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.

Severus was almost sure that time was crawling in circles. He’s sent Potter to his office and the boy had looked ready to burst into tears in front of his peers any moment. He didn’t think about what shenanigans James Potter’s son could get up to, in that amount of time, between the exam and Severus getting to him, but since the potion master was meticulous in organizing his things, he wasn’t too worried about Potter getting into anything he shouldn’t.

Most of his drawers were heavily charmed, and Potter looked too meek to try anything funny anyway.

Severus hated his Ravenclaw students during exams the most, because, unlike the other three houses, every student of his in that class, seemed forlornly devastated to part with their parchment. At times, Severus found himself literally snatching the paper under their rapidly scratching quills. It was an abhorrent behaviour, that mainly they and Granger exhibited during tests.

Severus patiently tapped his foot by a Ravenclaw’s bench, glaring down at the mousy child, swiftly scribbling line after line for a question that only needed a two-word answer. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have reduced points for overwriting.

“Any time now, Dylan,” he drawled, loudly as to prompt the other Ravenclaws to hurry it up as well. Potter has been alone in his office for almost half an hour now.

Dylan didn’t pause his writing and merely nodded his head distractedly with a muttered reply. Severus sneered and rolled his eyes upwards.

Dear merlin.

“I will not grade anyone’s parchment who has not handed their parchment to me in the next two minutes. Do not take those words lightly,”

The sound of quills upon parchment dramatically sped up and one of the students whimpered.

Severus crossed his arms and thought to himself all the jobs he could have possibly taken that he would have immensely enjoyed. Brewing exotic potions for the ministry was his ideal, after a potions researcher, but with his history as a former Death Eater, getting this job itself was a miracle.

When the two minutes were up, and Severus had to physically yank Mark Dylan's parchment from the boy's hands, he sighed in relief. The relief was tragically short-lived, seeing as he had a maudlin child, the boy-who-lived of all people, probably crying in his office.

Severus dumped the stacks of parchment on his desk and paused for one beat to gather his bearings before he headed to his office.

Potter sat in the chair across Severus' desk, looking at his clasped hands on his lap, Severus could see the boy's red-rimmed eyes and moist cheeks all the way from the entrance.

This was no prank then.

Severus hated dealing with emotional children.

“Mr. Potter,” he called, and the boy’s head snapped up as he hastily wiped his face with the sleeve of his school robes. Severus didn’t walk further into his office.

“You can come back out now,” he said over his shoulder, turned and walked back out into his classroom. He didn’t want to deal with Potter in his own office, mostly for Potter’s sake than his own. His Slytherin perfects were assigned to drop their reports in the office soon and Severus didn’t want them walking on Potter bawling.

He heard Potter’s tiny footsteps following him outside, and soon enough the boy stood by his desk again, this time both of his hands clenched by his side.

Severus sat down on his chair and gestured at Potter to take the first seat nearest to the desk.

“Sir…” Potter’s voice was rough, presumably because of the crying.

Severus reached for Potter's ruined parchment at the top of the stacks and slid it across the desk toward Potter.

“Do you need to explain this yourself or shall I start deducing?”

He did have a few theories taking root in his head, from the most pessimistic one, that was Potter not having studied and deliberately botching up his exam sheet. The others were less likely.

“I…” Potter swallowed, “I’m so sorry sir.”

“Did you study for this exam?” Severus asked, gently but fuming inside. He doubted this was it, but in order to let other theories in, he needed to get rid of this one.

Potter’s head snapped up with a wide-eyed glance. “Of course sir! I studied all week, I swear,”

Severus didn’t think he looked as if he were lying.

This was his first official exam in Hogwarts as well, maybe the boy had some hidden panic disorder, or some anxiety issues when it came to exams? He seemed relatively calm enough in the classes.

That wouldn't explain Potter deliberately smudging the ink on the parchment with his non-dominant hand. As far as Severus had noticed, Potter was right-handed, although god knew how that was evident with the boy's atrocious handwriting. "Then would you explain why you smudged ink all over your exam sheet on purpose?"

Potter's shoulder slumped, and he sniffed louder. "I didn't sir."

“Are you ambidextrous?”

Potter looked lost. Severus sighed.

“Can you write with both hands?”

The boy hesitantly shook his head.

Snape leaned over his desk, he gazed right into Potter’s eyes. This wasn’t a prank, no elaborate joke. The boy was clearly, sincerely upset.

“Are you left-handed then?”

All colour escaped the boy's face, and he shrank back as if physically struck. Snape reared back as well before realizing that there was no immediate danger.

What in the world was wrong with Potter?

“I…” the boy heaved, “I can explain, sir please don’t expel me, please I’ll do anything you want sir—.”

“Potter, stop!”

The child clamped his mouth shut and dropped his gaze.

Severus took a second to analyze the spoken words and then breathed.

Potter was left-handed? Why in the world would he hide such a thing? Severus had no idea what could prompt such a reaction, moreover, he had no inkling as to why would the boy hand in his sloppy written essays with his right hand.

It certainly didn't seem as if it was for shits and giggles. Potter hid it on purpose and judging from the pale complexion on his face and the new tear tracts the reason was fear.

“Why did you hide your left-handedness?" Severus asked and Potter recoiled again.

"Sir," he whimpered and absolutely refused to meet Severus’ eyes. If it went on, Severus was afraid of the boy giving himself an anxiety attack.

“Potter calm down,”

“Please don’t send me away,”

Severus sighed again. Perhaps he should have notified Minerva, or Albus or literally anyone else more equipped to deal with this. Severus was brilliant at many things, comforting students wasn’t one of them.

Potter was afraid of his left hand. It sounded so ridiculous in his head that Severus had no choice but to roll his eyes.

"I'm not sending you anywhere, Potter," he said and wondered if that really offered any measure of comfort.

Potter’s heaving slowed down, only marginally and the boy glanced at Severus, his eyes pleading. Severus had to exert patience, against his innate way of dealing with annoying brats.

If it got worse, then he would call one of the staff over the floo to deal with it.

"Do you think it's wrong to be left-handed?” he asked, feeling entirely absurd. “Is that why you hid it?"

"Yes, sir,"

Oh for merlin’s sake.

He’s seen a lot of stupid things in his teaching career, from being afraid of spider legs to one of his students abhorring the sound of chewing. This by far, seemed the strangest.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Potter,” he informed the boy, his eyes closed in irritation and his breathing slowed by sheer control. “How could you possibly think that? I'm left-handed,"

That was the most annoying bit out of it. Potter was treating his left-handedness as if it were a rare disease to be hidden under the bed or in a closet with a bag of skeletons. Severus was left-handed, Blaise Zabini was left-handed, probably a bunch of other older students were all left-handed.

Potter looked gob-smacked. "What?" he faintly asked.

Severus raised his eyebrows, in sheer disbelief.

"Why is that a surprise?” he exclaimed, “I've been teaching you for a whole month, I've been writing instructions on the board every single--.” He paused as he realized he was being harsher than he had intended. He stood, pressed his lips together and tapped his foot.

“Sir…”

“Alright, let's start over," he circled his desk to stand near Potter.

"I'm sorry, sir. I promise I can do better, I can take the test again and--"

"No,” he raised his hand. “You are going to sit down on that bench and let me think," he pointed to Potter’s usual spot. Could it be that Potter simply didn’t see Severus’ hand or the board itself? That would pose a problem with the boy’s coherency in class as well this little skirmish he had of his left hand.

Potter was somewhat short to not be sitting in the first rows.

"Sir?"

"Go sit down at your desk, fourth row, the seat on the left,"

The boy toddled over to the bench and sat down, his entire body as tense as a plank of floorboard. Severus marched to the blackboard, at the other end of the class and picked up a piece of chalk.

Potter could clearly see him now, and he, in return could see the boy’s miserable looking face staring at his hand. Finnigan usually occupied the seat in front of Potter, but he wasn’t tall enough to entirely obstruct Potter’s vision during classes.

"Sir?"

"You have the perfect view of my hand,” Severus declared, “How in the name of Merlin didn't you notice me writing with my left hand?” he let the chalk fall out of his hand, “And even if you didn't, why is that such a horrible thing? No one could care less what you write with as long as they can read it,"

"But--"

"But what?" he swiftly strode to Potter like the bat he was often likened to.

Potter shrank down in his seat. "But it's the hand of the devil," he said in a hardly audible voice.

Severus wasn’t quite sure he had heard that correctly.

"The what?" he asked, a bit harshly. Actually, his tone was definitely harsh.

"Sorry sir," Potter whispered, he sounded equally embarrassed and mortified.

Severus waited until the boy could look up again.

"If I’ve heard you correctly,” he started, “and I assume I have, you believe that your left arm belongs to the devil?” he couldn’t believe such ridiculous, absurd, and nonsensical words coming out of his mouth in a serious, non-ironic manner.

Potter said nothing.

“What sort of upbringing compels you to think that--.” No. he stopped himself. That wasn’t the right approach. He was an adult, and Potter was a gullible child. Maybe this entire thing was a misunderstanding, children were unfortunately quite prone to those, in Severus’ experience. “Alright,” he exhaled, “I will only say this once, Mr. Potter,"

"Say what?"

"The Devil is a fictional character solely created to excuse the human cruelty and utter lack of morals throughout the years on the basis of being possessed to sin, EVEN SO, if by chance, the devil was real, he would have much more pressing matters to attend to,” he stared right into the boy’s emerald green eyes, eyes that he’s been somewhat avoiding, “than you writing with your left hand,"

Potter gave him a confused look back, "I think that was an expression, sir,” he said, very slowly, as if Severus was the one being foolish, “and my relatives used to…" the boy trails off.

That explained more than any other words could have.

Muggle upbringing. Of course. What else could it have been?

"Your relatives fed you up with this rubbish?” he asked, feeling the urge to sigh perched under his throat. Potter’s relatives, by whom he probably meant Petunia and her husband had taught this boy that his left hand represented the devil. Severus pursed his lips, “Did they punish you for writing with your left hand?"

They had to reinforce such beliefs somehow, and punishment was usually the route they took. It was the case with Severus’ father when he was a child and terrified of magic, and this was most likely the case with Petunia. Damn that woman.

Severus never missed having her around in any capacity. She was such a miserable person to be around as a child, no wonder she turned into such an adult.

Potter’s eyes were as wide as orbs, "They're great to me, sir.” he exclaimed in a high-pitched voice that in no way conveyed the truth, “They're the kindest and I really don't want to be ungrateful--"

"I didn't ask that,” Severus cut in. “Do they hurt you for writing?"

"When they catch me.” Potter drops his head, “I can usually handle pens with my right hand, but it's just that quills are so messy, and my hands smudge all the words…”

Deflection, when done correctly, was one of Severus' most favourite methods of skirting dimwits he didn't want to gratify and yet somehow, Potter just made Salazar Slytherin roll and thrash in his grave by his pathetic portrayal of the art.

“I need you to focus now, Potter." He interjected sternly because child abuse was not something that he took or considered lightly. Moreover, the abuse of the boy who lived, which by no means, must have happened in the first place, with Albus Dumbledore hunched over the boy’s living place like a hawk.

Something was awfully fishy here.

He crouched down, his face level with Potter’s glassy eyes and slowly started speaking.

“What do they do, if they catch you writing with your left hand?” he asked, and he hated speaking softly like this, but he had to because Potter was only eleven and he looked right about to faint.

“It’s been so long since they did,” his voice was as meek as a mouse’s.

Severus sighed, he needed to be gentle. He was handling a child. “Just answer the question,”

“Um…Aunt Petunia hit it with a hot spoon once.”

That wretched woman. Of course, she would do something like that. In fact, Severus acutely remembered her chasing Lily around with her hairbrush once, he was hiding in their favourite tree and Lily was crying.

Petunia. Even the name repulsed his skin enough to shrivel.

“A spoon?” he repeated, not as angrily as he wished to sound. She hit a boy, a child, with a spoon.

She and probably her deplorable husband has been abusing Harry Potter, the son of his best friend, a child no less, for at least seven years. Right under Albus’ nose.

Potter’s face paled even father, and by now Severus could easily compare it with actual chalk, “It hurt but it was quick!” he exclaimed, “She was just reminding me to be good,”

No.

Severus couldn't handle this right now. He couldn't have this conversation when neither he nor Potter was in the right mindset. This boy, this child, whom he hated so much, who reminded him, day after day of the death of his best friend, and the enmity of a man he abhorred, was being abused.
And no one had noticed.

They never did with Severus either.

No one saw Severus. No one saw the scars, or the bruises or the shabby clothes. Lily did, she did but she stopped after their big fight.
Severus took a deep breath.

“We will discuss that at length, later.” He said, as calmly as he could manage. He would handle it later, Potter was safe now, and his mind was more occupied by the botched exam.

“I need you to understand something, right now.”

Potter wrung his hands, avoided his gaze, “Alright sir,”


Severus sat down on the bench in front of Potter’s, facing him. The boy was visibly intimidated but Severus didn’t care, “After you receive your letter for Hogwarts,” he started, “and once you’ve opened the envelope, you were required to fill the form that came with it. Did you fill that form incorrectly?”
That could be the only possible explanation. Because every single student was accounted for, their needs were answered, their special requirements noted before even stepping foot in Hogwarts. The only reason why Potter’s had been neglected was that he filled the form incorrectly.

Potter frowned and then shook his head in utter confusion. “I didn’t…fill any forms,”

Oh.

“How is that…” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Explain, Potter.”

Potter shrugged, looking absurdly confounded. “Hagrid delivered my letter? I never…I just went where he took me.”

They never gave him any forms to fill?

Severus couldn't even begin disentangling that mess. That highly irresponsible, reprehensible oversight. The form was critical to a student's health. They made meals according to that form. What if Potter was allergic to something and no one knew?

Damn Hagrid, or Albus or whoever let this happen.

He was going to unleash his wrath on these bumbling baboons. Endangering a child, who was abused. Dear Merlin and Circe.

He smoothed out his expression to avoid spooking Potter any further.

"On that form, you were supposed to so eloquently fill,” he calmly explained, though he was inwardly reeling, “there were two boxes you could fill depending on whether you were left-handed or right-handed. Depending on that form, you were given a special desk and equipment to write with. The same way that my desk is situated now."

“I never paid attention to that sir,”

“Well take a good look at it now.” He gestured at Potter to stand and follow him back to his desk, “The ink pot is fixed on the left side,” he pointed, “and the armrest is on the right. No smudges. This is what your desk would have looked like, had you been informed of the documents you were supposed to fill."
Potter mistook the source of his anger, and bit down on his lips, “I didn’t know that, sir.” He said in the tiniest voice possible.

“Well, now you do.” Severus kept his tone level and gentle, “I am going to speak with your head of house, extensively about this matter. We do have a few older students in your house who are left-handed, I presume. This entire debacle needs to be solved at once."

A lot of debacles concerning Potter needed to be solved at once. Severus was not going to stress the boy out by counting them off one by one right to his face.

Potter’s hand ghosted over the installed inkpot on Severus’ desk with uncertain eyes.

“Are you sure that it’s not…wrong, sir?”

Severus sighed.

“Do I look like I’ve been possessed by the devil, Potter?” then he thought better of asking such a question from a child who undoubtedly thought the answer was a solid ‘yes’. “Don’t answer that. Listen, I need you to get something in through your head…I don’t care if you believe in any deities, but even if you do, there is no such a thing, as being possessed by an evil entity unless they’re of a poltergeist nature. And if it happened anyway, there are actual spells and rituals to amend such an unlikely situation.”

That was true. And Potter looked slightly comforted by it, so Severus took that as a sign to keep going.

"The last time someone was possessed by a poltergeist it was because the person in question had murdered the entity's entire family in cold blood. And that person was right-handed if it helps your case.” He wasn’t, and Severus was making this up, but it seemed to be a comfort to Potter, so Severus no harm in it, “Bad things happen to people for two reasons, either you committed a bad deed in which case you are punished, or the bad thing happening to you is entirely circumstantial. Writing with your left hand is neither of those things.”

Potter seemed to ponder about this for a while before slowly nodding his head. It was good enough for now, Severus suspected that his head of house, and if not her, then Severus himself would talk to the boy more about this matter at the appropriate time.

“Yes sir,” he said.

Severus sighed in relief. “Come over here.”

Potter’s eyes rounded. “What?”

Severus rolled his eyes and gestured at his desk, “Sit behind my desk. I’m retaking your exam. You claim you’ve studied for it, yes?”

“Yes sir,” Potter timidly shuffled behind the desk and scrambled on the seat. The desk seemed to be a bit high for him. He was too small, to begin with, another sign of abuse, maybe. Severus hated himself for seeing it sooner.

“Good enough.” He nodded, “Do you need me to spell the chair higher? Don’t lie.”
Potter flushed, “Yes please, sir.”

Severus readjusted the chair with a flick of his wand, then levitated the contents of his desk to the nearest bench. “You will have thirty minutes to answer the questions, there shouldn’t be any issues with the quill or the ink anymore,” he paused to look at Potter, “Write with your left hand as you please.”
“What about you, sir?” the boy asked.

“I will be studying my own journal,” he said as he settled back in his chair, his leather-bound journal near the stack of parchments he had to go through, “Then heading to speak with Professor McGonagall.” They needed to talk at length about a lot of things, the most important one was the true nature of Potter’s home life. Severus logically couldn’t allow this to go on. “Enough chit chat, get to work, Potter.”

Potter reached for the quill with the speed tantamount to that of a snail, his eyes didn’t break contact with Severus once as he dipped the quill in the inkpot and carefully stared down at his exam sheet.

“Thank you, sir.” He said empathetically and tentatively laid the tip of the quill on the parchment. Seconds later he started writing.
Severus gave him a grim smirk.

The boy’s handwriting better be more legible this time, he thought grimly.