Casting Harry a wry look--as though he expected a plot, actually--Snape handed the well-wish back to Draco. "Those initials in the corner are my father's," he admitted. "Hostilian Snape. He drew the crest."
"Oh...." Draco beamed a bright smile all around. "No wonder it's so modern, then. Sort of like a Jackson Pollock, only without all the splotchiness. I love it, Severus."
"Who's Jackson Pollock?"
"Oh, Muggle abstract artist," Draco said absently as he went back to studying the crest. He must have caught Harry's look of astonishment, though, because a sly little grin curled his lips. "You know how I like opera, Harry. Surely it's dawned on you before now that I do appreciate a few Muggle things." His smile became more openly vicious. "Lucius would be horrified, of course."
"Harry," Snape interrupted, "I believe it's time for us to begin."
Draco seemed oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. "Severus, I think your father must have been very talented. Was he an artist by trade?"
The question was innocuous enough, but it made Snape's face go a shade or two whiter. "Yes. Now, if you will excuse us, Harry needs to change into clothes more appropriate for brewing--"
"There aren't too many wizard artists," Draco said, his tones warm with admiration. It was much better than him being so rude all the time, of course, but by then Harry was dearly wishing he'd realise how difficult this conversation was for their father. "Did he sculpt as well, or only paint? And can I meet him someday? Please?"
Please from Draco was an almost unheard-of event. Too bad it had to come at a time like this, when Snape was wound so tight. "He sculpted as well, yes," the Potions Master grated. "But you may not meet him as he has long since died."
"A portrait," Draco said, almost bouncing in his eagerness. "You must have one tucked away somewhere--"
"Why must I?"
"Because he was an artist!"
"He was a purist," corrected Snape, his voice utterly cold by then. "In more ways than one. He would never stoop to waste his talents on lowly representational art, Draco." Snape began to walk toward the potions laboratory then, his gait stiff.
Draco looked crestfallen, and not just because he couldn't talk art with Hostilian Snape. "What did I say?"
The laboratory door slammed.
"Are you completely dense?" whispered Harry. "He doesn't want to talk about his father, any more than you want to tell fond stories of Lucius or I'd like to reminisce about the Dursleys!"
Draco actually flinched. "I didn't know!"
"Well, try to remember it now that you do. And Draco, if you really want to make it up to him, then stop being such a spoiled prat and do your lines and homework!"
Closing his eyes, Draco gave a sharp nod. "All right, I will. I... yeah, I guess I should snap out of this... mood.... Um, Harry? Just so you know, the room's a bit messy right now."
"Well if you'd do your assignments it wouldn't have to be."
"Oh, he told you that as well."
Harry shrugged and moved off toward the door to their room. His fingers were already on the knob when Draco suddenly said, his voice wavering, "Harry... I can tell you put a lot of work and thought into the well-wish. I really, really like how the whole thing is wrapped around my name." Draco curled his lips in a tremulous smile. "And snake repelling... that's just bloody brilliant."
"Well you'll still have to put up with Sals, you know." Frowning, Harry went on, "I can't understand how you can dislike Sals. She's not big enough to hurt anyone, and Hagrid told me she's not poisonous, not that she bites. She wouldn't hurt you--"
"She got you hurt pretty badly."
Harry considered that. "That wasn't her fault. And anyway... it was awful, but I ended up getting the one thing I'd always longed for."
Smiling, Harry went into the bedroom to change out of his dress robes.
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A bit messy turned out to be more than a bit of an understatement. Harry's smile died as he stared in shock at the clothes and sundry items littered all over the floor. And the towels... in the damp of the dungeons, it looked as though some of them were planning to grow mould. Wrinkling his nose with disgust, Harry picked his way around them to his trunk so he could fetch out a plain robe.
The inside of his trunk wasn't the way he had left it. Nothing seemed to be missing, but still, Harry didn't like the feeling that his things were being pawed through.
"Draco!" When the blond boy poked his head through the door, Harry slammed the lid of his trunk, his robe slung over one arm. "Why have you been going through my things?"
Draco lifted his nose in the air as though he smelled something foul. Probably the towels, Harry thought.
"Well, thank you for accusing me without so much as a by-your-leave," sneered the other boy, "but as it just so happens, Severus is the one who went through your things!"
Harry studied his brother, looking for any hint of deceit. Draco never had been a good liar, so if he was lying now, there ought to be some sign of it. But there wasn't. All Harry saw on his brother's face was anger, offence, and a desire to get even for the slur. Though why it should be such a slur was a mystery to Harry. He didn't exactly think Draco was above stealing, after all.
"Why would Severus be going through my things?"
Draco shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and did his apparent best to stare Harry down.
"All right, I'm sorry!" exclaimed Harry. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."
"No, you shouldn't have," came Draco's icy reply. "Apology not accepted. You can just go straight to hell, Potter." And then, after he stomped from the room and slammed the door hard, a shout: "That's another ten points from fucking Slytherin!"
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Harry didn't exactly appreciate that Snape had gone through his trunk, but he decided that since his father wasn't in the best of moods at the moment, he could put off asking about it. Draco had probably only suggested that so that Harry could get on their father's bad side, anyway. Why else wouldn't he just simply answer the question?
Because you'd just insulted him, maybe?
Harry had to admit there was some truth in that, but he still figured that Draco would blow the misunderstanding out of all proportion and use it as an excuse to not do his lines, after all.
When Harry stepped out of his room, though, he was surprised to see Draco at the kitchen table, quill in hand, working industriously away. He'd put the well-wish in the centre of the table and was glancing up at it from time to time as he wrote.
"I really am sorry," Harry said again.
Draco looked up, his silver eyes hiding something. "Yeah, me too," he said, his tones short. "Just go brew, Harry."
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Waldenholfer's Acuity Draught wasn't so very difficult when he had Snape right there to help him. It was a bit harder the second time, when Snape just sat on a stool and watched, but Harry's brew was still passably good.
Scratch, scratch, scratch... that was what they heard after they'd each taken a sip of the finished potion.
"Draco's working really hard on his lines," Harry whispered. Funny, it sounded like he was talking in his regular voice.
Snape moved a finger to his lips and kept listening, though Harry suspected he hardly needed a draught to hear the sound of quill on parchment.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Nodding, the lines around his eyes relaxing, Snape handed Harry the antidote to the draught and gestured for him to drink. Once their senses were restored to normal, he asked in a low voice, "What did you say to your brother?"