kbinnz - Harry's New Home

If Snape heard Harry referring to himself as a freak again, Harry figured he'd be lucky to end up with another set of lines. The professor had made it clear that he did not like Harry using that term, though Harry wasn't sure if he believed the man would actually deliver on the threatened mouth soaping.

The professor had been, by and large, unexpectedly, amazingly gentle. For all his snap and snarl тАУ and despite Harry's giving him plenty of provocation тАУ he'd not yet given Harry a clout like the one that first night. Harry wasn't sure why. Yes, Snape had said that it had been "inappropriate", but Harry knew perfectly well that sometimes he was really, really bad, like when he'd disobeyed Madam Hooch. And if he'd learned one thing at the Dursleys, it was that bad behavior was punished. But Snape, while far from over-indulgent, didn't seem to grasp the concept of punishment.

Instead of hauling off and really slapping Harry a good one, he did things like assign him lines, which would actually give him lots of needed practice in using a quill. Or have him write essays that would teach him something. Or insist that he had to come and spend time with the professor. Harry frowned. Professor Snape seemed to have the whole "reward" and "punishment" thing confused.

Harry knew that punishments were supposed to hurt, but even Snape's spankings didn't, not really; they were little more than an admonitory tap on the bum. Of course, knowing that the professor was upset with him did hurt. A lot. More than any of the Dursleys' beatings, in fact. Feeling that he'd disappointed the man or let him down made Harry's heart ache more than his backside ever had, and that pain didn't fade nearly as quickly.

Harry wrinked his brow in thought. Maybe the professor did know something about punishment after all.

Snape stifled a sigh. He couldn't put it off any longer. They had to go to the Burrow and dine with the Weasleys. He growled to himself, wondering if Molly would reprise her objections to his guardianship in front of the boy. Well, fine. Let her. If the brat chose to spend all his time with that clan of red-headed simps, let him. It wasn't as if Snape gave a damn.

He looked the boy over. He'd obviously washed up after Quidditch; that messy mop he called hair was damp and even more unruly than usual. "Come here," he ordered, crooking a finger to where the boy was frowning to himself, obviously lost in a daydream. Probably wondering what they'd have for pudding tonight, Snape sneered.

Harry obediently walked over to the professor and stood, transfixed with shock, as the man caught up each hand to inspect his fingernails, then checked behind his ears. "What?" Snape demanded, catching sight of the boy's expression. "Do you imagine I would let you embarrass both of us by arriving poorly groomed?"

"N-no, sir," Harry gulped. "It's just that no one ever тАУ I mean, I hadn't тАУ " He broke off, unsure how to explain that Aunt Petunia never cared if he looked like a complete ragamuffin, so long as he didn't walk too close to her family. He'd never had anyone go to the trouble of ensuring he looked appropriate. Usually he had to rely on the other kids at school laughing at him to figure out things like what "inside out" meant or that he'd buttoned his shirt wrong.

Snape snorted in derision at this further example of the brat's inarticulateness. Unable to find fault with the boy's hygiene, he turned his attention to his clothes. "Why are you in your school uniform?" he demanded. "Didn't I tell you to dress in your best so that you would make a good impression? Do you think I was talking to myself?"

Harry snickered at the mental image of Professor Snape having a pleasant conversation with himself, but hastily swallowed his mirth when Snape's eyes narrowed. "No, sir," he said, bending over to retrieve his satchel. It felt good to be able to turn his back on someone without worrying that they'd take the opportunity to wallop him тАУ or worse. He'd learned never to turn his back on Uncle Vernon or Dudley; not after the last time when a kick in the bum had not only lifted him off his feet but also sent him flying halfway across the living room.

Yes, Harry mused, it was a great feeling to be able to trust Professor Snape. And to know he had the man's permission to defend himself if anyone else tried to hurt him. He wondered if the professor knew how good it felt to no longer have to worry about a blow coming out of nowhere.

Snape stared at the bag in disbelief. The little monster really did plan on moving in with the Weasleys. "What in Merlin's name are you doing with that, you atrocious brat?"

The boy tugged out some stained rags. "Well, I know you didn't want me wearing my school uniform, but my other clothes aren't very nice. I thought I'd bring them and you could decide."

Snape wrinkled his nose and plucked the offensive "garments" from the boy's hands using as few fingers as possible. "These cannot possibly be your best clothes," he hissed, glaring at the brat. The cheap T-shirt and jeans were grimy and enormous. They would hang off Potter's slight frame like a clown's costume.

Harry flushed. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I guess I should have gotten some regular clothes when Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley, but they weren't on the listтАж"

Snape incendio'd the rags, wishing he were doing so to the Dursleys themselves. So they clothed Lily's child in poorly fitting castoffs that no self-respecting charity would accept, and then made the boy feel it was his fault that he hadn't a pair of underwear to call his own. Rage made his voice even harsher than usual. "Of course they weren't, you moronic child. Normal parents and guardians provide suitable clothing for their children, and it is therefore unnecessary to specify it on the school's list. You had the misfortune to be placed with disgusting creatures whose freakishness is apparently limitless. You and I will go shopping in the near future. I intend to break, once and for all, the lingering legacy of your relatives' awfulness."

Harry gulped. The professor looked awfully fierce, but instead of soundly scolding Harry for his lack of foresight, he had instead promised him a shopping excursion. Harry was getting awfully confused. Professor Snape really must be new to this whole parenting thing to have punishments and rewards so mixed up.

Oh! Maybe that was why they were going to the Weasleys? So that Ron's parents could explain things to the professor, like how children should be disciplined and how many hours a day they should spend on chores and stuff. Professor Snape obviously didn't really understand how things were supposed to be, and the Weasleys, with all their kids, would be able to set him straight. Harry gulped. He wondered how strict the Weasleys were. Ron had said his mum was famous around Hogwarts for her "howlings". Harry didn't think he would like the professor to howl at him, though he guessed it still was better than getting slapped around by the Dursleys. Still, his stomach gave a little jump at the thought of having the professor scream at him the way his relatives used to do.

"Very well, Potter. You will wear your school uniform. Now come along." Snape led the way to the floo, wondering why his stomach felt so leaden. Of course the boy would prefer the Weasleys to him. That was a given. And that had been the whole point, hadn't it? To give him over to a real family so that he could be snuggled and pampered by those redheaded nitwits?

Potter, predictably, stopped dead at the fireplace. "What тАУ what are you doing?" he gulped.

"Have you never floo'd?" Snape said impatiently, then rolled his eyes. Of course he hadn't. A horrible thought struck him and he bent to stare directly at the boy. "Did your relatives ever burn you? In the fireplace or with the stove?" If that were the case, then the child might be truly incapable of using the floo network.