Bad habits? Hermione mouthed at Harry, looking a little bit baffled for an instant. The expression sat rather oddly on her face. Then she rallied, "What Muggleborns and half-bloods?"
Draco made a tsking noise with his tongue. "Such ignorance. It's positively shocking."
"Draco," Harry warned in a low tone.
"Right," he said, some trace of cunning sliding in and out of his eyes as Harry watched. "I suppose you wouldn't know so many students in Slytherin. Not that I blame you for that; I couldn't have named all the members of that little Gryffindor delegation you led down here. But I would have thought you'd be able to name at least one rather prominent half-blood who was sorted into my House." When the girl didn't answer, Draco drawled, "Tom Riddle?"
If there was anything Hermione didn't appreciate, it was being told she'd overlooked a salient point. "Well that just proves that Slytherins are evil, doesn't it?" she hotly retorted, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"I'm a Slytherin!" Harry shouted. "I'm a Gryffindor and a Slytherin both, and that just proves that not all Slytherins are evil, doesn't it! Unless you're going to go with a theory that the enemy of your enemy is also your fucking enemy!"
"Er... maybe you should calm down before you burst a blood vessel, Harry," Draco said, actually reaching down to touch Harry's shoulder. "Or, as Severus always tells you, breathe..."
Harry did, and then he shrugged off Draco's fingers. The touch didn't feel like needle pricks--Harry thought he was probably completely over that particular problem--but neither did he like it.
Hermione eyes had gone so round that Harry had the feeling she was expecting him to strike Draco for that simple touch. Couldn't she understand? Actually, maybe she couldn't. The last time Hermione had tried to touch him, he'd upended his juice or something, he'd been so startled.
"We're friends," Harry softly said, and reaching out, caught her hand in his. "See? I'm better now. It doesn't bother me to have a little human contact. Not with any of my friends, Hermione."
She just looked at him sadly. "I'd better get to dinner," she murmured, "Ron needs the moral support, having to come down here night after night."
"Yeah, I tried asking Snape to cut that ten thousand back a tad but..." Harry sighed. "He's determined to really teach Ron a lesson."
"And that doesn't concern you, choosing a father who's just vindictive, Harry?"
"It does, but I'm not in charge of him, you know."
"You should be worried having a man like that in charge of you," Hermione announced, jerkily yanking herself to her feet. "What's going to happen when he gets mad at you, if he's as cruel as that to Ron? Have you thought of that, Harry? Have you?"
"Cruel would be demanding Ron be expelled," Harry coldly retorted, not appreciating her dire predictions one bit.
"Harry..." Hermione walked to the door, then turned around just before leaving. "This... what you think you have, it's all going to unravel. You can't depend on Snape for anything! Can't you see that?"
"Funny, the Order seemed to depend on him an awful lot. And guess why? He was dependable!"
"That's different!" Hermione shouted. "It's your emotional well-being I'm talking about! The man's a walking neurosis complete with vengeance fantasies against your father!"
"Professor Snape is my father!" Harry shouted right back.
"You think so now, but mark my words, it's all going to fall apart--"
"You'd better go," Harry interrupted. "Now." Before I start calling you a bleating sheep.
Hermione hung her head a bit, soft hair falling across the side of her face. "I don't want to argue," she softly averred. "I love you."
"I know." Harry drew in a breath. "Listen, Hermione. I know you care, but you've got to stop acting like Snape adopting me is the worst thing that ever happened to me. It's an insult to us both."
"I'm just so worried you're going to get horribly hurt, Harry..."
"Then I get hurt," Harry calmly replied. "I'd rather take that chance than go through life the way I had to before, without anyone I could really call family. If you want to worry, then worry. I can't stop you. But I just don't want to hear it any longer, all right? You make me feel like I'll have to choose between friends or father. It's very bad of you to make me feel that way. And if you keep on... it's going to come between us, even though I love you too."
"I... I have to get to dinner," Hermione gulped, just before she fled.
Harry pushed the door closed and leaned against it, fighting an urge to knock his forehead into it a few dozen times.
"She loves you?" Draco said from behind him. "I thought she and Weasley...?"
"Not like that," Harry said without turning around. "We're friends."
"I stand by my observation that you have lousy friends."
Harry couldn't help but scoff as he whirled around to study the Slytherin boy. "You're a fine one to judge. What were Crabbe and Goyle?"
"Sycophants," Draco freely admitted. "But I knew they were that at the time."
"Let's just organize dinner," Harry sighed.
"One more thing," Draco said in a much harder tone. "Don't go begging Severus to reduce the Weasel's punishment again. Severus should be your top priority, not that foul-mouthed little prat who made such outrageous accusations."
"Severus seems not to mind discussing the matter," Harry retorted.
"I told you, didn't I, that you can't always tell when you're hurting a Slytherin!"
"Listen," Harry snapped. "He's my father, not yours, so stay out of it!"
He felt a little bad when Draco flinched... but not bad enough to call the words back.
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"You appear to be quite comfortable with the Floo now," Snape commented one evening as they all ate the coq au vin Draco had ordered.
Harry wasn't sure he'd go quite that far. Tossing in powder and shouting for food was a far cry from traveling anywhere unaided. Not that Snape would let him go anywhere alone at the moment, anyway. So why was he bringing the Floo up at all?
"Why don't you attempt a firechat with someone?" the man went on.
"I don't really want to stick my face in a fire," Harry said, shaking his head. "Just in case it burns off, you understand. It's bad enough having--"
Snape raised an inquiry eyebrow at the rather bald silence that ensued. When that didn't work, he verbally prompted, "Yes?"
Harry just shook his head again, which left it to Draco to quietly reveal, "His scar, Severus. He thinks it actually is hideous and disfiguring."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry grated.
"I told you, it's not ugly at all--"
"I know what it looks like, thanks," Harry cut him off.
Snape stepped into the conversation, then. "Harry, I've never gotten the impression that your scar bothered you overly much, except insofar as it sometimes causes physical pain."
Harry gave a sort of desperate little laugh. "Well, I try not to wander the halls whinging on about things that can't be changed, Professor."
"Draco is correct; it is not ugly--"
"It's not pretty either," Harry snapped. "But that's not why I don't like it. The majority of the world hasn't been blessed with Draco's perfect features, after all! It's what it means, all right? Two things, actually. That I've always had it instead of a mother, and that every person I've met since I was eleven assumes they know me inside and out the minute they see my face!"