"It is."
"Would you care to explain why?"
"Would you care to leave me alone?"
That time, the Bloody Baron laughed out loud. "You're a cheeky thing, no doubt. Very well, Mister Potter. You explain why your scar looks like it's newly cut into your forehead, and I shall leave you in peace. For now."
"For a week."
"Alas, I still must discover the nature of the Parseltongue you heard during our fight."
"Then choose one or the other." Anger flowed through him like his own blood, and Harry's hand was trembling around the bobotuber pod. He stilled it with an effort and gritted his teeth. "Look. I don't like being possessed, and I don't like having people poke around in my head and look at stuff they're not allowed to. And I don't like being blackmailed and I don't like being hovered over. So you get one piece of information from me, and then you get lost."
The Bloody Baron was quiet for a long while, and Harry kept working, and trying not to think. At last, a sigh came from a little farther away. Seemed like the ghost had caught on about the hovering so close bit. "Very well, Harry Potter. Tell me about the Parseltongue."
Harry nodded. He'd known the ghost would ask for that one, and he'd been calling up the memory. "The voice said, 'There has to be an end to it, an end to this half life,' and, 'I did not return to be disobeyed by a lesser servant,' and, 'You are weak, too weak; I need another to sustain me. Bring me his blood.' He said other things, but mostly variations on those."
"Good," The Bloody Baron said. "That will help immensely." He paused, and his voice was softer, smoother, when he continued, "You do want to learn who tried to murder you, do you not?"
"Sure I do," Harry said. "But I'm more interested in keeping it from happening again."
"Naturally."
Harry finished filling up the thirteenth jar, capped it and labeled it, and started on jar fourteen. "You're delaying on your end of the deal."
"So I am," the Baron said. "I must admit, I do not wish to see any harm come to you on your trip back to the common room tonight."
"I'm sure I'll be fine," Harry told him, though he was a little bit afraid.
"Perhaps I will escort you, once you are finished with your most . . . intriguing task."
"The deal--"
"I will wait outside this door until then. Will that suffice?"
With a sigh, knowing he was unlikely to get a better offer, Harry nodded. "Yeah, all right." Then, more grudgingly, "Thanks."
After another forty-five minutes of slicing and squeezing, capping and labeling, then cleaning up after himself, Harry exited Snape's classroom and headed back to the common room. The Bloody Baron floated along beside him all the way to the portrait, just like Snape had done . . . except the floating part.
"Thanks," Harry said again.
"My pleasure," the Baron replied. "You have another session with Severus Snape tomorrow, do you not?"
"No, I mean . . . Oh, damn!" He did have detention, but he also had his first Quidditch practice. At the same time. Well, he'd just have to make up the detention later, since there was no way Flint would let him be on the team if he didn't go to practice. Even an extra week of detention would be better than getting cut. "I have Quidditch practice tomorrow," Harry said at last. He shrugged one shoulder, trying to look unconcerned. "I'll make up the detention some other time."
The Bloody Baron gave him a long look. "And this has been discussed with Professor Snape?"
Harry looked away. He didn't want to talk to Snape, at all. And particularly not to ask if he could skip detention, 'cause he knew what the answer would be. Better to do the thing and beg forgiveness later. Not to mention, Snape must know when practices for Quidditch were; he was the Head of Slytherin, after all. And he wanted Harry on the team. Didn't he? "It'll be fine," Harry said. "He won't mind."
"I see."
"Yeah, so, see you later," Harry said, and slipped in through the portrait door. It was a long time before he fell asleep that night.
TBC . . .
A/N: My apologies on the late updates this week. I've been under the weather, and kind of stressy, what with one thing and another, and have just gotten to feeling a bit better today. Thank you, everyone, for your continued support!
Your reviews are wonderful, like a frozen mocha frappachino with an extra shot, and a side of pumpkin bread with vanilla ice cream. Yum!
*Chapter 20*: Chapter 20
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 20
By jharad17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I imagine I'll get over it.
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.
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.
Whilst Harry Potter squeezed out enough bobotuber pus to fill twenty four-ounce bottles, Severus paid a visit to the Headmaster. He had been planning this visit ever since he had directed Potter to the Infirmary the first time, and he was annoyed that he actually had more evidence now to lay at the feet of Dumbledore than less. What had the Headmaster been thinking to leave Potter with Muggles? Especially those Muggles? Minerva had said, more than once, that they were the worst sort. And now he knew exactly what she'd meant.
He had been sickened, really, by the callous disregard with which the Dursleys treated their nephew, the lengths they went to, to ensure he felt unwanted, and the outright viciousness that they let their own progeny get away with in regards to his cousin. The whole thing had made him faintly nauseous, and not only because he knew Lily would have been sick at heart about what had happened to her son.
It was with this sense of indignation on behalf of one of his students that he sat in Dumbledore's office and stared at the man over his folded hands.
"You visited the Dursleys today," Dumbledore said, after Severus had waved away his offer of tea or lemon drop or any other damned thing.
Severus was not even surprised at the Headmaster's knowledge. "I did. I found the circumstances of Mr. Potter's health at the start of term rather troubling, even for someone from a Muggle home, and I wished to find out what I could about those who raised him. It is my practice for all new Slytherins to make a home visit."
"I understand, Severus," Dumbledore said quite calmly. "There's no need to justify yourself."
Severus scowled. With what he had learned today, it was Dumbledore who would need to justify his actions. If he could. "Indeed. And I admit I am troubled by what I learned."
"Ah."
"Ah? That's what you have to say? Did you have any idea what those Muggles subjected him to?"
"He was safe there."
"Define 'safe,'" Severus snarled.
Dumbledore peered at him over the rims of his half-moon spectacles, looking faintly disappointed in Severus' vehemence, but with the beginnings of a glazed expression that Severus knew too well, having seen it many times when they discussed similar problems his Slytherins had suffered in the past. "None of Voldemort's supporters have been able to breach the blood wards enacted on that property on the night after Lily's death. So long as Harry's aunt gives him hearth rights for a minimum of two weeks a year, every year, that will remain true."