Harry Potter and the Misunderstanding

CHAPTER 4

Harry felt strongly that Snape could have given him some warning. A brief explanation, at the very least. As it was, Harry was completely unprepared for the way the fireplace flames enveloped him and spun him around like a stone in a sandstorm. Harry knew no better than to open his mouth and call for help, only to find himself choking when he inhaled the ash. It was a blessed relief to feel cool air on his face, but Harry couldn't catch himself in time to avoid stumbling onto the rough stone of the hearth. His bag went flying across the new room, landing on its side in a shower of dirt and grime and Harry avoided Snape's eye as he hurried out of the fireplace to retrieve it. Suddenly, Snape slammed into him from behind with such force that Harry went sprawling over onto the hardwood floor, bumping his head slightly. His hands scraped, and his eyes smarting with tears, Harry coughed and retched.

"Stupid boy." Came a man's voice from behind him, scathing in its tone. 

Harry felt his shirt tightening around his chest as the man grabbed a handful, digging in his fingernails. Harry yelped in protest as he was bodily hauled to his feet and shaken.
"Don't you have enough sense to get out of the way?" Snape hissed at him. "We may have travelled together but I am much larger than you. Why didn't you have the sense to get out of the way?" He snapped. 

"I couldn't stand up." Harry protested weakly, the truth of this reply being fully realised by himself as he felt his head spin. Harry could feel where Snape's fingers were pinching into his back but the man let go at Harry's barely audible gasp of discomfort. Harry straightened his t-shirt and pressed his aching palms against it, searching for some form of comfort. Snape's face was twisted in anger, when Harry looked up and he quickly looked away to focus on the room they were in instead. 

It was a very dark parlour. The curtains were drawn but Harry saw that the room itself was dark, dark everywhere, in fact. Dark panelling, dark furniture, dark upholstery and dark curtains. The only relief to the darkness was the light grey fur of a thick layer of dust which coated everything in the room. 

"Not exactly an estate home, but then I do not bring home an income comparable to what your uncle undoubtedly did." Snape said bitterly.

Harry flushed. "I wasn't thinking about that." He said, looking down at his shoes.

"If you can hold for a little longer, I'll have my servant clean the house." Snape told him.

Harry frowned but did not look up. He wondered apprehensively if Snape was referring to him as the servant, having forgotten Snape's earlier comment that day. 

"I do hope we can move fast enough for you." Harry heard the man add with a sneer in his voice in reply to Harry's silence.

"I- " Harry weakly protested, but Snape wasn't interested.

"Can't you be quiet?" He demanded, and Harry fell silent as Snape headed for the hallway, impatiently beckoning him to follow with a crooked finger. "I'll be making us our tea while Noddy gets your bedroom ready. I want you out of the way until we eat." He ordered, without looking at Harry.

The sound of their footsteps was muffled by the dust on the floor, as well as by a thin rug that reached from the end of the hall they had entered to the kitchen entrance. Harry only noticed this because his eyes remained on his shoes for the entire journey. 

"Do you like to read?" Snape asked suddenly, gruffly. He had stopped suddenly next to a closed door in the hall and turned to look down at Harry. 

"Yes, Sir." Harry answered honestly, slightly relieved by the direct question. The man's snide way of speaking to him had so far been confusing for Harry. His answer wasn't a lie either, he liked to read and, although he didn't have his nose buried in one all the time like Sally Turner at school did, he enjoyed the power that a good story had in causing him to forget his worries. Harry understood now that Noddy was the servant, not Harry himself. Harry was looking forward to expecting an elderly gentleman like the caretaker at his school; a quiet, hunched man. One with hair like the feathers of his dusting brushes.