From where he stood in the classroom doorway, he could see ten perfectly cleaned cauldrons, some of them gleaming as much now as when he had first purchased them for the school, almost twelve years ago. To say he was surprised was an understatement. Of the last two, he knew that certain of the stains would never come out, not with magic, not with bleach, not with a sledgehammer. But the boy was still scrubbing at one of them, his hands red and blistered from the friction. He had an array of cleaning supplies lined up along the table and it seemed he was trying each one of them in turn on these last two cauldrons.
Severus watched him for long minutes, taking in the slightly hunched shoulders, the grim determination in the angle of his head, the obvious fatigue in his arms, which he was starting to shake out, frequently, as well as the stiffness on his legs from standing in one place for hours. Despite himself, Severus was impressed with the boy's stamina if nothing else.
He moved up behind the boy and watched him more closely still. The Brat was bony, his wrists small enough Severus could wrap index finger and thumb around one with room to spare. His little neck was scrawnier than a chicken's, and . . . was that a bruise on his inner arm, near the elbow? Likely from where he had grabbed the Brat early this morning. He felt a sharp pang of guilt, quickly suppressed; he did not believe in corporal punishment, having too often felt a heavy hand in his own youth, and he should not have let his emotions take him so completely by control this morning. Alas, there was little he could do for it now. It was probably just a residue of summer Bratly roughhousing, anyway. He sneered.
"That's enough. Dismissed."
The Brat spun around to find him only a foot or two away, and looked up, fear in his expressive green eyes. "But, sir, I wasn't able--"
"Are you still having trouble with simple instructions?" Severus snapped. Ah! The cheek, at last. He schooled his expression to keep his glee from showing. "I can give you another detention, if that's the case."
"No, sir. Sorry, sir." Once more, to Severus' surprise, the Brat quickly put away his cleaning supplies and hurried to the door
Severus watched him go, suddenly feeling his world go a little off kilter.
Instead of considering it further, however, he put the cauldrons away and went to finish the third year essays before returning to his own quarters. There he left the firewhiskey alone and settled down with a book. Still tired, though, he retired soon after. Though leaving the same monitoring charms up as the night before, he tightened the ones around the first year boys' dorm, as he expected to be roused by another Potter excursion, and wanted to know the minute the Brat was awake.
An alarm went off at five in the morning -- at least the Brat had learned some decorum! -- but he realized in moments that it was from the girls' dorm. He swore, got up and dressed, and sought out Miss Torrence to deal with it.
Afterwards, he decided he may have come down on the new Prefect a little hard, but that only meant that she, in turn, would make sure the miscreant in question thought twice before disturbing her Prefect's rest again. Before sending Torrence off to catch the culprit, he told her to assign a detention on his behalf for that evening.
He had just returned to his quarters when another damned alarm went off. First year boys! Potter! Growling not quite inaudibly, he spun on his heel and stalked back to the Snake Den to cut off the newest infraction at the nub. But Potter did not come out into the common room. Five minutes passed, then ten, and Severus was livid. How dare the Brat make him come down here again!
Filled with righteous indignation on behalf of his interrupted sleep, he strode into the boys' dorm and scanned the contents. Six sets of drawn curtains, and five beds where there was little to no movement. The last, however . . . had to be Potter's. He heard a muffled sound from behind that last set. What was the boy doing?
Almost afraid to find out, Severus crossed to that bed and wrenched back the curtains, to find a Brat curled up in a ball, with one hand pressed to his forehead and mumbling incoherencies. He was wearing only an overlarge worn and faded Muggle t-shirt, which covered him almost completely.
"What is the meaning of this?" Severus hissed, keeping his voice low for the benefit of those the Brat had not already woken.
The Brat's eyes flicked open, filled with palpable fear, and he shook his head. "Sorry, sir. I . . . I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry." His fingers pressed into the skin around where Severus was sure the famous scar lay, and Severus frowned at the livid piece of flesh, now standing out sharply on the boy's otherwise rather pale skin. Was it . . . bleeding?
"You've injured yourself," he said. "Move your hand."
"Sorry, sir," the Brat whispered as he complied, but he squeezed his eyes shut as if the lack of pressure on the scar increased the pain.
Severus peered at it clinically. It looked almost infected. But the blasted thing was ten years old! "Have you been picking at it, Potter?"
"No, sir. I, er . . ." The boy swallowed audibly. "I had a dream."
"A dream. You've mangled your forehead because of a dream?"
"Yes, sir. I mean, I didn't mangle it," the Brat amended. If anything, he looked even more terrified now. And miserable. But shouldn't he be pleased, that he was getting some attention? Isn't that what he wanted? The Brat continued in a whisper, not meeting his eyes anymore. "But it was a dream. And when I woke up, my scar already hurt."
Severus nodded, though he was certain the boy was lying. Well. There would be time enough to learn why exactly. "Detention tonight at 7, Potter. For lack of regulation pajamas."
The look of consternation upon the Brat's face carried him cheerfully through breakfast.
TBC . . .
*Chapter 5*: Chapter 5
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 5
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:
Severus nodded, though he was certain the boy was lying. Well. There would be time enough to learn why exactly. "Detention tonight at 7, Potter. For lack of regulation pajamas."
The look of consternation upon the Brat's face carried him cheerfully through breakfast.
Harry's career at Hogwarts was off to a really crummy start. Not only did he have this stupid nightmare and the sore scar to deal with, but now he had another detention, on just the second day, too! When was he going to have time for homework? He'd already fallen behind in reading for his History of Magic class. Aside from all that, he'd have to do something about his pajamas before tonight. His owl order would take two to three days, according to the information about the Gladrags shop in Hogsmeade, and then he'd have the right kinds of clothes. But he really hadn't thought anyone would see his tatty old shirt he used for bed. Just his luck. Probably Snape was hovering in the common room all night, just to catch him out.
In the meantime, he needed to shower and dress before any of the other boys caught him out. But if Snape was really keeping such close tabs on him, to make sure he didn't violate the schedule, how was he going to do it? Curling into his usual position, knees drawn to his chest, he forced the pain of his scar into the background. He'd gotten really good at making pain all but vanish; it was the only way he could get up, some mornings.
Once he'd pushed the ache away enough to be able to think, he realized it was still early, and he had time to do his reading for class. Creeping carefully to the end of his bed, he glanced at his dorm mates' curtains, to make sure they were all still sleeping. His book bag was on top of his trunk, and he eased out his History of Magic text, as well as the one for Transfiguration. Might as well start on the essay for that class if he had the chance. After closing his own bed curtains, he settled back on his pillows and started to read.