Backlash

Chapter 3

"If we're clear about that, shall we move to the next matter?"

Harry groaned. The newly found confidence about a possible victory, gracefully slipped into annoyance. What more could Snape possibly want from him? It was when he raised his gorilla eyebrows that Harry realised he's spoken aloud.

Snape narrowed his eyes, his eyebrows came together to form an elegant 'V' and lips thinned dangerously that warned Harry about the tirade he was about to receive. "It's not me who wants anything from you. It's not me who wants you to flare your almighty wings and perish all their fears like drenched kittens." He said somewhat calmly. "It's definitely not me who you've filled with wild hope that there's even the slightest possibility of making through this mess. And I thought it was quite obvious that I don't expect you to win."

Harry stared at him. Snape's words were frank and sure. True and hid no possibilities of his inner motives about safeguarding Harry's modesty. What he didn't expect, was for them to be hurtful. Of course Snape didn't believe in him. No one should. They have no reason to sink their trusts upon a teenager other than that fact that they're desperate. Desperate for someone, anyone to take lead and guide them, to hold their trembling hands and lead them towards victory. For someone to follow and someone to blame when everything goes down to hell.

It was just his wonderful luck, that the 'someone' happens to be one Harry James Potter.

At the same time, the fact that Snape wasn't relying on him to save everyone, was oddly reassuring. That there was someone in the least, who saw him as he is - a child.

His lack of trust in Harry shouldn't have been as hurtful as it was. To be honest, he didn't trust the man himself. He's seen too much of atrocity in him to call him good. But he was on elder, one among few who Harry should've been able to put his hopes on. To guide him, reassure him. But a little was always too much to ask from him.

But it wasn't Snape who Harry was worried about. His opinions mattered - however less- but it was the realisation that he wasn't alone on the troop. That there were other people who only saw him as a product of desperate hope, as a normal kid whose life was untainted with prophecies that governed his life. And maybe even, as a no-one.

He sighed, suddenly tired. Maybe there were lots of others who regarded him as a liar. Still. As a puppet feigning gracelessly in the long, manipulative hands of the Ministry, spell-lessly imperioused by them. Or Dumbledore, in a truer sense. And last year was proof enough that he could be despised as thoroughly as the inverse.

If a bunch of people worshipped him, among them were ones who saw him as a nobody, an insignificant teenager pinning for spotlight. Even when the spotlight was a result of his parents' murder and an ugly scar on his forehead.

That grouping was of course, excluding the ones that were out there to kill him.

His eyes shuttered close, another sigh escaping his lips. It was silent for a few minutes while which he could feel Snape's eyes on him. The thoughtful silence was broken when Snape spoke aloud. "I don't expect you to win, but I won't resent being proven wrong."

Harry's eyes snapped open. The words were spoke so quickly that Harry had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't just imagining them. But Snape was no longer looking at him, staring at the floor quite intensely.

It was obvious that it pained his professor to drop his bloated ego and admit what he did, but the fact that he went out of his way to reassure Harry, brought a smile on his face. That yes, the expectations about his win were about as low as it could possibly get, but they weren't at least, non-existent. The group of people he was worrying about a few moments ago, were on his side and they too would be pleasantly surprised to see Harry doing his best to live up to the expectations. And if supposedly Harry won, they won't curse, but bless him.