Harry slowly made his way to the dungeons. He had detention yet again with his least favorite teacher, Snape. Snape had caught him and Ginny kissing in a broom closet last week. "No kissing in broom closets!" Snape had hissed. Harry was sure he had just made up that rule to get him in trouble. Harry sighed as he reached the classroom. He pushed the door open and entered. Snape was sitting as his desk, reading a large and dusty volume called, "How to Get Your Students Expelled." Snape looked up as Harry entered and said, "Finally decided to show up, did we Potter?" Harry looked at the clock behind Snape's desk and saw that he was a minute early.
"You are here because you have disobeyed school rules and must pay the price. You can start by sweeping and mopping this floor. The supplies are over there." He motioned to a corner where a broom and bucket stood. Harry began sweeping the floor while great clouds of dust got into his eyes, hair, and mouth. He was in a coughing fit halfway before he finished. He glanced at Snape, who was still reading his book, though Harry thought he could see a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Harry was filled with the deepest loathing for Snape. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I HATE him," he thought bitterly. Fierce pictures formed in his mind of Snape being tortured, his face full of anguish and terrible suffering. Forty-five minutes later, as Harry finished and was washing his hands, Snape called him over.
"Follow me," Snape said, rising from his seat. Harry's hopes of freedom faded away. Snape exited the dungeon, and Harry trailed behind. He followed him down a corridor, up some stairs, left, down some steps, and left again. Harry realized he had never been in this part of the castle before. He figured he must be somewhere near Slytherin Tower. Lit torches lined the walls and cast eerie shadows across the walls as they passed. Harry shivered and tightened his robe around himself. Snape lead him down a hallway which seemed to go on forever. Suddenly he stopped before a painting of a young boy and girl playing quidditch. The boy zoomed around on his broomstick and made five goals with the quaffle while the girl asked, "Password?"
"Snape rocks," answered Snape quietly. Harry had to pinch himself hard to keep from laughing. A small piece of the paining jutted out like a drawer. Snape reached inside and pulled out a small key. Then he continued down the hall until he reached a suit of armor.
"Move over, handsome," said Snape, rolling his eyes. Pinch. Very hard.
The suit stepped aside to reveal a keyhole. Harry watched as Snape bent over and unlocked the door. It opened and Harry entered after Snape.
Never before had Harry seen where Snape lived. It was not at all as he would have imagined. A small fire was glowing in a corner fireplace and there was a bed in the other corner. A few lamps hanging from the ceiling provided scarce light. Harry looked up at Snape, waiting for instruction.
"Dust. Everything." Snape handed Harry a feather duster, then dragged out his book again and sat on a dusty couch. Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Dusting was easy. He had had loads of practice at the Dursley's. He made his way around the small chamber, dusting here and there but thoroughly. No use doing it again. When he was done, he approached Snape and held out the feather duster.
Well, guess I'm done," he said with a smile, relieved to be finished. Don't say anything stupid, don't give him a reason to keep you here…please, pleeease.
"What are you grinning about?"
Uh oh.
"That wasn't enough? Sill too full of yourself, are you Potter?"
What are you talking about?
"You act just like your father did.
WHAT?
"He was a fool, your father. And so are you." Direct hit.
Harry's eyes glinted malevolently. "What did you say?" His hand reached for his wand.
Snape wasn't worried; he was fingering his own wand. "I said… your father was a conceited big head. Too proud for his own good. Thought he owned the place… And you are just like him."
Harry could not believe what he was hearing. Why was Snape saying these things? He didn't ask for it.
"That's not true," he said quietly.
Snape continued anyway. "Your father was so pompous and arrogant he thought he could do anything he wanted. Have anything he wanted." Snape was spilling out hatred he had kept inside for years. Harry knew he was bitter, but he also knew that his father was some of these things. But he was dead now. It didn't matter. He was dead. And here was Snape, going on about how awful his father was. Who was he to say these things?
The anger in Harry was rising. Any second now, he was going to explode… With each of Snape's remarks, Harry could feel his face getting hotter. The room was warm, though the fire had long gone out. Harry's whole body was burning, he needed air, he needed…to cry. His eyes were burning. He hadn't realized until his eyes were full. He looked away from Snape. He wanted to find a place to be alone.
Far away, not here, not with him here. He was surprised at himself. What was going on? How could Snape's hateful words cause him feelings like this? He cleared his throat to get rid of the lump, but a choked sob came out instead. He continued staring at the ground. There was a long silence. Even though there was no sound at all, it was the loudest silence Harry had ever experienced. What must Snape think of him? That he was a sensitive little baby who shed tears just because a man said a few hurtful words? He tried to remember that phrase…how did it go? Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. How untrue.
Harry stole a glance at Snape. He was still fingering his wand. Snape was staring at him in mild surprise. Harry cleared his throat. "Can- can I go?" he asked awkwardly. Snape continued to stare, then nodded his head.
Harry left that night feeling more ashamed than he ever had in his life. What was happening to him? He entered the portrait hole to the common room, then headed upstairs to his room. He fell facedown on his pillow without even undressing. He shut his eyes tight. Then he felt something lightly brush his cheek.. A note had suddenly appeared, pinned to his pillow. As though it was magicked there… Harry slowly opened it and read the two words hurriedly scrawled in black ink:
I'm sorry.
"You are here because you have disobeyed school rules and must pay the price. You can start by sweeping and mopping this floor. The supplies are over there." He motioned to a corner where a broom and bucket stood. Harry began sweeping the floor while great clouds of dust got into his eyes, hair, and mouth. He was in a coughing fit halfway before he finished. He glanced at Snape, who was still reading his book, though Harry thought he could see a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Harry was filled with the deepest loathing for Snape. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I HATE him," he thought bitterly. Fierce pictures formed in his mind of Snape being tortured, his face full of anguish and terrible suffering. Forty-five minutes later, as Harry finished and was washing his hands, Snape called him over.
"Follow me," Snape said, rising from his seat. Harry's hopes of freedom faded away. Snape exited the dungeon, and Harry trailed behind. He followed him down a corridor, up some stairs, left, down some steps, and left again. Harry realized he had never been in this part of the castle before. He figured he must be somewhere near Slytherin Tower. Lit torches lined the walls and cast eerie shadows across the walls as they passed. Harry shivered and tightened his robe around himself. Snape lead him down a hallway which seemed to go on forever. Suddenly he stopped before a painting of a young boy and girl playing quidditch. The boy zoomed around on his broomstick and made five goals with the quaffle while the girl asked, "Password?"
"Snape rocks," answered Snape quietly. Harry had to pinch himself hard to keep from laughing. A small piece of the paining jutted out like a drawer. Snape reached inside and pulled out a small key. Then he continued down the hall until he reached a suit of armor.
"Move over, handsome," said Snape, rolling his eyes. Pinch. Very hard.
The suit stepped aside to reveal a keyhole. Harry watched as Snape bent over and unlocked the door. It opened and Harry entered after Snape.
Never before had Harry seen where Snape lived. It was not at all as he would have imagined. A small fire was glowing in a corner fireplace and there was a bed in the other corner. A few lamps hanging from the ceiling provided scarce light. Harry looked up at Snape, waiting for instruction.
"Dust. Everything." Snape handed Harry a feather duster, then dragged out his book again and sat on a dusty couch. Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Dusting was easy. He had had loads of practice at the Dursley's. He made his way around the small chamber, dusting here and there but thoroughly. No use doing it again. When he was done, he approached Snape and held out the feather duster.
Well, guess I'm done," he said with a smile, relieved to be finished. Don't say anything stupid, don't give him a reason to keep you here…please, pleeease.
"What are you grinning about?"
Uh oh.
"That wasn't enough? Sill too full of yourself, are you Potter?"
What are you talking about?
"You act just like your father did.
WHAT?
"He was a fool, your father. And so are you." Direct hit.
Harry's eyes glinted malevolently. "What did you say?" His hand reached for his wand.
Snape wasn't worried; he was fingering his own wand. "I said… your father was a conceited big head. Too proud for his own good. Thought he owned the place… And you are just like him."
Harry could not believe what he was hearing. Why was Snape saying these things? He didn't ask for it.
"That's not true," he said quietly.
Snape continued anyway. "Your father was so pompous and arrogant he thought he could do anything he wanted. Have anything he wanted." Snape was spilling out hatred he had kept inside for years. Harry knew he was bitter, but he also knew that his father was some of these things. But he was dead now. It didn't matter. He was dead. And here was Snape, going on about how awful his father was. Who was he to say these things?
The anger in Harry was rising. Any second now, he was going to explode… With each of Snape's remarks, Harry could feel his face getting hotter. The room was warm, though the fire had long gone out. Harry's whole body was burning, he needed air, he needed…to cry. His eyes were burning. He hadn't realized until his eyes were full. He looked away from Snape. He wanted to find a place to be alone.
Far away, not here, not with him here. He was surprised at himself. What was going on? How could Snape's hateful words cause him feelings like this? He cleared his throat to get rid of the lump, but a choked sob came out instead. He continued staring at the ground. There was a long silence. Even though there was no sound at all, it was the loudest silence Harry had ever experienced. What must Snape think of him? That he was a sensitive little baby who shed tears just because a man said a few hurtful words? He tried to remember that phrase…how did it go? Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. How untrue.
Harry stole a glance at Snape. He was still fingering his wand. Snape was staring at him in mild surprise. Harry cleared his throat. "Can- can I go?" he asked awkwardly. Snape continued to stare, then nodded his head.
Harry left that night feeling more ashamed than he ever had in his life. What was happening to him? He entered the portrait hole to the common room, then headed upstairs to his room. He fell facedown on his pillow without even undressing. He shut his eyes tight. Then he felt something lightly brush his cheek.. A note had suddenly appeared, pinned to his pillow. As though it was magicked there… Harry slowly opened it and read the two words hurriedly scrawled in black ink:
I'm sorry.