The sound was only in his imagination but the steady pressure of liquid falling from his fingertips seemed to reach his ears anyway, in the dead silence of the castle.

Drip.

Drip.

He thought about the murtlap essence waiting for him, mere floors away, and all the times Hermione had guided his flayed hand into the bowl. How many now – thirteen, fourteen? That image gave way to Umbridge's parting smirk a minute ago, as she shut the office door behind him. Looking like she had him all figured out. He had resolved to not give a hairsbreadth, to remain aloof. To weather her attacks like a stone.

Drip.

Drip. The muscles of his good left hand stretched taught.

But Umbridge appeared to enjoy it all. Perhaps he was merely playing into her scheme – wasn't his stoic endurance a tacit acknowledgement that she did in fact, get underneath his skin?

He glanced down, noting the wound wouldn't close at the edges this time. Yesterday after the same detention he had tried an Episkey, which hadn't worked at all. He shook his head at himself. He knew next to nothing about healing spells and they were in the middle of a war.

"Potter!" someone hissed. Harry cursed quietly. He knew that voice.

With care he made a fist of his bleeding digits. Turning around, he morphed his face into an expression of slight surprise and tried to keep his posture loose. "Yes, sir?"

Snape held himself like a statue. In the semi-darkness only his eyes seemed alive, mouth a thin line. Many random thoughts wanted to float loose because of his fatigue, but Harry smothered them - Snape's unwavering stare might catch them.

"Out after curfew again?"

Harry gestured behind him, although Umbridge's office was now two floors down. "I just had detention with Umbridge so-"

Snape sneered. "I don't care that you come from detention, you're not allowed to walk the halls at night. Which means-"

"I've been cleared actually," Harry finished.

Snape ignored him: "- points from Gryffindor and detention with me tomorrow at eight in the evening."

At exactly the same time as the one from Umbridge, and Snape knew it - half the school knew about his vendetta by now.

Harry said nothing. He hoped his face didn't betray him. It was no use telling the man that Umbridge would never oblige a switch in her schedule. It would mean yet another thing she could deny him, so she could watch his reaction like the sadistic voyeur that she was. This would only get him into more trouble, and the potion's master probably knew that as well.

Snape's head tilted slightly, black eyes glittering in the torchlight. Harry felt his heart rate speed up by the tingling in his fingers. Something had caught the man's attention.

"She didn't care for your attitude, am I right Potter?" Snape drawled, in his element. His tall figure cut a jagged line in the shadowed corridor behind him. "You were told not to alienate her. But naturally when she goaded you, you just had to mouth off."

The dull stab of pain in his hand was getting worse. He really should block the flow. Harry carefully folded his arms, probably confirming said stubborn attitude all the more, but there was nothing for it – he had ruined his standing with Snape long ago, anyway.

"She was outright lying about Voldemort not being back, I wasn't going to-"

"Don't say his name," the Potions Master bit off. The edge of his cloak just showed the muscles of one hand twitching.

The silence of the castle tore at the pauses in between their words like a third presence in the hallway.

"Why?" Harry returned. He'd had it with all this tip-toeing around a stupid name, when the man was at large again for nearly two years now. "Because you're one of his servants, I'm supposed to make an exception?"

His eyes wanted to close, fatigue hitting him like it hadn't yet this evening.

Drip. Drip.

"That will be another detention," Snape whispered, gleeful. "This Saturday. If I ever hear you utter such a thing again, I shall- "

"Yes, what? What will you do?" he snapped back, past caring. "Give me more detentions? You know you can't expel me, the Headmaster wouldn't allow it!"

"- teach you what it means to show respect to your elders," Snape hissed now, gliding closer. "And you will address me as 'sir' at all times, Potter." Conversely, his tone had gone quiet.

It took all Harry had to stay his ground as the man came within touching distance. "My, my, at least our Inquisitor has gotten one thing right: you are feeling special. Even though you're the least promising pupil I have come across in years, Longbottom included. The chosen one."

"I don't care what you think of me," Harry growled, shaking with rage. Snape always seemed to burrow right underneath his skin. This year though, his anger was different. The infamous moniker jolted a memory that was never far away from his mind these days, the memory of a memory in fact, owned by Sybil Trelawney. She had spilled it to him in the same manner as she had done two years ago, during a moment of inebriation.

The Potion's Master smiled thinly, unaware of the dark turn of his thoughts. "I hear you want to become an Auror."

"That's right," Harry ground out. A sweat broke out on his back as he considered what terrible things Snape could tell him if he wanted to - he only had to look just a bit deeper into his eyes and he would know that Harry knew. And he would laugh - or would he would Obliviate him...

Harry turned around abruptly, nauseated now to be standing so close to the man responsible for his parents' murder. As he walked his thoughts cast forward once more towards the bowl with essence of murtlap, his anchor waiting for him upstairs. He felt queasy. An unsteady leg shot out to the side to keep balance before he got the right rhythm.

He had hoped, but no, Snape wasn't done.

"I haven't dismissed you."

Harry swiveled again, just a twist of the neck, but it was too fast, pulling at his balance-

He stumbled, careening into the wall where his hand found purchase. He clenched into the uneven surface, holding on tight to resist another step which might humiliate him further.

Wonder snug into Snape's voice: "Are you drunk, Potter?"

You can retake this moment. Ignore him. Start over. Straighten, then turn slowly this time.

Harry let go of the wall gradually. Snape was alongside him now. Again.

His jaw was caught in long fingers. He jerked, light-headed from the adrenaline as a result of the sudden sensation of cold skin. Having the man-monster who had tipped off the Dark Lord touching him was disgusting. He couldn't shake the grip, and Snape found his right hand with the other.

Snape's eyes had widened slightly as he looked down at the bad hand – a red mess now, with streaks of blood having crept up his arm, and Harry held his breath. His teacher held it up for closer inspection:

I must not tell lies.

"Someone is taking you to task, I see."

The bored, triumphant tone of Snape's voice tugged on a switch in his mind. With all his strength he threw the older man from him: both hands jerking upwards to push hard at the vicinity of the man's upper chest.

Snape was the one stumbling now. Harry didn't care about wands. He didn't care about the pain in his hand.

He used his second of surprise to advance closer, clawing at the lapel of Snape's robe, fingers digging deep into the cloth beneath. Snape was much taller but momentum dragged them both to the wall, where Snape ducked to avoid a concussion. Too bad.

"You murdered them!" Harry yelled, wanted to yell but it came out as a growling whisper. This was not something for anyone else to overhear... "Why did you do it? Why? You hated my dad so much, that's all it takes for you?"

His heart seemed to be shaking inside of him. Snape's face, towering above him slightly but still too close for comfort – was he really doing this, attacking a teacher? – stilled when Harry finished talking, the fire that had the man's jaw clenched vanishing from his expression with dizzying speed. Snape's eyes narrowed, burrowing into Harry's skull before he realized it was happening. His gaze was trapped now, he couldn't turn his head as the scene with Trelawney played out.

"I see," Snape said after a moment.

The mad energy returned to Harry's arms as the spell loosened its hold on his eyes. His gaze flickered to the left – he was aiming for a sideways step.

Snape's hand came up in a blur. Harry was pushed away by an invisible force. He skidded the floor but immediately got up again. His hands were getting numb fast now. He ignored the weird heaviness in his legs. He couldn't let this go so soon.

"Why?" he asked again. His eyes were damp. Shit, damn it all to hell.

Snape lowered his wand but kept it pointed. "It's none of your business, Potter."

He knew Snape would say this, knew beforehand that Snape wouldn't explain himself, least of all to the likes of Harry Potter.

"But, but why my mother -" Harry croaked - actually it was his whole being, from the hairs on his toes to the earliest matter of his brain, that he was laying down with that one word, at the feet of the devil.

The silence gobbled it up. A muscle pulled in the man's cheek.

"Hm," he said.

It seemed like the most important thing to keep holding Snape's gaze, not give him the excuse to end this. His legs wobbled and he leaned against the opposite wall, feeling less then empty - actively holed out with a spoon, in fact. There was a portrait of a group of witches and wizards playing Goblestones next to him, who now stopped their game to watch them.

"Here," Snape said tersely. Harry stared at the bottle offered to him and cursed himself for breaking the gaze. "Drink, before you lose consciousness."

Harry backed away, feeling himself slide downwards into a sitting position, when Snape tapped the bottle and pointed his wand. He felt something at the back of his throat and scowled - only someone like Snape would resort to spelling a potion directly into his stomach.

He blinked when nothing awful happened right away - merely a prickly sensation in his arms and legs.

"Blood-Replenishing Potion. You're lucky it's part of my emergency set."

Right. Of course Snape couldn't afford to act out here, right underneath Dumbledore's nose... Next Harry's eyebrows climbed upwards as he watched Snape sink down to eye-level, face blank.

His teacher spoke: "I never intended it for your mother."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Stand aside silly girl, he heard again the voice of his nightmares, realizing Voldemort was not usually one to have reservations about killing. The possible connection to Snape made him feel decidedly uncomfortable.

Not intended for his mother, then - his father though…

"So he was as bad as you say then, my father," he said derisively, better to get the words out quickly. "Since you didn't mind getting him killed. Glad he's gone are you?"

He closed his eyes again. The silence rang, then: "No."

Harry kneaded his forehead with both hands, felt the ridges of the curse scar, wanted to rip it out for a moment. He opened his eyes to stare at the floor. The uncomfortable feeling grew into a jarring burn in his stomach, which at least muted the hollowed-out sensation there. You're just saying that, he wanted to say, but as much as he hated him, the man would not mince words about James Potter.

He shook his head. "I don't care, you killed them. You thought hey, that's the kid from James Potter, why don't I just wipe them all out in one go!" His whisper had turned into a growl at the end. "It's perfect, right, you got Voldemort to do your dirty work."

Snape looked positively hateful again, still on one knee in front of him. "Don't say the Dark Lord's name, Potter! Once again you are prying into things you know nothing about." He stood slowly, gaze still focused on Harry with unnerving intensity. "But I'll humour you this once. It was war, Potter, something you really haven't experienced yet. When I conveyed the prophecy to the Dark Lord, I thought the Potters had sufficient protection in place, as they should have - they were known in my circle for their battle skills, had even been offered a chance at his side for their talents. But in the end they gambled on the wrong person, and the Dark Lord is what got them killed, Potter."

Harry listened breathlessly and hating himself for it at the same time - he should be cursing the man, he should leak his name to the press...

The man seemed to have drawn back into his emotionless shell. "Go to your Murtlap essence, Potter."

Harry stood as well, feeling a nervous twinge at the thought what else the man might have caught in his mind. "Like you care, Snape," he sighed, turning and starting off towards the next landing. He quickened his pace so as to avoid any more admonissions for his cheek.

He glanced at his torn hand. The dripping had stopped.