Severus understood from the moment Harry Potter stepped into the Great Hall that he was going to hate the boy.

The whole past month he'd spent telling himself to keep an open mind, to give Potter a chance, but as the first years were walking over from the antechamber Severus could find nothing inside himself but anger and loathing.

He saw how Draco flinched back when he met Severus' eyes, but the boy was entirely uncomforted when Severus tried to follow up with a weak smile.

There was the sixth Weasley child. The family could already barely afford to clothe the fruits of their poor contraceptive habits, and Snape knew there was also a seventh.

Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Macmillan, Bones—

Nobody else was paying them any attention, either. All that mattered was the scrawny boy with his mother's brilliant green eyes staring past his upturned nose like Lily never would have. He was a clone of his father: brown skin, dark hair, and a strutting gait like he thought he owned the world. The way he was looking towards the Gryffindor table made it clear exactly where Potter thought he'd be sorted.

He didn't look bothered in the spotlight of several hundred people watching him. Aloof and arrogant, just like his father.

"He's never met his parents. He's going to be his own person," Poppy had said. "You should give him a chance."

Watching the way the boy ran his hand through his unkempt hair, Severus knew that the apple hadn't fallen far at all, and maybe it had begun to ferment where it sat, intensifying into something putrid.

"They're just wee sprogs," Filch had said, "And they think they can fool you with their innocent looks, but they're rotten, every single one of them, to the core."

Filch knew children like Poppy never could. No, Severus decided, it would be better to loathe Potter from afar. It was a large school with enough students that Severus should be able to barely notice he was even there.

Forcing himself to turn away, Severus watched Bones go to Hufflepuff.

He watched as Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco all sorted Slytherin, which was a pleasant surprise.

Even while clapping for his godson, Severus had to bring his mind back, again and again, to the present as it was occurring. All the occlumency in the world hadn't prepared him for the sight of that boy, that arrogant little shit who was looking bored of all things on his first day of school, as if he were better than all of them, as if Potter had better things to do than stand there and wait for his turn.

When Minerva said his name the school broke out into whispers, a sound like falling rain.

Quirinus was leaning over to say something, but Severus ignored him to follow the boy's progress across the room. Potter sat down like the stool had offended him.

For a second, Severus wondered if Albus had ever tried to transfigure the traditional seat into an overstuffed armchair. Or perhaps Sybill could be coaxed down from her tower to dispense with a pouffe.

The hat's brim opened after only a few seconds, ready to declare to all of Hogwarts that the boy was indubitably just like his father. (Just like his mother.)

"SLYTHERIN!"

The entire Hall broke into rising murmurs. Severus felt like there was ice crawling up his limbs.

Of all the things for Hagrid to be right about, did it have to be this?

No Special Treatment, he had planned. Also, to ignore the brat for the next long seven years.

With a great deal of reluctance, Severus began to clap. Albus and the other staff joined him, then the house of snakes added their polite applause. The sound of Hagrid blowing his nose trumpeted awkwardly across the sound of the other houses' muttering.

Potter was just another student, Severus reminded himself. He would disregard the boy to the best of his abilities, there were plenty of other children to keep him busy.

Merlin, Severus wished Albus would get the feast started so he'd have something to occupy his hands.

And for the House Elves to replace the pumpkin juice at the staff table. His heady disappointment would be much easier to digest with a good red wine.

xoxox

Through the entire feast, Severus had managed not to look at Potter, but he didn't remember having accomplished anything else. For all he knew, he'd agreed to help Quirrell with his grading.

Oh Merlin, he really hoped he hadn't agreed to help Quirrell with his grading.

It was in the past now. Severus collected himself, crushed his thoughts into a box that lived just beyond the cavity of his heart. He peered through the tapestry at his firsties gathered in the common room. They were staring at the decorative snakes and pretending they weren't terrified.

All but Crabbe, who seemed to have fallen asleep where he stood.

The older students were circling, gazes sharp and assessing as they sorted themselves into a semblance of hierarchy around the room. Many of them would have gotten instructions from their parents on whom to befriend and whom to snub, but they were children.

Most of them would forget all their 'shoulds' by next Monday, entirely preoccupied with whatever nonsense filled their minds. It was a good thing, too, otherwise Draco would be getting overrun by people trying for a Malfoy alliance.

Severus could already hear Lucius' drawling: "Macmillan was talking to my son, have you heard about a death trap hidden behind an Alohomora just down the third floor corridor…"

Meanwhile Draco himself seemed to be trying for a Potter alliance, whispering at the boy even while Potter ignored him to watch a school of minnows flit across the nearest porthole window.

It had become a tradition for Severus to swoop in and startle the firsties. What had begun as an intimidation tactic to garner students' respect had turned into a tradition: every successive batch of second years got to enjoy the satisfaction of being in on the scare.

This time, just as Severus was stepping through his hidden doorway, Potter spun to look right at his disillusioned form.

Draco turned as well, but his ability to keep a secret was overpowered by the desire to tell everyone else how clever the boy thought he was. "Hello Professor," he called over, making everyone else look.

Potter was smirking, obviously delighting in the fact he'd upstaged his head of house.

Who was Severus kidding, he wasn't being upstaged by anyone. He was a grown man—

—with a grudge on an eleven-year-old child—

—whom he was going to spend the next seven years ignoring, thank you very much.

Hating the way his feelings were boiling in his gut, Severus let the disillusionment melt off him and stepped forward. "Welcome to Slytherin House," he said, trying not to sound as tired as he was. "This will be your home for the next seven years, do attempt to avoid making enemies on your very first night."

His traitorous eyes found Potter again without Severus' consent.

"Of course, some of you were born into eneminities, best of luck with that."

The melancholy quirk of Potter's lips had Severus blinking back memories.

"My office hours are on the notice board. Bring your issues to your prefects before you address me, but when you do need my help I will endeavour to assist. Stick together. Watch your back. And whatever you do, don't get caught."

Spinning on his heel, Severus walked back to his alcove and allowed himself to return to invisibility. He watched the children scatter into groups, watched Flint bearing down on the Quidditch team and Farley shepherding the first-years to their rooms.

He listened to their summer gossip, filing the news about Ogden's second cousin's affair and Dagworth's recent investments into goblin-forged jewellery.

As his students settled down and headed towards their beds, Severus let himself fall into a chair by the low-burning fire. The blackened logs were crumbling apart, glowing an angry Gryffindor red against the enchanted green of the flames.

A clatter startled him into turning around. "Mipsy be doing the tidying up, Pr'fessy Snape," the elf squeaked.

Severus wasn't sure when it had gotten that late—his Tempus revealed that it was already midnight. Sighing, he fumbled around his collar for the golden chain with an hourglass dangling off the end.

There were seven years' worth of student dorms that needed warding. Three spins should do it.

Suppressing his yawn, because Lucius had always said that yawning was for lesser men, Severus heaved himself to his feet and got back to work.

xoxox

By Friday, mission Ignore Harry Potter had proven itself an all-round success. Severus' eyes barely even noticed the way the boy was picking at his breakfast, had hardly registered the deepening bags under the child's eyes.

Nor was he really observing Potter's listless responses as Draco talked at him.

Honestly, Severus wished that Draco would find someone else to befriend; even Zabini would be a better choice. If not for Draco's own sake, it would improve Severus' inevitable headache the next time Lucius and Narcissa invited him over for tea.

Severus walked into that morning's Potions class churning with anticipation.

"You are here to learn the exact art and science that is potion-making," he told them, enjoying the way they collapsed into immediate silence.

Was that a feather in Harry Potter's hair?

Spinning on his heel, Severus paced between the ranks of desks, letting the children crane their necks to watch him. Draco was smirking from the frontmost row, while Longbottom was in the far back, gently quivering. "Many of you will not understand the beauty of—"

And was that nail polish on Potter's fingers? The boy was barely paying attention, gaze firmly on a journal in front of him.

"...of a cauldron," Severus finished. The rest of the words followed automatically, admittedly from long practice before the bathroom mirror. While his mouth was moving Severus let his eyes trail repeatedly back to Potter and observed as the boy took the feather—no, the quill—from behind his ear and began to write.

For a heartbeat Severus' greatest desire was to have that notebook, to find out the inane workings of Potter's little mind.

No, that was ridiculous. Severus' greatest desire was a pack of fags and a night in muggle London, bar-hopping down Old Compton Street until he was drunk enough to forget, if only for a moment, about Harry bloody Potter.

"...if you're not a bunch of dunderheads like I usually teach."

Draco was still smirking, firmly convinced he wasn't a dunderhead, but of course Draco had gotten a few Potions lessons already.

Privately, Severus found Draco rather lacking, especially considering the opportunities that had been spoon-fed to him off a silver platter. Lucius and Narcissa, naturally, had convinced their son he was a genius.

Nevertheless, there was a class to teach. For the first lesson Severus liked to begin with a practical, hoping beyond hope to incite even a modicum of enthusiasm for the beautiful magic of potions by letting them actually brew.

He assigned a boil-cure, the simplest three-step, three-ingredient potion in their book. It was always astonishing to what extent the students managed to get it wrong.

Potter was still scribbling something, and Severus didn't know why he found that so irritating. His frustration was steaming inside him like compost under a blanket of snow.

"Tell me, Mister Potter," Severus said, feeling a jolt of glee at seeing the boy jump, "what would result from the combination of Asphodel and Wormwood ?"

It was a simple question, if the boy had read beyond the letter A in his alphabetical textbook. At the same time, Severus wished bitterly that his mind had come up with something a little less…symbolic.

Potter was blinking slowly, eyes much too green and looking far too tired. When he spoke the words were measured, the opposite of his father's excitability and his mother's passion. "Draught of Living Death, sir."

Scowling, Severus let himself move on. Perhaps Longbottom had read past B and might know about Bezoars, though history had shown that most students neglected to crack the spines of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi until the due date of their first essay.

Judging by the state of the summer essays Severus had to grade, he suspected there were some who managed to reach their OWL year without opening their books at all.

The class progressed in stunning mediocrity. Potter prevented Goyle from setting himself on fire, and Granger prevented Longbottom from being an environmental hazard.

When they all shuffled out again, a gaggle of Gryffindors and a few scattered groups of Slytherins, Severus called Potter to stay behind.

He had decided that, at least while the boy was in his class, it was only prudent to acknowledge that he did, in fact, exist.

"Sir?" Potter was standing there, re-adorned with his hair-quill. It looked ridiculous.

"What bird is that from?" Severus found himself asking.

He'd meant to say something much more relevant, something like, You are committing a gross uniform violation with your fingernails and you will desist, or, Have you been tutored in potions before, because no beginner could do that well without cheating.

"It's from a papagaio-verdadeiro, a brazilian friend gave it to me."

Lucius would have said something snide about the way Potter had tacked on a shrug as an afterthought.

Thank Merlin Lucius would never hear about this, because then he'd know Severus was alone in a room with this boy, whom Severus loathed, and instead of doing anything of merit he was asking about a stupid accessory.

"Was that all you wanted me for, professor?"

All the words Severus desired to say were floating away like dandelion seeds in a stiff breeze. The only thing welling up in him was his longing for a fag and a drink. "You may go." When the boy's back turned, he let himself slump into his seat.

As the door closed behind Potter, Severus caught the sound of Draco's voice, and Goyle's inconsequential grunting.

And it was a good thing, Severus knew it was a good thing, that his Slytherins were keeping together just as he'd told them to, but at the same time the demon on his shoulder—the snake on his left forearm—was whispering how much he wanted for Potter to be eaten alive.

xoxox

By the end of the day, the only thing containing Severus' jittering hands was the force of long practice. He excused himself from dinner early, feeling about ready to explode if Albus were to try offering him another slice of lemon tart. They both knew what he really needed wasn't something sweet or sour—he needed a palate cleanser.

The act of walking to the school gates helped, his feeling of progress growing with every step. An apparition to Spinner's End for a quick change of clothes, a glamour, then a stop by the same corner shop where Severus had been buying cigarettes since Tobias deemed him old enough to properly count the change.

Perhaps the only perk of living in a run-down neighbourhood was that nobody turned around at the sound of a car backfiring.

Just turning off Charing's Cross onto Old Compton Street had Severus' shoulders loosening, the weight of everything no longer feeling quite so heavy.

Maybe it was the air tinged with stale beer and smoke, or the clamour that poured out of every bar Severus walked past. He moved easily through the early evening crowd, sucking greedily on the night's first cigarette.

The pub greeted him with its usual worn sign, just enough music filtering through the muggy air that Severus knew it would drown out his thinking. He nodded at the smattering of men chatting outside the Admiral Duncan and stepped inside.

The lager here wasn't awful, but today Severus was feeling more like a glass of the decent house red, enjoyed from the comfort of an out-of-the-way table. Lucius would have hated the place, sneering at the lacklustre alcohol and the way the men here all stood just a little bit closer to each other than was appropriate, arms almost always reaching out to touch.

Poppy, on the other hand, would have approved. Severus pictured her and Minerva sitting by the bar, Minerva's pinched face relaxing as Poppy got louder and more giggly with every successive drink.

But then he was walking in, the very reason Severus had come to frequent this bar over all the other gay bars in Soho, despite the fact that there were ones with better drinks and more comfortable chairs.

The man walked like he knew exactly where he belonged in the world, and that place was right here in this pub, chatting with his usual friends and flirting with every other person who passed by.

Someday soon, Severus was going to introduce himself, just for the pleasure of having those sparkling eyes turned on himself. Besides, it would be nice to have a name to go with the face, even if just so that he could better convince Poppy the man was real.

"Oi, d'you need these chairs, mate?"

Severus glanced at the interloper and indulged in a shrug. "Help yourself."

There was a small area cleared out near the centre of the room for dancing. Even without having downed a drink, and despite being the only ones out on the floor, Severus' green-eyed friend had dragged a mate over to dance to a melody different from the one coming out the speakers.

Severus thought he could see relief unbowing the man's shoulders, as if his past week had been just as gruelling as Severus' own.

He liked to think of them as kindred spirits. Severus was savouring the process of unravelling the man's mystery. There was nobody breathing down Severus' neck here, nobody asking for mission reports or the latest news spied from behind enemy ranks.

The only interests Severus was serving tonight were his own: the lovely fog of the wine, the numbing drone of the music, the deafening smell of sweat and cigarettes. And the view of a green-eyed man in a blue plaid skirt who was acting like the only thing that mattered was this moment, this breath, and the way the light from the lopsided disco ball played across his skin.

"Did nobody ever tell you it's rude to stare?"

Severus looked over at the man who had pulled up to his table.

"Anthony," the man said, offering a hand. "We've been wondering when you'd come over and actually talk to us, then they voted I ask you to join us instead."

There was something truly kind in the man's eyes. Their corners crinkled not as if he was laughing at Severus, but as though he was amused by the way the entirety of human existence was a cosmic joke.

"People call me Gramps, or Wheels, but I prefer Gramps. What's your name?" The man exuded friendliness to the extent that it was almost unnatural—but this was just a muggle pub, not Knockturn Alley, and a man with a walker was hardly a threat.

Reaching across the table, Severus shook the hand lest it get taken away. "Julius," he decided to call himself. "The pleasure's mine."

"Lovely. Are you coming with?" Even Harold's voice was genial, soothing like a storyteller weaving tales into the night while a campfire cast lengthening shadows.

In over thirty years, Severus had never been camping, nor had he met his grandparents, or watched flames turn to embers anywhere except in a grate. He figured it was about time he tried something new.

… xoxox …

"His name is Leo," Severus announced, "Leonardo Flores da Louça."

Even if he hadn't been saving her from her towering paperwork, he knew Poppy's beaming smile would always be waiting whenever Severus should walk in.

"Oooh, fancy. Is this your Mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome?" she asked, turning on her kettle.

When Severus had been a boy coming to the hospital wing bearing anger and bruises, he had found peace in the familiarity of how Poppy made her tea. Ever a traditionalist, she insisted on making it the proper way instead of taking shortcuts with magic. His mother had been the same.

"Leo's not that tall." He accepted the steaming mug.

"Severus, honey, you know how I meant it. Now go on, spill! What's he like? Did you introduce yourself?"

Well, first Gramps shuffled himself over and pointed out I'd been making a fool of myself, then Leo's friends drilled me with questions about what I did for a living and I tried very much not to lie. Finally, Leo came over, laughed like there was nothing he enjoyed more than the sound of his own happiness, and then I left.

"We talked for a few minutes," Severus said, folding the truth into an accordion so that it would sound like something beautiful. "He's very cultured, a politician and an inventor."

Poppy's nose crinkled. "Sounds like someone Lucius Malfoy would like. I thought we were trying to stay away from his kind."

"He's nothing like Lucius," Severus protested.

"Alright, alright, just saying. You deserve better, Severus, than someone always putting other people's problems first. Won't do you any good falling for idiots."

"I'm not a dunderhead."

"I never said you were."

Poppy didn't mince her words and Severus liked that about her. If she thought something, she said it. If she didn't like you, you'd know within minutes. She was a professional, of course, Severus wouldn't respect her otherwise, but her bedside manner was saturated with her undiluted personality.

"And?" Poppy asked, eyebrows waggling, "What happened next between you and this Leonardo de Florez?"

Severus blew on his tea, hiding himself behind the steam for a breath. "Nothing happened. We exchanged hellos. He laughed. Have I told you yet, Poppy, about the way his eyes sparkle? It's uncanny. Bizarre, but not unattractive. And then…"

Then I felt like the room was too small and the air was too thin, because I'm not used to random strangers being kind, and it made me feel like there were gymnasts doing cartwheels through my intestines.

"Then I went outside for another smoke, and I left."

At this, Poppy groaned. "You have got to get a move on, Severus, or I'll be old and grey before you get yourself laid."

"I'll be sure to tell him that next time, 'Oh, excuse me, my friend insists we engage in coitus. It's a matter of her health, you understand.'" Perhaps the excuse would roll with Gramps, too, the older man seemed as protective over his friends as a riled mother bear.

The way Poppy laughed at his jokes—and of course the way she made her tea—were the pillars that had held this friendship upright from the beginning.

"It'd work for me," she said. Severus let himself smile, enjoying the way his hands were uncomfortably warm around his familiar mug.

"So," she continued, "you're planning on a next time?"

"I don't know." It had started as a slip of the tongue, but already Severus was picturing it and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep away for long. There was something vibrant in that pub, a spectrum of colour Severus didn't usually get to see. "As soon as I can go," he decided. "I have a lot more information to gather about Leo and his friends."

"Hmm."

Moments like these were exactly why Severus had taught himself to raise a single brow. Back when he'd been figuring it out, Poppy had been the first person he'd shown, her wholehearted delight spurning him on.

"I'm just thinking," she said, then grinned when Severus raised an eyebrow in question again. "I figure you've got enough to worry about. You're not out with a basket collecting pansies and peonies, you're a person meeting with other people. Maybe, and I know this is a stretch for you, but maybe you can try for some humanity, you know?"

Humanity was overrated, Severus knew for a fact. It was humanity that had made Sirius Black try to kill him, it was James Potter's humanity that had tried to save Severus' life, and it was Lily's humanity that had borne her away from him, bringing Harry James Potter into this world even as Lily left it.

"I'm much too busy for humanity." Severus said, setting down his empty mug. He stood, turning away from Poppy to busy himself with making them more tea.

The water boiled the way water should, in a proper kettle. Poppy's tin of English Breakfast struck him with its familiar aroma. He poured the right way, next to the tea bags so that he didn't disturb them. The steam was already curling up to greet him like an old friend.

Two sugars for Poppy, and none for himself. By the time Severus returned to his seat, his mind was at rights again, settled between curiosity and contentment.

"What do you think of Albus' death trap on the third floor, then?" he asked.

Poppy sighed and pursed her lips. "You're not supposed to be telling me this, you know. It's meant to stay a secret." She waggled her eyebrows.

A secret at Hogwarts had about the same chances as a ski slope in Egypt. "If Minerva hasn't told you, then you'll have found out some other way. You know about everything that happens around here, even if I still haven't figured out how."

"It's likely because I talk to you and Minnie both. Between you I've all the gossip I could want. Now just imagine the potential, Severus, of working together with Minnie all by yourself."

"I have no issue with Minerva. Our relationship is perfectly professional."

"Mmhmm. And when I leave you in the staff room together, it's pure chance that you both end up hissing like cats."

"If I had an animagus form, it'd be something much better than a housecat."

Poppy snorted. "I bet you'd make a great bat. Some fluffy fruit bat with glowing orange eyes that looks surprised all the time. Ha!"

At that, Severus smiled. He imagined having to hang upside down would be rather confusing. "If I find the time to entertain the process, you'll be the first to find out what animal I become."

"Hmmm."

"Indeed," Severus said. "So, your thoughts on the Stone?"

"It's a terrible death trap, but maybe it's a decent trap-trap. I'm praying to God that Albus knows what he's doing, even if I don't get it. Looks to me like he's playing with students' lives, maybe even using Harry Potter as bait? I don't like it, not one bit."

That was almost exactly how Severus felt, barring the faith aspect. "Somebody is going to get hurt. My money's on the Weasley twins—"

"Severus!" Poppy cried, "Don't tell me you have a betting pool going."

He was no liar. Severus sipped at his tea and said nothing.

"Those twins are far too sensible, and they keep a stock of healing balms," Poppy said slowly, her head tilting to one side. "If Fred or George Weasley got hurt, we aren't finding out, at least not until Molly sends a howler. No, if this goes the way Albus wants, it'll be young Harry in the crosswires, though I bet him sorting Slytherin threw a wrench into things. How's the boy doing?"

Why did everything always come back to Potter? "He's very quiet," Severus said, and it was only because of his love for Poppy that he was answering at all. "And he spends far too much time scribbling into a notebook while ignoring the other children. Surprisingly, Draco and a handful of students have banded around him. They've stayed out of trouble so far, but there's no likelihood of that lasting."

Also, I hate him. I hate the way he walks, the way he breathes, the way he eats. I hate how there seems to be a corner of my mind constantly devoted to following his every inane movement, like some pathetic teenager with their first crush.

Severus had meant to watch the boy from afar, to help keep him safe from a comfortable distance of mutual loathing. But Potter wasn't following anyone's plans, not Severus' nor Albus', and quite frankly Severus wished he'd be a little more...normal. "As much as it pains me, he does seem to fit well enough into Slytherin. The Gryffindors would have swallowed him whole."

"There's something off about that boy," Poppy said then. "Children don't act like that. Minerva says he's brilliant but bored in her classes, and Filius was telling me the same yesterday."

The statement hung between them. Severus' mug was empty; he was already missing the warmth.

"I hope you'll look out for him, Severus," Poppy said, deflating with a great sigh. "Something's made that kid grow up faster than any eleven-year-old should, and I know it wasn't peacocks and ponies."

Severus wished people would stop telling him to do things he was intending to do anyway. It made his actions feel cheaper, somehow. "Yes, if he needs my help," Severus said, measuring out the words. "At this rate, I'm dubious it'll come to pass."

The boy was a proficient brewer, a decent Slytherin, and had even managed to do an excellent job of warding his own room.

"Minnie will be pleased to hear it. She respects you, you know."

Severus was dubious of that, too. "I promise to try not to hiss at her when we next speak."

"That's all I ask, hun."

Day 22 of an update every day this December. Thank you, my friends, for all yours support. Happy Christmas, Yule, Tom Riddle's birthday, and other Decemberly celebrations.