Better Be Slytherin!

The Bloody Baron hovered next to him, offering tips here and there, and shooting glares over Harry's shoulder. Even with his back to Snape's office door, Harry knew the man was staring at him, and he wanted nothing more than to turn and shove this boning knife into the bloody git's guts. It would feel soooo good.

Briefly.

A boy could dream, couldn't he?

'Just two more days, Harry,' the Baron murmured as he finished scooping out the organs of his seventh rat, depositing the last of the waste in the bucket beside the worktable. 'You're doing fine.'

Harry sighed and nodded. The muscles were bunched in his back and arms, and he felt an itch between his shoulder blades, where Snape was obviously staring. Why couldn't he just go away? Why did he need to pick, pick, pick? Harry was getting really close to just screaming at the man, but he knew from experience that screaming at one's tormentor never led anywhere good. Better to just acquiesce, let it all flow over him like a calm river, and wait for it to end. Better to ignore the feel of injustice, the ache of weariness, and just let go.

'I spoke with him before,' the Baron admitted. 'Like your friends did with Flint.'

Harry's head came up and he glared. Before he could ask, Why, for pity's sake, the Baron continued, 'You are Slytherin, and therefore one of my own. I will protect you, even if from your Head of House.'

Harry shook his head a little and wanted to say, Don't bother. It'll just make him angrier, but he was too tired to argue.

'He is quite unreasonable when it comes to you.'

Harry snorted softly. He knew that, had known it since the morning he had been yanked out of the shower and shaken like a rag doll. He sliced through the tendons on the rat's back legs, then twisted and wrenched them from the sockets, tossing them into the 'leg' pile. 'Why, though? I don't get it.'

The Bloody Baron floated closer still, and when Harry glanced at him, he could have sworn the expression on the ghost was sad. 'Severus Snape has a history of . . . difficulty with Potters,' he said at last.

Harry frowned, head cocked to the side. 'My Dad?'

The ghost nodded. 'Alas, the two were enemies when they were in school, and I fear your professor might not have left the past to lie as he should.'

Harry's shoulders slumped even further as he sliced the ragged ends of arteries off the rat's heart and plopped the thing in a bowl. He should have known it was something like that. His aunt and uncle, who were meant to care for him when he was growing up, had hated him, because they hated magic, and hated his mother. Professor Snape, who was meant to be looking out for him at Hogwarts, according to his own words and rules, hated him because of his father, a man Harry had no memories of at all, except in dreams.

He just could not win.

'Harry?'

'S'okay,' Harry said. His eyes stung, and his nose felt like he was about to sneeze. He clenched his jaw till the feeling passed. 'I'm used to it.'

The Bloody Baron sent another glare at the doorway, but the professor was gone already. Harry had sensed him leaving a few minutes before. Didn't matter anyway.

Just didn't matter at all.

'Come, child.' The Baron's voice was gentle as he gestured to the shrinking pile of still intact rats. 'You're almost there.'

Harry nodded, drew a deep breath to banish the sudden ache in his chest, and reached for the next one.

He was late for Quidditch practice.

That in and of itself would not have been a big deal, if Captain Flint had not laid in to him the minute he did arrive.

'Where the hell were you, Potter?' he yelled. 'We've been waiting for almost ten minutes. Couldn't you be bothered to be a team player?'

'I was in the Library, sir,' Harry said, scrambling into his uniform. He didn't admit he had fallen asleep over his books, only to be woken by Hermione, who he'd mentioned the practice to during their lunchtime study. Thank Merlin she had remembered.

'Study on your own time, Potter,' Flint growled. 'Not on mine.'

Well, he would if he could, but since his time was pretty damned limited these days . . .

But Flint wasn't done. 'I've half a mind to bench you for our first game, let Malfoy be Seeker. He was here on time. He didn't keep the rest of us waiting for him like some bloody celebrity.'

Harry saw red, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ground together noisily. 'It won't happen again, Captain Flint,' he promised.

'Yeah, we'll see. Get the hell up there, boy.'

Harry gave a jerky nod and mounted his broom, angling the school-issue Cleansweep toward the sky in as sharp a climb as he could. Hunched low over the broom, Harry cut through the air like an arrow, letting the wind tear at his robes, his eyes, let it tear the scream of rage from his throat.

He had done everything! Everything they asked. Everything they wanted from him. Was it so much to have this one thing for himself? This ONE DAMNED THING??

So caught up in the feel of the wind and his raging thoughts, Harry almost didn't seen the Bludger. The heavy ball zoomed by him as he reached the apex of his flight and made him screech to a stop. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled in a snarl. No bloody Bludger was going to ruin this bloody day for him. Not now. Not