3.

He lowered the handkerchief and looked up. To his embarrassment, he couldn’t see the man, just some darker and lighter blurs in the vague shape of a person in front of his eyes.

“My glasses…” he mumbled uncertainly. “I dropped them…”

The man-shaped blur disappeared from his sight, and some moments later Harry heard a quiet “Reparo” spell. As the cool glasses slipped onto his nose again, things around him regained their normal forms. Snape included.

“Thank you, sir,” he said as clearly as he could. Snape, this time, didn’t reply, just nodded. “I’m sorry,” Harry added trying to begin with the most important issue: the long needed apology.

“I put an alarm spell on this room. It signalled that something happened,” Snape looked at him expectantly. Harry looked back without fear, hatred or resentment.

“I…” Harry didn’t know what to say. “I was cleaning the cupboard,” he gulped. It was so hard to speak, but yet, he wanted to tell Snape everything, he wanted him to know, that he, Harry knew, that he understood…

Snape, he saw, cast a side-glance towards the aforementioned furniture’s general direction.

“And?” the Professor asked again, his tone guarded, but full of hatred.

“I found a… Certificate,” Harry somehow forced out and felt as shame coloured his face. “Of my… James Potter and Sirius Black.” The urge to avert his head was strong, but he resisted. “I’m so...”

Somehow, he saw in front of his eyes the trail, which had started at that cupboard and led to their conversations and animosity when Snape scowled and his face turned an ugly brick-red colour in fury.

“Was it interesting reading, Potter?” he growled menacingly. Harry shook his head frantically.

“No, just…”

“More beautiful proof of your father’s outstanding humanity, isn’t it?”

“No, no, professor…”

Snape leaned so close that his nose almost touched Harry’s.

“Or did you find more proof that your teacher is just a filthy piece of shit, who deserved everything he got?”

“NO!” Harry yelled at the top of his lungs. “No!” he repeated slightly quieter. “You are not, sir and I… and I…” Harry couldn’t find the words to express himself.

“You what?” fingers dug into the muscles of his arms as Snape grabbed them.

Harry refused to flinch, or to look away. He thought for a short moment, and then using every Occlumency skill he had ever had, looked straight into those cold, black pools full of loathing and despising and concentrated hard on his own childhood memories, his life’s most hated, most humiliating and embarrassing memories, his cupboard, his being locked in, his desperation, his dread, his wetting himself, his pitiful attempts to flee from Dudley and his gang bullying him, the rags he had worn, the freak-comments – and finally his present feelings of grief and regret and understanding. The sympathy, which he had once been sure he would never feel towards the dungeons’ git.

“I hate what they did to you, sir,” he said trembling, his voice hoarse. “I felt as if… as if they had done that to me, and now they are dead… They both are dead, but this time… they died inside of me.” He lowered his head and muttered to the floor, “I think they would have done the same to me…”

The clasping hands fell.

Harry heard as Snape motioned a chair closer to him and sat down. It sounded too sharp in the room’s silence.

He looked at Snape, but the professor’s face was impassive. For a moment, Harry wanted to jump to his feet, to shake Snape and shout into his ears, that he was REALLY sorry, that everything his father and Sirius had done disgusted him, but, most of all, that he wasn’t his father, and he had never been, but the strength left him and he slumped into the chair even more.

It was absolutely useless. Snape hated his father with good reason, and he would hate him forever, the professor would never be able to see through James Potter’s face that Harry would wear forever, he would never be able to see through that hatred, and Harry would never be able to convince him that he was different. Different from James Potter and much more like Severus Snape… And strangely, in that moment the thought that Snape didn’t believe him, just hurt too much.

The professor cleared his throat, and Harry turned his face away again.

“You cleaned the room up quite nicely,” Snape’s words echoed strangely in the silence.

The sentence took Harry completely off guard. He was on the verge of another nervous breakdown and he couldn’t even distinguish or understand the mixed feelings and emotions that swirled in his mind. But Snape’s words somehow cleared the air around them, and Harry turned his head back to the man and smiled uncertainly.

“Really?” it was just a surprised, choked reply, but he couldn’t utter anything better.

“Even the ingredients were arranged correctly.”

“Oh,” Harry was speechless. The moment he had given up on making Snape ever understand him, Snape wasn’t only offering him some civil words, but was praising him as well! Something akin to hope rose in him. Perhaps, their war would end at long last.

They sat in silence, then Snape spoke up tentatively, “I think I can reconsider my decision about allowing you into the Advanced Potions class…”

Harry was so taken aback that he cried out.

“No, sir!” When Snape lifted his head angrily, he hurriedly added, “I mean I’m not as good in Potions. It was just a matter of chance that I wrote that exam that good…”

Snape stared at him sneering, but Harry sensed something strange in his expression.

“Excuse me, Mr Potter, but I think it’s my task to decide who can and can not be allowed into that class.” Oh. Snape was… joking… sort of.

“I missed two months…” Harry tried another excuse. “And you know that I’ve never been really good. I don’t remember ever brewing a potion properly…”

“You can have some Remedial Potions,” Snape replied in thought. But when Harry didn’t react, he hastily added, “although I can accept if you don’t want to attend another class with me…”

Harry sighed and felt not only a little mortified.

“It’s not that, sir,” he muttered and looked at the dark man in front of him. “I…” To his embarrassment, he felt another wave of tears prickling his eyes, and he didn’t even know why.

“I promise I won’t treat you like… like I did,” Snape’s words were barely above a whisper, but Harry caught them.

“No, it’s not that…” he repeated. Damn those tears that couldn’t remain in their normal place!

“Potter?” Snape’s voice sounded concerned as Harry’s tears began to fall in earnest again. “What’s the matter…?”

Harry shook his head unable to speak again. He inhaled deeply trying to calm himself down, but it was absolutely useless. The previous pain returned full strength and he found himself sobbing again – the only difference was, that this time he felt more than a little embarrassed because of Snape’s presence.

“I… look, I’m… I’m sorry, Potter,” Snape stuttered and Harry shook his head desperately.

“It’s… not… you…” somehow he choked out. “But I don’t want things just because… I didn’t apologise just because…”

Another handkerchief and another vial.

“I’m sorry, but these Calming Draughts don’t last that long…” Snape muttered interrupting him, “and I know you didn’t apologise just to… to be accepted… and so…”

Harry took some deep breaths, but he was still hiccupping too hard to trust himself to speak, so he sat burying his face in the handkerchief.

“I’m not requiring you accept the offer…” Snape suddenly went on, “but Minerva told me you wanted to become an Auror... and I thought we could give it another go.”

“I don’t know,” Harry whispered. “I don’t know what I want any more…”

“Why?”

Harry shrugged.

“Dunno,” he muttered. “Since Sirius died…” he interrupted himself. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“No,” Snape waved dismissively. “Just go on… Since Black died…?”

“Everything has become so empty. And now when I saw that cupboard…” he closed his mouth in embarrassment, and Snape coughed.

“On Monday,” the man suddenly spoke up, “you told me…” Snape couldn’t finish his sentence. Harry looked at him questioningly. “You told me that I’m like your… James Potter…”

Harry gripped his handkerchief so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“No,” he said firmly. “I wasn’t right, sir.”

Snape shifted and looked away.

“The Headmaster warned me that you are not your father. I should have listened to him.” The words were muttered in such a low voice that Harry only suspected hearing them rather than hearing them in fact.

“He told me when we last talked,” Harry said in a thoughtful tone “that you have wounds that run too deep for healing. I didn’t believe him, although I had seen that memory in your Pensieve. I think I just didn’t want to believe him…”

“That wasn’t entirely your fault,” Harry saw Snape staring at his potion-stained fingers, which were quivering lightly. “I didn’t do anything to ease your situation.”

“But even that scene… was too cruel, and you had… you never humiliated me the way they did to you…” Harry felt his neck and ears burning in shame. “And this cupboard…” he couldn’t go on.

“It wasn’t your fault…” Snape looked at him again and asked, “so, what about trying Advanced Potions, then?”

Harry put the handkerchief in his pocket.

“I really don’t know,” he answered sincerely. “I really don’t think I’m good enough for those advanced lessons… Perhaps you should give me some Remedial Potions so you can decide whether to accept me into that class or not.”

“That’s a deal, Mr Potter.” A few moments later, he added. “I was worried in the summer, when you just… didn’t fight to attend this class. It was so highly unlike you…”

Harry shifted uneasily, but snuck a glance at his professor nevertheless.

“It was a good excuse that you refused to take me…” Harry murmured and gulped. “I blamed you for… for Sirius’s death…”

Snape’s cheeks reddened, but he didn’t erupt.

“I see,” he croaked instead.

“I don’t blame you now,” Harry stared at his lap grateful to Snape for not yelling at him. “In reality, I knew it was my fault, and Sirius’s fault too… but mostly mine. I didn’t take our lessons as seriously as I should have to…”

“Damn true!” Snape cried out and Harry jerked.

“I’m sorry,” Harry felt the effects of the Calming Draught lessening again and his voice trembled. “It was my fault…”

But then, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him forcefully.

“Potter, look at me!” Snape ordered in an authoritative manner and Harry complied. “It’s true that you didn’t take our lessons as seriously as you needed to. But the other things weren’t solely your fault. Dumbledore made his mistakes as much as I did mine. Black’s death is our fault too, and even Black’s fault, because he, as an adult, should have been more insightful and mature, but he was always…” Snape suddenly caught himself and didn’t finish the sentence. “You can’t be blamed for an adult’s deeds. You have your own responsibilities, which you should take more seriously – even now. You quit Potions. But you quit Occlumency too, although even with Black’s death the problem with the Dark Lord in your mind wasn’t solved. And your grades… and that lurking in the Astronomy Tower…” he sneered again. “Dumbledore worried sick about you and you behaved even more like a drama queen with that indignant… Sorry,” he interrupted himself again.

“No, sir, you’re right…” Harry said and his breath hitched painfully.

Snape’s face darkened in annoyance.

“You shouldn’t have been left alone during the whole summer to grieve and stomach those things in your own.” He stood up and began to pace. “I see what Albus’s point was with leaving you with your family, mostly now that the war has officially begun, but then again, it’s obvious you didn’t handle last year’s happenings well…”

Harry felt as if he were a little child and annoyance swirled in him, but he swallowed it back hard. He didn’t want another confrontation or to risk their brand new civility just because he thought he was more mature than Snape gave him credit for. And basically, the professor was right: he hadn’t digested Sirius’s death on the top of all that had happened to him last year, and this year’s misfortune and emptiness were the direct consequences of them.

So, he just sat in silence listening to Snape’s grumbling.

“Well,” the man seemed to finish his half-reprimanding speech and stopped in front of Harry. “I think we should give those Remedial Potions another go.”

“Do you mean Potions or Occlumency, sir?” Harry asked confused.

“Potions, of course. I don’t think I’m the most appropriate person to teach you Occlumency, Potter,” Snape’s eyes glittered coldly. “I told Dumbledore the same last year. Some level of trust is needed for those lessons to be effective on your behalf. That was one of the many reasons for last year’s absolute ineffectiveness: we both distrusted each other. I think you should go and ask the Headmaster for those Occlumency lessons.”

Harry shrugged slightly and sighed. He didn’t want to go to Dumbledore. He didn’t want to feel the stirring of the snake inside every time he looked at the old man, and, on the other hand, he didn’t want the Headmaster to know even more things about him than he already knew. But telling Snape all these thoughts could cause another, entirely unnecessary argument.

“When do you want me to come for those lessons, then?” he asked instead.

Snape tapped his chin in thought.

“Generally, on Monday, I brew potions for the Infirmary, so you can come and help with them. The majority of those potions are quite simple, so I don’t think you will have difficulties,” he smiled slyly, but Harry dismissed his annoyance with a slight snort. “And Thursday, after dinner would be an excellent time for actual studies…”

“Twice a week?” Harry asked uncertainly. It was true that they had, apparently, made a truce, but it didn’t immediately mean that he wanted to spend all his spare time with his Potions instructor.

“Just until you catch up with the advanced curriculum class, Mr Potter. I hope it will be done by Christmas break, which is seven weeks from now…”

“And what if I’m not talented enough to catch up with them?” Harry smirked.

“Oh, be assured, Mr Potter,” Snape’s sly smile widened so that the yellowish teeth became visible. “If I’d wanted, even Longbottom could have been able to pass his OWLs.”

For a short moment, anger swirled in Harry, but it passed as quick as it had come, and Harry snorted again in amusement.

“Why would you make me a Potions student, sir?” he asked, and let some cheekiness to filter into his tone.

“You don’t know Minerva McGonagall, Mr Potter,” this time a real smile curved Snape’s lips upwards. “If she once got something into that thick head of hers, nobody can make her change her mind, ever. And last year, she had decided to make an Auror of you, so…”

Harry couldn’t bite back a short laugh.

“So, practically, it was she who arranged all this…?” he didn’t elaborate the “this” part, but Snape seemed to understand and shook his head.

“No, Mr Potter. Practically, it was you,” the smile disappeared from his face and his expression turned serious once again. “Although, I have to confess, we both were worried about you.”

“Both?” Harry looked up in disbelief.

“Come on, Mr Potter. I might be the monster of the dungeons, but I’m still a teacher and it’s my job to see if something is amiss with the children under my care. It’s not as though your behaviour wasn’t transparent enough…”

“Oh,” Harry blushed. “So you were worried...”

“Just professionally,” Snape added flatly and stepped away from Harry’s chair. “Now you can go, Mr Potter, and see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“It’s Monday.”

“Oh,” Harry stood up and strode across to the door. But when his hand was already on the latch, he cast a glance to Snape, who was still standing in the same spot. “Thank you, professor,” he half-spoke half-whispered into the dim room.

Snape didn’t react, but as Harry stepped out of the door, he suddenly heard him speaking up, “Twenty points to Gryffindor for a job well done.”

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