The day I caught my son making poison

I CAME INTO THE KITCHEN. My six year old son was mixing berries with leaves and a crushed dandelion.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm making poison," he said matter-of-factly, and added  water. He stirred with a whisk, carefully, stopping every few turns to see if he had the right consistency.

"Did you say poison?"

He nodded without looking up. After a few more turns, he stopped stirring. Regarded his mixture. Seemed satisfied. 

He turned to me.

"Take a picture of it," he ordered.

"What? Why?"

"So that you remember it," he replied, looking me in the eye, holding my stare for just a moment, and then he was off his stool bounding downstairs to play Lego.

My son is a Slytherin, I thought, and then I was strangely proud of it.