Precipice
Chapter Two: Almost Hatred
Severus Snape fell gracefully into his seat at the Head Table for dinner that evening, his appetite nearly nonexistent as usual. He sneered at the bounty of courses set before him and the other professors and staff of Hogwarts; it was all too much, in his opinion. What he wouldn't give for a simple bowl of soup followed by a nice green salad, for once in his life at the school. He sighed and poured himself some red wine. He'd be drinking his dinner once again tonight.
Everyone around him—teachers and students both—were conversing happily in between mouthfuls of food, passing condiments and baskets of bread down the tables to one another. Sometimes he would take amusement in selecting a couple of people chatting and furtively read their lips while he pretended to be engrossed in his meal. Tonight, however, he was simply too tired.
He sighed heavily, pressing his eyelids together under tightly drawn brows. He'd forgotten about Potter's detention tonight. Why had he assigned the brat to himself? Why not Filch, who was always happy to force an unfortunate child to slave over cleaning toilets or mopping floors on his behalf? He hadn't been thinking.
He seemed to be making too many mistakes like that lately. All of them minor and inconsequential, but mistakes all the same, and he couldn't afford to err when it counted most. Now he had to bear the brunt of his 'quick thinking' by dealing with the dratted boy for an hour that evening. His eyes found Potter immediately, going on about something with the Granger girl while his constant companion, Weasley, stuffed his face beside him.
Severus' nose quirked in revulsion as he watched the boy smile and laugh with his friends in the midst of a war, which he was destined to save them all from. How could he be so jovial, even for a moment? He couldn't understand someone like that. Someone so self-centered that he thought he could just forget about everyone else's problems and laugh in the face of danger.
'Just like his father.'
He ripped his eyes away from Potter, focusing again on his plate. It appeared as though the small amount of food he had pushed around with his utensils had been somewhat consumed. It was a childish technique, but one that had always worked for him. He hadn't the stomach for concerned inquiries into his health tonight, any more than he did for the food.
He downed his second cup of the wine, reaching out to refill his glass. He grimaced, the acridly bitter taste burning his throat. He didn't drink the stuff for the taste of it, for certain.
'Just one more, and then I shall go,' he promised himself.
He felt a tingling at the back of his skull, a reaction he experienced when someone was watching him and he did not yet know it. He put down his goblet and scanned the room with well-practiced eyes, which a moment later stopped suddenly to rest upon Harry Potter once again. They narrowed coldly, a sneer creasing his face. Potter immediately averted his gaze, his thin cheeks red with embarrassment at having been caught. He must have been positively staring, Severus surmised.
He pushed away his plate and rose from the table purposefully, turning to stride from the room without looking to his colleagues lest they would wish to bid him good night.
He made his way to the dungeons, the air becoming chillier with his descent. He barely noticed the drop in temperature, being well accustomed with the cold and dankness of the lower floors. His mind was focused only on deciding which task to adequately torment the arrogant Harry Potter with tonight.
He didn't hate the boy, he knew, despite the child's many faults and prejudices. Didn't hate him despite his carelessness, stubbornness, and self-centered nature; the list could go on and on. He supposed a child of James Potter couldn't quite help possessing at least half of his awful traits.
All the same, however, Severus Snape didn't hate Harry Potter, but he almost did.