Author's note: I move into residence tomorrow, so today seems like a good time to post. I'm aiming to update every 7-10 days (probably closer to every ten days, to be honest), and with that schedule, I have enough pre-written to keep updates steady until around reading week, which is the second week of October for me. After that, we'll see how things go. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Guest: Haha, the prologue was longer than I'd been expecting, too. Eight chapters longer, to be specific. As always, thanks for the review!

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 83-88 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone while writing this.

Arrival of the Potter Spawn

Severus Snape, Potions Master and Potions professor at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, ex-Death Eater and ex-double agent, was in a dreadful mood—even more so than usual. He was currently finishing up on the long list of medicinal potions with which the school infirmary was stocked—the children who flooded the school for nine months of every year had an incredible knack for crippling themselves—his attention half on the task at hand and half on his agitated thoughts.

It was September 1st, 1991. The new term would begin in a mere six hours. As if it wasn't bad enough that he would be once again subjected to inept and squealing children, the son of his childhood nemesis would be among the hoard. He may have vowed to protect the boy, but that didn't mean he had to look forward to it.

Potter junior had spent the past decade in the muggle world, Severus had heard, living with his mother's sister and her husband. Because he had known Petunia Evans—Dursley—when they were children, there was no doubt in Severus's mind: Desperate to be part of the magical world and finally getting the chance, "Tuney" was spoiling the boy rotten. It must have been a dream come true, to be the guardian of The Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

The Boy Who Lived. Severus sneered at the moniker. He was hardly an empathetic person, but he did think it insensitive to celebrate a child for surviving while his parents died. Even worse, the brat probably loved the attention, loved the way he had the entire magical community wrapped around his finger for doing something he couldn't even remember. No- for doing absolutely nothing, for being completely unremarkable, prophecy be damned. Severus was willing to bet that Harry Potter basked in his fame as snakes basked in the sunlight.

Speaking of snakes, there was a silver lining: The odds of Potter being sorted into Slytherin were less than zero. While the other Heads were hoping for Potter to be in their House, Severus was certain that the boy would be in Gryffindor, just like his parents, just like his father. Although Minerva would probably give them gloating looks in the staff room the day after the Sorting, Severus would rather put up with a smug McGonagall than a Slytherin Potter. Having the mini-"Marauder" in Potions class for seven years was going to be bad enough.

Not that there wouldn't be any brats in Slytherin—there were brats in every House, at least in Severus's opinion, though that was coloured by the fact he didn't care for children in general. But specifically, unless Lucius had disregarded Narcissa's wishes and had enrolled his son at the Durmstrang Institute, Draco Malfoy would also be starting Hogwarts this year; and while Severus was inclined to favour Draco purely because he was Lucius's son, Draco was the pureblood-raised equivalent of what Severus knew Potter was like: arrogant, coddled, entitled, used to being fawned over and thinking that the sun revolved around him. Draco had also inherited his father's world views, making him exactly the kind of child whom Dumbledore had asked Severus to steer away from making the same mistakes—great. More work for him.

In the many years since the Dark Lord's demise, Severus had come to realize that Lucius Malfoy wasn't exactly a brilliant role model. In fact, he was a bloody terrible one, if the Dark Mark was any indicator, and while he still considered Lucius a friend—he couldn't forget that Lucius had been his first friend after Lily and that, in his memory anyway, their regular correspondence had made his turbulent Hogwarts years more bearable—he didn't hang on to the older man's every word. He thought for himself now.

Life of the past decade almost seemed like a kind of dream, a kind of standstill. Excluding the deaths of his parents, things stayed the same. He loved Potions and hated teaching about them, and he enjoyed his "evil bat of the dungeons" reputation, and he regularly engaged in semi-antagonistic banter with Minerva, Head of the rival Gryffindor House.

For the first time in his life, Severus wasn't always looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next hit and wondering whether it would come from foe or supposed friend. He hadn't let his guard down, of course—the wariness was ingrained—but at least his paranoia largely went unjustified. In fact, if one could look past the fact that he still hated himself and still had nightmares about serving under the Dark Lord, one might say that his life of the past decade had been quite nice.

A voice drifted from the Floo in the Potions Master's office, distracting him from both his ruminating and his stirring: "Severus! Can you come through?"

He put the active cauldrons, of which there were currently three, under Stasis Charms, and then went about tidying his ingredients. Barring an emergency, he was in no hurry to attend to the concerns of anybody who interrupted his brewing, not even this particular "anybody."

"Severus!" the voice called again.

Don't get your knickers in a knot, old man, he thought as he made his way over to the fireplace. Aloud, he barked, "I'm coming," before stepping into the flames and emerging in Headmaster Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore had backed away when Severus answered his call and was now returning to his desk.

"Severus," he said, merrily and in greeting this time, as though he hadn't seen his youngest employee in years. "Thank you for coming. Have a seat. Sherbet lemon?"

Severus sat down, but he drew the line at accepting the confection. He had never eaten one of the omnipresent sherbet lemons and never would, yet still the Headmaster tried. He might have admired the tenacity, if the perpetual shoving of the candy tin in his face weren't so damn annoying. "No."

"Well, perhaps next time."

Ha. "Will this take very long?" Severus asked tonelessly. "I was in the middle of brewing a complex potion, and it is currently waiting under Stasis Charm in a state that is easily-corrupted."

In reality, his cauldrons were filled with three relatively simple and stable potions, but Severus was in a bad mood, and it wasn't as if it would hurt the Headmaster to think that he had been called away from something important—and incendiary.

"I only wish to have a brief discussion with you, my boy," said Dumbledore, used to Severus's surly demeanour, "and then you can brew in peace until the Welcoming Feast."

Severus raised an expectant eyebrow.

"You remember what happened in Godric's Hollow ten years ago, I presume?"

"No. It was only one of my worst memories."

Dumbledore ignored the sarcasm. "And I also presume that you remember the conversation we had shortly following the aforementioned event?"

"By all means, Albus, cut to the chase."

"Harry Potter will be arriving at Hogwarts tonight"—No shit—"and I wish to reaffirm your promise to protect him."

There was a pause, during which Severus scowled. Then, angry that the Headmaster apparently put so little stock into his word—he did not make such promises lightly, even if he was in a state of immense distress while making them—he said, "While I am sure that there are plenty of devoted Potter Spawn fans who would love to play body guard to the local celebrity, yes. Fine. I reaffirm my promise to protect the brat. For Lily."

He stood. "If that is everything?"

Dumbledore nodded in assent. "I will see you tonight."

"Yes, to my great misfortune."

Severus swiftly exited the office, opting to get back to the dungeons via his own two legs; the walk would allow him to blow off some of the steam that had rapidly accumulated at the mention of Harry Potter.

He looked just like his father. It was easy to identify him in the lineup of incoming first years, because he looked just—like—his—father. Except for his eyes, as Dumbledore had told Severus that Halloween long ago. Severus would have recognized those eyes anywhere: They were Lily's eyes, "precisely her eyes."

Severus groaned inwardly. Unfortunately, ignoring the boy was not an option. He would have to spend the next seven years looking at James Potter's near-doppelgänger—and he wouldn't even begin thinking about the effect on him that those eyes might have—constantly being reminded of his childhood tormentor, which would remind him of that awful day by the lake, which would remind him that he had become a Death Eater, which would remind him that he'd accidentally killed the woman he loved because of his hunger for acceptance. Fantastic.

Sitting at the High Table, he fumed silently through the Sorting Hat's song, which seemed particularly irksome this year, although that was likely due to his poor temper. His contribution to the applause was slow and gave the impression of being ironic.

His applause for the new Slytherins was more sincere and enthusiastic. He routinely had fleeting thoughts about becoming negligent with his teaching and letting the little dunderheads blow themselves up, but he never considered shirking his Head of House duties. He was quite a hands-off Head, delegating a lot of responsibility to his Perfects, but he was willing to look out for and favour the children of Slytherin House—nobody else was willing to. Slytherins, he'd decided, got enough grief already; they didn't also need a Head of House who tried to wipe his hands of them. Not all of them were Death Eater progeny, though there were quite a few of those arriving this year. Still, over time, he'd become quite devoted to the job which had initially been forced upon him by Dumbledore.

"Potter, Harry!" Minerva called, and the entire hall seemed to straighten with attentiveness, the children from wizarding families whispering and craning their necks, eager to get a good first glimpse of this household legend in the flesh, as he went up to the front and sat on the stool.

Although he didn't show it, Severus was surprised when the Hat did not immediately spit out a verdict. In fact, it took a great deal of time to ponder the situation. The answer was glaringly obvious; Severus couldn't imagine what was taking so long.

Finally, just as whispers of "Hatstall" began cropping up, the expected shout of "Gryffindor!" echoed through the room. The lion's table burst into cheers, and the Weasley Twins of Terror yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" as though it weren't obvious.

When the last child had been sorted, Minerva rolled up her scroll and took the Hat away. Dumbledore got to his feet. He was giving off his typical grandfatherly airs, beaming, holding his arms open wide, like he was about to try hugging the entire student body at once. Severus suddenly had to repress a snort at the mental image, which rose unbidden, of Dumbledore magically elongating his arms so that he could wrap them around everybody in the Great Hall.

"Welcome!" said the Headmaster, with far too much exuberance for Severus's taste. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin the banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

For some unfathomable reason, there was more applause as Dumbledore sat back down.

The dishes piled high with food, courtesy of the house elves. Before serving himself, Severus glanced over at the Slytherin table. The students were already chattering away, the Perfects a bit less so, as they were also doing periodic table surveys to ensure that nothing was amiss. Most of the first-years were already acquainted, being from old pureblood families who only allowed their children to associate with the children of other old pureblood families.

Severus watched in amusement as Slytherin's ghost, the Bloody Baron, floated over and seated himself beside Draco Malfoy, who looked less than ecstatic about the arrangement. Absently, he wondered what Draco's upperclassmen would make of the boy's attitude. He couldn't imagine any of his seventh years taking shit from an eleven-year-old, even if this eleven-year-old bore the name of Malfoy.

"S-so, Pp-profes-s-sor S-snape," Quirinus Quirrell spoke up. He was this year's Defence professor, switching from his previous employment in Muggle Studies, which was being taken over by Charity Burbage.

Severus turned his head to look at the man beside him. He wasn't well-acquainted with Quirrell, but he knew that the former Ravenclaw had always been timid and anxious, though he was supposedly brilliant. While Severus was skeptical about the brilliance part, Quirrell's timidity and anxiety were very apparent and seemed to have magnified since his sabbatical the previous year. In Severus's opinion, Quirrell was too weak-willed to teach defence; a simple Expelliarmus would scare him silly.

"You l-l-lost the D-d-def-f-ence posit-t-tion again?" It had somehow become common knowledge that Severus asked Dumbledore if he could switch to Defence professor each time his contract came up for renewal.

"Obviously."

"Y-y-y-yes, well, I-I'm t-t-terribly s-sorry about th-that."

The Potions professor turned back to his dinner, ignoring the sorry excuse for a wizard, who continued to blather on. Said sorry excuse for a wizard seemed to be under the delusion that Severus cared. When pudding, which Severus did not eat, popped up on the table, he returned to monitoring the students. It had evidently taken Draco only fifteen minutes to acquire a couple of sycophants. Lucius would be thrilled. Severus occasionally paused in his perusing to give Quirrell disparaging looks, which Quirrell either didn't notice or somehow misinterpreted.

"W-w-what d-do you th-th-think?"

But Severus's focus was on the Potter spawn, who was staring at the High Table, and more specifically, staring at Severus. He met Lily Potter's green eyes with his own obsidian ones, anger bubbling up again as he thought about the wrongness of any feature of Lily's combined with that of James Potter's. He was barely aware of how the stuttering professor had practically turned around backwards in his chair to get his colleague's attention. Severus's mouth tightened imperceptibly when the boy clapped a hand to his forehead, briefly screwing up his face as though in pain. The stupid brat was already seeking attention, as though he didn't have enough of that already.

Did Potter know who he was? the thought flashed through Severus's mind. That Petunia might have told her nephew stories of "that Snape boy," whom she'd made it clear she reviled, had never crossed his mind before; but now that it had, it only increased Severus's anger. Damn Potter. His presence was bringing up all of the past that Severus didn't want to think about.

"S-s-sev-verus?"

"Repeat the question."

He turned back to Quirrell and, for the sake of his blood pressure, did not look towards the Gryffindor table again.

He was in for a long seven years.