"You'd come to me if you had questions the resources in the library couldn't answer, I would hope," added Snape.
"Oh yeah, I'd come right down," said Harry, relaxing a bit. It didn't seem like his father was really on the right track.
"Really," drawled Snape, shaking his head. "In that case, I can only conclude that you are very confused indeed as to the particulars of certain advanced defensive spells."
"No, I'm not--"
"Then how do you explain this?" asked Snape, drawing a parchment from the inside of his robes. For one horrible second Harry thought it was his test, and he was ready to have it out with the headmaster who must have restored it from ashes after Harry had left his office. But no, it wasn't the test at all.
Snape began to read out loud. "Caninae are called that because they come in cans. The hardest part of the spell is actually the can-opening phase. Many wizards over the years have died horrible, messy deaths when resentful caninae got trapped for too long in their--"
"All right, that's enough," interrupted Harry, suddenly feeling not just tired but exhausted.
"One would hope you were being facetious."
"Yeah, well I'm not as dim as that makes it sound," grumbled Harry. "Where did you get that, anyway?"
"That's not exactly the most salient point at issue, but in fact I found it while Albus was attempting to rouse Aran from his stupor. All we knew was that your Patronus had led me back to the Defence room and that there appeared to have been foul play. I began looking through your teacher's papers for any clue I could find. Imagine my surprise when I found drivel such as this." Snape tossed the parchment onto the table and glared at Harry. "Have you any coherent explanation?"
"I was out of sorts."
"Obviously. And the cause?"
"Er . . ."
"Harry, just tell Dad!" Draco shouted.
Severus leaned back as though startled. Then an expression that looked almost . . . smug, stole into his half-closed eyes. It took Harry a minute to put it together. Oh. Draco hadn't said, tell your Dad, he'd said, tell Dad.
His dad, too.
Harry swallowed, thinking about that. He remembered how hard it had been for him to try calling Severus his father. How his throat would clench up to stop him from saying it. And Draco had maybe more reason than Harry, even, to be skittish about things like that. Look at how horrible his birth father had been!
So if Draco could get past all that and screw up the courage to say it . . . well, then Harry could do the same, and tell his father why he'd written an essay like that.
He was just glad Severus hadn't seen the test as well.
"Um . . ." Harry took a deep breath. Starting was hard, but once he did, the words seemed to just pour out him. "Professor Aran really hates Parselmouths, sir. Ever since I've been back in his class he's been calling me a Dark Wizard and refusing to let me cast any spells because I'd have to do them in Parseltongue and he won't have it in class, he says. He calls it filthy language and unfit for decent people! At first he wasn't even going to let me take any practicals but I got him to agree that I could come in and do them privately, and then he wasn't even going to stay and watch me test, but McGonagall pretty much insisted and after all that, yeah, you can believe I had a reason to be out of sorts. I was tired of his shite! Oh! Sorry, sir."
Harry thought he might have said more except he needed air.
Once he'd stopped it was hard to start again. Then again, what was there left to say? He wasn't going to tell his father that he'd sworn in class and been openly defiant and such . . . unless he had to.
"That's quite a catalogue of complaints." Snape's eyes were blazing with anger, the black so dark it looked almost demonic. Dangerous, that was it. For once, Harry didn't care so much about his father's Death Eater past or the rest of it. He was angry enough at Aran to hope Snape cut the man no quarter.
Besides, he knew that Snape wasn't actually going to kill Aran over this. Or . . . he was pretty sure.
"And this began as soon as you resumed classes, did it?"
Uh-oh. Now that dark tone sounded more directed at Harry than Aran. Because this was the ugly heart of the matter, wasn't it? What Aran had done was nothing compared to the fact that Harry had kept it a secret for so long.
"I do believe my hair could use a wash," murmured Draco, pushing back his chair. "If you'll both excuse me . . . "
Snape suddenly whipped his wand out and pointed it at Draco. "Comalavare," he said, his voice intense. " Et secare."
Draco sputtered as his hair suddenly filled with lather and then just as suddenly went dry as straw. When it was all over, he looked awful. Definitely, that wasn't the way to wash hair.
Part of Harry couldn't help but feel that Draco had that coming for laughing when Harry had got Bocalavare during Aran's detention.
"Now you're clean," drawled Snape. "And while I'm sure Harry appreciates the attempt at decorum, you'll stay because you're involved in this matter too. Unless Harry insists we speak alone, that is."
"No, it's all right," murmured Harry. Draco had heard it all anyway, during that lunch with the headmaster.
"Excellent," snapped Snape. "Aaron Aran's prejudices are one matter. He shall be dealt with, make no mistake. What I fail to comprehend is why the two of you neglected to alert me to this problem. Well?"
Harry coloured. But he didn't want Draco in as much trouble as him, not when it wasn't fair. "Draco told me to come to you," he admitted, "as soon as he came to classes and saw how bad it was. And when I didn't want to he said he'd tell you himself--"
Snape leaned forward. "I can't seem to recall any such conversation!"
"Severus, I--"
"Let him speak," thundered Snape. "Yes?"
"I wouldn't let him tell you," quietly admitted Harry. "I more-or-less blackmailed him into keeping quiet."
Snape shoved his plate away, his dark eyes turbulent, now. "Merlin preserve me. What has he done that you could blackmail him? More Venetimorica?"
Harry gasped. "I wouldn't hide a thing like that!"
Draco snatched up his glass of water and threw the contents at Snape's face. "Thanks! Thanks a whole fucking lot!"
Snape had quick reflexes though; he moved to the side in time. Then he glared at Draco.
"Sorry," said Draco, mumbling. "Um, impulse control. Maybe I should . . . um, go to the bedroom after all?"
"Yes, maybe you should," said Snape. "I'll deal with you later."
Draco grimaced, but his hand under the table gave Harry's a quick squeeze before he left.
"It's all my fault," said Harry, sighing. "And I didn't blackmail Draco over anything he'd done, all right? I just threatened to tell you that Slytherin was calling him Malshite. Which they've stopped. But you know all about it now, so I don't suppose it matters if I mention it."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Wonderful. Now I have not one but two sons intent on concealing their problems from me. Though in Draco's case I can perhaps understand. His relationships with his peers, as long as they don't become hazardous, are best left in his hands. I do not think the same of your relationship with a biased professor."
Biased professor. Wasn't that the pot calling the cauldron black.
"It just didn't seem that serious," murmured Harry.
Snape pointed to the essay still on the table. "I beg to differ. I've seen you struggle with anger in class, and still manage to comport yourself tolerably well. To do that, I'd say you were more than 'out of sorts.'"