Snape had quickly learned, to his utter horror, that he did in fact like Harry Potter. He'd been able to ignore this gleaning of self-knowledge throughout the weekend and most of the second week, but halfway through their conversation following the disastrous first flying lesson Harry had just participated in he found himself wondering just what the hell was wrong with the boy's parents and distinctly unsatisfied with the thought that they had no idea just what an extraordinary son they had or how lucky they were to have him. He ended the conversation a short while later to teach his next class – third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws – and effectively rediscover why he hated children.

This piece of terrifying self-realisation was nothing, however, to the outrage he felt when he entered the staff room later to learn at last the reason Minerva had looked so unaccountably smug during dinner.

"You can not be serious!"

Minerva's glare in response to this exclamation of horror was withering, but Snape was enraged enough to be completely oblivious, a feat as yet unmatched in the annals of Hogwarts history.

"You're telling me, Minerva, that the Dunce Who Lived –" he artfully ignored the disapproving looks from his colleagues. "Breaks rules set down for his own safety, and not only is he not reprimanded, but is given a place of the Gryffindor Quidditch team?!"

"The boy's a natural, Severus." McGonagall said firmly, as if that adequately explained her lapse of intellect.

"His talent with a broom is completely inconsequential! He should not be rewarded for such acts of stupidity!" he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can you say 'favouritism', Minerva?" He sneered at her (after all, he rarely got the chance to say that to someone else). The thought suddenly occurred that this had to be extremely galling to Harry (of course Snape realised he was probably the only person who'd ever paid attention to the fact that the boy even liked to fly, but this didn't mean Harry was any less gifted, whether it was realised or not), and that he worried about that at all only exacerbated his feelings of indignation. "Is this about him being the Boy Who Lived? Or are you just desperate not to let the Cup go to Slytherin again?"

Minerva stiffened, outraged. The staff room held its collective breath, waiting for the impending outburst. To the surprise of all, she calmed herself, and exchanged sympathetic glances with Madam Hooch. "I think," she confided in an undertone meant to be heard, "That perhaps Severus is being uncomfortably reminded of his own school days when James--"

"This is – NOT – about – James – Potter!" He bellowed, instantly negating his own words. He took a deep, almost calming breath. "This about the fact that a boy with no more brains than god gave flobberworms is being allowed on the school team when he should be receiving a detention!"

McGonagall – she was never 'Minerva' when displeased with him, he was likely to live longer – looked insulted by the insinuation that one of her students had a mental capacity equivalent to a flobberworm. He couldn't understand why; she had Weasleys in her House.

"Severus," Flitwick squeaked, making a dismal and half-hearted attempt to keep the peace. "Don't blame Minerva. You know we've all got a bit of a blind spot where he's concerned; Boy Who Lived and all-"

"Speak for yourself," he snarled, before turning back to Minerva. "So this is about him being the Boy Who Lived, not talent."

"He has talent, Severus."

"So does his brother, but I don't see him getting a spot on his house team as a first year. And talent or no, the brat has still broken the rules. Even if he hadn't disobeyed Madam Hooch's direct orders, it would still be unfair of you to put him on the school team. He is a first year, don't we have rules against this sort of thing?"

Two spots of red colour had appeared high on her cheeks. A bad sign. A very bad sign. "You're a fine one to talk about unfairness, Severus!"

The other teachers rapidly began exiting the room, having accepted that the entertainment value provided was finally being outweighed by the risks to life and limb.

Two hours later, and Snape could be found torturing Hufflepuff first years in the halls, having been unable to convince Minerva either of the stupidity of her actions or in the wisdom of treating the Potter twins equal and allowing both to join the relevant House teams (he'd made the terrible mistake of going to Dumbledore for justice, and was still rueing the decision bitterly). McGonagall could be found lecturing the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team with a maniacal glint in her eye that she expected the Quidditch Cup, and if she didn't receive results she'd personally see to it none of them ever graduated.

"Draco," Snape declared as he entered the Common Room (all his other students being smart enough to run for it the moment the lookout had given the warning signal), "As your godfather I am honour bound to care for and love you dearly, but I may never forgive you for this."

"You do know that Malfoy has challenged my brother to a midnight duel in the trophy room tonight?" Harry asked, with an amazing display of indifference as Snape watched him brew a perfect Swelling Solution.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I'll inform Filch," he said dryly. "Why, would it concern you were your brother to die or be hideously injured?" He snorted under his breath, easily swiping the ingredient Harry had been about to add a little too soon. "If only that were an option in a duel between first years. If only."

Harry surveyed him for a moment with a gaze so piercing Snape was confused for a moment over which one of them knew Legilimency. Speaking of which, he would have to teach Potter Occlumency eventually. He had a terrible feeling about that magical curse scar. "No." he shrugged. "I thought you might be worried about your godson."

Snape felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. "Who told you that Draco was my godson?"

No answer was forthcoming. Snape did not expect one. "Draco needs to be taught a little discretion." He said irritably. "Lucius has been a terrible example to him. It's going to take all his school years to drive out his example, and as soon as he graduates Draco will forget about being Draco and become a clone again."

The black-haired boy looked up, amused. "So it is true the Malfoy line is the product of perfecting the cloning technique."

Snape scowled at him, a little too slow to prevent the boy's sharp eyes from noticing his own amusement at that pronouncement. "Get back to brewing your potion," he snapped. "And then we'll see if there's enough time to go over what Quirrel should be teaching you before I have to make your brother's life a misery."

"I would have thought that would be a pleasure rather than a chore," he grinned. Snape was starting to forget his own resolution to dislike him.

"I fully agree with Filch when it pertains to your brother," he said coolly. "Dunce Who Lived or no–"

"Especially 'no'." Harry muttered.

"–he should be strung upside down by his ankles in a flooded dungeon."

There was a comfortable silence for a while as both returned to their respective tasks. Snape resisted the urge to incinerate several truly abysmal essays, and Harry moved on to the last stages of his potion.

"Just out of curiosity, Professor, do you even know my brother's first name?"

Snape grimaced. "Why would I want to? Besides, do you?"

"Touché. But that's alright, nobody in my family knows my name either." There was a moment of absolute disassociation. Snape felt he could probably have been stabbed in the head with an ice pick right in front of him and Harry wouldn't have noticed, let alone cared. Potters, he thought.

Which effectively reminded him that Draco needed a lesson about issuing duels and Filch had to be told the trophy room was in terrible danger of magic sparks. Perhaps he should modify the after-hours patrolling roster just in case. Heaven forbid it should Pomona who found Gryffindors out of bed, they'd never get the detention they deserved. "I'll trust you just enough to finish that without any major mishaps while I'm gone," he said calmly, already seeing Dunce and Dumber disembowelling horned toads in his mind's eye.

Potter had the temerity to smirk at him as he swept out, intent on informing Filch of Dunce Who Lived's plans for late night entertainment.

A/N: Anna Potter-Snape. I blame you for this, and all possible future chapters! That aside, I'm wondering if I should perhaps have followed your model for the Mistaken series; it would appear to make less work.

In a future chapter (no, don't ask when):

Watching Longbottom, staring with obvious terror at the vile contents of the cauldron he was supposed to be cleaning, Snape could see it already. Sooner or later, this boy, capable of blowing up even a swelling solution, was going to kill everyone in the class.