Surreality
By Perse
Chapter 11
oOo
He didn't go to the Great Hall for dinner. That would have required dealing with Ron, and he wasn't up to that at the moment.
He was hungry however, and Dobby was quickly becoming his best meal companion anyway. He soon found himself in the Hogwarts kitchens, accepting heaping plates from several eager house elves. Most of them quickly went back to their work. Dobby brought him his main course and then sat beside him for a bit.
But for once, Dobby seemed to sense that his thoughts were elsewhere. After a few attempts at conversation the little elf went back to chattering at the others and left Harry to his food—and his brooding.
The scene he had witnessed in Snape's memories bothered him. His knee-jerk reaction was to put all his energy into not thinking about it, but somehow he knew that he needed to figure it out.
The simple logistics of the scene were upsetting him so much that he couldn't look past them. Snape, reporting to Voldemort. About Harry.
Quite suddenly, the food was not so appealing. He put down his loaded fork and forced himself to swallow what was already in his mouth.
He had to get himself past that. He thought about it for a moment, and came to some surprising conclusions. Really, what had he supposed Voldemort would expect from a death eater stationed in Dumbledore's inner circle? From someone who lived within the protective barriers that held Harry Potter?
He had never really given that much thought to Snape's spying position. Sure, he was feeding them information about Voldemort. But from the other side—from Voldemort's point of view—he had a spy who saw Harry almost every day. Of course he would expect reports from Snape on him.
It still made him uncomfortable, but it made sense.
He slowly picked up his fork and began to eat again, mostly to occupy his hands as he now tried to push past that initial reaction and remember all the details of the scene.
It was definitely a recent memory. Snape had spoken of Sirius' death, which put the timeframe into the last couple of months. And then he had talked of Quidditch practices as if the term were well underway.
Quidditch practices…Harry's brow furrowed. He wasn't participating in the Gryffindor practices yet. His one attempt had been a rousing disaster. Nearly killing a friend was not exactly a confidence booster.
He wasn't really gaining much comfort from his friends at the moment, either. He was far from content. And Snape had played down his contact with Harry as well, claiming only to see him during their make-believe remedial sessions.
Harry shut his eyes briefly, and felt a small smile touch his lips. Snape wasn't catering to Voldemort. He was protecting Harry.
He allowed himself to feel the wash of relief for a moment.
But he'd also seen what those lies cost the Potions Master. Harry shivered involuntarily with phantom pain from the memory. It was almost beyond his comprehension that Snape had suffered that to protect him. That he had probably been doing it for quite a while, even before this semester. Back when animosity had still been his chief emotion towards Harry.
That was perhaps the price he paid to work for good. Suffering, constantly battered by darkness—often in the name of Harry Potter.
It was reason for Snape to resent him all the more.
With all of the man's reasons, legitimate or not, it was hard for Harry to grasp why Snape's attitude towards him had begun to change. Or perhaps he had just been burned so many times that he could no longer accept anything without some doubts.
In this spirit of paranoia, he found reason to doubt his new conclusions as well. He really didn't know the extent of Snape's Occlumency abilities—or the limits of the magic itself, for that matter. Aside from everything else, that scene proved that Snape was a good actor. Perhaps he could have faked that memory.
But why that scene—if he was trying to gain trust, why give Harry something that would immediately make him doubt?
Perhaps caution was still necessary. But Harry's instincts said to trust him.
His heart said the same.
His brain was still working on it, but…it would do for now.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he thanked Dobby and the other elves and bid them a good night as he headed out of the kitchen.
oOo
Snape spared him a glance when he entered the quarters, but quickly turned his attention back to his book.
Harry fidgeted for a moment in the doorway, then screwed up his courage and stepped closer to the padded chair by the fire. "I want to trust you," he announced without preamble.
Snape's attention—and his eyebrows—shot back up. They stared at each other for a moment before Snape cleared his throat and very calmly reached for his bookmark. As he sat the book aside, Harry went on, "That's odd for me, because I've spent five years wanting reasons not to trust you."
There was a hint of a smirk, but then Snape sat back and watched him solemnly, apparently willing to let him talk.
Feeling terribly self-conscious, Harry moved to sit on the nearby couch, effectively stalling for a moment as he got his thoughts together. Finally he met Snape's eyes once more and said, "I've never been under any illusions about adults being perfect. Still, I give trust easily enough. It hasn't always come back to haunt me, but the times that it has…I trusted Quirrell; I thought he was the victim. I suppose my trust wasn't really misplaced in Remus, but he was certainly keeping things from me. Dumbledore has that habit, too. And Moody…I knew he was a little off, sure. But I thought I had a real ally there." He paused to take a breath, then confessed, "I've been wrong so often that I hesitate to put faith in anyone anymore."
"But it is particularly difficult now because it is me." It was a statement, not a question, but Harry couldn't detect any real anger there. Snape was paying careful attention to the little speech, making Harry feel both encouraged and a bit nervous.
He decided to go with brutal honesty. "You have hated me and treated me as such since the moment we met. And it quickly became mutual. I always distrusted you because of that." He paused, then finished, "And that's changed somewhat now."
Snape gave him a slight nod, barely perceptible, still studying him closely. After a moment he said, "If you desire to hear me beg for your trust, I fear you shall be sorely disappointed."
Harry snorted despite himself, and thought with a bit of wonder that Snape had just come very close to making a joke. "I can't even imagine that. Things haven't changed that much."
Dark eyes pierced him, serious once more, holding his gaze. "Words are meaningless. They can just as easily conceal as reveal truth—perhaps even more so."
"I know that," Harry said softly, intensely. "Actions speak louder."
Snape's eyes bored into his, and Harry felt he couldn't have looked away if he wanted. Finally he said, "I would not have had you witness that scene, Mr. Potter."
"Why not?" Harry blurted. "Maybe the important truth is in what you don't say."
Snape just continued to watch him unnervingly, tilting his head slightly. Harry was starting to realize that he was going to have to learn to read the slight nuances of Snape's expressions, because the man certainly wasn't going to just volunteer what he was thinking. Finally he said, " There is some information about the Dark Lord that you need. The inner workings of his interaction with his Death Eaters does not qualify."
Harry could have argued that point, but he sensed there was something deeper there that Snape did not want to say. He suspected it had to do with his defense of Harry and the resulting Cruciatus curse. He let it go.
"I think I may have finally learned my lesson about rushing into things without thinking them through. That's good, since that tends to get people killed," Harry said conversationally, as though he wasn't discussing something that deeply affected him. Honestly he continued, "I'm not ready to trust you completely yet. But maybe I don't need to. Because I do trust you to teach me, and help me."
Snape said nothing, but did offer him a solemn nod.
After a moment of emotionally charged silence, Harry felt he had to say something more. "I really expected you to be angry with me," he said carefully.
"I was," Snape responded evenly. "Perhaps I would be more so if it was not evidence that you are finally learning."
Harry bristled a bit at that, but swallowed it easily enough. "I am sorry," he forced out softly. "I probably didn't have any right to do it."
"I found it…disconcerting. More so than I would have expected." Obsidian eyes found his once more. "But the truth is that you did have a right, Mr. Potter. My purpose in all of this is to teach you to protect yourself. If that is what you felt you needed to do…" Snape trailed off, shrugging one shoulder, and went back to his reading, clearly thinking the conversation over.
Harry stared for a moment, thinking that there was no way it could be that easy. Snape was not the forgive-and-forget type.
And perhaps if he had witnessed something more personal, like a childhood memory, this would be going much worse. But that encounter with Voldemort was not outside the scope of what Harry had already known about Snape. It was, however, something that the man had borne alone—until tonight.
Harry finally summoned his courage and spoke up as loudly as he could, which was barely more than a whisper. "I know what it feels like, you know. I know how it hurts."
Snape glanced back up at him. And in that instant, the normally hard-to-read eyes held a fathom of emotion. Aloud he stated simply, "I know you do," then went back to his book.
Silence reigned again. Harry shifted uncomfortably, uncertain as to what he should do now.
Snape solved that for him a moment later. Without looking up once he said, "Are you just going to stand there and gawk all night? Go prepare for bed; I'll be in in a moment."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. Instead he simply tucked his chin to his chest, hiding a small smile, and turned to go find his pajamas.
oOo
Harry ran, as fast as his little legs would carry him.
Though smaller, he was faster than Dudley. His cousin would not catch him.
He slowed after leaping to the porch and forced himself to creep silently through the door, his heart pounding in his ears. As he shut the door and made his way quietly past the loud television in the living room, he didn't even notice the muddy footprints he was leaving on Petunia's spotless floor.
He made directly for his cupboard. They would easily find him in there, but to the five-year-old mind that seemed like the only logical choice. It was the only sanctuary he'd ever known.
He climbed in and shut the door, cocooning himself in the darkness. Sure, he would get mud all over everything that was his in the world, but he didn't care. He curled up, wrapping his arms around his knees, and rocked himself slightly as he awaited the fallout.
It had been a beautiful day outside, the first in a week to lack rain. He'd been enjoying the sunshine and gotten distracted. He was usually quite careful to stay far from Dudley and his friends.
But today, they had found him. Tormenting Harry was their favorite after-school game. He'd been on the ground in a mud puddle, with Dudley standing over him, when he'd twisted and quite accidentally tripped his cousin. Dudley had started turning an interesting shade of purple beneath the slick mud, and Harry had taken off.
The front door opened, then slammed shut, and Harry froze. Soon he heard Dudley's indignant whines and his aunt's concerned fawning. Then there were heavy footsteps coming towards him. Harry cowered into the very corner.
"Boy! You come out here!" The door was torn open.
The big man's face was purple with rage. Harry tried to dodge the hand that was thrust into his cupboard, but all too soon it caught hold of his shirt and pulled.
"No! No, uncle, no!" He fought, grabbed desperate hold of the doorframe, tried to avoid the punishment he knew was coming. When he was pulled loose, he made one last ditch effort to lunge past the man towards safety.
"Potter! Potter, you're dreaming!"
He came awake with a start, coming entirely upright and lunging toward the light from the main room before he was fully awake.
Strong arms caught him, wrestled him back, and he panicked. Crying, "No!" over and over again, he struggled against the restraint.
"Potter, wake up!"
The words finally penetrated. He recognized the voice and stopped striking at the strong, solid form. Tentatively, he latched onto one of the arms maintaining a vice grip around him. "Professor?"
"Yes." The voice sounded a bit relieved. "You are all right."
For a moment the only sound was Harry's harsh breathing. Then, "Are you with me now?"
Harry took another moment to calm himself before nodding against the man's chest, noticing as he did that his face was wet.
Snape loosened his grip, patted him on the back once, then released him entirely. Harry squinted at the dark shape as the man settled on the edge of the bed.
Harry scooted back to rest against the pillows, untangling himself from the covers as he went. Once there, he found himself uncomfortable under Snape's scrutiny, despite that he couldn't actually see the observing eyes very well. Eventually he said softly, "Sorry."
"There is no need for apology." Another moment of uneasy silence, then Snape asked, "Was it a vision?"
And that would be cause for concern, of course, since he'd occluded his mind before bed. "No. No...this was an actual memory." That scene from earlier in their session must have awakened some old tensions. Harry realized that the hand he had raised to his eyes was trembling, and he dropped it to fist in the blanket once more.
"You said something about an uncle."
Harry froze and shot a deer-in-the-headlights look Snape's way. Then he looked down, suddenly finding his twisting fingers terribly interesting.
"Would that be the grotesquely rotund man I've seen in our Occlumency sessions?"
And despite the emotions, Harry snickered at the description. "That's Uncle Vernon," he confirmed. He didn't elaborate, and the slight quirk quickly left his lips again.
Snape's next question surprised Harry. "That memory earlier, the one from your childhood…was that a common scene?"
Harry squinted at him, uncertain of what he was being asked. "You mean the fever? I wasn't sick all that often, actually. I was really healthy—which is kind of surprising, considering everything."
Snape seemed uncomfortable, but still determined to get an answer. "No, I was referring to the situation. Were you punished in that manner often?"
And now Harry was the uncomfortable one. He looked away again. "Erm…not really. I mean, he was always yelling, always angry at me, often for simply existing. But he only hit me on occasion."
"That is…good to know, I suppose." Snape sounded strange, a little strangled. "What of that tiny space you were forced into?"
"Oh, that? No, that wasn't punishment. I lived there."
"You what?" came the sharp question.
Harry glanced up at him, surprised at the strength of the reaction. "That was my room."
"That was a closet," Snape countered, in a harsh manner that made Harry feel as if he were being called stupid.
And that was perhaps the reason for his matter-of-fact reply. "Cupboard, actually. Smaller than most closets."
Snape stared at him, seemingly speechless. "You lived there?"
"For as long as I can remember." And, though he didn't know why he felt compelled to say it, he continued, "It was dark and cramped, and there were spiders. And it was my safe place. It was all that was mine," he finished quietly, barely whispering.
There was another moment of emotionally charged silence.
"I can't imagine you even fit in there anymore," Snape mused, still sounding strange.
"No…after my first Hogwarts letter came, they gave me my cousin's second bedroom. I think they were a bit afraid of me then. But until then…" he trailed off, watching the Potions Master curiously.
After another moment, Snape visibly shook himself and stood. "Well. As you have calmed, you should go back to sleep, Mr. Potter."
He turned to go, and Harry stared after him, an amused half-smile playing at his lips. "Without occluding my mind, sir?"
Snape turned back, then heaved a put-upon sigh and moved back to his side. "Lie down," he instructed impatiently, giving him a slight push and brusquely pushing the blanket back around his shoulders.
It was in an entirely Snapish way, of course. But Harry was almost certain this was concern.
A feeling of warmth settled in Harry's chest. His brain was forced to remind his heart that trust was still fragile, and that he had to tread carefully.
And then he set about occluding his mind, and told his brain to shut up.
oOo
The next morning dawned for Harry somewhat later than it should have.
When he realized the time, he vaulted out of bed and into the main room, where he was greeted by an odd sight.
He stared blankly for a moment, wondering if he had woken in some alternate dimension, before Snape caught sight of him and spoke. "I thought perhaps you would like your breakfast here."
Harry finally remembered to move and stumbled a bit closer to the small kitchen. He eyed the table, filled as it was with several plates of various breakfast foods. He saw eggs, prepared at least three different ways. There was toast, and sausage and bacon, and a plate of pancakes accompanied by syrup. And…were those waffles? He forced his startled gaze from the table to Snape.
"I didn't know what you might like. I thought your little elf friend might be of use, but instead he brought enough food to feed at least two of the houses."
Harry wasn't quite processing this yet. "I overslept," he finally announced dumbly.
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yes. That is why I thought it would be best if you did not have to traipse all the way to the Great Hall for breakfast."
Harry pulled out a chair and unceremoniously plopped down, pondering this new development. He usually woke early on his own, conditioned from years of being expected to be up preparing breakfast for the Dursleys. It certainly wasn't Snape's job to wake him, but he was a bit surprised that he hadn't. Of course, they had suffered a rather disrupted night.
He watched as Snape sat across from him, and took the plate that was offered as Snape began to prepare his own from the many choices. Finally, he began to pile the plate high and reached for his silverware. "It would take hours to eat all this. And I still have to get dressed. I might be late for my first class," he said with only slight hesitancy, glancing up at Snape as he did so. It happened that Potions was his first class that morning.
"I would not advise that, Mr. Potter, unless you enjoy my company so much that you wish to serve even more detention," Snape answered mildly.
Harry hid his grin, wondering when exactly Snape has become capable of teasing. "Oh, no, anything but that," he shot back. "I hate to break it to you, but detention with you is more enjoyable than with Lockhart. Or Umbridge," he added, sobered a bit.
"Oh? Do tell," Snape prompted. And while he managed to sound as if he were merely continuing their bantering, Harry could sense the curiosity there.
He shrugged. "Lockhart made me answer his fan mail," he said with an exaggerated eye roll. "There was a disturbing amount of it."
"Hmm. And Umbridge?"
Funny how Snape always seemed to zero in on whatever Harry really wanted to avoid. "She just made me do lines. Lots and lots of lines." He tried to make it sound horribly boring, and busied himself with cutting up his sausage to avoid eye contact.
And yet, Snape somehow knew exactly what he hadn't said. Harry looked up again when Snape abruptly gripped his right hand, making him drop the knife. He didn't fight as his hand was turned palm down and held tightly, a thumb running over the thin skin.
The cuts had eventually healed pretty well. The scarring was very slight. But there were a couple of tiny raised lines on the skin, and Snape's thumb easily found them.
The tight grip loosened somewhat as Snape glanced up at him, and Harry found his own fingers curling slightly. He met Snape's intense gaze and shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't as if anything could be done.
Gently, he pulled his hand from his professor's grasp and picked up his fork. He slipped back into the joking mood easily enough. "Come to think of it, that first detention with Hagrid was rather hazardous. And I'm pretty sure Filch would like nothing more than to string me up somewhere. I think I may be safest with you."
"Perhaps you are, Mr. Potter." There was a curiously soft note in the tone. But it was gone by the next sentence, causing Harry to wonder if he'd imagined it. "Nevertheless, you may wish to avoid making it a permanent addition to your class schedule."
"I don't know, I seem to be doing pretty well in detention now. It might be my best shot at a good grade this term."
"Hmm," Snape said noncommittally. "Now that we've done something about your biggest diversion, you shall have to do something about catching up on your studies."
Harry froze with the fork halfway to his mouth and stared. He'd never had an adult telling him to do his homework before.
Snape caught the look and questioned, "What?"
Harry shook himself and went back to his food. "Nothing. Sorry,"
Snape gave him an odd look, but let it go as he stood. "I need to spend some time in my office preparing for class. You may call for the house elf to clean up when you are finished."
Harry shook his head. "No, that's all right. I can do it myself." He was quite used to it after a childhood with the Dursleys, but he didn't add that. Better to let Snape think it was just sympathy for the plight of the house elves.
And yet, he seemed to have thrown Snape yet again. "If you wish," the Potions Master said dubiously. "But I will not accept it as an excuse for tardiness."
Harry glanced up at him with a crooked grin. "Yes, sir," he said nonchalantly.
Snape shook his head once, then turned to make his way out of the quarters. Harry watched him go, the grin still in place.
He cleaned up in record time and actually made his way to class early. Of course, it helped that he was so near the classroom already.
He briefly entertained the idea of sitting up front. But that would be a red flag, especially for the Slytherins in the class. He and Snape couldn't afford to alter their public image of mutual animosity. It would only raise unwanted questions and suspicions.
So he took his normal seat in the back of the classroom, as far from Snape as one could get.
He realized that he was going to have to face Ron and Hermione now, and he was actually dreading it. Last night and this morning had been as close as he'd ever come to what he imagined having a parent would be like. He wanted to revel in it a bit longer before dragging it all under the microscope once more.
He wondered if his two friends would be presenting a united front, or if Hermione would temper Ron to some degree. She tended to be the cooler head amongst the three of them. He prayed she would listen to his new views of Snape.
When they arrived together a moment later, he turned to watch them. Hermione gave him a slight smile. But as his eyes met Ron's, he couldn't hold the gaze and shortly looked away.
Ron shot him a pained look, then started around him to find another seat.
Harry looked to Hermione, hoping she would sit beside him so they could talk. But she only turned her frustrated look from him to Ron, then stopped the redhead from getting far. She grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back, propelling him to Harry's side and giving him a slight push into the chair. Both boys stared at her until she finally said, "Look you two, we are not going through this again. You're both miserable to be around when you're fighting. Talk to each other," she ordered. Then with a last long look at the two of them, she claimed a place at the table in front of theirs and turned her attention forwards.
Harry cast an uneasy glance Ron's way, quickly looking away again when Ron turned his head. He willed Snape to show up at that moment.
He didn't. The awkward silence lasted a few seconds more before Ron turned fully to him and spoke. "Look…I'm sorry for how we left things yesterday. But have you thought about what I said?"
While the words 'I'm sorry' had been in there, it somehow didn't much sound like an apology. The tone irked Harry. "I did nothing but think about it. And then I did something about it. And you were wrong, all right? I don't think he had anything to do with the dreams; he's just trying to help me."
Ron gave a short, humorless bark of laughter. "Do you hear yourself? You're talking about Snape like he's some grand, spotless hero."
Harry's eyes flashed. "Look, Ron, he's not the evil git you think he is."
Ron shook his head. "Harry…" he began, but didn't get further as the dungeon door was abruptly thrown open, and the object of their argument came storming in in typical fashion.
Snape took up his place in the front of the room and began telling them about the potion they would be working on that day.
He could feel Ron fidgeting beside him. Harry, on the other hand, sat still as a stone, feeling heavy. He wasn't really hearing a thing Snape was saying, but somehow the sharp tone and acidic treble soothed his frayed nerves.
It took a piercing "Mr. Weasley!" to bring him fully back to awareness.
Snape had come close at some point and was now standing over them, looking as menacing as ever. "Have you something better to do?"
Harry cast a sideways glance at Ron. He saw the initial surprise quickly fade to anger. Still, his friend choked out, "No, sir."
Snape arched an eyebrow before swiftly switching his attention. "And Mr. Potter. Can you repeat the last thing I said?"
Harry started slightly, and stared. "Erm…Mr. Weasley, have you something better to do?"
The entire class was hanging on this little encounter. But, at the back of the dungeon as they were, the only ones who could see Snape's face were Harry and Ron. Focused as he was on holding in his anger, Ron wasn't paying much attention. But Harry was. He knew he was pushing it. But he was watching the dark eyes, needing to see the reaction.
In response to his flippancy Snape's other eyebrow joined the first, and Harry was almost certain he saw a flash of amusement.
Of course, no one else got any inkling of this. Snape's outward persona was firmly in place when he spoke. "Ten points from Gryffindor. For each of you. And if you wish to avoid pain and possible disfigurement from an improper brew, I strongly suggest you pay attention to my instructions."
He turned and swept away.
"Oh yeah, he's definitely softened," Ron muttered.
Harry clenched his jaw, and fought the desire to lean over and tell him what had been happening between the lines just then. But he didn't. He doubted Ron would believe him anyway.
Neither of them spoke for a bit, though Harry doubted Ron was listening any better than he was. They kept the silence as they went up to the front to claim their ingredients, until they got back to their table and began to prepare the potion. Then, after checking to see that Snape was occupied elsewhere, Harry spoke again. "I really did take what you said seriously, all right? But I think I can trust him."
Ron rolled his eyes, a hint of desperation amongst the scorn in his expression. "Harry, you can't be serious! After everything you've been through, after everything you've been through with him, how can you still be so naïve?"
Harry stiffened. "This is not naiveté."
Ron sighed. "No, maybe its not. Maybe it's something a lot deeper. And if that's the case…Harry, you need to let us help you get through this. You need to turn to the people you can trust, not—" he trailed off, waving his hand meaningfully towards Malfoy's table where Snape was offering advice.
Harry followed the gesture, then rolled his eyes heavenward with an exasperated sigh. He wasn't getting through, and he didn't know what to say without describing Snape's memory in detail. And even that wouldn't explain the gut instinct that was telling Harry to trust the Potions Master.
Ron took his silence as encouragement. "You said you did something. What was it? You didn't just come out and ask him, did you? Because that might put you in even more danger."
"I am not in danger!" Harry responded adamantly.
Quite abruptly, their potion sparked as if emphasizing his point. They both jumped back, looking warily at the cauldron. "Was it supposed to do that?" Ron asked suspiciously.
Hermione turned around then, an exasperated look on her face. "I know I told you to talk, but perhaps you should wait until after class. Neither of you is paying any attention to what you're doing. You'll be lucky if that doesn't turn you green, or worse."
Ron waited until she turned around, then sneered at the back of her head.
"I felt that, Ronald!"
The redhead froze, his features dropping into a surprised look. Harry snickered, and for a moment it almost felt as if things were back to normal.
Moments never last, however. If anything, the little episode made Ron more ornery. He tossed the next ingredient into the cauldron so hard that drops of the mixture splattered out across the table and their books. They both grimaced, but neither moved to clean it up. "Let's look at the facts, shall we?" Ron said, grabbing the knife to chop up the rest of their ingredients. "Snape hated your father. From the moment he saw you that first day, he's been putting you down and treating you like dirt." Each sentence was punctuated by the sharp report of the knife hitting the cutting board, causing Harry to wince. "He was so nasty that we were sure he was the one working with You Know Who. Even once we figured out that he'd saved your life, he still treated you horribly. Eventually we found out that he really was a Death Eater at one point. And then there's the Occlumency." He paused his chopping to turn to Harry. In a low tone he said intensely, "Harry, if he hadn't kicked you out last year, you probably wouldn't have had that vision. We never would have been at the Ministry that night."
He stopped there, which was a small favor, for Harry thought he might have hauled off and punched him in the nose if he'd actually mentioned Sirius. As it was he turned away and shut his eyes, breathing through his nose and mentally counting to ten. It wasn't as if this hadn't occurred to him. But there were extenuating factors, and he was doing his best to move past all of that.
When he'd calmed enough, he finally said, "I'm not just walking into this blindly. My eyes are open." He hesitated, then said truthfully, "I still don't feel entirely comfortable with him. But I guess I kind of feel…safe. Safer than I have in a long time—in reality, that is."
Ron snorted. "Safe with Snape. That's an oxymoron if ever I heard one."
Harry picked up one of the herbs from the table and held it over the cauldron, using it to make his point before he dropped it in. It flopped limply as he jabbed it in the air. "You don't know what you're talking about!" he hissed. "You haven't been there, and you have no idea what it's like for me! Maybe you should just shut up!"
Hermione turned around at that. "Honestly, you two…" She trailed off as she caught sight of the herb. An alarmed look crossed her face. "Harry, is that—"
Too late. He'd already let it slip from his fingers, into the cauldron…
The explosion was immediate, and loud. All Harry would remember later was the force slamming into him, knocking him off his feet and clear into the nearby wall.
Very briefly, fleetingly, he hoped everyone else had ducked. He might also have heard a very familiar cry of "Potter!" tinged with rebuke and alarm, just before everything went dark.
oOo
tbc