A Slytherin

Harry Potter. James Potter's son. A Slytherin.

He would have laughed at the irony were it not for the fact that he would have to look after the boy for the next seven years. He had counted on keeping an eye on the Boy Who Lived, of course, but from a distance – lending silent aid and keeping him out of harm's way whenever possible; he had hoped to minimize his contact with the Potter brat by any means necessary. But now...it was unavoidable. He was his Head of House – why couldn't Minerva have gotten stuck with the Potter boy? Or Flitwick, or Sprout...anyone but him?

He saw the Headmaster subtly grinning at him with a twinkle in his eyes.

Damn that old man. He'd enjoy this, every second of it.

Seven years as Potter's Head of House; seven years of dealing with the spawn of that wretched Gryffindor, no doubt spoiled by the fame and fortune he was born into. His guardians had no doubt...

Wait, guardians? Who did Albus send the boy to, again? No, it didn't matter. No matter where he'd grown up, what he'd been taught, or how he'd been raised, the Boy Who Lived could not possibly be immune to the fame and fortune his parents had left him with. Like Potter, he was no doubt another wealthy, entitled brat who would stop at nothing to make the next seven years of his life positively miserable. Causing trouble left and right, losing points, blowing up potions – he could see it all, every last debacle. It was going to be painful. So painful.

He took a deep breath. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, he told himself. Yes, he reminded himself, the child was rich and famous, but Potter had had no input into the raising of his son, who had been sorted in not just a different house, but the different house, so to speak. Perhaps he didn't share much more than a face, poor eyesight, and that untamable mop of hair with the late Potter Sr. After all, if the boy was anything like his father, he would have ended up in Gryffindor for sure. Perhaps he took after Lily, more, he dared to hope. Although...Lily would have never ended up in Slytherin either. Ravenclaw, maybe, but definitely not Slytherin. No, the boy was a complete enigma. Any assumptions he planned to make about the boy flew out the window the moment he failed to be sorted into Gryffindor. Only time would tell, he supposed, how wrong those assumptions would have been. For now, he could only watch.

"Oh, Severus!"

He groaned inwardly. Professor McGonagall was the last person he wanted to talk to – he could already guess the topic up for discussion.

"Yes, Minerva?"

"How have classes been going thus far?"

He sighed. "Come, Minerva, we both know what you really want to talk about."

A smile crept across her lips.

"Out with it," he said, resigned.

"Now, now, Severus, no need to be so sour. I just wanted to tell you about my first class with our young Mr. Potter."

"Oh did you now?" He didn't even bother feigning surprise.

"And Severus, I do believe he will be a genius at transfiguration, just like his father!"

"And how would you know that, Minerva? It was one class." He could not stop some ire from leaking out of his voice.

But Minerva only smiled at him smugly. "Indeed it was. But he showed a keen interest in learning advanced human transfiguration, and asked some very insightful questions in class. But most significantly – he managed to transfigure the matchstick into a perfect silver needle in seven minutes."

Severus could not help but be surprised at that. "Seven minutes?"

"Yes, and I was counting! I attribute his success to the fact that he took a unique alchemic approach to his understanding of the task. He asked questions about molecules, Severus, molecules!"

"It's not surprising that he'd have heard the word, Minerva, if he was raised with muggles."

"But Severus, he knew about quarks and particle spins!"

Again, Severus's eyes widened. He made a small huffing sound.

"Besides, I would think that the fact that he was raised with muggles wouldn't have much bearing on his knowledge -"

Ah, so he was right; the boy was raised with muggles.

"- after all, I highly doubt that Petunia Dursley put much thought into her nephew's intellectual development."

Petunia Dursley?

"Petunia...who?"

"Dursley, Severus. His Aunt."

The boy was raised by Petunia Evans?

"May I ask how that came to pass?"

Minerva shrugged helplessly. "It was Albus's idea. He said the boy needed to be with his family, away from it all. Something about wards. But I told him, they're the worst sort of muggles."

Severus had to agree.

.....

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