Chapter 17

The Tendencies of a Father

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Harry walked quickly, trying to put as much distance between himself and Snape's office as possible. He wasn't sure if he'd just made the right choice, but he was sure that he couldn't have stood another second in the middle of that intense argument.

Oddly enough, despite Snape's unremitting malevolence towards him, it was Dumbledore whom Harry was most upset with. Agreeably, Snape shouldn't have faced him with the debate of which adult to listen to, but at least he hadn't forced him into such an unnerving situation. Dumbledore had given him the more difficult choice of which adult to side with. Harry had been placed in the middle of a dispute, uninvited and undecided on his partiality. Dumbledore had made it seem as though Harry was siding with him, but in reality, he hadn't been happy with either one of the men. Everything Dumbledore had said to Snape was fully called for, but he didn't have to make it a public affair involving all three of them. The last thing he wanted to deal with was Snape and his repressed rage built up from feeling as though Harry and the headmaster had teamed up against him.

It would have been better if he were left alone, but Harry had hardly put two floors between himself and Snape's office when Dumbledore turned up again, looking worn out, but nevertheless, satisfied. As soon as Harry saw him, he froze, put off at the impenitent, cheery look on the old man's face.

"I take it I'm to go back, then?" said Harry flatly as Dumbledore approached, trying hard to keep the irritation out of his tone.

Dumbledore closed his mouth, as he had opened it to speak, and then smiled gently. "Perhaps you shouldn't have given up Divination," he said, eyes twinkling, "is that the inner eye I sense in you?"

If Harry hadn't been annoyed before, he was now. "No," he said in the same flat tone, but with more force behind his voice than he'd had previously, "I don't think that's quite what you're sensing."

Dumbledore's smile faded, and he frowned. "Harry, if I did something to offend you, you might tell me what it is I've done, rather than take exception to me whilst I'm left in the dark."

"You mean you don't know?" Harry asked, now barely managing to keep his volume under control. "Do you think what you just did was any better than Snape? I would have thought you, of all people, would understand my reasons for not wanting to go back there- because I know you didn't buy that bit about needing to do my homework- and still you drag me down to his office and tell him off for what he did in front of me so he'll- what- hate me more?"

"Professor Snape doesn't hate you, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Well, he's got a funny way of showing it," Harry said, adjusting his bag, which was starting to feel extremely heavy.

"Look, Harry," said Dumbledore, placing a hand upon his right shoulder, "I know you two haven't fared well in the past, but I think this year—"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't want to listen to you tell me how things could get better, how we just have to set our differences aside. Right now, I don't want to listen to anything, and I'm not going to those lessons, not right now. – Sorry," He added as he turned and headed towards the library, leaving Dumbledore standing bewildered in the middle of the hallway.

No student had ever behaved this way towards Dumbledore, and at this moment, he was at a loss for what to do. He considered going after Harry, but upon consideration, realized this was not the best course of action. Instead, he turned and headed in the direction of the Potions master's office.

Upon entering the already open door, he found Severus seated at his desk, grading the essays that his N.E.W.T students had been sending over the summer. The man looked up at him, a tired and irritable look on his face.

"Yes, headmaster?" He inquired in a low, monotonous voice, which suggested he was very tired of meeting this way.

"You'll be interested to know that you won't be needing to carry through with an Occlumency lesson today," Dumbledore started.

"And why is this?" said Severus, begrudged by the instability of his day's schedule.

"In short," Dumbledore said with a resigned sigh, "Harry made it quite plain to me that he refuses." He was considering explaining further, but thought better of it at the look on Severus' face. It was a disbelieving and dismayed expression, and Dumbledore was curious what words were to follow.

"He refused?" Severus asked in mild astonishment, raising an eyebrow. "What- and you accepted that?"

"As it's me he's upset with," Dumbledore said despondently, "For unrightfully forcing him into a situation he had no desire to be in, I felt it would be best if I left it alone. He won't listen to me right now, and if I am to have him respect me, I believe I'll have to respect the fact that he needs my lack of interference."

"A novel idea," Severus said caustically, leaning forward in his chair. "But he can't be permitted to ignore what he is asked of by those in power over him."

"That is true," Dumbledore said, inclining his head in agreement, and partially to hide the smile tugging at his lips. He was careful to conceal his amusement as he looked back up.

Severus waited for a further response, and when he received none, he pressed, "The boy needs to be dealt with, do you not agree?"

"Maybe," Dumbledore said, "but not by me. As I've said, he's too angry with me, and he'll only hear me with defiance in his mind."

"Children will always be defiant; it is their inherent nature," Severus said cynically, raising an eyebrow. "But if you allow him to behave now with such flagrant disregard for authority, it only gives him incentive to do so in the future."

Severus could not, for the life of him, decipher the reason for the now unavoidable twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as the man looked up at him.

"Why Severus," Dumbledore said in amused disbelief, "I do believe you're beginning to sound like a father."

The disbelieving look upon Severus' face vanished as he realized what the Headmaster was getting at, and as he opened his mouth to speak, Dumbledore gave him a small smile and said, "Good day, Severus."

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Harry's tossed his bag carelessly into the chair next to him as he plopped himself in front of an empty table. The library was completely deserted and if Harry hadn't been in such an irritable mood, he probably would have found himself wishing he had someone else there; an unnerving silence hung in the air and every footstep, every sound, echoed creepily throughout the huge room. However, he now found himself glad for the lack of company.

Once he'd spread out his books across the table, (he did this in case someone happened upon him and asked questions about his purpose there), he set off down the commonly traveled rows of books, his eyes peeled for any literature which might help him solve the mysteries of his latest dreams. The last had been very different from the others. At first, the inexplicable visions had all entailed happy moments between his mother and Snape. Now, however, they'd begun to turn ugly. His thoughts inadvertently drifted back to his previous night's dream.

It had started with Snape at the small, dull Apothecary in Diagon Alley; Harry had been forced to watch in revulsion as his Potions Professor had selected several pickled animals for purchase, and had been forced to wonder what kinds of ingredients he would be required to use in the N.E.W.T. Potions class.

Harry had followed him as he'd left the shop in a rather hurried manner, and this was the first dream in which he'd seen Snape in just as dark and irascible a mood as he always was in at school. Harry had surveyed the scene in curiosity as he'd noticed his mother approaching, and had grown perplexed when Snape took no notice of her as she walked along, shooting him wary glances.

As Harry had lately grown accustomed to the happy dreams involving the two, he had first reasoned with his dream self that Snape was simply too absorbed in the pamphlet on Potions ingredients which he'd picked up at the shop to notice Lily heading straight his way. However, as Snape suddenly seemed to realize he was passing his next destination, he abruptly moved to turn into a small shop on the side of the street and blindly ran straight into Lily, sending her sprawling to the ground.

At first, Snape had looked down in surprise, and something resembling hopefulness had glistened momentarily in her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sor—" He had stopped mid-sentence, and Lily's anticipatory expression had faded into a look of hurt as his lip curled and he dropped the hand he had extended. His cold eyes swept over her, his hard sneer becoming more pronounced. He clearly had only now realized whom he had knocked over.

Lily had hurriedly picked herself up off the ground, leveling him with an equally cold expression as she steadied on her feet. A very strange thing then happened; the words that Snape had been about to utter seemed to die on his lips, and he didn't say a word. Lily seemed to want to say something; her face held the same defiance, but her eyes were soft and pleading. Snape only looked unflinchingly at her for a moment before picking up the bags he'd sent flying to ground and roughly shoving them into her arms.

"You might want to exercise a little more caution," Snape had said icily. "Just because James Potter doesn't mind having your filthy mudblood hands all over him doesn't mean every other man holds you in the same regard."

Snape had then pushed past her; Lily's fierce expression had wavered for a moment, but she'd quickly recovered. Looking around at those onlookers who'd stopped, she'd quickly moved through the crowd, cheeks flushing violently and blinking her eyes furiously.

Harry had woken up that morning with an uneasy feeling resulting from his night's dream. He was becoming more and more curious about the nature of these visions, and had resolved to later check the library.

And so, for this reason, he was choosing to spend his free time researching all that he could about the dream world. These visions were becoming more and more troubling, and while Harry tried to push them to the back of his mind and tell himself that they were simply nightmares brought on from the stress of his past few weeks, he could not ignore the fact that most nightmares don't leave one feeling strangely happy upon awakening the next morning. He couldn't ignore the fact that almost every detailed dream he'd had in the past had been far from pointless, and whether or not these scenes running though his head were based on fact or fiction, he needed to know the reason behind it, and what he could do to stop them.

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Dumbledore departed sooner than Severus could formulate any sort of response, and the normally imperturbable Potions Master found himself somewhat dumbstruck. How dare the Headmaster make such an insinuation? Severus had simply been shocked at the amount of calm Dumbledore had been maintaining after such appalling behavior and at the lenience he was demonstrating in allowing the boy to have his way. What kind of lesson was that? No, he hadn't spoken out of a fatherly desire to correct his son's conduct; he had spoken out of a reproving feeling of disagreement. It was no wonder that Harry was such an insolent child, with the exceptions that were made for him time and time again.

Severus was bothered by the lack of authority being exercised over Potter, after all, it seemed he was in need of strict discipline more than any of the other student at Hogwarts; none of them had intentionally sought out danger, attempting to take every matter into their own hands no matter the consequences. Dumbledore constantly seemed to confuse tolerance of wrong behavior with the giving of more responsibility. He seemed to think that by letting him slide, he was allowing him the space he needed to become more mature. What he didn't realize, in Severus' opinion, was that Harry needed to be treated as an adult as an adult would be treated in identical situations- and adults who had responsible obligations to fill could not simply refuse and be left to it.

The more Severus thought about it, the more firm he became in his former opinion; the boy needed to be dealt with. If no one ever reprimanded him for these childish actions, he would continue to take them… possibly until it was too late. Harry had most of the Wizarding world wrapped around his finger, it was true- but luckily, Severus thought, not everyone.

Had he been less absorbed in his dismay at Harry's appalling behavior, Severus might have realized just how like a parent he was thinking.

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Later that night, Harry was camped out in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, feeling very much like Hermione as he read through the mass of books surrounding him. He'd seated himself on the center of the floor with his best findings sorted into piles; the ones he had not yet gone over were stacked in a shaky pillar next to him, the ones he'd found unhelpful were tossed onto the couch, and the ones which had supplied ample information were marked and spread across the ground, opened to the most useful pages. He was so absorbed in his research, in fact, that he didn't realize Snape had entered the room until the man was standing directly above him, his silhouette casting a dark shadow across the page Harry was so diligently reading.

As unlikely though it would seem, Harry hadn't been startled. He noticed the lack of light bearing illumination to the words his eyes were attempting to scan, and instantly recognized the black boots planted in front of him. He slowly lifted his eyes to Snape's unpleasant face.

Harry felt vaguely annoyed, yet apprehensive, at Snape's presence there. At the risk of giving away what he knew Snape would perceive as fear, he suppressed the urge to swallow the dryness that had formed in his mouth, and somehow, he couldn't decide what to say. He had an idea that any greeting which inquired the reason for his presence would come off as cocky or disrespectful, and as little as he cared for the man's opinion of him, he did care about how it affected his demeanor. If he was, as it appeared, there to chastise Harry, then it seemed inadvisable to further provoke his wrath.

After a moment's debate, Harry settled on mildly saying, "Good evening, Professor," and lifting himself to his feet.

Snape looked around at the mounds of books with a raised eyebrow. "Interesting reading?" he asked dryly, no hint of warmth in his expression or voice. Harry didn't notice his Professor's attention waning to the books in question as he shrugged unceremoniously and stepped sideways, over one of his piles, towards an empty chair. However, when he turned and began to sink into his chair, he froze with sudden anxiety as he saw that Snape was peering interestedly at the literature before him. If his ever-intrusive professor started asking questions on his reasons for reading these books, Harry would either have to tell him the truth or leave him to the conclusion he was inevitably bound to come up with on his own; that Harry was having visions again. Hoping to steer Snape's interest in another direction, Harry unfroze and slowly sank into his chair, watching him carefully as he spoke.

"So, umm, did you want to see me about something?" Harry hoped his voice had concealed his unease, but by the look of Snape's unchanged face, he got the distinct impression that the man knew exactly what this question was intended to do. The feeling of trepidation pitting itself in Harry's stomach grew more intense as his professor didn't answer, but began to more incisively inspect the material, moving aside with his foot book after book and peering down at the subject titles scrawled across the pages.

"Tell me, Potter," said Snape softly, not lifting his gaze from the manuscripts, which he was still probing with acute scrutiny. He bent and picked up a particularly hefty and ancient looking volume and continued, his dark eyes glittering with accusation, "What would a sixteen year old boy want with a chapter on "Conceptual Dreams as Alternative or Authentic Reality"?" He looked up from the page to Harry, eyebrows raised in mock speculation. "Curious way to spend a free night… unless," he paused and put his finger to his chin, maintaining his façade of conjecture, "Unless, that boy happened to be plagued by constant visions which sometimes were true and sometimes not, and he wanted to learn to distinguish between the two; then I'd say that makes a lot of sense. Wouldn't you agree?"

Harry nodded glumly as he stared at the table in front of him. It was no use to object; Snape was just too quick at comprehension.

"Although I would say it would be much simpler to learn Occlumency, so that this boy would no longer have to bear false visions being planted in his head," Snape continued in the same horrible tone, moving slowly towards Harry, who maintained his gaze with the floor. "But as it is such an uncommon subject to find one adequate to teach, I suppose there would be sufficient reason to search for alternatives. If only," Snape said in piteous tones which didn't match his expression, shaking his head with each syllable and his lip curling disdainfully as he brought himself to a halt directly in front of Harry, forcing him to look up. "…There was someone who could give such instruction."

Harry scowled up at him for a moment before dropping his gaze again. Then, recognizing an opening for a valid point, he said slowly and in a sheer imitation of his professor's tone, "Yes, if only there was someone who could give such instruction and would refrain from throwing this boy from the office, then just maybe it would work."

Their eyes met, and Harry wondered briefly if he'd crossed the line. For a moment, Snape's expression was completely inscrutable, before he decidedly went on.

"You know, Potter," Snape said dangerously, turning and walking around the table as he continued, "Try as I might, I cannot fathom what thoughts must run through your head that give you this tragic hero complex." Reaching the end of the table, he spun around and crossed his arms, staring contemptuously at Harry. "You are offered assistance; your every need is catered to. Anyone and everyone willingly gives up any spare time they have to give you, all so that your life will not be so difficult, so that you won't have to suffer. And still, you do all you can to make it so you must stumble blindly through life, as though you think accepting help will make you weak."

"Wasn't it you who told me that fools who wear their hearts on their sleeves and wallow in sad memories are weak?" Harry demanded forcefully as he stood up, feeling any retorts would seem little more than feeble coming from him while he was sitting in a chair. "Well, I'm not wearing my heart on my sleeve; I'm not going to run to someone every time I've got a problem just so they can coddle me for all my vulnerability and try to protect me. People trying to protect me is how I was lured to the ministry last year, and accepting help only ever put others in danger; I won't let that happen anymore. I've moved past my sad memories. I've decided that I'll focus on what I can do and how to do it instead of worrying about what I can't change; that's what I've done- just what you said. Happy?"

Snape raised his eyebrows in slight incredulity, and then furrowed them again. "Of all the things I've tried to impress upon you," he said slowly, running his finger calculatingly over his lips, "that's the advice you heed?" He lifted his gaze to Harry for a moment, and taking his silence as affirmation, he shook his head. "You misread my implication."

"Then what was your implication?" said Harry challengingly.

"I tried to tell you then exactly what I'm trying to tell you now!" Snape snarled severely. "Somehow, you don't understand that you can't learn everything from yourself, because the tools and knowledge you need to strengthen yourself come from experiences you have yet to face! Part of growing up is learning how to live; this is why those who have lived longer are put in authority over you, to pass down the lessons they have learnt from their mistakes. At the time, I was expressing the necessity that you put aside the thoughts in your head and focus on what needed to be done, I was expressing the necessity that you accept the information being handed to you."

"Maybe what I need to know isn't something that you and Dumbledore can teach me," Harry said quietly, crossing his arms in defiance. He was being forced to reexamine just how influential Snape had been to his behavior the previous year, and again, he found himself bitter towards the man for forcing him to take the actions he had. He had considered every fault of Snape's to Sirius' death except this: that his entire year's treatment had dictated the way Harry had come to react to situations. Perhaps he'd impressed more upon him than either he or Harry had realized.

"And what if it is?" Snape responded sharply. "Do you really want to make that mistake? Do you want to realize with your last gasping breath that you were wrong?" His tone was that of a vehement hiss, but as Harry raised his eyes to the face of the dark man before him, Harry couldn't help noticing that his eyes held none of their usual malice. If anything, it was more of a desperation that suggested just how badly he felt Harry needed to understand his point. Strangely, it made all the difference that he seemed to be saying it more out of care than spite. Instead of the usual anger Harry felt at his words, something like guilt gave him a sharp stab in his chest as his arms dropped to his sides and he stared back.

A strange revelation then occurred to Harry. It was something everyone around him had been trying to say for years, but he understood it now more than ever. Now was the time to be mature; Snape's last sentence had displayed how much bigger this was then a feud between the two of them- this was life and death. Maybe Snape only cared that Harry survived for selfish reasons, but nevertheless, they both held the same desire.

What Harry didn't know, and what Severus Snape had just realized, was that Severus was finding himself horrified at the thought of Harry being killed for reasons which were much more difficult to explain…

xxx End Chapter xxx