Severus Snape
Salazar Slytherin had unknowingly built a sanctuary for the wounded. His House, with its dim corridors and whispered secrets, became a refuge for those who had learned to tread lightly, to survive in silence.
Slytherins prized cunning, discretion, and self-reliance—not just as virtues but as necessities.
Rarely did a child bearing the marks of abuse pass through the doors of Hogwarts, but when they did, they almost always found themselves among the serpents.
And that, more than anything, was why Severus Snape had chosen to be their Head of House.
It wasn't late—only an hour or so after the feast—when a sharp knock echoed through Severus' dimly lit office.
His scowl deepened.
Trouble. Already.
He set his quill down with an exasperated sigh. "Enter."
The door swung open, revealing Gemma Farley—her posture rigid, her gaze dark with purpose.
And behind her—the Weasley twins.
Severus exhaled through his nose.
Of course.
Fred and George Weasley. Perfect little Slytherins, masquerading as fools.
They acted like Gryffindors, but it was an illusion—crafted, maintained, and weaponized.
They played the clown to distract from the truth: they were predators. They bent the rules without breaking them. They manipulated without consequence. And they commanded loyalty that others envied.
Severus loathed them. Not because they were unintelligent but because they were too intelligent.
And yet… they weren't smirking now.
They weren't playing.
They looked serious.
Severus gestured sharply to the chairs. "Sit. Talk. Leave. Do not waste my time."
Gemma sat with control. The twins, however, dropped down carelessly—a performance. They wanted to appear relaxed, but Severus saw the tension in their shoulders and the flickers of sharp glances exchanged between them.
Something was wrong.
"Well?" Severus drawled.
Gemma flexed her hands, fingers tight with barely concealed anger. When she spoke, her voice was dangerously even.
"Harry Potter."
Severus stilled.
His first instinct was rage.
Of course. Of course, the boy was already causing problems.
He had expected this.
He had prepared for arrogance. For a James Potter reborn.
He had hated the boy before he even arrived.
James Potter had been a lion—too proud to ever lower his head.
But at the Sorting, Harry Potter had stepped forward with his head down.
James had walked like he owned the castle.
Harry had walked like he was trespassing.
And then he had tripped.
Severus had sneered at the time. But something about the way the boy had wiped his bloody nose and said nothing had left a strange, unpleasant weight in his chest.
It was nothing.
He had told himself that.
But now, with three of his own students in his office, looking like they were preparing for battle, Severus found himself bracing.
He exhaled sharply. "What has Potter done?"
Gemma's nails bit into her sleeves.
"He has a limp, Severus."
Severus rolled his eyes. "Yes, I noticed. But seeing as I am not a medi-witch, I fail to see how this concerns me."
"For Merlin's sake—" Gemma swore, and that alone made Severus hesitate.
She never lost control.
Her following words were quiet. Lethal.
"He came to Hogwarts with that limp."
Severus' jaw tightened. "That still does not make it my concern."
"It should be."
Fred leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "He tripped at the Sorting Ceremony—fell so hard his nose was bleeding."
"And," George added, voice grim, "instead of crying like any normal eleven-year-old, he just wiped his face and sat down. Like it was normal."
Severus took a slow sip from his tea.
He ignored the way something twisted in his gut.
"You are making a dangerous assumption."
"No," Fred said. "We're making an obvious one."
George tilted his head. "What kind of home sends a kid to school already hurt?"
Severus exhaled sharply. "So he arrived with an injury. If he chooses not to see Madam Pomfrey, that is his own decision."
Gemma's eyes flashed. "He didn't just show up hurt, Severus. He showed up with nothing."
Severus frowned.
Fred scoffed. "Did you not notice? He doesn't have books, robes—he doesn't even have a wand."
George's voice was quieter but sharp. "What kind of wizarding guardian doesn't ensure a kid has a wand?"
Severus felt his fingers twitch.
Gemma leaned forward, voice low, words deadly.
"He didn't even know what magic was before we met him on the train."
Severus froze.
Fred nodded grimly. "We thought he was joking at first, but no. He didn't know anything. About Hogwarts, Quidditch, the Houses—nothing."
George's voice was laced with anger. "And we're not talking about some Muggleborn mix-up. This is Harry Potter. Raised by a wizarding family, but he didn't even know who he was."
Gemma's voice was barely a whisper. "What kind of family keeps a child from knowing what he is?"
Silence.
Severus exhaled slowly. "It is not my fault that Potter arrived unprepared."
"No," Gemma agreed. "But it's your responsibility now."
Severus' teeth clenched.
Fred smirked. "Which means, whether you like it or not…"
George clapped his hands together. "He's your problem."
They turned to leave.
Severus didn't stop them.
But long after the door shut behind them, he remained at his desk.
His fingers were still against the wood, his tea forgotten, his mind racing.
He had been prepared to hate Harry Potter.
But the boy in his House was not what he had expected.
And that infuriated him more.
Severus Snape had survived many horrors, but the first day of term was always an endurance exercise.
And this year? This year was shaping up to be particularly hellish.
It started at breakfast.
Harry Potter, newly sorted into Slytherin, had limped into the Great Hall with a careful, practiced gait—one Severus knew all too well. The boy's robes were too large, and his shoes were scuffed beyond recognition. And yet, the worst part? He had no wand. No books. Nothing.
Severus ignored the tightness in his chest and took his usual seat at the staff table, determined to focus on his meal. But his peace lasted precisely ten minutes.
"Professor," came a sickeningly polite voice. Gemma Farley.
Severus didn't even look up. "What."
The Slytherin prefect stood beside him, arms crossed, face unreadable. "I was simply wondering about the school's policy on students arriving unprepared. I imagine there must be some sort of protocol for those who show up without anything."
Severus took a slow sip of his tea. "If you are referring to Potter, Miss Farley, I am already aware."
"Are you?" she asked, too smoothly.
Severus narrowed his eyes. "Miss Farley—"
A sudden pair of voices cut in.
"Good morning, Professor!"
The Weasley twins.
Fred and George dropped into the empty seats beside Gemma, entirely uninvited.
Severus' headache intensified.
"Lovely weather today, isn't it?" Fred said cheerfully.
"Simply delightful," George added, flashing an infuriating grin.
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you want."
Fred gasped, feigning offense. "Us? Want something? Professor, how could you?"
George sighed dramatically. "Actually, we just wanted to check in on dear old Harry. You know, your new first-year? The one who—oh, what was it again, Fred?"
"Oh, right!" Fred snapped his fingers. "The one who doesn't have a wand."
George leaned forward. "Or books."
"Or robes that actually fit."
Fred tilted his head. "Or any idea what's going on, really."
Severus exhaled sharply. "I fail to see how this is your concern."
Gemma's expression darkened. "It's our concern because he's one of ours. And we take care of our own."
Severus' teeth clenched. "Potter's lack of preparation is not my fault."
Fred shrugged. "Oh, we know."
George grinned. "We just need you to acknowledge it."
Gemma straightened, her voice calm and cutting. "We're not Gryffindors, Professor. We're not asking you to charge in and demand answers. We're asking you to pay attention."
Severus snorted. "To what, exactly? The fact that Potter has been coddled and is now reaping the consequences of his guardians' incompetence? That is not my burden to bear."
Gemma's fingers curled into fists at her sides. "You think he's been coddled? He flinched when someone reached for the toast, Severus. He moves like he expects to be hit."
The words landed like a slap, but Severus' face remained impassive.
Fred's grin was gone. "And when he tripped at the Sorting Ceremony? That wasn't clumsiness. That was someone who's learned not to react to pain because it doesn't change anything."
George's voice was quiet. "Like someone who's learned crying doesn't help."
Severus' jaw tightened. "You are making reckless assumptions."
"No," Gemma said, steel in her voice. "We're making observations."
Fred leaned back with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Anyway, we'll leave you to it."
George clapped his hands together. "Busy day ahead, after all."
And just like that, the three left, far too smug for Severus' liking.
He sat there for a long moment, fingers tightening around his teacup.