Bitter Medicine

Snape/Harry. PG. ~250 words. Humour.
Harry glared for all he was worth.

Harry was limping again.

“Man,” Ron said, robes flapping as they attempted to hurry to Professor Trelawney’s little piece of insanity in the North Tower. “Quidditch practise must be brutal this year.”

“What?” Harry said, cursing as a particularly painful twinge hit. “Oh, yeah. Brutal.”

Ron gave him a manly clap on the shoulder and was blissfully oblivious that he’d nearly sent Harry sprawling onto his face. “Hermione will know what to get you. Take care of that.”


Harry stood in the middle of Snape’s dungeon, surrounded by the sound of bubbling cauldrons and several odd, unclassifiable smells and a few more equally odd, yet very classifiable others. And was glaring for all he was worth. “…had enough of that!”

Black eyes glittered with amusement, which was dangerously close to the same glitter they held when not quite so amused. “Mister Potter,” Snape’s voice was unnervingly close to a snake’s hiss, with just a touch of silk. “Somehow I am unsurprised that you chose after the fact to complain.”

Whipping around, Harry pointed at the bruises blossoming across his hips, joining the motley crew already gathered there. “I’m not even going to be able to stay on a broom with these!” He jabbed a finger at Snape’s desk. “Because of that thing.”

Snape’s lips twisted into a smirk as he pressed long, slender fingers against one and ignored Harry’s snap of protest. “Perhaps if you had paid more attention in Potions class, you’d be able to fix something to take care of those.”


One Response to “Bitter Medicine”

  1. Bec Says:


    Just a quick note to say how much I am enjoying your stories, this one in particular. I like the sly humour that you manage to imbide Snape with, always good to see him written with more facets than “angry teacher”.

    I’ll make my way through the rest of your stories.

    I never know how to write these comments without sounding like a wanker…! Sorry ’bout that…

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