Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

26 | Rage, Rage Against The Dying Of The Light

One sheep...

Two sheep...

Three sheep...

***

As Snape strode determinedly forwards, robes snapping behind him, only one thought circled his mind in the same fashion a hunting dog would its wounded prey.

He was going to have to apologise to Potter.

He, Severus Snape, was going to have to apologise. To Potter.

In no universe had he ever considered those words crossing his mind in association with each other, and yet it was true.

He was going to have to apologise to Potter.

Oh, how the mighty hath fallen.

More than ready to get it over and done with, Snape pushed the boy's room door, expecting it to fly open. Etiquette be damned, even he'd admit some things were better done with rash, Gryffindorian spontaneity.

Only there was a sound thud, wood against flesh and then a pained yelp.

"Potter!"

"I'm fine!" came the response, which sounded just as pain-induced as the yelp.

Muffled shuffling told him Potter was moving away from the door, and it was with a little more caution that Snape walked in. Harry was standing just a few steps by his bed, one hand rubbing his back.

"You are hurt," Snape said, starting forwards. "Let me see."

"I'm fine." Harry backed away slightly.

"Potter—"

"I'm fine," he repeated, the back of his legs now brushing against the bed.

Snape looked almost ready to pull him by his arm and look for himself, and considering Harry's back was a half-scarred, half-scabbed over mess, it wasn't an eventuality he wanted explored.

"Did you need something, sir?"

Did he— ah. He'd come to apologise and then he'd hit Potter with the door. Wasn't he doing well?

"You are sure you aren't hurt?" He stared Potter down with a critical eye, even after the boy gave a stubborn nod. "Very well then. Perhaps... I suggest you take a seat."

Potter sank slowly onto the bed, looking at Snape as though he'd gone mad. Most likely he had. The chair he'd conjured to it opposite the boy made him seem even more so.

If he got out of this sane enough, Snape was going to have a talk to Salazar later about inhaling too much varnish.

"I—" Snape paused for a moment, reconsidering. "First and foremost, I wish to apologise for my... misconduct," he said slowly, though the lack of drawling was noticeable. Harry thought the man looked quite overwhelmed, every word of his unusually hesitant.

"You don't need to—"

"No," interrupted Snape firmly. "I shall."

Harry had been about to say "you don't need to pretend to care," but Snape's response didn't quite fit. He made do with fidgeting with the coverlet instead, trying to fight the dull ringing in his head.

"You must understand my ire was not directed at you."

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Not entirely directed at you," Snape corrected bitterly.