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Flying lessons were always sothing first-year students enjoyed.
Snape did not enjoy them at all.
He hated flying.
And he hated it because his old rival, Jas Potter, had been the golden boy of the skies. Every ti Snape saw a broomstick, he thought of Jas—arrogant, laughing, adored. It soured his mood instantly.
The man stole Lily away, treated her carelessly, and still sohow walked around like a hero. A fool.
At least Snape later beca Head of Slytherin. Watching Slytherin crush Gryffindor every year had slowly made flight more tolerable. Seeing those Gryffindor brats grit their teeth in frustration always gave him a shred of satisfaction.
Watching Gryffindors suffer was, frankly, soothing.
But that small comfort evaporated the mont he looked down from the castle and saw Darren Potter on a broom—smiling, playing, flying with the Gryffindors.
Honestly.
What about Lily?
Wasn't Darren supposed to be her son, not Jas's clone?
The Potters were always unnaturally gifted at flying. Darren was no exception. Snape "accidentally" found himself watching from a tower window as Darren mounted his broom.
And Harry Potter.
Of course the two of them were naturals.
Snape felt irritation rise like steam under his collar.
Was Jas Potter really so impressive?
He wasn't even clever. Just a show-off with a broom.
How had Lily ever looked twice at him?
Sotis Snape even wondered—half seriously, half bitterly—whether Potter had used a charm on her.
He was brooding over that when he spotted Neville Longbottom wobbling high above the ground, and Darren chasing after him.
Snape's hand flew to his wand on instinct.
He didn't breathe until Darren hit the grass relatively safely. Only then did he lower his wand, scowling.
Look at that—Potter recklessness running in the blood.
He let out a sharp, sarcastic exhale.
Harry Potter then joined in, showing off his flying skills as well.
Typical.
Arrogant Potter behaviour.
Snape's lips curled as he turned away from the window. He wasn't going to waste ti watching this ridiculous lesson.
He stalked back toward the castle—and heard whispers: Harry Potter was going to duel Draco Malfoy.
Ha.
Harry Potter?
Beating Draco?
Please. The boy could barely manage basic spells.
Snape angled himself to watch, ready to hear Potter brag and then crash into humiliation.
Instead, he caught Harry complaining to Darren—only to snap that Darren should copy out the school rules.
If it weren't for Darren, the boy would've been punished on Harry's behalf. Again.
Snape stepped forward imdiately, sneering, enjoying the way Potter's expression twisted in annoyance.
Potter looked ready to punch him.
Ha. A Gryffindor striking a professor?
Fifty points at least.
But before he could even raise an eyebrow, Darren tugged Snape by the sleeve and pulled him away.
The corridor went silent as everyone watched Darren drag the feared Head of Slytherin down the hall.
Snape said nothing, but his hand twitched toward his wand.
When he got free, he was going to hex that little brat.
Who did he think he was, grabbing a professor like that?
Thankfully, Darren released him at last.
Snape felt a small, reluctant flicker of satisfaction. At least the child could read danger on soone's face. He wouldn't starve to death the mont he left Hogwarts.
Unlike Harry Potter—who would probably wander outside with a rucksack and try to ask strangers for food.
The ntal image almost made Snape laugh.
"Professor McGonagall has arranged your detention," he told Darren stiffly.
The boy's guilty expression flickered in his eyes, and Snape imdiately looked away.
He was halfway down the corridor when it hit him.
Quirrell.
He'd been tricked.
Lured into the Forbidden Forest for nothing.
Annoyed, he stomped back toward his office—only to freeze.
Quirrell was standing right there.
And Darren was chatting with him, smiling, completely defenseless.
Snape's grip on his wand tightened.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped.
Quirrell disappeared imdiately.
Snape hauled Darren inside by the collar.
If he'd been even a minute later, would the boy be dead?
Or worse—like the Longbottoms?
Right.
Detention.
Snape rembered he'd assigned the boy to copy the school rules.
The child was only starting them now.
Typical Potter.
He'd already forgotten the punishnt, otherwise he wouldn't have trotted off to dine with Gryffindors like an ignorant little idiot.
Even if he copied the rules, though, he'd probably still run after Harry.
Foolish child.
As if Snape had ti to take care of such things.
"Hurry up and eat. Then get out. And sleep," Snape ordered.
"Following Harry Potter all day—you'll end up malnourished."
He sat down to grade howork while Darren left.
But thinking of Harry and Draco's "duel," and knowing Darren would inevitably go searching for Harry… Snape rose, slipping into the shadows to follow.
He couldn't risk Quirrell crossing paths with the boys.
But what he found was almost laughable.
The Gryffindor gang showed up.
Draco did not.
Instead, they were reported to Filch.
Brilliant.
Snape wished he'd thought of that first. Malfoy had nerve.
Snape stepped forward to make a dramatic appearance—and dock Gryffindor a satisfying number of points—when Dumbledore blocked him.
"Albus, are you giving Potter another privilege?" Snape hissed.
"Hogwarts is not safe anymore. Why let him roam around in the middle of the night? Just because he's Harry Potter?"
"It's part of the plan," Dumbledore murmured.
Snape followed his gaze. Harry and his friends were already pushing the door to the fourth-floor corridor.
Of course.
Snape had wondered why Dumbledore had let them build those childish puzzles before term. It was all bait for Harry.
"Quirrell wants that thing as well," Snape muttered sharply.
"And you want Harry Potter to run straight into him? I won't let Lily's child die like this."
"No, Severus. I'll be watching," Dumbledore said quietly.
Snape's jaw clenched.
If Dumbledore was truly watching… then perhaps Potter would live.
"Harry Potter and his privileges," Snape muttered sourly.
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