"What do you call this?" Snape demanded icily, extending the boy's homework between two fingers, as if disdaining to touch such a contaminated item.
"It тАУ it's my homework, sir," Harry managed to keep his voice steady. It made him very nervous when people snuck up behind him. Uncle Vernon wasn't able to do that very often, thanks to his size, but Dudley, despite his heft, was surprisingly stealthy. He tried not to tremble as the professor reached over his shoulder and dangled his parchment in front of him. It was liberally covered with scrawls of red ink.
"Do you imagine that I can actually read this atrocious handwriting?" Snape sneered.
"You made comments," Harry pointed out uncertainly, then jumped when Snape slammed the parchment down on the desktop.
"I will not tolerate insolence, Potter!" Snape's voice was a menacing hiss and Harry cowered back. When Uncle Vernon got quiet like that, it invariably meant something very bad and very painful was about to happen.
Snape forced himself to take a deep breath. He had dreaded this day for years, knowing that eventually he would have James Potter's son in his class. Knowing that he would have to teach the little monster. Knowing that the boy would be every inch his father's son. And here he was, proving every one of Snape's predictions true.
No apologies for his behavior. No regret for his illegible scrawl. Just impertinent backtalk and a fastidious withdrawal lest the nasty Slytherin get too close. Snape felt the last threads of his self-control start to unravel and he distracted himself by looking at the boy's punishment.
That was nearly enough to make him strangle the brat then and there.
He had clearly written "I shall behave myself in the classroom setting." on the blackboard for Potter to copy. The insufferable horror had written, "I should be more careful in class when sitting." Not once, which might have been overlooked, but 150 times. He had deliberately and defiantly refused to do the assignment.
Never before in his teaching career had Snape been treated with such overt disobedience. Potter wasn't even trying to hide his contempt. What's more, the lines were every bit as splotched and splattered as the homework assignment. The brat was liberally splashed with ink as well тАУ was this his idea of humor? No one could get this bespattered by accident, though Snape was certain that if he called the boy on it, Potter would innocently protest that it was simply the fault of an inferior quill.
At least he could prevent that claim. Snape spun on his heel and stalked to the front of the room. Somewhere in the storage area under the demonstration desk he had a leak-proof quill that a Muggleborn had left behind some time ago. Now, where was itтАж?
Harry watched the professor stride away, his heart pounding. Why had Snape suddenly left? What had he forgotten? What was he going to get? He was obviously displeased with both Harry's homework assignment and his punishment lines, but he wasn't sure what he could or should do about either.
He had done the best he could. From this seat at the back of the room, the chalkboard was little more than a blur; the spectacles that Aunt Petunia had gotten for him at the charity bin were better than nothing, but they weren't strong enough for him to see the front of the room. Could he have miscopied the assigned sentence? Normally in class, Ron would be sure to whisper any corrections to him, but here in detention, Harry hadn't thought it was appropriate to ask. Snape certainly hadn't seemed in a chatty mood, and Harry had thought it better to get straight to work rather than risk further invective by asking permission to sit closer to the front.
Harry wished he had thought to ask Ron if teachers were allowed to hit the students at Hogwarts. Ron would know, with all his older brothers having gone here before him. The teachers back home didn't hit, but maybe that was just because they knew that as soon as they sent home a note or complaint of any kind, the Dursleys would make sure Harry was too sore to repeat the offense. In actual fact, most of the time the real culprit was Dudley, but at least his fat cousin wasn't here at Hogwarts. Of course, that made little difference in this case: Harry had managed to get into trouble all on his own, though he still wasn't sure why the Potions Master seemed to despise him so much. It was true that he couldn't answer the man's questions, but no one else тАУ except Hermione тАУ could either.
A clatter from the front of the room caught his attention and he squinted to see what Snape was doing. There he was, taking something out from his desk тАУ Harry's breath caught in his throat.
It was a cane.
Harry's heart plummeted. Oh no, he was getting the cane! But what had he done? If they caned you for poor handwriting here, what did they do for real misbehavior?
Abruptly Harry found himself on his feet, backing away from his desk, little whimpers escaping his lips. He couldn't take a thrashing, not with a cane, not so soon after Uncle Vernon's belt. There was no way he would be able to keep from yelling, and yelling was almost as bad as back talk or sniveling. No sniveling, that was the rule, along with holding still and saying thank you afterwards andтАж Disobey the rules, and the punishment got worse, but Harry knew that he would never be able to keep still, no matter how hard he tried.
"Please, pleaseтАж" he whispered, barely aware that he was speaking. He was so consumed with terror that he was actually at the door, tugging on it, before his mind realized what he was doing.
Snape looked up at the noise from the brat. So far all he had found was his charmed cauldron stirrer. The polished wood was attractive, but really, pewter was a much more utilitarian choice. No wonder he had tucked the cedar stirrer down here for safekeeping, lest he inadvertently use it in a corrosive potion and ruin it forever. He would have sworn that the quill was in here too, but obviously the Gryffintwit wasn't going to give him the time to look. What was the little fiend up to now?
Aha. Trying to sneak out of detention early, by the looks of it. He had abandoned his lines and was frantically tugging at the door. Stupid child, did he really imagine Snape didn't lock and ward his classroom during detentions? Obviously Potter was as bad as those Weasley twins тАУ well, if it took a sticking charm to get him to stay put in his chair and stop squirming, then the professor was all too happy to oblige.
"No, no, please, please don't. Please, no," Harry whimpered, panic rising as the saturnine professor loomed closer. "Please, I'll be good. PleaseтАж" he broke off as the man's hand fell roughly on his shoulder and squeezed.
The pain actually helped snap him out of it. It gave him a focus and the mindless terror receded somewhat. The waiting was always the worst; once the hitting began, Harry knew what to expect.
Snape smirked down at him. Obviously Potter had ignored or forgotten the rules as laid down by Dumbledore and his own Head of House. Students only left detention when they were dismissed. Disobedience earned another detention. "Forgot the rules, boy?" he sneered.
Harry flinched. Uncle Vernon liked to have the rules recited back to him too. And Harry had just given a terrific demonstration of what not to do. Could he have whined any more pitifully? Sniveling only made them angrier, like crying. It suggested that you didn't think you deserved your punishment, and usually guaranteed additional whacks or at least another day without food. Harry was pretty sure he knew what was coming, but he also knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, so he took a deep breath and started his recitation. "No snivel-" WHACK!