Better Be Slytherin!

Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 11

By jharad17

Disclaimer: Not mine. Alas.

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.

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Previously:

When class was over, he prepared a bin of black beetles for Potter to crush into powder during his detention tonight, with explicit written instructions, as he would not be there to supervise. Amazingly, he knew he could trust the boy to do his detention as assigned.

When Harry arrived at Snape's office for his detention at 7 o'clock on Friday evening, there was no answer when he knocked and a quick test of the knob found the door locked. Then he noticed the folded piece of parchment stuck to the door, next to the list of Snape's office hours and the 'Do Not Disturb Upon Pain of Flagellation' sign. Harry's initials were on the front of the parchment, so he yanked the note off the door. The script inside was tiny, crabbed and slanting, and Harry had to squint to make it out.

Mr Potter,

Your detention assignment is readied in my classroom. I have temporarily changed the password to permit you entrance, namely an infusion you seemed to have no knowledge of in class today. I trust that is no longer the case. When I return, I expect to find you have completed the work and cleaned up after yourself.

Do not disappoint me.

S. Snape

Odd, Harry thought. But he didn't dwell too much upon it and simply continued down the corridor to the Potions classroom, where the door opened to the word 'Wormwood,' letting Harry inside. On a table near the front of the room sat a bin of black beetles, a number of small glass jars, and a mortar and pestle. A set of instructions on the proper method for grinding the beetles and how much went into each jar was on another piece of parchment leaning up against the bin, in that tight scrawl of the Professor's.

With a sigh, Harry got started. Using a small scoop, he moved beetles from bin to mortar then took up the club-shaped stone pestle and ground them to a fine powder before scraping them into one of the jars. It took three full scoops of beetles to fill each glass jar half-way as instructed, and Harry soon lost himself in the mindless, repetitive work.

His thoughts drifted to the last couple of days, and the highs and lows of his first full week at school. From almost being expelled to that session with Flint on the Quidditch pitch, where the large Prefect had first explained about the different roles on the team, then watched, with his mouth hanging open, as Harry caught the little golden snitch over and over. At dinner time, Flint actually clapped Harry on the back when he touched ground after his last catch, and smiled at him for the first time ever.

'Good one, Potter. That Cup will be ours for sure this year.'

Still riding that high at dinner, he'd almost forgotten to go to detention afterwards, and had to scramble to get there on time. Then the Professor had been so weird, watching him dice those disgusting worms . . . flobber worms, were they? What kind of name was that? Their insides were chock full of the most sticky and viscous slime he'd ever had the misfortune to touch, although his textbook said they were good for thickening potions, so he supposed he'd need to get used to them. If possible.

Snape had studied him as he worked; he'd felt the man's dark eyes on him the whole time. And then, asking him about being a chef, of all things, and saying Harry'd been starved at the Dursleys.

As if he cared.