Chapter 10
"Merlin's sake, Potter!"
The statement brought Harry's attention back to the potion's professor, who had taken to rubbing the bridge of his nose between his pointer finger and his thumb -- as if trying to stave off a mounting headache.
After a moment, the man looked up at him. He certainly appeared annoyed, but there was something else in his eyes as well. Hurt? Or perhaps pain?
Well, Harry supposed, his question had indicated a deep-seated lack of trust in the man's words. Though, how the professor expected Harry to trust him after everything that had happened between them, he couldn't say.
Whatever it was in the Slytherin's eyes disappeared an instant later, however, replaced only by sheer exasperation -- exasperation that echoed clearly in the biting statement that followed.
"Well, Mr. Potter, what are you waiting for? If you have the gall to ask such questions the least you can do is to go first in response."
A slight blush appeared on the Gryffindor's face as he realized that he hadn't thought far enough ahead to prepare an answer to his own question. Fortunately, he was saved from immediately replying by an impatient Draco.
"For the love of --" The blond broke off. "I'll go first. No, I don't believe he's coming back. Father says he may someday, but he's been gone a long time." Draco paused, shaking a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. "Dead, I say. And dead things don't just come back to life -- not like that, anyway."
They do if they aren't actually dead, Harry thought as the book recorded the Slytherin's "No" response and flashed gold, his mind conjuring up images of his confrontation with Quirrell and Voldemort during first year. He glanced up at Snape, wondering if the professor was thinking the same thing, but the man's expression was unreadable.
Truth be told, the Gryffindor was a bit surprised to discover that Draco did not believe Voldemort would return to power, especially since it had been Lucius Malfoy who had slipped Tom Riddle's diary into Ginny's cauldron last year. Perhaps Lucius was not that forthcoming with his son. Though, Harry mused, if he hadn't seen Voldemort -- in various forms -- twice in the last few years, he probably wouldn't be able to imagine the wizard returning either, even with parents that suggested otherwise.
And though Harry had seen Voldemort, the question was about whether he would return to power -- and Draco was right, the dark wizard had been gone an awfully long time. The last time Harry had seen him -- the current Voldemort -- that is -- he didn't even have a body of his own. And the boy-who-lived couldn't imagine how one could return to power without a corporeal form.
"No." Harry said, looking to the book on the table and giving a small, determined shake of his head. "I don't really believe he'll return either."
The book flashed gold, and the two teenagers turned their attention to Snape, who sat as still as a statue in his chair.
The elder Slytherin's eyes moved over Draco before settling on Harry, and the Gryffindor silently noted as the man's gaze landed on him that the same sense of pain or hurt crept into the professor's eyes that he had seen earlier. When the man spoke, his words were heavy -- laborious even.
"Yes." He said, his enunciation clear and precise. "I do." The book flashed gold a moment after he finished speaking.
When the instructor didn't elaborate further, both Harry and Draco erupted at once.
"What? That's it?" The blond said, while Harry protested, "You can't say something like that, sir, and the not explain."
"On the contrary, I can," Snape said silkily in reply to the Gryffindor's statement, "because elaborating was not part of the original query."
Harry felt himself swell with aggravation, and to his side, he could see Draco also giving his head of house a look of indignation.
"Why won't you tell us?" The younger Slytherin demanded, taking the words right out of Harry's mouth.
"Because my reasoning involves matters that are confident and that, frankly, you are too young to fully understand." The instructor snapped. He then added, pointedly: "Now, let the matter rest -- both of you. And no more questions about the Dark Lord."
Harry and Draco glared at the man. For his part, the Gryffindor seriously considered the ways in which he could manipulate his upcoming questions to extrapolate more information from the intransigent professor -- though he imagine that strategy would go over like a lead balloon.
Snape was apparently willing to tolerate exactly 38 seconds of glaring before he barked: "It is your turn, Mr. Malfoy!"
"Fine," The blond spat, and then asked his question.
23: How many house elves does your household currently own?
"Seventeen," the Malfoy heir said, a hint of smugness overtaking the indignation that had previously laced his voice.
The book flashed red.
"Ah, yes, sixteen." Draco amended. "We had to rid ourselves of a disobedient one last year."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the other boy. He was sure the blond was talking about Dobby, though Draco seemed to be unaware of the exact details surrounding Dolby's release. The boy-who-lived didn't doubt for a second that Lucius had likely spun the event to make it seem like he had opted to get rid of the elf, rather than been tricked. Or maybe the Malfoy heir did know, and was simply saving face.
"Zero." Harry said, giving his own response to the question before turning back to the younger Slytherin as the page flashed gold. "Why do you need so many house elves?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "To do all the housework, obviously. Who else is going to clean, and cook, and perform menial tasks like answer the door? Really, Potter, I don't know how in the world your muggle relatives get by with none. Oh, wait --"
"Yes, yes," Harry cut the other boy off, "We've already established that I was basically a glorified house elf."
"Mr. Potter, you have a cousin, do you not?"
The Gryffindor turned his attention to the potions master at the question. Where had that come from?
When Harry didn't immediately respond, Snape went on. "Dudley, that was the name you gave earlier, correct? Or was that your uncle's name, perhaps?"
"Dudley is my cousin." The Gryffindor teen's voice trailed off at the end. He was very unsure where this conversation was going, and it was starting to make him nervous.
"And how old is your cousin?"
"My age, sir."
"Thirteen, then?"
"Yes, sir."
Snape drummed several fingers on the arm of his chair. "Interesting, Mr. Potter. You have claimed that you were nothing more than a glorified house elf for your muggle relatives," He emphasized the phrase. "You would have me believe that with a cousin the same age there was not some sort of distribution of tasks?" The man scoffed. "Just like you, Potter, to try and take all the credit for yourself and make yourself into a victim."
Draco snorted at his head-of-house's beratement of the other teen.
Harry, for his part, surprised both Slytherins with his reaction. He laughed.
"Merlin, I wish that were true. If you really want to know, sir," Harry stressed the word, his tone verging on sardonic, "Dudley's a pampered little git who has never done an ounce of housework in his life."
In his peripheral vision, the Gryffindor saw Draco narrow his eyes at him, but opted to ignore the other teen. He hadn't been speaking about the Malfoy heir, but if the younger Slytherin wanted to take personal offense to his description of his cousin's pampered status, so be it.
The potions master didn't respond to Harry's statement. Instead, he just sat there, eyeing the teenager critically.
"If you don't believe me, sir, you can always concoct some sort of question for the book that will force me to reveal whatever truth you're trying to get at." The raven-haired boy challenged, indicating the book with a sharp nod of his head.
"That won't be necessary." Snape said. "I'm quite adept at determining when children are lying."
"I'm not a child." Harry protested.
"On the contrary, Mr. Potter. You very much are." The potions instructor countered, and the Gryffindor could swear he heard slight amusement in the man's voice.
Harry glared as the man continued, supplying his own response to the question at stake. "My estate employs one house-elf. As I am absent the majority of the year, more assistance is not required."
As soon as the page flashed gold, Snape supplied the next query.
24. What is your favorite beverage to drink as a treat?
"Firewhiskey," was the simple response that the man gave, and as the book flashed gold Harry supposed that was the drink that he had come across Snape imbibing in the dining room. He also supposed that was where the question had come from in the first place.
Draco responded next. "Butterbeer," he said before turning to Harry with a smirk. "You haven't had a chance to try Butterbeer yet, have you Potter? Pity your muggle guardians won't give you permission to visit Hogsmeade."
The boy-who-lived narrowed his eyes at the smugness present in the other teen's tone. "How do you know they didn't?"
The Malfoy heir rolled his eyes, "Oh please, Potter, it's all over the school. Everyone knows you tried to get McGonagall to let you go because your relatives refused."
"Given the escape of Sirius Black," Snape spoke up from where he sat watching the students' conversations with thinly veiled boredom, "it was likely wise of Potter's relative to refuse permission."
Harry scoffed. "Wisdom had nothing to do with it. My uncle wouldn't sign because I blew up my aunt."
Draco's eyes widened at the statement -- an action that the Gryffindor took a small degree of satisfaction from -- while Snape sat up a bit straighter, his interest piqued for some reason that the raven-haired boy couldn't fathom.
"You blew up your aunt?"
Author's note: more to come soon! Breaking here because otherwise the chapter would become much too long.