Life as Dictated by a Talking Hat by RhiannanT

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So were you planning on saying where you were last night and this morning, or am I just supposed to guess?

Harry looked at Blaise and raised an eyebrow. It was unusual for Blaise to pass notes during Potions, but today he seemed totally unabashed, just staring back at Harry and waiting for him to respond. Harry shook his head, but gave Blaise a slight smile and wrote his message on the same page.

You could try guessing. You'd probably fail, but you could try.

Blaise smiled back and wrote quickly. Alright I'll bite. I'm guessing something went down with Sinestra after class, and then you left the dorm last night and got caught and either ended up in the Infirmary or with Snape. Since I've never known Pomfrey to keep somebody overnight and then release them to go to class the next day, I'm guessing it's the latter.

Wow. He smiled at his class notes and shook his head.

Damn you're good.

Aren't I? So, did he have some nefarious plot? Draw you into his lair only to try and murder you during the night?

Oh shut up.

Blaise looked up at him and passed the paper back, obviously waiting for an answer, and Harry finally relented.

Fine, no, he was legit just being nice.

Brilliant! He CAN be taught!

“I'll teach you,” Harry whispered, smiling again at his paper. Somehow it felt really, really good to be alive that morning.

So what happened with Sinestra?

Harry hesitated before thinking of an answer that would answer Blaise's question without getting uncomfortably specific.

She tried to take me to Dumbledore.

Blaise frowned fiercely, but then smiled again, just a little bit. So, you're apparently okay. Did she survive?

Harry grinned. Well she survived me, but I haven't seen her since Snape went to talk to her...

Blaise winced. And we just found a new Defense professor, too.

Harry snickered, but sobered when Blaise nudged him and motioned with his chin towards the front of the room. Harry looked up to find Snape looking straight at him, an eyebrow raised. He gave the man a guilty smile, feeling that strange warmth invade his chest again when the man's lip twitched just the slightest bit. Snape flicked his wand, and a slip of parchment in his hand folded itself into a paper airplane and flew to Blaise. Blaise unfolded it and showed it to Harry.

Mr. Zabini, I am generally quite pleased with your friendship with Harry. Do not make me separate the two of you. Harry, keep passing notes in my class and I'll make you sit with Malfoy.

Harry looked at Blaise, and saw him look up at Snape and give a slight nod. Harry suspected he was blushing, but couldn't tell. Snape nodded back and returned to surveying the rest of the class as Blaise bent his head back to his notes, not looking up again for the rest of the class. Harry didn't blame him. Even if Blaise didn't idolize the man, Snape just had that effect on people.

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After class at the end of the day, Harry returned to his dorm to find an announcement posted next to the portrait hole. It read:

The Christmas holidays are approaching. If you will NOT be returning home for the holiday, please PRINT your full name below. If you have not signed before December 16th it will be assumed that you are leaving, so please make a decision as quickly as possible.

Harry stared for a moment, bothered, before hauling out his pen and signing the sheet. I'm homeless, he suddenly realized. He wasn't living on the street, certainly, but... I guess here's the closest to home I've got. Only here wasn't home. Closest I've got to a home is school. That makes me officially homeless. Fantastic. Maybe he should go back to the Dursleys, if they'd let him. It would probably be more fun, here, but he'd probably be like one of five students staying. If nothing else, it would definitely draw questions about why he wasn't going home. He snorted. Who am I kidding? I'm not going back there. After Petunia's reception from before, his chances of coming back alive would be like 50:50. Even I'm not that stupid. Better to be fucking homeless. He thought briefly of the little room Snape had made for him, but shook his head. That's not a home, that's a room.

The thought made him pause. That's not a home, it's a room. How does one have a room, but not a home? He swallowed. You don't, that's how. Snape might call it his room, but it wasn't in his quarters. He couldn't have a room in Snape's quarters. You couldn't have a room in a home, without belonging to that home. It just didn't work that way. And I sure as hell don't belong to Snape.

Shit. Oh HELL.

What the hell am I doing? Had he really been thinking he could have a room? Like a real room? You...you... he couldn't think of a word strong enough. How fucking stupid can I possibly be?

Pretending. That was what he'd been doing. Like he'd done a thousand times with the Dursleys, before he'd figured out that none of it came true. Petunia really loves me, she's just hiding it because Vernon is mean. If I'm nice enough, and learn not to do freaky stuff, then they'll accept me some day. If I'm nice enough Ms. Kelly will take me home with her. My parents aren't dead, they just went to some magic castle and soon they'll come back and bring me back with them. Someday my fucking prince will come.

Except he had come...in the form of Hagrid, the first person he'd met who could scare Vernon. And he'd brought him to Hogwarts, where he was mostly safe. Where Snape scared away anybody who might want to hurt him. And now that's not fucking enough? Now you want him to magically give you a home, too? How ungrateful can you possibly be?

Except it seemed almost like Snape wanted to give him a home. Or a room, at least. He tries to be fucking everything, doesn't he? And he couldn't. Try as he might, Snape couldn't give him a family, or a real home. So now Snape's pretending, too. But Harry had long since learned that pretending didn't work. Eventually even Snape would have to stop pretending, and reality would come back, and then where would he be? Even worse off than before. See, you MORON? Do you finally get it? Haven't you learned it a billion times before? HOPE leads to bloody PAIN. Pretending doesn't do SHIT.

Except this time it wasn't just Harry pretending. He couldn't just shake his head and kill the dreams, not with Snape constantly trying to reinforce them. 'My' room. Shit. And I almost bought it. How had he gotten in this deep without ever noticing? Snape was a okay guy, fine, he could finally admit that. He'd even go so far as to say the man liked him, strange as that was. But that was as far as it went. Hogwarts wasn't a home, it was a school. Snape wasn't his father, he was his teacher. Harry was an orphan, and now homeless. And Snape wasn't apparently getting that. So what the fuck do I do about it?

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“That's enough, Harry,” Snape said as Harry concentrated hard on the sofa, trying to control its movement at the same time as lifting the heavy weight. At Snape's command, he put it down gratefully and sat back, breathing. He wasn't actually winded, but it felt like he should be, somehow. It was a strange sensation - a combination of brain-tired from concentrating so hard, and a not-quite-physical tiredness in his chest that he was beginning to associate with exerting a lot of magical power. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at Snape as the man called the usual house-elf to bring a snack.

“Eat.”

Harry looked up at Snape, then quickly looked away again. Bloody hell, what do I do?

“Eat, Harry,” Snape said again.

“No, thank you,” Harry finally answered. He was hungry; he was always hungry after working a lot of magic, but he felt sick all of a sudden. When had eating in Snape's office become so natural? If this was a normal day, they'd even chat, a little, before Harry left. And then suddenly today neither eating nor talking with Snape felt natural at all. Because they shouldn't, idiot.

“What is bothering you?” Snape asked him suddenly.

Harry frowned. How could he tell? “I'm fine.”

“You're quiet, and that was too polite,” Snape answered, matter-of-fact.

“I'm not a talkative person,” Harry answered in the same tone, “nor a polite one.”

“Well it is certainly not the first time you've objected to talking to me, but you usually have a reason, and as you also pointed out, you're usually less polite about it.”

Harry shrugged, and Snape's frown deepened. “Can you at least tell me it's not life-threatening?”

“It's nothing,” Harry said. “May I leave?”

Snape hesitated before answering. “No. The last time I let you leave when it was this obvious that something was up, I found you passed out on your bed from blood-loss barely a day later.

“I'm fine,” Harry answered, irritation increasing. “Back off.”

Severus blinked. Haven't heard that one in awhile. “Why are you angry with me?”

“I'm not,” Harry said shortly.

“Then why won't you speak to me?”

Harry just clenched his teeth and stayed silent, giving Severus complete blank-face.

Another one I haven't seen in awhile, Severus reflected with increasing concern.

“I will not allow you to leave until you have answered me.”

“I'm fine.”

“And I would believe that, except that you have lied to me before when I most needed to know the truth.”

Harry glared at him, frustrated. God damn, why won't this man ever leave well enough alone? “And so therefore my privacy matters nothing anymore,” he finally answered.

“Not if it interferes with your safety, no,” Snape said implacably. “I only want to help you, Harry.”

Harry fought to stay polite. “Yes, I know. And has it ever occurred to you that I don't want you to help me?”

“Frequently. Do not be concerned, you have made that abundantly clear.”

“And as usual, nothing that I want matters.”

“Not nearly as much as what you need, no.”

“I hate that.”

“I realize. Now answer the question, please.”

Finally, furious and frustrated, Harry used a defense he hadn't ever tried before. He gave a perfect, polite social smile. “I am fine, and I thank you for your concern. Have a pleasant afternoon, and I'll see you Monday.” He stood up slowly and left without leaving Snape a chance to respond, then ran down the corridor and back to the Gryffindor tower. What the HELL did I just do?

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Harry spent the next couple of hours in the Gryffindor tower, successfully avoiding Snape, but at 6:00 he went down to dinner with the others, listening vaguely to their chatter even as he kept all his attention on Snape. Towards the end, his tension spiked as he watched as the man scratch something out with a quill and cast a spell. The parchment folded of its own volition and, as Harry predicted, flew over to him.

Swallowing hard, Harry unfolded the paper airplane and read the note:

I do not know what is going on with you today, but you will curb your attitude. You have detention with me immediately after dinner. Do not be late. Severus Snape.

Shit. Now he'd done it. The goal was to avoid run-ins with Snape, wasn't it? At least until he figured out what he was going to do about the man. But he knew better than to skip a detention or lesson, by now.

Harry looked up at the head table and caught Snape looking at him. The man raised both eyebrows, and Harry nodded. Yeah, I'll show up. What would he do, though? The last thing he wanted was more contact with the man. Snape seemed to notice everything, and what he noticed, he just wouldn't let go. He'd noticed, already, that Harry was acting differently. He'd surely ask about it again at detention, and then what would Harry say? He couldn't just act the same as before, seeing as he did the direction their relationship was taking, without trying to stop it. That road only led to more pain.

But Snape just kept pushing. He cared about things that no normal teacher would ever care about; offered things that no teacher would ever offer.

Except he isn't really offering them, Harry once again told himself. He might want to, in a certain sense, but he couldn't. He was just...pretending. And if Harry didn't do something now, he would get caught up in it once again, and then it would be disaster. And avoiding him isn't going to work, apparently.

I can still stop him, Harry realized. The more Harry pushed and fought against Snape, the more detentions he got, and the more time and attention Snape seemed to spend on him. But what if Harry stopped causing trouble? He'd given up on driving Snape off, but he could just...stop caring. He'd have to be polite, so that he didn't get any extra detentions and attention from the man, but he could be really polite – which Snape did seem to want him to do, and so couldn't reproach him for – and avoid any extra contact with the man, and Snape would no longer have any excuses or reasons to give Harry any extra attention, either.

It was ridiculously simple, Harry realized with a sense of relief. All he had to do was not care. He'd certainly used the tactic before, though admittedly without the politeness. But I can do polite, too, if I really have to.

He could do this. He had to do this. He had to come to his senses sometime, and the earlier he did it, the easier it would be. This weird...something...that seemed to be building between him and Snape could just stop, and everything would just go back to normal. He'd lived this...farce...for long enough. Like the room, it wasn't real, and he'd be a fool to let it continue.

It hurt. Of course it hurt. He liked the fact that somebody, at least, seemed to think him worth something, worth putting time and energy into; that an adult might actually like him and care what happened to him. But he'd had dreams before, too; was experienced enough with them to know that they didn't lead to anything good or real, and to know that if it was painful to pull back from them now, it would be agony later. And Harry couldn't just keep deluding himself. Reality was bleak, but at least it was stable. It wouldn't blow up in his face the way dreams would.

Deciding to give up on his mostly-uneaten food, Harry left the Great Hall and headed for Snape's office.

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“Come in, Harry.”

Harry entered Snape's office to stand in front of his desk, expecting a reprimand. I don't care, he reminded himself. Snape just stared at him, like he did sometimes when he was trying to understand something he was saying, or maybe judge his mood. It had scared him, before, when the man had studied him in such a focused way, but somewhere along the line he had realized that it was Snape's way of listening. The man really did seem to want to know him. And it doesn't matter. Harry schooled his own face to blankness, not revealing anything of his own turmoil. Snape frowned.

“What is going on, Harry?”

“Nothing, sir,” Harry said carefully.

Snape's frown deepened as he said, “I highly doubt that.”

Harry shrugged.

“Are you angry with me?” Snape asked.

“No, sir.”

Snape looked...bewildered. “What are you doing?” he finally asked.

Harry schooled his expression to one of innocent bewilderment. “Doing, sir?”

A hint of anger entered Snape's tone. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“I am being polite, sir,” Harry answered carefully.

“Yes. That is exactly what worries me.”

He decided not to respond to that.

“Very well. I will leave it alone, for now. You will, however, apologize for your behavior this afternoon. I know you heard me when I told you to stay until I dismissed you. The detention is for your disobedience, but I demand your apology as well.”

“I apologize for my rudeness and disobedience, sir,” Harry said coolly.

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Severus did a double-take. What in Merlin's name was that? Harry either apologized willingly with true remorse, or he argued. He never just...apologized politely when asked. Harry was exactly correct. He was being polite. And I'm missing something. What is going on in the boy's head?

You'd think I'd be happy, Severus reflected, meeting Harry's blank stare. But satisfaction was the last thing on his mind. There were times that he wanted Harry's respect and courtesy, but not like this. Harry should never treat him this politely. There was somehow something wrong with this level of politeness when they were alone and the boy wasn't in trouble. He is in trouble, Severus reflected, but that seemed irrelevant. It was the wrong kind of politeness, even for that. What is going on, here? Did I say something to anger or hurt him? But Harry had never responded like this, before.

Finally he figured out the difference – Harry wasn't just being polite, he was being formal. He was treating him with the formality and distance of a teacher. And that just wasn't what their relationship was, anymore. If nothing else, this was the proof of it – this politeness and formality felt cold. Felt wrong.

What the hell did I do? Severus wondered again. And why was Harry reacting like this? It felt like a rebellion, almost, but against what? And why like this? It was...disturbing.

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“Stop it,” Snape demanded sharply.

Harry kept his face blank. “Stop what, sir?”

“This – mask – you're putting on. It isn't you, and I don't like it. Stop it. Immediately.”

“Am I breaking a rule, sir?” Harry inquired, carefully modulating his tone.

Snape frowned deeper, and his voice turned sharp. “That is irrelevant. I told you to stop it.”

Don't argue, Harry told himself. Don't talk. It won't help. He kept his face blank, and just stared back.

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Severus watched as Harry's face closed off even further. Maybe if I make him angry?

“All right then, corner.”

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Harry stared at Snape, startled. What'd I do? I'm not being bad, or anything. He can't punish me for being polite!

Harry struggled to regain his calm. “Am I breaking a rule, sir?” he asked again.

“I don't care if you are or not,” Snape answered, matter-of-fact.

Once again, Harry fought to keep his composure, but heard some anger enter his voice. “You cannot punish me for being polite. Sir.”

“Then I am punishing you for bullshitting me. Corner. Now.”

This was not in the plan. This was not how it was supposed to go. Snape was usually at least fair. He set up rules ahead of time and expected Harry to follow them, he didn't just arbitrarily put him in the corner for nothing.

“S-sir,” he said, hearing his voice come out uncertain. I don't care, he reminded himself, standing up straighter. “Never mind.”

He walked over to the corner and stood, back ramrod straight, and stared at the wall.

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Severus stared after Harry for a moment, mentally kicking himself. He hadn't expected the boy to actually obey. Harry always spoke up when he was upset about something! He argued, he complained, he yelled, he didn't just go.

Brilliant, Severus. Well-thought out plan, careful execution...and he's in the corner, following a completely arbitrary rule that you made up on the spot. Clearly this is an improvement to the situation.

Even worse, Harry had objected, briefly. He was finally getting an idea of what was reasonable and unreasonable, of how he should expect to be treated by Severus, and now this. Harry was completely correct that it was unfair. It was a minor unfairness – Severus did, after all, have the right to expect to be obeyed – but it was still an unfairness. Now what do I do?

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Harry stood and stared at the wall, inwardly fuming, and trying not to. I don't care. Snape can just punish me all he wants, and I'll be fine. But he hurt. This whole thing sucked. The very fact of standing in the corner reminded him of how much better he was, now, then when he'd first met Snape. He didn't like having his back to the room, but he wasn't dying of anxiety, either. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that Snape would never hurt him on purpose, and even that the man would challenge anyone who did. He was safer in this office than he'd ever been anywhere in his entire life. He remembered his conversation with Blaise, just that morning, with increasing sadness. They'd joked around about what would happen to Sinestra, 'cause she'd frightened him. Damnit, I don't care. I was doing fine on my own. I don't need anything from Snape, and it won't help to have it now, if it's just going to disappear later.

But he knew, too, that Snape was trying to get a reaction out of him. Snape didn't like this – mask, as the man had called it. It's not you, and I don't like it. What's so wrong with being polite? Except the man didn't really ask him to be polite, most of the time, just as Harry didn't mean to be disrespectful, most of the time. It was a joke, almost, and this – wasn't. This sucked. But he doesn't have to put me in the bloody corner for it. Asshole.

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“Harry,” Severus called after fifteen minutes were up. “Come and talk to me, please.”

Harry turned and walked toward him, face once again blank. He looked...unhappy, though, under the blankness. What was going on with the boy? Please, child. What is going on? Harry still wasn't talking.

“I cannot read your mind, Harry,” he finally said.

“I am not asking you to,” Harry answered shortly.

“Then what do you want?”

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Harry thought carefully. Should he tell Snape what he was doing? Let him know how much easier it would be for Harry if he just let go now? Oh yeah, great idea. 'Cause that would totally convince him to back off. Snape had said – and frequently – that he wasn't going anywhere. He probably even believed it. But he's still just my teacher, and this is still all just a stupid fantasy. Harry didn't want to hurt the man, but the best course really was to just show him that he wanted him to go away, but not why.

“I want you to leave me alone,” Harry finally answered. “I want you to back off, and let me live my life. Please.”

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Severus did a double-take, disbelieving. The boy sounded dead serious. He doesn't hate me. I know he doesn't, he reminded himself. Something else is going on. But he'd thought Harry was done trying to get rid of him, that they'd been building something, and that Harry had understood that. Why is he doing this? he wondered again. What the hell did I do?

“I'm afraid I cannot do that, Harry,” he answered finally.

Harry's face remained blank, but his answer came out harsh. “Why not?”

Severus felt a tiny sliver of satisfaction around his hurt. So he can get angry.

“Because I am selfish,” he answered bluntly. “Perhaps you think I do not matter to you, and truly wish me to back off, but you matter to me. Once again, I am not going anywhere. You will simply have to get used to me.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Harry held onto his blank expression by sheer force of will. As much as he needed Snape to back off, the words were a relief. The man was going to be difficult about being driven off; he wouldn't just go on Harry's say-so. Damn the man. What am I going to do? Arguing would be talking to him, and if being blunt about his wishes had not worked to persuade him, arguments about how yes, in fact, Snape would eventually leave wouldn't either. But I can still just not care, and be polite, he reminded himself. If he didn't care, then it wouldn't matter that Snape did. And if he was polite, then Snape couldn't force him into contact with him any more often than was necessary for his classes. But damn, it hurt.

“What would you like me to do, sir?” he asked politely.

“Do?” Snape inquired.

“For my detention,” Harry reminded him. That's what I'm here for, remember? Detention?

Snape frowned at him. “Do not change the subject.”

Harry didn't say anything.

“Answer me, Harry.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry said, slightly mocking behind the polite tone, “but would you repeat the question?”

A slight tic in Snape's jaw let Harry know that the man was getting frustrated. Well good, so am I. Would you just give me something to do, already?

“You would not answer it even if I had asked one,” Snape answered.

“Probably not,” Harry answered, still polite.

Snape closed his eyes briefly, like he was taking a moment to control his temper, then said, “Very well. You will scrub cauldrons.”

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“What's up with you?” Blaise asked Harry as he picked at his food the next morning.

Life blows, that's what's up. “Nothing.”

“Of course not,” Blaise said. “There's never anything ever wrong with you. So what's up?”

Harry turned on him. “For once, could you just not notice something, Blaise? I don't need a fucking babysitter.”

Blaise lifted both eyebrows. “Well excuse me for breathing.”

Harry shook his head. It's not Blaise's fault. “My bad, I guess. Would you just leave me alone, though, please?”

“That depends. Is it life-threatening?”

Harry stared at him for a moment before getting up and walking out, leaving his food mostly untouched behind him.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“You okay?” Theo asked at dinner the same day.

“Fine,” Harry answered irritably.

Ron gave him an incredulous look. “If this is fine, what's 'bad', mate? You've been weird all weekend!”

I've had worse. Thanks for your concern. He decided not to say it out loud, but Theo answered Ron.

“Yeah, did something happen with Snape or something?”

“No, Snape's just great. Bloody fantastic.”

“What'd he do?”

“He didn't do anything,” Harry snapped, “just back off!”

“Woah,” Theo said softly, “allright, Harry. I'll leave it alone.”

“Git,” Ron muttered under his breath.

Harry ignored both of them.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Two days later, Blaise caught up to Harry studying in the library.

“What the hell is up, Harry?” he demanded.

“Leave me alone,” Harry answered neutrally.

“No fucking way,” Blaise said bluntly. “You've been avoiding me all weekend, and you look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. Did something happen with Snape?”

Harry kept his tone as blank as he did with Snape. “Nothing happened at all. I am fine. I just want to be alone.”

“So I noticed. If you wanted to be alone all the time, you shouldn't've made friends. Since you did make friends, I'd appreciate it if you stopped blowing us off.”

“I've got work to do.”

“Bullshit.”

Harry returned to his Potions essay without answering. He couldn't concentrate, with Blaise standing over him, but he did a good enough fake, and after ten miserable minutes Blaise finally gave up. “Fine. I'll leave. When you're done sulking you know where to find me.” He packed up his books and got up, leaving Harry alone and staring at his suddenly-blurry textbook. Lovely. So now I'm driving all my friends off, too.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The next morning, Harry had Potions class, during which he was careful to pay attention to his potion and not cause any trouble. He was equally polite and attentive in the rest of his classes, and, though Professor Sprout gave him funny looks, it worked out well. The new Defense professor turned out to be an absolute imbecile who didn't teach shit unless one happened to be interested in the best hair products to achieve his trademark 'wavy locks', but Harry was, through great effort, polite even to him. His friends didn't try to talk to him, which he figured was probably for the best. He'd only bite their heads off. He was close enough to it, as it was - Hermione especially continually gave him worried looks, while Blaise ignored him entirely, and he felt like screaming at both of them to just ignore the issue and let him live his life. For the most part, though, he got to the end of the day without mishap – no extra detentions, nobody talking to Snape about him, no reason for Snape to give him a second glance. Except that he had his stupid 'talking' session, still. As he had frequently during that semester, he considered not going, and decided that that would be dumb. He'd just bring something to do.

And so when Snape showed up in the Room of Requirement, Harry was already neck-deep in a Transfigurations project for his class with McGonagall, and didn't look up at his entrance.

“Harry,”

Harry ignored him.

“Harry, that is not polite.”

True, and for once I'm trying to be. Harry looked up. “I apologize, Professor. I was involved in my work. Did you need something?”

A muscle in Snape's jaw twitched. “I need you to tell me what is going on.”

“Talking to you is optional in here, is it not, Professor?”

The muscle jumped again. “It is.”

“Then leave me alone, please. I have a lot of work to do.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Severus clenched his teeth. That sounded like something Draco might say. It was so Slytherin – he had promised the boy that he wouldn't force him to talk, and it was extremely important that he remain consistent and honest with him. Harry had to know that Severus couldn't do anything about it, too. He wasn't stupid.

“Very well,” he gritted out.

A little apprehension showed in Harry's eyes at his tone, but the boy went back to work without comment, and the small attempts Severus made to draw him into conversation were ignored completely. Damn.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A knock on Severus' office door made him look up, hoping it was Harry but almost certain it was not. “Enter!” he barked.

To his surprise, Hermione Granger opened the door tentatively and walked to stand primly in front of his desk, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. She was nervous. No surprise there. He wasn't in the habit of encouraging Gryffindors to bother him in his office.

“Do spit it out, Ms. Granger. I have little time for your petty concerns.”

She bit her lip briefly and wrung her hands a bit, but spoke. “I – do you know what's going on with Harry, Professor? 'Cause he's really unhappy and I-”

“Naturally blamed me,” Severus finished mockingly.

“No! That's not it at all, Professor! I just figured you'd be the one to know, and that maybe you could fix it!”

“Do I look like a genie, Ms. Granger?” Severus asked acerbically. “I assure you that I know as little of what is going on with Mr. Potter as you do. Now unless you have something useful to say-”

Hermione looked upset. “You don't know?”

“I am not in the habit of intruding as blatantly on Mr. Potter's privacy as it would require to get this out of him. And neither should you.”

“It's something about you, Professor,” Hermione blurted out.

Severus smirked. “So you do, in fact, blame me.”

“Would you just listen?” she finally retorted tartly. She sounded so much like McGonagall that if it were Harry he'd've smiled. Instead he just sat back, knowing that it would be read – subconsciously, at least, - as a more open posture.

“By all means, Ms. Granger. Do tell me your brilliant deduction.”

“We asked him if it was about you and he said no, but in that angry way he has that really means yes. And he's being really, really, polite in class, like he's trying at all cost to stay out of trouble.”

She does know him. Interesting. Blaise was Harry's closest friend – the only one of the four of them that could keep up with him, in some ways – but it actually looked like Hermione was the second, which he hadn't expected at all. And she and Blaise get along pretty well, too, when they're not being competitive, he remembered. Finally he got back on track. He said no, but in that angry way he has that really means yes. Doesn't that sound familiar. And Harry was trying to stay out of trouble?

“And you think this is significant-?” he asked her, deliberately sounding skeptical.

“He's trying to stay away from you! But I just don't know why but I figured maybe you would.”

I don't know either, but that helps some, I suppose. “Even if I did, Ms. Granger, I would be highly unlikely to inform you of it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I know.”

“Then why approach me?”

“Because usually you make him happy!” she burst out. “You're nice to him, and he knows you're nice to him, and he likes that, so I don't know why he's being so weird all of a sudden about it! And if you don't know either, than nobody does. It's like nothing even happened and he just flipped out!”

He likes that? Really? “Do calm your hysterics, Ms. Granger. The boy is not dying.”

Hermione looked close to tears. “But he was last time,” she reminded him angrily. “He's hurt, and he won't tell anybody why, and it's not even something Madame Pomfrey can fix this time. You're the only one that can, and you don't even care!”

He expected her to run – in his experience angry, frustrated, hysterical first-years tended to run away after a declaration like that – but she just stood there, challenging him almost like Harry did sometimes, and waiting for an answer, and he found a reluctant admiration for her courage.

“On the contrary, Ms. Granger,” he said more gently. “I do care. On the other hand, Harry has yet to give me any indication that he desires help. Until he does, I have very few options.”

The little know-it-all did not look happy to hear that he didn't have a miracle solution. I suppose I'm not, either. There was a moment's pause before he heard her say softly, and with distinct frustration, “he's just being so stupid.”

Once again, he was tempted to smile. “Idiotic, Ms. Granger, or cretinous. 'Stupid' is a word for ignoramuses, and unworthy of the potential vocabulary of a complete know-it-all such as yourself.”

She looked confused. Probably trying to figure out if that was an insult or a compliment.

“Now get out of my office, please.”

Still looking bewildered, she turned and left without a word.

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