A Year Like None Other

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-Two: Dudley

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Snape didn't come to Grimmauld Place for three nights. The pensieve, still full of his memories, sat abandoned in the kitchen. Not wanting to even see it, Harry stopped doing any cooking, grateful when Remus took over without a word as to why Harry was avoiding the kitchen. They started eating in the dining room, even for breakfast.

Harry had gotten nowhere with wandless magic, and since both he and Remus were basically out of ideas, their lessons fell by the wayside. Harry occupied his time penning more letters, studying, practicing his Occlumency, and searching for Sals, who had yet to make an appearance.

He also found time, and the requisite nerve, to attempt another phone call to Privet Drive. Sitting in the damp, cold cellar, his eyes scanning for Sals by habit, Harry dragged the phone from his pocket and tapped out the number on the keypad, then held his breath as he listened to the ringing on the other end.

"Hallo?" A man's voice answered. Harry very nearly hung up before he remembered that he wasn't going to let his uncle intimidate him, ever again. Keep that thought, he told himself.

"Dudley Dursley, please," he politely requested, though he knew it wasn't likely to be as simple as all that.

Sure enough, it wasn't. "Who's this, then?" Vernon barked down the phone.

Breathe, Harry had to tell himself. Swallow. He can't do a thing to you, not now. He can't even threaten to eject you from the house. Been there, done that. "It's Harry."

A stream of invectives had Harry holding the phone a foot from his ear. He didn't hear all of it, though ungrateful freak and should have chucked you out into the street, basket and all, the minute we found you on the stoop stood out from the rush of words.

"Let me talk to Dudley," Harry finally ordered over the harangue.

"You can go straight to hell, boy!"

"Let me talk to Dudley or I'll come there in person," Harry tried. As expected, the threat worked. There was no way Vernon wanted Harry within a hundred kilometres of his home.

"Hallo, Harry," Dudley's voice came on, his tones sullen.

"Uncle Vernon!" Harry shouted, exasperated at the sounds of two people breathing into receivers. "Get off the extension!"

"How'd you know--"

"How do you think?" Harry tried for that icy tone Snape used to scare the students witless. "Now get off the phone so I can talk with Dudley, and while you're at it, get out of the house, too!"

"Don't you hex him, boy! I had a headache for a week after that stunt you pulled at Petunia's grave, God rest her soul. Have you no shame at all? At her grave, it was!"

"I didn't hex you," Harry snapped. "That was my teacher, who unlike you, is a decent sort. For some reason, he didn't want you to kick me senseless when all I'd done was go there to mourn!"

"Kicked senseless is too good for the likes of you," Vernon railed. "You killed my Petunia!"

"No, he didn't." Dudley had finally spoken again. He still sounded sad, but not as resentful as before. "He was trying to help Mum."

"Oh, grow up and smell the coffee, boy! He knew what he was about, the whole damned time!"

"Uncle Vernon," Harry broke in. "Get out of the house so Dudley and I can talk."

"Who are you to tell me what to do in my own home, by God?"

Harry sighed. He'd known all along that it would come to this. "I'm a wizard, and pretty soon here, I'm going to be an angry wizard! You know what happens when I get angry! Remember Aunt Marge? Now, get off the line!"

A phone slamming down was the only reply Vernon made to that. After a moment more, Dudley quietly announced, "He went to the backyard, Harry."

"Good," Harry said shortly, then willed himself to calm down. "How are you, Dudley?"

"You called to find out that?" Dudley sounded confused.

"Yeah. Are you doing all right? It must be really hard."

"I miss her," his cousin moaned.

Harry didn't know what to say to that, since he could hardly make the standard claim of I miss her, too.

"Was it really your teacher?" Dudley went on. "Who did that to Dad, I mean?"

"Yes."

"But I saw you cursing him!" Dudley argued. "It sounded like a whole bunch of different... er, spells, I guess. And then this big boom and blast all around..."

"Listen, Dudley," Harry tried to explain. "You were right to tell me not to come to the funeral. I think Uncle Vernon really was going to kill me. I didn't do any magic, but if I had, it would have been in self-defence."

"But you were screaming curses, Harry," Dudley went on. "How can you say it wasn't you?"

Harry wasn't about to get into that, so he merely replied, "I was just trying to scare him, Dudley. But he was too mad to listen, so my teacher helped me before things could get even messier."

"Your teacher's a wizard, then."

In other circumstances, Harry would have laughed. Dudley sounded like he'd just solved the Riddle of the Sphinx, or something, when all he'd done was state the obvious. Harry didn't laugh, though. Nothing was very funny at the moment.

"Yeah, he's a wizard."

"You said he wasn't. You lied to Dad."

"Yeah, well you lie to him about a hundred times a week," Harry pointed out.

"I do not!"

"How many times did you sneak puddings and deny it?"

Dudley gave a groan. "I haven't done that lately. I'm never hungry anymore, Harry. I think I've lost two stone since I saw you."

"Well, don't stop eating completely," Harry urged, concerned despite himself.

"How are you, Harry?" his cousin asked, a question which took Harry completely by surprise.

He shifted position, leaning on the wall as he sat cross-legged. "Um, all right, I guess. I was really sore for a while, after the operation."

Dudley drew in a little breath. "Oh, yeah. I'm sorry, I forgot. That's stupid, isn't it?"

"No, it's not stupid," Harry insisted. "You had enough to do, thinking about your mum."

"Yeah," Dudley acknowledged. "But I think Dad still doesn't really get it, what you did, what you tried to do, for her. It's kind of awful, actually. I didn't think much about it at the time, but I'd be scared to have an operation like that, and you're younger than I am, and Dad didn't even go sit with you, or anything. Even if he wouldn't, I could have, but honest, Harry, I didn't think of it until you were already gone. I'm real sorry."

Shocked almost into speechlessness, it took Harry a moment to answer. "Well, I had my teacher there, you know. So it was okay. Don't feel bad, Dudley. You were where you were supposed to be, with your mum."

"She never even woke up!" Dudley cried. "I didn't get to say g-- g-- goodbye!"

"I'm sorry," was all Harry could think to say to that. He heard a slight slithering noise, and darted his gaze towards it, but didn't spot Sals.

"You didn't get to say goodbye to your parents, either, though, I bet," Dudley said in a slow, sad voice. "Harry? I'm really, really sorry I was so awful to you. I mean, calling you scarhead, and little orphan Harry, and getting so mad when Mum and Dad let you move out of the cupboard, and forgetting your birthday and... stuff."

Who are you and what have you done to Dudley Dursley? That was the question on the tip of Harry's tongue, but instead of asking it in quite that way, he tentatively ventured, "Um, Dudley? Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?"

Harry heard a long sigh come down the line. "You remember those... things, Harry? In the alley? I couldn't see them, but I could feel them, coming closer until they were just all over me."

"Yeah. Dementors. I remember." Harry shivered.

"I... um, well I thought you made them attack me, at first," Dudley admitted. "I mean, I thought that for a while. You were already gone away to school before I realised that you made them stop."

Since Vernon had specifically said that Harry had set demons after Dudley, Harry wondered where his cousin's insight had come from. Somehow, he couldn't imagine Aunt Petunia getting it right, either. "That's true, I made them stop," he agreed.

"With... your wand, and some white-silver thingy galloping around," Dudley whispered.

"Yes. My Patronus," Harry explained. "Sort of a magic... saviour. I didn't think you saw it, though. Um, I'm not even sure that Muggles can. You can't see Dementors, after all."

"I don't know if I actually did see it," Dudley admitted. "But I know what it looks like. I bet that sounds strange."

"Er, well... yeah, it does."

"It's like this," Dudley explained, his voice catching a bit. "M-- M-- Mum was really worried about me, afterwards. I couldn't sleep but two or three hours a night, and those were filled with awful, horrible dreams. Like I'd never, ever be happy again. I don't think I can really explain what it was like--"

"You don't have to," Harry murmured. "I know. So, um, are you still having trouble sleeping?"

"Some, but that's because I miss Mum," Dudley sobbed, though after a few seconds he got himself under control again. "Those really awful dreams stopped after Mum took me to a... a therapist. Oh, Mummy and Daddy had an awful row about it, they did. Dad said it made me a Nancy boy, but Mum insisted."

"Your mum was right," Harry assured his cousin. "The therapist helped you, I hope?"

"Yeah..." Dudley mumbled something as if figuring out what to say, then went on, "Um, she hypnotized me, Harry. And that was when I remembered what you did to those... things in the alley. I don't know if I saw you make that silvery animal thing, really, but I could see you do it under hypnosis, if that makes sense. Um... can all wizards make those things?"

"Not all," Harry admitted.

"Yeah, that's what the therapist told me. She said you must be a really powerful wizard and I was lucky you'd been there to save me. She said those awful things were trying to suck out my soul and I'd have been a goner if I hadn't had a cousin who could stop them."

Harry dropped the phone.

"Harry?" he heard his cousin's voice asking. Harry scooped the phone up.

"I'm here. I was just surprised. You... you went to a therapist who knows about... um, people like me?"

"Yeah. Mrs Figg recommended her. Told Mum she'd better take me to someone who could understand what had happened, because otherwise I'd be locked up for a raving loony before too long. Mum didn't like it, but after a while I stopped sleeping completely, and I guess she figured Mrs Figg was right. Dad pitched a huge fit, but well, you know what Mum's like--" Another sob. "What she was like when she was determined to get her way."

Harry did know. Vernon would have thrown him out after the Dementors had attacked Dudley, but with a little prompting from Dumbledore, Aunt Petunia had put her foot down and insisted he be allowed to remain.

"I'm glad you got some help, Dudley," Harry said sincerely. "I hope Uncle Vernon isn't still being a git to you over it."

"Nah. Well, as long as I call you a freak every so often, he figures I'm doing okay. But I don't mean it anymore, Harry. I'm... I'm real glad you turned out a wizard, and one powerful enough to... stop those, you-knows. I've felt bad that I went barmy and blamed you when I should have been thanking you, that night."

Harry gave a low laugh. "Feels like I'm meeting someone new, Dudley. Hallo, I'm Harry Potter, pleased to meet you."

"I wanted to thank you at the hospital," Dudley confessed. "But with Dad there? I thought I'd better not."

"Good thinking," Harry approved. "No sense getting his back up."

"I gave you the chocolate hoping you'd understand it wasn't just chocolate."

For Dudley, Harry thought, that's a pretty complex concept. "I appreciated it."

Dudley cleared his throat. "I feel really bad about Mum. I mean, not just because I miss her, but... well, I was the one who told Dad that we should let you try some magic to heal her. After I knew what you'd done to those you-knows, I was sure you could do anything."

"I'm sorry I couldn't, Dudley. You do understand that, don't you? I did want to help, but there are some things magic's just no good for."

"Yeah, I get that, but it's hard to take. I mean, a wizard in the family, but what good did it do Mum? No offence, Harry."

"None taken."

"The worst part though is that I made Dad write that letter. He didn't want to, not at first. And... and then--" Dudley gulped in what sounded like a bucketful of air. "You offered what you could, the marrow I mean, but she rejected it, and died, and in a way it's all my fault because if I hadn't made Dad write you, you'd never have known, never have tried to help!"

"Oh, Dudley," Harry moaned, easily recognizing the sentiment, the fatal chain of logic leading to the flawed conclusion. "No, you can't do that to yourself. It's not your fault. You might as well say that your father's right and I'm to blame. It was my marrow."

"You were trying to help!" Dudley immediately objected.

"But so were you," Harry calmly insisted.

"Yeah," Dudley admitted, reluctance coating the word. "I tell myself that, sometimes. Part of me knows you're right, but there's this other part that keeps going over it, over and over, you know?"

Oh yes, thought Harry. I do know.

"I worked through a lot of things with Marsha," Dudley rambled on. "That's my therapist. Anger, mostly. And why I wouldn't stay on my diet. I... I'm glad you called. Dad says if you come around here, he'll show you what-for, and I figured after the... after what happened after the funeral, you'd know not to come home for the summer, or even try and visit, and well, anyway... I thought I'd never hear from you again, you know?"

"I'll keep in touch," Harry promised, surprised to realise that he meant it. "Are you still seeing Marsha? You know, to help you deal with... um, your mum dying?"

"Dad knows she's talked to me about... er, people like you, so now that Mum's not here to insist, he won't let me even mention her." Dudley sounded dead hopeless.

"Hmm. Well, tell you what, Dudley, I'll see if I can persuade him to be more reasonable."

Harry could hear Dudley swallowing. "I don't really think you should go around threatening people, Harry."

"That's a bit rich, coming from you," Harry coolly observed.

"Yeah, but--"

"No buts. Your therapy is really important, Dudley. Now, just one thing, all right? If you don't hear from me for a long time at a stretch, don't think it means anything. Things can get busy at a boarding school, and besides, we don't have phones or regular mail. Just owl post."

"How're you calling me?"

"Oh, long story," Harry told him. "I can't really get into it."

"You're hiding, huh?" Harry could almost hear Dudley nodding. "Dad's been saying that somebody's trying to kill you. Er... a wizard. A real bad one."

For a moment, Harry wondered how Uncle Vernon could know about Voldemort being after him again. Then he remembered that after the Dementor attack, it had all sort of come out right there in the Dursleys' living room.

"I have to tell you, Harry," Dudley admitted in a hushed, fearful whisper. "Dad'll be furious, but I just have to. Ever since the funeral, he's been going on about how he'd just love to help this whoever-it-is. Says it's time you got what you deserve, and who cares if it's some evil wizard who's after you, he'd help the devil himself if it would put you six feet under."

Harry almost dropped the phone again, but managed to say, "Uh, thanks for telling me that, Dudley. Though I really don't know what Uncle Vernon could do. I mean, this evil wizard isn't exactly in the habit of asking Muggles for assistance. In fact, you should warn your father to steer clear of him. He's really, really dangerous. He kills Muggles all the time."

"Yeah, well you be careful, too, Harry."

"I will," Harry promised. "Let me talk to your father now, okay?"

"Don't threaten him."

"No more so than he does me," Harry grimly replied.

Surprisingly enough, Dudley understood. "Yeah. Guess you have a point there. Okay. I'll talk to you later." Harry heard the phone being set down, then a bellowing voice growing fainter as Dudley walked away. "Dad! Harry wants to talk to you! Oh, come on, Dad! Come in!"

The next thing Harry heard was Vernon roaring "What now?" down the line.

"Can you guess what the Incendio curse would do to you?" Harry pleasantly inquired. "Or Petrificus Totalus? I didn't mean any of my hexes after the funeral, which is why it took my teacher to fell you, but I won't be so restrained if you go about offering to help other wizards arrange my death."

Vernon began stammering, but Harry cut him off.

"You're not to take it out on Dudley that he mentioned it to me, either! Just be glad that he has sense enough to appreciate family! And one more thing, Uncle Vernon."

The silence on the line was palpable.

"You let him see Marsha as often as he likes, and don't you dare give him a moment's grief over it!"

Vernon was cowed, but not so much so that he'd take that lying down. "Now just a minute! Who do you think you are, telling me how to raise my boy?"

"I think," Harry drawled, trying again for that glacial tone Snape could do so well, "that I'm sorely tempted to hex you right now over the phone. No reason why it shouldn't work, really. Shall I start with Alohomora? Trust me, you don't want to know what that'll do to you."

"I'll take him to his damned shrink!" Vernon screeched, rage punctuating the fear in every syllable.

"Good," Harry replied. "I'll be calling again to make sure you have. Good-bye, Uncle Vernon."

The only answer he got to that was the sound of the receiver slamming down hard enough to shatter it.

Harry sighed. Uncle Vernon was probably angry --and stupid-- enough to wish he could betray Harry to Voldemort. It wasn't a good feeling, knowing that his own uncle would gladly do that to him. But at least Uncle Vernon wasn't his blood. He was just an uncle by marriage.

Dudley, however... Dudley was different. In more ways than one, now.

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Harry had finally made his way through Hermione's notes for Charms and Transfiguration. He was just bundling them up, along with the letters he'd written in the past three days, when he heard Snape and Remus talking downstairs. A peculiar sort of nervousness washed over him, similar to what he'd felt last year when he'd had to go to Potions after that horrible Occlumency session, the one during which he'd seen pieces of Snape's past. Similar, but somehow even worse. Back then, he'd trampled his professor's privacy, which was bad enough. But this time, he felt as though he'd done worse: he'd betrayed a friendship.

Why hadn't he just accepted it when Snape didn't want to discuss the Death Eater meeting? Why hadn't he believed the man when he'd claimed not to have taken part in those awful goings-on?

Because I didn't, simple as that, Harry admitted to himself. Snape was right; I had to see for myself... Doesn't mean I'm proud of it, though.

Well, there was nothing for it but to go downstairs and face the music, was there? Snatching up the parchments and letters he'd bundled, Harry made his way down to the parlour.

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"Mr Potter," was Snape's level greeting. No emotion there at all, not that he had expected any.

"Professor," he replied, nodding slightly. He felt like he was in a fancy-dress play, or something, even his words stilted, but he didn't know how else to speak, not after what had happened last time. "I have some things for you to owl to my friends, if you'd be so kind."

Snape took them from his outstretched hand, but kept his gaze averted.

"Severus has been asking about your dreams," Remus volunteered, looking from one to the other. He tapped an impatient foot as though he didn't care for what he was seeing. "I had to tell him that you haven't mentioned any new ones."

"I haven't had any," Harry explained. "Not that I can remember."

"Just as you don't remember screaming in Parseltongue, Potter?" Snape frostily inquired.

"I can't help it if I don't remember," Harry sighed. He really didn't want to go on, but he knew he'd better, all things considered. "Um... there's something else you both really should know, though. Probably the Order should know, too. I was talking to Dudley this morning, down in the cellar, er... on the phone, I mean, and--"

"Is this leading to an actual point, Potter?"

Harry took a breath, this time organizing his thoughts before he spoke, though it was difficult when what he really wanted to do was let fly with a few choice words about sarcastic arseholes. He managed, though, and succinctly announced, "Vernon Dursley's said that he'll sell me out to Voldemort, first chance he gets. I tried to discourage him, but knowing him, he'll say to hell with the consequences and do it anyway."

"What consequences?" Remus asked.

Harry closed his eyes, wishing he didn't have to admit it, especially in front of Snape. "Um... I told him I'd cast Alohomora on him, actually."

"Alohomora," Snape repeated, one half of his mouth curling in disdain.

"Look, he doesn't have a clue what it means," Harry retorted, tired of being polite. "What should I have threatened him with, a little friendly Avada Kedavra? And don't say I'd have to mean it, because for him, I damned well could!"

"Stop it, you two," Remus demanded. He glared at Harry. "Don't talk about the Unforgivables, Harry. It's obscene at your age. You shouldn't even be thinking about such things!"

"What's my age got to do with anything? Is it going to keep Voldemort from Avada Kedavraing me? I'd think the lot of you would be training me to wield the Unforgivables, because if you don't, I'm pretty much a walking dead man! Or did you think I was going to fulfil my destiny using Cheering Charms? Maybe I should just offer him a plum pudding and be done with it!"

"Potter, you're hysterical," was Snape's cold-hearted response.

"No, I'm aware I'd rather not die, thank you very much!"

"Please, sit down, Harry," Remus broke in. When Harry did, he turned his brown eyes on the Potions Master. "And you, Severus."

Remus took a chair only after Snape had sunk into one. "Now," he directed, "the question before us tonight isn't how best to help you once your magic comes back in full. It's whether Vernon Dursley poses any sort of real threat."

Snape blew out a breath through his teeth, and laced his fingers together. "The Fidelius Charm speaks to that. Potter may own this house, but he's not its Secret Keeper. He can't have told Dursley where it is, not even by accident or implication. Ergo, as long as he manages for once in his life to do as he is told, and stay here, he will be perfectly safe, his uncle's animosity aside."

"Harry?"

"I don't trust Uncle Vernon." Harry grimaced. "But like the professor, I really don't know what he could do to hurt me. I just thought I ought to mention it."

"I'm glad you did," Remus warmly replied. "I'll go let Albus know, too. So if you don't mind, Harry, I'll leave you and Severus to your Occlumency lesson."

Harry almost wished he could call him back, but he wasn't that much of a coward. The minute Remus had swept up the stairs, Harry turned to Snape and waited.

Snape regarded him for a long, silent moment. Harry cracked first.

"Do you have any letters for me?"

Snape withdrew a packet from his robes and leaning forward, passed it to him.

Harry sighed. Well, he'd known this wouldn't be easy. He was tempted, in the face of the man's silence, to go ahead and read his post, but decided that wouldn't really help matters. "I'm sorry, all right?" he finally offered, setting the letters aside. "I should have trusted what you told me."

The Potions Master narrowed his eyes to black slits. "Inadequate, Mr Potter."

"Inadequate? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Inadequate," Snape recited. "Insufficient. Unacceptable. Incomplete. Unequal to the purpose; deficient; not meeting the requirements especially of a task--"

"I know what it means!" Harry erupted.

"Then perhaps you shouldn't inquire as to the meaning."

The man was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Harry spoke through gritted teeth. "What do you want me to say, Professor? Let's just start with that, so I can say it, and we can get past this!"

Well, that was a lot of help. Snape gave him contemptuous look and didn't reply.

"Oh, the hell with it," Harry gave up. "Fine, hold your grudge. It's not like I'm not used to you hating me."

He'd sort of hoped to spark a reaction there, something along the lines of I don't hate you, Harry, of course I don't hate you. Now as to your reprehensible behaviour last night... At least it would have gotten them talking. Snape, however, declined to take the bait.

"Let's just get started, then," Harry conceded. "Get out your wand and yell Legilimens, and I'll start working on trying to push you out, all right? I've been practicing, but without someone to push against, I can't tell if I'm doing it right."

Harry saw Snape take a breath, and fancied the man relaxed, just marginally. "Aren't you neglecting something?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "Um, no, I don't think so."

Snape muttered something that Harry couldn't catch, but he was pretty sure he heard both foolish and Gryffindor in there somewhere. "The pensieve! Bring it, Mr Potter."

Flinching a bit at touching it, Harry carried the pensieve out of the kitchen and set it in its usual place on the low table before the couch, watching without a word as Snape incanted the Latin that would allow him to withdraw his own memories from it. Then, as he had done so many times before, he touched his wand to Harry's temple and whispered, "Pensare non pensatum."

Taking a chance, Harry thought of how much he regretted having pressed Snape to tell him about the Death Eater meeting.

"Again?"

"No." He arched back from the tip of the wand.

"Very well." Backing off a few paces, Snape cautioned, "This will be harder, Potter. Every time you push out at me, I will push in harder. Keep your focus. Centre yourself in the fire. Legilimens!"

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It had been their most gruelling session to date. By the time it was over, Harry was dripping sweat and felt close to passing out. Collapsing on the couch when Snape finally lowered his wand, Harry leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes, gasping.

"It will be worse with him," Snape saw fit to warn. "Magnitudes worse."

"Yeah, got it," Harry moaned. "I'll keep practicing, now that I have more of an idea what to do."

"Do that, Mr Potter." Snape flicked his robes as though preparing to leave. Moving his wand toward the pensieve, he began chanting the incantation that would let him restore Harry's memories.

"No, not just yet," Harry blearily requested.

Snape arched a sarcastic eyebrow and waited for Harry to explain.

"I... I..."

"Yes?" Snape asked darkly.

His head felt like a lump of granite, but Harry lifted it anyway, green eyes searching out Snape's dark ones. "You said my apology was inadequate. Maybe it was, I don't know. But I'd really like you to accept it, anyway. Please. I thought we were... I don't know. Friends, in some respect at least."

Harry couldn't have said that Snape's expression softened, but at least it didn't get any worse. That alone was probably what gave him the courage to finish. "I want you to look in the pensieve. I mean... I put my apology in there. Maybe this time you'll think it's adequate."

A sigh escaped Snape's lips. "You don't have to do that."

"Yeah, well I want to. Professor?"

Snape shook his head. "Apology accepted, Potter. We'll leave it at that."

"But I really do want--"

"Do me the courtesy, this time, of respecting what I want."

"Like I should have done to begin with," Harry acknowledged, understanding dawning. "Yes, all right. Thank you, sir."

Snape gave another sigh. "I do believe I prefer you insolent, all things considered."

"I'll work on it." Harry grinned slightly. He didn't feel entirely at ease, but decided to try to act as though he did. Maybe that would get Snape to ease up, too. "Speaking of which... just tell me to sod off if I shouldn't ask, and this time I will, I swear, but I was wondering why you came here at all on Halloween. You must have known you'd have to leave. Did you want me to... um, see you getting summoned?"

An incredulous look, Harry thought, was at least a reaction.

"Okay, I guess not," he surmised. "I couldn't think why you'd want me to see, but you are a Slytherin, so I figured it had to be some sort of manipulation."

"Hardly," Snape denied, though he didn't look in the least put out at having been called manipulative, Harry noted. "The Dark Lord's summons usually comes at midnight both on Halloween and Samhain. I had planned to be gone before that hour."

"Samhain?"

"The cross-quarter day between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice," Snape snapped. "Really, Potter, this is very basic Astronomy! You should have known all this before you ever set foot at Hogwarts!"

"Yeah, well I was raised by Muggles," Harry drawled. "Remember? Most of them aren't so big on cross-quarter days, or all the other stuff you teachers assume we ought to know. It means I have trouble in a lot of my classes."

"It doesn't appear to trouble Miss Granger," Snape returned.

"We're not all brilliant." Harry smiled. "But I will pass on your compliment, Professor."

Snape didn't look concerned. "She will never believe I said it."

"You think? Nah, she'll trust a fellow Gryffindor."

To Harry's disappointment, Snape didn't acknowledge the banter by so much as a raised eyebrow. Damn.

The Potions Master merely gave a slight nod toward the pensieve. "We had best restore your memory before too long has passed. Hold still, Mr Potter."

After Snape had placed Harry's thoughts back where they belonged, Harry had to ask, "Why'd you leave your own memories in there for three days, then?"

Snape narrowed his eyes a bit. "I wasn't eager to draw them in and out of my mind, repeatedly. It was simpler just to leave them be until everyone concerned had looked his fill."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Huh?"

A long sigh, then: "Albus needed to see them too, to look for patterns I might have missed, and since disembodied memories don't typically survive magical travel, he had to come here. His schedule didn't permit that until late last night."

Harry stared, a familiar fury filling his veins until they felt like they might burst. "The headmaster was here in this house last night? And he didn't even bother to see me, talk to me? What, does he still think Voldemort's going to reach out through me to get him? Even here?"

"Albus has to do what he thinks best," Snape answered. "I do not know why he has been avoiding you of late, but I could hazard a guess."

So could Harry, once he thought about it. "Yeah, he wants you and I to learn to get along."

"I should think it's more a case of... he wants you to have someone you can turn to," Snape clarified. "You were angry enough to destroy half the contents of his office last year, so he doesn't imagine you long to turn to him. But you do need someone, especially now that Black is... gone."

Harry closed his eyes, then clenched them. It helped. "I have Remus, still," he managed to say. "And Ron, and Hermione."

"A teacher whom even you admit doesn't acknowledge that you are growing up, not to mention one whose condition makes him regularly unavailable; and inept adolescents who cannot possibly understand the weight both of past and future that you must bear."

"Great, now I feel more alone than ever."

"You are not alone."

Green eyes opened, eyes that were old before their time. Eyes that had seen too much. "Of course I am. I can't firecall you in the middle of the night if I have a bad dream, or go on about how much Dudley baffles me, these days. It's not your problem."

"You may wake me anytime you have need," Snape steadily returned, though he didn't look the slightest bit compassionate about it. Just... factual. Analytical. "Any need. As for your cousin, who else can you tell? For all you say you have them, you have never told Lupin or your friends the full truth about Privet Drive."

"Yeah, well I never told you, either. Not really."

"Regardless, we are where we are, you and I." Snape paused for a delicate moment. "Might I ask what you meant about your cousin?"

"Nothing," Harry passed it off, then realised that Snape might be a good person to ask the one question that had been bothering him. "Just... I'm starting to think he might be willing to ward me, even if Uncle Vernon objects. But it's not his house. Does that matter?"

"It does."

"Figures. Oh well, it's not like I want to go back, anyway."

"Even were the wards intact, you would not go back to a home whose owner might conspire with the Dark Lord."

"Too bad he didn't say he'd do it sooner, then," Harry quipped. "I'd rather have spent summers here with Sirius."

"Black would have liked that," Snape admitted. "He asked Albus, more than once."

It was good to hear that, but it hurt. Terribly, reminding Harry of all he'd missed. He clenched his teeth, and purely to distract himself, asked, "So when's this Samhain?"

"Three nights hence." Snape bit out the words as though they were something frozen and distasteful. "And before you worry yourself again over what might transpire on that night, allow me to elucidate that for the Dark Lord, Samhain is ritual, not recreation."

Shivers convulsed Harry. He'd seen Voldemort engaged in ritual, after all. The blood of an enemy... the bones of his father... the sacrifice of a servant. "Oh, ick. That's probably even worse."

Snape didn't answer that, saying instead, "I will be not be here, tomorrow, although if you need something from me, Lupin can contact me through the Floo."

He wouldn't ask, Harry told himself. He wouldn't ask. He didn't need to know, he wouldn't ask... "Why aren't you coming?" he heard himself ask.

"The same reason I have not been here these past few nights. I have been brewing the Wolfsbane Potion for your mangy friend."

Harry whooshed out a breath. "It's that complicated?"

Snape got a strange look on his face, one Harry really couldn't even read, until the Potions Master admitted, "The first batch was unfortunately ruined."

"You failed to brew a perfect Potion, Professor?"

Snape scowled. "I had things on my mind. Do not inquire further."

That time, Harry knew enough to let it go. He certainly wasn't going to say what Snape always said in class: If you can only be competent when there is nothing to distract you, then you are not competent!

"All right," he murmured as Snape moved toward the Floo. "I'll see you day after tomorrow, then?"

"Yes. Late," Snape confirmed. "Until then, keep practicing, Mr Potter."

Harry nodded, and watched him go, belatedly realizing that not once all evening had his teacher chosen to call him Harry.

Apology accepted and You are not alone, he decided, were pretty much meaningless, in that case.

Harry was still frowning over it as he headed up to bed.

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For this chapter's discussion of what competency in Potions means, I must give credit to the brilliant Gateway Girl whose lines I have adapted.

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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Twenty-Three: Finding Sals

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight