Aspen in the Sunlight - A Year Like None Other

"No idea," said Draco.

"What about you, Harry?"

Harry almost choked on his egg salad, hearing Goyle call him that. Hmm, probably Hermione had badgered him into it when she was tutoring him.

"I don't know, either." He shrugged to show he really didn't.

Goyle's voice dropped a bit. "Was that article right? Has your father been teaching the two of you some Dark Arts?"

Draco managed to answer that without giving a definite yes or no answer, but it opened up a real can of worms. Skeeter's fault. The implication that Harry might have learned some Dark Arts from Snape apparently fascinated the Slytherins. Draco tried to shut them up, but without much success.

It wasn't until they were on their way to Potions that Harry managed to get Draco alone. Walking ahead of Ron and Hermione, he mentioned that he'd already seen Snape and told him everything.

"Good," said Draco, nodding. "But I still have to tell him as well. And no, I don't think you're lying. It's the principle of the thing."

Well, it was probably a good thing for Draco to stick to his principles. This one at least. He did mean Harry well.

"All right. So how's the gelato coming along?"

"Hermione wants to add far too much sugar," complained Draco in a slightly peevish voice. "As if she doesn't know proper citrus should be tart. Must be a Muggle thing, wanting everything so sweet it's cloying."

"You balance tart with sweet to get a pleasing flavour," Hermione said from behind. Harry wondered how long she'd been listening to their conversation. "It's not a Muggle thing at all!"

Draco turned back slightly. "Harry was Muggle-raised. We'll let him decide--"

"No way," said Harry, dropping back to walk with Ron. "You two work it out on your own."

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Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, from what Harry could see in the enchanted picture frame. It continued to display nothing but the Whomping Willow, but at least it seemed to show the current weather.

"Nice day," he commented as he sat down to an early breakfast with his father and brother. "Do you feel ready for later?"

Snape gave him a look. A what-do-you-think? look.

"Hey, just asking," said Harry, laughing. Then, remembering the day before, he hinted at something he'd been meaning to ask. He'd have talked to his father about it the night before, but Snape had been busy with paperwork. For what, Harry had no idea, but the man had been furiously writing something, his brow so wrinkled as he sat in his office that Harry hadn't wanted to ask him that , either.

"So, the duel. I suppose you already have it all planned out. Strategy, not that you'd need very much to best Aran. But what are you planning to do to him?"

Snape's voice went dark. "Make him regret the way he's treated you."

"How?"

"Why don't you wait and see?"

A little stunned, Harry protested, "You mean you won't tell me your plan?"

"It's bad form to discuss it in advance," explained Draco as he spread pumpkin butter on a toasted crumpet.

"Even with your own sons?" Harry sighed. "All right. Proper wizarding behaviour. Fine."

"I doubt you'll be disappointed," drawled Snape.

Still that ominous tone. "Just tell me you aren't going to kill him."

"I'll tell you no such thing," said Snape grimly. "Though I will state for the record that there are worse things than death."

Hearing that, Harry couldn't help but shiver. He trusted his father to do the right thing, really he did. Still, the man had been a Death Eater once. He knew some awful, awful hexes and curses. Harry was sure of it.

The walk down to the Quidditch pitch was largely silent. Uncomfortable, Harry tried to start up a conversation, but Draco quietly told him that they ought to let Snape concentrate.

All of Hogwarts was already assembled on the grass below one set of goal posts, the students milling about in a long haphazard row vaguely sorted by houses. As Harry, Snape, and Draco began to walk in front of the students, they hushed into an eerie silence, but as soon as they'd gone a few feet, whispers started up behind them.

A few yards away a second row composed of teachers and other staff faced the students. Unlike the students, they were seated in chairs. Pomfrey was glaring at Snape as if to warn him she didn't want a mangled Aran to care for. Harry noticed his father's eyes glinting in response. Most of the teachers seemed fairly relaxed, though. McGonagall was chatting with Hooch about the tartans she'd seen in Hogsmeade. Both women fell silent as Snape passed by.

Talk about relaxed -- Harry could have sworn he saw Professor Vector actually wink at them as they began to walk in between the two rows.

"What's that about?" whispered Harry.

Draco spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Tell you later."

Snape, Harry noticed, gave Draco a rather exasperated glance.

It was all a mystery to Harry, but there was no more time to ponder it. They'd reached the far end of the duelling field by then. Snape took his place there, turning around to look down the recently levelled ground. He swivelled his gaze to look at the students first, and then the staff, then stood composed, a slight breeze ruffling the duelling robes he was wearing. Less flowing than his usual attire, they were obviously designed for this.

"What's this, now?" asked Draco, frowning as he strode up to the Slytherin students, who were mostly in a clump to Snape's left. "Standing about randomly like a bunch of Hufflepuffs. Whose idea was that? Show your Head of House some respect, now! Neat rows, seven deep. First-years in front and second years behind, and so on. Well? Move! Yes, like that. Good--"

"Who put you in charge?" Zabini said, standing his ground in the front row. He looked ridiculous, towering over the smaller students.

"I took charge," Draco calmly replied. "You could have done it, but you didn't. Now, get into place, Zabini."

The other boy made a contemptuous gesture, but must have figured that now wasn't the time to dispute Draco's authority. Harry was actually impressed that nobody else balked at following Draco's directions--not even the seventh-years. It looked to him as though his brother had regained a good deal of his former standing with his house mates. And that all sorted well, didn't it? Maybe together, they'd be able to keep a good many of the Slytherins from making the same mistake Snape had made when he was their age.

Harry felt a little bad that he'd walked right past Gryffindor without a word, but it wasn't like he could go back and stand with them. He might be a Gryffindor and a Slytherin both, but above all that, he was Severus Snape's son, so his place was clear. Harry started making his way over to the back rows of the Slytherin lines.

"No, we're in front," said Draco, taking him by an elbow and steering him to a place alongside the first-year Slytherins, only a short distance from where Snape was waiting. "As aggrieved parties. That article didn't only slander Severus, you realise."

Harry was glad then that his brother knew so much about pureblood traditions.

A slight jostling to his side had Harry glancing down to see a familiar red-haired girl. Before he could greet Larissa, however, Draco stepped between them. "Back over there where you were," he told the little girl, bending down to speak to her. "I told you, didn't I?" Glancing up a bit, Draco addressed all the first years. "Harry doesn't like people fawning all over him just because he's the Boy Who Lived. Show some proper Slytherin decorum."

Larissa's eyes grew wide. She didn't exactly look like she was about to burst into tears, but she sure didn't look happy. "But Drakey--"

"I told you not to call me that!"