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: 1379803 Published: 28 Feb 2007 Updated: 14 Sep 2007
Duels and Deals by aspeninthesunlight

"Yes, let's deal with Miss Know-it-All Granger," Draco put in. "Hmm. That really was extremely nasty, wasn't it, reporting on a teacher? I don't supposed you'd consider expulsion, Severus? Oh well, I thought not. How about a thousand points from Gryffindor?"

Harry gave the Slytherin boy a very dark look.

Blinking as though just realizing something, Draco said on a long-suffering sigh, "I can see it's going to be bloody inconvenient, having a Gryffindor brother."

"You just keep your nose out of Gryffindor's points."

"Oh, fine. So then I won't congratulate you on a job well done? I won't ask Severus to award points for that very Slytherin set of lies you told the casewitch," Draco drawled, challenging Harry with a ha, got you, stare.

Hardly fooled, Harry drawled right back, "Pity. Slytherin would have got half of them." Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Harry went right on speaking. "Besides, the lovely new cloak is more than enough reward for me."

"Now there's a Gryffindor," Draco lightly snarked. "Our hero. He performs feats of brilliance, nothing short of changing the future itself, and all he asks in reward is a humble student cloak."

"What do you mean, changing the future!"

Definite derision that time. "Your seer dream. Unadoption, right?"

Harry bit his lip, thinking about that. "Um . . . well actually, the headmaster said that seer dreams couldn't be changed. And anyway, what just happened didn't match my dream at all. For starters, in the dream the casewitch came alone--"

"Of course it didn't match your dream," Draco interrupted, impatiently crossing his legs as he sat on the couch. "You've probably changed things so that that dream will never happen at all. The way I look at it, the casewitch was worried about you, right? She might even have demanded an unadoption or something, but now she won't. Ever."

Harry hoped not, but he wasn't so sure. Could you defy a seer dream? Could you take matters into your own hands and force the future into a new mould, one more to your liking? He'd asked Dumbledore something like that . . . what if I dream I'm going to die falling off a broom, so I stop going flying . . . The headmaster had never really answered that, had he? But it made sense to Harry. If you arranged matters so that events you had dreamed could not possibly occur, then of course you would change the future, right?

Not that he was terribly worried about the adoption any longer; he and Severus would be all right no matter what happened.

Part of him though, was still a tiny bit worried about Draco.

"There will be no unadoption," Snape stressed with a significant glance at Harry. "Your seer dreams, all your recent seer dreams, are in fact no such thing as I believe we have discussed at length."

Trust Snape to realise that Harry had shifted to thinking about the Owlery . . .

"Enough of such nonsense," Snape bit out. "It is time we dealt with Miss Granger, as I said."

Harry frowned. "Well, you know, I really don't appreciate her high-handedness here, but I don't think we can be too hard on her. I mean, unlike Ron, she did have some reason to think I might be getting hurt. In a way it's my fault she thought that, really. She's smart enough to see through our lies . . ." He swallowed, the sensation actually painful. "Though I wonder just when she actually reported her complaint. I can hardly believe she did it before talking to you, but why would she do so afterwards?" He decided not to mention that thing Severus had said about tendering his resignation.

"Obviously my own lies did not do enough to placate her," Snape grudgingly admitted. "Well. I did say she had a disgusting amount of intellect for someone her age."

"No, she must have filed the report before she ever went to you, daft as that sounds," Harry decided. "Otherwise, how could the casewitch have had enough time to get here? Last time she took the train, remember."

Snape shook his head. "Family Services policies specify that if a child is possibly in danger, casewizards will Apparate in to investigate. No doubt they were in Hogsmeade within minutes of reading her ridiculous claims."

"Then she wrote them a complaint right after talking to you? I guess if she told the owl to hurry, that might work."

Snape merely glowered.

"You aren't planning to make her write lines, are you? I . . . no offence, sir, but I actually doubt you could make that stick. I mean, she wasn't trying to be malicious or anything. Technically, she probably has a right to file a report on us."

"All this concern for Granger is going to make me sick up," Draco grimly warned as he turned a page.

"Loath that I am to admit it, Harry has a point," Snape admitted, sinking into a chair and tapping his fingertips on the dining room table.

"That Granger was right to report her unreasonable suspicions?" Draco erupted, setting his book aside.

"No, that the headmaster might well overturn any punishment I level at her," Snape explained, the words staccato with irritation. "At any rate, in the circumstances I think the wisest course of action may be to invite Miss Granger to dinner."

"You want Hermione to come over for dinner," Harry slowly repeated, a bit dumbfounded.

"Unless you have a better idea."

Snape, Harry noticed, was already beginning to scrawl Dear Miss Granger across a sheet of parchment.

"But what's the plan?"

The Potions Master curled a lip upward. "Much as it might satisfy me to tell the young lady my true opinion of her loathsome meddling, I think our best strategy lies elsewhere. It occurs to me that we had better display for her the same sort of familial tenderness that finally convinced Mr Weasley that you were safe in my care."

Harry thought better than to ask if Severus planned to sing to him again. "But with Ron it was only the truth that convinced him, not some show we put on. So wouldn't it be better, not to mention simpler, to just tell Hermione--"

"No," Snape refused, pinning Harry with a glare.

"She won't tell anybody, any more than Ron has! Listen, the mere fact that she doesn't know about my magic proves how trustworthy my friends are. Why can't you see that? Is it because they're Gryffindors?"

"It is because they are teenagers," Snape retorted. "As are you. I would never have allowed Mr Weasley to know you could destroy walls with a mere Lumos either, had I had any choice. As regards Miss Granger and your other friends, we will stick to your rugby story, and that is an end to the matter. Now, do you wish to assist me in the writing of this, or not?"

Harry sighed. "What do you have against teenagers?"

"I've seen them break under torture," Snape bluntly informed him.

"I didn't! Samhain, remember?"

"I am hardly likely to forget!"

"And fourth year, Cruciatus--"

"You are not typical!" Snape rebuked him. "Your friends, loyal as they may be, are easy prey for Voldemort. And what is more, their inability to Occlude means that given the chance, he will sense where best to ply his tortures! Are you beginning to comprehend? There is more at stake here than your rather naïve desire to include your friends!"

"Adults break under torture, too," Harry muttered.

"And you'll note I haven't proposed we inform any! Only Albus knows about your dark powers flowing free, and he only knows because the Order must have some sense of how the Light may fare against the Dark!" Breathing heavily, Snape took a moment to let that sink in, then asked in wearied tones, "So shall we invite Miss Granger to dine, or no?"

"All right, all right," Harry conceded, pulling up a chair to join his father. He glanced at what his father had already written, and frowned. "First thing is, if you want her to come so you can fill her head with rugby stories, this needs to sound a little less . . . um . . ."

"Yes?" Snape darkly inquired, eyes narrowed.

"Er, well . . . this just sounds a bit like you plan to poison her during dinner," Harry admitted. "I mean, you're angry and it really, really shows. And I think we want her at ease, not looking at the food and all of us with suspicion. I know. Let's invite Ron as well so it seems more like a social occasion."

"Ron," Snape repeated, his eyes studying Harry closely.

"Yeah. Hermione wouldn't think you'd bring her down here to yell at her over the complaint, not if it meant informing him of its existence."

"Unless she already told him all about the supposed abuse you've suffered at our nasty Slytherin hands," Draco reminded him.

"But that's just it," Harry argued, swivelling his head to look at Draco. "She can't possibly have shared her concerns with Ron, because if she had, he'd have come down here to warn me about it."

"Unless he also suspects your bruises might have dire causes."

"After he saw Severus singing to me?" Harry scoffed, then added with a quick glance at his father, "Or humming, I mean."

"Quite," said Snape, crossing his arms.

"Besides, Ron saw how much a mere Lumos beat me up," Harry went right on. "If Hermione complained to him that I'm getting hurt down here, he'd have known it was magic practice doing it. He'd have done his level best to convince her that nothing bad was going on, and failing that, he'd have told me straight away that she was likely to cause us some problems."

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm being manoeuvred?" the Potions Master inquired with an arched brow.

Then it was Harry's turn to shrug. "Because you just saw me lie my head off?"

"I would not be pleased to find that my son had treated me the same way he treated a certain idiot Hufflepuff casewitch," Snape announced in a hard tone.

Personally, Harry thought that his father's withdrawal from purple loosestrife might be affecting his mood, but he didn't think it would be wise to say as much. "Well then, don't invite Ron. I just thought it'd make everything a lot less tense than if Hermione comes down here alone."

Snape's gaze on him was still rather suspicious, but he appeared to relent, gesturing that they should just get on with it.

"Do you want the invitation to sound like it's coming from me?" Harry thought to ask.

"I don't believe I want to put the young lady that much at ease," Snape drawled. "How about this . . . Dear Miss Granger, It has come to my attention that you are labouring under a misapprehension that must at all costs be rectified. You are therefore invited to dine with Harry, Draco, and myself tomorrow evening so that we may discuss why your latest crusade to save those in no need of salvation is a serious misjudgement indeed."

Leaning his chin on a hand, Harry considered that. "Maybe something more like, Dear Miss Granger, Although I am certain that you care deeply about Harry, there are things you do not know. Perhaps it is time to come clean. Please join Harry, Draco, and myself for dinner so that we may discuss the matter."

Draco called from across the room where he was reading once more. "Severus would never write come clean."

"All right . . . Perhaps it is time for us to reach an understanding," Harry amended.

"I suppose that will do," Snape said, nodding slightly.

"Not too prolix," Harry quipped, but his father didn't smile as he scrawled out the message on a fresh scroll of parchment.

"Should we write a separate one for Ron, do you think?" Harry added.

Sighing, Snape picked up the quill again and added, You are welcome to bring Mr Weasley if you wish.

"If you ask me, Granger deserves something a bit more painful than a dinner," Draco snarled.

"Well, we weren't asking you," Harry returned, levelling his gaze at the other boy. "And no offence, but I think it's fortunate we don't all get what we deserve, don't you?"

Draco didn't answer, though he did take the hint. He stopped complaining . . . but his ostentatious show of reading his book made it clear that he was far from happy at prospect of dinner with Hermione Granger.

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

The next morning over breakfast, a whoosh of fire in the Floo had all three wizards reaching for their wands, but all that arrived was a tightly rolled parchment which fluttered gracefully down to the ashes in the grate. For all that though, Snape examined the letter with every verification spell Harry knew and several he didn't, before pronouncing, "It appears to be innocuous enough."

"Perhaps it's Granger's refusal," Draco sniped.

"Perhaps it's time you accepted that I can and will have other friends!" Harry retorted.

"Some friends," Draco muttered, though he dropped that subject when he peered at the letter, which Snape was by then reading. "Steyne!"

"Indeed," Snape confirmed, shaking his head as he read.

"What does he want?" Draco pressed.

Snape gave the Slytherin boy a telling look, then read the letter out loud:

Dear Professor Snape,

How lovely it was to see you once again and to meet your son, the famous Harry Potter. I must say, I was beyond astonished when I first heard that the Head of Slytherin had adopted him. Knowing you as I do, however, I expect you must have your reasons.

I believe the conclusion of my visit to your quarters was satisfactory? I would like to believe I had a small hand in it, being as I was the disinterested party who assured my superior that rugby is indeed a hazardous activity. I think it was that additional confirmation of your story which convinced her, actually.

I must say, sir, that I have always admired your expertise in Potions. I am pleased to have been able to assist you in this matter. I trust you will remember it in future should I have a need to call upon you.

Yours sincerely,

Richard Steyne

"As letters go, that seemed all right," Harry neutrally commented, only to have Draco all but snort.

"Such innocence," the Slytherin boy mocked. "Don't you get it? It's a deal! He helped Severus, and he's serving fair warning that he's going to want something in return, and that Severus had better deliver."

"He didn't say that."

"Oh, didn't he?" Draco held out a hand for the letter, and when Snape gave it to him, went on, "Let's just read between the lines, shall we? It as good as says . . ." With that, he translated:

I could tell it mattered to you keeping Harry Potter as your son, not that I believe you adopted him just so you can play daddy. You're as Slytherin as they come, so you want him for something, don't you?

I let you have him, Snape, and I didn't do it out of the goodness of my heart. Any idiot would know that rugby's got nothing to do with Potter's injuries. He's getting hurt down there, but you don't want anybody to know how, so I lied to my boss for you. I kept your secret.

 

I'm far too intelligent to actually blackmail you, as your reputation for poisons is unparalleled, but I will be asking you for something. When I do, you remember that you owe me.

Harry's jaw dropped. "Oh, it's not as bad as all that, surely."

Snape's own look was grim. "Draco's interpretation is sound. In fact, Mr Steyne did have a marked tendency to blackmail his fellow Slytherins while he was in attendance here. I would say he's continued the pattern into his professional life."

"I see," Draco agreed, nodding. "Now it all fits. Slytherins are supposed to have ambition, right? I kept wondering why one would work a dead-end low-wage job like Family Services."

"Oh yes," Snape agreed, a bit of a smile playing on his features. "That does make sense."

"Just so you know, you two are speaking some foreign language," Harry complained, stabbing at his scramble. "Slytherinspeak, something like that."

"The files, Harry," Draco laughed. "Steyne cut his teeth on blackmail here, and then what did he do but go find himself a plum job where he gets to sit in an office all day, surrounded by files that contain the most personal kinds of information imaginable."

Harry thought then of the lengthy questionnaire Snape had had to fill out as part of the adoption, and winced. Personal was right. It had even asked about income and assets; perfect for a blackmailer.

"Well, at least we know now why he specialized in Muggle studies." Draco shuddered. "Doesn't Family Services have to deal with a lot of squib children? That degree probably gave Steyne an edge getting the job, since he could claim to be able to counsel them."

"Claim being the operative word," Snape remarked as he began to spread jam on a scone. "My guess is that he got through his degree programme blackmailing his professors. Certainly that would explain why he didn't know much at all about the Muggle world."

"Thank Merlin he knows not to blackmail you, though," Draco put in.

"Oh, I doubt we've heard the last from Richard Steyne."

Harry chewed his lip, worried. "How many Galleons do you think it'll take to keep him quiet?"

Snape gave the boy a dry look. "I think he'll want something that's not in your vault, Harry. Or mine, for that matter. A potion. Quite possibly a poison. But he doesn't need it now. He's biding his time."

"Would you brew him a poison if it meant you could keep me?" Harry blurted, not sure which answer he would find more horrifying, a yes or a no.

"No, but I might well dose him with one," Snape levelly answered.

Draco laughed out loud, then assured Harry, who had gone quite white, "He's joking! Can't you tell he's joking?"

"I am not joking," Snape contradicted. "I don't take kindly to someone threatening to part me from my son, as Richard Steyne will find out if he is foolish enough to pursue the matter."

As if hearing that, the letter abruptly dissolved itself to ash, the cinders burning cleanly away to nothing.

"Evanesco," Snape said anyway, then turned to Harry. "Don't think on it, except to remember the salient point. Steyne may ask me for something, and he may be fairly unpleasant about it, but he won't press it as far as blackmail, not with me."

Harry weakly nodded. Just thinking of his father poisoning someone made him feel ill. But Snape used to make poisons for Voldemort all the time, didn't he? "I guess your . . . reputation is useful, sometimes," he finally said.

"You look a bit disturbed by that."

"Uh, just wondering if it influenced Hermione," Harry said, though it wasn't true. With that, he turned his attention back to breakfast and tried to ignore the weight of Snape's stare as it settled on him.

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

"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, do come in," said Snape that evening as he swung open the heavy door to his dungeon quarters.

Ron sauntered inside without hesitation, but Hermione looked a bit as though she were crossing a street, the way she glanced both ways before moving forward. It didn't help that Snape, obviously enjoying her discomfort, drawled a sardonic, "Today, if you would."

Colouring slightly, Hermione stopped dithering and stepped inside.

"Would you care for an aperitif before we dine?" Snape blithely went on, waving first Hermione and then Ron into separate chairs.

"Firewhiskey," Ron answered without missing a beat.

Snape raised an expressive eyebrow as he turned on the red-haired boy. "I believe I offered an aperitif, not an invitation to get falling-down drunk."

Harry thought it was a bit much to expect his friend to even know what an aperitif was--he certainly wasn't sure--and when Draco strode forward, he could just hear the insults sure to fly . . . something about Ron's family being too poor to afford anything but water . . .

But the Slytherin boy merely looked levelly at their guests, then turned to Snape and suggested, "I'll order a round of something appropriate then, shall I?" At Snape's nod he went to do so.

Harry sat down on the sofa and said in a casual tone, "So, Severus and I thought it might be good to have you both down for a chat."

"Any particular reason, Harry?" Hermione smartly inquired. Clearly she had no intention of pretending this was a social occasion.

"Actually, yes," he retorted, a little bit of his anger with her seeping through. He'd been trying hard to repress it, to be mature, to recognise that she'd only been trying to help when she'd filed that dratted report . . . but that knowing look in her eyes was his undoing. She still thought Snape or Draco was abusing him, he could just tell. And that steamed him, it really did. "We had a visit yesterday, Hermione, from Wizard Family Services!"

"Good," she had the gall to reply.

"How dare you file a report against Severus!"

"Hermione?" Ron questioned, his brows drawing together. "What's Harry talking about?"

"Your bloody-minded girlfriend has decided that I'm getting beat to a pulp down here, that's what!"

"Oh, honestly, Potter," Draco smoothly drawled as he came back from the Floo, "you have no concept whatsoever of proper manners. I leave you for ten seconds to arrange refreshments and you're at our guests' throats." The Slytherin boy glanced at the coffee table expectantly just as a tray appeared, then levitated it upwards with a few careless flicks of his wand as he said politely to Hermione, "Mimosa?"

"Mimosa!" she echoed.

"Mmm, champagne and apple juice--"

"A mimosa's made of orange juice, Malfoy," Hermione snapped.

"Really. I will have to try that some time," Draco returned, nodding his head slightly. "Though of course orange juice is hardly known at all in wizarding circles. I must say, I've quite grown to like it since Harry began getting it so frequently."

Harry had the feeling that Draco could make polite small-talk with his worst enemies all night long if it suited him. Must be all those Ministry dinners he'd been dragged to by his father. Well, little good it did him here; Ron and Hermione were far from through with the previous topic.

"Don't you call Hermione bloody-minded," Ron said with a glare at Harry before turning to her. "Now what's this rubbish about Harry getting beat up?"

"He's only covered with bruises from head to toe some days," Hermione said, vastly overstating the case. "You visit a lot. Don't tell me you've never noticed."

"Some people," Harry loudly stressed, waving away the mimosa Draco tried to hand him, "are smart enough to not go thinking they know more than they do!"

Snape spoke then, his tones somehow both measured and curt. "Miss Granger, when I spoke with you in my office I explained that in the interests of helping my son I had been teaching him physical self-defence techniques."

"I know what you told me," Hermione said, lifting her face to look up at her teacher.

"You were perhaps understandably perplexed as to why Harry didn't simply explain this straight away when you noticed his injuries, but I thought we had covered that matter to your satisfaction--"

Hermione interrupted then, her eyes slightly glimmering with tears. "Sir. I can't deny being upset to learn Harry had lied to me, but that isn't why I owled my concerns to Wizard Family Services." She looked away then, her gaze seeking out Harry's furious expression. "Professor Snape said that you were just embarrassed in case people thought your learning Muggle fighting meant your magic was doomed forever. He said that was why you weren't going to Madam Pomfrey, so that there'd be absolutely no chance that anyone would realise about your training. And that made enough sense that I was going to come back and talk to you about it, I was. But that was when I realised that it didn't matter."

Harry stared, wondering what she was getting at. "Well?"

"Harry . . . I'm sorry you resent my having owled off that complaint. But I had to, don't you see? If the whole story about you learning to fight was a lie, then obviously something horrible was going on, but even if it was true . . ." She stopped and drew a breath. "Well in that case Professor Snape needed someone with authority to tell him he was taking the lessons too far, because it's not right for him to incapacitate you, not even in an effort to help you."

A sole tear dripped from her lashes; Hermione wiped it away and just stared at Harry with wide, sad eyes.

"Incapacitate me?" Harry frowned, and shook his head. "But that's ridiculous. So I had a sore back for a while, and then my arm took the worst of a fall, and you saw some bruises on my neck one time I think--"

"Harry, someone concussed you!" Hermione cried out, clenching her fists. "Somebody concussed you so badly that Ron had to spend the whole night down here to make sure you would wake up and be all right!"

Oh no, Harry thought. That's right . . . she doesn't know the Lumos was at fault. Ron was under orders not to tell her about my magic, so he told her . . . what did he say in that letter? . . . oh yeah, he told her that I'd been concussed before he ever got down here that night, and he didn't know how it had happened . . . Hermione might not have given it much thought at the time, but ever since then I've been sporting injury after injury . . . so she put five and five together and got forty-six . . .

"Snape didn't concuss Harry!" Ron stormed in, only belatedly adding, "Professor Snape, I mean. He wouldn't!"

Snape inclined his head slightly, though whether at his correct title or to acknowledge the assertion, Harry didn't know.

"Ron, not two months ago you still thought he was . . . er . . ."

"Oh, I never really thought that!" Ron insisted, shaking his head so quickly that his red hair became a blur. "I was just mad at Harry 'cause we don't like Sn-- . . . I mean, 'cause Snape hates Gryffindor . . . I mean--"

"That will do, Mr Weasley," Snape drolled.

Hermione was sighing by then. "The fact is, Ron, you can't possibly know how Harry did or didn't get that concussion. You weren't here to see."

"I was here, though," Draco put in, bending down to set his mimosa on the coffee table.

"Oh, and I'd sure trust your word on the matter," Hermione shot back. "For all I know, you're the one who concussed him in the first place!"

"I am the one who hurt him, yes," Draco admitted, shrugging slightly. "Bowled him right over and into a stone fence. And you're right that there's no excuse for it. I was playing too rough. We toned down the rugby after that, though obviously not enough."

"Rugby!" Hermione breathed, shaking her head at Harry. "That's a Muggle sport! You expect me to believe you've been playing rugby with Draco Malfoy, who'd sooner die than so much as breathe the same air as a Muggle?"

Draco barked a laugh. "Do I have to quaff a Diet Coke before you realise you're exaggerating a tad?"

"Why do you think we didn't tell you?" Harry exclaimed. "We didn't think you'd believe it, and sure enough, you don't! So Draco made up stories about beds and brooms and I don't remember what else, and Professor Snape took all the blame on himself, and you still don't believe us, even after Family Services came down here to investigate on your say so! Even after they cleared us, for crying out loud!" Realizing that he was gesturing a bit wildly, Harry forced his hands to calm.

"Why didn't Professor Snape tell me the problem was rugby, then?" Hermione all but snarled.

Harry was about to say that Severus hadn't known about the rugby, but that wouldn't work, would it? Because Severus had clearly known about Harry's concussion, hadn't he? And any decent parent would ask questions about a how a thing like that could have happened . . .

"Because we knew you wouldn't believe that," Harry tried again, glancing desperately around for some help. He tried to think of something else to convince her, but his mind was going blank. Shite, he felt like swearing. It was so easy to dream up stories to feed the stupid casewitch! Why can't I come up with anything now?

"Honestly, 'Mione, I wish you would have told me what you were thinking," Ron broke in to say as he caught Harry's eye and then looked away. "I'd have told you there's no way Professor Snape would hurt Harry or let this one do him any real harm. I'm not blind. I saw the bruises too, you know, but I knew better than to go mental like you did! I just figured Harry and Malfoy were roughhousing a bit."

"A bit!"

"Yeah, well at least they're about the same size," Ron went blithely on, avoiding Harry's gaze by then, as if afraid he might crack a grin at the novel pleasure of the two of them outsmarting Hermione. "Listen, maybe you don't know what boys in the same house get up to, but I sure do. Now, don't get me wrong. It's not like I enjoy the thought of Harry getting into a little friendly competition with a sodding Malfoy, but I'd sooner believe that's the case than think anything really bad is going on down here."

"And I suppose you had bruises like that when your brothers used to roughhouse with you?"

"No, I had worse," Ron admitted. "A lot worse. Like I said, they were a lot bigger than me. But Harry's all right here, really he is. Family Services, Hermione? That's just low of you, it is. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Maybe," Hermione hotly retorted, "that Malfoy never seemed to have a single bruise on him!"

"So Harry's still got his pride," Draco scoffed, snatching up his mimosa again. "Or did, until you decided to tramp down here and smash it all to bits. He didn't want me casting constant healing charms on him, and he didn't want to go to Severus with every last thing."

"Harry, you've gone awfully quiet," Hermione remarked, actually reaching out and tapping him on the shoulder.

Of course he had, because too many thoughts at once were colliding inside his mind. Sodding Malfoy . . . Ron's words, but they'd resonated inside Harry and sparked a potent memory, one that had never really been out of his mind. At least we won't have to worry about him being around sodding Malfoy, Ron had said . . . Or would say, rather. It was a part of his dream, a part that had yet to happen.

At least we won't have to worry about him being around sodding Malfoy all the time, Ron was going to say, and then Hermione was going to add that Harry would blame himself for not stopping Draco from leaving the dungeons, no matter that without magic Harry had no chance at all of stopping Draco from doing anything . . .

That's it, Harry thought, something akin to excitement starting to hum in his mind. That's it, that's the thing I can change! In the dream, Hermione still doesn't know that I have my magic back! What if I tell her? I'll change the future, like Draco was talking about yesterday! I'll make it so that my seer dream--if it even was a seer dream, that is--can't possibly ever come true!

"I'm fine," he finally answered Hermione. Oh, Severus was just going to kill him, but he had to do it. He had to tell, and he knew better than to wait until they could talk the whole thing over. His father would talk him out of it, he just knew it, the same way Snape had talked him out of worrying about Draco in the first place!

But Snape wasn't right about everything, was he? Look at how he'd gone about swaying Ron, all those ridiculous lines! Not to mention the way he'd failed to convince Hermione to overlook his bruises . . .

So Harry's worry was back with a vengeance, because if he was sure of anything, it was that there was something to this latest series of seer dreams. It might be something he didn't really understand yet, but there was something to them. It couldn't be a coincidence that he'd dreamed of unadoption and then Hermione had reported his bruises to Family Services. Maybe Draco was right, and his lies had changed that part of the future!

What if the Owlery dream came true, and he could have stopped it, and he hadn't? It would be like Sirius all over again, only worse, because at least then he'd only realised afterwards how stupid he'd been.

Enough was enough, Harry thought. He wasn't about to let Draco die. He just wasn't.

But maybe he could manage the whole thing without completely alienating his father. He hoped so, anyway.

"Listen, what's actually been going on is that my magic has come back," he blurted, nerves making him stand up as he said it. "And it's out of whack and really weak. Pitiful, actually, but I have to go back to classes soon and Severus is trying to make sure that I don't get completely torn to bits by . . . er, Slytherins, actually, so we've been practicing duelling, is all!"

Oh God, he could feel Snape's stare just searing him to the spot. The man was angry.

Seriously, seriously angry.

Hermione gave him a pitying look. "Oh, Harry. First you're having strange accidents nobody could possibly believe, then you're learning to Muggle-fight, then neither one of those is true but you're playing rugby, a sport you've never once mentioned to me in over five years, then that's not true either but you're practicing magic you don't have? Credit me with a little sense."

Thinking he'd have to show her, Harry drew his wand. He saw Hermione's interest pick up at the fact that he had it on him.

"Potter," Snape warned in a dark, dangerous tone.

"He didn't want me to tell you," Harry said. "Hence all the stories. Though it was true he was teaching me to Muggle-fight as well, Hermione. He has to, given how pathetic my restored magic's turning out to be. I mean, I'm barely a wizard at all--" he babbled. "Snape's really worried--"

"I can speak for myself, Potter," Snape put in, still in that same you-are-in-so-much-trouble voice. "Put that wand away!"

"Everybody's going to know in a couple of weeks anyway," Harry argued as he stepped farther away from his father. "When I'm in class." And then, before Snape could lunge across the room and stop him, Harry pointed his fingers at Ron's empty champagne flute, making sure his wand looked like it was in use when it wasn't really.

Glancing at Sals in her little box, he said in Parseltongue, "Take wing--"

"Accio Harry's wand!" Snape interrupted, brandishing his own.

Harry was speaking on top of him, though, beginning his countercharm the instant he heard Snape begin that accio. His reflexes honed from all the duelling they'd done, he shouted, "You stay put right where you are!" the words still in Parseltongue. Good thing he'd figured out anti-summoning charms when he was working on his spell lexicon.

His wand remained firmly grasped in his hand.

Hermione rose shakily to her feet, a hand pressed to her mouth. "You . . . your spell . . ."

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Draco erupted. "Yes, he's a Parselmouth! You knew that already!"

The invective seemed to break Hermione out of her transfixed state. "Harry . . . your spell overcame his," she breathed, her comment proving that contrary to Draco's assumption, it wasn't the Parseltongue that had astonished her. She chanced a glance at Snape, and then, as if unsure whether he would be angry, quickly looked away.

"Uh, that wasn't a spell," Harry lied, horrified as he realised what a can of worms he'd just opened. He tried to think of something to tell her, anything to cover the unassailable fact that Snape's accio had failed utterly to do a thing to Harry's wand. It seemed like lies were dancing all around him, just out of his grasp, and it was all he could do to dredge up a paltry explanation such as . . . "It was . . . er, well, it's like this. Um . . . Snape's been having some trouble with his magic too, see? 'Cause what I had, you know, that made my magic vanish? Well, it was contagious, turns out--"

"Harry, do I actually look stupid? Because frankly, I'm getting sick of you acting like you think I am!"

"Oh, God," Harry moaned. This was going all wrong. He'd only meant to show her that his magic was back. He hadn't meant her to realise how strong it was.

"The truth, if you would. The real truth, this time," Hermione demanded. And when it still wasn't forthcoming, "Never mind, I can guess the rest of it. Your spell overcame his . . ." she slowly repeated. "Therefore, your magic's back, but it isn't weak at all, is it?"

"Uh--"

Picking up momentum, Hermione exclaimed, "It's not! Your magic's powerful, probably frighteningly powerful, which stands to reason if you have to incant your spells in Parseltongue, which is thought to be rare because the power is so hard to access. You've obviously found a way straight into your deepest powers, Harry! Why would the Professor try to summon your wand to stop you? You most likely don't even need it any longer, have you realised that? But with a wand your spells are probably so strong they're unreal--"

"That's quite enough, Miss Granger!" Snape erupted.

"I bet you concussed yourself!" Hermione gasped, ignoring the Potions Master. "With some spell that caught you off guard, right? And the professor has been helping you learn to control this new, violent magic, so it's no wonder you've got banged up quite a bit. Oh, Harry, I am sorry I wrote to Family Services! I wouldn't have, if you'd have told me--" She suddenly gasped, and took a step back from Snape. "Oh, dear. You weren't supposed to tell me. And now you're in trouble . . ."

"In trouble but not in danger," Snape growled. "Unless you are now going to file another report claiming that you're worried Harry's Slytherin father can't handle a little family discord without resorting to his wand, or perhaps his fists?"

"No, sir," Hermione breathed, appalled. "I don't think that of you! I never thought that. I just . . . well, honestly, I thought Malfoy might be the one who was hitting Harry. It seemed like the kind of thing he'd do! And besides, I'd never seen Harry so cowed before. Right in front of me, Malfoy would tell Harry to stop talking, and he would! It was really worrisome!"

Harry sighed, chancing another glance at Snape, who still looked so grim that Harry shivered. "Draco knew it wasn't such a good idea for me to disobey my father. He was trying to help me all those times he told me to shut up."

Ron didn't say anything, but he looked as though the prospect of a helpful Draco was a bit hard to swallow.

Harry couldn't help but frown. The sodding Malfoy remark still eating at the edge of his consciousness, not to mention Hermione's easy assumption that Draco would hit him, of all things, he had to say, "Look, the part about me going back to being a regular student is true, so I'll see a lot more of you. And there's something we have to get clear. You can't go around badmouthing Draco, all right? I know you can't stand him, but like it or not, he's my friend too, now."

Ron made a little sound of disgust, then quickly changed the subject. "Harry did concuss himself, 'Mione. I know, because I was here and saw the whole thing. I wasn't supposed to say anything about his magic being back, so that was why I said I didn't know how it had happened."

Hermione furrowed her brow and slowly turned to face Snape. Harry saw her think twice about questioning him at all, but in the end her curiosity won out. "But . . . I don't understand, sir. Why the secret? If Harry's coming back to classes soon, wouldn't we all know soon anyway, that he'd recovered his powers?"

Snape drew himself up to his full height, and sneered, "I did not care if you knew his magic had returned, per se. I did not want anyone to realise quite how forcefully it can emerge at times."

"Oh . . . " Hermione nodded. "Strategy, right. We wouldn't want the Death Eaters to know in advance the kinds of spells he can do. So you're planning to have him hide what he can, right, just like Harry was saying . . . I don't suppose you can hide the Parseltongue, but the sheer strength of his spells . . . oh, and the wandless magic. Best not to put that on display--"

"If you are quite through showing off your powers of deductive reasoning," Snape scathed, "perhaps we can return to the problem Harry has presented us with by telling you his secret!"

"As if I'd tell anybody!" Hermione exclaimed, followed closely by Ron declaring, "Yeah! I never even told her, that's how trustworthy I am!"

"You may prove less than trustworthy if you are interrogated via torture," Snape spat. "Unless of course we resort to Obliviate--"

"Oh, God, please, not this again!" Harry groaned. "You just won't be satisfied until you Obliviate some student or other, will you?"

"I was not in fact suggesting it!" Snape sharply rebuked him. "You are lucky I don't propose Obliviating you! I'd think you of all people would be aware how much Voldemort and his lackeys adore administering . . . what did you call them? Torments from the pits of hell? Not to mention that they have a multitude of other ways of gleaning information!"

Ron glanced from Snape to Harry, and back. "Uh, sir . . . what are you going to do about Harry having told Hermione the truth?"

"That is, I believe, my business!" the Potions Master roared.

"Just asking," Ron murmured, blinking.

Draco cleared his throat a bit ostentatiously, and when Snape looked his way, quietly put in, "I'm not quite sure of the protocol at this point, but I thought I might mention . . . dinner is served." He gave a little wave toward the table where individual cheese soufflés were waiting for each of them.

Harry nodded, a bit desperate for something to break the tension. "Yes, let's eat," he chimed in, trying to sound enthusiastic about the prospect. In reality, his stomach was grinding something awful, and not with hunger. Actually, he felt like he'd already had a full dinner of sawdust; his throat seemed choked with the stuff. Snape hadn't moved, hadn't even glanced at the table. He was too busy glaring at Harry.

"Perhaps some wine," Draco smoothly suggested, pouring it already. Just one glass though. For Snape. When he held it out toward the man, only to have Snape ignore it, the boy added, "Galliano?"

"Don't be an idiot," Snape growled. "You think I'm some Muggle you can ply with drink so I'll relax?"

Shrugging, Draco offered the wine instead to Hermione, then poured some for Ron and Harry as well, serving himself last. "Shall we?" he prompted.

Harry moved hesitantly toward the table, not quite sure what to do. He knew a hysterical urge to laugh when Draco's perfect manners actually extended to his pulling out Hermione's chair for her. Ron scowled at that, but Hermione actually seemed too shell-shocked to notice.

Snape glared at the lot of them as they sat down, nobody making a move to touch a soufflé until their host joined them.

He never did join them, though. With a disgusted snarl, the Potions Master whirled on a heel and stomped off towards his office.

Harry gulped. "I guess I should go say I'm sorry . . ."

"To quote a great man," Draco returned, lifting his wine as though in tribute, "'Don't be an idiot.' Give him some time to calm down, at least. By the way, are you actually sorry?"

"No, not really," Harry admitted.

"All the more reason to let sleeping dogs lie," Draco advised, then glanced at their guests. "Well? Don't stand on ceremony. Eat. There's loads more coming. Shrimp vinaigrette, then some lovely mango to clear our palate, then Cornish game hens basted in kumquat butter, and--"

"I can't eat," Harry miserably announced, laying aside his fork as he hung his head in his hands.

"We covered this already," Draco impatiently lectured. "You're not to punish yourself with hunger, Harry. Severus is angry, but he's been angry with you before and the two of you managed to get through it. Just try to relax, and eat your dinner."

Hermione took a tentative bite of soufflé. "It's really good," she said as if in encouragement.

"Yeah," Ron echoed, trying it as well. "Go on Harry, eat."

Harry did, just a bit.

"Have some wine as well," Draco advised.

"You're not his nurse, Malfoy," Ron objected.

Hermione tilted her head to one side. "I think he's just trying to help again, Ron."

"Quite right," agreed Draco.

"I was just trying to help, too," Hermione quietly said. "Harry, what was I supposed to do? I thought you were getting hurt and you really needed someone to step in."

Harry couldn't help but sigh. "Don't you think I could owl Family Services myself if I wasn't being treated well?"

Biting her lip, Hermione admitted, "Well, you could, but I didn't think you would, Harry. I mean . . . I thought if you were so desperate for a family that you'd agree to have Professor Snape adopt you . . . well, I guess I thought you'd put up with anything to keep your new father. You are a little bit, um, needy, I think."

"And you're a little bit bossy, and a little bit nosy, and a little bit--" Shaking his head, Harry switched to saying, "I don't want to fight."

Ron scooped up the last of his soufflé, then said, "Harry didn't let Snape adopt him because he was desperate or needy, Hermione. You haven't seen them together the way I have. When Harry hurt himself discovering his new magic, Snape was . . . well, he was just like anybody's dad would be. Worried, I mean. And caring."

"Snape," Hermione doubtfully repeated. "Caring. About Harry. Harry Potter."

Draco cast Ron a stern look then, maybe to warn him not to mention the singing.

"Yeah, he was," Ron said. "How do you think I got over feeling awful about the whole thing? Harry's all right down here, he really is. And I'm not talking about something as blatant as whether he needs Family Services to come investigate! He's getting what he needs, that's what I mean. And it was wrong of us to try to tell him that he shouldn't get that if it meant Snape was involved."

Draco had too much pride to tell Ron out loud that he approved of the sentiments, but he did top up the other boy's wine glass after Ron finished speaking.

"But why Snape?" Hermione pressed. "Harry, anybody you wanted would adopt you!"

Looking his friend in the eye, Harry admitted, "I love Severus, Hermione. I love him a lot. He understands me and he's good for me and I don't want anybody else for a father."

"You don't love him; you have an unhealthy attachment because he took care of you when you were horribly mangled on Samhain!"

"And just why do you love your parents?" Ron challenged, waving a hand for Harry to let him talk. "Because they took care of you when you were little! Because they've been there for you! Same for Harry, only he just started later than we did with this whole parent thing. And anyway, why should Harry have to justify himself to you? You ought to be glad he's finally got what we've been lucky enough to have all along, but instead you try to pick his emotions apart and tell him he's wrong to have them! If you ask me, you've got one hell of a lot of nerve!"

"Ronald Weasley, how dare you--"

"It's like with the house-elves!" Ron railed, warming to his theme. "They're happy! They're bubbling over with delight at their little lives! They couldn't be happier, and what do you do but try to force them into a freedom they don't want and won't like! And here you are trying to make sure Harry ends up an orphan again. Merlin's balls, Wizard Family Services! At least when I was as full of myself as you are, I didn't go that far trying to mess Harry's life up!"

Hermione actually shut up for once as she thought about that.

"All right," she finally said in a slightly grumbling tone. "I get the point. Harry's happy."

"Well I was," Harry sighed, "until you stuck your nose into all of it and I ended up disobeying Severus. Now I'm just bloody miserable. Thanks, Hermione." Glancing up, he saw that she looked absolutely crestfallen. Served her right, even though he knew that what he'd said hadn't been exactly fair. He'd had other reasons for telling her about his magic, after all.

"I said I was sorry--"

"Yeah, but are you sorry for writing Family Services, or sorry that you treated me all along like I was too stupid to know what I was doing?"

Hermione swallowed, hearing it put that way. "For both, I guess," she quietly answered, her voice barely audible.

"Well, good," Harry answered. "You stay that way. You stay sorry. Because when I move into the Tower again, I don't want to hear my father being badmouthed either. Well, not just for being my father, I mean. You can complain about points from Gryffindor or impossible potions assignments all you like. I know he isn't perfect."

The house-elves chose that moment to invisibly whisk away the soufflés, replacing them with little shell-shaped dishes filled with the promised shrimp vinaigrette. Harry took one look at his and groaned.

"Perhaps we should just cut dinner short," Draco suggested.

"Good idea," Hermione echoed, shoving her chair back. Ron followed suit, though he eyed his shrimp longingly as he stood.

"So when are you coming back to lessons?" Ron asked.

"As soon as I develop a little better spell control."

"Good idea, after that Lumos . . ."

"Oh, it was a Lumos that concussed him?" Hermione nodded sagely. "So that's what destroyed the professor's books, I suppose."

Draco made his way over to the door and waved it open. As Hermione passed him, he held up a hand to delay her exit, but he didn't touch her. "You really are quite clever. Cleverest witch of your age, I heard Harry say you'd been called. Listen . . . I resent your owling Family Services, and I really hate the way you took it on yourself to decide Severus wasn't good enough for Harry, but for all that . . . I'm sorry I called you a bleating cow."

Hermione stepped back almost reflexively, shock written all across her features. Then she recovered enough to return, "It's sheep who bleat, Malfoy. But . . . I accept your apology."

"Sorry you called her Mudblood, too, are you?" Ron challenged, looking none too pleased by this development.

"Actually, I'm sorry she is one," Draco returned, but that only made Ron look angrier.

"Draco," Harry groaned, finally pushing up from the table. "Not this again. You said you weren't going to be so focussed on--"

"All I meant was that like it or not, a lot of doors will be closed to her," Draco haughtily clarified.

"Yeah, sure," Ron growled, fists clenched. He wasted no time in ushering Hermione out of there.

After the door was closed behind them, Draco laid a hand on Harry's elbow and steered him back towards his dinner. "I know you want to go see Severus, but you really should eat a bit more, first. He won't be happy if I have to tell him that you're starving yourself again, remember?"

Yeah, Harry thought. No point in disappointing him still further. He took a bite of shrimp and tried to savour it. A little bit of tart flavour soaked through the sawdust feeling in his mouth. "So why'd you apologise to Hermione?" he had to ask.

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, don't tell me you've forgotten our deal. I said I'd apologise for the cow remark as soon as she admitted she was wrong about you and Severus."

Harry ate another shrimp as he considered that. "She didn't say she was wrong, though."

"Oh, as good as," Draco passed that off. "She won't be putting herself in the middle of it again, I could tell. And I didn't want you thinking I didn't keep my word."

"You're a Slytherin; you don't keep your word except when it's in your own best interests."

"Yes, well I think you understand where my interests lie, these days. But Harry, even if you weren't the prophesied saviour of the world," he lightly mocked, "I still would stand with you. Because . . . oh, hell. It's too Hufflepuffish to even say, but I'm going to anyway. Now that I know you, you're actually pretty likeable. Well, sometimes. I certainly wouldn't want to see you dead."

"Oh, good," Harry drawled, his spirits momentarily picking up. "You like me sometimes and you don't want to see me dead. What a sentiment. Have you considered writing greeting cards for a living?"

"I just wanted you to know that I'm not just on your side only because you're so hideously disfigured," Draco drolled back, staring pointedly at Harry's scar.

"Yeah, I know that," Harry admitted. "We're brothers." He set his fork down, realizing as he did so that he'd eaten over half his portion. He felt better for it, too.

He knew, though, that he'd soon be feeling worse. It was time to face his father.

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

"Enter," Snape said at his tentative knock, the single word sounding unfriendly. It only got worse when the boy went in, closed the door, and perched on the edge of a chair in front of Snape's desk. The Potions Master sat behind it, features dark with displeasure and resentment, and Harry had a sudden, awful feeling that he'd been transported backwards several months in time, and he was in here to be yelled at and assigned detention.

Which was stupid, of course. Snape had certainly never had him down to his private quarters just to give him detention.

"I thought I should come in and apologise, sir," Harry started.

"Not if you don't mean it," Snape barked, and at Harry's quick look, added, "All that power, but what good is it if you can't think critically enough to realise that the silencing spells on my door only work in one direction? Yes, I heard you!"

Harry suddenly began to feel embarrassed that he'd gone on out there about how much he loved his father. Not that Snape appeared to have overheard that, but still . . .

"Well I am sorry that I couldn't be a better son," he quickly said. "I didn't want to disobey you, really. I was trying not to, even. I was going along with the rugby story--"

"Until you decided you'd had enough of lying to your precious friends," Snape spat. "No wonder you insisted Mr Weasley join us. I knew you were up to something! I should have trusted my instincts, by Merlin!"

"I wasn't manoeuvring you when I suggested inviting Ron down!" Harry insisted. "I honestly thought he'd be a big help--"

"I dare say he was a far bigger help than you'd anticipated, supporting the rugby lie the way he did." Cold, that voice. Cold all the way through. "Were you hoping he'd mention the Lumos the moment your injuries became a topic of discussion, perhaps? But he didn't, which left it to you to tell Miss Granger flat-out despite my clear order to the contrary!"

"But I had to tell her--"

"Do you not recall my saying that I would not appreciate being treated to lies and misdirection from my own son?"

"Well, punish me then!" Harry yelled.

"Oh, I shall," Snape promised, a grim look about his mouth.

"But I didn't lie to you," the boy insisted. "I disobeyed, but I didn't lie. And I have to tell you why I disobeyed. It's really important! Oh, God. Is the door good and warded now?"

"Of course it's warded, you foolish boy; it's closed! Did you not understand before? I could hear you but you could not have heard anyone in here!"

"I understood, but can you check? Please?"

Snape gave him a rather disgusted look, but he did wave his wand and nod.

"All right." Drawing in a breath, Harry said all in a whoosh as he exhaled, "I was trying to save Draco from being thrown off the Owlery!"

"You do have a saving-people thing," Snape sneered, his voice only growing louder and more derisive as he continued, leaning forward on his desk to practically breathe fire into Harry's face. "What the bloody hell does anything you said out there have to do with the godforsaken Owlery?"

Harry couldn't help but rear back from the raw fury pouring over him in waves. His back complained as he arched it past its normal curve, the buttons on the leather upholstery cutting so fiercely into him that he could feel them through his thick jumper.

The reflex action sparked something in Snape. "Oh, for Merlin's sake! If I wasn't going to hit you back when you weren't my son and I didn't have Miss Granger snooping around, I'm certainly not going to do it now that you are and she is!"

"I didn't think you were," Harry denied, feeling a bit ill over the whole topic. "Just stop yelling though, all right? For five seconds. I had every intention of doing as you thought best, I did. I thought Ron would help me get through to Hermione. Which he did, actually. That was the only reason I wanted him to come along. But when he said sodding Malfoy, it occurred to me that in my latest seer dream--"

"It was no such thing!"

"Listen," Harry urged, scooting his chair up to the desk, determined to stay there this time even if Snape yelled again. "I've been wishing all along, about a lot of my dreams, actually, that I could do something to contradict them. So they couldn't come true ever, right? Dumbledore says it's impossible. Or implied it, anyway--"

"Your five seconds have long since expired."

Well, at least that comment had been calmer, for all it was supremely irritated. "Are you going to listen or not?" Harry asked, studying his father's features. "Because if you aren't, you should just tell me what my punishment is and we'll call it a night."

"You wanted to change the future," Snape sighed, leaning back finally, his fingers drumming lightly against his desk. "And so?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Well out there, in the middle of the conversation, I suddenly remembered that in my seer dream, or whatever it was, Hermione said I didn't have any magic! And I thought, that's it, that's how I can guarantee that Draco never goes up to the Owlery at all. I can tell her about my magic, and then she won't say I don't have any, and then the dream can't come true, and Draco'll never die!" Harry paused, flushing. "Well, I mean he will, but not anytime soon."

"You place a higher value on Draco's life than on Miss Granger's?" Snape mocked. "How very interesting. Of course I heard my two sons swearing fraternal loyalty a moment ago, but I had no idea you took it so very to heart. So much so, that merely on the strength of this theory, you decided to expose her to the tender mercies of Voldemort's interrogators, chief among whom is Lucius Malfoy! Have I mentioned that her being a Muggleborn is not going to work in her favour?"

Harry felt himself begin to get angry then, because Snape sure had a nerve laying that charge at his door. "It's not my fault Hermione found out enough to get her interrogated if a Legilimens sees what she knows!" he shot back. "I don't know as you noticed, but I was trying to tell her that my magic was back but was extra weak! Same story we were going to feed all the students once I went back to classes, remember? You told me to look inept, told me to let rumours spread that I could barely defend myself! What difference did it make if Hermione heard the story a little early, huh? But you had to decide to accio my wand and send the whole plan straight down the loo! What was that, anyway? I thought you didn't want her to know I was doing my spells wandless!"

"My summoning spell was an attempt to stop your foolishness! I did not appreciate my order being countermanded, Harry!"

"But it didn't matter if I showed her a wobbly levitation charm! I was going to make sure it looked really pathetic! It would have been all right!"

"Harry," Snape said, his voice all at once sombre. "You have a marked tendency to believe yourself invincible. In the main that's not a bad trait. Confidence in battle is often key to victory. But you are sixteen; your judgment is far from invincible. This is a case in point. You have utterly misinterpreted your dream. I saw it too, remember."

His father's sudden quiet tone brought Harry up short. "Misinterpreted?"

Snape nodded. "When Miss Granger said, He'll tell himself he should have stopped Malfoy from leaving Snape's rooms! Never mind that without magic he'd have no hope, she was dissembling."

"What?"

"Lying, you foolish boy. You really ought to pay more attention to the fine nuances of tone and expression. She was lying, making it seem in front of the other Gryffindors as though your magic had never come back, when she knew full well that it had indeed!"

"Oh, that's just ridiculous, it is--"

"Is it? You think I can't recognise a lie when I see one? I've spent most of my life among people who say one thing and mean another. It's part of being Slytherin, like the way Draco had no trouble at all reading the truth behind Richard Steyne's flowery words. Think about my years spying on Voldemort, Harry. I'm only alive today because I know how to discern misdirection when I see it!"

Harry bit his lip. "You knew Ron was lying to himself about thinking you'd . . . touched me wrong, before he even knew it was his anger making him talk that way . . ." Bolstering himself, Harry asked, "So, in the dream, you thought Hermione was lying about me having no magic? Just because her tone of voice was off?"

"Her voice, her gestures, the look in her eyes," Snape clarified. "Not to mention Mr Weasley's rather telling reaction. He immediately leapt to your defence, insisting that it wasn't your fault Draco had gone up to the Owlery, just as though he knew what Miss Granger must be thinking--that it could be your fault. That you could actually have stopped him, given that your magic was back in full force and she knew as much!"

Harry suddenly felt horribly sick as the truth of what he had done struck him. He sucked in a gasp and pressed his hands deeply into his lower abdomen. "Oh, dear God, he moaned. "Oh, no . . . You can't mean . . . It can't be like you're saying, it just can't."

"It certainly can," Snape returned, all compassion vanishing from his voice. "In trying to make sure the seer dream could not come true, you have made sure of the opposite! You have guaranteed that your dream can proceed apace! Perhaps, even, that it will!"

"I . . . I'm sorry!" Harry cried, and meant it that time.

"Your sorries won't be worth much when your brother is a puddle of muck after a three-hundred foot fall!"

Something foul actually surged into the base of Harry's throat. He almost gagged on it before managing to swallow it back down. Ugh. He was never going to eat shrimp again.

"Let's discuss just why you've sentenced Draco to a horribly painful death," Snape remarked in a conversational tone, though his eyes still gleamed like chips of grim, black ice. "Because you trusted entirely in your sudden brilliant idea, which I must say was less than intelligent in my estimation. Didn't the headmaster address this issue with you? He told you that seer dreams always came true, that prophecy cannot be defied! But of course, he only has a mere hundred and forty years' more experience than you, so what would he know?"

"He didn't explain things very well--" Harry tried defending himself. He should have known it would be better to just keep his mouth closed.

"Oh, he didn't, did he? Is that going to be your excuse every time you refuse to listen to your elders? As I recall, you trotted out the same pathetic line over your miserable failure to master Occlumency when I first endeavoured to teach you! But of course you knew better than your elders then as well, didn't you?"

"But he didn't explain," Harry insisted, determined not to get sidetracked into arguments about Snape's horrid teaching during fifth year, or what his own failure to learn had led to for Sirius. "I even asked him what would happen if I changed something so a dream couldn't happen, and he didn't answer the question, Professor!"

Snape stared at him for a long moment, and then corrected, "Severus. Or Father. Or Dad. Even furious, I am still your father, Harry."

Harry knew that, but he appreciated that Snape would say it, and in the middle of their fight, no less. He gave a jerky little nod.

"Now, as for Albus, he was probably wary of tempting fate," Snape went on in a heavy tone. "Either that, or he feared you were too young to understand the concept of paradox. I dare say you comprehend it now. Trying to defy the future has done nothing but assure it. But it wasn't only Albus you ignored in this matter, Harry. I was most specific with you on the matter of not divulging your magic to Miss Granger. Now, why was that? Could it be that I have more experience than you as well? Enough, as I said, to recognise when someone is lying?"

Harry sort of gulped. "Is that why you said not to tell her? Because you knew she did know about my magic in that dream, and you were trying to make sure it couldn't come true? What happened to the future cannot be defied?"

"I did not say I believed that, only that Albus did."

"But he doesn't believe that!" Harry blurted. "How could he, when he sent us back in time third year so I could rescue Buckbeak and save Sirius from the Dementor's kiss . . ." He suddenly stopped speaking, realizing what he had said. Uh-oh . . .

"I am going to kill that old man before all this is through," Snape abruptly announced, standing up and beginning to pace. For one awful second, Harry thought Snape was reliving his old fury over Sirius' escape, but then the man went on, "He gave you a time-turner? He gave a thirteen-year-old a time-turner, and sent him out into a forest where a werewolf was running free! Wonderful!"

"Um, but we changed the future," Harry pointed out, standing up too, and going over to where Snape had stopped, by the hearth.

"You changed the present," Snape amended. "And in any case we are not discussing time-turners, but seer dreams. If seer dreams are in fact fated as Albus believes, then even using a time-turner would be of no help; you would merely encounter another paradox."

"But you think the seer dream can be defied, and you were trying to defy it," Harry glumly concluded. "And I messed it all up."

"You see now why you might consider listening to your elders occasionally?" Snape darkly inquired.

"And Draco's going to die now?" Harry cried. "And it will be my fault! It's like with Sirius, just like you said, with the Occlumency, I didn't listen! Draco's going to end up muck and it's all my fault, isn't it!"

Snape stared at him for a long moment. "I should say yes," he gruffly admitted. "I had intended to, when I started this. Your punishment. After your outright defiance tonight, you fully deserve to believe that Draco will die because of your actions. But . . ." He looked away. "I find I cannot do a thing like that to my own son."

Harry looked up through bleary eyes, his face wet as he rubbed at his cheeks. "Huh?"

A hint of pity in the hard line of that mouth, now. "You already blame yourself for too much that is not your fault. I can't add more shadows to your eyes, especially not such specious ones as these."

"I don't . . . what do you mean?"

"Draco is not going to die, you idiot child. You appear to have forgotten something key to the whole issue: I do not believe your last few dreams predict the future."

Harry's thoughts went into a spin. Too many branching possibilities, too many paradoxes, and all of them so tangled up in lies and misdirection that he hardly knew where the truth began or ended. He finally made enough sense of all that had been said to weakly assert, "But . . . you said you wanted me to not tell Hermione about my magic because you were trying to stop the dream from coming true . . . if you were just lying about that to punish me, then why didn't you want me to tell her even that I had some weak powers? I mean, she was going to find that out anyway when I went back to class."

"I wasn't lying to punish you," Snape told him, reaching out to take his hands. Snape's were warm, astonishingly so, which made Harry realise that his own must feel frozen. "I was . . . overstating the case, perhaps. It is true that I wanted you to step back from your own convictions and realise what might result from your charging ahead. It is also true that when I saw in the pensieve how Miss Granger appeared to already know about your magic, though she was determined to hide it from her fellow Gryffindors, I realised how I might arrange things to ensure that the dream could not ever come to be."

"But you believe in my dream then, sir? Uh, Father?"

"No," Snape's lank hair swayed as he shook his head in emphatic denial. "I do not. I do not for one instant, Harry. But just as I went and warded the Owlery with extra spells, I thought it would do no harm to ladle this layer of protection atop Draco as well. Because . . . I do not believe it is a seer dream, but I recognise the possibility that I may be mistaken." The Potions Master sighed. "I thought it would be a simple matter to keep Miss Granger fooled just a short while longer. That was all the time we needed, you realise. It was clear from your dream that events in the Owlery would transpire before you ever moved back to Gryffindor Tower."

"Let me go back tonight, then," Harry begged. "Even if you don't believe in the dream. I don't either, not really. Not even when I told Hermione. It was like you said . . . just in case."

"You are not ready to go back," Snape said, giving his hands a harder squeeze. "I love you both, as you well know. I would not risk you to save Draco, nor would I risk him to save you. And besides, if it is a seer dream then I think that tonight's events have shown conclusively that trying to defy it is indeed a fool's game. Sending you back early will merely create another paradox, another way for the future to manifest itself regardless."

Harry couldn't help but shudder. "Why didn't you tell me your plan in advance, even if it meant explaining paradox? I mean, I thought you said I did better with more information. Dad?"

"I didn't formulate my plan, as you put it, until after our own conversation had long since ended," Snape gruffly admitted.

"You still could have told me--"

"No, I could not, because you were already too fixated on the dream and just a heartbeat away from telling Draco about it. I did not want that, Harry. You know why. And despite my plan with regard to Miss Granger, I truly do not think your dream foretells Draco's death. My own little scheme was, indeed as you said, just in case."

Harry shivered, tremors coursing through him from head to toe.

Stepping away, Snape opened a cabinet and withdrew something, then handed Harry a small vial. "Warming draught," he explained. "It seems you need it."

The potion sent a rush of dizzying heat spinning through Harry. It was all he could do to stumble towards his seat and collapse into it. "That's . . . potent," he admitted, panting slightly to ease the warm feeling rushing up inside him.

"Perhaps you need weaker formulations now," Snape mused, studying him carefully.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Of that at least. The healing potions though, the few we used, seemed to be about right."

"Interesting."

Harry didn't think so, not particularly. He was even less interested in the next topic Snape brought up.

"Your punishment," the Potions Master intoned, his voice going grim again, though not as horribly as before. "You ignored my instructions, defied my clear advice, and even went so far as to countermand my attempt at discipline."

Harry glanced nervously at his father. "I thought . . . making me think Draco would die was my punishment."

Snape scoffed at that. "Well it was, but I couldn't actually do it for longer than twenty seconds, could I? I do hope having a Gryffindor son isn't turning me soft. I'll have to make sure it's not, in fact, in the matter of your punishment. So . . ." He appeared to be thinking the matter over.

Ten thousand lines, Harry thought with dismay. No, a hundred thousand . . .

"Potions practicals, I do believe," Snape announced. "Yes. I know you; you won't enjoy that at all. And it serves a double purpose, as your laboratory work has been woefully neglected for far too long."

"Well sixth year has a lot of charmed potions," Harry complained. "And you knew I couldn't perform any charms for the longest time. And even regular potions didn't like me brewing them, not when my magic was locked down tight."

"Difficulties that have been resolved," Snape coolly observed. "Every Saturday, all day Saturday, for . . . well, for the balance of the school year, we'll say. That should make you think twice about disobeying me again."

"What about Hogsmeade Saturdays?"

"Missing out on Hogsmeade will reinforce the lesson you obviously need to learn."

"No it won't," Harry disagreed. "Listen, how about we negotiate? You'll let me off for Hogsmeade Saturdays, but those weeks I'll come brew on Sundays. All right?"

Snape regarded him for a long moment. "Well, if we're negotiating," he finally stressed, "let's be a bit clearer about our terms. You may substitute Sunday for Saturday with my permission, which I will not grant unless I am pleased with your demeanour in general and your mastery of Potions in particular."

"What does it matter for my mastery if I brew on a Saturday or a Sunday?"

"Motivation matters a great deal, especially with Gryffindors more interested in their social lives than in making the most of an expensive Hogwarts education."

"Hey, I pay my own way here!" Harry exclaimed, and then realised, "Oh, that's right . . ."

"Yes, your school fees are my responsibility now," Snape nodded. "Which is as it should be, but I will not have my money going to waste, is that clear? You will come down here to brew on Saturdays unless I give you permission otherwise."

"You're just trying to make sure I still see plenty of Draco," Harry accused, still a bit irritated that he hadn't completely won the negotiation. "As if you don't believe me when I say I plan to visit!"

"If you think that, I can have you do your practicals in a classroom laboratory--"

"No, it's okay. I'll do them down here," Harry groused. "Serve you right if I misbrew something and blow up your rooms."

Snape had the gall to laugh. "If you have that severe a mishap then Hogsmeade Saturdays will definitely be a thing of the past for you. In fact, I may well decide you need to do practicals all through the summer. Three full days a week, perhaps. It won't do for any son of mine to be less than competent in potions."

"I got an Outstanding on my O.W.L., as you know perfectly well, Dad!"

"Ordinary Wizarding Level," Snape scathed. "Emphasis on ordinary. I'm talking about real brewing, N.E.W.T. level at the very least. And one more thing. I want a promise from you, and I'll want you to keep it, do you understand? You're to swear to me that if you have any more brilliant ideas about your dreams, you'll come to me at once, not act on them, is that clear?"

"Um . . . well, yeah, it's clear, but what if there isn't time? I mean, what if it's an emergency and somebody's going to die right in front of me if I don't do what my instincts are screaming at me to do?"

"Ah yes, negotiations," Snape snarked. "You may have a caveat, then. You will promise to come to me unless unassailably dire life-or-death circumstances preclude it. But you are to come to me at once, not mull things over until you have no choice but to act. Are we agreed?"

"Yeah, it's a deal," Harry answered, then realizing that a promise should sound more formal, "I mean, yes, Severus. We're agreed."

His father looked him up and down. "Swear it. Swear it on your honour as a Gryffindor."

"You think Gryffindor honour's a joke!" Harry exclaimed. ''Peter Pettigrew, all that!"

"Yours is no joke. In fact one of your major failings is having too much of it, but in this case, I suppose I don't mind using that to my own advantage. Now swear, Harry."

"Fine," Harry bit out, more than a little irritated. "I swear on my honour as a Gryffindor, by all that Godric himself held holy, all right, that I'll come to you the instant I have any more brilliant ideas about any of my dreams."

"Adequate, if a trifle sarcastic," Snape commented.

Harry was saved from answering that by a knock on the door. When Snape waved it open, Draco poked his head inside a little hesitantly. "Everything all right in here?"

"Were you expecting mayhem?" Snape mocked. "Harry is fine, though it astonishes me that you should feel a need to check up on him when he is with me." He made a show of glancing from Draco to Harry and back. "However, if you want to be protective of your brother, I suppose I can't object. After all, you did go to rather Hufflepuffish lengths to assure him that you might occasionally be able to tolerate his presence these days."

Draco coloured slightly, muttering, "Oh yeah, the one-way wards. Should have remembered." Then he rallied, "I wasn't worried about him, Severus, though after that accio and counteraccio out there, I did wonder if the two of you were duelling again."

Thinking about their argument, Harry had to nod. "Yeah, I guess we were, sort of. And before you ask who won, I think it was a draw."

"That's all right then," Draco pronounced. "Well, the real reason I knocked was because I thought you might like to know about the letter that just came whooshing out the Floo."

Snape frowned. "Steyne again?"

"No, it's for Harry. Looks like Granger's writing." Draco thrust the letter forward, then as though realizing that Harry was in no shape to get up and walk to him, he went and sat in the chair opposite him and handed the letter over.

Harry turned it over in his hands, almost afraid to read it.

Snape leaned against the mantle and studied the pair of them. "It was good of you to make amends with Miss Granger, Draco."

"Oh yeah, you heard that too," the Slytherin boy realised. He looked a little bit embarrassed. "Well, I didn't want to, you realise. Of course I didn't want to. There's no excuse for her filing that complaint with Family Services. I'd much rather have given her a piece of my mind than offer her yet another truce, considering she so rudely rejected the last one I suggested."

Harry thought back to that night's dinner, and realised something. He'd been dreading his confrontation with Severus so much that he hadn't noticed it at the time, but . . . "Hey, all through the meal you didn't give her that piece of your mind. And you could have. I mean, I was yelling at her, and Ron was too . . . why didn't you?" Then it came to him. "Oh, right. You were being Mr Perfect Manners from the drinks on forward. You even lectured me on being less than polite to a guest."

"It wasn't that." Draco cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "I . . . I actually wanted to talk to you both about it. This . . . well, Severus is sure to lecture me, next, but I feel I really do have to point out . . ."

"What, Draco?" Snape asked.

The Slytherin boy closed his eyes, and admitted, "That girl is bloody brilliant. She saw him counter-incant you in Parseltongue, which she can't of course understand in the slightest, and from that she figured out every last thing. That his magic was strong not weak, that it must be duelling causing his injuries, that he can do magic wandless now . . . Merlin, even that a Lumos was what ruined the books!"

"You came in here to inform us that Miss Hermione Granger is bloody brilliant," Snape echoed. "Well, thank you for that scintillating bit of news. It's not as though I ever noticed this fact during almost six years of instructing her, you realise."

"Oh, shut up, Severus," Draco groaned. "You think this is easy for me? Well, it's not. She's a girl. And a Gryffindor. And a . . . never mind. But anyway, I told her she was clever and I meant it. And now I'm telling the pair of you because . . . well, Harry's a good liar, but only when he doesn't care about the person he's lying to. Trust me Severus, he's an awful liar when he's with those Gryffindors. He can hardly bear deceiving them."

"I noticed that tonight," Snape remarked. "And so? Get to your point."

"He's going to need help, and damn it all, who better to help him keep his dark powers a secret but her? She can think on her feet, we saw that tonight. I came in here to tell you that Harry was right to tell her what he did, and what's more, we really ought to bring her out to Devon and let her see exactly what Harry can and can't do, now. Weasley as well, since he knows anyway."

"You are seriously proposing I make Harry's Gryffindor friends a part of our inner circle, as it were," Snape said, wincing a bit. Harry wasn't sure if that was at the idea, or the term inner circle.

"Yes!" Draco retorted. "I can't protect him once he leaves here, can I? Since you won't let me out! You should, you know. I could go back to Slytherin and keep an ear to the wall for word of any plots against Harry--"

"We are not getting into this discussion yet again," Snape announced, his glance on the boy hard.

"What do I have to do, promise not to kill anybody if it can possibly be avoided?"

"You've promised that already, at least twenty times!" the Potions Master raised his voice. "I am in no mood to go through it all once more. You know my views!"

"All right, fine," Draco sullenly returned. To his credit though, his voice acquired a normal tone as he went on, "So, where was I? Oh yes, I can't help him if I'm required to stay here, but neither can you, with all your classes to teach and what not. But his Gryffindor friends can stick close to him, most of the time anyway, and if the Slytherins are . . . well, being the slightest bit Slytherin, he's going to need backup! They'll attack when he's least expecting it. Now who do you want hanging around Harry when that happens, a couple of Gryffindors who don't have the slightest idea what to expect from him in a battle? Or some well-informed, well-practiced allies who might realise, for instance, that in the dark he'll need some help because he won't be able to see the snake on his crest?"

"So that's why you said Hermione was clever," Harry realised. It had seemed a little odd at the time. Unexpected, and not like Draco at all, in fact. But now Harry understood. "You'd realised you had a use for her intelligence."

"I'd realised you had a use for it, Harry. And anyway, I told you ages ago that I was trying to put our enmity in the past."

"Right, a war zone in your own ranks is no good for anybody . . ." Harry murmured.

Draco gave a definite nod at that, even if his silver eyes still held a bit of consternation at the notion of a Muggleborn as an ally.

"So, Severus," Draco resumed, turning in his chair to look at him. "Devon. What do you think?"

Snape looked annoyed and condescending all at once. "Well, as those two know anyway, I suppose we may as well turn that to our advantage." And then, in meaningful tones to Harry: "And too, you told me once that your friends are your strength. It appears that will be more true than you likely thought at the time. Draco's notion is sound. If your new house is going to turn against you, it is just as well that there are those in your old house who can support you fully."

Harry made a little choking noise. All this talk of imminent attack . . . "I don't think I'm invincible," he admitted.

"You aren't," Snape agreed. "All the more reason to have your closest friends informed of your limitations and able to assist you."

"I'm surprised you didn't think of that earlier," Draco mused, his brow furrowing.

"I had a whole host of other reasons to keep knowledge from Miss Granger. They're irrelevant now, so don't ask."

"Plots within plots," Draco nodded. "Well, good thing that Harry here is the type to make such loyal friends, I suppose."

"You're a loyal friend," Harry suddenly said, turning back to Draco. "I shouldn't have said you didn't know how to be a friend. You're thinking of what I need now, even when it means helping me get closer to my other friends--"

"Oh, don't go melodramatic on me," Draco airily replied. "I just like to be on the winning side. That's all."

"Sure, that's all," Harry said, smiling.

"Just read your letter, Potter, all right?"

Harry broke the wax seal Hermione had applied. Probably she'd used one to keep Draco out of the contents, he thought, but it was a bit strange of her considering that Draco could easily defeat Muggle measures like that. "Did you read this?" he thought to ask.

"Oh, please."

"You did! You read it!" Harry accused, though he found he was laughing as he said it.

"As if I care what Gryffindors have to say to each other." Draco lightly shuddered.

"Hey. I'm half-Slytherin," Harry objected.

"I didn't read your letter!"

For some reason, Harry believed him that time. It turned out to be true, even; Harry knew that much a few moments later. He grinned a bit, absolutely positively sure that had Draco read the letter, he could not have refrained from commenting on the contents.

 

Dear Harry, the letter read,

 

Ron and I aren't speaking. He's pretty mad about the whole Wizard Family Services disaster. I suppose I can't blame him. Looking back, I can see a huge list of things I should have done and didn't. I could have talked to you again and told you that I was getting worried enough to file a complaint. You'd have probably told me the truth, then. And even if you let me still wonder, I could have reported the matter to Dumbledore first, or even McGonagall as your Head of House. Either one of them would have made sure you were being treated all right. When I think about it now, involving Family Services seems like it was a bad idea all around.

 

So, what I'm trying to say is that you were right about what was driving me. I didn't think Professor Snape was the best dad for you to have, and I guess I was just determined to get you out of there, any way I could. Not that I thought of it that way at the time, you understand. I really did think I was doing you a favour. I can see now that it was pretty presumptuous of me to decide Snape wasn't suited to be your father. If anyone would know about that, it would be you. And you seem pretty happy with him, so . . . enough said.

 

I have to admit that Malfoy surprised me with that little speech of his at the door. Ron didn't appreciate that, by the way. That's actually the main reason we're fighting. He wanted me to agree that Malfoy's up to something, calling me clever to my face. I told him I thought it was . . . well, not sweet. I'd never say Draco Malfoy was that. But he wasn't as nasty as usual, was he? Do you think it's because he's been away from his common room for so long? Or maybe it's got to do with being separated from the terrible influence of his parents?

 

I have to be honest with you, Harry. Almost six years' worth of experience is telling me not to trust him at all. And I don't. That is, I can't possibly, no matter how well you think you know him or how convinced you are that he's reformed. But I don't want to make the same mistake with him that I just did with Snape, so if he continues to be civil, I will be as well -- just for as long as you want me to, that is. If he double-crosses you, I'll waste no time in telling him what I really think of him.

 

Hermione

 

P.S. Did he really say I was pretty?

The End.
End Notes:
Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Sixty-Five: A Letter From Wiltshire




Comments very welcome.

Aspen in the Sunlight


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