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 Forty-Six: Delegation from Gryffindor

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The next day, Harry spent a fair amount of time figuring out what he wanted to do about Christmas. He'd already decided what he wanted to give Snape, and it wasn't even something he would need to order by owl, but he decided to buy him a little something also. Just a token, really, but he thought Snape would appreciate it.

It went without saying that he'd better get Draco a present, too. That took more thought. And of course Harry wanted to get something for Dudley; he'd owl it to Mrs. Figg who could Muggle post it to Aunt Marge's house.

That just left his Gryffindor friends.

Harry wasn't too happy with Ron, and he didn't really want to get him a Christmas present, but he didn't like the idea of doing anything to make the situation between them worse. Leaving him out of Christmas was like admitting that things between them weren't going to get better, wasn't it? And anyway, Ron's Christmas at the Burrow was likely to be a real disaster. Even if Arthur and Molly Weasley didn't approve of the adoption--a highly likely scenario in Harry's opinion--they certainly wouldn't stand for the kinds of nasty allegations Ron had decided to make. Ron was going to have a miserable holiday. Not that he didn't deserve it. But still.... sighing, Harry added a couple of items to one of the orders he'd already written up.

Hermione was less difficult to decide about. Harry didn't appreciate her view of him as somehow so damaged that he couldn't make an informed decision about being adopted, but at least she hadn't taken it as badly as Ron. He got her a somewhat nicer present in consequence. Finally, he wrote up an order for some Wizarding Christmas cards to send to the rest of his friends.

"Essay about done?" Draco said as he wandered back from the Potions lab. He set down a large bubbling beaker of something orange and creamy, and made a move as though to take hold of the parchments Harry had stacked next to his book.

Harry hurriedly gathered them up. "You can't see."

Draco gave him a twisted grin. "You don't want me to know your views on second-stage transmutations? I didn't realise they were all that personal."

"I haven't started the essay yet," Harry explained.

"Oooh, do tell," Draco teased. "What were you writing out here, love letters?"

"Christmas orders," Harry said, laughing.

Draco's grin grew wider. "I like diamonds and emeralds. Oh, and racing brooms--"

"I actually do need your help," Harry interrupted, shaking his head at the other boy's antics. Had Draco always been this... well, friendly and easy-going? Somehow he didn't think so. "How do I pay?"

"Well, the normal way would be to include an imprint of your key and specify a maximum amount they're allowed to withdraw. That protects you in case they think you're ordering something expensive you didn't mean to. You could probably skip the key and say you'd pay them in person later, though. Any Wizarding shop in Britain would be so pleased to have Harry Potter patronize them they'd be glad to wait for payment."

Harry frowned. "I don't want special privileges. How do I include an imprint of my key?"

After Draco showed him, Harry wrote in some maximum amounts and rolled up the letters into scrolls for Snape to take up to the Owlery. He really missed Hedwig; one of the drawbacks of living in the dungeons had been that he really couldn't keep an owl here. Hedwig wouldn't like being cooped up what felt like miles from the nearest sunshine. Not that Harry liked it any too well, either, but that was no reason to inflict it on his beautiful snowy owl.

"What is that?" he asked Draco, who was idly toying with the glass stirring rod sticking out of the Potions beaker.

"Oh, camouflage potion," the Slytherin boy answered. "You're supposed to make some; it's in Severus' lesson plans, but it has to be charmed to bind the chicory to the edelweiss... I thought you might as well get a feel for how it should come out, though."

"How do you know it came out right?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"I tested it."

Harry nodded, and picking up the beaker, tilted it to and fro to study the viscosity.

Draco bit his lip. "I probably should have mentioned this sooner. But... ah, you haven't seen your snake around lately, have you?"

"No, why---" Harry abruptly narrowed his eyes and set the beaker down with a thud. "You tested your potion on Sals!"

"I was testing it on one of those crickets Severus keeps for just that purpose. Sals... uh, ate him."

Harry wasn't sure he believed that load of bollocks. "How'd she see him?"

"How should I know?" Draco exclaimed, crossing defensive arms. "She's a snake! Maybe she smelled him or something."

"Oh my God," Harry moaned. "That Potion is supposed to be topical, only! What does it do to you if you eat it?"

Draco had the decency not to point out that the required reading had actually covered that. "Um, well it's a bit toxic for wizards," he admitted, hurriedly adding, "But Sals isn't that, so maybe it'll be all right."

Panicking, Harry jumped up. He froze as his chair clattered to the ground. "Wait! Don't move, don't take a step. You might squish her!"

"Why don't you just call for her so we know where she is?"

Good idea. "Sals," Harry called.

"In Parseltongue, Harry," Draco impatiently clarified as he stood perfectly still.

"I can't make it come out on its own!" Harry protested. "It only works when I'm talking to a snake, or at least a picture--"

"Well, pretend, Potter!"

Harry closed his eyes and tried. "Sals--" The snorting noise Draco made told him well enough that he hadn't managed any Parseltongue. Well, Draco was a fine one to complain. "I can't believe you didn't tell me what you'd done instantly!" Harry raged.

"I couldn't tell you!" Draco shouted back, standing as still as a statue. "At first I was hoping it would wear off, and then I realised you'd get pretty mad at me, like you are--"

"Oh, don't be an idiot!" Harry snarled. "I'm not mad at you!"

"Could have fooled me," Draco muttered.

"It's not like I think you did it on purpose. I'm worried, all right?" Harry paused, his mind racing. "Hmm, tell you what. Pat down the area near you to make sure she's not there, and then kneel. We'll crawl all over, sweeping our hands on the floor to try to find her. I'll check the Floo first, of course, but I can't walk there in case I step on her. Got it?"

"Got it," Draco echoed, his voice churning with nausea. "You want me to rub my hands all over the filthy floor in hopes I might actually be fortunate enough to touch a sodding snake."

Harry was already on his hands and knees, carefully feeling the floor all around as he moved toward the fireplace. "I know you have issues, Malfoy, but are you planning to help or not?"

With a few muttered oaths, Draco got down on the floor too, making awful faces as he patted the stones as though they might bite him. By then, Harry had made it to the Floo. "She's not here!" He started to shake, his hands trembling so much that he could barely keep searching. "And what are we going to do even if we do find her? Is there a counter-Potion or something?"

"The textbook doesn't stretch to counter-Potions for every creature under the sun," Draco snapped. "And it didn't list one for wizards, either," he admitted.

Harry stood up, careful not to shift his feet, and grabbed some Floo powder off the ebony box on the mantel. Without thinking, he tossed it in and called, "Potions office!"

Nothing happened, absolutely nothing. Well, what had made him think his magic might be coming back? Just because he could repress his wild powers didn't mean he could access them, did it?

"Severus has a class just now," Draco reminded him.

Grinding his teeth in exasperation, Harry flung more powder in and yelled for the Potions classroom.

When Snape's torso and head leaned forward out of the fire, Harry squeaked in shock and fell backwards onto his arse. "It worked," he mouthed, scarcely able to believe it, himself.

"Problem?" Snape snapped, his gaze swinging to take in the entire room in a glance.

"S... Sals is lost," Harry started to explain.

"Mr Potter, I am currently endeavouring not to let a cohort of first-year Hufflepuffs damage my classroom while they mangle themselves beyond recognition. Kindly allow me to continue."

With that, he vanished to leave Harry staring slack-jawed at the crackling fire.

Mr Potter? Then it came to him that Snape was with students, so he was in full Potions Master mood. Still, he could have listened for longer than a second and a half.

"I could have told you he wouldn't leave first-years while Potions are brewing," Draco pointed out. "The walls might be spattered with Hufflepuff guts when he returns. But look on the bright side; the Floo worked for you! Go get your wand and see what else you can do--"

"Sals is still missing!"

"Oh, right." Sighing, Draco dropped to his knees again and began gingerly sweeping the floor, his fingers trembling as he extended them.

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Harry was the one who found her, coiled up in the corner of the bathroom, her steady breathing saying that all was well. Camouflaged, though, didn't begin to cover it. She was completely invisible.

Scooping her up, Harry carefully carried her out to the couch and held her between his palms. "Sals?" he asked, "Sals. How do you feel?"

No answer.

"Still no Parseltongue?" Draco dryly inquired as he summoned a towel, moistened it with a Hydratus spell, and fastidiously wiped his hands clean. He used a cleaning charm as well after that, and all Harry could figure was that the Slytherin boy really didn't like to get his hands dirty.

"I thought that was," Harry protested.

"English, clear as day."

"Well, I can't tell! It all sounds the same to me."

Harry drew in a deep breath. He'd thought that holding Sals' cool body would be enough to spark his Parseltongue, but apparently he needed to see a snake to make the language emerge. Well, that figured. Even when he'd opened the Chamber of Secrets, he'd had that tiny engraving of a snake to talk to. Harry concentrated, staring at his hands, trying to imagine that he could just make her out.

"Sals, say something to me," he tried.

"English," Draco informed him, banishing the towel away.

Harry squeezed his eyes closed so hard his head ached, and forced himself to focus. He imagined the Basilisk looming before him, those horrible yellow eyes ready to blind him if he looked into them, and said, "Sals, did the cricket taste funny?"

"What sort of question is that? Of course it tasted funny, it was doused in potion!"

"Shut up, Malfoy, I'm trying to concentrate." Pouring even more energy into imagining himself with a visible snake, Harry felt himself drawn back into a distant memory of the zoo. "Sssals. Can you sssee yourself, Sssals?"

He heard Draco's breath hitch, and felt Sals turning around in his hands, the motion sluggish as though she were just waking up. Her little tongue flickered out to taste him, the sensation somehow reassuring. "Where am I, Harr-eee?" Sals asked. "I sssee you, but not me..."

"It's going to be all right," Harry said. "You ate... er, a bad bug, but my father will be home soon and he'll know how to get you back to normal." I hope, Harry mentally added. "I can't sssee you either, Sals. I had a hard time finding you. If I put you in your box, would you pleasssess stay?"

"Yesss," hissed Sals.

"No Floo," Harry sternly warned. "I mean it, Sssals."

He felt Sals nod, and gently lowered her into her box.

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In the end, they didn't need a counter-potion. Before Snape even arrived home that afternoon, Sals was looking a bit more visible. "Camouflage Potion is only toxic for warm-blooded creatures," Snape explained, holding the snake and squinting until he spotted her against his hand. "Even then, it's not fatal unless you drink gallons of it."

Draco couldn't wait to break the news. "Harry called you on the Floo!"

Snape settled Sals back into her box and laid it on a low, square table. He cast a rather baleful look at Harry. "Heartening as the event may have been, you need to use more judgment about disturbing me while I am with students, Harry. Ernie Cumberbund's hand very nearly disintegrated while my back was turned."

"Severus, Harry used the Floo," Draco stressed. "It's never worked for him before!"

"I'm quite cognizant of my son's indeterminate magical state, thank you!" Snape said, rounding on Draco until the Slytherin boy flushed and glanced away. Snape returned his attention to Harry. "Contacting my by Floo when I am with students is to be reserved for emergencies only, Harry. Is that clear?"

"It was one! We couldn't find Sals anywhere, and I thought she might be poisoned and need an antidote," Harry protested, his heartbeat thudding against his ribs.

"If your life or safety is in danger, or Draco's is, you may interrupt me during a class. Otherwise," Snape leaned close, his hawk nose menacing at close range, "do not. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered. "My mistake. I thought you would care."

"I cannot leave students unsupervised to see to a snake, Harry. Not even your snake."

Harry crossed his arms and looked away. "Right. Got it."

Sighing, Snape ran a hand through his hair. "So, the magic. Fetch your wand and try a few spells."

Harry'd done that already, but he wasn't feeling too charitable towards Snape, so he didn't say a word, other than the obvious ones: Lumos, Incendio, Wingardium Leviosa, and so on and so forth. He even did an Expecto Patronum, though that wouldn't have worked even if his magic was back, as he wasn't concentrating very hard on a happy memory. He couldn't. He was too irritated with Snape.

Anyway, none of the incantations worked. Not a single, solitary one.

Draco only made it worse. "Harry," he said, following him into the bedroom where the Gryffindor boy was putting away his wand, "she's just a snake. You can't expect Severus to endanger his students--"

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "I don't want to talk about it, all right? Everything's perfectly clear to me."

"At least yesterday you had a reason to sulk--"

"Shut up."

At that, Draco wisely did.

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Harry was tempted to skip dinner again, but he had a feeling that Snape wouldn't be nearly so tolerant a second night in a row. Besides, he was hungry, so cooping himself up in his room was a bit immature. Even he could see that, mad as he was at Snape.

The meal was a rather tense affair, but only as far as Harry was concerned. Snape seemed perfectly content to chat with Draco, discussing why a camouflage potion would have different effects on a cold-blooded creature. More than once, Harry knew a strong urge to mouth off that Snape was a cold-blooded creature, wasn't he... but he managed to resist the impulse. He didn't particularly want to lose points from either of his houses, though come to think of it, he wasn't sure Snape would resort to points if he wanted to punish Harry. He might make him clean cauldrons or something, Harry silently fumed.

Dessert was something creamy, sweet, and burnt called crème brulée. It looked a bit off-putting to Harry's eyes, and when he first scooped up a spoonful, he was tempted to describe it as slimy and refuse to eat it, but Draco made such a face of ecstasy with every bite that Harry couldn't resist trying it out.

Shite, it was almost delicious enough to drag him out of his foul mood. Almost.

Snape hadn't touched his portion, preferring instead to nurse a glass of something called Riesling. After Harry had finished his serving of the creamy burnt custard, Snape drew a letter from a pocket and passed it across the table. "This came earlier. How would you like me to respond?"

A bit surprised by the question, Harry unfolded the parchment sheet and read:

Dear Professor Snape,

I am sure you know by now that Ronald Weasley and I came down yesterday to visit with Harry. We were very surprised to hear that you had adopted him. I am afraid our reaction tended to rather upset Harry. I wanted to apologize for that. I wish Harry only the very best and would never want to cause him any distress.

That said, however, I feel I must mention a few things to you. No doubt you will say that none of this is my business and I am quite out of line. I beg to disagree. You appear to be friendly with Harry these days, but I have been fast friends with him for five years, so I consider that his welfare is my business and I am not being presumptuous when I point out that you may not know him well enough to really understand the complexities of his personality. How could you? You have spent most of those five years being deliberately vindictive and cruel to him. I do know, of course, that you have also been instrumental in safeguarding his life at times, but you also made his life a misery much more often than you saved it.

Is it not therefore rational to suspect that if Harry has grown fond of you, he must be doing it for less than sound reasons? I don't know all the details, but that so-called family of his definitely excluded him from what the rest of us would regard as normal family life. He's been burdened since he was eleven with not only a fame he doesn't embrace, but the knowledge that many in our world wish to annihilate him for something he did as a baby. It can't be healthy that you were one of their number, once. And yet now he's calling you "father" quite adamantly. Doesn't that strike you as strange?

I respectfully suggest that perhaps Harry has become fixated on you because after his horrible recent experience with the Death Eaters, he had no one else to turn to. If you think about matters, you'll realise this must be the case. After all, good intentions aside, you were instrumental in helping hurt him terribly during Samhain. It is not normal for you to be the person he appears to now most trust. It can only be that during that vulnerable period afterwards, while he was no doubt in excruciating pain and utterly dependent on you for everything, he formed an unhealthy bond with you. This adoption is sealing that bond legally, but because the bond itself is unsound, so too is the adoption a poor idea.

I understand that for the present, for you to be Harry's father is actually quite advantageous, and of course I'd never deliberately endanger him, so I'm not suggesting you change your legal status at this time. But please, don't encourage him to grow any more attached to you than he has, already. It isn't good for him to regard you as his father when really, you're just the person who happened to be there when he needed someone.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

"Are you going to take points from Gryffindor?" Harry asked when he'd read the letter twice through.

Snape shook his head. "I don't appreciate her sentiments, but I do recognise them as sincerely and politely delivered. My question stands. How would you like me to respond?"

"Uh... well, just don't hex her," was all Harry could think to say.

An impatient noise catching in his throat, Snape observed, "Harry. If I'm not going to take points, I have no plans whatsoever to chastise the young lady."

Harry thought a moment. What did he want Snape to do about Hermione? "I suppose you could write her back and explain why she's wrong. I mean, I tried to explain but she wasn't about to listen to me, not when she thinks I'm completely deluded."

He expected Snape to refuse. After all, it wasn't quite the done thing for teachers to write to their students. Snape, however, merely said, "Very well," and summoned a parchment and quill. He spent perhaps five minutes mentally composing a reply, then wrote it without appearing to hesitate or scratch out anything. "Would you like to see?"

Still a bit irked, Harry groused, "Would you like me to see?"

"I'm indifferent," Snape replied, his black eyes unreadable. "Do as you wish." Standing, he left the table and headed toward his office where he no doubt had essays to mark.

"He deserves better from you," Draco complained, using a spell to banish the dishes to the kitchen. "There wasn't even anything wrong with Sals. How would you feel if he'd left his class and then you found out that somebody had to be sent to the hospital wing as a result?"

Draco had a point, and Harry knew it, but it still didn't sit right with him that Snape had yelled at him for using the Floo. He hadn't even been happy that Harry's magic had been enough to work it. "Just let me read the letter," he grumbled, pulling it close to study the long scrawls that made up words.

Miss Granger,

Your sedulous concern for Harry's welfare aside, you should be more chary of asserting as truisms your own puerile suppositions. Harry's rapport with me is not in any sense pathological. It is based on a confluence of several factors and was established well in advance of the infelicitous events of Samhain.

Moreover, I take personal affront at the allegation, implicit throughout your prolix missive, that I do not regard him as my son.

Psychology, Miss Granger, does not appear to be your métier.

Professor Severus Snape

Harry couldn't help but gawk by the time he had gotten through the letter. Without a word to Draco, Harry marched straight through into Snape's office and challenged, "What is this, a dictionary challenge? I only understood one word in three!"

Snape looked up from the ink-spattered parchment before him. "A bit recondite, was it?"

"What!"

Smirking slightly, the man set down his quill. "It used too many big words?"

"You know it did! What are you trying to do, prove you're smarter than Hermione? She knows that, all right? If you ask me, it's pretty mean-spirited of you to rub it in like this!"

Snape pushed his hair off his face. "In actual fact, I was paying Miss Granger a compliment."

"Prolix, for Merlin's sake? You think she knows a word like prolix? Get real!"

"That one was perhaps a bit much," Snape admitted.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You let me win at Wizard's Scrabble, didn't you? Why bother letting me use slang if you weren't going to play your best, anyway?"

Snape smiled. "I couldn't miss out learning a fascinating word like ronk, could I?"

"This letter ronks," Harry retorted, though he couldn't help but smile, too. "Could you just tell me what it means, more or less?"

Snape grasped the letter in both hands as Harry held it out and translated, "I can tell you're worried about Harry but you're completely wrong about everything. He's fine and we liked each other before Samhain. How dare you suggest he's not really my son. You don't know a thing. Sincerely, etc."

Harry bit his lip. "Um... I guess maybe the educated-sounding version is a bit more... er, appropriate for Hermione."

"I thought so, yes," Snape murmured, rolling the parchment up and addressing it. "I'll take this to the Owlery now so that she can peruse it with her morning oatmeal."

Harry nodded. "I have some post too; can you take that as well?" He went and fetched it, checking if Draco had anything to send. When he was back with Snape again, he took a deep breath and did the mature thing, admitting, "It bothers me that you wouldn't listen to me about Sals, sir."

"It bothers me that you believe I should endanger my students at your convenience."

"I didn't say you should!"

Coming around the desk, Snape took the letters Harry held clutched. "You thought I should. And it can't be like that, Harry. You aren't my only responsibility. Nothing takes precedence over you, but you must understand that the principle simply can't apply to your pet."

"I just wanted you to listen for a second," Harry objected. "If you hadn't vanished in a huff I'd've explained about the accident and asked if there was an antidote to Camouflage Potion."

"Which would have opened up a whole conversation about the brewing thereof, at a time when Cumberbund's hand was almost down to bone, already!"

"I see your point," Harry sighed, and looked down at his shoes. "But you were so mad that you didn't even care I got the Floo to work. I mean, you weren't even happy for me."

Snape placed a finger under the boy's chin and nudged his face back up. "I would not lead you to to believe that my pride or pleasure in you rests in your powers, Harry."

Harry blinked. Wasn't that the equivalent of I'll care about you, magic or no? He'd known, of course, that Snape hadn't adopted him because he was supposed to kill Voldemort or anything like that, but now, it seemed more like something he could reach out and hold.

"That's all right, I guess," Harry admitted, shooting Snape a sidelong glance. He sort of wanted to hug the man, but wasn't quite sure how to go about it. Even the idea felt awkward. "About the Floo, though. What do you think it means?"

"You wanted very much to speak with me," Snape observed, stepping away. "Perhaps a sense of desperation helps unlock your powers. It is urgency that impels your wild magic, and yesterday, urgency that caused you to exercise control over it."

"So you're saying Draco's right, and the problem all along has been that I don't want to get better, since that'll mean I'll have to face Voldemort someday?"

"I fear you will face him again, regardless."

"Me too, but that doesn't answer my question."

Snape lifted his shoulders. "Perhaps volition may be part of the issue. Either way, I think you need to worry about it less. Your magic will be there when you are ready for it to be, and no amount of anxiety will rouse it any faster."

"But... what if I never really do get it back? I mean, using the Floo's not worth much if I can't cast spells. I have to be able to duel if I'm going to defend myself."

"If it never comes back, then it never comes back," Snape softly vowed, a sentiment which made little sense to Harry until he went on, "It won't make you any less my son, if that's what troubles you."

Harry felt touched, but for all that, he groaned. "It'll make me less me. You don't understand. I wasn't anything before I knew I had magic. And now, all anybody sees when they look at me is Harry Potter, wizard extraordinaire. They think I won the blasted Tri-Wizard Tournament! I'd like to take out an ad in the Prophet announcing that Crouch cheated me right up to the top, but of course I can't, because people need a hero, don't they?"

"You're rather fond of exaggeration. All anybody sees is Harry Potter, wizard?"

"Well, not you or my friends," Harry admitted.

"Or anyone who actually knows you," Snape amended that. "I could just as easily make the same complaint. Only those who truly know me have the slightest idea of who I really am, Harry. My very appearance all but shrieks dark wizard, does it not?"

"Yeah, but you cultivate that image," Harry retorted. "You dress all in black like walking death. And um... well... er... you sort of let your, er, appearance seem kind of off-putting, don't you?" He thought of mentioning the hair directly and decided he'd better not. "And that's not even counting the nasty attitude you deliberately project."

"The point is that I'm judged on that basis. As Draco is judged by his money and his name, and you by your scar."

"And Hermione by her reputation for brains, and Ron by his brothers. All right, I get it. I still think I have it worse than any of you lot, though."

"You do," Snape agreed. "But the difference is one of degree, not nature. You aren't as alone as you think, in how you feel. As for your magic, Harry, give it time. Your dark powers are maturing, that much is clear. First you could control them to the extent of dragging them back in. Now you can manipulate the Floo, at least when you become desperate to do so."

Harry was saved from answering by Draco clearing his throat at the office door. "There are some people here to see Harry."

"People?" Snape sharply questioned.

"Gryffindors."

"Ron and Hermione?"

"More like Hermione and a pack," Draco grumbled. "Don't ask me who. You think I know all your house mates' names? Oh, well, I did spot Longbottom in the throng. And that Patil girl again, or the other one."

Harry had been walking to the office door, but at that he stilled. "Just how many people are we talking about?"

"Ten or twelve. I don't know, they pretty much fill the hallway."

"You didn't invite them in?" Harry gave Draco a brief glare.

"Considering last time, no," Draco said, his voice about as serious as Harry had ever heard it. He turned his attention to the Potions Master. "I wanted to ask you first, Severus. Their mood seems awfully grim. I'm a bit concerned they're here to kick Harry out of Gryffindor."

Harry set his teeth. "Oh yeah? We'll just see about that!"

"They can't do anything of the sort," Snape assured him.

"They can make him feel unwanted enough that it boils down to the same thing," Draco pointed out.

"Why don't we just go see what they want?" Harry suggested, his stomach in a knot. This was so unfair. He shouldn't have to choose between his newfound father and his house! But he shouldn't have had to choose between Snape and Ron, either.

But he had had to, so he'd done it.

"Well," Harry decided, "putting it off won't make it any easier." He was almost at the open office door when he realised that Snape had gone back to marking essays. "What are you doing? You have to come out there with me. For moral support."

"My presence is bound to exacerbate matters," Snape quietly protested. "And truly, Harry, I have no wish to come between you and your friends, much as I may dislike them."

"And I have no wish to pretend you aren't what you are to me, much as they definitely do dislike you," Harry retorted. "I'm your son no matter what, remember? Well, it's the same on my end. You're my father no matter what, so come on, now."

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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Forty-Seven: Robe and Mask

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight