“Detention!” Snape exclaimed as he saw the depths of Potter’s potion. The first week of fifth year, and already the boy had failed to brew one of the easiest potions on the curriculum. In face, it was a review from the previous year, to see how many of the students had remembered what ingredients mixed with what and how they reacted.
“Stay after class to settle the time,” the man said down to the head identical to the one that tortured him in his far past.
The black head nodded once, and Severus cast a Scourgify spell at the teal liquid. It was supposed to be a cherry red, a far cry from shades of green. Snape felt the furious glare at his back, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Rather, he walked on to assess Longbottom’s potion, which so far hadn’t exploded. ‘It must be Granger’s work,’ he mused, glancing once at the curly-haired know-it-all sitting next to the trembling brown-haired boy.
Severus turned from the Gryffindor side of the room, moving on to praise his Slytherin’s and award points. He knew his house didn’t get many points in other classes, while the other three were gifted points by the other teachers, so he had learned over the years to give and take equal amounts in his classes, regardless of the year.
He sighed in content when he glanced at the miniscule clock perched on his desk. Snape announced to the class, “Bring up a sample of your potion; they will be tested and graded next class. I require fourteen inches on the properties of St. Joan’s wort, and what its uses are in Strengthening Potions.” (St. Joan’s wort, also by St. John’s wort, is used to strengthen nerves when depressed or anxious. It is a golden yellow flower.)
He watched as nine bottles were placed in a labeled box on his desk. The tenth was Potter and Weasley’s, both of which would receive a zero on the assignment. The box was spelled to keep the potions at a constant temperature; otherwise the class work would expire and would leave the class with either perfect scores or none at all.
The stations were cleaned up as pairs placed unused ingredients back in the store room. Cauldrons were rinsed and placed on shelves located in the back of the room, to be thoroughly cleaned later that evening. “Dismissed,” Severus called out to his fifth year Slytherin/Gryffindor class.
He saw two thirds of the Golden Trio wait in the hall as Potter remained behind, for once acknowledging his orders. The boy had advanced in the classroom until he stood before Severus’s desk, his bag over one shoulder. His hair was a mess, his glasses crooked, and his robes were starting to fray at the hems. “You are to report here at 7:00 sharp. Do not bring your wand. You are dismissed, Mr. Potter.”
The black head nodded as green eyes, so like Lily Evans before him, flickered to resigned anger. The teen left his classroom, and Severus went into his private office at the front of the room to start scoring the work turned in before the class began while he waited for his class of Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw first years to enter the room.
You Thought Wrong
Severus sat at his desk in his office with a pot of red ink set next to his quills and a stack of essays turned in throughout the day. He heard the door to his classroom open softly, followed by the patter of feet on the flagstone floor. Potter was here for his detention, and, Severus glanced at his clock, a minute early.
He let the boy stay out alone fidgeting for a moment while he stood and stretched out the kinks that had formed after working since dinner some time before. The man glided into the connecting room, and knew the billowing of the cloaks would be absent as he had taken them off after the evening meal.
“You are to scrub the cauldrons by hand for your detention, Mr. Potter,” Snape said. “Any that are unsatisfactory by the end of two hours will be finished tomorrow evening.”
Severus waved his wand, and the materials, a vial of a potion that was used as soap, though it didn’t damage the cauldron’s properties, a wire scrubber, and a self-wringing drying cloth, appeared on the side of a deep basin next to the rack with the dirty cauldrons.
Severus waited until he heard the water flowing into the basin before he absorbed himself in his work, or rather, correcting the failed homework of his students. When 8:50 rolled around, he pushed back from the desk, having finished what was needed. He rolled his wrists a few times, hearing the joints crack, before flexing and rolling his fingers in the air, stretching out the cramped tendons.
He stood from the semi-comfortable chair after capping the red ink and neatly stacking the finished essays. Severus silently padded through the doorway into the classroom, where he saw Potter sitting on a stool, leaning his back against the cool stone wall. The boy’s eyes were closed and his fingers were loosely clasped in his lap.
Snape sneered at the teen, though he knew his student didn’t see him at all. He glanced down into the basin to see it had been emptied and neatly scrubbed out so there was no grime build-up on the walls. The vial was only half-empty, and was placed next to the cloth and brush, both of which had been rinsed out.
One black eyebrow rose questioningly at the neatness, for he was unaccustomed to seeing it in Potter’s work. He next looked in the cauldrons. From younger classes, there had been many stained, yet all that were set on the rack would have been gleaming if they weren't so aged.
His eyes narrowed, and Snape turned to the teen, now alert to his presence. He was sitting strait on the bench, his fingers gripping the underside for balance. “What is the meaning of this?” Severus hissed at the boy.
Potter seemed confused. “They’re clean, which is what you asked, sir.”
“I said to do it by hand, did I not? There is no way you, of all students, could get rid of years of build-up in less than two hours.”
The boy was still uncertain, though his eyes had picked up an angry glare at his professor.
“Accio Harry Potter’s wand,” Severus said, waving his wand to the incantation. He used enough will that the wand, if it was in the room, which he didn’t doubt, would come strait to him.
A moment passed. And then another. And still Harry Potter’s wand didn’t fall into his outstretched palm. Severus glared at the boy. “Ten points from Gryffindor for cheating,” he said to the boy.
Potter nearly fell of the stool before he remembered the wall behind him. “What did I do besides clean, sir?” he nearly spit out.
“You received help from another student. How else would those cauldrons get as clean as they are now?”
“I’m the Muggle equivalent of a house elf; what would you expect?” Potter said with a harsh smile dancing across his features.
Severus glared at the teen, but was momentarily taken aback. “What are you talking about, boy?” he demanded.
“My relatives hate me. They have me make all the meals, and clean up after them, each day. I am the one who cleans the house, and weeds the garden. I do it all and more, each and every day of my life in their residence, and I have since I was old enough to understand what tool did what task. I put up with their constant abuse, mostly verbal, sometimes physical, and most times nutritional.
“What you had me doing tonight, Professor, was easy compared to what I have put up with since I was three. You have obviously thought wrong, sir. So may I please leave?” Potter ranted, falling into a slightly polite question at the end.
Severus Snape was proven wrong for the first time in a long time. He remained silent as he gestured to the door, turning to his own office as he heard the soft footfalls leave and swing the door closed behind them. It, too, closed gently, as if someone had spent enough time around harsh people to tread carefully whenever in company.
The professor settled onto a leather sofa that matched those of the Slytherin common rooms. He Accioed a bottle of brandy and a clear glass; his intent was on drinking enough to muddy the revelations fresh in his mind. It seemed Albus Dumbledore really did make a mistake, and the Boy-Who-Lived had to pay for them.
You Thought Wrong
Severus Snape woke up the next morning with cramps from sleeping on his too-short couch, an exceedingly painful hangover, and no idea what had happened half-way through grading his papers. All he recalled was Potter, clean cauldrons, Dumbledore, and regrets.