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 Fifty-One: Ten Thousand Times

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"Well, that was without a doubt the best Christmas I've ever had," Harry said a few days later as they were getting ready to Apparate from the cottage.

"But the worst-cooked goose," Draco added, chuckling.

"I told you Incendio wouldn't work," Harry scolded. "It has to roast slowly. We went over that!"

Draco shrugged. "I thought it was worth a try. How was I to know that Severus couldn't make it raw again with a wave of his wand? I thought we'd be able to start over!"

"Instead we had burnt goose for Christmas dinner!" For all that though, Harry was laughing. It hadn't been any big deal, especially since the house-elves had packed loads more food than they'd really needed.

"You are both ready to depart?" Snape interrupted the good-natured argument.

"No, I need a moment more," Draco murmured. He popped open his floating trunk and pulled something from it. "Here, Harry. I never got around to giving you this. I was going to say, 'I hope you get well soon...' Hmm, I suppose I can still say that, only I'll make it, 'I hope your magic gets well soon,' all right?"

A heavy weight settled in Harry's palm as he took the gift wrapped in foil and ribbon. This time though, it was gold foil with crimson ribbon. Harry set his duffel down and fingered the gift uncertainly. "You... you said it was hexed?"

Draco smirked a bit. "Well, it is. Just a bit. But not in any bad way."

Harry didn't understand, but since he didn't think Draco was out to hurt him, he went ahead and tore off the wrappings.

What emerged from the foil was a tiny figure of a griffin. Silver-coloured, no taller than three inches, it sat on its haunches in Harry's hand, eyes closed and wings neatly folded in. The moment Harry breathed, however, it came to life, furling out its wings and puffing out its chest as it gave a tinny little roar. The griffin began looking around, darting a fierce emerald glare all about. Harry lifted it closer and decided those eyes were definitely gemstones.

"This is very interesting," Harry said, returning his gaze to Draco, who actually looked a tad nervous. "A Griffin, but in Slytherin colours? Are you so sure you bought this back before I got adopted?"

"Yes. I'd just seen you at Samhain, remember. And I remember being impressed with your cunning. You hit Severus just to keep up appearances, when all the time you were relying on him to save you... things which I figured out later, obviously. But when they said I could see you in hospital, I thought... he's brave like a Gryffindor's supposed to be, but there's more to him than that..." Draco suddenly grinned. "Besides, you were blind. You weren't going to know the griffin was platinum."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "This isn't silver?"

"Oh, please. Silver... that's practically an insult, you know."

"Your amulet's on a silver chain," Harry reminded him.

"Oh, well that's different, as you were raised with different standards," Draco retorted, reaching below his collar to pull up the turquoise disk and dangle it for a moment before tucking it back away. "I like the amulet, Harry. Really."

Harry sneaked a glance at Snape. "Well, I hope so. Because unless I can get... ah, Severus here to give me some sort of allowance, I won't have any money for Christmas next year."

"What happened to your cunning?" Snape smoothly inquired. "That's about the least subtle way of raising the subject I can imagine."

"No, the least subtle would be 'How much is my allowance?'" Harry joked. He was a little bit put out when Snape didn't comment further. Harry really had been wondering what he'd do when he needed money.

"So, the hex is that the griffin moves?" Harry asked, turning back towards Draco.

"That part's a charm. The hex is.... if you're holding it when someone who truly hates you approaches... it'll try its best to bite them."

"That's a bit nasty."

Draco gave him a bland look. "Useful, I'd say. It's not a bad thing to know who your enemies are."

Harry understood, then. "And you were going to make sure I knew, in hospital, that the griffin wouldn't bite you?" He shook his head. "That wouldn't have proven much. I'd just have thought you were lying about the meaning of the spells."

Draco shrugged. "It was all I could think of to do." As if still needing to prove himself, he reached out a finger and stroked the griffin's back, right between the wings. The little figure purred.

"It means a lot that way back then, you were already trying to make sure I knew you wanted to be a friend," Harry murmured. "Thank you. Hmm, Slytherin colours... it's almost like you had foreknowledge."

"You mean that you'd end up as Severus' son?" Draco openly scoffed. "After five years of Potions class with you, how could I possibly doubt that? You've always had such a deep and abiding love for one another!"

Harry and Snape exchanged a significant glance then... but neither of them spoke until Snape briskly announced, "I'll charm Sals into a bracelet again, now." He did it with a single touch of his wand. "Draco, can you Apparate back to the safe-house on your own or shall I return for you?"

After hearing about Draco having splinched his own hand off, Harry shuddered at the question. The Slytherin boy, however, lightly said, "Apparate away. I'm right behind you. And so looking forward to flooing back to the dungeons where I'll no doubt remain confined until the next school holiday."

"You might try thanking him for the lovely time he's given us," Harry pointed out. "He didn't have to let us out at all, you know, or open his home to us--"

"Harry, this is your home too," Snape sighed.

"Oh, right..."

"Well, I for one have had quite enough father-son moments this holiday," Draco announced, sounding suddenly put out. "So I'll just travel ahead of you both, shall I?"

With no more warning than that, he was vanishing on the spot.

"I'll talk to him about his attitude. Again," Snape told Harry.

"No, please don't," Harry begged. "Draco's usually all right, and times like this... I think you ought to let him... um, vent."

Snape looked doubtful, but waved a hand to indicate that for the moment, he'd hold off any rebukes. Pulling Harry into his arms, he held the boy to his chest and absorbed the shock of Apparation as he whisked them both back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

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The next morning after Snape had flooed up to his classroom office, Harry was surprised to see Draco already back to writing letters.

"The other students won't arrive for three more days," Harry pointed out, pulling up a chair to the dining room table. "Can't your endless letters to Slytherin wait?"

Draco barely glanced up as he replied, "It's a thank you note."

"Who do you need to thank?"

That had the Slytherin boy looking at him. "The headmaster, Harry," he said in a patronizing tone. And then, when Harry still looked blank, Draco went on, "The socks?"

Harry was really quite startled, but since Draco did have perfect manners --not that he always put them to use-- he thought to ask, "Oh... think I should write one, too?"

Draco's golden eyebrows drew together. "You mean even with your thanking-people thing, you've been neglecting the requisite cards?"

"Just take it for read I was raised by people with no manners, all right, and explain."

That familiar, superior look descended on the Slytherin boy's features. "Well, it's really very simple, Harry. If someone's given you a gift, you either thank them in person at the time, or write them a card at your earliest possible convenience."

Draco sounded like he was quoting someone, most likely his mother, Harry assumed, but he also sounded serious, so Harry nodded. "Okay, got it. Um, do you have some cards I can borrow?"

Draco pushed a sizeable stack across the table. "That's the drawback to being so popular, Potter," he snarked. "The thank you cards."

"Yeah," Harry realised, counting on his fingers without realizing it. "I'd better do Dumbledore, and Neville, and Ginny, and..." His voice changed to a more contemplative tone. "Oh, Hermione..."

"Now that's a card I'd give my eye-teeth to see," Draco hinted, an absolutely enigmatic smile brightening his expression.

Harry was hardly moved. "Forget it, it's between Hermione and myself."

"Oh, fine." Draco gave a reasonable imitation of a long-suffering sigh. "Well, my cards are done for the year. All one of them. I used to get loads of presents, I hope you know. The Malfoys are connected to just about everybody and they all wanted to curry favour with my father."

"But now you've got Professor Snape's respect," Harry pointed out. "Not to mention a chance at missing out on Azkaban, where you were definitely going to end up, the way you were headed--"

"I didn't say it wasn't worth it, Harry," Draco interrupted as he stood up. "It's just... more adjusting than you probably realise."

Harry could have pointed out that he'd had to adjust to magic being real, and then to losing his. In the end, though, all he said was, "I'll get cracking on these cards, then."

Draco left him to it.

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Some of the cards practically wrote themselves.

Dear Neville, Thanks for the chocolate-covered raspberries. It was good of you to remember those were my favourites. Every time I eat one I remember how you came down here and said I was still your friend and house mate and even Seeker when I'm all better. That means the whole world to me, Neville. You're a great friend and I want to see a whole lot more of you, all right? Don't let Snape scare you away. He takes some sort of perverse joy in putting the fear of Merlin into Gryffindors, but I don't think he can help it. I know for sure that he wants me to be happy even if that means having Gryffindors swarming down here, okay...

Dear Colin & Dennis, Wow, an entire photo album stuffed with nothing but pictures of me. I'll be sure to give a present like that all the attention it deserves...

Dear Dudley, I was really impressed when I saw your present sitting right there on Christmas morning. You did a great job navigating all that complicated Mrs. Figg/owl post stuff it takes to get things to me. I hope you liked the Wizard Chocolate I sent you. You can believe the label, it's got no sugar and no fat, and the store swore it'd taste just as nice to Muggles as it does to wizards. Anyway, I just wanted to be sure you weren't alarmed at the idea. It's not like the wizard candies you ate a couple of years ago, promise. It won't do a thing to you except make you smile from ear to ear. Your own present to me was really thoughtful. I know it probably seems amazing but I've never had a diary before. I bet it's right, what Marsha wrote on the note you tucked inside... keeping a journal might be a pretty healthy way for me to sort through some of my feelings. And boy, do I have some things to sort through. You know how I told you that Professor Snape wasn't so much the "dad" type? I'm starting to think he really is, and I'm starting to realise more and more how much I want just that. Anyway, it's a lot to come to terms with. Tell Marsha "hi" from me, okay, and that the journal was a super idea...

Dear Professor Dumbledore, Thank you very much for the nice purple furry socks you sent me for Christmas. I'd also like to thank you for porting all my presents out to the cottage. It was a wonderful surprise to wake up Christmas morning and see that so many of my friends had remembered me....

Dear Parvati, I'd forgotten what it was like to wear glasses until I slipped on those charmed ones you sent me. They made the whole world look like a kaleidoscope. Too bad I didn't have a pair to wear during Binn's history lectures. It would have been nice to have something interesting to watch. Thanks so much for thinking of me this Christmas...

Dear Ginny, The best present in the whole world was that well-wish you handed me a few days before the holidays. I know it was from all of Gryffindor, but it means a lot to me that you presented it and that you wished Professor Snape well, too. I hardly expected anything more, but then to find that you'd sent me a Christmas present of a book on well-wishes... that's really special beyond measure. I'd like to say that I've unravelled the entire well-wish by now, but Severus is insisting that I figure out without help what plants are even in it. (Long story, but basically, I cheated on the well-wish Draco gave me.) Anyway, once I figure out the plants, I'll be using the book you gave me to see just what Gryffindor wished for me....

And finally, after he'd written still more cards, Harry got to the one most on his mind. It didn't exactly write itself, but after three drafts Harry gave up on trying to not let his irritation show at all.

Dear Hermione, it read,

Thank you for the psychology book. It'll be nice to have my own copy. Up until now, I've been borrowing the one Professor Snape bought right after Samhain. Same book! But really, if it's the book Severus chose when he realised I needed help, you can be sure it's an excellent text indeed. Actually, I've been reading it for weeks and I can vouch for it. If not for this particular book, I don't know if I'd have ever really been able to accept Severus as my father. You might be interested to know that even Draco has pored all through it, too. He thought it had great potential for helping me understand myself better. So see, I just knew the two of you had something in common....

Harry sealed up all his letters and left them on the middle of the table where Snape couldn't fail to miss them. Also... where he'd be able to see if Draco tried to charm them open or something. He liked Draco these days, but a Slytherin was still a Slytherin.

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"Mr Weasley will be down here after dinner in the Great Hall ends," Snape announced on the first evening after classes had resumed.

Harry dropped his fork into his mashed potatoes, then hurriedly picked it back up and tried for a nonchalant tone. "May I ask why?"

Snape's dark eyes seemed even more heartless than usual as he replied, "There's a little matter of a consequence for his ill-considered comments."

Harry could think of only one reason why Ron would have to come to Snape's quarters for his consequence. "Please," he entreated, "don't make him apologize to me. That'll just make everything worse, sir."

Snape's nostrils flared. "No doubt that particular young man wouldn't apologize even if I flayed him to the bone." Catching the look on Harry's face, he went on, "Oh, don't look so dire. I assure you, I've an entirely more... civilized chastisement in mind for your erstwhile friend."

"Personally, I think the flaying sounds fine," Draco remarked, tipping his head back as he downed the rest of his wine. That was unusual. The Slytherin boy usually sipped at it with great solemnity, and to Harry's surprise, had never once drunk enough to even get tipsy. Tonight he seemed to be inviting it, though. He poured himself another full glass, then frowned when Snape pointed his wand at it and evanescoed half the contents away. "Spoil-sport," the boy muttered.

"Better that than spoiling for a fight," Snape sternly countered. "I didn't insist Mr Weasley come down here so that matters could become even worse. Is that understood, Draco?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape was hardly satisfied. "If you can't keep a civil tongue in your head I fully expect you to keep yourself occupied in your bedroom or the Potions laboratory, is that understood?"

Draco's answer to that was to push off from the table, stalk to his bedroom, and slam the door.

"And as for you," Snape continued with scarcely a pause, "I trust you'll remember that Mr Weasley is down here for punishment, not to socialize."

"He's hardly going to want to socialize with me," Harry pointed out.

"All the same, you're to leave him to his consequence. Comport yourself as though he's not here at all, in fact."

"Fine!" Harry snapped, a little unnerved. "What is his punishment, anyway? I mean, since you obviously feel that ruining his Christmas wasn't vindictive enough."

"Oh, he merely has to write lines," Snape said, waving his wand to clear away the dishes.

Write lines? "Oh, God, don't," Harry begged, pulling up his sleeve where the faint tracings of an old punishment were still etched into his hand.

"I'm frankly insulted you could compare me to that imbecile Umbridge," Snape scathed, reaching out to shove Harry's sleeve back down over the offending scar. "For the record, Potter, I don't physically torture students to make a point, any more than I experiment on them or transfigure them when they offend me!"

Taken completely off guard, Harry stammered, "I... I didn't think you knew about Umbridge, sir..."

"You told me when you were babbling after your operation. As you weren't in your right mind, you claimed it was Lockhart, but I reasoned it out. Pity the Scaradicate Salve didn't heal it after Samhain, but a blood quill causes a curse scar to form."

"I didn't mean to imply you'd make Ron use a blood quill!" Harry objected.

"Then what did you mean, pray tell?" Snape inquired in what was possibly the snidest voice Harry had ever heard him use.

"I... I don't know! I just know you said write lines and I couldn't help but think of the last time I had to, and it was awful sir, just absolutely awful!"

"No doubt Mr Weasley will believe his punishment equally awful though it involves nothing but a regular quill and parchment," Snape scathed. "Such is self-pity, a trait most adolescents possess in exceeding abundance. Thank Merlin you have less of it than your peers. With your history, were you inclined to self-pity, we'd all drown in the tears."

Harry wasn't actually sure if that had been an offhand compliment or just more Ron-bashing. "If all Ron has to do is write lines," he decided to ask, "why does he have to do it down here?"

He wondered if Snape would be honest and open enough to reply, So I can berate him to his face for hours on end, of course...

"So he can't cheat," Snape snarled. "Or did you think that was the exclusive province of Slytherins? Half-Slytherins, in your case. I won't have him duplicating lines by magic, or even using a self-inking quill. He's going to write his lines out the old-fashioned way and think about the error of his ways."

Personally, Harry thought that writing lines wouldn't make Ron do any such thing. It would just make him resentful, and angrier at Harry, probably. He also thought, though, that Snape wouldn't react too well if Harry pointed out that Ron's behaviour was really more a family than a school matter. The man was mad enough already. Harry figured if he crossed one too many lines, Snape would take a huge number of points from Ron, just to make a point. Bit of a miracle, really, that he hadn't done that already.

Or at least, not that Harry knew of. But he felt fairly sure that Snape would have mentioned it if he'd adjusted the house counters.

"Yes, sir," Harry murmured. "I understand."

Snape gave him a look that seemed to say, You don't understand nearly as much as you think, which made Harry really wonder what his father was plotting. There was something Slytherin going on here, he was sure of it.

His lips twisting wryly, Harry decided that maybe Ron's real punishment wasn't lines at all. It was having to put up with a whole evening spent in the last place he would want to be.

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Draco didn't come out when the door parchment announced Ron, which Harry took to mean that the Slytherin boy was going to make himself scarce -- as Snape had suggested. In the circumstances, Harry thought that a pretty smart move.

Snape went to open the door, and Harry followed along, a little anxious. He knew Ron wasn't likely to be in a good mood; Snape's detentions were never very enjoyable, and he knew how he'd have felt if last year, he'd been ordered to serve one in the Potion Master's private quarters... but still, it had been almost three weeks since Ron and he had had words. Didn't that mean the whole thing had probably already blown over?

Harry tried not to think about how fourth year, it had taken all the way until after the First Task for Ron to apologize for his behaviour.

"Mr Weasley," Snape greeted the boy, his voice about as deep and dark as Harry had ever heard it. Anger simmering just beneath the surface, it actually sounded sinister. Or... maybe malevolent. Like Snape was going to very much enjoy this particular detention.

For all Harry knew, though, he enjoyed them all.

"Professor," Ron replied in a sullen voice.

"Do come in."

As Ron moved past Snape, Harry saw that the boy was carrying a package wrapped in paper that featured a group of children grinning as they pulled Christmas crackers. Hope rose in him for just an instant, that everything was going to be all right---

Ron squelched the hope by shoving the present in Harry's general direction, averting his eyes as though even looking at Harry might contaminate him. "From my Mum," he ground out, adding, "If it was up to me I wouldn't so much as deliver it, but I don't want to get a month's worth of Howlers!"

Harry winced, gathering from that that Ron had endured a miserable Christmas, indeed.

"You aren't here to be rude to my son, Mr Weasley," Severus sternly announced, shutting the door with a definite thud.

Not the least bit cowed, Ron said through his teeth, "Perhaps I ought to write my lines elsewhere, then, sir!"

"Perhaps you'll be writing another full set when you finish the first one, if you speak that way to Harry again," Snape informed him. Arms crossed, he glared down at the boy, almost daring him to object. When Ron didn't, the Potions Master gave a brisk nod. "Go to the dining table then, and get to work. I've laid out a quill and inkwell for you, but you may use your own parchment."

As Snape turned his back, Harry saw Ron mouth something rude. It looked a bit like Thanks for nothing, you great greasy git, but he couldn't be sure.

Ron pounded his way across the room, slammed his bookbag onto the table, and with a muttered oath, flopped into a hard wooden chair. More noises followed as he violently fetched parchment from his bag, making a great show about how unfair he felt his entire consequence was.

Harry had felt the slightest bit sorry for him earlier. Now, Ron's complete unwillingness to acknowledge that he might deserve a comeuppance for his words made Harry glad Snape was making him write a few lines. He watched as Ron dipped his quill--actually splashing ink in the process--and began to scratch out a sentence. Curious as to what it was, Harry took a step toward the table. He got close enough to see Ron copying something, but not close enough to actually read it, before Ron was barking out, "Going to just stare at me all night long, are you, Potter?"

Potter... Now that made him mad, it really did.

"No, think I'll just have a look at this present and then write your Mum a chatty thank-you note," Harry gibed. "Anything you'd like me to tell her for you?"

Ron glared, but still didn't actually look at Harry. He was glaring at a point over Harry's left shoulder. "Yeah," he drawled. "Tell her there's a box of Sugar Quills I tossed in the trash. Ask her to give them to someone who might actually want them, since I don't."

Well, at least Harry knew now how well his Christmas present to Ron had gone over. "I'll be sure to mention that," he said, vindictively hoping Ron did get a Howler for such terribly childish behaviour. With that, Harry was doing some stomping of his own, going over to the couch and plopping down to rip open the box from Mrs. Weasley.

Another jumper... Gryffindor colours as usual. There was a plain parchment card atop it, though. That was different from previous years. A little apprehensive, Harry pulled it out and opened it to read,

Harry dear,

Severus owled to tell us your splendid news. He also explained in rather distressing detail Ron's unfortunate reaction to the situation. Be that as it may, I want you to know that Arthur and I are very excited for you. Of course we've heard complaints about Severus for years and years from all the children, but honestly, what can you expect? Nobody ever likes their Potions instructor, and as much as I love Fred and George, I shudder at the thought of what they must have got up to in class. It's no wonder Severus feels a need to be strict with his students, Ron included, so don't you let any complaints from that quarter trouble you.

Arthur and I know Severus quite well from from our work with the old crowd, and to tell you the truth, dear, I've never had cause to regard him with anything but respect. I know the two of you have a bit of history to overcome, but all that really matters is that you feel comfortable taking that challenge on. I'm hoping that Ron will come to his senses soon. I'm also hoping that you'll remember one thing: Ron has always had a large family surrounding him. If he seems unsympathetic to your wanting a family bond with Severus, I'm sure it's because at heart, he can't imagine longing for a family. I'm afraid he rather takes us all for granted.

You're quite welcome to visit us at the Burrow whenever you wish, with or without Ron. You're special to us, Harry, and had things worked out differently, we'd have been pleased to include you in our family. Perhaps it's best this way, though. I think in some respects, Severus can support you in ways that would be beyond us.

Love,

Molly Weasley

Harry was smiling by the time he finished the letter.

"Good news?" Snape casually asked as he came out of his office, a pile of scrolls in his hands.

No longer in the mood to rub things in, Harry didn't want to say too much in front of Ron. "Yes... here, I'd like you to see. It's nice."

Snape took the letter and perused it with hooded eyes, then merely nodded. "As we finished revising all your lessons over dinner, this evening, I thought you might have time to help me with these essays?"

"Oh, sure." Harry started to walk down the corridor toward Snape's office.

"No, I thought we'd work at the table."

Was that just so he could supervise Ron's lines?

Shrugging, Harry took a seat opposite Ron --about as far away as he could get-- and unrolled a scroll at random. "Just spelling this time?" he checked, taking a green never-out quill from Snape's outstretched hand.

"Grammar as well, I should think," the Potions Master murmured, a frown between his eyes as he began to read. "You've a decent enough grasp of it. Just mark any awkward wordings, though if you have a question, don't hesitate to ask."

Ron, Harry noticed, was resolutely ignoring the activity around him. He hadn't even looked up when Snape had settled into the chair to his left. He just methodically kept writing, line after line after line, his face screwed up in an expression that was resentful yet stoic.

Harry started in on an essay, but the steady scratching noise of Ron's quill drew his attention across the table. Just what was Ron writing over and over? It was too far for Harry to really tell --not that he was great at reading upside down to begin with-- but whatever it was, it looked awfully long.

"Harry," Snape softly chided.

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry resumed checking spelling and grammar while Snape read for content and wrote scathing phrases about this or that student's complete incompetence in the subject. After about an hour, Harry began correcting essays Snape had already had his hands on. He tried not to read the red ink in the margins, but sometimes he couldn't help it. And when he did, he couldn't help but sigh.

"Problem?" Snape briskly inquired.

Harry bit his lip to keep from saying anything, but when Snape continued to stare at him expectantly, he murmured, "This commentary here... it's just that it's a bit harsh... don't you think? I mean.... I'm sure this student doesn't actually have mush for brains."

Instead of growing immediately furious at Harry's presumption, Snape remarked, "Read the paragraph alongside my remark, and then tell me just how intelligent you feel Mr Higglesloth might be. Of course, my request assumes you fully able to appreciate the dangers inherent in inadequate ingredient preparation..."

As Snape's voice drifted off, Harry began to read the student's paper. Really read it for meaning. "Oh," he said, frowning. "I think the adder's tongue would cause the potion to come out wrong, somehow, if you pulped it like he's saying to..."

A hint of a smirk played about Snape's mouth as he confirmed, "The excess blood released would in fact cause a simple hair-growing potion to grow hair inward, causing extreme discomfort, and if the antidote was not administered promptly, quite an ugly death."

"Right," Harry murmured. "But could uh..." He glanced down at the parchment. "Henry.... really have been expected to know that?"

"It was covered in lecture on no less than three successive days, in addition to being prominently mentioned in the text. No doubt you feel a bit sympathetic toward Mr Higglesloth because your own synthesis of text and lecture during second year was slipshod to say the least."

Harry made sure he kept his voice calm. "No, I'm sympathetic because telling him he has mush for brains isn't going to help him learn anything. I know how it feels to get comments like this on my essays--"

Ron muttered something under his breath, something which sounded like "Bet you don't any longer, do you..."

"Hey, Snape still grades me just as hard as ever, I'll have you know!" Harry objected. "Uh, I mean Professor Snape, er, Severus..."

Ron snorted loudly as he resumed writing.

"Harry, let me see that parchment," Snape calmly requested. Once he had it in hand, he used his quill to add something to it, then passed it across the table once more.

The comment now mentioned apparent mush for brains. "Well, that's better," Harry allowed, "but you're still going to hurt his feelings."

"Mr Higglesloth will survive," Snape dryly remarked. "You do understand that we'll be making this potion next week and I would prefer he take my admonition seriously? When it comes to a dangerous discipline like Potions, there is no place for coddling. I've never had a student die in class yet, and I don't intend to begin with Mr Higglesloth's unfortunate partner."

Another muttered comment from Ron. That time, Harry couldn't catch it at all, but Snape's finely tuned hearing picked it up.

"No, Mr Weasley," he drawled, "I did not mean that I sent students to the hospital wing so they would not die in the classroom proper."

Ron flushed in anger and pressed his quill harder to the parchment, actually snapping the tip of it off.

"You may sharpen it," Snape loftily informed him. "Using a knife. No magic."

Harry was a bit surprised Ron didn't throw the knife he fetched out of his bag. As it was, he used it with such vicious strokes that he butchered the quill.

"Here, let me," Harry said in an undertone after Snape had gathered up the scrolls and returned to his office.

Ron ignored him completely and finally managed to cut a decent end on his quill. Then, with an ostentatious show of having far more important things to do than talk to one Harry Potter, he bent over his lines again.

Completely sick of his attitude, Harry gave up on subtlety and grabbed a scroll Ron had already finished to read:

56. As the teaching staff at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is comprised of thoroughly dedicated professionals deserving of the utmost respect, I will earnestly endeavour not to impune Professor Snape's good name again.

57. As the teaching staff at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is comprised of thoroughly dedicated professionals deserving of the utmost respect, I will earnestly endeavour not to impune Professor Snape's good name again.

Harry lowered his voice to the barest whisper and leaned forward across the table. "Uh, not sure, but I think you spelled impugn wrong."

"And you're his little proofreader these days, aren't you now?" Ron sniped, making no effort to moderate his own tone.

"Listen, I'd go barmy with boredom if I didn't have something to do down here."

"Oh, you love it here and I know it. Why else would you be so stinking proud of having him for a father?"

Before Harry could answer, a deeper voice called out from the office down the hall. "I should be hearing nothing but the scratch of a quill, Mr Weasley."

Ron openly glared, pulling back his lips in a horrible grimace that really made his whole face look very ugly.

Harry shook his head, and decided that he should probably just leave Ron to it. Gathering up Molly Weasley's letter, he headed for his room... then realised he was in no mood to deal with a fuming Draco. Sighing then, he sat down on the couch and began to figure out what he'd like to say in his thank you note to Ron's mother.

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It was much, much later when Snape came out again. Looking over Ron's shoulder, he announced, "Three hundred and twelve. Well, that's not much progress, is it? I'll see you back here again tomorrow then, I suppose."

The Potions Master collected the scrolls Ron had filled up, and banished them onto a shelf.

Ron didn't acknowledge the comment, or even say good-night to Harry. He just stuffed blank parchment back into his bag, threw Snape's quill down onto the table, and stomping to the door, shouted the charm that would open it and let him out.

"Well, that was certainly uncomfortable," Harry remarked as the door slammed shut with a resounding thud. "Just how many lines does he have to do, anyway?"

Snape tossed out the answer in a casual tone. "Oh, a mere ten thousand."

Harry felt his jaw drop. "Ten thousand?" he echoed. "Ten thousand? That'll take him weeks!"

"Will it."

"You know damned well it will!"

"What I know," Snape said with that same nonchalant attitude, "is that Mr Weasley will think twice before he maligns me again."

Still outraged, Harry objected, "But you said yourself that he didn't really believe the rubbish he was spewing--"

"And has it not occurred to you that that circumstance makes his behaviour all the more reprehensible? If he genuinely thought you were being... assaulted down here, his invective would be more understandable. As his sole motive appears to be jealousy, however--"

"Jealousy!" Harry gasped. "But he's got a family all ready! What he's got to be jealous of?"

Snape's dark gaze sought his out. "That you might now have loyalty to someone besides your clique of Gryffindors?"

Harry laced his fingers together. "Not might, Professor. I mean..." He swallowed. "Severus. But that just sounds so wrong to me... I mean, I feel like I'm being disrespectful! What kind of son calls his father by his first name? And I know, I know, Professor is just ridiculous sounding, but I've never called anyone Father, and when I try I feel like I've been slammed down into an old-fashioned Muggle novel or something, it just doesn't feel natural--"

"Breathe, Harry," Snape dryly advised. "I think you're putting yourself under too much pressure over the whole matter. Or perhaps it's Draco who's applying the pressure. For my part, I care little what you wish to call me. Other things are of far more import."

"But you said to call you Severus," Harry weakly pointed out.

"I said to consider it," Snape corrected. "It was never my intention for the issue to torment you. I think if you merely give yourself more time, you will find that it resolves itself. A Muggle saying might be apropos... Thebes wasn't built in a day."

"I think that was Rome," Harry murmured.

"Ah. Yes, perhaps."

"Okay," Harry said, feeling more relaxed. Snape was right. He hadn't even been adopted a month yet, so it was probably completely normal not to have it all figured out. "About these ten thousand lines you've assigned Ron, then--"

"Harry," the man interrupted. "Cast your memory back to Christmas day. I believe we are experiencing one of those times we discussed, when we disagree about the best course of action. You have a definite opinion, but with my superior experience, I know precisely what will best instruct Mr Weasley. I intend to proceed accordingly."

"Yeah, but ten thousand times? Come on! Don't you think five thousand would get the point across? Or two thousand, even? And did you have to assign him such a long, smarmy sentence?"

"It's not up for debate," Snape told him, his tone stern. "I suggest you drop the matter, now." Then, his voice a tad more contemplative, the man continued, "Perhaps we should discuss instead another issue that's been on your mind. Namely, arrangements for what you termed an 'allowance'?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Oh, that's very Slytherin. You were saving that, weren't you, for a time just like this, when you wanted to change the subject!"

"Is it so very wrong not to wish to argue with my son?"

Put that way, Harry supposed it wasn't.

"How much money do you feel a rational amount for a young man your age?" Snape pressed.

Slytherin was right... definitely right.

"Oh, fine," Harry gave in. "Let's discuss an allowance."

He could always bring up Ron's punishment again later, he decided. After all, his father wasn't the only one in this family with a Slytherin sense of timing.

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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Fifty-Two: Firechat

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight