Polyjuice Potion and the Heir (4)

"It seemed the 'Boy Who Lived' halo couldn't illuminate that empty head of yours enough to keep you from becoming an accomplice to a Weasley-style disaster."

He paused, as though savoring the taste of those words.

"Or," his voice dropped again, low enough for only Harry and Ron to hear, "were you using this... performance... to warm up for your pathetic Quidditch debut tomorrow?"

Harry's heart gave a violent lurch.

Performance.

The word was like a needle, piercing precisely into some part of his heart.

Snape was testing him. Or was he hinting at something? Had he seen through him? Had he noticed some connection between today's "accident" and his previous "distraction"?

But Snape's next words made him relax—while igniting another fire inside him.

"That reminds me, Potter," the corners of Snape's lips curled upward in a cruel smile filled with malice, "your father seemed to enjoy... blowing things up before important matches too, for courage."

He had mentioned his father.

Mentioned James Potter.

In such an insulting context.

Something inside Harry's mind snapped with a crack.

Not his reason—his reason was still there, but it had been shoved aside by something blazing hot and uncontrollable that surged up from his chest, like a car struck from behind and sent hurtling forward without control.

"This has nothing to do with my father, Professor!"

The words burst from him, much louder than he had expected. His voice echoed through the dungeon, struck the stone walls, and bounced back, like a stone thrown into water, its ripples spreading in every direction.

Everyone in the classroom heard him.

Everyone turned to look at him.

Malfoy's smile widened.

Ron jerked his head up and looked at Harry with an expression that said, Don't take the bait.

But the words had already been spoken.

"It's