubt very much that he thinks in those terms, as I know you have been taught to do. Likewise, with his upbringing and the fact that he is a Gryffindor, I doubt that his mindset is particularly geared toward alliances and such. Potter doubtless chooses his friends by far more random means."

Draco looked shocked. "Harry Potter...was raised by Muggles? He doesn't know anything?"

"Nothing. I had a chance to speak to the staff member assigned to take him to Diagon Alley. The family who raised him kept him in such ignorance that he did not even know the true manner of his parent's deaths. Whether this was an initiative they took for his protection, or in denial, or whether it was on Dumbledore's orders when he was placed there, I do not know. I know only the facts of the matter."

"That's..."

"Indeed. In addition, there are indications, according to the same staff member, that the family who raised Potter possessed...moderate monetary resources only."

"Moderate...you mean he was raised by poor people?" Draco's eyes widened even further.

"If you wish to characterize it as such. I would say it was more the middle class, if my understanding is correct. Not the monetary level of the Weasleys, but perhaps those of your average shop owner in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. However, it means that Potter has more common ground with someone like Ronald Weasley than with you, so if you insulted Weasley, Potter would most likely take it as an insult to himself as well. It also means that there exists a possibility that he has been raised to feel disdain, or even dislike, of those who possess superior financial assets, particularly if said persons flaunt their status."

Draco winced. "But...if it's like that then what am I supposed to do?"

"You have a choice. You may decide to distance yourself from Potter and ignore him. Or, if you are feeling particularly foolish..." He punctuated the word with a scowl that made Draco shrink in his chair. "You may decide to maintain this current animosity between you, and allow it to cloud your judgment. Or you may choose the third option."

"The third option?" Draco looked up.

"Indeed. Swallow your pride and apologize to Weasley for the slight. Explain to Potter that you were nervous about meeting him, and in a rush to make a strong impression, behaved foolishly. Tell him you were simply repeating habits of some of your father's associates, and did not mean to be insulting. Request a chance to make it up to him. Look for ways to show how your status and money can be beneficial, not only to yourself, but to others. But not as a bribe. Rather as a gesture of good will. And Draco..."

"Yes sir?"

"You must be sincere. If you cannot be, then do not bother. Potter will figure it out sooner or later. If you cannot be sincere, then ignore him, and stay out of it all together."

Draco scowled. "Apologizing to a Weasley...my father would never let me hear the end of it."

Severus snorted. "Explain your reasoning, and what I have told you, and I am sure he can overlook it. Besides, I know for a fact that your father is capable of the same gesture, should circumstances warrant it." Lucius had, in his own roundabout way, apologized to him, when he'd realized that Severus came from the lowest level of society, and therefore how grating his attitude could be to the younger man.

Draco swallowed. "I'll...think about it sir."

"See that you do. If there are no more questions, it is getting close to curfew." Snape rose.

"Yes sir." Draco obediently rose from his chair. "Is there anything in particular I need to know for class on Friday sir?"

"Read the first two chapters. And be prepared for a verbal pop quiz."

Draco nodded. "Yes Professor." Then he was out the door, leaving Severus to shake his head and begin composing a letter to Lucius in his mind. It was obvious they still had a great deal of work to do.

***FWBtD***

Friday morning found him tense with anticipation. He felt like he was at war with himself. Part of him still burned in anger, the dull sullen fury that seven years of persecution at the hands of James Potter and his friends had stoked. He'd done his mental exercises for Occlumency, done his meditation, reminded himself of all the things he had discussed with Lucius. He stared across the breakfast table at the slender black-haired boy, looking again for the traces of Lily in a face that was predominantly James. He found himself struggling to control his vindictive wish that the boy would be late to class, thereby earning himself a detention or point loss. Or that the boy would blow up a cauldron, which might earn him either of those as well as a potential injury. He left breakfast early and spent the time running through his meditation once more.

Finally, the clock hit the hour, and he heard the hum of youthful voices in the lab. He settled his usual forbidding scowl upon his face, then swept into the room.

He started by taking role. The little Gryffindor girl bouncing in her seat with wide, concerned eyes was one Hermione Granger. He winced internally. He liked finding those rare students who had an aptitude or interest in Potions, but he'd heard about her in the staff room. Irrepressible, with answers to everything. A know-it-all, more or less, and too enthusiastic for her own good. Even if she were the greatest Potions student of the century, he didn't look forward to trying to deal with her.

Malfoy looked bright eyed and alert. Weasley looked bored. Longbottom looked half petrified. He'd heard the boy was slightly clumsy, and hoped it was exaggerated. And Potter. Potter was watching him. "Harry Potter...our new...celebrity." The boy blinked at him, wide-eyed and nervous. Not preening. Some sort of knot in his chest relaxed. James would have been smug, looking around for attention. This boy just appeared to be slightly ill at ease.

He delivered his usual speech on 'the exact science and art of Potion-making'. Most of the students were listening. Then he spotted Potter, head bent over his paper. Fury ignited in his breast at the boy's apparent inattention. He stalked closer, intent on tearing the brat down to size, then caught sight of the boy's parchment.

He'd gotten used to reading things quickly and from all angles over the years. Even upside down. Potter was hunched over his parchment, but not far enough to obstruct his view. He glanced down, and it took a voluntary effort to stop him from pausing.

The boy was taking notes, writing out the points of what he said. Not even the Granger girl was doing that. He bit back the acidic comment on the tip of his tongue. "Potter!"

The boy looked up. "Yes sir?"

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" It wasn't an easy question, but it was one it was possible to answer, if the boy had studied sufficiently.

Granger's hand shot into the air. Potter slouched a little in his chair. "I don't know sir."

"I see." He choked back a surge of vindictive glee. "Perhaps a different question. Where would you look if I told you to find me a beozar?" With the amount of poisonous substances in potions, that was one of the first things listed in the book.

Potter looked blank, then flushed. "I don't know sir."

Either the boy hadn't studied, or his retention rate wasn't that high. Or he'd looked into his textbook, but not bothered to to absorb the information. Severus bit back another acidic comment, and replaced it with one he'd use for anyone who wasn't Potter. "Clearly, a little more effort is required on your part, Mr. Potter."

Potter flushed again, and looked somewhat mutinous. Ron glowered. Then Potter nodded. "Yes sir."

A better response than he'd hoped to get. "For your information, monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, also known as aconite. And a beozar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat, and will save you from poisons." Potter reached for his pen to take notes. Severus snapped his gaze to the rest of the classroom. "Well? Why aren't you writing that down?" Everyone else jumped to take notes as well.

He set them to making a potion to cure boils, then went back to his desk. He kept one eye on the classroom, as he always did, but his gut was still churning. Old hatreds warred with lessons learned, and his temper had never been good. He felt his lip twist in a self deprecating sneer.

Twenty minutes later, Longbottom's cauldron melted, sending up green clouds, and a wash of liquid that covered the boy in large, painful boils and burned holes in everything else. His temper jumped at the chance for an outlet. He banished the potion, then rounded on the hapless boy. "Foolish boy. You added the porcupine quills before you took the cauldron off the fire!" He saw Potter standing nearby, and had to stifle the urge to blame the boy. Instead he snarled out a command for Longbottom's partner, Seamus Finnegan, to take the boy to the Hospital Wing, and gestured for everyone else to keep working.

It wasn't going to work. He could still feel the irrational rage simmering in the back of his mind. He'd thought ten years and his work with Lucius would help. But unless he did something, Potter would hate him by Christmas term, if he did not already, and he had no doubt that he would sense it. He didn't think he'd be able to control his tongue or his temper in that case. And then Merlin help them both if the Dark Lord arose, or something happened where he and Potter needed to work together. Or worse, he needed the brat to trust him.

He spent the rest of the class ruminating over the problem. Two minutes to end of class, he called for samples. Malfoy's was perfect, but it ought to be, with the advance warning he'd had. The others were in various states. Some were useless sludge. Granger had managed almost the same quality as Malfoy. Potter's was nowhere near perfect, but it wasn't a complete disaster. Looked like he'd gone a little too fast on the final steps. But it did provide an excuse for what he thought he needed to do.

He waited until the boy brought the vial up, then made a show of examining it. "Hardly useable, Potter. Return this evening at 6pm, to discuss your study habits and your...aptitude." He couldn't quite keep the sneer out of his voice on the last word.

Potter flushed and looked angry but he nodded. "Yes sir." Then he turned and left the class, towed by the Weasley boy.

Severus settled at his desk and took deep breaths. He didn't want to talk to Potter, but this wasn't going to work. The only thing he could think of was to tell the truth, or at least a version of the truth, and hope the boy understood. Otherwise, they would be at blind, impossible hatred before the boy's second year. Or worse, someone else, like Dumbledore or McGonnagall would tell the boy their version of the truth. They had all loved James, and would make him sound like a bitter, foolish youth. So. Better to tell Potter something now, before his perceptions were set in stone.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. All too soon, he was pacing before his door, trying to decide what he was going to say to James Potter's son. What he could say, that wouldn't make him sound like a bitter bastard. Which was difficult. In essence, he was a bitter bastard.

Right at 6, there was a knock on his door. He straightened. "Enter."

Potter stepped inside and approached his desk. "Sir."

"Sit." he gestured for Potter to take the chair directly in front of the desk. "Do you know what you did wrong on this?" he held up Potter's sample.

Potter shook his head. "I...well, I think the porcupine quills were right sir, but then I got distracted by Neville's cauldron."

"You rushed the last steps. Did you count the number of rotations in your stirring as directed?" That had been his best guess for the way the boy's potion had turned out.

"I...can't remember sir." Potter flushed again.

"I suggest you pay more attention to your own potion next time, and less to Longbottom's disasters. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Potter looked half embarrassed, half angry.

Severus felt his lips thin in anger. He forced it back. The boy's face was so like James. James of all those years ago. "You were taking notes in class. I suggest you read do the same for the reading, and read a chapter or two ahead. Note taking will assist your retention of material, as will doing proper research for your essays. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Now there was a dose of confusion in Potter's expression.

He turned away, forced himself to control his breathing. "Potter."

"Yes sir?" The voice was hesitant, and lighter, higher than James' had been. The sound steadied him.

"What I am about to tell you I will say only once. So remember it." He took a deep breath. "Doubtless, you have heard of how your parents died. Perhaps you have even had people tell you that you look like your father, or that you have your mother's eyes."

"Hagrid said all those things, sir."

"You will hear it again." He took another breath, holding onto his temper with both hands. It was harder than he thought it would be. "As you will doubtless hear about your father's flying prowess, his friends, his skill in Transfiguration. Many people here remember James Potter. He was a golden boy of Hogwarts." He paused, then spoke the words that most needed to be said. "I, however, do not remember your father in such a positive light. I despised him."

"Sir?"

"James Potter and I were contemporaries. And rivals. And bitter enemies." He felt his hands clench into fists. "The details are none of your concern, though doubtless there are several staff members who can provide you with clues, should you choose to inquire." He would not, could not, tell the boy what James Potter had done to him in the seven years of school. "Suffice it to say, I loathed him, and the feeling has not greatly diminished since our schoolboy days."

"I think I understand sir. But I'm not my dad. I don't even remember him." There was confusion in Potter's voice, but also a thread of sullen anger. As well there might be. Even as part of his mind tried to fan the flames of his own fury, he remembered what it was like, to be insulted and harassed for things you had no control over.

"I am aware of that, Potter. And I shall endeavor to keep it in mind. However, do not expect me to succeed all the time."

There was a rustle of cloth. "Would it help if you called me Harry?"

"No." He wasn't even sure he could physically do so. "Such a first name basis would be considered inappropriate. You are not in my House, Potter, and I have no grounds for that familiarity. There are other reasons as well, which I do not have time nor ability nor even desire to explain to you at this time."

"Then...is there anything...that will make you hate me less? I mean...I don't want favoritism sir, but...if you just hate me for my dad..."

He turned and met green eyes in the face of an echo of a rival. "Prove to me that you are not your father. Do your best in my class, and others. Stay out of trouble. Do not give me reasons to lose my temper. Show your teachers and your classmates the respect and dignity they deserve. Do that, Potter, and I will do my best to treat you as fairly as I may." It was the best he could promise. He clenched his jaw. "And, perhaps, one other thing."

"Sir?" Potter looked up at him.

"You are acquainted with Draco Malfoy, I believe."

The closed expression on Potter's face told him volumes about the boy's feelings. "I...somewhat sir. We don't really get on."

"I have heard as much, from Malfoy himself. I have already remonstrated with him on his attitude, and indicated the various failings he exhibited in his efforts to gain your notice." He held Potter's eyes. "There is a chance that Draco may come to you. I will not press you to make peace on any terms other than your own. I do not care. However..." He paused, feeling the muscles in his jaw clench, and sharp pain where his nails had cut his hand. "Your father was incapable of looking past House rivalries and petty details. Prove that you are better, and perhaps I shall change my views."

Potter grimaced, but didn't say anything right away. Finally, he shrugged. "Ron won't like it. But, I guess, if Draco does apologize, and he's serious about it...I guess I don't mind. As long as he doesn't make fun of Ron, or Gryffindor House, or things like that. I think I could at least try, Professor."

It was a better bargain than he'd hoped for. Not that anything would necessarily come of it. Draco might be unable to swallow his pride. When the time came, Weasley might influence Potter too much. But it was better odds than he'd had before.

There was nothing else to say. "You're dismissed Potter. Do not tell anyone what I have just told you." The boy nodded. "And be sure to be better prepared for next class, if you wish to avoid my temper."

Potter stood up. "Yes Professor." Then he turned and darted out the door. Severus watched the door close behind him, then went through the door in the back of the classroom to his office, to settle in his desk chair. His jaw ached with tension as he forced himself to relax, and one palm was bleeding, where one of his nails had cut his skin. He took a moment to master his breathing, then pulled out a slave he kept in his office for accidents and spread it over the wound.

He hoped Potter took his advice, and his warning. In the meantime, he needed to send another letter to the Malfoys. Perhaps Lucius or Narcissa would have some advice for him.

****FWBtD****

Harry Potter trotted away from the Potions classroom, feeling more than a little confused.

The first week of classes had been weird. Staircases that moved, ghosts, and the classes themselves. Flitwick had fallen off his chair, he'd been so excited to meet him. Harry didn't understand that, any more than he understood the stares and whispers that followed him around, people muttering about his scar. It made him uncomfortable.

And now this business with Snape. He'd gotten the impression at the Welcoming Feast that Snape didn't like him for some reason. And the man had been pretty sharp in class, and looked like he'd wanted to be worse. After Snape had singled him out and demanded he come back, Ron had warned him that Snape could get pretty nasty. He'd heard a lot of horror stories about Snape's detentions over the course of the day. He'd come down expecting anything from an insulting lecture to hours of scrubbing pots and cleaning disgusting ingredients.

Instead, he'd gotten a mild lecture on how to improve his potions and his study habits, and the oddest explanation he had ever heard in his life. Snape and his dad had been rivals? Either Snape was a vindictive bastard, or his dad had been a right prat. Or both. Snape had almost sort of apologized, which had never happened with an adult who had disliked him or treated him unfairly. Certainly, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had never done anything of the sort.

Harry sighed. He felt confused by Snape's actions. He'd gotten the impression at the Feast, and in class, that Snape really didn't like him. Now it seemed like Snape just didn't like the fact that he happened to look like his dad. It seemed as pointless as his aunt and uncle's hatred of him because he was magic. It wasn't fair.

A thin thread of anger and hurt moved through him. Then Snape's words came back to him. Snape had admitted, sort of, that he was wrong. He had said, if Harry could do the things he asked, that he would at least be fair, even if he couldn't be nice. He'd heard promises of that sort from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon too, but it was also true that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn't explained why they loathed Harry, not until Hagrid had forced them to.

Snape had. And the things he'd asked Harry to do he'd explained were things that would directly affect how he viewed Harry. Not meaningless chores or things he didn't understand, or impossible tasks.

Do his best in class. He didn't see why he shouldn't. It wasn't like he had to worry about Dudley claiming he had cheated. And Snape had told him what would help for his class, at least. Harry sighed at the thought of doing more homework, and how much his hand might ache taking all those extra notes. Still, with all the rumors he'd heard abut Snape, and the man's own admitted bias against him, it'd be stupid not to do what Snape said, at least for a while. If it worked, then he'd know Snape was being honest with him, and that he should continue. If it didn't, he'd know Snape was just like his family, and he could decide whether or not it was worth it in other terms.

Show teachers and students the respect they deserved. He didn't have a problem with that, as long as they gave him the same treatment. Stay out of trouble. Well, he wasn't planning on getting into any.

He scowled, remembering Snape's last suggestion to him. To befriend Malfoy. Or at least be civil to him. That one he didn't like. Malfoy was too much like Dudley, all arrogance and sneering and prejudice, with bully-boys backing him up like Dudley's gang did back home. He was a brat, and Harry wanted none of him.

Well, but Snape had said he had talked to Malfoy and told him he was wrong. And he'd said Harry only had to make peace on his own terms, if he thought Malfoy was being sincere, and not a prat, or just doing it to curry favor.

He thought about it, then decided to wait and see what Malfoy did first. Ron wouldn't like it much, he thought, but maybe he could make Malfoy apologize to Ron too. Maybe he could even make that part of his terms for being friends with Malfoy.

That settled, he made his way to Gryffindor Tower, feeling much lighter at heart than he had when he'd left.

Ron was waiting inside the portrait hole. "Harry!" he smiled. "I didn't think you'd get back so soon." He looked Harry over. "Fred and George...some of the things they've been telling me about Snape's detentions...I thought you'd be hours."

Harry shook his head. "He just wanted to tell me what I did wrong on the potion, and tell me to use better study habits. That's all. He didn't even yell at me or anything. He just lectured me on doing my work properly, and reading ahead, and paying proper attention to my cauldron. That sort of stuff." He settled on the couch beside Ron and lifted a text book out of his bag.

"Really? That's strange. Well, maybe Fred and George were having us on again, then." Ron flopped next to Harry. Then a faint scowl crossed his face. "Still...it's not bloody fair of him to come down on you like that. Loads of people did worse than you did on that potion, and I didn't hear Snape tell them off, or make them come down to the dungeons for a lecture."

Harry grimaced. Snape had told him not to say anything about what else he'd revealed. He wanted to trust Ron with it, but didn't think now was a good time. He settled on the first excuse that came to mind. "Reckon he was annoyed that I couldn't answer those questions at the beginning of class. That's why."

Ron's scowl deepened. "No one else answered them."

Harry grimaced. "Well, no, but he didn't ask anyone else, did he? And I'll bet at least Hermione Granger knew the answers."

Ron huffed in exasperation. "I suppose." Then he grinned and nudged Harry with an elbow. "Come on mate, we've got the whole weekend. Let's relax for the rest of tonight. We can always do the homework later, yeah?"

Harry grinned back. "Yeah. I guess." He set his textbook down and watched Ron saunter off to pick up a deck of cards for a game he'd showed Harry the other day, Exploding Snap. Minutes later, they were both dodging exploding cards, and he was relaxing.

It was good to have Ron as a friend, someone to laugh and share things with, and gripe over the unfairness of the staff with. He still planned to do what Snape suggested, and see where it led. But for now, he was going to relax and have some fun.

Author's Note: And they're off. This fic is going to start pretty close to cannon, and then probably diverge more as the series goes on. I'm not sure how much divergence there will be yet.

It may seem a little out of character for Snape to be giving Harry explanations. But Snape isn't an idiot, and he's been working for 10 years with Lucius. By now, both of them know that his dislike of James is his greatest weakness. This way, he's given Harry incentive to do things that help their relationship (therefore leaving Harry more open to listening to him when needed) and he's given Harry a chance to hear his side of the story before Harry gets inundated with how great James Potter is. And by being the first person to bring it up, and admitting that he might be unreasonable, he almost invites Harry to confront him, if Harry thinks he's unfair. In short, he's taken at least partial control over a potentially explosive situation. To me, this is far more intelligent than staying silent.