Disclaimer: The characters belong to JK Rowling. I am only using them to
amuse myself and others.
A/N: Hello all! Not much to say, so I'll start by thanking my awesome reviewers:
Ruth: You'll see soon enough. :)
ataraxis: This story was for the Harry Potter Slash Fuh-Q-Fest ().
idril.tinuviel: I'm glad too. Dobby can get a little out of control when it comes to saving Harry's life.
kiki: :)
lillinfields: I'm glad you like it.
penny: lol. Dobby does get carried away.
And now, on with the story...
~ Chapter 3 ~
The weekend passed in a haze, as the seventh year students ploughed through their piles of homework. Soon Harry was waking on the morning of his first detention with Snape. He had been dreading this all weekend, but at least he still had most of the day ahead of him before he was forced to spend who knew how long in the dungeons with his most hated professor. Unfortunately the day passed too quickly (even History of Magic didn't drag on as much as normal) and Harry soon found himself trudging down the dungeon steps. He entered the classroom to find Snape at his desk marking papers, though he looked up when Harry entered the room.
"I'm surprised to find that the famous Harry Potter decided to be on time for his detention. Will wonders never cease?" Snape smirked, but Harry used all of his self-control not to rise to his professor's baiting. Seeing that he was failing to get any reaction from the younger wizard, Snape said, "You will be scrubbing the cauldrons of others like you who fail to brew perfectly simple potions correctly. Of course, you are not allowed to use magic to assist you in your chore. You will stay as long as it takes you to clean the cauldrons to my satisfaction."
With that, Harry set to his task of scrubbing the cauldrons clean. With the pile being as big as it was, Harry thought to himself that he would be lucky to get back to his dormitory by midnight. It wasn't as if he wasn't use to scrubbing things, though. At Privet Drive, Aunt Petunia had forced him to clean all the pots and pans after each meal. Harry was so lost in his musings about his muggle relatives that he didn't notice the pile of soiled cauldrons steadily decreasing. Sooner than he had anticipated, the last cauldron was scrubbed. After putting away his cleaning supplies, Harry walked up to Professor Snape, who was currently writing scathing comments on some unsuspecting first year student's paper.
"Sir?" Harry started, as Snape looked up from his grading. "I've finished scrubbing all of the cauldrons. Is there anything else, or am I free to leave?"
"You're done already?" Snape asked, and received a nod of conformation. "Well, let's have a look at those cauldrons, as I highly doubt you did a sufficient job in such a short period of time."
Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes at Snape's last comment – a "short" time being nearly four hours. Snape inspected the cauldrons, but as they were scrubbed spotless, he had nothing to complain about. He grudgingly admitted, "I see nothing wrong with the cauldrons. They are sufficiently scrubbed. I had hoped this would have taken you longer than a mere four hours" (at this, Harry could no longer keep from rolling his eyes at his professor's warped sense of time) "but I suppose I will have to allow you to return to your dormitory. Though I must admit, I never believed the prized Gryffindor to be capable of manual labor since you've probably been pampered by the muggles you live with."
Harry snorted at the thought of his relatives ever pampering him. Trying to control his temper at being accused of growing up with such a cushy lifestyle, Harry said, "The Dursley's never pampered me. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs until I turned eleven and was forced to do most of the chores – especially scrubbing the pots and pans after dinner. I never had anything of my own until I came to Hogwarts because I was given all of Dudley's old hand-me-downs. And to top it all off, they treated me like a freak because I am a wizard."
By the time Harry was finished with his tirade, he was flushed and out of breath. He had never realized he held so much resentment for his muggle relatives. True, he acted as if their poor treatment of him didn't matter to him, but it did. After Sirius died, Harry had realized how important family was and tried to be more understanding of the Dursleys. However, they just kept treating him as they had since he could remember – as a nuisance, as a burden...as a freak. That's all he would ever be to them.
Suddenly, wave upon wave of emotion crashed over Harry, causing tears to well up in his eyes. Voicing his resentments towards the Dursleys had forced him to confront the emotions he had kept bottled up inside of him for a little over a year. He had no family, at least none worth mentioning. Harry had dreamed of having a loving home with his godfather (once his name was cleared), but that dream was shattered the night Sirius fell through the Veil. And why had Sirius died? Because he, Harry, had been to thick to even think that he might be walking into a trap. It was all his fault. Eyes shinning with unshed tears, Harry rushed from the dungeons, leaving a very confused Potions Master staring at his retreating form.
A/N: Hello all! Not much to say, so I'll start by thanking my awesome reviewers:
Ruth: You'll see soon enough. :)
ataraxis: This story was for the Harry Potter Slash Fuh-Q-Fest ().
idril.tinuviel: I'm glad too. Dobby can get a little out of control when it comes to saving Harry's life.
kiki: :)
lillinfields: I'm glad you like it.
penny: lol. Dobby does get carried away.
And now, on with the story...
~ Chapter 3 ~
The weekend passed in a haze, as the seventh year students ploughed through their piles of homework. Soon Harry was waking on the morning of his first detention with Snape. He had been dreading this all weekend, but at least he still had most of the day ahead of him before he was forced to spend who knew how long in the dungeons with his most hated professor. Unfortunately the day passed too quickly (even History of Magic didn't drag on as much as normal) and Harry soon found himself trudging down the dungeon steps. He entered the classroom to find Snape at his desk marking papers, though he looked up when Harry entered the room.
"I'm surprised to find that the famous Harry Potter decided to be on time for his detention. Will wonders never cease?" Snape smirked, but Harry used all of his self-control not to rise to his professor's baiting. Seeing that he was failing to get any reaction from the younger wizard, Snape said, "You will be scrubbing the cauldrons of others like you who fail to brew perfectly simple potions correctly. Of course, you are not allowed to use magic to assist you in your chore. You will stay as long as it takes you to clean the cauldrons to my satisfaction."
With that, Harry set to his task of scrubbing the cauldrons clean. With the pile being as big as it was, Harry thought to himself that he would be lucky to get back to his dormitory by midnight. It wasn't as if he wasn't use to scrubbing things, though. At Privet Drive, Aunt Petunia had forced him to clean all the pots and pans after each meal. Harry was so lost in his musings about his muggle relatives that he didn't notice the pile of soiled cauldrons steadily decreasing. Sooner than he had anticipated, the last cauldron was scrubbed. After putting away his cleaning supplies, Harry walked up to Professor Snape, who was currently writing scathing comments on some unsuspecting first year student's paper.
"Sir?" Harry started, as Snape looked up from his grading. "I've finished scrubbing all of the cauldrons. Is there anything else, or am I free to leave?"
"You're done already?" Snape asked, and received a nod of conformation. "Well, let's have a look at those cauldrons, as I highly doubt you did a sufficient job in such a short period of time."
Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes at Snape's last comment – a "short" time being nearly four hours. Snape inspected the cauldrons, but as they were scrubbed spotless, he had nothing to complain about. He grudgingly admitted, "I see nothing wrong with the cauldrons. They are sufficiently scrubbed. I had hoped this would have taken you longer than a mere four hours" (at this, Harry could no longer keep from rolling his eyes at his professor's warped sense of time) "but I suppose I will have to allow you to return to your dormitory. Though I must admit, I never believed the prized Gryffindor to be capable of manual labor since you've probably been pampered by the muggles you live with."
Harry snorted at the thought of his relatives ever pampering him. Trying to control his temper at being accused of growing up with such a cushy lifestyle, Harry said, "The Dursley's never pampered me. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs until I turned eleven and was forced to do most of the chores – especially scrubbing the pots and pans after dinner. I never had anything of my own until I came to Hogwarts because I was given all of Dudley's old hand-me-downs. And to top it all off, they treated me like a freak because I am a wizard."
By the time Harry was finished with his tirade, he was flushed and out of breath. He had never realized he held so much resentment for his muggle relatives. True, he acted as if their poor treatment of him didn't matter to him, but it did. After Sirius died, Harry had realized how important family was and tried to be more understanding of the Dursleys. However, they just kept treating him as they had since he could remember – as a nuisance, as a burden...as a freak. That's all he would ever be to them.
Suddenly, wave upon wave of emotion crashed over Harry, causing tears to well up in his eyes. Voicing his resentments towards the Dursleys had forced him to confront the emotions he had kept bottled up inside of him for a little over a year. He had no family, at least none worth mentioning. Harry had dreamed of having a loving home with his godfather (once his name was cleared), but that dream was shattered the night Sirius fell through the Veil. And why had Sirius died? Because he, Harry, had been to thick to even think that he might be walking into a trap. It was all his fault. Eyes shinning with unshed tears, Harry rushed from the dungeons, leaving a very confused Potions Master staring at his retreating form.