Why hadn't he just accepted it when Snape didn't want to discuss the Death Eater meeting? Why hadn't he believed the man when he'd claimed not to have taken part in those awful goings-on?
Because I didn't, simple as that, Harry admitted to himself. Snape was right; I had to see for myself . . . Doesn't mean I'm proud of it, though.
Well, there was nothing for it but to go downstairs and face the music, was there? Snatching up the parchments and letters he'd bundled, Harry made his way down to the parlour.
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"Mr Potter," was Snape's level greeting. No emotion there at all, not that he had expected any.
"Professor," he replied, nodding slightly. He felt like he was in a fancy-dress play, or something, even his words stilted, but he didn't know how else to speak, not after what had happened last time. "I have some things for you to owl to my friends, if you'd be so kind."
Snape took them from his outstretched hand, but kept his gaze averted.
"Severus has been asking about your dreams," Remus volunteered, looking from one to the other. He tapped an impatient foot as though he didn't care for what he was seeing. "I had to tell him that you haven't mentioned any new ones."
"I haven't had any," Harry explained. "Not that I can remember."
"Just as you don't remember screaming in Parseltongue, Potter?" Snape frostily inquired.
"I can't help it if I don't remember," Harry sighed. He really didn't want to go on, but he knew he'd better, all things considered. "Um . . . there's something else you both really should know, though. Probably the Order should know, too. I was talking to Dudley this morning, down in the cellar, er . . . on the phone, I mean, and--"
"Is this leading to an actual point, Potter?"
Harry took a breath, this time organizing his thoughts before he spoke, though it was difficult when what he really wanted to do was let fly with a few choice words about sarcastic arseholes. He managed, though, and succinctly announced, "Vernon Dursley's said that he'll sell me out to Voldemort, first chance he gets. I tried to discourage him, but knowing him, he'll say to hell with the consequences and do it anyway."
"What consequences?" Remus asked.
Harry closed his eyes, wishing he didn't have to admit it, especially in front of Snape. "Um . . . I told him I'd cast Alohomora on him, actually."
"Alohomora," Snape repeated, one half of his mouth curling in disdain.
"Look, he doesn't have a clue what it means," Harry retorted, tired of being polite. "What should I have threatened him with, a little friendly Avada Kedavra? And don't say I'd have to mean it, because for him, I damned well could!"
"Stop it, you two," Remus demanded. He glared at Harry. "Don't talk about the Unforgivables, Harry. It's obscene at your age. You shouldn't even be thinking about such things!"
"What's my age got to do with anything? Is it going to keep Voldemort from Avada Kedavraing me? I'd think the lot of you would be training me to wield the Unforgivables, because if you don't, I'm pretty much a walking dead man! Or did you think I was going to fulfil my destiny using Cheering Charms? Maybe I should just offer him a plum pudding and be done with it!"
"Potter, you're hysterical," was Snape's cold-hearted response.
"No, I'm aware I'd rather not die, thank you very much!"
"Please, sit down, Harry," Remus broke in. When Harry did, he turned his brown eyes on the Potions Master. "And you, Severus."
Remus took a chair only after Snape had sunk into one. "Now," he directed, "the question before us tonight isn't how best to help you once your magic comes back in full. It's whether Vernon Dursley poses any sort of real threat."
Snape blew out a breath through his teeth, and laced his fingers together. "The Fidelius Charm speaks to that. Potter may own this house, but he's not its Secret Keeper. He can't have told Dursley where it is, not even by accident or implication. Ergo, as long as he manages for once in his life to do as he is told, and stay here, he will be perfectly safe, his uncle's animosity aside."
"Harry?"
"I don't trust Uncle Vernon." Harry grimaced. "But like the professor, I really don't know what he could do to hurt me. I just thought I ought to mention it."
"I'm glad you did," Remus warmly replied. "I'll go let Albus know, too. So if you don't mind, Harry, I'll leave you and Severus to your Occlumency lesson."
Harry almost wished he could call him back, but he wasn't that much of a coward. The minute Remus had swept up the stairs, Harry turned to Snape and waited.
Snape regarded him for a long, silent moment. Harry cracked first.
"Do you have any letters for me?"
Snape withdrew a packet from his robes and leaning forward, passed it to him.
Harry sighed. Well, he'd known this wouldn't be easy. He was tempted, in the face of the man's silence, to go ahead and read his post, but decided that wouldn't really help matters. "I'm sorry, all right?" he finally offered, setting the letters aside. "I should have trusted what you told me."
The Potions Master narrowed his eyes to black slits. "Inadequate, Mr Potter."
"Inadequate? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Inadequate," Snape recited. "Insufficient. Unacceptable. Incomplete. Unequal to the purpose; deficient; not meeting the requirements especially of a task--"
"I know what it means!" Harry erupted.
"Then perhaps you shouldn't inquire as to the meaning."
The man was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Harry spoke through gritted teeth. "What do you want me to say, Professor? Let's just start with that, so I can say it, and we can get past this!"
Well, that was a lot of help. Snape gave him contemptuous look and didn't reply.
"Oh, the hell with it," Harry gave up. "Fine, hold your grudge. It's not like I'm not used to you hating me."
He'd sort of hoped to spark a reaction there, something along the lines of I don't hate you, Harry, of course I don't hate you. Now as to your reprehensible behaviour last night . . . At least it would have got them talking. Snape, however, declined to take the bait.
"Let's just get started, then," Harry conceded. "Get out your wand and yell Legilimens, and I'll start working on trying to push you out, all right? I've been practicing, but without someone to push against, I can't tell if I'm doing it right."
Harry saw Snape take a breath, and fancied the man relaxed, just marginally. "Aren't you neglecting something?"
Harry furrowed his brow. "Um, no, I don't think so."
Snape muttered something that Harry couldn't catch, but he was pretty sure he heard both foolish and Gryffindor in there somewhere. "The pensieve! Bring it, Mr Potter."
Flinching a bit at touching it, Harry carried the pensieve out of the kitchen and set it in its usual place on the low table before the couch, watching without a word as Snape incanted the Latin that would allow him to withdraw his own memories from it. Then, as he had done so many times before, he touched his wand to Harry's temple and whispered, "Pensare non pensatum."
Taking a chance, Harry thought of how much he regretted having pressed Snape to tell him about the Death Eater meeting.
"Again?"
"No." He arched back from the tip of the wand.
"Very well." Backing off a few paces, Snape cautioned, "This will be harder, Potter. Every time you push out at me, I will push in harder. Keep your focus. Centre yourself in the fire. Legilimens!"