A/N: Here is chapter eight! Thanks so much for reading this, all.

Also, some wonderful news, the series of fics this was based on are being updated again! If it seems like I'm an absolute diehard fan of these fics, it's because I am. They've influenced this fic to a ridiculous degree. Go check out Margot11's stories when you have a chance- they really are worth it.


Chapter Eight: Explanations

At this time the night before, Harry had been lying on his stomach on the floor in front the fire, his arms wrapped around a deep green pillow. It was one of the evenings Snape had joined them in the common room after dinner, which wasn't an occurrence that happened every night, but Snape did join them for at least an hour or two most nights of the week. During Harry's first few weeks at Hogwarts he'd been nervous of the man during this time, expecting constant rebukes and enforced silences as they studied and played games, but he'd been wrong. While Snape never acted as though he was their friend (a thought that made Harry shudder) or another student, he had nonetheless become an integral part of their evening downtime.

"Is that really the move you want to make?" he'd asked George Lambourne the night before, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Pansy Parkinson, teaching her to play chess. It wasn't a secret that Snape insisted the older students take the younger students under their wing now and then, and aside from some minor grumbling the older students rose to the task somewhat admirably.

"Huh?" George asked, his concentration broken, as he released his pawn.

"Too late!" Pansy cried out. "You let go! It's my turn!"

"What? No, it's still my turn!" George said, and was immediately drowned out by four other first years to whom he'd taught the game correcting him. "Professor, you distracted me!"

"And had I not, you would have made the same move. Besides that, you were certainly a stickler for the rules four moves ago when Miss Parkinson released her pawn before fully thinking things through."

Pansy beamed, grabbing her bishop and capturing George's pawn, while the latter grimaced and said, "Muggle chess is ridiculous."

"It's exactly the same as the magical version," Snape said, his mouth a straight line as always, but his body language relaxed as he draped an arm over the back of the sofa. "You just have to move your arms a bit more."

In fact, the Slytherin common room had three sets of Wizarding chess, in which the pieces moved by your verbal command and occasionally argued back when they didn't agree with your choices. Those three boards were in use, though, and besides that, many of the Slytherins found the battered old Muggle board to be something of a novelty, reminding Harry of the Muggle woman who lived next door to the Dursleys who made her own butter twice a year out of some sort of unclear desire to occasionally live like it was 'olden' times without actually inconveniencing the rest of her life. She always brought some of the finished product over to Aunt Petunia, who raved about it loudly and went on and on about how much she looked forward to it every year, then wrinkled her nose once the door was shut and designated it for Harry's meals. Harry didn't particularly care either way. It tasted like butter.

The week before that, Millicent had burst into the common room after dinner, running at top speed, clutching a stack of magazines she'd received through the owl post that morning and only just had a chance to read. Snape, already in place on the sofa, flicked his wand and Millicent's shoes instantly shrank one size. She immediately toppled over, only to land in a stack of pillows piled three high that Snape immediately conjured.

"Sorry!" Her voice was muffled, but Harry could tell she was trying not to laugh.

"Indeed," Snape replied, his face deadpan, and with another flick of her wand her shoes were restored to their proper size- and polished.

"Hey, thanks, sir!" Millicent said, pushing herself up and studying her shoes as she tried as best she could to cover her grin and failing. Every morning at inspection Millicent's shoes were scuffed, or her cloak lapel was askew, or something else trivial that nonetheless earned a rebuke from their housemaster. Snape just raised an eyebrow, but continued to lounge on the sofa, clearly comfortable and at ease.

"How'd you do that?" she asked, clomping over and flopping into an open armchair. Millicent wasn't exactly what one would call ladylike, but Harry liked that about her- she could probably give Dudley a run for his money if the two ever squared off. "Not the polishing spell, the shrinking one- that was really neat, sir."

Snape gazed at her for a moment, then waved a hand through the air. "Gather around, if you choose. Who wants to learn how to alter clothing?"

Harry didn't think this sounded especially fun, but he was quickly proven wrong when nearly the entire house converged on Snape, mostly due to the fact that they were practicing on each other. Greg laughed his arse off as Vincent pointed his wand at him, under Snape's close supervision, and simultaneously lengthened one leg of his trousers well past his feet while shortening the other to below his knee. Tracey turned Draco's cloak into something resembling a circus tent, and with a flick of Snape's wand the sounds of lions roaring and a cheering crowd echoed underneath. Harry was mildly disappointed when it was his turn and Snape didn't have him do any of the really fun moves the others learned, such as lengthening a jumper sleeve and folding it into something resembling an origami swan, instead simply showing him how to shrink clothing. Over and over, he had Carl Riggle, who'd had a growth spurt over the summer and suddenly outgrown his clothes, enlarge his uniform until it was nearly hanging off him, then instructed Harry shrink it into something more reasonable.

Even though Harry would have preferred to do something more complicated (the third years all learned to make their ties bray like an elephant!), he couldn't deny it was loads of fun, mostly because they were all doing it together. Later that night, and over the course of the next few months, Harry would keep practicing the spells he'd learned on his massive old hand-me-downs from Dudley until they finally fit somewhat reasonably, technically breaking the rules about not experimenting with magic alone, but he'd learned by now that being in Slytherin meant bending the rules here and there. It would be several years later, reclining on the shore of the Great Lake on a warm April morning, that it would suddenly occur to him that was exactly what Snape had intended, without embarrassing him by forcing an uncomfortable conversation about the state of his clothing.

Now, however, Harry found himself leaning against the stone wall outside Snape's office, silently wondering if there would ever be a pleasant evening in the Slytherin common room again. He'd been such an idiot; Draco had been right when he'd pointed out the common rooms all had passwords for a reason. But he'd been wrong about everything else. Why were the Slytherins so insular? Why didn't they just walk up to the other students and tell them they weren't evil, it was just their parents who were, and that there were a few rotters who listened to what they had to say in the house? And why were there students like Marcus and Draco who still believed that sort of thing when it was obvious what was the right thing to do?

Harry closed his eyes. Neville would never sit with him again. He'd probably tell all of Gryffindor what had happened, and then what? Things would be even worse. He hadn't done what Snape always barked at him to do- use his head. Of course it would turn out like this. It was all his fault.

Stop sulking, came Harry's inner voice, though it wasn't quite his voice, but Snape's, another common refrain he barked at students who'd been reprimanded. One unfortunate evening several weeks ago Professor Sprout had reported to Snape at dinner that Theo had thrown a pair of shearers (handle-side first) at Blaise's head during a disagreement over who got to use them first in Herbology class. They'd bounced right off, handles first, but Snape was livid, and publicly gave Theo a bollocking for the ages over his stupidity and recklessness in front of the entire house back in the common room, then made him sit in the corner for half the evening. When he'd finally been allowed to rejoin the rest of the house, after a quiet apology to Blaise who just smirked and said it was worth it for the evening's entertainment, he'd sank into a chair and glared at the vase across from him.

"Stop sulking," Snape said in a bored tone from where he was teaching the sixth years to breathe bright purple flames that tickled upon contact. "Yes, half your evening was ruined due to your own stupidity. Why ruin the rest of your night with self-pity? Go play a board game."

And so Theo had, and soon he was laughing with Blaise and Harry and the rest of the first years over a game of Scrabble (rude words allowed).

This seemed far more complicated, however. Marcus and Draco had said those awful things, and while the rest of the house didn't seem to agree with the parts about bloodlines, there were definitely more than a few who didn't seem pleased with his choice to invite Neville to their common room. Besides that, he'd hexed Draco. Not on purpose, but now that he'd had a chance to calm down he wondered if he'd actually hurt him with the blinding white sparks that had burst from his wand unbidden and hit Draco square in the face.

Harry played with the sleeve of his cloak, wondering if he'd be welcome back in Slytherin, when he heard footsteps approaching, and straightened his posture, ready to explain himself to Snape. The man that rounded the corner wasn't Snape, however, or a Slytherin at all- it was Quirrell.

"M-M-Mr. P-Potter," Professor Quirrell said, his eyes widening slightly. "I d-didn't expect t-to see you h-h-here."

"Hello, Professor Quirrell," Harry said quietly, as the man came to a stop in front of him. "I'm waiting for Professor Snape. He asked me to meet him here."

Quirrell let out a shaky laugh and his mouth turned up into an equally shaky smile. "I do h-hope you're n-n-not in any t-trouble, Mr. P-Potter. P-Professor Snape is one of the s-s-stricter ones, isn't h-he?"

"He's all right, sir," Harry said, giving the man a small smile back despite not being in any mood to do so, hoping to calm the clearly nervous man's nerves. "He is strict, but I'm not in trouble. He just wanted to see me, sir."

"V-Very good," Quirrell said. "I-I'm here to s-s-see him as well."

Harry wondered what it was Quirrell wanted to speak with Snape over, but found he didn't much care, as he was too focused on his own dilemma.

"W-What is it you're here t-to see P-P-Professor Snape about, M-Mr. P-P-Potter?" Quirrell asked after a moment, reaching up to adjust his turban, which was slipping slightly.

Harry paused. Quirrell seemed harmless enough, but he knew well enough that Slytherins (including Snape) preferred to keep their drama strictly limited within the confines of Slytherin.

"What house were you in, sir?" Harry asked. "If you don't mind my asking."

Quirrell stared at him, his smile slightly bemused, but then understanding crossed his face. "A-Ah- I was in R-R-Ravenclaw, I'm a-afraid, M-Mr. Potter. Though I always f-f-felt quite an affin- an affinity towards Slytherin."

Harry didn't reply straight away; he didn't think Snape would want him to reveal what had happened tonight, and more importantly, he didn't want to tell him either. Finally he said, "It's nothing important, sir. I just had some questions over my Potions homework and thought he might be able to help."

"P-Professor Snape c-c-certainly is the expert there," Quirrell said agreeably. With the clumsiest wink Harry had ever seen, he added, "T-though I d-do suspect he'd rather have m-my p-p-position."

Harry didn't reply; what was he supposed to say? Of course he'd heard that as well, many times, from students in all four houses.

"W-What do you think of P-Professor S-Snape, H-H-Harry?" Quirrell asked.

"He's all right, sir," Harry said, not sure why Quirrell was asking him this, or why he cared what Harry thought in the first place, unless he was just trying to make conversation as Snape took his damn time returning Neville to wherever the Gryffindor common room was. "He can be strict, but he's never unfair. He's not what I expected, but he... cares about us, sir."

Quirrell nodded, mulling this over. "I-It's been so long s-since we w-were students t-t-together, and b-by the t-t-time he arrived at H-H-Hogwarts, I was in my s-s-sixth year. T-Tell me, M- Mr. Potter, what d-d- does P-Professor Snape s-s-speak with you a-about?"

Before Harry could answer, another pair of footsteps broke his concentration. Both he and Quirrell abruptly turned their heads to find Snape billowing down the corridor, hastening his pace when he saw the two of them waiting.

"Quirinus," he said shortly, voice clipped. "What a surprise to find you down in the dungeons with Mr. Potter."

Quirrell let out a series of yelp-like noises that Harry assumed was laughter, and smiled a wide smile that looked something more like an animal in pain. "S-S-Severus, h-h-h-hello. I w-was just w-w-waiting for you to d-discuss the l-latest r-report i-in M-Magical Studies R-R-Review-"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible tonight," Severus said, removing his wand from one of his deep pockets and unlocking the door, yet leaving it shut. "Mr. Potter and I have his appalling Potions work to discuss."

Harry bit his tongue in order to not protest Snape's excuse, while simultaneously amused they'd both chosen the same excuse as to why he was there. In actuality, Harry's grades in Potions were on the borderline of what one could call 'middling', though that was mainly because Snape was a harsh grader if he thought you were capable of more. Still, Harry wouldn't have minded a break now and then.

"T-Tomorrow, t-then? And g-go easy on h-h-him, eh, S-Severus?" Quirrell said, letting out another series of attempts at laughter. When Snape just stared at him, expression unchanging, Quirrell made a series of what seemed to be bows as he walked away backwards, before finally turning and going back the way he came.

Snape pushed open the unlocked door and motioned for Harry to step inside. It was his first time being in the office during which he wasn't terrified that Snape was about to rip his head off, and he paused to admire the bright potions specimens in bottles lining the shelves of the room before pausing awkwardly at the chair in front of Snape's desk.

"Sit, sit, Potter," Snape said, a hint of impatience in his voice, before settling into his own chair opposite him. He placed both elbows on his desk, his fingers entwined, and Harry was struck at how incredibly tired the man looked. "You've had quite an evening, haven't you?"

Harry hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Is Neville...?"

"Longbottom is fine," Snape said coolly, but not harshly. "I returned him to the Gryffindor common room in a slightly less terrified state, and he promised on his own that he wouldn't tell anyone what occurred."

Relief hit Harry like a freight train, and he slumped into his seat as his body released tension he didn't know he'd been carrying. The feeling was, however, short-lived. He gazed back up at Snape, not sure what to say, but Snape wasn't saying anything either, and Harry felt that he had to fill the silence somehow.

"He sat with me, sir," he said, more quickly than he intended, and then it was all pouring out of him. "Because I invited him to a month ago. More than a month ago. It was after Draco stole his Remembrall, sir." Noting the raised eyebrow of his housemaster, he corrected himself. "After I flew after Draco for the Remembrall, sir. He thanked me for doing it, and said I could sit with Gryffindor whenever I wanted. And I told him he could sit with us whenever he wanted. So he did, sir, it just took him a while. And everyone was nice to him, or at least they weren't rude, and I just thought..."

Harry balled his fists in his lap, frustration rising. He didn't know how to put into words what he felt, even if he understood it inside himself unquestioningly. "It's stupid, sir! It's all stupid! The way the other houses say we're evil when we're not, and how no one in Slytherin does anything to argue against it. Even if there are people like Marcus and Draco, even if there's a lot of them, that doesn't make the whole house evil! Everyone thinks we're monsters and says you let us get away with everything, and it's stupid of them to think that, and it's stupid of us for letting them believe it!"

Harry exhaled sharply, suddenly aware he'd leaned forward so far in his chair that he was practically standing. He slumped back once again, his cheeks flushing red at his outburst. "Sorry. I'm sorry, sir."

Snape was silent for a long moment, regarding Harry with an unchanging expression. Finally, he said, "One should only say they're sorry if they have reason to."

Harry looked up. "Sir?"

"I said what I said, Potter. So did you. Behind your... passion is a compelling argument. Now I invite you to calm yourself and think it over as rationally as you can."

Snape waved his wand and a tray with a glass pitcher and two glasses floated down from one of the higher shelves, landing in the space between them on his desk. With another wave, the pitcher began to fill itself with water. Snape poured himself a glass first, then motioned for Harry to do the same. Harry was surprised at how thirsty he was; the emotional toil of the evening along with running through the dungeon hallways looking for Neville had taken more from him than he'd expected. He gulped down his entire glass in barely a moment, then glanced at Snape, who with a barely perceptible nod of the head motioned for him to pour himself another. Harry drank a quarter of this glass at a more reasonable pace, then looked at Snape expectantly.

"What makes you feel the students of Hogwarts think Slytherins are evil?" Snape asked. His tone was neutral, and while Harry wanted to laugh at him incredulously, he couldn't help but be surprised that he was asking in the first place, instead of just speaking and explaining. It was almost as though Snape cared about his opinion, and his thought process.

"Well... they all say it, sir."

"Who?" Again, Snape's face and tone were remarkably neutral. "Who has said to your face that Slytherins are evil?"

Harry hesitated- most people just muttered that Slytherins were arseholes as opposed to outright saying to their faces they were evil, the former of which Harry felt wasn't untrue, but everyone at Hogwarts could be a bit of a arsehole when they felt like it. And yet...

"Ron Weasley said he wouldn't know what he would do if he ended up in Slytherin," he admitted. "When we sat together on the Hogwarts Express. He didn't say it was evil, sir, but he really didn't want to be in Slytherin. His entire family's in Gryffindor, and he said he would probably be all right if he was in Ravenclaw, but when he thought about being in Slytherin..."

Harry trailed off. In all honesty, they hadn't spoken that much about Slytherin, now that he thought about it. But that being said, it was clear what Ron thought of the house, and the way he'd acted since Harry had been put in it confirmed it. Really, there'd only been one person who'd said directly to his face that Slytherin was the evil house, and that had been Hagrid. Harry didn't want to admit that to Snape, because Hagrid was his friend, and because after he'd spent that wonderful afternoon at his hut with Vincent he'd pulled him aside and whispered in his ear that maybe the house he'd ended up in wasn't all that bad. But the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't help but think there was something wrong with saying there wasn't a witch or wizard that had gone bad that hadn't been in Slytherin without acknowledging that didn't mean the entire house was like that. How many 'bad' witches or wizards had there been, anyway, in proportion to those who didn't go out and make a mess of the world?

"Well, let us drink to Mr. Weasley's dreams of Gryffindor coming true," Snape said, raising his glass and taking a large sip.

Harry nodded, only half-listening, then asked, "Is it true that there isn't a witch or wizard that's gone bad that wasn't in Slytherin, sir?"

Snape tilted his head slightly and leaned back in his chair. "Define 'bad'."

Harry stared at him for a moment, then tried as best as possible to put it into words. "You know. Bad, sir. People who do bad things."

"And where is that line drawn, Potter? Just at murder? At grievous bodily harm? At theft? Tax fraud? Unkind words? 'Bad' is a very subjective word." Snape lowered his glass. "Unless by 'bad' people, you mean those who followed the Dark Lord during his reign."

Feeling useless, Harry shrugged, something Snape normally hated in lieu of a response, but Snape didn't call him out, instead studying him further.

"I will be honest with you, Potter," Snape said. "During the war, most Death Eaters were former Slytherins. Certainly not all. But while most of the people who wore his mark boldly were in your very house, there were countless others who silently agreed with the Dark Lord's ideals, if not always his methods, who stayed quiet and didn't fight, simply allowing what happened to happen while planning to take advantage of whatever came from the ashes. Those were people from all houses, though it shouldn't matter which one they were from, should it, Potter?"

"No," Harry said quietly. "No, sir, it shouldn't. I don't think there should be houses at all."

Snape gave him an odd look, then the corners of his lips actually twitched upward, if only for the briefest of moments before returning to their usual straight line. "And yet there are. Potter- In the aftermath of the war, there was plenty of blame to be spread around. And with the Dark Lord gone, why not blame the house he and most of his followers came from, instead of the specific people who transformed it into what it was at that time?" Snape paused for a long moment. "The Slytherin of my childhood was not the Slytherin of yours. It was a different place. Our head of house was quite absent, and had very little care for what his students were up to in their spare time. It allowed a certain kind of person to run rampant, and as the war intensified there were many... unpleasant ideals being thrown around from student to student for their consideration."

"How many people in Slytherin supported him?" Harry asked. "Did most, sir?"

"Not most," Snape said. "Not even close to most. But many. Too many. Those who didn't support him formed their own alliances to rectify the situation as best they could, but I'm sure you've noticed those who are the loudest are the ones who are the most noticed. In a sense Slytherin could be called a breeding ground for those who would ultimately choose follow the Dark Lord, but not in the way you're imagining. There was no head of house leading us in drills on how to attack Muggle-borns, nor was the common room a planning ground for the war. The Dark Lord did not pay us visits. I'm afraid it was far more mundane than that, and a story that's happened countless times throughout history, and will undoubtedly occur countless times again."

"What was it like, sir?"

"There was no guidance," Snape said simply. "Slytherin was left to its own devices. Any time a student found themselves swayed by the ideology of the Dark Lord, it was treated as just more proof that Slytherin was his house. The rest of the school turned on us for the sins of a few- and in that void, it inevitably led to other students deciding if no one else would have them, they might as well go where they were welcomed."

"That's still not right!" Harry burst out, then added, "Sir. It doesn't excuse anything. They still joined Vold- You-Know-Who!"

"It most certainly was not right," Snape said with a tired nod. "There's no excuse for giving into extremism over logic, but few people become extremists for the fun of it. I'm not looking to defend their actions simply due to their not being wanted." Snape paused. "However, rejecting someone for the sins of those around them when they've done nothing wrong themselves, especially when that person is a child..."

"That's not right either, sir," Harry agreed.

"It, of course, in no way excuses those who used that rejection as an excuse to join the Dark Lord. Ultimately, the blame for their sins rests on them, and them alone. However, those who stayed strong, who fought back against the Dark Lord in their own ways, despite losing their own families, whether that was due to death or by being disowned... do they deserve to be treated the way you perceive Slytherins are being treated? As evil?"

Harry shook his head. "Is that why you're so strict, sir? Why you're always watching us and giving us a hard time? So we don't end up lost the way the students when you went to school were lost?"

"I don't give you a hard time," Snape said, though one corner of his mouth turned up a nth of a fraction of a degree before drooping again. "I am fair, am I not? I expect a great deal from my students, but it's because I know what they're capable of."

Harry couldn't help but agree- Snape could be bonkers for rules and regulations, but he was fair. Still, it certainly felt like he gave them a hard time.

"But to answer your question... Slytherin was a very different place when I was a student, and it still was when I became its housemaster," Snape admitted. "And yes, many of my methods are to ensure your futures are not the futures my own generation faced."

Harry thought this over, then nodded. "But sir, that doesn't answer my question about why the rest of the school doesn't like us, especially when we haven't done anything wrong. Even if they don't say to our faces that we're evil, they think it; you can't deny that, sir. They don't like us. They don't include us. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw are like one big house and then there's us. And why doesn't anyone just tell them they're wrong?"

"Potter," Snape said. "How long have you been at Hogwarts?"

Harry blinked. Snape knew this. "A little more than a month and a half, sir. Almost two months."

"How do you know that in the decade since the fall of the Dark Lord that no Slytherin has ever protested their own innocence to another student, and found even if the situation reaches a beneficial result and a new friendship is made, the situation at large doesn't change?" Snape took another sip from his glass of water. "Besides that, Potter, I'd like you to answer a question. Would you say you're somewhat familiar with people whispering unfounded theories about yourself?"

Harry's cheeks flushed. Of course he was; it happened nearly every day from the other houses. "Y- Yeah. Yes, sir."

"And what do you do in those situations?"

Harry shrugged. "I ignore them, sir. Sometimes the other Slytherins make loud jokes about all the things they're saying being true when it happens, but it's obvious they're just joking. I really just ignore them, sir."

"And why do you do that?"

Harry started to shrug again, but stopped himself, not wanting to push his luck. "What's the point, sir? My cousin... well, he used to tell the other kids at school that my parents were criminals, and drug dealers, and things like that, just for a laugh. I used to argue when people brought it up, but it didn't make a difference, sir. No matter what I said, they were going to believe what they wanted to believe."

A silence fell between them. Harry stared at Snape, then at the surface of the desk, understanding washing over him. "Then... why doesn't everyone just show that they're not evil, sir?"

"As opposed to what?" Snape leaned back in his chair, pushing a strand of oily hair behind his ear. "How do Slytherins behave now? As far as I can see, Slytherins turn all their work in on time, don't start commotions in the hallways, and don't cause any issues with their professors, among other miscellaneous ways a young person can be tiresome to deal with. They're polite, if distant, and don't cause trouble. Those who do step out of line are summarily dealt with in a way that makes them never want to do so again."

Harry nodded slowly, seeing that this was another reason Snape had so many rules, and was so quick to punish them if they were broken. To the rest of the school, if a Gryffindor acted out, they were just a tit. If a Slytherin acted out, it was proof they were a Death Eater in the making.

"Slytherins don't shout from the rooftops that they aren't evil. They show it instead." Snape ran a finger along the edge of his glass before retracting it and folding his hands together once again. "Another factor we must acknowledge... I'm sure you're aware many Slytherins have parents who supported the Dark Lord."

"Draco," Harry said, almost involuntarily. "Everyone in my dorm, really."

"I'm also sure you've noticed some students have a difficult time of it when they arrive at Hogwarts and find the standards of what is and is not acceptable have suddenly changed. It's a painful conclusion to be had that the things you thought were fact were not." Snape studied him. "It's even more difficult when those you love still believe it- especially when those people are your own parents."

"I wouldn't know, sir," Harry said, unable to keep a tone of self-pity out of his voice.

Snape didn't call him out on it, instead saying, "These students do, Potter. And when the year is done they have to go home and spend the summer with people they love dearly, many of whom have not changed their beliefs. It is difficult enough for them to see their parents were wrong, Potter. Do you really expect them to shout their new opinions through the corridors of Hogwarts, especially when it may reach the ears of those parents they love dearly that they're loudly rebuking their own principles? Parents with whom they are still obligated to spend a portion of their year with?"

Yes... and no. Harry supposed he could understand wanting to keep the peace with one's relatives; after all, Uncle Vernon spent every meal talking loudly about what he would do if he were in charge of running the country, and while Harry didn't know much about politics he also knew his uncle was full of it. But he didn't argue back with him, instead quietly thinking about how once he was grown he'd leave Privet Drive and never look back. He supposed if he loved Uncle Vernon the way someone loved their own parents... well, that would make it more complicated. And Snape was right- the Slytherins did show that they weren't evil in their actions, even if there were a few berks like Draco and Marcus, and likely others within the house who had the foresight to keep their mouths shut around him.

"No one has ever invited another student to the Slytherin common room in the time I've been housemaster," Snape said. "Slytherins are insular for a reason- but that doesn't mean you did something wrong. Perhaps it's time for Slytherin to open somewhat. But that is something I leave to the students, and do not involve myself in- however, if they choose to do so, I will welcome the rest of the school with open arms."

Harry couldn't quite picture Snape standing at the open common room door with open arms, hugging each student as they entered, but he bit his lip and stayed quiet.

"My own thoughts aside, it is the decision of the students as to whether or not that is something they wish to do. I hope you will be willing to take into account the misgivings they may feel based on prior treatment." Snape paused, then said, "I will say that it was somewhat naïve of you to expect your housemates to welcome Longbottom wholeheartedly, I also acknowledge you do not know much of what has happened in the magical world since you were taken from it ten years ago. I do, however, expect you to learn."

Harry nodded slowly. "I hexed Draco," he said after a long moment, not knowing what else to say. "It was an accident. The sparks came out of my wand, sir- I didn't do it on purpose. I was just so angry."

Snape nodded as well. "Accidental magic is something that occurs when one is young, and particularly when that person's emotions are heightened," he said. "I would never punish a student for accidental magic. It cannot be helped. However, the fact that you made the choice to point your wand at him Mr. Malfoy a moment of anger, knowing that accidental magic is possible..."

Snape trailed off and the bottom of Harry's stomach dropped. "Am I being punished, sir?"

"No, Potter, you are not. Tonight was a difficult night for everyone. However, if you ever point a wand at a classmate in anger again, knowing the risks of accidental magic..."

"I won't, sir," Harry said quickly. "I'm sorry I did. And I know what you say about not caring that we're sorry and just caring that we learn, sir, and I promise... I'll learn."

"That's all I ask," Snape said, rising from his chair. "Come. It's late. Unless you have any further questions?"

Harry shook his head, rising as well. He was sure he'd have more questions later, but about now he wanted nothing more than to sink into bed and go to sleep. "I can walk back myself, sir."

"I should hope you could, at your age," Snape said, sarcastically but without a trace of meanness. "But I'll do it all the same."

They walked through the empty corridors in near silence, and Harry, perhaps emboldened by the conversation they'd had, and too exhausted to convince himself not to ask, gathered up the nerve to ask, "Sir... did you support You Know Who when you were in school?"

Snape nearly paused in his tracks, but kept moving, as did Harry. When they reached the stretch of wall guarding the common room, he glanced in both directions, then said, "Yes. For a time. I was a fool, and I regret it deeply. And if I ever hear you speak of it to anyone, I'll hex your backside off."

Harry, so shocked that he'd answered him truthfully, simply nodded. It was that moment, looking back over the years, that he put his trust in with Snape completely and irrevocably. "Thank you. Thank you for telling me, sir."

Snape just nodded as well, then started back the way he'd come. He made it partway down the hall before stopping suddenly, turning, and striding back. "What did Professor Quirrell say to you?"

"Sir?"

"What did he say to you, when you were waiting outside my office?"

"Not- Not much, sir," Harry said, surprised by the sudden question. "Just what I was there to see you about; I said it was homework. And you're like, and what you talk to us about."

Snape's face didn't change. He simply nodded, then turned back the way he'd come, billowing down the hallway like an overgrown bat- something that Harry couldn't help but think had its charm.

When he stepped into the common room, he was surprised to find it completely empty. It was only half past seven, but the entire house had been cleared out. He hesitated for a moment, then one of the paintings spoke.

"He sent them all to bed, he did. Haven't seen him that angry since those two first years got into a fistfight a month or so ago." The wizard in the painting, an old man with murky looking glasses, peered at him through the lenses. "You look familiar, boy. Where do I know you from?"

Harry just nodded, muttered a thank you, and headed for his dorm. When he got to the hallway, he saw the lights under every door were dark. Snape had really sent everyone to bed, then. Cringing slightly, he pushed open the door to his room and stepped in. Everyone rolled over in bed to stare at him, but no one said a word. In the faint light emitting from the enchanted window that showed a view of the depths of the lake, he briefly saw Draco's face, covered in boils. Draco glared at him, but didn't say a word, instead turning on his side to face the wall.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. "You were a tit, and you should be sorry too, but I didn't mean to hex you."

Draco didn't answer, and Harry climbed into bed. Greg leaned over from his bed and whispered as quietly as he could, "Higgs told Snape what Draco said about Longbottom's parents and he very nearly thrashed him in front of the entire house. Instead, he shouted at him and Marcus for hours, or it felt like hours, and told him he could fix the boils himself, but that they'd go away on their own by the morning, and that he was lucky to get off that lightly."

Harry didn't know what to say. He leaned back in bed and murmured to the rest of the room, "Sorry to have you all sent to bed early."

"Blame Draco," Theo said, and the other boys stifled their laughter.

"Go to hell," Draco muttered from his bed. It was nearly twenty minutes later, when Harry had nearly drifted off, that he heard Draco shift in his bed, and whisper so softly that Harry wasn't sure at first if he'd actually heard it, "I'm sorry, Potter. I shouldn't have said it."

Harry stayed awake for nearly an hour after hearing that, before falling into the deepest slumber he'd had in a long time.