As if sensing there was more to it, Snape pulled out the chair beside Harry and sat down without making a sound.
"Would you care to divulge it?" he asked, his tone softer now.
Sitting on his hands and swinging his legs back and forth inches from the floor, Harry shook his head.
Reaching out, Snape put a hand to his chin, urging the boy to look at him.
"I had hoped by now, that I would be worthy of your trust," he said.
Harry swallowed, but said nothing.
A tense silence passed between them, and the boy was sure he saw something in the potions master's eyes.
Hurt?
"It's nothing, I… I guess it's just been a crazy couple of weeks, sir," Harry said eventually.
For a moment, it looked as though Snape wanted to challenge him, but he didn't, his eyes instead falling upon Harry's shoulder.
"What happened to your robes?"
Harry followed his gaze, having forgotten about the tear, courtesy of Malfoy and his friends.
"Caught it on a tree when I was visiting Hagrid," he lied, easily.
Too easily.
He felt sure that Snape hadn't bought it, but his guardian didn't question it further. Instead, he stood up once more.
"Come, I will walk you back to the tower."
Knowing that he couldn't very well run away again – and having no energy left to do it anyway – Harry followed.
Walking with the man through the castle's corridors (or rather, scurrying to keep up), being close enough to smell the comforting scent of sandalwood and hear the familiar swishing of his guardian's robes, it was easy for Harry to push Ron's warnings to the back of his head. He was almost that first year again, desperate for somebody to notice him, care about him.
And he'd had that.
At least, he'd thought he had. But Snape had never told him about being a Death Eater, or a spy for that matter. What other secrets was the man hiding? Could he really be mixed up in plans that put Harry in danger?