"Mr. Potter," Snape hissed, leaving the statement open, so that Harry could squirm. It seemed that he would start breathing fire through his nostrils at any moment. Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.
"It seems that you [I]still[/I] have not learned that eavesdropping is unacceptable at this school. It appears that you [I]still[/I] have no compunctions about violating the privacy of others. Tell me," Snape sneered, his eyes narrowing, "Why should I have any respect for yours? [I]Leglimens![/I]"
Harry felt him probing, prying into his mind, the deepest parts of himself. He saw a few fleeting glimpses of Aunt Petunia and Dudley...he felt him searching for something embarrassing, painful. Ammunition.
"There's nothing left to find," Harry thought calmly, "Besides, he's seen so much – who cares what he thinks of me anymore?"
With a determined push, he closed his mind like a book, felt himself pushing Snape slowly but deliberately out.
"You've improved," Snape muttered. It wasn't a compliment.
"I had a good teacher," Harry admitted neutrally, his face stony.
Snape smirked sardonically. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
Harry decided to lay his cards on the table.
"I've got a bone to pick with you," he stated frankly.
Snape's eyebrows shot upwards, and his forehead crinkled in surprise. For a moment he didn't say or do anything. Harry knew he'd crossed a line he couldn't return from.
"Excuse me?" he asked, deadly calm.
"You heard me," Harry risked rudely, "I have some questions, and for once, I want some answers. Isn't that your job?"
Snape's normally sallow, yellowed complexion began blotching pink. He grit his teeth, and seemed to be shaking slightly.
"How [I]dare[/I] you! Five points from—"
"Go ahead!" Harry said, firmly, "Take as many points as you want. Go ahead and give me detention. You're bound to do it sometime anyway, no matter what I do. If I can't win, I might as well lose, and say what I want to say."
Harry was briefly gratified to see Snape's eyes widen in amazement. Some small part of himself that remained on the sidelines, looking on, congratulated him – he wasn't the same intimidated first year with Snape any more. He was speaking like Sirius might.
"I could have you expelled!" Snape snarled, his teeth gleaming as he snarled.
"Go ahead and try it," Harry said, and he felt a nervous thrill at his own audacity, "With Voldemort and his Death Eaters –"
"[I]Do NOT say the Dark Lord's—[/I]"
"[I]VOLDEMORT![/I]" Harry bellowed, stepping forward and planting his hands on Snape's desk.
"As usual, you mistake your profound lack of respect for bravery, when it is, in fact, nothing more than arrogance and foolhardy ignorance!" Snape said, his voice gradually increasing in volume. His hands were shaking as he clutched the back of the chair, leaning over it as though he would quite like to vault over his desk and strangle Harry.
"Well, you tell me who's being stupid," Harry retorted hotly, "Do you really think Dumbledore's going to expell me? The 'famous' Harry Potter?"
"Ah yes, the 'famous' Potter," Snape sneered, aiming for Harry's jugular, "The same arrogant swagger, the same big-headed—"
"You know for a fact that I [I]hate[/I] all of that, because you've [I]seen[/I] it!" Harry said, pointing a finger angrily at his scar, "You've seen how much I hate it! How much I wish I could just be a nobody! And it's no use having a go at my Dad – I'm sorry he treated you badly, but it's nothing to do with me. Besides, everybody makes mistakes! You have a tattoo to remind you of that!"
Harry flinched, suddenly sensing that someone had slapped him across the face, though Snape's hands hadn't left the chair. He realized Snape must have done it inadvertently, with his mind. His eyes were wild now, and his hands were positively twitching with fury. Harry knew he couldn't back down now, though, no matter what the consequences – he'd come too far to turn back.
"The fact is, I've called your bluff! Dumbledore isn't about to expell The Boy Who Lived, not when he's named in that wretched prophecy, not when Voldemort and his Death Eaters are on the loose, not when everything's riding on him. Like it or not, Professor Snape, you're stuck with me for another year and a half. You can send me back to my common room if you like, or ignore me, but I'll just tell Dumbledore you've refused to teach me. I'm sure that'll go over well. And I'm not going to stop asking until I get some answers!"
Snape took a shaky breath in through his nostrils.
"You seem to forget," Snape said, though gritted teeth, "I am even more a permanent fixture here than you are."
"Really?" Harry asked, "Does Fudge know that you used to be a Death Eater?"
Snape flinched, "Yes."
"He'd probably be relieved to see you sacked – Lucky for you, Dumbledore's always ignored his advice when it comes to hiring. As a matter of fact, I bet that's why you've never gotten the Defense post."
Snape was positively foaming at the mouth at this. Harry knew he'd touched a nerve.
"Fudge is probably afraid you'll go back to your [I]previous[/I] occupation as soon as the tide turns. And Dumbledore's afraid he's right."
"Do you honestly think I am cut from the same cloth as Peter Pettigrew?" Snape asked, in deadly quiet.
"No," Harry admitted, after a pause. He was shocked to find a glimmer of respect for Professor Snape, buried deeply under the anger. "No, I don't."
There was a brief pause, as the two stared each other down.
"But I bet it's Dumbledore's word, and some good behavior that's kept you out of Azkaban all these years. Think you could stand it? For all you used to mock Sirius," Harry said, his voice cracking inadvertently, "I don't think you could last thirteen years – your conscience isn't as clear as his!"
Snape returned Harry's stare unblinkingly. Harry could feel the anger emanating from him in waves. He occasionally felt a slight probing, as though Snape were trying to assess how sincere he was. He knew he was surprised at what he found.
"I don't owe you anything," Snape spat slowly, "I want that made perfectly clear."
"Don't you?" Harry asked, sensing an opportunity, "My father saved your life."
"It was your father and his [I]idiot[/I] friends that put my life in danger!" Snape hissed furiously, "You have seen for yourself the extent of his irresponsibility and his vindictive grudge! And I might add that I have saved your life on [I]numerous[/I] occasions!" Snape hissed.
"Fine then, we're even," Harry conceded, the trap sprung. "I don't owe you, and you don't owe me anything. My father is dead. I've let him go. Can you?"
"It seems," he said, slowly straightening up to full height, "That we are at an impasse. You see, I would like nothing more than to throw you out on your noble intentions, and leave you to the Dark Lord's mercy. But to my deepest regret," he added with a silky sneer, "The happy power to expell you does not lie with me Dumbledore would never have it. Plus, to do so would most likely seal the doom of wizard kind. I can take points away from you, and give you detention, yes, but it seems you are not to be deterred..."
Harry held his breath. Had he won? He recalled how disgusted Snape had been with Malfoy's whining and cringing. As much as he knew that Snape hated him, as much as he would prefer to always hate him, perhaps Snape had to finally admit to himself that there was more to Harry than just a swelled head.
"In the interest of shutting your rude, arrogant mouth," Snape said, "and partially out of some misguided, morbid curiosity – What is it you want to ask?"
Harry felt a brief thrill of triumph, and he couldn't help but grin. He'd done it!
"Watch yourself, Potter," Snape cautioned, all traces of indulgence vanishing instantly, "Ask what you have to ask, because I won't brook your insolence much longer."
Harry took a slow breath, and tried to think of what he wanted to ask first – now that he had permission to ask questions, it seemed that all his thoughts about Snape had become one large enigma – he hardly knew where to begin.
"You're Malfoy's head of house. How could you not know what he was up to?"
"Put frankly, he didn't tell me. Is that all?"
"Isn't it your job to be a double agent?" Harry asked, frowningly, "I've seen the extent of your Leglimency. You're telling me you had no idea?"
"Malfoy is difficult to read," Snape said frankly, "In the same way that Sneakoscopes do not work well in the castle."
Harry remembered what the imposter Moody had told him, when all the Sneakoscopes had been going off in his office...The castle was so full of dishonesty, students lying about their homework, or trying to skive off classes, that they were going off constantly.
"So Malfoy is so dishonest, that –"
"Exactly," Snape said bluntly, "It is difficult to trace his lies. Besides, as troublesome as you have found him in past years, his rule-breaking has never brought serious harm in the way it has this year – I had no reason to suspect that he would become so dangerous so quickly. And as you may be aware, I've had my hands full with considerably larger fish, Mr. Potter...Mr. Malfoy's petty, schoolyard grudge is not my concern."
"He nearly got us killed," Harry said bluntly, "I think that's concerning."
"Did you not just see for yourself that Mr. Malfoy is now attending daily detentions with me?" Snape hissed, "Do you think the Leglimency is merely for punishment?"
Harry was quiet for a moment. Malfoy wouldn't be able to risk any more life-threatening maneuvres for a while.
"That still doesn't explain..." Harry started, but he trailed off uncomfortably.
Snape stared at him coldly for a moment, then sat at his desk. "If you are finished asking your questions, let me know, so we can return to the work at hand, Mr. Potter."
"Why have you always favored him?" Harry blurted out, "He should have been expelled a hundred times over –"
"So should you, if I remember correctly," Snape hissed, "And so should your father. For you, of all people, to complain about favoritism at Hogwarts, implies a lack of self-awareness that borders on the imbecilic."
"If you're talking about Dumbledore, I never asked to—"
"Dumbledore is the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the professors take their cue from him. You are quite possibly second only to Granger in your ability to ingratiate yourself to the staff here," Snape said, a derisive smirk playing about his narrow lips, as he hunched forward over his desk, "I have only tried to give Malfoy a small taste of the favor you receive."
"Why? Why Malfoy?" Harry probed, further, "Even you don't like him, it's obvious – it's clear what he is, what he's choosing to be. You must hate him almost as much as you hate his father...as much as you hate them all."
"As much as you hate your past," Harry thought. He both saw and felt that he was right, in the way Snape quickly diverted his eyes to the desk, trying to cease their connection.
"I don't understand how you can spend all day spying on his father, and then come here and treat his son like the Prince of Slytherin. He's only going to fling it in your face."
"In many ways, Malfoy is the Prince of Slytherin," Snape said quietly, "Or was. And I am head of Slytherin House, Mr. Potter. As a professor at Hogwarts, it is not my responsibility to judge the moral character of our students. When I see talent, I encourage it."
"I wouldn't exactly call our Potions lessons encouraging," Harry said, more bemused than sarcastic. Snape raised an eyebrow.
"I suppose you would prefer that I patronize you the way your werewolf friend does? Yes, I imagine that you prefer not to be challenged, Mr. Potter. You'd rather I never push you to reach your potential, never hold you accountable for your own laziness, and misguided focus –"
"You can't tell me there's nothing personal about it," Harry muttered.
"The last time I checked," Snape said, frostily, his eyes getting cold and hard at Harry's familiarity, "I am your Potions Master, not your friend. And I am not about to hold your little hands and make daisy chains, not now, not ever. You're here to learn, and more importantly, learn how to work. If it were easy, it would not be worth doing."
Harry realized they were getting off the subject.
"But Malfoy," he insisted, "You say you're encouraging him, but what are you encouraging him to—"
"Mr. Potter, there is no doubt that Mr. Malfoy has talent, and I remain his teacher – ergo, yes, of course I am trying to encourage him," Snape said, his exasperation evident, "You put me in a difficult position, Mr. Potter, just as the Headmaster does – you expect me to maintain my cover as a Death Eater, yet simultaneously turn Mr. Malfoy against his father, and steer him away from the Dark Arts?"
Harry paused, dumbfounded. He'd never really tried to see it from Snape's point of view before, and he was hard-pressed to find a solution to the problem.
"Ah," Snape said, smirking, "I see that particular thought has never crossed your mind. You see now that as Head of Slytherin House, I have tried to walk that precise fine line, and maintain my balance, for years, not only with Mr. Malfoy but with all my students. Not that you've noticed. No, all you've noticed is how [I]unfair[/I] it is, how difficult it all is for [I]you[/I]. As usual, you paint in broad strokes, using two colors: Good and Evil. And the questions you have remain unanswered not because I harbor some dark secret, but merely because you do not think for yourself."
There was a slight pause.
"What do you think will happen? I mean, with Malfoy?" Harry ventured, hesitantly.
Immediately Snape averted his eyes. But in the flash of eye contact, Harry understood. He felt, more than saw, Snape as a young man at Hogwarts, laden with tradition, his birthright, and his own mounting disgust with them both – his hatred for his arrogant, shallow, selfish classmates. And through it all, like a troubled undercurrent, the love/hate yearning for the unbridled power of the Dark Arts, clinging like an alcoholic to his bottle...
"I have to believe he can be reached," Harry heard in his head. Suddenly he winced, as he was forcefully shoved out of Snape's mind.
"That's rude," Snape said shortly.
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized immediately, "I didn't realize I was doing it."
They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Some invisible dam had burst, and neither seemed sure whether they preferred this new complexity to the simplicity of their prior hatred.
"If you're quite through, I think we ought to practice at least once before you return to your daily angst."
Harry nodded numbly. There were a hundred other questions he wanted to ask. But he sensed that the window of opportunity had closed, at least for now – he still felt as though he were treading uncharted water, unsure of where to swim to next.
"One, two, three," Snape counted robotically, preparing his wand, "[I]Leglimens![/I]"
"[I]Protego![/I]" Harry shouted, wielding his wand.
Suddenly, without intending to, Harry was inside Snape's mind again. It was the easiest it had ever been – something about their conversation had temporarily disarmed Snape's defenses.
He was standing in Snape's elegant yet dour diningroom, watching him take the beating of a lifetime from the tall, dark, angry man. Snape's mother cowered in the corner. Harry could see every splotch of color on her cheek, so vivid was the memory before him – blue and purple, tinges of greenish-yellow.
The tall dark man raised his hand to rain yet another blow on the lanky, teenage boy with greasy hair. Blood was trickling out of his hooked nose, and he already had a fat lip, and a puffy eye, but Harry could feel him burning with anger...he felt something rising in his midriff...something angry, and urgent...
...something hungry.
Suddenly, Snape burst into a snarl - his lip curled back. His eyes seemed to widen unnaturally. His canines glinted whitely in the dim light of the room.
"Leave her alone," Snape hissed...only this time he seemed to really hiss, through his teeth.
"You think you can make me?" bellowed the dark, angry man, pushing Snape's shoulder, "Go ahead, you little freak, you ingrate! Make me. I want you to. You haven't got it in you. I dare you, you bastard brat, see what happens to you!"
Snape suddenly jerked his head back, and Harry watched in horror as his canine teeth instantly elongated into pearlescent spikes. In one impossibly swift motion, he pounced, burying his teeth into the man's gritty, unshaven neck. His mother screamed an awful, agonized scream, reaching her arms out to him, as the man's eyes went wide, his mouth working open and shut like a landed fish. Snape released him, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Snape spat out some of the man's blood, looming over him, his teeth glinting redly. He knelt down in one smooth motion.
"You taste absolutely [I]foul[/I]," he said slowly, and distinctly, "I thought you should know that, before you die...that the [I]pure[/I] blood that you're so proud of tastes like sweat, and whiskey, and cheap cologne. It digusts me. You disgust me."
The man's legs began to jerk slightly, his wound slowly oozing red blood onto the white carpet in steady spurts.
"Now die."
Harry felt a sudden jolt, and found he was sitting flat on his rump on Snape's office floor. Snape was gripping his wand, white-knuckled, a look of absolute panic on his face.
"[I]Oblivia—[/I]"
"[I]Silencio![/I]" Harry shouted, holding up his wand. Snape was suddenly struck mute, to his panicked fury.
"Wait a minute!" Harry shouted stupidly, holding up a hand. His mind was reeling, "Just – wait!"
Snape did a tricky wave of his wand, and cleared his throat.
"Your nosing about has finally gone too far, Potter," Snape said, his eyes dangerous and wild, "Enjoy your satisfaction while it lasts, because I swear you won't remember it!"
"Don't!" Harry said, "You don't have to do this! I won't tell a soul!"
"Well thank you for the reassurance, Potter, but based on your prior 'respect' for my mental property, I don't think I'll take the chance," Snape hissed, advancing on Harry, his wand drawn.
"I never told a soul," Harry said, staring Snape straight in the eyes, "About my Dad. About 'Snivellus,' or any of it. I never told anyone about your father—"
"That was [I]NOT[/I] my father!" Snape hissed dangerously, jerking his wand hand towards Harry.
"Fine! I don't want to know!" Harry said, honestly, "I'm not going to tell anyone, and you know that I'm telling the truth. Just look!"
Snape stared deeply into Harry's eyes, his wand still drawn.
There was a knock at the door.
"It seems that you [I]still[/I] have not learned that eavesdropping is unacceptable at this school. It appears that you [I]still[/I] have no compunctions about violating the privacy of others. Tell me," Snape sneered, his eyes narrowing, "Why should I have any respect for yours? [I]Leglimens![/I]"
Harry felt him probing, prying into his mind, the deepest parts of himself. He saw a few fleeting glimpses of Aunt Petunia and Dudley...he felt him searching for something embarrassing, painful. Ammunition.
"There's nothing left to find," Harry thought calmly, "Besides, he's seen so much – who cares what he thinks of me anymore?"
With a determined push, he closed his mind like a book, felt himself pushing Snape slowly but deliberately out.
"You've improved," Snape muttered. It wasn't a compliment.
"I had a good teacher," Harry admitted neutrally, his face stony.
Snape smirked sardonically. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
Harry decided to lay his cards on the table.
"I've got a bone to pick with you," he stated frankly.
Snape's eyebrows shot upwards, and his forehead crinkled in surprise. For a moment he didn't say or do anything. Harry knew he'd crossed a line he couldn't return from.
"Excuse me?" he asked, deadly calm.
"You heard me," Harry risked rudely, "I have some questions, and for once, I want some answers. Isn't that your job?"
Snape's normally sallow, yellowed complexion began blotching pink. He grit his teeth, and seemed to be shaking slightly.
"How [I]dare[/I] you! Five points from—"
"Go ahead!" Harry said, firmly, "Take as many points as you want. Go ahead and give me detention. You're bound to do it sometime anyway, no matter what I do. If I can't win, I might as well lose, and say what I want to say."
Harry was briefly gratified to see Snape's eyes widen in amazement. Some small part of himself that remained on the sidelines, looking on, congratulated him – he wasn't the same intimidated first year with Snape any more. He was speaking like Sirius might.
"I could have you expelled!" Snape snarled, his teeth gleaming as he snarled.
"Go ahead and try it," Harry said, and he felt a nervous thrill at his own audacity, "With Voldemort and his Death Eaters –"
"[I]Do NOT say the Dark Lord's—[/I]"
"[I]VOLDEMORT![/I]" Harry bellowed, stepping forward and planting his hands on Snape's desk.
"As usual, you mistake your profound lack of respect for bravery, when it is, in fact, nothing more than arrogance and foolhardy ignorance!" Snape said, his voice gradually increasing in volume. His hands were shaking as he clutched the back of the chair, leaning over it as though he would quite like to vault over his desk and strangle Harry.
"Well, you tell me who's being stupid," Harry retorted hotly, "Do you really think Dumbledore's going to expell me? The 'famous' Harry Potter?"
"Ah yes, the 'famous' Potter," Snape sneered, aiming for Harry's jugular, "The same arrogant swagger, the same big-headed—"
"You know for a fact that I [I]hate[/I] all of that, because you've [I]seen[/I] it!" Harry said, pointing a finger angrily at his scar, "You've seen how much I hate it! How much I wish I could just be a nobody! And it's no use having a go at my Dad – I'm sorry he treated you badly, but it's nothing to do with me. Besides, everybody makes mistakes! You have a tattoo to remind you of that!"
Harry flinched, suddenly sensing that someone had slapped him across the face, though Snape's hands hadn't left the chair. He realized Snape must have done it inadvertently, with his mind. His eyes were wild now, and his hands were positively twitching with fury. Harry knew he couldn't back down now, though, no matter what the consequences – he'd come too far to turn back.
"The fact is, I've called your bluff! Dumbledore isn't about to expell The Boy Who Lived, not when he's named in that wretched prophecy, not when Voldemort and his Death Eaters are on the loose, not when everything's riding on him. Like it or not, Professor Snape, you're stuck with me for another year and a half. You can send me back to my common room if you like, or ignore me, but I'll just tell Dumbledore you've refused to teach me. I'm sure that'll go over well. And I'm not going to stop asking until I get some answers!"
Snape took a shaky breath in through his nostrils.
"You seem to forget," Snape said, though gritted teeth, "I am even more a permanent fixture here than you are."
"Really?" Harry asked, "Does Fudge know that you used to be a Death Eater?"
Snape flinched, "Yes."
"He'd probably be relieved to see you sacked – Lucky for you, Dumbledore's always ignored his advice when it comes to hiring. As a matter of fact, I bet that's why you've never gotten the Defense post."
Snape was positively foaming at the mouth at this. Harry knew he'd touched a nerve.
"Fudge is probably afraid you'll go back to your [I]previous[/I] occupation as soon as the tide turns. And Dumbledore's afraid he's right."
"Do you honestly think I am cut from the same cloth as Peter Pettigrew?" Snape asked, in deadly quiet.
"No," Harry admitted, after a pause. He was shocked to find a glimmer of respect for Professor Snape, buried deeply under the anger. "No, I don't."
There was a brief pause, as the two stared each other down.
"But I bet it's Dumbledore's word, and some good behavior that's kept you out of Azkaban all these years. Think you could stand it? For all you used to mock Sirius," Harry said, his voice cracking inadvertently, "I don't think you could last thirteen years – your conscience isn't as clear as his!"
Snape returned Harry's stare unblinkingly. Harry could feel the anger emanating from him in waves. He occasionally felt a slight probing, as though Snape were trying to assess how sincere he was. He knew he was surprised at what he found.
"I don't owe you anything," Snape spat slowly, "I want that made perfectly clear."
"Don't you?" Harry asked, sensing an opportunity, "My father saved your life."
"It was your father and his [I]idiot[/I] friends that put my life in danger!" Snape hissed furiously, "You have seen for yourself the extent of his irresponsibility and his vindictive grudge! And I might add that I have saved your life on [I]numerous[/I] occasions!" Snape hissed.
"Fine then, we're even," Harry conceded, the trap sprung. "I don't owe you, and you don't owe me anything. My father is dead. I've let him go. Can you?"
"It seems," he said, slowly straightening up to full height, "That we are at an impasse. You see, I would like nothing more than to throw you out on your noble intentions, and leave you to the Dark Lord's mercy. But to my deepest regret," he added with a silky sneer, "The happy power to expell you does not lie with me Dumbledore would never have it. Plus, to do so would most likely seal the doom of wizard kind. I can take points away from you, and give you detention, yes, but it seems you are not to be deterred..."
Harry held his breath. Had he won? He recalled how disgusted Snape had been with Malfoy's whining and cringing. As much as he knew that Snape hated him, as much as he would prefer to always hate him, perhaps Snape had to finally admit to himself that there was more to Harry than just a swelled head.
"In the interest of shutting your rude, arrogant mouth," Snape said, "and partially out of some misguided, morbid curiosity – What is it you want to ask?"
Harry felt a brief thrill of triumph, and he couldn't help but grin. He'd done it!
"Watch yourself, Potter," Snape cautioned, all traces of indulgence vanishing instantly, "Ask what you have to ask, because I won't brook your insolence much longer."
Harry took a slow breath, and tried to think of what he wanted to ask first – now that he had permission to ask questions, it seemed that all his thoughts about Snape had become one large enigma – he hardly knew where to begin.
"You're Malfoy's head of house. How could you not know what he was up to?"
"Put frankly, he didn't tell me. Is that all?"
"Isn't it your job to be a double agent?" Harry asked, frowningly, "I've seen the extent of your Leglimency. You're telling me you had no idea?"
"Malfoy is difficult to read," Snape said frankly, "In the same way that Sneakoscopes do not work well in the castle."
Harry remembered what the imposter Moody had told him, when all the Sneakoscopes had been going off in his office...The castle was so full of dishonesty, students lying about their homework, or trying to skive off classes, that they were going off constantly.
"So Malfoy is so dishonest, that –"
"Exactly," Snape said bluntly, "It is difficult to trace his lies. Besides, as troublesome as you have found him in past years, his rule-breaking has never brought serious harm in the way it has this year – I had no reason to suspect that he would become so dangerous so quickly. And as you may be aware, I've had my hands full with considerably larger fish, Mr. Potter...Mr. Malfoy's petty, schoolyard grudge is not my concern."
"He nearly got us killed," Harry said bluntly, "I think that's concerning."
"Did you not just see for yourself that Mr. Malfoy is now attending daily detentions with me?" Snape hissed, "Do you think the Leglimency is merely for punishment?"
Harry was quiet for a moment. Malfoy wouldn't be able to risk any more life-threatening maneuvres for a while.
"That still doesn't explain..." Harry started, but he trailed off uncomfortably.
Snape stared at him coldly for a moment, then sat at his desk. "If you are finished asking your questions, let me know, so we can return to the work at hand, Mr. Potter."
"Why have you always favored him?" Harry blurted out, "He should have been expelled a hundred times over –"
"So should you, if I remember correctly," Snape hissed, "And so should your father. For you, of all people, to complain about favoritism at Hogwarts, implies a lack of self-awareness that borders on the imbecilic."
"If you're talking about Dumbledore, I never asked to—"
"Dumbledore is the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the professors take their cue from him. You are quite possibly second only to Granger in your ability to ingratiate yourself to the staff here," Snape said, a derisive smirk playing about his narrow lips, as he hunched forward over his desk, "I have only tried to give Malfoy a small taste of the favor you receive."
"Why? Why Malfoy?" Harry probed, further, "Even you don't like him, it's obvious – it's clear what he is, what he's choosing to be. You must hate him almost as much as you hate his father...as much as you hate them all."
"As much as you hate your past," Harry thought. He both saw and felt that he was right, in the way Snape quickly diverted his eyes to the desk, trying to cease their connection.
"I don't understand how you can spend all day spying on his father, and then come here and treat his son like the Prince of Slytherin. He's only going to fling it in your face."
"In many ways, Malfoy is the Prince of Slytherin," Snape said quietly, "Or was. And I am head of Slytherin House, Mr. Potter. As a professor at Hogwarts, it is not my responsibility to judge the moral character of our students. When I see talent, I encourage it."
"I wouldn't exactly call our Potions lessons encouraging," Harry said, more bemused than sarcastic. Snape raised an eyebrow.
"I suppose you would prefer that I patronize you the way your werewolf friend does? Yes, I imagine that you prefer not to be challenged, Mr. Potter. You'd rather I never push you to reach your potential, never hold you accountable for your own laziness, and misguided focus –"
"You can't tell me there's nothing personal about it," Harry muttered.
"The last time I checked," Snape said, frostily, his eyes getting cold and hard at Harry's familiarity, "I am your Potions Master, not your friend. And I am not about to hold your little hands and make daisy chains, not now, not ever. You're here to learn, and more importantly, learn how to work. If it were easy, it would not be worth doing."
Harry realized they were getting off the subject.
"But Malfoy," he insisted, "You say you're encouraging him, but what are you encouraging him to—"
"Mr. Potter, there is no doubt that Mr. Malfoy has talent, and I remain his teacher – ergo, yes, of course I am trying to encourage him," Snape said, his exasperation evident, "You put me in a difficult position, Mr. Potter, just as the Headmaster does – you expect me to maintain my cover as a Death Eater, yet simultaneously turn Mr. Malfoy against his father, and steer him away from the Dark Arts?"
Harry paused, dumbfounded. He'd never really tried to see it from Snape's point of view before, and he was hard-pressed to find a solution to the problem.
"Ah," Snape said, smirking, "I see that particular thought has never crossed your mind. You see now that as Head of Slytherin House, I have tried to walk that precise fine line, and maintain my balance, for years, not only with Mr. Malfoy but with all my students. Not that you've noticed. No, all you've noticed is how [I]unfair[/I] it is, how difficult it all is for [I]you[/I]. As usual, you paint in broad strokes, using two colors: Good and Evil. And the questions you have remain unanswered not because I harbor some dark secret, but merely because you do not think for yourself."
There was a slight pause.
"What do you think will happen? I mean, with Malfoy?" Harry ventured, hesitantly.
Immediately Snape averted his eyes. But in the flash of eye contact, Harry understood. He felt, more than saw, Snape as a young man at Hogwarts, laden with tradition, his birthright, and his own mounting disgust with them both – his hatred for his arrogant, shallow, selfish classmates. And through it all, like a troubled undercurrent, the love/hate yearning for the unbridled power of the Dark Arts, clinging like an alcoholic to his bottle...
"I have to believe he can be reached," Harry heard in his head. Suddenly he winced, as he was forcefully shoved out of Snape's mind.
"That's rude," Snape said shortly.
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized immediately, "I didn't realize I was doing it."
They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Some invisible dam had burst, and neither seemed sure whether they preferred this new complexity to the simplicity of their prior hatred.
"If you're quite through, I think we ought to practice at least once before you return to your daily angst."
Harry nodded numbly. There were a hundred other questions he wanted to ask. But he sensed that the window of opportunity had closed, at least for now – he still felt as though he were treading uncharted water, unsure of where to swim to next.
"One, two, three," Snape counted robotically, preparing his wand, "[I]Leglimens![/I]"
"[I]Protego![/I]" Harry shouted, wielding his wand.
Suddenly, without intending to, Harry was inside Snape's mind again. It was the easiest it had ever been – something about their conversation had temporarily disarmed Snape's defenses.
He was standing in Snape's elegant yet dour diningroom, watching him take the beating of a lifetime from the tall, dark, angry man. Snape's mother cowered in the corner. Harry could see every splotch of color on her cheek, so vivid was the memory before him – blue and purple, tinges of greenish-yellow.
The tall dark man raised his hand to rain yet another blow on the lanky, teenage boy with greasy hair. Blood was trickling out of his hooked nose, and he already had a fat lip, and a puffy eye, but Harry could feel him burning with anger...he felt something rising in his midriff...something angry, and urgent...
...something hungry.
Suddenly, Snape burst into a snarl - his lip curled back. His eyes seemed to widen unnaturally. His canines glinted whitely in the dim light of the room.
"Leave her alone," Snape hissed...only this time he seemed to really hiss, through his teeth.
"You think you can make me?" bellowed the dark, angry man, pushing Snape's shoulder, "Go ahead, you little freak, you ingrate! Make me. I want you to. You haven't got it in you. I dare you, you bastard brat, see what happens to you!"
Snape suddenly jerked his head back, and Harry watched in horror as his canine teeth instantly elongated into pearlescent spikes. In one impossibly swift motion, he pounced, burying his teeth into the man's gritty, unshaven neck. His mother screamed an awful, agonized scream, reaching her arms out to him, as the man's eyes went wide, his mouth working open and shut like a landed fish. Snape released him, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Snape spat out some of the man's blood, looming over him, his teeth glinting redly. He knelt down in one smooth motion.
"You taste absolutely [I]foul[/I]," he said slowly, and distinctly, "I thought you should know that, before you die...that the [I]pure[/I] blood that you're so proud of tastes like sweat, and whiskey, and cheap cologne. It digusts me. You disgust me."
The man's legs began to jerk slightly, his wound slowly oozing red blood onto the white carpet in steady spurts.
"Now die."
Harry felt a sudden jolt, and found he was sitting flat on his rump on Snape's office floor. Snape was gripping his wand, white-knuckled, a look of absolute panic on his face.
"[I]Oblivia—[/I]"
"[I]Silencio![/I]" Harry shouted, holding up his wand. Snape was suddenly struck mute, to his panicked fury.
"Wait a minute!" Harry shouted stupidly, holding up a hand. His mind was reeling, "Just – wait!"
Snape did a tricky wave of his wand, and cleared his throat.
"Your nosing about has finally gone too far, Potter," Snape said, his eyes dangerous and wild, "Enjoy your satisfaction while it lasts, because I swear you won't remember it!"
"Don't!" Harry said, "You don't have to do this! I won't tell a soul!"
"Well thank you for the reassurance, Potter, but based on your prior 'respect' for my mental property, I don't think I'll take the chance," Snape hissed, advancing on Harry, his wand drawn.
"I never told a soul," Harry said, staring Snape straight in the eyes, "About my Dad. About 'Snivellus,' or any of it. I never told anyone about your father—"
"That was [I]NOT[/I] my father!" Snape hissed dangerously, jerking his wand hand towards Harry.
"Fine! I don't want to know!" Harry said, honestly, "I'm not going to tell anyone, and you know that I'm telling the truth. Just look!"
Snape stared deeply into Harry's eyes, his wand still drawn.
There was a knock at the door.
