Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

10 | A Slytherin Surprise

"Do you know what we call opinion in the absence of evidence? We call it prejudice."
Michael Crichton

~~~

There was one thing Harry was definitely going to appreciate at Prince Manor— the two hours of freedom before dinner, and hence his dreaded Occulemency lesson. Harry had spent most of that time reading the more principal passages and practising basic techniques from 'The Basic Guide for the Basics of Occulemency' —Merlin bless Hermione for thinking he was as thick as a troll because he really was sometimes.

On the other hand, it had also left him time to contemplate whether or not he ought to go to dinner, something he had considered with very deep thought. By that, he meant he'd flipped a Galleon which had told him not to go. But after another 15 minutes of indecision, largely involving Harry badgering Hedwig until she'd decided to escape from out the window, he'd resolved on going anyway. He didn't want Snape calling him spoilt and ungrateful and Merlin knew what else. The man could be sadistically inventive when he wanted to be.

He'd arrived before the two Slytherins, a habit Harry would happily get into if it meant he could avoid a repeat of lunch. Though being a little on edge about the possible Basilisk in the walls of the manor wasn't really helping.

Malfoy came first, looking very much like he'd spent the whole grooming himself, dressed in a handsome white shirt with well-fitted black trousers, and his blond hair seemed shinier than usual, mimicking the gleam of the dining room chandelier.

Snape's hair too seemed to gleam... but with grease. Eurgh.

An extravagant sort of chicken stew appeared before Harry. Though the piquancy of the meal made him want to savour every bite, Harry found himself trying to eat his dinner as quickly as he could, eager to escape the edgy silence and the possible Basilisk in the walls.

Only the scalding heat of the dish fought against his plans, forcing him to pause for far too long between bites; a dirty look from Malfoy gave him the impression that blowing on his food here was akin to spitting on it.

But all he had to do was eat enough so Snape wouldn't go and call him an ingrate and he could leave, that was all he needed to do—

Ssssuch ratty sssscales...

Harry's almost choked from what was unmistakeably a snakey hiss. He'd been so close to escaping, and his suspicion of there being a Basilisk was growing stronger by the minute— oh, why was it always him?

Merlin, God, Jesus—anyone— please tell me Snape just has a cute little viper as a pet, or even a Runespoor— anything but a Basilisk.

If I could eat jusssst a little...

Harry really didn't know why the Basilisk might want to eat him— he wasn't exactly... beefy. Perhaps he could offer up Uncle Vernon...or maybe it just wanted some of his chicken stew...

"Cease your hissing and show yourself, for Merlin's sake."

Harry's fork clanged against the china of his bowl as Snape's voice pierced the quiet.

Didn't Snape know looking at a Basilisk meant death? Like... death death?

Instead, he settled on bowing his head, set on memorising every single detail of what was probabaly his last meal. The floating diced celery on top, bobbing about like little boats at sea—

"Merlin above, will you desist from having your head inclined like a repentant nun and look up, Potter?"

Snape's lost it. Completely, utterly lost it.