His love for Potions I ✔

Chapter 19: Secret conversations and kittens

The first Quidditch game of the season ended with Harry in the hospital wing and his broomstick in shattered pieces. His broomstick and his first Quidditch loss were at the top of his mind, but he had so much free time to brood that he fit in a few minutes to think about what Professor Snape would say.

("If you keep yourself out of the hospital wing this year, Potter, I will show you how to make Fossilizing Fog out of powdered basilisk eyes.")

No, knowing Professor Snape he wouldn't even have to say anything, just look at Harry.

Harry had almost managed to fall asleep Saturday night when the curtain around his bed rustled. His visitor didn't say a word.

Harry froze, with the unsettling certainty that it was Sirius Black come to murder him. If he went for his wand, would he be in time? He held very, very still.

"Ah, Severus," came the headmaster's welcome voice, "Here you are."

"Headmaster," Snape said stiffly.

"Standing guard?"

"I was checking the potions stock here to see what needed replacement."

"Not checking on Harry?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You could be a little less hard on the boy, Severus. He looks up to you."

"You should find that as disturbing as I do, headmaster."

"There is wisdom in leaving the past in the past."

"Not that. Never that."

"He isn't his father, Severus."

"That... is not the problem. Surely you must see why this is twisted."

"I see a young boy who respects you."

"No."

"Then you will cease mentoring him?"

"I never started-"

"Severus."

Harry tried very hard not to breathe.

Harry tried very hard not to breathe.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, in a very gentle tone. "We won't speak of it again."

"Thank you, headmaster," Snape gritted out, and Harry heard the curtain rustle again.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry opened his eyes, wincing against the dim light and that gentle, inexorable look in Dumbledore's twinkling eyes. He didn't know why Dumbledore hadn't just twinkled Voldemort to death, it absolutely would have worked.

"I must ask you to be patient with him," Dumbledore continued. "We each have our own path to walk, but Severus has never had an easy one. Rather like you yourself."

Harry would really like to know what Dumbledore knew about Harry's path. Sometimes the fact that Dumbledore knew everything was less comforting than other times.

Dumbledore sighed.

"Or you could develop an interest in knitting," he suggested more lightly. "It's very peaceful work."

Harry laughed softly.

"Good night, my boy. Rest well."

#

It was nearly December, and Goyle loomed abruptly out of the shadows of the stairwell. Harry peered up at him through his hair. Apparently being tall wasn't enough to intimidate Harry anymore. He pulled out his wand and waited for Goyle to talk.

"You never told anyone I tried to smash your head in those times. Why?"

Harry thought back to his first year and its frantic pace. 'It never occurred to me that anyone would help' probably wouldn't be a strong answer.

"Well, you were just trying to protect Draco, right?" Harry tried cautiously. "Because he's your... friend?"

"Right," Goyle grunted.

"He says it's his job to protect you, you know." Harry had been curious about that for a while.

"He's tiny. Little tiny white kitten." Goyle sounded puzzled, but that wasn't unusual. Almost anything was enough to puzzle Goyle.

"I don't think he'd like you saying, er, that."

Tiny kitten?

"...we protect each other. That's what friends do, isn't it?" Goyle sounded doubtful.

"That's what friends do," Harry agreed, trying to parse Greg Goyle and mutual loyalty in the same thought. It didn't really work, but he kept his expression clear.

"Right."

"Ah - why bring it up now?"

"Talking about Black. In Azkaban."

"Yes...?"

"Wanted to know if I owed you."

"Because you... could have been expelled or sent to prison for attempted murder, and you weren't?" Harry hazarded.

"Right."

Talking to Goyle was incredibly exhausting. Harry did not know how Draco did it.

"We were kids. How about just...." What the hell was he supposed to say to this. He didn't want Goyle owing him anything. It was creepy. "We're even, okay? Don't worry about it."

Goyle considered this, and Harry concentrated on looking calm and collected.

"Next time I hex you, I'll miss," Goyle said, with a nod, and ambled off down the stairs.

Slytherins were so disturbing.