"He will be safe from Dark Wizards there."
"Yes, of course."
"But only safe from them. Not from his Muggle relatives."
"Not this again, Severus. A few sharp words in the boy's direction will not kill him. He may not have come to us as well fed and healthy as I might have hoped, but he is alive, and he is cared for--"
"Not as well as they would care for a dog!"
Dumbledore was on his feet, his voice thunderous. "SEVERUS! Harry Potter MUST return to the Dursleys for two weeks each year! You may either accept it as necessary, or you leave me with little choice. I will find someone else I can trust to train him."
Feeling the blood drain from his face, Severus shook his head quickly. "No, no, you're right, Headmaster. It will be as you say. He'll go to them for two weeks." He would just need to be nearby during that time, in case anything more than a few sharp words passed from the Muggles to the boy.
"Excellent. I'm pleased you agree." Dumbledore resumed his seat and gestured in dismissal. "Good luck at Saturday's match, Severus."
"Thank you, Headmaster." Severus nodded on his way out, not so keen on sharing this news with Harry, after all.
TBC . . .
A/N:
Thanks to everyone who reads and/or reviews! I heart you lots and lots.
This story won an award and scored Runner-Up for another at The Quibbler! Check the site out via my profile. Oh, and "Whelp II" is Runner up for some stuff, too, and I am Runner Up for Best Writer.
It's so exciting, I can hardly write . . . hm. Nah, that's never going to happen. :-D
*Chapter 45*: Chapter 45
Better Be Slytherin
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 45
By jharad17
--HPHPHPHPHPHPHP--
Previously on Better Be Slytherin:
Feeling the blood drain from his face, Severus shook his head quickly. "No, no, you're right, Headmaster. It will be as you say. He'll go to them for two weeks." He would just need to be nearby during that time, in case anything more than a few sharp words passed from the Muggles to the boy.
"Excellent. I'm pleased you agree." Dumbledore resumed his seat and gestured in dismissal. "Good luck at Saturday's match, Severus."
"Thank you, Headmaster." Severus nodded on his way out, not so keen on sharing this news with Harry, after all.
--HPSSHPSSHPSS--
"I don't get this part," Millie said. Working on their Herbology essays, Harry, Millie and Teddy were clustered around a table in the common room in mid-March, a week before Slytherin's next Quidditch match. "Where it says, 'All carnivorous plants of the Andes will access the most ubiquitous comestibles.' What the hell does that mean?"
"Language, Bulstrode," Teddy scolded.
"Shut it, Nott," replied Millie.
"It means they'll eat whatever's most plentiful around them," said Harry.
Teddy's eyes widened. "Someone's been reading the thesaurus."
Harry smiled. "No. Our Head taught me those."
"Snape?" Millie frowned. "He taught you?"
"Come on, Mills, you know he's been tutoring me on stuff."
"Secret stuff, you said. I didn't figure you meant vocabulary."
"Well, no," Harry admitted. His grip on his quill tightened. "But like he told me over the Christmas holiday, 'Your vocabulary is deplorable, Mr. Potter,'" he said in his best Snape imitation. It must have been a good one, he reckoned, as several other studying Slytherins lifted their heads quickly from their books and swiveled to look at him, each one followed by a scowl and re-lowering of the head.
Teddy laughed easily as Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. "You have spent too much time with him. Told you so, Mills."
"Did not," Millie answered with a smirk.
"I don't know about too much," said Harry.
"As often as you're with us."
Harry nodded with a small sigh and bent over his work again. He couldn't deny the truth. Every night, just about, Flint had the team out on the pitch practicing, no matter what the weather. They came in most nights wet and bedraggled, trailing mud and whatnot all over the Entrance Hall, but Harry would never give up flying, or Quidditch. He couldn't possibly. And on nights when he wasn't practicing with the team, he was usually with Professor Snape, either learning Occlumency or, one night a week, looking at pictures or playing chess.
Aside from being Seeker and flying around on his new broom, Harry liked those evenings best. He'd seen all the pictures of his Mum that Snape had now, and even had his favorites -- besides the two the professor had given him for Christmas. Occasionally, Snape would talk about Harry's Mum, too, telling him stories from when they were in school, or earlier, when they played together as children. A bit less often, they talked about how Harry was getting on in school, and Harry knew, deep down, that Snape wanted him to talk about the Dursleys, too, and how he had been treated at their house. He really liked talking with the professor, but when he felt like Snape was fishing for something, he shut down, more often than not. It was a long ago learned habit of survival.
He also got the sense from Snape -- and the Bloody Baron, too -- that there was something they weren't telling him. Something about his power. The Baron had never mentioned the blinding light that had sent him out of Harry's presence when he made an oath to learn how to keep Voldemort out of his mind. And Snape never really talked about Voldemort at all, except to make sure Harry had not had any more visions from him. (Thankfully, he had not. He still, occasionally, had nightmares about the poor unicorns.) But every so often, he caught one or the other of them staring at him speculatively, as if they were measuring him. He didn't like it, nor where his thoughts tended to stray when they did so. What was his connection to Voldemort? Was it more than just his curse scar? He didn't feel like he could ask, as if he'd be breaking some sort of balance he had now with his tutor.
Harry also had not spoken about what he had seen in the mirror to anyone but Ron Weasley, on the few occasions when the two ran into each other. They didn't fight anymore, and Ron didn't call him horrible names, which was good. And his twin brothers, Fred and George, had taken an odd sort of liking to Harry, he thought, clapping him on the back all the time, and offering him sweets. Harry never accepted them -- his sense of self-preservation was too well-ingrained -- but he thought the gesture was nice.
But with Snape . . . he liked spending time with the professor, more than just for the pictures and glimpses into his Mum's life, but also because Snape treated him like a real person, which few adults had ever done. Snape helped him, too, like with his nightmares, and he was always there to listen afterwards or anytime, really, if Harry wanted to talk. And with the Occlumency training, with a lot of hard mental work and meditation, Harry had been able to cut way down on the frequency and intensity of those nightmares. He had never felt so close to an adult before, never trusted one like he trusted Snape now. But he could never let the professor know what he had seen in the mirror. After all, Snape, himself, had said that what he had seen could never come true.
"He just doesn't love us anymore," Millie whined softly, and brought the back of her hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. "Whatever shall we do?"
"Trundle on regardless, I should think," Teddy chimed in with a mischievous smile, "knowing we are doomed to be but sidelines in the show of Harry's life."