Chapter IV. Not Slytherin
But however eager he was, it did turn out to be rather difficult. Just a week later he lay in his bed, bored and trying to sleep but not tired, humming to himself, when the potions teacher burst in, typical scowl in place. "You are not Occluding your mind, Potter," he frowned. "You are not even trying. And here I thought it should be easy, seeing how little there is to actually clear in that head of yours. It's already almost empty." "Oh, is it not that my head is so inflated and huge with me being the Chosen One and everything that it was taking me an extra-long time?" he said smartly, his cheeks not warming at the insults like they used to. He supposed he was finally getting used to it.
"Thank you, how enlightening," the overgrown bat sneered. "Honestly, Potter, if you are going to act like the useless lump I say you are this whole thing is going to be for nothing. Lay down," he hissed. Harry had been so enraged that he had sprung up from under the white sheets, though he didn't know why. He just didn't want to put up with it anymore. Still, he obeyed, out of options. He was right, Harry hated-really hated- to admit. His failed efforts had cost Sirius his life. He had to try.
"Now, breathe," the instruction came, and as he did he closed his eyes again. The window was open, and he tried to focus on how incredible the breeze felt, how cool it was. "Breathe, in and out. You are not listening. Exhale and then inhale. Even you can't mess it up. Breathe, Potter." Harry's chest heaved up and down. "Concentrate on the sound of my voice and on nothing else. Think of nothing else. Let the world disappear around you."
It did, and everything was black, the pale shadows cast by the moon disappearing. "You are not anywhere. You are flying on the Quidditch pitch with those friends, and you can feel the wind beat your face. It is sensational." Now, how would Snape know that? How it felt, that it was his safe space, his default?
"Sand. Rough and gritty, but white and empty- completely empty, Potter." But it was just nonsense now, the words, the void overtaking him as he went into a lull…
And he did not catch on to the fact that he had crashed, and was sleeping hard, but Snape knew it instantly. Disgusting, he thought, moving Potter's soppy black hair out of his face to reveal that lightning bolt scar, he's sweating. Will wonders never cease? You are truly disgusting, Potter, he thought, oblivious as to when he began stroking the teenager's head, wishing he could look into those eyes. Her eyes. See them one more time. "I promise, Lily," he whispered. "I will protect him for you. He needs it." He shuddered as he left, closing the door behind him.
"Potter, stop that infernal noise, it's driving me crazy," he admonished the next afternoon, brandishing his quill and not looking up. Harry sat across from him, attempting to read a Transfiguration book McGonagall had assigned to them. But summer homework simply was not interesting anymore, and after five minutes of struggling he had begun senselessly tapping his foot and drumming his fingers, unknowingly of course. Snape, who had apparently been trying to finish a letter all morning, did not appreciate it.
"You were the one who insisted I do my homework under your watchful eye, sir," Harry said, feeling he would have much rather been holed up in his room. "That sass has got to stop," came the steady reply, writing utensil lowering now. They locked eyes. "Unless you want to lose points for Gryffindor before the year even starts, a record even for you." Harry glowered. The OWL results had not come back yet, but he was almost positive he had not made it to NEWT-level Potions. "What, upset you can't take points from me in class anymore?" he couldn't resist, realizing too late he had gone too far.
"Your abysmal performance, shall, I am sure, be sorely missed; however, do not doubt that I will not hesitate to dock points from your House when you deserve it here and at Hogwarts, regardless of the glares I will earn from Minerva." Harry sighed, knowing that McGonagall would be disappointed if he did deserve it, and not registering that Snape had just slipped and called her by her first name.
"Seeing as you are so easily distracted today," Snape went on, standing, "We might as well work on Occlumency then. No denying you need the practice. Get up." Harry did, resisting the urge to flinch as the wand was placed at his heart. "Legilimens!" The flood of memories started, as it always did; but this time there was an old shabby hat sitting on the head of a very eager but obviously nervous and finicky young boy. Oh, God- why this? The hat spoke, though Harry could have told you what it said in his sleep- especially if he were having a nightmare.
"Where to put you?" the hat mused, and to Harry's shock he heard the reply of his eleven-year-old self: "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin-" "Not Slytherin, eh? You could be great, you know, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt…."
Oh, this was going to go over well.
"Not Slytherin, not Slytherin…" "No? Well, better be… Gryffindor!" Everything erupted, just like he remembered it had, except that he hadn't remembered Malfoy appearing so… stricken. Then the scene went tumbling before it changed, and Harry found his twelve-year-old self sitting in Dumbledore's office after fiasco in the Chamber of Secrets. "So I should be in Slytherin," he was saying. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it-" "Put you in Gryffindor," came the reply. "Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many of the qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue- resourcefulness, determination- a certain disregard for the rules."
And suddenly Harry remembered who else was listening, and will all of his strength he somehow managed to break the connection. The room was cold, very cold, but despite this a redness filled his cheeks. No one was supposed to see that, no one, but the person who he wanted to see it least of all stood not two feet in front of him. No doubt Snape would be personally offended. But he seemed, in spite of what he had just witnessed, remarkably calm- which often was just as frightening.
"Well, well. This does shed a new light on things, doesn't it?"
"Sirius's whole family was Slytherin, and they all thought he would be too! I guess some of us just break the mold!" Harry shot defensively, instantly sensing danger. "And I guess some of us just need to learn to keep our mouths shut and close our minds so that we still have some secrets left." Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that. Snape appeared to contemplate something for a moment, and the silence was deafening. "I did wonder," he said at last, slowly, glancing at Harry as if to make sure the effects of his words were visible, "what had taken so long. I was so sure it would be instantaneous, considering your parentage."
Nothing new there. Snape raised an eyebrow. "I must say I am surprised. A disregard for the rules, yes-" Harry was about to scream that Dumbledore had not only said it about himself but about Slytherins when he stopped himself. He couldn't rightly do that, after what his own father had done. "But you have none of Slytherin's resourcefulness. And since you want to go on about breaking the mold-" There wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin, Hagrid's voice played in his head. There were icicles hanging on that last phrase and he would be an idiot not to know why.
"I need only mention a certain Peter Pettigrew. Not convinced? How about Quirinus Quirrell? You're lucky you're not in my House, Potter, or you would be…" "Expelled, I know." The first chance Snape got. He'd proven that all too well after the incident with the flying car. "Dumbledore wouldn't have let me get away with that," he growled. "I was going to say dead."
Harry was caught off guard again, and he didn't like it. What could he mean? "You and Ginerva Weasly. You would never have been able to use the Sword of Gryffindor in the Chamber of Secrets." That was very true. Harry found himself wishing hen that Dumbledore did not confide so in his teachers, especially this teacher, because Snape could not possibly know any other way. It stung a little when the Headmaster had been so prudent to keep information from him last year.
The anger returned fresh and white hot, and he was even more enraged to find Snape studying him, the same way he had only once before, as if he were undecided, trying to figure something out. "Is that why you looked at me like that, right after the Sorting? You didn't know why I had taken so long, or…" He couldn't bring himself to say it. "Or had hoped I'd be in Slytherin?"
No-no, it was not true, that much was plain. There was some other reason behind it. "You are absurd, Potter, and as usual have trouble with basic communication skills. I just said I knew what it would be." "But if I were in Slytherin you wouldn't be as quick to take points from me, like you do with Draco Malfoy." But that felt wrong, as if it were complete nonsense. McGonagall took points from her own House. Nothing stopped Snape from doing it either.
"If Malfoy went about like he owned the world and failed at simple tasks I would reprimand him too. Now spare me and get to the POINT, Potter."
He had to know. What could it have been, then? "My scar tinged for the first time when I saw you, gaze set on me, as if… and it was…" He wanted an explanation. "It seems you have a gift, Potter, for honing in on Death Eater with that scar. You only sat in a class taught by none other than Barty Crouch Jr. for an entire year before he was revealed as what he was. The same with Quirrell. A marvelous gift." "No! No, it was like I knew, knew then that you hated me and everything…"
What was he saying? Had he forgotten who he was talking to? What was he doing, pouring out his feeling like he was three? Get a hold of yourself, get a hold of yourself, look what you just said, he thought bitterly. The venom returned to Snape's eyes. Funny, Harry hadn't been aware it had ever left.
"Well, but don't I?" And he turned his back to shift through the bookshelf as if nothing at all had happened. Nothing could have confused Harry more. "I suppose… I suppose so, sir. I mean, Quirrell said so himself. 'But Snape always seemed to hate me so much," I said, trying to distract him, and he said, 'Oh, he does. Oh, heavens yes. He went to Hogwarts with your father, you know.' He told me other things too, like how he used you. Non one suspected him next to you, not even and especially not me."
Harry gasped. He had no idea why he had just said all this. Hadn't the man learned enough already? To his shock again, all this seemed to do was elicit a raspy sigh from Snape, something that Harry had never heard before. "And did Quirrell," he asked, slamming the book he was examining shut by the spine, "seem like he knew what he was talking about?" Harry had never considered this before. Snape was close now, too close, boring in on him, kneeling in front of him. "Keep you nose out of places it doesn't belong, Potter. You hardly know what you are talking about, as usual. One day you are going to mess up more than you already have and dig something too deep for anyone to get you out of. You mean to tell me that the only reason you are not in my House is because you begged it of an old battered hat?"
There was vehemence in his features, and Harry wanted to break away but didn't want to be perceived as weak. "I, I… guess so." Snape's breathing seemed to get very heavy, and his hooked nose nearly touched Harry's. "And what, pray tell, would've happened before you Sorting to so prejudice you against an entire House?" How could he say? How could he, really? He wasn't even sure anymore. It wasn't Ron, he tried to tell himself, and certainly not Hagrid. "Draco Malfoy. He- he offered to e my friend. But he had just insulted Ron, and Ron comes from a Gryffindor family too. And as for me not 'honing in' on Barty Crouch Jr., he played you too. Not only did he try to steal from you, but he tried to make it look like I'd done it."
"The Weasley boy." Snape did not move, as desperately as Harry wished he would, and he seemed as if he were considering something for a moment. "You told me nothing I didn't already know. Yes, Jr. Crouch did play off of my intense dislike for you…" But not hatred. Harry's heart was pounding. He did not say hatred. Why? Why did it matter so much now, when it never had? "That was weird, when I saw Barty Crouch's dot in your office like that." "You thought he was his father." Slowly, Snape rose and returned to the chair he had occupied earlier.
"Since you have been so kind as to mention the Marauder's Map, perhaps you would like to tell me where you procured it. Lupin is insistent that he did not give it to you, Potter, and I would like to know why." That day had not been the last time he was saved from Snape's wrath by another teacher. Directly from the manufacturers. Of course! At the time he could not have know the role Lupin had in making it. It made sense, then, why Snape would be so quick to blame Lupin- the last of his childhood enemies and the only one who could have possibly known where it was.
"The Weasley twins gave it to me. They stole it from Filch's office." There. As long as he couldn't get them in trouble anymore and as long as Snape wasn't going to quit until he got an answer. "I see. I assume the grand spectacle they made was merely a diversion for another of your antics; but I did not think you would give them up so easily. That was right before Umbridge caught you in her Floo, was it not?" "Well, I had to talk to Sirius," Harry yelled, growing angry again. "Make sure he was alright…" To think he had been upstairs in this very house tending Buckbeak! It was all so ridiculous, and now everything was gone. If he ever got his hands on Kreacher he was going to kill him.
He was panting now, unsteady, just wanting to get away from this conversation, away from feelings of suffocation, thoughts of Sirius. Then it struck him- a confession. There was still something he wanted to know. "It's only fair, since I did tell you, that you have to tell me something to. Why…"
He trailed off. How could he possibly be asking this? Snape had seen something personal today, something no one else had, and Harry deserved to find out. It would not kill the man to tell him something personal too. "Go on, Potter." Did he sound… amused? That only served to escalate Harry's fury, and it burst from his lips too quickly. "Why did you do it? Turn spy?"
It was too late. Snape's breathing went shallow, very shallow, and he looked drained of all color, not that he had much to begin with. "You have no right," he spat, rising with his hands still firmly planted on the desk, "to turn this on me. My reasons are mine and mine alone and your idle curiosity is sickening. I will not tell you now and quite possibly not ever but should you ever ask that of me again you are landing yourself in the Headmaster's office. Do I make myself clear?" "Crystal, sir," said Harry,face reddening as he averted his gaze. Dumbledore would not be pleased if he found out he'd asked in the first place.
Suddenly he felt like they had talked enough for one day… Day, indeed. Was it dark out already? Snape must have come to a similar conclusion because Harry could sense the simmering, boiling anger in him subside and be replaced by and indifferent coolness Harry knew well.