A Year Like None Other

aspeninthesunlight

Story Summary:
A letter from home? A letter from family? Well, Harry Potter knows he has neither, but all the same, it starts with a letter from Surrey. A letter that sends Harry down a path he'd never have walked on his own. It will be a year of big changes, a year of great pain, and a year of confronting worst fears. It will be a year of surprising discoveries, of finding true strength, of finding out that first impressions of a person's true colours do not always ring true. It will be a year of paradigm shifts. And from the most unexpected sources, Harry will have a chance to have that which he has never known: a home ... and a family. (A Snape adopts Harry fic.)
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Chapter 20 - To Know Everything

Posted:
05/11/2006
Hits:
6,134
Author's Note:
Betaed by the Fabulous Mercredi.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, or this fictional universe. JK Rowling, some publishers, and some film companies own everything. I'm not making anything from this except a hobby.

Summary: A letter from home sends Harry down a path he'd never have walked on his own. A sixth year fic, this story follows Order of the Phoenix and disregards any canon events that occur after Book 5. Spoilers for the first five books. Have fun!

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A Year Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Twenty: To Know Everything

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By the time Remus woke up, Harry had written a letter to Hermione and another one to Ron, leaving both of them unsealed so that he wouldn't have to address another envelope in case Snape wanted to read them. He hadn't asked to do so again, not since Harry's very first letter from Grimmauld Place, but it wasn't every evening that Harry saw the Dark Mark flare to life, was it?

He'd said nothing whatsoever about that, of course, which left him in a bit of a quandary. What should he write to his friends? He couldn't tell them that he was getting on better with Snape. Not only would Ron think he'd gone nutters, information like that would get Snape killed if the letter fell into the wrong hands. So too with explaining how much better Occlumency was this year, and how good he was getting at it. He probably shouldn't even mention staying in the house with Remus, he realised. Anything to do with an Order member was best kept secret.

In the end, Harry settled for a long description of Sals and how funny it was to have chats with a snake. He asked about their Halloween, and how classes were going, and tried not to sound too worried.

But he was worried. About Snape.

Harry left Remus' room when his teacher began stirring, and for lack of anything better to occupy his mind, cooked up a breakfast that would do a house-elf proud. Cooking wasn't so bad, really. Not when you had someone appreciative to eat the results, that was.

"We need the Daily Prophet," was the first thing he said when Remus appeared after his shower. "I want to know if there were any Death Eater attacks last night."

"I don't think you should read about them, if there were," Remus replied, serving himself a plate full of pancakes, bangers, and poached eggs.

Harry wasn't about to be put off so easily. He set down his fork with a definite thud. "I am not a child, Remus. I have to know what Snape was doing last night!"

Remus set his fork down too, albeit more gently. "You are not a child, no. But you are not an adult, either, and you are certainly not Severus' keeper. All you have to know about last night is that he was doing his best to help the Order win this war. It's not for you to judge him, whatever he may have had to do."

Harry gnashed his teeth. "I'll find out sooner or later. You might as well just get me the paper, like I asked!"

"I'm surprised you would believe a word written in the Prophet," Remus admonished. "I certainly don't believe what I read in there about you."

"Well, there is that," Harry grumbled, though he was scarcely mollified. "It's nothing but a mouthpiece for Fudge and his cronies. They've been reporting Death Eater activity, though. Finally."

"You'd do better to concentrate on your wand-work than worry yourself over what Severus' own responsibilities might include."

"My wand-work's hopeless and you know it." Harry took a huge swig of orange juice, wondering if Snape would even notice a couple of inches less in the whiskey bottle. He could pour it into something like juice, couldn't he? Remus would never know. Hmm, well maybe he would, with that sense of smell that came along with werewolf territory.

"I know you seem to need some sort of catalyst," Remus was admitting. "I thought focusing on joyful thoughts would do it."

"It won't."

"I'm beginning to accept that," his teacher quietly acknowledged. "Do you have any ideas, Harry? Any at all?"

Shocked that Remus had asked, Harry gave it some hard thought as he ate. "Hmm. You know how nearly everybody thinks that Parseltongue is a sign of a dark wizard? Well, I'm starting to think that my dreams are pretty dark, too. Not the past bits, so much, as the ones about me. I don't know if Occlumency is a strictly dark skill, though. Hmm, maybe it is, for me. The image that works best for me is one Snape associates with death and destruction."

Remus sipped his tea. "What are you getting at?"

"I don't know. It just seems like..." Harry shrugged. "I don't know, really, just that everything I can do now seems... well, not dark, not exactly. But other wizards would look at it that way. What do you think we should try next?"

"I think we should try an ice-cream sundae from Florean Fortescue's," Remus replied. "And I'm not saying that because I think you're a child, Harry. You just need a break from this awful house. I can see why Sirius hated it so."

"Yeah, me too," Harry murmured. "I don't like it here. Sometimes I don't think I even want the house, though it's useful for the Order. I wonder if I should deed it over? Not that it's officially mine, yet, what with Sirius' death being... rather problematic. I mean, has it actually been declared? Legally?"

"You'd have to inquire at the Ministry of Magic, or ask Albus. He would know."

"He's back to his old trick of ignoring my existence," Harry pointed out. "You know, it used to be that when I was in the hospital wing, he'd make time to come see me. We'd talk. When I was in St. Mungo's, he didn't bother to so much as send me a message. And nothing since, either."

"Severus is keeping him informed, Harry."

"Bet you are, too."

Remus had the grace to look away, at that. "It's necessary."

"I know," Harry admitted. "But it wouldn't kill him to ask me how I am for himself. About the ice-cream, though? It sounds good, but I'd better not leave the house."

"Of course you'd better not," Remus agreed. "I wasn't seriously suggesting it. And as for what we should really try next about your magic... I don't know, Harry."

"Me neither," Harry sighed. "Look, let's take a break today. You read your wolf book or something, and I'll try to get through Volumes One through Ten of the class notes Hermione's been sending me."

"I wouldn't think you'd consider studying a 'break,'" Remus observed.

"Compared to spending hours incanting spells that don't work, it is. And one more thing, Remus. Can you please stop thinking I'm going to crack in half if you do a bit of magic in front of me? I'm not that fragile, all right? And I am so sick of doing the washing up by hand. How about a little Scourgify on that skillet, and a bit of Lavare spread all around? All right?"

Remus looked reluctant, but he did clean the kitchen with a few waves of his wand.

"Good," Harry thanked him, and went upstairs to wade through some of those notes.

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Snape came through the Floo late that afternoon, but Harry didn't know as much until a hand was shaking him awake.

"What?" he grumbled, flipping over onto his back, expecting to see Remus' friendly features. Instead, he looked up into a face that he used to think harsh and forbidding. Now, for all the cruel angles that made up the planes of Snape's face, the overall effect wasn't one of menace, not for Harry.

But still, he couldn't help but wonder what sorts of cruelty and menace the man had perpetrated the night before. It made him sick even to think about it, but he had to know. Harry looked away, unable to really meet Snape's eyes as he asked, "Er... you all right today?"

"What were you dreaming?" Snape replied, sidestepping the question. "You were screaming like a man possessed."

Harry rubbed his temples, trying to remember. Normally he didn't have any trouble recalling his seer dreams, as he'd taken to thinking of them, but of course, he normally wasn't forced to wake in the middle of them.

"Um, I don't know," he finally had to answer. "But my scar doesn't hurt, so it probably doesn't really matter."

"Lupin and I have just been discussing your dreams, Mr Potter, and we both believe they matter a great deal," Snape returned, brushing his robes aside as he sat down on the edge of the rumpled covers. "We have yet to determine how they matter. So think harder."

Harry did, not that it helped. "Maybe if you told me what I was screaming, that would bring it back."

Snape stared at him, his dark eyes disturbed. "I am not able to repeat your words, or interpret them. They were in Parseltongue."

Now Harry was the one who was staring. "I was screaming in Parseltongue? I didn't think that was even possible. I mean, you really have to hiss it; it's hard to hiss a scream--"

He broke off because Snape was regarding him with that expression he reserved for particularly inane babbles, as the Potions Master termed them.

"All right, sorry, don't know," Harry finished. "I can't remember."

"What were you thinking of as you fell asleep?" Snape pressed, those black eyes boring into him, now.

"Um, Charms, mostly. I was reading Hermione's notes."

Snape's first response to that was a disgusted expression. Harry didn't know if that was because he wasn't supposed to be devoting his attention to classwork, or if it was just a general disdain for Hermione.

"And before that, Mr Potter?"

"What's with the Mr Potter?" Harry challenged, unnerved, but not so much by the name as by what he had been thinking about. "You haven't called me Harry since you got here!"

"Since I just came from instructing a class, that shouldn't astonish you," Snape dryly replied. "Now, answer my question, Harry. What were you thinking of before devoting your valuable and better-spent time to the encyclopedias Miss Granger feels compelled to copy?"

"Well, if you must know," Harry erupted, "I was worried about you being at that meeting! It had nothing to do with Parseltongue!"

"Worried about me," Snape repeated. "Harry, I've withstood the Dark Lord's attacks before."

Harry blanched, remembering his own experience at Voldemort's hands. Without thinking, he settled a hand atop Snape's sleeve. "Cruciatus, you mean?"

Instead of pushing him away, Snape covered Harry's hand with his own. "I meant Legilimency, but I am familiar with the other."

Harry swallowed, hating the thought of that, hating even worse what he was going to ask next. But he had to know, he just had to. Remus had been right about ambivalence, he thought. He trusted Snape, or at least he thought he did... or maybe it was more a case of wanting to be able to. Really wanting to be able to.

Harry suddenly jerked his hand from underneath his teacher's, deciding that he couldn't bear to keep seeing him day after day, wondering all the time what horrors the man had done on Halloween. He was tired of everybody keeping secrets from him, tired of them deciding what he needed to know.

"I was worried about you because I worried what you were doing," Harry clarified, yanking himself off the bed to pace around the room in sock feet. "Did Voldemort round his Death Eaters up for an attack on Muggles? Muggleborns? Half-bloods like me?"

"By my reckoning, you are not a half-blood. Both your parents were magical."

"Yeah, well my mum was a Muggleborn as you well know, so I'm not exactly a pureblood, either," Harry tightly elaborated. "And what about last night?"

Snape folded his hands together and remained seated on the bed. "All you need to know has been reported in the Prophet."

"Remus won't let me have a copy," Harry retorted, anger roiling up inside him. "And I'd rather hear it from you, anyway. Was there an attack, Professor?"

"Yes."

Harry stopped pacing. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened, you idiot child?" Snape questioned, soft tones underlying hard words. "The Muggleborns didn't stand a chance, any more than did the half-blood witch who came to try and help them."

Harry's teeth started to chatter. "Was it at least quick?"

Snape's voice grew caustic. "No, it wasn't quick. Where's your mind, today? It's never quick. Can you truly want to hear the sickening details?"

He didn't, not really, but he wanted to hear Snape recount them, so he could know for sure that the man was in fact sickened.

"Yeah."

"You're even less a Gryffindor than I thought," Snape snarled. "You don't want to cling to your comforting illusions? To believe that the world is a place in which right triumphs over might?"

"No," Harry answered, and when it seemed like Snape still wouldn't tell him, added, "How in bloody hell am I supposed to defeat Voldemort unless I know everything there is to know?"

"Knowing things such as I could tell you will not help you defeat him!"

"Let me be the judge of that!"

"Does it not occur to you," Snape harshly whispered, "that I do not care to describe the meeting yet again? I have done it once already, for Albus!"

Harry glared. "I have to know. Don't you get it?"

Snape clenched his fists. "So be it, then. In case you didn't know, the Dark Lord thrives on torture," he spat. "This time, it was a family of Muggleborns trying to hide their magic in a Muggle village in Cheshire. The Dark Lord sat like a king on a throne and watched as Cruciatus was cast at the son, about your age, until he tore handfuls of hair and scalp out. The parents had to watch, too, then under Imperio kick him until every single one of his ribs broke in half. It was about this time the young witch showed up. I don't think she'd had a day of magical education in her life, but there's no doubt she'd have been sorted into Gryffindor. Brave and foolish, all at once."

Lips curling at the memory, Snape detailed in icy tones, "She was passed around, as was the wife, whom the Dark Lord released from Imperio so that she could understand the full horror of struggling to no avail. Do you really need to hear just what was done to these women at the hands of over fifteen angry, vengeful men? Men who believe that only purebloods are fully human? Perhaps you'll be satisfied merely to know that after the women's voices were screamed raw, the Dark Lord had them both gutted! While they were alive!"

Something horrible and foul rose up into Harry's throat. Gagging, both hands pressed into his stomach, he forced it back down.

"Enough?" Snape sneered, rising to tower over him. "There's more, if you still need to know everything. I haven't divulged yet what happened to the man, or the boy in the end, or how Legilimency can end up being Darkest Arts when you use it to force upon your victims the things they most fear in all the world--"

"Enough," Harry finally found voice to answer.

"It should be!" his teacher roared. "It's sufficient that I must be there, that I must speak of it to the Order! I do not wish to relive the experience vicariously for your listening pleasure, as well!"

Harry was never sure, really, where he found the nerve, but he heard himself asking the question that had haunted him ever since he'd seen Snape rushing to Voldemort's call. "So which parts of all that did you do?"

Snape's brows drew together, his expression thunderous. "What concern of that is yours?"

"It is! It has to be!" Harry yelled, desperate to know. "I let you in my mind! I trusted you!"

"You knew I was ostensibly in his service," came Snape's cold reply. "If the thought of what that entails offends you, then you shouldn't demand to know what happens on a raid, now should you?"

"Answer my question! How many Unforgivables did you cast? Did you take your turn with the women? Was it your wand that gutted them?"

"Your audacity is beyond belief, Mr Potter," Snape retorted, his voice all the more dangerous now because it had gone quiet. "But I will answer you, since you are possessed of such a burning need to know. None, no, and no."

It took Harry a moment to match the answers to his questions, and when he did, he was filled with stark disbelief. "Right," he drawled, incensed. "What do you want me to think, that you stood there a pillar of virtue and Voldemort didn't even notice? I know you had to be doing those disgusting things right along with the rest of them!"

"You know nothing," Snape announced, "but you are going to find out. Not because I wish to vindicate myself. I care nothing for what a sixteen year-old whelp thinks of me. I care nothing for your trust, either, such as it is! But I will show you all that happened, regardless. For one reason, Mr Potter."

Leaning down, he hissed at Harry's face. "If you are old enough to hear about such things, you are old enough to see them, too. In fact, I insist."

Robes billowing, he spun for the door, one clenched hand beckoning Harry to follow.

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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Twenty-One: The Pensieve

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Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight


Betaed by the Fabulous Mercredi.
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