Despite that, he wasn't going to let the Dark Lord take another of his Slytherins away from him, not by recruitment, and especially not by death. So . . . "Yes, I am worried about him." He ran a hand over his face, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose before gazing up at the Baron again. "Will you tell me where he is?"
The Bloody Baron's eyes narrowed, and he considered Severus for a long moment before he nodded. "I believe the first Slytherin Quidditch practice is this evening. By your own words, he was to be the Seeker."
"Why, that little—"
"I tend to think," the Baron interrupted, as Severus made for the door, "that given your last interaction, yelling will not put you in good stead with the boy."
"He has yet to see me yell!" The door slammed against the wall.
"Indeed," the Baron agreed as he floated faster to keep up with Severus' long strides. "But calling him out in front of his peers will not endear you to him."
"I should care about that?"
"You should . . . but only if you want him to trust you with his secrets."
Once more brought up short by the Baron's words, Severus halted in his tracks. Still fuming, he clenched his hands into fists several times before he was calm enough to speak without shouting. But what the Baron said made sense, Slytherin sense, if nothing else. And Severus was self-aware enough that he could recognize the root of much of his wrath was pure relief that the boy was not bleeding in a corner somewhere, beyond help. That he had worried for nothing.
"What's this about secrets? You know something else, don't you?" he asked the ghost, once his anger was under control.
"I know very little, actually," the ghost said, and if he had corporeal form, Severus might have hexed him for his droll response. "Except this: the boy's scar was inflamed last evening, looking as though it was newly cut."
"Did he say why?"
For some reason, this amused the Bloody Baron, who chuckled softly before saying, "No, he did not."
"He was a little snot about it, wasn't he." It wasn't a question, and the Baron did not reply, but Severus could just imagine the conversation about the scar, given how much trouble the boy had been over just going to the Infirmary. Severus sighed, thinking about the night he had startled the boy in his bed and seen the inflamed scar after the boy had suffered nightmares, and he adjusted his steps to bring him to the Slytherin Common Room instead. "Very well. But for this infraction, he will need to make up not only tonight's detention, but may be awarded many, many more."
He would leave a note to that effect where the boy would be sure to find it. And this way, with many of the Brat's evenings accounted for, Severus could not only keep a close eye on him and his connection to the Dark Lord, but also make sure he was both well protected and that his penchant for rules breaking was thwarted.
The Baron gave him a sly sidelong look. "Of course, Severus Snape, this will put you in his company far more often."
"A regrettable side effect," Severus sighed. Very regrettable indeed.
TBC . . .
A/N: Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful reviews! Sorry this chapter was delayed, but my other story, "Walk the Shadows" hit a climactic bit, and I needed to get through it while the muse was hot. Snarky Snape Smirks for everyone!
*Chapter 21*: Chapter 21
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 21
By jharad17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I imagine I'll get over it.
Warning: for language
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:
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.
Quidditch practice was amazing. Absolutely, mind-blowingly amazing. It didn't hurt that a great deal of it involved flying about on broomsticks and Harry loved the feeling of that, the sensation of wind tearing through his hair, reddening his cheeks and numbing his fingers as they clutched at the broomstick between his knees. Flying was the only thing in the Wizarding world that required no thought on his part; it was all just instinct, and glory and FUN!
The Slytherin team captain, Flint, was a harsh taskmaster, but then, Harry had known that the day Flint ran him in circles to see if he would be a good enough Seeker for the team. He treated everyone the same, though, which Harry was very glad of. He was tired of people either being all gaga over his scar, asking to see it, asking if he really vanquished You Know Who -- as if he had any idea either, beyond what he had read in books -- or else being utter prats, just because he'd been sorted into Slytherin or because he wasn't a pureblood like Zabini.
Not once, during the entire practice, did Harry think of the detention he was missing. No, he raced his broom -- from the school broom shed -- and chased the snitch, and reveled in the wondrousness of being able to do something he was good at, with no one telling him he was a freak for doing so. He loved it.
After showering in the changing room near the pitch, he walked back to the castle with Draco, who chatted excitedly about maneuvers Flint had the Chasers and Beaters running through, while Harry nodded and smiled. Draco seemed really easy to please, actually, once Harry realized that what the blond wanted was a little recognition that he did things well, too, and also a chance to have fun. They were getting on pretty well these days, in fact.
Once in the castle, he looked sidelong at Harry as they crossed the Entrance Hall. "We missed dinner. You want to come with me to the kitchens and grab something?"
Years of filching food from the Dursleys kitchen after hours had primed Harry for the job. "Sure. Do you know where it is?"
Draco nodded. "From here it's easy. We go down the Puffies corridor, and then follow our noses."
Harry snickered and followed the other boy as they wended their way down to the level of the dungeons, but a ways removed from the Potions classroom and Snape's office. They arrived at a portrait of a very alive looking bowl of fruit, and Draco reached up to tickle his fingers along the side of a juicy looking pear. The portrait door swung open, welcoming them in.
"How'd you know this was here?" Harry asked as they ducked into the kitchen.
"My Father told me. He knew I might get hungry after practice and whatnot."
Draco didn't mention his father very often, and then usually with this sort of calm flippancy, but Harry was reminded of the "talk" they'd both been subject to, in Snape's office, a week ago. He didn't say anything about it now, though, but looked around the kitchen, to see dozens of long, wooden tables, with dozens of short, bulbous eyed creatures with long, floppy ears working at them on various kinds of pastries, breads, soups and pies. It all smelled wonderful. Almost as one, the creatures turned to see who had entered their realm.
"We would like something to eat," Draco announced cheerily. "That is, Harry Potter and I."
A murmur of voices started through the kitchen and wended its way back and forth like a cyclone. Harry could hear his name being whispered, over and over, on the tip of every tongue in sight. He sighed. "Did you have to do that?" he whispered to Draco.