kbinnz - Harry's New Home

"What the ***** are you on about?" Jeffreys bellowed furiously. "He's the sodding Boy Who Lived, you ***** moron! You Slytherins should be lining up to kill him!"

Harry trembled at the depth of hatred in the other boy's eyes, and Flint gave him a quick, assessing look. "Wood, come get your Seeker away from this mad bugger, would you?"

Oliver hurried over and pulled Harry away. He patted Harry's back reassuringly, and Katie Bell, another Quidditch teammate, came up on Harry's other side, enfolding him in a half-hug and handing him back his miraculously unbroken glasses. "It's okay, Harry," she whispered in his ear. "Everything's under control."

"You ********!" Jeffreys continued to rant, and finally Jones had had enough.

Jones snapped her finger and gestured commandingly at Percy. "Here, you! Percy тАУ stop standing around looking useless and keep this waste of space covered," she ordered, gesturing at Peterson.

"Erm тАУ well, yes. Yes, of course!" Percy hastily obeyed, nonplused by both the peremptory order and the fact that the beautiful seventh year knew his name.

"Firstie тАУ yes, you. Come over here," Jones beckoned Hermione to her side and stepped closer to where Jeffreys was still raving at Flint. "Right тАУ this is a good spell to learn. Ready? Watch my wand." She raised her wand and pointed it at Jeffreys. "Castrato ex-"

"NO!" Every upper level male in the vicinity yelled and hunched over, and Jeffreys paled to the same shade as the stone wall.

Jones sighed. "Oh, all right. I'll teach you later," she promised Hermione. "As for you, you cowardly shite, pipe down, or I'll hex it right off you! Snip-snip!"

No one had to ask what she meant by 'it', and Jeffreys subsided, eyes wide and hands clutching himself protectively.

Flint rolled his eyes at Wood. "Witches!" But he said it quietly.

**--**--**--

Snape glowered at the Gryffindor table, where a certain messy-haired child was most decidedly not sitting. Food would be served any moment now, and Potter, the disobedient little brat, was nowhere to be seen. Flitwick had taken his seat at the staff table several minutes ago, so the little monster was definitely finished with his tutoring session, and that meant he was deliberately ignoring Snape's explicit instructions to be on time for meals so that he wasn't stuck with the others' leavings.

Potter had several years of poor nutrition to make up for, but being sandwiched between Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom at the Gryffindor table was hardly going to help his caloric intake. By the time those two were finished serving themselves, the house elves were lucky to get the platters back. If Harry wasn't there when the food was first served, there would never be anything left for him.

Yet despite Snape's explaining this concept in clear, simple, Gryffindor-friendly words of less than three syllables, Potter's backside was not planted firmly in his seat in the Great Hall. No, the little fiend was obviously wandering the corridors, munching chocolate frogs, and wondering what new mischief he could dream up. Snape gritted his teeth. He would show that boy what it meant to ignore his instructions! He drummed his fingers on the tablecloth, wondering where he should position the brat so that the largest number of students would see him being spoon fed by the house elves. Maybe if he set up a special table just in front of the staff table...

He was distracted from composing appropriately punitive menus - plenty of liver and onions, broccoli by the crate - by the sight of one of his own First Years belatedly sliding into the Hall. Snape leveled a glare at Draco Malfoy. His snakes knew better than to be tardy. Apparently the Owlry detention hadn't taught young Mr Malfoy to follow his Head of House's instructions. Perhaps having two First Years spoon fed by house elves would bring the message home...

But wait - Malfoy wasn't taking his seat; rather he was whispering urgently to Flint. Snape watched, bemused, as Flint signaled to another senior Prefect, Davidella Jones, and the two of them hurried from the Hall, followed by Malfoy.

Well. How interesting. That particular pairing of prefects promised a healthy dose of pain for some poor miscreant. Snape half-heartedly considered going after them, but decided it was better to let his prefects handle the matter. Flint was big and not averse to clouting an impudent lower year, but Jones was the one that most of his snakes really feared. She was a lot like a saner version of Bellatrix - capable of incredible viciousness, but more discriminating in her choice of victims. Even Flint knew better than to get on her bad side.

Between the two of them, Snape was confident that they could handle any mischief-maker, not to mention administer an indelible lesson on why misbehavior was unwise. His intervention would merely hinder their ability to mete out summary judgment, and really, he had enough to do without supervising additional detentions. But the rest of his Slytherins were restive now, glancing over their shoulders after the prefects and Malfoy, and several had already followed them.

Then the youngest Weasley, who had - surprise, surprise - been one of the first seated at the table, got up and left the room. Probably in search of Potter, Snape mused in grudging respect for Weasley loyalty. The redheaded clan had obviously embraced Potter as one of their own, and that might even mean that Ron wouldn't hog all of the food. Maybe.

Now what?! Weasley had just dashed back to the Gryffindor table, and the rest of his siblings, closely followed by the entire Quidditch team and a respectable sampling of the rest of the table, were now following him out the door. That broke the dam on his remaining Slytherins, and they too bolted for the exit.

Snape glanced over at Minerva, only to find her looking at him with a similar expression of alarm. What calamity could drag such large numbers of ravenous teens away from the dinner table?

"Should we go see what's going on?" Minerva asked him, her voice deliberately low.

"Doing so would indicate a lack of confidence in our prefects," he replied, but he couldn't wholly suppress the unease in his tone.

Now even the Ravenclaws were looking around nervously, finally noticing something was amiss. Typical, snarled Snape to himself. They might be able to recite every known permutation of the 18th century Ignatio Compelare spell, but they needed their house elves to tell them their robes were on fire.

A contingent of Ravenclaws made for the door and finally even the placid Hufflepuffs began to look curious. As the last table in the Great Hall emptied, Snape and Minerva exchanged another look and simultaneously stood.

"I'll go," Minerva said, gesturing him to reseat himself.

"No, I will," Snape retorted. "You know perfectly well that the little dunderheads will scatter at the mere sight of me."

"Yes, but you won't bother learning who's responsible - you'll simply exonerate your House and arbitrarily deduct points from all others," she shot back.

Snape's eyes narrowed, but before he could reply, Dumbledore stood. "Perhaps we should all go, as it appears all of the students are now involved in whatever is happening - whether as spectators or participants."

"A capital idea!" Flitwick squeaked happily. Pomona Sprout sighed - it had been a long day in the greenhouses - but obligingly followed the others.

Albus led the way through the Hall, while Snape sulked and dragged his feet. Whatever might have happened, with the Headmaster investigating, it was all but certain that his House would bear the blame while McGonagall's delinquents would be praised to the skies.

Minerva fretted as she walked beside Snape. "What on earth could have attracted the simultaneous attention of Slytherins, Weasleys, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team?" she wondered aloud.