Better Be Slytherin!

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.

Potter followed him into his office with that same blank mask he had been wearing in Snape's presence for weeks. Severus reminded himself (again) that this wasn't necessarily personal, and that, if nothing else, the boy's first four months in school had taught him that the blank mask meant Potter didn't want the other person to know what he was thinking, or, more likely, feeling.

Trying to keep himself from lashing out at the boy, he recalled that children such as Potter, those from neglectful homes, often learned to hide all their feelings, even from themselves, as a defense mechanism. Their feelings were mocked, ignored or used against them, and thus were better not shown or even acknowledged to exist. What it meant now, for Potter, was that he didn't trust his old bat of a professor, the man who was about to go mucking about in his head. That was bad.

So he took a shot at the boy, hoping to get him to erupt and let out what was wrong before they started. 'What's got you in a snit?' he asked airily. 'Lose your favorite Chocolate Frog card?'

A brief tightening around the eyes was all he got in return. He poked again. 'Did no one praise your amazing skills at Quidditch today?'

'No, sir,' the boy said carefully. 'It was just practice.'

Maddeningly, Potter would not be provoked. He tried one last time. 'I very much dislike wasting my time, Potter,' he said, stressing the boy's last name because he knew how much the boy hated being addressed like that. 'I've put my time and effort and my considerable talents in magic towards your betterment, into teaching you a very important and difficult skill which could save your life, and this is what I get in thanks? Surliness? Laziness? The least you can do, if it's not beyond your capabilities, is remember to show up for the lessons!'

Potter's mouth tightened, but all he said was, 'Yes, sir.'

So be it. If he would not trust having Snape in his mind, it would go harder for him, certainly. Neither of them would enjoy the coming lesson, but the experience would not cause Severus actual, physical pain.

'Very well. Stand over here,' he directed. When Potter obeyed, he said, 'Clear your mind. I will find out, one way or another, what you are trying to hide from me.' He smiled nastily as the boy's face paled. 'You may attempt