“My family’s shit,” Harry announced, plopping down in the seat on the other side of Professor Snape’s desk. The man had been glaring at him for what seems like two solid weeks since Harry’s face had turned into a rather unflattering replica of his own.
“And what do you propose I do about that, Potter?” Snape gritted out.
“You’re my Head of House.” The boy wriggled in the seat, unable to get comfortable. It appeared that was by design. Fed up, he stood from the seat and sat directly in the middle of Snape’s rug. “It’s your job, mate. I pay your wages.”
“Hogwarts pays my wages.” Snape frowned at him. “What are you doing down there, boy? Sit on the chair provided.”
“The chair’s uncomfortable.” Harry complained, used to ignoring authority figures. They’d never helped him in the past. “And I checked, I’m paying tuition to Hogwarts and that tuition is going to your wages. So, my family’s shit.”