Chapter Two
Another year, another lot of senseless idiots who couldn't find a cauldron if it hit them on the head. It's always been one of my fonder ambitions to charm the cauldrons to do that. I think Dumbledore would object, and I've never asked.
This term might prove to be a little more interesting, though. The Potter boy starts this year. There's been a lot of talk at staff meetings how he's to be treated. He'll be treated like any other student in Potions, that's for sure. Not that I won't keep an eye on him.
The beginning of the year is like any other. My days of quiet in my dungeon interrupted, replaced with echoes of adolescent shrieking. Even the Slytherins cannot be trusted to act like young adults.
The two days before the students arrived are full of staff meetings that I am purposely late for. Plans are made, turned in, ignored. I tidy up the dungeons, a task so loathsome that it always ends up waiting until the end of the summer.
As I do every year, I debate attending the Feast. I am fairly sure that Dumbledore would have words with me if I chose to not attend, but I don't believe there's any rule requiring my presence. One last evening of solitude down in the dungeons might be more than welcome. But that is what I think every year.
And, every year, I end up sitting at the table, staring at the masses. I try to look as bored as ever when the new first years are brought in. Quirrell is certainly eager to talk to me. I am not so eager to talk to him. He stole the Defense Against the Dark Arts post from me, another year, another rejection. I'm certain Dumbledore has his reasons for it, but that does not make it any less maddening.
The Potter boy is very small, very scrawny. He does not appear to be alone, but in the company of the young Malfoy boy. I am relieved to see that Potter knows how to pick his company. Just a glance at the forty or so first years, I can pick out a number of people who would do nothing but drag Potter down.
I confess that I am excited when Potter is sorted into Slytherin. I know that there was a small betting pool. I expected Dumbledore to win. After all, he does have access to the Sorting Hat. But Dumbledore said Gryffindor, which means I am now ten Galleons richer. How could I bet against my own House?
At one point during the Welcoming Feast, Potter looks up at me. Our eyes meet for an instant, and he frowns. The glance only lasts a heartbeat, and then Quirrell is talking to me again. Vampires, I think. The man truly is the most fearful man I have ever met. I understand that he's had a rough summer, but that's no reason for that awful garlic. Where Dumbledore finds these people to usurp my place.
Then the Feast is over, and it is as much as I can do to escape from the Great Hall without being crushed beneath the masses of students. Using some back passages that only I know about, I make it back to my dungeons in record time. There, I wait. It will take longer for the students to make it down here. I must talk to all of them. Both to let them know about a few important matters, but to get a closer impression of the Potter boy. Of course, I can't play favorites. The idea is scandalous.
After twenty minutes, I make my way to the Slytherin common room. All of the first years and a healthy number of the rest are milling about in the common room. They all fall silent as I enter. I sweep my gaze around the room. Most people look to the floor as I look at them. The subservience is both irritating and thrilling.
Potter does not. He just stares defiantly right back at me. Perhaps, though, it is not defiance. Perhaps it is just ignorance or stupidity. "Harry Potter. Our new…celebrity." His gaze remains firmly on me. "I hope you do not think that your name will win you any friends in this house." At least a quarter of the students here are relatives of one Death Eater or another. It is only the mystery surrounding Potter that has kept him alive so far.
Finally, his gaze drops to the floor. I win.
I focus back on the rest of the common room. I don't know how many of them are aware of that power struggle. Or that I was the one that won it. "As always, I have high expectations for my house. While I know that some of you may be inclined to prove that Slytherin is a house superior to the others, I urge restraint. Slytherin house has a poor enough reputation without witless pranks. Leave pranking to the Gryffindors. And a word of caution on that, as well. They are the ones with the reputation for goodness and honesty. Their words will be believed over yours, no matter which of you is at fault. A Slytherin exemplifies cunning, a Gryffindor foolish pigheaded bravery. Remember which house you are in. I do not expect to hear poorly of any of you."
With that, I am finished my first night rituals. I can retire back to my rooms and contemplate the coming term. Classes begin tomorrow and I will have a great deal occupying my mind from now on. Tonight is my last night of perfect solitude, of mental harmony before the discord of the students may set in.
I feel that this year is going to be an interesting one. The Potter boy is here now. If he is anything like his parents…no, I will not think about his parents. He is just the Potter boy. That is far safer.