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: 1379944 Published: 28 Feb 2007 Updated: 14 Sep 2007
A Fitting End by aspeninthesunlight

After Snape swept out of the Great Hall in a majestic swirl of billowing robes, Harry and Draco were left gaping at one another.

"So much for revenge being bad for you," the Slytherin boy finally whispered in an awed voice.

Harry flicked a glance to where Aran lay unconscious. "Yeah, but just think of what Dad could have done."

"Think of what he will do," said Ron, rubbing his hands together.

Draco huffed, ever so slightly. "Well if he does what he just threatened, I'm never listening to his lectures on vengeance again, am I?"

Personally, Harry thought that factor was probably what would stay Snape's hand. Then again, the man had done some pretty awful things in his life, hadn't he? He felt bad about them, though. Harry still remembered his father's anguished voice from months ago.

I can't save them, Harry . . .

So how likely was it that he'd kill Aran in cold blood, and in front of a school full of children, no less, including his own sons? Harry nodded to himself. Probably that theory explained the punch they'd just witnessed. Snape had a temper, after all. He had to do something about that horrible newspaper article.

"Well, I'm glad I have someone to stick up for me," said Harry. "It makes for a nice change."

"Hey, I always stick up for you!" Ron immediately said, his face flushing a bit.

At the same moment, Draco rounded on Harry. "Serpensortia," he said in an undertone, speaking right over Ron's words.

Harry smiled at both of them. "I know. I meant the adults."

"Oh," said Ron and Draco in unison. They both looked irritated about it afterwards. Actually, Ron looked irritated and Draco looked put out.

"You'll get used to agreeing," said Harry, laughing. "And that'll make for a nice change, too."

The teachers at the head table had merely stared, round-eyed, at the scene they'd just witnessed, except for Dumbledore who had formalised the duel. Now, they were beginning to come out of their shock. Pomfrey rushed over to Aran's side and after a cursory look at the unconscious professor, cast Mobilicorpus to move him.

Harry almost laughed again at the sight of Aran's body hanging like a limp marionette as it bobbed its way between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables and out the doors of the Great Hall. Pomfrey was making a clucking noise as she followed it. Harry hoped that didn't mean she was planning to lecture Snape about not knocking the other teachers unconscious.

Ron started heading back to his seat, saying something about grabbing a few more bites before they had to head to Charms.

"I'll catch up with you there," said Harry quickly. Suddenly things didn't seem so funny, any longer. Charms involved a lot of wand waving, after all. His sleeves might slide up. And that was all he needed after that horrible article, people wondering how his arms had got so scratched up.

"Ha. Not likely," said Ron, turning around, a scowl on his face. "I'm not having your father blast me, again, about leaving you to walk the halls alone."

"When did he talk to you?"

"Didn't. Sent a Howler to me and Hermione. Through the common room Floo. I don't think teachers ought to be allowed to do a thing like that!"

A Howler. Harry knew it was probably wrong of him to almost like that. But it was nice to have an adult who would stick up for him. A father. A real father. "Um, so what did it say?"

Ron grimaced. "That we were prefects and ought to put others ahead of ourselves. That you weren't to walk the halls alone and we knew it, and if we left you again to conduct our pitiful little love-lives, he knew a hex that would shove our tongues down our throats and glue them there."

Harry just about gaped. "He didn't!"

"He sure as shite did. So Hermione and I are walking you to Charms and that's that."

"Draco can walk me to class before he heads to Transfiguration, all right? I have to talk to him about something."

Ron hesitated a moment. "Yeah, all right," he finally grumbled.

Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything until he'd followed Harry out of the Great Hall and down the corridor. "What?"

"Just a second." Harry pulled open a door and glanced into a dusty storage room hung with cobwebs. Toward the back there was a huge freestanding mirror so coated in grime that Harry could barely see his own reflection. He wondered for a second if it was like the Mirror of Erised, but then Draco followed him in and more pressing problems surged to the forefront of his mind.

Sighing, he warded the room and then shoved up the sleeves of his robe. He wished he'd worn a long-sleeved shirt today; it would have been that much harder to get under cloth to skin.

Draco drew in a tight breath when he saw the furious red scratches covering both Harry's forearms. Long lines of scratched-raw skin had formed angry red welts flecked with an occasional dot of blood. One small spot in particular was gouged all the way through and was still oozing.

"I can't go to Charms looking like this, not with all the casting we do in there. So . . . er, would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Um . . . heal them? My own spells . . . well, I can't really do it myself."

Draco's arms were crossed, Harry noticed. "And why is that? Have you given it any thought?"

Oh, God. Draco was going to make this difficult. "Look, I know why it is. Dad and I had a long talk about it."

"Good. Because if you think I'm going to be your . . . your enabler on this, then you can just--"

"Enabler!"

Draco's chin lifted a fraction. "Marsha uses the word all the time. It means people who help you do things that aren't actually very good for you."

"I'm not asking you to help me do-- look, I just don't want everybody in class to see, all right?"

"I should make you go ask Severus."

"Draco--"

"Oh, all right," drawled the other boy. "This once."

Harry blew out a breath in relief. "Good."

Draco wasn't finished. "But I'm telling Severus all about it, first chance I get."

Harry felt his fists clenching. He'd rather his father thought he was mostly over his problem. It had been almost a week since he'd flooed down to talk to him, and in all that time, he hadn't once conjured a needle! Snape was proud of him for that; Harry just knew it. And Draco was going to ruin things! "That's just nasty, it is."

"It's not. I have to. If you were on my broom, you'd know why."

"You just want to be the good son for once!"

"Like I'm ever going to be that," muttered Draco. His eyes were blazing when he looked at Harry. "I'm not trying to get you in trouble, so don't be a total prat. I just can't have you thinking you can hurt yourself and I'll help you hide it."

"Just get on with it," said Harry, stretching out his arms. He could tell by then that Draco wasn't going to change his mind.

Draco's wand touched the ugly red marks, very gently. And then he cast a cleaning charm across Harry's fingers. The blood under his nails disappeared, but Harry still felt irritated by the whole situation. He felt like saying, thanks for nothing, but it wouldn't be exactly true, so instead he just slammed out of the storage closet and stomped down the hall.

Draco ran to catch up with him and walk at his side, but Harry didn't speak to him until they were at the Charms classroom. And even then, all he did was mutter a good-bye.

In Charms that day, they ended up having what Flitwick liked to call an open-ended review, which basically meant they were allowed to pair off however they liked and practice anything they'd learned. Or just chat, actually, as long as they kept waving their wands every so often.

Barely ten minutes in, however, the classroom door opened to admit Snape. "Might I have a word with my son?" he asked without preamble.

Harry's arms started itching. So Draco had gone to Snape already, had he? Nice!

The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors made sort of an awed noise as Snape stepped inside the classroom. And no wonder, considering what they'd just seen at breakfast.

Flitwick nodded his head enthusiastically as he bounced on his heels. "A real duel here at Hogwarts! Jolly exciting, isn't it? I'm sure you'll put on a rousing good show!"

Snape's lips looked very thin. "I'll do my best," he said dryly. "Now, if I might speak with Harry for a moment?"

"Certainly, certainly." Flitwick motioned for Harry to go.

Snape didn't say much as they walked back down to the Great Hall and flooed to his office. And Harry was fuming too much to make small talk. Once they were alone in the Potions office, it was Snape who opened the conversation.

"I wanted to speak to you before breakfast ended, but it seemed best to wait until we could have some privacy. That article was nothing short of vicious. You didn't take it seriously, did you?"

Oh, no, no, Harry wanted to say. Of course not.

But he couldn't claim that, could he? Not considering that Draco was going to tell Snape what Harry had done to his own arms. Clearly, Snape didn't already know. Which meant Draco hadn't ratted him out. Yet.

But he would; Harry didn't have a single doubt about that. So the best thing to do was probably tell Snape himself, before Draco got a chance to. "Um, well, I sort of did take it seriously, actually."

Snape leaned forward across his desk. "Harry," he said, his voice dark and chiding all at once. "You aren't evil. Aran is."

Harry blinked. "He's petty and small-minded, but I don't know that I'd actually call him evil."

"His is a self-serving, pedestrian sort of evil." Snape shrugged. "I've offended him and his way of getting back at me was to strike out at my children. No doubt he didn't expect a challenge in return."

Harry couldn't help but snort a bit at that. He wondered whether Snape looked at this as some sort of atonement for the way he'd treated Harry for years. He almost said so, but since they'd more or less agreed to put all that behind him during their talk out in Devon, Harry held his tongue and commented on his other epiphany. "You've been angling to duel with Aran all along," he said, a little surprised that his voice came out sounding almost accusing. "That's why you were being so obnoxious while you supervised his classes!"

"Why I suggested supervising his classes to begin with." Snape's dark eyes glimmered. "Albus had in mind to simply sack him, but I wanted more satisfaction than that. I was trying to get Aran to challenge me."

"He's scared to death of you!"

"Yes, I did notice that," drawled Snape. "And so he took a coward's revenge in venting his spleen to Skeeter. But enough of Aran, Harry. I'll take care of him tomorrow. What concerns me now is you. How much did the article bother you?"

Harry knew what that question really meant. "Well, I didn't conjure a needle, but . . ." He sighed, loud and long. "I'm worried everybody'll think I am going dark, now. Parseltongue really isn't very well thought of, you know. I wasn't trying to hurt myself, but I, er, scratched my arms up something awful."

"With?"

"Huh? Oh. My fingernails."

"Let me see your arms."

"If you want, but Draco healed them for me before class so there's not much to see--"

Snape's expression grew thunderous. "He did, did he?"

Harry made a face just thinking about it. "Yeah."

Snape studied him for a long moment. "You're angry at your brother. Why?"

"'Cause he swore he was going to tell you, soon as he could, about the scratches and him healing them!"

"Ah. Were you not planning to mention the matter on your own, then?"

"I--" Harry swallowed, not wanting to lie to his father. "I don't know for sure, sir."

"Then Draco is to be commended," said Snape calmly. "He doesn't have a great deal of experience at being a friend, let alone a brother, but his telling me would be the right thing to do. You do understand that, I hope."

"I--" Harry grimaced again, but not in anger this time. He could see what his father meant. "Yeah, all right. I'll have to apologise to Draco, I guess. Ugh."

"I'm sure you two will work it out." Snape was silent for a moment. "It concerns me that you aren't certain you would have told me about hurting yourself again. I thought we had an agreement."

"That I'd come get you before needle-cravings got to be too much to handle. But this wasn't quite like that. I was just upset reading the article, thinking that everybody would turn on me again."

"They won't," said Snape in a confident voice. "The mood in the hall this morning was generally one of outrage on your behalf."

"Yeah, well it helps that I have a . . . er, a champion this time."

Snape frowned slightly. "You'd have weathered the storm fine on your own, Harry. It's one of your talents."

"I know." Harry reached out and took his father's hand. "I was just trying to say thanks. You know, without actually saying it."

"Ah. Slytherin."

"Something like that."

"About these scratches, then." Snape's dark gaze seemed to bore into him. "You don't feel your compulsion is becoming more generalised?"

Compulsion. Harry didn't like that word very much. He let go of his father's hand. "Well, sometimes my arms start feeling itchy, but I don't really want to scratch them, not the way I would want the needle. This was sort of a special case because that article was so vicious and I couldn't get to a needle." Harry swallowed. He'd wanted to keep reading the article so he'd know the worst, but looking back he could see this was a case when he should have gone to get his father. Straight away.

"It won't happen again, sir," he said in a low voice. "I promise. I'll come to you before it can. This time . . . I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry," said Snape, leaning forward. "All I want is for this to get better."

"It is!" Harry ran a hand through his hair, realising only afterwards that he'd seen that exact gesture from Snape. Weird. "Look, it was just that article, all right? It got to me."

"Unfortunately, you must learn to expect that sort of thing from the Prophet."

"I know."

Snape's voice suddenly went dry. "You do realise what this is going to do to Draco's overprotective tendencies."

Harry grimaced. "He'll want me to cut my nails down to the quick."

"Without using anything sharp, no doubt."

"Maybe he'll teach me one of those manicure spells he likes so well, then," joked Harry.

"A son of mine who favours manicure spells." Snape was the one who grimaced, then.

Harry laughed. "Hey, the way I hear it, this September during Herbology practicals he wouldn't shut up about how his dragonhide gloves were chapping his skin!"

"He wanted to send a house-elf out to buy fresh. During class, no less." Snape's lips curled upwards. "As I recall, he was quite put out when Professor Sprout lent him another pair. Used."

"Draco wouldn't like that at all."

"No, certainly not. Getting back to the issue at hand, however, I should tell you that just this morning, your brother was trying to persuade me that I should ward the drawers in your potions desk."

"Huh?"

"He felt there were, as he put it, 'simply too many sharp objects available there.'"

"Oh, nice! I wouldn't be able to do my work."

"Well, he did say you wouldn't need the implements for making ice cream."

Harry huffed a little in irritation, but the feeling was quickly swamped by thoughts of the taste-testing they were supposed to have on Tuesday. "I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but . . . uh, Potions is really fun now. No offence."

"I imagine a sweets-based curriculum would be," drawled Snape, his voice rather dark considering he hadn't been terribly upset about the matter before. "No doubt the Ministry, always the soul of wisdom, whole-heartedly approves. No matter that the lot of you will be needing an insulin potion next--"

Harry blinked. "Something wrong, Dad?"

Snape waved a hand. "Perhaps the duel merely has me on edge."

"Not a duel with Aran," said Harry, laughing. "I had a question, though. Who's going to be your second? The headmaster?"

"I don't need a second."

"I thought it was traditional."

"But not required. In any case, there's no-one I would want for that save Albus, and he's constrained by his position of authority here." Snape stood up, briefly touching Harry's shoulder as he made his way to the door. "I do believe you should return to class, now. If anyone asks what I needed you for, you may merely say we were discussing what to do about Ms. Skeeter. In fact, be sure to mention that." His dark eyes glimmered in a way Harry recognised.

"What are you going to do about her?"

"I have no immediate plans."

"Then why say--" Harry caught on before he could finish the question. "Oh, you want to get her nice and worried. You're going to drop hints all over to drive her batty. And you want me to help you."

The man's eyes were gleaming now. "Well-reasoned, Harry. Now, let's get you back to Charms so you may begin."

 

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At lunch, Harry sat by Draco so he could apologise. Part of him didn't really want to, not in front of the other Slytherins, but he knew it was probably for the best, all around. Draco had moved out of Slytherin to help Harry, which meant he'd given up at least some chances to solidify his own leadership position in his house. But if Harry let the other Slytherins overhear him saying he was sorry about something, it might help Draco save face.

Draco didn't look at him when he sat down. Harry took that as a bad sign, even if the other boy was in the middle of a conversation with Crabbe. A few seats away, Zabini was working on his lines, but he was watching Draco and Crabbe chatting, and he looked none too happy about it. Harry wished he was close enough to see what number Zabini was on.

"Draco," said Harry, a little loudly, when there was a break in the conversation.

"Hmm?" The other boy's silver eyes were cool and disinterested, but his gaze did drop to Harry's fingernails for a moment, as if checking that Harry hadn't scratched himself again.

"I was a prat before and I'm sorry," said Harry. "Will you accept my apology?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "A prat, were you?"

Feeling like he was being led, Harry nodded. "Yeah. A total prat, just like you said. I should have thanked you. I mean, for all of it."

"Well," drawled Draco, "in my experience Gryffindors often are total prats. Good you know it, though."

Harry figured that was Draco's way of accepting his apology without actually saying, in front of the other Slytherins, that he'd done something as soft as forgive someone.

"And at least you're part-Slytherin," continued Draco, as though he were a lord granting favours. "That makes you somewhat tolerable, I suppose."

He was grinning by then, though, so Harry didn't take him too seriously.

"What do you think Snape'll do to Aran in the duel?" asked Goyle, talking with his mouth full.

"No idea," said Draco.

"What about you, Harry?"

Harry almost choked on his egg salad, hearing Goyle call him that. Hmm, probably Hermione had badgered him into it when she was tutoring him.

"I don't know, either." He shrugged to show he really didn't.

Goyle's voice dropped a bit. "Was that article right? Has your father been teaching the two of you some Dark Arts?"

Draco managed to answer that without giving a definite yes or no answer, but it opened up a real can of worms. Skeeter's fault. The implication that Harry might have learned some Dark Arts from Snape apparently fascinated the Slytherins. Draco tried to shut them up, but without much success.

It wasn't until they were on their way to Potions that Harry managed to get Draco alone. Walking ahead of Ron and Hermione, he mentioned that he'd already seen Snape and told him everything.

"Good," said Draco, nodding. "But I still have to tell him as well. And no, I don't think you're lying. It's the principle of the thing."

Well, it was probably a good thing for Draco to stick to his principles. This one at least. He did mean Harry well.

"All right. So how's the gelato coming along?"

"Hermione wants to add far too much sugar," complained Draco in a slightly peevish voice. "As if she doesn't know proper citrus should be tart. Must be a Muggle thing, wanting everything so sweet it's cloying."

"You balance tart with sweet to get a pleasing flavour," Hermione said from behind. Harry wondered how long she'd been listening to their conversation. "It's not a Muggle thing at all!"

Draco turned back slightly. "Harry was Muggle-raised. We'll let him decide--"

"No way," said Harry, dropping back to walk with Ron. "You two work it out on your own."

 

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Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, from what Harry could see in the enchanted picture frame. It continued to display nothing but the Whomping Willow, but at least it seemed to show the current weather.

"Nice day," he commented as he sat down to an early breakfast with his father and brother. "Do you feel ready for later?"

Snape gave him a look. A what-do-you-think? look.

"Hey, just asking," said Harry, laughing. Then, remembering the day before, he hinted at something he'd been meaning to ask. He'd have talked to his father about it the night before, but Snape had been busy with paperwork. For what, Harry had no idea, but the man had been furiously writing something, his brow so wrinkled as he sat in his office that Harry hadn't wanted to ask him that, either.

"So, the duel. I suppose you already have it all planned out. Strategy, not that you'd need very much to best Aran. But what are you planning to do to him?"

Snape's voice went dark. "Make him regret the way he's treated you."

"How?"

"Why don't you wait and see?"

A little stunned, Harry protested, "You mean you won't tell me your plan?"

"It's bad form to discuss it in advance," explained Draco as he spread pumpkin butter on a toasted crumpet.

"Even with your own sons?" Harry sighed. "All right. Proper wizarding behaviour. Fine."

"I doubt you'll be disappointed," drawled Snape.

Still that ominous tone. "Just tell me you aren't going to kill him."

"I'll tell you no such thing," said Snape grimly. "Though I will state for the record that there are worse things than death."

Hearing that, Harry couldn't help but shiver. He trusted his father to do the right thing, really he did. Still, the man had been a Death Eater once. He knew some awful, awful hexes and curses. Harry was sure of it.

The walk down to the Quidditch pitch was largely silent. Uncomfortable, Harry tried to start up a conversation, but Draco quietly told him that they ought to let Snape concentrate.

All of Hogwarts was already assembled on the grass below one set of goal posts, the students milling about in a long haphazard row vaguely sorted by houses. As Harry, Snape, and Draco began to walk in front of the students, they hushed into an eerie silence, but as soon as they'd gone a few feet, whispers started up behind them.

A few yards away a second row composed of teachers and other staff faced the students. Unlike the students, they were seated in chairs. Pomfrey was glaring at Snape as if to warn him she didn't want a mangled Aran to care for. Harry noticed his father's eyes glinting in response. Most of the teachers seemed fairly relaxed, though. McGonagall was chatting with Hooch about the tartans she'd seen in Hogsmeade. Both women fell silent as Snape passed by.

Talk about relaxed -- Harry could have sworn he saw Professor Vector actually wink at them as they began to walk in between the two rows.

"What's that about?" whispered Harry.

Draco spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Tell you later."

Snape, Harry noticed, gave Draco a rather exasperated glance.

It was all a mystery to Harry, but there was no more time to ponder it. They'd reached the far end of the duelling field by then. Snape took his place there, turning around to look down the recently levelled ground. He swivelled his gaze to look at the students first, and then the staff, then stood composed, a slight breeze ruffling the duelling robes he was wearing. Less flowing than his usual attire, they were obviously designed for this.

"What's this, now?" asked Draco, frowning as he strode up to the Slytherin students, who were mostly in a clump to Snape's left. "Standing about randomly like a bunch of Hufflepuffs. Whose idea was that? Show your Head of House some respect, now! Neat rows, seven deep. First-years in front and second years behind, and so on. Well? Move! Yes, like that. Good--"

"Who put you in charge?" Zabini said, standing his ground in the front row. He looked ridiculous, towering over the smaller students.

"I took charge," Draco calmly replied. "You could have done it, but you didn't. Now, get into place, Zabini."

The other boy made a contemptuous gesture, but must have figured that now wasn't the time to dispute Draco's authority. Harry was actually impressed that nobody else balked at following Draco's directions--not even the seventh-years. It looked to him as though his brother had regained a good deal of his former standing with his house mates. And that all sorted well, didn't it? Maybe together, they'd be able to keep a good many of the Slytherins from making the same mistake Snape had made when he was their age.

Harry felt a little bad that he'd walked right past Gryffindor without a word, but it wasn't like he could go back and stand with them. He might be a Gryffindor and a Slytherin both, but above all that, he was Severus Snape's son, so his place was clear. Harry started making his way over to the back rows of the Slytherin lines.

"No, we're in front," said Draco, taking him by an elbow and steering him to a place alongside the first-year Slytherins, only a short distance from where Snape was waiting. "As aggrieved parties. That article didn't only slander Severus, you realise."

Harry was glad then that his brother knew so much about pureblood traditions.

A slight jostling to his side had Harry glancing down to see a familiar red-haired girl. Before he could greet Larissa, however, Draco stepped between them. "Back over there where you were," he told the little girl, bending down to speak to her. "I told you, didn't I?" Glancing up a bit, Draco addressed all the first years. "Harry doesn't like people fawning all over him just because he's the Boy Who Lived. Show some proper Slytherin decorum."

Larissa's eyes grew wide. She didn't exactly look like she was about to burst into tears, but she sure didn't look happy. "But Drakey--"

"I told you not to call me that!"

"I don't need you protecting me from the first-years, Draco," said Harry. Well, at least now he knew why Larissa had never come up to him again. He was a bit irritated with his brother about that, but Drakey . . . that made it hard to hold onto the feeling. "Larissa, you come stand by me."

Larissa threw Draco a smug look as she shouldered past him. It didn't last long, though. As she looked out at the duelling field, her little face turning to stare at Snape and then at Aran's empty space, she started to look worried. Her eyes clouded over as she pressed her lips tightly together.

Well, Snape had given everyone the clear impression that he intended to kill Aran. And Slytherin or no, Larissa was just a first-year. Eleven or twelve -- even Harry hadn't seen anybody killed in front of him until he was older than that. Except his mother, but he remembered that like something in a mist. For most of his childhood he hadn't been able to remember it at all. Larissa was old enough to understand what she would see here today.

Harry bent down a little bit. "It'll be all right. You'll see--"

Larissa's voice quavered as she shoved her little hands into her pockets and whispered, "Why won't Drakey let me stand in back? I don't want to get splashed by all the bl- bl- blood."

"Your Head of House has better aim than that," Draco said dryly.

"Draco!" Harry turned to face his brother. "She's scared!"

Larissa was tugging on Harry's robes. "I'm not scared!" she objected, though her voice trembled.

"That's the Slytherin spirit," said Draco, nodding.

"I'm not scared," she insisted again. "B- but, it's just that everyone else was talking this morning about all sorts of horrible curses--"

"Here, I think you wanted to hold Sals," Harry said, fishing the snake out of his pocket.

On his other side, Draco stiffened. "You're not supposed to play with pets at a duel, Harry," he said in a low voice.

"I'll put her away before it starts. Look, it's a distraction."

Draco gave the little girl a hard look, but then shrugged.

Meanwhile, Larissa was beaming as she held the snake. "What was my name in Parseltongue again?" After Harry hissed it, she started trying to say it herself. Harry didn't think Sals could understand her, but the snake seemed very happy all the same, slithering several times around her wrist. Larissa started asking Harry questions, then. What Sals liked to eat. What Sals and Harry liked to talk about. If Harry wanted more pet snakes.

And on and on.

"Aran's late," murmured Draco after a few moments of such chatter.

Harry shrugged. "Well, even an idiot would rather cut and run than face somebody like Dad, right?"

"Severus is allowed to kill him in that case!"

"Lower your voice," said Harry, thinking of Larissa. Thankfully, she still seemed caught up in playing with Sals. Harry kind of envied her that. He couldn't think of a time when he'd been so easily able to forget his worries. Not even when he'd been her age. His own voice very low, he whispered to Draco, "Isn't Severus allowed to do that during the duel as well?"

"Yeah, but Aran'll lose his magic if the duel doesn't start before those twenty-four hours have passed. But I see what you mean. Maybe he thinks he can hide from Severus, even without magic. Pretty stupid, if you ask me."

"Well, we are talking Aran here--"

A booming voice interrupted Harry.

"Professor Dumbledore," called Hagrid as he lumbered into view, hauling a struggling Aran with him. One meaty hand on the Defence professor's back collar, Hagrid didn't stop walking until he could plunk the man down squarely in front of the headmaster, who had stood up from his chair to walk into the middle of the duelling field.

Dumbledore touched his wand briefly to his throat. "Good morning, Professor Aran," he said pleasantly, his blue eyes twinkling so much that Harry could see it even at a distance. "My, my. You look a mess. Whatever can have happened?"

"Caught 'im in the Dark Forest," said Hagrid, his outraged voice easily carrying the length of the duelling field. "Tryin' ta flee, 'e was, like the no-good scallywag 'e is! And no wonder, after what all 'e said about our Harry 'ere! As if the boy's father wouldn't 'ave a thing or two ta say 'bout that! Or me, eh! How'd you like that, Aran, an honest fight, man to man? I'll take you, I will--"

"Thank you, Hagrid, but I think that will do," said Dumbledore calmly. And then, to Aran, "Professor, honestly. You're a teacher of impressionable youth. Don't you think that trying to evade a legitimately issued challenge sets them rather a bad example?"

"You placed the wards," screeched Aran. "The Floos, the Apparition boundary! I thought it was that devil Snape--"

"Now there's a sound approach," drawled Snape loudly. "Insult me right again before we duel. Brilliant, Aaron."

Aran whirled on a heel. "That's Aran to you!"

Snape gave an eloquent shrug, as if to say, Aaron, Aran, how can you tell the difference?

"I set the wards," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard as he nodded. "Everywhere except the Dark Forest. So you fled through there and were caught by . . . an enraged elm, from the look of you. Well, you're here now, so all's well in the world. Shall we begin?"

"I won't duel him!" shrieked Aran. "And you can't make me!"

"Actually, I can," returned the headmaster, still smiling like he'd taken a silly potion. "You're employed by Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and under the terms of the Hogwarts Charter, paragraph nineteen thousand and sixty five, subparagraph d, I'm fully empowered to--"

"I resign!"

"Oh, I really will need that in writing," murmured Dumbledore, though thanks to Sonorus his voice still carried. "The Charter again. I'm sure you understand. Pity you haven't time to write anything out at the moment, Professor--"

"You still can't make me duel," said Aran, though by then he sounded more sullen than convinced.

"Professor Aran, is it truly your wish to lose every trace of magical talent? If Severus is disposed to kill you, he'll do it whether you fight him or not. Might I point out that the one thing you can do to increase the odds of dying is to flee? Nothing annoys Severus quite so much as blatant cowardice."

"Ha," said Harry under his breath. "Nothing annoys him as much as blatant Gryffindor bravery."

Draco's lips quirked, just a little.

Aran glanced at Snape, who was still standing perfectly composed. And then Aran threw his shoulders back as his eyes narrowed. "It's only Slytherin to choose one's battles. I'd think you of all wizards would know that, Snape."

"It's not Slytherin when you can't choose," returned Snape in a silky voice. "Are you done whingeing, Aaron? I've other things to do today, you understand."

"Fine!" Aran began stomping his way to his place on the duelling field.

Snape's upper lip curled in contempt. "Finally."

"Here, let me have Sals back," Harry said to Larissa. Really, he'd rather she play with the snake if it would keep her happy, but Draco was probably right about decorum. Harry did know how much Snape valued it.

Larissa frowned as she handed Sals over and watched Harry tuck the little snake into a pocket.

On the duelling field, Aran looked ready. "You just might be in for a surprise!" he called, sneering. "You don't know what tricks I have up my sleeve!"

"What I know," drawled Snape, "is that your sleeves are shredded. Pity you didn't come properly attired, Aaron. Shouldn't you take that off that rag of a robe before we begin?"

Harry thought he'd never seen Aran looking so annoyed as he shrugged out of his torn robe and threw it to the side, growling. A house-elf appeared from nowhere and gathered it up, then vanished.

His wand held vertically in front of him, Aran executed a stiff, resentful bow. Snape's answering bow was merely a jerk of his head. Which figured. The man had no respect for Aran, just as he'd had none for Lockhart.

"Wands at the ready," said Dumbledore in a voice that could only be described as jolly. Behind him, Harry saw McGonagall leaning forward in her chair as Snape and Aran moved to hold their wands rather like swords. "On the count of three, then. Three -- two --"

"Expelliarmus!" screamed Aran, flinging his arm out wildly.

"Cheater!" called a fair number of students.

"Well, I never," said Draco in an outraged voice.

Harry slanted his brother a wry glance. "Yeah, actually, you did."

"Shut up, Potter. I was twelve."

Meanwhile, the scarlet flash of light from Aran's wand had flown wide of the mark. Snape just stood there and watched it sail past him, a full yard to his right. He made a tsking noise as it collided harmlessly with a patch of grass.

Aran made a yelping noise and waved his wand as though to cast something else, but he looked too uncoordinated to manage any spell by then.

Snape twirled his wand, the motion almost lazy. "Rictusempra!"

"Weird," said Draco under his breath. "Why would he cast that?"

Harry was wondering the same thing as he watched the jet of silver light hit Aran square in the stomach. The man doubled up, laughing like a hyena, scrabbling at his own belly to stop the invisible hands tickling him.

"Maybe Dad's feeling playful," said Harry, though he didn't think so.

"He looks murderous," said Draco.

Next to Harry, Larissa gave a little yelp as she jumped closer to Harry. "I heard that you can actually kill someone with Rictusempra if they laugh so much they can't get their breath."

Harry doubted that was Snape's plan, though it would certainly be a humiliating way to die. "You know, you don't have to watch," he whispered to her. "Want to hold my hand?"

"I'm not a baby!"

For all that though, when Snape raised his wand again, Larissa looked pleadingly up at Harry.

He thought better than to embarrass her again by saying anything out loud. This time, he just caught hold of her hand and pulled her a little bit closer, ruffling his cloak so she could hide her face in it if she wanted.

But all Snape did that time was end the spell.

Aran rolled onto his hands and knees and awkwardly stood up, his face flushed almost purple. Harry didn't think that was just from all the tickling. He was probably feeling pretty humiliated to have been taken down by a silly hex like that one. Maybe that really was Snape's game. Pure disgrace?

Whatever Aran was feeling, he was also about as angry as Harry had ever seen. "Blasphemo Totalus!" roared Aran furiously as he gained his breath and ran forward several paces, his wand flashing through the air.

Beside Harry, Draco gasped. "Oh dear Merlin, he's calling down hellfire!"

Larissa screamed and clung all the more to Harry, who watched with horror as the flame that had shot from Aran's wand raced toward Snape.

"Helare," cried Snape, flinging his arm out fully.

Aran's fire froze in mid-air and shattered, raining down in a thousand pieces.

"Weather charm," said Draco sagely, as if he'd known it all along. "Well, Blasphemo was a big mistake. Aran's in for it, now."

He was . . . and he wasn't. True, Snape hardly let his opponent draw breath after that. Stunning hexes, a series of tripping jinxes, and then several spells to give Aran a stitch in his side. It was rapid-fire magic, but they were all children's spells. The kind of things Harry had had cast at him in Defence, week in and week out.

"This is bizarre," complained Draco.

Harry had to admit that it really was. What was his father up to?

Just then, a blue cloud erupted from the end of Snape's wand and wrapped itself around Aran, who abruptly sat down on the grass and began rocking himself back and forth.

"Jelly Brain Jinx," said Draco, obviously disapproving. "What can Severus be thinking?"

But Harry had suddenly caught on. It was all he could do not to jump up and down. "He's thinking of me! Dad's doing to Aran all the things that git let the other students do to me when I couldn't defend myself because he wouldn't let me use Parseltongue! Yeah, that first day in class when we were practicing blocks, Ron kept casting Rictusempra at me! And then I got stunned and tripped and such until I was just sick of it. And then, that day when we had to practise conjuring caninae, Zabini got me with a Jelly-Brain Jinx first of all--"

Draco grinned. "Oh, yes. I remember. Well, then, Diffindo ought to be next. Wonder how Aran'll like having his clothes torn off?"

Larissa gasped. Harry wrapped an arm around her and held her tight, only to see Draco shaking his head. "She's a Slytherin, Harry. No need to coddle her."

"She's a little girl. No way does she need to see Aran getting Diffindo'd."

"Point taken."

Aran was muttering something as he rocked himself on the grass. Harry couldn't make it out, but he caught a few words. Something about ducks.

Snape took his time lifting the Jelly Brain Jinx, and then watched, his lips twisted disdainfully, as Aran recovered. It seemed to take a full minute. Harry wasn't sure if this was a case of decorum or if his father was making a point. At any rate, Snape waited until the man had cast at him again, this time some spell Harry had never heard of. The incantation sounded really advanced. So advanced, in fact, that Aran was in no shape to cast it at that moment. A slight hissing noise issued from his wand as a single puff of smoke popped out the end.

The students all around Harry burst out laughing. Even the teachers looked to be chortling.

"Diffindo!" called Snape then, his wand slashing through the air.

Aran's shirt rent in two from his collar to where it was tucked into his trousers.

"Diffindo!" yelled Snape again, and Aran's shirt sleeves dropped to the ground. The same house-elf as before popped into existence and scurried about picking up bits of clothing as they fell to the pitch.

Aran's mouth fell open when great gashes appeared in his trouser legs, Snape's wand scissoring through the air to shred the garment. He didn't stop until Aran was wearing nothing but tatters, the man's trousers covering barely more than pants would.

Harry almost burst out laughing, that feeling he'd had the day before washing over him again. Someone to stand up for him. Someone who'd never let him down. He hugged Larissa to him just a little bit more tightly, grinning.

By then, Aran looked like he didn't know which way to run, though he sure seemed intent on trying to get away from the rapid-fire spells shooting out of Snape's wand.

"Furnunculus!" called Snape, merciless.

Draco made a gagging noise as festering boils started bursting out all over Aran's body. "Oh, ick. And I thought he looked gross before."

Harry had to admit, almost naked had been a bad enough look for Aran. Covered in scabs as well was horrible.

Larissa took one peek and yelped, diving her face back into Harry's cloak.

The elf crossed its arms around its bundle of torn clothing, and with a slightly long-suffering look, popped out of existence again.

Close on the heels of Furnuculus, Snape threw a blasting curse at Aran.

"Hey, Zabini aimed that one for me, not you!" objected Draco.

"Maybe Dad's getting back for you as well," said Harry. Though that raised a question, didn't it? He leaned closer to Draco and lowered his voice. "Hey, how does he know all these details? Did you tell Dad about all the things Zabini did that day?"

Draco shook his head. "My guess is he got it from Dumbledore during one of those teas. That man knows everything. Remember how he seemed to know about--" He didn't say Venetimorica, but Harry knew what he meant. "It's eerie." Draco shivered.

"Too bad Aran'll never know why he got this or that hex," said Harry, chewing his lip.

"Oh, I'm sure Dumbledore'll fill him in." Draco grinned. "I can hear it now. He'll use that doddering old fool's voice he likes."

"Sherbet lemon?" snickered Harry.

As soon as Snape lifted the boil blister hex--ha, funny how he'd yet to repair the other wizard's clothing--Aran tried to get up from the grass where he'd landed. He couldn't, though. Harry could see Aran's muscles straining. Literally, since so much skin was on display. Ugh. Too much skin. Aran really needed to start some kind of exercise programme.

"The sticking charm!" hooted Draco. "Ha! Take that, you worthless git!"

But Harry was already thinking ahead. "Bocalavare," he reminded Draco, a wide grin splitting his face. "This is great!"

And sure enough, that was the next spell to surge forth from Snape's wand. Mounds of soapsuds began to pour from Aran's mouth. He sputtered and spewed on them, shaking his head like a wet dog trying to dry itself. Still stuck tight to the ground, he could do nothing as the bubbles kept streaming from his mouth and even nose.

"Oh, God," said Harry, his chuckles abruptly dying. "Maybe this isn't so great. If Dad knows about Aran washing my mouth out, he probably knows why."

"If he hasn't talked to you about it yet, he's not going to." Draco glanced at Harry. "Considering all that happened, I'm sure Severus thinks anything you had to say was justified."

Harry nodded, relieved.

As Snape cast Finite once more, cancelling two spells at once, Aran got shakily to his feet. Defeated by then, he didn't even try to lift his wand.

"This is it," murmured Draco. "The grand finale."

Harry knew what he meant. One curse left, right? That Petrificus Aran had thrown at Harry, rendering him helpless right in the middle of a confrontation with Lucius Malfoy.

Petrificus was awful. Harry knew that firsthand. But still, it seemed pretty paltry compared to what Aran had put him through. It wasn't the spell itself that was the man's worst crime; it was using it in a way that would make Harry vulnerable to his sworn enemy. But still, what else could Snape do? Harry knew by then that his father wasn't going to kill Aran.

"Petrificus Totalus!" shouted Snape.

It was a little hard for Harry to watch, actually. As Aran snapped into a straight line and turned slightly grey, then toppled over backwards with a thud, he couldn't help but think of what had happened in France. He wasn't sorry Malfoy was dead, of course. And he wasn't feeling guilty--not even over not feeling guilty. Or not so much as before.

But the reminder of the kind of power he had--literally--at his fingertips, that was sobering.

Draco seemed to sense his change of mood. "You don't have any sharp objects in your pockets, do you?" he said in a bare whisper, a mere thread of noise.

Harry heard the caring in the question, but shot his brother a dirty look anyway.

Snape had walked over to Aran's still form and was looking down at him, his expression still thunderous. The teachers started tensing, as if suspecting that Snape had something unexpected planned. Not even a murmur of sound disturbed the duelling field.

Or not, that was, until Draco whispered something. "Uh-oh," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I guess I was wrong about the grand finale."

"He's just going to release him and that'll be that," returned Harry, but his voice was wavering with uncertainty.

Larissa picked up on it and started trembling against Harry's side.

"Finite Incantatem," said Snape, his wand levelled at Aran as the man began to blink and sit up. "So Parseltongue is evil, is it, Aaron?"

Aran moved his mouth, obviously trying to reply in a way that wouldn't get him killed. "I . . . now look here, Snape, I know you're fond of the boy but I'm not the only one who thinks this is all a bit unnatural--"

Snape's lips twisted as he growled something long and low.

"Sweet Merlin's hair," said Draco, his voice hollow with shock. He stepped back, shuddering. "I thought that one was just legend."

Harry didn't understand, but the sight of Aran starting to change made explanations unnecessary. The man's body narrowed and lengthened, his arms and legs shrinking to pinpricks, then vanishing entirely as his head changed shape and a tail emerged where his legs used to be.

"He's . . . he's a snake," breathed Harry, fascinated and repulsed all at once.

Larissa started bouncing as she untangled herself from Harry's cloak. "Let me see, let me see! Oooh, pretty!"

She was right. Aran did make for a pretty snake. Long and slender, a milk-white streak against the grass. But how he looked, that's not so much what caught Harry's attention. It was what he was saying.

"Turn me back," a plaintive voice begged. Aran's voice, but it was coming from the snake.

Glancing at Draco and then Larissa, Harry saw that neither one of them had registered any voice at all. Of course. All they could hear was meaningless hissing.

"He's speaking Parseltongue," said Harry. Feeling Sals twisting around in his pocket, Harry gave her a few pats. Since Sals knew him pretty well by then, she stopped moving. Probably she thought Harry was warning her to hide from the other snake.

"Condemned to speak Parseltongue," Draco was saying in a shaky voice.

Harry slanted a glance to the side. "He's a ways off. Besides, I thought you were over your snake thing. Sals doesn't bother you as much, I think."

"I'm used to her. Somewhat."

Harry learned something, then. Just because you'd got a chance to face your fears didn't mean you were over them completely. He should have realised. Ron had gone with him to talk to Aragog that time, but Ron was still plenty afraid of spiders! Just like Harry was still afraid of needles, and he'd faced that fear twice this year.

"Turn me back," Aran was still begging, over and over. He started to slither forward, though as he hadn't been a snake for long he didn't really know how. Wriggling in place on the grass, he flickered his tongue at Snape, his hissing growing hoarse as he kept on. He sounded like he was trying to cry and didn't know how.

Harry kind of felt sorry for him, then. He knew what it was like to want to cry and not be able to.

"I do believe this snake is trying to say something," drawled Snape in a loud voice. "Pity I can't understand a word. Probably he's enjoying his new form and telling me how much he'd like to stay this way. Yes, so I'll leave him, then."

"Serve him right after the way he treated Harry!" Harry heard Seamus shout.

"Yeah, well it would, but Transfiguration wears off after a while--" replied another Gryffindor.

Draco made a scoffing noise. "How ignorant can one house get? That wasn't a transfigurative spell at all. It's in another class entirely, and it won't be wearing off."

Snape was turning in a slow circle, surveying students and teachers alike. "I wonder if there might be someone present with the very special talent of speaking to snakes?"

Harry wasn't quite sure what his father was up to, but it seemed like Snape wanted him to step forward, so he did, walking uncertainly into the duelling field where Aran was still wriggling in vain, his hiss almost a moan by then. "I don't want to be a snake. Change me back, change me back . . ."

"Yes, Harry?" asked Snape, one eyebrow raised. "Was there something you needed?"

Harry's eyes went wide. "You asked me to come up!"

"Did I?" When Harry just kept staring, Snape became more specific. "Ah. Are you by chance someone with the very special talent of speaking to snakes?"

Oh. Harry got it then. That horrible article had spread the lie that Parseltongue was Dark Arts, but Snape wanted Harry to spread the truth. Publicly. Confidently. Probably as much for himself as for the others. Harry knew his Parseltongue wasn't evil by then, wasn't anything to do with evil. But he'd never declared that, really. He'd just used it and hoped his school mates would understand. Most of them had, he thought. But now it was time to show them that he wasn't ashamed at all, that he had nothing to be ashamed of.

"Yes," said Harry loudly, turning around in a slow circle to direct his words to students and teachers alike. "I am someone with the very special talent of speaking to snakes!"

"How very fortunate for Professor Aran," drawled Snape. "I dare say he'll be vastly pleased to have a fellow Parseltongue speaker on hand."

"He can't understand English right now," Harry murmured.

"They can," said Snape quietly, a slight gesture indicating the audience. "And as for him, he can understand you alone. Remember that."

Nodding, Harry dropped to one knee in the grass. "Hallo there."

The snake had been slumping by then, but at Harry's hiss, Aran's head snapped up and began swaying from side to side. "You."

"Nobody else can understand you, you know," said Harry. Feeling like this might take a little while, he shifted to sit cross-legged. "You're sssspeaking ssssnake language."

Aran physically recoiled from the suggestion, his long tongue flickering like he was trying to spit something out. Stupid git, thought Harry. Should have figured it out by himself by now. "Yessss, ssssnake language. Tell me, do you ssssuddenly feel like a creature of darknesssss?"

Hmm, he'd been trying to say evil but probably snakes didn't really have that concept.

"Thisssss wassss done to me," hissed Aran, his body coiling in fury.

Noticing Snape tensing, Harry made a gesture to say that everything was fine. Then he returned his attention to Aran. "I know you probably have instinctssss now, but if you bite me you'll never get changed back. Think about it."

Aran subsided into the grass, his hiss becoming plaintive again. "Tell him to change me--"

"Thissss wassss done to you," Harry interrupted. "But my ssssnake language was done to me, too." Of course, that might not strictly be true; Harry knew Snape didn't necessarily agree that Voldemort had transferred the power to Harry, all those years ago. But it might be true, so . . . "Did it make me a creature of darknesssss? You kept ssssaying it did."

"Done to you?" Gaining more control over his new muscles, Aran slithered in a circle.

"Yessss," hissed Harry, his own fury growing even as Aran's seemed to fade. "I didn't assssk for it. I didn't know I had it. And I didn't need you trying to shame me for it, or make it hard for me to learn!"

The snake blinked several times in a row. "I . . ."

"Yeah, you were horrible," accused Harry. "And it'd sssserve you right if my father never did change you back. How would you like that, eh? A sssssnake for daysssss and nightssss and dayssss and nightssss?"

Hmm, interesting how forever had come out.

"No, pleasssse," begged Aran, his hiss low and piteous. "He hassss to change me back. I don't want to be a ssssnake. He won't leave me like this, will he?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Harry leaned forward a little. Strange how everyone was staring at him, but for once it didn't bother him. "You called him a creature of darknesssss. And now you expect him not to bite you back?"

No word for mercy, either, thought Harry.

"Noooo." Aran slumped low in the grass. "He can't. Noooo."

"I've no idea what he'll do. But I could assssk him, if you like." Harry waited until the snake had nodded glumly. "If you asssssk me, first."

"Pleasssse."

"Is sssssnake language a creature of darkness?"

Aran hissed in a breath, hesitating. But then he admitted, "No. I wassss wrong. I ssssshould not have ssssaid that."

Harry jumped to his feet and faced his father again.

"Well, that snake seems to have quite a lot to say," prompted Snape in a clear voice. The slight murmurings in the audience abruptly ceased. "Anything in particular?"

"For some reason," said Harry loudly, "he doesn't think Parseltongue is evil any longer!"

"As indeed it is not."

"Hear, hear," called McGonagall from her chair. Glancing that way, Harry saw several other teachers nodding. And the students were picking up on the mood, he saw.

"Also, he wants to be changed back," added Harry.

"Imagine that." Snape lightly tapped his wand against his leg. "What do you say, Harry?"

"Um, well, it's up to you, obviously."

"No. It's up to you," said Snape. "What Aran said about me isn't terribly important in the greater scheme of things. You're the one he wronged, week after week." You're the one he attacked, the one he unwittingly gave to Lucius Malfoy, Snape's dark eyes said.

"Oh." Harry turned back to the white snake trembling in the grass. This time he didn't crouch down. "I get to deccccide what happensssss to you."

Aran lifted his head slightly. "Pleasssse . . ."

Harry knew he was probably being too soft-hearted, but the last thing he wanted was for this snake to hang about Hogwarts. Knowing Aran, the man--ha, the snake--would be too frightened to leave the grounds and face the wilds of Scotland. He'd be afraid of getting eaten, just like Sals still complained now and again about Hedwig. Though at least that had fallen off a lot ever since Harry had applied repelling charms to her new box.

And what if Aran did get eaten by something? Harry didn't need another death on his conscience.

"I'm doing thissss for me, not for you," he hissed, still standing. "And you're never to talk about me or my nesssst-matessss again, do you undersssstand? If you do, you'll get a lot worsssse than happened today."

"Never--"

"And I don't want to ssssee you again," continued Harry. "You're leaving here sssstraight away."

The snake nodded, the motion eager. Harry got the feeling Aran couldn't wait to be gone from Hogwarts.

"Change him back, then," Harry told his father, looking him in the eye.

Snape's lips twisted. "Now you know why I left the decision to you. I might not have spared him, but I knew I could rely on you to treat with justice even those who deserve none." The man began waving his wand in loops and swirls as he muttered in Latin.

The change back wasn't gradual. Aran popped back into existence in one fell swoop, standing with his arms crossed indignantly. A bad position, as it turned out. Harry wasn't sure where the man's tattered clothes had gone, but somewhere in the shift to snake and back, they'd vanished entirely.

Harry heard a high squeal that he recognised as Larissa's. When he glanced that way, he saw that Draco had grabbed her and was holding her in front of him, his hand clapped over her eyes. Catching Harry's eye, the Slytherin boy gave a wry shrug as if to say, I guess she is just a little girl, after all.

The students by then had broken out into raucous laughter. Aran standing there buck naked was funny enough, but the fact that he didn't seem to realise he had no clothes only made things all the more hilarious. Several students were turning bright red from laughing so hard.

"Come on, give us a show, then!" shouted Seamus.

That seemed to snap Aran out of his daze. He looked down in panic, then blushed purple. One hand shot down to cover his privates while the other began waving wildly, stammered spells falling from his lips. But he didn't have a wand any longer; it had vanished along with his clothes.

"Severus," called Dumbledore from his place in the centre of the staff seats.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

Harry had been managing to hold in his own laughter, as making fun of Aran at a time like this seemed so cruel. Especially since Harry had been displayed against his will on Samhain. Really, it wasn't funny, but his father's innocent tones were his undoing. He collapsed into giggles.

"I'm a bit concerned that Professor Aran may take a chill," said Dumbledore. "If you would?"

Feeling like he'd had enough of centre stage, Harry started to move back to stand by Draco. He was amused that his brother was still more-or-less hugging little Larissa, who had no way of knowing that Harry had returned.

"Lemme see! Lemme see!"

"Not yet, poppet."

Poppet? Harry mouthed at him as he took his place.

Draco shrugged.

"Very well, Headmaster," called Snape finally. He'd probably figured that Aran had twisted in the wind long enough. One complicated twirl of his wand, and Aran's own wand reappeared in the grass. Aran bent down to snatch it up, giving the students a clear view of his backside, which of course only led to another wave of hysterical laughter.

"I do believe my honour is satisfied," Snape announced as Aran scrambled to conjure some clothing for himself. Snape hadn't bowed to Aran before, not really, but now he did execute a smooth, sweeping bow, first to the students and then the teachers. "I thank you all for your witness to the redemption of my good name."

Draco seemed to recognize the brief speech as some sort of cue. Letting go of Larissa, he motioned that Harry should walk forward with him. They joined their father on the duelling field, and walked by his side as he left, striding straight past the red-faced Aran who was hopping on one foot as he tried to drag on his pants. Nobody else moved. Harry figured there must be some sort of tradition that the champion left first.

As they passed the row of teachers, Harry saw Galleons changing hands. Lots of them, but he waited to speak until they were well away from the Quidditch pitch. "I think the teachers were betting on the duel!"

Snape just shrugged.

"Well, I can't see why anybody would have backed Aran. Or . . . oh, God. You don't think they were betting on whether you'd kill him, do you?"

"I do believe the betting pool concerned the number of hexes it would take to satisfy my honour," murmured Snape. "And if you think the teachers are the only ones who were wagering . . . well, you aren't really that naïve, are you, Harry?"

"I wouldn't bet on a thing like that!"

"Me either!" said Draco in an over-loud voice.

"Really," drawled Snape. "You wouldn't be involved at all, would you?"

That had Draco back pedalling a bit. "Well, what was I supposed to do when Professor Vector sidled up to me looking for inside information?"

"You didn't know any to tell her!" exclaimed Harry.

"Well, yes, but she didn't know that, did she?"

"The terms, Draco," said Snape in a rather stern voice.

"You took something from her? You cheated money from a teacher?"

Draco twisted a lip. "Please. All I asked for was an arithmantic theorem on the random pattern disruption caused by chemical imbalances genetically inherent in the brain."

Harry turned and just stared.

"All right, her words," admitted Draco, smirking a little. "I told her a bit about Greg's dyslexia and asked if Arithmancy as a discipline could be of help with some treatment. I'm not going to ask him to use those Muggle therapies Hermione goes on about, not if I can find something magical."

He said magical like it was a synonym for better.

Snape raised an eyebrow, obviously intrigued. "Did she have any ideas?"

"Yeah, some. I'll let you see what she gave me." Draco turned to Harry as they walked along. "You really should have left that stupid git to live the rest of his miserable days as a snake, Harry. He deserves it."

"How fortunate we don't all get what we deserve, Draco," drawled Snape. "A concept we've discussed before, hmm?"

The Slytherin boy coloured and started looking down at his shoes.

Feeling a little bad for his brother, Harry cast about for a distraction. "It wasn't really mercy," he admitted. "I was actually pretty afraid Aran would hang about here if he was stuck as a snake. Not that I'd have seen him around all that much, but still--"

Draco brightened, his eyes sparkling as he looked up. "Fifty to one Larissa would have adopted him. Her own personal snake. Like I need one living right there in Slytherin."

"You wouldn't have had to see him much. But she'd have brought him around to me all the time wanting to know what he was saying!"

Draco burst out laughing. "True, true."

"No doubt it would always have been variations on the same theme," said Snape.

"Yeah. Change me back," said Harry. "Now I'm ten times as glad I made the choice I did."

"Well done indeed," said Snape, patting Harry lightly on the back as they entered the castle and headed for home.

 

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"So, last week of term," said Ron on Monday morning at breakfast as he speared a banger from a platter floating past. "Think your dad'll let you visit the Burrow during the holiday, Harry? Some, maybe?"

Harry nodded. "I think he will. And either way, I already know I can have you out to our place. You and Hermione both. Should be good."

"Just don't invite her out without me along," muttered Ron, staring at the doors to the Great Hall.

Harry followed his line of sight and saw that Hermione was still talking to Draco. She'd stopped him on his way in with Harry, a full ten minutes earlier. "Oh, relax already. They're just talking about Goyle's reading problem."

"Yeah, well still."

Harry was saved from having to reply by the sound of a spoon clinking against crystal, the noise amplified so that it would be impossible to miss. McGonagall spoke crisply over the lingering hum of student conversations. "Your attention, please."

The hall hushed as Dumbledore pushed to his feet from his place at the centre of the head table. "As some of you may have already surmised, Aaron Aran resigned from his post as Defence against the Dark Arts professor on Saturday afternoon. With only one week left in term, it's hardly worth engaging an interim professor to handle his classes. Therefore, all sections of Defence are suspended until the new term begins in September."

For a moment, there was no reaction to that except a startled hush. Then a few whoops could be heard. And above that, the noise of Neville shouting as he stood up. Neville.

"What about Professor Snape, sir? Can't he keep teaching us?"

Once the sentiment had been voiced, a number of other students took up the cry, calling out that Snape was brilliant at Defence and had taught them a lot and could easily take over from Aran.

Hermione was nodding her agreement as she took a seat across from Harry.

It was too far to the head table for Harry to tell if his father was embarrassed by the outcry, but he thought Snape might be looking a little bit abashed.

Dumbledore let the protests go on for a moment longer, then held up his hand. "Ah, but Professor Snape has other obligations he must see to."

"Well, there goes our ice cream contest in Potions," said Ron, a little glumly. "Your dad'll come back and make us brew something ghastly to make up for the sweets, I bet. I'd rather have Snape teaching me Defence, any day of the week."

Harry smiled. "Yeah. Me too. But you know, the headmaster can't risk that. What if one week of him being the official teacher in that class somehow made the curse land on him?"

Ron made a face, but nodded.

Dumbledore seemed about to say something more, but a new noise had him closing his mouth. Clapping. Harry couldn't exactly see where it was coming from. Somewhere in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Thinking it a good idea, Harry began applauding vigorously as well. Several of the Gryffindors around him followed suit.

And then the noise of applause began to fill the Great Hall.

"Best duel I've ever seen!" yelled somebody near the back.

"Best Defence classes we've had since Professor Lupin was here!" a seventh-year farther down the table called out.

Snape had been looking a bit smug--just a bit--but that comment had him making a curt gesture in the headmaster's direction.

Dumbledore, however, let the clapping and comments continue for a moment more. Then he raised his hand again. "Yes, yes. Professor Snape has done a marvellous job, all around. But I have another announcement to make." He waited until the students had fallen silent. "This Wednesday afternoon, the last class of the day has been cancelled so that you can all be present, should you so wish, for the dedication of the latest addition to Hogwarts' art collection. In recognition of his many years of service as a school governor and his generous gifts to Hogwarts' endowment, we have invited Mr Lucius Malfoy here to witness his statue being dedicated out on the grounds."

Ron and Hermione caught Harry's eye, the look on their faces saying that they'd understood everything that hadn't been said. They knew the truth of what had happened in France, and what the "statue" really was. They also knew about Remus.

Harry felt a chill shiver its way up and down his arms. A horrible deep chill that seemed to go all the way down to bone. If only he had a needle, he could make the feeling go away--

He didn't have one, and he wasn't going to make one, either. Of course, he couldn't make one here, in front of his friends, let alone use it. But if he could just get a few minutes to himself, maybe on the way to Charms . . .

But no. Harry drew in a deep breath, determined. What was it that Marsha had said? To avoid situations that would allow him to return to his damaging behaviour. He'd stay with his friends. That way he wouldn't have a chance to make a needle. And besides, he'd only get them in trouble if he slipped away and Snape found out.

Not to mention the trouble he'd be in for failing to get Snape himself when his . . . urge struck. He wasn't going to disappoint his father again. Best to just tough it out, Harry decided.

Some of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, he thought a moment later. Not that Hermione knew what to make of his expressions. "The headmaster said students could go to the statue dedication if they wished," she said quietly. "No-one would fault you for staying away from a thing like that, Harry."

Probably nobody would, but Harry still didn't want to be thought of as a coward. If he was going to be any kind of leader at all in the coming war, he couldn't give the impression now that he was afraid to face Lucius Malfoy. Besides, it wouldn't be Lucius Malfoy at the dedication ceremony, would it? It would be Remus, and Harry wanted to see how he was doing in his role of full-time spy.

"Draco'll be going and I need to be there for him," he said to explain.

Farther down the table, Dean leaned forward. "Why would your brother go?"

To see his mother, Harry thought. "To show Lucius he's not afraid."

Dean nodded and went back to peeling his banana.

Hermione pursed her lips. "I honestly think it might be best if Draco didn't go, Harry. How's he going to feel seeing . . . uh, Lucius after the things that man has done this year?"

How's he going to feel seeing Remus pretending to be Lucius, that was what she meant. And Hermione didn't even know the half of it. How was Draco going to put up with seeing Remus standing alongside his mother?

"He'll insist on going." Harry stood up, then, and grabbed his school bag from the floor. "Come on. Somebody walk me. Or has Charms been cancelled as well?"

 

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As it turned out, they did get to taste-test everyone's ice cream on Tuesday. Dumbledore was still teaching Potions class. Strange . . . Harry would have expected his father to have mentioned something the day before. With Harry living with him again, it wasn't like the man had had no opportunity to talk to him.

On the other hand, Snape had seemed awfully busy. He'd spent most of the previous evening holed up in his office, writing some long document. The same one he'd been working on before the duel, it looked like. Harry didn't know what it was about. Dumbledore might, though.

Half-way through trying out all the ice cream flavours, Harry wandered to the front where the headmaster was savouring a pink cone topped with the mango wafer flavour Seamus had made. "Sir? I sort of thought my dad would be back in here this week. You said so, in fact."

"Did I, my boy?" Dumbledore's beard bobbed up and down as his lips twitched with humour. "As I recall, I merely said he had obligations."

"You knew we thought that meant Potions."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "And so it does, Harry. So it does. The Ministry has requested that the Severus advise them on changes they've proposed to portions of the N.E.W.T. level Potions examination. It seems they'd prefer to have more Auror applicants than previously."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "So they have finally figured out there's a war on."

"Yes, and as potion-making is not the primary task an Auror engages in . . ." The headmaster shrugged. "They're thinking that perhaps such a high level of expertise should not be required. Certainly, that it should not pose an insurmountable obstacle."

"They could always staff M.L.E. with wizards who are really great at potion-making. And the Aurors could go to them when they needed something really hard or specialised made."

"Except when in the field, of course."

"Well, yeah, but--" Harry stopped to think a minute. "Would Severus be willing to make his classes easier to match a new N.E.W.T., though? I can't really see him doing that."

"He's fighting pot and cauldron against any 'dumbing down' of the subject," said Dumbledore, nodding.

"What do you think, sir?"

"Oh, I can see both sides. More Aurors would be a positive benefit, and as things stand now, precious few young witches and wizards apply. Still, one does want them to have the skills they'll need to succeed, so . . ." Dumbledore lifted his shoulders. "I shudder to think what your father will say if he's asked to revise seven years worth of curricula downwards."

Harry grinned. "He'll just say no. Well, either that or he'd revise it as asked but then just go ahead and teach what he always has."

"Unless the Ministry sees fit to place another equivalent of Dolores Umbridge here again."

Which reminded Harry. "Have you thought about another Defence teacher for next year, then? Why don't you line someone up early so the Ministry can't sneak another Umbridge in?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "As it happens, I do have someone in mind. I'll make a point of owling her as soon as possible, now that Professor Aran's departure is official."

Her. Harry knew it was wrong of him. He knew Hermione would have a fit if she could read his mind. But still, the only witch they'd had teaching them Defence in all these years had been Umbridge. Harry couldn't help but be leery, after that. "Um . . . is she competent? No offence, sir, but you really have had a knack of . . . yeah."

The old man's eyes weren't twinkling any longer. "The position's cursed, as I'm sure you've reasoned out for yourself. And Harry, if students can deduce that much, don't you think that the wizarding community must be aware of it, as well? It's unusual for the very best teachers to want to take a position that has no hope of lasting."

Harry sighed. "So she's not competent."

"Oh, indeed I believe she is," said Dumbledore in a soft voice. "That other was said by way of apology, Harry. I have tried to do my best for you. If I haven't always succeeded . . ." Shaking his head, Dumbledore resumed in a stronger voice. "At any rate, you'll like Maura Morrighan very much, I expect. She's a shepherdess--"

"A shepherdess!"

"Well, of a sort. She has a connection to magical creatures that's truly astounding. In fact, she's been seeing to Buckbeak's welfare this past year. When Sirius died I sent Buckbeak to live with her herd of hippogriffs in Ireland."

"Oh." Something began niggling at the edge of Harry's consciousness. A story . . . something he'd once heard . . . "Oh. I think Severus told me a story about a herd of hippogriffs once. In Ireland, yeah. The name even rings a bell, I think. Well, maybe."

"Oh, Severus knows of Maura, definitely. Her empathy for magical creatures means that she's quite good at obtaining rather unusual potions ingredients."

"So why doesn't she mind the position being cursed? And what makes you think she knows enough Defence to teach it?"

"I think that's quite enough information for now," said Dumbledore briskly. "I still have several more flavours to sample, and so, I'm sure, do you."

Harry would rather have got his questions answered, but he could tell that wasn't going to happen.

But at least he'd found out some things. He'd ask his father about this Maura Morrighan. A shepherdess. Was Remus going to be the only decent Defence professor Hogwarts ever saw? More than ever, Harry wished his father could take the position.

When Harry got back to his table, he found Ron groaning a little, his hands clutched over his midsection. "Too much ice cream," he said blearily as he looked up at Harry. "Too many strange flavours."

Hermione heard that as she came up holding two small cups of lemon-lime gelato. "I told you to take just a tiny taste of each flavour, Ron. It's no wonder you have stomach-ache, the way you were gobbling down pints at every table!"

"Hermione, that hardly helps," drawled Draco from behind her.

Ron groaned again as if in agreement.

"Try ours, Harry," said Hermione, pursing her lips a little.

Lemon-lime gelato turned out to be really, really good. Just the right mix of tart and sweet. Later, when the class voted, it won the prize for tastiest concoction. The winner for creativity, however, was Dean and Neville's Jelly Slug Jiggle. Harry thought it was kind of disgusting to actually eat; the slugs felt like they kept crawling around in his stomach long after he'd swallowed. Putting chocolate cookie dust all over the top of the ice cream to imitate dirt, though, that bit was clever.

Even if Harry could have done without the chunks of liquorice pretending to be rocks.

 

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On Wednesday afternoon, Ron and Hermione walked Harry down to the dungeons so that he could go to the statue dedication with his father and brother. Harry was a little bit startled when he walked through the door. Draco was standing in the living room, fussing with his collar, wearing new dress robes. Or at least dress robes Harry didn't think he'd seen before.

"Pleasures of ready access to Galleons," said Draco lightly.

"But when did you go off shopping?"

Draco's smile took the sting out of his words. "Owl order, Harry. We really must get you thinking like a wizard."

"But . . ." Harry took a minute to think of how to word it. "Are you sure those are, um, appropriate? I mean, they're a bit plainer than those fur-edged robes you used to have but--"

Snape's voice cut him off. "Do you want to change or go as you are, Harry?"

Harry turned to see his father dressed rather formally as well. Not in dress robes, true, but the man was wearing his very best teaching robes. They looked freshly pressed.

He was already in two minds about going at all. Nice as it would be to see Remus, seeing him looking like Lucius again didn't sound so great. Just thinking about it made him feel like he needed a needle. And now to be expected to dress up for the occasion?

"Won't that seem a bit odd?" Harry cleared his throat. "Me, acting like Lucius Malfoy coming around is a cause for celebration?"

"Then go as you are," said Snape calmly.

Harry was starting to feel worse by the second. "I . . . er, I think I'd better not go at all, actually."

"You aren't staying here alone during the ceremony," returned Snape. "I think I know what you'll be tempted to do."

Was he that transparent? "I don't care if it's really Remus. It's sick, that's what it is, that man being honoured with a statue on Hogwarts grounds, like he's as important as the Founders! It's a farce! He killed a student, or as good as, and that's not even counting him wanting his own son dead!"

"It's entirely sickening," agreed his father. "I would never countenance it were it not for the need to persuade the house-elves that what Gibby saw was a statue of Lucius rather than the man himself turned to stone. We can't have rumours of Lucius' death bandied about."

Harry abruptly sat down on the couch, his stomach twisting itself into knots. "I know, but the idea of going to school here next year, with that thing out there on the grounds . . ."

"It's . . . yeah," said Draco, moving to stand at Harry's side. "I know. Not so long ago, I'd have been so proud to have a statue of Lucius standing out there. Not now, though."

"You won't ever see it unless you make an effort to." Snape's gaze encompassed both his sons. "Either of you."

Harry blearily looked up. "Where's it going then?"

Snape extended him a hand up. "Come and see."

"Oh, all right." Harry groaned as he stood up. "I'll just go use the loo--"

"Wear your dress robes, too," called Draco after him. "We must keep up appearances for the wizarding public, you know."

Just what Harry needed. The press would be there, that was what Draco meant. Probably Skeeter wouldn't have the nerve to come around, especially not with Snape dropping dire hints about her come-uppance, but still . . .

Sighing, Harry flattened his hair down with a little water and then started hunting in his trunk. His dress robes were a folded, wadded mass at the bottom. Sighing, Harry shoved them back down, his hands brushing against his invisibility cloak.

All at once, his arms began itching so badly that he could hardly stand it. Snape had just refused to leave him alone, but the cloak could give him time to himself, couldn't it? All he had to do was slip it into a pocket, and then whenever he needed a couple of quick jabs with the needle, he could step behind a tree or a wall and vanish--

Sighing, Harry bundled the shimmering, iridescent fabric into his hands. So smooth, it flowed like water between his fingers. Seductive.

He wanted to throw it over his head and disappear now, just for a second.

But then he remembered something Marsha had told him. Whenever she was trying to diet, she had to clean her cupboards out first. If she had any fattening food within reach, sooner or later she'd eat some of it.

Harry had thought it a strange story at first, and not just because he thought she hardly needed to worry about her weight. What did it have to do with him? But then she'd explained that he should clean out his own cupboard and get rid of any stray needles, or anything else that contributed to his problem.

Just like with the Map . . . this was more of the same.

Clenching his fingers around the cloth, Harry made himself march back out to where his father was waiting. Without a word, he thrust the invisibility cloak forward, towards Snape.

Dark eyes studied him. Intently. "Most likely wise," Snape finally said. "Thank you, Harry."

Draco's gaze flicked from Harry to Snape and back. "Oh . . . you wanted to use it for . . . oh."

Harry's throat felt so tight he was surprised he managed to speak. "I . . . I'm going to want it back, you know. Just as soon as I start feeling more . . . in control."

"Of course."

Draco glanced at the new watch strapped around his wrist. "You don't have much time left to change--"

"I'm going in my school clothes."

"There'll be photographers!"

Snape held up a hand. "That will be quite enough, Draco. We're asking a good deal of Harry as it is."

"It's not so bad, is it?" Harry looked down at himself. "Lots of students'll be in their regular robes." He looked at Draco, too, then. "Anyway, why would you want the Prophet to think you have any respect for Lucius?"

"It's respect for Hogwarts," said Draco stiffly. "And I'd like my mother to think I'm doing well. Is that so terrible?"

"No." Harry should have remembered that Draco would be thinking of his mother. "Just . . . um, don't get too upset if Remus holds her hand or something."

"He'd better not," said Draco darkly. "And not just because the sight would bother me. He's going to get himself killed awfully quickly if he thinks the real Lucius Malfoy was one for public displays."

That figured. Narcissa Malfoy was basically an ice princess, as far as Harry was concerned.

"Lupin will do his best," said Snape, ushering them both out. Harry had a feeling that his father was trying to be encouraging, but his words accomplished the opposite. Harry knew what Snape thought of Remus' best, after all.

They walked the upwards-sloping corridors in silence. Just as well, since Harry was busy giving himself a pep-talk. It won't really be Lucius, he thought as he turned corners and climbed stairs. No matter how evil-sounding he might be, it'll be Remus in there. Remus in a Lucius-suit. Because Lucius is dead. And it's all right to feel happy about that. Even Dumbledore did.

For all that though, Harry's arms were itching so badly by then that he really wished he'd held onto his invisibility cloak.

It wasn't lost on him, either, how ironic it was that he'd demanded his father's things, only to give them back to Severus in the end. But that was all right, he told himself. James wouldn't want him to have the map or cloak, not if Harry was going to use them so he could hurt himself.

They exited through a side door at ground level, Snape leading them down a winding path Harry had never noticed before. He didn't really know where it led. Even when they'd reached a small clearing at the end, and Harry saw the statue mounted atop of simple pedestal, he didn't understand.

Draco obviously did. He sucked in his breath through his teeth.

At first Harry thought that the other boy must have spotted his mother in the milling crowd. But no, Draco was looking almost straight up. Harry craned his neck as well, and that was when the truth dawned on him.

The Owlery.

The statue--or Lucius himself, rather--had been erected at the base of the Owlery.

"A rather suitable location, Albus and I thought," murmured Snape near his ear.

Harry nodded, the motion feeling a little disjointed. It was true, what his father had said before. He'd never see the statue again, unless he tried to. Students didn't usually go wandering around on this part of the grounds, and for good reason. With so many owls constantly flying in and out of the tower above, anything down below stood an excellent chance of getting pelted with bird droppings.

There must be a charm in effect to route the birds away for the ceremony, Harry thought. Not a single one was anywhere to be seen. But once the dedication was finished, Albus--or maybe Severus--would remove the spell.

After that, Lucius wouldn't remain white and pristine marble for long.

"Very suitable," said Harry in as quiet a voice as he could manage. "But won't an elf make sure that the statue's kept clean?"

"As a former Malfoy elf, Dobby insisted on being assigned statue-cleaning duty," said Snape, a slight smile hovering near his lips. "You can imagine how often he'll see to such a task."

Harry smiled. That would work.

Draco didn't look as though he was following the conversation at all. His silver eyes kept scanning the crowd. He actually pushed himself up on tiptoe so he could get a better look.

"There," said Snape, nudging Draco slightly with his hand. "Passing beneath that old oak."

Harry looked too, and saw Narcissa Malfoy walking sedately forward, her steps so graceful she might have been floating. Or maybe it looked that way because her dark green robes were light and filmy, skimming along the ground as she moved. By her side walked a perfect recreation of her husband, right down to the sneering, superior expression on his face. His silver-blond hair was combed straight back from his forehead, and in his hand he held a snake-headed cane.

The Order must have recreated Lucius' wand, thought Harry. With a different core, one that would better suit Remus.

"She's beautiful," said Draco in an awed voice. "Oh, Merlin. Look at her! She's glowing. I've never seen her looking so well!"

"You just haven't seen her in a while," said Harry dryly. "You've been brave this year, but you miss her. Of course you do."

"Perhaps recent events have been good for her, as well," added Severus.

That made sense. Draco didn't talk about his parents very much, so Harry had no idea if Narcissa had really loved her husband, but if not, he wouldn't have been the easiest wizard in the world to live with, would he? Though that idea was mildly alarming. If Remus was doing a good job 'being' Lucius, then Narcissa shouldn't be noticing any difference!

Dumbledore suddenly appeared at the front of the crowd. In contrast to the other staff who, like Snape, had worn formal yet subdued clothing, the headmaster's robes were about as garish as Harry had ever seen. Mustard yellow and silver, his floppy hat hung with crimson tassels that reached halfway down his temples.

He touched his wand to his throat for an instant, and then began speaking in a booming voice. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Our guest of honour has arrived, so if you'd be so kind as to clear the way." As Dumbledore motioned with his hands, the audience parted to leave an empty space leading to the front, where the headmaster stood directly in front of the statue.

Lucius and Narcissa walked up the central aisle, both of them nodding slightly to the professors they passed on the way. Like royalty, thought Harry. Except that royalty had enough class--or he thought so, at least--to avoid glaring even at people they hated. For Lucius wasn't giving Severus a reserved nod. Far from it.

Narcissa at that moment, though, seemed to have eyes only for Draco. Harry didn't think she'd even noticed Severus, let alone himself. Her sparkling blue gaze was steady on her son, her features filled with what certainly looked like love.

Too bad you didn't love your son enough to side with him against your husband, thought Harry. You renounced and repudiated him, just as much as Lucius did. You let him be emancipated, and never said a word in his defence . . .

But objecting to the emancipation would have kept Draco more firmly in Lucius' sphere of influence, Harry remembered. Maybe Narcissa had been doing what she thought best. She'd certainly tried to look out for Draco's financial future, even if her twisted idea of how to do that had been to start killing off her own relatives . . .

By then, the Malfoys had passed them by. Harry turned a bit to see how his brother was doing, and was shocked to see Draco blinking quickly, his features stiff like he was putting a lot of effort into controlling his expression. Snape's hand was on his shoulder, squeezing slightly before it retreated back into his formal black robes.

Draco dragged in a harsh breath, and kept his gaze centred on the scene unfolding at the front.

Narcissa and her husband were standing to one side of the headmaster, both of them so close to the statue that they could have touched it if they'd merely stretched out an arm. Harry felt a chill shiver straight through him. He had to remind himself that the statue was really a dead body made over into marble. Otherwise, he'd think that the flesh and blood man standing there really was Lucius.

And he couldn't bear to watch the real Lucius Malfoy receive this honour. He really couldn't.

Dumbledore was speaking from prepared notes that floated in the air before him, rearranging themselves as the speech continued. Harry tried not to listen to most of it, though Draco seemed nothing short of rapt. Harry couldn't tell if he was listening, or merely staring at his mother. Occasional phrases broke through Harry's concentration. long record of service to the school . . . improvements to the Quidditch grounds . . . new brooms for the Slytherin team . . . and the one that made Harry actually grit his teeth: meticulous attention to detail when a dangerous hippogriff endangered the life of a student at this school . . .

Finally, the speech was over and the headmaster gestured grandly at the circle of green ribbon that loosely encircled the marble pedestal of the statue.

Remus stepped forward, pulling the wand from his cane as though he'd been doing it for years. Harry was impressed at how much like Lucius it made him seem. "Cortus," said Remus, his voice perfectly matching Lucius' sneering, superior tones.

One tap of his wand, and the ribbon split cleanly in half and fluttered to the grass below.

Thinking the ceremony was over, Harry started to turn away, but he'd reckoned without one final gesture on Dumbledore's part. Or maybe his father's.

As the ribbon settled onto the grass, flowers began to sprout and bloom, starting at the base of the pedestal and then radiating outward for at least twenty feet. Purple, yellow, and white, their broad petals formed a carpet all around. By the time they stopped blooming, Lucius, Narcissa, and Dumbledore were standing amidst them.

Seeing his questioning look, Severus quietly murmured, "Pansies."

Pansies.

Harry nodded his understanding. It was an indictment. A private one, but powerful, all the same. Only a few people knew the truth, but those few would always remember this. Lucius Malfoy, condemned forever to stand beneath the Owlery, owl droppings raining down upon his head, surrounded by reminders of the girl he'd helped kill. No matter that Pansy herself hadn't been innocent of evil intentions. She hadn't been Lucius' to judge.

As Lucius wasn't yours to judge, Harry thought, remembering his father's lectures back at Christmas. But Harry hadn't been jury, judge, and executioner, had he? He'd just been defending himself.

The itchy feeling in his arms began to fade away, then.

The oohs and ahs were dying off too, and the crowd was beginning to disperse. Draco, however, seemed rooted to the spot. And no wonder. Lucius and the headmaster were talking to the press. Harry was pleased to note that Rita Skeeter was giving them wide berth and looked positively rattled whenever she glanced in the direction of the Hogwarts Potion Master.

Just as he was about to comment to his father, he noticed Narcissa Malfoy was walking toward them, her lips curling upwards in what Harry could only think was a genuine smile.

She was either the best actress the world had ever seen, or she was truly happy to see her son.

Harry tried to move away, but Snape shook his head every so slightly. Stay, his dark eyes clearly said.

"Dragon my treasure," said Narcissa, her voice throaty and warm. "Oh, my precious Dragon. I've missed you so much this year." Stepping close enough to touch him, she reached down and folded both his hands into her own. Her smile widened, the expression seeming to light up her whole face. It was like the sun had suddenly emerged from behind cloud cover, she became so radiant. Harry saw it then, what Draco had been going on about before. Narcissa Malfoy might be dark and ugly inside, but on the outside, she truly was a beautiful woman.

"Mother," said Draco, his own voice sounding both pained and dead. Harry couldn't even imagine what this must be like for him. He loved his mother, no doubt about that, but she'd sided with Lucius against him. He probably loved and hated her both.

"You are well?" she asked, her gaze looking him up and down. "You are happy, Draco?"

Draco seemed to relax then, but only fractionally. "Yes. Very."

Narcissa glanced back then, to where her husband was still talking with Dumbledore. And then, she turned and held Snape's gaze. Very quietly, her voice barely audible, she murmured, "I thank you, then, Severus. I knew that I could trust you with my treasure."

"Narcissa," said Severus, the word pitched low. Harry expected him to say more, but he didn't expand on the acknowledgment.

"I regret what happened to the bequest from Walpurgis Black," Narcissa said, her hands caressing Draco's, her whisper so soft it seemed the breeze might blow it away. "I tried my best for you, my Dragon. I would give you my own fortune, if I could. But your father suspected as much, and he took steps--"

"Severus is my father," said Draco quietly, squeezing her hands as if to make her believe it. "And I'm all right, Mother. Truly. I have Sirius Black's fortune, now. And a family I can trust to stand by me even if I disappoint them."

Narcissa gasped, her small pink mouth parting. Harry didn't know if she was startled to hear her cousin's name, or if she'd caught the criticism in Draco's remark. He never got to find out, either. At that moment Remus strode up to join them, his visage hard as he took in Narcissa's hands clasped in Draco's.

Narcissa was the one who looked almost turned to stone, then. She stepped back, clearly wary of her husband's reaction to finding her with Draco. Harry thought Remus would turn and lead her away, then. Instead, the man's silver gaze bored into Draco, who stared back, his chin raised, his eyes defiant. "Yes, Mr Malfoy? Was there something you wanted?"

Remus curled a lip. "Is that any way to speak to me?"

"I can arrange not to speak to you at all, if it bothers you."

Remus' eyes narrowed. "So much anger, Draco. Your mother's been trying to convince me I was too hard on you this year. She seems to think a gentler approach might have alienated you less."

"Trying to kill me didn't bring us closer, no," sneered Draco. "Did you think it would?"

Several students still straggling away began to slow their steps even further, but a fierce glare from Snape sent them scurrying down the path leading back to the castle.

"I wasn't trying to kill you, you stupid boy," said Lucius, his lips twisting as he glared at Snape and Harry both. "You need to stop listening to half-bloods and traitors, Draco. I only ever wanted you to stop and think about the danger you were courting."

"Oh, I thought about it." Draco raised his chin still higher. "You ought to do the same."

Remus' voice took on a silky, smarmy tone. "With an attitude like that, you're likely beyond redemption. But since harsh measures have clearly only caused you to become ever more deranged . . ." His gaze lingered a moment on Harry. "I wish to propose a truce."

"How very magnanimous," drawled Draco. "I notice you don't have your wand out, though. So what sort of arrangement did you have in mind? You'll stop trying to kill me, and I'll . . . do what, exactly?"

Remus leaned closer and all but hissed in Draco's face. "Think about your future before it's too late!"

"I do nothing but think of my future," said Draco coldly. "You aren't in it."

Narcissa's gentle, almost childlike voice cut across her husband's reply. "Oh, Draco. Your father's trying. Can't you see that?"

"Severus is my father."

Remus made a noise of disgust under his breath.

"And Harry Potter is my brother," Draco went on. By then, Harry didn't know if the boy had forgotten who he was really talking to, or if all this animosity had a purpose. He should have remembered that his brother was a Slytherin. "So I have quite a distance to fly to see eye-to-eye with you again. But if you really mean what you say, about wishing you hadn't alienated me quite so spectacularly, then there is a way you can prove it."

"Oh, do enlighten me," drawled Remus.

"Greg's stuck by me this year through thick and through thin," said Draco. "If his father kills him for it, I'll know where he got the idea, won't I? Why don't you tell the man that threats and violence will only drive his son farther away from the Dark Lord's cause? Tell him you wished you'd gone about things differently, Father. Do that if you want any sort of truce."

Remus' lips had tightened. "Who do you think you are, you ungrateful whelp?"

"Now dear," said Narcissa softly. "You said yourself that it would be a pity if more young wizards followed Draco's example. Perhaps it would be a mistake indeed to allow Greg's father to repudiate his son."

"Since taking a hard line worked so very well with me," sneered Draco.

"I'll consider it," snapped Remus as he whirled away.

Narcissa threw Draco one last, sympathetic look and then hurried after her husband.

Once they were alone in the pansy-strewn field, Snape drew his wand and surrounded them with a silencing spell. Then, he merely stared at Draco.

"What?" asked the boy, his tone petulant. "What?"

"You know perfectly well what," said Snape, his voice only a step away from a snarl. "I assumed you wanted to come to the dedication so you might see your mother. I never dreamed you had a plot afoot."

Harry was a bit lost until Draco crossed his arms and erupted, "So I'd prefer Greg not be skewered and roasted over the holiday! You know his father! He'll listen to Lucius!"

"Oh, he no doubt will. But why did Lucius stop by to offer a truce, that's what I'd like to know! Don't you think it was a bit out of character, shall we say, for him?"

Draco drew his own wand and layered another privacy spell atop Snape's. Then he stood up straight, even though by then Snape was hovering over him like a Dementor about to pounce. "I asked him to."

"You asked him to."

"Yes!"

"And he, of course, was soft-hearted enough to accede to your request!" Snape bared his teeth. "This entire scheme is idiotic. He obviously doesn't have the intelligence of a gnat! Goyle's going to wonder what in Merlin's name is going on!"

"No, he won't," insisted Draco. "We worked it all out. R-- Lucius will drop a few hints to Narcissa and then she'll go over and talk to Greg's mother about what a shame it was Lucius took such a stern attitude towards me, and how she hopes they won't make the same mistake she and Lucius did. It'll be fine, Severus."

"It's proof that the entire scheme is ill-considered," said Snape, his dark eyes still flashing with anger. "He doesn't have what it will take to maintain this guise!"

That was just what worried Harry. "Well, there is that story about his head injury, anyway, right? To explain any . . . er, anomalies?"

Snape huffed. "Narcissa is not such a fool as to believe that for long. I dare say her husband's yet to so much as kick a house-elf, Harry. No matter that he'd better do just that if he expects anyone to believe this charade!"

"He can kick all the elves he likes as long as he keeps his paws off my mother," muttered Draco. "It makes me sick to even think about it. Are you sure we can't warn my mother what sort of . . . thing, she's living with?"

"If you'd like to get her killed, by all means," drawled Snape. "Few in the Order would trust her to keep such information to herself, you understand."

Draco shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his dress robes. "Yeah. All right."

Snape still looked angry. "Do not involve yourself in any further plots of this nature, Draco. Not without consulting me and heeding my advice. You could well endanger your mother if you aren't more careful."

Draco gave a brief nod.

"Now if we're through here, I suggest we search out a restaurant in Surrey before your appointments with the good doctor," continued Snape in a calmer voice. "I think we all need a break from the castle at the moment."

Considering that the castle was now home to Lucius Malfoy's marbleised corpse, yeah, Harry thought he could stand to get away. He was glad summer was coming, though he knew that Snape planned to stay at Hogwarts for a couple of weeks after term ended.

"Why don't we invite the good doctor to dine with us?" asked Draco, waggling his eyebrows. "Since you took such pains to notice her ringless state last week. Really, Severus, you aren't a spy any longer. You can start forming some attachments--"

Snape laid one hand on Harry's shoulder and another one on Draco's. "I have been, you idiot child."

"Idiot children," Harry reminded him.

"Yes." Snape's expression was about as soft as Harry had ever seen. "Quite."

 

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"I don't know why I even bother going year after year," muttered Draco on Friday night. "Leaving feast, shmeaving feast."

"Oh, don't be a sore loser just because Slytherin's behind on points. After that last match you've already got the Quidditch Cup. So Ravenclaw wins the House Cup this year. You'll survive." Harry ran the comb through his hair one more time, then gave it up as a lost cause.

"Ravenclaw, right. Oh sure, they're ahead right now, but the headmaster'll hand it to Gryffindor on a silver platter, just like always!"

"Draco, it doesn't matter!"

"Says the Gryffindor."

Harry sighed. "I'm in Slytherin too, you prat."

Draco perked up slightly. "Going to sit with us?"

"No. I miss the Tower and I'm sitting with my mates," said Harry firmly. "Now let's go. We'll miss dinner completely at this rate."

"Dinner, schminner," grumbled Draco, but he did follow Harry out of the bedroom and into the corridors.

When they got to the Great Hall, the room was glowing from the thousands of candles hanging overhead. Harry said a quick goodbye to his brother and headed for the Gryffindor table, where Ron was rubbing his stomach and complaining how hungry he was. "Why can't we just have dinner at the usual time on the last day of term?"

"Honestly, Ronald." Hermione's frown disappeared as Harry sat down on the bench next to her. "We'll miss you tomorrow on the Express."

Harry was a little bit sorry he'd miss the train trip with his friends, but he wasn't sorry about any of the rest of it. "Yeah, I'll miss you too. But I'm happy, you know."

"I know," said Hermione, her eyes sparkling. "Really, Harry. I do know that now."

"Yeah, me too," admitted Ron. "It's been a really good year for you. I mean, not counting certain things."

"I like having a brother," Harry said coolly.

"I meant Samhain! And um . . . me, that time, you know . . ."

"Oh." Harry felt foolish, then. "Sorry."

Food started appearing, then. Platters piled high with mounds of roast beef. Enormous bowls of mashed potatoes swimming in butter. Olives hopping over each other as they made their way onto plates.

And in front of Harry, a glass of orange juice with a frosted rim.

"Dobby," said Harry, grinning as he drank it down.

All too soon, the food was gobbled down, desserts included. When Dumbledore stood up, Ron grimaced. "Here we go. Ravenclaw."

"You're as bad as Draco, whingeing on about the House Cup," said Harry.

Ron looked pretty horrified at the comparison. Harry just laughed. Then he thought of something that might cheer up his mate. "Oh, come on. You're the Hero of Hogsmeade, remember? You saved Harry Potter! I'm sure you'll get some recognition for that."

"Happened off school grounds," muttered Ron. Hmm, probably his way of saying he didn't think Dumbledore would award points for something that had never really occurred at all. Good point.

"Well, you got a nice write-up, anyway," said Harry.

"Shhh," said Hermione.

"And so once again we mark the passing of another year," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard as candles floated all around him. "And such a year has it been. Tribulation in equal measure with triumph, successes tempered by sorrow." He lifted his glass. "We here tonight pay final tribute to a life cut short. To Pansy Parkinson."

"To Pansy Parkinson," echoed the students all around. It sort of gave Harry the creeps, knowing as he did what a nasty piece of work Pansy had turned out to be. Decorum, though, had Harry lifting his glass as well, even as he craned his neck to see how Draco was holding up.

Over at the Slytherin table, his brother's expression looked perfectly cool as he toasted the girl he'd loved.

"But we must celebrate our triumphs, too," continued Dumbledore, setting his glass down on the head table. "And that brings us to the House Cup! Ravenclaw leads Slytherin by one hundred twenty points, with Gryffindor eighty points behind that, and Hufflepuff a very respectable five points further behind. But, as often happens, there will be some last minute adjustments to the counters."

Harry was still watching his brother, who appeared to say something like, Here we go again, to his friends in Slytherin.

At the head table, Snape looked equally disgruntled by the headmaster's comments. Harry sighed. He supposed his father would rather see Ravenclaw win than Gryffindor. That was a bit depressing.

"First, to Mr Ernie Macmillan, for his tireless efforts to catalogue the lesser-known ghosts of Hogwarts, fifty points!"

The Hufflepuff table erupted into cheers and shouts as Ernie blushed slightly and looked from side to side.

"Next, to Miss Laura Madley, for her quick thinking when her friend and classmate fell suddenly ill out at the lake, twenty points!"

The Hufflepuffs got even louder, hooting and hollering like they didn't even know that only brought them up to third place.

Harry wasn't the only one keeping track. "Gryffindor's in last place now," said Ron mournfully.

"He's not done, is he?"

"To Mr Euan Abercrombie, for his Marshmallow Madness toffee, truly the most delightful thing to cross my tongue in lo these many years, five points!"

"See, he's a Gryffindor," said Harry bracingly as his house mates began cheering.

All of them except Ron, who was moaning. "Five measly points!"

"I didn't know the lower forms were making toffee," said Neville, looking about for the younger boy. "I wonder if he still has some of that. Sounds good."

"To Miss Hermione Granger--"

Beside Harry, Hermione drew in a quick, excited breath.

"For her keen insight into how the Muggle world can help us address learning difficulties right here at Hogwarts, one hundred points!"

Ron whooped and threw his arms around Hermione as up and down the Gryffindor table, students exploded into screams and cheers. He kissed her, right there, on the lips.

Harry glanced at the head table and saw Snape giving the pair a rather critical glare.

Draco looked like he was rolling his eyes. Probably at such a large award of points, not at the kiss, Harry thought.

"We're second now!" Ron said when he broke it off. "We're ahead of sodding Slytherin!" Then he glanced down at Harry's crest. "Oh. Well, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said wryly.

"And finally," continued the headmaster, "I have one last student to recognise. To Mr Draco Snape--"

Harry's friends gasped. Even Snape looked a bit pole-axed, Harry thought. And Draco looked like couldn't believe his ears. "For having the courage of his convictions and using every shred of his considerable magical strength, cleverness, and cunning to help a friend in need, one hundred fifty points!"

The Slytherin table became absolute pandemonium. Students knocked over benches as they jumped up, howling with glee. "It's a new era!" someone shouted. "Long live Slytherin!"

"No, it's the return of an era. Slytherin again, Slytherin forever!" screamed Millicent Bulstrode. "Way to go, Draco!"

Harry started cheering too. He couldn't help it. He was Slytherin as well, and that was his brother who had taken them over the top.

Not every Slytherin looked completely overjoyed, though. Zabini seemed torn between elation and annoyance. Reaching across the table, through the throng of screaming students, he brusquely shook Draco's hand.

When Dumbledore clapped his palms together, the noise faded about halfway. It died completely when Snape stood up at his place. Decorum, Harry thought. Snape hadn't broken out into cheers and screams, but then, Harry wouldn't have expected him to. It was enough that he looked quietly pleased.

"A change of decoration is in order," said Dumbledore. He lifted his arms high, and the banners overhead became silver and green. "I wish you all a most happy summer! I will see you come September first!" The headmaster nodded at each of the house tables, and then collected Fawkes from the perch behind him. Oh his way out of the Great Hall, he walked alongside the Slytherin table, congratulating them and shaking hands. When he reached Draco he beamed a bright smile and stood talking to him for a moment.

"Harry." Realising that Hermione was shaking his shoulder, Harry turned back to his friends.

Ron snorted. "Oh, look at you. Almost as happy as they are!"

"Well, it's about time my other house won, don't you think? Besides . . ." Harry leaned forward. "Listen. Draco's just the first, all right? He and Snape and I are going to turn more Slytherins toward the Light. And this is a great start. Don't you see? They can't keep feeling like they never get a fair shake from Dumbledore."

"Oh, so that's why he did it--"

"No, that's not why he did it," said Harry in a low voice. "You know what Draco did for me. Are you really going to tell me that Slytherin doesn't deserve those points? Well, are you?"

Ron didn't answer until Hermione poked him. Hard. "Ouch!"

Her own voice was practically a hiss. "Ronald Weasley, you and I have made some pretty bad gaffes this year. But enough is enough. House points are just . . . points! This is bigger than that, and if you don't do right by Harry and his brother--"

Ron threw up his hands. "All right, all right!" His lips a tight line, like he was fighting a tremendous headache, the boy drew in a breath through his teeth. "So fine, Draco does deserve those points. He really was a hero this year."

"And unlike some people, he didn't get to be known for it," added Harry, giving Ron a significant look. When the other boy looked down, Harry softened his voice. "So stop begrudging Slytherin the Cup. It's not like we've never had it, you know."

"Yeah, yeah." Ron still sounded grumpy, but when he looked up, he smiled a bit. "Well. Seeing as he is your brother, I suppose the done thing would be to go congratulate him. Like after the Quidditch match."

Harry clapped Ron on the back. "Thanks, mate."

Ron nodded, but turned to Hermione before he took a step. "No kissing, though."

"Oh, honestly, Ronald."

By the time the three of them arrived at the Slytherin table, Snape had already reached Draco. "Well done," he was saying, his voice warm and fatherly. "Well done indeed."

Draco grinned. "You forgot the idiot child part, Severus-- Oh, hallo, Harry. How's it feel, losing to Slytherin?"

"Losing to myself, you mean?"

"Well, I can't help it if you have a split personality." Clearly in an expansive mood, Draco beamed a smile all around. "Ron, Hermione. I'll be gracious and magnanimous and not ask how the two of you are feeling at the moment."

"Congratulations, Draco," said Hermione, stepping forward. "I'm proud of you."

Draco's jaw dropped. "You're . . . proud of me?"

"Of course I am. I should have told you so before." Hermione's smile reached her eyes. "And I don't just mean the . . . er, French connection. It's everything, Draco. Turning your back on the way you were raised, that is."

"I guess you'd know about that."

"Me?" Hermione laughed. "Oh, no. I'm still a Muggle at heart."

Draco made a face, but to his credit, didn't insult her out loud.

"I'm proud of you too," said Ron gruffly. "For . . . yeah, that. And helping Harry when it really counted."

"Why Ron, I didn't know you cared--"

"But you're still a Slytherin prat."

Draco grinned. "And you're still a Gryffindor git. So that all sorts well."

"Congratulations to you as well, Professor Snape," said Hermione politely. Harry figured she was still trying to make up for that letter she'd written to Wizard Family Services. Or maybe for leaving Harry alone in Hogsmeade. But maybe Snape was ready to forgive her, finally.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he said, inclining his head.

"Can Harry come stay in the Tower tonight?" blurted Ron. "I'll put in his Elixir, sir, and make sure he doesn't blink it away."

"I think not," said Snape solemnly.

Ron looked up a bit more. "Please, sir? It's the very last night of term, and--"

"Arguing with a professor?" Snape interrupted. "Pity I can't take points again until September."

"Not very Slytherin to admit it, though," said Harry, laughing. "You just lost a lot of leverage for the summer."

"Oh, I shall have leverage enough," murmured Snape. "Your miscreant friends will be invited to visit only if they behave."

"Yeah, so behave," said Harry in a stage whisper. Then louder, "Snape and Draco and I have to celebrate tonight anyway, Ron. But I'll see you off tomorrow. How's that?" He turned to his father. "You'll take us down to the station?"

"Certainly."

Harry waved at his friends as they left, then turned back to his father and brother. He hardly knew what to say. With the close of the leaving feast, term was officially over, and old habits were trying to assert themselves. Memories, that was it. Bad memories, and all the emotions that went along with them. Depression. Anger. Wishes that he could be like everybody else, and have a family who really cared about him.

But of course, he did.

Snape was staring at him, his dark eyes like endless tunnels again, but they weren't fathomless to Harry now, and never would be again. Those eyes were filled with love. Nobody else would recognise that, except Draco and maybe Dumbledore, but that didn't matter. Harry knew what he had.

"So, a celebration, you said." Snape's gaze encompassed Draco as well. "Shall we go out flying? All three of us?"

That sounded brilliant, but it wasn't quite what Harry had in mind. "No," he said softly, taking his father and brother by the arm. "Let's go home."

Draco started to object, but then he saw the look on Harry's face. Harry thought his brother understood, then.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "Harry's right. Let's go home."

Snape smiled at them both, and then the three of them walked from the Great Hall together, side by side.

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

Chapter Ninety-Six: Epilogue: Severus



Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi



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Author's Notes:

Although only the epilogue remains to finish out Year 6, the storyline will continue in A Summer Like None Other. If you'd like to be notified when the epilogue or the sequel is posted, then you are cordially invited to join the Yahoo group for this story. Simply send an email to ayearlikenoneother-subscribe@yahoogroups.com, or go to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ayearlikenoneother/join. After you have joined the group and are choosing your options, select any email option other than "No Email" in order to receive notices about future chapters or stories in this universe.

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