A Darker Form of Magic, book two: Parseltongue

Chapter five

Harry tapped his fingers anxiously against his desk as Transfiguration class came to a slow end for the day, his parrot already turned into a water goblet and back at the start of class. The only entertainment coming from Weasly's rat that no one seemed to be able to fully transfigure no matter how hard any of the other lions tried - and the Gryffindors were trying - as the Slytherins were sneakily taking bets, earning the scarred boy a few gallons as the bell rang and no one had been able to get the blasted thing to turn without some sort of animal feature remaining. He'd felt that there was some other magic there that resisted the full change, but had no indication to do the Weasel any favors by mentioning it.

Harry stayed seated as everyone else stood, offing at the other snakes as he slowly collected his things before standing himself to approach the Deputy Headmistress's desk.

"Professor?" The boy asked, biting back a small smirk as the witch gave a start at his sudden presence.

"Yes? What is it, Potter?" McGonagall asked hurriedly, not hiding her annoyance as she still looked almost everywhere but at the boy before her, the one that looked like two students that she had adored until he spoke or moved in any way. Then, in those moments, he only looked wrong . Colder than either of them ever had, even during the war where children had been sent to fight and came back haggard and torn.

Those that came back at all.

"I - I," the boy started, a stutter in his voice that betrayed his nervousness to the woman, softening her too sharp tone into something more appropriate of a Professor speaking with a student.

"Yes?" She asked once more, trying to be civil to the boy that hurt her to even look at. She often wondered how Severus could stand it.

Would it have been like this had he been in my house? She wondered, not for the first time.

A horrible part of her thinks that it wouldn't. She would have been stern, yes, but she would have been able to at least look at the boy without feeling cheated in some way. Without seeing ghosts of what should have been.

Even a year lasted he was still nothing like them.

James had been loud, the boy was quiet. Lily had been kind, the boy acted like all the other sneaks in his year, taking bets at another's misfortune, cruel smiles, and loyal only to his own. They had been good, and he was -

"I was wondering if there was a spell to transfigure a quill into a pen," the Slytherins says nervously, his hands held in front of himself, close enough that the Transfiguration Professor could see the scars there, thin silver lines that she had seen on those that cooked and practiced with knives.

Severus had such lines on his hands from potions, Molly Weasly from the former, and Bellatrix Lestrange from the latter.

Dangerous , her mind whispered.

"And why would you need that, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked, looking level at the slim boy, at his shoulder but not him . "I'm sure you are aware that you're required to use a quill or pencil in class."

"Old - older students were talking about my blood status, saying nasty things about it," the boy explained, his voice barely above a whisper as he stuttered over the words as if they were hard to admit. "I don't want them to forget, mam. I want to constantly shove it in their face so that they can't ."

McGonagall could imagine the things that some of the older Slytherins might have been saying about the boy with the muggle born mother, especially since Halloween. With a sigh the witch forced herself to look into the green eyes that bored into her own with a determination that most twelve year olds could not claim.