Disclaimer: I'm too tired for this… meh… pick on someone your own size… (not mine)

A/N: Hi! So… new chapter. :) Sorry it's so late… :/ I've had a lot on my plate… hey that rhymes! :L Anyway… sorry. List of excuses: higher exams (which, for people who don't know, are v. v. V. important ); when I'm not doing them/revising I'm really tired… seriously – I can stay awake for about 9 hours and then I get tired :S; I've had literally a TON of art crap to do; and, to be honest, I could not be arsed. So… sorry. *_*

Dedicated to Cinnamon S​elkie who spoke to me for about an hour on msn (months ago :/)… you still awake? :L

Not all the usual rules apply. Mistakes are mine, not my amazing beta Aidan's, people whom read/review (etc) this are cool, but no recap. This chapter doesn't follow on directly from the last chapter – remember Ginny was looking at the photo? – instead it goes back to the boys and Hermione opening fan mail. That make sense? Hopefully…

Okay. I'm putting in a recap (in italics), 'cause I can't remember what just happened. It's of the bit from before Ginny looking at stuff. That better? Yeah… ;P

Once upon a time…

Muggles, Fan Mail and Metamorphmagus Werewolves
Chapter 6: Snape And A Mistake Of Sisterhood

He ripped it open. Or tried at least. Unfortunately, it seemed to be one of those envelopes that had to be ripped open one centimeter at a time; one of those envelopes that had been licked so earnestly that the paper seemed permanently bonded together. Finally, methodically wrenching it open, he pulled out the contents. Inside there was a single sheet of paper; Harry unfolded it carefully.

It was a drawing. A picture of the artist next to a very tall stick-man with comically huge glasses and a green zig-zag down the centre of his face. It was him. And printed underneath the drawing, in far too neat a hand to be the child's own, were the words: My Hero. He smiled and looked carefully at the others around him, making sure they were all too engrossed in their own findings, before re-folding the picture and slipping it into the front pocket of his jeans.

Unfortunately, other children of the Wizarding World felt that he was their hero also, as all the people around him held up different drawings showing the same thing. Harry sighed. It seems nothing could be private, as someone else always would be thinking the same thing about him. This dosn't make sense, what are you trying to say?

The pile was slowly diminishing. Letters and boxes being opened to reveal hand knitted scarves; letters of thanks; a few more unwanted photos and a single rose that made Harry squirm.

But amongst those, there was a single letter that contradicted all previous. Hate mail. It was Hermione that had found it, somewhere near the bottom of the pile. It was thin and normal-looking, but it held Harry's worst fear. It said he hadn't been quick enough; someone's whole family had died and, before they could happily become to death too, Voldemort was.

Hermione burned it before he could read it again, saying that the person was just sad and wanted to blame someone that was still alive, that they could still "get" to. But Harry knew the truth. He hadn't been quick enough. If he had been, there would be nine Weasleys sitting at the table…

Dudley looked confused. Still.

'Why are you getting all this?' he asked Harry quietly, indicating the mail.

Harry looked up and opened his mouth to answer, but he didn't know what to say. What should he tell him? That he killed the most evil man ever to exist? Technically he had killed himself. Should he, then, tell him that he had disarmed the most evil man that ever existed? He supposed that wouldn't really explain why he was getting lots of mail. Disarming someone isn't that hard, not that Dudley would know that.

'I… didn't die,' he decided on, 'Well, I lived,' he corrected himself – he wanted to be truthful.

Dudley frowned. 'Why does that mean you get lots of letters?'

Hermione, who had obviously heard their conversation, answered for him. 'He defeated Voldemort. That's why he's getting letters – people are thankful.' She looked at Harry, trying to emphasise with her eyes that everyone knew he'd done all that he could. Excluding that one person. Harry looked away from her. She was wrong.

'Voldemort…?' asked Dudley slowly, 'The one who killed your parents.' It wasn't a question. Harry supposed he'd heard a lot about Voldemort being around Aurors for nine months… or at least "You-Know-Who". He wondered if Dedalus or Hestia had mentioned him…

He hoped they hadn't. People seemed to be far too boastful of his "accomplishments", and far too eager to retell them for Harry's liking.

'Defeated…? Like, killed?' It wasn't really a question, just phrased as such, but Harry nodded anyway. To his plate; not willing to meet his cousin's eyes. 'Wow…'

Harry looked up. Dudley's face was full of wonder and a ghost of an astonished smile played around his lips. Harry couldn't help himself: he chuckled.

'Shut up! It's not every day you find out your scrawny cousin killed someone,' retorted Dudley, somehow flushing and laughing at the same time.

Harry scowled at his cousin, and opened his mouth to challenge the "scrawny" comment; but his eyes bypassed him and instead locked on his Aunt, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

But her eyes were unfocussed, as if she was looking but not seeing, or seeing something no one else could. She winced and convulsed once as if someone had squeezed her heart, tears brimming and spilling from her eyes.

Harry couldn't look away. Vaguely he was aware of people eyeing him curiously, and following his eyes to his Aunt, who was brushing the tears away swiftly with her fingertips.

'Voldemort,' she whispered. The name sounded familiar on her lips, and she looked fearful, like she knew what he could do. Harry was suddenly immensely curious as to what had been in the letter Dumbledore had given her with him when he was a baby. 'You…? He's gone?'

Vernon was looking at her as if she'd just sprouted tentacles, and Harry had to bite back a laugh as he nodded. Why must he have the urge to laugh at the most inappropriate times?

'For good?' Petunia sighed and looked down as he nodded again, seeming to revel in the confirmation. Then her face split into the most sincere grin Harry had ever seen on her lips. Her face seemed to fill out and look less bony, making her look years younger; he was suddenly reminded of the little blonde girl from Snape's memories…

Her smile dropped, but the happiness stayed in her eyes as she asked, 'How?'

Harry sighed, suddenly very weary once more, and rubbed his eyes with his fingers; his glasses cutting into the bridge of his nose as he pushed them aside with his knuckles.

'Er,' he began, not sure where to begin, 'Well… Voldemort wanted to split his soul into seven bits, eh, he thought it would make him stronger, immortal. But, when he tried to kill me, the spell kind of… backfired? I dunno, but basically he accidently split his soul into eight bits. Er… yeah, when you split your soul you have to put that bit into an object. It can be just about anything, I think, living or dead or something that was never alive. But the eight bit of soul was in me, so when he tried to kill me… again, it didn't work.' All through this explanation, Harry had been examining his fork, not comfortable meeting his Aunts eyes. It was hard to tell this story to someone who had very little knowledge of the Wizarding World, especially considering it had only happened just over twelve hours ago.

Everyone around the table seemed to have leant in to hear the story, holding their breath as it was told and exhaling simultaneously in one big gust in Harry's face. From the corner of his eye, his Aunt looked confused.

'So…?'

'So I didn't die, well I did, but it didn't work properly and I was able to come back Voldemort-free 'cause the bit of his soul that was in me had died. And then, since all the other bits of him were destroyed, I could do this weird thing with the Elder Wand 'cause it can't be beaten and… well there was this whole bit about wand ownership, but basically he tried to kill me but couldn't beat the wand so it backfired.' He took one look at his Aunt and cousin and said, 'It's a bit complicated.'

Petunia nodded and half got out of her seat, moving awkwardly down the bench until she was sitting next to her son. Vernon, looking startled and terrified that his wife had left him sitting alone in this strange place, tried to follow, but his massive bulk prevented him from moving down the bench as his wife had. He clambered off the bench, grasping the table for support and walked the one and a half paces to where his wife sat and, after a bit of a struggle, sat next to her.

Petunia, obviously noticing this disruption, pretended not to see it, and instead asked Harry a question he thought he would never hear from her lips. Not because it was a strange question, but because it was his Aunt.

'I heard quite a bit about Severus Snape while we were in hiding, do you know what happened to him? I heard he killed Dumbledore…'

Harry was so thoroughly taken aback by the question that he looked up from his empty plate and stared at her in shock for a few seconds. As soon as he had composed himself, he answered, 'Voldemort killed him.'

Aunt Petunia closed her eyes and breathed out. When she opened them they were full of sadness for the man she had hated as a child.

'He killed everyone.'

'Well, not everyone.'

'No, but he killed everyone I knew… or had known…'

'To be fair, that was only three people.' His Aunt looked up at him and chuckled sadly, nodding slightly.

'Sometimes you remind me so much of Lily,' Harry inhaled a little sharply, but hid it with a small cough. She had never spoken his mother's name before… it was odd, he decided, like a complete mixture of emotions. Sadness. Love. Jealousy. Admiration. He supposed that was why she had never mentioned her name in the past: she could not hide her real feelings in that name. 'Her sense of humour was a bit like yours when she got older. You know,' she continued rather slyly, in the way that Mrs Weasley announces she's secretly made a large cake for everyone, 'Snape used to live very near Lily and I… he was the one that told her she was a witch!

'I remember hating him so much because he was taking my little sister away from me. We were always so close, but the news of what she was tore us apart,' she sighed and shook her head, looking away, 'That's not true. I tore us apart – my reaction to it all. I was… jealous, I suppose. Well, I don't suppose, I know. She was just always so… I don't – I don't know… loved? Worshiped? Perfect? I… I could never compete, but somehow that was okay. She was book-smart and pretty and kind, but, when I was with her, people praised me too. Like I was a parent. I could teach her things and I would revel in the fact she was book-smart because I knew I had taught her some of the things she knew – the gift of being an older sister. But then she got her letter,' her voice seemed to involuntarily become both sad and hostile, 'And I knew I couldn't teach her anything to do with magic because I didn't know it. This was one adventure she would have without me and that hurt. She used to go off with Snape to learn more about the Wizarding World. I would follow her – I'm not proud of it – but I would. But Snape always had a thing for her, he always wanted to be alone with her, and one time they caught me watching them. He got angry and made a branch break off a tree and land on my arm. Lily yelled at him and said she wasn't his friend anymore, but she went back to him eventually… apparently my broken arm wasn't enough to come between them.'

She looked up. Whatever reaction she had been expecting, Harry nodding knowingly wasn't it.

'I know,' he said, 'I saw Snape's memory of it.'

It was Dudley, this time, who asked what the hell he was talking about. He had been eyeing his mother with blatant disbelief at the calm manner in which she was discussing both her sister and magic, when another unbelievable point was raised. 'What?' he asked, his face scrunched up, trying to make sense of what his cousin had just said.

'You watched his memory…?' Petunia asked, frowning.

'Yeah, you can watch peoples memories in a pensive… er… never mind,' he waved off her unvoiced questions with his hand.

She laughed once and shook her head. "I guess I never really gave your world – her world – a chance-"

'Good thing too,' said Vernon whispering loudly, speaking up for the first time since their seating change, 'She was a freak! They all are. It's not normal! It's just not ruddy normal to wave a stick around and expect something to happen. They're all freaks…' his beady eyes twitched round the room.

Harry's mouth was hanging open, but before he could say anything, his Aunt cut across him.

'Lily wasn't a freak, she was my sister!' she turned on Vernon, 'And you have no right to say she was!' a tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away furiously.

Harry was pleased to see his uncle looking thrown for the millionth time and decided to make him feel a little worse. He knew it was wrong, but, somehow, it felt so right.

'Besides,' he said with a slightly manic smile on his face, 'Here it's you who's not normal.' He glanced along the table at the people who were glaring at his Uncle for calling them freaks. His Uncle followed his gaze, terrified.

His face fell.

To be continued…

A/N: Hope you liked the chapter! Sorry if people didn't like the last one… it was just meant to be funny, 'cause Harry would get really awkward. But, anyway, as always reviews are very much welcome, along with any constructive criticism you have for me. :)