"Tough luck, mate," Ron said cheerily, "Still, better you than me." Because Ron apparently had no concept of empathy.
Harry Potter wanted to skip down to detention, he was on tenterhooks wanting to know what was going to happen.
However, since nobody skipped down to detention - not even the Twins, who might have done just to get on Snape's nerves, Harry quieted his steps and walked, trying idly to imitate the groundeating stride that Snape always used. He thought he was getting the hang of it, mostly, except of course for the fact that he was short, and so only managed to do "moderately fast" rather than "nearly running".
The dungeons seemed to close around him like a straightjacket, and Harry nestled into them comfortably, keeping to the walls and moving quickly towards his detention.
At the door, Harry took a moment to straighten his collar, attempt to subjugate his atrocious hair, and straighten his robes. He gave a loud knock, and Snape responded with a laconic, "Enter."
Snape looked at Harry as Harry entered and shut the door, careful not to stop looking in Snape's general direction. Animals could smell fear, couldn't they? Well, it wasn't as if Harry was afraid of Prof. Snape, but he didn't want to give the impression he was either. "I'm here for my detention, sir." Harry said softly.
Snape merely stood and pointed, waiting until Harry's head turned to the fifteen cauldrons (some looking nearly full of colloidal sludge), "You know what to do."
Harry Potter did, working up a good lather while scrubbing, knowing his arms were going to be hurting him soon because of all this labor. Still, that was the way one trained, wasn't it? Pity he wasn't doing boxing, that would have made all this upper body work even more worthwhile. While he worked, he thought about his mission with Zambini. He badly, very badly, wanted the detention to be over quickly, as he was truly impatient to get a look at his erstwhile bullies.
Harry finished in record time, though Snape looked like Harry couldn't have impressed him if he'd finished in a tenth of the time. "You may go." Snape said shortly, "You can serve the rest of your time on Thursday next." Harry nodded, leaving the classroom and shutting the door quietly behind him. He was off at a trot, moving like a scared fawn, hurrying away from a predator.
Footfalls sounded behind him, and Harry grinned. This was it - they'd figured out he could dodge them if they laid an ambush. So they were following him, to catch and capture and gobble him up! Or at least pummel him into the ground.
Harry moved faster, as he turned Left, then right, crossed three corridors, and then doubled back with a Right Left Right.
There! Zambini! Harry tagged him, as the "Clad in Gryffindor Colors" Slytherin continued on, doing his best to match the slighter, smaller boy's pace. Harry, meanwhile, ducked into the dark corridor, flattening himself against the wall.
Rosier, Lovechild, Boyle, Priestley, Langley, Norwich, and that girl whom Harry always forgets her name. Mouse brown hair and all.
Deep in the shadows, Harry's face curls into a dark, wicked grin. I've got you now! He thinks. Not so far away, he can hear the Slytherins loudly yelling at Blaise about wearing a Gryffindor uniform. These weren't the smartest of the bunch, they might not even figure out that there was a plan afoot.
[a/n: Erm. Harry. You're kinda stepping on Snape's plans. That's a worse idea than stepping on his toes.
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