Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

8 | Less Talking And More Suffering

"Childhood should be carefree, playing in the sun; not living a nightmare in the darkness of the soul."
Dave Pelzer

~~~

"Did you have to get another one, Severus?"

"Feel free to come out of your portrait and remove the boy. I'd do it myself if it wasn't for—"

"Yes, yes, your undying fealty to Dumbledore. Most admirable." The figure in the portrait sighed tiredly. "Though there is something strange about him... his magic in particular..."

Snape snorted. "It's Potter. The boy is a walking oddity. And a troublemaker too."

"Oddly quiet for a troublemaker, Severus." At this the figure sat back with a heavy smirk. "You do always see the worst in people, especially after—"

"I will have all your frames removed and relocated if you say a word further. In fact, I believe I must go now."

The portrait sighed once more. "For all the guile I expect mine to have, you do have your moments when you're as open as a Gryffindor." Pale painted fingers stroked the ligneous scales of an armrest. "Billow your robes away, Severus. I'll be waiting."

The ebony-haired wizard stormed away with a sneer, robes billowing as per, unaware of the ancient grey eyes watching him with a sad knowing.

***

Harry's head hurt, for far too many reasons to name. In fact, thinking about the number of reasons made his head hurt more.

One reason was definitely because Voldemort had had a sudden spurt of happiness, and decided to have a nice song and dance about it. His scar had erupted in pain a few minutes ago, and was still throbbing, much to Harry's annoyance. Occulemency did help with the pain sometimes, but at moments like these where Voldemort's emotions were at their strongest... it was generally better just to let it all run.

Another reason was definitely to do with Snape. Merlin's baggy Y-fronts was the man confusing. Only yesterday the man had been all 'obey me or face something worse than death.' And even Harry could admit he'd more than bollocked up today's breakfast, and yet all the man had said was 'come to our lesson on time and feel free to let your owl out.' Snape had been... almost kind? As kind as Harry had ever seen Snape? It truly was a miracle; Harry had half expected to be planning Hedwig's funeral by now, or perhaps his own after the fiasco that was this morning.

And then Malfoy. The Slytherin had never been so... not mean or insulting. Every one of their exchnages for the past five years had been laddened with jibes and slurs and defamations; the meanest thing Malfoy had said to him here was 'you speak like a peasant.' For the pureblood Prince of Slytherin (as Malfoy had dubbed himself during third year— the Gryffindors had quickly renamed him to the poofy, posh ponce of snakes), that was a compliment.

Hence there was the worry as to at what point would all these false niceties break. At what point would he have to start tolerating Malfoy's brutal barbs and Snape's cutting remarks.

And then there was everything else. The visible damage on his body made by the Dursleys, something he'd have to cover up with long-sleeved shirts and jeans. Only problem— it was summer. Not to mention the possibility of infection; some of the welts on his back had shown signs of festering yesterday but he'd have to wait for tomorrow to apply the ointment Dudley had given him.

Oh, and Dudley was a whole new headache.

Harry exhaled heavily, checking the age worn wrist watch he'd stolen from Dudley's discarded pile of birthday gifts several years ago.