"Never heard a word of complaint from Potter, though, like I said, so I figured he could handle it fine." A brief, toothy grin. "Till practice today, anyway. Never seen anyone so mad. Right ripped he was. Wouldn't've stopped, neither, even after the Bludgers got him, if I hadn't made him hit the deck. Looked like he wanted to go another round. It's like he feels no pain or something."
Flint's barrage of words took a few minutes to sink in, and when they did, they broke through some kind of . . . mental barrier that Severus realized he had erected in his dealings with Potter. He peered at the Prefect for a long moment before nodding slowly. The wall he had placed the boy – the son of the hated James Potter – behind now crumbled, and he saw his recent actions far more clearly. Severus Snape had become the bully. The unreasonable ogre. The uncompromising autocrat in the boy's life, and the replacement for his unfeeling and abusive relatives.
He had neglected what he knew the boy needed – someone to watch out for him and make sure he was fitting in, and dealing with the effects of an abusive home – in favor of taking perverse pleasure in ordering him about like he was a miniature James, or worse, a mere pawn in the war . . . just as Albus would have. He would not have treated any of his other Snakes like this. He could no longer pretend otherwise. Nor could he pretend, based on Flint's report – plus, he had to admit, the Bloody Baron's, and even McGonagall's – that what he was doing was for the boy's own good, to build him up stronger and more resilient than before.
As Potter's "meltdown" on the pitch indicated, that was clearly not the case.
"Very well," Severus said heavily. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Flint. If that will be all?"
Flint was quiet for a moment, as if taking Severus' measure, and Severus let him. He had failed the Potter boy. Again. Finally, however, Flint nodded. "Yes, sir, thank you." He paused at the door, hand on the knob. "The Quidditch lads are in the infirmary with him now, sir. They want their Seeker back, too. He's little good to us, broken like this."
"Thank you, Mr. Flint," Severus said, and listened to the door close before he put his head in his hands and let the shame wash over him.
Well.
He clearly had some make up work ahead of him. The largest question, of course, was would Potter give him yet another chance?
TBC . . .
A/N: Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful reviews! You guys are made of teh awesome!
Alas, for the next few weeks, I will be engaged in work related program activities at my day job, which will (gasp!) take away from the time I would normally devote to writing. (The bastards! Making me do work at work!) Thus, updates might be a bit more sporadic until mid November. But no worries, just because I may not post two or three times a week, doesn't mean I won't do so as often as I can.
*Chapter 23*: Chapter 23
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 23
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:
Snape watched him the whole time, not seeming angry anymore, but with that blank face that meant he was surprised or upset. Harry didn't dare ask him what more was wrong, but left quickly, and was back to the common room soon enough that he even had a little time to address his homework before bed.
Maybe Snape wasn't such an enormous bastard after all.
Over the next few days, however, Harry decided that yes, yes he was.
The week dragged by.
Every evening in detention, he spent hours – four or even five sometimes, depending on how long it took to get through the job – preparing the most disgusting potions ingredients known to man. Squeezing a barrel of bundimuns was as revolting as the bobotubers had been, and there was far more of them, besides. And the bloody billywigs! Tiny little stingers that snagged under your fingernails like nettles if you weren't careful, and many times, even if you were. His hand was sore for days after, bad enough he could hardly hold his quill properly when doing his homework . . . which he had to skip meals to get done anyway since all his time was taken up with bloody detention.
Stupid Snape.
In addition, his scar ached almost constantly, and though he used the ointment that Madam Pomfrey had given him the first week of school, to keep it from looking nasty and infected, the balm did nothing for the sharp, burning pain he had in each Defense Against the Dark Arts class, or when he went to the Great Hall for meals and saw Professor Quirrell there. Not did it help the dull, throbbing ache he woke with every night and/or early morning when he had nightmares. It was getting so he didn't bother going to sleep if he could help it, since he wasn't going to get anything for his troubles except a pain in the head and visions of blood and death and horror.
He wondered what Snape was doing about Quirrell, if anything, and if they were ever going to dismiss the man who had tried to kill him, or hold him at all accountable. But he didn't want to ask that git for anything. He asked the Bloody Baron about it, though, since the ghost had taken to following Harry around, and talking with him sometimes, which was kind of nice, really, if a little weird.
On Monday night, the ghost said nothing more had been done about Quirrell, except that Snape had had an argument with him that morning, about something that was none of Harry's business. But the Baron agreed with Harry that yes, his Head of House was a right arse for assigning him additional detentions every night when he was tired and lagging behind in his classes already, and he stayed with Harry during each one, telling him it was okay, that he'd get through it. Just a bit longer, Harry, it'll be okay.
Teddy was a good friend, too, he and Millie, and when Harry had to beg off meals to do his homework, they brought him things smuggled out of the Great Hall in their robes – like toast and bangers and apples – to stave off the worst of his hunger. He didn't tell them he'd had much worse from his relatives, days of not eating anything, sometimes, and locked in a cupboard besides, but just said that he was grateful for their help. And once, when Harry had nothing to turn in for History of Magic, as he'd not had time to read the material never mind do a two foot essay, Teddy even offered to copy his own homework for him, but Harry told him absolutely not. He was not going to get Teddy in trouble for cheating, no way.
The only class he made absolutely sure not to shirk in was Potions. He was not to going to give Snape any excuse at all to assign more detentions. Harry read the material at least twice, and turned in every assignment on time, with essays rewritten as often as necessary, to make them perfect, occasionally with Teddy's input, or Draco's. In Potions class, though, he was too tired to do more than answer the Professor's questions perfunctorily, but at least Snape didn't take any points or mock him like he had that first time.
On Tuesday at breakfast, he was looking forward to his free period so much, figuring to get work done for his afternoon classes, plus have an actual lunch with his friends, that he almost burst into tears when he got the note from Snape saying he would serve his detention during that period instead of in the evening, because of Quidditch practice.
But he was not going to let Snape get to him. Never!
Instead, he swallowed his anger, gathered up his things, told Teddy he'd catch him later, and made his way out of the Great Hall so he could get the reading for Transfiguration done. Stupid, great, bloody GIT!