"No."
"What did you just say to me?"
"No," Harry calmly repeated. "I want you to tell me what's wrong. Tell me about the potion." And when Snape said nothing at all, Harry added, "Please. Please, Severus."
The last word seemed to unlock something. Snape picked up the chair that had toppled over, sank into it, and looked at Harry with eyes that seemed decades older than they were. "I..." He cleared his throat, and said in a rambling tone, "Harry. I used to think that all I wanted from you was that you be respectful, but now I want your respect, which I find is a much more difficult thing."
Harry thought that over, but found that all he could reply was, "I don't understand what you mean..."
Snape waved a hand through the air as though to start over. "The potion. I'd rather you not know. It reflects badly on me. Were I not a Potions Master, it might be excusable, what I have done..."
Harry still didn't understand, though he was finally getting a sense that they were getting somewhere. "You... um, messed up brewing it? Well, you're human, aren't you? You've seen me do worse in class, I'm sure. And besides, I already know about the time you made a mistake brewing the Wolfsbane."
"I can brew Truthful Dreams in my sleep," Snape lightly sneered, though it seemed his heart wasn't in it.
"Then what?"
Snape suddenly appeared to find the wall of great interest. "You have no idea how long I've taken it, obviously, nor any grasp of what the formulation means." He looked back at Harry. Another long pause. "You have noticed that I am not in the best frame of mind, as of late?"
Talk about an understatement... "It's not just Death Eater activity eating at you," Harry guessed, though he'd guessed by then that being left out of the war might be bothering his father just as much. Hadn't he taunted Sirius for having to sit it out? "It's something to do with this potion."
"It's the lack of the potion, Harry," Snape admitted. "I stopped making it deliberately, to deprive myself of any supply. Taking it had become a... habit, I had recently realized. Actually, it was telling you to be careful not to become... ah, addicted to healing potions that brought me to my senses. It came to me then that I'd been taking Truthful Dreams for well over a year. It was necessary for a long while, believe me. I had to be able to report to the Order in great detail about each and every meeting I attended. I tried to stop taking it once that part of my work was over." He sighed. "But then I began to have such nightmares over Samhain that I resumed, and after that..." A low shrug coursed through the man's shoulders as he sat slightly slumped. "I was simply so used to taking it that I made no effort to stop again. Until quite recently."
"Oh," Harry murmured. "You're..." He didn't want to say addicted, even if Snape had. The word seemed sort of judgmental, though he knew he was wrong to think so. But Snape had said that thing about wanting his respect, so Harry didn't care to say anything that might make the man think he'd lost it, or even come close. "So you're... uh, suffering from withdrawal, I guess," he compromised.
Snape nodded, the motion stiff as he sat up more, his posture acquiring the precise one he usually favored. "Purple loosestrife. The abrupt loss of it has rendered my temper... a bit more volatile than I'd like."
"I'm glad you told me," Harry said, making his voice as warm as he could. And then, realizing that it wasn't right to expect Snape to admit to things if he wouldn't, he went on, "I'd rather know what's really going on with you, see? Because I'd actually started to wonder if you were angrier about the books I ruined than you were willing to say. I... um, I even asked Draco to lend me some money so I could try to replace them, but he told me that wouldn't help."
His father's glance on him was wary. "You can't really have thought it would."
"You... yelled at Neville and threw his book across the room when he ruined it, I heard. And I thought, maybe you overreacted to that because you really resented what that Lumos did to your own books..." Harry flinched a bit, but went on, determined to make Snape understand. "I... um, growing up, I wasn't allowed to touch much on the Dursley shelves, including the books. Something about my grubby little fingers staining the pages, though nobody seemed to mind chocolate sauce spilled all over the place if it was Dudley doing it. I don't think you're like them, honestly. But I wasn't very comfortable, either, knowing I'd ruined so much of your stuff. Habit, I guess. Like with you and the potion."
"Speaking of which," Snape briskly resumed, "I will have a supply ready in a week and you will take it."
Not this again... "Maybe you shouldn't make it," the boy suggested. "You know... um, temptation?"
"I think I can restrain myself," Snape dryly announced. "My withdrawal, as you put it, is well underway. It just seemed simpler in the interim to not have any on hand. But as you now need it--"
"Just because this last dream fooled me doesn't mean I'm done with seer dreams entirely," Harry put forth. "The unadoption one still could be one. In fact, I'm sure it is. Lotion Potion, remember?"
"I know what is best--" Snape began, but Harry cut him off.
"Like you knew what was best with Ron?"
Snape narrowed his eyes. "When it came to Mr. Weasley's punishment, I perhaps had more than one agenda," was all he would admit. "Be that as it may, I did in fact think that protracted time in the dungeons, even time spent doing lines, would be salutary for the young man's ability to see what was laid before his stubborn eyes."
"I know you thought that." Harry leaned forward, hands on his knees, and looked his father in the eye. "You were wrong, though. No offense, and no hard feelings, and I do respect you, honest, but all you accomplished with those lines was to make Ron mad, and as long as he was mad, he couldn't see that there might be more to you than you like to show in Potions class."
"I fail to see any purpose in this post-mortem," Snape remarked. "Unless you want me to agree that you know more than your father, perhaps? That sixteen is the height of wisdom?"
"I don't know more than you," Harry admitted. "I just don't want you forcing a potion down my throat."
"Of course I would not force you, you idiot child," Snape stiffly conceded, though the last three words helped soften the harsh tone he'd used. "I happen to believe you will continue to have highly disturbing dreams and that the potion would have helped you. I was hardly going to let it become a habit for you, if that was your concern?"
"I know that. It's just what you said about not mixing it with seer dreams. The Draco one isn't, I agree. But.... more are coming."
"You can't possibly know that."
"No," Harry admitted. "But my instincts are often good, remember?"
"I have a feeling you won't ever let me forget having said as much."
Harry smiled, the expression fleeting. "Dad... I think you should tell Draco about the potion. He's noticed your... um, mood swings, too. Don't worry. He'll still respect you in the morning."
Snape was looking at him rather quizzically. "You wish me to wake him up and tell him now?"
"Oh, no. That's just a Muggle phrase. Means... never mind, it's stupid."
"I think the onset of babbling definitely indicates a need for more sleep."
"Yeah." Harry yawned, suddenly so tired that he could feel himself drooping. "Um, want your socks back before I go?"
"No. Just go. Good night, Harry."
"Good night," Harry echoed, thinking that was much better than the previous Get out Snape had so scathingly delivered. Hmm, they'd managed to have a fight and come out the other side of it all right, and without it taking days to work things through. That was a nice thought, Harry decided as he padded out the door Snape waved open for him.