Hating me (Discontinued)

The DADA teacher

The past two days had been a blur for Harry. First, Snape had let a lot of things slide that he wouldn't normally have done. In fact, he had half expected to be suspended for yelling at the professor, but he had not been. This had confused Harry, for surely Snape would have at least taken points?

Currently, he was sitting on a sofa inside of the Potion Master's quarters as he made tea in the kitchen. After yesterday's incident, he had insisted that Harry leave classes early so that the professor could "check up on him." He wasn't buying it, however, and made sure he had his invisibility cloak and wand tucked into his robe.

Snape came into the room carrying a tray, which he set down on the coffee table infront of the sofa that Harry was sitting on.

"Have you eaten today?" he asked. Harry winced. He found it odd - why was Snape suddenly being so nice to him? I mean sure, he had a few injuries here and there. Injuries that his head of year, Professor Mcgonagall, would have certainly fussed over. Even Dumbledore might have shown his concern, but Snape? The evil, spiteful dungeon bat? The greasy haired Potter-hating git? Surely, something else was at hand. Or perhaps someone had put him up to it. But that left the lingering question that he had been dreading to ask.

"S-sir?" he began, timidly, taking the biscuit Snape had given him after he had shaken his head.
The professor looked up from his tea and fixed Harry with his piercing stare.
"Yes, Potter?"

"Who- I mean, the parchment. With my uhm...injuries..." he trailed off, dreading to know the answer to what he was about to ask. What if the entire school knew? There were certainly a few whispers regarding him in the corridors. Nothing out of the ordinary, but still...

"What about them?" Snape asked, now apparently interested in the newspaper that was lying on the arm of his chair.

"Does anyone else know?" Harry gulped and lowered his gaze to the newspaper, trying to decipher the front page. Oh god, what if the Prophet had gotten hold of it. He could see it already.

"The weakling who lived, buckling at the hands of his muggle family."

This thought scared him so much that the teacup in his hand began to rattle violently.

"Harry?"
Harry jumped, realizing that Snape had been saying his name for the past minute.
"Sorry," he muttered, quietly.
Snape inclined his head,
"The only people who know are I and Madam Pomfrey. Nobody else." He muttered something else to himself, but Harry didn't hear it. He looked up sharply. Snape knew, and he certainly wasn't one to keep this quiet. He would leap at the chance of embarrassing Harry. He bet he'd be telling all of his Slytherins the moment he left.

Snape, who could apparently read minds, spoke again, "I can assure you, child, I will not tell anyone else without your consent. You have my word."

This did not lower Harry's suspicions. After all, Snape didn't appear as the most trustworthy person. But, for the time being, he supposed he just had to cross his fingers and hope.

*

Severus sneered at another Gryffindor potions essay. Neville Longbottom, quite the famous one for potions accidents. At least this essay was superior to most others submitted by his house, the majority of which had clearly been scribbled minutes before class started.

He graded and placed it on the finished pile of marked essays, gazing out the window at the rapidly sinking sun. He checked his watch. He had no detentions to attend, but he was waiting for someone.

As if Severus' thoughts had been heard, the fire lit up and a figure tumbled out of it, coughing and spluttering. He stood up, wiping his eyes with his sleeves.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to those," the person said, with a sheepish grin. Severus pulled a disgusted face - he hadn't particularly wanted to host this meeting but he knew he must.

"Professor Lockhart," he nodded to a chair opposite him, in which the 'Professor' ungracefully sat.
"So my dear bat, what calls for this late night meeting?"
"Don't call me nicknames Lockhart," Snape hissed, menacingly, "I have summoned you to discuss how and what you have been teaching your students. Most especially those in Potter's class.

"Ah, yes well. We have been going over quite a few of my stunts. My pupils are quite the actors, perfectly demonstrating my wondrous tales-"

"So you have been teaching them nonsense?" Snape questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"Nonsense?" Lockhart laughed, nervously, "Yes, perhaps to you professor. I suppose you must have done many great things in your time. But I think it is good learning for them to-"

"You teach Defense Againt the Dark Arts, not a Drama class."

"Well-"

Snape stood up, abruptly, causing Lockhart, who was greatly unsettled by this sudden height, to stand up also, albeit he was about half a foot shorter than Snape.
"If you don't start teaching properly I will report you to the headmaster and we shall find another, more professional teacher to replace you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Why of course Severus, but don't you think-"
"Get. Out." Snape said, his face inches away from Lockharts. He was sick of the pathetic man already, and had no care for further conversation.
Lockhart scurried back to the fire, "I shall see you another time shall I?" And, without waiting for a response, disappeared back into the green flames.

Merlin, did Severus hate that man.

*

*coughs nervously*

So, like...hi...how's it going? Totally wasn't, like, procrastinating writing his chapter or anything.

Word count: 942