Due to others' recommendations I have removed the rest of my chapters, and will be reposting them as I rewrite them.
The plot won't change much, but I've grown as a writer so I'm adapting the style for internal consistency.
I also need to change the plot of later chapters to suit the characters' changes, or change the characters to brute-force them into the coming plot.

Thank you all for your patience. If my decision has lost me your bookmark, I'm sorry to see you go.

xoxox

The next month passed in a blur of classes, exploded cauldrons, supervised detentions, docked House Points, and copious Headache Relievers.

Draco was Severus' godson, and of course Severus had seen a fair bit of the child growing up. Specifically, he'd seen how Narcissa had coddled him while Lucius spoiled him. It was no surprise that Draco had never had an original thought in his life.

But by the Gods, the child was proving himself a poorly-socialised nightmare. Draco's sense of entitlement stretched all the way from the dungeons to Gryffindor tower.

He was alienating his peers with alarming efficiency, entirely unsubtle in his cries of my father this and...that was about it, really. Draco would not stop talking about his father and getting into hotheaded fights with anyone who tried to disagree with him.

Naturally Severus had tried talking to the boy, but Draco thought himself far too good for advice from his half-blood Head of House.

After all, he was a Malfoy—the world should prostrate itself at his feet.

Today the boy had landed himself in his third detention. Any more would put Severus in the rather awkward situation of having to write a letter to his parents.

Dear Lucius, your child is a spoilt brat, how did you manage to fail him so thoroughly?

Dear Lucius, when you taught your son about the Houses did you mention the cunning of Slytherin? Or did you focus only on brash, brainless Gryffindors pushing themselves headfirst—

No, no, that would not do. Which was what had led Severus to this point: he was going to delegate.

Although his face twisted into a frown when Potter approached his desk, his heart just wasn't in it. The vial of Vanishing Solution the boy handed in was perfect, the exact violet shade it should be.

This wasn't a surprise. It had barely taken a week to determine Potter's brewing capabilities were at least at OWL level—talent and skill utterly wasted in a first-year class. This lesson Severus had paired him with Longbottom, in hopes of mitigating that particular mess. And indeed, Potter's timely intervention had prevented three mishaps.

Despite its eggplant colour, Longbottom's Solution would be able to remove ink stains, at the very least.

It was what had inspired Severus' current desperate stroke of genius, actually. If Potter could manage Longbottom, then perhaps he could achieve similar results with Draco.

Potter, who was still standing right there, vial extended on a flat palm.

Like he was feeding a horse. Severus was tempted to nicker, just to see the expressions on all their terrified little faces. "Stay after class," he told Potter, already testing a drop of the gel-like potion on a corner of his desk.

The brushed oak's surface bubbled, then gleamed. "Adequate," he professed—and studiously ignored Potter's beaming.

xoxox

Deliberately continuing his grading, Severus didn't look up until the students had finished filing out of his classroom.

He regarded Potter carefully, testing him for fidget. The robes were still standard, the ink stains multiple—was that a quill in his hair?

"Professor?" Potter asked quietly, unknowingly passing the test of Severus' purposefully quelling glare.

The child was remarkably calm and composed for an eleven-year-old, he couldn't help but think.

"There's a quill in your hair," Severus blurted. Oh Gods. Had he really just said that? How humiliating.

Potter smiled, presenting the hairpiece-slash-writing-utensil eagerly.

It was a lovely quill, obviously expensive. Severus handled it carefully. This was the kind that Family Heads presented to their heirs, the kind that might be engraved, cost a month's worth of his salary and should be carefully kept in a designated box.

Harry Potter kept his tucked neatly behind an ear like a muggle's fag.

In that moment Severus decided he needed a smoke, and that tonight he would ignore his marking and all his obligations to go out. He knew just the place.

He had still been holding the quill while his mind drifted, for too long now to just pass it back. Severus' mind stumbled for an appropriate action. Who handed their ridiculously expensive quill to their professor? More importantly, who kept an heirloom like that in their hair?

Or any quill in their hair, for that matter. And why could Severus not get over that?

Potter had remained standing, straight-backed and smiling. Drawing his wand, Severus cast a diagnostic.

Ever-sharp, linked to an inkwell, warded heavily against theft and—a hair sticking charm?

He stifled his laugh. What an odd combination. "Did you cast these yourself?"

The boy nodded. "It's not like I can buy one like that, and my Paterfamilias is...unavailable."

Go on, Potter. Make a joke about your dead father. That's not callous at all.

In light of that, Severus glossed over that the boy had cast magic so far beyond his level.

You're a bit of an odd duck, aren't you, he wanted to say, but didn't. Who taught you magic? Where were you all these years when Albus was turning every stone search of you? Why are you so Slytherin, so different from the Gryffindor Golden Boy everyone was expecting?

What happened to you?

Severus had long learnt not to follow his initial impulses. He let out a long, silent sigh and returned the quill. The boy was an excellent source of House Points, well-mannered, and had successfully babysat Longbottom. While he hated the boy for his mystery, Severus was willing to wait, observe, learn. He wasn't some Gryffindor.

Besides, Potter might have the solution for the Draco Malfoy Situation.

The quill went back to its place in Potter's flyaway mop, the hairpin charm doing an admirable job of taming it.

"What did you think of today's lesson?" Severus found himself asking. They were going to be late to lunch because Severus was struggling with coherent thought.

The boy started gushing about reactions, and combinations, and what he thought about the instructions—all using NEWT-level terminology.

Minutes later Potter was showing no sign of slowing down, nor of wanting to leave. It was almost as if he actually enjoyed standing there, jabbering about Vanishing Potions.

Until Severus drew his wand, causing the boy to cut off mid-sentence. He had to admit it'd been a good sentence, debating the usefulness of an overly effective Vanishing removing more than the targeted stain. The boy's hand twitched, an aborted motion for a wand.

Purposefully and with exaggerated movements, Severus conjured a chair. He found he didn't have the heart to end the boy's contented babble, and they still had a fair amount to discuss.

After calling a House Elf to deliver lunch, he directed Potter to sit.

"Sorry, sir. I'm sure there's nothing I can say about Vanishing Potions that you don't already know. Was there something in particular you wanted, besides for us to have lunch?"

And didn't that just sound wrong. Severus Snape did not have lunch with students.

Barring Harry Potter, because as of now Severus apparently was having lunch with a student. "You shared your workbench with Mister Longbottom today," he opened.

There was a minute grimace there, replaced quickly with blank neutrality. "Yes, sir. Were you planning on making that a permanent arrangement?"

For a moment it tempted him. Severus wanted so much to say yes, to hoist the Longbottom problem onto Potter and finally have some time for other students in the class. But Potter looked so resigned, quietly miserable.

Today's potion had been perfect, but based on the thoughts he'd just shared, the boy was capable of so much more.

Severus swallowed the another bite of a sandwich. "Though you did an admirable job of supervising Mister Longbottom," he began thoughtfully, and why was the boy beaming at him again? "I have a proposal that could be beneficial to us both."

The smile turned wry, prompting Severus to check that his own incredulity wasn't written across his face.

"What can I do for you, Professor?" In an older student that might have been flirtatious, but Potter seemed rather an odd child already. Severus mentally filed it away under ridiculousness-of-Potter.

Deep breaths, Severus reminded himself. Then, a fortifying sip of tea. "Mister Malfoy is—" Diplomacy dissolved on the tip of his tongue like an ashen Cokeworth snowflake, he should have prepared a speech in advance. This was a pending—

"A pending disaster, sir?"

The boy had read his mind. What the fuck. He checked his Occlumency; it was airtight, this should not be possible.

Oh. He was an idiot. Severus long prided himself on his intellect and his superiority, and here Potter was taking it from him like clumps of lost hair. Oddly, he didn't entirely mind, which made continuing this conversation even more of a mess.

"Indeed, Mister Malfoy could be described as a pending disaster. Although, as Head of Slytherin and his godfather, I would of course never describe him as such." Where was his composure? He was Severus Snape, Slytherin Dungeon Bat, first years' worst fear.

Now new-and-improved, bantering with the eleven-year-old Potter.

Ridiculous.

He amended his plans for tonight: he was going to get drunk, get laid, and then smoke the cigarette he was craving while basking in the afterglow of a satisfying shag.

Potter summarised the issue succinctly. "You want me to prevent Malfoy from shaming our House and alienating himself from every political ally he might have, ever."

Potter was remarkably observant and extremely intelligent. If anyone could do it, it would be him. Severus decided to nod.

Nodding was safe, it would prevent all manner of stupidity from coming out of his mouth.

"And in return, you'll pair Granger with Longbottom next class, sir? You said we'd both be benefiting."

Severus was still nodding, even before the words had really registered. Then he stopped to think about it. Putting Granger with Longbottom might be an acceptable solution. The bossy girl could impart some knowledge upon the Longbottom embarrassment, and they'd both be preoccupied with each other. It would free Severus up to better teach the rest.

But he had wanted to give something to Potter, not just withhold what would have been a punishment. Severus hoped to nurture some of that skill, or was it Lily's talent?

"Additionally, I thought you would brew me something beyond the first year curriculum. Whoever taught you previously prepared you adequately for higher level reactions."

While it had initially been obvious the boy could brew well, today he had shown a much greater skill. Following and adapting a recipe was one thing, but knowing how to neutralise Longbottom's recurring mistakes in a way that made the potion usable? That showed true comprehension.

Potter was beaming again. "Really, sir? I'm honoured."

It was almost as if the child was glowing, radiating his contentedness. It should not be physically possible to appear so happy. Especially not here, in the dungeons, talking about being assigned more work.

Severus could not recall the last time anyone had looked at him like that. As if he were…good. It filled him with a twisting guilt—and an odd desire to be worthy of his good opinion.

Nodding, because that was still safe, Severus pushed the plate with the last cucumber sandwich over to the boy. Potter liked cucumber sandwiches.

To his dying breath, Severus would deny having knowledge of the boy's sandwich preferences. He reminded himself, rather firmly, that the plan was still to ignore Potter.

While having lunch together.

Severus very much wanted to shake his head free of cobwebs, but abstained. Now, how to do this?

The school would be watching. He could not show Lord Voldemort's 'vanquisher' undue attention without letters being sent home.

"In the next staff meeting, your teachers will complain about you having been distracted." Severus decided. Nobody could argue with him punishing misbehaviour. "I will then assign detentions, wherein you will demonstrate your level of brewing. Any Points you lose, will be earned back yourself. I am sure you are quite capable of it."

Severus sighed. Now, entirely by accident, he had complimented the brat—all because Severus was unable to stop his most inane thoughts from tumbling out around one Harry Potter.

The boy continued to look delighted. Severus groaned silently, his capability for denial having trickled out entirely, like sand in an hourglass. Private brewing time was the opposite of ignoring him. "Well, Mister Potter?"

"Yes sir, thank you sir," he rattled off, rising to his feet, "see you, sir."

Severus waved him away like he would an errant fly buzzing around his Cokeworth living room. A mild annoyance, full of the connotation that the neighbours had failed to put out their bins.

Something odd, unpleasant, not-quite-right.

Thudding against the window repeatedly until he let it out—Lucius had always complained Severus was soft. It tempted Severus, every time, to bare his teeth, but he never did.

The Elf returned to clear away the dishes, and Severus chanced a look at the dregs in their teacups before they were swept away. He saw only muddled goop. Though Divination had never been his strength, he'd somehow expected something momentous of this accidental lunch with the Wizarding World's Saviour.

xoxox

Thank you for all your kind words. They've been keeping me going.