Dumbledore looked around the empty room.
"Is she here with us now?" he whispered, with faux fascination.
Harry sighed, shaking his head. "She's in her dormitory."
"In that case…" the headmaster smiled, brightly.
It was silent for a moment, but try as he might, Harry could come up with no further excuses. Short of telling Dumbledore about everything that had happened, there was only one other thing he could come clean about.
"ItoldhimIhatedhim," he mumbled.
"Did you?" Dumbledore asked, looking more perplexed than unhappy. "Whatever for, my boy?"
Harry shrugged. "I didn't mean it… it was just… I was angry."
"Of course you didn't. I am sure, Harry, that in your many years living with your cousin… what was his name?"
"Dudley," he supplied.
"Ah, yes. Well, in your many years of living with Dudley, he no doubt said similar things to his parents on countless occasions?" Dumbledore enquired.
He nodded. "Yeah, whenever he didn't get his own way, or didn't like something, he'd always have a tantrum and tell my Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon that they were rotten, or that he hated them."
"And yet, they always forgave him, did they not?"
"Well, yeah…" he began.
"Unconditional," was all the old man said.
Harry frowned. "Sir?"
"The love between a parent and a child," Dumbledore affirmed. "Unconditional, I believe they call it."
"But that's different," Harry sighed. "Professor Snape's not… I mean, he's not really my… it's just not the same."