"You might say that," Snape drawled, pushing the paper across the table. Horror in the Lake District, the headline read. "There was a large-scale Death Eater meeting yesterday."
So that's why he asked about my scar, Harry realized. The dream must have set him on edge; he was seeing double meanings everywhere. And he had to stop it, otherwise he might get so jittery that it caused yet more problems. He had to act like everything was normal. "Um, does the Order know anything? About what Voldemort might be planning?"
Snape shrugged. "There was a survivor to the latest carnage. A cat, actually. The Order is meeting later today to discuss whatever memories Minerva or Albus can charm from the animal." Correctly interpreting the look on Harry's face, Snape growled, "No, you may not attend the meeting."
Well, that certainly seemed like things were back to normal. Pushing his chair back, Harry went to the Floo and ordered some breakfast. When the food appeared on the table, Snape raised an eyebrow. "Hungry, are we?"
Hmm, maybe he had overdone it a bit. "I didn't each much yesterday," he excused himself, and began loading bangers, eggs, French toast, and thick ham slices onto an empty plate.
"How much is not much?" Snape darkly inquired.
Harry thought briefly of exaggerating a bit, then decided that would be bloody stupid in the circumstances. "Couple of pieces of candy," he admitted, flushing as he began to eat.
"A couple of pieces of..." Snape frowned, then assessed him critically. "Were you feeling ill?"
Harry swigged down some orange juice as he wondered how to answer. He could just say yes and that would be that. But just as before, he had a sense that lying to his father wasn't going to help them in the long run. And after that dream, it was the long run that concerned him. "Just worried, I think. I mean, you were awfully mad at me."
"And this made you stop eating?" Snape asked, his voice incredulous.
"I wasn't hungry."
Snape stared at him for a moment, his eyes calculating something, but instead of replying, he served himself some eggs and began to eat. Only after he had finished did he speak again. "Did you find some time yesterday to decipher the Gryffindor well-wish?"
"Not so much, no."
"You worked on your assignments?"
"Um, no."
Again, a long stare. "You are feeling more yourself today, I trust."
"Yes, sir."
Nodding, Snape pushed to his feet and began draping himself in the formal robes he hung by the door each night when he returned from teaching classes. Harry watched in confusion. "It's Sunday, isn't it?" Then it came to him. "Oh, the Order meeting."
Snape shook out the folds in his robes. "That's a bit later. At the moment I must attend a conference with the Weasleys."
So much for appetite. Memory crashing in on him, Harry shoved his plate away. He'd begun feeling a bit better when it seemed that Snape wasn't angry at him any longer, but the Ron issue brought all his own anger roaring back. He struggled to repress it, to stay mature even in the face of Snape being anything but. "Ah, Professor... don't you think you overreacted that night? To Ron and all?"
"I've actually been extremely patient with Mr. Weasley's idiocy," Snape had the gall to claim.
"You call ten thousand lines patient?" Harry gasped.
"Harry," Snape drawled, his booted heels clicking on the stone floor as he approached the boy again, "why do you think I required him to write his lines down here?"
Baffled, Harry remembered, "So he couldn't cheat, you said."
"Don't you suspect I could have accomplished that objective another way, had I wished?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, I figured you had Fred and George in class enough years to be a bit wary of Weasley inventiveness."
Mouth quirking a bit, Snape murmured, "There is that, I suppose. However, I required Mr. Weasley to serve his detention here because his true punishment wasn't lines at all."
"I don't follow."
Snape's hair swayed as he shook his head. "I thought you would, eventually. Draco realized almost at once what was really going on. He didn't like it, but I told him it was none of his concern. But you... you never once questioned the arrangement? At times you aren't very Slytherin at all."
That comment stung. Harry didn't think it was meant to, not particularly, but it did. What was more, it brought up a whole host of resentments that had been festering for far too long. "I'm a Gryffindor, too," he pointed out. "And... but..." Harry swallowed, wondering if this was the right time to broach this particular subject.
"But?" Snape mildly queried.
That certainly sounded like he was willing to listen, at least, which caused a strong sensation to wash over Harry. Acceptance. The dream was just a dream. Everything was going to be all right. "Well... it's just that I think you expect me to be like a Slytherin, sir. And... that's not working for me. Because I'm not as Slytherin as you," he scowled, "or Draco. If you'd explain your plans instead of just plotting circles around me, I'd really appreciate it."
Snape had raised an eyebrow at the phrase plotting circles.
"Like Samhain," Harry sighed, deciding he'd better explain. "I know you think that trust born of struggle is the strongest kind or something --kind of like your learn by experience theory-- but honestly, I'd have realized sooner that Draco was sincere if I'd have known why he abandoned Voldemort's cause. All your plotting did was put me under one hell of a strain for months. Do you even know what it's like to feel like you might get hexed into oblivion any second?"
Snape pulled his chair back out and sat down, his expression intent. "I suppose the Weasleys can wait a few moments," he decided. "As for knowing what it is to live in fear for my life? Yes, I do know what that is like."
"Right, Voldemort. Spying. All right, I'm sure you do. But imagine feeling like that here in your own home, every hour of every day, for weeks, and you can't even leave to get away from it! There were actually times near the start when I thought Draco might poison me. Don't laugh. I'm not joking."
"I see that you're not," the Potions Master murmured.
"And Hagrid, there's another example. You had to deprive me of his company for weeks and weeks, just so that when I might be able to Floo, I'd really want to? But being cut off from all my friends isn't going to make me want my magic back sooner, Professor. It's just going to depress me and make everything a whole lot worse. Because I'm a Gryffindor, too. I need my friends." Harry sucked in a breath. "You treat me like you think I'm a Slytherin--"
"Which you would unequivocally be had you not imposed your foolish whim on the Sorting Hat."
"Would isn't the same as is," Harry pointed out. "I've been raised Gryffindor, so to speak. It's too late now to turn back the clock. It's part of who I am. Besides, do you really think the Hat would have let me veer into another House if I hadn't fit in there as well?"
Snape stared at him for a moment. "No," he finally admitted, his voice quiet. "You are both. I do actually know this."
"But you forget it whenever you have to make a.... er, a parenting decision," Harry claimed. "Or, seems like, anyway."
"So what do you suggest?" Snape inquired, his tones a big haughty.
"Talk to me," Harry simply said. "Look, you said we'd negotiate. That's all I want."
"That was in reference to rules," Snape pointed out. "But... I do see your point."
"Good," Harry approved, thinking that was probably enough of that. For now, at least. He still didn't think that Snape really got it--plotting was just too ingrained in the man--but maybe he'd think twice about using quite so much manipulation. Back to the reason this had all come up. "So... you implied that Ron's lines were another one of these Slytherin plots, I think? They weren't his true punishment? Then what was?"