Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

The Dark Mark Returns

"Professor, could I have a word?" asked Harry a couple of weeks later after Transfiguration class.

"What is it, Potter?" asked McGonagall, peering over her spectacles in a way that reminded Harry of Dumbledore.

"It's about Defence class," Harry began. "Professor Aran said that--"

"If you're having difficulties with another instructor I suggest you take it up with him." McGonagall briskly tapped a pile of finished student work to make the scrolls roll themselves up more tightly. "Now, if there's nothing else I have a prior engagement this evening, Potter."

She meant an Order meeting, Harry knew. Snape had mentioned it the night before when Harry had gone down to dinner. He'd also mentioned that the meeting didn't start until about nine o'clock, by which time he would have returned from escorting Draco to Surrey for his Wednesday evening therapy session.

"I think you have enough time to talk with me. And before you just send me back to Aran, you should know that he was the one who sent me to you."

"That'll be quite enough cheek," rebuked his teacher. "So then, tell me what you've done."

"This isn't going well," Harry remarked dryly. "I haven't done anything, Professor. I just wanted to ask you a favour, is all. We're having a test in Defence tomorrow and I wondered if you could come mark me."

Well, at least he'd got her to stop making assumptions. Now she was staring at him, instead. "Surely your Defence teacher should be the one assessing your progress."

"Yeah," Harry said, hating this. But there was no hope for it. "It's like this. Professor Aran, he hates Parseltongue and he won't let me use it during class or in front of him. He says it's nasty. So I've been doing all my spell work outside of class time--"

"And what do you do during class time, pray tell?"

Harry swallowed. "Um, get knocked on my arse, mostly. Well, when we're doing practical work anyway."

Her voice softened marginally. "What does Severus have to say about all this?"

"Uh, not much," hedged Harry.

He should have known that McGonagall would be wise to that trick. "You really ought to tell him, Harry."

"I don't want to run complaining to my father every time I have a problem with another teacher."

"But you've no hesitation to complain to me?"

Harry shifted on his feet. "Well I wouldn't say that. I've been dealing with it on my own for weeks. And I'm not complaining. I have an agreement with Aran, that's all--"

"Professor Aran, Harry."

"Right, yes," said Harry, sighing. "So anyway, Professor Aran agreed I could take my practical tests in Parseltongue as long as another teacher came to mark me."

"How did you get him to agree to that, if he thinks Parseltongue is so terrible?"

Harry winced. "Um . . . I said I had to have a good mark to qualify for the Auror's program, so if he made it impossible to pass his class I'd have no choice but to tell my father about the whole thing."

McGonagall, Harry saw, looked amused. "I see that snake on your crest isn't merely decorative."

"No . . . the Sorting Hat suggested Slytherin before Gryffindor, actually."

"Yes, Severus mentioned as much. Hard to imagine," murmured McGonagall. "Well, be that as it may, Potter, don't you think that he would be more qualified to judge your Defence skills?"

"You're qualified enough," Harry muttered. "Will you help me, Professor?"

"I'd much rather take Aaron Aran to task than enable him to continue inflicting his base prejudice on you," McGonagall said, her voice hardening.

Aaron Aran? If the situation hadn't been so serious, Harry might have smiled at that. "I'd really rather you just come mark my spells," Harry said, cringing a little at the pleading sound of his own voice. "If you have it out with Professor Aran, my father will hear, I'm sure. And he'll probably fillet Professor Aran. Really, it's not so bad. I mean, class with him is actually a big step up from Dolores Umbridge."

Without realising it, Harry moved one hand over the other so he could hide the scar he'd got the year before.

"Oh, Harry." McGonagall shook her head, her eyes rueful. "You've really had a time, haven't you? Well, I personally think you should tell Severus about this, or failing that, allow me to do the honours. But if you're truly determined to handle the matter on your own, then I'll come mark you, yes."

"Thank you ma'am," Harry said sincerely. It felt like a crushing weight had just been lifted from his chest and he could breathe again. Aran was fated to only last a few more weeks, anyway, and maybe for seventh-year Defence he'd get a teacher who could stand Parseltongue. So what did it matter, really?

"Directly after last class tomorrow, then?"

Harry nodded, chewing a lip a little bit. "Does my new crest bother you, Professor? You've never said."

"I'm afraid I'll always think of you as a Gryffindor," McGonagall briskly returned. "Be that as it may, I do understand the situation, Harry. You've two houses now and you must endeavour to belong to both. As you are. Severus must be very proud of you."

"I hope so."

McGonagall reached across her desk and lightly clasped his hand. "Oh, he is. I'm sure you know that, Harry."

"Well . . . sometimes he is, I know. Except for when I muck things up, he really gets angry. At least he's not so vicious about it as he used to be." Harry nodded, thinking of how his father had said that he'd finally forgiven James Potter.

"It's a good deal for him to balance, being a father. Let alone to you and Mr Malfoy both."

"Oh, we get on pretty well these days."

"Wonders truly never do cease, then," said McGonagall dryly as she let his hand go. "I'll stop by Professor Aran's class tomorrow."

"Thanks," said Harry, hefting his school bag onto his shoulder as he turned to join Ron and Hermione, who were waiting by the door.

 

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Aran's class the next day consisted of a lengthy written exam about ways to deal with Dark Creatures. Considering they'd covered that topic for an entire year with Remus, they really didn't need to study it again. Besides, just how often did one run across kappas and wild vampires? Harry was pretty frustrated as he wrote out answer after answer. Such a total waste of his time, when they could all be learning real Defence, could be learning things they'd really need to know to survive the coming war.

Even the practical component to this test was a joke. Aran was calling up students one at a time to his desk so they could prove they knew various defensive spells one might use against various dark creatures. Unlike with Remus, though, Aran wasn't actually making them force any real creatures back. They had to pretend.

And it was review besides.

"Riddikulus," Harry heard Ron say in a bored-out-of-his-skull voice. Harry could hardly blame him.

"Well done, Mr Weasley," said Aran, beaming a bright smile.

Ron didn't reply. Harry guessed that was because anything he might say would most likely lose Gryffindor some points.

Harry gave him a thumbs-up sign, then went back to writing out the bloody obvious on his test.

When it was Nott's turn to do the practical, he went a little bit out of his way, walking past Harry's desk when he didn't have to. "Watch this," he said out of the corner of his mouth as he passed by.

"What's he want now?" mouthed Ron beside him.

Harry raised his eyebrows and shrugged, gesturing that they might as well watch as the other boy had said.

At first, everything about Nott's demonstration was ordinary, though Harry couldn't help but notice that all the Slytherins were casting him interested glances every few seconds. Apparently he'd told them to watch him, too.

"And now the charm to ward off a boggart, Mr Nott," said Aran.

Nott cleared his throat and brandished his wand. "Yerridiculous," he said, flinging his arm out so his wand would point directly at the teacher. "Yerridiculous. Yerridiculous!"

"Once is sufficient, thank you," said Aran, giving no hint that he'd noticed the extra syllable, let alone the way Nott had clearly said ridiculous instead of the slightly odd pronunciation the charm really required.

"But I'm pretending there are multiple boggarts," Nott explained in an innocent-sounding voice. "Oh, there's another one now. Yerridiculous!"

The Slytherins burst out laughing, and even the Gryffindors were having a hard time not joining in.

"Can I have extra credit for banishing more than one boggart, sir?" asked Nott, his voice that time the epitome of politeness.

"No, but you'll get full marks for a job well done," said Aran, his own voice robust.

At that, the Gryffindors burst out laughing as well.

Nott somehow executed a little bow, but without it looking like one. Aran certainly didn't appear to notice. When the Slytherin boy walked back toward his desk, he again took a slight detour that brought him alongside Harry's.

"Brilliant!" said Harry under his breath.

Nott paused for an instant. "Thanks. Meet me outside afterwards? There's something I want to ask you."

Harry gave a tiny shake of his head. "I have to stay late. You know, the Parseltongue thing. Separate practical."

"I'll catch you later."

The minute Nott was out of earshot, Ron leaned over. "What could he want to ask you?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea."

"Shhh!" chided Hermione, her eyes flashing.

"Oh, you shhhh if it's so important," said Ron carelessly.

Hermione wrinkled her nose as though there were something a trifle fetid in the air, then went back to her test, her stiff posture announcing her irritation.

"What's with you two?" asked Harry in some frustration, though he kept his voice to an undertone. "This is getting ridiculous--"

"Ridiculous?" asked Aran from just a few feet away. Any other teacher would have been in a huff that he'd been talking during the test, but not Aran. Harry soon realised why. The teacher was excited at the thought that Harry might be coming around to his point of view. "Would you like to try your practical now, Mr Potter? Using normal language, that is?"

"No thank you sir," answered Harry with an excess of courtesy. He hoped his voice was dripping with it. Aran was probably too dense to notice anything, but the students at least would get his point. "I can't spell using normal language, sir. No, my magic at the present time is thoroughly abnormal."

Aran inclined his head. "Yes, well it's unfortunate. Perhaps you'll get it sorted yet."

"Yeah," said Harry, something twisting deep inside him. Anger, maybe. It wanted to come out. "Be nice to be average. What's it like for you?"

All around Harry, students drew in sharp breaths.

"We can't all be Tri-Wizard champions," Aran retorted.

"Or decent teachers."

"If you're ever a teacher yourself you'll have some understanding of the pressures I'm under--"

"Right, because I know nothing about being under pressure," spat Harry, surging to his feet. He felt like an active volcano, long-suppressed rage just pouring out his ears. "It's not like I've spent years being targeted by Voldemort, or anything! And did I mention I'm not a fucking Tri-Wizard champion? That it was all just a plot to get me out of Hogwarts and into his clutches? And that Cedric Diggory died as a result? I hated that stupid tournament all the way through and I hate people thinking I feel otherwise!"

"How dare you talk to me that way!" thundered Aran, finally raising his voice. "Sixty points from--"

"You mean thirty from Gryffindor and thirty from Slytherin, don't you?" interrupted Harry, his own voice arctic. "Well, why don't you just go ahead? Severus will be furious with me and I'll just have to tell him what I've been putting up with from you! Yeah, you want to have a conversation with him about how thoroughly nasty and filthy and abnormal my spell-casting is these days?"

Aran abruptly shut his mouth.

"Way to go, Harry!" whispered Ron from beside him.

The comment helped Harry climb back out of his abrupt plummet into rage. He was breathing hard, his face no doubt red with it, but at least now it seemed he could think of something apart from anger. "I'll just finish my test now," he said in a calmer voice as he sat down, ignoring the expressions of shock on his classmates' faces.

"You'll do more than that, Potter. You'll have a detention, straight away after class."

Harry had to stay after anyway to do his practical, so he just nodded. It seemed like Aran was unwilling to brave Snape's wrath over points, but he was willing to do it over a detention. Assuming Harry told his father he'd got one, that is.

That made sense though, in a way. Deep down somewhere, Aran probably knew that his decision to forbid Parseltongue was indefensible. But he could easily defend assigning Harry a detention. All Aran would have to do was tell Snape that Harry had said the word fucking in class.

Harry really didn't want to know what his father would have to say about that.

By the time class was over, Harry was starting to feel like it was second year all over again, people were staring at him so much. He guessed they hadn't expected to see him stand up to Aran.

Nott, he noticed, was giving him speculative glances right until the end of class.

McGonagall showed up just as the last few students were filing out into the hallway.

"Ah, good," said Aran with forced joviality. "Well, I'll retire to my office until you've finished. And then you'll scrub desks, Potter. He has a detention," he added to McGonagall as an aside.

McGonagall spoke briskly. "Isn't this a bit silly, Professor Aran, Potter having to fetch another teacher merely so he might take a test? Can Parseltongue be that great an issue?"

"It's associated with dark wizards. Salazar Slytherin. You-Know-Who himself!"

"As chaining spells are associated with slavery. That doesn't mean there's never any use for one."

"Yes, well . . ." Aran swallowed. He didn't like defying the Deputy Headmistress; Harry could tell. Parseltongue though, was clearly so unacceptable in his view that he was willing to stand his ground. "I must run my classes as I see fit, and I won't have other students exposed to such unnaturalness!"

"You realise this will reflect badly on you when it comes to end-of-term evaluations. I'll have to make a notation that you refused to make accommodations for a student in severe need of them."

"I've made accommodations!" sputtered Aran. "I'm letting him take an individualised test in view of his . . . circumstances."

"You've ostracised him," corrected McGonagall, her glare almost as pointed as her hat. "You've demonstrated by example that intolerance is a virtue to be cherished. And you've abrogated your teaching responsibilities to another faculty member by refusing to so much as mark his practical. Does that strike you as the sort of behaviour likely to win you an re-appointment to your post?"

Aran stepped back slightly. "Well. You're misreading the situation, I'm afraid. I'm protecting the rest of the students, which is entirely appropriate. Frankly, I'm shocked that the other staff don't see things the same way!"

"Instead of looking at Parselmouths as a class, we're looking at Harry as an individual," said McGonagall. "As should you. But if you won't reconsider--"

"I certainly won't!"

"Then I will proceed to assess his skills as requested. Have you a copy of the objectives to be tested?"

Aran wordlessly handed her a parchment sheet, then made as though to climb the stairs to his office.

"Where are you going, Professor?" called the Deputy Headmistress in a strident voice.

"I'm certainly not staying here to listen to that nasty language--"

"It's not nasty, you old coot!" Harry said, bristling. "And furthermore--"

"That will be quite enough, Potter," said McGonagall. "Ten points from Gryffindor for disrespect."

Uh-oh. That meant five from Slytherin. And McGonagall, unlike Aran, probably couldn't be talked around. Harry gulped, wondering if five points would be enough for his father to notice.

Knowing Snape . . . yeah, they probably would.

Aran was moving up the staircase to his office by then, but McGonagall's voice forestalled him. "Your decisions about class time are, I regret to say, your own to make. Though I think I have made my disapproval clear enough. You are fostering an atmosphere of prejudice at a time when the wizarding world needs to unite against such things. Be that as it may, Professor Aran, there are no impressionable young students here at the moment, save the Parselmouth himself. You should stay and observe his testing, don't you think?"

"Actually, I--"

"I insist."

Harry knew that frosty tone of hers. It took a brave man indeed to defy it, and Aran was anything but. "Very well," he said, though his own tone was resentment itself.

McGonagall's brow furrowed as she finally perused the list of test objectives she held in her hand. "These are all third-year exercises."

"Review."

Yeah, we've been reviewing all year, Harry wanted to say. We've all got top marks in "Review," but we're here to learn Defence!

He didn't want to lose any more points though, so he held his tongue.

McGonagall still didn't look pleased, though she said no more of the matter. "Let's begin with the charm you would use to encourage a vampire to pass you by, Mr Potter."

Harry brandished his wand. Of course, given that he'd never had a vampire to practice on, he wasn't entirely sure he'd figured out the right translation. Everyone else in the class could be somewhat certain that "Expers cruentus" would probably work. Harry just had to guess, since Sals hadn't understood what a vampire was.

"Don't be so sodding bloodthirsty!" he hissed, looking at his ring as he pretended to level his wand on an imaginary vampire.

McGonagall looked blankly at him. "For all I know you just recited the last round of Quidditch scores, Potter."

"I did the charm," said Harry, feeling a little defensive by then. "Expers cruentus. I do know it, Professor."

"Another reason I'd prefer he cast his spells in the usual way," announced Aran with a slight sneer in his voice. "How am I to know what he's saying?"

"From the results, of course," said McGonagall impatiently as she studied the list in her hand. "Hmm. Well, this will be better. Let's have you ward away a boggart, and then we'll be able to tell how effective your Parseltongue charms prove. Professor Aran, where is your boggart?"

"We've just been pretending on that one as well," Harry put in, trying his best not to scowl. He didn't think he did so well, all things considered.

McGonagall's eyebrows rose up like a Seeker spotting the snitch above. "Oh really, Professor Aran! A vampire is one thing. I can understand your reticence there, especially considering the young ladies . . . but really, you should be more than capable of allowing students to have a real boggart to practise with. Especially considering how very simple they are to catch."

Aran glared.

At Harry.

Like it was his fault the man was such a terrible teacher!

"Have you one?" pressed McGonagall. When Aran shook his head, she gave a lengthy sigh. "All right then, I'll go find one. One moment, please."

Harry tried not to look at Aran as the other teacher left, but after a moment he couldn't keep it up. Bet you wish you'd have let me speak Parseltongue now, don't you? he wanted to say. Because now McGonagall's just seen a perfect example of how worthless and useless you are, hasn't she?

"Um, how does one find a boggart, anyway?" he ventured instead.

In reply, Aran gave him a glare very nearly as venomous as Snape's tended to be. Pretty impressive, actually.

Harry never did find out how McGonagall had managed, but sure enough, inside of five minutes she returned carrying a rather stout wooden box. "Transfigured," she briefly explained.

Harry figured she meant the box and not the boggart.

"Ready, Potter?"

"Sure, anytime," Harry answered, confident. Parseltongue didn't have a word for ridiculous, exactly, but he and Sals had worked this one out and he wasn't worried about it, even if he'd never yet had a chance to try it out for real.

She opened the latches on the box. As the boggart swam into view, it assumed the form of Lucius Malfoy, right down to the evil twist of his lips.

Right down to the large, thick needles he was clutching in both hands.

But no . . . Lucius was losing his malevolence, losing his long silver-blond hair. It was darkening along with his eyes, though his skin remained every bit as pale. Snape's features emerged, just as harsh as Malfoy's in their own way, though they weren't hate-filled.

No, Snape's expression was one of unbearable pain, his eyes clouded with it, his hands clenching with the effort it took not to scream his agony. An ominous thud echoed through the room and Snape fell straight down to the ground, his breathing laboured and uneven.

"Harry," he gasped. "There's nothing you can do. I wasn't quick enough--"

A bloodstain began spreading over Snape's robes. A horrible red gush of blood that suddenly covered his chest, flowing so fast and fierce it dripped down to stain the floor.

Snape gave a bitter laugh. "No great wonder he'd cast a curse like this at me. I do believe he hates me worse than even you, after Samhain." And then, in tones more urgent, "But you killed him, Harry, once and for all. Don't forget that. Don't ever forget that. This is a great victory for the wizarding world. Don't blame yourself that you couldn't do everything for everyone--"

"No!" shouted Harry, forgetting that none of this was real, that it was only a boggart. "Madam Pomfrey will come. I won't let you die, I won't--"

"Harry."

The boy didn't look up. He had eyes only for his father, who was going grey by then, who was lying in an ever-widening pool of blood. He felt shattered inside, like the world had come to an end. Because it had. Snape was dying, and it was his fault. He was the one who hadn't been fast enough, else he could have defeated Voldemort and managed to protect his father.

Instead, he'd got him killed.

It was Sirius all over again, Harry thought, beginning to tremble from head to toe. A deep wail began gathering in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to release it, to scream demands to the heavens--

"Harry!" said McGonagall, shaking his shoulder until he looked up at her. Her voice sounded unsteady, though her words were comfort itself. "This isn't real, Harry. You're taking a test, remember? You're facing a boggart."

Harry blinked, realising that she was right. Strange how that felt. He knew all at once that this wasn't real, but the emotions he'd just been swimming through were still there, still inside him, filling him with such pain that it was all he could do not to release the scream building inside him.

If Snape died in the final battle, Harry didn't think he'd be able to bear it.

For one instant he even wished he'd never been adopted, never let himself get close to someone again. Because he always lost people, didn't he . . .

"A boggart," McGonagall repeated. "Now, compose yourself Potter, and we'll try again."

A few skillful flicks of her wand and the boggart was tucked away once more in the box.

Harry shook his head, dragging his thoughts away from what really mattered and onto Aran's stupid test. "I don't know what I could do to make that amusing, Professor. Really, I don't."

"It was a dreadful spectacle," commiserated McGonagall. "That's the boggart's greatest power, the fact that it latches onto what we fear most. Think a moment. Let me know when you're ready."

"In a real situation he wouldn't have time to prepare," said Aran in a sneering voice.

"Considering your other students did not even have to confront an actual boggart," returned McGonagall coldly, "you are hardly one to lecture me on realistic testing conditions!"

"I'm ready anyway," announced Harry. There was no possible way to make Snape's death humourous, of course, but it had just occurred to him that Remus hadn't made the actual moon all that hilarious three years earlier. He'd changed it into something else completely, something that really had nothing to do with the moon.

McGonagall unlatched the wooden box again.

The boggart became Snape at once this time. Harry figured that must mean his fears had been somehow made clearer inside his own mind. It wasn't Lucius and his needles that were his worst fear, nor Dementors, nor Voldemort himself. It was what he had told Draco.

Harry fixed a picture firmly in his mind, imagining it just the way he'd seen it all those years ago, and pointed his wand. "Silly-stupid be gone!" he hissed in Parseltongue, getting the charm out before Snape could begin to die right there in front of his eyes.

A whirling of motion and colour, and suddenly the boggart was dressed just like Neville's grandmother, right down to the hat with the vulture perched on top.

Aran began to guffaw, his laughter so enthusiastic that he was almost snorting.

McGonagall gave Harry a rather weary look. "Well done warding off the boggart, but as for this . . ." She gestured towards the spectacle Harry had created, "The joke's a bit stale by now, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged. "All I could think of."

"Yes, well . . . I wouldn't recommend you mention as much to Severus."

McGonagall made short work of forcing the boggart back into the box.

"Well done, Potter. Though as it took two tries I suppose I should mark you off."

"Poor," pronounced Aran. "If not Dreadful."

"Well as you're not the one marking him, your opinion carries no weight," said McGonagall without looking at the other teacher. She kept her gaze focussed on Harry. "Acceptable. Next time don't let yourself become disoriented by the image the boggart draws from your mind. You must keep in mind what is real and what is not." She glanced at Aran, then. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Professor, I'd like to speak with Potter alone."

"He still has a detention to serve--"

"As you've placed upon him the burden of staying after class to take his tests separately, I consider that quite detention enough."

Aran had enough good sense not to argue the point, though he did frown when McGonagall thrust the boggart box his way and said that now his students could have one to practise on.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for Harry in the hallway. So was Nott. He and Ron both looked furious about something. Hermione just looked exasperated.

"You can meet Mr Potter at my office in a few moments," announced McGonagall without breaking her stride. Harry hurried along next to her.

"Am I in trouble, ma'am?" he asked as they approached her office. "You already took points over what I said."

She ushered him into her office and closed the door before answering. "That's over and done with, though I would hope you'd improve your attitude with Professor Aran. I realise his class policies are very vexing, but you still do need to be respectful."

"Yes, Professor," Harry answered, though he didn't agree. Respect could go hang; Aran certainly didn't deserve any.

McGonagall saw right through him. "It's actually not terribly Slytherin to annoy him when it can't gain you anything."

"But there's nothing wrong with Parseltongue!"

"No, there's not." McGonagall sank into a chair. "And that's not why you're here. I wanted to discuss your boggart, actually. Do be seated, Harry."

Harry did, a little wary since he didn't know what needed discussing. So he was worried about Severus dying. So he was worried he'd be responsible if it ever came to that. So he loved his father. So what? It just made him normal, didn't it?

"You're evidently quite concerned that Severus might not survive the war."

Harry felt like saying Really? How can you tell? but thought that McGonagall really didn't deserve to be treated like that. "Yeah, I guess I am. I don't think about it very much but . . . yeah."

"It's good to see that you've formed a strong bond there," said his teacher. "I must admit, Harry, I've had my doubts all along about your adoption. I suppose I didn't think you and Severus could get along well enough to . . . but enough of that. I was obviously in error."

"Is that why you didn't want me moving down to the dungeons in the first place?" blurted Harry. He'd always felt a little hurt by her attitude.

"Considering the level of animosity that had existed between you and Severus . . . well, frankly, I was unable to imagine that you weren't going to end up hexed into a puddle. Not to mention that Mr Malfoy was already living there."

"Yeah, I thought Draco might kill me at first," said Harry. The memory was almost a fond one now, it seemed so ludicrous. "He kept trying to get me to trust him and I just couldn't. Well, wouldn't. But things are all right now. I like having a brother."

"About Severus dying, though," McGonagall said, smoothing directing the conversation. "Have you discussed your concerns with him?"

"Um . . . no, not really."

"I think you should. At the very least, ask him whom he has appointed to be your guardian in the event of his death."

Harry blinked. "I don't think he's appointed anyone."

"That's very unlikely. Wizard Family Services would have demanded he make arrangements."

Harry cleared his throat. "Um, another guardian won't make a difference if I lose my father. It's not like anyone could replace him . . ." A sick feeling twisted in his gut as events of a year ago rose up to haunt him. He'd thought that nobody could ever replace Sirius, either. And before that, hadn't Sirius sort of replaced his parents? Helped fill the aching chasm inside him, the one that said he was just a child and he wanted somebody to really care about him? Even if he was nearly grown, now?

McGonagall's expression softened. "But you're obviously concerned about losing Severus, Harry. You ought to broach the matter with him."

Harry's lip started hurting; it took him a minute to realise he was chewing on it. "You think I should tell him about the boggart?"

"I think you ought to let him know, one way or another, how events are affecting you. I imagine that asking him about his contingency plans would be more comfortable than discussing what you just witnessed that boggart doing."

That made sense, so Harry nodded. Then another thought occurred to him. "Do you know that because it's you he's appointed to be my guardian if . . . um, anything happens?"

"He's never discussed the matter with me."

"Then is it Dumbledore?"

"Professor Dumbledore, Harry. And as for who it is, I suggest once more that you ask Severus . . . that you ask your father. I honestly have no idea whom he would have selected."

"All right." Harry waited a moment, but when she said nothing further, added, "Am I dismissed?"

"Yes, certainly."

Harry stood up, then hesitated. "Those ten points, Professor. I don't suppose you'd reconsider? I really am putting up with an awful lot of sh-- um, shoddiness, from Professor Aran."

"I realise that now. Very clearly, yes," announced McGonagall in what Harry thought of as her professional voice. "But you must nonetheless maintain a respectful demeanour, Potter. I will not reconsider the points."

"But half of them will come from Slytherin and Severus warned me I'd better not lose Slytherin any points."

"A pity you weren't as anxious to avoid losing Gryffindor points throughout the past five years."

"Please, ma'am--"

"No, Potter. The points stand. Though I do have a question. If Professor Aran does not require his students to ward away any actual Dark Creatures, then why didn't you simply cast the spells using the standard incantations for your practical? He wouldn't have known they were ineffective, not without an actual boggart or such to demonstrate as much."

"Um, principle I guess," said Harry. "I didn't want to let him think he'd won."

McGonagall's voice was as dry as Snape's often got. "Not very Slytherin, if I may say so, Potter."

Harry bristled slightly. "You want me to give in to his prejudice and pretend I'm something I'm not?"

"No, but you might consider choosing your battles."

"Yes, ma'am." Harry sighed, and let himself out.

Ron and Nott were out there waiting, still glaring at each other. Hermione had evidently tired of their argument; she was standing at the end of the hall.

"You just had the steal the show in Defence, didn't you?" asked Nott. He seemed pretty good-natured about it, though. "Nobody's going to be talking about the way I turned the test around on Aran, not after the things you said to him. And you even kept him from taking points from Slytherin. Now that was bloody brilliant."

"I'm just tired of his shite." Harry glanced at Ron. "Why are you two fighting?"

"He has something to ask you."

"Yeah, he said that in class." Turning back to Nott, Harry gestured for him to get on with it.

"There's a Hogsmeade Saturday coming up," said Nott. "And your little Gryffindor friend is jealous, I suppose. Because I mentioned to him that you're being invited to go with Slytherin this time."

"Go with Slytherin," Harry repeated doubtfully.

"Yeah. You remember when Snape introduced you officially, he said he expected us to include you in study groups and the like? Well, it's taken me a while to talk some of the others 'round, but Blaise and Daphne agreed to . . . er . . ."

"Be seen with me?"

Nott flushed slightly. "Something like that."

"I told him you already had plans, Harry," Ron said, his voice fierce. "Said you wouldn't dream of breaking your word."

What word, Harry almost said, but then he figured out what Ron must mean. He'd promised Severus to go nowhere without his bodyguard, so to speak. And that wasn't just so that Ron and Hermione could look out for him if he had a problem with his magic. It was also to bolster the impression that he was vulnerable and needed protection.

It was to preserve the tactical advantage of surprise.

For all that though, Harry was tempted. He needed to get closer to Nott if he was going to figure out the mystery surrounding the Slytherin plague . . . which in turn could reveal the details of Pansy Parkinson's death. Harry wanted more than anything to get Draco's name cleared so that the other boy could get reinstated into Hogwarts.

And, if he was honest with himself, he could also use a break from Ron and Hermione's constant squabbling.

Not to mention how proud Snape would be if Harry could find a way to get himself more accepted by Slytherin.

This wasn't the way though, and he knew it.

"Yeah, I already have plans," Harry said. "I promised Ron and Hermione I'd go with them."

"You always go with them," wheedled Nott. "Come on, Potter. We want you to tell us what to do to knock our Reserve Seeker into shape--"

"Like he would!" yelled Ron.

"He's a Slytherin too, or are you too stubborn to really believe that?"

"Look, I hardly believe it sometimes," Harry said to shut Nott up. "Thanks for the invitation, but maybe some other time. And as for your Seeker, have him practice dives and turns. Seeing the Snitch is only half the battle; you have to be able to catch up with it as well."

Ron scowled.

Nott didn't look satisfied, either. "There's some other stuff I wanted to talk to you about--"

"Then you come with the three of us," suggested Harry.

Nott immediately backtracked. "Uh, no, that's all right. Well, maybe I'll see you in the village, then."

"Maybe." Harry shrugged. "I still have to ask if I can go, actually. Severus might refuse."

"But you missed the last Hogsmeade Saturday, too!" Ron complained.

"I said might. I'll see what I can do."

Nott gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Snape's really strict with you, I guess. Strange, I thought you'd be able to get away with more."

Snape hardly needed defending from his own students, but Harry felt fiercely protective all at once. "He's a good dad."

"Well, let me know if you can go and you change your mind about going with us," said Nott before he turned and walked away.

"Whew." Ron blew out a breath as though relieved. "I was afraid you'd say yes to him, and then Hermione and I would have an awful time trying to watch out for you."

"Give me a break. Nott? I told you I wasn't about to become his friend. I don't trust him. Not one bit."

"Yeah, but you want so much to be a real part of Slytherin. You think I didn't know?"

"Severus would really like it. Draco too, I think. Well, once he gets over being so angry with them. And vice-versa. They don't like him much any longer."

"Tell him some fat bribes'll solve all that," Ron sneered.

"Oh, but--"

Harry abruptly broke off what he'd been going to say. He'd felt all right telling Ron that Draco was rich after all, but revealing the opposite would absolutely mortify his brother, he knew.

"But what?"

He was saved from answering by Hermione. "You'd better go, Harry, before your father comes looking for you."

Harry couldn't help but stare. "How do you know about the points McGonagall took?"

"Points?" Hermione shrugged that question off. "Snape's expecting you, isn't he? Every Tuesday and Thursday?"

"And most weekends besides," put in Ron with just a touch of resentment.

"Some people actually value their families, Ronald."

"Oh, shut up Hermione!" shouted Ron. "I'm one of those people, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"Well no, I hadn't, what with the way you complain all the time!"

"Jeez, you two are going to make me wish I'd told Nott I'd go around with the Slytherins!"

Ron and Hermione both abruptly stopped talking.

 

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Harry had fallen into the pattern of eating dinner with his family every Tuesday and Thursday night, as Hermione had obviously noticed. That way, he got to see his brother before and after each therapy session. He hadn't been able to figure out yet if the doctor was helping Draco or not, but figured it would probably take a while to really be sure.

He'd been in two minds about visiting on this particular evening, as the subject of points was more or less guaranteed to come up, but on the other hand, he hadn't been in the mood to listen to Ron and Hermione any longer, either. He wished the two of them would just get over it. Hermione wasn't falling for Draco any more than she would fall for a Blast-Ended Skrewt, so there was no reason for Ron to be so jealous. Not that it was all Ron's fault. Hermione ought to tell him she wasn't interested in Draco!

Either that, or the two of them should just agree that they'd be mates again, and forget the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing.

Dinner at home went well at first. It was sort of like old times, in a way. Draco was caught up with his lessons and staying that way. When Snape began to quiz them both about this or that concept or spell that they were learning, it turned into a bit of a friendly competition, each of the boys trying to out-do the other. It turned out that Draco was getting to use the borrowed wand quite a bit, for all that Snape still insisted he be supervised.

Draco made a couple of caustic comments about that, but by and large he seemed to be in good spirits.

They played Wizard's Scrabble after dinner, Harry and Draco teaming against Snape, much good it did them. Their father's vocabulary was simply too extensive. They all had great fun though; that was what counted.

After the game, Snape poured them each a small measure of Galliano and sat sipping it as he watched Harry and Draco chatting. He wasn't really relaxed, though; Harry realised that when his father abruptly asked the question Harry had been dreading all night.

"Five points from Slytherin, Harry?"

Harry put down his empty liqueur glass and met his father's eyes. "Yes. Sorry. But you know, you don't have that much to complain about. Five points is nothing. Do you know how many points you've made me lose Gryffindor over the years? If we added them all up, it'd be about--"

"I'm not interested in recounting our rather colourful past," Snape interrupted. "I'd like to know who took points and why."

"Oh, just Professor McGonagall," said Harry, quickly deciding he didn't need to mention Aran at all. "Because I was rude. It's over and done with and it won't happen again, sir."

"Sir?"

"Well you have me in school mode now, don't you?" Harry took a breath. "Anyway though, when McGonagall was talking to me, she mentioned something . . . um, she said to ask you about it. She said you'd have it all arranged and I should just ask so I would know."

"Perhaps if you would ask, I would also know," said Snape in a dry voice.

"All right." Harry took a deep breath, thinking this should be easier than it was. He almost wished he'd never started in on it, even though it had been a handy way to get the conversation well away from questions about just what he'd said that had been so rude. "Er . . . when you adopted me . . . oh, Draco as well, of course . . . who did you arrange to take us in if you were to die?"

Snape stared at him. "I am not going to die, Harry. Put that thought out of your head."

"You can't promise that." Harry heard his own voice, heard the shakiness in it, and hated it. Inside his mind he saw that boggart again, saw Snape's life blood pouring out of him . . . "You think Sirius planned to leave me? And you're in more danger than he ever was, what with that mark still on your arm and Voldemort wanting more than anything to get even for what you did for me on Samhain."

Snape looked frustrated. He started to say something but cut himself off after only a syllable, then began again. "The provision is a contingency only, Harry. Molly and Arthur Weasley were quite pleased when I asked them to bring you into their family in the event of my death."

"Oh, the Weasleys." Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. "That's perfect, that is. They're even Order members. And I'd be brothers with Ron, too!"

The Potions Master's lips twitched. "Disappointed I'm still here?"

Harry laughed, though behind the wry question he thought he heard a little bit of real concern. "Of course not, Dad. I just meant, that's about the best you could do, I think."

"What have you arranged for me?"

Snape's face lost all expression save one as he glanced at his other son. He was bracing himself. For what, Harry couldn't imagine, until the man spoke. "The Weasleys will take you in as well."

Draco's teeth glinted as his expression split into a wide smile. "Oh, sure. Be serious, Severus--"

"I assure you, I'm quite in earnest. Would you like to see the papers yourself?"

"Yes, I bloody well would!" Draco jumped to his feet. "The Weasleys! The Weasleys! What were you thinking?"

Snape stood up as well. "Accio Draco Snape's adoption papers," he said, flicking his wand. He kept speaking as doors opened and a tightly rolled scroll came sailing towards him. "It really was the best option. At the time I filled these out, I'd already settled the matter for Harry, and I was hardly about to separate you from your brother in the event of my death."

Draco gave a sharp nod as though that made sense. "Yeah, I'd want to stay as close as possible to Harry. Not that he probably needs protection considering his dark powers, but one never knows when another pair of eyes will make the difference." Taking the papers from his father, he quickly read through them. "But still, the Weasleys? Thank Merlin I'll be seventeen come August and be of age to decide things for myself!"

"You should have heard them when I asked."

The comment brought Harry up short. "They aren't so willing to take Draco in?"

"They are," Snape corrected. "It was not, however, a suggestion they had been expecting. It took them a good ten minutes to consider all the ramifications of the idea. But in the end they agreed."

"So you pick my new family on the basis of what's good for Harry?"

"I happen to think the Weasleys would be good for you as well," retorted Snape as he held a hand out for the papers. "They have experience dealing with difficult children."

Draco raised his chin a notch. "Ta, Severus!"

"Furthermore," Snape went on without pause, "you could hardly find a household more tolerant of Muggles. Arthur is positively enraptured by them. You would learn a great deal from the Weasleys."

"Well, my priorities have certainly changed," Draco loftily announced as he gave his father the papers.

Harry furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, you're more tolerant of Muggles now?"

"Please," drawled the other boy, wrinkling his nose.

"Well, I thought maybe talking with Marsha had . . . well, what priorities have changed, then?"

"Protecting you used to be number one. Now it'll have to be keeping Severus alive. Because I'm not going to end up brothers with Ronald Weasley. One Gryffindor in the family is enough."

"Ron's not so bad," said Harry. A moment later he was laughing. "Oh, God. That's exactly what I told him, months ago. Draco's not so bad. If it's any consolation, he didn't like hearing it any more than you seem to."

"Enlivening as speculations of my death are," put in Snape, "I do believe it's time Harry returned to his dormitory. Unless you plan to sleep over, in which case I'll walk you up before first class so you may retrieve your Charms text."

"I'll be here over the weekend," said Harry. "So I'd better get back to Gryffindor tonight. Or my friends will think I've deserted them. You know. Oh, that reminds me though. A week from Saturday there's another Hogsmeade trip scheduled--"

"Really? Heads of House are never informed of such things, you realise."

Harry almost called his father a prat, but decided it wouldn't help his case. "Right, so you know. But um . . . I was hoping I could have permission to go this time."

"What a thing to ask when you've just lost Slytherin points!" said Draco, his voice outraged. His eyes were twinkling, though, so Harry figured his brother was just being his usual obnoxious self.

"Apt observation." Snape assessed Harry critically. "Still, you've been doing tolerably well in classes, and I'm particularly gratified by the effort I see you making to integrate yourself into Slytherin. So yes, barring unforeseen disaster, I will sign your permission form."

Barring unforeseen disaster? "How about signing it now?"

"Do you really think I can't rescind it once given, Harry?"

"Yeah, well . . ." Harry shrugged. "Worth a try, I thought."

"I want to go, too!"

Snape's answer was about as succinct as could be. "No."

Draco sighed. "Yeah, I know. Better not. Maybe I'll get cleared soon and the governors will see fit to readmit me. They might even let me back into classes. You know, to make it up to me for expelling me for no good reason at all."

"That would not be a remote possibility had your recent extracurricular activities come to light."

"Yes, Severus," said Draco in a long-suffering voice that announced, clear as day, how many times he'd heard similar lectures. "I apologised to the house-elf, remember? What else do you want me to do, promise him my first-born son?"

"Perhaps less sarcasm would be a good start."

Draco made a face. "Perhaps you'd better get Harry back to Gryffindor before curfew. Because, you know, if you let him think he can break some rules he might conclude he can break them all. Not that he hasn't been breaking rules all along, mind--"

"And I was going to ask what you wanted in Hogsmeade," said Harry, laughing. "But now I think I won't."

He wished he hadn't said that when Draco got an awful look on his face. A look that said he thought Harry was deliberately rubbing his poverty in his face.

"I just meant . . . you can't go." It sounded lame even to his own ears.

"Please do excuse me." Draco didn't look at Harry again. He just went into their bedroom and closed the door. A moment later, he and Snape heard the sound of the shower starting up.

"I suggest you use more care what you say to Draco," Snape calmly advised. "It doesn't take much to remind him of recent disappointments."

"Then why do you keep tossing out those barely veiled pointers to the fairy cakes?" challenged Harry. "They have experience dealing with difficult children . . . eh? Didn't you believe he was sincere when he apologised to Dobby? I did."

"I have some experience with just how cagey Slytherins can be, Harry." Snape shrugged. "Perhaps you're right, however, and it's time to lay the matter to rest."

Harry nodded, hoping his father really meant that. "Um, speaking of cagey, though . . . I've been meaning to ask something. What if Walpurgis hadn't been so tricky with his will? Were you going to let Draco have all that money? I thought you were at first, but then, the things you said later, I couldn't be sure."

"I was considering the best way to proceed," said Snape, shrugging. "Just as well the goblins took their time over their investigations. I wasn't eager to alienate my son by denying him the inheritance."

"I sort of wondered . . . I mean, I actually thought you might think it was more Slytherin to take the money."

"Slytherin doesn't mean devoid of morality. I thought you knew that," said Snape, frowning.

"I do. It's just . . . well, it would be one thing if refusing the money would have helped Walpurgis, right? But it wouldn't have, so I thought you'd think it was . . . well, not all right to kill him, but . . ."

"Draco hasn't any moral centre, Harry. That money would have harmed him, knowing as he did how it was obtained. I was putting off a confrontation about it until the goblins settled matters. It was my fervent hope that the vault would be empty, since I was not looking forward to telling my son I would not allow him to have any part of such a bequest."

"But he's seventeen this summer." Harry frowned. "You couldn't have kept his money from him after that. Well, not legally."

"Yes, so Walpurgis' solution ended up being best all around." Snape donned his cloak and after Harry did the same, let them out of his quarters.

"I've been wondering about what Walpurgis did, though," said Harry as they traversed the halls. "He must have suspected Narcissa had an ulterior motive in asking him to change his will. So why did he? He was signing his own death warrant. Knowingly."

"From what I know, he was quite old. Perhaps he was simply ready. Or he may have been ill."

"Yeah, maybe he was," said Harry, though he couldn't quite shake a feeling that there was more to the story than they knew.

Once he had reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry gave his father a quick hug, then said the password that would let him in.

 

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Harry went down as usual for his Potions tutorial on Saturday, only to find that Snape was busy marking fourth-year exams.

"I'm to tutor you," Draco explained. "Severus says your potion-making is adequate when it comes to topical salves like Scaradicate, but you really should get a handle on brewing some of the more advanced healing potions." He gestured toward the counter strewn with ingredients. "Today we're brewing Skele-Gro. Why don't you tell me which three things here would not be needed for that?"

Harry stared at his brother. "Why don't you tell me what's really going on? Severus says . . . It's not like him to not just say things for himself!"

Draco lowered his voice. "This is the first time Severus has let me set foot in his potions lab without him since the evening he confronted me about the Venetimorica. I think this is his way of saying he trusts me again, this much." The Slytherin boy held up his thumb and forefinger almost touching. "Which isn't much, as you're here to make sure I don't do anything creative."

Harry frowned as he leaned on a counter. "Do you want to do anything creative?"

"No. I just want to be let back into school."

"Do you still hate Slytherin every bit as much?" When Draco nodded, Harry bit his lower lip. "Well, suppose you did get back in. Would you want to be re-sorted?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Why, are you wishing I could move into Gryffindor?"

"And listen to you fight with Ron all the time? I don't think so."

"But just think how red his face would get each time I went out of my way to smile at Hermione."

Harry pushed off from the counter. "You aren't attracted to Hermione."

"Ten points to Gryffindor for figuring out the bloody obvious. I told you that my idea of a girlfriend wasn't a walking library." Draco's smile fell, then, and he fixed his gaze on the floor. "Besides, I couldn't insult Pansy's memory like that."

"By dating a Muggleborn, you mean?"

"No. By dating anyone, I mean." Draco's head was still bowed as he glanced up through his fringe. "You wouldn't understand, Harry. One minute I was in that closet with her, and she was kissing me like mad, like she'd been starving for me and couldn't get enough. And the next I was waking up and being told she was gone forever. And we'd just started to work it all out! She was going to defy her parents. I was going ask her to marry me, Harry. And then she was just gone, just like that?"

Harry didn't know what to say, but he knew he had to say something. "I know what you mean. A little, at least. When Cedric died, it was so sudden and unexpected . . . I couldn't believe he was gone, just like that."

"Cedric." Draco shook his head. "It's not the same thing at all. You didn't love Cedric."

Swallowing, Harry whispered, "I loved Sirius, though."

"Look, I'd never claim your life had been free of tragic happenings," Draco said on a sigh, "but it's still not the same, Harry. Pansy wanted to bear my children, all right? And that despite the fact that I'd been disowned not just by my parents but also by practically all of pureblood and Slytherin Britain. And she still wanted me; she told me so. I'm never going to want anybody else."

The conversation was getting a little more intense than Harry had figured on. "Um . . . well . . ."

Draco shook his head. "Yeah, you're pretty much stuck, aren't you? You can't say you're sorry because you're still not sure Pansy really had reformed. You still think it was all some elaborate set-up!"

"I'm sorry you got hurt, though."

"Yeah, well what is life but?" Draco shrugged. "Which brings us back to what you were asking about. If I'd want to be resorted. I can't believe you'd have to ask. I might hate Slytherin but I owe Severus one hell of a lot. He's always been my Head of House and I sure wouldn't trade him for Sprout or Flitwick or Merlin forbid, McGonagall."

"She's all right."

"Then why were you rude enough to her to make her take points?"

"I was just a bit fed up with Aran, actually."

"Ah, Aran. Is it too much to hope you mentioned how useless his class is?"

Harry couldn't help but remember that his father magically recorded everything that happened inside his private laboratory, so he was hardly about to mention that he'd called another teacher names. He had to say something, though. "She knows how useless his class is, I think. Ha, he's so clueless that he didn't even notice when Nott said he was ridiculous, right to his face!" Harry briefly explained the incident.

"Too bad I couldn't have seen that," Draco said, shaking his head. "I feel like I'm missing everything. But there's no hope for it. Let's get started on the lesson, all right? Which three ingredients here are no use at all?"

It only took Harry six tries to pick them out.

 

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"Dad," Harry said later that night just before he went to bed. "Time to put in my Elixir."

Snape looked him up and down. "When was the last time you took off your glasses, Harry?"

"Except for showering and the like?" Harry lifted his shoulders. "Um, don't know. I'm pretty used to them, you know. I don't really think about it much. But I guess I should."

He slid his glasses into his shirt pocket and blinked, getting used to the sensation of having both eyes see instead of one blocked off. "Hmm. Well, one side is definitely blurry, but it's actually a lot better than it used to be."

"You may not be aware of it, but you're squinting with one eye."

Harry chuckled. "That must look a bit weird."

"Quite."

The boy tried to relax his face. "Well, even without squinting I can make out things pretty well."

Snape's voice was suffused with humour. "You're still squinting, Harry. I suggest you keep wearing your glasses until you can manage not to."

"I'm never going to get out of these bloody things."

His father moved closer and cast Lumos, shining the wand light into Harry's left eye and then his right as he compared them. "Give the Elixir two more weeks," he finally suggested. "The scratches on your cornea are barely perceptible now. When they've healed completely you shouldn't need to worry about squinting or headaches."

"So I will get out of these things," said Harry, settling his glasses back on his face.

"I would think so, yes."

Harry felt like he'd just eaten something warm and filling. "Thanks, Dad. I know you don't need to hear it, but I'm really grateful you're so good at potion-making."

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Have you considered what you will do about playing Seeker?"

"Not really." Harry frowned. "This year's practically over so it hardly matters, but you mean next year, I guess. I hate to take it away from Ginny, but on the other hand, I really miss it. Though if I start playing it'll cause hard feelings in Slytherin, I think."

"Consider the matter over the summer."

Harry blinked. "I thought you'd say I'd better not play next year either, as we'll still be wanting to keep everyone thinking my magic's all wonky."

Snape's lips twisted slightly. "Come Harry, I'm sure we can be more honest with one another than that. Didn't you actually think I'd have an ulterior motive for saying that? You think I won't want you helping Gryffindor win."

"Um . . . well . . . you have always seemed just a tad obsessed about Slytherin winning the House Cup."

"Which not-so-coincidentally, hasn't happened once since you've been here," said Snape with a hint of the old sourness in his voice.

Harry laughed. It was so nice that comments like that didn't bother him any longer. "I know it matters to you, Dad. I wish I knew what you wanted me to do about it."

"I thought I was perfectly clear. Allow Miss Weasley to finish the season, and consider the matter over the summer."

Harry sighed in exasperation. "That's not exactly helpful advice, Dad."

"Do you want me to treat you as though you're six instead of sixteen?"

"Well, no--"

"I don't think you'll be satisfied with any solution I impose on you. But you're quite a capable young man; I've no doubt you'll work it out." Snape shrugged as though to dismiss the conversation. "Your Skele-Gro today, Harry. Draco pronounced it adequate but my standards are higher than his. You'll need to brew it again. Try crushing your pomegranate seeds more finely and for Merlin's sake, stop breathing over the cauldron."

"I knew it!" Harry made a face. "You watched us brew. And Draco thought you were starting to trust him!"

"Draco's no more likely than you to forget that I can in fact observe anything that transpires in my laboratory." Snape paused. "Offended?"

"No, not exactly. Just . . . I don't like the feeling I don't have any real privacy here." Wondering about that, Harry decided to see if he could find out if the spells on the lab recorded sound as well as image. "I mean, what if Draco and I want to talk about girls?"

Snape's expression remained absolutely deadpan, so much so that Harry couldn't tell if his father had overheard Draco going on about Pansy. The Slytherin. "The spells are on the laboratory only, Harry. And since I do not recommend you conduct distracting conversations while brewing sensitive potions, perhaps you could talk about girls in the privacy of your bedroom."

"Yeah, yeah--"

"Harry, listen to me. I don't use monitoring spells without good cause."

Harry thought of Devon, then. Draco might have done something drastic . . . actually, with the Venetimorica he had done something drastic. "Is there one on our bedroom?"

"Of course not."

Harry sighed. "All right."

"You believe me?"

"Yes."

Snape's dark eyes twinkled. "I must cure you of this lamentable tendency toward trust. Very Gryffindor, that."

"Very funny, Dad."

"I thought so."

Harry laughed, then. "Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Harry."

 

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Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry thought a few days later, might as well be renamed Offence Against Harry Potter. If Aran had been difficult to tolerate before, now he was positively obnoxious. After that altercation with McGonagall, he clearly knew his days at Hogwarts were numbered. And whom did he blame?

Harry.

No longer was Aaron Aran content merely to forbid Parseltongue in his class. Now he made incessant comments about its unnaturalness and how those who spoke it could never quite be trusted. Now he invariably marked Harry's work as Acceptable or Exceeds Expectations when it was clearly Outstanding!

Even worse, now Harry couldn't get through a class session without earning a detention on one pretext or another. For Aran had noticed, of course, that while Harry had threatened to tell his father about any loss of points, he hadn't said the same of detentions. Harry thought about playing that card, but decided he'd really better not overplay it. He didn't think Aran would cave in. More likely, he'd tell Severus what Harry had said the week before.

Oh well. Summer'll be here before I know it, Harry started telling himself when Aran was being particularly unbearable. And it wasn't as though he was any stranger to detentions. Snape had certainly given him enough over the years.

For all that, though, Harry was having a hard time not telling Aran that his job would have been lost to the curse, Harry or no Harry.

"You might as well be rude to him again," said Ron on Thursday after class. "Since he's going to punish you anyway. And it's not like he's going to take points."

Harry had already thought of that. And Aran definitely didn't deserve any respect . . . but what McGonagall had said had got him thinking. It was more Slytherin to keep his options open. Even with someone like Aran.

"Stop giving him horrid advice, Ronald," said Hermione before Harry could answer. She added in a louder voice, "Ronald and I will just sit here and study while Harry cleans the tables, Professor."

Aran didn't seem to care about that plan one way or another. But Ron did.

"Ha. You study. I'm going to be a friend and help him so we can get out of here!" Ron turned his back on Hermione.

"I happen to have an Arithmancy test tomorrow, Ronald!"

"Stop calling me that!" Ron yelled, whirling around.

"It's your name, isn't it?"

"It's your tone I can't stand! Or maybe it's just you!"

Hermione went pale, then slammed open a book and buried her nose in it.

Harry went to the far end of the classroom to fetch rags, waiting until they were well away from Hermione to talk. "Listen," he said in a low voice. "This has to stop, Ron. I can't stand it for much longer, this arguing all the time."

"Well, if she'd just stop with all those Ronalds and rude comments about how much smarter she is than the rest of us--"

"And if you'd just stop with getting so angry that she won't badmouth Draco the way you want her to--"

Ron threw the rag Harry had handed him down onto a table. Droplets of water spattered everywhere. "Well I can't even figure out why she'd want such a Muggle-hating prat. Her own parents are Muggles. You'd think that'd be enough to sour her on Malfoy for good, but no . . . she has to go on about how she's so sorry she thought he was beating you to a pulp, and she so wishes she hadn't written that letter, and it's so surprising how well you two are getting on as brothers. Makes me sick, Harry. Absolutely sick."

"She's happy for me. Yeah, that's sick all right," said Harry dryly.

"No, I meant--"

"I know," Harry interrupted. "Look, you said you can't believe she'd want Draco. Well, she doesn't want Draco. No offence, but you're an idiot to even think that. And Draco doesn't want her. He's stuck like mad on Pansy. So . . . just talk to her, all right? This fighting thing is getting . . . well, it's stupid. And I'm the one who's sick. Of listening to it!"

"She thinks that Slytherin prat's handsome, though," Ron muttered, scrubbing away at a table hard enough to dent it. "I just know it. She looks at him."

"Half the girls in Gryffindor swoon looking at him, Ron," Harry pointed out. "He's got that kind of . . . I don't know. He's got a look girls like. Hermione wouldn't be normal if she didn't think so as well. It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't, schmuzint," grumbled Ron.

"He calls her a walking library," Harry added, more than a little exasperated. "Look, he's not after her. He's just interested in getting along these days, because he knows he can't be on my side and still be at war with my friends. If he's been a little more polite than usual, that's why. He's a Slytherin!"

"He really called her that?" Ron asked, brightening.

"Yeah."

"Tell her as much."

"She doesn't need to know what Draco thinks; she needs to know what you think!" Harry said, raising his voice.

"I need to know if he thinks," muttered Hermione from where she sat studying.

"You see?" shouted Ron.

Tired of listening to them, Harry whipped out his wand to get the cleaning over with. A couple of Parseltongue spells later and the tables were all spotless. Not that they had been dirty to begin with, of course. This was Defence, not Potions.

Aran had said no magic, but since he was up in his office . . .

As it turned out, Harry had calculated wrong. "Potter," snapped the teacher as he appeared on the staircase leading down from his office. "What do you think you're doing?"

"A few filthy, no-account spells, sir?" asked Harry in an innocent-sounding voice.

Aran all but sputtered. "You admit it! And you've no shame about it, none at all! And the Deputy Headmistress takes up for it. It's shocking. It's shameful!"

"Yeah," said Harry, smiling broadly. "Isn't it. Well, the tables are all clean so--"

"You've another forty-five minutes of detention to serve."

"All right." Harry dropped his school bag with a thud. "Ron, can you run and tell Severus I'm going to be late for dinner with him? Be sure you mention why, mind--"

"Fine, fine, go. Get out, all of you," growled Aran.

Once they were out in the corridor, Hermione gave a long sigh. "If you're willing to hold your father over him then why serve the detention at all, Harry? It's not like you had really earned one. Well, not today at any rate."

Harry shrugged. "Well I don't want it to be too obvious that I'm using Severus to fend Aran off. We have Defence with the Slytherins and word would get back to him."

"So?" asked Ron.

"Well if your father worked here would you really want people to go running to him about your problems? Even if another teacher was being an arse?"

"Hmm, bit embarrassing, that," mused the other boy. "Might be all right when you're twelve, but . . ."

"Right."

"It's not right," said Hermione, stamping her feet a bit as she walked.

Harry made sure to say it before Ron could. "Well, maybe it's different for girls," he said, frowning and shaking his head a little when it looked like Ron would agree out loud.

Hermione scowled at him, and walked a little bit faster. But at least she wasn't saying something scornful to Ron.

 

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

 

It was later that night when something odd woke Harry. At first he thought he was just dreaming. Sounds of a scuffle. Muffled shouts. A thudding noise that seemed to shake right through his bed . . .

Harry groggily sat up and blinked in the darkness. Then a dim light began to shine through the curtains surrounding his bed, and Ron's scathing voice said, "Oh. It's you. Miscalculated, didn't you? The girls' dorms are the other direction."

Harry thrust the curtains back and saw his brother pushing himself to his feet. Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville all had their wands levelled on Draco, who was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. Harry blinked again, confused. "Draco?"

"Yeah," Ron practically spat. "And what I want to know is whose brilliant idea it was to give him the password to the Tower!"

"Well, it wasn't me!" Harry retorted, a little stung by the accusation.

"I flooed in," Draco said, his tones short.

Harry fumbled for his glasses on the night table, more from habit than because he really needed them. Things actually looked really clear. "Dad let you use the Floo? Alone?"

Draco nodded, staring intently at Harry as if trying to communicate something. But Harry didn't know what it was. Actually, he was still pretty disoriented from being so abruptly yanked from a sound sleep. And he couldn't help but wonder something about that. "How come you all woke up to attack Draco before I even heard him? I'm pretty sure he wasn't making that much noise."

"I was stealth personified," said Draco in a put-upon voice. "Would you lower your damned wands? I'm here to get Harry, that's all."

"What for?" asked Seamus, not dropping his wand an inch.

"What do you think? The Dark Lord misses him!"

"Draco!" shouted Harry, appalled. "They don't know you well enough to know when you're joking! And that's not funny in any case."

"Tell them to lower their wands!"

Draco's voice was high-pitched by then, which was enough to tell Harry that his brother felt himself at a disadvantage. Snape might have let him use the Floo, but he apparently hadn't let Draco bring a wand along. Which also explained why Draco's hands weren't shoved in his pockets. He was getting ready to hit someone if it came to that.

And Draco really did know how to land a punch. Harry knew that firsthand.

"Come on guys, put your wands away," sighed Harry.

"Not until he tells us why he's sneaking into the Tower late at night to snatch you away--" growled Seamus.

"I'm here on family business, which means it's none of yours, you Irish potato-head!" Draco turned to Harry. "Severus wants to talk to you about something."

Harry's brow furrowed. "It can't wait until morning?"

"Oh, of course it can wait," drawled Draco. "That's why I ventured into the lion's den in the dead of night. To tell you it could just as well wait. So, never mind then--"

"Sorry," said Harry. "I'm still half-asleep. I'll come straight away." Then he glanced over at Ron. "You never did tell me why I didn't wake up when the rest of you did."

The other boy sighed. "When you were hurt on Samhain we all cast protection spells around your bed, Harry. So that if anyone snuck in here in the dead of night, we'd wake up and clobber him before he even got to you."

Harry cleared his throat. "Oh. Well, that was . . . uh, nice, I suppose. Though I didn't know you all thought I was that pathetic--"

"You were blind at the time! And there was all that talk of Death Eaters trying to get in here to finish you off, remember. But then when you went to live with Snape, we sort of forgot about the spell, that's all."

That made more sense. Harry smiled. "All right. I guess you guys are pretty good mates."

Ron put away his wand and gestured for the other Gryffindors to do the same, even as he was saying, "We need a new rule, Harry. Nobody from other houses can come into the Tower."

"I'll tell Padma to stop visiting Parvati, then?"

"That's different. She's--"

"What, family?"

"I was going to say nice," snapped Ron as he turned his ire on Draco. "Listen, as Harry's all set on this brothers thing, I guess we can't really keep you out. But next time, don't just barge in through the Floo. Use the front door and wait to be invited in!"

"You listen, Weasley," Draco snarled. "If Severus tells me to floo up and get Harry, then that's what I'm going to do, and no red-headed poverty-stricken Muggle-lover is going to stop me--"

"Let's just Floo back," Harry loudly interrupted.

Draco abruptly fell silent as he gave a rather regal nod.

"Um, maybe you should get dressed, Harry?" said Neville.

Harry looked down at his pyjamas and shrugged. "I have plenty of clothes at home. I'd rather just find out what Severus needs to talk to me about." A sudden thought had him biting his lip. "It's not about Aran, is it? I haven't been . . . um, getting on so well with him lately. Did some of the Slytherins mention it, do you think?"

"Aran's the last thing on Severus' mind," Draco said in a voice thrumming with tension.

"Let's go, then," Harry said, wondering what on earth could make Snape ask Draco to Floo into Gryffindor Tower.

A image of Snape dying wavered before his eyes, making his stomach clench and his hands tremble. But Draco would have said something if the matter had been as serious as all that, so Harry made himself forget the boggart.

Or pretend to, anyway.

 

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

 

Snape was sitting in the living room when Harry stepped out of the Floo. The man had one sleeve rolled up past his elbow, but he wasn't wearing a bandage over his forearm now. His mark was on display, etched in shades of orange and red it was glowing so fiercely. The colours were shifting and changing, just like flames in a fire.

A good comparison, for when Harry walked closer, he could actually feel the heat of the thing bathing his face.

"Oh my God," he breathed, appalled. "This is terrible."

"Talk about an understatement--"

"Be quiet, Draco," said Snape in a weary voice. "You've seen this before and Harry hasn't."

Snape's features were drawn with pain, his cheekbones looking like they'd poke through his skin if this got any worse.

"Oh, God," Harry said again, feeling sick just looking at that awful, blazing mark.

"The Lotion Potion helps." Snape rose unsteadily to his feet. "And now that you're here, we can renew the stasis potion and remove the mark itself. Until next time." He took a step toward his lab and almost stumbled; Draco rushed in to offer him an arm to lean on.

Harry heart dropped, feeling like a stone plunging into his stomach, because the whole time he'd been arguing with Ron about whether Draco could come to the Tower or not, Snape had been sitting down here waiting for him. Suffering.

"You might have told me it was urgent!" he hissed at Draco as he followed his father and brother into the lab.

"And give those Gryffindors fodder for gossip? I don't think so."

Harry had to admit, it was better all around if other people didn't realise what Snape had to contend with. It was private family business, just as Draco had said.

A large, clear vat was sitting out on a workbench when they entered the lab. Harry glanced at it once, then looked away. He really didn't want to see the other Dark Marks his father had cut off his arm, time and again. They were blazing too, and tumbling over and over as the heat pouring from them caused the stasis potion to boil.

"You can see why it needs renewing," said Snape as he all but collapsed onto a stool.

"You can't do it beforehand so that the mark could be cut off as soon as Voldemort starts to call?" Harry flinched then. "Oh no. He's calling a meeting--"

"The Order's been informed. And no . . . the intricacies of the stasis potion require it to be renewed while the mark is burning, I'm afraid."

Harry almost said that that was lousy, but realised it wouldn't be a very helpful comment. He noticed his heart was racing as he wondered what horrible things Voldemort was going to do to Muggle-borns or half-bloods tonight. But there was nothing any of them could do about it.

I can't help them, he remembered Snape saying once in an angry voice.

So Harry didn't say anything about what the Death Eaters might do at their meeting tonight.

By then, Draco was already laying out potion ingredients in a neat row. One after another after another until there were dozens of them waiting to be used. Harry hurried off to throw on some clothes, then rushed back. Draco was still laying out ingredients.

"Why don't you start with the leaching the sap from these elm branches," he suggested.

Since Harry had never leached sap from anything before, he frowned. "Um . . . "

"Never mind, I'll do it."

"Harry, you could mash the ginger," said Snape.

"Finest pulp. Not a bit of fibrous material should remain," added Draco, already moving to deal with the branches.

Harry felt a bit like Draco was doing advanced mathematics while Harry had been set to practice his counting, but he told himself that Draco had made this several times before. And that Draco really liked brewing besides, so it stood to reason that the other boy would have far better skills.

He set to work pulping the ginger, his eyes more on Snape than on the pestle in his hand. "I understand you can't cut it off in advance, but now that we've started brewing . . .?"

"The stasis potion has to be ready to accept the mark," Snape answered, shaking his head. "Or Voldemort's magic will run wild." He gave a heavy sigh. "Believe me, Harry, I've experimented with every permutation. This one truly is the best."

Every permutation? Harry couldn't help but wonder about that as he finished pulping the ginger, and then, under Draco's direction began dividing it into twelve balls of perfectly equal size.

"Stir more rapidly, Draco," Snape advised from where he sat, looking like a rag someone had wrung out and tossed away.

"We have to do this right," Draco said, nodding as he moved the whisk around in a cauldron. "Because if we mess it up, we have to start over and Severus will have to wait through two brewing cycles instead of just one. And trust me, one takes long enough."

"I'll begin peeling the skin from the bat wings," announced Snape, pushing to his feet.

"I have it under control, Severus. You just slather on some more Lotion Potion and relax."

"Yeah," said Harry, remembering some things he'd heard on the telly. "Tensing up when you're in pain makes it worse, actually. So you have to try to relax your muscles. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth--"

"What a lot of Muggle rubbish," said Draco scornfully.

"Muggles do actually know some things worth knowing," retorted Harry.

"Ha."

Snape looked like he was gritting his teeth. Harry couldn't tell if it was with irritation at his sons or the terrible pain in his arm, but he decided he'd stop arguing with his brother.

"Lotion Potion," Draco insisted, laying his whisk aside. "This needs to set until it turns gummy, now, so I'll go get it for you."

"Yes, do. I believe my office door is standing open. And get your wand as well." Snape sighed as his fingers began to work with the bat wings Draco had laid out earlier. His hands were shaking, Harry noticed. He also noticed that Snape tried to hide that by turning his back slightly. "You'll need it later, for the charms. I . . . I don't feel my magic will be at its most precise."

Charms, Harry thought, something catching at his consciousness. Charms . . . charmed potions . . .

"Dad," he said when he'd chased that thought through to the end. "I was just thinking . . . what if I brewed some kind of charmed healing potion, and used a wanded charm to make it really powerful, and we tried using that on your wound after we cut the mark away? It might heal you up well enough that you don't have to go through this again."

Snape growled slightly. "It might also seek perfection to the point of banishing my arm into oblivion, you idiot child."

"Well, that's the thing about a potion," Harry countered. "We could test it first. On one of your crickets or something."

The Potions Master abruptly shoved his pile of bat wings aside and moved across the room to where Harry stood. "I appreciate the intended effort, Harry, but it appears to me that you are forgetting what happened just a few weeks ago in my class. Charmed potions are exceedingly temperamental, as you know. You only applied a hint of wanded magic that day, and still, disaster ensued."

"I know." Harry chewed on his lip. "But you said I shouldn't do unsupervised wanded magic. This would be supervised, right?"

Snape laughed slightly at that, even despite the pain he must be in. "You think I don't supervise my classes? This is fascinating."

"No, I meant that you weren't looking out specifically for wanded magic that day. But today, you would be."

"Today I'm in no shape to competently supervise anything, Harry."

"But--"

"That's quite enough!" Snape barked, frustration creasing his forehead. "You must restrain this saving-people thing, Harry. I've dealt with this odious mark several times without your aid, you realise. To have you insist now that you and you alone can end my torment is frankly ridiculous. I am coping, is that clear?"

Harry took a step back, understanding then that he'd somehow managed to offend his father. "I just wanted to help," he tried to explain. "I didn't mean you needed it. But . . ." His stomach churned with frustration. "I mean, why suffer if you don't have to?"

"Because experimenting with wanded powers is inherently dangerous. I thought you knew that, after the essay I set you."

"I do, but I'm pretty much fated to be in danger anyway--"

Snape settled his hands on Harry's shoulders, but not in anger. His fingers squeezed briefly, imparting reassurance. And love. "There's no need to court it. You will encounter perils enough without such reckless seeking after them, I suspect."

"It's worth it if it helps you--"

"No, it is not." Snape turned away as Draco came into the lab. Taking the Lotion Potion, he spread a thick layer of it on his burning mark. Steam rose up; Snape inhaled it, and visibly relaxed. "You see? The situation is not so unmanageable as you feared."

"You're putting on a front," Harry accused.

His father raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps so, but you're going to respect my wishes all the same."

"I . . . all right, then. If you insist."

"I do."

"But if I research the matter first . . .?"

"If your research is adequate I will supervise you in the matter. But not while term is underway, Harry. A project like this will require my complete attention."

"A project like what?" asked Draco.

"I want to find a way make his mark stop growing back. Wanded magic. A charmed potion, maybe."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, you and your miracles. Just don't blast his arm completely off, all right? Or blow yourself up during the brewing."

"I'm not that bad at Potions," Harry said, bristling slightly.

"I didn't mean you were. But I've seen your wanded magic, Mr Basilisk!"

"Gentlemen," interrupted Snape.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," said Harry, moving back to his workstation.

Draco inclined his head slightly, which was better than nothing, Harry supposed.

It took most of the night to finish the renewal of the stasis potion. Harry couldn't help but think back to that long day when he'd been so upset because Snape had been avoiding him--he'd thought. Now that he knew what was involved to deal with his father's mark, he understood a lot better why Snape hadn't wanted to talk to him in the middle of the process.

Definitely, the conversation wouldn't have gone well, not with Snape in pain like this and needing to supervise critical stages of the brewing.

It was almost dawn when Draco finally laid aside his stirring ladle and rolled up his sleeves. "Now comes the awful part."

Harry figured he meant the actual slicing off of the mark. Which he did, in a way. But the reality of it was much, much worse than Harry could have envisioned. He'd thought that it would be a simple matter of cutting the skin away--though that just had to hurt like mad--and dropping the mark into the vat of stasis potion. And then they'd pour the renewal draught in directly after, or perhaps before.

Before, Harry decided, since Draco was starting to unscrew the enormous lid that had kept the glass vat covered. The marks within were still hot enough to keep the potion boiling, but it seemed like they were angry, too. For when the lid came off, they all screamed, a long high wail of agony, or maybe demand. Harry couldn't tell.

Draco cast a numbing spell on Snape and himself. What for, Harry didn't know, until Snape plunged his arm straight down into the vat, his features taut with dreadful expectation.

The other marks attacked his arm, clawing at it, bursts of magic like tiny starbursts erupting in all directions as Snape's face tightened still further and a low gasp escaped past his clenched teeth.

Meanwhile, Draco worked quickly. He handed Harry the finished flask of renewal draught, telling him to pour it in the instant Snape removed his arm from the vat. Then Draco snatched up a sharp knife and sank both his arms into the vat, where he grabbed Snape's wrist in a firm grip. He used his other hand to slice the mark clean off, and straight away yanked Snape's arm up out of the boiling liquid.

They both fell back from the counter, staggering, --Draco actually slipped and landed on his arse-- as Harry poured the renewal draught into the vat.

It made the other marks stop attacking the new one, at least. But it didn't stop them from burning hot and fierce.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry! Cap off the vat!" shouted Draco.

Fumbling a little, Harry did so. If in the process he dropped the empty flask, he thought that couldn't be helped.

Draco pushed to his feet. "Evanesco," he muttered as he picked up his borrowed wand from the counter and swished it in an angry arc. The broken flask vanished from sight. "Accio the damned burn salve."

Nothing happened.

"It's not actually damned," Harry pointed out. He felt a bit better about his own clumsiness, hearing Draco make a silly mistake like that.

"Ought to be," said Draco with a grimace, looking down at his arms. "Ugh. Too bad Sansdoleur doesn't take care of the burn itself, instead of just keeping the pain at bay."

Harry had to admit, the boiled-lobster colour wasn't a good look for him. Snape's arm wasn't any better. Harry summoned the burn salve himself and watched as his father and brother applied it. It got rid of the burn, all right, but Snape was still left with a gaping, bloody wound that covered half his forearm. Harry would have thought that the boiling stasis potion would have more-or-less cauterized it, but the fresh blood seeping from it told him differently.

Snape nodded rather curtly at them both. "Good work, gentlemen. I've improved the Lotion Potion to the point where this is not necessary very often, but sometimes yes, it is indeed necessary . . . I do believe."

"You're rambling," said Harry, glancing at his watch. "Why don't you get some sleep, Dad? In fact, why don't you take the day off? You have been up all night."

Draco wisely made no comment about providing Snape another spiked drink to help him sleep.

Snape winced as he spread more salve on his wound, then visibly relaxed as the numbing agent took hold. "I must go see the Order now, Harry, and help them analyze whatever information they've been able to glean about Voldemort's activities."

"Well, the headmaster'll be there. Tell him you're cancelling classes, all right?"

"No."

"All right, fine." Harry glared a bit. "But I'll be down here after classes to see how you're doing, and I'll stay here on Saturday, too."

"You'll go to Hogsmeade," corrected Snape. "Spying on Voldemort was fraught with far greater difficulties than this, Harry. I will be perfectly fine."

For all that though, he staggered slightly as he walked from the lab, the Lotion Potion clutched tightly in the fist of his uninjured arm.

"I think I ought to stay around the dungeons this weekend," murmured Harry, biting his lip.

"Why, because only Harry Potter can do anything useful? I'll be here to help him if he needs something. Which he won't. Not by then."

"I didn't say only I could help him--"

"No, but you do think that way, Harry. You're not trying to, maybe. But you do tend to have a bit of a hero-complex, don't you think?"

"You've been discussing me with your therapist!"

Draco just shrugged.

"All right. Severus will be just fine on Saturday without me," admitted Harry. "But I'm still coming down here tonight to check on him."

Draco started rolling down his sleeves, but he didn't button them. Harry figured he was probably going to take a shower and change into a clean shirt.

"Can I still ask you to get me something?"

"Sure. What do you need?"

The other boy smiled slightly. "A few chocolate frogs, maybe? Severus wouldn't let me buy anywhere near enough when he took me into the village. Said it might give me cavities. As if I don't know anything about fluoride charms."

Harry didn't know anything about them, but he did know that Draco brushed his teeth three times a day, so he couldn't imagine that cavities were really an issue. "I think he's just enjoying being a dad."

"Yes, well get me all the chocolate frogs you can carry. It's not like I can order desserts any longer. I'll pay you back."

"Oh, but--" Harry bit his tongue in time, and managed not to say that it was his treat. Draco would think that was charity, most likely.

"All right," he agreed instead. "Five percent interest only. Since you're my brother."

"Five percent!" Draco stood up straighter. "That's outrageous. That's usury, it is--"

"Five percent a month," added Harry, grinning.

"Oh, fine." Draco made a face. "Borrowing money is horribly vulgar in any case, so I'll get Severus to hand out our allowance tonight, then. And I'll send my money with you. Five percent!"

Harry laughed. "See you later, Draco. I have to go try to wake up enough to survive classes today."

Draco swished his borrowed wand. "Accio Pepper-Up Potion," he said, tossing the vial to Harry after it flew his way. "There you go. You'll be fine. Strange you didn't think of it yourself."

"I would have!" Harry laughed. "Well, eventually. After I'd fallen asleep in Charms."

"I wish I could fall asleep in Charms," said Draco, his expression falling. "I'm sick of being down here. I really am."

Harry didn't know what he could say to that. He nodded sympathetically, then went to ask his father for some Floo powder so he wouldn't need an escort back up to the Tower.

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

Chapter Eighty-Six: Hogsmeade

Comments very welcome,

Aspen

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