Thirty minutes weren't near enough to recover, and he dragged himself to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. God, he looked terrible, with red and swollen eyes to mark his stint as a banshee, but he wondered how the rest of him was doing. He decided to use the toilet and just take a look, craning his neck to see over his hip. He didn't know what he had been expecting, maybe bloody welts or worse. Something that would be evidence for Snape's horrible abuse anyway. What he saw, however, was… disappointing, the skin of his bum was only an angry red colour that would be long gone before he had the opportunity to complain to anyone. Cringing in mortification, he couldn't imagine breathing a word about it, ever!
Harry was ten minutes late, for which Snape rebuked him the moment he set foot in the kitchen.
"Unfortunately, points from Gryffindor are inapplicable at the moment," he sneered, turning from whatever he was cooking, and folding his arms, as he regarded the boy in consideration.
The boy went quite pale, remembering Snape's earlier threats, his hand trailing to his throbbing rear instinctively. The man caught the movement, and snorted in amusement.
"No, Potter, that will only be an issue if you are tardy for discipline," he explained tersely, cocking an eyebrow. "What do you suggest for now?"
His eyes grew wide, mouth parting slightly in surprise. What, was he supposed to choose his own punishments now? That was strangely reasonable of the man, he just wished Snape had thought about it, before he went and thrashed him. He looked down, thinking what might be acceptable for his strict guardian, a list of chores from the Dursleys coming immediately to mind.
"I could," he began carefully. "Wash the dishes, maybe?"
Snape narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips in thought.
"Is that how the muggles punished you?" he queried, scoffing disdainfully when the boy blushed. "Very well, Potter," he sighed, turning back to the pots. "A week of washing the dishes, directly following the meals and with no whining, or there'll be a spanking."
Harry's head snapped up at that, eyes flashing in anger.
"But you just said-," he retorted, completely fed up with the git's constant threats.
"Mind your tone, boy!" Snape barked, shooting a poisonous glare over his shoulder that made Harry's heart stutter anxiously. "I said that I won't spank you for something so trifling as a minor lateness. Disobeying me, however, is a wholly different matter. Now, apologise for your rudeness, and get the table ready!"
The boy licked his nerveless lips, unable to look away from the cold eyes that held him captive.
"S-sorry, sir," he somehow forced out.
With a huff of annoyance, the man released Harry from his glare, leaving him shaking in the aftermath.
"Barely passable, as usual," he scoffed, turning his attention back to the meal he was preparing. "We're eating soup and sandwiches, get the plates out, Potter."
Harry somehow managed to move, operating more on muscle memory from all the times he had done this chore at the Dursleys, than any conscious direction. He had the plates and cutlery arranged on the table inside a minute, even finding a porcelain soup vase that was a bit chipped in places, but still the nicest piece in Snape's cupboards. He wasn't certain how he accomplished all that without dropping anything, with his hands shaking like he'd been electrocuted.
The man called him over to transfer the sandwiches he'd made to a platter, and bring them to the table, as he was taking care of the soup, and within five minutes from their argument they were sitting to lunch. Well, at least Snape was sitting down, ladling a generous portion of the soup for the both of them. Harry, in the meantime, was eyeing the wooden chair with a dose of apprehension and reluctance, his battered rear had settled into a steady throb over the last half hour that was almost easy to ignore, but there was no doubt the hard seat would bring the sharper sensations back with a vengeance.
"Staring at the seat won't make it any softer, Potter," his teacher remarked dryly.
"Couldn't you just," the boy asked, twirling his fingers in the air suggestively. "You know?"
"Cast the Cushioning Charm?" Snape guessed, his thin lips stretching into a smile so smug that Harry knew he wouldn't agree even before he answered. "That would be rather hypocritical of me, as I was the one who administered the punishment. However, you have my permission to remain standing, like a well-disciplined child that you are."
He flushed crimson at the ridiculous suggestion, and just to be contrary he lowered himself into the stupid chair, wincing at the immediate flare of discomfort. His eyes rose to meet the bastard's, who was observing the boy with obvious enjoyment. Harry gritted his teeth, hating the greasy git with every fibre of his being, and refusing to provide any more fodder for his sick amusement. He stubbornly pretended that sitting on a burning stove didn't bother him in the slightest, and tucked in with gusto.
Some fifteen minutes later, Harry had to conclude that human beings could adapt to any nasty thing, as he barely noticed the pain anymore. Swallowing the last bite of his sandwich, he peered at his teacher through narrowed eyes, wanting to try something.
"May I be excused, sir?" he asked, with all the fake politeness imprinted into his brain by Petunia's relentless teaching. "I would like to start on my chore straight away."
Snape's expressive eyebrows shot up to his hairline at the sudden change of attitude.
"By all means," he sneered, gesturing magnanimously. "I look forward to seeing your dish-washing prowess, Potter."
Harry scowled, hating the git's superiority, but he wasted no time getting up. He collected the empty dishes, retreating out of line of sight before giving his throbbing rear a good rub. He was elbow-deep in dish soap when Snape surprised him by bringing the rest of the dishes from the table, even storing the leftover soup by himself. He muttered a grudging thanks without looking up from the plate he was scrubbing, knowing that it was a behaviour foreign to any of the Dursleys.
"When you are done here, see me in my study, boy," the man said sourly, before leaving him to his chore.
The boy wished he could truthfully state that he wasn't worried sick why the man wanted him there, but it would have been a big, fat lie. Snape had told him that he would be going to his study for physical discipline, so it was no wonder that he spent the next while furiously analysing every word and interaction they had that day for anything that could warrant such harsh punishment. Without any definite ideas and with his heart thumping erratically, Harry found himself giving the door a barely perceptible tap.
"Enter, Potter!" the man snapped through the wood, sending his anxiety up several notches. "Are you determined to test my hearing to the limits today?" he demanded irritably, as the boy hastily slipped in. "I assure you that it is in perfect condition, so desist!"
Harry cringed in mortification, the way Snape put it made him seem idiotic.
"Come here, boy," Snape growled, "I have something for you."
Heart in his throat, the boy obeyed, freezing in fearful anticipation on the other side of the desk, hands clasped tightly together.
"While I appreciate a healthy dose of fear about coming here, Potter, I must wonder what you think you've done in an hour since leaving to be invited back for more discipline," the man mused aloud, observing the child's rigid stance with interest, but as Harry was incapable of forming any response at present, he huffed out an impatient breath.
"Here," he snapped, pushing something across the desk. "Put this on."
Harry transferred his wide-eyed gaze from the man's face to his desk, and stared. A golden wrist watch lay there, of a kind he associated with posh people on TV rather than anyone he knew personally. Even Snape didn't seem like the type to own such a thing, let alone give it to a ward he barely tolerated. His mental acuity wasn't sharp enough to wrap his head around a reality in which the greasy git would give him a present of any kind, so he just stared at the watch in bemusement.
"This belonged to your father when he was a boy," Snape finally relented, his mouth twisting into a sour grimace. "The headmaster removed it from your family vault at my request. He had a rather gaudy taste, but you'll have to bear that cross bravely, as it is now your secondary port-key. It will transport you to the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, locking you behind anti-burglary enchantments until Albus has time to deactivate them. It is to be used as a last resort only, is that quite understood, boy?"
"Yes, sir," Harry murmured quietly, awe and reverence in his voice as he lifted his dad's watch, tracing a trembling finger along the round face. Snape was right, in a way, it was perfectly gaudy, a kind of piece rich brats got to show off to their peers. A type of thing Dudley would want, all heavy gold and glittery, it was slightly disturbing to think of his prat of a cousin and his father in one thought, but he pushed the discomfort away. It was a memento of his father's childhood, and he found the gaudiness endearing rather than ugly. Smiling widely, he looked up to share the wonderment he was feeling with Snape, only to find the man looking nauseated to see him so happy. "Thank you, sir," he grinned at his discomfited teacher. "This is wonderful!"
"You had better hope Mr. Weasley finds it so as well," Snape sneered, sure-footed again when the boy's grin atrophied and died. Ron was going to hate the watch, he just knew it, it was exactly the sort of thing his friend liked to rant about in Malfoy and his ilk. "As you will wear it day and night, at least until Black is safely behind bars once more. Put it on now, and think of the activation phrase that won't slip out accidentally either here or at Hogwarts."
Harry obeyed, less eagerly than he might have done before considering Ron's reaction, he tightened the leather strap around his wrist as he tried to come up with something he wouldn't talk about even with his friends. The Dursleys came to mind straight off, but it wasn't quite right. He did talk about them, complained about them to Ron and Hermione, not very often, but it did happen. Except, he never actually used their names, did he? It was always a cousin, aunt or uncle, or most often just the Dursleys. He doubted his friends knew any of his relatives' first names.
"Dudley Dursley," he said confidently.
"He's your muggle cousin, correct?" his teacher asked sceptically.
The boy nodded.
"But I never refer to him by his name," he explained uncomfortably.
"I see," Snape hissed, his lip curling in disgust. Something dark and ugly passed behind his eyes, making a shiver of fear pass down Harry's spine. "How like your father you are."
The man stood, sliding his wand into his hand as he came around the desk.
"Hold out your hand, Potter," he ordered flatly, his black eyes so icy that Harry couldn't quite suppress a flinch.
His breathing quickened in anxiety, as he stretched out a hand with a watch on it, thinking his knuckles would get a smacking, or something awful like that. His inflated worry didn't have any basis in reality, making him suspect he was simply growing more afraid of the man on a subconscious level. He stood very still as Snape traced his wand over the watch, murmuring some spell in Latin.
"If I have to fetch you from Albus because you had an unfortunate slip of the tongue, boy," he growled, slipping the wand back in his sleeve. "You'll wish I were so lenient as I had been today."
Harry went quite pale, but the man didn't seem to care as he folded his arms, and pinned the child with his most fearsome glare.
"You will not divulge to anyone that you carry the two port-keys on your person," he decreed flatly. "Not even to your little friends. Is that also understood?"
The boy flushed, wondering how on earth he would explain his sudden interest in gaudy jewellery to Ron otherwise.
"Yes, but … why do I even need two port-keys?" he asked in bewilderment.
The man's face pinched, and he stared at Harry as if he hadn't realised previously the staggering depths of his blithering idiocy, and was quite disgusted to discover it now.
"It is not a riddle of the Sphinx, Potter," he rebuked, his voice dripping with scorn. "Use that thing between your ears for some critical thought, and answer that for yourself."
The boy ducked his head, ears and the back of his neck getting warm at the insult. He tried to swallow his anger and tried to think the situation through, but it was difficult when he wanted to strangle the supercilious bastard. So, he had two secret port-keys, with two different destinations, but why bother to arrange the more inconvenient route, when this house was obviously warded to the teeth, even if it was a hovel. The wand could be summoned away, he supposed, or…
Harry's breath caught in his throat, as understanding crashed into him with the force of a speeding lorry.
"You think he'll come after you first, when he learns that I'm here," he blurted out, shocked but completely sure of his conclusion.
The man frowned, clearly surprised by the observation, but he didn't contradict it.
"That is a distinct possibility," he admitted grimly. "Were I to be killed, the protective enchantments on and around the house would fall rather abruptly, giving you only a short window of opportunity to escape. I don't intend for you to miss it, hence the second port-key."
Harry felt queasy all of a sudden, and he stepped forward to brace both hands on the desk for support. Since yesterday, he'd known that Sirius Black wanted to kill him, but it was a surreal sort of awareness. People always wanted to do him in, didn't they? It had become sort of common since coming to Hogwarts, but seeing Snape make plans for Harry's survival in the event of his own death made the situation more frightening and more real than anything else could.
"Do you require a Calming Draft, Potter?" Snape's stilted voice broke through his gloomy thoughts.
"No, just-," the boy shook his head to clear it. "I'm sorry for putting you in danger, sir."
After this, there was no more possibility of staying with the Weasleys, Harry realised glumly. If Snape was in danger, so would his friends be, and he couldn't let that happen.
"Don't be so absurd, boy," the man scoffed, annoyance ringing clear in every syllable. "You bear no responsibility for the actions of other people. You will, however, be held accountable if you disregard any of the rules put in place to avert any threat that Sirius Black may pose to you."
Harry looked at his guardian solemnly.
"I understand, sir," he promised earnestly.
"In that case, you'll not object to the precautions that will be in effect whenever we venture beyond the wards," the man mused silkily, and the boy just knew he wasn't going to like it.
The list was staggeringly long, and he listened dully as taking away of his personal freedoms was explained to him. The main points were that, as far as the outside world was concerned, Harry Potter had never even set a foot on Snape's doorstep. Instead, a trouble-making student, John, was spending the summer because of a familial crisis. It basically meant that he would be wearing a glamour outside, and he had no chance of seeing his friends until he boarded the Hogwarts' Express, even his mail would be redirected to the school and screened before he even got it. He was also forbidden from telling his friends anything about his whereabouts in letters, which would be checked for any inappropriate content before being sent. He also wouldn't be allowed out without the supervision of another wizard. In other words, it would be a high security prison with Snape as his gaoler, at least most of the rules would be lifted when they were no longer vulnerable outside the school's protections.
"Are you ready, Mr. Potter?" Snape demanded imperiously, after he had a few minutes to mull it over. "We have some errands to run, and little time in which to do them."
Harry peered up at the man suspiciously, was he actually serious? After all that he'd just said and threatened, he wanted to go out shopping? Apparently so, and in short order the boy was equipped with yet another artefact, it was a little metal sphere with a chain to be worn around the neck. There was a momentary tingle on his face as he put the chain around his neck, anchoring the glamour that was supposed to cloak him in anonymity this summer.
"Hmm," Snape mused, cocking his head to the side in appreciation. "There's no resemblance."
Harry point blank refused to leave without seeing his reflection, and he hurried upstairs to check out what was done to his face. He stared at the stranger in the mirror, impressed despite himself. The boy in the mirror stared back at him in awe, his hazel eyes wide with curiosity and mischief, he had no scar on his forehead, and his brown locks framed his face in neat ringlets. He wore no glasses, even though Harry could feel his heavy frames firmly perched on his nose. There was nothing that even hinted Harry Potter on the boy, and that was completely unreal. A good disguise without a doubt, but why on earth did he have to look like a cute nine-year-old? Harry scowled, but that came out as an impish grin.
"Name," Snape demanded, catching the boy off guard as soon as he stepped into the hallway downstairs.
He blinked, floundering a moment for a correct response.
"Er, I'm John," he remembered. "John Smith, sir."
Snape nodded.
"Good," he approved. "Come along, John."
Harry grimaced, certain that it looked like some silly expression to Snape, judging by the way his mouth quirked upwards in amusement.
"Why do I have to be so young?" he whined as he followed the man through the front door, suppressing a groan when his whine came out sounding eager instead.
"Little boys are rarely armed with lethal weapons, John," the man explained, innocent.
Huh, the wand, he got it…
"But why does it twist my voice and expressions like that?" he grumbled, wincing when a childish giggle emerged.
"Do try to match your words to your excitable personality, John," Snape admonished, with a mild sigh. "I was not the one to enchant the ruddy thing, so direct your complaints elsewhere. No more inappropriate questions now."
The man pushed the gate open, holding out a hand for the boy to take, and Harry let out a frustrated sigh but complied. It appeared the wards wouldn't even let him pass through with the gate wide open, it was suffocating.
Harry glared at the neighbourhood as they walked past, letting the magic work to plaster something pleasant on his face if it really wanted. He was curious despite himself to see what kind of place it was. In the daylight, the streets didn't look as creepy as the night before, but the neighbourhood was much less affluent than the one the Dursleys lived in. Every house seemed to be built to a different design, but they had one thing in common - a state of disrepair and poverty that emanated from them. Even streets and sidewalks were in dire need of repairs.
There were broken and boarded up windows, vulgar graffiti on the walls of buildings, and an overgrown park with vandalised playground equipment. There weren't many people out and about in the afternoon heat, but those he saw were huddled in on themselves, bowed down by worry and hardship, as if the entire town had been cursed by misery long ago. He couldn't imagine where Snape wanted to go.
"Here," Snape said after a long stretch of silence.
Harry's eyebrows shot up in astonishment, as it appeared that the man wanted to go shopping, shopping for clothes, to be exact. He wondered with some amusement, if Snape needed a new set of black, flannel shirts or something.
"Will you manage by yourself," Snape demanded once they were inside the shop. "Or must I lead you by the hand, John?"
The boy blinked at him in confusion, causing the man to huff in annoyance, steering him towards the counter. Once he had the attention of the sales lady behind it, he rattled off the list of what he wanted, making Harry's jaw slacken and his mouth drop open in complete surprise. And what a list it was!
"I don't need any of that!" Harry objected, cringing when the lady led them to a selection of underwear. "I don't even have any money with me!"
Snape ignored him, as he picked out several plastic bags of neatly folded black boxers, checking the size before dropping them in the shopping trolley.
"I'm sure your parents will recompense me when they hear of your misadventure at the airport," he commented absently, as he chose several black undershirts to match the pants and socks on the next shelf. "Stop being such a baby, John."
Harry's eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to retort one thing or another, before he remembered the muggle watching them squabble.
"No, really, sir," he insisted, trying for an earnest tone that would match Snape's false identity for him. "They're too broke to pay you back now. Please, I'm alright."
"I won't have a friend's son running around in one pair of worn trousers," his teacher chided, giving the sales woman a look that clearly asked 'How do you turn off the whining?', and received a commiserating smile in return.
At that point, Harry's talent for acting abandoned him entirely, as the man was apparently prepared to play James's friend instead of his enemy. Maybe Snape was right, and his brain was just too miniscule to accommodate such a bold, fat lie. He stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the man's retreating back as he moved deeper among the racks. What crap! He understood staying under cover well enough, but surely there were some limits, just to retain some sanity!
"Stop dawdling, John," Snape called impatiently. "You're old enough to do some of this by yourself."
Harry gritted his teeth, but from the muggle's fond smile, he didn't think his irritation was visible at all.
"Fine!" he snarled, stalking after the man like an angry storm cloud. At least, that was what he was aiming for, but the stupid disguise spell twisted the perceptions again, and he ended up skipping happily after. "Give this to me, sir!"
Snape relinquished the trolley without a fight, pulling a piece of paper with his absurd list of necessities out of a pocket, and handing it to the boy before he could escape. He didn't look especially ticked off when Harry pulled the trolley around, and returned most of Snape's choices, keeping the underwear because standing near that shelf was just too mortifying to contemplate. Rebelliously, he picked up all white socks and shirts, before he calmed down enough to realise how idiotic he'd look dressed all in white, and went back to exchange some shirts for coloured ones.
He glared across the shop at the man, daring him to comment, but the man was merely observing his slow progress with a bored look on his face, and with arms folded. He positioned himself strategically to have all the possible entry points in his sight, and… Harry squinted for a moment, yup, the man had a wand hidden in a closed fist. Did he really expect Sirius Black to storm the bloody shop in the middle of the day? Apparently so, as his beady eyes followed every customer that entered the shop throughout their visit.
That sobered Harry quite a bit, and instead of anger, anxiety began to churn in his stomach. He tried to finish up as quickly as possible, but there were so many items on the damn list that the chore dragged endlessly. Mindful of the limited amount of gold in his vault, the boy chose the least pricey things, but even with that consideration, by the time he had everything his trolley was packed full, and he cringed when Snape pulled out a wallet to pay for it all.
Then, the man dragged him next door to get new shoes, three pairs! As if his old trainers weren't good enough for anyone! He was getting angry again, hating every minute of this forced makeover. His patience finally evaporated when Snape insisted he try on a pair of shiny dress shoes he wouldn't know what to do with.
"I'm not attending a fucking ball, Snape!" he exploded loudly, garnering the attention of several of the shop's patrons.
Snape's patient demeanour slipped ever so slightly, and before Harry had the thought to step out of reach of the man's hand, he was gripped firmly by one shoulder.
"Mind your language, John," Snape scolded sternly, smacking the child's rear smartly with his free hand, and eliciting a startled yelp. "Or you'll be attending over my knee."
Harry pushed free, glaring with red-faced fury at the nosy onlookers, whose sympathies obviously lay with Snape! The bunch of stupid sods! He let his hand do what it wanted, and trail to his bottom to rub the fresh sting better, since it suited his child persona, but how he wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole! It would be preferable to standing there, being gawked at by curious strangers eager for more of a show.
"An apology is in order, boy," the man clipped, frowning in disapproval, and the boy went pale around the edges, recalling an identical exchange back at the house.
"Sorry," he gritted out grudgingly, as he really didn't want another smack in public, like a little brat throwing a temper tantrum in a shop.
Seemingly satisfied, Snape nodded and turned away to resume his interrupted conversation about the fucking ball shoes, leaving Harry to nurse his trampled pride. He didn't bother to argue with the greasy git anymore, staring mutely and blank-faced when he was presented with the lacquered monstrosities the man deemed appropriate. Why did he even care? He wasn't the one paying for the hideous things, and certainly he wouldn't be wearing them.
He really hoped the shoe shop from hell would be the end of this accursed shopping spree, but a supermarket was evidently a matter of basic survival, and he was forced to trail after the man, pushing another trolley, like a given a grand treat. Harry hated every moment of it, and let Snape know by complaining about a list of nonexistent food allergies whenever the man seemed too eager for something. It was a surprise when the git didn't simply snap at him that he could go without, the Dursleys certainly never gave a damn about what he could or couldn't eat. Actually, they would have been happy to only buy the food he couldn't safely eat.
Snape, on the other hand, dutifully replaced all the packets of food Harry objected to back on the shelves, although he must have known the boy was making it up. By the time they got in line to the register, Harry was having second thoughts about his game, as the man showed no signs of concern whatsoever. The boy wished he'd call him on the lies, instead of calmly piling all the gross stuff he got as replacements on the conveyor belt to be checked out.
"Are you looking forward to liver for dinner, John?" Snape asked mildly when they left the shop, each carrying a bulging bag in their nondominant hand for easy access to their wands.
The bag wasn't that much of a burden, charmed to be feather light as it was, but he bitterly regretted not being assigned the bag with clothes over the groceries.
"Uh, liver," he muttered darkly, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "I cannot wait…"
At least, they seemed to be heading back in the direction of the house, and wasn't that strange that he was so fed up with this trip that he couldn't wait to be trapped inside Snape's damn wards again? He was too lost in thoughts to really pay attention to where they were going, and so he completely missed it when Snape took a wrong turn and led him down a narrow side street with half the windows boarded up. When he finally took note of the divergence from the path, it was already too late to save himself from further humiliation. It was laughably easy for the man that was supposed to be Snape to pin him against a wall, holding his wand arm in a vice-like grip so that he couldn't draw on him, and jabbing his own hard into the boy's jugular.
"You are dead," the man growled, eyes flashing in fierce disapproval.
Eyes wide and heart attempting to climb up his oesophagus, Harry stared at the madman in his Professor's skin.
"Okay?" he asked stupidly, too freaked out to come up with any defensive strategy more effective than bonking the man on the head with his grocery bag, but what good would that do when it was as light as a feather?
"Okay?!" Snape repeated mockingly, his eyes narrowing into angry slits.
The boy shrugged, pretty sure by then that it was some twisted test of his situational awareness, rather than a genuine attempt on his life.
"What would you have me do, if I'm already deceased, sir?" he inquired reasonably.
The man actually rolled his eyes at the smart-arsed response, which was so out of character for his teacher that he began to doubt himself again.
"Very well," Snape said, his silky voice long-suffering. "It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine Black stopping to brag before killing you. What can you do?"
Harry grimaced, his hand and throat were getting sore from the relentless pressure of Snape's wand and fingers.
"I could kick you in the crotch, sir," he suggested staunchly.
The man's forehead furrowed into a formidable scowl.
"You convinced me to use torture before committing murder," Snape hissed nastily, jabbing his wand harder into the boy's throat. "How do you get out?"
Harry's mouth fell open at the pointed hint.
"I say… my cousin's name," he whispered, turning bright red at his own stupidity.
Snape huffed, releasing him and turning away in disgust.
"It doesn't fill me with confidence about letting you out of my sight, P-John," he muttered darkly, starting to walk away, down the deserted street.
"That's not fair!" Harry protested, rubbing his throat as he followed the man at a safe distance. "I didn't expect you to attack me!"
"Oh? Do your assailants usually send an owl with a time and date?" Snape sneered.
"No!" the boy shouted, incensed. "They appear out of fucking nowhere, and I have to deal with them on my own!"
Snape came to an abrupt halt, turning to face him with such a look of icy fury in his eyes that Harry retreated several steps before he realised it.
"Then why," the man demanded coldly. "Given an easy out, you promptly forgot about it?"
Harry licked dry lips nervously, well aware that his answer would anger Snape even more, but unable to come up with anything better.
"I didn't think," he mumbled, bracing for a scathing retort about his atrophied brain. "Sorry."
"Who are you apologising to?" his teacher asked very softly, even as his eyes glared bloody murder. "Your parents? Those people who laid their lives to protect yours, for throwing their sacrifice back in their faces like so much waste?"
The boy went pale as blood drained away from his face at the accusation, his stomach tying itself a knot. He knew what Snape had said wasn't true, but for some reason he couldn't refute it with words, or even a grimace. There was an ache in his chest, and he ducked his head to give himself a moment to reign in his raging emotions.
"I don't do that," he whispered, sounding a bit too desperate to be believed.
Snape cuffed him on the head sharply, causing the boy to jump and stare up in wary confusion.
"Eyes up and on your surroundings," the man growled peevishly. "Have you learned nothing from this exercise? Hand on your wand, and pay attention to where you're going! Don't forget our food, or you'll be living on plain toast for the week!"
Harry jerked in surprise, looking wildly around for the stupid bag he must have dropped at some point without even noticing it. He spotted it on the pavement nearby, several paper packages spilling out to the ground. Groaning, he went to pack back up what could be saved, while he was doing it, he noticed several items that he distinctly remembered Snape returning after his allergy claims.
"Hey!" he shouted, more relieved than annoyed as he glared at the man observing him from the mouth of the street. "You were having me on!"
"Was I?" Snape lifted an unimpressed eyebrow as he waited for the boy to catch up to him. "Perhaps I chose a particularly cruel punishment for your childish behaviour. Come, we have one more place to visit before we can go home."
Yeah, Harry thought glumly, liver for dinner was an excruciating idea. He would have much preferred a week without food… maybe he could fake an illness? But no, the greasy git would only make him take a stomach soother before dinner. Gah!
A/N: That's all I had somewhat written up pre-posting, just started chapter 5 and I'm not going to rush it.
