The Slip

Note: Narrated by Harry Potter

I'm okay, I keep saying.

It's been a week since Sirius died. The burden is still pushing down on me like a rock on my chest. I slowly get up and check the time.

Ugh! I'm late for potions. And I missed breakfast. Great.

I put on my school robes, gather my school bag, and head straight to the potions classroom.
My hairs still messier than usual, but no time to fix it now.

"Ooh, looks like Potty's late!" Peeves says in a sing song voice. I just roll my eyes and carry on to the dungeons. I open the door and expect the worst.

"Harry Potter," Snape says in his sly tone, "you think you're so famous that you can sleep in and be excused?"

I take my seat next to Ron, trying to ignore him like I've done so many times before. But he continues.

"You're so pampered at home, aren't you? And now you think the treatment will carry on to school!"

Just block it out. Just block it out. My hand starts to shake as I get my quill and potion's set out.

"Well, your guardians might treat you like a king, but I certainly will not."

That's it. Something inside me breaks. I slap my hand on my desk and say, "Yes Professor, you're right! I'm excessively pampered. It really is extravagant of the Dursleys to let my have an entire cupboard under the stairs to myself! Next thing you know, I'll be making ridiculous requests like being allowed to eat everyday or having clothes that fit!"

With that, the whole room is silent. My breath comes quick and hard. Ron and Hermione next to me are stunned about my sudden rage and what I've just said. Snape is starring at me intently, with a look of shock and...

Is that pity?

"Well, Mr. Potter," Snape says, "Thank you for that...biography."

The Slytherins snicker, but not as loudly as they used to. There's also a forced and sorrowful sound to it.

"But I must get on with my teaching now," he continues.

The rest of the lesson is torture. Ron and Hermione keep looking at me as if I'm a bomb. The Gryffindors stare at me in shock. Snape stays around my desk, pointing out every single thing that I'm doing wrong, down to the centimeter.

When he finally says, "Class dismissed," I run to the Great Hall like a bullet.

Author note: Just saying, this is pretty much where it ends. The whole school talks about it, and the whole school knows. It's just this dramatic moment that I wrote about.

This idea is from a post on Pinterest by Clara Sondergaard(the o has a slash through it). I also put in an idea from comments by @21dunninga, I think.