Must apologise for the VERY late chapter. In my defence I have had exams and I've been abroad working in Europe with no access to a computer let alone my writing!! However I am very well recharged and ready to race toward the finish (eventually!)
Please review!
Snape tapped his foot thrice on the bottom step before he began his climb to the top. He went slowly, feeling Harry's letter in his pocket and trying to think of what he could say to him about his behaviour. It was just so stupid. Why is it boys just don't think. What is it that happens between the age of 11 and 12 which results in the transformation of a young man's brain from an organ which could interpret the world, understand consequences and form reasonable arguments with at least basic reasoning into a non-processing lump of fat, water and salts. Girls weren't like this he swore. Granger's parents would never have these issues with her trying to read their post. Hell, even Pansy Pakinson's family would not have these issues. Malfoy though? … case in point.
Snape rapped his knuckles on the banister and rested on the top step before walking on to what he now thought of as Harry's room. He raised his hand, paused once more, and tapped twice on Harry's door, briskly. Let's keep this quick and professional, thought Snape. He waited and heard nothing. He knocked again, louder. Still there was nothing.
Knock, knock,
"Harry, are you there?" Snape said. There was nothing. "Harry, respond." Snape was getting angry now. This was purely rudeness from the boy. "HARRY."
"Hmm," the noise came dully though his bedroom's door.
"Potter, you will stop this rudeness and speak or you will stay in that room until the start of term!" threatened Snape, though compared to his normal standard of intimidation it was a bit of a damp squib. He remembered a time when he would have threatened to flay him alive, hang him above a vat of dragon entrails and gradually lower him in or merely sustain his long campaign of hate, animosity and psychological abuse against all things Potter. "Harry," He said menacingly.
"Yes," a small, strained voice said through the door.
"Yes what?" there was a dark pause between the two words as Snape waited expectantly though not hopefully.
"Yes, I'm here…sir," there was a continued silence between Harry and Snape and the door. To Snape's slight surprise Harry did clue on. "Come in."
Grimly Harry thought, the Dursley's would never ask to enter. They would just barge straight through regardless and start shouting at you. Harry faintly wished that he was still there. Judging by the sour scowl on Snape's face something unpleasant was going to happen and he, Harry, was not going to like it. .
Snape looked down at Harry who was on his bed. Harry looked so small, and his face was marked pink and white from where he had been crying. His green eyes were bloodshot, adding evidence for the prosecution, thought Snape wryly. Mockingly, he ran a Wizengamot styled court case through his mind. The thought of that windbag Fudge accusing him of making the Boy wonder sad and sentencing him to life imprisonment made him want to give a wry smile, though he kept this hidden. Now was Potter repentant or scared for his own skin, wondered Snape turning his mind back to the matter in hand. Harry's lip wobbled dangerously as Snape reached into the front of his robes. But, like a child's magician, Snape drew out a white tissue, rather than anything more menacing, and held it out for Harry.
"Don't cry," said Snape. This did not have the desired effect, as tears leaked out of Harry's eyes even faster. This wasn't fair, thought Snape seating himself on the end of the bed, the boy had done something wrong and was deservedly feeling bad for it so why do I feel so happy? Why does making the boy understand and respect me and my property make me feel like I am the one being punished? Point to opposing council, his mind added. He scowled even harder as Harry mopped his face gruffly.
Snape turned away from Harry and looked pensively at the wall opposite him. He performed a detailed study, noticing a damp patch on the ceiling which had stained the white paint a pussy yellow. Staring at this Snape said, "Boys are such a bother."
Oh God, thought Harry, Snape was going to talk to him! Kill me now. I always say the wrong thing. Why does he do this to me?! Harry sniffed and fiddled with his tissue, blinking hard.
"What were you thinking?" Snape began by labouring an old point, though on looking at Harry's expression quickly changed tack. He sighed "You really were stupid, weren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Harry I'm not looking for tacit agreement. I am looking for communication. What went through your mind when you mounted that chair? Didn't you think that that could be dangerous? Or do you just enjoy invading my privacy?"
Harry crossed his arms across his chest and stuck out his lip sulkily. Feeling rather brave, he said, "You're horrible. Have you never done anything stupid?"
"Yes," said Snape darkly. Through the propositions case was becoming stronger, helping him feel less guilty about having to punish Harry.
"Well, why am I in trouble when you've done stupid things?"
Snape raised an eyebrow and looked down stonily at Harry who crossed his arms even tighter against his chest. He said nothing.
"Well it's true. It's true. And it's not fair. Coz everyone makes mistakes and you just hate me…and you're unfair… and… nasty and …," Harry talked himself into silence contemplating the injustice of the situation. Why do adults and especially Snape do this to him?
There was a lengthy pause. "Why?" repeated Snape. He was hard faced once more. Harry's outburst had not endeared him. He could see the votes in the Wizengamot mounting in his favour. The child is irrational, Fudge's voice wheezed.
The silence grew unpleasantly and seemed to take on an almost physical presence in the stand-off between the two. I know who is going to crack first, thought Snape, and it's not going to be me! I'm sure of that. He fixed his dark eyes onto Harry's green ones.
"I thought it might be about me," Harry said in a very small voice, braking eye contact. Snape's mouth twitched and he looked down to his knees at Harry's response. Just because the boy had been right was not an excuse, he had to remind himself. Snape again put his hand in his pocket but this time closed his hand around Harry's letter and drew it out. It looked worse for wear: whereas Harry had folded the paper neatly, it was now crushed up like a meringue. An edge torn and the text written in Harry's boyish hand was visible. Snape opened his mouth to speak.
"My letter," Harry's voice broke in indignation as he leapt forward for the letter, rudely interrupting Snape. Snape snapped his arm upwards out of Harry's reach using his height advantage, using his spare hand to push Harry back onto the bed. Snape towered over Harry who had scrambled on the bed where he stood trying to reach his letter. Anyone looking in on the room would have been reminded of a playground fight.
"Get your feet off that bed and sit down," said Snape trying to trip Harry up and throw him on to his backside.
"GIVE ME MY LETTER," shouted Harry jumping out of his way.
"Do not shout," Snape's voice was barely above a whisper as he shoved his hand into Harry's face trying to drown out Harry's angry yells.
"GIVE ME IT," Harry shouted though he was muffled markedly. Harry fell back and landed relatively softly on his pillows.
"Right that's it," said Snape retreating to the door, "You are having a Calming Draught."
"NO I'm NOT," said Harry stamping his feet chasing toward Snape and stretching up to try and get his letter.
"Yes you are, even it I have to pour it down your neck," at that Snape swooped out the door turning round only to shove Harry off of his robe into his room and locking the door. He went down the stairs to the cellar grabbed the blue-green bottle containing the draught and went back up to Harry's room.
Snape grasped the handle of the door, unlocking it and flinched back as a shock flew up his arm. The boy had locked it himself!
"Harry, open this door."
"NO," said Harry stubbornly.
"Harry," said Snape threateningly, "open this door this instance."
The door shook slightly from the inside. Snape pushed the door. It went forward a little before it stopped again and sprung back. Harry sat behind the door with his knees pressed to his chin wedging the door closed. Tears again fell down his face.
"OPEN THIS DOOR."
"NO," cried out Harry as he was once more pushed forward as Snape tried to open the door again. He heard a snort of pain through the door as he felt a flash of magic pass through him. Now he was for it. He regretted the letter now; both his and Snape's. He rubbed hard at his eyes and braced his legs. There were going to be bars on his windows here that was for sure and that's it if he was lucky, thought Harry. The door shook as Snape banged on the door. By the sound of it he was going to murder him when he got through that door.
CRACK.
"AHH," shouted Snape. There was a thump and the banging on the door stopped abruptly. Harry paused and exhaled. From where he was sitting braced against the door he looked upward to the handle which was no longer shaking. Was Snape trying to trick him? Harry extended his hand to the knob and twisted it, hearing the lock click to the side. He opened the door an inch and pressed his eye to the crack and looked down. Snape was lying on the ground opposite his door.
"Snape?" Harry whispered, opening the door wider and stepping out. "Snape?" he repeated. Harry knelt down by his Professor and lifted his arm up by the wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there. Well he isn't dead, thought Harry, but he is unconscious. That was very dangerous, Harry knew. When the Dursley's had been out once, he'd watched a TV show called Casualty where someone had hit his head and fell into a coma and died! Harry wrung his hands and looked down at Snape, his tears drying on his face as his mind turned to other things. He was trapped in this house, there was no phone to get an ambulance with and Snape was in a coma and dying, thought Harry. He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes tearing up again with fear. Oh Help, the thought, what can I do.
Suddenly a thought struck Harry. With that bolt from the blue he dropped Snape's wrist which fell, clunk, onto the floor. Quickly, Harry leapt up to his feet and ran, practically flying, down the stairs. He went straight to the cellar door wrenching it open and going down into the dark cellar. Harry felt along the wall and found the light switch, flicking it on, filling the room with dim light. He went past the work station where he and Snape had prepared ingredients days before and went straight to the shelves and reached up to the vials of potions. He couldn't reach, so doubling back he dragged over a stool and stood on its seat. Now level with the bottles he read the labels of the red potions, ignoring the other bright jewels.
Weak – Nose Bleeds etc, Very Strong – Head wound and Heavy bleeding, Potent – Cramps etc , Mild – cuts and abrasions, Superfluous – Mortal Peril… Mortal Peril was all Harry needed to read to know which one he was going to pour down Snape's neck. He grabbed the potion, which was the colour of a jar of water someone had rinsed their red paint brushes in, and ran with it up the stairs. He knocked off some other potions, disturbed a chair and left the light on in his haste.
Snape was still lying on the floor where Harry had left him. He had not moved or stirred.
"Sir, if you can hear me, I am going to give you a potion," Harry still received no response, not even a flicker; though talking did make him feel better (he had a vague remembrance that the wife of the man in the coma in Casualty had spoken to him…before he died). Harry's throat tightened at that memory. He swiftly unplugged the bottle. He put his free hand under Snape's head tilting it upward, allowing Snape's mouth to loll open. Harry poured the fluid down Snape's through, hearing it trickle and chug from the bottle. He didn't stop pouring until it was emptied of its very last drop.
Harry waited.