Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Dreaming of Draco

Harry groaned a little as he reached for his juice a few afternoons later. As much as he was enjoying being a practicing wizard once more, he definitely wasn't enjoying the injuries, bruises, and sore muscles that came with it. It wouldn't be so bad if his powers would behave the way they used to, but even his wandless magic was a bit unpredictable, still.

It didn't help that he kept accidentally channeling power through his wand and getting thrown back from the force of the spells.

It also didn't help that his father was a vicious bastard when it came to training him. Of course they weren't actually duelling as of yet; that could wait until Harry had a firmer grip on spell intensity, as Snape put it. No, what they were doing was practicing shielding, which basically meant that Harry had to block curse after curse from not just Snape but Draco as well, the two of them trying their best to catch him off guard. Draco had even started flying about above him, throwing random curses out while Snape was trying to explain something. Harry called that unfair; his father said it was sound practice and that if Harry was going to attend classes, he'd best be prepared to defend himself at an instant's notice.

Harry had ended up on his arse more times than he cared to think about. He'd even broken his arm--twice--when particularly nasty curses had come out of nowhere to flip him up in the air at high speeds. Of course Snape had taken care of that at once. One quick potion and he was back on his feet, ready to shield again. Rather handy, Harry thought, having a Potions Master for a dad.

When they'd started all this training, however, Snape had seen fit to mention that imbibing too many healing potions was far from healthy. Harry had taken that as a strong hint not to go to Snape with every ache and pain. That suited Harry, though. It used to be his motto that he wouldn't ask for things he wouldn't get. There was a lot of comfort in knowing that since he had a real dad now, he could ask for whatever he needed. He was positive that Snape would heal him anytime he asked, but there was also such a thing as pride. Growing up with Dudley had taught him well enough how to tough out minor cuts and scrapes and bruises. Harry had a new motto now. He wouldn't ask for help unless he really, truly needed some.

Of course, he might start needing some more often now that Snape had decided it was time for Harry to learn some physical fighting techniques as well. Just in case his magic failed him, Snape had explained, and when Harry had scoffed that that wasn't too likely, was it, the man had flung him to his back on the grass and straddled him, pinning his hands over his head as he hissed into his face that anything was possible and no son of his was going to end up helpless in a fight, not if he could help it.

That was when his bruises began to get both more frequent and more colourful. But still, Harry didn't often complain. He concentrated instead on keeping an eye out for Draco's wand--or Snape's--while he and his father warily circled each other. It was all worth it, though. Not only was his magical control improving all the time--Snape's learn by experience theory actually working for once--but he was getting better at Muggle-style fighting as well. Of course, he could hardly hope to best his father yet--the man was taller, stronger, and heavier than he was, not to mention a surprisingly good brawler, but he was getting there.

He could probably take Draco on, he mused with a little smile, though it faded when he lifted his juice to his mouth and felt the wrist he'd wrenched the day before complain. Bitterly.

A noise chimed in his head, warning him to look at the door parchment. Really, now that he could hear the magic-doorbell, as he'd taken to calling it, he thought the system quite ingenious.

Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley the parchment read. Setting his juice down on the low table in the living room, he jumped up to open the door. then he remembered that he'd better not. By then, Snape had cleared Harry to do certain simple spells without supervision, but he certainly wasn't allowed to do them in front of people who had yet to find out that his magic was back.

"Draco," he called, and the Slytherin boy appeared, smirking slightly.

"So you do still need me for something."

"Don't be a git."

Yawning as though bored, Draco cast a careless Abrire then wandered back into the Potions Lab.

"Come in, come in," Harry invited the two girls as the door swung open on its own. "Wow, it's pretty early in the day for a visit."

Ginny took up her usual place on the couch as Hermione explained, "Sprout had to end class early when one of those big Venus flytraps took a chunk out of Ron's hand."

"Ouch." Harry made a face. "He's all right?"

Hermione nodded. "Pomfrey's regrowing his fingers as we speak."

"Some sixth years got me out of Divination to see him," Ginny chimed in, "but Madam Pomfrey told us both to get out and let him rest. Anyway, he wanted us to tell you he'll be stuck up there for the rest of today, but that he'll come down tomorrow right after Quidditch practice."

Harry smiled at that, though he couldn't help wincing a bit as he shifted in his seat. Hermione's gaze was on him in a flash. "Your back's still sore? Maybe you should have Madam Pomfrey come down here and take a look at it."

"It's okay," Harry said, wishing she'd give it up. Ever since he'd started nightly magic practice with Snape, Hermione's visits had become one long question about his various aches and pains.

"It is not okay," she insisted now.

"Listen, Hermione--"

"Harry's fine," Draco interrupted in a cold tone as he strode out of the Potions Lab and slammed a flat-bottomed vial down on the table.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry weakly echoed. He wished he had something better to say, like Look, I've got my magic back but it needs a little work and Severus is a hard taskmaster, but he's only doing what's best for me . . . He really didn't want to have another fight with his father, though. For now, Ron was the only student allowed to know that Harry was a real wizard again.

Harry figured Draco was trying to help with that goal when he directed the conversation away from Harry's injuries. "What's this about fingers getting bitten off? I don't even know why we have a Care of Magical Creatures class. No proper Hogwarts-trained wizard would end up choosing to be a gamekeeper, for Merlin's sake. Talk about a low-class occupation--"

"Hagrid's ace as a teacher!" Harry defended his friend. He wasn't actually sure by that point if Draco was completely sincere about the insults or if he just wanted Harry to flare up over them. Either way, if he and Draco started arguing then Hermione would forget about his sore back, wouldn't she?

"Oh yeah, ace," Draco mocked. "Never mind that he almost got me killed on his first day--"

"You insulted Buckbeak after Hagrid specifically told us not to treat a hippogriff that way!"

"Yeah, well how did your good friend Ronald get injured then today, eh?"

"It happened in Herbology!"

Hermione cleared her throat and proved that she wasn't as easy to distract as Harry had hoped. Like a dog worrying a bone, she went right back to her previous line of thought. "I suppose you think that just because Professor Snape is a potions expert he can heal anything," she sternly told Harry. "But he's not a licensed medi-wizard. It's neither safe nor healthy for him to be so possessive of his son that he won't even let you get proper medical care!"

"It's not a case of not letting me," Harry thought to say. "I don't need any, that's all!"

Hermione's pointed stare sought out the place on his neck where last week, she'd seen a bruise. It hadn't been anything serious; Harry's shielding had wavered at the wrong moment and he'd caught the tail end of a curse, that was all.

"If you've been injured you need to see Madam Pomfrey!" she insisted.

"He hasn't been injured, for Merlin's sake!" Draco broke in. "He just er . . . slept wrong!"

"He slept wrong," Hermione drawled. "For two weeks running? Because that's how long he's not been able to sit up straight without practically groaning!"

Draco huffed a bit. "Um, I retransfigured his bed a couple of weeks ago and haven't been able to get it right, since. You know, too hard, too soft, too long, too short."

"Yeah, like Goldilocks," Harry agreed, knowing Hermione would catch the reference.

If she noticed it, she didn't let on, instead glancing from one boy to the other. "And just why did your bed need retransfiguring in the first place?" she inquired with false sweetness, suddenly barking when Draco opened his mouth, "You just pipe down for once. Let Harry answer."

"Well . . ." Harry thought fast. Draco wasn't going to like this, but it was all he could come up with. "Draco here was the one who transfigured it in the first place, you know. There used to be a double bed in there. Anyway, the spell didn't hold, that's all."

Draco scowled at the slight to his magic, but didn't contradict the story.

As Hermione's gaze raked Draco up and down, Harry couldn't help but think she looked a little bit smug. That wasn't so nice. On the other hand, Draco had spent years rubbing in comments about how her type didn't belong at Hogwarts, so perhaps she was entitled to feel proud of her magic.

Seeking to move the conversation onto smoother ground perhaps, Ginny quietly asked how Harry was getting along in Herbology without access to a greenhouse. Grateful, Harry gave her a wide smile and prattled on about it for a while.

Hermione just listened, rarely taking her eyes of Harry until she was nudging Ginny to murmur that they'd be late for their next class if they didn't get started on the long climb out of the dungeons.

"I thought the house-elves you dedicate your valuable time to had taught you how to Apparate around the castle," Draco put in, his voice a touch nasty.

"Draco!" Harry turned to him and scowled. "That's low, taking our conversations and twisting them like that! I told you, I can have more than one friend!" And then to Hermione, "Sorry. We were . . . um, just joking around about that one day."

Draco gave a rather aristocratic shrug just as Hermione raised her nose. "You and Draco Malfoy were making fun of your fellow Gryffindors. Well, I like that!"

"It wasn't that way," Harry sighed.

"Come on," Ginny urged, pulling Hermione up to stand. "I don't know about you, but I have Potions next and I'm not about to arrive there late considering--"

She abruptly closed her mouth.

"Considering what?" Harry pressed.

Ginny gave him a pleading look that seemed to say, I'm trying to be a peacemaker here--.

Harry had a sudden, ugly suspicion. "Has Snape been picking on Gryffindor like he used to?"

"What made you think he ever stopped?" Hermione erupted.

Ginny glared at her, and corrected, "He's been picking on everyone lately, Harry. Not just Gryffindor. He's been in a really foul mood. You haven't noticed?"

"Uh . . ." Harry didn't know what to say to that, since it made him sound so completely stupid to admit that no, he hadn't. What sort of son didn't even notice when his father was out of sorts?

"We had an accident in here and a bunch of Severus' books got destroyed," Draco saw fit to share. "Rare books. Probably some of them are irreplaceable, so chalk it up to that."

"He did throw Neville's book across the room," Ginny thoughtfully remarked.

Harry couldn't help but goggle. "He did what?"

"Well, Neville had let his potion boil over onto it. Snape really lit into him about showing a bit more respect for tomes of knowledge, as he put it . . . So I really do have to get going, Harry. I don't fancy a detention."

After the girls had gone, Harry flopped back down onto the couch and stared up at Draco. He hated that he had to ask something like this, but the question just wouldn't go away. "Um . . . you know, sometimes I think you know Severus better than I do . . . so anyway, did you mean what you said? About his books? Is he mad that I destroyed his own . . . er, tomes? I mean, he hasn't said so to me, not once . . ."

"Harry, I had to tell them something," Draco exclaimed. "Think strategy for once, will you? If Severus is out of sorts it's probably because he doesn't particularly enjoy class each day, knowing that after he leaves, he has to take us to Devon so he can hex and attack and pummel you! I'm sure you didn't want me to tell Granger that. She's a bit too curious about your injuries as it is! I think you'd better have Severus start healing anything that shows, all right? Otherwise she might decide you've been duelling, and we do not need her to start asking questions about your magic being back. What if she asks Weasley what he might have seen down here, eh?"

"I'll have Severus heal anything serious," Harry compromised. "But I can't go to him for every last thing. Some of those healing potions are built on an opiate base, you know--"

"Yes, I know," Draco drawled. "I thought you liked to dabble in the Muggle drugs?"

"Not opium," Harry laughed. Then he sobered. "And not since Severus lectured me about it."

"Yeah, the drugs-are-bad-for-you lecture. Second only to the revenge-is-bad-for-you lecture. I've been there. Although with me he tends to veer toward proclaiming that drugs are potion ingredients, not opportunities for recreation."

"Haven't heard that one," Harry admitted.

"You don't want to; it goes on for hours," Draco moaned. "Anyway, just make sure your friend," he sneered the word, "doesn't see any more bruises, all right? Hmm, I wonder if she's so curious because Weasley did say something to her about that Lumos. I knew we should have Obliviated him--"

"Ron's as trustworthy as they come," Harry sighed. "Listen, he had to explain why he was down here all night, so he told her he I'd got a concussion but he didn't know how, not exactly. He told her it happened before he ever showed up to visit."

Draco seemed to scowl at Harry's defence of Ron, but brighten at the information itself. "Oh. Well, that's all right, then. She might be smart, but even she can't reason things out without any evidence at all, so your secret's safe." He looked over toward the table where their schoolwork was scattered. "So, Transfiguration next? You're only up to third year spells in that one."

"Yeah, all right," Harry agreed, his mind still on Hermione. And Snape.

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It didn't take a genius, Harry realised later that night, to figure out that Ginny was right; something was bothering his father. They'd gone to Devon as usual, taking advantage of the lengthening twilight that heralded the approach of spring, but Snape had seemed on edge. The man was never very generous with praise, but he usually gave Harry some sort of encouragement. That night though, it was nothing but criticism and mocking disdain.

When Harry thought about it, he realised it had been coming on for a while. Yeah, Snape had been out of sorts for a bit. He probably should have noticed sooner, but it was hard to notice much when you were being hexed from all around. But even when they'd gone back home, Snape had been a little . . . standoffish, hadn't he? Like he had something on his mind. Something big. Evidently it was getting bigger.

That night after they returned home, Snape hardly spoke at all, except to demand that Harry show him his latest Potions essay as soon as they'd finished dessert.

A frown creasing his brow, Snape read the scroll from top to bottom in under a minute. Then he snorted and tossed it back toward the table with a contemptuous flick of his wrist.

Harry swallowed. "It's not that bad, is it?"

Snape glared. "Did you by any chance destroy your own books while you were destroying mine? Because this," he actually slapped the parchment, "certainly shows no sign of having been researched!"

Harry flinched, but tried to be fair. "I didn't check as many things as I should have," he admitted. "I've been busy with the spell lexicon and trying to figure out ways to word charms, things to try when we go to Devon each afternoon. I mean, I'm trying my best to make sure I can do something useful in this war--"

Snape abruptly stood up and stalked from the room.

Horrified, Harry jumped to his feet and called out, "I didn't mean that potions weren't useful, honest! Oh, come on, Dad!"

Snape turned back, his features schooled into hard lines, though what he said was, "Harry. You worry too much. Now attend to your studies." With that, he was closing his office door with such a definite thud that Harry knew better than to go after him.

"Maybe the books bothered him more than he was willing to say," Harry said, his eyes confused as he met Draco's gaze. "But what can I do? He won't let me have my key, so it's not like I can try to replace them."

Draco was looking at him like he thought Harry was brainless, which made Harry abruptly realise there was another solution at hand. "Um, Draco . . ." he ventured, more than a little uncomfortable. "Do you think you could lend me some money?"

The Slytherin boy's only reply was to burst out laughing.

"Well, sorry!" Harry snapped. "I know you think borrowing money is vulgar--"

"That's not it," Draco managed to choke out. "It's . . . oh sweet Merlin, have you always been this . . . dense? You don't need money to order things, I told you that."

Oh, right. Harry Potter could just say he'd pay later, Harry realised. He hated the idea of trading on his name, absolutely detested it. But if it would help Severus . . . Sighing, Harry drew out a blank sheet of parchment and began to wonder how he was going to figure out exactly which books had been destroyed. Hmm . . . the house-elves had magicked the walls whole again, and repaired the charred furniture . . . maybe they had cleared away the damaged books? Dobby might be able to find out some of the titles . . .

Draco put a hand on Harry's wrist as the Gryffindor boy reached for the quill. "I didn't mean you should order any books. I don't know what's on his mind, Harry, but it's nothing to do with your Lumos, all right? He's glad your magic's back and told me a few books were a small price to pay."

"A few dozen, more like," Harry muttered. "What is it, then?"

Draco shrugged. "It could be anything. Maybe I was more right than I knew, earlier. It could be he really doesn't like what he has to do to you in Devon. Or maybe the Hufflepuffs are melting more cauldrons than usual, or he's finally getting disgusted with the way his own house wants him dead."

"Maybe," Harry murmured, taking up the essay Snape had thrown down. He couldn't seem to get his mind onto it, though, no matter how he tried. He kept wondering instead what was bothering his father.

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"Well, that's it," Harry pronounced a few days later. "All the major spells Hogwarts covers up through the end of fifth year. If anybody ever sees this, they'll think I have the worst grasp of Latin in history. Some of the 'translations' aren't close at all. But it's what the spell means to me that counts."

"All the major spells," Snape echoed, giving him a stern look.

"Well, yeah! If you make me figure out every last little charm, I won't get back upstairs until I'm old and grey. I mean, I have tried. Some spells just don't seem to work for me any longer."

"You just haven't hit the right words, that's all," Draco broke in. "Keep experimenting. You'll get there."

Snape charmed the scroll of parchment so that nobody besides the three of them could read it. "The lexicon needs to be completed, yes, but the bulk of that can wait until summer. As your spell control is coming along nicely, I estimate you will be ready to resume normal student life in little more than a fortnight."

How could that sound like no time at all, and also sound like forever?

Draco took the scroll and began to scan it as he commented, "I think you'll be able to defend yourself in the hallways, but this list won't help you too much in class. What are we planning to do about that, Severus? Have Harry learn all his charms in advance so that by the time they're presented he'll know how to incant them?"

Frowning, Snape shook his head. "I've considered the matter and decided that a little misdirection wouldn't come amiss."

A bad feeling washed over Harry. "Misdirection?"

Snape gave him a wry glance. "Yes. You are undoubtedly a Gryffindor, but as I told you long ago, you should take greater pains to develop a little Slytherin cunning. Don't look so appalled at the prospect. We don't want others to know you can perform wandless magic, or that your wanded powers are quite so remarkable. The corollary to that is that the less powerful you seem, the better off you will be when it comes to surprising Voldemort in the final battle. Therefore, you will not learn your lessons in advance. You must resign yourself to appearing a bit . . . inept, in class."

"Rotten deal," Draco sympathized. "But I think Severus is right about this being our best strategy."

Harry shrugged. He was just grateful that his father hadn't smirked and reminded him just how much experience he had at looking inept in Potions class. Because then, Harry would have had to point out that it was Snape's insulting manner that had made him too nervous to perform well . . . and he didn't want to fight with his father about how class with him used to go, he just didn't. Actually, he was a bit nervous again, wondering how things would go now, having his father as a teacher.

"I don't care if it takes me a while to get the hang of new spells," Harry ventured, "but you know how you don't want anyone knowing how my magic works now? Well, I think I can hide the wandlessness, but I don't see how we can avoid the other students finding out I have to say my spells in Parseltongue." He shivered a bit just thinking about it.

His father, he noted, was watching him closely. "I thought you had accepted that part of yourself. In fact, I thought that was what was allowing you to incant in Parseltongue."

Harry remembered that . . . Snape saying in the hospital that accepting his dark powers was likely part of the key to making them do his bidding. "I'm all right with it," he explained. "It's just that second year . . ." he sighed. "Parseltongue is really going to upset the other students."

"Not as much," Draco put in. "We all know you're a Parselmouth, now. And besides, it never did make any difference to your friends, did it?"

"No . . ."

"Well there you have it, then."

"But incanting in Parseltongue is going to seem a hundred times more creepy than just speaking in it," Harry complained.

"That," Snape told him, "will just have to be borne. As for the risk that the key to your dark powers will become known, I see no way around that. The alternative is to keep you hidden away, and that, I do believe, has gone on quite long enough."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, almost expecting Draco to start complaining again about being left behind.

All he did though, was pierce Harry with a steady silver gaze, and mouth one word, "Slytherin."

Harry turned away, but some part of him was realizing that he didn't want to leave the dungeons. Wasn't that daft? If anybody would have told him months ago that he'd feel this way, Harry would have laughed himself silly. Now, though, this place was a little bit like home. And he'd never had a home, let alone a father to talk to, or a brother . . .

But as much as he didn't want to leave, he also didn't want to stay. It was true, what he'd said before; he needed his friends in the Tower. But now he knew that he needed his family just as much. Hmm, maybe he was finally finding out what it was like to be normal, to be pulled between home and school instead of regarding Hogwarts as a refuge from everything that was wrong with his life.

"On to other matters," Snape crisply announced. "I've decided that quite a few of the books that formerly were in my office needn't be restricted. I'll be purchasing replacements; you and Draco will be shelving them in here."

Draco crossed his arms. "Do I look like a house-elf?" he haughtily inquired.

"I can always resume keeping them off-limits," Snape told Draco, his voice quite a bit more stern than Harry felt was warranted.

"Shelving it is," the Slytherin boy returned, beaming Snape a smile that was fake all the way through.

Snape actually bared his teeth, which prompted Harry to wonder out loud, "Is everything all right, sir? I . . ." Should he offer to pay again, after all? Or apologise once more? It was hard to believe that either of those would help matters . . . "You seem a little bit out of sorts," he decided to venture. "Is there anything I can do?"

Sighing, the Potions Master ran a hand through his hair. "No, Harry, there's nothing you can do."

It suddenly came to him what the matter was, what it had to be. "You're starting to think that my latest dream is going to come true after all, aren't you?"

That seemed to snap Snape out of his introspection. "No, not at all. You mustn't think that. I merely have some Order business on my mind."

Draco had looked rather intrigued at the mention of another seer dream, but that comment had him stiffening. "What Order business?" When Snape said nothing, he pressed, "It's about me, isn't it? There's some new Malfoy plot afoot to take me to the Dark Lord to be tortured!"

The Potions Master hesitated just a moment. "You may as well know, Lucius has never ceased his attempts to remove you from Hogwarts. His latest gambit was to argue to the Board of Governors that as you've missed a considerable number of classes, your student status should be revoked. However, Albus headed him off by pointing out that petrified students a few years back missed a great deal more class than you have, and no one penalized them."

Draco sighed. "I somehow suspect that wasn't the first time Lucius has tried to use his influence on the Board to get me kicked out of here."

"He is persistent," Snape agreed. "Perhaps you'll feel better to know that his influence has waned a bit since his incarceration in Azkaban."

"Didn't make him any less rich, or less likely to curse them into oblivion if they don't do whatever he wants."

"No, but it made them far more aware of what fate will await them if Voldemort loses this war and they are seen to have been allied with his second-in-command. Thus far, the Board has seen through his vapid excuses to force you from the sanctuary of the school. Believe me, Draco, I have little respect for the Board of Governors, such as they are, but in this instance, I am confident. They will not expel you except upon solid grounds."

"I hope not . . ." Draco shivered, then surprised Harry by pressing, "There's something else though, isn't there?"

After taking a long moment to consider matters, Snape divulged, "I mentioned it before. Voldemort is making inroads into Europe. France, in particular. The wizarding authorities there make our own Ministry look as though it's staffed by geniuses. They refuse to believe the threat is real, though Muggleborns have already been the subject of several attacks." When Harry stiffened, Snape cautioned, "There is nothing you can do about it, Harry."

"There is something I can do," the boy disagreed. "And I'm the only one who can do it."

"You are too young as of yet," Snape erupted. "I only mention Voldemort's activities because you do better with more information rather than less, as I believe I once told you. Be that as it may, you are to finish your education before you so much as think of taking that madman on!"

Draco glanced from one to the other. "Am I missing something? I know Harry's got the name and the mystique; he can't help but be the vanguard of the war effort but . . . the only one who can do it? You are talking about killing the Dark Lord, I presume?" When neither Harry nor Snape said a word, Draco went on, "This must be the prophecy my father was after at the end of last year?"

Snape looked carved from granite, his entire face a harsh mask.

Not liking secrets, Harry reluctantly nodded in answer.

"Potter," Snape growled.

"We are a family," Harry reminded him. "Besides, you said you wanted Draco to know how to help me if it ever came to that. So he might as well know how this war has to go, don't you think?"

As though sensing an advantage he could press, Draco narrowed his gaze on Harry. "So only you can kill the Dark Lord. Makes sense in a way, considering that Lumos. What about your dreams, these seer dreams you've never told me about?"

Harry drew in a deep breath and revealed, "I knew in advance that I was going to be blinded at Samhain, and that I would live down here and end up punching Ron. I also knew you were going to say we were brothers."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So that's why you laughed so much, I suppose. Well, what else? You said there was a latest one. It sounds as though it hasn't come true yet?"

"Severus doesn't think it will come true," Harry told him. "I dreamed he was going to unadopt me."

Draco's eyes just about bugged out. "Un-adopt you," he slowly repeated. "That's just daft, it is. You don't believe that, do you?"

"I didn't, and then I did . . ." Harry shrugged. It was too difficult to explain all he felt about the seer dream.

"Severus, tell him you aren't about to unadopt him!" Draco demanded.

"I don't believe that particular dream was a seer dream at all," the Potions Master flatly announced. "Harry was merely living out his fears in the dead of night."

"Yeah, well I thought so too until Draco brought up the Lotion Potion and it reminded me of the dream," Harry protested.

Draco frowned. "Wait, you knew about the Lotion Potion--"

"In advance!" Harry interrupted. "Or, sort of. It's hard to explain. Anyway, it was definitely a seer dream. And I know Severus doesn't want to unadopt me, but I think something's going to force his hand."

Snape cast Harry a scathing glance. "The silly Gryffindor refuses to believe that even if his dream is true, a sixteen-year-old with issues may not be the world's foremost authority on dream interpretation!"

"I have however decided that it won't really matter," Harry put in, ignoring his father's mood. He was probably just infuriated that Harry had gone ahead and told Draco about the prophecy. "Because legalities aren't what a family is really all about. How's that for dream-interpretation, Severus?" When his father said nothing, Harry frowned. "I'm sorry I didn't come to you with it right away. I should have. I remember promising to tell you if anything in my dreams disturbed me."

Snape speared him with a glance. "Indeed. Twenty points for phenomenal bad judgment."

"That's ten from Slytherin!" Draco complained.

"Then teach him some strategy!" Snape shot back. "Even a first-year Slytherin knows better than to invite me to take points!"

Draco thought that over for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, your new house mates are going to eat you alive if you aren't more careful!"

"It's late," Snape scathed. "Go to bed, both of you."

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They went as asked, but Harry couldn't sleep. Too hot, too cold . . . he thought again of Goldilocks and had to stifle a slight laugh.

"You can't sleep either, huh?" Draco asked, sounding as though he were rolling over to face Harry.

"Too much on my mind," Harry passed it off. "I want to stop Occluding all the time but I'm kind of scared to. It really hurts when my scar goes off." Hoping to distract himself, he asked, "Why can't you sleep?"

"Lucius," Draco sighed. "I keep thinking he's going to find a way to get to me, you know? I think about--" He abruptly went silent.

Harry rolled onto his side as well. "About what?"

"Needles," Draco whispered. "Except for me it'll be snakes, I bet. He'll probably toss me into a pit of vipers--"

Harry thought better than to point out that the Slytherin common room likely qualified as one. "He's not going to have a chance," he said instead. "Severus won't let him get anywhere near you."

A noise of distress caught in Draco's throat. "You've never seen them together, Harry. Well, except at Samhain I suppose, but that hardly counts as Severus was playing a role. I grew up around them both. And Severus . . . well, I wouldn't say my father exactly intimidates him, but there was always a certain deference there."

"Yeah, because he was playing a role then, too," Harry insisted. "Look, you're right; I don't know anything much about it. But I suspect Severus always knew to keep an eye on your father."

"The war was over, Potter," Draco scathed. "Nobody knew the Dark Lord would rise again!"

"Yeah, but your father was trying to help it happen, wasn't he?" Harry asked, thinking of Tom Riddle's diary. "Severus probably had his suspicions. However he acted around your father, it was misdirection."

"Think he was misdirecting me as well all those times he called me the whinging wonder?"

That had Harry laughing out loud. He could just see a bratty little Draco deserving of the name . . .

"We don't want to wake Severus up, not in the mood he's been in," Draco whispered. "Cast Silencio. Wandless, remember. Or did Severus not clear you for that one, yet?"

"He did." Remembering his father's admonitions that he shouldn't get into the habit of displaying wandless magic, Harry fumbled for his wand, then cast the spell using just his hand. "Whinging wonder, really?"

"Well," Draco drawled, "I just might have been a tad spoiled in my youth. Still, it's better than idiot child. You think he's fond of Longbottom, too? I did hear Severus call him idiot boy once."

"I think Neville's safe," Harry dryly admitted. "Severus uses a certain tone of voice to me, you realise. Well, usually."

"Yeah, he's got some real idiosyncrasies," Draco mused. "When something amuses him and he doesn't want to let on, he clenches just his left fist. It's really pretty weird."

Thinking back, Harry decided that was probably true. "Say, have you ever noticed how he sometimes crosses his arms in a certain way when he's angry? You know, with the fingers of one hand tapping on the opposite forearm?"

"Yeah, it means he's impatient to get back to his potions," Draco chortled. "Half the time he's so impatient he only gives you a half-hearted reprimand. Did you know he holds his breath a little bit when he's figuring out if he should yell at you?"

Harry grinned, blandly imitating Snape's intonations to announce, "He doesn't yell, he lectures."

"He yells his lectures, you mean."

That had Harry chuckling so hard his sides started to hurt. "What about when he says I do believe?" he gasped out. "It sounds so Victorian! And . . . oh, God, I've been meaning to ask. What are we going to do about his hair? I mean, I used to sort of like the fact that he was all greasy, back when I hated him. You know, one more thing to hate him for. But now it's just . . . well . . . embarrassing, having my father go off to teach his classes looking like that!"

"Well, you've been in his bedroom before," Draco choked out. "Make up some excuse to go in there again and use the bathroom--"

"Been in there, too," Harry smugly announced. "Slytherin legend's right. It is pretty fabulous."

Through the dark he could just barely make out Draco sticking out his tongue.

"So find what he uses to wash his hair," the Slytherin boy suggested. "Try to get a sample, and I'll see if I can't . . . ah, improve the formulation a bit."

"Make it actually work, you mean," Harry drawled. "I don't understand. He's a Potions Master, for crying out loud! He ought to have the best shampoo in the whole world!"

Draco snorted. "But he doesn't care what people think, remember?"

"Not even us?"

"Well, he'd never admit it," Draco drolled. "After all, we are his idiot children."

Harry couldn't help but laugh even harder at that, but it only got worse when the door was abruptly flung open and Snape stood there, a glowing wand illuminating his glowering face as he bit out, "I told you both to go to sleep! What are you up to in here?"

"We weren't trying to disturb you, Severus. Harry, I thought you cast a silencing charm?"

"I did cast one!" Harry sat up more, wondering just how long Snape had been listening. Oh God, had he heard them talking about shampoo? He could feel his face burning. "Did it not work at all?"

"I don't know! Were you two talking or just laughing like crazed hyenas?"

"Uh . . . both," Harry admitted.

"It blocked your voices but not your levity," Snape growled. "What incantation did you use?"

Harry frowned. "Hmm. Well, I've found a whole bunch of ways to cast silencing charms. I think that time I told the door to not let out what we said."

"What you said."

"All right, so it needs work!"

"I do believe it does."

Harry couldn't help it. He started laughing again, and it wasn't long before Draco was joining in.

"Idiot children," Snape pronounced, shaking his head.

Of course that just made the situation worse. Harry practically howled with laughter. Draco started hyperventilating.

"Breathe, you idiot child!" Harry gasped out as soon as he could draw breath.

Draco managed to calm down, but he was still panting as though he'd just finished a Quidditch match.

"When I say to go to sleep I expect to be obeyed," Snape began in a hard tone.

"But we did obey you," Harry broke in. "You said to go to bed. Draco, have you been out of your bed at all since we came in?"

"I do believe I haven't."

"Stop it!" Harry gasped.

"Go to sleep now," Snape thundered, then whirled on a heel and stormed out, his midnight blue night robe billowing almost as majestically as his teaching robes did. Harry wondered how he managed that with toweling cloth.

He and Draco didn't go to sleep right away. They talked a while longer, though not about anything in particular. Harry had always wondered what it would be like to have a brother. Now, he knew. It was having someone you could depend on and whom you could be silly with. Someone who could see you at your absolute worst and not think worse of you.

It was a little sad to be leaving the dungeons just when he'd come to appreciate what a good brother Draco could be. He felt like he was losing Draco, though he knew that wasn't really the case at all. He would visit plenty.

It was on that thought that Harry fell asleep and began to dream. Images tumbled through his head too fast to catalog. Forest. House with a thatched roof, an owl sitting on a perch outside. Lucius Malfoy striding past him, his long-legged gait taking him to the house. Harry flinched, needles pricking him all over, but Lucius didn't even know he was there. A woman and a man answering the door. French accents. Conversation. Something about the Dark Lord . . .

Then the dream began spinning, whirling him straight out of France and into another place, one he recognised straight away. The Gryffindor common room, but his house mates couldn't see him any more than Lucius Malfoy had been able to back in that forest.

"Thrown from the Owlery," someone was saying in a tone that suggested the phrase had been repeated several times before.

"I always thought if something like that happened, they'd go for one of us. A Gryffindor. Not one of their own . . ."

"Yeah, but remember that day in Potions?" Parvati shook her head. "It was pretty clear something like this would happen eventually. The threat was made right there in the open, right in front of the professor, for Merlin's sake!"

A hushed voice murmured, "I heard the funeral has to be closed-casket since the body's just . . . a mess."

"Slytherins are a mess dead or alive," came the hard reply.

Harry turned away, only to see Hermione and Ron sitting close together on the sofa that faced the fireplace.

"This is just awful," Hermione was saying, a frown creasing her face.

Ron made a noise reminiscent of a grunt. "You can't convince me you're upset about a dead Slytherin!"

"I'm upset about Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yeah, well at least now we don't have to worry about him being around sodding Malfoy all the time," Ron scoffed.

"Ron, you know what Harry's like! He's going to blame himself for this. He'll tell himself he should have stopped Malfoy from leaving Snape's rooms! Never mind that without magic he'd have no hope . . ."

Ron got a strange look on his face when Hermione mentioned Harry having no magic, but he right away covered it up with a fresh surge of anger. "It's not Harry's fault Malfoy took himself up to the Owlery! And what was Draco Malfoy doing up there, anyway? That's what I'd like to know! My guess is he went up there to betray Harry! And something went wrong!"

"That's beside the point." Hermione said, standing. "Come on, we have to go see Harry, see if we can help."

Ron rose to his feet and caught Hermione's hand in his own. "Yeah, let's go. But don't get your hopes up, all right?"

Hermione visibly swallowed. "You're right. It didn't make much sense to me, but Harry was really getting along with Malfoy. I don't think anything we can say or do is going to cheer him . . ."

Scowling, Ron agreed, "Yeah. But that's not what I meant. It's just . . . I'm not even sure we can get in any longer. After this, I bet Snape's put up a ton of extra wards."

"True, he won't be in a mood to trust anybody. And who could blame him? Well, all we can do is go down there and try to make him let us in."

Ron and Hermione headed toward the portrait hole . . .

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes wild, his hair sticking up in all directions as though he'd been violently turning in his sleep. For a moment that seemed to last forever, he couldn't breathe. Suddenly all his jokes earlier seemed incredibly stupid. Had it really been just a few hours ago that he'd been so very happy?

Dragging in a harsh breath, finally, Harry shakily rose from his bed and went to stand over Draco. Shivers convulsed him, though he scarcely noticed the chill night air of the dungeon, or the freezing stones beneath his bare feet. His dream haunted him, and the longer he stared down at his brother, the worse it got.

Draco . . . thrown from the Owlery . . .

Funeral . . . the casket closed . . .

He should have stopped Malfoy from leaving Snape's rooms . . .

Shaking, Harry reached out a hand toward Draco's hair.

Before he touched a single strand, a strong grip snaked out to imprison his wrist.

"Why are you standing over my bed like some sort of ghoul?" Draco darkly inquired, his silver eyes glinting.

Harry wanted to yank his wrist free, but strangely, he also wanted to let Draco keep holding it. Or maybe it was more a case of Harry wanting to hold onto Draco. To have him for a brother . . . while he could.

"Um . . ." He cleared his throat, not knowing what to say. How could you tell someone they were going to die? How could you not tell them?

Are your dreams presaging someone's death? Dumbledore had asked, and what had Harry answered?

Oh no, I wouldn't keep something like that to myself . . .

But the headmaster had meant that he should tell an Order member.

Then it came to him. His promise. He didn't have to deal with this alone. He didn't have to break it to Draco alone, either. His father would help him. His father would know what to say, what to do.

"Bad dream," Harry choked out. "I . . .um, thought I'd better let you know I have to go talk to Severus, all right? In case you woke up and saw me gone and wondered--"

Aware that he was babbling, Harry shut up.

Draco was giving him a strange look, and no wonder. "Harry, if I wake up and notice you gone, I'll assume you've gone to talk to Severus. Where else would you be?" Then he yawned. "Well, I suppose you might be in the loo. I'm just glad I don't have to twist your arm to go talk to him this time."

Nodding, Harry fled . . . but not without looking back at the Slytherin boy. Almost asleep again already, those features peaceful. A horrid feeling stole over him that he was looking at Draco's body . . . at a corpse. But of course Draco wasn't going to look like that, was he, after he'd been thrown from the Owlery . . .

His throat suddenly tight, Harry knocked five times on Snape's door, and when it opened, stumbled across the threshold and into his father's arms. "You have to do something!" he cried as the thud of the door closing echoed behind him. "You have to help!"

He looked up to see his father rubbing tired eyes, but the irritation that had been there all week was masked by something else now. Concern. Caring. Even love. They didn't often say the word, but they knew it was there. That was what counted.

Not even love would help with this, though.

"Draco's going to die!" Harry hoarsely announced. "He's going to die a horrible death and we have to find a way to stop it!"

Chapter End Notes:
Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Sixty-Two: Between a Rock and a Hard Place

~

Comments very welcome, as always.

Aspen

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