Disclaimer: All right! All right, I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything! sobs It's not mine! None of it! It's not sniffs mine!
All righty then. Thanks again your guys for reviewing. My computer's malfunctioning (again) so I can't go back and read your reviews, and I can't remember your pennames off the top of my head, so I'm going to just have to thank you all generally. I REALLY need advice for what's going to happen, by the way. I don't think Snape is remotely interested in Harry yet, so this might be a long fic…how do I get Snape to start thinking of Harry as an adult? Any thoughts?
Harry ran his hand down the back of his head, feeling the bump. It didn't hurt now, but who knew how long that would last? He'd tried to do some homework, but couldn't concentrate, knowing he'd have to be in the same room as Snape again in three hours.
He'd thought, when his feelings towards Snape had changed, that things might be easier in class. He'd been very wrong. Instead of being less upset by Snape's treatment of him, Harry was more upset by it. Every insult, every sneer, was a reminder that he'd never be anything except an annoying, hated student. And now he felt eager to do well in potions, so as the year passed, he became more and more stressed. If he failed potions, Snape would be contemptuous as well as hateful. Harry didn't think he could handle that.
He threw down his quill in exasperation, and looked into the fire. What was the point. Now that he knew where Snape's hatred came from, nothing had changed. He could hardly go up to the older man and say "I know you're gay, and I know my dad was an ass to you, but do you think we could hook up some time?" Harry snorted at the thought.
Ron had entered the common room without Harry hearing him, and flung himself down in an armchair near his friend. He let out a long sigh before speaking. "That's torn it. I've got about an hour's homework for McGonogal, two hours for Binns, that essay for Flitwick, and that bloody History of Magic test on Monday. When am I supposed to do any of that? I've got quidditch!"
Harry nodded. "Tough. Hermione'll lend you notes for Binns though."
"No, that's the thing. She's mad about that again. Says she's not doing any more of our work for us."
Harry looked horrified. "She can't do that!"
Ron gave him a disgusted look. The disgust, Harry noted, was more for Hermione than him. "Right, Mate. Thanks. You oughta let her know that."
"Bloody hell."
The two of them stared moodily into the fire for a few minutes, before Ron broke the silence. "What are you working on?"
"Essay for Flitwick. I've got detention with Snape."
"For messing up that potion? Hermione told me about it." Ron had quit potions, quite happily, and guffawed loudly whenever Hermione complained of the homework. He managed (only just) to be sympathetic towards Harry. "That wasn't your fault though, was it? He distracted you."
Ya, Harry thought. He always distracts me. But when he's whispering in my ear, it's all I can do not to bloody faint. He smirked at the thought, but didn't share the joke with Ron. As yet, Ron and Hermione didn't know anything about Harry's being gay. He'd almost told them over Dean, but had been saved the necessity of doing so when Dean had broken up with him. Something about not wanting Seamus to find out.
"Ya, but since when does Snape ever admit that? And besides, I think it was more for spilling potion all over him."
Ron laughed loudly, and Harry tried to disguise his annoyance. Another hard thing about falling for Snape was that he had to put up with hearing all the jabs towards his crush, without being able to defend him.
"Look, I've got to go do some homework before Hermione gets back from the library. If she sees me working, she'll be more likely to help me with History of Magic, right?"
"Urm. Good luck." Harry went back to his own homework, feeling considerably better, though he didn't know why. Friends were always good for that. At least, Ron was. Hermione's solutions all too often involved working harder, or discussing problems in great length.
The next few hours passed in silence between them, punctuated by Ron's frequent glances toward the clock, and "Where is she? I'm almost bloody finished."
Finally it was six o'clock, and Harry reluctantly, but almost eagerly, put his books away and made for the potions classroom.
He was met with a very angry looking Snape, sitting at his desk, a glare firmly fixed on his face. "Potter. Sit."
Harry, uncertain of what was to follow, sat down nervously. Snape got to his feet and walked several meters forwards, bending down so his face was only inches from Harry's. Harry could barely breathe.
"Define 'private', Potter."
Harry's heart stopped. And started again with a lurch. He couldn't know. He couldn't! His eyes darted involuntarily to the cupboard, and he was horrified to see that it hung open. He hadn't shut it! Snape, of course, didn't miss the flicker, and Harry tried not to gulp audibly. "Urm. Personal. Something that not everyone needs to know about…?"
Snape slapped his hands down on the desk, hard, and Harry flinched. "Yes, Mr. Potter, you've got it! In essence, private means NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" Harry shrank back involuntarily. He'd never heard Snape speak in anything other than a low voice. Snape was the sort who got quieter as they got angry. If Snape was yelling at him now…well, frankly, Harry would rather be somewhere else.
"Or does that concept not exist for living legends?" Snape appeared to pull himself under control, and leaned back, lowering his voice to a fast, furious hiss. "Potter, you will find that I always know when my privacy has been disturbed. Always. And if I find you have been snooping even one more time, the consequences will be dire. Am I understood?"
"Yes."
The look Harry was getting now, one of absolute hatred and contempt, was far worse than the furious one. He looked down, unable to keep eye contact. When Snape spoke again, his voice was loaded with disdain. "
Indeed. I think you take my meaning. I also wish you to remember, Potter, that it is not your God-given right to know everything about everyone else. Despite Dumbledore's indulgence, I will not put up with such invasions. Some things are better left unknown. And," his voice was now a furious whisper, "some things are none of your business."
Harry nodded, unable to look up.
"Very well. You'll be cleaning my store cupboards. Anything that is alive, stun it and bring it to me. Anything growing mould needs to be disposed of. Check things off this list. Anything missing needs to be reported to me. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir." If Harry hadn't already been disgusted with himself, his tone of voice would have clinched it. He sounded pathetic. With a great effort, he forced himself to meet Snape's eyes. His bravery, admittedly, didn't last very long. Those eyes were very angry.
The potions master dropped a piece of paper on the desk, turned on his heel, and strode away, sitting down at his own desk and angrily conjuring himself red ink. I pity whoever's having their paper marked right now. Harry doubted the poor person would be getting anything higher than a 'T'.
All through the next hour, he felt Snape's eyes on him, glaring. He had to sit with his back to the teacher's desk, and did not turn around once, but he could feel the other man's eyes on him, sending shivers up his spine. Finally, after two hours, he heard the silky voice again.
"That will do, Potter. You may go."
Harry nodded, without looking up, and moved to the doorway.
"You need not come back again. One detention is sufficient, I believe."
Harry looked up, startled, and met the cold eyes again. They were unreadable, but radiated hatred. He gulped and nodded again. Then he crossed to the door, opened it, and stopped, half through, saying, very quickly, without turning around, "Sir, I'm sorry. It was an accident."
"Get out, Potter." Harry got out, realizing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he'd just confirmed everything that Snape hated about him. And he wasn't going to be able to make this better.
A/N Just a note: some Harry/Dean might happen in the next chapter, so be forwarned.