Severus watched the boy leave after his late detention, and sighed heavily. Potter had been far less confrontational than he had expected - far less than James bloody Potter would have been in similar circumstance, that was certain. And Severus had almost wanted him to protest more, to get more cheeky and arrogant, so that he could justify his own, still deep seated beliefs about the boy. But it was no good. Even when being handed additional punishments and insults on top of it, the boy remained - for the most part - rather polite and obedient.
It was very frustrating.
He heard a chuckle, behind him, and he whipped out his wand as he turned, to find the Bloody Baron smirking at him from the door to his office. "You appear discomfited, Severus Snape."
"Get out of my way," Severus growled, and moved toward the doorway, "Or I'll go right through you."
"Impertinent child," the ghost grunted, but glided aside.
In his office, Severus marked down the new detentions he had planned for the Brat Who Wouldn't Be Cheeky On Command, and glowered at the Baron when the ghost came to hover over his shoulder and peer at his mark book.
"Don't you think you have taken up quite enough of the boy's study time, Severus Snape?" A ghostly finger pointed at the details of Potter's schedule for the next week, and the utter lack of any free time in it.
"Of course not. He can study after detention."
"Mm. When he is supposed to be sleeping?"
Severus pursed his lips. "He has a free period on Tuesdays."
"Ah. I'm sure his other professors will appreciate your forward thinking, in regards to his study time."
With another glower, Severus snapped the book closed. "What business is it of yours, anyway?"
The ghost shook his head and spoke slowly, as if to a child. "Harry Potter is one of ours, Severus Snape. He is Slytherin. You should not continue to make it difficult for him to succeed, nor torment him so."
"I am. Not. Tormenting. Him."
"Ah," the ghost said again, and Severus would have hexed him if he weren't incorporeal. "Alas, I suspect he will not last another week with this schedule, without breaking down. As such, I shall keep watch for him, as you seem to have abrogated your duty."
"You dare-" Severus started, but the annoying ghost floated from the room without looking back. Damnation!
The Baron couldn't be right, could he? The boy seemed to be doing fine in his classes so far, from what he had heard from the other professors. No one had any complaints about his work. Well, Minerva had that one day where she said Potter turned in an essay late, and his handwriting was difficult to parse, but that was hardly indicative of a trend, was it? Oh, and Binns had complained about late work as well and inattentiveness in class, but then, the ancient ghost could barely recognize his students from one day to the next.
Then, of course, Blaise Zabini, one of his Firsties, had come complaining that Potter never showed up for their study groups . . . well, of course he didn't! He was serving detention! He'd set the Zabini whelp down hard, and let him know that his insights on Potter's situation were not appreciated.
Realizing he was pacing in his small office, Severus stopped, closed up the room, and returned to his quarters, where he could think better, especially with a full two fingers of Ogden's Finest in hand. More important, by far, than the Potter Brat's study time or lack thereof, was the information he had received about Quirrell. If Quirrell was, indeed, the conduit for the Dark Lord's return, then Severus would have to step very carefully around the man, while at the same time, not letting him have another go at Potter. He would also need to make sure no one suspected him of treating Potter at all differently than he would if he was still one of the Dark Lord's servants. That would be harder, for the Baron was right; Potter was a Slytherin, and he could not in good conscience pretend otherwise. No one would understand, least of all the boy.
It was a tricky dance, and one he had hoped not to resume for a long time.
He considered the issue for some time, weighing possible actions on his own part, as well as what he would tell the Headmaster – about Quirrell, specifically – before retiring for the night.
The next few days passed rather quickly. Severus had numerous potions to make, for both the infirmary and his own private stores. His classes needed extra preparation so early in the term, too, and then there was Potter. True to his word, the Bloody Baron seemed to have taken it upon himself to act as the boy's personal guardian, following him to classes and hovering near him in the Great Hall at meals - the ones the boy attended anyway, which looked to be about one in three; breakfasts, primarily, where he continued to down his nutrition potion as commanded, and little else, much to Severus' annoyance. In addition to making himself more present than usual, the Baron gave Severus more than his fair share of baleful looks, thank you very much, even during the boy's Potions class.
Bloody ghost.
During Potions, Severus made sure to call on the boy to answer questions from the actual assigned reading – unlike the previous time, when he'd been set on proving to the boy that he could not trust his peers to not change sides with whatever way the wind blew – and the boy answered appropriately, if not completely. Though Severus sent a smirking smile at the Baron, who was lurking in the corner, he did notice that the boy appeared . . . tired, and a bit disinterested in the topic. His mouth was drawn tight, his face more pale than Severus had seen it since his first mandatory trip to the infirmary, and Potter kept his head down for the most part, not even looking Severus in the eye when he answered questions. It was . . . unlike him. Severus had gotten used to a certain amount of cheek or, at the very least, determination, from the boy. This apparent apathy was . . . troubling.
More troubling, however, was the Baron's eye-roll in response to Severus' smirk, not to mention the challenging looks being thrown his way every time he accosted the boy, by young Mr. Nott, the Bullstrode girl, and, surprisingly enough, Draco Malfoy. Even one or two of the Gryffindors kept peering at Potter in concern. It was enough to drive Severus mad.
However, over the course of the following few days, Potter's detentions went as smoothly as could be expected, with the boy doing the work he was assigned, and answering direct questions, but otherwise remaining silent. For his part, Severus left him to his work, only making a comment if the boy needed correction, which was gratifyingly infrequent. Deftly and quietly, Potter removed stingers from a large box of billywigs, shredded several pouches of boomslang skin, then squeezed a barrel of bundimuns and one of glumbumbles for their secretions.
During each detention, Severus worked on correcting essays and marking potions, or adjusted his lesson plans, or considered further the issue of Professor Quirrell. During his talk with Dumbledore, the Headmaster had made it clear that Severus was responsible for getting to the bottom of whatever was going on with the Defense Professor, despite protestations that he was not the man's superior in any legal way – though he naturally was in most other ways.
Dratted old coot.
Thus, Severus found himself accosting the Stuttering Wonder just after breakfast on Monday morning.
After finding the offensive-smelling professor in the third floor corridor – where he should not have been, under any circumstances other than the Stone being at risk, as it was not his turn to patrol the area – Severus pushed the man against the wall. With his arm across Quirrell's throat, Severus snarled, "What, exactly, do you think you are doing?"
"I d-d-don't know wh-wh-what you mean, S-s-severus."
"I mean, why on earth would you be in this corridor, at this time?"
"I-I-I thought I heard a n-n-noise?"
"Are asking me or telling me, Quirrell? I believe your next turn of duty here is not until Wednesday. I daresay you have better ways to spend your time until then."
"I-I-I th-th-thought I-I should ch-ch-check it out, Severus, the n-n-noise. It's v-v-very im-p-p-portant to k-k-keep the Phi-phi—"
"Shut up, you sorry nitwit! Do you think the Headmaster wants you to blather on mindlessly about what he is keeping hidden?"
"N-n-no, of c-c-c-c-c-course not." Quirrell gasped for breath, looking almost in tears.
"Of course not," Severus agreed. He eased up on the man's windpipe and moved back, allowing Quirrell to straighten his robes and pull himself together. Eyes still narrowed, Severus dropped his voice to a whisper. "I want to be quite sure you understand, Professor, that the Headmaster is keeping a very close eye on anyone he suspects of having . . . less than ideal loyalties to his way of thinking. Anyone. Is that clear enough for you?"
"Y-y-yes, Severus. I-I-I underst-st-stand."
"Good. I should not see you here again until Wednesday, should I?"
"N-n-no, Severus."
Severus let the man go, and watched to make sure he indeed left the third floor. Was Quirrell going to try and take the Philosopher's Stone? If so, there was quite a bit more at stake than he had previously considered. With a sigh, Severus went to see Dumbledore again, to share his latest concerns. And once more, Dumbledore nodded and gave assurances, and then left most of the work of keeping an eye on the annoying Professor Quirrell to Severus.
On Tuesday, the day of the next Slytherin Quidditch practice, Severus sent a note to Potter during breakfast, telling him he could come perform his detention during his free period instead of in the evening. Very kind of him, he thought. And understanding.
He watched the boy receive the note, saw Potter's momentary scowl morph into a look of resignation as the boy pushed his plate away and started to rise from the table. When he said something quietly to Theodore Nott, Nott read the note over his shoulder, then sent a glare at the Head Table, specifically at his Potions Professor. Severus lifted an eyebrow in return, and the boy looked away, but not before he murmured something to the Potter boy. Potter shrugged and grabbed up his book bag before heading out of the Hall.
Nott then spoke quickly and quietly to several of the other Firsties, heads bent together at their end of the table, and the lot of them rose and went after Potter.
Severus shook his head at their shenanigans, and applied himself to his meal.
Minerva leaned towards him. "A bit of dissention in your ranks, Severus?"
Severus swallowed a bite of toast with orange marmalade and lifted an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"
"Your Firsties look on the verge of rebellion, perhaps on behalf of a certain Mr. Potter."
"Nonsense," he scoffed, and took a sip of tea.
"I notice you've had Mr. Potter in detention nearly every day since the start of term. Is he really so unmanageable?"
Tempted to tell her yes, that the Boy Who Had Even the Bloody Baron Wrapped Around His Littlest Finger was as arrogant and impertinent as his father had been, Severus resisted the impulse. Instead, he murmured noncommittally, "He needs a close eye kept on him."
"That wouldn't have anything to do with him ending up in the hospital wing his first weekend at school, would it?"
"Perhaps," Severus allowed. He took another sip of tea, and forbore telling Minerva to butt out of Slytherin business.
"It's not my place to say as much," Minerva started, and Severus knew she would anyway, "but I think you're being too hard on the boy."
"You're right," Severus said with a scowl, and rose, throwing his serviette on the table with a little too much force, so it landed in the remainders of his too-runny eggs. "It's not your place."
Her mouth was pursed as she watched him leave, but as long as she did not stop him or attempt to scold him further, he did not care a whit.
Why was it that everyone sought to tell him his duty?
For the period just after lunch – another meal which Potter did not attend, damn him; how was the boy to put on weight if he didn't eat? – when Potter was due for his make up detention, Severus laid out several dozen rats to be sectioned and harvested for spleens, hearts, livers and tails. The boy should be able to get through them in an hour without trouble.
Potter arrived right on time, with the Bloody Baron floating silently in his wake, looking censorious but otherwise not acknowledging his existence. Severus pointed toward his classroom, and told Potter to begin. The boy said nothing beyond his customary, "Yes, sir," and went right to work.
This time, however, Severus followed him. He watched the boy roll up his sleeves, and check the written instructions before starting to section the rats. Potter seemed not to be squeamish at all, which some children were, he knew, especially those who were Muggleborn or raised. But then, the boy hadn't balked at any of the other tasks set for him the last couple weeks either.
The Bloody Baron hovered next to him, and the two seemed to be conversing . . . or, rather, the Baron was speaking in a low voice, and Potter was responding with occasional shrugs or shakes of his head. The boy's shoulders were slumped more than Severus had seen them previously, but he did not appear to be in any actual pain. His scar was not inflamed, Severus had noted when Potter first came in, so he didn't bother asking about nightmares or occasions of proximity to Quirrell. Once more, however, the Baron sent frequent glares at Severus, but Severus ignored them.
Deciding he had seen – and been glared at – enough, Severus returned to his office and his own work.
The day seemed to be going swimmingly, in fact, until Marcus Flint appeared in his office at half nine that night, glowering more than usual.
"Something I can do for you, Mr. Flint?" Severus asked, not looking up from his marking.
"Just thought you should know, sir," the Prefect said in an angry growl, "that the Potter kid's in the Infirmary."
"What?" Severus was on his feet in a heartbeat. "What happened?"
Flint shook his head. "Had a bit of a meltdown, he did, and tried to act the Beater. Without a bat. Took on a couple Bludgers, but broke his arm, and couple of ribs, most like. Lucky he stayed on his broom."
Severus sighed and took his seat again. Of all the . . . "Very well, Mr. Flint. If that will be all?"
Flint glared and stood his ground. "Sir . . . they're saying . . ." His broad face screwed up with the attempt to think or put excess words in order.
"Spit it out, Flint, I haven't got all night."
"Yes, sir. Well . . . they're saying you've got it in for him. That Potter's up all hours doing his homework, and even has to skip meals to get it done, seeing as how he's in detention every night, and even on his free periods. They're saying you've done him wrong."
Severus pressed his lips together, and his hands clenched into fists. "Potter went whinging to you, did he?"
"No, sir." Flint shook his head. "Not at all. Kid hasn't said a word. He's made of stone, that one. His mates say he even told 'em to lay off coming to me about him. But they – the other Firsties – they're worried about him not getting enough sleep or regular meals or anything. They pester me about every day, asking what I can do to help him, and they saw he was gonna break, before I did. I even had a pack of Third Years ask me why he's never at meals when he's so scrawny.
"Never heard a word of complaint from Potter, though, like I said, so I figured he could handle it fine." A brief, toothy grin. "Till practice today, anyway. Never seen anyone so mad. Right ripped he was. Wouldn't've stopped, neither, even after the Bludgers got him, if I hadn't made him hit the deck. Looked like he wanted to go another round. It's like he feels no pain or something."
Flint's barrage of words took a few minutes to sink in, and when they did, they broke through some kind of . . . mental barrier that Severus realized he had erected in his dealings with Potter. He peered at the Prefect for a long moment before nodding slowly. The wall he had placed the boy – the son of the hated James Potter – behind now crumbled, and he saw his recent actions far more clearly. Severus Snape had become the bully. The unreasonable ogre. The uncompromising autocrat in the boy's life, and the replacement for his unfeeling and abusive relatives.
He had neglected what he knew the boy needed – someone to watch out for him and make sure he was fitting in, and dealing with the effects of an abusive home – in favor of taking perverse pleasure in ordering him about like he was a miniature James, or worse, a mere pawn in the war . . . just as Albus would have. He would not have treated any of his other Snakes like this. He could no longer pretend otherwise. Nor could he pretend, based on Flint's report – plus, he had to admit, the Bloody Baron's, and even McGonagall's – that what he was doing was for the boy's own good, to build him up stronger and more resilient than before.
As Potter's "meltdown" on the pitch indicated, that was clearly not the case.
"Very well," Severus said heavily. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Flint. If that will be all?"
Flint was quiet for a moment, as if taking Severus' measure, and Severus let him. He had failed the Potter boy. Again. Finally, however, Flint nodded. "Yes, sir, thank you." He paused at the door, hand on the knob. "The Quidditch lads are in the infirmary with him now, sir. They want their Seeker back, too. He's little good to us, broken like this."
"Thank you, Mr. Flint," Severus said, and listened to the door close before he put his head in his hands and let the shame wash over him.
Well.
He clearly had some make up work ahead of him. The largest question, of course, was would Potter give him yet another chance?
TBC . . .