Spelling Harry
By tati1
Summary: AU; Harry has a secret. Snape outs it, and learns something in the process. One-shot.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not own the general plotline of this fic. Kateri1 first put it out as H is for Harry, and grew upset when, after she didn't reply when I asked permission to rewrite and post the fic, I wrote and posted it (with due credits) anyway, so I've renamed it and altered things as she requested.
Dedication: To Kateri1
Spelling Harry
By tati1
"Mr. Potter," Snape barked near the end of the third week of classes. "Stay after class." He glowered as the brat's friend, that idiotic Weasley boy, gave Potter a pitying look. The boy himself was glaring at his desk, obviously engrossed in yet another bout of self-pity designed to puff the child into an indignant fury once he'd rejoined his classmates after another round of Vitriol A La Snape. This time though, Snape was sure the boy would not weasel himself out of an appropriate punishment. He was feeling quite pleased today; he had a legitimate reason to pursue Potter's expulsion (yet again), and though he doubted that Dumbledore would employ Snape's preferred method of chastisement, he knew that Potter was indeed In For It.
As proof of that, Snape was – almost – smiling.
Fortunately, none of the students, stupid little mongrels that they were, noticed, and the class proceeded normally with much scratching of quills and one puff of smoke (courtesy of Neville Longbottom, who had the unfortunate luck to be out of range of Granger's hissed instructions). No maimings; the Headmaster might be so pleased he might listen to his Potions Master this time. Snape savored that thought as he chased the first years out of his classroom and turned with slow menace on Potter, who was staring at him from his desk; notes still scattered stubbornly across his work surface.
"Mr. Potter," Snape began silkily, "do you know the consequences of cheating?" Potter shot up out of his seat, looking panicked.
"I haven't!" he cried. He would have said more, but Snape seemed to teleport in front of him to loom just that way, and he subsided nervously.
"Why did you leap to that conclusion, Potter?" he asked evilly. "Could it be this?" And he held it up. The proof. His triumph.
Potter was unimpressed.
"Sir? That's my homework," he said cheekily. Snape's lips tightened at the impudence.
"You wrote it yourself?" he demanded; knowing the answer.
"Yes sir," said Potter. Snape sneered victoriously. He snatched up one of the parchments from Potter's desk and shoved it in the boy's face.
"You cheated Potter," he hissed. "This handwriting is quite obviously not the same as that used on your homework, which is equally obviously the work of Granger, and I shall be informing the Headmaster that you are a liar and a cheat, and should be expelled immediately." The boy's mouth flopped open unattractively in disbelief, and Snape mourned the fact that the brat had obviously inherited Potter's baser qualities rather than his mother's poise.
"B-b-but I—"
"But you what?" he asked maliciously. They idiot was digging his own grave.
"But I can't go back to the Dursleys! Please! I did the work!" Tears were welling up in Lily's green eyes, and Snape silently applauded the boy on his performance.
"Obviously you did not."
"But I did! I just told her what to write; it's not like she chose what to put down. She promised she'd write it exactly like I said it!"
And there it was. The excuse. And Snape just knew that Dumbledore would buy the boy's crap. Potter's crap.
"Students are to write their own homework, Potter," he snapped, stung at having the expulsion removed from Potter's imminent future. "If you cannot manage such a simple exercise, you obviously do not belong at Hogwarts."
"But no one said I had to!" wailed Potter. He was far more upset than Snape had anticipated. His eyes and nose were bright red, his face was dripping, and his nose was excreting the most vile down flow of fluid. He swiped vainly at it with his robe sleeve, making Snape wince slightly in sheer disgust. "It never mattered at the Dursleys!"
"Stop that blubbering, you vile infant," Snape sneered. "Perhaps at home your relatives were willing to overlook your lazy attitude, but I am not so easily swayed! You will write your own work, Potter, pitiful though I am sure it will be!"
"But I can't write it!" the brat sobbed. Snape snorted, and waved Potter's sheaf of notes in the boy's face.
"And this is?" he enquired mockingly. He cast a careless glance at it—
And did a double take.
"What is this garbage?" he hissed with enraged shock. He looked down, focusing on all the other scattered parchments. They were all the same. Proof of how his discipline had declined; proof of Potter's vicious attempts to undermine his authority. Scribbles. Doodles. And not one note.
He was shaking with rage. "What is the meaning of this Potter?" he snarled; grabbing the papers and shaking them in the boy's face. The first year drew back, eyes wide with fear and face as pale as alabaster beneath the tears and snot. "You think to mock me boy?!" he roared. He seized the boy's wrist and yanked him off the bench. "Doodles! Drawings! You will not show such disrespect in my classroom you little beast!" He shook him violently before remembering himself. Snape detached himself as though struck with a brand, and Potter crumpled to the floor. Oblivious to Potter, he stared at his hands in a sort of dazed horror.
I attacked a student. Dumbledore will never forgive me. I've just lost my job. He could register nothing else.
After a time, he realized that Potter was still there, the little fool. He was saying something; probably what he was going to tell the Headmaster. Snape supposed he should listen, and with an effort he tuned in.
"I'm sorry," the boy was whimpering, still cowering on the floor with his arms over his head. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it. I'll do better, please. I'm sorry."
Snape felt bile rising in his throat. He had broken his promise to Lily. He had hurt her son. He was no better than his father.
"Potter, Potter, I won't hurt you," he said. His voice was carefully neutral. "Potter, listen to me." There was no response from Potter, so Snape knelt to try again from a better angle, and heard some of the worst words in the world:
"I'm sorry, uncle."
Far too familiar, they clawed at Snape's insides and burned his throat. Carefully, he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. So. He had failed in more than just the obvious, it seemed.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP+
"I'm sorry, Potter." The oddity of that statement shocked Harry out of his flashback, and he realized that no one was hurting him anymore. Cautiously, he lowered his arms and blinked to clear his eyes. It didn't really help – his glasses were all salty now – but he made out the familiar outline of Professor Snape. Not his Uncle. Oh.
He sniffled and tried to reorganize his thoughts, which had scattered in the wake of his panic attack. His first reaction was embarrassment, and he followed it appropriately.
"I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled. His eyes were fixed on the stone floor as Snape rose. Harry followed him up obediently and waited for the professor to announce the punishment.
"I apologize, Potter," said Snape formally. Harry's jaw dropped, and he stared at the man in unabashed shock. "I should not have reacted in that manner, no matter what infraction you committed." Here he paused, and looked uneasy. "I also apologize for my insults. I had not realized your family situation, and I was out of line."
"Family situation?" asked Harry numbly.
"That your relatives mistreat you," his professor said stiffly. "I had no idea that your uncle was violent towards you. I expected Dumbledore to place you in a home that would pamper and idolize you for your celebrity, and I was incorrect. I apologize." Harry's face was burning; how could Snape know?
"What gives you that idea?" he asked roughly.
"You apologized to your uncle when I attacked you," said Snape. Harry hated him.
"Don't pity me!" he snapped. Snape's lips tightened in a familiar manner.
"I do not," he replied, still in that irritatingly neutral voice. "However, I cannot condone such treatment of a child—"
"I'm not a child!" Harry yelled.
"You are," said Snape. "And you will not be returning there."
"I – what?" Harry interrupted himself to gape at the Potions Master. The man returned his gaze coolly.
"You will not be returning there. I'm hardly about to leave a student in an abusive home, Potter. A place will be found for you."
"I don't want to go to an orphanage!" Harry said, alarmed. The man nodded.
"You will not." He changed the subject. "Although I do regret my outburst earlier, and do believe that you have suffered more than enough for your insults, I must insist that you desist from defaming my classroom in the future and work in the appropriate frame of mind." At Harry's baffled look, he summarized. "No more doodling Potter. The notes are on the board; I expect you to write them during class time." Harry swallowed nervously.
"I can't," he whispered. Snape frowned at him.
"I cannot hear you, Potter. Speak up."
"I can't," he mumbled.
"Mumbling is a sign of underachievement; please do not indulge in it in my presence. Now, repeat what you were saying in a tone that I can appreciably hear."
"I can't!" Harry exclaimed. His voice, though not very loud, was slightly hysterical, and his face was very, very red.
"Nonsense, Potter. Even Longbottom can copy notes."
"I can't read." Harry bit his lip and eyed his professor. Snape's calm exterior was gone for the first time. He looked positively flummoxed.
"What do you mean you can't read?" the man snapped. "Did you not attend school?"
"Yes, but…"
"But what, Potter?" Harry shuffled nervously.
"But I wasn't to do better in school than my cousin, sir. And he can barely read. And when I was in class, I wasn't allowed to part-ese-pate, sir, because I'm a bother to everyone else…and I was out of school a lot too. Because I was, er, sick."
"Sick as in ill, or sick as in falling down the stairs?" asked Snape. He loaded the last words, and knew Harry understood from the way the boy flushed.
"Down the stairs, sir," he answered. His voice was barely more than a whisper, but Snape heard all the same.
"So your homework?" he questioned.
"I told Hermione my handwriting was terrible, so she offered to write it for me, as long as I told her what my answer was to the homework, sir. And I remember pretty good, so when Ron reads stuff out loud I can sometimes remember what's supposed to go into the answer."
"Hmmm," said Snape.
They were quiet for awhile, as both adjusted to a sudden shifting of roles.
"I will inform the Headmaster and your teachers. Do not worry, Potter, this will not be spread around. If you like, I shall teach you to read and write every evening after dinner." Harry looked surprised at the offer, but gratified, and relaxed slightly.
"Thank you, sir," he said politely. Snape flipped one of Harry's parchments to the unused side, and directed the boy to quill and inkpot.
"Do you know any letters at all, Potter?" he asked hopefully as he leaned over the boy's shoulder to better observe and assist.
"I know one letter," said Harry quietly. He picked up his quill to demonstrate and painstakingly drew two squiggly lines, one angled in the wrong direction, with a smaller squiggly line floating between them. "H is for Harry," he chanted to himself, and Snape looked on solemnly, renewing his vows.
End.