The students finished pouring -- and spilling, naturally -- their Fever Reducer potions into fluted vials and messily labeling them before cleaning their stations and leaving the classroom. Both Nott and Bulstrode gave Potter thinly veiled signs of encouragement, as if the Brat Who Lived to Give Anyone Named Snape Headaches were going to be punished for something.
What the hell was going on?
Severus had not wanted to keep Potter after class; he had wanted to discuss the summer with him during one of their evening chats, when both of them were relaxed, and he could perhaps get a few other questions in about the Dursleys. But the Brat hadn't let him. The last couple weeks had been very odd, and when one was the Head of Slytherin House when Harry bloody Potter was amongst their newest members, that was saying something. For the better part of three weeks, in fact, since the five-minutes-long Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, Potter had declined all of their normal, non-curricular get-togethers. He had not come to play chess or to ask questions about Lily, or to view pictures of her either. He had also not shown up for Occlumency training, and the Bloody Baron had informed him that Potter was busy, with Quidditch and homework and other issues and could not attend. But he could not be that busy, could he?
Severus had thought that the boy had somehow re-discovered the Mirror of Erised, since it had ensnared him once before. But when he mused about it aloud, once more the Bloody Baron had the answer for him. No, Harry Potter had not found the Mirror. Nor had anyone else, which was a bit of a relief, really.
Perhaps the Brat had found something else to hoard his time? Someone else. A girlfriend, perhaps?
"No," the Bloody Baron told him again. "Especially not after what happened with Gaius Avery."
Of course, Severus thought. Then again, ghosts didn't know everything. They could not be everywhere, though the Baron seemed keen to try, when it came to the Potter brat.
All the students were gone from the classroom, and Potter stood in front of him, all alone and looking it. "You wanted to see me, sir?" His hands were stiff and still beside him, and his eyes were wary, a cold green like the sea on a cloudy day.
If Severus had to, he would admit he was worried about the boy. The last two times he had shunned Severus had been because he was in trouble. The first time, when Potter had also been fearful and wary, had been because of Avery. What if some other student were hurting the boy like that again? Severus was angry just thinking about it.
"I have some news you might appreciate," Severus said lightly, hoping to light a spark of life in Potter's eyes. "I told the Headmaster that, at least until recently, you have done well at the beginning stages of Occlumency, and he has agreed to allow you to spend most of the summer holidays with me, so I may continue your lessons."
Harry's mouth dropped open and the flicker of fear reappeared for another moment before it was banked.
"You will need to only spend two weeks with those Dursleys, Harry," Severus pushed, in case the boy didn't understand that he would be free of them for most of two whole months. "And I will be with you while you're in their 'care,' to make damned sure nothing goes amiss." He was looking forward to it, truth be told. Shaking up Petunia's perfect little world by appearing with her nephew in tow, along with a writ of occupation from the Headmaster. Poking his wand into the enormous belly of that husband of hers and listening to him squeal . . .
"Do I have to?" Potter asked.
It was Severus' turn to drop open his mouth, although he was quicker to recover. "What's this? Did I hear you correctly, Potter? You want to stay with your odious relatives?"
"No, sir . . . no, of course not. I just . . ." Potter looked away. His shoulders came up as if to ward a blow, as if he thought Severus would be angry enough to hit him, as if . . .
The truth hit him like a punch to the gut. The boy's recent avoidance behavior made much more sense now. "You just do not wish to stay with me."
Still looking away, Potter gave one, sharp nod.
It took Severus a minute to overcome his suddenly dry mouth in order to speak. What had happened? Had he misjudged everything? What had gone wrong in the last month or so? Where was that sense of camaraderie they had shared around the holidays and the weeks that followed?
He'd thought the boy had enjoyed his company, and the truth was harder to accept than he could have imagined. But he could accept it; he had to. He had faced painful truths before. The truth, he was just beginning to understand, was that the boy didn't care about Severus Snape and didn't want to stay with him. He couldn't possibly. How could he? Snape should have known from the start. After all, how could Harry bloody Boy Who Lived Potter want to spend time with Severus Snape, the Great Greasy Bat of the Dungeons. He was no one the son of James Potter would want to be around, when he could be pruning hedges and being stuffed in a cupboard . . .
"Very well," he said in a flat, airless voice. "Get out."
Potter's head jerked up, looking startled and almost dismayed, as if the little wretch thought Severus would beg for the pleasure of his company. He had another think coming! "What are you waiting for, Potter?" he snarled. "A formal invitation? I SAID GET OUT!!"
The boy was halfway to the door before Severus finished shouting. Severus' hand closed on something hard. Looking down, he saw he had snatched up a vial of Fever Reducer as if to throw it at the miscreant's head. At the head of that ungrateful, overindulged, annoying, spoiled rotten, horrid, hurtful . . .
With a sigh, Severus sank down on a seat. His chest had not felt so heavy in years.
--HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS--
The next few weeks, as spring term lumbered on through nearly endless rainy days, were like a bill board for hell. At least in Snape's opinion. He couldn't imagine the boy was having a better time of it. At least Potter was constrained by the rules to be respectful toward his elders, his professors in particular. Severus had no such compulsion laid on him.
"What do you call this . . . substance, Mr. Potter?" he drawled whilst peering into the boy's cauldron one Friday. "Stew?"
Potter glared at him. "It's a Calming Draught. Sir."
Snape glared back. "That's your opinion. Mine is that it is far too lumpy." He vanished away the perfectly decent -- if slightly less smooth than absolutely necessary -- draught with a flick of his wand. "Start over."
"But, sir! I haven't got enough--"
Snape broke in coldly, "Do I look like one of your mates, hmm? Someone who wants to chum about and listen to your whinging excuses? Start the potion over or you'll have a zero for the day."
Around him, the other students -- Gryffindor and Slytherin alike -- watched what was becoming an almost routine exchange. Yes, Severus realized he was being petty. Vengeful. Even cruel, perhaps. But he was angry, damnit. The boy had hurt him, and for no good reason! He wouldn't even say what was wrong, had barely spoken three words to Severus outside of class, and had continued to skive off from Occlumency. It was too much!
Without arguing further, Potter had begun chopping Bundimun eyes in very neat, even pieces while the oil and water base of the draught of his new potion came to a boil. Severus looked down his long nose at the boy and tried to figure him out. Again.
The following Tuesday evening, Severus was able to get Dumbledore to send Potter a note at dinner, asking the boy to come to his office afterwards. When Potter got there, Severus was waiting to march him down to his office for the bedamned Occlumency lesson. He would get to the bottom of the boy's foul behavior one way or the other.