Momentum
A/N: What would happen if Harry found out about Snape's betrayal already in 5th year but Dumbledore has urged him, for the sake of the war effort, to stay quiet?
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The sound was only in his imagination but the steady pressure of liquid from his fingertips seemed to reach his ears anyway, in the dead silence of the castle.
Drip.
Drip.
He thought about the murtlap essence waiting for him, mere floors away. Thought about all the times Hermione had guided his flayed hand into the bowl. How many now – thirteen, fourteen?
That image gave way to Umbridge's parting smirk a minute ago, as she shut the office door behind him. Looking like she had him all figured out, welcomed his resolve to not give a hairsbreadth, to remain aloof to her particular ministrations.
To weather her attacks like a stone.
Drip.
Drip.
The muscles of his good left hand stretched taught.
But perhaps he was merely playing into her scheme – wasn't his stoic endurance a tacit acknowledgement that she did in fact, get underneath his skin?
He glanced down, noting the wound wouldn't close at the edges this time. Yesterday after the same detention he had tried an Episkey. It hadn't worked at all. He shook his head at himself. He knew next to nothing about healing spells and they were in the middle of a war.
"Potter!" someone hissed. Harry cursed quietly for being caught off guard. He knew that voice.
With care he made a fist of his bleeding digits. Turning around, he morphed his face into an expression of slight surprise and tried to keep his posture loose. "Yes, sir?"
Snape's mouth was a thin line. "Out after curfew again?"
Harry gestured behind him, although Umbridge's office was now two floors down. "I just had detention with Umbridge-"
Snape held himself like a statue as he did with all confrontations, the folds of his robe unmoving. Only his eyes seemed alive. Many random thoughts wanted to float loose in fatigue after that one, but Harry smothered them – although Snape's unwavering stare might have caught them anyway.
Snape sneered. "I don't care that you come from detention, you're not allowed to walk the halls at night. Which means-"
"So I've been cleared actually, by a teacher," Harry finished in a murmur.
Snape ignored him: "-detention with me tomorrow from eight to nine in the evening."
At exactly the same time as the one from Umbridge, and Snape knew it.
Harry said nothing, and hoped his face didn't betray him. It was no use telling the man that Umbridge would never oblige a switch in her schedule. It would mean yet another thing she could take away from him, so she could watch his reaction like the sadistic voyeur that she was. On some level the potion's master probably knew this as well.
Snape's head tilted slightly, his eyes glinting with malice. Harry felt his heart rate speed up by the tingling in his fingers. Something had caught his attention.
"She didn't care for your attitude, am I right Potter?" Snape drawled, in his element. "You were told not to alienate her. But naturally when she goaded you, no other solution presented itself from inside your vast ego than to mouth off."
The dull stab of pain in his hand was increasing. He really should keep his hand raised.
Harry carefully folded his arms, probably confirming said stubborn attitude all the more, but there was nothing for it – he had ruined his standing with Snape long ago, anyway.
"She was outright lying about Voldemort not being back, I wasn't going to-"
"Don't say his name," the Potions master bit off, the muscles in one hand bulging. His tall figure cut a jagged line in the shadowed corridor behind him.
The silence of the castle tore at the pauses in between their words like a third presence in the hallway.
"Why?" Harry returned. He'd had it with all this tip-toeing around a stupid name, when the man was at large again for nearly two years now. "Because you're one of his servants, I'm supposed to make an exception?"
His eyes wanted to close, fatigue hitting him like it hadn't yet this evening.
Drip.
Drip.
"That will be another detention, Potter," Snape whispered in a clipped tone. "This Saturday. If I ever hear you utter such a thing again, I shall- "
"Yes, what? What will you do?" he snapped back. "Give me more detentions? You know you can't expel me, the Headmaster wouldn't allow it!"
"- teach you what it means to show respect to your elders," Snape went on, gliding closer.
Conversely, his tone had gone quiet. It took all Harry had to stay his ground as the man came to within touching distance.
"At least our Inquisitor got one thing right: you are feeling special. Even though you're the least promising pupil I have come across in years, Longbottom included. The chosen one."
"I don't care what you think of me," Harry growled, shaking with rage. Snape always seemed to burrow right underneath his skin. This time though, it was different. The infamous moniker jolted a memory that was never far away from his mind these days, the memory of a memory in fact, owned by Sybil Trelawney. She had spilled it to him in the same manner as she had done two years ago, during a moment of inebriation.
The Potion's Master smiled thinly, unaware of the dark turn of his thoughts. "I hear you want to become an Auror."
"That's right," Harry ground out. A sweat broke out on his back as he considered what terrible things Snape could say to him - he only had to look just a bit deeper into his gaze and he would know that Harry knew. And he would laugh, no he would Obliviate him...
Harry turned around abruptly. As he walked his thoughts cast forward once more towards the bowl with essence of murtlap, his anchor waiting for him upstairs. He felt queasy. An unsteady leg shot out to the side to keep balance before he got the right rhythm.
He had hoped, but no, Snape wasn't done.
"I haven't dismissed you."
Harry swivelled again, just a twist of the neck, but it pulled at his equilibrium again.
He stumbled before a parting shot could come out, careening into the wall where his hand found purchase. He clenched into the uneven surface, holding on tight to resist another step which might humiliate him further.
Wonder snug into Snape's voice: "Are you drunk, Potter?"
You can retake this moment. Ignore him. Start over. Straighten, and turn slowly this time.
Harry let go of the wall gradually. Snape was alongside him now.
His jaw was caught in long fingers. He jerked, light-headed from the adrenaline pumping as a result of the sudden sensation of cold skin. Having the man-monster who had tipped off the Dark Lord touching him was disgusting. He couldn't shake the grip, and Snape found his right hand with the other.
Snape looked down at the bad hand – a red mess now, with streaks of blood having crept up his arm. He held it up for closer inspection.
I must not tell lies.
"Someone is taking you to task, I see."
The bored, triumphant tone of Snape's voice tugged on a switch in his mind.
With all his strength he threw the older man from him: both hands jerked loose to push hard at the vicinity of the man's lunges.
Snape was the one stumbling now. Harry didn't care about wands. He didn't care about the pain in his hand.
He used his second of surprise to advance closer, clawing at the lapel of Snape's robe, fingers digging deep, shifting the shirt beneath. Momentum dragged them both to the wall, where Snape ducked to avoid a concussion. Too bad.
"You murdered them!" Harry yelled, wanted to yell but it came out as a growling whisper. This was not something for anyone else to overhear... "Why did you do it? Why? You hated my dad so much, that's all it takes for you?"
His heart seemed to be shaking inside of him. Snape's face, too close for comfort – was he really doing this, attacking a teacher? – stilled when Harry finished talking, the fire that had his jaw clenched vanishing from his expression with dizzying speed.
His eyes narrowed, burrowing into Harry's skull before he realised it was happening. His gaze was trapped now, he couldn't turn his head.
"I see," Snape said after a moment. His gaze flickered to the left – he was aiming for a sideways step. The mad energy returned to Harry's arms as the spell loosened its hold on his eyes. He reinforced his grip.
Snape's wand was a blur. Harry was pushed away by an invisible force. He skidded the floor but immediately got up again. His hands were getting numb fast now. He ignored the weird sensation of not being able to feel his legs. He couldn't let this go so soon.
"Why?" he asked again. His eyes were damp. Shit, damn it all to hell.
Snape lowered his wand but kept it pointed. "It's none of your business, Potter."
He knew Snape would say this, knew beforehand that Snape wouldn't explain himself, least of all to the likes of Harry Potter.
"But, my mother-" Harry croaked-
-although actually it was his whole being, from the hairs on his toes to the earliest matter of his brain, that he was laying down with that one word, at the feet of the devil.
The silence gobbled it up.
A muscle pulled in the man's cheek. Something.
"Yes," he said simply.
It seemed like the most important thing to keep holding Snape's gaze. His legs wobbled and he sank down, feeling less then empty - actively holed out with a spoon, in fact.
"Here," Snape said tersely. Harry stared at the bottle offered to him on eye-level, and cursed himself for breaking the gaze.
"Drink, before you lose consciousness."
Snape had confirmed himself to be a traitor through and through, so this was probably poison. Harry backed away, still on his knees, when Snape tapped the bottle and pointed his wand. He felt something at the back of his throat and cursed soundly.
The potion's master smirked, although it looked more forced this time.
Harry blinked when nothing awful happened right away - merely the prickly sensation of blood returning to his arms and legs. Blood Replenisher. Of course Snape couldn't afford to act out here, right underneath Dumbledore's nose...
Now there was only the acid in his stomach to deal with.
His eyebrows climbed upwards as he watched Snape sink down to eye-level.
His teacher spoke: "I never intended it for your mother."
Harry closed his eyes, the pain too sharp for a moment.
Stand aside silly girl, he heard again the voice of his nightmares, realising Voldemort was not usually one to have reservations about killing. Connecting this to Snape made him feel decidedly uncomfortable.
Not intended for his mother, then - his father though…
"So he was as bad as you say he was, my father," he said derisively, better to get the words out quickly. "Did he… are you…happy he's gone?"
He closed his eyes. The silence rang, then: "No."
Harry kneaded his forehead with both hands, felt the ridges of the curse scar, wanted to rip it out for a moment. He opened his eyes to stare at the floor. Snape had risen to stand a few feet away.
The uncomfortable feeling grew into a jarring burn in his stomach, which at least muted the hollowed-out sensation there.
"Thank you, for... What, being a traitor? Stop talking "... explaining," he mumbled.
In the seconds ticking by he hated himself in a fresh, detached sort of way. What in god's name made him say that, to this murderer?
"Ms. Granger's essence of Murtlap is waiting, I believe."
Harry nodded and stood as well. He avoided looking at the man in passing as he started towards the next landing. Snape's form stayed unmoving behind him.
He glanced at his torn hand. The bleeding had stopped.
A/N: All comments appreciated. I might make this into an AU story at some point or add scenes later. Depends if you think it would be interesting! Let me know.