Snape tapped his fingers on his desk, looking at Harry pensively.
Harry fiddled with his thumbs, beginning to feel quite sick of the scrutiny. “I thought you weren’t going to question me about the things you saw in my head.”
Snape raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “I never said that. You may have hoped that, but I did not say it. I said I would proceed with caution. I did not intentionally see the memory, but I did see it and do not plan to ignore its existence.”
Harry sighed. He had made significant improvement at Occlumency since they had changed the approach to it, but he wasn’t perfect. Snape hadn’t started attacking his mind again yet, but memories still slipped through the cracks while they were organizing his ridiculously sized mindscape. He didn’t think this particular one was a big deal, but Snape evidently did.
“How long has he been sending you letters like that?”
Harry stared up at the ceiling, wishing Snape would just let it go, but knowing the man better than that by now. “Since the start of term.”
“It is now October.”
“Yes.” Congratulations on comprehending a calendar.
“Have you responded to any of these letters?”
“No. I value my presence of mind.”
“You have been spending too much time around me,” Snape muttered under his breath. Harry had to agree. Nearly every evening for the past several weeks had been spent down in the dungeons and in his mind. He spent more time with Snape than with his friends. They were becoming way too familiar with one another.
But Harry was coming to the realization lately that he kind of… liked… Snape. To a certain extent.
He was still terribly cruel in class, but Harry knew now that a lot of that was because he had to be. After all, they were only able to have these meetings so often because Harry had apparently done something so horrendous - even he wasn’t quite sure what it was - that was worth daily detentions for the foreseeable future. Thank God McGonagall was in the order and knew what was going on, otherwise, she would have been throwing a fit on his behalf.
Umbridge approved of the detentions wholeheartedly.
“Potter,” Snape called his name, probably not for the first time judging by his tone.
“Yes?”
“What are we to do about these letters? They are destructive to your mental health and I don’t appreciate Mr. Dursley's efforts.”
Snape had this whole thing about ‘mental health’ lately. Apparently, Harry was in a bad way when it came to it. Personally, he really just didn’t care.
He’d gone from being angry all of the time to rather apathetic, which seemed to be the cause for concern. Harry didn’t see the problem; the problem had been his irrational anger and now it was gone. Big deal.
“They’re just letters, the same one over and over again. I don’t care.”
“Why do you keep reading them, then?”
“In case he has something important to say, like ‘Aunt Marge died.’ There’s not much good news these days. I need to know when I have something to celebrate.”
“Potter…”
Oh, no. That tone of voice always meant trouble.
Snape studied him.
“What?” Harry finally snapped at last. Perhaps his anger wasn’t 100% gone. He was no stranger to mood swings.
“I’m trying to decide what concerns me more,” Snape said. “Your usual blatant disregard for your own safety when others are at risk, or your apparent cold-heartedness in which you couldn’t care less about others’ safety.”
Ouch.
“That’s bold coming from you.”
“I hardly desire for you to end up like me. Hence the concern.”
“It’s the Dursleys,” Harry defended for what felt like the millionth time. “It’s different because I’ve never cared about them.”
“Never?”
Harry glared at the wall, not appreciating this conversation in the least. He couldn’t understand why Snape took every opportunity to talk about the Dursleys. They were dead to him, pretty much dead in general. Whatever had happened in the past didn’t matter anymore.
Dudley’s letters did make him feel guilty and like a horrible person for feeling this way, but it also strengthened his resolve. He hated the Dursleys. Confessing their treatment of him just gave him the freedom to say so publicly.
Sure, he’d cared about them in the past. Back when he was young enough to believe that if he behaved well enough they could possibly love him. They had been his only opportunity for a family, after all. But that hope had died long before Uncle Vernon himself had. Harry wasn’t a child anymore, nor was he an idiot.
He didn’t say anything.
Snape sighed. “I’m going to discuss this with Mr. Dursley. He will not be sending you these letters any longer.”
“Don’t do that,” Harry said, imagining Snape descending upon Dudley like a great big bat making threats against sending letters. “It’s fine. It doesn’t bother me. It’s an outlet for him. I don’t care.”
“If I hear you say ‘I don’t care’ one more time-” Snape said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Harry wondered what he would do. He almost wanted to chant the words over and over again just to see what happened.
He didn’t need to though. He wanted to be able to consider himself a normal person and doing something as silly and childish as that would likely diminish that idea.
“I don’t care” - Harry almost laughed out loud at this wording - “if it is his outlet. Despite what your experience in the Dursley household might lead you to believe, you are not a punching bag. It is not your fault that his mother was captured. It is not your responsibility to fix it for him. You are a child, a child that is my responsibility, and I will not allow him to treat you such as this.”
It was totally weird. This was by far not the worst thing Dudley had ever done to him - for God’s sake, it was just a few measly letters - but no one had ever stood up for him like this before. Not even when Dudley and his gang had been beating Harry black and blue on the rare occasion they’d been able to catch him during a game of Harry hunting. He’d always wished for someone to do something about Dudley, and up until now no one ever had.
But… Snape was wrong. It was Harry’s fault, and it was his responsibility. This time Dudley’s treatment was deserved, and he didn’t need - he didn’t think he even wanted - Snape to take it away from him. It was like a form of self-punishment. He feared that if he didn’t get his daily letter from Dudley filled with his wrongs, he would spiral from his own thoughts on it all.
No, Snape could not take that away from him.
“I don’t want you to,” he said, looking the man in the eyes.
“Why on earth not?” Snape was clearly frustrated and fed up with Harry’s bullshit. Harry was pretty tired of it himself.
“I just don’t.” Harry stood up, feeling a bit lightheaded as he did so. He hadn’t eaten much that day. “It’s getting late, I should go.”
Snape stood as well, but only to push Harry back down in his chair. “It is hardly late, and I wish to discuss this with you.”
“I’d really rather not,” Harry said evasively, wondering how he could get out of this.
“Harry…” ugh, God, how come Snape doing something as simple as calling him by his name always seem to weaken his resolve? “I must admit that I worry for you.”
“Have I not been doing well at Occlumency? I’ve been trying my hardest and trying to focus and I think it’s going well.”
“Yes, you’re doing quite well. Do you believe that Occlumency is my only concern for you?”
That was a sticky slope. Harry shrugged.
Snape obviously wasn’t comfortable with this topic either, as he quickly changed the subject. “You have been doing well at Occlumency, and at managing your anger, and I commend you for that. But this recent bout of apathy has me concerned.”
“Why?” Harry asked, unable to figure it out for himself. “Not to sound too apathetic, but who cares?”
“I-” Oh no, better watch out for the slippery slope of admitting to feel anything other than contempt for Harry.
Harry knew that he was being unfair. Snape had been the most stable person in his life as of late, and he’d rarely even raised his voice at Harry these past several weeks despite Harry not exactly being the most desirable person to be around these days, and Snape hadn’t even liked him before. Harry didn’t need Snape to tell him that he cared, he could recognize that for himself.
The question was why?
“You are clearly depressed, but previously your anger seemed to keep you afloat. Your being so reserved now is…”
“Do you think I’m suicidal or something?”
“I said no such thing. Should I be concerned about that?”
“No,” Harry said truthfully. He really hadn’t thought about killing himself at all besides just a few fleeting thoughts here and there, but everybody had those, right?
Snape frowned. He should be happy to hear that Harry didn’t want to kill himself - though maybe he didn’t care about him after all and was hoping for as much - but maybe now it was just more confusing for him. Harry wished that he could help him out, but he really didn’t know or care to know what was going on with him himself.
Harry was just so tired. He wanted to give up.
He must have said it out loud because Snape’s frown deepened.
“Sorry,” Harry apologized. “I don’t- I think I just need to sleep it off. Can I go now?”
Snape seemed to try to think of a reason to keep him there but had obviously run out of topics to discuss. Depressed, yes, suicidal, no. Where exactly did one go from there?
“I’ll walk you to the tower,” he said instead. Harry wanted to decline the offer but knew that it wasn’t one.
They walked up the castle in stilted silence, Harry under his invisibility cloak in case they were to run into people who would question why Snape and Harry were together and not fighting. Harry wondered that himself sometimes.
They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Snape took Harry’s cloak off before he could do it himself, looking contemplative as he folded it up and handed it back to him.
“I’m going to speak to your cousin,” he said at last.
“But-”
Snape shook his head. “I believe you punish yourself for things that are not your fault enough as it is. You don’t need his added burden, whether you consider it one or not.”
Harry kept silent.
“Get some sleep. We have a long road ahead of us.”
Harry didn’t bother with a goodnight. He muttered the password to the portrait and stepped inside, wishing that it was a rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland that he could go down and escape from this world.
No one was in the common room. Ron and Hermione didn’t bother staying up for him anymore and Harry didn’t blame them. He was glad they didn’t. Still, Harry was in one of those moods and took a moment to relish in the feeling of loneliness and feel sorry for himself for a little while before he went up the steps to the boys' dormitory and went to sleep.
***
Harry knew that the upcoming holiday - if one wanted to call it that - likely had a lot to do with his downtrodden mood. Everywhere he went, everyone was chattering about the exciting festivities coming up, the black and orange decorations and what kind of candy would be at the feast this year.
Harry longed for the days when Halloween was just a day where kids dressed up for free candy. Not that he had first hand experience of it himself - Harry certainly had never been allowed to participate in trick or treat so Halloween hadn’t ever really meant much to him, just another day where Dudley got to have fun and emphasize just how insignificant Harry’s existence was. Still, it was better when Halloween was just a day for other kids to enjoy while Harry spent the evening in his cupboard, rather than now when he recognized it as the day his parents had been murdered. And it wasn’t as though it was just some unfortunate day that Harry could take to reflect in private - no, in the wizarding world, Halloween was hailed as the day that Harry had, allegedly, bested Voldemort.
It was even more irritating this year given the fact that Harry knew that Voldemort was far from dead and yet everyone still wanted to celebrate the false fact of his downfall. And no one ever seemed to understand that Harry didn’t really feel up to celebrating the anniversary of the night he’d been orphaned.
At least Harry didn’t seem to be the only one in a foul mood as of late. Snape was acting ill as well and Harry almost felt grateful for it. He felt like it validated his own irritability and gave him permission to express it. Though, Professor Snape was always a bit on the sour side, so it really didn’t say much that he was snapping at students in the corridors. Still, Harry, like everyone else, tried to steer away from him more so than usual, though Harry had a more difficult time of it considering their nightly sessions.
Taking all of that into consideration, it was a given that their meeting the night before Halloween was less than civil.
“I swear, Potter,” Snape snapped, clearly getting fed up with Harry’s lack of natural talent for Occlumency, despite his recent improvements. “It is not that difficult.”
“It’s not difficult for you to say that, given you already know how to do it!” Harry shot back. “I’m sorry that I’m too stupid to grasp the concept right away.”
“You are not stupid,” Snape scowled. “You simply lack the concentration skills to comprehend a word I say to you.”
“Yes, well, I do believe we’ve covered my lack of concentration. What next?”
Snape rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Harry had to give it to him, the man did try. But so did Harry, and he was tired of having to prove it all the time.
“I believe we are in need of a break,” Snape said after a moment. “Don’t give me that look- I am not kicking you out. Perhaps meeting everyday is not what’s best for your development at this stage. A few days off may be for the best.”
Harry schooled his features, not sure what sort of look he had been presenting before but not eager to keep displaying it if Snape felt the need to comment on it. “Oh.” He didn’t know why he felt disappointed. It wasn’t as though he enjoyed Occlumency lessons.
“A few days, Potter. I’m quite sure that you can manage that long.”
“I know,” Harry defended himself. “I just- I’m not sure what I’ll have to do to pass the time without my daily detentions.”
“Perhaps studying? Completing your homework? This is a school, after all.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I meant something of importance.”
“I assure you that your studies are important, and you should take them more seriously.” Blah, blah, blah. Harry let Snape go on about his schoolwork, as though it really mattered. Harry doubted that he would be alive long enough for his studies to pay off in the end.
“Potter.” Harry flinched as he realized Snape had come closer to him, and immediately felt embarrassed for it. “Sorry,” he said, and felt even worse.
Snape brushed past it. “Though it seems doubtful that you will attend to your studies, I’m certain that you’ll be able to find something to pass the time without causing mischief. It would do you good to spend time with your friends, and the Halloween feast is tomorrow-”
“I’m not going to the feast,” Harry interrupted.
“Why ever not? Your attempts at isolating yourself from your peers are becoming very-”
“I’m not isolating myself from anyone,” Harry snapped. “Just because I don’t want to go to a pointless celebration centered around the deaths of my parents doesn’t mean that I’m ignoring people, I’m just not participating in the same activities.”
Snape was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t realize you felt so… strongly about the date. You’ve always attended the feast before.”
“Yes, well…” Harry thought about the ghostly forms of his parents coming out of Voldemort’s wand in the graveyard. He thought of the sound of his mother’s screams as the dementors came near. And of the killing curse that Professor Moody - or, well, Crouch Jr, he supposed - had cast on the spider in class. “I feel different, now.”
“I doubt that your parents would appreciate you moping around the castle.”
“It’s not moping,” Harry glared. “Does it not occur to anyone that perhaps it might be slightly inappropriate to have a party on the anniversary of their deaths? I know, I know, they’re not the only people to ever die on Halloween - but you know that’s what everyone is thinking about, the supposive defeat of Voldemort, and how great it was, not sparring a single thought for the people who died.”
“You need not argue with me,” Snape said levely. “I quite agree with you on that point, Mr. Potter.”
Harry thought about the reverence in Snape’s voice on the rare occasions he had spoken of Harry’s mother. He still didn’t know much about that relationship, and wasn’t sure why he hadn’t asked. But it was obvious that Lily Potter - or perhaps only Lily Evans - had been someone of great importance to Snape.
And he wondered if perhaps Snape was in a bit of a bad mood lately for the same reasons as Harry.
“Good,” Harry said quietly. “Then I won’t have to argue with you about not going to the feast.”
“Well,” Snape sniffed. “I’ll not have you skipping meals. So if you’re not planning on attending the feast you may… have your dinner here. If you wish.”
“You said we need a break.”
“From Occlumency. I am not… opposed to your general presence.”
Harry stared at him. Was Snape… inviting him to spend time with him, just for the sake of it? That seemed very unlikely. But yet… Here they were.
Harry twisted his mother’s bracelet around his wrist, pondering. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t spent time together outside of lessons before as Harry had been a rather frequent visitor in his house this summer, but, well… It had been Harry, after all, seeking the solitude of Snape’s company. Snape hadn’t ever actually invited him, had he?
“Of course, I understand if you’d rather spend the evening alone, it is rather personal, but…”
“No,” Harry said quickly. “I, um… I think that would be nice. Not to be alone, I mean.”
“Well, then,” Snape said, shifting nervously, and wasn’t that a sight to behold, Snape looking nervous? “It’s settled.”
“Yeah,” agreed Harry, smiling slightly as he picked up his bag and prepared to leave. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Maybe he would finally get the courage to ask Snape just how he’d been friends with his mother to the extent that he knew Aunt Petunia.
Snape nodded. “Tomorrow.”
The strange thing was, tomorrow came and Harry was there, but Snape was nowhere to be found.
The Cauldron Sputters