“Then he threw chicken into Mister Malfoy’s other eye!”
“I thought it was part of a friendly food fight.”
“And he attempted to murder Mister Boil!”
“I’m not sure how you came to that conclusion.
Headmaster, if I may?” At a gesture from the man, Hari continued.
“In response to the accusation of needle-attacking, I already replied that Mister Malfoy attempted to disembowel me six times and that I have at least as much evidence as his claims.
The food fight was clearly Malfoy’s fault, as he was punished for starting it.
And I’m not clear why someone lying in a coma outside my room is my problem, but while we’re on the subject, what was a sixth year doing outside my room anyway?
It’s not on the way to anything.”
“All good points,” said Dumbledore.
“Certainly, I can dismiss the first two issues since they were addressed earlier.
I do believe you spoke to Harry about them over dinner.
But he does raise an interesting question that I would like answered: what was Mister Boil doing outside his room?”
“I have no idea, Headmaster,” hissed Snape.
“But it’s his fault!” he declared, pointing at Hari.
“I’m a little lost here, Professor, Headmaster,” said Hari.
“But why is it my fault?”
“No idea, Harry,” replied Dumbledore.
“Severus?”
“It’s his room!
It must be his fault!”
“I see.” Dumbledore nodded.
“I’m sorry to see that your hatred of Harry’s father has already begun to interfere in your professional demeanor, Severus.
Harry, can you find your wake back to your room on your own?”
“Yes.
Thank you, Headmaster.” Hari rose, gave his head of hose a jaunty wave and proceeded to go to Fawkes.
Sorry about the lightning.” He got a cheerful sort of whistle in return and left.
As he closed the door, he heard behind him, “Honestly, Severus, could you be any less professional?
Accusing one student of attacking another.”
Two days of classes affirmed Hari’s belief that the other students just weren’t trying hard enough.
For some reason, all of them were determined to find that they had difficulties with the simplest spells.
And they had a fixation on wands that was worrying him.
If nothing else, Uncle Hidan made sure that he was aware they were waving around little penises.
The way they all worried about the quality of their wands suggested a far deeper issue to his mind.
He was also certain that his most hated class was Astronomy.
Not only did he have no idea what any of the stars looked like around here, but he also had to deal with the fact that someone decided that it was a good idea to hold the class at midnight.
He didn’t even have the death of someone to look forwards to as a way to alleviate his annoyance.
He might be a night owl when he was on a job, but the rest of the time he liked to sleep late.
Especially when he could sleep a whole four hours straight because his dad wasn’t around to set him on fire if he did.
Though he was torn.
History was impressively dull.
On the upside, since the ghost teaching didn’t pay attention, he hadn’t bothered to show up since the first day.
And of course Defense was interminable.
If nothing else, he wished the stuttering man would stop trying to talk.
It was annoying.
Even Uncle Deidara didn’t have such a frustrating verbal tic.
He had his suspicions about the man, though, because anyone in this culture where words were needed to cast spells would be dead if he tried to specialize in fighting and stuttered.
His fellow students were no longer surprised to find Hari already in the room when a class was supposed to start.
Despite having never been seen in the corridors, he had demonstrated a mastery of the castle that was second to none except, perhaps, Filch.
No one else had managed to not get lost on a regular basis.
Of course, he got lost all the time, but only intentionally so he could explore some part he hadn’t seen before.
And he had the advantage that secret passages had their requirements written in magic—in other words, they might as well have instructions for him to read.
He rather enjoyed the Byakugan.
As usual, he was already in his seat when the others arrived.
He had his feet propped on a cauldron and was apparently dozing.
He waved at Daphne, who was one of the few students who seemed to tolerate his attitude.
“Good morning,” he said cheerily and in complete contravention of her instruction not to talk to her.
“Potter.” She sat down beside him, knowing that her classmates would raise a fuss if she sat somewhere else and would thus subject them to being next to him (and thus in the line of fire of an annoyed Professor).
“Do you think that there’s even the slightest chance you’ll manage to avoid losing points this period?”
“Of course .
.
.
assuming Professor Snape acts in a professional manner and doesn’t try to pick a fight with someone his intellectual superior.”
“Are you defining yourself as an intellectual superior?” she muttered.
“Indeed.”
“So we’re losing points by the bucket then?” She sighed, resigned.
“Can a house go into the negatives?”
“I don’t think so.
I don’t know if it’s ever been tried.”
“I don’t know if we can lose more, then.”
“Dear Merlin,” she hissed.
“I stopped looking at the hourglass a couple days ago.
Are you telling me we’re at zero?”
“Oh yes.
Professor Snape seems determined to curb my politeness by means of punishing his house.” Hari shrugged.
“I’m not sure why this is a good plan.”
“Doesn’t he keep giving you detentions, too?”
“Well, yes.
But I know better than to show up to them.”