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: 1379806 Published: 28 Feb 2007 Updated: 14 Sep 2007
Perspectives by aspeninthesunlight

There was no question of Harry eating and sleeping as his father had instructed; he was far too upset to spare energy for anything aside from the questions bombarding his every thought. What was going on out there on Hogwarts' vast grounds? Was Draco all right? Had he passed the Apparition boundary already and vanished himself away, and if so, how long would it be until Voldemort had him snatched up?

Did Draco feel even the slightest remorse for the horrible thing he had done?

He must be feeling something if he's running away, Harry reasoned . . . of course, that might just be Draco's sense of self-preservation. Sneaky, but not such great strategy. Surely, Draco must realise that he and Severus would never let him be thrown into Azkaban. Thinking of what that place had done to Sirius, Harry couldn't help but shudder.

So why was Draco running away from the only people who would be inclined to help him deal with this mess? Why would he be running toward certain torture and death at Lucius' hands? It didn't make sense. It didn't make any sense at all!

With that, his seer dream began to unfold anew inside his mind. Ron and Hermione had been worried that Snape might not let anyone in to visit Harry . . . but not because they had learned that Draco had died at the hand of vengeful Slytherins. They must have been concerned that Draco was the dangerous one, and with him on the loose, Snape had warded his quarters against Draco to protect Harry . . .

Was that why Draco was running, because he'd come to a similar conclusion? Because he thought there was no going back?

No, Harry decided. That's daft, it is. Draco would trust Severus a good deal more than that.

Trust . . . trust . . . An insidious little voice inside Harry's mind began to worm its way through his concern for Draco. What if Ron has it right, and Draco is running because he did go up to the Owlery to betray me somehow? What if the Pansy letter was nothing but a feint . . .

Harry clenched his fists and gritted his teeth and sternly told that voice to shut the hell up. He did trust Draco, he did. He wasn't going to turn on his brother, no matter what Ron had to say about that blow to the eye, or about what had gone on in the Owlery.

But what had gone on? And why was Draco fleeing the very people who might be able to protect him? Fleeing Harry, whose dark powers could most likely keep the Aurors at bay if need be?

Imperius, Harry suddenly decided. It has to be. It's the only thing that makes sense. Someone is making Draco head toward the Apparition boundary. Severus said that Draco couldn't have lifted the wards on the Owlery while under Imperius, but what if somebody else . . . an evil genius of wizardry like Lucius, say, lifted them beforehand? And then from a distance, Lucius made Draco commit murder . . . though that's a bit strange. Why would Lucius Malfoy want Pansy dead? Well, maybe he had his reasons. And now he's getting Draco to come to him . . .

Of course there were holes in that scenario. Lucius was a school Governor; he could come into the castle any time he liked. Once Draco had left Snape's rooms, all Lucius had to do to remove him from school was lay one finger on him and use a Portkey. Making Draco cross the length of the grounds was rather irrational . . .

But still, Imperius made more sense than Draco having so little impulse control that he would throw away his only chance at safety.

Worried sick by then, Harry began pacing the rooms. Back and forth across the living room, and when that palled, he started walking circles inside his own bedroom. As much as he understood the wisdom of staying behind, the helplessness really chafed. What if Lucius was out there waiting? Severus might need his help! And even if Lucius wasn't involved at all, Severus might need Harry to distract bystanders while he convinced Draco to come back.

Convinced? Harry almost scoffed. Severus was hardly likely to debate the matter with the Slytherin boy. What is he going to say? What could he possibly say to Draco? Then again, Snape knew what it was to be redeemed from horrible deeds, didn't he? What had the headmaster told him, all those years ago, something like, "What you did was wrong but as long as you do enough good deeds to make up for it, the Light will overlook your crimes . . . "

Crimes. Oh, God. Harry felt his stomach churn. If Draco wasn't under Imperius, then he was a murderer. A few months ago that wouldn't have surprised him, but now? The scene with Dubby aside, it just didn't seem like the Draco he'd come to know.

Maybe you never really knew him, that horrid little voice whispered again.

Harry shook his head to clear it. Of course I know Draco! He's my brother! . . .but I know Severus, too. Severus, who holds grudges for eons . . . Nothing will ever be the same again.

In the course of a single afternoon, his precious new family was starting to slip through his fingers. How could Draco do this to us? Harry railed. We all of us need this family! He kicked his school trunk once, and then feeling the frustration crest within him, kicked it several more until his foot actually began to hurt.

With a world-weary sigh, he began pacing again, somehow satisfied with the soreness in his toes – at least it distracted him from his throbbing eye. What's taking so long? Had Severus run into trouble on the way? If only he had the map, he could find out!

As he crossed in front of the enchanted picture frame, though, it came to him that he did have a way to find some things out. Or at least, he might have a way. The frame was supposed to respond to wishes, after all. Draco's wishes . . . but maybe that was just because Harry had never tried to command it. Of course, the frame wasn't supposed to show people, but Severus had forced it to display that Quidditch match, so it clearly could . . . It was just a matter of unlocking the restrictions placed upon it, of plying the right magic.

A snake. He needed a snake. No time to hunt up Sals, though; his crest would have to do. Harry went and put his robe on so he'd have the image with him, and then, brow furrowed, stepped up to the picture frame and touched it with his fingers as he tried to call upon his magic.

"Show me Draco," he hissed as he focussed his eyes on his crest and his thoughts on his brother.

One glance at the frame revealed that he'd accomplished nothing. It was still displaying the path to the greenhouses.

Thinking harder, Harry tried, "Let me see my brother snake," as Parseltongue had no better word for Slytherin, and when that also failed, "Show me my nest mate!"

Exasperated, Harry ground his teeth together as he wondered how else he might word the charm. It would help if he knew just what Snape had said to the frame that once . . . hmm, maybe he needed to be a bit more forceful?

Or maybe not, since I command you to show me Draco, didn't work. Nor did any of the variations he dreamed up.

Finally, in a last-ditch attempt he knew was silly even as he said it, Harry hissed, "Reveal the Dragon!"

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Well, Snape had spelled the frame to begin with, and his father was a formidable wizard, so it only stood to reason that Harry couldn't just undo the spells; he probably couldn't channel enough power to overcome wards Severus Snape had placed--

Harry's thoughts abruptly skittered to a halt. Power, he realised. That's it. I need more power behind my spell if it's to have any hope of breaking through the protections charmed onto the frame. But I have all the power I could ever want, don't I? I just need my wand.

And on the heels of that realisation, That was really low of Draco to take my wand with him!

For just an instant, Harry fumed. Then the solution occurred to him. He would simply summon his wand. He'd got good enough at summoning charms to bring his Firebolt flying all the way out to the grounds for the First Task, after all. And now that he could do wandless magic, he should surely be able to call his wand home when it went astray . . .

But what if Draco needs your wand? he abruptly realised. What if he's somehow lost his own? Maybe that's why he took it with him, why he said, "just in case" . . . he wanted to see Pansy, but he had a niggling suspicion that she might lead him into danger. He thought a spare wand could help him outfox his enemies . . .

Harry didn't know if that was remotely the case, but still, he wasn't too enthusiastic about summoning his wand away from Draco if the other boy had an urgent need for it. So . . . he'd just be careful about how much power he put into the spell. Parseltongue had turned out to be quite useful in that regard. He had already figured out several wandless silencing spells, some weaker, some stronger. He'd just word his accio carefully . . . so it would stretch out into the dungeons, but not onto the grounds where Draco had fled.

Just in case. As Draco had said.

All right. If his wand was going to come flying to him, it would probably stop at Snape's front door . . . unless the wards were smart enough to recognise it as his wand . . . Harry wasn't sure. He went out into the living room anyway, so he might hear if something collided with the wall outside, and holding out his hand, hissed a very mild summoning charm. "If you are near, come here, Harry's wand!"

Something came flying, all right, but not from outside.

His wand flew across the room and smacked into his palm so hard it stung.

Startled, Harry glanced around and saw a slight flurry of dust billowing down from the top of a bookcase. For a moment he just stared, he was so astonished. Draco had put his wand up where it would remain out of sight unless one used a step to see the very top of the case. He hadn't taken it with him at all.

Even despite the pain in his eye, a warm sort of feeling suffused him. Draco's loyalty was beyond doubt . . . not that he had really doubted it. But this . . . this was unexpected.

Impulse control problem or no, Draco hadn't put his wand in danger.

Which meant that now Draco might be the one in danger! What if, despite all appearances, there had been a fight up in the Owlery, and Pansy somehow had got her hands on Draco's wand? What if she'd tossed it out the window? Was that why Draco had lost his temper and pushed her out? What if he'd run out onto the grounds simply to retrieve his wand . . . it would be evidence, wouldn't it, placing him at the scene of the crime?

Of course that overlooked Imperius, which Harry counted a distinct possibility, and it didn't account for the fallen wards, but by then he had so many theories running through his mind that he honestly didn't know what to think about Draco's sudden taste for murder.

Not sudden, that unhelpful part of his mind chimed as Harry strode back toward the bedroom. Draco was awful to Dubby. Given half a chance, he would have killed the elf. Severus said it took Dark Arts, but Draco's a Malfoy, so I bet he knows how. Of course he felt he had cause to kill Dubby . . . a score to settle. Maybe he felt the same way about Pansy. Maybe he realised that she was lying, that she hadn't gone sweet on him again . . .

By then, Harry was at the enchanted picture frame again. One part of his mind was vaguely aware that he shouldn't be attempting this, that his father had quite strictly ordered him to perform no untested wanded spells without supervision, but Harry was too concerned about Draco to pay heed to that.

Leaning fully on the frame with one hand, the boy used the other to touch his wand to the gilded surface, and glanced down at his crest. It was all there, in beautiful stitched embroidery. Gryffindor and Slytherin, equal, standing together as friends. As brothers. Harry let concern for Draco flow through him, and pushed the horror of the murder away. He loved Draco, no matter what, and he had to know that Draco was all right, he just had to.

"Show me Draco!" he hissed, putting all his need, all his desire, into the simple incantation.

The frame beneath his hand abruptly melted away, becoming air, and he felt his palm smack against the cold stone wall. And then that was dissolving too, so suddenly that he nearly fell through the wall and into his father's potions lab. Stumbling, Harry managed to rear back from the wall -- or what used to be the wall.

Now, from one end to the other of his bedroom, it was a vista of green grass blowing slightly in a breeze.

For the first instant, Harry couldn't do much more than stare. It was as if the wall had transformed itself into a movie theatre screen . . . only this screen was as insubstantial as vapour. He could reach his arm straight through it and grab something from the potions lab, if he cared to . . . If he squinted hard, he could even see the lab through the expanse of rolling grass.

But where was Draco? He'd said, show me Draco, damn it, so where was he? There was nothing on display except the grounds, except . . .

Oh, God. A pair of boots. Draco's black dragon-hide boots, that was all that was left of him. Soles facing the castle --which Harry could make out in the distance if he squinted-- toes pointed toward the sky . . . What had happened out there? Where was Draco, and why had he left his boots behind?

But that was idiotic, of course; Harry realised as much almost at once. He was seeing Draco, but the boy was under the invisibility cloak. The question was, if Draco was trying to hide, why would he let his feet stick out?

And the answer: he wouldn't.

Draco wasn't huddled under the cloak in an effort to conceal himself; he had somehow collapsed while running away. He'd fainted, perhaps. Could being under Imperius for too long do that to you? No, Darswaithe had been under the curse the whole way in on the Hogwarts Express. Then again, maybe the casewizard was used to being under Imperius . . .

Could it be that despite how it had looked on the map, Pansy had hexed Draco up in the Owlery, debilitating him? No wonder Draco had been so slow to leave the Owlery, to descend the stairs! If he'd been struggling for consciousness all along . . .

"Get up, Draco, get up!" Harry implored, but the boots remained stock still.

Frustrated, the boy tried to reach out and give his brother a shake, but all he accomplished was to lurch partway into the potions lab. He drew back, wishing he could do something more than just watch and wait.

Watch and wait . . . Now he knew, didn't he, the smallest part of what Samhain must have been like for Severus to endure?

Thankfully, Harry didn't have to wait long. As if his last thought had somehow called the man forth, Snape suddenly stepped into view, his black robes blowing in the breeze, his stride long and measured. Not panicked, not hurried.

If anyone was watching from the castle proper, Snape would merely look like he was taking some exercise that evening.

The map was in his hand, though tightly folded to conceal its existence. Snape glanced at it surreptitiously from time to time as he stepped across the grassy earth.

He was heading straight towards Draco.

Harry shouted, "Over there, right there!" and pointed for good measure, but the man quite obviously could not hear a thing from the dungeons.

It's a viewing plane only, Harry remembered the Potions Master explaining.

The restriction went both ways; he couldn't hear Snape either, not even when the man reached Draco and dropped to his knees, his position shielding Draco's boots from view of the castle. Harry saw Snape pick up a stick and prod lightly at the boots, but there was no answering response from Draco. In fact, those boots hadn't once moved, not one twitch, in all the time Harry had been watching.

Snape began speaking then, but even as his lips parted, his fingers began sifting through the grass as though he were collecting something for a potion. More misdirection, Snape doing his best to let no one watching realise he had come onto the grounds to fetch Draco back in, even though his back was to the castle . . . for once, though, Harry was profoundly grateful for his father's paranoia. This was too important. They couldn't let Draco end up in Azkaban, especially not now. Harry didn't know if Draco had just been acting in self-defence, or he'd been under some sort of mind control, but the most important thing was that he was innocent. Innocent.

He hadn't pushed Pansy at all! Harry gulped as it came to him that he'd been only too quick to assume that Draco had. He'd thought his own brother a cold-blooded murderer, and on practically no evidence at all! Of course there was the map, but it wouldn't tell you if someone was under Imperius, would it? And it wasn't that detailed . . . certainly not detailed enough for Harry to have straight away believed it couldn't possibly have been self-defence.

Draco's condition now, though, not to mention his strange run out onto the ground . . . that was proof positive that there was more going on than met the eye.

And oh God, what if Draco did end up in Azkaban . . . for a crime he hadn't even committed! It would be like Sirius all over again. Awful, absolutely awful . . . and Draco couldn't resort to an Animagus form to help keep himself sane, could he?

His expression firming into a mask of resolution, it suddenly occurred to Harry to wonder just what his Patronus charm would be like now . . . if he used his wand, that was. Instead of just repelling Dementors, would it kill them? He could wipe them clean out of Azkaban to free Draco . . . except, he couldn't. The Light would still need a place to imprison the Death Eaters.

With a huge force of will, Harry cut off that line of thought and simply watched his father on the magic wall. What on earth was Snape saying to the boy? The Potions Master's expression was cast in rigid, controlled lines, no emotion whatsoever on his features. Was he talking to Draco even though the boy couldn't hear? No, Snape wouldn't waste time like that. So he must be uttering incantations, trying to break the hex . . . No wand was in evidence, but that meant little; Harry had seen his father do wandless magic before . . . although not much, that was for certain . . .

An insane temptation suddenly filled Harry from the inside out. Couldn't he just brandish his own wand and demand the wall let him hear? He'd know what was really going on, that way . . .

That would be moving from the realm of foolhardy into idiotic, though, he sensed. The frame hadn't been designed with sound in mind. There was no telling what might result if he tampered still further . . . and anyway, in the next moment Snape finished speaking, so it all became a moot point.

Keeping his back to the castle, though the rigid line of his spine suggested he was staying alert to all that might transpire behind him, the Potions Master quickly rearranged the cloak to hide Draco's boots. Then he was standing, brushing dirt from his trousers, a few sprigs of closed blossoms clutched in one hand. His lips moved again, just once, briefly, and then he was walking away, striding across the grassy field.

What, the man wasn't going to pick up Draco, carry him in, bring him home?

Draco, of course, had utterly vanished from view the moment Snape had adjusted the invisibility cloak. So where was he?

Forgetting about his earlier qualms, Harry did move his wand again then, pointing it at the wall and demanding once more, "Show me Draco!" But the scene didn't alter, save to change aspect, following Snape as he casually strolled toward Hagrid's Hut.

Following Snape . . .

So that was it! He hadn't said to show him his father, though apparently once the frame's restrictions against displaying sentient life were broken, it would let you see anybody in range. But if the whole wall before him was following Snape when he'd only demanded to see Draco, then it must actually be showing Draco . . .

His father was far, far too wily to scoop up his other son to bring him home. He wasn't about to make it obvious that he was carrying an invisible person. He was using Mobilicorpus, or something similar . . . and when he'd first spoken, he'd probably been applying sticking charms to the cloak, so that it wouldn't slip off while Draco was being levitated . . .

And now Snape was knocking on Hagrid's door, and when no one answered, letting himself in. Probably a simple Alohomora would do the trick since Hagrid didn't practice much magic at all. Snape waited an inordinately long time to close the door behind him, but of course that made sense: he was waiting until Draco had fully floated in. Harry supposed the plan must be to floo them both home. Good thing his father had arranged for Hagrid's hut to be placed on the Floo Network--

Something caught on his consciousness. Something important. Something he should be aware of.

His eyebrows drawn together as he made his way back into the living room, Harry wondered why it seemed like there might be a problem with the Floo . . .

Sals! That was it! Sals was in her box when Draco smashed it. And she likes to be warm when she's upset, it helps her feel better. Sals must be in the Floo and Severus is about to floo through with Draco--

With an almighty lunge, Harry threw himself at the hearth, his arms stretched out, his hands already scrabbling for the stones. Sure enough, Sals was in there, huddled in the very back, her body limp because she'd already been in there when Snape had flooed home to find Harry about to leave in search of Draco.

"Sals," Harry chided in exasperated Parseltongue as he backed out of the hearth, "you know better--"

"Harry . . ." Sals trembled slightly as she rubbed her little head lightly against the base of his thumb.

Without warning, the cold hearth flared with sudden green fire and Snape emerged, almost stepping on Harry as he strode forward. Harry hurriedly scrambled further backwards as his father, who was clearly carrying something invisible, knelt to lay Draco gently down on the floor. One whispered charm later, that one with Snape's smooth wand work in force, and the Potions Master was pulling the cloak gently away from Draco's prone body and handing it to Harry, who laid it to one side since his hands were full of frightened snake.

Snape's withering glance speared Harry even as the man began to touch his wand to Draco's neck and wrists. "I tell you to eat and rest and instead you have been crawling around on the floor?"

Harry ignored that, since apart from the ache in his eye he felt all right. Not great, but certainly able to stay awake and find out what had happened to his brother. But what had happened? Draco was so very pale! Of course, the Slytherin boy was fair-skinned to begin with, but now he was positively white--

"What's wrong with him?" Harry blurted, his voice coated with panic as he cupped Sals in both hands.

"I am trying to ascertain that, if you would be so kind as to let me," Snape scathed.

Harry went silent after that, his eyes sombre as he simply watched his father examine Draco. The other boy was breathing, but that was little solace. His shallow breaths that were barely detectable, hardly lifting his chest at all. Still, at least he was alive.

Stay that way, Harry found himself suddenly thinking. Stay alive. Don't give up--

Snape drew in a harsh breath as though realising something. In the next moment he was prying Draco's eyes open.

Harry felt himself go cold. There was no hint of grey there, no silver, only a bloodshot white; the boys eyes had rolled up into his head. Frowning even more than before, Snape leaned down close to Draco's face and sniffed, deeply inhaling the boy's slight exhalations of breath.

"He's imbibed a potion," the Potions Master bit out. "Somulus. It induces a comatose state."

Uh-oh. That sounded bad. Really bad. "You're sure it's Somulus on his breath?"

The Potions Master curled a lip in answer.

"Sorry. Of course you're sure," Harry admitted. "Um, is there a counter-potion?"

"I have one already prepared," Snape sighed, worry in his dark eyes as he studied the boy laying prone on the floor. "The problem is that he's not reacting normally to Somulus. He shouldn't be anywhere near this pale."

Harry's breath hitched. "He's allergic, do you think?"

"Draco's symptoms don't suggest that. What they indicate is that he ingested the potion while under the influence of a spell. Specifically, a hex or a curse. I couldn't say which one. It's since been lifted, and in such a way that there's no direct proof of it any longer."

"There's no way Draco would willingly take a coma potion out there and leave himself open to attack," Harry pointed out. "That's proof enough for me."

"Of course," Snape murmured as he touched the back of his hand to the side of Draco's neck.

Harry's eyes flicked up from Draco's prone form to his father because by then it was obvious, wasn't it? Snape knew it too; Harry could see the knowledge glittering in those dark eyes. Something strange was going on.

Had Draco been chased out onto the grounds, perhaps? But no, the map hadn't shown anything remotely like that . . . But still, if Draco hadn't dosed himself with coma potion, then someone must have been with him. Yet the puzzlement in his father's eyes said that he'd seen no such person on the map as he'd traversed the grounds . . .

What mattered most now, though, was getting Draco back to normal. "Will he be all right?" Harry rasped, his throat gone dry. "Will the counter potion work if the Somulus got . . . um, messed up by the curse?"

"It did not get messed up," Snape scathed. "It's strength was greatly magnified." The Potions Master frowned fiercely. "However, I do believe the only viable course of action is to administer the counter potion."

Harry jumped up, popping Sals into his front shirt pocket. His snake would be all right; he could tell. And even if not, Draco was more important.

Snape ran a hand over Draco's forehead, his long fingers stroking through the boy's hair. "Green frothy potion in a triangular bottle, fifth from the left on the second shelf," he requested in a low murmur, waving his wand to unlock the cabinet in question.

Harry wasn't too surprised when Snape examined the potion thoroughly before administering it. He was surprised, however, that before uncorking the vial, the man paused and said in a low voice, "You need to be prepared, Harry. What Draco suffers now is a coma more severe than the one commonly associated with Somulus. I do not know if the counter potion will work as expected."

Harry nodded, the motion brief and grim. "Let's just . . . do it," he pleaded.

Snape nodded as well, then leaning over, opened Draco's mouth, his fingertips on the boy's lips utterly gentle.

Harry held his breath, only to let it out in a horrified whoosh when six drops on his brother's tongue seemed to have no effect at all.

Catching his worried glance, Snape explained. "The best we can hope for is that the counter potion will simply take longer than usual to work its way through his system."

"That's the best?" Harry croaked.

Snape leaned forward and slid his arms beneath Draco's shoulders and knees to lift him. "Yes," he answered, his voice still low and serious. "You need prepare yourself to face the worst, as I said. The truth is . . . if the hex involved any form of mind control, then Draco's brain would have been in a particularly vulnerable state when he imbibed the potion. In that case, the likely result of combining the two is some degree of brain damage."

"Brain damage," Harry echoed, ill at the mere thought. "But Madam Pomfrey could cure it, surely?"

"Possibly," Snape conceded, though he was shaking his head as he began to walk toward the bedroom, Draco cradled securely against his chest. "We will cross that bridge if we come to it, Harry. My greatest concern at the moment is . . ." Snape abruptly stopped speaking.

"What?" Harry pressed, laying a hand on his father's arm as they reached the bedroom door. "Tell me. Please, Dad. Please."

The Potions Master cleared his throat as he studied the boy held in his arms, but then he looked up at Harry to hoarsely admit, "My greatest concern, I suppose, is that if the hex spelled onto him was a strong one . . . Harry . . . I am sorry to tell you this, but . . . your brother may never wake at all."

The End.
End Notes:
Comments, as always, are very welcome.

~

Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Sixty-Nine: Disfigured



Aspen in the Sunlight


This story archived at http://www.potionsandsnitches.org/fanfiction/viewstory.php?sid=1284