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Severus was already mentally planning which bottle he was going to polish off tonight when Dumbledore announced that Diggory was the Hogwarts Champion. Great. Just perfect. At least, it wasn't one of those dunderheads from Gryffindor, but Diggory was barely better. Truth be told, Severus didn't dislike Diggory nearly as much as he did the other students, but his goody-two-shoes attitude and sunshine-smile made him want to hiss and hide in a corner, sometimes.
No matter. At least, it wasn't one of his snakes. As much as they may complain that it wasn't fair, and that, obviously, a Slytherin would never be chosen, Severus, for his part, was glad. Just because he didn't like brats didn't mean that he wanted them dead. Besides, those children, the Slytherins especially, were his responsibility, whether he liked it or not. This tournament was a death trap. Anyone smart would avoid it. The glory wasn't worth their lives.
He was just debating whether he should open that bottle of brandy he had gotten from a client (so what if he had a side Potions business on the side of being a teacher? It wasn't quite illegal... well, it was if he didn't declare but-), when the Goblet erupted in red and blue flames and a piece of parchment was ejected from it.
A weight dropped in his ribcage, and Severus took a measured breath.
When he saw the expression on Albus' face, his frown deepened. He couldn't tell whether the headmaster was worried, gleeful or victorious, and neither of these three options looked particularly promising.
Finally, the old man looked up at the assembly of young wizards and witches and entoned clearly:
"Harry Potter?"
...
Severus didn't quite feel his soul leave his body, but it was a close enough description of what he was currently feeling. Potter... James Potter's spawn. Severus had been relieved and mildly worried about his oath when the brat failed to present himself at Hogwarts when he turned eleven. The lack of repercussion on his person told him that the brat was alive and probably healthy, but you never know with magic. Would he be punished if he failed to protect the kid because he had no idea where he was? Would the magic of the oath turn on him if he had nothing to do with the boy's woes?
Probably. Oath magic was vicious like that. Severus knew what he was getting himself into when he signed up for it (although he didn't actually sign anything, and he felt it important to note that). He hadn't expected Dumbledore to dump the boy with that wretched, wilted flower. What had Albus been thinking? Even Severus knew what a terrible idea it had been when he found out, and obviously, well... Look how that turned out. Just because Severus disliked the Potter brat on principle didn't mean that he wanted him to... Well, end up with Petunia and her awful husband.
Severus had only met Vernon once, and at the time, he wasn't Petunia's anything. He was a young intern employed by Lily's father and had come to dinner one evening when Iris, Lily and Petunia's mother had invited him. It was before he broke Lily's trust, before Bloody James Potter humiliated him in front of everyone, before... Before.
So, Severus had only met Vernon Dursley once, and once was enough. He remembered the look on Lily's father's face. The man he respected clearly didn't like this Dursley very much, and Severus had always wondered why he had taken him as an intern, then.
No matter. If that meeting wasn't enough, then the articles that followed the discovery of the missing Boy-Who-Lived and how they painted the Dursleys had cemented how Severus viewed him and Petunia.
Severus hadn't mourned the boy's disappearance, no. Saying otherwise would have been a lie. He might have even been relieved if it hadn't been for the still active oath proving the boy's survival (1).
"Harry Potter?" Albus repeated.
Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
The brats were a bad influence on him, and he refused to start acting like them.
Why was Dumbledore repeating that name? Did he expect anything to happen? The Goblet chose Champions; it wouldn't magically attract the boy.
No sooner had he thought that than the Goblet erupted again. Severus shielded his eyes against the bright light when the flames vanished; two men were standing there. Two young men, from what Severus could tell, although he couldn't say much thanks to their costumes.
Heroes? Here, at Hogwarts? Nonsense.
Severus knew about heroes, of course, but he never paid much attention to those. Neither of those ever helped him after all, so why should he fantasise about them?
Thankfully, there weren't that many heroes in Britain, and they rarely, if ever, ventured on the magical side of things. There was Constantine, that old bastard, but Severus wouldn't consider this peculiar acquaintance a 'hero' by any means.
Tsk. Of course, Potter (if one of those two energumens was indeed Potter) would go and become one of those masked menaces.
The newcomers had the nerve to appear barely shaken by the whole ordeal.
Severus knew there and then that he would polish off at least two bottles after this.
When everything was said and done, Severus mentally applauded himself for having kept quiet during the whole thing.
He thought that that was it, that once the night of the Champion Selection was over with and the Potter spawn had left, that would be it.
Despite how excited everyone was to have 'met' the Boy-Who-Lived and to have new knowledge to add to their stalker minds, while the hype didn't quite die down after a few days, it lowered to a more manageable level. The students probably wouldn't calm down until the last Aurors and Unspeakables had left – the Ministry had refused to listen to Dumbledore and insisted on investigating the matter of a 4th name being drawn (after all, the MACUSA had made contact and threatened legal actions).
Dumbledore was, of course, under a lot of fire – as if he hadn't already been before – because his behaviour during the Champions ceremony fiasco had attracted a lot of questions. If he had kept his mouth shut, people would have roasted him for not talking, but since he did, they criticised him for always seemingly saying the wrong things. Apparently, a vast majority of people were under the impression that, had things played differently – had Dumbledore and the others not made fools of themselves, the Boy-Who-Lived might have decided to stay.
Fools!
Severus didn't know much, but he knew that the costume the blasted boy was wearing meant that the brat had a 'duty', so to speak. The way he had talked that evening showed a certain (surprising) level of maturity for his age (and parentage). Severus had no doubt that no matter how things could have gone down, the boy would have still left to go back to Gotham by the end of the night. The man accompanying him wouldn't have let it go down differently either.
Severus grimaced. There had been something... almost feral simmering under the man's skin. He had been able to feel from his seat at the Head Table, and had resolutely decided that he didn't want to know, and categorically refused to get involved in this mess. Albus could handle it.
Handle it, he did. Poorly, but at least it was done with.
Then, when Severus finally thought that they might be at peace again, in this bloody castle a week after that fiasco, a bald woman with awfully familiar piercing eyes kicked the doors open.
Oh, dear.
Merlin, no.
Not her.