Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Reciprocal Magic

"All right, that's enough of that, I think," Draco abruptly announced late the next morning, reaching out and closing the book Harry had been using. "You can only listen to theory for so long before your brain dries out, you know."

"You're just tired of hearing Hermione's dulcet tones," Harry mocked, waving the enchanted quill back and forth.

"Actually, I'd like to get a sense of what you've learned." Draco pulled the book towards him, but didn't open it. His fingers drifted back and forth over the cover as he quizzed Harry. "Explain why you don't need to delimit an area before you cast Alegrarus."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Because the act of choosing a person to charm will keep the spell from spilling past the boundary the wizard intends."

"Good," Draco crisply approved. "Now, name three charms that do require you to delineate boundaries first."

Harry thought back for a second. "Uh . . . Fulminare, Hummos pacta, and Tempestadus."

"You might also have said Loviosa or Helare, or really, treated the weather charms as a class of their own," Draco added. "So, why didn't they teach us to delimit way back in first year when we learned Incendio and Wingardium Leviosa and all that?"

"Because we were always focussed on an object at that stage."

"Well, you certainly have decent listening comprehension," Draco commented. "I wouldn't have believed it."

"There, I knew your perfect manners wouldn't last for long!"

"My, my, you do take things personally," Draco drawled. "All I meant was, I couldn't listen to so much text at once and get as much from it. I can hardly stand lecture for the same reason. I learn better by reading."

Harry flushed slightly, but forgot about it when Draco went on, "Now, I'll want twelve inches on the drawbacks of using walls to delimit charm structures."

"You're my tutor, not my professor," Harry pointed out. "So don't think you can go assigning essays just for me."

"What did I just tell you about taking things personally? It's merely the assignment the rest of us had to do for Chapter Four. Don't you think Professor Flitwick would like you to do the same? Never mind, don't answer that. Severus collected last month's lesson plans for me to use with you, and the essay is clearly noted right here." Draco shoved a bit of parchment across the table at him.

"Very funny, when you know I can't read it," Harry scowled. "And how am I supposed to write an essay, anyway?"

"Well, you could at least try, P-- Harry." Draco smirked. "Here, take a blank sheet and a quill. I know you can't focus your eyes so well--and no, I'm not ridiculing that--but you can probably produce something at least legible."

Harry thought a moment, squished his eyes nearly closed in an effort to focus them, then wrote an opening sentence for his essay. "How's that look?"

Draco sighed. "All right, maybe legible is a stretch. It's worse than your usual scrawl. I suppose you'll have to borrow my spelled quill. We'll just have to explain to the professors why all your work is in my beautiful script."

He returned in a moment and handed Harry a long, tan feather along with a fresh length of parchment. "Just set it upright, and let go, then dictate what you want it to write. It's self-inking."

Harry did as Draco had said, only to see the quill flutter its way back down to the parchment the moment it was let go.

"Now what?"

Draco paused to think before he answered. "I suppose it's reacting to your . . . ah, condition . . ."

"You can say lack of magic, Draco," Harry retorted. "I do know about it, you know."

"Right. Well, let me try." He set the tip of the quill in place, and watched it stay upright as he let go, then said, "Now, you dictate."

The quill slowly moved across the surface of the parchment, scripting out the words Now, you dictate.

"Finite!" Draco exclaimed, snatching the quill up much as if he meant to strangle it. After a moment though, he picked up his wand from where he'd set it on the table, and tapped the feather a few times as he talked to it in soft, whispering Latin. Harry only caught a few words: you, he, not me, talk, and something that sounded suspiciously like a muttered English if you know what's good for you.

"All right," Draco finally announced. "You can't activate it, that does require magic, but once I set it to parchment, it should respond to your voice, now."

When the feather worked as predicted, Harry felt himself rather taken aback. Hermione's talking feather was certainly impressive, but it paled beside a quill that could write out the words it heard. He almost would have thought it was something Draco's father had bought him, just the thing for a spoiled-little-rich-boy away at school, except for the fact that Draco had just adjusted the spells on the fly. Clearly, the magic in the quill was Draco's own, and he could manipulate it to new forms with scarcely a moment's thought.

Draco has a great intuitive grasp of magic, Snape had said, and now, Harry thought he had a sense of what he had meant.

"Thanks," he murmured, and Draco laughed.

"You'd better say undo thanks now," he pointed out, motioning toward the moving quill. "Anything you want scratched out, you say 'undo.' If you actually need the word 'undo' in your essay, say 'undo naught,' assuming you haven't used that word recently. Oh, and stopping the quill requires a Finite, so you'd better just give me a wave. If you try to pick up the pen to stop it, it'll start writing all over your arm and such."

"Undo thanks," Harry said, nodding to show he understood, and after that, he restricted his comments to ruminations on walls and charm delimitations. Draco watched him for a while, raising his eyebrow as Harry hesitated over a few details, but eventually he opened his Potions manual and began studying the ingredients and procedures for some concoction, periodically closing the book and writing out the instructions from memory until he could produce them letter-perfect.

"I'm going to make this, now," he told Harry as he stood up.

Harry nodded again and went on talking about charms.

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That afternoon before dinner, Draco suddenly glanced up from his reading and said, "I think your fan club has arrived."

Harry didn't know what had alerted the Slytherin boy to that.

"It's Granger and Weasley," Draco muttered, slamming his book shut. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go open the door."

But Harry couldn't; it didn't have a handle. A lot of things in Snape's rooms were like that; the simplest task might require magic. Harry didn't much like asking Draco to do things for him all the time, but he supposed it could have been worse. At least the bathroom facilities were spelled so that they'd respond to touch. He didn't need incantations to turn on a tap, or flush the loo. The door, though . . .

"It won't open for me and you know it," Harry said. "And so?"

"Oh, very well," Draco acquiesced.

"Wait!" Harry stopped him as he lifted his wand. "How do you know who's there?"

Draco pointed to a decorative scroll hanging on the wall beside the door. Harry had noticed it, but had only been able to make out an intricate inked border on the parchment; he'd supposed the centre was some artwork executed in lines so thin and fine he couldn't make them out no matter how he squinted. When he walked to it now, however, it was displaying names. In letters so big that even he could read them, the scroll announced Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley.

"I've heard of enchanted mirrors that show who's outside," Draco commented, "but that parchment is better. It's supposed to list the true identity of anyone on the other side of the wall, so you can catch out impostors on Polyjuice."

Harry supposed that was one of the security measures Snape had mentioned when he'd explained how safe his quarters were. It was kind of comforting to know that the people waiting for him weren't two Slytherins pretending to be his friends. "Okay, let them in."

Instead of waving his wand from where he reclined on the couch, Draco unfolded his lean body and walked to the door, throwing Harry a sly little smile when he got there.

"Draco," Harry warned.

"What?" he asked, all innocence. "I do know how to behave in company. Watch and learn."

With that, he incanted an Abrire, catching the edge of the door as it began to open, and throwing it wide. "Ron, Hermione!" he exclaimed, flashing perfect straight, white teeth as he grinned. "How nice of you to visit our little corner of the dungeons. Please, do come in."

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she stepped inside and glanced around. Ron was more vocal. "Ron!" he echoed in tones of disgust. "Hermione!"

"Oh, we're on a first-names basis down here," Draco smoothly explained, closing the door with another spell. "Severus simply insisted."

"Severus!" Ron sputtered, looking over at Harry.

"I'm so sorry we don't have a house-elf to see to your well-being," Draco prattled right on, motioning the Gryffindors further into the room. "Although considering Hermione's deep and abiding concern for the lesser forms of magical life, that's probably just as well. It wouldn't do to have our guests ill at ease, no indeed. In that spirit, may I take your cloaks? Severus keeps his quarters rather warm and I certainly wouldn't want you to feel the slightest bit uncomfortable."

"Don't pay him any mind," Harry said, glaring. "He doesn't know the difference between mannerly and mocking. Come on, sit down."

"Yes, do take a seat," Draco smoothly invited, pocketing his wand with so much flourish that no one could miss the fact that he'd put it away. "Would you care for something to drink? It's a bit early for an aperitif, but I'd be simply delighted to provide you with something lighter. Tea, perhaps? Ron, I believe your family does a fair bit of drinking; would you be averse to a butterbeer?" His smile grew wider as he turned to face Harry. "Of course, I could just ask the kitchens for whatever suits. Wouldn't that be great fun?"

"Nothing, thank you," Hermione announced as she primly seated herself on a low couch and crossed her ankles. "We'd like to talk to Harry." With that, she stared at Draco in clear challenge.

"That means get out," Ron translated, plopping down onto the sofa.

Draco appeared to hesitate, but then merely said in his composed voice, "I'll leave you to your friends then, shall I, Harry?" Nodding to himself, Draco quirked another smile and said, "Well, it was absolutely lovely to see you both. You must grace us with your presence again sometime soon. Will you please excuse me?"

He strode off to his bedroom and softly shut the door.

"He called you Harry!" Ron complained.

"That entire conversation was just too spooky," Hermione commented, waving a hand parallel to the ground to indicate they should use moderate voices.

"Cast a silencing charm," Harry recommended as he dropped into a chair. "But still be careful what you say. For all I know, Draco spelled a countercharm across the room while my back was turned."

"Draco!"

"Ron, that is really getting old," Hermione chided him as she waved her wand. Harry noticed her delimiting boundaries before she spread the spell across the space surrounding the three of them.

"Plus it's ten points from Gryffindor every time I call him by his last name," Harry added.

"Oh, that is too evil of that Snape," Ron groused. "I bet that's why he dragged you down here, just so he could take points left, right, and centre. How many have we lost so far?"

"Just ten," Harry said, his voice tightening. "But he took ten from Slytherin as well, so I hardly think his motive for taking me in was anything to do with house standing, Ron."

Ron's eyes almost bugged out. "Snape took points from Slytherin?"

"Yeah, to make Draco call me Harry, so don't give me any more grief about names, okay? Anyway, I'm glad you guys came. I'd like to know what you were told about me living here."

"McGonagall came and Accio'd everything into your trunk," Hermione said. "She had the house-elves move it, but she didn't really explain."

"She just stood in the middle of the common room," Ron reported, "and announced in a real snooty voice, For reasons passing understanding, Mr Potter has been assigned to live in Professor Snape's private quarters until further notice. He will not be attending classes. If you wish to visit him, I will escort you down."

"Did she come down with you?" Harry asked. The scroll hadn't mentioned anyone else.

"Yes, she told us to stand in a particular spot and just wait. It looked like a blank wall to us, but after we'd been there a couple of minutes a door appeared and Malfoy opened it," Hermione explained.

"Is that ten more points now, since she called him Malfoy?" Ron wondered. "Or twenty points, counting me, too?"

"I don't think Snape's little rules apply to you," Harry murmured.

Ron nodded, while Hermione gestured toward the closed door and said, "What was all that exaggerated courtesy about?"

"I think that was his idea of a preview," Harry answered, shuddering a bit. "My cousin's supposed to come see me, and Draco said he'd be polite. I'm really kind of worried about the whole thing."

"Your cousin," Ron said in tones of extreme doubt. "Visiting. Er, this is the cousin who liked to sit on you when you were little, then decided using you as a punching bag was more fun?"

"Yeah, but we've been getting on better than that, lately," Harry said, and explained a bit about recent events. Not too much though. He couldn't forget for an instant that Draco was probably listening. "Anyway, he's my only family left," he finished, shrugging as he decided not to mention anything about warding. If Snape hadn't told the Slytherin boy the whole plan, Harry sure wasn't going to.

Hermione was equally doubtful, but for other reasons. "I didn't think Muggles could come here."

"Snape's working on that end, that's all I know."

Ron frowned. "What do you suppose McGonagall meant with that for reasons passing understanding remark? It was really strange."

"Oh Ron, isn't it obvious?" Hermione pulled her hair back into a ponytail as she spoke. "Harry's a Gryffindor; she's Head of Gryffindor. If he needs extra protection from all the nasty Slytherins, she should be the one to take him in. I'd say she mentioned as much to Dumbledore and was firmly rebuffed."

"Yeah, in favour of Snape," Ron growled. "Ick, yuck. I know you're brave and all, Harry, but honestly, Snape and Draco both? How can you stand it?"

"Snape's not that bad," Harry felt compelled to say. "It's decent of him to let me stay in the one place the Slytherins won't attack."

"Yes, it is," Hermione agreed, with a warning look at Ron. "Though I have my concerns about how healthy it is for you to be isolated with the very person who--"

"Who saved my life yet again," Harry finished, his glance daring her to contradict him. "That's what it was. That's what he did."

"All right, I understand you see it that way," Hermione sighed. "But how are you going to get caught up for your N.E.W.T.s down here?"

"Oh," Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Um, Draco's tutoring me."

Hermione dropped her hair. "Is that going all right?"

Now Harry was really embarrassed, but since he didn't want to lie to his friends, he admitted, "Um, we just started this morning but yeah, I think it is, actually. He knows a lot, and he's been sort of helpful."

Ron snorted. "He'll probably teach you everything all backwards just to mess you up."

"I'm using the same textbooks as you, Ron," Harry drawled.

"Why can't Hermione tutor you?" Ron shot back. "She gets way better marks than Malfoy."

"Maybe because Hermione has to be in class all day, and Draco and I are stuck down here together, anyway? We might as well use the time for something."

Ron hung his head in his hands. "I can tell where this is going. Pretty soon it's going to be Draco's not that bad," he mimicked Harry's voice.

"No, Draco is that bad," Harry assured his friend. "I just haven't figured out quite what he thinks to gain from pretending to turn on Voldemort."

A crashing noise ensued from the bedroom Draco and Harry shared.

"Well, that certainly answers the question of whether he's listening," Harry announced, deliberately raising his voice. "I guess he doesn't know that perfect manners don't usually include eavesdropping."

"Isn't it awfully strange he'd give the game away like that, though?" Hermione wondered, her own tones still pitched low.

Harry laughed. "I have it on good authority he has a problem with impulse control, so I'd say it's par for the course."

"Par for the course?" Ron queried.

"Muggle expression," Harry answered, and he and Hermione both laughed. "Means it's typical."

"It's a bit of a worry, you thinking you know what's typical for Malfoy," Ron pointed out.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "But just to warn you, it'll probably get even worse. We're rooming together down here."

"Poor Harry," Hermione sympathized, reaching out to pat his hands. Halfway there, though, she reconsidered and pulled her own back. "Um, Harry? Are you getting better?"

"I see better every day, but my vision still fades off after a while."

"No, I meant, er . . . are you less jumpy?"

"No, I think Draco lurking around makes me more so," Harry answered, and listened for another crash. That time there wasn't one. "But I feel really comfortable around Snape, so that sort of balances things out."

"Comfortable around Snape," Ron groaned.

"Yes." Harry dug around in his pocket and pulled out the letter he'd dictated but never sent. Afraid that Draco might steal it and show it to Snape, he'd been keeping it on him practically every second. "I need you to read this, Hermione, okay? Out loud, but in the quietest voice you can manage."

She did, and it was written out exactly as he'd said it, right down to the last insult.

"Wow," Ron breathed when it was over. "I take it back, Harry. That's some letter."

"Yeah," Harry answered, somehow feeling less than proud about the whole incident, now. He saw Hermione looking at it curiously, and knew she'd recognised the writing, but she didn't comment. "Um, I can't send it, though. It'd hurt Dudley too much, so I was hoping one of you would Incendio it for me."

"Oh. Still having trouble with the old wand," Ron commiserated. "I'm sorry. Here, I'll do it." He took the letter and set it in the hearth, then set it ablaze.

Hermione was frowning. "I've just realised how hard it must be for you in here without magic. I didn't think about it before, probably because you're Muggle raised like me; you know how to light a fire with matches. But Professor Snape wouldn't have any matches."

"Or light switches," Harry agreed. "It's sort of tough. I found out this morning I can't even order from the kitchens unless somebody else tosses the Floo powder in. It won't work for me, though the house-elves can hear me well enough once a wizard establishes the connection."

"Oh, Harry. You're a wizard."

"Well, working on it," Harry only said as Ron came back, wiping his slightly sooty hands. "So, um . . . this'll probably strike you as very weird, but do you want me to ask Snape if you can stay down here and eat with us? I bet he'll say it's all right. I mean, after he's done trying to scare you off. That part's probably not optional."

"Uh no, no thanks, Harry," Ron quickly said. "Is he due back soon? Because, no offence, but today in class he gave me another detention with Filch, and I just can't take seeing him."

"We really do need to be going," Hermione added, a bit more diplomatically. "Okay, Harry? We'll come back again soon."

Harry saw them to the door, but of course he couldn't even open it. Hermione tried three spells, but then she found the one that worked. After they were gone, Harry fell onto the couch and lay full length, a sinking feeling in his heart. He had a feeling that his idea of soon and theirs were bound to be different.

"Gone so soon?" Draco came out and jibed in the next moment, almost as if he'd read Harry's mind.

"Shut up," Harry said, and turned on his side to face away from Draco.

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Their days fell roughly into a pattern. Breakfast with Snape, lessons all day interrupted only by lunch, which the two boys usually took alone, then dinner, which was often, though not always eaten with the Professor. Evenings were usually occupied by Snape grading papers while he listened to Draco quizzing Harry on the day's lessons. Snape would occasionally interrupt to ask Draco about his own studies, or to question his progress with Slytherin House. Harry didn't understand all of those conversations; he remembered that Draco had been told no more intrigues were wanted, but it sounded to him that the letters Draco were owling out all the time were nothing but. And yet Snape seemed to approve. It was all beyond Harry.

Too Slytherin.

Harry was getting caught up in all his subjects, at least when it came to the theory he'd missed, but he continued to be frustrated by his efforts to actually invoke any magic.

Draco had seemed to have roughly the same idea as Remus on how to proceed. "Let's have you do some practical magic today," he suggested after a few days of sticking strictly to book work. "How about starting with Lumos? That shouldn't put too much strain on . . . well, whatever is going on inside you."

Harry didn't want to, didn't even want to pick up his wand again in Draco's presence, but he wasn't going to get his magic back without trying, was he? Besides, they'd studied Transfiguration for hours that morning and Harry was really ready for a change from thinking about Protoplasmotic qualities. Even a depressing change.

He fished his wand out of his pocket, held it loosely in his fist, and muttered, "Lumos."

Nothing. Well, of course. Harry was pretty well used to that by then.

Draco frowned. "You know, Harry, it's not just the Unforgivables you have to mean. That was pretty feeble incanting. Did you even want any light?"

"No," Harry admitted. "Why would I? Snape keeps this place pretty brightly lit for a dungeon."

"Enough said," Draco drawled, pulling out his own wand and arcing it about the room incanting Finite along with some other spells. One by one the walls dimmed and then went out, until they were plunged into complete darkness. This wasn't the not-quite-black of Harry's periodic blind spells, but rather a blacker-than-black that was so engulfing it absolutely unnerved him.

"That's not funny," Harry complained. "Spell the lights back on!"

"It's not supposed to be funny. You spell a light on."

Harry sighed. "Lumos. See? Nothing!"

"You don't want it, yet," Draco's voice came from closer alongside him. Harry couldn't help but shiver. Draco Malfoy, armed with a wand, sneaking up on him in the dark . . . not a scenario Harry was likely to appreciate. "You're still focusing on being angry that I made it dark, instead of pouring your will into getting yourself out of it."

"Get away from me," Harry hissed, striking out blindly. But there was nothing there to hit.

"I can't say it didn't cross my mind to scare you into wanting some light," Draco drawled from the direction of the couch, "but I heard what you did that night in the hospital wing. So, I think perhaps I'd just better wait until the dark gets so utterly banal and boring that you want to end it."

With that, the lightless room fell into a silence broken only by Harry's harsh breathing.

It took him perhaps a full five minutes to calm down, and then he tried again. Lumos. Nothing. And again, and again, and again, until he was shouting the word, demanding his wand do his bidding.

Nothing.

Draco came up behind him at one point, saying in a quiet voice, "Don't panic. I'm not here to hex you. Switch your wand to your other hand and take mine, all right? Just to see."

But Draco's wand didn't work for Harry any more than Sirius' old school wand had.

"All right," Draco finally said, taking back his wand and incanting his own Lumos. "This is obviously not the way through to your magic." A few words from him, and the room returned to its former level of brightness.

Harry sat down in an easy chair, exhausted, and glared balefully at Draco. "Did you enjoy that?"

"Oh, certainly. It's a hobby of mine, sitting about in the complete dark, bored out of my mind, listening to spells that don't work," Draco languidly returned, sarcasm dripping from every word as he stood, one hand leaning on the round table they ate at.

"Seeing me fail," Harry spat. "That's what you enjoy."

"If I'd wanted to see it, I'd have left the lights on," Draco replied in the same bored tone. "Rather strange I extinguished them, don't you think?"

"Ha, very funny!"

"Oh yes, it's hilarious," Draco grated, irritation beginning to win out over the scorn in his voice. "I'm convulsing with laughter, can't you tell? Nothing is so funny to me as knowing my life is in your hands and you can't even do a Lumos. In case you hadn't noticed, I've thrown my lot in with yours, so I hardly find it amusing to see you struggling with spells the Dark Lord mastered sixty years ago!"

"That's ten points from Slytherin!" Harry shouted. "You aren't supposed to deride my magic!"

"I'm deriding your idiocy," Draco scathed. "You need your magic back under your control, and I do not enjoy watching you struggle to accomplish that. But you know what occurs to me? This is all very much simpler than you make it out to be. You won't be getting your magic back until you actually want it back."

"Are you mental? I do want it back!"

"No, you don't. You're like Longbottom, now. He's got everything it takes to be a great wizard, including the bloodline, but he's too scared to grasp hold of it. And no wonder, with what happened to his parents--"

"You know about--"

"Death Eater gossip," Draco admitted, starting to pace back and forth in Harry's line of vision.

"Neville hates Voldemort and would love nothing more than to avenge his parents!"

"At one level yes, I'm sure that's so. But at another level, he knows full well that it's only strong, confident wizards who've ever dared to tangle with the Dark Lord. His parents, your parents, you. He doesn't want to die or be tortured into insanity, so he's decided not to be a strong, confident wizard. You've apparently decided the same."

Harry sat up straighter. "That's not true! I've been trying as hard as I can! For weeks and weeks! You know nothing about it!"

Draco gave him a twisted grin. "It's not like I'm judging you, Harry. I'm sure you're sick of all this shite, a madman trying to lure you places to kill you, then too stupid to actually do it when he's got you at last! So you escape and it starts all over again. I'd be ready to quit too, if I were you."

"Oh, so you think Voldemort should have killed me!"

"That is not what I said," Draco stated, clenching his hands. He stopped pacing, and pulled over a wooden chair to face Harry, then sat in it, his whole frame tense. "What I think is that he spent hours watching needles get poked into you when he could have just had your head lopped off, so of course he's stupid!" Draco sat back, shaking his head. "But that's not the point. Here's what is. If you want your magic back, you have to get over this inappropriate desire to stay clear of the war."

"I don't desire to stay clear of the war," Harry sneered.

"Well, now you're just in denial," Draco pronounced.

"Denial!" Harry objected. "Where are you getting this crap?"

"From Severus' text on Muggle psychology."

Harry didn't normally feel completely out of his depth with Draco, but that answer was so unexpected that he simply said, "Huh?"

"You heard me. Adolescent Trauma: The Road to Recovery, it's called. He left it out one day, and I read it cover to cover."

Harry drew in a breath. Snape had got a hold of a Muggle book about helping children recover from traumatic experiences? This must be the book Snape had been upset about Draco reading, the one Draco had said Snape was poring over every night. Nobody had ever gone to that much trouble for Harry before, had they? It made him feel warm inside.

That, however, didn't mean he appreciated Draco sticking his nose into Harry's trauma.

"So, based on one day's reading, you consider yourself some sort of expert?" Harry scoffed.

Draco gave a wave toward the table, where they'd spent days studying together. "You know I do a fairly good job with remembering and synthesizing what I read. Now, listen, because I have it all figured out. According to the book, it's perfectly normal for you to try to withdraw from anything that might pull you back toward the same kind of trauma that hurt you in the first place. In your case, that means magic. You don't want to face the Dark Lord, ever again, so you're holding yourself back from even the simplest spell."

Draco's silver eyes looked determined, which took Harry aback. The Slytherin obviously did believe what he was saying, though it was completely erroneous. "You have it figured out wrong," he argued. "I lost touch with my magic before Voldemort ordered me kidnapped and tortured. This is not a response to trauma."

"Didn't your problems with your magic start just after the trauma of subjecting yourself to Muggle medicine?"

"I had an operation, Mal--" Harry started over. "I had my bone marrow tampered with, which turns out to be not such a good idea. Anyway, the cause of all my troubles is physical, not mental, okay?"

"You were afraid of needles and you had to deal with one," Draco countered. "A big one. I think that was the real trauma. What my . . . what happened later just made it worse."

"Well, stuff this little fact into your weird theory," Harry scathed, starting to feel offended. He wasn't a coward running away from a fight! "So my wand is useless to me, so what? It doesn't exactly gain me any benefit to be this way. Voldemort is still going to do his best to hunt me down and kill me. Why would I want to make myself an easier target?"

"How's your scar been feeling lately?" Draco suddenly questioned.

So dormant I haven't given it a thought, Harry suddenly realised.

"Hasn't twinged at all, has it? Don't you think that's strange? The Dark Lord had you just where he wanted you, he was about to burn you to a crisp, the way I hear it, and you just up and vanish right from under his nose. Don't you think he'd be furious and ready to lash out at you? Shouldn't he be making that scar blaze day and night? But he hasn't. He knows your magic's gone, he couldn't care less about you, now. And you know that, too, subconsciously, so you've decided to hide in some fantasy world where you can't get your magic back no matter how you try!"

"That doesn't make sense," Harry pointed out. "He saw me unleash wild magic. He'd count me a greater threat than ever, seeing that much raw power."

"How does he know it was you? Maybe he believes the headmaster broke through his wards. I bet he thinks Severus had something do to with it, working from the inside to disrupt the meeting."

"Well, speaking of Severus, isn't it strange that his mark hasn't been burning too, in that case? I'm sure Voldemort wants to kill him for helping me escape, so wouldn't he be calling him all the time just to torment him? But he's not. So maybe my blast of wild magic disrupted some part of Voldemort's powers, and he can't reach out any longer. Not to me, or the Professor."

"Nice theory, except for one problem. Severus' mark has been burning."

"Well, he sure doesn't let on!"

"Yeah, but don't ask him how he manages that. It's pretty personal and if he wants you to know I'm sure he'll tell you."

"But you know, do you?"

"I helped him with it," Draco flatly explained. "But I won't say any more about it, and I seriously don't recommend you ask him. Believe me, the conversation won't go well. My point is merely that the Dark Lord's powers are the same as ever. I think this book is right. You won't get better until you want to."

"That book is full of it," Harry exclaimed. "Listen to yourself; it's Muggle psychology! I'm not a Muggle."

"But you were raised by Muggles, as you were so quick to point out to me. I'm sure some of their tendencies must have rubbed off. Actually, I know they have. You're definitely in denial."

Harry threw up his hands. "The book is wrong, okay? Wrong!"

"Well, it's wrong about at least one thing," Draco admitted. "You're supposed to shove Severus away with both hands, even if he did help you, because he's a reminder of the trauma."

"See? The book doesn't apply. It's only for Muggles."

"Maybe," Draco murmured, tapping a finger against his cheek. "Or, your newfound affection for Severus, of all people, might just be a case of you overcompensating."

"Oh, stop using words you don't even understand!" Harry barked, more than a little unnerved to hear his feelings described that way. Affection? He hadn't thought of it in those terms, himself. Actually, he'd resisted the impulse to think about it much. He just knew that Snape was all right, these days. Both with him, and in general.

"Overcompensation," Draco effortlessly quoted the text. "The exertion of effort beyond what is needed to offset a psychological defect. Alternately, an extreme neurotic striving for approval because of a feeling of insecurity."

Harry glared. "I didn't say you couldn't memorize huge chunks of whatever. But a definition isn't like some list of instructions you can follow, you know. Tell me honestly, do you have even half a clue what that really means?"

"Honestly?" Draco mocked. "No. I need to read the book again, but Severus has been careful to keep it to himself since that one day."

"Well, that should tell you that he doesn't want you trying to pick me apart like this."

"You think? They why'd he leave it out that one day? Do you have even half a clue what kind of person Severus is? Every last thing he does is calculated for effect. He doesn't make careless mistakes."

"You think?" Harry imitated Draco. "He spilled a potion when he was worried about me!"

"When your screams startled the living shite out of us both, you mean!"

"You were awake that night?"

"I don't think anybody in Slytherin was asleep after your caterwauling came through the Floo!" After a moment, though, Draco amended that. "No, we could probably only hear you in here, but still . . ." He shivered. "Listen, Harry. The mere fact that you're having nightmares that fierce is proof in of itself that you have some . . . issues to work out."

"I am not a nutter!"

"Nobody's saying you are!" Draco exclaimed. "Maybe you should read the book for yourself. Or listen to it, for now. Ask Severus for it."

"Well, maybe I will," Harry retorted, but he didn't have any intention of mentioning it to Snape. He didn't even want to admit he knew about the book. The whole thing made him feel unsettled. Why should it, though? It only meant that Snape actually did care about him, whether he could say so out loud or not. That was good, wasn't it, having someone who really did care? He'd only ever had Sirius and Remus, but their whole reason for loving Harry had a lot to do with his dad, and not so very much with him. Snape certainly didn't have that problem. Besides, even when Sirius had been alive, Harry hadn't ever got to see much of him. Snape, on the other hand, was here, and with classes and all, would stay part of his daily routine even after Harry got to go back to the Tower to live.

So Snape caring enough to wade through a Muggle book in an effort to help Harry through his problems . . . that was somehow both more profound, and more threatening, than anything Sirius or Remus had ever done.

Maybe that's why I feel unsettled, Harry thought. I'm afraid it might not last. Nothing good ever lasts, not for me. I lost Sirius twice, first to his need to stay one step ahead of the Ministry, and then to the Veil. And I thought I was close to Remus, but when I lost him to Snape's spite, I didn't see him again for over a year. People who care about me never stick around for long. One way or another, they leave me.

He came to himself with a start, realizing that Draco was waving a hand back and forth before his eyes. "Are you all right? Do you need more Elixir or something? We've been pretty lucky so far, timing things so that Severus is around to put it in."

"No, I can still see," Harry answered. "I was just thinking. Um, the Professor mentioned something I might try to help me with my magic--"

"Occlumency," Draco agreed, proving that Snape had obviously discussed the matter with him. That sort of bothered Harry, but Draco's next comment took the sting out of it. "Would you rather I stay and watch, tell you if I notice anything significant, or leave you to try that on your own?"

"Uh, on my own, I think," Harry murmured, a little startled by the offer.

"All right." Draco gracefully unfolded his body from the chair. "I'll be in our room, writing some letters."

Occlumency, Harry found to his dismay, made no difference at all. He still couldn't do a Lumos.

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

"So," Harry said one evening at dinner, "have you figured out a way to get Dudley safely here?"

Snape paused, then resumed cutting his portion of Chicken Kiev into neat slices. "The headmaster and I are still working on it."

"You say that every night."

"It's true every night."

"Yeah, but after a whole week, you'd think the two of you could cobble together some sort of a plan," Harry complained.

Draco poured himself a second glass of white wine, and sipped it as he listened.

"Not even Albus' private library has any references to Muggles gaining access to Hogwarts," Snape pointed out with some impatience. "But we are endeavouring to find a solution."

"The problem is that he won't be able to see things correctly, isn't it?" Draco put in. "He'll only see a ruin? Why don't we have someone Stupefy him, Apparate him through the platform to the train, and Mobilicorpus him on in. We could Ennervate him once he's in here. I doubt these rooms are spelled to look like a ruin from the inside."

"That is a thought," Snape murmured.

"Not it's not!" Harry objected. "Dudley will end up stark, barking mad if we do something like that to him!"

"Well, it's not like you love him, is it?" Draco challenged. "Weasley made it sound like you spent your whole childhood getting sat on!"

Harry glared at Draco, then turned to his teacher. "Perhaps you could explain to Mr Manners here that eavesdropping is not very nice!"

"Speaking of manners," Snape calmly returned, "Perhaps you could consider that unlike you, Draco can't have visitors. Perhaps you could include him when yours come by." He neatly speared a halved Brussels sprout with his fork.

"Look, back to your cousin," Draco pressed after giving Snape a look that seemed a mix of pleading and exasperation. "Maybe too much magic will induce lifelong paranoid delusions or schizophrenic manic-depressive tendencies--"

"Stop playing psychiatrist!" Harry shouted. "I swear, you're sounding just like Hermione!"

Draco looked rather startled at that pronouncement. "Oh, well then, I will stop. Merlin forbid. My point is that it doesn't matter if your cousin loses his mind. You only need him for the warding, anyway!"

Harry slammed his knife down to the table and rounded on Snape. "You told him about the warding, too? Why don't you just shout all our plans from the ramparts? There just might be some Death Eaters who don't know the whole of them, yet!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape announced, laying aside his utensils so that he could wave his wand to enforce it. "I told you not to deride Draco's loyalties to his face."

"I'm deriding them to your face!"

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco snarled. "You want me to go under Veritaserum again and let you ask the questions this time around? Yeah, I know Severus told you about my interrogation. So, see? I'm not the only one he tells things to!"

"Since you obviously have a way to trick the serum, no, I don't want that!" Harry shouted. "And how about points from Slytherin, now? He called me Potter."

"Very well," Snape agreed, waving his wand again as he shook his head. "You two are really being extremely childish. Now, as for Harry's cousin, his sanity actually is something we ought to take under consideration--"

"Gee, thanks!"

"--because," Snape went on with a glare towards Harry, "young Mr Dursley can't participate in any warding if he loses what little mind he ever possessed. We need him able to give consent. Harry, do you think your cousin could handle being moved here as Draco suggests if the whole process is explained to him in advance?"

"No," Harry decided. "That would just scare him worse."

"What we need, then," Snape mused, "is some sort of warding for him, but not the typical protection against attack. Warding him so that he can tolerate the presence of sorcery, so that he can see it . . ."

"Warding away his inherent Mugglishness," Draco put in.

"That's not even a word," Harry complained, but Draco and Snape both ignored him.

"Have you considered the Isedral Charm?"

"That only works on squibs," Snape answered.

"Sakenhaim's second principle?"

"Do you happen to have a Turkish half-vampire bound to your will, not to mention a shield of ill-repute?"

"Well, no. Hmm." Draco tapped his magically manicured fingernails against the lacquered surface of the table. "What about reciprocal magic? Harry's mother and his aunt could be the focal points."

"A Muggleborn and a Muggle," Snape sneered. "Be serious. The headmaster and I have been at this for a week. Do you think a sixth-year student is going to notice something we've overlooked?"

"You still have something against Muggleborns?" Harry challenged, a strange, taut feeling constricting his chest. He was only one generation removed from a Muggleborn, himself.

Draco rolled his eyes. "If he did, do you think he'd go on and on to me about Granger's marks in every class proving that blood isn't everything?"

"Then why are you sneering about Muggleborns?" Harry pressed, wishing that Snape would answer instead of Draco.

"I was sneering at Draco's sudden poor command of spell dynamics," Snape explained in a tone not far removed from yet another sneer. "And since I'm going to all this bother to arrange for a Muggle to come here to my private residence, I'd think you could be appreciative instead of insolent!" He turned to Draco and spoke more moderately. "Reciprocal magic was invoked by the relatives themselves, who also served as the focal points. Moreover, it requires pure blood, with a squib as the recipient, so it really doesn't apply at all."

"Those aren't requirements," Draco insisted. "Not in the sense you mean. They're just . . . happenstance."

Snape shook his head, though he did say, "Explain your reasoning."

"Well, the spells were only useful to pureblood families, if you think about it. Who else would have bothered with it, especially way back then?" Draco briefly turned to Harry. "This is all very archaic, hasn't been used in centuries, I think."

"I suppose it might be possible," Snape mused.

Draco drank the rest of his wine without pause, which was rather unusual. He normally sipped it quite slowly. "Well. If you really believe what you told Harry," he added in an uncomfortable tone, "then it's more than possible. Because . . ." he sighed, clearly reluctant, and avoided looking at Harry as he went on, "How can pure-bloodedness truly be a requirement if by your own reasoning, there's actually no such thing?"

Snape looked up at that, his black eyes narrowed. "You believe that now, do you?"

Draco shrugged, and didn't meet his eyes, either. "Let's just say that for the purposes of this spell, I don't think it matters. Anyway, about the reciprocal magic." He rushed back to a less threatening topic. "All the elements are there, aren't they? Same degree of relationship bounded by . . . we need five opposites, but that shouldn't be too hard. Let's see . . . Harry's aunt was a Muggle; Dudley's aunt was a witch . . . " Draco began counting on his fingers and talking to himself, then said, "I only need one more. Harry, I'm sure you can come up with at least one."

"I don't even know what you're doing!" Harry objected.

"We're going to invoke reciprocal magic on your cousin, but we need one more element, so think."

Harry shoved his plate away and turned to Snape.

"It's an old spell to let family squibs temporarily see protected magic," he explained. "Think of a way in which your aunt and mothers were opposites."

"Uh . . ." Harry thought, but had to say, "I never really knew my mother."

"You don't have some memories from when you were little?" Draco inquired, lifting his eyebrows.

"What do you remember from when you were one year old?" Harry shot back, defensive.

"Latin lessons," Draco smugly announced.

"This isn't the time for levity," Snape rebuked him. "Do you truly remember nothing, Harry?"

Harry's voice was emotionless. "I remember her screams from the night she was killed."

Snape sat back and steepled his hands, sadly murmuring, "And you only remember that because the Dementors drew it out of you. I'm sorry, Harry."

"Yeah, me too," Harry said, his voice still flat. Then, in more suspicious tones, "Did Remus tell you that?"

"No, you did, when you rambled after your operation."

"Oh, okay."

"I can't say this isn't fascinating," Draco drawled, "but we still do need one more element to complete the star."

Harry closed his eyes, and shakily ventured, "My mother died in agony, my aunt died in her sleep?"

He felt a hand reach out to cover his, warm long fingers squeezing slightly as if in sympathy. It helped, even if the faint odour of some Potion wafted up and really put him off his food. Not that he was hungry any longer, anyway.

"It needs to be an element that involves you and your cousin," Snape quietly remarked.

Draco cleared his throat. When Harry opened his eyes, he saw the other boy staring at the way Snape was holding Harry's hand. Draco didn't comment on that, though. "Well, we'll keep working on the last element."

"We'll need a symbol, in any case," Snape pointed out. He looked expectantly towards Harry. "I believe you have something that can represent your mother?"

Harry nodded. "I've a few photos."

"The spell will bind much better to something personal."

Oh, he meant the ring. Harry pulled it out from beneath his shirt, holding it in his cupped hand. "I . . . uh, will I get it back? I mean, you don't have to dissolve it in a Potion or something, do you?"

Snape laughed, and let go of his hand. "Dudley will need to wear it en route and while he's here, but yes, Harry, you'll get it back."

"Oh, okay,"

Harry made to take it off, but Snape said. "Keep it for now. It will take Draco and me some time to adjust the incantations. I think we should be prepared by tomorrow evening to invoke the spell."

Draco uttered a small groan. "All this effort so that we can have a Muggle over for tea."

"More than tea," Harry pointed out, dropping the ring back down his shirt. He liked the feel of it against his skin. "Dudley has to stay here a few days."

"Days?" Draco echoed. "Days means nights, I hope you realise. Where's he going to sleep, I'd like to know? Severus, I don't suppose you'd let me share your bed for the duration?"

Snape gave him a hard, black look. "I don't believe I would, no."

"I don't snore--" Draco wheedled.

"Yes, you do," Harry put in.

"Well you talk all night in your sleep!" Draco shot back. "Oh, you don't believe me? Last night it was something about Granger turning into a cat---I suppose you're going to tell me she can change form as well as Apparate, now?" he mocked. "Oh, and is the Shrieking Shack really haunted by werewolves? That's actually quite strange."

"Miss Granger can Apparate?" Snape asked with some concern.

"No, and she's not an unregistered Animagus, either," Harry groused. He didn't like the idea that he talked in his sleep, and decided he'd have to go back to using Dreamless Sleep, after all. He wondered what he'd said that Malfoy hadn't mentioned. "It's just dreams. You know, they don't have anything to do with anything."

"Your dreams of late have been rather significant," Snape insisted.

"I haven't had any divining dreams for a while."

"What are you, the new Trelawney?" Draco jibed.

"Why do you think they've stopped?" Harry pressed on. He'd been relieved about that, so he hadn't given it much thought, but it was a bit odd, wasn't it?

"Maybe you know all you need to, for the moment."

Draco glanced between the two of them, and gnashed his teeth. "Oh, great. You're actually serious! Didn't you have enough talents before, talking to snakes and warding off Dementors, and throwing off Imperius like it's nothing more than a blanket? Now you get to be a seer, too? Do you even know how bloody irritating all this is? Well, what are you waiting for? Let's have it, let's hear what the future holds!"

Harry wasn't about to answer that, but he didn't have to, since Snape gave Draco a fearsome look.

After Draco looked away, humming, the professor Accio'd some parchment, ink, and quill to him, impatiently muttering spells to vanish everything else off the table, and began to sketch out a large oval with a ten-pointed star occupying the centre of it. As Snape began to adorn each point of the star with Latin phrases, Draco forgot about dreams and began discussing the incantations with him.

Harry left them to it, and sat down on the couch to listen to Hermione's feather teach him more about Transfiguration.

Chapter End Notes:

Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Thirty-Six: The Muggle Express

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight


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