Oh Godson Where Art Thou?

Bloc Before Box

Coach Brunt, as the woman preferred to be called compared to Miss or Professor, carried a surprising gentleness. Objectively.

While proud and certainly bullish she seemed to have an increased awareness of her strength around Harry. And a grave, concerning amount of acuity to his attempt to hide his body-- making a cautious guess that an open chest and exposed neck could present an invitation as it often did.

Granted, not even at his worst had Uncle Vernon taken up on it.

So, she opened the door for the student cafeteria's kitchen without blowing it off it's bolts. 

But nevertheless clearly owned the place as she put in orders for two beef stroganoff subs.

"Well go on now," Brunt urged once she slid his own tray toward him. It shouldn't have been, but Harry had the feeling her face was used to putting up such a kind smile. And that she meant it.

Harry kept his expression neutral with eyes still trained on how she regarded him, what and how she ate her own plate.

Taking a bite, his resolve crumbled for a crucial second.

The sandwich had been quite thick; heavy brown sauce, well cooked pinkish meat in complete excess, melting cheese, some kind of pickled something adding a sour crunch. And all the rich flavor and kick of seasoning tasted divine.

He admitted as much with his mouth full.

Causing the woman to laugh. "Glad to hear."

"Whff thif affuck?"

She understood as much as was necessary either way. 

Finally he got some read on her right.

"Alright, I do wanna soften ya up since we'll be havin some important conversations. About your needs and all that, I am gonna need to know what takes you down or could lay ya up dead as a doorknob. And I'm hopin' for the future too. You'll be spendin some time just you and me I can promise that before you'll be in actual classes."

Eyeing his drink he reneged a sip for now.

"So then like classes you mean...?" he pressed, a hint of bitter wariness darkening an otherwise dense question.

"Classes. We don' exactly do torturin' when it ain't necessary. Oh it is," Brunt assured breezily, "but not for our beloved students." She sighed now. "Then again some o' my colleagues say I got a bit soft lately."

"Yeah," he agreed absently. "See where they might have come to that conclusion."

She could very well be lying. Or something at some point did drive these-- all this odd stuff like a meal and constant questions or needling him to talk as if she wanted him to bite back a bit. 

He supposed, Brunt wasn't the flattering type. That was fine. Harry had gotten out of scrapes just as much by being "amusing" to despicable company.

"Thank you for the food. I-- I mean it," he said. And the coach preened. "Really you could have fed me whatever is normal around here. This whole sugar and spice thing, am I supposed to buy it?"

"Would speed things along," she admitted, "and make my job less messy but again, that's all a last resort if ya follow the rules and don't kick up too much of a fuss. After all kid, no one forced ya to do anythin'. You were the one who said yes."

Harry hummed in vague agreement. 

"I do warn ya, attached or not, whether I do or don't come to care about ya we run by majority vote 'round here. Me and the rest of the old stiffs watchin' in on us right now."