"Perhaps you shouldn't taunt him quite so much," Snape broke the silence to say.
Harry nodded, feeling pretty bad by then. He quickly slipped Sals into his pocket.
"You don't have to be an orphan to face a trying childhood," his teacher went on.
"Yeah, okay, I got it," Harry told him.
"Have you? Lucius punished him like that more than once."
"Yeah, well Lucius likes to go for the jugular," Harry muttered, thinking of the needles. It only made sense. Malfoy was an evil, evil man. Whatever your weakness was, that's what he'd use against you, and not even his own son was exempt. It surprised Harry, as he'd always thought Draco was so spoiled. Well, he was, no doubt about it, but Harry figured that he'd also had his share of problems. "Can we not discuss Lucius?"
"Certainly." Snape stood, and said the usual, "I'll be in my office if you need me."
Dudley turned and watched him go. "He's really not much like a vampire at all. Still looks like one, though."
Harry nodded, sighing as Sals shifted in his pocket. How was he to know that Draco had such a good reason to be afraid of snakes?
Dudley finished his salad then, while Harry thought in silence. After a few moments, he went into the bedroom. The shower was still running, but he didn't think he was ready to talk to Draco in any case. He got the wooden box Remus had shipped Sals in, and slipped the little snake inside, then took it back out to the living room and put it on a table in an out-of-the-way corner.
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Later that night, Draco seemed recovered. He was showing off for Dudley again, this time demonstrating how to transfigure the couch into a bed. Dudley was rapt and full of amazement, which of course only made Draco get more and more extravagant with his wandwork and incantations.
"Now, if we want a canopy," Draco was saying, "we really ought to first change the wood to something a bit more stout."
"Oak," Dudley suggested, oohing and aahing as the dark wood faded to a golden hue.
Seeing that the other boys would likely keep busy for quite a while, Harry took his chance to go talk to Snape alone. Although Snape had, almost every night, issued that casual invitation for Harry to join him in his office, he'd never gone before. Sometimes he'd wanted to talk, but the idea of seeing Snape behind a desk had always put him off. It was like... Snape would go back to being his teacher if he went in there. Of course Snape still was his teacher, but he was something more now, too. Something Harry didn't really even know how to name. Or maybe he did, but he was choosing not to. He felt shaky and vulnerable just thinking about it, afraid that if he looked too closely, it would go away.
But tonight, he needed to talk enough to fight his way past the feeling.
He stopped at the open door of the office and looked in to see Snape bent over parchments, a quill scratching out comments in red ink as he read. When the man didn't notice him, he tentatively reached inside the room to rap his knuckles against the door.
"Come in, Harry," Snape beckoned, waving him into one of the two chairs that faced his desk. "Your cousin seems to be settling in well. Better than I would have expected."
Harry nodded. "I'm starting to think that he's not really afraid of magic. It was drummed into him, but it was never something that came from inside himself, if that makes sense."
"Quite possibly," Snape agreed.
They fell into a silence then, broken only by the crackling of the fire dancing in the small hearth that kept the office warm. Finally, Snape spoke again. "Did you need me for something in particular?"
"No... yes..." Feeling utterly defeated, Harry hung his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. "Maybe a headache potion."
"Certainly," Snape said, reaching into a drawer for a small phial. "Drink it all."
Harry downed it, then wondered, "You keep potions in your office, too? Are you ever without?"
"I try not to be," Snape told him in all seriousness, then allowed a smirk to soften his features. "I often mark student work in here, and so I stock my desk with, at a minimum, Headache Calming Draught and Boredom Balm."
"That bad?" Harry asked.
"You tell me." Snape passed him the topmost essay, something from a second-year. Harry didn't really read it; he didn't care what Holly Hornbrown had to say about yeast spores. Snape's comments were what interested him. Is this an essay or a rumination on bread and muffins? his teacher had written. If you are hungry, adjourn to the Great Hall and then resume your homework.
"Draco says you insult the students to prod them into working harder," Harry remarked, looking up. "Is that true?"
Snape set his quill aside and leaned both his arms on the desk as he blandly met Harry's gaze. "In some measure. I haven't given the matter extensive thought, but I did notice early in my career here that a well-placed insult often had a salutary effect."
"But you don't insult the Slytherins," Harry pointed out. "Don't you want them to work as hard as the rest of us?"
Snape's gaze hardened perceptively. "I don't insult them publicly, certainly. There is such a thing as House loyalty. And too, Slytherins don't respond well to being shamed. You might consider that in your dealings with Draco."
When Harry didn't reply, the Potions Master shuffled the parchments meaningfully. "Well. If all you needed was to rid yourself of a headache and critique my instruction, I think we've covered that, so if you don't mind--"
"I didn't have a headache," Harry interrupted. "Well, not enough of one to need help. And I didn't come in here to criticize."
Snape stared at him. "No?"
"No. I just.... I don't know. I wanted to talk to you."
Snape waited for him to go on, but Harry didn't really know what to say. He didn't even know why he'd come in, really. He'd just known he needed to talk, but not about anything in particular. His mind felt stuffed with conflicting needs and impressions.
"For someone who wishes to talk, you aren't saying much," Snape finally pointed out. Harry nodded wearily and got up to go, but Snape waved him back into his chair, and after a moment longer, softly inquired, "Have I done something to upset you?"
Harry glanced up from his contemplation of his hands. "No, it's just... well, maybe you have, actually. Did you tell Professor McGonagall to not let my friends down here very often?"
"It seemed prudent, as they have been known in the past to provoke Draco."
"He's the one who provokes them!"
"I don't believe it was Draco who tried to hex another student into eating slugs," Snape quietly returned, his fingers lightly tapping on his desk.
"He called Hermione a Mudblood!"
"Has he used the word since Samhain?"
"Not that I've heard," Harry grudgingly admitted. "But it's not just my friends from the Tower. You won't let me see Remus, either."
Snape's voice went cold. "He should be strangled for what he did to you."
"No, Lucius Malfoy should!" Harry retorted. "But instead, you arrange things so I have play nice with his son!"
Snape abruptly surged to his feet, the door slamming closed as he waved his wand. "It's warded now," he announced. "What happened to decorum, Harry? Draco is just down the hall!"
Harry felt his lip curl. "That's why I can't talk to you any longer," he cried, jumping up from his chair. "Everything ends up being about Draco!"
"Do not be absurd," Snape rebuked. "I have known him all his life, and I understand the pressure he is under as few can, but he is not my sole concern."
"Could've fooled me," Harry muttered.
Snape shook his head. "Harry. This childishness ill becomes you. I care about you both."