A Year Like None Other

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

A Year Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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

Chapter Ten: Tests

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

It was good to be back at school, Harry thought, even if he knew he was going to find the waiting rather difficult. He wanted to be doing something about Aunt Petunia's problem, which was after all, his problem as well, but that wasn't how the Muggle world worked.

He'd gone into Ward 328, Snape in Remus guise at his side, and between the two of them, they'd somehow managed to get it through Uncle Vernon's thick skull that magic just wasn't going to be an option. The spell didn't exist, they said, and it couldn't be developed. Magic didn't work that way; it wasn't for Muggles. Of course that was an oversimplification, to say the least, but Snape had insisted that Vernon was best equipped to deal with nothing more complex than simple axioms, Harry. Your uncle's not exactly Ravenclaw material, now is he?

All in all, the news hadn't gone over too well. Vernon had yelled and blustered and pretty much disowned Harry and threatened to kill him, but he took most of it back when Snape calmly laid out the alternative. Harry's willing to donate bone marrow to your wife, the Potions Master had explained. I really do think you ought to thank him.

Of course Harry hadn't gotten any thanks, but after talking the matter over a bit more rationally, Vernon had glumly agreed that marrow donation might be Petunia's best hope. Sure enough, he'd admitted to being leery because of "freak side effects," as he put it, but Snape had smoothly allayed all his fears, telling him that such a thing was most definitely not possible.

Very Slytherin of him, Harry had thought at the time, since he knew full well that Snape believed the transfer of marrow to Petunia might indeed render her magical. He told Harry later that in all likelihood, any such change in the woman would be gradual. In the meantime, the wards would be extended to Dudley so that even if Petunia relapsed, Number Four Privet Drive would continue to be a haven. Actually, Snape had sneered that last word.

Harry was thankful that he'd left it at that. Just a sneer to show what he really thought of the Dursleys. Snape didn't do what Hermione would have if she'd found out the truth; he didn't try to get him to open up and talk about his feelings. He just let Harry be Harry.

Convincing Vernon had taken about an hour, an hour during which Dudley had been nowhere around. Harry had wondered about that; he'd rather wanted to test out the waters a bit, and see if his cousin was still in a friendly mood. It might be important for the wards, but Harry didn't get a chance to see Dudley.

Directly after Vernon had agreed to let Harry be tested for compatibility, and told a nurse so, Harry was whisked away for a series of tests that made the O.W.L.s seem like a picnic. Physical tests, most of which he'd never heard of before, though the nurses guiding him through it were perfectly willing to explain things as they went.

It all started with a questionnaire he could hardly read for the unfamiliar words, and then a lengthy interview designed to ferret out even more information. Personal information. Question after question about his parents; questions he couldn't answer. How many times did he have to explain he'd been orphaned at the age of one and had never been told anything much about his mum or dad?

Then came the questions about him. Harry didn't know what to say to half the things they asked. Did he drink, even on occasion? Well, sure, I'm not averse to a butterbeer or two... What medications had he taken in the past year? Calming draught, Pepper-Up Potion, way too much Dreamless Sleep... Had he used any recreational drugs in the past three months? I don't know. Can what the twins produce rightly be called drugs? They're definitely recreational...

Unable to answer with anything remotely approaching truthfulness, Harry had basically ummed and errrred and mumbled his way through the whole process, while Snape sat there smirking, no doubt thinking unhelpful thoughts about Slytherins and cunning. Harry was irritated by the smirk, but truth to tell, he was glad that Uncle Vernon had loudly insisted that Professor Remus Lupin was his representative who was to accompany Harry through the entire testing process. That was Snape's idea, no doubt spelled onto an unsuspecting Muggle, but the medical staff accepted it since it did come from Harry's legal guardian. It might not be comfortable with Snape in the room, but the dark shadows on Privet Drive that morning had been warning enough; Harry knew he needed to stick close to the one who could Apparate him to safety.

Still, he found it increasingly uncomfortable to be put through these medical paces with Snape looking out on it through Remus' kind brown eyes.

The medical interview was bad enough, but at least they let him keep his clothes on for that part. Shortly afterwards, things got faintly ridiculous, as far as Harry was concerned. Why did they need all this stuff from him? Just take his marrow and be done with it! But no, they had to have his blood and tissue typed. Actually, those necessities he understood, once they explained the phenomenon of rejection, which scared him silly. He didn't want to be responsible for Petunia's death.

But why did they need to x-ray his chest, let alone attach him for an hour to a machine that recorded his heartbeat? He'd had to take off Dudley's stained, oversized sweatshirt for that part. Then they drew blood again, explaining that he'd have to be tested for what seemed like a whole alphabet of problems. And then more blood for what they called DNA analysis, which would be the final watchword on whether his marrow was suited to be introduced into Petunia's.

Harry was starting to wonder if they were planning to leave him any blood. He winced every time a needle came near, and clenched his eyes, and told himself, You've had a basilisk fang embedded in your flesh. Surely you can withstand a thin little needle.

Somehow, though, the needle was more frightening, probably because he had to sit there and just take it. At least he'd gotten to fight the Basilisk. Harry actually had to restrain himself from using magic to make that needle go away. He was just itching to, especially on the last draw, when the nurse was having trouble finding a vein. Over and over she slid the horrid thing in, while Harry scrunched up his eyes and shook from head to toe, his arm holding still only because the nurse's grip was surprisingly firm.

Up until then, Snape hadn't done much but watch, but for that last draw he went to stand by him. Not touching, not speaking, not even casting a wordless spell to calm him. He just stood there, reminding Harry that he wasn't alone.

And it had helped.

As soon as the nurse was loading vials of his blood into a tray, Snape had returned to his chair.

Harry had thought the ordeal was over, then. They'd bled him nearly dry --well, seemed like it to him-- so what else was there?

He should have known it was only going to get worse. Because then, they had to ask him for urine. At first he'd just stared, shocked speechless that a pretty redheaded nurse's assistant no older than eighteen was handing him a small plastic cup and telling him to go into the adjoining bathroom and urinate on demand, then hand it back to her, filled. He didn't think he'd ever been so humiliated, and there sat Snape, listening to every word.

His professor evidently thought he was over-reacting, though. "It's not so different from what you'd have to do to brew some of the more advanced potions," he nonchalantly offered, leaning back in his chair, legs languidly extended as he closed his eyes.

Decorum again, Harry sensed. Snape had quite a lot more of it than he'd ever let on. Harry did as he'd been requested, blushing as he handed the sample back to the pretty nurse's helper.

Only to find out that after all that, he had to wait for all those tests to be performed and evaluated.

They'd explained and said a quick good-bye to Uncle Vernon --still no Dudley in sight, Harry noticed-- asking him to use Mrs. Figg's owl again as soon as he had word of the results. Vernon had scowled, but agreed.

And then, after a long day of discussion, and decision, and Muggle medical idiocy, Harry had finally flooed back through to Hogwarts, Snape in his wake. The headmaster's office was deserted when they arrived.

"Dinner hour," Snape explained, and Harry groaned. No way could he eat, not after all that.

Snape seemed to understand what he was thinking. "It's only going to get worse, Potter," he quietly pointed out. "What they did to you today wasn't much compared to the extraction procedure itself."

"I know, I read the book!" Harry snapped, not wanting to think about it.

"It's not too late to change your mind."

Harry stared up, trying hard to see Snape somewhere inside Remus' features. It wasn't easy.

"It is too late," he argued. "I already said I'd do it."

Snape shook his head, a single, disdainful word lancing the air: "Gryffindor." Then he was striding from the room to return to his dungeons.

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

"Oh, you're back!" Hermione cried out as she launched herself at Harry's sofa in the Gryffindor common room. "What great luck!"

Harry cast a glance over her shoulder at Ron, and mouthed, "Luck?"

"'Cause you were only gone for the weekend, mate," his friend explained, twirling a finger near his ear so that he wouldn't have to say mental out loud. "You know, you didn't have to suffer the shocking tragedy of missing an actual class--"

Hermione just laughed, and curled up next to Harry, kicking off her shoes. "So, how is Remus?"

A strange, half-strangled noise erupted from the back of Harry's throat. "Oh, er... well, you know Remus." Then an answer came to him, an answer Hermione would figure out anyway, he was sure, so he might as well say it. "It was the full moon part of the time, you know. He slept through it. Apparently he's still got Snape making the Wolfsbane Potion for him. And when he wasn't... er, sleeping it off, he didn't look so good, honestly."

It occurred to Harry to wonder, then, if Remus had been the best choice for Snape's disguise. Wouldn't anybody watching be a bit suspicious to see the werewolf looking human during a full moon? It wasn't as if Remus Lupin wasn't known to be one. Snape had made sure that everybody in Slytherin found out, after all. That still steamed Harry, it really did. Somehow, though, he couldn't resent Snape as much as he should, not now. But it had still been a rotten thing to do, revealing Remus' secret like that.

The secret was out, though, which left Harry to wonder just why Dumbledore would send Snape out looking like Remus when everybody knew Remus should be a werewolf at that time. One thing was for sure, though. Something was going on, something far beyond problems of leukaemia and warding. Harry didn't know what, though. He didn't have much hope of figuring whatever intricate plan Dumbledore had woven into their trip to Surrey.

Only one thing was sure: whatever was going on, Dumbledore hadn't seen fit to tell Harry about it.

As usual.

Ron flopped down on the other side of Hermione and with a wink at Harry, pulled her away to settle her against the length of his side. Hermione half-heartedly hit him, then melted, a soft smile curling her lips. Ron wasn't quite so relaxed, though; mention of the Wolfsbane potion had turned his thoughts toward Snape. "That vicious greaseball hates Remus," he grumbled. "Lost him his job, the louse. Fixed it so he'd have to resign, and Remus really needed that job! Wonder what Snape thinks he's up to now, making him that potion? Maybe it's a slow poison?"

"I thought that the first time I saw it," Harry reminded Ron. "And I was wrong."

"Well," Ron mused, "maybe it's a really slow poison."

Harry felt himself bristle a bit, and then wondered over it. Granted, greaseball was rather crude, and accusations of attempted murder a bit melodramatic, but Harry had certainly said his share of nasty things about Snape. Five-plus years of nasty things. But he didn't want to say them now, not even though Ron seemed to be expecting it.

Thankfully, Hermione sailed in with an answer, about the potion at least. "Snape and Remus are both in the Order," she pointed out, and then, with a confused look --it didn't sit well on her features-- she pressed Harry, "Why'd Dumbledore send Remus along with you if it was going to be his wolf time?"

She was right, that didn't make much sense at all. "Well, for moral support," Harry tried, almost cringing as he heard how nutters that had come out. Thinking fast, he added, "I mean, he didn't know I'd only be gone for the weekend. It might have been longer."

"Bit of a shock for the Muggles, though, a werewolf in the den?" cackled Ron. "Say, how's your cousin's tongue?"

Harry ignored that, because Hermione was pressing on, "Why'd you need moral support, Harry? You never did tell us what was in that letter."

"Snape nearly did," Ron had to put in. "In class there, you looked like you were about to fall over dead, mate."

"It was just... family stuff," Harry whispered, miserable. He hated keeping things from his friends, but he did see the necessity. He wondered if that made him as Slytherin as Snape had said.

Ron completely misunderstood Harry's mood. "'Bout time you had some family stuff to be going on with," was his pragmatic observation. "Welcome to my life, family pestering you all the time. Can't even get away from it at school," he added as Ginny sailed through the common room with a group of friends.

"Yeah," Harry said, casting about for another topic. Any topic. "So, what did the two of you do with your weekend?"

Hermione directed her gaze down, and Ron appeared to find the granite wall of some interest, and then they looked at each other, and giggled with mad glee, their legs twining further together.

"I see," said Harry in his darkest possible tone, which only made Hermione blush and hide her face against Ron's sweater.

"Well, we did go to Hogsmeade, too," Ron exclaimed, because Harry was waggling his eyebrows up and down like a stage-show villain. Hermione squealed louder at this tacit acknowledgement, which had Ron rolling his eyes a bit, but for all that, he looked happy enough.

"Come out, Hermione," Harry called, and when she did, he gave her the kind of grin that would put anybody at ease. "Well, I'd say congratulations are in order. How about we all sneak down to the kitchens? Dobby'll give us some butterbeer--" When Hermione's brows drew together, he quickly added, "if we ask nice. Oh, for pity's sake, Hermione! Dumbledore's paying him, you know. Dobby's the one house elf you shouldn't get upset about. It's not even past curfew, yet. You've got no complaints."

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

Harry was a bit apprehensive the next morning as he headed down to the dungeons. It had been one thing to conclude back on Privet Drive that Snape would keep mum about all the awful things he'd learned.... In the first place, Snape had looked like Remus, and in the second, it was unreal to have a wizard staying with him at that place, anyway! Looking back, the entire scenario just seemed fantastical. And unlikely.

Now that he was back in the real world, he was having a hard time reconciling memory with reality. Snape discussing decorum? Snape, almost sympathizing when Harry'd had to face all those needles? It just didn't seem possible, not when the Snape he knew here never passed up an opportunity to humiliate Harry Potter.

Besides, it had only been two days. Nothing much could really change in two days, could it? Harry nodded to himself and braced for the worst. Conveniently ignoring the plain fact that in only two days, his entire concept of Severus Snape had undergone a radical rethinking, he slid into his usual seat, prepared his materials as usual, and glanced up in trepidation as he heard the teacher's entrance to the room creaking open.

"Today we will be endeavouring to make Scaradicate Salve," Snape sneered, emphasis on the word endeavouring. His robes billowed as he swept into the room, his voice as imperious and menacing as ever. "No doubt there are among you miscreants who will offer up cloudy, miscoloured abominations for my perusal, but let there be no mistake: this is a simple potion, well within the range of your idle hands and feeble brains. Anyone who fails to produce a satisfactory salve will receive a detention with Mr Filch."

Across the aisle from Harry, Neville Longbottom gulped. Harry darted him a sympathetic glance. Neville had wanted to drop Potions altogether after fifth year, but Professor Sprout had insisted that Herbology without an adequate foundation in Potions would be all but useless.

"I would like to say that you will test your potions on one another," Snape continued, eyeing the Slytherins as though to give them ideas, "but alas, house rivalries have yet to render any of you sufficiently scarred. No, Mr Weasley, acne scars do not count."

Uh-oh, thought Harry, suddenly understanding what Scaradiate must mean. Well, at least I can see this one coming.

"However, we do have Mr Potter and his scar of rather dubious acclaim." Snape strode up the aisle towards him as he spoke. On the other side of the room, the Slytherins twittered, and Draco whispered something to Pansy, something that Harry felt sure must resemble This is going to be good... "Unfortunately for Mr Potter, his is a curse scar. Mr Malfoy, what are the primary properties of a curse scar?"

"It's hideous and disfiguring, sir."

"Indeed. Five points to Slytherin."

Hermione gave a low growl of protest, followed by a hissed, "That wasn't even a proper answer!"

Snape ignored her. "The other distinguishing characteristic is that unlike other scars, a curse scar cannot be removed by mere potion. I am afraid that Mr Potter will have to bravely struggle on despite his... how did Mr Malfoy put it? Ah, yes. Hideous disfigurement."

Harry stared up, eyes furious, mouth clenching. He said it was an act, a voice whispered in his mind. Trouble was, Snape's so-called act seemed all too real. Hell, it was real: Harry was being held up to ridicule as usual. But what did he care if Snape went back to being... well, Snape? He'd sort of expected it, actually. He'd known it would be idiotic to expect anything else.

Snape gave him a longish stare, then drawled, "I do believe our Gryffindor hero is on the brink of tears. Do not be a fool, Mr Potter. Show us some decorum."

And with that, Harry knew he could relax. Nobody else would catch the hidden meaning in those words, but they meant something significant to Harry. It was just a game, a game of trick-the-ferret. However much Snape might have meant his hurtful comments in the past, he didn't mean them now. Well, not like before, anyway.

Harry gave his usual glare back, playing along, but he wasn't expecting what Snape did next.

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

"Honestly!" Hermione fumed as they climbed their way back out of the dungeons. "The nerve of that man, refusing to so much as score your test! He knows you didn't cheat, knows it was a letter! And assigning you a second test, today, without any warning! You were called home on family business; you couldn't possibly have studied over the weekend! I think you should take it up with the headmaster, I really do!"

Harry couldn't help but snort, imagining Dumbledore's mock-befuddled reaction if Harry came to him complaining about a test he'd demanded in the first place.

"It doesn't matter," he told Hermione. "I'm sure I got a mark of Troll no matter which one he scores. Troll-minus, more likely."

"Well, it's just disgraceful! He took points off of Gryffindor because you didn't complete your potion, but how could you complete it when he slapped an exam paper on your desk and demanded you do that instead?"

Harry had to admit that part had been disgraceful.

"Were the questions even on the same material?" Hermione railed on. "Or did he test you only on the alternate readings, which he knows you hardly ever do?"

"Alternates," Harry answered, unable to help grinning a bit. He knew it seemed unfair to Hermione, but to him, it was just funny. He'd sort of asked for it, after all. "Forget it," he advised his friend. "You complain and it'll get back to him, you know it will. Then it'll be--" Harry lowered his voice to approximate Snape's deep, sarcastic tones. "Ten points from Gryffindor for expecting justice to prevail despite all evidence to the contrary."

"Having fun, Potter?" Draco Malfoy's sneering voice came up beside them.

"Yeah, actually," Harry admitted, knowing that nothing would get to Malfoy quite as much as the fact that Harry was feeling happy. "How about you?"

Malfoy smirked. "Have fun in detention, too."

Hermione clenched her fists. "Oh, you just have to run to the teacher with everything, don't you, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's silver eyes went wide and innocent. "Nothing to do with me, Mudblood. Professor Snape already assigned it. Penalty for not finishing his potion."

Hermione gave a strangled scream.

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

The detention was definitely unfair, Harry thought, but he'd served unfair detentions for Snape before. Things were just getting back to normal, he supposed. Snape was making sure of it, and Harry understood. Things had to look like business as usual.

Argus Filch gaped at him when he reported to the caretaker's office. "First I's heard a any detentions fer tonight, Potter," his hoarse voice rasped. "Though I do got me a few billygruffs runnin' wild in the halls by night, an' I need fresh bait to snare 'em. You're jus' about the right size--"

"That's all right," Harry quickly said, stepping back. "My mistake."

Only, it wasn't. Snape had definitely assigned a detention. Sighing, Harry made his way down to the Potions classroom and knocked on the open door. "Professor?"

"Ah, Mr Potter," Snape drawled. "Five minutes late, so five points from Gryffindor. It's really quite kind of you to make detention so enjoyable for me. Perhaps next time you could arrange to be even later?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I reported to Mr Filch, first."

"Bizarre behaviour. Idiotic, one might say, considering you have a detention precisely so that you can brew the potion you missed."

"Oh," Harry said, his voice low. Snape was going to make sure he didn't fall behind on account of the extra test Harry had demanded... he actually hadn't thought of that.

"Before you begin, however, I've finished marking your exam."

When Harry took it from Snape's outstretched hand, his own was shaking a bit, but not because he was worried about his grade. You couldn't sink any lower than Troll-minus, so there was nothing left to worry about, was there?

"Do sit down to read it, Mr Potter," Snape sneered, then returned his attention to another stack of papers he was marking. "I dare say you may be shocked at the things I have to say to such a vaunted and celebrated Gryffindor as yourself."

Shocked was right, Harry thought as he dropped into the nearest chair and ran his glance over the paper.

Troll-minus without a doubt, the comments read. You can't expect much better if you continue to ignore the alternate readings, Harry. Keep the following points in mind:
1) Bobotuber pus is unstable in bronze cauldrons and will actually explode if heated in them.
2) Mandrake root must be shredded and pounded before the juice is extracted.
3) Bicorn horn and unicorn horn are not remotely similar.
4) Mr Malfoy is almost certainly eavesdropping.
5) Burn this beneath your cauldron when you start your potion and be sure you mix the ashes well with the others in the grate.
6) A little raving would not come amiss. Emphasis on little, or I will find myself in a position where I will have to take points.

It was a little much for Harry to take in all at once. No insults? Even more surprising, some helpful tips? Hermione did sometimes get those, and more rarely, Ron and Neville, but he'd never seen them couched in impartial language before. Usually it was Whatever possessed you to believe that toadstools form any part of Salivary Potion? Were you raised under one?

Harry looked up, saw Snape's lips quirk, and realised that it was the first time he'd actually seen Snape's lips quirk. The sight was decidedly bizarre, but Harry knew better than to laugh out his relief. He'd understood the message in those last three points.

With a muttered oath, he shot to his feet, mashed his test paper into a crumpled ball, and announced, "Professor! This grade isn't fair! I didn't even know the test would cover the alternate readings! I wasn't prepared!"

Snape barely spared him a scornful glance. "Does it break your Gryffindor heart that life isn't fair, Potter?" Then he stood, robes swirling. "Get that insolent look off your face before it's ten more points from beloved Gryffindor. Now, you have a potion to brew, do you not?"

One gesture of a wand, and the instructions for Scaradicate Salve appeared on the board.

Harry set to work, burning his exam paper as asked. When he set his finished vial up front on the professor's demonstration table, Snape didn't say a word. He just looked up, and nodded, and went back to marking papers, but his gaze returned to Harry as the boy walked up the aisle and left the room.

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

Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Eleven: Obliviate

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight