Harry had begun counting the days that he was due to return to Hogwarts from the summer after his very first year, just weeks before his twelfth birthday. Now, he was past his sixteenth birthday, and there were only a few weeks left until he would be permitted to go to the Burrow, which he'd done two summers before, and attended the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasley family. He would have liked to go to Grimmauld but, even though he'd legally inherited the house, he was not considered a good candidate to live on his own, now that the Death Eaters had broken out of Azkaban, murdered Sirius, and the Ministry of Magic was finally on board with the knowledge that Voldemort was back, although Fudge had been sacked shortly after the school year had ended.

Harry still had dreams, but unlike ones he'd had in the past. Thankfully, he was no longer embodying Nagini, the dreadful familiar of the madman who had marked him for death as a fifteen-month-old. He still saw things from Voldemort's point of view, however, and, after a particularly awful nightmare, where he had witnessed him giving the Dark Mark to none other than Draco Malfoy, it was truly a harrowing experience. When his alarm blared promptly at six a.m., Harry shoved himself out of bed, gathering up a tattered, oversized outfit he'd inherited from Dudley, and quickly put it on, all the while hearing Uncle Vernon tramp down the hallway outside his bedroom, unlocking his door, and barking at him to get a move on with cooking his breakfast before he left for work.

Summers weren't so bad, now that he had stuff to look forward to from September until June, and didn't attend the Muggle school down the road. Letting himself out of his bedroom, Harry took the opportunity to use the bathroom, before he traipsed downstairs and moved into the kitchen, listening to his uncle prattle on about wanting eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee for his morning meal. Harry got to work straight away, managing to multi-task when Aunt Petunia arrived soon thereafter, Dudley just behind, while his aunt demanded an English muffin and some eggs, while Dudley wanted a traditional fry-up.

Harry had always detested the wallpaper throughout the house, but none so more than the kitchen wallpaper. It was stained from cooking oil and age, and the lemons surrounded by flowers looked as if they'd been swathed in almost two decades' worth of grease. Shaking his head, he hastily plated up the three breakfasts, and poured Uncle Vernon's coffee, Aunt Petunia's tea, and Dudley's orange juice. He remained silent and tight-lipped throughout the ordeal, and his aunt gave him a nod, letting him know that he would be permitted to select a piece of fruit. Opting for an apple, Harry walked outside into the backyard, knowing that he wouldn't be permitted to eat in front of his relatives, and began to take inventory of what needed work.

Uncle Vernon announced his departure shortly thereafter, and Dudley followed suit, going to meet Piers and his other friends to potentially terrorize some ten-year-olds. Harry was called back into the kitchen by his aunt, disposing of his apple core in the yard waste bin, and told to do the dishes that couldn't go into the dishwasher. She then announced that she would be going to the shops, informing him that Vernon had requested beef wellington that evening, and Harry's stomach lurched automatically at the thought of such a heavy meal at this time of year.

He vaguely continued to listen to her as he scrubbed the dirty dishes, assuring her with a simple nod of his head that he understood what his chores that day were—weeding, mowing the lawn, vacuuming, and dusting—and that they would have to be done by five, in preparation for his uncle's return at six, and then be on hand to wash the dishes; his aunt had apparently decided to make lunch and dinner that day. Harry gave a final nod as his aunt left, her pocketbook clutched in her hand, and made her way into town to the shops.

Harry finished the task handed to him, attempting to ignore the heat that seemed to plague Little Whinging at this time of year, and was relieved when the dishes were clean. He then set to work on the yard, not wanting to leave it until the afternoon, when the sun would be high in the sky and the task more difficult. He was finished with the yard in two hours, by which time Aunt Petunia had returned from the shops, and, reluctantly, gave her nod for Harry to return inside to complete his inside chores. Vacuuming was next, as his aunt had gone to a friends' house for tea, and wouldn't disturb her watching her soaps. Once that task was done, Harry returned the cleaning instrument into its proper place—the cupboard under the stairs—and set to work on the dusting, which he completed in under an hour.

His aunt returned, just as he was finishing up, and gave her stamp of approval, and rewarded him with a second piece of fruit for his efforts; this time, Harry selected an orange, which he took upstairs with him, knowing that he could offer some of it to Hedwig, although he was quite positive that his familiar wouldn't be best pleased. His aunt told him that he could let her out, provided that he didn't call attention to it, and Harry thanked her minutely before he returned to his bedroom, waiting to be summoned to wash the evening dishes.

Dudley returned home at the appointed hour for dinner, about twenty minutes after Vernon had, and Harry could smell dinner cooking from downstairs. Once it was finished and his relatives had completed eating, he was called downstairs by Vernon's bark and ordered to wash the dinner dishes that his aunt had used. Trudging downstairs and not giving his uncle any reason to smack him about, he walked promptly into the kitchen, ignoring the sound of an uneducated-sounding soap on the telly, and approached the sink. Harry remained silent throughout the work, his mind going a mile a minute; it was mid-August now, and the days seemed to go by quickly enough as the summer went on. As he continued washing the dishes, barely registering that the water was burning his hands, he heard the unmistakable crack of Apparition, and immediately looked up from the kitchen window, seeing Dumbledore standing there.

He gave the main a pained expression and his headmaster, seeming to figure it out, waved his wand, charming the dishes to wash themselves. He then walked towards the gate of the back garden, and Harry moved outside to meet him, and sighed in relief at the Cleaning and Cooling Charm the man put upon his hands.

"Sir?" Harry asked, confused as to his arrival.

The man smiled. "We've a mission, I'm afraid."

Harry regarded the man then, taking in the long beard and silver robes he knew so well, although he found himself deeply concerned at the look of one of his hands, which appeared to be quite withered. "Sir..."

"Quite a dramatic tale, if I do say so myself, with the meaning behind it most intriguing. But, I must confess that this is not the time," the headmaster informed him, and lightly lifted the appendage ever so slightly. "Take my arm."

Harry worried his lower lip, and turned and looked over his shoulder, where he could clearly see his uncle heaving himself to his feet, likely in search of some after-dinner pudding.

"Do as I say," the man next to him said firmly, and Harry's eyes jerked back to his, and instantly grabbed ahold of the arm, and the pair vanished with a sudden crack.

Harry felt disoriented and quite sick when they landed somewhere, in what appeared to be a village, and looked around, taking in the architecture, which seemed to be older than that of Little Whinging. "I... I just Apparated, didn't I?" he asked.

"Yes, and you did quite well, my boy," the man told him, his eyes twinkling. "Most people vomit the first time."

Not that far off, Harry thought to himself as they neared a house in the center of the block, and was nonplussed to find its gate open.

"Wands out, Harry," Dumbledore said without preamble, and Harry rushed to obey as they walked through the gate. The headmaster spelled the door open, which gave automatically, and they crossed the threshold and into darkness. "Revelio," he said, and a rather plump man, who was adorned in pale purple silk pajamas, was revealed almost immediately.

"Merlin's beard!" he shouted, and Harry was relieved he had not moved from the headmaster's side as the stranger greeted them. "Albus, give a man some warning next time!"

Dumbledore chuckled lightly, and quickly spelled the room back together, which the man before them appeared to have disheveled in some way, making it not too far off than his initial appearance, to Harry, at least. "Harry, allow me to introduce an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn," he said. "Horace... Well, you know who this is."

Slughorn regarded Harry for a moment, and smiled. "Harry Potter," he said knowingly, his tone friendly as nodded in recognition. "I suppose you've come here to offer me that blasted position again, Albus, but I've told you, the answer is unequivocally no."

Albus shrugged. "No matter," he said. "I'm off to use the loo, then. I'll return in a moment, Harry," the headmaster said, and slipped from the room.

"You're very like your father," Slughorn said. "Except for the eyes, of course. You have..."

"My mother's eyes," Harry said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"Lily. Lovely Lily," Slughorn went on. "One of the most gifted students Hogwarts had ever seen, even though she was Muggleborn."

"One of my best friends is Muggleborn," Harry said quickly, cutting across him. "She's the best in our year."

"Oh, please don't think I'm prejudiced," Slughorn said, stepping towards Harry, appearing altogether benevolent. "Your mother was one of my absolute favorites. Look," he said, and gestured towards a buffet-like table, "there she is now."

Harry turned towards where Slughorn had indicated, seeing nearly two dozen magical photos of various former Hogwarts students. He easily picked out his mother among them, as well as Lucius Malfoy, due to his similarities towards Draco, and even caught a glimpse of Gwenog Jones as well. Automatically, however, he found himself drawn to one which appeared to be in the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts, due to the wind blowing in the background. A younger Slughorn stood prominently at the front, and a black-haired young man beside him, who seemed to be smirking rather proudly into the wizarding camera.

"Regulus Black," Slughorn said fondly. "You will, of course, know that his older brother, Sirius, died a few weeks ago. Never took him on as a student, Sirius, but Regulus was always a favorite of mine. But, I would've liked the set..."

Harry stiffened automatically then, at the sensation of Slughorn's breath on his neck, and turned around halfway, peering up at the man. "Sir?" he asked, his tone riddled with confusion at the predicament he'd found himself in. "Sir, what are you...?"

Slughorn grabbed ahold of Harry's wrists, subduing him easily with the element of surprise, and his wand clattered to the floor. Harry was then slammed up against the wall, and he felt his joints seize up in pain. He was used to manhandling, for sure, due to his relatives using it as a game for the many years that he'd been forced to live beneath their roof. Heart pounding in his throat, he felt a wave of nausea as Slughorn nipped along his jaw, periodically pressing his lips against his skin, and Harry shut his eyes, tears flowing down his cheeks at the treatment.

Merlin, help me, he thought to himself. Do not let this happen...

It was then that the front door seemed to slam open, and quick footsteps moved to join both Harry and Slughorn in the living room, causing the former Hogwarts professor to dart away, but his actions were a second too late. Harry looked up, anticipating Dumbledore, but his jaw dropped when he saw that his savior came in the form of Snape. The man nodded towards Harry's wand, and Harry then noticed that his potions professor was pointing his own wand directly at Slughorn's face.

"Severus, that you?" Slughorn asked, and Harry found himself drawn to the man, and crossed the room to stand by his side, seeking comfort from the billowing black robes.

"Indeed," Snape drawled, his tone filled with hatred. "I want to impress upon you the foolishness of your actions, Horace," he sneered. "Now, before anything else untoward happens, I will be taking my leave now, with Potter." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, promptly steering him out of the house, and the pair vanished with a crack.

Harry doubled over as soon as they landed, on the grounds of the Burrow, and vomited. He initially expected his most-loathed teacher to berate his actions. What he did not expect was a compassionate hand upon his shoulder, or the feeling of a Cleaning Charm, both in and around his mouth, when he was finally finished. "Thank you, sir," he whispered.

"Water?"

"Please," Harry replied automatically.

Snape gave a nod, before conjuring a glass from a blade of grass. "Aguamenti," he intoned, and the glass promptly filled with water. "Drink," he said, handing it over.

Harry took the glass quickly, taking slow sips so as not to potentially sick up on himself. Once he had finished, Snape returned the glass to its grass form, and Harry was amazed that the stock grew in its former place once again. Looking up, Snape inclined his head, and the pair of wizards walked towards the dilapidated house, and Snape paused close by the threshold.

"This is where is leave you," he intoned, looking Harry over, before he took the glass of water back and vanished it. "Will you be all right?"

Harry sighed, hunching his shoulders slightly. "Sir..."

"Yes?"

"There is the matter of my trunk, and Hedwig," he said quietly.

"I summoned them, and they should be awaiting you inside," Snape told him. "Now, do you have everything you need?"

Harry nodded, eagerly wanting to be beside people who cared about him again, but couldn't shake the feeling that Snape was possibly not in the opposite category anymore. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," he said.

Snape tipped his head. "Very well, Potter. I will see you on the first of September," he said, and moved away from the door. "Try not to get into any more trouble, all right?"

Harry waited for Snape to disappear with a crack, before he tried the front door of the Burrow, and mercifully found it unlocked. Stepping inside, he heard Hedwig hooting softly from the living room, and saw her inside her cage, just atop his trunk. He moved forward, unlatching the thing, and she promptly moved out onto his hand, and he stroked the side of her head, the owl shutting her bright yellow eyes at the comfort.

"Harry!" cried the familiar voice of the Weasley matriarch, and Molly Weasley herself bustled out of the kitchen, banishing a dish towel from whence she came, and threw her arms around him in an automatic gesture, while Hedwig flew off towards the kitchen, likely in search of some owl treats of some kind.

"Mrs. Weasley," he greeted, accepting the embrace.

"Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are all here waiting for you in Ron's bedroom," she said, patting his cheeks as she let him go. "Don't worry about your trunk, dear. I'll send it along after you before bed."

Harry nodded. "Thank you."

"I'm making a roast this evening," she called up the stairs. "Should be ready in about twenty minutes or so. I'll call you all down then."

Harry smiled his thanks, not knowing if he would even be hungry when the time came, and went up the stairs, feeling that his wand had regulated itself to the pocket of his jeans as he climbed the rest of the staircase towards Ron's bedroom. He opened the door, and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all immediately got to their feet, and, in that same order, crossed the room to hug him. He was then pulled by Hermione into the bedroom, where he took a seat on Ron's bed beside Ron, while Hermione and Ginny perched upon the camp bed. Harry acknowledged the three pairs of eyes on him—two brown and one blue—and lifted up his own green eyes to figure out who would be questioning him first.

"Harry," Hermione said tentatively, "are you all right?"

Harry sighed, picking at a hole in his jeans. "It's a long story."

"You can tell us, Harry," Ginny said; the only girl in the Weasley family had settled down considerably over the years. In the wake of getting over her childhood crush on Harry, she had a special place in Harry's heart as a sister, right beside Hermione, which really was a better relationship for the two of them, at the end of things.

"Ginny's right, mate," Ron said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "We weren't expecting you for another couple weeks, anyway. Not that Mum'll mind," he said with a grin. "You know how she always wants to fatten you up."

Harry swallowed. "Dumbledore came to take me away from the Dursleys tonight," he said quietly, and brought up his knees towards his chest.

"But that's good, isn't it?" Hermione asked. "You're always talking about how terrible it is there, and having your summertime stay cut short with them should be a good thing..."

"One would think so, 'Mione, but tonight... Tonight it was different," Harry told her, forcing the words to pass through his lips.

Ginny leaned forward then, and waited for Harry to make eye contact with her. "Harry, did something happen tonight?" she whispered.

Harry swallowed. "Yeah," he told her. "Dumbledore took me to meet an old professor; I don't know what he taught..."

"What was his name?" Hermione asked.

"Slughorn," Harry said softly. "Horace Slughorn."

"He was potions master before Snape," Hermione put in, "as well as the former Head of Slytherin House. Would've been when Snape was in school..."

"Good to know," Harry muttered sarcastically, hunching his shoulders.

"Harry, mate, what's happened?" Ron asked quietly.

"I..." The words lodged himself into Harry's throat, and he felt hot tears threatening to escape his eyes, which he quickly moved to scrub away. "Dumbledore left us alone, and while Slughorn was telling me about some former students of his..."

"It's all right, Harry," Ginny said gently, and moved to sit on his other side, and Harry put his head on her shoulder, allowing her to gently move her fingers through his hair. "Take your time, Harry. There's no rush."

Harry felt his resolve slipping, and he knew that if he had to tell the story at all, he would have to get it over with completely, before he broke entirely. "Slughorn... He made advances, physical and sexual ones," he said softly.

"Blimey," Ron said softly.

"Harry what did he do?!" Hermione demanded, her dark eyes flashing with anger, her face quickly reddening soon thereafter.

"Please... Please don't be mad at me," Harry blubbered. "It's not my fault that I'm..."

"We all know you're gay, mate," Ron said, and Harry quickly looked over at Hermione and Ginny next, who both nodded. "We don't care about that. What that Slughorn git did was bang out of order."

Harry sighed, shutting his eyes. "But... You're not mad at me?"

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said, wrapping her arms around him, and he snuggled closer to her. "We could never be mad at you. Both matters aren't your fault at all."

"Now, tell us what that poison master did," Hermione said, her voice close to a hiss, and Ron coughed, trying not to laugh at Hermione's attempt at dark humor.

"Breathed on my neck... It felt...wrong, disgusting," Harry said, feeling the tremor of a shudder ripping through him. "Then he backed me up against a wall, and he started licking and kissing my neck and jaw... All I could think was..."

"Dear Merlin, I want to sick up on him?" Ron asked.

Harry laughed bitterly, gently pulling himself upright again, but retained a hold on Ginny's hand to guide him through the conversation. "No," Harry told him. "I... I called for help, in my mind, and that's when..."

"Did Dumbledore come back, Harry?" Hermione asked him.

Harry shook his head. "No. Dumbledore just disappeared..."

"Like he wanted it to happen?!" Ginny demanded.

Harry went pale. "Merlin, I hope not..."

"Who came to save you, mate?" Ron wanted to know.

"It was Snape," Harry said, and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all stared at him, in varying stages of disbelief at his words. "I know, it sounds barking, but he came in like there was nothing in the world that could stop him. He belittled Slughorn, and then just marched me out of there, and took me here. He gave me a glass of water, and then he walked me to the door. He made sure that I was all right, and told me that my stuff was here, and then he just...left."

"Are you sure it was Snape, Harry?" Hermione asked. "I mean, maybe someone Polyjuiced themselves to look like Snape to give off the illusion of authority..."

"Couldn't have been," Harry told her. "Snape had his wand, plus his voice was spot-on. There's no way it could've been someone else."

"You know that he just did it to save you for You-Know-Who?" Ron asked.

Harry swallowed. "I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. "I don't know much of anything anymore..."

When no further questions were forthcoming, however, Harry decided to move the conversation along to a different subject.

"How're things with Dean, Ginny?" he asked.

Ginny blushed, quickly grinning at her romance with the Gryffindor in Ron, Harry, and Hermione's year at school, and Hermione took her hand and pulled her back to the camp bed across the room in a sisterly gesture. Since Ginny's relationship with Michael Corner had broken up last term, and Ron had gotten used to the idea of her dating a close friend of his, Ginny and Dean seemed to be flourishing. "Very well," she said, lowering her eyes, but Harry was quick to note that her smile faltered slightly. "It's just..."

"What?" he asked.

Hermione accepted Ginny clutching at her hand, and she turned to look over at Harry. "Ginny is concerned about Dean's delay in getting back to her owls," she explained. "Dean takes such a long time to write her back, and there's only a smattering of sentences..."

"Give the bloke a break, 'Mione," Ron cut in. "He's got all of those younger siblings to take care of, remember. He can't do everything."

Hermione fixed Ron with a glare. "You know as well as I do that his parents can handle them, Ronald, and that Dean has been in Ireland with Seamus this summer."

Ron looked uncomfortable, his face turning red, and Hermione immediately noticed it, along with Harry and Ginny.

"Ron, if you know something..."

Ron threw up his hands. "Nothing for sure!"

"Ron!" Harry yelled out, crossing his arms. "That's your sister!"

"I know who it is, Harry," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Fred and George have told me for years that they think Dean and Seamus are...too close..."

Ginny trembled then, and Hermione immediately put an arm around her shoulders. "What are you saying right now, Ron?" she whimpered.

"It's not like I've directly seen anything," Ron told her gently. "But I'd do anything for you, Gin, to make sure you were happy. If I ever did see anything, I'd break the foul little git's nose and tell you to send him packing."

Hermione sighed. "You had better not be lying, Ronald."

"I'm not, 'Mione," Ron told her. "I wouldn't lie. Not about this, anyway..."

~*~

The rest of the summer passed quickly, with the final days in August spent in rooms at The Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed to have ample time to do some shopping for the upcoming school year. Molly and Arthur instructed Fred and George to keep a close eye on the three sixteen-year-olds, and Fred and George put them to work for a few days in the Wheezes, which gave them some pocket money to spend in Hogsmeade, when the trips became available to them, once the year began.

"Too bad that all the shops are closing," Hermione said softly. "It's a miracle that Fred and George are able to stay open..."

The trio met Ginny on Platform 9¾ on the first of September, and she opted to sit with them. It was plain to see her unhappiness from a mile away, and her face was as white as milk. As they left the station, Harry, Ron, and Hermione opened up their compartment for Neville and Luna as well, and waited for Ginny to speak. It was Luna, however, her hand wrapped around Neville's, who told them what was going on.

"Ginny spotted Seamus and Dean together," she said, and gently wound her fingers kindly into Ginny's hair.

"Together?" Harry asked.

"Together how?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Snogging," Neville put in, clearing his throat.

"What?!" Ron demanded launching to his feet.

"Ron," Hermione hissed.

"I'll knock that tosser's head off!" he yelled. "No one disrespects my sister like that, or anyone else I love or care about! If someone so much as did something like that to you, Hermione, like telling you that S.P.E.W. wasn't worth a damn thing, or was a massive waste of time, I would curse them into the end of next week! I'd—"

"Ron..." Hermione whispered, getting to her feet as well, and launching herself into his arms, snogging Ron for all he was worth.

Almost immediately, after he had gotten over the shock, Ron's arms wound around her, and he enthusiastically kissed her back.

"Bloody hell," she whispered, grinning at him.

"I love you, Hermione," Ron declared.

Hermione flushed becomingly. "I love you, too, Ron," she told him. "Now, let's go give that tosser the worst Bat-Bogey Hex he's ever seen!" she said triumphantly, and grabbed onto a grinning Ron's arm, and yanked him out of their compartment.

Harry was vaguely aware of Luna and Neville gently speaking to Ginny throughout the rest of the train ride. He wasn't surprised when Ron and Hermione came back just before they arrived at Hogsmeade Station, to change into their robes. They all waved to Hagrid as they got onto the platform, and made their way directly up to the school. Once they stepped into the Great Hall, Harry noticed a familiar man at the table, noting that Dumbledore had seemed not to bring Slughorn into the school, and that, instead, had hired on a not-so-new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Grinning, he waved to Remus, who bowed his head to Harry, beaming, as Harry moved to sit with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny at the Gryffindor table.

"Maybe the curse'll lift this year," Ron said from across the table.

"Maybe you'll actually stick to a good study schedule this year," Hermione put in, and gently squeezed at Ron's leg, which caused him to grin at her.

Ginny crossed her arms. "Maybe I'll actually find someone who isn't bloody immature, and who is bloody faithful, this year."

Maybe I'll figure out why Snape supposedly hates me this year, Harry thought to himself. But, aloud, he said, "Maybe snake-face will get with the program this year," he joked, and he got the three of them to laugh. Slowly, when they were all preoccupied with their meals, however, he turned and looked at the head table, and could not mistake the hidden feeling behind the onyx eyes of his potions professor.