Author's notes: As usual, many thanks for reading and reviewing. :D
The sixth of September, 1991
Dear Lily,
Today I had the very deep misfortune of teaching the boy for the first time. The moment I took the register it was apparent that your son has inherited none of your talent whatsoever, and when I quizzed him on some of the most basic principles of potion-making it was clear he hadn't thought to open his books before coming to Hogwarts. He hadn't even heard of a bezoar, for crying out loud.
If only you were alive, I know you'd have raised the kid better than this. Not only is Potter an insufferable dunderhead, but I also learned that he is an insolent little whatsit. During the course of the lesson, I was forced to take two points from Gryffindor for the boy's sheer cheek. For example, he apparently considered it perfectly acceptable to talk back to me, and as far as I'm concerned it's the height of bad manners to disrespect the best friend of one's mother in such a blatant fashion.
The brat even had the audacity to let a classmate of his, that Longbottom boy, blow up his cauldron without doing anything to stop him. You'd think even Potter, the epitomy of simpleton, would have the brains to spot that Longbottom had managed to stuff up a perfectly simple cure for boils (added the porcupine quills before taking his potion off the heat, would you believe?) and take the initiative to prevent him from doing even more damage. I suppose he thought it would make his own dismal excuse for a potion look good in comparison, for Potter's own concoction was nothing more than shoddy, to be quite frank.
I have something else to share, regarding Longbottom. The register informed me that that moron was also born at the end of July, and as such would have fitted that blasted prophecy. I can't stand that boy; if the Dark Lord had interpreted the prophecy differently, he'd have gone for Longbottom and his Auror parents instead of you, and I wouldn't be sitting here cursing the fact that I'm expected to frequently look into your eyes, knowing I'll only ever see them in Potter's face.
After the lesson, I actually went to see Dumbledore about Potter, expressing my concerns. I was informed that other teachers had described the kid as moderately talented, and likeable. Personally, whoever these teachers are I suspect that somebody's been going around confunding them all.
Dumbledore in turn expressed some concerns of his own to me, he suspects Quirinus Quirrell, and I can't say I blame him. I met Quirrell for the first time at the feast on the first, and he immediately struck me as a suspicious character. Apparently, Dumbledore knew the man when he attended Hogwarts, a few years before us. Dumbledore says the man was always nervous, but he never had such a pronounced stutter at school. Of course, Dumbledore and I are both accomplished Legilimens, but we've both had problems trying to penetrate the man's psyche. Bearing in mind Quirrell is possibly the most pathetic nervous wreck I have ever seen, even worse than the idiot girl Andrews who often burst into tears at the sight of me, so for such a weak man to be putting up such a strong resistance is alarming, to say the least.
Of course, the task of keeping an eye on him has gone to me. Well, I shall be glad to take it on, if there's any chance that Quirrell could put your son in danger, it's far better to be safe than sorry.
Oh, also, Gringotts was broken into a while ago. I would have told you before now, but Dumbledore forbade me from telling anybody until it had hit the Daily Prophet, and I daresay anyone stumbling across these letters would find a veritable mine of information even without the knowledge that the day the Philosopher's Stone was moved, somebody tried to get their hands on it. Well, Dumbledore's got it safe now.
All my love,
Sev.
