Chapter 7:

Strange Emotions

Why, why, why.

The single word was the question which kept repeating itself unceasingly through Snape's brain.

Why had he done it? Why had he been so quick to act the very moment he knew Harry Potter's life had been in danger?

He didn't really want to know the answer to this question. He didn't even want to think about the question.

Snape's mood grew cold and gray as the November weather. He was more unsociable than ever, more demanding of his students in Potions and even snapped at Draco Malfoy, whom he normally treated as if he were the perfect student.

In Snape's mind, there was no such thing as a perfect student, but Draco was of an old wizard family, was in Slytherin, and most importantly; he didn't like Harry Potter.

Previously, Snape would have guessed this dislike stemmed from some arrogant actions Potter had done, but as Snape observed the boys more, he realized all the arrogance seemed to be on Malfoy's side.

Perhaps Harry Potter was not an exact replica of his father… Snape angrily shoved this revelation out of his mind.

The next time he encountered Harry in the halls, he deducted five points for arguing with Malfoy. From what Snape had heard of the conversation, it had really been Malfoy doing the talking. Something about being friends with someone who'd be better off in the poorhouse. Snape guessed this was a poke at Ronald Weasley's family, for though wizards, Snape knew they were very poor. Harry had then been defending his friend out of loyalty, not picking a fight with Malfoy, as Snape had thought.

Snape continued his grumpy, snarling manner, keeping almost everyone at bay, even Professor Quirrell, who had been pestering Snape for several weeks now.

During dinner one evening, Snape was staring glumly down at his water goblet, avoiding joining in any conversation. He was unaware that he was drumming his fingers on the table.

"Everything alright, Severus?"

Snape started. Albus Dumbledore had gotten up from his seat and was standing to Snape's right, leaning on a walking stick he didn't really need, but liked to carry around.

"Perfectly," Snape replied sourly.

The old headmaster studied him over his half-moon spectacles. "You're not the best at lying when you're distracted, Severus," Dumbledore said.

Snape gave him a peeved look with one eyebrow raised. "What do you mean, Albus?"

Dumbledore smiled mysteriously in his disarming way, which often caused people to either calm down or grow exasperated.

"If I knew you any less, I would say you were trying to avoid something."

Snape said nothing. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he went to enjoy the rest of his meal. Snape was annoyed at the man, great wizard though he was. It was the way he said things as though every issue in life were really the simplest of matters with the clearest of solutions and could be resolved with a bit of a chat over tea and some lemon cake.

Or at least he brought out in the open what wanted to stay hidden in the shadows.

Snape's gaze seemed to automatically drift over the people in the room and settle on a black-haired boy at the Gryffindor table.

Perhaps Dumbledore wasn't far off the mark. Perhaps Snape's anger and bitterness were really a masquerade for something else, something buried deep beneath the surface that Snape was afraid to let out.

For behind the anger, Snape was indeed hiding something, something almost tangible.

It tasted like fear.

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