Sure enough, there was Snape, standing in the otherwise-deserted corridor, arms folded.
Harry lingered there – half in, half out of the Gryffindor common room.
The potions master gestured silently for him to step out onto the corridor, and Harry had no choice but to obey.
"Sir?" he asked quietly, after a few moments of silence.
Snape pointed his wand straight in the direction of the Fat Lady then, casting a muffliato spell.
"How dare you point your wand at me, Severus Snape!" the portrait admonished him.
"Silence, you questionable piece of art. You and I both know that Potter's friends are on the other side of this wall, no doubt attempting to listen in to every word," he replied, before turning back to Harry, as if waiting for him to speak.
Harry said nothing, and eventually, the potions master seemed to realise that he would have to take control of the conversation himself.
"I am having trouble, Mr Potter," he began. "Deciphering the inner workings of your mind, presently."
"W-what do you mean, sir?" Harry asked.
"I… believed, perhaps foolishly, that following the events of the previous term, you and I had… moved forward," Snape said, carefully. "And yet, the moment term resumes, you return to your previous avoidance tactics. You have not visited my quarters since Christmas break. Nor have I seen you in the great hall."
"I've just… been busy, sir. What with all the homework, and stuff," Harry said, pathetically.
"And what of the two missed potions classes?"
"Erm… stomach ache," Harry confirmed.
"Really? A pure coincidence then, that you have a hundred percent attendance for all of your other lessons thus far?" Snape queried.
He didn't respond, because he knew it was fruitless.
"Despite my best efforts, I am struggling to understand what it is I might have done to upset you," his guardian said, his voice softer now. "The only thing that holds true, is that you do not act in this manner when away from the influence of your little friends. Do they have a… problem, with our arrangement?"
He thinks I'm embarrassed that he's my guardian.
"No, sir."
"Then perhaps you could enlighten me as to the real reason?" Snape pressed.
"It's nothing," Harry told him.
"Harry, I cannot help you unless you talk to me," he said, and for the first time in his life, Harry was sure he heard a hint of exhaustion in the man's voice. Exhaustion, and concern.
But Snape couldn't help him anyway, could he?
If he opened his mouth and told anybody about what the diary had showed him, Snape would be in trouble. He'd be taken away. And Harry would be alone again.
If he said nothing, the attacks would continue. Until, sooner or later, the ministry would close down the school. And Harry would be alone again.
All roads lead to Rome.
Harry felt a sudden wave of anger right then. It wasn't fair. Just when everything had been working out, just when he thought he might know what it truly felt like to have a family… Snape had ruined it all.
The potions master reached out to put a hand on his shoulder then, but Harry pulled away, almost violently.
"Harry–"
"Leave me alone!" Harry pushed his hand away.
"Desist with this insolent behaviour, at once," Snape warned, leaning closer.
"Or what?" Harry demanded, stepping back away from him. "You'll send me back to my relatives?!"
Straightening up again, Snape took a breath, as if trying to control his anger.
"I cannot communicate with you whilst you are so irate," he declared. "But let me be clear. There will be no further missed lessons. You will eat in the great hall, at the same time as your peers. And you will report to my quarters tomorrow evening at 7pm sharp, at which point we will discuss whatever it is that is causing you so much distress, once and for all."
"No."
There was a dangerous silence.
"I beg your pardon?" Snape asked, his voice low.
"I'm not discussing anything with you. Just leave me alone," Harry said, before turning back to the Fat Lady, who opened to let him through without so much as a request for the password.
"Potter, get back here," Snape ordered, catching his arm.
But Harry pulled it from his grasp.
"You can't tell me what to do!" he cried. "You're not my dad!"
With that, the portrait swung shut once more.
And somewhere in the distance, the bloodwards around Spinner's End weakened, and threatened to fizzle out altogether.