He ate lunch with "Teddy" Nott, as he preferred to be called, while Draco sat with a couple of girls from their year, who he said he'd knows for years and wanted to catch up with. Teddy kept giving Harry odd looks during the meal, and finally Harry said, "What? Have I got something on my face?"
Teddy's lips quirked into a semblance of a smile. "Except for your scar, no."
Harry frowned. It was a remnant of the night his parents died, and he preferred not to think about it, but Hagrid had said they hadn't died in a car crash at all, but were killed by a wizard named Voldemort. And it was the scar that made him famous. "It's just a scar," he said, and pushed his hair down to cover it the best he could. "I wish people wouldn't stare at it."
Eyes widening just a bit, Teddy nodded sharply and applied himself to his meal. Harry thought he seemed almost . . . wary, which was kind of disconcerting.
After lunch, they had more classes, and then dinner, and then Harry had to go to Professor Snape's office for detention. He knocked softly on the door, heart in his throat, but determined not to cry, even if he was to get caned, like Dudley said they did to freaks at schools like his.
"Enter."
Harry pushed open the door and gaped around the room at the bottles and vials and jars of weird, squiggly plants and severed animal parts floating in variously colored liquids. The smell of disinfectant and something . . . earthy hung in the air.
"Close you mouth, Potter, before a doleshinkle weed makes a home of it." The professor was hunched over his desk, writing quickly in bright red ink all over some parchments, which must have been student work. He hadn't even looked up! While still not looking at Harry, he pointed a slim finger toward the door that led to his classroom. "You will find cauldrons in there. Clean them. Without a wand. Go now."
Harry jumped to obey, and after rolling up the sleeves of his robe, spent the next few hours scrubbing cauldrons. He was pretty good at cleaning, but there were a couple stains he just could not get out. He scrubbed at those for a long time, until his arms ached, and his fingers were sore and blistered from gripping the cloths. He had only two left, from the dozen he'd been assigned, and each of them with one last unassailable stain that he was still working on, when a voice behind him made him jump.
"That's enough. Dismissed."
He spun around to find Snape only a foot or two away, and looked up into the sneering face. "But, sir, I wasn't able--"
"Are you still having trouble with simple instructions?" the professor snapped. "I can give you another detention, if that's the case."
"No, sir. Sorry, sir." He quickly put away his cleaning supplies and hurried to the door, not catching the pensive look Snape sent after him.
He didn't have time to do very much homework before he was scheduled for bed, but he got a start on reading for Transfiguration, in preparation for an essay they had due in two days. At bed time, once again, Harry didn't want to undress in front of his Housemates, and so crawled onto his bed, and shut the drapes before changing into his nightclothes -- an enormous shirt of Dudley's that was worn enough to be softer than most of his other clothes.
"Awww, is the little half-blood shy?" came a voice from the room. Harry recognized it, though the boy had never spoken to him. "Hiding away behind his curtains so no one can see his nasty little half-blood body?"
"Shut it, Zabini," said another, cooler voice.
"He your boyfriend, Teddy?" Zabini teased.
"I said shut it. And I mean it," Teddy growled. "You don't know what you're messing with."
With that, Zabini left him alone, but Harry's whole face was burning, as he crept out from his drapes and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the loo.
He would have to face them sooner or later . . . sooner, he realized, as he had to shower with them in the morning. He couldn't cross Snape again, that was for certain. That night, for the first time in a long time, he dreamed of the snake-like man who laughed in the midst of a flash of green light, and his scar hurt something fierce when he woke in the morning.
TBC . . .
*Chapter 4*: Chapter 4
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 4
By jharad17
Disclaimer: Not mine. Alas.
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.
A/N: I'm going to try and alternate chapters between Harry's p.o.v. and Snape's, showing how each of them treats the same series of events. But am not sure if I'll be able to keep that up, with longer chapters, especially. Thus, sometimes, I might do a quick one-two post of a couple shorter chapters, so the same smaller period of time is covered. This one will be Snape, though, and covers the first day of classes, again. I imagine it'll be a few days before I can get the next chapter out.
Previously:
The only question, every year, was who was fool enough to face his wrath.
As Severus collapsed back in bed, he decided that the least surprising thing about the encounter in the bathroom was that the Potter Brat was the one who'd decided to break the rules. Before he could consider any more of it, he had passed out again. He was getting to old for this.
In the true morning -- the Brat had forced him up at 4am. Four! He'd never had such an idiot in his House before -- he spent an inordinate amount of time under hot water in his shower, wondering, not for the first time, how he had ever got along without such things. As a child in Spinner's End, there had been few luxuries, and hot water that lasted for an entire shower was not one of them.
He scrubbed at his hair, despairing of it ever being free of the residue of potion fumes. For a brief month at summer, when he was not hunched over a steaming cauldron for fifteen hours a day, it hung far less limply. He wondered which student this year would be the first to work up the gall to call him "Greasy Git." Some years, he looked forward to the subsequent detentions he was able to give out as a result. Some years, like this one, since he was assuming it would be the Brat Who Lived who was arrogant to hold that dubious honor, he was positively aquiver with anticipation.
With a last rinse, he savored the memory of the few minutes when he had James' son quivering in fear in front of him. His own eyes had been gummy, and he was only half awake, but he was sure the boy was afraid; why else could he not answer a simple question? He was already planning his detention for the Brat Whose Arrogance Knew No Bounds. It would be sure to take him down a peg or three.
After another ten minutes of water hitting his face, he was awake enough to face his peers . . . Oh, god . . . and the students.
He detested the first day of class.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, at least for Severus. The Gryffindor table was, of course, loud and obnoxious, but his Slytherins behaved as well as could be expected on their first full day, especially considering how likely it was that they'd become used to slothful lazing around on their holidays and were, for the first time in months, up at a reasonable hour. He watched as Flint and Torrence kept an eye peeled for any transgressions, and the little rapturous upturned faces of the Firsties as they took in every word from their betters was beautiful to see. Although . . . Severus scowled to see Potter hunched over a piece of toast and nibbling on it.
Fortunately, Malfoy noted it, too, and gave Potter such a look of disgust it was all Severus could do not to award points then and there. Instead, he finished off the last of his coffee, gathered up the children's schedules, and left the high table. His robes flapped dangerously as he approached his Snakes, and he was the recipient of more than one appreciative look, especially from some of the tender-hearted Hufflepuffs nearby.