kbinnz - Harry's New Home

Wood ducked back to work, muttering rebelliously, while Harry nibbled an apple slice and wondered what all the fuss was about.

He'd finished most of the apple and all of his milk when Snape dragged up a chair beside him. "How do you expect me to read this chicken scratch?" the professor scolded, glancing over the dozen or so lines Harry had written.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said meekly.

"Look here. This is the proper way to hold a quill, and тАУ where did you get such a pathetic excuse for a quill, Mr Potter?"

"Erm, they were on sale in Diagon Alley, sirтАж"

"Obviously priced that way because otherwise no one would be foolish enough to purchase such appallingly poor quality items," Snape sniffed contemptuously. "Here. This is a self-inking leakproof quill. I will have no more of your whining excuses about your quill being the cause of your atrocious handwriting."

Harry was going to point out he hadn't offered any excuses, whiny or otherwise, but he figured that it would be rude to argue when he'd just been given a present. "Thank you, sir!"

Snape scowled horribly. "Stop chattering and try again! No, no тАУ hold it like so." By the end of fifteen minutes, Harry's penmanship was markedly improved, and Snape returned to his own desk. "And if you don't have fifty lines done by the next time I check, Potter, you will find yourself hexed to that chair until curfew!"

"Bloody bat," came floating from the back of the room.

"Did you say something, Mr Wood?" Snape purred.

"No, sir," Oliver replied meekly.

"Straighten up and face me when you address me, Mr Wood!"

The whimpers that Oliver emitted as he painfully stood brought a smirk of pure pleasure to Snape's face. Wood groaned pitifully as his back agonizingly protested the previous two hours.

"Dear, dear, Mr Wood. I suppose I should have let you stretch out a bit before setting you to scrub the undersides of all those desks," Snape said happily. "Your back muscles must be in knots."

"Yes, sir," Oliver winced. He had to admit, sore as he was, that there was some poetic justice to this detention. He sent an apologetic look over to where Harry was sneaking a peek over his shoulder. He really hadn't meant to overwork the little kid like that, but it was just so exciting to see him dart in and grab the snitch time after time after time.

"There is still an hour and a half until dinner," Snape mused, enjoying the way the Gryffindor captain paled at the thought of another ninety minutes of such back-breaking labor.

"Please sir," Wood tried, "the tryouts were only two hours."

"And you are older, stronger, and тАУ allegedly тАУ wiser than an eleven year old, Mr Wood!"

He sighed. "Yes sir." Wood started to bend over again, but was halted by the Potion Master's cold tones.

"You may spend the remainder of the afternoon considering the lesson you have just learned."

Wood looked uncertainly at Professor Snape. What did that mean? Was he about to be sent to a corner like a four year old? The greasy git was capable of almost anything, so long as it was humiliating, painful, and likely to make grown men weep.

Snape rolled his eyes. Little words тАУ Gryffindors need little words and clear directions, he reminded himself. "I assume you can contemplate your actions without being engaged in manual labor, Mr Wood?"

"Oh! Erm - yes, sir," Oliver nodded quickly, scenting a reprieve.

"Then you are dismissed. I expect two feet on the responsibilities of leadership on my desk by Monday, along with another twelve inches on the prevention of back injuries." He smirked. "I imagine you can interview Madame Pomfrey on the latter topic while you are consulting her professionally. If both essays do not meet with my approval, you will provide another two feet on sports injury incidence and prevention. Do we understand one another?"

"Yes, sir," Wood agreed miserably. Two extra essays! So much for his plans to practice his flying this weekend. And if he knew Snape, he'd probably end up doing the third essay as well. Wood's shoulders slumped in dejection, and he immediately flinched at the hot, knife-like pain that the movement caused. At least Snape had pretty much just given him permission to see the medi-witch. He had expected to have been prohibited from using any kind of magical pain relief, and it was a pleasant surprise to realize that not even Snape was that evil.

Besides, it could have been much worse. The git might have made good on his threat to turn Potter into a flying snake! He winked at Potter, and the kid grinned back.

Wood felt a little bad leaving the First Year alone, at the mercy of the Evil Bat, but on the other hand, it wasn't as if his presence had been much help to the kid. Snape had still snapped and snarked at him the whole time, coming down on him for his handwriting, for Merlin's sake! What business of his was it if the kid's handwriting was awful? You wouldn't catch Professor McGonagall sticking her nose in like that. She respected her students and didn't treat them like a bunch of babies. Wood had heard that Snape even assigned bedtimes to his Slytherin first years тАУ Merlin! What was the point of being away at school if you couldn't stay up late when you felt like it?

Wood waved at Harry and turned to go. "Thank you, professor," he called out, figuring it was a lot safer to be polite.

"What part of 'dismissed' was unclear to you, Mr Wood?" the professor's snarky retort floated back to him as he escaped through the door.

TBCтАж

*Chapter 10*: Chapter 10

Snape kept one eye on the brat and the other eye on the time. Newly equipped with the rudiments of proper penmanship and a functional quill, Harry managed to demonstrate substantial improvement by the end of his 200 lines, which he finished shortly before dinner.

"Here, Pr'fessor!" Harry said happily. "I counted twice to be sure I got them all." He flourished the parchment with pride.

Normally at this point, Snape incendio'd the parchment to demonstrate to the miscreant just how pointless the punishment had been. All that time and effort spent on something completely without meaning or value even to the man who'd required it. More than once, this casual act of cruelty had reduced students to helpless tears, as they realized just how heartless and mean their Potions Professor really was.

But somehow, looking at the satisfaction with which Harry regarded his 200 lines, the product of an entire afternoon of laborious, tongue-biting effort, Snape couldn't do it. "Hmf," he scanned the parchment. "Not quite as atrocious as it might have been," he said grudgingly.

"So instead of chicken scratch, maybe it'sтАж monkey scribble?" Harry asked cheekily.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Your handwriting has not yet reached the evolutionary level of primates, Mr Potter."

"Turkey scratch? Owl scrapings? Penguin тАУ " Harry was having too much fun with this line of thought, and Snape brought his hand down on his desk with a resounding crash.

"POTTER. You are being punished!"

"Oh," Harry said guiltily. He did his best to look repentant. The professor shouldn't have had to remind him of that. Now the man probably felt like he hadn't done a very good job of disiplining Harry. Poor Professor Snape! Harry knew what it was like to be made to feel as if you hadn't done a very good job, despite trying your best. He didn't want to make the professor feel that way.

Despite what Mr Weasley had said, it was clear to Harry that the professor simply didn't have it in him to be terribly strict. Still, just because Snape really didn't understand this whole punishment thing didn't mean Harry should make him feel bad about his shortcomings. "Sorry, sir." He thought hard. What could he say that would make his professor believe the "punishment" had been effective? "Erm, I'm really very sorry about taking risks with my safety. I've learned my lesson, honest." He watched the professor worriedly. Would that work? He really hadn't meant to make Professor Snape feel inadequate.