Better Be Slytherin!

He never heard the Bloody Baron yell, though, until one afternoon when he was just outside Professor Snape's office, preparing to knock to be admitted for his 'tutoring' session. He heard raised voices, and, though he knew eavesdropping was tactless, he could not help himself, especially once he heard his own name on the Professor's lips.

'I just can't believe how callous he's being!' Snape snarled. 'Potter is the golden boy, isn't he? The Boy Who Wouldn't Bloody Die? Yet he would not credit my word!'

'Severus Snape,' the Baron intoned, 'calm yourself. Having a fit will not change anything.'

'Except make me feel better.'

The Bloody Baron chuckled. 'Tell me what he said, then.'

The Professor stalked back and forth, as if he were lecturing, but his steps were heavier than usual. Then he paused. 'He accused Potter of cheating in one breath, and dismissed the danger Quirrell presents to the boy in the next.'

'Cheating!' the Baron howled and his next words were mere sputters, 'As if, the boy . . . only now has he the time! I'll show him cheating . . .'

Harry's hands had clenched into fists, furious at the indignity of the very idea. Cheating? Him? He didn't even know who this 'him' was that had accused him, but right now he was seeing red, and wanted to punch someone.

'. . . he had was the word of that old fussy cat,' Snape was saying. He was pacing again.

'McGonagall accused him?'

Professor McGonagall? Harry was stunned. He knew the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor didn't exactly like him, but she seemed decent enough. And she'd appeared genuinely pleased to see his grades improve. She had even smiled at him the other day after class, and said his father had been skilled in Transfiguration, and if Harry kept improving, she was sure he would be, too.

'That's what he said,' said Snape. 'Nothing overt, of course, just that 'concerns had been raised.'' There was the sound of something hitting a desk. A fist, maybe? Or a book? 'Barmy old coot. Wanted me to keep a closer eye on the boy, to make sure his study habits were up to snuff.'

'Oh,' the Bloody Baron said, in a much changed tone. 'I see.'

Snape whipped around -- Harry could hear the billow of his robes from where he hid, pressed up against the wall in the corridor -- and snarled, 'You know something. Tell me.'

'I believe . . .' The ghost sighed, and Snape made an impatient sound. 'I believe the 'old coot' is making sure you have an excuse to continue to look out for the boy. If Quirrell is indeed dangerous to him, and if he has some connection to the Dark Lord, then any interactions you have with young Harry Potter will be suspect . . .'

'Unless I am ordered to undertake them,' Snape finished. He sighed then. 'Damn manipulating codger!'

'Indeed,' the Baron agreed. 'But it seems he is still looking out for you, which is a good thing, if the Dark Lord is rising again.'

'And for the boy,' Snape said, much more quietly, in an almost reluctant tone.

'And for the boy,' the Baron said. 'Who just so happens to be waiting in the hallway.'

A brief, shocked pause, and then, 'Potter!'

Harry shuffled into the room, head down. He could feel the weight of their stares. 'Sorry,' he mumbled.

'For the impertinence you've displayed in listening in on a private conversation, I assume,' the Professor hissed.

'Yes, sir,' Harry said, and risked a glance up. 'But you were talking about me, sir, so I . . .' He shrugged. 'I wanted to know what you were saying. Does Professor McGonagall really think I'm cheating?'

Snape's eyes were dark holes into nothingness, and his expression gave nothing away. It was the blank mask that Harry always disliked seeing the most. This mask was the one he himself often adopted when he didn't know how to react in a situation, and any way he could think to react would be mocked or yelled at. Blankness was safe . . . but it was hard to understand from this point of view.

Finally Snape said, 'I do not believe so.'

'Why'd she say it then? You know I haven't been . . . doing that. I wouldn't ever!'

Snape studied him again, still giving nothing away. 'It's complicated, Potter. Did you bring your books?'

Raising his eyebrows, Harry also lifted his heavy book bag, which was obviously in his hands. He did not, however, say anything like, 'What does it look like?' since he didn't need to sign his own death warrant, thank you very much. Instead, he said, 'Yes, sir. Charms, today.'

'Get to work then.'

Harry frowned, and opened his mouth to argue, since he wasn't done with this conversation, not by a long shot!

But Snape cut him off before he could get anything out, and said in one of his coldest tones, 'Work now, talk later. If you do as you're told.'

Pressing his lips together, Harry gave a short, angry nod, but went to the table where he usually worked and took out his books and parchment. He hated being left in the dark about things that concerned him. Who did they think they were, anyway? To shove him to the side, as if his feelings on the matter didn't count?

He was too angry, banging his quills and ink bottle about and slapping down parchment, to notice when the Bloody Baron came to hover over his shoulder, until the ghost said, 'Be at ease, Harry Potter.'