Severus sneered. "You fancy yourself ready for that, do you?" Without waiting for, or expecting, an answer he continued, "Tryouts for the team will be posted on the board by this year's Captain, Marcus Flint. On the subject of notices, Fifth Years and above may post without permission. All others are required to seek a Prefect's approval first. Anything else?"
He sneered again when Potter's hand went up. "Mister Potter? You have a question?"
"Yes, sir." The boy did not react to his condescending tone at all, almost as if he expected it. "Are we allowed to use owls for parcel post? Um, ordering from Diagon Alley, say?"
Severus lifted a lip in disgust. "Run out of your favorite treats already? Or did the famous Harry Potter forget to pack quills?"
A couple of the older students sniggered, and the boy glanced around and bit his lip. Then he let it go, and that chin came up again, like he was steeling himself for what was to come. Severus was reminded sharply of another time, another boy, and his own experience with that need to be seen as brave. "Yes, sir. Something like that."
Severus shook his head at the sheer enormity of the Brat's idiocy. Surely he had gotten a list. "Yes, you may use school owls or your own for such purchases. Are there any other questions?"
When there were no more hands, Severus turned the remainder of the meeting over to his Prefects, who would hand out the specific rules lists, set up study schedules for the First through Third Years, and would show the youngest Snakes to their dorms.
When the last of his Snakes had gone from the common room, he took his leave. Not bad, he decided as he entered his own quarters and poured himself two fingers of firewhiskey to enjoy along with his latest missive from the Potion Masters Alliance of Europe.
It would have gone perfectly, if only he had not been saddled with the Brat Who Continued to Surprise Him.
TBC . . .
Next time: First day of Class
A/N Wow! So much enthusiasm! Here's another chappie for ya, right quick.
*Chapter 3*: Chapter 3
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 3
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.
Previously:
When the last of his Snakes had gone from the common room, he took his leave. Not bad, he decided as he entered his own quarters and poured himself two fingers of firewhiskey to enjoy along with his latest missive from the Potion Masters Alliance of Europe.
It would have gone perfectly, if only he had not been saddled with the Brat Who Continued to Surprise Him.
Severus was unsurprised to hear his monitoring alarm sound. He groaned, rolled over, cancelled the spell and launched himself from bed, still only half awake. His mouth was tacky from the firewhiskey, and he squinted into the bright light of his rooms as he pulled on his outer robe. Had he gotten two hours this time? Three? Really, on the first night, he should just eschew sleep, altogether. Every year it was the same; one of his urchins decided they were too good for rules and attempted to try his patience and his "Everywhere at once-ness," by not adhering to the schedules he had scrupulously devised. Without fail, every year, some Snake or other sneaked out of bed earlier or later than they should have, and he was left needing to set them to rights.
The only question, every year, was who was fool enough to face his wrath.
Harry sneaked into the bathroom with his toiletry bag and took a towel from the cubby just inside the door. He absolutely had to shower before anyone else was up. It was tempting fate to do so, he knew, but he couldn't bear the inevitable laughter and stares if his dorm mates saw him naked. And almost worse, he couldn't deal with the thought of earning detentions so early in the term for not having proper clothes.
He'd lain awake most of the night thinking about the Sorting, and about the new rules they were to memorize, and trying frantically to come up with a way to avoid getting detention for the rest of his life before he could do something about his tatty, too large clothes. He wished he'd had more time at Madam Malkin's when he was buying the rest of his school clothes -- his robes, trousers, tie and all were new -- but Hagrid had been running late, he said, and they'd arrived at the clothier only moments before closing. Fortunately, the proprietress had only them for a customer, so they were able to get through the fitting quickly. Unfortunately, no one had thought to mention pants. This morning, he had to send Hedwig off before anyone was the wiser, which meant getting up very early and getting to the owlry and back before anyone noticed he was gone.
Professor Snape was not one he ever wanted to cross. He'd caught the looks Snape had sent him during the meeting earlier, and he wondered what he'd done to make the man angry at him already. It was probably just that Harry got sorted into his House; no one had been happy about it at supper. Harry wasn't sure what he could do to be accepted here, but the first thing he needed to do was get presentable. He didn't want to be an embarrassment to his Housemates.
After setting Dudley's hand me downs on a bench beside the showers, Harry turned on the tap and was immediately surprised to find hot water. Not too hot, but pleasant for the purposes of bathing. He was so used to cold water showers only that it seemed awfully extravagant, and he vowed to make quick work of his washing up. He put his glasses within easy reach of the shower stall, and stepped under the flow of water. It was glorious. The heat of the water soothed away the aches of bruises and strained muscles, as well as the almost constant headache from glasses that weren't quite right.
He did a fast scrub with shampoo over the messy hair that he could never tame no matter how hard he tried, then soaped up his scrawny – according to the Dursleys – body, rinsed quickly and deftly turned the water off in under three minutes. He was reaching for his towel when someone grabbed his arm and dragged him, completely starkers, out of his stall. He didn't yet have his glasses on, but he would recognize the billowing robes of the Head of Slytherin through a thick fog.
Oh, gods, no.
"How deficient are you, Potter?" the man snarled. He was rumpled, likely from bed, and his hair stuck up at odd angles, almost like his own. But Harry was too frightened to do more than shake his head. As if he didn't notice, Professor Snape went on, "Could it be that your tiny brain was insufficient to the task of following the simplest of instructions?"
"N-no, sir," Harry said. Then he swallowed his fear and put his chin up just a bit. If he got hit, he got hit. He could deal with that. Didn't Dudley and his gang pummel him practically every day? But he wasn't going to cower for anyone. "No, sir," he said again. "I'm not deficient."
"Really?" the professor drawled, still holding his arm in a pincer like grip. Damn; it was going to leave another bruise. "Then how is it you are in here, when you should still be abed?"
What could he say? Not the truth, certainly. That only led to more questions and angry Dursleys and probably expulsion from school. He knew how this went. There'd been a nurse once, in primary, who'd asked loads of questions, and he'd even answered truthfully, about how much he ate, and when, and how often he'd been to see the doctor, and then someone from Child Welfare visited the Dursley's home and asked -- in front of them -- many of the same questions. Well, what was he going to say? He'd lied, of course, and smiled and said all was grand, and the nurse had treated him like an attention seeking freak after that. He didn't like to recall what Uncle's reaction had been.