Sweat broke out on Dursley's brow. His bushy mustache trembled. He wrenched at his hand, trying to get back his finger. A little more wriggling, and the man would break his own finger with no assistance from Severus.
Severus bent the offending finger a little more, until the man whined in pain. "Do I have your attention?" He glanced out of the corner of his eye to make sure Petunia was still where she'd stopped before. She was, and was gaping at the display with her mouth opened wider than any first year at their first Halloween Feast.
"Ungh," said Dursley, knees almost buckling.
"Good. Because I will not repeat myself again. Harry Potter is your nephew. I am his Professor. I will ask you several questions about him, and you will answer, completely and honestly, or we will have to repeat this particular lesson until you do. Am I clear?"
"Mmmph."
"Excellent." He glanced over he man's shoulder. "I believe the sitting room will be much more comfortable for our conversation than the entryway. Don't you agree?"
"Ugghn-huh."
"Then pray, lead on." Severus proceeded to let Dursley lead them into the sitting room by the simple expedient of shoving him backwards towards it, keeping a firm grip on the man's meaty finger. Once inside the small room – dominated by a television, a large couch, two recliners, a fireplace and a Slug – Severus pushed Dursley onto the couch and sneered as he released the man's digit. "Perhaps Petunia would be so kind as to bring tea?"
Petunia, hovering by the doorway, jumped at the sound of her name and looked more sour than ever, but she gave a curt nod and disappeared, towards the kitchen, one might hope.
Oddly, the Slug was curled up, wide eyed and petrified, on the other end of the couch from his father, and was clutching his bottom as if it might catch fire . . . oh, Dursley had said something about a tail. Severus suppressed a snicker and looked around the room, taking in the gaudy knickknacks and unmoving pictures of this horrific family, noting that there was not one of Lily or James or even Harry, who had supposedly lived here for ten years. Instead, the walls seemed almost entirely devoted to the Slug, with a few of his parents mixed in for variety. There was no sign at all, in fact, that the Potter boy lived here, or ever had.
"Now," he said, settling into one of the recliners – though not reclined – once Petunia had returned, "Pray tell me about Mr. Potter's primary schooling. In what subjects did he excel? Which ones were more troublesome?"
Dudley, apparently done with arse gripping, snorted an ugly laugh. "Freaky Potty? He's a dunce. Couldn't spell his own name right if you gave him twenty quid."
"That's right, Dudders," Dursley said, nodding. "The boy never could get grades like yours. Always making excuses for his homework not getting done or cutting classes. Stupid freak, just like his father. Always getting in trouble, too, with his freak displays and . . . ."
Severus tuned the man out as he prattled on. This was getting him nowhere. He knew for a fact that the boy wasn't stupid, having seen first hand a well-reasoned essay that spoke to the contrary, and he knew all the rest of his usual questions would be met with the same lies and scorn. He could not imagine this was what Lily had in mind for her son.
There were only a couple things he could do at this point, to try and salvage whatever he could of this abysmal visit, and he was far better versed at one than the other. Besides, while torturing this lot held a certain vicious appeal, there was always the tedious clean up afterwards, and the chance Aurors might be called to the scene. Thus, while Dursley built up a good head of steam on a topic close to his heart – that of the utter worthlessness of his nephew – Severus surreptitiously slid his wand into his hand from the sleeve of his business suit coat, and cast a non-verbal Legilimens.
More than an hour later, sick and tired and ready to collapse, having Legilimized all three Muggles, Severus then Obliviated them, replacing the memories of his visit with a pleasant evening in front of the telly, but adding in a particularly nasty nightmare curse for spite. Then he Apparated to Hogsmeade and made the long, exhausting trek back to the castle. He considered cancelling his detention with the boy tonight, but they really needed the translation of the Parseltongue, as it might give a clue as to who had been with the Dark Lord during the attack.
Perhaps, though, he should just have the Baron talk to Potter while the boy prepared more potion ingredients. The ghost seemed far better able to deal with the child – or was more consistent with him, at least – and Severus knew he was likely to be short and snappish this evening, even without Potter's temper thrown into the mix.
Yes, that would work. And it would have the added benefit of freeing Severus to visit the Headmaster and show him a few home truths.
TBC . . .
A/N:
I deliberately left the Legilimency of the Dursleys blank, so I can back fill later as needed. Also, this chapter was getting really long, and I wanted to put it up sooner rather than later. Hope you don't mind! I should have the next chapter out by Monday, most likely.
Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful reviews! You're my apple pie, my three-legged race, and my fireworks at midnight. Love and hugs for all!
*Chapter 19*: Chapter 19
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 19
By jharad17
Disclaimer: Not mine. Oh, well.
Summary: As a first year, Harry is sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, and no one is more surprised than his new Head of House.
Previously:
Perhaps, though, he should just have the Baron talk to Potter while the boy prepared more potion ingredients. The ghost seemed far better able to deal with the child – or was more consistent with him, at least – and Severus knew he was likely to be short and snappish this evening, even without Potter's temper thrown into the mix.
Wednesday morning, Harry woke with a headache, which he ignored to the best of his ability, until his scar starting hurting as well, during Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He pressed a hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. It burned, like a hot needle jabbing into his brain, which it had not done before, except for rarely during or right after a bad nightmare. In those situations, the burning was gone almost immediately, but this time, the torment kept going on and on and on . . . .
"Harry," someone whispered, though the sound was like the crack of thunder in his ears. And then an elbow, in his side.
Harry opened one eye, just a slit, to find Teddy's face real close, his eyes making an obvious 'look over there' gesture, and Harry followed the direction of Teddy's look, to find Professor Quirrell standing almost over him, and glowering. Which wasn't at all like Professor Quirrell.
"Wh-wh-what is the m-m-meaning of this, P-p-potter?"
"Headache," Harry said shortly. "May I go to the Infirmary?"
The stuttering professor's eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt nod. Harry stood up to start gathering his books, but his knees buckled suddenly, and he had to grab the desk to keep from ending up on his arse.
"G-g-go with h-h-him, M-mister Nott."
Teddy, who was already gathering Harry's books together for him, collected his own, too, with a nod, and slung the bags over his shoulder. "You need help?" he asked Harry in a low voice.