you raise me up || harry potter

chapter 13: you are no slytherin

»»————-　song:　————-««

hearing

★ sleeping at last ★

♢ ♢ ♢

Harry and Hermione became the talk of the school almost overnight when people caught onto their friendship. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin friendship was unheard of; gossipy girls whispered among themselves, giggling as they speculated about forbidden romances. Others in Slytherin scowled at the thought of one of their own fraternizing with the enemy. Gryffindors couldn't bring themselves to admit that they were intrigued by the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Don't pay them any mind," Hermione advised Harry. "This whole inter-House rivalry issue is really very silly. Think of how much we could accomplish if we all work together!"

Harry frankly thought that was a cheesy sentiment, but partly agreed. Ravenclaws and Slytherin, he had come to observe, had quite a few things in common. A study group among them wouldn't be such a bad idea, but Slytherins were a private group of people.

Harry spotted Ron, who was watching them in the distance. He couldn't make out the expression on his face, but it was sure to be scowling. 

Hermione followed his gaze and sighed. "I've been trying to get him to come around," she said. "But he's absolutely adamant that you're somehow evil, and that you're trying to sabotage Gryffindor."

After Harry practically saved him from Filch and losing a stupid amount of House points?

"I suppose it can't be helped," Hermione reasoned, "Since all his brothers were in Gryffindor. He was raised that way." Shrugging, she pulled out a jar and cast a nifty little fire charm in it, intending to keep them both warm. 

Snape—who Harry noticed lately walked with a odd limp—headed toward them. Hermione moved to hide the jar, and something about their guilty faces must have tipped him off. 

"Bringing library books outside, Potter? That's against school rules. A point from Slytherin."

Snape tugged Quidditch Through the Ages out of his hand and limped away.

Hermione frowned. "Well, that's unfair. Is that even a rule?"

Harry sighed. "He hates me so much that he takes points away from his own House. I thought he favored Slytherin?"

"He favors Malfoy," Hermione reminded him. "That's where he makes up for all the points you lose. Which reminds me, why do you hang around him, anyway? He seems like nothing but a pretentious prat to me."

Harry struggled not to smile—Draco had called her the same thing, though for different reasons. "He's all I got. In Slytherin, anyway."

Hermione smiled, a little sadly.

 ♢

Harry went to go find Snape afterwards, telling himself he had nothing to be afraid of. The man was his Head of House, for Merlin's sake. But that didn't stop him from pacing outside the faculty lounge nervously, every second passing making him less reluctant to go in. Finally he plucked up is courage and knocked. 

The door had been ajar, and it opened slightly. Through the space, Harry was greeted by a gruesome sight: Snape was sitting on a chair, with Filch bandaging a mangled, bloody leg. 

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Snape picked his head up slightly—and spotted Harry through the space between the door and the door frame. 

"Out," he snarled, voice just below a shout. 

Any other Slytherin would have gotten the hint and left. But Harry was not any other Slytherin.

"But sir," he protested, choosing his words wisely, "The Quidditch game against Gryffindor is coming up, and I just want to play well for Slytherin—"

That maneuver was not lost on Snape. He stood up, against Filch's protests as a few bandages slipped off his mangled leg. Harry tried not to stare, he really did, but he couldn't help wincing at how painful it looked.

Despite standing on only one leg, with his face twisted with obvious agony, Snape still managed to look imposing. In fact, he looked positively murderous.

"You," Snape whispered venomously, "You are no Slytherin."

Harry felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He stood stock-still, the way he always did when Dudley hit him. Except this time, the punch hurt a lot worse.

"Gryffindor loving, Quidditch fool," Snape spat. "Just like your father."

Harry Potter knew which battles to pick. So he dropped it, as he did his head, muttering, "Sorry, sir," as he fled from the room.

a/n: i know the snape content is lacking here but don't worry i'm just building up to it