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-Nine: Lumos

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Harry was determined on one thing: he was going to do a Lumos even if it killed him. He'd had enough of just sitting around waiting for things to happen to him; it was time he took charge of his own life and his own destiny, he thought. It was just like with the seer dreams. He could wait for them to happen and let them control him, or he could decide he'd stay in control no matter what.

Besides, if something horrible was going to happen to keep him away from his father, Harry was damned if he'd face it without his magic. He was going to get his magic back so that he could help Severus if need be.

Must be my saving-people thing, Harry thought, but for once, he didn't cringe at the phrase. That was just part of who he was, he decided. And maybe accepting who he was would help him finally get his magic back.

He started spending hours each day practicing, and this time, he didn't let repeated failures deter him. He tried Occlumency again to help with the spell, tried immersing himself in his dark powers in the hopes that they would flow free once he was reaching down inside them with his mind. He raised his wall of mental fire, and when that didn't work, tried to see inside himself a blinding light, instead. He pictured himself casting Lumos, casting a ray of light so pure and brilliant it blinded everyone around.

Visualizing his powers didn't seem to unlock them, but Harry kept right on trying, day after day after day. It no longer bothered him to have Draco see him fail. Draco wanted him to succeed; Harry was certain of that. The Slytherin boy had no more good ideas on how to make the magic flow, but that was all right.

Harry's instincts were screaming inside him that the solution to his problem lay inside himself. That it was up to him, him and no one else, to get the magic to pour out through his wand. Nobody else could solve this for him, he just knew it. Not anybody, not even his father.

Strangely enough, there was a certain comfort in that. Harry supposed that was because he'd spent so many years learning that it was stupid to depend on anyone besides himself. He was trying to unlearn that now; he did trust his father, after all. But too long in one mindset had... oh, he didn't know.... damaged him, maybe. He wanted to change right along with his family situation; he wanted to let himself depend on others.

But some part of him just couldn't, not yet.

And maybe that was why he'd had so little success with finding a path into his magic. He hadn't been looking for one, not really. He'd been waiting for Remus, or Draco, or Snape to tell him what to do and how to do it. But that wasn't going to work, not when the deepest part of him had apparently decided to reject all their tutelage, all their advice.

He was on his own in this, and it had to be that way, Harry sensed. But that was all right, because he was going to solve it.

"Lumos!" he shouted again, his arm flung out in a straight, determined line, his stance something he might normally use in a duel.

"Maybe that's enough for right now," Draco said, coming in and spelling on the lights he'd extinguished for Harry earlier.

"Ten more minutes," Harry said without turning around. "Get rid of the lights again."

He heard Draco give a sigh. "You're leaving me all alone out there with the Weasl---" With a groan, Draco started over. "That is, your good friend Ronald has seen fit to inflict his presence on us yet again. Perhaps you could be so gracious as to help me entertain him?"

"Yeah, perhaps I could," Harry drawled, ignoring the sarcasm. "In ten minutes. You'll survive until then."

Draco sighed again, but then he whispered a command to the lights and shut the door.

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Over dinner a couple of nights later, Harry held his fork with stiff fingers and forcibly stopped himself from wincing with every bite. He didn't particularly want anybody to notice how much his hands were hurting.

Snape did notice, though. "Harry. That's the fourth time you've tried to spear the same stalk of asparagus. What's wrong?"

Harry shook his head to say it was nothing, and when his father kept staring at him, passed it off with, "Oh, you know, I maybe overdid it on the essays earlier today. Got a bit of writer's cramp, I think."

Draco's gaze shot to his at that, his silver eyes frankly disbelieving, and Harry almost flinched, thinking that the Slytherin boy would surely chime in that Harry hadn't done a bit of schoolwork that day.

Draco said nothing though, and Harry didn't know why. Brotherly loyalty, perhaps? Hmm, that wasn't a very Slytherin explanation. Maybe it was as simple as the other boy wanting something to blackmail him with. Harry felt a little bit bad, thinking such dark thoughts about Draco, but on the other hand... well, it was Draco.

It was Ron who chimed in something, actually. "Would writer's cramp make your hands so... um, red?"

"They aren't red!" Harry denied. True, they were perhaps a bit more reddish than usual, but he hardly wanted Snape deciding to give them a closer look.

"Hmm," Snape only said, and resumed eating his own marinated asparagus as he began to question them about their latest topics in Transfiguration.

After dinner was over, Harry got his books from his room and launched into his assignments. The stack was depressingly tall, but how could it not be, when he'd spent the last few days practicing spells instead of keeping up? Unfortunately, most of what he had to do wasn't reading; he had some essays to catch up on. Not what he wanted to do with his fingers practically screaming with pain... but, oh well.

He scratched out his name at the top of a sheet of parchment, longing for the good old days when he had Draco's magical quill to use. Biting his lip as he went on, he managed to sloppily write out the title: Transfigurationate Ethics. That much done, it was all he could do not to go soak his hands in some cool water or something.

Snape sat down right beside him and glanced at his work. "Perhaps Ethical Issues in Transfiguration would be a better title," he lightly remarked. "I don't believe transfigurationate is actually a word."

Harry knew it wasn't, but he'd been trying to avoid writing anything longer. It would be bad enough getting through the rest of the essay with his hands in this state, and honestly, McGonagall wouldn't mark him down for a made-up word, would she? She never had graded their essays anywhere near as hard as Snape. "It'll be all right," he said, his tone shorter than he had intended. Well, pain would do that.

Snape leaned close to him and spoke quietly against his ear. "Harry, your hands are obviously giving you a good deal of trouble. It's been too long since we spelled them. Let me help you."

"No thanks," Harry answered. "I'll be fine." With Gryffindor determination, he resumed writing out his essay, his breathing going jerky and uneven the longer he kept on. After a while he couldn't keep it up. Sighing as quietly as he could, he dropped his quill, spattering ink on the table, and stretched out his fingers.

A series of cracking noises interrupted the silence in the room as bones and tendons popped back into their proper places.

Snape had been marking papers for the past few minutes, but at that, his patience evaporated. Glaring a bit at Harry, he indicated with a crooked finger that the boy should join him over on the couch. Harry went reluctantly, not looking forward to the conversation at all.

Ron, he noticed, was watching the interchange carefully. At that, Harry nearly gave another heavy sigh. He didn't want his friend to see him in conflict with Snape... but there was probably no avoiding it.

Once Harry had settled onto a cushion, holding himself tensely on the edge of the couch, Snape took the initiative and challenged, "So. What is the matter? Your hands are evidently in agony but you don't wish help?"

Harry grimaced. Couldn't he have talked low enough for Ron not to hear? "I'm trying to get my magic back, all right?" he hissed. "I'm really trying, this time. What if the pain is the magic trying to get out? I can't very well just block it, can I?"

"That's precisely why we've used a spell rather than a potion. The spell doesn't block anything; it enchants your fingers to believe the pain isn't real. I thought you understood that."

"Yeah, I do," Harry admitted. "But I thought, just in case... you know, what's a little pain? It's nothing like Cruciatus, after all."

Snape made a low growling noise. "The fact that you have suffered horrible curses before does not render you immune to pain, Harry. Stretch out your hands for me."

Harry hid them behind his back. A childish reaction, to be sure, but he didn't want Snape to go all fatherly and do what he thought best no matter what Harry thought about it.

"Harry, I merely wish to examine them," Snape announced, glowering a bit.

"Promise," Harry entreated.

Snape was glowering more than a bit when he returned, "The mere request is both offensive and infantile, but yes, Harry. I promise."

Ignoring the snark, Harry whipped his hands out and thrust them toward Snape.

The Potions Master lost his haughty attitude as he took his son's fingers in his and lightly massaged each digit. The touch was careful in the extreme, but Harry still pulled in a harsh breath. "My apologies," Snape murmured, though he still kept on. "A magical examination now, I should think," he added in the same low tone.

Harry trusted him enough that when the man pulled his wand, he left his hands out in plain view.

Snape was frowning by the end. "The pain is only going to get worse if you don't let me help you, Harry," he pronounced. "I think your joints will become even more stiff, as well. If you are determined to suffer this, I will say no more, but..." he lowered his voice. "Gryffindor bravery is quite admirable at times, but this is more like foolhardiness. You will soon be unable to move your fingers at all at this rate, and I doubt that will be conducive to your endless wand practice."

"You told him," Harry complained, glaring at Draco.

"Your hands told me," Snape corrected, one thumb tapping against the chafed, red place on Harry's palm. "This used to be quite callused."

"Sorry, Draco," Harry sighed, pulling his hands back to his lap. "I guess I shouldn't have let myself get so far out of practice," he admitted. "Well. If I won't be able to hold my wand with stiff fingers, I guess you'd better spell my hands, after all."

"Or you could try it wandless," Draco put in from across the room.

"Wandless!" Ron exclaimed.

"I have tried that," Harry said. He was about to add that it was hopeless, but remembered in time that it wasn't hopeless. He was going to get his magic going again, he was, and that was that!

"Ready?" Snape questioned. When Harry nodded he touched his wand tip to each finger and palm.

"Oh, that's very good," Harry said on a sigh of relief. "Thank you..." he had been about to add sir... force of habit... but catching himself in time, he said instead, "Thanks, Dad."

Ron made a half-strangled noise, but that was nothing to Draco's reaction. He burst out laughing, clapping at the same time, then abruptly cut it all out and gasped, "Right, between you and him, got it."

With that, he escaped to the bedroom. Through the closed door more laughter could be heard.

Harry figured that Snape was actually irritated with Draco, but with him safely out of the way, he turned a rather fearsome glare on Ron instead.

"What?" Ron gulped, clearly nervous. "I didn't say anything!"

"You look as though you'd like to," Snape drawled in one of his darker voices.

Harry thought it was unfair to practically invite Ron to insult their relationship, but before he could say so, Ron rose to the occasion. Looking away from them both, he airily returned, "Who, me? No, I don't have anything to say."

"Good," Snape snapped. He gave Harry a look then, a mix of dark amusement, consternation, and surprise, and then he was walking down the short hall toward his office. Harry thought of calling after him Thanks again, Dad, but decided he'd better not.

He turned to Ron, who picked that moment to grumble, "I don't need another flurry of Howlers, do I?"

Harry sighed and got back to his essay, this time scratching out the title and writing in the one his father had suggested.

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"What happened to you?" Harry asked a few nights later when Draco opened the door to reveal a panting and dishevelled Ron.

"Ran all the way down," Ron wheezed.

"You're still late," Draco pointed out a bit snidely, raising his voice when Snape stepped out of the Potions Lab. "Though I suppose it's bit much to hope for points from Gryffindor, no matter that we waited dinner for you."

Snape appeared to ponder that a moment. "Perhaps we should do Mr Weasley the courtesy of eliciting the reason for his tardiness."

Harry let out his breath; until then, he hadn't realised he'd been holding it.

Ron shot Draco a rather fearsome glare. "I had to take Ginny to the hospital wing after she was hurt at Quidditch practice!"

"Ah, well there you have it," Snape smoothly put in. "Family must come first. Wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

The Slytherin boy muttered something almost inaudibly.

"Yeah, family's important," Harry echoed, catching on.

Ron looked from the Potions Master to Harry, and back, and sighed slightly.

Harry was almost afraid that Snape would press the point too far, but he realised a moment later he shouldn't have been. Too cunning to overplay his advantage, Snape merely inquired, "And how is Miss Weasley? Hale and hearty again, I trust?"

"Yeah, what happened?" Harry asked.

"Just bad luck. Two bludgers came at her from opposite directions, and when she flew straight up to avoid them, she collided with one of our beaters. Ginny broke a leg in the fall, but Pomfrey's already got it knitted back together. She said it'll be good as new in the morning."

Harry gave a relieved grin. "That's good. She can play this Saturday, then, right?"

"Yeah, no problem with that. She can practice again tomorrow."

Snape nodded, his visage calm. "Excellent. It wouldn't do to have Gryffindor play Slytherin with even your reserve Seeker out of commission."

"Yes, it would," Draco muttered, more loudly that time.

"You're just sore that we've been creaming Slytherin all year!" Smirking, Ron returned his attention to Snape. "Ginny's fine now, Professor. Thank you for asking."

Draco wasn't about to let Ron get away with badmouthing the Slytherin Quidditch team. "If you've been winning," he coolly observed, "it's probably because Slytherin is minus our star Seeker." He executed a little bow as he said it.

"Gryffindor's been minus our star Seeker, too," Ron snarked back, waving toward Harry. "And somehow we still manage to win, don't we? It's called teamwork, Malfoy."

"Ginny's very good," Harry rushed to insert before the conversation could get even uglier. "I wish I could see her play, I really do. I miss Quidditch."

Ron glanced uncertainly at the Potions Master. "Um, maybe your.... er, maybe Professor Snape would let you come to the match? I mean, I'm sure he could charm some part of the stands for safety, or maybe you could just lurk about..."

"Unseen?" Draco questioned. "It truly is a lovely invisibility cloak."

"You told him about it?" Ron accused, eyebrows lifted in outrage.

"Oh, around here it's share and share alike," Draco breezed, waving an airy hand.

"You let him touch it?"

"Ron," Harry gently remonstrated, "he's just trying to get to you. And you're letting him."

"Hmph. Well, I still say you should come to the match."

Harry looked beseechingly at his father, and noticed Draco doing the same. "Is it possible? You go to all the matches anyway. We could sit right by you in case anything should happen..."

Shaking his head, Snape admitted, "I can't think it wise. However... perhaps I can do something that will mitigate the loss. Perhaps you can watch the match from here."

More used to wizard furnishings than Harry, it was Draco who figured out what he meant. "Oh, the enchanted picture frame? But you said that wouldn't display people."

"I do believe I can persuade it," Snape drawled, and strolled into the boys' bedroom.

Ron looked around curiously as he followed; it was the first time he'd seen Harry's room. He appeared oddly comforted by the fact that half of it was done up in Gryffindor colours.

The picture frame was showing a view of starlight out over the lake. Tapping it three times with his wand, Snape murmured a few low incantations. "There," he said to Draco. "It is just a viewing plane; therefore, it will never be able to let you hear what transpires outside, but it should be able to show you people on the grounds, now." His eyes grew fierce. "Do not misuse it. I will change it back after the Quidditch match, of course."

"Of course, Severus." Draco came across a bit smarmy, so much so that Ron rolled his eyes. "Now, where would I find people out and about at this late hour?" he mused. When Ron flinched slightly, a satisfied expression darkened Draco's eyes. "Oh, I see. Gryffindor team is still practicing, are they?"

"I miss Night Quidditch a lot," Harry groaned.

"You wish is my command," Draco lightly gibed. Closing his eyes, he gripped his wand and waved it. Instantly, the picture frame filled with a view of the Quidditch pitch. Several students on brooms were racing in tight circles, avoiding the lighted bludgers that whizzed in all directions.

"... five... six..." Draco counted under his breath.

Ron abruptly threw himself in front of the picture frame. "He's counting the bludgers, trying to ferret out our team secrets!" he exclaimed. "Make the picture frame go back to the lake, Harry!"

"I can't. No magic."

Ron turned in appeal to Snape. "He's cheating."

"Strategizing," Draco corrected. "Though you Gryffindors really are a sorry lot. Only eight practice bludgers?"

Tapping the ornate frame again, Snape commented, "It won't show the Quidditch pitch again, except during games. I trust that is satisfactory, Mr Weasley?"

"Uh, yeah," Ron murmured, clearly astonished.

"Not too Slytherin of you," was Draco's sour complaint. "We might win if you'd let me keep looking. And don't say that winning that way isn't any sort of victory, because you know perfectly well that it is."

"Mmm, but considering that my family is not entirely Slytherin, some sacrifices must be made."

Draco glanced once at Harry, then back at Snape. "You'd let me watch if he didn't know though, I bet."

Snape didn't deny it, Harry noticed, though he did say, "Ah, well as he does know, sacrifices must be made. As I said."

Draco seemed to take that in stride. On Saturday, however, he had some words about it. Snape had gone off to attend the match, and Harry and Draco were sitting side by side on one bed, waiting for the magical picture frame to start displaying the pitch.

"The fact that you're Gryffindor as well as Slytherin has some interesting implications, I think," Draco suddenly remarked. "Have you thought about what you're going to do once you get out of here?"

Harry sent him an inquiring glance.

"About Quidditch," Draco explained, a sneaky smile curling his lips. "You have two houses now, don't forget. Since one of them is Gryffindor, you have this compulsion to be fair about everything, don't you? Doesn't that mean you can't cheat one of your houses when it comes to Quidditch?"

Harry gaped. "What are you going on about?"

"Oh, it's probably a moot point for this year," Draco drawled. "But next year, Harry. I'll probably still be stuck down here, but I'm sure you'll be back to classes. And Quidditch. Now to be fair, you'll have to play for Slytherin at least half the time, don't you think?"

"I'm not playing for Slytherin!"

"I thought you were all right with being in Slytherin?"

"Yeah, but..." Harry repressed an urge to shiver. "Listen, I'm not going to live in Slytherin, either. That's just the way things are."

Draco looked at him seriously, all teasing gone from his voice. "I've been trying to show them that the Dark Lord's a bad deal, but I can't turn them all by myself, Harry. I need your help. Promise me something, all right? If you get out of here before I do, you have to acknowledge Slytherin proudly and be one of us, too."

"I am not playing Seeker for Slytherin, Draco," Harry sighed.

"I didn't mean that. Just... don't act like an outsider, all right? You aren't one now, and they all need to know it. Go hang out in the common room, sit at the Slytherin table for a meal now and then. Act like we're your house, too. Because we are."

"I don't have a death wish."

"How is Severus going to feel if the minute you leave his rooms you start pretending he's not your Head of House, when you know perfectly well that he is?"

"I thought," Harry carefully remarked, "that we agreed you'd stay out of how I get along with Severus."

"I thought," Draco remarked just as carefully, "that you wanted to win this war. You could have practically all Hogwarts on your side if you played your cards right, that's all I'm saying. Being placed in Slytherin at this late date has given you a strategic advantage, the opportunity to work us from the inside. Don't let your Gryffindor pride lay all that to waste."

"I'll think about it," Harry promised, and then thankfully, before Draco could reply, the game flashed into the picture frame and the two boys began to argue Quidditch instead of house politics.

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Ron seemed unaccountably nervous a few nights later. He kept watching the door, evidently waiting for Snape to come home. He seemed positively anxious, as though he had something to say, Harry mused...

Sure enough, the moment Snape stepped into his living room, Ron jumped up from the table and blurted, "You aren't going, are you? I mean, are you, sir?"

Snape seemed to take some sort of dark delight in drawling, "Why, of course I am, Mr Weasley."

Ron made a face and muttered something about letters from home always containing bad news.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, looking up.

His lips slightly twisted, the Potions Master admitted, "I've been invited to dine at the Weasley residence this evening."

Ron gave a little shudder, no doubt at the prospect of Snape standing in his family home.

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit offended at that. "How would you like it," he challenged, rounding on his friend, "if I kicked up a fuss about your father dropping by my house?"

"Yeah, well I might understand perfectly if my father was your teacher and you were in trouble with him already, don't you think?"

"Oh," Harry said, blinking. He actually hadn't thought of that. He felt a bit embarrassed now that he'd leapt to Severus' defence.

"Mr Weasley," Snape said, waiting until he had Ron's full attention. "You are not in trouble. I imagine that your parents merely wish to hear about your progress in all your classes, a subject with which I am intimately acquainted."

Ron groaned. "In other words, Howler City."

"You have such a low opinion of your academic abilities?"

"No, but you do."

A low laugh rumbled through Snape's chest. "I told you that your Potions essay was well-developed, did I not?"

"Yeah, when it was half-done. Once I'd slaved to finish it, it was Charmed Potions cannot solve all the world's ills, Mr Weasley, though it is quite Gryffindor of you to suspect they can. Next time please apply a modicum of thought to your conclusion."

Snape was already standing, but at that he straightened still further. "The comment perturbed you?"

"Yes, it perturbed me," Ron groused, his face going a bit red. "I did apply a modicum of thought, and if it sounded like I didn't... well, why don't you just come right out with it and say you think I'm stupid?"

The Potions Master turned to Harry. "I suppose you were right that students were apt to take my words a bit more literally than I intended."

Harry nodded, resisting an urge to add Told you.

Snape turned back to Ron. "I merely meant that what had been quite a strong essay was flawed by wild speculations in the concluding paragraph."

Ron blinked. "Oh. That's not so bad. Maybe you could say that next time, instead of the other."

"I rather like the notion of Gryffindors quailing at the mere sound of my footsteps," Snape remarked. "Though now with a Gryffindor for a son..."

"This is pathetic," Draco put in.

"I don't believe I elicited your opinion, Mr Malfoy," Snape rebuked him. "Now, Mr Weasley. You're performing at an adequate level in most subjects though I wouldn't recommend we desist from tutoring as of yet. And that's all I plan to say to your parents on the subject."

Ron slowly nodded, looking a bit as though he couldn't believe his ears. Then that expression faded to something more like pure disbelief, as though he thought Snape was lying to him outright. Harry swallowed back an urge to defend Snape yet again.

"Harry," Snape said to get his attention. "Arthur said to be sure to tell you that you were invited as well, though he knows you couldn't accept, considering."

"That's all right," Harry nodded. He didn't want Voldemort attacking Ron's house, after all. "Tell him thanks."

"Any message I can bring from you to your parents, Mr Weasley?" Snape inquired as he hung his school robes and reached for the less imposing ones hanging by the door.

"No," Ron said, a bit mulishly. He evidently still hadn't forgiven his parents for forcing him to endure yet more evenings in the dungeons.

"As you wish," Snape merely replied. "Harry, if you should for any reason need me, do not hesitate to shout through to the Burrow."

"All right." He watched his father Floo away, feeling a little bit glum about the whole matter. Maybe it was Ron's attitude rubbing off. Or maybe, he reflected, it had more to do with the fact that Snape could get out of the dungeons whenever he wanted. Harry was glad for his father, but he knew more than a niggle of jealousy that he didn't have the same freedom, not even now that he could Floo.

But that, too, was up to him. He just had to get his magic back.

Correctly interpreting Harry's motion toward the wand in his pocket, Draco shook his head. "No," he said. "Not more practice, not until you eat."

"What are you, his mother?" Ron erupted.

"No, I'm his friend," Draco coolly replied. "What are you?"

"Shut up."

"Let's just have dinner," Harry broke in, trying to distract them. He really didn't want to have to firecall the Burrow to report that the other two boys were duelling, or something. "And then I'll work on Lumos again."

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From the look on Ron's face, Harry thought that the other boy probably wouldn't have stayed... except for one thing. He knew he had to be there when Snape flooed back in from the Burrow. Otherwise, the Potions Master just might report the matter to his parents.

Harry was fairly sure that Snape wouldn't do any such thing, of course, but perhaps it was for the best that Ron believed it. At least that way, he didn't leave.

Dinner with just Ron and Draco had been more than a bit uncomfortable, silence alternating with careful civility... but at least both the other boys had refrained from coming to verbal blows. Harry was grateful for that, even if Pass the salt, if you'd be so kind didn't make for scintillating conversation. Straight away after dessert, Draco had announced that he had a potion to brew. Harry knew for a fact that wasn't true; it was just Draco's way of escaping the strained atmosphere. But since Draco's barrage of slightly superior comments really tended to grate on Ron, Harry thought it was just as well that Draco backed off to give them all breathing room.

Harry flooed the plates away and then, standing in the middle of the living room, tried to imagined magic flowing through him and out his wand. He remembered what the wild magic had felt like; he tried to put himself back in that same condition, only this time with himself in control of the surge of power. "Lumos!" he insisted, imbuing the incantation with pure confidence. Nothing for it, though; his wand remained nothing more than a stick in his hand.

A stick that still filled him with the warm glow of magic wanting to be released.

Ron glanced up from the dining room table, evidently tired of determining how a drop of thestral's bile would affect each of five different potions.

Harry gave him a slight smile and just kept on. He was tired of hiding in his room to practice magic alone, as though it was some shameful hobby or something. So what if he didn't have so much talent for it, just now? That was a problem he was going to solve. It certainly wasn't anything to be humiliated over, and he shouldn't have acted like it was.

I'm going to get a Lumos going even if it kills me, he said to himself again, his lips moving with the words as he cast one failed spell after another.

Sals wandered out of her box, slithered across the floor, and wound her way up his leg.

"Hey," Harry said, scooping her up off his hip. He kissed the top of her little head, and gave it affectionate scratch, gratified when Sals arched her neck in response. He'd been so focussed on magic practice for the last few days that he hadn't been making much time for Sals, he realised with a little twinge of guilt.

"What is Harry doing?" Sals asked, her tongue flickering out to lap at the sore spot on his wand hand. Ouch.

Motioning for the snake to curl around his wrist, Harry explained, "I'm trying out a myssstery-talk." Spell, he'd meant to say, but some things just didn't translate well into Parseltongue. Strange how he could think one word and yet hear it emerge as something else.

Sals circled his wrist a few times before settling in. "Myssstery-talk?"

Hmm, Sals never really had understood the whole concept of magic, though of course she realised that she'd never met another man-boy who could talk with her. She thought that made Harry special, and when he'd tried to explain before that Snape and Remus were wizards too, even though they couldn't talk to her, Sals had just gotten confused. "Yeah, it's a myssstery-talk for making light," Harry explained, thinking hard what to say. He tapped his wand very gently against her little snout. "This is a ssspecial kind of ssstick. If I wave it right, and say the right words, I should be able to make things happen that don't usually happen."

"Things?"

"I should be able to make it glow," Harry explained. "I used to be really good at it, but lately the ssstick hasn't been working so well for me."

Sals frowned slightly. "How can a ssstick glow? Harry puts it in the fire-cave?"

The Floo, she meant. Harry shook his head. "No, it's nothing to do with fire."

"Show Sssals?"

"I can't." Harry thought a moment and sought Ron out with his eyes to be sure he'd say the next bit in English. "Ron, how about you demonstrate a Lumos for Sals here? She's curious."

Shrugging, Ron pulled his wand as he stood up to oblige.

Sals made a hissing noise that didn't translate at all; Harry supposed it must be the snake equivalent of a gasp. Crawling her way down Harry's hand, she stretched out full length on his arm and poked her head off the end of his hand, the better to peer at the glowing wand. Ron looked a bit wary, but at the snake's clear interest, he stepped closer so she could get a good look.

"I want to see Harry put sunlight inside wood," Sals softly urged.

"I've been trying," Harry lightly grumbled, "but all right." He stretched his arm out again, taking up his most determined stance, pointing his wand toward the granite wall ahead. "See, I hold the myssstery-ssstick out, and call up the myssstery-words inside myself. I have to believe in the words, and say them meaning them, and then all I'm supposed to have to do is say an old, old word for light." Lumos, he tried to add, but even though he felt himself saying the word, he didn't hear it come out. Weird. Well, maybe he couldn't transform Latin into Parseltongue.

"Word?" Sals prompted.

"Uh, I don't know it in snake language," Harry admitted, readying his wand again. "But it's sort of like demanding, Light up!"

A bright beam of energy, more like a bolt of lightning than mere light, surged from his wand. In that same instant, Harry was flung backwards, the force of the spell propelling him straight into the granite wall behind. For a moment he thought he really had been struck by lightning, but the brilliance pouring from his wand didn't flicker away like lightning. Slumped against the wall, he squinted against the incandescent coppery ray and felt just a momentary surge of joy that the blinding light was, indeed, coming from his wand.

At least, he thought it was. His head had knocked against the stones so fiercely that stars filled the whole frame of his vision. Funny, he thought, his brain feeling like it was thinking in slow motion. I never really believed that people actually did see stars when they took a hard blow to the skull...

Or maybe those stars were from the brilliant wand light. Raising his wand a bit, he blinked a few times trying to clear his vision. Oh crap! The beam streaming from his wand was burning everything in its path! A smouldering streak scorched part of the floor across from him and the lower part of the wall dividing the living room from his father's office.

In the same instant, he heard Ron mumbling what seemed to be some potent profanities. Still struggling to see through the stars, he turned toward the place where Ron had been. The other boy wasn't standing there any longer; he'd been flung to the floor.

Harry couldn't see any more than that; the effort of turning his head had produced a wave of agony that caused his knees to buckle and his stomach to turn. Weakly, Harry felt himself sliding down the side of the wall, some vague part of him aware that his wand was still blazing with power. "Nox," he gasped as he slumped, but the incantation did no good. The lightning blasting from his wand kept blazing, the beam so hot he felt like he could hardly breathe.

Gasping, he reached out his other arm, using it to steady his wand hand so that he could keep it aimed at the middle of the wall across the room. It was either that, or risk catching something on fire.

Suddenly a mussed redhead sat bolt upright. He was rubbing his nose gingerly and still mumbling, but Harry couldn't make out his words past the rushing sound pounding in his ears.

Then another voice was shouting, sounding so far off that he could hardly make it out until a door seemed to slam inside his head and the noise became louder. "Fucking hell, Weasley! What did you say to set him off?"

As Harry's gaze drifted up to see Draco running into the room, he also caught sight of the scarred wall. Only the wall wasn't just scarred now. In the few moments he'd kept the wand steady, a gaping hole with steaming crimson edges had formed. The opening was the size of a school cauldron. He could see right into his father's office, and beyond...

"Finite Incantatem," Draco snapped out, coming as close to Harry as he dared, tentatively reaching out toward the wand, but deterred by the heat and light. "Shite," he swore when nothing happened in response. "You say it, Harry," he urged, glancing back toward the still widening hole in the wall dividing Snape's office from the living room. "Damn it all, say it now!"

Harry swallowed hard and noticed a coppery taste in his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue when he hit his head. Maybe that was why he was having such a hard time ending the spell. Panting for breath a bit, he struggled to form the words.

"Finite," he groaned.

"He was trying to do Lumos; have him say Nox!" Ron shouted, apparently unaware that Harry had already tried that.

"Nox!" Harry said again, but the light continued to burn like a laser on a Muggle telly show. It was so bright that a brilliant glow bathed the entire room. Strange he hadn't really noticed that before. Then again, the waves of nausea were coming at faster intervals, and his vision was trying its best to tunnel in, so maybe it was no wonder he wasn't seeing straight.

"Louder, Harry!" Ron prompted.

"Nox!" Harry cried as loudly as he could, increasing the pounding in his head tenfold. All at once he couldn't hold the wand steady, and as the fierce, hot beam shifted angles, scarring wall and furniture in its wake, the sofa caught on fire. Acrid smoke began to fill the room.

Darting closer, Draco snatched the wand from Harry's hand and screamed Nox at it himself, but all he accomplished was to cause more damage to the contents of the room as he changed its angle yet again. He almost blasted Ron, who jumped to one side and yelled, "Watch it, will you?"

The moment after the wand was out of Harry's hand, he began to feel himself weakening. It was as though a crutch had been pulled away from him. He slumped sideways, the floor rushing up to meet him with sickening slowness.

And then it began raining inside Snape's rooms, droplets of water pelting him from head to toe. I really like rain, Harry thought rather irrelevantly as pain seemed to split his head open. As the latest wave of agony receded, his thoughts became a bit more coherent. Severus must have a magical sprinkler system installed, he realised, and suddenly burst out into wild laughter.

Draco ceased in his attempts with the wand just long enough to order, "Weasley, don't just stand there, help Harry!"

The whole world was turning red by then. Harry stopped laughing and closed his eyes, his existence contracting into the simple need to draw air. But his chest was so constricted. Or was that Ron, yanking him up a bit and pulling him close? He felt his consciousness slipping away, but then somebody was shaking him. Ron, must be. Harry's head flopped to and fro, almost making him sick up. He clutched at Ron like a lifeline, trying to stop it, but somehow that just made it worse.

"Quit jolting him, he doesn't like it!" Draco barked.

"I think he's concussed! You want him to faint and never wake up?" Then Ron's voice went lower as he spoke to Harry. "Come on, mate, stay awake. You can do it--"

Ron kept talking, but after that, Harry couldn't hear a thing past the roaring in his ears. He thought he felt a light weight sliding up his leg, the sensation so vague and unfocussed that he couldn't be sure. Sals, he tried to murmur. Don't go by the fire, Sals. Bad... But he no longer had the strength to form the words aloud.

Harry's last thought before he lost consciousness was that his father would be proud. He had done a Lumos... even though it had killed him.

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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Sixty: What's in a Name?

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight