"I hadn't noticed," Snape mused. "It might perhaps be true."
"It is," Harry stated with confidence. "Anyway, I dreamed about that awful day when you confiscated my letter in class, remember?"
"I am hardly likely to forget," Snape silkily remarked.
Harry knew what he meant by that. If not for that letter, they wouldn't now be father and son. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Anyway, you hated me then, I know you did. But I saw something pretty startling in the dream. Yeah... I was leaving class, and you asked if I wasn't forgetting something, and I asked if you meant the letter, and you said, 'Yes, I mean the letter, you idiot child. Why haven't you asked to see the Headmaster about this?' And you know, at the time I thought you even sounded sympathetic there for a second, but I convinced myself I was just imagining it. But you hated me, so... I guess I don't understand."
"Hate and sympathy are hardly polar opposites," Snape quietly remarked.
"Come again?"
"The fact that I believed you a vain, spoiled, arrogant young man did not preclude my feeling some measure of pity when you received such a letter. You must understand, Harry, I presumed your aunt to be a mother to you, so when you received news that she lay ill in hospital shortly to die, of course I had some sympathy for your situation."
"But you knew I'd had the letter for days and hadn't even asked to go home," Harry shuddered.
"At first I assumed you were trying to stave off harsh reality by ignoring it," Snape admitted. "When I realized you hadn't even bothered to read a letter from home, I was incensed. Of course it only reinforced my view of you as thoughtless beyond belief."
"That was pretty awful of me," Harry admitted. "I didn't know she was sick, though--"
"I know."
"I just thought they couldn't possibly have anything to say that I wanted to hear," Harry went on. "I mean, I even thought they might be trying to pull me out of school or something, because they had never, ever written me a proper letter before--"
"I know, Harry."
"Oh, right," Harry acknowledged. "You do." He gave a brief smile before deciding to take a stab at eating a couple of fried potato wedges slathered in melted cheese. He decided they'd be better with a few bacon bits scattered atop them.
"Any other Truthful Dreams you'd like to share?" Snape asked after a while.
"Not really." Harry sighed. "I wish I hadn't hit Ron, but at the time it seemed like the stone underfoot would just split into a crevasse if I didn't release my anger another way. Not that I had time to reason all that out, but still..." He sighed again, shaking his head. "See, it was one of my seer dreams, that I'd punch him. And I'd decided I wouldn't do it, but you know how much good that did me. I guess I don't like the idea that I can't change anything I saw in my seer dreams."
"Are there dream-events yet to transpire that concern you?"
"No," Harry admitted. "I don't know why it's bugging me so much, unless it's because... no, that can't matter so much. I mean, I'm not even sure I understood it right."
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"Um, well it's just that I dreamed everything in a certain order," Harry explained. "Chronological order, I mean. And it all came true in just the sequence it should, except for punching Ron. That was actually supposed to happen before Draco said-- er, before something else, but it happened after. So now I don't know what to think. There was that day when I almost hit Ron. Maybe that one was the real fulfillment of the seer dream, and I did successfully resist the script of the future. What do you think?"
"I can't help you in this regard, I'm afraid."
"Well, neither can Trelawney," Harry scoffed. "Seer dreams or no, Divination is a total crock."
"Trying to teach it certainly is," Snape agreed. "True prophecy is spontaneous, but there is such a thing. You will have powers the Dark Lord knows not, Harry."
"Voldemort," Harry reminded him.
"Direct quotation," Snape countered. "Eat some protein."
"You're a fine one to talk about regular meals," Harry groused as he picked up a barbecued chicken drumstick and took a couple of bites.
"I believe I mentioned that only one of us is the parent, here?"
"I understand that," Harry admitted. "But... you know, I'd like to think I can bring something to this, too. I mean, it would be nice if I could do something to help you, Professor. Because so far, and I don't mean since you adopted me, I mean since the beginning... I feel like I've just taken from you."
"You've given, too," Snape said seriously. "Wounds that had been festering for years... don't, now. I also never thought I'd have a son, Harry. I poured my energies into guiding my Slytherins, but some part of me, I think, knew that being Head of House wasn't quite the same."
"Remus says you do really well at it, though," Harry murmured. "And I can see why, sir. I'm not too happy with Ron, but I do feel less depressed, now."
"Good. Come out and join Draco and myself in a game of Wizard's Scrabble."
"Wizard's Scrabble?"
Snape narrowed his gaze. "Is there another kind?"
Harry broke out into a weak laugh. "Uh, do the letters attack each other? Actually, I can't see much point in that..."
"The points tally themselves."
"I'm really a bit tired," Harry begged off, but Snape was having none of it.
"You're not going to brood all evening alone in your room. Come out and play."
"With your vocabulary? Not likely," Harry scoffed. "It's bad enough you wipe the floor with me every time we play chess."
"You'll be evenly matched against Draco," Snape pointed out.
"Hardly. I mean, he's played before, hasn't he?"
"Ah. You want concessions."
"No, I just--"
"How about... you can use Muggle slang against us," Snape interrupted, eyes glittering in challenge.
"That's silly--"
"Oh, all right," Snape groused. "Muggle slang and your E's are worth five points each. Will that get you out of your room?"
It was such a bad bargain for the others that Harry couldn't resist. "You're on," he said, tucking Sals into a pocket before hopping off his bed.
Draco objected to the terms, of course, but gave in after Snape delivered him a withering glare. Harry watched as Snape spelled the game to give Harry extra points on every E.
And then the fights truly began. Draco claimed ronk wasn't really a word, even after Harry dutifully used it in a sentence: Hold your nose when you go in the boy's toilet, it ronks in there. After ronk came kak, meff, and emmas, all of which elicited mighty protests from Draco.
"He's just making up anything that'll use up his letters!" Draco finally erupted.
"No, he's not," Snape calmly countered.
"Oh, right. I suppose you're going to say you knew that emmas were hemorrhoids?" Draco scathed, his eyebrows drawn together in irritation.
"I trust Harry."
"Oh, 'cause Gryffindors wouldn't cheat? The boy sent Granger out to do his research, how's that for not cheating?"
Snape laughed out loud, a rare occurrence indeed. "Draco, don't you think that if Harry wanted to cheat, he'd at least have enough intelligence to use all seven of his tiles doing it?"
"I suppose," Draco muttered. By then it was a moot point; they were all down to their last few tiles. Draco all but screamed when Harry neatly laid down his last three letters: the sequence T W E right next to the E in Snape's word lignite.
"You aren't going to whinge that twee isn't a word, are you?" Harry said, poking Draco in the shoulder when he didn't answer.
"Sixty points for twee," Draco only moaned in answer.