A/N: Thank you for your patience! It has been hard to find time to write, and some aspects of this chapter were difficult for me to get right. However slow I may be, I do have a full outline written and no plans to give up.
I own nothing, I just play here (my pandemic-safe mental playground).
I am always delighted to receive reviews. Thank you for taking the time to read my story!
Since his head was now significantly larger than it had been as a first year, the hat no longer quite covered his eyes. Hadrian immediately regretted this development, as this time he could see the tables full of students staring at him and whispering. The hat's small voice spoke in his ear. "You again, eh? And I promised not to put you in Gryffindor this time, so long as any other house was suitable.
Hadrian thought with longing of the Gryffindor common room, with its cozy armchairs around the warm fire. There was nowhere on Earth he'd rather be.
"My goodness, it's interesting to sort an older mind. So much more developed, you see."
Not Slytherin, please, Hadrian thought at the Sorting Hat. Couldn't you put me in Hufflepuff?
"You've plenty of loyalty," mused the hat. "But no, diligence has always been imposed on you by others—your teachers or your friend—and rarely something you sought. You have little love of hard work for its own sake, only as a means to an end. Hardly the attitude of a badger."
Ravenclaw, then, Hadrian thought with growing desperation.
"You're clever when you put your mind to it," returned the hat. "But far too practical for Ravenclaw—you want knowledge you can use, not knowledge for its own sake." The hat paused for a moment, then continued. It sounded amused.
"You've known where I was going to sort you since before you sat down, however much you may try to hide that knowledge—and your attempt to do so only confirms that it's the right choice for you. Oh yes, I see your attempts to redirect me. Even a gifted occlumens would find it difficult to hide his mind from me, and you didn't make much effort to learn, did you?"
Hadrian was relieved that no one else could hear the hat's commentary. It was mortifying being dressed down so matter-of-factly by tattered magical headwear. He knew the hat was right, but that didn't make it easier to hear. Besides, not one human had taken him to task quite so directly—except for Snape, who almost didn't count. The man criticized him for everything. At least, Snape criticized him for everything except vomiting all over him and getting him sick. Apparently.
The hat continued. "I told you years ago that you would do well in Slytherin, and I see no evidence that was wrong. You'll miss the easy friendships of Gryffindor, of course, but you will learn and grow in other ways. Yes, you'll do quite well in SLYTHERIN!"
The last word was shouted to the whole hall. The Slytherins were clapping for him, and none of the students looked at all surprised. Well, why would they? What would seem more natural than a Snape sorted into Slytherin?
Hadrian turned to replace the hat on the stool, risking a glance at Snape as he did so. The man was smiling slightly, though the rest of his face looked as dour as ever, and he nodded slightly to Hadrian—maybe telling him to hurry up?
Deciding that was the safest option, Hadrian hurried to the Slytherin table and slid into an unoccupied seat on the far side, where he'd at least be able to see the other house tables.
Helena was still being sorted when Hadrian took his seat. He glanced around, finding himself sitting between the new first years and a group of other students who he didn't know at all. He nodded cautiously to them, receiving cautious nods in return, before turning to watch Helena.
He was disappointed but not surprised when Helena was sorted into Ravenclaw. She took a seat facing him, and shot him a helpless look as she sat down. He grinned in return, hoping to encourage her. He'd known that she'd almost certainly go into Ravenclaw, just as he'd known—though he'd desperately avoided admitting, even to himself—that he'd be in Slytherin. Oh well. At least this way he wasn't in the same year as Malfoy.
Hadrian tried to focus on Dumbledore's welcome speech with limited success. It was mostly what he'd expected: acknowledging the threat posed by Voldemort—several of the Slytherins stiffened (whether from offense, pride, or simply watchfulness, Hadrian had no idea)—and the need for unity within the school. Hadrian was distracted by Dumbledore's appearance—he looked significantly older and more worn than he had at the start of the summer, and his right hand appeared blackened and dead—and by trying futilely to interpret Snape's usual dour expression as the man's gaze focused on him.
The students to Hadrian's left turned out to be 5th years: once the year behind him, now the year ahead of him. The 5th year boys sitting closest to him introduced themselves as Bastien Queensbury and Vikram Thakur. He'd never met either of them before, though some part of him vaguely recalled seeing Queensbury at Quidditch matches.
"Are you related to Professor Snape?" Thakur asked.
"I am," Hadrian responded.
The other boy nodded, a slight smile playing around his mouth. "I thought you must be."
Hadrian wasn't sure what to say next. He had noticed that most Slytherins considered it a sign of weakness to give away more information than required—unless there was some advantage to sharing more. Hadrian didn't really know how to play this game, dancing around questions and leveraging information, but years with the Dursleys had taught him to keep his own council, and he knew that the last thing he wanted was to look weak before his new housemates. Thankfully, he was saved from having to respond further by the arrival of the Feast.
The food was outstanding, of course, and familiar. The sight and taste of it banished Hadrian's nervousness as he enjoyed the delicious meal. The shepherd's pie was just perfect: fluffy mashed potatoes over succulent lamb. The vegetables were neither hard nor mushy, the carrots delectably sweet.
Queensbury grinned at him. "Food's wonderful, isn't it?"
Hadrian nodded fervently. Few things could compete with Hogwarts' cooking.
The 5th year boy chuckled. "Everyone has that reaction to their first Hogwarts' feast." He nodded his head towards the first years on Hadrian's other side, who looked just as delighted with their meal as Hadrian felt. The newest Slytherins were much quieter and less rambunctious than the Gryffindors, whose shouts and raucous laughter could be heard from across the Great Hall, but up close it was evident that they were enjoying themselves almost as much as any Gryffindor.
Hadrian smiled back at Queensbury, heartened to find a constant in Hogwarts life, even if it was love of shepherd's pie. "It's amazing!" Maybe life in Slytherin wouldn't be so bad, after all.
Of course, pudding was even better than dinner. Hadrian helped himself to a large slice of treacle tart. The world fell away as he savored the gooey sweetness, delighted to eat his favorite food again.
All too soon the meal was over. Queensbury—who Hadrian belated realized wore a gleaming enamel prefect's badge—waved goodbye to Hadrian and led the first years away.
Hadrian noted absently that Helena was chewing on her lip like she always did when she was particularly nervous, but most of his attention was focused on the other Slytherins. Clearly he wasn't supposed to accompany the first years—Queensbury had made that clear enough—but who was he supposed to follow? He didn't know how to get to the Slytherin common room, in spite of his infiltration several years back.
Finally Malfoy sauntered up, looking bored. He was accompanied by a younger boy with wavy light brown hair and a long thin nose.
"Tristram, this is Hadrian Snape. Hadrian, this is Tristram Bassenthwaite." Malfoy introduced them. "Tristram, Hadrian will be in with you. You can show him the rest." And with that the blond boy turned and made his way back to Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson.
"Well then," Tristram Bassenthwaite smiled. "You must also be a 4th year. Come along." Hadrian turned to follow him and caught a glimpse of Helena leaving the Great Hall behind Padma Patil.
"You know Draco?" Tristram asked casually as he led Hadrian down towards the dungeons.
Hadrian shrugged. "We've met." In truth he could barely recall the one occasion he'd met Malfoy as Hadrian, but from what his sister had said the boy had been incredibly rude. "Er, do you know him well?"
"We're not intimate friends," Tristram responded, "but our families both move in the same circles, so we've been meeting at society events since we were small. Even in Slytherin there aren't many students who are direct descendants of a Minister of Magic." He smirked after this pronouncement, clearly quite pleased with himself and his lineage.
Oh Lord, thought Hadrian, and here I thought that being two years behind Malfoy would improve things. But no, this boy in his new year seemed just as stuck up as Malfoy. Some response was clearly expected, so after a moment's thought he said, "Er, is that why he brought you to me?"
Tristram laughed lightly. "Indirectly, yes." At Hadrian's puzzled glance he continued, "Slytherins room in pairs. Well, except for prefects, they always get private rooms, but no one gets made a prefect until 5th year. Anyway, until you came there was an odd number of boys in our year, so I had my own room. So Draco knew you would be with me."
So he had to share a room with this boy for the entire school year? It would be torture. Hadrian's stomach began to churn as he contemplated the strain of keeping up his persona and tolerating Tristram. Or maybe the treacle tart had been a bad idea? His stomach was still more tender than he'd realized.
Luckily Hadrian had years of conditioning from the Dursleys to fall back on. Aloud he said, "Er, sorry about that. Your losing your private room, I mean."
The other boy waved away his apology. "I don't mind, really. It takes off the pressure—it means I'll be back to having my own room next year even if I'm not chosen as prefect, since prefects are guaranteed private rooms. Not so bad as insurance."
Hadrian realized he was missing something. "How do private rooms get assigned if there's an odd number, anyway?"
Tristram grinned—a real grin this time, lighting up his whole face. "No one's quite sure how it's done. Some say it's done by the castle itself, or even by the sorting hat. Some say it's done by Slytherin's Head of House, but my father says that can't be true because no one's ever managed to get the assignments changed once they've been made, and old Sluggy—he was the Head of Slytherin before Professor Snape—could definitely be bribed in many other matters. Apparently he's back to teach potions this year. I'll have to ask my father about that."
He said this all matter-of-factly, as if bribing professors was an ordinary behavior. Perhaps it was, in Slytherin? Not under Snape, though. Hadrian couldn't imagine Snape accepting a bribe from a student.
"Anyway," Tristram continued, "Private rooms are almost always assigned to the student from the most powerful family, and very occasionally to the student with the greatest raw talent." He smirked again, clearly delighted by his position atop their year's hierarchy.
Internally Hadrian groaned. Apparently even room assignments were a status game in Slytherin. Why had that damned hat ever thought he would do well here? Hadrian's stomach protested further as he followed Tristram—who he already cordially despised—further into the dungeons.
Largely to distract himself, Hadrian asked, "Who else is in our year, anyway?"
"There are four other guys besides us," Tristram began, clearly eager to impart his opinions. "First there's Thomas McGruder and Bhupen Shastri. They're both halfbloods and both Quidditch mad—hoping to make the House team this year. They mostly keep to themselves, and they never have anything interesting to say about anything but Quidditch. Well, and Shastri's pretty good at charms.
"The other two are Stephen Rowle and Titus Mitcham. Stephen's the other pureblood—really, it's disgraceful how few of us there are—and quite a good friend of mine. Serious about magic, if not all of our classes, with plenty of ambition. He's the best of the lot by a wide margin. He's rather good at transfiguration, too.
"Mitcham… supposedly his mother's a pureblood, but she came from somewhere in Africa, so she's not really a proper pureblood if you know what I mean." Tristram scrunched up his face in distaste. "Worse, his father is a mudblood. Mitcham is clever enough, I suppose—always does well in classes—but I can't think how he came to be sorted into Slytherin. I feel sorry for Rowle, having to room with him."
By now Hadrian was ready to befriend pretty much anyone Tristram disliked, so he felt quite warmly disposed towards Titus Mitcham. Rather than voice that thought aloud, however, he asked, "what about the girls?" Better to keep the other boy talking and providing information, and better not to provoke a fight with someone he had to share a room with. Hadrian knew nothing about playing status games with snobs, but he knew how to avoid a pointless argument.
Tristram shrugged. "Ursula Penkridge is their leader, though Astoria Greengrass and Reiko Sibazaki are much prettier."
"Anything else?" Hadrian asked.
"Nothing important," Tristram shrugged. "They're only girls, after all. It's not like they're real competition."
Hadrian raised his eyebrows at this, but was saved from having to respond by their arrival in front of a particular blank stretch of wall. Tristram shot Hadrian a significant look and then said, "Prestige." The wall vanished and the two boys entered Slytherin common room.
The Slytherin common room looked much as it had four years before, with low ceilings, large iron light sconces, and murky green light. However, the room was far more populated than it had been on his previous visit. Sixth and seventh year students sat in clusters near the immense fireplace, while younger students were more notable for their absence.
Hadrian followed Tristram down a hallway towards the boys' dorms. Long side hallways branched off to the left with doors on either side. There were also a few doors on the right, each bearing a brass plate on the door. Hadrian peered at them as he passed. The first plate said "Seventh Year Study" and the second was labeled "B. Queensbury." He didn't have a chance to read the third, since they turned down a corridor before reaching it.
The third door along this new corridor bore nameplates reading "T. Bassenthwaite" and "H. Snape." Tristram opened it, ushering Hadrian inside.
The room's walls and floors were the same grey stone as the rest of the dungeons. Four-poster beds with dark green hangings stood in the far corners of the room, each with a bedside table and a tall, narrow chest of drawers beside it. Between the two chests of drawers was an empty bookshelf. A dark green rug with a pale grey border spanned the floor between the two beds. The most striking feature of the room was its ceiling: while the edges matched the stone of the floor and walls, most of the ceiling was taken up by a giant skylight of thick glass. Of course it was totally dark now, but he imagined it would be quite impressive by day.
Hadrian's trunk sat at the foot of the bed on the right, so that one must be his. He really wanted to lie down for a bit and let his stomach settle, but he didn't want to show weakness in front of the arrogant boy. He settled for sitting down on the edge of the bed, trying to calm his body without showing it. Thankfully Tristram was now focused on unpacking is own trunk, and not paying him much attention.
Hadrian was just thinking that he should at least change into pajamas when there was a knock at the door. Tristram opened it, revealing Snape.
"Professor," Tristram welcomed his Head of House, curious but unalarmed by the man's presence.
"Mr. Bassenthwaite, Hadrian," Snape acknowledged.
"Sir," Hadrian stood up, now even more uncertain.
Snape took one took at him and tsked. "I thought you looked off-color. I can see now that my concern was not misplaced."
Turning to Tristram, Snape added, "I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Bassenthwaite, but my son is recovering from a recent illness. I'm certain you understand my concern."
Tristram nodded, his eyes flicking between Hadrian and his Head of House.
Snape turned back to Hadrian, ignoring the other boy's speculative looks. "You'll need clothes for tomorrow, and your school things. Would you prefer to gather them yourself, or shall I?"
Hadrian stared at him a moment, attempting to discern which answer Snape wanted.
"Well?"
Snape sounded impatient, no surprise there. "Er, if you don't mind getting them…" Hadrian answered with hesitation. The man had inspected the interior of his trunk that very morning, and required him to move several items to his second trunk, destined to his room in Snape's quarters.
Apparently this answer was acceptable: Snape nodded and busied himself sorting through Hadrian's trunk, while Hadrian himself sank back onto his bed and tried to keep his stomach under control. Tristram had rather ostentatiously turned back to organizing his own belongings, though it was obvious that he was still listening closely.
Eventually Snape stood, Hadrian's book bag and a neatly folded robe under one arm, and gestured at him to stand. Hadrian stood with a groan, hands pressed against his stomach. In retrospect, the treacle tart had definitely been a mistake.
Snape murmured something about getting him a potion and took him by the shoulder, steering him from the room with unusual gentleness. Well, he probably had to look gentle if Hadrian was supposed to be his own son. The Dursleys had never been at their worst when other people could see, either.
The exit they took from the Slytherin Common Room was definitely not the same way Hadrian had come in, since a short corridor led directly to a spiral staircase leading upward. Hadrian vaguely noted that Snape's grip on his shoulder had not become noticeably tighter, nor did the man complain when he paused halfway up. Instead the man waited silently, his hand slipping down from Hadrian's shoulder to rest against his shoulder blade. It was strangely soothing.
They traveled upward long enough that Hadrian was fairly certain they must be out of the dungeons. Peculiar, really: he'd never imagined Snape living anywhere else in the castle. Finally the stairs ended in a door.
Snape pressed his hand against the door and Hadrian felt a sizzle of magic. Snape steered him through the door and to the right, into a surprisingly inviting living area.
Hadrian found himself steered to a brown leather sofa and ordered to sit. It was rather comfortable, he noticed as he leaned back into the cushions. Snape waved his wand, and soon after a potions vial came soaring over and landed in the man's other hand.
Snape uncorked the potion and thrust it in front of Hadrian. "Drink," he ordered, frowning ferociously.
"I'm not sure I can—that is, I don't think—" Hadrian stuttered, trying to figure out how to say that his stomach was churning far too much for potions.
Snape sighed. "It's a stomach-calming draught. It will help," he explained.
Hadrian swallowed the potion, slightly surprised at Snape's patience. It helped a great deal.
"Better?" Snape asked him, peering intently at him as if he were a potions ingredient.
"Yeah, thanks," Hadrian responded, bemused. He really hadn't expected Snape to rescue him from his obnoxious roommate and then give him a potion to settle his stomach, rather than leaving him to his misery in the dungeons.
"Good." Snape nodded, apparently satisfied. "Stay there," he added, beginning to walk away.
Hadrian turned his head to watch as Snape walked behind the sofa and past a table and chairs in an alcove behind it, disappearing into some space connected to the alcove that he couldn't see.
Shrugging, Hadrian turned around to survey the rest of the seating area around him. There were two armchairs on either side of the sofa, all of which were grouped around a thick green rug. Across from him was a fireplace, the fire crackling merrily. Above the mantelpiece—bare except for a small clock made of dark wood with brass fittings—was a landscape painting that looked a bit like the edge of the Forbidden Forest. As Hadrian watched, a gust of wind seemed to shake the leaves, showing him that it was a magical painting, if devoid of people. The room was quite pleasant, if impersonal. The only sign of habitation was a small stack of books on an end table next to one of the armchairs.
Snape returned a couple minutes later, carrying two steaming mugs. He handed one to Hadrian and then settled into the armchair near the books, still holding the other mugs. Hadrian sniffed his mug and was pleasantly surprised to discover it filled with mint tea.
Snape took a sip from his own mug, so Hadrian did the same. Then the man looked at him, frowning slightly.
"I found myself unprepared this evening," the man began, shocking Hadrian. This was almost as surreal as the night Hagrid had shown up with his Hogwarts letter. Snape continued, seemingly oblivious to Hadrian's inner turmoil. "It had not occurred to me that either of you could be sorted into Slytherin, so I did not think to prepare you for my House's internal politics."
Hadrian wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that, or even whether Snape desired a response. Instead he took a long sip of tea, which was surprisingly delicious.
"My understanding is that the politics of the other Houses are relatively benign," Snape continued. "Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs don't have the subtlety or interest in such power dynamics, and the Ravenclaws are too busy trying to outdo each other academically. But Slytherin… the dynamics inside Slytherin require caution.
"In some respects your sorting into my House is an advantage. It lends a certain verisimilitude, and Slytherin House is the last place anyone will think to look for you. However, there are also disadvantages. Many children of the Dark Lord's followers are also in Slytherin, and the Dark Lord has far more interest in Slytherin than in the other Hogwarts Houses, so you will be watched far more closely than if you had been in any other House."
Hadrian nodded and sipped his tea, still unsure how to respond. Snape was being unusually forthcoming, and Hadrian knew he would need all the help he could get to survive in Slytherin.
"Your position as my son will give you some measure of protection: few students in Slytherin will wish to antagonize their Head of House. Some may attempt to seek my favor through you, which I advise you to ignore when possible. However, you are also likely to face more hostility from students outside Slytherin."
Hadrian nodded glumly at that. He couldn't imagine Gryffindors being friendly to any Snape, but most of them would hate any Snape in Slytherin out of principle. Hufflepuffs would probably be the same, though he wasn't sure about Ravenclaw—they didn't seem to have the same dislike of Slytherin, though they grumbled about Snape often enough.
Snape took a long sip of his tea, still frowning. It dawned on Hadrian that Snape was not actually frowning at him, incredible as it seemed.
"In Houses other than Slytherin, family politics are relatively unimportant," Snape continued. "No one expects a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw to take a great interest in politics while at school. In Slytherin, however, friendships and alliances are significantly influenced by family alliances and political stances.
"As far as every student in Slytherin House knows, you are the son of a Death Eater. The expectations of your housemates and the overtures you receive will be influenced by that understanding. I don't ask you to like it, but you must maintain that role."
Hadrian stared, aghast. "I have to pretend I want to be a Death Eater?"
"No, you need not take it so far. In fact, I recommend you do not, as I do not think you could adequately maintain the necessary facade. No, I suggest you feign a total disinterest in politics, and as much ignorance as you can."
Hadrian swallowed. So he didn't have to pretend to like Voldemort, but he had to pretend not to care about him at all? That sounded more like what Snape had said a few days ago, but it seemed more real now, and thus more difficult.
"As a 4th year, you will be too young to draw much interest from the Dark Lord or the older students," Snape explained. "But you will be approached by the students in your own year with dark leanings, and you must not rebuff them. Stephen Rowle's father is a Death Eater, and he will likely befriend you. Your roommate, Tristram Bassenthwaite, is Rowle's closest friend. Bassenthwaite's parents are not Death Eaters, but they are sympathizers, and Bassenthwaite himself appears to aspire to joining the Dark Lord's followers."
Hadrian grimaced. "He's dreadful. I only met him tonight, and I already can't stand him. Now you tell me he's a wannabe Death Eater, but I'm supposed to make friends with him anyway?"
Snape looked almost amused, damn him. "In essence, yes. To be clear, you are entirely welcome to hate him so long as you do not antagonize him or rebuff his overtures. In fact, acting distant and disinterested in your classmates is probably a good idea, as it will give you fewer opportunities to expose yourself."
Hadrian rolled his eyes at the insult—really, it wouldn't be Snape if there wasn't at least one good insult in their conversation—and then sighed. "I guess I can do that, yeah."
"You appeared to have made it through the evening without antagonizing him, from what I saw earlier?" Snape queried.
"Well, yeah. I'm not stupid, I didn't want to piss off the person I share a room with," Hadrian responded with some heat.
"So you do have a sense of self-preservation, despite the lack of previous evidence," commented Snape, once again examining him like a potions ingredient. "Fascinating. Your sorting into Slytherin becomes more explicable."
Hadrian took a deep breath, preparing to defend himself, then let it out again as he realized that Snape's tone was light and not unfriendly. The man's actions had been almost kind tonight, even if his words were still barbed.
Glancing up at the man and then looking down into his teacup, Hadrian spoke quietly. "The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin the first time around, too."
"Did it?" Snape sounded genuinely interested. "And yet you ended up in Gryffindor. How is that?"
"I asked it not to put me there," Hadrian confessed, still gazing into the mug of tea in his lap. "The only two people I'd really met were Malfoy and Ron, well and Hagrid of course. Malfoy was a total prat, and he'd just been sorted into Slytherin. Hagrid had told me dark wizards came from Slytherin. Ron had been really nice, and he'd said Slytherin was bad. It wasn't that complicated, I really didn't know much. Gryffindor was good though, I really liked it there."
"I see." Snape's voice sounded carefully neutral. "Yet the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin?"
"It said I could be great, or some rubbish like that. Told me Slytherin would help me with that. But I don't want to be great, or famous, or anything like that. I never have. So I told it no."
Snape had nothing to say to that, apparently. They sat and finished their tea, each lost in their own thoughts.
#
Snape showed Hadrian to his room soon after, pointing out the doors to Snape's own bedroom, Helena's bedroom, and the bathroom Hadrian would be sharing with his sister. The bedroom itself was quite nice, with dark purple curtains, bedcover, and rug. Snape left Hadrian's book bag on the small desk and hung his school robe in the wardrobe before departing with an admonition to be ready to leave for breakfast at 7:15 AM sharp.
Hadrian's secondary trunk sat at the foot of this bed, and since he was feeling so much better he decided to unpack. He was grateful that Snape had insisted on pajamas and toiletries going in both trunks, since it meant he had everything he needed for the night. He had left most of his summer clothes at Spinner's end, but was happy to have both Muggle clothes and robes in the wardrobe.
The most important thing Hadrian unpacked from this trunk was a framed photograph given to him by Madame O'Malley, showing her, Lily Potter, Marlene McKinnon, and Alice Longbottom. The four women smiled and waved from their frame, and setting the photograph on the nightstand—along with his book about the Irish national Quidditch team—made him feel like the room was really his.
It was the first room he'd ever had all to himself, not counting the rooms where he'd stayed at the beginning of the summer. Hadrian thought it was perfect, even if it was located inside Snape's personal quarters. With Tristram Bassenthwaite in the dungeons as his other alternative, Hadrian discovered that he was very glad that Snape expected them to sleep up here fairly regularly.
