A Year Like None Other by aspeninthesunlight
Past Featured StorySummary: A letter from home sends Harry down a path he'd never have walked on his own. A sixth year fic, this story follows Order of the Phoenix and disregards any canon events that occur after Book 5. Spoilers for the first five books. Have fun!
Categories: Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape, Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Remus
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Adoption, Slytherin!Harry, SuperPower! Harry
Takes Place: 6th Year
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Neglect, Self-harm, Torture, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: A Year Like None Other
Chapters: 96 Completed: Yes Word count: 810080 Read: 1379808 Published: 28 Feb 2007 Updated: 14 Sep 2007
Missing by aspeninthesunlight

The main thing Harry learned from writing in his journal was that even though no dream could affect his relationship with his father, he still really did want to know if the stupid thing was going to come true. If it was . . . well, he could handle it. Maybe for some reason as yet unknown to him, Snape was going to have to adjust their legal situation. It wasn't a prospect Harry enjoyed contemplating, but neither was it the end of the world. After all, he and Snape would still be father and son where it counted. Nothing was going to alter that; he knew it right down to the marrow of his bones.

All the same, he wanted to be prepared. And that meant finding out, once and for all, if seer dreams were fated to come true. Was the future already written out in full? Could he do nothing but read it? Or could he alter the flow of time itself?

He knew from experience that Snape had no real answers, not to questions like these, and of course it went without saying that he was going nowhere near Trelawney with a Divination question. That left it to him to research the matter.

But that was all right with Harry. Actually, it was high time he did something about his own magical problems, instead of waiting for Remus or Snape or Draco to hand him solutions on a silver platter. The problems were his, and he'd just been drifting, letting everybody else suggest techniques for him to try. It was time to take responsibility for himself, Harry decided. And as the latest manifestation of his magic was this seer dream, he'd start there, and investigate his own powers as best he could.

The day after they'd shared cocoa and crumpets, Harry flooed a note to Madam Pince asking for some books on prophetic dreams. It took him a few days to read the materials she'd sent and conclude that they weren't too helpful. They all did agree on one thing, though. Dreams and emotions were inextricably interwoven, and seer dreams were no exception. Begin a dream diary, the books invariably advised. Write down your dreams in as much detail as you can possibly recall. Write them down the moment you awake, and meditate upon the meaning of it all.

That last bit was a bit too Trelawney-esque for Harry's tastes, but he didn't think writing down the dream was a bad idea. Already, the details were starting to blur in his memory. He figured he'd better get things down on paper before they got even fuzzier. The journal would serve well enough for that, too.

That night after dinner--it was Ron's fifth night studying in the dungeons--Harry waited until Draco was out of the room, then quietly brought out his journal.

"Sir," he quietly said, taking the journal over to the couch where Snape sat reading Ron's latest Potions essay, "I need a spell."

"Your hands?"

"No, they're fine for the moment." He dropped his voice a tad. "Could you charm this so it will only open at my touch? And . . . well, just make sure that it's fortified in particular against Draco, all right?"

Ron definitely heard that, Harry thought. The guest in the dungeons snorted.

Snape didn't comment at all; he simply charmed the journal and handed it back. Then he was taking up the essay. "Mr Weasley, a word if I may."

Ron lumbered over, his posture screaming resentment even if his words were carefully polite. "Sir?"

Snape glanced him over. "Don't stand there like a stump. Take a seat."

Ron slid into one the easy chairs but held himself tensely.

"Properties of Charmed Potions," Snape read the title of Ron's essay. "You've explored only two subtopics when the assignment specified four. Continue, if you will."

"It's twelve inches," Ron pointed out, his jaw clenched. "As requested, sir."

"It's half the assignment no matter what your ruler may have to say. The points you make are well-developed, but the topic as a whole is incomplete."

Ron took the parchment Snape was extending. "W . . . well-developed?"

Snape looked faintly bored. "Without belabouring the point, yes. You have submitted half of a good essay. Need I point out that half equals fifty percent, which is an abysmal grade. Hence the request to continue."

"Good essay." Ron still sounded gob smacked.

"Potentially," Snape corrected.

Finally getting over the way that had gone, Ron wandered back over to the table and chewed a quill as he looked through his Potions text again. After a while, he leaned forward a bit to peer at what Harry was writing. "Diary?" he whispered.

Harry glanced up in surprise. Ron had been carefully civil ever since his return, but this was the first time he'd shown a real interest in anything except doing his schoolwork and getting back to the Tower.

"Yeah. Dudley gave it to me," Harry nodded. "I . . . There are some things I have to work out, and I think writing them down will help."

A faint frown creased Ron's brow, but then a cynical light in his eye eased the worry from his features. "At least you've got enough sense to know that Slytherin would do practically anything to get his hands on your private thoughts."

Harry thought about saying that Ron's brothers would do just the same. He frankly couldn't imagine Fred and George not breaking their way into a sealed diary . . . and leaving behind a surprise or two, most likely. He knew he'd better not mention anything about Draco being his brother, though. It definitely wouldn't go over so well. Maybe later, much later . . . after Ron had got used to the whole Snape-as-father situation.

"His name is Draco, not 'that Slytherin,'" he merely commented, making sure to keep his voice nice and mild.

Ron still saw fit to huff. "What's this with him calling me Ron? I mean, when he did it before, at least he was smarmy. Now he's just acting . . . I don't know. Weird."

Harry shrugged. "I asked him to call you Ron, actually."

"What is he, your pet Slytherin? He just does whatever you say?"

"He knows I'm sick to death of my friends treating my life like a duelling platform."

Ron jerked back in his chair almost as though he'd been slapped. "Friends? Him, you mean?"

"No, I meant you. Listen . . . I don't want to fight with you. Not about anything. But as long as he's treating you politely, you might consider doing the same."

When Ron rolled his eyes, Harry left it at that, and kept writing in his diary.

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He wrote down the entire dream once a day for three days in a row, completely from memory, and then compared the versions. Interesting to see how much more he could recall on the third retelling. He was sure the memory was accurate, though. When he wrote it out the next time, no further details emerged, so with that, Harry figured that he'd done all he could to reconstruct it.

So, now what? His books all stressed that some seers dreamed in symbols, but Harry suspected that didn't apply to him. His dreams so far, at least the ones that had come true, had been literal. Even the brothers one, though apparently it had been presaging something far more profound than mere brotherhood in Slytherin House. The books didn't address literal dreams, though, so Harry concluded that he what he really needed were some better books. Much better books, and in a place like Hogwarts, that meant just one thing.

The next night, he waited impatiently through Snape's explanation of retrograde motion, his mind really more on his plan than on the planets. At length the Potions Master snapped his fingers to vanish away the miniature solar system he had conjured, and told them to finish their Astronomy essays. Accurately, this time, he specified, but not as rudely as he might have. Harry couldn't help but notice that the man really was trying hard not to set Ron off again.

Once Snape walked away from the dining room table, Harry set to work, but not on his essay. Behind his propped up text, he was scratching out,

Dear Hermione,

Thanks so much for coming down here every couple of days for the last few weeks, and bringing so many different Gryffindors along. It's better having Ron down here now that he doesn't have to do those ridiculous lines. I'm not blind; I thought Severus was horribly mean-spirited about the whole thing. It turns out he also had some complicated scheme in mind that he thought would help me. Anyway, the whole thing was completely mental. Sometimes Slytherins are just too sneaky for their own good. We got in a big fight about that and about some other stuff --I was pretty miserable for a while--, but in the end we talked it all out.

Strange as it might sound, I'm sort of glad we argued. Because now, it's not like I'm waiting on pins and needles for the other shoe to drop. (Sorry about the mixed metaphor. Severus complains I use too many Quidditch analogies in my essays, which I thought was pretty funny considering that's what you always say. I guess I should stop now before I mention that you have a lot in common with him. Yeah, definitely I'll stop.) Anyway, about the fight. I have this feeling now that we can get through good times and bad, just like regular families do. And that's a good feeling, it really is.

Well, enough news. I actually do have a reason for writing instead of just waiting for your next visit. I need you to do me a really important favour. Remember how you told me that you had a pass into the restricted section for the rest of the term? I know, I know, it's a limited pass and you're only supposed to use it to work on your advanced Arithmancy studies. Turns out though, that I need some books for a project of my own. I've exhausted everything Madam Pince has in the general student section. Anything you could get me about prophetic dreaming or seer dreams would be really helpful.

It's good to know I have friends I can really count on. Since I need the books just as soon as you can possibly manage, do you think you could use your pass tomorrow, smuggle some texts out, and either bring them down here yourself or send them with Ron when he comes? Thanks, Hermione. Thanks a million.

Love,

Harry

P.S. Draco says you're pretty.

He slipped the letter into an envelope and passed it across the table to Ron, then realised that maybe he should erase the bit about what Draco had said. Then he shrugged. He trusted Ron not to sneak a peek, so that was no problem, and Hermione wasn't likely to misunderstand the comment. She wouldn't think Draco liked her or anything. Harry wasn't even sure why he'd put that bit in. Maybe he just wanted Hermione to know that Draco wasn't quite as prejudiced as he liked to make out.

Clearing his throat, Harry whispered to Ron, "Could you make sure Hermione reads this tonight?"

Snape's sardonic voice broke in before Ron could answer. "So. Miss Granger is consulting with you on retrograde motion, is she, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's a letter."

"You have a penchant for dealing with your post at the most inopportune times."

"I'll write the essay in the morning. It's not due until Friday, anyway, and I'm in a mood tonight to do something besides study, I think." Harry gave his father a rather pointed look.

Snape seemed to understand the unspoken message. "Shall we play a round of Wizard's Chess, then?"

"Sure." Harry got the set from its place on a bookshelf and began tapping the pieces with a fingernail to wake them up. The white queen yawned and cradled her head in her arms, but came to attention at a baleful glare from Snape.

Ron pretended to ignore them as they began the match, but Harry could see him watching out of the corner of his eye. He winced the first time Harry moved a knight and actually groaned out loud when he castled. An amused glint lit up Snape's dark gaze.

When the match was over, Snape winning as usual, the Potions Master turned toward Ron. "So you believe you could do better, Mr Weasley?"

Ron looked startled as he glanced up from his essay. Assessing the board briefly, he nodded.

"Should you like to demonstrate that?" Snape inquired.

Ron looked sorely tempted--no doubt he was fantasizing of soundly trouncing the Potions Master--but all he said in reply was, "No thanks. I've got this to finish and a big pile of other work."

"Ah, well, another time then." Snape went and sat on the sofa where he resumed flipping through a potions journal.

"Don't forget to give Hermione the letter," Harry reminded Ron. Then, taking up his Astronomy text, he went to sit beside his father where they proceeded to read in comfortable silence.

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The next afternoon, when Draco was in the Potions lab working up some new concoction, the Floo abruptly flared to life. Harry jumped about a yard, almost knocking his half-finished astronomy essay off the table.

When he turned toward the sound, he expected to see Snape. The Potions Master didn't often contact them during the day, but it did happen on occasion. It wasn't Snape's familiar features peering out of the fire, though.

"Harry," Albus Dumbledore requested, his features lacking their usual solemn smile, "could you please Floo up to my office for a chat?"

Harry's first reaction was shock to be invited at all; it seemed to him that the headmaster had been avoiding him for a long, long time. His second reaction was to remember how he'd got burned while talking with Hagrid. Instinct had him backing away from the fireplace.

The headmaster looked a bit impatient. "Now please, Harry," he prompted, sounding rather ominous. "I need to speak with you."

Harry blinked. "Um, well I suppose you could Floo down here, sir."

"I'd really prefer to discuss this matter in the privacy of my office."

This matter? It didn't sound to Harry like this was a social chat. More like he was in trouble.

The headmaster sighed. "Shall I floo through and bring you back, Harry? I understand you've had some concerns about travelling alone through the network?"

Hearing it put that way brought Harry up short. He knew he shouldn't have those concerns any longer. He'd flooed just fine with Snape at Christmas, and though he had got burned during that firechat, Snape had claimed that travelling through the Floo would require less access to magic than the chat had. Which meant that Harry should really be fine to floo.

It was just a case of deciding he'd do it. Of deciding to take responsibility for himself, he sensed. What was he going to do, put off flooing until Snape got tired of it and tossed him into the grate? His father would do it, too, if he thought it would be best for Harry.

Harry could just imagine the fight that would cause. Far better for him to get over his fears on his own, he decided. It was time. Actually, it was past time.

"I'll be right there, Professor Dumbledore," Harry finally said, cementing his decision. He thought of going into the Potions lab to tell Draco where he was going, but decided that he was nervous enough without adding in an audience to watch him Floo away. Neither did he want to just vanish, either, so he got his Floo powder ready, stepped across the hearth, and then, just before flinging it down, called out, "Draco, I'm flooing up to talk to the headmaster."

He heard a muffled reply, and then he was throwing powder toward his feet and shouting, "Professor Dumbledore's office!"

After the initial flash of fire, he spun away into darkness, tumbling past random fireplaces until the Network spat him out onto the headmaster's hearth. Harry sat up, laughing as he brushed cinders from the shoulders of his shirt. He was reeling, but not from the trip. It was giddiness, pure and simple.

He'd flooed alone! He'd done it!

And he wasn't burned at all!

Dumbledore came from behind his desk and extended a hand to help him up, surprising Harry with the strength of his grip. The headmaster might look old and frail, but that was misdirection at its best. Harry finished dusting himself off, then settled himself into a wide, comfortable chair and took a sherbet lemon from the candy dish the headmaster pushed his way.

"So," Dumbledore said, pulling out his chair with a wave of his wand, and settling in with a sigh, "I imagine you've already realised why I thought we ought to talk."

Dumbledore, getting straight to the point? Harry had been expecting a few minutes of small talk, most likely over a cup of tea. At any rate, he didn't know why he'd been summoned. "Um, you thought it was time we did a little catching up?" he guessed.

"Harry," the headmaster chided. "Really."

"What?"

"How many times have I told you that you may come to me with anything?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I don't know why you wanted to talk, Professor Dumbledore. I really don't."

"Ah." Dumbledore appeared to pause to think, then leaned forward and peered at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "A certain Gryffindor prefect has been caught making unauthorized use of the Restricted Section. Does that clear matters up for you?"

Uh-oh. Harry gave a weak smile and tried to act at ease, but he could tell it wasn't working. That was pretty interesting, since if he was sure of anything, it was that if Hermione had been caught, she would have taken all the blame. She'd never have mentioned that Harry had put her up to it.

Harry had to mention it, though. Sometimes it was pretty inconvenient being a Gryffindor.

"Don't blame Hermione," he urged, splaying his hands on top of the desk. "I asked her to get me some books. It's not her fault. Um . . . how did you know I was involved, anyway?"

The headmaster narrowed his gaze. "The content of the books she had collected was highly suspect. To my knowledge, there is only one student who has been dreaming the future of late."

"Severus . . . er, I mean, Professor Snape told you about my dreams?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I know I used to rebuke you for failing to show him sufficient respect, Harry, but seeing as he is your father now, I think 'Severus' will do nicely. By the way, how are things between you? Everything going well?"

Now he was going to indulge in the small talk?

"Oh, fine, fine," Harry answered, deciding he didn't need to mention their recent fight.

As it turned out, what Dumbledore had in mind wasn't small talk at all. He cut right to the heart of the matter, pressing, "If that is indeed the case, why send Miss Granger to the Restricted Section to smuggle you out those books? I'm sure you're well-aware that Severus could get them for you."

"Uh . . ." Harry didn't have much of an answer to that. "I just wanted help with some questions," he murmured. "I started with regular books and when they weren't much help, it just seemed logical to . . ."

"You didn't think to take your questions to your father?"

"Well, seeing as he scored a Troll in Divination, no."

Another warm smile. "The two of you have been talking, I see. Good to hear, good to hear. But as concerns your dreams, Harry, perhaps I might be able to answer your questions?"

"Well, it was mainly one thing," Harry admitted. "Come to think of it, I actually did ask Severus this a while ago, and he didn't have an answer. But maybe you would. Do seer dreams have to come true?"

The headmaster pushed a bit as his glasses and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth before answering, "Well, they wouldn't be seer dreams if they didn't, would they?"

"I suppose not," Harry admitted. "But . . . well, it's like this. Suppose something was going to come true, but the mere fact that I dreamed it changes that. Like . . . I dream I'm going to die falling off a broom, so I stop going flying. Can't I change the future if I know how to react to it?"

Dumbledore's voice went absolutely serious. "Are your dreams presaging someone's death, Harry?"

"Oh no, not at all. That was just an example."

"You're certain?"

"Well, yeah. I wouldn't keep something like that to myself."

"I should hope not," Dumbledore sternly admonished. "However, I can't help but notice something alarming, Harry. Back at Grimmauld Place, you had no hesitation to tell Remus Lupin about your dreams. But now . . . I must think this surge of research means you've had more of them. Evidently they concern you, yet you've spoken with no one?"

"Yeah," Harry thickly admitted.

"Harry . . ." Dumbledore paused, then said rather delicately, "Your dreams are not just your own, I hope you know. When they touch on anything to do with Voldemort, or the war, or the Order . . . well, you really mustn't keep them to yourself."

Harry had been aware for years that his life wasn't his own. Maybe that was why he liked Severus. The Potions Master saw him as himself, not as some hero whose sole purpose in life was to save the world.

He sighed. "My dreams don't involve any of those things."

Stroking his beard, Dumbledore softly questioned, "Wouldn't you have said that before Samhain, as well? And yet though you did not realise it, your dreams were indeed informing you of matters concerning Voldemort. So how can you know for certain now that these latest dreams aren't?"

"Not dreams," Harry corrected. "Dream. I didn't have any for months, Professor. And now it's just the one."

"But you haven't spoken to Severus about it? Not at all?"

Harry looked away and shook his head.

"My boy . . . I think you should consider telling him."

"I actually have been thinking about that," Harry admitted, biting his lip. "A lot."

"If the adoption is working out satisfactorily, why the hesitation?"

Harry didn't have an answer for that. Or at least not one he was willing to share. He wanted to tell his father; it seemed wrong to keep something like this a secret. Yet . . . knowing that an unadoption was coming was an awful burden to bear. Harry wished he didn't know, even. His best hope had been that seer dreams sometimes failed.

Dumbledore was shaking his head. "I really must insist you speak with an Order member, Harry. If you are positive that you cannot broach the matter with Severus, perhaps you could have a talk with Arthur Weasley--"

"No," Harry instantly rejected that idea. He couldn't imagine how his father would feel if he went to someone else with the dream. "I'm sure it's nothing the Order needs to know about, sir. Actually, it's a personal matter. Look, I didn't want to stir up a great froth; I just wanted an answer to my question."

"If seer dreams are fated to be," Dumbledore sagely nodded. "I'm afraid they are indeed, Harry. Prophecy wouldn't be much use if they weren't."

Harry frowned. "If prophecies come true regardless of what anybody does about them, then why have you been so determined to turn me into some wizarding saviour? I mean, you've done everything but give me combat lessons--"

"I'll be speaking to Severus about that as soon as your magic's back in full," Dumbledore offered.

Harry winced. He could think of few things he'd prefer less than to duel with his father, for a number of reasons. Hmm, maybe Snape could supervise while he trained with Draco. That would be better.

"Why bother?" he pressed. "If the future's already written, then what's the point in anything?"

"In your case, quite a lot. Neither can live while the other one survives, Harry. That prophecy doesn't write the whole future; it lays out two paths."

"All right, I understand that," Harry murmured. "But isn't that wording sort of strange? I mean, we are both alive right now, aren't we?"

"Well, prophecy is notoriously difficult to interpret," Dumbledore passed that off. "All the more reason why you really shouldn't keep a seer dream strictly to yourself. Tell Severus, Harry."

Dumbledore wasn't going to let that go; Harry could tell. "I'll talk to him," he conceded. All that had kept him from it before, he suddenly realised, was the uncertainty attached to the dream itself. Why upset Severus if the stupid thing wasn't going to come true?

But it was . . . or at least Dumbledore thought so. And when it came to wizarding knowledge, Dumbledore really knew his stuff. So there was going to be an unadoption, simple as that.

And since there was, it really was wrong to keep it from Severus. Knowing about the future in advance, after all, was what had kept Harry strong and confident during Samhain. Now, that same knowledge was going to get him through the unadoption, too. His father deserved the same consideration. Because after all, it wasn't going to be an unadoption in any way that mattered, was it? They'd still be father and son where it counted. He'd still have a room in Snape's quarters, still be welcome there . . .

Or will I? a niggling little voice chewed at the edges of his thoughts. Maybe I was packed to go because something strange and bizarre is going to happen, and me staying with him would land him in Azkaban or something . . . Hmm, I don't see how that could happen, but what if it did? The casewitch said she was visiting under terrible circumstances, after all. I'd sooner leave and never see him again, father or no, than be responsible for something awful happening to him . . .

They'd still be father and son, Harry had no doubt of that, but that might not be enough. He wasn't going to lose his father, not over anything, but that didn't mean that he'd really have him, either, not in a world like the one they lived in.

Voldemort . . . Fudge and his band of idiots . . . Azkaban . . . Wizards who would never, ever understand that Snape's Dark Mark didn't represent who or what he was . . . And he was famous Harry Potter, the Boy Whose Life Belonged To Everyone Except Himself . . . Really, there were any number of things that might come between him and his father.

His uncertainty must have shown on his face, Harry realised, for the wily headmaster clearly didn't believe he intended to tell Severus a thing. "On to other matters," he announced, his tone short. "As you've incited Miss Granger to break school rules--causing her to lose her pass to the Restricted Section, by the way--your Head of House must of course be informed. Ah, but that's right. You have two Heads of House these days. Well, I suppose they shall have to confer as to the appropriate consequence."

"And you'll no doubt make quite sure Severus knows just what books I was asking Hermione to get," Harry realised out loud. "So he can ask me himself about why I haven't mentioned having another seer dream! Are you sure you weren't a Slytherin back when you attended here?"

"Oh, we all have a little Slytherin in us," the headmaster airily replied.

"Do we!" Harry dryly remarked. His mind racing, he realised that as he was going to tell Snape about the dream anyway--he'd already decided that much on his own--he might as well play it for all it was worth. "How about we reach another sort of agreement, sir?" he proposed, sitting up straighter. "Hermione's to be given back her pass to the Restricted Section and she's to receive no consequence for helping me. In exchange, I'll do as you wish and speak to my father about my dream."

"You'll speak to him about that in any case," Dumbledore mildly pointed out. "Seeing as you'll have no choice."

"Ah, but if you let Hermione off I'll have good will towards you, sir," Harry sweetly pointed out, his tones growing acerbic when Dumbledore remained mute. "Oh, come on! You've let me get away with breaking about a thousand school rules! You've facilitated my breaking them, as long as it was in a good cause. This is just more of the same."

"Keeping secrets from your father qualifies as a good cause?"

"No, but trying to understand my magical state on my own for once, instead of just whinging on about it certainly does!" Harry retorted. "Sir? Please."

"Well . . ." Dumbledore granted Harry one of his most beatific smiles. "As luck would have it, I hadn't yet got around to speaking to Minerva about Miss Granger . . ."

Luck, my arse, Harry almost said. Instead, he murmured. "Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore sternly regarded him, no smile about him that time. "Seer dreams, Harry, are never trivial. You've seen something significant, something that most likely does involve matters the Order should be informed of. See to it that you do discuss the matter with your father."

Harry nodded, those last two words catching at his consciousness. "When Severus and I came up here to sign papers together, I thought . . . it seemed almost as though you didn't want to let him adopt me. But now you keep calling him my father, so I think you must have got over that?"

Dumbledore snapped his fingers and several things appeared on his desk. A steaming pot of tea, a plate of cucumber-and-watercress sandwiches, and a little tray of butter cookies dusted with castor sugar. He served Harry a cup, then gestured for him to help himself to the other items. "I don't suppose Severus has mentioned that he takes tea with me at least twice a week?"

"No, I don't suppose he has," Harry echoed.

"Mmm." Dumbledore popped a cookie past his teeth. "I like to stay up to date with all my staff, of course. When it comes to Severus, though . . ." The headmaster smiled. "Well, I can't help but ask how you're doing each time, and then we get to talking . . . He's taken to fatherhood like a broom to the air, hasn't he? I should have known. He always has been a most conscientious Head of House."

Harry thought about that for a moment. Maybe Snape having been a Head of House for so long explained some things. "Hmm," he said, wondering how to proceed. "Well, you know, we've had some ups and downs--"

"Only to be expected, my boy."

"Oh sure," Harry agreed. "But the thing is, it's a habit with him, I think, to react to things the way a Head of House would. Maybe you could mention sometime over tea that it's not so fatherly to punish me with points over things that are really strictly family matters?"

"Maybe you could mention it," Dumbledore gently pointed out.

"Oh, I have, believe me. But I'm not quite getting through."

The headmaster gave a sage nod. "I'll have a word with him. Just so long as you know, Harry, I'm quite certain Severus will guess that you had a word with me first."

Harry sipped his tea and hid a smile. "That's all right."

Whatever Dumbledore might have said in reply was cut completely off by the sound of the Floo flaring to life. Snape tumbled out, his robes in wild disarray, cinders flying everywhere as he made a completely undignified entrance into the room. The shock of that, however, was overshadowed by the words escaping his lips, words which began before he had fully exited the smouldering fire.

"Harry's gone missing!" he cried out, stumbling off the hearth as though his legs were about to give way.

"No I haven't," Harry said, jumping up from his chair so that Snape would notice him.

Snape's jaw dropped, his black eyes screaming relief, and for a single moment, absolute silence reigned in the stone chamber. Then he said something that was quite possibly the most inane thing Harry had ever heard Severus Snape utter. "You're here."

"Well, yeah." Harry tried for a soothing tone, sensing that his father was still deep in some state of shock. "Professor Dumbledore invited me up for a chat--"

In less than an instant, Snape was across the room and pulling Harry into a tight, almost suffocating hug, yanking him urgently into his arms and holding on as though for dear life. Before Harry had quite adjusted to that, however, his father was shoving him away and roughly shaking him by the shoulders, shouting, "You are without exception the singularly most thoughtless child I've ever known! Draco was out of his mind with worry--"

The shaking suddenly stopped as Dumbledore laid a hand atop one of Snape's. "Only Draco, Severus?"

Snape huffed and took an abrupt step back, crossing his arms with a snapping motion. "What utter rot. I am quite rightly concerned over this idiot child's scatter-brained decision to sneak off without so much as a word!"

Harry took a breath. "I told Draco I was coming up here."

Sneering, Snape retorted, "Be that as it may, when he interrupted my session with the fourth-year Slytherins, he was in a state of extreme panic! So much so that he couldn't even manage to guard his tongue! By nightfall, the whole castle will be abuzz with rumours of Voldemort entering Hogwarts yet again!"

"Look," Harry said, "I'm sorry Draco missed it, but I did tell him. I even thought he replied."

"Any particular reason," Snape snidely inquired, "why you didn't wait long enough to find out what he had replied? For all you know, it could have been, What was that, Harry? I didn't quite catch it."

"I didn't want anybody to see me try to floo!" Harry exclaimed, only then realizing that he should share his news. "I flooed, Professor! All by myself! And I didn't get burned at all!"

Something in Snape's expression softened. "So you did."

The quiet, proud undertone in those three words did more to affect Harry than any rebuke could. "I didn't want to worry anyone," he offered. "I thought Draco heard me say I was coming up here, I really did. I'm sorry."

Snape briefly closed his eyes, but not before Harry saw a flash of pain darken them far past black. "I thought I had lost you," he admitted in a cracking whisper lashed with a fear that was all too real, even now. "I thought the wards had failed. That you would be killed. That you had been killed, already."

That time it was Harry who flew across the room, wrapping his arms around his father to pull him tight. "I'm sorry!" he said again, the words a muffled wail.

Dumbledore, Harry noted, had enough decorum to turn away as Snape tightened his hold and bent to briefly touch his lips to the boy's hair.

"Well, you didn't intend to upset anyone, I'm sure," Snape finally said, his voice rather gruff. He stepped back and cleared his throat to get Dumbledore's attention. "Headmaster, I hate to impose, but I think it best if I am there with Harry when he explains to Draco just what transpired. Would you be so good as to assist my Slytherins in finishing their Ossifying Potions?"

Harry remembered that one. One sip of it would strengthen your bones, but more than that . . . or the slightest mistake in the complicated formula . . . and the results were bad. He swallowed something hard and painful as realisation hit. "You left your students in the middle of brewing?"

"I do believe I mentioned once that you were my first priority, Harry," Snape drawled, a slight flush still tinting his cheekbones. He returned his gaze to the headmaster. "Should anyone need it, there is an antidote in my top left desk drawer. The orange vial. I don't want any of my Slytherins turning completely to bone, after all." His colour returned to normal as he smirked. "Now, had I been instructing Gryffindors when Draco's firecall came through . . ."

Harry chuckled and lightly poked his father in the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. I'm wise to you now."

Snape favoured him with a supremely cool look. "I've no idea what you mean."

"I'll bid you good day, then," Dumbledore broke in, his wizened old eyes satisfied as he glanced at them both. With that, he was flooing down to see to Snape's students.

Grabbing his father's hand, Harry tugged him toward the hearth. "Watch me Floo--"

"Another time," Snape declined. "I shouldn't like to follow you down and find that Draco has hexed you for giving him such a fright."

"Oh, he wouldn't hex me!" Harry exclaimed. "I think maybe that fight gave you the wrong idea. We usually get on really well."

"Draco's lack of impulse control is most apparent when he's under a great deal of stress," Snape explained.

"Oh, all right, we'll go together," Harry agreed, stepping into the fireplace and waiting for Snape to join him. "But I get to throw down the powder."

A flash of green fire consumed them both as the boy shouted, "Harry Potter's home!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The Floo Network usually liked to belch Harry out rather emphatically, but with Snape standing beside him, it decided to behave. They spun back down to the dungeons and stepped calmly into the living room just as Draco's voice rang out in commanding, imperious tones, "Point me Harry Potter!"

A wand on the floor spun around then stopped, its tip pointing directly at Harry's ash-coated shoes.

"Ha ha, ah ha!" Draco shouted, practically jumping up and down. "It worked, it worked!"

Then he glanced up and saw Harry. "Oh, you're here."

Hmm, Harry thought. Maybe Slytherins under stress feel a strange need to state the obvious.

"Yeah, sorry that I worried you," Harry admitted, stepping back against his father when Draco's eyes began to glitter in a way that looked a bit dangerous. "Dumbledore invited me up for a chat, and I thought I'd go, that was all. I did tell you before I went, but I guess you didn't hear me."

Draco glared. "Next time you might want to just check that I have, Potter! Honestly, Severus probably has a classroom full of dead Slytherins by now or something. And that's sure going to do my reputation in my house a lot of good, isn't it?"

"Sorry," Harry said again, a little bit sheepishly.

Draco glared a moment longer, then admitted, "Well, it's good that it was nothing, I suppose." He scooped his wand up off the floor, shaking his head.

"Experimenting with the Point Me charm?" Snape mildly inquired, though Harry thought his voice sounded rather intrigued.

"Yeah, I thought it was useless on people," Harry said, going to flop onto a sofa. "It only works if the person's in the same room with you, so what good is that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Draco drawled, looking Harry up and down. "It might come in handy if, say, a certain sneaky little Gryffindor had, oh . . . I don't know . . . an invisibility cloak, for example?"

Harry breathed out a sigh. "You know about my dad's old cloak?"

"No, I actually did think your head had visited Hogsmeade without the rest of you, that time!" Draco snapped. "Of course I know! Besides, I found it when I was looking for you."

Now it was Harry who was glaring. "You were looking for me in my trunk?"

"Look, how should I know what strange thing you might take it in your head to do?" Draco scathed. "You stopped eating last time you felt troubled, didn't you? I thought maybe you'd got upset again and . . . ah, regressed a bit further into your childhood, that's all."

Harry burst out laughing. "You thought as there wasn't a cupboard handy for me to escape to, I'd just crawl into my own trunk and shut the lid?"

Draco must have realised that put that way, it did sound a bit daft. "Well, how was I to know it was quite so small inside? Honestly. You ought to get one spelled with wizardspace. No wonder all your stuff sits out. You couldn't cram it all in there if you tried!"

Harry knew that; he had tried. He glanced over at his father, who had sat down a short distance away. "You know, I thought I might ask for a new trunk for Christmas. Or my birthday, maybe."

"Months away," Snape remarked.

For some reason, that startled Harry. "You know when my birthday is?"

"Born as the seventh month dies."

Of course; he'd know it from the prophecy, Harry realised. For a moment there he'd thought that Snape had taken the trouble to find it out. It would be on his school records, and the adoption papers. But no matter.

Draco looked a bit puzzled, but instead of pursuing it, he pocketed his wand and admitted, "I was trying out some things with the Point Me spell. Trying to find you, Harry. I thought I might be able to make the charm work even if you were miles away."

"Fully trained wizards have been attempting that for hundreds of years," Snape explained.

"Well I had to do something!" Draco retorted, his pride obviously a bit stung. "I wasn't about to just sit here practicing cleaning charms while Harry was Merlin-knows-where!"

"Thanks," Harry said.

Draco's nostrils flared. "I didn't do anything to be thanked for, Potter," he half-snarled. "For just one second there, I thought it had actually worked, thought I had done it . . . but no, that was just the spell reacting to the fact that you stepped into the room." He narrowed his eyes. "You came back through with Severus. But when you left, did the headmaster come fetch you for this chat, or did you floo up by yourself?"

"By myself!" Harry fairly beamed. "I feel great! Now I can go anywhere! Just think, I can floo out to see Hagrid any time--"

"Any time we can be certain his hut won't be attacked by stray Slytherins," Snape corrected. "Or that Death Eaters won't enter the grounds undetected."

"Oh yeah," Harry remembered, his excitement dimming. "Shite. Oh, sorry, sir."

Snape waved a hand to say it didn't matter. "You can floo without incident, which means your magic is coming back into your control. Considering the sheer amount of wild magic you channelled in Devon, I would say you need have no worries about being attacked, just as soon as you gain control over your dark powers as well."

Draco nodded, his eyes rather wide at the thought of it. "Direct access to your dark powers, Harry. Think about it. Not even the Dark Lord has that."

"Power the Dark Lord knows not," Snape confirmed. "You will get there, Harry."

The confidence in his father's voice should have encouraged him, Harry knew. Instead, it only brought his mind around to the things he'd realised while up in Dumbledore's office. He would get there, obviously. He was going to have to leave the dungeons; he was going to be all packed up to go, so clearly his magic would be coming back soon. The prospect of returning to the Tower was pretty good in of itself, but what if the circumstances that were going to compel an unadoption would also mean that he really couldn't see Snape again?

What if leaving here meant leaving for good? What if he couldn't pop down for a chat and a butterbeer when he needed to talk to his father?

"Something is troubling you," Snape softly observed.

He was supposed to tell Snape about his dream, he knew. And now was the perfect opportunity, but the words just wouldn't come. Damn it, Snape cared about him! How was Harry supposed to announce that all the caring in the world wasn't going to make any difference? That like it or not, Snape was going to end up signing those papers?

"Is it something Albus said?" the Potions Master pressed. "Why did he want to see you, Harry?"

Harry clenched his lips. The more concerned Snape was, the more he wanted to tell him everything, but still, he just didn't know how to begin.

"Harry, look at me," Snape urged.

He did, his green eyes great pools of sadness. Why hadn't his dream been more specific? Why hadn't it shown him just how the casewitch had got involved again? He didn't even know what was required, really, to dissolve a wizarding adoption! Well, mutual repudiation, his father had mentioned that much---

All at once, Harry felt a cool sensation inside his mind. A pool of water . . . no, a tide, gently lapping at the shore of his own thoughts. No, not a tide. A wash of someone else's thoughts, someone who had been in his mind before . . .

With a hoarse cry, Harry raised his wall of fire up and up and higher. He'd hardly used the talent at all since Samhain. Something about it, something about the idea of burning had just given him the eebie-jeebies afterwards. He'd resorted to it once or twice, and then again a bit when he'd tried to access his dark powers through Occlumency. That was weeks and weeks ago and Harry hadn't once tried Occluding again. He remembered how, though. It was effortless, and complete. He wasn't about to let Snape read his thoughts. Especially not these thoughts.

Too late, though. The subtle Legilimency had done its work, and his father knew full well what he had been thinking. It was all there, in the man's ashen face, his shaking hands. Snape's black eyes were filled with two words: mutual repudiation.

Then the Potions Master seemed to come back to an awareness of himself, and his whole expression hardened.

"In my office," he snapped, flinging a hand out to point the way. "Now!"

The End.
End Notes:

Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Father

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight



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