"Never once," Harry swore.
Snape considered that for a moment, then pressed, "What about the provenance of the map? I recall Lupin saying he would take charge of it; I presume he must have returned it at some point, but how did you come into possession of it in the first place?"
"Fred and George Weasley gave it to me." Harry swallowed, feeling strangely like he was betraying them, though surely now it couldn't matter if Snape found out the truth. "They stole it from Filch's office. I've always assumed that Filch had confiscated it from my... er, from one of the Marauders. But that's just a guess. I don't honestly know how he ended up with it, and I've no idea how Fred and George figured out what it was or the incantations..."
"What of your own incantations?" the Potions Master asked, and then with a small frown, added, "In the stress of the moment, I confess I can't quite recall... did you tap the map with your fingers or your wand to activate it so that we might find Draco?"
That, more than anything else, told Harry how worried Snape had been; it wasn't like the man to overlook any detail, no matter how small. "Um, fingers," he admitted. "Sorry. I know I'm supposed to be concealing that, keep my wand in hand and all that, but it wasn't handy." He decided he'd just as soon not mention that he'd believed Draco had taken his wand out of the dungeons.
Snape sighed. "Harry... I do hope you are aware that I have good reasons for the rules I set you. The circumstances surrounding your use of the map were extraordinary, so I certainly understand your not stopping to fetch your wand. But the untested, wanded spell you decided to perform unsupervised so that you could view Draco outside? You simply must use better restraint."
That disappointed tone was more a rebuke than lines or points could ever be. Still, Harry rallied, "I had to know what was going on." When Snape's nostrils flared in irritation, Harry wished he hadn't said that. Because now his father would announce a punishment, surely... Except, he didn't. Harry wasn't quite sure why not.
"Back to your current means of manipulating this map," Snape abruptly pronounced. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good does not strike me as the sort of thing one might render into snake language. Can Parseltongue encompass words to conceptualise an oath?"
Harry flushed. "Uh, no, not really. But my spells these days don't always match the original ones so well, you know."
"And so?"
A deeper flush, that time one he could feel emanating from the roots of his hair. "Um. I'm sure it can't possibly matter what I say in Parseltongue," he muttered, chewing a little on his lower lip.
"We are endeavouring to solve a mystery," the Potions Master reminded the boy, his tone a trifle curt. "The more I know about how this parchment responds to stimuli, the better our chances of exonerating Draco. There is no telling where the smallest clue may lead, so oblige me."
Harry sighed, knowing he would have to. What was a little embarrassment against his brother's life? "I tried at first to translate the solemnly swear incantation, saying things like I've got no good plans at all, I just don't, but I couldn't get the map to work for me until I..." He drew in a bracing breath. "I have to say what a spell means to me, you know. And when I first got that map --third year, by the way-- um, I guess I was pretty interested in not running into you when I went wandering the hallways at night. So anyway, that was what I was thinking about, mostly, when I would solemnly swear to be up to no good."
Snape's expression by then was a strange blend of impatience and something else, something Harry couldn't identify.
"So now I have to say," he went on, clearing his throat, "Show me everything to help me hide from the greasy git."
The Potions Master stared, his eyebrows raised. "Oh, indeed."
"We didn't get on then," Harry reminded the man, thinking a bit odd he would have to.
"Hmm, I know," Snape mused. "What I find interesting is the degree of intimidation the phrase implies. For when I would encounter you in the halls, you never struck me as particularly cowed. It used to irritate me no end."
"Bravado," Harry explained.
"Hmm," Snape said again. "No wonder you reminded me of James."
"Can you just stop bringing him up?" Harry asked in a desperate tone.
"I see no particular reason to," Snape remarked, again studying Harry with that strange stare. "However, for the moment I think we should finish with the map and all it implies. So... your charm. You seriously expect me to believe that Parseltongue has a word for git, do you?"
"Parseltongue is very odd," Harry tried to explain.
"Enlighten me," Snape drawled.
Well, he had asked, Harry reasoned. Besides, he would rather discuss the map than talk about his... than talk about James with his father. Of course Snape had implied quite a while back that he'd forgiven James and come to respect him in the end, but that hardly helped. Harry didn't like the feeling that he'd reminded Snape of that younger version of James... that he called to mind the boy who had made Snape's life such a misery back in their school days.
So it was actually a relief to direct the conversation back to Parseltongue, even this bit of it. "I was trying to say greasy git," he admitted, "since that is how I thought of you back when I first learned to use the map. I could feel my mouth moving to make those words... but they don't exist in snake language, I guess, so what I heard coming out instead was big-nosed horrible oily man."
"Interesting. Normally one would think that git implies nothing whatever about nasal capacity."
"Well, it identifies you all right."
"Yes, though it lacks the alliterative charm of the original," Snape lamented, his dark eyes almost piercing as he said it. When Harry didn't react other than to stiffen, he brusquely questioned, "And your version of 'mischief managed', then?"
"Done being Slytherin."
"Really."
"Yes, really. It felt Slytherin to me, all that sneaking around."
"You weren't, perchance, tapping into some sense of your own future in the House? After all, you do have some seer traits, as we have since learned."
"Oh, I don't know," Harry crossly muttered. "Enough about the incantations, all right? Let's talk strategy. The map could convict Draco, and he's innocent! So what on earth did you mean, agreeing to tell the headmaster everything? You can't possibly intend to let him know what we saw happen, can you?"
Snape gave a sharp nod. "I must. I have no way to contact Lupin. Only Albus does, and he is unlikely to assist us unless he understands the urgency... For the moment, though, let us return to the provenance. I presume this is the map Crouch referred to as Potter's Map?"
"Yeah, he borrowed it from me," Harry admitted on a sigh. "Before the Second Task. I didn't get it back until after Voldemort was reborn. Well, you heard. You were there in the headmaster's office when Crouch confessed."
The Potions Master narrowed his eyes. "I was there," he agreed, grimacing. Probably, Harry thought, because he hadn't put it together a lot sooner. "So, this map was in the possession of a crazed supporter of Voldemort for literally months. He could have done anything to it! He could have found a way to confound it; he could have made a copy, or several! Didn't you think of that before you lent it out to all and sundry?"
"I didn't lend it to the whole world, just to the man I thought was Moody!" Harry objected. "I thought he was an ex-Auror, remember? I thought he could use it to prove you were up to no good, and just why did I think you deserved some scrutiny? Because you deliberately misdirected students to think so! And anyway, it's not my fault Crouch 'borrowed' it. He was going to take it away anyway if I hadn't agreed! He knew the map could prove who he really was and ruin his pretence of being a Defence teacher!"