Lefties by Hopeless Wanderer

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.