Better Be Slytherin!

Summary: As a first year, Harry is sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, and no one is more surprised than his new Head of House.

A/N: This chapter deals with some of the same events of Chapter 5, but from Snape's point of view.

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Previously:

Severus nodded, though he was certain the boy was lying. Well. There would be time enough to learn why exactly. 'Detention tonight at seven, Potter. For lack of regulation pajamas.'

At a minute before seven, a knock sounded on Severus' office door. He called, 'Enter,' and from the corner of his eye, watched the Potter Brat sidle in with a blank expression, the same one he'd worn at breakfast and dinner, the only times Severus had seen him during the day. The expression had Severus curious, if only because he was sure it was masking other, probably far more annoying, feelings. He used that same expression himself and knew what it was for.

Without looking up from his grading, he put as much coldness as he could into his voice and said, 'Cutting it a little close, weren't you?' just to see how the Brat would react.

The boy's expression did not change, though Severus was sure he caught a flicker of something -- resignation? Rebellion? -- in his eyes. It was hard to tell without looking at him full on. Even so, he was surprised by the Brat's next words. 'Yes, sir. Sorry.'

Pointing his quill at a chair in front of his desk, Severus said, 'Sit,' and was equally startled when Brat Who Kept Surprising Him obeyed without question, merely clasping his hands together in his lap and sitting with his head down, shoulders hunched, almost perfectly still. Too still, really, for an eleven year old. Severus was used to fidgeters, and knee bouncers and shoe scrapers of all kinds. He wasn't used to children who sat still, especially without being told to do so.

When he felt he'd given the boy enough time to fret, Severus put down his quill, capped his ink bottle and looked up. He'd known the boy had kept his own gaze on his hands, but it was quite another thing to see the bowed head in front of him. What the hell was going on here?

Where were the arrogance and snide remarks? Where was that Gryffindor bravado? He'd assumed the Brat would still possess it, even if he wasn't sorted into his father's House. Was the boy a coward, then? Was that why he'd been sorted into Slytherin? He shook his head. Such ruminations were getting him nowhere.

A note from Madam Pomfrey sat to one side on his desk, and Severus tapped it lightly with his index finger, considering its ramifications. As she always did when one of his Snakes came to see her, she'd alerted him to the child's ailment and advised him of her subsequent treatment and any necessary aftercare. She also mentioned that she'd observed some odd behavior from the boy, and that he was too skinny by far for his height, which was also under par for his age. In the process of checking his scar for infection, she had slipped in a few other diagnostic spells, and thus determined that Potter was malnourished and dehydrated, and that the prescription for his glasses was not correct. She was almost positive that more comprehensive scans would reveal further abuses of the boy's body, but she was not 'allowed' to do any more without permission from either his guardians or his Head of House.

She finished her note with a warning -- either Severus would deal with Potter's condition and give her the permission she wanted, or she would go directly to the Headmaster with her findings and request permission for the full medical work up from him. The warning irritated Severus more than anything else, and if he admitted that he had them, it would probably have hurt his feelings. Slytherin House attracted more than its fair share of students from less than ideal homes, and he had always been first on the spot to make sure each of them would return to a situation, for winter or summer hols, where at least they were not deliberately injured, and their basic needs were met. Never in the past had he neglected to do what was right by his Snakes, and the implication that he would fail in his duty to Potter was insulting.

And yet, Poppy knew him better than almost anyone else, had known him when he was a student, and she knew his history with the elder Potter and his Marauders, having seen him for treatment often during those years. She was one of only a handful of people -- all right, one of only two people -- whose opinion he trusted. If she saw some reason to question his ability or desire to rectify Potter's situation . . . Well.

Since Severus never appreciated the Headmaster meddling with his Snakes, and since no matter his feelings toward the boy, Potter was a Slytherin and thus he had a duty towards him, it was a foregone conclusion what he would do. The question was . . . how? How was he going to address this situation, when it was all he could do to look at the boy and not want to chuck him out of his office?

Why did the Brat Whose Very Existence Tormented Him have to look so much like James?

'You went to the infirmary,' he said at last.

The boy did not look up. 'Yes, sir.'

'And?' Though his Snakes were usually more reticent than most, thus ensuring he had plenty of experience in the art of dragging answers from the reluctant, he still detested the practice, and annoyance sharpened his voice.

The boy flinched slightly at his tone. Not much, not enough for most to see, but Severus caught it, and filed the reaction away for further reflection. 'Madam Pomfrey said the scar's not infected, sir. She gave me a salve for it.'

'Let me see it.'

Potter's head came up, finally, and he brushed back the hair from his scar with a rather odd expression.

Severus sneered. Really, did Potter think Severus was a member of his fan club? 'Not the scar, I know what that looks like. The salve.'

Cheeks and ears reddened as the boy rummaged in his book bag and handed over a blue jar. Severus pulled off the lid and sniffed the contents, just to make sure of what it contained, before nodding and returning it. Topical analgesic and anti-inflammatory. He'd made it himself over the summer. 'Very well. See that you use it as prescribed.'

'Yes, sir.'