Survivor

Harry woke up to the familiar feeling of scales coiling around his arm. Being in the dungeons, he wasn’t sure what time it was. Jason, however, had a brilliant internal clock. Normally, the snake loved to oversleep. When it mattered, though, he was always on top of things.

“It's time to prepare for the day, little one.”

Harry groaned under his breath and tried to rub the grogginess from his eyes. When that didn’t work, he got up and took his shrunken trunk from his pocket. Tapping his wand to it and canceling Iris’s shrinking charm, he took a new robe and the rest of his underclothes out of his trunk and began walking to the door.

He was going to send a letter post-haste, but Iris probably already bought his Slytherin robes if she was truly so confident about his placement. It still irked him that she ended up being completely correct in her assumptions about him.

“Thanks, Jason.”

The snake flicked its tongue out and popped his head out from the collar of his robe. “Make no mention of it.”

The two of them walked out to the common room, and Harry was relieved to find Gemma Farley sitting on one of the couches to his left. He was the only one besides her who was awake at the moment, but she apparently got up even earlier than he did in case a first-year like himself needed help. That was very fortunate. He very highly doubted that he would ask her help with anything important, but information on simple things, like what he needed now, was something he wouldn't pass up.

“Where is the guy’s bathroom?” 

She looked a bit startled to see someone awake so early, but she concealed it well. He was sure that pretty much anyone but him would’ve missed it, but Harry spent too much time deciphering his relative’s facial expressions to be fooled with false complacency. Hardly a person alive could best Petunia when it came to acting perfectly natural in front of others despite whatever emotions happened to be whirling around inside of her.

“It's the door on the other side of the couches and the same side as your dorms.”

Harry nodded and walked away without another word. The layout of the room was simplistic, and living in a space that was easily manageable made him feel comfortable and secure. It was better to have a simplistic and predictable layout to his dorm than something complicated or weird. Perhaps that was rather boring of him, but that was just how he was.

Entering the bathrooms, he found himself very happy with the obvious inclination toward privacy that Slytherin's house had. He would not do well with communal rooms or open bathrooms. The left side of the room was filled with solid black, sliding doors that were most likely meant to be the showers, and the right side was lined with similarly colored bathroom stalls. Walking across the left side of the room, he saw that there were golden initials engraved into the stalls. Approaching the back of the room, he came to a stop in front of the door with H.J.P on it. The bathrooms apparently had a personal shower for every student so no one had to worry about looking for an open one or not having one to use at all.

He walked into the shower and slid the door closed behind him. The shower was much larger on the inside than the outside. Magic was so fucking cool. He wasn’t sure what or who was constantly filling up the expansion runes in the shower, but it was about twice the size of the shower Iris had. The room was basically a large square. A huge, vertical line was carved in the top half of the wall opposite the door. Another line was drawn down from the top right of the line at a 45-degree angle. He was unfamiliar with how runes actually worked, but he saw enough runes in Iris’s house and used them enough to know some of the basic ones. This rune was for all things water. Just like Iris’s shower, this one probably converted his power into water. 

A circle was drawn around the Lapuz rune, and two lines were drawn from that to a point at chest height. There was a protrusion from the wall on the side that was meant to act as a bench, and there were multiple shelves and racks on the other side that each held some basic hygiene products. Iris forced him to bring the shampoo she'd bought just for his extremely messy hair, but he couldn't be bothered to bring it today. Instead, he turned toward the door and saw a curious rune that he didn't recognize.

Right in the middle of the door, there was an engraving that looked exactly like a muggle padlock. Assuming that he knew what it would do, he placed his hand on the rune to find it easier with his magic until he could get used to the feel of it. He gave a small burst of his power to it, and he watched as it started glowing a dull blue. Deciding to test his theory, he tried to pull the door open. When it didn’t budge, he smiled to himself. Slytherin really valued privacy. As much as he hated to admit it, the hat was right. This house might as well have been built for him.

He allowed the Lapuz rune to start leaching from his power, and he felt the soft pull of energy as the water came down. Unlike the lock, the continuous production of water required a continuous stream of energy. Pumping it full as he did with the locking rune on his shower door would just result in drowning himself. As the water pumped out, it immediately adjusted to the temperature he subconsciously desired. Iris’s required direct control, but Harry supposed that it wouldn’t be a magical school if it didn’t have some people with more skill than what was easily accessible to a rich commoner. 

He took his robes and other clothing off before putting them on a shelf close to the door. Jason, not much for getting wet today, decided to slither off of him and onto a shelf just below his clothes. Stepping into the water, he began to rub the body soap onto his skin. His hands brushed over the bumpy, rough texture that was caused by the scars littering his body. There were so many of them that he could no longer remember exactly what caused each individual one. The most prominent of them, though, caused flashes of old memories to assault his head. 

He wasn’t sure how long he spent in the shower collecting himself and caring for his damaged body, but the entire shower was saturated with steam by the time the water stopped flowing. After putting his still generic robes on his body, Jason coiled up his leg and took his usual position.

“Are you sure you want to come with me all day?” Harry hissed at his friend.

“Don't ask me silly questions. The days of being forcefully kept away from you for our own safety are in the past. I will not be leaving again of my own will. If I am discovered, then so be it.”

Harry was more than a little shocked by Jason’s vehemence. He knew that his snake very much disliked the time he had to stay locked up in the cupboard, but he'd assumed that Jason simply disliked feeling trapped. It was more than a little touching that Jason disliked it for the simple reason of not wanting to be separated. Partners indeed, he supposed. It felt good to have a form of hidden support with him at all times. Bullies and abusers were behind them. Now that they had escaped, the two of them weren’t ever letting themselves get put in the same situation again.

He left the bathroom and met a common room that was slightly more full than before. Professor Snape told all of them to get to the hall pretty early, but Harry was apparently accustomed to rising even earlier than the more experienced members of his house. Gemma Farley was still lounging on the couch and gave him a nod. His hair was wet, but at least that kept it flat. The second it dried, Harry was sure it would go back to sticking out wherever it damn well pleased.

“Did you find everything okay?” Gemma asked him.

“Yes, ma’am."

Speaking without respect was a good way to get punished with his relatives. If nothing else, he could take solace in the fact that he could do the formal song and dance with the best of them.

“None of that, please,” she requested with an awkward smile. “I'm a fifth-year Prefect, not an adult. Just call me Farley.”

Harry nodded. Not much in the mood for carrying on more small talk, though, he decided to walk toward the portrait. 

“Hey, wait a sec!” she exclaimed as soon as he walked past her.

He turned around and came face to face with a wand. His instincts bucked hard at the perceived threat, and the beast was about to make a vicious appearance when a familiar warmth brushed over his hair. Feeling the top of his head just to make sure, he confirmed that it was completely dry and exceedingly messy once again. 

“It was a drying charm,” Gemma told him kindly. “You should learn it as soon as possible. Professor Snape doesn’t appreciate students showing up without looking prepared.”

Harry gave his thanks before turning to walk away. He considered waiting for Daphne before going to breakfast, but he decided that she could find her own way down. If she wanted to sit with him when she descended, he would leave that up to her. 

Harry didn’t think he’d ever been more frustrated before over something so inconsequential in his life. Sitting on the desk before him was nothing more or less than a single match. That single match, however, was destroying him like it was nothing. How many students around him had something resembling a needle instead of the match he currently had? The Granger girl managed to make it almost all of the way about 45 minutes into class, and Longbottom was right on her tail. Daphne was currently tied with Longbottom, and her silvery, pointed matchstick next to him seemed to be insulting his very existence. 

One may wonder why Harry was struggling so much, especially if they'd heard Iris hyping him up during the summer over his amazing transfiguration prowess. He was a prodigy! that was, at least, what she'd so proudly claimed. 

Harry’s problem didn't come with the transfiguration though. That match could be a needle in a goddamn second if he wanted it to be. Hell, it could be almost anything he wanted so long as he had the power and the imagination. The problem was that he couldn’t do it the way Professor McGonagall wanted him to. Learning with Iris was majestic when it came to transfiguration. He explored the field much like Iris performed her art. It was natural, instinctual, beautiful. It was all about visualization and the desire to create! The moment he stepped into Professor McGonagall’s class, he knew that the wonder of his favorite branch of magic so far was going to disappear. 

“The most important part of transfiguration,” she'd instructed the class. “Is how you get from the object you have to the object you want. When you transfigure something, you're changing the fundamentals of reality. It’s not just a visual change. You're converting atoms across the periodic table, changing the very core of what it means to exist! This is why transfiguration takes so much power, and the only way to minimize the drain is by understanding the things you change. The more you know about what you're changing, the less your magic has to make up for your ignorance."

The explanation made him want to puke. Where was the art!? It was all so lifeless. He could transfigure so much, and never had the process been so dull and methodical. It was so dreadfully unimaginative that his magic almost refused to respond to his incantation. 

“You look like you’re about to explode,” came a feminine whisper from his right.

Yes, as he'd just mentioned, Daphne Greengrass chose to stick around him today. She entered the Great Hall earlier with a gaggle of girls, but almost gleefully decided to leave her noisy company upon seeing that he'd saved a seat for her. He suspected that his newfound ability to deal with and enjoy this stranger’s presence was mostly due to his inability to tolerate anyone else he’d met so far. The two of them didn’t talk all that much, and the calm, unpressured, mostly independent company suited them better than what most kids their age were offering.

Harry supposed that Daphne was sticking with him for the same reason. Transfiguration was the first class, and she'd decided to sit by him here as well. They'd talked about subjects during breakfast once their their schedules came, and he'd said a lot about how excited he was for Transfiguration. She was probably disappointed by how horrid his performance was after the expectations he'd given her.

“I can’t believe the class is being taught like this! She’s butchering the entire subject!”

The girl looked at him with blatant mirth and a bit of condescension. She must not've thought highly of his words considering the presence of an unchanged matchstick sitting on his desk.

“Those are big words for someone who can’t even start a first-year transfiguration.”

“Start a first-year transfiguration!?” he whispered back intensely. “I don’t know how anyone in this class can stand to transfigure anything with the way she explained it!”

She raised an eyebrow with a challenging smirk. “If you can do so much better, then prove it, Potter.”

Harry gave her a glare. He wanted to do it McGonagall’s way because she was a master. She'd obtained a mastery in his favorite subject before he was even born, the highest official accolaid a person could get in a magical field. He'd read about her accomplishments and credentials well before arriving at the school. She was absolutely brilliant according to the books written about her. 

Was he truly doomed to an entire seven years of self-study in a subject that he loved so much? He didn’t want to accept that this was his only path, so he'd stubbornly tried to force it to work her way. He would not, however, be suffering the disrespect and amusement of his only acquaintance just because Professor McGonagall’s method was astoundingly bad. He wanted to be the best, the strongest, and just because he didn't care if others saw it didn't mean that he was nervous about displaying his skill. 

“Fine!” Harry growled under his breath as his eyes discretely flashed an electric yellow.

He flicked his wand at the matchstick, spoke the incantation, and his scowl became an absolutely deadly smirk when it changed into a perfect, boring needle. Harry relished in the look given to him by his partner. She looked absolutely floored and possibly a little bit aggravated.

Was Daphne jealous of his skills? That actually made him feel pretty damn good about himself. The beast preened under the knowledge of its superiority, and the stranger seemed oddly satisfied with Harry actually taking pride in the fact that he was better than others for once.

"Well, point taken, Potter," she said, taking the loss gracefully. "It looks like you're talented after all. Can you teach me how you did it?"

He simply nodded his head, officially giving up on the idea of trying it McGonagall’s way. Instead, he called for the professor and showed her his needle.

"Very impressive, Mr. Potter. Fifteen points for Slytherin," she said with a nostalgic smile. "I see transfiguration runs in the family. Your father would be proud."

Having never heard a positive thing about his father before, He was understandable stricken by the compliment. After sifting through Petunia’s mind, he knew his mother was a witch, and the “Potter vault” obviously implied that his father was a wizard, but Harry could honestly say that it sometimes felt like his parents had never existed. Besides Daphne mentioning their familys’ alleged business deals, McGonagall might as well have served as the only proof that his immediate family even went to this school. He wasn't sure how to respond or even if his mouth was capable of moving should an adequate thought come to mind. She must've seen the shock on his usually controlled face because her lips quirked into a small smile. 

"Yes, Mr. Potter, your father was quite talented in the field of transfiguration. I daresay, if you keep up this level of progress, you may just grow to match him one day."

Wow, what… what even was the feeling in his chest? Was it pride? Admiration?

His father was good at something at one point during his life, and Professor McGonagall thought that he had the potential to live up to his family name. That one simple acknowledgment of the one who fathered him and the skills he had was possibly the most profound thing he’d ever heard in his entire life. He knew his relatives were lying the second they told him about his “drunk” and “unsightly” parents dying in that car crash, but now he knew for sure. 

His dad wasn’t a deadbeat; his mom wasn’t a drunken whore. They had skills and talents and worth… and he, as their son, carried that worth with him now. Something about that knowledge was comforting, and he took the gift given to him with the grace it deserved. 

"Thank you, professor."

He vowed that he would learn all he could from her about his family at the soonest possible moment. For now, basking in the praise and relishing the mention of his father was good enough for him. That was, at least, until he saw the jealous stares around him. His parents were an important part of his past and his life, but it was the present that mattered the most. Learning about what led him here would be for a time when he wasn’t accomplishing tasks that would further propel him in the future.

He'd gotten fifteen points! He wasn't sure how much that was in the grand scheme of things, but the fact of the matter was that he was the first person in their year to earn points. He might not care for grades, but everyone else did, and he'd just contributed to potential extra credit for his house. The Gryffindors taking the class with him were not very happy about this fact. The bushy-haired girl that wanted to find a rat on the train was among the most incensed. The redhead, Ginny's brother, was another one who wasn't happy at all.

By far the most interesting stare, though, was the one given to him by Neville Longbottom. The boy didn't seem angry. Anger, in fact, would've been preferred to the expertly hidden dislike and the subtle, challenging squint in his eyes. Harry's performance put himself back on Longbottom's radar if he'd ever fallen off of it in the first place. 

Good.

Harry had nothing to prove, but he couldn't deny that it felt nice to finally stick it to the git who'd insulted him in the bookstore and interfered with his gift to Ginny. Yes, she'd told him about Longbottom's clever threat, which forced her to reveal the true nature of the book he'd given her. The boy-who-lived didn't do anything further with the information, but Harry disliked being challenged and maneuvered around. She didn’t seem to mind that much, but the fact that Longbottom caught onto his deception in the first place was irking. Forgive him for being petty and finding joy in one-upping the annoying prat. 

When class ended and he was the only one to transfigure a matchstick into a needle, he felt even better about himself. Guess fucking what? He had no homework whatsoever for transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall saw that his practical application was so spotless that she assumed he had to understand the theory more than enough to make doing a few inches on it less than worthless. Instead, he was told to prepare for the next lecture on the syllabus and come with his best foot forward for the spell they would be receiving soon. If only she knew he didn’t understand a damn ounce of it. How fortunate for him that she was never going to find out.

Harry was just as pleasantly surprised when potions turned out to be perfectly enjoyable as well. Harry was admittedly on the fence about Professor Snape at first. His natural personality leaned toward distrust at the best of times, and the staring that he'd caught from the tall, lanky man did everything except inspire confidence. At the same time, his wand and the beast seemed to find nothing threatening about him, and the stranger actually seemed to somewhat like the man. In the end, a large portion of himself was either neutral or positively aligned with him, and Harry found himself with some major internal conflict regarding how to view his head of house. After the first lesson, he tentatively decided that the guy was pretty cool.

“Every student will put away their wands now, and they will do so again at the beginning of every class. That is where they will stay until you are outside of my classroom,” Professor Snape said in a slow, intense voice as he entered his already fully seated class.

Both Harry and Daphne already had their wands away, having read the first few bits of the book. He saw quite a few Hufflepuffs putting theirs away, though, and he knew it was most likely because they weren't prepared. It was unfortunate for them that nobody warned them of Professor Snape’s expectations. He would’ve assumed that the house of the loyal would’ve stuck by their younger years more. Harry was certain that Iris would’ve when she was in her seventh year. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said the very second he saw the last drawn wand disappear. “Do you know why that is a requirement?”

The blonde couldn’t look more like a ponce than he did at that very moment. "Because the use of magic around potions can be dangerous."

“Quite. One point for Slytherin."

Malfoy gave a cocky stare to pretty much the entire room before leaning back into his chair. That was when a somewhat malicious smirk grew on the man’s face. Maybe Snape hated arrogance just as much as Harry did, but he refused to get his hopes up. Teachers, in Harry’s experience, weren't worthy of his hope more often than not.

“I would've given two, but your answer could not have been more understated. Foreign magic of any kind around potions is very dangerous. I do not kid when I tell you all that people have been mutilated, crippled, killed, and worse due to spellcasting around their potions.”

Harry smiled so widely that he caught Daphne curiously looking at him. How could he have ever been indecisive about this precious man? Malfoy, a boy who reminded him so much of Dudley, was reprimanded the very second that he gave what Professor Snape saw as a lackluster performance. Harry was a simple boy, and a small list of infinitely necessary things was required to gain his respect. An authority figure not taking garbage from prats was one of them. 

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said next. “If I used a knife to cut an ingredient for my potion, what should I do before using it again?”

“You should thoroughly clean it with a magically inert solution and dry it completely.”

Snape nodded slightly at the answer but narrowed his eyes after.

“Why?” he asked in a low, aggressive, commanding voice.

“Because cross-contamination of potion ingredients can lead to possibly lethal reactions, and cutting before getting rid of the solution on it could end up damaging the reactivity of the ingredient.”

Snape remained silent for one second, two, three. Then, he gave another nod and responded to the answer. "Correct, Mr. Potter, three points for Slytherin.”

He saw the way Malfoy turned to glare at him. The blond prat perceived Harry's correct answer as a slight to himself. Transfiguration was one thing, but he'd just outperformed Malfoy in a direct comparison and earned three times the points. Harry suspected that things might be this way.

Everyone in his house was competitive. They appreciated him gaining house points, but they also hated feeling lesser than someone else, ally or not. Harry didn’t give a fuck, really. He wasn't planning on starting conflict, but he wasn't going to purposefully lower himself to appease everyone else either. He didn’t escape the Dursleys just to limit himself in the place he ran to.

"This answer," Snape said, regaining the class's attention. "Also extends to using any equipment with different ingredients, even the bowls you use to hold them and the boards you use to cut them. Always clean your tools before continuing to the next ingredient.

"Miss Bones!” he continued without missing a beat. “What is the number one reason for a visit to St. Mungo’s in Britain?”

The girl looked shocked to be put on the spot despite how obvious it was that Professor Snape was doing a surprise quiz at the start of the first class to gauge his students’ starting knowledge. "U-um, isn’t it potion accidents, sir?”

Well, she performed admirably despite her anxiety. Good for her. "Correct, Miss Bones. Can you tell me what the number one cause for that is?”

“N-N-No sir,” the girl stuttered while looking ashamedly down at her desk.

“One point for Hufflepuff. The answer is the improper upkeep of potion equipment, and, as a fun fact, about fifteen percent of those visits to the hospital are so severe that they are either partially incurable or completely permanent.”

Snape waited for a very long minute while he let that knowledge sink in. After he was confident that everyone understood the severity of his words, he continued.

"What so many of my colleagues seem to always forget to impart upon you all is that magic is dangerous. Casting magic is dangerous. The one saving grace of spellwork and the reason you are here at such a young age is that the magic you cast is completely dependent on your physical expressions and your intent. So long as you are supervised and kept restricted to the harmless types of incantations, it's very rare for a child’s magic to start harming people. You're all mostly incapable of having truly dangerous intent, and your knowledge of incantations are limited to what your professors deem acceptable. 

“The difference with potions is that your intent does not matter. The only thing your potion cares about is what you put in it and what you do with the potion in between the ingredients you add. Your lack of knowledge or lack of ill will cannot stop a potion if you put a deadly combination in your cauldron. The fact that you didn’t mean to hurt someone will not stop a dangerous reaction once it starts. If you take anything away from my potion classes at all, make sure you remember that potions are not toys. It takes serious concentration and no small amount of talent to complete the simplest of potions without proper guidance. This class is not a game, this subject is not a game, and the dunderheads who forget this fact could very well become a murderer due to their negligence. With that being said, get your notebooks out. We're starting our first class by talking about proper workspace setup. Can anyone tell me which types of tools you should expect to see in a standard kit and what they'rre used for?”

Harry thought it was pretty obvious why he liked the potions professor. He had a feeling that he would come to enjoy the class quite a bit. Unfortunately, his last class of the day was going to suck ass no matter how much he wanted to enjoy it.

Harry entered an almost completely empty class of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Daphne sat next to him pretty much all day, but she decided to go back to her dorm directly after lunch for some unknown, probably girly reason. He must’ve been right when he assumed that Daphne was glad to be rid of the other girls in her year because she asked him to save her a seat for when she returned. Until she came back, though, he had to run solo. 

The last class of the day, DADA, was also shared with Gryffindor. At first, he didn’t think he would care that much. Once he entered the class and saw Neville Longbottom sitting alone at a three-person table, he remembered that it was never advisable to assume that things would just arrange themselves pleasantly for his convenience. Harry chose to sit at the very opposite end of the room. That was actually fine for him; he usually liked to sit closest to the door.

Longbottom seemed to be perfectly at ease with the thought of ignoring him, so Harry did the same. The room was different from the rest of them. Professor Quirrel had a variety of trunks, containers, and magical objects at the back of the room. There were also various types of weaponry hanging on the back wall. He immediately recognized a cacophony of different firearms ranging from small arms to shotguns and assault rifles. There were swords, spears, knives, daggers, and bows hanging from the wall as well. Even more interesting would have to be the various bits of weaponry completely foreign to him. Apparently, the man took his collection seriously. 

A peculiar mist hung in the air around the entire room, and Harry was unsure how to place it. The smell of it was nice and soothing. It made him feel safe, secure, and calm. He didn’t even notice the effect it had on him for the first few minutes, but the absence of his natural anxiety eventually made him suspicious. In his experience, feeling safe usually meant that reality was the exact opposite. The students started trickling into the room, but Harry was beginning to feel like he couldn’t breathe. His lack of panic was forcing him to panic even more than he usually would though his physical reaction to the panic was oddly lacking. He knew that this wasn’t natural. The peace was fake; it was a trap meant to lure him into false security. 

Daphne came into the room and took a seat right next to him. It didn’t take long to realize that Potter was an odd person. Lots of things seemed to trigger him. In fact, so many things already obviously distressed him in the day and a half she'd known him that it was impossible to pinpoint exactly what made him uncomfortable. She almost dismissed his current state as another one of his quirks, but something was very wrong upon closer inspection. He didn’t look distressed; he looked terrified. His body, though, seemed so relaxed that he couldn’t actually be scared, right? 

Speaking of relaxed, she’d never felt better. She felt like she'd just had the best nap of her entire life. It was a heavenly experience. Daphne saw Harry’s eyes turn yellow and watched his pupils contract into diamonds, but she couldn’t find it within herself to think it strange or worrying. His eyes weren’t meant for a human, and he had weird teeth jutting out from his lower jaw, so what? She didn’t see a problem with it. Even when the boy raised a glowing wand toward the classroom door, she couldn't bring herself to care in the slightest. 

Two bolts of vibrant color zipped at the same target from opposite sides of the classroom. The man entering through the door eyed the two spells shot by completely untrained wizards with a small amount of intrigue. He smirked at one, but the other was something that he didn’t recognize. What first-year could cast spells that even he didn't know? Looking at the wand of the second caster, he gave a smile.

Thunderbird feather, how very rare and interesting. The wand was casting on its own. He knew it was fabled to do that exact thing, but he had never seen a thunderbird wand with his own eyes before, so he had no confirmation until now.

The first attack was a stunner, so he smacked it with his wand and sent it to die against the castle stones. The second, though, he dared not touch. Arrogance was a vice that all great wizards and witches had to learn to suppress. A child, the caster may have been, but an unknown spell was a deadly spell no matter who the caster was. He leaned out of the way and let it splash against the stones just like the first. He looked at the one who shot the stunner.

So this was the famous Neville Longbottom.

The boy had reflexes; that was for sure. Was that really the kind of power he would expect from the child meant to defeat him though? The Dark Lord was absolutely certain of Longbottom’s destiny. It took him all summer to get that damned prophecy from the ministry, but once he did, he knew what he'd inadvertently caused with his lack of proper consideration. He'd marked the Longbottom brat as his equal with that killing curse. Despite the prophecy’s words, though, Longbottom was most definitely not his equal. The boy wasn’t even close, not yet, at least. Albus had better get his head in the game if Longbottom wanted a chance at him once he returned in full force.

Turning his eyes to the second caster, he felt shocked for the first time in a while. Piercing, yellow eyes gouged into his skin, and tusks that obviously belonged to those of a zouwu poked from his snarling mouth. The boy, however he'd done it, managed to become an animagus. 

How fascinating.

Tom remembered the boy, and he remembered the boy’s thrice-damned parents too. The pair were more than menaces; they were practically demonic. When James Potter's love for transfiguration and golems were combined with his wife's fascination with fire, even fights with someone like himself got interesting. They were far from his equals, but they'd defied him more than anyone else besides Dumbledore.

Coincidentally enough, the only family that came close to them was that of the so called "Chosen One", and he didn't need to say anything more about that. Potter was the one he'd wanted when his hunt began. Of course, the two families were too smart to separate themselves for him, and after a battle that he'd totally and completely won with ease, he had a decision to make while standing before the cribs of two very special, very bothersome children.

He was so very close to choosing the Potter boy like he'd originally planned, but when he looked into those shining, green eyes, his magic warned him to leave it be. His most precious partner begged him to choose differently, so he did. How very fortunate that he'd chosen the Longbottom boy.

After hearing the prophecy, he was certain that throwing himself into a fate where he was forced to fight to the death with Potter would be far worse than Longbottom. He'd never studied how to become an animagus, and, while the act of mastering animagery was somewhat impressive, the Dark Lord had equally superb and possibly even greater abilities at the same age. A magical animagus, though, was pushing the boundaries of discovered magic. It extended past the realm of normal prodigy to that of a truly impossible achievement. The boy managed to surprise him in his first year. There were precious few who could ever claim that. 

Even better, the two of them were not prophesied to fight due to a choice that he now saw as the best option by far. The Potter child managed to make an impression. Never let it be said that Lord Voldemort didn't reward those who deserved it.

He gave the boy a warning stare and mentally imparted upon the child how important it was that he gain control of himself. Potter seemed to catch on quickly and reigned in his transformation. There, what a worthy prize. He'd given the boy a chance to conceal his most useful abilities until he wished to have them revealed. People who didn't fight the mist's illusion of safety would find it virtually impossible to remember the specifics of what happened while under its influence. It was quite similar to being blackout drunk.

Lord Voldemort in a professor’s possessed body swished his wand and vanished the mist in its entirety. Once it was gone, he strolled to the front of the room and took a seat while the rest of the class regained their bearings. Longbottom and Potter were, of course, the two who came around first. The prophesized child was giving him a glare. Potter, however, was looking at him confusedly, like he wasn’t sure what to make of the man who'd both attacked him and helped him in a five-minute span.

It took a while, a lot longer than Lord Voldemort expected, for the children to eventually come out of their trances. Once they did, he began his lesson. "Welcome to my class. I am Professor Quirrel, but I do not care what you call me. Your respect will be earned by my merit, and when that is earned, I will expect you to refer to me with the respect you feel I deserve. So long as you do that, I will do the same.”

Harry was still extremely confused. The stranger was more than a little confused as well. The stranger, though, overcame his confusion first and went back to his usual unlikable personality.

"You fool. I am unable to remain present in your mind if you're mentally incapacitated. If you cannot feel me there, then something's wrong! You could've doomed us both. Use your head, Potter!”

Harry would’ve snarked back, but he happened to agree. He'd known that something wasn’t right, but he hadn't reacted fast enough. Half of it was probably the drugs, but he was incompetent too. He should’ve acted sooner. Now, a person whom the stranger didn’t trust and was wary of knew more information about him than anyone save Iris. It was only by the dumbest of luck that he wasn’t already fucked. 

“Can anyone tell me what did this to you?” 

... No one answered.

“Yes, I'm not surprised. The mist I just used on you is what we call nightshade gas. Anyone taking herbology by their sixth year will probably learn about the magical variants of the plant it comes from. This specific mist isn’t created like a potion; it's actually made in the bodies of a magical creature referred to as an órnio when they ingest nightshade berries. 

"They're birdlike creatures, native to Greece, that are somewhat humanoid and about the size of goblins. They hunt in packs of around five, and when they choose to hunt people, they tend to do it in your home. They will fly up to the windows during the evening, and they will eject the mist I just used on you into your home. It has an extremely relaxing effect on the body, and its ability to give you an illusion of safety is almost unmatched. 

"The órnio have very sharp claws and exceedingly hard beaks. Once their nightshade gas has overtaken the room, they could slaughter someone right in front of your eyes, and you wouldn’t even blink. The effect on your mind is chemical in nature, not magical. The only way to fight it is to notice the change in your mood and act. The two of you in this class who reacted would be the only two in here with a chance to survive. Five points for each of you.”

Lord Voldemort smiled as his class stared at him, obviously horrified by what he'd said. This was why Albus was a fool to deny him a position here. The arrogant idiots who fancied themselves defense masters only made more arrogant idiots who didn’t understand just how serious life was out there. He had a goal to accomplish this year, but he'd always wanted to teach this subject. He would be damned if he didn’t do a job worthy of his infamous name.

“Yes, this is reality. The mundane world fancies humans as the top of the food chain. We know better. We are predators, yes. In some special cases, I would even consider us to be apex predators. Almost all of us, however, need to stay sharp and cautious if we don't want to run afoul of a magical creature or being who can beat us out for the top spot. Having said that, what do you think the purpose of this class is?"

The shell-shocked students murmured among themselves until the bushy-haired girl from Gryffindor raised her hand. "To teach us how to defend ourselves, sir?"

The turbaned professor tilted his head in the most intimidatingly curious way as he hummed at the response.

"The textbook would say you're right, Miss Granger." He watched the way she beamed at the praise. "Unfortunately, the textbooks are wrong. Anybody else?"

The Weasley boy next to Longbottom raised his hand next. "To teach us how to fight the dark arts."

The boy seemed very confident in his answer. Everyone who thought that he might've been right soon changed their minds when they saw their teacher shake his head slowly.

"Fighting the dark arts is a task that requires the devotion of an entire life to even comprehend. Teaching school children to fight against the dark arts is like throwing a paper pusher from the Daily Prophet into a dragon pit and telling them to fight it. If you think you have what it takes to combat the dark arts, join the aurors after school and see if you make it past trial phase one. The horrors you will experience while preparing to fight such a disgusting, rotten force of magic are liable to put the most hardened of civilians out of commission."

The professor looked around the room one last time. 

"Does anyone else have a response? No?" the professor looked more resigned than disappointed. "What I will be teaching you here is nothing more or less than what I think will give you the best chance of surviving an encounter with the dark. Defending yourself is often not the best way of surviving. Most people are completely incapable of successfully holding off a single angry salamander, let alone a dark wizard or a serious dark creature. If you're interested in learning to actually fight and win against the dark arts, you will be learning those skills after school, during an internship, or by self-study."

Lots of students looked vastly disappointed. Harry didn’t blame them. They were naive and ignorant. He knew what it was like to be out of his depth, knew what it was to survive. The kids who thought they were ready to fight didn't have a damn clue.

"The first lesson of the day was and is threat assessment. We covered the first part of this lesson with my borrowed gas from the órnio. I needed to determine how well all of you could detect danger and react quickly to it. Mr. Potter, what was it that made you anxious about your situation?"

He was very curious about the boy who'd occupied his mind so much over the years. Harry Potter, what an enigma. What was it that made a small baby capable of making his magic reluctant to harm him? He wanted to know if there was something special about the child he came so close to murdering. He wanted to see if there was a spark of something more, if there was some kind of trait beyond his mystery that was worthy of respect and intrigue.

Harry was wondering exactly how he should respond. The stranger wanted him to keep everything hidden, but Harry didn't see any reason to lie about something like this. He tried his damn best to not listen to the stranger either way. If it was so important, wouldn't the stranger tell him why he should avoid the man? His DADA professor helped him keep his secret. Harry wasn't one to spill all of his knowledge either way, but he saw no harm in telling the truth about such an academic inquiry. 

"You have no idea the mistake you're making, boy."

"I'm just usually on guard. I felt like I was safe, but I'm not usually that relaxed. When I realized that things weren't making me nervous, I knew something was wrong."

Lord Voldemort gave a wide smile at the response. Oh, how very interesting indeed. The Potter boy dropped off of the map and came back at the age of eleven with occlumency capable of denying him entrance, basic and lackluster as his attempt was, with a game of pure willpower and strength. Then, he was given such an interesting answer to his question.

Always on guard at eleven? Just who did that remind him of? Perhaps he was right; maybe the Potter boy could see eye to eye with him.

"Very intriguing response, Mr. Potter. This is what I mean when I say that this class is not about defending yourself. Possibly the most effective method of survival is nothing more than the ability to be suspicious."

With that on the table, he approached his wall of weapons and retrieved a modern sliding handgun from it. He held it out before the class, careful to keep the barrel pointed away from the students and toward an empty wall. 

"Miss Patil, do you think we should be wary of this device?"

It was a simple question, and Harry most definitely knew the answer. "Umm, I don't know, sir. I don't see why."

The man chuckled mirthlessly. He then looked around the room until he saw a wide-eyed student. There, that was what he wanted to see.

"What about you, Mr. Thomas? Should we be wary of this?"

The boy nodded nervously. "Y-yes, sir. Is that loaded?"

The professor racked the gun with a lethal grin, and Harry watched a bullet arc from the chamber of the pistol and clatter on the floor. The pistol in his teacher's hand was more than loaded; it was already chambered.

"Why should we be nervous about this? Can anyone give me a good answer that doesn’t include knowing what it can do?"

Harry didn't feel like answering again, so he sat back and gave the rest of the kids a chance. The bushy-haired girl looked about ready to raise her hand but put it away when the professor put a restriction on the possible answers. It was easy to tell someone why they should be scared when she already knew what the thing did. It was a bit more complicated to explain if she had to assume that her knowledge didn't matter.

"Hmmm," Professor Quirrel said. "What about our two possible survivors of the órnio attack. Maybe Mr. Longbottom has an answer?"

Harry thought that Longbottom must be just as enraptured with the lesson as he was. The man started the class in a way that immediately allowed both of them to know that their teacher knew his stuff. This wasn't some garbage class taught by a professor too big for his trousers.

"Wizards should be cautious of it because they don't know what it does. Even if it wasn't dangerous, not knowing what it can do gives us reason enough to be wary."

The professor gave another sickeningly gleeful smile. "Yes, one point for Gryffindor. Always be wary of things you don't understand. There's a reason we instinctively fear the unknown."

"But, sir," Malfoy implored almost haughtily. "Why should we be afraid of a muggle tool?"

"Why indeed?" 

He pointed his wand at the gun, conjured a plate quite a few meters away, and blew it to shards with a 9mm bullet. Harry just about ruptured a blood vessel over the stupidity of his professor, but his mind went blank when it made absolutely no noise beyond the shattering of ceramic.

Holy fuck. 

The stranger hummed in agreement. 

Harry knew the silencing charm, but he'd never thought of the implications. What kind of hellspawn could be created by complete magical silencing combined with muggle weaponry. A missile could explode without a whisper; an airstrike could complete an entire run without a single warning. The power contained within the possibilities was absolutely terrifying. He'd read about the Grindelwald war. Was this the kind of shit going on during the battles of WW2 when magic and muggle combined?

"Every single one of you who wasn't suspicious of this muggle contraption just died. They fire solid, metal projectiles faster than the speed of sound. That is, of course, leagues faster than magic travels. The only way to survive them is to respect the threat of the unknown and react before they fire. The first lesson of DADA is: if you don't know what it is, don't assume you're safe."

It was validating, in a way, to have such an experienced wizard not only understand but encourage his particular brand of obsessive distrust for everything foreign. It was such a sad hour when things went completely downhill from there. 

The tripping jinx was the first spell Professor Quirrell taught them. The man said that it was a childish tool in the grand scheme of things, but when the class was full of children, such a tool made sense. The reason it frustrated him was that he still couldn't cast the jinx. He thought the solution to his inability would come with professional help. Iris was an artist, not a duelist. She was probably the worst person in the world to give instructions on DADA spells. His deficiency was apparently of his own making though. Even when Professor Quirrell took to directly helping him, the last person in class who couldn't cast the spell, Harry was still unable to get so much as a single spark to shoot from his wand. 

Thirty minutes later and fifteen minutes before the end of class, Harry found himself standing across from Daphne and letting her test the spell on him like everyone else. The only difference was that he would not be casting one back. Everyone in the class seemed to think it was rather funny, especially considering how many points he got in transfiguration. Malfoy was positively glowing with mirth after what he considered to be an embarrassing potions lesson. They found the subject where he would fall, and they used it to make themselves feel better about their own failings in the classes where he excelled. It was whatever, honestly. Teasing, scathing remarks, and bullying were things he was numb to by now. Let them appease themselves. He would be better than them with or without combative magic.

"It's weird that you can't do this. The spell is really easy."

Harry was forced to stumble and catch his balance when she hit him with yet another tripping jinx. She said that she wanted to keep going until she managed to make him fall completely. What she didn't know was that he had a naturally astute sense of balance. With the beast inside of him, a species of cat to boot, tripping him both physically and magically was more than a difficult task. She didn't seem to remember his slip up earlier, though, so he kept it to himself. She would find out when she inevitably cast it later that she had it down pat. 

"I could say the same to you about transfiguration, Daphne." 

"But that's the thing," she said as she made him trip again. "If you can do that, shouldn't you be able to do this?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't think spells were all in a gradient of difficulty. Doesn't it depend on what appeals to you personally?"

"But doesn't tripping people appeal to you more than making a needle from a match does?"

Yes, he was sure that it did, hence his problem. The ability to trip someone up at long range was appealing to every kid. In fact, he was watching students cast it with glee plastered onto their faces all around him. It was a good point. He wasn't sure whether he would trade his obvious skill in transfiguration for the ability to cast these spells, but he had to admit that it was weird.

The only person in the class who wasn't amused or confused with his ineptitude was his professor. He looked so very intrigued by what he saw that he couldn't keep all of it off of his face. Well, to be more precise, he couldn't keep enough off of his face to fool someone like Harry. The stranger was so confused by Quirrell's reaction that Harry wasn't sure what to make of it either. His mental roommate seemed to expect the man to react in a very specific way, and he was obviously perplexed by the response he ended up receiving. 

"Yes, it's strange. I do not know what brought these differences, but stay away from him just the same."

Whatever, it wasn't like he was planning on approaching any of his professors on his own time anyway. He would keep his distance if only to spare the headache of opposing someone who shared his mind. 

"Well, at least we know you aren't a god," Daphne said with a tone that made Harry suspect she was quite relieved to discover that she wouldn't be getting as outperformed in every practical class like she was in transfiguration. 

Harry nodded. His frustration was already gone. There was no reason to get upset about something he couldn't control. Sure, his DADA score would be pathetic. Considering his skill with charms and transfiguration, though, he wasn't too put out anymore. He would just have to weather the storm as Daphne's personal punching bag for an hour or two. 

Harry scoffed playfully and gave his acquaintance a teasing smirk. "I’m not a god yet, Daphne. I'll find out how to cast the DADA spells eventually.”

Harry could tell that his comment amused her, but he was a little distracted by the stranger sneering at him in his head.

“If only you were so confident on the inside, Harry. You're good at playing that character of yours for someone so utterly incapable of ruling your own mind."

Harry chose to stay quiet. Instead, he allowed himself to focus on a much more enjoyable task that he had ahead of him.

“Do you have anything to do?” he asked the girl walking next to him.

“I think I’ll go ahead and finish my transfiguration homework.”

“Oh yeah!” he exclaimed with a snap of his fingers. “I forgot about that, you know, since I don’t have to do it.”

She concealed a smile very well, but she wasn't about to back down after such a blatant shot. “We’ll see who’s laughing when you're still trying to cast the tripping jinx at the start of Spring semester.”

He gave her a faux glare before turning to ascend the staircases until he reached the owlery. Others might call him weird, but he carried both of his letters with him in his pack all day. Considering his room was in the dungeons, he was glad that he didn’t have to go all the way down there just to go up the whole fucking castle to meet Hedwig at the top of it.

“See you in the common room?” he asked her as he turned around.

“Sure, I’ll save a seat at one of the tables.”

Harry smiled to himself as he walked away. It was a long walk up to the Owlery, but he was content with taking his time and figuring out where everything was. After walking to all of his classes and attempting to memorize every spot he saw, he was feeling less anxious about the castle in general. He learned a lot about a good chunk of the places he would be traveling to on a regular basis. After he completed the rest of his classes, he would only have to memorize the rest of the castle for convenience's sake. 

When he reached the final staircase before arriving at Hedwig’s resting spot, he heard two voices that he recognized. He wasn’t sure if the upcoming encounter was raising his spirits or dimming them. After showing everyone up in transfiguration, he felt like he had the reputation advantage despite his colossal failure in DADA. No one got the needle transfiguration on the first day apparently. The fifteen points were well earned in the opinion of some of the upper years who heard about his accomplishment during lunch. Taking a deep breath, much to the admonishment of the stranger, Harry stepped into the Owlery and approached the center of the room.

“Hedwig!” Harry called, immediately quieting the two voices. 

Harry smiled at Hedwig as she soared across the room and landed on his outstretched arm. The owl was big, but she was surprisingly light for her size. Harry was not strong, not unless the Zouwu decided that it was time to take a stroll. Personally, though, he would much rather be fast, and he was nothing if not fast. 

“What’s up, girl? Have you settled in well?”

Hedwig hooted at Harry and flapped her wings roughly before shooting a glare across the room to a brown barn owl. Harry mimicked the glare before he connected the dots and smirked at his owl amusedly. 

“Are you telling me you have a suitor on the first day!?”

The way she looked at him gave Harry the distinct feeling that she was not anywhere near as amused as him. He couldn’t help it. Hedwig was just as much of a companion to him as Jason was. When there was something to tease her about, he had to take some shots. That was who he was. 

“What, is he not man enough to handle your majesty?”

She gave him a light warning peck to tell him that enough was enough, and his smirk turned into a softer smile. He'd always felt more comfortable with animals than people. Hedwig had really grown on him over summer break. 

“Okay, okay, I'm sure I’d be annoyed too if I were in your shoes. Just make sure to not take his shit and come get me if he keeps acting up.”

She hooted affectionately and gave him a nip before sticking out her foot for his letters. Let it never be said that Harry wasn’t protective of his friends. He tied the letters to his precious owl and let her fly off. He had no desire to have someone he cared about with him during a confrontation unless they could handle themselves. Much like with Malfoy, he had no desire to fight the two boys somewhere in the owlery around him. He just wanted to be left alone to master as much magic as possible. If they decided that they disliked him enough to start something, though, he wasn't going to simply give them a free shot. Ginny’s obvious care for the two boys could be damned. 

Turning to walk through the door, he crossed paths with Longbottom and Weasley. Both of them stopped to look at the new arrival. Weasley grew a sneer on his face, but Longbottom was impossible to read, just like always.

The zouwu inside of him disliked being outnumbered. The beast felt like it was trapped in the room, and it wanted to respond to the obvious disadvantage with nothing but the most overwhelming of forces. Harry didn’t like being blocked from the door mostly because this was how the majority of his fights with Dudley’s groupies started. The stranger just wanted him to get it over with and kill someone. All three reactions were negative, and it was making him feel defensive and panicked. 

“I know you’ve been sending letters to my sister, snake.”

Harry’s mind immediately went to the day in the bookstore when Weasley proudly shouted out the makeup of his wand. It only took about an hour with a book on wand lore to make a fairly decent character profile. Larch wood and dragon heartstring built his partner. Therefore, Weasley was likely aggressive, short-tempered, and protective. Little nothings were capable of causing an explosion, and Harry didn’t realize the problems he might've been in sooner because he personally didn’t care about the things that Weasley obviously did. Ginny told him that her family was stringently Gryffindor. He was no longer the kid who'd given their little sister a hilariously stupid gift that Ginny would hate beyond any doubt; he was now a newly indoctrinated Slytherin who kept consistent contact with their poor, naïve sister. 

“Does that bother you, Weasley?” he asked with condescension oozing from his mouth like venom. 

Unrefined power radiated from the redhead as he took a step forward. Harry was still a very small kid due to his lack of time with proper sustenance. The youngest Weasley was far bigger than him, and the show of dominance made the zouwu buck in his chest. The animalistic instincts held an unnatural sway over his mind, and that allowed the stranger to tug on it more than usual. Still, Harry had an insane amount of self-control, enough to stay completely still in the face of a raging Vernon Dursley in the hopes of avoiding punishment. He forced the beast down. He didn't want to start a fight unless he needed to.

“You’re damn right it does!” Weasley exclaimed as he took another step forward. The tall boy looked around the owlery when something clicked in his head. Protective instincts made the redhead’s eyes smolder with rage. “You just sent her another, didn’t you!?”

A dragon heartstring wand was pulled from Weasley’s robe pocket, and Longbottom apparently decided that enough was enough. Harry's thunderbird wand was about to draw itself when Longbottom's strong, commanding hand grabbed Weasley's wand arm and physically forced it to stay by his side.

"Very mature, Weasley," Harry sneered. "Are you quite sure that I'm the bad influence here?"

Upon hearing the insult, Weasley's arm jerked against Longbottom's in an attempt to cast something at him, but he remained still and confident. 

Not a threat.

His wand didn't think that Weasley was a problem, not while Longbottom was here, apparently. Shockingly, it was Jason that Harry worried about. The snake knew something was going on, and he wasn't fond of letting slights pass unanswered. If they were angry with him as a Slytherin, though, being a parselmouth could be enough to start a real fight. He was accustomed to fighting, but he didn't much fancy a duel when he couldn't even cast jinxes. He'd have to take his animagus form to be useful here.

"You stay away from my little sister, Potter."

Harry tilted his weight onto one foot and shifted his gaze from Weasley to the boss. Staring into each other's souls, Harry asked a question of the boy-who-lived. "And you, Longbottom? What do you think about a first-year Slytherin owling Ginevra?"

Longbottom's eyebrow twitched, but his grip on Weasley's shirt remained strong. "I think that fighting about it in the owlery is stupid, and I think that instigating a fight in the owlery is just as bad."

"What would you prefer?" Harry drawled. "Should I roll over and buckle under your sidekick? I'm sorry, but that isn't going to happen. Ginevra will continue to receive letters until she wants it to stop, so fuck off or cast your damn spell, Weasley."

Weasley looked about ready to do just that. Oddly enough and so very interestingly, it was Longbottom who remained completely opposed to the fight.

"Ron!" The boy whispered under his breath, not knowing that Harry's senses were more than keen enough to hear even without his animagus form. "Get a grip, now! I get why you're worried, but crushing a single, untrained Slytherin alone in the owlery isn't going to do shit. Do you know how much trouble that would cause Albus!? If he slips up, you make your case then. Leave it for now."

Oh, how profound of the boy-who-lived. Unfortunately, his own loose lips were spilling so many delicious secrets. Knowledge was powerful. As mature as Longbottom pretended to be, he was giving it away for free. Turning on his heel, Harry decided that it was time to go. 

"Where are you going, Potter!?" Weasley shouted to Harry's back.

"I'm going to my Slytherin dorm, Weasley! I'll make sure to give little Ginevra only the best of company. Just keep your pet on a tight chain, Longbottom. You wouldn't want him to bark at the wrong house and get shot, would you?"

Swinging the door open, he walked outside and allowed it to smack shut in his wake. He would be remembering this confrontation. They would eventually learn why it was a mistake to threaten Harry Potter. The Dursleys learned at the beginning of summer, but he was determined to make them see reality sooner than those muggles.  

He'd show them; he'd show them all.

One week later

A single knock on his office door made Severus Snape look up from his papers and examine his office entrance with squinted eyes. Just who would be wishing to disturb him during his grading hours? Did a student of his house need help? Motioning to the door with his hand, Severus wandlessly swung the door open, and his eyes squinted further when he saw the one who wished to speak with him. 

Potter, of course. 

He let the boy come into the room, and he waited with his usual intimidating patience as the child considered taking a seat. Seemingly deciding that it was better to sit than stand in the presence of an authority figure, Harry Potter took a seat across from his desk.

“What do you require, Mr. Potter?”

“I was just wondering if I could bother you about some questions I had, sir? It won’t take long.”

The boy’s face was absolutely blank despite the fact that Severus knew he was panicking on the inside. Potter’s control over the emotions he displayed intrigued Severus to no end, and, of course, the boy had used only the most respectful of tones with him so far. It was shocking, honestly, to see the image of James Potter treating him with absolute respect. The boy’s reclusive personality and impeccable treatment of authority figures made it very hard for Severus to even begin disliking the boy. He was shocked to find that Potter was quickly becoming his favorite first year student during the week they spent in classes together.

“Was this not a problem that you could bring to a prefect?” he asked with a purposeful sharpness in his voice.

Potter was just barely containing his panic; Severus could feel it crawling beneath the boy’s skin. Still, as always, Potter absolutely refused to show any reaction to his scathing statements. It was as if showing his negative feelings towards a possible conflict with authority was something he wouldn’t even consider. 

“No, sir, I really didn’t want to talk to a prefect about it before you. I felt that you would be the only one who could give me a straight answer.”

And wasn’t that interesting? Potter was not one to ask dumb questions. He only asked something of him if he thought that it would be literally impossible to find it out himself. The only question Potter asked him so far was a personal question about erumpent horns after class that Severus sincerely believed he would not be able to find outside of the restricted section. With that said, Severus decided to tentatively respect the boy if he decided to ask something again. He hoped that Potter would not prove him wrong after somehow managing to not completely aggravate him. 

“Then ask, Mr. Potter.”

“Okay, sir, just don’t freak out.”

Severus thought that such a request was a silly one to make. He would freak out if the question was worthy of freaking out about. He was then almost compelled to draw his wand when Potter hissed at his sleeve and a snake head decided to emerge from it. Severus was one of the closest men to the Dark Lord. He witnessed parseltongue at its worst, and he was shocked to find that hearing it again brought up a nasty reaction from his mind. Severus was nothing if not composed and rational though, so he dove into his mindscape and went about shoving his emotions deep within the chest that he used specifically to control himself in stressful situations.

Staring dead into the red eyes of what he knew to be a boomslang, he began to talk.

“It was fortunate that you warned me beforehand, Mr. Potter. For future reference, you should always be careful when using a language like that around people who might have encountered the Dark Lord before. People who met him and saw his prowess tend to have a habit of cursing first and asking questions later.”

The boy looked extremely relieved upon not seeing any reaction on Severus’s face, and he was suddenly glad that he shoved his emotions away so quickly. When Potter looked sheepishly at the floor due to his slight admonishment, he realized just how much of a sensitive spot this might be for him. Did Potter truly respect him enough to bring such a subject to him?  

“What was your question, Mr. Potter?”

Severus noticed that his student seemed to be rather happy about sticking to the subject and acting professionally. That was good because Severus Snape did not do emotions very well. If Potter wanted that, he should have gone to Hufflepuff. Pomona was exhaustingly emotive and liked to get personal and mushy with everyone she talked to. She would probably have Potter in a tear-filled and sympathy-packed conversation about his feelings and other such rubbish in another life. In this one, though, Harry Potter was a Slytherin, and he wanted Severus Snape to provide help. That was how this interaction was going to go, and Severus was determined to keep it that way.

“I… Was wondering if I was allowed to keep a snake with me at school. The letter said that I could only bring a cat, toad, or owl; but I decided to bring him anyway.”

Severus hummed under his breath. He already knew the answer, but it seemed like a very un-Slytherin thing to ask. He wanted to know what the thought process was behind asking for permission if he obviously cared so much about possibly getting a no.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Instead of just doing it without permission?” Harry asked and only continued when he got a nod. “Jason likes being under my robes for the heat, but he is going to get tired of hiding himself soon. He doesn’t like being unable to openly converse with me, and I assumed that if I asked you sooner rather than getting caught with him later, I would have a better chance of getting a yes.”

“you were more right than you know, Mr. Potter. You could have very easily gotten in a lot of trouble if the wrong teacher with the wrong fears caught you talking with a snake,” Severus said, and he almost smiled when he saw that Potter was proud of his correct deduction. “You seem to be very determined to have him with you.”

Potter’s eyes hardened, and Severus got the feeling that there would be no conceding in this conversation. Considering how much respect Potter seemed to have with him, it impressed him that he was willing to stand up for himself so vehemently when it came to matters that he cared about. It was just the proper amount of moderation for Severus’s taste. Respect was the boy’s default setting, but he was not willing to let himself be stepped on by those he decided to defer to. 

“Jason is my friend. He has been with me through a lot.”

Severus gave a calming nod that accomplished the task of reassuring Potter that he was not planning on turning this into a conflict. 

“It is customary for students to bring an owl, toad, or cat. All three of these pets have many uses, and they are all docile enough that the staff members do not have any need to inspect or approve of them. Our letter was only meant to tell you that you had a right to have one of those three with you. Aside from expelling you, none of the staff here can take those three away. With animals or familiars outside of that list, your ability to keep them is decided on a case by case basis, and keeping them with you is seen as a privilege instead of a right.”

Potter understood every word he said. That was good.

“So what does that mean for Jason?”

“In normal scenarios, I would have to make sure that you were properly containing and controlling your pet before allowing you to keep him. As a parseltongue, though, things are different.”

“What do you need to know, sir?”

“Can you control your snake?”

Harry sort of shook his head.

“I can’t control Jason. He's not my pet or servant. I can somewhat force a snake to obey me if I wanted to, but the ones that are of strong will or intelligence can still say no. I can ask Jason to do things for me, and he probably won’t attack someone if I didn’t want him to unless the person made him really angry. Is that a problem though? Every student with a wand here is just as dangerous as Jason, and I’m sure all of them will attack someone if they are angry enough.”

“Your argument is well made, Mr. Potter, but you must remember that there is bias when it comes to your position. As your Head of House, I can approve your snake, but someone else in the faculty may be able to override me if it could be shown that Jason is anything but completely safe around other students. If it cannot be assured that Jason will not attack without ironclad reasons, my approval of your snake will not last long.”

“Jason is really smart, Professor. Besides basic instincts, he has even shown himself to have more restraint and wisdom than me. If he decided to attack something for anything but food, I am confident that it will be for good reasons.”

“Did you say you're planning on bringing him to classes?”

“He is my friend, sir. If he wants to come to classes with me, I plan to let him. He usually likes to stick around me.”

“Will he be a nuisance?”

Harry shook his head.

“He has been with me in all of my classes so far. If you haven’t noticed him yet, then I don’t see how anyone else would be bothered.”

That was true. He didn’t notice the snake. How did he not notice a snake in his class? Snakes were extremely versatile weapons in the Dark Lord’s arsenal. Severus got more than proficient at detecting and dealing with them. He would have to step his game up if he didn’t want to start getting complacent.

“If all of that is the truth, then I approve of your snake. Just remember that you must be vigilant with other authority figures in the castle. If they have a good reason, they can overturn my decision.”

“Yes, sir!” Potter said with a huge smile on his face. 

He was going to dismiss the boy, but something else was nagging him. Potter was wholeheartedly devoted to the snake he called Jason. He still thought that it was beneath him to ask for permission to keep his snake if he was so determined to keep the thing with him. He refused to believe that there wasn’t more to the plan. This couldn’t be it; it wasn’t Slytherin enough.

“What were you going to do if I said no?” Severus asked curiously once he found the right question to ask.

The boy looked embarrassedly down at the floor and shuffled his hands slightly. It was a little amusing to watch the boomslang glare at his student as its head swayed with the movement of his perch’s arm. 

“I… Um… I was going to blackmail you into keeping quiet or saying yes.”

Severus smirked at the impudence. Most other professors would be appalled by his approval, but the other professors weren’t Slytherin. Teaching children to only ever obey rules created robots and boring people with no independence. Rules had a place in their world, but it was important for children to learn how those rules worked, when to bend them, when to use them, and when it was time to break them. He was not a stickler for rules; he was a stickler for people treating the rules intelligently. If his students were capable of doing things against the rules with intelligence, he found it difficult to tell them no. All of the successful people in life were people who shirked the rules with style and grace. Slytherin was about breeding success, and his part in that process was to aid his students when it came to getting what they wanted. If Potter was smart enough to set up a one on one confrontation where he planned on doing unseemly things to get his way and covering for himself at the same time, then that was just the kind of proper rule-breaking he could approve of. 

“And what do you think you could possibly blackmail me with?” Severus asked challengingly 

“You were sorted into the same house as me at school, and you are the head of my house… So I assumed that you are probably competitive, and I noticed how annoyed you get in class when you give other houses points.”

“Yes?” Severus said with a smirk.

He liked where Potter’s mind was going. The boy was doing more than the impossible and actually forcing Severus to begrudgingly give the child his own respect. He may somewhat tolerate most of his students, but he never actually liked them. It seemed like Potter was doing his damn best to change that with the kind of shit he continued to pull. 

“If you didn’t like Jason being around me, then the worst you could’ve done was have me send him home, take a lot of points, and give me detention. I was going to tell you that I would stop gaining points in transfiguration and do my level best to misbehave in class enough to lose a good chunk of points every once in a while without doing anything bad enough to gain detention. I've already gained more points than most of our house, and I could make everyone's life miserable for the next seven years if I continued to be a constant drain on our points. My guardian told me that she didn’t think the rules on pets were too strict, so I assumed that if you were like me, you would be willing to negotiate with the rules within reason. If you were on the edge of a yes, I would try to tilt you to my side; if you were going to say no, then I was going to try and threaten you into keeping quiet and give you a magical promise that I would not tell anyone you knew if I got caught. I would take the fall that I would’ve gotten anyway, and I hoped that you cared enough about winning that you would let me do my own thing in exchange for giving you the win and protecting you from taking any of the flack.”

Severus was actually smiling by the end of the explanation. That was very well thought out for one so young. It was a simple enough concept that he didn’t suspect help from the later years, but it was effective enough that it might’ve worked. So long as he got that magical promise, he most definitely would’ve kept quiet in exchange for gaining the points that Potter seemed to be accumulating quite nicely, and it would surely only improve in the future. He lost nothing by letting Potter keep the snake, and he gained his much valued victory over the other staff members by agreeing. 

“And what would you’ve done if I wasn’t willing to negotiate with you and instead tried to use my power to punish you?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t care about detention, and threatening you with points of all things wouldn’t get me expelled. As long as I was here, I could still keep you from winning the cup. Even detention for the whole semester wouldn’t stop me from following through, and I didn’t see any way that the head of house for Slytherin would give up such a good deal for the chance at punishing me.”

Well, Potter didn’t really think of everything. His inexperience showed by underestimating a man’s potential to do away with a good deal for the sole purpose of vindicating themselves against someone that challenged their authority. If Potter hadn’t turned out to be so very intriguing, Severus may have been willing to take the loss if it meant punishing the slimy son of James Potter. Well, respect had to be given where it was due. As much as Severus didn’t understand why Potter would risk so much to keep his snake, he did think that Potter showed an apt amount of talent for getting what he wanted. That was something he could praise with any of his students, and it was something he would praise with this student as well.

“That was an astute plan, Mr. Potter. I do hope that you will continue to be so thorough in all of your negotiations. Jason may stay with you during your time here. Be sure to not make me regret my support of your actions.”

“I won’t, sir,” Potter said as he stood up and started walking away from the desk.

“Potter!” he called as the boy put his hand on the door. 

He waited until the boy looked back at him and met his eyes. Severus wanted to make sure that a boy with so much possible potential knew that he was here. 

“If you need anything of similar importance again, do not hesitate to meet with me. I am here to help my Slytherins.”

Potter’s smile was emphatic and so very expressive. Was his announcement of support so valuable to the boy? He always got some sort of gratitude from the students of his house, but never had he felt like his personal support gained such an immense level of appreciation. Nevertheless, he was pleased to see that his point got through, and a nod of his head was all it took to send the boy away. How very interesting this year was for Severus already. He liked the son of James Potter. With something like that occurring in the first week of school, anything could happen.