"Muggle."
"Muggle."
"Squib."
"State your source," Harry teased. They had been at this game for a week, and never seemed short of joggers to call out. Except for the enlightening discussion about the Granger's generosity, conversation had been limited to their game. Harry didn't know what else could be said, and Snape didn't seem any more interested in starting a conversation, either. Until one day, he did.
Snape smirked. "I knew her mother in school, and still see them both on occasion. She is a proud Squib, and a model in the Muggle world. She moved here last year."
Harry grinned. "That's cheating."
"It's my neighborhood, Potter," Snape explained. "You can't expect me not to know at least some of the people who live here."
The Gryffindor shrugged. "Fair enough." He turned back to the path, but the next pair that passed were walkers they had already played with. Silence reigned for a moment as the track remained clear after them.
"Why are you here?" Snape asked suddenly.
Harry eyed the man over his coffee. He didn't know what the Potions Master expected him to say. Finally, he shrugged. "It beats sitting around Hermione's, studying or watching telly. Plus I'm trying to stay in shape."
"Admirable," Snape murmured into his coffee. It was the closest Harry had ever heard the man come to complimenting him. "However, I was not referring to the park, nor even this bench. Why are you in the Muggle world with Miss Granger?"
"Because my relatives don't want anything to do with me," Harry offered.
Snape narrowed his eyes, still watching the empty path. "Why aren't you with the Weasley's?" He growled impatiently.
Harry shrugged and started to pick at the lid of his coffee cup. "Do you want the short answer or the long one?" He asked. He didn't know why he was even contemplating telling Snape something so personal, but he found he was prepared to do precisely that. Perhaps it was the dreams, or their companionable morning coffee, or a combination of the two, but Harry already knew he was going to tell the man the truth.
Snape didn't answer, only turned on the bench to look at Harry properly. One leg folded over the other, and a pale hand gestured for him to speak. Harry sighed, frowning, and turned on the bench as well.
"The short answer is that Ron Weasley is an ass. I imagine you saw the article about me in the Prophet? The one talking about my…um…choice in lifestyle?" He began carefully. Snape gave a slow nod, his face impassive. "Well, that was my friend, Ron Weasley. He's…I don't know what he is, at least not in reference to me specifically, but in a general arc, I suppose you'd say he takes issue with homosexuality. He won't talk to me, so I couldn't tell you what about it he finds offensive, but I've gathered that he thinks it's wrong. Morally, philosophically, theologically…physically, or even emotionally, I don't know, but I know he thinks it's wrong. When I told my friends, he sort of went off, told me to stay away from him and basically ended our friendship. The next day the news of my sexual preferences was in the Prophet, and there's no doubt in my mind about who their 'reliable source' was."
"Yet you still consider him your friend?" Snape asked, his face still impassive.
Harry shrugged. "Not really?"
"You said 'my friend, Ron Weasley'."
Harry scowled. "Well, maybe I do," He said a little petulantly. "Why shouldn't I? Hermione thinks I should give up on him, but I don't think that's fair. He's being an idiot, sure, but there's nothing to say he won't come around eventually. He may never come to accept my being gay, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends. We've been through a lot, and it doesn't make sense to let something like this tear us apart."
"It seems to me it's not you tearing the friendship apart," Snape offered solemnly. "Do you 'take issue' with your sexuality, Potter?"
"What?" Harry asked, looking up in surprise. "Of course I don't. I'm proud of who I am. But what's that got to do with anything?"
"You referred to it as your 'choice' in lifestyle," Snape pointed out. "And you're willing to ignore this vital part of yourself, should Weasley decide he values your friendship again. In my experience, it is not a choice, and not something you can simply set aside."
"I didn't mean that," Harry argued. "I never meant that I would be something else to get Ron's friendship back. I just meant that, should Ron decide he can ignore my sexuality, I can ignore the fact that he takes issue with it.
Snape scoffed and stood, tossing his coffee into the nearby bin. "It seems to me, Mister Potter, that you have a choice. You can be who you are, who you were born to be, or you can let your so-called friend decide that for you."
Harry scowled into his coffee as the man left. What did Snape know about his friendship with Ron? They'd been through worse scrapes than this, and their friendship had always survived, even after that fiasco with the thrice-damned Goblet of Fire. If it was in the redhead to one day forgive Harry his sexuality, then why shouldn't Harry forgive him his prejudice? It was, after all, such a small thing to fogive.
Angry and unsure, Harry finished his coffee and returned to the Granger's. He did not return to the park for two days, and each night he dreamt of horrors. The first night, he dreamt as he only seemed to, of Snape in some dire peril Harry couldn't save him from. On the second night, he dreamt of Snape again, but it was the dream that followed that sent him back to the park. In the dream, he and Ron were friends again, but their faces were twisted by hatred, and they were torturing Neville for his homosexuality. He returned to the park with the hope that doing so would stop all his nightmares, including this newest which had scared him more than any he had ever had previous.