A Time And Place To Grow

Chapter 8: Cleaning Up

Harry stood frozen for a few awful seconds, hearing his pulse pound in his ears heavily. He was dead.

Snape was going to murder him. Snape was going to tear him into pieces. Forget looking into the man's Pensieve, stealing from the man's private store at Hogwarts, and being disrespectful in class; forget barging into his house; forget ignoring Snape's instruction - forget it all. This was the worst thing Harry could possibly do next to burning down the whole house. After Snape was finished with him, facing Voldemort would feel like an afternoon picnic.

The portraits were all talking fervently to each other, and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before Snape came billowing down the hallway and demanded to know what had happened. Harry heard a step at the far end of the hallway. And then he lost it completely. Harry ran up the other side of the hallway, ignoring the shouts of the portraits to stay where he was so the master could deal with him.

Heart racing, Harry ducked into an open door. It was the sitting room where he had first arrived in the cursed fireplace. Oh, now that curse was nothing compared to what Snape would do.

If he could just find some Floo powder, Harry could try to get out of the house. Not forever, just long enough for Snape to calm down and realize that his intrusive houseguest did not mean to blow up his potions lab. Harry began searching the various boxes and vases on the shelf over the fireplace. No one had used the fireplace as a part of the Floo network in years but Harry was too distraught to think rationally.

"Harry James Potter!" Snape's voice roared in the hallway. "Where are you? Show yourself this minute!"

"He went into the parlor," a portrait called out helpfully.

In the midst of his terror, Harry's one coherent thought was that he was going to tear that portrait to pieces if he survived Snape's wrath.

"Thank you," Snape's angry voice was drawing

nearer.

Harry felt panic surge through his body, and he could not remember a time when he felt more terrified. Even the battle in the Ministry of Magic paled in comparison. He did only the thing that seemed appropriate in a situation like this he hid. Later on, he might admit that it was a silly, childish thing to do, but for now it seemed the only option. He scrambled over to sofa and crouched behind it against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees and waiting fearfully.

Yes, he was hidden for now. Maybe he could hide for the next few days. Snapdragon Manor was big, and he was sure to find dozens of places to hide whenever he heard Snape approaching. Harry had learned to hide from Dudley for ten years; this wouldn't be much different except that Snape would hex him whereas Dudley enjoyed punching.

Angry footsteps stomped into the sitting room. Harry tried to stay very still and quiet, taking soft breaths that he hoped Snape could not hear. Don't move, don't squirm, just stay quiet.

"I know you're in here, Potter," Snape's voice was hard as nails and cold as ice. "The portraits said you came this way, and there's no way out from this room. Come out from wherever you're hiding, and I mean it now."

Did Snape ever not mean anything he said? Harry would have to ask him why he insisted on ending every speech with the statement that he meant what he said. Provided, of course, that Harry lived long enough to do that.

"Potter, I'm serious," Snape's tone took on a deadly edge. "I'm counting to three, and you better come or so help me, you'll find yourself doing detention with me every night of the school year. One - detention for three hours every night. Two - and I may see if you can have detention in every spare hour you have at school. Thr-"