House: Hufflepuff
Class: Charms
Category: Standard
Word Count: 1295
Prompt/Prompts:
8. [Dialogue] "Pronoun tried to kill you. Why do you still trust prpronoun
9. [Dialogue] "It is clear that you have no clue what is going on"
Betas: Tardis_Magic93 & Power_Of_Anime_Girl_23
…
Withholding Secrets
The night was calm, a full moon shining brightly over the lake. The water shimmered, reflecting the brightly-lit stars.
A shadow briefly passed over the pearly whites, quiet footsteps breaking the silence. A creak was heard and a warm light fell on the grass, contrasting the inky form of a person standing on the footsteps. The door closed with a bang and all was quiet again.
Harry did not see the startled rabbit racing back to the shadows, or the arrow raised by a watchful centaur. Muttering to himself, he left the Great Hall through the back door.
Treading the path to the Headmaster's office, Harry felt a sense of trepidation. He had avoided it successfully the past three years, despite McGonagall's increasingly blatant attempts to invite him for a chat.
It was not McGonagall he was afraid of. In fact, they had an amiable kinship, formed through shared experiences. The same could not be said for others, and that was where the trouble lay.
Reaching the stone gargoyle, Harry grunted "Wooly Mammoths", and let the moving stairs carry him to the tower. He was in no hurry; he would in fact prefer never to reach there at all.
Alas, all good things come to an end. Taking a deep breath, Harry raised a fist to knock on the heavyweight door.
"Come in!" McGonagall's voice was strong, defying her age. Her eyes, too, were sharp, peering over her glasses as Harry hesitantly looked through the door.
"You called for me, Professor?" Harry asked, stepping in. He resolutely kept his gaze fixed on her face, not allowing it to wander.
"Yes, Mr Potter. Sit."
Harry did, folding his hands over his lap. He might be Head Auror, but with McGonagall he always felt like a misbehaving student.
McGonagall at last set her quill in its holder and rolled up her parchment, drying the ink with a wave of her wand.
"How is law enforcing treating you?"
"Er, it's all right, I guess," Harry answered awkwardly. "But I don't think you called me to talk about career choices, Professor."
"No. No, I did not," McGonagall said. There was a moment of silence as she took off her glasses, rubbing them with a piece of cloth.
"Stop blundering around and get to the point!" Harry jumped at the angry voice and his eyes were drawn to the portrait behind Minerva's desk.
It was quite ordinary, as far as portraits go. The subject of the portrait sitting on his chair, illuminated by a concealed light.
His figure contrasted the neutral curtains behind him, patterned with curved checked marks. The signature of the artist at the bottom left corner.
Then what made Harry's eyes glower, curled fists itching to shred the painting to threads?
"Snape." Harry's voice could curdle milk. Snape did not seem any happier. His lips were curled in an ugly sneer, black eyes flashing so that they almost looked alive.
"How dare you talk to—"
"Mr Potter!"
Harry turned to face McGonagall, breathing heavily.
"Be civil! You are not a school boy anymore."
Her face was set in a stern scowl, eyes glaring with disappointment. Harry felt his ears go red.
"Yes, Professor," he said awkwardly.
After a minute of silence, Harry dared to speak again. "So, why did you call me?"
"Professor Dumbledore has been asking for you, and the owls I send you seem to think you don't exist."
Harry coughed. "Ah, you see, I've been warding because… uh,"
"Yes?" McGonagall prompted. Harry searched wildly for an excuse until he saw McGonagall's lips twitching to fight a smile.
"A very important reason, I'm sure," she teased, standing up. "I'll leave you to it, gentlemen."
"Wait, you're going?" Harry stood up in a panic.
"Professor Dumbledore requested a private conversation, Potter," McGonagall said archly, and closed the door softly behind her.
Harry slumped in his chair, still not daring to look up.
"I am truly sorry, Harry. Have I truly lost your trust so that you will not even look at me?"
Harry's heart broke at the grief in his old mentor's voice but he still could not bring himself to look up.
"Potter is showing his true colours, Headmaster, as I mentioned. You have been pandering him from the moment he entered the school —"
Harry stood up suddenly, cutting Snape off. "How dare you speak to him, after what you did! Just that night I told you," Harry looked wildly to Dumbledore. "You remember? But you never listened to me, did you? I trust Severus Snape completely. And where did that land you?" Harry's voice cracked. "and I could do nothing ."
"My dear boy, I am truly sorry for what you went through, but you understand now why I trust him, don't you?"
"He tried to kill you. Why do you still trust him?" Harry asked, voice ringing with disbelief.
"I succeeded , Potter."
"Severus," Professor Dumbledore said reproachfully. "How is Harry to understand when you make those kind of remarks?"
"I killed you. What more is there to understand? Potter has it right, for once."
"Understand what ?" Harry cut in, feeling like he was missing a crucial point.
"Harry, it is clear that you have no clue what is going on—" Dumbledore began.
"How shocking ," Snape interrupted, voice thick with sarcasm.
Dumbledore continued speaking as if he didn't hear him. "Allow me to ask a few questions of my own. What made you give yourself up to Voldemort?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Harry asked, annoyed.
Dumbledore remained quiet and Harry sighed. "His ultimatum, of course."
"You believed him? How thick can you be, Potter?" Snape's voice was scathing, making Harry feel defensive.
"Of course not!" He answered hotly, "I was just trying to buy us time!"
"Which means," Dumbledore spoke over them, "You do not know that Professor Snape killed me on my orders?"
Harry gaped, certain he'd heard wrong. "On your orders? But why?"
"If you remember, you asked me about my hand?"
"Yes, and you said that the time we had 'wouldn't do your story justice'."
"I was quite correct. You were lacking insight, but now that you have the details, can you guess what I meant?"
"You were dying. The curse wasn't limited to your hand," Harry said in realisation.
"Exactly," Dumbledore beamed. "If Severus had not killed me, I would have died a slow and useless death. As it was, Severus managed to gain a position he would not have otherwise managed."
"Fat lot of good that did him," Harry said without thinking. Snape snorted and Harry stared at him in surprise.
"The Headmaster is still withholding something," Snape said, eyes glittering maliciously. "Should I do the honours, Headmaster?"
"Ah, that," Dumbledore sounded guilty. "No need to destroy his peace of mind now, Severus. It is in the past."
"Wait, I want to know! What is it?" Harry demanded, looking from Snape to Dumbledore. This time it was Dumbledore avoiding his eyes.
Ten minutes later, Professor McGonagall looked up as Harry stormed in the Great Hall, face as dark as thunder.
"Mr Potter," she called. "I hope, for my sake, you managed to clear the air?"
A wicked smile appeared on Harry's face. "Why don't you ask Snape why I'm angry at Dumbledore?"
"Why him?" McGonagall asked, perplexed.
But Harry was already gone, imagining gleefully of McGonagall's reaction. She might even burn the portrait, Harry chuckled. He left the warmth of the castle, longing for the comfort of his faded couch in front of the fireplace.
No one was there to see Harry vanish with a twist, or hear the loud crack . The moon had disappeared over the horizon, and the centaur had long since returned to his camp. The leaves rustled, then all was silent.
The End