Snape fumed in his dungeon classroom in spite of the distinct chill in the damp air. Potter was so completely aggravating. The boy just had to be obstinate every moment; everything had to be difficult if it involved Potter. Snape had half a mind to storm to his store of potions and retrieve the bottle of Veritaserum that had been calling Potter by name for some time now. The professor stopped himself midway through the short journey to fetch the potion. He had had time enough to think the consequences of his actions through, and despite his desire to drag the truth out of the boy by any means, he knew he could wait a bit longer.

As it was Potter was still too delicate to even digest solid foods, and a dose of Veritaserum would not have been so healthy for him at the present time. No matter how badly Severus wanted to force the potion down the boy’s throat, it was better for the both of them to wait.

“Patience, Severus,” Snape whispered to himself between clenched teeth.

In an angry swish of dark robes Snape strode back to his desk. He inhaled deeply and sank heavily into his chair. Snape allowed his heated frustration some time to simmer.

Perhaps a slightly gentler approach would get better results from the boy. Snape realized that his usual cold-hearted methods of interrogation were not making much progress. Maybe if he eased up a bit the boy would cooperate better. Then if that tactic failed the Veritaserum would always welcome him back. There was no real hurry, since Potter wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon without Snape’s approval.

Harry remained in the spot where Snape had left him moments ago. Now that he felt a bit better, the desire to get out of the prison cell returned to him. The urge was not as frantic as the first time he had felt it; this time there was no panic in him. Only the desire to be allowed to roam at will was left in him. Harry wanted at least to be allowed out of his prison for a short time. Perhaps if Snape didn’t seem too angry when he returned Harry would ask to be let out for a while. After all, it wasn’t as though he was asking Snape for his wand back or anything.

For now Harry sat on the dungeon floor not even thinking; absently, he threaded the hem of his blanket through his first two fingers. It got dull long before he even realized it. Harry slowly released a groan of tedium, and silently he wished that he had someone to talk to help to pass the time.

Snape is still here, and despite his best efforts to conceal it, he is still a person. You could always try and talk to him, Harry’s inner voice gently reminded him.

Harry frowned and furrowed his brow. He did want someone to talk to. Harry had been hoping for a more friendly person. Someone other than Professor Snape. The man was unapproachable and certainly completely devoid of any compassion. Harry was almost reminded of the Dementors when he thought of Snape; the man seemed to show almost as much kindheartedness as they had. The only consideration he had ever shown toward anyone had been toward his own Slytherins and Albus Dumbledore. If Snape was the boy’s only alternative to complete silence then Harry would prefer to remain quiet. Harry was quite sure that Snape, were he given the choice, would have preferred it that way as well.

Professor Snape busied himself cleaning up his dungeon classroom. The room itself needed little care, but Snape was simply looking for a way to kill time. He would let Potter stay in that room a little while longer by himself; perhaps Potter would see the mistake he had made by refusing to talk.

When Snape unlocked the dungeon door hours later, Harry was surprised that he was almost glad to see the brooding professor. Snape didn’t appear to be angry now. He had returned to his normal, dark self; his pale features were completely unreadable. Snape had brought Harry more broth and mint tea. Snape shoved the bowl of broth into Harry’s hands and set the cup of mint tea gently on the floor, so that he would not have to hold it forever.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” Harry whispered softly as he stared into his thin, steaming broth.

Snape grunted in response and glared at the wall as if it had wronged him somehow. A few seconds later he seemed to lose interest in the wall, and stalked over to his stool and was seated. Harry had started to sip his broth hungrily. Snape watched the boy as he ate with a look of complete disgust; one would have thought that there was a horrid smell in the room by the sour expression on Snape’s colorless face.

Harry looked up at Snape after he had taken a long drink from his bowl of broth. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t seem to be able to form the words. Harry struggled with himself to find the proper words for a few seconds and then gave up, deciding instead to return to the comfortable silence of his warm broth.

He simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. It just wasn’t natural. Harry couldn’t talk to Snape. Even if Snape was the only alternative to speaking to the dungeon wall. The dark wall certainly seemed friendlier then Snape did at that moment. Perhaps once Snape left the room Harry would give the wall a chance.

The boy had been about to say something, Snape was certain of it. The Potions Master recognized the look that his students always had when they wanted to speak to him. Before now he would have been glad that Potter had held his tongue, but now it was just aggravating him. Snape had even remained quiet to allow the young man the opportunity to say what he wanted. Harry had opened his mouth and choked on the unspoken words. He had said absolutely nothing. Snape gave Harry a sharp look, and considered his next words with care.

“Potter.” Snape waited until Harry looked up before he continued, “Were you going to say something?”

Harry looked quickly back to his broth with a grimace. “No, sir. I wasn’t.”

“Hmmm,” Snape raised an eyebrow. “You are a terrible liar, Potter. Do you take me for a complete fool?”

Sometimes, Harry’s inner voice replied, it really depends upon the situation. “No, sir.”

“Then speak up, and stop gawping like a fish,” Snape snapped, his tone less severe then most times.

Harry swallowed, he felt slightly cornered. “Well, Professor Snape it’s just that . . . well.”

The boy was beginning to hesitate, and if Snape allowed him to stall long enough the boy just might decide to say nothing at all. Snape urged Harry to go on with a gesture of his hand.

“Do you intend to keep me in this dismal room our entire time here?”

Snape almost smiled, but he forced it back. His face remained cold and blank. “And what if I did? Don’t like the room, Potter?”

Harry ignored Snape’s first question. “No, it’s not really to my liking, sir.”

“I’ve already explained why I decided to keep you here in the dungeons. Did you forget that so soon, Potter?” Snape sneered at Harry. Snape’s dark eyes burned with something that faintly reminded Harry of happiness. It was almost the exact look that his cousin Dudley would have in his eyes as he stuffed his face and watched Harry go without. It was a disturbing image, and it was one that Harry would rather have forgotten.

Harry shuddered inside, and tried to ignore the new, dangerous gleam in Snape’s dark eyes. “I suppose I do understand your reasoning for it, sir. It’s just that . . . ”

“Just what? Out with it, Potter. My patience with you is wearing thin,” Snape barked, and he folded his arms, impatiently waiting for Potter’s reply.

Patience, you? Oh, I beg to differ, sir. Harry pushed his defiant inner voice away and tried to conjure a tone that resembled something like respect. “I’d like to have some time outside. Even a short period. Just outside the dungeons. Maybe in my common room if you don’t trust me to be outdoors,” Harry stopped speaking. He gave Snape an imploring look and held his breath as he awaited an answer.

“Once you’re stronger, I may decide to consider it. Finish your broth and tea, Potter. You need the strength,” Snape replied shortly.

Harry nodded grimly, and watched as Snape quietly left the room. Harry wondered why he had even bothered to ask; Snape would never say yes to any of it.

Of course he’ll consider it. Just like he does everything else.

Harry moved to finish his cooling broth, but found that he no longer wanted it. In a sudden burst of frustration Harry hurled the creamy, white bowl into the dungeon wall. The unfinished broth trailed down the uneven surface of the wall, and the pieces of the shattered bowl crashed to the floor of the chamber. Harry didn’t mind the loss of the food; he already had lost his appetite anyway.

Snape heard the muffled sound of the soup bowl crash as it shattered against the prison wall, but he ignored it with a triumphant smile that no one would ever see. Potter throwing a temper tantrum would not sway Snape in his decision. The boy needed some more time alone before Snape would speak to him again about anything. This was exactly like all of the potions he’d worked with over the years, everything depended on the timing, and it would only be a matter of time before Harry broke. Thanks to Harry, Snape now had the leverage he needed and the boy had nothing.