For the second time that evening, Harry felt his stomach drop like a stone. His essay must be utter crap, he decided. And Snape wasn't going to let him see those pictures of his Mum. Harry's eyes stung suddenly, and his throat closed up. He bit the inside of his cheek to stave off any tears. He was not going to cry over pictures! He hadn't seen them before, so not having them now was no big deal. Right?
Right.
The shine had quite gone off the dragon scales as Harry finished sorting them, knowing he was going to be lectured or worse in a few minutes. Snape'd probably assign him detention now, since the essay wouldn't count as punishment, if it was as bad as he thought.
With a soft sigh, Harry returned the gloves to their storage place, and put the labeled containers of dragon scales in the inventory closet. Then he wiped down the table and trudged into Snape's office as if he was going to the gallows.
"Sit," Snape said, pointing at the chair Harry had occupied earlier in the evening. Once Harry had, the professor regarded him solemnly for several long moments before speaking again. "You seem to have a real . . . saving people thing, Pot--Harry."
Harry looked up in surprise at Snape, for using his given name. What was that about? "Sir?"
"It's a terribly Gryffindor tendency, to charge in without considering the consequences of your actions, with no regard for your own safety. But you, Harry, are no Gryffindor."
Harry swallowed. "No, sir?"
"No. Only a Slytherin could have survived ten years of living with those Muggles without killing them, whilst managing to keep his sanity intact."
Harry's eyes widened. Surely he didn't mean . . . "Sir?"
"You misunderstand me," Snape said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, without being menacing. "I do not mean to imply that you should have sent them to their graves, only that . . ." He sighed and then glared at Harry. "Why must this be so difficult?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Oh, I didn't mean you, boy." Snape rose, while Harry scrunched back in his chair, farther away. But the professor merely turned his back on Harry and adjusted a few glass containers on the shelves behind his desk. He continued doing so for several minutes, and it crossed Harry's mind that this might be a way that Snape covered his own nervousness. He dismissed the idea almost at once. Surely Professor Snape was never nervous.
Finally, Snape glanced over his shoulder, almost as if to see if Harry was still there. When he saw Harry was, he sighed again, and sat back down at his desk. He folded his hands on top of his desk and peered at Harry through his curtain of hair. "Did your uncle ever hit you, Harry?"
"What? No!"
"Did your aunt?"
"No!" Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Why're you asking me stuff like that?"
"Do not be so quick to answer," Snape said, still using the quiet tone he seemed to have adopted for this talk. "You had numerous injuries when you first came to school, do you not remember? Contusions in various stages of healing, broken bones that had not been set correctly, and internal damage to some of your organs. Never mind the malnutrition, we'll get to that." When Harry opened his mouth to angrily retort that the Dursleys had done nothing, absolutely nothing, Snape held up his hand to silence him. "From your essay, it is quite clear they were emotionally abusive and criminally negligent at the very least, with regards to your safety and well being. . . . I need to know if your aunt and uncle were physically abusive as well."
Panicking slightly, Harry leapt out of his seat. His breaths came harder as he tried to decide if he should make a run for it. This was crazy! He hadn't said anything like that in his essay! Sure, his aunt and uncle had told him he should never have been born, and that he was worthless, but that didn't mean he actually was or anything. To his shame, his voice cracked as he yelled, "Why do want to know stuff like that? Why can't you just leave me alone!?"
Professor Snape merely lifted an eyebrow at his outburst, and then, to Harry's surprise, answered him fully. "I want to know, Harry, so I can best decide if you need to be removed, permanently, from their care. And I cannot leave you alone, ethically, not when I am in a position to aid you."
Harry shook his head and backed toward the door. That wasn't true; it wasn't. No one could "aid" him. No one ever had before. And if they said they were, it was only because they had some trick up their sleeves, and he would get into even more trouble than if they'd just let him be! He knew how the world worked. Snape was like everyone else, just trying to trick him, just like always.
"I don't believe you," Harry told him, and in a flash, he had the door open, and was running down the corridor and far, far away.
TBC . . .
A/N: Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews! Happy Almost New Year. Peppermint mochas all around!
*Chapter 32*: Chapter 32
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 32
By jharad17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I imagine I'll get over it.
Previously:
"I don't believe you," Harry told him, and in a flash, he had the door open, and was running down the corridor and far, far away.
"Damn," Snape snarled, and before the boy got more than a dozen steps, he was out of his chair and heading after him. He'd thought briefly of locking the door before Harry made it through, but he knew that was more likely to make the boy panic than anything. Still, he should have put himself between Harry and the door, to cut down on the possibility of the boy bolting. In this state of mind, Harry was liable to get himself into trouble.
Just before he left the office, he remembered something, and went back to his desk to grab the packet of photos he had promised to show Harry. He meant to keep that promise, even if Harry thought he was an evil bastard who wasn't actually trying to help him.
As he chased after the boy, he reflected on what exactly had gone wrong. He had needed to ask this series of questions a number of times before, and though there were differences in each child he tried to help, there were many similarities in their cases as well, one of which was almost an automatic reflexive denial of any problem. He was actually rather amazed that Harry had not accused him of making everything up whole cloth, including the injuries he'd had healed at the Infirmary at the beginning of the year. In his experience, children who were neglected and abused -- and he'd dealt with plenty in his tenure as the Slytherin Head of House -- were some of the least trusting and most paranoid people in the world. Severus had been one himself, so he was fairly confident of his interpretation.
But he had the unofficial testimony of his Legilimency of the Dursleys themselves. He certainly had not seen everything they had done to Harry, but he had a pretty good basis to charge them with a number of crimes against the child. What he really needed was for Harry to corroborate what Severus had seen in their minds, with his own words.
For the next quarter hour, Severus trailed after the boy, all the way to the owlery. His leg -- despite having been mostly healed from his run in with that thrice-damned three-headed dog -- was aching fiercely by the time he reached the top of the West Tower. The owlery was cold and drafty this November evening, as the weather this past week had turned particularly nasty. Frost rimed the grounds every morning, and turned the surrounding hills a dark, steel gray.
In the frigid owlery, Severus immediately cast a warming charm on his clothes as he peered around for the boy. In the dark, one little dark haired boy in dark robes was not easy to spot. But one white owl was, and Severus honed in on the bird, recalling that Harry had one like it.