Chapter 3
520words
Little Snape perched next to Harry on thick cushions, his feet dangling well above the floor. Despite this, he elegantly sliced his roast beef with surprising dexterity.
"So," Ron leaned across the table, eyeing little Snape curiously, "this is the... distant cousin you mentioned?"
Harry and Hermione had concocted a story about little Snape being a distant relative's child needing temporary care after a family tragedy. But seeing Ron's skeptical expression now, Harry felt his stomach knot with anxiety.
Little Snape looked up, fixed Ron with a calm stare, and spoke in a tone utterly at odds with his childish appearance: "Your doubts are written all over your face, Mr. Weasley. Though you attempt cordiality, your eyes betray your suspicion and curiosity. This transparent attitude..." he paused dramatically, "is quintessentially Gryffindor."
The table fell dead silent.
Ron's jaw dropped, fork frozen midway to his mouth. He looked from Harry to little Snape, his expression morphing from confusion to utter disbelief. "Did this kid just... roast me?"
"Four years and eight months," Little Snape corrected primly, returning to his beef. "And I wasn't mocking you—merely stating facts. Gryffindors are known for their directness, often to the point of recklessness."
Harry's head began to throb. That scathing assessment, that condescending tone—pure Snape. But coming from a child perched on cushions whose feet didn't reach the floor, the effect was utterly bizarre.
"Uh..." Harry attempted to defuse the situation, "Maybe we should—"
"You too, Harry," Little Snape cut him off, turning those penetrating eyes on him. "Your attempt to change the subject was painfully obvious. And that habit of touching your hair when nervous is... frankly, quite childish."
Seamus Finnigan nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "Bloody hell... where'd this kid learn to talk like that?"
"Observation and logical reasoning are talents, Mr. Finnigan," little Snape replied without looking up. "Though judging by your reaction, I suspect you're quite unfamiliar with either concept."
Harry buried his face in his hands. He was beginning to understand why Professor Snape was Hogwarts' least popular teacher—even as a four-year-old amnesiac, his tongue remained lethally sharp.
"Well," Neville ventured cautiously, "at least he's... honest?"
Little Snape turned to Neville, his expression softening slightly. "Mr. Longbottom possesses self-awareness, at least. While your magical skills certainly need work, your character merits respect."
"Thanks?" Neville replied uncertainly, clearly unsure whether he'd been complimented or insulted.
Hermione approached with buttered bread and, sensing the awkward atmosphere, immediately grasped the situation. "He's at it again?"
"Again?" Ron's eyes widened. "You mean this has happened before?"
Harry nodded with a grimace. "Let's just say his vocabulary isn't exactly age-appropriate."
Little Snape set down his cutlery with precision and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "I merely state facts. If truth causes discomfort, perhaps examine reality rather than criticizing the messenger."
"Right," Harry sighed, "I guess I'd better get used to this."
Little Snape glanced at him. "Adaptation is the beginning of wisdom, Harry."
Harry: ......
