Serious Conversations

Harry looked up at the man matter-of-factly. "That's not possible."

The Professor frowned. "I understand how you may think so, Harry, but I assure you-"

"No, you don't get it. It's not possible. I couldn't have anything to do with something like that."

"I'm not sure I understand." Professor Snape picked his words carefully.

Harry looked bewildered. "I'm…I'm a freak, sir. I'm worthless. So…it isn't possible." He looked at Snape as if expecting the man to suddenly understand. Nothing.

Harry frowned. The Professor looked angry. He didn't understand. Did he do something…?

"Harry. You are not a freak. You-you are the bloody savior of the wizarding world! Of the muggle world! You're not a freak." Came the hissed reply.

"What makes you think-"

Professor Snape's question was interrupted as a waiter made his way over.

"Hello, and welcome to Helen's Kitchen! Our specials for today's dinner are…" The energetic waiter trailed off as he took in the icy glare aimed his way. "Um. Right. Just…um, here are your menus, if you need anything don't hesitate to call…" He fled.

Snape sneered.

Then he looked back across the table at Harry. "What makes you think you're a freak?" He asked quietly.

"I…the Dursleys always said that I was…because of the…magic? Is that what it really is? I just-I mean, I'm different. I can make things happen, and I'm too smart, and my parents are dead and…" Harry quickly brought his expression back under control, and wished desperately that he could take back the flood of words.

"So you're saying that I'm also a freak?"

Harry was horrified. "I-no! I didn't mean-of course you're not a freak-"

"And what's the difference between us?"

Silence. Harry's mind worked frantically.

"Just because you're a wizard-can make things happen-does not mean you are a freak. There are thousands of wizards in the world, Harry. It's perfectly normal. Many people are smart-even brillant-which I highly doubt you are, as you insist on believing in this muggle foolishness. And, lastly, there are so many orphans in this world, Harry. Myself among them. You are not a freak."

"But the Dursley's said-"

"They were wrong. Look at me, Mr. Potter. Am I lying to you?"

Harry studied him for a long minute. He finally let out a deep breath. "No. You're not."

Harry looked at his menu, unsure of what to say. He couldn't make himself focus well enough to read a word.

"Professor…? I'm sorry. About your parents, I mean."

Snape smiled wearily. "Don't worry about it, Potter. It happened a long time ago."

Harry scanned the menu, in earnest now, looking for the cheapest food on it.

"You can get whatever you'd like, you know. Don't worry about expense."

Harry flushed and looked up. The Professor was studying him. "You can read minds now?" He joked feebly.

Snape smiled mysteriously.

"You're kidding! You-" He stopped short, eyes narrowing. Under that carefully blank expression, the man was laughing at him! He knew it!

So, he did the only thing possible in such circumstances.

Elegantly, he crossed his eyes. And stuck out his tongue.

That'll teach him!

Inwardly laughing, Harry uncrossed his eyes when he heard a deep chuckle.

The Professor stopped immediately, looking shocked.

Harry giggled and hugged his knees to his chest, grinning.

He was still smiling when the waiter hesitantly approached the table, deeply embroiled in a conversation about the wizarding world. This stuff was fascinating. And once Snape had dicovered that he was interested and could truly understand almost everything he said, he had become very enthusiastic. They had already covered Voldemort, the public's reaction to Voldemort, the public's image of him, Harry, and general rules in the wizarding world. There was so much to learn…

Harry looked up at the waiter, glanced at Snape, and ordered a salad. Snape glared.

"I don't think so, Mr. Potter." To the waiter, "As well as the salad, he'll have a turkey sandwich. Do you like toppings, Harry? Oh, never mind. You're an eleven year old boy. Of course you do."

Harry smiled shyly.

"As for myself, I'll have…"

Harry blocked the conversation out as he stared down at the table, tears blurring his vision. He wiped at them angrily.

Crying because he got you a sandwich. Get a grip, Harry.

Harry was vaguely aware of the waiter leaving.

He spoke softly. "Thank you. For this, for the Dursley's, for my parents. For everything." He looked up, met Snape's eyes. "Thank you."

End Chapter 8.

Okay, the worthless mentality may seem a little out of character, but I'm going with the theory that even though he's smart, he's got a huge blindspot where the Dursley's and his own self-image is concerned. Does that make sense?

A big, gooey, chocolatey brownie to anyone who recognizes Helen's Kitchen! Give you a hint: there are two possible answers. No symbolism here, I just, you know, needed a name for the café and sorta…stole it. *sheepish grin* I'm baaaaad.

To sk8reagle: Thanks. I'd fogotten about that. They would have just walked into the café, talked, and then left. No food. I'm so stupid. *g*

I'm glad everyone's enjoying the fic. I check religiously pretty much every day for reviews. *groans* I'm pathetic. And a feedback whore.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!