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 Sixty: What's in a Name?

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Harry woke up to an odd feeling of weight resting on his chest. It wasn't that awful constriction like he couldn't breathe, though; it was simply a presence. Something resting on him.

No, someone, he realised when he cracked his eyes open and recognised his father's long, dark hair. Confused, Harry angled his head slightly and glanced around. He was in his bedroom, lying on his own bed, and there was Draco on his, fully dressed on top of the covers. Ron was slumped in a chair that had been dragged in from the living room. Leaning against the wall, the red-haired boy was snoring as he slept.

And his father was in another chair, one pulled right up to his bedside, but instead of sitting up, he was leaning over to rest his cheek on Harry's chest.

Not too Snapeish of him, Harry had to think, but some deep part of him was touched, nonetheless. He remembered casting a spell that had gone horribly wrong, remembered hitting his head on the wall, remembered the room sort of spinning as Ron held him and told him to stay awake. But he hadn't, had he? All he could suppose was that he'd been injured and Severus had been taking care of him, but that didn't explain why the man had decided to sleep on him.

Knowing that his father wouldn't care to have the other boys see him like this, Harry lightly poked him on the shoulder. "Severus," he whispered. "Hey, Dad. I think you'd better wake up."

A sweep of lank, greasy hair slid over his fingers as the Potions Master stirred. Hmm, have to do something about that, Harry thought. No doubt a gift of shampoo would be hopelessly unsubtle, which reminded him to ask something he'd been wondering about for a little while. He really should have paid more attention to the details on the adoption application, he thought, but he'd been too upset at the time. "When is your birthday?"

"What?" As Snape sat up completely and stretched, a series of cracking noises broke the silence in the room. Wincing in sympathy, Harry noticed the other boys beginning to shift positions.

"Your birthday," he repeated, still whispering. "When is it?"

"Are you delirious?" Snape softly sneered. "You've just channelled dark powers, managing to concuss yourself in the process, and all you wish to know is when my birthday is?"

"I feel all right," Harry insisted, moving to sit up himself. "And I have been meaning to ask."

Snape glowered at him. "Early January," he snapped.

"Oh, I didn't know," Harry murmured, feeling really bad. He'd been Severus' son by then, but he'd missed his birthday! "Sorry. Um, so what happened? I remember the spell, and wrecking the living room, and passing out... Er... sorry about your sofa, and the office wall, and um... anything else I managed to destroy." Harry took a breath. "Ron must have firecalled the Burrow to get you back here, I guess?"

Still glowering, Snape growled, "I didn't need anyone to summon me, not when my office wards had been breached in a particularly egregious way."

"Listen, nobody went into your office, all right?" Harry yelled, then rubbed his head. "Ouch. Why are you so angry, anyway? It's not like I wanted my wand to blow apart your walls!" By the end he was yelling again, which of course only made his head start to hurt once more. Suddenly exhausted, he flopped back down to the pillows and glared at Snape.

"I am not angry about the walls," Snape stressed, sighing a bit as he leaned over and stroked a hand across Harry's hair. "I am not angry at all. It's been a long, hard night."

"What, it's morning already?" Harry turned his head and saw through the enchanted picture frame that it was. "Oh. Sorry."

"Please do stop apologizing," Snape entreated in a weary tone. "Just assure me that you're all right."

"I said I was," Harry pointed out.

Snape wiped his hands on his trousers, nodding in a way that Harry thought was supposed to be brisk. "Yes. Madam Pomfrey assured us you would be. She came down here and spelled away your concussion, then said you would need to sleep a good while. She warned me you would probably feel weak upon awakening. Is that the case?"

"Hmm. Bit weak, yeah," Harry realised. "Uh... can I ask..." He lowered his voice. "Why did you fall asleep on me?"

Snape flushed slightly. "You needed to be held."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry simply waited to be told more.

"You were unconscious but... distraught," Snape admitted. "You only ceased thrashing when I was holding you. Not too surprising, really. You had just channelled dark powers through your wand, which must have been an unsettling experience. Your dark powers recognise me, Harry, as a safe harbor, because I've been in your mind."

"Oh, yeah..." Harry remembered Snape saying something about that, before.

"I tried to stay awake..." Snape shrugged.

"All right." Harry could figure out the rest.

"Now then, perhaps you could enlighten me as to exactly how you managed to destroy the walls."

A horrid thought suddenly occurred to Harry. "The walls," he gasped. "The wards!"

A warm hand suddenly covered his, his father squeezing and then letting go. "The protection spells weren't damaged. They recognised your magic and let it stream through. Doubtless if the wards had battled your spell, we would have a problem. Now, explain if you would, Harry. What happened?"

"I don't exactly know," Harry realised, thinking. "Um... let's see. I was talking to Sals. Explaining Lumos, actually. And, and... it just happened."

Awake by then, Ron pulled his chair over to Harry's bedside. "You don't remember any more than that? You were holding your wand and hissing at the snake, and then you pointed your wand at the wall just like before when you'd been practicing, and... kablooey!"

"Thank you for that scientific analysis," Snape dryly inserted, shaking his head. "You were speaking Parseltongue, then. What did you say?"

Harry wrinkled his brow as he thought back. "Um, stuff like, 'here Sals, this is how you do it'... and then I stretched my wand hand out and tried to say Lumos, but I couldn't. It's weird, I can't make Latin go to Parseltongue. Anyway, I was trying to demonstrate, so I said instead, 'Light up!'"

"In Parseltongue."

"Well of course in Parseltongue! I was talking to a snake, you know!"

"No need to get defensive," Draco put in, swivelling his legs off his bed as he sat up and yawned. "I should have thought of it sooner, that you might be able to incant in Parseltongue."

"That doesn't make sense!" Harry objected.

"I think it does, actually." Snape conjured a glass of water and passed it to Harry. "Parseltongue is itself a dark power, as we discussed. Apparently in your case, it takes one dark power to unleash the rest of them. It's as I said, Harry. Your magic was never missing; it merely remained to find the key to unlock its new form."

Harry shuddered. As far as he was concerned, dark was right. "I was just trying to do a Lumos," he protested. "I never meant to blast the wall apart."

"I would say you produced a Lumos," Snape assured him. "It was merely one of staggering power. All of which we discussed before, if you recall. Dark powers are very strong. Normally, filtering them through surface magic mutes them. But you have no surface magic any longer, which means you're delivering dark powers directly into your wand."

"Well, that's just great," Harry groaned. "I really wanted to get my magic back like this, didn't I? I'm not going to be able to do normal spells any longer?"

"Oh hush, you idiot child," Snape bid. "Now that we know it's a simple matter of speaking Parseltongue, all that remains is to learn to control it more accurately. Everything will be fine."

In the next instant, Harry had cause to doubt that. His scar began to burn and blaze with heat, the sensation seeming to cut straight across his skull. "Owww!" he wailed, and slapped a hand up to his forehead in reflex, trying to crush the pain back out. It didn't work though; when had it ever? And it had never been this bad before. His head was exploding. Harry rolled onto his side, crunching his legs up against his chest, and bit into his own hand so hard he broke the skin.

"I knew that half-blooded arsehole hadn't forgotten Harry!" Draco exclaimed, rushing forward. "Shite, what do we do, cold compress or something?"

"Yes, go get one," Snape calmly requested, and when Draco snatched his wand from the night-table, added, "No magic, not for this."

As Draco rushed into the bathroom, Ron shook his head at Snape. "Cold compresses never did do much to help with this." He lowered his voice. "I bet you know that. You were just giving Malfoy something to do?"

Ignoring the question, Snape leaned forward to gently reach between Harry's teeth, prying them part before he could do more damage to his hand. Taking both Harry's hands in his, Snape held them firmly and leaned down close to speak just inches away from Harry's contorted features. "Occlude," he urged, his tone intense. "Do it, Harry; you know how. Raise that wall of fire and force the pain outside it."

Harry suddenly screamed, a loud, ear-shattering wail.

"Now, Harry!" Snape insisted. "Occlude your mind!"

Easier said than done, Harry thought. Now that he'd broken his dark powers wide open, Voldemort was feeding on them to make his scar blaze. His whole head was coming apart, he was sure of it. He felt a sticky wash of something begin pulsing down his face, and through a haze of pain heard Draco groan, "Oh, sweet Merlin above..."

"Occlude your mind, Potter!" Snape yelled, squeezing his hands until Harry thought his finger bones would shatter. Strangely enough, it helped. The fierce pain outside his head drew his attention, reminding him that he was more than a scar. He was a wizard, and a powerful one, and if he had to put up with simple charms blasting walls apart, then he'd damned well better be able to Occlude like never before, too!

Gritting his teeth, Harry reached deep down inside himself, the world going black as he concentrated on finding the very source of his darkest powers. His eyes rolled back in his head, a gasp hissing through his teeth, but then he was pulling a wall of fire up to surround his true self. With an almighty mental shove he thrust Voldemort's intrusion through the flames, propelling it with such force he could hear the evil wizard screaming as he was cast out of Harry's mind.

And then the room was silent save for his own harsh breathing.

Calming, Harry opened his eyes to see the other three wizards staring at him incredulously. It wasn't often one got to see Severus Snape open-mouthed with astonishment, Harry thought. "What?"

Snape recovered first. "Here, wipe your face," he urged, taking the cool, damp cloth from Draco's hand and passing it to Harry. It came away from Harry's face smeared with blood.

"I thought my head was splitting open," Harry weakly joked, but nobody laughed. "What?" he asked again.

"This ball of fire came shooting out of your forehead, mate," Ron said, his voice low. "And... and..."

"We saw the Dark Lord's face in it as it whizzed past," Draco added. "He looked livid."

Snape took the cloth and dabbed a bit at some places Harry had missed, then took a moment to cast a healing spell on his hand, obliterating the teeth marks below one thumb. "Are you all right?"

Swallowing, Harry admitted. "Uh, feel a bit queasy, actually." When his father made a move as though intending to help him to the loo, Harry shook his head. "No, it'll be all right. Just give me a minute."

Snape did, waiting until Harry's harsh breathing had slowed to ask, "Are you still Occluding?"

Harry slumped against his pillows. "Yeah. Do you think I have to keep it up all the time? That'll be pretty exhausting."

"I suspect Voldemort will think twice about reaching out through your scar in future," Snape told him, laying aside the cloth and straightening Harry's covers for him. "For the time being, however, I would recommend you shield your mind, yes."

Nodding, Harry ventured, "Um... was it my magic surging back that brought him running, do you think?"

The Potions Master considered that, then nodded. "Of course we cannot know for certain, but I would suspect that he has been regularly seeking out a connection ever since you escaped him at Samhain--"

"Ever since you rescued me, you mean," Harry put in, hoping Ron was listening for once.

Snape merely shrugged. "At any rate, I would say that until now, the conduit that is your scar has been blocked."

"Until now," Harry repeated rather darkly. "So, do you think Voldemort realises about my dark powers and all?"

"It is a distinct possibility."

"More good news," Harry groaned. "Now he'll just start incanting in Parseltongue, too. So much for power the Dark Lord knows not."

"It was physical and mental trauma that both incinerated your light magic and broke your dark powers open," Snape reminded him, his glance warning Harry to stop quoting the prophecy. "And that's what's made them accessible to Parseltongue. Voldemort is not likely to inflict on himself the suffering that brought you to this pass."

"Yeah, he is a cowardly little shite," Harry realised, glancing at Ron. "That must have been pretty scary, last night. Um... I almost hate to ask but... where's my wand?"

Snape drew it out from the folds of his clothing and laid it on the bed-side table.

Harry sighed with relief. "I was almost afraid it had gotten burned up or something..." The wand looked dormant enough now, which prompted him to wonder, "How'd you get the spell to end? I kept trying but it just didn't work, not for me."

"Your spell stopped by itself when you fainted," Draco told him. "And you weren't trying in Parseltongue, were you?"

"People don't think straight when they're concussed," Ron leaped to Harry's defence. "And why should he think of that, anyway? He didn't really realise what had happened, I don't think, and even if he did, that snake wasn't around any longer--"

"Yeah, where's Sals?" Harry broke in. Probably hiding, he figured. That Lumos had to be especially frightening to a creature that didn't really comprehend magic.

"She's safe in her box," Snape volunteered. "Shall I fetch her?"

"Not just now." Harry sighed, relieved. "It's enough to know she hasn't tried to leave or something." He shifted in the bed, feeling slightly grungy, and remembered water falling on him. His damp clothes must have dried on him as he slept? That confused him a bit, as he was pretty sure his father would take better care of him than that... but then again, he'd apparently needed to be held. Hard to both hold someone close and dress them in pyjamas. It occurred to him then that nobody else had changed clothes, either. Not even Draco, and for him to wear a rumpled, wrinkled shirt... well, that was so unusual that it spoke volumes.

And then there was Ron... Harry had been trying not to mention the obvious, but he suddenly couldn't hold back the question. "Shouldn't you do something about your nose?"

Ron grimaced slightly and rubbed at the burned spot he'd gotten when Harry's Lumos had flashed past, too close for comfort. "It looks worse than it is."

"Draco, fetch Mr Weasley some standard burn salve, if you would."

"Nah, that's okay; I can just pop over to the infirmary--"

Snape abruptly turned toward the Gryffindor boy. "You are a student at this institution as well as my son's best friend, Mr Weasley. Not to mention, I dined with your parents just last night." His voice went grim to match the glower in his eyes. "Do you truly suspect I would poison you?"

Harry held his breath, all too afraid that Ron was going to mutter yes.

Instead, his friend let out a long sigh and mutely shook his head.

By then, Draco had returned with the burn cream. He lifted one blond eyebrow when Ron took it without comment and dabbed a bit on the tip of his nose. Instantly, the scarlet red blisters there faded to freckled skin. Capping the jar of salve, Ron passed it back. "Thank you, Professor."

Snape studied him for a long moment. "No thanks are needed. You have my apologies that I did not think to offer sooner."

Ron flushed a bit. "Yeah. Um, well... you seemed pretty occupied with Harry, there." He turned to his friend. "So, you're all right, are you?"

Harry nodded. "Thanks for staying all night. That means a lot." He wondered if he should stop there, but something wouldn't let him. "You didn't need to, though. I mean..." He didn't know how to go on, since saying I had my father to take care of me sounded completely like he didn't appreciate Ron at all.

Surprisingly enough, Ron heard what he didn't say. Maybe he did do subtle, sometimes. "I thought I needed to," he volunteered, glancing at Snape. "But... um, guess I was mistaken. Not that I'm sorry I stayed," he rushed to put in, as though worried Harry might misunderstand. "I don't suppose I could have left really, since it was just horrid watching you pass out like that. I had to see for myself that you came out of it all right. But... um..."

Drawing in a deep breath, Ron seemed to steel himself for something as he lifted his face to meet the Potion Master's eyes. "I owe you an apology, sir. A sincere one, this time. I'm very sorry I didn't understand about you and Harry. I mean, I didn't really think you were... uh, doing anything... er, you-know, with him, but I also didn't think you... um... cared about him." Defensive, Ron babbled, "How could I? You've spent years making us all think you hate him--"

"Oh, I most certainly did hate him," Snape freely acknowledged.

"Yeah." Ron thickly swallowed. "Well, anyway, I can't think you do, now. I mean, when you stepped out of the Floo I was sure there was going to be hell to pay for the damage to your office. But all you saw was Harry... you still haven't even gone in to see what can be salvaged, have you? And that's not even counting--"

"That will be enough, Mr Weasley," Snape drawled. "Your apology is accepted."

"That's not counting what?" Harry pressed.

Unaccountably, Ron blushed. "Um... well you wouldn't calm down until he held you, Harry but the thing that really got me was... um..." He chanced a quick look at Snape. "He... er, sang to you."

"You sang to me?" Harry asked his father. It sort of reminded him of Devon, of hour after hour of stories. Maybe Severus had sung a bit to him there, too.

Snape raised a challenging eyebrow. "I hummed."

Ron made a telling face, but didn't contradict his teacher. "I'd better get back," he mentioned to Harry. "People will be wondering where I've been all night."

Narrowing his eyes, the Potions Master announced, a trifle harshly, "You may state that Harry was ill and needed company. You may not share any information about his magical state. Is that clear?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "Doesn't Voldemort already know everything anyway?"

"As one can't be certain of that, I see no reason to offer him aid."

Draco gnashed his teeth. "I say we Obliviate Weasley and be done with it."

"There will be no Obliviate," Snape lightly sneered as he turned an assessing gaze on Ron. "Mr Weasley has managed to keep his own counsel before in matters regarding Harry. I believe we can rely on him to do so again."

That wasn't what Draco wanted to hear, as was obvious from the Slytherin boy's crossed arms and hard silver eyes. When the Potions Master merely gazed impassively back, Draco muttered something under his breath and stormed from the room. Ignoring all that, Snape spoke to Ron. "A word in private before you go, Mr Weasley, if I may."

Ron glanced at Harry, no small amount of alarm in his eyes, but then he stood up, shrugging. "All right. 'Bye, Harry. I guess I'll see you tonight as usual, eh? You get some rest until then."

With that, Ron was smiling briefly and leaving the room.

"Harry, I believe your friend is correct; the best thing for you would be more sleep," Snape said, spelling out the lights as though to underline the suggestion. "When you have rested, you and I will work out a way for you to practice magic without risking hearth and home, is that clear?"

"Yeah, clear as Lubummum," Harry murmured, slumping back down into the pillows and closing his eyes.

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Sleep, though, was hopeless. Harry tried for about an hour before concluding that he was just too keyed up to relax. Or maybe it was the light in the room. Snape had spelled off the glow that usually emanated from the stone walls, but he hadn't done anything about the enchanted picture frame. By the time Harry gave up, it was showing a view of the Dark Forest.

The sight only reminded him of why he couldn't sleep. Was Parseltongue the entire answer to his magical problems? A dark power to unlock dark powers? He didn't like that, he really didn't. But what else could explain the night before? He remembered trying to say Lumos to Sals and realizing that the word had emerged without voice, remembered thinking that Latin must not translate. But then, why should English rendered into snake-language end up being magical? Regular English wasn't... well, not usually, he amended, thinking of the Marauder's Map and the Point Me spell, among other things.

Unable to bear it for a moment longer, Harry hopped out of bed and reached for his wand. When he picked it up, he felt that same surge of warmth and joy flooding him, the one he'd felt in Ollivander's. That hadn't meant anything before, though. Could he incant with it again? Something in him had to know, and had to know right then.

Of course he wasn't daft enough to try another Lumos, but what harm could there be in, say... Wingardium Leviosa? He just wouldn't try to levitate anything that might break, and then that would be all right.

Shaking a bit, Harry slipped his pillow out of its decorative sham, then set it on the floor and backed away. Wand at the ready, he tried the charm in English first... just in case. When nothing came of that, he realised he'd have to try it in Parseltongue. Sals was nowhere around, though, and he was hardly going to go looking for her, since that would only have his father wondering what he was up to. Remembering how impossible he'd found it to speak Parseltongue without a snake image to look at--or at least an invisible snake to hold--Harry hurriedly sketched one out on a scrap of parchment. Then, looking straight at it, he said Wingardium Leviosa and heard nothing emerge. Good enough; it meant he was definitely speaking snake language.

So it was definite: he could not transform Latin into Parseltongue; he could only transform English.

Now, for the charm... Harry set the snake drawing on top of the pillow, then backed up, pointing his wand. "Lift up!" he said, hearing it emerge as English though it must surely be Parseltongue, focussed as he was on the drawing of the snake. He might as well have said nothing, though; the pillow didn't move an inch. "Levitate!" he tried, though he heard that come out using the same two words, Lift up. Hmm... this was a little harder than he'd thought, Harry realised, sitting down on the floor to ponder the problem. "Raise," he said next, chin on hand, wand held rather carelessly by then.

Maybe, he had to think of a way to get Wingardium as well as Leviosa into the incantation. And what the heck did Wingardium mean, anyway? He couldn't translate Latin to English to Parseltongue if he didn't know what the Latin stood for in the first place, could he? Not that Wingardium sounded particularly Latin to him, anyway... "Guard your wings and lift up!" he hazarded a guess, only to see the pillow vibrate softly as though trying to obey. Interesting. He tried a few more combinations of words, his gaze firmly fixed to the snake drawing, and finally settled on saying what the charm had always seemed to mean to him. "Take wing and fly!" he commanded, his voice still pitched low, moving his wand just as he'd learned all those years ago.

The pillow flew up off the floor with such speed that Harry could hardly track it, but there was no mistaking what happened next. A muffled thump as it smacked into the ceiling, the fabric rending in a hundred directions at once from the impact. Then feathers and scraps of wool were raining down all around him, coating every surface in the room.

"Oh shite," Harry swore, shaking his head. He suddenly had an image of his father coming in and just glaring. Without even thinking, he waved his wand around to perform a Reparo spell, only realizing afterwards that right, regular incantations were no use. Dropping to hands and knees, he sifted through mounds of white, fluffy feathers until the snake drawing was visible again. "I repair you," he told the mess all around. Hmm, nothing. Well, with the other charm it had been incanting what the spell meant to him that had worked, not some literal version of the Latin words. So.... "Like new!" he hissed.

Well, he got what he had asked for, he supposed. Exactly what he had asked for, magnified as all his spells seemed to be, now. Instead of a neatly repaired pillow, what he got was one bleating sheep and no less than five honking geese! One of the birds lumbered awkwardly onto his bed and looked to be settling in; the sheep began to graze on Draco's bed hangings.

"Shite, shite, shite!" Harry groaned. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand Silencio from them, but for all he knew, an amplified silencing charm might remove their vocal cords permanently or something! Frustrated, he hung his head in his hands as he sat there on the floor, his wand flung to one side.

"What is going on in here?" Draco exclaimed as he flung the door wide. "Harry, what did you do?"

Snape wasn't far behind him. He was wiping his hands as he entered, just as though he'd been interrupted in the middle of some complicated brewing, something he often did on Saturdays. Great. His father hated to be yanked away from those potions of his... Sure enough, the words that came snapping out Snape's mouth were, "Potter? Explain!"

"Uh... I just wanted to see if things were better today, magic-wise," he sheepishly admitted, ducking his head.

"What spell did you incant?" Draco sneeringly inquired, using his wand to prod the sheep away from his bedding. "Aparecium livestock?"

"It was a Reparo spell on my pillow, if you must know!" Harry retorted. By then he was having a difficult time not laughing, though he knew he'd better not. Snape did not look amused. Thinking better than to keep sitting on the floor, Harry pushed to his feet.

Snape drew his wand and cast Immobilus before the animals did any more damage to the room. Then he turned a rather grim expression on Harry. "Did I or did I not," he thundered, "make it clear that we would work on your magic later, Harry?"

"Not," Harry quickly answered, to which Snape ground out, "I beg your pardon!"

"You didn't make it clear," the boy insisted. "I mean, not that you wanted me to wait."

"I should think that would be clear without words," Snape sneered. "You do recall torching half my quarters, I trust? If not, perhaps you should glance about the shambles in the parlour."

"I thought I was your first priority, not your furniture," Harry muttered as he followed Snape out of the room. It was even worse than he remembered. Blackened gouges criss-crossed the walls. The sofa was half-immolated. And there was a gaping hole straight through the wall of Snape's office. The bookcase wall. Harry almost swore again. He'd browsed those shelves plenty of times as Snape had sat marking papers at his desk, and he knew that a lot of the volumes... hell, most of them, probably, were rare and valuable Potions books.

Yet another hole in the far wall of the office showed a view of a dark hallway, or maybe an unused storage room; hard to tell.

"I'm sorry," Harry groaned, suddenly feeling really really bad. So much so that his stomach was twisting, actually. "Um, if you let me borrow my vault key I'll write away to Gringotts' for some money so you can start replacing whatever was lost, and I guess I should pay for the repairs as well--"

"I do not want your money!" Snape erupted, taking him by the shoulders. Harry was sort of expecting to be shaken, but all Snape did was manoeuvre him over to a somewhat charred chair and shove him down into it.

"Well, you're upset about all the stuff I wrecked--"

"I am upset that the knowledge of what your Lumos did has had apparently no impact on your thought processes! Practicing magic alone," Snape scoffed. "What if the spell had injured you again?"

Harry actually hadn't thought of that. He'd just been so excited to feel like a wizard again... Blushing, he admitted, "Um, well... Gryffindor recklessness, you know. Sorry, sir. Um, I mean Father."

Snape still looked furious as he drawled, "Merlin preserve me. Two sons with impulse-control issues."

"Can you just change the... uh, livestock, back into my pillow?"

His father gave him a rather sour look, but then stomped back to the bedroom. Harry and Draco followed, Harry blushing again to see the bizarre results of his spell. His face flamed even hotter when he realised that Snape's Finite would almost certainly coat the room in feathers and wool scraps. Then, of course, he'd have to explain how he'd destroyed his pillow in the first place.

Or not... because as it turned out, Snape's rather emphatic Finite did nothing except cancel out the Immobilus spell. As the animals began milling about again, Snape cast another Finite at them. That time, nothing whatsoever happened.

"What does that mean?" Draco put in, his brow furrowed.

Snape took a moment to consider the matter. "The spell that created them was incanted in Parseltongue," he decided. "Apparently the counterspell must match that."

Draco whistled through his teeth. "Brilliant," he said, flashing Harry a smile. "Nobody else can undo your spells, then."

Harry wasn't nearly as happy. He was sick and tired of being such a freak. "Voldemort could; he speaks Parseltongue," he pointed out, though it hardly made him feel better. He didn't want to be like that madman, not in any respect.

"The Dark Lord can speak it," Draco agreed, nodding, "but I'd bet my vault that he can't incant in it. You had to have your dark powers split wide open by all that trauma, remember? The Dark Lord's still got all his surface magic getting in the way."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Harry erupted. "Why can't you call him Voldemort like Severus and I do?"

Draco was so startled that he took a step back. "I've never given it any thought." He cleared his throat. "Remember, I heard about him all the time when I was growing up and it was always the Dark Lord..."

Harry knew how deeply a childhood could affect you. Even after six years in the wizarding world, he still sometimes thought of himself as a freak, he realised. Which was wrong and stupid; he knew that. But the thought still surged up inside him, like it had just the moment before. Really, it was remarkable that Draco had come as far as he had. Draco, who'd been reared to believe in all that pureblood rubbish... but who now could admit that a Muggleborn witch was both cute and smart. Well, he hadn't actually said that last bit, but calling Hermione a walking library came close, didn't it?

"Give it some thought," Harry advised him, deciding he wouldn't push the matter. Then, to Snape, "So should I try my own Finite?"

"Until we better understand the dynamics of your dark powers, I would advise caution. Is that explicit enough for you? If not, allow me to be clear. You are not to cast any spells without adult supervision. There is simply no telling what might happen."

Draco scoffed at that. "Well, I think we can probably guess. It looks to me as though his dark powers just magnify the intended effects of the spell. So Lumos produced light so bright it burned holes in the walls; Reparo restored items to their original condition--literally."

"Wingardium Leviosa made the pillow hit the ceiling... hard," Harry reluctantly admitted.

Snape gave him an exasperated glance, no doubt at learning that Reparo wasn't the only spell he'd tried while alone.

"Hmm." Draco was still lost in thought. "What would Alohomora do, blow a door off its hinges? Or Enervate... hmm, would that make a person never able to sleep again, or something? Oh... I wonder what your Unforgivables would be like. The Killing Curse delivered with raw dark powers--"

"That's enough, Draco," Snape interrupted.

But it wasn't. "I bet Rictusempra would be an Unforgivable for you," he kept going. "You'd cause such bad tickles that they'd lead to a seizure or a heart attack! And Serpensortia... sweet Merlin, you'd probably cast a Basilisk." He shuddered.

"That will be quite enough," Snape said, raising his voice that time.

Harry wasn't finding any of this very amusing. "If I can't practice without adult supervision," he asked in desperation, "how am I going to get these powers under control?"

"You are going to have plenty of practice time. What do you think I've been doing while you were supposed to be sleeping, but endeavouring to formulate a plan to provide you with just that!" Snape's glare became intense. "And I am quite serious that you are to control your reckless impulse to try things on your own, Harry. Do not make the mistake of thinking that just because you are my son I will hesitate to discipline you!"

"I don't," Harry assured him, thinking ten thousand lines was probably nothing. Hell, he'll take ten thousand points... oh wait, no, he'd wouldn't take thousands off Slytherin... would he?

"Good, because I should hate to confiscate your wand," Snape remarked.

"My wand!"

"If you can't be trusted with it, yes!"

Harry frowned. "That's mean, threatening to take away my wand just when I've got it working again."

Draco suddenly laughed. "Oh, this is rich. Are you going to take his hands away as well, Severus?"

The question confused Harry, but Snape seemed to follow it well enough. "Perhaps I should Obliviate you," he sneered. "As you evidently can't keep your own counsel about anything!"

"Keep secrets from my brother, you mean," Draco shot back. "And that'd just be wrong, wouldn't it? Or did I misunderstand when you were telling Weasley that family had to come first?"

"Stop calling him Weasley!" Harry erupted. "Why have you started that up again?"

Draco shrugged.

"And what's this about my hands?"

Draco smiled, the expression sly. "You'd have realised it yourself if you'd grown up in a magical family, I bet. But as things stand... Severus, would you like to do the honours?"

"I'd rather he work with his wand a while longer," Snape growled.

"Fine, I'll tell him," Draco decided. "Don't you know what a wand does, Harry? Why wizards generally need one? It's an amplifier. Filtering our powers through surface magic mutes them, and a wand helps bring them back up to a level that can do some good. Now, certain very strong wizards have so much magic that even after it's been muted, it can still work spells without aid. Hence, wandless magic. You're another case entirely. You're bringing dark powers to the surface and not muting them at all, and then you're still channeling them into your wand? You don't need a magic-amplifier, Harry."

Harry stared at him doubtfully. "You're saying I could do normal spells if I tried them wandless?"

"Well you did pour wild magic through your hands that once. And I think your physical self must have liked it. Ever since, your hands have been aching with magic trying to get out."

"What do you think?" Harry asked his father. "Should I try?"

"Not unsupervised," Snape said, shaking his head.

Harry gestured at the livestock. "Well, you're here now, so can I?"

"Not here, certainly. We'll go to Devon where we can work out-of-doors. Draco makes things sound so simple, but wandless magic is generally more unpredictable than the wanded variety." Snape immobilized the animals again, then shrank them and popped them into a trouser pocket. "Shall we?"

"Now?" Harry looked down at his rumpled clothes.

"Well, you were eager as I recall," Snape reminded him. "Besides, it is better to be absent when the house-elves arrive to effect repairs."

"I'd rather have a shower, actually; I feel sort of sticky. And I bet Draco would appreciate a change of clothes, too--"

Draco, though, was shaking his head. "Such Mugglish thinking." Without further comment, he cast a cleaning charm across all three of them. Harry's clothes felt crisp and new after that. He suddenly wondered what result he'd get if he tried to cast that spell. Would his dark powers scrub the fabric so hard that clothing disintegrated? Of course cleaning charms worked on skin, too. That could get awfully messy. Harry frowned, realizing it had been terribly foolish to try magic without his father there to help him get it under control.

"Don your warmest robes for the journey," Snape was saying. "You as well, Draco."

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They travelled as before, flooing to Grimmauld Place and from there Apparating to the meadow outside the cottage.

"Can we come here for the summer?" Harry asked, glancing at the ramshackle little building.

"Part of it, I should think," Snape agreed, but laid a hand on Harry's forearm when the boy made as though to go in. "I do believe we ought to practice out-of-doors, don't you?"

Harry shivered, his robes not doing much to ward off the bitter cold. "Cast a temperature charm then, would you?"

"I doubt you'll be cold for long." Snape suddenly jerked his head to the left. "Draco, where do you think you are going?"

The blond boy froze in mid-step. "Thought I'd take a seat on that rock, as I'm really just here for the fresh air."

"You're such a prat," Harry complained before Snape could reply. "You're here to help me."

Draco scoffed. "Oh yes, my vast store of experience in wandless magic will prove invaluable, not to mention that my own Lumos spells melt walls every day of the week."

"Harry needs someone to aim hexes at," Snape dryly inserted, raising an eyebrow when Draco paled. "For Merlin's sake. You can't believe you're no more use to him than that. You're here to pay attention. I want someone besides myself thoroughly cognizant of how Harry can best channel his dark powers."

Strangely, Draco paled yet more. "I appreciate the trust," he offered, walking closer, "but how wise is that, really? If the Dark Lord does get his hands on me, it's probably best I know as little as possible."

From close up, Harry could see that the Slytherin boy was sweating despite the biting cold.

Grass crackled underfoot as Snape leaned down to speak to Draco. "I stand by what I told Harry when he first came to live with us. You have a great intuitive grasp of magic. I want you to understand his powers and his limits so that you can help him should he ever need it."

Draco still looked doubtful, but he shrugged in agreement, then backed away slightly to observe.

Snape magically cleared a large area of grass and debris, then instructed Harry to recreate his Lumos.

That, Harry thought, was when it first struck home just how limited his dark powers were. "Uh... how about you summon a snake from the woods, first? Because I can't speak Parseltongue without one." He frowned. "You know, I thought I had done it once down in the cellar of Sirius' house... um, my house, but now I think I must not have managed it until I actually scooped Sals up." That, after all, had been when Lucius Malfoy had burst in. "Yeah, I have to see a snake, or at the very least feel myself holding one--"

"Normal snakes aren't out and about on a fine winter's day," Snape reminded him, just a touch of sneer in the answer.

"Could we dash back and get Sals, then? Or if you've got a quill, I could sketch something on my hand--"

"Oh for pity's sake!" Draco shouted. "Look at my cloak."

Sure enough, the Slytherin crest did the trick. When Harry commanded his powers using Parseltongue, lightning shot from his wand, lightning that kept pouring forth instead of dissipating as a bolt normally would. It blackened and scarred the bare earth, but this time, prepared for the force of the blast, Harry had planted his feet in time to avoid being thrown backwards.

"Now Nox," Snape instructed.

Harry had heard in class that Nox meant darkness, or maybe night; he couldn't remember. Neither one of those words worked, however. Then again, his Parseltongue spells had worked before only when he'd used words to indicate how he'd always thought of the spell. "No more light," he tried, smiling when the lightning bolt streaming from his wand abruptly disappeared.

His father had been right; he wasn't cold any longer. The magic streaming through him had solved that problem, so much so that he shrugged off his robes and tossed them aside. No doubt his Lumos didn't warm the others the same way, especially in the out of doors, but they could always cast charms if they needed them.

Snape spelled the ground to extinguish the smouldering embers left from the experiment, then glanced approvingly at Harry. "So. You merely need to brush up your Latin translations, apparently--"

"Not exactly," Harry interrupted, then explained that what he had said hadn't precisely been Nox.

The Potions Master frowned. "You'll need to produce a personal spell lexicon," he decided. "One by one you'll need to go through the spells and charms and curses you've learned, determining how to produce each with your new powers. This will take some time."

Harry frowned. "Um... I was sort of hoping I could start going to classes again on... um, Monday?"

"Give yourself a few weeks to become adept at the use of your dark powers," Snape advised.

"A few weeks!"

"Yes." Snape speared him with a look. "The part of me that is your father would prefer you not resume classes at all, Harry. It is dangerous, more so than you likely realise. What do you think Albus and I do at all those teas, but analyze the continuing threat from Slytherin?" He shrugged, then. "However, you need to become a fully trained wizard, and it won't happen in isolation from your peers. You will take up residence in the Tower when you begin classes again."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Dad. But don't worry. I'll visit plenty."

"You'd better," Draco sourly put in. "And you'd better remember what I told you."

"Which was?" Snape prompted.

"Harry knows."

The Potions Master glanced over them both, but let the matter drop. "Now that you know how to stop and start the spell, we'll see if your power levels are more acceptable without a wand," he advised Harry.

By then it was nearly dark. "Um, shouldn't we be getting back?" Harry objected. "Ron'll be wondering where we've gotten to."

Snape looked down his long nose at him. "I must say," he fairly smirked. "Mr Weasley is not the only Gryffindor who doesn't 'do subtle.' Why do you think I spoke with him in private this morning?"

Harry actually hadn't thought about that at all. He raised his shoulders to say so.

"I have released him from any further detention."

That made sense, Harry realised. Ron had apologized, after all, and what was more, he'd admitted that Snape was doing all right as Harry's father. Really, there was no reason left to make him come down. Still... "Great. Now I won't see him for weeks," he grumbled, noticing rather glumly that Draco looked pleased by that notion.

"Wandless," Snape drew his attention back to the lesson.

"I don't want to," Harry muttered. "It's... too weird. Besides, it reminds me of the robe-and-mask incident." Even as he said it, though, a deep twitching in his palm and fingers told him that his body wanted to perform wandless magic even if he didn't.

"It is not weird," Snape scoffed. "The average wizard would give his wand, literally, to possess such an ability."

"Yeah, well the average wizard might also think it'd be great to have the Killing Curse bounce off his head, but I hate this scar!" Harry shouted. "All I ever wanted was to be normal, and I made a lousy Muggle because I wasn't, but almost the moment I found out I was a wizard I found out I wasn't a normal in this world, either! My name marks me as much as this scar, and it's just getting worse and worse! Parselmouth, Azkaban escapees supposedly hunting me out, Tri-Wizard Fiasco, getting my own godfather killed, and now this!"

Draco had been watching silently for some while, but at that, he stomped across the field to Harry and abruptly pulled him into a hard, harsh embrace. "You stop being a prat," he hissed in his ear. "You made a lousy Muggle because you weren't one, you bloody great idiot, and if you want to talk about a name marking you, at least yours marks you for greatness! You don't know what it is to be ashamed of your father, do you? Ashamed of your name!"

Harry had struggled at first, but talk of fathers had him going still. He did know what it was to be ashamed of one, though he couldn't explain much about that unless he betrayed Snape's worst memory. And that just wasn't in the cards. Gripping Draco back, Harry quietly talked in his ear: "Severus is your father. Now who's the bloody great idiot?"

"You are, whinging on about being normal! If you were normal, you'd be dead several times over by now, and the rest of us would end up slaves to the Dark Lord, so forgive me if I don't care to attend your pity-party!"

"If you're quite through insulting one another," Snape coolly inserted, reminding Harry that the man could hear a cauldron bubble at a hundred paces, "perhaps Harry can attempt a wandless charm before we all freeze to death?"

"Fine," Harry muttered, shaking Draco off and stepping a safe distance away. Habit had him brandishing his wand even so, until an Expelliarmus from Snape snatched it from his hand. Resisting an urge to say something about that, he stretched his arm out before him, fingers splayed, and reluctantly asked, "How is this supposed to work, exactly?"

"Most wizards have to perform near-perfect Occlumency just to concentrate enough to make the magic flow," Snape explained, raising his voice over the breeze. "I somehow doubt you are going to experience the same difficulty. Just look at Draco's crest, and say your charm."

Glancing to the side to get the snake into view, Harry miserably whispered at his fingers to light up.

And they did. Well, three of them. His thumb and pinky finger appeared normal, but the others were glowing ever so slightly, the light barely perceptible, but definitely there. Still, it wasn't anything like the brilliant Lumos that Harry had seen Snape's wand produce.

"Great," he scathed, striding over to show his father and brother. "With a wand I blast holes in walls, and without one I'll end up tripping. This is about the most pathetic Lumos I've ever seen!"

"Ha. You haven't seen Longbottom's, then."

"Quiet, Draco." Snape took Harry's wrist in his long fingers, and turned the boy's hand this way and that to examine the light. "Go back where you were, extinguish it, and incant with more feeling."

Harry tried, but since he didn't really want wandless magic, the results were no more impressive than before.

Draco had seen enough. "If I have to come back over there to shake some sense into you," he threatened, "I'll smack you while I'm at it! For Merlin's sake, Harry! How dare you act like wandless magic is noxious and you're so far above it!"

"Voldemort can do it!" Harry shot back.

"So can Severus! And your precious Dumbledore!"

Harry actually did know that, though in his panic it hadn't been his foremost thought. Now, the idea that he was insulting his father was rather distressing. He hadn't meant to imply that wandless magic was evil... he just wished he could be like his friends, instead of constantly different. But there was no avoiding it, was there? Draco was right. He was being a prat.

"Light up," Harry said again, this time with more determination.

Rays of light flowed from the same three fingers, this time illuminating the meadow all around. He could see fifty feet by this light, at least, but what was more interesting was that it streamed outward from his fingers in all directions. Rather disorienting, actually, especially when he moved his hand around.

Drawing his wand, Snape incanted Lumos himself and walked to Harry's side. "Can you match it to this?"

Concentrating, Harry gazed at his fingers and willed them dimmer and dimmer until he had a glow about the same strength as his father's.

"Good," Snape approved. "It's to your advantage if such powers are kept under wraps as much as possible."

"That's going to be a little bit difficult with light streaming out my fingers," Harry pointed out.

"Lumos by its nature is problematic, I do agree. You should probably avoid it. Most spells do not produce a sustained visual effect, however. If you are holding your wand in a certain manner when you incant, no one will assume you are doing wandless magic."

Harry stared at him. "You want me to perform wandless spells with a wand in hand."

"I hesitate to even suggest it," Snape admitted, "as you are so diffident about your special talents. However, the misdirection may well save your life. The less an enemy knows of your weapons, the better."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "So... Incendio next?"

"Dinner next, I should think. We will work on shielding and the spell lexicon tomorrow. You will not attempt any spells, wandless or otherwise, without me present, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

He must have sounded more irritated than he was, for Snape at once added, "Harry. I will lift that restriction as soon as I feel confident that you are past the mishap stage."

"It's all right," Harry sighed. "I'm just tired, I think. Um, maybe I should get my pillow back while we're still in the out-of-doors? Just in case it goes wrong again? Um, I messed it up with a wand so I figure I'd better fix it the same way..."

Fetching the animals from his pocket, Snape quickly enlarged them and ended his immobility spell, then watched as Harry extended his wand. One quick glance at Draco's crest, and the boy was hissing in Parseltongue, "End the enchantment!"

Nothing. Harry tried a few variations on that theme, but didn't hit the right words until it dawned on him that whenever he'd used Finite in the past, he was usually thinking in more specific terms. Sort of like with Lumos/Nox. That spell was only cancelled by using a special incantation just for it. So... what would he think of to cancel a Reparo? "Go back the way you were!" he commanded, and saw the animals vanish in a poof of feathers and fabric scraps. Then, lowering his wand so that he would be sure to use just his fingers, he called out, "Like new!"

A pillow popped into existence and fell to the damp ground.

Snape seemed pleased enough with his progress, though Harry felt he had to admit, "I can't do a standard Finite. Apparently I have to counterspell with words that more closely match exactly what I want to see happen."

"So include that in your lexicon. Come Harry, home. You do look tired."

He was, but his mood picked up as soon as they flooed back home. There on the hearth was a folded piece of parchment, the name Harry scrawled across it writing he'd recognise anywhere.

Snatching it up, Harry read,

Dear Harry,

I came by to see how you were doing, but after about twenty minutes standing in the corridor--I'm sure I know which one, by now--I figured nobody must be home. Dumbledore saw me sneaking down to the kitchens for a bite, though, and when I explained he said I could use his Floo to let you know I tried.

I guess Snape told you my detention's over, huh? Ha, about damned time. Snape tried to tell me that he only assigned so many lines 'cause he was trying to make sure you and I got back on good terms. I don't really believe that but I think he does, which is kind of interesting. Honestly, Harry, how do you stand so much Slytherinness?

Anyway, you know how I apologized to Snape? I think I'd better tell you I'm sorry, too. I should have listened when you tried to tell me that you and he were getting along. I just couldn't imagine it, and I was pretty sure it was some sick game to him. Like, he'd kick you out the minute you really needed him, or something. But not even to trick you, I think, would he humiliate himself by singing to you like that. (Humming, my arse.)

Well, Dumbledore's sort of tapping his foot so I guess I'd better finish this. Let's see... tell Snape that nobody heard it from me about what happened last night. Not even Hermione, and boy did she push me for details. I had to say that you'd hit your head before I even got there (that way she couldn't ask me how, see) and you were just concussed enough that I wanted to wait until you woke up. So where'd you go tonight, anyway? I hope you were well enough to celebrate you-know-what. You'll have to tell me what Slytherins do when they're happy.

Friends,

Ron

Snape must have recognised the writing too, for he asked in a cautious tone, "Everything is all right, I trust?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted, grinning like an idiot. "Everything's great. Ron says to tell you that he kept quiet like you wanted."

Draco made a low, growling noise.

Harry shook his head at him. "Go back to calling him Ron, all right? Why did you switch back to Weasley?"

"Well, at first I thought he'd cheesed you off and made your wild magic fly... and after that..." Draco sighed. "I could tell, all right? Just looking at him, I could tell. He was worried. The two of you were going to make it up!"

"Yeah, well that's what friends do," Harry announced. "And we were friends all along, however it might have looked there for a while."

Draco turned away slightly.

"Brothers forgive each other too," Harry added.

That had the Slytherin boy turning back to fume, "Are you implying I've done something that needs to be forgiven?"

"Hmm." Harry began counting on his fingers. "Let's see. Tattling. Serpensortia. Playing Dementor. Buckbeak. Hermione's teeth. Rita Skeeter. Umbridge. Inquisitorial Squad--"

"Something recently, Potter?"

"Oh, recently." Harry smiled. "I think the wand's in the other hand when it comes to recently. Actually, what I meant was that you'd been good to forgive me for being so rude and ungrateful to you at first. So, see? I can overlook Ron's bad attitude the same way you overlooked mine."

"That's different," Draco admitted, narrowing his eyes. "I need you to keep me out of Azkaban where my name's likely to land me. You don't need that red-headed twerp for anything."

"Yes, I do. I need him to keep me from getting too Slytherin from all the time I spend with you."

"Won't be a problem soon, will it? You're going back to all your friends," Draco sneered. "You'll visit Severus in his classroom office and never make it all the way down here."

"Oh, that's just bloody ridiculous," Harry laughed. "Are you saying that to make me contradict you? Listen, Draco, you and I are going to have the whole summer together. And it's going to be brilliant. Just think, I can fly again! So we can play one on one Quidditch!"

"Yeah, well that's summer," Draco huffed. "I still have the rest of the winter term to get through, and all of spring term. I'll be stuck here all alone again, and you'll go back with all your smarmy little friends and forget you even have a brother, I just bet you will!"

"Want to bet your vault?"

Draco swallowed. "Excuse me?"

"You did mention it earlier, betting your vault." And then, "I'm joking, Draco. I'm not going to forget you just because I go back to Gryffindor! I'll visit here, I promise. Hmm. Wonder if I can get the headmaster to let me use his Floo."

"It's not that long a journey by foot," Snape put in, his dark eyes steady on Harry. Challenging him to keep his word about visiting? Harry wasn't sure.

"I was thinking more of stray Slytherins out for blood, actually," he explained.

"You can't avoid them," Draco pointed out. "Remember? You're a Slytherin. Common Room. Slytherin table. Seeker--"

"Not Seeker."

"Well, the others, then. You did promise."

"I did not! I said I'd think about it, is all."

Snape cleared his throat. "Harry is in fact going nowhere for a good while yet. Now, shall we enjoy our dinner?" He waved at the table and food appeared; Harry supposed Snape must have ordered while he and Draco had been arguing. Hmm, looked like roast duck in orange sauce with a rather fabulous Pavlova for dessert. And a bottle of champagne. Wow, he'd have to tell Ron that this was how Slytherins celebrated.

The food was really good, but not because it was so gourmet. By then, Harry had eaten plenty of fancy dishes, though he was hardly jaded. But this food was special because for the first time in a long time, he felt hungry, eager, and enthusiastic. Things were looking up. His magic was back, and it looked as though with some work he'd be able to control it fine. Granted, he didn't love the idea of doing spells without a wand, but at least that wouldn't have to be so very obvious. Yeah, incanting in Parseltongue was going to upset the other students enough, without doing it wandlessly as well. It would all work out.

Even Slytherin, he thought, some part of him wanting to take charge of that situation, too. It was like with his magic. Things had only gotten better when he'd decided to do something about his problem. So... it was time to find out just what he was up against. Good thing he had some experts to consult. Ron and Hermione wouldn't be any help with this particular problem, would they?

He finished up his portion of duck, then wiped his mouth with a napkin before venturing, "I guess you'd better tell me all you can about my new house mates, then. You know, which ones can I win over and what's the pecking order and which ones are definitely going to try to kill me no matter what?" He remembered something then. "Hmm. Let's start with the half-bloods and Muggleborns. Who are they? And how are you coming along with your letters to them, Draco?"

The rest of the evening had Harry immersed in the intrigues that had been occupying Draco all along.

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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Sixty-One: Dreaming of Draco

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight