"You have another question," Snape said, his limbs in graceful motion like a cat's as he paced around the room. "Ask it."
Harry looked at Snape - really looked, and then said, in a small voice, "You won't want to answer, sir."
"That is my perogative, yes." Snape said, and in a voice that oozed a caramelized glee, "Ask it anyway."
"What were you and Mister Malfoy talking about, sir?" Harry Potter asked, trying to pitch his voice into the penitent range, and figuring he was abysmally failing.
"I shall tell you this - and it shall be this time only, as for once in Mister Malfoy's life, his goals and Dumbledore's coincide." Snape said. Harry said nothing, just looked, expectant and open. "After all, Mister Malfoy would hardly wish his son thrust into the throes of an active war, now would he?" Snape's mouth curled up into the ghost of a smirk.
"I won't get into the details, but suffice it to say, we are all dancing for the amusement of the Dark Lord at this moment." Snape turned, abruptly, flashing his eyes at Harry. "When he stops being amused, people will begin to die."
"I see, sir." Harry said.
"Your report was nearly acceptable," Snape said sternly, "At least you were clever enough to not get caught."
Harry's green eyes found Snape's, and he couldn't quite stop himself from blurting out, "What would you have done then, sir?"
"Oh, probably nothing," Snape said lightly, "What would you expect from two Death Eater's in Dumbledore's personal domain?"
Harry blinked, once, and then twice, "Pain, sir."
"Too true. Nothing permanent, of course - that would be too noticeable." Snape sniffed, "I would have stopped him, of course, if he'd gotten beyond the realm of punishment."
"You don't think he would, though," Harry observed.
"No," Snape said. "You are dismissed."
Harry made for the door as if the winds of Hades were at his back. He'd already had one question answered that he hadn't deserved the answer to. He didn't want to press his luck.
[a/n: Snape's trained Harry to deal with pain. Leave a review]