Hatred is Harder to Bear

-Wujjawoo-

Standard Disclaimers Apply

A/N: Purpleygirl – I found your review very amusing. I didn't even occur to me as I was writing that the currency in Britain is not dollars. I do apologise for the house, as well, but I have absolutely no idea what British infrastructure is like. In case I make any more glaringly obvious errors, would all British readers please note that I am Australian :P As for your comment bout Snape having Snape Manor…sorry. If it's any consolation, it won't be Snape Manor, and it does serve an actual purpose in the story. But I won't say any more. And teachersnape64 – I apologise for the short chapters. I am trying to make them longer, but I'm finding myself very short of time at the moment. I think most people prefer frequent updates to longer chapters, but I too wish they could be longer. I promise to try.

oOoOo

You may not believe until you see, but you cannot see until you believe.

oOoOo

Snape dropped Harry's essays onto the table in silence before sitting in the seat across from him. Harry glanced through them and saw with a small amount of satisfaction that he had received 'Acceptable' for most of them, 'Exceeds Expectations' for one, and 'Outstanding' for two. A small part of him wished that Snape wouldn't be so formal about everything, while the other part just hoped that he could survive until the holidays were over. Harry realised then that he had been in a state of perpetual anger since he had found out the truth about Snape. The truth, as Harry referred to it, because he couldn't bear to attribute the word 'father' to Snape any longer, was still an ever-present and looming obstacle between them, preventing even the slightest peaceful communications between the two of them.

Snape was cold and rude and as prickly as ever and in return, Harry was the same. Their lessons seldom went by without dispute, and Harry found himself just waiting for the moment when Snape would leave. On this particular evening, Snape seemed preoccupied, his thoughts elsewhere. He didn't say anything about where he had been and Harry didn't ask. Something seemed to be gnawing at him, and Harry desperately wanted to know what it was. After Harry had finished eating, and before Snape could involve him in another long-winded lecture about proper French pronunciation, Harry broached the subject of using magic.

"Er – sir…"

"Yes?"

"Er – I was just wondering if I'm allowed to use magic. I mean, I'm of age and everything…"

Snape fixed him with a piercing glare over the top of his magazine and Harry glared right back, challengingly.

"If you absolutely must," he snapped finally. "I cannot stop you. As you say, you are of age."

With that, Snape ruffled his magazine irritably and folded it up, his brows drawn together. Harry wondered if Snape was always so down, or if it was just because he was here. Harry liked to think it was the former, but he wasn't so sure. Wondering if he might be pushing his luck, but thinking that he might as well go for it, Harry asked another question.

"And sir, do you think it's possible for me to write to my friends? I could owl them-"

"You most certainly will not be sending any owls, Potter. I have charms around my house preventing owls reaching here in any case, so you won't be receiving letters in any case."

"You could take them for me," Harry said, and immediately regretted it. Snape looked up at him angrily.

"I am not an owl, Potter!" He stood up. "Now if you have nothing else that you need to know-"

"Actually, there's one more thing," Harry said quickly, wondering how far he could push Snape. Snape stopped speaking, his lips pursed tightly. "Can I go outside?" asked Harry. "It's just, I've been stuck inside for nearly a week, and I want to go out."

"You cannot be outside, Potter. Someone would almost certainly recognise you, and it is no secret that people are looking for you. I am afraid that it is out of the question."

Harry crossed his arms and glared coldly up a Snape.

"People are hardly going to recognise me if I don't look like Harry Potter, are they?" he retorted. "Would you recognise me?"

Harry watched as Snape got even angrier, his mouth curling up in a snarl.

"Do not push me, Potter! You know the rules. They are not going to change. If you choose to break them, the consequences will be on no-one's shoulders but your own."

Harry stood up, his chair sliding back and hitting the wall with a loud crack. He stepped around the table and up to Snape.

"You know what?" he said, thrusting his face forward aggressively. Snape stared down at him imperiously, and Harry suddenly realised that they were nearly the same height. "You know what?" he repeated. "You don't have to like this and neither do I, Snape, but you have no right to treat me this way. I'm not your child. I'm not anybody's child, so don't treat me like one. I know I'm only here because Dumbledore's got some plan, and I know there's nothing we can do about it, but you're the one who wanted to do it without any fuss. If you don't want fuss, then you're the one who's going to change. I'm making the effort, and you're just acting like you always do. You know that James Potter isn't my father, Snape, so stop bloody pretending that I am. I'd rather you hate me for being your son than for being his."

Snape just stood there, his expression unchanged. He studied Harry for a moment before raising his eyebrows slightly, as though Harry had said something stupid.

"Take a seat, Potter," he said finally, his tone impatient. Harry wilted slightly, even as more anger filled him. He took a small step back, his hands balling into fists. Snape stared down at him imperiously, waiting for Harry to obey.

"I hate you," Harry said quietly. Snape didn't reply. He didn't move at all.

"Take a seat," he said finally. Harry sat.

oOoOo

Spinner's End was a dreary area of London, but it wasn't all that far from the city. If he walked down the street and turned left into an overgrown and narrow pathway, and then followed the street that that led to, Harry found a place that he could recognise. There was a big park with a pond, and the pond had ducks. Harry went and sat underneath a tree and watched the ducks, wishing he could be one. He immediately felt foolish for wishing that he could be a bird.

He stood up followed the edge of the lake around. He was startled to catch sight of is reflection in the water, and felt a strange sense of fascination. Seeing himself like this gave the situation a whole new sense of realness that hadn't been there before. This was him, doing what normal people did. He didn't feel normal though, not like the little girl who ran in front of him to throw bread to the ducks, or the little boy who fell over and cried for his mother. Normal people didn't suddenly change their appearance when they found out secrets, or have to go into hiding. Normal people didn't have owls that delivered letters and they didn't wave wands around and do magic. Normal people were like the Dursleys- Harry stopped that train of thought before it led him any further and turned back toward the way to Spinner's End. The day didn't seem so bright any more and he was eager to get out of the sun that now shone to strongly and away from the crowds who all seemed to stare at him in suspicion, wondering why he wasn't in school.

Bitterly, Harry trudge along the pavement, kicking at loose pebbles along the way. His hands shoved deep into his pockets. It was barely midday, but already Harry was thoroughly dreading the evening to come. It seemed as though Snape grew angrier with each passing day, and Harry felt silly sitting there and trying to pronounce silly French verbs to the spiteful man.

Fingering his wand in his pocket, Harry remembered that he could use magic, could go out if he wanted, and furthermore, he had Snape's grudging (albeit angered) permission to do it. Feeling a bit rebellious and more than a little self-righteous, Harry turned instead for the main road and caught a bus into the city.

He felt considerably more joyful as he stepped off of the bus near King's Cross and set off for Diagon Alley with a spring in his step. He stood outside the Leaky Cauldron for a few moments, realising suddenly that he had never been to Diagon Alley alone before. Nevertheless, he continued on and passed through the dim light of the pub without being seen. He only realised when he stood in the deserted alley at the back of the pub that he didn't need to be worried about being seen any more.

The thought made him smile slightly as he tapped the bricks. There was something freeing in anonymity, and it buoyed his spirits immensely. He bought a peanut butter and strawberry ice-cream from Florean Fortescue (three sickles) and sat outside as he ate it. Business in Diagon Alley was fairly slow, being the middle of the day, and Harry liked the lazy atmosphere. Once he had finished his ice-cream he wandered down to Ollivander's, thinking that he might as well buy a new wand while he was here.

The door opened silently, but the bell above it caught and tinkled merrily. Harry thought that it sounded out of place in the spooky shop.

"Can I help you?" came a voice from the darkness. Harry jumped, caught unawares.

"Ah – yes, please," he said, clearing his throat and injecting an accent into his voice. "I need a new wand, please."

"Of course, of course," replied Ollivander, advancing with tape measure in hand. Harry stepped forward into the centre of the shop, feeling slightly vulnerable. Ollivander appeared older than ever before, his silver fly-away hair and pale blue eyes giving him an eerie, ethereal appearance. He began measuring Harry's leg, speaking quietly.

"New around here?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes," replied Harry.

"Foreign?"

"I'm from France," Harry replied as the tape measure took control of itself and Ollivander moved towards the shelves. "I'm starting at Hogwarts after the holidays."

"Good, good," Ollivander muttered, though it didn't sound as if he was talking to Harry.

Ollivander reached up to the highest shelf and pulled down a long thin box.

"Try this," he said, removing an elegant wand from the box and handing it to Harry. "Just give it a wave."

Harry took the wand delicately in his grip, but he had barely begun to move it when Ollivander tore it from his grasp, much as he had done on Harry's first visit to this shop.

"Definitely not!" he proclaimed, and hurried back to the shelf. He selected another one.

"12 inches, dragon heartstring, oak. Rather swishy…"

Harry gave it a wave, to no avail, and the wand was again taken from him. Ollivander tutted slightly, a small frown appearing on his face as the pile of discarded wands grew taller. Harry began to grow tired of the repetition, thinking that he should just give up. He reminded himself that he needed another wand to fight Voldemort and waved yet another useless stick as it was handed to him.

As the last time, Ollivander began to grow increasingly excited as they tried more and more wands.

"Just wait here a moment, young man," he said, holding up a stubby finger. He disappeared into the gloom at the rear of the shop and returned a moment later with a nondescript box, devoid even of Ollivander's crest.

"Try," he demanded, holding out a dark coloured wand. It was long and slim, a darker hue than Harry's holly wand. As soon as he curved his fingers around the handle he knew that this was the one. His hand shivered in delight as warmth seeped through his fingers, and he brought it rushing down in an arc of bright sparks.

"Excellent, excellent!" exclaimed Ollivander proudly, as Harry smiled slightly. The wand felt just as good as his other, but Harry thought that it was in a different way. It spoke to him on another level, in some way he had never experienced with his other wand.

"How fortunate," murmured Ollivander. "My newest creation, as luck would have it. Not even on the shelves yet! Yew, eleven inches, with a core of phoenix feather. Very firm. Good for curses and precise wand work. A powerful wand, young man."

He fixed Harry with a critical eye, concerned at his sudden stillness.

"Is something the matter?"

Harry cleared his throat and blinked, removing his gaze from the wand that he suddenly did not want so much.

"Yew, you said? And phoenix feather?"

"Yes, it is quite in its own class. Phoenix feather and yew are rarely ever compatible together; I've sold few of them in my time here, and it has been a long time."

Harry nodded, swallowing.

"And – and from which phoenix is this feather?" Harry asked. The chance was slim, he knew, but he had to make sure.

"Oh!" said Ollivander leaning back slightly. "How extraordinary! I believe that this particular feather is from the companion of Albus Dumbledore. I will have to write and let him know! It is only the third feather he has given me."

Harry stared down at the wand in confusion. What did this mean? Another wand, useless against Voldemort. Did it mean that Voldemort, too, would be unable to procure another usable wand. Harry hoped with all his heart that that would be the case.

"You have…no other wands that I can try?" Harry asked, feeling that the request would be futile.

"The wand chooses the wizard, young man," said Ollivander sternly. "You were a difficult customer; I doubt we could find you another so perfect."

oOoOo

Harry wandered Diagon Alley for a good two hours, revelling in the sense of freedom. His enjoyment was muted, though, by the second wand that now occupied his pocket. It was as useless as his other, but he had still given Ollivander the twelve galleons for it. Despite its uselessness, something about it had called to him on an intimate level and so he had bought it. It wasn't just that fact that worried him, though; it was the wand itself. It worried him, because Voldemort's wand, too, was yew and phoenix feather. And this worried Harry greatly.

Harry threaded his way slowly through the steadily growing crowds, his thoughts on the wand. His worries were forgotten a moment later however, as Harry saw none other than Albus Dumbledore emerge from apothecary. He turned away from Harry and continued down the paved street, and impulsively, Harry followed him. Dumbledore swept down the street, his long robes sweeping the ground and his hands clasped in front of him. He nodded occasionally as people stopped to greet him, but suddenly it seemed as though people stopped noticing him. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had cast a spell on himself, as he saw people's eyes slide straight by him.

Harry followed Dumbledore as he passed Gringotts, he followed as he passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, and he followed as the elderly headmaster turned into Knockturn Alley.

oOoOo

A/N: I apologise very much for the long wait. Unfortunately I've been very busy, and I've been sick, and my muse has taken off on holiday. Still, I hope you enjoyed! Please review – Wujjawoo