A split second later, Snape’s ugly face loomed above Harry’s who seemed to recognise a trace of concern. Snape was probably concerned for himself, how would Voldemort react if he delivered a Boy-Who-Lived-No-More? The madman would not forgive anyone for stealing his chance to destroy Harry himself.

 Harry punched Snape in the chin with all his might, all his anger and hatred. The older man stumbled backwards, his arms flew up in order to gain balance again. Snape bumped into the table behind him but regained control unnaturally fast. Even though the convulsions had been a bluff, Harry felt far from good. Very far indeed.

 “Idiot boy!” Snape snarled and shoved Harry on the bed, none too gently either.

 Then Dumbledore’s murderer sat back down, filled a tumbler with whiskey and lit up a cigarette.

 “Those will kill you,” Harry commented and glared at the man.

 “Don’t get your hopes up, Potter,” he said, now again completely calm and superior. “Don’t you find that the older you get, the more habits you pick up from your father?” Snape spat the last word as if it was a curse.

 “No. Why, was your father a violent drunk, Snape?” He shouldn’t agitate the man so, but couldn’t help it. Snape didn’t seem the least bit bothered. He exhaled, crossed his legs and examined the boy before him.

 “You are just like James. It’s a pity, really.”

 “I don’t want to be judged by my father’s actions,” Harry said heatedly. “By things he did, I want to be judged by my own.”

 Snape raised an eyebrow. “You are not exactly helping yourself there, Potter.”

 The dark man leaned back and touched his bruised chin. It wasn’t too bad.

 “You are a weak boy. If you intend to punch the Dark Lord into oblivion, you may want to reconsider your plans.”

 Harry turned away. What were his plans exactly? How he wished Dumbledore had given him better instructions now. It was all a big mess.

 “You can’t stop me,” Harry answered with more conviction than he felt.  “I will finish my task,”

 “The only thing you can finish on your own is a packet of biscuits. Don’t overestimate yourself.”

 Harry was fuming now, it was hard not to lose control of his temper in front of Snape. Merlin, it was utterly impossible. “You are a filthy murderer. How does it feel to have my parent’s blood on your hands? Or Dumbledore’s?”

 A Silencing Charm shut Harry up and only now did he really become aware of the cold darkness emanating from the man, his presence sending shivers down Harry’s spine, making him panic and sweat.