Harry thought back, and slowly nodded. "Yeah. You didn't want me getting dependent on the potions involved."
"Or the spells," corrected Snape. "I never condoned your suffering as some sort of lesson."
"I didn't think you did--"
"No?"
"Um . . . well, I guess I did think that if I could just get better control of my magic then I wouldn't end up hurt."
Snape sighed. "So you did misunderstand, at least on some level. I should have discussed the matter more clearly with you at the time. I should not have been so selfish."
"Huh?"
Snape smiled grimly. "It pained me to know that I was hurting you, Harry, especially in light of what I'd been forced to do to you on Samhain. I wanted to think on it as little as possible. I had to remain objective or else I'd never have been able to teach you properly. Too, if I'd dwelt on it - " The Potions Master's mouth closed into a firm line.
"What?" When Snape said nothing, merely giving a tiny shake of his head, Harry poked him in the shoulder. "Hey. It's not fair, you know, for you to want us to go to you with everything when you won't do the same."
His father arched an eyebrow. "And life is fair, is it?"
Harry wasn't letting himself get guided down that garden path. "Spill it."
Snape's eyes seemed to darken. "It may help us to understand one another better, I suppose. I presume you recall me speaking of the nightmares I suffered after Samhain. Your defensive training unfortunately necessitated me hurting you again, which caused highly unpleasant memories to surface." The man paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That proved particularly problematic as I'd realised by then that the Truthful Dreams potion was becoming less effective in dampening the emotional impact of my dreams. My efforts to reformulate it, in fact, are what made me aware that I'd developed a problem."
Draco nearly snorted. "I'm fairly certain that Marsha would skin Dad alive if we did something like the Venetimorica again, and I've been practically an angel ever since so it's hardly an issue. And I know all about the purple loosestrife. Honestly, I think Severus is overreacting to the whole thing. He ought to just take it if it makes him feel better, but he's got this whole ethics issue with potions ingredients. Trust me, you don't want to get him started."
When the Potions Master in question opened his mouth to reply, Draco raised his hand as if to stop him. "If you start a whole new lecture now, I'll be the one owling WFS to report you for abuse." The boy grinned. "Verbal abuse. We can only take so much at a time."
"That is singularly not funny," said Snape, glaring.
"I just think we've heard enough lectures for one night, Sev--, I mean, Dad."
Snape's glare faded, to be replaced by an expression that was wryly amused. "Perils of eavesdropping, Draco. Now, as you two have classes tomorrow, it's time you were asleep."
Draco slipped into bed, yawning. "Two more weeks. I'll be so glad of a holiday . . . Mmm, sleeping until noon."
"I've no intention of inculcating bad habits in you over the summer," said Snape, flicking his wand to plunge the room into darkness. Harry heard the cocoa cups settle onto the tray. "Good night." The door closed with a slight noise.
Draco waited to complain until their father's footsteps had faded away. "I like sleeping until noon!"
Harry had a hard time reconciling that with the stories Draco had told him of gruelling summer studies. "Lucius really let you?"
A grumbling noise. "No, but my mother would. Whenever he was away."
"I'm sure our holiday will be brilliant." Harry rolled onto his side to face the wall. "'G'night, Draco."
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With only two more weeks to go until summer, the time seemed to fly past. It was a bit of an odd experience for Harry. In previous years, he'd always dreaded the approach of summer. Now, he could hardly wait. The holiday ahead stretched out like a beacon, welcoming him. For once, he wouldn't have to spend the time away from school being worked like a house-elf. When he felt like studying magic, he wouldn't have to be afraid somebody would see. He could arrive at school with his homework done, for once.
And nobody would yell at him and tell him he was worthless.
Gryffindor seemed to understand about his eyes. Or the lie about his eyes, really. He wasn't having any problems with the Elixir; his eyesight was getting steadily better. Again. He still felt a bit like he was on a see-saw, and wished his vision would just stabilise.
Neville said it was great that Harry had a father who cared so much about him. And even Seamus had to agree. So that all sorted well.
Most of his classes continued to be a hoot. In Potions they were having an ice-cream making contest with prizes for most delicious and most creative. Harry was a little bit worried about the tasting coming up next week, since some of the more creative concoctions he'd heard discussed sounded kind of disgusting, actually. Who really wanted to eat peppermint pumpkin pistachio, after all?
Draco insisted that ice cream was common and he was making gelato, instead. Nothing Harry said could dissuade him, so Harry was working with Ron on a triple chocolate coconut flavour. They tried to include Hermione in their team, but she declared that she wanted to make gelato, too.
Ron had glared about that, and no wonder. Something besides lemon-lime gelato was clearly going on over at Draco's table. He and Hermione seemed to be having some awfully intense discussions about something. It looked like they were disagreeing a lot, too.
As much fun as Potions was with Dumbledore in charge, however, Harry would have to say that his favourite class was Defence. Snape continued to torment Aran at every turn, insulting his teaching methods, demonstrating his own vastly superior skills, even critiquing the man's hygiene at times.
Harry thought he'd die laughing when his father actually had the nerve to complain that Aran needed to wash his hair! The whole class had had a similar reaction, sputtering and trying to hide it.
Aran had turned red--but then again, he was red a lot these days--and opened his mouth to make some sort of blistering reply. But cowardice kept the words inside, and all he ended up doing was snapping his mouth shut and turning away.
Like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Harry was sure then, absolutely positive, that Aran's true punishment was supposed to be something more than utter humiliation. Snape was trying to provoke the man. He wanted him to fight back.
Why Snape wanted that was another question. One the Potions Master wouldn't answer, no matter how Harry pestered him.
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Wednesday evening was Harry's first therapy session with Marsha. In order to fit Harry into her schedule, the three of them had to leave Hogwarts during supper rather than after, so each of them had a quick sandwich at home with a promise of pudding later if the boys behaved. Perhaps they could have had time to eat properly, but Harry had wanted a short visit with Mrs. Figg and maybe to dash over to see Dudley for a few minutes now that he had moved into the rebuilt Number 4 Privet Drive.
Perhaps it was all the soul-searching that he had forced himself to do lately or maybe it was simply the act of coming to Surrey at this time of year, but Harry was thinking about his "Muggle life" a lot these days. Although he was still quite annoyed with Mrs. Figg for never having alerted Dumbledore to how wretched the Dursleys were, Harry did feel grateful to her for being a kindly respite from the virtually unmitigated hatred he'd suffered throughout his childhood. Plus, she was letting them use her Floo, so Harry brought her a nice little box of chocolates.
During their brief visit, Harry mentioned wanting to see Dudley, but Mrs. Figg informed them that he'd gotten a night job as a security officer and was probably already out for the evening.