School: Beauxbatons
Year: 5
Technique: The Art of Talking
Word Count: 888
Additional Notes: This is completely AU. Some events described do not match up with the books and I know that. Please bear with it.
Harry stood in front of the oppressing black door, his hand raised to knock. Should he? After all, this was the point of no return. He would be entering Snape's pit. But Harry needed it. His relatives were worse than ever, even the threat of a mass-murdering wizard hadn't been enough to prevent the food from being withheld almost daily and, of course, the beatings. He had overheard a Ravenclaw comforting her abused friend by telling her that "Professor Snape always listens and is sympathetic." and decided to give it a go.
But, would that be applicable for him? After all, he had tried to tell his abuse to the second grade math teacher—who did nothing—and the teacher didn't even hate Harry like Snape did! Still, Harry reminded himself, he had to do this. This was his last chance. Maybe, just maybe, Snape would listen.
Harry took a deep breath and finally knocked.
A few moments later, the door opened, and Snape came out of his nest. He glared down at Harry.
"Well, Potter. Why are you here? Have I missed a detention?" Snape said, smiling sardonically. "After all, there are only such few pleasures in life."
"No, sir," Harry said, terrified.
"Then why are you here?" Snape snapped.
"It's just that." Harry suppressed the urge to run away.
"It's just what?" Snape asked in an impatient voice.
"Iwantedtotalktoyou," Harry mumbled out.
"What?" Snape looked seconds away from deducing a hundred points from Gryffindor and assigning Harry detentions till he graduated.
Harry took in a deep breath and said, "I wanted to talk to you."
Snape raised an eyebrow, his black eyes glinting with something other than malevolence or hatred for once—Snape was interested.
Snape said, "Very well. Enter."
Harry entered the office. It was dark. Along the walls, there were many jars filled to the brim with unusual substances like cockroaches, toad—he thought it was toad—hearts, boomslang skin, gillyweed—the same thing Dobby had stolen from Snape's office a few weeks ago, and he had to take the blame—and, of course, the infamous Veritaserum to name a few.
"Sit." Snape jerkily pointed at a chair opposite to the one he had sat on. He had a very sour expression on his face. Harry had an impending feeling of doom.
He sat.
"Well," Snape started, "What is so important that you had to come to me? Did one of your precious friends get cursed in the hallways again?"
Harry gritted his teeth. He knew that Snape was intentionally provoking him by talking about the time when Hermione had been hit with the teeth-growing spell by Malfoy. It was a bad time for Hermione, even more so since that was the time when rumors surfaced about Hermione's supposedly vile plans to feed him a love potion to be famous. He wouldn't rile up to Snape's provocation—he had come here for an important thing, he would do this.
"No, sir," Harry said, keeping his eyes firmly on the table that separated them.
He could feel that Snape was losing all of his patience. "Then why have you come here and wasted my precious time?"
"It's…it's the fact that…that—"
"That what?" Snape demanded.
"I am abused," Harry said. It had taken all of the famed Gryffindor courage to be able to say that.
He hadn't expected Snape to snort. But he did, which made Harry look up in disbelief.
"You—you actually expect me to believe that, don't you?" Snape asked, with genuine mirth in his eyes. That was mingled with some hate, of course. Always hate.
Harry was gobsmacked. He never expected Snape to act the way he was acting. "But it's true!"
His feeble protest fell on deaf ears as Snape continued, "How could the boy-who-lived be abused, after all? Maybe your ever pampering relatives just thought to withhold the endless amounts of toys you demand, and this is abuse to you. You will never know what true abuse is."
Harry saw red. How could he have thought that Snape would change things? No, Snape himself would never change.
"Yes, Professor," Harry said sweetly, "I should be grateful to my relatives for giving me an entire cupboard to myself for the first ten years I've lived there. I should be thankful of the one meal every three days and the daily beatings they bestow on me. Yes, I should really be appreciative and not complain about what I have!"
Snape had always been pale, but now he looked like a corpse. Then, with obviously much effort, he said in a strained voice, "Get out of my office. Making up things like that only because you haven't been as pampered as you wished. Get out!"
Harry stood up at once and made for the door.
"I came here with a plea for help, professor," Harry said, coldly staring at Snape. "It seems that my trust was misplaced. Don't worry, I won't ever disturb you again."
He walked out of the room without a backward glance. What had he been thinking? Adults couldn't be trusted. And yet, he had placed blind faith on an adult who obviously hated him. Harry vowed that from the next time he would make no such mistakes. He had learnt.
Trusting anyone—even his friends, since they wouldn't keep his secrets from Dumbledore to save their lives—was a fool's mistake.
A/N: I hope you all enjoy the story. Please read/review.
