Severus Snape was presented with a quandry.

On one hand, it amused him, in a childish sort of way, to see the son of James Potter faring none better than his own Slytherins. It was childish, he knew, and petty. But he had never been one to ignore his own emotions – or those of others. Both were equally useful, and equally dangerous when left to run amok.

But another part of him, a part he generally stowed away with useless translations and aspirations to learn how to speak Parseltongue – another part of him actually wanted to help the brat. Not a foreign concept, considering the students who invariably found their way in to Slytherin House and, eventually, to his door.

So, to help the boy. He had been charged with the task, and it was not a particularly revolting task, all things considered. The boy had remained surprisingly quiet, guarded even. A good quality, though not one he had expected to find in a Gryffindor – and a Potter, as well.

But there it was. And here he was, saving the boy's life. Again.

Leaning forward in his chair, Severus regarded the teenager before him for a moment, drawing out the silence and watching the younger man squirm. So perhaps – perhaps – he was enjoying this. Enjoying this utter fall from grace. And perhaps he didn't want to help right away.

But now was not the time to indulge. The Headmaster would begin to question, the longer he remained with the boy. The longer the door remained closed.

"You ... are a quandry, Mr. Potter. Gryffindor, indeed. Tell me, what did you promise the Sorting Hat, that it placed you in the entirely wrong House?" Severus smirked, quite prepared for the outburst he was sure was about to come his way.

He was sorely disappointed by the raised eyebrow he received instead – a pale imitation of his own facial expression. "I asked it for Gryffindor, and it let me." Harry shrugged, shifting in to a more comfortable position on the bed and setting his book to the side, uncaring as it slid closed. He hadn't really been reading it, anyway.

Severus stared at his professor for a moment, before letting out a sharp bark of laughter. The sound surprised his student, causing Harry to jump slightly as he stared at the older man with wide eyes. Shaking his head, Severus gave a tight-lipped smile as he watched the boy. "You asked. Lovely. I'll be having a word with Albus about that one." Continuing to shake his head, Severus glanced away from his student to take stock of the room around him.

It was surprisingly bare, for all that the boy had been living here for the majority of the summer. Nobody had gotten the specifics on that one, only that Harry was now living at the Dumbledore summer home; and mostly by himself. Severus had been certain that would only lead to trouble, although he had expected that trouble to come in the form of Death Eaters, or foolish excursions into London.

Actually, the second guess hadn't be too far off the mark, apparently – the boy had to get the drugs from somewhere, and he highly doubted the House Elves had willingly supplied him with such dangerous materials.

"I didn't do anything wrong." Harry was quick to defend himself, a scowl transforming his face; and that transformation wiped the mirth cleanly off Severus' own face.

Amazing, what a simple change in expression could do. The boy no longer looked anything akin to his more father, and Severus was left to wonder how he had not seen it before – the resemblance to another man. A man he had seen angered enough times, both in years past, and more recently.

Lord Voldemort had undergone a transformation of his own recently, one which Severus had yet to let the Order know about. It had not seemed that important, that Voldemort seemed to have gained some vanity about his person; that he seemed to care how he looked. It certainly wasn't for women, and Severus had been hard pressed to find any ulterior motive behind the action; his followers still trembled in his presense, and even he wore a mask now, different from their own but just as frightening in the dark of night.

But now, watching the face of young Potter twist to so closely resemble that of his enemy, Severus couldn't help but second guess that assumption. Was there a more sinister purpose behind it? Had he been baiting his own followers, his enemies, to consider a rather unnerving truth?

The idea of Voldemort procreating was disturbing enough, and with a muggleborn --! But no, it had to be just a coincidence; a rather shocking, disturbing coincidence, but one nonetheless. For there was no way--

"Professor?" The scowl had faded from Harry's face by now, replaced by a frown and raised eyebrow. Severus scowled at the boy, more annoyed with his own inattentiveness than any action the teenager had taken.

Harry, of course, had no way of knowing that, and settled back against the bed with a sigh, quite certain he had, once again, botched things up with the older man. Not that it was any surprise; everything was falling apart lately – why should his relationship with his potions professor improve any?

Severus settled himself back against his chair, watching the Gryffindor with a puzzled frown. Far less expressionless than he usually acted around the boy, he knew; far more animated than any but his Slytherins, and on the rare occasion the rest of the teaching staff, saw him. But there was one nagging question that just would not leave him be.

"Where did the Sorting Hat want you, then?" Harry glanced up sharply at the question, eyes narrowed as he watched the other man. In the next instant, however, a smile transformed his face and he was once again the Gryffindor golden boy Severus was so accustomed to seeing him as.

"Slytherin."

It took Severus a moment to process that, but when he did, the rational part of his brain instantly recognized the truth of it. The way Potter was acting tonight; it was reminiscent of some first-year Slytherin students – defensive, angry, nearly out of control.

But Potter had had a lot more time, and many more resources, to work on that anger than any of those first years generally had. More money, with which to build a dependency of some rather ... elicit muggle drugs.

Were they all muggle, though? That was the question. Albus had found nothing to warrant such a question, but then again, if Potter was smart he would not have kept everything out in the open. That was a rather large if, however.

Ah, the old prejudices, coming back to haunt him. If the boy had truly been meant for Slytherin ...

It couldn't have all been an act, but neither could he be so utterly Gryffindor without some sort of a front. Some of it had to be an act, a show for the rest of the world. But how much?

Severus leaned forward, hands pressed flat together and held up so that his thumbs were just below his chin, the tips of his index fingers pressing against his nose.

A couple of minutes passed in such a silence, Severus appearing to ignore the boy and Harry fidgeting under the uncomfortably silence. In reality, Severus was acutely aware of every movement the teenager made, every noise and annoyed sigh, every sideway glance sent his way. It amused him, in some part of his brain. But another, larger part was calculating, wondering. Ruse, or reality? Gryffindor from long association, or Slytherin underneath a mask?

Finally straightening, Severus stood to his feet and made his way out of the room without another word, allowing the door to swing partially closed as he left. Not entirely, no. Albus would have a temper tantrum at the thought of Potter doing anything without his consent, now.

And they thought Severus was obsessed.