3.
"I suppose you're pleased with your precious father and his friends now--" Snape seemed to choke on the end of the sentence. His eyes widened and then slid shut. He raised a hand to his face and massaged the bridge of his nose.
It took Harry a moment to answer. He could feel sweat running into his eyebrows, following the grain of the hair and flowing down his temples. Snape looked strange, kind of taut and brittle. He found himself wishing that he could see the man's eyes.
Finally, he heard himself speak:
"No."
Snape's head snapped up, eyes narrowing viciously, and Harry was compelled to clarify his answer.
"No," he said, "I'm not pleased."
Snape's face seemed to explode. The dark eyes flashed and widened unbelievably and he lunged at Harry with a growl, lips pulled back from narrow, yellowing teeth. One hand tangled in the damp front of Harry's robes, twisted the fabric, jerked him forward, threw him back, and then jerked him forward again.
Harry flopped passively; the movement of his body didn't interest him. However, he watched Snape's eyes with great interest. There seemed to be a war going on behind those eyes: he could see flashes like gunfire, flaring like cannons and explosions like sheet lightning blazing in their depths. If he could just peer deep enough, far enough, perhaps he could make out--
"Don't contradict me!" Snape was shouting, lifting Harry bodily off the chair, his breath hot on Harry's face.
"Yes, sir," Harry said serenely, since Snape seemed to expect an answer. He was still squinting at the Potion master's eyes, sure that if he could only look a bit closer--
Snape dropped Harry and turned away in one smooth motion. Harry, breathing deeply, slid onto the stone floor in front of his chair. The surface felt wonderfully cool, even through his robes. He pitched his weight sideways until he fell, and curled in a gentle crescent shape with his cheek against the stone. Grit from the floor stuck to his cheek, cooling his skin.
He watched Snape's shoes hit the floor with swift precision, pacing in and out of his field of vision. He could hear the sneer in Snape's next intake of breath.
"Your father," Snape snarled, "was an arrogant bastard!" He stopped pacing just outside of Harry's sight, and waited for a moment. "Wasn't he?!" his voice rose alarmingly.
But Harry wasn't alarmed. The dark anticipation in Snape's voice didn't bother him. Snape's emotions rolled over him like waves breaking against a rock in a storm.
"He was horrible in your memory," Harry replied matter-of-factly. And his heart didn't squeeze painfully the way it usually did when he remembered the casual cruelty with which young James Potter tormented young Severus Snape. Perhaps because what he said was true, and truth in any form was solid, comforting.
Snape stopped short again.
"And Sirius Black!" his voice rose sharply in volume and pitch. Harry could hear his mouth contorting harshly around the name, reducing the words to sharp vowels and hard consonants. And for the first time since the battle in the Department of Mysteries Harry heard Sirius' name without feeling like he would never breathe again. Sirius was dead, that was true. When he was alive, Sirius had been a friend to Harry, and a friend to Harry's father. "Can you defend Sirius Black?"
"They were naive," Harry heard himself answering, "and cruel. But that's-- " He paused, and started again. "There are wizards who think they don't have to be decent to muggles and muggle-borns because of what they are. And they're wrong. But...those wizards can be decent and good to other wizards. My father and Sirius thought they didn't have to be decent to you because...well, because of something. And they were wrong. But...they were decent and good to me. People can be both."
There. He'd said it perfectly. He could feel the words shining before him, dazzling and perfect, precisely matching a bit of reality. The truth carried a wonderful feeling of lightness. His father and Sirius--they were horrible to Snape, and they were wrong, but they were still everything they'd ever been to him. And it was okay. He felt as though a great tension in his chest had loosened, and he smiled a lazy, thick-lipped smile, clumsily licking the salt off his lips.
The next thing he knew he was being hauled, bodily, to his feet, Snape's pale hands tangled in the dark fabric of his robes, the whites of his eyes spidered with livid red. His voice dripped with sarcasm, and something else, something deeper and a little hollow.
"So they were out of line, your father and his friends, were they, Potter? Perhaps they should have left the greasy Slytherin alone?" He dropped Harry unceremoniously into the chair. "Perhaps you should have been sorted into Hufflepuff, for you fair-mindedness and equanimity." He leaned closer to Harry's face, speaking in a harsh, frenzied whisper. "And I'm sure that you would never behave in such a manner, would you, Potter, you and your Gryffindor friends; you wouldn't take pleasure in humiliating Malfoy if he was weak enough--" and Snape's voice broke a little on "weak," squeaked like an adolescent's--"to be a suitable target."
Draco. Suddenly it seemed to Harry that the incident with Malfoy The Amazing Bouncing Ferret might have been something other than funny.
Harry nodded slowly. He heard himself speaking.
"You're right," he said, "we see Malfoy...the way my father and Sirius...saw you. But we would never have attacked Draco like that, unprovoked, and I wouldn't do-that-to him. To anyone. And neither would Hermione." He paused. "You're the one who's out of line."
"Shut up, Potter." Snape's eyes boring into Harry's with a familiar, aggressive hardness that Harry now recognize as subtle Legilimency. But in this state Harry seemed immune to its effect.
He had the feeling that he wasn't talking to this enraged, malevolent Snape at all, that there was a desperately hurt Snape behind the angry, malicious exterior, and that Snape needed to hear what he had to say.
"You...wouldn't?" Snape's voice was low and dangerous. "The great Harry Potter is above such...diversions?"
"I hope I wouldn't. Because I know what it feels like to be...humiliated, and..." Harry trailed off.
Snape did not move.
"I'm sorry that my dad was horrible to you at school," Harry said.
Snape seemed to collapse in on himself. He turned away from Harry, his profile dominated by the hard angles and an oversized, crooked nose. His expression was unreadable.
"Stupid boy," he whispered. He looked at Harry once again, swallowed painfully, and then turned abruptly away.
"I suppose you're pleased with your precious father and his friends now--" Snape seemed to choke on the end of the sentence. His eyes widened and then slid shut. He raised a hand to his face and massaged the bridge of his nose.
It took Harry a moment to answer. He could feel sweat running into his eyebrows, following the grain of the hair and flowing down his temples. Snape looked strange, kind of taut and brittle. He found himself wishing that he could see the man's eyes.
Finally, he heard himself speak:
"No."
Snape's head snapped up, eyes narrowing viciously, and Harry was compelled to clarify his answer.
"No," he said, "I'm not pleased."
Snape's face seemed to explode. The dark eyes flashed and widened unbelievably and he lunged at Harry with a growl, lips pulled back from narrow, yellowing teeth. One hand tangled in the damp front of Harry's robes, twisted the fabric, jerked him forward, threw him back, and then jerked him forward again.
Harry flopped passively; the movement of his body didn't interest him. However, he watched Snape's eyes with great interest. There seemed to be a war going on behind those eyes: he could see flashes like gunfire, flaring like cannons and explosions like sheet lightning blazing in their depths. If he could just peer deep enough, far enough, perhaps he could make out--
"Don't contradict me!" Snape was shouting, lifting Harry bodily off the chair, his breath hot on Harry's face.
"Yes, sir," Harry said serenely, since Snape seemed to expect an answer. He was still squinting at the Potion master's eyes, sure that if he could only look a bit closer--
Snape dropped Harry and turned away in one smooth motion. Harry, breathing deeply, slid onto the stone floor in front of his chair. The surface felt wonderfully cool, even through his robes. He pitched his weight sideways until he fell, and curled in a gentle crescent shape with his cheek against the stone. Grit from the floor stuck to his cheek, cooling his skin.
He watched Snape's shoes hit the floor with swift precision, pacing in and out of his field of vision. He could hear the sneer in Snape's next intake of breath.
"Your father," Snape snarled, "was an arrogant bastard!" He stopped pacing just outside of Harry's sight, and waited for a moment. "Wasn't he?!" his voice rose alarmingly.
But Harry wasn't alarmed. The dark anticipation in Snape's voice didn't bother him. Snape's emotions rolled over him like waves breaking against a rock in a storm.
"He was horrible in your memory," Harry replied matter-of-factly. And his heart didn't squeeze painfully the way it usually did when he remembered the casual cruelty with which young James Potter tormented young Severus Snape. Perhaps because what he said was true, and truth in any form was solid, comforting.
Snape stopped short again.
"And Sirius Black!" his voice rose sharply in volume and pitch. Harry could hear his mouth contorting harshly around the name, reducing the words to sharp vowels and hard consonants. And for the first time since the battle in the Department of Mysteries Harry heard Sirius' name without feeling like he would never breathe again. Sirius was dead, that was true. When he was alive, Sirius had been a friend to Harry, and a friend to Harry's father. "Can you defend Sirius Black?"
"They were naive," Harry heard himself answering, "and cruel. But that's-- " He paused, and started again. "There are wizards who think they don't have to be decent to muggles and muggle-borns because of what they are. And they're wrong. But...those wizards can be decent and good to other wizards. My father and Sirius thought they didn't have to be decent to you because...well, because of something. And they were wrong. But...they were decent and good to me. People can be both."
There. He'd said it perfectly. He could feel the words shining before him, dazzling and perfect, precisely matching a bit of reality. The truth carried a wonderful feeling of lightness. His father and Sirius--they were horrible to Snape, and they were wrong, but they were still everything they'd ever been to him. And it was okay. He felt as though a great tension in his chest had loosened, and he smiled a lazy, thick-lipped smile, clumsily licking the salt off his lips.
The next thing he knew he was being hauled, bodily, to his feet, Snape's pale hands tangled in the dark fabric of his robes, the whites of his eyes spidered with livid red. His voice dripped with sarcasm, and something else, something deeper and a little hollow.
"So they were out of line, your father and his friends, were they, Potter? Perhaps they should have left the greasy Slytherin alone?" He dropped Harry unceremoniously into the chair. "Perhaps you should have been sorted into Hufflepuff, for you fair-mindedness and equanimity." He leaned closer to Harry's face, speaking in a harsh, frenzied whisper. "And I'm sure that you would never behave in such a manner, would you, Potter, you and your Gryffindor friends; you wouldn't take pleasure in humiliating Malfoy if he was weak enough--" and Snape's voice broke a little on "weak," squeaked like an adolescent's--"to be a suitable target."
Draco. Suddenly it seemed to Harry that the incident with Malfoy The Amazing Bouncing Ferret might have been something other than funny.
Harry nodded slowly. He heard himself speaking.
"You're right," he said, "we see Malfoy...the way my father and Sirius...saw you. But we would never have attacked Draco like that, unprovoked, and I wouldn't do-that-to him. To anyone. And neither would Hermione." He paused. "You're the one who's out of line."
"Shut up, Potter." Snape's eyes boring into Harry's with a familiar, aggressive hardness that Harry now recognize as subtle Legilimency. But in this state Harry seemed immune to its effect.
He had the feeling that he wasn't talking to this enraged, malevolent Snape at all, that there was a desperately hurt Snape behind the angry, malicious exterior, and that Snape needed to hear what he had to say.
"You...wouldn't?" Snape's voice was low and dangerous. "The great Harry Potter is above such...diversions?"
"I hope I wouldn't. Because I know what it feels like to be...humiliated, and..." Harry trailed off.
Snape did not move.
"I'm sorry that my dad was horrible to you at school," Harry said.
Snape seemed to collapse in on himself. He turned away from Harry, his profile dominated by the hard angles and an oversized, crooked nose. His expression was unreadable.
"Stupid boy," he whispered. He looked at Harry once again, swallowed painfully, and then turned abruptly away.
