The only thing left for Potter to mess up at this point is breathing, Severus Snape bitterly thought to himself as he was inking his quill.

Not only the boy’s essay was a jumble of poorly researched dragon dung done purely out of fear and resignation, but Severus couldn’t even read the thing properly. Knowing Potter’s joker of a father, Severus wouldn’t put it past the brat to have done this on purpose.

Smudged ink, chicken scratched words and more smudged ink. Absolutely disgraceful.

If Potter was treating his first assignment as a joke then Severus would grade it as such. With a sneer, the potion master struck through the entirety of that abolition with his red ink, not even bothering to grade the thing before he drew out another essay.

Let Potter brood on his disrespectful prank all he liked. Severus would make sure that the boy would weep by the end of the term, he was hugely misunderstanding the power Severus held over him and other students too. A whole term of consistent ‘Trolls’ would run Potter to the ground faster than a sinking spell.

He spared another glance at the essay and shook his head. This was just him doing his job and nothing more. He was in no way bursting with glee at the prospect of failing Potter in his class. Well, not entirely anyway.

The self-entitled sneer remained on his face nonetheless, as he inked his quill once again and wrote a cursive ‘D’ upon Granger’s paper even without reading a word.

*

“Haven’t you ever held a knife in your life?” Severus was snapping, leering over the small boy with a menacing sneer. Potter quivered under his gaze, his right hand twisting around the knife until his knuckles were ghostly white and his breathing a bit labored.

“I’m sorry sir,” Snape’s sneer expanded at Potter’s meek apology. There was no excuse for this behavior, for this…this…twiddling. Surely, this brat was doing it on purpose. How long would it take to chop up two beetroots? So far, Potter was behind by fifteen minutes while everyone, including that dunderhead Longbottom, had already moved on with the proceeding steps.

“Well?” he drawled, his hands resting on either side of Potter’s cauldron as the brat’s eyes stubbornly remained on his hands and the damned knife.

“I’ll try harder.”

“You’ll try?” This all stank of Potter’s superciliousness, undoubtedly passed down to Lily’s son and contaminating that sparse possibility of good genes passing through. The boy was so much similar to his father already, too much at this age, and that made Severus salty.

He would never admit it aloud, but it did.

He knew how Potter’s silly act was going to go, he probably has heard all about James’s torment of him and now was continuing the legacy through lazing around and ridiculing Severus’s class in the name of trying .

“Put that knife away,” Severus said through his gritting teeth. Potter immediately dropped the knife as if burned and looked up at him through his parted fringe with confusion.

Confusion? Ha! The boy had the audacity to look confused.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor,” Snape barked with a roll of his eyes and pushed himself away from Potter’s cauldron. The Weasley boy sputtered in indignation and murmurs aroused around the classroom, undoubtedly containing a myriad of ‘this isn’t fair’ and ‘that stupid old bat’.

Severus glared at every single one of them with the promise of more point reductions if they as much as breathed a single word out loud.

This wasn’t fair, yes, Potter’s brat had been barely starting his time at Hogwarts and Severus was already the victim, more so, he had to take seven more years of Potter’s spawn strutting around this castle. And even worse, he had to protect him with his life, because that brat just happened to be the Boy-Who-Lived and also just happened to be Lily’s son whom Severus had unintentionally killed through his foolishness.

Life wasn’t fair, and he wasn’t a bat either. Although sometimes, he desperately wished to be any other creature than a two-legged mammal to rid himself of all the stupidity and cruelty displayed by his kind.

“Two points to Slytherin,” he drawled as he passed Draco’s cauldron, without even pausing to inspect the potion.

Just because he felt like it.

*

Another ink-smudged disgrace handed in by an embarrassed Potter, this time merely saved by a few relevant words that matched Severus’s essay inquiry. Severus disregarded the few coherent sentences and struck through the three-foot essay with a vague sense of mirth.

The source of that mirth had little to do with him ruining Potter’s grade record-Although he would be lying if he said it had no hand in it- but it had more to do with the fact that Severus was more than entitled to reduce Potter’s grades to ashes for turning in this excuse of an essay.

In fact, he was counting the seconds until Minerva burst through the doors, marched into his office and demanded an explanation, and then most likely accused Severus of favoritism or bias. All he had to do then was throw the stack of Potter’s essays he had been meticulously copying under her nose and sit there as the woman blubbered.

This time, before grading Granger’s four-foot addition to her main essay, he read the first two lines and then scratched it off.

*

“You have seventy minutes to complete the test, twenty additional minutes to do the essay question,” Severus said as he strode between the rows of shifting students. “If I see even a hint of cheating on one of you, not only you will be exempt from completing this exam but also barred from the next one.”

He was supposed to be chaperoning the First year Gryffindors and Slytherins while Minerva oversaw the other two houses in the adjoining classroom, he had been forced to ask her for this favor since they couldn’t alter the Great Hall for this test.

He watched with narrowed eyes as nervous first years squirmed in their seats, and looked around for a pair of eyes that showcased the horror in their own eyes accurately enough. By then, Severus could point out at least four different students who had cheat parchments on them, one of them from his own house.

With a frown, he strode to Zabini and gave him the look. The dark-skinned boy flushed and fished out the tiny piece of parchment with a huff.

“This will not be repeated,” Severus subtly vanished the parchment and then leaned away, heading to the Gryffindor cheaters with narrowed eyes and a smirk. He would love confiscating them the moment he caught them in the act, he was feeling rather bitter that day, and setting a few Gryffindors down into their place was just what he needed.

Potter, meanwhile, was fiddling with the sleeve of his left robe, and his inkwell, charmed into the right side of the desk as was the quill holder, he seemed to be struggling with the placement, fruitlessly trying to detach the charmed inkwell, but was quick to abandon his struggle once he saw Snape suspiciously eyeing him.

“No cheating,” Snape repeated, looking into Potter’s eyes. Potter ducked his head and wrung his hands. Severus decided to keep an extra eye on him. He wouldn’t have Potter goofing around during this exam and ruin it for others as well.

With a quick wave of his hand, Severus checked the time with a little nod. “The exam will start now. Mind your own papers,” with a loud swish the parchments appeared on the desks, and the first years dove for it, Granger, in particular, looked almost as if she wanted to devour her paper and wash it down with her ink, whilst students like Longbottom and Thomas just stared at the questions with unabashed horror.

Severus shook his head and crossed his arms across his chest. Not a shred of intelligence in any of these dunderheads, Granger and Draco, maybe, but the rest of them were hopeless.

He tore his gaze away from the boggled students and sneaked a glance at Potter, who still hadn’t turned his paper over and was anxiously looking around him while others furiously scratched away with their quills.

He hadn’t bothered to study, how surprising. Severus rolled his eyes and looked away in revulsion. The spitting image of his father, for sure. Both in appearance and behavior. Only James Potter’s son would be arrogant enough not to study for a lesson he’s already failing.

He busied himself with the other students, pacing between the rows and glancing over at each exam paper briefly before continuing on his way, he didn’t let his eyes wander towards Potter, who was still timidly staring at his parchment and quill as if they were touched by trolls.

Nearly five minutes later, Potter finally broke out of his stupor and reached out with his left hand to turn his parchment over, with a hesitant gulp, he reached for his quill and inked it several times.

Severus arched a brow, this should be interesting, he thought.

He didn’t openly stare at Potter, though he was obviously interested about the shenanigans the boy was about to get into during the exam, judging from his looks and odd behavior Severus suspected cheating was the most likely option on his list. Oh well. He was just waiting for an excuse to roast some Gryffindors that day anyway, might as well be Potter. That would certainly lift his moods up.

With a smug grin, he finally settled behind his desk and propped his chin on his interlocked fingers, pointedly looking at everyone but Potter.

**

This was torture.

Harry had no other name for it.

Even though Professor Snape hadn’t glanced over him even once since the start of the exam, Harry was having the worst time of his life. For one thing, the inkwell was bolted to the right side of the desk, for obvious reasons, and so Harry couldn’t sneakily ink and write as easily with his left, it would look too obvious, and the two benches on either side of him were both Ravenclaws. They were supposed to be smart, so Harry didn’t even think about risking it.

As for the second most obvious problem, the timing was awfully limited. Harry couldn’t possibly write a thirteen-inch essay and fifteen questions in seventy minutes, there was no way, even if he switched hands every other question he would still be leaving a very large portion of his questions empty.

His homework was torture enough on itself, particularly potions which were Harry’s least favorite and hardest to get subject in school, Hermione was always insisting on study groups and tagging Harry along for help. And Harry couldn’t dodge her all the time, so he was forced to write with his right hand, so his hand remained smudge-free but the handwriting stank and Harry had to redo the whole thing later, in his bed, late at night with his left cramping hand, just to get the essays all smudged instead of incoherent.

He hadn’t thought about exams until the very second he sat down in his place this morning. He was already failing every class with Professor Snape, even though he was keeping a low profile, being meek, not talking back just like The Dursleys had taught him, the man hated him, and Harry’s disposition wasn’t making things easier.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry twiddled the quill in his right hand, skimming over the questions with forbiddance. Painstakingly, he hunched over his paper to write.

He should have been better at it by now. He had been forced to write with his right hand for years, the habit was consistently strengthened with severe punishment if he hadn’t done so in front of his teachers or the Dursleys. But with the muggles, all he had to use was a pen, pencils would be an issue, but Harry didn’t get to use those often. In the house, practically no one paid attention to him while he was cooking, so he had no problem using his left hand to speed things up even though the knife fell on the wrong side, in school, he was only punished when seen, and no one bothered him in the cupboard when he colored with his pathetically broken crayons.

Using a quill and ink, in on itself was a nightmare. The ink smudged everything, sometimes, it fell on the parchment in huge black blotches even though Harry tried his hardest to be neat, other times when he was in the safety of his bed, and writing with his left, his whole left arm, form his pinky to his elbow would be smeared and dripping with ink. His sheets were a disaster, Harry was pretty sure that the house-elves hated him for it.

And it wasn’t easy, hiding this bout of ‘freakishness’ from his newfound friends. He had to stop himself, at least twice every meal, to hold his knife with his right hand, not to pick up his goblet with his left, worst of all, avoid holding his wand with his cursed hand at all times.

As if transfiguration wasn’t hard enough as it is.

He had no other choice, Harry hadn’t seen a single left-handed person in the castle as of yet, he had no concept of their beliefs on the matter. The Dursleys were very…vehement about the matter, they had even Locked Harry in the cupboard for two days for accidentally washing the dishes with his left hand. He thought it was ridiculous at first, but then his first-grade teacher saw him doing it, and then she sternly marched up to him, seized his hand away from his paper and wrenched the pen out of his hands.

Harry never forgets the way she squeezed his right fingers against the pen, hard enough for his bones to crack, and said something about the left hand being the channel to all evil or something. Even six-year-old him wanted to laugh, but she had a ruler she could hit him with, just like Aunt Petunia had the frying pan, and Uncle Vernon had the cupboard.

Besides, Harry was already a known freak, he didn’t like giving people more reason to hate him.

Then he came to Hogwarts, and nothing changed, except this people did magic, but didn’t write with their left hands, so Harry couldn’t write with his left hand, and so here he sat, running out of time with every single dip of his quill in the inkwell, as tears of frustration threatened to form in his eyes.
He had actually studied for this test, vigorously, he wanted a good grade, he wanted to stay out of Snape’s way and just not be a freak for once. He told himself that passing this test would mean that he was normal by their standards, but he was already proving himself wrong.

Normal, as if.

Harry swallowed the bile in his throat and looked form side to side to the two students, completely engrossed in their own exams, much like everyone else, and Snape was steadily gazing at the corner of the classroom at Seamus as if daring him to even attempt cheating. Harry took his chance and quickly switched hands, being extra careful not to let his hand touch the inky parchment, he wrote at the speed of light, barely even comprehending the words as he wrote them. He knew he had to be quick, he couldn’t afford to be reckless and get caught.

He was already freaky enough on his own.

The Ravenclaw on his right twitched and Harry almost fainted in his haste to drop the quill. It clattered on the parchment, quite soundlessly but smeared across the page as the quill rolled down the desk.

Harry looked at the blotched words and illegible writing with disdain, the urge to burst into tears and sob into his arms in sheer frustration that was getting more persistent with such a stern force that he couldn’t stop a single tear rolling down his cheek.

So much for saving one grade.

Potions was their first official exam on the list, Harry didn’t imagine things getting any easier with other subjects like charms and transfiguration. Either they were going to see his freakishness, find out that he was the devil’s spawn or more freaky that they had bargained for, and then kick him out of Hogwarts and back to his unwilling relatives. Or Harry was going to fail every single exam because he couldn’t hold a stupid quill in his hand and write like a normal person. Then they would kick him out of Hogwarts and ship him back to the Durlseys because they thought he was stupid.

His hands clenched around his desk and gritted his teeth.

At least he still had his cupboard under the stairs, no one would care if he was left-handed then, no one would be there to see him and care, that was more accurate but Harry didn’t care. Maybe he was meant to be lonely, maybe other people who were left-handed like him were already all cooped up in an island somewhere, banned from the society, and maybe if the others found out he was one, they would ship him there too.

He didn’t like that at all.

Another tear slipped past his eyelid and fell onto his parchment, spreading the blotched ink down the page as if trying to humiliate him. Uncle Vernon was definitely right; he was too freaky, even for this school. He had said that right before Harry had dared to leave with Hagrid, but his words rang true in his head since the moment he set foot on the train.

He already had a scar on his forehead that proved him different than the others, he didn’t need this.

When he looked up, hastily wiping his eyes, ready to sit back and do nothing for the rest of the exam instead of asking for a new sheet, Snape was staring right at him with an uncharacteristically shocked expression. His mouth was very so slightly open.

Oh no. Harry closed his eyes and then opened them again, willing this to be a dream.

Oh no!

Snape knew. Snape had seen him write with his left hand, Professor Snape, who hated Harry very much had seen Harry mess up his exam parchment and then cry. There was not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that Snape was going to tell everyone about this. Everyone would know, they would be so mad.

They might not punish him, not physically, he didn’t think that they would, but what if they didn’t need punishment? Why would they bother to punish him for this when they could easily rid themselves of him?

It wasn’t as if they were stuck with him like the Dursleys were.

Snape’s eyes widened even more, and the man shook his head, as if in a haze. Then he slowly stood, and Harry shrank back in his seat.

Harry gulped and scrambled to grab his quill. It was his word against Snape’s, and Snape hated him, Harry nodded to himself, willing himself to calm down as the man was making his way between the rows to get to him. It was his word against Snape, so maybe, not everyone would believe him, maybe Harry’s friends would vouch for him since they hadn’t seen him perform a single task with his left hand.

Maybe this was all a dream and Severus Snape wasn’t standing in front of him. The man loomed over Harry and the eleven-year-old instinctively flinched back, pressing his back into his bench. Snape looked him over and then gazed at Harry’s ruined parchment, his face stoic and not betraying a thing.

“Mr. Potter,” he finally said, his voice almost gentle . Harry’s life was ruined.

“Professor Snape,” Harry squeaked, his voice breaking.

“Why don’t you stay after the exam is over and meet me in my office?” the man continued, nonchalantly, quietly as if trying to spare Harry the shame and prevent others from hearing the conversation. The Ravenclaws were too far gone to care though.

Harry nodded, he couldn’t help but want to cry again. He hated crying, but he was so scared. He barely been in Hogwarts for a month, he wasn’t ready to be kicked out of this place already, when he got to have regular meals he hadn’t made, and warm showers and a bed, a bed in a dorm, just for him, and books that were only his and his wand…would they take his wand away too?

“Mr. Potter,” Snape interrupted Harry’s thoughts. “Do you want us to go to my office now?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he tearfully shook his head. Snape looked taken aback at Harry’s extreme reaction to such a simple request but then frowned.
“Alright,” he said. “You don’t need to salvage,” he winced at Harry’s parchment. “That.”

Harry nodded again. There was no point in salvaging his exam parchment, he was going to be kicked out and shipped off out of here anyway. Maybe they would send him off with other left-handed people so they would all be freaks together. Harry didn’t like that.

But he guessed that him liking it wouldn’t matter that much in the end. It was his fault for being left-handed, amongst other things that labeled him as an unlikeable boy, if it was his word against Snape, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that they would side with Snape.

And judging by the look that Snape was giving him, wary and almost guarded, the man knew that too.