Inside an Enemy
Harry Potter sank onto his four-poster long after his mates had drifted off to sleep. Though it was late, he sat upright, fully clothed, unmoving. His brain was whirling in a thousand different circles, replaying the events of the night over and over.
The evening had started off normal enough. Harry had had a full day of lessons and had headed off to his Occlumency lesson Snape with a light a heart as was possible. After the terrible events of the previous year in the Department of Mysteries, Harry understood at last the importance of his learning Occlumency, and Dumbledore had managed to convince Snape to continue to teach him, though Harry wished that Dumbledore could have done it himself. Now in his sixth year, though, Harry had a sort of reprieve between O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s and resented the intrusion on his evenings just a little less, though he still detested spending the evening with Snape.
Harry had never been particularly good at Occlumency, as Snape was fond of reminding him. Harry was just as shocked as Snape, then, when he managed to not just succeed at keeping Snape out of his mind, but had actually (and quite accidentally) broken for a split second into Snape's mind. Instead of memories in particular, though, Harry had understood for the briefest moment all of Snape's deepest emotions.
Snape was no fool and recovered remarkably fast, quickly pushing Harry's intrusion away. Once the connection was broken, the two stood looking at each other for long moments, both breathing hard. Harry was gaping at his potions master; Snape's stare was completely inscrutable. Finally, Snape broke the silence.
"You may go now, Potter." He turned his back on Harry, but Harry did not move. He felt emotions bubbling inside him like the potion brewing in a small cauldron in the corner.
In that brief moment, that one instant when Harry had seen inside of Snape, Harry found something not very pleasant. He, Harry, had been wrong-very wrong-about Severus Snape. Oh, it was true that Snape loathed both Harry and his father, but unlike Harry had assumed, Snape was not as bitter and unfair as he seemed. No, Harry had actually felt along with Snape the frustration, the loneliness, and the extremly rigid self discipline that came with Snape's position as a double agent. He knew, somehow, the pain of living as one person when you were really another, never being able to be close to anyone, friend or enemy, not even during the years of Voldemort's weakness. No, Snape could not let his defenses down, could not crack the smallest bit, even in that time, for Snape had known that Voldemort would return and would know if Snape had shown any excess affinity for Dumbledore and his supporters.
As the knowledge of what Snape lived with every single day slowly began to penetrate his (as Snape liked to say) thick skull, Harry felt another disagreeable emotion. He felt guilty. Snape sacrificed himself over and over again for the Order of the Phoenix in a way just as real as death, for Snape's life truly did not belong to himself. And Harry had hated him, had accused him of selling them out several times.
And even then, Snape had not cracked. He had not defended himself.
Swallowing hard, Harry finally moved to pick up his bag. He slowly walked to the door and put a hand on the knob. Turning, Harry spoke to the rigid back of his teacher.
"Th-thank you, Professor…and sir, I'm…well, er…"
Snape turned around wearily as Harry stumbled for words.
"Well, spit it out, Potter and then kindly remove your objectionable self from my presence," Snape said with a sneer.
Harry felt his mouth go dry. If he was having a hard time saying it to Snape's back, trying to get the words out to Snape's sneering, greasy face seemed worse than facing a whole crate full of Blast-Ended Skrewts.
"I'm…I'm sorry," Harry finally said with a rush and let out a deep breath, hoping that Snape realized what he was referring to without making him explain any further. He felt a faint satisfaction at seeing a brief flicker of surprise on Snape's features, but it was soon replaced by a look of revulsion.
"I don't need your pity, Potter," he spat.
"I didn't say it out of pity, sir!" Harry retorted, looking at Snape defiantly. "It was…" Harry trailed off, realizing himself what he was about to say, horrified.
Snape raised one eyebrow disdainfully, and opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off.
"It was respect, sir."
The words hung between them almost tangibly. Harry held his breath, not sure exactly what he was waiting for.
Then the corners of Snape's mouth twitched ever so slightly in the ghostly vestiges of a sad smile. He looked older, now, than Harry had realized before. Snape turned away again, crossing over to the cauldron in the corner and stirring it ever so gently.
"Good-night, then, Harry, you may go any time now."
Snape's use of his first name startled Harry back to the here and now. He opened the door and put one foot outside before another thought struck him and he turned back.
"Don't worry, sir, I'll treat you as horribly as ever. No one will ever know that I know a thing; I'll make sure that I don't ruin your reputation or-or anything!" He said in a rush.
Snape looked up at him sharply.
"What, you're still here? Get your sorry self out of here, Potter, and take five points from Gryffindor for being out so late!"
Harry smiled and almost laughed as he shut the door to Snape's office behind him.
As the door in his memory clicked shut, it seemed to recall Harry to himself. Slowly, he began to undress, knowing that he would be replaying the scene from Snape's office in his mind over and over in the next few days. Somehow, he thought that it might make it just a little easier to take Snape's ribbing from now on.
But only a little, Harry reminded himself as another image came to him as he began to doze, the image of his most recent potion assignment lying unfinished on his bedside table.