Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: I own none of the Harry Potter ideas or characters or plots, or anything else thought up by the amazing author of the series.
Chapter Three

“Put your new things away,” I snapped at the boy as soon as we got in. Maybe he was more obedient than I’d originally thought; he went up the stairs straightaway and I heard drawers creaking open. I spelled the icebox to stay cold, and looked over the few groceries I’d picked. ‘Ruddy little village, ruddy little stores . . .’

“Ruddy blasted house!” I snarled aloud, just as the boy showed his pitch black mop in the kitchen. He meekly took the sack and milk from me and proceeded to put things away like he owned the place. It irked me, but at least he was busy. I retreated to the cellar to brew a Subtusum elixir.

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I cleaned the shelves so I could put the food away properly. My stomach growled loudly and pains shot up into my ribs. It had been three days since I’d had a morsel. I gulped as much water as I could without it coming back up. I’d learned this trick long ago; your stomach didn’t hurt as much when it was full of something, anything. I washed some old dishes I found in an upper cabinet, hoping the crumbling lye soap was satisfactory.

The day was to heating up, and I noticed my clothes were starting to turn back into what they were before. The crisp, white shirt was turning blue and the fabric was beginning to go threadbare. A few moments more and the clothes became larger, the trousers rough. They were still relatively clean, though. That was something. I rolled up my sleeves and took off my enormous trainers, padding about barefoot fetching water to scrub the table and floor.

I thought of a story I’d heard in school. The little cinder girl, with mean step-sisters and step-mother. ‘Her parents must have died, too,’ I thought, and it cheered me a little. She’d become a princess or something, hadn’t she? She just had to wait until she grew up. I spent my time scrubbing pretending the Snape man was my wicked stepfather, and I’d grow up to be a prince with a white Clydesdale and a magnificent golden crown.

By the time that was done I was sure it was time for a spot of lunch, if not tea. The man hadn’t showed his face, and I really wasn’t sure where he’d gone to for so long. Maybe he left? I thought I’d better set out a meal anyway. All he’d bought was butter, milk, bread, and cheese. I cut thick slices of the luscious pastry and sharp cheese, placing them on a freshly dried plate. Setting out a pat of butter, knife, and a glass of milk, I considered what to do next. I decided I didn’t want to go upstairs just now; I feared I might wake him if he were sleeping. I set to pulling weeds in the garden. I was making good progress, considering I hadn’t any tools, save a disused broom handle, when he came charging out the back door.

“Don’t touch the garden!” he barked like a man possessed. I dropped what I was doing and scrambled back, stumbling into the trunk of one of the willows.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry! Please, sir, I won’t do it again. I’m sorry!” I hid my face under my arms, waiting for the beating to start. But again, it didn’t come.

“Stop whinging, you didn’t know,” he said, a smidge calmer, and I unfurled. I was really starting to appreciate my new home!

“Don’t do it again!” he shouted. “Get yourself inside.” Well, I knew I could never count on kindness for long. But I would hold onto that moment when he ceded, speaking almost as if I were important in some small way.

I brushed off as much dirt as I could and followed him in. He sat down to eat, and I waited by the sink for instructions, or to wash the dish once he finished if none were given. I was fighting to keep from drooling; I wanted to suck more water from the tap but that would have to wait. I felt him staring at me, but I daren’t look up; that would not do at all.

“Well?” he said.

“Yes, sir?” I answered quietly. I only spoke quietly.

“Don’t just stand there staring at the floor! Go entertain yourself!” he dictated to me gruffly.

“Yes, sir,” I answered, and fetched the bucket, rag, and brush from the freshly cleaned cupboard before whisking up the stairs toward the loo. I did the tub and sink first, scouring off as much mold and mildew as possible without special cleansers. The cold, broken tile floor was finally too much for my knees, and they started bleeding halfway through the scrubbing. I rolled up my pant legs to cushion them, and kept going. I tackled the disgusting toilet last, sicking up in it as I finished. Cleaning the brush, my hands, and, lastly, my filthy-tasting mouth, I started on the corridor and stairs.

The Snape man came into the parlor and looked at me once, rolling his eyes, before taking a great hulking book from the shelf and retreating back to a short door behind the stairs. How I envied him! I longed to read those books, any one of them. The happiest moments I’d had at the Dursleys were after they’d gone to bed and I could read my schoolbooks over and over. History was best; I could read about people far away in a distant time and make up stories about living with them. I tended potatoes in a big, open field, basking in the glow of the sunlight all day and feasting with my ten brothers and sisters at night. I traveled to China, buying wonderful things I could trade to make money and buy lavish gifts for my loving mother and father. I fought along with other slaves to overthrow my cruel master; I especially indulged that one.

But my schoolbooks were gone. There had only been a week left in the school term, so I couldn’t hope to have books of my own again for months. I snapped back into reality and scrubbed ever harder, working out the lump that had swelled in my throat.

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The child was really getting under my skin. I was surprised he’d set out a plate of food for me, but that was probably done just to appease me so he’d escape reprimand for gobbling down his own meal prior to asking. Not that he had to ask . . . And now he was taking up more of my time because I had to fix a bloody potion for his face! ‘I might as well brew another while I’m at it.’ I went up the crumbling cellar steps to retrieve the necessary manuscript.

He was playing at working very hard when I came into the room, pretending he’d been so awfully good. Probably rolled around in the fireplace while I ate so he’d look good and dirty from all that cleaning he was supposedly doing. But any other child would have looked up with a sloppy grin, waiting to be praised. He glanced up at me, but looked immediately back down. Strange. But you couldn’t put any amount of trickery past a Potter.

When the Subtusum was ready to boil I went up to the parlor again to find the boy playing chimney-sweep. ‘Probably saw that disgraceful Mary Poppins show on that huge muggle television.’

“Boy!” I shouted, determined he stop making such a mess.

He jumped and knocked his head around in the chimney, falling into the grate. He squinted at me, glasses hanging broken off one ear, and all I could see were his crystal green eyes floating in a sea of black. Lily’s eyes.

“Give me those!” I said, reaching for his glasses. He slumped back as I stretched out an arm and snatched them off his face. “Get upstairs and wash. And put on your new clothes, you filthy little brat!” I shouldn’t have said that, I realized as he scampered around the settee, away from me, and raced up the stairs. Damn! But those eyes . . . they had thrown me off guard.

I stamped into the kitchen and saw he’d already washed the dishes and put them away again. Taking out the mealy, scarcely edible bread and rotten cheese, I tore off hunks and slammed them down on cracked plates, pouring the boy milk and settling for water myself. ‘Lily always scolded me for my temper,’ I thought ruefully. If only she were here to care for the child, I wouldn’t be in this state.

“Boy!” I called again, and he came in, looking quite dashing in his smart new outfit. ‘Just like his father!’

“Sit,” I commanded, pulling out the shabby dining seat. He hesitated, but complied. I tossed him repaired glasses and began my meal, but noticed he was just staring at his plate, perched on the edge of his chair.

“Eat!” I growled, and he looked up at me, a smirk plastered across his dirty face. ‘Just as I thought, taunting at its best. Cheese and bread wouldn’t be good enough for his highness.’

“Not what you’re used to, eh?” I asked, utilizing my favorite brand of conversation: sarcasm.

“No, sir!” he answered back, laughing, with an immense hunk of Swiss, half masticated, showing in his flapping trap.

That was the end of it. I took both our plates and threw them in the bin, relishing the satisfying crash they made as they shattered.

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He sent me to bed, and I wished I’d eaten faster. Just a few more bites or sips of milk and I would have felt quite full. I wondered what I’d done wrong this time. It was useless, wondering. Uncle Vernon certainly never needed a reason to do any of the things he did. Actually, I was quite happy to be allowed sleep after toiling so vigorously. I put back on my less dirty pair of old clothes and folded the new ones, carefully replacing them in the top drawer. I wanted to wear the fresh new nightclothes, but decided I shouldn’t unless he told me to do so. After all, I was being punished, even if I didn’t know why. No need to anger him more.

My muscles were aching from all the heavy work. I was used to lots of chores, but the tasks Aunt Petunia had set weren’t so difficult because the house had been kept up. The bedroom was stuffy and warm, so I pried the window open and fell asleep in my corner, listening to a parliament of owls ghosting about the swishy branches.

Next morning, I woke before the sun. I was stiffer than ever, and the welts that covered me had been aggravated by sweat the day before. I waited ‘til the sun shown over the horizon, then ventured into the corridor. The man’s chamber door was open, and he wasn’t in there. I didn’t hear him, though. Perhaps he’d left in the night? ‘I hope he doesn’t come home drunk!’ I quivered. Uncle Vernon didn’t drink often, but when he did things were always ten times worse. After washing up and slurping from the tap, I slunk downstairs to see if it was safe. Deciding I’d best not be caught idle, I set to work on the stone floor under the grate. Inadvertently, I'd spread a lot of soot the day before.

The man came up from what I deduced was the cellar, and he looked like he hadn’t slept. Had he been drinking? I couldn’t tell. He swayed like he had been, but exhaustion could likely be the cause as well.

I held my breath, waiting to fall into the day’s fate.


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