But he couldn't claim that, could he? Not considering that Draco was going to tell Snape what Harry had done to his own arms. Clearly, Snape didn't already know. Which meant Draco hadn't ratted him out. Yet.
But he would; Harry didn't have a single doubt about that. So the best thing to do was probably tell Snape himself, before Draco got a chance to. "Um, well, I sort of did take it seriously, actually."
Snape leaned forward across his desk. "Harry," he said, his voice dark and chiding all at once. "You aren't evil. Aran is."
Harry blinked. "He's petty and small-minded, but I don't know that I'd actually call him evil."
"His is a self-serving, pedestrian sort of evil." Snape shrugged. "I've offended him and his way of getting back at me was to strike out at my children. No doubt he didn't expect a challenge in return."
Harry couldn't help but snort a bit at that. He wondered whether Snape looked at this as some sort of atonement for the way he'd treated Harry for years. He almost said so, but since they'd more or less agreed to put all that behind him during their talk out in Devon, Harry held his tongue and commented on his other epiphany. "You've been angling to duel with Aran all along," he said, a little surprised that his voice came out sounding almost accusing. "That's why you were being so obnoxious while you supervised his classes!"
"Why I suggested supervising his classes to begin with." Snape's dark eyes glimmered. "Albus had in mind to simply sack him, but I wanted more satisfaction than that. I was trying to get Aran to challenge me."
"He's scared to death of you!"
"Yes, I did notice that," drawled Snape. "And so he took a coward's revenge in venting his spleen to Skeeter. But enough of Aran, Harry. I'll take care of him tomorrow. What concerns me now is you. How much did the article bother you?"
Harry knew what that question really meant. "Well, I didn't conjure a needle, but . . ." He sighed, loud and long. "I'm worried everybody'll think I am going dark, now. Parseltongue really isn't very well thought of, you know. I wasn't trying to hurt myself, but I, er, scratched my arms up something awful."
"With?"
"Huh? Oh. My fingernails."
"Let me see your arms."
"If you want, but Draco healed them for me before class so there's not much to see--"
Snape's expression grew thunderous. "He did, did he?"
Harry made a face just thinking about it. "Yeah."
Snape studied him for a long moment. "You're angry at your brother. Why?"
"'Cause he swore he was going to tell you, soon as he could, about the scratches and him healing them!"
"Ah. Were you not planning to mention the matter on your own, then?"
"I--" Harry swallowed, not wanting to lie to his father. "I don't know for sure, sir."
"Then Draco is to be commended," said Snape calmly. "He doesn't have a great deal of experience at being a friend, let alone a brother, but his telling me would be the right thing to do. You do understand that, I hope."
"I--" Harry grimaced again, but not in anger this time. He could see what his father meant. "Yeah, all right. I'll have to apologise to Draco, I guess. Ugh."
"I'm sure you two will work it out." Snape was silent for a moment. "It concerns me that you aren't certain you would have told me about hurting yourself again. I thought we had an agreement."
"That I'd come get you before needle-cravings got to be too much to handle. But this wasn't quite like that. I was just upset reading the article, thinking that everybody would turn on me again."
"They won't," said Snape in a confident voice. "The mood in the hall this morning was generally one of outrage on your behalf."
"Yeah, well it helps that I have a . . . er, a champion this time."
Snape frowned slightly. "You'd have weathered the storm fine on your own, Harry. It's one of your talents."
"I know." Harry reached out and took his father's hand. "I was just trying to say thanks. You know, without actually saying it."
"Ah. Slytherin."
"Something like that."
"About these scratches, then." Snape's dark gaze seemed to bore into him. "You don't feel your compulsion is becoming more generalised?"
Compulsion. Harry didn't like that word very much. He let go of his father's hand. "Well, sometimes my arms start feeling itchy, but I don't really want to scratch them, not the way I would want the needle. This was sort of a special case because that article was so vicious and I couldn't get to a needle." Harry swallowed. He'd wanted to keep reading the article so he'd know the worst, but looking back he could see this was a case when he should have gone to get his father. Straight away.
"It won't happen again, sir," he said in a low voice. "I promise. I'll come to you before it can. This time . . . I'm sorry."
"I don't want you to be sorry," said Snape, leaning forward. "All I want is for this to get better."
"It is!" Harry ran a hand through his hair, realising only afterwards that he'd seen that exact gesture from Snape. Weird. "Look, it was just that article, all right? It got to me."
"Unfortunately, you must learn to expect that sort of thing from the Prophet."
"I know."
Snape's voice suddenly went dry. "You do realise what this is going to do to Draco's overprotective tendencies."
Harry grimaced. "He'll want me to cut my nails down to the quick."
"Without using anything sharp, no doubt."
"Maybe he'll teach me one of those manicure spells he likes so well, then," joked Harry.
"A son of mine who favours manicure spells." Snape was the one who grimaced, then.
Harry laughed. "Hey, the way I hear it, this September during Herbology practicals he wouldn't shut up about how his dragonhide gloves were chapping his skin!"
"He wanted to send a house elf out to buy fresh. During class, no less." Snape's lips curled upwards. "As I recall, he was quite put out when Professor Sprout lent him another pair. Used."
"Draco wouldn't like that at all."
"No, certainly not. Getting back to the issue at hand, however, I should tell you that just this morning, your brother was trying to persuade me that I should ward the drawers in your potions desk."
"Huh?"
"He felt there were, as he put it, 'simply too many sharp objects available there.'"
"Oh, nice! I wouldn't be able to do my work."
"Well, he did say you wouldn't need the implements for making ice cream."
Harry huffed a little in irritation, but the feeling was quickly swamped by thoughts of the taste-testing they were supposed to have on Tuesday. "I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but . . . uh, Potions is really fun now. No offence."
"I imagine a sweets-based curriculum would be," drawled Snape, his voice rather dark considering he hadn't been terribly upset about the matter before. "No doubt the Ministry, always the soul of wisdom, whole-heartedly approves. No matter that the lot of you will be needing an insulin potion next--"
Harry blinked. "Something wrong, Dad?"
Snape waved a hand. "Perhaps the duel merely has me on edge."
"Not a duel with Aran," said Harry, laughing. "I had a question, though. Who's going to be your second? The headmaster?"
"I don't need a second."
"I thought it was traditional."
"But not required. In any case, there's no-one I would want for that save Albus, and he's constrained by his position of authority here." Snape stood up, briefly touching Harry's shoulder as he made his way to the door. "I do believe you should return to class, now. If anyone asks what I needed you for, you may merely say we were discussing what to do about Ms. Skeeter. In fact, be sure to mention that." His dark eyes glimmered in a way Harry recognised.
"What are you going to do about her?"
"I have no immediate plans."
"Then why say--" Harry caught on before he could finish the question. "Oh, you want to get her nice and worried. You're going to drop hints all over to drive her batty. And you want me to help you."