Chapter 6
200words
"Your handwriting is atrocious," little Snape remarked, peering at Harry's Transfiguration homework from across the table, "though marginally better than Weasley's."
Harry looked up, stunned to hear something resembling a compliment from Professor Snape's mouth, even in child form.
Little Snape caught his expression, the corner of his mouth quirking up almost imperceptibly. "I could teach you. My penmanship is excellent."
"Do those little hands even have the strength, Professor?"
Little Snape punched Harry's arm. "Care to find out?"
They fell into comfortable silence as Harry returned to wrestling with his Transfiguration homework.
Little Snape—no, he was Professor Snape now.
Professor Snape watched the boy before him, emotions warring within. His memory had returned that evening after their walk through the daisy field.
His first instinct had been to tear into the Gryffindor boy who'd caused this disaster despite clear instructions about three drops—no more, no less.
He'd wanted nothing more than to grab a broomstick and give the boy a sound thrashing.
But.
Professor Snape's gaze drifted to the open book on the table, where a small daisy lay pressed between its pages.
*Let it go. For Lily's sake.*
Snape thought with lingering resentment.
