"I suppose," Harry muttered. "Still, if you want to know why I don't trust Dumbledore, you don't have to look any further than his inconsistencies."
"Life isn't a quartz crystal. It's fluid, and constantly changing. If you judge Albus too harshly merely for reacting to altered circumstances, then you're a fool."
"I thought I was a fool, anyway, in your books."
"You certainly are, if you're dim-witted enough to believe that half the things I say in class aren't on display for Malfoy to report to his father." Snape passed a hand over his hair, stroking Remus' brown strands back from his forehead. "In retrospect, I realise I shouldn't have stopped your Occlumency sessions, though I will point out that your complete refusal to practice rendered them close to worthless no matter what I did. At any rate, I would suspect that Albus believes he's giving me a second chance. I would further speculate that my bringing you and the letter to him personally convinced him I could . . . do better, this time, no matter the past."
Snape waited for a reply, and when none was forthcoming, prompted, "You were going to 'order a pizza,' I believe?"
"Yeah, well I said to hand me the phone." Harry found he had to explain. And point. If he'd been in a better mood, it would have been funny. Maybe. "That blue thing, on the wall." He didn't feel like getting up to find the phone book, so he rang Directory Enquiries again to get the number he needed.
Snape wandered off, his wand at the ready as Harry dialled. Harry didn't know exactly what he was up to, but he didn't care. Let him go looking for the black energy in the house. Hell, let him find it. There wasn't much left to figure out, was there?
Laying his head down on the table, Harry stared bleakly into space and waited for the stupid pizza.
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He must have gone to sleep, because the next thing he knew, the pizza was already on the table, along with plates and utensils, and Snape was trying to figure out how to serve the thing.
Harry sat up groggily, listlessly beginning to eat the misshapen slice Snape had finally transferred to his plate. He didn't really get any energy up until he noticed Snape take one bite and gag. Yeah, well it couldn't be worse than some of the foul concoctions he likes to make us swallow . . . But that thought reminded Harry of something. "Did you take your, er . . . dose?"
Snape stared at him, which Harry took as a definite yes. Feeling better, he got up to fetch them both some water. This time, Snape didn't try to stop him.
"All right," Harry launched right into it. "You heard what they want. What do I do?"
"That decision can wait," Snape replied. He drained his entire glass of water without pause before resuming, and grimacing, used his knife and fork to eat another bite of pizza. The image would have been positively bizarre, if not for the fact that Harry could imagine Remus, at least, eating pizza. When Snape had finished his slice, he set his utensils down, automatically lining them up parallel, as if they were tools on a Potions desk. "Let's analyze your uncle's behaviour. He writes you a letter whose wording is offensive, to say the least, and then berates you at length to your face. This, in front of a stranger? One of your own teachers?"
"So Uncle Vernon's an insufferable pig," Harry admitted. He'd never said that out loud before, and found it was relief to get it off his chest. "Big deal."
Snape wrinkled his brow as though he thought it was, but Harry figured he just didn't know how to control Remus' expressions very well. "My point, Mr Potter---"
"If you're going to call me that, I hope you cast Silencio." Come to think of it, Harry realised, he should have thought of that a few minutes before. Just went to show how tired he must be.
Snape just gave him that stare again. That I-am-the-teacher-and-you-are-the-student stare. Harry stared right back, only to find himself nonplussed when Snape apparently relented. "That and Imperforable," the Potions Master sharply replied. "Now, as I was saying. Your uncle's motive for summoning you was to request a rather significant favour, yet he hardly acted the supplicant. From what I could deduce, he did all he could to insult you. It gives the term irrational new meaning."
"Well, you're the one who Legilimized him. Yeah, I noticed. Anyway, you must know what he's like. He gets angry, he doesn't think so well. Why does it matter?" That said, Harry picked up his pizza with his hands and set to eating.
"It matters because understanding him means we understand how best to deal with him, Mr Potter. Legilimency serves to unlock memories, not psyche. If we're going to convince him to let us extend the wards, we must determine how best to influence him."
"Well, that's easy, isn't it? Use Obliviate to make him forget how much he hates me, then ask. Hmm, if that's not enough, I'm sure there's a spell you can use to give him some level of concern about me."
"We definitely need a better Defence course," Snape muttered. "Although perhaps sacrificial magic is more a seventh-year topic. Well, be that as it may, you can't trick people into participating in protective wards. It simply doesn't work."
"Dumbledore distinctly said that my aunt took me unwillingly, Professor."
"Dumbledore whom you don't trust?" Snape lightly mocked. "It's a matter of semantics. She might not have enjoyed taking you in, Potter, but she did in fact do it willingly. Nobody forced her; nobody hexed her. She wasn't even bribed. Her conscience alone dictated her actions, and that's what we're going to need from your cousin."
"So I can't even offer them some of my gold," Harry glumly concluded. "Not that I'd give them Galleons, anyway; they'd think they carried curses, I bet. But I'd thought I might convert some to pounds. You're sure that won't help, not at all?"
"Not even if you beggar yourself; you can't buy good will. Your uncle's lack of any could be quite a problem, assuming that Dudley won't agree unless his father does."
"You don't have to tell me they lack good will, Professor."
"I'm sure I don't." Harry didn't look up, sure that Snape would be half-smiling. "But it goes beyond the mere lack thereof. Your uncle's memories of you are all rather twisted. He believes you're to blame for all your misfortunes."
Misfortunes. Well, wasn't that a nice, neutral term for rampant emotional abuse, not to mention chores until midnight and the occasional slap across the face? Harry resolutely went on eating, determined not to be upset about just what memories Snape had likely accessed. So what if the Potions Master knew everything? So what if he did spread it around Slytherin, or worse, spit it out bit by bit during the usual barrage of insults during every Potions class? Worse things had happened to him, that was for sure. Yeah, like having his own blood help raise Voldemort to a terrifying new reign, like knowing he was to blame for every subsequent death. Like realizing he wasn't a boy, he was just a scar and a prophecy.
Like unintentionally luring Sirius to his death.
"Well your childhood wasn't a picnic, either!" he suddenly exploded, not even caring, this time, if Snape got mad about what Harry knew.
"True," Snape acknowledged, tilting his head to the side to regard Harry thoughtfully. "I think perhaps we are even."
"Oh, goody," Harry sniped, too upset to realise that was a significant admission coming from the likes of Severus Snape. "That just makes my day. Well let me tell you just one thing, Professor! I said I was sorry at the time, and I was sorry, and I never breathed a word about it, not to anybody except Sirius, and I only asked him because I needed to know what he thought he was doing, needed to know how my father could have been such a complete jerk-off arsehole, all right? So if we're even, then . . . oh, forget it," he ground to a halt.