Snarry One Shots

Inkbound

Summary: When Filch complained that he hadn't had that many students for detention lately, Snape offered Harry's help. The current Potions master had no idea he would end up helping himself as well.

Ships: SeverusSnapexHarryPotter

All credit goes to Anonymous on Ao3

------------------

Something was definitely wrong with the world. One would think that defeating Voldemort was the key to a successful, non-conditioned life, but no. Even after saving that bloody bastard and fighting for his freedom at the Wizengamot, notwithstanding the fact that he almost had to bully the Healers to help him, Snape still treated him like a reckless student, even though Harry had been a teacher for almost two years now.

Although, as he was currently on his way to Filch's office, he realised that Snape had in fact mellowed a bit, if his treatment of Harry was of any indication. The open hostility was gone, and that was saying something. Harry just hoped that whatever Filch wanted to "help" with wouldn't be something nasty. And if there was anything nastier than marking stupid essays of bored fifth years, then Harry was not looking forward to that.

He knocked and waited. Heavy thuds could be heard through the oak door, slowly getting closer and Harry had to wipe his hands on his trousers to get some semblance of control. After defeating Voldemort, no silly caretaker would frighten him.

"Mr Potter," said Filch in a raspy voice, "good of you to show up. Now don't think for a moment that now you're a teacher you can look down on others' jobs." Harry's mumbled, "I have been a teacher for two years," went unnoticed. "Sit here and help me sort through these." His crooked finger pointed to a batch of papers on his table, haphazardly stacked into a single pile that threatened to spill if someone breathed wrongly next to it.

Harry took his place, not sitting down, so he could actually reach the top of the file. "How do you want me to sort them?"

"Any written lines on one pile, confiscated pictures, poems and other written nonsense in a second pile, and anything else into a third pile. Begin."

Harry did, and in the beginning, he quite enjoyed whatever he grabbed next, but after a while the lines seemed the same, most of the pictures were cut from newspaper articles about him, but some went even further in the past of many (handsome) witches and wizards. The poems ranged from bad to extremely bad. Sometimes he caught himself acting on autopilot, and he wasn't even sure what he did with a couple of papers that passed through his hands, so he had to recheck the top of each pile, just to make sure.

After half an hour he was bored out of his mind. The only good thing was that the original pile was almost gone. He prayed that Filch wouldn't come up with anything else, when his stomach did a backflip. Even unfocused as he was, Harry would recognise that handwriting anywhere. All in all, he had spent quite a lot of time perusing the margins and little notes in the Half-Blood Prince's Potions book.

He didn't even notice what was on it, just made sure to grab all the papers that looked to bear the spidery handwriting and watched Filch to ensure he wouldn't be caught taking them with him. The last thing he needed was for the caretaker to tell Snape he'd taken to stealing. He finished the rest of the pile in a heartbeat and tried to calm himself down, no matter how desperately he wanted to read what was on the papers.

"I'm finished, Mr Filch," he said, aiming for a nonchalant tone.

"Yeah, yeah, fine, leave."

Harry didn't have to be told twice. Trying not to run out of the office, he made it quickly into the Entrance Hall. There was no one in sight, so he tamped down the guilt of having something that wasn't his and went closer to a burning torch on the wall to see what he'd stolen.