\documentclass[10pt,oneside]{book}
\usepackage[utf8x]{inputenc}
\usepackage[english]{babel}
%%% Opening
\title{No Mouth But Some Serpent's}
\date{November 8, 2005}
\author{Lightning on the Wave}
\begin{document}
\maketitle
\tableofcontents

% \textbf{Story:} No Mouth But Some Serpent's\\
% \textbf{Storylink:} \url{https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2612486/1/}\\
% \textbf{Category:} Harry Potter\\
% \textbf{Genre:} Adventure/Horror\\
% \textbf{Author:} Lightning on the Wave\\
% \textbf{Authorlink:} \url{https://www.fanfiction.net/u/895946/}\\
% \textbf{Last updated:} 11/08/2005\\
% \textbf{Words:} 169197\\
% \textbf{Rating:} M\\
% \textbf{Status:} Complete\\
% \textbf{Content:} Chapter 1 to 33 of 33 chapters\\
% \textbf{Source:} FanFiction.net\\[2\baselineskip]\textbf{Summary:} AU of
% CoS, Slytherin!Harry. Harry goes back to Hogwarts, determined to protect
% his brother Connor, the BoyWhoLived, and stay in the shadows. But last
% year two people learned the truth about Harry\ldots{} and this year, two
% more will. COMPLETE

\chapter{The Scabbed Summer}\label{chapter-1-the-scabbed-summer}

``Harry, are you all right?''

Harry swallowed a groan before it could form, and smiled at his brother,
who was sitting up in his bed. Connor was usually too heavy a sleeper to
awaken for any sound in the same room. Harry must have sat up harder
than he thought, or cried out when the dream let him go.

``I'm fine,'' he murmured. ``Just a nightmare. I'm going outside to sit
for a while.'' He threw the covers back and checked to make sure that
his pyjamas were fastened all the way up. Then he threw on the jumper
he'd worn that day, which was tossed over the end of his bed.

``You're sure that you don't want me to come with you?'' Connor's words
were already slurring, though, and a yawn slipped out from his throat.
Harry let out a grateful little breath. He might wake up, but nothing
could keep his twin from going back to sleep.

``I'm sure. Thank you.''

``All right\ldots{}'' Connor was snoring before he could finish the
sentence. Harry carefully crept out of their room, shutting the door
behind him, and down the stairs. No sounds came from his parents'
bedroom beyond the stairs, and no lights moved in the kitchen. Just to
be sure, Harry used a \emph{Lumos} spell to look at the family's clock
on the wall. Sure enough, everyone else's hand pointed to IN BED, even
Sirius's and Remus's, though they weren't in Godric's Hollow right now.
Harry's hand pointed to TRUANT, but moved to TRAINING as Harry decided
what he would do with his extra time.

He might as well, he thought as he slipped out of the house, just as
silently, and padded to the edge of the front lawn. He wouldn't get any
more sleep tonight.

It was two weeks since they had returned from Hogwarts for the summer,
and every night Harry had dreamt of two dark figures. One curled in a
place far too small for it, crying out in pain and misery. The other
thrashed in a place that seemed only slightly larger, a steady stream of
whimpers coming from its throat. Harry had no idea what to make of those
dreams. He supposed they might be leftovers of the confrontation with
Voldemort, but he didn't understand why they would be attacking
\emph{him}. He could understand if Connor were to have them. His twin
was the Boy-Who-Lived, the one with the heart-shaped scar and the
connection to Voldemort.

But Connor slept undisturbed, while every night, Harry dreamed.

He shook his head and put it from his mind. He'd had odd dreams during
the school year, too, and worrying about them got him nowhere. When and
if the significance of the two dark figures ever revealed itself, then
he would be ready to do something about it.

For now, he would run through his array of wandless spells.

``\emph{Wingardium Leviosa},'' he said, concentrating, and when he pulled
his hand back, his wand floated in the air. Harry smiled and glanced up
at the bright crackle of isolation wards that surrounded their house and
separated it from the rest of Godric's Hollow, somewhat dimming the
sight of the stars beyond. The wards had been there all their lives,
preventing attack by vengeful Death Eaters and other minions of
Voldemort. They also prevented the Ministry from sensing the use of any
underage magic within them.

Their mother had once claimed that was an accidental side effect of the
wards. Harry doubted it. Lily Potter seldom did anything on accident.
Besides, it somehow never got reported to the Ministry.

He hurtled easily through the array of spells he'd practiced so long
without his wand that he came near to doing them in his sleep, and which
therefore made good spells to use during the transition between sleep
and waking. \emph{Nox, Lumos, Finite Incantatem, Wingardium Leviosa,
Incendio, Accio, Protego, Reducto,} the Blasting Curse, and several
others, raced forth from his mouth, had their effects, and left him
feeling nothing but relaxed and slightly more awake.

Harry frowned when he was done with the lot of them, concentrating. He
knew what spell he most wanted to perform next: the cage spell that
Voldemort had used on Connor during their deadly battle at the end of
May, \emph{Cavea}. Harry wanted to see if he could do it, and,
importantly, reverse it. If he'd known how to reverse it during the
battle, he could have spared Connor some pain and panic.

But the last time he had tried it, it had resulted in a pulse of
blinding blue light which had beamed through the windows and awakened
their parents. Harry had had to apologize and make up a tale of
accidental magic while sleepwalking for James, who didn't know about
Harry's extra training and silent vow to protect his brother. Their
mother had taken him aside after that and warned him not to try it again
until she was there to guide him.

She was not here now.

Harry closed his eyes and thought of a different spell, \emph{Diffindo}.
He was about to try it when a voice spoke from the grass beside him,
startling him badly.

``\emph{What are you doing? The magic is disturbing my sleep.}''

Harry whirled around and gathered his magic into a single focused point,
calling the \emph{Protego} shield up. That would defeat most hexes, and
after so much experience, it was his as swift as thought.

But he saw no one standing on the grass, and he blinked, hesitating.
Perhaps Connor had come out to play with him, but he didn't think his
brother was so good at hiding in plain sight, nor at sounding so
petulant.

\emph{It could be a trick of Sirius's}, he thought, and smiled. His
godfather often visited Godric's Hollow, and he would think it a grand
joke to come sneaking up in the darkness and scare Harry like that.

``Very funny, Sirius,'' he called back. ``You can come out now. You
caught me. I was bored and practicing my magic.''

``\emph{Who is Sirius}?''

Harry saw a movement at the edge of his \emph{Lumos} spell this time. He
stared as the grass parted and a small snake slithered out of it,
halting to look at him inquiringly. Her tongue flicked as if tasting his
scent.

Harry hardly breathed. He recognized the snake's markings, variegated
black on gold. If he tilted his head to the side and squinted just a
bit, he could make out the shape of a skull and crossbones, repeated
several times. This was a Locusta snake, a magical creature rare in
Great Britain. One small bite from it could kill a man, and one snake
contained enough poison altogether to down a whale. Worse, the venom
itself was magical, altering from hour to hour to try and counteract any
antivenin applied to it, and the snakes were clever and sadistic enough
to hunt small children when they were angry, and to direct their poison
to linger instead of killing at once.

Harry did not know how a Locusta had crossed the wards into Godric's
Hollow. He did not know how it was speaking to him. He did know that he
didn't want it anywhere near Connor.

``Go away,'' he whispered, wishing he knew \emph{Avada Kedavra}, and
readying his magic in an attempt to put all his will behind the Blasting
Curse. ``Just go away.''

``\emph{Why should I? I just arrived here. And I am rather enjoying your
company.}'' The snake slithered a few inches nearer. ``\emph{It is not
often that one finds a mortal who can speak to serpents. I knew one,
once, but she and I did not have much in common. She spat at me and told
me to leave after less than three seasons around me.}'' The snake lifted
her head and twined back and forth in dancing patterns, which made the
skull shine forth from her all the more strongly. ``\emph{Am I not
beautiful?}''

``I don't know what you're talking about,'' said Harry. ``I can't talk
to snakes.'' The fact that he was, and understanding this one right
back, was beginning to bother him. He tried not to let it. The important
thing, as always, was to protect Connor.

``\emph{Oh, yes, you can,}'' said the Locusta, sounding amused. She
lowered her head and blinked her eyes at him. They were a stunningly
bright green, like Lily's when she was angry. ``\emph{You could some time
ago, at least, when your battle disturbed the Forest I was living in,
and I watched you fight the other one who talks to serpents. He gave an
order to his snake.}'' The Locusta gave a small angry hiss which Harry
thought meant the same thing as an offended pureblood matriarch's sniff
of disdain. ``\emph{Degraded creature. That she lets him so command her!
I would die before submitting to such control.}''

``You saw Connor's battle with Voldemort?'' Harry breathed. He
remembered Voldemort speaking to Nagini, ordering her to attack,
but---``He talked in English.''

``\emph{He did not,}'' said the Locusta, and inched a bit nearer.
``\emph{He commanded her in Parseltongue. You understood him. You speak
Parseltongue even now, but to your ears it sounds as your own language.
I do not know why that is.}'' She did not sound very interested in it,
either. ``\emph{I followed you because I was curious about you, and from
what I have seen, you will do very well.}''

``Do very well to do what?'' Harry kept his wand leveled at her, and
remembered other things he'd heard about Locusta snakes. They struck
very fast, nearly as fast as runespoors. They were self-willed, serving
no master for very long. The wizards who kept the snakes to breed them
or observe them or milk them for their venom almost all died, and the
snakes wandered on, free, making the mere possession of a Locusta a high
crime in Britain.

Of course, from what Harry could remember, none of the wizards who had
studied them had ever been Parselmouths.

\emph{And neither am I,} he thought at once, his mind abruptly boiling
on the edge of hysteria. \emph{Only Dark wizards have that talent, and
I'm not Dark. I'm not. The Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin, but Connor
said I was still good. I must be.}

``\emph{Take care of me,}'' the Locusta said, pulling his attention back
to her. Harry scolded himself for having lost it in the first place.
Whether or not he was a Parselmouth, it was not as though he was ever
going to use the gift, so he would not worry about it. ``\emph{I require
someone to care for me, to burnish my scales and tell me I am beautiful
and feed me the choicest bits of their food. I like eggs. And milk. And
the flesh of birds. And sweets. And---}''

``I am not going to take care of you!'' Harry hissed back at her, and
for a moment, he thought he heard his voice the way she must be hearing
it, full of intricate twists and turns and soft sibilants. It was
certainly not speaking English.

He blocked the thought from his mind. He was \emph{not} evil. He would
not let himself be.

``\emph{Yes, you are,}'' said the Locusta. ``\emph{I've watched you. Your
dearest possession is that lump of a boy who shares your nest. If you do
not take care of me, I will bite him.}''

Harry swallowed. He knew she could do it. There was no way he could
watch Connor every moment of the day and night, and unless he destroyed
her now, she would find some way through and bite him.

\emph{Unless I destroy her now.}

He lifted his wand, about to unleash a curse, but the Locusta
\emph{moved}, darting forward, looping herself up his leg, and coiling
around his left arm. Harry prepared to be bitten, but changed the angle
of his wand. He would still kill her, even if she died. He had always
been prepared to sacrifice his life for Connor. He could do it now.

The Locusta did not bite him. Instead, she shimmered once, and then she
was gone.

Harry brought his wand closer, to see his arm by the light of
\emph{Lumos}. The Locusta was a bright golden-and-black pattern on his
left forearm. Harry poked it with his wand. He felt nothing but skin.

\emph{Like the Dark Mark,} he thought, and for a moment trembled with
revulsion.

\emph{My name is Sylarana,} said the Locusta's smug voice in his head.
\emph{You will care for me and make much of me, while I stay with you
like this, or I will come to life and bite your lump of a boy. Or anyone
else I want to.}

``How can you?'' Harry whispered. ``I never heard that Locusta snakes
could do this.''

\emph{We can, with one who speaks to serpents. And I want to. Now, pet
me and make much of me.}

Harry stroked the skin of his arm, feeling ridiculous, but not daring to
do anything else. He thought up a few compliments that made his mouth
feel full of sugar, and murmured them.

Her contented hissing resounded in his mind a moment later.

Harry fought back the desire to be sick, and went on petting her.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage

``Mum! Mum!''

Harry looked up, smiling. He and Connor had spent most of the day
outside---Harry doing the extra homework that Professor Snape had
assigned him over the summer, Connor studying the books of magical
history that Lily had insisted he start reading---and the heat had
struck Connor half-stupid. Harry wasn't at all surprised that, when the
Weasleys' battered old owl, Errol, had stumbled through the special hole
created in the isolation wards for him, Connor had seized on both Errol
and the letter he carried to distract himself.

From the sound of his twin's voice now, Harry thought the letter had
carried good news.

``What is it?'' Lily Potter asked, stepping out of the house. Harry felt
himself relax a bit. Their mother was the only one who knew everything
Harry had trained and prepared and put himself through, who had
encouraged him to be Connor's secret guardian, who knew that Harry was
to sacrifice his life for his brother's if necessary, and stay in the
shadows, protecting him and not outshining him, at all other times. She
didn't know everything about Harry, but she knew most of it, and so he
could let down his guard with her, no longer careful to keep up a mask.

``The Weasleys want me to come shopping with them on Diagon Alley on
July thirty-first!'' said Connor, jumping up and down. He paused for a
long moment, then added, as if Lily would forget the significance of the
date, ``That's our birthday!''

``I know,'' Lily said, and glanced once at Harry. Harry shrugged and
blinked, letting his mother know that Connor going to Diagon Alley was
all right with him, as long as he had proper protection. Their mother
turned back to Connor, whose hazel eyes were beaming at her with hope.
``All right, Connor. You may go. Your father and Harry and I will come
along. We could certainly buy school supplies that day as well.''

``Yes!'' said Connor, and hugged Lily around the legs. ``Thank you, Mum!
I'm going to go write Ron right now!''

He darted into the house, presumably to find a quill and parchment.
Harry shook his head. Connor had left all the writing implements he'd
been using to take notes right beside his books, and could have used
them.

Lily stood looking into the house for a long moment. Then she turned and
strode over to Harry, sitting in the grass beside him.

\emph{What does she want?}

Harry ignored Sylarana's question, though he did touch his left arm to
gentle her. Sylarana seemed more curious than threatening whenever she
asked questions about their parents. And she was willing to wait for the
answers, which their mother gave in the next moment, talking in a low,
intense voice.

``Harry, how would you say that Connor's training is going?''

Harry sighed and let the last trace of the smile slip off his face. When
he spoke with Lily, very nearly equal to equal, and one guardian of the
Boy-Who-Lived to another, he could not lie. ``Not as well as I hoped,
Mother. He doesn't see why he needs to learn all this history and
politics now, after we've kept him ignorant of it for so long. I've
talked with him a few times, about the Boy-Who-Lived needing to unite
and lead the wizarding world so that he can get rid of Voldemort, but he
doesn't see it that way. He sees it as a dramatic battle between him and
Voldemort, the way it was in May. He doesn't think about what happens
after, or about having help.''

Lily sighed in return and nodded. ``I thought so,'' she said. ``Well, I
will keep giving him books and telling him that he needs to learn. I'll
also tell Remus to give him a few stories about life among the
werewolves. That might let the virtues he needs to learn slip in
unguarded. Connor likes stories better than history.''

Harry nodded, feeling a glow of fondness deep in his chest. Connor liked
stories better than history, and tales of duels best of all. He liked
sweets better than learning. He knew the first-year spells he should
know, and performed them competently, without any ambitions to have
greater power. Until his confrontation with the Dark Lord, he had known
little even of true evil; Voldemort had come hunting him, and scarred
him when Connor reflected the \emph{Avada Kedavra} back upon its caster,
at an age when he was far too young to remember anything about it.

But Connor was marked for a life of hardship, and Harry was not about to
let that hardship corrupt him or kill him. He would know the history,
the pureblood courtesies, the spells---Dark and otherwise---that Connor
had no time or use for. Perhaps that was why he had been placed in
Slytherin, so that he could seek the best path among Dark wizards for
Connor to take. It was the only reason that made any sense to Harry.

\emph{You are a fool,} said Sylarana comfortably in his head.

The aspect of his relationship with the Locusta that most disturbed
Harry was the way she seemed to see into his thoughts. He told her now
that she was beautiful like the sunlight in grass, and she hissed and
let herself be distracted.

``Harry?''

He blinked and came back to the present, the reality that was their
mother bending over him.

``Sirius is coming with you to Hogwarts this year,'' Lily began.

Harry stared at her. Their mother quickly put her hands on his shoulders
and shook her head.

``Not because of that,'' she said. ``Not because of anything you failed
to do, Harry. No one could have known that Voldemort was hiding in
Quirrell's head. No one.'' She gave him a little shake. ``Do not blame
yourself for that.''

Harry nodded, but slowly. He thought the guilt was valuable. If he took
it to heart, then he would be more alert in the future, when the Dark
Lord's attacks on his brother might become even subtler.

\emph{A natural-hatched fool,} Sylarana announced.

``Officially, he'll be Madam Hooch's assistant, and help referee the
Quidditch matches,'' Lily continued, smiling at Harry. ``Unofficially,
he'll keep watch over Connor, even in the Gryffindor Tower and the
classes where you might have difficulty going. Just a little help,
Harry. He'll think he's Connor sole guardian, of course, since he
doesn't know about you, but we both know what a wonderful job you've
done for him.'' She hugged him and held him close for a long moment.

Harry let himself relax, little by little. No, he \emph{hadn't} failed.
He'd guarded Connor from a troll, and from the Lestranges, and helped
hold Voldemort off until Connor could defeat him with the pure love he
bore in his skin. He could do this. Really, he should welcome Sirius's
presence. Their godfather was wonderful fun to be around, he would help
with Connor, and he had no tolerance at all of Slytherins or anything
Dark. If Harry started to slip into murky, shadowy pathways, then Sirius
would be sure to tell him, and haul him back to the Light---by the
scruff of his neck, if necessary.

``Remus can't come?'' he did ask. Remus was Connor's godfather, and as
protective of Harry's brother in his own gentle way as Sirius was in his
rough one. Plus, he was the best one at enchanting Connor with stories.

Lily shook her head. ``They still haven't perfected the Wolfsbane
Potion. Until they do, the parents wouldn't tolerate Remus being at
Hogwarts.''

Harry nodded. Well, even the addition of Sirius was good fortune he'd
had no right to expect. He would enjoy his godfather's company.

\emph{He is someone else I would like to bite,} said Sylarana dreamily
in his head.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, nearly forgetting his mother's
presence, and then heard her exclaim. Harry looked up.

A black eagle-owl was fluttering about outside the isolation wards.
After a moment, it found the hole Harry had cut in anticipation of its
arrival, and soared regally downwards, landing a few feet away from
Harry. It held out a talon, around which a letter was bound.

``And who is this?'' Lily's eyebrows nearly reached her hair.

Harry flushed as he freed the letter. He had thought he would have time
to explain to his mother before this actually happened---especially
since he hadn't thought it would happen at all. ``Um, Mother, this is
Imperius, Draco's eagle-owl.''

Imperius stared at Lily with brilliant yellow eyes. Lily stared back
with brilliant green ones, which narrowed.

``A Malfoy owl can find its way in through our wards,'' she said.

Harry winced. ``Um. Yes?''

``Harry,'' said Lily, in the gentle, sorrowful voice that showed she was
most disappointed in him. ``That was dangerous.''

Harry ducked his head, flushing. ``I know. But Draco wanted to write to
me, and I thought it would be less dangerous for an owl to come here,
maybe, than for Hedwig to be seen leaving.''

``You could have refused him,'' their mother pointed out.

``It was hard, without telling him why,'' Harry admitted. His mother
hadn't been there to hear Draco's gaily chattering voice, and she
certainly hadn't been there to see the shock and dismay that crumpled
Draco's face when Harry hinted they might not be able to communicate
over the summer. ``And I didn't think I should tell him why.''

``Well, of course not,'' said Lily, and went on staring at Imperius for
a moment more. Then she shook her head. ``What does young Malfoy say?''

Harry scanned the letter, then closed his eyes with a sigh of
exasperation. ``He wants to meet me in Diagon Alley. On our birthday.''

``Of course he does,'' muttered Lily. ``Well, now it is imperative that
we go with you and Connor.'' She rose to her feet. ``Write him back and
tell him you will come.''

Harry nodded, standing. ``And do you want to check for tracking and
tracing spells on Imperius?'' he asked, but his mother's wand was
already out.

Quietly, he went into the house, to find writing implements and to fetch
food for Sylarana, who was indicating that Connor-flesh would taste
quite good if there weren't Chocolate Frogs about.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Lily sighed. She had performed every detection charm she could think of,
and nothing had shown up. Imperius shifted from foot to food and gave
her a look of quiet disgust, then took wing for the impromptu owlery in
the back of the house, where the family's owls spent most of their time.

\emph{Maybe it was silly to worry,} Lily thought, sitting back and
letting the sun and the wind stroke through her hair. \emph{But these
are the Malfoys.}

She had been almost frantic with concern after Harry's first letter of
the last school year, when he wrote that he was becoming friends with
Draco Malfoy. What did the Malfoy boy plan? More, what did Harry think
he was doing? He knew the Malfoys were Death Eaters. He had studied, in
detail, all the families who were enemies to Connor or might be.

But the necessity of keeping Harry's power and position relative to
Connor a secret had encouraged her to allow the friendship. So far, it
had not had many negative consequences that she saw; Harry had even
survived a visit to Malfoy Manor last Christmas intact.

So far.

Lily closed her eyes. \emph{The Malfoys have always been drawn to power.
And Harry\ldots{}}

Harry was the most powerful wizard of his age she had ever seen, bar
none. Since the night when she and James had reached the deserted house
where the Dark Lord supposedly held their sons captive and realized, in
awful blinding fear, the trick that Peter had played on them, and had
charged back to the house at Godric's Hollow to find the wards down and
the Dark Lord dead or less than dead on the floor, it had been so.
Harry's power boiled around him restlessly, seeking something to do. It
could easily have drawn him into the Dark. Lily had arranged for him to
be protector to Connor for his sake, too, so that he could learn spells
and even wandless magic with a dedicated purpose, working for the Light
instead of against it.

But only partially for his sake. Connor was the Boy-Who-Lived, the most
precious figure in this war. Harry was the sacrifice, the knight in the
shadows to Connor's brilliant king. If Harry had to die, or give up life
and safety and health and a normal childhood to guard Connor, then he
would do it, Lily knew. He would do it gladly, after his long training.
He thought there was no higher purpose in life.

She knew it was the right thing to do, since the prophecy had proclaimed
so clearly that the younger twin of the two was their savior.

Lily Evans Potter ducked her head and clenched her fists together.

\emph{I know it was the right thing to do. But I still lie awake at
night and wonder if it was the} fair \emph{thing to do.}

Thoughts like that were another thing that encouraged her to allow
Harry's friendship with the Malfoy boy. Until Draco did something to
hurt Connor, he might still be all right, even a consolation prize of
sorts for a boy who had given up so much else.

\emph{But the moment he does\ldots{}}

\emph{Well. The moment he tries to hurt Connor, Harry will know what to
do.}

``Lily?'' James's voice called from behind the house.

Lily rose and reached for her smooth, happy mask, tucking the edges back
into place. She and Harry had given up their innocence; Connor and James
retained theirs. It was too precious to stain. James must never know
what was wrong.

``Here, James,'' she called, and let her husband rush around the side of
the house and embrace her.

She closed her eyes as she leaned against him. \emph{Hold me, please,}
she thought and dared not say. \emph{When you hold me like this, then I
can believe that everything's going to be all right, and I don't have to
believe in Dark Lords.}

\chapter{Old Family Rivalries}\label{chapter-2-old-family-rivalries}

``Ron!''

``Connor! Happy birthday, mate!''

Harry concealed a smile as he watched Ron and Connor rush together as if
they'd been separated for a year instead of a few weeks. They didn't
seem to quite know what to do when they'd reached each other, but they
settled for one-armed hugs and slapping on the back. Then Connor stepped
back and peered around Ron at the other Weasleys, who had met them just
outside the brick wall at the back of the Leaky Cauldron.

``Gred and Forge,'' he said, with a grin, which Harry thought was
probably a private joke that he didn't get. ``Invented anything
interesting lately?''

``Yes,'' said one of the twins at once. Harry had never learned how to
tell them apart, since he hadn't spent enough time in Gryffindor Tower
last year. He resolved to do it this term. It would help keep him from
becoming more Slytherin, and that was all to the good, after the
extremes to which Professor Snape had been willing to take his
``persuasion'' last year. ``Try it.'' He held out a flat yellow cake to
Connor, who eyed it nervously.

``Uh---no thanks, George,'' he said.

``I'm Fred,'' said the twin.

``No, I'm Fred,'' said the other.

Connor laughed along with Ron. Harry watched. He sometimes wished he
could be as easy around other people as his twin was. Connor had adapted
wonderfully well when he had to leave Godric's Hollow and go into the
wider wizarding world. Things that others had taken for granted he
learned to take for granted, too, even if he never appeared all that
comfortable with his fame.

But then Harry pushed away his yearning for a life that couldn't be, and
reminded himself that it was better this way. If he really \emph{were}
in the middle of everyone like that, he would have to pay too much
attention to other people. This way, he could watch out for Connor.

``Connor, dear,'' said Mrs. Weasley, embracing Harry's brother hard
enough to squeeze the rest of the air out of him. Harry studied her face
for a moment. He knew she had lost two brothers in the first war against
Voldemort. But she didn't show any trace of buried sadness. Perhaps the
loss had been long enough ago that she had gotten over it. ``I'm so glad
that your parents agreed to let you come.'' She looked up at Lily and
James then, and extended a hand, with a slightly nervous smile. ``Molly
Weasley. This is my husband Arthur.'' She nodded to the red-haired and
slightly chubby man beside her, who was engaged in reassuring an
anxious-looking red-haired girl, probably his daughter. He looked up,
abashed, when his wife hissed at him, and moved forward to offer his
hand.

``James Potter,'' said their father with an easy smile, and clasped
Arthur's hand back. ``This is my wife Lily.'' Their mother nodded, her
eyes scanning the way that Connor stood between the twins and Ron. Her
face relaxed a second later when the girl eased nearer to Connor. Harry
understood. Surrounded by so many people, his twin made a harder target
to strike.

``You'll have heard of our son Ron, of course,'' Molly Weasley was
fussing. ``And this is our daughter Ginny. She's just starting at
Hogwarts this year.'' Ginny ducked her head and flushed, hard enough to
make her face compete with her hair. ``These are our twins, Fred and
George---'' She pointed, a trifle uncertainly.

``Wrong again, Mum,'' said the twin on the left. ``\emph{I'm} George.''

Molly Weasley ignored him, to her credit, Harry thought, and indicated
the older Weasley boy who'd just stepped up behind Arthur, his hands
calmly folded in front of him. ``And this is our son Percy,'' she said,
pride unmistakable in her voice. ``He's a sixth-year, and a Gryffindor
prefect, aren't you, Percy, dear?''

Percy nodded. Harry stared at him for a long moment. Percy had huge dark
circles under his eyes, and his hands weren't really folded so much as
clenched. He looked as though he had been under some great strain or
worry lately. But his voice was calm and polite as he said, ``Yes,
Mother. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Potter.'' He took Lily's hand, and
she stared keenly into his eyes for a long moment before smiling.

``It's nice to meet you as well, Percy,'' she said quietly, and then
steered Harry forward with a hand on his shoulder. ``This is our other
son, Harry. He's coming back for his second year at Hogwarts, along with
Connor.''

Mrs. Weasley blinked at Harry, then said, to cover her confusion, ``Oh,
how nice.'' She paused for a long moment, then said, ``I didn't know
that you had another son.''

James coughed and leaned around Lily to mess up Harry's hair. ``Harry's
our quiet boy,'' he said fondly. ``He's Connor's twin, but you'd never
know it, they're so different. Our Harry likes books and studying, don't
you, Harry?''

Harry smiled back at their father. This was the way that things were
supposed to be going. Harry often got the feeling that James loved him
without quite understanding him. How could anyone \emph{not} want to
spend more time playing Quidditch and pranks than sitting around with
dusty old books? But that was to be expected, since he didn't know about
Harry's efforts to protect Connor. ``Yes, Father,'' he said.

When he glanced back at Mrs. Weasley, her face had cleared a bit.
``Percy was the same way as a child,'' she confessed, in that whisper
that was never a whisper.

``\emph{Mother},'' said Percy, in long-suffering tones. Harry regarded him
again. His face was still strained, and his cheery smile emphasized that
instead of hiding it. Harry supposed it was family problems, which
everyone else knew about and was ignoring. There was no law saying that
the Weasleys had to share all their secrets with the Potters, or that
Connor, if he knew, had to share the whole thing with his family.

``But you must be in Gryffindor, surely,'' Mrs. Weasley prattled on,
ignoring her son. ``Why hasn't Ron talked about you in his letters at
all?'' She frowned at her youngest son, who was currently daring Connor
to eat one of the twins' cakes.

``I'm in Slytherin House, ma'am,'' said Harry softly.

He winced inwardly as the shine of her eyes dimmed a bit, but he told
himself that he had to expect it. He didn't think that he could change
his House, not any more; Dumbledore wouldn't permit it. But he could act
as like a Gryffindor as possible. That was what he would do now.

\emph{Why would you want to?} Sylarana asked him.

``Oh,'' said Mrs. Weasley, after a long, awkward silence.
``How\ldots{}nice.'' She perked up after a moment, though, and clapped
her hands to gather her family together. ``We're going to buy robes
first, of course,'' she said, to the accompaniment of her children's
groans. ``But then we can go to Florian Fortescue's, I think.'' She
smiled as Connor cheered. Harry smiled, too. Neither of their parents
was particularly adept at the charms to make ice cream. ``And from
there, it's a surprise!''

She glanced at Harry. ``You're welcome to come with us, dear.''

Harry shook his head. ``Thank you, ma'am, but I'm meeting friends.''

Molly nodded, and then she and Arthur, who had been involved in a
discussion of Quidditch with James, began to herd Connor off. Lily
waited until they were almost out of sight, then turned to James.

``Sirius is following them?''

James snorted lightly. ``Of course. He didn't work as an Auror for
nothing, Lily.''

``He didn't \emph{stay} an Auror,'' said Lily, with a tartness that Harry
had never heard in their mother's voice before. Of course, he thought,
when Connor was behind the wards at home, his safety didn't depend on
Sirius alone.

``That wasn't his fault,'' James said at once. ``If Mrs. Zabini could
only take a joke---''

``Regardless,'' Lily all but snapped. ``He's following Connor?''

``Yes, my love,'' said James, gathering his wife close. ``Of course. You
don't need to look so worried.''

Harry thought she did. This was the middle of Diagon Alley, and it
seemed as though half the wizarding community in Britain had chosen
today to shop. Still, they could probably trust Connor's safety to the
Weasleys and Sirius for now, and they would have to, since Connor
wouldn't want his parents tagging along and Harry couldn't follow
openly.

``Harry!''

Startled, Harry had only half-turned when Draco Malfoy crashed into him,
hugging him at least as tightly as Mrs. Weasley had hugged Connor. Draco
then abruptly loosened the embrace and tried to offer his hand the way a
pureblooded heir would, his face slightly flushed with excitement and
his eyes shining. ``Harry Potter,'' he said. ``I welcome you to Diagon
Alley on this, the occasion of your birth.''

Harry blinked, but returned Draco's handclasp. ``Thank you, Draco,'' he
said. He found himself smiling nearly helplessly. It made no sense. The
Malfoys were one of the greatest threats to Connor, and Lucius Malfoy
had been a willing Death Eater---no matter \emph{what} Draco thought on
that particular subject---and they were all Slytherins to the core, and
Draco had even made it his task to insure that Harry spent as little
time with his brother as possible during the school year. Harry could
think about all that when he was in Godric's Hollow, and scourge himself
for allowing the friendship. But when he was with Draco, none of it
tended to matter.

``Mr. Potter.''

Harry turned swiftly at that. Lucius Malfoy was making his way towards
them with leisurely hauteur, his wife Narcissa on his arm. Narcissa
smiled when she saw Harry, the odd mixture of predatory interest and
warmth that she had shown him during the Christmas holidays, when Harry
had last seen her. Lucius locked his eyes on Harry's and inclined his
head slightly in a bow.

His gaze moved on to James and Lily, and grew icy. ``Mr. Potter,
again,'' he murmured. ``And the lovely Mrs. Potter.''

Harry glanced at their parents, and was startled at the transformation.
Sometimes, he tended to forget that they had both fought against
Voldemort, enough times to have made their destruction a priority for
the Death Eaters. James had his wand out, and was trembling with the
need to strike. Lily had her arms folded. Harry knew she could be ready
to hurl spells in an instant from that position.

``Don't you hurt my son,'' James growled. ``Don't you \emph{dare} hurt
him, Malfoy.''

Lucius blinked. Harry had the feeling that he was truly discomfited, and
tucked that odd fact away for future reference. However, it turned out
he didn't need to, as Draco's father arched his brows and explained the
blink at once. ``I have no intention of hurting your son,'' he said, and
his gaze swept back to Harry. ``Young Mr. Potter impressed me very much
on his visit to our Manor. We understand each other.'' He looked at
James again. ``I admit to being impressed that you could raise him in
such a fashion, Potter. More wizarding than I suspected of you.''

Harry winced. The backhanded compliments weren't \emph{that} cutting,
compared to some of the things Lucius had said at the Manor, but James
had a hot temper.

James actually pointed his wand and began, ``\emph{Diff}---''

``\emph{Expelliarmus}!'' Lily said clearly, and her husband's wand soared
into her hands. She frowned at him. ``Honestly, James.'' She turned back
to Lucius and Narcissa, and while her manner was no warmer than it had
been, at least Harry felt sure she wasn't about to hex them. ``Please
forgive my husband,'' she said. ``He sometimes has\ldots{}problems being
reminded of things he would rather forget.'' She flickered another frown
at James when he tried to protest under his breath.

``Of course,'' said Lucius, the picture of courtly grace. \emph{One
would never know that he's talking to someone he thinks of as a
Mudblood,} Harry thought, watching him. He felt a tiny bit of
admiration; he knew how hard it was to maintain that emotionless mask,
since he'd needed to perfect it himself. ``We should depart, in any
case, if we are to buy the boys' school supplies and Harry's birthday
gift.''

Harry stared openly. ``Mr. Malfoy,'' he managed to say after a moment,
``thank you, but that's really not necessary---''

``Of course it is, Harry,'' said Narcissa, her smile widening across her
face. Her voice was gentle, the exact opposite of her eyes. ``Draco has
talked about your birthday for most of the summer, until we are quite
excited about it ourselves. I would feel \emph{so} remiss if we did not
give you a gift. Please, will you come with us and let us have the gift
of presenting you with a small token of our esteem?''

Harry knew of absolutely no way to refuse something like that without
the most appalling rudeness, so he managed to duck his head and murmur,
``Of course, Mrs. Malfoy.''

``Such a polite boy,'' said Narcissa, and nodded to Lily and James. ``A
credit to his training.''

Neither of their parents appeared to know how to respond to that one, so
they let it go. Lily did say, as she turned away, ``Harry, we'll be in
Flourish and Blotts when you're done.''

``All right, Mother,'' Harry said.

Draco waited until they had rounded the corner before he burst out with,
``That's \emph{appalling}, Harry. Do they always treat you like that? And
what about family friends? Do they always stare at them as if they were
something the Kneazle dragged in? As if---''

``Draco,'' said Narcissa, in the mild way she had, and Draco cut off. He
fumed, red-faced, for a moment, and then brightened.

``Wait until you see what we bought you, Harry! It's \emph{wonderful}.
And you can't guess what it is! Go on, guess!''

\emph{Why does he think that you can guess what it is when he just told
you that you couldn't?} Sylarana hissed into his mind. \emph{This one is
my second choice for someone to bite, if I cannot find your brother. He
is} spitting \emph{on me. Tell him to stop it.}

Harry spoke a few hasty compliments and drew his robe's sleeve over his
left arm, to shield Sylarana from Draco's spittle. He caught Lucius
Malfoy's eye as he did, and the raised eyebrow. He met the elder
Malfoy's curious gaze with a cool one, and then turned back to guessing.

``A---a Snitch,'' he said.

Draco looked alarmed for a moment, then laughed and shook his head.
``No! I want you to concentrate on catching the real one.''

``Another owl?'' Harry guessed.

``You already have Hedwig.'' Draco danced in front of him as they moved
further down the Alley. ``Go on, guess!''

Harry continued to guess, as well as to reassure Sylarana. It wasn't the
easiest task in the world, and for once, he was grateful that he didn't
have Connor around to take up his attention.

He was especially grateful that his brother wasn't there when he saw
what the Malfoys had bought him.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``I---I can't accept it, Mrs. Malfoy,'' Harry stammered, staring down at
the Nimbus 2001 broomstick that he held in his hands. ``It's too much.
Please. I can't---I feel embarrassed. I haven't done anything to deserve
this.'' He tried to push the broomstick back at the beaming shopkeeper
who'd brought it out from the back of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Narcissa seized it before the shopkeeper's beam could change into a
frown, and pressed it gently back at Harry. She handled it with such
reverence that Harry felt ashamed of his clumsiness, and this time
cupped his palms to receive it, as one was supposed to with a gift of
such great price. But he continued to shake his head and try to say
something, at least until Narcissa leaned down and put a finger on his
lips.

``It's true that you've given us no gift of equivalent price, Harry,''
she said gently. Her smile reminded him of Sirius's when he had played a
particularly good prank, but with a different twist to it. ``You've
given us something greater.'' She glanced sideways at Draco, who was
examining the broom in silent rapture, and lowered her voice. ``I have
never seen my son so happy as he was this summer.''

Harry blinked. ``And you think I had something to do with that, Mrs.
Malfoy?''

``Quite the contrary,'' she said. ``You had \emph{everything} to do with
it.'' She tossed her head at Lucius, who had remained near the front of
the shop. ``My husband knows so, too, and that is one of the reasons
that we agreed on this gift.''

Harry stiffened at that. The Malfoys had all given him different gifts
for Christmas last year, all with subtly different meanings. Lucius's
had been a Foe-Glass, an ironic salute to an honored enemy. That he had
agreed on this broom, which seemed to be a gift of friendship, if
Narcissa was telling the truth\ldots{}

Harry did not know what that meant, not exactly. He did know it would be
an insult to the Malfoys if he didn't accept it.

He nodded and let out a deep breath. ``I'll accept it, then,'' he said,
his voice slightly hoarse to his own ears. ``Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.''

Narcissa kissed him on the cheek, and nodded to the shopkeeper, who once
more wore a smile. ``We'll take it.'' She smiled at him. ``Happy
birthday, Harry.''

``I can't wait to ride it,'' said Draco dreamily.

\emph{I still want to bite him,} Sylarana pointed out.

Lucius stared from the front of the shop.

Harry spared a brief moment to hope that things would be simpler when he
got to Hogwarts, or else he did fear that he would go mad.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Such a commotion,'' said Lucius, curling his lip, as they came into
Flourish and Blotts a few hours later.

Harry had to agree. Apparently, some new celebrity was advertising his
books here, and the shop was full of excited witches, crowded in to see
him, craning their necks and cooing like doves.

Harry made out the ``celebrity,'' Gilderoy Lockhart, before he saw his
parents. He stood on a stage in the center of the shop, waving to the
constant click of cameras and now and then holding up a copy of a book
entitled \emph{Magical Me.} Harry curled his lip much as Lucius had.
Lockhart looked like everything negative about a famous person
distilled. Harry would not be surprised if---

Then Lockhart lunged downward, saying, ``Two celebrities for the price
of one!'' and dragged Connor onto the stage beside him. Harry's brother
stood there, looking extremely uncomfortable, while Lockhart hugged his
shoulders with one arm and beamed out a smile too white to be real.
Cameras clicked and flashed constantly. Connor blinked.

Harry's irritation reshaped itself into rage. He felt Draco wince beside
him, the way he always did when Harry grew angry. He'd tried over the
summer to find some way to confine his magic behind a shield, so that he
didn't give other wizards headaches when he lost his temper, but that
hadn't worked so far.

And right now he wasn't concerned about it. He focused on the cameras
aimed at the stage and whispered, ``\emph{Obscurus}!''

The cameras continued to click, but no flashes came from them anymore.
Lockhart's smile dropped away. He took a few steps forward and waved
\emph{Magical Me} half-heartedly, as though that would make new pictures
of him appear out of thin air. Connor took the chance to hop off the
stage and back into the comforting embrace of the Weasleys.

Harry smiled, then paused. \emph{Was that a smirk?}

\emph{That was good work,} said Sylarana. \emph{Now, hurry up and get
home. I want food, and I don't want to bite someone just yet.}

Draco chuckled beside him, and thumped Harry on the back. ``Good
spellcasting,'' he said. ``I hope that utter \emph{prat} isn't really
going to be our Defense teacher.''

``Draco,'' said Narcissa. ``You will show respect to your professors.''

Draco turned and gave his mother an innocent look. ``Even to him?''

Narcissa's lips twitched, and Draco beamed. Harry relaxed, though he had
what Draco had said to think about. He hadn't connected Gilderoy
Lockhart's name to the one on their list of books to be purchased this
year. He didn't like the thought of this man coming to Hogwarts and
continuing to harass Connor.

He forced himself to shrug it away. \emph{I'll deal with that if and
when it comes.}

He and Draco went about getting their books and loading them into their
cauldrons. Harry was resigned when he found out that most of them were,
in fact, Lockhart's books. He supposed that the Defense teacher couldn't
be worse than Quirrell. He couldn't picture Voldemort hiding on the back
of that useless fool's head.

``Harry!''

Harry turned around with a smile as Connor found him, though Connor
paused, eyes flashing, at the sight of Draco beside him. Then his glance
went to the Lockhart books, and he sighed. ``We're going to have to deal
with him, aren't we?'' he asked.

``Yes,'' Harry said.

Connor pouted.

Arthur Weasley came up behind Connor, herding Ginny along. He smiled at
Harry. ``I see that you boys found---''

``Weasley,'' said Lucius's voice from behind Harry.

Arthur's gaze snapped to him, and he reacted much the way James had,
though he didn't actually draw his wand. ``Malfoy,'' he said, face
clouding. ``What do you want? Come to practice your sneer in warmer
surroundings? I suppose one can't stay in a Manor packed full of Dark
artifacts \emph{all} the time.''

``Your Aurors' latest search found nothing, Weasley,'' said Lucius.
``And that's the way it will remain.'' He shook his head slowly, sadly.
``You cannot let grudges go from the war. Tsk, tsk, Weasley. We are on
the same side now.''

``You were never on anyone's side but your own, Lucius, you
\emph{snake},'' said Arthur, and took a step forward.

``I am, at least, on the side of my own family,'' said Lucius. He looked
at Ginny, who seemed to be trying to will herself out of existence, and
raised an eyebrow. ``For example, I can afford to buy them robes that
\emph{fit.}''

Arthur lunged at Lucius, shoving him into the bookcase behind him. Harry
jumped out of the way, checked to make sure Connor was all right, and
then shielded Draco and Ginny from the falling books as best he could.
Ginny's face was pale when he stood up, but she nodded that she was all
right when Harry asked her.

Lucius rose, brushing dust off his robes, his face carefully controlled.
``You will \emph{pay} for that, Weasley,'' he said. ``Be assured. Come,
Draco, Narcissa.'' He completely ignored his son's half-formed protest,
and Draco gave Harry a disconsolate look and one final hug before
trailing after his father.

Lucius passed behind Ginny as he stalked towards the door. His hand
moved, snake-quick, and dropped a small black book into her cauldron.

Harry made his decision quickly. He didn't think that anything Lucius
Malfoy might drop into a Weasley child's cauldron was innocent, his
friendship with Draco notwithstanding. Draco was not his father. He
darted his own hand in a moment later and picked up the book, putting it
underneath his robe.

Lucius turned in time to catch the motion. He stared at Harry. Harry
stared back.

Lucius shook his head, smiling faintly, after a moment, and then turned
and left the shop. Narcissa moved after him, murmuring a farewell to
Harry, a moment before Lily and James found him and Connor and bundled
them back to Godric's Hollow as swiftly as possible.

Harry held onto the book. He didn't know what it was, but he would study
it until he did.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Dear? You're smirking.''

Lucius smiled at his wife and murmured, ``I'm well,'' before he returned
to his private contemplations.

He hadn't \emph{planned} for the Potter boy to receive the book that
he'd held onto since fetching it from a secret hiding place on discreet
instructions last Christmas, but it could be interesting. Lucius wasn't
sure exactly what was in the book, only that at one time it had been
very important to the Dark Lord. He'd thought it amusing to give it to
the youngest child of a man he had good reason to hate.

And now it was in the hands of the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, a boy
who had shown himself formidably powerful and unexpectedly educated in
pureblood courtesies---and unexpectedly important to Draco.

\emph{One could do worse,} Lucius thought as he and his family made
their way back to the Leaky Cauldron and the nearest Apparition point,
\emph{than to have it in such a child's hands. At the very least, the
results will be interesting.}

\chapter{A Touch of Sirius}\label{chapter-3-a-touch-of-sirius}

``Hello, Harry.''

Harry blinked. He was dreaming; he knew that, because in front of him
the dark figure curled in the space too small for it screamed in pain
and the figure in the space only slightly larger whimpered and writhed.
But for the first time, he wasn't looking at the images like a painting
in his head. He seemed to be standing back from them, in a cool, dry
place.

He looked around. There was a stone wall at his back, like one of the
corridors at Hogwarts. It stretched away beyond the dark figures, then
curved back and vanished behind them. Harry studied the floor underneath
him. It was made of stone, too, he thought, but covered with sand.

He thought he should be more frightened than he was. \emph{At least,} he
thought as he touched the familiar weight in his sleeve, \emph{I still
have my wand.}

``Hello, Harry,'' the voice repeated, and this time Harry became aware
of someone leaning on the wall next to him. He turned his head.

The figure was a young man, tall enough to be a sixth-year or
seventh-year at Hogwarts, his face sharp and arresting. He had dark
hair. Harry found himself looking automatically for scars, but couldn't
see any. His fingers were long, though, in a way that reminded Harry of
Snape's. He wondered if this man was also a Potions Master.

``Hello, Harry,'' the man said a third time. There was an impatient tone
in his voice now.

Harry saw no reason to answer strange people who appeared in his dreams,
who might be only dreams themselves. He watched him instead, and said
nothing. He had his wand ready to draw in an instant.

The stranger took a step forward, and Harry drew his wand. That made him
pause. He tilted his head to the side, and Harry felt a brief bolt of
pain in his forehead. It was similar to the pain he had felt in his scar
during the last school year, when Quirrell tried to reach the hiding
place of the Philosopher's Stone. Well, that only made sense, Harry
thought. This was another prophetic dream, or at least an odd one.

``My name is Tom Riddle,'' said the man at last. ``Do you know me?''

Harry shook his head. He thought his best course for now was to stay
silent and alert. He might have tried using pureblood courtesies, which
put an acceptable distance between the speaker and strangers, but Riddle
was no pureblood family name he had ever heard, and he couldn't be sure
the man would understand them.

``I thought you didn't,'' mused Tom, and glanced at the two dark
figures. For a moment, he blinked, as though he didn't understand what
he was seeing. Then he sighed and waved a hand.

The images vanished. Harry saw another stone wall where they had been.
He brought his wand and his guard up. Perhaps Tom Riddle \emph{was} just
a dream, but he didn't trust other people who could do wandless magic.
Harry himself had only learned it because he wanted to defend Connor.
Who knew what purposes, obscure or even Dark, someone else might have
for learning it?

Tom turned back towards Harry, his smile pleasant. Harry wondered if the
presence of the images had been bothering him, and he had banished them
because of that. Then he frowned. \emph{Even if he did banish them
because of that, that doesn't excuse the fact that he's doing wandless
magic} in my dreams.

\emph{No, it doesn't.}

Harry jumped for a moment, then felt a twist of motion about his arm and
glanced down to see Sylarana moving there. She said nothing else,
however, and after a moment faded into his skin again, this time on his
right arm near his wand. Harry let out a shaky breath. \emph{My dreams
are getting rather crowded,} he thought crossly.

``You aren't going to speak to me at all?'' Tom asked. ``That isn't very
nice.''

Harry heard the hard undertone in his voice, and knew that Tom was
probably approaching the end of his patience. He decided it would be
worthwhile to speak. If he could be sure that Tom would leave, he would
not, but an attack by a powerful, peeved, apparently dream-walking
wizard was not something Harry wanted to deal with.

And dreams could be real, could leave lasting effects. He had had enough
nightmares this summer and last term to know.

``Hello,'' he said, and then waited.

Tom smiled, his bad mood seeming to vanish. ``Hello,'' he said easily.
``I know that your name's Harry Potter. But I don't know that much else
about you yet. Why don't you tell me about yourself?'' He leaned on the
wall, a comfortable slouch that made Harry confirm his impression of him
as not pureblooded. Draco could not have leaned that way. He seemed to
fear his mother's voice appearing out of thin air to scold him if he so
much as slumped in his chair.

``Why would you want to know?'' Harry asked. He stepped away from Tom
and mimicked his posture. That won him an even brighter smile. He didn't
know how much he had managed to fool the other wizard, but he thought it
possible that Tom would underestimate his intelligence. ``I'm nobody
very special, really. Just Harry.''

Tom gave a different kind of smile, a quirk of his mouth that made him
seem younger than before. ``I think that's wrong,'' he said softly. ``I
wouldn't talk to `nobody very special.'\,''

``Who \emph{are} you?'' Harry asked.

``I live in the diary,'' said Tom.

Harry shook his head. ``How can you live in that boring old book?'' He'd
examined the diary, performing every spell he could think of short of
actually damaging the book. Written words sank into the page, but that
was the only remotely magical thing he'd found. The diary, which Harry
hadn't even known was a diary until now, was tattered, and old, and
apparently Muggle-made, and entirely blank. Harry couldn't figure out
the purpose of it.

``I'm a memory,'' said Tom. ``A dream. The book is a kind of Pensieve
for me.'' He sighed. ``I'm afraid that something happened to me the next
year, something not very pleasant. I don't remember what it was, of
course, since I'm still sixteen years old, stuck here, and I would have
been seventeen when---whatever it was happened. But after a while I
never saw my older self, and I can't feel him anymore, the way I could
when he was alive. I think he's dead.''

``Oh,'' Harry murmured. It \emph{would} be rather a terrible thing,
stuck in one place with no one to talk to and nothing to do---

\emph{Except that he's talking to you, isn't he?} hissed Sylarana. Tom
gave no indication that he could hear her, which Harry thought meant she
was speaking in the dream equivalent of his inner mind. \emph{I wonder
how he can do that. Ask him, and hurry up about it. I want to go play in
the grass. I will hunt mice, and you will make up stories to amuse me.}

``Why did you talk to me?'' Harry asked.

Tom clapped his hands. \emph{That gesture doesn't fit,} Harry thought.
\emph{He's too old for it.} ``Because \emph{you're} interesting, Harry,''
he said. ``I don't know very much about you, but what I can feel of your
thoughts intrigues me. I think we're a lot alike.''

``Really.'' Harry peered at the man skeptically. Tom was guarded, like
him, but Harry knew it couldn't be for the same reasons. He was the only
brother of the Boy-Who-Lived.

``Yes,'' said Tom. ``I can look around, you know, when you open the
diary, even if I can't see very much. I saw the robes with the Slytherin
crest on them. You're in Slytherin House, aren't you? So was I.''

Harry lifted his magic quietly into place and held it there. No, not all
Slytherins were evil; some, like Draco, were charming in an annoying
way, and others, like Blaise Zabini, were merely annoying. And some were
enormous gits, like Snape. But given everything else that Tom could do,
it was a black mark against him.

``Don't you like being in Slytherin?'' Tom asked, apparently
misinterpreting the quality of his silence. \emph{Apparently,} Harry
stressed to himself, his senses alive and alert now. He still didn't
trust Tom to be as oblivious as he appeared. ``I loved it there. I'd had
a lonely childhood. My parents died before I was born---''

``Your mother can't have died before you were born,'' Harry couldn't
help but point out.

Tom's eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he shrugged and gave a
careless little laugh that didn't fit him, either. ``Well, that's true
enough! She didn't. She died as I was born, and my father before that,
and I was given to an orphanage.'' He paused, and an anger that seemed
genuine filled his face. ``I hated the other children there. They were
Muggles. They hated me and made fun of me for doing magic.''

Harry couldn't help but nod at that. The only time their whole family
had ever left Godric's Hollow before they went to Diagon Alley to buy
school supplies last summer was on a visit to the Dursleys, their
mother's Muggle relatives, when Harry and Connor were six. Harry still
remembered the terrified, half-crazed silence of their aunt, and the
rude blusterings of their uncle, and how their cousin Dudley had
screamed when Harry made a sweet float into the air. Harry had been very
glad that he \emph{wasn't} going to meet any more Muggles, not if they
were all like that.

``See?'' Tom said, and his face and voice softened. ``You know it, too. I
think that's another thing I already know about you. You're lonely, and
you're powerful, and every so often you look around and see that
everyone else is just so \emph{ignorant} and full of themselves, and you
want to do something about it.''

Harry hesitated. It was true that he felt that way sometimes, but---

\emph{You feel that way hardly any of the time,} Sylarana informed him
crisply. \emph{Now, wake up. I desire mice and stories.}

Harry stepped away, sliding along the stone wall. ``I'm going to wake up
now,'' he said. ``It was---pleasant meeting you, I suppose. At least
different.''

``Oh, don't!'' said Tom, all petulance. He took a step forward. ``It
took me a long time to get your attention.''

``I know,'' said Harry. ``I can come back and talk to you---''

\emph{Not tonight.} Sylarana slid back up his arm under his sleeve.
\emph{Mice and stories!}

``---but not tonight,'' Harry finished.

Tom sighed and stopped walking. ``All right. But leave the diary open so
I can see sometimes, will you? I don't know you very well, and your
brother hardly at all.'' He shrugged and gave a helpless little wave.
``Bye, Harry.''

Harry opened his eyes, and found himself lying in his bed. Connor snored
in the other one. Sylarana was awake, slithering onto his chest so that
she could stare him in the eyes and speak aloud.

``\emph{Mice and stories! Now!}''

``I know,'' Harry said, not caring at the moment if he spoke in English
or Parseltongue, and glanced to the side. Sure enough, the diary lay on
the table next to his bed, open to one of the blank pages.

He reached over, only daring to touch the cover with the tips of his
fingers, and shut it.

There were some things that no powerful, wandless-magic-wielding,
dream-walking wizard needed to see.

Once he'd done that, Harry felt a few inches better, and went outside to
give his Locusta what she wanted.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Harry! How's my favorite godson?''

``Hi, Sir---'' was all Harry got out before his godfather half-crushed
him, swinging him up and around in a circle, then putting him down on
the grass and proceeding to mess up his hair thoroughly.

\emph{I don't like him, I don't like him, I don't like him,} Sylarana
sang in a tone that put Harry's teeth on edge. \emph{He has twenty
minutes to spend with you. That is all.} Harry felt her come to life and
slither up his arm to his shoulder, where she coiled. He swallowed and
hoped with all his might that Sirius wasn't watching the way his robes
hung around his shoulders.

``I'm fine, Sirius,'' he said, when he noticed that said godfather was
still watching him expectantly. ``I didn't know you were coming today.''

Sirius grinned and winked, tilting his head towards the house. ``Neither
did your parents,'' he whispered. ``\emph{Or} Connor. This is a
surprise.''

``It is?'' Harry blinked. Usually, Sirius brought Remus along on his
``surprises.'' ``Is Remus going to be here, too?''

Sirius snorted. ``No. He'd fuss too much. He thinks I'm not healthy or
something.'' He pounded a fist into his own back, then bent over and
coughed gratingly. ``Must be getting old,'' he wheezed. ``I'm already
thirty-two, I am! Bury me in a grave in a Muggle cemetery. Try not to
cry too much. After all, I've already lived almost as long as Albus
Dumbledore!'' He laughed, the barking laugh that Harry had heard most of
his life and associated with sudden presents and equally sudden pranks.

Harry smiled at him and shook his head. He supposed that Sirius was who
Connor might grow up to be, although Connor didn't have \emph{quite}
Sirius's fondness for jokes. Harry also thought that Connor would need
more gravity, as the leader of the wizarding world he had to become, but
getting him there alive and still able to laugh were Harry's primary
responsibilities.

``Wish I could make you laugh, sometimes, Harry,'' Sirius muttered as he
straightened up. ``I haven't heard you so much as chuckle since you were
a baby.'' He brooded for a moment, then shook it off and smiled
brightly, pulling a tiny object from his robes. ``Ready to give them a
good scare?''

Harry drew in his breath to answer, but caught his first clear glimpse
of his godfather's face and wound up exhaling without answering. He
could see why Remus thought Sirius was sick. His face was pale, his face
bearing lines that made Harry think of Percy Weasley in Diagon Alley,
and for the first time that Harry could remember, his smile didn't reach
his gray eyes.

``Sirius?'' Harry whispered. ``What's wrong?''

``Wrong?'' Sirius winked at him. ``Nothing, of course! Why would
something be wrong?''

Harry swallowed. ``You don't look like you've been sleeping well,'' he
ventured.

Sirius lost his smile all at once, and sighed. ``Yeah,'' he said. ``It
was Daphne Marchbanks. I---I thought we might have had something
special, Harry. And you know how I get when I realize it's not
working.''

Harry nodded. He'd been awake several times over the years when James
and Remus brought Sirius back to the house at Godric's Hollow after
another bout of it ``not working'' with some other young witch, and kept
him behind the isolation wards by main force. Harry had once heard their
father say that his friends were the only reason Sirius didn't drink
himself to death when he was depressed. But it didn't happen often. A
few more days, Harry knew, and Sirius would be flirting with someone
else and talking gleefully about marrying a Muggleborn to vex the ghost
of his mother, who had died of apoplexy, apparently, about her only son
not following her rigid pureblood ways.

``But you're all right to play a surprise?'' Harry asked.

Sirius won his grin back in an instant, and this time it did reach his
eyes. ``I'm sure,'' he said, and then put the object on the ground. He
drew his wand, tapped the tiny thing, and stood back as it grew.

Harry felt his eyes widen as he realized what it was. He'd known that
Sirius had a motorbike he'd enchanted to fly, but he'd never seen it.
Sirius supposedly couldn't use it that often, for fear of the Misuse of
Muggle Artifacts Office finding out about it, and for fear of leading
Death Eaters to Godric's Hollow.

Sirius put a finger to his lips and nodded at the house. Then he stepped
back from Harry and started yelling.

``Oi, Harry, what do you think you're do---Harry! They're Death Eaters!
Coming through the wards! Run!''

Harry stared at him as shouts erupted from inside the house, but Sirius
was paying no attention. He waved his wand and said, ``\emph{Praestigiae
Draconigena!}''

A green smoke boiled from his wand, forming itself into the illusion of
a dragon that Harry recognized as a Common Welsh Green. It turned
towards the house on Sirius's low-voiced command and roared.

``They've got a dragon!'' Sirius shouted, cupping his hands around his
mouth. ``Run, Harry, run!''

The door to the house flew open with a bang, and James charged out, his
wand already spitting sparks. ``Sirius, if this is a prank, \emph{I am
going to}---''

Sirius, laughing, grabbed Harry around the waist, sprang onto the
motorbike, and kicked it into life. The dragon illusion foamed up around
them and accompanied them. It would block anyone below from seeing the
bike, Harry knew.

He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, his breath coming faster,
and Sylarana slithering around on his shoulder, apparently trying to
decide on a way to bite Sirius that wouldn't make the bike crash. He was
not sure what he felt. Blank surprise was starting to give way to
something else.

``Sirius! Damn you!''

Sirius laughed. Harry whipped his head around to see their father riding
close beside him on his own broom, his wand still clutched in one hand.
He was close enough now to see through the illusion, though, and know
that it was Sirius, and not Death Eaters, who'd kidnapped Harry. James
immediately began a long and impressive list of obscenities, including
Muggle ones that Harry hadn't thought his father knew.

``Don't, James,'' said Sirius, slewing the motorbike around in a
maneuver Harry wouldn't have tried on a broom, and turning them half
upside-down. He ended up facing Harry's father, holding Harry securely
in his lap. ``Little children have big ears.''

James snapped ``\emph{Finite Incantatem!}'' and the dragon illusion broke
apart and melted away. He steered the broom forward, fuming. Harry held
grimly onto the bike's handlebars. He was sure that he would fall off
before his father could rescue him, with the way Sirius was howling with
laughter, his head bent and his arms clasped around his belly.

Just as James touched Harry's arm, a bang and a loud scream came from
the house beneath.

James whipped his head around. Harry joined him, feeling his heart speed
into a frenzy and his magic snap into place around him.

\emph{Connor. That was Connor.}

James flew straight back down to the ground, shouting out obscenities
again. Sirius followed him, fast enough that Harry felt the wind sting
his ears. He clasped his godfather's hands, silently willing him to go
faster. \emph{Anything} could be happening to his brother, and he was
stuck in the air on a bike, playing a stupid joke!

James landed first, but Harry flung himself off while Sirius was still
five feet from the ground. He rolled, taking the fall the way he'd
learned to in Quidditch, and then raced for the front door. His wand was
already in his hand. Sylarana clung to his shoulder and hissed out a
melody of complaint.

Harry entered the kitchen just in time to see a frightened-looking house
elf vanish with a crack. A hovering mass of Connor's school books and
robes dropped to the ground with a complementary crash.

``What happened?'' Harry asked, turning to Connor, who stood backed
against the wall, and Lily, who stood in the doorway.

His brother shook, tried to answer, and then started crying. Harry
immediately went forward and took him in his arms. Connor clung to him,
and Harry let his tears soak the front of his jumper while he looked to
his mother for an answer.

Lily spoke slowly and calmly. ``That house elf appeared and started
talking about how Connor couldn't go back to Hogwarts this year, that
it's too dangerous for him. Then he tried to hurt his school things. He
kept me from entering. I was afraid he would hurt Connor, if necessary,
to stop him from going back.'' She closed her eyes. Her face was white.
Harry could guess why. He'd be surprised if his wasn't the same way.

James and Sirius came tearing in then. Lily explained the story for
them, this time adding that the house elf had called himself Dobby and
said that he belonged to a powerful pureblooded family who intended to
try and hurt Connor.

Amid Sirius's angry growls of vengeance, and James's many scattered hugs
for both his wife and his sons, Harry held his brother, and crystallized
his rage, carefully packing down and tamping all his emotions into one
shining block of anger.

\emph{I won't let anyone hurt you,} he promised Connor, who'd finished
crying but showed no impulse to move away from him just yet. \emph{Not
Voldemort, and not Tom Riddle, whoever he is, and not Dobby or Dobby's
family. Not Draco, if it comes to that. Not anyone,} ever. \emph{I'm so
sorry I was away today. I won't be ever again. I'll be right here.}

He looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and saw his mother
staring down at him with those eyes that were mirrors of his own.

``Watch over him,'' she whispered. ``I trust you even more than
Sirius.''

Harry nodded, accepting both the explicit message in her words and the
implicit one: he was forgiven for not being there today when Connor
needed him to be.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Come \emph{on}, Sirius! We're going to be late!''

Harry studied his brother closely as Connor ran on ahead through King's
Cross Station, now and then turning to shout impatiently at his
godfather, who seemed determined to take his time strolling through the
Station and talking with their parents. It had been two weeks since the
incident with Dobby, and he sometimes doubted whether Connor was really
all right. He'd had his first nightmare just a few days ago, and crept
into Harry's bed for the rest of the night, much to Sylarana's
displeasure. Harry had had to stay awake the rest of the night and
entertain the Locusta to make sure she didn't bite Connor.

But Connor seemed aglow now, running in place and dancing with
impatience when he couldn't run. Maybe it was just going back to
Hogwarts, but he'd been healed of some of his pain.

Harry was glad of that. It gave him time to think about the vows he'd
worked out during the last days of summer, a whole new set of them to go
with the ones he'd had since he was a child, sworn to protect Connor and
stay in his shadow.

He was \emph{not} going to act Slytherin. If Draco softened the image of
the House for him, Tom Riddle, with his endless inane conversations
during which he tried to learn more about Harry for no reason he would
state, had solidified it as one Harry would rather not belong to. And
then there was the memory of Snape, and what he'd tried to encourage
Harry to do: abandon Connor.

Harry permitted himself a small smile. Snape had given him extra
homework over the summer to encourage his Potions talent. Harry had
learned other things from the homework, though, things that he thought
Snape wouldn't have wanted him to learn. He looked forward to employing
them in the Potions class.

He was going to be as Gryffindor as he could. That meant not lying as
much, and walking a fine edge between encouraging Connor to do more
heroic things and apparently not encouraging Connor at all, acting like
an ordinary student. Harry was confident he could do it. The strange
attack by Dobby had given him a new resolve. Never again was he not
going to be there when Connor got attacked, and his methods last year,
all of which had relied on Slytherin cunning and deception, hadn't
worked, so he had to try new ones anyway.

So he would get to know his brother's friends, too, Ron and Hermione and
Neville Longbottom and the other Gryffindor second-year boys, and the
half-giant Hagrid, and the Weasley twins. He would make them see him as
more mundane and less irritating and Dark than they might think him.
Then he could spend more time with Connor without anyone questioning him
about it.

And he would put away as much of his potential Dark talent as he could.
He would ignore Tom Riddle. He would speak with Sylarana only as much as
he had to to prevent the whole school from suffering a plague of Locusta
venom. He would work on defensive magic rather than offensive. He'd
asked their mother for books on medical magic, and planned to start
studying it as soon as he could. That would be of the Light, surely, a
talent for healing and not for killing.

Harry knew he wouldn't slip from the Light, that his commitment there
was firm. But it was important that other people \emph{see} him that
way, or he would spend all his time suspected of being Dark---and
getting noticed.

\emph{That is very Slytherin of you,} said Sylarana, in that bored tone
she adopted when everyone in the world except Harry knew something.

Harry ignored her. He could, without trouble, when she sounded like
that. She sounded bored more and more often. Harry hoped he would wake
up one day and find himself without her, since she would have wandered
off to more interesting pastures.

Sylarana flexed; she was curled about the place where his right arm
joined his shoulder like a huge bracelet, and Harry could already feel
her whenever he shifted the path of his trolley a little. This was
harder, indicating her irritation. \emph{I am never going to get bored
of you. You speak with serpents. That is rare. You are} my \emph{human,
and I am going to defend you from other snakes who might try to take you
away.}

Harry sighed. \emph{I know}, he told her in his thoughts.

``I can't get through!''

Harry looked up, blinking. Connor was standing by the barrier that led
to Platform 9¾, his hands clenched at his sides. He looked back at Harry
and waited a moment until a crowd of Muggles had passed by. He was
chewing his lip, his eyebrows pulled into a frown.

``Watch,'' he whispered.

He stretched out an arm and ran at the barrier. His arm reflected off it
as if it were solid.

Harry stared. The platform barrier was made to be passable to any
wizard. He'd never heard of it doing this before.

He stepped up next to it and pushed with one hand. He couldn't feel
anything but solid brick. He turned back to his parents and Sirius, who
had noticed something was wrong and sped up a little.

Sirius reached them first, dashed a hand into the barrier, and stared
for just a moment before smiling. ``Well, I \emph{am} going to be
teaching at Hogwarts,'' he said, ``and it's my responsibility to insure
that all the students get there on time.''

``Yes, it is,'' said Lily, her eyes icy. ``That means that you have to
ride the Express. And as it's going to leave in five minutes---''

``Don't be so picky, Lily,'' said Sirius, holding up a placating hand.
``I meant that I have a way that Connor and Harry can get there on
time.'' He pulled out what Harry just knew was the motorbike.
Instinctively, he looked at their father.

James wore the quiet, grave expression that made Harry pay more
attention than any of his rages. ``No tricks, Sirius,'' he said. ``I
want my boys to reach school safely.''

Sirius lost his smile briefly, and nodded back. ``No tricks,'' he said.
``I wouldn't take any more risks with Harry and Connor than I would with
my own sons, if I had any.''

``Are you sure that you're all right to drive it, Sirius?'' Lily asked.
``Your face---''

``Another bad night,'' said Sirius lightly, though Harry could see his
face tighten when he said it. ``I promise I'm all right to drive it,
Lily. I brought James and Remus back from our drinking bout our last
night at Hogwarts safe and sound, didn't I?'' He grinned at James.
``Drank you under the table \emph{that} time.''

``You spiked my Firewhiskey,'' said James, but he was smiling, too. He
nodded at Lily. ``Let them, love. This might be the only chance that
they ever get to ride it while Sirius is being responsible enough to
trust with them.'' He gave Sirius a stabbing glance that said he hadn't
forgotten or forgiven the fake kidnapping he'd played with Harry. Sirius
wore a half-second look of remorse before breaking back into his smile.

``Someone might see them,'' said Lily, but Harry thought she was
wavering, not least because Connor had joined the match with a silent
pleading look.

``The motorbike has a Disillusionment Charm,'' Sirius told her. ``And we
can follow the train once we're past the barrier,'' he added, playing
what was obviously a trump card.

``\emph{Fine,}'' said Lily, with an explosive sigh.

Connor almost squealed and hugged her around the waist. ``Thanks, Mum!''

After that, it was a matter of finding a quiet corner where the Muggles
couldn't see them, shrinking Harry's and Connor's school things, and
setting Hedwig and Godric free to fly to Hogwarts. Harry asked Sylarana
if she wanted to crawl, and got nothing but an irritated squeeze in
return. Connor was bouncing up and down.

Sirius grinned at them, restored the motorbike to its original size, and
then climbed aboard. Harry and Connor sat behind him, Harry relaxing as
he noticed the charms to keep passengers in place.

``Bye, Mum!'' said Connor, waving frantically. ``Bye, Dad!''

``Goodbye, boys,'' said James, smiling at them. ``Stay safe. Don't
forget to write.''

``Stay safe,'' Lily echoed, and met Harry's eyes in a private message.
He inclined his head in a nod to her, and then nodded to their father,
too.

``Enough farewells, they always depress me. Let's get flying!'' said
Sirius, and kicked the bike.

It roared into life, and they sprang forward, then left the ground as
the Disillusionment and Silencing Charms took effect. Connor was
whooping with excitement. Harry looped his arms around his brother's
waist and held him safe and secure.

\emph{It really will be nice, having Sirius at Hogwarts,} he thought.
\emph{Connor and I will have a better year with someone who can make him
laugh. He's going to need it when Voldemort attacks again, as I'm sure
he will.}

Then Sirius said, ``Look back, Connor. Are your parents out of sight?''

``Yes,'' said Connor, an undertone of mischief creeping into his voice.

``Good,'' said Sirius, and sent the motorbike into a faster plunge.
Connor shouted himself hoarse. Harry leaned his head forward and clung
on.

\emph{Gryffindors, the both of them,} he thought fondly.

\emph{Yes,} Sylarana agreed, her tone not nearly so complimentary.

\chapter{Snape Baiting}\label{chapter-4-snape-baiting}

Sirius brought the bike lower as they came in towards Hogwarts, much to
Harry's relief. They could see the castle glittering across the lake
now, and the towers reflected in the water. Harry shielded his eyes with
one hand, until he grew used to the dazzle of spells and wards. He had
not realized until that moment what the purpose of some exercises Snape
had given him was. They had strengthened his ability to see magic. He
could make out lines of blue and green and gold that he knew hadn't been
there last year.

``There's Hagrid!'' exclaimed Connor suddenly, and leaned off the bike
at a crazy angle to wave. ``Hagrid! Hagrid, up here!''

Harry looked down, even as he pulled his brother back to a firmer seat
on the bike, and saw the half-giant leading a creature out of the
Forbidden Forest. Hagrid looked up and waved, calling back to Connor,
but it was the creature next to him that caught Harry's attention. It
appeared to be a black horse, but bat-like wings spread from its
shoulders, and when it slewed its head around and looked up at them,
Harry caught a glimpse of glowing white eyes.

``What is \emph{that}?'' he managed to say, strangled. If Hagrid brought
such creatures out to play when Connor was with him, Harry had never
heard of it, and he would certainly have to reevaluate how dangerous it
was for his brother to visit the gamekeeper. Perhaps he could arrange to
go on most of the visits from now on. That would serve his own goal of
getting to know Hagrid, too.

``What is what?'' Connor asked, this time leaning off the left side of
the bike and looking at the ground.

``That thing next to Hagrid---'' Harry started, and then looked up and
caught Sirius's eyes. His godfather shook his head, face gone dark and
sad again. Harry blinked, then laughed. The laugh sounded forced and
shaky to his ears, but Connor turned around and looked at him
expectantly, so he said, ``Oh, it's just a tree. I thought it was
something dangerous.''

``Hagrid's pets aren't all that dangerous, really,'' said Connor, and
waved a final time to the half-giant as Sirius turned the bike to land
in Hogwarts's courtyard. ``Everyone thinks they are, but they're more
misunderstood.''

Harry kept his opinion of that to himself, and sighed in relief as the
bike touched down. Sylarana writhed on his shoulder, and then said,
\emph{I did not know that you could see thestrals.}

Harry was sure she could see the blank incomprehension in his mind,
because she once again adopted the bored, lecturing tone. \emph{A
thestral is a creature of death and bad luck, originally. They live in
the Forbidden Forest. No one can see them who has not first seen death.}
She sounded as if she were quoting a book in that last sentence, though
Harry was not sure if snakes read books.

\emph{I didn't}---he started, and then remembered that he had seen
Quirrell die. He shuddered. That had been a bad death, a frequent
feature of his nightmares, when he wasn't dreaming about the two dark
figures or Tom Riddle trying to cajole the answers to silly questions
out of him. He was glad that he had prevented Connor from seeing it.

\emph{So Connor could see the thestrals if I hadn't prevented him from
watching Quirrell's death?} he asked.

\emph{Yes}, Sylarana confirmed. \emph{Of course, he would not know what
they were, and would shriek. He is a great lump of a boy, really.}

Harry said nothing to that. They were always going to disagree about his
brother. He climbed off the bike as Connor did so. Connor promptly began
chattering about the flight to Sirius. Harry looked around. They seemed
to have arrived before the majority of the students, as he couldn't see
any of the carriages pulling up yet.

\emph{In fact, that was probably where Hagrid was taking the thestrals,}
he realized abruptly. \emph{They probably pull the carriages that the
older students take.}

Feeling pleased with himself for having figured it out, Harry turned
back to watch Sirius restore their school things to normal size, and
then stopped. A dark figure stood near the castle wall, staring at them.

Harry thought it was one of the two shapes from his dream, for a moment.
Then it straightened and took a step forward, and he recognized it.

\emph{Professor Snape.}

Harry wondered what to say, what to do. He had his battle plans for
facing Snape, but most of them depended on specific scenarios and
places, such as the Potions classroom or during detention. He hesitated,
and in that moment Snape revealed himself with a lazy drawl.

``Black. I suppose that Potter hired you to bring in our arrogant
celebrity, who is clearly too good to ride the Express with the rest of
the commoners?''

Sirius shot around as though a bee had stung him, and Harry saw a fierce
gladness in his eyes. Here was someone to rouse him from mourning about
Daphne Marchbanks, or whoever had come after her. He was grinning, but
it was not the kind of grin he used in his mock-fights with James and
Remus. ``Snivellus!'' he called. ``Good to see you. It was good of
Dumbledore to turn out a welcoming committee for us, even if it's just
one greasy-haired git.''

Snape strode forward now, his robes billowing around him. His eyes had
found Harry, and he stared at him even though the words that followed
were clearly addressed to Sirius. ``As you know, Black, it is against
the rules for students to arrive at the school by any means other than
the Hogwarts Express. I can and will take points from Mr. Potter.
Gryffindor will begin the year in negative points.'' He smirked. Harry
folded his arms and glared. That just made Snape's smirk grow wider.
Connor looked too astonished to protest, his mouth simply gaping open.

``That's where you're wrong, Professor Snivellus the Sneery,'' said
Sirius cheerfully. ``I'm going to be helping Madam Hooch with the
Quidditch matches this year. That means that I'm technically a
professor, and can take away points, too---and give them out.'' He
glanced at Connor and smiled. ``Ten points to Gryffindor for being in a
House without a bunch of slimy snakes,'' he said.

Harry was watching Snape, and saw his face go dark with rage. He edged
away. He didn't think that he wanted to be in the middle of a contest of
insults as foul as this one was about to become. He wanted to put his
school things in his room and then slip back into the Sorting Feast
without attracting any attention. Draco, doubtless, would badger him
with questions if he were late.

That movement, unfortunately, drew Snape's attention. ``Potter,'' he
said, his narrowed eyes saying that he hadn't forgotten the end of last
year. ``Come with me. There are matters that we must discuss before the
school year begins, you and I.''

``No can do,'' said Sirius, still with a manic grin on his face. ``I
need to take both Connor and Harry to the Headmaster. He'll want to see
and hear that they've arrived safe and sound.''

``I am the boy's Head of House,'' said Snape, his hiss a rival to
Slytherin's mascot.

\emph{But not to me,} said Sylarana smugly from under Harry's jumper.
\emph{No one hisses better than I do.}

``But \emph{I'm} his godfather,'' said Sirius, He shot out an arm and
grabbed Harry's shoulder, pulling him in close against his body. Harry
stumbled and then turned to make sure he could draw his wand, should he
need it. Snape's fury was such that he thought he might. ``And I don't
intend to let you hound him and ride him like you were doing last year,
either, Snivellus. Harry should have been in \emph{Gryffindor.} He'll
take lessons in courage and fairness from me, since he's hardly going to
learn them with your little vipers.''

Harry blinked, then relaxed. This was special treatment he would hardly
have dared to ask for, since Sirius was here to protect Connor, but he
would welcome it. Sirius was actually going to watch out for him, not
just protect him from the Dark if he noticed Harry backsliding. Harry
was relieved. It made his plan to act like a Gryffindor this year much
easier.

Snape didn't say anything. Harry thought that might be a good sign at
first, an indication of his bewilderment in the face of such a sudden
assault, but when Snape spoke in a voice almost too soft to be heard, he
realized it was a very bad one. Other people shouted when they were
deeply angry. Snape whispered.

``Shall we make a bet, Black? Shall we make a wager? I recall
Gryffindors to have been rather fond of them, in such days when I
noticed anything about them other than their overwhelming incompetence
at Potions.''

``Professor Snape,'' began Connor, and he sounded nervous now, as if he
could sense that a bet between professors might be bad for the school.
Harry was proud of him for showing such concern, but he suspected that
both men were too far gone to pay attention to the Boy-Who-Lived, and he
was right.

``Of course,'' said Sirius at once. ``What bet? And what stakes? They
should be fair, Snivellus, since I recall Slytherins to have been rather
fond of cheating, myself.'' His eyes shone.

``By the end of the year,'' said Snape, nodding at Harry, ``I would
wager that this Potter twin will have acted more Slytherin than
Gryffindor, that he will have learned more from me than you will ever
teach him.'' He paused, and Harry could almost see him debating as to
whether what he would say next was a good idea. But the imagined sound
of the words was too attractive, apparently. ``And I will wager,'' Snape
whispered, his voice on the edge of hearing, ``that Harry Potter is the
true Boy-Who-Lived.''

Sirius burst out laughing. Harry could hear the dog's voice in his, and
cringed. He knew, then, that Sirius was not going to resist the worst
words he could speak, either.

``I'll take that bet, Snivellus, since there's no way I can lose,'' said
Sirius, and put out a hand. Snape clasped it. Both men shook their hands
off afterwards, as if to remove an invisible film of grease. Harry might
have found that part amusing if he wasn't in such shock. ``Connor's the
Boy-Who-Lived, I know it,'' Sirius continued. ``And Harry was always
more Gryffindor than Slytherin. I don't know why the Sorting Hat decided
he should be placed in your hissing House, but he'll be free of it
before the end of the year.'' He paused. ``And what are the stakes if
one of us loses?''

``I will not try to influence Mr. Potter again,'' said Snape. ``I will
support his transfer to Gryffindor House myself.''

Sirius nodded. ``Accepted.''

``And if you lose,'' Snape said, ``then you will step aside as Potter's
godfather, and relinquish all control of him.''

Sirius stopped smiling. ``That is \emph{not} accepted.''

``Your stake matches my own,'' Snape said. He paused, then, and taunted,
``What are you afraid of? Not losing the bet, I hope?''

Sirius again jerked as if stung, and shook his head furiously. ``Not at
all,'' he said. ``I should have known you were the kind of bastard who
would try to separate a boy from his godfather, Snape.'' He bared his
teeth, and all the amusement was gone from his voice. ``You're on.''

``Stop it!''

Harry blinked. Connor had darted out to stand between the two men,
staring from one to the other of them. His dark hair had been mussed, as
though he'd raked a hand through it. His fists were clenched in front of
him now, and his eyes blazed with a force that Harry thought would have
made James step back from him.

``You don't have the right to do that!'' Connor said. ``He's standing
right there. You can't make bets about him as if he were---as if he were
a \emph{thing}, a Galleon!'' He turned around and glared at Sirius. ``How
could you do that?''

Sirius knelt down, instead of exploding or trying to defend himself with
bluster, the way Harry had expected. His face was grave, and that
probably restrained Connor's tongue, too. Harry even found himself
leaning forward to hear what his godfather would say.

``You don't understand where the rivalry between Slytherin and
Gryffindor comes from, Connor,'' Sirius said gently. ``We're good.
They're scared of being good. They have to hide from the light, because
otherwise it blinds them, destroys them, like snakes or cockroaches.''
Harry heard Snape suck in a breath, but Sirius went right on talking.
``Snape wants to turn Harry into a cockroach like him, teach him the
Dark Arts and make him a Dark wizard. I'm going to make sure that that
doesn't happen. Don't worry, Connor. We won't lose Harry. And we'll make
sure that the Slytherins are sorry that they ever tried to harm someone
who's a Gryffindor, even if he sleeps in the wrong room and goes to the
wrong classes.'' His smiled widened across his face, and he clapped
Connor on the shoulder.

Connor glanced back at Harry. His eyes showed uncertainty. Harry could
understand why. Connor had suspected him of being a Dark wizard last
year, given his attempts to lie and his temper and his powerful magic.
It only made sense, in the words Sirius was speaking, that someone like
that had a greater chance of being lost to Slytherin than someone like
Connor. Of course his brother would see that they needed to guard Harry,
put that way.

And a bet would be a way to humiliate the Slytherins for ever thinking
that they could take Connor's brother away from him.

Harry understood all that.

The odd thing was that he found \emph{himself} wanting to protest, to
say that not all Slytherins were like that, that Snape had healed the
damage he'd taken from \emph{Crucio} last year, that Draco's family had
gotten him a broom for his birthday.

But he couldn't say any of that. Connor still didn't know about the
broom, since Harry had decided it would only cause trouble and kept it
packed away. Snape's healing had been followed by his giving Harry
Veritaserum, which Harry knew he couldn't forgive. And if he thought
Sirius was wrong about Slytherin\ldots{}

That only showed how little he knew, didn't it? It only showed how
deeply the Snake House had already gotten its fangs hooked into him.
Harry closed his eyes and shook his head.

\emph{This is a gift. This is the excuse I was looking for to be more
Gryffindor. I} have \emph{to become that way, or the Slytherins will
corrupt me. And I can't let that happen. I'm no good to Connor if I'm
Dark, or if I'm thought to be.}

His breathing relaxed. He opened his eyes and managed to smile at
Sirius.

\emph{You are such a fool,} said Sylarana. \emph{There is food in the
castle. I can smell it. And you are standing out here, talking.}

Snape hissed. For one wild moment, Harry thought he must have heard
Sylarana, but then he realized that Snape had been waiting to see how
Harry would react to what Sirius had said.

``I will destroy you, Black,'' Snape whispered. ``You will never see it
coming, what will happen to deprive you of the rewards you expected to
win. You will be, in the end, as ground down under my heel as a
flobberworm is. And in the end, crawling on the ground, crying and
screaming out to the stars, you will know this moment as the beginning
of your end.''

Harry had never seen such sheer hatred on anyone's face as was on
Snape's when he looked at Sirius---except last year, when their parents
had come to the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match and Snape had
glared at James that way.

And then, in a flash, he understood. He wondered how he could \emph{not}
have understood it before, or excused it.

``You hate my godfather,'' he said quietly. Snape turned and looked at
him, but did not relax the glare on his face. Harry had not really
expected him to. ``You hate our father. Of course you're going to do
this. It doesn't really matter to you, whether I act more Slytherin than
Gryffindor. What matters is that I'm \emph{Sirius Black's godson}, and
\emph{James Potter's son}, and \emph{the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived.}
You're only making this bet to get back at people who've wronged you, in
real or imagined ways.'' Harry paused, thought about trying to articulate
everything that he was feeling, and in the end shook his head. ``You
don't care,'' he said, and was startled to hear a wistful tone in his
voice. Had he \emph{wanted} Snape to care?

\emph{Maybe}, he answered that part of himself, and lifted his head to
meet Snape's eyes. ``You don't care anything about one student acting
Slytherin or Gryffindor,'' he repeated. ``You care about revenge.'' He
shrugged. ``I can't do anything to stop you from making the bet, or
trying to fulfill it, but I can refuse to go along with you.''

Snape's face was wiped clean of all expression. Harry knew by the slight
widening of the professor's eyes, though, that Snape had received his
silent message. Harry wasn't referring just to resisting whatever Snape
tried to do to him in the name of making him more Slytherin. He was
referring to the private dueling lessons that Snape had given him last
year, and the extra Potions work Snape had had him do in class, and
trying to win games on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and everything else
where Snape had blackmailed Harry into doing what he wanted.

First it had been threats against Harry's free time, and then against
Connor's. That wouldn't work anymore, Harry thought, oddly detached, as
he watched Snape's face. Oh, Snape would put Connor into detention, no
doubt. But detention was a small price compared to the devastation
Connor would feel if Harry became a Slytherin.

He thought of Draco, then, and winced. But that was on the same order of
things, really. He would hurt Draco when he turned away from him. Draco
would scream and rage and demand explanations. And Harry could tell him
the truth.

Connor came first. Connor would always come first. Harry had thought,
someday, that he would regret the friendship he was forming with Draco,
and he now had cause to regret it. Yes, he didn't really want to hurt
Draco, but he wanted to hurt Connor even less.

``I choose you, brother,'' Harry told Connor, not caring that everyone,
even his brother, was staring at him. He didn't have any responsibility
to be a respectful student, or someone who didn't say things that made
other people uncomfortable. He had \emph{every} right to be what he was
born to be, his brother's protector. This was merely the first public
declaration of his allegiance. ``I choose Gryffindor, and all the things
that you love and value.''

Connor's face lit like the sunrise. Harry basked in it, and didn't turn
to take in Snape's expression. He knew that he wouldn't see anything
valuable there.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Snape had never been in such a foul mood, and he knew it.

\emph{Now if only the recipient of said foul mood knew it, too.}

Harry Potter gave no sign that he knew he'd displeased Snape. He gave no
sign that he knew he'd displeased Draco, even, and last year the brat
had responded to Draco when he responded to no one else. Draco was
sulking because Harry refused to spend time alone with him, and sought
out his brother instead. He had had a screaming match with Harry in the
corridor last week, just after Snape released the second-year Slytherins
and Gryffindors from their first Potions class. Snape had watched. Harry
had kept walking, his gaze fixed straight ahead, no sign of strain in
his posture. It \emph{must} be a strain on him, but he showed no sign of
that. He made his resistance to Draco's pleas look effortless, and that
just drove Draco into more and more angry displays.

\emph{Or tearful ones.} Snape grimaced. \emph{If I never have to spend
another evening in my office while the Malfoy heir rants at me about a
Potter} ignoring \emph{him, then it will be too soon.}

Harry had not come, once, to Snape for dueling lessons. He had suffered
pranks from his roommates, and never retaliated; he came to breakfast in
the Great Hall with boils growing on his face, or hair on the palms of
his hands, and calmly ignored the laughter. It had grown less frequent
this week. Snape had had the deep displeasure of listening to the
second-year Gryffindors, who included Ron Weasley, agreeing that anyone
who could take a joke like that wasn't half-bad, and they ought to
encourage Harry to come up to the Tower sometime.

And Harry no longer did the work Snape wanted him to do in Potions
class.

Snape had realized he had made a mistake the first time Harry looked up,
green eyes wide and innocent and perfectly clear, over a perfectly-made
Hair-Changing Potion---which should have been a perfectly-made potion
that would help the victims of the Cruciatus Curse recover from their
shaking. In fact, he had made several mistakes, and the first of them
was giving Harry extra homework over the summer. Harry had learned how
to turn one potion into another with the addition of a very few
ingredients. He didn't make noisy mistakes. He made quiet ones, and then
widened his eyes and suggested that the potion would \emph{work}, just
not the way that it should have, had he followed the original
instructions.

The potions were always perfect.

That only enraged Snape further.

He assigned Harry to work with Neville Longbottom. That was another
mistake. He had intended to frustrate Harry, condemning him to work more
slowly and with the chance of singing off his eyebrows or melting
through his cauldron in every class. Harry had happily trooped off to
the other side of the classroom, however, and was soon instructing
Neville in whispers and patiently coaxing him through his mistakes.
Neville's potions improved, Harry did second-year work instead of the
advanced work Snape had planned on instructing him in, and he sat among
the Gryffindors, who now appeared to close ranks around him and bristle
slightly whenever Snape came near.

By the end of the second week of the school year, Snape's colleagues had
taken to avoiding him. Sirius Black, of course, grinned from a distance,
and Minerva now and then looked at him as if asking why in the world
Snape had made such a ridiculous bet, but none of them willingly shared
a conversation or even a meal with him, eating quickly and leaving the
Great Hall as soon as possible. Snape knew he spent too much time
glaring at the Slytherin table, and the stubborn boy who had managed to
defy him as he had never been defied before. The only exception, the
only possible outlet for his rage, was that fool Gilderoy Lockhart, who
made ceaseless conversation about himself and never seemed to notice
Snape's insults---and whom it was not permissible for Snape to hex.

Something had to give. Something would crack.

Snape did not know what it would be yet, but he was determined to
\emph{find} the weakness, and exploit it. No twelve-year-old boy was as
competent at defending himself from insults as Harry seemed to be. No
student could consistently stand up to his professor like this and get
away with it.

He found the weakness during the third week of school.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Snape was patrolling the corridors near the dungeons---something he
trusted not even the Slytherin prefects to do properly---when he heard a
low, continuous, disturbing sound. It made his spine stiffen with
memories of some of the stranger curses performed during the Dark Lord's
reign. He gripped his wand and eased around the corner, pressing his
shoulders flat to the stone.

Harry Potter knelt on the floor not far from the Slytherin common room,
hissing at a black-and-golden snake that Snape recognized in instants as
a Locusta. Not far from him lay a broom finer than any the school
possessed.

Snape lingered a moment, to absorb the scene and savor his triumph. The
snake hissed back at Harry, whose face became a grimace. He shook his
head and said something else in the snake-tongue, then sighed and
reached out to stroke the serpent's back. She accepted his touch,
something Snape had thought was impossible for a Locusta, and even
twined under his fingers, as if enjoying it.

\emph{The boy is a Parselmouth.}

Snape felt victory like ripe fruit in his mouth. He had only to bite
into it.

And the broom---it was obviously Harry's. Harry had given no indication
that he possessed it, and certainly not to Marcus Flint, who would have
found some means of insuring that a member of the Slytherin Quidditch
team rode it, even if Harry refused to participate. So far as Snape
knew, Harry had not yet informed Flint of his decision not to play.

\emph{And now he never will.}

Snape stepped out of hiding. Harry whipped his head up and stared,
caught. Snape let his smirk widen across his mouth. The Locusta turned
and hissed at him, but when Harry hissed something else in a commanding
tone, she twined up his arm. Harry bowed his head and rose slowly to his
feet.

``What do you want, Professor Snape?'' he asked.

``I want to know things,'' Snape said quietly. \emph{Never let it be
said that I rush my revenge.} ``Why are you outside your common room?''

Harry looked up again, and this time there was a spark of hope in his
eyes, as though he hoped he might get away with this. ``Because I go
flying at night, sir,'' he said, and indicated the broom next to him.
``I just---need to relieve the pressure.''

Snape nodded gravely. The admission was sweet to him.

And it was only a taste of the promises he would now extract from Harry.
Snape felt near giddy with excitement and power. He pushed back the
feelings, though. The last thing he wanted to do now was distract
himself and let the chance slip past him.

``And why were you talking to a snake?''

``She introduced herself over the summer,'' said Harry, and gave a sort
of helpless shrug. ``She's a Locusta. Her name's Sylarana. She said that
she would bite Connor if I didn't take care of her, and since then she's
threatened to bite other people. So long as I take care of her, she
doesn't.''

Snape felt a faint shadow touch his good mood; of course the boy would
have sacrificed himself to save his witless brother. But he pushed it
away. Harry was still---

``You are a Parselmouth,'' he whispered.

Harry nodded. ``I know it's a potentially Dark talent, sir.''

``Yes,'' said Snape, and paused a long moment. ``And one that you would
give a great deal to keep concealed, yes?''

Harry stepped away from him, putting his back to the wall in turn. His
magic was rising around him. Snape was glad that he had strengthened his
shields. The exercises he had assigned Harry over the summer had worked
almost too well. His power was tremendous now, leaping easily to his
call. Snape wondered if Harry had yet noticed that he was reaching for
magic more and more often, something that the seemingly harmless
homework had made him used to.

``If you reveal this---'' Harry began.

Snape shrugged. ``You seem Dark,'' he said. ``Slytherin.'' He paused.
``And I win the bet. Do you imagine that your godfather and your brother
will take you back when they find out you can speak with serpents, just
as Voldemort can?''

Harry snarled at him, and for a moment the pressure of his magic broke
through Snape's shields. Snape calmed his breathing and hoped that the
strain of fighting the agony in his head didn't show.

Harry was caught, though, and he knew it. He dipped his chin and looked
away after a moment. ``What do you want?'' His voice was strangled.

``Two things,'' said Snape. ``In return, I keep two secrets: that you
are a Parselmouth and that you fly outside the school.''

Harry stared at him, calculating, then nodded. ``That sounds fair.''

Snape bit his cheek to restrain a delighted edge to his sneer. The boy
spoke like a Gryffindor, but he reasoned like a Slytherin. He would win
the bet with Black, after all. A dazzling rush of much-deserved good
fortune had come on him tonight.

``The first,'' said Snape, ``is that you will play on the Slytherin
Quidditch team, and that you will use that broom.''

Harry nodded slowly. ``And the other?''

``That you will repair your friendships with your Housemates, or at
least with Draco Malfoy,'' said Snape. ``Such resentments and rivalries
could turn out to be deadly to our success on the Quidditch field.''

Harry stared at him. Snape knew that he didn't understand. He would have
expected Snape to ask him to let Snape win the bet with Black, or to
stop making mistakes in Potions class.

What he didn't know was that neither of those would have worked half as
well for the professor's ultimate goals. Snape intended to win the bet
with Black on his own efforts, more subtle ones, that Harry would not
see well enough to oppose. And there was nothing particularly Slytherin
about a talent for Potions, though it would make Snape grind his teeth
to see such a talent go to waste.

Forcing Harry back onto the Quidditch team and into the company of his
Housemates would increase his Slytherin tendencies. It had worked last
year.

And that would help Snape win the bet.

Harry bit his lip. It was obvious he wasn't happy, but he slowly nodded.
``All right, then. And you'll keep the secret that I'm a Parselmouth,
and you'll let me fly at night.''

Snape nodded back. ``I am not surprised that you need to fly at night,''
he added delicately, as he turned away. ``Fighting what you truly are
surely requires a good deal of effort on your part.''

He could feel Harry's eyes on his back, but he didn't turn around. He
also resisted the temptation to put a spring in his walk until he was
around the corridor.

He was winning. He would plant doubts in Harry's mind and draw him back
to his own Slytherin qualities with stratagems too subtle to resist. The
direct approach did not work with Harry. It had to be the indirect one.
He would win the bet with Black, and put one over on two men he hated.

\emph{And the boy is a Parselmouth.}

Snape could not restrain a shiver that he told himself was more
excitement than fear. The Dark Lord had been a Parselmouth as well,
true.

\emph{But this simply marks the boy as Slytherin---beyond all question,
Slytherin. When he finally takes his place as the Boy-Who-Lived, he will
be} ours. \emph{No one will dare call him a Gryffindor then.}

\chapter{Like A Gryffindor}\label{chapter-5-like-a-gryffindor}

``\emph{How could you let him do that to you?}''

Harry shook his head and closed his eyes as he leaned on the wall of the
common room. There were two seventh-years asleep on one of the couches,
drooling on each other. He hoped they didn't wake up. He didn't think he
could explain the broom in his hand, nor the snake hissing questions
from his shoulder, nor the swimming confusion in his own head.

How \emph{had} Snape caught him? Why hadn't Harry come up with some way
to resist Snape's insinuations?

``\emph{I know,}'' Sylarana announced, making Harry jump.

``How?'' he asked, once again checking the seventh-years. They didn't
look any closer to waking up. Harry relaxed a bit. He preferred the
moments when he didn't have to worry about whether he was speaking
English or Parseltongue.

``\emph{You aren't sleeping well enough.}''

Harry blinked at nothing, then shook his head and made for his bedroom,
despite the fact that he would have to stop talking to Sylarana aloud
when he reached it. Blaise was a light sleeper, and Draco would probably
attempt to ask him where he'd been, unless he gave up in disgust as he
had the last few nights. Harry knew his friendship with the Malfoy heir
was dissolving. He was pleased.

\emph{I} am \emph{pleased}, he thought. \emph{Just not happy. And I
don't want to have this conversation with Sylarana.}

``\emph{Think about it,}'' she said, poking her head out from under his
sleeve to look up at him. Her eyes actually shone in the dim light of
the common room, which Harry found unnerving. ``\emph{You spend your
dreams staring at dark figures who do nothing interesting, or talking to
the equally boring Tom Riddle. Then you wake up and you fly, or you
practice spells, or you talk to me.}''

``I'd be happy to stop talking to you,'' Harry muttered as he reached
his door. He touched it lightly with his fingertips, but didn't open it
yet. He did want to say these next words aloud, for emphasis. ``And I
need the flying. It's the only thing that's keeping me---grounded for
right now.'' He pushed the door open.

\emph{An interesting way of putting it,} Sylarana said, her voice
retreating into his mind as she sank into his skin. \emph{I know you're
happy when you fly. And that is why you will join the Quidditch team.
Then you will be happier, and you will sleep better, and I will not have
to spend all my time talking you away from a precipice. And there will
be flying. I like flying, but not when you are so tired that you are
like this.}

``I'm not tired,'' Harry whispered as he made his way between the beds,
ignoring the risk of waking someone up. Vince and Greg's rumbling snores
said they weren't going to wake, and Blaise and Draco had the curtains
on their beds drawn. ``I'll be fine. These weeks are hard, but I knew
they would be. I just have to keep going until I can---''

``Until you can what, Harry?''

Harry nearly leaped out of his robes. Draco's curtains were open after
all, just on the side next to Harry's bed instead of Blaise's. He had
his wand out, with a \emph{Lumos} spell glowing steadily on the end, and
he was staring at Harry.

Harry shrugged at him and shrank the broom with a tap of his wand. Then
he reached for his trunk. He would put on his pyjamas, and lie on the
bed, and close his eyes. Eventually, he would sleep. If Tom Riddle was
there, he would deal with him. Sylarana was silly to worry.

\emph{If you're going to be all stupid and silly, then you should have
let me bite him,} Sylarana sulked. \emph{Then he couldn't tell anyone
that you speak to serpents. Though I don't understand why you wouldn't
want to tell anyone. They would all be charmed to find out that such a
beautiful snake deigns to talk to you.}

``No, Harry.''

Harry looked up. Draco had gripped his arm where it rested on the trunk.
His face was slightly flushed, his hair mussed. Harry supposed he'd been
sleeping before he heard the door open.

As he had for the past three weeks whenever Draco tried to cajole a
response out of him, Harry fixed his eyes on a point past Draco's left
shoulder and waited with a bored expression for him to give up.

The force of Draco's punch sent him reeling back, crashing through his
curtains and sitting down on his own bed. Sylarana hissed in agitation,
and Harry put one hand down on his arm, hoping to calm her.

\emph{It's not that bad,} he said, lifting his other hand to feel his
face. And it wasn't. One cheek was bruised, and he'd probably have a
faint black eye, but the hexes had been worse. He could bear far worse
pain. It only took an effort of will.

\emph{You are only saying that because you are stupid and silly with
lack of sleep,} Sylarana said, but at least she wasn't slithering down
his arm anymore.

``We're having this out now, Harry,'' said Draco, and climbed into the
bed beside him. Before Harry could object, he drew the curtains, then
cast a Silencing Charm and another one Harry didn't know, but which
caused a pink tracing of light in the air that he recognized from Malfoy
Manor. Some kind of ward, then, he surmised as Draco turned to face him.

``No one is going to bother us,'' said Draco. ``And you're not going to
sleep until you answer me.''

Harry shrugged and stared at the curtains. He could wait.

\emph{No, you can't,} said Sylarana sharply. \emph{Answer him, so you
can go to sleep, and I can go to sleep, and we can stop all this
nonsense. It is making my scales dull.} She paused suggestively.
\emph{Biting an annoying pureblood wizard might put the shine back on
them.}

Harry sighed and met Draco's eyes. Snape had ordered him to make up his
friendships, after all. The trick would be doing it on the outside while
leaving the core hollow. ``What do you want, Draco?'' he asked.

``I want to know what the \emph{fuck} is going on,'' said Draco, his voice
all the more impressive for being low, level, almost conversational. He
moved his wand so that Harry could see only his face, all piercing gray
eyes and set jaw. ``I want to know why the \emph{fuck} you're ignoring me
and acting like a---like a Gryffindor. I was your friend all last year,
Harry. We spent Christmas together.'' He paused, then said, wielding the
words like a whip, ``You accepted a life debt from me. That creates a
bond between wizards. I deserve an answer.''

Harry winced. He had hoped that Draco would not bring that up. He
hadn't, so far. It was considered bad manners to mention a life debt
once the one under it had fulfilled his obligations.

And then, as if borne on the singing of a phoenix, the answer came to
him.

Here was a way out of Snape's blackmail, and to grow closer to Connor at
the same time. He had been deceiving Draco about the real causes of his
sudden uninterest in him---which was something a Slytherin would do, and
something he had sworn he would stop doing. And he had concealed his
Parseltongue talent, too, and that would give Snape something else to
hold over him.

\emph{He thinks I'm like a Gryffindor?} Harry smiled, and saw from the
blink and the sudden mild falter in Draco's face that said he didn't
know what was happening. That didn't matter, as Harry was about to
explain it to him. \emph{Then I'll behave like one. I should have from
the beginning. I said that I would, and I didn't. I fell right back into
Slytherin lying, Slytherin deception, Slytherin manipulation.}

\emph{Time to show who I really am.}

``You're right, Draco,'' Harry said calmly. ``I should have told you
from the beginning what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.'' He met Draco's
eyes. He could do it more easily now that the wand, and thus the
\emph{Lumos} spell, had drifted a bit away from Draco's face in his
befuddlement. ``I'm sorry. Will you accept my apology?'' He held out his
hand.

Draco clasped it, still staring at him. Harry shrugged, feeling innocent
and free of burdens, almost ready to laugh. Was this how Gryffindors
felt all the time, when they acted with clean consciences? He envied
them more than he ever had, if so.

\emph{That's the lack of sleep talking,} Sylarana informed him
haughtily. \emph{Their mascot is not a snake. Therefore, they are
deprived, not blessed.}

``So. Why?'' Draco asked.

Harry realized he had sat in silence for a moment, and Draco might think
he was going back on his resolve to tell him. He hastened ahead. ``I want
to be closer to Connor. I don't really want to be a Slytherin. I'm tired
of having my brother think that I'm a Dark wizard, that I don't support
him or that I'm going to wake up one morning and say \emph{Avada
Kedavra} to him. My duty is to protect him, Draco. It always was.'' That
last was a risk, since he had promised their mother to keep \emph{that}
secret---there were too many people outside the family who wouldn't
understand the importance of Harry's mission and might try to stop him
from doing it---but Draco knew that, or could guess it, from having seen
what Harry had done last year.

Draco's face went ashen, and then pink with anger. Harry nodded. He had
expected this. It would be much easier, and in the end much less painful
for the both of them, if he let Draco's rage sever their friendship.

``If Connor thinks you're Dark, that's his bloody problem,'' Draco said,
leaning close enough that Harry felt spittle hit his cheek. Sylarana
made a prim comment from under his jumper that Harry didn't bother
paying attention to. ``I \emph{know} you're not, Harry. And I \emph{know}
that you're a Slytherin. And I don't \emph{care} that you want to
protect him more than you want anything else. You're not losing me as a
friend, Harry.''

Harry blinked. Somehow, acting like a Gryffindor wasn't going the way he
had planned.

``But, Draco,'' he said, ``it's not fair to you. Don't you see? You
shouldn't have a friend who thinks of you as second best to his brother.
You should have an equal friendship. Besides,'' he added gently,
stirring in a truth he had learned last year, ``I know that you're
mostly fascinated with my magic, for whatever reason, and maybe with how
a Potter ended up in Slytherin. You'll get bored of that someday. It's
not enough to build a friendship on. I'm surprised you haven't got tired
of me already, that this matters to you so much.''

Draco sat there for a moment, chest heaving. Harry had the impression he
was trying to speak, and that anger was stifling his words.

``Has it occurred to you,'' he finally said, sounding the most like his
father that Harry had ever heard him, ``that your two statements there
are contradictory?''

Harry shook his head. ``No, they aren't---''

``Yes, they are.'' Draco was holding Harry's arm, luckily not the one
that cradled Sylarana, hard enough to hurt. Now he shook it, sending
vibrations all the way up to Harry's shoulder. ``If you think I'm only
fascinated with you, that I don't like you at all, you shouldn't care
about my feelings. They'd be only the rantings of a spoiled child who's
had his favorite toy taken away. And you do care how I feel. You care
that your tie to Connor might put me second best.'' He tilted his head
like a hawk, or his eagle-owl, and made Harry feel transparent with the
way he stared at him. ``That means I matter to you, Harry. That was all
I wanted to know. I'm staying your friend.''

Harry shifted his hand to intertwine his fingers with Draco's. ``It's
not fair to you,'' he said.

``I'll choose what's fair,'' said Draco. ``And I think fair is your
apologizing to the rest of our House, and---and doing whatever you have
to do to prove that you're some kind of bloody Gryffindor-Slytherin
hybrid, whatever you are. It doesn't matter. I \emph{know} you're
Slytherin, so your little missteps along the path to reality don't
concern me.'' He smiled. It wasn't quite like any smile Harry had seen
from him before. ``You're being honest with me, telling me that Connor
matters more to you than I do. I know that. I accept that. I'm still
here. And Connor means more to you than the whole bloody world does, so
I'm hardly in a unique position.'' He leaned back, smiling easily, not
letting go of Harry's hand. ``Besides,'' he added, ``I want to be there
when you wake up to the fact that you're a Slytherin, and that Connor
might not be the most important thing in the world after all. Should
cause a big fucking bang, shouldn't it?'' Now he looked like a child
anticipating sweets for Christmas.

Harry stared steadily at him. ``That's never going to happen, Draco.''

``Yes, it will.''

``No, it won't.''

``Yes, it will.''

``No, it w---'' Harry cut himself off. He was acting like a child, in
Merlin's name. He sighed. ``I'm tired,'' he admitted.

``I know,'' said Draco, and didn't let go of his hand. ``You're always
creeping about at night. What do you do?''

Harry started to tell him, but ended up yawning. Draco let go of his
hand at once, and nodded to him. ``I'll let you sleep. But I expect some
answers in the morning, Harry Bloody Potter.''

He released his ward and his Charm on the curtains, and slipped off to
his own bed, leaving Harry to blink at the ceiling of the four-poster.
Then he shook his head, and went to slip into his pyjamas.

\emph{I can sense what you're going to do tomorrow,} said Sylarana.
\emph{I heartily approve. It is time that you stopped letting these
silly children with their even sillier fears control you.}

\emph{Snape's not a child,} Harry felt compelled to point out.

\emph{He's an idiot. Let me bite him.}

\emph{No.}

Harry kept up that steady argument until he managed to reach his bed and
fall asleep. He felt Sylarana's presence slithering into his mind. He
waited, in that brief half-moment of consciousness, for the nightmare
dark figures, or Tom Riddle.

Neither came. For once, he slept soundly.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry leaned in through the doors of the Great Hall and checked the
House tables one more time. He nodded to himself. He didn't think every
student was there yet, since it was only halfway through breakfast, but
the tables hummed with noise and there were few empty places.
Conscientious students and early risers would be leaving soon. Even
better, all the professors were there, including Sirius. This was the
best chance he'd have.

He strode in, and made his way towards the middle of the room instead of
towards the Slytherin table. More and more people turned to watch him as
he went, and the buzz of conversation died a bit, then altered. Most of
the people who were talking about him seemed puzzled.

\emph{You don't have long to wait,} Harry promised them, and halted in
the dead center of the Great Hall, between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff
tables. He turned to face Connor, who was staring at him with his mouth
half-open, full of food. Harry smiled despite himself. His brother was
being disgusting.

His brother was a twelve-year-old boy.

His brother was the Boy-Who-Lived, and he deserved to know some things
about Harry now.

``Good morning,'' Harry started. His voice hushed most of the
conversations in an instant, and now everyone was staring at him
goggle-eyed. Harry stiffened his muscles against the pressure of a
thousand eyes and carried on. ``I'm glad that you're all here, since I
would have hated to make this announcement to just one person.''

He looked straight at Connor and extended his arm. \emph{Are you ready,
Sylarana?}

\emph{They are all going to get to admire me?} she asked, with a
languorous slide to the last few words.

\emph{They are.}

\emph{Then I am ready.}

She slithered out of his sleeve and coiled about his wrist, showing
herself off to dazzling advantage; the Great Hall's ceiling mimicked the
sunny day outside, and beamed off her scales. There came gasps from the
people nearest Harry. He couldn't tell if they were gasps of wonder or
fear. Most likely both, though he thought the latter emotion would come
from Sylarana being a snake. He doubted that many of the students knew
what a Locusta was.

He darted a glance at the staff table, and saw from the dropped jaws and
staring eyes that most of the professors did indeed recognize a Locusta,
and had no idea what was happening.

Harry couldn't take the chance that one of them would interrupt him, but
he did manage to savor Snape's thunderstruck expression for a moment
before he turned back to his brother. He was breathing slightly faster
now, a consequence of all the people staring at him, but he knew he
could bear it. He would have to. This was for Connor.

``Connor,'' he said softly, deliberately not looking at Sylarana so that
he could speak in English, ``I'm a Parselmouth. I only found out a few
months ago. I kept it from you because I thought you would think I was a
Dark wizard, and I didn't want to hurt you that way. Now I'm admitting
it. I'm sorry. Keeping that from you wasn't really Gryffindor.''

He sank to one knee on the floor and bowed his head, the old gesture of
surrender to a power greater than one's own. Sylarana, obviously
concerned that people couldn't see her now, twined up until she crowned
his head, her tongue flicking out and tasting the air. A low murmur of
fear was rising from the students.

Harry glanced at the tip of her tail, which hung past his nose.
``Sylarana, don't attack,'' he said.

The gasps increased tenfold, and Harry knew he'd said the words in
Parseltongue. He closed his eyes and waited.

He'd chosen this. He couldn't let Snape have control over him. He
couldn't run anymore from what he really was. He had to be brave, to
face consequences, to do what he did for other people and not for
himself. That was what Gryffindors did.

It would be easier if they weren't \emph{staring} so hard. Harry
clenched his fists and fought to stay calm. The long-repeated words of
his vows were pushing against him, insistent now.

\emph{To never compete with him, never show him up, and never let anyone
else know that I'm so close to him. To be ordinary, so that he can be
extraordinary.}

He was in the middle of the Great Hall, with all the students standing
on tiptoe to get a better look at him. He'd just revealed that he
carried a dangerous Dark gift, one that Voldemort had had most famously.
He'd addressed his words to his twin, but drawn attention to himself.

There was a maelstrom of shrieking voices in his head, blending with the
faster and faster beat of his heart and his breath, until he was close
to hyperventilating.

\emph{You can't draw attention to yourself. You're doing it. Why are you
doing it?}

Harry fought with his training. He'd already broken the letter of his
vows to preserve their spirit when he told Draco about protecting
Connor. He could do this, because it was temporary, and only in the
service of a higher good, and it would be over soon. He could do this.
He could \emph{do} this.

\emph{You're not a real Gryffindor, not if you feel afraid.}

He held still. \emph{No}, he answered that particular claim.
\emph{You're a Gryffindor if you feel afraid and still don't run away,
and do what needs to be done.}

He heard a wild hiss, and felt the hex coming at Sylarana. He threw up a
hand and called \emph{Protego} around him, wandless, his lips barely
shaping the word. The Shield Charm deflected whatever spell it had been.
Someone cried out, and then the rest of the Great Hall was in motion,
its tableau broken.

Harry looked up. The students were shoving back from their tables, some
running to the door, some drawing wands---most especially the sixth- and
seventh-year students---and some standing frozen as if they thought
Sylarana couldn't see them if they were motionless. The professors were
coming around the staff table, walking hastily towards them. Snape had
his wand out, and Sirius's teeth were fixed in a snarl, and Professor
McGonagall was shouting something stern about foolish boys who brought
dangerous snakes into Hogwarts.

Harry glanced back at his twin, the only one who mattered. Connor looked
frozen.

``Stop.''

The voice spread out over the Great Hall like a sea of calm, powerful,
lapping them all in its embrace. Harry found himself breathing more
easily. The pressure of the stares no longer seemed as disorienting as
before.

``\emph{What is he doing in your head?}'' Sylarana said. ``\emph{I don't
like him there.}'' There was the feeling of a scuffle, as though someone
had bounced a stone off the inside of his skull, and Harry winced.

Then the calm faded, and he threw himself to his feet, gasping, wanting
nothing so much as to get out of everybody's sight and hide in the
shadows---

``Harry.''

Harry glanced up, eyes wide, to see Headmaster Dumbledore in front of
him. Dumbledore had one hand extended, touching but not beaching the
Shielding Charm. His eyes were calm, and wise, and very blue. Harry
realized then who the source of the powerful voice had been.

He didn't understand why the tranquility had left him, though. He tried
to put his hands behind his back so that the Headmaster wouldn't see
them shaking, but they betrayed him. Dumbledore gave him a keen glance
and seemed to understand.

``Everyone, calm down,'' he said, and the noise in the Great Hall
diminished by half. ``I will take young Mr. Potter to my office and
discuss this matter with him further.'' He turned and nodded to Connor.
``And you, Mr. Potter, please come along as well.''

Harry sagged, relief washing over him like the tide. Connor stood up and
hurried forward, as though Dumbledore's statement were the final answer
he was waiting for. He enveloped Harry in a tight hug, and Harry let the
\emph{Protego} fade, his arms shaking as he clutched Connor back.

``\emph{You may do that, since everyone has admired me,}'' said Sylarana.
``\emph{And I threw the other one out of your head.}'' She twined through
his hair in a small victory dance.

Harry swallowed. The mere thought that Sylarana was so deeply embedded
in his thoughts that she could throw off Dumbledore's influence---

``Boys?''

Harry looked up. Dumbledore stood near the entrance of the Great Hall
now, motioning them along. He did look back at the staff table, though,
and the professors standing frozen near it.

``Severus, if you would excuse the boys from your Potions class this
morning?'' he asked. There was a strength to his tone that Harry knew
made it an order, and not a request.

Snape nodded. ``Of course, Headmaster.'' He turned away, but not before
giving Harry a quite vicious final glance.

Harry didn't care. Connor's arms were around him. Connor was whispering
into his ear.

``I don't care that you're a Parselmouth. I don't care. It took courage
for you to do that. Oh, Harry, you're a Gryffindor after all!''

\emph{No, I'm not,} Harry wanted to say. \emph{I manipulated this. I set
this all up. I would have just found you and told you alone, except that
I wanted everyone to know so that they couldn't hate me if they found
out later. I made myself the center of attention. Why do I never notice
that I'm acting like a Slytherin until it's too late?}

He didn't say that aloud, though. That, he was too much of a coward to
do. He let Connor escort him with an arm around his shoulders, and they
followed the Headmaster to his office.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Sit down, boys. Would you like a sweet?''

Connor accepted eagerly, though without taking his arm from around
Harry's shoulders. Harry shook his head in numb negation. He was still
staring straight ahead, trying to reconcile what he'd done to what he'd
\emph{thought} he was doing.

Sylarana was no help, hissing on his arm and commenting on her own
appearance and how she couldn't go back to sleep yet, Connor had his
lump of an arm on her favorite resting place. She wouldn't bite anyone
for the next little while, though. Harry knew that.

Dumbledore sat down behind his desk, after conducting an odd argument
entirely in whistles with one of the small silver instruments he kept on
the wall. He folded his hands and beamed at them. Harry lowered his
head, unsure if he should meet the Headmaster's eyes. He didn't need to
distract himself by looking around the office. He'd been here before, at
the end of last year, after Connor defeated Voldemort. He knew what it
looked like.

``Well, young Harry,'' Dumbledore said cheerfully, ``you've caused quite
a stir.''

Harry winced. ``I know, sir. I'm sorry, sir.''

``Nothing to be sorry for,'' said Connor fiercely, and gave him a
one-armed hug. ``I'm glad you told me. I'm glad you told \emph{all} of
them. They can think you're a Dark wizard, but I can say that my twin
never lies to me!''

Harry swallowed.

``There is the matter, of course,'' said Dumbledore in a considering
voice, ``of your being a Parselmouth. And having a Locusta on school
property, Harry. She \emph{is} quite a dangerous pet, my boy. I would
not advise keeping her.''

``I know,'' Harry whispered. ``But she keeps threatening to bite people
if I don't keep her. And---well, sir, she was on school property last
year, too. She told me that she came from the Forbidden Forest.''

``Really?'' Dumbledore chuckled. ``I am amazed that Hagrid never
discovered her, then. He would admire you,'' he added to Sylarana, in an
aside. ``He has a deep admiration for the dangerous and beautiful
magical creatures of our world.''

\emph{I like him,} Sylarana hissed sleepily. \emph{Sometimes. But he
still should not have been in your head. It's mine.} She curled up and
dropped off to sleep.

``So you will keep her, then,'' said Dumbledore, nodding. ``I really see
no way to part her from you without killing her, and I am told that a
Parselmouth can control a Locusta better than anyone alive.'' He reached
out and tapped another of the small silver instruments hanging on the
wall. Harry felt a faint buzzing start in his teeth. ``Nevertheless, I
will ask you to submit to a ward-setting, Harry. This insures that your
little snake can never get too far from you without an alarm sounding in
my office, which will alert me at once, and a cage coming down on her.
That will be all right?''

Harry nodded. ``Of course, sir. But won't the parents of the other
students complain?''

``Undoubtedly,'' said Dumbledore. He chortled. ``But they have been
complaining about various things as long as I have been Headmaster. I am
sure they will keep complaining when I am in my grave and another
Headmaster sits in Hogwarts. It is a reality of our lives'' He popped a
sweet into his mouth and chewed it gravely. Harry wondered if he ever
really stopped smiling.

He turned abruptly to Connor. ``Mr. Potter, had you truly suspected your
brother of being a Dark wizard?''

Connor flushed. Harry glared at Dumbledore. \emph{Why does he have to
put him on the spot like that?}

``I---well, ah, I don't know,'' Connor hedged, looking sideways at
Harry. ``He's in Slytherin, and he has a temper, and he's powerful, and
Sirius said---''

Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed. ``Unfortunately, Sirius Black is
no more willing to let childhood grudges go than---various other members
of our staff,'' he murmured. ``A fine man, an even finer Gryffindor, but
he does have his limitations.''

He leaned forward, his eyes open once more. Harry felt Connor wince, and
wished he knew of a way to distract Dumbledore's attention, short of
suggesting that Sylarana attack him.

``It is important that you understand this, Mr. Potter,'' Dumbledore
said, his words grave and slow. ``The survival of the wizarding world
depends on unity. It was our fragmentation that allowed Lord Voldemort
to attack us in the last war, the distrust that set pureblood against
Muggleborn, the Ministry against its own Aurors, and---'' He paused for
only a moment. ``Peter Pettigrew against your parents.''

Connor flinched again. Harry had to stifle a growl. \emph{Must he bring
up Connor's most painful memories?}

Dumbledore touched a hand to his temple as though it hurt, briefly, then
pulled it away. ``In our school,'' he said, ``unity is represented by the
Houses. Most students think in terms of their own House. Few look
outside them. And, in \emph{some} cases, the rivalries linger even when
one has left Hogwarts.''

``It will be up to you to change that, Mr. Potter.''

``Me?'' Connor squeaked. He sounded terrified.

Dumbledore nodded. ``Yes. You must learn to see the good in Slytherins,
in Ravenclaws, and in Hufflepuffs as well as Gryffindors.''

Connor bit his lip and plucked at his robes with his free hand.
``But---some of them \emph{are} Dark wizards, Headmaster.''

``Yes,'' Dumbledore acknowledged. ``That is very true, Mr. Potter. But
your own twin is a Slytherin who acts like a Gryffindor. He has had you
as an example all his life, and that may be---I think it is---why he is
so different.'' His gaze slid sideways to Harry again, who felt pinned
in turn. ``Imagine,'' Dumbledore said softly, ``what could be, Mr.
Potter, once you take your rightful position in the fight against
Voldemort. Imagine whom you might inspire to turn to the Light.''

Connor was silent for a long time. Harry waited, no longer sure what to
feel. Maybe it was for the best that Dumbledore had done this, since
neither Harry nor their mother would have had the heart to slam the
truth so fiercely at Connor.

Finally, Connor said, in a heavy, reluctant tone, ``I'll think about it,
Headmaster. But I don't know how to inspire anyone yet.''

``Young Harry can show you,'' said Dumbledore, and smiled again. ``He
knows well your influence in his life, don't you, Harry?''

``I do,'' Harry said, and turned to Connor. ``You gave me the courage to
do what I did today. You're the most important thing in the world to me,
Connor. I love you, and I promise you, you can do this.''

Connor just stared at him for a moment. Then his eyes filled with tears,
and he grabbed Harry and crushed him into a hug, stirring a protest from
Sylarana.

``That is all I wanted to talk to you boys about,'' said Dumbledore, and
this time he had a smile for both of them. ``From here, you must find
your own paths forward at least a short part of the time. But remember:
do not hesitate to come to me for advice.'' He nodded to Connor. ``You
are in a unique position, Mr. Potter. It is understandable that you will
have troubles. But you are never alone.'' He cast Harry a single oblique
glance.

``Thank you, Headmaster,'' Connor whispered. ``I'll remember that.''

He steered Harry gently from the room then. Harry, in love and in pride
and in relief that this had turned out so much better than it could
have, went with him.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Dumbledore sighed and sank back in his seat, putting one hand over his
face. Fawkes, the phoenix, gave a questioning trill from his perch, then
flew over and landed on his friend's shoulder when Dumbledore said
nothing. He rubbed his warm head on the old wizard's cheek until a hand
rose to stroke him.

\emph{Sacrifices,} Dumbledore was thinking as he gazed at the closed
door of his office. \emph{We all make sacrifices, for the sake of
lifting the burden from those who cannot bear it.}

He was thinking of a young Gryffindor marked with a heart-shaped scar,
and a young Slytherin with the Dark Mark branded on his arm swearing
that he would turn against Voldemort and be loyal to the Light, and a
young Slytherin with the heart of a Gryffindor.

And another Gryffindor, whom Dumbledore had watched, and pondered upon,
and finally, against his will, chosen and explained a problem to. And
that Gryffindor had made a sacrifice that still echoed down the years
and troubled his mind to think of.

\emph{It was willing,} Dumbledore thought, gently caressing Fawkes's
glorious plumage. \emph{It was made with eyes open, with clear heart,
with full knowledge of the choices.}

That was the only thing that let him sleep at night.

\emph{Harry's sacrifice is the same way.}

But when he'd seen the boy kneeling in the center of the Great Hall, a
snake twined around his head, it hadn't felt that way. He was only
twelve years old.

With a heavy heart and a heavier conscience, Albus Dumbledore turned
back to his work of making decisions that no one else was prepared to.
There was another wizard he must speak to, about choices and sacrifices
and how he could help the Light, given that he was in a unique position
to do so.

\chapter{Moons and Wouldbe Stars}\label{chapter-6-moons-and-wouldbe-stars}

``Do you think he'll use the snake to cheat on exams?''

``No, I bet he uses it to plot the deaths of innocent people!''

``No, I bet he uses her to help him\ldots{}'' And Harry couldn't hear
the last word, as the sentence trailed off in a burst of laughter.

Harry kept his eyes forward and his feet moving. He had known this would
happen when he revealed that he was a Parselmouth. He had \emph{known}.
And he'd done it anyway. At least he had practice ignoring this kind of
thing from the first three weeks of school, when he'd done his best to
ignore his Housemates.

``I could hex them,'' Draco, walking beside him, offered in a low voice.

``\emph{All} of them?'' Harry asked dryly. They were passing a group of
fourth-year Ravenclaws, who hooted loudly and hailed the ``Snake
Prince.'' Harry fought the impulse to hunch his shoulders. ``Then you'll
have three-quarters of the school reeling around with boils on their
noses and legs locked together. And you'd land us in detention
besides.''

``We could do it,'' said a voice behind him.

Harry turned and glanced at Marcus Flint. The older Slytherin's eyes
were burning, and he had his wand drawn. He hadn't fired any hexes at
anyone yet, but from the look on his face, it was only a matter of time.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of Flint, nor the rest of Slytherin
House. He'd annoyed them by ignoring them the first few weeks, and by
not retaliating when they jinxed him. But since the moment he revealed
he was a Parselmouth, they seemed to have closed ranks around him,
determined to protect him as one of their own.

Harry enjoyed it, while trying not to, mostly because it puzzled him. He
was sure it had to end soon, when their annoyance at him outweighed
their pride that there was someone with Slytherin's talent in their
House. Or when he told Flint that he had a Nimbus 2001 broom. Flint knew
he \emph{was} planning to play on the Quidditch team. He didn't know
about the broom yet.

\emph{There hasn't been a right time to tell him,} Harry defended
himself.

``\emph{Of course there hasn't,}'' said Sylarana. Since his show in the
Great Hall, she'd taken to hissing aloud more and more often, not caring
if anyone heard her. Draco, as always, tried to peer under Harry's
sleeve at her; he never seemed to understand that a Locusta was both
highly dangerous and highly unpredictable. ``\emph{Keep telling yourself
that, if it makes you feel better.}''

Harry didn't respond. He didn't feel like arguing in his head, and
speaking with Sylarana in Parseltongue in the halls made him feel
self-conscious. The other Slytherins had assured him they didn't mind.
That only made Harry mind more.

They walked past two older Ravenclaw students, who half-turned towards
Harry and smirked at him. ``Maybe he keeps the snake on his pillow,''
one of them whispered, voice low and vicious. ``\emph{There's} some
pillow talk.''

``He's touched in the head,'' said the other one, and snorted. ``Thinking
he can control that beast at \emph{all.} I bet the snake's just waiting
until a certain point in the year, and then she's going to devour
everyone in the school.''

The return laughter had a nasty edge that made Harry more concerned than
usual. Joking about him was one thing. Spreading rumors that Sylarana
wanted to hurt the students might result in them trying to take her
away, and that \emph{would} result in someone getting hurt.

``I don't think he's mad,'' said a small, calm voice. ``If you can talk
to a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, I don't see why you can't talk to a
snake.''

Harry blinked. The Ravenclaw students reversed towards the sound of the
voice so fast that he was left staring at their backs. They had someone
cornered against the wall, he thought, someone small enough that he
couldn't see anything of---her?---over them.

``Loony, Loony Lovegood,'' said the first student, the one who'd
mentioned pillow talk, in a voice with an even nastier edge than he'd
used to talk about Harry. ``You're not the best witness to someone's
sanity, are you? You and your Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and your radish
earrings---''

Harry edged back, gently pushing aside Draco and a few third-year
Slytherins who were bristling to strike back at the Ravenclaws. He could
see between the two students now, and they'd edged a small girl towards
the wall, a girl who seemed all straggling blonde hair and enormous eyes
behind equally large glasses. She did indeed have radish earrings,
dangling low enough to brush her shoulders. She blinked at the older
students, even when one of them reached out and snatched her wand from
behind her ear.

``You shouldn't keep it there, Loony,'' he said in a lecturing tone.
``You could blow your own ear off.''

The girl nodded. ``Yes, that's true,'' she said. ``Thank you for the
advice.'' She held her hand out. ``I'll keep it behind my left ear in
the future.''

The student who held her wand laughed. Harry growled softly. He didn't
\emph{like} that laughter, which was of the same kind that Ron and
Connor had used towards Hermione last year before they became her
friends.

``I'm not giving this back to you, Loony,'' said the Ravenclaw boy.
``I'll keep it safer than someone who believes in Hellpaths or whatever
you call them.''

``\emph{He}-lio-path,'' said the girl, carefully enunciating each
syllable. ``And it's true that they exist. Just not often in Britain.
But the Ministry keeps an army of them. They don't want you to find out,
of course. It's all very hush-hush.'' She turned and looked at Harry,
suddenly, disconcertingly, through the same gap he was using to look at
her. ``But brave people put the truth forward, even if they're not
believed.''

Harry decided at that point that he'd had about enough, and called his
own magic. ``Give her back her wand,'' he said.

The Ravenclaw boys blinked and looked at him. Harry had the feeling that
they'd forgotten all about him, that the girl was their more favored
target.

\emph{So they tease her this often?}

That irritated Harry. It was one thing for them to tease him;
Parseltongue was a Dark talent, and he'd put himself forward, as the
girl said. But all she'd done was defend him, and, apparently, talk
about creatures that didn't exist and wear radishes as earrings. Those
weren't enough to justify this kind of teasing. And she looked to be a
first-year, so she couldn't have built up any long-standing grudges.

``Why should we, Snake Prince?'' the one holding the girl's wand asked,
grinning like a fool. ``We just want to keep herself from doing harm.
You can't trust these mad witches. Quite mad, her mother,'' he added,
raising his voice to the students who had stopped and were watching the
growing fight. ``Destroyed herself in an experiment.''

``Yes, she did,'' said the girl calmly. ``I was there. I saw it
happen.'' She paused. ``I miss her sometimes.''

Harry felt sick. He couldn't imagine losing a member of his family like
that. And for the boys to use that to \emph{tease} her\ldots{}

And she'd defended him.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boys and whispered a spell he'd never
tried wandless before. ``\emph{Apis Occaeco.}''

The Ravenclaw holding the wand shrieked and abruptly dropped it,
clutching his hand. Harry nodded. The Invisible Bees hex was a mild one,
but it did cause a sharp, stinging pain in the center of the hands, and
that was worth it. Harry scooped up the wand swiftly and turned back to
the girl.

``Thank you,'' she said gravely, taking the wand from him and tucking it
behind her left ear. ``My name is Luna Lovegood. What's yours?''

Harry blinked. ``You were standing up for me, and you didn't even know my
name?''

``We haven't been properly introduced,'' said Luna, and extended a hand.

Harry shook it, ignoring the stares he could feel behind him. ``Harry
Potter,'' he said. ``Pleased to meet you.''

``I am going to \emph{mess you up},'' snarled a voice behind him, and then
the Ravenclaw not whimpering over his stung hand grabbed Harry on the
shoulder and swung him around.

Harry met his eyes and thought of Sylarana. When he parted his lips, he
knew the words came out in a hiss. ``Can you come out of my sleeve and
just coil on my wrist, not attacking them? I only want to remind them of
you.''

``\emph{There is an audience?}''

``There is.''

``\emph{I am coming.}''

Sylarana poked her head out of his sleeve and coiled on his wrist, in a
perfectly lazy motion that Harry had to admire. She opened her mouth in
an imitation of a human yawn, tongue flicking around her transparent
fangs.

The Ravenclaw who'd been ready to beat Harry up had gone dead white.
``Don't let her hurt me,'' he whimpered, shrinking away from Harry.
``Please don't let her hurt me.''

``Oh, she's not going to hurt you,'' said Flint, who had his wand
trained on the Ravenclaw, ``because I'm going to hurt you first.''

``No, me,'' said Draco, and cast the Jelly-Legs Jinx. The Ravenclaw
student sagged to the floor, half-screaming, as if Sylarana had already
bitten him.

``\emph{Stop this at once!}''

Harry winced as Professor McGonagall rounded the corner and bore down on
them. Only Dumbledore would have been worse. The Head of Gryffindor
House had her lips clamped together so hard that it was a wonder that
she hadn't bitten through them. Her wand was out, and with a sweep, she
ended both Draco's jinx and the Invisible Bees hex. Her eyes traveled
through them all in the sudden silence, fell on Harry's face, and
narrowed.

``Mr. Potter,'' she said.

``\emph{Professor McGonagall},'' said Sylarana, her intonation a
near-perfect mimicry of the woman's voice.

Harry had never been more glad that there wasn't another Parselmouth at
the school. ``Professor,'' he acknowledged, dipping his head, and waited
to be given detention or have points taken away. Probably both.

``What happened?''

Harry blinked for a moment, then remembered the one good consequence to
Professor McGonagall catching them. Unlike Snape, the Head of Gryffindor
House was scrupulously fair. She would listen to all sides, and since
there were no Gryffindors involved here, she wouldn't be personally
prejudiced---

Except that he \emph{was} a Slytherin, and a Parselmouth.

Harry shrugged. He would have to accept what she chose to give him, in
that case.

``I heard these two Ravenclaws speaking some of the gossip that's spread
around the school in the wake of my announcement, ma'am,'' he said,
gesturing at the boys. ``Then Luna defended me, and they turned on her,
teased her, and took away her wand. I interfered, and asked my snake to
defend me. One of them didn't like me, and tried to attack me. Draco
cast the Jelly-Legs Jinx. Then you appeared.''

McGonagall's eyes narrowed further. ``But you didn't use magic?''

``I didn't have my wand out, ma'am,'' Harry started, since he knew he
could get away with that much. He'd reveal his ability to use wandless
magic if he had to, but he preferred not to.

``And second-year students can't cast magic without a wand,'' said
Flint, intruding. He didn't even flinch when McGonagall's glare came
down on him---well, not much. ``Everyone knows that, Professor. None of
us saw Harry draw his wand. We'll all swear to that.'' His face was the
picture of innocence.

McGonagall sighed, then murmured, ``Well, that is certainly true,'' and
stabbed Harry with a glare. ``Why did you interfere, Mr. Potter?''

Harry blinked. ``They were \emph{teasing} her,'' he said. ``She didn't
deserve it.''

McGonagall glanced at Luna. ``And this is true, Ms. Lovegood?''

``On my honor as a future trainer of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks,'' said
Luna with perfect gravity, ``it is.''

McGonagall nodded briskly. ``Very well. Forty points from Slytherin, Mr.
Malfoy, for using magic on a fellow student, and a week's detention to
be served with me.''

Harry waited for Draco to object. He didn't. He simply looked smug.
Harry didn't understand \emph{that}, and resolved to ask him about it
later.

McGonagall turned abruptly on the Ravenclaws. ``Forty points from
Ravenclaw for fighting in the corridors,'' she said. ``Twenty points from
Ravenclaw for harassing a student younger than you are. You should be
\emph{ashamed} of yourselves, Mr. Gorgon, Mr. Jones. Casting aspersions
on a student in your own House?'' She shook her head in clear disgust,
while Gorgon and Jones gaped at her.

Harry had just let his breath out when she turned to him. ``Mr.
Potter.''

Harry tensed, expecting points off from Slytherin for lying or fighting
or calling his snake out to defend him. ``Yes, Professor?''

McGonagall glanced at Luna, at him, and at the Ravenclaws. ``Fifty
points to Slytherin for showing that House loyalty is not the only thing
that matters,'' she said. ``And for defending a student younger than
yourself.'' She had a funny sort of smile on her face when she looked
back at him, one that just made Harry blink at her. ``Now, Mr. Potter,
if you do not wish to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts, I
suggest that you hurry.'' She turned and swept away up the corridor.

There was a long, stunned silence, and then Flint said, in the voice of
someone trying not to question a miracle lest it turn out to vanish when
looked at too hard, ``That means we came out ten points on top.
McGonagall? \emph{She} just gave ten points to Slytherin?''

``She gave ten points to \emph{Harry},'' said Draco, and nudged Harry with
one elbow. ``I think that's important.''

``You'll pay for this, Potter,'' said one of the Ravenclaws---Gorgon,
Harry thought---as they backed away. ``I know you used magic.'' He held
up his red, puffy hand accusingly.

``Come here and say that,'' said Harry, and Sylarana stirred menacingly.
Gorgon and Jones swallowed and hurried away.

Harry turned towards Luna. ``Thank you,'' he said. ``For defending me
earlier, and with Professor McGonagall.''

Luna simply nodded solemnly at him. ``Parselmouths aren't evil,'' she
said. ``Wrackspurt-speakers, now they could be evil, because they would
set Wrackspurts on people and make their brains go fuzzy.''

Harry blinked. He hadn't ever heard of Wrackspurts. But since Luna
didn't seem to think there was anything unusual about what she was
saying, he decided that he wouldn't think it, either.

``Thanks,'' he repeated, and went on his way to Defense, the Slytherins
chattering around him. A glance back showed Luna marching determinedly
down the corridor, wand tucked behind her left ear, alone.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Why did you look so smug to have detention?'' Harry whispered to Draco
as soon as they were seated in Defense. Lockhart hadn't arrived yet,
which made Harry happy. When he was in the room, it was hard to
concentrate on anything but how much of a fool he was, and he wanted to
hear Draco's answer.

Draco hummed under his breath, and went on about setting his books on
the edge of the desk. Harry eyed them in resigned distaste. They were
doing \emph{Adventures with Acromantulas} this week. He had already read
more about what Lockhart ate for dinner each night in the remote
villages he traveled to than he had ever needed to know.

But he shook the thoughts away as he realized that Draco had his chin on
one hand and was simply studying him, a bright smile on his face.
``Well?'' Harry asked. ``It's not like McGonagall makes detentions
fun.'' Harry had never heard that she did, even for her Gryffindors,
according to Connor. It mostly consisted of writing lines or scrubbing
things without magic. Connor had seemed aggrieved that McGonagall wasn't
at least a bit fairer to her own House. Harry had to admire her for it,
in a perverse way. McGonagall was consistent, and principled, and
unbending, and never let anyone around her forget it.

``I know,'' said Draco. ``But I protected you.'' He sounded as delighted
as though his mother had sent him a whole box of chocolates from home,
something she did about once a week.

Harry blinked. ``I don't understand.''

``I protected you,'' said Draco. ``It was the first chance I've had
since you announced you were a Parselmouth---the first time it's come to
drawn wands instead of stupid insults that a Slytherin could do ten
times better.'' He gave a little wriggle of something Harry thought was
more delight. ``I've wanted to do that, Harry,'' he finished. ``I know
that you don't think of me as a very close friend yet. But friends
protect each other. So I did.''

Harry sighed, but found himself smiling. Something like that
\emph{would} be Draco's reason.

Of course, his good mood was ruined in the next instant when Lockhart
swept in, beaming at them. Harry comforted himself with the thought that
at least the Defense professor's teeth were not as blindingly white as
they could have been. A progressive \emph{Obscurus} placed on his smile
and hair had been Harry's revenge when he saw Lockhart once again urging
Connor to appear in pictures with him. The smile and the hair would both
grow a little dimmer every day. Harry hoped to be there when Lockhart
first started peering into the mirror, thinking his hair was turning
gray or his teeth yellow.

For now, though, the Defense professor was as annoying as ever. He swept
up to the front of the room and clapped his hands. ``Who knows what
today is?'' he asked brightly.

``Your birthday,'' said Pansy Parkinson from behind Harry, sounding
dreamy. Harry cast her a disgusted look, and was just in time to see
Millicent Bulstrode, with an even more disgusted look, elbow Pansy in
the ribs.

``Act like a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake!'' the bigger girl whispered.
``Stop drooling over him!''

Lockhart went on before Pansy could retaliate. ``My birthday, yes,
excellent. Ten points to Slytherin.'' Pansy beamed. Draco made discreet
gagging sounds beside Harry, and Harry was inclined to agree. ``And that
means,'' Lockhart announced, ``that each of you has my permission to
practice what spells you wish until the end of class, at which time you
can present me with the gifts you used the spells to make!''

He grinned at them, the perfect, polished smile that was on the copy of
\emph{Witch Weekly} that Pansy kept with her at all times. Harry could
see the darkness haunting his front teeth. He kept his thoughts on that
and not on the chaos that could result from a class of second-year
Ravenclaws and Slytherins flinging around spells as he drew his wand.

``Is he barking, or just bloody stupid?'' whispered Draco next to him.

``Bloody stupid, I think,'' Harry whispered back, and shook his head.
Lockhart \emph{was} stupid, and it was a waste. Defense Against the Dark
Arts was the most important class at Hogwarts, to Harry's way of
thinking. The students \emph{had} to learn how to defend themselves
against curses and Dark creatures, or they would be helpless when
Voldemort returned.

For now, though, he could content himself with thinking about the
``gift'' he would create for Lockhart. He closed his eyes for a long
moment, then smiled and opened them. The best way of doing this would
have been via a potion, but since he didn't have any potion ingredients
here, he would do the best he could to approximate them with spells. He
thought he could do it.

``What are you making?'' Draco said, as he swished his wand and
Transfigured a piece of paper into a slightly larger piece of paper.
``I'm going to make something simple and pretend that it's something
complicated and very ancient and pureblooded. The idiot won't know the
difference.''

``Watch,'' said Harry, and performed his own Transfiguration, turning
one of Sylarana's scales into a sticky orange paste. Draco raised his
eyebrows and started to ask a question, but Harry warmed the paste and
stirred it in quick succession, then made it float into the air and
twist around itself. He could feel his magic almost purring with
happiness at the use, and shook his head. Sometimes he got very strange
ideas about his own magic, and they seemed to be more frequent than
usual since the summer.

He smoothed out the paste, and then glanced around for a container.
Lockhart had an empty jar on his desk that he'd used to contain Cornish
Pixies on the first day of class. Harry raised his hand demurely.

``Sir?''

Lockhart turned to him. ``Yes, Mr. Potter?''

``Could I borrow that jar from you?'' Harry asked, lowering his eyes.
``I need a container for my gift, and it would be an honor to touch
something you've touched.''

Looking positively delighted, Lockhart said, ``Certainly, Harry,'' and
tried to levitate the jar towards him. He mispronounced the Charm, and
the jar shot up to the ceiling and nearly cracked, before Harry took
control of it and floated it towards him. Lockhart chuckled. ``I don't
know my own strength, sometimes!''

\emph{What is that, one multiplied by the power of idiocy?} Harry
thought, and grabbed the jar, directing the orange paste into it. He
cast a final spell, a simple one that turned the orange color to gold
and made it look irresistibly beautiful. Harry held the jar solemnly out
to Lockhart.

``Happy birthday, Professor,'' he said.

``Why, thank you, Mr. Potter,'' said Lockhart, and took the jar from
him. ``What a surprise.'' He looked at the golden paste for a moment,
then frowned, as though he hated having to admit this. ``Er---what is
it?''

``A paste to help you take care of your skin and hair, Professor,'' said
Harry earnestly. ``I noticed that you were looking just a \emph{bit}
peaky at breakfast this morning. I hope this helps.''

Lockhart turned faintly green. ``Peaky? Really? Thank you, Mr. Potter. I
will certainly apply it.'' He walked back to his desk, already dipping a
finger in the paste and smoothing it over his right cheek.

Harry turned at a tap on his right arm. ``Really?'' Draco whispered,
staring at him.

``Of course not,'' Harry said, taking care to keep his voice low.
Lockhart probably wouldn't hear him, but there were plenty of people in
the classroom who would take offense and hex Harry for daring to play a
prank on him. ``It'll make his hair shine brighter for a week, then turn
his skin orange.''

Draco's eyes widened, and he began to laugh. Harry smiled at him and
leaned back on the table, ready to be pleasantly bored until the end of
class as he watched Lockhart apply the paste liberally.

A mutter behind him warned him, but didn't give him \emph{quite} warning
enough. A voice that wasn't Slytherin said, ``He hexed Gorgon! I
\emph{know} he did.''

``This ought to teach him, then,'' said another voice, and Harry turned
in time to see a brilliant green spell flying towards him. He panicked
for a moment. He didn't think that he could get up a Shielding Charm in
time, and he definitely didn't want to raise one in front of everyone.
The students could think it was a professor who'd done it in the middle
of the Great Hall, but here?

\emph{Let me}.

Harry's body vibrated with the force of that voice, and the world in
front of him warped and spun. He saw colors dragging against each other,
turning into sunburned smears. He watched his own hand move in a lazy
gesture, and the green hex turned red and flew back towards the
Ravenclaw who'd cast it. He felt distant, detached, as though he hadn't
done that. And he hadn't, not really.

Harry heard soft laughter in his head, and then Sylarana's agitated
hiss. The next moment, the colors in the room stopped blurring, and he
was back to normal, staggering, as the world appeared to begin again.
Sylarana was visible, dancing on his wrist and lashing at nothing, as
though she could bite whoever had spoken the words to Harry and laughed.

Draco grabbed his shoulder and stared into his face. ``Harry? Are you
all right?''

Harry nodded shakily. He still couldn't believe what he thought he'd
seen. How could he have turned a hex red, particularly when he didn't
know what it was?

``He hurt Margaret!''

Harry looked up swiftly, his heart pounding. A Ravenclaw girl,
presumably the one who'd thrown the spell at him in the first place, was
lying on the ground. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and she had a
mark like a handprint on her right cheek. The handprint spread as Harry
watched, turning the whole of her face red. Margaret whimpered softly in
her sleep.

``There, there,'' said Lockhart, rushing over, his own face half-gold.
``Bound to be accidents with these spells flying all over the place,
yes? I really should have asked you to make small gifts for me, not
special ones. Just take---er---Margaret to the hospital wing,
Miss---er---''

``Turtledove,'' sobbed the girl crouching beside Margaret. She shot
Harry a look of sheerest hatred. ``Professor Lockhart, aren't you going
to do anything to punish him? What did he \emph{do} to her?''

``Er, well, I don't know,'' said Lockhart, and turned to Harry,
attempting to look brave and heroic and failing miserably. ``What did
you do to her, Mr. Potter?''

``I don't know,'' Harry whispered. ``I saw her spell flying towards
me---''

``She didn't cast a spell!'' Turtledove interrupted hotly.

``Yes, she did,'' said Millicent, leaning forward from the seat behind
Harry. ``I saw it. Harry deflected it. I don't think he meant to hurt
her, but that's what happened.'' She shrugged. ``She shouldn't have been
playing around with spells like that in class. None of us should have.''
She cast Lockhart a pointed glance that he missed entirely.

``So it was just a case of dangerous magic meeting dangerous magic,
then,'' Lockhart said, brightening. ``So, please escort Margaret to the
hospital wing, Miss, er, Turtleshell, and I'm sure she'll get better.''

The Turtledove girl and three of her classmates helped carry Margaret
out of the room. Harry could feel them glaring at him. He shook his
head. He hoped that Luna wouldn't suffer from her Housemates turning
their anger back on her.

And he hoped that \emph{he} wouldn't suffer anything like that again. He
touched his forehead and shivered. Then he paused. There was a specific
pain in his head, and it was coming from his scar. He brushed his
fingers over it, then flinched. It \emph{burned}. He wondered that he
hadn't noticed it before.

\emph{I felt him!} Sylarana hissed in his head.

\emph{Who?} Harry asked. He thought the last thing anyone needed now was
to hear him hissing aloud in Parseltongue.

\emph{The one who visits you at night! Tom Riddle!} Sylarana twined
around in circles. \emph{I don't know what he did. He was---there, for a
moment, and you weren't. Then I pushed him out, or he left, I don't know
which.} Harry had never heard her sound so worried.

Harry let out a breath, and glanced up when Draco touched his arm.
``What happened, Harry?'' he whispered.

``I don't know,'' Harry said back, watching as Lockhart moved up to the
front of the room to daub the golden paste on his cheeks again. The joke
seemed hollow now. ``But I don't think it was anything I want to
experience again.''

``We'll fight it together, then,'' said Draco, and looped an arm through
Harry's.

\emph{Yes, we will,} said Sylarana, and now she sounded grimmer than she
ever had.

Harry closed his eyes. \emph{If---whatever that was---happens again,
does that mean I'm a danger to Connor?}

He decided quickly that that wasn't the kind of decision he could make
on his own. Nor could Sylarana or Draco, from lack of knowledge. But
there was someone whom Harry needed to talk to who might know, who'd
grown up around Dark magic and then fought it as an Auror.

\emph{After lunch,} he decided. \emph{I'll go and talk to Sirius then.}

\chapter{Lessons In Courage}\label{chapter-7-lessons-in-courage}

Harry slipped rapidly down the second floor hallway to the office that
Dumbledore had given Sirius. He had abandoned lunch early, which had
made Sylarana protest and Draco, stuck in a conversation with Blaise,
scowl at him, but Connor and Ron hadn't been at lunch, either. Harry now
had an extra urgency to his need to speak with Sirius. If they were in
trouble\ldots{}

He heard Ron's voice coming from the half-open office door, and relaxed.
They were well, then. It seemed that he hadn't been the only one who had
decided to seek out his godfather.

``---slimy Slytherin!'' said Ron's voice emphatically, just as Harry
reached the office door.

Harry froze. Then he leaned gently against the wall and cocked his head
so that he could see in around the door itself, heart pounding hard.

Sirius's office was the usual mess it had been since he moved in,
crowded with photographs of himself and Harry, himself and Connor, the
entire Potter family, Remus, the Potters' wedding, and some of his
innumerable girlfriends. His own broom and motorbike stood in the far
corner, accompanied by a school broom that Harry thought Sirius was
checking over for jinxes. Gryffindor banners, or pieces of cloth
Transfigured to look like them, hung jauntily from every available hook.
Sirius's desk in the middle was buried under an accumulated load of
paper, covered by a prominent Quidditch schedule with each Gryffindor
match marked in red and gold ink.

And there were three chairs, now pulled into a triangle. Sirius sat in
one of them, face like a thundercloud. Connor perched on the edge of
another, almost vibrating with what Harry recognized as a mixture of
anxiety and anger. Ron paced up and down in front of them, his back to
the door so that Harry couldn't see his face.

\emph{Perhaps now isn't the best time,} Harry thought.

\emph{You're eavesdropping}, said Sylarana quite mildly.

\emph{I know,} Harry snapped back. \emph{Shut up.}

She just chuckled at him, which was an unexpected reaction. Harry went
back to listening.

``He's not going to get away with this,'' said Sirius, voice like a
growl. ``The Ministry has \emph{no} reason to sack your father, Ron, and
surely not over something as mild as an altercation with Lucius Malfoy
in a bookshop.''

Ron spun around again, and Harry could see that his face had turned
almost entirely red, obscuring his freckles. ``But what if they do?'' he
whispered. ``Dad's always told me that Lucius Malfoy had tons of friends
in the Ministry, and now---''

``Not nearly as many since he was a Death Eater,'' said Sirius, and
snorted. ``Oh, yes, he has influence---every pureblooded wizard with
money has a hold over that bastard Fudge---but that doesn't mean so much
when anyone can look at his left arm and see the Dark Mark.'' He paused
for a long moment, then, and a sly smile began to grow on his face.

``What is it, Sirius?'' Connor had an echo of the same smile in his
voice. He knew what it meant, almost as well as Harry did. Ron just
looked from one to the other with a bewildered expression on his face.

Sirius coughed a bit. ``Well, Malfoy's gone out of his slimy way to make
this look all proper and legal, right?'' he asked.

Ron nodded. ``Advocates and everything! But---'' He flinched and hunched
his shoulders. ``Well, my family can't respond as well because\ldots{}''
His voice trailed off into a mumble.

Kindly, Harry thought, Sirius didn't refer to Ron's poverty. ``I know,''
he said. ``So what you need is another pureblooded wizard with money to
fight for you.''

Ron just blinked, but Connor leaped up and threw his arms around Sirius.
``Sirius,'' he whispered. ``You would? You \emph{really} would?''

Sirius messed up Connor's hair, affection in that gesture that made
Harry smile a little, despite the way that the news of Lucius Malfoy
going after Arthur Weasley had wound up his nerves. ``Of course, brat,''
he said. ``I still have my contacts in the Ministry, and I have a Black
fortune lying around and not being used very often. Did you think I was
going to spend it \emph{all} on gifts for irresponsible godsons?''

Connor grinned at him. Ron caught on. ``Oh, sir, no one would expect you
to---''

Sirius held up a hand. ``I know. I want to. It's not going to cost me
anything I can't afford, Ron.'' His eyes narrowed, and he grinned in
that way that always made Harry expect to see a tongue loll out of his
mouth. ``And I'll enjoy putting paid to that bastard Malfoy. I don't
trust him any more than I trust Snivellus. Once a Slytherin, always a
Slytherin. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.''

Connor paled and fell silent for a moment. Then he said, in a low,
troubled voice, ``Sirius, do you think that's true of Harry?''

Harry swallowed.

\emph{They are ten motions of my body away from me,} said Sylarana
thoughtfully. \emph{I could bite both of them before the ward would
descend and cage me. Just say the word.}

Harry pushed his angry refusal at her, and waited to hear what Sirius
would say. The longer his godfather waited, the more tense he got.
Sirius stared into space for long moments, then sighed and swiped a hand
through his hair.

``I don't know, Connor, honestly,'' he said, shaking his head. ``He's my
godson, and a great kid. I always thought he studied a little too much.
But I would never have said he was evil.''

``But?'' Connor asked, pressing forward. Ron was listening intently,
too, Harry noticed. Ron had been at least a slight problem in his
interactions with Connor since he and Connor became friends. He accepted
Harry right now, but he would be glad to turn on him if Sirius said so.

``But he's a Parselmouth,'' said Sirius. ``And he's made up with the
Slytherins again even after he openly proclaimed his devotion to you,
which I don't understand.''

\emph{That was them, not me!} Harry thought.

``I see,'' mumbled Connor, looking stricken.

``I'll never abandon him, of course,'' said Sirius, reaching out and
giving Connor a rough shake and then a hug. ``I've got the bet with
Snape to win, haven't I? But I don't like that he waited so long before
telling us he was a Parselmouth. It makes me uneasy around him.'' He
blew out a sigh. ``I'm still fighting for Harry, Connor, but it's going
to be more of a battle than I thought.''

Harry closed his eyes. He fought the temptation to walk away. He knew,
now, that Sirius wouldn't take the news of what had happened in Defense
Against the Dark Arts well. Harry would have to explain about the diary,
and Tom, and what in the world he had thought he was \emph{doing},
keeping it all concealed. It would be so much simpler to scurry off.

\emph{So do it,} Sylarana urged him. \emph{I can help you fight Tom when
he appears again.}

Harry shook his head slowly. He had meant to be Gryffindor, he
\emph{was} meant to be Gryffindor, and if that was so, then that meant
facing his fears. He'd done it once in the Great Hall, but that didn't
mean that he got to stop doing it.

He knocked on the door.

There was a brief, startled silence, and then Sirius called, ``Come
in.''

Harry poked his head around the door, and was greeted with a variety of
expressions: surprise, relief, worry, antagonism. Harry swallowed.
``Sirius, can I talk to you in private?'' he asked, darting a glance at
Connor.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. ``Why, Harry?''

Harry let out a little breath. ``Something happened to me today.
Something Dark. Something Slytherin, I think.''

Sirius sat back in his chair, considering him. Then he shook his head.
``I think that it's time for the first of the lessons in Gryffindor
qualities I promised you, Harry,'' he said gently, but with a tone of
steel in the back of his voice. ``I'm sure that you can talk about this
in front of Connor and Ron. We can trust them not to spread it any
further, can't we?'' His eyes lingered pointedly on Ron, who, Harry
remembered, had had a tendency to blurt out some of his friends' secrets
last year.

A bit of the red returning to his face, Ron nodded. Connor was already
nodding, his hazel eyes going wide with fear as they fixed on Harry.

``Tell me now,'' Sirius said gently.

Harry told them the story of the diary, the nightmares of the two dark
figures, the dreams of Tom Riddle, and ended with what had happened in
Defense Against the Dark Arts earlier. He forced all the emotion out of
his voice, and kept his tone equally bloodless. His eyes fixed on a
point on the wall above Sirius's head, so that he didn't have to watch
all the changes of his godfather's expressions.

Finally, when he was finished, Sirius whispered, ``Oh, Harry.''

Harry turned slowly to face him. He couldn't tell what emotion
predominated in his godfather's eyes---there were too many---and he
didn't dare look at Ron or Connor. He nodded. ``I think that I'm being
possessed,'' he whispered. ``But I can't figure out how. I haven't
studied the diary in weeks.''

``But you kept it?'' Sirius pounced on that.

``I didn't know what else to do with it,'' said Harry, shaking his head.
``It didn't seem that dangerous---''

``I think it is.'' Sirius stood up and came forward, kneeling down in
front of him. Harry actually relaxed a bit again when he saw the look in
his eyes. This was the way that Lily sometimes looked when she explained
some facet of the adult world he didn't know about yet to him.
``Anything that can cause dreams and possession like this is dangerous.
Go and get the diary, Harry. I need to see it. There are a few spells I
know about that you don't which I can perform on the diary to test for
any hint of Dark magic.''

Harry nodded and turned towards the Slytherin dungeons. He could hear
talk break out again behind him, but this time he didn't stay to listen
to it. He had had no right to listen to the first conversation.

He lengthened his strides, rubbing at his scar, which had begun to burn
faintly again. Then he heard a startled hiss from Sylarana.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry opened his eyes slowly, carefully. It felt as though they'd been
gummed together by sleep for a long time. His head hurt. He glanced
around and didn't understand what he saw. He was lying in a bed in the
hospital wing, with Madam Pomfrey standing not far away and talking to
Sirius in a low, urgent voice.

``Sirius?'' he said. His voice croaked. Harry shuddered. He sounded as
though he'd spent hours screaming.

Sirius burst past the matron, ignoring her shocked cry, and knelt beside
Harry's bed. He clasped Harry's right hand in his and reached up to
brush back his fringe. He sucked in his breath.

Harry winced. Apparently his scar gave some sign of the intense pain he
was feeling.

``It's changed color,'' Sirius whispered.

``What has?'' Madam Pomfrey bustled up behind him, her hands on her
hips. ``If you are suggesting that the pain Mr. Potter sustained came
from a bump on the head, then I am afraid I must---''

``No, his scar,'' Sirius whispered. ``It's red. Why is it?''

``I'm sure \emph{I} don't know,'' Madam Pomfrey said. ``Now if you will
clear out of the way so that I can run a few scans, Sirius\ldots{}''

Sirius backed off, though he didn't stop holding Harry's hand. His
worried gaze warmed something inside of Harry that he hadn't been aware
was frozen. He closed his eyes and moved his left arm carefully, to feel
the weight of Sylarana. He was surprised she hadn't commented yet.

She wasn't there.

He opened his eyes and started to ask, but Madam Pomfrey began chanting
her spells then, and he felt obliged to lie still and be quiet. He
didn't recognize any of the spells, but tried his best to shut the
syllables away in his head so that he could remember them. Medical magic
would come in useful if he ever had to heal Connor's wounds.

The matron sighed and stepped away from his bed at last, lowering her
wand. ``Nothing is physically wrong with him,'' she said. ``There is no
bump on the back of his head, no concussion, no broken bones.''

``I don't understand,'' Harry said, and winced at the sound of his
voice. ``What happened?''

``What is the last thing you remember, Mr. Potter?'' Madam Pomfrey
asked, her voice softening a bit as she stared into his face.

Harry shook his head. ``Not much. That I was on my way back to the
dungeons to fetch a book Sirius wanted to look at, and then---then
Sylarana hissed---'' He stared at his empty left arm again. ``Where is
she?''

``Right here, my dear boy.''

Harry turned his head and breathed a sigh of relief. Dumbledore had come
into the room, holding a glass cage in his hands. Sylarana wriggled
inside it, hissing furiously. Dumbledore placed the cage gently on the
bed and opened it.

``Headmaster, that is not wise---'' Madam Pomfrey began, her voice
shrill.

Sylarana shot away from the cage as though it were charmed to sting her
and slithered up Harry's chest, coiling around his neck. She was
demanding, ``\emph{Where did you go? I couldn't find you. I couldn't}
feel \emph{you. Where did you go}?''

``I don't know,'' Harry said, and saw from the minute flinches of the
adults that he'd spoken Parseltongue. He sighed and turned back towards
them, making sure to keep Sylarana out of his range of vision. ``I don't
know what happened,'' he said. ``But we'd both like to know. Tell us,
please?''

``It's disturbing, the way he refers to that snake,'' Sirius muttered.

Dumbledore ignored him and nodded slowly, his eyes less clear than they
had been the last time Harry had seen him. ``The ward in my office went
off when your Locusta got a certain distance from you, my dear boy---or
perhaps I should say, when you got a certain distance from her. When I
went to fetch her, my way led me past a certain broom closet on the
second floor. You were lying outside it, unconscious.'' He paused,
staring intently at Harry. ``You truly remember nothing of what
happened?''

Harry shook his head, dazed. ``But Sylarana should be able to tell
us---''

``\emph{I can't,}'' she insisted. ``\emph{You put me down and told me to
leave you alone. And the memories aren't in your head. They're gone.}''

``What's there instead?'' Harry asked, turning towards her and not
caring if he did hiss.

``\emph{Nothing. A hole.}'' Sylarana tightened the hold of her tail around
his neck a bit. ``\emph{It was disturbing.}''

``But no sign of Tom Riddle?''

``\emph{Nothing,}'' said Sylarana. ``\emph{I can't feel him anymore.}'' She
paused a long moment, then added reluctantly, ``\emph{Perhaps he grew
frightened at the dog's suggestion that we examine his first home and
fled.}''

Harry let out a slow breath. So that was one danger averted, then---the
main one, that Tom Riddle would possess him again and let fly a
dangerous spell of some sort at Connor or another student. He let the
tension in his stomach relax, and looked up to meet Dumbledore's
questioning gaze.

``I had a presence in my head, sir,'' he said steadily. ``Possessing me.
A young man with dark hair, who said that he'd come from a certain book
I acquired from---'' He faltered. Could he betray Draco's father like
that?

``From?'' Dumbledore prodded gently, his eyes like daggers.

Harry shook his head. ``I picked it up in Flourish and Blotts,'' he
said. ``I didn't know there was anything wrong with it at first, but
then Tom started talking to me---''

``Tom.'' Dumbledore's eyes widened the slightest bit. ``Tom Riddle?''

Harry blinked. ``Yes, sir. How did you know? Did Sirius mention it?'' He
flicked a glance at his godfather, but Sirius, though he still clutched
Harry's hand, was watching Dumbledore with as much bewilderment Harry
himself had showed.

Dumbledore sighed. ``I am afraid that I have good, though unhappy,
reason to think of that name first when I hear of any Tom,'' he said.
``And no, your godfather did not mention it to me.'' He paused for a
long, long moment, and then said, ``Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort's name
when he was a student at Hogwarts, Harry.''

Harry clenched his hands so that his fingernails dug into his palms. His
skin crawled as if it had dirt on it.

\emph{Voldemort.} He'd had \emph{Voldemort} in his head.
\emph{Voldemort} could have gotten out and hurt \emph{Connor}.

He could have made \emph{Harry} hurt Connor.

Harry was shaking. He leaned to the side, and Madam Pomfrey gave a sharp
exclamation and waved her wand once, moving a basin over to the side of
the bed for him just as he threw up.

Sylarana, meanwhile, was hissing like a dragon disturbed on her nest.
``\emph{The degraded one who forced the snake to obey his commands? The
one you fought last year? He could have controlled me. He was trying. I
am glad he is gone.}'' And then her tail tightened enough to force Harry
to pay a bit of attention, if only because she was choking off his air.
``\emph{You are not dirty.}''

Harry rubbed a hand over his mouth and gave a weak nod to Madam Pomfrey
in thanks, wishing he could agree with Sylarana. He did feel dirty,
still, and horrified in a way that had nothing to do with the mere
presence of possession. It had been \emph{Voldemort.} The primary threat
in Connor's life, the one he was supposed to protect Connor from.

And he would have made Harry into a traitor.

Guilt and self-loathing were unfurling in the middle of his chest, and
would eat him alive if they could. Harry took a deep breath and put
them, carefully, into the secret box of his thoughts, the one where he
pressed all his complaints and the occasional unfairness or jealousy he
thought he experienced around Connor. The box had been holding things
like that since he was five years old. It was bottomless. Harry thought
it could hold a bit more.

``No one was hurt?'' he whispered. ``What about Margaret, the girl I hit
with the hex earlier?''

``She's awake now,'' said Madam Pomfrey firmly, ``and back in Ravenclaw
Tower. Quite honestly, Mr. Potter, it was only a simple variation on an
old spell. Beyond the skill of our Defense Against the Dark Arts
professor to reverse, of course---'' her voice went acid on those words
``---but not impossible for someone trained in medical magic.''

Harry nodded, his resolve to learn medical magic only growing stronger.

``Do give Professor Lockhart a chance, Poppy,'' Dumbledore chided the
matron gently. Madam Pomfrey only snorted. Dumbledore turned and met
Harry's eyes, his own expression thoughtful.

``Mr. Potter,'' he said, ``I know that what I am about to ask of you is
unusual, but I feel that I have no choice.''

Harry nodded, his heartbeat spiking. Sylarana just uttered a hiss that
was either wordless, all anger, or some obscene curse word that Harry
didn't know the translation for.

``I am afraid that I must ask you not to tell your brother, nor anyone
else, about your possession by Tom Riddle,'' Dumbledore said quietly.
``Or, at least, not that Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort,'' he added,
perhaps seeing a shadow in Harry's eyes. ``Young Connor already knows
about the possession itself, I take it?''

Harry nodded. ``And so does Ron Weasley. They've both promised to keep
it quiet, Headmaster,'' he said. ``They \emph{promised.}''

``I did not think they would break their words, Harry,'' Dumbledore said
gently. ``But it is extremely important that no one else find out. I am
afraid that it would mean your expulsion from the school. There are
parents, as you know, frightened by the mere mention of His name. To
find that a student had come into possession of an artifact to which a
shred of his soul, or a memory of him, clung\ldots{} they would demand
your expulsion, and I am afraid many of the teachers would join them.''

Harry swallowed. ``Why aren't you \emph{pushing} to expel me, sir? For
that matter, why didn't you do it after I revealed that---that I can
speak with serpents?''

Dumbledore reached out and gently patted his head. Harry shivered. There
was a weight to the older wizard's hand, a feeling of immense strength
and power and sorrow, and he was the only person besides their mother
Harry had ever met who didn't muss his hair further.

``Because there is no law that says a Parselmouth cannot attend
Hogwarts,'' said Dumbledore. ``That would be rather hypocritical of us,
when one of our Founders was a Parselmouth himself. And I have known
many of Voldemort's victims.'' For a moment, his eyes flicked sideways
to the door, and then came back to the bed. ``I know that you are one of
them, rather than a perpetrator of his evil.''

Harry nodded and closed his eyes.

``Headmaster,'' said a cold voice from the door.

Harry's eyes flew open again, and he turned to see Snape standing there.
The Potions Professor's eyes were fixed on him, of course.

Sylarana started to unwind from his throat.

``No,'' Harry told her firmly. ``Don't bite him.''

``\emph{You don't control me,}'' Sylarana snapped at him.

``Then I'll force you to leave,'' said Harry. ``If nothing I can do
keeps you from biting anyone, then I don't want you around.''

Sylarana hesitated, as though weighing her options, but in the end gave
up and coiled herself around him like a living necklace again, giving
complaints that Harry didn't bother to listen to.

``You have searched, I presume, Severus?'' Dumbledore asked
conversationally.

``I have.'' Snape strode towards the bed with his robes swirling around
him, his gaze still never wavering from Harry. ``There is no sign of the
book within the boy's bedroom.''

Harry closed his eyes. He was so used to feeling terrified now, he
noticed dully, that he barely noticed when a new level of fear piled
atop the rest.

``I feared it would be so,'' Dumbledore said with a sigh. ``I assume
that Harry was possessed one more time and forced to hide the diary, and
then his memories were taken, so that he could tell no one where he had
hidden it.'' He looked at Harry and gave him an encouraging smile. ``But
at least, my dear boy, you are no longer possessed. Where the book goes,
the---presence---must go. He has no foothold within your mind anymore.''

Harry nodded, though he was hardly comforted. What he \emph{had} done
was enough. He had no idea how he would live it down, or make it up to
Connor.

``Who possessed you, Potter?'' Snape sneered.

Harry tensed. Would Dumbledore force him to tell Snape, since the man
was another of Voldemort's victims?

But Dumbledore said only, ``Harry has agreed to tell only a select
number of people, Severus. We, in turn, have agreed not to spread it any
further.'' His gaze went to Madam Pomfrey and Sirius. Sirius nodded at
once, of course, while Madam Pomfrey paled at whatever she saw in the
Headmaster's face and lowered her gaze.

``The boy is in my House,'' said Snape. ``He is in my care. I have a
right to know.'' Harry didn't need to look up to know that Snape would
be watching him again.

``Really?'' Sirius said, with that bark-like laugh. ``In \emph{your}
care? When you didn't even know that he was a Parselmouth, or that he
was being possessed?''

``And did you know those things before he came to school, Black?''
Snape's voice had gone soft and eager. ``Did you know that your
\emph{godson} possesses Salazar's talent? Or that---''

``Severus. Sirius.''

The Headmaster's voice appeared to flash-freeze both men. Harry saw
Sirius bow his head, a flush suffusing his cheeks, and Snape stiffen.
Dumbledore looked from one to the other of them and sighed.

``When grown men cannot put aside their grudges, how shall we persuade
our students to do so?'' he murmured.

Neither of the men said anything. Dumbledore sighed again and looked
back at Harry, his eyes gone quiet.

``I am so sorry this happened to you, my boy,'' he said. ``Nothing like
this should have been able to hurt you at Hogwarts. Please consider
yourself under my personal protection. You may come to me at any time
with any concern that you have.''

Harry nodded. He planned to take the Headmaster up on it if something
else dangerous happened that might concern Connor. He would have to
tighten his vigilance, step up the amount of attention he paid to his
brother. What if Tom Riddle had planned something else, or was lurking
in the shadows? What if someone else found the diary?

Harry did not like to think of what might happen then.

``Headmaster,'' Snape said abruptly, in a voice still cold, but less
provocative than he had used before. ``If I might make a suggestion that
should root out any lingering traces of possession in the boy's mind?''

``Of course, Severus,'' said Dumbledore, sounding surprised and pleased.

``I extend an offer to train our accident-prone Mr. Potter in
Occlumency,'' said Snape. ``Legilimency, as well. At the very least, it
will heal the hurts this possession has left behind. At the best, I may
be able to make sure that the boy learns how to guard his mind against
further intrusions.''

Harry pushed himself back against the pillows, as far as he could
without irritating Sylarana or making Sirius let go of his hand. A
Legilimens! Snape was a Legilimens!

And Harry had trusted him without thought, and even looked him directly
in the eyes too many times to count, his memories burning and flashing
near the surface of his mind. Merlin only knew how much information he'd
let slip directly from his mind into Snape's, information that could
damn Connor.

There was no way that he was letting the Head of Slytherin House look
into his thoughts again, now that he knew.

``No,'' he said firmly.

Snape turned and gazed into Harry's eyes. Harry immediately looked away,
and Sylarana supported him with a stern hiss.

``And why not?'' Snape had lowered his voice. ``Are you afraid of what I
might find, Mr. Potter?''

``Yes,'' said Harry bluntly. ``I am. You hate our father, sir. You have
already proven that.'' He looked back in time to see something flash in
Snape's eyes, and found himself smiling, oddly, bitterly. ``I think
you're only doing this because you want to find memories of a time when
James Potter did something embarrassing and taunt me with them.''

``One might almost think you don't trust me, Mr. Potter,'' said Snape.
Harry did not know what to make of his voice, which was free of
inflection.

``I don't,'' said Harry. ``You know why.'' He met Snape's eyes head-on
and let the memory of taking Veritaserum shimmer on the surface of his
thoughts.

Snape jerked back as if he had been stung, his eyes widening for a
moment. Then they narrowed.

``Nonetheless,'' he said.

``Professor Snape would be an excellent choice, Harry,'' Dumbledore
said, a tone of regret in his voice. ``He knows---certain essential
things about the presence that possessed you already. And he is your
Head of House. He is also an expert Occlumens and will, I am certain,
agree to an oath not to reveal what he finds in your mind to anyone
else, unless compelled to legally.'' He turned and met Snape's eyes.

``I will,'' said Snape, with no hesitation.

``\emph{I won't allow it!}''

Harry yelped as Sirius jumped to his feet, tugging viciously on his arm.
He pulled his hand free, shaking it. Sylarana hissed, but once again
said nothing in the hiss. Harry didn't know what to make of her.

``Harry is \emph{my} godson,'' Sirius snarled, leaning forward. ``He's also
a twelve-year-old boy who's just been possessed, and needs rest and good
food and the company of his friends. You are \emph{not} going to go
poking around in his head, you slimy, greasy-haired, yellow-toothed,
sniveling, \emph{Death Eater}!''

Snape did not smile. He merely watched Sirius with cold disdain, then
turned to Dumbledore. ``Headmaster?''

``We must do what is best for Harry,'' said Dumbledore. ``And I do think
that Severus will be able to help him, Sirius. I will make him agree to
the oath in front of you, if it will---''

Sirius stomped out of the hospital wing. Harry listened to each step he
took out, and closed his eyes, knowing what would happen now.

Dumbledore explained the situation to Snape, softly, and took his oath.
Harry didn't look up the entire time. He was already sinking deep into
himself, reaching for the courage Sirius had wanted him to show today,
and which he would need to defend his twin.

Every movement he made to be Gryffindor only seemed to tug him back
towards being Slytherin. He had to try something else.

It was a shame that he was no longer sure \emph{what} he should try.

``\emph{Sleep},'' said Sylarana forcefully.

Harry sighed. She was right. No one would blame him for going to sleep,
and it might help relax him and give him ideas when he woke in the
morning.

He turned over, made himself comfortable, and let his mind drift into
darkness.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Snape waited until he was back in his office to let his stoic face slip.
Then he drew his wand, conjured a dueling target, and flung hexes at it,
one after another, charring it and melting its limbs, scarring and
chopping it, and finally making it explode. It was a reflex he'd trained
himself into long ago, since throwing things was hardly advisable in a
room full of valuable potions and potions ingredients.

Finally, the initial edge of his mood taken off, he Vanished the target
and the marks he'd made on his walls, and sank into his chair, closing
his eyes.

Two memories burned clear as day in his mind: the night he'd force-fed
Harry Veritaserum, and the words that Dumbledore had spoken as he warned
Snape what he would probably see in Harry's mind.

``\emph{Tom Riddle is here, Severus. And his diary is now missing.}''

Snape knew what it meant. He'd barely let the thought enter his mind,
though, before he shut it away.

Now, he could shut it away no longer.

\emph{The Second War has already begun.}

And Harry Potter was at the center of it, as Snape had suspected he
would be. As recently as a week ago, a day ago, the announcement would
have made him smile. It was only more proof that Harry Potter, and not
his brother, was the Boy-Who-Lived.

Not now. Not when Voldemort had gained such a direct link into Harry's
mind, and Harry had shown, clearly, that he did not trust his own Head
of House to protect him against and help him with such a challenge, and
had not for months.

\emph{I was blind.}

Snape knew he had made mistakes in the past, even great ones, even
horrific ones---sometimes it seemed as though his life had been one long
mistake---but, at the moment, the only one that rivaled losing Harry's
trust and making the bet with Black was the night he had chosen to join
the Death Eaters. And that would come rolling back on him, repercussions
in all their myriad forms, if the Dark Lord returned. Nothing he had
done in the past twelve years to make up for it would matter anymore.

\emph{I will not allow that to happen. Against this, it does not matter
that Harry is James Potter's son or Sirius Black's godson. It matters
that he stands at the center of this.}

\emph{And if I do not help Harry, then the other Houses may blame
Slytherin for His return indeed.}

Snape stood up, letting out a harsh breath, and composed himself. He
would have to teach a class of mingled third-year Hufflepuffs and
Ravenclaws soon, and he had to be ready. It would not do to let the
students see their cool, calm, controlled Potions Professor with rage
and agony in his eyes.

\emph{The Second War has begun,} he thought, addressing the boy in the
hospital wing who could not hear him. \emph{We are both soldiers in it.
You stand not alone.}

\emph{The trouble, of course, will be making you see it.}

\chapter{Interlude: Lily's Letter}\label{chapter-8-interlude-lilys-letter}

\emph{October 7th, 1992}

\noindent Dear Harry:

I have heard from both Sirius and Headmaster Dumbledore that Professor
Snape wants you to take Occlumency lessons with him. Sirius, of course,
urges us to refuse. Headmaster Dumbledore urges us to agree.

I have spoken with your father, and we agree that you should take them.

The reasons for this are complicated, but I will explain them, as I know
that you, of all children, will understand the even deeper reasons that
underlie them.

First, Professor Snape is in a unique position to understand someone,
such as yourself, who might be tempted to turn to the Dark but is loyal
to the Light. He overcame a year of working as a Death Eater to return
to the Headmaster's side, and then served another year as a spy. I
understand that he hates James, and that he might take that hatred out
on you, as he has in the past. But I believe that that instinctive
understanding will compel him to fairness soon enough. Even James cannot
deny---though he would kill himself before admitting admiration of
Severus out loud---that it took courage to acknowledge his mistake and
return.

Second, there is a possibility that Occlumency and Legilimency
themselves will be weapons you will need in the coming war---not only as
shields, but as blades. The Dark Lord, the Headmaster has written me, is
an accomplished Legilimens. His successful possession of even a mind
trained as yours was proves that. If you would use these weapons,
perhaps someday you could not only defend your own thoughts, but pierce
his. This, I need not tell you, would give us an incredible advantage in
learning Voldemort's strategies.

Third, I, too, fear what might happen if the Dark Lord gained control of
such power and talent as you possess, my son---power and talent that is
so much greater than Sirius realizes. It is our fault, of course, and
not his, that he does not know. Still, you know what a disaster it might
be if you turned against your brother.

Please, Harry. For Connor's sake, and for all of ours, I urge you to
accept Professor Snape's teaching.

I love you, my son, and know that you will make the right decision.

\emph{Lily Evans Potter.}

\chapter{What A Tangled Web We Weave}\label{chapter-9-what-a-tangled-web-we-weave}

``Someone's coming,'' rasped a low, urgent voice from ahead.

``Oh, shit, it's \emph{him},'' said someone else, and then the noise of
pounding feet grew stronger. Harry stepped around the corner just in
time to see two taller students hurrying away from him, giving him a
distrustful glance. Harry found it funny until he looked sideways and
saw Luna Lovegood stuck to the wall with some kind of web that looked
like it was made of chewing gum. Pink strands clung to her hair, her
face, and her robes, and twisted her mouth shut.

``Harry!'' Draco scolded as Harry stepped forward. ``What are you doing?
We're going to be late for Potions---''

Harry gave him a look that shut him up entirely. Turning around, Harry
pointed his wand and murmured, ``\emph{Finite Incantatem.}''

The web vanished. Luna dropped to the floor and shook her head, then
stood. Her wand was still behind her left ear, Harry noticed, the long
flow of her hair nearly obscuring it. She gazed at him with solemn eyes.

``Thank you,'' she said. ``But you didn't have to do that, you know.
They were under the control of Wrackspurts.''

``Did they hurt you?'' Harry asked. He didn't think they had, but he'd
never seen that particular hex before, and for all he knew, the web
could have pulled free skin or hair when it vanished.

``No,'' said Luna. ``I think they meant to humiliate me, if you want the
truth. Wrackspurts like making people's minds fuzzy, but they can't
change them. They wouldn't really have hurt me, because they didn't want
to hurt me before the Wrackspurts possessed them.''

Harry wasn't so sure of that, but he let it go. Ignoring Draco's
impatient shifting, he stepped forward and surveyed Luna for a moment.
She tilted her head back so as to see him better; even for a first-year,
she was small. This morning, she wore a necklace of bottle caps as
jewelry. Her face was utterly smooth and calm. Harry had no idea what
she was feeling.

``If anyone hurts you like that again,'' he said, ``and I'm not around,
then I want you to find the nearest Slytherin when you're free. Tell him
or her that you have a message for Harry Potter, and tell them what your
attackers looked like.''

Luna nodded. ``But why?'' she asked.

``What do you mean, why?'' Harry glared up the hall where the older
students had gone. They weren't Gorgon and Jones, he knew. They hadn't
shown that extreme a level of fear. But he was fairly sure they
\emph{had} been Ravenclaws. ``I don't want them hurting you.''

``They want to humiliate me,'' Luna corrected gently, ``not hurt me. I
said that once before.''

Harry took a deep breath. ``Then maybe I want to humiliate them back,''
he said. Draco drew in a breath beside him, but when Harry glanced at
him, the other boy shut his mouth and gave him a pointed look.
\emph{We're going to be late for Potions,} said that gaze, \emph{and you
shouldn't be doing all this anyway, since you just got out of the
hospital wing.} Harry ignored that in turn.

``Do you have a Wrackspurt in your head, too?'' Luna asked.

``Maybe,'' said Harry. ``I don't know. What does a Wrackspurt feel
like?''

``Fuzziness,'' said Luna. ``Not remembering what you're doing. Thinking
odd thoughts, like hurting people.''

Harry tried to smile, though he was afraid it didn't come out exactly
the way he would have liked. ``Why, yes, then. That feels like something
I've been experiencing a lot of lately.''

Draco clutched his arm. ``Are you \emph{blind}?'' he hissed.

``\emph{What he said,}'' said Sylarana. ``\emph{And tell him to kindly take
his hand off me.}''

Harry shook his arm free and watched as Luna drew a clacking necklace
from the pocket of her robe. It had small silver charms on it, including
a horse and a bird that Harry thought was a swan, but also many more
ordinary objects---more bottle caps, sweet wrappers, pierced playing
cards. Luna held it out to him, and nodded solemnly as Harry accepted
it.

``That will protect you from Wrackspurts,'' she said. ``I offered some
to the people who bound me to the wall, but they didn't want one. I
don't know why,'' she added. ``I think the Wrackspurts were confusing
them further.''

``Thank you, Luna,'' said Harry. He put the necklace around his neck.
Draco spluttered, but didn't actually manage to say anything, which was
most gratifying. Harry nodded to Luna. ``I think I can feel the
Wrackspurt fading away already.''

``\emph{No, that's your stupidity coming back,}'' said Sylarana.

``You're welcome,'' said Luna. ``Now, I have to go to class. Someone
might miss me, and then they would think Heliopaths had taken me.'' She
turned around and walked away without a further word.

Harry watched her go with a faint smile, and then Draco grabbed his
arm---luckily, not the one Sylarana was wrapped around---and dragged him
off in the direction of Potions.

``Professor Snape'll be furious with us if we're late,'' he said. ``And
why did you take that necklace, Harry? They're going to think you're as
mad as she is.''

``Some of them already do,'' said Harry softly, tugging the necklace's
string so that it rode higher around his neck. ``Speaking Parseltongue,
fainting in a corridor upstairs\ldots{}''

Draco stopped abruptly and reached out, clasping Harry's shoulders.
Harry looked into his eyes.

``I don't think you're mad, Harry,'' said Draco. ``I think you're
unusual, and always will be.''

Harry smiled slightly. ``Thank you, Draco,'' he said, and stepped around
him. ``Now, as you pointed out, Snape \emph{will} be furious with us if
we're late.'' He started down the corridor, and Draco followed
obediently.

``\emph{Do you like Luna more than me?}'' Sylarana was obviously sulking.

Harry looked down at her head poking out of his sleeve and responded in
what he was sure was Parseltongue. ``Of course not. I would think you
would be happy about my helping her, in fact.''

Sylarana turned her head and fixed him with brilliant green eyes.
``\emph{Why would I be}?''

``Because sometimes I might think you should bite a stupid Ravenclaw,''
Harry pointed out.

Sylarana crooned at him for the rest of the way to Potions, telling him
what a good human she had, such a \emph{smart} human. Harry smiled to
himself. By the time that he found the Ravenclaws hurting Luna, he might
be in a bad enough mood to at least let Sylarana threaten them, and that
would probably content her. He was learning how to manage her now.

His anger tried to return at the thought of older students tormenting a
first-year, at the thought of students hurting someone in their own
House, at the thought of no one \emph{doing} something about it, but he
shoved it away. He was going to be angry enough tonight, after his first
Occlumency lesson with Snape. But he had promised his mother to try to
be as cool and composed as possible. He had to be, for Connor's sake.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Snape raised an eyebrow when Harry and Draco came in just before he
would have closed the classroom doors, but he said nothing---until Harry
turned to take his usual seat beside Neville Longbottom. Then his
eyebrow climbed higher, and he said, ``Up front, Mr. Potter, if you
please. I think that you should partner Mr. Malfoy today.''

Harry saw Neville's face fall out of the corner of his eye. The timid
Gryffindor really wasn't so timid when Harry partnered him. Harry didn't
point out all the obvious mistakes, the way that Hermione did, but tried
his best to let Neville figure them out on his own, only lending help if
he really needed it. That seemed the best way to teach Neville---in
fact, the best way to teach a lot of the more fumble-worthy Potions
students. Harry could only wonder that Snape didn't realize it.

``Are we starting a new potion today, sir?'' Harry asked.

``No, Mr. Potter, we will be continuing our work on the Calming
Draught,'' said Snape, his voice growing a bit sharper.

``Then I would prefer to remain and work with Neville, sir,'' said
Harry, sitting down. Neville beamed at him. Harry smiled back. ``After
all, we started the Calming Draught together, so I think we should
finish it.''

Snape swept forward to stand over him. Harry looked up and met his eyes.
Sylarana hissed softly, and he felt her sink into his skin. Her presence
was in his mind now, and if Snape tried to read his thoughts in the next
few moments, he was going to get a nasty surprise.

Harry had agreed to take the Occlumency lessons, and listened to
Sirius's raging about it, and answered his mother's letter with a calm
and reasoned one of his own, telling her that he understood and accepted
every point she made. But it had been more than a week since his
possession, and he had had that time to think on his own strategies for
learning from Snape while keeping the man from seeing more than he
should. Sylarana was one of those strategies. She was in his mind
anyway, so he would make use of her willingness to be so.

And he would force Snape into the open and make him lose as many minor
battles as he could. It was \emph{important} that Snape know he
distrusted him, and Snape hadn't won over Harry just because Harry would
take private lessons from him. Whatever mad, conceited, Snapeish reason
that the Potions Professor had had for thinking Harry would still trust
him after his use of Veritaserum might possess his thinking again.

\emph{Snape wants honesty, does he?} Harry thought. \emph{He wants me to
open my mind to him? This is a place to start.}

The air grew more and more tense as the Professor stared Harry down.
Harry could see Connor leaning from two rows in front, looking at him.
His face was pale, and so was Ron's. Hermione, who sat at the table in
front of Harry and Neville, was staring at Harry in absolute shock and
horror.

At last, Snape said, ``Perhaps you are right, Mr. Potter. Mr. Zabini,
return to Mr. Malfoy. You may partner Miss Parkinson at another time.''
He turned away and swept back to the front of the room.

Harry let out a small breath and faced Neville again. Neville was
shaking, his head buried in his hands.

``Hey,'' Harry said softly, concerned.

Neville looked back up at him and shook his head. ``Did you mean that,
Harry?'' he whispered. ``Did you really want to work with me?''

Harry blinked. ``Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?''

``I melt all the cauldrons,'' whispered Neville, as he began to copy
down Snape's instructions for the Calming Draught. ``And I'm just not
very good at Potions. You're \emph{really} good, or P-Professor Snape
wouldn't have given you points last year.''

Harry shrugged. ``Then I should work with you, since I am good at
Potions. Besides, I like you.''

Neville's face lit up at that. Harry hid a sigh as he went to fetch the
Calming Draught ingredients. Did no one \emph{ever} tell Neville that
they liked him? Harry couldn't see why. Neville had always been
perfectly polite to Harry whenever he visited Gryffindor Tower, and he
\emph{listened} to other people's words, like he was going to be tested
on them later. Harry couldn't imagine a less likely candidate for being
pushed out and ostracized by his own House.

Of course, Luna got ostracized by the Ravenclaws, too.

Harry frowned and carried the ingredients back to the table he shared
with Neville. So, what was it about Luna and Neville that made them
targets? He could understand why \emph{he} was a target, since most of
the students in the school now seemed to think he was Dark. But Neville
just wasn't talented at Potions, or Snape wouldn't let him be, and Luna
wore odd jewelry and said odd things and carried her wand behind her
left ear. Harry couldn't imagine that the others really thought those
were Dark activities.

\emph{They get pushed out because people are stupid,} said Sylarana.
\emph{I thought you knew that.}

``Mr. Potter.''

Harry glanced up. Snape stood over them, and Neville was obviously
shaking, trying not to slip out of his chair in a dead faint.

``I shall expect you tonight in my offices at eight-o'-clock sharp,'' he
said.

Harry lowered his eyes and nodded, turning back to look at the
instructions for the Calming Draught. He knew how to make it, but it was
always good to double-check.

``Did you hear me?'' Snape demanded.

Harry blinked up at him. Perhaps Snape expected defiance in all things,
even this. But Harry had agreed to the Occlumency lessons. He wouldn't
fight the lessons actually taking place.

``Yes, sir. Eight-o'-clock in your offices. I'll be there,'' he said.

Snape eyed him once, then turned away. Neville let out a shaky breath.
``How do you \emph{stand} him?'' he whispered.

``I don't, really,'' said Harry, dropping in the first pinch of
shrivelfig. ``He stands me.''

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry let out a deep breath, put his anger in the box---this was for
Connor---and knocked on the door to Snape's office.

``Come in,'' said Snape's voice, perfectly polished and cold. Harry
opened the door and stepped inside.

He'd been within Snape's offices before, and so he knew immediately that
something was different. The countless bottles of finished potions and
their ingredients were gone, the shelves standing empty. The desk and
chairs that usually sat in the middle of the office stood against the
wall, and there was a long stretch of floor Transfigured to look like a
mattress. Harry stared at it, then up at Snape, who leaned against the
far wall of the office and watched him.

``Why is the mattress there, sir?'' he asked.

``To catch you if you fall, Potter,'' Snape said equitably. ``Occlumency
is a trying task. I fully expect you to collapse at some point during
it, if only because you are keeping too much attention focused on your
mind and not enough on your body.'' He shrugged. ``It happens to many
students. It happened to me.''

Harry blinked. He was thrown by Snape's tone, by the look in his eyes,
by the fact that he had bothered to explain---and do it without
snapping.

A moment later, as Snape stepped forward and pointed his wand, he
thought he understood the purpose of answering his question like that.
He stiffened his shoulders, and Sylarana took up her guard position in
his mind.

``\emph{Legilimens!}''

Harry felt as though someone were pushing at him, stepping through his
eyes and into his mind. He fell through a tumbling chaos of impressions.
Sylarana coiled around him and held him, and he stopped a few of the
memories from escaping with her help.

Others, though, stormed past him and fled. He saw, briefly, the first
time he managed to master wandless magic, the endless hours he'd
practiced with \emph{Protego} before understanding it, the time three
autumns ago when his magic unexpectedly sprang up around him and whirled
around his head like a ball on the end of a string when Connor had taken
the last Chocolate Frog from a box of them---

And then Sylarana \emph{twisted}, and pulled, and Harry found himself
kneeling on the mattress, breathing hard.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Snape's expression just yet. He
had survived the first time. And he thought he could figure out the
pushing motion Snape had made. There was a certain \emph{direction} to
the magic, a certain way one sent his will when performing it. He could
learn quickly, and if he could keep Snape from seeing important memories
each time, then he might be out of danger in a few weeks.

``On your feet, Potter,'' said Snape quietly.

Harry stood. Snape's face was utterly blank. This time, he said, ``I am
going to seek out a memory you do not wish me to see.
\emph{Legilimens!}''

Harry grimaced as the force pushed into his mind again. He tried to
stand to face it, and it was too strong for him.

He dropped into the second of the strategies he had worked out with
Sylarana, choosing shreds and shards of memory, the flashes of tiny
things he might remember of a summer when he was six, and sending them
up like a cloud of butterflies before Snape's reaching will. Snape
paused to examine some of them, and Harry whipped around and dived. He
had a brief sense of vast, overarching corridors and deep black waters,
his mind as wilder and stranger than he had ever thought it was, and
then he felt Snape break through at his back.

Sylarana lunged and lashed, but she was too slow. Snape didn't know
Harry's mind well, but he knew \emph{minds}, and Harry caught a glimpse
of what a skilled Legilimens could do, in that moment, how his own
expertise might overpower even someone who knew his own mind well. Snape
knew the general form of what he was looking for, while Harry knew only
the memories he wanted to protect, and thinking of them would reveal
their presence to Snape.

A memory exploded before Harry's eyes like a shower of Muggle fireworks.

\emph{``To keep Connor safe. To always protect him. To insure that he
lives as untroubled a life as he can, until he has to face Lord
Voldemort again. To be his brother and his friend and his guardian. To
love him. To never compete with him, never show him up, and never let
anyone else know that I'm so close to him. To be ordinary, so that he
can be extraordinary.''}

\emph{Lily knelt in front of him, her clear eyes filled with love and
sorrow, and kissed the top of his head. ``That is correct,'' she said.
``I'm so proud of you, Harry, for saying them all the way through and
knowing what they mean.''}

\emph{It was the first time he'd known, really} known\emph{, what the
vows meant. He was six years old\ldots{}}

Harry shoved Snape violently out of his head. He looked up in time to
see Snape stagger back against the far wall, while Harry sat down on the
mattress again. Harry was pleased to see Snape sweating and panting,
just as he himself was.

\emph{I'm sorry,} said Sylarana miserably. \emph{He was too fast. Too
strong.}

\emph{Don't worry about it,} Harry told her. \emph{We'll just have to
try something else. Now that we really know what he can do, it'll be
easier. And we still have some other strategies that we didn't try.}

``Potter.''

Harry glanced up. Snape was holding his wand before him, but loosely, as
though he didn't intend to aim it.

``What was that?'' he asked.

Harry blinked. ``You know what it was,'' he said. ``Sir,'' he added
hastily, as the professor's face clouded. ``It's one of the memories you
tricked out of me with Veritaserum last year.'' He couldn't keep the
hatred from coming out in his voice then, but he grabbed the worst
vestiges of the emotion and stuffed them into the box. He \emph{had} to
learn from Snape. He couldn't afford to anger him too badly. At the same
time, it was a relief to speak openly of an incident he'd kept from
everyone. ``You know that I made vows to protect Connor. Those were
them.''

Snape stood still for a very long time. Then he shook his head. ``I can
see the wounds in your head, Potter,'' he said. ``Gaping ones, where Tom
Riddle touched you and tore the memories from your mind.''

Harry shuddered. Snape said \emph{Tom Riddle}, but he heard
\emph{Voldemort.}

``How do I get rid of them, sir?'' Harry asked.

``You do not,'' said Snape. ``Not easily. That is what the Occlumency is
for. Eventually, it will fill those holes with fog, with defenses, and
they will not be the pits they are right now.'' He paused again. ``And
you must learn to defend yourself without your snake. Did you know that
she is woven throughout your mind now, her thoughts braided around
yours?''

``I knew,'' said Harry steadily. ``We planned that. We didn't want you
finding humiliating memories of James Potter, sir.''

Snape's eyes narrowed. ``So anxious to protect your father, are you?''
he whispered. His wand came up. ``\emph{Legilimens}!''

Harry tried to avoid the push of the spell, but he was too late. Snape
was in his head again, and this time he was hunting memories of James.

Harry created a false one as fast as he could, an ordinary time when he
and James played Quidditch together, and set it in Snape's way. He
barely paused before plunging on, however. Harry knew he was aiming for
a specific area of his mind, but he didn't know where it was, or how to
anticipate Snape's movements.

Snape found and pushed past something, a curtain that parted on a
veritable storehouse of memories.

They came out in a flood.

James helping him practice Quidditch\ldots{} James playing pranks with
Connor while Harry watched with a fond smile\ldots{}James flying a kite
in spring with Connor outside the house in Godric's Hollow while Harry
sprawled on the grass with a book and read about defensive
magic\ldots{}James tossing Harry in the air and spinning him
around\ldots{}James drawing his wand on Lucius Malfoy in Diagon
Alley\ldots{}

James expressing concern to Lily over Harry's total dedication to
learning magic, the way he never laughed or had fun---

Harry pushed, and Sylarana pushed, and Snape was out again. Harry wasn't
sure that it wasn't partially willing, however. Snape seemed to have
found what he was looking for.

Snape was pacing up and down, rapping his wand against his knee. Harry
closed his eyes. He didn't have to look at him, he thought. There was no
\emph{law} that said that he had to look at him. Keeping his eyes closed
allowed him to better think about the techniques of Legilimency, in any
case, and Occlumency, which was its counterpart. Snape had pushed, had
parted a flimsy barrier. That meant that the best chance of Harry
concealing his thoughts was to hide them behind a hard one.

What was hard?

\emph{Metal}, said Sylarana helpfully. \emph{Stone. Scales. The ground
when it hasn't rained.}

Metal would do, Harry thought. He wondered if he should envision a metal
door, or---

``Potter.''

Harry looked up, then remembered who he was dealing with and snapped his
eyes sideways. Snape said only, ``That is enough for your first lesson.
I want you to practice clearing your mind before the next time we meet.
That is the necessary first step for Occlumency.''

``Why didn't you tell me this before, sir?'' Harry asked quietly.

``I wanted to see how strong your defenses were,'' said Snape. ``And
what wounds Riddle had left in your mind, that I might know the best way
of healing them. Clearing your mind is the first step.''

``What about solid barriers?'' Harry asked. ``Metal doors to stop
you---to stop Riddle from peering into my thoughts wherever he wants?''

``That will not work, Potter,'' said Snape, all inflection stripped from
his tone. ``Occlumency and Legilimency are both arts of motion. A
Legilimens confronting one barrier will turn around and go somewhere
else. You may have felt the motion in your mind as swimming, or darting,
or hunting. You will have noticed yourself that your best tactics came
from moving about, either your sense of self or your memories. It is not
unlike the pureblood dance, which I now know you to be skilled in.
Clearing your mind is necessary because it give the invading Legilimens
nothing save blankness to swim in, no matter where he goes.''

Harry lifted his head. This had to be spoken, given what Snape seemed
intent on revealing. ``Will you be telling anyone what happens in these
lessons, sir?''

``No,'' said Snape, his voice like a whip. ``I will not. Will you?''

``I would prefer they were not happening at all, sir,'' said Harry.
``So, no.'' He turned away and walked to the door.

``You must learn to defend yourself,'' said Snape at him. ``You must
learn to do so without the use of your snake. And you must heal your
wounds.''

Harry didn't see any reason to respond to that, since Snape already knew
what he would say. He pulled open the door and left.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Snape Transfigured the mattress back into the floor, moved his desk and
chairs into their rightful places, and reversed his earlier Vanishment
spell, summoning the potions back to their proper place. He did all that
before he allowed himself to think about what he had seen in Harry's
mind.

The wounds were one thing. He had expected them. They were gaping and
ugly, sunken holes stained with foulness from Riddle's touch. He had had
no reason to be gentle, and he hadn't been. Snape was confident that, in
time, as Harry learned Occlumency, he could heal them, or fill them and
make them neither vulnerable places nor wounds any longer.

The depth of the Locusta's intervention was also worrisome, but not a
surprise. She was a glowing golden braid, intertwined so deeply into
Harry's mind that Snape knew trying to tug her out would cause Harry
permanent damage. He would still insist that Harry learn to defend
himself without her. All the Dark Lord would have to do at the moment
would be to kill the Locusta, and Harry would be rendered screaming and
defenseless, overwhelmed by agony. A careful, a proper, training would
prevent that.

Two things did worry Snape, and they were not what he had expected at
all.

The first was the sheer form of Harry's mind. Snape had walked in many
different mental conceptions since he became a Legilimens, and seen
innumerable wizards and witches defend and define themselves in
innumerable ways. He had seen houses of the mind, labyrinths, forests,
cave systems, oceans, replicas of Hogwarts or the Ministry, gardens,
single large rooms, planes of drifting fog.

Harry's mind was meshed webs, strands of thought and training and memory
and belief twined into one another, tangling with each other at every
point. Riddle's wounds were holes in those webs, places where the
strands gaped and fluttered. The Locusta was another thread in them, a
new and prominent one.

Snape had searched, and sought, even as he distracted Harry with
memories that did not truly matter. He had not seen one place where the
webs yielded, where Harry's sense of self was free of them. Any thought
he had took a tangled route along spirals and circles and branching
intersections, bound as far as possible into the webs that he had
already woven. And all of them wrapped as tightly as they could around
the same goal, the one Harry had already told Snape mattered to him:
saving and protecting Connor.

Snape did not know how such webs could have evolved on their own. They
had been carefully tended.

He understood how and why, with Harry's memories of his vows and of
studying. Lily---not James, evidently---had trained her son to be like
this, weaving as many expectations as she could into the webs, teaching
Harry what to think about the future before the future had happened.

He could not examine his own feelings on the matter, not yet. He knew
that his emotions would burst from their own cocoon and savage him if he
tried it. There was howling anger there, and the old hatred directed
towards James Potter, and a sickness so great that he had no appetite
for the late dinner he had planned---

Snape moved a sharp hand, cutting his own thoughts off. That was the
reason he had decided not to think about them, because it would take him
time to contemplate the full extent of what had happened.

The second thing that worried him about Harry's mind was the box. It
appeared in Harry's thoughts as a small, low container of dark wood,
padlocked with a strength that had stunned Snape. It floated like a
ghost over the webs, indicating that Harry consciously thought about
that part of his mind that way. It was not an unconscious way of seeing
himself, as the webs were. It edged itself into view whenever Snape
hunted, but darted away when he looked directly at it.

The box had opened, once, when Harry had cut himself off from the tirade
Snape was sure the boy was about to give on the Veritaserum incident.
Harry had \emph{thrown} his hatred into the box, and it had slammed shut
in the next moment and ghosted away again. Harry had done it with
absolute ease, indicating yet another skill he had practiced for years.

Snape thought about at least six years---if he counted from the time
that Harry had apparently fully understood his vows---of hatred and
resentment and bitterness and any other emotion that might possibly
damage his relationship with Connor, or the training he needed to help
Connor. He thought about it all contained in one place, separate from
the rest of Harry's mind and strictly ignored.

He decided that he did not want to think about it any more.

Snape pushed himself wearily to his feet. He was a Slytherin, and he was
a former Death Eater, and he was a Potions Professor who had managed to
teach for twelve years despite disliking most of his students. There was
no reason for him to feel as weary and discouraged as he currently was.
He had met challenges and overcome them. He would overcome this one,
too.

Why did he feel as if the ground had dropped out from under him?

\emph{Because,} he decided, \emph{I never expected to have sympathy for
any bloody Potter.}

It was not entirely true, but he made it be true for right now, and
turned to his own preparations before bed.

\chapter{That Sharp Spark of Betrayal}\label{chapter-10-that-sharp-spark-of-betrayal}

Harry's hand darted out, snatching the Snitch as it tried to bolt around
him, and Flint bellowed twice, signaling an end to the Quidditch
practice.

Harry turned and dived towards the ground. He barely remembered to pull
up at the last moment. Part of him wanted to keep going, to see how low
he really could skim over the grass before gravity and momentum caught
up with him. His blood was thrumming, filling his veins the same way
that the air filled his lungs. The broom the Malfoys had given him was
\emph{brilliant}. Harry had never known that a different kind of broom
could make such a difference in the way he flew, adding an extra
lightness to his turns and an extra speed to his motions.

He landed with a light roll and flip off the broom, and turned to see
the Quidditch team staring at him. Harry paused for a moment. They
hadn't been that pleased with him, particularly Flint, when Harry had
had to admit at the first practice a week ago that he had a Nimbus 2001
broom now, and hadn't told anyone. They had got over that soon enough,
but from their expressions now, Harry wondered if they were remembering
it.

Then Flint grinned, an expression that made him look like a bulldog, and
said, ``We're going to pound the Gryffindors into the ground next
Saturday.'' His gaze traced around the team. ``We've got the toughest
Beaters, the fastest Chasers---of course---the meanest Keeper, and the
best Seekers.'' His eyes came back to Harry. ``\emph{Don't} we, Potter?''

Harry looked back calmly, undaunted now. He hadn't worked out exactly
how he was going to throw the next game back to Connor, but he knew he
was. Connor was flying beautifully. Harry knew he wouldn't have to do
much to make it look as though Connor had beaten him on sheer skill
alone.

Then Flint leaned forward and said, ``It's obvious now, the way that you
were holding yourself back in the first game last year. I know you
didn't do it in the other matches, Potter, but this time you're not
going to do it in \emph{all} of them. Slytherin plays to \emph{win.}''

Harry figured it was best to back down for now. He bowed his head, as
though Flint had managed to convince him, and murmured, ``Of course.''

Flint drew back, satisfied, and made his way towards the showers. He
said something to Adrian Pucey that made him laugh loudly, and the rest
of the team bunched up close behind, leaving Harry to walk slightly on
his own. That suited him just fine. He'd seen the shy figure lurking
around the edge of the Pitch during practice, and Harry wanted a chance
to speak with him.

``Harry,'' came the expected voice from the side.

``Connor,'' said Harry, turning around and smiling at his brother.
``Coming to spy on our practice?'' He smiled even more widely, to show
it was a joke.

Connor jerked, once, but didn't let the teasing distract him. He was
looking at the broom in Harry's hands. ``When were you going to tell me
that you had a Nimbus 2001?''

Harry sighed. ``The day of the Gryffindor-Slytherin game, if I could.''

``Why?'' Connor lifted his head and met Harry's eyes. ``I thought that
you weren't going to lie to me about anything any more.''

``It would have caused a lot of arguments during the summer,'' said
Harry. ``And you had enough happen to you then. We \emph{still} don't
know who sent that house elf, do we? And I know about the other things
now,'' he added. ``You should have told me if you felt you couldn't
sleep, Connor. I could have helped.''

Connor stared at him for a long moment. ``What are you talking about?''

``Ron told me,'' said Harry. ``That's how concerned he was, that
\emph{Ron} willingly talked to me without you around.''

``He likes you---'' Connor began defensively.

``No, he doesn't,'' said Harry. ``I know he doesn't. But just listen to
me, all right? He told me that you were having nightmares about
Voldemort's attack last year, and that you'd been taking Dreamless Sleep
Potion to combat them.'' He shook his head. ``At least now I know why
all those owls came with packages for you last summer. I thought there
were only sweets in them.''

Connor lowered his eyes. ``I didn't want to disturb you,'' he muttered.
``And the potion handled the nightmares. I slept without dreaming for
most of the summer.'' He abruptly raised his head and stared Harry down.
``And what about \emph{you}, anyway? Why did you wake up and sneak
outside so many times at night?''

``To play with Sylarana,'' said Harry. ``That was when I didn't think
you could stand to find out that I'm a Parselmouth.''

Sylarana stirred lazily on his shoulder. ``\emph{He} can't \emph{stand
it,}'' she said. ``\emph{He never looks at me.}''

\emph{You're under my robe right now,} Harry pointed out.

``\emph{That is no excuse.}''

Harry glanced up and surprised a disgusted expression on his brother's
face. Harry shook his head. ``Is she really any different from the
magical creatures that you go with Hagrid to see?'' he asked Connor.

``Yes,'' huffed Connor, crossing his arms. ``They aren't snakes.''

Harry rolled his eyes. ``I think we should see what Hagrid makes of her,
myself. I know that you visit him on Saturdays. Are you going there? Can
I come with you? I think it's time I met him properly, and thanked him
for carrying me back to the school last year.''

Connor nodded at him, looking baffled. ``I'm not staying for very long.
The Halloween Feast tonight, you know. But I did say that I'd visit him.
And---well, he probably would like to get a look at a real live version
of that thing,'' he said, glancing at the arm that Sylarana wasn't
coiled around, an expression of distaste twisting his mouth.

``\emph{Would he like to look at a real live Locusta bite}?'' Sylarana
asked. ``\emph{That can be arranged.}''

Harry gave his own shoulder a light smack to shut her up, and then
nodded at Connor. ``Let me get changed, and then---''

``Harry!''

Harry turned in surprise. He hadn't seen Draco watching the Quidditch
practice, but evidently he had been, and now he was jogging across the
pitch towards them, looking as wind-blown as though he'd been flying. He
halted beside Harry and gave Connor a cool stare, as much to ask,
\emph{What are you doing here?}

Connor curled his lip. ``Malfoy,'' he said.

``Draco,'' said Harry. ``I'm not going to be long. I'll see you at the
Feast.''

``Such a welcoming committee,'' Draco drawled, his eyes half-lidded and
every bit of his attention on Connor. ``It's Saturday afternoon, and I
haven't spent any of the day with my best friend.'' Here, his glance
came back to Harry, whip-quick. ``I don't want to talk to you just at
the Feast, Harry. I'd much rather play Exploding Snap with you this
afternoon. And talk about your private lessons with Professor Snape,''
he added, as a warning, Harry supposed, that he wouldn't let Harry put
it off much longer.

Harry still hadn't explained who had possessed him to Draco, and so
hadn't explained why the Occlumency lessons were necessary. He didn't
want to, either. Draco's father had been a Death Eater. It was possible
that he was still obeying Voldemort's commands, in whatever form the
Dark Lord could send them, and his being in possession of the diary
argued that. Harry was \emph{not} going to make Draco choose between his
family and Harry. It would end up happening anyway, of course, if Draco
insisted on staying friends with him, but then the War would break out,
Harry would fight at Connor's side, and Draco would choose the Malfoys
with a clear conscience. It was not going to happen like this, when
Draco might feel horrified at what Lucius had done, and torn between his
friend and his family.

Harry hadn't been sure how he would avoid Draco's probing questions, but
luckily he didn't have to, now. ``I'm going to shower and then visit
Hagrid with Connor, Draco,'' he said. ``I promised. I have to thank
Hagrid for what he did for me, anyway, after the encounter with
Voldemort last year.'' He noticed with private amusement that Draco
still flinched at the Dark Lord's name. ``I'll see you at the Feast.''

``No, you won't,'' said Draco.

``Going to spend the night sulking in your rooms?'' Connor mocked.

Draco didn't sneer at him, but gave him such a cold and piercing look
that Connor's smile faded and Harry felt a snake of uneasiness coil in
his belly.

``\emph{Another snake?}'' Sylarana half-unfolded herself from his
shoulder. ``\emph{Where? You're my human. Don't forget that.}''

\emph{It was a metaphor,} Harry explained, and then looked at Draco.
``Do you want to explain what you mean by that?''

``I'm coming with you to visit Hagrid,'' announced Draco haughtily.

``I---but you can't!'' Connor said. He was actually spitting as he said
it, and Harry winced and was glad that there were no potential allies
around, to see Connor looking as bad as that. ``Hagrid doesn't like
you!''

``He's never \emph{met} me,'' said Draco, all aristocratic iciness.

``You're a \emph{Malfoy},'' said Connor. ``You're \emph{impossible} to
like.''

``My father's influence at the Ministry argues otherwise.'' Draco curled
his lips in a smug smile. ``As does my friendship with Harry.'' He moved
sideways until his shoulder bumped Harry's.

Connor met Harry's eyes and held them. Harry sighed. ``Can you give me a
few minutes?'' he asked.

Connor nodded. ``You'd need them to shower, anyway,'' he said, still
staring at Draco. ``I'll be waiting for you at the edge of the Pitch.''
He turned and walked away, shaking his head.

``Don't start, Harry,'' said Draco, before Harry could try to persuade
him not to come. ``You spent the first three weeks of term ignoring me,
and now you want to spend more time with your brother than me. No.'' His
face was stubborn, and sulky. Harry let out a little hiss.

``If you insist---''

``I do.''

Harry rolled his eyes. ``Wait here, then,'' he said, and went in to
shower.

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\newpage
``She's beautiful, Harry,'' said Hagrid appreciatively, caressing
Sylarana's scales. He looked as though he were barely keeping himself
from picking up and cuddling the Locusta, much to Harry's surprise. It
seemed that Hagrid really did love magical creatures, no matter how
dangerous, no matter how unpredictable. The half-giant looked up,
beaming. ``What does she say abou' me?''

``\emph{That he had better not stop doing that,}'' said Sylarana, arching,
as Hagrid stroked her behind the head.

``She really likes being petted,'' said Harry, feeling a sense of
unreality take him over. \emph{He} had never touched Sylarana as much as
Hagrid was, and watching his Locusta twine around someone else's hands
with that kind of enthusiasm, and no sign of biting, made things odd.

Even odder was the fact that Connor and Draco had been in Hagrid's house
for half-an-hour, sipping tea and munching biscuits only a little less
hard than rocks, and hadn't yet drawn wands on each other. Oh, they'd
come close a few times, when Draco made a remark about pureblooded
wizarding customs and the absolutely \emph{shameful} lack of them in
Gryffindor House, or when Connor muttered something about Narcissa
Malfoy looking as if she needed to be scrubbed inside and out to be
freed of the taint of Dark magic. But so far it was going\ldots{}

\emph{Well}, Harry thought firmly. \emph{It's going well.}

``Hagrid,'' he said again, ``I'd like to thank you for carrying me back
to Hogwarts last year---''

Hagrid waved one hand at him, blushing, once again not letting Harry
complete his thanks properly. The other hand remained occupied with
Sylarana, who now uttered the sort of crooning hiss that Harry had heard
in the past only when he offered to let her bite something. ``Don' be
silly, Harry. Yer Connor's brother. And yeh were sick.'' He leaned
forward abruptly and peered at Harry. ``What \emph{did} yeh get into,
anyway? I never did get the chance to ask.''

Harry coughed a bit. Connor had told Hagrid about You-Know-Who, as
Hagrid would put it, but not that Harry had suffered \emph{Crucio} at
the end of Quirrell's wand. Harry didn't think he'd been able to hear
the exact curse under Voldemort's cage spell. And Harry had not told
anyone else, either. It was enough that Snape knew, and that he had used
the weakness the curse inspired that night to give Harry
Veritaserum\ldots{}

He caught the anger that memory inspired and tossed it into the box with
practiced ease. The box had come in handy the past weeks, allowing him
to slide past the Occlumency lessons and the times that he had wanted to
get angry at his brother or Ron.

There was another reason he wasn't about to tell anyone now, he thought,
looking up, and catching Draco's intent stare out of the corner of his
eye. Draco would \emph{fuss}, if he knew. Perhaps Connor would, too,
though he was more practical about things like that; it was done and
past, he would say. Draco never seemed to understand that part.

``A spell from You-Know-Who's wand,'' he said, avoiding Voldemort's name
out of deference for Hagrid's sensibilities. ``I'm not sure what it
was.''

``Of course you aren't,'' said Draco from the side.

Harry glared at him. Draco never flinched, and never blinked, either.
Harry looked away. Draco \emph{bothered} him lately. He wanted to spend
time with Harry all the time, and Harry no longer believed that it was
solely to keep him away from Connor. That left the problem of what it
was, though. It couldn't be true friendship, Harry thought, even if
Draco thought it was, because that would mean that Draco would have
trouble breaking away from Harry when it was time and rejoining his
family. He understood the Slytherins' behavior not at all in general, of
course, but Draco was the worst of them.

``Ah, well,'' said Hagrid, with a sigh. ``I'm glad yer out of it now,
Harry. And yeh, too, Connor,'' he added, with a nod to Connor. Then he
looked back down, and a goofy, blissful smile widened across his face.
``Would the beautiful Locusta like some eggs?'' he crooned at her.

``\emph{Tell him the beautiful Locusta would indeed like some eggs,}''
Sylarana instructed Harry, turning so that the sunlight falling through
Hagrid's window glinted off her scales. ``\emph{Phrase it exactly like
that.}''

Harry shook his head and phrased it exactly like that, determinedly not
looking at Connor and Draco again. At least the afternoon was a success
for two of them, he thought.

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\newpage
Harrysped up a little as they came closer to Hogwarts. Connor and Draco
had started to bicker on the way back from Hagrid's cottage, and it was
growing steadily louder and more annoying. That they were bickering
about \emph{him} only increased Harry's annoyance. He didn't understand
why they would. He'd made it clear where he stood with them---Connor
first, Draco second; Connor his brother, Draco his friend; Connor his
family, Draco his Housemate. Harry had said that outright on more than
one occasion. Draco had even seemed to accept it when they made up after
their fight in September.

And now, this.

``But he really should have been in Gryffindor,'' Connor was saying.
``\emph{Everyone} knows that.''

``Someone forgot to tell the Sorting Hat,'' said Draco, his voice smug.
``And Headmaster Dumbledore. And Professor Snape. And me. And---''

``Whatever, Malfoy,'' said Connor. Harry didn't need to look back at him
to know he would be waving his hand, as he did whenever he wanted to
clear away what he thought was a stupid line of argument. ``I saw the
broom that your parents bought for Harry today. Do you really think
it'll make \emph{that} much difference when it comes to the match next
week?''

``Of course it will,'' said Draco. ``But that's not why they bought it,
you halfblooded \emph{prat}. They bought it for Harry because he's my
\emph{friend}, and because it was his birthday, too, not just yours.''

``I'm wondering just how much longer he should stay your friend,''
Connor said, and lowered his voice. Harry, pausing near Hogwarts's front
doors, looked back at them in irritation. Connor had his face close to
Draco's. As Harry watched, he whispered, ``You know that he would stop
being your friend if I asked him to.''

Draco's eyes widened, and for a moment he didn't seem to know what to
do. Then he drew his wand.

Harry snarled and sprinted back towards them, ignoring Sylarana's
complaints as she was jostled. Connor had his wand out, too, but
luckily, Harry darted in between them before either could fire a spell.
He put his back to his twin. He trusted Connor not to do something
sneaky behind him more than he trusted Draco.

``Both of you are acting like first-years,'' he said, his anger nearly
choking him. He thought about putting the anger in the box, but he
didn't think he could. He had to spit it out instead. If nothing else,
it might help them understand the simple concepts that they just
\emph{refused} to grasp so far. ``Or babies fighting over a toy, at
that.'' He darted a glance back at Connor, who flushed. He particularly
hated being called younger than he was, one reason Harry had chosen this
line of reasoning. Harry looked back at Draco, whose face was burning
with unshielded fury and who still had his wand up. ``I said I was your
friend,'' said Harry. ``I meant it. And I said Connor was my brother, and
I meant it. What part of this don't you \emph{fucking} understand?''

His rage left him breathless. He shook his head. He \emph{had} to calm
down, or he would say something he really regretted, and not just
something unfortunate.

He stuffed this anger into the box, too, and sighed at how that cleared
his head. He looked back at Connor, and found his brother's cheeks even
more flushed. He opened his mouth to speak.

Harry shook his head again. ``I don't want to hear it,'' he said. ``I'm
your brother, Connor, and that's not \emph{ever} going to change. You
know it, so stop acting like an idiot around me.'' He glanced at Draco.
``And Draco, I'm your friend. We've been over this before. You know the
limitations and the necessities of our friendship. Have I ever lied to
you about that?'' he added quietly.

Draco lowered his wand and rubbed his face with one hand. ``No,'' he
whispered. ``But, Harry---''

Harry took a slight step forward. Connor would be fine, and so it would
cost him nothing if Harry listened to Draco right now instead. ``Yes?''
he asked.

He never got to find out what Draco would have said---at least not right
then---because someone came flying out of the school screeching at the
top of his lungs. ``\emph{Malfoy!}''

Harry swung around. It was Ron, and he had his wand out and pointed at
Draco. With a small groan, Harry reversed himself, so that he got
between Draco and anything Connor's enraged friend might throw.

``Something wrong, Weasley?''

Harry grimaced at the tone in Draco's voice. This wasn't anything like
the enmity Draco had for Connor. It was pureblood hatred. Whatever feud
lingered between the Malfoys and the Weasleys---and none of the history
books Harry had read explained the origins of that feud---both families
were feeding and encouraging it.

Then Harry looked into Ron's red, tear-streaked face, and thought he
knew what was wrong. This round had almost certainly gone to the
Malfoys.

``You want to know what's wrong, Malfoy?'' Ron bellowed, halting a few
feet away from Harry. ``You want to know what's \emph{wrong}?'' He was
breathing hard now, and his hand was clenched so tightly around his wand
that Harry feared it might snap. ``Your father got mine \emph{sacked}!''
Ron yelled at last. ``That's what's \emph{bloody wrong}!''

``Ron!''

Harry shook his head as Hermione hurried out of the doors. He didn't
think she'd be able to intervene this time. He only hoped it wouldn't
come to hexes.

``Ron,'' he began soothingly, ``if you think about it, that was Lucius's
fault. He must have---''

Ron wasn't listening. ``\emph{Tarantallegra!}'' he shouted, and the spell
flew from his wand and towards Draco.

Harry brought up a hand. ``\emph{Haurio!}'' he said, without much time to
make the decision. He couldn't use \emph{Protego}; that would reflect
the spell right back at Ron, and there were no professors around to
shield students from the effect of the hexes this time.

A dark green shield formed in his palm and spread rapidly outward from
there. The light of Ron's hex hit it and vanished. Harry let out a short
breath. \emph{Haurio} worked as he'd read it would, then, absorbing the
spell instead of bouncing it back.

Ron didn't give him much time to congratulate himself. ``\emph{Petrificus
Totalus!}'' he tried this time, and the Body-Bind Curse also made
excellent food for Harry's shield. Ron huffed out a breath. ``Drop the
shield, Harry!'' he screamed. ``Let me at him!''

``No,'' Harry said, and then felt slight movement behind him. ``Draco, if
you fire a spell at him, I \emph{will} drop the shield, and then
\emph{I'll} hex you,'' he added.

Draco stopped moving. Harry glanced backward briefly to make sure he was
all right, and found Draco, oddly, \emph{smiling} at him.

``My hero,'' he said.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to face Ron. Ron was aiming his wand,
but Harry saw something he didn't and relaxed.

``\emph{Expelliarmus!}''

Ron's wand soared through the air and settled firmly into Hermione's
hand. Ron swung around. ``Hermione!'' he yelled, his rage appearing to
change direction mid-flight. ``You were supposed to---''

``\emph{Calm down,} Ron,'' said Hermione. She'd come up beside him and was
panting. Harry imagined her chasing Ron all the way from Gryffindor
Tower and winced. ``It'll be all right,'' she added softly, rubbing
Ron's back. ``We can go to talk to Professor Dumbledore. I'm sure
he'll---''

``Harry.''

Harry snapped his head abruptly back around. Connor hadn't said anything
during the battle, and Harry had thought he would be content to let Ron
and Draco fight it out---or not, as the case might be. Now, though, he
stepped forward. His face was intent, and Harry shivered at the
expression on it. He supposed, distantly, that it was an expression he
had wanted his twin to wear: one of awareness of power, composed and
testing. He was seeing how much he might be able to order someone
around, because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He would need to get used to
taking command if he was going to save and lead the wizarding world.

Harry really, really wished that Connor hadn't decided to be commanding
\emph{now}.

``Harry,'' said Connor. ``Step out of the way and let Ron have him. What
Malfoy's dad did to Ron's dad was \emph{horrible.} You have to see
that.''

Harry closed his eyes. He felt Draco's hand touch his shoulder.
\emph{Where are the prefects when we need them?} Harry thought.
\emph{Where are the professors?}

Probably getting ready for the Halloween Feast, of course. That Harry
knew the answer didn't comfort him.

``I see that,'' he whispered. ``But, Connor, I can't. Ron would hurt
him. Or Draco would hurt Ron. Or they would hurt each other. I don't
want anyone hurt.'' He didn't dare open his eyes and look at Connor
again.

``Harry, look at me.''

\emph{Shit.}

Harry managed to force his head up and his eyes open. Draco's hand was
clenched on his shoulder now, and Sylarana was silent. Then she said, in
Harry's mind, \emph{I am going to kill him.} Her voice was quiet and
resolved.

\emph{No!} Harry said, but he couldn't think of much more than that. He
was caught by the look in Connor's eyes. Love and loyalty, yes, but
there was a calculating edge there as well, as though Connor were really
seeing Harry for the first time.

``Harry,'' said Connor softly, ``if you really think that you should
have been a Gryffindor, step out of the way. This is Gryffindor
vengeance. You've got to see that. And Draco had his wand out first.''

``Connor, we're not supposed to use magic on each other outside of
classes!'' Hermione tried to intervene.

Connor raised a hand. ``Well, Harry?'' he asked, calm and implacable.
``What do you think? \emph{Should} you have been a Gryffindor?''

Harry was breathing fast, his thoughts near to being caught up in the
maelstrom again. If Connor said something about him, it was true. He
knew that. He had used it to reassure himself both last year and this
one, when Connor had said he couldn't be evil for being Sorted into
Slytherin or speaking Parseltongue. He clung to it.

If Connor said he should step out of the way or that would prove that he
wasn't really Gryffindor---

And if Connor said that being a Gryffindor, Sorted into the wrong House
by mistake only, meant that he was still good---

Harry wanted to run and scream and vomit. Of course, one of those would
involve him stepping out of the way, one would involve bending, and he
thought that he wouldn't be able to stop if he started screaming now.

But he stood there. And wasn't that really his choice, after all, made
and proclaimed in the open where anyone could see it?

He looked up in time to see Connor nod, once. His eyes were sharp with
betrayal as he stared at Harry.

``The Sorting Hat wasn't wrong after all, I see,'' he said, and then
turned around and walked over to Ron, escorting him back into Hogwarts.
He didn't turn around, not even when Harry tried to call after him, in a
hoarse, strangled voice that didn't sound like his own.

Hermione lingered for a moment, looking at Harry and biting her lip.
Harry thought she was trying to decide what to say, without making it
look as though she either sympathized with Draco or was betraying
Connor.

At last, she shook her head, whispered feebly, ``He didn't mean it,''
and ran back into Hogwarts after Ron and Connor.

Harry closed his eyes and stood still, body tensed as though to absorb a
blow. He \emph{had} to put this into perspective. He \emph{had} to try
to tell himself that just because he had a fight with Connor didn't mean
that he'd disobeyed his twin or taken the opposite side against him.
Sometimes he'd had to disagree with him, in the past, when Connor was
wrong, like last year when he'd insulted Hermione on Halloween, and
Draco on the Hogwarts Express.

He'd seen those hazel eyes filled with shame before, he argued with
himself.

\emph{But never betrayal.}

He'd done things Connor didn't want him to before, when Connor was
wrong.

\emph{But always before, he knew he was in the wrong at once.}

Harry lowered his head and drew in a few deep breaths. He jumped when a
pair of arms wound around him in a fierce hug. Finally, he let the
\emph{Haurio} shield go and turned to face Draco.

``My hero,'' said Draco. ``I meant that, Harry. Thank you.''

Harry nodded. He didn't think he could speak. Luckily, Draco seemed to
understand that.

``Do you feel up to going to the Feast?'' he whispered.

Harry shook his head. Draco sighed. ``I'll escort you back to the
dungeons, then,'' he said. ``And we'll talk after you've had some
sleep.''

Harry turned blindly towards the Slytherin common room, Draco's arm
around his shoulders. He \emph{did} want to sleep, he thought. He waited
for Sylarana to make a comment on that.

``\emph{I want him} dead,'' Sylarana said.

\emph{You can't}, said Harry wearily. \emph{That would make me hurt
worse.}

``\emph{I know,}'' said Sylarana. ``\emph{I did not promise that I was
going to kill him. I promised that I wish to.}''

Harry thought about questioning her on that point, but in the end, let
it go. They made it through the Slytherin common room and up to their
dorm, drawing no more than a few curious glances. Draco pushed Harry
into his bed and hovered over him for a moment.

``I'm going to the Feast,'' he whispered. ``I'll tell the others what
happened.''

Harry opened his eyes and glared at him, as much as he could in the dim
light of a bed with curtains mostly drawn. ``Don't hex Ron.''

Draco only nodded, gray eyes solemn. ``I won't, Harry.'' His hand
descended, smoothing over Harry's shoulder and tangling briefly in his
hair. Then he gently drew the curtains and walked out of the room.

Harry lay where he was, breathing, for a moment. Sylarana crawled out
and coiled on his chest.

``\emph{Can you weep?}'' she asked. ``\emph{I think it would make you feel
better if you could.}''

``I can't afford to,'' Harry muttered, and set about the long process of
tucking up all the anguish, all the pain, all the exhaustion, and
putting them into the box.

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\newpage
Harry blinked and woke. He didn't know how much later it was, though
judging from the cramped state his body was in, he'd slept without
moving for a good long time. On his chest, Sylarana hissed at him.

``\emph{I didn't know you could do that,}'' she said.

``Do what?'' Harry asked as he stretched. He had to admit, he felt
refreshed, more than he usually would after a session with the box. That
let him function, but did not give him his strength back.

``\emph{Put me to sleep like that,}'' said Sylarana, arching her neck
luxuriously. ``\emph{I admit, I needed it, but I'm the one who influences
your thoughts. Not the other way around.}''

Harry lazily stroked her neck. ``Do you want to go see what's left of
the Feast? Or we can go to the kitchens and beg food from the house
elves if you want.'' Sylarana had sniffed out the way to the kitchens
the second week of school.

``\emph{Let's},'' said Sylarana. She slid under his jumper, and Harry
stood, smoothing as much of his hair as possible. He wondered if putting
Sylarana to sleep was part of the reason he'd slept so well. He really
\emph{had} needed to rest.

His mind turned back to the fight as he exited the Slytherin common
room, but he forced himself to put it in perspective. Yes, he had done
something else that Connor found wrong, and he would have to find his
brother and apologize. But that didn't mean he'd chosen his allegiances
and set them in stone. He would fight with his brother if necessary, to
make him see that. He would point out that Ron would certainly have lost
Gryffindor House points and landed in detention if he had succeeded in
hexing Draco. He would say---

He froze and glanced around carefully. There was a strange---sensation
in the air. That was the only word Harry could think of for it. It felt
like a mixture of Dark magic and a powerful earthy scent.

``\emph{I smell it,}'' hissed Sylarana, and once again, there was no humor
in her voice. ``\emph{Coming from upstairs.}''

Harry hurried. He had reached the second floor when Sylarana poked her
head out from under his sleeve, swinging like a compass. ``\emph{To the
left.}''

Harry turned the corner. Then he halted, fighting hard to keep from
crying out.

He stood outside a girls' loo, just beyond a massive puddle of water.
Above him, cut into the stone, letters the color of blood declared:
\emph{The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir,
beware!}

Beside the puddle, just under the writing, lay the motionless body of
Luna Lovegood.

\chapter{Fugitivus Animus}\label{chapter-11-fugitivus-animus}

Harry turned as he heard footsteps coming up the hall. He knew who it
would be. It was about time for the Halloween Feast to let out, and this
loo was on the route to Gryffindor Tower.

Percy Weasley rounded the corner first. He stuttered to a stop at seeing
Harry there, and stared at him. Harry stared back, and ducked his head.
He could have ducked into the loo and hidden, he supposed, but that
would have been worse. Everyone would suspect him anyway, given that
they thought he was Dark, and he had associated with Luna in the last
few days. At least standing in the open would look less suspicious than
trying to run.

Harry wondered if he should be disgusted with himself, that his mind was
working like a Slytherin's even under the shock, trying to calculate
damage to himself and what would happen next. At least he could be
partially rational, he supposed. That was a gift. If it were Connor
lying on the floor, he didn't think he could have been rational in the
slightest.

\emph{That means that you are intelligent, not disgusting,} said
Sylarana. \emph{Although I think you might have tried to distance
yourself from standing exactly at the scene.}

As he looked up and met Percy's widening eyes, Harry was inclined to
agree.

The Gryffindor prefect shook his head, then turned and shouted to the
younger students spilling along the corridor behind him. ``Stay back!
We've got an injured student here, and signs of Dark magic!'' He drew
his wand.

Harry was grateful for Percy's words, especially since he had assumed
Luna was injured and not dead, but he knew they wouldn't work. It was a
group of Gryffindors that Percy was leading, not a group of Hufflepuffs.
One head, then two, popped around the corner, and then someone gasped,
and Harry heard the burgeoning whisper of the message being passed back.

He knew what would happen next. He watched in detachment as Percy knelt
beside Luna and cast a simple Life-Sensing Charm on her. He closed his
eyes and sighed in the next moment. ``She's Petrified,'' he said. ``Not
dead. \emph{Finite Incantatem}!''

Luna lay there, unaffected by the spell. Harry nodded. The fading traces
of Dark magic in the air argued that this was nothing as ordinary as a
Body-Bind, nothing that could be undone with a simple sweep of a wand.
Still, he should have tried himself. He should have thought of that.

\emph{Do you always blame yourself this much, or is this a special
occasion?} Sylarana demanded.

\emph{You've only lived with me for four months,} Harry told her, as he
waited for the inevitable confrontation. \emph{You haven't seen me in
all my moods.}

\emph{I've seen enough. Harry­---}

He didn't get to find out what she would have said, since Connor and
Ron, followed by the Weasley twins, came around the corner just then.
Connor halted and stared at the water and the bloody writing.

Then his eyes came back to Harry's face, and Harry let out a slow
breath. If he had thought Connor was wounded earlier today, when Harry
had chosen to show his Slytherin colors, then he had had no conception
of pain. There was betrayal and worse than betrayal in Connor's gaze
now, a kind of soul-deep horror that Harry knew he would have expressed,
in a lesser form, towards anyone who had done something this heinous.
But this was his brother who had done this.

\emph{You didn't do it!} Sylarana was making his sleeve bulge and ripple
with her dancing. Harry hoped that she wouldn't come into the open right
now. The last thing that anyone needed to be reminded of was that he was
not only a Parselmouth, but had a dangerous snake. \emph{Doesn't that
matter to you? Don't you remember it?}

Harry shrugged slightly. He would have answered her, but Connor stepped
forward and spoke then.

``I don't understand,'' he said, his voice shuffling to a halt as he
stared some more. ``Harry---did you \emph{always} hate me and want me
dead? Or did you just start serving Voldemort this year?''

Ron jumped at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. Other students piling
around the corner flinched. Fred and George Weasley were silent, looking
from one face to another. Harry grimaced. He disliked their probing
gazes most, since they would no doubt remember most of what was said
here and then repeat it as the twisted gossip they delighted in.

``I don't serve Voldemort at all, Connor,'' he said. ``I didn't do this.
I came upon it as I was coming to the Feast.''

``Good job, that,'' said Ron loudly, his face turning red as he strove
to make up for his earlier fear. ``Since this hall isn't on the way from
the Slytherin dungeons to the Great Hall at all.''

Harry shook his head. ``I sensed Dark magic---''

``Stand clear, Mr. Weasley. The rest of you, stay back.''

Professor McGonagall was among them then, like a cat among the chickens,
Harry thought. Even Percy Weasley stepped back for her, his head bowed.
She knelt beside Luna and checked her over, then stood and looked at the
red writing on the wall. Harry saw her face briefly tighten with a spasm
of some very old pain.

Her gaze slid to him, and softened slightly, which Harry didn't
understand at all. ``Always in the middle of great events, aren't you,
Mr. Potter?'' she murmured.

Harry blinked at her, and could think of nothing to say, though Sylarana
was suggesting several ways of phrasing his innocence.

Professor McGonagall turned, moving in front of the writing and Harry
both, shielding them from sight. But it was too late for that, Harry
knew. If nothing else, the Weasley twins had seen them. It would be all
over the school by the next morning---the writing, Luna, and how Harry
had Petrified his friend.

He wished he could spare more time thinking of it, but the only thing he
really wanted to pay attention to was Connor's words.

\emph{He thinks I serve Voldemort.}

Harry looked up and tried to catch his brother's eye, but Connor had
already turned away. Harry thought he was crying. Ron, extremely
embarrassed, was patting his back and muttering something. When he
noticed Harry watching, he gave him a glance that \emph{burned}. Harry
looked away.

``Proceed to the Tower immediately,'' McGonagall was telling the
Gryffindors. ``You are to stay there for the rest of the evening, unless
you are a prefect specifically summoned by a Professor. \emph{No}
side-trips,'' she added, her gazing lingering darkly on the Weasley
twins. One of them put his hands in his robes, while the other began to
whistle in an innocent manner. McGonagall did not look impressed. ``Yes,
Miss Granger?''

Harry turned to see that Hermione had edged around the corner to join
the gaggle in the hall. She had her head craned, as though trying to see
past the edge of McGonagall's robe at Harry. ``What do the words mean?''
she asked now. ``Who's the Heir?''

``All of that will be answered in the morning,'' said McGonagall
briskly. She ignored the chorus of groans and the buzz of whispers from
her students. She nodded to Harry. ``If you will accompany me to the
Headmaster's office, Mr. Potter.''

\emph{She thinks I did it, then,} Harry thought. \emph{Or she thinks
there's a reasonable chance that I did it.}

But he was still thinking about Connor.

\emph{My brother thinks I serve the Dark wizard trying to kill him.}

Harry rubbed his face absently. Sometimes it \emph{would} make things
easier if he could cry, he thought. But he couldn't. So he followed the
gentle grip of McGonagall's hand on his shoulder, towing him towards the
Headmaster's office. Sylarana writhed out from under the professor's
hand, but did not offer to bite her. Harry believed her too furiously in
thought to notice.

``Harry.''

And oh, he \emph{knew} it was a bad idea, but he turned and looked.
Connor had broken away from Ron's grip again and stood watching him. His
face had already gone beyond fear and horror, and into anger. The other
emotions lingered behind his eyes, though. Harry wondered if they always
would from now on.

``What, Connor?'' he asked, when it became clear that his twin was
waiting for a response. So was McGonagall, who had stopped walking. And
the rest of the students, for that matter. Not even Percy or Hermione
had moved. They stood as part of a silent tableau, waiting for what the
heroic brother would say to the disgraced one. The Boy-Who-Lived
speaking to the Snake Prince. Harry was not surprised that it made for
good theater.

``When you can look me in the eye, and honestly tell me that you
renounce all the Dark gifts that you have,'' said Connor, ``then I'll
trust you again. In the meantime, I'm going to do what I should have
done when you started turning Dark. I'm going to catch and stop you.''

He turned and walked away.

Harry closed his eyes. \emph{Now} the shock came, and the weight of the
pain. He wanted to crawl into bed and sleep again. He felt as if he
hadn't napped at all.

``Come along, Mr. Potter,'' said McGonagall, once again unwontedly
gentle, and led him off.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Ah, Minerva, young Harry. Do come in. Have a seat. Lemon drop,
Minerva?''

``I think not, Albus,'' said McGonagall primly, and gestured for Harry
to take a deep-cushioned chair in front of the Headmaster's desk. She
sat in another one, and divided her gaze between Dumbledore and Harry.

``Harry?''

Harry looked up to make sure the Headmaster was really offering him a
sweet, hesitated for a long moment, and then took it. He hadn't eaten
dinner at all, and he was starving. It was better not to be hungry than
to be hungry.

\emph{Now you are thinking,} said Sylarana. \emph{I will still want to
know why you did not run away and hide immediately, but this is better
than nothing.}

``Now, Minerva, what seems to be the problem?'' Dumbledore asked,
sitting back and smiling at both of them. Harry kept his head bowed. He
didn't really need to see the expression on Dumbledore's face. He could
imagine how it would turn grave when McGonagall said he'd Petrified
Luna.

As it turned out, the Head of Gryffindor House didn't say that, but
whispered instead, ``Albus, the Chamber of Secrets has been opened.''

The Headmaster was silent for a long moment. Then he said, ``Are you
sure, Minerva?'' There was a heaviness in his voice that pierced even
Harry's daze of shock and pain. He blinked at the Headmaster's desk,
without raising his eyes.

``I am,'' said McGonagall. ``The message on the wall said that the
Chamber was open, and that the enemies of the Heir should beware.
Beneath it was a puddle of water, and Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw
student, had been Petrified. All the signs are the same as they were
fifty years ago.'' She was silent for a long moment, and then said,
``Albus, I know how the problem was solved the last time the Chamber was
opened. How could the same thing have happened now?''

``I don't know,'' said Dumbledore quietly, and then, ``Harry?''

Harry blinked and looked up. The Headmaster leaned forward, staring
deeply into his eyes.

\emph{He's a Legilimens, too!} Sylarana did not sound pleased with that
discovery. \emph{Out, you meddling old fool, out!}

``I'll tell you, sir,'' said Harry, and glanced down, breaking the eye
contact. ``There's no need to read the information from my mind.''

``I am sorry, Harry,'' said Dumbledore softly. ``This is serious. I must
know exactly what happened.''

Harry nodded and told the story, including the way he had found Luna's
body. McGonagall interrupted at that point to ask, ``But why didn't you
run? Why didn't you come and get a Professor?''

\emph{I like her,} said Sylarana. She \emph{has sense.}

``Because I thought that would look suspicious,'' Harry whispered.
``Everyone was going to suspect me \emph{anyway}.''

``That much is certainly true,'' Dumbledore murmured. ``And was there
anything else after that, Harry?''

``No,'' Harry said. ``I waited by Luna's body until Percy Weasley came
around the corner.''

``Albus,'' McGonagall said then, ``I would wager against Severus that he
did not Petrify the girl. He saved her from a pair of bullies in her own
House the other day. Mr. Potter is innocent.''

Harry closed his eyes, and felt as if he were falling. He had not
realized how fervently he wanted someone else to say that.

``The circumstances will conspire to make him look guilty, alas,'' said
Dumbledore softly. ``Harry, the Heir the message refers to is the Heir
of Slytherin, the only one who can open the Chamber of Secrets.'' Harry
lifted his head, since he thought this was important, and met the
Headmaster's eyes. They showed nothing but fathomless sorrow and
weariness. ``Long ago, Salazar Slytherin built a mysterious chamber and
buried it somewhere in the school itself. There is a legend that a
monster lives in the Chamber, but it would only rise on the word of
Slytherin or one of his blood descendants. The monster would stalk the
school, killing children of Muggleborn descent---the ones that Slytherin
did not wish to let into Hogwarts.''

``That is another anomaly, Albus.'' McGonagall seemed determined not to
be ignored. ``Miss Lovegood is a pureblood, or at least a halfblood; I
knew Aurelius Lovegood when he was a student here. Why would she have
fallen victim to the Chamber's monster, whatever it is?''

``I don't know, Minerva,'' said Dumbledore, and turned back to Harry.
``You must understand there will be a clamor against you.''

``There already is,'' said McGonagall. Harry heard a faint noise that he
couldn't identify at first, and then realized was her teeth grinding.
``His brother has declared him guilty, and where Mr. Potter goes, a
large portion of my students follow. To my shame,'' she added.

A shadow slipped across Dumbledore's face. ``Please bring Connor to me
when I am finished with Harry,'' he said.

``With pleasure,'' said McGonagall, and Harry glanced at her sidelong,
in bafflement. Why was she so upset with Connor? \emph{He} hadn't done
anything wrong.

Dumbledore turned back to Harry. ``We do not know what happened tonight.
I do not know if perhaps there may be an ancient and unsuspected
connection between the Slytherin line and the Potter line. That is one
of the things we must find out. Your gift of Parseltongue argues that it
is possible. Also, we must take every precaution that we can to minimize
the level of fear that will now infect the school.''

Harry nodded; he thought that was obvious.

``Do not go anywhere by yourself,'' Dumbledore said. ``Do not speak in
Parseltongue unless you must. Do not threaten anyone with Sylarana. Do
not, especially, wield any Dark magic, Harry.''

``I don't know any,'' said Harry in bewilderment. ``Unless you count
Parseltongue, sir.''

Dumbledore nodded firmly. ``We must, for right now.'' He paused, eyes
darting over Harry's face. ``I am sorry to do this to you, Mr. Potter,''
he said. ``I for one do not believe that you opened the Chamber. But
there are unanswered questions here, and we have to tread carefully or
risk becoming enmeshed in the mysteries. Do you understand?''

``Of course, sir.'' Harry shook his head slightly. He understood the
commands. He didn't understand, though he was grateful, why Dumbledore
had explained the reasoning behind them.

``For now,'' said Dumbledore, ``I will ask Professor McGonagall to
escort you back to the dungeons. And I will ask that you attend a
special Occlumency lesson with Professor Snape tomorrow. I will inform
him of this.''

``Thank you, sir,'' Harry whispered. It wasn't Sunday he was thinking
of, but Monday. The school would get to stare at him, then if no other
time.

``Is there anything else you can think of, Harry?'' Dumbledore asked.
``Anything else at all that might possibly help?''

``No, Headmaster,'' said Harry. ``I wish there was.''

``Thank you, my boy,'' said Dumbledore, and gestured to the door. ``If
you need to speak with me, the password is \emph{persimmon beans.}''

``Thank you, sir,'' Harry said, and stood, Professor McGonagall keeping
close at his side, as they exited the office.

The Gryffindor Head of House was silent as she led him into the dungeons
and paused outside the blank stretch of wall concealing the common room.
Only then did she say, voice sharp as the point of a sword, ``Mr.
Potter. Harry.''

Harry looked up at her, wondering if she was about to tell him that she
didn't believe in his innocence after all. McGonagall knelt down next to
him instead, and gave him a fierce hug.

Harry stood there, and tried to figure out what he had done to deserve
this.

``If you do not want to go to the Headmaster,'' said McGonagall,
``please come to me. I do not believe that you have done evil, and today
I saw you face both accusations and your brother's words with courage
worthy of someone in my House. I would welcome the opportunity to talk
to you.'' She stood up and stared down at him. ``You are going into
darkness,'' she whispered, ``and you are unarmed. I would change that,
if I could.''

``Why?'' Harry whispered back.

McGonagall blinked once, and then her face hardened. ``What will be done
to you is neither right nor fair,'' she said. ``I remember how cruel
children can be.'' And then she turned and was gone, her robes swirling
determinedly around her, before he could say anything else. Harry
watched her stiff back, and hoped that Connor wouldn't catch it too
badly from her. He hadn't done wrong, had only spoken what he thought.

He murmured the password to the door---\emph{pureblood valor}---and
stepped into an immediate onslaught of questions and murmurings. Harry
answered all those he could, with Sylarana tightening steadily around
his arm until she said, \emph{That is enough. You need to sleep.}

\emph{Again}? Harry protested, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to
keep up the mask for much longer. He nodded to the questioners and made
his way to his room. He could feel eyes on his back. He walked tall
under them anyway. None of them were as bad as Connor's accusing gaze
had been.

He stepped into their room, and Draco grabbed him and spun him around
twice, then pulled him close and held him there. Harry blinked. He
seemed to be getting an unusual amount of hugs this evening. Unlike
Professor McGonagall, though, it felt safe to embrace Draco. He
tentatively stuck his arms out and hugged him back.

``I thought something had happened to you when they said someone was
lying there Petrified,'' whispered Draco. ``I thought you were in the
hospital wing, that your brother had done something to you, that you
were \emph{dead}, oh Harry\ldots{}''

Harry patted his back gently, and felt an echo of sadness, that so few
people cared about Luna her name had not even survived the exchange of
gossip. ``It wasn't me. It was Luna.''

``The mad girl?'' asked Blaise from his bed in surprise.

Harry glared at him, and then came and sat down on his bed for a gentler
round of questioning. Luckily, his roommates were much more inclined to
let him go to bed when he wanted, not least because Draco sat there with
an arm around his shoulders at all times and keenly watched his face,
and announced that he had to sleep halfway into Blaise's fourth
question.

Harry lay down gratefully. At least he might find some refuge in his
dreams, as long as he didn't dream of the screaming and writhing dark
figures.

\emph{You will not,} said Sylarana, slithering into his thoughts.
\emph{Trust me to guard your sleep tonight.}

And he did, and he passed into slumber and darkness.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Mr. Potter. Come in. Take your place in front of the mattress.''

The office looked much the same as it had for the last lesson, but
though Harry took his place in front of the Transfigured stretch of
floor, Snape did not at once move to practice Legilimency on him. He
spun his wand in his hands instead, and stared moodily at Harry. Harry
blinked at him. Always before, Snape had attacked him, and then they had
discussed what defensive strategies Harry could employ to counter the
attack. A patient Snape was an oxymoron.

So was an uncertain Snape, Harry knew, and yet that was what he thought
he saw after a few more moments. Snape paced back and forth, his robes
snapping, and then spun and launched---not a mental push, but a
question.

``Mr. Potter. Are you aware that there is a box in your thoughts, one
which you open several times a session so that you may slip your anger
into it?'' His eyes were narrow, his voice clipped, but not icy with the
rage that Harry would have expected about such a question.

Harry froze. Snape could sense the box? He had been sure it was a
private part of his mind, that his movements were so swift and
well-trained that Snape couldn't actually sense where the anger went.

``Mr. Potter.''

Harry took a deep breath, lifted his head, and nodded. ``I am, sir,'' he
said. He waited, then. If Snape wanted to talk to him about the box,
then he would have to \emph{ask}. Harry was not going to volunteer
anything.

Snape clenched one hand around his wand, but asked the next question in
an almost neutral tone, perhaps because of its rapidity. ``What do you
put into the box?''

``Anger, mostly, sir,'' said Harry. ``And sometimes other emotions that
I don't want to feel.''

``What are those?'' Snape asked, after another staring contest.

``Resentment,'' said Harry. ``Jealousy. Envy, sir. Anxiety. The
unattractive emotions.'' He shrugged. ``The box contains them all.''

Snape hissed air in and then out. ``Are you aware, Mr. Potter, that
keeping so many of your emotions closed off from the rest of your mind
is extremely dangerous? The theory of Legilimency and Occlumency
explains why it should be so. The mind is a moving thing by nature, with
memories and thoughts free to come and go. When one part of it is
constricted---as by an \emph{Obliviate} spell, or by the Imperius
Curse---then that part cannot move as it should. It will settle into
place, and do, potentially, massive damage when disturbed. The rush of
returned memories after someone has been Obliviated, for example, has
driven some wizards insane.''

Harry blinked. ``But that's only if the constructs are disturbed, sir,
isn't it?''

Snape bared his teeth. ``Did I not just say so?''

``So as long as I don't disturb the box, then, I should be safe.'' Harry
shrugged. ``It seems simple to me, sir. I can keep the box locked up.
I've had lots of practice. It's been with me for a long time.''

Snape took a single long stride forward. ``So imagine what is in there
now, Potter,'' he whispered. ``Years of, as you put it, `the
unattractive emotions.'\,'' His voice edged the words with acid.
``Imagine what will happen when the box shatters, as it must with the
pressure that you put on it. Imagine what will happen when those
accumulated years of rage flood your mind all at once. They could ignite
your magic, and perhaps damage your sanity beyond repair.''

Harry shivered at that. He didn't want to be left unable to help Connor.
But, at the same time---

``But if I open the box at all, Professor,'' he asked, ``won't the same
thing happen?''

``Not if it is drained slowly,'' Snape answered. ``One emotion at a
time, one memory at a time. Put them back into your mind, allow them to
mingle with your other thoughts, and they should dissipate their force
on their own.'' He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. ``Of course,
that does mean---''

``That I would be angry with Connor,'' said Harry. He shook his head.
``I'm sorry, Professor, but I can't do that. I would have to stop using
the box in the future, wouldn't I?''

``That is precisely the \emph{point} of this exercise,'' Snape began.

``I can't,'' said Harry firmly. ``I don't \emph{want} to be angry with
Connor. If I really were above all the petty emotions, then I shouldn't
feel it, and that would be the best solution. But since I keep failing
to do that, due to defects in my training or defects in myself, then the
box is the best solution. That way, I can protect my brother without
fearing that I'll suddenly break out in hostility towards him.''

He breathed more easily as he pronounced the words. Yes, this was the
best solution, the first time he had ever justified it aloud to himself.
He would be no use to Connor dead, or brain-damaged, or raging at him.
Confining his emotions and memories like this was the best thing he
could do.

``You fool.''

Harry blinked and dragged his attention back to his Professor. Snape had
his wand out and a bone-deep rage on his face. Harry stepped back
warily.

``If you do not drain that box,'' Snape whispered, ``it \emph{will} burst
open someday. Some crisis will come upon you, or you will attempt to
tuck one fury too many into it, and it will break. I will not have that.
I will not see you broken beyond repair. And what if it happened in
Hogwarts, Potter? Would you see your precious Boy-Who-Lived in such
danger?''

Harry recoiled. ``I---I can't be a danger to him, Professor,'' he said.
``I have to be there, with him, beside him---''

``\emph{Legilimens!}''

Harry found himself staggered, thrown, whirling hard. Snape pushed into
his mind and turned in the direction of the box.

Harry fought. He hid the box behind curtains of drifting mist the way
Snape had taught him, tossed memories into the air to distract him, and
thought deliberately of what had happened with the Chamber of Secrets,
though Snape must know that by now. Professor McGonagall had told him
this morning that the professors knew, and that Luna would be in the
hospital wing until the mandrakes they were growing in Herbology were
ready to be harvested and heal her.

Snape strode through the puffing mist of that memory and knelt beside
the box, reaching out to grasp its lid. Harry thought of suddenly
suffering the strange thoughts he'd had about Connor yesterday---that it
was unfair of Connor to put him in that situation with Draco and
Ron---and panicked.

He didn't know what he did, but in the next moment he heard Sylarana
say, \emph{On your word.}

Harry opened his eyes. Sylarana was coiled around Snape's throat, her
fangs glistening like Veritaserum a few inches from his skin. Snape
stood very still, his head tilted back to accommodate the snake. His
face wore an expression of utter disdain. Only the sweat on his forehead
betrayed his fear.

``\emph{I want to kill him,}''said Sylarana. Her voice lacked the teasing
tone that Harry had heard her use every other time she said that.
``\emph{He should be dead now. What he did was stupid and dangerous.}''

Harry swallowed and shook his head. ``Don't kill him,'' he whispered,
and heard Snape draw in a sharp breath. It probably sounded like
hissing. Harry didn't care. ``Come back, Sylarana, please.''

``\emph{You are sure}?'' She was already uncoiling, however, and making
her way gracefully across the floor to him. Harry knelt and put out his
left arm. She coiled around his wrist and laid her head out along the
back of his hand. Her eyes stared directly into his. ``\emph{I would have
killed him.}''

``I know,'' Harry whispered back, and glanced up at Snape.

``We are done for today, Potter,'' said Snape, betraying nothing by his
tone. ``You will return for your lessons this week at the same time you
always have.''

Harry nodded, not daring to say anything, and slipped out of the room.
It seemed Snape would pretend the next lessons were normal, and Harry
saw no alternative. Death had been with them in that room. It was not so
easily dismissed, but it could be ignored by mutual effort.

One thing was certain, however. The box was not going to be enough
anymore. Harry had to find something else.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry sighed softly and slumped back in his seat. He'd been in the
library for the past three hours, and hadn't found any spells that
sounded like what he was looking for, even granted that he was looking
through spells intended for use by adult wizards.

Then he turned the page.

\emph{Fugitivus Animus.}

Harry let out a small gasp and slid closer to the page. The description
of the spell lay there invitingly, as if waiting for him.

Fugitivus Animus, \emph{or the Fugitive Soul, is a spell designed for
concealment in particular difficult situations outside of battle. Its
limitations make it impractical for use in a battle environment, unless
one has a target already chosen and highly visible.}

\emph{With this spell, the caster transfers attention from himself to
someone else. He does not become invisible, but slips from the grasp of
all thoughts in the area. Thus he reorders the perceptions of those
affected by the spell, so that he drops from whatever position of
importance he may originally hold to lowest priority, worthy of less
notice than a fly that wanders through the room.}

\emph{There are two orders of this spell. The first is} Fugitivus Animus
Cogitatio, \emph{which is performed with three sweeps of the wand to the
left at brow height, emphasizing the three words of the spell, and
transfers attention from the caster to one person in the immediate area.
The caster may leave unnoticed, as everyone else in the vicinity will
begin paying attention to the target. Anyone who departs the area of the
target, however, will remember the caster, often quite suddenly.}

Fugitivus Animus Amplector \emph{will permanently transfer attention
from the caster to the target, and last as long as both caster and
target are alive. It is performed with three sweeps of the wand to the
left at brow height, as its lesser cousin, and then a sweep of the wand
to the right at heart height. The caster must use much more of his will
in casting it, as it is a harder spell by three degrees of magnitude.}

\emph{The counter for both spells is the} Finite, \emph{or} Reparo
Mentis. \emph{However, in dispelling the} Amplector \emph{spell, the
caster must use as much strength as the original wizard who created the
spell.}

\emph{Because both versions of the} Fugitivus Animus \emph{spell
interfere with others' thoughts and feelings, this spell is classified
as \textbf{Dark.}}

Harry let out a small breath and closed his eyes. He was sure the spells
would be difficult to perform; if not, this book would be in the
Restricted Section, rather than kept in the open for students to
research spells they would never be able to cast.

But it was what he needed. It was perfect.

He could keep people from looking at him while he struggled to deal with
whatever emotions he was currently experiencing, if they couldn't go in
the box. And if Connor was in the same room, then Harry could make
everyone else pay attention to him, as befitted the Boy-Who-Lived.

\emph{This is a bad idea,} Sylarana hissed at him. \emph{It is Dark
magic.}

\emph{Are you afraid?} Harry challenged her.

\emph{Of course not! It's just a bad idea.}

Harry went to put the book away, ignoring the small part of his mind
that agreed with Sylarana. He had to do \emph{something.} It seemed that
the world was closing in on him, not letting him do \emph{anything}
right. Every move he made was anticipated, tracked, and turned aside.

He needed to figure out some way of keeping his vows, and until he came
up with a better one, the \emph{Fugitivus Animus} spell was it.

\chapter{Threats and Throws}\label{chapter-12-threats-and-throws}

Harry never wanted to go through a week like that again. The sooner he
mastered the \emph{Fugitivus Animus} spell, the better.

Monday had begun with a murmur of noise as he walked into the Great
Hall, one that might have built to hexes and flung food---\emph{would}
have built, Harry was certain, if not for the professors seated at the
staff table. Though he sat beside Draco at the Slytherin table, and the
Malfoy heir looked as if he would kill the next person who so much as
breathed wrong at Harry, he could still feel the stares. They made his
breath short and his legs shake, and he ate little and left soon.
Sylarana protested. Harry told her to shut up, and she sulked for the
next three hours.

The Ravenclaws' taunts had grown worse now that he had, as they saw it,
actually put a Housemate in the hospital wing permanently. Harry watched
them, at least, with no emotion more complicated than bitterness.
\emph{They didn't appreciate Luna while they had her, did they?}

``Did you get your little snakes to hold her down while you Petrified
her, Snake Prince?'' one of them asked as he headed to Charms. ``Was it
fun?''

``Not fun enough for him,'' said a seventh-year Ravenclaw knowingly. ``I
heard he forced poison down her throat while she screamed for mercy, and
then cast \emph{Crucio} while she was still recovering from that.''

``He probably bit her himself,'' said another.

Draco spun around, wand in hand. Harry touched his arm. ``Don't,'' he
said softly. ``It's not worth it.''

Draco spluttered and protested at him for the rest of the day about
that, which at least gave Harry something to listen to beyond the
taunts.

On Tuesday, Ron stomped up to the Slytherin table. Draco bristled. Ron
ignored him entirely, though, and spoke to Harry through clenched teeth.

``This isn't over,'' he said. ``I know there's some kind of, of
\emph{plot} afoot. There's no way that my dad could get sacked and his
brother betray Connor in one week unless there was a plot. We'll stop
you. You just wait.''

``Oh, very good, Weasley,'' said Draco, leaning forward until he had
almost shoved his face into Ron's. ``I had no idea that you knew the word
\emph{afoot.} Picked it up from Granger, did you?''

Ron turned red in the face, but Harry asked quietly, ``Why was your
father sacked? What was the charge?''

``That \emph{git's} dad said that if he couldn't control himself in a
bookshop, he couldn't control himself in the Ministry,'' said Ron,
through clenched teeth. ``They did an unfair review of him, and he got
sacked.''

``And the truth finally comes out,'' Draco drawled. ``Your father should
have been forced from his job long since, Weasley. What my father did is
a favor to the Ministry, the rest of the wizarding world, and humankind
in general.''

``I'm going to \emph{kill} you,'' said Ron, and reached for his wand, at
which point Hermione came up to him and slapped him on the side of the
head. Harry stared in shock. Hermione met his eyes for a fleeting
moment, and Harry blinked at what he saw there. She looked sorrowful,
tired, but not contemptuous, nor as if she had decided he were the
source of evil.

``Ron Weasley, you are going to come sit down \emph{right} now and
\emph{shut up} before you lose Gryffindor points,'' she hissed at him.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Draco said, ``Oh, come, come,
Granger. He was just showing us his new vocabulary, weren't you,
Weasel?''

Harry hissed at him. ``Draco. Be quiet.''

Hermione nodded to Harry, as one ally to another, and marched Ron back
to the Gryffindor table. For a brief moment, Harry felt as though this
day might not be so bad after all.

Then he caught Connor's gaze, merciless in judgment, radiant in
innocence, and looked away. What did it matter if Hermione or anyone
else believed he was innocent, as long as his brother thought Harry had
betrayed him?

In Transfigurations class on Wednesday, someone Harry never saw
enchanted the needles they were turning into quills. Several of them
flew over, hovered in front of Harry, and spelled out T-R-A-I-T-O-R and
S-N-A-K-E.

That turned out to be the only good part of the week, unexpectedly. The
needles had just gone into their second spelling when McGonagall
banished them with a wave of her wand, and turned a fierce gaze on
Harry.

``Mr. Potter, stay after class, please.''

He did, and much to his surprise, she took him up to her office, gave
him tea, and insisted that he discuss the finer points of
Transfiguration theory with her. Harry let himself be drawn out on a
subject he knew only from books, and found his knowledge matched and
countered by McGonagall's experience. Her description of what it felt
like the first time she underwent the Animagus transformation---``as if
my stomach were running out my ears''---made him choke on his tea and
smile at her. McGonagall smiled back. Harry could almost ignore that her
eyes were haunted, and, miraculously, McGonagall never reminded him why.

On Thursday, he went to the hospital wing to try and see Luna. Madam
Pomfrey proved willing to let him in, and he sat by Luna's bedside for
an hour, his eyes fixed on her wide blank ones, trying to think of
anything to say that didn't sound self-serving.

He stepped out of the hospital wing, and someone ambushed him. There
must have been a group of them, Harry thought later, since Sylarana
didn't even have time to hiss, and the hexes that hit them both flew
from all directions. He went down stunned, body-bound, with an Obscurus
charm over his eyes, and then they began using both wands and fists on
him.

It only lasted a few minutes before Sylarana managed to shed whatever
spell the ambushers had put on her to keep her immobile and slither out
from his sleeve. The hexers shrieked and ran. Sylarana, in a rage,
slithered after them until the ward rang and the cage came down around
her. Dumbledore came to fetch her and release Harry from most of the
hexes a short time afterward.

Harry spent Friday in the hospital wing for his bruises and what Madam
Pomfrey called his exhaustion, visited by a rotating group of anxious
Slytherins, who told him that there were rumors that he'd set Sylarana
on the ambushers deliberately. By Friday evening, there were people
speaking of him as the new Dark Lord.

Given all that, Harry was actually almost glad to face his brother in
the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch game that Saturday. At least he knew
that he'd be able to control what happened.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry closed his eyes and pushed open the door of Sirius's office. The
voices inside stopped speaking at once. He knew that several pairs of
eyes had turned to him, but it was a long moment before he managed to
gather up his courage and face them.

Their parents stood in front of Sirius's chair, Connor, already in his
Quidditch robes, between them. Remus sat in a second chair, his head
cocked to the side, eyes soft and smile just fading. All of them,
including Sirius, looked at Harry as if they had seen a ghost.

``Hello,'' said Harry softly.

Remus unfroze first. ``Hello, Harry,'' he said calmly, as if nothing had
happened. ``I was just telling your mother how much I look forward to
seeing you both fly today. It's a perfect day for Quidditch, isn't it?''
He turned and smiled at Sirius, as if inviting him into the
conversation. Sirius sat there, and stared at Harry. Harry looked away
from him, too. He hadn't been near Sirius since Luna was Petrified, and
Sirius certainly hadn't come to see him. He'd wanted to put the pain he
felt about that in the box, but hadn't quite dared, so now it drifted
along beneath the surface of his mind and made him uncomfortable. Harry
had no idea what to do about it, what to say. The only comfort in this
situation was that no one else seemed to have any idea what to do,
either.

Except Remus, whom, Harry had noticed before, would carry on a
conversation in the middle of a raging battle between James and Connor
about how high he was allowed to fly on his broom.

``A beautiful, bright, sunny day,'' said Remus. Harry glanced up from
beneath his fringe to see that the werewolf's amber eyes had chilled
slightly, but he was looking at Sirius, not Harry. ``A day for Quidditch
games, and a day for families. There will be many parents here to see
their children fly, I imagine. And godparents, too. I'm sure that true
\emph{godparents} wouldn't abandon their godchildren without even
talking to them, would they?'' He leaned back and turned a grim smile on
James. ``Or parents, either.''

There was a long, long pause. Then James said, between his teeth,
``Connor, would you wait in the hallway, please? We'd like to talk to
Harry alone.''

Connor opened his mouth to protest. Harry shot him a glance of sympathy
that he doubted his brother noted. Connor \emph{hated} being treated
like a child, and James doing so wasn't the best way to get through to
him.

``Come on, Connor,'' Remus said, standing and extending a hand to him.
``I don't think I ever showed you the tunnel behind the statue of the
humpbacked witch, did I?'' He leaned nearer and lowered his voice, eyes
warm. ``It goes straight into Honeydukes.''

Connor perked up a bit, but still turned his head and looked back at
Harry. Harry nodded. He understood the import of that look. \emph{I am
doing everything I can to stop you.}

He certainly seemed to be, Harry thought, as he watched his brother
depart. He was plotting something with Ron and Hermione, walking with
them in close concert through the corridors. Every now and then Hermione
made a muffled protest, but Connor would hush her, and explain something
else that made Hermione bite her lip and nod thoughtfully.

``Harry.''

The door shut behind Remus and Connor, and Harry turned with a sigh to
face their parents and Sirius.

Sirius still slumped in his chair, scowling. Lily stood in the same
place she had been since Harry entered the room, eyes fixed on his face.
It was James who spoke, his voice earnest but clumsy. Harry knew how he
felt.

``Connor told us what happened,'' James said. ``All of it. The fight
between Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy---'' his distaste for Draco's last
name was boundless, Harry noted ``---and then how he found you standing
in the corridor beside the Lovegood girl's body that evening.'' James
closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. ``And the Parseltongue, and the
way you've used magic on Ravenclaws before now. You sent some poor girl
to the hospital wing, didn't you?''

Harry nodded. No point in denying it.

\emph{I can deny it,} said Sylarana in his head. \emph{But none of them
would listen to me.}

\emph{None of them could understand you,} Harry corrected her.

\emph{None of them would listen even if they could understand me.} The
Locusta's thoughts had a sulky tone that would have made Harry smile at
any other time. But this was a conversation with his parents.

``And you were being possessed by You-Know-Who,'' said James. ``Or, at
least, his younger self. I don't \emph{understand}, Harry. I thought the
private lessons old Snivellus is giving you were supposed to help with
that?''

He paused, and this time he clearly expected a verbal answer. ``They're
helping,'' said Harry quietly. ``And I don't think I Petrified Luna,
sir. I was asleep when it happened, so I don't know who did, but I don't
think Tom Riddle possessed me.''

``So he's possessing someone \emph{else}?'' James asked. ``But why?''

``James.''

Just a single word from their mother, Harry thought, and the room was
already calmer. Lily came forward and knelt down in front of Harry,
brushing his fringe back from his eyes. Harry watched the lines around
her mouth tighten as her finger caressed his lightning bolt scar.

``I think we have to tell them,'' she whispered.

Harry let out a short little breath, pitying her. He knew that she had
wanted to keep their father innocent for much the same reason that they
had wanted to keep Connor innocent. That clarity of mind, that purity of
soul, was something worth fighting for.

But, if it came to telling a few people what Harry was instead of the
whole world, then that was a better solution.

Lily stood, moving behind Harry and putting her hands on his shoulders.
``I've been training Harry for most of his life,'' she told James and
Sirius. ``I've asked him to learn all the spells he could, all the
wandless magic he could, all the theories and pureblood customs he
could, in case Connor needed them later.''

James managed to stutter out something that sounded like, ``What?''
Sirius was staring at both of them wide-eyed. Harry put his head up and
reminded himself that the stares were tolerable. His mother was here
with him. He did not stand alone.

Lily nodded. ``Connor is Voldemort's enemy,'' she said. ``You know it.
Both of you know it. But he couldn't continue as a normal child unless
he had some kind of extra protection.'' She gestured at Sirius. ``You're
here this year, Sirius, and I appreciate it more than I'll ever be able
to tell you. But you can't go everywhere, can't be with the students in
the way that another student can. Harry's been guarding Connor since
last year. I've been training him to do so for most of his life,'' she
repeated. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath.

``It is no wonder that Voldemort has come after Harry. His raw power and
his importance to Connor both make him a target. If Voldemort could
corrupt Harry, it would be the ultimate strike against the
Boy-Who-Lived, short of corrupting Connor himself.'' Lily's hands
tightened on Harry's shoulders, and he could feel the way she tried to
restrain herself from pouring forth everything at once. There were some
things that Sirius and James would take time to understand, no matter
how much preparation she tried to give them. ``So, while I hardly think
this possession a good thing, I do not blame Harry. I blame Voldemort.''

There was thunderstruck silence for a long time. Harry looked from James
to Sirius, and found nothing worrying in their eyes. Both looked
shocked, but that was understandable. James was opening and closing his
mouth as though he wanted to figure out what question to ask first; that
was nothing Harry had not expected. Sirius slumped back in his seat, his
face dreadfully pale. Harry was a bit more concerned about that, but his
godfather had grown up around Dark magic and warrior wizards. Of course
he would be worried that a child was going to encounter them.

\emph{He's worried about Connor, not you,} Sylarana said to him.

\emph{Shut up,} Harry warned her, and shoved the pain away again.

James at last said, ``But that means that you've kept the secret from us
all for years?''

``Yes,'' said Lily. ``I wanted you to be ignorant so that I could have
your unthinking support in times of trouble, James. It was selfish, and
I am sorry.'' She spoke like the witch Harry knew she truly was, her
voice unflinching. ``And I have kept Connor innocent because he needs to
be innocent to defeat Voldemort. But now, when both of you might
interfere with Harry's guardianship, there is no reason for you to be
ignorant any more.'' She turned to Sirius. ``Will you still obstruct
him?''

Sirius shook his head. His face had grown paler. ``But I thought so
differently,'' he whispered. ``Harry, I'm sorry.''

``You can tell Connor the truth now, can't you?'' asked James, his voice
eager. ``He doesn't need to fight with Harry any more.''

Lily sighed. ``No,'' she said. ``It is still true that Tom Riddle
possessed Harry, and that we don't know who Petrified Luna Lovegood.
It's true that Harry has had his mind invaded by a powerful Dark wizard.
And telling him all this might well sully his innocence. I don't want to
do it, not yet.'' She paused. ``Besides, there is one good consequence
to Connor's suspecting Harry.''

``What is that?'' Sirius demanded, his voice rough. ``I can't think of
anything good about it, myself.''

Lily moved around in front of Harry and knelt down again instead of
answering him. She looked into Harry's eyes. ``Harry, do you remember
our discussion of the First War against Voldemort, and the reason the
Prewett brothers led the Death Eaters such a chase before they finally
caught them?'' she asked.

Harry's eyes widened as he recalled the story. Gideon and Fabian
Prewett, Molly Weasley's brothers, had been devastatingly powerful
wizards, but more than that, they had been clever ones. They had run a
deception only uncovered after their deaths, a deception worthy of a
Slytherin.

They had made themselves into targets on purpose, irritating and
distracting the most important Death Eaters from other tasks---tasks
that would have included the execution of helpless Muggleborn families
who were not nearly as well-trained as Gideon and Fabian. The Death
Eaters had united to take them down at last, but while they did that,
fifteen wizarding families escaped via Portkey to safehouses. By the
time the Prewett brothers fell, Voldemort's inner circle could have
taken vengeance on them for months and not been satisfied. The hunt had
encouraged all the traits that Gideon and Fabian had wanted to encourage
in the Death Eaters, including mutual suspicion of each other; they had
begun to think that someone on their side was a traitor and \emph{must}
be helping the Prewetts escape each confrontation.

And Harry understood.

``You want me to do the opposite of that with Connor?'' he asked his
mother. ``Act like a stag so he can act like a hound?''

``Like the leader of a hunt,'' Lily corrected him, giving him the gentle
smile which, reflected in her green eyes, showed that he'd pleased her
very well indeed. ``Connor has to grow wise to the political realities
of the wizarding world, but he's not going to do it the way you did,
especially now that he's made friends among the purebloods devoted to
the Light. He'll grow wise through action. Let him unite the school
around one cause, and that will be good practice for the future.''

Harry nodded. He could feel his guilt and darkness of mind dissipating,
centering on a new excitement. It was all right, now, if Connor
suspected him and stirred the other students up against him. Those
students would get used to following the Boy-Who-Lived. When the real
perpetrator was found, it might make Connor look ridiculous, but Harry
suspected it was likely that the real perpetrator was an innocent
victim, not a willing servant of Voldemort. Connor could forgive that
victim, perhaps rescue them from Voldemort's control, and then turn
around and forgive his brother, showing the height of Gryffindor justice
and mercy. Harry's acceptance of the forgiveness would show his own
absolute loyalty.

It would require very careful planning, Harry knew, and there were half
a dozen things that could go wrong. But it was \emph{a} plan, one that
would serve both his goals in defending Connor and making him look good,
and that made it one he could live with.

``I don't understand,'' said Sirius plaintively.

Lily explained the plain in more detail to him and James, and Harry
luxuriated in the silence. Yes, this was the best way to do things.

\emph{If you are an utterly mad human, then yes, it is.}

Harry jumped. He always managed to forget Sylarana when she had been
silent for a time, it seemed. And she hadn't objected to the plan so
far, so why was she objecting now?

\emph{Because this is madness,} said Sylarana flatly. \emph{How can you
hope to make it work? And how can you hope to have time to feed me while
you are making it work?}

Harry touched his left arm above where she rested as a mark on his skin.
\emph{I'll always make certain to feed you first, I promise.}

He barely listened as his mother hashed things out with James and
Sirius. He knew things were going to be better now. If he did have
Slytherin qualities, as the Sorting Hat and Draco and Snape insisted,
then he was finally going to put them to good use, in the service of the
Light.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry was confident, as he swooped and turned and tumbled through the
air, in a way that he had not been at last year's Gryffindor-Slytherin
Quidditch game.

Connor was aloft, of course, and there were the Bludgers to watch out
for, but this time the Lestranges were not coming after him. Their
parents, Sirius, and Remus sat in the stands below, and this time James
and Sirius, at least, knew that Connor would win, because Harry would
not let it be otherwise. It amused Harry that one of the last things
their father had asked him before he went to dress in Slytherin green
robes was whether Harry was the better flyer than Connor. Harry had been
able to lie about that, since he'd never told their mother the true
extent of his flying abilities, either. He'd assured James that Connor
won the games on his own merits.

It was a small lie, especially compared to the ones he would tell and
live in the coming months. But it was all going to be worth it in the
end. It had to be.

\emph{Mad}, Sylarana insisted in his head. She'd spoken little since
they came onto the Pitch, except in words of one syllable. Harry
supposed she wanted him to divine what the words meant. He refused. He
had more important things to worry about right now.

There were the Bludgers, and the Snitch, and Connor on his broom, and
hundreds of eyes watching from below, from both sides of the Pitch. He
had all of them to fool. Luckily, most were easy. He flipped upside down
almost lazily as one of the Weasley twins swatted a Bludger at him, and
heard it go by, singing, above his broom bristles. The Nimbus 2001 was a
great gift, he thought. It made maneuvers like these so much easier.

As he hung upside down---with Sylarana, forced to tighten her coil on
his left arm, complaining about that, too---he saw the Bludger make a
strange, wide circle and head back towards the game. It ignored the two
Slytherin Chasers in the way, and actually made a circle around the
Weasley twins. It was homing in on---

\emph{Connor.}

\emph{I see that it was a mistake to assume this game was going to be
safer,} Harry thought, and shot forward.

He flew parallel to the Bludger, the wind tearing at his hair and
glasses, the broom giving him all the speed he asked for and more. Harry
timed the Bludger's impact with Connor and reached out, intending to use
his will to yank it to the side, much as he'd used his will to make it
hit the Lestranges last year.

It didn't work. Someone already had the Bludger. Harry felt it as a
sharp cone of power twisting and steering and blowing the ball, one that
sparked against his and forced it away. His eyes narrowed as he watched
Connor go into a spiraling dive, avoiding the enchanted thing's first
strike. It wasn't wizard magic that held the ball.

\emph{A house elf.}

\emph{Dobby?}

Probably, Harry thought. And that just made him angrier that he hadn't
thought much about the house elf since school began, assuming that every
other threat was a greater one.

That could change, now. Harry called his magic up around him, comforted
in the knowledge that most people wouldn't be able to sense it.
Dumbledore, of course, because such a trick should be in his power, and
Draco and Snape, but they were the only ones who had ever reacted like
that when he got angry.

And he \emph{was} angry now, a roaring, frothing rage that he indulged,
because it was for Connor. Harry watched as the Bludger curved back
around, and reached out with a different kind of will. This time, he
didn't want to affect the ball. He wanted the air in front of it to turn
solid, hard as ground without rain, refusing the Bludger passage.

There came a loud \emph{poing} sound, and the Bludger bounced back.
Harry gasped and released the wall of air. That had been harder than he
thought it would, probably because he'd had to call and release the
magic suddenly. He would do better to anticipate the Bludger's next move
and get in front of it, so that he'd have time to use all the
precautions he needed to.

``And the Snitch has been spotted!'' Lee Jordan's voice rose with a
triumphant roar over the suddenly screaming crowd.

Harry snapped his head around, and saw Connor pursuing the Snitch, a
gleam of gold fluttering madly ahead of him. It changed direction
several times, but Harry's brother was never far behind. His hair
streamed in the wind, his face shining with determination. Harry
relaxed. Slytherin had been sixty points ahead the last time he looked,
but if Connor caught the Snitch now, that wouldn't matter. He'd end the
game, get safely out of the air, and secure the victory for his team all
at once.

Then the Bludger began to move again.

Straight for the back of Connor's broom it went, this time ignoring the
other targets completely in its haste. Angelina Johnson, one of the
Gryffindor Chasers, got caught in its path and spun out of the sky
clutching her stomach. She righted herself before she hit the ground,
though, and Harry heard no commanding whistle from either Madam Hooch or
Sirius to end the game.

Connor was utterly involved in claiming the Snitch, which had managed to
fool him with a sudden course change and was now busily darting and
spraying around the sky, leaving Connor to do the best he could in
catching up with it.

That meant that it was up to Harry to do something.

Fierce, clean excitement took him over, and he knew he was grinning as
he let all his speed, and the Nimbus 2001's speed, go.

The air narrowed to a short, defined tunnel in front of him. He flew
past Angelina as if she were hovering rather than circling. He heard
startled gasps and saw eyes turned to him, but didn't mind them. They
would only think that he'd seen the Snitch, too, and wanted to claim it
from Connor.

\emph{Do.}

Harry felt the intrusion of Sylarana's mind into his as a distant
ripple. He rolled over twice as the other Bludger screamed past him, and
as he came out of the tumble, he had to decide which way the enchanted
Bludger would go. It was almost to Connor now, and his outstretched hand
grabbing at the Snitch.

\emph{His outstretched hand.}

Harry chose.

He dived, to get the right angle, and then came up in a single blinding
burst of speed. Up he rose, and got in between the Bludger and his
brother. He would take the hit, Connor would take the Snitch, and all
would be right with the world.

Connor gave him a single, bewildered glance, before fixing his eyes back
on the tiny golden ball. Harry smiled, not caring.

The Bludger halted beneath him, twisted, and then tried to rise between
Harry and Connor, and slightly ahead, so that it could hit Connor full
on.

Harry made another choice, and shot straight across in front of his
brother. Their broomsticks smacked together, but he wasn't close enough
to foul Connor, and---

\emph{Crack.}

The Bludger hit his right arm, making Harry gasp and lean to the side as
his bones went liquid with pain. His left arm, caught wide of the broom,
faltered and grasped for some kind of handhold. He found something small
and grabbed it, thinking Connor had extended a hand to help him.

He wheeled away, right arm clutched close to his side, to see Connor's
eyes going wide, a scream forming on his mouth, and the Bludger, free of
Dobby's magic, falling limply to the ground beneath him. Everybody was
shouting. Sylarana was hissing at him. Harry managed, by dint of
concentration, to hear what Lee Jordan was shouting.

``Potter's caught the Snitch!''

\emph{Well, of course Connor has, what---}

Then Harry became aware of the small, madly dancing thing in his palm,
that thing he had grabbed in his desperate search for support.

``Slytherin wins!''

One side of the Pitch went mad, green banners fluttering in the air,
hoots and catcalls ringing. The Gryffindor side was silent. Harry kept
his head tucked carefully into his shoulder, and concentrated on the
cool shock washing through him. He did not dare look at his parents
right now, nor Remus. He had \emph{promised} that Connor would win.

``Good game, Harry.''

Harry dared to glance over at his brother, and wished he hadn't.
Connor's face was red with humiliation, his eyes glazed with tears.

``If you hated me so much that you wanted to humiliate me in front of
our parents,'' he whispered, ``why didn't you just tell me?''

He dived then, and the rest of the Slytherin team was between Harry and
the Pitch, offering loud congratulations. Harry accepted them as best he
could, riding the cresting wave of his utter surprise. He hissed out
loud when Flint embraced him and jostled his broken arm, though.

Flint blinked at him, then said, ``Come on, Potter, hospital wing for
you.'' He gave Harry a large wink. ``Madam Pomfrey should be able to fix
you \emph{right} up.''

Harry closed his eyes as they escorted him back down like a gaggle of
geese. All his good intentions were \emph{gone} again, burned to a crisp
by circumstances that Harry did not know how to prevent. He wished he
could cast \emph{Fugitivus Animus} right now, and simply vanish from
everyone's attention.

\emph{I don't think it would work even if you could,} Sylarana said, her
voice oddly gentle. \emph{I think you're always going to be showing up,
not shown up. I know that isn't what you want, but that seems to be the
way it is. And snakes deal with reality, you know, not hide from it.
It's no good pretending you've got a mouse when you don't.}

\emph{I'm not a snake,} Harry said back.

She didn't bother responding.

Harry took Draco's embrace when they were on the ground, and accepted
his congratulations, though Flint kept him from hugging Harry too
tightly. And then off he went to the hospital wing yet again, his memory
of Connor's betrayed look hurting more than his arm.

\emph{What am I going to do? How can I keep from betraying him when I
don't even mean to? How can}---

He gave in to temptation, and threw the circling thoughts into the box.
His head cleared at once. His breathing calmed down. He was able to open
his eyes and walk along with the Quidditch team instead of being
half-carried.

\emph{Snape's wrong. This has to be a good thing. It's going to let me
plan.}

\emph{Mother said to lead Connor a hunt. I will. I only have to figure
out how to do it, and I should have some time alone in the hospital
wing. I'll tell Madam Pomfrey that I'm tired.}

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry woke, alone, in the middle of the night, his repaired right arm
curled over his chest and Sylarana curled on top of it, and blinked. It
was a long moment before he could remember what he'd been thinking of.

The middle of the night. Their parents had probably left Hogwarts,
without coming to see him.

Harry told himself that he hadn't expected them to.

When the anger would not go away, he relegated it to the box, without
waking Sylarana, and then went back to sleep, levelheaded and serene.

\chapter{Paralysis}\label{chapter-13-paralysis}

\emph{Harry isn't going to like this.}

\emph{I don't care,} Draco reassured himself fiercely as Harry stirred
slightly in the hospital bed and then opened his eyes. \emph{He doesn't
have to like it. He has to put up with it, though. I'm not leaving him
alone.}

Draco clenched his teeth. He intended to tell Harry the truth about what
he had seen yesterday, and then heard while Harry was in the hospital
wing last night. Harry wouldn't like that, either.

Draco didn't care. Sometimes friends had to do things that friends
didn't like.

``Draco,'' Harry said, staring up at him with obvious surprise, as well
as other emotions that Draco didn't bother taking the time to figure
out. Harry wouldn't want him there. He already knew that. It was time to
move on to other, more interesting facts. ``I didn't know that you would
be here. Don't you have studying to do?''

``It's Sunday,'' said Draco, and leaned closer to him. ``No classes. No
homework unless I want to do it.'' He spent a moment studying Harry.
Harry just kept on blinking at him. His eyes were clear and very green
from this close, but wary. He had his head tilted so that, for once, his
fringe revealed his lightning bolt scar. Draco smiled despite himself.
Harry made him feel helpless in so many ways, and this was one of
them---that he could simultaneously be powerful enough to make Draco's
head ache and vulnerable enough to make Draco want to grab him and hold
him close.

``It's Sunday, then,'' said Harry. ``But aren't you hungry?'' He turned
and glanced out the window of the hospital wing. ``I think it must be
near noon already.''

``I ate a big breakfast,'' said Draco. He decided that he could be
patient. Diverting Harry's attempts to get rid of him one by one was
good practice for dealing with the distinctly peeved Harry he would be
facing in a moment.

``Oh.'' Harry paused and tried to think of something else to say. Draco
watched his mind work, and the lazy loopings of Harry's Locusta on his
chest. Sylarana fascinated him. She fascinated all the Slytherins, and
some of the House practically worshipped Harry for being able to talk to
her. Draco didn't think that Harry had caught on to that yet. ``Um,
well, didn't you want to celebrate the Quidditch victory yesterday?''

``There wasn't much of a celebration without you there,'' said Draco. He
took a deep breath. ``And no, Harry, I'm not tired myself, and I don't
think that I ought to be in the library studying ahead for Professor
Snape's class, and I'm not interested in a walk around the lake today. I
even brought food for Sylarana. Here.'' He dipped a hand into the pocket
of his robe and found the treacle tart he'd put there from dinner last
night. He extended it to Sylarana, who uttered a hiss that Draco dared
to imagine was pleased, and swallowed several pieces whole. Draco saw
her folded fangs gleaming as she ate delicately.

``Oh,'' said Harry again. ``Thank you.'' Sylarana faced him and hissed
something then, and Harry's eyes widened. He hissed back. Draco
half-closed his eyes. He had heard tales of Parselmouths, but had never
imagined he would meet one, unless the Dark Lord returned someday. Even
after a month of knowing Harry could do it, it still startled him, and
touched off a shiver deep within a part of him that he had no name for.
The most Slytherin part, perhaps.

``What did she say?'' Draco asked, when the conversation seemed to have
finished, and Sylarana went back to eating the treacle tart.

``She thanked you for bringing the food.'' Harry's eyes were carefully
watching the door to the hospital wing now, as though he expected
visitors at any moment. Draco allowed himself a smirk. Harry wasn't
really all that transparent. But Draco had been close to him for more
than a year now, and had watched him carefully in all that time, and he
knew what those tiny facial expressions meant.

``You aren't going to be able to get out of this conversation, Harry,''
he said. ``I think we should have had it the first day we met, but I
didn't know you then. And since then, well, you've been busy being
Connor's brother, and I've been busy being a Malfoy.'' He shrugged.

Harry winced. ``Yes, I know,'' he said. ``I did tell you that Connor was
more important to me, remember---''

``I can't see why,'' Draco interrupted, struggling to keep his voice to
a level tone. If he thought too hard about the Boy-Who-Lived, he would
begin shouting. ``He treats you\ldots{} Harry, he would treat dung on
his broom better than he treats you. At least the dung would
inconvenience him a bit, and he wouldn't expect it to lie down beneath
his feet and apologize for getting in his way.''

Harry's chin rose, and the sense of magic he exuded when angry started
chewing at the outer edges of Draco's shields. Draco winced and
strengthened them again. He'd had to do that constantly since the
beginning of the year. Harry's power continued to grow. Draco had never
heard of that before, but then, he had never heard of someone like
Harry, either. He would face both, and do what he needed to do to make
sure both survived.

``He's my brother,'' said Harry.

``That doesn't excuse the way he treats you!'' Draco found himself
yelling abruptly, and tried to rein in his voice. Madam Pomfrey had told
him that if she found him making too much noise, his visit with Harry
would be over. ``It doesn't, Harry,'' he went on after a moment, lower
but no less intense. ``\emph{Nothing} could, not even if you owed him a
life debt and this was the way you were repaying him.''

Harry shook his head. ``You don't understand,'' he said. ``She told me
that you wouldn't.''

Draco blinked. ``Who?'' For some reason, bizarre visions of his own
mother telling Harry such a thing filled his mind.

``Our mother,'' said Harry. ``Lily. She told me that no one outside the
family would understand why I had to protect Connor. Or no one else
\emph{in} the family, even, except me and her. She told James and my
godfather yesterday, and they didn't take it well.'' He shook his head
and sighed. ``It doesn't matter, though,'' he went on after a pause so
brief that Draco had no chance to fit in a word in edgewise. ``I'll keep
doing what I have to do. I hardly need anyone's approval to do so. That
includes yours, Draco.'' The edge of his magic sharpened once more.

Draco raised the shields a little higher. ``I'm not talking about
approval,'' he said. ``I'm talking about disapproval of the whole bloody
thing. Don't you notice what he's doing to you, Harry? Don't you care?''

Harry shook his head slowly, his fringe once more brushing over and
hiding his scar. ``I know what it probably looks like from outside,
Draco---''

``No,'' Draco interrupted slowly. ``I don't think you do.''

Harry just waited. When Draco closed his mouth again, he went on,
patient as the streams that Draco had watched running on the edges of
the Malfoy estates. ``But \emph{I} know what it looks like from the
inside, and no one else except Lily does. I was trained to be a guard
and a protector to Connor. That's what I am. Yes, I've suffered
setbacks, and I've betrayed him.'' He closed his eyes for a moment,
wrinkling his nose. Then he opened them, and his gaze cut through Draco.
``I betrayed him the moment I was put into Slytherin, in many ways,''
Harry said, his voice so detached that it made Draco want to weep. ``But
there are subtler ways than that---doubting him, holding him back,
outshining him. I've done all of them. But I am going to try to recoup
them, to change myself back into the brother he wants and needs.''

Draco slammed his hands down on the bed, then glanced hastily over his
shoulder. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight. She had, in fact, murmured
something about being grateful that Draco was here to take care of
Harry, just in case any more ``mysterious hexes'' manifested themselves.
Maybe she'd meant it.

``Damn it, you shouldn't have to do that,'' said Draco. ``Harry, don't
you \emph{understand} this? Just because you're in Slytherin doesn't
make you evil. Do you think I'm evil?''

Harry paused, a faint shadow on his face. ``Of course not,'' he said.
``But---it's different for me.''

``Tell me,'' said Draco. ``Tell me how.''

Harry pushed himself back into the pillow. Sylarana lay motionless on
his chest. Draco was interested to notice that she watched Harry and not
him. Harry had told him that she could speak in his head. Draco wished
there was a way that he could eavesdrop on those conversations.

``It just is,'' said Harry quietly. ``You're not Connor's blood
relative, and---well, your father was a Death Eater---''

``Under Imperius---''

``\emph{Not} under Imperius. I have the evidence---''

Draco recognized the diversion tactic for what it was, then, and had to
smile. ``Very Slytherin of you, Harry,'' he said. ``Change this into a
different argument. But I'm not letting you. Not this time. We've had
the other argument often enough to satisfy me. We haven't had this one
yet. Tell me how it's different.''

``I'm his brother,'' said Harry. ``His \emph{twin}. It would be too easy
for people to compare us, Draco. I don't \emph{want} them to compare us.
I want to be ordinary.'' Sylarana apparently said something. Harry
ignored her, or at least gave no reply that Draco could hear. ``He's the
Boy-Who-Lived. He's going to have to unite and lead the wizarding world
someday. He needs to be set higher than he is. If I can do things that
make people think better of him, I will. If I can do things that protect
him, I will. If I can do things that make myself smaller so that he can
stand taller, I will.'' By the time he finished, his eyes were shining,
as though he regarded some sacred thing.

``But you shouldn't have to,'' said Draco. ``My parents wouldn't have
made me do that if I had a brother.'' \emph{Horrifying thought. Imagine
having to share my toys!}

``Yes, but your brother wouldn't have been the Boy-Who-Lived,'' said
Harry, giving him a smile of such patience that Draco wanted to slap
him. ``That's the difference, the grand difference that I don't think
you'll be able to get past. Our mother would never have asked me to do
this if Connor was anyone else, or even if he was important to the war
but not in the way he is. But he \emph{is} the key to defeating
Voldemort. I know it. That's the central truth of my life, Draco. I live
to serve him.'' He took a deep breath and watched Draco carefully. ``You
\emph{still} don't understand,'' he added a moment later. ``I can see it
from your eyes.''

Draco was shaking with anger and disgust. Of course, if he yelled out
everything he was feeling, then Harry would just turn away from him, and
perhaps the last chance that he had to get through Harry's barriers
would be lost.

He forced himself to speak calmly. ``Of course I understand,'' he said.
``I just don't agree.''

Harry smiled at him. ``That's because you're not inside the family.''

``Do you have an answer for everything?'' Draco snarled at him.

``Of course,'' said Harry. ``Our mother trained me in what kinds of
arguments someone outside the family would make, the kinds of
misunderstandings they would have, the ways they'd try to coerce or
persuade me otherwise. I know them all. I know the counters to all of
them. If I can defeat my own doubts, then I can surely defeat someone
who doesn't know that first thing about me.'' For a moment, a pensive
look crossed his face. ``She never did tell me why someone would be so
eager to convince me otherwise,'' he added in a whisper. ``That's the
part I don't understand. Can you tell me, Draco? Why anyone would
\emph{care}?''

Draco laughed hollowly. \emph{I'm not the only one who can't understand
something, Harry.}

But he didn't think he would make much progress with that line of
reasoning, either. He turned, instead, to what he thought Harry should
know. ``Do you know what your brother said about you yesterday?''

Harry's head turned to him like a flower to the sun, his eyes wider and
clearer than they had been, his lip snagged between his teeth, hope
scorching his face. Draco caught his breath, and then remembered that
Harry was only looking at him that way because he was talking about
Connor.

Jealousy crackled and flared in him. He hadn't envied the Prat-Who-Lived
all that much before. Why should he? Connor was a complete Gryffindor,
and that meant he had nothing Draco wanted.

\emph{Except Harry's loyalty. I want him to look at me like that. I want
him to pay attention to me because I'm his friend, not just because I'm
talking about his brother.}

``It wasn't anything good,'' Draco warned, to give Harry some excuse for
his stare-filled moment.

``I know that,'' said Harry. ``It couldn't be, after yesterday. But tell
me.''

Draco swallowed back another surge of sickness, that Harry would welcome
even taunting words from his brother, and leaned close. ``He said that
he thought you were still possessed,'' he said quietly. ``That there was
no other way that you would foul him like that, reaching for the Snitch.
That there was no way that you could hate him this much, could act
opposite him instead of on his side, if you weren't still possessed.''

Harry closed his eyes. This time, his expression was that of someone who
had received an answer to a prayer. Draco found that he had to turn
away. He wanted to punch something.

``Ah,'' Harry whispered at last. ``That means that I just have to try
harder. I haven't tried hard enough yet.''

Draco turned back. ``And so you don't care about that at all?'' he
asked. ``Tell me, Harry. What's your \emph{first} reaction to hearing
Connor say something like that? To know that you've worked so hard not
to betray him, as he sees it, and still he thinks that you have, because
you won a game for your House?''

Harry opened his eyes. Maybe it was the question. Maybe it was the fact
that he'd obviously been feeling strong emotion a moment ago, and so was
caught off-guard. Maybe it was just Draco's hopes that he would see a
somewhat more normal side to Harry if he pushed hard enough.

But, whatever the cause, Draco was sure that he saw rage flaring in
Harry's eyes for a moment.

Then it was gone, sudden as a bolt of lightning. Harry shook his head.
``I'm angry, of course,'' he said in a completely level tone. ``But I'm
not supposed to feel that.''

``Why not?'' Draco challenged.

Harry watched him patiently, head on one side. He reminded Draco of no
one so much as Snape trying to coax a particularly stupid student along.

``I wouldn't understand,'' he summarized, feeling a dull flush start in
his cheeks.

Harry nodded and started to open his mouth to say something else, but a
loud crack echoed through the middle of the hospital wing then, and
startled Draco. He turned around to find, of all things, one of the
Malfoy house elves standing at the foot of Harry's bed. Dobby's eyes
widened and he squeaked at the sight of Draco, and he lifted a hand as
if he would leap away again.

``Dobby, stay!'' said Draco commandingly. The Manor's house elves didn't
obey him exclusively, but when neither his mother nor father was in the
room, he was the one they looked to first.

Dobby lowered his hand, shivering, and stared at them both for a long
moment before he abruptly began to beat his head on the floor. ``Dobby
is sorry!'' he wailed. ``Dobby came to apologize, and found Master here,
and Dobby---Dobby does not know---''

Draco gasped abruptly and sagged backwards as his head began to pound
like a timpani. Harry had sat up in his bed. His magic was rising around
him. Dobby stopped talking and stared around himself as the air turned
into a clear cage of blue glass. He reached out one hand and felt at the
glass, then turned and stared at Harry.

``Mr. Harry Potter, sir?'' he squeaked, all trace of fear gone. ``Mr.
Harry Potter is---is like this?''

``I'm powerful, if that's what you mean,'' said Harry, his voice full of
command. ``And now I want to know why you tried to hurt my brother. I
\emph{know} that you threw that Bludger at Connor yesterday, and come to
think of it, you probably prevented us getting through the barrier at
Platform 9¾ too. So tell me what you thought you were doing. Why were
you trying to hurt Connor?''

Dobby abruptly began to wail and sob again, beating his head and his
hands on the glass cage. It didn't break. Draco cautiously took one hand
off his head. Harry was determined, now, not angry. Draco could lean
back and admire the crafting of the glass. He knew of no one who could
make a cage like that, especially so suddenly, and especially not one
that was apparently resistant to house elf magic. He wondered idly if
Harry realized that he'd done the spell without his wand, and also
without speaking a word.

``Dobby cannot tell!'' the house elf was saying. ``Dobby---Dobby cannot
let Mr. Connor Potter be hurt, but Dobby---Dobby serves his
Masters---his Masters wouldn't want him to tell---''

Draco narrowed his eyes. \emph{What is the idiot elf babbling about?}
``I am your master in this room, Dobby,'' he said. ``And I want you to
tell me what you're talking about right now.''

Dobby flung himself on the floor in misery, gripping his ears and
banging his forehead into the stone. Draco put a hand on Harry's arm
when he tried to sit up further. The house elf wouldn't seriously hurt
himself. He wouldn't be allowed to. He had to address the master who
commanded him, and he had to be in good enough shape to do that.

Dobby sat up at last, and wiped at his streaming mouth and nose. Then he
looked Draco in the eye, sniffled, and said, ``Dobby---Dobby has heard
Masters talk about Mr. Connor Potter. Dobby has heard them say that
there is danger at school this year for Mr. Connor Potter. Master went
and fetched a book. An \emph{evil} book.'' Dobby shivered. ``Master put
it at school here to harm Mr. Connor Potter this year.'' He looked up,
eyes large and pleading. ``So Dobby tried to keep Mr. Connor Potter safe.
Dobby is a \emph{bad} elf.''

Draco stared, as shocked as if the house elf had flung a Blasting Curse
at him. \emph{An evil book.}

\emph{He can't mean the diary Harry was talking about, the one that
possessed him? He} can't! \emph{Harry would hate me forever if---}

Then he glanced to the side, and saw Harry giving him a watery smile. He
shook his head as if he knew exactly where Draco's thoughts were going.

``That book did come from your father,'' he said quietly. ``He was going
to put it into Ginny Weasley's cauldron at Flourish and Blotts. I took
it instead. I didn't know exactly what it was, but I knew it was
probably Dark.'' He shrugged as Draco stared at him. ``I took the risk. I
don't blame you, Draco. Will you \emph{please} stop looking at me as if
I should?'' He squirmed under Draco's gaze and turned his face away.

``My father hurt you,'' Draco whispered.

Harry whipped back around. ``No! Draco, don't say that. I don't think he
knew what it did, or why give it to Ginny? It would have made more sense
to give it to me or Connor in the first place, since we're the ones that
Voldemort would most want to possess---''

He stopped talking, and looked as shocked as Draco had. Draco couldn't
appreciate it properly. He was reeling.

\emph{The Dark Lord. Harry had the Dark Lord} in his head. \emph{And my
father was the one who gave him the book that made it possible.}

He found himself stumbling to his feet. Harry watched him with wide eyes
and shook his head once.

``I haven't told anyone,'' he whispered. ``Your father isn't going to
get into trouble, Draco. Please. I promise. I took the risk. I don't
think he knew.''

``Master knew the book was evil,'' Dobby volunteered from his cage, and
then began beating his head on the floor again. ``Dobby is \emph{bad}! So
\emph{bad}!''

Draco just shook his head back at Harry. He wanted to scream and cry
now, but for different reasons. His father had put Harry in danger, even
after knowing how much Draco valued Harry, even after listening to him
talk about Harry all summer.

``Harry,'' he gasped. ``Harry, I'm so sorry. I just---I have to think
about this.''

``Draco, wait---''

But Draco bolted and ran out of the hospital wing. His heart and his
head thrummed with something near to madness, and he was sobbing as he
went. The only good thing he could hear behind him was the crack that
meant Harry had let Dobby go.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry stared at where Draco had been, and then closed his eyes.
\emph{That did not go well.}

``\emph{The boy had to know about his father,}'' said Sylarana, and then
she crawled up his chest towards his face, and laid her head on his
chin. ``\emph{He should know his father is loyal to the one who degrades
snakes to do his bidding, and what his loyalty means.}''

``But I didn't want him to find out like this,'' Harry muttered. He
rubbed his head. It ached, probably from lack of food. ``I didn't want
to force him to choose between his friend and his family. This wouldn't
have happened if I'd just pushed him away from me in the first place.
I---''

His voice choked off abruptly. Colors blurred and swam across his
vision. He felt Sylarana give a single cry and then fall silent. When he
reached out for her, someone swatted his reaching mental hand away.

\emph{There. That is better.}

Harry tried to scream. He knew that voice. Tom Riddle.

\emph{Not so strong without your little snake, are you?} Riddle purred
at him. When Harry's eyes closed briefly in a blink, he could see the
young man, standing in front of the stone wall he had first seen him
near, his face fixed in a smile. His eyes were bright, and his cloak
blew around him in a storm of power. The power stabbed dark fingers into
the stone walls and sandy floor. Harry didn't have to think long to knew
that that power was being used to control him. \emph{Now, I've waited
long enough, and I'm bored, and I want to hurt you some more. Let's have
some fun.}

Harry felt himself stand and begin moving out of the hospital wing.
Riddle laughed and adjusted the tendrils of power that he held. Harry's
walk altered slightly, as though he were a horse on a rein.

Harry fought. He used all the Occlumency that Snape had taught him
against Riddle, flinging up visions to distract him, tempting memories
to make him let go of his power, curtains that would part on deeper
areas of Harry's mind and let Riddle have a firmer grip. Riddle ignored
them all, and finally snorted and clenched one hand shut. The storm of
images ceased. Harry felt a firm door close on that part of his mind
that knew how to practice Occlumency.

\emph{I know you,} Riddle told him in a bored voice. \emph{I've been in
your mind all the time that Severus Snape}---his voice on those last two
words was absolutely vicious---\emph{tried to teach you any of the
mental arts. When I have a firmer grasp on you, when I have} become
\emph{you, then I intend to wait for a session when he isn't expecting
it and leap on him.} Riddle was hissing now, and Harry thought the next
words he spoke might have been in Parseltongue. \emph{I've read your
memories, Harry. Severus Snape is a traitor. He will pay. I swear he
will pay.}

Harry tried again to get away, calling to Sylarana. She didn't respond.
Riddle snorted at him. \emph{Did you think I would overlook her? Of
course not. She is asleep, the way that I put her once before.}

Harry's world collapsed inward like a dark star. \emph{That means---that
means---}

\emph{That you were the one who Petrified the mad girl? Of course.}
Riddle sighed. \emph{I could simply have killed her, but I find that I
prefer this way.} His voice turned abruptly cutting, slicing, making
Harry writhe in pain in his head, but not in his body. His body was
still walking steadily down the stairs and along the hallways, pausing
in a hidden corner whenever someone might come by. \emph{I want to hurt
you, Harry, and Petrifying your friends one by one will do that to you.}

\emph{I don't understand,} Harry thought. He couldn't win the struggle
against Riddle, not yet. Now was the time to save his strength and try
to figure out some way that his possession could still help Connor.
\emph{Why do you want to hurt me so specifically? Why not my brother?}

Riddle laughed, sounding like a dragon gone mad. \emph{I know what you
are, Harry. How do you think that I was able to hide in your head?} He
paused a long moment, then added impatiently, \emph{Your scar. A conduit
to me. So peaceful here. So at home.}

\emph{I can tell Snape about you,} Harry said, as they rounded the
corner to the third floor. \emph{He'll get rid of you.}

\emph{No}, Riddle disagreed cheerfully. \emph{I don't think he can. He
never found me in all his searches of your head, did he? And he won't
get the chance. You'll be suspected this time, Harry. Either you'll tell
them the truth, or they'll catch you at it. I haven't decided which is
more fun yet,} he said.

\emph{Then I'll be expelled,} Harry snarled. They were proceeding
rapidly along the third floor now, and he readied himself to watch for
the entrance to the Chamber. Perhaps he could throw all his strength
against Riddle there, and resist opening it. \emph{Fat lot of good I'll
do you then.}

A flare of fire down the middle of his head silenced Harry. He doubled
over briefly, clutching at what he guessed was his scar, and then kept
walking.

\emph{I don't like defiance,} Riddle said calmly, but with a dangerous
undertone to his voice. \emph{And you are defying me, Harry. How, when
you are mine? You'll Petrify another friend of yours now. You'll turn
the school, and most especially your brother, against you, even if you
tell them the truth. Possessed by Lord Voldemort? Who would shelter you
then? And then, when I'm strong enough, you'll bring me back to life.
How does that sound, Harry? Months and months waiting for something to
happen, while I gather my strength?}

Harry didn't answer. It would probably be counted as defiance again if
he did. He kept to himself, breathing carefully, seeking areas of his
mind that were beyond the control of those fingers of power.

He thought he had one. He readied himself. He had to see, if nothing
else, where Tom Riddle was hiding in his head that Snape hadn't managed
to find him.

\emph{Sorry, can't let you see this part,} said Riddle abruptly, and the
colors in front of him turned the shade of sunburn. Harry found himself
blinking a moment later. He stood in front of a large puddle of water,
once more, and this time the message cut into the wall said: \emph{Who
shall resist the Heir? Stand before him and despair!}

On the floor lay Neville Longbottom's Petrified body.

Harry sagged to his knees and clutched his burning head. That was as far
as Riddle let him get before he reasserted control.

\emph{You'll stay here until someone comes,} Riddle murmured. \emph{I
hope it will be your brother, but I suppose I can't plan on that.} He
sighed. \emph{Meanwhile, I think I should tell you what I'll do to your
brother, when I have him in my power---in your power. It will be the
same thing soon.}

\emph{Fuck off!} Harry yelled, and accepted the pain that answered him.
That was better than doing nothing. And he was still watching from the
unoccupied corner of his mind.

Footsteps sounded abruptly around the corner. For a moment, Riddle stood
to attention in Harry's mental vision; then he frowned and shook his
head.

\emph{It} would \emph{be him}, he muttered. \emph{I am not ready to face
him, not yet.}

He dived. Harry watched him, and watched him go, and felt the control
leave his body at the same moment as Sylarana came back to life, hissing
furiously. Harry sagged to the ground, tears on his cheeks.

He heard the footsteps round the corner, pause, and then come running
towards him. Someone knelt beside him and turned his head around. Harry
found himself staring into Snape's face.

The pain in his head grew worse. Riddle was trying to incapacitate him
before he could tell, Harry knew.

He held onto the strong stare of Snape's black eyes, and forced the
words out before he let pain and guilt together whirl him into the
darkness.

``Tom Riddle is hiding in the box.''

\chapter{A Grim Hope}\label{chapter-14-a-grim-hope}

Later, Snape reflected that it would have all gone far differently if
Draco hadn't caught him before he could bundle Harry into his office.

``Professor Snape.''

He turned, because the tone was not one he had been expecting. He could
have ignored the hysterical crying of a child, or a mere innocent
question about Potions homework. Those were less important than finding
some way to heal Harry and help him control Tom Riddle.

But Draco spoke in the coldly courteous tone of a pureblooded wizard, a
tone that Snape had learned very early in life not to ignore. When he
turned around, he blinked. For the first time, he could see Lucius
Malfoy in Draco---Lucius as he had been the night he helped initiate
Snape into the Death Eaters, Lucius the night he explained the power and
glory of the cause.

Snape found himself with the urge to bow his head. That, of course, only
irritated him further. He wasn't young anymore, and he certainly was no
longer an idiot.

``Draco.'' He made his own tone scathingly cold. He might never be able
to imitate Lucius Malfoy himself, but he had developed his own brand of
ice to hurt people who made inane requests of him. ``As you can see, I
am quite busy---''

Draco caught sight of Harry then. His mask only grew firmer, which Snape
did not understand. He had thought Harry and Draco were close, at least
after the screaming tempter tantrums Draco had indulged in earlier that
term because the boy had ignored him.

``He's had another attack, hasn't he?'' he asked. ``The Dark Lord's in
his head.''

Snape narrowed his eyes. \emph{Has the idiot boy been telling the truth
to everyone who crosses his path?} ``That is not your concern, Draco,''
he said. ``Return to the Slytherin common room at once. You may tell
anyone who asks that I will be unavailable for the rest of the day.'' He
attempted to brush past Draco. Harry was growing heavy in his arms, and
the Locusta had not stopped hissing once. Snape did not want to have her
wrapped around his neck again, as he suspected she would be if she
thought for one moment that he was not doing everything possible to help
Harry.

``It \emph{is} my concern,'' said Draco. ``And take him to your private
rooms, not your offices. I'll come with you.''

``You dare to order \emph{me}?'' Snape swung around. Harry was in danger,
but he could not allow such disrespect to go unpunished. ``I will not
hesitate to give you a detention.''

``I have to firecall my father,'' said Draco, his face perfectly calm.
``He was the one who gave the book that held the Dark Lord to Harry. And
Harry didn't tell anyone. He \emph{protected} him.'' There was some
intense emotion behind his voice, but Snape could not tell what it was
yet. ``My father owes Harry a debt of honor. He is going to pay it,
right now.''

Snape narrowed his eyes further, ignoring the shock that the news had
given him. He would deal with it later. ``Do you really think that your
father will be of any help in prying the Dark Lord out of the boy's
head?''

``Not with that,'' said Draco. ``With the far-reaching consequences.''
He only stood mutely when Snape stared at him, before adding, with a
viciousness that made him sound more like a Death Eater than ever,
``That, and I want him to see what he did.''

Snape decided that he could not waste time arguing. Harry was moving,
about to wake up. His shields of guilt and self-loathing would rise
then. Snape wanted to peer into the boy's mind while he still slept and
see if Tom Riddle was lurking about. ``Very well,'' he said, and swept
down the corridor to his offices, whispering the password to the wall.
It slid open.

Draco followed him into the room and went immediately to the hearth.
Snape decided he was not going to watch. Draco would oppose Lucius and
lose. But his concern still had to be Harry.

He laid the boy out on a low divan and paused to watch his breathing.
Harry's scar stood out on his forehead, more than the general shape of
it lost under a thin film of blood. Snape hissed between his teeth.
\emph{A curse scar. Of course. That must be what gives the connection
between Harry and the Dark Lord. I do not think I can remove it, but I
might at least ease the pain.}

He reached out and laid one hand on Harry's temple. When necessary, he
could use his Legilimency without eye contact. It would leave him with a
pounding headache a day or so afterwards, but that was the price he
paid. And there was no price he would not pay at the moment to be free
of Tom Riddle. Snape suspected that, if he had shared the boy's
memories, he knew about Snape's betrayal. He himself was in danger.

``\emph{Legilimens},'' he whispered.

He sank into a mind gone far too still. Snape glanced about, and
recoiled. The reaction was one of instinctive shock, fear, and disgust.
A moment later, he thought about what pain Harry must be feeling. He
knew he was clenching his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

He forced the physical sensations away. He had to be utterly
concentrated to accomplish this.

He moved slowly forward. Around him, the edges of webs flapped and
unraveled in a foul-smelling wind. The Locusta was woven all through the
boy's mind, a recklessly bright thread that had only sunk in further
since Snape had last looked. The plunging center of Harry's thoughts
remained the solid block of protecting his brother, but more webs than
ever were woven about it now. Snape thought it looked as though some
thoughts had struggled to escape, and Harry's training had tied them
down.

And the box was there.

Snape shivered at the sight of it. The padlocks on it had grown more
extensive, and he could feel the touch of Dark magic on the locks that
was not Harry's. Tom Riddle had been here. He was indeed hiding in the
box. Snape steeled himself. He would have to force it open.

``\emph{Do not.}''

The voice was cold, and everywhere, and beat on his skin like sunshine.
Snape turned. The golden thread had moved towards him. For the first
time, he heard the Locusta's voice wash over him.

``\emph{If you open the box now, you destroy him. Tom Riddle is waiting.
He would prefer not to fight you now, but open the box and he will,
desperately. At the very best, that would tear Harry's mind apart at the
seams. At the worst, Riddle would gain command of Harry's magic and
possess him completely.}''

Snape considered that, or tried to consider it; the thought sent up one
long scream in his mind. He shook his head. ``But if we leave the box
intact, then Riddle can hide and grow stronger.''

``\emph{I know.}'' The Locusta arranged herself in front of said box, her
head half-lowered. ``\emph{But there is no choice. At least Harry is
alive now, and while he lives, he can fight.}'' The voice acquired a tone
of flat amusement. ``\emph{While he has me, he} will \emph{fight.}'' Her
head swung towards him again. ``\emph{But if you crack the box, you break
his safeguards. You bring Tom Riddle. You bring the emotions that Harry
has been hiding. You bring out darkness.}''

Snape did not like the way she said that last word. ``You do not speak
of Dark magic.''

``\emph{I speak of Harry's unattractive emotions} blended \emph{with his
magic, and released all at once, and under Riddle's control.}'' The
Locusta sounded impatient. ``\emph{Think of that, Snape, if you will.}''

Snape let out a slow, shaky breath. ``But then what do you suggest we
do?''

``\emph{Ask Harry. It's} his \emph{mind. And he's waking up now, so he
will want to talk to you anyway.}'' The Locusta lowered her head and
twined herself about the box like a second lock. ``\emph{I will prevent
Harry from putting any more emotions into this thing.}''

The webs around Snape abruptly contracted, flinging him outward and to
his knees. He opened his eyes. Harry was gazing back at him, wild-eyed
and panting. He turned his head away, his face a mask of concentration,
and then let out a soft cry.

Snape didn't understand what he said next, since it was in Parseltongue,
but apparently his Locusta did not yield and let him store his emotions
away. Harry's next tactic was to hide. He hunched into the divan, his
shoulders rising up around his ears, his hands clasped in front of him.
Snape could hear his breath rushing fast, mingled with small moans of
desperation and pain.

``What is wrong with the boy?''

Snape turned abruptly. Lucius Malfoy was just stepping from his hearth,
dusting soot off his cloak and glancing about with a slightly curled
lip, as though he had to disdain Snape's rooms on principle. His gaze
came back to Harry, and he smiled slightly.

``What's wrong is with him is that he has the Dark Lord in his head.''

Draco stepped forward to confront his father, face still a mask of
perfect ice. Lucius glanced at his son, then looked at him again for one
long moment. Snape saw no yielding or curiosity in his expression, but
he did frown, looking like a man who had laid his wand down somewhere
and did not want to use a Summoning Charm to find it.

``What are you speaking of, Draco?'' Lucius asked. ``You coaxed me with
talk of a debt of honor, but I cannot see that I owe a debt to a child
who cannot even control himself.'' Harry uttered another moan, more
urgent, as though in answer. Snape turned back to him and saw tears
leaking down his face, mingled with a thin stream of blood that had
probably come from the scar.

Snape hesitated for a long moment, then blew out his own breath in
irritation---with himself, with Harry, with the situation---and moved
forward to arrange his arms carefully around the boy. The Locusta, lying
motionless on Harry's left shoulder, brushed against him but did not
bite him. Snape, more grateful for that than he should be, sat back
carefully and balanced Harry against his chest.

``Hush, Harry,'' he said softly. ``It is all right. We will fight him.''
Harry stiffened and tried to pull away. Snape held him closer. So long
as the Locusta didn't react, he thought Harry wasn't in danger of
injuring himself or anyone else with his actions. ``Hold still,'' he
whispered, forcing affection, or a parody of it, into his voice. ``You
need to be held.''

Harry went still, though Snape had no idea if it was his voice or what
his Locusta might have said in his mind or something else. He was still
breathing hard, and his heart thrummed against Snape's chest, fast as a
small bird's. Snape gently stroked the boy's hair back from his face,
relieved to see that the scar had stopped bleeding. Harry had his eyes
clenched tightly shut. From the look of it, he never wanted to open them
again.

``The debt of honor, Father, is one that you incurred when you gave the
book to Harry, and then he told no one of it.''

Snape looked up. Draco had moved between Snape and his father, or more
precisely, between Harry and his father.

He was holding his wand.

Snape narrowed his eyes. He understood only a very little of what was
happening here, but if it was what he thought it was\ldots{}

``I see no reason to hold myself responsible for a child's foolish
pride,'' said Lucius. His gray eyes contained no emotion except boredom,
now. Even the slight frown Snape had seen was gone. ``He could have told
his guardians that I gave him the book, or, more precisely, that I
dropped the book into the youngest Weasley brat's cauldron and he chose
to pick it up. I would have weathered the storm. I fear no wrath of
Potters.''

``He \emph{chose} not to,'' said Draco. ``Dumbledore knows about this
possession by the Dark Lord, and Harry still concealed you from him. Do
you really think that you could have stood up to Dumbledore, Father?''

Lucius hissed softly. ``Draco,'' he said, shifting so that his gaze
rested on his son alone, ``I will tolerate no disrespect.''

Draco glared right back. Snape had never seen his student so still, his
eyes so wide, or his stance so poised. His voice did not falter for a
moment. ``This is not disrespect, Father. This is honest truth. Harry
Potter has gone out of his way to grant the Malfoy family his protection
and patronage---''

``\emph{Patronage?}'' Lucius repeated the word in his shock, and then
clamped his mouth shut. A faint blush touched his cheeks. Snape dimly
remembered that such a flinch would lose him a step in the pureblood
dance. As if to confirm that, Draco gave a smile as faint as the blush,
as cold and distant as the moon.

``Yes, patronage,'' he said, as if savoring the word. ``He has protected
you from Dumbledore, Father. He has protected me, first from the wand of
Ron Weasley and then \emph{from his own brother.} The Boy-Who-Lived
ordered him to stand aside, Father, and he would not. He tried as hard
as he could to prevent me from finding out that you were the one who had
given him the book in the first place. And do you know why?'' Draco's
head rose enough that Snape could see his pulse. It beat slow and
serene, a definite contrast to the pulse he could feel racing against
his chest.

Lucius shook his head, as if hypnotized.

``Because he did not want to force me to choose between my friend and my
family,'' said Draco, every word sharp. ``He wanted me to believe that
you were still honorable, that you had not given such a Dark artifact
into the hand of one who had never done you harm---and who was my friend
besides. He cared for my well-being, for my safety, for my lineage.'' He
paused. ``He has been a better protector of our honor than you have
been, Father.''

There was a long silence after that. Snape found that he could not quite
watch the two Malfoys. He gave his attention to Harry instead, stroking
the boy's hair and murmuring reassurances. He didn't let himself hear
the reassurances. He could not live with himself if he did.

Harry quieted at last. Then he spoke, in a voice scraped so raw with
tears and rage that Snape was surprised he could speak at all.

``Mr. Malfoy.'' That made Lucius stare at him. ``I never meant for you
to find out about this. I am sorry. I don't want the Malfoys in my debt,
and you need not fulfill any claim that Draco has made on you.'' Harry
leaned around Snape's neck to glare at Draco. ``Leave it, please, Draco.
I would rather you choose your family.''

Draco shook his head. ``I already made my choice, Harry. You had your
say. You undertook your actions to spare me and keep the Malfoy honor
safe. Now I'm doing what I want to do.'' He turned, degree by degree,
until he was facing his father. ``And I want the Malfoy honor back.''

Snape saw the shot go home. Lucius turned white about the lips. Then
each cheek flushed with a spot of red, and he inclined his head to
Harry.

``Mr. Potter, I am sorry for whatever inconvenience you may have
suffered from that book,'' he said. ``I will swear on the Malfoy name
that I did not know what it was. I was instructed to fetch the book from
a secret hiding place and insure that it reached Hogwarts. Allowing you
to take it reveals a level of carelessness unbecoming a Malfoy, the more
so when the one who came into possession of it was a friend of my son's
who has always treated us with grace. I beg your forgiveness.''

Harry nodded. ``I don't need anything from you, Mr. Malfoy---''

``But you do,'' Draco interrupted. ``Harry, when they find someone else
Petrified, which I assume must have happened from the state you're in,
they'll try to expel you. My father is among the governors of the
school. He can keep them from doing it.'' Draco looked up at his father.
``He can \emph{persuade} them otherwise.''

Snape held his breath. He feared Draco had gone too far. But, after a
long moment, Lucius smiled, and actually knelt down and embraced his
son.

``If I must be out-danced by someone,'' he murmured, ``I would rather it
were my son. Well \emph{done}, Draco.''

``Thank you, Father,'' said Draco, and embraced him back. Snape shook
his head. Despite devoting himself to their ideals for a time when he
had joined the Death Eaters, he still found pureblood families hard to
understand.

``I go now to repay my debt of honor,'' said Lucius, and inclined his
head to Harry. ``Mr. Potter. I look forward to our meeting again,
under\ldots{}less extreme circumstances.''

Snape glanced sidelong at Harry, certain his face would wear a look of
horror. But Harry actually had a faint smile of his own. ``Thank you,
Mr. Malfoy,'' he said. ``I don't blame you for the diary, you know. I
knew your loyalties when I became friends with your son.''

And he probably really didn't blame Lucius, Snape thought. He shook his
head again. There were times Harry acted more like a pureblood than
Draco did. \emph{Although today,} he thought, his gaze drifting back and
forth between the two boys, \emph{I believe they are evenly matched.}

Lucius nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed and distant. ``Draco has told me
that you are a Parselmouth,'' he said abruptly. ``Is that true?''

Harry closed his eyes, as if concentration, and began to hiss. A moment
later, his jumper wriggled, and his Locusta pushed her head around the
edge of it, hissing back at him.

Lucius's eyes narrowed further. Snape watched him appreciate the snake,
and knew that he understood his old friend and old enemy this time.
Lucius had been a Slytherin long before he had been a Death Eater. He
would respect the gift of Parseltongue, find it fascinating\ldots{}

\emph{Be drawn to it?} Snape thought as he watched Lucius's eyes follow
the dart of the Locusta's tongue. \emph{Perhaps.}

Lucius nodded once. ``I shall look forward to watching your exploits in
the future, Mr. Potter,'' he said, and then swept back to the fireplace.
He Flooed out as Snape watched, and the flames snapped green briefly
around him. Draco watched him go, his head high and his neck unbending.

Then he turned around, came over, and tried to pry Harry out of Snape's
arms. Snape gladly let the boy go. He would help Harry, for their sakes
and the sake of the school and the sake of the war, but he was not meant
to hold little boys who had Tom Riddle in their heads. Draco, cradling
Harry against him and not moving until the other boy gave in and held
him back, was a much better choice.

Draco met Snape's eyes over Harry's head. ``What are we going to do?''
he asked. One of his hands rested on the back of Harry's neck, fingers
tangling in his hair. Snape wondered idly if Draco realized how
possessive the gesture was.

``We must find some way of fighting Tom Riddle,'' said Snape, when he
had cleared his throat. ``He is hiding in a box in Harry's head, one
that Harry has used to contain strong emotions.'' He wondered for a
moment about the wisdom of speaking of this in front of Draco, but the
boys had shared enough in the last few minutes that he would have felt
odd hinting about. And Draco could not help at all if he did not have
specific information. ``We cannot open the box without releasing Riddle,
who will fight us, and we would also, his snake assures me, destroy
Harry's sanity.''

``That choice is gone, then,'' said Draco, in a voice that showed, so
far as he was concerned, it had never been an option. ``So what else can
we do?''

Snape leaned back and touched his fingers together. ``I have been
teaching Harry Occlumency,'' he said. ``We could try to construct
shields within his mind, to hold Riddle. But I fear they would not
endure forever. And we cannot destroy the box for fear of what would
happen, and we cannot drain the box a memory at a time, which would be
my preferred course. I fear Riddle would try to prevent that.'' He
remembered what the snake had said, and shuddered. \emph{I cannot fight
the Dark Lord, young or not, in Harry's head, with him having access to
all or even part of Harry's power.}

``Those are out, too, then,'' said Draco, sounding undaunted. ``What
else is left?''

``To grow strong enough to fight him.''

Harry had lifted his head and finally started to strain backwards
against Draco's embrace. Draco hesitated, then let his arms fall. Harry
turned around, his hands clenched in front of him, his face
half-streaked with blood from his scar.

His eyes were furious, with the kind of deep and focused rage that Snape
knew Harry would ordinarily have put in his box. He breathed deeply.
Harry was frightening, but not as frightening as Riddle, and if he
contemplated one without fainting, then he could face the other.

``I know what has to be done,'' Harry told Snape. ``I don't know
\emph{how} to do it. But you'll teach me, won't you?''

Snape lifted his head. ``I will. I will \emph{not} see Voldemort
returned.'' He heard Draco gasp softly, and wondered if it was at this
final declaration of his loyalty or because he had spoken the Dark
Lord's name. He did not care. He could see nothing at the moment but
Harry's eyes, the fury in them, and the need to answer that fury.

He found himself remembering Harry's talents in Potions, on his
broomstick, at defensive spells. Harry had used them all well, but
without delving as far into them as he could have, because his attention
was always elsewhere, on his twin. The same thing had happened with
Occlumency; for all that he knew it was important, he had passively
resisted the lessons, Snape thought, because he could not immediately
apply them to saving his brother.

Now that Harry knew he must defeat Tom Riddle or die or become his
brother's enemy\ldots{}

Snape felt a hard, grim hope catch him about the heart and begin to
squeeze.

``Then I know how I'll do it, too,'' said Harry. ``First of all,
Professor, can you surround the box with a shield so that Riddle doesn't
know what we're doing?'' His eyes had frozen hard. ``I don't want him to
know what we're doing.''

``I can try,'' said Snape carefully. ``I was a better Occlumens than he
was a Legilimens, or I would not have survived. But you realize that he
may be listening to us now, and so know the plan?''

``Do it,'' said Harry.

``You trust me this much?'' Snape had to ask, because he could not help
himself.

``I don't trust you at all,'' said Harry frankly. ``But I know it has to
be done. It's for Connor. He's the only reason I would ever agree to do
something like this, the only reason that I wouldn't go and give myself
up to Dumbledore. Dumbledore would want to put me in St. Mungo's or
something for my own safety.'' Harry shook his head. ``My safety is less
important than Connor's.''

Snape noticed Draco about to say something before he caught himself. He
arched a brow. \emph{The boy has already shown loyalty to a fellow
Slytherin, to at least one person besides his brother. I wonder if he
noticed that?}

But the important thing at the moment was doing what Harry asked of him,
so Snape met his eyes and intoned, ``\emph{Legilimens.}''

In moments, he was back among the foul, fluttering webs, but this time
Harry was with him, urging him forward, parting the barriers that would
have naturally stood in Snape's way. Snape watched him at it even as he
swam towards the box and prepared to weave the shields. Harry seemed to
have accepted, finally, that the art of Occlumency was about motion and
not stillness. The webs almost danced in the wind of his power, and that
same wind rose behind Snape and urged him forward the last few lengths
to the box.

\emph{The boy will be a natural Occlumens, if he puts this much effort
into it,} Snape thought as he laid his hands around the box. \emph{And
he will, if he thinks it will save his brother.}

He had made many mistakes, Snape had to admit, but none as profound as
trying to use Harry against his loyalty to Connor. That would not break.
Snape would remember it in the future.

He began the shield.

He had been a Death Eater, and then a spy, and as a result he could
safely say that he knew Voldemort better than anyone alive. Dumbledore
might come close, but he was too much a part of the Light. He could have
matched Voldemort at Dark magic; he had chosen not to exercise his power
in that direction.

Snape, meanwhile, had once reveled in casting whatever strength of Dark
spells his Lord would let him get away with, and had invented several
potions that Voldemort had delighted in, all for the purpose of causing
pain.

He knew what to make the shields out of.

He wove memories of Harry weeping on the divan, his face covered with
blood. He inscribed the agony he had seen on Harry's face in the moments
before Riddle knocked him unconscious, as he whispered that Riddle was
in the box. He recalled, deliberately, the helplessness that had
assaulted Harry when his own Locusta prevented him from dealing with his
emotions as he was used to doing.

The snake, wrapped around the box still, hissed then. Snape nearly
faltered. But she went silent again, and watched as the memories rotated
around each other and assembled.

Now came the difficult part. Snape worked fast but delicately, not
allowing himself to falter, his magic answering his mind the moment a
thought came into being. He trailed threads from the edges of the
memories, linking them together, using the webs of Harry's mind for
inspiration. So that Riddle would not grow suspicious after he saw the
same memories over and over, Snape spun slight variations of them,
similar images of Harry in pain and agony that would content and
fascinate Voldemort's sadism. He arranged the threads behind each other.
They would spring into view slowly, and make Riddle have a sense that
time was passing and still Harry was writhing in anguish and terror of
the possession.

Snape wove a final cloud of fog as a shield around it all, and as a
last-minute precaution. Should Riddle burst free of both Harry's and the
snake's restraints, the fog would baffle him and give them at least a
few moments' warning.

Snape tugged the threads into place, used one moment more to admire his
fine work, and then launched the shield.

Images of Harry in pain began to play around the box. Snape closed his
eyes, exhausted, and let himself fall out from the boy's mind.

He must have been more exhausted than he thought, as he went unconscious
for a few moments. When he came to, the boys were arguing quietly.

``\ldots{}cannot possibly be as fine as you look.'' That was Draco.

``Fine?'' Harry's voice was edged with something Snape had never heard
from him before, something that might almost have been humor. ``Of
course I'm not fine. But I can put it aside, Draco. I have to. I have to
focus on Connor, on helping him and protecting him and saving him.
When---when I can collapse, I promise you, I will. When I've driven
Riddle out of my head.'' He gave a sound half-snort, half-sob. ``I don't
have the box to put my emotions in any more.''

``That's not good enough,'' Draco demanded, and Snape opened his eyes to
see the boy move over in front of him. ``Professor Snape,'' Draco said,
``is there a way that you can connect me to Harry's mind? Can you let me
watch over the box? Can't I help \emph{somehow}?'' That last was the
closest to a child Snape had heard him sound in an hour.

``Since you are not an Occlumens, it would take deep trust---'' Snape
began.

``I trust Draco,'' Harry cut in.

Snape did not understand himself at all, because that statement gave him
hope. He sat up and squinted at Harry. Harry gazed back. His emotions
were clear across his eyes, fear and resignation with that adamant fury
and resolve cutting it all, and Snape caught a glimpse of the possible
future in that moment.

It was \emph{only} a glimpse, and he told himself to distrust it. Harry
would probably still try to go back to the box, from sheer force of
habit. Riddle was powerful, and they might not win. Should they win this
battle, there would be hundreds of others to fight.

But Snape saw, in that glimpse, something grander and more glorious than
a world without Voldemort, or even a brighter reputation for Slytherin
House. He saw the whole wizarding world changed, transformed into
something better. He saw, for once, a powerful wizard who could bend his
strength to improving matters with all his will, and not crack and
change his ideals into a reign of terror, or cloak it in riddles and
talk of sacrifice.

It gave him hope. It broke parts of his heart that he had not thought
were still there.

\emph{It is making you sound like a babbling idiot,} Snape told himself,
and nodded shortly. ``Then there is a way that I can link Mr. Malfoy to
your mind, and myself as well,'' he said. ``There will be three
guardians on the box, then, with your snake and ourselves---''

``Four,'' said Harry quietly. ``It will be hard, I know, but I
\emph{will} do this.''

Snape had to turn his head away. He was liable to show an entirely
embarrassing reaction if he continued to look at Harry.

``Four,'' he agreed, voice rough, and they would only think it was with
sarcasm, wouldn't they? He got to his feet. ``There is a potion to be
prepared as well as the mental link. I suggest that both of you rest for
right now. Stay here. We are not telling the Headmaster about this, I
presume?''

``We aren't,'' Harry agreed. ``He'd never let us do it. And, Professor
Snape?''

Snape turned and looked at him. Those green eyes cut through him again.

``Thank you,'' Harry said.

Yes, Snape thought, matters would have resolved rather differently if he
had taken Harry to his office and Draco had not stopped him.

But, he was inclined to think as he tried not to feel hope, the way they
had fallen out was better.

\chapter{Paying the Piper}\label{chapter-15-paying-the-piper}

Harry told himself he was ready when someone knocked on the door of
Snape's office.

He wasn't, not really. He could feel Sylarana shifting where she held
the box, agreeing with him, and the distant, prowling guardian presences
of Draco and Snape near the back of his mind. Both had their eyes
focused on the door. Harry was faintly surprised to notice that he
couldn't tell much difference between their emotions. He had assumed
Draco would feel distinctly annoyed, but Snape felt annoyed in almost
the same measure. Harry didn't think their irritation came from the same
source, though.

He took a deep breath, throat still tingling from the potion he'd
swallowed which bound him and Draco together, and then walked over to
the door and opened it.

Professor McGonagall stood there, her eyes aimed higher than his head
and her mouth just opening to say something. Then she lowered her gaze,
and an expression of blank surprise washed over her face before she
turned it into sheer blankness. Harry watched her and waited.

Regret drummed in his head. McGonagall had been pleasant to him when her
entire House suspected him of evil. That would have to change now,
though. Now, one of her Gryffindors had been Petrified.

McGonagall said nothing about Harry being the embodiment of evil,
however. She only said, ``Mr. Potter. This saves me the trouble of a
search. I was going to ask Severus if he had seen you.'' Her eyes darted
to Snape, too quickly for Harry to read the meaning in them. ``The
Headmaster wants to see you right away.''

Harry nodded. ``I thought he might, Professor McGonagall.'' He scowled
at himself when he heard his voice. \emph{Must} it sound so breathy, as
if he actually feared what Dumbledore would do to him?

\emph{You don't need to fear what he will do,} Draco said, his voice
seeming to spring from the left side of Harry's skull. \emph{My father
is going to take care of everything.} The iron-hard faith in his voice
made Harry smile.

Professor McGonagall gave him an odd glance as she escorted him out into
the hall, Draco and Snape remaining behind. Harry suspected the
unusually free play of emotion on his face had caused it.

\emph{What? Is she surprised to see me feeling?}

He calmed his irritation. It took effort, far more than it would have
when he could use the box, and the irritation remained just below the
surface, as if someone speaking harshly to him would make it erupt
again.

\emph{Do other people feel like this} all the time?

The thought made him experience a vague nausea, and for a long moment he
didn't hear the question Professor McGonagall was asking him.

``\ldots{}must ask if you've been with Professor Snape for the last
hour, Harry,'' she said at last.

Harry coughed and focused on her face. His experience was still shot
through with bright streamers of trailing emotion, including resentment.
He forced himself calm again. It would not do to ache like this when he
faced Dumbledore, for all that he did resent the Headmaster for
promising and failing to keep him safe. ``Yes, ma'am, I was.''

Professor McGonagall glanced around once. They were in the corridor that
led to the Headmaster's office, Harry noticed, but no one was with them.
Professor McGonagall sighed and knelt down in front of him. Harry
stiffened, ready to bolt if it looked like she would hex him for his
actions.

``Mr. Potter,'' she said softly, ``did Professor Snape do something to
you? You look---odd. Peaky. Not like yourself.''

Harry shook his head. ``No, ma'am.'' \emph{Unless you mention the little
matter of shields of pain built around a box in my head and creating a
potion and a bond for a second person to be in my head, and then leaving
a bit of his attention there himself to hold the shields.} He swallowed
a giggle that he suspected would turn into full-blown hysterical
laughter if he let it out. Then he paused. That thought was unexpected.
Harry could not remember the last time he had laughed.

Professor McGonagall gazed at him for a long time, then nodded,
troubled. ``If you say so, Mr. Potter,'' she said, standing, ``I think I
can trust you.''

Harry winced. He would have liked to tell her the truth, of all people.
She had been kind to him. She seemed wise, and not just in the matter of
Transfiguration theory. She could help him.

But her help would almost certainly consist of urging him to trust the
Headmaster and accept \emph{his} presence in Harry's head instead, and
Harry did not intend to do that. He trusted Sylarana and Draco. He
didn't trust Snape, but he knew the man was necessary to maintain the
shields. The Headmaster he didn't even trust to serve the agenda of
keeping this safe and secret and trying to fight Riddle out of Harry's
head. Dumbledore was too unpredictable, and Harry hadn't managed to work
out what his ultimate goal was yet.

He was so involved in that kind of thought that he didn't notice they
had arrived at the statue, nor who waited there, until Professor
McGonagall said, ``Mr. Potter,'' in a sharp voice. Harry glanced up.

Connor turned around from the gargoyle, face red with startlement for a
moment before it fell into wariness. His gaze jabbed his brother.

Harry would have looked calmly back, or sorrowfully, he thought,
imploring Connor to trust him again, only a few hours ago. Now his brain
raced and sparkled with anger bordering on the urge to scream and throw
things.

\emph{How could you distrust me like that? I'm your brother. You were
swearing that you would trust me when I was put in Slytherin and when I
showed you I was a Parselmouth. Yet you turned against me the moment my
friend's father did something wrong and I refused to let Ron hurt my
friend. Why, Connor? What is it about that one thing specifically that
set you off? I don't know, and it's} wrong\emph{, and it} hurts---

He halted the flow of his thoughts as he realized Connor was backing
away from him. His brother had actually drawn his wand before McGonagall
said, ``Mr. Potter! That is \emph{quite} enough. Why are you here?''

``I have to see the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, ma'am,'' said
Connor, looking as if he wanted to glare at Harry around her robes
again, and not quite daring. ``There's been another Petrification.
Neville, this time.''

``Yes, Mr. Potter, I am aware of that,'' said McGonagall. ``I am taking
your brother to see the Headmaster now.''

Connor's face transformed like the sunrise. ``Does that mean he did
it?'' he asked. ``Does that mean I was right?''

\emph{You were right, Connor, and you didn't deserve to be. You never
deserved to be. All those times that I---}

Harry stamped down the flow of his thoughts again and reduced them to
another lava flow hiding beneath a scab, frightened at the turn they had
taken. His brother was making a mistake now. That did not mean that he
had made mistakes his whole life, as Harry might have shouted out if he
decided to speak right now. Indeed, Connor's judgment had been clearer
than that of many children his age. Harry could picture other brothers
turning their backs the moment they found out a sibling was a
Parselmouth.

\emph{You have no right to feel like that,} he told himself firmly.
\emph{None. Anger is one thing, irrationality another.}

``Mint Humbugs,'' McGonagall told the statue, and it leaped aside. Harry
followed her towards the staircase. He was breathing softly now. He
could make it up the stairs. He would count the stones in the walls, and
watch the way that the professor's robes swished ahead of him, and he
would ignore Connor.

Then Connor spoke again.

``You didn't answer me, Professor McGonagall,'' he said, voice that of a
teacher chiding a student for an oversight. ``Does that mean that I was
right? Does that mean that he was the one who's the next Dark Lord?'' He
nodded his head. Harry saw it as a glimpse of blurred motion in the
corner of his eye. ``I knew it. No one could have \emph{that} many Dark
traits by coincidence. Be Sorted into Slytherin and be a Parselmouth,
maybe, but not stand against the Boy-Who-Lived.''

The flood of his rage was instant. It didn't help that neither Sylarana
nor Snape and Draco, though his sense of their presences had faded with
distance, objected to the flood.

Harry swung around and glared at Connor. This time, Connor blinked and
fell silent. Then he smirked and opened his moth to add something else.

``\emph{Silencio},'' Harry snapped at him. Connor blinked one time and put
a hand over his mouth. His resulting wail---apparently it was a
wail---made no sound at all, of course. Harry stepped back and let his
shoulders rest against the wall, never taking his eyes off his brother.

That wasn't enough. He wanted to use his magic in other ways, or maybe
his fists, to make Connor hurt as much as he'd hurt Harry that week.

But he couldn't. There was a professor here with him, a professor who
was looking at him strangely.

``I did not realize that you actually \emph{could} perform wandless
magic, Mr. Potter,'' she said.

Harry nodded. He hadn't meant to reveal that, but it was revealed now,
and there was no turning back time. He just watched his brother instead,
and breathed. The shame would be along any moment now. It hadn't come
yet, but it would come. He was wrong to use magic against his brother
like that. He would have been wrong to use it against any student
without cause, but most especially the Boy-Who-Lived, the one he was
sworn to protect. He knew that. Any moment now, surely, he would
experience the red face and the apologetic stammer that were the natural
consequences of such an act.

\emph{It isn't happening yet,} he reassured himself. \emph{But it will
happen.}

McGonagall spoke at last. ``Ten points from Slytherin for hexing a
fellow student, Mr. Potter,'' she said at last. ``And ten points from
Gryffindor for accusing a fellow student without proof, Mr. Potter.
\emph{Finite Incantatem.}''

Connor let out a loud, angry breath, and stood staring at Harry for a
moment. Harry just looked back. He didn't think his brother knew how to
accept this open attack. Of course, given that he hadn't known how to
accept Harry standing up for himself earlier in the week, this would
only be harder.

\emph{I wasn't standing up for myself,} Harry thought. \emph{I had
betrayed him.}

His mind felt very odd right now. He seemed to believe that line of
reasoning and disbelieve it at the same time. He could feel his heart
thundering in his ears. He could hear Sylarana's mental hissing, turned
almost to a croon. He could feel his magic, swirling about him in
exaltation.

None of them seemed to argue that he had betrayed Connor. The old
training said that of course he had, and he knew that Connor would write
to their mother almost immediately and tell her so, and then Lily would
write a letter to Harry, and he would feel crushing disappointment in
himself when he read it. He \emph{knew} all that was going to happen,
and always before that clear vision would make him recoil and beg
forgiveness.

It was not happening now. Oh, doubtless he would feel the shame and
disappointment in time, but that was in the future. For now, he savored
the uncertainty that crossed Connor's face.

``Go back to Gryffindor Tower, Mr. Potter,'' said Professor McGonagall
at last, her voice weary. ``I will come and speak with you later.''

Connor turned and trotted off, back stiff and head high. Harry watched
him go. He wanted to say something, but he had no idea if it would come
out as an insult or a cry for reconciliation, so he kept his mouth shut.

``This way, Mr. Potter.''

Professor McGonagall led him up the stairs again. Harry walked with her,
and listened to his magic singing. He had thought himself the victim of
odd thoughts this summer, when Snape's exercises had led him to
attribute a strength and motivation to his magic that he wasn't certain
existed.

Now he thought it was no coincidence. He had acted without the box, and
his magic moved around him like a stream of singing birds, brushing him
with warm feathers. Harry knew that might not be an entirely positive
thing, but for now he would enjoy it.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Ah, my dear boy,'' said Dumbledore. He was sitting behind his desk
when they entered, and leaned across the desk, smiling pleasantly, when
he saw them. ``Minerva, leave us, please. I would like to speak to Mr.
Potter alone.''

Harry cocked his head. He could feel the slight edge of magic that rode
those words, briefly parting his hair like a thrown blade. It didn't
bother him, as it was aimed for McGonagall, but it was interesting that
the Headmaster felt he had to make sure that the Gryffindor Head of
House would not stay.

McGonagall shut the office door behind her, and Dumbledore turned his
attention to Harry.

\emph{He is too strong a Legilimens for you to conceal your thoughts
from him,} Sylarana advised him. \emph{Bow your head slightly. He'll be
looking for shame. You can feign that.}

\emph{Or not,} Harry added. Shame was waiting there, too, another of the
emotions that he could reach up and snag from the mental air---though it
really should have been there earlier when he confronted Connor. He was
ashamed that Riddle had managed to gain such a foothold in his head,
that he had not been strong enough to resist. He had trained to fight
against Voldemort since he was a child. He had lost the first battle, or
perhaps the second one if he counted last year, spectacularly. That was
something to be ashamed of.

He felt a blush heat his cheeks, and then the shame hit him, so that he
was actually feeling it. Harry winced. Why \emph{had} Riddle held him so
easily? Could it be that the similarities between him and Voldemort went
deeper than one shared Dark gift?

\emph{I wish you would stop thinking Parseltongue was Dark,} Sylarana
complained in his head. \emph{I am not accustomed to being kept in the
background and scorned or ignored, as you know. I am only agreeing to
stay in your head for right now because someone has to keep this damn
box shut.}

Harry concealed his smile. The Headmaster would hardly understand it if
he saw it.

``What happened, Harry?'' Dumbledore's voice was steady, and infinitely
reassuring. It made Harry relax, and then he reminded himself that the
Headmaster wanted that.

\emph{Why do you distrust Dumbledore this much?} That sounded like
Draco, but it could as easily have been the voice of his own thoughts,
his younger and more innocent self, the one that had trusted the
Headmaster because he had been a Gryffindor and was the leader of the
Light side.

\emph{He doesn't share my goals,} Harry answered, and then said, ``It
\emph{was} Tom Riddle, sir. I felt his presence this time. There's no
doubt that he's the one who's managing to Petrify those students.''

Dumbledore went still for a moment. \emph{Which didn't he expect?} Harry
thought, shocking himself with his own cynicism. \emph{The information,
or that I would admit it?}

Dumbledore moved past his own shock quickly, though, and sighed. ``That
is bad news, my boy,'' he said. ``I fear that many parents will be
clamoring for your expulsion after this. One Petrification, in which no
one could prove the culprit, they were willing to let go. But another
one, in only a week\ldots{} And you say that you know that Tom Riddle
was behind this one.''

Harry nodded. ``I felt him in my head, sir.''

Dumbledore froze for longer this time. Harry was sure that this news was
completely unexpected.

The Headmaster sighed again, but the sound was shaky. He extended a
hand. His phoenix rose from his perch and soared across the distance
between them, landing on the Headmaster's shoulder and laying his head
against Dumbledore's cheek. The Headmaster turned his face into the
feathers. Harry blinked, moved against his will by the display of
despair.

\emph{That is what he wants you to think,} said Sylarana.

\emph{Probably,} Harry admitted, and waited until Dumbledore gently sent
the phoenix back to his perch and turned to face Harry once again.

``I am sorry, my boy,'' Dumbledore whispered. ``I thought, from what I
had heard about this book that you held, that Tom Riddle's home was the
diary. He could only venture forth from that for short periods of time.
Instead, it seems that he has made his home in your mind. I am sorry,''
he repeated. ``That is supposed to be impossible.''

``I think I'm used to impossible by now,'' said Harry softly. ``It
should have been impossible for Connor to survive the Killing Curse,
too, shouldn't it, sir?''

Dumbledore nodded. He looked distracted. ``But there remains the
question of what will happen to you, Harry,'' he said. ``If many of the
parents ask that you be removed from the school, I may have no choice
but to do so. And I must consider it in the best interests of other
students as well. If you are gone from Hogwarts, the Chamber cannot
open, and the attacks will cease.''

``Where would you put me?'' Harry asked, as though a voice had not
opened up just behind his forehead to chant \emph{No, no, no!} He could
conceal his emotions better from the Headmaster than from Connor, he
thought, as long as he didn't look Dumbledore in the eyes. The
Headmaster could be infuriating, but he didn't tug and pull on the
chains of Harry's heart in the way that Connor did.

``St. Mungo's would be the best place,'' Dumbledore murmured. ``There
are skilled healers of the mind there, who helped many of the former
Death Eaters who had been under Imperius.''

Knowing how many Death Eaters had managed to escape imprisonment by
proclaiming they had been under the Imperius curse, Harry was skeptical
about these skilled healers of the mind. He went for an attack instead.
His road lay clear before him. Dumbledore didn't have Connor's status as
a beloved brother who simply didn't understand Harry, nor Draco's status
as a confusing friend or Sylarana's status as a Locusta willing to speak
with him. He was only an obstacle in the way of protecting Connor, and
that meant Harry could lay aside some of the confusing emotions that
poured through his mind whenever he made a move and concentrate on
defying Dumbledore.

``But what would happen if they tried to help me, and Tom Riddle
possessed me?'' Harry asked. ``It's true that he couldn't open the
Chamber at St. Mungo's, sir, but he told me that he could use my magic
if he possessed me completely.'' He was sure that Dumbledore's pallor
this time was not feigned. ``Would they really be able to stand up to an
angry young Voldemort in a hospital? And what happens if Riddle found
some of the patients who were there to be treated?''

Dumbledore closed his eyes. ``I am sorry, Harry,'' he said. ``This
should not have been able to happen.''

His words carried another edge of magic this time, one that Harry
thought the Headmaster had sent forth automatically. He wanted to make
Harry believe that he \emph{was} sorry, and that this would never have
happened if only things were a little bit better. Harry ducked the
power. He didn't want to believe the way that Dumbledore wanted him to
believe. It was probably true, but if it was true, then he could come to
understand that for himself.

``There is another solution,'' Dumbledore was saying now. ``You may be
able to stay in Hogwarts and undergo the theoretical part of your
education, Harry, though not the practical part, if you will allow us to
cage your magic. With a close watch on you, you would not be able to go
to the Chamber without our knowledge, but---forgive me, dear boy, but I
cannot trust someone with your power and Riddle in his head even if we
find and seal the entrance to the Chamber.'' He opened his eyes and
looked at Harry, sad and stern and commanding. ``Surely you must see
that this is the best solution.''

Harry had angry words on his tongue. He wanted to say them. He wanted to
ask Dumbledore if he would consider suppressing anyone else's magic,
such as Connor's if the suspicion for the attacks had fallen on him. He
wanted to say that Lockhart was more a danger to the other students than
Harry was right now, now that he knew about Riddle. He wanted to ask
Dumbledore why he didn't prevent Snape from making any Potions involving
half a hundred ingredients, all of which could potentially scar or
disfigure a student for months or years.

He swallowed them all. Rage, good as it felt to entertain it, would not
serve him right now.

``Do you really think you \emph{can} cage my magic, sir?'' he asked
quietly.

Dumbledore's gaze came knifing to his face. This time, Harry met it full
on. He trusted Snape's shields to hide the box and Sylarana, and Snape's
skills to hide himself. Only Draco might be left out in the open, and
Harry was willing to take the risk. He wanted to show his magic to the
Headmaster.

He called on it fully, the way that he would if he were about to defend
Connor, and let it rise around him.

He started as one and then another of the delicate silver instruments
the Headmaster kept began to chime and vibrate. Fawkes lifted his head
and trilled. A few dozing Headmasters stuck their heads towards the
front of their portraits, or cupped their hands around their ears. Harry
briefly thought he could hear something himself, a distant voice singing
in happiness and glad, confident power, before the room filled with
stronger sensations to catch his attention: warm pressure over most of
his skin and a clean smell like a waterfall.

He sat there in wonder. \emph{Why have I never felt this before? Was I
putting part of what I felt about my magic in the box, too?}

``Harry.''

Harry looked back at Dumbledore. The Headmaster's face was calm, and if
Harry squinted, he thought he could make out a white shell around him,
probably locking his own magic in and keeping it from mingling with
Harry's. If he didn't, Harry supposed, then there might be an explosion,
or Harry might possibly learn things about the Headmaster that
Dumbledore didn't want him to know.

Harry wanted to know them, suddenly. He wanted to sing and wander
Hogwarts's corridors with his magic showing him secret tunnels and
ancient wards just for the fun of it. What good was magic, after all, if
one tamed and constrained it and used it for only a few simple tasks?

``Harry,'' Dumbledore repeated.

Harry took a deep breath and reined his power in as he had earlier
controlled his anger. Yes, magic could show him wonderful things, but he
didn't want it to get him thrown out of Hogwarts, and right now he
thought there was a danger of that. ``I'm sorry, Headmaster,'' he said,
listening to the last coil of wild song fade. ``I went a little too far
in making my point.''

Dumbledore beamed at him. ``Quite all right, my dear boy! And you are
right, caging your magic would not work. I think it best if you stay
here in Hogwarts, where the wards can protect you. You are never to be
alone. If you are, it will result in detentions for you and lost points
for Slytherin, I am afraid. I will ask Professor Snape to strengthen the
wards on the Slytherin common room, and construct one that will alert
him if you are wandering after curfew. And there will be a few other
precautions taken to insure that the students stay safe. I think
Hogwarts is the best place for you, after all.''

Harry raised an eyebrow. \emph{What made him decide that?}

\emph{Your power,} said Sylarana, in the bored tone that indicated
everyone in the world knew this except him. Given how serious she had
been lately, Harry was just as glad to have it back. \emph{He doesn't
want someone with magic as powerful as you are in St. Mungo's, or
anywhere that isn't under his immediate control.}

Harry blinked. \emph{But I just called it up. And Dumbledore is the
strongest wizard in the world.}

\emph{That may not matter,} said Sylarana cryptically. \emph{Sometimes
the thing we fear most is what might happen.}

\emph{Who's this `we?' All the other snakes who speak with
Parselmouths?}

She sulked at him. Harry surprised himself by smiling. He had not often
teased her like that before. He wondered if it would be an obstacle on
his road to defending Connor and getting Tom Riddle out of his head, but
it did not seem as if it would be.

``You do realize,'' Dumbledore was saying, ``that the governors of the
school might object to having you stay. Most of them have children here,
and the threat from the Chamber and from a powerful young man possessed
by Tom Riddle---''

Fawkes turned his head abruptly and trilled. A knock sounded on the
door, and when Dumbledore called, ``Come in,'' Professor McGonagall
walked in, carrying an enormous golden-colored owl with a letter tied to
its leg. She had a peculiar expression on her face.

``This is a letter from the school governors, Headmaster,'' she said,
and extended the owl to him.

Dumbledore's eyes flickered to Harry. Harry looked down so as not to
meet his gaze.

``How strange,'' said Dumbledore cheerfully. ``We were just discussing
them.'' He took the letter from the owl's leg and broke the seal, then
read the letter within. His happy, patient expression did not change,
except at the end, when he looked up and beamed at Harry. ``Wonderful
news, my boy! It seems that Lucius Malfoy has firecalled the other
governors, and they have agreed that you should stay in school, as it is
the best and safest place for you. Mr. Malfoy also pointed out that so
far the attacks have been against purebloods, which is not what the
legend of the Chamber points towards, and suggests that we may be
jumping to conclusions, that this is a particularly nasty and vicious
prank.''

Harry knew that Dumbledore did not believe that. He also knew that
Dumbledore was wondering how Lucius Malfoy had learned of Neville's
Petrification so fast, and why he had made it a point to put himself
between Harry and harm's way.

\emph{Not telling,} said Sylarana, in a voice of utterly childish
delight. \emph{Not telling. We have a secret. It is fun.}

Harry bit his lip to stifle a snort, and looked back up to see
Dumbledore nod to him. ``If you will escort Harry back to his common
room, Minerva,'' he said. ``I think we have reached an understanding.
Even the governors of the school seem to agree.''

``But, Albus---''

``I will explain later, Minerva,'' said Dumbledore calmly. ``In fact, if
you wish to return immediately after escorting Harry down, I can explain
it to you then.''

Professor McGonagall nodded uncertainly, and led Harry down the stairs.
This time, unlike last Saturday, she did not speak with him. Harry read
her darting glances and the hesitant way she clenched one hand in her
sleeve, and knew she could not decide what she wanted to say.

Well, for that matter, neither could he have, and he was not sure what
his response to one of her overtures would have been. His heart was
pounding, and he was biting his lip until it was close to a bloodied
mess. He was starting to feel the shame he had expected for hurting and
humiliating Connor, but he also still felt the delight in fooling the
Headmaster, and irritation with Dumbledore's intent to ship him off to
St. Mungo's, and determination to protect Connor, and, and, and---

The emotions kept going off like firecrackers beneath the surface of his
chest. Harry told himself he would only feel them as long as he needed
to, only until Tom Riddle was flushed from his mind and his brother was
safe. Then he could use the box again, surely.

\emph{No,} said Sylarana calmly.

\emph{No,} Draco agreed, as they came nearer to the common room and
Harry could hear him again. \emph{I like you better this way. I want to
see what happens the next time Weasley says something.}

Harry put aside the temptation to revel in the emotions. He had letters
to write, and, surely, letters to receive---mostly from his parents.
Connor would write to their father and wail that Harry had betrayed him.
James would write sternly to Harry. Harry would explain; he thought he
could do a better job of staying calm in writing than he was doing right
now. And then their mother would write him, giving him advice on
protecting his brother and staying true to his cause, and then Harry
would reply and explain what had happened.

He was not sure what would happen then. Neither their mother nor Harry
had ever thought that \emph{he} might be possessed by Voldemort. Lily
had theorized once about telepathic connections hidden in curse scars,
but perhaps Voldemort was strong enough to possess anyone he wanted.

\emph{I'll get books on Occlumency. I'll study. I'll do whatever I have
to,} he thought, the edge of his will slicing through his crowding
emotions again.

\emph{I'll master my mind, and then thank Draco and Snape for their
assistance and get them} out \emph{of my head. This is only a temporary
change. Given that, I can handle it, surely.}

He ignored the part of him that hummed and sang in his magic, that
enjoyed the emotions, and wanted to make the change more permanent.

\chapter{No One Ever Notices a Hufflepuff}\label{chapter-16-no-one-ever-notices-a-hufflepuff}

\emph{\ldots{}never knew that there would be such a problem with one of
my sons acting Gryffindor\ldots{}just can't understand why you would do
it, Harry\ldots{}Connor told me that you used magic against him,
against} him\emph{, when you've never done that before\ldots{}}

Harry closed his eyes. He'd read his father's letter, which had come in
early on that morning, a Wednesday, several times. Each time, one more
emotion broke free and joined the mess of emotions swimming around his
head.

Disappointment (it had had to turn out like this, hadn't it?), worry (he
didn't want to anger his father at him, he really didn't), regret (he
would have chosen a different way of dealing with Connor if he'd thought
about it), sorrow (he was sorry that James was angry at him), despair
(if Connor was angry at him, Harry wanted to find him at once and
apologize, never mind that he wouldn't accept the apology), satisfaction
(he probably would cast \emph{Silencio} on Connor again, given the
opportunity), anger (why had Connor had to tattle to their parents about
something so minor, rather than about suspecting Harry of Luna's and
Neville's Petrifications?)\ldots{}.

He could not master them, not yet. They swam and swarmed around him, and
sometimes slipped from his grasp completely for a moment, the way that
his goals to protect and defend Connor did. He could be thinking quite
firmly of how he would never use magic on his brother again except in
Connor's defense, and then that definition would suddenly expand to
self-defense and stopping Connor from doing something stupid, and then
it would narrow again.

``I don't understand that part,'' he muttered aloud.

\emph{I do.}

Harry started and looked up. Draco stood in front of him, one eyebrow
cocked expressively. He tossed Harry's tie at him. ``Breakfast is over
in ten minutes, Harry,'' Draco pointed out. ``And you've just been
sitting here and staring at that letter. I don't think you're going to
get anything new out of it.''

Harry stood up and knotted his tie, looking to be sure that Sylarana was
still wrapped about his arm. Of course she was. She had not moved away
from him since she had coiled herself in a kind of Gordian knot about
the box. \emph{What makes you say that you know what's happening?} he
asked Draco as they fell into step on the way down to the Hall. He had
not exactly reveled in speaking in his head over the past few days, but
he had grown used to it. It had to be done. It was silly to whine about
it, even mentally, given that it wasn't just Sylarana who could overhear
him and scold him about it now.

\emph{Because of the holes in the webs,} said Draco. \emph{Snape told
you about the webs?}

Harry nodded. He had been disturbed that he saw his mind that way, or
that other people saw his mind that way, or whichever it was; he had had
two lessons with Snape since Sunday, and still he did not understand
everything there was to know about Occlumency. The crowding emotions and
thoughts might have had something to do with that, of course.

Worry (was he ever going to master Occlumency?), pride (he had done well
so far), grim determination (he would have to be ready when Riddle broke
free, because he would set the timetable and not Harry or Snape or
anyone outside the box), dread (he feared what would come forth from the
box)\ldots{}

The emotions abruptly danced madly and then flew away from him. Harry
blinked and looked up at Draco, who had a hand on his shoulder.

``Harry,'' said Draco soothingly. ``Look at me. Breathe. I can help you
clear your mind some of the time, but not all.''

Harry glanced around nervously, but there wasn't anyone there to hear
them. He glanced back at Draco, nodded, and managed to make himself
breathe and think, for at least a few moments, the way a normal person
would have.

Draco went back to the mental speech the moment he seemed to think that
Harry was stable enough to hear the truth. \emph{Riddle tore some holes
in your webs the first time he possessed you, and then again the other
times. So now your patterns of thought aren't exactly the way they used
to be. You can have thoughts that you wouldn't be able to have the rest
of the time. You can think about hurting your brother, if you want, even
turning against him.}

Harry recoiled from Draco---

For a moment. Then a rebellious voice in his head muttered that that
wasn't such a bad idea, especially after the rumors that had spread
around the school in the wake of Harry's \emph{Silencio.}

\emph{Do you see?} Draco asked him. His voice was calm, but Harry
thought it was only with an effort. \emph{Your mind is different from
what it was, Harry. Snape is working to fill the breaches with mist, but
he can't heal all the wounds. Your mind has to do that, has to fill the
spaces in the webs with new weaving.}

Harry nodded. \emph{So the more I think about protecting and defending
Connor, the likelier I am to think like that?}

\emph{You could say that,} said Draco, and glanced ahead. They were
almost at the doors of the Great Hall. \emph{Better prepare your spells
now.}

Harry nodded again and called on the \emph{Protego}, which he wrapped
around himself just a few inches above his skin. It caused all the
malicious hexes that the other students cast at him when the teachers
weren't around to bounce right back at them. Next, he cast a spell that
Snape had shown them, \emph{Muffliato,} one which made the voices of the
other students sound like a distant buzzing in Harry's ears. Snape had
looked vaguely ill-at-ease when Harry had managed to change it so that
it obscured the conversations of not just one person but all of them,
except Draco, the other Slytherins, and the professors. Harry did not
know why. It was a useful spell, and the variation was easy to make,
just involving a bit more emphasis on the first two syllables than
normal.

It was necessary, he reassured himself as he and Draco dashed into the
Great Hall, snatched a few hasty bites of breakfast before it
disappeared, and then hurried on their way to classes. He had been able
to hear the students' taunts on Monday, and his reaction to them had
been---unpredictable. Some he could shrug off or ignore as if he still
had access to the box, some made him flinch and turn away, and a few had
caused him to pull out his wand and hex the students teasing him. Snape
had hauled him into his office on Monday night and taught him
\emph{Muffliato}, not letting him go until he mastered it. \emph{To
prevent accidents,} he'd said, one of the few times he'd ever actually
spoken in Harry's mind, his voice sharp. Most of the time, he seemed as
uneasy in Harry's thoughts as Harry was to have him there, and
restricted himself to maintaining the shields.

Things were better now, Harry told himself firmly. They \emph{were.} The
other professors merely thought that Harry had learned to ignore the
other students after an intense scolding by his Head of House, and none
of them knew about the \emph{Protego}, since the students picked times
that the professors were safely distant to try and cast magic on Harry.
So what if the students had started a rumor that Harry really
\emph{must} be a Dark Lord in training, to reflect spells back so
effortlessly?

One of the suits of armor they were passing at that moment shook and
rattled and detached itself piece by piece, clanging into the wall,
falling precisely in time with the angry beat of Harry's heart.

\emph{Are you all right?} Draco asked.

\emph{Yes,} Harry said, and pushed the rage through one of the holes in
his mind, so that it would slither around in the darkness and not bother
him for a while.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
By Friday, Harry felt as though he had gained some semblance of control
over his swimming emotions. It wasn't perfect, of course, and it still
disconcerted him when he uncovered something he had never suspected he
was capable of feeling. But he could sit down and write a letter to his
parents, or concentrate on the simple, well-known spells they were
learning in Charms or Transfiguration, without having to deal with half
a dozen exaggerated reactions. Then he would relax the control and live
in a world of mad colors for a time before he needed to summon his
concentration and buckle down to a certain task.

Draco was grinning at him as they came into the Great Hall for breakfast
Friday morning. \emph{Pretty impressive, Harry,} he said. \emph{Most of
the holes are filled with mist already. I think you'll be ready by the
time Riddle breaks free.}

\emph{Tell him to stop talking about Riddle,} Sylarana instructed Harry
primly. \emph{He rattles the box when he's talked about. He can hear us
or sense us doing it, though imperfectly. And I want some treacle tart.}

Harry shook his head. There was no treacle tart at breakfast, but he
soothed Sylarana with promises of a sausage. ``Sylarana says to stop
talking about \emph{him},'' he murmured aloud. He had to keep reminding
himself that the link between the four of them was temporary. Draco
seemed quite at home in Harry's head, speaking mentally even when he
didn't need to. Harry would move it back to audible conversation
whenever possible.

Draco tended to resist the subtle suggestion, or just pretend he was
immune to it, and he did so now. He only shrugged and danced backward in
front of Harry. \emph{Don't look now, but I think you have someone else
who wants to talk to you.}

``Harry!'' called a voice from behind him just then.

Harry turned slowly. It was Sirius. Apparently, he had left a gap in the
\emph{Muffliato} spell that he hadn't noticed; he still thought of
Sirius as a professor, so his godfather's voice could get through.

Harry braced himself for a scolding or a berating about how no Potter
had ever turned to the Dark Lord. But Sirius staggered up the aisle
between the tables and collapsed to the ground in front of Harry
instead. He was breathing loudly, as though he had run all the way from
his office. His eyes were wild and staring. He started to speak and then
stopped, choking.

As he studied Sirius, Harry was struck by just how bad he really looked.
The dark circles around his eyes had increased until they looked sunken.
His hair had grown longer than Harry remembered seeing it in years,
almost to his shoulders, and was tangled and clotted with sweat, as
though he hadn't bothered to brush it when he got out of bed. He was
gaunt, and Harry had no idea why. It wasn't as though the overabundance
of food in the Great Hall would let anyone starve, and Sirius certainly
knew where the kitchens were if he needed to eat.

But the oddest change was the way that Sirius reached out and clutched
at Harry's hands as if Harry could save him from drowning.

``Harry,'' he whispered. ``Harry, forgive me.''

Harry blinked. ``\emph{What}?'' he said after a moment. Most of his
emotions had melted away in the sheer shock of confronting Sirius, and
the only one left was surprise.

``Forgive me,'' Sirius whispered, nodding earnestly. ``I should never
have said the things I said. I should never have let the problems
between us go unreconciled for so long. I'm your \emph{godfather.} What
kind of godfather have I been, always believing other people before my
godson?'' He shook his head. The gesture just alarmed Harry more. It
didn't look like ordinary negation, but as if Sirius had palsy. ``I've
been wrong, so wrong, and I want the chance to make it up to you. You
have every right to refuse me, of course.'' He tightened his grip on
Harry's hands and waited.

Harry's thoughts were swimming in disjointed circles once again. Forgive
him, tell him there was nothing to forgive, argue, turn his back and
walk away?

But his love for Sirius, which was older than the wounds in his mind,
prompted him to ask at last, ``Sirius, what's wrong with you? You don't
look good.''

Sirius uttered a hollow laugh. ``No, I don't, do I?'' he muttered. ``But
it's no more than I deserve, Harry. Moony sent me a---a \emph{very}
stern letter. You wouldn't \emph{believe} what it said. And I think he
talked to Lily and James, too, because their next letters to me were
more subdued. You know how Moony can be, all those soft words that turn
hard just when you're least expecting them?''

``I suppose,'' said Harry doubtfully. When their father told tales of
his time in school, he usually said that Remus was the most reluctant
rule-breaker, but still a rule-breaker, one his friends could coax into
going along with them even when he knew it wasn't right. Nothing like
Peter, of course, who had wound up a traitor, but still with not such a
strict sense of right and wrong that Harry would imagine him writing
Sirius a stern letter.

``He is,'' said Sirius. ``He \emph{is} like that.'' He was almost
babbling. ``And then---then, Harry, I realized that I hadn't thought at
all about what Lily told us, that you were trained to protect your
brother.'' Harry glanced around nervously, but Sirius's voice had calmed
somewhat from his initial shout, and Draco was holding his wand
casually. No one tried to inch nearer and listen to Sirius's confession.
``And that was wrong,'' Sirius rambled on. ``Imagine, my godson prepared
to defend his brother, and I never saw it. And you trained yourself all
those years, and you never wanted recognition for it. I would have. I
would have. I would have given myself away, I think, if I did something
like that for Regulus.''

``Who's Regulus?'' Harry asked in mild confusion. He could not remember
hearing the name before.

Sirius shook his head so fast that his hair whipped around him.
``Nothing,'' he said. ``That is, no one. Someone I knew once, who needed
protecting, and I thought about giving him protection, but in the end I
didn't. In the end, nothing I did was enough.'' He abruptly burst into
noisy tears. Harry could \emph{feel} Draco's lip curling without even
looking at the other boy.

\emph{Shut up, he's tired,} Harry snarled in his head, taking Draco by
surprise, and then he tucked an arm around his godfather's shoulders.
``I think you need to go to sleep, Sirius,'' he said. ``You haven't been
sleeping well, have you?''

Sirius let out a little breath. ``No,'' he whispered. ``Nightmares.
About protecting you, mostly, and failing.''

Harry felt a small spark of compassion ignite in him. It was a welcome
respite from the mad emotions. ``I would feel the same way about Connor,
if I failed to protect him,'' he said. ``I do think that you were wrong,
Sirius, but I accept your apology. Why don't you go and get some sleep?
You don't have to referee a Quidditch practice today, do you?''

Sirius shook his head. ``No.'' He sounded dazed.

``Then go back to sleep.'' Harry urged him to stand and turned him
gently towards the door. ``I think you should. I forgive you. That
should ease some of the nightmares about failing to protect me,
shouldn't it?''

``Not all of them,'' muttered Sirius, but he looked appeased. ``You
really mean that, Harry? You forgive me?''

Harry hesitated for a long moment, and then gave in to his curiosity. It
wouldn't be fair to go back and ask the question later, when Sirius had
managed to smooth over these emotions in his mind. ``Yes. But I want to
know why this happened so suddenly. Why could you not forgive me for a
week, and it only happened now?''

``Because it took that long for the full impact of what Lily said to hit
me,'' Sirius whispered in a brooding tone, eyes fixed on Harry. ``You
trained to sacrifice your childhood, Harry. You gave up everything for
Connor. I \emph{know} that I couldn't have done that.''

``You never had a brother,'' said Harry gently. ``It's different for
only children, Sirius.''

Sirius's lip trembled, and he looked as if he were about to say
something for a moment. Then he shook his head, and his lip firmed
again. ``And I'm sorry about that stupid bet,'' he said. ``I should never
have made it. Not only was I going to lose, you wouldn't let Snape win,
either. You would do whatever you had to do, Slytherin or Gryffindor, to
protect your brother, wouldn't you? And you're so devoted to him, and of
\emph{course} he's the Boy-Who-Lived.''

Harry nodded. ``Of course he is,'' he said.

Draco snorted in his head.

\emph{Shut} up, said Harry, and did something he hadn't known he could
do, shutting Draco out of his immediate thoughts. Draco's presence
flailed, closed into a small corner of Harry's mind concerned with him.
Harry ignored him for the moment. He had more important things to do.

``I'm sorry about the bet, Harry,'' Sirius said, and looked as if he
would start crying again. ``Forgive me for that, too?''

Harry nodded, hesitated, and then hugged his godfather. That soothed
some of his less attractive emotions, especially when Sirius hugged him
back, his arms catching Harry's shoulders in an almost desperate clutch.

``Of course,'' Harry whispered. ``You were only doing what you thought
best, Sirius, and sometimes that \emph{isn't} the best.'' He was thinking
of the way that their father had told him the story of Sirius's prank on
Snape in their school days, when Sirius had acted as if Snape wouldn't
have \emph{died} confronting Remus in his werewolf form. ``Just come and
talk to me in the future before you blame me, all right?'' His
resentment wouldn't let Sirius leave without twisting that particular
knife.

Sirius winced. ``You got it,'' he said, and then he messed up Harry's
hair and turned away.

\emph{At least he is entertaining when he is wrong,} Snape's voice
remarked from his distant corner of Harry's mind.

\emph{Shut up to you, too,} Harry thought, and released Draco from the
corner of his mind. Draco flailed and complained about that, until Harry
shut him in the corner again and then adjusted his \emph{Muffliato}
spell to exclude Draco's voice from his ears. That lasted only until
lunch, but in the three hours in between, Draco had to make his
apologies in complicated sign language, which entertained Harry.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Harry turned around carefully, his
hands full of the pot containing the Mandrake. He assumed that someone
wanted to use the raw dirt, which he was standing in front of. By now,
two weeks after Neville's Petrification, most students seemed to have
resigned themselves to the fact that Harry was ignoring them, and simply
maneuvered around him with gestures as needed.

To Harry's surprise, the student---Justin Finch-Fletchley, one of the
Muggleborn Hufflepuffs who shared Herbology class with them---didn't
move around him. Instead, he caught Harry's eyes and slowly, carefully
mouthed a few words, letting Harry read his lips.

\emph{Drop the spell. I want to talk to you.}

Harry blinked and thought about it. It \emph{was} true that he hadn't
heard any taunts out of Justin in the past few weeks, but then, he
hadn't heard any taunts out of anyone thanks to the \emph{Muffliato.} He
missed hearing Connor's voice more than he could say, and he was tiring
of Draco's and Snape's and even Sylarana's presences in his head, but
dropping the spell was just too great a risk.

On the other hand, he had grown more and more used to the
\emph{Muffliato}, and he could adjust it easily. He decided he could let
Justin in for a moment. If the curly-haired wizard said something
stupid, Harry would just exile him from being heard before he could lose
his temper and throw a hex.

At least, Harry hoped so. He had not realized how quick his temper would
be once he stopped putting all his anger in the box.

Cautiously, he turned the buzzing around and let Justin in. ``I can hear
you,'' he said. ``Talk. And if you say anything insulting, you should
know that I'm quicker with my wand than you are.''

``I know that,'' said Justin. There was something odd in his eyes,
something that Harry finally identified as a mixture of respect and
curiosity. That increased his worry. Ron, Hermione, and Connor hadn't
come to him, instead sticking with their whispering and plotting and
planning, and Harry had thought---or \emph{hoped}, at least, he admitted
to himself---that they would be the first ones. To see a Hufflepuff
looking at him without hostility was odd.

``The rest of my House sent me,'' said Justin. ``I said I was willing to
talk to you, and they figured I wouldn't be in much danger, since I'm
Muggleborn and the attacks have only been on purebloods so far.'' He
shrugged. ``So, tell me. Is it true that you're evil and you go around
Petrifying people?''

Harry glared at him. Justin shivered a bit, but stood his ground. ``It's
only what everyone is wondering,'' he added defensively.

``If you think I would do that to my friends,'' Harry snarled, moving
past him to set the Mandrake carefully in its new place in the
greenhouse, ``what makes you think I wouldn't do it to you?''

``Well, I don't know, really,'' said Justin amiably, following him down
the rows. ``But, see, that's one of the nice things about being a
Hufflepuff. The Ravenclaws think that you have some deviously
intelligent plan that your every motion is part of. The Slytherins
think---or would, I assume, if any of them were aligned against
you---that you're just lying about everything. The Gryffindors are sure
that you're Dark, and they're in an agony trying to make everyone else
see it. But Hufflepuffs rely more on common sense. So I thought I'd ask.
\emph{Are} you evil and Petrifying people?''

``Everyone thinks I am,'' said Harry, and carefully packed the soil
around the Mandrake. This far along towards winter, the plants were
nearly docile, and they didn't have to take the special precautions that
they did earlier in the year to keep from hearing their cries. Harry
watched his breath puff out in front of him as he tamped the soil down,
and focused on both the sight before his eyes and the sensation between
his fingers to keep from getting angry at Justin. ``So that should be
enough for you. After all, everyone knows that what everyone says is
true.''

``That's the problem,'' said Justin. ``Everyone says that you're the next
Dark Lord in training, and that you must be near the end of your plans
to take over the world, or you wouldn't be running around Petrifying
people in the open. On the other hand, \emph{I} think Headmaster
Dumbledore would be fighting against you if you were the next Dark Lord
in training. He doesn't like Dark Lords. And why would you Petrify a few
random people in the halls when you could Petrify the whole school at
once, or kill them? It doesn't seem like a very efficient plan. At the
very \emph{least}, you could sneak out here and sabotage the Mandrakes
some night, so that we can't wake up the people you Petrified and hear
whatever it is that you don't want them telling us.''

Harry shot a sidelong glance at Justin. ``You're really not afraid of
me, are you?'' he asked, finally. No one else in his head was commenting
on the conversation. Harry suspected that they didn't know what to make
of Justin, either.

The Hufflepuff grinned at him. ``I'm terrified. Utterly shaking in my
boots. That's fear, of course, and not cold.''

``Why?'' Harry asked.

Justin cocked his head to one side and assumed a pensive expression.
``You're the evil House, you know,'' he said. ``Everyone always tenses up
when there are Slytherins around. And they relax with Gryffindors, or
the Gryffindors think they do, and the Ravenclaws get asked for help on
homework. But we just get \emph{ignored.} It's \emph{weird.} But I like
it, sometimes, because it means that I can get close enough to
conversations to overhear them without anyone paying attention to me.''

``And I heard your brother talking in the library yesterday to Weasley
and the know-it-all. I sat at the table right next to them. They gave me
these \emph{looks} that said, `Oh, it's just a Hufflepuff,' and I was
able to listen to them. And do you know what they said?''

``No,'' Harry admitted. ``That spell keeps everyone out, even my
brother.'' He yearned to know what they had said.

\emph{It'll be something hurtful, because Connor's a prat,} Draco said
darkly in his head. \emph{You} know \emph{that.}

\emph{Hush,} said Sylarana. \emph{I want to know what the prat said.
It's been too long since I was able to be sarcastic about his
stupidity.}

Harry ignored them both, and fixed his eyes on Justin's face.

``They said you must be Dark,'' said Justin. ``It sounded as though they
were trying to prepare some speech to convince the school, and they
listed all the justifications they could think of. There were the
Petrifications, of course, and the fact that you can talk to snakes.''
Justin did give a slight shudder there, and Harry decided he must be at
least a little afraid.

\emph{Well he should be,} Sylarana said. \emph{I am a Locusta.}

``And then there were---other things,'' said Justin, his lips quirking
in a smile that Harry didn't quite understand. ``That you beat him at
Quidditch, and that you cast \emph{Silencio} on him, and that you were
ignoring him instead of coming to him and apologizing.'' Justin shook his
head. ``That's just stupid. I have a younger brother, and I do the same
things to him. Well, okay, he's a Muggle, so I beat him at football
instead, but you know what I mean. That's just sibling stuff. I think
Connor's jealous of you, and that's all. That other `Dark' stuff is just
him being stupid.''

``Then how do you explain the Petrifications?'' Harry challenged him.

``Lots of people being stupid,'' said Justin without hesitation.
``Including whoever's doing it. Neville and Luna are going to get
better, eventually. And I know that you go and see them in the hospital
wing every few days, and Madam Pomfrey trusts you to come in and sit
with them.''

``How do you know \emph{that}?'' Harry asked before he could stop himself.

``No one tends to notice Hufflepuffs, I told you,'' said Justin. ``You
Slytherins lose something swaggering around and \emph{proclaiming} that
you're above the other Houses with every breath. We Hufflepuffs just
\emph{know} we are.'' He assumed a densely superior expression cracked by
a smile in less than three seconds.

Harry laughed before he could stop himself. Then he touched a hand to
his mouth, and blinked. Justin gave him a different kind of smile and
nodded.

``I don't really know what to think about you, Potter,'' he said. ``But I
know that I don't want to think what your brother thinks about you,
because he's being a \emph{brother}, and not the Boy-Who-Lived, when he
goes around proclaiming that you're this and that and the other thing
just because you beat him at Quidditch. Well, the whole school's not his
parents.''

Harry nodded once. He had wanted to hear those words, or something like
them, he thought. Connor's perceptions about good and evil were quite
often correct, but this time he had the facts wrong. And anyone could be
factually wrong. It was a way he could think about his brother being
mistaken without wanting to panic that Connor being mistaken meant that
he, Harry, wasn't really good.

``I'll go back and tell the rest of my House that you're all right,
really,'' said Justin, and glanced over his shoulder. Harry followed his
gaze, and blinked. Professor Sprout stood over Hannah Abbott and Ernie
Macmillan, who were asking her countless innocent questions about
repotting the Mandrakes, and about the consistency of the soil, and
about many other things. The Herbology Professor was answering them, her
face alight with pleasure at having two such eager students. Harry had
to admit it was quite an effective way to keep her from interfering with
his and Justin's conversation.

``Did they do that on purpose?'' he asked Justin.

``Of course,'' said Justin. ``But they really needed help in Herbology,
too. They've spent too much time in the last few weeks collecting
Chocolate Frog cards instead of studying. They're worried about exams.''
He gave Harry a gentle push on the shoulder. ``Be seeing you, Potter.''

He sauntered back to his Housemates. Hannah and Ernie finished asking
their questions, and Professor Sprout swept on around the greenhouse,
carefully adjusting her hat on her head.

``What was \emph{that}?'' Draco asked then, pouncing on him, upset enough
to speak aloud---at least in a whisper, though, since Professor Sprout's
glance briefly flicked towards them.

``I was making a new friend,'' Harry answered blandly, checking his
Mandrake one more time. He found that he rather enjoyed the expression
of frustration on Draco's face. Draco got his own way with Harry much
too often, especially now that he was in his head.

``But I'm your best friend,'' said Draco.

``Of course,'' said Harry. ``But Justin's a new friend.'' He looked over
his shoulder and smiled at the Hufflepuff, who was watching him. Justin
nodded back and then leaned over to whisper to Hannah. Hannah glanced
back at Harry, her eyes speculative, wary but not angry.

``He's a \emph{Hufflepuff,}'' said Draco. ``And a \emph{Mu}---''

Harry's hand was near Draco's arm. It was a simple thing to reach over
and pinch Draco on the shoulder, hard enough that his arm went dead.

\emph{Ow}! Draco wailed in his head. Harry could hear Sylarana
snicker-hissing.

``You were saying?'' Harry asked, without glancing up.

``A Muggleborn,'' said Draco. ``That was what I was going to say.
Really.''

\emph{Liar}, Sylarana accused him. Harry nodded in agreement.

Draco rubbed his elbow and glared sulkily at Harry for a moment. ``I
don't always like you when you're like this,'' he muttered.

Harry shrugged and stripped off his gloves. Herbology class was almost
over.

Abruptly, his vision warped sideways and bled colors. Sylarana gave a
hiss of anger and bore down with her body. Tom Riddle stopped bucking in
the box after a moment, and Harry's vision returned to normal, but he
knew it was the first test.

Riddle might have sensed the conversation with Justin, he thought, as he
nodded to a worried Draco that he was all right. He might have decided
that Justin was his next logical target.

And, abruptly, Harry realized that he had a plan for dealing with
Riddle.

He found himself smiling, and ignored the bubbling curiosity from Draco
and Sylarana for right now. Sometimes, it was nice to have a secret.

\chapter{Battle Plans}\label{chapter-17-battle-plans}

Harry knocked on the door to Snape's office in high good humor, and felt
the man's presence inside his mind grow cruel with suspicion. Harry was
never in a good mood when he came for his lessons. Either he was
stressed, after dealing with the emotions that swam his thoughts and the
other students all day, or he simply was grim and determined, wanting to
master the new Occlumency techniques as swiftly as possible.

``Enter,'' Snape said after a moment, and Harry stepped inside, glanced
quickly around just to make sure that no one else was here, and shut the
door behind him.

``Professor Snape, sir,'' he said, feeling rarely-used emotions of
excitement and hope rise to the surface of his mind. Snape leaned
forward from behind his desk, eyes intent. Harry suspected he was about
to get some lecture on how Occlumency was an art of motion again, and
that he had to be able to shut away happiness as effortlessly as he was
working to shut away grief and anger. ``I have an idea for a plot on how
to defeat Tom Riddle.''

The box bucked in his mind, and Sylarana hissed at him. \emph{Could you
avoid talking about him unless you absolutely must? You know how he
gets.}

\emph{I do know,} Harry told her, and stroked her back where she lay on
his arm. \emph{And you are a wonderful snake, a magnificent snake, for
holding him in so effectively.}

Sylarana made a small suspicious sound under her breath, but accepted
the praise and the petting. Harry looked back at Snape, who had his head
on one side and had already stood up from behind his desk.

``You \emph{think} you know a way, at least, Mr. Potter,'' he whispered.
``Can you keep thinking of it even as I attack? \emph{Legilimens!}''

Harry rolled his eyes and leaped aside in his mind as Snape started to
probe it. Their training lessons were always like this, now. Snape
provoked Harry's anger and frustration on purpose, and then told him to
keep that concealed or steady while he searched Harry's thoughts. Harry
suspected it was indeed useful training, but Snape was growing
predictable in the way he maneuvered.

\emph{He shouldn't be predictable. That could be bad news for Connor as
well as for me. Snape is the only well-trained Occlumens I can persuade,
certainly the only one Dumbledore and other adults would be inclined to
listen to. I have to make sure that he keeps up with his own training,
too.}

He launched his plan as hard as he could, into Snape's face. Snape
gasped and reeled back from him, and Harry could see something other
than darkness swarming with colors. Snape sat down hard in his seat and
blinked at Harry, then shook his head.

``That was---impressive, Mr. Potter,'' he said, in a tone from which all
colors had been bleached.

Harry rolled his eyes again. ``Thank you. But what do you think of the
plan? Or are you referring to the plan as well as your expulsion from my
thoughts?''

``You would want to kill me, of course, if I were a real enemy, or at
least disarm me,'' Snape went on, sitting up in his chair and folding
his hands in a lecturing pose. ``After all, if I escaped knowing your
plan, you would not be pleased.''

Harry nodded. ``And what do you think of the plan?''

Snape clenched his hands in front of him. ``That is insanely
dangerous,'' he said. ``The kind of risky scheme more likely to be
concocted by a Gryffindor. In a fever dream.''

``If you compare me to my brother, Professor Snape, you're complimenting
me, not insulting me,'' Harry said, his tone pleasant with sheer
determination. ``And having Tom Riddle in my head is already insanely
dangerous.''

``That it won't work,'' said Snape. ``The whole thing depends on a
combination of timing and skill that is hard in the extreme to
achieve.''

``I believe it can work,'' said Harry, meeting and holding his eyes. The
fact that Sylarana had not objected to it gave him hope. Her support
would probably be the most important element of this. ``No, we can't do
anything about \emph{his} growing restlessness, but we can make sure
that I defeat him.''

Snape leaned forward across the desk. ``That it requires---a \emph{depth}
of magic that you do not have yet, Harry. Strength, yes, of course, but
you cannot fight the Dark Lord on the grounds of magical strength alone.
He knows more. He knew more even when he was his present age, and he may
have drawn more of your magic through the box. It is impossible to know
that without venturing past the shields, which I will not do.''

Harry nodded. ``By depth, sir, do you mean something like this?'' He
closed his eyes and brought his magic up around him, the way he had in
Dumbledore's office. He smelled the clean scent of the waterfall again,
and heard the bells ringing, and the voice singing in the distance.

The magic \emph{was} coming from some place under him, for lack of a
better word, he thought. If his mind was a series of webs, the way that
both Draco and Snape insisted, then this came from beneath the places
where the webs ran out, slender bridges over a black gulf. This was the
magic beneath, the magic embedded in his body and his bones and his
heart.

``Mr. Potter.''

Harry opened his eyes. He could just barely see Snape through a
shimmering, swimming haze of power. The professor's eyes were slits, and
he had his wand in one hand. Harry hoped that he wouldn't try to read
Harry's mind right now. Harry was not entirely sure whose mind he would
get.

``That is something like what I meant, yes,'' said Snape quietly. ``Put
it away now.''

Gently, Harry folded the magic back into its proper place, tucking the
folds of cloth and wings in place over each other. His magic grumbled
about it. Now that it was properly awake, it wanted to be used. There
were spells he could do with it about him like this, protections he
could create, small discontinuities in space that it could mend for him
if he wished\ldots{}

But it listened to him when he told it to go, and sank away from sight.

Harry shook his head. He felt diminished, somehow, after standing in the
midst of all that power. But he reminded himself, as Lily always had,
that there were greater things than power, greater things than magic.
Love was one of them, and he had to love Connor, for his innocence, his
purity, even his stupidity that insisted standing with Slytherin House
equaled to being Dark. So long as his brother could think those things,
he was still a child, his heart unstained.

Harry, meanwhile, made insanely dangerous plans for getting Voldemort
out of his head.

He felt Tom Riddle buck in the box again, but ignored it. He looked up
and held Snape's eyes, and waited for his verdict.

Snape shook his head once, slowly. His eyes were the least blank that
Harry had ever seen them, though he could not tell what emotion
struggled behind them. He was still not good at reading anyone else's
feelings save for Connor's. ``I could wish that you had no necessity to
do this,'' he murmured. ``That you had never been trained into the
warrior that it seems you are becoming.''

Harry tilted his head to the side. ``That's an odd thing for you to
wish, sir. If I were more like my brother, you would hate me. If I were
not what I am, then you would not like me as well as you do.''

Snape flinched at that, actually \emph{flinched}, though Harry supposed
his chances of seeing it that way were heightened by Snape's presence in
his head. The professor closed his eyes and shook his head.

``It is a dangerous plan,'' he said. ``And one that depends too much on
power. And I think that once such magic as you possess is summoned
forth, it may not tamely lie back down in its place again.''

Harry waited.

Snape opened his eyes and nodded to Harry. ``But it is the only plan
that will work. We will work on it. In the meantime, I suggest you go to
the Headmaster. You will need to stay in the school over Christmas
holidays for it to have any chance of working.''

``Yes, sir,'' said Harry. ``Thank you, sir.'' He turned and left. It
wasn't very late yet, but the Headmaster might go to bed soon. Harry
didn't know what kinds of hours he kept.

\emph{That's bad,} he thought as he trotted along the entrance hall.
\emph{I have to know his hours, He's not my enemy, but he could not be
my friend without a strange twist in circumstances, and I should know
him better than I do.}

``Brother.''

Harry turned slowly. He realized, finally, that he hadn't renewed the
\emph{Muffliato} spell when it ran out after dinner. He had gone to see
Snape, unable to think of anything else, and now it was being taken
advantage of.

A huge crowd of students stood around the hall, an obviously arranged
crowd. They formed a rough circle. Harry had walked into the middle of
it without so much as noticing.

He bared his teeth despite himself, fury and anxiety surging to the
front of his mind. Connor, who was stepping forward from the far left
side of the circle, flanked by Ron and Hermione, smiled thinly at him.

``See how he shows his teeth like a beast?'' he asked the other
students, mostly Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. ``I can't believe that the
professors let him stay here in school with us. It's only a matter of
time before he loses control completely and attacks someone else.''

Harry held his brother's eyes. He saw nothing of compassion in them,
nothing of mercy, nothing of forgiveness. He saw nothing of the
innocence he always looked out for. Connor looked like nothing so much
as a bully getting ready to enjoy the tears and wails of a captive
victim, like the Ravenclaw bullies who had tormented Luna. Harry thought
he could see them out of the corner of his eye, in fact---Gorgon and
Jones, pressing forward and ready to enjoy the show.

Harry's resolve hardened and pinned down the other emotions. He had his
new plans and his new priorities and Tom Riddle in his head, yes, but
his first and oldest duty was taking care of Connor. He had indulged his
brother thus far. They had been childish games, things that could not
truly hurt him.

But now Connor was getting ready to make the kind of mistake that his
future leadership in the wizarding world might never recover from. Harry
had to stop him.

Sylarana started to stir on his arm. \emph{No}! Harry snapped at her,
and she stopped. She said nothing, knowing better than to contest him.

Draco felt his danger then, and sat up in his bed down in the Slytherin
dungeons. \emph{I can be there in two minutes with five other
Slytherins, Harry. Just say the word.}

\emph{There are too many of them,} Harry disagreed calmly, his eyes
never moving from his brother's. \emph{And I want to handle this one by
myself. It's been a long time coming.}

Draco grumbled in his head, but said nothing else. Snape's presence was
watchful and silent. Sylarana coiled herself about the box and said
nothing, either.

Because he was looking for it, Harry saw the motion near the edges of
the crowd. He turned his eyes in that direction without turning his
head. Sure enough, Justin and several other Hufflepuffs stood there,
watching intently. He could not tell if they were more interested in him
or Connor.

\emph{Equally, probably,} he thought, and then turned back as Connor
pulled a piece of parchment out of his robes and began to read aloud.

``We, Connor Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger,'' he began
officiously, ``have compiled the following list of evidence that Harry
Potter is a Dark wizard, and should be banished at once from Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for the good of all other students.''

Harry sighed. Sometimes his brother crossed the line into foolishness,
and this was one of those times.

``Who are you going to present the list to?'' he asked, cutting his
brother off in mid-pontification. It wasn't even hard. His voice was
mild, but it could slice through the crude logic Connor was spouting.
``By law, a list like this has to be presented to the Headmaster if
you're on school grounds, or to the Ministry if you're not. You should
know that, Connor. Several Dark wizards were removed from school grounds
during the First War. There's a procedure for it.'' He let his eyes
flick sideways and catch Hermione's. ``Someone should have told you
about the legal precedents.''

Hermione flushed in such a way that Harry thought she knew exactly what
the list should have done. He held her gaze for a long moment, wondering
why she had gone along with this. Was it just because Connor was the
Boy-Who-Lived? Or was her friendship with him deeper than Harry had
thought? That satisfied him, if so, that she would think she should
break the rules for the sake of friendship, but he wished she had chosen
some less conspicuous way of doing so.

``Shut up,'' said Connor, his face flushing. ``I know that it has to be
presented to the Headmaster to be legal. But I'm reading it out here
first because I want the whole school to know your crimes.'' He drew in
a breath to continue.

``The whole school?'' Harry looked around again, but his first
impression had not been wrong. The students standing there were
Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, with a smattering of Hufflepuffs on the
edges of things. Not a single Slytherin, nor most of Hufflepuff House,
nor even all of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor; Harry knew that the two
prefects Dumbledore had assigned to watch him, Percy Weasley and
Penelope Clearwater, were missing. ``No. I think that you should have
done it in the Great Hall at mealtime if you wanted to catch
everybody---''

``Shut up!'' said Connor again, and this time rattled the parchment for
emphasis. ``Unless you fear the proof that we have made up to convict
you.''

``Made up,'' said Harry, turning back and smiling at Connor. He was
starting to enjoy himself now. Guilt lay twined with the enjoyment,
running alongside it, and yet he did not think he could have kept
himself from speaking if he had tried. ``That's an interesting slip of
the tongue, brother.''

``Shut \emph{up!}'' Connor yelled, and then began to read hastily. ``We
have reason to believe that Harry James Potter is responsible for the
Petrifications occurring in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
One victim was Luna Lovegood, a pureblood Ravenclaw first-year whom the
accused was often seen near in the weeks before her Petrification. The
other was Neville Longbottom, a pureblood Gryffindor second-year whom
the accused often worked with in Potions. He was found near Lovegood's
body, and could easily have been found near Longbottom's body.''

``Opportunity doesn't mean that I did it,'' said Harry calmly.

Connor's eyes flashed viciously at him over the top of the paper. ``The
accused would also have had the time and opportunity to do it against
his own will. He was possessed by an artifact, a book, which apparently
whispered into his head and made him forget his surroundings. Could that
book be involved in the Peterifications that followed? Could the
possession have made the accused into a Dark wizard? Investigations are
pending.''

Harry froze for a long moment as the whispers escalated around him. That
Connor would expose this secret to the people around him\ldots{}

He had gone too far. He had forgotten family loyalty and the forgiveness
of enemies, justice and mercy both, in his pursuit of this silly
rivalry.

Harry closed his eyes. A moment later, his brother yelped. Harry looked
again to see the paper flickering and flashing and falling to ashes.

``I can guess the other things that were on there,'' Harry said softly,
his eyes never straying from Connor's face. His magic trembled around
him, raised wings, wanting to strike. Harry ignored that impulse. He was
always going to defend Connor, never hurt him, even if right now his
brother would have a hard time seeing how Harry defended him. ``Beating
you at Quidditch. Not letting Ron hurt Draco. Speaking to snakes.
Casting \emph{Silencio} on you. Not trusting you as much as I should
have.'' He paused, then added, ``Being Sorted into Slytherin. Did I get
all of them?''

Connor's face drained of blood. ``How did you---''

Harry sighed aloud. ``Has it occurred to you that only possession and
Parseltongue are Dark traits out of those, Connor? I could defeat you in
Quidditch and still not be Dark. I prevented Gryffindor from losing
massive House points by protecting Draco from Ron and not hexing Ron
myself---or you. I cast \emph{Silencio} on you because you were being a
prat, and you know it, ordering Professor McGonagall around. I didn't
trust you because I thought you would probably do something like this,
something that's going to damage your reputation with adults and
Slytherins alike.'' He let out a soft breath. ``And if being Sorted into
Slytherin means I'm Dark, why were you telling me last year that I was
still good, still part of the Light, still a potential Gryffindor?''

He could feel his riled emotions calming. He was still speaking back to
his brother instead of bowing his head and taking this in silence, but
he was not striking back. That should work. It \emph{would} work, he
thought, since he could feel the insistent brush of magic along his
sides and knew he could do much worse than this, should he choose.

``You were good then, I think,'' said Connor, his face a horrible
mixture of red and green and pale. ``But not now.''

``You didn't start getting upset at me until after I beat you at
Quidditch, though,'' Harry pointed out.

``That's not true,'' Connor argued. ``I was upset about Luna's
Petrification.''

``But the first thing, the very \emph{first} thing, even before that, was
about my not moving out of the way so that Ron could hex Draco,'' said
Harry. ``You were telling me to give up my friends for you. What kind of
brother does that make you?'' The other students were being very quiet,
he noted. Not even Ron and Hermione looked as if they would interfere.

``A true brother!'' said Connor, clenching his fists. ``I put loyalty to
family first. You should have, too!''

``Ah.'' Harry nodded slightly. ``Then you would have let Draco hex Ron,
if I had asked you to?''

Connor's face turned entirely pale, and he clenched his hands. He knew
what he had to say next, Harry thought, lost somewhere beyond the swirl
of both his emotions and his magic, in the plotting that he knew
exemplified pureblood wizards. Connor knew what the situation would
demand of him. And he was self-aware enough to realize how utterly
ridiculous it would sound. It could have drama in the right situations,
but this was not one of them. It had ceased being one of them the moment
Harry argued back with logic instead of falling on his knees and begging
forgiveness, or striking out with Dark magic to slay them all.

``But I'm the Boy-Who-Lived,'' said Connor, and then flushed.

``I know,'' said Harry. ``But even the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't have the
right to demand everything from his brother that he likes. He
\emph{certainly} doesn't have the right to demand that his brother let
him hurt other people.'' He swallowed, since he would have argued with
that if Draco or someone else brought up it to him, but they weren't
speaking of Harry and Connor here, a Harry who had been trained to serve
his brother that way and a Connor worthy of being served. They were
speaking of Boys-Who-Lived and brothers in the abstract. So long as
Harry thought of it like that, and focused on the fact that this would,
eventually, make Connor a better leader, repaying him in the future for
what it would cost him now, then he would not go mad. ``The
Boy-Who-Lived is shining forgiveness and compassion, Connor. Where has
that gone with you?''

``But you---you're a \emph{Slytherin,}'' said Connor.

``The Boy-Who-Lived should reach out and unite all the Houses in the
school,'' said Harry. \emph{Breathe. Breathe. Think of the future. Don't
think of the dawning look of betrayal in his eyes.} ``Or doesn't that
matter to you? Are you only going to recruit Gryffindors and Ravenclaws
because one's your House and the other hates me? And then what happens
when I die? The Ravenclaws have no other reason to hold with you. And
what about the Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins? Do only Gryffindors fight
with you on the final battlefield, Connor?''

``That's a long way in the future,'' said Connor.

``The War is here now,'' said Harry. ``And you made it a legal matter
when you accused me of Petrifying Luna and Neville.'' He turned his head
to look upstairs. ``I'm on my way up to see the Headmaster. Did you want
to come and recite your accusations to him, so that you can get me taken
out of school?''

His brother made a tiny little sobbing sound. Harry looked back at him,
and saw Connor's face crumpling as his head turned away.

And then Harry understood.

It really \emph{had} been about what Justin had told him it was about:
jealousy and a child's wailing uncertainty over the new place of things.
Connor just wanted Harry to break and admit he was wrong. That was
\emph{all} he wanted. He hadn't prepared for opposition at all, even for
Harry to take this seriously as a legal matter. He just wanted his
brother to say he was wrong. He just wanted to win the argument. No one
more stubborn than a spoiled child sure he was right, after all.

Harry felt an enormous weariness come over him. While Connor's failure
to take this as seriously as he should have meant there was no deep and
irreconcilable rift between them, it did mean that Connor still wasn't
thinking about the War, about the future. He still thought as a boy.
That would have to change.

``Connor,'' said Harry softly, taking a step forward.

``Don't talk to me,'' he wailed in Harry's direction, backing away a
step. ``You were right, all right? You were right.'' He turned and fled
in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, crying. Harry knew he could have
done nothing else, as strongly as he was feeling right then, but he also
knew what Connor would feel when he came back to his senses. He had
started \emph{crying} in front of everybody.

He would only be more embarrassed and furious than ever.

Harry sighed and glanced at Ron and Hermione. Ron's eyes were wide, and
he couldn't seem to say anything. Hermione glanced away from him.

``You should have known better,'' Harry said, speaking mostly to her.
``If you were going to accuse me legally, then you should have made sure
it was \emph{legally}, and that all the proper forms and procedures were
followed.''

Hermione nodded once, her lips pressed together.

Harry shook his head and turned to go up to the Headmaster's office.
Gorgon and Jones were in his way. They scrambled out of the way when
Harry made a little impatient gesture, but they looked stunned as their
eyes followed him.

Harry was stunned himself. That wasn't what he had expected to happen.
He had thought he would explode at any moment, or use his magic to
strike out at Connor, or give in and just do whatever his brother wanted
of him. Any of those would have suited what he knew of himself
lately---emotional, obsessed with his power and in danger of being
corrupted by it, still obedient to Connor's every whim if Connor was
deserving of such obedience.

\emph{Deserving.}

Harry breathed more easily. His vows.

\emph{To be his brother and his friend and his guardian.}

Only one of those was a term of blood relation, and only one of those a
term of companionship. Harry's responsibility as a guardian came first,
given the weight of his other vows. His primary duty was to
\emph{protect} Connor, not make him happy. He had made his brother
unhappy last year in the name of performing his duty. He could do it
again.

He could ride out this strange course his life had taken and return to
what Connor needed him to be. At the end of the year, if no sooner, he
could explain to Connor what had happened and receive him as a brother
again.

For now, he had a Headmaster to talk to about staying over the Christmas
holidays.

He climbed.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Of course, my dear boy,'' Dumbledore agreed calmly. ``I would have
suggested your staying here over the holidays myself, if you had not. I
think that Hogwarts's wards are the best protection for you in any
event, and that it would not be wise to take Tom Riddle within the walls
of Godric's Hollow.''

Harry sat back in his chair and narrowed his eyes slightly. The
Headmaster beamed at him. His face showed nothing wrong, while his hand
moved steadily to a bowl of sweets on his desk and popped them into his
mouth. Harry could smell the strong tart scent of them from here.

But around Dumbledore, his magic was coiled, ready to strike or enforce
his will. Harry didn't know why. Was it simply because he had walked
into the office with his own magic roaring around him?

``May I ask what your plan to deal with Tom Riddle is?''

Harry did not want to tell the Headmaster. Ducking his head slightly, so
that he didn't meet Dumbledore's eyes well enough to let the man read
his mind, he murmured, ``I have it set, sir. Tom Riddle has one
particular weakness, and I'm playing to that. I'll make sure that he's
taken care of and that no other students are in danger, sir.''

``And what about you, Harry?'' Dumbledore leaned forward over the desk,
the very picture of a concerned mentor. ``You would be in danger,
still.''

Harry decided abruptly that he wanted to know something. He raised his
eyes fully to Dumbledore's and asked, ``Sir, you know what my mother
raised and trained me to be, don't you? You \emph{must}.''

Dumbledore's eyes widened in brief surprise. Harry felt his mind pass
effortlessly into his thoughts. His Occlumency technique was different
from Snape's. Instead of swimming and hunting among the various
memories, he shone light instead, and called up certain thoughts so
gently that Harry barely felt them hum along the surface of his mind,
barely glimpsed them himself.

Harry waited for him to see and sense the box, and Snape's shields, and
comment on them.

To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore didn't seem to sense them, or even
Draco's and Snape's presences in his mind. He merely looked about,
humming, and then floated back out again. When Harry blinked and looked,
Dumbledore was crunching sweets behind his desk again as though nothing
had happened.

``It happens that I do,'' said Dumbledore. ``A powerful warrior of the
Light. You know defensive magic and wandless magic well already, I
think?''

Harry swallowed slowly. \emph{Is he playing with me? How could he not
know about the Dark that's hiding within me?} ``A guardian of Connor
first and foremost, sir,'' he said. ``And I couldn't let him just accuse
me of being a Dark wizard and possibly get me taken out of Hogwarts. Do
you understand that?''

Dumbledore chuckled. ``Of course I do, my dear boy. It is as I told
Connor when you first revealed you were a Parselmouth: he must learn to
unite the Houses and lead the wizarding world. And throwing a Slytherin
out of the school, and encouraging House prejudices, is hardly the way
to do that.''

Harry leaned forward in his seat. His emotions had let him have too much
peace, apparently, as they were now returning with a vengeance. Anger
and worry and something perilously close to hatred choked his voice as
he spoke. ``Then why didn't you \emph{tell} him that, sir? Why did you
let him go around spouting this nonsense that I was Dark and that
Slytherins were evil? For that matter, why do you let the other students
say that so often?''

``Because Connor must be the one to unite them, and not I,'' said
Dumbledore, and his face became ancient and sad. ``You know that many
people follow me, Harry, but I will not last forever. Connor must take
my place as the leader of the Light. It will do no good if someone else
earns that loyalty and then transfers it to him. It \emph{must} be him.
I have done what I can and remained out of the way.'' He turned his head
and fixed his eyes to Harry's face. ``But rest assured, I would not have
done so if he were attacking students who could not bear it, true
innocents. You know far more about the world, Harry, and you are
well-trained to be anything that Connor needs you to be, including a
target. You could bear what he was doing to you.''

Harry felt the breath rush out of him. The Headmaster regarded him as a
sacrifice, much the same way that Lily did.

He \emph{understood.}

That had been what Harry really wanted to know. Anyone could know about
the extent of his training, as Snape did, and still not understand. It
was the concept of sacrifice they needed to grasp, that Harry was
secondary in emotions and everything else to Connor's need of him.

``You have given up much,'' Dumbledore went on quietly, never looking
away. ``That includes your brother's good opinion of you, for the
moment. But it will return, and it will be the stronger for what you
have done tonight. Connor needed to look in a mirror and see himself
reflected. He will sorrow for it, but he will be stronger in the end.
Thank you, Harry. You are doing as you should. You are fighting your
part in this War. If you gave in and did as Connor the boy demanded of
you, you would not be strong-willed enough to be of use to Connor the
war-leader.''

Harry bowed his head. It was comforting to have someone say that to him,
and really believe it. It made up for the breaching of the box, for
having Tom Riddle in his head, for his parents' and Connor's tangled
opinions of him.

``Thank you, Headmaster,'' he whispered.

``It is my pleasure, my dear boy,'' Dumbledore replied, beaming at him.
``Now, pursue your plan for getting rid of Tom Riddle however you must.
I will leave the details up to you. I trust you.''

Harry was not sure, as he slipped out of the office, that that was true.
He and Dumbledore were not allies, not really, not yet.

But they were something like it.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Fawkes barely waited until the door had closed behind Harry before
giving a trill of disapproval and turning his back.

Dumbledore blinked at the phoenix. He had been feeling relieved
again---Harry was doing as he should, Connor had learned a lesson, and
having Tom Riddle in Harry's head would not prove so disastrous after
all, even if Dumbledore had been unable to see Harry's exact plan,
wrapped and shrouded as it was in Dark magic he would not touch. But
Fawkes rarely expressed disapproval so obviously unless something was
wrong.

``What is it, old friend?'' he asked softly.

Fawkes tucked his head under a wing and said nothing.

Dumbledore stood. ``I know it is unjust that a child should have to pay
such a cost,'' he said, walking over to the perch. ``But he is willing.
And he will spare many others from having to pay a similar cost.'' He
reached out to stroke Fawkes's feathers.

Fawkes fluffed his tail and edged along his perch, then stuck his head
back under his wing and went firmly to sleep.

Dumbledore was left to wonder what he had done wrong, if something
\emph{was} wrong, and what it might be. Phoenixes often had too pure a
view of the world, but he had come to trust Fawkes's judgment.

In the end, when nothing was forthcoming, he shook his head and went to
prepare for bed, leaving the slight uneasiness behind him. Matters were
unfolding as they should, given the sacrifices and that they were living
in a time of war.

It didn't help that he dreamed of disapproving phoenix eyes that night.
But he had lived a long, long time, and dreamed of them before, most
often twelve years ago during the height of the First War with
Voldemort. As the Second War began, it was only natural that he would
begin dreaming of them again.

\chapter{Comes the Test}\label{chapter-18-comes-the-test}

Harry was standing before the dark figures in his nightmare again, one
screaming in a confined space, the other whimpering in a larger one, and
trying to figure out what they meant when Riddle attacked.

The first he knew about it was Sylarana's hiss, trailing overhead like
the hiss from Nagini, Voldemort's snake, when he flung her over the
Forbidden Forest. Harry turned swiftly. Snape's shields were fraying. He
could feel Riddle bucking in the box, while Sylarana fought to keep her
coils lashed around it. The box's lid was starting to rise, Harry's own
padlocks and chains fraying.

\emph{Wake up!} Sylarana commanded him. \emph{You don't know your own
dreams well enough to face him here.}

Harry opened his eyes, and pain slammed into him. He moaned softly and
touched his head. His scar was on fire, and already slick with blood.

The curtains jerked open on the right side of his bed, and Draco was
there, his hands clenched on Harry's wrists, taking his hand away from
his scar. Harry was grateful for that, and tried to convey as much with
his gaze. Draco smiled back, but it was a grim smile, and his face had
gone nearly as pale as it had when confronting his father.

``I'm here, Harry,'' Draco said, and his voice in his corner of Harry's
mind echoed him. \emph{I'm here. It's all right.}

Harry felt Snape wake in the next moment, worried for just a moment
before he hid his worry under the coldness, and then flow to the attack.
The shields strengthened. Snape would hold them so that Riddle could not
rip through them, if Harry only asked.

Harry didn't want him to. That would assault the professor's mind, too.
And he meant to use this as a test of his plan.

\emph{Let a bit of him out, Sylarana.}

\emph{I should not---}

\emph{Just a bit,} Harry insisted. \emph{I know it might harm me, but
we're never going to know if this works unless we try.}

Sylarana relaxed her clutch on the box, and Snape stirred his shields
backwards like curtains. Riddle was apparently suspicious at the sudden
lack of pressure. The lid of the box opened, just a bit, and a fleeting
black tendril stuck out.

Sylarana slammed the lid shut again, and the tendril, cut off and
isolated in Harry's mind, slithered out, looking for some way to link to
Harry's thoughts and control them.

Harry floated around it, using the training Snape had given him in
Occlumency over the last two months to make himself look as
insubstantial and fleeting as a mere memory. He felt rage flow around
him, adding a red tinge to the haze inside his head. Behind him darted
Draco. He often seemed to be almost as at home within Harry's mind as
Sylarana or Harry himself did, and Harry wasn't worried that he would be
hurt unless the tendril turned suddenly.

It tried.

Harry raised his magic, just a small portion of it---it wouldn't do to
have Riddle figure out what he was doing from inside the box---and
wrapped the tendril within it. The magic abruptly took form, when he
thought of it, as a whirling, cutting maelstrom, edged with knives
instead of winds. The knives stabbed down several wild times, slicing
and dissecting.

When Harry dissipated the magic, Riddle's tendril was gone, one piece of
him destroyed forever. Harry found that he was not sorry for it. It was
less than Riddle would have done to him. At least the rest of his
personality survived in the box. Harry doubted that he would have
anything of himself left, if once Voldemort possessed his mind.

Besides, it wasn't destruction of Riddle's personality that he planned,
so it wouldn't matter that much even if Riddle figured out what he had
done just now.

He opened his eyes and nodded to Draco, the signal that this contest was
done. Draco uttered a shaky breath and sat back on his heels, rubbing
one hand across his own forehead. He was sweating, Harry saw with some
surprise.

``I'm sorry,'' he said. ``Did that frighten you?''

Draco glared at him. ``I was frightened \emph{for} you, you prat. This
plan of yours is insanely risky.''

Harry shrugged. ``I know, but it's the only one that has a chance of
succeeding.'' He glanced up as the curtains on the other side of his bed
shivered and opened, and Blaise stood looking in, frowning at them.

``What's the matter, Potter?'' he asked, with not quite a sneer in his
voice. He knew Harry and Draco had a secret of some kind, and it was
obviously driving him mad. ``Nightmares?''

``Yes,'' said Harry calmly.

Blaise blinked for a moment, the wind taken out of his sails, and then
winked at Draco. ``Yes, of course it's a \emph{bad} dream,'' he said.
``That's why it requires Draco to be in bed with you.''

Draco flushed and sputtered out a denial as he scrambled from Harry's
bed. Harry didn't see why he bothered. Blaise was going to think what he
liked, and it wasn't as though the accusation was \emph{true.} Harry
didn't have time for that kind of thing yet.

\emph{Nor will I ever, with Connor as the center of my life,} he
thought.

\emph{You're a prat,} said Draco childishly into the forefront of his
mind. \emph{And Connor's a prat.}

Harry shut Draco away into his corner again as Snape rewove the shields
to keep Riddle blind and uncertain. They had proved what Harry had
wanted to prove, that they could act together as a team when danger
threatened. Obviously the test of facing Riddle himself, and not just a
piece of him, would be different.

But Harry was confident, now, that he could face it.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``All right there, Potter?''

Harry blinked and looked up. A green tinge had covered his eyes since he
got up that morning. It was the eighteenth day of December, and Harry
had held Riddle captive for nearly a month and a half. He was quite
obviously getting tired of it, since he was twisting Harry's vision
whenever he could.

But he wasn't free. Not yet.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was staring at him in concern from in front of
the table, ignoring the Slytherins, including Draco, who gave him odd or
resentful looks. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott stood at his
shoulders, and they were---well, they didn't look \emph{concerned},
exactly, Harry thought, but they weren't screaming in panic about there
being something wrong with Harry, either, and that was enough for him.

``I'm not exactly fine,'' he said, and closed his eyes with a sigh.
``But I should be better with a little food and sleep.'' He poked
ineffectually at his dinner. He hadn't eaten more than a few bites,
despite Draco urging him to and Sylarana making a point of humming in
delight whenever she took a mouthful.

``Take care of yourself, Potter,'' said Justin, and gripped his shoulder
briefly. Then he turned and strode out of the Great Hall. Ernie and
Hannah peeled away from him as he reached the doors, heading in the
direction of the Hufflepuff common room. Justin looked as if he were
going upstairs, probably to the library.

Harry's vision warped and twisted and swam, and Harry heard Sylarana cry
out in surprise and pain.

Harry let out a low breath and tried to calm himself, though his heart
had picked up enough speed to sing in his ears.

\emph{It's now,} he told Draco and Snape. \emph{Tom Riddle is attacking
now.}

He heard a sound from the staff table, where Snape had set his goblet
down a little too loudly. He didn't think that anyone else was
suspicious, though. Draco stood, one arm around Harry's shoulders,
urging him forward. Harry moaned despite himself. The room was entirely
a blur now. His scar burned as though doused in oil. His body shook, and
he fought the need to be sick.

``Here we go,'' murmured Draco as they left the Great Hall. ``We can get
you to the dungeons, and---''

``No,'' Harry said, pulling away and drawing his wand. He wasn't sure
that he could perform the spell that he needed to without his wand. ``We
\emph{discussed} this, Draco.'' Every word came harder and harder through
the haze. He could hear Riddle's voice now, as he hadn't heard it in
months, whispering and laughing, promising Harry rewards if he set him
free and pain if he didn't. ``You have to go back to the dungeons and I
have to face him alone physically, except for Sylarana. You'll hold
yourself back as an alarm system.''

\emph{And I?} Snape asked in his head. Harry started. Snape spoke so
rarely that, were it not for the spiked feel of his mind, Harry would
forget he was there.

\emph{Stay where you are, thank you,} Harry told him. \emph{Or anywhere
else where you can sit in comfort and hold the shields, sir. You're the
last line of defense if the rest of this doesn't go as planned.}

\emph{You give me such confidence, Potter.}

Harry took comfort even in the sneer. It was the same. Everything about
it was the same, and he was about to do something entirely new and
unexpected.

He looked through the Great Hall doors, and forced his eyes to focus by
sheer effort of will. He could see Connor sitting at the Gryffindor
table. He'd looked up when Draco took Harry out, but then glanced back
down at his plate. He'd made a point of not looking at Harry lately, and
going out of his way to avoid a confrontation. Harry didn't know what
that meant, except that he wasn't going to take it for an apology until
his brother actually offered one.

\emph{Stop thinking about that, Harry. Concentrate.}

He did, bringing up the battle-trained well hardened to steel in the
last months by his struggles with his emotions and his training with
Snape, and whispered, ``\emph{Fugitivus Animus Cogitatio.}''

The air stirred, and he felt the spell rush away from him in one long,
cool purl of strength. It hit Connor, and to Harry's eyes, he acquired a
faint shine. Everyone around him, except Snape, turned towards him like
flowers to the sun. There were low murmurs about him, and Harry could
hear speculations about how good he was at Quidditch, whether he had
been right about his brother, whether he would defeat Voldemort again at
the end of this school year, and more.

\emph{Mr. Potter.} Snape's voice was a snarl. \emph{Where did you learn
that?}

\emph{From a book,} said Harry blandly, and then winced as his sight
fled again in the wake of Riddle's attack. \emph{We don't have time for
this right now, Professor. I have to make sure that no one wants to
leave the Hall. This is between me and Riddle alone, and someone
intruding will just make it harder.}

Snape said nothing, which Harry took to be agreement. He couldn't really
care if it wasn't, he decided. He had other things to care about.

He felt Draco squeeze his shoulder and whisper, ``Good luck.''
\emph{Good luck,} his thoughts echoed, with an edge of warmth to them
that was buried by fear in his voice.

Harry nodded, and then headed upstairs.

He had deduced that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets had to be
\emph{somewhere} on the second floor, since all the attacks had happened
there, and he didn't think that the monster could have roamed around
from floor to floor without encountering and Petrifying more students.
It was a gamble, of course, an educated guess, but one he had to make.
Riddle had shut away or stolen his memories of opening the Chamber
completely; Snape had encountered no trace of them in his thorough
searches of Harry's mind.

Harry climbed the stairs, his head bowed and his will bent. He gathered
strength around him like lassos, like claws, like coils. He could not
know what form Riddle's strength would take when it finally came out of
the box, and he prepared several forms of his own, mind shifting from
shape to shape.

He had just reached the top of the staircase to the second floor when
Sylarana screamed. Harry closed his eyes and felt her near to tearing
apart at the seams.

\emph{Let him out!}

\emph{But you---}

\emph{I'll be fine}, Harry lied, his pulse high and fast and thready in
his throat. \emph{Let him out. You know what you have to do.}

Sylarana released the box.

Riddle boiled out, a cloud of fury and power and loathing, and aimed
straight for Harry. Harry wondered if he was even aware of Sylarana
looping around the box again, locking his retreat against him.

Now Riddle couldn't go back, and neither could Harry. They faced each
other in his mind, and Harry smiled. He felt much the same way he had
when facing the Lestranges last year. It was dangerous, it was battle,
it was war, but it was what his training had bred him to answer, and
there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that his highest purpose in
living was about to be fulfilled.

Riddle presented a less composed picture to Harry's mental eyes than he
once had. His hair stood out wildly from his head, his mouth was pursed,
and his eyes flashed dark lightning. He extended one hand towards Harry,
a gesture that was menacing enough in and of itself, never mind the
words he said.

``Do you know what I am going to do to you for keeping me cooped up in
there? Do you know what I will \emph{make} you do?''

``I can make a fairly good guess,'' said Harry. He spared a brief moment
to wonder what was happening to his body, if he had fainted or stood
upright and said these words to no one at all, but that did not matter.
He was fighting Riddle now. ``You will possess me and make me use my
magic against my friends, and make me open the Chamber of Secrets and
set free the monster inside again.''

Riddle laughed, a laugh that was too knowing and too cold for someone
his apparent age. \emph{Do not be fooled,} Harry reminded himself as he
gathered the last breath and the least burst of strength he thought he
would be permitted to before the battle began. \emph{This is Voldemort.}

``That is only the beginning,'' Riddle whispered. ``I have had a month
to think.'' And then he sprang, and his magic came with him.

Harry rolled, not directly engaging him but coming in from beneath. His
magic lifted and lashed in firm coils around Riddle's, binding him to
Harry and not letting him fly too far. Riddle let out a surprised gasp,
then spat and turned on Harry, wielding his own magic like claws.

Harry found the limit of his power almost immediately. Riddle was
stronger, that was all, and he knew techniques of sheer raw battle that
Harry had never learned. Harry could hear him muttering spells, and
almost enacting them. The spells were spells of compulsion and control,
and they would flood every corner of Harry's mind soon, giving him other
enemies to battle.

Harry dived.

He left some of his magic behind, so that Riddle rolled and bounced
about for a good while before he realized Harry wasn't there and tore
loose to follow him. Harry felt him dive through the Occlumency fog that
filled the wounds in his mind, now and then pausing to rip at them.

Harry felt the pain, but did not let it settle at the top of his mind.
For the first time, he could see his own thoughts as webs, spiraling
around him in vast dizzy patterns just as Draco and Snape had said they
did, and he knew where he had to go. He plunged towards the center of
them, and Riddle came behind him.

He could feel Draco's and Snape's anxious presences, waiting to assist
him if they could. Harry knew they wouldn't be able to. This was a
contest of strength, not to destroy but to win, and he knew, without
having to brag about it, that neither Draco nor Snape were as magically
powerful as he was, though Snape was, in some ways, close.

Down he plunged, down, and the webs whipped past him, faster and faster.
Riddle came along, never far behind, snarling. Harry controlled his
fear, and replaced it with confidence, not quite blithe but close. He
had practiced for this and practiced for it, and in the end, he would
drive Riddle from his head. He did not have to destroy him.

They reached the center of the webs, and Harry dropped past what he saw
as an enormous glinting block of white marble, wound with strands of
silk. That was his goal of saving, protecting, and defending Connor, and
it sang out as Harry dropped past it. It gave him a renewed surge of
strength and reminded him of why he was doing this. Harry smiled and
increased the speed of his fall.

His thoughts were lessening as he dropped, thinning, becoming a narrow
and focused cone. For a moment, he still felt Riddle above him, pausing
to consider the white marble block and then deciding that it wasn't
worth the effort to destroy. Then he lost the sensation of that, and
fell through the hole in the center of the webs.

Riddle would not be far behind, he thought, his thoughts coming as
difficult bursts, even though he could not feel him.

Harry whirled in the blackness beneath the webs and called on his magic.

It rose in answer.

Harry felt it as cold water, streaming around him and up through him and
past him, the relentless tides of a black sea, eating the barriers that
had kept it pinned so far. Harry drew and drew and drew, called and
called and called, and still the magic answered him, wave after pulsing
wave of power. He sent down one final call, hoping this would be enough,
not sure if it would.

An icy voice spoke in his head, a new voice, neither Draco nor Snape nor
Sylarana nor Riddle, but resembling Riddle's more than any other of
those voices.

\emph{I come.}

And a freezing tsunami caught him, howling, and bore the faint spark
that Harry still clung to as himself in the midst of all that power back
up through the gap in his webs, back into the flickering light of memory
and conscious purpose.

Riddle was screaming. That was the first thought that came to Harry, and
he rejoiced in it. The icy voice laughed around him, and he found
himself laughing with it, pushing forward, crashing over Riddle and
drowning him.

Riddle also held furiously to himself in the middle of that, as Harry
had suspected he would. This was Voldemort, the man so determined to
live that he had not been killed when hit by Connor's reflected
\emph{Avada Kedavra.} He would not die that easily, even if he was a
fragment of himself, a memory of sixteen years old. He turned, and Harry
felt him whisper a spell that he didn't recognize, caught and glittering
in spikes. It floated towards Harry's webs, landed on them, and began to
tear them apart, chewing them wildly, sending memories flickering and
spinning through the water.

Harry closed the waters around Riddle, pincering him in pure magic, and
began to squeeze.

Riddle screamed again, but did not stop whispering his spells. And now
he was drawing power from somewhere \emph{else}, a warm funnel of magic
that sprang from far above them and felt like Harry's own. Harry
stretched out a brief flicker of perception in Sylarana's direction, and
found her still locked about the box. The magic was not coming from
there.

Then he remembered what Riddle had said to him when he first let Harry
know he was still in his mind, just before he had Petrified Neville.

\emph{Your scar. A conduit to me. So peaceful here. So at home.}

Harry had no bloody clue how his scar was a conduit to Riddle---it was
Connor who had taken the curse scar from Voldemort's wand, not him---but
he was sure that that was where the magic came from, skimmed off his own
being and warmed and twisted to Riddle's own foul purposes. The problem
was that he didn't know how best to fight it. He had planned only so far
as enraging Riddle, blocking his retreat, fighting him and trying to
drive him out of his head, and then having Draco and Snape wait in the
background as last-minute guards.

The icy voice laughed at him. \emph{He is reaching high, taking the
magic from the conduit. You know what you must do. The opposite.}

``Sap magic from my feet?'' Harry sniped, and bore down harder on
Riddle. He tore more viciously at Harry's memories in response. Harry
blinked away a sudden intense vision of himself at his and Connor's
tenth birthday party, and listened intently to the voice's answer.

First a sigh, which blew across him hard enough to leave a pattern of
frost on his skin, Harry was sure. Then the voice said, \emph{No. Go
deeper.}

Harry swallowed. He had already gone as far down as he dared, drawing
all this magic that he had floating about in him to combat Riddle, and
that had not been enough. He feared that if he reached down any further,
he would find only the scraped and belittled dregs of his magic, all of
it drained for this duel.

\emph{No, you won't,} the icy voice said, and caressed his mind. It
sounded eager. \emph{Go down deeper. Further. Is there any end to the
heart of a wizard's magic? No, not until he finds it, and you have not
found it yet.}

Harry reached down further, plunging through dark water and tearing
webs, and back into the hole underneath the webs. It seemed almost tame
now, no longer seething with power, and he sank through it, and down,
and down, and still found no trace of new magic waiting for him.

Then he called.

With wild rejoicing, with a glad cry, the power was free, and rushed up
and around him. Harry had never felt such magic. It was mad. It would
tear everything apart if it could, take the sun and the moon from the
sky and use them as juggling balls. It knew no boundaries, no
limitations.

\emph{Except that it will,} thought Harry, and brought down his own will
upon it.

The magic bucked and fought him like a wild horse, and it was ten times
worse than Tom Riddle's fighting had been, because Riddle was at least
foreign to his mind, and this was familiar. But Harry was stern. He
would call that power to defeat Riddle and to help Connor. He was never
going to call it simply to sit around awash in it, as he had that day in
Dumbledore's office. Their mother had trained him well. He could be
corrupted if he did that, and he would not be corrupted.

\emph{This is for you,} said the icy voice.

\emph{This is for my brother,} said Harry, and bore down, and the icy
voice died with a snap and a wail, and Harry was back in his mind, fully
in control of his own actions, identifying Tom Riddle as a drifting
speck, identifying\ldots{}

He stood on the second floor. The shadow of an enormous snake played on
the wall. It was just around the corner, and was writhing eagerly,
hungrily, wanting to come around the corner and feed.

In front of him was Justin, one hand extended and nearly touching him.
``Harry?'' he breathed.

Harry felt a surge of pure fury. Riddle had brought forth the monster in
whatever memory-destroying way he had while Harry was engaged in battle
with him, and he would have Petrified someone else whom Harry considered
a friend.

The snake started to come around the corner.

\emph{Snake who Petrifies people,} Harry's training whispered to him.
\emph{Basilisk.}

Harry swung to face the shadow. He held up one hand, and pushed both
down and out with his magic---down on Riddle, outward to the waiting
basilisk. ``\emph{Stay},'' he said, and knew it was in Parseltongue, and
heard Justin gasp, and did not care.

The shadow continued moving forward.

Riddle laughed at him---pained and breathless, but still a sound of
amusement. \emph{Any Parselmouth can speak to a basilisk. Only the Heir
of Slytherin can control the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.}

Enraged, Harry whirled on him, and managed a grim smile as Riddle
squeaked. \emph{Thank you for telling me that, Tom.}

He tore Riddle's voice out and forced it through his own mouth, the same
way that Riddle must have before, when he used Harry to open the Chamber
and command the snake. ``\emph{Back! Back to your nest. Wait there until
I, and only I, instruct you to come forth again.}''

The basilisk responded in a voice nothing like Sylarana's, a voice of
mindless hunger. ``\emph{I want to rip. Tear. Grind bones. Crunch. Blood.
Kill.}'' The basilisk's shadow grew a flickering appendage that Harry
suspected was its forked tongue. ``\emph{I can smell the Mudblood. Want a
proper feast.}''

Harry felt his lip curl, and wasn't sure if that was his own reaction or
Riddle's. He decided it didn't matter right now. ``\emph{Back to your
nest. You have no choice. Slytherin raised you, made you, tamed you.
Obey me.}''

The basilisk whined for a moment longer, and then turned and slithered
back down the hallway. Harry waited until the shadow faded and stuck his
heard around the corner, hoping against hope that he would not see
another Petrified student lying there. He did not know how long the
basilisk had been free.

The hallway was empty of both students and basilisk. Harry let out a low
breath, and then turned his attention to Riddle, still lost in both pain
and astonishment in Harry's mind.

\emph{I don't want you here any longer,} Harry thought, more determined
than he could ever remember being, and bore down with all his weight.

Riddle crashed against the webs of Harry's mind, against the marble
block, and barely escaped the black hole waiting to eat him. He wailed,
his web-shredding spell and his sheer presence ripped and torn between
the force of his unyielding will, Harry's unyielding will, and Harry's
magic.

At last he screamed. \emph{You have not seen the last of me, Harry
Potter!}

\emph{What an insipid thing to say,} Harry said, and squeezed one last
time. \emph{Go away now, little boy.}

Riddle wailed again, and was flushed from his mind. Harry felt his scar
briefly burn as Riddle shot away, and opened his eyes swiftly to make
sure that Riddle didn't go into Justin. Justin only stood there in
bewilderment, however, and Harry felt Riddle's presence shoot away from
him, curving downward. Harry smiled. \emph{Probably going back to the
diary, which I would bet a dozen Galleons is in the Chamber of Secrets.
I don't think he could survive anywhere else outside it.}

And then it was done.

Harry sagged to his knees, breathing harshly. His scar felt like an open
wound, and blood poured steadily down his face. Every muscle in his body
ached. Sylarana shifted weakly on his arm. But none of those was as
great a potential problem as the magic shifting and beating its wings
around him.

He lifted his head and felt the magic snap to attention. It would do
anything that he wanted of it. He was stronger than he had imagined. He
could perhaps have killed Tom Riddle after all, though he didn't want to
count on it. He was certainly stronger than Connor. What did he want his
magic to do?

``What I want you to do,'' Harry whispered, ``is to go away.''

The power reared in protest, but Harry was already catching it, binding
it in the coils and ropes he hadn't used to catch Riddle, dragging it
back down. He put it in the hole under his webs, pumped his mind clear
of the cold water, and ordered the magic to shut its eyes and go to
sleep. He would content himself with the ordinary, everyday kind of
magic he could carry in his mind and being most of the time.

He thought he heard a snarl from the icy voice before it shut its eyes.
He did not care. He was master of himself, and he \emph{would not} use
his magic for evil.

``Harry.''

Harry lifted his head. He could feel Draco pounding upstairs from the
dungeons and Snape making his way swiftly along the corridors, but it
was Justin who stood over him now, one hand extended and his face
solemn.

``I saw the monster's shadow,'' he said. ``And I know that something was
wrong, that you were fighting---something. The possession that your
brother talked about, maybe, assuming that he isn't \emph{always} full
of shit. Thank you for my life.''

``I'm sorry for endangering it in the first place,'' said Harry,
clasping the hand and letting Justin shake it. He couldn't stand yet.
``I didn't know you were there until it was almost too late.''

Justin shrugged. ``Can't change the past. Besides, it was my fault. I
thought I saw you following me, and I doubled back to talk to you.'' He
eyed Harry's face and grimaced. ``Merlin, you look bad.''

Harry nodded, not surprised. ``Will you excuse me a moment?'' he asked.
``There's something I have to do.''

``I don't think you can walk to the hospital wing,'' said Justin,
kneeling down beside him.

``Not that,'' Harry murmured, and closed his eyes. He could see the
bonds with Draco and Snape now that he looked for them, not the golden
braid woven deep into his thoughts that Sylarana was, but clear strands
running from the very outer edges of his central web.

He broke them. There was a brief flare of pain, and of surprise from
both Snape's and Draco's sides. Harry didn't care. He had studied up on
the potion that created the bonds in the first place, and learned how to
cleave them. He wasn't living with other people in his head.

\emph{Except for me,} said Sylarana.

\emph{You're a special case,} Harry pointed out as he dropped forward.
His body had decided that it had enough of sitting up and wanted to lie
on the floor.

\emph{I'm very special,} Sylarana agreed dazedly.

\emph{Such a beautiful snake,} Harry murmured. \emph{And such an
obedient one, to hold the box through all that battle and not come
rushing to my aid.}

\emph{I don't obey you,} said Sylarana. \emph{I judge you. And you
looked as if you had the battle well in hand. I will take the other
compliment, though.} And then her voice cut off, and Harry knew she'd
fallen asleep.

``Harry!''

Harry heard the rush of footsteps across the floor, and smiled as he
felt Draco drop down beside him. ``I'm all right, Draco,'' he said, his
voice slurring with exhaustion. ``Or I will be.''

``If you will stand aside, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Finch-Fletchley,'' said
Snape's cold voice, ``I will escort Mr. Potter to the hospital wing.''

\emph{More like carry,} Harry thought, and then he was gone.

\chapter{Recovery}\label{chapter-19-recovery}

Harry opened his eyes slowly. The hospital wing bed was not
uncomfortable, but he could feel the sheets scraping against him when he
tried to roll over. It felt as though Madam Pomfrey had wrapped him as
tightly as she possibly could, for fear of him escaping. Harry snorted
at the thought. He was tired and had a pounding pain in his head. The
last thing he wanted was to leave.

``Harry. Oh, thank Merlin.''

Sirius loomed into view for a moment, staring at him, then fell into a
chair beside the bed and clenched Harry's hand in his. For a moment, he
tried to say something, but he ended up bowing his head. Harry felt a
touch on the back of his hand, tears and a kiss.

``Hi, Sirius,'' he said, and blinked. His throat didn't feel as though
he needed much to drink, but his voice was hardly louder than a rat
scratching around a well. ``How long has it been?''

``A week,'' Sirius whispered. ``Today is Christmas Day.'' He smiled.
``And this is a pretty great Christmas gift.'' He messed up Harry's
hair.

Harry nodded slowly. ``Can you get me some water?''

Sirius already had a goblet from the nearby table in his hand, and he
helped ease Harry up the pillows so that he could drink. Harry was
annoyed to find out that he couldn't move by himself, even when he
tried. It was the effect of a week of bedrest, he knew rationally, but
he didn't \emph{like} it. He had important things to do.

``Has anyone else been visiting me?'' he asked Sirius. Many things could
have changed in a week, even his relationship with Connor. He had to
know so that he could figure out what to do next.

``Oh, of course,'' said Sirius. ``Malfoy every day---and he really does
seem to be your friend, Harry, though Merlin knows why. Snivellus
sometimes.'' Sirius frowned as if he didn't like that, but hadn't yet
come up with any arguments to refute it. ``And Lily and James came
yesterday. The Headmaster's been in at least once a day to inquire about
your health.'' He smiled, but his eyes were misty. ``We were so afraid
that you weren't going to wake up again, especially after what
Sn---Snape told us about the damage to your mind.''

Harry touched his head. ``My scar hurts, but what does he mean by
damage?''

``Apparently, during the---battle with Tom Riddle, you lost some
memories,'' said Sirius carefully. ``Sn---Snape thought it should be
restricted to mild gaps, but he couldn't be sure. The longer you
remained asleep, the surer he was that there was some other, more
permanent harm done.'' He smiled, and this time it looked more like the
carefree grin Harry knew. ``He's a gloomy bastard. I'll tell him so.''

Harry smiled back, then hesitated. There was a question he really wanted
to ask. But the answer was obvious from what Sirius had said.

In the end, though, the pressure, the hope that Sirius had just
forgotten to mention the answer somehow, was too much.

``Did Connor come and see me?''

Sirius's eyes lowered. ``No,'' he said quietly. ``I'm sorry, Harry.''

Harry breathed in, out, in, out. His eyes fixed on the wall. ``Why
not?'' he whispered. ``I know that he was embarrassed about facing me,
but I could have died.'' Then he winced. He was whinging. He did
\emph{not} want to sound like he was whinging, and he knew now that he
shouldn't have asked the question.

``I think he's embarrassed, even now, that he didn't believe you at
first and tried to get you expelled from Hogwarts,'' said Sirius. ``I
know that your parents had a very stern talking-to with him about that,
and I think Professor McGonagall also had something to say. But---he's
not ready, Harry. I don't know why, but he's just not, yet.''

Harry nodded. He could accept it. He \emph{had} to accept it. He didn't
know everything that was going on in Connor's head yet. Until he did,
then he had no right to judge his brother, no reason to think that
Connor hadn't come to the hospital just to punish him. It could as
easily be the bewilderment and confusion that Sirius believed it was.

He became aware that Sirius was making a show of looking around the
hospital wing, his eyes darting in every direction. Harry raised his
eyebrows and looked back at Sirius, who laughed at him and scooped him
out of bed.

``Sirius?'' Harry squeaked. He felt weak, still, but he didn't object to
being carried---until Sirius began to walk out of the hospital wing.

``You've been cooped up in here too long,'' Sirius said firmly as they
trotted down the halls. ``Madam Pomfrey isn't here right now, she went
to visit some niece of hers. And the Headmaster and Sn---Snape and all
the students who stayed are down at the Feast. There's no one to see us
if we go flying.'' He turned Harry around and winked at him. ``And I
have to give you your Christmas present.''

Harry fell silent as they sneaked through the halls. He knew that trying
to talk sense into Sirius was no good, and if no one really would see
them\ldots{}

He just hoped they could be back before Draco and Snape left the Feast.

Sirius took a side door out of Hogwarts, one that Harry had never seen
before. \emph{Of course,} he thought, as the door opened onto drifts of
snow and a wide, glittering expanse that shone with blue shadows in the
sunlight, \emph{if anyone would know secret ways out of the school, it
would be a Marauder.}

``Here we are,'' said Sirius, and cast a warming charm on Harry. ``Now,
your choice. Would you rather fly on my motorbike or your broom?''

``The motorbike,'' Harry said at once. He thought it was safer. At the
least, it had more room for two people. And he was going to do what he
could to preserve their safety, if Sirius wouldn't.

He supposed he should protest. He couldn't bring himself to do so. He'd
missed this casual camaraderie that his godfather showed him, including
Harry in his pranks without thinking twice. And if this was what would
make Sirius comfortable, serve as an apology of sorts for what he'd done
over the school year, then Harry was willing to indulge him.

\emph{So am I.}

Harry started. He'd forgotten Sylarana until she spoke, though the
presence of a weight on his left shoulder had led him to assume she was
there.

\emph{Thank you so very much,} she said, and stretched. \emph{The
warming charms feel nice. I'm hungry.}

\emph{We'll go and get some food after this,} Harry promised, as he
watched Sirius put the motorbike on the ground and bring it back to
normal size. \emph{But he wanted to be nice. I think we should let him.}

\emph{Are you still angry at him?} Sylarana asked.

He was, Harry acknowledged. Not that he had any right to be angry. He
started to put the anger in the box.

He couldn't. Harry frowned. He tugged, but the near-instinctive motion
produced no effort worthy of note. The box remained closed.

\emph{I locked it,} said Sylarana. \emph{With a pattern that Locustas
know, and only Locustas. You can't open it unless I let you or something
cancels the pattern.}

Harry felt irritation at that, too. But he refocused the irritation
towards the need to know things. \emph{Why didn't you just use that
pattern when we were training to fight Riddle?}

\emph{Because I didn't have the time and the peace necessary to make
it,} said Sylarana. \emph{This week has provided me with plenty of
that.}

She shifted out from beneath Sirius's hand as he lifted Harry onto the
motorbike by the shoulders. Then Sirius put his arms around Harry's
waist, settled behind him, and kicked the bike into life.

Harry leaned against Sirius's chest and listened to his godfather's
laughter while his breath steamed in front of him. He was not sure how
to feel. The irritation at Sylarana and at Sirius and at Connor---even
though he told himself several times over that he shouldn't feel
irritation at Connor---danced along the surface of his mind like
lightning in a dark sky. He could live with it, he supposed. But it
would have been simpler and easier to put it in the box.

\emph{I didn't think that you wanted to do things the easy way,}
Sylarana remarked. \emph{You never have so far.}

Harry frowned at her and went back to work on controlling his emotions.
He didn't have the goal of defeating Riddle to occupy him now. He would
have to find something else.

Then he found it---the goal that was never far from his mind, the one
that he had devoted his life to.

\emph{Protecting Connor. But what would be the best way to protect him,
now that I've sent Riddle away and I'm no longer a danger to him?}

\emph{Make him a leader, of course. And show him that I'm really not a
danger to him anymore, no matter what he thinks.}

Harry had just started to think of ways to prove that when Sirius
stopped the bike and made it hover. Harry twisted around to stare at
him. Sirius's face was solemn as he pulled something from a pocket of
his robe.

``I wanted to give you this when no one else was around,'' he murmured.
``It's private and special to me, Harry. I want you to---well, keep it
with you, and never feel that you have to hesitate before using it.''

Harry traced a finger along the edge of the object. It was wrapped in
black cloth, so thick that he could make out nothing more than a general
round shape. The cloth itself had a pair of small words stitched in
silver along the bottom edge. Harry squinted to read them. \emph{Tojours
Pur.}

Harry sucked in his breath. He recognized the Black family motto.
``Sirius, is this---''

``Something from my family,'' said Sirius. ``Something from the last
War, in fact. Go ahead, Harry. I promise. I want you to have it.''

Harry slid the cloth away. Beneath it was a round circlet of metal, made
of some black material that Harry didn't recognize and edged with
shimmering silver. The silver made it difficult to see how wide the
circlet was, flashing and playing tricks with his eyesight when Harry
tried to squint at it. He couldn't tell if it was meant as a bracelet, a
crown of some kind, or something else.

The silver pattern didn't only exist on the edge, he found out as he
turned the circlet around. It dipped down into the middle of the black
material, and finally coalesced into a single figure. The figure was a
serpent, rearing, its mouth portrayed as open. Harry saw a tiny thread
of silver in the very center of the mouth that might have been a forked
tongue.

``I don't understand,'' Harry whispered.

``This belonged to an ancestor of mine who was a Parselmouth,'' said
Sirius calmly. Harry could hear the strain beneath his voice, and didn't
quite dare to look at his face. ``Supposedly, it strengthens a
Parselmouth's magic, especially as it relates to serpents. Dumbledore
thought it might give someone who couldn't understand snakes an edge
over Voldemort in the last war. It didn't, though, and eventually we put
it back among my family's treasures and just forgot about it.'' Sirius
let out a small breath. ``But I don't have a son of my own, and you're a
Parselmouth, Harry. You should have it. After all, I'm not going to give
it to Voldemort, am I?'' He smiled at that, and looked more like himself
again.

Harry couldn't speak for a long moment. He stared at Sirius's face and
then at the circlet again, which he thought was meant for his upper arm.
Sirius had done more than just give him a Christmas gift. He had shown
that he accepted what Harry himself still thought of, automatically, as
a Dark gift.

\emph{It isn't,} said Sylarana, and Harry sensed her shifting closer to
the edge of his sleeve. \emph{And I can't sense anything from that
thing. Perhaps you have to be wearing it in order for the magic to
manifest? As if you need help being stronger.}

\emph{Maybe,} Harry answered her absently, and slid the circlet into the
pocket of his robes. ``Thank you, Sirius,'' he whispered. ``Merry
Christmas. I'm sorry the gift I got you is at home, but---''

Sirius messed up his hair. ``It doesn't matter, Harry. I'll probably
visit Godric's Hollow in a little while. I don't know if Dumbledore will
let you go with me yet, but---''

``\emph{Harry!}''

Harry looked down resignedly. Draco was standing in the snow beneath
them, so bundled up it was nearly impossible to tell who it was---except
that he was shrieking in a voice that Harry knew very well.

``What are you doing out of bed? Madam Pomfrey said---you
couldn't---just wait until I tell Professor Snape---'' And he started
hopping up and down in rage, as though he couldn't think of anything
else to say.

Harry looked at Sirius. ``I suppose we should go down.''

``I suppose we should,'' Sirius said. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder
and squeezed, briefly. ``I'm glad that you're still here, Harry.''

Harry nodded. He felt the weight of the Black circlet in his robes all
the way down, and held Sirius's acceptance tightly to himself. It seemed
as though his reunion with someone else who claimed to care about him
was not going to be nearly so happy.

Sure enough, Draco began shouting again just as the motorbike landed.
``\emph{Harry!} Why didn't you wake up while I was there? I come back
from the Feast, with some treacle tart for you and that damn snake---''

\emph{Treacle tart!} Sylarana sounded delighted. She stuck her head out
of Harry's sleeve, then shivered as her neck met the edge of the warming
charms, but didn't withdraw. \emph{Where, where, where?}

\emph{Probably back in the hospital wing,} Harry replied, his eyes on
Draco in fascination. He wondered if Draco realized how much he sounded
like his mother, or if that was just coincidence.

``---and, and, and you were gone, and no one could tell where, and
Professor Snape's running around the school thinking you've been
kidnapped, and I finally came out here and you were flying like a
\emph{prat}, and I decided to stay here and miss Christmas at the Manor
for \emph{this}, and---''

``Draco,'' Harry managed to cut in. Sirius was coughing, the way he did
on the (rare) occasion when he didn't want to laugh aloud at someone.
Harry suspected he would start chuckling in a moment, and he didn't
think Draco would take that well.

``What?'' Draco paused, his face flushed and his breathing difficult as
he glared at Harry.

``Thank you for staying for me,'' Harry said.

Draco's face melted into a dazzlingly sweet smile. He reached forward
and actually dragged Harry out of Sirius's loose half-embrace, something
Harry hadn't thought he was strong enough to do. ``Prat,'' he muttered,
his face in Harry's hair. ``And it's more than you deserve, too, after
the way that you shut me out of your mind so rudely. Well, not to worry.
Professor Snape can make that potion again, and---''

Harry put a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. This was something he had
thought was clear the moment he severed the bonds, but perhaps it
wasn't. ``Draco,'' he said. ``I only had the bonds because I needed your
help to defeat Riddle. I won't be renewing them. My task now is guarding
Connor and keeping him safe, and I don't think that's something that you
need to be in my mind for.''

Draco pulled back and gaped at him for a moment. Then he began to
splutter. Since Harry had expected that that would happen, he managed to
look calm, he hoped, instead of as exasperated as he felt.

``But I liked hearing your thoughts,'' said Draco, who had evidently
decided that the best way to get Harry to change his mind was to pout
about it. ``And I thought that you needed someone in your mind now to
help you heal the damage. Professor Snape was telling me about it. You
could have wounds from your battle with Riddle. I could help fill them
in.''

``Occlumency will do that,'' said Harry firmly. ``And I thank you for
wanting to share my thoughts, but \emph{I} don't want you to.''

``Why \emph{not}?''

``You would tell me to do things differently,'' said Harry. ``Not just
try to help me heal the wounds or protect Connor. You would tell me that
protecting Connor was wrong and that I should be doing something else,
and---well. I just can't do that, Draco. Being available to my brother
is always the most important thing.'' He braced himself, hoping that
Draco would understand.

Draco stared into his face. Harry wondered how deeply he saw. Someone
trained by a man like Lucius Malfoy should see quite a bit more than was
apparent on the surface, in Harry's view, but Draco had surprised him
before, especially when he was determined to get his own way.

Draco looked away from him then, and muttered something that Harry
couldn't make out. It had words on the end about ``come first,'' but
when Harry asked him to repeat it, Draco shook his head, his face gone
cold and closed.

Then he smiled again and hugged Harry hard around the shoulders.
Sylarana moved out of the way again with a patient sigh. ``But I'm still
glad that you're better,'' he said. ``And I can't wait to give you my
family's gifts.''

Harry blinked, then flushed. He had forgotten entirely about getting
Draco or the Malfoys gifts---or he had thought of it once, in early
October, and then it let it slip his mind again once Riddle started
possessing him. ``Ah, Draco, I---''

``That doesn't matter,'' Draco interrupted him. ``Really, Harry, since
you woke up on Christmas Day and you're going to come back to the
hospital wing with me now, you don't need to give me a gift.'' His voice
challenged Harry to comment on anything at all in that sentence.

Harry shook his head and gave in. He knew he should ask more about what
was troubling Draco, should apologize more about not giving a gift, and
should attempt to reason out just \emph{why} Draco was so troubled about
not sharing his mind any more, when it had always been a temporary
thing. But that would involve digging into subjects that Harry wasn't
sure he was ready to see, subjects that would hurt both him and Draco.

Harry could see the edge of an abyss he had nearly tumbled within, and
was glad to step away from it as he said farewell to Sirius, hugged him,
and then followed Draco back to the hospital wing.

\emph{I know I can't be too close to Draco, or it would get in the way
of my friendship with Connor. I} always \emph{knew that having friends
in Slytherin might do that. And even though he's shown me loyalty so
far, and even chose me over his family, this is one choice I don't want
to ask him to make yet. If we just ignore it, then we can pretend we're
untroubled for a little while longer.}

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Snape was waiting for them when they got back to the hospital wing. He
narrowed his eyes at Harry and glided forward from the bed, his robes
sweeping behind the way Harry imagined the basilisk's tail moving. ``And
where have you been, Mr. Potter?'' he whispered, hard enough to make
Harry feel as though frost still nipped at him.

``Black took him flying,'' said Draco, and bundled Harry back into bed.
``Even though he's not strong enough yet, and started shivering on the
way back from outside.''

``Draco,'' Harry managed to say half-heartedly. It was true that he'd
started shivering. It was not true that he saw any need to bring this up
to Snape.

``Flying,'' said Snape, in a voice that promised doom and gloom.

``Flying,'' said Draco, with a nod, and then turned away and gathered up
three gifts from beside the bed. He dumped them in Harry's lap. ``Does
that potion send Harry to sleep, Professor Snape?''

``Yes,'' said Snape. ``It prevents Mr. Potter from doing more damage to
his mind. Of course, he seems determined to do that on his own
already.''

Harry ignored him as he opened the first gift. He blinked. He'd had no
idea\ldots{}

``Draco, where did you get this?'' he whispered, tilting the object so
that he could see it better in the hospital wing's light.

``Oh, my family's had the frame for ages,'' said Draco airily. ``Genuine
dragon's tooth, mixed with crystal and---''

``Draco.'' Harry turned the picture around so that Draco couldn't
pretend to ignore that it was a photograph of them together, walking
down the hall at what must have been some point early in the year. The
Draco in the picture was poking the Harry, who looked to be trying to
sidle away from him without being obvious. The Harry had a fond smile on
his face that Harry found deeply familiar, and the Draco was trying to
keep his own face from breaking out in a smile of glee. ``This, I meant.
Where did you get it?''

``Around.''

Draco's face had that shuttered look again. Harry decided not to ask,
lest it would mean discussing all the \emph{other} uncomfortable things
they had lying around. He gently put the photograph back in his lap and
stroked the crystalline frame, which shimmered with light and subtle
facets under the surface. ``Thank you,'' he said.

Draco shrugged and dipped his head. A light blush had started on his
face.

Harry sneaked a glance at Snape, only to find the man simply standing
there and watching, his face neutral. Of course, it sprouted a sneer the
moment Harry looked at him. Harry rolled his eyes and opened the second
gift, which turned out to be Narcissa's, a regal sculpture of a phoenix,
made of what Harry thought might be genuine gold, with rubies for eyes
and the tips of the feathers. Giving in to temptation, he stroked its
breast, which, though made with metal, looked real enough to shed downy
feathers and let them drift around the room.

The phoenix began to sing. Harry had to close his eyes when he
recognized the song. It was one that Narcissa had sung and played for
them when he'd been a guest in the Malfoy Manor last Christmas. One of
the old history songs of the wizarding world, about the founding of
Hogwarts and the final exile of Salazar Slytherin.

Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat. ``Tell you mother thank
you for me, Draco,'' he whispered, taking his hand away. The phoenix
hushed at once.

``You can write to her and say thanks yourself,'' said Draco. ``She
would welcome a letter from you, you know.'' He had an intent look on
his face now, which didn't reveal anything of his other emotions.

Harry shook his head, too overwhelmed to start speaking, and then, with
some caution, opened Lucius's gift. It had been a Foe-Glass last year.
Harry expected something else like it this year, double-edged and
ironic, a sharp reminder that they were on different sides.

He frowned in puzzlement to find only a ring. He turned it around in his
hand, flinching, half-waiting for a needle to sprout from the stone on
it and stick him with poison, or for his hands to swell and turn blue
with some horrible contagious disease.

It remained as it was, though, a simple silver ring set with a single
clear stone the color of snow that picked up light and reflections from
everywhere in the room. Harry knew the stone wasn't a diamond, but he
wasn't sure what it was. He touched it, at last, flinching just in case
the needle was activated by touch.

The stone was shockingly cold, and Harry understood, then. It wasn't a
jewel. It was a piece of ice kept frozen by charms Harry had never heard
of.

He half-closed his eyes as he remembered his training. Ice rings were a
rare gift now, but they had once been common, just like so many of the
pureblood traditions Harry had insisted on learning. They meant a
balanced regard, acknowledging the danger and power of a potential enemy
while showing that the giver wasn't exactly ill-disposed towards him.

They were also, or had been once, the very first gift given when a truce
was being negotiated between two powerful wizards.

Harry blinked at nothing, then shook his head. He knew that Lucius
Malfoy wouldn't abandon Voldemort, not after the things he had done in
his name. This ring was a token of regard, probably to satisfy his son,
and not the opening move in a truce. Harry couldn't imagine why Lucius
would want to do that.

He could very well imagine why Lucius would want to play a game like
this, though, and a grim smile formed on his lips. He thought he might
ask Sirius to visit Diagon Alley for him and buy the next gift in the
game, a triangular piece of ebony cut exactly like the ice on the ring.
That answered power with power and announced lingering suspicion. Harry
knew Lucius wouldn't continue the farce for long, since the gifts grew
steadily more serious and expensive, but it would be interesting to see
what he did when he'd received Harry's gift.

``Thank your father for me, Draco,'' he said, slipping the ring onto his
left middle finger. ``And tell him his message was accepted.'' He
paused. ``No, wait. I'll tell him myself in a letter.''

Draco eyed him for a moment. ``You won't write to my mother, who likes
you,'' he said. ``But you'll write to my father, who's a political
enemy. I don't understand you at all, Harry.''

Harry shrugged. ``That's all right. And maybe I'll write to your mother,
too.'' He picked up the photograph and the phoenix from his lap and
stuck them carefully on the table next to the bed. ``Thank you, Draco.
Very much.''

Draco flushed again, then leaned forward and hugged Harry. ``Merry
Christmas,'' he said.

``If you are \emph{quite} finished, Mr. Malfoy,'' said Snape, ``I should
present Mr. Potter with his potion.''

Draco nodded, whispered a farewell, and slipped away. Harry turned to
face Snape. He had noticed that Snape hadn't interrupted the ritual of
gift-giving, for all that he'd sneered at it. Harry was under no
delusions that Snape \emph{liked} him, or even really that he liked
Draco, but at least Snape was fair enough that he was no longer
unwarrantedly hostile.

\emph{Towards me}, Harry amended, when the first question out of Snape's
mouth was, ``Do you have any idea what you are doing to yourself in the
name of serving your feckless brother?''

Harry shook his head. ``I know very well. You keep assuming I'm a child,
sir. I wish you wouldn't. These actions are all the results of decisions
that I made a long time before I came here.''

Snape snorted at him. ``You cannot tell me that you expected to be
possessed by Tom Riddle.''

``Of course not,'' said Harry. ``That was an unpleasant surprise. But I
expected that I would face Voldemort. And learn Dark spells, before you
can ask about the \emph{Fugitivus Animus Cogitatio.} I really did get it
from a book. I'll use it again if I have to, and others like it, to make
people pay attention to Connor. I assume it dissipated when people
finally did leave the Great Hall and escaped Connor's presence?''

``Yes,'' said Snape grudgingly. ``It worked as you expected, Mr. Potter.
But that is not the point. You have dozens of new wounds in your mind
now. You are missing memories. I suspect that your magic has been
strained, and that it will be some time before you can perform as
competently in class as you have done.'' He paused, then added, tone
etched with acid, ``I sincerely hope that this upset has not affected
your potion-making skills.''

``If it has, sir,'' said Harry, never looking away from Snape's eyes,
``I promise you that I'll study to get them back.''

Snape shook his head and dragged in a breath. When he spoke again, his
voice was rough. ``Why are you \emph{doing} this? There is no reason to.
Others can protect Mr. Potter---that is to say, your brother. I was
under the impression that Black was here for the express purpose of
doing so. And he must face the Dark Lord on his own terms sooner or
later.''

``Of course he must,'' Harry said calmly. ``And when he had to do that
last year, he did very well, and burned Quirrell to ashes. I'm here to
handle the other threats that might come his way, lesser ones---''

``Tom Riddle is hardly a \emph{lesser threat,} you idiot child!''

Harry waited a moment, just to be sure Snape wouldn't interrupt him
again, and shook his head. ``Yes, he is. He's only a fragment of
Voldemort, not the whole thing. Connor didn't need to deal with him. He
needs to reserve his resources for the bigger prize. So I'll get in the
way as long as I can, and also work on making him a better leader and
more skillful---something I've sadly neglected so far. There's a limit
to how far I can train him, of course, since I can't show how advanced
my own skills are. But I promise you that he'll save us, sir.''

Snape looked at him in silence. Then he handed the potion over, saying,
``We must resume your Occlumency training after the holidays. That is
the only way to fill in and eventually heal the wounds in your mind.''

Harry nodded, drank the potion, and lay down to go to sleep. It was a
relief to escape the probing eyes of his Potions Professor, and the
nagging guilt that, once again, he'd failed to convince Snape of
Connor's importance.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Snape stood watching Harry for long moments after the boy's eyes had
closed. He found himself grateful that Harry had not awakened until a
week after his battle, for all that Snape had been more certain with
each passing day that he would never return to consciousness.

The delay had given Snape time to deal with his own emotions---the shock
he'd experienced when Harry's magic expanded from the depths of his
being, the fear he'd felt that Tom Riddle would break free, the sudden
release of growing weeks of tension and fear.

And the grudging pride, or something very like it, that Harry had used
Occlumency and knowledge of his own mind as well as he had against
Riddle.

Snape reached over, hesitant despite his knowledge that the potion would
keep the boy firmly asleep, and carefully brushed his hair away from the
lightning bolt scar. It still burned fiery red. It had not calmed since
Harry arrived in the hospital wing, though at least it had stopped
bleeding after the first hour.

Snape had heard fragments of Riddle's conversation with Harry, so hard
had he been concentrating. He only believed it more likely, not less,
that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived. How else could he have such a deep
connection with the Dark Lord?

But he also knew that trying to convince Harry of that truth would be
nearly impossible.

\emph{So don't speak to him about it,} he decided as he stepped away
from the bed. \emph{Let him believe what he needs to believe, or wants
to believe, in regard to his brother. Instead, offer him training, what
he doesn't have and will yet need in the battles to come.}

\emph{It is more important that he succeed than know why he is
succeeding.}

\emph{But if and when he ever changes his mind\ldots{}}

\emph{I will be ready.}

Snape turned and left the hospital wing, cloak swirling determinedly
behind him. He meant to find and taunt Black into a guilty rage about
taking his godson out of the hospital wing while he was still weak. It
would please him, and Black had truly been stupid.

Besides, Snape had to do \emph{something} to keep up appearances now
that he had decided the bet with Black had also been a mistake on his
part.

\chapter{Coterie}\label{chapter-20-coterie}

Harry didn't like what he had to do.

But he knew it had to be done.

\emph{You've been thinking those two thoughts for the last half hour,}
Sylarana pointed out, sliding up towards his neck. \emph{Think about
something else. This is boring.}

Harry reached up and stroked her back. \emph{I'm sorry. I'm just---I
don't want to do this.}

\emph{That's only a small variation on the general theme,} said
Sylarana. \emph{Vary it more. I would like to see some variation in your
head. Think about food. The Feast will start soon.} She sounded as if
she would be drooling, if snakes could drool.

Harry nodded. They were already sitting in the Great Hall. The doors
would soon open, and food would appear on the plates, and the students
who had gone home for the Christmas holidays would reappear\ldots{}

And his thoughts stuttered to a halt and returned to their circle.

\emph{Harry.}

He blinked and looked down as Sylarana stuck her head out of his robe.
She almost never called him by his name, as though she thought her
intimacy in his head would give him a good enough idea of who she was
talking to. \emph{Yes, Sylarana?} he asked, since that seemed to be what
she wanted.

\emph{It will go well,} she said, and nudged at the side of his neck.
\emph{Relax. You have me in your head to warn you if you're about to do
something stupid.} She turned and slithered back down his arm again.

Harry let out a short, harsh breath and turned as the doors opened.
Draco, sitting beside him, the only other student at the Slytherin
table, squeezed his arm. ``I'll be right behind you,'' he whispered.

``Only if you promise not to talk,'' Harry muttered out of the corner of
his mouth.

``Would \emph{I} say anything to mess this up?'' Draco said back. His face
was the picture of shining innocence when Harry looked at him.

``Yes, you would,'' said Harry darkly. ``Well, fine then. You can come
with me, but if you annoy him in \emph{any} way then you're not getting
your Christmas present.''

Draco perked up. ``You got me a Christmas present?'' He said it loudly
enough that heads started to turn---including, Harry saw, heads among
the returning Gryffindors. He grimaced. He wanted things to happen when
they were supposed to. He was going to have a confrontation with Connor
and force his brother to acknowledge him, but only on his own terms.

``Yes!'' he hissed back. ``Why do you think I made you leave the
hospital wing those times that Hedwig returned with my post? Now, shut
up. Or you won't get your gift.''

``What about my parents?'' Draco asked with a slight whine in his
throat. ``It wouldn't be fair to punish them for something I did.''

``When did you ever care about fair?'' Harry could see Connor now, messy
dark hair marking him out in a crowd of red-haired Weasleys. He didn't
look at the Slytherin table. From the way he walked and laughed and
talked, it might as well not even have existed. Harry swallowed bile,
which burned all the way down. \emph{Not this time, brother. This time,
you are going to acknowledge me.}

``I care about fair,'' Draco insisted. ``When it applies to my family, at
least. And why are you watching that prat \emph{now}? You're supposed to
be talking to me.''

Reluctantly, Harry shifted his attention back to Draco. ``I got your
mother a swan,'' he said. ``It's made of crystal, and enchanted to act
as a mirror when she, and only she, speaks her name to it. Saying her
name twice will cause it to animate and fly to you or your father as a
message if she's in danger.''

Draco looked impressed. ``That's a paranoid gift, Harry, even if it
\emph{is} brilliant.''

Harry shrugged. ``I thought it would work,'' he muttered. ``And I got
your father a triangular piece of ebony, cut like the ice on my ring.''

There was a long moment of silence. Harry could see Draco trying to work
that one out, and failing. He really didn't have as much of an education
in the ancient pureblood ways as he should, though Harry supposed he
couldn't blame him for that. Draco had been educated in the modern
dances, and that was the most anyone could expect of a normal wizarding
heir.

``Why?'' Draco asked at last.

``He'll know why,'' Harry answered. ``Ask him, if you really want to. It
was the same reason he sent me the ice ring.''

Draco looked as if he would ask more, but Blaise dropped into a seat on
the other side of him just then and leaned over to ask how Christmas
holidays had gone, giving Harry an abstracted smile while he was at it.
Draco turned away to answer, and left Harry free to watch Connor.

For a moment.

``Potter.''

Harry blinked and glanced over his shoulder. Millicent Bulstrode, who
never talked to him much at all, stood there, frowning at him. She had
her arms folded across her chest, making her an even more impressive
sight; she was both taller and stronger than he was. Her dark eyes were
fastened to his face as if nailed there.

``Yes, Bulstrode?'' he asked at last, when it became clear that she
wasn't going away.

``Are you recovered from your possession by Riddle, then?'' she asked.

Harry stared at her. Then he said, ``Who said that was what happened to
me?''

``I hear things,'' said Millicent vaguely. ``I just want to know if
you're recovered, or if you're going to come at night and kill us all in
our beds.''

``Of course not,'' said Harry, still trying to figure out what the fuck
was going on.

Millicent eyed him, then added, ``I hear things on the second floor,''
and turned away. Harry watched her back as she sat down, then decided
she'd been trying to unnerve him. After all, the bathroom the basilisk
had somehow come out of was on the second floor, and the attacks had
happened there, too. Of course it would make sense to say that she'd
heard about Riddle on the second floor.

Dinner appeared then, in the midst of a speech by Dumbledore that Harry
didn't pay any attention to. Dumbledore knew what he was planning to do
tonight, and he'd given Harry not only approval but permission. \emph{It
is time that Connor be made to understand what his actions do to
others,} he had said. \emph{They might cause people to turn against him
someday, and then how can he be a leader?}

Harry had pointed out that he would never turn against his brother, and
Dumbledore had laughed indulgently and patted his shoulder, pointing out
that loyalty had to expand outwards from him. Connor would hold him, of
course, but at the moment, it looked as though he and Harry had turned
against each other. Other students had to see that Harry and Connor were
loyal to one another before they could be loyal to the future savior of
the wizarding world.

Harry barely knew what he was eating, as he stared across the room at
Connor throughout dinner. The only interruptions were Sylarana nudging
him for a piece of food, or asking when the treacle tart would arrive.
\emph{Treacle tart!} appeared with regular exuberance in Harry's head,
making an odd contrast with the focus of his thoughts. \emph{Want
treacle tart!}

Dinner finished at last. Harry stood up. Eyes came to him at once,
mostly curious. Everyone knew by now that he'd fainted and spent time in
the hospital wing, though Harry hoped most of the students---Millicent
excepted for whatever reason---remained ignorant of why.

He pretended not to notice the glares among the glances, mostly from the
Ravenclaw table, and ambled out of the room. He would wait for Connor to
leave. He was not going to force his brother into acknowledgment of him
in front of the Great Hall. He thought their last confrontation hadn't
worked well partially because it was so public. If he faced Connor in an
isolated corner of the entrance hall, his brother's reactions were more
likely to be sincere.

\emph{Perhaps,} said Sylarana, who was so full of treacle tart that
Harry had thought she'd gone to sleep. \emph{On the other hand, he is a
prat.}

``I don't think he's a prat all the time,'' Harry whispered, pacing back
and forth to work off some of the nervous energy that filled him. Draco
gave him a curious glance, than an annoyed one. His latest trick was to
be jealous of Sylarana, because she could speak into Harry's thoughts
and he couldn't. Harry thought that was absolutely ridiculous, and did
them both the favor of ignoring it. ``Just some of the time. And this
time---well, I just need answers. That doesn't mean that he's a prat to
ignore me like he's been doing.''

Draco began speaking in a bored drawl, as though he were musing aloud
and Harry just happened to be in the vicinity. ``Prats accuse their
brothers of going Dark. Prats don't see the desperate measures that
their brothers are taking just to try and stay alive. Prats don't visit
their brothers in the hospital wing. Yes, I think Connor fits all the
characteristics of a prat perfectly.''

Harry spun around and glared at him. ``It wasn't his fault! He's just a
child, and I kept the measures from him, and, well, I'm sure he had a
good reason for not visiting me in the hospital wing! He \emph{must}.''

``Harry,'' Draco said, catching and holding his eyes, ``has it occurred
to you that you think about him a lot more than he thinks about you?''

``Of course,'' said Harry. ``That's the point. He has to divide his
attention and time among many people who all need it. I'm just one
person.'' He wondered why Draco had chosen to bring this up again. It
was irrelevant. Or, rather, it was Draco understanding but then refusing
to take it to heart.

``Maybe he doesn't deserve your intense consideration, either,'' said
Draco carefully. ``Maybe other people do.''

``Like you,'' Harry said, with a sigh. ``Yes, Draco, I know I haven't
been the best of friends---''

``Like yourself,'' Draco cut in.

Harry didn't bother justifying that with an answer, as he looked
sideways and saw Connor emerging from the Great Hall just then. He only
had Ron and Hermione with him, wonder of wonders and thank Merlin. Ron
walked close at Connor's side, as though he were going to take his wand
out and hex anyone who so much as greeted him. Hermione walked a short
distance behind, her face troubled.

``Connor,'' said Harry, and took a step forward.

Connor hunched his shoulders and kept walking.

Harry narrowed his eyes. \emph{Forgive me for the insult, brother, but
you go too far.} ``Aren't you going to face me?'' he asked. ``I think a
true Gryffindor would have. You lot are the House of courage, aren't
you?''

That brought Connor spinning around, and Harry saw the mask on his eyes
and face shatter, the anger and jealousy spewing forth in the next
instant. ``\emph{You} lot?'' he spat. ``I should have known that you've
given up wanting to be in Gryffindor, Harry. Getting all nice and
comfortable in the viper pit?''

``Oh, no, you don't,'' said Harry, his voice so fierce that Connor
stared at him and blinked. ``We aren't talking about me now. We're
talking about you. Why didn't you come and visit me in the hospital wing
when I was sick? Were you too proud? Too nervous? Too \emph{afraid}?''

Hermione turned a horrified gaze on Connor. Ron gave him a puzzled
glance. ``What's that, mate?'' he asked. ``You told me you visited him.
That was the day you couldn't come to the Burrow because you were
Apparating here with your parents, remember?''

Harry stared. \emph{He didn't tell them, either? He is acting like a
coward, a liar---a Slytherin. I can't let that happen. If he keeps
showing those qualities instead of the Gryffindor ones he needs, then
Dumbledore is right, and no one is going to follow him.}

And, of course, it made the confrontation much nastier than Harry would
have envisioned, because it meant that Connor was forced into defending
his honor. His eyes flashed, and he voiced a low growl that reminded
Harry a lot of Sirius in his Animagus form.

``I didn't visit him because I couldn't stand to be in the same room
with him!'' he yelled, looking back and forth between Ron and Hermione.
``For eleven years, he's always been there for me, and then---then he
just \emph{turned} on me, started acting like other people were more
important, started acting like \emph{he} was some big important
\emph{someone}! He should have been expelled, you know that! Any other
student who went around Petrifying people would have! But no, not Harry
Potter.'' Connor whirled, and his eyes were filled with loathing. ``We
were the ones who went around trying to save the school, just like last
year when we guarded the Stone and defeated Voldemort. And my brother's
trying to \emph{ruin} it all.''

``Bollocks,'' said a very loud voice behind Harry, before Harry could
say anything.

He turned, ready to hiss at Draco for interrupting, but he realized
quickly that Draco was standing, mouth open, just as dumbfounded as he
was. Justin Finch-Fletchley was the one who had spoken, and he was
striding forward from one cluster of students lingering around the
argument, his wand out. Flanking him were Hannah Abbott and Ernie
Macmillan, and behind them trailed a blond boy whom Harry knew only
vaguely. He thought his name was Smith. Zacharias Smith, or something
similar.

The Hufflepuffs stepped up around Harry, and stopped. Smith worked his
way to the right, but Hannah and Ernie stood on either side of him like
guards, and Justin stepped out in front of him, his wand leveled
Connor's way.

``What are you doing?'' Connor asked. He looked as though someone had
hit him in the head with a Blasting Curse. Harry, a little dazed
himself, wondered if it came from the sight of other students defending
Harry, or from the sight of \emph{Hufflepuffs} doing so. ``You know that
he's evil. You were there when we made the accusations. You know that he
only got away with them because he's Snape's pet.''

``He saved my life,'' said Justin, loudly enough to be heard all over
the entrance hall. Harry winced, but he didn't think he could step in;
his shock had closed his throat off. ``The monster was right around the
corner. I saw its shadow. And then he shouted at it and made it back
off. And since then he's been fine. He beat the possession. I've asked
Professor Black about it. You should have, too,'' he added, eying
Connor. ``He's \emph{your} brother, and I'm just his friend.''

Connor worked his mouth, but apparently couldn't think of anything else
to say.

``I don't know what you think you're playing at,'' said Justin, ``coming
up with high and mighty reasons to object to Harry when you're really
just a jealous brat. But it's hurting Harry. So grow up, and get a mind,
and stop it.''

``I don't have to,'' said Connor, and Harry saw his inherent
stubbornness come to life. ``I'm trying to protect the school from evil.
That's my duty.''

``Oh, good,'' said Justin, giving him a fierce smile. Harry was reminded
that, while snakes and lions might be more purely dangerous, angering a
badger was a really bad idea. Also, a badger was much harder to detach
from one's leg. ``I was \emph{hoping} you'd say that. That means that we
have an excuse to stay around Harry and protect him from the kind of
ambushes that your little friends will engineer.'' He glanced over his
shoulder at Harry. ``Sorry about this, mate, but I think it's the best
course. Merlin knows what he'd try, otherwise. I know that you were
ambushed and beaten once already.''

``I really don't think that was Connor,'' Harry said, stating the truth.

Justin shrugged. ``Yeah, but he was part of the reason that someone else
did it, I bet. So we'll just stay here and make ourselves nice and
comfortable.''

``You can't come into the Slytherin common room,'' said Draco,
snobbishly.

``Yes, I know that,'' said Justin patiently. ``But we trust you to look
after him there. We'll help guard him in the hallways outside.''

``I really don't think this is necessary,'' said Harry as calmly as he
could. He could see glimpses of Connor's face from the corner of his
eyes, and that told him this was going all wrong. Connor was flushed and
looked ready to cry. Harry had planned to be gentle, so gentle that his
brother would forgive him almost before he knew what he was doing. It
would show Connor to be capable of gentleness and mercy on his own,
rather than being forced to them. And now the plan was in ruins again,
and all because of something that, though Harry thought he might want it
very much---he was tired of being alone---he did not \emph{need}.
``Thank you. I consider you a friend, Justin. But Connor doesn't need
this, and neither do I.''

``Oh, yes, he does,'' said Justin. ``I think your brother needs to be
taken down a peg or two. Zacharias?''

Harry blinked and looked at Smith. He sauntered forward a step, his eyes
bright with an odd glow. Harry thought it very similar to the feverish
look he'd seen Hermione get in pursuit of new knowledge, but with a
distinctly cruel edge.

``Why did you decide that Harry was evil?'' Smith asked Connor, in a
calm and casual voice.

``Because he started possessing people,'' said Connor.

``How did you know he was possessing people?'' Smith asked.

``It was obvious,'' Connor said shortly, and his face started to turn
such a deep red that Harry was momentarily afraid he would snap and
start shouting. ``Once I heard what he was doing, and he---'' He
stopped.

Smith leaned forward and peered into Connor's face. ``See,'' he said,
with the air of a professor lecturing a student, ``if I were thinking of
reasons why my brother might do such things, then I would not think
`possession by an evil Dark Lord' right away. I would probably think
that there was something else wrong. That he'd been falsely accused,
maybe, or that he'd been blackmailed and forced into this, or even that
he'd been tricked into it and honestly didn't think he was doing
anything wrong until the first Petrification happened. It seems that you
did none of those things. What a shame. Why did you think of
possession?''

Connor mumbled something.

Smith cupped a hand around his ear and coughed politely. ``I can't hear
you,'' he said.

``Stop it,'' said Harry, abruptly knowing what Smith was trying to make
Connor admit. He started to push forward, but Justin shook his head at
him.

``He needs to be knocked down,'' said Justin. ``Let him, Harry. He's an
overbearing, pompous arse right now. Everyone in Hufflepuff thinks so,
and I would imagine that even some of the Gryffindors are starting to
believe it.''

Harry stared at him.

Justin stared back, and then smiled, a smile with an emotion
uncomfortably like pity somewhere in it. ``I thought so,'' he said
quietly. ``You thought everyone believed him and hated you? Because that
was what he said, wasn't it?''

Harry nodded, his head spinning. Did that mean that most of the school
didn't think Connor was wonderful? Harry would have to not only repair
the damage Connor had done but the damage that had gone on in people's
minds? His title as the Boy-Who-Lived and the defeat of Voldemort last
year hadn't sufficed to make most people listen to and trust him
instinctively?

That put a different light on things. Harry stopped trying to move
forward.

``Let Zacharias do this,'' Justin whispered. ``He's the best I've ever
heard at this. He's skeptical of \emph{everything.} He even talks back
to Professor Snape if he doesn't think the potions are made right. And
people will take it better if they see it coming from someone who's not
the person he's accusing, or a Slytherin.''

Harry let Zacharias do it, but it was still painful to watch. He kept
coaxing Connor to speak loudly, until Connor erupted in a burst of anger
and humiliation, and then nodded like a wise parent.

``So you heard that your brother was possessed in confidence and then
repeated it aloud for the whole school to hear? Tsk, tsk, Potter. That
imaginary brother I don't have would have received my full support. I
can't \emph{imagine} having You-Know-Who in my head, and I don't want
to, either. I'm sure it's not hygienic.'' Zacharias shuddered
fastidiously. Someone laughed. Harry thought it was Millicent. ``And
then Harry beat him, and saved Justin's life,'' Zacharias went on, his
voice effortlessly sliding into scorn. ``That rather makes you look bad,
doesn't it, that you're accusing him of being Dark? Especially since you
betrayed him before anything happened.''

Connor clenched his fists near his knees. ``Then you tell me why he
isn't Dark!''

Zacharias shook his head slowly. ``You can't prove a negative, Potter.
Pay attention to elementary logic, next time. And you have the burden of
proof, since you're the one making the accusations.''

``Fine!'' Connor shouted. ``Why do you think he's in Slytherin?''

``Because the Sorting Hat sat on his head and put him there,'' said
Zacharias. There came some more open laughter from the gathering crowd
at that. Harry could see his brother biting his lip until it turned
bloody. ``Slytherin isn't the evil House, you know, and Gryffindor isn't
the good one. Try again, Potter. I \emph{am} interested in seeing what
you come up with next.'' He looked it.

``He beat me at Quidditch!'' Connor tried.

``Someone has to win a game when two people play it,'' said Zacharias.
``And he won that one, just like you won the one last year.'' He paused
for a moment, then added, ``Apparently, anyway.''

Connor let out a screech and lunged for Zacharias.

``Forty points from Gryffindor for attacking a fellow student,'' said
Snape's voice, and he swirled down on them. Harry frowned at him. He
would have bet a large amount of Galleons that Snape had been watching
the argument for some time, and hadn't made a move to interfere until
Connor attacked. Snape simply returned Harry's gaze for an opaque
moment, then smirked at Connor. ``And a detention with me on Saturday
night, Mr. Potter.''

``Professor!'' Connor wailed.

``Twenty more points for acting like a first-year,'' said Snape, and
then swooped away. Harry scowled at his back. Snape didn't seem inclined
to treat Connor any better than he had. Harry had hoped that Snape's
slowly lessening hostility for him would eventually include his brother.
Why not? Connor was the Boy-Who-Lived, and Snape hadn't been insistent
that Harry was, lately. Perhaps he had finally seen the light.

\emph{Apparently not,} Harry thought.

``Where do you want to go, Harry?'' Justin asked as Zacharias sauntered
back over to them, dusting his hands off and coolly accepting Hannah's
and Ernie's congratulations. ``We're entirely at your service tonight,
since classes haven't started yet.''

``The library,'' murmured Harry, trying to figure out how he was
supposed to be in charge of four second-year Hufflepuffs. ``If none of
you mind?''

``Of course not,'' said Justin. ``Like I said, yours for tonight. We'll
work out the guard schedule later.''

``I don't need a \emph{guard} schedule---''

``Yes, you do,'' said Ernie. Harry had always thought of him as pompous.
He had forgotten that pomposity could hide immense seriousness. ``You
need some kind of protection, Harry. I think Riddle could come back. And
there are any number of people who might still like to hurt you until
you get your stupid brother under control. The Ravenclaws are being
idiots about it, still. The professors won't do anything because they
don't know enough. We're coming along with you.''

``We really don't mind,'' Hannah said, giving him a soft smile. ``Justin
told us how you saved his life. That \emph{matters} to us, Harry.
Justin's our friend. So you're our friend. And you saved a friend's
life.''

``Hufflepuff loyalty,'' Draco muttered.

``Would you like to explain why that's less than Slytherin loyalty?''
Zacharias asked, leaning forward.

Draco declined hastily, and they trooped off to the library. Harry went
along, his brains still scrambled, trying to decide how he was going to
rescue Connor from the depths of his own stupidity.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Harry. I need to talk to you.''

Harry turned around, his eyes wide. He had gone into the shelves to
return a book on Transfigurations to its proper place, barely out of
sight of the table where Draco and the Hufflepuffs sat making idle
conversation, and he hadn't heard anyone come up behind him. But there
stood Hermione Granger, one of her hands yanking at her a curl of her
hair. She caught his eye, then looked away from him and flushed.

``Is it Connor?'' Harry asked, his mind springing to the worst
possibility. ``What's wrong?''

Hermione folded her arms and glared at him, her nervousness apparently
dissipated. ``Not him. Don't \emph{worry} about him. He got exactly what
he deserved. Harry, I wanted to say---that I'm sorry. I don't know why I
went along with Connor for so long. I just felt \emph{compelled}. On the
other hand, I let him mess everything up with that legal document that I
prepared against you. I knew it had to be read to the Headmaster to be
legal, and I let him read it in the entrance hall anyway.'' She closed
her eyes. ``And he said there weren't any Gryffindor Death Eaters, and I
thought of Peter Pettigrew, and didn't say anything. I was being stupid,
or making myself be stupid, because I think there's something good in
Connor, and I thought he was trying to do a good thing. And then it
turned out that you fought off the possession and saved Justin's life,
and I didn't know what to think. Tonight was the last straw. If
Hufflepuffs think you're not evil, you're not evil. I trust their
judgment over anything Connor says.''

Harry let out a slow breath. As much as he appreciated the apology, he
thought that Connor needed her friendship more than he did. ``Don't you
want to stay friends with Connor, Hermione?'' he asked. ``I don't think
he would like you coming to me and talking to me like this.''

Hermione huffed and put her hands up. ``You're just like him
sometimes,'' she said. ``And like Ron. \emph{Boys.} You tell girls what
to do, and you don't even realize you're doing it.'' Her glare this time
was more pointed.

Harry felt himself flush. ``Sorry,'' he muttered. ``I didn't mean it
that way---I mean, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I meant that I
thought your friendship with him was important to you.''

``It \emph{is},'' said Hermione, and for the first time, Harry detected a
slight red puffinessa round her eyes, as if she'd spent some time crying
about it. ``But it's not more important than truth and sense! I'd break
all the school rules to help Connor if he wanted me to. But he's
breaking too many principles. If I'm going to do the right thing, then I
have to apologize to you and then tell him that I can't support his
ridiculous campaign of rumors against you anymore.''

Harry swallowed. He knew that feeling. He was doing the right thing now,
he thought, but it would put Connor's back further up and hurt him in
the meantime. Harry was determined to reach the day when he could put
his arms around Connor again and know his brother truly welcomed him,
and wasn't just embracing him for the sake of their parents or their
blood birth. He would work towards it as hard as he could, even if he
made it harder for himself, because, in the end, it \emph{would} be
better for Connor than coddling and being lied to. It had to be.

``So,'' said Hermione, when they'd stood in silence for a moment. ``Do
you accept my apology?'' Her hand had gone back to yanking at her hair
again.

Harry nodded. ``Thank you, Hermione. I know this was hard for you.
And---well, come to me if you want to talk about anything.''

``Thank you,'' said Hermione, and flashed Harry a small smile before she
turned away. Harry watched her go. He wondered if he would have the
strength to choose the right thing over friendship with Connor, if he'd
still been in his brother's good graces and this was happening to
someone else.

Well, he'd already done it, in a way. He'd defended Draco against what
Connor wanted him to do.

That wasn't the start to this whole mess, he thought, but it was close.
The mess had really started the day he was placed in Slytherin. If he'd
been strong, if he'd been true to Connor, he would have ignored Draco's
attempts at friendship and simply stuck to Connor's side no matter what.

But that would have hurt Draco, and surely that wouldn't have been
right, either.

Harry shook his head and gathered up the book he'd come to find. In a
way, perhaps he \emph{had} made the right decision. Connor was made of
stronger stuff than Draco. They would get past this eventually, and
repair their brotherhood. Draco would have sulked and sulked forever if
Harry had refused him, his happiness becoming bitter resentment.

\emph{And that may still happen in the future, when you finally make him
understand Connor is most important.}

Harry shoved that thought away. He thought of Draco's Christmas present
instead, and the expression he would wear when he received it.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
As it turned out, his first expression was puzzlement. He held up the
crystalline bottle Harry had given him and tilted it back and forth,
staring at the lights in it. The lights had turned out rather well,
Harry thought. They swarmed and sparkled through several different
colors, red and purple and green and gold, all deep and jewel-like in
hue.

``I don't understand,'' Draco finally admitted, after studying the
bottle for several moments. ``What is it?''

Harry smiled at him. ``Gold represents calmness and contentment, red
means anger, green means fondness and friendship, and purple means
protectiveness,'' he recited. The description of the spell he'd used to
create the lights said as much.

Draco stared at him. ``And?''

``Those lights are the emotions I feel for you,'' said Harry. He
shrugged when Draco stared at him harder. ``I know that you miss the
mind-bond, but no, I'm not going to let you back into my thoughts. But
this way, you'll still know how I'm feeling about you. You can look into
the bottle whenever you think that I might be ignoring you or losing
interest in our friendship, and be reassured.''

Draco shut his eyes. Harry watched the bottle glow bright green, and
then looked back at Draco's face as his eyes opened. There was a
distinct shimmer there. Harry blinked. \emph{Are those tears? Why?}

``Thank you,'' said Draco. ``Thank you, Harry.'' He lay down, the bottle
cradled in his hands, and stared at it.

Harry, glad that his gift appeared to have gone over well, turned to
studying the Transfigurations book he'd taken out of the library. A
moment later, Draco reached over and caught his hand tightly.

Harry peered at him, but Draco didn't look at his face, just held his
hand. Harry shrugged, deciding that it would work and he would never
understand Draco anyway, and started reading again, while the light in
the bottle alternated steadily between green and gold. Draco never took
his eyes off it.

\chapter{Lockhart's Very Special Idea}\label{chapter-21-lockharts-very-special-idea}

``Connor, if you would just listen to me---'' Harry began soothingly,
hoping it would stop the spiraling, out-of-control mania that his
brother seemed to have developed.

``\emph{No!}'' shouted Connor, and stamped out of Sirius's office. For
good measure, he slammed the door behind him, making one of the banners
hung on the wall sway and collapse across the chair beneath it.

Harry sat down in a free chair and breathed to calm himself, while
Sirius hung the banner back up. Neither one of them said anything. Harry
didn't think he could, and Sirius was probably blaming himself for
suggesting the meeting in the first place. His office, with him looking
on, had seemed a safe enough room to Harry. He had very firmly
disinvited Draco and the Hufflepuffs from the meeting. They had been
present during the three confrontations he and Connor had had throughout
January, and their presence always made things degenerate.

But it had gotten out of control yet again, the moment Harry mentioned
the Quidditch match. Connor's face had turned the color of spoiled meat
as he yelled. In retrospect, Harry thought he might have been worried
about the upcoming Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match, but that was hardly an
excuse.

\emph{No, of course it is,} insisted his mind the moment he thought
that. \emph{You've never felt nervous before a match, but you have more
talent than Connor.}

Harry paused. The thought was on the right track, in the right tenor,
and yet---something was wrong.

He had had these thoughts more and more often since December and
Riddle's possession of his mind. He would be thinking, believing,
behaving as normal, and then some suspect thought about Connor, some
backhanded compliment where he should have admired his brother
unconditionally or a resentment that had no place being there, would
come slithering through. Harry was sure that that would stop once he
managed to fill the gaps in his mind-webs with Occlumency fog, but for
the moment, it was disconcerting.

\emph{And in the meantime, it makes the failures of these meetings my
fault as much as Connor's.}

\emph{Of course it is. Because I should have anticipated his every move
and known that he would snap like a child when I mentioned Quidditch.}

Harry jumped to his feet and began to pace around the room in agitation.
Sirius looked at him solemnly over a shoulder. Harry imagined that his
godfather was still too shocked to really give him comfort. It didn't
mater. Since Christmas he'd had a warmer relationship with Sirius, and
if he still mocked Snape and Slytherin and Malfoys without thought, at
least these days he noticed immediately afterwards and apologized.

Harry would have been quite content with life, in fact, if it weren't
for the holes in his mind and Connor not coming around.

Someone knocked on the door of Sirius's office. Harry, assuming it was
Madam Hooch come to discuss Quidditch business or one of the team
Captains wanting to ask Sirius for hints, moved to go.

Ron Weasley stood beyond the door, his face as red as his ears. He
stepped past Harry without even appearing to notice he was there, walked
up to Sirius, and stood there staring at him.

``What is it, Ron?'' Sirius asked, but he was trying to conceal a smile.

``You got my dad his job back,'' said Ron, in a voice flat as his face
with shock. ``You got my dad his \emph{job} back.'' He reached out
abruptly and hugged Sirius, mashing his face into his chest. Sirius
chuckled and stroked his hair. Harry smiled inwardly for the way this
happiness lit up his godfather's eyes. Sirius hadn't been sleeping well
again, though he insisted he was and that the few nightmares were about
Daphne Marchbanks. Harry, not feeling it his place to interfere, merely
watched him, and made him go to bed when he could.

``I thought hearing that Sirius Black favored Arthur Weasley would put a
wind up the Ministry's collective arse,'' he said now, his smile
flashing with good humor as he pulled Ron away from him and pounded him
on the back.

``But how did you do it?'' Ron asked, his face beaming with something
much like hero-worship. Harry nodded. \emph{Good. Sirius needs it, with
the way that Connor and I both are behaving.}

\emph{No,} Sylarana said in his head, sounding as though she had just
awakened from a nap. \emph{Only him.}

Harry shushed her and watched Sirius smile in that mysterious, knowing
way that said he knew about a \emph{really} good prank the victim would
never see coming.

``I was an Auror, you know, before the misunderstanding that caused the
Ministry and I to part ways,'' he told Ron casually. ``But a lot of
people underestimated me, since they assumed I drank \emph{all} the
time. And there might, possibly, just with the smallest tiny smidgeon of
a chance, have been secrets that one drunken Auror could overhear and
remember in the aftermath of Ministry parties. And there might, also
just possibly, have been Ministry officials who would cover up their
oily reputations by making sure that said drunken Auror's friend got
what he wanted.''

Harry blinked. That smacked more of Slytherin manipulation than
Gryffindor courage to him. But Ron's eyes had lit up.

``Were the Ministry officials Slytherins?'' he asked.

``Almost to a one,'' said Sirius with a wink, and then flashed an
apologetic look at Harry over his head. Harry flapped a hand in
dismissal. It \emph{was} true that Slytherin produced more than its
share of slimy Ministry officials, as it had produced more than its
share of Dark wizards.

``That's not strictly true,'' Draco had told Harry once, his chin tilted
at a haughty angle. ``The stupid Slytherins are the only ones who get
caught. The rest of us are pure quality. No one can ever prove we did
anything wrong.''

Harry had pointed out that that did not mean they never \emph{did}
anything wrong, and Draco had pouted at him for the rest of the evening.

``\emph{Brilliant},'' said Ron, an almost deliriously happy smile on his
face. ``Wait until I tell Connor!''

He ran out, still not seeming to notice Harry. Harry shrugged. It was
Ron's privilege not to. Since he was nearly Connor's only friend by now,
Harry would prefer that the Weasley boy's eyes keep on shining for his
brother.

Once Justin had called his attention to it, Harry could see how much the
rest of the school despised Connor. He would never know the deepest
reason---whether it was Justin's story or because Connor had been acting
like a prat in their eyes, too---but that was the way it was. Most of
the Slytherins taunted him now, most of the Hufflepuffs went out of
their way to avoid being in his company, and even Ravenclaw had drawn
away and contented themselves with idle glares in Harry's direction.
Gryffindors would still react to insults against their House, but would
uncomfortably look the other way when Zacharias Smith or Draco made a
comment solely about Connor.

It frustrated Harry to no end, watching the damage his brother was doing
his future leadership ability among the other Houses and even in his
own, but there was nothing he'd been able to do about it yet. His every
argument with Connor ended somewhere on the petty accusations, such as
Harry winning the Quidditch match. Harry couldn't explain the important
things to him.

He'd written to their mother, suggesting that she start sending books to
improve Connor's political education again---especially talking about
those times in history when wizards other than Gryffindors had been in
power---but she had never replied to him. If she sent the books, Harry
thought, sunk in gloom, then Connor didn't read them.

``Harry.''

Harry blinked and looked up. Sirius had knelt down in front of him, and
his eyes were solemn. He held out his arms. Harry leaned forward and let
himself be hugged, noting the way that Sirius's hands barely paused on
the bulge of Sylarana under his jumper any more.

``I know it's hard,'' Sirius whispered. ``But you'll win him over, I have
no doubt of it. There's such \emph{loyalty} in you, Harry. I never knew
it until Lily explained everything to me, those days that I was home for
Christmas in Godric's Hollow. Then I understood the full extent of your
sacrifice. And I want to say thank you, and to assure you that your
brother will come around someday. He has to. He's a Gryffindor. It's not
in our nature to stay away from our friends forever.''

Harry closed his eyes, let himself soak in the warmth from his
godfather's body, and tried to believe it.

``Thank you, Sirius,'' he murmured.

\emph{Now if Connor would only stop being a prat,} Sylarana remarked
wistfully, \emph{then maybe you could think about something else.}

Harry didn't respond. What she said was true enough, but so obvious that
he didn't think it interesting.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Excuse me! I have a special announcement to make!''

Harry blinked and turned his eyes up to the staff table, where Professor
Lockhart had just risen to his feet and was beaming down at the crowd of
students. His skin no longer looked orange, somewhat to Harry's
disappointment; he'd quit using the paste that Harry had enchanted to
glow in Defense Against the Dark Arts. His hair and teeth were still
suffering from the \emph{Obscurus} charm, though. Lockhart had tried to
brighten them, but since he was a less powerful wizard than Harry, the
best he could do was make his teeth and hair flicker like Christmas
lights. He preened under all the attention he drew. Harry managed a
smile now, thinking that Lockhart would probably never understand the
source of that attention, even if someone explained it to him.

``Today,'' said Lockhart, gesturing at the red and pink hearts hung
along the walls of the Great Hall, and the small floating hearts jogging
in circles near the ceiling, and the stones crawling with pink and red
spells for the occasion, ``is Valentine's Day.''

Draco rolled his eyes and mouthed, ``No \emph{shit,}'' with just the right
intonation. Harry put a piece of sausage in his mouth to keep from
laughing.

``Because I've been \emph{Witch Weekly's} Most Charming Smile
award-winner five times in a row,'' said Lockhart, beaming at them while
his mouth winked on and off and on, ``I've decided to do something today
at Hogwarts that will put a smile on \emph{everyone's} face!'' He turned
to the doors of the Great Hall and clapped, once.

The doors opened, and a swarm of fairies flew in, all of them beating
delicate wings to which someone had fastened lace. Harry stared. He knew
what fairies looked like in their natural state, and they were quite
pretty and girly enough. Why Lockhart had wanted to add this touch
bewildered him.

``The fairies will be granting wishes all day today!'' Lockhart finished
triumphantly. ``So long as your wish relates to your true love, of
course. Let's all get started, and smile, smile, smile!''

Harry closed his eyes and put his head in his hands. He could feel Draco
patting his shoulder.

``Come on, Harry,'' he whispered. ``Maybe it won't be so bad---ouch!''

The tiny fairy who'd flown up and blown a cloud of glittering dust on
him flew on, giggling. Draco felt his face and then stared as nothing
came off. He looked back up, and Harry choked again. His eyes were big
puddles of gray in the middle of a face gone absolutely silver.

``Harry!'' he shouted. ``Did you wish for this to happen to me?'' He was
trying to scowl as threateningly as he could, which admittedly wasn't
very much, given the fairy dust.

``I'm not your true love,'' said Harry, and then put his head down on
the table and gave in to the urge to simply laugh.

He did manage to stifle it to snorts when someone came up behind him and
said, in a timid voice, ``I wished that for you, Draco. I just
thought---I just thought you'd be so pretty, with your golden hair and
your silver eyes---''

``My eyes aren't \emph{silver},'' said Draco, as though horrified by the
mere thought. Harry glanced up to see him glaring at a stunned Pansy
Parkinson. ``And you aren't my true love. Sod off.''

Pansy's lower lip quivered for a moment, and then she fled the Great
Hall with a sob. Millicent got up to go after her, giving Draco an
irritated look.

``That was rude of you, Draco,'' said Harry, mildly, more interested in
watching Millicent leave than in examining what Draco's face looked
like. She'd been dropping rumors again lately, this time hints that she
knew why he and Connor still weren't getting along. Harry was fairly
certain that that was shit. She would have spoken outright by now if she
really knew something incriminating.

``How do you get fairy dust \emph{off}?'' Draco whimpered. Harry looked up
to see him rubbing frantically at his face with two fingers. The silver
dust stayed. It looked to be caking as Harry watched.

Harry tried a Removal Charm---wandless, just to be showy. Then he
regretted the impulse, because since when did he want to be showy? But
Draco's shriek of shock kept him from worrying about it too much.

In fascination, Harry watched as the silver dust rearranged itself,
gathering thickly above Draco's eyebrows and around his mouth. He looked
like a clown when it was done.

Fighting to hold back his laughter, Harry shook his head. ``Sorry,
Draco. It's Lockhart's wonky magic again. I don't know what else I can
do but leave it. I don't want to remove your skin next time.''

``Harry, what do I look like?'' Draco asked, his eyes narrowing
dangerously as Harry bit his lip and then choked.

``Funny,'' Harry admitted, and then put his head down on the table again
and howled.

Draco slapped him several times on the back of the head, and then Blaise
asked Draco if he had any fake wands for the first-years. While Draco
was attempting to hit a grinning Blaise, Harry slipped away and out of
the Great Hall, shaking his head.

\emph{I didn't know Pansy had a crush on Draco,} he thought absently as
he peered about for Connor, wondering if he could catch his brother and
try to have a private talk while everyone was still screaming and
running from the fairies. \emph{I should start paying better attention
to my Housemates. Those are the kinds of details that could mean life or
death for Connor someday.}

He got somewhat distracted as a fairy flew towards him and hovered in
front of him, staring intently into his face. Harry folded his arms and
glared flatly back. A spark of magic should send the fairy scurrying if
it tried anything, but he would rather stare it down. He had worked over
the last few weeks on not always reaching for his magic first of all.

A subtle movement in his sleeve warned him, but he wasn't quite quick
enough. Sylarana lunged, grabbed the fairy in her mouth, and vanished
back under his jumper.

``Sylarana!'' Harry said. Hardly anyone looked around at the sight of
him speaking Parseltongue now. Harry would have been more grateful for
the change if he wasn't currently bloody furious with his Locusta. ``Put
her back!''

``\emph{Yum,}'' said Sylarana.

``She's a fairy!'' Harry tried. ``An intelligent creature!''

``\emph{About as intelligent as one of those fat little dogs that Muggles
keep for company,}'' Sylarana disagreed as she slithered up to his
shoulder. ``\emph{The stupid ones die, and the smart ones survive. And I
am much smarter than she is. Yummy.}'' Harry heard a series of small
popping sounds that he assumed were the distinct cracks of fairy wings
bending as Sylarana swallowed the poor thing headfirst.

He hissed and reached into his jumper, trying to pry his snake out, but
someone loomed over him and boomed cheerfully, ``Ah, there you are,
young Mr. Potter. I wanted to talk to you. Come with me, please!''

Harry glanced up, and froze. Lockhart stood over him, and Harry was
pretty sure that he had just seen Sylarana eat his fairy. He didn't
think there was any polite way to refuse, especially with Draco not here
to rescue him. He sighed and followed the great git to his office.

Lockhart's office, unsurprisingly, was filled with pictures of himself,
winking and waving and grooming their hair in front of hundreds of
different wild and lonely places---caves, forests, cliffs. Harry knew
they were the places that Lockhart had supposedly been on his
adventures, but he found it difficult to believe. For one thing, he
doubted that Lockhart could survive away from a regular source of
running water and hand lotion.

Lockhart waved Harry to a chair in front of his desk and sat down in the
chair on the other side of it, making a soft pleased noise through his
teeth. ``Now,'' he said. ``Enjoying Defense against the Dark Arts, are
you?''

Harry stared at him. Had the man really brought him here just to talk to
him about his performance in the class?

``Overwhelmed, you're overwhelmed, I know,'' Lockhart chuckled, bending
down and fumbling for something in a drawer of the desk. ``Imagine,
talking privately with a celebrity like me!''

Harry gritted his teeth. ``The class is going well, sir.'' He cast
around for something else to say, something that would sound adoring of
Lockhart without actually being adoring. He couldn't think of anything.
That Lockhart was a git was shouting too loudly in his head.

Lockhart straightened back up and pointed his wand at Harry. Harry was
abruptly focused, his frustration and irritation running away like
rainwater on a glass window. He met Lockhart's eyes, and decided that
the man didn't know about his wandless magic, though Harry had assumed
it was common knowledge among the professors now. Otherwise, he would
have made sure that Harry was gagged before he showed him the wand. Of
course, that wouldn't have done much good, since Harry could also cast
some non-verbal spells, but it would have shown more sense than Lockhart
was showing right now.

\emph{What kind of idiot leaves his wand in his desk?} Sylarana asked,
slithering to the edge of his sleeve. \emph{Especially when he's just
loosed a lot of fairies in the school that he knows most wizards won't
approve of? Not that I know why they wouldn't approve of them; they are
delicious.}

\emph{I don't want you to bite him,} Harry told her flatly. \emph{Not
yet, at least. Let's see what he wants.}

That seemed to satisfy his Locusta, who calmed down. Harry met
Lockhart's eyes and asked, ``What's all this about?''

``I traced your magical signature on the \emph{Obscurus} charm,'' said
Lockhart. His voice sounded different, Harry realized, lacking the
round, full tones that made it melodramatic. It reminded him of
Quirrell, and Harry had the brief urge to close his eyes and groan.
Could Dumbledore hire \emph{no} Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers
who weren't hiding some kind of secret? ``I know that you've been the
one dimming my beauty for the past several months. You're probably
jealous of my monumental good looks. Remove the charm.''

Harry blinked at innocently at him. ``But, professor, you're a great
wizard, and I'm just a schoolboy. I'm certain that you could remove the
charm yourself if you \emph{really} wanted.''

Lockhart's wand wavered for a moment, and then his face recovered its
mask of arrogance. ``Of course I could. But I don't want to. I want you
to remove it, since you were the one who insulted me by putting it on me
in the first place.'' His wand kept on pointing at Harry.

Harry studied Lockhart for a moment. He supposed he could remove the
\emph{Obscurus}, and it really wouldn't make much difference. The man
wasn't doing anything to make Connor's life miserable any more. He was
too busy doing that himself to notice even if Lockhart had been, Harry
thought, his mind recalled to its preoccupation with his brother.

He shrugged. ``All right. \emph{Finite Incantatem.}''

Lockhart's eyes and teeth began sparkling again, and the Christmas
lights effect vanished. Harry was sorry to lose it, but it would have
grown boring in a short time anyway.

\emph{Now you are learning to think like a Locusta,} Sylarana remarked
to him.

Harry stroked her back and watched as Lockhart patted at his hair and
teeth with a trembling hand, flashed an exploratory smile at the mirror
that occupied one full wall of the office, and then nodded. ``That will
do,'' he said. ``And I know that you surely didn't mean it for to last
so long, Mr. Potter. After all, you probably intended it for your
brother Connor, since he says you're so jealous of him.''

Harry shuddered. He hoped that the desperate desire for company who
could tolerate him hadn't driven Connor to talk to \emph{Lockhart.}
``Can I go now, Professor?'' he asked, thinking that he needed to dream
up a new hex for the git---one that wasn't so immediately noticeable.

``Of course,'' said Lockhart. Harry hopped out of his chair and made for
the door. He did turn around as Lockhart called out, ``One more thing.''

He saw the determination on the other wizard's face, and suspected
something even before the wand was pointed at him and the word
``\emph{Obliviate!}'' was muttered.

Harry felt the spell coming at him and reacted instinctively---not by
moving away, but with Occlumency. The moment the spell struck the outer
surface of his mind and tried to eat those memories concerned with
Lockhart and his asking Harry to remove the \emph{Obscurus}, Harry's
webs flipped it off, bounced it off the solid defenses that he had
locked still in other places, no matter what Snape said, and then
shattered it to dust and silence. Harry shook his head and looked back
up at Lockhart.

The blond wizard had opened his mouth, probably to give Harry a command
or tell him what false memories would replace the real ones, but now he
closed it and reeled backwards, sitting down hard in the chair behind
the desk. Harry took a step forward. Lockhart's face turned the color of
old cheese.

``You resisted it,'' he said.

``Yes,'' said Harry. ``And you had no need to \emph{Obliviate} me at all,
except that you tried.'' He could hear Sylarana's angry hissing and her
pleas to be let at the man who had threatened Harry, but his own mind
was racing, trying to come up with ways to use this situation to his
advantage. ``Were you \emph{that} worried that I would tell someone about
that silly charm?''

But he knew the answer even as he asked. No, Lockhart wasn't that
worried about being embarrassed, certainly not enough to produce the
spell out of nowhere. That had been a long-practiced reaction, coming
from someone who had used the spell so often that it was his first
defense.

Harry's eyes flicked to the photos on the wall, and he remembered his
earlier thought about it being unlikely that Lockhart had gone to so
many places, fought so many battles, and yet posed for pictures looking
like that. \emph{You'd think}, Harry's mind murmured with the sarcasm
that seemed to have become natural to him lately, \emph{that he'd want
at least one photo where he posed with blood all over himself and the
corpse of whatever monster he killed at his feet.}

\emph{Unless he didn't really kill them, of course.}

Harry looked back narrowly at Lockhart. ``You let other people kill
those Dark creatures,'' he said. ``And then you \emph{Obliviated} anyone
who could have told differently, didn't you? Those were other wizards
and witches, actual brave heroes, who did the dirty work. You just
showed up and claimed the credit.''

Lockhart became even paler. He tried to say something, but the only
thing that would come out of his throat was a strangled noise.

Harry prowled closer to the desk, abruptly feeling better than he had in
a month, the last time he'd really had hope that a confrontation with
Connor would go as planned.

``You know that a secret like that would get you sacked from the
school,'' he said. ``And more than that, no one would ever trust you
again. You'd get laughed at and smeared by the \emph{Prophet}. And
\emph{Witch Weekly} would never choose you for their Most Charming Smile
award again.''

Lockhart gave a little gurgling cry and put his hands over his face. He
was shaking badly.

Harry cocked his head to the side. He knew he was going to blackmail
Lockhart, and he also knew he was doing it for his own reasons. This was
a Slytherin tactic, and he had a Slytherin motivation. He couldn't
really claim he was doing this for the side of the Light, except
insomuch as every action to heal his wounds with Connor was an action
taken for the side of the Light.

And he didn't care.

``I think that I know what you should do,'' he said calmly.

``What?'' Lockhart lowered his hands and stared at him without much
hope.

``I think that you should stop worrying,'' said Harry softly, and folded
his arms over his chest. Sylarana slithered out of his sleeve, muttering
petulantly that he could have told her if he didn't need her. Harry
ignored that, too. ``I'm not going to expose you---unless you try to
Memory Charm me again, or unless you don't do what I want you to do.''

Lockhart's face actually relaxed. Harry blinked, then supposed that this
kind of wizard was more at home with underhanded tactics than fair ones.
Briefly, he wondered if Lockhart had been a Slytherin when he was in
school. Draco would say that he wasn't a proper one, of course, since he
got caught.

``Anything you like,'' said Lockhart, leaning forward. ``Would you like a
photograph, autographed, that would usually go for a hundred Galleons?
An advance copy of \emph{Run-ins with Runespoors?} A cream that---''

``None of those,'' said Harry. ``I want you to assign me a detention
with my brother, some time next weekend.'' He thought that was the best
time, since Connor would have played Hufflepuff and won by then, and he
couldn't take the excuse of hurrying away for classes or homework that
was due the next morning. ``And then make absolutely sure that we aren't
disturbed by anyone, not even Filch or one of the other professors.''

Lockhart gave a slow blink, as though he could not imagine why Harry
wanted such a thing, but then he nodded. ``I can do that.''

``Do it,'' said Harry, ``and I'll forget about this.'' He paused,
wondering if the man needed another reminder, and then decided that it
wouldn't hurt as Lockhart's eyes slid sideways to his wand again. He was
entirely too dependent on Memory Charms. ``As long as you don't try
another \emph{Obliviate.} Then I'm afraid I would have no alternative
but to go to Dumbledore.''

Lockhart nodded. ``Of course.'' He studied Harry for a long moment, then
said, ``Why?''

Harry raised his eyebrows at him.

``You're a powerful wizard,'' said Lockhart. ``I knew it when I couldn't
remove the \emph{Obscurus} myself.'' Like this, his face was almost
pleasant. Harry wondered if the git persona was part of the act, too.
``Why would you want to make up with your brother instead of just
blasting him into oblivion?''

``You don't understand anything,'' said Harry, shifting the balance of
power back, and felt unexpectedly satisfied when Lockhart paled and
looked away from him. ``And you're in no position to be asking questions
of me.''

Lockhart nodded, then stood up. ``I'll see you in detention next week,
then, Mr. Potter.''

``Actually, you won't,'' said Harry, and made his tone cool and
conversational. ``If you interrupt me while I'm finishing things with my
brother, I'll hex your balls off.''

Lockhart swallowed, looking as though he didn't doubt Harry would do it,
and stayed stock-still as Harry slipped out of the office. Sylarana
hissed cheerfully at him as they made their way back towards the Great
Hall. \emph{Now you are acting like a snake. Attacking what you want,
acknowledging reality.}

Harry barely paid attention to her. He was thinking, the edge of his
resolve slicing through his uneasy thoughts about Connor.

That was the problem with all their other meetings, he decided: Connor
had felt compelled to play up to their audience, even one as small as
Sirius was, and he could leave the room. Stuck in a place he couldn't
leave, and without anyone else to feel he had to impress, he was going
to \emph{listen} to Harry.

\emph{He had better.}

Harry shivered and shook his head. That last thought had sounded like
the cold voice of his magic, like Tom Riddle.

But he was not like Tom Riddle. He was not. He was not going to turn on
his brother. He was going to make up with him.

\emph{By force, if necessary.}

But that didn't mean he was evil. It just meant he was\ldots{}forceful.

Not forceful enough to keep from dissolving into laughter when he saw
Draco, of course. The other boy's latest attempt to remove the fairy
dust had ended up smearing the silver stuff into a single large splotch
on his cheek, a splotch that just happened to look like the Gryffindor
lion.

Harry took great delight in pointing this out, and even greater delight
in running down the dungeon corridors while Draco chased him yelling
threats.

\chapter{A Renewal of Bonds}\label{chapter-22-a-renewal-of-bonds}

Harry glanced up and caught Lockhart's eye a moment before he knocked
his books and his ink off his table. The ink bounced and sprayed in
every direction, coating his books and a good portion of the other
Slytherins' robes before finally coming to rest. Harry bit back a smile.
He should be looking horrified, like everyone else. No one else would
understand that his grin came from the nonverbal Levitation Charm he'd
performed on both the bottle and the ink simultaneously, to insure that
it went in all the right directions.

``Mr. Potter!'' Lockhart exclaimed as he swooped down on them. ``That is
a \emph{very} naughty mess that you have just created! What is your
explanation for it?''

``Sod off, Professor,'' said Harry pleasantly, and then bent down to
pick up his books. There was silence for a long moment, save for
Millicent's hastily stifled guffaw. Harry could almost feel Lockhart
wondering if Harry was enjoying the opportunity to criticize him without
Lockhart being able to retaliate in any way but the one they'd agreed
on.

\emph{That's a silly thing to wonder about,} Harry thought as he
straightened and smiled at Lockhart's shocked expression. \emph{Of
course I am.}

``Mr. Potter!'' Lockhart managed to splutter at last. ``I am surprised
at you! Showing such disrespect to a teacher, and one who has achieved
more than you ever will, no less! Your brother, now, he might rival me
if he applied himself a bit more. But not you!''

Harry couldn't help himself. He held Lockhart's eye and raised his
brows. Both of them knew what his ``achievements'' were really worth.
Harry couldn't believe that he'd used that line on \emph{him}.

Lockhart waved a finger at him. ``Detention, young man!'' he said.
``Come to my office at noon on Sunday. You'll stay until all my fan
letters are properly answered.''

``Of course, sir,'' said Harry, and sat down in his seat again, ignoring
the ink that still smeared the legs of the table. Let Lockhart clean it
up. It would do him good to perform a useful spell for once.

He calmed his urge to grin at Lockhart's back. He was only doing this
for Connor. That was the only reason he was acting like a Slytherin. He
\emph{had} to remember that, or he was too likely to start acting like
one for its own sake.

``Good one, Potter.''

Harry turned around and stared curiously at Millicent. ``What do you
mean, Bulstrode?''

``I can't imagine why you want detention with the grinning git,'' said
Millicent, turning back to her quiz on Lockhart's adventures with the
Baden Banshee, ``but it seems as though you're getting what you
wanted.''

Harry carried on staring at her for a moment. Millicent, he decided at
last, was just unconscionably nosy.

``What does she mean?'' Draco whispered to him. ``What do you want
detention with him for?''

Harry, too aware of the listening ears behind them, shook his head.
``I'll tell you later,'' he said.

He wrote for a few more moments, then gave Millicent a glare for good
measure. She just smirked back at him, her eyes sharp with curiosity.

\emph{Stop looking at me,} Harry thought, and that helped to reassure
him. He couldn't have grown too far away from what he was supposed to
be, if he was still nervous about the attention.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
\emph{Did you see the look on his face?} Sylarana asked as they walked
towards Lockhart's office on Sunday. She was wrapped around Harry's
neck, for once, flashes of her golden scales visible where his robes
fell away. Her head rested just below his chin. \emph{Draco, I mean.
When you told him that he wasn't coming with you?}

Harry nodded. He was too embarrassed to say anything aloud yet. Draco
had assumed he was going with Harry to the detention to confront Connor,
once Harry told him what it was about, and then thrown a fit when Harry
revealed that he wanted to talk to his brother alone. Harry had calmly
answered him until Draco finally flung himself on his bed to sulk.

Then he had noticed that bloody bottle that Harry had given him, and
noticed that it was purple, which indicated that Harry felt protective
towards Draco. That had made Draco immediately smile and begin teasing
Harry about how he wanted to keep the poor little Malfoy safe from his
big nasty brother. Harry had tried to answer, but ended up flushing and
getting away as fast as he could.

\emph{Think about the funny things,} Sylarana instructed him. \emph{It
is beyond me why you must think of the depressing ones.}

Harry sighed in relief as he finally reached the door of Lockhart's
office. He already knew the git wasn't there; he had overheard Connor
talking and saying that his detention began at five minutes before noon,
so the professor would have summoned him and made some excuse to slip
away.

Harry let out a long, slow breath, then said, \emph{I think it's time
for you to think about something depressing.} He unwound Sylarana from
his neck, and she let him, absolutely astonished. He put her on the
floor. \emph{When I said that I was going to talk to my brother alone, I
meant it.}

\emph{But if I get too far from you, the ward will sound and the cage
will fall down around me.} Sylarana sounded absolutely childish, her
tail lashing so hard that it hit the wall. \emph{I hurt myself}, she
whined.

\emph{I must,} said Harry. \emph{And as long as you don't move too far
away from the door, then the ward won't activate. I know it falls at a
greater distance than ten feet.}

\emph{You think I'm going to sit here and wait for you like a dog?}

Harry shook his head. \emph{As you pointed out, the ward and the cage
are the only things waiting for you if you don't.} He pushed open the
door and stepped inside before she could complain about anything else,
and shut it behind him. Of course, a piece of thick wood wouldn't stop
her from speaking in his head, but he thought she would respect this
meeting enough not to do so.

\emph{Maybe.}

Connor sat in a chair in front of Lockhart's desk, wearily sorting
through a large pile of post. One pile, mostly pink and blue letters on
scented paper that Harry could smell from here, looked like women's
letters. There was a smaller, white pile in front of Connor, and a gold
pile off to the side.

``I'm almost done with the sorting, Professor,'' Connor said, without
looking behind him. ``Which pile do you want answered first?''

Harry closed his eyes. His brother sounded so tired. Of course it was
tiring, having all the school against you. And Connor didn't have the
comfort of an entire House rallying around him, the way that the
Slytherins had rallied around Harry after he declared that he was a
Parselmouth.

\emph{Truly, his life is harder than mine is. It's easy to forget that
when he's acting like such a prat, but it's the truth.}

``It's me, Connor,'' he said quietly.

Connor jumped as if stung, dropped the last few letters he held, and
whirled around without getting out of the chair. His eyes had narrowed,
and so many emotions flashed across them that Harry was momentarily
astonished. He was too used to being around people who controlled their
emotions now, or at most showed only one, the way that Draco tended to.
But in Connor's eyes were weariness, sorrow, anger, desperation, and
fear.

\emph{He's afraid of me. My own brother is afraid of me.}

Harry braced himself. This was one of the things they would speak about,
then. At least it made a fresh start to an argument, the way that trying
to talk to Connor about Tom Riddle or Quidditch simply didn't anymore.

``Why are you afraid of me?'' he asked.

Connor gaped at him a moment, then drew himself together and snapped,
``I'm not! Gryffindors are never scared!''

\emph{Oh, Connor}, thought Harry, feeling as if his heart could break
for his brother. \emph{Your courage is your greatest virtue, but I could
wish you weren't so stubborn.}

``Yes, you are,'' he said. ``You're scared of me, and I want to know
why. Do you really think that I'm going to Petrify you, or hurt you? I
would never do that, Connor.''

``You've been hurting me almost every day since September,'' said
Connor, staring at him.

Harry winced as he acknowledged the truth of that, but said, ``I
wouldn't hurt you on purpose, then. And I've come here to try to make it
up to you.''

``How can you?'' Connor muttered, sounding sulky and rebellious. He was
grinding his chin into the back of the chair now, and his hands were
clenched together. ``You can't change the past, and you can't give me my
Quidditch victory back, and you can't make it so that you never
Petrified Luna or Neville.''

Harry held onto his temper. He was not going to let Connor turn this
argument onto those overtrodden paths. ``Connor,'' he said quietly, ``I
want to know why you're afraid of me. I want to know why you lied and
told Ron and Hermione that you came to see me when you never did. I want
to know why, every time I've tried to repair our arguments in the past
several months, you've never listened, but always run away like a hurt,
spoiled child. That's not who you are. I \emph{know} that's not who you
are. The brother you are is the one who welcomed me even when he found
out I was a Parselmouth, who said I was good even after I was Sorted
into Slytherin. What's wrong with you? What's the root of all this?''

The terror in Connor's eyes was growing. He turned away from Harry and
wrapped his arms around himself, shivering.

Harry took a tentative step forward. This was at least better than
having Connor scream at him, but it felt as though someone were
regularly punching him each time he saw his twin tremble. ``Connor,'' he
whispered. ``What's wrong? It's something more than just having me look
evil, isn't it?''

Connor gave the tiniest of nods.

``Tell me,'' Harry whispered.

``No!'' Connor leaped off his chair and landed in front of Harry, his
fists clenched and his eyes blazing. Harry recognized another attempt to
move their argument back in the direction of old, familiar territory,
territory where they would \emph{both} be screaming too hard at each
other to speak. ``It's nothing, it's nothing you would understand, you
wouldn't even \emph{care}, you're too busy betraying me and hurting me
to notice!''

Harry held onto his temper again. He wished now that he still had the
box, since his anger was boiling and shifting about under the surface,
and it would have been a great help to clear his mind so easily and
efficiently.

But he reminded himself that there was something wrong here. There
\emph{had} to be something wrong. Connor had just admitted that there
was. This was the most progress that Harry had made with his brother
since the end of October, and it was now nearly the end of February.
There was no way that he would let this slip away from him.

He'd missed Connor. He'd missed hearing his brother's voice, joking with
him, laughing with him, trying to provoke him into a scowl. He'd missed
knowing that his place in Connor's life was sweet and simple and
uncomplicated, that Connor considered him always as a brother and friend
and would never go to anyone else, even Ron, with news about something
first. In reality, that part of their bond had disintegrated even
earlier than October, since the moment Connor told Ron that he was
having nightmares about Voldemort's attack rather than tell Harry.

\emph{It stops now. I want my brother back.}

``I've never betrayed you, Connor, except in the service of an ideal
greater than just brotherhood,'' he said calmly.

Connor stared at him, eyes narrowing. \emph{You're not following the
script,} his gaze said. \emph{I don't understand.}

``I may sometimes have betrayed what you wanted of me,'' said Harry, his
gaze firmly on Connor's. ``But that doesn't matter. I've never betrayed
the Boy-Who-Lived. And that \emph{is} who you are, Connor, even though
you haven't been acting like him these past few months.''

Connor paled more than before. He choked out something, then immediately
put a hand over his mouth, as though he hadn't meant to say that.

Harry stared at him. That---\emph{that} was the thing that had been
worrying Connor? Where had he got \emph{that} idea?

\emph{If I find out it was from Snape, I am going to set a nasty trap
for him in our next Occlumency lesson, that's for sure and certain.}

Harry came forward, gripped Connor's shoulders, and forced his brother
to meet his eyes. Miserable hazel eyes stared back. This was the emotion
at the root of it all, Harry could see, though it had become clouded
with self-loathing and self-doubt. Harry gently stroked his brother's
hair back so that he could see the heart-shaped scar on his forehead
more fully.

``You \emph{are} the Boy-Who-Lived, Connor,'' he said. ``Who else could
have defeated Voldemort when he was a baby? Who else could have defeated
him last year? I don't know where you got the ridiculous idea that you
aren't. You are.'' He hugged Connor close, fiercely, and shut his eyes
as he did it.

\emph{No wonder he's been acting like a prat. He thought he'd had his
entire identity ripped away.}

``No one---no one \emph{told} me,'' Connor whispered. His words were
barely intelligible, choked with months of pent-up anguish, but Harry
had trained to understand this voice since they were both a year and a
half old. He could make out what Connor was saying. ``I just
started---thinking. I thought about how much stronger magically you are
than I am, Harry. And don't say you aren't,'' he added, though Harry
hadn't gathered breath for a denial. ``I know you are. I can feel it
more, now. And then I thought about how long you fought V-Voldemort last
year, and how you saved me from the troll, and the Lestranges. And I
thought about how fast you fly. I thought it was your new broom that let
you beat me in Quidditch, but it wasn't, was it? It was your own
talent.'' He put his arms around Harry, holding him desperately. ``And
V-Voldemort attacked \emph{you} this year, not me. Maybe he really wants
\emph{you} dead. Maybe \emph{you} were the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry. You
even have a scar, too.''

Harry shook his head. He felt warm, and strong, and more certain than he
ever had been of anything. His brother was holding him again.

``None of that matters, Connor,'' he whispered.

Connor seemed to be trying to pull away so that he could look into
Harry's face, but Harry wouldn't let him. He just shook his head again.
The world was the way it should be again. If only Harry had known that
this was what was bothering his brother, he could have reassured him
long ago.

``Power doesn't matter,'' Harry continued. ``Voldemort is strong, and
look at \emph{him}. He's a Dark wizard, Connor, unable to love, unable
to live. You defeated him the moment he approached you. Power doesn't
make someone born to do something, not the way that love does. I may be
strong, but it would mean nothing if I didn't love you. I'd turn to the
Dark as easily as Voldemort did if I didn't have some kind of anchor
holding me to the human side. More power just means more temptation.''

Connor had stopped moving. Then he said slowly, ``But Headmaster
Dumbledore is even more powerful, and he's of the Light.''

``Headmaster Dumbledore is one in a million,'' said Harry firmly. ``He
knows all the temptations, and when a Dark Lord appeared, he defeated
him. That's because he knows that he wouldn't have been happy serving
the Dark, that he would have been defeated eventually. He has
\emph{wisdom}, and that's better than power.'' He paused for a long
moment. ``Do you know who the next strongest wizard in the school is,
after Professor Dumbledore and me?''

Connor shook his head. His hair rustled against Harry's cheek. Harry
breathed in his brother's hesitant belief and felt it burst in him like
song, like fireworks, like the feeling he had when he flew. He was the
one who could give Connor reassurance. And this really \emph{was} power.
He could have thrown Tom Riddle off without a struggle now if he had
tried to take possession of Harry's mind. Sheer magical power was as
nothing against love.

``Professor Snape,'' he said, and felt Connor jolt. This time, he let
his brother draw back and smiled into his face. ``Yes, I know. That
surprised me, too. But it's true. And Snape turned to the Dark for a
long time, and had to fight his way back to the Light on a long and
bitter road. So you see, Connor, wisdom has to be united with power, or
it means nothing. You have the wisdom already.'' He dared to shove his
brother's shoulder gently. ``Though not so much as all that, or you
could have come to me the moment you started suspecting this and I would
have reassured you. Prat.''

Connor slowly nodded. ``And the Seeker talent?'' he asked.

Harry snorted. ``Do you really think being a good Seeker has anything to
do with being the Boy-Who-Lived?''

``Well, no, I guess not,'' Connor said. ``But I thought---I don't know. I
thought I was supposed to be the best at everything because I was the
Boy-Who-Lived, and I was letting everyone down if I wasn't. And I
thought I \emph{was} a better Seeker than you were.'' He leaned back and
stared steadily into Harry's eyes.

Harry grimaced. He supposed that if he had to shed one of the gentle
cloaks of concealment he'd wrapped Connor in, better that it be this one
than one of the others. He didn't think Connor was quite ready to hear
that Harry didn't expect to survive the Second War, that he assumed he
would die defending Connor as Connor defeated Voldemort, and that he had
embraced his future death joyously. ``You're not,'' he said, and it
hurt, and the expression on Connor's face revealed that it hurt him,
too.

``But then why?'' Connor asked. ``Why hide that from me?''

``Because I thought it would be best if the Boy-Who-Lived looked to be
good at everything, too,'' said Harry. ``But Quidditch is a small arena
to succeed in, in the end. Really, Connor, you've done much more damage
to yourself in the school elsewhere.''

Connor blushed and bowed his head. ``In a minute,'' he said. ``Tell me
in a minute. First, tell me more about why you don't think that you're
the Boy-Who-Lived. Voldemort attacked you, not me.''

``Because he knew that would be the best way to make you miserable,''
said Harry sharply. ``And it \emph{worked}, didn't it?''

Connor stared at him with wide eyes.

``Have you ever felt so bad in these last few months as you felt then?''
Harry asked, this time shaking Connor's shoulders slightly. He let his
own pain creep into his voice, the mingled pain of losing Connor, of
losing his place in the scheme of things as he understood it, and of
knowing that part of him had rejoiced in the sudden freedom, shaking off
its bonds as though they were actually chains and not bonds of love that
Harry had assumed freely. ``Have you ever spent so many days just
chewing on your lip and wanting things to be different?''

Connor closed his eyes and began to cry.

Harry rocked his brother against his chest, and felt Connor's arms crush
him frantically closer. ``Voldemort did that because he knew it would
hurt you,'' Harry whispered. ``He knew that it would hurt you to make you
think your own brother was capable of Dark things, and he \emph{made}
you doubt me, because you're so naturally of the Light.'' Connor
stiffened in his arms, but Harry pretended not to notice, though he knew
they would address it in a minute. ``You can't let him get to you like
this, Connor. Everyone needs you strong and shining. You've lived
against him twice. You can get past this, too.''

``And the scar?'' Connor whispered, as if he were insistent that
everything in his original list needed to be addressed before they could
move on.

Harry snorted again. ``Didn't you ever listen to Mum?'' he scolded.
``They came back after you defeated Voldemort. They know that you were
the one who had the curse scar, Connor. They could \emph{feel} that.
They knew that a piece of ceiling had fallen and carved my head up.
That's all.''

``If yours was an ordinary wound, then it should have healed without a
scar,'' Connor whispered stubbornly.

``Then so should yours have,'' Harry pointed out mercilessly. ``Besides,
Mum told me about this, the first time I asked her why I had a scar at
all. She \emph{did} try to heal me, but she was scared and shocky.
They'd thought we were Voldemort's captives, thanks to Pettigrew's lies,
and then come back to find us bleeding. She tried to help one of her
children instinctively, but she's never been the best at medical magic,
and she only healed it partially.'' He shrugged. ``It's been the same for
so long now that it would do me serious damage to have someone try to
heal it again.''

``And they tried to heal mine, too?'' Connor whispered.

``Yes,'' said Harry, on firmer footing now. Lily had told him this part
of the story, too. ``They tried, but it wouldn't get further down than
the heart mark it is right now. And then they realized it was a curse
scar. You \emph{are} the Boy-Who-Lived, Connor, and I don't want you to
hear you doubt yourself again without coming and telling me about it.''

Connor gave a little sob, and abruptly started trembling. Harry held him
closer. ``What is it?'' he asked.

``But the Boy-Who-Lived is supposed to be of the Light,'' Connor
whispered. ``And what if I'm not?''

Harry frowned in perplexity. \emph{What can possibly be bothering him
now?} ``What do you mean?''

``I---I learned that I have a magical gift,'' Connor whispered. ``A Dark
one. Worse than Parseltongue. I don't know what to do, Harry. I didn't
know I was using it at first, and then I tried to quit, and then I tried
to hide it, and it \emph{hurts} knowing everyone would blame me for it
and hate me, and I couldn't tell anyone if I couldn't tell you, and I
was already angry and upset with you because I thought maybe you knew
you were the Boy-Who-Lived and were just lying to humor me, and then I
tried to forget about it---''

``Show me.''

Connor froze, then swallowed. ``But it's Dark.''

``I showed you that I could speak Parseltongue,'' said Harry, stepping
away from his brother. Connor swayed as if he would collapse without the
support, but Harry stopped himself from going to him. Connor had to
learn to start standing up and acting like the Boy-Who-Lived again, as
soon as possible. He \emph{was}, but everyone else needed to think so,
too. ``Show me this.''

Connor closed his eyes, then opened them again and met Harry's gaze with
a cool, calm directness.

Harry felt as though a wind had entered his body through his eyes. He
could feel it curling around his mind. He could have stopped it using
Occlumency, but, curious, he watched as it turned and rustled here and
there, seeking he didn't know what.

Then it vanished, and he found himself taking a step forward that he
hadn't known he was going to take. He blinked.

``You see?'' Connor whispered. ``I wanted you to take that step forward,
so you did. It's compulsion, Harry.'' He looked sick with himself. ``I
didn't even realize I was using it to compel Hermione and Ron to go
along with me at first, and then I let it go, and Hermione stopped
believing in me. So did a lot of other people. Ron just stays with me
because he's my friend, and that's wonderful, but---I used it! I have
it! It's Dark, and I don't know what to \emph{do.}'' With a wail of
distress, he sat down hard on the floor of Lockhart's office.

Harry shook his head, smiling. Then he knelt down and hugged Connor, who
promptly stopped trying to cry in his shock. ``You really are a prat,''
he whispered to him. ``You should have known that I would accept this. I
accept all that you are, Connor, even when you are acting like a prat.''

``But it's Dark,'' whispered Connor.

``Of course it is,'' said Harry, and ignored Connor's sudden attempt to
break free from him. ``\emph{Untrained}. If it's untrained, then you're
going to go around influencing people's minds for selfish purposes, and
they won't know it. But if you're trained, then you can choose when to
use it and when not to, and you'll know when it's best to use it and
when it's not, too.'' He gave Connor's shoulders another little shake.
``I can't believe that you were so worried about this that you ran
around trying to hide it. Dumbledore has that ability, too, you know.
You remember how he calmed down everyone in the Great Hall after they
found out I was a Parselmouth? And you remember that he's of the Light?
The greatest Light wizard?''

Connor sniffled once. Then he said, ``I do remember that. But---that was
a good thing. Someone might have hurt you, or someone might have fired
off a spell meant for you and hit someone else.''

``Very good,'' said Harry, and restricted the dry tone to his voice and
the sarcastic things he wanted to say next. Connor wasn't really ready
for that kind of humor yet. ``It \emph{can} be a good thing, Connor, just
the way that I could have used Parseltongue to restrain Sylarana or
command her to attack other people. It's Dark if you just let it run
around untrained.''

``Oh,'' Connor murmured.

``So go to Dumbledore,'' Harry encouraged him. ``He can find you a
teacher if he can't actually train you himself. He'll train you to use
your compulsion ability, and then you'll be even more charismatic than
you were before. This ability can be an asset to the Boy-Who-Lived,
Connor. And once you have Dumbledore's wisdom, then you won't use it
wrongly or selfishly.''

Connor sniffled once. Then he said, ``So you forgive me, Harry?''

``Of course,'' said Harry, shifting so that his arms were fully around
his brother once more. ``If you forgive me.''

``Of course,'' Connor whispered back, and they sat there in silence for
a few moments. Harry closed his eyes and savored the feeling of being
purely \emph{happy}. It had been rare this year. Even when he'd been in
Connor's good graces, he'd been trying to distance himself from the
Slytherins and Draco, and then he'd been their friend but distrusted by
most of the school, and then he'd been Connor's enemy. Now he could
think that everything was going to be all right, for the first time in a
long time. His life had finally resumed the course it was meant to.

Then Connor stirred and said, ``You said I'd done myself a lot of
damage. What does that mean?''

Harry sighed and sat back, taking his brother's hand in his own.
Connor's eyes were big and earnest, and he appeared willing to listen
for the first time. Even this summer, Harry remembered, he'd fussed and
sighed over the wizarding history their mother tried to make him learn.

``You need to be a leader,'' said Harry softly. ``You need to lead
\emph{everybody}. That means that you need to lead Slytherins as well as
Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and that you need to lead
pureblooded wizards as well as halfbloods and Muggleborns.''

``But I don't see why,'' said Connor, blinking at him. ``I mean, when
the Boy---when I defeat Voldemort, that will be it, won't I? They just
need me to fight him. They don't need me to do anything else.''

Harry smiled. If he had to destroy this piece of his brother's
innocence, at least he could give him good news in its place.

``They do,'' he said gently. ``You're their icon, Connor. You make them
feel safe. You make them feel like you can't do anything wrong. There
will be times when you mess up, of course, but you'll mess up less if
you accept that you're a political leader, a war leader, as well as a
fighter against Voldemort. I think you'll probably end up the next
Minister of Magic if you want to.''

Connor just stared at him. Harry could see that those were bigger dreams
than he'd ever cherished. For a moment more, he held on to the idea of
Connor as a child, playing, radiantly unselfconscious and ignorant of
the eyes upon him.

Then he broke it. It was time to show Connor just who he really was, how
much of the Light was in him.

``I know that you can forgive anyone,'' Harry whispered. ``I know that
you can unite \emph{anyone}, once you put your mind to it. And that's
what you'll need to do. The other Houses here distrust you. You'll have
to put your mind to reassuring them and calming them down.''

``Even the Slytherins?'' Connor asked, with a sharp moue of distaste.

``Even them,'' Harry affirmed calmly. ``They're not all like me, Connor,
but they're not all like Lucius Malfoy, either. And with time and
pressure enough, you may swing even the Death Eaters to your side.''

``What makes you so sure?'' Connor scowled at him.

``Because you \emph{are} the Boy-Who-Lived,'' said Harry. He knew his own
faith on this score was absolute, and he let it shine through his eyes.
``You were chosen for that because you have such purity and love. Let it
shine through, and they'll see and accept you for who you are. Who could
choose to follow a madman like Voldemort when they see someone else
standing with his arms open, accepting even purebloods and others who
made a mistake in the past? Yes, they resisted Dumbledore, but he had a
certain reputation long before Voldemort started his rise. You're
different. You're new. You can make an impression on them that the
Headmaster never dreamed of. You'll save us all, Connor. I really
believe it.''

Connor blinked, once. Then he said, ``I---I can see it, Harry, and it's
wonderful. I'd like to help make a world like that.''

Harry buried his face in his brother's shoulder to hide a smile. He
could see the vision, too: Connor, grown strong and mighty, shining with
light after Voldemort's defeat, with men and women gazing up at him in
awe as they listened to him mend old rifts and rectify old injustices.

And at his right shoulder stood Harry, wrapped in shadows, with no one
paying attention to him beside his brother, but \emph{there.}

Of course, they would never get there if they didn't start working to
repair Connor's last few months of horrible, deeply undiplomatic
behavior.

``The first thing you need to do,'' Harry said, ``is make some gestures
towards House unity.''

Connor nodded. ``What would you suggest?''

``A visit to Slytherin House,'' said Harry, with no hesitation at all.

Connor protested, of course, but Harry managed to persuade him after
only a half hour of arguing. Then they left, Connor saying that he would
apologize to Hermione and the rest of Gryffindor House, then go to the
Headmaster and ask for training for his compulsion ability. Harry would
go back to Slytherin and somewhat prepare them for Connor's visit the
next weekend.

Connor paused at the bottom of the stairs and gazed solemnly at Harry.
``Thank you, Harry,'' he said. ``Thank you for loving me. I would never
have learned this without you.''

Harry managed not to wriggle with delight, but only by a stern effort
with himself. He knelt, both to let Sylarana crawl up his arm again and
in a gesture of submission to the Light's new leader. ``Thank you,
Connor. I love you. I believe in you.''

Connor nodded once, face still uncertain, then blew out his breath and
climbed the stairs.

Harry closed his eyes, soaking in the silence. He expected Sylarana to
say something that would ruin the mood at any moment.

\emph{Of course I am not going to,} she said. \emph{Why would I? It
heartens me to see you so happy. I wish there was a way that you could
be happy and show off at the same time, of course.}

``There isn't,'' said Harry.

\emph{I know.}

Harry decided that he wouldn't ask about the small sad tone in her
words, and instead set off to the Slytherin common room. Draco would
whine and rage and pout, and Millicent would smile too sharply, and the
others would question.

\emph{Too bad,} Harry thought, chin lifting higher. \emph{I might belong
in Slytherin, but I belong with Connor, too. They're just going to have
to learn to accept each other.}

\chapter{A Gryffindor Among the Slytherins}\label{chapter-23-a-gryffindor-among-the-slytherins}

``No,'' said Justin.

Harry paused and stared at him. They were waiting in the greenhouses for
their Herbology class to begin; since it was a warm day and they would
need to protect their ears when they moved the Mandrakes again, Harry
had thought he'd better talk to Justin before then. He'd assumed it
would be a simple task. He'd tell Justin that Connor had changed his
mind and wanted to make up with the other Houses, and while Justin would
probably be skeptical, and the rest of the Hufflepuffs even more so, it
wouldn't be nearly as hard as it would be with the Slytherins. Then
Harry could move on to Ravenclaw, perhaps talking to Penelope
Clearwater, the prefect whom Dumbledore had assigned to watch him, and
then have another talk with the Slytherins to prepare them for Connor's
visit. The first one\ldots{}hadn't gone well. Harry had expected to
spend the most time on convincing his House of his brother's good
intentions.

Instead, Justin was proving unexpectedly stubborn about the whole thing.

``No,'' he repeated, frowning and shaking his head. ``I'm sorry, Harry.
I don't believe that he's suddenly a different person.''

``He's not,'' said Harry, quashing his annoyance at Justin. He was
better at controlling his temper than ever now, after living without the
box for two months. Besides, it had probably been something he said,
some odd wording he'd used, that made Justin react this way. ``But he
\emph{is} sorry. He was worried about thinking I was the Boy-Who-Lived,
and that influenced his judgment.'' He wasn't going to tell anyone about
Connor's compulsion gift until his brother was ready to announce it to
the school in general. ``Really, Justin, I promise that he'll try hard
not to act like a git. Can you find it in your heart to forgive him?''

``You don't understand,'' said Justin quietly.

``Obviously,'' said Harry, before he could stop himself.

The other wizard gave him a small smile. ``We could forgive him, as you
call it, for acting like a prat,'' he said. ``\emph{If} it was just
anything he'd said about our House or one of us, and he hasn't said
much. But he hurt \emph{you}, Harry. And we find it a lot harder to
forgive when someone hurts one of our friends.''

Harry blinked. He would not have thought of that objection himself, left
a decade to do it in. ``But I forgave him, Justin.'' Maybe he hadn't
been clear on that part. ``I said that I understood why he'd hurt me,
and he promised not to anymore. We talked it all out.''

Justin narrowed his eyes. ``And you think that really excuses four
months of dodging around you and trying to make you look bad? You think
that excuses lying to his friends about visiting you in the hospital
wing?''

``Not \emph{excuses}, as such,'' said Harry. ``Just\ldots{}I understood
why he did it.'' He shrugged. ``And since I've forgiven him, and I was
the one most directly affected, it would look odd for you to go on
disliking him, wouldn't it?''

``Not at all.''

Harry jumped and looked over his shoulder. He hadn't heard Zacharias
come up behind him. He found himself wondering where Professor Sprout
was. Surely she could get here and save him from having to have a
conversation with the sharpest of the second-year Hufflepuffs?

Justin, the prat, was stepping back with a small smile and just letting
Zacharias handle this.

``Now, I've been listening,'' the other boy began, with no immodesty at
all. ``And from what I could hear, I don't know if Potter's suspicions
about you being the Boy-Who-Lived have any basis in reality at all. I
would say they don't, since we all know Potter's not the brightest
candle.'' Harry bristled, but Zacharias kept right on going. ``But,
either way, I think he'll make a poor leader. He didn't even notice he
was alienating people, from what you said. You'd make a better one.'' He
paused and waited to see what Harry would say to that.

``It doesn't matter what might or might not happen,'' said Harry. ``He
\emph{has} to be the leader, because he's the Boy-Who-Lived.''

``I told you, I don't know much about that,'' Zacharias said amiably.
``But I know a little about leadership. My mum took me to watch the
Wizengamot operate, the way that any good pureblooded mum should. And
you're more like them than Connor is.''

``He'll lead a different way,'' said Harry. ``It's war-time, after
all.''

``And then he'll go into politics?''

With the suspicion that he was being herded into a particular
conversational trap, but not quite able to see what it was, Harry nodded
slowly.

``Ah.'' Zacharias flashed him a cheerful smile. ``And what makes you
think that someone will make a good political leader just because he
made a good wartime leader? The two require different sets of skills.
Not much use saying `Charge!' in the Wizengamot.''

``Headmaster Dumbledore is both,'' said Harry. ``Or was both. He led in
the First War with Voldemort.''

Zacharias shrugged. ``I told you, I know politics.''

``Not as well as you think you do, if you think that someone can't be
trained to be good at it,'' Harry muttered, glancing over his shoulder
and seeing Professor Sprout hurrying through the snow. He sighed in
relief and jerked his head in her direction. ``Looks like we've got to
stop talking.''

``In just a minute,'' said Zacharias. ``And I'd rather have someone
who's naturally good at it than someone who has to be trained. Like
you.''

Harry shook his head. ``That's not ever going to happen.''

``Are you a Seer?'' Zacharias sounded \emph{very} interested.

``No, I'm not,'' said Harry, and luckily Professor Sprout arrived then
and he could cover his ears. Throughout it, he could feel the
Hufflepuffs' eyes on him, and he frowned back at them. He didn't
understand why they were resisting so hard. Connor had made a mistake.
He hadn't committed a crime. He was only twelve, and he had much, much
more time to grow better. If by some miracle Harry survived the Second
War, then he would continue training Connor, of course, but in case he
didn't, he still expected his twin would do well. That was the reason
he'd been chosen for this duty.

\emph{And Zacharias Smith wouldn't know genuine innocence and purity if
it bit him on the arse,} he thought.

\emph{Yes,} said Sylarana sleepily. The cold made her so sluggish that
she barely spoke at all when they were in the greenhouses, but curled up
on Harry's arm and dozed.

\emph{Yes what?} Harry asked her.

She was asleep again, so Harry shook his head and turned to tend to his
Mandrake, his mood not much better in shade than the flat white sky
overhead, currently shedding more snow.

\emph{I don't understand why more of them can't see it. Connor's been
much more pleasant this week than usual. He's won over most of the
Gryffindors. He smiles at me and laughs with me. The Slytherins I
expected would be suspicious, just because of the House rivalry, but why
the Hufflepuffs? I don't understand.}

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry braced himself and stepped into the Slytherin common room. He was
going to speak with Draco, Blaise, Vince, and Greg again. Their last
confrontation about Connor had escalated into screaming (on Draco's
part) and thrown objects (on Blaise's part). But Harry was going to
\emph{make} them see reason. Connor was coming for a visit this weekend.
Harry wanted Slytherin House to be following Connor before the end of
the year, or at least be in a tentative alliance with him.

\emph{It's not like I'm asking them to make nice with all Gryffindors,}
he thought as the wall slid shut behind him. \emph{Just one. And that
one is the Boy-Who-Lived. You'd think that more of them would realize
living under Voldemort} isn't \emph{pleasant and that their parents made
a bloody mistake\ldots{}}

He paused. It looked as though the entire House had gathered in the
common room, including the sixth- and seventh-years, and they were
waiting for him. Their chatter fell silent as he stepped in, and they
stared at him for a second. Harry blinked at them, and blinked further
when he saw Draco and Blaise sitting on a couch near the fire, a place
that Marcus Flint usually liked to occupy.

Flint was standing up, though, and walking towards him. He paused,
staring keenly down into Harry's face. Harry cleared his throat
nervously. He'd thought his relations with the Quidditch Captain were
working out well. He'd caught the Snitch when they played Ravenclaw, and
he attended every practice.

``What is it, Flint?'' he asked, trying to make his voice sound bored
and unconcerned.

``Draco told me what you said,'' Flint murmured. ``About wanting your
brother to visit the common room.''

\emph{Oh, shit. I didn't think they'd tell.} Harry glared at Draco and
Blaise. Blaise smirked at him. Draco just waved a lazy hand. He had his
other hand in the pocket of his robe, holding something. Harry would bet
it was that bloody bottle. Draco never seemed to leave his room without
it.

``Well, yes,'' said Harry, deciding he would have to tough it out on his
own. Sylarana's mutters of help by biting were nothing he wished to
entertain. ``Why not? People have friends of other Houses in here all
the time. And sometimes more than friends,'' he added, hoping that would
be enough to disconcert Flint. He'd supposedly had a Ravenclaw boyfriend
in here more than once, though Harry had never known if the rumor was
actually true.

Flint blinked, but all he did after that was give a small smile and
shake his head. ``Not Gryffindors, however,'' he said. ``And especially
not someone who's been trying to discredit and work against one of our
own for most of the year.''

``Connor's changed,'' said Harry. ``And he really is sorry for what he
did. But if you just shut him out of the common room, Flint, then you
won't get a chance to see how sorry.''

``I say let him in.''

Harry turned his head, blinking. That was Vince, who barely said
anything at all when he wasn't in class. Now he stood up, and, though he
flushed, otherwise ignored the eyes on him.

``Harry's right,'' he went on. ``We'll never know what the Boy-Who-Lived
is like if we don't actually get to see him.''

Flint looked thoughtful. A murmur traveled among the older students, and
Harry heard the speculative edge to it. Vince's comment had twisted the
conversation in a new direction. Those Slytherins who were the children
of Dark wizards or Death Eaters must be wondering now if it wouldn't be
better to get a close look at the Boy-Who-Lived, see what he was like,
before he was fully-grown and dangerous.

Harry set his teeth. He would have to remain by Connor's side every
moment of the time he was here. He wouldn't put it past someone else to
try to curse his brother or slip him some kind of poisoned sweet when he
wasn't looking.

``That's true,'' he said. ``And you'll never know what other
possibilities he might bring with him if you don't actually talk to him,
either.''

Flint's eyes snapped back to him. For a moment, he looked incredulous.
Then his face shut down, except for a small smile that teased the corner
of his mouth.

``Possibilities, Harry?'' he asked. ``Possibilities like joining the
side of the Light? Dumbledore's side?''

Harry kept his gaze steady. There really hadn't been another way to
phrase it. And if this was going to be a political battle, it might as
well be in the open, and not hidden behind slippery words and phrases.
That would give Connor an advantage, rather than giving it to the
Slytherins.

``Yes, like those,'' said Harry.

Every eye in the common room was on him now. The silence was growing
oppressive. Harry didn't look at them, though. He only looked at Flint.
He couldn't change everything that had happened in the past. He
certainly couldn't alter Slytherin into a House devoted to the Light
overnight. Connor would have to do that, and it would be a long and slow
process.

But he could place the possibility on the table, and acknowledge where
he stood: that being Slytherin did \emph{not} mean he would turn against
the Light and serve the Dark. He'd thought that was pretty bloody
obvious, given who his brother was, but if it wasn't, then now was the
time that they could see and understand it.

Flint leaned slightly forward. He said softly, ``So young, and you've
already chosen your political loyalties, Harry?''

Harry let out a long, slow breath. \emph{He really wants to know?} They
\emph{really want to know?}

\emph{Well, why not? If it will help Connor visit my House, then yes,
I'll bloody well do it. And I think I may surprise them.}

He glanced at Draco, making the direction of his gaze obvious, and
slowly everyone else turned to follow it. Draco smiled slightly at the
attention, looking very much like his father at that moment.

``I'm friends with Draco Malfoy,'' said Harry calmly. ``I spent
Christmas at Malfoy Manor last year. I might have gone this year, only I
was rather busy with being possessed at the time.'' That raised a few
chuckles, though not many; the gazes were too intent. And if it wasn't
true, if he would have spent the Christmas with his family instead, then
nobody was ever going to know. ``I know the pureblood ways. My father is
James Potter; my godfather is Sirius Black. I asked and asked and asked
until they taught me how to act like a pureblood, and I read books on
pureblood history myself.''

``Yet you were shocked when you were put in Slytherin?'' Flint's voice
had a sneer to it now.

Harry flicked him a glance. ``My brother is the Boy-Who-Lived. I'm a
Potter, and we've \emph{always} been Gryffindors. Family is important,
isn't it? You'd probably stand by yours no matter what?''

Flint nodded slowly, a faint gleam of appreciation in his eyes.

``So, yes, I was shocked,'' said Harry, and then shrugged. ``But I accept
that I'm a Slytherin now.''

``That doesn't mean that I'm about to abandon my brother. That wouldn't
be very loyal to my family at all. And it's no good trying to pretend to
be something I'm not. My mother is Muggleborn, and she told me stories
about the First War, what it was like, and about the war with
Grindelwald. I've learned more about what happens to Dark wizards who
face Gryffindors than I've ever wanted to know.''

``Gryffindors died in those wars, too,'' Flint breathed, just a trace of
warning in his tone.

Harry nodded. ``And Gryffindors brought down each Dark wizard in the
end. So, no. I can see how history tends, thanks. I want to
survive---which I'm sure is a Slytherin trait.''

He asked Sylarana to emerge. She did, sticking her head out of his
sleeve, then her whole body, and coiling on the surface of his sleeve in
plain sight. She flicked her tongue at everyone watching, and Harry
heard a few caught breaths. It was one thing to know he was a
Parselmouth, and another to see his Locusta.

Harry smiled at her. ``I think it's time that we remind them of
something,'' he said, knowing he was speaking in Parseltongue. He didn't
quite understand the expressions that crept over most of the Slytherins'
faces, expressions of reverence and awe, but he could use them.
``Agreeable?''

``\emph{Of course,}'' she said. ``\emph{For all that I love being so close
to your skin, your sleeve does get hot and stuffy sometimes.}''

Harry nodded and held up his arm so that Sylarana's scales flashed in
the firelight. She hissed at everyone, darting her tongue out to taste
the air. Delight mixed with a keen dread shone in most of the eyes Harry
met.

``I am a Parselmouth,'' he said, careful not to look directly at
Sylarana in case he ended up hissing. He wanted to say this so everyone
else could understand. ``And I'm not going to deny that---the same way
I'm not going to deny that I'm friends with Draco Malfoy and the brother
of Connor Potter, the same way that I'm not going to deny I'm a
Slytherin from a Gryffindor family, the same way that I'm not going to
deny I'm a halfblood who knows a lot about pureblooded ways. I don't see
any reason to deny any of what I am.''

\emph{Liar}, said a sudden cold voice in his head, the flicker of his
magic that he'd tamed and subdued in the struggle with Riddle.

Harry ignored this. \emph{It} was the liar. Yes, his magic might be
Darker than most people would think, but it was \emph{his} magic. It
obeyed him. He could ignore anything it might try to say.

The Slytherins watched him for long moments. Then Flint nodded slowly.
He had an amused expression on his face, but not only or even primarily
amused, Harry knew.

``I say we allow the little prat to visit Slytherin,'' he said, ``as
long as Harry stays right by his side at all times.''

Harry nodded. He had no intention of ever leaving his brother alone with
Slytherins, either---for the safety of both sides.

He coaxed Sylarana back under his sleeve and went up the stairs to the
second-year boys' room, ignoring the eyes he could still feel on his
back. They seemed to think he was impressive.

\emph{Let them see Connor when he's defeated Voldemort,} Harry thought
as he got ready for bed. \emph{That'll be impressive.}

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``But I don't think that the Chudley Cannons stand a chance of winning
against the Montrose Magpies, of course,'' said Draco in a bright,
chatty voice. ``What do you think, Potter?''

Harry could feel Connor fuming at his side. He knew well enough why
Draco had chosen the Chudley Cannons to pick on---after all, they were
Ron's favorite team, and Connor had made them his, too, out of loyalty.
It was also true that they weren't a very \emph{good} team. Draco had
been casually mentioning this many different times while Connor visited,
but now was the first time he'd actually spoken about it directly to
Connor.

Harry willed his brother to respond calmly. The visit had gone much
better than he had expected so far---which meant, no one had actually
tried to punch or hex anyone else. It probably helped that there was a
small central group of them: Harry, Draco, Connor, Blaise, Vince, Greg,
Millicent, and Pansy. Other Slytherins wandered past from time to time,
as though to stare at the tame Gryffindor out of his natural habitat,
but no one stayed long.

``I think,'' said Connor at last, his voice carefully neutral, ``that
everything depends on circumstances, Malfoy. You can't deny that the
Cannons have a brilliant Seeker this year.''

``Yes,'' Draco acknowledged, which made Harry blink. He should have
guessed what was coming next. ``Too bad she can't make up for the other
six dead logs in the air that fill the rest of their positions.''

Harry clenched his hand on Connor's arm---a good thing, too, or he
thought his brother might have exploded out of his seat. Connor closed
his eyes, breathing tightly, then opened them and went for the meat of
the matter with his usual Gryffindor directness.

``Why are you doing this, Malfoy?'' he asked. ``I'm supposed to be here
as a gesture of peace, of sorts. Shouldn't you be trying to be, well,
peaceful, instead of insulting me all the time?''

Draco opened his mouth to make some crack, but Harry said, ``Draco, why
don't you check your bottle?''

Connor glanced sideways at him, curious. Harry just raised his eyebrows
and waited until Draco opened the pocket where he kept the bottle and
checked it. His face turned paler than normal. He would have seen, Harry
thought, that the bottle was gleaming red as a ruby right now. Harry was
angry with Draco, though he wasn't showing it openly.

Draco swallowed, let his pocket fall closed, and said, ``It's just hard,
Potter. You're a Gryffindor. We're Slytherins. This is unnatural.''

Connor barked a laugh. ``It feels that way, doesn't it?'' he murmured.
``But my brother says that I need to unite all the Houses, and I think I
should listen to him. So I'm here, trying to make nice. The least you
could do is play along.''

``Why did he say that?'' asked Pansy, speaking up for the first time.
She leaned forward and stared at Harry. Harry met her gaze as calmly as
he could. He didn't really know what to make of either of the
second-year Slytherin girls. He hadn't paid them enough attention, and
now that was coming back to bite him on the arse. He would have to
remedy that next year.

``Because I'm to be the leader of the wizarding world someday,'' said
Connor, thankfully sparing Harry from having to answer the question.
``And I don't think that he wants me to leave the Slytherins out.'' He
half-smiled at Harry, who smiled fully back. There was a reason that he
was at Connor's side on a couch across from Draco and the others, who
were arranged in chairs around them. He wondered if any of the
Slytherins had noticed the political dimension of his positioning yet,
or if they simply dismissed it as Harry needing to be close enough to
restrain his brother in case Connor did something foolish.

\emph{Both,} Harry thought. \emph{Whoever said that a gesture should
have only one meaning? I'm a Slytherin, so I get to make sly little
double-handed gestures too.}

``You really think that?'' It was Millicent's voice, elevated a little
in surprise, and the question was directed at Harry.

Harry shrugged. ``Of course I do,'' he said. ``The Boy-Who-Lived,
Bulstrode. Who else would do?''

Millicent blinked as if he'd slapped her, then sat back in her chair and
scowled thoughtfully at Connor. Harry didn't know what was going on with
her, but then, he didn't know what was going on with Millicent in
general. She could play her little games if she wanted, but if she
really thought that someone else would have a better chance at Minister
of Magic than Connor, then she was living in a dreamworld.

``We were talking about Quidditch,'' said Blaise. ``And now we're
talking about politics. I find both of them boring.'' \emph{Or
uncomfortable,} Harry thought, watching the small smile on the boy's
dark features. Blaise had tried out for the Quidditch team as Chaser and
failed to make it, and his mother, Arabella Zabini, though Dark, was
notoriously unaffiliated with anyone except her husbands, who kept
dying. ``I'd like to talk about something else. Namely, why you've gone
from such a prat to someone trying to `make nice' with Slytherins.''

``I don't think those things are too far apart, really,'' Connor
retorted.

Harry could feel the tension rising, saw Draco's eyes narrowing, and
knew he was about to say something unfortunate. He intervened. ``We had
a talk,'' he said firmly. ``He came around, Blaise. He apologized. I
told you all this already.'' He really couldn't comprehend why Blaise
had brought this up again. It was part of the original argument that had
led to Harry insisting that Blaise was being more of a prat than Connor,
and the other boy throwing a book at his head. ``He really does want to
make friends, or he wouldn't be here.''

``Actually,'' said Connor, ``I wouldn't be here if not for Harry. He was
the one who convinced me to come.'' He leaned back and looked seriously
at Harry. ``And he's the only one convincing me to stay.''

Harry sighed. Now all the Slytherins, except Millicent who still
appeared lost in her own world, were fuming at the implication that they
weren't good hosts. ``Does anyone want to play a game?'' he suggested.

``Of course,'' said Draco at once. ``Wizards' chess.''

Harry winced. Connor \emph{hated} chess, not least because Ron could so
easily beat him at it. ``Not that one,'' he said hastily. ``What about
Exploding Snap? Or---''

``I want to go flying,'' said Pansy, her voice abruptly bright and
mindless. ``Ooh, doesn't that sound marvelous? I love seeing you on a
broom, Draco. Your golden hair blows so beautifully in the wind.''

\emph{I know she isn't that stupid}, Harry thought in confusion. Then he
understood. \emph{She's} pretending \emph{to be that stupid. And, damn
it, Connor's playing right into her hands. Look at that condescending
look he's giving her. Merlin take you, Pansy. And you, too, Connor. Just
because a girl sounds as if she's giggling all the time doesn't mean
that she doesn't take time out in between the giggles to think. You've
been spoiled with Hermione.}

``Of course,'' said Connor. ``I love flying. And no one's on the Pitch.
The Hufflepuffs should have finished their practicing by now.'' He stood
up and grandly motioned for them to follow him. ``Come on, everyone!''
He sprinted for the entrance to the common room.

Harry took the opportunity to hiss at Pansy, his voice covered by the
noise of moving bodies. ``What are you doing?''

``You'll see,'' said Pansy, her voice self-satisfied. Then she giggled
and blinked her lashes. ``And what makes you think I'm doing anything,
Harry?'' she asked.

Harry ground his teeth. ``Just leave him alone,'' he said.

``Oh, I'm not going to hurt him,'' said Pansy. ``Why would you think I'm
going to hurt him? Would I really attack him using spells? I'm just a
poor widdle girl, Harry.'' She swept past him towards the door.

Harry followed, agitated, doing his best to get in front of everyone and
beside Connor. It did no good. Blaise, Vince, and Greg had stood up
before him, and Draco was in front, walking beside Connor and actually
\emph{complimenting} him on his performance in the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor
game. Harry was beginning to suspect a plot, and not just on Pansy's
part.

``Oi, Potter, you forgot this.''

Harry turned, just in time to catch a shrunken package that Millicent
flung at him. He recognized his Nimbus 2001 after a brief moment. He
shook his head. ``I'm leaving it behind,'' he said. ``I'll fly a school
broom.''

``Why?'' asked Pansy, and she giggled. ``I think it's wonderful to watch
you fly on your broom, Harry.'' She giggled louder, attracting Connor's
attention. ``Just wonderful,'' she said. ``You never lose when you're on
it.''

Connor's eyes narrowed in competitive fervor, and Harry began to have
some inkling of what the Slytherins were doing.

``No, damn it,'' he said.

``Why not?'' Connor asked, sounding curious. ``I'd like to see what you
can do when you're flying full out, Harry, and we're not both after the
Snitch.''

\emph{Shit.} Harry knew what was going to happen, and he disliked it
\emph{immensely}. He made one more attempt to break free. ``But you've
seen me and Connor fly against each other,'' he said. ``I think it'd be
more interesting to see Connor and Draco race. Draco's a good flyer.''

``This isn't a game,'' said Draco, who'd turned backward so he could
keep an eye on Harry. ``It's a race, and that's different. Just a
contest of speed, instead of seeing who can snatch a golden ball out of
the air. I want to see you fly, Harry. I know you're fast.''

Connor's eyes sparked even more.

\emph{Shit,} Harry thought sickly. If he lost this contest, Connor would
assume that Harry was lying to him again, since he'd already admitted to
being the better Seeker. And if he won\ldots{}

His brother might take it like a good sport, but Harry knew it would
drive a little wedge between them that didn't need to be there.

``I want to race you,'' said Connor, and that sealed it.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Harry and Connor stood on the far end of the Quidditch Pitch, each with
his broom lying beside him on the grass. It was an unexpectedly pretty
day, with the sky a very sharp, pale blue, and looking higher than
normal. Draco and Blaise stood at the far end of the pitch, with the
other Slytherins arrayed in a ragged line along it, to see how the race
might vary as the twins actually flew it.

``Come on, Harry,'' said Connor out of the corner of his mouth. ``This
is going to be fun.''

\emph{No, it's not,} Harry thought. His stomach was roiling and
clenching in misery, and Sylarana's soothing thoughts did little to help
him.

``\emph{Tempus!}'' Draco intoned from the far side of the pitch, and a
small hourglass appeared in the air beside him, filled with tiny grains
of sand. One would fall for each second it took them to race, Harry
knew.

``I'll call when they should start,'' said Pansy. ``Stand ready. On
five, gentlemen. One---''

``Show me everything you've got, Harry,'' Connor whispered.

Harry stared at his brother. Connor nodded back at him, then turned and
fixed his gaze on the far side of the pitch.

``Three---''

\emph{How can I disobey that? If my brother asks me to do it\ldots{}}

``Five!''

Connor was on the Cleansweep in a flash, but Harry had already called
his Nimbus 2001 up and was mounted. Connor rose, striving for height,
and Harry followed just behind, fighting for one more moment.

Then he remembered again that Connor would think he was lying if he
lost. And he would rather see a small spark of betrayal in his brother's
eyes than a large one.

He let his breath go and unleashed his speed.

The Nimbus seemed to dance beneath him as he soared upwards and sped
past Connor, and Millicent and then Pansy yelped as he blasted over
them. The feeling that always filled his chest filled it now, as though
nothing could happen to him when he was up here except triumph, and he
swooped past Vince and Greg and touched down beside Draco and Blaise
like a swallow come home to roost.

``Well bloody done, Harry,'' said Draco, and then grabbed him and held
him tightly in a hug. Harry turned his head to look at the hourglass. A
tenth grain of sand was just falling.

Connor landed five grains later. He was quiet for a long moment. Harry
fought his way out of Draco's embrace and turned to face his brother.

Connor drew in a deep breath, nodded once, and then said, ``You told me
the truth, Harry, and you did as I asked. Thank you.'' He reached out
and clasped his hand. ``If you say that making up with the other Houses
is a good idea, then it is.''

Harry felt a surge of dizzy joy. Connor trusted him the way that he
trusted Connor, then---implicitly. He swallowed and swatted at his eyes,
which wanted to tear up.

The other Slytherins were clustering around them. Harry thought he could
hear Pansy chattering about what a beautiful sight he was on a broom,
but he didn't care. If they'd tried to tear him apart from his brother,
then they'd lost. This was what Connor had needed to lose the last of
his doubt.

He turned briefly, and caught Draco's eye. Draco didn't look
disappointed. He looked smug. He caught Harry's gaze and winked.

Harry shook his head. \emph{I don't know what his goal was, then, but
it's not going to deter me. They} will \emph{learn to accept each other
sooner or later.}

And, abruptly, he knew what the next step was.

\chapter{Two Snakes in the Lions' Den}\label{chapter-24-two-snakes-in-the-lions-den}

``You are not visiting Gryffindor Tower without me,'' Draco declared,
looking as though Harry had decreed he was going to go jump off the
Astronomy Tower.

``I know that,'' said Harry, glancing casually up from the latest
Transfiguration book he'd borrowed from the library. It contained
interesting information on how to see someone in Animagus form. Harry
didn't know if Voldemort had any unregistered Animagi running around his
ranks, but he wouldn't put it past him, and in any case it might come in
useful someday. \emph{Everything} might come in useful someday. ``I
wasn't intending to.''

That caught Draco with his mouth open and his eyes slightly widened, as
though he were a cornered mouse McGonagall had decided to play with.
Harry had often thought the Head of Gryffindor House must be more
terrifying as a cat than she was as a woman, at least to things smaller
than she was.

They sat there in silence for a while, and Harry learned that one sure
way of telling an Animagus in animal form was to look at the color of
their aura. Of course, he couldn't see auras yet. He bit the inside of
his cheek thoughtfully and wondered if he could learn.

\emph{Not yet,} said Sylarana abruptly. Harry jumped a little. He had
thought she had gone to sleep in the room's warmth. \emph{I think you
might have the gift for it, but it takes more concentration than you
have. And a more focused mind,} she added. \emph{You're still using
Occlumency to get through day-to-day.}

Harry narrowed his eyes. \emph{I think I'm doing very well,
considering---}

Sylarana's head nudged him under the chin. \emph{You are doing very
well, considering. Is that what you wanted to hear? But not well enough
to see auras yet.}

Harry felt irritation trying to rise, but he caught it and bounced it
off one of his Occlumency shields, sending it into a dark and quiet
corner of his mind. Sylarana hissed something about that becoming a
second box if he kept it up. Harry ignored her. It was true that he
needed Occlumency to get through day-to-day, but Snape had assured him
that the breaches Riddle had opened in his webs were steadily filling
with fog, and in some cases healed completely. He appeared to have lost
no memories except a very few of his childhood.

``What?'' Draco croaked at last.

Harry glanced up at him. ``I thought we could visit Gryffindor Tower
together,'' he said. ``It's not going to make enough of an impression if
I go by myself. The Gryffindors are uncertain right now, shifting
around. They don't know \emph{what} to think. And I think having someone
they associate for sure with Slytherin among them will make it more
difficult to ignore what House we come from.''

``What if I said that I don't want to go now, and I don't want you to
go, either?'' Draco folded his arms and glared mutinously at him.

``You will,'' said Harry.

``Why?''

``Because otherwise I'll get annoyed at you for forcing me into that
stupid race with Connor last weekend,'' said Harry. ``I haven't got
annoyed so far. I could, you know.''

``That wasn't just my idea,'' Draco protested.

``I know that. But you're the one who cares the most if I'm annoyed with
you,'' said Harry. ``And you \emph{participated} in it. You made sure
that I couldn't get to Connor in time, along with the rest of them. And
I heard you buttering him up about his performance in the last Quidditch
match. You were trying to set him up for a fall, weren't you?''

Draco turned his head sulkily away.

``It was a stupid idea,'' said Harry, and turned pointedly back to his
book.

``Harry?''

Harry ignored him.

``Harry? \emph{Please} don't ignore me.'' The absolute desperation in his
voice made Harry twitch, but he didn't turn back around. ``All right, it
was a stupid idea. And all right, we can visit Gryffindor Tower. Just
don't be annoyed with me. \emph{Please}. I went through that in the
first weeks of last term, and I can't tell you how I suffered.'' The bed
beside Harry dipped, and an arm wound through his. ``Please?''

Harry sighed and clasped Draco's hand, glancing up at him. ``Tell me
what you were trying to do with that race.''

``Separate you from your brother,'' Draco admitted, without enough of a
flush for Harry's taste. ``Harry, I don't understand why you want the
Houses to unite so badly. We can learn to tolerate the
Gryffindors---maybe. But does it have to be \emph{right now}? And does
it have to be behind Connor? I think you're pushing this too fast.
Everyone thought you were mad and a Dark wizard, and then they thought
Connor was a prat, and now suddenly you're back together and pushing
pretty openly for us to join Dumbledore's side---Connor's side, I
suppose, if you want to look at it that way. You \emph{know} it's not
that simple. You're not the only one doing a balancing act in Slytherin,
you know. There's my father, for me.''

Harry blinked once, then twice. ``Then you admit your father was a Death
Eater?'' he asked at last. ``And not under Imperius?''

Draco winced and glanced away from him.

``Draco?''

``I don't know,'' Draco whispered. ``I think that it's likely, at least,
and isn't that enough for right now?'' He abruptly buried his head in
Harry's shoulder, and shivered once, a bone-deep tremble that seemed to
run from his shoulders to his toes. ``I don't \emph{know} what to do. I
can't give up being a Malfoy. I love my parents.''

``I would never expect you to give up being a Malfoy, or to stop loving
them,'' Harry began gently.

``But I can't give you up, either,'' said Draco. ``I \emph{can't}.''

Harry shifted around so that he wasn't twisted in quite so awkward a
position, and draped his arms around Draco's shoulders. Sylarana hissed
as she was forced to move. Harry ignored her again. ``I don't want this
struggle to tear you apart, Draco,'' said Harry. ``I want you to be able
to make a decision.''

``But no matter what happens,'' Draco whispered, ``I'm going to regret
this decision.''

Harry nodded. He wanted to say something comforting, but he didn't think
he could. He switched the conversation back in its original direction
instead. ``And you think there are a lot of other Slytherins in the same
situation?''

``Oh, Harry,'' said Draco, looking up with an unhappy smile, ``I know
there are. I'm sorry, but there are certain things they're just not
going to talk about in front of you. Part of it's a pureblood thing, and
part of it's a---a political thing. They've known me from childhood, a
lot of them. They didn't know you.''

Harry nodded. His head was throbbing, and he felt a bit numb. He
\emph{had} been moving too fast. He didn't want to take back his promise
to visit Connor in Gryffindor Tower, but it seemed that it was going to
be more complicated than he had thought it was.

Then he shook his head. \emph{It was} always \emph{going to be more
complicated than I thought it was. And I need to remember who I'm
dealing with} all the time. \emph{The children of Death Eaters are
different from the ones who might be more receptive to the Light, and
Gryffindors who think Dumbledore is great are different from the ones
who don't care about him, and Ravenclaws who tease Luna are different
from the ones who don't\ldots{}}

He caught his breath and leaned away from Draco. The other boy's hands
tightened convulsively on him for a second, and then let go. Draco was
watching him carefully, as though he expected Harry to leap up and
declare that he couldn't stay in the same room with someone whose father
had been a Death Eater.

``Make the visit to Gryffindor Tower with me,'' said Harry. ``After
that, we'll discuss different strategies for working in Slytherin. Will
you help me?''

Draco smiled at him. ``You know, all you had to do was ask.''

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Mr. Potter.''

Startled, Harry turned. He was just leaving Defense Against the Dark
Arts, and here was McGonagall, swooping down on him. Harry braced
himself, trying frantically to remember if he'd done anything wrong.
``Yes, professor?''

``Come with me,'' said McGonagall, sweeping past him. ``I would like to
see you in my office, please.''

Harry nodded to a bewildered Draco and followed McGonagall, now feeling
more curious than concerned. Usually, if she really meant to get a
student in trouble, her voice would have been cold and her eyes
narrowed. Harry had the feeling that it was something else, this time.

They reached her office, and McGonagall led him inside, gesturing him to
the chair Harry remembered from the time they'd discussed
Transfiguration theory. He sat down, and accepted a cup of tea from her,
all the while trying to keep his eyes from straying around the room. She
had charts of things he didn't even \emph{recognize} on the wall, and
thought must be descriptions of esoteric transformations. He itched to
study them, and see if he could work out what they meant. Perhaps they
would be useful in battle.

McGonagall took a cup of tea herself and sat down across the desk from
him. Her eyes narrowed at him for the first time, and Harry saw a glint
of---worry?---in them. He shook his head, not understanding.

``Mr. Potter,'' said McGonagall quietly, ``Headmaster Dumbledore has
spoken with me.''

``About what, ma'am?'' Harry asked. He had no need to try and appear
clueless, he thought. He really was.

``About---the argument that you and your brother had, about your new
efforts to promote House unity and why that's important to us, and about
why he is pleased to see Connor Potter turning into a leader.''
McGonagall sipped at her tea. ``About everything, really, including why
you care so deeply about your brother's success at this.'' She raised
her eyebrows at Harry.

Harry let out his breath in a rush. So here was someone else he could
speak to honestly. He was not sure if he should feel relieved or ashamed
of his relief. It wasn't \emph{that} difficult to keep the secret his
mother had entrusted him with, or shouldn't have been.

``I'm glad you know, ma'am,'' he said. ``You're Connor's Head of House.
I thought you should know. I thought maybe you did,'' he added, ``but
not how much.''

``I knew a little,'' said McGonagall, her voice treading carefully.
``But only bits and pieces. And---I do not think I understand now, not
fully. There is a difference between knowing and understanding, as I
have often tried to remind Miss Granger.'' She put her teacup down on
her desk with a faint \emph{clink}. ``In particular, Mr. Potter, I
brought you here to answer a question, one that I believe only you can
answer fully.''

Harry arched his brows curiously. ``I'll answer it if I can, ma'am, but
I'm not sure what it can be. I'm trying to help Connor, but I can't see
everything he'll become. Headmaster Dumbledore would be better at
that.''

``The Headmaster has told me what he can,'' said McGonagall. ``Now,
Harry, I need you to tell me something.''

``Of course,'' said Harry, sitting up attentively. She had used his
first name for a reason, he was sure. It was important. He wondered if
she had noticed some oddity in Connor's behavior that she wanted
explained.

``Did you choose this?''

Harry felt his jaw drop open, and he stared at her. McGonagall was
gazing at him sternly, her hands clasped in front of her. There was such
a confusing mixture of emotions in her eyes that Harry was not sure
which one he should pick out to address first. There was sorrow, and
anger, and shock, and pity.

Well, that last one he didn't understand at all, so he would approach
the others instead.

\emph{I know why she pities you,} Sylarana whispered into his head.

\emph{You be quiet,} Harry snapped back, and said, ``You're talking
about my duty to my brother, Professor McGonagall?''

She nodded, once, a sharp bob of her head that reminded him of the way
an eagle might peck at something. Her eyes certainly seemed eagle-sharp
now, with the anger tightening her face. ``Yes, Harry. I want to know if
you chose it. Headmaster Dumbledore has assured me that you did. Now I
want to hear it from you.''

``Of course I did,'' said Harry, his puzzlement growing by the second.
He knew the reasons and ways that Professor McGonagall was loyal to
Professor Dumbledore. He could not fathom why she wouldn't trust his
word. But, if she wanted additional reassurance, then she would get it.
Their mother \emph{had} warned him that it would be hard for someone
outside the family to understand.

``Of course I did,'' he repeated, when he saw that she didn't seem to
believe him. ``Really, Professor McGonagall, I did. I've trained hard
all my life for the moment when I can defend him. I'm trying to help him
with politics and House unity now, but I'm afraid it's not working out
well yet,'' he added, with a small smile. ``And then we had this
argument, and it was nasty for both of us. But it's been resolved. In
fact, Draco and I are coming to visit Gryffindor Tower and Connor this
weekend.''

McGonagall closed her eyes. Harry was beginning to wonder what she had
wanted to hear. His word was not enough, and neither was Professor
Dumbledore's. Perhaps he should owl their mother. Lily was good at
persuading people of the truth; she had persuaded Sirius, after all, and
from what she had said in her last letters, she was working on
persuading James.

``I would normally trust the Headmaster's word,'' McGonagall whispered
at last. ``But for something as profound as this---the sacrifice of a
child\ldots{}''

``Lots of people sacrificed in the First War, Professor,'' said Harry,
and then shut up, because doubtless she'd sacrificed a lot, too, maybe
even seen some students die, and he didn't think he had a right to
lecture her.

``I know that, Mr. Potter,'' said McGonagall, and opened her eyes. ``But
even the youngest who fought were older students, old enough to know
what the threat of You-Know-Who meant. You are the youngest warrior I
have ever heard of.''

``Connor was younger when he defeated Voldemort, ma'am,'' said Harry,
comfortable now. She was about to accept his word. He was sure of it.
There was no reason she wouldn't. ``Much younger.''

McGonagall smiled faintly, but her eyes were troubled, and too intense
when they rested on him. ``You will come and talk to me, Mr. Potter, if
you ever feel---pressured or constricted by your role?''

``Of course,'' said Harry. ``I can't imagine that happening, ma'am, but
it's true that we've got a long road ahead of us, and I might like to
talk to you sometimes.'' He could feel himself relaxing. It was no good
going to Draco about these things, not when he had his own burdens, and
Snape would snap at him. McGonagall was a good choice, a safer choice.
She was a Gryffindor. Gryffindors understood sacrifice better than most
Slytherins would. ``If you don't mind?''

McGonagall shook her head, eyes shadowed. Then she stood and moved
around the desk, kneeling in front of him. Once again, as she had when
he was being accused of Petrifying people, she hugged him. Harry hugged
her back this time, because, \emph{this} time, he thought he understood.
She wanted reassurance that he was not going mad because of his role. He
was not. He was happy, busy but happy.

``Please come talk to me, Mr. Potter,'' she whispered, ``if what you
think is impossible happens, and you grow tired.''

``Of course,'' said Harry, still not comprehending how he could, really,
but willing to say that, since it made her relax and let him go. He
smiled at her and trotted off, his mind already filling with plans.

Tomorrow was the visit to Gryffindor Tower, the first time he had been
there in months. He wanted to make sure that everything was ready,
including his new goal for the time he left.

It was time to see how well Connor had made up with his Housemates.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Honeysuckle,'' said Harry to the portrait of the Fat Lady, and she
swung outward, though she was still staring at the Slytherin crests on
their robes as though she couldn't believe they were there.

``Did Connor give you the password for this week?'' Draco asked behind
him, as they stepped into an immense silence.

``Of course,'' Harry muttered.

``And you didn't use it to come in and play pranks on the Gryffindors?''
Draco shook his head and clucked his tongue. ``Harry, Harry, Harry. I am
so very disappointed in you.''

``This is exactly the kind of stupid thing I don't want you doing,''
Harry muttered at him, and to his gratification, Draco shut up.

``Harry! Malfoy!''

Harry turned his head, smiling, ignoring the frozen, hostile stares from
the chairs around the hearth. It seemed that Connor hadn't told his
Housemates that two Slytherins were visiting. Or perhaps he had told
them it was only his brother. The Gryffindors were used to Harry
visiting them. They wouldn't be sure about a Malfoy, especially a Malfoy
who was currently sneering at the common room's color scheme.

Connor came down the stairs from the second-year boys' room, waving at
them. His eyes were so bright that Harry relaxed further. It was going
to be all right, he told himself. It really \emph{was.} They wouldn't
achieve House unity today, or tomorrow, or next year, but eventually,
they would. And Connor would know how best to do it in Gryffindor House,
as Harry had in Slytherin.

\emph{Except that it turned out you didn't know very well how to do
that, did you?} a voice that sounded like his own murmured to him.

Harry ignored it. No, he hadn't. He had made a mistake and he was going
to fix things, with Draco's help. He didn't see why his mind muttering
at him about mistakes was going to change things. A mistake was not a
crime.

\emph{But it can still cost. Look what Connor's mistakes have cost him.}

Harry ignored that, too, because Connor had reached the bottom of the
stairs and was hugging him. Harry returned the embrace, then stepped
back and looked expectantly between Draco and Connor.

Draco stuck out his lower lip, but Harry's gaze didn't yield, so he
stalked forward and put out his hand in Connor's general direction.
Connor shook it with equal stiffness, and said, from between gritted
teeth, ``Malfoy.''

``Potter.'' Not even Snape could have sneered their last name so
effectively, Harry thought. It made Connor flush and drop Draco's hand.

``Look here---'' he began.

``Harry. Malfoy.''

Harry blinked as Hermione came down the stairs from the girls'
dormitory, her footsteps loud even among the mutters that had sprung up
around their entrance. She walked straight past Connor as if he didn't
exist and stretched out a hand. Harry shook it. She turned and held out
her hand to Draco then.

Draco frowned. Harry could almost see him recoiling at the idea of
having to \emph{touch} a \emph{Mudblood.}

Then he met Harry's eyes and stretched out his hand. His shake with
Hermione was perfunctory, but still less stiff than the one he'd shared
with Connor. Hermione nodded, as if satisfied, when he let go of her
hand.

``You can come sit over here,'' she said, and marched them both off to a
corner of the common room. There were several first-years sitting there,
but she made them move with a \emph{look}. Harry raised an eyebrow. For
some reason, he hadn't thought Hermione was as bossy outside of the
classroom as she was inside it, but it seemed he'd been wrong.

``Sit down,'' said Hermione, and Harry made himself comfortable, while
Draco made himself the least uncomfortable he could. Hermione took a
seat across from them and gave Harry a bright, brittle smile. ``So.
How's your month been?''

``Less eventful than it seems yours has been,'' Harry muttered back to
her. ``Did Connor not apologize?''

``Not enough,'' said Hermione tartly. ``He did \emph{that} to me, and
then he just thought he could wave it off.''

``He did what?'' Draco asked in interest.

``Nothing you need to know about,'' Harry told him, and Draco pouted and
sank back on the couch. He turned back to Hermione, trying to conceal
his surprise. Connor had seemed so sweet with him, and had taken his
loss of their race last weekend so well, and had done very well among
the Slytherins, considering. That he hadn't managed to make up with one
member of his own House was surprising.

``Harry.''

Harry glanced over the back of the couch. Connor was standing there,
biting his lip and fiddling with his hands.

``I'm sorry,'' he said. ``I'm trying. But it's an uphill struggle with
some people.'' He scowled at Hermione.

``You were in my \emph{head},'' said Hermione, standing up and putting her
hands on her hips. Harry, for the first time, reflected that she could
be intimidating when she wanted to be, and not only because of her
intelligence. ``And then you tried to make a \emph{joke} out of it. I
don't \emph{like} that.'' Her voice was rising, and heads were turning
all over the common room. Or perhaps they'd always been turned, Harry
reflected, and he was noticing their gazes more.

``I didn't mean to do it, though,'' said Connor, a flush coming into his
cheeks. ``Doesn't that mean anything to you?''

``Not when you treat it as a \emph{joke.}''

Harry stood up in alarm. Hermione's friendship with Connor mattered to
him, or he would never have tried to compel her belief in the first
place. And it seemed as though he was close to inflicting a few more
months of wear and tear on that friendship.

Harry caught sight of Ron, frozen on the stairs, and looking as though
he didn't know whose side to take. Harry made a silent appeal to him for
help, and Ron shook his head, but jogged over.

``Hey, mate,'' Ron said, putting a hand on Connor's shoulder. He spared
the obligatory scowl for Draco, but was more focused on Connor, for
which Harry was grateful. ``Maybe making it a joke wasn't the best thing
you could have done with Hermione.'' He shrugged. ``It worked with me,
but I'm different.''

``You're a \emph{boy},'' Hermione uttered direly, as if that explained
everything.

Ron glanced at her nervously, then looked back at Connor. ``Yeah, and
girls want apologies,'' he said.

``I apologized.'' Connor looked stubborn.

``Not the right \emph{way.}'' Hermione stamped her foot.

Harry shot a quick glance around the Gryffindor common room. He saw
interest on many faces, but not a whole lot of sympathy. He sighed. It
seemed that he had assumed Connor'd made much more progress here than
was actually the case.

``Connor, can you apologize the right way, please?'' he asked. ``It
won't take all that much more time, and then I think Hermione would
think of you better.'' He looked at Hermione, to see if this was
actually the case.

Hermione nodded. ``Well, a little, anyway,'' she added. ``And then it
wouldn't be a bloody \emph{joke} to him.''

Harry winced. When Hermione swore, things were serious.

``But I apologized,'' said Connor. ``I don't see why I should have to do
it twice.''

``You apologized to me more than once,'' Harry said quietly. ``Connor,
she's one of your best friends---or she was. Please?''

Connor glared at him, then at Hermione, then at Ron, who just nodded
slightly, instead of giving him the support for only one apology that he
obviously wanted. Connor sighed huffily.

``All right, I'm sorry,'' he said. ``There. Is that enough?''

Hermione eyed him for a long moment. Then she said, ``Maybe. If you
still mean it in the next week, then I'll accept it.'' She turned and
glanced at Harry. ``Thank you, Harry, for making your brother see
sense.''

She went off, head held high. Harry shook his head at her back and
glanced back at Connor. ``Rocky road, then?''

Connor tightened his lips for a moment. Then he said, ``She just wasn't
in the right mood to hear it joked about, I guess.''

``Wonderful. A deduction that didn't come from either Granger or
Harry,'' Draco drawled from his corner of the couch. ``I sometimes have
hope that you use your brain for something other than screaming at your
brother about Quidditch games after all, Potter.''

Connor flushed further, and took a step forward, as though he would go
around the couches to get at Draco. Harry stepped in front of him, and
Ron tightened the clasp of his hand on Connor's shoulder.

``Don't, mate,'' he said. ``He's not worth it.''

``I heard that, Weasley,'' said Draco. ``I am \emph{too} worth it.''

``Will you \emph{shut up}?'' Harry appealed to Draco, and then faced
Connor. ``Please, Connor. You know what Draco's like. And you know what
Hermione's like.'' He paused, considered rephrasing the question, and in
the end decided he had to know what Connor's answer would be when it was
phrased exactly like this. ``Why did you apologize to her that way, when
you knew she wouldn't take it well?''

``I apologized to Ron that way, and he took it well,'' Connor defended
himself.

``But he's not the same person as Hermione,'' Harry pointed out,
controlling his exasperation with an effort. ``Never mind that he's a boy
and she's a girl, she's a \emph{different person}, Connor.''

Connor bit his lip. Harry could see him struggling with the temptation
to admit that he knew that, to admit that he'd been wrong, and that his
stubbornness was once again costing him one of his friendships.

But it seemed that he wasn't quite ready to admit that, at least in
front of everyone else. Harry thought he would have done it if they'd
been alone. Instead, he raised his chin and said, ``Why can't anyone
just take a joke?''

``That's what we've been wondering,'' said a voice from behind Connor
and Ron. ``Many times a day, I say to myself, Fred, why can't anyone
just take a joke?''

``That's right,'' said a second voice. ``And I say to myself, George,
\emph{anyone} ought to be able to take a joke, especially people who
complain about others not being able to take a joke.''

``Right,'' said Fred's voice. ``And when they don't---''

``Then we show them up. Ready, Fred?''

``Ready, George. \emph{Exhibeo!}''

Connor's robes, and the clothes under them, abruptly shimmered and
turned transparent. He gave a shriek and tried to cover himself,
hunching over as though he thought that would protect him. It couldn't
protect him from the shocked laughter already ringing out across the
common room, of course, laughter that even Ron was apparently having
trouble refraining from joining in. Of course, he turned around in the
next moment and bellowed, ``\emph{Fred! George!}''

``Yes, Ronnie-kins?'' asked one of the twins. Harry, pulling off his own
robe to toss around his brother, saw them both standing behind Connor
and grinning like idiots. From the voice, he thought it was Fred who
responded. ``Did something happen to one of his friends that ickle
Ronnie-kins doesn't like?''

Ron bellowed and ran at them. The twins nimbly dodged his fists and ran
off around the common room, heading for their own room. Ron made it as
far as the stairs before he slipped on something that definitely hadn't
been there when he came down and slid back into the common room.

``Anyone should be able to take a joke, Ron,'' George called back down.
``Remember that!''

And then they slammed the door of their room behind them, cutting off
their own congratulatory chortles..

Most of the people in the common room were still laughing. Harry tuned
them out and bent over Connor. ``What is it?'' he asked. ``Something on
your robes, or on your skin?''

``Must be my robes,'' Connor whispered back. ``I th-thought they felt a
little heavier this morning, but I didn't know what---'' He turned his
face away, breathing hard, so deeply embarrassed that Harry thought it
would be cruel to make him speak again.

He felt a small round object in one of Connor's pockets, and levitated
it carefully out; he didn't \emph{think} touching it would make his own
clothes go transparent, but he couldn't be sure. He examined it as it
floated in front of him. It looked like a gray stone, probably an
ordinary pebble, imbued with a spell Harry had never seen before. It
would be the spell to turn clothes transparent when the command word was
uttered, Harry was sure. He scowled. There was no denying the twins were
magical prodigies, but why did they have to pick on his brother, of all
people?

``It's gone now,'' Connor whispered, shrugging off Harry's robe.
Underneath, his own clothes were back to normal. ``Thanks.''

Harry nodded, then turned and looked at the little pebble. Drawing his
will up wasn't a problem under the circumstances, and the pebble cracked
clean through and shattered.

He caught Connor's wide eyes and shrugged. ``At least they'll have to
make another one if they want to do that to you again,'' he muttered.

``Thanks,'' Connor repeated, and then closed his eyes, his cheeks
reddening further at the furtive snickers still sneaking around the
common room. ``I think you'd better go, Harry.''

Harry sighed. He agreed. Their visit had been an unmitigated disaster.
He nodded to Draco, who popped to his feet and dusted off his robes as
though dusting loose all the Gryffindor diseases he was sure to get from
sitting on Gryffindor furniture. Luckily, he followed Harry without much
prompting, and without, most importantly, saying anything until they
were outside the portrait.

Then he said, ``I \emph{told} you he was still being a prat.''

Harry scowled. ``You made it worse,'' he said. ``Well, you, and
Hermione, and the twins.'' He started back to the dungeons at a pace
that forced Draco to hope and scrabble to keep up.

``Really?'' Draco echoed mockingly. ``All of us? None of this would have
happened in the first place if your brother weren't so stubborn, Harry.
I'll grant you he's changed a little, but I don't think it'll be enough
until he changes towards other people and not just you.''

``He made a mistake,'' Harry muttered, knowing he sounded sulky, and not
caring.

Draco gripped his arm, forcing him to stop. ``Yes, he did,'' he said
calmly, meeting Harry's eyes. ``And the sooner you make \emph{him} see
that, the better off everyone will be.''

Harry nodded. Perhaps he \emph{did} need to have another talk with
Connor, before all was said and done.

He ignored the worm of doubt that was squirming at him, the part of his
mind laughing in the same taunting voice as before.

\emph{You don't want to admit that it's} Connor \emph{who's the problem,
not everyone else. You don't want to admit that maybe} Connor \emph{just
isn't what you want him to be---not smart enough, not perceptive enough,
not talented enough yet, not committed to all the things that you think
he ought to be committed to.}

``Shut up,'' Harry muttered, glad that Draco would only think he was
talking to Sylarana.

\emph{Actually, I agree with your thoughts this time,} Sylarana said
primly in his head. \emph{You'll have to shape and mold Connor himself,
not just the others, if you want him to be a leader.}

Harry nodded quickly. He'd never doubted that, he reassured himself. Of
course Connor needed practice. Of course he knew this would take time.

But he would never think that his brother just wasn't the right
\emph{person} for the task. The Boy-Who-Lived was going to be important
to the wizarding world, like it or not, by simple virtue of who he was,
and Harry would much rather that it be a good importance than the kind
of importance that would make the \emph{Daily Prophet} attempt to smear
him and call him mad, the way they had done to Headmaster Dumbledore in
the past. He would be their hero, or he would be their scapegoat. They
weren't just going to forget about him.

\emph{Maybe he just isn't right for this task at all, and you should
abandon your hopeless efforts to make him so.}

Harry threw that thought through one of the holes in his mind not yet
filled with the Occlumency fog. There were some things he refused to
think.

\chapter{The Past Comes Home to Roost}\label{chapter-25-the-past-comes-home-to-roost}

Harry let his breath out slowly, and didn't know if he was doing it in
the physical world or in the dream. All he knew was that he was
\emph{going} to figure out what these two dark figures meant this time,
or wake up trying.

Still they hovered before him, exactly the same as always---solid
figures filled in with black, not silhouettes that might reveal details
of their features, nor yet people that he could examine and identify.
One curled into a small space and cried, his voice so wracked with pain
that Harry thought he must be mad by now. Was that a vision of Azkaban?

If so, he didn't know why he would be having it, but then, he had never
understood his dreams. He'd had dreams about Quirrell last year, too,
and he had not understood why they would come to him and not Connor.

The second figure writhed on outlines Harry had finally decided,
tentatively, made up a bed. His whimpers were louder, and he definitely
had more room than the cramped figure on the left, but Harry could tell
no more than that. What was he in pain from? Harry didn't know that,
either.

\emph{Well, I have to figure it out.}

If his dreams about Quirrell had been warnings, then perhaps these
dreams were, too. And Harry was certain that he wanted to grasp the
warning in time. It would do less than no good if he learned it too
late. He would blame himself forever if something happened to Connor
that he could have prevented.

The dark figures abruptly vanished. Harry frowned. Was he waking up?

But he remembered, then, when and how that had happened before, and he
was ready when Tom Riddle came slicing into his mind like an angel of
vengeance.

Harry ducked and dodged and rolled around him, in constant motion,
luring Riddle towards the center of his Occlumency shields. He would
prefer to bewilder the boy in fog than call up his magic and drive him
out of his mind again. He had no wish to wind up in the hospital wing.

Part of him marveled at how calm he was being about it all.

\emph{Well. I can panic when I'm awake.}

``Hold \emph{still}!'' said Riddle, his voice a whipcrack, as he flew
around Harry, attempting to grab him. Harry ducked again, and he heard
Riddle let out an audible, huffing breath. ``Or are you too frightened
to stand your ground?'' he taunted.

``That only works with Gryffindors,'' Harry pointed out, and then called
on Sylarana.

She was beside him in a moment, a hissing vibration that seemed to run
all along the webs. Well, she was deeply entwined into them, Harry
thought, as he stopped to catch his breath and rest his mind. She would
be able to defend him almost as well as he would himself.

Sylarana lunged at Riddle, twisting the webs up around him. Riddle
reached down as if he would shred and tear them again.

\emph{No}, Harry thought, and the thought rang like a bell in his head.
\emph{No. I cannot afford to let him do this, not again, not when I'm
finally making some progress with Connor.}

This time, it was not darkness but light that answered from the depths
of his mind, red and gold like fire, and singing like---like nothing
Harry had ever heard, but like something he wished to hear again. The
light and the song together struck Riddle and simply blotted him out of
Harry's mind. Harry was left alone, blinking, in his own head. Sylarana
twined around him and hissed at him to wake up.

Harry sat up in his bed, feeling it wrong that the room was still dark
around him. It had been so bright in his mind.

Sylarana stirred on his shoulder, and said, in a voice loud enough to
wake his Housemates, ``\emph{He came for the box. He was aiming for it.}''

Harry nodded. He had not been able to see that, not in the chaos of
battle, but he had guessed it. He was more interested in something else,
though. ``What was that light and song in my head? Did you cause that?''

``\emph{I had nothing whatsoever to do with that,}'' said Sylarana, and
performed a looping motion with her head and tail that Harry had learned
was her equivalent of a shrug. ``\emph{I would not have arranged for a
defense so showy.}''

Harry chuckled, but most of his mind was busy with the voice---the
singing voice, not Tom Riddle's. There had been little surprise in
Riddle's attack. Harry supposed it was valuable to know he was still
there, still a threat.

``I know I've heard something sing like that before,'' he whispered.
``What?''

``\emph{I don't know, and I don't care.}'' He could feel Sylarana sliding
gently through his mind, poking at the webs. ``\emph{It doesn't look as
though you've taken any damage. Go back to sleep. I certainly will.}''

Harry nodded, absently, and then lay back down. He would have to go to
Dumbledore tomorrow, and tell him about the attack. Perhaps he could
also ask the Headmaster what the flaring light in his mind might be.
Snape could, possibly, know, but if he had seen this radiance before and
simply refused to tell Harry that it was there, then he had his reasons
for keeping silent. If he hadn't seen it\ldots{}

Harry wondered where it could have been hiding, even as he fell back
asleep at last.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Professor Lockhart, I need to go see the Headmaster,'' said Harry in
the middle of Defense Against the Dark Arts the next day, and yet
another quiz on yet another one of Lockhart's interminable books.

The professor's head jerked up, and he stared worriedly at Harry. Harry
blinked, then smiled. \emph{He probably thinks that I'm going to tell
Dumbledore he's a fraud.}

He looked back coolly, and gave the tiniest shake of his head. Of
course, Lockhart would understand that Harry revealing the secret was an
option, should Lockhart displease him.

Such as by keeping him in class when he asked to see the Headmaster.

Harry could see the exact moment when Lockhart figured it out. He waved
a hand at Harry. ``Off you go, then,'' he said. ``But you'll miss the
next exciting revelation from \emph{Year with the Yeti.}''

``I'll try to hurry back, then, sir,'' Harry said, not letting any of
his sarcasm into his voice, and ignoring Draco's gaze on his back, too.
He could tell Draco what was happening later, if and when the Headmaster
said he could.

Harry was rather proud of himself for that thought, he acknowledged as
he slipped through the halls towards the Headmaster's office. He was
being more responsible, more like an adult than he had been in some
time. He was letting Connor go on at his own pace with making friends in
other Houses. He wasn't \emph{entirely} pleased that the first Ravenclaw
friends Connor had chosen were Gorgon and Jones, the bullies who had
harassed Luna the first day Harry met her, but he could hardly forbid
his brother from extending the hand of peace to certain people. They
were responding better to him than they ever had to Harry, that was for
sure.

\emph{Like calls to like}.

Harry started, thinking that had been one of his own, angry, odd
thoughts, and then recognized Sylarana's voice. He frowned. He hadn't
known she could hide so deeply in his mind that she sounded exactly like
him.

\emph{Stop that,} he reprimanded her as he reached the gargoyle and
began trying out various sweet names to open the door to the
Headmaster's office.

\emph{Why should I?} she asked. \emph{There are things you need to hear,
things you will barely acknowledge when I say them. But when your own
mind throws them at you, then you respond.} He felt an odd rustle, as
though her place in the webs was shifting. \emph{And there's that dark
corner where you've been throwing everything lately. You're not to throw
any emotion in there again.}

Harry ground his teeth. His temper could still surge with frightening
quickness, when he let it. ``Fizzing Whizbees,'' he said, and the
gargoyle leaped aside. He stepped onto the staircase. \emph{I have to
get rid of them somehow, Sylarana.}

\emph{Why? Because you might listen to them otherwise, and begin to make
your own decisions?}

\emph{You don't have the right to say what I should put where.}

\emph{Yes, I do,} she said, and then she shifted the corner where Harry
had started to pile his irritation and anger, locked behind one of the
Occlumency fog-shields in his mind, and he couldn't feel it anymore.

\emph{You're annoying.}

\emph{I'm practical. And always right. You would do well to remember
that.}

Harry shook his head and knocked on the Headmaster's door. He had more
important things to think about than an argument with his snake right
now. He was being responsible. He was telling Dumbledore about something
that might become a threat to his brother before it could manifest as a
threat.

``Come in, Mr. Potter.''

\emph{How does he do that?} Harry wondered, but he knew a few simple
spells on the staircase were all it would take. He dismissed the
question as likewise unimportant and opened the door.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk with a Pensieve in front of him, and his
beard dripping with the silvery liquid that filled the bowl. Harry
smiled in spite of himself. He must have interrupted the Headmaster just
as he was reliving a memory. Judging from the smile on his face, it had
been a pleasant one, and not one related to the First War. Harry was
sorry for stepping in, but he really didn't think he should wait.

``Sir---''

A trill interrupted him. Blinking, Harry turned his head and watched
Fawkes fly over to him, landing on his shoulder and lowering his head so
that his beak brushed Harry's chin. Sylarana complained and shifted out
from beneath the phoenix's talons, but did not actually dare to bite
him. Harry raised his hand and smoothed slowly down the shimmering
feathers.

Fawkes chirped at him, eyes brilliant, and then abruptly loosed a short
phrase of song that made Harry snap straight.

\emph{That was it. That was the voice that I heard in my head last
night. It was a phoenix singing. Was Fawkes somehow watching over me in
my sleep?}

``My familiar seems to have taken quite a shine to you, Mr. Potter,''
said Dumbledore, chuckling. ``He only lets people he likes touch him.
Now, was there something you wanted to see me about?''

Harry ceased blinking at the phoenix for a moment and sat down in one of
the chairs in front of Dumbledore, Fawkes a warm weight on his shoulder.
``Yes, sir. Tom Riddle attacked me again last night.''

Dumbledore's face became grave at once, and Harry was surer than ever
that he had interrupted a happy moment. The Headmaster sighed, and his
blue eyes pinned Harry with the gaze of an old warrior. ``I see. And
were you able to send him from your head again? Or do you fear that he
remains lodged in your thoughts?''

Harry shook his head. ``Something else sent him away from my head, sir.
A flash of flames, and a voice I didn't recognize until I heard Fawkes
sing.'' The phoenix gave another trill, as though responding to his
name. Harry found his hand rising to stroke the feathers again. The
warmth they gave was deep and subdued, like a room where a fire had
burned for a long time. ``I wanted to ask what it meant, if you knew,
sir. Perhaps Fawkes was somehow watching over me in my sleep? Or could
another phoenix have been doing the same thing?''

Dumbledore closed his eyes. Harry was surprised to see that his face
took on an even heavier look, as though the news were unwelcome.

``I do know what it was, Harry,'' he said quietly. ``But I cannot tell
you what spell it was for right now. There were---spells of protection
that your mother asked me to place on your brother when we first
understood that he was Voldemort's destroyer. They are not to activate
except in the last extremity, since they have dangerous effects on the
world around them. We thought you had escaped contamination by them, but
it seems you have not.'' He sighed and opened his eyes again. ``I am
sorry, my boy. This is yet another burden that you must bear in an
overcrowded brain. I would spare you it if I could. I think a Locusta
and Tom Riddle's attacks and Occlumency shields quite enough.''

Harry nodded slowly. ``Can you tell me why it had a phoenix's voice,
sir?''

Dumbledore nodded at Fawkes. ``As Fawkes is my familiar, he had some
influence on the spells as they were cast. There is a remnant of that
influence within you, Harry. It will be even stronger with your brother,
of course, given that his wand actually contains one of Fawkes's
feathers, and so does Voldemort's wand. I am sorry,'' he repeated. ``We
wished to preserve you from the possible dangers of sharing this kind of
bond with your twin, but since you \emph{are} twins, and not only
brothers by blood, the connection is extremely hard to block. It seems
so far that the bond has protected you only, and for that I am pleased
and grateful. But please do not rely on it.''

Fawkes uttered a low croon this time. When Harry looked at him sideways,
he found the phoenix's head bowed, pressed against his neck so that it
was difficult to see anything but his beak. A moment later, gentle wet
drops fell onto Harry's neck.

``Fawkes?'' Harry asked, wondering if he had somehow hurt or upset the
phoenix. He didn't think so, as he'd only been sitting there, but he
didn't know very much about phoenixes, either.

Fawkes lifted his head, and Harry could see that his eyes were filled
with tears. They fell on his shoulder as he watched in fascination, warm
and soft and smelling slightly of spring flowers. Fawkes laid his head
against Harry's temple and wept.

``A phoenix's tears heal,'' said Dumbledore quietly. ``I believe that
Fawkes is attempting to heal you of spell contamination.''

The phoenix gave a low musical sound that might or might not have been
agreement, and shifted a little closer to Harry. Harry turned his head
slightly away. This close, the heat was stifling, and Fawkes's golden
tail-feathers brushed along his cheek like the very touch of fire.

``Not too close, Fawkes,'' said Dumbledore. ``Mr. Potter needs to be
able to breathe.''

Fawkes uttered a loud chatter that Harry couldn't take for anything but
a scolding, and continued to weep for a few moments. Then he lifted and
flew back to his perch. Harry rubbed his shoulder gingerly. It wasn't
scalded. He hadn't thought he would find it so, but the imprint of the
phoenix's talons lingered anyway, as though Fawkes were still sitting
there.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. ``Given that we cannot trust the spell
contamination to protect you again, Harry, I think it is time to turn to
weapons that can.'' He leaned forward and stared intently at Harry. ``You
must understand how important this is. Voldemort \emph{must not} be able
to turn you against your brother.''

Harry opened his mouth to say that he would never turn against his
brother, then shut it again. That was the whole point of Dumbledore
phrasing his statement the way he had. Voldemort had proven that he
could turn Harry without Harry knowing in his conscious mind that he was
being turned.

Dumbledore reached behind him and drew forth a long, slim sword from a
glass case on the wall that Harry hadn't even noticed. He held it
solemnly towards Harry. ``This is the Sword of Gryffindor,'' he said.
``When Tom Riddle was a student here, he several times took books from
the library that contained information on the Founders' artifacts, and I
believe that he tried to, ah, \emph{acquire} the sword several times
before he was finally convinced not to try again.'' Dumbledore's eyes
gleamed, and Harry wondered for a moment just who had convinced him; he
thought he knew. ``I believe he was interested in it for a reason. It is
a powerful artifact. Do you think you could use it to defeat him?''

Harry hesitated for a long moment, meeting Dumbledore's eyes, then
reached forward and curled his hand around the hilt of the sword.

He snatched it back a moment later, gasping, and stared at the red
center of his palm. This time, he thought grimly, he knew the difference
between the gentle heat that Fawkes shed and true fire. His hand was
already beginning to blister. He shook it and tucked it into his lap,
shaking his head at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's eyes were narrowed speculatively. ``I see,'' he said
quietly. ``Well. I am sorry, Harry. I am not entirely sure what
happened.'' He turned and put the Sword carefully back in the glass
case. ``Perhaps it would not be a good choice, anyway, given the damage
that Tom Riddle has already inflicted on your mind and how close he has
come to winning over you. It would not do to give him what he wants.''

Dumbledore was diplomatically not mentioning how much the sword had hurt
him, Harry thought, and certainly not \emph{why.} He gritted his teeth.
He thought he knew. \emph{I'm not meant to be a Gryffindor.}

``Sir,'' he said, ``Sirius gave me a gift for Christmas that he found
among the Black family treasures. He said it was an armband that was
supposed to amplify a Parselmouth's power. He did say that the Order of
the Phoenix had tried to use it during the First War, against Voldemort,
and it didn't do anything.'' Harry let out a long breath. ``But I'm a
Parselmouth, sir.''

\emph{Make sure you remember it,} came Sylarana's stern voice in his
head.

``Could I try that?'' Harry asked.

Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment in silence. Harry could almost
feel the tenor of his thoughts. \emph{A Slytherin, with serpent magic.
That does not mean he is evil. And yet, the Sword of Gryffindor burned
him.}

Dumbledore nodded in the end. ``Yes, I think that would be an excellent
candidate, Harry,'' he said cheerfully. ``I don't think Sirius is busy
right now. Would you like to go to his office? I will grant you special
permission to be out of classes myself.''

Harry thought about it, then decided he had better. He had an Occlumency
lesson with Snape that night, and most of the material they were
covering in their other classes was what he had already learned on his
own. ``Yes, sir. Thank you.''

Dumbledore smiled and waved him on his way. Harry slid out of his seat,
inclined his head, and set off.

Fawkes trilled once more to him before he left the office. Harry met the
phoenix's dark eyes and saw they were sad again, glimmering with tears
that Fawkes did not seem inclined to let fall.

\emph{He certainly is a sorrowful bird,} Harry thought as he shut the
door behind himself. \emph{Not at all what I expected of a phoenix, and
especially Dumbledore's familiar.}

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``\emph{Protego!}''

Harry waved his wand and cast the spell perfectly, enunciating every
syllable with what he knew was total control. The armband was clasped
snugly around his upper left arm. He could feel it as he waved his wand.

Nothing happened. The shield simply snapped into place and hovered there
in front of him.

``\emph{Finite Incantatem,}'' said Harry, disgusted, and watched the
shield fade.

``Well, not defensive magic, then,'' Sirius murmured soothingly from the
other side of the office. ``We can try medical magic next. You said that
you knew a few of the spells for that?''

Harry nodded. He was becoming more and more frustrated. No matter which
spell he cast, the armband did \emph{nothing} to help his magic---or to
hinder it, from what he could see. He performed every spell exactly as
normal.

So far they'd gone through hexes, jinxes, simple household cleaning
charms, most of the spells that Harry knew to affect someone else in a
gentle way such as sending them to sleep, and now most of Harry's
defensive spells. He supposed medical magic might be it. For all they
knew, Sirius's ancestor who was a Parselmouth could have been a
Mediwizard.

\emph{Not much use in battle, though, unless Connor falls dying at my
feet,} Harry thought morosely.

Before he could begin the spell to remove boils, he heard a grumbling
sound. Surprised, he looked down and blinked. He supposed he \emph{had}
missed dinner, but usually his stomach didn't complain so loudly about
it.

``Thought that might happen,'' said Sirius, and ducked, rummaging behind
his desk. He came up with a pair of apples, one of which he bit into
himself. ``Catch,'' he added, and tossed the other in an arc that Harry
knew would fall far short of him. His godfather's idea of a prank to
lighten the mood, probably.

Irritated, Harry cast \emph{Wingardium Leviosa}, both wandless and
nonverbal, to pull the apple to him.

The armband grew warm around his skin, and then the apple soared across
the office and smacked into the wall beside him. Harry turned to stare.
He found the fruit actually \emph{embedded} in the stone. He lifted a
hand and tugged gently at it. It was no use. It didn't move.

Harry stared some more, then licked his lips. He glanced at Sirius, who
had his mouth open, some pieces of half-chewed apple still visible
within it. When he became aware of Harry looking at him, Sirius shut his
mouth and shook his head.

``Well,'' said Sirius. ``I suppose we know what kind of magic your
armband works with now.''

``Wandless,'' said Harry. ``Or is it only wandless and nonverbal?'' More
carefully this time, he looked at the apple in Sirius's hand.
``\emph{Accio} Sirius's apple.''

Once again, he felt the warmth, and then a wild surge of power. The
apple darted out of Sirius's hand and towards him. Harry barely caught
it in time. He bit into the side that Sirius hadn't touched, feeling
vindicated.

``That's mine,'' said Sirius, but it was a mild protest. He was still
staring cross-eyed at Harry. ``That's it, then,'' he breathed. ``None of
us thought to try it with raw magic, or wandless. Of course, none of us
could perform wandless magic but Snape anyway, and like we were going to
trust \emph{him} with something like this. And perhaps it really does
work only for wandless magic performed by Parselmouths.''

``\emph{Yes},'' Sylarana said abruptly, making Sirius jump badly as she
emerged from the collar of Harry's robe and slithered under his sleeve
to nudge at the armband. ``\emph{It is no accident that it bears the
image of a serpent, and that the black coating is made of scales. It was
made to call only to the magic that other wizards considered Darkest and
most primal, magic performed without a wand in the minds of those who
could speak to beasts.}'' Sylarana flicked her tongue out, and Harry felt
it against his skin, still warm from the armband. ``\emph{But that is
only the knowledge that comes from the thing itself.} Beasts,
\emph{indeed. Something like the basilisk is. But some of us are more
civilized.}''

``What did she say?'' Sirius's voice was still incredulous, as though he
couldn't believe he was asking what a snake had to say.

Harry translated, looking away from Sylarana so he couldn't accidentally
speak Parseltongue. ``She says that---that the serpent in the band is
calling out to the serpent in me,'' he added, as Sylarana hissed at him
again.

Sirius sighed and closed his eyes. Harry tensed, wondering if his
godfather was about to say something about no Potters before him ever
having a trace of serpent in them. Hard as Sirius was trying to
understand, Harry didn't trust him not to make an unfortunate remark.

Sirius came forward abruptly and embraced him. ``Don't look at me like
that, Harry,'' he whispered into his ear. ``Lily explained everything to
me. It's \emph{fine}. I'm living proof that you can grow up with a touch
of the Dark in you and still turn out fine. And Peter came from a good
home, was wonderfully taken care of and pampered and spoiled and had all
our friendship, and look where he is. In Azkaban.'' His hands tightened
on Harry's shoulders. ``I won't reject you again, I swear it.''

Harry breathed out shallowly and nodded, daring to hold Sirius back. He
forced his mind past the moment, to concentrate on what really mattered.

\emph{At least I have a weapon to use against Tom Riddle.}

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
The boy was unusually distracted tonight, Snape thought, which was
probably the reason that he was able to push past Harry's defenses and
enter his mind so easily. That was no longer a simple task. Of course,
part of that difficulty came from the composite state of Harry's mind,
both so wounded and so healthy, and Snape didn't wish to encourage Harry
to keep it that way. His compliments were few and sparse.

This time, he dodged past the shimmering golden thread that kept the
Locusta in touch with Harry's thoughts at all times, only noting that it
now lit nearly all the webs with its fire, and the locked box, and the
simple well of webs that led downward to Harry's ultimate goal of
protecting his brother. He wished to see how well the specific wounds
that Tom Riddle had left in his battle with Harry were healing.

One of them was nearly gone, he thought with subdued pleasure. The
Occlumency fog had provided a gentle, cool place for the webs to connect
and heal, and if Harry had lost any of his memories there, he would not
be able to tell now. Better an oddly seamless summer or birthday party,
with the nagging feeling that he had forgotten something, than the sheer
gap that it would have been otherwise.

Snape swam on to the most chewed web. This one, the Locusta had taken it
on herself to repair, and that, Snape was not so pleased with. She was
too much a part of Harry's mind, had made herself too integral, for him
to be easy with her. Not even wizards who had familiars let them this
far into their heads.

\emph{Perhaps it is a special case for Parselmouths and magical
serpents,} Snape thought, absently dodging a whirlwind of false memories
that Harry wanted him to look at. \emph{But still, I must speak with the
boy about it. When he can hold all the other wounds shut, then he must
learn to unwind her and function without her help. She is not a good
enough guard against the Dark Lord.}

Snape was drifting towards the third wound when Harry hit him with his
most powerful attack yet, a flung hammer of remembered pain from Tom
Riddle's cutting spells that drove Snape downward. Before he could
recover himself, he found the dark well of the boy's magic before him,
the place all the webs spiraled inward to meet. Snape hurriedly shielded
himself from the pain with a darting, slicing push from his Legilimency,
and floated away from the hole. He had no wish to go into the blackness,
not after feeling the barest part of what Harry could do when he had
battled Tom Riddle in December.

Yet, for a moment, he was looking straight down, and he caught a glimpse
of something that was not darkness. It took his breath.

A glorious web of light ran deep beneath the surface of Harry's
thoughts, glittering with red and gold and sometimes flashes of blue and
white as if it would imitate fire. Snape noticed its intricacies, its
dense patterns, as well as he could while Harry was trying to push him
out of his mind, and thought the web was at least as complicated as all
the others combined.

Then he landed in his chair, sent staggering by Harry's push, and
thought, \emph{No. That is the} guide \emph{for Harry's mind. It anchors
the webs above it. It shows them where to run, like ley lines beneath
the surface of the earth.}

Snape found himself immensely curious about what exactly that made the
web of light, especially since he had never seen it before. He recovered
himself, and found Harry's face gone shuttered and wary, his head
lowered and his eyes a dark instead of a brilliant green. Snape nodded.
He had no chance of fighting his way in again tonight. That was all to
the good.

``What is the web of light in your thoughts, Potter?'' he asked.

Harry blinked. ``You \emph{saw} it?'' he blurted.

Snape sneered. ``Control, Mr. Potter, control,'' he said. ``Yes, I saw
it. If you reveal it when you lower your guard, then I can only instruct
you not to trust me. We \emph{must} guard your mind at all costs if
Riddle is attempting to find his way in again.'' \emph{We cannot have
Voldemort taking over the body and magic of the Boy-Who-Lived,} he
added, but only inwardly. He was glad that he had made the choice not to
try and convince Harry of that again. Harry had dedicated a good portion
of his time lately to making sure everyone thought his brother deserved
the title.

But Harry was shaking his head. ``I don't know what it is,'' he said.
``It showed up in my dream last night when Riddle attacked, and drove
him away. It was gold and red, and sang like a phoenix---like Fawkes.''
He hesitated a long moment. ``Headmaster Dumbledore said it was spell
contamination, from magic that they cast on my brother to protect him,''
he said at last, a question in his voice.

Snape stared at him. \emph{Spell contamination? With the web running at
the deepest levels of his awareness? Not bloody likely.}

But, of course, Dumbledore would have known that. He was a Legilimens
himself, a better one than Snape. He would have seen the web of light
long since, and understood its significance if not its full meaning or
origin.

And yet, he had told the boy this.

Snape wrestled with himself for a long moment. If he spoke the truth,
said exactly what he had seen, he stood some chance of building trust
with Harry. And perhaps he could encourage the boy's mind to heal
further if he told him about this important part of it.

On the other hand, he would be acting against what the Headmaster
evidently wished Harry to believe. He would encourage Harry to distrust
Dumbledore, when that could lead to utter disaster. And he could not say
beyond all doubt what the web was. Perhaps it truly was spell
contamination, from a spell that Snape had never heard of. Dumbledore
was a more powerful wizard than he was, by several orders of magnitude.
Perhaps he was only telling the truth.

Snape met Harry's eyes, and chose the middle road.

``I would not say that is what it is,'' he said carefully. ``On the
other hand, I have never seen anything like it before.'' He did not need
to view the web again, he knew; the sight was burned into his memory.
``You say it sang like a phoenix?''

``The flash that showed up in my dreams did, sir,'' said Harry, head
tilted to the side, watching him carefully.

``And you have never seen it before?''

Harry shook his head.

Snape nodded. ``I will research this, and offer you further answers when
I find the information out. I have none at this time.''

Harry stood watching him for a moment longer, then said, ``Am I
dismissed, sir?''

``You are,'' said Snape, and watched him leave. Then he sighed and
turned to the shelf of books behind his desk. He doubted he would find
anything, but he felt compelled to start the research he had promised
Harry.

\emph{Every time I think this is becoming easier, it becomes harder
instead. Who would have thought a Potter could be so} complicated?

He scowled as what Harry had said about Dumbledore's words returned.

``Old friend,'' he whispered as he opened the first book,
\emph{Side-Effects of the Dark Arts.} ``What have you done now?''

\chapter{Over Easter Holidays}\label{chapter-26-over-easter-holidays}

Draco was fussing and whining about Harry not coming to Malfoy Manor for
Easter, and he'd been doing it since yesterday, so Harry was paying more
attention to his breakfast than Draco when the other boy abruptly
gripped his arm. ``Look,'' he breathed. ``What's \emph{he} doing here?''

Harry looked up, blinking, but saw no one looming in front of their
table; he'd assumed Connor had come over to visit, from Draco's
incredulity. Then he realized Draco was looking upwards. Harry followed
his gaze.

A great horned owl had swept in majestically through the windows,
circling over the tables as though it didn't know its ultimate
destination. The post owls had come and gone, so everyone's eyes were on
it. Harry shook his head slightly. ``You recognize that owl?'' he
whispered to Draco.

``It's Julius,'' Draco said, which wasn't an answer. He still hadn't
looked away from the bird.

``What?'' Harry attempted to convey in that one word that he had no idea
what Draco meant.

``My father's---formal owl,'' said Draco, as though he had looked for a
better way to phrase it and hadn't found one. ``I've only seen him send
Julius with a message once, when he'd argued with Pansy's father and
wanted to talk to him about it. I don't know what it means that he sent
him now.''

Harry watched in silence, and wasn't surprised when Julius swept one
more circle and then alighted on the Slytherin table in front of him.
This close, the bird's size was even more impressive. Harry met the
immense golden eyes under the swept-back tufted horns, and waited.

Julius, never looking away from Harry, extended one talon. Harry took
the small bundle from him and unwrapped it. It was folded in a silken
mesh, woven to be both delicate and strong. Harry had heard of it,
though he'd never actually seen it before. It would have acromantula
silk somewhere in the weaving.

Inside, as he had half-expected---but really, no more than half---were a
piece of parchment, folded in half, and a small green stone. Harry
turned the stone over. It was carved in the shape of a fingernail, and
it wasn't an emerald, though it had the color of one.

He glanced at the parchment, more a note than a letter.

\emph{For Harry Potter, on this first day of spring. May our truce in
the future grow as bright and green as the stone that binds us.}

\emph{Lucius Malfoy.}

Harry smiled thinly and looked at the stone again. Yes, today was the
vernal equinox, the first day of spring. Lucius was following the very
oldest of traditions in sending his truce gifts near the turn of the
seasons; the first had probably even arrived on the winter solstice,
though Harry had still been unconscious in the hospital wing at the
time. By linking the truce gifts to the natural cycle of the solstices
and equinoxes, Lucius demonstrated his sincerity and his earnestness to
make the truce as long-lasting and permanent as the seasons themselves
were.

Supposedly. Harry still did not trust the elder Malfoy to do
\emph{anything} that was not for his own benefit. This was a game. He
was intrigued that Lucius had gone this far, and he knew he could afford
to respond. He would send the next gift in plenty of time to let Lucius
send the fifth gift on Midsummer. He really did not think it would
happen, however. Sooner or later, practicality and prudence would
overcome whatever perverse enjoyment Lucius was getting out of this.

``What does that mean?'' Draco asked, his attention caught. He took the
green stone from Harry and stared at it. ``It's pretty. But what does it
mean?''

``Tell you later,'' said Harry, and scooped the stone back into his own
hand, and then into a pocket.

``Harry,'' Draco whined. ``Tell me what it means.''

``If I do,'' said Harry, standing up from the table to make his way to
Charms, ``does that mean that you'll stop pestering me to go home with
you over Easter?''

Draco pouted. ``Can't I have both?''

``No,'' Harry pointed out.

Draco shut up.

Behind him, Harry heard Julius's wings unfold as he took to the air. It
was an insult to feed or pay a formal owl, so Harry hadn't tried. He
watched as the great bird skimmed to the window and rose out of sight.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Come on, Harry!'' Connor yelled from the bottom of the stairs. He'd
been permitted into the Slytherin common room, though not actually into
the room covered with clutter from five busily packing Slytherin boys.
``Sirius said he'd meet us out in front of the school with his motorbike
in five minutes, and that was five minutes ago!''

Harry scooped the last of his clothes into his trunk and hugged Draco
one-armed. Sylarana was on the other arm, sleeping so deeply that Harry
didn't want to disturb her. Draco turned his head sulkily away.

``I'll see you when the summer term begins,'' Harry reminded him. ``It's
not as if it's that long, Draco. You \emph{know} it isn't.''

``But you could have come to the Manor,'' said Draco. ``You could have
spent time with me outside of school. And you didn't.''

Harry huffed out a little sigh. \emph{This has gone on long enough,} he
thought. \emph{I've tried to be patient, but there's only so much I can
take.} ``I spent Christmas with you,'' he said. ``And last Christmas
with you. And now I want to know what my parents have been keeping from
me, why they didn't come to visit me at Christmas, and what they'll say
to Connor. I've no doubt that I'm due some scolding, too.'' He shook his
head. ``I \emph{need} to see my family, Draco.''

Draco closed his eyes. ``I know,'' he said in a small voice. ``But every
time I lose sight of you, I'm afraid that you might not come back.''

Harry stared at him for a moment. He had not realized Draco was that far
gone down the road of his strange obsession with him.

He reached out, clasped Draco's hand, and said, ``Draco, the enchantment
on the bottle---it's permanent, you know, unless the bottle is broken or
unless something happens to me.''

Draco opened his eyes and fixed them on him.

``If I die, you'll know,'' Harry whispered. ``I promise. The colors will
stop shifting and shining, because there will be no one there to feel
them any more. I know it's not much, but it's knowledge.''

Draco swallowed once, then said, ``All right.'' He looked as if he would
have said more, but Connor yelled from the bottom of the stairs again.

``Harry! Come \emph{on}!''

Harry smiled slightly at Draco and levitated his trunk behind him. He
had to hurry back, though, for the small object and letter he'd hidden
behind the books on his shelf. It would not have been a disaster if he
had forgotten to send them now, but he didn't want to concern himself
with it while he was home.

Connor perked up at the sight of him and gestured Harry grandly towards
the entrance to the common room. ``Come on,'' he said. ``I've been
shouting for you for ages already.''

``I know,'' said Harry, his mind on the object in his hands and on
Draco. He really should have been thinking more about his family, he
knew, and about Connor. Here was the chance to find out the answers to
the questions he'd thought of over the last few weeks and grown steadily
more frustrated about. One way or another, when he returned to school,
he expected to know more than he did now. Even his parents' refusal to
answer the questions would tell him something.

But he thought instead of what Draco had said, and the object in his
hand burned like a hot coal.

\emph{But every time I lose sight of you, I'm afraid that you might not
come back.}

It made sense on one level, Harry acknowledged. He had faced Tom Riddle
this year, and helped Connor battle Voldemort last year, and his life
would be in more danger as the War mounted. But he was worried about
what it might indicate for Draco. How far was he willing to go? What was
he willing to risk, in the impossible---well, impossible at least for
someone with the name of Malfoy---attempt to float between the two sides
of the struggle?

He would have to have a serious talk with Draco when he came back, Harry
thought. He would have to convince him that easing off on their
friendship was the best thing for him. He had been willing to let it
play out for as long as he had because he enjoyed Draco's company, and
enjoyed him for what he was, for being so pure an example of his
particular personality. But it was selfish. He had made another mistake,
just as he had when trying to press Connor's friendships too fast, but
now he would correct it.

\emph{Yet he's not going to take it well, is he?}

Harry sighed. He would still hurt Draco less if he told him now than the
War would.

``Mr. Potter.''

Harry blinked and glanced up. He hadn't realized that Connor had been
talking until he hushed, nor that they were almost out the front doors
of Hogwarts. Snape had stopped them, standing in front of them like a
wall of shadow. A quick sideways glance showed Connor scowling. Harry
wasn't sure if Snape had been speaking to him, but he spoke quickly just
in case.

``Yes, sir?''

Snape nodded at him and extended two slim books. Harry took them
gingerly. They sparkled and crackled with wards that fell still when
they felt the touch of his fingers.

Harry turned them so he could look at their spines, since neither bore a
title on the covers. There were no titles there, either. He lifted
questioning eyes to Snape.

``These are the only books I was able to uncover with information on the
odd phenomenon in your mind,'' said Snape curtly. ``I have sorted
through them myself, but since I have only secondhand information and
not your firsthand experience, it is up to you to make sense of them.''

Harry nodded, dazed. He was amazed that Snape had been this much help to
him. He had assumed the professor would either find nothing or not
report it to him if he did. It was not as though Harry \emph{trusted}
Snape to be anything other than a bastard out for himself.

Snape's lips tightened, and Harry was reminded that Snape could read his
thoughts.

He dropped his gaze and shifted his grip on the books, so that he was
holding them firmly under his left arm. Sylarana still slept on,
thankfully. ``Thank you, sir,'' he said quietly. ``I will study them. I
should have something to report to you after the holidays.''

``See that you do,'' said Snape, and swept away.

Harry continued walking, and Connor had no choice but to follow. He
waited until Snape was probably out of earshot before asking his
question, at least. ``Why did you accept the books from him, Harry? And
why take so long in the Slytherin dorms? I thought you couldn't wait to
be home and rid of all this Slytherin nonsense.'' He gave a dramatic
shudder, as though someone had enchanted serpents to crawl up his legs.
Then he hurriedly patted his robe pockets. Harry hid an exasperated
smile. Connor had developed a nervous habit of that every time he had a
potentially frightening thought, as though he believed the twins would
read his mind and come up with another pebble that did what he'd
imagined.

Of course, not all his exasperation came from that. ``Connor,'' he said
quietly, as they emerged into the sunshine and saw Sirius waiting for
them with the motorbike and Hedwig and Godric in their cages, ``you
should know that I can't forget about this `Slytherin nonsense.'
Wherever I go, I'm Slytherin, at least until I'm out of school.''

Connor gave him an odd look. ``But you don't have to act the same way
you do when you aren't around Malfoy and Snape and all the rest of them.
Why would you keep acting the same way?''

``Do you consider yourself less a Gryffindor because you're out of the
Tower?'' Harry shifted the small object and the letter he held to his
right hand. It was becoming tricky, juggling those things and the books
while trying not to wake Sylarana, but he would be rid of the stone and
the letter in a moment.

``Well---no,'' said Connor. ``But I'm not acting a particular way because
that's my House and that's how people expect me to act. I really
\emph{am} Gryffindor, Harry.'' He gave his brother a winning smile.

Harry could see where this was going, and that it would all end in
tears, and he decided he needed to say it anyway. He had been mistaken
in trying to direct how Connor related to everyone else in the school.
But he could refuse to live up to his brother's misconceptions. ``And
this is how I am, Connor,'' he said. ``I \emph{am} Slytherin.''

Connor froze and turned to stare at him. Harry met his gaze as steadily
as he could. Of course, after a moment, shame overcame him, and he
looked down and away. He could feel Sirius's grin dying as he watched
them, though they were still too far away for his godfather to hear what
Connor said next.

``I thought---then there's something wrong, Harry,'' Connor began
slowly. ``I thought all Slytherins were false and fake and only cared
about money and blood status. I thought most of them were \emph{evil.}''
He bit his lip. ``So either I was right in what I thought earlier this
year and you're evil, or I was wrong about Slytherins. And how can
either be true?''

Harry breathed carefully, his eyes never moving from his brother's. He
had a chance to make this right, as long as he didn't screw it up.
``Connor,'' he whispered. ``Which do you think is true? If one thing or
the other has to be true, which do you choose?''

Connor stared back at him, his eyes widening. Then he said, ``But I
\emph{can't} be wrong about Slytherins, Harry! How can I be? Dad and
Sirius always told me how evil they were!''

Harry closed his eyes and was conscious of his heart beating rapidly in
his ears, over and over again, like the sound of velvet being crushed.
Connor had passed the test. He was on the road that would lead him to
the right conclusions in the end. Harry could hardly speak, he was so
dizzy with relief and joy, but he tried.

``Maybe they were wrong, too,'' he whispered. ``Adults can be wrong, you
know.''

Connor drew breath as if he were about to respond, but Sirius called
out, ``Hey! What's up with the two of you?''

``Coming, Sirius!'' Connor called, and started running. Harry followed
behind him, more slowly. The morning shone around him, and he was no
longer as delicately balanced as he had been. He smiled oddly, knowing
that Sirius and Connor were staring at him, and largely indifferent to
it. He thought he could grow used to feeling his emotions more freely,
if they would always be emotions like these.

He was so distracted that he almost forgot to take Hedwig from her cage,
bind the stone and the letter to her talon, and whisper, ``Take this to
Lucius Malfoy, Hedwig.''

She hooted at him obediently, nipped at his hair, and then jumped into
the air, wings spread wide. Harry watched her vanish, and then climbed
onto the bike as Sirius shrank their trunks.

``What was all that about?'' Connor asked.

Harry smiled mysteriously. He didn't care if it was a smirk. Connor
would have to get used to them sooner or later, now that he had a
Slytherin for a brother.

His mind had wandered back to the package now winging its way to the
Manor, the small red stone, and the simple note:

\emph{If you mean to bind yourself to me in green, then you must first
overcome the blood that has been spilled between our families. I await
your bridge, and send this stone to remind you what you must build it
over.}

\emph{Harry Potter.}

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Harry!''

Harry looked up with a smile of pleasure. Remus had finally joined them;
the full moon, and traveling to the safe stronghold that he kept for it,
had kept him away since the boys arrived, but now he was here. Harry
dropped the book on phoenixes that Snape had given him to read, and
hurtled across the room, wrapping his arms around Remus's waist.

He could feel the werewolf's surprise. Harry was usually much more
reserved than that, especially since Remus was Connor's godfather and
not around as often as Sirius. His hand lingered hesitantly on Harry's
hair for a moment, then smoothed down his back.

``Harry? Are you all right?'' he asked.

``Of course,'' said Harry firmly. ``I just wanted to thank you for
whatever it was that you wrote in your letter to Sirius. It was
brilliant. Thank you. He's been treating me a lot better since he got
it.''

Remus growled slightly. ``And so he should be. If it was anyone else,
then I might have been able to believe the way he was treating you at
first, but \emph{Sirius}, of all people! I'm very glad that he changed
his mind.'' He embraced Harry, actually managing to lift him from the
ground. Harry hid his surprise. He always forgot how strong Remus was
until he actually saw him demonstrate it. ``He told me that he was doing
better, in his letters,'' Remus whispered in his ear, ``but I didn't
know if I could trust him to tell the truth.''

``He was,'' said Harry, and waited patiently to be set back on the
floor. ``And Connor and I have made up.''

``I noticed,'' said Remus, tilting his head slightly. Harry supposed he
was catching the scent of happy camaraderie in the air instead of the
scent of tension and stress and fear, assuming that such things had
scents. ``But what about you and your parents?''

Harry blinked. ``We didn't argue, Remus.''

``You didn't have the chance.'' Remus steered him towards the chair he'd
jumped out of, one of a large number in the Potters' comfortable central
room. When he sat down across from him, Harry realized Remus had wanted
to talk to him privately. He kept his head up, refusing to look down as
he wanted to. He didn't have to hide \emph{everything}; surely not. If
he could be honest with his mother and Sirius, and now his father, then
he could be honest with Remus, too. The intent stare did make him
breathe a little faster, though. ``I want to know,'' said Remus quietly,
``what they said about---about what they've done in the past.''

``How much do you know?'' Harry asked bluntly. This conversation was
going to be impossible unless he knew where he had to tread carefully.

``Almost nothing,'' Remus admitted. ``Lily told me some of it, but then
she kept backing off and saying it wasn't the right time. She promised
to tell me the next time you were home.'' He closed his eyes and sighed,
and Harry saw dark circles under his eyes and a pallor on his cheeks
that he had excused as the effects of the latest transformation. Now, he
wasn't so sure. ``I've been patient, Harry, because you don't just come
out and accuse one of your oldest friends of abusing her elder son---''

``Abusing?'' Harry spluttered. He should have asked their mother to tell
Remus at once, he realized. Then he would not have had ridiculous ideas
like this. ``That's not true at all, Remus! She's given me extra
training. Taught me wandless magic and pureblood customs and so on. It
was all things I \emph{wanted} to learn.''

Remus opened his eyes, and though his gaze was mild, it still felt as if
it cut right through Harry, which he didn't consider fair. ``Why?''

``Why, what?'' Harry rubbed his head. It hurt. ``Why did I want to learn
them? I've \emph{always} wanted to learn things, Remus, you know that.
I'm kind of surprised that I didn't end up in Ravenclaw, come to think
of it---''

``Not that,'' said Remus. ``Why was she training you in it? It would
have made more sense to train Connor, if she really wanted him ready to
face You-Know-Who.'' Then he shuddered. ``Not that I think she should
have done that, either. Connor has time to learn as he grows. It would
be a horrible thing to do to any child, to dedicate his entire life to
learning like that because you fear that---''

Abruptly, he cut himself off and made a strangled noise in his throat.
``Oh, Harry,'' he whispered.

Harry could barely hear him. His head was pounding fiercely, and he
closed his eyes. Behind them, flares and flashes of fire rampaged across
his mind. He felt Sylarana, who had been watching the box closely, turn
with a sudden hiss. She could not stop the agony that grew fiercer and
fiercer, though, or the phoenix song that rang in Harry's ears until he
felt as if all his thoughts were vibrating in sympathy.

``Remus.''

Harry opened his eyes and turned his head, with difficulty. Lily stood
in the doorway between the central room and the entrance hall, her eyes
wide with horror. She shook her head and rushed to Harry's side.

Harry closed his eyes and let himself slip into darkness. It hurt too
much for him to stay awake any longer. Faintly, he heard Sylarana
calling him, but he couldn't respond. The fire was loose, and burning
every corner of him, and over all of it rode the ringing phoenix song.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Harry.''

He heard the voice, but he didn't want to answer it. He huddled in the
center of his bed instead, and sometimes quivered. His head felt hot, as
though fever had hit him with a bludgeon.

``Harry,'' the voice said again. Their mother's voice. ``I've come with
medicine and food for you, but I can't get past until you ask your
Locusta to stop hissing at me.''

Harry forced his eyes open then. Sylarana was on the floor between his
bed and Lily, he saw at once, her head swaying back and forth as she
watched Lily. Her hissing was a steady threat, a stream of words that
Harry could understand. He shivered, because there was none of her usual
teasing tone in them. ``\emph{Come near him and I will kill you. I don't
want to, because you are precious to him, for reasons I cannot fathom,
but touch him and I will bite you. The venom will cause convulsions at
first. Then you begin to lose the ability to breathe. Then it dissolves
your stomach and sets free the acid there. Come near him, and that will
happen to you. Come near him, and I will kill you.}''

``Sylarana,'' Harry called out weakly. He knew from his mother's flinch
that he'd spoken in Parseltongue. But it was the one thing that might
calm the Locusta and move her, so he continued speaking in it. ``Please
let her by. I promise that she's not going to harm me.''

``\emph{She will. She already has. If I had known where you were, I would
have come here and poisoned her years ago. You are my human. I defend
you against other snakes. She is one.}''

``Please,'' Harry whispered. ``I want you to.''

He knew that he couldn't force Sylarana to do it, and he didn't want to
try. He simply concentrated, opening all his thoughts to her, letting
her see that he really didn't want Lily dead. He might be more confused
than before, less sure of his purpose, but he \emph{knew} that he didn't
want to see what would happen if the Locusta bit her.

``\emph{You could look away,}'' Sylarana suggested, but her resolve was
weakening.

``Please,'' Harry whispered.

Sylarana turned and slithered onto his bed, wrapping herself around his
arm again. But she remained present and in sight, tongue flickering
angrily, as Lily approached and set the tray of food carefully down
beside the bed. Lily, in turn, never took her eyes from the snake. She
dipped a cloth in a basin of water, and then held it out to Harry. He
took it and placed it on his forehead. He closed his eyes and sighed.
The coolness soothed the hot ache of the fever somewhat.

``Harry,'' his mother whispered. ``Harry, you must listen to me. I have
medicine for the ache in your head, but first, you need to tell me what
it looks like. What do you see when you close your eyes?''

That, at least, was not a hard question, and Harry was glad to be able
to answer it. ``Flashes of fire,'' he said. ``And sometimes brighter
flashes than others. They were especially bright when Remus was trying
to talk to me.'' He could barely remember what Remus had been talking
about, but he managed to open his eyes, curious to see how Lily would
react. ``And there's a song over all of it. I think it's a phoenix
singing, like Fawkes.''

For the first time in his life, Harry saw Lily panic.

Her body slammed stiff, and her green eyes turned glassy. Then she
closed her eyes and bowed her head. Harry realized a moment later that
she was crying. He would have sat up and tried to comfort her, but the
warm weight of Sylarana on his arm and the agony in his head warned him
not to move.

``Oh, Harry,'' Lily said at last, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
She ignored Sylarana's warning hiss. Harry wasn't sure that she even
heard it, so desperately were her eyes fixed on him. ``This should never
have happened. It wouldn't have, if not for Tom Riddle's attack. That's
torn your mind so badly that the spell contamination is showing up,
climbing to the surface. This is a thing better left buried.'' She
reached out and held his hands. ``I know how to make the pain go away.
Do you trust me?''

Harry nodded without hesitation, then stopped with a soft moan as that
stirred up the pain in his head again.

``Good,'' Lily whispered. ``Harry, do you believe that Connor's
innocence and purity are essential to defeating Voldemort?''

``Yes.''

A good portion of the headache suddenly ceased to bother him. Harry
touched his temple with trembling fingers, but remembered to listen to
his mother. Lily leaned closer to him, and her eyes were the whole
world.

``Do you believe that you would give up everything else if he asked you
to?'' Lily asked.

``Of course.'' Harry was puzzled as to why she was having him repeat the
essence of his vows, but he would do it if it pleased her. Besides, it
was nothing but the truth. ``I not only believe it, I would do it.''

``Even your friendships?'' Lily's fingers traced the bones of his wrist.

``Yes.''

``Even your life?''

``Yes.''

``Even your snake?''

Sylarana hissed angrily, but Harry knew the truth. She had to have known
it, too, if she could see inside his mind and examine his thoughts.
``Yes,'' he whispered. He didn't want to, no more than he really wanted
to give up his friendship with Draco, but Connor came first. That was
still immutable truth. And, when he was with Lily, all the complications
of life outside Godric's Hollow and the excuses he made to himself about
being part of Slytherin House and wanting to stay friends with Draco and
wanting Connor to grow up and all the rest of it melted away. Here was
only simplicity. Here was only faith.

His fever melted.

Lily let out a short, sharp breath. Then she said, ``Good, Harry. That
is good. And now---now I think I need to tell you some things.'' Her
hand skimmed the surface of his forehead, stroking over his scar and
disturbing the cloth. That was all right, Harry thought, never looking
away from her face. He didn't need it any more. He needed far more to
see the truth that made her eyes flare with passion and deep-held
belief. ``There was---there was a prophecy, Harry. A prophecy about
Connor. That's how we know for certain that his goodness and purity are
so essential to defeating Voldemort.''

Harry nodded slowly. He had sometimes suspected something like that,
though never known for certain.

``But prophecies are the wildest form of Divination magic,'' Lily
whispered. ``There's a chance that it might mean different things. It
would still come true, but it could turn out meaning something different
from what it seemed to say the night it was made. In this case, we knew,
from other things in the prophecy itself, that it had to be Connor. And
you're in the prophecy, too, Harry. It's essential that you play your
own role, that of guardian to Connor. Otherwise, he'd pass through
darkness that would destroy the goodness and love in him, and we would
be doomed. And we had to do everything we could to lock you into that
role, to sculpt you that way, so that the prophecy couldn't possibly
wander off and mean someone else, someone we wouldn't know in time to
protect, someone that Voldemort could perhaps kill. \emph{Everything} in
the prophecy had to come true. You \emph{had} to love Connor, and before
everything else. We couldn't take the chance that it would be otherwise.
Do you understand?'' Her eyes grew brilliant with tears now. ``I am so
\emph{sorry}, my son.''

Harry shook his head slightly. The last of the pain had vanished. He
felt calm, and sleepy, and not really inclined to understand what his
mother was apologizing for. ``Of course,'' he said drowsily. ``I
understand. It's what I would have chosen, anyway. I like the way I
am.'' He yawned. ``You could have told me about the prophecy.''

More tears fell from her eyes, then, but Harry didn't understand why,
and in another moment he was asleep, anyway.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Lily drew her hands slowly back from her son's face and settled them in
her lap. She was shaking. That had been closer than either of them
knew---than \emph{anyone} had known. The light and the song in Harry's
mind were weapons of last resort. That they had come so near the
surface\ldots{}

\emph{It was Voldemort's fault,} she reminded herself. \emph{He is the
cause of every evil thing that has happened in this family.}

She opened her eyes to find the Locusta watching her. Its green eyes
were disconcerting. It hissed at her, and sounded angry. Lily stood and
carefully drew back from the bed.

Overwhelming sadness and weariness weighed her down, and she wanted
nothing so much as to leave the room and seek James's comfort. He knew,
now, even as she did. And after long months of argument, during which
she'd had to keep him away from Harry in case the sight of him reversed
James's fragile, necessary decision, she'd finally got him to agree that
matters were best as they stood.

There was Remus to confront, too.

But she could not take her eyes from Harry, she found, and after a
moment she came back to him and placed a kiss on the lightning bolt
scar. It \emph{was} only a scar from a bit of rubble, she reassured
herself. It could not mean anything else. They would not \emph{let} it
mean anything else

She touched the pocket of her robe, and the letter that had come from
Dumbledore. He had spoken of the phoenix song in Harry's mind, and the
fact that he had offered the Sword of Gryffindor to Harry. Perhaps they
had been wrong. Perhaps one last test was needed.

And the Sword had \emph{burned} Harry. The message in that was
unmistakable.

\emph{No}, Lily thought, as she left the room to seek her husband and
her friend, \emph{it does not mean anything else. We chose rightly how
to raise both Harry and Connor.}

\chapter{Father and Son}\label{chapter-27-father-and-son}

Harry woke to the sound of shouting. He blinked and touched his temple.
He felt calm and clear-minded now, though a bit light-headed. After a
few moments of thoughts, he realized it probably came from not having
enough food, and stretched for the tray his mother had left beside the
bed. The bread and the soup were cold, but he would eat them, the way he
was feeling. It was good practice for the future, anyway. He was hardly
going to be able to choose his food on the battlefield.

The shouting intruded on his consciousness again, just as Sylarana
stirred and said, ``\emph{I have wanted to bite everybody who has come
and seen you, except the werewolf.}''

``You haven't bitten anyone, have you?'' asked Harry, hurtled abruptly
into worry as he sipped at the cold soup. Chunks of slimy vegetables
slid down his throat. He tried to ignore them. ``Please tell me you
haven't.''

``\emph{I haven't. Share the soup. The werewolf and your rabbit-father
are arguing now. I hope the werewolf eats him.}'' Sylarana slithered up
his arm and laid her head along the rim of the bowl, tongue flicking as
she sipped at the soup. She gave him one glance out of eyes that had
turned almost the color of his own. ``\emph{How much do you remember of
what happened before you fell asleep}?''

Harry shook his head. ``Not much. I know that my mother confirmed the
existence of a prophecy, and Remus---Remus was angry about something.
What---''

Then the shouting rose loud enough for him to hear it. Harry had assumed
that it was one of Remus's and Sirius's endless arguments about the way
Sirius went out drinking and womanizing. They were one of the constants
when they were both in the house at Godric's Hollow. But now he realized
that it was their father and Remus arguing. He tensed and listened.

``---going to take Harry with me,'' Remus was saying, with a raw anger
in his voice that Harry had never heard before. ``\emph{Merlin}, James,
can't you see that he'll suffer here? I still don't know what Lily's
doing to him, because she backed off when she saw she wasn't convincing
me, but I know that he needs to be taken away. I'm bringing him to
Dumbledore.''

``You don't understand, Remus!'' James sounded as if he'd been repeating
that for a little while. ``I didn't either, at first. But I promise you,
this is what needs to happen. If you would just sit down and let Lily
explain it to you---''

Remus cut him off with a growl. Harry blinked. Remus was \emph{gentle}.
Remus went out of his way to avoid reminding people that he was a
werewolf. That he would do it now was beyond Harry's comprehension.

``Why don't \emph{you} explain it to me, James?'' Remus said, and the
growl was lurking behind his words. ``If you understand it so well, if
she convinced you of it, then explain it to me. \emph{Now, James.}''

Harry heard a solid thump, as though their father had fallen against the
closed bedroom door. ``Remus,'' Harry heard him say helplessly. ``There
are so \emph{many} things that you don't understand, so many things that
have to come true.''

``Name one.''

``You know about the prophecy,'' said James.

``Yes.'' Remus sounded as if he had bitten off the word, and his voice
was closer than before. Harry shivered and hugged his arms, fighting the
temptation to go out there. He didn't know what his appearance might
provoke Remus into doing, though. It sounded as though he had managed to
provoke Remus quite a bit already, though he didn't remember how. ``And I
know that that can't excuse what you've done, James. There was
\emph{nothing} in the prophecy about teaching one son to master wandless
magic by the time he was twelve.''

``That's one of the requirements, though,'' said James. ``Remus, you
were there, that night---you came back before everything had calmed
down---you know what we saw, what we felt---''

``\emph{Damn you, James.},'' said Remus, and Harry flinched. ``Is
\emph{that} what this is about? I thought you'd got over that when you
befriended me in school. How could someone who wasn't afraid of being
friends with a werewolf be afraid of his own son?'' His voice sounded
more weary than angry now. ``Now, step out of the way. I'm taking Harry
with me.''

``Remus, don't make me hurt you,'' James whispered. ``Please. We lost
Peter. I don't want to lose you, too.''

``I might, \emph{might,} be able to forgive you someday if you step aside
now,'' said Remus. ``Let me through.''

There was a long pause, and then the sounds of scrambling. The door
opened in the next moment, and Remus strode into the room. His eyes came
to rest on Harry, and he let out a long breath and came to him,
enfolding him in a hug that made Harry feel decidedly odd.

``You survived,'' Remus whispered into his ear. ``But Merlin knows how
much more of this you can take before you crack. I don't intend to let
you take any more. Come on, Harry. I have to get you out of here.
Dumbledore will know what to do. He's protected people in danger from
their own families before. Come on.'' He started to lift Harry out of
the bed.

Harry resisted, particularly when he found that he wearing only pyjamas.
``I don't understand, Remus,'' he said. ``Why do you think they'll hurt
me if I stay here? I promise, they've never hit me.''

``I know that,'' said Remus, though there was doubt in the back of his
voice that it hurt Harry to hear. ``But they've done other things,
Harry. I don't even know the full extent of them. I just know they're
evil.''

``They're \emph{not},'' said Harry, feeling his headache start again. A
brief explosion of yellow ran across the back of his eyelids. ``If you
understood everything, Remus, you would see that---''

``Put him down, Remus.''

Harry stared over Remus's shoulder. James was back in the doorway,
holding his wand and---something else. Harry frowned. He thought it was
a knife of some kind, but he didn't know why his father would rely on a
knife when he had his wand near at hand.

Remus shook his head even as he turned around, still holding Harry.
``This has gone on long enough, James. I---''

And then he stopped, and made a strangled sound that Harry felt against
his chest and his throat as well as heard. Then he whispered, ``Silver.
You would actually threaten me with silver. James, what has happened to
you?''

Harry recognized the knife in his father's hand then. It came from a set
of ceremonial daggers that Lily sometimes used for drawing runes. It
shed the light in shaky patterns, and Harry thought James's hand was
trembling, but that did not matter. What mattered was that he had it.

And the Marauders had suffered another betrayal. This one was connected
to Harry in some way, though he couldn't remember what had happened. He
began squirming.

``Please, Remus, put me down,'' he whispered.

``Harry, you don't know what you're saying,'' said Remus. He hadn't
moved, but he began to growl now, a sound that made James's hand shake
even harder. ``I can fight my way out.''

``But I don't want you to lose your friends because of me!'' Harry
whispered back fiercely. ``\emph{Please}, Remus. I promise they won't
hurt me. I want you to leave, to get away from here.''

Remus stood still for a long moment. Then, slowly, every motion
obviously made against his will, he lowered Harry onto the bed. He
backed away, hands up, and James changed the angle of the knife and used
it to point the way sharply out the door.

``You don't know what you're talking about, Remus,'' he said, quietly
but firmly. ``And until you do, you can't expect to do anything but
anger the rest of us.''

``I'm going to talk to Dumbledore,'' said Remus, edging out sideways.
``I swear it, James. I think you've gone mad, the lot of you. And he's
the only one who has a chance of bringing you back to sanity.''

``Good,'' said James. ``Speak with Albus. He can explain it to you.''

Remus bared his teeth. Harry had never found them threatening before.
Now, with Remus's head slightly bowed, his amber eyes focused, and a
thick, musky smell like that of a wild animal filling the room, he did.

``If you or Lily hurt him again before we come back,'' said Remus
softly, ``then I promise I'll take revenge.''

James paled. He swallowed several times before he managed to say,
``Dumbledore can explain all of this. I promise, Moony.''

``Don't call me that,'' said Remus, and half-lunged, his teeth snapping
shut on air. James dropped the knife. Remus didn't move closer, but his
gaze was filled with murky emotion that, in turn, filled Harry with
guilt. ``You don't have the right anymore.''

He turned and stalked out, shutting the door behind him. James stayed by
the bed, so silent that Harry could hear the \emph{crack} of Remus's
Apparition a few moments later, when he was outside the wards.

Then James sat down on the edge of Harry's bed and put his head in his
hands. Harry hesitated. He wanted to comfort his father, but he thought
a touch might set him off. He had a previously unsuspected talent for
making people angry, he thought.

``It's all right, Harry,'' James whispered, lifting his head and looking
at him, finally. His hazel eyes were clear, though weary in a way that
reminded Harry of Connor's when he thought he might not be the
Boy-Who-Lived. ``Come here.'' He held out his arms, and Harry crawled
into them, leaning his head against his father's chest and hearing the
strong beat of his heart.

James stroked his hair. Then he said, ``You understand why we have to
keep you here, don't you, Harry?''

``Of course,'' said Harry. ``I don't know what made Remus so angry. I
mean, you \emph{know}, don't you? You know how Mum trained me, and why,
and what kinds of things I learned?''

``Of course,'' said James. ``And it took me months to accept it, and I'm
your father. I'm not surprised that it's taking Moony longer. He's
Connor's godfather, and he's always had---well, kind of a soft heart in
some ways.'' He laughed. The laugh didn't sound sincere. ``But I
understand your training, Harry. I know why it was necessary.''

Harry felt his incipient headache vanish. He nodded, and James's arms
came around him more firmly.

``Lie back in the bed, Harry,'' his father said a moment later. ``I
don't think that you're completely recovered yet.''

Harry let James lay him down, and tuck the blankets around him. That
felt odd, too, if nice. Harry wasn't used to this kind of treatment when
he wasn't sick or severely injured, and then he usually knew what had
happened to land him in bed. This time, he really couldn't remember.

James leaned near him and smoothed his hair down over his forehead, much
as Lily had done the last time she came to see him. His gaze was
completely serious. Harry met his father's eyes, squinting a little as
James shifted around in front of the window and the April sunlight
haloed his face.

``Has your mother ever told you about the capture of the Lestranges?''
he asked.

Harry blinked. ``No. She said it was your story to tell, Dad. Are you
going to tell it to me now?'' He felt his heart beat a little faster. He
had already faced Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange in battle last year,
and had regretted his lack of intimate knowledge about the way they
fought, the spells he could expect them to use, then. It looked as if he
were finally going to get that information. If he faced them again in
battle---and eventually, he thought he would; eventually, all the Death
Eaters would rally to Voldemort's side when he found a way to
return---then this would be good to know.

``Yes,'' James whispered. ``It was just after the attack on us, you know.
You and Connor were still healing when we received word that the
Lestranges had attacked the Longbottoms and tortured poor Frank and
Alice into insanity. Or maybe I should say that \emph{Bellatrix} did
that,'' he added, with a little twist to his mouth. ``Rodolphus was never
as dangerous as she was.''

``The Aurors nearly captured them when they left the Longbottoms' house,
but they managed to Apparate away, and they couldn't trace them. They
turned to me, because they knew that Bellatrix was a Black, and I was
Sirius's friend and had some knowledge of Black family homes where they
might be hiding.''

``Why didn't they send Sirius?'' asked Harry.

James closed his eyes and let out his breath for a long moment. ``That
was---two days after the attack,'' he said. ``And Peter's betrayal hit
Sirius hardest of all. He was in the Ministry when they interrogated
Peter. I don't think he slept for three more days after that. He had to
hear every last detail, every last confession.''

``Well, I didn't. But I wanted---I wanted to \emph{kill} something, hurt
someone. We'd come so close to losing both of you.'' His hand came out
and rested tightly on Harry's shoulder for a second. ``The Aurors gave me
a purpose and a reason to go looking. When I heard about what had
happened to Frank and Alice, I was even angrier. Neville lived, but he
could have died. He was in that much danger. And what if we'd been in
the house when Voldemort attacked, Harry? He would have killed us, too.
You would have been left orphaned. Neville's situation could so easily
have been your own. I wanted Bellatrix squirming and screaming at the
end of my wand. It was the one time in my life I think I was ready to
perform the Cruciatus.''

``I Apparated to a family home that Sirius told me about, a little
cottage in the woods where he and his cousins used to spend the summer
together. No one was there, but I found signs that someone had been, and
a message in a code that Sirius taught me to read. It directed
Rodolphus's brother Rabastan, and anyone else who could read it, to
follow the Lestranges to another safehouse. And this safehouse was one I
knew well, since it was Sirius's home when he was a child.''

``Grimmauld Place,'' Harry whispered, remembering the stories that
Sirius had told him.

James nodded slightly. He still hadn't opened his eyes. ``Yes. So I
Apparated there. I was able to get most of the way into the house before
they noticed me. They'd been expecting company, you see, but of the
Death Eater kind, and they were supremely confident that no one else
could have found them.''

``I dropped Rodolphus while he was still fumbling for his wand. And then
I faced Bellatrix.'' James squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, as
though to prevent the fall of tears. ``And we \emph{fought}, Harry. I'd
never been that angry. I'd never wanted to kill someone so much.''

``But Bellatrix is a powerful witch---''

Harry shivered in remembrance of the curses she'd cast at him, and
nodded.

``And she'd had a lot more practice at that kind of hatred than I had.
She fought me to a standstill, and got me to the point where I thought I
couldn't throw another hex. She laughed at me, and even that wasn't
enough to give me extra strength in my wand hand, though it would have
been when we were still in school.''

``And then she said---she said, 'It should have been me going after your
sons, Potter, and would have been if Wormtail were a bit smarter. I wish
it had been. I enjoy the way that babies scream under the
\emph{Crucio}.' ''

Harry found he could envision it well: Bellatrix standing there and
taunting his father, James with his head bowed but eyes suddenly full of
fire as he listened to the Death Eater.

``What did you do?'' Harry whispered.

``I held her under \emph{Crucio} for ten minutes,'' James responded.

Harry could not help it; he gave a massive shudder, and then raised his
head and stared at his father in disbelief. James was \emph{gentle.} Oh,
it wasn't the same kind of gentleness as Remus's---he would yell and
punish if he had to---but it wasn't their mother's sternness, either. He
was the one who would rather laugh off mistakes than scold for them. And
Harry had never seen him use a curse, only hexes and jinxes on Sirius,
who could return as good as he got.

``What?'' Harry said at last.

``Yes,'' James said. His face had a very strange smile on it. Harry
found that he didn't like it very much. ``I did one of the things she
probably did to Frank and Alice---though knowing her, she varied the
timing of the curse and the intensity of it, so as to break them. But I
think I might have driven her partially insane before she ever went to
Azkaban.''

He shifted closer to Harry, eyes still shut. ``After I brought them both
in, I gave up my position as an Auror. Part of it was necessity, and
that was what I told Sirius and Remus when they asked. We had to stay
hidden behind the isolation wars while we raised you. If the Death
Eaters---excuse me, former Death Eaters---knew where we were, they would
have spared no effort at that point to destroy your brother. Better to
stay close to home, and only venture out to Diagon Alley or elsewhere
when we absolutely had to.''

``But that wasn't all of it,'' said Harry, not having to ask. He knew,
now.

``No,'' said James. ``I'd found something in myself that disgusted me. I
never knew I could torture someone like that. I couldn't believe that,
after I did it, I wanted to do it \emph{again}. I was still shaking with
the urge to make Bellatrix suffer when I handed her over to Alastor
Moody. And the \emph{power} that filled me, Harry, the power was its own
temptation. I knew, then, what kind of magic my grandparents had given
up when they decided to ignore some of the older pureblood customs and
dedicate the Potter line to the Light permanently. It was Dark power.
All purebloods feel it to a certain extent. It's the power that can most
stir up magic, can make it flow through you so that you feel like you
can do anything.''

Harry closed his eyes and sat perfectly still for a long moment,
remembering the magic that had answered him when he fought Riddle in
December.

``The way the older purebloods lived, the dances and the marriages and
all the rest of it, made that power grow,'' James whispered on, his
voice like water murmuring in the darkness. ``It was a way of sculpting
terrifying wizards. They pruned all the ones who couldn't control
themselves, and that's the part most people don't understand; they only
see the exile of Squibs and the scorning of those wizards with average
or lesser power. But they got rid of powerful dunderheads, too, and
those who just didn't fit. Rodolphus wouldn't be alive if the Lestranges
had followed all the old customs, and that Sirius survived being born a
Black is a miracle. Bellatrix would be alive in that kind of world,
though, and Lucius Malfoy. That's the world I looked into when I
tortured her. It's the world that my grandparents gave up.''

For a long moment, he sat there and simply breathed. Harry put out his
hand, and felt his father's heart beneath his fingers, beating as fast
as that of the rabbit Sylarana had called him.

\emph{The rabbit has fangs,} said Sylarana in his head, subdued. \emph{I
am willing to grant him that.}

James opened his eyes, finally, and fixed Harry with his gaze. ``And
it's the kind of world that you would have fallen into, that your mother
and I are afraid you would have fallen into, if she hadn't taught you
dedication to your brother,'' he said. ``The dances wouldn't have been
enough, not if you just learned them by themselves. They're designed to
channel power, but for selfish benefit.'' He grimaced for a moment.
``It's not an accident that so many of the powerful pureblood families
went into Slytherin House year after year, you know.''

Harry bowed his head. ``And so, when I was Sorted into Slytherin, you
thought---''

``Your mother was frantic,'' said James quietly. ``I didn't know about
your training then. But she feared for a little while that all her
efforts had been for nothing, that you were going to be that kind of
terrifying wizard.''

``We see now that you aren't, that your dedication to your brother is
intact.''

Harry nodded, and felt a bright, warm glow fill his heart. He was glad
that his parents could see that. He would have persevered whether or not
anyone else believed in him, because he believed in himself, but it was
nice to have company on a road so lonely.

``And now she's told me everything,'' said James. ``I didn't understand
at first. I even cursed her, if you can imagine that.'' He smiled
slightly and shook his head. ``But she made me remember what I felt when
I captured the Lestranges. I'm not as strong as you are, Harry, and I'd
been trained since I was born to resist temptation, to bow to the Light,
and to be a Gryffindor. And I \emph{still} gave in, even if it was only
for ten minutes.''

He leaned forward and picked Harry up, cradling him against his chest.
``You're stronger than I ever was, son,'' he whispered. ``It is
absolutely \emph{essential} that you never feel what I did, the
temptation to make someone suffer like that.'' He kissed the top of
Harry's head. ``I never want you to be able to cast \emph{Crucio}. You
have to \emph{want} to cause someone else pain to do that.''

``And a more powerful wizard would have more of a temptation to do it,''
Harry whispered, thinking again of Snape, the raw magic he could feel
shifting and snapping under the wizard's tight control. Oh, Snape
controlled it, but it was only too obvious that his shields weren't the
trained ones that Harry had, or the ones based on the dance and
pureblood custom that Draco did. These were reflexive shields, born of
wariness and experience with that power flowing unchecked before Snape
finally dammed it. Harry pitied him, and wouldn't have wanted to be like
him for anything in the world.

``Oh, yes,'' James whispered. ``And since so many powerful wizards were
born to the pureblood families, and they were taught to control
themselves in such a way as gave priority to their families, and damn
anything else\ldots{}''

He wrapped his arms more tightly around Harry. ``I know Remus probably
thinks that we've done the same thing, warping you only to obey your own
family exclusively. But it's the way that Lily chose to control your
power, Harry, the best guide she could give you. And even then, she's
sometimes afraid it wasn't enough. When you fight with Connor, for
example.''

``I might fight with him sometimes,'' said Harry firmly, ``but only
because I want him to succeed. I would never want to be Minister of
Magic or something while he was just an ordinary wizard.''

James nodded. ``She's finally coming to that conclusion. And Dumbledore
will help Remus come to the same conclusion, I'm sure.''

He laid Harry gently back in the bed, and hovered over him. Harry looked
up at his dad, and managed a small smile.

``I'm so sorry that it took me this long to notice,'' whispered James,
trailing a hand over Harry's forehead. ``Lily didn't think I could be
trusted for a long time. And I probably couldn't. I just wanted to
retreat after what I'd done to the Lestranges. I wanted the perfect
family life. I didn't want any reminders of the outside world disturbing
us. So she and you handled the outside world, and Connor and I grew used
to living behind the isolation wards and not thinking of anything but
our family.''

``And now?'' Harry whispered. ``You don't hate me or anything, do you?''

``Of course not!'' said James, sounding shocked. ``I love you. I'm sorry
that you were born into this burden, Harry. I can wish you'd been born
with less magic, or that you had been Sorted into Gryffindor, so that
you could be surrounded by people who are dedicated to the Light and
control their power in a different way, instead of purebloods dancing
their dance. But I know neither of those things can come true. So this
is the best compromise. And the moment Lily managed to make me see what
I had in common with you, that she'd been trying to prevent an
experience like my torturing the Lestranges ever happening to you, then
I understood.'' He sighed. ``I only wish Remus had had an experience
like that.''

``But he's a werewolf,'' said Harry. ``He has to try and keep that part
of himself under control. Couldn't you use that to convince him?''

``No,'' said James quietly. ``That's what we were arguing about before
he tried to abduct you, in fact. He doesn't understand why, if Sirius
and I trained ourselves into Animagi during the school years just to be
with him, we couldn't compromise with your power too.'' He shrugged.
``He thinks we're afraid of you, so much so that we bent and clamped
down on you and twisted you into some foreign shape, instead of
acknowledging your magic and just hoping for the best.''

``But just hoping for the best would have been stupid,'' Harry pointed
out. ``It would have been leaving too many things up to chance.'' He
felt a bit sorry for Remus. He clearly didn't understand the devastation
that Harry's magic could wreak if it ever got out of control.

``I know,'' said James. ``But we'll let Dumbledore convince him.'' He
studied Harry for a moment, his face pensive. ``Are there any other
questions you have?''

``No. But I'm really glad you know, now,'' said Harry, leaning back
against his pillow and smiling sleepily at his father.

James smiled, bent, kissed him on the forehead, and then left the
bedroom, shutting the door gently behind him.

\emph{They} are \emph{afraid of you,} said Sylarana. \emph{And they
should have hoped for the best.}

``Why?'' Harry asked, returning to the soup. ``What if I'd been the kind
of child to get angry at Connor for stealing my toys, and my magic had
exploded and really hurt him?''

Sylarana did not have an answer to that, as Harry had expected. He
finished the soup and went to sleep.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Harry! Harry! Remus is here!''

Harry looked up anxiously as Connor leaped up from reading the latest
Mad Muggle comic and dashed for the door. Remus was ducking in, and he
picked up Connor and swung him around, laughing as his brother laughed.

Harry studied Remus's face as he came nearer, but though Remus smiled at
him absently and embraced him, he didn't seem inclined to stay and talk.
Harry bit his lip, debated on the ethics of it a moment, and then
decided he had to know.

``\emph{Legilimens},'' he whispered, with a flick of his wand, and pushed
gently into Remus's mind.

He saw Remus arriving at the school three days ago, having a cup of tea
with Dumbledore, staying at Hogwarts to talk with the professors for a
time---including Snape, on the progress of the Wolfsbane Potion---and
then leaving again. Harry blinked and pushed back a little further.

He could find no memory of a visit to Godric's Hollow.

Harry understood, then. Dumbledore had \emph{Obliviated} Remus.

He sighed and fell back into his own head, which was beginning to ache,
and Remus glanced at him curiously, mildly. Harry smiled at him, sad
that there hadn't been any other option. Of course, this had kept the
Marauders' friendship from cracking completely, which meant it was the
best course.

``What's wrong, Harry?'' Remus asked.

Harry shook his head, and Sirius came into the room just then, shouting
``Moony!'' and tacking him. Remus laughed and began teasing Sirius about
which one of the female Hogwarts professors he'd been having an affair
with.

Harry went back to his book. It wasn't the ideal solution, of course
not, but it was something that had to be done.

\emph{Liar}.

That could have been any one of the voices in his head. Harry wasn't
going to bother figuring out which one. He knew the truth, knew what was
really important, and was sorry for what truths and ethics had to fall
between the cracks. That was just the way it was. That was the way he
had to live.

\chapter{Home Is The Hunter}\label{chapter-28-home-is-the-hunter}

Thank you for all the reviews! Responses on my LJ later. Sorry this
chapter is late, but I couldn't log in; in the future, if there's a
problem with that, the chapter will be on my LiveJournal.

This is the first chapter of five that are heading towards the end of
the story; from the end of this chapter forward, they all take place on
the same day. The tension is going to go \emph{spang}. I can promise you
that.

\textbf{Chapter Twenty-Seven: Home Is The Hunter}

Harry wound down at last. He sat back on his bed and wondered what Draco
was thinking.

Draco sat on his own bed, his legs folded beneath him, in the same
position he'd adopted since Harry had told him he wanted to talk to him.
He'd listened while Harry recited all the reasons that their friendship
should ease. There were his father's status and danger to Harry, of
course, but there were also the future conflicts that would spring up
between Voldemort's side and Harry's, the fact that Draco was obviously
unhappy being second to Connor in Harry's affections and loyalty, the
pureblood customs that said Draco should really pay more attention to
friends who weren't such political liabilities, Draco's dislike of
Connor, Harry's inexperience, even now, within Slytherin House, and
many, many others.

Harry had spent all the flight back from Godric's Hollow composing them.
He was sure Draco would respond to one of them---to the fondness that he
could sense behind the words, if nothing else. He would know that Harry
wouldn't have wanted him safe so desperately if Harry didn't care about
him. He would agree, because what else could he do?

``No, Harry,'' said Draco calmly.

Harry blinked at him. He had expected a thunderous outburst if he did
get disagreement, tears and shouts that he could ease past, and that
would in themselves lessen the friendship between them by introducing
rifts of distrust. This serene refusal was not supposed to happen.

``What?'' he responded. It wasn't the most intelligent thing he'd ever
said, and the amused smirk on Draco's face let him know it. But the
smirk disappeared in the next second, and he leaned forward, eyes
intent.

``No, Harry,'' he said. ``None of those matter next to my friendship
with you.''

``Family loyalty \emph{has} to, Draco,'' said Harry. ``Remember, I know
well enough what purebloods teach their children.'' The words made him
wince, for some reason. He supposed he connected them to the
conversation with James. He shoved the thoughts away. Whenever he
thought about Godric's Hollow, he felt all twitchy.

``It matters,'' said Draco. ``But so far, Harry, I've managed to contain
the damage that could have caused. And until something actually happens
to split us apart, then I'm staying. Unless you don't mean to give me a
choice, of course. Do you mean to use compulsion magic on me?''

Harry flinched. ``Of course not!'' His voice carried a desperate edge he
didn't understand. Sylarana hissed soothingly on his arm, and Draco
blinked at him, then reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

``Well, then,'' said Draco slowly. ``I still have the right and the will
to make a choice. And I choose to \emph{be} with you, Harry. I choose to
remain your friend until something happens that makes me choose to split
our friendship apart.''

``And what if I betray you?'' Harry whispered. ``What if our friendship
lasts until the War begins, and then I leave to fight at Connor's
side?''

Draco just watched him. Harry couldn't tell what he was feeling, as he
was deliberately keeping every emotion out of his gray eyes. ``Then it
lasts until then,'' he said. ``That's still years more than you would
let me have if I turned my back on you and sulked right now.''

``It's not that I don't want to let you have them,'' Harry said, peering
at Draco. ``It's that---circumstances are forcing this, not me.''

Draco snorted, then, and allowed a frown to cross his face. ``Oh, at
least have the courage to claim your own actions, Harry. You should know
as well as I do that that's not true at all. Circumstances would be my
father trying to kill you, or your brother forcing you to choose between
him and me. No one at all is forcing this but you.''

Harry put his head down, breathing shallowly. ``I just want you safe,''
he whispered.

``I know that.''

Harry glanced up to see Draco holding the bottle again. It shone with
the steady purple color of protectiveness, and the only thing brighter
than it was his smug smile. Harry sighed. ``I should never have given
you that bloody thing.''

``Yes, you should have,'' said Draco. ``It's reassured me more times
than you can know, Harry. And it reassures me now that you aren't doing
this because you've suddenly turned against me in some fiery burst of
hatred.'' He moved over to the bed with one arm still wrapped around the
bottle, and wound the other around Harry's shoulders. He leaned his head
on Harry's and sighed. ``You came back,'' he said. ``I wasn't sure that
you would.''

Harry shook his head. He knew he should be feeling stern and
disappointed, since his attempt to force Draco away hadn't taken. But he
could only smile as he buried his face in Draco's hair and hugged him
back. ``I'll always try to come back.''

``You better,'' said Draco. ``Or I'll come after you and drag you back
myself.''

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. He had meant to give some taunt,
but he couldn't, not when Draco's voice was serene affection undergirded
with layers of steel.

They sat there in silence for a bit longer, until Draco remembered that
he hadn't finished his Transfigurations homework and scrambled for it.
Harry found himself frequently glancing at the bottle as the evening
wore on, as if he needed his own kind of reassurance.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Nothing?'' Snape could not have sounded more disappointed, Harry
thought, if he had confessed that he still wanted to be in Gryffindor.

``Nothing, sir,'' Harry repeated, and handed him the slim books back.
``The only thing I found of interest is that phoenix magic can't be used
in any Dark Arts spells. That means that the web in my mind, whatever it
is, has to be of the Light.''

He blinked when an enormous relaxation flooded his muscles in the next
instant. It was as if he had been carrying a weight he didn't know he
was carrying, and now could let it drop. Was it just the mention of the
web not being Dark Arts that had done it? And why, if so?

\emph{Do not worry about it,} instructed Sylarana. He could feel her
moving and shifting in his thoughts, though he couldn't always tell what
she touched. \emph{I will take care of it. I will take care of
everything.}

``Why did the werewolf come to Hogwarts?''

Harry found himself abruptly focused outward again, his attention on
Snape's face and his heart pounding hard in his chest. Snape was
watching him. The question had sound casual with a side of irritation,
but Snape's eyes narrowed further the longer Harry took to answer, and
he knew that he would rouse the man's suspicions if he delayed much
longer.

``He---he wanted to consult with you on the Wolfsbane Potion, didn't
he?'' Harry said, stuttering as he grasped at straws. ``He---he told me
it was nearly done when he came back to Godric's Hollow.''

``He consulted with me,'' said Snape, and paced forward a few steps from
behind his desk. ``That is not the reason he originally came here. When I
asked him why, he laughed uncertainly, rubbed his head, and said that he
didn't know, really, and he should be getting back to Godric's Hollow
and spending time with his \emph{friends.}'' The vicious bite Snape gave
that word was really quite magnificent, Harry thought.

``He did come back---''

``And now, this,'' Snape whispered. ``I know the signs of someone
desperate to hide a secret, Potter, and you are that. The stammering,
the flushed cheeks, avoiding my eyes. What is it? Why do you fear to
talk about the werewolf with me?''

Harry forced himself to meet Snape's gaze, all the while keeping his
Occlumency shields up. ``You don't care about Remus. You would have been
just as happy to see him dead if you could.''

``And deprive myself of a test subject for the Wolfsbane? Never.'' Snape
was smiling with his eyes, sneering with his lips. ``But I find it
interesting that, two weeks after the werewolf leaves Hogwarts
displaying the telltale signs of an \emph{Obliviate}, you come back and
display the telltale signs of someone with a secret to hide.'' He tilted
his head. ``Did \emph{you} do it, Potter? Did \emph{you Obliviate} him?''

``No,'' Harry whispered. He could feel the world narrowing down to a
tunnel, at the end of which was a light shining as fierce as fire. Hot
hands seemed to squeeze his forehead, pressing in waves of pain. It had
been a mistake to come here, he thought, even if he hadn't had a choice;
Snape had commanded him to attend an Occlumency lesson after a week of
avoiding them. ``No, I didn't.''

``But you know who did.''

``Don't---'' said Harry, and dropped to one knee as the pain and the
heat grew worse. He felt a hand grab at his arm, but that didn't ease
the agony. He was breathing hard now, memories swimming just under the
surface of his mind, ready to breach it if he looked for them.

He didn't want to look for them. He didn't want to see.

``Tell me,'' Snape whispered. ``\emph{Tell me.}''

``Why do you care?'' Harry asked, in a last-ditch effort to make things
go back to the way they had been. Everything around him was light and
fire, and the phoenix song in his ears made it hard to hear his own
words. ``You \emph{don't} care about Remus, I know that. And you
\emph{don't} care about what happens to me, beyond it giving you a
chance to humiliate my father and Sirius.''

``I do not give children Occlumency lessons for the pleasure of
humiliating old school rivals, Potter,'' Snape replied, and Harry heard
his robes rustle as he knelt in front of him. ``And this has gone beyond
that. You should know that now. It went beyond the first time that Tom
Riddle, and all that he is, tainted your mind. I will not \emph{see} him
rise like this.'' There was a long pause, and then he added, ``And I will
not see him gain a victory by corrupting or distressing you. Tell me who
\emph{Obliviated} the werewolf.''

Harry was falling towards light and fire. If he opened his mouth and
said \emph{Dumbledore,} he knew, the web would snap into the front of
his mind and burn it. He could recover, but it would take time, time
during which he might not be able to help Connor or convince anyone he
was living a normal life.

And he wanted to convince them of that. He didn't want anyone to find
out about the web. He could hear what his mother would say. \emph{They
wouldn't understand, Harry\ldots{}}

And inspiration came to save him.

``Lockhart,'' he gasped.

The web vanished, and cool darkness appeared in its place. Harry sagged
into Snape's arms, his breathing ragged. He tried to push himself away
again at once, but Snape held him still, hands combing through his hair.
He thought that Snape paused and stared at his scar for a time, but if
so, he wasn't in the mood to make ridiculous comments on it.

``Lockhart?'' Snape whispered. ``The man is a fool. He cannot tell which
end of a wand is which.''

``I found him out,'' Harry whispered, glorying in the relief that
flooded his head and heart as they moved further and further away from
the web. ``He didn't really defeat any of those monsters or have any of
those adventures that he writes about in his books, you know. He sought
out wizards and witches who defeated the monsters, took down their
stories, and then \emph{Obliviated} them so they would forget having
done it.'' Harry breathed for a long moment. ``He tried to
\emph{Obliviate} me after I found out his secret, but I bounced it off
me.''

``You bounced it off you.'' Snape's voice was flat.

``I used the Occlumency shields to smash it to dust.'' The last of the
pain was gone. Harry sat up and propelled himself backwards. Snape let
him go, watching him with fathomless dark eyes all the while. ``It
wasn't something I planned, but I saw it coming at me and then bounced
it several times.''

Snape closed his eyes, breathing lightly, before he opened them and
stared again at Harry. ``I have never heard of that.''

``It's true.'' Harry took a step backwards, feeling defensive. Sylarana
crooned at him, and this time, Harry could feel her wind herself tighter
into the webs of his mind.

``I have no doubt that it is true,'' Snape said. ``The impossible is
possible with you.'' He spent a long moment studying Harry, then rose to
his feet in a graceful swirl of black robes. ``You are telling the truth
about Lockhart,'' he said. ``I will make sure that Dumbledore knows of
this, though he is unlikely to sack the man before the end of the year.
We \emph{need} a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and he will not
give the post to me.'' He sneered through his teeth.

``Professor?'' Harry asked uncertainly, not sure if he should stay or
go. ``Is it possible to recover memories from behind an
\emph{Obliviate}?''

``It is possible,'' Snape agreed, folding his arms and tilting his head
like an enormous bird. ``But dangerous. The \emph{Obliviate} is a block
on the mind, and dangerous in the way that solid shields always are. If
it is simply broken and the memories released in a rush, then they can
cause the wizard to go insane.'' He leaned abruptly near to Harry. ``Do
not, do \emph{not}, Mr. Potter, attempt to break the block on the
werewolf's memories. Whatever Lockhart wanted him to forget was no doubt
trivial. I will teach you to break such a block in time. For now, unless
you want your precious Lupin to go mad, do not attempt it.''

\emph{But it wasn't Lockhart, it was Dumbledore---}

And Harry was on his knees with the roar and whoosh of flames in his
head again, and Sylarana hissing in agitation. He felt her curl around
something and tug, and then the flames quivered and fell still.

Snape had a hand on his shoulder again. ``Do you want to tell me, Mr.
Potter,'' he whispered, ``what that was?''

``I can't,'' Harry whispered, and the pain retreated a bit. ``Not yet.
Sylarana is---trying to help me with it.''

``One day, you must learn to stand on your own without the benefit of
that snake,'' Snape murmured, but so softly that Harry could pretend he
hadn't heard him. They stayed like that in silence for a few moments,
and then Snape removed his hand. ``Go,'' he added, turning away. ``There
will be no Occlumency lessons for tonight.''

``Why not, sir?''

Snape glanced over his shoulder, and Harry told himself he imagined the
spark of compassion in his eyes, or that he had mistaken it for
something else. ``Because your mind is fragile enough already,'' he said
quietly, and then gestured Harry out the door. Harry stepped out, shut
it behind him, and stood in the hall, blinking.

\emph{He\ldots{}he almost sounded as if he cared what happened to
me\ldots{}}

But without such strong evidence as there was of Draco's attachment to
him, Harry could shake it off, and he did that, striding down the
corridor towards the Slytherin common room. He had promised to play a
game of Exploding Snap with Blaise, and help Pansy with her
Transfigurations homework.

He was trying to live like a normal person, he thought. He was trying to
avoid thinking about the web.

\emph{As you should,} said Sylarana. \emph{The web will be gone very
soon.}

\emph{How do you know?}

\emph{I will make sure of it.}

With that, Harry thought, he had to be content.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``You can't actually \emph{want} to take Divination,'' said Zacharias
Smith, leaning over Harry's shoulder to peer at his schedule. Harry
glanced at the Hufflepuff in annoyance. He was sitting in the hospital
wing, between Luna's and Neville's beds, and trying to choose his
classes for next year---and it was no accident that he had come here. He
wanted to do this in peace and quiet, and he had counted on having it,
since almost everyone else was at the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch
game, the last one of the year.

``Yes, I can,'' said Harry, and pointedly turned his back on Zacharias.
Things had been strained between them since Slytherin beat Hufflepuff
soundly in \emph{their} last Quidditch game, mostly due to Harry
snatching the Snitch right out from under Cedric Diggory's nose. Justin
and Hannah had shaken his hand afterwards. Ernie had sulked, but got
over it. Zacharias had immediately started to pick at his technique, and
hadn't stopped picking about something since, in every class he shared
with Harry.

``Why?'' Zacharias started to sit down on Luna's bed, caught Harry's
glare, and flopped into a chair instead. His gaze remained intent and
interested. ``Everyone knows that Trelawney is a fraud. \emph{Everyone.}''

``I know,'' said Harry patiently, and went back to scanning the
selection of classes he could take in his third year. ``But that doesn't
matter. She might have good material in her class in spite of herself,
and anyway, Connor is taking it.''

Zacharias made a mild disgusted noise. Harry ignored that, too. One good
thing about the disagreeable Hufflepuff targeting him was that he no
longer targeted Connor. And Connor \emph{was} doing better, now. He'd
almost made up with Hermione.

``How long are you going to be in your brother's shadow?'' Zacharias
asked, leaning towards Harry. ``Most of my House might not hate him
quite so much anymore, but we still know that you're more powerful than
he is.''

``Power doesn't mean everything,'' Harry murmured, quelling the first
traces of the headache that had sprung up the moment Zacharias began
questioning him about Connor. It did that all the time now. Whatever the
golden web's business was in his mind, Harry hoped it would finish it
soon, or that Sylarana would tug on it---ah, there she was---and quell
the pain permanently. He was breathing more easily in a moment as she
soothed the web. He scratched a firm ``yes'' next to Divination and went
on looking over the other classes. He half-wanted to take Care of
Magical Creatures just because Connor was taking it, but he had promised
Draco that he would at least consider joining him in Arithmancy.

``It means a lot,'' said Zacharias. ``And sometimes you hear the most
intriguing rumors, you know.''

``Rumors?'' Harry kept his eyes on the paper, but he could feel his
shoulders tense up again. ``About what?''

``About what power means,'' said Zacharias carelessly. Harry knew that
if he looked up, he would find the Hufflepuff's eyes weren't careless at
all, that he was leaning forward with an intent expression. He didn't
look up. ``About what it might mean if someone has a lot of power, and
is in Slytherin House, and has saved a few lives besides.''

Harry sighed as he once more felt the pain well behind his eyes. He took
off his glasses and rubbed them. ``I'm not the next Voldemort,
Zacharias, if that's what you're trying to imply.''

Zacharias laughed. ``Of course not! When did You-Know-Who ever save
lives? But I think you might be something else.'' He leaned forward,
voice taunting. ``Don't you want to know what that is?''

``I'll pass, thanks,'' Harry said as coolly as he could, and then turned
his head with relief as he heard footsteps outside the hospital wing.
Draco was coming back, then. He'd nipped out to see how the Quidditch
game was going. He couldn't stand not seeing the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho
Chang, beat Connor.

Draco dragged back in, looking sulky. Harry hid a smile. ``Connor won,
then?'' he asked casually.

``Stupid Ravenclaws,'' said Draco, and kicked the foot of Luna's bed. He
went to sit down, but Zacharias was in his chair. He settled for glaring
at the Hufflepuff, then folding his arms across his chest and glaring at
Harry. ``And stupid you. You don't have to look quite so smug, you
know.''

``Three Galleons,'' said Harry. ``It was \emph{only} three.''

``He probably cheated.''

Harry winced as the headache once more began to pound. \emph{Is my web
going to act up every time someone says something negative about Connor?
It's going to hurt me a lot, then.} He let Sylarana soothe it before he
shrugged and said, ``He's just a naturally good Seeker, Draco. I told
you.'' He held out his hand. ``Pay up.''

Draco, sulking harder still, dug three Galleons out of his pocket and
slipped them into Harry's palm. Harry took them, gave Draco a beatific
smile, and slid them into his own pocket. He was breathing more easily
now. Keep the conversation away from Connor, and he found that he could
function. He spent almost all his time around the Slytherins now for
precisely that reason. They had more interesting things to talk about,
at least in their view, than the Boy-Who-Lived.

\emph{The web isn't going to go away if you ignore it, you know,}
Sylarana said abruptly in his head.

Harry ignored her, too. She was working to soothe the pain, wasn't she?
And she was confident that she was well on her way to controlling it,
wasn't she? He didn't see what the problem was.

\emph{Harry}, she sighed at him, and went back to whatever problems in
his mind so occupied her.

Harry shifted to make room for Draco on the edge of his chair, prepared
to ignore Zacharias. He had just about decided to take Arithmancy when
more footsteps sounded down the hall, and Madam Pomfrey ducked into the
hospital wing, beaming. She held a beaker of some thick liquid in her
hand.

Harry caught his breath. He had hoped he would be here when the potion
was ready, but he hadn't thought it would be this soon. ``Is
that\ldots{}?''

``Yes, dear,'' said Pomfrey, bustling over to Luna's and Neville's beds.
``The Mandrakes matured, and Professor Sprout plucked them and Professor
Snape brewed them. We can finally revive Miss Lovegood and Mr.
Longbottom.'' She beamed at him, and then bent over and spooned some of
the lumpy, glistening yellow potion into Luna's mouth, rubbing her
throat so she would swallow.

Luna trembled, her eyes abruptly blinking for the first time in months,
her limbs shaking after that, her head twitching. Harry watched her
swallow more of the potion, and then she turned and looked directly at
him. He prepared for some form of accusation. After all, he was probably
the last thing she would have seen before she was Petrified, other than
the basilisk's eyes.

Instead, she said gravely, ``I know it wasn't you, Harry. It was a plot
by the Ministry. They couldn't find a Crumple-Horned Snorcack, so they
had to use a snake instead.''

Harry leaned forward and hugged her, not sure how he felt at the moment
as waves of emotion trembled through him. Then they sorted themselves
out, and became relief, and amusement, and a heart-pounding sensation of
joy. \emph{She's still here. She's awake. She doesn't blame me.}

Madam Pomfrey had moved on to Neville. Harry held his breath, his arms
still around Luna, as the Gryffindor boy jerked back to life. He
trembled far more than Luna had, his eyes darting from side to side as
if he expected the basilisk to emerge from around a corner or under the
bed. Then he saw Harry and paled.

``It wasn't Harry,'' Luna assured him gravely. ``It was the Ministry.''

Neville didn't look as if he understood this at all, but he nodded
timidly. \emph{If nothing else,} Harry thought, as he shifted and
extended an awkward hand to the other boy, \emph{he probably knows that
I wouldn't be allowed in here with them if I'd really meant to hurt
them.}

``I'm sorry that happened, both of you,'' he whispered. ``I was
possessed. It's gone now, but it was horrible while it lasted, and you
suffered the brunt of it. I'm so sorry.''

Luna said, ``I was right. It was the Wrackspurts.''

``I---I don't blame you, Harry,'' said Neville, giving him a shy smile.
``You didn't look at all like yourself, you know. I \emph{knew} that you
didn't have red eyes, or hair that stood on end and moved by itself.''

Harry chuckled at the thought of the picture he must have presented, and
leaned closer to them. For a moment, at least, all was right with the
world, and he was intent on leaving it that way.

``Harry?''

That was his brother's voice. Harry sat up, rearranged himself so that
he had his left hand on Neville's shoulder and his right hand on Luna's,
and faced the door.

Connor lingered shyly there, his hand opening and closing as though he
didn't know what to do with himself. He was still dressed in his scarlet
Quidditch robes, and his hair hung frazzled over his ears. He met
Harry's eyes and then glanced away, looking at the ground and biting his
lip.

``Connor,'' said Harry. ``I heard you caught the Snitch.
Congratulations.'' He hesitated, then decided he could say it without it
sounding like a taunt to Connor and awakening the web. ``I bet Draco
that you could. He didn't believe me, and so I have three of his
Galleons now.''

Connor looked back up at that, smirking. ``You should learn not to bet
against the Potters, Malfoy.''

Draco grunted something under his breath.

Connor appeared to realize exactly what was happening for the first
time, his eyes widening as he looked at Luna and Neville. ``They're
awake?'' he whispered.

``Yes!'' Harry abruptly laughed, the emotions boiling in him too hard to
be contained. ``Un-Petrified. Awake. Themselves again.'' He wasn't sure
why he said what he did next, except that he didn't think he could
contain the words. ``And they don't blame me.''

Connor froze for a long moment, then blinked as if in surprise and
smiled. ``That's wonderful, Harry,'' he said quietly. ``I---I'm going to
go change out of my Quidditch gear now. See you at dinner?''

Harry nodded, smiling still, and watched Connor leave the hospital wing.
He rolled his eyes, but said nothing, when he noted that Zacharias stood
and followed him. Sometimes his twin had to fight his own battles, and
he really didn't want to leave Luna and Neville right now.

The web tried to pulse at him for thinking that, but Sylarana caught and
caged it this time before it could do any damage. Harry let out his
breath, and started answering Luna's and Neville's questions about how
long they had been Petrified, and let himself think it really would be
all right.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Prat,'' Draco said, shoving him in the shoulder as they finally
emerged from the hospital wing. ``Did you have to tell them about the
bet?''

``They \emph{heard} me tell Connor about it,'' said Harry, and gave him a
shove back. ``What was I supposed to do when Neville asked me about it?
Lie?''

``Yes. I'm your best friend. You're supposed to lie for me.'' Draco gave
him a glare that would have been more intimidating if it didn't look
like he was going to break into laughter at any moment.

``I'm a terrible liar,'' said Harry, lying through his teeth.

Draco laughed aloud, and then Professor McGonagall came around the
corner, and all Harry's mirth died at the expression on her face.

``Mr. Potter,'' she said quietly. ``Please come with me.''

Harry followed her in silence. He knew where they were going before they
rounded the corner on the second floor, but he did not know what he
would see. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for it.

Zacharias Smith lay motionless beside a puddle of water outside the
girls' loo where, Harry thought now, the entrance to the Chamber of
Secrets had to be located. He was still, but Harry thought he was
Petrified, not dead. \emph{Please let him not be dead. Please.}

And then he saw the writing on the wall, and was too terrified even to
pray.

\emph{Potter---}

\emph{I've taken your brother. So nice a home his scar made for me.}

\emph{Tom Riddle.}

\chapter{Walk These Roads}\label{chapter-29-walk-these-roads}

Draco was behind Harry, so he couldn't see his expression as he read the
words scribed into the stone. But he saw the walls of the corridor
change to ice, and he \emph{certainly} felt it when Harry's rising magic
made him black out.

Luckily, it was only for a few moments, and when he woke up and
scrambled to his feet, Professor McGonagall was obstructing Harry's
passage down the corridor. ``No, Harry,'' she said firmly, one hand on
his shoulder. Draco could see that her face was pale, but she didn't
back down. ``I must know where you are going.''

``He's going to rescue his brother, Professor,'' Draco said, forcing his
voice into a drawl. He slipped one hand into his pocket, to feel the
warm glass of his bottle and reassure himself that \emph{his} Harry was
still there, somewhere under the cold rage he'd grown. ``And I'm going
to help him. Now, please step out of the way.''

McGonagall whipped around and stared at him. Draco raised his eyebrows.
She was more frazzled than he had thought, if the strands of gray hair
escaping from her bun were any indication. That settled him.

``Mr. Malfoy, I certainly cannot let two students go into danger---''
she began primly.

``Then you'll have to stop me.''

Draco closed his eyes and fought back the headache that wanted to
overcome him as Harry turned his attention to Professor McGonagall.
Harry was angry, and it was an anger beyond anything that Draco had seen
in him before. The ice on the corridor walls was spreading, swarming
over the stone in delicate tendrils of frost and probing at the ceiling.

``Mr. Potter,'' said McGonagall. She didn't sound afraid, but she was a
Gryffindor, wasn't she? Draco knew they didn't know when to turn tail
and run, when it was sensible for their own safety. ``I will not let two
\emph{more} students put their lives in danger.''

``Tom Riddle has my brother.''

Draco risked a glance at Harry's face, and then wished he hadn't.
Harry's face and mouth were set in grim lines, but from his eyes, he was
screaming steadily, and simply not letting the sound out.

``That does not mean you need to risk your life, Mr. Potter,'' said
McGonagall. She folded her arms.

\emph{Interfering old cat,} Draco thought. He wished it had been
Professor Snape who had found them. He would have understood Harry's
intense need to go hunting his brother, at least. He had shared Harry's
mind.

As had Draco, and he understood that Harry was not going to be turned
aside now. The best thing he could do was keep quiet and go along for
the rescue mission, so that Harry had at least one person there who
understood him, one who could not be possessed and turned against him.
Otherwise, Draco knew, he would go to wherever Riddle had taken his
brother---most likely the Chamber of Secrets---alone. And Draco was not
going to let that happen.

``It does,'' said Harry. He was speaking through gritted teeth now, as
though he had a headache of his own, and his snake stirred on his arm,
sticking her head through the end of his sleeve. ``I am the best person
to rescue him, for reasons I can't take the time to explain to you.''

``Headmaster Dumbledore---'' McGonagall began.

Harry laughed. The sound was eerie to Draco, utterly flat and cold. It
sounded more than a little like the laughter he'd heard Tom Riddle give,
during the battle when Harry fought against him and Draco hovered in the
shadows, permitted to watch but not help. He edged closer to Harry. It
had nearly driven him mad last time, not being able to help. He clutched
at the bottle, and felt the lights shift and press against his palms.

``The Headmaster made decisions you knew about, Professor,'' said Harry.
``And you know what he would say if you went to him. He might agree to
help---but he would never go back on those choices. And it's because of
those choices that I have to go after Connor.''

Draco blinked. \emph{He blames Dumbledore for this? I never saw that
when I was in his mind. Is this a recent thing? Why didn't he tell me?
Where did he learn it?} Seething curiosity filled him, and somewhat
helped to drive back the pain of the headache.

McGonagall paled, proof that she knew what Harry was talking about. Her
eyes closed, and she stood as if debating with herself. Draco scowled at
her and then at Harry. \emph{We will have things to talk about when
we're done fighting Tom Riddle, Harry, specifically about why you're
able to trust Gryffindor Heads of House who would stop you from doing
what you need to.} He edged closer to Harry again, this time standing at
his right shoulder, close enough to feel the breaths Harry was drawing
in and the very slight cold aura he was putting out. The ice had reached
the ceiling now. Draco touched Harry's shoulder, expecting it to be
cold, too, and then flinched. His skin felt as if he had a fever.

And it grew worse the longer Professor McGonagall dithered about whether
or not she should stop them.

\emph{Hurry} up, Draco thought in her direction. \emph{Deny us and let
Harry hurt you, or stand aside and let him do what he has to. But don't
do this. Can't you see that you're hurting him?}

McGonagall started as if she'd heard his thoughts, and for a moment
looked straight at him. Draco smirked as he met her eyes. That made her
frown, and she turned back to Harry.

``I will wait an hour before I go to the Headmaster,'' she said quietly.
``That is all the time I can give you.''

``Brilliant,'' said Harry, in a voice that made Draco wince as it
deprived the word of every meaning, and then turned and went to the
Slytherin dungeons. Draco followed him, glancing back now and then at
the Gryffindor Head of House. She still had a frown plastered on her
face, but she didn't seem as if she would renege on her word.
Gryffindors didn't, usually.

Draco glanced ahead at Harry's straight back and determined stride, and
for a moment wondered if he should insist on stopping to find Professor
Snape.

Then he shook his head. \emph{No. Harry has to go ahead and do this, and
it will hurt him more if I hold him back. Go alone for the ride now,
Draco. At least you'll be there when the world explodes.}

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
Once they were back in the Slytherin dorms---which were empty, luckily,
as everyone had already gone to dinner---Harry moved quickly. He slipped
over to the trunk at the foot of his bed and opened it, pulling out a
black armband that made Draco blink. He saw the silver serpent on it as
Harry turned it over, though, and smiled slightly. It was a good weapon
to take into a Chamber where he might have to battle a basilisk.

Thinking that, Draco searched to the very bottom of his trunk for what
he needed, and had just found it when he realized that Harry was walking
out of the room.

``Harry!'' he cried, standing up.

Harry glanced back at him, and Draco saw eyes like shuttered windows.
``What?''

``I'm coming with you,'' Draco said.

Harry said nothing for a moment, but the air around him turned cold
enough that Draco could see his breath the next time he spoke. ``No,''
he said quietly. ``I won't risk your life. You're staying here. You can
go and tell Professor Snape what's happening. In fact, I would prefer if
he knew before the Headmaster.''

It probably \emph{would} be a good idea, Draco thought, but he knew
someone else would have to enact it. ``No,'' he said. He removed the
bottle from his pocket and placed it gently on the table next to his
bed. He didn't want to risk it getting broken. He turned back to Harry.
``I'm coming with you,'' he repeated.

Harry lowered his head slightly, and Draco felt the pain in his brow
spike as Harry called his power. When Harry next spoke, he once again
sounded more like Tom Riddle than himself.

``I could knock you out and leave you helpless on the floor, Draco. I
could hit you with a spell that wouldn't let you remember that any of
this happened. I could cast \emph{Imperio} on you and make you go at
once to Snape and say whatever I wanted. Given all that, why are you
still insistent on standing up to me?''

Draco looked at the bottle. There was no trace of red, which showed
Harry's anger with him. Purple and green danced in a fierce mix that
made the glass look like a sky just before a storm.

``Because you wouldn't really do any of those things to me,'' he said,
and turned back to Harry. ``I trust you.''

Harry closed his eyes. ``I should never have given you that bloody
thing,'' he muttered, repeating a frequent lament.

Draco waited.

``I have to do this alone,'' Harry said softly. ``You know what I am,
Draco, what I was trained to be. I have to go into the Chamber and
rescue Connor, and I fully expect that I may die. There's nothing that
says anyone else has to come along and die with me. Why would you want
to?''

``Because my loyalty is to you,'' said Draco. ``Not to Connor, or
Dumbledore, or whatever fucked-up ideas your family may have had.'' He
was surprised to find that he was shaking, and tried to defuse the tense
emotion that filled him by holding up the object that he had retrieved
from the bottom of the trunk. ``And because I'm the only one here with a
really functioning brain.''

Harry blinked at the mirror. ``What---''

``I felt you think that the snake was a basilisk,'' said Draco calmly.
``And a mirror is, if not a \emph{very} effective weapon against a
basilisk, at least better than marching in empty-handed.''

Harry's eyes turned frighteningly blank again, and he made a gesture
that could have indicated his magic, or his snake, or the black circlet
he'd slipped around his right arm. ``I'm hardly going in there
empty-handed.'' He reached for the mirror. ``But I could take that.
Thank you for identifying it.''

``And you are carrying too many things already,'' said Draco, slipping
the mirror into its cloth and the cloth into his pocket. ``I'll just
hold this for you.''

Harry stared at him for a long, long moment. Then he shook his head and
whispered, ``Why?''

Draco snorted. ``Do you really want to have this out now, when Riddle is
doing Merlin knows what to your brother?''

He was sorry for what he'd said a moment later, as Harry sucked in a
breath and closed his eyes, gripping the sides of his head. Then he
managed to open watering eyes and focus on Draco. ``I think we have to. I
don't want to hurt you, and I don't want to let you come with me,
either. Please, Draco. I have to know. You say that your loyalty is to
me. You've defied your father and manipulated him for me. You refused to
give up our friendship even when I made it clear that I thought you
would. \emph{Why}?''

Draco swallowed. His hands were shaking. It didn't help that his own
truest answer sounded inane, even to him.

``Because you're \emph{Harry},'' he said. ``You're \emph{you}. That's all I
really know, Harry. I like you and I'm loyal to you, and if you don't
tie me up or \emph{Obliviate} me or Apparate away from me right now,
then I'm coming with you.''

Harry closed his eyes. Draco stood in silence for a long moment, unsure
what his response would be. He could almost feel the pressure in his
head urging Harry's steps forward along the road to the Chamber. If he
chose to walk that road alone, despite all Draco's impassioned pleas,
there was really nothing Draco could do to stop him.

And he didn't \emph{want} to stop him, if Harry made the decision to go
alone, he thought. That was the difference between him and someone like
Professor McGonagall---or maybe Dumbledore, if Harry had really learned
something disturbing about the Headmaster. He \emph{trusted} Harry. He
trusted him to make the right decision. He wasn't afraid of his power
except in an abstract sense. He didn't think Harry had to be chained up
and coerced to walk the right road. Whatever road he chose to walk was,
by definition, the right one.

\emph{And I am such a child, to be standing here and thinking such
wide-eyed Gryffindor thoughts.}

They were the truth, though. And Draco's parents had always taught him
never to lie to himself. At least he knew he \emph{had} the wide-eyed
Gryffindor thoughts, and could put them to use instead of avoiding them.

``Thank you.''

Draco opened his eyes, and saw Harry stretching out his hand towards
him. He hurried forward to clasp it, before Harry could change his mind,
and leaned his head on Harry's shoulder, trying not to show how
profoundly relieved he was that Harry hadn't simply taken up on his
offer and forced him to stay here somehow. He couldn't even imagine
Harry's torment, lingering up here while Connor was in danger, but he
would have felt a faint shadow of it, if he'd had to stay here while
Harry walked into that same danger.

Harry turned his head so that his nose brushed Draco's hair.
``Besides,'' he added, ``Sylarana has just reminded me that I don't
actually know the way to the Chamber, so dashing out the door and hoping
to get there first wouldn't work.''

Draco's laugh was quiet. In the midst of everything, and even thinking
of facing Tom Riddle and a basilisk, he could feel a great hope bearing
him up. He set most of it aside for right now and said, ``Is there any
way you could find out? What were you planning to do, anyway, if you
went alone?''

``Just go to the girls' loo where all the attacks happened and root
around,'' said Harry. ``The entrance to the Chamber is there, but I don't
know \emph{where} it is. Riddle took the memories from me---''

Abruptly, he froze, and Draco realized Sylarana was probably speaking
into his mind. He held his peace. He was jealous of the Locusta's
connection to Harry, of course he was, but now wasn't the time to voice
it.

``What is it?'' he asked, when Harry just went on staring, white-faced.

``Sylarana doesn't think Riddle took my memories of opening the Chamber
with him, or destroyed them,'' said Harry, through obviously numb lips.
``She thinks that he put them in the box. It would have been the most
convenient place for him to store them, and now that she thinks about
it, she can remember small sensations in that part of my mind the time
that I Petrified Neville.''

Draco clutched at Harry's hand again, convulsively. He had seen the box
while he was connected to Harry's mind. It was nothing he wished to see
again. It had frightened him more than Riddle had, in its way. Riddle
was an open menace. The box was a lurking one.

``Do you have to open it?'' he asked.

Harry again paused, apparently communing with Sylarana. ``She'll let
me,'' said Harry, ``but she's afraid I'll get overwhelmed by the
memories without someone to anchor me, and she'll be busy waiting to
shut the box again as soon as I've found the memories I need.'' He let
out a deep breath, and his eyes met Draco's. ``And she says that she can
bind you, briefly, to my mind, since you were already connected to me
once before. Can you hold me steady while I go into the box?''

Draco did not even hesitate before nodding. He did not want to see the
box. He was not entirely sure that he wanted to see the inside of
Harry's head right now.

But he knew, more than either of those, that he did not want to see
Harry dead.

``Thank you,'' Harry whispered, and extended his hand. He was shaking
lightly. Draco wondered if he was afraid of the box, or of losing
Connor, or of letting Draco into his head. Probably some combination of
all three, Draco thought, as he watched Sylarana move down Harry's arm.

He took a deep breath, and tried to prepare himself, as Sylarana wound
about his wrist, trying their hands together.

Nothing could have prepared him.

He plunged into the middle of gold and light and noise, a dark field
flooded with radiance. He could see little through all that, and he
could hardly hear anything through the deafening song. Draco winced. The
song was beautiful, but so \emph{loud}\ldots{} how did Harry sleep with
it in his head?

``\emph{I help him.}''

Draco jumped and turned around. A different kind of golden fire shone in
the midst of the fiery gold, and he realized it was Sylarana. He was
hearing her voice, and though she hissed and he knew it was definitely
not English, he still understood her. He let out a little sigh.
\emph{Wait until I tell Father about this. He'll never believe it.}

If \emph{I tell him. If he would try to use this to hurt Harry\ldots{}}

\emph{And he was the one who hurt Harry in the first place. If not for
the diary, none of this would have happened.}

Draco focused on the matter at hand. He had his own tangled and confused
thoughts, yes, but the important thing right now was Harry. He followed
the thread of gold until he reached the box. Beside it curled a tendril
of glittering dark and gold that Draco suspected was Harry, or a
representation of him. The box looked just as bad as it always had,
though this time, instead of the locks that Draco thought it had
possessed, it shone with the Locusta's shifting coils.

``\emph{Are you ready, Harry?}'' she asked, and Harry's voice gave soft
assent from everywhere around them. Draco felt Sylarana turn her
attention to him. ``\emph{Hold him as he plunges.}''

Draco nodded, and reached out, curling his arms around the tendril of
dark and gold. It seemed to be enough.

Sylarana shifted, and relaxed her hold, and the box opened.

Draco felt fear seize him as the lid lifted just a bit, and darkness and
cold swarmed around them. But Harry was going into it, was twisting
fearlessly among the memories stored there, searching for the ones he
wanted, and Draco had to go with him, had to fall with him, had to hold
him steady as Harry searched and sorted.

Draco saw some of the memories himself, of course, because there was no
way to avoid that when he was immediately next to Harry.

\emph{Harry reading a book under his covers by the light of the} Lumos
\emph{spell, studying frantically to try to get the Shield Charm right,
convinced that Voldemort could come tomorrow and kill Connor, and he
would not be ready---}

\emph{Lily crouched in front of Harry and asked him to try the spell
again. She knew it hurt, but practice was the only way to get it right.
Harry nodded, and gulped, and tried the spell again. This time, it
worked}---

\emph{Lily whispered to Harry that everything would be well, even as she
stroked his head and soothed him. He was four, nearly too young to
remember, but he did remember that he'd had an argument with Connor and
his head had begun to ache, and it had hurt until his mother came and
soothed him with a few words. Words were his medicine---}

\emph{Remus Lupin, and saying something about abuse---}

Draco screamed. He was \emph{burning}, the fire behind him surging
forward as they met that memory. The golden light and the beautiful song
didn't like that memory at all, Draco sensed. It was supposed to be
crisped away to ashes and never trouble Harry again. It should not have
been in the box.

``\emph{No, it should not have been,}'' said Sylarana, her voice beyond
anxious. ``\emph{It happened after he stopped using the box. How did it
get in there? Harry? Harry!}''

But Harry could not hear them. He was far beneath them, Draco thought,
plunging further and further into the darkness, and if he had not found
the memories he needed already, then perhaps he was caught up in the
whirl of half-forgotten things he'd placed here, all the resentments and
fears and petty jealousies.

\emph{He watched Connor at the center of attention, himself so quiet and
reserved that no one really thought he wanted attention. And he didn't,
he supposed, but sometimes he wanted it, and the secret that he and his
mother shared wasn't enough. And he had to stop thinking that, because
then he might be jealous of his brother, and then he might hurt him, and
how could he let that happen?}

\emph{He watched James flying a kite with Connor, and wished he were as
close to their father as Connor was. But James and Connor were more
alike, and James didn't really understand Harry's liking for books, and
why should he? Neither Harry nor Lily had ever told him what they were
doing. He had no reason to understand them. But that unreasonable
longing was still there.}

\emph{Harry glanced up from where he'd just wandlessly performed the
Summoning Charm, and his father stared at him from the doorway. Harry
looked back, challenging James to respond somehow, to ask him what had
happened, why he knew wandless magic, and why he was keeping it a
secret. Instead, James stepped back and shut the door and never
mentioned it again. And Harry saw the fear in his father's eyes, and
buried a seed of contempt deep, deep under the surface of his mind,
where it could never flower into full-blown scorn.}

\emph{Harry lay on the grass in front of their house, beyond exhausted
with all the magic he'd been practicing, and ran lists of pureblood
customs over in his mind. Meanwhile, almost below his level of hearing,
a voice shrieked that he was tired and wanted to go to bed. But he
hadn't had much chance to study last night, because Sirius and Remus had
come to visit, and they'd had a party to celebrate Sirius's birthday. He
had to make up for lost time now. Voldemort was coming, and he couldn't
be a child.}

\emph{He said his vows, over and over, and sometimes he violently hated
them, but he always caught and extinguished the hatred before it could
go too far.}

Draco persevered through all of them, though he suspected that he was
crying back in his own body, and kept his hands strongly clasped around
Harry's waist. And then he felt Harry rising back through the box, the
memories of how to open the Chamber of Secrets lodged in his brain.

Draco caught a glimpse of those, too, as they soared outward again, and
nodded. A sink, then, with a snake on a tap, and when a Parselmouth
commanded it to open in Parseltongue, it would. A good way of protecting
the Chamber from almost everyone but Slytherin's descendants.

He thought that, because the memories he'd seen had left him numb with
shock. That would end in a moment, and he would speak to Harry, but
until then\ldots{}

He opened his eyes, and found himself back in his own body. Sylarana was
unwinding from his hand. She darted up Harry's robes to his neck and
wound around it, crooning. Or so Draco imagined her hiss to sound like.

He wished he could understand what she was saying. He wished he could
find the words for the emotions he'd experienced in the box. ``I'm
sorry'' was not enough, and neither was ``Harry, are you all right?'' He
really \emph{wanted} to say, ``Don't you want to cast \emph{Crucio} on
your parents?'' but he had the feeling Harry wouldn't want to hear that.

Harry murmured something in Parseltongue, the hissing words slipping
from his mouth in a fluid stream. Then he took a deep breath and closed
his eyes. Draco watched his mask drop back into place over his pain and
everything else he felt. He scrubbed at his own cheeks, and felt tears
there.

``Harry,'' he whispered, figuring that was a good start.

Harry's shoulders hunched, and he snapped, ``Don't. We have to go rescue
Connor. Or I have to.''

``I'm still coming with you,'' Draco assured him, patting his pocket to
be sure the mirror was there and then following Harry out the door.
``But I'm worried about the box. Why were there memories in there that
shouldn't have been? How could you use the box when Sylarana locked
it?''

``I think the box almost opened when---when that happened,'' said Harry,
his tone thick with an emotion Draco couldn't identify. ``And I managed
to slip that memory in there.'' His voice strengthened. ``It's
ridiculous, anyway. I remember now. Remus was going to accuse our mother
of abusing me.'' He snorted. ``That's rich, isn't it?''

``It's the truth,'' said Draco.

Harry turned and looked at him, and Draco shut up. Harry still had the
cold anger in his eyes, and that desperate need to do something, to go
and fetch Connor, but he was trembling on the edge of an even bigger
explosion. It wouldn't do much to trigger that explosion, Draco sensed.
Seeing his own memories had shaken Harry. And he had plumbed further
than Draco. Merlin knew what else he had seen.

Draco made a private decision in that moment. When this was all over,
when Harry had Connor back and could think about something else, then he
was going to \emph{drag} Harry to someone who could help, by force if
necessary. Professor Snape would be his first choice. Then he'd go to
his parents. Merlin, he'd fetch Harry's werewolf if he had to.

No one did \emph{that} to one of his friends and got away with it.

Harry didn't seem to notice Draco's decision. Perhaps the silence was
all he'd wanted. He nodded, his face smoothing out. ``Thank you for not
saying anything about it, Draco.''

\emph{That's what you think,} Draco thought, and followed Harry to the
loo on the second floor.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
By the time they got there, of course, there were students wandering
around and staring, and professors trying to herd them away. Harry cast
a Disillusionment Charm on them both before they rounded the corner.
Draco wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar sensation, but had to admit it
worked. They sneaked into the loo without anyone noticing them. Not even
the wailing ghost of a young girl who appeared out of a toilet seemed to
see them. Draco found himself slightly relieved for that.

Harry strode to the sink from his memories and bent down, aiming his
mouth directly at the small carving of the snake. He hissed. Draco
assumed he hissed the word for ``\emph{Open},'' as the sink began whirling
in the next instant. White light flared for a moment, so brilliant that
Draco couldn't help but glance nervously over his shoulder at the ghost,
and by the time he looked back, there was a tunnel into the floor.

Draco grimaced, thinking of the slime that was probably down there.

``Come on,'' said Harry, showing a Gryffindor-like lack of fear, and
jumped into the pipe. Draco gave a grimace of resignation and leaped
after him.

The slide that followed, twisting and turning in several different
directions and fighting frantically not to lose either his wand or the
mirror, was not Draco's idea of fun. He resolutely ignored the slime
that got on his robes and his longing to shriek like a first-year. He
would land, and everything would be all right, and when
\emph{everything}, including the helping Harry part, was done, he would
make Harry buy him some new robes.

Harry abruptly vanished ahead of him. Draco tried to be prepared, but he
couldn't find anything to hold onto.

He shot out of the end of the pipe, and would have hit the ground hard,
but Harry's shouted ``\emph{Wingardium Leviosa!}'' caught and held him.
Draco floated gently to the floor, patted his pocket to make sure the
mirror was still intact, and nodded to Harry. Harry's wand flared with
\emph{Lumos}, but it didn't really illuminate his face; it made him look
half-mad instead. He nodded back to Draco and then moved forward, his
eyes on the floor ahead of them. Draco swallowed as he heard the crunch
of something that sounded like bone under Harry's feet.

But he had come this far, and even if he was afraid, he wasn't going to
back off and leave Harry alone simply because of that. He followed.

Harry walked among the scattered bones as though he saw this kind of
thing every day, and from what Draco knew about his home life, perhaps
he did---or worse. Draco himself cringed and kept away from the
skeletons, though his eyes insisted on identifying them. Rat, mouse,
bat\ldots{}

Then he squeaked as they caught sight of an enormous snakeskin ahead,
looped over and over itself like a spider's web.

``What is that?'' he whispered.

``We're fighting a basilisk,'' Harry said back.

Draco looked at him, and found him standing with his head tilted back,
studying the snakeskin as though it were a set of Potions ingredients to
be diced and cut into the proper measures. He turned briefly to look at
Draco, and Draco swallowed. Harry had gone cold again. In fact, now that
he was watching for it, he caught the faint gust of ice around Harry as
he moved forward.

Draco was at a loss for how Harry could have done that, plunged so
deeply into the freezing fury at Tom Riddle when he'd seen his memories
of his parents and what they had done to him, but he could hardly ask.
They were on the verge of battle now.

Draco wasn't sure what he thought about that. He'd accepted, in a vague
way, that he might have to fight in a War someday, when and if the Dark
Lord came back. But here he was, only twelve years old---\emph{well,
almost thirteen­­}---and going into a room where he \emph{knew} he would
have to fight a basilisk, and maybe Harry's possessed brother.

More, he was fighting the \emph{Dark Lord.} Or some version of him.

Draco supposed he knew where he stood then. It was almost comforting. He
set his shoulders back and followed Harry again, more confidently than
before.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
He found Harry standing in front of a pair of enormous stone serpents,
staring up at them. Their eyes shone in the light of the \emph{Lumos},
and Draco felt an odd shiver in his belly when he realized they were
emeralds, as green as the Locusta's eyes.

\emph{As green as Harry's.}

Harry looked at him, his face solemn. ``Last chance to back out,
Draco.''

Draco stiffened. ``You insult me by thinking of it.''

Harry smiled thinly. ``You're right. I'm sorry.'' He faced the serpents
and hissed again. Draco wished, in a moment of pure selfish jealousy
that he used to distract himself from his sweating palms and rapidly
beating heart, that he could understand what Harry was saying.

The wall groaned and cracked open, in a jagged shape that reminded Draco
of Harry's scar, and the serpents dropped out of sight. Draco came
forward slightly so that he stood at Harry's shoulder, and they walked
into what waited for them.

\chapter{Fang to Fang}\label{chapter-30-fang-to-fang}
Harry felt odd the moment he moved into the Chamber, which was as he had
remembered it from the box: long, straight, narrow, crowded with pillars
and filled with grim green light, with a statue of Salazar Slytherin at
the far end. His mind felt pulled and stretched, and his head began to
ache. A moment later, his scar flared with dazzling pain.

Tom Riddle stood at the base of the statue, nearly fully formed, not a
memory but a dark-haired young man. He held Connor by the neck, one hand
over his scar. At his feet lay the diary, and a thick link, green as the
light, green as \emph{Avada Kedavra}, stretched between the book and his
hand.

``Harry Potter,'' said Riddle. ``Welcome. I have been \emph{waiting} for
you.'' He clamped his hand onto Connor's scar more firmly.

Harry called gladly on his magic. It roared up around him, turning the
immediate floor to ice---

And springing Riddle's trap.

Harry felt the magic flood out of him, seemingly pouring out through his
scar and across space to Riddle, tracing the route he must have taken
when he fled Harry's mind after their first battle. Riddle tilted back
his head and laughed as he absorbed the magic, and his image wavered and
grew stronger. At the same time, the link between the diary and his hand
flared with life, and Connor screamed and began writhing in pain.

Harry gagged aloud as he shared his twin's anguish, flowing down the
connection he supposed they had always shared by virtue of being born at
the same time, but which he had never sensed before now. Dimly, behind
the agony, he heard Dumbledore's words again, speaking of the spell
contamination.

\emph{``We wished to preserve you from the possible dangers of sharing
this kind of bond with your twin, but since you are twins, and not only
brothers by blood, the connection is extremely hard to block. It seems
so far that the bond has protected you only, and for that I am pleased
and grateful. But please do not rely on it.''}

Now the bond had been turned against them. And Harry's magic continued
to surge in response to the threat, trying to protect him, and more of
it flowed over to Riddle, and more pain flowed from him to Connor and
from Connor to Harry. It was more intense this time, as the initial
blast of magic had been stronger. Harry could see the world pulsing
white around him.

``Into the diary, I think,'' Riddle mused aloud. ``Yes, I could put you
both there, and who would think to look for you? Or perhaps I will put
you alone there, as I would rather like to retain your twin in his own
body for a while longer. He is, after all, my greatest enemy.''

Harry could not have answered if he had tried. The pain in his head was
total, and not even the urging of the phoenix fire and song could
compare. He felt his muscles trembling, his mouth jerking. A thin line
of drool marked his lips. He was suffering, and his brother was
suffering, and he could do \emph{nothing.}

``Don't hurt him, you bastard!''

But he was aware enough to know when Draco moved forward from the side,
his wand out and his face contorted with a mixture of fury and fear that
Harry had never seen before. His wand lashed, and he snarled,
``\emph{Incendio!}''

The diary briefly began to smoke, before Riddle gestured lazily, once,
and the fire went out. He smiled at Draco. ``Did you think that you
could stop me, little boy? I am sure that---''

It was not enough to end everything. But it was enough to make a pause
in the link, as Riddle's hand lifted from Connor's scar to calm the
fire. And a small interruption was all Harry needed.

He surged to his feet and called for his magic, plunging deep, gathering
up all he could and spreading it out around him. Anything he could do
that wasn't corrupted or controlled by Riddle could be valuable in this
battle.

The walls around him turned to ice, and then cracked and crazed, falling
in frozen shards. At the same moment, the armband warmed, and Harry felt
the magic escaping Riddle's control deepen and strengthen. He felt it
asking him what he wanted, trying to follow the desires of his will.

Riddle hissed, and Harry heard his words. ``\emph{Come, creature of
Slytherin, obey your master and Slytherin's Heir!}'' The shadows behind
Slytherin's statue began to lash and churn.

Harry ignored the temptation to try to speak Parseltongue himself, and
control the basilisk. He was fairly sure that Riddle had been telling
the truth, and he would not be able to. Instead, he told his magic,
\emph{I want something that will destroy the diary. Something that will
eat it up.}

The air in front of him turned dark, as if he had torn a hole in the
midst of the light, and then Harry saw a pair of snapping black jaws.
They were connected to no mouth, but they went soaring at the diary as
if they were. Riddle saw them and snarled at them, flinging out his
hand.

``\emph{Reducto!}'' he shouted, and the jaws shuddered once, though they
stubbornly tried to continue moving forward. Harry turned his attention
away from them briefly. He knew they would keep Riddle busy for at least
another moment, and the vicious, pounding pain in his head urged him to
try and get to Connor.

\emph{Why should you?} It was the cold voice, and it had more hatred in
it than Harry had heard before. \emph{He is the cause of your pain. He
is the reason that you have suffered as you have, then and now. You know
what your parents did to you in his name.}

Harry felt the memories trembling in the corners where he had put them,
shuddering and ready to slide out into his awareness once again. He
ignored them. He could not afford to listen to them, nor to the cold
voice. He would listen when he could, and then he was sure he would find
that what his parents had done for and to him was all for the best.

He whipped his hand in a descending half-circle, sending the cold
blasting before him. It hit the emerging basilisk, and the creature
screamed in Parseltongue, throwing its green head back. Harry caught a
brief glimpse of the long, thin fangs and the staring yellow eyes, and
brought his head down.

``Get the mirror out!'' he hissed at Draco, hoping he spoke English. He
either did, or Draco was quick enough on his own to understand what he
needed to do. He pulled the mirror from its cloth and his pocket with
fingers that shook and trembled with cold.

Harry turned back to Riddle as the fragment of Voldemort finally blasted
his attacking black jaws apart, and tried to renew his hold on Connor.
Harry concentrated intensely, and spoke through his magic and his will.
\emph{Fetch me my brother. I want him. I will him to be at my side.}

All around him, a wind began to howl, rising with a chill in its teeth.
The cold voice snarled at him. \emph{You could do so much more with
this. Why will you not do it? We might---}

Harry shut it out of his awareness and focused all his attention on
Connor, who lay on the ground pale and still now, his scar seeping red
liquid that Harry did not think was all blood. \emph{Come to me,
brother. Come here. Come} here!

The wind scattered forward from around him, flinging hail and bits of
snow on the floor. It whirled around Connor, and he shifted and moaned.
Harry concentrated, throwing his magic into the task, hoping that it
would be strong enough to pull Connor back to safety.

Unfortunately, Riddle turned just then and clamped his hand back on
Connor's scar, trying to renew his link with the diary. He hissed at the
basilisk in the meanwhile. ``\emph{Attack them. Kill the one who smells
like chalk. Leave the other one alive.}''

Harry glanced quickly sideways, to see that Draco held the mirror ready,
and then touched his left arm. ``Sylarana? Are you awake?''

He could feel her, but sluggish and struggling. She was as affected by
the cold of Harry's magic as the basilisk was, sending her into a
torpor. Harry cursed under his breath and tried to think of fire spells.

``You are going to lose, Harry Potter,'' Riddle gloated, even as the
basilisk slid forward around him, in a maze of sea-green motion. ``And
do you know why? I am draining power from your brother even now, and
from you through him. I am going to eat you alive, and then put you in
the diary, and possess him again. Such a tragic story, the Boy-Who-Lived
losing his brother, and coming up from the Chamber alone with such scars
on his soul. And with someone beyond his eyes, looking out, as I have
been for the last five months\ldots{}''

\emph{Five months Connor spent alone with that madman inside his head.
Five months he struggled, he screamed, and no one could hear him.}

Harry closed his eyes, and then opened them. He could feel his magic
rising like wings, as had happened only once before, when he faced
Voldemort in Quirrell's body. This time, though, he faced only a
fragment of Voldemort, and there seemed to be hope that they might be
more equal in power.

Draco held the mirror high, crowding close to Harry's side, though he
shivered at the touch of the rising cold. The basilisk came slowly
forward, and Draco tilted the glass at it.

``\emph{Close your eyes!}'' Riddle commanded abruptly in Parseltongue, and
Harry saw the wink of yellow vanish as the basilisk's eyes shut. A
moment later, its tongue flickered out, hunting for them by scent. Then
it slithered straight at Draco.

``\emph{Move}!'' Harry shouted, shoving at Draco, making him tumble to the
side. He turned back, feeling his magic soar to an absurd height, joined
by his fear for Connor, his fear for Draco, his fear of Riddle, and his
anger at having to battle Riddle like this at all.

He focused that all into one enormous blast, back through the connection
between Riddle and his scar, and this time it broke through whatever
shields Riddle had in place. Riddle's head snapped back, and he dropped
to the ground with a cry. The diary flew into the far wall. Connor
moaned weakly, his scar still seeping, and tried to crawl in Harry's
direction. Harry took a step forward to help him.

And then Draco screamed.

Harry whirled to face him, his heart pounding in his chest. The basilisk
had managed to corner Draco against one of the pillars that held up the
Chamber. It was swaying, its immense head engaged in a deadly dance, its
fangs sticking out and glistening.

Harry felt his mind clear of everything but the sight in front of him.
He was fairly sure that he, himself, could take a bite from the basilisk
and survive due to his magic. He hurtled towards the serpent, letting
the vibrations of his feet distract it, and shouted insults in
Parseltongue. He lessened the cold he was projecting as he did so. He
wanted the enormous snake to think he was an easy target.

The basilisk flickered its tongue out and turned towards him. Perhaps it
would have obeyed Riddle's injunction not to kill him, but its hisses
spoke of hunger and the desire for blood, and Riddle was still trying to
recover from Harry's blast, rather than commanding Slytherin's snake.
The basilisk came for Harry.

Harry raised his left arm to meet those fangs, his breathing light and
fast, his thoughts crystalline. He was going to do this. He could take
the bite, where Draco could not. He was fairly sure he would not
sacrifice his life. He was---

``\emph{No! Mine! My human! I defend him from other snakes!}''

Sylarana reared out of Harry's sleeve, and as the basilisk's head came
down, she flung herself off his arm, coiling around its neck. She
stabbed her fangs home, once and then twice.

The basilisk screamed in Parseltongue, a sound of agony that made Harry
want to cower. He watched in wonder as the Locusta venom took effect,
and it began to twitch and convulse, its smooth glide already turning to
jerky angles of movement as Sylarana bit it again and again, hissing in
vengeance.

Then the basilisk flung its body to the ground and rolled over, still
convulsing, crushing Sylarana between its neck and the floor.

Harry went to his knees screaming as she died, and the box burst open.

All the light in the Chamber fled. Harry knelt alone in darkness, and
screamed as the searing pain ran up and down his limbs, worse than
\emph{Crucio}, and the webs of his mind fluttered uselessly in his head,
filling his thoughts with equally useless flashes of light and phoenix
song and vows and memories.

\emph{So he can be extraordinary\ldots{}}

\emph{Sylarana coiling close around him and demanding Chocolate
Frogs\ldots{}}

\emph{Connor grinning at him as they turned seven, and blowing out the
flaring candles on their cake, then frowning again as they flared back
up despite all his breath could do\ldots{}}

\emph{Sirius frowning at him as Harry demanded tales of pureblood
customs, not understanding, telling him that he had left all that was
Black behind him and he would advise his godson to do the same
thing\ldots{}}

Claws cut at the inside of his skull, shredded and tore at his brain,
and his vision and world smashed and tilted sideways. Within him, the
cold voice laughed and rose, free from the deep gulfs of its
imprisonment.

\emph{I told you! I told you that you could do so much more. Would you
like to see the magic they have hidden away from you? Not content to
bind and hold your personality, they have also hidden your power---}

And then the cold voice was silenced, because a different self had come
forth from the box.

It had no voice. It had no boasting. Harry could feel its rage, though,
and the coldness of that rage.

He opened his eyes to see Draco encased in ice, the dead basilisk
frozen, and blue-white fire cutting the darkness and racing towards Tom
Riddle and Connor. In a moment, Connor, too, was a statue, and then the
magic reared high above Tom Riddle and the diary and stared at them.

Riddle stared back for a long moment. Then he swung his head to look at
Harry, and his eyes had gone mad.

``Not him,'' he breathed. ``Never him. It was \emph{you}, it must have
been, and the nature of our connection---''

The silent self had had enough of him. Down it coiled, and made itself
into a snake, a constrictor, so black that Harry's eyes bled as he
watched it. His own voice was distant now, a sobbing scream, worse than
a kicked animal would make. He could do nothing but watch. He was not in
control right now. The silent self was.

It coiled around Tom Riddle and broke his ribs with one squeeze, his
newly formed body with another, and then his life from him with a third.
Then the snake placed him on the floor, stretched its jaws wide, and ate
him. Harry felt, distantly, that cold power settle within him, consumed
by his own magic, adding to its strength.

The snake flowed over to the diary and ate it as well, tearing it apart
and absorbing every crumb of magic within its pages. Harry felt a brief
knot of resistance at the center of the book, a knot that seemed
self-aware, oddly like a piece of a soul, trying to escape. But the
snake crushed it utterly, stripped it of its magic, and then spat out
the self-awareness. It fled, wailing, naked and alone, and tattered as
it flew. Harry did not think it reached the far side of the Chamber
before it was gone, dissipated into oblivion.

He knelt there, and screamed, and the pain was very great.

The magic came slinking back to him. Harry could feel it studying him.
For the moment, he held all its attention in the middle of that frozen
Chamber. He wondered, oddly calm, the pain making him half-crazed,
whether it would destroy him, too, not needing his body as a shelter any
longer.

He gasped as shards of the phoenix song crunched like glass in his gut,
reminding him of what he had vowed to save Connor. He could not let the
magic hurt Connor. He had already let it freeze Connor. He had to
control it.

He held up one hand. His fingers were blue with frostbite in the light
of the white, searing cold that marked the magic, and seemed absurdly
small. He reached up towards this immense force that had somehow come
out of him, this force that terrified him and that was his to master,
and waited. He could hear himself screaming, somewhere still, but it was
not important. His throat stung and hurt with the ice particles that had
slid down it, but that was not important, either.

The silent self did not speak in the cold voice again; nor did it coil
back into his body and let him do what he would with it. Instead, it
showed him pictures.

\emph{Lily instructing him again and again in the ways of his vows,
repeating it endlessly when he would have faltered.}

\emph{Harry performing mild hexes and jinxes on himself as he learned to
withstand physical pain, because someday he would suffer pain like this
on the battlefield, and he had to be able to keep going.}

\emph{The battle with the Lestranges, and how he had given all the
credit to Connor, and how that was not fair, was beyond unfair, was
cruel and unjust.}

\emph{His envy of Connor for being in Gryffindor.}

\emph{His envy of Connor for being the favored of their parents.}

\emph{His hatred of Dumbledore, for agreeing with him and using him as a
pawn, and giving him the Sword of Gryffindor, which had burned him.}

The shards of the phoenix song in his mind stirred and pushed back,
trying to reassert themselves. Harry had long since lost his breath to
scream, but he knelt, hands around his head, and gasped and trembled. He
could not hate Connor the way the self from the box wanted him to. How
could he? Connor was a child, and had been possessed by Riddle even as
he had, and was a victim of their parents even as he was.

But how could he hate his parents?

An absolute torrent of images answered him.

\emph{Ignoring him in favor of Connor.}

\emph{Not knowing anything about his wandless magic, or praising him for
keeping it secret.}

\emph{Their disappointment when they could not get him moved from
Slytherin to Gryffindor.}

\emph{Lily's suspicion over the Malfoy owl, whether Harry's friends
could be trusted not to betray them.}

\emph{The way that they had accepted the story last year, the way that
Dumbledore had accepted the story last year, about Connor defeating
Voldemort, and no one had ever asked whether Harry had been hurt or had
suffered in that battle, and no one had known how long he fought against
him.}

\emph{His parents not coming to see him in the hospital wing when he had
battled with Riddle and lain unconscious for a week.}

\emph{Connor lying about coming to see him.}

He couldn't help it! He was possessed! Harry felt himself begin to
dissolve and shred on the edges of that truth. He had to think as he
always had, or what was the use of things? He could not possibly think
badly of Connor. It was not in him to do so. He had to remember that.
The things the magic wanted him to think were not true.

But the magic steadily presented him with truths, jealousies and
resentments he had forgotten, treatment he should never have had to
endure, and yanked him forward, even as the truths he knew pierced him
again. Harry could feel his mind beginning to unravel, pushed and pulled
between those two opposing forces.

When he heard the song begin, he thought it was imagining it, or that
the golden web in his head had grown stronger. He gasped and lifted his
eyes towards the ceiling of the Chamber, from which the music came,
blinking away blood so that he could see.

Fawkes circled there, holding something long and glittering in his
talons. With him came fire, and with him came light, and when he circled
down and landed on Harry's shoulder, dropping the Sword of Gryffindor
not far from Harry's feet, it was as if all the beauty in the world had
entered the Chamber of Secrets.

The phoenix bowed his head and wept on Harry's temple. His tears melted
the ice that had begun to take Harry's hair, and Harry reached up and
clutched convulsively at the warm feathers. The magic hesitated.

He felt a third force move into his head, gently inserting itself
between him and the tattered shreds of his duty, and blocking the magic
from showing him any more memories. Relief from pain was the most
wonderful sensation Harry had ever known. This time, the phoenix's voice
that moved through his head brought true beauty and peace, and he could
finally take a breath without the urge to scream.

Fawkes could not heal everything, of course. Harry was well-aware that
this was only temporary, that his webs were torn beyond all redemption,
and that the magic wanted to reach out and do unforgivable things to the
people who had hurt him unforgivably. But it permitted him a breathing
space, and in that breathing space he reached out and pulled the ice
back into himself.

It collapsed in ringing shards from Draco, who abruptly gasped and
coughed and spat out half an icicle. He turned and looked at Harry,
stumbling hard enough---he'd been frozen in an awkward position---that
the mirror dropped from his hand and shattered. He didn't appear to
notice. ``Harry?'' he whispered.

Harry turned his head from the trust and fear in that voice---fear for
him, not of him. He could not bear it. How could he tell Draco that he
was going to die in a short time? He faced Connor, and saw his brother
breathing slowly and regularly, a healthy tint coming back into his
cheeks.

His magic stirred. \emph{You are not leaving without doing something to
him,} said the cold voice.

Harry tried to resist, and lost. The best thing he could hope for was
not to do permanent damage to Connor. The magic would be satisfied with
nothing less than an impact on his mind, the kind that he had had on
Harry throughout the school year by stirring up his emotions and doing
unfair things and ordering him to stand aside so Ron could attack Draco
and---

Harry gasped and pushed away the anger. There was a time and place for
the rage, and it was not here. He reached out, and, as Connor opened his
eyes, whispered, ``\emph{Obliviate}.''

Connor blinked and stared at him with glazed eyes.

``You fought Tom Riddle,'' Harry told him quietly. ``Fawkes brought the
Sword of Gryffindor for you, and you picked it up and stabbed the
basilisk through the mouth, but not before it bit you and one of its
fangs broke off in your arm. You used the fang to destroy the diary, and
with it gone, Tom Riddle was also destroyed. Fawkes healed your wound
from the fang.'' The lies spilled from his mouth, automatic. He had
always been a good liar.

\emph{Not for very much longer}. Almost greater than the rage and the
pain was his desire for rest, but strongest of all was his frantic
desire not to hurt anyone. He had to get them out of here as soon as he
possibly could, and then go somewhere else to die and release his magic,
in the fervent hope that it would be content to wreak havoc on its
surroundings and not Connor or their mother and father.

Connor blinked, then nodded. ``How are we going to get out of here?'' he
whispered, looking up at the phoenix.

Fawkes trilled once and then turned and swept his tail over them.

``Phoenixes can carry great weights,'' said Harry, remembering something
he'd read in the books that Professor Snape had given him. \emph{I'll
see him once more, if ever.} ``He'll carry us.'' He reached up to
Fawkes, and grabbed his tail. He felt Draco grab hold behind him,
seething with silent curiosity and questions. Connor picked up the Sword
of Gryffindor, which of course did not burn him, and caught Draco's
hand.

Up Fawkes soared, away from the Chamber and Sylarana's body, and Harry
leaned his head on the tail and wished he could cry.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
They were in the Headmaster's office. Their parents had Apparated in,
which was not a surprise, Harry thought distantly, when they heard about
their son taken into the Chamber. He knew his safety would have been one
of their concerns, but a secondary one.

His magic lashed angrily. He calmed it, and felt the walls already
weakening. With Sylarana gone---

\emph{She is gone.}

---he could not hold the cold self and the silent self much longer, but
he would have to hold them until he could fight his way free. He had
already decided what he would do. He only wanted to wait until Draco
left the office. It wasn't fair to subject him to this.

Draco had at last gone, after admitting that he didn't remember anything
between distracting the basilisk with his mirror and finding it dead,
and Madam Pomfrey had taken charge of him. That left Harry in the
Headmaster's office with Dumbledore behind his desk, Fawkes on his
perch, the Sword of Gryffindor on Dumbledore's desk, Lily and James in
the corner with Connor between them, Sirius kneeling in front of and
hugging Connor as if his life depended on it, and Professor Snape
scowling suspiciously from a chair. Connor was telling his story, his
color high and flushed with excitement. He had no obvious wounds, and
neither did Harry, who had made sure to avoid the eyes of both men who
might be able to read his mind.

Harry let a bit of his magic free. It was longing to be used, and he
would use it in the best way he could.

``\emph{Fugitivus Animus Amplector},'' he whispered.

The magic flooded out of him, catching the attention of everyone else in
the room and directing it fiercely towards Connor. Harry slipped in
their perceptions, sliding down the ladder of importance to them. He had
the distinct feeling that Dumbledore had let the spell capture him, and
Snape's mind had already begun subtly struggling against it; its effect
on him would probably end when he left the room. But his parents and
Sirius were decidedly victims of it. It increased their near-obsession
with Connor into true obsession. The magic rather liked that.

So did Harry, but for different reasons. Oh, they would grieve when they
knew he was dead, but it would be a muted grief. Harry knew Connor's
grief would be true, and he wished he could give his brother another
gift than this, but if he stayed here, he would hurt him. The anger he
had locked in the box and beneath the webs of his mind was wild in him
now, swirling around, and it wanted to hurt Connor.

No. He could not hurt Connor.

Harry closed his eyes as the tug-of-war began again, and sighed. He
would find nothing here. He had to leave the school as soon as possible,
and get as far away as he could. He would generate a magical explosion
when he died, he knew, but Hogwarts's wards should protect her. And then
Connor would be alive, and a true hero, and a true Gryffindor, and he
would have done all he could.

He turned and slipped out of the room.

He ran, silently, for Hogwarts's front doors. The walls in his head were
already collapsing. He was remembering more and more, a whirlwind of
memories, a maelstrom, dancing and catching him up, flinging him from
image to image and phantom pain to phantom pain. He was dying. He was
going to die. He had never hurt so much, and he did not think that
anything could hurt so much and live.

He burst free from Hogwarts and ran across the grounds. Night had come.
Harry could see stars, and the rising slim crescent of the moon, and a
distant light growing from Hagrid's hut. The dark shape of the Forbidden
Forest paced him.

He went to one knee, abruptly, as the last of the walls fell in his
head. He expected a moment of regret that he hadn't been able to get
further away.

Then the magic roared out of him and into the heart of the sky, and
called down a storm. Harry closed his eyes and let himself be swept
away.

\chapter{The Heart of the Storm}\label{chapter-31-the-heart-of-the-storm}

Snape frowned. He could feel an odd pulling sensation in his mind, the
urge to step out of the Headmaster's office and---do something. He
couldn't make out what he wanted to do, whether brew a potion or go to
the hospital wing to check on Draco, but he knew that he wanted to
leave.

Yet how could he, when there was Connor Potter in front of him, still
listening to Dumbledore as the Headmaster told him what a wonderful
story his tale was, and how it would inspire the other students when
they heard it at the Leaving Feast?

Snape grimaced. He could translate Dumbledore's words. \emph{Gryffindor
House has just won the House Cup. Again.}

He glanced away from the insufferable brat, but found his eyes
returning. For some reason, hate him or love him, Connor Potter was the
center of this room.

That made Snape suspicious. It reminded him of the effects of a spell.
He would remember the name of the spell in a moment, he was sure. It was
on the tip of his tongue, and he could not grasp it. He closed his eyes
and rubbed his head with one hand.

``Severus?''

Snape glanced up. Dumbledore had noticed his distraction and was smiling
at him kindly.

``If you would like to check on young Mr. Malfoy,'' he said gently, ``I
am sure that he would be happy to see you, as his Head of House.''

Snape nodded stiffly. He couldn't quite remember why he'd come to the
Headmaster's office in the first place, he thought as he left. Of course
there was the Petrified student---some Hufflepuff---and a message about
Potter going into the Chamber of Secrets to defeat Riddle, but he hadn't
known then that Draco had gone along. And why should he have? He was
hardly friends with Potter---

He stepped out of the office, and out of Potter's immediate vicinity,
and the realization hit him like a blow.

\emph{Harry.}

Snape began to run.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
He had aimed for Hogwarts's front doors, guessing that Harry would not
have gone to the hospital wing or back to the Slytherin common room. But
perhaps, he thought, as he sagged against the doors and stared at the
sight in front of him, he had instinctively felt the call of the magic
Harry was projecting.

It was night. The stars and the moon were blazing somewhere. That
somewhere was not over Hogwarts.

Instead, a long tail of darkness, black enough to make Snape's eyes
hurt, rose from near the Forbidden Forest and made lazy circles in the
air, growing in speed and power as Snape watched. It formed a solid wall
of whirling black wind, and it brought winter. He could feel the cold
from here. It stung his throat and the inside of his nostrils already,
and he thought that snow probably covered the lawn inside the storm
itself---assuming that there was still lawn there. The winds bore along
branches and slats of wood that might have come from the shed used to
store Quidditch gear, and once Snape thought he saw a whole tree. And
the storm was expanding, slowly but with determination. He had no doubt
but that it would be tearing at Hogwarts's wards soon.

Worse than the physical power, though, was the magical. He could feel it
spilling over the shields that Lucius had trained him to raise, leaking
into every unoccupied corner of his body and mind and demanding his
attention. It was like the Dark Lord's power, and Snape in fact sensed a
touch of familiarity that made him wonder if it was Tom Riddle and not
Harry at the heart of this storm after all. But no; if it were, then the
power would have that familiar cruel edge Snape had felt night after
night when he still served among the Death Eaters. This was wild power,
with an undercurrent of honest rage. It was so busy exulting in its
freedom that it hadn't attacked anyone else yet. Snape supposed he could
be thankful to Merlin for small favors.

Harry was in there.

Harry was in need of his help.

Snape closed his eyes, breathing lightly, and began carefully to release
the locks he kept on his own memories and his own power. In a sense, he
had had boxes of his own in his head, but fluid and safe, given that he
let the memories out every once in a while and kept them constantly in
motion. And he had seen no reason to tell Harry of the tactic, lest he
think himself justified in keeping his own box.

These were pools of quicksilver, and from them Snape pulled his memories
of being a Death Eater, of the year that he had served willingly under
Voldemort and the year he had been a spy, of walking among death and
torture and never flinching from either. It was not courage in the way
that Gryffindors would understand it, being dark and hard and bitter,
but he needed it now. And he could not afford to lock away any
experiences he had with Dark magic at the moment.

He opened his eyes and felt his own magic answering his call, rising in
ridged patterns like steel bars around him. He nodded once and took a
step away from the safety of the school and her wards.

The winds grabbed him, snarling, and flung him into the air. Snape had
barely enough presence of mind to call on his own wandless magic and
cushion his landing with a charm. He built a shield over himself a
moment later, as the wind screamed and shrieked and swept by above him.

He eyed the whirling black wall for a long moment. He thought it would
be easier if he could just get past the outer edge, but he did not know
how to shield himself from the physical force of the wind in the
meanwhile.

So loud was the screaming of the storm, and so heavy the pressure of the
magic, that Snape did not hear the hooves crunching across the grass of
the lawn until they were close. He started and turned. A centaur stood
there, turned pale by the crazed flashes of silver lightning beginning
to play in the storm.

Snape stared at the centaur. The centaur stared back, then turned and
inclined his head towards the storm.

``This is the first stroke of Mars's hand, and the most dangerous,'' the
centaur said, in that low-pitched grave tone that all of them used.
``From this we might receive another Dark Lord, another champion of war.
I will take you through the storm to him, that this might not happen.''

Snape shook his head slowly---not in denial, but in disbelief. ``Why?''
he asked, even as he worked his way to the edge of his shield and the
centaur knelt down, waiting for him to scramble onto his back.

``Because he is ours, too,'' said the centaur, utter seriousness on his
face. His eyes were piercing, bright. ``\emph{Vates.}''

Snape paused for a moment. He knew the word. It meant a poet, but also a
prophet, a seer---

A visionary.

Snape shook his head again and scrambled onto the centaur's back. The
moment his shield left him, he felt the wind try to blow him backwards.
He clung with all his strength, bowing his head, and the centaur bore
him forward into the storm.

It grew darker and darker as they approached the heart. Snape knew it
didn't all come from the cloud cover that Harry's power had given the
sky. This \emph{was} Dark magic. He had not been wrong. It might be
content to throw trees around and turn the air cold for now, but sooner
or later it would unfold itself and strike, and if anyone but Dumbledore
could stop it, Snape would be surprised. It was stronger than he had
known Harry to be, stronger than he had sensed it was when Harry fought
Riddle, and the rage hovering under the surface could rise at any
moment.

\emph{All the more reason for me to enter it and help him.}

Snape shook his head again as the centaur, straining, his legs rising
and falling as though through water, finally took him as close as he
could go. He was not sure how he was supposed to help Harry. He knew
Dark magic, and he knew the arts of the mind---he was sure that Harry's
webs must have shredded somehow, for this to happen---but he had never
seen anything like this storm.

``You will help him.''

Snape started again and turned to the centaur. ``I will try,'' he
corrected the irritating creature. ``That does not mean that I will
succeed.''

``The stars do not say that you will succeed, either,'' the centaur
agreed. ``They say that you will try, and do a better job than many
others could, and that we will have a new Dark Lord or the beginnings of
our \emph{vates} after this evening.'' He turned before Snape could
question him, using the sheer bulk of his body to shield him from the
newest blast of air. ``Now, enter the storm.''

Snape turned and held his wand out before him. He could use wandless
magic when he needed to, but it taxed him, and he thought he would need
all his strength to deal with whatever he found inside.
``\emph{Diffindo!}''

The black magic fell apart, cut into two neat halves, and Snape strode
forward. He felt the gap close immediately behind him, and he let out a
deep breath. He was cut off from the outside world now.

No, that was not quite true. He was cut off from the outside world, but
he was with the small, motionless figure who lay crumpled at the center
of this storm. Snape moved forward, slowly, not able to take his eyes
off the sight.

Harry did not appear to be breathing, though Snape knew he must be or
the magic would not have been able to continue growing. He lay as though
someone had dropped him, his head lolling to the side and his shoulders
lifted towards the sky. A thin, cold black flame appeared to cover him,
from head to feet, and stretched higher into the sky, thickening until
it gave birth to the storm.

As Snape had thought, it was calm here, the grass still untouched,
though the air was freezing cold. It was not wind but his own awe and
fear which made him approach the boy slowly. Then he sat down beside
him, let out a deep breath, and caught Harry's chin, tilting the boy's
face towards him.

His eyes were empty, wide and glassy and without a trace of tears. Snape
knew, had known, that Harry's expression would tell him nothing.

There was only one way that he might learn more, and, perhaps, stop the
storm from attacking the school---and, if the centaurs and their stars
were right, prevent the rise of a new Dark Lord.

He pointed his wand at Harry, ignoring how his hand shook. He intoned
the word, ignoring how his voice trembled. ``\emph{Legilimens.}''

Pain swallowed him.

Snape tumbled and turned, his own consciousness awash in a sea of agony.
He could feel memories and thoughts flashing past him, too swift to be
seen, too scattered to be counted, and then he landed with a crash on
what felt like a solid floor. He fought his way to his feet, terror
making itself known in the wild beat of his heart. He had never felt
such \emph{bodily} sensations when in someone else's mind. That Harry
had created a world like this was an indication of wondrous power.

And also loss of control. Snape lifted his head, remembering the
spiraling webs he had seen before---lately twined around the marble
block of Harry's devotion to his twin and filled with breaches full of
fog that marked the Occlumency shields.

It was gone. It was all gone. The mind above Snape was cold and dark,
howling and hardly human, with strands of coherent thought shifting back
and forth like a spiderweb torn apart by a careless hand. He saw
memories spinning like butterflies with nothing to hold them, dying in
the endless wash of magic. He saw the shards of the golden web that he
had noticed once, far down in Harry's consciousness, crouched like a
giant insect on one side of his mind, attempting to repair itself and
failing badly, because it had nothing on the opposite side to cling to.

It was worse than Snape had imagined, but he knew the cause at once.
\emph{His snake is dead, and in dying, she tore out every web she was
wrapped around.}

Snape took a deep breath and moved a step forward.

``Who are you?''

Snape froze for a long moment. That voice had been Harry's, at least
nominally, but it sounded like the Dark Lord. He turned, and felt the
floor shift under him, real and solid in the way that ice was. He
quelled his fear about going so far into someone else's mind. He'd had
no choice about it.

A small figure stood before him, its head cocked to one side. Snape
could not see it very well. It seemed to be made of shadow and ice,
except for the brilliant green eyes that shone when it turned its head,
and the jagged lightning bolt scar that blazed just as green above the
eyes, shining like \emph{Avada Kedavra.} It moved towards him. Snape
felt the cold come with it. The floor beneath his feet firmed and looked
more than ever like ice. The air around him howled in utter mockery.
Snape firmed his grasp on his wand---in this mental world, he had it if
he thought he did---and waited.

``No, wait,'' said the figure, as though in answer to a question Snape
hadn't asked. ``I know you. You're his Potions Master. The one who told
him that he shouldn't keep a box in his head, or have that snake wrapped
around so many levels of his mind.'' The figure laughed without humor.
``Looks like you were right.''

``Who are you?'' Snape kept his voice calm and level. He \emph{had} done
something like this once before, when he had entered Alice Longbottom's
mind on Dumbledore's request and attempted to repair the shattered
fragments of her sanity. It had not worked, but he had met a young witch
who had giggled at him and told him that she was Alice's childhood, one
intact part of her locked behind solid walls. Snape racked his brain for
the questions he had asked then. ``What is your name?''

The figure smiled at him, a nightmare grin of icy teeth, and the scar
and the eyes both flared wildly. ``I don't have one. I don't need one.
You could call me Harry, but I'm not all of him. Just his magic, free at
last.'' It turned and gestured at the broken, glowing golden web. ``That
kept me imprisoned. So much of me. You should feel how strong I am, how
deep.''

``I could,'' Snape murmured. ``The storm is your doing, isn't it?''

The figure ducked its head modestly. ``It is. And when Harry manages to
look out of the center of himself, then I'll expand it, and we'll tear
down the walls of Hogwarts together.''

``Would Harry \emph{want} to tear down the walls of Hogwarts?''

The figure shrugged. ``I don't really care. I've been tied down most of
his life. I should get to do what I want to do.''

Snape allowed himself to sneer. This was not as hopeless as Alice
Longbottom's case, after all, where the bars of pain that Bellatrix had
imposed had remained motionless through all of Snape's attempts to
remove them. ``You do realize,'' he asked, coating his tones with false
solicitude, ``that the longer you are free, the less force of
personality you will have?''

The figure faltered, blinking at him. ``What do you mean?''

``Exactly what I said.'' Snape restrained his temptation to insult
this---this construct of magic, or whatever name would be appropriate
for it. ``Most wizards' magic does not have a personality of its own,
because it is free and integrated with them. You only have one because
you were tied down and compressed for so long, and the power created you
rather than do nothing. But you are free now. The further you spread,
the more things you do, the less strength you'll put towards maintaining
your own identity. Sooner or later, you'll fade, and the magic will
belong to Harry, as it should.''

The figure champed its teeth. Snape didn't move. He was thinking of
arrogant wizards he had confronted during his Death Eater days, Dark
wizards who had thought that the Dark Lord would never dare touch them.
He had taken much pleasure in showing them the error of their ways. He
would do the same thing now. He had always enjoyed being right.

``You're lying,'' the figure breathed. ``You \emph{must} be.''

``I am not,'' said Snape, making his voice bored. ``You said yourself
that you cannot tear down the walls of Hogwarts, not yet. You need
Harry's will and consent behind you to do that. You haven't got it. The
longer you spend waiting for it, the more compliant you'll become.''

The figure turned and screamed up towards the golden web. The shards of
it stirred and tried to unfold themselves again, then collapsed
crookedly back against the wall they clung to.

``I want it back, then,'' said the figure, green eyes crazed. ``If the
only way I can survive is to be confined, I want it \emph{back.}''

Snape made a sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement, and
looked carefully back up through Harry's mind. There was a point at the
center of it that exuded the harshest cold, the blackest terror and
pain. He knew that was where he had to go. He was not looking forward to
it.

``Good luck.''

Snape stared briefly at the construct of Harry's magic. It bared its
teeth, and he realized it was laughing at him.

``Wait until you meet the silent self,'' it whispered, and then turned
towards the golden web again, trying to call it down.

Snape turned, crouched, and then launched himself upwards, heading
straight for that center of blackness. He felt the walls part to embrace
him this time, without his having to cut through them as he had through
the storm.

In a moment, he hovered in a second dark well, one that shut out every
sight of the tattered mess that Harry's mind had become. He could see
nothing but blackness, hear nothing but silence, feel nothing but cold.

It became quite obvious, however, that he was not alone in that
darkness.

Snape felt \emph{something} else move to encircle him, rubbing against
his body like a snake made of ice. He lifted his imagined wand in front
of him and breathed, ``\emph{Lumos}.'' His voice sounded far breathier
than he would have liked, given everything.

The thing revealed itself. It was a snake, at least in form, and it
shone silver. It turned and met his eyes with green ones.

Snape saw.

He saw the memories that Harry had put in the box, endless arrays of
them, envy shuttered and shuffled aside, talent denied, connections
destroyed, everything but duty forsaken. Cruelty justified and supported
was there, and neglect excused with any one of a thousand breathy
sentences. Snape could hear a chorus of voices crying out in his head,
most of which sounded like Lily Potter, all beginning with ``\emph{But if
you only knew everything, then you would understand\ldots{}}''

Snape did not know how old Harry had been when these memories began, but
he looked young in at least some of them, perhaps no older than three or
four. He felt his breath catch, and then his heart start beating again,
as though it had stopped when the snake began to show him the memories.

He had been a Death Eater. He had been a Dark wizard, and still was, in
the sense that he knew the Dark Arts. He had sometimes thought that his
sense of right and wrong had long ago drained away from him. He had made
his choices, but for selfish reasons as much as anything else. His
courage was nothing that a Gryffindor would recognize.

He learned in that moment that he still had a sense of right and wrong.
What these memories indicated was wrongness, and he felt emotions
swelling in him in answer. Because it might have been too difficult or
compromising to separate them all out, he translated the emotions into
rage. That would work better.

He reached out and put one hand on the snake's head. His fingers tingled
and then lost all feeling. Snape ignored them. He met the snake's green
eyes and spoke the words carefully.

``Take me to Harry.''

The green eyes studied him.

``I want to help him,'' said Snape.

The snake---the silent self, the magic had called it---would have known
if he had lied. It turned and flowed away from him instead, leading him
through barriers that parted like smoke around him. They would have held
like steel, Snape knew, if he had wanted to harm Harry.

Or, more likely, he would have simply died. The silent self was
practical. It would slaughter its enemies, which were Harry's enemies
and those who had hurt him, Snape thought, and never experience a moment
of regret.

He hoped fervently that there was a way Harry could harness and master
that practicality.

The last barrier parted, and then they were in front of a small,
shattered, broken heap. The silent self floated away. Snape knelt in
front of the tattered bunch of emotions and memories, and wondered where
he should begin.

He took a deep breath. There had to be a foundation to any mind, a
guiding pattern that exemplified the shape it took. And much as he hated
it, he knew what the foundation had to be, too. There was only one that
Harry would respond to, particularly in this state, with his own
survival instinct and his power separated from the center of him.

``Harry,'' he whispered. ``Harry, do you remember your brother?''

The heap in front of him stirred. Then Harry's voice spoke from around
him, infinitely weary and infinitely tattered. ``Do I have to?''

Snape closed his eyes. He could admit that what he was feeling was pity,
at least to himself. ``Yes. Unless you know of something else that will
anchor you and bring you back to yourself?''

He could feel the negation before Harry spoke it. ``No. I---how did you
get in here? Why did they let you through?''

``I wanted to help,'' said Snape carefully. ``Harry, it will not be the
same as it was before, even if you use your devotion to your brother as
the anchoring pattern. For one thing, the web tying down most of your
magic is gone. You'll need to master it, and to use it at least some of
the time.'' He extended one arm and let his own magic blaze around him.
``When the effort of not using my own Dark magic is too much, I go into
the Forbidden Forest or conjure a target and spend it harmlessly there.
I can show you how to do the same thing.''

``I don't want to,'' Harry whispered. ``I swallowed part of Tom Riddle's
power, in the Chamber. I don't \emph{want} that much magic.''

``But you have it,'' said Snape, making sure that his voice sounded
gentle. To his surprise, it really didn't take that much effort. ``And
you should use it, Harry. Otherwise, it will make an impact on the
world, and not one that you desire. It has its own personality at the
moment, and its own desire for freedom. If you try to deny it, the same
thing will happen again. And perhaps this time you will kill someone
else, instead of trying to escape doing so.''

Harry let out a little sob. ``But the---I---my parents are \emph{afraid}
of me, Professor.'' He laughed bitterly, and Snape felt the silent self
stir nearby, filled with memories. ``That was why they tried to tie my
magic down in the first place. They didn't want me to become another
Dark Lord. How am I supposed to avoid that?''

``You are closer now to becoming another Dark Lord than you have ever
been,'' said Snape.

He knew he was taking a horrible risk, and he felt the silent self surge
towards him, ready to hurt him if Harry was hurt. But Harry merely
froze, and then whispered, ``Why? I don't understand.''

``Because this magic is being ignored,'' said Snape. ``Just as your envy
and resentment of your brother built over all the years that your
accomplishments were ignored, the magic built, and what you have done to
exercise and train it is not enough. And now you are stronger than ever.
This \emph{must} be used, Harry, not pushed away or cast aside. I very
much doubt that you could ever cage it again.''

Harry was silent for a long time. Snape tamed his impatience, his fear
that the magic was doing irreversible things to Hogwarts and its grounds
and perhaps the students inside, and waited. Some things could not be
rushed.

``It's not true that I don't want it,'' Harry whispered at last. ``It's
true that I want it too much.''

The air around them surged, and turned noticeably warmer. Snape dared to
breathe a bit more easily. ``That \emph{is} the truth,'' he said softly.
``But consider this, Harry. You have always wanted to defend your
brother, is that not true? And others?''

Harry glanced up at him and nodded slowly.

``Master this,'' said Snape, with a sweep of his arm that was meant to
indicate the storm and the shattered bits of Harry's personality and the
silent self and everything else, ``and you can do wonderful things as
easily as hurtful, Harry. You can protect. Defend. Guard. \emph{Heal.}''
He saw the boy's head lift then, as if hearing a trumpet call, and
pressed on. ``There is no law that says every powerful wizard must fall
to the Dark.''

``I thought there was,'' Harry muttered.

Snape quelled the surge of protective fury. \emph{That will wait.} ``I
will help you,'' he said. ``Draco will help you. Anyone whom you choose
to take into your confidence will help you.''

Harry looked at him keenly for a moment. Then he said, ``You saw the
golden web, Professor?''

Snape nodded.

``That was meant to tie my magic down,'' said Harry, an edge of
bitterness slipping into his voice. ``Amid other things that I don't
even know yet. And I know who created it.'' He let his breath out.
``Dumbledore.'' He stared hard at Snape. ``That means that, if you stand
with me and train me, then you're acting against Dumbledore. And I
\emph{know} you're loyal to him.''

Snape felt the world around him wrench into utter clarity.

He had suspected this for some time. All he had been able to learn about
the web was that it was most likely powerful Light magic, and compelled
Harry to act in defense of his brother---somehow. But that had been
enough. If it were not a Dark spell, then Voldemort could not have set
it, and the Potters were not that strong. It was Dumbledore's work.

Dumbledore, who had protected him and believed him when he fled the
Death Eaters. Dumbledore, who had supported him in the Order of the
Phoenix when the others would have cast him out. Dumbledore, who had
saved him from Azkaban.

Dumbledore, who had protested that Sirius Black was merely playing a
prank when he nearly sent Snape to die on Remus Lupin's fangs.
Dumbledore, who had made no secret in the last years of how much he
favored Gryffindor House. Dumbledore, who had set the golden web on
Harry's magic. Dumbledore who, it seemed, had \emph{Obliviated} Remus
Lupin.

Snape had accepted Harry's ridiculous story about Lockhart
\emph{Obliviating} the werewolf because he had wanted to. If he could
pretend just a little longer, then he could avoid confronting the fact
that his mentor was someone who would meddle with a child's mind and
magic. He could pretend that his loyalty to Dumbledore was
uncomplicated, that the man was a paragon of Light.

He had chosen ultimate loyalties twice in his life, twice sworn to
follow a powerful wizard and meant it. Must he do it a third time?

He opened his eyes and looked down at Harry.

Yes, he must. And he must do it again and again if he had to. Only
Gryffindors thought the world was so simple as to require one choice and
one choice alone. And Snape was no Gryffindor.

\emph{I will choose every day if I have to.}

He stretched out his hand to Harry. ``I will help you,'' he said. ``If
you promise me that you will strive to master your magic and your
memories.''

Harry blinked, then gave him an astonishingly sweet smile. ``Thank you,
Professor,'' he said, and moved forward to clasp Snape's hand.

Snape felt the moment when Harry reached out and claimed control of his
mind. A voice that thrummed in his head and his very bones said,
\emph{That is enough.}

The pain and the magic both screamed back at him. He could not think to
rebuild himself into a whole person, not yet. The damage had been too
extensive. How was he to deal with his memories? How was he to deal with
his power? He had denied both most of his life. How could he heal
himself wholly in the wake of that?

Harry's answer was as silent as the cold snake with the green eyes, and
as simple as his destructive rage. He was not trying to heal himself
wholly, not yet. He was trying to heal himself just enough to restrain
his power and learn to master it, Snape thought, watching in a daze. He
had never known the boy could do something like this.

He had never, of course, been present in the reconstruction of someone
else's mind, let alone Harry Potter's.

Harry touched the golden web first, unfolding the shattered pieces of
it, testing its strength. It held up under his probing hands, and Snape
heard Harry sigh. Dumbledore's magic was still stronger than Harry's
desire to be rid of it. It had to go somewhere, had to attach to
something.

Harry found the perfect place for it, winding it around the steadiest
part of himself, his trained devotion to his brother. The golden web
glued itself to the rock and held there. Snape nodded. He was not
surprised that Harry had chosen a foundation of duty. The time when he
could wake from that, if ever, was far in the future.

Above the web, Harry gathered up the memories that had tossed like dying
butterflies in his mind, drew them in, and breathed them out. Snape
blinked as flashes of color lit the darkness like green and silver and
blue lightning, save that when the flashes faded, they left behind
bridges as well as afterimages, fragile patterns that stretched across
the deepening gulfs. Harry's thoughts were unlikely to be linear for a
time, Snape knew, but this method would work to \emph{let} him think, at
least.

Between the scattered, acknowledged memories went the memories from
Harry's box, silver webs that filled the color with ice. Snape shuddered
at the sight of them, but Harry simply placed them, one by one, and
moved on. At least he knew it would do no good to ignore them any
longer, Snape thought, though he did not know how long it would take
Harry to deal with them.

Then he turned and beckoned to his magic.

It slunk towards him. Snape could feel that it had already lost a great
deal of its sentience, its individual personality, and it snarled at
Harry instead of speaking. It appeared to have diminished in the
shadow-figure it could cast, as well, and now looked to consist of a
pair of green eyes and a green lightning bolt.

Harry held out his hand, and \emph{pulled}.

Snape watched as the magic flooded into Harry, and then outward, through
him and around, acknowledged and embraced, no longer denied. Harry
embedded it as jewels in the walls of his mind, green crystals and
golden and black. Snape blinked. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing
he had seen.

Faintly, he heard a protest. \emph{But I was free---}

And Harry's voice, impatient. I \emph{was free. You are not just me. You
are mine.}

The magic's voice fell silent.

Harry took a deep breath, and then turned towards something behind
Snape. Snape turned, as well, and saw the silver snake floating there,
its green eyes fixed on Harry. Harry closed his own eyes briefly.

Snape opened his mouth to ask a question, then shut it. Harry had dealt
with the memories from the box that birthed the silent self in the first
place, or had created a way of eventually dealing with them. He had not
yet confronted the rage that lay behind them, the urge to destroy.

Harry stood there for a long time. The silent self waited. Snape curled
his fingers into his fists. He could not imagine what was racing through
Harry's mind, or why he was hesitating.

\emph{A new Dark Lord, or a new} vates---\emph{whatever the last is. I
must be mad, to stand here and let him do this on his own.}

But, mad or not, there was no other option, so Snape waited.

Harry clenched his hands into fists. ``I want to destroy,'' he said.
``Several people, really. But it will take a while.''

The silent self abruptly rushed towards him and slammed into him. Harry
closed his eyes and gasped. Snape could not look away as he watched
black lightning skim up and down Harry's face and body. It tightened,
solidified, and then wrapped him in a dark cocoon. From behind it,
Harry's voice emerged, weary.

``This is the last time I'll be able to speak to you so clearly for a
while, Professor,'' he said. ``My mind's going to look like a mess from
outside.''

Snape was unable to contain his snort at the understatement.

He could feel Harry smiling. ``I---I used \emph{Fugitivus Animus
Amplector} on my parents and Sirius. I should have some time before
they're even able to focus on me and think about me properly. But I
don't trust myself. I can hold the rage, but I can't damp it or get rid
of it. Promise me that you'll get me away from them for at least part of
the summer? I don't trust myself not to kill them.''

Snape nodded. ``Though you mistake the source of my concern,'' he
couldn't help adding. ``I am much more concerned about what they might
do to you.''

``Thank you, Professor,'' said Harry quietly. ``Farewell.''

Snape found himself abruptly kneeling on the grass of Hogwarts's lawn.
He lifted his head and coughed, staring around.

The walls of the storm had collapsed. The lawn was scattered with
branches and odd drifts of snow that looked at least a foot thick, but
it was otherwise unharmed. The greatest change, Snape thought, was in
the air. Still cold, it bore the heavy aftertaste of Dark magic that had
come and gone.

He took a deep breath and looked down at the boy in front of him, just
as Harry stirred and opened his eyes.

There was still pain in them, and he turned his face away in the next
moment, so that Snape couldn't see the expression in them. But he was
hovering in his rebuilt mind, holding on to a fragile kind of sanity. No
matter how long the road, he seemed willing to walk it. He'd made his
choice.

And so had Snape.

Gently, he reached out and scooped Harry into his arms, then stood,
holding him, and began to make his slow way back to the school. There
were so \emph{many} things to be done, so many people to confront and
rage at, and so many decisions to be made in the attempt to heal
Harry---not least, where Harry should go over the summer.

Somewhat to his surprise and confusion, Snape found that he was quite
looking forward to making them.

\chapter{The Boy Who Survived}\label{chapter-32-the-boy-who-survived}

Snape hadn't gone far towards the school when he heard footsteps
pounding behind him. Curious, he glanced back. He wondered if Hagrid had
come out of his hut to check on the damage to the Forbidden Forest. If
he had, then Snape would make him useful and send him to Madam Pomfrey
so that she could have a bed ready for Harry.

His perspective altered dramatically when he realized that the two
figures running towards him were a wizard and witch---in fact, a wizard
and witch he knew, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They must have Apparated
as close as they could to Hogwarts and run the rest of the way. Snape
narrowed his eyes and waited for them, gently shifting Harry against his
chest when he moaned.

Narcissa was the first to reach him, her hair trailing behind her like a
cloud of moonlight. ``Severus,'' she said, barely taking the time to nod
to him. ``The wards on the Manor sensed---magic from Wiltshire.'' Even
here, Snape thought, she was not going to say aloud that those wards
were tuned to strong Dark magic, perhaps more keenly than any others in
Britain, and could identify where it was coming from. ``Has something
happened to our son?''

Snape said, ``In a sense.'' Narcissa's face tightened so much that he
hastened to reassure her. ``Not to him, but to someone he values very
much.'' He shifted so that she could see Harry lying against his chest.
He did not think that he needed to explain. It would take too long to
probe all the details of what had happened anyway, and she would be able
to sense the power rolling off the boy.

``Ah, no,'' said Narcissa softly.

Snape stared at her. She did not look \emph{quite} as stressed as she
had when she assumed Draco was hurt, but it was close. She put out a
trembling hand to stroke the hair back from Harry's forehead, and Snape
was so astonished that he let her. Narcissa winced at the sight of the
red, silver-limned lightning bolt scar.

``I know that my son values him,'' she explained, without looking away
from Harry. ``He is nearly all that Draco talked about this summer. And
I have reason to suspect that he is a more suitable friend for Draco
than most.'' She lifted her eyes to Snape's. ``Please, tell me what
happened.''

He would have, but Lucius came close then and said something
unfortunate.

``It had something to do with the rising of our Lord, I thought,'' he
said, with a gesture to his left arm, ignoring his wife's sharp glance.
``And now I am here, and there is no risen Dark Lord.'' He paused for a
moment, his eyes narrowed and filled with some complicated, cold
emotion. ``I am disappointed.''

That was, perhaps, the most stupid thing he could have said.

Snape's rage was still very near the surface. And angering him had been
known among the Death Eaters as a tactical error. Only Bellatrix
Lestrange was worse, and Bellatrix was often too angry to take any
coherent revenge. Snape never was.

He didn't need his wand, which was a good thing, as getting it would
have meant shifting his arms from under Harry. He merely focused on
Lucius and breathed, ``\emph{Sectumsempra.}''

The spell had barely flown before a voice from the general vicinity of
his chest shouted, ``\emph{Protego!}''

Snape's spell hit the misty shield that had formed in front of Lucius,
and Snape barely ducked aside in time as it came back at him. He watched
it fly past, and endured regret---both that he hadn't managed to hit his
intended target, and that Harry gave a little shudder and moan after
protecting Lucius, the effort of actually using his magic still too much
for him.

Snape moved so that he could see Harry's face, and snarled, ``Why did
you do that?''

Harry glared back at him, as much as he could glare when he looked weary
to the bone. ``Because,'' he said, ``he's Draco's father. That means I
value him. And honestly, he said that to test \emph{you}. That was part
of the dance.'' He rolled his neck, slowly, so that he could see Lucius.
``I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy,'' he said formally. ``That spell was launched
to protect me, and I am the one who must ask that you forgive its use.
Do you?''

Lucius was frozen. Snape felt a self-congratulatory smirk spreading
across his face despite the mistake that Harry said he'd made (and damn
purebloods, anyway, with their dances and their games). At least events
had moved so fast that Malfoy hadn't been able to keep up with them,
either.

Lucius gave a deep, choked cough, as though the \emph{Sectumsempra} had
actually hit him after all, and then nodded. ``Of course, Mr. Potter,''
he said. ``And I ask that you forgive my\ldots{}callous remark.'' His
eyes landed on Snape again, and this time they had the proper wariness
in them. ``I had not known that you had such a fierce protector.''

Snape decided there might be mockery in those words. If so, he was
determined to ignore it. He simply nodded and then turned back towards
the school, Harry cradled more closely against his chest than ever. He
was going to put him in the hospital wing, instruct Pomfrey to let no
one near him except Draco, and then go to Dumbledore. There were some
things that needed to be said.

To his surprise, both Malfoys walked behind him. Snape met Narcissa's
gaze, and only Narcissa's. ``Draco is safe, I said,'' he murmured.

``I know,'' said Narcissa softly. ``And I would still like to know what
happened. I \emph{know} you, Severus. Why did you become so angry at
Lucius when he talked of the Dark Lord's return?''

\emph{This, at least,} Snape thought, \emph{Harry cannot cast a spell to
interfere with.} ``Because your husband is the reason that Harry is like
this,'' he said, and had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen. ``He
gave him a diary at the beginning of the year that turned out to contain
a piece of the Dark Lord's memory. It possessed Harry and destroyed a
good portion of his mental defenses. And now Harry's mind is ripped to
pieces by that and the destruction of his familiar, who was bonded to
his mind. You can see why I would not be in the best of moods around
Lucius.''

The rage was still there, but he could contain it, and even better was
watching Narcissa turn around, standing like a wall between Snape and
her husband, and draw her wand. Lucius stopped walking, a look of utter
bafflement on his face.

``Narcissa---''

``\emph{Silencio,}'' Narcissa said, and Lucius's mouth refused to work.
Narcissa went on without a pause. ``Lucius Abraxas Malfoy,'' she said,
very slowly. ``Did you think that you could hurt someone who is dear to
my son and not have me find out?''

Lucius just stared at her.

Narcissa moved a step forward. ``You \emph{knew},'' she hissed, with a
viciousness in her voice that Snape thought would have done credit to
Harry's snake. ``You \emph{knew} that Draco needs him, and you still
tried to destroy him.''

Lucius made some gesture that Snape knew would attempt an
explanation---probably trying to say that he had not known the diary
contained a fragment of the Dark Lord at first. From the look on
Narcissa's face, it wouldn't have been enough even if he could say it.
Snape watched in glee.

``If what I suspect will happen now happens,'' said Narcissa, her voice
gone smooth and dark, ``then I \emph{will} make sure he is safe from you,
Lucius. And if that means that Draco and I must leave the Manor for the
summer, so be it.'' She glared at her husband for a long moment, all
poised, cold beauty. ``I am disgusted with you,'' she added, and turned
towards Snape, holding her arms out for Harry.

Snape hesitated briefly, then handed the boy over. ``He needs to be
taken to the hospital wing immediately, Narcissa.''

``I am not an idiot, Severus,'' she said. ``Unlike some people standing
on this lawn,'' she added, and swept away.

Lucius must have managed the nonverbal counterspell, as he gasped out,
``What does she think she's doing?''

``Choosing her loyalties,'' Snape told him, and then turned away to find
Dumbledore and do the same thing.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
``Come in, Severus.''

Snape determined not to be put off by the fact that Dumbledore had known
it was him before he knocked on the door to the Headmaster's office. He
opened the door instead, stepped inside, shut it behind him, and fixed
his gaze on Dumbledore.

\emph{How can he look so normal?} he thought, when Dumbledore merely
returned his gaze blandly. \emph{Does he know what news I bear with me?
Does he know what I have discovered? I would think not, and yet\ldots{}
I have been fooled before.}

Snape called gladly on his rage again. He was not trying to match magic
with the Headmaster, and there was no Harry to interfere this time. He
narrowed his eyes and drawled, ``How long did you think this could
continue before I discovered the truth, Albus?''

``I have no idea what you are talking about, Severus,'' said the
Headmaster cheerfully. ``I'm not omniscient, you know. Sherbet lemon?''

Snape shook his head. He didn't take a seat, either, even though
Dumbledore was clearly looking between him and the nearest chair. ``I've
seen the web that you put in Harry's mind,'' he said. ``I know that you
had something to do with suppressing his magic and changing the course
of his thoughts. Did you \emph{really} think that no one would ever find
out?''

Dumbledore sighed. ``Ah, yes. The web was necessary, Severus.'' He sat
back and met Snape's gaze calmly, as if he really thought that would be
all.

``Necessary,'' Snape echoed. ``Just as his training in wandless magic was
necessary, I suppose, and his blind devotion to his brother, and the
utter \emph{shattering} of his mind that he's experienced now?''

Dumbledore's face changed. ``I had assumed that young Harry's familiar
would stabilize him,'' he murmured.

``His snake is \emph{dead}, Albus!'' Snape slammed a palm into the middle
of the Headmaster's desk. ``She died in that Chamber! And don't think
for a moment that I'm accepting Connor Potter's story as the real one.
He believes it, yes,'' he added, as Dumbledore opened his mouth. ``That
does not make it true. And I will no longer stand back and allow that
kind of truth to obscure my mind. \emph{I} was the one who stabilized
Harry, Albus. \emph{I} was the one who discovered the truth about what
you've done to him, and about what your precious Gryffindors have done
to him.'' He was breathing hard by the end of it, his magic sparking and
snapping at its shields. ``Give me one good reason that I should not
take this to the Ministry and see you sacked for condoning and enhancing
the abuse of a helpless child.''

Dumbledore's face was stern. ``I had faith in your skills as a
researcher, Severus,'' he said. ``It seems that I overestimated them.''

Snape simply stared at him, and waited.

``If you had studied the phoenix web,'' Dumbledore continued, ``you would
have found that not only is it Light magic, but it must be accepted
\emph{willingly.} It is not abuse, and it is not illegal. I could never
have placed the web in Harry's mind unless he had agreed to it. He chose
to become what he is, Severus, and it is our choices that make us who we
truly are. In this case, it is sacrifice for his brother. That is
Harry's role, the one chosen for him by the prophecy and his parents,
but also by his own will. I fear that you have severely underestimated
the depth of Harry's commitment to Connor. I am disappointed in you,
Severus.'' Dumbledore's eyes shone with that disappointment, which might
have nearly broken Snape an hour ago.

Snape straightened his back. \emph{That was an hour ago. And if it isn't
as simple as showing the web to the Ministry and demanding they do
something\ldots{}well, I never thought it would be.} He ignored the
slight, sour taste of his own disappointment, and forged ahead.

``He cannot truly have known what he was agreeing to when you placed the
web, Albus. How old was he? Six? Seven?''

``He was four,'' said Dumbledore quietly. ``And he \emph{did} know. By
that age, his mother had already taught him his vows, and about the
danger that Voldemort presents to his brother.''

Snape shook his head. He wanted to say something, but his disgust and
his rage were holding him silent for now. His magic reached out instead,
and one of the odd silver instruments on a shelf behind Dumbledore
exploded with a \emph{spang.}

Dumbledore glanced at it, then turned his calm gaze back to Snape. ``Do
control yourself, Severus,'' he scolded.

Snape controlled himself with a massive effort. He was obviously not
going to convince Dumbledore that he was wrong. He bowed his head
slightly. ``And you are determined to persist in this?'' he asked. ``The
web has caused damage to Harry's mind, giving him headaches when he
tried to tell me---something that you had done.'' He was not sure it was
the best course to reveal that he knew Dumbledore had \emph{Obliviated}
Lupin. ``It was badly damaged by the wounds in Harry's mind, and by the
death of his snake, since she was involved in it as she was in every
other turn and twist of his thoughts. It has served its purpose. Surely
you could remove it now.''

``That would not be the best course,'' said Dumbledore. ``I \emph{have}
made tests, Severus, to see if perhaps Harry would be trustworthy
without the web. None of them have proven so.''

``Trustworthy for what?'' Snape sneered. ``Trustworthy to trot across a
battlefield and lay his head on the chopping block?''

``Severus,'' Dumbledore chided him.

Snape once again stared at him, and waited for an answer.

Dumbledore nodded to the Sword of Gryffindor, still laid across his
desk. ``I tested Harry with the Sword. It burned him. It was reacting to
the potential in him to become like Voldemort. I cannot be sure that
Harry, free of the web, would still continue to act in the name of the
Light and goodness.''

Snape braced himself, then reached out his left hand and gripped the
sword's hilt. He snatched it back at once, and showed Dumbledore the
reddened blister in the center of his palm. ``You know well enough that
the Sword reacts to the presence of Dark magic in another wizard,'' he
snarled. ``That is \emph{not} a final test, Albus.''

``There have been others.'' Dumbledore's face was gentle, but
implacable. ``I sent Fawkes with the Sword to help anyone in the Chamber
who might need it, the moment Minerva informed me of what had happened.
You heard young Connor's story. He used the Sword to kill the basilisk,
and Fawkes healed him of his poisoned wound.''

``Then why do you think Harry's magic was loose in him, if that is all
that happened?'' Snape said. He was beginning to get a headache. He had
hoped for---\emph{something} from Dumbledore. Some concession, some sign
of remorse, some sigh of grief. He had not expected to meet this wall of
quiet stubbornness. ``I know that you felt what was happening to his
mind. You practically sent me after him!''

``It was the presence of Riddle that caused him to react that way,''
said Dumbledore, firmly. ``And I sent you after him because I knew that
you could, and would, choose to save him, Severus. I assume that his
magic is now under control?''

``Barely,'' said Snape, forcing out the words that he needed to speak
and not the ones that he wanted to use. \emph{Well, the best expression
of my feelings right now would be a wordless scream.} ``He needs quiet
and privacy for the summer. He asked me to make sure he would not have
to stay with his parents, because he is afraid that he would kill
them.'' He saw Dumbledore's brows draw down, and suspected that he had
just chalked another black mark against Harry on the old wizard's slate.
He hardly cared. ``I was planning to take him to Spinner's End with
me.''

Dumbledore was already shaking his head. ``You know that your wards are
not strong enough to contain magic like his, Severus. If it burst
free\ldots{} And, forgive me, Severus, but you are not anyone's first
choice for the caretaker of a child.''

Snape clenched his hands into fists. He would not bother addressing
Dumbledore's second accusation, but the first was true enough, and
something he had not thought of. Spinner's End was not deep-warded,
because Snape only lived there two months of the year, and because it
was not a hereditary home. If Harry created another storm, he did not
think he would be able to hold or hide it.

And then Snape thought of another solution, and smiled unpleasantly.

``Harry will go to Godric's Hollow for the summer,'' Dumbledore
continued, unaware of Snape's private elation. ``I am sure they will
treat him well, since his life was in danger in the Chamber, or else
they will respect his privacy because of the \emph{Fugitivus Animus}
spell. Yes, I felt him cast that, and admired the touch,'' he added to
Snape's raised eyebrows. ``Either way, he will have the family around
him, and powerful wards.''

``I am not a parent,'' said Snape casually. ``And my wards are not
powerful enough.'' He took a deep breath and tried out another smile
that he hoped was less unpleasant than his first one. ``But I know a set
of parents whose wards are the most powerful in Britain, easily able to
contain Dark magic of the kind that Harry wields by nature. And they
would be more than happy to take Harry.''

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, then narrowed his eyes.
\emph{Give the old man credit for that,} Snape thought, in the middle of
emotions that wanted to become laughter. \emph{He has always been
quick.}

``Harry's parents would never agree to let him go to Malfoy Manor,''
said Dumbledore quietly.

``Under the \emph{Fugitivus Animus} spell? They will not care.'' Snape
shrugged carelessly. ``And Narcissa Malfoy is already here, Headmaster.
If you believe that you can take her from Harry's side now, with Draco
there and Harry so important to her son, then you are a better wizard
than I am.''

Dumbledore sat quite still for a long moment. Then he said, ``Severus,
you do not understand a great many of the choices I have made.''

``Nor do I want to,'' said Snape, making his voice as cool and polite as
possible. ``But I understand what even half-understood truths can do. Try
to remove that spell from the Potters, Headmaster, or try to remove
Harry from the Malfoys before he is ready, and I \emph{will} go to the
Ministry. It will take only a few words in the right ears to stir
suspicion of you.'' He braced himself and waited.

Dumbledore's eyes came to him, shining and sad. ``Why have you turned
against me, Severus?'' he whispered. ``I have---''

``Done me good, yes,'' said Snape, not in the mood to hear it. ``And
done Harry evil. You forget, Headmaster. I am a Slytherin. I know Dark
magic intimately. Whether it is Dark in name or not, I recognize the
consequences, and I will be more than happy to spread the knowledge I
have obtained---unless you make this bargain with me.''

He waited. Dumbledore waited. Snape thought they both wanted some sort
of invisible balance to tip, some way of yielding without losing face.
He wondered if Dumbledore would try to \emph{Obliviate} him, but
suspected that he would have done so already if he were going to.

In the end, it was Dumbledore who gave in, and Snape suspected he did
only because he still needed Harry for his thrice-damned prophecy. He
looked away and waved a hand. ``In the end,'' he said, ``you will see
that things are falling out as they must.''

Snape turned towards the door without answering. He suspected the
Malfoys would already have made their own decision, but he wanted to see
and speak with them.

And if he had anything more to say to Dumbledore, he did not know what
it could be.

It was only when he stepped out of the office that he realized Fawkes
had not been on his perch in the corner.

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\newpage
\emph{It was like a fever dream.}

The first time Harry opened his eyes, it was to become aware of someone
clinging to him like a limpet as he lay in a bed in the hospital wing,
and that someone was Draco.

\emph{Or maybe it's not like a limpet. Maybe it's like a shark and
remora. I'm a shark, aren't I, capable of destroying?}

Harry gave a giggle. He sounded drunken.

``Harry's awake,'' said Draco, in what might have been an address to
himself, or his mother, who hovered nearby, or the universe in general,
and then snuggled into Harry's shoulder and refused to move.

Harry managed to sit up and fix his eyes on Narcissa Malfoy, who gave
him the faint, cool smile that he remembered from last Christmas. Her
eyes were much warmer, though. Harry told himself to concentrate on
that, and not the faint aura of Dark magic he could see rising from her
like a black flame.

``Harry,'' she murmured. ``Draco has decided that you should stay with
us for the summer. That is,'' she added, with a gentle glance at her
son, ``Draco has refused to leave Hogwarts unless we let you come with
us to the Manor. And since I have no desire to leave either my son or my
son's best friend here under the control of people who have
proved---less than the best caretakers---'' Harry caught his breath at
the cold rage in her eyes ``---I have opened my home to you, if you will
be so gracious as to accept our invitation.'' Her eyes came back to him,
and her smile warmed. ``Will you accept?''

``Mrs. Malfoy,'' Harry managed to say awkwardly, ``are you sure that you
want me there, after Professor Snape attacked your husband?''

``Do not be ignorant, Harry,'' Narcissa chided him gently, and Harry
felt himself flush. Ignorance was not an acceptable part of the dance.
``You saved my husband's life, or at least his chest, this evening.''
She tilted her head, and her eyes were diamonds. ``And I have since
found out that my husband did---certain unfortunate things to you. In
fact, we should offer you the hospitality of the Manor in abject
humility, as you would have every reason in the world not to accept. I
will personally take it upon myself to see that my husband does not harm
you while you are there.''

``And me,'' said Draco, tightening his hold on Harry's arm until Harry
thought he might have cut off the circulation. ``He's never going to
hurt you again, Harry. Never.'' He lifted his face, and he was smiling,
but Harry wasn't fooled. Draco \emph{never} gave up when he was holding
his head like that.

Harry thought for a moment of raising all the potential problems with
that. He thought of cautioning Draco that Harry might someday become the
Malfoys' enemy, and then it would not be Lucius's or Snape's fault that
they were at odds. He thought of saying that he did not deserve this
hospitality. He thought of saying his Dark magic might destroy them all.

But he could not. He needed this too much. He would warn them about his
magic, but he could not refuse their invitation.

``Thank you,'' he murmured, and saw Draco's face light and Narcissa's
become softer. ``But---Mrs. Malfoy, my magic---''

``We felt it,'' Narcissa interrupted him, calmly. ``The Manor has wards
for a reason, Harry. You will be safe there.''

Harry licked his lips. ``You do not think I will present a danger to
you?''

``I would never invite anyone into my home who I thought posed a danger
to my son,'' said Narcissa.

Harry nodded, slowly, never taking his eyes from her face. He believed
that. Draco might protest that he was safe with Harry in total ignorance
of the situation, and Merlin alone knew what kinds of games Lucius was
playing, but he could trust Narcissa.

Abruptly, the world filled with a drifting golden haze, and Harry felt
his thoughts and magic rise like fire, trying to send him to sleep. He
yawned, and Narcissa reached out and gently touched Draco's shoulder.

``I think we should let Harry sleep now,'' she said.

Draco turned around to glare sulkily at his mother. ``But---''

``Draco,'' said Narcissa, in that way she had, and that was that.

Draco sulked a bit, then put a hand on Harry's forehead. ``I'll see you
soon,'' he whispered, and Harry, lost somewhere beyond the gold, nodded.

The Malfoys headed towards the entrance of the hospital wing. Harry
watched their blurring figures for a moment before his awareness
shattered on the sharp edges of reality as if he were falling down
stairs, and he fell asleep.

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
\emph{Like another fever dream}:

Harry woke to a croon he had reason to know, and a high-pitched voice
attempting desperately to keep to a whisper that he recognized after a
moment.

``Harry Potter? Is Harry Potter awake?''

Harry shifted and moved until he found a comfortable position for his
aching head, then opened his eyes. A pair of brilliant black eyes met
his. Fawkes sat on the edge of his bed, and crooned again as Harry
looked back at him. Then a house elf moved into view. It took Harry
another moment to connect Dobby with the voice that had whispered to
him, because the elf wasn't wringing his hands or pinching his ears. His
face was calm and intent.

``Harry Potter is awake,'' he whispered. ``Dobby is glad.''

``What are you doing here?'' Harry asked softly. ``Did you hear the
Malfoys discuss taking me home for the summer?''

Dobby nodded. ``Dobby's masters will say that Dobby is a bad elf,'' he
said, still whispering. ``But Dobby will protect Harry Potter. Dobby
works in the Manor. If Lucius Malfoy tries to attack Harry Potter, Dobby
will not let him.''

Harry experienced a brief and entirely unexpected stab of pity for
Lucius.

He did move past it, though, when Fawkes trilled at him and moved
closer, nudging at his shoulder with his head. Hesitantly, Harry lifted
his hand and scratched the phoenix's neck. Fawkes crooned again, and
blinked slowly, like an owl.

``Fawkes says that Harry Potter is on the road,'' whispered Dobby.
``Harry Potter is beginning.''

Harry felt his jaw gape slightly. ``You can understand what he says?''

Dobby eyed him. ``All house elves understand phoenixes, Harry Potter,
and all phoenixes understand house elves.''

``I never knew that,'' Harry muttered.

``Harry Potter has never asked Dobby,'' Dobby said simply. He listened
as Fawkes uttered a stream of notes, then smiled. Harry didn't know what
to make of that smile. It was intent and dreamy, as though Dobby saw
something in the future that he truly enjoyed. ``Fawkes says that Harry
Potter is on the road to being a \emph{vates},'' he said.

``What is that?'' Harry tried to force his aching brain to work. He knew
the word, he knew that, but he didn't know what it meant right now.

``All of us know,'' said Dobby, instead of answering. ``All the magical
creatures know. House elves, phoenixes, centaurs, unicorns, dragons.''
He shuddered convulsively as he spoke the last word. ``We know what
might happen. No prophecies, no destiny, no masters. What might happen,
if it is chosen. We wait, and we hope.''

Harry felt his eyes drifting shut again, despite his desire to keep them
open. ``Is that why Fawkes helped me?'' he murmured.

Dobby's answer was nearly lost between the planes of sleep, but Harry
managed to hear it. ``Not all of it, Harry Potter. Some of it is because
he likes you.'' A pause. ``And because he is sorry.''

\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{\linethickness}\end{center}
\newpage
\emph{And a third dream, or occurrence, or odd meeting that Harry would
not have imagined for himself}:

He found himself abruptly awake, staring straight up at the ceiling, but
with the consciousness that there was \emph{someone} at his bedside. He
turned his head, and saw Connor asleep in a chair, his arms piled on
Harry's bed and his head resting on top of them.

Harry watched his brother for a moment. Connor's dark hair was ruffled
as though with wind, and the sound of his breathing was soft with
dreaming. Harry reached out a shaky hand and touched his shoulder.

Connor jerked up, blinked, then oriented himself. They stared at each
other.

Harry was the first to look away. He'd seen the first cracks of
childhood in his brother's hazel eyes. Connor had started to grow up.
He'd seen horrible things in the Chamber, nearly died there---both in
reality and in his altered memories---and survived. He knew about his
compulsion ability now. And he was free of Riddle's possession, probably
for the first time since Harry had sent the madman from his own mind.

``Harry,'' Connor whispered, as if reading his thoughts. ``I---I had
Riddle in my head. I understand more about you now.''

Harry turned back. Connor met his gaze and gave him a thin, tremulous
smile. Harry let out a harsh breath. ``Was all of it him?'' he asked.
``I mean---were you trying to compel Hermione because of him, and did
you argue with me because of him, and did you act strangely because of
him?''

Connor nodded slowly. ``A lot of it. But the compulsion ability is mine.
And he had to let me out to deal with you in our conversation after
Valentine's Day. He has no clue how to confront love, Harry, no clue at
all.'' He smiled grimly, fleetingly. ``I understand him so much better
now.'' His smile dropped away, and he trained his eyes on Harry's face.
``Some of the things you said during that conversation convinced him
that you suspected he was there, so he did draw back and let me act more
naturally in the months since then. But I---I could always feel him.''
His hand drifted up to his scar. ``Such \emph{slime}, Harry, such
\emph{filth.} How did you stand it?''

``Pretty much the same way you did, I imagine,'' said Harry, and heard
his voice crack down the middle. ``I survived.''

Connor caught his gaze, and his eyes were wild and fierce and bright.
Harry had never seen his brother look that way. He felt the shards of
his heart stir, just a little.

``Yeah,'' said Connor quietly. ``We did, didn't we?'' He stood up
abruptly, and reached across the bed, and put his arms around Harry.
Harry turned his face into his brother's shoulder, and held on that way.

``I know that something's wrong,'' Connor whispered to him. ``Mum and
Dad and Sirius haven't said one word about you since you landed here,
not one word. They don't seem to see you when I'm here and they come in.
I asked them about you once, and they were on the verge of asking who
you were. It's like you moved away a long time ago.'' He paused. ``Did
you do that?''

``Yes,'' Harry whispered, his voice cracking again. ``I \emph{had} to,
Connor.''

``Shhh, I know,'' Connor said. His hand moved up and down on Harry's
back. ``When Mum came near your bed, your magic started spitting around
you, and a lightning bolt nearly took her down. I think it's best if you
stay apart from all of us a little while.'' He let out a breath. ``I
don't think that going with the \emph{Malfoys} is necessarily the best
choice, but it's not my decision. You're leaving today, you know.''

``Today?'' Harry tried to sit back and see Connor's face, but his
brother wouldn't let him. ``How long have I been asleep?''

``Nearly two weeks,'' Connor said. ``They canceled our exams with all
the excitement, you know. Hermione was moping.'' Harry could hear the
smile in his voice. ``Neville and Luna were telling anyone who would
listen that you didn't Petrify them, that it was something called
Wrackspurts. And they got Smith revived, the prat, and he's been poking
me to know when you're going to get better.'' He paused for a long
moment, his hand still. ``Do---do you want to attend the Leaving Feast?
It's tonight.''

``I don't think I could,'' Harry said honestly, and closed his eyes. He
was already tiring again. It was less a physical than a mental
tiredness, as though his mind were weary of thinking. ``I want to
\emph{rest}, Connor. That's why I'm going to the Malfoys, to rest. You
can tell the others---whatever you want.''

``I'm going to tell them the truth,'' Connor whispered back. ``That we
were both possessed, and you're the bravest person I know.'' His hands
tightened once more on Harry's back. ``And don't worry about Dad and Mum
and Sirius. I'll figure out what's going on. I promise.''

Harry tightened his hold back, and felt the first emotion that wasn't
tired in some fashion bubble up inside him. It was fury, and it was cold
and dark and could easily build.

\emph{If Mum hurt me, she could hurt Connor.}

``Write to me,'' he whispered. ``Let me know you're all right. And---and
take care of Remus for me?''

``Sure, Harry,'' Connor said. ``Don't worry about it. Take care of
yourself.''

Harry closed his eyes. The future was coming, and when it got here, he
would have to worry about any number of things. There were still the
memories to face, and his magic, and the concerns about the Malfoys, and
what Dobby had said, and what was going to happen when he finally saw
his parents again.

But, for now, he could think about resting, healing, taking some time
for himself, and he didn't even have to feel guilty for it.

``Ready, Harry?''

Harry recognized Draco's voice, and drew gently back from Connor. ``I'll
see you soon,'' he whispered.

Connor hugged him once more, roughly, and then hopped off the chair and
made a beeline for the door. ``Malfoy,'' he said with a cool nod as he
passed Draco. Draco just scowled at him. Harry concealed a smile.

Draco turned and looked up at him, eyes brilliant with emotions that
Harry supposed he could spend some time exploring. ``Ready, Harry?'' he
repeated.

``Yes,'' said Harry, and he was, the world stretching clear and
crystalline around him suddenly. He looked up and saw Narcissa Malfoy
standing in the doorway, ready to carry him if he couldn't walk. ``Let's
go home.''

\chapter{Interlude: Two Letters}\label{chapter-33-interlude-two-letters}
\noindent \emph{June 12th, 1993}

\noindent To: Auror Department

Ministry of Magic

\noindent To whom it may concern,

My name is Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am currently doing research into the
properties of Pensieves, in the hopes of developing a Potion that will
behave like a Pensieve for short periods of time.

I should like to view some of the Pensieves that your department has
stored, containing records of trials deemed appropriate for public
viewing, among the following trials chosen at random:

Trial of Mundungus Fletcher, June 19th, 1980

Trial of Flora Skeeter, October 23rd, 1981

Trial of Peter Pettigrew, November 6th, 1981

Trial of Hawthorn Parkinson, May 11th, 1982

Trial of Mundungus Fletcher, September 9th, 1983

\noindent Please let me know at your earliest convenience whether I may be obliged
in this matter.

I remain,

\emph{Severus Snape.}

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\noindent \emph{July 1st, 1993}

\noindent Lucius:

I trust that you will let no opportunity slip by you as you did with the
diary I asked you to fetch. You know what you need to do, and if you do
not perform your task adequately, there are others, more loyal to our
master, who will.

I see no need for a name. You do not know who I am, and that is the way
it will remain. Know only that I stand high in our Lord's councils.

The Dark Lord \emph{will} return.

\end{document}
