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		<title>Lightning on the Wave: A Song In Time of Revolution</title>
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			<h1>A Song In Time of Revolution</h1>
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		<br/><br/>
		<b>Story:</b> A Song In Time of Revolution<br>
		<b>Storylink:</b> <a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3014337/1/">https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3014337/1/</a><br/>
		<b>Category:</b> Harry Potter<br>
		<b>Genre:</b> Drama/Angst<br>
		<b>Author:</b> Lightning on the Wave<br/>
		<b>Authorlink:</b> <a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/u/895946/">https://www.fanfiction.net/u/895946/</a><br/>
		<b>Last updated:</b> 10/04/2006<br/>
		<b>Words:</b> 709580<br/>
		<b>Rating:</b> M<br/>
		<b>Status:</b> Complete<br/>
		<b>Content:</b> Chapter 1 to 124 of 124 chapters<br/>
		<b>Source:</b> FanFiction.net<br><br>
		<b>Summary:</b> AU of HBP, HPDM slash. Revolution is never an easy choice—and worse when you’re trying to respect the free will of everyone, wizard and magical creature alike. Prophecy and politics and the Ministry... Harry doesn’t need any more complications.
		
		<!--CHAPTERAREA START-->
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 1*: Haunted, Helped, Dreaming</h2>
			<p><strong>Title</strong>: <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>A Song
In Time of Revolution</span></p><p><strong>Summary: </strong>AU of
HBP, HPDM slash. Revolution is never an easy choice—and worse when
you're trying to respect the free will of everyone, wizard and
magical creature alike. Prophecy and politics and the Ministry…Harry
doesn't need any more complications.</p><p><strong>Notes: </strong>This is
the sixth story in what I call the Sacrifices Arc, following <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Wind
That Shakes the Seas and Stars.</span> By now, it's its own full-blown
alternate universe, with Slytherin!Harry, Harry and Draco in an
established relationship, and Voldemort temporarily so badly wounded
that he can't fight, and you're probably not going to understand
the story if you try to start reading here.</p><p>Also, <em>this is an
extremely long story. </em>The current outline is 99 numbered
chapters, with 25 unnumbered ones (Intermissions and Interludes). I
do update every day most of the time, but it's going to take three
months to complete even so. Be warned if you don't like long
serials.</p><p><strong>Warnings:</strong>
Language, violence, gore, torture, sex, discussion of past rape and
child abuse, slash <em>and</em> het <em>and</em> saffic (femmeslash) in
varying degrees of explicitness, tons of politics, <strong>multiple
character deaths</strong>. Also, <strong>there are spoilers for <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Harry Potter
and the Half-Blood Prince</span> in this story.</strong> I've been using
background information from the book in the other stories, but this
is the one where it really takes center stage. If you haven't read
HBP and don't want to be spoiled for it, then please don't read
this.</p><p><strong>Archiving: </strong>I
archive at Fanfiction, Skyehawke, and on my LiveJournal, and send
update notices through my Yahoo!Group (links for all of these, as
well as a site with .doc and .PDF files of the stories, can be found
in my Fanfiction profile). The easiest way to get in touch with me is
my e-mail or my LJ.</p><p>And here we go. Thanks
for coming all this way with me.</p><p><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><strong>A Song In Time of Revolution</strong></span></p><p><strong>Chapter One: Haunted, Helped, Dreaming</strong></p><p>"And how does it
taste?"</p><p>Harry kept his gaze
resolutely on the pear, to keep his face from burning. When he wasn't
thinking about how food tasted to him, he thought, it felt much more
natural. He could enjoy sweetness, saltiness, and bitterness without
pause. But now Vera was encouraging him to overcome the training his
mother had given him to resist and even be uncomfortable with things
that felt good, and, well, it included things like this.</p><p>Harry bit into the
pear, and nodded. The fruit was incredibly cold and sweet, as was
almost all the fruit in the Sanctuary. "Good," he said.</p><p>"How good?"</p><p>"I don't know,"
Harry snapped before he could stop himself. "I don't have a lot
of experience measuring this, you know."</p><p>He tried to apologize
after that, but Vera waved off the words and leaned back in her
chair, looking pleased. She was a small, round woman with quiet brown
eyes that saw too much. Harry usually felt more comfortable with her
than he did now. He had never yet seen Vera lose her temper for more
than a moment, though, no matter what he did.</p><p>They were sitting in
the usual room where he came to speak with Vera, a high place with
open windows which the light and the wind were free to wander
through. Vera sat with her back to the light, outlining her in a
thick gold-white halo. Harry had to squint to watch her nod. "It is
good that you no longer put such a guard on your tongue and think
about what you say before you say it," she told him. "You are
becoming less conscious and more spontaneous."</p><p>"And that's a good
thing?" Harry raised his eyebrows. His magic brewed and buzzed
around him when he did it, and he calmed it with a touch. The time
spent in the Sanctuary was about lowering barriers he didn't even
know he had, seemingly, and some of those had included barriers on
his magic. Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about that. "I <em>do</em>
have to keep an eye on how I use my power, whether or not I'm
respecting the free choices of my allies, what I do with Draco—"</p><p>Vera chuckled,
interrupting him. "And if your whole life is a stiff dance," she
said, "then you will lose yourself to it in the end. Many different
paces, walk and waltz and pavane, are better for living."</p><p>Harry nodded, and then
glared at the pear in his hand again. Most of what Vera said seemed
obvious. Hell, most of what Draco and Snape said seemed obvious. But
until they said it, formed it in words and presented it to him, he
seemed unable to think of those points for himself.</p><p>He wished ferociously
for a moment that he was normal, and looked up to find Vera staring
at him.</p><p>"Do you wish to stop
for today, Harry?" Vera's voice was perfectly understanding,
perfectly gentle—the kind of tone that usually just goaded Harry
into trying harder. "I understand that you still think of the taste
of food as a small thing, and indeed, I have seen you enjoying it on
your own. There are other things we could talk about, regarding this
kind of training."</p><p><em>All of which would
make me blush, </em>Harry thought, <em>and none of which I'm
comfortable talking about with you. </em>He shook his head and laid
the pear on a table. "Can we talk about something else altogether?"
he asked.</p><p>"Of course," said
Vera. She hesitated, one of the few times Harry had seen her do so.
That put him on edge even before she said, "The deepest wound in
your soul at the moment concerns the twelve children you had to kill
out of mercy. You have not yet spoken about it, and you have been
here for a week. Will you talk with me about that?"</p><p>Harry steeled himself.
"Yes, I will," he said. <em>Every step on this path is an uphill
one, isn't it? </em>But he was sick of just covering up the wounds
and hoping nothing ripped them wide open before time had a chance to
soften the memory of how he'd earned them. He was part of a war,
and a prophecy, and a political alliance, and that meant there would
<em>always</em> be something to rip open the wounds before they healed.
He'd come here of his own free will, he reminded himself for the
thousandth time, and he was going to heal, and fuck everything that
got in his way.</p><p>Including himself.</p><p>Vera blinked at his
agreement, but then leaned back, sheening her face with the sunlight
again. "Good," she said. "I understand that you still feel you
could have done something else. What else could you have done?"</p><p>Harry closed his eyes.
"I don't know."</p><p><em>That</em> truly
bothered him, far more than Vera's insistence on concentrating on
the taste of food or having him sit in warm baths so that he could
endure pleasant feelings without squirming. He had revived the memory
in his dreams and while wandering the terraces and rooms of the
Sanctuary. The main factor that had doomed him while Voldemort held a
dozen Hogwarts students under a Life-Web, able to torture or kill
them at will, and challenged Harry to come down and surrender his
life to save them, was, Harry had thought, time. He had known the
students before him were suffering, and the students behind him had
been suffering, too. If he had had more <em>time</em>, he could have
done something, found some other solution than stopping those
children's hearts with a spell before Voldemort could notice.</p><p>But no other solution
would occur to him, except yielding himself, and that would have lost
them the war, at least according to people whom Harry trusted. And
Harry piled more worry on top of that. What if there was something
simple and obvious he was missing, something anyone else would have
done, and he kept ignoring the option because that would mean blaming
himself? He just didn't want to be guilty, in that case. He <em>had</em>
to keep track of what he did, what self-justifications he made to
himself. Part of it was the <em>vates</em> path he trod, trying to
respect the free will of everyone in existence, but an even larger
part of it was his own fear of ending up like Dumbledore and
Voldemort. Let him once excuse his own guilt, and what else would he
excuse, what sacrifices would he say were necessary, what corruption
would he let into his soul? He <em>had</em> to distrust himself.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>Harry blinked his eyes
open in startlement. Vera had leaned forward and put one hand on his
knee.</p><p>"Your thoughts coil
on each other like serpents," she said, "and this guilt is twined
with so many others in your soul that I cannot See it clearly. Will
you explain it in words for me?"</p><p>Haltingly, Harry
licked his lips, tried to dismiss thoughts of sounding stupid or
guilty or self-obsessed, and said, "I—ma'am—"</p><p>"Call me Vera,
Harry." She smiled, and if Harry had ever met one of his
grandmothers, he assumed she would have looked like this. "You
retreat into formality when you're upset. I would rather that you
be as honest with me as possible."</p><p>Harry inclined his
head, and then had to reflect that that was a formal movement, too,
not just a nod. He swallowed and said, "I thought, once I had time
and peace, that I would know exactly what I should have done instead
of the mercy killing." Vera nodded encouragingly when he paused,
and Harry plunged forward. "But I still can't see anything else I
could have done. What am I ignoring? Am I so afraid of facing up to
my crime that I'm unconsciously exonerating myself? And what does
it mean if I am? Is the British wizarding world going to have to face
<em>another</em> Dark Lord before I'm done, because I'm sliding
down the path to self-justification and I don't even realize it?"</p><p>Vera observed him in
intense silence for a moment. Harry waited, his nerves humming. His
right hand smoothed over and over the scarred stump of his left
wrist.</p><p>And <em>that</em> was a
problem, too. He had decided that, perhaps, it was worthwhile
researching the Dark curses Bellatrix had used to keep him from
getting another hand. Maybe. But his newborn conviction had provoked
a too-pleased reaction from Draco, as well as questions about why
Harry wasn't sure, and Harry had had to shrug and shake his head.</p><p>He hated being
uncertain. It was the thing he missed the most about the days when
he'd just been able to exist under his training and think of his
brother as the center of his universe. Everything was so <em>simple</em>.
There were so many things Harry knew how to do, and if something
unexpected did happen, like his Sorting into Slytherin, then he had
other vows and promises and certainties to fall back on.</p><p>Now, half the time, it
seemed he stood on the edge of a abyss and looked down into it, and
every choice he made could have devastating consequences for other
people, and he didn't know which would be less devastating, to leap
or stand.</p><p>"You have not blamed
the war," said Vera.</p><p>Harry blinked.
Usually, he was better about tracing the course of the Seer's
thoughts, but he had missed the connection she made this time.
"What?"</p><p>"You have not said
that you had no other choice to do this, because it was war." Vera
curled so that her legs were beneath her in the chair, her head
bobbing up and down like a wren's pecking at seed. Her eyes never
moved from Harry's face.</p><p>Harry blinked again.
"Of course not. Why would I? Other people manage to get through
wars without mercy-killing a dozen children." He shuddered a bit,
shaken by his own deep bitterness, and the grief underneath, like
black water beneath a layer of ice. Now that he'd started on this,
though, he couldn't seem to stop. "Even Dumbledore didn't have
to do that. The worst he did was set children free who'd been
crucified and suffering for days. And he was forced into that. It was
Voldemort's doing."</p><p>"And this was not?"
Vera tilted her head to fix him with one bright, bird-like eye.</p><p>Harry hissed under his
breath and shuffled one foot back and forth. "I—well, it was
Voldemort who set the Life-Web, obviously."</p><p>"And?" Vera
prompted, voice low.</p><p>"But it was me who
made the decision," said Harry. "It's not as though Voldemort
told me that I had to kill those children myself or he would torture
them. He promised that they would live if I went down to him."</p><p>"Did you trust him?"</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Harry, mind calling up images of Snape lying with his right leg
unwound into pieces on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, of
helpless Muggles lured into the water by sirens, of Voldemort, still
looking like a deformed child, biting a piece of flesh out of his
chest for the resurrection ritual. "But that didn't matter, did
it? I wasn't backed into a corner. I still didn't make the choice
he gave me."</p><p>He stopped, with those
words ringing in his ears, and blinked.</p><p>"Yes," said Vera
softly. "And that, I believe, is the difference between you and
Dumbledore, Harry, and certainly between you and You-Know-Who. If you
were already seeking some way to free yourself from guilt, by saying
it was entirely the war's fault and people make horrible decisions
in war, or by claiming that it was Voldemort who forced you into that
<em>precise</em> choice, I would worry more. But you acknowledge your
own role in the decision. You acknowledge that you do not believe
Voldemort would have freed them, or that your giving your own life up
to him would have made the slightest bit of difference. You chose a
path he did not dictate. And you know it. That is a strength, Harry,
not a weakness."</p><p>Harry blinked some
more. He could feel a weight on his shoulders and his heart easing, a
bit. He just wasn't sure if he believed in it yet. "Oh," he
said softly.</p><p>"Now," said Vera,
"perhaps you will, someday, think of another path you could have
taken. And you will preserve that path into the future, and if you
ever find yourself in such a situation again—"</p><p>"Which I will,
knowing Voldemort," Harry muttered. He'd cut a hole in the Dark
Lord's magical core, so he constantly lost his power whenever he
tried to use it, but Harry expected Voldemort to find some way to get
around that eventually. At least it had won him a summer.</p><p>Vera continued
undaunted. "Then you will know what to do." She clasped her hands
and beamed at Harry. "And I think that's enough for today. You
look as if someone's hit you on the head with a rock." She
chuckled. "Go find your Malfoy. I think Nina is done with him for
the day, as well."</p><p>Harry nodded,
murmured, "Thank you," and left the room. Just outside the door
was a broad, shallow stone step filled with sunlight. Argutus was
basking there, fully six feet of shimmering, mirror-colored snake.
Harry shaded his eyes against the reflection of the sun from his
scales and shook his head.</p><p>"<em>I can smell your
doubt.</em>" Argutus's voice was bright, and his tongue flickered
out as he lifted his head to look at Harry. "<em>What is it this
time? Can you not believe how beautiful I am, or how lucky you are
that I chose you to be my friend, instead of someone else?"</em></p><p>"Neither," said
Harry in Parseltongue, stooping to offer his left arm to Argutus. The
Omen snake wound up his arm, around his shoulders, neck, and waist,
and stopped when his head was tucked into the crook of Harry's
collarbone. Harry stroked his scales as he walked up towards the
small house where Draco usually stayed. "Sometimes, I am stunned
that you're here with me at all, or that <em>I'm</em> here. I wake
up and expect to find myself in Hogwarts, or a dungeon where
Voldemort keeps his prisoners, and that the Sanctuary is a dream."</p><p>"<em>If we were in
dungeons," </em>Argutus disagreed, "<em>I would have found a way
out by now, reflecting hidden doors in my scales.</em>" His body
writhed and shifted, nearly blinding Harry for a moment. Harry
stumbled on the next step down and reoriented himself to which
direction was blue sky and which sprawling roofs of every conceivable
color and design.</p><p>"I'm sure you
would have," he said. "Just don't try to demonstrate it to me
while we're walking."</p><p>"<em>Why do humans
walk?"</em> Argutus demanded abruptly. <em>"Why did you grow
legs?"</em></p><p>"We didn't grow
legs," Harry said patiently, as he rounded a corner and jogged into
the cool darkness of the antechamber to Draco's room. "You lost
them."</p><p>A startled pause, and
Argutus said, "<em>That's not what the room says.</em>"</p><p>"What room?" Harry
knocked on Draco's door, and Nina, Draco's Seer, opened it a
moment later, giving him a delighted smile.</p><p>"Draco was just
about to send me to fetch you, Harry," she said. "If you'll
come in?"</p><p>Harry nodded, and
listened to Argutus's reply as he shifted past the slender woman.
"<em>There is a room that speaks of snake magic, which must still
exist somewhere in the world, or there would not be a room that talks
about it. It says that snakes were the original creatures in the
world. Everyone else comes from us. You grew legs, and you grew skins
that you never shed. Why?</em>"</p><p>"Ask your room, as
I'm sure I don't know," Harry muttered, and then looked up at
Draco. He was startled to find him out of bed, and dressed in formal
wizarding robes for the first time since he'd possessed Voldemort
during the final battle.</p><p>"Draco?" he asked
tentatively.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco had not expected
to hear such concern in Harry's voice, and some of his pride melted
into annoyance.</p><p>"Harry?" he echoed
the same way, his eyes wide and his mouth round, and saw Nina smile
over Harry's shoulder as she shut the door behind her. Draco
resisted the urge to smile in return, since Harry would think it was
at him. Nina was learning him well in the last few days, especially
since Draco could talk to her about Harry as he could no one else,
and she would know Draco wanted to be alone with his boyfriend.</p><p>Harry frowned. "You
<em>were</em> wounded badly," he said, tugging his hand through his
hair. "And I didn't know how much progress you'd made in
healing the taint." They hadn't seen each other at all yesterday;
Draco had slept after an exhausting talk with Nina the day before,
and Harry had apparently spent most of the time wandering the gardens
with Vera, or sitting in a warm bath and attempting to adjust to the
sensation.</p><p>"I no longer need to
lie in a bed," said Draco. "And there's something we need to
talk about, Harry."</p><p>Harry tilted his head.
"Really."</p><p>The word wasn't the
most inviting invitation ever extended, but Draco forged ahead. The
Sanctuary's air tended to wear away at emotional barriers. That was
part of the reason Harry's irritation and worry crackled just under
the surface, and part of the reason Draco was surer of getting an
honest answer when he asked his questions. "Yes. You froze when
Voldemort threatened me in the Midsummer battle. You couldn't do
anything about the sirens, even though you managed to kill those
children he held under the Life-Web when his Death Eaters were
killing other students—and I don't really think the sirens were
less dangerous than the Death Eaters. I want to know what was so
different about me."</p><p>"You just want me to
gratify your vanity," Harry replied, relaxing. "And that's easy
enough. I love you, Draco, and you are more important to me than most
other people. Even masses of people." He rolled his eyes. "Happy?"</p><p>"Not at all," said
Draco. He had thought this might happen. Harry was misunderstanding
the point of his question. "What happens if someone else threatens
me in battle like that?"</p><p><em>Ah-ha. He sees it
now. </em>Harry had tensed. Then he whirled away and went to look out
Draco's window. Draco wondered if he had noticed yet that every
mural and tapestry on the walls portrayed a wizard with white-blond
hair achieving some triumph or receiving some honor. The Seers had
chosen well when they gave Draco this room. Harry, of course, tended
not to appreciate art until someone ordered him to appreciate it.</p><p>Draco didn't think
he had any idea how beautiful he looked, either, staring down at the
waterfall that cascaded away next to Draco's house, his green eyes
narrowed against the sunlight, his arms folded and his back tense
enough to break a wall.</p><p>"Then I'll freeze
again, I suppose."</p><p>Draco shook his head
and moved closer to Harry's back. "Not good enough, Harry. You're
going to be a leader most of the time, if only because you'll be
the most powerful wizard in almost any battle. And we can't afford
to have our most powerful wizard freeze because Karkaroff grabs me—"</p><p>"Karkaroff is dead."</p><p>Draco rolled his eyes.
"Or Walden Macnair—"</p><p>"He's dead, too."
Harry glanced back at him over his shoulder. "You told me you
possessed him and forced him to lead some of the other Death Eaters
into a trap yourself."</p><p>Draco snarled. "Or
<em>Voldemort</em>, Harry. If he grabs me, you can't freeze. And no,
I am <em>not</em> going to stay behind while you go into battle," he
added, when he saw Harry opening his mouth to suggest something.</p><p>Harry blinked. "I
would never ask you to, Draco."</p><p>"Oh." Draco had to
admit that he might have let his own freed emotions get the better of
him there. "Sorry."</p><p>Harry nodded and
turned, putting his back to the window and slouching so that his
shoulders brushed the stone. Draco hid his delight. There was a point
in his life when Harry would never have shown even this degree of
relaxation. His gaze on Draco was pensive as he stroked his snake's
head. "It's all right. <em>I</em> might feel better if you'd stay
safe, but you wouldn't. And it's your choice to fight. And I have
to admit," Harry went on, a faint smile appearing on his lips for
the first time, "I like the idea of us fighting side by side like
comrades, instead of a soldier out on the lines and a healer waiting
behind them. I still stand by what I said after your possession of
Voldemort. You were <em>magnificent</em> in that battle, Draco."</p><p>His gaze was deep and
warm, and Draco wished he could bask in it without saying something
to snap the mood. "Thank you," he murmured. "But what about if
someone does threaten me, Harry? Can you learn to live with it, to do
something besides freeze?"</p><p>Silence, and Harry
took his hand away from Argutus and clenched it into a fist. Then he
sighed.</p><p>"I'm a leader,"
he said, "and that's not going to change. And you'll be
fighting beside me, and that's not going to change, either. I'll
<em>have</em> to learn to live with it, won't I?"</p><p>Draco felt a burst of
affection and pride and—he didn't know what other emotions were
in there, just that they were there. He put out his hand, and Harry
stepped across the room to clasp it. "Together, then," he said.</p><p>"In all things,"
said Harry, and held his eyes, and if he might still flinch away from
him when he felt too good, his face showed nothing but sincerity now.</p><p>Draco grinned at him,
and then Harry asked, "How did Nina help you remove Voldemort's
taint on your mind?" and they were past the first obstacle that
Draco had felt lying between them.</p><p>There
were others, of course. He wondered, even as he talked about Nina
telling him clearly what impulses she saw in Draco that were not his
own, and what parts of his soul looked like his own to her and which
weren't, if Harry was keeping count of the time. They'd been in
the Sanctuary a week, and it was the early part of July. Harry's
birthday was coming up at the end of the month, and so was the second
ritual of the thirteen in their three-year courting dance.</p><p>Draco fully intended
to not only have Harry thinking of him and him alone on that night,
which had happened on Walpurgis, but to have Harry share in more
pleasure than he had managed then.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape smoothly
conjured wooden targets and just as smoothly used his wandless magic
to destroy them. He hadn't had any trouble using it since they
arrived in the Sanctuary. The air, the atmosphere, the very <em>light</em>
here ate away his defenses and made his emotions boil to the surface.</p><p>Two wooden,
human-shaped targets appeared. The next moment, both exploded into
splinters, and his magic curved around the room, a fanged beast on a
leash.</p><p>He had dreamed last
night. The Seers were leaving him alone, as he had demanded, but, as
they had promised, dreams came hunting him in their place. Snape had
relived, again, the day that he finished brewing a potion that would
allow him to see his own soul, and drank it.</p><p><em>Bang, bang,</em> and
two more targets were no more. Snape paced to the other side of the
room and conjured up a stone basin. It burst apart when he glanced at
it. Snape felt a shard sting his cheek, and a small flow of blood
appear. A tongue of his magic licked the wound in the next instant,
and it flickered and vanished.</p><p>He had seen what he
was. He had seen the knots there, the bitternesses, the absolute and
utter tangles of resentment and hatred and envy. It was that sight
that had ultimately driven him to join the Death Eaters. What better
place for someone with a soul that looked like that? He knew he could
never find sanctuary in the Light, not with their golden Gryffindors,
not when some of those who served the Light had tried to <em>kill</em>
him in his sixth year at Hogwarts and had escaped expulsion only
because of the Headmaster's favor. His later confirmation that
Dumbledore felt guilty, in part, because Sirius Black had endured
childhood abuse that Dumbledore had been unable to rescue him from
did not change Snape's mind. Horrible things happened in other
people's lives all the time. But those were attended to. <em>His</em>
were ignored. It was the way of the world. He was ugly, inside and
out, and the ugly were neglected for the beautiful and the charming.
Snape had sometimes wondered how many of Lucius Malfoy's victories
were due to innate talent, and how many to the combination of his
last name and his white-blond hair.</p><p>Another pair of
targets started to form, but they didn't get more then a few limbs
intact before his magic chewed out their hearts. Snape could not cast
Dark Arts spells in the Sanctuary—they simply would not work, the
peaceful air suppressing them before that could happen—but he could
and did use his magic for pure and simple violence that worked
against inanimate objects.</p><p>He paced the room, and
then he stopped and leaned his forehead against the wall and closed
his eyes.</p><p>He knew the cause of
his latest outbursts. The dreams that had appeared to him so far were
in chronological order. They tried to show him his memories from a
different angle. Snape did not know that he could accept the vision
of his soul as anything other than what it had been, what he had
decided it was at seventeen. But he knew one thing. He knew what was
coming next.</p><p>The three days at his
mother's bedside, as Eileen Prince slowly died, as she told him
truths that had scored his soul forever, that had killed the last
moments when he might have referred to himself by his first name.
Those three days had destroyed the last sanctuary he had. When he had
buried his mother, he had gone, dry-eyed and bloody-minded, to
Lucius, and Lucius had brought him, without pause, to the Dark Lord,
and Snape had sold his soul to Voldemort for a Mark on his arm.</p><p>Before those three
days, he had clung to the idea, pathetic and misplaced though it was,
that <em>part</em> of him was worth something. His father was a Muggle,
a rough and shallow and poor man. But his mother was a pureblood
witch, of a line once powerful and even rich. Snape had thought of
himself as half-pureblood—reared out of their society, knowing
almost nothing of their rituals and their dances, forever a stranger
in that much, but at least connected to them by blood. A halfblood
Prince, if he could be nothing else.</p><p>And then his mother
had told him what he truly was.</p><p>And Snape had gone out
to cause pain to others. Why shouldn't he? Pain was the way of the
world.</p><p>He did not want to
face those memories again. He would rather hate than fear. He would
rather brood on what he had become than remember how he had changed
into what he was.</p><p>He did not want to
remember—he rarely did, consciously—another way in which he and
Harry were alike. Tobias Snape had left his own scars on Snape's
soul, as James Potter had on Harry's. But the scars from both their
mothers ran far, far deeper.</p><p>And both Lily Potter
and Eileen Prince had believed they were doing the best things for
their sons, in the end.</p><p>Snape conjured a stone
pillar this time. It split down the center, and the pieces went
spinning into corners, bouncing off each other with a series of sharp
cracks, growing smaller and smaller each time they did so. Snape
imagined each one as Sirius Black's skull.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry opened his eyes
slowly. He had not had much trouble sleeping since he came to the
Sanctuary, and he wondered if only the odd dream—something about a
book sparkling as he opened it, with a title that included the word
<em>Medicamenta</em>—was to blame for his wakefulness now.</p><p>Someone laughed.</p><p>Harry sat up abruptly,
because he knew that laughter, but it was too late. The bird sitting
on the end of his bed, lizard-tailed, claw-winged, red-eyed,
tooth-beaked, with feathers that shimmered like an oil slick, had
already flown at him and raked its talons down his left arm from his
shoulder to his stump. Harry hissed at the pain, and watched as the
wounds froze over before any blood could fall, just like every other
wound he'd received from the bird.</p><p>He raised his head to
glare as the bird danced gleefully over the end of his bed. "What
do you <em>want</em>?" he hissed.</p><p><em>You will not know
until it is too late. </em>The words seemed to appear in his mind as
if he'd always known them. <em>I am preparing you. Marking you.
Warning you. Binding you. </em>The bird screeched, a more unpleasant
sound than its laugh. <em>We are all bound, you and he and I, and we
cannot escape. But I can arrange the bond to my liking.</em></p><p>"If you would tell
me what you are talking about—"</p><p><em>You could still do
nothing. It is not a binding about which things can be done. </em>The
bird flew at him, and, as always, Harry ducked. Again came the
laughter, and then it faded above him.</p><p>Harry was left to sit
and shake in place, until the steady ache from his arm reminded him
that he should do something to heal the wound. He placed his hand on
the scratches and closed his eyes, concentrating. Nothing happened,
and Harry cursed, voice trembling still.</p><p>From what he could
tell, the bird was a creation of pure magic, and its vicious temper
reminded Harry of his own magic just after it had escaped from the
phoenix web, growing to sentience under intense pressure. His magic
had been uninterested in anything except punishing his parents for
confining it, even though, by then, Harry had not wanted to hurt
them. That this creature was interested in hurting Harry…</p><p><em>Did I hurt the
wizard that it belongs to? Is he imprisoned somewhere, and the only
way he can reach me is this? But the bird's been appearing for
months. I don't know who it could be.</em></p><p>Harry took a deep
breath, and sighed. It would mean explanations he didn't like, but
he would have to go to Vera and show her the wounds, since his own
magic couldn't heal them. They stung like blazes as he slid out of
bed, and he tried not to move his arm too much.</p><p>He did pause on his
way out of the room. He had thought he heard a faint scream, as if
someone in pain. But it didn't sound again, and so Harry made his
way slowly down the terrace steps, wincing as every last one jolted
his arm.</p><p>He frowned as the
bird's laughter repeated itself in the distance.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 2*: Intermission: Fever Dream</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!<p>This is not the only posting for today; a regular chapter will be along, but later. This Intermission does address something mentioned in the first chapter, however, and which will be a regular, running theme of the story. Once again, <strong>Half-Blood Prince spoilers abound.</strong><p><strong>Intermission: Fever Dream</strong></p><p>The world around him
was dark, and close, and hot. The world outside breathed light rain,
the coolness of early summer in this part of Yorkshire. But inside,
with the fire blazing, and the windows shut, and the deep, sweet
scent of sickness in the air, it could have been summer in a jungle.</p><p>Summer in a fever.</p><p>Severus waved his
wand, and the fire flared higher. He gagged. From the bed came a
rattling cough. Severus turned and looked towards it, thinking for a
moment that his mother would fall asleep again.</p><p>A twinge hit his left
arm. He rubbed it. There was a black symbol flickering there, smoke
and fire, and then it faded. A snake and skull? Severus thought so.</p><p><em>And why not? </em>he
thought, as he moved to sit on the small collection of pillows not
far from his mother's bed. <em>I have thought of that often enough,
in the last few days, and the atmosphere in here will affect me.
But—there may be no need for that, even now. </em></p><p>Lucius had promised
him that Severus could be a part of the Dark Lord's inner circle if
he desired to be so. But Lucius promised many things, and if there
was anything Severus had learned while he was at Hogwarts, it was
wariness of promises made with a bright voice, or shining eyes—or,
for that matter, half-lidded eyes in which wormwood cunning lingered.
Lucius's promises could wait.</p><p>His mother was dying.
It was important that Severus be here, that he see what happened when
she did. He folded his arms on top of his legs and breathed in the
sickness and the smoke. His head felt heavy. His thoughts drifted.</p><p>"Severus."</p><p>Severus turned. For a
moment, the woman struggling to sit up in the bed—he knew better
than to go to her and assist her—made him want to shake with shock.
<em>You're dead, you're dead, </em>he wanted to say, but he knew
she wasn't. She was dying. And why did thinking of himself by his
first name seem strange?</p><p>The half-formed
thoughts swirled and vanished like the smoke as he watched his mother
lean against her pillows. Eileen Prince had never been beautiful, and
what little liveliness remained in her face had drained away and
vanished soon after she married Tobias Snape. Or so Severus imagined;
he only knew what his mother used to look like at all from the three
old photographs she had shown him. She had long since gone sour-faced
by the time he was born.</p><p>"Do you remember
what we spoke of yesterday?" she asked him, and then paused to let
out a rattling cough. Blue stars of light flared and flashed and
vanished around her crabbed hands and her liver-spotted throat.
Severus forced himself to watch those without emotion. His mother had
Pandora's sickness, which opened the box of her own magic and
turned it on her, depriving her of any skill with a wand and
accelerating the aging. Her weakness had been exacerbated, doubtless,
by the smoke and pollution of the Muggle town she lived in. But it
really did not matter what she was dying of. She was, and they could
not have sought help from St. Mungo's even if his mother in her
pride would have consented to it. They had no money for the Healers.</p><p>"The way of the
world," Severus said, which was an answer to both his own thoughts
and his mother's question. He saw his mother's eyes flash with
anger, and he bowed his head. He knew what came next. He mouthed the
words along with her.</p><p>"Forget that accent,
Severus. Shed it. I understand that being among the relics of your
childhood brings it back, but you <em>must</em> learn to shed it, or
you will never gain any respect." His mother spoke slowly,
carefully, precisely. <em>She</em> spoke like the proper pureblood
witch she'd been raised to be. Severus's voice, when he didn't
watch it, imitated the Yorkshire accent of his Muggle father. He had
struggled, with his mother's help, to overcome that defect, but he
still slipped into it when he was—</p><p>Well. Here. The house
at Spinner's End, the home of his childhood, the small and slovenly
hovel where magic had taken root, in his mother and himself, and
grown strange and twisted, into a plant like belladonna if it was a
plant at all.</p><p>His mother was trying
to help him. Severus understood that. And mingled beneath his
gratitude, twined with it, were helpless resentment of the world,
that trying to sound different was necessary at all, and helpless
resentment of <em>her</em>, that she had never tried to spare him from
the harsh truths of the world as other mothers did. She had let him
know what he looked like, what his chances were, with his mixed
blood, in the wider wizarding world, and how his peers would regard
him. He had gone to Hogwarts already knowing what he would find
there, though nothing could have prepared him for the sheer malice of
Sirius Black and James Potter. And so he had his mother to thank that
he had not gotten—no, <em>got</em>—hurt more yet, but he also had
her to hate for never having any illusions of a comfortable, safe,
tame world to lose.</p><p>She had taught him to
see with clear eyes. Hatred was more common than love. Behind all the
grand illusions were common, petty secrets that others would kill to
keep <em>because</em> of their pettiness. Honey and flattery were the
sweetest poisons, and should never be swallowed.</p><p>"I understand," he
whispered.</p><p>"Good." Eileen
stopped and had to close her eyes for a moment. Severus lifted his
head to study her. Her breath wheezed in and out of her lungs. A
white star danced on her lips, then burst apart in a shower of
sparks, and her coughing eased. By that, he knew it would not be
long. Pandora's sickness, like the woman for which it was named,
let hope free from the box last of all.</p><p>"I want you to
understand one thing more," Eileen continued. "You have no claim
to being pureblood, Severus."</p><p>Severus did not know
how long it was before he whispered, "What?" His heart seemed to
hang motionless in his chest, like a slug plunged into a jar of
Salting Solution. His memories danced through his head—memories of
his mother telling him that his father could not understand him
because he was <em>magic</em>, and because he came from a much nobler,
older, purer line than anything a Muggle could dream of; teaching him
to write his name as Prince, and not Snape; telling him legends of
dark purebloods and implying that he had a place among them. She had
taught him to consider himself as pureblood in spirit. They would
always scorn him, but he could honor them, and that meant the tie
between them was never truly lost.</p><p>"You have no claim
to being pureblood," Eileen repeated, slowly, in that manner that
said she knew he was stupid sometimes, but there was no excuse for
that. It was the voice she had used until Severus finally managed to
go cold. "You're halfblood, and half-<em>Muggle</em> at that.
That's as good as being a Mudblood to most of the wizards who
matter." She let out another loud wheeze, and fell back against her
pillows.</p><p>Severus blinked into
the close, hot darkness. "I—you said that I—"</p><p>His mother cut him off
with an impatient sigh. "And what did you think that was, Severus?
The last gift a mother could give her child, of course. If I had
taught you what you really were from the beginning, you would never
grown a backbone and some pride in yourself, and your magic would not
have manifested." She gave one of her older smiles. "And your
father would never have realized how pointless it was to try and
control you." She focused on him again. "I thought that once you
reached Hogwarts, were Sorted into Slytherin, and listened to some of
your Housemates, you would lose the illusions on your own. But you
did not. I saw what you wrote in my old Potions book, Severus."</p><p>Severus bowed his
head. <em>The Half-Blood Prince.</em> He'd called himself that. It
was an appeal to the one thing about himself that he could be proud
of, other than his skills in Dark Arts and Potions. All those things
came from his mother.</p><p>And now—</p><p>"And I—"</p><p>"It is time for you
to lose the last of your illusions," his mother cut in mercilessly.
<em>But is it merciless to pull out the weeds, so that the herbs
survive? </em>Severus thought, his eyes wide and focused on the fire.
"You are not a child any longer. You should have stopped being a
child long since. You are not pureblood, Severus, not a Prince.
Neither are you a filthy Mudblood wallowing away in the sty, not even
aware of what more there is to aspire to. I taught you to look upward
at least, thank Merlin. You are an ugly, wizened, tough survivor. No
one will ever care for you for yourself. If they pretend to do so, it
is only another illusion, because who can love someone who only
possesses useful skills, and not beauty or blood-right? But they
might pretend to love you and lure you into a trap because of it, out
of hatred. You have seen that. You must fight for a place, and never
stop fighting. You must never yield. You must never think of yourself
as a Prince, because then you would go easy on yourself, and begin to
believe that you deserve things you cannot have." She leaned
forward. "You will have nothing but what you fight for, Severus,
and you deserve nothing if you cannot hold on to it. Do you
understand me?"</p><p>The whole house seemed
to be swaying from side to side. Severus felt that he had never
noticed before how small it was, how dark, how close. And he had
never felt more the sallowness of his own skin, the lankness of his
own hair, the fact that he did not have a face like any pureblood
wizard's he had ever seen, self-confident and beautiful and assured
of its own place.</p><p>"I said, do you
understand me, Severus?"</p><p>"I understand,"
said Severus. And he did. He looked up at her, and felt the twined
gratitude and resentment and hatred and love and <em>clarity</em> stand
up in him like a quintaped. "I understand, Eileen."</p><p>Eileen watched him for
a long moment. Severus stared back at her. He felt as if he were
seeing her for the first time. Cross and sullen she might be, but she
was <em>pureblood</em>. The blood flowed in her veins and made her
shine. She had a <em>place.</em></p><p>It was no wonder it
had taken her so long to get through to him. He was a halfblood, and
inherently deficient of understanding. But he would have to hide that
and gain understanding, wield his intelligence like the double-edged
sword it was, in order to make sure that no one pureblood ever found
out his weakness and used it against him.</p><p>And <em>everyone</em>
would. Now, he grasped that. Now, he understood.</p><p>"Good," Eileen
said then, and leaned back on her pillows, closing her eyes. "Bury
me, Severus."</p><p>Severus lowered his
head and stared at his hands. The sound of his first name already
rang wrong in his ears. It denied what he was. It was an ancient,
noble name, and he did not deserve that.</p><p>Nor did he deserve his
mother's name.</p><p>He wondered if he
could reconcile himself to his father's name, and all that came
with it. And then he knew that he would <em>have</em> to. It was the
only way to remind himself, at all times, of what he was, and yet
give himself the strength and the goad to struggle for a place in the
only society worth being a part of, that of pureblood wizards.</p><p>He closed his eyes and
breathed in sickness and smoke, and thought of himself as Snape. He
let the wounds on his soul bleed, knowing they would scar eventually,
and he would be stronger for the scars.</p><p>Eileen had dipped him
in the River Styx, just as Achilles' mother had in the old stories,
but, like Thetis, she had only done it so that he would survive. And
Snape planned to have no heel to make him vulnerable to his enemies.</p><p><em>Not my fear of
werewolves. Not my fondness for anyone else. Not my blood.</em></p><p><em>Not ever again.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 3*: Demonstrations In a Hollow Room</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the Intermission! Review responses should be up in my LJ shortly. (Check the link from my profile if you want to read them).</p><p><strong>Chapter Two: Demonstrations In a Hollow Room</strong></p><p>Harry
wished he had a lynx form outside of dreams. He thought it would be a useful
skill if he could flatten his ears. And, at the moment, he wanted to do <em>something</em>
that would show his extreme irritation and displeasure and worry and
reluctance.</p><p><em>You
could turn around and leave this room alone. No one would have to know. Only
Vera knew you might seek this room out, and you didn't say you would do it
today. It's your choice.</em></p><p>And Harry
might even have believed that, if not for the stubbornness that had grown in
him over the last week and a half. He no longer believed that there was any
value in some parts of his training—especially the parts that disobliged him in
simple things on a daily basis—and that had led him to look critically at other
decisions he'd made. Were they the best choices? Or had he merely made them
because of a lack of time and a pressing need to do something else, and then
let the bad choices solidify into habit?</p><p>He had seen
how people became slaves of habit, slaves of prejudice. He never wanted to be
one.</p><p>And that
had led him to spend the last few days, as he recovered from the slashes down
his left arm and told Vera, Draco, and Snape everything he could remember about
the bird, analyzing two of his choices. One he had eventually decided wasn't
the best choice, but it also wasn't something he could change right away. He
would need McGonagall's help, and Snape's, and the help of the Black libraries
and the Hogwarts library. That <em>had</em> to wait until he left the Sanctuary.</p><p>The other
didn't—not when Vera had already told him about one of the rooms that could
help him.</p><p>Harry stood
now outside that room, and stared at the door, and gnawed his lip. His hand
traced the ending of his wrist, the severed stump, over and over and over
again.</p><p>Chattering
voices of different opinions clamored in his head.</p><p><em>You did
decide that your choice was hasty and badly made.</em></p><p><em>It's
silly, and unimportant, and you should be learning as much as you can about
useful weapons in the war while you're still here and have access to knowledge
that doesn't exist outside the Sanctuary.</em></p><p><em>Most of
what you think is silly and unimportant has turned out not to be so. And
nothing can get in the way of your healing. You didn't let Loki make you stay
in the wizarding world. Are you going to let your own preconceptions hold you
back from doing something that you know you should do?</em></p><p>Those were
two good arguments for going forward, against only one for staying where he
was. Harry took a deep breath and tugged open the door to the room.</p><p>Vera had
described the Sanctuary as a shrine to the present. The rooms set aside to hold
and contain the presence of magic corresponded to types of magic that actually
existed in the world, somewhere. The moment a kind of magic ceased to exist,
because its last practitioner died or because the knowledge or ingredients that
were necessary for it were lost, then the room would vanish. The Sanctuary
looked to the future, not the past.</p><p>Harry
stepped into a large room, perhaps round, perhaps square. From the outside, it
was rectangular, but Harry already knew that the insides of these rooms perhaps
didn't correspond to their outsides. In any case, it was difficult to make out
the shape because of the mirrors that crowded the walls. Some mirrors had round
frames, some sharply pointed edges, some star-shaped protrusions that
overlapped with the other mirrors and made it difficult to be sure of what was <em>real.</em>
Harry waved, and a thousand thousand Harry-shaped images waved back. Some had
slightly different faces, some slightly different eyes, some slightly different
bodies. The images reflected more than once—when mirrors were set opposite from
one another so that a long series of possible Harrys stretched away—looked very
different.</p><p>Harry stood
there in silence for a long moment. So far, the mirrors worked as Vera had told
him they did. They showed images of what <em>could</em> be, all the possible ways
that Harry could be different, marching corridors of side-realities. They could
not be used as doors to those realities; if that magic had ever existed, Vera
had told him, it was lost, and the Sanctuary wouldn't demonstrate it. But they
could show <em>transitions</em> between the real Harry and a possible one, the
various shades, for example, through which his eyes might pass on the way from
green to blue.</p><p>And that
meant—</p><p>That meant—</p><p>Harry took
a deep breath and lifted his left wrist.</p><p>A ripple
ran through the mirrors, a shudder so intense that for a moment Harry feared
they would break. Vera had warned him about this, though. So long as he kept
his left wrist low and at his side, out of range of the glass, it might be <em>anything</em>;
the possibility was undefined. When he forced the mirrors to reflect it, then
each image had to become what it would be in that other reality.</p><p>And it
worked. Harry saw himself, in the nearest, oval mirror, with a left wrist that
ended in scar tissue. When he turned his head, he saw left hands, left hooks,
images of himself with an intact left hand and a missing right one, and, more
than once, a wing or a flipper on that limb. He blinked, then forced himself to
look away from those strange, beguiling images and to one of the ones with a
left hand.</p><p><em>And on a
diagonal to the oval mirror that reflects me as I really am</em>. Vera had told
him about that, too. "True" images, ones that would actually lead him from what
he was to what he wanted to become, were more often found on the slant.</p><p>It took him
several minutes to sort out a pattern. Then he looked at the series of
transitional images that separated him from the final product, and shivered,
and looked away again. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of
madly swinging heads, so he shut his eyes to avoid them.</p><p>There were
ten images between himself and the Harry with a left hand who still looked
almost exactly like him.</p><p><em>Only
ten.</em></p><p>Harry made
himself look again. Each of the first three images had a smaller shimmer of
Dark magic above his left wrist. The fourth one had a star of Dark magic there—probably,
Harry thought, the last curse to burst, or the deepest one, which would take
more effort to break than the others. The fifth one simply had an ordinary,
scarred wrist. The sixth and the seventh one had shadowy images of left hands,
and the eighth and ninth possessed hands that they held gingerly. The tenth
image looked completely comfortable with both his hands, and caught Harry's eye
with a solemn expression that, Harry imagined, did not look completely
terrified.</p><p>It might be
the same expression on his face right now.</p><p>He
controlled the impulse to just walk out of the room. Instead, he studied the
really important images, the ones that detailed the curses, so that he knew
what he could expect them to look like at each stage of the breaking. Argutus
could help, of course, by reflecting the hidden spells in his scales. Harry
would just as soon not set out to break one and then have it warp in a
different direction, though. And knowing Bellatrix and her insanity, he
couldn't say that wouldn't happen.</p><p>Then he
turned and paced quickly to the door, lowering his eyes so that the dizzying
army moving with him partially faded from his sight.</p><p><em>Only ten
steps, and I can have my hand again.</em></p><p>He shut the
door of the room and leaned against it. A light, misty rain fell in the
Sanctuary this morning. Harry could hear birds calling that he hadn't heard
before, energetic cries that seemed to praise the rain and the coolness and
even the gray of the skies as part of a good life.</p><p>He had
examined his reasons for not trying to regrow his hand, and decided they
weren't good ones. He would look weak? There were many other ways that he might
look weak to his allies, including the kind of emotional breakdown he'd
experienced over the dead children during the siege, and he was working to heal
those wounds. He didn't have time? He had time if he made it. He didn't want to
make it seem as if that was something he cared about, when many, many other
things mattered more?</p><p>Well, that
last was still true. But Harry hadn't been able to say <em>why</em> he felt that
way. Why should regrowing his hand be less important to him than making sure
that Ignifer, for example, won free of the infertility curse her father had
placed on her?</p><p>He didn't
have a good answer for that. His gaping terror of being selfish wasn't a good
answer. And he <em>had</em> to be more selfish, to stop himself before he broke
down as he nearly had before he came to the Sanctuary, or they would lose the
war.</p><p>So here he
was. He would try to break the curses and regrow his hand.</p><p>He shook
his head and moved quickly, sharply away from the room. He wanted to go watch
Draco eliminate some of the taint on his soul with Nina's encouragement, or
help Snape brew a potion. He wanted to listen to Argutus ramble on about his
own beauty, which he was more concerned with suddenly, or listen to the soft
hisses of the Many snake as she conversed in half-understood fragments. He
wanted to do <em>anything</em> that didn't focus on himself.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco
smiled when Harry slipped into his room behind Nina, but didn't take his eyes
from her face. Likewise, Nina nodded a welcome to Harry, but the words she
spoke next, soft and soothing, were to Draco.

<p>"I can see
your soul as a jeweled construct, with emerald and opalescent wheels."</p><p>"Of <em>course</em>
it's jeweled," said Draco, and had the delight of seeing Nina smile back at
him. Harry raised his eyebrows in confusion. Of course he would. He tended to
respond too seriously to Draco's arrogance, while Nina treated it for what it
was, one more game to play or waltz to dance. Draco had often done the same
thing with Narcissa when he first began his lessons in pureblood etiquette, and
had always enjoyed them more than his father's more formal efforts to drill him
in the same things.</p><p>"It would
be," Nina murmured. "Nothing less than the best for a Malfoy." She squinted
thoughtfully off to the side, as if she were looking at his left shoulder.
Draco hated it when she did that. It reminded him even more forcefully that she
could see things he couldn't. That was annoying enough when it happened with
Harry, and Harry was at least stronger, magically, than he was. Draco wondered,
not for the first time, what he would see if he possessed Nina.</p><p>"Coils are
wound among the wheels," Nina continued. "Springs. Clockwork. All of them are
dark, the same shade of gray. I can tell you what I think they are, and you can
tell me which one doesn't belong."</p><p>Draco
nodded. They had done this before. He had to admit, it was interesting to learn
all sorts of things about himself that he would never have suspected before. He
saw Harry lean forward, and took the opportunity to set his shoulders back and
lift his chin, determined to make both Harry and Nina proud of him.</p><p>Nina
narrowed her eyes now as if squinting against the sun, and said, "One is the
impulse to prove yourself regardless of what you might have to do in the
process." She smiled again, her expression growing brighter. "I think I should
know that that one is your own."</p><p>Draco
inclined his head, his own eyes and cheeks blazing with his amusement. Harry
shifted again, briefly catching his attention. Draco caught a glimpse of a very
intriguing emotion in his eyes, but he couldn't take the time to study it,
because Nina was droning on.</p><p>"One is the
impulse to grow without restraint, to have so much magical power that nothing
can stop or check it." Nina lost her smile first, and then the playful tone to
her voice. "Could that one be a legacy of your encounter with Voldemort?"</p><p>"I—possibly."
Draco could remember times when he had felt the impulse for himself, though. At
one time, little had mattered to him but matching Harry in magical strength. He
had called on an ancestor to give him that power, with what seemed, in
hindsight, perilously little research and horrendous impatience. But, on the
other hand, he thought he had subdued that idea. Voldemort would not have.</p><p>Nina
nodded, and went on. "Then there is the impulse to cause pain to others." She
didn't say anything else this time.</p><p>Draco
squirmed in place, his cheeks flushing. "What kind of pain?" he asked. "Can you
tell?"</p><p>"There are
many different roots to it." The Seer folded her hands almost primly in front
of her, as if to say, whatever she had seen in her own soul when she looked at
it, <em>this</em> had not been there. "It might be pure sadism at some points
along the coil. It might be the simple desire to irritate someone with a hex
who's irritated <em>you</em> with a hex. It might be a wish that someone would go
away and stop bothering you or your Harry."</p><p>Draco
nodded. Well, he should have expected that. He would have been more horrified
and ashamed if he had a simple soul, one where he could pick the right answer
every time Nina had a question. "I don't think the sadism is mine," he said. "I
do want revenge, and I do think my Harry should take it more often than he
does—" another shift in his peripheral vision "—but I don't take that much
pleasure in watching someone else suffer. I take much more satisfaction in
knowing that they'll never hurt me again."</p><p>"Very well,
then," said Nina, and eased backward on the rug she'd spread to sit on. "So,
you are ready?"</p><p>"I am,"
said Draco.</p><p>He braced
himself as Nina brought forth a small mirror she'd pulled from one of the
Sanctuary's rooms; Merlin knew which one, since Draco so far hadn't had much
time to go exploring. The mirror had two halves, one that bulged outward and
one that rippled backward into the frame. Nina tilted it so that both halves
reflected his face and pulled her wand from a pocket of her robe.</p><p>"<em>Vitrum
reapse</em>," she whispered, and gestured.</p><p>Draco's
face rippled as if someone had thrown a stone in a pool of water. Draco reached
forward with his own magic, his own mind, at the same moment, grasping at his
thoughts, pulling them and tugging, using the image in the mirror as a stabilizing
point. <em>This</em> was reality, <em>this</em> was truth, and he would make
himself into the Draco Malfoy whose image he saw in the mirror.</p><p>It would
have been impossible if he hadn't had the possession gift. But part of learning
to possess others had been learning an exquisite consciousness of himself—where
his thoughts ended and another's began, primarily. He always needed to be able
to tell what was him in another person's mind, so that he didn't accidentally
sabotage his own plans. The only reason he couldn't heal himself of Voldemort's
taint was that the slime had gone so deep into his soul. He had to look
intently at one point of his own mind before he could see the incongruities.</p><p>Nina had
pointed him to the right one this time, he thought. He found a twisting, alien
bit of presence in the part of his thoughts devoted to pain and revenge, and he
carved it out of himself with relish. As always, he directed it down the path
of his thoughts towards his mouth. He had to expel Voldemort from his body
somehow, and though, strictly speaking, he could have imagined the dark taint
as a mist that would float away and leave him alone, it was easier this way, to
think of it as mingled bile and poison he spat out.</p><p>He opened
his eyes as his mouth moved, and saw a splatter of saliva blossom on the
mirror. A moment later, it turned black, and he saw the quivering, caught worm
of Voldemort's presence. He nodded and sat back, beaming at Nina, who beamed in
turn and cleansed the mirror with another wave of her wand. Draco imagined he
could hear the worm screaming as it burned.</p><p><em>That
delight in pain is all my own, </em>he thought.</p><p>"I think
it's time that we stopped for today," said Nina softly, rising to her feet.
Draco wondered if she was stopping solely for his sake, or for Harry's, or
perhaps for her own. "You've yanked out three tendrils, and it's harder and
harder for me even to see a place where others might be hiding. I think you're
almost healed, Draco."</p><p>Draco
inclined his head, accepting the glad news—the more glad because he knew the
Seers wouldn't chase him out of the Sanctuary just because he had healed. He
could still stay here until the end of the summer, and he could focus more on
Harry once his own mind was cleansed.</p><p>"Just don't
forget what my soul looks like," he told Nina as she made her way to the door.
"You won't ever see something that beautiful again, and it should remain to
brighten your life when I'm gone."</p><p>Nina rolled
her eyes and shut the door. That confirmed Draco's belief that she'd stopped
the soul-seeing for her sake. Unless she was deeply tired, she always came up
with a witty retort of some kind.</p><p>Draco went
at once to the couch Harry had taken a seat on, capturing him with a kiss and
an arm around his shoulders before he could stand. Harry blinked, dazed, and
then his face broke into a bright grin. "Draco!" he exclaimed. "You're moving
faster than you were yesterday?"</p><p>"Yes,
bloody finally," Draco groused as he sat down. "I still don't think bed-rest
was the cure for me once my headaches ended." He caught Harry's chin and tilted
his face towards him. Harry bore it, looking patient. Draco frowned. That
unfamiliar emotion he'd thought Harry had expressed earlier was gone, and only
entirely familiar affection and exasperation looked back at him.</p><p><em>Well,
perhaps talking about Nina will bring it back. </em>"The way she helps me is
wonderful, isn't it?" he asked casually.</p><p><em>Ah,
there it is. </em>The emotion traveled through Harry's eyes like a comet across
the night sky, and then he was nodding and agreeing, but Draco sat close enough
to him to see what it had been.</p><p>"Harry," he said, and he tried to
keep the delighted purr out of his voice, but he couldn't, he really couldn't.
"Are you <em>jealous</em>?"</p><p>Harry
blinked, then said, "Honestly, Draco, of course not. I don't believe that you'd
ever sleep with her. Besides," he added, standing and slipping out of Draco's
arms, "for all I know, you don't even like girls that way."</p><p>"Oh, I
don't mind them," said Draco, leaning back on the couch and watching Harry's
tense shoulders. <em>He shouldn't hide from this. We're supposed to be letting
down our barriers and showing our emotions anyway.</em> "You're the one I like,
Harry. But you wouldn't get jealous over bed-sharing, anyway, when we haven't
even shared one. You're jealous because she can See part of me that you can't,
aren't you?"</p><p>"I am <em>not</em>
jealous."</p><p>Draco
laughed at him. "Liar."</p><p>Harry
glared at him over his shoulder. "I am <em>not</em>," he said. "You need her help
to heal, Draco. It would be unworthy, not to mention <em>stupid</em>, for me to
get jealous over that." He frowned and trailed his hand over the edge of
Draco's bed.</p><p>"Well,
jealousy often doesn't have a rational basis," said Draco comfortably. He
patted the couch next to him again. "Why are you on the other side of the room?
Come sit next to me."</p><p>"I don't
want to."</p><p><em>And now
he's pouting! This is wonderful. </em>Draco would have thought it worth coming
to the Sanctuary, and coaxing a reluctant Harry to come with him and away from
a war-torn wizarding world, for the sake of this alone. "Yes, you do," he said.
"Or you did a moment ago. But now you think that you shouldn't be jealous, and
you're—what? Punishing yourself by denying your urge to seek out my company?"</p><p>He saw
Harry stop moving. Then he turned around and glared at Draco again. "If I
didn't know that Seeing can't be taught," Harry said, "I would say that you'd
been taking lessons from Nina. Or Vera, perhaps, since she's my Seer."</p><p>"You still
don't like someone seeing you that well," said Draco, and shook his head. He
couldn't name the emotion that welled up in him. He decided to call it
protectiveness, because that made a good name. "Get used to it, Harry. I intend
to know all of you before I'm done."</p><p>"I'll
change," said Harry, his voice soft. Draco wondered if he even realized what he
was saying as he examined Draco intently. "I'll change, and then you won't know
me anymore. And the same thing will happen to you, and to Snape—" Harry checked
himself. "Well, I think it'll happen to Snape. Maybe not. I've never seen someone
so determined not to change."</p><p>"I'll read
you anew, then," said Draco, and stood. He walked slowly across the room to
Harry, who stood watching him come. Draco clasped his wrist and rubbed gently
at his forehead, over the scar that marked Harry as the real recipient of
Voldemort's Killing Curse. "What is it, Harry? Do you really think that I'll
wake up someday and just decide to give up on you?"</p><p>"No," said
Harry.</p><p>"Then
what?"</p><p>Harry
sighed. "I still understand why someone would want to see you and love you
better than I understand why someone would want to see and love me." He tugged
at Draco's grasp on his hand, then forced himself to stand still even before
Draco could ask for it, and shook his head. "And that's the truth," he said,
sounding half-unnerved. "No matter how stupid it sounds, there it is."</p><p>Draco
curved one arm around Harry's shoulders and tugged him forward until his head
rested on his shoulder. "Is that the reason you haven't wanted me attending
your sessions with Vera where you work on removing your mother's training
against pleasure?" he murmured into his ear.</p><p>"Partially,"
Harry said, his voice going dry. "The other part is that the training often
involves hot baths, and I don't think you could control your impulse to stare
at me sitting naked in the water. And that would be rather distracting."</p><p>Draco's
mouth went dry, and then he realized that Harry had made a joke, and what kind
of joke it was. He <em>laughed</em>, and it felt like the most genuine laughter
he'd ever given. He hugged Harry hard enough that Harry both lost his balance
and his breath, and did it until Harry pounded feebly at him with one arm to
let him go.</p><p>Then he
said into Harry's ear, "Most of the world would give everything to be standing
where I am now, Harry, if they only knew you. And I'll say that until you
believe it. If you change, I'll say it again."</p><p>Harry
tensed for a moment, as if thinking of a further objection, and then relaxed.
"Thank you," he whispered.</p><p>Draco held
him, and smiled, and decided that it could do no harm to not tell Harry what
idea this conversation had just spawned in his mind. Harry needed some
surprises and excitement in his life, after all, since they were currently in
the middle of a peaceful haven where he received none.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Can I help
you, sir?"

<p>Harry saw
Snape's back tense from across the room. He'd been standing in front of a
cauldron bubbling with a thick purple liquid, and stirring as if it were the
only thing that existed. Now he shifted as if to conceal its presence from Harry,
even before he smoothly turned on his heel.</p><p>"Of course,
Harry," he said. "I'll need the mandrake roots boiled first, before they're
cut. If you will?" He nodded to a table on the other side of the room that
contained a cauldron full of water, a glass bowl to shield the fire, and a pile
of dried mandrakes.</p><p>Harry
nodded back and crossed over to the roots, gathering them, squeezing them to
remove most of the juice—as one should always do before boiling mandrakes—and
using his magic to create a fire in the glass bowl. He kept sneaking glances at
Snape's back as he dropped the crushed roots into the cauldron, though. He
couldn't help it. Snape showed an uneasy awareness divided between him and the
potion. It took a lot to disturb him like that.</p><p>"Are you
all right, sir?" he ventured at last.</p><p>Snape's
hand tightened on his wand, and then he slid it into his pocket and turned
around. "Dreams," he said.</p><p>Harry
blinked. "What?" He crushed the latest mandrake root so hard that stinking
juice ran out over his fist. He winced.</p><p>"I am
healing through dreams," said Snape, voice flat. "I refused to allow the Seers
to help me. The Sanctuary sends dreams in that case, images that dig up the
buried emotions and memories and make me reflect on them from a different
perspective." He laughed. It sounded like something breaking. "Or that is what
is supposed to happen. In the last nightmare, I lost myself so completely to
memory and bitterness that I never knew it was a dream until I awoke." His hand
rose and began to caress the sleeve that hid the Dark Mark, almost absently.
"And that is less than helpful when healing," he said.</p><p>His voice
was clinical and dry on the last words. Almost, Harry thought. It shook on the
last one.</p><p>That alone
made Harry more concerned for Snape than he had ever been.</p><p>"Please,
sir," he said quietly. He put the mandrake root he was handling down completely
and faced Snape, but didn't try to move closer to him. From the way he was
staring off into the distance, and the soft, constant buzz in the air around
him, Harry knew Snape's wandless magic would try to open his belly or his
throat if he got close now. And Snape had enough emotion to carry, that was
plain, without adding guilt to the mix. "I think you should talk to the Seers.
If Joseph is—too much like Sirius—" he didn't think the man was, personally,
and it was just Snape's blind hatred and bias talking, but Snape had fastened
on an insistence that yes, he was "—I'm sure there are other Seers who would
talk to you."</p><p>Snape
abruptly blinked, and the buzz in the air died down. Harry hardly had time to
draw a breath of relief before Snape was shaking his head.</p><p>"What,
sir?" Harry asked.</p><p>"I should
not have told you," said Snape, voice and face empty. "You are healing. You
should think of your own soul and thoughts, not mine." He turned, and the way
he swept towards the cauldron moved the air so much Harry caught a faint whiff
of the purple liquid inside. He wrinkled his nose. It smelled awful, and
completely unfamiliar, which meant Snape was probably inventing something new.
"I will bear the dreams alone. Thank you for your advice to talk to the Seers.
It makes sense. Should the dreams overwhelm me, I will seek their assistance."</p><p>Harry
narrowed his eyes. "No."</p><p>Snape
glanced at him over his shoulder, face still blank. "No, what?"</p><p>"No, I
think what you're doing is unreasonable." Harry folded his arms and scowled at
Snape. "This is the <em>exact</em> kind of thing you're always warning me against
doing—concealing my wounds until I have no choice but to get help because I'm
drowning in my own blood. You scolded me out of it when we had to coordinate
the battle at Hogwarts. I would scold you out of it now, but I think you could
find an answer for every one of my taunts. So I'm just telling you that I think
it's reckless, stupid, and hypocritical of you do to this." He paused, just
long enough to let the impudence have the most impact, and added, "Sir."</p><p>Snape's
eyes burned with something wild and dangerous. Harry had not seen this before,
but he had felt it. When Snape came to rescue him from the storm his own magic
had raised at the end of his second year, when his mind had been broken in
shards and Snape had had to use Legilimency to help him rebuild it, his own
magic had unfolded around him in response to the Dark power Harry was calling.
This was the Death Eater's edge, the man Harry thought had prepared himself to
kill, and, before his crisis of conscience, had enjoyed every second of it.</p><p>"I will
handle my healing on my own," Snape snarled. "I am an adult, Harry, and fully
aware of my own beliefs and choices—"</p><p>Harry
snorted. "Of course you are, sir," he said. "That would be why you carried a
childish grudge forward twenty years. You <em>still</em> don't see my brother for
who he really is, thanks to living in the past. You still hate Sirius and
compare people to him who are nothing like him. You still carry a fear of
werewolves that you've transmuted into hatred, rather than overcome. And I
think that you only struggled to overcome your hatred of my father because you
knew that, otherwise, I would see what you did for me as revenge on James
instead of justice for me. All of those are absolutely lovely examples of adult
behavior."</p><p>As he
watched Snape's face flush with rage, Harry had to reconsider his idea of
whether he possessed enough sarcasm to taunt his guardian out of his childish
obsessions.</p><p>"Get <em>out</em>,"
Snape said, and one of the knives he'd placed beside his own cauldron whizzed
across the room and buried itself to the hilt in the wood beside Harry's head.</p><p>Harry
glared at him. "Do you really think that impresses me?" he asked. "One nice
thing about being a Lord-level wizard is that magical temper tantrums pale next
to what I can do in battle."</p><p>Another
knife flew. Harry doubted that Snape was seeing him at the moment. He was
panting, his face livid, his eyes staring into another time and place. Harry
conjured a shield that bounced the knife, and cocked his head.</p><p>"Talk to
Joseph, sir," he said softly. "I don't blame you for this, not any of this. But
I've finally decided that healing is important, you see. That means <em>everybody's</em>
healing. I'm going to be just as stubborn about this as I am about the issue of
forgiveness and reconciliation, or rights for magical creatures. Do you <em>really</em>
want to be on the opposite side of an issue from me that I'm that determined
about?"</p><p>"Get out."
The words were low and ugly, and this time Snape's cauldron rose from its base,
slowly revolving.</p><p>Harry
rolled his eyes and did. The determination remained in his head as he walked
down the steps towards his own room.</p><p><em>Idiot.
He taught me those lessons. And now he claims that he'll hide and rage and
scream but refuse to seek help? Idiot. No, he won't. </em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape knew
he should apologize to Harry.

<p>But it took
him hours to work up the barriers with which to do it—to make sure that the
rage lay down, tamed and still; to wrap his emotions with rocks and sink them
to the bottom of the Occlumency pools; to forget the urge to snarl when he
thought about Harry's words and what they had done.</p><p>He made
himself cool and composed, as he had been when he was a spy among the Dark
Lord's ranks, and went to Harry's room.</p><p>He found
Harry reading, alone, unless one counted the tiny gold-and-green cobra coiled
around his throat and the silvery Omen snake dozing at his feet. Snape did not,
knowing neither of them could understand English. The Many snake did lift her
head when he came in and give him an unfriendly hiss. Harry hissed back, and
the cobra at once wound into place again, as motionless as a metal ornament.</p><p>Harry
stared at him expectantly.</p><p>Snape
stared back, narrow-eyed. This wasn't the boy he had been expecting to find. He
knew Harry had not understood his outburst and what drove him to speak as he
did earlier, and so he knew Harry's words to him could not have been planned.
He had expected contrition, startlement, perhaps a demand for an explanation.</p><p>Harry just
waited.</p><p>Snape
snarled, at both himself and Harry, and said stiffly, "I apologize. I should
not have thrown objects at you, no matter how angry I was. It is inexcusable
treatment when dealing with an abused child." He inclined his head, feeling as
if his neck were physically objecting to the movement.</p><p>"You
shouldn't have," said Harry. "But you have a reason for it. The air of the
Sanctuary is wearing away at you. What are you feeling? What events are you
reliving in the dreams?" He leaned forward, and though his searching green eyes
did not carry a Legilimens's probing touch, they were intense enough otherwise
that Snape felt unnerved.</p><p>"I do not
need to tell you," Snape said. Despite his best efforts, his voice was
descending into a growl again. "Nor should I. You have your own healing to
concentrate on, and receive assistance with."</p><p>Harry
uttered a dry laugh. "And because of that, you think we should simply play the
roles we always have? I heal, or try to, while you herd me along and retain
your own implacable, frozen stillness." He shook his head. "It isn't <em>working</em>,
sir. Can't you see that? If you had quieted the ghosts that haunt you, you
would never have lost control this easily. I know how thick your walls are. I
don't think they're simply weakening in this place, whatever the Seers may
believe. I think the emotions that are rising are so powerful they can't be
dealt with any other way."</p><p>Snape
folded his arms. <em>So he thinks he knows me? </em>He ignored the uncomfortable
twinge that said Harry probably did know him, as well as anyone living could
claim to. Dumbledore had known more, but he had scoured Snape's mind for
evidence of his motives when Snape came to the Light. And his mother—</p><p><em>Do not
think of her.</em></p><p>He let out
a steady breath, never taking his eyes from Harry's. <em>He claims he knows me,
and yet he has never reached the same conclusions about me that Eileen did.
That means he is ignoring evidence of my true tendencies yet.</em></p><p>"I will
decide how best to attend to my own healing, Harry," he said, making his voice
deep and calm. "I have already chosen to suffer the dreams rather than use
Dreamless Sleep. I—"</p><p>"That's a
step," said Harry. "Progress. But not enough. Even these memories are weakening
you severely, or you would never have attacked me. I think they'd still be
there even if you started using the Dreamless Sleep now, sir. And when we go
back into the world, I know that you won't be able to afford the weakness, any
more than you want it. And I don't want you to be faltering. So it would be
best if you would heal the breach now."</p><p>Snape cast
a wandless, nonverbal spell to remove glamours. He thought for a moment that he
might have surprised Vera sitting in Harry's place, disguised by some of the
innate magic of the Sanctuary. But the spell worked, and Harry was still Harry,
rolling his eyes as he felt the tingle along his skin.</p><p>"Is it
really so hard?" Harry questioned, a tinge of impatience in his voice. "It's
the same logic you gave me when I wanted to dig in my heels and remain as I
was. Better to be whole and strong that way, no matter how much it hurts, than
ignore your own weak points."</p><p>"I am
whole!" Snape snarled, and then stopped as he saw spittle flying from his lips.
He could feel rage coiling in his chest as it had not done since Harry's second
year at Hogwarts. He had once thought that only Black could affect him that
way. Even in James Potter's trial, he had been more in control. He had kept his
motives in mind, and what would happen if his magic slipped its leash and slew
Potter. And now…</p><p>Now, he did
not know which way to turn, and all directions were confused.</p><p>"I want to
help you," Harry told him, his eyes shining earnestly. "I want to see you talk
to someone if you can't bear to take help from me. I want—"</p><p>"And it is
not fair that you should be playing an adult role, shouldering adult burdens,"
Snape said, in what was not quite a shout.</p><p>Harry
actually snorted at him. "What the fuck does <em>fair</em> have to do with any of
it?" he asked. "We live in the world as it is. No, perhaps I should have been
coddled and cuddled and spared any responsibility, but as it is, that didn't
happen." He shrugged, never taking his eyes from Snape. "So I'll do what I have
to do, and that includes both healing <em>and</em> helping you."</p><p>"What makes
you think that you have to do it?" Snape could feel the world around him
tumbling faster and faster, as if he were on the blade of a sword a master
swordsman were spinning in his hands.</p><p>Harry
blinked. "Because I love you. Obviously."</p><p>In Snape's
state, the words were not ones he could hear and not react.</p><p>His magic
made the walls of the room shake. The Omen snake raised his head and hissed,
his long body flexing. The Many snake actually slipped down Harry's shoulder
before he spoke to her in Parseltongue and she stopped.</p><p>"If you
really want to do it <em>that</em> way," Harry said.</p><p>And his
magic answered Snape, with a jolt that welled up out of the stone under Snape's
feet and shook him back and forth, touching nothing else in the room. It felt
like a springtime river in flood, bold with an impatient power that Snape had
never encountered even in the Dark Lord.</p><p>"I'm stronger
than you are," Harry reminded him. "You can't convince me to back off that
way." His tone was sharp, but it was affection that made it so.</p><p>And the
world was a mass of dizzying light and emotion.</p><p>Snape
turned and ran.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry
nearly rose to go after him, but then checked himself as he heard the hissing,
like a hive of hornets, that accompanied Snape. His magic would lash out wildly
now, and once again, he would only blame himself once he returned to sanity.
Harry did write a swift note to Vera, advising her to keep guests and Seers out
of Snape's way for the evening—though he thought they would probably know if
they were at all magically sensitive, and Snape would probably return to his
room and conjure things to destroy soon—and waved it in the air. A white dove
appeared in moments, holding out its foot, to which a message tube was already
attached. Harry smiled at it as he slid the note into the tube. The doves were
the Sanctuary's owls, condensed out of the pure magic that filled the air and given
many similar duties.

<p>"Take this
to Vera, if you would," he said.</p><p>The dove
flapped its wings and gave a bob of its head and a quick coo, and soared away.
Harry watched it go, then sank back down in his seat, shaking his head.</p><p>"<em>Why is
he being stupid?"</em> Argutus demanded, flowing up and "sitting" beside Harry,
which meant several silver coils overlapped the couch with another two to
spare, holding Argutus's head at the height of Harry's face.</p><p>"Because
he's afraid," said Harry.</p><p>"<em>Ah</em>."
Argutus turned and looked along his scales. "<em>Well, I am not often afraid,
but you are. So it must make sense to you.</em>"</p><p>It did,
Harry thought. But he no longer felt like letting fear control his life.</p><p>He stood so
suddenly that the Many snake had to clench around his throat. Argutus regarded
him with surprise as he strode towards the door.</p><p>"I'm going
to visit Draco," Harry told him, and left the Omen snake to follow or not, as
he liked.</p><p>Yes, he
thought as he took the steps a few at a time, he was tired of letting fear
control him. He would find Draco, and if he was free at the moment from a
session with Nina, he would speak to him immediately, and if he wasn't, then
Harry would wait. Either way, he wanted to talk to him.</p><p>He wanted
to tell Draco he was going to regrow his hand.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 4*: Pools of Grief and Pools of Gold</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Three: Pools of Grief and Pools of Gold</strong></p><p>Harry sighed. "Yes,
I promise I'll close my eyes and try to enjoy this like a good
little boy." He met Vera's gaze and held it until she gave him a
slow nod. Her bare feet made soft slapping noises as she walked
around the rim of the pool towards the door.</p><p>"You might want to
think, Harry," she said calmly over her shoulder, "why it is this
part of your training that you resist overcoming, more than almost
anything else."</p><p>"I know," Harry
muttered, as the door shut behind Vera. "I don't like it because
it's silly, both to think about and because I have to put so much
effort into overcoming the smallest parts of it. The more effort I
have to exert, the more frustrated I get, and the more likely I am to
give up."</p><p>But he'd said that
to Vera already, and she had simply watched him with serene eyes and
asked if he wanted to stop trying to overcome his training. Harry had
told her no, and so they'd progressed through childish—in Harry's
opinion—reports of what a pear tasted like, and whether Harry liked
a cool breeze or a warm one on his face better, and what chocolate
actually <em>tasted</em> like to him, when he was forced to slow down
and think about it carefully. Accustoming himself to tastes and
smells and mild sensations seemed like wastes of time to Harry even
now, but he knew he had no rational reason for feeling that way, and
presumably he would be able to demand a Chocolate Frog over porridge
someday, and that would benefit—</p><p>Well. Someone. Maybe
even him.</p><p>He eyed the pool
reluctantly. It was a stone basin set in the floor of the room that
Vera had said the Seers called the Relaxation Room for lack of a
better name. It had a concentrated form of the air that was
everywhere in the Sanctuary, wearing away at a person's emotional
barriers like the sea carving rock, and would create what it thought
was necessary to calm down that person, like a fine-tuned Room of
Requirement. A pool full of hot water appeared every time Harry came
in here. The room apparently thought he should get used to that—no,
more than that, take pleasure in it—before it would give him
anything else.</p><p>Harry was still having
the most problems overcoming the training his mother had given him to
avoid touch. He could tolerate a few minutes of hugging, or the light
touches from Draco that he had grown accustomed to. He had done much
more than that in the Walpurgis Night ritual, and he'd tried to
present that to Vera as a sign that, really, he'd climbed over more
of the obstacles in his path than she thought he had.</p><p>She'd asked him to
spend ten minutes in the pool in the Relaxation Room without
squirming and wanting to get out.</p><p>So far, Harry could
manage only five without squirming, and only a half hour altogether
before a combination of impatience and discomfort drove him out of
the water. There were so many <em>better</em> things he could be doing,
not least seeking out the kinds of rooms in the Sanctuary that
centered on magic he wanted to know and studying that.</p><p>He was going to try
for a full hour this time, though. So he promised himself as he
unhooked his robes with the help of his hand and the semi-permanent
Levitation Charm that always hovered around him. He'd make it a
full hour, and talk to Vera about it without rolling his eyes. Then
she would let him do things that were actually useful.</p><p>He shrugged out of his
shirt and trousers, as well, trying to ignore the shrieking in the
back of his head. He felt <em>far</em> too vulnerable this way,
especially in a strange place; he'd almost grown used to it in the
Slytherin bedrooms at Hogwarts. He wanted to ward the door, or,
better yet, collect his discarded clothes, put them back on, and make
a dignified exit.</p><p><em>Well, I can't,
and I won't, </em>he thought, as he finally lowered himself into the
water. The pool was more than big enough to let him stretch out. Vera
had warned him the first day about falling asleep in the water and
drowning, but she hadn't repeated the warning since she saw how
absolutely unlikely Harry was to relax in it.</p><p>Harry found a seat on
a stone step not far below the surface and craned his neck in several
directions. Yes, he could see anyone open the door and approach from
here. Yes, he had enough of his body out of the water to be able to
leap to the attack if he had to. Yes, the water was thick and murky
enough, with the glazed sheen of a hot spring, that anyone who didn't
count his clothes wouldn't be able to tell what Harry had on under
it.</p><p>He attempted to lean
back and close his eyes. It was impossible. His neck felt like a bone
or a dry stick against the rock, and his eyes remained stubbornly
open, staring at the ceiling.</p><p>The water felt like
slime against his skin.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes
with an effort. He forced himself to remember how Lily had trained
him to this—creating a warm sensation and then a disgusting one
right after it, or soaking him with cold water and then having him
dry out slowly, rather than with a charm or by being wrapped up in
warm blankets and bustled to bed. It was only a sequence of events,
or a sequence of spells, in some cases. It had clawed its way into
his head, but so? Other things had attempted to claw their way into
his head, including Tom Riddle. He hadn't let them. There was no
reason to associate the water swirling against him now with the idea
of not being able to rescue Connor, or the invisible slug trails that
had appeared on his body in the wake of feeling warm.</p><p>Connor wasn't even
<em>here</em>, for Merlin's sake, and neither was his mother.</p><p>Insidious thoughts
were, though. They twined around him and pointed out, as Vera had,
that learning to tolerate this kind of sensation, even relax into it,
meant coming to terms with being vulnerable and lowering his guard.
But the thoughts went a step further. Could he <em>afford</em> to lower
his guard? Harry really didn't think so. A moment of peace was one
that Voldemort would choose for attack. A moment of relaxation could
mean he lost the edge on his reflexes necessary to strike, or dodge,
or jump out of the water and protect those he loved from someone.</p><p>It could be actively
harmful to the war effort if he let himself heal from this part of
his training. Other parts, yes, he couldn't see how it would harm
his allies if he learned to enjoy the taste of a pear, but this one?
Very dangerous.</p><p>Relieved with this new
justification not to stay in the water any longer, Harry started to
stand up. Then he saw the door of the Relaxation Room swing open, and
he ducked back into the pool, his heart hammering and his magic
abruptly stirring to life around him. Had an enemy actually come into
the Sanctuary? One who wouldn't hesitate to hurt him? Or maybe it
was an honest mistake. Harry had thought that Vera had told other
guests and Seers when he was using this pool, so that they wouldn't
put themselves out, but perhaps someone had missed the announcement.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>Worse. It wasn't an
accidental intruder, or an enemy who was taking advantage of his
being vulnerable to hurt him.</p><p>It was <em>Draco.</em></p><p>Harry slid further
down in the water, even though disgust was making him shudder now,
and it got worse as the liquid crept up his chest to the base of his
throat. Draco strode to the edge of the pool and stood looking at
him, head tilted and eyes bending at the corners with amusement, even
though he didn't wear a smile.</p><p>"Draco." Harry
hated how unsteady his voice sounded. "What's the matter? Has
something happened to Snape?"</p><p>"Not at all," said
Draco easily. "I just remembered that you told me about your
healing the other day, with warm water, and I thought I'd come and
see how you were getting on. Nina told me today that she thinks most
of Voldemort's taint is gone from my mind. She'll still See me
every day we're here, but the last bits are small now, scattered
into the corners of my soul."</p><p>"That's
wonderful," said Harry, and wished he could sound more
enthusiastic. It was hard with Draco staring at him as though he were
a Chocolate Frog. "But—Draco, I'm not comfortable with having
you here." There. Best to be as blunt as possible. A lie would have
made things worse. "I want you to leave."</p><p>"Why?" Draco
asked. "Were you about to leave?"</p><p>"I promised myself
to stay here at least an hour," said Harry. <em>Damn. I don't
think he'll listen to my reasoning about this as readily as Vera
would have. </em>"But then I thought that getting used to this
probably isn't a good idea at any rate. Getting used to being
<em>vulnerable?</em> Letting my guard down so far that I might fall
asleep?" He shook his head, and pushed some water through his hair.
The sensation of it there wasn't quite as distracting or disgusting
as it was on his skin, since he was used to taking showers and
getting rain in his hair during Quidditch games, but it gave him
something else to focus on. "It's not something I can adjust to."</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>Harry blinked. He had
expected Draco to sound disappointed. Instead, he simply
sounded—soft, as if he were trying not to frighten off one of
Hagrid's wilder pets. He rose and circled around Harry. Harry
turned in the water immediately, <em>needing</em> to keep an eye on
him. This was Draco, of course, whom he loved and trusted, but it was
only his mind that said that. His instincts told him that he was in
the water, almost naked, and his enemy was on shore, fully clothed
and on the higher ground. If Harry couldn't see him… His
shoulders hunched with tension.</p><p>"I do want you to
relax," Draco whispered. "Not just on Walpurgis, or the other
nights that we do the rituals. There's going to be plenty of our
lives that we share outside the rituals, and where I'll want you to
relax and sleep in my arms. You've managed it before. Why not now?"</p><p>"We've been more
equal before," Harry said. His neck was beginning to ache with the
odd angle he had to hold it at. "Both tired, for one thing. Both
recovering from mental injuries. Both <em>clothed.</em>" He let that
slip out before he could stop himself, and then winced when he saw
the expression on Draco's face. At least, though, if they were
going to have an argument about this, it would distract Draco from
thinking about the implications of Harry being unable to relax when
they weren't absolutely equal.</p><p>No argument was
forthcoming. Instead, Draco crouched down on the side of the pool.
"Does this help?" he asked.</p><p>Some of the tension
ebbed out of Harry's neck and shoulders. He was actually able to
nod now. "Yes," he said. "It does." Of course, now that he
wasn't thinking about Draco threatening him, he had to think about
the pool. He shuddered. It felt as if a trail of ants were marching
up and down his spine. He started to brace his hand beneath him on
the step, to push himself out of the water.</p><p>"If I got into the
pool with you?" Draco asked, distracting him.</p><p>"<em>No</em>." Harry
heard the sharp edge of panic in his voice, and Draco apparently
heard it, too. He nodded thoughtfully and made a little gesture with
his hands. Harry stared at him, uncomprehending.</p><p>"Turn around,
Harry," Draco murmured. "Let me massage your shoulders. Touch
your hair. Perhaps the water alone can't relax you, but a
combination of the water and my touch will."</p><p>Harry let out a sound
that wanted to be a laugh. It didn't quite succeed. "Draco, I
don't think I can stop thinking about the fact that I'm mostly
naked, and you're not. It would be easier if you'd let me get
dressed."</p><p>"And if this is
another bit of your training that you need to overcome?" Draco
cocked his head at him. "I won't do it if you don't want me to,
of course, Harry, but I do think we'd have to face it eventually.
If you can't trust me to be near you when you're not wearing
robes, whom <em>can</em> you trust?"</p><p>Sometimes Harry hated
not only being reasonable, but having to admit that people on the
opposite side of an argument could be reasonable. He turned around
slowly, trying to convince himself that the water was <em>not</em> ants
and <em>not</em> slime, and really, he should be able to see damn well
that it wasn't. He offered his shoulders to Draco, though they
tensed when he heard Draco step in one of the small puddles Harry's
turning had flung out of the pool.</p><p>"It's all right,"
Draco whispered in his ear, a moment before his hands touched Harry's
shoulders.</p><p>It occurred to Harry
that if he got his left hand back, he could do this kind of thing to
Draco, too. He snorted in spite of himself, in spite of the fact that
Draco's fingers rubbing over his bare skin only felt—rough,
strange, not good. <em>There's a new motive for wanting my hand
back. Revenge on Draco.</em></p><p>"You're at an
awkward angle," Draco complained. "Could you move?"</p><p>Harry turned and
glared at him, though that was hard; he mostly caught a glimpse of
blond hair and bowed head. "You could move," he said.</p><p>Draco glanced up at
him and waited.</p><p>Harry realized, then,
that shifting position would bring him higher on the step and show
off more of his bare skin to Draco. At least, it would if he moved to
the right. He could always shift to the left and pretend that he
thought that was the direction Draco meant. He sucked in his breath
through his nose.</p><p><em>I could. But that
just continues the pattern of playing into my training, and I am
tired of feeling ants crawling on my skin when I try to take a bath.
Perhaps I shouldn't think just in terms of what's useful to the
war. Perhaps just wanting something to stop feeling uncomfortable is
reason enough.</em></p><p>Reluctantly, he
shifted to the right. He heard Draco give a little gasping noise, and
wondered why. Perhaps it was just surprise that Harry had done what
he asked for. The next moment, his hands dug in more firmly.</p><p>Harry tried to
concentrate on them and find them pleasurable. Fear of impending
discomfort kept his muscles poised on the edge of flight, though,
until Draco said, "Wait. This might help." His right hand lifted
from Harry's shoulder, and Harry heard him take out his wand. He
murmured an incantation. When his hand returned to its place on
Harry's shoulder, it was covered with a soft, warm liquid that
smelled like baking bread.</p><p>Harry started when
Draco began rubbing <em>that</em> into the back of his neck. His
muscles loosened under the liquid as they hadn't under the touch of
the water—perhaps the greater thickness of it was enough unlike
water to fool his training—and the smell of the bread twined all
around him. Harry thought he knew why Draco had chosen it; Draco had
been with him in the Sanctuary's kitchens the day Harry admitted to
enjoying the scent, especially when he didn't think about it as
connected to food.</p><p>He unwound his
muscles, one by one, using the smell as a focal point all the while.
He wasn't anywhere dangerous, he tried to persuade himself. He
wasn't with anyone who would hurt him. He was in a pleasant place,
where house elves or cooks bustled just out of side, preparing bread.
In a short time, there would be a tray of food to share, and perhaps
a philosophical conversation.</p><p>Slowly, slowly, it
seemed to work. Harry felt himself sliding a little lower into the
pool. It could have been natural gravity. He didn't think it was.
And the slime lapping against his sides became—well, water, not the
leavings of slugs. He let his head roll back, though he kept his eyes
closed. He didn't think he could bear to see Draco's expression
right now.</p><p>His mind remained
oddly focused in the center, a bright point of concentration gathered
around the image of himself eating bread and debating an obscure
point of the Grand Unified Theory with someone whose face kept
changing, but fog crept in from the sides. At one point, Harry would
have said the fog was dangerous, and fought to keep his head clear.
Now, with the smell and the fact that he <em>knew</em> Draco was the
only one in the Relaxation Room, thanks to his magic, he didn't
have to.</p><p>Besides, he'd felt
something like this once before. It was the night Marietta Edgecombe
had cast the Blood Whip Curse on him, and he'd had to put up with
Draco coaxing him to tell him who it had been. Harry had nearly
succumbed to the haze of what he knew now must have been partially
trust and partially arousal. And he hadn't particularly <em>wanted</em>
to, knowing Draco would hurt Marietta if he learned her name.</p><p>Now, he had no reason
to resist it.</p><p>His head fell to the
side, and this time it was because he really couldn't support it.
He had a brief, hazy impression that he should try to keep it out of
the pool so he didn't drown, and then he felt cool stone under his
cheek. He lay with his head on the side of the pool, then. And the
baking bread smell and the warm water and the touches of Draco's
hands still ghosted around him, keeping him balanced, fixed on the
idea of physical sensations instead of retreating into fear.</p><p>He knew he should be
afraid, or at least uncomfortable. He kept reaching out to the notion
and finding that it fit his mental hand. But whenever he tried to
draw the emotion into himself, it faded, into a litany of soft words,
a gauntlet of soothing hands.</p><p>He felt good. He knew
that. But the pleasure had crept up on him just like everything else,
slowly, without the sense that he needed to rush into it. Why rush?
He had time. No battle tomorrow, no need to speak with others about
defense and healing. He could think about the breath traveling in and
out of his lungs, if he wanted, and so he did for a few minutes, and
noticed that his breaths were deepening, slowing, softening.</p><p>It felt so good. It
felt—</p><p>Did it feel too good?</p><p>One of the stroking
hands touched the side of his neck, at a place that Harry vaguely
knew existed, but couldn't find for himself, and the pleasure
briefly sharpened into a spike that made him moan. But the hand
retreated again, and when the other ventured around to press in the
same place, Harry had no trouble accepting that touch as part of the
same hazy, foggy world.</p><p>He had no idea how
long he drifted like that, the pleasure on the edge of overwhelming
him and making him panic, but shifting each time. He had so many
things to take into account: the smell, the contrasting sensations of
cold stone and warm water, the hands, the words in his ears that
sometimes seemed like his name and at other times like endearments,
the sight of white and blurred vision when he opened his eyes.
Someone had removed his glasses. Harry found that he didn't mind
that. He'd let himself retreat into a place where it was all right,
and he <em>did</em> trust Draco. As he had said, if Harry wouldn't
trust him, who was there?</p><p>One thing was missing,
though. Delicious smells, soothing touch, dear sound, and acceptable
sight, but taste was missing. Harry waited, tracking Draco's
progress more with his limp muscles than his eyes, until he was sure
that Draco's face was hovering right above his.</p><p>Then he opened his
mouth.</p><p>After a moment's
hesitation, Draco obliged him with a kiss.</p><p>Harry thought it
should not have felt as shattering as it did. After all, he'd been
relaxed. And he had heard stories of shattering kisses and
heart-breaking declarations of true love, but they belonged in
stories, not real life.</p><p>This one—this one
was break-worthy. It didn't snap the world he'd wrapped himself
in, warm and languorous and oh so <em>good</em>, but it did strike down
through his mouth as though it were a bolt of lightning striking a
tree. Harry felt something in him, one of the barriers of his
training most probably, sparkle and simmer and begin to burn, fading
to ash in a few moments.</p><p>He had thought that
things that felt good were wrong, but nothing that felt this good
could <em>ever</em> be wrong.</p><p>He continued the kiss
for a few moments more, then let his head loll back and sighed. A
moment later, he was asleep, the blurry white haze in his head moving
naturally into elegant darkness.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco knew that the
spells on the Relaxation Room might have helped Harry into this state
of helplessness, just a bit. On the other hand, Harry had told him
yesterday that his magic largely erased the effects of those spells.
The air of the Sanctuary as a whole was subtle, gentle, and
unnoticeable enough to lower his barriers, but it was so concentrated
in the Relaxation Room that Harry brought his own magic up as a
defense automatically.</p><p>He had been tense
enough when Draco began to touch him that Draco had feared he would
have to stop at any moment. And now Harry was asleep, a faint smile
on his face, and Draco only had the urge to keep on touching, to not
stop.</p><p>He reminded himself
sternly that it would be much more fun when Harry was awake to share
in the touching that didn't stop, and gently pulled Harry out of
the pool, casting a lightening charm on him when his body dragged
with unexpected weight. Then he stood up, letting himself notice
those details Harry ordinarily frowned at him for noticing: the soft
way he drew in his breaths, the way his hand sagged to the side as if
he didn't need it ready to cast a spell or hit anyone, the quiet
darkness of the lightning bolt scar beneath his fringe. Draco hadn't
seen that scar a bright red since the day of Voldemort's defeat,
very nearly a month ago now. He took that to mean Harry really <em>was</em>
healing, the Sanctuary's distance from the rest of the world
cutting off the Dark Lord's attempts to reach him.</p><p><em>If he can reach
him, at all. If he's trying. I wouldn't want to try and reach the
wizard who cut a hole in my magical core.</em></p><p>Draco made his way
gently towards Harry's room. And he let himself remember that, too.
The wizard in his arms right now was also the one who had willed a
werewolf out of existence because that werewolf was attacking Draco,
and had cut a hole in the core of the most powerful Dark Lord to
exist in centuries.</p><p>Draco didn't know if
that was a contradiction, or if he was just lucky that Harry could
embody both those extremes and not explode.</p><p>He tucked Harry into
bed just as he was; he thought Harry deserved to have the sensation
of cloth on bare skin, for once. Then he wrote a swift note to leave
on the bedside table, detailing some things he'd planned to tell
Harry about the next courting ritual but hadn't had time to give
him before he fell asleep, and went to fetch Harry's robes, shirt,
and trousers.</p><p>He felt a deep, quiet
satisfaction that seemed to leak into all his limbs, and his head was
up, and the morning air smelled fresh and sweet in a way that had
nothing to do with the Sanctuary's last three days of heavy rain.
Draco wondered if this was what it was like to be in love, and used
to it.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry tapped his
fingers against the sleeve of his robe, and wondered if Draco would
come. Then he told himself not to be an idiot. Draco wouldn't have
let two broken legs and a broken arm keep him from attending the next
ritual in their three-year courtship.</p><p>Harry hated to admit,
as he paced back and forth in front of the room's golden doors,
that he needed this ritual just as much as Draco did. It would make a
nice holiday from endless rounds of reasoning with Snape that just
pushed him right back into the same corner. Harry was fairly sure the
dreams were becoming worse, and that Snape hadn't spoken to anyone
about them. That just made him more irritated and defensive, though,
and the more he lost control of his emotions, the more determined he
became to keep them under lock and key, and the more he lost the
ability to do so. It had exploded today with Snape trying to tell
Harry that he never wanted to see him again.</p><p>Harry had had his own
magic repeat the words back to Snape when he was done yelling, and
Snape's face had turned the color of old cheese. Harry had told
him, quietly, that he knew Snape didn't mean it, and then turned
around and left.</p><p>It was his and
Connor's sixteenth birthday, the thirty-first of July, and, perhaps
not coincidentally—Harry thought Draco's selection of this
particular form of courtship depended greatly on the dates—the day
before the old holiday of Lammas, a quarter of the way around the
year from Walpurgis. Harry had noticed a peculiar shine to the
sunlight today. Given what Draco had told him about this particular
ritual, that didn't surprise him.</p><p>And he had chosen a
room in the Sanctuary to celebrate in, since the choice of place was
up to him, which reflected the importance of sunlight.</p><p>"There you are."</p><p>Harry turned with a
faint smile. Draco was hurrying down the stairs from the terrace
above, fussing and adjusting the collar of his robe. He wore dark
blue, the color of starry night, outlined with silver, the color of
the moon. Harry wore dark robes as well, but the hem trailed and
flashed with gold.</p><p>Draco paused and
studied him. He nodded. "Good," he said. Then his voice adopted a
formal cadence. "We bring the light of stars and moon into our
celebration with us, but on this day, perfectly poised between
Midsummer and Mabon, both bow before the sun."</p><p>Harry saw a faint
tracery of fire spring to life in the air next to them, like a
lighted candle. In a moment, it raced around them both, enclosing
them in a golden circle, away from the rest of the world. He inclined
his head to Draco, and stretched out his hand.</p><p>"We can celebrate in
the light of the sun," he said. "But we can also celebrate by
taking the sun into our hearts. Will you come with me, Draco, and
bring the sun inside four walls, where it belongs?"</p><p>Draco's smile was
unexpectedly tremulous. He clasped Harry's hand, and said, "I
will."</p><p>Harry turned, and
raised an eyebrow. The golden doors of the room he'd chosen swung
open before them, and he guided Draco inside.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco hadn't been in
this room since Harry had chosen it. That was part of the agreement,
in fact; this part of the ritual was under Harry's guidance and
control, both because the courted partner <em>had</em> to control it,
and because it was his birthday.</p><p>He didn't know what
he had expected. A room full of mirrors, perhaps, the ones that Harry
had told him had helped him find a way to heal his hand. That would
be worth their ritual, Draco thought. They would see their true
selves reflected amid a myriad of other selves. He was curious to see
what kind of worlds his presence standing beside Harry guaranteed or
made possible.</p><p>Instead, they stepped
into a room that at first seemed long, low, and dark. Then Draco
realized it probably only felt that way because of the light that
shone in the center of it. So intense was its radiance that
everything outside it seemed cramped in comparison.</p><p>"Come, Draco,"
Harry whispered, words which weren't part of the ritual but which
didn't disrupt it either, and drew him forward.</p><p>"What—" Draco
broke off as the source of the light came closer. A pool of golden
liquid lay in the floor. Draco didn't know why it should have
impressed him so much. After all, he'd seen something quite
similar, and larger, at Silver-Mirror, the Black family home Harry
had inherited when Regulus Black went into the family's portraits.
And that pool had bled golden liquid down chains to light lamps, no
less.</p><p>This pool, though, was
wilder. Draco could see that from the curving arcs that leaped from
it and fell back down as soft, hot rain. Or perhaps not so soft; the
pool's surface parted under their impact, and the drops themselves
appeared to sink into deep wells. And dark spots flickered and danced
on that surface, too, randomly appearing and disappearing, and Draco
could feel the warmth increasing as he approached, so that sweat ran
under his formal, heavy wool robes and made him shift uncomfortably.</p><p>"What <em>is</em> it?"
he whispered to Harry.</p><p>Harry gave him a keen
glance. "The ritual said you were supposed to trust me."</p><p>Draco shut his mouth,
and let Harry leave him on the near side of the pool as he paced
around to the other. He eventually halted opposite Draco. At that
moment, the pool became aware of them.</p><p>Draco gasped. He had
felt something like this only once before, with the "courting room"
at Hogwarts that would show a couple their happiest possible future.
There, though, the room's magic had simply reached out to their
minds, drawn forth a possibility, and reflected it.</p><p>This was—<em>drawing
in.</em> Draco could feel the pool gazing at him, harsh, bright light
that irradiated his soul. At the same time, he gazed back into the
pool, and found himself falling down enormous wells of unending gold.</p><p>"This is a
sun-pool," Harry said, somewhere behind the light. "It embodies a
practice of fortune-telling that still exists somewhere in the world;
Vera told me the Seers think it's among wizards in Canada. The
Seers are blind to everything except the sun, but they can see the
future accurately reflected there, in images instead of prophecies.
More accurate than what Trelawney does. And it reflects the actual
surface of the sun as it exists, sunspots and explosions and all. I
thought, when you told me that we needed to come to a place that
would let us see the Light and Dark within ourselves, that it was
perfect."</p><p>Draco let out a harsh
breath. He still saw nothing except light, so brilliant that he
feared what would happen to his eyes when he looked away from the
pool. "And does it make <em>us</em> blind to everything except the
sunlight?"</p><p>"No." Harry's
voice was gentle, amused. "Look at me, Draco."</p><p>Draco raised his head,
blinking hard, and found that he could see perfectly after all,
without afterimages. Harry held out his hand.</p><p>"This pool works
differently, since it's in the Sanctuary," Harry murmured. "I
suppose there's not much choice for it. No one here actually
practices sun-seeing, and Light magic this powerful tends to interact
with other Light magic, like that of the Seers." He focused on the
pool, and Draco saw that his eyes were as wide and unblinking as a
cat's. "<em>Veritas</em>," he said softly.</p><p>The sun-pool began to
blaze. Draco had never imagined such a storm of brightness and
warmth, and felt his eyes watering. He wondered that he hadn't gone
blind already.</p><p>Then the sun-pool
reached into him again, and pulled something out of him. Draco
blinked as he watched a revolving ball come into being above the
pool's surface. Part of it was intensely gold, barely visible
against the overwhelming sunshine; the other was dark green. As Draco
gazed, entranced, the gold and dark green halves separated from each
other and drifted a few feet apart. The dark green ball, which Draco
knew represented the Dark within himself, was considerably larger
than the gold, which represented Light.</p><p>Draco failed to see
how this was a surprise. He was opening his mouth to tell Harry so
when he realized that more balls were blossoming and splitting in the
air. Though the dark green ones were always larger, they were not all
the same size as the first time. In fact, the fourth pair was nearly
identical.</p><p>Draco stared across
the pool at Harry, waiting for him to explain, only to find him
watching with a faint smile. "Those represent the five old
definitions of Dark and Light," he explained, without taking his
eyes from the hovering masses. "Compulsion and free will is the
first one. Then tameness against wildness, truth against deception,
cooperation against solitude, and peace against war." His smile
widened. "It's no surprise to find that you want to get your own
way, and you're willing to lie, fight, and work on your own to get
it. It does seem, though, that you're more willing to work with me
than you are to tell the truth."</p><p>"I swear, Harry, I
didn't know I had that much of a predisposition towards
compulsion." Draco scowled at the first pair, which could condemn
him easily. Harry hated compulsion, after all, and was sworn to
destroy it when it came to other species.</p><p>"It's all right,
Draco," Harry said, as the sun-pool began to pull his own gold and
dark green from him. "I should have suspected it, from the
possession gift. You're yourself, and at least I know." His eyes
shone as he watched, and Draco blinked. <em>He isn't angry at me for
this?</em></p><p>Then he asked himself,
<em>Would I have been angry at him if I found out that he was Lighter
as a result of a magical gift he couldn't help?</em></p><p>No. Of course not.</p><p>And if he was going to
ask Harry to trust him at his most vulnerable, he really ought to be
able to trust Harry with the truths of his suddenly revealed soul. So
he devoted himself to watching as Harry's own gold and dark green
separated and revealed his true nature—at least as predicated on
the terms of a system Draco thought insufficiently advanced. Dark and
Light were both more complicated than those old pairs of dualisms,
and Draco was all for free will, as long as it didn't intrude too
much on what he was doing.</p><p>The pairs of Harry's
suns arranged themselves. The golden one was larger in the first—no
surprise, Draco thought, with Harry's love of letting others do as
they wanted. By contrast, the dark green ball of the second dwarfed
the gold, indicating Harry's wildness. The third and fourth pairs
were almost balanced. Draco nodded. Harry had used everything from
glamours to cooperative rituals in the past to help his war effort
and <em>vates</em> work along. Draco was actually relieved to see that
Harry didn't want to hare off on his own that much anymore.</p><p>The last pair was the
one he was really interested in, though. He didn't know if Harry
was desperate to keep peace, or if he would go to war. And the
sun-pool itself seemed undecided. The pair of gold and dark green
orbited each other for a good two minutes before they broke apart.</p><p>The dark green ball
was slightly larger.</p><p>Draco blinked at
Harry, who nodded back to him, his mouth set in a thin line.</p><p>"That's another
decision I made and thought you should know about," said Harry. "I
don't <em>like</em> the idea of it. I would much rather accomplish
everything I have to do by peaceful methods." He cocked his head at
the sun-pool. "But that measures not only intent, but emotions,
rationality, and will. And it knows that I have the will to carry a
war or a revolution forward, if it's the only way." He let out a
shuddering breath. "And I think it is."</p><p>Draco shook his head,
and then walked around the pool with rough steps. They had seen each
other as they were. Harry had done his part in this ritual, arranging
that. Draco could hug him if he wanted to, and he did, burying his
face in Harry's neck and breathing deeply of his scent.</p><p>Harry embraced him
back, sounding a bit bewildered. "Draco, are you well?"</p><p>"I didn't know if
you would find it in you to go to war again, after killing those
children," Draco whispered. The scent of sweat tickled his nose. At
least he knew Harry hadn't been <em>entirely</em> unaffected by the
heat inside the room. "I thought you might be broken, and I'd
have to coax you along."</p><p>Harry let out a heavy
sigh. "I still hate the idea of it," he said. "That's a wound
that will never totally heal. But I have to work on healing it while
pushing the war forward at the same time. And—I've decided that I
can't let myself be pushed by fear of <em>anything</em>, Draco, not
when fear is the only driving motive. That means that if, say, the
Ministry uses violence against the werewolves, and they aren't only
trying to imprison those who bit others or defend innocents, I have
to push back. They can only go so far and no further."</p><p>"Do you know how
long I've been waiting to hear you say those words?" Draco
whispered into his ear, working his hands beneath Harry's robes.</p><p>"Why those words?"
Harry's voice had gone slightly breathy.</p><p>"Because," Draco
said, lifting his head to catch Harry's eyes, "it means that you
finally trust yourself enough to use your power the way it should be
used. Not to rule the world, no, and not to manipulate everyone the
way Dumbledore tried to do. But you can fight for what you believe
in, and you don't think it's unfair anymore that you're a
Lord-level wizard and most of your opponents aren't."</p><p>Harry smiled faintly.
"No, I don't." He tilted his head. "I'm ready to fight,
Draco, and ready to use my magic to back up what I say."</p><p>Draco laughed aloud.
There was still some of the ritual left to go, a few promises to one
another, and of course he had to give Harry his birthday gift, but he
was thinking more, at the moment, about the sensation lifting and
expanding in his chest, a soaring sunrise or a phoenix.</p><p><em>Finally. Fucking
finally he'll be what he always should have been. Not a Lord in
name, but he'll fight for what he wants. And he'll change the
world if people insist on being stupid and not changing it
themselves. And he'll show anyone who underestimates him what he
really is.</em></p><p>He met Harry's eyes,
and grinned. He knew it was a vicious smile, but Harry seemed to take
it in the spirit in which it was given, because he returned it.</p><p>Draco barely contained
the urge to howl like a werewolf. <em>And I'll be right there
fighting at his side.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 5*: Interlude: The Outer World</h2>
			<p>Just two notes: The
dates on the letters and so on aren't wrong. This Interlude happens
concurrently with the previous three chapters, rather than after
them. Also, this is the only update for today, as the Interlude broke
my outline and I need to revise it.</p><strong>Interlude: The Outer World</strong>
<p><em>June 30th,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Harry:</em></p><p>I won't send this
letter to you, because you need to heal without being troubled by the
outside world, as Peter puts it, and anyway, the owl would take weeks
to get through the shadows. But I wanted to write it anyway. It
smoothes me out, gives me a sense of balance to be able to pretend
I'm talking to you, even if you can't talk back. I can imagine
you nodding and watching me, and that helps.</p><p>I'm all settled into
Lux Aeterna now, and Peter came with me. I can't believe how
different the wards are, now that the house is linked to me instead
of to, you know, the earth. I think it's calmer. It doesn't snap
at everyone and have wards stalk everywhere the way it did when it
belonged to James. I can be angry and not have the house get angry
with me. I think that's a huge improvement.</p><p>The first day here, I
explored some of the hidden corridors and the doors we couldn't
open when James owned the house, and I showed Peter the room I'd
found the sword in. You remember, the sword I used in the battle that
talked to me and muffled my thoughts so I could kill? You didn't
like it. I still think it's useful.</p><p>But Peter didn't
like it, either. He frowned and shook his head at the room, and asked
me why I thought our ancestors, whoever they were, blocked the room
off. I told him I didn't know. Maybe they just wanted to keep the
sword from falling into the hands of anyone unworthy?</p><p>Peter said, "The
sword's dangerous."</p><p>"Well, of course it
is," I said. "It can <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>kill</span> people."</p><p>Peter turned and
looked at me. You know me, Harry, I don't have the best memory; I
leave that for Hermione. But I remember the way he looked at me, and
the exact words he spoke.</p><p>"And that's the
reason you think it's dangerous?" he asked. His voice had gone
all soft, like he thought he had something to tell me.</p><p>I scowled at him and
said—I remember the exact words because I was so angry—"If you
mean that I should think it's dangerous because of the compulsion,
then <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>yes</span>, I also think it's dangerous for that reason, too.
I had Tom Riddle in my head for five months and Voldemort himself
teaching me compulsion, even if I didn't know. I <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>know</span> that
things like that are dangerous. But it could kill people both ways.
It stabs them with its blade, and it could kill their free wills by
putting its compulsion in their heads. I <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>know</span> what's that
like, Peter. I might not have seen physical battle very much yet, but
I've seen lots of mental battlefields."</p><p>That's something
I've never really tried to describe to anyone, you know, Harry—the
five months I spent trapped behind my own eyes because Tom Riddle was
in my head and I couldn't tell anyone about it. I hate him. I want
him dead. I don't care if you kill him or someone else does. I just
want him gone and <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>dead.</span></p><p>Peter's told me to
leave some of the rooms in Lux Aeterna alone for now, and he's
started training me in dueling again, picking up where Snape left
off. He's a lot better at it, and you can tell the git I said so.
For one thing, Peter's Declared for Light, so he doesn't think
Light spells are stupid or weak the way Snape does. And he showed me
this spell the other day that was <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>brilliant</span>. I can't wait to
show it to you.</p><p>I love you, and I hope
the summer's been good to you so far, even though I can't send
this letter and so I can't receive an actual reply.</p><p><em>Love,</em></p><p><em>Connor.</em></p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>The Daily Prophet
July 2nd, 1996</em></p><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em><strong>YOU-KNOW-WHO WOUNDED BEYOND REPAIR, SOURCES HINT</strong></em></span>
<p><em>By: Melinda
Honeywhistle </em></p><p>Aurors have been
unable to locate the hiding place of You-Know-Who since he faced the
Boy-Who-Lived in battle, sources confirm.</p><p>"I think he's
really gone, this time," said an Auror who wished to remain
anonymous. "He should have left <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>some</span> trace of a magical
footprint if he wasn't. A Dark Lord doesn't just contain his
magic like that. And we can't find one."</p><p>Others were not so
sure.</p><p>"I don't wish to
judge the fine efforts of our most noble Aurors as lacking, of
course," said Aurora Whitestag, 45, who lost both her son and
daughter in the Midsummer battle at Hogwarts. She wore a polite smile
throughout the interview with this reporter, but it was clear that
she was worried. "But I don't think the matter is quite that
simple. We <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>knew</span>, last time, that the Dark Lord had fallen. It
was obvious from the way the Death Eaters reacted, if nothing else.
But this time, most of the Death Eaters were slaughtered, and we
can't find any to ask. I don't think we should confirm him gone
until we see what his servants think of their master's absence."…</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade><em>From: the Department of Magical Law Enforcement</em></p><p><em>Dated: July 4th,
1996</em></p><em>Purpose: Creation of a new department</em>
<p>Dear Minister,</p><p>This is to confirm the
creation of a new department in the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement. Called the Tracking Division, this department will
concentrate solely on the hunting and capture of those wizards who
have used more than two years worth of Dark magic continuously. Their
primary targets will be Death Eaters still in hiding, as You-Know-Who
must have left some sleeper agents in the ranks of the free and
perhaps even in the ranks of the Light, rather like former Headmaster
of Durmstrang Karkaroff. Other Dark wizards will be of lesser
priority, but still fall within the Tracking Division's purview.
Several former workers from all Departments, including Unspeakables,
have already volunteered for the Division, and its funding will be
supported by concerned citizens as well as the usual Ministry vaults.
Enclosed please find detailed plans for such funding and a tentative
list of the Division's first members.</p><p><em>Amelia Bones, </em></p><p><em>Head, Department of
Magical Law Enforcement.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade><em>From: Minister of Magic's office</em></p><p><em>Dated: July 4th,
1996</em></p><em>Re: Purpose: Creation of a new department</em>
<p>Amelia,</p><p>I know where your
funding comes from, and who your main target would actually be. The
presence of many people on your roster from the Department for the
Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures rather clinches it. Do
stop trying to push werewolf hunts through my office when you should
be working on the capture of <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>actual</span> Death Eaters.</p><p>This proposal is
rejected.</p><p><em>Rufus Scrimgeour,</em></p><p><em>Minister of Magic.</em></p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>The Daily Prophet
July 7th, 1996</em></p><p><strong><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em>FORMER HARRY
POTTER: DANGER OR HERO?</em></span></strong></p><p><em>By: Domitian
Peaseblossom</em></p><p>A petition currently
circulating among the wizards of Britain stands the chance of
redefining one of the youngest wizarding heroes ever to live—at
least if Philip Willoughby has his way.</p><p>"My daughter died in
the attack on Hogwarts," Willoughby, 34, said on Tuesday. "But
she didn't die because of You-Know-Who." (It should be noted that
Mr. Willoughby did in fact use the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>name</span> of You-Know-Who, but
this reporter could not in good conscience print it). "She died
because Harry Potter—and yes, that was his name, I think it's
ridiculous that children are just allowed to abandon the legacy of
their parents whenever they want—killed her."</p><p>Though this very paper
reported that news some days ago, this is the first sign that some
parents are not just sitting back and accepting the deaths as a
necessity of war.</p><p>"I am circulating a
petition among all the parents I know," said Willoughby. He is a
Muggle, but he has immersed himself in the wizarding world, he says,
and has many contacts among parents in his daughter Alexandra's
House. "And they'll send it out to others. What Harry Potter did
was <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>murder</span>. If we excuse it in the name of war, what else are
we excusing? Terrible tragedies were committed in Muggle wars
throughout history because someone thought <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>one</span> murder, <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>one</span>
exception, was a good idea. And then there came tons of other
exceptions."</p><p>The petition is a
demand that Harry stand trial for war crimes. Willoughby hopes to
gather enough signatures to force the Ministry to pay attention.</p><p>"We need to retain
our moral compass in this war," he said at the end of the
interview. "If we don't, then we're no better than our
enemies."….</p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>July
8th, 1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Harry:</em></p><p>The <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>stupidest</span>
thing is happening. One of the parents of one of the children you
killed is circulating a petition, trying to collect signatures and
demand that you be tried for war crimes.</p><p>I set the paper on
fire when I read about it. I didn't even think, just cast <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Incendio</span>,
and then there were a bunch of drifting ashes all over the kitchen.
Peter looked at me severely, but I think that's just because he
hadn't had a chance to read it yet. I don't think that he really
disagreed with me.</p><p>We obtained another
copy of the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Prophet</span>, and yes, it's true. Peter was angrier
than I've ever seen him before. He went off by himself for a little
while. When he came back, he looked smug. I asked him what he'd
done, and he just grinned at me and asked why I thought he'd done
anything. I told him that he was a Marauder, but that was a mistake,
because then he started thinking about James and Sirius and Remus.</p><p>Remus wrote me a
letter the other day. I didn't read most of it. He told me that he
missed me, but then he started talking about you. And—it's
<span style='text-decoration: underline;'>sickening</span>, Harry. I think he really believes that you should
just help the werewolves and do nothing else, like there aren't
<span style='text-decoration: underline;'>other</span> people who are suffering. He accused you of dithering
and dragging your feet. That letter got lit on fire, too.</p><p>I asked Peter today if
he'd show me the basics of the Animagus transformation. He seemed
startled, and told me that it would take a long time, especially
since he knows that I don't have the same kind of talent at
Transfiguration that he does. I told him that was all right. He <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>did</span>
mention that part of the reason it took him and James and Sirius so
long is that they had to work on it on the sly; they didn't want
anyone finding out why they were trying to become Animagi, after all!
They couldn't just collect ingredients for the potions openly, and
it took them months to learn some of the meditation techniques that
you could pick up in just a few weeks if you were working with an
instructor out in the open. So it might take me two years, but Peter
thinks I can master it, since I have him as a teacher. He did insist
that I talk to Headmistress McGonagall when we went back to school
and tell her what I was doing. Well, of course.</p><p>He started me on the
meditation techniques today. I asked him what I should think about.
He told me that I need to know my own soul first, and that will guide
me towards my form. Once I know what my form is, then I can aim at it
and achieve the transformation that much faster. He added that I have
to accept the form, too. It took him longer to learn to change
because he hated being a rat, at first. He hated what that said about
him.</p><p>I thought about what a
dog and a stag said about Sirius and James, and decided that Animagus
forms aren't always <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>right</span>.</p><p>I don't know my own
soul yet. This is going to take a long time.</p><p>Parvati came and
visited yesterday. We spent hours talking about nothing, and kissing,
and—other things that you probably don't want to hear about, I'm
sure, because, let's face it, they're things that I wouldn't
want to hear about if you and Draco were doing them.</p><p>I know you don't
know her very well yet, Harry, and she doesn't know you very well.
But I can tell you this here, since I won't ever send you this
letter (and there's no way in hell she'll ever know I'm writing
it, either). I really <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>like</span> her. She's so <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>normal</span>. She
chatters and giggles about her clothes and her friends, and sometimes
she has a tantrum, and she doesn't understand Hermione any better
than I do most of the time—though I think I understand Hermione
more often than she does—and she hugged me when she heard about the
battle and what I did, and she owled Lavender Brown with sweets the
other day because she heard that she was sick and wanted to make her
feel better. And she fights with Padma all the time.</p><p>She's <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>real</span>. I
think my life's gone mad sometimes, and then she's there, and I'm
sure she likes me, too—she wouldn't tell me she did if she
didn't, she's not that kind of girl—and she never even blinked
when she found out that I wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived. I just really,
really like Parvati, Harry.</p><p>Maybe you can get to
know her better this year at school?</p><p>I have to stop writing
now. Peter wants to talk to me about something. See you at the end of
August, I suppose.</p><p><em>Love,</em></p><p><em>Connor.</em></p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>The Quibbler July
11th, 1996</em></p><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><strong><em>RATS INVADE DAILY PROPHET OFFICES</em></strong></span>
<p><em>By: Julian Lovegood</em></p><p>In incontrovertible
evidence of the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Daily Prophet's</span> involvement in the Rotfang
Conspiracy, rats invaded the newspaper's offices yesterday. They
appeared to come from nowhere, and the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Daily Prophet's</span>
owners claim that there was no effort to summon them. "They simply
<span style='text-decoration: underline;'>appeared!</span>" was the common wail. They caused great damage,
including eating all printed copies of the newspapers ready for
today, before departing as mysteriously as they had come.</p><p>Alert <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Quibbler</span>
readers, of course, will realize that the involvement of rats points
directly to the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Prophet's</span> entanglement with the Rotfang
Conspiracy, which already includes Aurors, Wrackspurt deniers, and
hunters of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks…</p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>The Daily Prophet
July 13th, 1996</em></p><p>Are you looking for
excitement? Are you tired of being told that you can't have a voice
in the world as it is? Do you have things to SAY and no one to HEAR
you?</p><p>Owl Dionysus
Hornblower now! The Maenad Press is gathering interested writers.
Whether you write letters, articles, reports, memoirs, or simply
opinions, contact us and lift your VOICE!</p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>July 15th,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Harry: </em></p><p>I'm just writing
another quick note—that will never go to you, of course—because
I'm frightened and can't go back to sleep. (And actually, I'm
not sure of the dating. It could be the sixteenth now for all I know,
it's so late at night.)</p><p>I woke with this itchy
feeling on the back of my neck. It took me a minute to realize it was
the wards. Someone was outside Lux Aeterna, leaning on them, trying
to find a way to slip through.</p><p>I went and woke up
Peter at once, of course. I might have gone after it on my own two
years ago, but I've learned better since then. You've been a
wonderful example, big brother, both of what to do and what not to
do.</p><p>Peter went with me to
the edge of the wards. We saw a figure in a dark cloak there. I
thought it was a Death Eater. Peter reminded me that most of the
Death Eaters were dead, and anyway it would be stupid for someone to
wear robes that would make people think "Death Eater" if he
really <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>was.</span> He thought that he had his hood pulled up so that
we couldn't see his face and recognize him.</p><p>…He thinks it was
Remus, Harry. He really does. This wizard was trying to break the
wards down, and get to us, and probably harm us, and Peter thinks it
was Remus. I think it could be another werewolf. Peter's absolutely
convinced, though, and I've never seen him both so sad and so
angry. He's been locked up in his bedroom writing since we came
back inside. I don't know if it's a letter like this one, that
will never get sent, or whether he really intends to owl Remus.</p><p>I feel kind of strange
about that. I mean, Remus is my <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>godfather</span> (unless he's not
allowed to be any more, with the new Ministry laws against werewolves
having any kind of custody over children). I don't think he would
hurt me. But Peter does. He's absolutely convinced of it.</p><p>Nothing happened
though, really. The wards flared for me when I tried to see the
wizard's face, and he immediately Apparated away. No word, no
familiar gestures. If we know him, I couldn't see it.</p><p>It does make me think
of an odd owl I got the other day, though. It didn't have anything
with it but a silver Snitch. Peter wouldn't let me touch it. It was
a Portkey. Where would it have taken me? I have no idea.</p><p>Peter thinks someone's
hunting me. He thinks Remus wants to take me and hold me hostage, to
use against you.</p><p>I think Peter's
paranoid. Other than that, I don't know what to think.</p><p>I can't see straight
anymore. I'm going to bed. Good night, Harry.</p><p><em>Love,</em></p><p><em>Connor.</em></p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>The Daily Prophet
July 17th, 1996</em></p><p><strong><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em>HOGWARTS
HEADMISTRESS DEFENDS HIRING CHOICES</em></span></strong></p><p><em>By: Rita Skeeter</em></p><p>A storm of controversy
burst upon the British wizarding world yesterday when Hogwarts
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall revealed, at the request of parents,
her choices for professors at the prestigious school this year.</p><p>McGonagall has hired
two new professors, one for Defense Against the Dark Arts and one for
Transfiguration. Acies Merryweather, the last Defense professor,
changed into a dragon and vanished rather spectacularly, continuing
the tradition of Defense professors not lasting longer than a year at
Hogwarts, which some whisper is a curse.</p><p>Many, however, do not
find her choice of formerly accused Death Eater Peter Pettigrew for
new Defense professor very reassuring.</p><p>"It's a disgrace,
is what it is," Peter Willoughby, 34, said. His daughter Alexandra
died in the attack on Hogwarts in June, and since then he has been
circulating a petition trying to bring Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived and
the Young Hero, to trial for war crimes. "How much danger is she
going to put our children <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>in</span>?"</p><p>Other criticism was
more measured, but still audible. "As long as the Aurors are
<span style='text-decoration: underline;'>certain</span> he's innocent, of course," said Sita Patil, 36,
yesterday. Her twin daughters, Padma and Parvati, 16, both attend the
school, and Padma fought in the Battle of Hogwarts on Midsummer Day.
"I'm terribly proud of my daughters and what they've
accomplished so far, but that was against outside threats. Experience
has shown that threats coming from inside the school are much more
insidious."</p><p>Headmistress
McGonagall has stood firm in her decision to hire Pettigrew, who was
already acting Head of Gryffindor House at the end of last year.</p><p>"Peter was a
Gryffindor himself," she told this reporter. "And he was a
soldier in the First War against You-Know-Who. He's a fighter, and
he's a fine teacher. I've seen him working with students myself.
I have no doubts whatsoever about my choice to hire him. It's about
time that more of the British wizarding world acknowledged his
innocence, as a matter of fact."</p><p>Her second choice has
not stirred as much disquietude, though the selection of a relatively
young and inexperienced woman for the post, Hilda Belluspersona, has
inspired some questions.</p><p>Once again,
Headmistress McGonagall is firm in her principles. "I can recognize
Transfiguration talent when I see it," she told this reporter. "I
ought to be able to, since I was Transfiguration professor at
Hogwarts for several decades. I would not endanger my students,
especially in a time of war, by giving them less than a competent
teacher."</p><p>Belluspersona, who is
said to be preparing busily for her first year in such a demanding
job, was unavailable for comment. ….</p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>The Bird-gazer July
21st, 1996</em></p><p>"Your Weekly Eye on
the Magical Skies since 1957"</p><p><em>Increased Sea Eagle
Sightings Over Britain's Coasts</em></p><p>We report with
pleasure the return of a magnificent bird to our shores: the sea
eagle. This raptor can be distinguished from others by its
wedge-shaped tail and immense size, as in the photograph immediately
below this report. Sea eagles have traditionally rarely nested in
magical areas, as they are in direct competition with several other
species, but so frequent have the sightings been of late—though
always of a solitary bird, flying alone—that some readers have
begun to hope that is changing, and British wizards might soon see
some nesting pairs.</p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>July 23rd,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour:</em></p><p>Once again,
this must be short. I apologize, but snatching time for writing these
letters, and doing the necessary research, has become more and more
difficult lately. I suspect my father is arranging a marriage for me,
or otherwise hatching a plan that involves me. And if I dare to show
any defiance to him, then he will break my wand and stuff me full of
Dreamless Sleep Potion until he can locate a potion that will break
my mind and put me under his control permanently.</p><p>I asked you in my last
letter if you had ever heard of Falco Parkinson. I asked that for a
very good reason. Falco Parkinson was the mentor of Albus Dumbledore.
He was also, at one time, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and several
other things. Many well-researched books report that he died, and the
authors all think each other wrong in their reports of how. Many more
think him nothing but a myth.</p><p>He is not a myth. He
is alive. I overheard my parents speaking of him more than once. He
is the one who began the Order of the Phoenix, or at least gave Albus
Dumbledore the idea for it. I fear it is to him that the members of
the Order are turning in the wake of Dumbledore's fall, hoping to
gain prominence for the Light.</p><p>I have managed to
learn little about him other than his age and his power, both
immense. However, this I can tell you: He is an Animagus, and his
form is a sea eagle. It may be possible to prevent him from spying on
you with that information, as I know there are wards that can be
tuned to sense the presence of a single feather of a certain kind of
bird, or even to shut spying Animagi out of conversations altogether.
I hope that you can find a use for this information.</p><p>Once again, please do
not try to owl me back. My father is a fanatic for the Light. That I
have managed to write you two letters so far and not get caught is a
miracle. But fear has kept me silent long enough. I will continue to
write, as long as I can, and hope to see my family be of <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>true</span>
benefit to society, instead of the tangled tree of obsessed Light
zealots they currently are.</p><p><em>Sincerely,</em></p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>July 28th,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Headmistress
McGonagall:</em></p><p>I am sorry for writing
this letter to you, but I did not know where else to send it. I had
not realized that having Harry out of contact with us for two months
would prove to be such a problem.</p><p>My name is Gerald
MacFusty, and I assist my clan in managing the preserve of Britain's
native Hebridean Blacks. Harry approached us for information about
the British Red-Gold dragon who has suddenly come into the world, the
immense female who used to be Acies Lestrange, in late June. She had
settled on an isle not far from our dragons, apparently drawn and
soothed and calmed by their presence, and gone into what we thought
was a starvation sleep. We expected this to last two to three months,
after which she would wake ravenously hungry.</p><p>It appears that our
information on British Red-Golds was spotty; it has been centuries
since this breed went extinct. She has woken and flown. Her flight
was out to sea, and slow, as though she were searching for something.
We believe that her hunger will drive her to feed on the largest prey
she can find, likely whales, but we do not know where she will go
after that.</p><p>If you are in contact
with Harry, please tell him the news. A few of our Dragon-Keepers
approached her as she woke, and could not hold her. Her mind is wild,
like a surging storm at sea, beyond anything we have encountered.</p><p>We will pass the
warning along the coasts of Britain and Ireland, and hope that will
suffice.</p><p>Yours in hope,</p><p><em>Gerald MacFusty.</em></p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>July 30th,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Harry:</em></p><p>I wish there was a way
I really could send this letter to you. I'm so frightened right
now. Yes, I admitted I was frightened. That's fine. This is a
private letter that no one else is ever going to see, rather like a
private diary. I can say that I'm afraid here, and as long as it
doesn't paralyze me and prevent me from doing what has to be done,
then it's all right.</p><p>We received the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Daily
Prophet</span> this morning, the way we always do, and Peter got it
first. He spat his porridge out. I asked him what the matter was, and
he passed the paper over to me without a word.</p><p>Harry—they're
hunting werewolves. The Ministry got a department formed somehow, on
a technicality, that's allowed to do it. They've killed two of
them already. The photograph on the front page of the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Prophet</span>
was of a hunter holding up two scalps, one of them white and one of
them brown.</p><p>That's when I
realized that no matter how angry Peter is at Remus, he still loves
him. He conjured a Patronus—his is an image of a shining tree—and
sent it out as a message to Remus. He explained to me, when I asked,
that the Order of the Phoenix used to do that all the time when they
had to speak to each other, fast, and owls wouldn't do. Then he
started pacing around the kitchen.</p><p>My throat hurt. I
wondered what would happen if no message came back, and then I
wondered what would happen if we received an owl saying that Remus
was dead.</p><p>I sat with my head in
my hands for a while. That's all I really remember.</p><p>Then a Patronus came
back. It was a wolf, which I suppose shouldn't have been a
surprise. It ran in a circle around Peter, and his face grew calmer
as I watched. He let out a long sigh and looked at me.</p><p>"He's all right,"
he said.</p><p>I nodded, and then
went upstairs so that I could write this letter.</p><p>It's started, Harry.
The storm's started. It's strange that I never really felt that
way before. I mean, there was the storm of Light at Hogwarts, and the
storm of the Dark on Midwinter when the Light came up and asked that
I give you some power if I was loyal to you. And Voldemort came back
even before that, and tried to come back three other times. There
have been all sorts of times when the world could have changed, at
least for us if not for everyone in the outer world.</p><p>But I've never felt
this way before, like there's a storm blowing around me and a war
coming, and everything's trembling on the verge of a fall.</p><p>I hope you come home
soon, Harry. I know that you need the time to heal, really need it,
but we need you here, too. You're the phoenix who can sing us
through the storm.</p><p><em>Love,</em></p><p><em>Connor.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 6*: Recalled From Exile</h2>
			<p>Just a note, as I know
that some readers are sensitive to this: <strong>GORE WARNING for this
chapter.</strong> Or, at least, really nasty description.</p><p>Because, of course, the
angst was never going to stay away forever. On the other hand, I am
proud of Harry in this chapter, and anyone who's read the story to
this point knows that he's struggled enough to get here.</p><strong>Chapter Four: Recalled From Exile</strong>
<p>"Any luck?"</p><p>Harry shook his head
and leaned back on Draco's couch, clasping his hand and his stump
together behind his head. He tried to concentrate on his wrist, to
determine if there really <em>was </em>less of a feeling of magic there
after he had broken the first of Bellatrix's curses, but his
irritation distracted him. "No. The magic is the same as the magic
in Woodhouse—a smooth current, and it circles the room, and when I
do something to alter the walls, the magic puts it back together. But
I can't get its attention, any more than I can get the attention of
the magic in Woodhouse." He frowned at the ceiling. "I am
starting to think that we'll need the Black family libraries on
this after all. The Sanctuary can only demonstrate place magic, not
how it works."</p><p>Draco laughed quietly.</p><p>"What is it?"
Harry rolled over and looked at him curiously.</p><p>"I'm comparing my
memories of you a year ago to the way you are now," said Draco.
"And you're doing much better now than you were then."</p><p>"Of <em>course</em> I
am," said Harry, wondering why this was remarkable enough to make
Draco's eyes shine and his lips curve. He drew out his wrist and
showed it to Draco. "I haven't just had my left hand removed, and
my parents haven't just been arrested by my git of a guardian whom
I no longer trust."</p><p>"Do you trust him
now?" And the humor was gone from Draco's face, his eyes
narrowing. "Because I'm not sure I do."</p><p>Harry sighed and
pulled his hand out from behind his head to pinch his nose. "That's
a complicated question."</p><p>"No, it's not."
Draco leaned forward on his chair and drummed out the words on his
knees, an impact of fingers for every one. "Do. You. Trust. Snape?"</p><p>"Yes and no," said
Harry, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling again. It was
carved with deep patterns that it had taken Harry a while to notice,
since the shifting shadows were prone to conceal them, and the
Sanctuary had had enough rainy weather in the past few weeks that the
afternoon sunlight rarely reached that far into a room. Now, he
watched a sea serpent coiling around a rock and spitting a tongue of
clouds and water at ships. He wondered if that was real, or some
artist's rendering of a dragon half-submerged in water. "I know
why he's reacting the way he is, and I trust him not to <em>want</em>
to hurt me."</p><p>"But?" Draco
pushed.</p><p>"You're pushing,"
Harry told him.</p><p>Draco laughed shortly.
"Yes, and last summer I didn't dare, except when you risked your
life," he said. "But this is different now, Harry. You're not a
fragile statue that will topple over and break at the slightest
shove. You can take and grasp what I'm telling you now, and it's
important. Now, <em>tell</em> me."</p><p>Harry bit his lip for
a moment, then said, "But I don't know if I can trust him not to
be a liability by the time we return from the Sanctuary. Perhaps I
should tell Professor McGonagall to search for a new Potions
Professor for at least the first term."</p><p>"And a new Head of
Slytherin House?" Draco had tensed.</p><p>"I don't know."
Harry swept his hand through his hair, absently massaging his scar.
It hadn't <em>hurt</em>, exactly, since he had come here, but it did
tingle when he was dreaming. There were plenty of dreams of crawling
through dirt tunnels, as though the place where Voldemort had taken
refuge after his wounding were underground. "But I think I need to
think about what's best for him, Draco. Not whether he can heal by
a particular date. And if that means his staying here because he
can't keep his calm in the outer world…" He shrugged. "That's
what's best."</p><p>"You sound like he
did last year," Draco murmured.</p><p>Harry sighed. "He
won't have a trial with the people who hurt him. I'm no longer
sure that's a good or a bad thing." He was about to add something
else, but he turned his head curiously. From the sounds outside, the
quick slap of bare feet, someone was approaching Draco's room at
almost a run. He wondered if it was Nina; Draco had said they didn't
have a soul-cleansing session today, but she might have forgotten.</p><p>The door burst open a
moment later, and Vera came in. Harry stared. Agitation seemed <em>wrong</em>
on her face, as if it were a mask someone else had fastened on her
features.</p><p>She held a letter in
one hand.</p><p>Harry felt a wind blow
across him from a long distance away, the kind of wind, he thought,
that turned water to ice. He sat up and held out his hand for the
letter, and Vera gave it to him without thought.</p><p>Or perhaps it wasn't
without thought. When Draco asked a question, she turned to answer
him in a low voice.</p><p>Harry read. The
handwriting on the letter was distinctly unfamiliar, and it was dated
today, the first of August.</p><p><em>Dear sisters and
brothers:</em></p><p><em>Normally, I would
ask your permission months or weeks before bringing someone through
the shadows, but I consider this situation urgent. I have never Seen
someone's soul change so quickly in the course of a few hours. If
we wait, then I fear we may lose him. So I send this owl on the
swiftpath through the shadows, because this </em>is <em>an emergency.</em></p><p><em>My wandering feet
had led me to the Isle of Man, and the Opalline family. I was staying
a few days with them, and conversing with one of the daughters of the
family, whom her father feared was succumbing to a sense of
uselessness. This was the last day I meant to spend with them, since
the wounds in the daughter's soul were small, and did not require a
visit to the Sanctuary.</em></p><p><em>A dragon came from
the sky three hours ago. I have never seen anything like her:
red-gold, female, with wings vaster than the earth.</em></p><p>Harry had to stop
reading and close his eyes for a moment there. <em>Acies.</em></p><p><em>Or what is left of
her. She's not human any more.</em></p><p>He opened his eyes and
continued reading.</p><p><em>The Opallines think
she was drawn by their home, Gollrish Y Thie, which is the skeleton
of an immense dragon of her breed. They also think she went mad when
she realized that the skeleton was dead, and perhaps even made the
connection that the Opallines had killed her. One cannot tell,
however. Dragons will go mad simply because their wills are balked.</em></p><p><em>She breathed fire.
Two dozen of the Opallines died in a few instants. If the Opalline
heir, Calibrid, had not been on the Isle and summoned all the magic
of her family to her, then I think more of them would have perished.
But she managed to summon it, and compel the dragon into sleep.</em></p><p><em>However, she lost a
sense of her own danger during the moments in which she summoned the
magic, and the fire would have reached her. Her brother Doncan,
trained to protect and guard her, cast his body and his magic into
the way of the flames.</em></p><p><em>He survived,
instead of being vaporized, but his body is so badly burned that his
family can do little for him. The fire also took his sight, and has
inflicted deep wounds on his soul. He believes now that his survival
does not matter, because he will not be able to defend his sister in
the way he has become accustomed to doing. He tried to commit suicide
in the first moments after being assured that Calibrid was still
alive.</em></p><p><em>I stopped him, and
I will be bringing him to the Sanctuary along the swiftpath. I know
that Joseph has studied physical healing techniques that may benefit
him. But teaching him to live with his burns will mean nothing if we
cannot also reconcile him to life. I am sorry that I do not have time
to ask formal permission. If you think it proper, I will serve
whatever penalty the brothers and sisters choose.</em></p><p><em>In distress,</em></p><p><em>Calla.</em></p><p>Harry glanced up from
the letter. Vera was watching him with tense lines around the corners
of her eyes, and Harry frowned. She looked concerned for <em>him</em>—he
knew that expression by now—which did not make any sense.</p><p>"He's coming
here?" he asked, to begin the conversation.</p><p>Vera nodded. "I
wanted to warn you," she said, "because Doncan does need the
Sanctuary, but I did not want you to have no warning of his coming,
and blame yourself when he arrived."</p><p>"I don't blame
myself," Harry said shortly, giving her back the letter. "People
I trusted told me Acies would sleep until we returned to the
wizarding world. They seem to have been wrong, but I don't think
anyone really understands the magic that transformed Acies. <em>I</em>
don't know why she became a British Red-Gold instead of one of the
living species of dragon." He shook his head, and tugged his mind
back to more important matters. "When will Doncan arrive?"</p><p>"Calla may have to
convince his family, still, but she is right in that they can do
little for him on the Isle of Man," Vera murmured, frowning at
Harry. "And they will have their own psychological wounds to
soothe, from the deaths of so many of their family. So he should
arrive in no more than a few hours, a day at the most."</p><p>Harry nodded. "And
she isn't sure he will want to live?"</p><p>"That is true."</p><p>"I can help," said
Harry firmly. "I know I can. I went through a warped version of the
same training Doncan chose. I <em>know</em> what it's like when the
center of my universe starts swinging around and changing, and I
realize I won't be able to protect it perfectly any more." He
held Vera's eyes. "He's a guardian, the same as I am."</p><p>Vera's shoulders
went up. "You realize that he may not want to speak to you?"</p><p>Harry snorted. "Of
course I do. On the other hand, he didn't want to live and come to
the Sanctuary, either, and Calla's bringing him here. I think
there's at least a chance he may want to speak to me. He's met me
before, and he knows the similarities we share. He acknowledged them
himself."</p><p>"And if I say,"
Vera asked, her voice low, and clear as clear water, "that I do not
think you should be involved in attempting to heal his soul, when you
are still struggling to heal yourself?"</p><p>Harry folded his arms.
"I would say that helping others is one of the ways I heal," he
said, dropping his voice into the frosty politeness that had won his
way with his Dark allies when he first met them. "I would be sorry
to act against your wishes, but I am not so fragile that I need
absolute isolation from any other person who is hurt. I've been
helping Professor Snape, you know."</p><p>Vera stared at him,
and Harry blinked. "You didn't know," he said. <em>Why did I
think she did? I suppose she never was there during the times when
Snape and I talked or argued, because our sessions are always
private, and she has her own life to lead otherwise.</em></p><p>"That burden should
not have been left up to you," said Vera, her voice even lower now
with distress. "I knew he had refused Joseph's help. I did not
know he had decided to make you his Seer in Joseph's place."</p><p>Harry could feel
himself start to scowl. "There are lots of burdens that shouldn't
have been left up to me," he said sharply. "But they were, and
that's the way it is. I want to help. I can help. I have all this
immense strength floating around, and I'm doing nothing with it.
And Snape has at least tacitly agreed to let me help, because he
talks to me. So why can't I help Doncan, if he agrees to the same
thing?"</p><p>"You should not <em>have</em>
to," said Vera. She kept shaking her head, as if that would make
the things she didn't like cease to exist. "You cannot heal if
you must be constantly made to carry the burdens of others, Harry."</p><p>"Is that something
you See from my soul?" Harry leaned forward. "Or just received
wisdom that you're quoting?"</p><p>Vera stared at him.</p><p>"I thought so,"
Harry said. "I know it probably <em>does</em> sound strange to you,
Vera, because you help lots of other people who do need absolute
isolation from the world around them, and peace, to heal. That's
not me, that's all." He shrugged. "I wasn't raised normally,
and I haven't had a normal life since the time I was eleven. Why
should I be normal in this, either?"</p><p>"I wanted to give
you a chance to be normal." Vera's eyes were bright with grief.
"I did not want to force you to help others who should be able to
survive with the help of Seers, or on their own."</p><p>Harry let himself
soften, because he knew from her words that he had won. "It's not
fair," he said. "I'll grant you that. But I don't really
think there's such a thing as fair unless people make it up and
defend it. So I can help with Doncan, if he agrees that he wants my
help?"</p><p>"<em>If</em> he
agrees," said Vera, still staring at him.</p><p>"Of course," said
Harry, puzzled and a bit offended that she would think he would barge
into Doncan's room to speak to him if Doncan refused to see Harry.</p><p>"And perhaps we will
speak tomorrow about whether you will ever think of yourself first,
instead of others," said Vera, and strode for the door.</p><p>Harry
watched her go, thoughtfully. <em>So she doesn't understand
everything, even after Seeing my soul. I suppose she thinks there's
no way I can work on my healing and the healing of someone else at
the same time. But that's not true. And she was pleased with my
progress until now, and I've been helping Snape for part of that
progress.</em></p><p>"Harry."</p><p>Warily, Harry turned
to face his boyfriend. He was not sure whether Draco would approve of
this or not. Of course, Draco was not actually in a position to
enforce his will on Harry, either.</p><p>"Will it ever end?"
Draco asked, his voice tired.</p><p>Harry knew the answer
to that. He went over to the chair and leaned down, wrapping his arms
around Draco's shoulders and pressing a kiss to his temple. "No,"
he whispered. "I told you that after Greyback and Whitecheek,
remember? It doesn't end. Life doesn't stop moving while you try
to learn to live it. I was foolish to think that I could retreat for
two months and nothing would happen. I tried to arrange things so
that nothing would, but that's not the way the world works."</p><p>"But you don't
feel guilty for Doncan's getting burned?" Draco held his hand and
searched his eyes.</p><p>Harry let out a
surprised little laugh. "No. I made the decision to leave based on
good evidence, or what I thought was good evidence. You don't need
to worry about that, Draco. I'm not doing this to punish myself.
Guilt doesn't help as much as genuine determination to aid someone
else." He started to pull his hand out of Draco's.</p><p>"Do you know—"
Draco began, and stopped.</p><p>Harry waited.</p><p>"Do you know,"
Draco continued after a moment, his voice even lower than Vera's
had been, "I thought that someday, this would be done with? I was
picturing us living in an isolated house—not in Britain, even,
because people would never stop seeking you out to help them as long
as we were in Britain. Maybe Ireland. Maybe Australia, or America, or
some other place where they spoke English. Just living there, and our
biggest concern would be about fights we had or whether the meat we
bought was spoiled." He laughed. "That was stupid, wasn't it?"</p><p>Harry smiled. "That
wasn't stupid, Draco. Just unrealistic. And dreams are supposed to
be unrealistic." He gently laid his hand on the back of Draco's
neck until he tilted his head to look up, and then kissed him, slowly
and thoroughly and with as much love as he could muster. He still
didn't think he was normal enough to convey all his emotions
through his body, not the way Draco could, but he was good enough at
it now to leave Draco more than slightly dazed when he pulled back.</p><p>"It won't end,"
Harry said quietly. "But someday, we might be able to have that
isolated house, and we'll even spend a few days there in between
saving werewolves and working the downfall of the Malfoys'
political enemies."</p><p>Draco laughed again,
and this time the sound was much better, much clearer, than the last
one. "Can I ask you one more question, Harry?"</p><p>"Of course." Harry
half-draped himself around the back of the chair. "Ask me all the
questions you want."</p><p>"<em>Why</em> do you
care so much about helping other people?" Draco was staring
directly at him, as if he, too, were a Seer and could read the soul
with a casual glance. "The Seers can help Doncan. You don't doubt
their ability?" Harry shook his head. "Then why are you
volunteering?"</p><p>"Because," said
Harry, "if I see a problem, and I can ease it, I should. Or I
should tell someone else who can ease it."</p><p>Draco was quiet for
another moment. Then he said, "I don't think I could live that
way."</p><p>"I'm not asking
you to." Harry cocked his head. "I'm not asking anyone else to.
After all, it would be stupid of me to demand things from others that
would require Lord-level magic to accomplish, when they don't have
that magic, wouldn't it? And this is an extension of the same
thing. If they can't live that way, it would be stupid of me to
demand that they do so. But I know I can, so I will."</p><p>"Without exhausting
yourself? Without making yourself into a repository for every kind of
guilt?" Draco spoke that as a challenge, and Harry met it the same
way.</p><p>"Yes," he said.
"Your mother wrote me a letter long ago, Draco, as Starborn, that
described a kind of nameless Lord—a <em>vates</em>, I think, though
she wasn't thinking about magical creatures, really, and so she
didn't use that word. She described someone who would use his magic
to serve and heal and protect others, but who could also make
judgments. Some people would want him as an ally in unworthy causes,
after all. And some people would want their goals met in such a way
that it would harm others. And some people would simply ask for silly
and stupid things. So he would have to make the decisions as to how
he would use his magic, and then live with those decisions, and the
consequences if he was wrong. I remembered the serve and heal and
protect part, but not the other. I think I didn't feel confident in
myself to make those decisions." Harry shrugged. "Now, I feel
that way."</p><p>Draco, for some
reason, broke into a smug smile at that.</p><p>"What?" Harry
asked.</p><p>"They're not going
to know what hit them," Draco said softly, "when you go back. And
there are going to be so many people who want to be close to you, to
have your attention, just because of what you are, Harry, not even
because you're powerful or can benefit them. There are going to be
people who fall in love with you." His grin grew wider. "And they
can't have you, because I'm here."</p><p>Harry laughed. "Brat."</p><p>"Prat."</p><p>"Idiot."</p><p>"Git." Draco
leaned forward and kissed him so suddenly that Harry nearly reeled
backwards. "Now, go find out when Doncan is arriving, or go talk to
Snape, or do something that <em>helps</em> other people," he said,
managing to make the word drip with contempt Harry hadn't heard
from him since their third year at Hogwarts, and then only on his
brother's name. "Hero."</p><p>Harry raised his hand
in salute, and departed, deciding to go to the platform where his own
carriage had arrived. So far as he knew, it was the only place a Seer
would land after bringing someone through the shadows, even by the
swiftpath.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"He's asked for
you."</p><p>Harry looked up from
the book on place magic he'd been reading—<em>Yelling at the
Grass: A Beginner's Guide—</em>and then laid it down. He'd
brought it with him from the Black library, and read through it twice
already. Half of that second time had been while he sat outside
Doncan's room, using a small <em>Lumos</em> charm to continue reading
when night descended.</p><p>He supposed he had
missed dinner, but he didn't feel hungry as he stepped through the
unicorn-carved door.</p><p>The Seers had given
Doncan the most peaceful room Harry had seen yet. There was a
contained wind wandering the walls, like the captive current of magic
in Woodhouse. Silver traceries crept down from the ceiling, filled
with water, shimmering so gently that Harry suffered an immediate
increase in his own weariness. A voice Harry thought was a
nightingale's sang from two corners, and when it paused, then the
room filled with a skylark's music. And, of course, there were no
mirrors.</p><p>It wouldn't have
mattered, of course; Doncan was blind now. But Harry appreciated the
fact that the Seers had chosen this room anyway.</p><p>A bed stood in the
middle of the room, but it had been shoved aside. Doncan hovered in a
mass of air currents instead, charmed to a temperature he could
endure and that would help the burn. Harry doubted there was any true
comfort to be found for him.</p><p>His skin looked more
like volcanic rock than anything human. Black and leathery, it shed a
faint smell of cooking meat even now. Harry took a deep breath and
stepped closer to him.</p><p>Acies's flame had
caught him across the chest and the face, before curling around his
arms and legs; Harry thought he had survived at all only because of
the magical shield he'd raised to defend his sister. His face
resembled a mummy's, with hollowed eyesockets, no hair left, all
the skin shriveled, and the ears nameless lumps of meat. Harry stared
helplessly at the patches of red-white skin where the blackness, and
thus the destroyed nerve endings, left off. Nothing was more painful
than a burn. He had heard Doncan screaming when the Seers brought him
in. They had used potions, but they could only pour them down his
throat. His skin was so utterly destroyed that any potion they might
have applied directly to the burns would only slide off them.</p><p>"Doncan," Harry
said at last. He knew Doncan could speak, and hear, though Merlin
alone knew how. Perhaps his magical shield had managed to spare his
hearing and his throat more than it had his eyes, or it was a result
of the magic Calibrid had used on him immediately after the flames
struck. It could even have been a combination of his magic and
Acies's fire. Almost no one knew anything about the effects of a
British Red-Gold's flames.</p><p>Doncan twitched
against the currents of air, turning his head towards him. Harry
pushed aside the wracking pity. He didn't have time for it right
now, and neither did Doncan. As Calla—a young, thin,
exhausted-looking woman whom Harry had met briefly before she
vanished into this room with her charge—had said in her letter,
healing him meant little if Doncan would only commit suicide the
moment he was strong enough.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>Harry winced. Doncan
had taken smoke and fire down his throat. His voice scraped and
wheezed and expired at odd moments, like puffs of steam. But he
continued on beyond that one word, giving Harry no chance to ask
questions.</p><p>"It's gone," he
said. "Everything is. I may not walk again. They can't tell me
how completely I'll be able to recover, and even if it's
completely, then I won't have my eyes back."</p><p>"Never?" Harry
asked. "No magic—"</p><p>"No." Doncan's
voice was flat and empty. "There are some things magic can't put
right, Harry. The fire burned out my optic nerves, and—there is
magic in that flame, too, power meant to destroy. Nothing will ever
grow there again."</p><p>Harry thought of
ground scarred by fire, and winced at the thought of human flesh with
the same thing done to it. "And because of that, you don't want
to live?" he asked.</p><p>Doncan snarled and
rolled against the air currents, with what effort Harry didn't like
to imagine. Blue and green light shielded his body for modesty's
sake; cloth could have rested on the black, burned skin without
paining him, but not on the places where the burns ended, and that
was in irregular patches. "Of course not," he said. "You
changed your mind, Harry, about protecting your brother. But I chose
to protect my sister, and to do it, I need all my senses. I know
blind fighting, but that's not enough. An enemy who came near
enough without my hearing him could finish her."</p><p>Harry nodded. He had
expected something like this. He pulled a chair close and sat down in
it. "And you think there will be no shortage of enemies after her?"</p><p>"Of course there
will not," Doncan whispered. "Did you know that a few people from
Dark pureblood families tried to kill her when she was a girl, Harry?
They are not Light. They had no reason to care what the Opallines
did—except that they didn't agree with a pureblood family, of
whatever allegiance, treating their Squib child like a human being,
much less making her their heir the way my father decided to. And
since then, people have tried to kill her for the same reason, and
people tried to kidnap her when we were traveling. And when she
begins her revolution, bridging the magical and Muggle worlds the way
she wants to do, then more people will hate her."</p><p>Harry nodded again,
then remembered Doncan could not see him and said, "Has it occurred
to you that if you die, you can have no part in her life whatsoever?"</p><p>Doncan might have
frowned; it was impossible to make out any movement among the
leathery folds of his face. "Of course it has. But my part in her
life is finished in any case."</p><p>"It is not," said
Harry crisply. "She needs you still. What do you think you have
become to her, with the burning?"</p><p>"A uselessness,"
Doncan whispered. "A liability."</p><p>"<em>Not</em> so."
Harry stood, pacing nearer to him and staring down, forcing away his
own horror. That wasn't important right now. "A symbol, Doncan. A
symbol of what power costs. Leaders might not get hurt, but the
people around them frequently do. Have you ever been injured in your
defense of her before?"</p><p>"No," Doncan said.
"Each time, I <em>saw</em> the threats in time, and either got her
away or defended her." The bitterness in his voice was stronger
than the scent of cooked meat.</p><p>"That's right,"
Harry said. "So she's never had it slam home to her this way
before. She's going to understand being a leader in a way she never
would have if her family remained unharmed. And on top of your
burning, she's got two dozen more of the dead to deal with. Doesn't
she?" Calla had told Harry, briefly, that Paton was not on the Isle
of Man, but visiting some of his relatives in Italy. He likely would
not hear of the news for some time, or, if he did, would not have
been able to travel back to the Isle of Man in time for Calla to
consult with him about removing Doncan.</p><p>"She does." Doncan
stirred restlessly, and rolled over again, almost hanging
upside-down. Harry used his own magic to tug gently at him, righting
him. Doncan grunted his thanks.</p><p>"She'll be
remembering you," said Harry. "Thinking of you. Missing your
presence at her side. Wishing she could turn to you for advice, and
then remembering that you burned. She might have thought of you as a
shield before, or a guardian, her wise older brother. Now she has to
think of you as a victim."</p><p>"Are you <em>trying</em>
to make me feel worse?"</p><p>"I am trying to make
you see the reality," said Harry. He knew this was the course the
Seers would never have taken, or not taken until long months had
passed and they realized there really was no other way. Vera's
reaction when she heard of Harry helping Snape showed it. They were
too focused on the individual. Vera thought Harry should heal for
himself, and Calla, from what little Harry had heard from her mouth,
thought the same way. They wanted Doncan to make the decision to live
solely for himself, and would not think him non-suicidal if he
didn't. But that wasn't the way to approach a guardian. "When I
broke free of the web that had bound my loyalty to Connor, he
couldn't depend on me to coddle him any more. And he actively
fought me, because he thought I was trying to kill my godfather, whom
he loved. It took him months to realize that I'd been a victim, and
that he had to be strong on his own, but once he managed it, there
was no turning back."</p><p>Harry paused a moment.
"If I had committed suicide because my sense of purpose had
changed, it would have broken him. I can only imagine what your
suicide would do to Calibrid, since she hasn't had months to get
used to your gradual disappearance from her life."</p><p>Doncan's breathing
rushed in and out, fast and labored. Harry wondered for a moment if
he should summon Joseph, but it calmed again, and Doncan said, "But
I won't change my mind about serving her."</p><p>"I don't expect
you to," Harry said. <em>I am counting on you not to, so that you
will decide to live. </em>"But she needs you now, and <em>not</em> in
the role that you used to play. She needs you so much, Doncan. You
can't protect her any more, or so you claim, but you can still
advise her. You can still be a symbol, an inspiration, to her, of the
people she needs to be strong for—if you survive. Can you imagine
what will happen if you die? She'll plunge down an abyss. Won't
she?"</p><p>"She can't,"
Doncan whispered. "She has too many people depending on her."</p><p>"Exactly." This
was the point Harry had wanted to lead him to, but he had wanted
Doncan to be the one to say it. "She's a leader, Doncan, but
she's never had to stand entirely on her own. You've always been
there, you said it yourself. She can struggle through this loss, I
think, because she knows it'll be only temporary—"</p><p>"My eyesight is
never going to come back."</p><p>"And is your
eyesight <em>you</em>?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Is your
eyesight the mind that advised her, the will that defended her, the
magic that spared her from the dragon's fire? She still has the
chance to have all those things. But if you die, she doesn't."</p><p>"She'd survive,"
Doncan said, voice gone fretful now. "She would have to. She would
pick herself up and go on."</p><p>"And would she do it
as well as if her brother lived?" Harry shook his head, then
reminded himself, <em>again</em>, that Doncan was blind. "She's
lost two dozen of the Old Blood, the people she carries branded on
her skin, Doncan. I can't even imagine how much she's reeling
right now. And she still has to be strong for everyone, because
that's what a pureblood heir does. That's the reason their
families grant them power and obedience, because they know that when
the crisis comes, they can lean on them. Don't make her lose her
brother, too. Committing suicide right now would be the most selfish
decision you could make. And I don't think your father trained you
to be selfish."</p><p>Silence. Doncan
breathed. Harry waited. His magic explored, gently, swirling around
Doncan's face, and returned to him with an image of the burned
eyesockets. Harry winced. <em>He's right. Nothing will grow there
again.</em></p><p>"The Seers won't
like it," Doncan said at last. "They want me to say that I want
to live just—because I want to live. The carriage only took an hour
on the swiftpath, and it was all Calla chattered at me about."</p><p>"They can like it or
lump it," Harry said. "They're not the ones making the
decision. You are. Did you ever listen whenever someone whined about
your not having individuality because you chose to protect Calibrid?"</p><p>"Of course not."</p><p>"Then don't listen
now," Harry said. "I think you should live, Doncan, because it's
the only way left to you to fulfill your vows. You can advise her.
You can inspire her. Your role has changed, but you haven't left
her side."</p><p>Silence, again. Then
Doncan said, "I made the right decision, by speaking with you.
You—have given me back her to fight for, Harry. I cannot change my
mind all at once, but I must take this under consideration."</p><p>Harry bowed, his hand
over his heart, a fierce gladness filling him. "Good," he said.
"Would you like me to carry any message to her, or send one?"</p><p>"Tell her I'll
hear her soon."</p><p>Harry dipped his head
one more time, and then turned and left the room. Calla, standing by
the door, stared at him as he passed. Harry ignored her. She probably
couldn't imagine what he had to be happy about.</p><p>Of course, he didn't
think the expression on his face was precisely a <em>happy</em> one.
Fierce, it felt like, and feral. He stopped on the nearest terrace
and took a deep breath of the fresh air. Overhead, the moon, just
waning from the full, sparkled with a breadth of light that made
shadows dart around Harry.</p><p>He relaxed the
barriers on his magic—an easier task than it had been before he
came to the Sanctuary, because the gentle, wearing air had attacked
even the webs inside him—and let it rise around him. A moment
later, blue overcame his vision, and he blinked. Phoenix fire was
burning through his skin.</p><p>He knew arguments lay
ahead of him. He would certainly have to argue with Vera and Snape.
He would probably have to argue with Draco. Other Seers might add
their voices in, if the way Calla talked to Doncan was any
indication. He did not care. He had made his decision.</p><p><em>I must go back.</em></p><p>If nothing else, there
were the Opallines, reeling in the wake of their loss, suffering. He
wanted to go to them, carry Doncan's message, do what he could to
soothe the hurts of those left behind, and speak with Calibrid and
Paton. He did not feel himself bound to do so. He was not torturing
himself with guilt.</p><p>He <em>wanted</em> to.</p><p>And he did think that
Acies's flight was a warning bell. One thing had not remained
static and stable in the outer world while he sojourned here. What
else had changed? Harry's gaze drifted to the moon again, and he
pursed his lips. He doubted the werewolf situation had remained the
same.</p><p><em>Why did I think it
would?</em></p><p><em>Because I convinced
myself that needing the time to heal was the same as everyone else
freezing while I wasn't paying attention. And that wasn't true. I
needed the time. The conclusion didn't follow from that.</em></p><p>He could hear Snape
and Vera now, telling him that he hadn't taken the full two months
yet, that he should remain longer, that the outer world should be
able to handle itself better without him. If he encouraged people to
rely on him, what would happen if he were killed in battle? The
wizarding world needed to stand independent of him.</p><p><em>Exactly. It does.
But just removing myself from the equation isn't enough. I have to
show people how to follow the principles and not the person—show
them that I won't let them become my own personal Order of the
Phoenix. That would be true no matter when I went back.</em></p><p><em>And I want to go
back now.</em></p><p>He formed the phoenix
fire into wings of shadowy blue light that beat around him, rising up
against the stars and sending strange shadows spinning across the
Sanctuary. His magic prowled and snarled and longed to do something.
And Harry could think of plenty for it to do.</p><p><em>I don't think I
could heal fully in two months, now. So what I'll do is go back and
keep healing, while working on everything else, too. I'll break the
curses on my wrist, and I'll study place magic, and I'll study
how to become an Animagus, because that should be useful in war, and
I'll work as a </em>vates, <em>and I'll play politics as I have to.
I'll live everything all mingled together.</em></p><p>It was different from
what he'd had to do other years, he told himself, because then, he
hadn't really been in control of anything. He had reacted rather
than acted, scrambled after Voldemort or Scrimgeour or the most
prominent political player of the moment, and done only as much as
necessary to fulfill someone else's demands or stop the situation
from moving for a little while. Now, he was going to be the one to
make it move.</p><p><em>I trust myself to
make at least some of the right decisions. I trust the people around
me to tell me when I'm being an idiot and making the wrong ones. I
can bow my stubborn neck enough to listen to them. And I have the
magic to back up what I'm going to do.</em></p><p>The phoenix fire
spiraled up around him, losing the shape of wings as it rose into a
blue cone, and Harry couldn't help himself. He opened his mouth,
and phoenix song followed the fire—not mourning, as it had been on
Midwinter, but joyous and strong, and metallic beneath. A fitting
song for a bloodless war, Harry thought, or a war he was going to try
and keep as bloodless as possible.</p><p>He had the means, if
he applied them with wisdom and discretion, to make people glad they
had been born.</p><p>He startled himself,
when the song ended, by feeling an intense moment of pity for both
Voldemort and Dumbledore, not to mention all those ancient Lords and
Ladies who had started out with good intentions and then fallen into
the path of compulsion.</p><p><em>They could do this.
They could do such wonderful things. And they didn't.</em></p><p><em>Well, I will.</em></p><p>He went to retrieve
his book on place magic from outside Doncan's room. It wouldn't
do to have what he owned lying about everywhere, when he intended to
depart from the Sanctuary tomorrow.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 7*: The Department for the Control</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Five: The Department for the Control and
Suppression of Deadly Beasts</strong></p><p>"No."</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes.
Snape stood with his back to him, brewing the purple potion he seemed
to work on exclusively these days. An eyeroll had a fair chance of
going unnoticed. He had expected this opposition, and that made it
easy to keep his voice calm as he explained again.</p><p>"You don't have a
choice in whether or not I leave," he told Snape's back. "I've
already decided that I will—"</p><p>"And not spoken with
the Seers about this," Snape cut in smoothly, leaning over the
cauldron to scoop up a handful of powdered moonstone, which he
feathered out like falling stardust. Harry watched the potion roil
for a moment before it swallowed the silver flecks. He wondered what
Snape was making. The potions that required moonstone were relatively
rare, at least when the stone was that fine. "Do you think Vera
will simply let you leave?"</p><p>"Come to that, she
doesn't have <em>that</em> much control over me." Harry stretched
his arms over his head and leaned against the doorway again. "But I
spoke with you first because I knew this would be the hardest
battle." He paused, but Snape still didn't look at him. Harry
shrugged, and continued. "Not only do I want to leave the
Sanctuary, but I think you should stay here."</p><p>Snape spun with a snap
of his robes so hard that it almost knocked the cauldron from its
base. Harry saw him put out a hand to rescue the tipping potion
without taking his eyes from Harry. His face was sallow, his eyes so
marked by sleeplessness that it was impossible to miss the gray
around them in the ferocity of his expression, and he looked as
though someone had been wearing him down, scraping him down, by
magical torture for nights. Harry checked his pity. The last time he
had asked to know what the dreams were about, Snape's magic had
flared and nearly wounded him before he controlled himself.</p><p>"And why is that?"
Snape's voice was low and ugly. "Do you not trust me to control
myself around your enemies?"</p><p>Harry fought against
the urge to lower his gaze. It wasn't visible on the surface, but
he knew there was a spark of betrayal in Snape's eyes. He could not
be as close to his guardian for as long as he had been, and not see
it.</p><p>And he had to be
honest, too. He had to show Snape that he wasn't playing guardian
to an abused child any longer. He had become more of the person Snape
had always wanted him to be, but Harry suspected, just as had
happened when he'd been forced to go with Evan Rosier and free
Durmstrang, that Snape was unlikely to see how much he had grown
until he was forced to.</p><p>"I don't trust you
to control yourself at all," he said quietly. "You are having
temper tantrums at <em>me</em>. And that's in the privacy of the
Sanctuary, where you know the Headmistress isn't going to walk
around the corner in the next moment and reprimand you for your
behavior. What's going to happen when we go back to Hogwarts? The
first time someone makes a mistake in Potions? The first time you
have to comfort a first-year Slytherin who misses her mum? The first
time you get into a dispute with a colleague, or the first time I'm
in danger? Do you think you'll be able to keep from exploding?"</p><p>Snape was breathing
fast. Harry struggled not to match him, breath for breath. He had
sympathy, yes, but his sympathy had sharpened with an edge of
exasperation as the days passed and Snape refused to either modify
his behavior or tell him what the dreams were about. Harry no longer
had much faith in his ability to heal by himself. He showed no
improvement after a month, only a steady decline. And the other day
he had raged both when Harry asked about the dreams and when Harry
ignored him.</p><p><em>He wants something
from me that I can't give—absolute attention, and permission to
just do whatever he wants. And that will be disastrous if he comes
back to Hogwarts with me and can't act like an adult.</em></p><p>"You cannot force me
to stay here," Snape said at last.</p><p>Harry kept himself
from throwing his hand up, but it was a near thing. "I know that,"
he said. "I would never force you to stay here. I <em>will</em> tell
you that if you come back with me, I won't let your temper
tantrums—"</p><p>Snape's mouth
cracked open in an ugly snarl. "They are not temper tantrums," he
said. "They are relics of a suffering that you cannot comprehend—"</p><p>"Because you won't
<em>tell me!</em>" Harry didn't mean to roar the last words, or to
let his magic rattle Snape's ingredient jars on their shelves, but
that was what happened. And at least it shut Snape up. He went quiet,
staring at Harry as if he were a stranger.</p><p>"You won't tell
me," Harry went on, when he was sure that he had control of
himself. "And what I'm walking back into—I can't tell what
the situation might be with the Ministry and the werewolves from this
distance, and I know that I'll need to play a role when I visit the
Isle of Man that doesn't include hurting them further because my
guardian can't control himself. You'll ruin delicate diplomatic
missions so easily, sir. You'll put people off before they can ally
with me, because they'll wonder why I indulge you to the point of
threatening and hurting others. <em>I</em> can resist you, because of
the strength of my magic. But others can't."</p><p>"I cannot tell you,"
Snape whispered. "I have been broken in ways that you cannot
understand."</p><p>"When my mind's
collapsed under its own weight." Harry made his voice as skeptical
as possible. "When I've mercy-killed people in war and faced the
wild Dark."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Harry cocked his head
and studied Snape more closely. "That might be true," he said.
"But I still can't tell that if you won't tell me."</p><p>"I do not wish to."</p><p>Harry nodded. "Then
the best thing for you is to stay here, and stew in your dreams until
you do come to terms with it. When you think you have, you can rejoin
me. I'll tell Headmistress McGonagall that she needs to find a new
Potions professor and Head of Slytherin House for—"</p><p>"I am coming with
you," Snape said, his voice like a desert wind.</p><p>"To rage and destroy
my reputation?"</p><p>Snape glared at him,
angry, wordless.</p><p>"You're
uncontrolled," said Harry. "You're not acting like a Slytherin,
you're acting like a Gryffindor. And I can't have you close to me
if you do that. As I said, I have no intention of restraining your
free will if you must come back with me, but I won't allow you
close to me in political contexts, and I'll warn the Headmistress
about you. She doesn't need to deal with upset parents wanting to
know why you've injured their children because <em>you</em> want to
indulge your temper."</p><p>"You speak as if—"
And Snape pulled himself up again.</p><p>"Yes?" Harry
nodded. "Go on."</p><p>"You speak as if you
do not care about me." Snape turned and stalked back to his
cauldron, in a perfect show of how much it had cost him to say those
words. <em>He cannot even look me in the eye in the wake of them.</em></p><p>"Never," Harry
said. "You can think of the way I've talked to you for the past
month and decide that?" He paused, but Snape did not turn around.
Harry shook his head. "The simple fact of the matter is, I can
divide sympathy from action now. I can care about you and know that
it would be suicide for me to let you curse someone you thought was
threatening me. I can understand an enemy's motivation and still
oppose him. I can long to help someone, and resist the urge, because
she's set herself up as my political enemy." He couldn't help
the way his voice rang with wistful frustration. "Isn't that one
of the lessons that you wanted me to learn, back when you thought my
forgiveness and compassion might kill me?"</p><p>Snape said nothing.</p><p>"If you come back
with me," said Harry quietly, "I'll exile you from my immediate
surroundings unless you're <em>thinking</em>. And if you insist on
being around me anyway, then I'll have Joseph come with us."</p><p>Snape stiffened this
time, his hand freezing on the ladle with which he was slowly
stirring his potion. His voice hissed like a newborn basilisk. "You
would not dare."</p><p>"Yes, I would,"
Harry said. "He hasn't been in the outside world in a long time.
He has no other guests who are especially in need of the talking he
can provide. He's done all he can for Doncan, and there are others
in the Sanctuary who know enough to keep caring for him. He'll come
with us and be your personal Seer if I ask him. And I've already
asked him," he added.</p><p>"You cannot do this
to me."</p><p>"Yes, I <em>can</em>."
Harry restrained the temptation to stalk into the room and shake some
sense into Snape. "That's the <em>point</em>. You cannot bear for
someone to cross your will, but you are trampling on the free wills
of others. I am <em>vates</em>. I will not permit that because you are
continuing on with <em>childish grudges</em> you ought to have won free
of <em>twenty years ago!</em>"</p><p>Snape whispered in the
wake of his words. "You think that is the only reason I am
suffering? Because of the Marauders?"</p><p>"How would I know?"
Harry folded his arms and stared at his back. "You haven't told
me any differently, remember?"</p><p>"You ought to know
it is more than that."</p><p>Harry felt disgust
snap like a broken twig inside himself, and he drew his lips back
from his teeth as he hissed. Snape stared at him as he said, "Like
it or lump it, Snape. Those are your choices. Come with me with
Joseph at your side to act as your Seer, or stay here, or go and keep
away from me. That is all."</p><p>He turned and left,
phoenix fire starting and sparking up his arms. He tried to quell his
anger as he walked, and, most importantly, his disappointment.</p><p><em>What in the world
does he expect from me? Two months ago he would have been angry that
I was putting myself out that much for anyone, let alone for him. A
month and a half ago, he scolded me against letting personal emotions
take over so that I was useless in politics or battle. Why is this so
different?</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape leaned over the
cauldron, his breath coming fast. Then he remembered the dangers of
breathing in the fumes from this particular experimental potion, and
whirled away from it with a low curse.</p><p>His thoughts ran along
what Harry had said to him in a passionate tide. <em>It is more than
the Marauders, and he ought to have known that. Why can he not leave
me alone to heal at my own pace? Why must he push, now of all times?
I left him alone to heal at his own pace.</em></p><p>He had, perhaps,
overindulged himself, but he had thought he would have another month
in the Sanctuary to recover the broken shards and fashion them into a
cold, smooth mask. By the time they went back, he had planned to be
fully in control of himself again.</p><p>And now Harry had said
that he was leaving today. And he had offered Snape a choice that was
no choice at all.</p><p>He leaned against the
wall and cursed softly under his breath, the vilest words he knew,
Muggle ones from his father mingled among the names of spells that,
if he spoke them aloud and if they would work at all in the
Sanctuary, would summon crawling nightmares that made <em>Crucio</em>
look tame. When that lost its charm, he whirled to face his potion
again.</p><p>He should have had
more time. He needed more time.</p><p>But he did not have
it.</p><p>It seemed that he had
done the impossible, or the Seers had done the impossible, or Harry
had done the impossible, or they had all done the impossible
together. They had made Harry into an imposing young man who no
longer looked as if he would crack and break at the first sign of
strain. It was such a far cry from the way he had appeared when he
first arrived in the Sanctuary that Snape could not imagine what had
prompted the change.</p><p>Then he looked out the
window of his lab at the distant, twining vines and flowers and trees
of the Sanctuary, and he knew.</p><p><em>He embraced what
happened to him here. He sank his roots deep and grew. He may have
thought he had two months and not one, but he seized every chance
that he could to break his barriers and his training and heal. </em></p><p><em>And you have not.</em></p><p>Knowledge burned like
ashes in his throat, at least as bitter as the day he had realized
Dumbledore was not about to expel Black. He tried to tell himself it
was the aftertaste of powdered moonstone.</p><p>He knew better.</p><p>When Snape faced the
choice head-on, he knew there was only one way it could end. He could
not stay in the Sanctuary without Harry. Being back at Hogwarts but
distant from Harry was only marginally better.</p><p>He would have to
accept the company of a man he hated, a man he knew was like Black
whether Harry would admit it or not.</p><p><em>I cannot fool him,
it seems. But I may be able to take him by surprise. I may be able to
grow into something that will satisfy him without changing myself
completely. The Seers are less pushy than Harry has become, more
delicate and careful.</em></p><p>Snape straightened his
spine with a snap. It would mean playing a long game, working against
the Seer's sight of his soul as well as the dreams that attacked
him with long claws nightly now. But he could do it. He had done
harder things, including being a spy among the Death Eaters for a
year.</p><p><em>Let me do this,
then.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"I fear only this,"
said Vera. Harry had told her what he intended, and she had taken it
more quietly than he had suspected would be the case, only sitting
with her hands clasped in her lap and staring out the window at the
sunlight that so often sheltered her. She turned back to him now, her
face grave. "That you will, once again, begin to neglect your
healing, because you would rather countenance the healing of those
who need you."</p><p>Harry tried to remind
himself to be patient. It had been his own idea to come to the
Sanctuary and subject himself to the way of the Seers, after all. And
he had been patient with Vera before when she said something that he
thought ridiculous. <em>I bathed in that pool in the Relaxation Room
even when I knew it was doing me more harm than good.</em></p><p>"I will be healing
at the same time as I finish other things," he said. "I did
invite Joseph to come along, and he is one of the most relentlessly
honest people you know; you said so yourself." And she had, when
she first explained why the other Seers had chosen Joseph for Snape.
"He might come along even if Professor Snape doesn't, because he
has an interest in seeing the outside world again, and seeing what
becomes of me. He told me that. So the Sanctuary can still keep an
eye on me."</p><p>"Not as well as it
could if you stayed here." Vera cocked her head at him. "You have
only Acies as proof of the disasters in the outside world that you
fear, so far. And Calibrid has confined Acies in sleep. Why must you
hurry away? Aren't you only teaching your enemies that you will
come when called, and your friends that they must depend on you to
the exclusion of their own powers?"</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"I think Acies is a sign. And the Opallines would need my help even
if nothing else was happening."</p><p>"That means you will
neglect yourself," Vera said at once.</p><p>"You don't <em>know</em>
that." Harry frowned at her. "It's what I did in the past, but
have I done it for the past month?"</p><p>"A month is not long
enough to make a permanent change in your life." Vera pushed a hand
though her hair, disordering it for the first time Harry could
remember seeing.</p><p>"A <em>moment</em> was
enough to change Doncan's life," Harry said harshly. And he knew
he was being harsh, he knew it, and he did not care.</p><p>"Physical wounds are
different from the mental ones," Vera whispered. "Your Bitter One
is an example of how deeply cankered the soul can become when it goes
untreated for years."</p><p>"Draco and Snape are
not going to let me retreat into being the mindless shell that I
was," said Harry. "<em>I'm</em> not going to let myself retreat
into that." He rose and paced restlessly over to the window. "I
appreciate that you don't want me to go, that you fear for me, that
you wouldn't want to see me regress just when I've begun toddling
forward. But I'm afraid that you have no say in the matter,
ultimately. I wanted to explain instead of vanishing." <em>Vanishing
would have been easier. </em>"But you cannot make the choice for
me."</p><p>Vera sighed. "No, I
cannot," she said. "And anyone who accepts the <em>vates</em> as
<em>vates</em> knows that one cannot compel him. But I will miss you,
Harry, and there is one final thing I fear, and have feared since I
learned that you were helping the Bitter One and Doncan yesterday."</p><p>Harry looked over his
shoulder. "What?"</p><p>"That you do not
know <em>how</em> to lead a normal life." Vera was rising to her
feet, her face ancient. "That no matter what happens, you will find
yourself relentlessly addicted to the thrill of danger, the rush of
pleasure. You might not be needed someday, but you will find yourself
unable to retreat from the world."</p><p>Harry couldn't help
the amused smile that widened his mouth, even though he knew Vera's
words were sincerely meant. "I think I was aiming too high," he
said lightly. "Normality and I aren't meant to inhabit the same
walks of life. That's all right. I don't need to retreat from the
world. I just need to live, no matter what it means."</p><p>Vera studied him one
moment more. Harry faced her proudly, somewhat startled as he
remembered how afraid he'd been of her the first time he'd seen
her, almost two years ago now. She could see his soul, that was true,
but he had nothing to be ashamed of.</p><p>She touched his hair,
murmured a blessing, and passed out of the room. Harry gave a
satisfied nod. <em>Now to tell Draco.</em></p><p>He made sure to
collect Argutus from his favorite sunbathing spot just outside the
room. He planned to leave directly after his talk with Draco.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"You're sure this
isn't going to be a repeat of the last year and a half, with you
ignoring yourself in favor of everyone else?" Draco asked the
question looking out the window, so that he stared at the waterfall
below his room instead of Harry's face. Harry wondered if that was
deliberate, then told himself that <em>of course</em> it was
deliberate. What would have been more shocking would be for Draco to
stare him in the eye the entire time. Draco had become more studied
lately, judging his actions and expressions to a nicety. Harry
suspected that his talks with Nina had helped with that, though he
hadn't been present for many of them and so couldn't be sure.</p><p>"I'm sure," said
Harry, and kept his voice strong and certain.</p><p>"You're certain
that you can keep your goals in balance, instead of sacrificing
yourself to save just one person or thing?" Draco shifted his
weight from his left foot to his right. Harry couldn't wait until
he learned what that meant. One of the things he was most looking
forward to was becoming a student of Draco, understanding him in a
way that he hadn't learned to do so far.</p><p>"I will try," said
Harry. "And if I do start making an unnecessary sacrifice, I trust
you to pull me up."</p><p>Draco turned around to
face him then. Harry expected a smile, but there was nothing, only
the deep, assessing gray gaze. Harry thought Draco was looking at him
more as a comrade-in-arms at the moment than as a lover, and felt a
strange thrill of pride at the thought.</p><p>"And you think that
you can continue to actually <em>heal</em>, instead of just stay in
place?" Draco flung the challenge like a spear.</p><p>Harry put his chin up.
He was fighting the urge to smile. He would have, except that it
seemed right he should match Draco's solemnity with his own. "I
do."</p><p>Draco took a step
forward and held out his hand. Harry clasped it with his own. Draco
gave a little nod, as if that answered one of his own internal
questions. "When do we leave?"</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Thank you for
sending us by the swiftpath," Harry told Vera, as he clambered into
the carriage waiting for them. Argutus was looped in shimmering coils
around his shoulders and waist, and the Many snake curled tight
around his neck. Harry wondered if she would be glad to get out of
the peaceful air of the Sanctuary and back into places where she
could attack someone else. Of course, Harry was also going back to
places where he was more likely to be in danger.</p><p>"It is nothing."
Vera looked as if she would like to say something else, but rallied
back to the topic at hand. "I know that you wish to reach the Isle
of Man quickly, and if not by the swiftpath, it would take you much
longer, with the mortal distance as well as the distance through the
shadows involved."</p><p>Harry nodded. He was
not sure of the Sanctuary's exact location, but it had not escaped
his notice that the carriage had flown east from Hogwarts, the
opposite direction from Gollrish Y Thie.</p><p>Draco clambered in
after him, and sat on the seat next to him, claiming his hand for his
own. Harry smiled, and used his Levitation Charm to pull in their
neatly packed trunks, shrunken to manageable size.</p><p>Snape was next, with
Joseph just behind him. Harry studied him from beneath his eyelids as
his guardian settled himself. <em>We'll see how well this works. </em>He
caught the look of utter loathing Snape was giving Joseph without
seeming to do so, and concealed a sigh. <em>Probably not very well.
But it's the best compromise I could come up with, and Joseph is
stubborn.</em></p><p>Joseph looked directly
at Harry then, and closed one eye in a slow wink. Snape looked livid,
but given that he was pretending to ignore the Seer altogether, he
couldn't say anything about it. He tugged a book about Potions into
his lap and began reading. Joseph smiled and settled himself,
murmuring what sounded like the words of an old ballad under his
breath.</p><p>"Farewell to you
all," said Vera, her face solemn. "Remember us, out in the
mirror-world, and do not hesitate to return to the Sanctuary, where
things are the opposite of distorted."</p><p>"Farewell, sister,"
said Joseph. Harry nodded, and felt Draco move his head in a bow
beside him. Snape said nothing.</p><p>"Be prepared,"
Vera said, a small smile seaming her mouth then. "Our carriages
usually take the slower path through the shadows because our guests
need time to take in the soothing atmosphere of our home. But the
swiftpath is for emergencies, and—very different." She moved
backward with a sweep of her hand, and the carriage bobbled into the
air. Harry tilted his head back to see the spiraling golden line it
ran on, like the one that had borne them here, and was more than a
little surprised that he couldn't find it.</p><p>A moment later, he
figured out the difference. <em>The swiftpath must make the carriages
fly differently.</em></p><p>And <em>how.</em></p><p>The carriage shot
forward the moment they were sufficiently clear of the ground. Harry
caught a blurred, bruise-purple glimpse of the various buildings of
the Sanctuary, and then they were below them and the carriage was
wheeling high, making tighter and tighter turns. Harry shuddered as
the air in front of them turned the color of chalk.</p><p>The carriage made a
sudden bound forward, and however fast they had been going, they were
now going impossibly faster. Harry swore and sat back in the seat,
unable to hold on to it, since Draco was firmly gripping his hand.
Draco's grin, Harry noticed when he looked over at him, was more
than a bit maniacal.</p><p>"Nothing like riding
a Firebolt, is it?" Draco said.</p><p>Harry shook his head
dazedly. On a Firebolt, he was always in control, and he could tell
the broom where to go. On the swiftpath, the magic that hurtled the
carriage along was in control.</p><p>They jolted then, and
appeared to rise. Harry looked out their windows, but could see
nothing remarkable. They were in the shadows, he supposed, as they
had been when they came to the Sanctuary, but this time he could see
the edges of the shadows whipping past like gray curtains. Now and
then, their path flashed from above them, glowing like diamond dust.
Harry felt something strike the carriage's wheels, but it only made
them spin; it didn't stop them or slow them down.</p><p>"Do things live in
the shadows?" he asked Joseph. Snape was apparently absorbed in his
book.</p><p>"Sometimes," said
Joseph. "Some of us think the ghosts of the shadow-weavers are
still with us, wandering in the last product of their magic. Did they
have souls?" He shrugged. "We don't know, but it makes a nice
story to scare someone with the first time they take the swiftpath."</p><p>Harry opened his mouth
to reply, and then the carriage fell.</p><p>Draco let out a loud
whoop and grabbed his hand harder than ever. Harry heard Snape snarl
out an instinctive Shielding Charm. He held still and tried to tell
himself that this was just a Quidditch dive, just like anything he'd
made in a game against Gryffindor.</p><p>"What was that?"
he asked Joseph, when the carriage had righted itself and soared
upward again.</p><p>"The swiftpath is
hung on various hooks," Joseph, who didn't appear at all
discomforted, said. "Strung across the sky and among the shadows,
if you will. That was our being tossed to a hook that was lower than
the rest."</p><p>Harry turned his head
to stare out the windows, but still could see nothing but the shadows
and the occasional flash of diamond from above. "It would be
something, to know how to do this, myself," he said softly.</p><p>"I don't think
anyone now alive knows how to do this," said Joseph pleasantly.
"There's certainly no room in the Sanctuary for it. And the
shadow-weavers weren't human. They were the ones who made the
swiftpath as well as the rest of the shadows. You'd have to ask
them." His eyes gleamed. "That would be an interesting question
for a necromancer, if you wanted to approach one."</p><p>"The only
necromancers I know of are with their kin," said Harry quietly, his
mind reciting names. <em>Dragonsbane. Pansy. </em>"Dead," he added,
when Joseph looked at him.</p><p>"Oh." Joseph was
still, and Harry wondered again if the Sight didn't tell him about
specific memories, or if he was simply too polite to use it all the
time. "Battle?" he asked a moment later.</p><p>"Yes," Harry said.
"Both of them." Then he turned his head and stared out the window
at the shadows again, with Draco squeezing his hand reassuringly.
Snape read his book, and Joseph softly sang the words to his old
ballad.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>The carriage came down
like a dragon—and the comparison had Harry wincing as soon as he
made it—over Gollrish Y Thie. Harry, surveying it anxiously from
this high up, couldn't see any damage.</p><p>No, that was reserved
for when they approached closely.</p><p>The home of the
Opalline family straddled Snaefell, the highest mountain on the Isle
of Man. Paton had told Harry that there was an illusion of solid
stone over the top of it, so great that a Muggle railroad ran across
it and never noticed any difference between it and the normal stone
of Snaefell. Harry assumed the illusion had been removed for the
benefit of guests, because he could see the skeleton of what had been
a British Red-Gold dragon immediately.</p><p>The carriage swung
around to the west, the direction Harry had approached from with
Paton when he came here to celebrate New Year's Eve with the
Opallines, and he heard Draco gasp. Harry didn't blame him. He was
staring himself.</p><p>Fire had blackened the
great slab of stone on which Gollrish Y Thie sat; Harry thought he
could still see wisps of steam rising from it. Melted snow and
equally blackened earth lay beyond that, and small pits that Harry
thought might be where magical defenses had burst open, or perhaps
where the dragon's claws had gripped. The corpses were gone, but
that didn't surprise him. The Opallines would take care of their
own first. The house itself seemed to have escaped damage. Perhaps
British Red-Gold bones were resistant to its fire. No children played
around its gates, though.</p><p>Though Harry hadn't
thought anyone had announced their coming to the Opallines, someone
was waiting for them. Harry knew him by his height and his ragged
white-blond hair, not yet grown in completely from where he had cut
it in mourning. He had difficulty in waiting until the carriage
settled to the stone like a diving bird before he opened the door and
advanced to meet him, holding out his hand.</p><p>Paton gripped his
wrist and nodded to him. "Harry," he murmured.</p><p>"You knew I was
coming?" Harry asked, studying the Opalline family head's face
closely. It showed signs of weariness, but that wouldn't be
unusual. Paton would have traveled from Italy to home in the last
day, and the travel must have worn him out, to say nothing of what
had happened to his blood.</p><p>"We felt your magic
the moment you left the shades protecting the Sanctuary," said
Paton simply. "It has grown very much greater. Did you know that?"
He studied Harry with a trace of the gentle curiosity that Harry
remembered. "It rings like a song or a chorus of hunting horns."</p><p>Harry blinked.
"I—didn't know that." It was true that most of the last webs
he'd put on his power had been released in the Sanctuary, webs of
distrust and insecurity about his own magic and his right to hit
other people with the strength of that magic. He hadn't realized it
would make that great a difference. Possibly the magic in the
Sanctuary had damped his own, or he had become used to it so
gradually he didn't notice.</p><p>"It's true you
positively <em>stink</em> of roses," Draco volunteered.</p><p>Paton chuckled, then
sobered. That brought home to Harry, more than the mere sight of his
face, the gravity of what had happened here.</p><p>"Thank you for
coming, Harry," he said quietly. "Two dozen dead—we are reeling
from the blow." He moved his hand over his face, and the glamour he
usually wore faded, revealing the swirls of color that marked his Old
Blood tattoos. "Calibrid is working herself into exhaustion to
soothe the grief of those around her, and to forget what happened to
Doncan while she put the dragon to sleep."</p><p>"I can tell her that
he's still alive," said Harry. "He did want to die, but we
talked, and he changed his mind."</p><p>"<em>Did</em> he?"</p><p>Harry met Paton's
eyes calmly. He wasn't sure that Doncan would want him discussing
the details of their conversation with anyone else. "Yes, he did."</p><p>Paton seemed to know
when not to pry into his son's privacy. He inclined his head. "You
are welcome, all of you," he said. "We can offer you food and
drink. Many of my relatives who don't know what else to do have
been cooking, and the food provides a good distraction for the rest
of the family."</p><p>"I am a Seer,"
Joseph said. "If some of those most grief-stricken would consent to
see me, I may be able to help."</p><p>"I have some healing
potions with me, if you have wounded," said Snape.</p><p>"And I will lend my
magic to do whatever I can," Harry finished.</p><p>Draco vibrated at
Harry's side, but didn't add anything. Harry squeezed his hand,
to let him know that he didn't go unappreciated, and looked up to
see Paton nodding at them all.</p><p>"We need those and
more," he said. "Beyond the dead and the survivors of the dead,
we have others wounded by the dragon's fire, though none so
severely as Doncan was. Healing potions—we do not have enough, and
our few skilled brewers are coming from Siberia and have not yet
arrived. Harry, the approach of your magic was soothing some tempers
from a distance, but inside, the effect may be greater."</p><p>Harry nodded, and
followed Paton inside Gollrish Y Thie. "I am sorry this happened,
sir," he murmured to Paton's back. "I thought the dragon was
asleep, and safe enough for me to leave."</p><p>"It was not your
fault," Paton said gently, "and ours was not the only loss." He
hesitated for a long moment, then continued, "I assume you have had
<em>no</em> news since you went to the Sanctuary?"</p><p>"None at all,"
said Harry. "What has happened?" He was already bracing himself
for a blow, anything from the Wizengamot passing a resolution to make
Dark magic illegal to Philip Willoughby, one of the parents of the
children he had killed, successfully bringing him to trial.</p><p>Paton sighed through
his nose. "Many things, but the most urgent to your particular
cause is that the Ministry has managed to form a department for the
hunting of werewolves."</p><p>Harry jerked to a
stop. "<em>What</em>?"</p><p>Paton turned and faced
him, his eyes grave. "Yes. Apparently, it had been tried before,
and rejected. Then Amelia Bones, who is, after all, Head of the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, approached the Heads of the
other Departments within the Ministry. It seems there's an old rule
that all of them, acting in concert, can overrule the Minister of
Magic. Traditionally, of course, there's too much rivalry and
professional jealousy among them to permit something like that to
happen. But the werewolf panic is higher than we estimated, or
Minister Scrimgeour has angered all of them at once."</p><p>"Or
Bones promised them something," Harry murmured, remembering the
panicked woman he had seen after the biting of Elder Gillyflower.</p><p>"Perhaps," said
Paton. "My relatives who work in the Ministry were not able to
learn the whole of it. But the Department for the Control and
Suppression of Deadly Beasts has now formed. They sent out hunters a
few days ago, with the full moon. Two werewolves were killed,
according to the <em>Daily Prophet</em>."</p><p>"Did they say
where?" Harry's throat felt tight enough to constrict his
breathing.</p><p>"London," said
Paton, as Harry had almost known he would. "A pack in London, one
of the fringe ones who live close to the Muggles. The charge was that
a rogue werewolf had attacked a Department hunter, and when they
killed him, another leaped at them, so they killed her as well."</p><p>Harry finally managed
to swallow. "And did they happen to give a name of the pack, or a
name of the pack leader?"</p><p>"Loki," said Paton
quietly.</p><p>Shock swept through
Harry in a windstorm, though in one part of his being, the one that
expected bad things to happen, he was not surprised. And then came
rage like a firestorm, such that he was hard put to keep his skin
from burning.</p><p><em>You've pushed me
too far, </em>he thought, aiming the condemnation in the direction of
the Ministry. <em>I wanted to remain poised between both of you,
taking neither side, but now I have to take the werewolves'. Good
luck to you in weathering this war now.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 8*: Downrush</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>And now there is a shitstorm brewing. Yay.</p><p><strong>Chapter Six: Downrush</strong></p><p>He felt the boy's
magic the moment he returned to the world, because, of course, there
was no way Harry Potter could ever be <em>quiet.</em></p><p>Falco was meditating
in his sea eagle form on top of a church steeple, most of his mind
tucked and wandering in contemplation while a small shard floated on
the surface to alert him to happenings in the world, including a gun
going off anywhere close at hand. One disadvantage of having a large
and noticeable Animagus form was that Muggles were likely to choose
to shoot at him, for no greater reason than the pleasure of bringing
down something unusual.</p><p>He felt Harry's
magic as light, a fiery star rising in the east. Falco spread his
wings and gave a little hiss of displeasure when the sentry shard
summoned him. <em>No sense of decorum at all, </em>he thought, as he
took off and turned east. <em>No sense of quietude. He is a child.</em></p><p>Lord-level magic ought
never to go into the hands of a child. Falco mourned the fate that
had made it so.</p><p>He had been to
Godric's Hollow, to study the twining magical signatures there so
that he could better understand his opponent in the fight for the
balance of the world. What he had found had puzzled him, but he had
understood it after some study.</p><p>Most wizards had
natural barriers on their magic, walls blocking off the deeper parts
of their magical core, beyond which they could not press. Some
wizards could not become Animagi after years of study, for example.
Others could not cast the Unforgivables, or could not cast Dark Arts
pain curses, or could not stay seated on a broom well enough to play
a game of Quidditch. Most people accepted their talents and their
interests as limitations, but those barriers played their part. And a
good thing, too. When a wizard pushed beyond them in a tide of
extreme emotion, he might wield Lord-level power, but only for
approximately two moments. Then his body, unused to accepting such a
flood of magic, would destroy itself. These days, most wizards only
breached the barriers when they were trying to both commit suicide
and take a hated enemy with them.</p><p>Falco would have
considered what happened at Godric's Hollow the greatest of
coincidences if not for the fact that a prophecy was guiding it. That
Voldemort's Killing Curse had been strong enough to smash Harry's
barriers but not strong enough to dominate the magic that lay beyond
them, as it was in most cases; that the magic had defended its host
the only way it knew how, by forming into a mirror and reflecting the
<em>Avada Kedavra</em> back at its maker; that the rebounded Killing
Curse had struck Voldemort just as he was casting the second one at
Harry's brother; and that that second curse had penetrated enough
to leave a curse scar but no other mark, sparing Connor Potter's
life, had Falco shaking his head.</p><p>It was what the
prophecy had demanded. It was what fate said should happen. But it
still made Falco think that the whole thing was so unlikely that it
should not have been allowed to happen in the first place. He would
certainly have arranged matters differently if he had been in charge.</p><p>He had read the
magical signatures, and used a spell that would pull images of the
past from the walls and allow him to see what had happened. The magic
that saved Harry's and Connor's lives should then have killed
them immediately afterwards, as it roared through Harry's body in
an unstoppable flood of fire and then consumed Connor. But instead it
had swirled into the shadowy image of a serpent and coiled around
Harry's cot, guarding him. The child in the memory had smiled and
put out a hand to stroke the serpent's head, giggling when it
flicked its tongue out to touch his cheek.</p><p>Falco could only
surmise that Harry's barriers being broken so young had given him a
chance at survival. It was not, for obvious reasons, something that
happened to children normally. His body wasn't used to containing
any usual amount of magic, the way that adult wizards' bodies were.
So it had adapted itself to carrying Lord-level magic, and his power,
strong enough that it had almost a personality of its own for those
first few years, had helped, madly glad to be free from the walls
that would otherwise have imprisoned it forever.</p><p>Falco had seen, and
could feel pity for, the terror that had consumed Albus and Lily
Potter when they realized what had happened. There was even the
chance that Harry himself could have been the fulfillment of the
prophecy, if they did not chain it so that it would not shift. And,
of course, they had hated the Dark edge of Harry's magic, surmising
rightly that it came from Voldemort, that the Dark Lord had given
some of his abilities, most dangerously the <em>absorbere</em> gift, to
the baby.</p><p>He <em>did</em> wonder
that they had not ever sensed the other Dark edge of magic lingering
in the house, but he understood why they might have ignored or denied
it. Or simply not felt it; the overwhelming evidence was that Harry's
magic had blanketed it from their notice.</p><p>But now he understood,
and other than wondering if this prophecy might yet end in a tumble
of coincidence as unlikely as that which had produced its beginning,
Falco had no reason to wonder about Harry Potter's beginning
anymore. He <em>did</em> know that the child's birth was natural, but
his sudden acquisition of magic was unnatural, and he really should
not have been cluttering up the world, still.</p><p>And now Harry had come
back, blazing and blaring, as though he were the only wizard in the
world.</p><p>Falco lifted his wings
and spiraled higher, turning to the west, towards which the flare had
traveled. He supposed he must go along and watch Harry. Soon, the
watching would end. It would be time for him to take the field, and
to do what he must to keep the balance, a cause greater than his
life.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>He felt its return as
a thick, stinking, choking mist, spreading throughout the clean air
and hurting him. He snarled and sank back into himself, curled and
coiled, wrapped around the treasure that had sustained him.</p><p>One of the <em>treasures</em>.</p><p>Then he lifted his
head, he, Lord Voldemort, and sought out the direction of the magic,
his nose twitching. It came from the east, thick choking magic,
horrible dusty magic, the reek of tombs. It was Harry come back, and
he might hunt and inflict another punishment on the wounded hunter.</p><p>He lowered his head
and rested it again in the soft, cool dirt. There was only darkness
around him here, no light to mock his blindness. He would rest in
this burrow, coiled around the cup, and he would grow strong. He
would find a way to heal the wound that kept bleeding his magic away
from him.</p><p>And he lay in a burrow
where no one would think to look for him, save his Thorn Bitch when
she woke. This was his property, uniquely his property. He closed his
eyes and felt the cup's smooth sides beneath his hands, his fingers
spidering over the badgers carved on the handles. He felt an
answering echo from deep inside, the whispers of a fragment of
immortality.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry went into the
bedroom of the first burn victim determined not to think of the
Ministry for a few moments. <em>Think of the wounded, </em>he
instructed himself firmly. <em>Think of how you can help them. </em></p><p>That first victim was
a child with bandages wrapped around her burned face, a girl Harry
thought he remembered vaguely from the Opallines' New Year's
celebration. Sitting by her bed, softly reading to her, was a tall
woman he knew he remembered: Angelica Griffinsnest, Paton's first
wife, who had separated amicably from him. Harry supposed the little
girl was probably her granddaughter. He winced; he could only imagine
the pain she must feel right now. She was Doncan's mother.</p><p>Angelica looked up
when Harry came in, and then nodded and held out her hand to him.
Harry clasped her wrist, secretly impressed that she didn't flinch
from his supposedly overwhelming aura of magic. Perhaps concern for
the little girl kept her from doing so.</p><p>"Greetings," she
said. "Paton told you what has happened to Oriela?" Her gaze was
anxious as she turned back to the bed, and Harry could see why. The
girl seemed to have retreated into herself, if the dull glaze of her
eyes between the bandages was any indication.</p><p>"He did," said
Harry softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "That she had
given up on living since the burning." He hated talking about
Oriela as if she weren't there, but she wasn't reacting to
anything. Harry supposed she <em>wasn't</em> there.</p><p>Angelica nodded, her
curly hair rustling around her. "Some of the others were burned
worse than she is, but she's the youngest." Love bled through her
voice as she leaned over and picked up the girl's hand. Harry had
to look away for a moment; part of him was still wracked with bitter
envy whenever he saw parents acting around a child like that. "She
knows that she won't ever look the same way again, and—we
shouldn't have put it quite that way. The Opallines try to give
their children to reality young." Angelica's voice glinted with
frustration for a moment. "In this case, it was exactly the wrong
thing to do."</p><p>Harry nodded. "I
think I might be able to help."</p><p>Angelica gave him an
intense, curious glance. "You're a Legilimens, I know. Paton told
me. Will you go into her mind and bring her back?"</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"I would only want to do that with someone I knew well," he said.
"Besides, she's so deep in shock that I might hurt her." He
licked his lips, and told himself that just because he hadn't fully
explored the limits of this gift didn't mean he could avoid using
it to help. "I'm going to sing to her instead."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>But Harry was already
fixing his eyes on Oriela's face, and opening his mouth.</p><p>He wasn't sure what
would come out. The phoenix song had sounded different each time he
sang it. Harry thought it adapted itself to the circumstances, rather
than his consciously choosing a sound for it. He barely remembered
the music he had made in the hospital wing after Fawkes's fall on
Midwinter.</p><p>And this time, the
phoenix song was gentle.</p><p>Harry didn't try to
control it; he let the notes swirl out from his lips and go where
they would, other than keeping his mind focused on the goal of
bringing Oriela back from her catatonia. The song itself warbled and
coaxed, dipping almost into inaudibility on a few occasions, then
rising into a soaring spire of triumph. Harry found he could imagine
this as a song that the phoenix might sing to coax the sun into
rising, or a flower to come through the last of the snow in spring.</p><p>It did not force. It
did not push. It simply danced, and showed off how beautiful the
world was, and asked the listener if she really wanted to give that
up. Harry nearly lost himself in a sweet, chortling cascade that
soared so high falling out of it was physically painful. He caught
himself with his hand on the bed and blinked, but he didn't stop
singing.</p><p>Flames abruptly sprang
up along his arms, blue ones. Angelica hissed at him, something about
not bringing fire near a girl who had been so badly burned, but Harry
didn't let himself be distracted. The song had called the fire for
a reason. He wasn't righteously angry, so it had no reason to
emerge otherwise.</p><p>He held out his arms,
and the blue flames crept down to the end of his fingers in one case
and to the end of his wrist in the other. They blazed steadily there,
pointing at Oriela, giving her, Harry realized abruptly, an example
of a fire that would purify instead of hurt her.</p><p>He did not know how
long he sat there, flame and song both outstretched, doing nothing to
tug her back, but offering her the chance to come out of her coma and
see what beauty was all about.</p><p>Oriela
stirred.</p><p>Angelica made a sound
that might have been a sob. Harry heard his voice lift exultantly,
and for a moment his body seemed to break apart into light as long
ago, on a certain Walpurgis Night, it had broken apart into darkness.
Golden sunbursts pushed through his skin and struck the walls. He
felt a sense of involuntary, instinctive hope, the same kind he felt
when he saw the sunrise, regardless of how he might feel about the
Light or Light magic. The dawn was coming. He smelled roses, or
something like them, and the air was thick and warm and very sweet.</p><p>Oriela put out a hand.
Harry clasped her fingers with his.</p><p>She gave a little
shudder when she felt the tickling warmth of the flames, but she
didn't try to pull away. She leaned nearer, and then her lips moved
under the bandages, whispering a word Harry couldn't make out.</p><p>He brought the song to
a sliding, swooping end. Oriela stared at him with living eyes for a
moment, then looked beyond him at Angelica.</p><p>"Mwarree?" she
asked, which Harry suspected was Manx for "grandma."</p><p>Angelica leaned
forward, answering in the same language, her hands fluttering around
Oriela's body to avoid touching the burns. Harry sat back, and
smiled, and let the flames coil back into his body and his skin snap
shut over them.</p><p><em>Perhaps I don't
have to learn how to control this magic after all, </em>he thought. <em>It
does well enough when it guides itself.</em></p><p>And this had settled
him, grounded him, reminded him of what he really was. He was angry
about the Ministry, but he would go in angry and determined, rather
than simply raging. What he wanted was to bring about circumstances
much like these for the werewolves, not to destroy.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco had to admit, he
appreciated the way that Harry had decided to take this in stride.</p><p>When he emerged after
coaxing a few badly burned Opallines back from the edge of sinking
into themselves, and, apparently, letting the flow of his magic
soothe a few more, he nodded to Draco. "Shall we go to the
Ministry?" he asked. The words were light, cool. The green eyes
were not.</p><p>Draco smirked and
followed him, walking at his right shoulder. For his birthday, he had
given Harry a copy of a book about pureblood rituals and traditions
that his own parents had presented him with on his sixteenth
birthday, feeling that Harry needed to know about them, too, a year
away from his becoming an adult. That book had mentioned in passing
that the companions of those Lords and Ladies who actually treated
other people like human beings had often walked at their right
shoulders. The book had debated whether it was any companion that did
so, on a rotating basis, or only the most favored, the most
necessary, the closest to being an equal—in terms of influence if
not in terms of power.</p><p>Draco thought,
although the author of the book didn't, that it was, of course, the
most necessary.</p><p>They arrived in the
courtyard of the Opalline home—which, frankly, made him uneasy with
the bony structure of it—and Draco looked around, noting the
absence of both Professor Snape and the Seer. "We're leaving
without them?" he asked, trusting Harry to know who he meant.</p><p>Harry walked ahead
without looking back. "Yes. We are." He turned to face Draco
then, one eyebrow raised. "Unless you really think that I can trust
Professor Snape to behave in the Ministry?"</p><p>Silently, Draco shook
his head. He was surprised and dismayed to note the changes in Snape.
Only Lucius had taught him more about self-control. Draco had seen
his Head of House walk through many trying circumstances and not lose
his temper. He supposed his losing it now had something to do with
the Sanctuary, but if he couldn't control himself, he had to expect
to be left behind.</p><p>Harry nodded. "We'll
go alone. But first, I need you to tell me what my magic feels like.
I can't feel it, myself."</p><p>"I'm not the best
person to ask," Draco mused, his eyes fixed on Harry. "I had time
to get used to it, so it isn't bursting on my senses like Mr.
Opalline described. But it does stink of roses, Harry. I meant that."</p><p>"Hm." Harry gave a
long, slow blink. "That could be a problem. I'll want to surprise
my enemies <em>some</em> of the time. What about this?" He did
something Draco could barely sense, like flinging a cloth up.</p><p>The scent of roses
lessened considerably. Draco nodded his approval. Then he asked,
because he wanted to see if he was right, "Harry, are you going to
walk into the Ministry and <em>then</em> unleash your magic at
everybody?"</p><p>"Good guess, Draco,"
Harry said. "Are you sure that you still want to come with me?"</p><p>"I wouldn't <em>miss</em>
this," Draco said, and stepped forward firmly to take Harry's
arm. He knew that the distance between the Isle of Man and London was
too large to be covered in one Apparition jump, and he still couldn't
Apparate himself. Harry would have to Side-Along Apparate him a few
times, a process Draco hated. He comforted himself with the knowledge
that there would be flustered Ministry officials at the end of it.</p><p><em>And an angry Harry.
</em>Draco did not mind seeing an angry Harry. It confirmed his own
beliefs, it comforted him with the knowledge that Harry had learned
to be a warrior instead of a peace-maker, and it made Harry look
attractive enough that only in the midst of his laughing, exultant
joy did Draco want to bed him more.</p><p>"Ready, then."
Harry jumped, pulling Draco along for the ride, while Draco thought
firmly of the Ministry and not of his nearly lost lunch.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>They arrived precisely
in the middle of the alley with the disused telephone box, which
Harry remembered from his first visit to the Ministry with Snape,
when he'd been asked to register as a Parselmouth. Harry stepped
forward, with a swift glance at Draco to make sure he was well and
not trembling too badly after the Apparition, and punched the keys
that spelled out the word "magic."</p><p>The welcome witch's
voice spoke, asking them to state their names and business. Harry
thought for a moment, wondering how to phrase it, then decided that
inconspicuous was best. He had approached the Ministry with his magic
tightly under wraps, after all.</p><p>"Harry and Draco
Malfoy," he said. "Here to see Amelia Bones."</p><p>The telephone box
whirred, and two silver badges dropped into Harry's waiting hand.
He tossed Draco's to him, then paused in the middle of fastening
his own to his robes. The magic on the telephone box had obviously
misinterpreted his words. The badge said HARRY MALFOY.</p><p>Draco snickered.</p><p>"Oh, shut it,"
Harry muttered, and used his magic to blur the last name into
unrecognizability. They stepped into the box, which shut behind them
and, after a moment, lowered them into the ground.</p><p>Harry kept his eyes
half-closed on the way down, pondering what he would say. He knew how
he <em>wanted</em> the conversation to go—his demanding an apology,
Bones offering the apology and the immediate rescinding of all
werewolf hunting—but he knew it wouldn't actually happen that
way. She had pushed through a Department to hunt werewolves. She was
desperate. He wondered if it was only fear, or if someone had
pressured her, or if she stood to gain political power out of this,
or if it were a combination of all three.</p><p><em>Well, I'll start
by letting my magic flare, and see what she might betray. After that,
I'll speak as openly as I can, to let her know that this </em>does
not please <em>me. And then I'll go to Scrimgeour. I still don't
know what he'll do in this.</em></p><p>That Scrimgeour hadn't
interfered so far, however, suggested that his hands were tied. And
Harry knew that he might be angry at him for using magic inside the
Ministry. They had had an agreement. Harry could use the means that
other wizards did to influence action in the Ministry—political
power, money, persuasion—but he wouldn't use magic. It was
Scrimgeour's position that Lord-level magic, because it wasn't
available to ordinary wizards and witches, was unfair to use in a
place largely devoted to ordinary wizards and witches.</p><p><em>But I don't think
the Ministry is what he wants it to be, and it never will be if some
of its excesses aren't curbed. Right now, they're helping
ordinary witches and wizards at the expense of some who happen to be
lycanthropes. If Scrimgeour denies that, then I'll refrain from
using magic in the Ministry as long as I can, but I'll be on the
opposite side from him.</em></p><p>The lift clicked to a
stop, and they stepped out into the Atrium. Draco blinked at the
fountain of a wizard, surrounded by a witch and magical creatures all
gazing adoringly at him. Harry ignored it. It stung his temper, and
offended him on several different levels.</p><p>The guard waiting by
the gates into the rest of the Ministry was a woman with gray hair
and an incurious face. She just watched them as they approached, and
Harry congratulated himself. He must have done a good job of wrapping
up his magic if she sensed nothing out of the ordinary.</p><p>"Welcome to the
Ministry of Magic," she recited, in a fast, dull drone. "My name
is Erica. Let me register your wands for you." She reached out an
expectant hand, and Draco gave her his.</p><p>Harry waited until it
was handed back, then shook his head with a woebegone expression when
she looked at him. "I can't," he said. "Sorry. I just came
back from a long journey, and I left it with my trunks."</p><p>Erica frowned and
started to say something, but then caught her breath. Harry realized
that she'd noticed the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. In a
moment, life and animation returned to her face.</p><p>"You're him,"
she whispered. "Harry Pott—the one who used to be Harry Potter?"</p><p>Harry nodded, wary.
She could do anything from demand an autograph to let them sneak in
to summon other people to see the Boy-Who-Lived. With Harry's luck,
she would turn out to be related to one of the children he'd
killed, and would delay them.</p><p>"It's such an
<em>honor</em> to meet you," said Erica. "Imagine, you coming into
the Ministry this way, like any normal person!" She clasped her
hands and beamed at him.</p><p>Harry saw a way to
take advantage of the hero-worship in her eyes. "Yes," he said,
lowering his voice and leaning forward. "About that. I'm not here
with magic blaring because this is a <em>secret mission</em>, Erica."</p><p>"Really?" Erica's
eyes shone. "It <em>is</em>?" She looked like a young girl, and
Harry wondered if he had misjudged her age. On the other hand, being
on the gates into the Ministry and having nothing to do but register
wands all day might make any excitement enough to reduce her to
babbling.</p><p>Harry nodded
seriously. "No one can know that we're going into the Ministry
right now. We have <em>enemies</em>." He stressed the word, and saw
Erica's eyes widen in delighted comprehension. "So can you let us
through, and not tell anyone that I don't have my wand?" He
stared up at her from beneath his fringe, and waited.</p><p>"Of <em>course!</em>"
Erica opened the gates for them with shaking hands. "This is
wonderful. <em>You're</em> wonderful. This is so wonderful. I promise
I won't tell anyone, I promise, I promise—"</p><p>Harry managed to
incline his head and look grateful, or, at least, grateful enough to
satisfy her. They were through the gates in a few moments, and making
for the lifts. Draco was chuckling at his back.</p><p>"Someone has a
worshipper," he said.</p><p>"I could have a lot
more, if I wanted to try," said Harry, and shook his head to get
rid of the uncomfortable prickling sensation that Erica's fervent
gaze had given him. "Now, let's get to the second floor."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry let Draco go in
front of him when he got to Amelia Bones's door, and chat and flirt
and laugh with the Auror standing guard there, enough to get him to
lower his guard and at least ask Bones if she'd see them. Harry
himself remained behind Draco, head bowed as if shy, his trainer
scuffing the floor to add to the image.</p><p>"Tell her that it's
very important," Draco said, near the end of the conversation. "I'm
acting as my father's messenger in this."</p><p>"I'll tell her,"
the young Auror promised, and then opened the door to speak to Bones.</p><p>Draco wandered back to
Harry. It was no surprise to Harry to glance up and see him looking
pleased with himself, though his smile lessened a bit when he looked
at Harry. "You could at least look as if you were jealous of me for
flirting with someone else," he muttered.</p><p>"But you don't
mean anything by it," said Harry, wondering why Draco wanted him to
be jealous.</p><p>"Neither did Nina,
and you got jealous of that," Draco pointed out.</p><p>Harry flushed. He
hadn't liked feeling that way. "She could See your soul," he
said, "and help you in ways I can't. That isn't true this
time."</p><p>Draco, who now
appeared extremely smug, had just opened his mouth to reply when the
Auror leaned back around the door again and said, "Mr. Malfoy?
She'll see you now."</p><p>"Excellent," said
Draco, fitting the haughty pureblood mask to his face so fast that
Harry blinked in surprise, and he led Harry through the door and into
an office that seemed, to Harry, to be even more crowded with
wizarding photographs than Scrimgeour's old office had been. In
this case, though, they were mostly Aurors posing with captured
criminals, who seemed to be fighting like mad to get away.</p><p>Amelia Bones herself
sat behind her desk, a formidable, gray-haired woman Harry had only
seen in the Wizengamot before. She had a straight back and direct
eyes that fixed on Draco the moment he entered.</p><p>"What do you want?"
She sounded wary but interested. "Has Lucius Malfoy actually sent
his son to make peace with the Light elements in the Ministry? That
would be a first, for him to work with us instead of trying to
corrupt us."</p><p>Draco shook his head.
"I think you misunderstand me, Madam. I do have a message, but it's
much simpler than that. Look behind me." He bowed and stepped away.</p><p>Harry looked up at
Madam Bones and released the muffling cloth on his magic.</p><p>Bones gasped and
sagged back in her seat. Harry himself didn't feel much difference,
other than the removal of the barrier, but Draco put out a shaky
hand. Harry turned to look at him. His face was pale, awed, his eyes
wide with something that might have been desire. Harry told himself
that was natural, the reaction of many wizards and witches to
Lord-level magic, and turned back to Bones.</p><p>She obviously didn't
feel his magic as a pleasant sensation, like the scent of roses. She
had her hands clenched so she wouldn't cower, Harry thought, and
she was striving to keep her chin up while she shook.</p><p>"What do you <em>want</em>?"
she whispered.</p><p>"I came to tell you
that I'm angry about this Department for the Control and
Suppression of Deadly Beasts," said Harry, his voice so steady it
surprised even him. It was stone on the surface, but the cold anger
beneath that stone was obvious to anyone who listened. Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw one of Bones's office walls slowly icing.
"I have not taken a single side so far because I think that both
the Ministry and the werewolves are wrong in how they go about waging
this conflict—and while I am bound to help the werewolves, I am not
bound to violent revolution. But now, you have done this. What am I
to think? It seems as if you are playing right into the hands of the
werewolf packs. You're hunting them, making the dead into martyrs
and giving the live ones the idea that they <em>must</em> strike back,
because you will give them no mercy, and they should at least die
fighting. There will be people who might have used political means
against you but will grow angry now. Laura Gloryflower, for instance.
Her niece is a werewolf, and she is <em>puellaris</em>, sworn to defend
her children whatever comes. Do you really want a lioness breaking
your neck for what you have done?"</p><p><em>How could you be so
stupid? </em>he asked in his head, but he was being diplomatic. <em>Do
you want to tug the wizarding world into another maelstrom, divide us
with Voldemort still out there? Fenrir Greyback is dead, but Loki
might join the Dark Lord if he thought that was the only way to gain
protection.</em></p><p>"We had no choice!"
Bones snapped, her hands clenching harder than ever. "I had
received threatening letters. We all have. It's true that no Elder
of the Wizengamot has been bitten in the last two full moons, but
those letters—they promised a revolution. They promised blood."</p><p>"Can I see one?"
Harry asked. His voice was still smooth and steady and cold, but he
was thinking over the terms of his promise to Loki. <em>I bound him
and his pack not to bite anyone for the full moons of July and
August. I didn't make them promise not to write threatening
letters. Damn it!</em></p><p>Bones, never taking
her eyes off him, fumbled in her desk, opened a drawer, and tossed a
folded letter to him. Harry opened it. The handwriting was
unfamiliar, but the pawprint at the bottom, the only signature, did
rather announce that it came from a werewolf pack, and the phrasing
was similar to the phrases that Loki had used in the letter he sent
Harry.</p><p>He skimmed the letter.
<em>Rivers of blood will flow…no wizard allowed to hide…wizarding
world made to pay for its crimes against werewolves…call us
crossbreeds…engage in a contest where strength and speed alone
matter, and the strength and speed are all on our side…</em></p><p>Harry looked up. "I
fail to see how threatening letters made you feel you had <em>no</em>
choice but to hunt wizards like beasts."</p><p>"They are not
wizards," said Bones, her eyes and face full of passion. "They
are animals. They become so from the first moment they take the bite.
It <em>alters</em> them. I mourn a friend lost to them, because she is
dead, the Emily Gillyflower I knew. They will run wild and bite
others even under the influence of Wolfsbane. I know that. The
Evergreen who bit Emily was under the influence of Wolfsbane. He
<em>chose</em> her as a target. Saying that werewolves will become
docile because they register and take the potion is wrong."</p><p>"You seem to forget
they can pass that curse on even as you hunt them for doing so,"
Harry remarked, tossing the letter back to her. "Werewolves can
<em>make more of themselves.</em> And they'll have the motive to do
so if you keep pushing this hunting, and the new werewolves will have
to join the other side, or go completely rogue from either, because
you offer no compromise. Didn't you think of that at all?"</p><p>Looking into her eyes,
Harry saw that she hadn't. She was terrified. Fear ruled her.</p><p>He couldn't control
her through fear, either. She might do what he wanted for a little
while, but then something or someone else would scare her more, and
she would go back to her old ways.</p><p>"They'll die
eventually," Bones said fiercely. "There's been no evidence
that the curse can exist apart from a werewolf, if it ever could. We
kill them all, and there's no one to pass the curse on. If you had
remained away like you were supposed to—"</p><p>She cut herself off,
but Harry had heard it. He leaned forward. "If I had remained away
like I was supposed to?" he asked mildly. "What?"</p><p>Bones wavered for a
moment, but her anger, or maybe her self-righteousness, seemed to
overcome even her terror of him, and she rallied. "We would have
hunted most of them to death," she said defiantly. "There's a
spell that can let us find them in human form, now, that tracks the
beast within them. We don't have to confine the hunting to the full
moon anymore."</p><p>Harry's heart gave a
single, hard beat. <em>They could find Hawthorn. And Wilmot.</em></p><p>"I do wonder,"
Bones went on in a musing tone, "what that spell would say when
applied to you. <em>Comperio lupum!</em>" She flicked her wand, which
she must have pulled out of the drawer at the same time as the
letter, at him.</p><p>Harry, caught in a
calm rage, let the spell take effect. A blue glow formed around him,
and then faded into his skin. Bones looked incredibly disappointed.</p><p>"That surprises you,
doesn't it?" Harry asked her, in a voice gone so flat that he saw
Draco edging away from him out of the corner of his eye. "It shocks
you that I could fight for the rights of werewolves without being one
myself."</p><p>Bones had her hands
clenched again. Harry hoped vaguely that she might snap her wand. "It
does not matter," she said. "You will be defeated in the end.
Hunted down like the rest of them. Laws can change. Departments can
get created. Restrictions on the use of magic can pass. A restriction
on the use of dangerous and destructive gifts, for example. <em>Absorbere</em>
abilities, perhaps?"</p><p>Harry stared at her in
silence for a long moment. <em>Does she know what's she dealing
with? No, it seems she doesn't.</em></p><p><em>Time to tell her.</em></p><p>He let his magic rise
around him, the phoenix flame burst through his skin, his confidence
shine in his eyes. Bones cowered again, but Harry suspected she would
tremble before any strong opponent at the moment. What was important
was to give her words to remember, so that she would know he wasn't
just any strong opponent.</p><p>"I'm not who you
used to oppose," he told her, quietly. "I'm something much
worse than that. I'm someone who <em>is</em> going to win this
struggle, because I will never give up. I've tried to refrain from
stepping on the Ministry's free will. Now, I don't care, because
the Ministry has both broken the wills of others, and encouraged
those others to enter a situation of war in which <em>more</em> people
will suffer confinement and torture and oppression. No. No more. I
will try to keep this a bloodless revolution, but I promise you a
violent one. In the end, I aim for all the old preconceptions to be
snapped, for people to think instead of reacting in fear, for
werewolves to have as much right to justice, including being tried
for their crimes, as everyone else. We've always tried to force any
dangerous situation to go back to normal, to stay safe and the same.
I want <em>nothing</em> to be the same when I'm done."</p><p>Bones shook, lowering
her head to bury it in her arms. Harry turned on his heel and made
his way past Draco, who scrambled to follow him.</p><p>"We'll visit
Scrimgeour next," Harry said, in a voice he hardly recognized as
his own. "I want to know how much of this he knew about, and why he
hasn't done anything to stop the hunting so far."</p><p>"A moment," said
Draco.</p><p>Harry turned around,
wondering if the young Auror who guarded Bones's office was aiming
his wand at them. Draco, though, caught his chin in one hand and
leaned forward to kiss him. Harry welcomed the kiss eagerly, and
Draco stepped away from him too soon, looking less smug than proud.</p><p>"That was
wonderful," he said.</p><p>"Glad you think so."
Harry smiled grimly as he headed for the lifts again. "I suspect
Scrimgeour won't."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus felt Harry
coming, of course. Who wouldn't?</p><p>The wave of magic
traveling through the halls of the Ministry felt to him like a
pounding pulse, the steady push of sap up through the trees in
spring. Rufus had learned from his Muggleborn grandmother, whose
father had been a forester, that such a force was enormously
powerful. It brought life back to the world. But it was also
relentless. Once the sap started moving, nothing could stop it.</p><p>And that was Harry,
now, apparently.</p><p>Rufus was waiting,
with his hands folded and Percy Weasley behind him, when Wilmot
opened the door for Harry. Behind him came only young Malfoy—and no
one else. Rufus raised his eyebrows, and almost asked where Snape
was. That Harry was here without him would have made a story, he was
sure.</p><p>But it would also have
put off the main point of why Harry had come to see him, and that was
something Rufus would not do. He kept his eyes fastened on Harry's
and waited.</p><p>Harry's face shone.
His eyes shone. The air around him rippled now and then, seeming to
reflect light, as if it were a sheet of tin only sometimes turned so
that it caught the sun. Rufus wondered if he was looking on the young
<em>vates</em> or a young Lord. He was sure that Harry, when playing a
<em>vates</em> role, had had a more thoughtful look on his face in the
past.</p><p><em>So he has been
pushed too far. He has crossed a line he would not otherwise have
crossed. I have heard that a </em>vates <em>is not compelled to care
about the wills of those who actively trample freedom. He may be
required to defend, rather than attack anyone, and oppose only those
actions that hurt others, but he need not hold himself back as far as
Harry does. Or did.</em></p><p>They had an active
<em>vates</em> on their hands now, Rufus supposed, rather than a
reactive one.</p><p>He had known this day
would come. It was the reason he had begun doing the research on
<em>vates</em> and the wizards who had tried to achieve the title. What
he had learned had told him that Harry could be more formidable, and
thus more of a threat to the Ministry, than he had been so far.</p><p><em>That day has come.</em></p><p>"I need to know what
you know about this," Harry said. "And why you didn't try to
stop them."</p><p>Rufus gave him the
truth. "I knew nothing about the Department until it was created, a
day before the full moon. And I've talked with the Department
Heads. All of them are united against me, in agreement with Amelia. I
had thought I managed to recover enough balance after my misstep in
opposing their decrees too openly, but I haven't. They distrust me,
and they have my every move under scrutiny. The only actions I could
take against them would be illegal, and they would have a reason to
call for a vote of no confidence."</p><p>"So you won't
act," Harry said.</p><p>Rufus shook his head.
"No. Not when I <em>know</em> Amelia would become Minister the moment
I was voted down."</p><p>Harry's eyes
narrowed. Then he snorted. "I was going to ask where your
principles are in the face of your citizens being murdered, but
that's unfair. I know exactly where they are."</p><p>Rufus gave a slow nod.
<em>So he is not totally given to irrationality, then, even if he no
longer sees a reason to respect our wills. Interesting. And that will
only make him the more dangerous, of course. Revolutionaries who fall
into the depths of their passion are easier enemies to handle. </em>"Yes.
I favor reform. Amelia would do more and more damage if she became
Minister, and though I suspect a few of the Department Heads would
abandon her inside of a month, what would that month bring? I can do
nothing right now but move slowly. Slowly work myself back into their
good graces, slowly rebuild my support network, slowly convince most
of the Aurors to ally with me instead of with Amelia." <em>And the
Unspeakables</em>, he thought, but he could not say that aloud. The
Unspeakable contacts he had were the most delicate part of this whole
affair. They had approached <em>him</em>, quite unexpectedly. But they
had warned him they would abandon him again if he spoke of them to
anybody. Rufus had never understood the internal politics of the
Department of Mysteries, but he didn't need to understand to do
what they told him.</p><p>"I favor
revolution," Harry said quietly.</p><p>Rufus asked, because
he had to ask. He knew Percy, at least, would ask why he hadn't
asked when this was done. "With yourself as Minister?"</p><p>Harry's eyes flashed
in disgust. "No!" The denial was so vehement that Rufus sat back
in his seat, relaxing for the first time since Harry's entrance.
Harry went on, his voice rushing headlong. "I favor <em>mental</em>
revolution. I favor people having to think about what they're
doing, instead of just jumping to conclusions. I favor people knowing
when something's just a lie, the way the idea of Wolfsbane doing
nothing for werewolves is. I favor getting people to follow my
principles, not <em>me.</em>"</p><p>Rufus sighed. "That
cannot come about suddenly."</p><p>"Probably not,"
said Harry. "But it can come about faster than it has been doing.
And in the meantime, I can protect and defend those who are being
hurt, and work to change minds without compulsion."</p><p>"What weapons will
you use?" Rufus asked.</p><p>Harry looked at him,
let his magic flare around his body, and swept his fringe back from
his face to reveal the lightning bolt scar. It was answer enough.</p><p>"I cannot let you
interfere in the Ministry with magic," Rufus told him.</p><p>"I shall hope that I
don't have to." Harry's voice was polite, but implacable.</p><p>Rufus wished, in deep
frustration, that he had not taken the Minister's office. If he
were still Head of the Aurors, he would enjoy being on Harry's
side, doing everything he could to foil Amelia without letting her
find out it was him, letting his Slytherin cunning and love of risks
that might pay off hugely overtake his Slytherin caution. But he was
Minister, and bound.</p><p>"Then good luck in
those parts of it I can wish you good luck in," said Rufus. <em>The
Boy-Who-Lived and a Lord-level wizard, using his fame and his magic
against us. Merlin, let it not come to war.</em></p><p>"Thank you,
Minister," said Harry. "The same to you." He turned and left
the office, with Malfoy close behind him. Rufus wondered if he had
seen how adoringly young Draco looked at him. Well, he probably knew
the general outline of that adoration, but not the specifics of it.</p><p>Bloody hell, Rufus
could feel something like that stirring in his own belly. The natural
desire to be close to such a source of magic was mingling with the
knowledge that Harry had weapons no one else had ever had, and might
actually be the one <em>moral</em> Lord in several hundred years. Rufus
could imagine a future in which he did follow Harry, and was the
happier for it.</p><p>But this was about
responsibility, not simply personal happiness. And thus he and Harry
had come to a parting of the ways.</p><p>"You did the
honorable thing, sir," Percy said, as if to comfort him.</p><p>Rufus nodded, then
frowned. "Not as honorable as I could have," he muttered. "I
forgot to tell him about the Liberator's letters." He turned to
Percy, but he was already scrabbling for quill and parchment. Rufus
smiled grimly. His enemies couldn't watch Percy's correspondence
as closely as his, since Percy handled so much paperwork.</p><p><em>Let it begin, then.
</em>He lifted his head and met the eyes of his grandmother in the
portrait of her that hung across the room. It seemed that she winked
at him. <em>I'm doing what I know I have to do. There's that
comfort.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Wilmot met them
outside the door, and from his glance, Harry knew he wanted to talk.
He nodded and used his magic to wrap them in a privacy ward. Wilmot
at once leaned closer, and whispered.</p><p>"Did you know that
the hunters are stalking Loki's pack?"</p><p>"Yes, and that
they've developed a spell that tracks werewolves." Harry stared
at him. "Are you all right?"</p><p>The Auror gave him a
strained smile. His blue eyes, Harry knew, were really amber behind
his lenses, and he would have slightly longer teeth than normal from
the full moon nights just past. Merlin knew how Edmund Wilmot had
managed to maintain his job in such a werewolf-paranoid Ministry, but
Harry wanted to see him keep it. "They don't use it in the
Ministry," said Wilmot. "For the most part. People consider it an
insult to be suspected of lycanthropy these days, and would object.
Besides, they have no reason to suspect me. So far."</p><p>Harry nodded, a bit
reassured.</p><p>"Do you know who
died?" Wilmot asked then.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"Only that two werewolves did. I didn't see the <em>Daily Prophet
</em>article, though someone informed me of it."</p><p>"Well, the names
wouldn't have meant anything to you, anyway," said Wilmot. "They
called them by their legal names, not the ones they chose." He
hesitated and swallowed, then said, "It was Loki who told me,
because what happened changes everything."</p><p>Harry felt a rush and
roll and swoop in his stomach, and told himself to stand steady.
"Does it?" he asked.</p><p>Wilmot nodded, his
face shadowed. "Yes. The male werewolf who died was a youngster
named Briar. The female—" He shuddered a bit. "The female was
Gudrun. Loki's mate. An alpha pair of a pack is one heart, one
blood, one breath. Loki's declared vengeance on her murderers,
Harry, in accordance with pack law, and there isn't anything that
will stop him."</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 9*: The Alliance of Sun and Shadow</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>This chapter was late because it's another long-ass one.</p><p><strong>Chapter Seven: The Alliance of Sun and Shadow</strong></p><p>Harry spoke with
McGonagall via the communication spell Charles had taught all of them
the moment he was out of the Ministry. The news of Loki's mate had
prompted him to put his plans in motion sooner than he would have
liked. When he had left Bones, and then Scrimgeour, he had envisioned
having at least a month, until school began, to pull everyone
together. Now, he knew that would be impossible, and it was
especially important that he meet with the werewolves before the next
full moon.</p><p>Hogwarts was the best
place to do so, if the Headmistress would permit the wards to be
lowered in the Forbidden Forest.</p><p>"Madam?" he asked,
the moment the soft chorus of phoenix song above his wrist was
answered with the Headmistress's voice.</p><p>"Harry!" He could
hear more dismay than anything else in that voice. Harry smiled
grimly, wondering if she were worried that he was back from the
Sanctuary early or that he had walked straight into the center of a
maelstrom.</p><p>"Madam," he
repeated, and then went ahead with his request. "I am trying to
create a formal alliance between wizards and magical creatures. I
think it's needed, with what happened to the werewolves and to the
Opallines—"</p><p>"The Opallines?"</p><p>"Acies came with
fire," said Harry, narrowing his eyes to try to get certain images
out of his head. "I would not be surprised if the Department
started hunting her, too, or at least demanded that she be given over
to them when she wakes. And of course the other magical creatures are
always vulnerable. Umbridge was able to get laws passed against them
very easily when she was head of the Department for the Control and
Regulation of Magical Creatures. I think this department is less sane
than she was." He turned into the main point of the conversation
then, afraid that McGonagall's questions would distract him again.
"I need your permission to meet with as many magical creatures as
possible, and as many of my allies as will come, in the Forbidden
Forest. I'm issuing an invitation to the werewolves."</p><p>McGonagall's tense
silence was answer enough.</p><p>"I know that you
don't like them on school grounds," said Harry quietly. "But I
give you my word that they will be safe for the duration of the
meeting. If they try to attack Hogwarts, or anyone there, I will use
my magic against them."</p><p>McGonagall's voice
crept back like a kicked dog. "I am reluctant to grant permission
even so, Mr.—Harry. You know that you cannot predict their actions,
and after these killings, they will only be wilder and more
irrational."</p><p>"Some of them will
be," Harry said, thinking of Loki. Wilmot had emphasized twice more
how nothing, not the threat of magical punishment to his pack nor
offers of assistance, would keep Loki from taking vengeance. "But
others have seen the danger now, I think. And it is not the day of
the full moon. Their magic resistance and their strength will lessen
each day until the dark of the moon. I would choose to set the
meeting at the actual dark if I could, but that is too far away, and
I must move <em>now</em>. Will you let me use the Forest?"</p><p>"If you must."</p><p>"Thank you, Madam,"
Harry said. "I intend to have the alliance meeting there on the
fourth of August, two days from now." He started to cut the
communication spell, but McGonagall spoke before he could.</p><p>"Why did you return
early, Harry?"</p><p>"Acies came and
burned the Opallines," Harry said simply. "I knew that if one
thing had gone wrong in the outer world, then something else might
have. I decided to return."</p><p>"Are you done
healing?"</p><p>"As near as I could
come in a month," said Harry, certain Draco was snickering, though
he couldn't look over his shoulder to check. It was humiliating, to
be standing in the middle of an alley covered with graffiti and
talking to his Headmistress about his mental health. "I'm going
to continue the process now that I'm back. I brought a Seer with
me, though he's mostly for Snape." He supposed he could talk to
her about that, too, though he didn't have time to answer every
question. "I should warn you that Professor Snape is on the verge
of snapping altogether, Madam. He often loses his temper with me and
goes into magical rages. The Sanctuary began the work of destroying
his mental walls, but he won't tell me what his dreams are about,
and he won't tell me what made him so upset."</p><p>McGonagall sighed. "If
he can gain control of himself, of course, he's welcome to come
back and teach in the autumn. If not, then I will ask someone else. I
do have another candidate who could teach Potions for at least a
term, if I offered him enough."</p><p>"Thank you, Madam,"
said Harry, and this time he did let the spell fade. He reached out
and took Draco's arm, drawing him nearer to prepare for a
Side-Along Apparition. His mind worked busily. Wilmot had promised
that he would send the invitation to Loki's pack, though he was
doubtful about how many of them would come. Harry himself could visit
the Forbidden Forest and inform the Many and the centaurs of the
alliance meeting, assuming they wished to attend. He would send owls
to his human allies whom he hadn't taught the communication spell
to. He had no idea how to get in touch with Dobby, the only house elf
who might have an interest. Harry supposed he was perfectly capable
of finding out about the meeting on his own and attending.</p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>He jumped and looked
at Draco. "What?" he asked.</p><p>"I've been trying
to get your attention for two minutes." Draco shook his head, then
leaned forward and stared into his face. "You realize Snape will <em>go
mad</em> when he realizes that you're attending a meeting with
werewolves at it? Specifically, the werewolves who coerced and
threatened and tried to bite you?"</p><p>"That's why he's
not going," Harry said.</p><p>He thought he heard
Draco mutter something just before they vanished, something along the
lines of, "<em>This, </em>I have to see."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape knew that Harry
had disappeared while he was brewing healing potions for the
Opallines. That was the only thing that kept him from running out of
his lab and demanding explanations immediately. If it had been during
the carriage ride, then he would have cursed Joseph by now.</p><p>As it was, the Seer
was on the other side of the lab helping prepare and chop and sift
the ingredients he needed.</p><p>Snape gave him yet
another over-shoulder glance of wary disbelief. When Joseph had first
slid into the room between the dead dragon's ribs which Paton
Opalline had given Snape for a lab, Snape had whirled around, his
wand up and an Unforgivable hovering behind his tongue.</p><p>Joseph had held out
his hands and said, speaking slowly and clearly, "I don't know
that much about potions, but I'm an expert at following directions.
Let me. You need an extra pair of hands."</p><p>And, well, he was
right. Snape did. It seemed that he was still capable of being
rational on the subject of Potions, if nothing else. He moved his
head sharply at another table, already set up with mortar, pestle,
several knives, and beetle shells, flower petals, and other
ingredients that needed to be of a certain consistency in order to
work. "The flower petals into a dust," he directed. "The beetle
shells to be pounded like sand."</p><p>And Joseph had nodded
and set to work.</p><p>Nor had he once tried
to speak while they were working. Snape had waited for it, certain it
was coming, some gentle inquiry after his health or teasing comment
about how similar their shared pasts must have been. Some of the best
retorts he'd ever thought up waited impatiently for use.</p><p>Joseph said nothing.
He passed Snape each ingredient as he finished with it; he knew a
useful spell that curled around the fine dust like an invisible jar
and wafted it across the distance between them. He never looked over
except to be sure that the ingredient arrived at its destination.
Then he went back to pounding, slicing, sifting, sanding, with a
dedication that said he had won his patience and skill at the task
with hard labor.</p><p>Snape grew more and
more distracted himself, to the point where he almost substituted
dragon scales for beetle shells, which would have ruined the potion
entirely. He waited. Joseph said nothing.</p><p>Another packet of
purple, lavender petals turned almost into a fog, floated over to
him. Snape counted to three, then whipped around, ready to surprise
an expression of pity on the Seer's face. Joseph was bent over his
mortar and pestle, counting each beat with a soft voice.</p><p>Snape could not take
it any more.</p><p>"Say what you came
to say and <em>be done with it!</em>" he snarled.</p><p>Joseph finished the
count before he responded—so much like something he would have done
himself, in an ordinary mood and confronted with someone upset, that
Snape's resentment soared to new heights. Then he looked calmly
back at Snape. "Why do you assume that I came to say something and
not help you prepare potions?" he asked.</p><p>"Because otherwise
you would be talking to grief-stricken Opallines and easing their
petty fears."</p><p>Joseph adopted a
wistful smile. "No. The worst cases were all sung out of their
dreams by the time I reached them. I spoke to a few grieving
relatives who just needed to see that this wasn't the end of the
world." He shrugged and turned back to the mortar and pestle. "That
son of yours is remarkable."</p><p>"He is <em>not</em> my
son." Snape made an ugly sound that he'd meant to be a laugh when
he started it, and which now had no name. "Or had you missed my
distinct lack of any kind of charm, either to attract a mate or pass
on to a child?"</p><p>"Whatever you say."</p><p>Snape just barely kept
himself from snapping, eyeing Joseph's back. Joseph was sweeping
some beetle shells that weren't fine enough for him back to the
knife now.</p><p>He had met someone
like this once before, Snape finally realized, and it was not Sirius
Black. It was Gray Grim, whose real name he had never known, a Death
Eater and recruiter for the Dark Lord. He was like water; whatever
someone else said, he knew the counter to it, and he would wear down
logical arguments against joining the Dark Lord like water wearing
down stone.</p><p>Snape himself had
never argued against him, because he had had Lucius to convince him
to join the Death Eaters, but he had seen him demolish opponent after
opponent, without ever appearing to do so. And now it seemed that he
had a Seer doing the same thing.</p><p>He turned,
stiff-shouldered, back to his cauldron, and wondered whether this new
discovery would make his life easier or harder.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco made sure to
step out of the way when Harry landed with a sharp <em>thump</em> on
the flagstones outside the Opalline home. He suspected that Harry
would either go after Snape or to Paton Opalline immediately to
demand ink and parchment and a quill. Draco would rather go along and
watch than get in the middle of any conflicts that might result from
those things.</p><p><em>As if watching is a
problem</em>, he thought, as his eyes traced the slight shimmering in
the air around Harry. <em>He's beautiful when he's angry. Well,
and plenty of other times, too, but especially then.</em></p><p>Harry found Paton
Opalline in a few moments; Draco was unsure if Harry had tracked him
down or if the Opalline leader had felt Harry's magic approach and
made himself easy to find. Harry's words were clipped as he
explained softly about the meeting he wanted to hold. Paton nodded
and made a few apparently sensible suggestions, which Harry accepted
with short nods of his own. Draco strained to listen in, but heard
little more than the names of some of Harry's allies and
"werewolves."</p><p>His attention
wandered, so he was the first one to see Snape enter the small
antechamber where Harry and Paton were holding their discussion.</p><p>Just as he did, Harry
shook his head and said, "No, I'm not sure the werewolves are
safe, but I have to invite them anyway."</p><p>Loud enough to be
heard.</p><p>Loud enough to make
Snape's face darken.</p><p>Draco grinned—well,
he could pretend that it was a frown later, if he really needed to
spare Harry's feelings that much—and stepped out of the way.</p><p>"I see we have
entered a regressive stage, Harry," Snape drawled to his back. "You
said that you would not put yourself in danger any more without
thinking, and now you have done so? How very unlike you, not to keep
your promises."</p><p>Harry just turned
around and glanced at Snape in distraction, exactly as if he'd been
interrupted in the midst of something more important. <em>And that's
really the way he might think of it, </em>Draco thought. Harry had to
play politics right now. If Snape insisted on being inconvenient
while that was happening, then he would get pushed aside until Harry
was better able to deal with personal matters.</p><p>"I'm not putting
myself in much danger now that it's not the full moon and I'm
able to use my magic," Harry said. "One of the werewolves the
Department killed was Loki's mate. Our contact in the Ministry told
me that that means Loki's on the vengeance path. I don't know if
I can talk him out of it, but possibly I can still soften this
somehow, and keep it from all-out war between wizards and werewolves.
Thus the alliance meeting."</p><p>"You should not go,"
said Snape. "It is dangerous."</p><p>Harry snorted. "I'm
holding the meeting in the Forbidden Forest—choosing the ground.
We're going to be surrounded by centaurs and Many snakes, and my
human allies besides. Loki is the one who should be wary."</p><p>"You should not—"</p><p>"We discussed that
already, how my life isn't fair and I shouldn't have had to bear
the burdens I had to and on and on," said Harry, and turned away
from Snape, his straight back and set shoulders dismissals if Draco
had ever seen them. "I am going to. And if you don't want to be
another of those unfair burdens piled on my shoulders, then don't
interfere."</p><p>Snape's mouth
snapped shut. Harry was already talking to Paton again, something
about how whether any of the Opallines would be attending the
meeting. He knew they had suffered loss in the wake of Acies's
breath, and—</p><p>"Do not be silly,"
said Paton gently. "Our family will recover, and tomorrow will be
the funeral for our dead. We must look to the living, and celebrate
the dead, not mourn them overlong. I will come to the meeting, or
Calibrid will. My children will be able to spare us by then."</p><p>Harry nodded. "Thank
you. This is going to be different than the meeting that I held on
the spring equinox. That was a chance to give people a good look at
me, and let them decide if I'm worth following." He cocked his
head, eyes narrowed. "This is to give those wizards and magical
creatures who've already decided to follow me a chance to work
together, and see what it really means to fight beside a <em>vates.</em>"</p><p>"I understand,"
said Paton. "I assure you that neither my daughter nor I would have
trouble with that. Calibrid is ready and willing to accept anyone who
does not despise her, and I am the one who taught her." His smile
flashed with open pride for a moment. Draco wondered what he would
have to do to get Lucius to show that kind of pride in him in public.</p><p>"Thank you—"</p><p>Only then did Snape
stalk out of the room. Draco hesitated, then followed him, catching
up with him in the hallway. Snape whirled on him, then lowered his
wand with a low curse of the non-magical kind.</p><p>"Why must he do
this?" Snape whispered, all but snarling. "He knows I wish to
help him, and yet he insults and dismisses me."</p><p>Draco blinked,
honestly surprised. <em>He thinks this is about Harry not having
enough compassion? </em>He studied Snape's slumped shoulders.
"Because you're being a prat," he said at last. "Telling him
nothing, but demanding his attention. He can't help you. He
certainly can't <em>force</em> you to tell him what's bothering
you. Or, rather, he won't. But the vast part of this is your own
fault, sir."</p><p>Snape was giving him
the snarling look of a wounded animal. Draco decided it might be for
the best to back off now and let Harry figure out the best way to
deal with his guardian later.</p><p><em>Then again, </em>he
thought as he ducked back into the room where Harry was still
speaking with Paton, <em>considering how irrational all the people
taking care of Harry tend to be, Lucius as a father isn't too bad
at all.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Lucius was sipping tea
and reading yet another account of fools trying to discredit Harry in
the <em>Daily Prophet</em> when phoenix song chimed above his wrist. He
turned his attention to it after a good minute had passed and the
person speaking to him had seen the folly of interrupting Lucius
Malfoy at breakfast.</p><p>"What is it?" he
asked.</p><p>"Lucius."</p><p>He raised his
eyebrows. Harry's voice, but tempered and cooled, with a tone he
had never heard in it before. If Harry had been a new-forged blade
when he went to the Sanctuary, now he sounded like one ready for use.</p><p>"Harry," he said,
his eyes straying to the paper again. The photograph on the front
page was one taken almost two years ago, when Harry went up against
dragons in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. He was riding
a broom, dodging and swooping among the huge bodies, looking as if he
had never known fear in his life. "What brings you back to us so
soon?"</p><p>"News of trouble on
the Isle of Man," said Harry. "And news of other troubles after
that, once I arrived here. I am going to hold a meeting in the
Forbidden Forest, in the same clearing where I met you for the
Christmas celebration the year before last. I think it's time that
humans and magical creatures should meet and discuss what our
alliance and our revolution entails."</p><p>Lucius sat up
straighter. Oh, he could not deny that he had not dreamed of this day
since he had realized what Harry's power might mean, and that
abandoning Voldemort was a feasible choice. But he had never imagined
it would arrive so soon. Harry was not ready, that much was obvious
from the way he handled himself, and then he'd retreated into a
place full of Light wizards. Lucius had thought the boy would be even
more Light when he came back, and would need a few encounters with
reality to show him the fascination of politics.</p><p>"Revolution?" he
questioned delicately.</p><p>"Our world can't
stay the way it is," said Harry. His words reminded Lucius so
strongly of a speech he'd heard the Dark Lord give more than once
that shivers ran down his spine and through his Dark Mark. "It's
going to slaughter many people on either side if it does." Well,
the Dark Lord had referred only to purebloods, but he had said much
the same thing. "I don't want that to happen. And I've realized
that there are some hypocrisies in my behavior towards others that I
want to correct. Will you agree to come with me and meet centaurs and
werewolves face to face?"</p><p>Lucius smiled, toyed
with the idea of telling Harry that working beside werewolves was
less repulsive than the thought of working beside Mudbloods, and then
decided to be diplomatic. "Yes, I will. And Narcissa will, as
well."</p><p>"Narcissa will
what?" his wife asked, coming into the kitchen. A house elf
appeared and handed her a steaming cup of tea, which she immediately
took and started sipping. Lucius admired the way her blonde hair
coiled around her neck for a moment. Narcissa rarely appeared less
than perfectly poised, but her early-morning relaxation was lovely in
its own way.</p><p>"Tell her that she's
welcome, of course," said Harry, and Narcissa's eyes widened.</p><p>"I will," said
Lucius, and then said his farewells and gave the spell up. He leaned
across the table to take his wife's hand, raising it to his lips.
"Our <em>vates</em> has come back," he murmured into her fingers.
"What do you say to meeting with centaurs and werewolves in the
middle of a Forbidden Forest clearing, while Harry stands over us and
tries to convince us all to get along?"</p><p>Narcissa gave him a
very faint smile. "I say that I shall have to find an appropriate
gown to wear."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Hawthorn could not
deny that the sound of phoenix song above her wrist lifted up her
heart. "Harry," she murmured, even before the voice of the other
person could begin talking.</p><p>Silence met her, which
concerned her until she realized it was the silence of shock.
Hawthorn laughed softly, and that prompted Harry to speak.</p><p>"How did you realize
it was me?"</p><p>"I had a dream,"
said Hawthorn, and wandered over to look out the window of the
Garden. They'd had rainy and sunny bouts of weather alternating for
the past few days, and the plants she had transferred into this small
side bed were doing wonderfully. Her eyes lingered near a hawthorn
bush growing protectively over a clump of dragonsbane and a set of
small pansies. She was able to smile and feel an ache in her chest
instead of simply feeling the ache. "A lot of dreams, the past few
days. I dreamed that you would be returning."</p><p>"I never knew you
were a Seer." Harry sounded half-confused, half-intrigued.</p><p>"I don't think I
am." Hawthorn leaned her head on the windowsill. She knew she
should be more worried. Whatever was urgent enough to summon Harry
out of exile in the Sanctuary was probably just another obstacle to
add to the fact that there was now a Department devoted to hunting
werewolves, and a spell that could track werewolves in human form,
and the serious attempts to discredit their <em>vates.</em> But she
felt as though she were looking east and had just seen the first
signs of sunrise. "I just expected that you would come back, and
soon."</p><p>Harry audibly shook
off the first traces of surprise. "Well, I could wish the
circumstances of my return were happier."</p><p>"Tell me."</p><p>And Harry did.
Hawthorn listened, and agreed that it was serious, but the hope went
on living inside her. She agreed to attend the alliance meeting, of
course, and then her wrist went silent, and left her to go on peering
out the window at her plants.</p><p><em>An alliance
meeting. One held only because the world is becoming so dangerous
that Harry cannot afford to have those who follow him separated by
ridiculous prejudices any longer.</em></p><p><em>But a meeting that
addresses wounds that should have been healed long since, and
breaches we need to repair. We cannot be divided against ourselves
and yet endure. And our enemies could divide us, if they continue to
pile on the fear talk against werewolves, and the Dark purebloods
continue uninterrupted in our prejudice against Mudbloods.</em></p><p>She turned away from
the window. This past month had been a time of retreat for her, of
remembering her daughter and her husband and mourning what had been.
<em>We thought, and we rested.</em></p><p><em>Now we live.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Adalrico looked up
from playing with his younger daughter. Marian was making a
concentrated effort to grab hold of a jeweled bauble he dangled on a
string for her, but he didn't think that was what had distracted
him from her scrunched-up little face and whimpers of frustration.</p><p>Then he heard the
sound again, and realized it was phoenix song coming from just above
his left wrist. He picked up Marian, gave her the bauble to quiet
her, and asked, "Hello?"</p><p>"Greetings,
Adalrico."</p><p>He sat up straighter,
even though there was no way Harry could see him. He was conscious of
having something to prove to this man, at least in his own mind.
Harry didn't know, of course, that Adalrico had wearied during the
final days of the siege and wanted to use Darker magic on the Death
Eaters than Harry would permit. Millicent had been the one to remind
him of family duty, that the Bulstrodes were Harry's formal allies
and ought never to betray him in such a way. Adalrico had thought
about it often since then, and had been ashamed that it was his heir
reprimanding him instead of the other way around.</p><p>"Harry," he
murmured. "What is the matter?"</p><p>"Dragons, and
werewolves, mostly," said Harry, his voice grim and wry. "But a
dash of Ministry politics, and no doubt prophecy, as that seems to
trouble me at every moment of my life. But for right now, an alliance
meeting I want to hold in the Forbidden Forest tomorrow, with most of
my allies, human and nonhuman, who agree to come. It will be in the
clearing where you once met me for Christmas. Will you attend?"</p><p>Adalrico nodded, then
remembered that the communication spell didn't convey gestures,
only voices, and said, "Of course. Will Elfrida and my heir be
welcome to attend?" Marian fussed and said, "Da!" as if she
knew that meant leaving her with a friend of the family, and Adalrico
jogged her on his knee to shush her. She could stay at home and be
happy there. He was still wary about risking his younger daughter in
public yet, especially since Starrise might have a grudge against him
for killing first one of their favored daughters and then her twin
brother this spring.</p><p>"Of course," Harry
replied. "I am gathering everyone who will agree to come. And if
someone won't—" Adalrico could hear the shrug in his voice. "I
suspect that will reveal who isn't comfortable around magical
creatures, and that in and of itself will tell me something about
them."</p><p>Adalrico laughed.
"Very well. What time will the meeting begin?"</p><p>"You'll want to
arrive in the afternoon," said Harry, voice serious now. "I
suspect that the centaurs will get there even earlier than that."</p><p>"Very well,"
Adalrico said, and cut the spell, and then scooped up Marian and went
to tell Elfrida. His wife had recently got used to leaving their
daughter alone long enough to go back to work in Gringotts. He didn't
think she would object to leaving Marian with her sister, either.</p><p>Marian wriggled and
fussed. "Da! Magic!" Now she was trying to grab his wand from his
pocket.</p><p>"You're not old
enough yet," Adalrico told her.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Henrietta looked up
when the communication spell rang out. She knew it was the
communication spell, despite the abundance of strange objects in her
quarters. She'd spent enough time rustling around yesterday, poking
and prodding and casting spells to be sure that none of the former
occupant's possessions did anything odd. It was almost blinding to
be surrounded by Gryffindor colors—this had been Minerva
McGonagall's room for twenty years—but she supposed she'd get
used to it.</p><p>"Hello?" she
asked.</p><p>"Henrietta?"</p><p>Harry's voice.
Henrietta told herself that it was <em>not</em> dignified for a
Bulstrode to smile like her favorite person in the world had just
walked into the room. The man had put her under Unbreakable Vows and
smashed the last of her pride. Really, she was supposed to hate him.</p><p>But she didn't.
Harry was legitimately stronger than she was, in more than just
magic—the only person Henrietta had ever been able to say that
about.</p><p>"Harry," she said.
"What brings you back so early?"</p><p>"Alliance meeting in
the Forbidden Forest tomorrow," said Harry. "I need you to
attend, unless you're averse to magical creatures."</p><p>Henrietta smiled and
glanced down at the pamphlet that lay on the desk, advertising the
Augurey sanctuary Harry had had her give some money to fund and
found. "Not anymore," she said.</p><p>"Good. Now, as
you're approaching from the north, you'll notice a clearing not
far away from the path. You should be able to see it clearly. Other
people will be there already; I've asked Hawthorn and Adalrico to
arrive early."</p><p>"Harry," she
interrupted then, thinking she should correct a misconception, "I
won't be approaching from the north. I'll be approaching from the
south."</p><p>She heard the frown in
his voice. "Why? You're flying?"</p><p>"No." Henrietta
sat back and sprang her surprise. "Because I have a teaching post
at Hogwarts now, so I'll just walk from there."</p><p>A long, stunned
silence, and then Harry said, "But—what post did McGonagall hire
you for?"</p><p>"Transfiguration,"
Henrietta said smugly, shaking her hair over her shoulders. "I've
been studying it for months, thinking that she might need someone to
help her with it this year. She did manage to jury-rig it last year,
but I know a lot of people were unhappy with that, especially the
parents of the students in the NEWT Transfiguration classes. I knew
she could use an extra pair of hands."</p><p>"But your daughter—"</p><p>"Is no longer here,"
Henrietta pointed out smoothly. "You arranged for her to have
private lesson with that tutor in France, remember?" She knew Edith
had begged Harry to go to France almost the moment her mother came to
the castle during the battle, technically keeping the word of her
Vows by not seeing Edith face-to-face. And now she was gone, and
Henrietta was free to be near her young Lord. Far too many
assassination attempts had happened on Hogwarts's grounds. She was
here to make sure they became a thing of the past.</p><p>"That's true,"
Harry murmured, sounding as if he were thinking deeply. "But you
aren't teaching under your own name? I think Pharos Starrise would
raise a stink about a Bulstrode professor."</p><p>"No. My name is
Hilda Belluspersona." Henrietta lifted her head and examined
herself in the mirror on the opposite wall. "You'd be surprised.
I look <em>much</em> younger, and my eyes are blue now."</p><p>"And your name means
beautiful disguise," Harry muttered. "And you still think someone
won't figure it out?"</p><p>"None of us can help
what our names are," Henrietta said mildly.</p><p>Harry sighed. "Coming
from the south, then, you'll take the path on the way in, and you
should look for a twisted tree. Or just wait for the centaurs. I was
at Hogwarts this morning, to speak with their leader. They should
find you and guide you in."</p><p>"Of course, Harry."
Henrietta hummed happily under her breath as their communication
spell finished.</p><p><em>Really, it's not
the done thing for a Lord who treats his companions decently to go
off at the shake of a Kneazle's tail, </em>she thought, as she got
up and once more examined her face in the mirror. <em>I am so glad
he's back.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Ignifer did not know
what time it was, only that, after last night, it was far too early.
She was <em>never</em> drinking butterbeer again. She buried her head
under the pillows and ignored the chiming.</p><p>Then she heard someone
say, "Hello, Harry."</p><p>Panicking, Ignifer sat
up, and then groaned and grabbed her head as the light and noise
outside her blanket cocoon assaulted her. She massaged her temples
and moaned, all the while squinting frantically, to see if her <em>vates</em>
was really going to see her in this state.</p><p>All she saw was
Honoria sitting on the end of the bed, smirking at her wickedly as
she spoke into her wrist. "An alliance meeting? Of course. And you
don't need to speak to Ignifer, I'll tell her." A pause, during
which Harry's voice emerged too low for Ignifer to hear, and
Honoria said, "Oh, but it's no trouble, Harry, really. She's
sitting no more than four feet away from me, after all."</p><p>Ignifer made a grab
for her. Her head pounded so hard she not only lost her balance, but
fell full-length to sprawl on the bed. Honoria leaped away and danced
gleefully around the room.</p><p>"You ought to see
her," she went on, unhelpfully, to Harry. "Her hair's all a
tangle, and she looks as though someone slammed her across the face
with a crowbar, and she looks so <em>thoroughly</em> shagged, you have
no idea—"</p><p>Ignifer snarled, and
flames curled around her. Honoria squeaked in mock fright before
conjuring the illusion of a bucket of water to tip on Ignifer's
head. She was good enough at tactile glamours that it really <em>felt</em>
like ice water, damn her.</p><p>"Tomorrow in the
Forbidden Forest, centaurs will guide us in," said Honoria. "Of
course. I understand, Harry. Thank you!" She ended the
communication spell as Ignifer called fire into her hand and tossed
it forward in a miniature fireball. All of Ignifer's walls and most
of the furniture were spelled to resist flame magic, after numerous
almost-accidents, but Honoria wasn't. She changed into her sea-mew
Animagus form instead, and cackled triumphantly as she soared above
the ball.</p><p>Ignifer scowled as the
other witch dived and turned around the room, laughing loudly enough
to make her headache worse. She liked Honoria, really she did, and
the sex was fantastic, but there were times she resented taking up
with a master illusionist who was also a bloody Animagus with a
ridiculous sense of humor, and this was one of those times.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Thomas Rhangnara was
deeply concerned. In front of him sprawled several <em>Daily Prophet</em>
articles from various days during the last month and a half. The
later ones were more and more wildly fantastic, and reported events
that contradicted the reports of the earlier ones, during which
they'd said, accurately, that Harry mercy-killed children during
the Battle of Hogwarts and lured Voldemort into a trap. The later
ones stated that he'd <em>murdered</em> children, and that he hadn't
lured Voldemort into a trap so much as done it to show off his
skills.</p><p>Obviously, this was
the result of a lack of proper research. Thomas was writing the
<em>Prophet's</em> editors with the information that they would need
to correct the problem and print a retraction. He was sure they would
be grateful for the help.</p><p>His wrist sang. Thomas
looked at it with awe. He always enjoyed the moments most before a
new communication began, because it could be <em>anyone</em> on the
other side. Perhaps Voldemort had even figured out a way to talk to
them. "Hello?" he asked eagerly.</p><p>"Hello, Thomas."</p><p><em>Harry.</em> Thomas
barely managed to restrain a sigh of satisfaction. Now Harry was back
in the world, and the <em>Prophet</em> would be even swifter to print
the retraction. Of course they wouldn't want a wizard of Harry's
power on their tails. And Thomas could tell Harry all about his news.</p><p>"Guess what's
going to happen in a few weeks, Harry?" he asked eagerly.</p><p>"I don't know,
Thomas." Harry sounded almost like Priscilla and his children,
Thomas thought, willing to listen if a little puzzled. That was a
good thing. That meant he didn't have to be afraid that he was
using up the <em>vates's</em> valuable time by burbling along. If
Harry was annoyed and needed to talk about something else, then
surely he would ask Thomas to stop and let him get to the point.</p><p>"We're releasing
the news about GUTOEKOM," said Thomas, and looked proudly at the
other pile of paper on the end of his desk, which was corrected and
uncorrected proofs for the report. "We were going to let it out
earlier, of course, but we made a few new discoveries, and found a
few mistakes we needed to correct. For example, did you know that the
Dark Lord Fallen was Muggleborn?"</p><p>"<em>What</em>?"
Harry asked in shock. "No, he wasn't. He was the bastard son of a
pureblood family, and he hated Muggleborns, just like Voldemort
does."</p><p>"I don't care what
he <em>said</em>," Thomas said. "People lie about themselves,
especially Dark Lords." He gave a little shrug. He had never seen
the point of lying himself. Research proceeded more easily where
truth was involved. "He was Muggleborn. He just tried to cover that
up by proclaiming himself the son of an illustrious heritage. Of
course, the pureblood family he said he came from, the Princes,
denied it, but they were proud enough that they weren't going to
admit to a bastard, so the denial was just what everyone expected
from them."</p><p>"So that means that
old myth about no Muggleborns being powerful enough to be Lords and
Ladies really <em>is</em> a myth," Harry mused.</p><p>"Exactly!" Thomas
beamed, glad he saw the importance. "And we've looked into more
about how magic interacts with bloodline. There's fascinating
evidence that how the mother feels about the child in her womb can
affect how much magic they're born with. That would explain why so
many pureblood children born after a husband cheated on his wife were
Squibs. And of course almost any child that comes from a raped witch
is a Squib. There's not enough evidence to say that this happens
<em>all the time</em> yet, but it's one of those factors that
Petrovitch identified, and which has borne fruit." He reached over
and shuffled through some of the papers, looking for something else
inspiring to tell Harry. "Oh! And of course there's Muggleborn or
Muggle blood in most of the pureblood lines."</p><p>It sounded as if Harry
had choked. "Do tell," he said faintly.</p><p>"Oh, yes," Thomas
said, nodding rapidly. "The Blacks, in particular. When they
interbred too closely, Squibs started being born. Then a few of the
Black women sought out Muggle or Muggleborn lovers and had children
they dearly wished wouldn't be Squibs—the power of a mother
wishing, you know—and some of them weren't and regenerated the
line. And that's to say nothing of what was going on in the Malfoy
line." Harry definitely choked this time, but he sounded all right,
so Thomas rambled on. 'There were a few generations where neither
the men nor the women could stay in bed with their lawfully wedded
spouses. And of course they hid things, but if they had a child, they
usually brought it back into the family." Thomas chuckled, because
he thought this was amusing. "There's a high chance that Abraxas
Malfoy himself was the bastard child of his father and a Muggleborn
woman, you know."</p><p>Harry sounded as if he
were wheezing.</p><p>"I can't wait to
publish this," Thomas ended happily. "People will <em>have</em> to
listen, and stop being idiots. Now, what did you want to talk to me
about?"</p><p>Harry gave him the
directions for the alliance meeting, the time, and how to reach it.
He sounded breathless as he did it. Thomas frowned. He didn't want
their <em>vates</em> to get sick. "Try to get some rest and heal that
cold you have, Harry," he advised him kindly. "Get your partner
to rub your back."</p><p>"Right," Harry
said faintly. "I'll do that."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Owen tapped his
fingers idly against the side of his leg. Harry had just contacted
him and asked if he and Michael would consider attending the alliance
meeting in the Forbidden Forest. And of course Owen had said yes. He
and Michael were both the sworn companions of their <em>vates</em>, and
one did that kind of thing when one was a sworn companion.</p><p>It did mean that
events were running faster and further than they had predicted when
they thought Harry would be in the Sanctuary for two months. And Owen
wondered if their mother was yet recovered enough from grief for
their father for he and Michael to take up their duties of guarding
and defending Harry again. There was no question that they would be
attending Hogwarts in the autumn for their seventh and final year,
but that was the autumn.</p><p>He looked across the
room, where Medusa sat with Michael, playing a game of chess. Michael
caught his eye and nodded very slightly, his way of saying that he
thought their mother was fine.</p><p>Owen loved his
brother, but he did not always trust his judgment. Owen was the one
who had become head of the family when their father Charles died, and
not only because he was their father's magical heir and had always
been the more responsible, guiding and protecting his younger twin.
Michael also had a tendency to get so wrapped up in arcane
trivialities that he missed the larger picture. Owen hadn't been
surprised at all when, as they sat under the Sorting Hat a few days
after the Midsummer battle, the Hat had placed Michael firmly in
Ravenclaw, while it had sent him to Slytherin.</p><p>And he thought that
Michael had certain—personal—reasons for wanting to see Harry,
and specifically Harry's partner Draco Malfoy, again that made him
likely to rush.</p><p>Owen studied his
mother's face. Medusa Rosier-Henlin, once Medusa Bulstrode, had
aged since her husband's death, but now she looked like a queen
instead of the young princess she had always appeared when their
father was alive. She played with more quiet intensity than she had
been used to showing when she danced around Michael with a skillet,
but was that a bad thing? Owen thought not. And the way she laughed,
if more subdued than before, was at least animated enough to count as
laughter. And she no longer spent any days lying in bed, as she had
at first.</p><p>Medusa turned her head
then, and caught his gaze. Owen started to flush and duck his head,
but Medusa held his gaze straight on, challenging him, and then sat
back, indicating the chess game was done.</p><p>"I'll have you
know, Owen Rosier-Henlin," she said, adopting the tone that always
made Owen feel about five years old, "that I have been managing for
myself far longer than you boys have been alive."</p><p>Owen nodded
unwillingly. What little he knew about the Bulstrode family indicated
they hadn't been—close.</p><p>"I can manage
without you," said Medusa. "Your father wouldn't want me to
shut myself up in a tomb, and I'm not going to." She looked
sternly back and forth between them. "And you have a stronger
allegiance than to me." Her gaze fell on Owen's left forearm, cut
with the lightning bolt mark that marked his oath-vow to Harry. "Go
and serve your <em>vates</em>, your Lord. I demand that of you, as your
mother and as an older witch whom you respect." She stood.</p><p>"But what are you
going to do, shut up here all day?" Owen had to ask. Medusa had
been a witch whose life was wrapped up in her husband and children.
It was hard to imagine her here alone.</p><p>"I didn't say I
would stay shut up here," Medusa almost snapped. "And—" She
hesitated a long moment, then shook her head. "At first I wasn't
sure," she murmured. "And then I couldn't bear to mention it,
because it seemed like so little compensation after such a crushing
blow. And then I thought how horrible it was that your father wasn't
alive to see this. But I'm recovered from that now. I have to go
on." She drew her wand and tapped herself. "<em>Coarguo!</em>"</p><p>Owen blinked. He knew
the spell—one often used at Durmstrang to dispel glamours and
reveal the presence of dangerous spells in a room. He didn't know
why his mother would be using it on herself.</p><p>The blue mist he was
familiar with swirled around Medusa, and then stormed away, forming a
shadow in the air. Owen squinted. There was his mother.</p><p>And there was a
smaller shadow within hers, resting in her belly.</p><p>Owen turned and stared
at her.</p><p>Medusa's smile was
bitter. "I conceived not long before your father went to the
Midsummer battle," she murmured. "And so long after we'd given
up hope of having another child." She bowed her head. "But it
doesn't matter that Charles won't be here to see her, because he
won't, and I have to accept that. I'll be sure to tell her tales
of her father, so that she will know he was brave, and would have
loved her."</p><p>Michael was the first
to hug their mother, which was appropriate, as he'd always been
closer to her. Medusa hugged him, and then she began to shake, and
then the tears came.</p><p>Owen stood and went
over to them a moment later, hoping, fiercely, that the war would not
claim his mother and his infant sister as sacrifices.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry arrived at the
clearing in the Forbidden Forest with his magic held sternly under
wraps and the taste of ashes in his mouth. He and Snape had had
another argument over his coming here. It had started out with Snape
trying to reason with him, which Harry supposed was a positive sign,
and then degenerated into Snape ordering him not to go. Harry had
answered that with the sneer it deserved.</p><p><em>I don't want more
bad blood between us, damn it!</em> he thought, running his hand over
his scar. <em>I don't want any bad blood at all. I want to be able
to trust him, to rely on him, to help heal him. But if he won't do
that right now, then he won't do that right now. At least it seems
that Joseph is having something of an effect on him.</em></p><p>He pushed thoughts of
Snape into the Occlumency pools and held out his arm to Draco. Draco
grinned slightly and interwove his arm with Harry's. It had been
his idea that Harry muffle his magic and go in like that, to see what
the expressions on his allies' faces would be when he released it.
Harry had wanted to oppose him, but it was a move that made tactical
sense. There still might be wizards here—Harry was sure Lucius was
one—who had remaining prejudices against the magical creatures, or
who thought they might be able to control him. A sudden show of magic
would set them off balance, and warn them that he was no one's
pawn.</p><p><em>Not anymore.</em></p><p>He swept into the
clearing with Draco, coming in beneath two trees with arched
branches. The loose circle around the glade, wizards neatly arranged
on one side, and magical creatures—including, Harry saw with
relief, a shimmer that was probably Dobby—on the other, turned
towards him.</p><p>Harry let the bindings
on his magic go.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Lucius saw Harry, and
felt his magic tighten a circle of buzzing pain around his head, and
was suddenly carried back more than twenty years, to a much darker
night than this. He was young, and looking to carve his own path in
the world, and meeting the Dark Lord for the first time.</p><p>Voldemort had come in
with his magic shielded, just as Harry had done, but even more
anonymous in the sea of black cloaks and white masks. Then he had
released it. And Lucius had understood in a moment why wizards could
be unconsciously compelled to follow Lords and Ladies, even the ones
who seemed destined to lose their wars.</p><p>The magic was life. It
flowed everywhere, like dark water, and whispered of change and
adoration of that change. It whispered of being in control, instead
of helplessly swept along by traditions and Muggle-lovers. Lucius had
been dazed, dazzled, awed. Not even <em>Dumbledore </em>was that
strong, with that sense of sheer, vital springtime and renewal to his
magic.</p><p>And the Dark Lord had
been sane then. He wasn't exactly <em>charismatic</em>, but he didn't
need to be. He was fascinating, which was better. Steeped in Dark
magic, in old studies, in old secrets, he reeked of ancient
knowledge, and he told the truth in a fervent voice, and his magic
pulled at them all as the moon pulled at the tide.</p><p>The records said Death
Eaters had followed Tom Riddle because he was a power-crazed madman,
and they had been mad, too, and wanted to share in that power. Lucius
knew some who had fit that description—Evan Rosier for the former,
Bellatrix Black Lestrange for the second. But more of them yet had
bowed their necks because of something impossible to explain unless
one was close to Voldemort and had at least the potential of being
loyal to him. They were his because they could sense that this was
someone who could change the world as an earthquake would—a storm
in a human being. And they could commune with that power as they
never could with an ordinary storm.</p><p>Lucius had thought he
was giving that up when he swore allegiance to Harry. He did not
really regret it, not when Voldemort had returned as the mad thing he
was. There were subtler pleasures to be had, like making a young Lord
dance to his tune.</p><p>Now he felt it again.</p><p>Harry's magic was
painful, but it commanded Lucius's attention like a blade against
his throat. He was <em>awake</em>, for the first time in a decade. His
nerves balanced on the edge of a knife. He breathed, and felt the
breath sting in his lungs, and relished it. He knew he was in the
presence of a leader ready to go to war.</p><p>That was what Harry
was, no matter what he claimed.</p><p>Harry locked his gaze
on Lucius's from across the clearing, and inclined his head. His
green eyes were visible from that distance, thanks to the dark green
robes that Draco had probably persuaded him to wear, and his hair was
bound back from his forehead, as much as it could be, with a silver
band that was probably another of Draco's touches. His scar slashed
across his brow, vivid as any normal lightning bolt in the sky.</p><p>Lucius told himself
that Malfoys did not fall to one knee for anyone born a Potter. But
he gave a deeper bow than he ever had before.</p><p>And Harry accepted it
without the flicker of an eye.</p><p>Lucius fought the urge
to stamp a foot in delight, to cast a curse, to turn and kiss
Narcissa. Things were beginning, things were beginning again, and he
was in the middle of them.</p><p>And this time, his
leader was not mad.</p><p>He could fall, though.</p><p>Lucius suddenly had a
vested, personal interest, one that had nothing to do with Harry's
importance to Draco or the future of his family, in stopping that
from happening.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Ignifer blinked. If
someone had told her, a year ago, that she would be appreciating the
effect of Lord-level power washing over her, she would have told them
they were mad. She did not appreciate being controlled, not since her
father. She had endured sixteen years of exile from her family, and
an infertility curse, rather than give in and do what he wanted.</p><p>But now she felt the
<em>potential</em> to command lapping on her arms, curling around her
throat, sniffing at her as if to assess what she could do and what
part she could play in the war.</p><p>It was—not
unpleasant.</p><p>Ignifer studied Harry
with narrowed eyes. <em>There is nothing that says he cannot make a
wrong decision. There is nothing that says he cannot fall, or that he
will be as good a leader in this as in anything else.</em></p><p><em>But belonging is
nice.</em></p><p>A hand squeezed her
own. Ignifer turned her head and saw Honoria beside her, eyes bright
with mischief—and, more, understanding. Her illusions created a dog
with Ignifer's yellow eyes on one shoulder, rolling over, showing
its belly, and begging to be petted. Ignifer snorted and looked away
in disdain.</p><p>She did let her hand
squeeze back on Honoria's, though.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Henrietta swept the
clearing with a proud glance. It was perfectly obvious to her what
effect Harry's magic was having on all the people around her, and
also perfectly obvious that some of those people had not been
convinced, before, that following Harry was the best thing to do.</p><p><em>Idiots. Really. Did
they think that a wizard capable of making </em>me <em>want to follow
him was a weakling?</em></p><p>Perhaps not a
weakling, she thought, taking in the complex expressions on so many
faces, but certainly not this overwhelming presence he was now. They
had sometimes seen a child, an abused one. They had sometimes seen
one who risked his life for no real reason, particularly where Evan
Rosier was concerned. And they had sometimes seen a hero, as on
Midwinter, but not someone particularly human, particularly easy to
relate to.</p><p>Here was someone who
had settled into his magic, and would use it to defend himself if he
had to.</p><p>And use it to defend
others, too.</p><p><em>They understand
now, </em>Henrietta thought, as she watched Lucius dip his head in a
deep bow and Laura Gloryflower nod slowly, as though seeing Harry was
not her child to protect. <em>It is better to be within his circle
than without. He will not hesitate to protect them as fiercely as he
protects himself.</em></p><p><em>And now, there is
no doubt that he can do it.</em></p><p>Henrietta settled
back, with her arms casually folded, and smiled, and smiled.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>The first thing Harry
noticed was that the werewolves weren't there yet. He had received
a notice from Wilmot that they would be attending, but he had also
told himself that he wasn't going to wait on Loki, and that was
true. It was already early evening, the sun just beginning its
western descent. He at once began his speech.</p><p>"I would like to
make this a formal alliance," he said. "I would like to know that
I can take everyone here into my trust and faith, and treat you all
as confidants in the matter of my plans. Therefore, I am asking
everyone here who has not actually sworn an oath to me to do so. And
I will swear one back to you."</p><p>"The terms of the
alliance?" That was John Smythe-Blyton, Tybalt Starrise's joined
partner. Harry noticed that his eyes were slightly shadowed. Perhaps
he thought the risks Tybalt had taken without any formal oath were
already severe enough, without adding that binding into it.</p><p>"Welcome is one of
the first and foremost principles." Harry shifted his weight. On
Draco's advice, he'd prepared the speech, but it still felt false
to use it. He wanted to speak his mind without caring what effect the
words had, because if someone truly hated what he was saying, then
why would they want to join the alliance anyway?</p><p>But he knew he had to
be political, measured, diplomatic. He'd argued with Snape and had
him stay behind because he was convinced that Snape couldn't be any
of those things.</p><p><em>I don't want to
sacrifice who I am by becoming political, though, </em>he thought,
lifting his head. <em>And it would be so easy to do. I'll have to
keep an eye on myself.</em></p><p>"We'll welcome
those who use both Light and Dark magic." Harry looked at Thomas
Rhangnara, then Laura Gloryflower. "Those who have committed crimes
and sincerely repented." A glance at the former Death Eaters in the
group. "Both humans and magical creatures." He let his gaze slide
over to the centaurs. A large male Harry knew as Bone folded his arms
and nodded, as though to signal his people's commitment to the
alliance. "Muggleborns, and halfbloods, and purebloods, and
Squibs." Calibrid Opalline—whom Harry suspected had in part
attended because her father was intent on getting her to think about
something beyond all the wounded and dead in the house—held her
head back and smiled faintly when a few gazes turned to her. She
didn't look as though she would back down if anyone tried to tell
her off for being a Squib. Harry just hoped the rest had the same
impression of her. "There's no place for prejudices here."</p><p>"And I suppose that
you expect us to free all our house elves tomorrow?" That was
Lucius, recovering from the shock he'd showed when Harry first
entered the clearing, and returning to his usual bored, haughty tone.</p><p>"Of course not,"
Harry said. "I expect you to consider the possibility, to be open
to arguing about it, rather than blindly dismissing the idea. What I
want to make us different from those outside the alliance, other than
our welcome, is our ability to <em>think</em>. That may restrict the
first principle. I would not let someone into the alliance who seemed
likely to hurt all the others already here." He could feel himself
relaxing. Some of this was prepared, but some was in response to the
questions of those around him. He preferred that, really, a dialogue
rather than a monologue or a speech. "But we won't simply dismiss
someone out of hand because she carries the werewolf curse or because
he had a Muggle for a parent. There are plenty of sectors of
wizarding society who do.</p><p>"If we look over
recent wizarding history, it seems to me that our greatest sin is <em>not
thinking.</em> Sometimes, as with the Ministry of late, we allow fear
to control our actions. Other times, we're so concerned over status
that we don't see that we're losing true power. And at still
others, we've forgotten history, and we prefer to hide from it when
reminded." He nodded at the centaurs, but he was thinking about the
Grand Unified Theory as well, and the absolute chaos that Thomas's
theory was going to cause when his group published it. Harry found
that he was glad, chaos or not. It would at least force people to
<em>consider</em>. Lucius was likely entirely ignorant of the possible
Muggleborn heritage in his own family, and thus felt free to despise
them without pause. Confronted with it, he could try to hide his head
in the sand, but Harry wouldn't allow that, and he didn't think
Draco and Narcissa would, either. "If you become part of this
alliance, you are going to have to step away from that all-too-common
strategy. You don't need to like everyone else in the alliance, but
you need to fight beside them. You'll also need to examine your own
actions, and their consequences. No blind vengeance-taking will be
part of this, of course, but it's not the only part."</p><p>"And yet you still
don't necessarily want us to free our house elves?" Adalrico
sounded as if he were having a little trouble understanding the
contradiction.</p><p>With a small smile,
Harry shook his head. "No. Think, argue, debate, question. Those
are what I want you to do. But you haven't sworn to help the house
elves achieve freedom. I have."</p><p>He turned towards the
shimmer that was Dobby. A pair of large golden eyes formed in the
mist and looked out at him.</p><p>"I have sworn that,"
said Harry, "and it's time for me to stop living in the midst of
hypocrisy. I am <em>vates</em>. I have cast my own cleaning charms for
the past year, but I've still lived on house elf labor, eating food
they prepared in Hogwarts. I am going to stop that now. I promise
you, Dobby, and if any others of your kindred were free yet, I would
promise them as well." He held up his hand, and the ring Draco had
given him on Walpurgis Night flashed. "I will never live by house
elf labor again. I am going to see what food is available in
Hogsmeade, and have it sent by owl to the castle. And when I live
somewhere else, I plan to do the same thing."</p><p>The people all around
the circle were staring at him, except the Many, who made small
hissing noises as they talked about their own important matters, and
the centaurs, who stamped a few hooves gravely in approval. Dobby's
golden eyes blinked.</p><p>"I have been waiting
for that," he said at last, in a voice like eerie flute music.</p><p>Harry nodded. "Yes.
It's to my discredit that I've waited so long. But it's sworn
now." He turned to Lucius and Adalrico, though he spoke to the
whole circle if they wanted to listen. "That is the kind of thing I
would like to see happen everywhere. Not at once. I am not going to
force anyone to free their house elves. But I will bargain where I
can."</p><p>"Not everyone will
be able to do what you do," Hawthorn told him. Her face was pale.
Harry wondered if she had not anticipated his making such a large
change in the way he lived his own life. "Some people can't
afford it."</p><p>Harry nodded again. "I
know that. That means that solution won't work for everyone. But I
<em>can</em> afford it." The thought of the Black fortune, just lying
around in its vaults and not being used for anything <em>productive</em>,
bothered him. <em>Rather like the way I now think about my magic, I
suppose. </em>"And I'm the one who has reason to swear that oath,
and try to smooth out the contradictions in the life I lead."</p><p>"So," said Owen,
sounding as if he were trying to bring them all back to the main
point of the meeting. "Welcome and thinking. What else?"</p><p>"A willingness to
rise," Harry said. "Against falsehood, against stupidity, against
preconceptions. My first target is the Ministry and the way it treats
werewolves, because I think it the most urgent cause right now. They
are dying in the streets. I am going to be trying my hand at
inventing a cure for lycanthropy." He had his dreams to thank for
that, he thought. Sometimes his dreaming mind knew what he needed
before he himself did. "I'll also offer my protection to any
werewolf that wants it. And, of course, any werewolf who wants to can
join the alliance, as long as he or she agrees to swearing to all the
other principles."</p><p>"I am glad to hear
you say that," said a voice from the opposite side of the clearing
Harry had entered on.</p><p><em>Loki</em>. Harry
turned on one heel, magic up and ready to defend if necessary. But
Loki simply appeared, walking at the head of a file of werewolves,
many more than Harry had seen accompany him before. Harry narrowed
his eyes, noticing his allies' tension as people kept piling up
behind Loki. There were perhaps forty men and women there. In the
back, Harry thought he'd caught a glimpse of Remus.</p><p><em>All of his pack?</em></p><p>He looked at Loki
then, and the accusation he wanted to speak stuck in his throat.
Loki's face had lost the calm, amused look it had worn most of the
times Harry had seen him in the past. He appeared to have lost
weight. His eyes were fiercely amber, burning as if the full moon had
been yesterday instead of a few days ago, and hunger appeared to have
sharpened his cheekbone and his fangs.</p><p>"What is the meaning
of this, Loki?" Harry asked quietly.</p><p>"Did you mean what
you said?" Loki asked, and the tone was sharp enough that Harry saw
a few of his allies stir and reach for their wands. "The werewolves
who agree to your principles can have your protection?"</p><p>"I meant it,"
Harry said, lifting his head. He wondered if Loki was going to
challenge him in public, accuse him of not doing enough for his pack.
If he did, then Harry was ready to meet that challenge.</p><p>But Loki only nodded,
and then gestured. His pack flowed forward around him. More than one
wand rose then, but no one fired a curse. Harry commended his allies
on their self-control as the werewolves filled the clearing, the
empty space between the side of the wizards and the side of the
magical creatures. That was rather appropriate, now that Harry
thought about it.</p><p>Loki tilted his head
back and began to wail. That was the only way Harry could describe
his howl. It was a sound of deep loss and grief, where every
werewolf's howl he had heard before was wild and rage-filled. The
pack threw their heads back, too, and responded in perfect time,
their voices intermingling until Harry could hear one of his allies
screaming, as if to drown out the noise.</p><p>It ceased in an
instant, and Loki said, "It is enough. I signal from the path
alone, and the pack takes another. It is done. Done, and done, and
<em>thrice done.</em>" His voice shook with power on those last
words.</p><p>Cold, fierce white
light filled the whole of the clearing—the light of the full moon,
Harry thought. He started to gather his magic, just in case the
werewolves had discovered a spell that allowed them to transform
without the moon in the sky, but then he realized the light was
occurring in thin streams only. It connected the werewolves in a
shining web that bound them to Loki, to a flickering line on his hair
that Harry thought looked like a crown.</p><p>Then the crown whipped
from Loki's head towards him. Harry had time for a startled duck
before it settled around his neck like a torque. The Many snake,
coiled just under it, hissed at it.</p><p>"I give my pack into
your protection, <em>vates</em>," Loki said. "They have suffered
enough. Two dead, and one imprisoned, and that is enough. They are
yours to defend, yours to keep."</p><p>"I cannot wear a
web," Harry said. "I am <em>vates.</em>"</p><p>Loki's face lit with
a wistful smile. "Does every leader wear a web?" he countered.
"No, <em>vates.</em> They are tied together because they are pack,
and they look to you as alpha now. That is all. I simply chose to
surrender my position to you rather than to some youngster looking to
start a fight."</p><p>Harry swallowed. He
wasn't sure this was much better. The light around his throat felt
as cold as any actual band of metal, any bond. "And why would you
do that?"</p><p>"The ways of an
accepted pack are tied to debts and bonds," said Loki, lowering his
head slightly. "But the greatest of the bonds is the mate-bond. I
hunt for Gudrun. I shall visit each of her three killers on each of
the three full moons upcoming. I shall make sure they do not look
human when I am done." Fading sunlight flashed off his teeth.</p><p>"That will make
things worse for your werewolves!" Harry took a step forward,
barely noticing how the pack swayed in the wake of his anger. "Don't
you <em>care</em> about that?"</p><p>"Gudrun is dead,"
said Loki, calmly, simply. "That puts an automatic limit to the
number of things I care about. But feel free to tell anyone who asks
that I am separated from my pack, <em>vates</em>. That is true. I am
not fit for the responsibility of leading them when I am consumed
with vengeance, and the path I walk now is only wide enough for one,
not all of them. So I put them where they will be protected, and
pursue my own path." He lifted a hand and folded three fingers
down. "August, September, October. Those are the months I shall
hunt. And then comes November, and comes the last debt to be paid. We
share something with you wizards, you see, Harry." His teeth
flashed in a mocking smile now. "<em>Last time pays for all.</em>"</p><p>Harry would have
reached out for him, tried to hold him still, convince him not to go,
but Loki vanished, wrapped in magic that made him invisible to any
senses. Harry reached out anyway. Now that Loki had given up his
leadership, he ought not to be able to use pack magic anymore, if
Harry understood the concept.</p><p>"Do not."</p><p>Harry looked down. A
young woman with long, ragged dark hair was rising on her knees,
putting out a hand towards him. She shook her head. "He invokes a
willing sacrifice," she said. "He will pay for all in November,
but until then, he cannot be stopped. He walks alone, and hunts
alone, and you cannot sense him—more even than if he still had the
pack magic."</p><p>Harry cursed under his
breath, and reined in both the anger and his sloshing magic. "What's
your name?" he asked.</p><p>"Camellia." She
tilted her head to regard him, wary, one eye peering up through the
strands of hair.</p><p>"Do you <em>want</em>
to be here?" he asked. "Actually bound to me? I'm not even a
werewolf."</p><p>"We aren't bound
in the way you think we are," she told him. "We can disobey you,
and certainly think our own thoughts. But we rely on you for
protection, and in return, we will protect you. We will attack your
enemies, and help your friends, and—" She hesitated for a long
moment, as if it hurt to think in human terms, then finished. "And
swear to be part of your alliance."</p><p>Harry nodded. "Very
well, then." He looked up and around at his allies, human and
centaur and Many snake and other. "If you consent to be a part of
this alliance, which I am going to call the Alliance of Sun and
Shadow because of the mingled Light and Dark nature of it, then I
will ask you to speak these words. I won't use blood, because I
know that blood oaths offend the principles of some of those here."
<em>Not to mention that there are old myths about what a werewolf's
blood can do to non-werewolves.</em></p><p>He saw most of the
people present nodding, or stamping their hooves. Harry translated
the words into Parseltongue, and the hive tangled around each other
in enthusiasm.</p><p>"<em>You know that we
will swear to the one who saved our children from being bound,</em>"
they told him.</p><p>Harry nodded, and
began to recite, trying to tell himself that the words did <em>not</em>
sound pretentious, that this needed to be said.</p><p>"I swear to be part
of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow until I can in good conscience be
part of it no longer. I swear to hold loyalty and allegiance to my
allies, no matter who they are, no matter how much magic they have,
no matter what kind of magic they use." He heard Draco's voice
from beside him, strong and clear and confident, and the centaurs'
voices, a rumbling basso that shook the ground. "I swear to hold
the space of my own mind sacred, to make decisions as best as I can
based on thought instead of reaction, to test my own beliefs until
they shatter or until they prove themselves solid. I swear not to let
fear rule me. I swear to walk among interacting freedoms, to study
the impact of my own free will on others', and to think of the
consequences of my actions."</p><p>He wondered if anyone
noticed that he'd chosen to base his oaths on the legendary virtues
of the four Hogwarts Houses, or at least one for each House:
Hufflepuff loyalty, Ravenclaw intelligence, Gryffindor courage, and
Slytherin self-consideration. Draco was shooting him a sly smile that
said he'd noticed, but, of course, Harry had talked over this oath
with Draco beforehand.</p><p>A few of his allies
blinked around in the wake of the oath, and one of the werewolves
ventured, "I expected magic to bind us."</p><p>"This doesn't have
the compulsion factor of an Unbreakable Vow," Harry told him. He
was trying to avoid looking towards Remus. He just—couldn't deal
with him right now. "I do expect you to keep it. If you betray the
alliance to its enemies, I will drain your magic." He didn't add
much force to the threat. The threat by itself should be enough. "If
you feel that you can no longer follow its principles, I expect you
to tell me and withdraw, not deceive me."</p><p>Some of his allies
still blinked. Harry stifled an impatient sigh. <em>Don't they
understand? This has to be something they freely choose or not at
all.</em></p><p>"The first strike is
against the Ministry," he said. "I will call on you as I need
you." He bowed his head. "Thank you for coming here tonight."</p><p>As the meeting began
to break up, Harry turned to the werewolves. They were the largest
problem. He knew where he would take them to shelter them—the Black
houses, obedient only to him while Regulus was gone and guarded
behind powerful wards. But, Merlin, <em>another</em> complication.</p><p>Seeing the hesitancy
in their eyes, though, he reminded himself that he wasn't the only
person affected here, and managed to offer them a smile of welcome.</p><p>"The first place
I'll take you is called Cobley-by-the-Sea," he announced. "It's
in Cornwall, on the coast of the Atlantic, and the cliffs above it
are dramatic. If you'll picture gray cliffs in your head, falling
sheerly to the sea…"</p><p>He could almost feel
their attention centering on him as he spoke, testing his strength,
learning how to regard him. There was the same sensation from many of
the other eyes in the clearing. And, of course, there was Remus, and
Loki running wild.</p><p>Harry could feel the
challenges that would be coming.</p><p>He braced himself to
meet them.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 10*: Theory, Meet Practice</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>And here's something there hasn't been in a while: a Draco-centric chapter.</p><p><strong>Chapter Eight: Theory, Meet Practice</strong></p><p>Draco came down the
main staircase in Cobley-by-the-Sea feeling as if someone had run a
hand through all his hair and made it stand on end. He hadn't slept
well. It wasn't the bare stone room or the unfamiliar bed, thick
with hastily dusted curtains, that had hampered that. The smells, of
all things, had got to him. Draco preferred the heavy rose-smell that
hung around Harry, at least to his nose, to the scents of salt and
spray. The heavy booming of the waves as they struck the cliff the
house was carved into hadn't helped, either.</p><p>He paused when he
reached the bottom of the staircase. It opened into a wide room, like
the one where they had celebrated Christmas though several floors
higher, with windows that gazed out on the ocean. There were several
stone pillars scattered throughout it, which Draco thought were meant
to serve as perches for owls, or plinths for objects now missing.
Otherwise, the room was bare and comfortless.</p><p>And Harry stood by one
of the windows, in the same clothes he'd worn last night, staring
out expectantly.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>Harry started and
looked over his shoulder. "Oh, hullo, Draco."</p><p><em>One of us has to
say it. </em>Draco remained silent, waiting. But Harry only turned
around again and stared back out the window, as if he didn't notice
the tension in the air. A moment later, he exclaimed and held out his
arm.</p><p>A barn owl, looking as
ruffled as Draco felt, clung to his jumper when Harry pulled his arm
back inside. He smiled as his Levitation Charm pulled the letter from
its leg, even though the owl hooted nervously and shifted from talon
to talon at the nearness of the invisible magic. Harry unrolled the
letter via a complicated process half-magic and half-hand, and which
Draco couldn't see well from this angle. He took a step nearer just
as Harry let the letter roll shut and grinned up at him.</p><p>"She'll do it,"
he told Draco.</p><p>Draco blinked a bit,
then said, in a tone meant to remind Harry that he didn't have a
bloody clue what he was talking about, "Who will do what?"</p><p>"Skeeter is going to
arrange to hold a public interview with me," said Harry, "at the
Ministry. She won't tell anyone until a few minutes before, so our
audience will be whoever's there at the time. That ought to provide
a nicely varied set of ears. And of course I'll be taking
Veritaserum in front of everyone, too." He looked around in
distraction. "I had parchment and a quill right here, I could swear
that I did. I have to write her back and let her know that half past
ten will be fine."</p><p>"I know you have an
amulet you can use to summon her," Draco said, frowning. "Why
didn't you just use that?"</p><p>"Because then she
would have had to fly or Apparate here, and talk to me about the
plan, and <em>then</em> go arrange matters," said Harry. He murmured
something Draco thought was "<em>Accio</em> parchment!", and a
folded scroll came flying over to him. He snatched it, badly
unsettling the owl, which fluttered away to wait on the windowsill
until he was done. "This way, she could just stay in London and
arrange things immediately. And we can have the interview more
quickly." He gave Draco another smile that might have melted
Draco's defenses if he weren't so concerned. "Skeeter's
smart. She'll know who to contact."</p><p>Draco wondered how to
put this politely, and finally said, "Harry."</p><p>"Hmmm?" Harry was
holding the parchment flat with the stump of his left wrist, while
scribbling the message rapidly with his right hand. Draco narrowed
his eyes. <em>That's another thing that he was going to work on,
too, getting his hand back. I know that he broke one curse on his
wrist, but then he never tried to break anything else. Combined with
what he just did, that's not a good sign.</em></p><p>"Did you go to sleep
last night?"</p><p>Harry looked up with
wide eyes, arrested for a moment, and then blinked. "Um. No." He
lifted his left shoulder in a shrug. He was already writing again. "I
forgot?"</p><p>"We've talked
about this," said Draco, feeling a stir of disgust in his belly. He
really didn't <em>like</em> scolding Harry to do elementary things
like eat and sleep. If nothing else, they made him sound like a
parent, and he wanted to be Harry's partner, not his parent.
Offering comfort when Harry was in trouble was one thing, but by now,
he should know better than to run himself into the ground. "You
need to <em>sleep</em>, no matter how exciting the day was."</p><p>"I literally
couldn't," Harry said, with a lightness that made Draco grit his
teeth. "I have too many plans." He finished the letter and strode
across the room to the barn owl, securing the message to its leg. The
owl hooted, and Harry reached into his robe pocket, holding out what
looked like a crumbling piece of toast. The owl ate a few bites
before it launched itself out the window again, already more
dignified than when it'd arrived. "And I was getting to know the
werewolves. There are all sorts of things about accepted werewolf
packs I never knew." He spun around, resting with his elbows on the
stone, and grinned at Draco. The gray light through the window made
his face appear to glow with an unhealthy pallor. "Did you know
they prefer to sleep all in one big tumble? A literal puppy-pile. And
they know exactly where every member of the pack is, physically, in
the room at all times. They can't really surprise each other, but
they keep trying."</p><p>Draco scowled. <em>Bloody
werewolves. </em>He'd managed to forget about them, actually, for
one blissful moment. Only half the pack was here; Harry had sent the
other twenty, with Lupin, to stay in Grimmauld Place. He'd
explained to Draco that he didn't trust Wayhouse's temper, and he
didn't trust werewolves to be in Silver-Mirror and around the
sun-pool and the wind-pool without falling in—or possibly turning
the painting into which they'd tricked the many-legged creature
around.</p><p>"You should still
have slept, Harry." He worked to shear any trace of whining off his
tone, and found that he'd succeeded. He sounded quiet, calm,
distant, with just a hint of adult condemnation. Like Narcissa,
really.</p><p><em>But I still don't
want to sound like a parent!</em></p><p>"One night isn't
going to kill me," Harry said cheerfully, walking past him. Draco
could hear a faint buzz, in addition to smelling the roses. Harry's
magic was working to keep him at this level of alertness, it seemed.
"Come on, Draco, Camellia's making breakfast."</p><p>Draco followed him,
eyes narrowed on his partner's back. Harry had promised that he
would continue to work on his healing simultaneously with everything
else once they were back in the world, and Draco had believed him.
But now he wasn't doing it. Draco hated those signs, and before he
would see Harry exhaust himself as he had in those days just after
the Midsummer battle, he would lock Harry in a room, cast a sleeping
spell on him, and then stand outside the room with his wand out so
that neither werewolves nor Snape could disturb him.</p><p><em>He's going to
miss things, if he wants to think of it purely in terms of the war
effort. Tired eyes see less than alert ones do. I suppose I should be
grateful that he's making time to eat breakfast, but I'm not. He
should be able to take care of himself and still accomplish the
majority of what he wants. I know he has the determination to do it.
But he's neglecting his sleep just to do a little more. He'd
probably whine that that's more useful.</em></p><p>Draco wondered, with a
sudden, sharp pang that seemed to center in his stomach, if Harry
still derived the majority of his pleasure from being "useful."
The way he had talked about the Black fortunes last night, shortly
before Draco had gone to bed and assumed that Harry had as well,
certainly signaled that.</p><p><em>The value of him is
not just in what he can do.</em></p><p>But confronting Harry
about that would make him sound still more like a parent, and would
probably get him nowhere. Harry knew some really good arguments now,
from spending time in the Sanctuary with Seers who could make
<em>anything</em> sound reasonable. Besides, Draco suspected that the
best way to win him was by rational argument. So he would watch,
collect evidence that refusing to attend to himself was impairing
Harry's judgment, and present it to him.</p><p><em>I have the right to
push. I told Harry I would. But sometimes you don't learn anything
by pushing, and have to wait for the right time. </em>Draco smirked as
they entered the kitchen, wondering if Harry assumed the lack of
pushing meant that Draco had given up. <em>Ha. Not bloody likely.</em></p><p>"Good morning,
Camellia."</p><p>Draco glanced up in
shock at the cheerful tone in Harry's voice. He hadn't thought he
was on <em>that</em> friendly a basis with any of the werewolves last
night. But the young woman with ragged dark hair—Draco wrinkled his
nose; didn't any of them <em>bathe</em>?—who was flipping something
dark brown in a pan turned around with a nod.</p><p>"Good morning,
Harry," she said. "Breakfast will be ready in a moment, if you'd
like to sit down." She nodded again, this time at a table
miraculously free of dust. Draco sat down gingerly anyway. The chairs
were made of stone, and looked solid, but this had been a Black
house. Nasty practical jokes could still be lurking in the furniture.</p><p>He watched Camellia
cook for a moment. There was a tea-kettle singing nearby, and she
reached for it with her free hand, pouring tea into several cups
waiting on the counter. Then Harry's magic wafted the cups over to
them. It was an impressive feat of dexterity on her part, Draco
supposed, but—</p><p>"Why aren't you
just using your magic to cook?" he asked, as he sipped his tea. It
didn't have enough milk, and he muttered that to Harry, who raised
an eyebrow and opened the door of a cupboard standing in the far
wall. Draco was reassured to note the preservation spell on the crock
of milk that came floating out. Of course, Pettigrew and Regulus
Black had been living here, so the food wouldn't be that old. "Why
do things the Muggle way?" he asked the werewolf.</p><p>She caught the thing
she was flipping in the pan, and glanced back at him with a small
smile. "Because I am a Muggle," she said. "Or, well, I was born
that way. The only magic I have is my gift."</p><p><em>Gift—she means
lycanthropy.</em> Draco felt faintly sick. He sipped his tea and said
nothing. It was one thing to listen to Harry's speeches on
irrational prejudices and think smugly that he knew better, that he
would never do some of the stupid things the Ministry had done. It
was another to sit in a house that had belonged to his ancestors and
realize there were Muggles rattling around in it. Or werewolves who
thought of their curse as a gift. Draco wondered what his mother
would say.</p><p>Then he shook his
head. <em>She was at the meeting last night. She heard Harry announce
his intentions to take them to Cobley-by-the-Sea. If she cared about
having Muggles and werewolves running around here, she would have
said something.</em></p><p>"Muggle," he went
back to Camellia, as she turned around with the pan. Draco thought
the food in it looked like a cross between toast and pancakes. At
least it smelled good, and she was scraping it onto a plate. "How
old were you when you were bitten?"</p><p>Camellia gave him a
funny stare. "Less than a year old," she said. "My parents were
to Scotland on holiday with me and encountered a werewolf. It killed
my mother, but my father survived and got us back to London."</p><p>Draco choked on his
tea. "I—you can't survive that," he said, when he had his
breath back. "Children that young can't survive a bite." He
noticed Harry watching him with amusement from across the table, but
he ignored him. Children that young <em>didn't</em> survive, damn it.</p><p>Camellia smirked at
him. "I did," she said. "My father didn't know what in the
world to do with me, especially when I started changing. Luckily, he
had a friend who had a friend who had a friend who knew the London
pack, and Loki came and adopted me."</p><p>Draco didn't know
what to say, so he added milk to his tea and waited for Camellia to
finish preparing their breakfast. It was pancakes, he saw when their
plates were finally piled. Camellia sat down on the other side of the
table and began to talk to Harry about the upcoming interview.
Apparently, he was going into the Ministry with werewolves as guards.</p><p>And then Draco choked
on his pancakes as much as he had choked on his tea.</p><p>"Harry," he said,
breaking in. He noticed the irritated look Camellia gave him, but he
ignored it. What did he care what a Muggle werewolf thought? "You're
going to take <em>Veritaserum?</em>"</p><p>Harry blinked and
pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Yes?" he said, making it
almost a question. "Skeeter said that she could get me some—or
rather, that she has a contact in the Ministry who can procure some.
There have been enough lies in the <em>Prophet</em> about me that I
thought I should counter them somehow. If I'm under Veritaserum,
they'll have to accept certain things as the truth."</p><p>Draco shook his head
tightly. <em>For all his knowledge of history, I don't think that he
imagines how it will look if he takes Veritaserum. </em>"Harry,
<em>criminals</em> take Veritaserum. If you drink it, you'll be
showing them that you think of yourself as guilty."</p><p>Harry sighed. "Draco,
criminals take it to prove their innocence. Unless it's forced on
them, which the Ministry has rules against, then no one who wants to
lie is going to take it."</p><p>"That's not the
point." Draco could feel agitation roiling in his mind, combining
with the political instincts that his father—and his mother, he
could acknowledge now—had taken some effort to hammer into him.
"You shouldn't have to take it for them to believe you. Your word
ought to be enough, Harry."</p><p>"It ought to be
enough," said Harry with infuriating patience. "But it isn't.
I've been gone too long. There's not been a fresh interview with
me to counteract the circling lies. They'll need the truth straight
from my own mouth before they start to believe me." He took another
sip of his tea, as if he believed that should have clinched his
point. Camellia sat back with her own tea and looked from one to the
other of them as if watching a duel. Draco spared a moment to scowl
at her. She offered him a wide, sharp-toothed grin.</p><p>Harry turned back to
Camellia. His pancakes were still mostly uneaten, Draco saw. "Now,
who do you think would be the best second werewolf to come with us?
Someone who's a wizard, to balance you? Or someone who <em>looks</em>
like a werewolf, to counter the idea that all accepted werewolves
will go wild and run through the streets and bite anyone who looks at
them sideways?"</p><p>"Is going in with
werewolves visible wise at all?" Draco interrupted. "I don't
think so, not with the Department for the Control and Suppression of
Deadly Beasts so important to the Ministry."</p><p>"Even
they are still operating inside the bounds of law," Harry said.
"They had to claim that the werewolves they killed were going to
attack them. They're still worried about what the public thinks.
That's why this is going to be as public as possible."</p><p>Draco made himself sit
still for a long moment, while Harry and Camellia spoke and settled
on a werewolf named Rose as a good companion. Then he stood. "Harry,
can I speak to you?"</p><p>Harry turned to him.
"Of course—"</p><p>"<em>In private.</em>"</p><p>Harry blinked a bit,
but stood. Draco supposed that since he would have granted one of the
werewolves the same privilege, he had no qualms about granting it to
Draco. "Of course. Excuse us, Camellia," he added over his
shoulder. Draco saw the werewolf wave a hand in casual acceptance,
but she watched them all the way out of the room.</p><p>Draco waited until
they were in the room where Harry had sent the owl off again, and
then turned to face him. "A privacy ward, if you please," he
said. He listened to his own voice. It was cool and strong, and
didn't sound anything like a parent's. If anything, he was a
political ally of Harry's, and Harry had to listen to him because
he would have listened to Lucius or Narcissa in the same position.</p><p>"Draco, I'm sure
that—"</p><p>"Camellia might
overhear something," Draco cut in, keeping his voice polite. "You
know what keen ears werewolves have."</p><p>Harry studied his
face, directly enough that Draco thought he might have used a touch
of Legilimency, and then nodded and raised the privacy ward, a
sparkling curve of white light that isolated them just as it had when
Harry spoke to Wilmot in the Ministry. Then he leaned back on the
wall, folding on the arms, and stared at Draco.</p><p>"You don't need to
do this," Draco said, making sure to keep his voice constrained
enough that he didn't seem as if his temper were going to explode
at any moment. "You really don't, Harry. I applaud the idea of a
public interview, and I applaud the idea of doing it through Skeeter,
and so suddenly that no one will have any time to set up an ambush.
But you don't need to take Veritaserum, and you don't need to
take werewolves along."</p><p>Harry nodded slowly,
as though considering it. "And what would you suggest that I do
instead?"</p><p>That was more progress
than Draco had hoped for. "Trust in your magic," he urged softly,
taking a step closer to his partner. Harry watched him and weighed
his words, and that was the best thing he had done today—or since
last night, because he had been awake for more than twenty-four
hours. Draco stamped down his irritation. "You shocked everyone in
the alliance last night, Harry, and a good part of it came from that
initial explosion of magic and the clothes you wore." He noticed
that Harry had removed the silver band from his forehead, but still
wore the dark green robes. <em>Well, we can find him others for this
interview. </em>"You're a powerful wizard. That means more than
you might think it does, to so many people. Didn't you see the
expressions on their faces last night? How they longed to be close to
you?" That had been an occasion for more than one moment of
smugness from Draco. A few of the younger members of the alliance, in
particular Calibrid Opalline, had looked at Harry with more than mere
yearning for magic in their eyes.</p><p>"Of course I did,"
said Harry, sounding faintly surprised. "But mere magic isn't
going to change those opinions circulating in the <em>Daily Prophet</em>,
Draco. If it could have, then they wouldn't have started."</p><p>"You weren't
here," said Draco. "You said that yourself. And you didn't have
all the webs off your magic then."</p><p>"If I keep using it
as a weapon, the shock value won't last long," said Harry. "I
can't depend it on it forever."</p><p>Draco bit his tongue,
deciding that Harry wouldn't want to hear the old tales of how
Lords and Ladies had kept many people panting after their magic for
years. He hated being called a Lord, and that was a resistance that
had remained, despite everything else he was doing to integrate
himself into politics. "That's true," said Draco. "But you
can go in, composed and calm and saying that you have just as much
right as anyone else to be judged fairly—<em>without</em>
Veritaserum. Don't make this into a trial, Harry. It's going to
be hard enough without that."</p><p>Harry smiled and
clapped him on the shoulder. "I promise that I'm only using
Veritaserum because I think it's the best choice, Draco."</p><p>"You said that you
could depend on me to tell you when you were making the wrong
decisions." Draco stared into his eyes. "And now you are. Listen
to me, Harry, please. This could set a precedent, too. What if others
want to question you under Veritaserum?"</p><p>"I can make the
decision," said Harry, and dropped the privacy ward, and smiled at
Draco, and went away to talk to Camellia again.</p><p>Draco stood where he
was for a moment, pulling his breaths in smoothly through his nose, a
relaxation technique his mother had taught him. Then he went to
select his own robes. He would look immaculate. He would wield the
power of perception that he knew Harry despised.</p><p><em>Someone who will be
there should.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Skeeter had chosen to
stage the interview in a main corridor of the Ministry—the one that
led to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in fact. There was
no way that anyone could miss it. <em>Daily Prophet</em> banners
covered the walls, and two photographers hovered ostentatiously in
the way. Skeeter herself sat in one of a pair of chairs, her notebook
held firmly in her hands and a smile covering her face. Draco thought
the smile looked like a shark's.</p><p>Harry had at least
changed into different clothes, simple dark robes, for his appearance
here. Camellia and Rose walked to either side of him, their nostrils
flared as they apparently sniffed for threats. Draco was at Harry's
right shoulder. He had his hand on his wand, and he intended to keep
it there.</p><p>Harry let the control
on his magic gradually slip as he neared the chair in front of
Skeeter. She turned towards him first, and the shark's smile
widened. Draco had heard that being near magic this strong sometimes
made wizards and witches dream of what they could accomplish with it.
She was one of them, then, which didn't surprise Draco at all.</p><p>He took up his
position behind Harry's chair as Harry sat down, all poise and
confidence. That was good, but Draco could see curious stares from
the Ministry workers who had formed an impromptu crowd, their stares
growing sharper as they recognized both Skeeter and Harry, and
winced. <em>We should have come with a larger entourage. If Harry had
just waited and let us inform more people, we could have had my
father here at least, and Mrs. Parkinson—no, I don't think Harry
would have let her come into the Ministry, when they have spells to
track werewolves. Well, Mr. Bulstrode, then. And Owen and Michael
should be here.</em></p><p>Harry had had Owen and
Michael stay behind at Hogwarts, the excuse being that they were
obviously uncomfortable around werewolves and he had to see to the
comfort of the pack that night. Draco had thought nothing of it at
the time. Now he wondered if it was Harry's training acting against
his political instincts again, shoving aside the temptation to show
off his sworn companions in public.</p><p><em>This has to stop. I
can see that I'll have an even heavier task than I estimated at
first.</em></p><p>"Thank you for
attending this meeting, <em>vates</em>," said Skeeter, loud enough to
be heard over the murmurings of the Ministry workers. "I'd like
to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind. Our <em>Prophet</em>
readers have been so curious about where you've been this last
month!"</p><p>Harry smiled. "I'd
be happy to tell you," he said. "But first, Mrs. Skeeter, I think
there was a condition of this interview we agreed to, and that you're
forgetting?"</p><p>"Of course, how
stupid of me," Skeeter said, with a chuckle, and then fumbled in
her purse for what turned out to be a clear vial of Veritaserum.
Draco was sourly pleased to see that the smile on her face dimmed a
bit. <em>She doesn't think this is a good idea any more than I do.</em></p><p>Harry opened the vial
and looked around at the crowd with an open, pleasant face. "I am
taking Veritaserum because there have been some questions about my
truthfulness, particularly given what I said in the last days before
I left," he said. "This will prove that I have nothing to hide."
He lifted the vial and touched three drops of the potion to his
tongue. The crowd's murmuring increased. Draco listened to the
cadences of their words, and decided that they were reluctantly
impressed.</p><p>He shook his head.
<em>This will end badly, I know it. And you do have things to hide,
Harry.</em></p><p>Harry swallowed the
Veritaserum, and then smiled and looked up at Skeeter. "Whenever
you're ready, ma'am," he murmured.</p><p>"Thank you, Harry."
Skeeter's quill rapped her notebook for a moment, and then she
began the questioning. At least Draco could be sure that she'd
chosen the questions carefully. "Where did you go this summer?
There were so many rumors…"</p><p>"To stay with the
Seers," said Harry. "They see the present, and souls. They have a
Sanctuary I've been invited to visit before, and I finally decided
to accept the invitation."</p><p>Skeeter tilted her
head to the side. "And that's the place that you began your
training to defeat You-Know-Who?"</p><p><em>Harry's cover
story, to content Whitestag and her group. </em>Draco frowned. <em>I
hope the Veritaserum doesn't make him betray that that was a sham.</em></p><p>"I did that, too,"
said Harry agreeably, and entirely truthfully, Draco realized. Harry
could manipulate Veritaserum, at least, as he had done when the
Ministry arrested Snape for trying to kill Minister Fudge. It had
something to do with being an Occlumens. "I researched various
kinds of magic that will be useful in the war. And I worked on myself
as hard as I could. When I went to the Sanctuary, I was in no fit
state to defend the wizarding world. Now, I hope I can safely say I
am."</p><p>"Fascinating,"
said Skeeter, and scribbled rapidly. "Now, can you tell us what
that magic is? Or would it be too dangerous to say?"</p><p><em>Good way to work
against the Veritaserum, </em>Draco thought, and gave her a slow nod
he doubted she noticed. <em>That will let Harry give an answer that's
still truthful.</em></p><p>"Too dangerous to
say." Harry smiled and waved a hand self-deprecatingly. "And the
details would probably be boring to anyone who wasn't studying it,"
he added. "I've got a bit of the Ravenclaw in me, I'm afraid."</p><p>That won a few
chuckles. Draco gazed at Harry. <em>If he could only do this as the
normal wizard he deserves to be treated as, then what an impression
he would make!</em></p><p>"And what would you
say to the rumors that started to circulate a few days after your
departure?" Skeeter asked, looking up. "About your murdering a
dozen children in front of Hogwarts?"</p><p>"I mercy-killed
them," said Harry, his voice filled with relief, and abruptly,
Draco understood why he'd wanted the Veritaserum. This was the only
way that might convince the parents of the dead children, and their
sympathizers, that he wasn't lying. "Voldemort"—people
flinched like dry grass with a wind traveling through it "—had
them in a Life-Web. That spell constrains the victims to obey the
holder in <em>whatever</em> way he commands. He can make them die,
commit suicide, murder others, become wounded. And he can stop the
effects of any spell on them, once he notices it."</p><p>Draco hoped he was the
only one to see Harry's hand clench into a fist on the arm of the
chair. His voice stayed steady, though, as if he'd long prepared
for the telling of this story. "The Life-Web was to make me give up
my own life. I hung there, suspended between the screams of the dying
behind me and the screams of the wounded in front of me, and he told
me that if I came to him and surrendered, then he would free them."</p><p>Harry gave a dry,
bitter chuckle. "Not true, of course. He has lied every time he's
faced me. He had no reason to let them go. And so, because I was
pressed for time and I couldn't think of any better course, I used
a heart attack spell on the children. Voldemort was so sure that I'd
ultimately have to sacrifice my life—after some pleasurable moments
for him, of course—that he didn't think I'd kill them, and he
didn't notice the spell in time to stop it. They died, and then I
was free to go and help the others."</p><p>Skeeter bowed her head
in the wake of that statement, and for a moment, silence spread.
Draco could see most of the people around them staring with wide
eyes. <em>That has to content them, doesn't it? </em>he thought.
<em>They're thinking about how horrible a choice that is and how
they couldn't make it, that's plain.</em></p><p>It immediately became
obvious that one person there wasn't, though.</p><p>"Do you regret it at
all?" someone demanded, and then the same person elbowed several
people aside rapidly and moved forward. "Or has it just become a
pretty story for you to tell, to try to keep yourself out of
justified trouble?"</p><p>Draco snarled a bit
when he saw the big man, and realized who he must be. <em>Philip
Willoughby. And he's a Muggle, so he's not feeling Harry's
magic at all, and thus he's not impressed. Fuck.</em></p><p>"I regret it every
day." Harry's voice was deep and steady, and, of course,
absolutely truthful. "I nearly gave myself up during the siege
because I couldn't live with the guilt. But doing so would have
meant condemning others who relied on me. Ultimately, I chose the
living over the dead."</p><p>Draco winced. <em>And
this is why he should not have taken Veritaserum. Damn it all, Harry.</em></p><p>"My daughter is not
gone," said Philip. "She is alive in me, still, and she would
have wanted me to fight for her. She might have lived if you had gone
down to Voldemort and <em>let</em> her live."</p><p>"He would not have
kept his promise," Harry said.</p><p>"You only <em>believe</em>
that," said Willoughby, and though his voice was stern Draco saw
tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He wondered what living
in the midst of grief for an only child, reminding oneself of it each
and every day, would do to a Muggle. He knew they were more mentally
fragile than wizards. "You don't <em>know</em>. That Veritaserum
can only extract what you believe to be the truth of the matter, not
what actually is."</p><p>Harry leaned forward,
concentrating solely on Willoughby. "Mr. Willoughby, I am sorry for
your loss," he said. "But I cannot bring your daughter back. I
don't know what to do to make the loss of Alexandra up to you."</p><p>"Stand trial,"
Willoughby snarled back. "You committed a war crime, the torture
and murder of a dozen children."</p><p>"I
did not torture them—" Harry began.</p><p>"<em>Allowed</em> them
to be tortured, because you did not act sooner!" Willoughby came
another step forward, until he was almost level with Skeeter's
chair, and Draco heard low growls begin in Camellia's and Rose's
throats. "I believe, Mr. Potter, as you don't, obviously, that
the person who sees the problem should solve it, if he has the
ability to do so. You had the ability. You lacked only the will."</p><p>Draco saw Harry
flinch, a movement that seemed to start in his bones. Harry, of
course, did believe that, and to hear one of his own principles flung
in his face had to hurt.</p><p>He didn't hear
Harry's reply, though, because, unlike his partner, he did not
consider Willoughby to be the center of existence and the only one
worth paying attention to. He turned his head as a flicker of
movement off to the side caught his eye, and saw someone edging
forward through the crowd, his hand on something in his pocket.</p><p><em>A wand? </em>Draco
gripped his own wand. <em>Draw it, then. </em>He readied himself to
throw up a Shield Charm, though he was cautious enough to wait until
he saw the spell. As Moody had taught them, some spells could make
shields explode, doing more damage to the defenders than the
attackers.</p><p>He studied the
attacker, meanwhile. He was nothing remarkable, just a fairly thin
man in the robes of a Ministry flunky. He didn't appear nervous,
but rather resigned. His intent gaze on Harry could have been
hero-worship, or attempting to memorize his expression to report it
back to an employer. Perhaps he was a spy, and not someone who meant
to attack after all.</p><p>Then his hand whipped
out of his pocket, and it wasn't a spell he threw, but something
small and round, coin-like, arcing through the air and straight for
Harry, over the shoulder of the oblivious werewolf on the left.</p><p>Draco made a quick
decision. The coin might make a shield explode, for all he knew, but
it was likely to do more damage to Harry's skin. "<em>Protego!</em>"
he shouted, the spell almost instinctive after practicing it for so
long in the dueling club, and the air around him and Harry turned
silver and tightened.</p><p>Harry twisted around,
shouting his own Shield Charm, which linked with Draco's. Draco
watched the coin slam into the barrier and then bounce off, rolling
back to land halfway between the attacker and the chairs.</p><p>The man's eyes
widened, and he swallowed, then stumbled backwards.</p><p>Harry tightened and
raised the barriers a moment before a wave of concussive force sprang
out of the coin, heading straight for them. A time-delayed spell,
Draco thought, even as he went to his knees and felt his <em>Protego</em>
crack. A second shock wave came at him, and he was faced with the
choice between maintaining the shield and having the effort hurt him,
or letting it go and trying to protect Harry from the new attack he
feared was coming.</p><p>He dropped it as the
third blow struck, trusting in Harry to protect him, and then raised
his head. Sure enough, a second wizard had dashed up behind the first
one, and was chanting something Draco couldn't hear in the startled
shouts and screams. The coin <em>he</em> held shot up into the air,
obviously trying to float over the top of the linked Shield Charms.</p><p>Draco aimed his wand
at the coin. "<em>Conversio!</em>" he shouted.</p><p>The coin turned and
snapped in the other direction—briefly. Then it slowed again, and
Draco could feel the force of the other wizard's magic, pushing
against his, trying to direct the coin at him. He gritted his teeth
and fought his way to one knee, his mind racing as he tried to think
of what spell he could use to strike back, without requiring Harry to
drop the Shield Charms.</p><p>Harry's magic was
crowding the room like a new-grown field of roses, but Draco knew he
would think of defense first. He wasn't even sure if Harry had
noticed the second coin, and he didn't dare turn his head to check.
This stranger was nearly as strong as he was, and the fight took all
his concentration. The coin dipped as the stranger's spells varied,
and Draco kept re-casting his <em>Conversio</em>. The coin wavered
nearer and nearer to them, though.</p><p>Draco growled under
his breath. The werewolves were shifting around him, but he didn't
know if they could get out of the Shield Charms—and if they could,
they would probably trigger a panic as soon as they tried to bite
someone. No, he had to handle this himself.</p><p>He dropped the
<em>Conversio</em>, as though he'd grown too exhausted to maintain it
any longer. The wizard shouted in triumph, and the coin flew at
Draco, like a stone from a slingshot.</p><p>Draco lifted his wand
so that it was pointing straight at the coin through the gap, and
snapped, "<em>Aboleo!</em>" putting all his conviction into the
word. This was a spell that was supposed to stop not only an object
but also the magic on it—if the wizard casting it was strong
enough.</p><p>The coin
self-destructed, spinning apart in shards of wood and flame, which
made Draco suspect that it had had a time-delayed fire spell on it.
Draco saw his opponent's eyes widen, and then narrow. He grabbed
the first attacker by the arm and shook his head, and they turned,
dodging away down the corridor.</p><p>Draco turned and
checked that Harry was all right. He was fine, and the last shock
wave that came from the coin on the floor was considerably weaker.
Harry dropped the Shield Charms and gestured at the coin. Since the
spell he used was wandless and non-verbal, Draco didn't know what
it was, but the coin shivered, and then lost any sense of magic
whatsoever.</p><p>Draco grabbed Harry's
shoulder. "We can still catch them, if we hurry!" he shouted,
gesturing with his head in the direction the wizards had gone.</p><p>Then he saw there was
no need for them to hurry. Camellia had already jumped over the coin
and the heads of several of the people in the crowd, landing smoothly
on the floor beyond. She took off down the corridor in a hunching
run. Draco grinned. He supposed there <em>were</em> some good things
about having a werewolf on one's side.</p><p>But Camellia hadn't
turned the corner before someone shouted, "<em>Comperio lupum!</em>"
and a blinding blue glow formed around her body. She whimpered and
slid to a stop, putting a hand up to shield her face. Two witches in
what looked vaguely like Auror robes shoved forward through the
crowd, heading for her.</p><p>"She's a
werewolf," said the taller one. Draco saw that she had a badge on
her robes that depicted a severed wolf's head. "It's illegal
for her to be in the Ministry, and without either a collar or a
keeper with her. We're going to—"</p><p>"You're not going
to harm her."</p><p>Draco started as ice
slid along the walls next to him. He turned, and Harry was stepping
towards the witches, who must be from the Department for the Control
and Suppression of Deadly Beasts, his eyes wide and his hand out. His
magic had sharpened into a low, concentrated glow around him, more
full of darkness and flames than actual light. Draco gave a faint,
sharp smile. <em>If he had gone in like this in the first place, then
I don't think anyone would have tried to attack him. Maybe next
time he'll listen to me. It's better to intimidate your enemies
than make them think you're conciliatory.</em></p><p>"Even you can't
disobey the law," the shorter witch said, in a soothing tone. "We
know who you are, <em>vates</em>, but she was running wild, and
obviously going to hurt two innocent wizards—"</p><p>"Who just tried to
kill me," said Harry.</p><p>There was a sudden and
awkward silence. Draco looked around the crowd. Most of them were
watching cautiously; events had happened too fast for them to catch
up. The witches from the Department had paled a bit. Harry had his
head up and tilted slightly, and Draco didn't think it was a
coincidence that his hair had shifted enough to let everyone see his
lightning bolt scar.</p><p>"Unless, of course,
that make them innocent by definition," Harry continued, his voice
deep and poisonously polite. "Unless the <em>vates</em> is exempt
from protection, and anyone who tries to kill him is a hero."</p><p>"No one means that."
The shorter witch put out a hand, then winced and snatched it back.
Draco didn't blame her. The air in Harry's immediate vicinity had
chilled so much that it hurt to stand near him. "But—well, she
might have bitten them."</p><p>"And that would have
done nothing, this far from the full moon," said Harry. "She was
trying to protect me. She is sworn to me." He pivoted back to face
Skeeter. "I would have been able to tell you about the Alliance of
Sun and Shadow, if we had not been interrupted," he said. "This
is an alliance that anyone can join, if they will come to me and
promise to swear its oath and obey its principles. We welcome anyone
who wishes to join—Muggleborn, Squib, centaur, merfolk, pureblood,
Dark wizard, Light wizard, <em>werewolf.</em>" He nodded at Camellia,
who had crept back towards him, and Rose, who was showing her teeth
as if she couldn't stop herself. "And we require our members to
think past their fear, rather than stop someone going in pursuit of
would-be assassins." He gave the Department witches a heated
glance. "You will, of course, help me hunt for those men, since you
stopped Camellia from finding them."</p><p>The witches dipped
their heads, but Draco could see the fear and growing dislike in
their eyes. They didn't like being ordered around, even though they
didn't dare oppose Harry.</p><p>"You may also tell
your readers," Harry went on, turning back to Skeeter, "that
Loki, the werewolf leader who was sending threatening letters to
Wizengamot Elders and attacking them, has now given his pack into my
protection. These are two members of it, Camellia and Rose." He
gestured to the two werewolves. He seemed oblivious to how many
people promptly inched away, but Draco guessed he had, in truth,
noticed. "They will not be attacking anyone any more. Loki has gone
rogue, and may, but his pack has sworn peace with anyone who swears
peace with them. They will defend me, however, as I will defend
them."</p><p>Skeeter wrote quickly,
then stood. Draco could almost see her bouncing up and down, no doubt
in a frenzy to get back and report this to the <em>Daily Prophet</em>
before some other newspaper could bring the story out. "Thank you,
<em>vates</em>, you've been most informative," she babbled, and
then dashed out.</p><p>Harry snorted and
turned back to face the Department witches. "Aren't you going to
help me hunt?" he demanded.</p><p>They stirred and led
the way reluctantly down the hall. Draco shook his head. "I don't
think we're going to find them," he muttered to Harry.</p><p>"I know," said
Harry, with a long-suffering sigh. "They'll be gone by now. But
we have one possible clue." He held out his hand, and Draco saw the
first wooden coin there. It was stamped with the image of a winged
horse, body arched as though in flight. "If we can figure out what
this means, we'll have a good start on figuring out <em>who</em> they
are."</p><p>Draco nodded,
reassured. The flying horse could mean a number of things, but not
<em>anything.</em></p><p>"What bothers me
more," Harry continued, "is how they <em>knew.</em>"</p><p>Draco had to think
about that, but then he felt something ugly twist in his chest.
"Skeeter set this up so quickly," he said. "So how did they,
whoever they are, manage to coordinate an assassination attempt, or a
warning—" he wasn't sure the assassins had seriously thought
they could take a wizard of Harry's power "—so quickly?"</p><p>"Exactly," said
Harry. "Someone told them. But who?"</p><p>Draco paused. He
didn't want to say what he was thinking, but he had to. "The
werewolves knew," he observed at last.</p><p>"I know." It was
obvious what an effort it cost Harry to say those words, Veritaserum
or not. He sighed. "Believe me, Draco, I'm aware of that. And
some of the things you said made me think that you were right and I
was wrong about how to handle this interview. It didn't go the way
I hoped. I'll have to listen to you more closely next time."</p><p>A warm glow grew in
Draco's chest to replace the ugly thing. He touched Harry's hand.
"I'm glad that you're still here to listen to me next time,"
he whispered.</p><p>Harry smiled at him,
and then of course the Muggle had to cut in and ruin everything.</p><p>"Mr. Potter. I have
not finished talking to you." Willoughby was folding his arms
across his chest and scowling at Harry.</p><p>Harry gave him the
same kind of disinterested glance he'd given Snape. "Mr.
Willoughby, you can always write me if you'd like to continue this
conversation. Right now, I've just had my life threatened, and the
freedom of one of my people equally threatened. I hope you understand
why I'm not in the mood for debate. I mercy-killed your daughter.
That's the end of it."</p><p>He turned away, and
Draco bit his lip to keep from cheering at the expression on the
Muggle's face before he hurried after Harry.</p><p><em>I think he must
have learned after all. It takes a while to get him to think about
himself, but not as long as it once would have. This is wonderful.
For one thing, I can push and get better results than if he were
utterly resistant to it, or just ignoring me.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 11*: Interlude: The Daily Prophet August 5th</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>In which Rita shows that she is very, very good at what she does.</p><p><strong>Interlude: The <em>Daily
Prophet</em>, August 5th, 1996</strong></p><p><em>The Daily
Prophet August 5th, 1996</em></p><p><strong><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em>INTERVIEW OF
THE DAY:</em></span></strong></p><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em><strong>HARRY VATES: LEADER OF THE ALLIANCE OF SUN AND
SHADOW</strong></em></span>
<p><em>By: Rita Skeeter</em></p><p>In a startling
development, Harry, the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span> by his own choice, the
Boy-Who-Lived by virtue of his having toppled You-Know-Who from power
in the First War, the legal heir of the Black line by the choice of
Regulus Black, and the Young Hero by popular acclaim, has not only
returned to the wizarding world, but granted this reporter an
exclusive interview today, in which he revealed his future plans for
the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.</p><p>We met in the corridor
of the Ministry of Magic which leads to the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement—rather a fitting place, given the aura of justice that
surrounded Harry as he strode to take his seat. He has just turned
sixteen; his birthday is the thirty-first of July. But he wears the
expression of a wizard much more mature than his years, as well as
stronger and more confident.</p><p>Even more
surprisingly, he chose to conduct this interview entirely under
Veritaserum. He wished the wizarding world to know that what he said
today was the absolute truth, he explained.</p><p>I thanked him for his
courtesy in allowing me to interview him, and led off with a question
emphasizing the curiosity of our readers as to his whereabouts for
the last month. He wore a faint smile when he regarded me, and
answered—truthfully, of course.</p><p>He said that he had
been at a Sanctuary of Seers who can see the present and souls.
Rather a frightening place to this reporter, but he spoke as if he
went there daily. In Harry's words, he "finally decided to accept
the invitation."</p><p>Since the last story
of the Young Hero's whereabouts involved him going to train and
learn how to defeat You-Know-Who, I asked him about that. Harry's
response was frank and cordial.</p><p>"I researched
various kinds of magic that will be useful in the war. And I worked
on myself as hard as I could. When I went to the Sanctuary, I was in
no fit state to defend the wizarding world. Now, I hope I can safely
say I am."</p><p>Given that the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates
</span>has already flown against dragons and stopped them from attacking
students in the school, freed South African hive cobras and centaurs
from their wrongfully imposed webs, helped in the deposing of former
Minister Cornelius Fudge, lost his left hand in You-Know-Who's
return, battled the wild Dark at Midwinter last year—at the cost of
his own bonded phoenix—freed Durmstrang from the mad hold of
Bellatrix Lestrange, held a vernal equinox alliance meeting for
anyone interested in seeing and assessing him, lured You-Know-Who
into a trap that wound up cutting a hole in his magical core, and
planned and led the Battle of Hogwarts, this reporter had to wonder
what state he thought <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>would</span> be a fit one in which to defend
the wizarding world.</p><p>"Now, can you tell
us what that magic is?" I asked, even mindful of the informed
curiosity of <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Prophet</span> readers. "Or would it be too dangerous
to say?"</p><p>Harry demurred on that
one, indicating that the danger factor was indeed high. Besides, he
added, "And the details would probably be boring to anyone who
wasn't studying it. I've got a bit of the Ravenclaw in me, I'm
afraid."</p><p>It is this reporter's
opinion that he has more than a bit of every House in him, if his
genius for battle, his loyalty to his allies, and his courage under
curses are all observed. And, of course, there is the fact that he
has the Malfoy magical heir, son of a very old Slytherin pureblood
family and his joined partner-to-be, constantly at his side. Young
Draco stood behind his chair, and observed me in ways that I don't
mind saying sent shivers up his spine. Merciless grace is in him
already, if I may be permitted to quote my own description of Lucius
Malfoy from more than a decade ago.</p><p>Of course, inevitably,
less pleasant matters came up. I had to ask him about the rumors of
his murdering a dozen children in the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry's
answer was flavored with both Veritaserum and his own bitter regret.</p><p>"I mercy-killed
them," he said, in a voice with the strain and the grief obvious.
"You-Know-Who he of course used his name, but this reporter
understands the true sensitivities of <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Prophet</span> readers had
them in a Life-Web. That spell constrains the victims to obey the
holder in <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>whatever</span> way he commands. He can make them die,
commit suicide, murder others, become wounded. And he can stop the
effects of any spell on them, once he notices it."</p><p>Independent research
on the Life-Web done by this reporter corroborates Harry's words.
In fact, the Life-Web can also be used to drive its victims insane.
It gives its caster absolute control over the victims' lives and
minds. And it cannot be broken by anyone but the caster.</p><p>Harry continued with
his harrowing account of what it was like during the moments when
You-Know-Who held the battle—not the Battle of Hogwarts, but the
assault made thirteen days previous, on the eighth of June—in
suspense. "The Life-Web was to make me give up my own life. I hung
there, suspended between the screams of the dying behind me and the
screams of the wounded in front of me, and he told me that if I came
to him and surrendered, then he would free them."</p><p>He chuckled then, but
it was obvious to this reporter that he found no humor in the
statements. "Not true, of course. He has lied every time he's
faced me. He had no reason to let them go. And so, because I was
pressed for time and I couldn't think of any better course, I used
a heart attack spell on the children. You-Know-Who was so sure that
I'd ultimately have to sacrifice my life—after some pleasurable
moments for him, of course—that he didn't think I'd kill them,
and he didn't notice the spell in time to stop it. They died, and
then I was free to go and help the others."</p><p>That is the truth that
every <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Prophet</span> reader has been wanting to know for the last
month: harsh, bare, unadorned.</p><p>Of course, a grieving
parent could not be expected to accept this, and one of them did not.
Philip Willoughby, 34, the Muggle father of the first-year Ravenclaw
Alexandra Willoughby, one of Harry's victims, appeared then, and
accused Harry of telling a "pretty story."</p><p>Harry admitted to
suffering guilt, no matter how necessary his decision may have been.
"I regret it every day," he told Mr. Willoughby. He even talked
about being willing to commit suicide during the siege. He concluded
that, "Ultimately, I chose the living over the dead."</p><p>Mr. Willoughby,
understandably, was less than impressed with this, and a brief
argument followed, with both debaters staunchly defending their own
positions. Then there came an attempt on Harry's life. Wooden coins
with time-delayed spells on them were flung at both Harry, the two
women who had come with him, and his partner Draco Malfoy by
attackers unknown.</p><p>Harry raised a Shield
Charm to link with his partner's coolly and confidently. It's
obvious that he's weathered assassination attempts like this
before. With the coins destroyed, the attackers fled. One of Harry's
allies moved to go after the threat to her <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span>, springing
over the heads of those present with more-than-mortal grace and
speed. As it turned out, she is a werewolf, but perfectly obedient to
Harry, part of the newly-organized Alliance of Sun and Shadow.</p><p>Two members of the
Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts, however,
cast a werewolf-finding spell on Harry's ally and attempted to take
her into custody. This prevented her from finding and dragging back
the attackers. It is possible that the Department witches feared for
the lives of the attackers, but this reporter wonders why they did
not seem to fear for the innocent lives that the attackers could have
cost when they launched their offensive.</p><p>Harry coldly forbade
them to take his ally into custody. As she had bitten no one, and it
is not near the full moon, he maintained, there was no danger from
her.</p><p>And it was then that
he revealed his new alliance, which, for the first time, has a formal
oath and a name, and has granted him another title.</p><p>"This is an alliance
that anyone can join, if they will come to me and promise to swear
its oath and obey its principles. We welcome anyone who wishes to
join—Muggleborn, Squib, centaur, merfolk, pureblood, Dark wizard,
Light wizard, <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>werewolf</span>" With these words, he nodded
to both his companions, making it obvious that both of them were
werewolves, and had behaved themselves perfectly until the
assassination attempt. "And we require our members to think past
their fear, rather than stop someone going in pursuit of would-be
assassins." A bit of a slap at the Department, there, but his anger
was up and surging, his magic filling the corridor, and of course our
Boy-Who-Lived has always been a bit angry when someone attacks his
allies.</p><p>"You may also tell
your readers," he continued, "that Loki, the werewolf leader who
was sending threatening letters to Wizengamot Elders and attacking
them, has now given his pack into my protection. These are two
members of it, Camellia and Rose. They will not be attacking anyone
any more. Loki has gone rogue, and may, but his pack has sworn peace
with anyone who swears peace with them. They will defend me, however,
as I will defend them."</p><p>He turned and left
then, seeming oblivious to how changed the world is in his wake. But
then, another defining trait of the Young Hero so far has been his
modesty.</p><p>Harry <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span> has
returned to the wizarding world with a vengeance, but his mission is
guided by a sense of justice, an alliance devoted to inclusion, and
principles that seem to rely on rising above fear. I trust that all
<span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Prophet</span> readers are looking forward to what will happen now as
much as I am, and are as thankful to have such a brave, determined
young man dedicated to protecting us from You-Know-Who.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 12*: Three Arguments, Two Discussions</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>Well, isn't this chapter a weird mix of emotional tones.</p><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Three Arguments, Two Discussions,
and One Early Morning</strong></p><p>"Good—" Draco
paused when he stepped around the corner into Regulus's study and
saw Harry sitting at a desk covered with paper. Harry glanced at him
from the corner of his eye and saw him standing there, staring rather
obviously. Harry wondered why for a moment, but Draco said nothing,
and he could be overcome by the oddest things at the oddest times.</p><p>At the moment, he was
more interested in looking through the Blacks' collection of law
books. Though they'd been assembled for a horrible purpose—some
of Regulus's ancestors had wanted to bring back Muggle-hunting, and
had looked into Ministry laws to find a loophole that would let them
justify it—they were impressively comprehensive. If Harry could
find legal means to fight the Ministry's anti-werewolf laws, he
would find them here.</p><p>"What are you
doing?"</p><p>And Draco's voice
had that odd edge again. Harry sat back and smiled at him. Draco
didn't seem inclined to leave him alone until he did. "Looking
for loopholes that will prove the Department for the Control and
Suppression of Deadly Beasts is illegal," he explained.</p><p>"Really."</p><p>Harry frowned and
cocked his head. Draco's voice had gone cool, and lost all traces
of curiosity. <em>But if he doesn't want to know what I'm doing,
why did he ask?</em></p><p>"Yes," Harry said.
"It turned out that Fudge did stupid things out of fear. He passed
laws right under Dumbledore's nose, for instance. Other than his
kidnapping of me, that's the kind of thing that got him subjected
to a vote of no confidence. I think it's at least possible that
Amelia Bones made the same kind of mistakes when she organized this
Department. I want to expose them." He shut the book in front of
him and dragged the next one towards him. <em>Ministry Edicts Relating
to Other Species, 1600-1785: A—Ad. </em>It at least looked
promising, Harry thought.</p><p>"Hmmm." Draco
continued to stand there, even though Harry had thought he would
leave when he realized Harry's subject matter was so boring. "And
what were you going to do if you found this information?"</p><p>"Start compiling it,
of course," said Harry, digging through the tome. Hermione had had
a nice little spell last year that would mark every occurrence of a
certain word in a book; she'd used it when revising for OWL's.
Harry regretted now that he'd never asked her to teach it to him,
and that he didn't know whether she'd found it in the library or
modified an existing spell. He resolved to write her and ask her to
teach it to him. "And then start contacting people in the Ministry
who could help me—lean on a few people, and ask the proper
questions. I don't want a legal battle if I can avoid one. Making
the Wizengamot reconsider their actions will serve just fine."</p><p>"When were you
planning to go to bed?"</p><p>"Hmmm," it was
Harry's turn to say, as he halted on a page covered with a
description of a law relating to vampire restrictions. It had
something to do with collars. It would take him a while to untangle
the complicated legal language, but perhaps he could use it as a
precedent when talking about werewolves and these collars the
Department evidently wanted them to wear. "Soon."</p><p>Draco drew his wand
and whispered a spell under his breath. Harry ignored him, knowing
Draco wouldn't do anything to hurt him.</p><p>He had to pay
attention when all the books on the desk, including the one he was
reading, lifted in the air and then came back down on the surface
with a colossal <em>thump</em>, though. Harry turned around, his mouth
already open to utter an angry shout.</p><p>"I am sick and <em>tired</em>
of this, Harry," said Draco, in a voice that could cut glass,
stepping forward. "You are slipping <em>again</em>. You are ignoring
your promises <em>again.</em> You made a stupid decision by not going
to bed last night, and you're about to make it <em>again</em>. I
won't let you."</p><p>"My magic can keep
me alert," Harry argued, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. He
knew what weariness felt like. This wasn't weariness. His magic,
now that it was free, obeyed him much more thoroughly than it ever
had before, and that included eating the poisons that Harry knew
could build up in his body after skipping too much sleep. "I'm
fine. I don't need to—"</p><p>"If
you say you don't need to sleep I am going to smack you," said
Draco, in such a conversational tone that Harry only realized what
he'd said a moment later. He blinked and opened his mouth to
retort, and once again Draco got there first. "Your magic can't
keep you alert <em>enough.</em> Shall I tell you what failures of
alertness I've observed in you today?"</p><p>"You might as well,"
Harry said, leaning back with a scowl and folding his arms over his
chest. "Since you're about to do it anyway."</p><p>Draco's lip curled
and his eyes glittered, but his tone was once more cuttingly polite.
"You didn't notice the attackers edging around to the side during
your meeting with Skeeter. You especially didn't notice the second
one. I saw the look of surprise on your face when I told you about
him."</p><p>"I was focusing on
Willoughby," Harry said.</p><p>"You don't
normally focus on anyone that much," Draco said. "You've saved
your own life before because you saw something out of the corner of
your eye. And not noticing the second coin, once the attack had
already begun and you should have been paying attention to <em>everything</em>
around you? That was pure carelessness, Harry."</p><p>Harry lowered his
eyes, feeling an unhappy squirming sensation in his stomach. "I was
lucky you were there," he said quietly. "I already admitted that
you were right, Draco. What more do you want from me?"</p><p>"Not <em>this</em>,"
Draco said, and he sounded angry now. "Nothing like <em>this</em>. I
don't like being your keeper, Harry. I'm supposed to be your
partner, your <em>equal</em>. And when I see you not even noticing that
Camellia tried to talk to you earlier, and nearly dropping the sugar
bowl because you forgot about it before it reached the table, and
snapping at Rose for an innocent joke—"</p><p>"It was at your
expense, Draco!" Harry exclaimed. Rose had made a remark about how
one could solve all the wizarding world's problems by making it
legal to hunt snotty little purebloods, since they were the one prey
everyone else could agree on.</p><p>"I could have
handled it myself, you twit," Draco said. "You're losing
control of your emotions, which always happens when you haven't had
enough sleep. And what happens if you do that with your magic free of
all its restraints now? What kind of accidents is it going to cause?"</p><p>Harry felt as if
someone had jammed a shard of glass into his stomach. He tried to
speak, swallowed, and then shook his head.</p><p>Draco folded his arms
and tapped the fingers of his left hand against his elbow. Harry
blinked as he seemed to see a faint aura of white light surrounding
the fingers. He touched his forehead.</p><p><em>Am I coming down
with something? Seeing some magic that Draco's about to perform? </em>He
had seen that happen in the Sanctuary, shadows of wizards
anticipating what spell their enemy was going to cast next by a
glimpse of light around their hands.</p><p>Then he sighed as he
realized what it probably was. <em>Lack of sleep. Draco's right. The
magic can only do so much to help me stay awake. I'm going to start
seeing little things like that.</em></p><p>"Do you understand
me now?" Draco asked, his voice softer than before. "I don't
like fighting with you, Harry. But I hate scolding you even more.
You're supposed to be better than this. You're not allowed to
neglect your health and yourself for anyone else any more. You
promised me that. We agreed."</p><p><em>I've got to live
simultaneously.</em> Harry cost a longing glance at the Black legal
books, but, in the end, he had to nod.</p><p>"Good," said
Draco, relief entering his voice. "Because I really do hate this,
you know. Yelling at you isn't pleasant, and knowing that if I
don't do it, no one else will, is even less pleasant. I can't
wait until you and Snape reconcile again, so that someone else can
handle that part of it. He <em>likes</em> shouting at you." He
unfolded his arms and held out his hand to Harry. "So. Ready to go
to bed?"</p><p>"I suppose so,"
Harry said. "But it's only nine." He knew he was whining, but
he couldn't help it.</p><p>Draco stared at him,
then waved his wand and whispered, "<em>Tempus</em>." The time that
appeared was clearly past midnight. He looked at Harry with one
eyebrow raised.</p><p>Harry frowned and
performed his own <em>Tempus</em>. The time that appeared was five
minutes after nine. Then it wavered and showed the same as Draco's
numbers. Then it wavered back and settled on ten something. The
second pair of numbers was too blurred for Harry to make out.</p><p>"Your magic's gone
wonky, you arse," said Draco, voice deep with affection. "Not a
surprise, when you've been awake for almost forty hours. Come <em>on</em>."
He tugged, and Harry let him lead him to his bedroom, or the room
he'd planned on using for a bedroom. The sheets on the bed hadn't
been disturbed, so far, though Draco cleaned them with a dusting
charm now.</p><p>"I can get into my
pyjamas on my own," Harry said with great dignity, while he
struggled to open his trunk. His magic seemed to be leaving him now,
as if it could sense that he was about to sleep and didn't need it
to support him any longer. He yawned, hard enough to hurt his jaw,
and his hand fumbled at the trunk's lid and missed.</p><p>"<em>Alohomora</em>,"
Draco intoned, and the trunk lid flipped up. "That would be because
I slept last night," he added.</p><p>"Shutup," Harry
muttered, and tugged out his pyjamas. "But I <em>can</em> get into
them on my own, so you can go to bed now," he added.</p><p>"Nonsense," said
Draco amicably. "We don't want you falling and cracking your head
open on the floor, do we?"</p><p>There was some more
arguing, all of which completely failed to make any impact on Draco,
and somehow Harry found himself helped out of his robes, his shirt,
and his trousers, and into his pyjamas. He couldn't be sure that
Draco didn't stare at him fixedly, at some point or another, but he
was too tired to notice if it really happened. He crawled into bed,
and the sheets falling on top of him were among the best things he'd
ever felt.</p><p>Draco tugged his
glasses off, and Harry shut his eyes. He had an unexpected moment of
clarity in the midst of all the drowsiness.</p><p><em>He's right. What
happened today should never have happened. And especially not if it
affects my magic. I'm depending on that to protect my allies and
make the difference in my alliance's success. What happened today
</em>can't <em>be repeated.</em></p><p><em>And if that means
waiting a few nights to do legal research, or not getting everything
I want to done immediately, then I suppose that's what has to be
done. I'm good at accepting the limitations of other people's
wills. I can accept the limitations of my own body, surely.</em></p><p>He sighed, and then he
was asleep.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>He woke surrounded in
warmth. Harry opened his eyes and scowled at the ceiling. He was
lying on his back, and he knew from the heat against his side that
Draco lay next to him, arms tangled with his, uttering the short
little snores that he would deny he gave.</p><p><em>He didn't go back
to his own bed. He stayed with me. Prat.</em></p><p>He stirred, and that
was enough to wake Draco up. Draco opened one eye and regarded him
from beneath a strand of blond hair that sweat had plastered to his
nose. "Going somewhere?" he asked.</p><p>"To the loo,"
Harry pointed out. "I didn't even brush my teeth last night."
His mouth felt all fuzzy, in confirmation of that.</p><p>Draco cocked his head,
and the strand slid away from his nose, falling back to join the rest
of his hair. "You're irritated at me again," he said. "For
making you go to bed? Because I'm not going to apologize for that,
Harry. If anything, you should be apologizing for making it
necessary." He looked haughty.</p><p>"Not that," said
Harry. "It's just—you didn't <em>have</em> to stay here and
sleep with me, you know."</p><p>Draco chuckled.</p><p>Harry frowned. That
wasn't the reaction he would have expected. "What?" he asked.</p><p>Draco sat up and
stretched. Harry's eyes widened. He could see part of the reason he
had been so warm now, sheets and his pyjamas and Draco's closeness
aside. Draco was naked from the waist up.</p><p>And it was—it was
distracting. Harry could feel his cheeks growing even warmer from the
rush of blood. He looked away. Draco laughed again, and then he moved
around in front of Harry, kneeling on the blankets and deliberately
showing himself off. He was pale, but not as pale as Harry would have
expected. He'd stayed long enough in the sun at the Sanctuary to
tan a little, it seemed. And not all of his hair was glued to his
skin by sweat, some of it stood out and away from his skin, and his
chest rose and fell lightly with his breathing—</p><p><em>Stop it.</em> Harry
shook his head. He had very important things to do and think about,
things that—</p><p>Draco reached out and
put his hands on Harry's shoulders. Harry could feel the touch even
through the layer of cloth that separated them. Of course, the layer
of cloth wasn't all that thick.</p><p>"I believed you when
you told me that you intended to keep living in the midst of all this
war and revolution," Draco murmured into his ear. "I still
believe you. That means I think you've healed enough to push,
Harry. And when I push, I do ask for things that <em>I</em> want. No, I
know I didn't need to stay here. I wanted to. And I'll be asking
for a little more from now on. Your allies are important, the
werewolves are important, Snape's important, all the people you
want to save are important. But so am I." He dipped his head and
caught Harry's lips in a kiss.</p><p>That in itself wasn't
unusual. The speed with which he managed to deepen the kiss was, and
so was the way he pushed Harry back to lie against the pillows. Harry
could hear his own breathing for a moment, erratic and loud, and then
the thudding of blood in his ears entirely took over from that.</p><p>He wasn't panicking,
not exactly, perhaps because Draco had taken him so entirely by
surprise. He was feeling as if he wanted to touch Draco, and feeling,
now, the lack of a left hand so that he could do so easily on that
side, and feeling the sharp spike of pleasure that he'd learned to
associate with kissing Draco when he wasn't relaxed, and feeling
embarrassment that he'd succumbed to this so easily, and feeling—</p><p>"You always think
too much," Draco pointed out, drawing back from the kiss, and
ghosted his fingers over the side of Harry's neck.</p><p>Harry scowled at him
again, as best as he could when he kept squirming. "Don't you
dare," he said.</p><p>Draco smiled
innocently at him, and then his fingers gave a hard stroke, not
exactly a pinch, at that spot Harry often cursed him for finding.
Bloody <em>hell</em>, did it have to feel so <em>good?</em></p><p>And once again, what
hit him wasn't exactly panic. Every time he started to panic,
another emotion surged up and drowned that one. Right now,
embarrassment was strongest. He was <em>moaning</em>, and wasn't that
undignified, and shouldn't he be going out and saving the world
instead of lying here tangled with Draco?</p><p>"Still thinking too
much," Draco told him, and leaned over as if he would go after that
spot with his tongue and teeth.</p><p>Indignant, Harry took
revenge. Draco's ears were sensitive, he knew that, and one of them
was passing right near his mouth now. He blew into it, and Draco
started, pausing long enough for Harry to pull himself up on the
pillows and latch his mouth onto the lobe.</p><p><em>Ha!</em> he thought
triumphantly as Draco began to squirm and moan in turn. <em>Let's
see who's turning who on now!</em></p><p>He pushed, aided by
his Levitation Charm, and Draco draped half-on, half-off his chest,
allowing him to sit up. Harry managed to keep licking and biting at
Draco's ear, and now Draco was <em>squealing</em>, which Harry was
sure he'd never done.</p><p>And now it was
recklessness drowning him, the same kind of recklessness he felt when
he was chasing the Snitch in and out between the stands, seeing it
flickering and diving just ahead of him, <em>knowing</em> it would
smack home into his palm in the next moment, <em>knowing</em> that the
way he knew that sliding his hand down Draco's chest and pressing
firmly on his groin was the right thing to do.</p><p>Draco made a sound
that had no name and thrust wildly against his palm. Harry laughed,
letting go of his ear to do it.</p><p>Then he made himself
leap from the bed, say brightly, "That was a wonderful beginning to
the morning, thank you," and walk to the loo. It was an
uncomfortable walk, but not long, and he made do. Then he shut the
door behind him, put up a ward that Draco couldn't undo, and turned
on the shower. There was still no panic, because this time
determination was gripping him.</p><p><em>If he gets to push,
so do I.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Well," said
Camellia, flinging her hair over her shoulder and frowning at Harry,
"it seems to me that what you really need is most of your allies in
one place."</p><p>"That would make
sense, yes," said Harry, cradling his cup of tea against his cheek.
He heard Draco enter the kitchen with a few sharp steps. Merrily, he
ignored him, smiling at Camellia. "But I could just call another
alliance meeting if that was really all I wanted. And there are
people I left out last time, because they're not a formal part of
the alliance, whom I'd like to see now. My brother, for example.
And I'd like to contact other werewolf packs in London. Would they
come, do you think?"</p><p>"Not to a formal
alliance meeting," said Camellia. "Loki's—solitary path was a
shock for all of us, and so was his decision to make you our alpha.
They're not quite ready to accept you as a leader, I think. And the
alphas might be wary that you're trying to take their places."</p><p>Harry nodded. Draco
sat down with a thump. "Good morning," Harry told him, without
turning to look at him.</p><p>Draco muttered
something about it being a good morning if Harry thought it was, of
course, and something else that seemed to include the word "wanker."
Harry pretended not to hear. "So we need a less formal atmosphere,"
he told Camellia. "Something that will encourage people to come and
relax—and perhaps see that we're slowly getting used to each
other, after Loki's unexpected little gesture."</p><p>Camellia nodded. "That
would be a good idea, yes. Unfortunately, I don't know how—"</p><p>"A festival."</p><p>Harry glanced at
Draco. "Pardon?"</p><p>"A festival,"
Draco said, slathering marmalade over his toast as if the toast were
about to run away. "A festival to celebrate your turning sixteen. A
lot of the purebloods have them, you know, even when they're not
magical heirs." Harry snorted at the thought of putting together a
party that included Voldemort, and Draco gave him a faint half-smile
that eased the lines of frustration lingering around his mouth. "It
would give us an excuse to have a party, and to invite anyone you
like. The festivals are traditionally supposed to be as big as
possible, you know, to accommodate everyone seeing the almost-adult
heir in all his glory."</p><p>"I'm not a
pureblood," Harry muttered, scowling as he remembered Draco's own
confirmation festival and how out of place he'd felt there.</p><p>"That's our excuse
for inviting anyone you like," Draco told him, sucking marmalade
off the heel of his hand in a manner that made Harry have to look
away, "instead of having to send the invitations to a select number
of pureblood families."</p><p>Harry hesitated. He
had to admit the idea had merit. The formal alliance meetings always
lent themselves to an air of solemnity, whether it was on the vernal
equinox or at night in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, and he
hadn't had the chance to say everything he wanted the other night,
caught off-balance as he was by Loki's sudden gesture. This would
be more of a boundary-crossing.</p><p>"Plus," Draco
said, again seeming to read his mind, as he had about Voldemort, "it
gives you a chance to show off."</p><p>Harry scowled at him.
"The way that you wanted me to show off yesterday?"</p><p>"Yes," said Draco,
unabashed. "The way that might have intimidated your enemies out of
trying to hurt you."</p><p>Harry sighed and stood
up. Draco stood to follow him, but Harry shook his head. "Give me a
moment to think in private, please."</p><p>"Of course," Draco
said, voice softer than Harry had heard it in some time, and sat
down. Camellia gave him a keen glance, as much to say that werewolves
would probably be following along whether Harry wanted them to or
not, and then settled back in her own chair and turned to talk to
Draco. Draco answered her with an edge to his tone. Harry knew he
still wasn't entirely comfortable around werewolves. And why should
he be? He'd been raised to consider them despicable halfbreeds at
best, and dangerous beasts most of the time.</p><p>Harry paced into the
middle of Regulus's study. The pile of legal books he'd left
there last night caught his eye, but he shook his head and turned his
back on them, shutting and warding the door so that no one could come
in and ask him what was wrong. He bowed his head and let his chin
rest on his chest.</p><p>Here was one of those
decisions he had known he would have to make eventually, but which he
had dreaded making. There were arguments waiting on both sides of the
path. If he passed this point, he was passing a crossroads, and he
wouldn't find it easy to reverse himself and make a different
decision the next time it came up.</p><p>He didn't <em>want</em>
to intimidate people. He had never wanted to. And if he went around
using his magic and his political power and his money to get his own
way, then he was acting against one of the principles he'd sworn to
in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. He was making people fear instead
of think. He thought of the way Amelia Bones had cowered in her
office, and winced. He didn't <em>want</em> people to be afraid of
him. He actually preferred Willoughby's attitude to that, or the
way that the Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly
Beasts had reacted at first. They might dismiss him or sneer at him,
but at least they weren't shaking in their boots at the mere
thought of him.</p><p>But he knew Draco was
right. If he showed exactly what he was capable of, then it might
keep assassins from tackling him; they'd be too wary. And that
would, in turn, spare the lives of those around him, who were not
about to back away now. And he could guard the werewolves better if
he showed that he was not to be fucked with. Obstacles would melt
away in front of him easily.</p><p><em>Too easily.</em></p><p>A few years ago, the
decision would have been easy—lives were more important than his
own personal preferences—but he'd sacrificed lives for lives
since then, and known what it was like for the wild Dark to make him
try to abandon his principles for the sake of sparing lives, and now
it wasn't easy.</p><p><em>I suppose I should
thank my mother again, for training me to make everything so
difficult, </em>he thought wryly, and wiped his hand across his eyes.</p><p>In the end, he made
his decision, because he had to. In at least one important way, this
festival was like the alliance meeting. No one could be <em>forced</em>
to attend. Motives as diverse as curiosity and greed would guide them
in. Harry would make it clear who and what he was at that festival.
That was not the same thing as pouring his power over the rooftops
and demanding that everyone bow to him.</p><p>And, sooner or later,
didn't he have to start respecting the decisions of other people in
the alliance to agree to its principles? He could not smother his
magic and avoid their fear forever. Some people would always fear him
no matter how gently he held himself, and others would be fearless in
the face of any provocation. He had to assume that his allies had
<em>some</em> courage.</p><p>As
usual, the moment he chose a course, ideas for making the best of
that course flooded in. Harry stood up and strode with a determined
step to the door. He'd hold the festival five days from today, or a
bit longer if it took him longer to send out invitations, gather
food, and arrange other matters.</p><p>And he wouldn't be
idle in the remaining time, either. There were three things in
particular he would like to do today.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Professor Snape,
sir."</p><p>Snape turned with a
snap. He had lost himself in a haze of brewing, the last day.
Dragonfire burns needed constant care, which was a good thing. It
kept him from thinking.</p><p>Harry's
life had been threatened, and he was not there.</p><p>Harry had confronted
werewolves, and he was not there.</p><p>Harry had werewolves
living with him, and he was not there. He was put down like a useless
trunk, once used to carry its master's most prized possessions, now
tucked away in a closet until the next time it was needed.</p><p>He was aware that the
comparison was unfair even as he made it. That only made him hate
matters more.</p><p>And now Harry stood in
the door of his lab, his head cocked to one side as though he were
trying to decide whether the best course was to come inside or invite
Snape out.</p><p>"Say what you came
to say and be done with it," Snape told him. He was proud to hear
his voice sound almost like its normal self. It helped that last
night's dream had only contained a mild torture scenario, nothing
too overwhelming.</p><p>Harry nodded. "Very
well, sir. I'd <em>like</em> you to stay in Cobley-by-the-Sea with me
for the rest of the summer. I don't know if you can control
yourself, though. There are werewolves there, half of Loki's pack.
And in five days, I'm having a festival that will include more of
them, perhaps as many as a hundred. So I'll understand if you don't
want to come because of that."</p><p>Snape stared at him.
Harry went on standing there, quietly, his eyes expectant, as if he
hadn't asked the impossible.</p><p>"You <em>want</em> me
there," Snape said at last.</p><p>Harry nodded again.</p><p>"<em>Why</em>?"</p><p>Harry blinked.
"Because, sir," he said, as if it were self-evident, "I missed
you."</p><p>Snape had to turn away
and put down the vial he was holding. It clinked too hard, and a fine
crack appeared in the glass. Snape busied himself repairing it, all
the while feeling his skin crawl on the back of his neck.</p><p>Vulnerable,
vulnerable, too fucking <em>vulnerable</em>, and the only thing he
could find to be grateful for was that it was Harry standing there,
not Harry and someone else.</p><p>"And Draco told me a
bit about the festival," Harry went on. "I'll be adapting the
tradition, not following it precisely, but it's still usual to have
a parent there. You're my father in all but blood, sir."</p><p>Snape's free hand
closed into a fist. That only filled him all the more with a sense of
stinging shame, that he'd said to Joseph the other day that Harry
was not his son, and how could he think so? He had been thinking of
family by birth and blood. Since he'd dreamed so much of his mother
and the days when his mother's word ruled his life, that was
understandable. But now Harry was here, and Snape had to remember, as
if he were capable of forgetting for long, that Harry did not care
all that much about birth and blood.</p><p>The shame only coiled
and turned into anger, though, the self-satisfied, self-sustaining
bitterness that had fed him for so long. He offered a hard shoulder
to the world, and it stung him, and so he stung it in turn, and that
resulted in more stinging. It was the way he lived.</p><p>"And if I do not
want to come?" he asked at last, the rasp in his voice audible.</p><p>Harry paused. When his
next words came staggering out, Snape knew the pause had been one of
shock, not of planning. "Then I'll—accept that, sir."</p><p><em>He's hurt. </em>Snape
gained the courage to look up and see the way that Harry's eyes had
widened. He stood perfectly motionless, in the manner of someone
trying to hide a wound before an enemy.</p><p>Oddly—or perhaps not
so oddly, given that he was, now, not the only vulnerable one in the
room—that struck through to Snape as nothing had in weeks. He could
see the future as it would be if this continued, and it was not a
pleasant vision.</p><p>Harry would continue
trying. He did not know what giving up meant, and Snape meant too
much to him now for Harry to yield him easily. But if Snape gave no
quarter, went on sneering and acting as though Harry meant nothing to
<em>him</em>, then Harry would eventually draw away. He would become
more distant, and that would involve less direct pain and more
indirect, the same kind Snape had suffered when Harry was angry at
him over bringing his parents and Dumbledore to trial. And the more
time passed, the more Snape himself would consider the chasm
unbridgeable, and so he would not try, and so Harry would have less
reason to try, and so Snape would feel further pushed away.</p><p>Did he want to live
through something like that again, and this time with the knowledge
that he had not done this for Harry's protection, but to protect
<em>himself?</em></p><p>At the same time, he
did not know how he could go among werewolves, even for Harry. And he
did not know when the next good chance might come for trying to rid
himself of this fear.</p><p>It went against
everything he was to attend this festival. It was a test of courage,
and he was no Gryffindor. It was a means of getting close to Harry
again, and he was rapidly proving that he was no parent. It was
opening himself up to further pain, and he was not a weakling.</p><p>But—</p><p>Things had already
changed. What Snape had engaged in was a desperate attempt to put
things back the way they were, and he knew that was not going to
work. He had sneered at those in the past who had attempted it,
including James Potter, when he heard that the man had retreated from
Auror work rather than face the fact that he'd used the
Unforgivables.</p><p>He could stand to live
with hatred and contempt from the outside world. He did not think he
could stand to live with how much he would despise himself if he
acted so irrationally.</p><p>He looked up to see
that Harry was backing out of the room, his gaze on the floor. And,
for the first time in what felt like similar weeks, a surge of
emotion that wasn't for himself ran through him.</p><p><em>He has endured too
much pain already, too much surrender of every important adult in his
life. I do not want him to endure this.</em></p><p>"Harry," he said
softly.</p><p>Harry paused, but
didn't look up at him. His head was turned to the side, listening,
but ready to accept a refusal.</p><p>"I will attend."</p><p>Harry lifted his head
and looked up at him.</p><p>What he saw in Harry's
face gave Snape the first joy he had felt since he arrived at the
Sanctuary.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Connor turned away
from the duel when he felt someone press against Lux Aeterna's
wards, which meant Peter got in a spell that knocked him from his
feet. Connor groaned as he stood up slowly, rubbing the side of his
head. He'd hit the wall hard. "Not funny," he complained.</p><p>"It would <em>certainly</em>
not be funny if someone did that to you in the middle of a real
duel," Peter snapped. Connor eyed him warily. Sometimes he got more
like Snape than Connor was comfortable with. "You must always keep
your eyes on the eyes and wand of your opponent, Connor. It is the
only thing that will save your life most of the time. Is that
understood?"</p><p>"Yes," said Connor
quickly. "It's just—someone is pressing against the wards."
He concentrated a little harder, letting the wards talk to him in
their very odd mixture of images and impressions of a magical
signature. He blinked. "It's Harry."</p><p>Peter had opened his
mouth again, probably to give him a lecture about how fighting in the
midst of wards was no excuse to let himself be distracted, but now he
blinked and said, "Harry?"</p><p>Connor nodded and ran
along the corridor to the entrance hall, dropping the wards as he did
so. Despite the fact that he knew something bad must have happened
for Harry to return so early—it couldn't be that he'd heard
what was happening to Connor, because Connor hadn't sent him any of
his letters—he found his eagerness soaring at the thought of seeing
his brother.</p><p><em>I can't wait to
see what he's like now, </em>he thought, as he jumped over the last
five steps in the main staircase and heard Peter shout sternly at him
for catching the banister and using it to swing himself around. <em>Is
he all healed? Will he have a different personality? Will he be more
like Ron? Or will he be like Hermione because he studied all summer?</em></p><p>The doors of the
entrance hall opened just as he reached them. Harry stood there,
wearing casual robes and blazing with power.</p><p>"Connor?" he
asked, moments before his brother caught him up in an embrace so
tight he lost all his air. The hug sent them staggering several
steps, until they sat down in the mud. Connor did not care.</p><p>"Harry," he
muttered, clinging tight. The satisfaction had given place to more
complex emotions, including a rush of relaxation that seemed to
loosen all the permanently stiff muscles in his back and neck. His
older brother was back. Harry would protect him and make him feel
better. He always did.</p><p>Harry looped his arm
around his brother's shoulders and hugged back, then looked up with
a smile. "Hello, Peter," he said.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>Connor slipped out of
the way, and Harry stepped forward and hugged Peter. Connor told
himself firmly that honorable Gryffindors did not feel envious of
others. He <em>didn't</em> feel jealous of the way that Peter watched
Harry, with soft eyes he'd never shown Connor. He <em>didn't.</em></p><p><em>I could always go
to the Burrow if I wanted someone to look at me like that, </em>he
reminded himself.</p><p>"What brings you
back from the Sanctuary before the end of August?" Peter asked.</p><p>Harry grinned wryly.
"Organizing alliances. You haven't read the <em>Prophet</em> the
last few days?"</p><p>Peter shook his head.
"We found the articles too upsetting," he said, and reached out
and put a casual hand on Connor's shoulder. Connor felt his envy
die. "The articles about the werewolves, especially."</p><p>Harry nodded, eyes
rapidly scanning Peter's face. "Yes, I can imagine," he
muttered. "Well. I came to invite you to a festival that I'm
going to hold at Cobley-by-the-Sea in five days, to celebrate the
fact that I'm sixteen and Black heir, basically." He looked at
Connor. "It should be your festival, too."</p><p>Connor shook his head,
feeling very adult. "No, go on," he said generously. "I've
had loads of birthdays I could feel proud of. You were made to
feel—differently. Besides, I'm not Black heir."</p><p>Harry flashed him a
smile and started to say something, but Peter interrupted then.
"Harry," he said softly. "I <em>do</em> have a favor to ask you."</p><p>Harry faced him and
raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"</p><p>Peter nodded. "I'd
like to take Connor and stay with you for the rest of the summer.
Someone sent a Portkey by owl that would have taken Connor and tried
to transport him—elsewhere. And there has been someone testing the
wards." His voice lowered. "I thought it might have been Remus.
He <em>did</em> write Connor, once."</p><p>Harry's face changed
at once. Connor supposed it might have scared someone else, but it
only fascinated him. He watched as Harry lifted his head and narrowed
his eyes, hunting. A wind of pink and green specks lashed around him
and traveled away, circling Lux Aeterna's wards. Connor felt
Harry's magic on them as a faint, tickling pressure, a sniffing
hound.</p><p>The wind came back to
Harry just after it had reached the place where the stranger had
pressed. Harry closed his eyes, then snapped them open and nodded at
Peter. "Yes," he said tightly. "Come with me at once."</p><p>"I need to pack!"
Connor protested. There was <em>no</em> way that he was leaving Lux
Aeterna without his Nimbus, protective older brother or not.</p><p>"I'll stay here
while you do it." Harry folded his arms in his "I'm your older
brother, don't argue with me" pose. Connor was tempted to remind
him that he was only older by fifteen minutes, but Peter got there
first.</p><p>"Who was it?" he
demanded.</p><p>"Evan Rosier,"
Harry said.</p><p>Connor felt his
enthusiasm for staying at Lux Aeterna diminish. The prospect of being
in the same tightly-warded house as Harry suddenly looked <em>brilliant.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Remus felt badly out
of sorts, and out of place. Oh, he'd been in Number Twelve
Grimmauld Place before; that was the whole reason Harry had asked him
to remain here with this half of the pack, while he took the rest of
Remus's packmates to Cobley-by-the-Sea.</p><p><em>No. Not the whole
of the reason.</em></p><p>And that was precisely
it. Harry had avoided looking at Remus on the night of the alliance
meeting, and hadn't firecalled or owled him at all yesterday. Remus
had been looking forward to it. He <em>wanted</em> to see Harry again,
so that he could explain some things that Harry might have
misunderstood.</p><p>Remus had known of
Loki's plans to give the pack into Harry's protection since a few
days before he did it. He approved. Harry could and would protect
them, and when he was surrounded by accepted werewolves, unavoidably
exposed to their culture, then they could tell him the truth without
betraying mysteries that no outsiders should know. That he was just a
wizard and not a werewolf didn't matter any longer, not with him
acting as alpha. Remus had assumed he would help to ease the
transition, since he'd been part of both Harry's life and the
pack's.</p><p>Instead, there was
silence for a day.</p><p>But now Remus smelled
powerful magic. He put down the book he'd been reading and stepped
out of the library, turning his head back and forth. He knew Harry
had arrived, but he was surprised no one else had come and told him.
The others were mostly still cautious around Harry, and not sure
whether he deserved to be their alpha, even though they trusted
Loki's judgment and knew he could not stay. Vengeance for a mate
was more important than anything else. But Harry was—well, a
<em>wizard</em>, and they had all seen him threaten Loki in the
Ministry a few days before he left.</p><p>Remus understood in a
moment, though. Harry stood at the end of the hallway, regarding
Remus without any expression at all. His magic billowed around him,
and Remus could hear the portrait of Sirius's mother in the hallway
below starting a crooning song in praise of his strength.</p><p>"The wards on this
house are keyed to me," Harry said, answering Remus's silent
question. "They won't alert anyone I'm coming if I don't want
them to."</p><p>Remus nodded, and
stepped out of the way, letting Harry walk into the library. It was
more like <em>stalk</em>, actually. Remus sniffed cautiously. Harry
didn't smell angry, though he walked that way. He was—determined.
Like an alpha having to discipline a subordinate who had been causing
rows.</p><p>Harry turned around in
the middle of the library, and faced Remus again. His stare was
disquieting. Remus turned his head gently to the side, to avoid
meeting the aggressive gaze of his alpha.</p><p>"I came to invite
you and the rest of the pack to a festival I'm holding in five
days, to celebrate my being Black heir and the pack coming together,"
Harry said.</p><p>"Oh." Remus
shifted his weight. "And that is the only reason?"</p><p>"No." Harry's
voice went blunt as a hammer. "It's also to inform you that I
love you, but I don't trust you. I will never trust you again,
unless you prove that you can be trusted."</p><p>Remus blinked and
glanced up, shaken at a level he hadn't known existed in himself.
Of course, Loki had never expressed distrust of him. He didn't have
to, when he'd done the work of convincing Remus of the rightness of
his goals himself. "I won't betray the pack, Harry. You know
that."</p><p>"Someone betrayed my
location to two would-be assassins yesterday," said Harry. And
waited.</p><p>Remus stared at him.</p><p>"Camellia and the
rest of them all knew," Harry said. "I know that they could have
firecalled Grimmauld Place; I gave them permission to, after all. And
if someone here knew, and someone here wrote a letter…" He let
his voice trail off. Then he shrugged.</p><p>Remus snarled. "I
would <em>never</em> do such a thing. Never!"</p><p>Harry tilted his head,
his eyes locked on Remus's. Remus didn't look away this time, and
didn't care if it was a challenge. He felt more like a wizard than
a werewolf right now. Harry was accusing him of betrayal, and it
<em>wasn't true.</em></p><p>"A Legilimens can
tell when someone is lying," said Harry. "So, now I know you
didn't. This time."</p><p>"And it would <em>never
happen</em>," Remus insisted, feeling his outrage grow. The
Sanctuary had helped him accept some of his emotions. The pack had
helped him accept many more. He no longer felt apologetic for any
anger he discovered inside himself, as he would have two years ago,
fearing the explosion of beast-like rage that haunted most werewolves
bitten as children. "What makes you think it would?"</p><p>Harry's eyes
hardened again. "Because of the way that you changed your mind
about your principles, in such a fundamental way, and never had the
courtesy to tell me?" he said softly. "Because of the fact that
you suspected, beforehand, things like Loki's pack biting a
Wizengamot member and Loki coming to Hogwarts to threaten Snape and
Draco—"</p><p>"I did not have
prior knowledge of that," said Remus. "Loki wouldn't have asked
me to choose between loyalties like that. He kept it from me."</p><p>"You were willing to
attack innocent people, bend their free wills, and you didn't tell
me," said Harry. Remus fought the urge to back up a step. While the
Sanctuary had helped him become more self-confident, it seemed to
have made Harry colder. His magic smelled like winter now, and Remus
could almost feel an icy, intelligent mind watching him eagerly,
waiting for its master's signal to spring. "You sent post to
Connor trying to change his mind. You gave Loki knowledge about me
without my consent. Did you know that he considered biting me, Remus?
Would <em>you</em> have bitten me, if he asked you to?"</p><p>Remus shook his head,
but not in denial. He didn't know. He'd trusted Loki not to put
him in that position. No one could have anticipated Gudrun's
murder, and the way that Harry had turned out not to care as much
about the rights of werewolves as Remus had thought he did.</p><p>"We've been
ignored for so long," he told Harry. The feeling of winter in the
air increased. "Wizards didn't pay attention to us. You were a
wizard—sworn to help us, but still. You have all sorts of
unconscious prejudices in favor of your own kind, Harry. We couldn't
trust we'd break through to you if we just talked and waited. We've
been doing that for decades, and the anti-werewolf laws just got
worse instead of better. And it's a betrayal of our culture to talk
to outsiders about it, unless they've accepted the gift themselves.
Do you see? It was an unfortunate combination of circumstances, but
there you are."</p><p>"You started feeling
that anything was justified, because you'd been pushed aside and
ignored for so long." Harry's voice was flat.</p><p>Remus glanced up,
relieved. "Yes! Exactly. You can only do that to people for so long
before you have a revolution, you know."</p><p>Harry's eyes changed
again, growing weary. Remus felt the icy claws of his magic retract,
and relaxed a little.</p><p>"What I can't
forget, Remus," said Harry quietly, "is that other people don't
stop suffering just because you are. Pain doesn't take turns,
doesn't play favorites. By the very nature of my commitment to the
<em>vates</em> path, I can't enable a werewolf revolution that
increases the total amount of pain in the world <em>just</em> to lessen
or make up for werewolf pain—and especially not one that rides on
vengeance."</p><p>Remus drew in a sharp
breath. "But so much of our culture rides on that, Harry—"</p><p>"And I'm not going
to make you change it," Harry said. "I will tell you that, since
you're sworn to be part of my alliance now, you'll have to step
out of it before you can take mindless vengeance. And that will
deprive you of my protection. Think before acting, Remus."</p><p>Remus felt lost again.
Why <em>couldn't</em> Harry understand? The suffering of the
werewolves <em>had</em> gone ignored the longest. Muggleborns at least
had a champion in Dumbledore. Harry himself had aided other magical
creatures. But werewolves would have no one unless they forced the
matter—and then when they did, Harry refused to offer whole-hearted
support.</p><p>Remus had assumed
that, since he was both wizard and werewolf, with a good experience
of both cultures in his robe pockets, but with ultimate loyalties to
the pack, he would be able to make Harry see sense. It seemed that
attempt was doomed to falter.</p><p>"If you would just
trust me—" he tried.</p><p>"Not until you prove
you can be trusted," said Harry.</p><p>"What would do that
for you?" Remus asked desperately. This wasn't only a champion
for his pack; this was the boy he had helped raise and still loved,
James's son, Sirius's godson. It was so <em>hard</em> to see him
standing here, cold, unforgiving, ruthless.</p><p>"I can't give you
a single test," said Harry. "If you want to reconcile with me,
Remus, you'll meet me halfway, and believe me, I'll notice when
that starts happening. So far, you just want concessions. It's not
acceptable. If you don't want to attend the festival, don't."
He turned and walked out of the library, Apparating between one step
and the next.</p><p>Remus sat down and put
his head in his hands.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 13*: Mysterious Enemies</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>And welcome to the chapter that wasn't supposed to exist, and has just changed the whole outline around to accommodate itself.</p><p><strong>Chapter Ten: Mysterious Enemies</strong></p><p>"And you think that
we'll be able to get all the food we need from Muggle shops?"
Camellia's eyes were wide and disbelieving.</p><p>Harry shrugged. "Rose
assured me that we would." Rose had been born Muggle, too, he'd
discovered, but she'd grown up in the Muggle world, and had been
nineteen when she was bitten. She was sure that she knew her way
among the shops of London. Her mate, Bavaros, a wizard, was going
with her anyway, to change some of Harry's Galleons to Muggle money
in Diagon Alley, and because he generally seemed to disapprove of
Rose venturing into non-magical places without someone to protect
her. Camellia had told Harry that he still secretly believed Rose
would go running back to her family, given half a chance, even though
her family had tossed her out, unable to deal with what she was.</p><p>That was one thing
Harry had learned already: not to interfere in a werewolf's mating
bond. There were several mated pairs in the pack, and they acted as
if they loved and as if they hated each other at the same time, one
moment mouthing each other's chins, the next moment knocking each
other to the ground in a snapping, snarling whirlwind. Harry might
have spoken with Bavaros if he was Rose's husband, using it both as
a way to get to know a new ally and to ease his fears, but since he
was Rose's mate, Camellia had explained, Harry would only have made
him more paranoid.</p><p>"Next, invitations,"
Harry said, turning with a nod to Trumpetflower, the werewolf he'd
put in charge of those.</p><p>"Most of the pack
leaders you owled have responded," the young woman said, as she
spread the letters over the kitchen table. She was the answer to
Draco's question about whether werewolves ever bathed, Harry
thought in distant amusement. Her hair was long and brown and
straight and perfectly clean, and she had nails that looked as if she
cared for hands for a living. "Tiger didn't, but he wouldn't
have anyway; he doesn't communicate with wizards. Yuna is busy
overseeing a newly mated pair in her pack and can't come. Liberty
distrusts you." She looked up, blinking. "But the others all will
attend the festival. Seventeen pack leaders out of twenty is not bad,
Wild."</p><p>Harry grimaced. The
werewolves had started calling him Wild. He'd asked why, and
received a surprised look from Trumpetflower, and a, "That's the
way you smell," from Camellia. That wouldn't have been so bad,
but now they were using it like a title.</p><p>He had more important
things to worry about, though, so he chose not to pursue it for right
now. "Most of them know about the danger the Department presents?"</p><p>Trumpetflower nodded.
"They'll be staying close to home when the full moon comes. Of
course, we can't tell where the Department plans to strike next. We
were an obvious choice, since we were Loki's pack, but now?" She
shook her head, and Harry saw the worry she was valiantly trying to
mask in her eyes. Everything about her screamed "sheltered
pureblood," though Harry didn't know her original name or family.
"Perhaps they'll come after us again."</p><p>"They had best not,"
said Harry mildly, and a half-open cupboard lit as if it were turned
to gold. Camellia leaned forward, bathing in the smell of the magic,
while Trumpetflower gave him a small smile.</p><p>"<em>We</em> trust you
to protect us, Wild," she said softly. "But it's frightening,
knowing that we could be killed at any time they find us in wolf
form." She shuddered and hugged herself, her eyes shadowed. "Not
to mention the new laws."</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath so that nothing more violent would happen than a wind flying
around the room. "Those also displease me," he said.</p><p>What the Department
witches had hinted at in the corridors of the Department of Magical
Law Enforcement had become "official" law the next day.
Werewolves going out in public were supposed to wear collars at all
times and carry registration papers with them, just in case anyone
else had a question about who they were. The collars, the smug <em>Daily
Prophet</em> reporter named Gina de Rousseau had explained, were
intended strictly as a means of identification and not magical
restriction.</p><p>Harry did not care.
Even if it had been necessary for the Ministry to identity werewolves
on sight, and he did not believe it was, why choose collars? That was
done for no other purpose than degrading them. He had written to
Scrimgeour when the news came out, a simple letter. Had he known
about this the day that Harry visited him?</p><p>No response had come.
Harry didn't know if that meant that Scrimgeour's post was
watched so closely that the Minister didn't dare risk writing to
him, or if someone had intercepted his message. He was leaning
towards interception, since the Minister hadn't communicated with
him in any other way, either.</p><p><em>He's probably
upset, too, </em>Harry thought, <em>with me as well as with Amelia
Bones or whoever else pushed this idiotic law into effect. I brought
werewolves into the Ministry. I'm pushing.</em></p><p>He intended to keep on
pushing. He'd asked a few of the werewolves to look through the
Black law books while he spoke with his allies and made other
arrangements for the festival, and they'd turned up a tiny loophole
that Harry hadn't known existed. It was a way to interfere in the
Ministry that was on the up and up, because, of course, the old
pureblood families had bullied the Wizengamot into making some
special dispensations just for them while they still had the power.</p><p>There were times that
Harry knew he really had to thank Regulus for making him Black heir,
and this was one of them.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>The man who opened the
door stared hard at Harry. Harry stared back. He was flat-eyed and
blank-faced, though Harry knew this particular blankness probably hid
cunning and not stupidity. In other words, he looked rather like his
son, Marcus, who had been Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team for
the first three years Harry had been at Hogwarts.</p><p>"Mr. Flint, sir?"
he asked. "Aurelius Flint?"</p><p>"Harry <em>vates</em>,"
said the man, without a trace of a smile, and stepped out of the way.
"For what reason has someone so great come to visit my office?"</p><p>Harry took the hint
and stepped inside; he had got through the wand checkpoint with
Erica's help again, arriving at the time he knew she worked, but it
would look rather strange for him to be visiting a minor flunky in
the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures.
"A talk, that's all," he said. "Marcus commended you to me
once. Said you'd been a great Quidditch player in your day, and we
might have a thing or two in common."</p><p>He sat down in the
chair in front of the desk. Aurelius Flint sat down behind it, his
large, clear eyes still fixed on Harry. "I was never a Seeker,"
he replied. "But I played Beater, yes."</p><p>Harry nodded. "So
that's one thing in common," he said. He reached into his robe
pocket and pulled out the image of the seal he'd copied, carefully,
from the image on the page of the legal book. It was the Black family
crest, but in place of the motto <em>Toujours pur</em>, it carried the
words <em>Amicitia percutere</em>. Aurelius picked it up and examined
it for a moment without any sign of recognition.</p><p>Harry was watching,
though, and saw his cheeks flush faintly.</p><p>A moment later, he
lowered the seal to the desk and nodded. "Yes," he said. "The
one who works in this office does indeed accept the obligation to
serve the Black family, <em>vates</em>. And you are the legal heir of
the Blacks, correct?"</p><p>"And acting head,
while Regulus Black is recovering from a wound he took from an
attempt on his life," said Harry. It was the first time he'd had
to use the cover story, since few people outside of his small circle
of allies cared where Regulus had gone. "Therefore, I am asking you
to perform a small service for me."</p><p>Aurelius nodded, as
though he had such requests asked of him all the time. "What is
it?"</p><p>"There were new
werewolf laws just announced to the public," Harry said, taking the
image of the seal back. "To make them wear collars and carry
identification. I want to know who proposed them."</p><p>"Amelia Bones,"
Aurelius said, looking relieved to be discharged of the obligation so
easily.</p><p>"How sure are you of
that information?" Harry asked. If it really and truly was her,
without a doubt, he would accept that, but he no longer thought the
terrified woman he'd seen on the second of August was entirely in
control of herself. If someone was behind the scenes, pressuring her,
he wanted to know who it was.</p><p>Aurelius hesitated.</p><p>Harry nodded. "That's
right. There are other players now—the other Department Heads, the
Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts, and
doubtless people I don't know of. I want you to find out where this
particular idea originated, or at least come as close as you can.
Amelia Bones was the mouthpiece, but I don't think she was the
brain that thought it up."</p><p>Aurelius extended his
hand across the desk. Harry watched him curiously, until he heard the
man say, in a deep voice with a hint of a shake to it, "I formally
request and require to be relieved of this obligation. I will owe you
a debt if you will release me—two debts, the original obligation
plus the one I owe to your goodness. I will pay those debts gladly.
But I ask to be relieved of this."</p><p>Harry's eyes
narrowed, this time fixed on the way that the man's cheeks had
turned pale. <em>He knows, or at least suspects, who proposed those
new laws.</em></p><p><em>And he's
terrified.</em></p><p>He had to move
carefully, that much was clear. Harry had come to Aurelius Flint only
because he had the office with the old dispensation pinned on it to
oblige the person who worked in it to serve the Black line, but
perhaps Aurelius, himself, as a person, was more connected than that.
Lucius Malfoy might know.</p><p>Harry nodded as though
he had considered the matter and made up his mind. Aurelius closed
his eyes, his hand falling to the desk. Harry had his eyes fastened
on his fingers, though, and noticed the way two of them curved and
pointed down.</p><p><em>Towards the floor?
Someone in the office below is listening to us?</em></p><p><em>No, perhaps below
in the Ministry.</em></p><p>Once he thought about
it, of course, Harry could only come up with one candidate for
Aurelius's terror. The Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables.
And their offices were on a level below the Department for the
Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures.</p><p>Harry nodded again,
more firmly this time. Aurelius caught his eye and retracted his
fingers into a fist. Then he sat back, calm and imperturbable once
more, and looked at into Harry's face.</p><p>"And what do you
want of me?" he asked.</p><p>"I'd like a list
of every law on the books that affects werewolves," Harry said.
"Since you work in this Department, I think you can provide that
for me easily."</p><p>Aurelius nodded.</p><p>"And for my second
request…" Harry cocked his head and stood. "I think I'll keep
that in abeyance for right now."</p><p>The man looked briefly
sour, no doubt wanting to pay off both his debts right away, but
stood to show Harry to the door. As he opened it for him, he stooped
close to Harry, long enough, to whisper, "Be careful," in a voice
Harry thought he would never have heard if not for his magic.</p><p>Harry caught
Aurelius's eye and moved his head in a tiny nod. Aurelius seemed
satisfied as he shut the door behind him.</p><p>Harry wrapped his
Complete Vanishing spell around him and began to move rapidly in the
direction of the lifts. He'd come alone, because secrecy, in this
case, was more important than impressing anyone. Now he wanted to get
out of the Ministry as soon as possible. The Department of Mysteries
studied magic at its deepest levels, and magical artifacts that did
Merlin-knew-what. They might, for all Harry knew, be perfectly aware
of his presence here, with undetectable wards that saw everything.
Aurelius had certainly acted as if that were the case.</p><p><em>But I don't
understand why they'd be pushing for more laws against werewolves.
Why? What would the point of it be?</em></p><p>He reached the lifts
and pressed the button that would summon one. As he stood waiting for
it, he heard footsteps, light and swift and almost silent, the steps
of an experienced hunter or spy, coming up the corridor from behind
him.</p><p>He turned. A wizard in
a shimmering gray cloak that cast back the light was gliding down the
hallway. If Harry hadn't known to expect something like that from
the footsteps, he might not ever have seen him.</p><p><em>Or her. </em>The
cloak was so muffling that it gave no hint of body shape.</p><p><em>The Unspeakables
already figured out that I spoke with Aurelius, it seems.</em></p><p>Harry's lift arrived
then, with a melodic voice on it announcing, "Department for the
Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures." As the doors opened,
Harry saw the Unspeakable's head turn and orient on him.</p><p>He walked into the
lift, confident that his spell would protect him from being sensed;
that was what it was designed to do, after all. A moment later, the
Unspeakable walked in after him.</p><p>Harry pushed the
button for the Atrium. The Unspeakable did nothing, simply standing
there with head and shoulders bowed in his gray cloak, like an old
man. Harry didn't think he could be, not with the way he moved, but
it did effectively keep anyone from seeing his face.</p><p>The lift began to
rattle downwards. Harry waited, his hand resting lightly on his
chest. His magic, contained by the spell around him, hummed and
buzzed. The Unspeakable still did nothing. Harry wondered if he
really had any idea where Harry was, or simply knew that someone
invisible on the lift going down would have to be him. <em>Strange
that he hadn't lunged and tried to grab me when I pushed the button
for the Atrium</em>.</p><p>"The Atrium," the
voice sang as they reached that level, and the doors opened. A moment
later, the Unspeakable moved to stand in front of them.</p><p><em>So that's how he
thinks he'll capture me. </em>Harry knew he could ram into the man
and the Complete Vanishing spell would prevent him from feeling
anything, but knocking him backwards would alert any of the
Unspeakables waiting on this level.</p><p>Standing in the lift
and being captured was not an option either, however. Besides,
Harry's blood was up, and after these new werewolf laws and what
he'd just learned from Aurelius Flint, he wasn't content to
appear and explain matters to his enemies.</p><p><em>They're playing.
What kind of game, I don't know yet. But let's show them what
waits on the opposite side of the board.</em></p><p>He let the <em>Extabesco
plene</em> go. The Unspeakable immediately swayed towards him,
reaching out a gloved hand. He still said nothing. Harry supposed the
silence was meant to unnerve his victim.</p><p>His hand flashed. He
was carrying something small and silver in it, probably a magical
artifact.</p><p>Harry had no intention
of flinging magic directly at the artifact, which looked like a
collar of some kind. With his luck, it would reflect at him or be
absorbed. He shook his fringe back from his lightning bolt scar,
instead, and opened his mouth in a loud, shocked wail.</p><p>The Unspeakable jerked
back at the sound. Harry ducked under his arm and emerged into the
Atrium, crying, "Help! Oh, help!"</p><p>He heard footsteps
heading for him almost at once. And, sure enough, the first person to
round the corner was Erica, the wand registration witch, lunging
through the gates and towards the lifts. She saw him, and her eyes
widened as she also saw the Unspeakable.</p><p>Harry felt a surge of
vicious satisfaction. <em>They want to do things in secret? Let's
drag them into the public eye, and see what they think when they're
accused of trying to kidnap the Boy-Who-Lived.</em></p><p>"Harry!" Erica
exclaimed. "Are you all right?"</p><p>Harry saw the flash of
another gray cloak as an Unspeakable loomed behind her, too. More
footsteps were pounding, and while some of them might be visitors or
Ministry personnel who would help, others were almost surely
reinforcements from the Department of Mysteries. Harry suspected
there wasn't much they wouldn't try to do to insure that this
stayed secret.</p><p>He flung out his hand,
whispering, "<em>Exsculpo</em>," a spell of his own creation. The
hand reaching for Erica's shoulder disappeared, erased from
existence. The Unspeakable gave a shocked wail of his—her—own,
and Erica whipped around and saw her. She raised her wand as Harry
reached her side, eyes narrowed.</p><p>"<em>Stupefy!</em>"
she yelled, and the beam of red light struck the Unspeakable, who lay
still. Erica giggled nervously.</p><p>Other gray cloaks were
flashing from the corners of Harry's eyes now, and he suspected the
Unspeakables had mostly cleared this floor, though they'd left
Erica so anyone just arriving would see nothing obviously wrong. He
grasped Erica's hand and began pulling her hard through the gates.
Erica was more than willing to come with him, though she looked back
now and then as Harry started her towards the fountain.</p><p>"Who <em>are</em>
they?" she asked.</p><p>"Unspeakables,"
said Harry, and saw Erica's face drain of color. He nodded at her.
"I'm afraid that I've just got you sacked from the Ministry,"
he said. "How would you like a new job?"</p><p>"Wand-checking is
really all I know how to do—" Erica babbled as she finally began
to run on her own, heading for the lift that would take them up to
the decrepit telephone box and the alley.</p><p>"You can do that for
me," Harry breathed. "And a few other things, too." He had
seen, though Erica hadn't, the gray cloak trailing in front of
them, trying to block their access to the telephone box. He would
have to risk his magic in a moment.</p><p>Then the Unspeakable
revealed himself, flicking out a red shell that Harry was more than
familiar with. A Still-Beetle shell, it would imprison him, and his
magic, if it managed to touch him; they were used for confining
Lord-level wizards accused of crimes.</p><p>Harry thought of
Doncan, and the Opallines, and the fire-blacked stone on which
Gollrish Y Thie stood, and opened his mouth. Intense white heat
roared forth from it, a concentrated blast, taking and melting the
shell in mid-air.</p><p>The heat also flew at
the Unspeakable, who lifted his hand. A silver ring sparking on his
finger caught in the light and gleamed, absorbing the flame into it.
Then he drew out a tiny glass sphere, filled with what looked, to
Harry's speed-confused eyes, like a rose, and gave it a delicate
flick towards Harry.</p><p>Harry could feel its
magic as it flew, throbbing through the air with a power to rival his
own. He didn't dare touch it. He grabbed Erica's arm, spinning
her safely behind him, and did something he hadn't done in more
than a mouth, opening the conduit of his <em>absorbere</em> gift inside
him as wide as it would go.</p><p>The magic that rushed
down his "gullet" was a much more pleasant meal than the tainted
magic of the Death Eaters or Voldemort. It rang with power, though,
and Harry shuddered as he was forced to gulp hastily, draining in a
few seconds what he would ordinarily have taken minutes to swallow.
He could already sense the sphere had something to do with time.</p><p><em>Nasty things they
study in the Department of Mysteries.</em></p><p>The sphere landed on
the floor in front of him and shattered, drained of magic. The
Unspeakable made a sound for the first time, a snarl.</p><p>Harry lifted his eyes.
He was shuddering with the effort of containing the magic, which
rampaged back and forth through him, more sentient than the power he
dealt with usually. That came of being confined under pressure in
such a tiny space, he thought. He felt wild and sweet in a way that
usually only the phoenix song made him feel, and it was an effort to
speak, instead of sing or roar.</p><p>"Move."</p><p>The Unspeakable was
not stupid, whatever else might be said about him. He moved. Harry
grabbed Erica's hand and pulled her behind him. He could no longer
hear the other Unspeakables' footsteps. He supposed they were
afraid of being drained of their magic, or at least of having their
artifacts drained, if they came anywhere near him.</p><p>He pushed Erica into
the lift and turned to watch the Unspeakables. The nearest one stood
with arms folded, or so Harry assumed from the slight shift in the
cloak, surveying him.</p><p><em>Calm, </em>Harry
noted. <em>They're not very worried about what I'm going to do
when I get out of here, then. They probably think they can counter
any publicity about this, and of course no one in the Ministry is
going to dare to speak up in support of me, not if they're all as
terrified as Aurelius.</em></p><p>A second Unspeakable
stepped up beside the one who'd tossed the sphere as the lift began
to rattle and move. He carried what looked like a Pensieve,
shimmering with a blue liquid rather than a silver. The first man
pressed his gloved fingers into the liquid and tossed it towards the
lift. Harry watched warily as it spattered, uselessly, far below.</p><p>"<em>Obliviate</em>,"
the Unspeakable intoned casually.</p><p>Beside Harry, Erica
gave a little gasp and shudder, and then said, in a dazed voice,
"What? Where am I? What happened?"</p><p>Harry could feel the
powerful compulsion to forget burrowing into his own brain, tearing
at him with jagged teeth. He brought up his Occlumency shields, but
the compulsion ate right through them. He snarled and brought his
magic and his will up in defense, fighting as he had fought when
Dumbledore tried to compel him in the past.</p><p>The spell shattered so
suddenly that Harry sagged to his knees. He shook his head and braced
his hand on the floor of the lift, pushing himself back upright. He
looked down into the hooded faces of the Unspeakables, watching
calmly as the lift went up, and up.</p><p><em>With artifacts like
that, who else can they touch? </em>Harry thought. <em>Anyone in the
Ministry, certainly. Scrimgeour. Aurelius. Percy. And Merlin knows
who they might go after outside the Ministry. What do the
Unspeakables do? Important Ministry business. So important that, of
course, if they do need to </em>Obliviate <em>their victims later,
that's accepted as the normal order of things.</em></p><p>He shuddered. The
Ministry had another cancer inside it, then, one that hadn't
revealed itself until now. The Department of Mysteries was stirring.
At least some of the Unspeakables wanted to have werewolves as
isolated from the rest of wizarding society as possible.</p><p><em>Why?</em></p><p>Harry smiled grimly.
He didn't know yet. He would find out. But going to the papers
might not be the best course after all. If the Unspeakables hadn't
cleared the Atrium and destroyed the memory of his only witness, then
yes. But with only him to claim the truth of the story, and with the
Unspeakables holding so many other lives in their hands, and with the
currently broiling, brewing nature of the public mind as concerned
the Boy-Who-Lived, trying to expose them to more than his allies
right now would be suicide.</p><p>He was not panicking,
though, as he once would have when reminded that the Unspeakables
could hurt so many people at so many different times and with magical
artifacts whose nature he didn't yet know. The Unspeakables would
be fools to start hurting people simply because they could. Their
whole power was in remaining undetectable, and in advancing whatever
mysterious, no pun intended, goals their Department held. They must
believe that Harry had figured out their power and would enter a
stalemate with them for the sake of the innocent, even as he stared
into every shadow and wondered which ones they cast. They wouldn't
want to give him an excuse to swoop down on them with magical claws
extended.</p><p>If they had done this
before he went to the Sanctuary, their reading of him might even have
been accurate.</p><p>Now, though, it
wasn't. Harry fully intended to use his magic, though they wouldn't
know it until it was too late.</p><p>"You haven't
answered me," said Erica, a bit of a whine in her voice as the lift
finally lurched to a stop. "What am I—" And then she gasped and
looked down to see his lightning bolt scar. "Harry?"</p><p>Harry gripped her hand
tightly. "Yes," he said. "I'm sorry, Erica, but I rescued you
from powerful enemies who just <em>Obliviated</em> you, and I'm
afraid your job at the Ministry's gone. Do you trust me to take
care of you?"</p><p>Erica nodded eagerly,
looking close to swooning. "Who were they?"</p><p>"Tell you when we're
safe," said Harry, and, pulling her close to him the moment they
stepped out into the graffiti-covered alley, Apparated.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Sir?" Harry
asked, peering around the door into the room of Cobley-by-the-Sea
Snape had taken as his lab. "Can I have a word with you?"</p><p>Snape turned from
stirring a bubbling purple potion and nodded. "Of course, Harry. A
moment." He tapped the cauldron with his wand, uttering a spell to
preserve the potion in its present state, and then came to sit in one
of the solid, comfortable chairs in the center of the room.</p><p>Harry let himself
collapse into the other one. He'd just come back from the Ministry,
and settled Erica into one of the numerous unused rooms of the house.
He'd reassured Draco and Camellia that he was having Aurelius Flint
look up all the anti-werewolf laws currently on the books, but told
them nothing about the attack by the Unspeakables yet. There was
something he wanted to do first, before he had to deal with all the
shouting and sworn oaths of vengeance.</p><p>"You have a
Pensieve, sir?" he asked.</p><p>Snape's eyes
narrowed minutely. "Of course."</p><p>Harry sighed. "Can I
use it?"</p><p>Snape nodded, his eyes
still on Harry as he stood up, moved over to a cabinet on the far
wall, and unlocked it. Harry watched him back, as placidly as he
could when he'd just had someone trying to capture him. Snape had
been acting more like his normal self in the last day, especially
because he'd avoided werewolves entirely. Harry didn't want to
upset his equilibrium too much.</p><p>Besides, he wasn't
frightened. Just really, really <em>angry.</em></p><p>Snape brought the
Pensieve over and set it down in front of him. Harry hesitated for a
moment, then held out his hand and murmured, "<em>Accio</em> wand."
He wasn't actually sure how to get the memories from his head into
a Pensieve without a wand.</p><p>The length of cypress
came flying through Snape's half-open door and settled into his
fingers. Harry gave a satisfied little grunt and then touched it to
his temple, recalling the Unspeakable attack in all the details he
could. In moments, strands of silvery thought began to unloop from
the skin, and he moved his wand over to drop them into the Pensieve.
It didn't take long, and he sat back with a little sigh. At least
now he had one record of what had happened to him, just in case
something <em>else</em> happened to him, and he would make more.</p><p>"May I?" Snape
asked, indicating the Pensieve.</p><p>"If you promise not
to destroy the room when you're done," said Harry evenly.</p><p>Snape raised an
eyebrow, murmured, "I promise," and then bowed his head so that
he could plunge his face into the Pensieve. Harry rose and began to
pace back and forth, swearing aloud and in his head, his hand clasped
around his stump behind his back.</p><p><em>I'm going to have
to dig deeper with this than I ever meant to, </em>he thought. <em>I
thought it was ordinary human fear that was guiding the anti-werewolf
laws. And I thought that I could remove a few key players from
positions of power in the Ministry and be done with most of the force
behind their legal campaign against werewolves. This—this goes
deeper. Much deeper. Literally.</em></p><p><em>The most damaging
part about this right now is the lack of information. I need to know
as much about the Department of Mysteries as I can. I'll write to
Lucius Malfoy and ask him about that, as well as about Aurelius
Flint. He thrives on the corruption in the Ministry, Merlin knows,
and if anyone can locate a corrupt Unspeakable or someone willing to
talk about the Department for money, he can.</em></p><p><em>But I also need to
dig in and be prepared to defend my allies against any attacks. I
need to have as many advantages on my side as I can.</em></p><p><em>And I also need to
be ready to take the offensive. The release of the Grand Unified
Theory is coming soon, and the anti-werewolf laws are rolling
forward, and I don't think the stalemate between Scrimgeour and the
Department Heads can last forever. And sooner or later, Willoughby is
going to get someone to listen to him about this stupid trial, if
only as a means of stopping me. And I need to know what Whitestag's
doing. And school's starting soon. And Merlin knows what the
wizards in other countries watching this from the outside think.</em></p><p>He tried to slow his
pacing, but it only went faster as new ideas exploded in his head
like fireworks.</p><p><em>Most urgent,
besides finding out as much about the Unspeakables as I can, is
establishing a line of communication with Scrimgeour. Owl post
doesn't work, obviously. But—</em></p><p>Harry felt a shark's
smile widen across his mouth. <em>Fred and George, of course. No one's
going to think it strange they're communicating with me, not when I
gave them the money to open their joke shop. And Percy's their
brother. It'll take a while to figure out how they're not going
to get caught, but that should do nicely.</em></p><p>He laughed, and then
heard the absolutely foul oath behind him, combined with the pressure
of building magic.</p><p>He whirled around, and
saw Snape pulling his head out of the Pensieve, his face darker than
Harry had seen it since a werewolf from Loki's pack had laid her
teeth on his skin. He flung up a hand, and a bookshelf on the other
side of the room juddered and started to pull itself free of the
wall.</p><p>Harry shook his head
and tugged on Snape's magic with his <em>absorbere</em> gift, not
swallowing it but catching his guardian's attention. "You
promised you wouldn't destroy the room," he pointed out.</p><p>"Those—" Snape
began, and then snarled again. The air around him briefly grew a
series of writhing claws.</p><p>Harry nodded. "I
know. And I am going to <em>fight</em> them."</p><p>Snape shook his head.
"How?" He had obviously figured out the same problems with
fighting the Department of Mysteries that Harry had.</p><p>"Information,"
said Harry crisply. "From Lucius Malfoy, if I can, and establishing
a line to Scrimgeour through Percy Weasley. And then I am going to
figure out all the advantages I can, and I am going to <em>use</em>
them." He stretched out his hand and began folding his fingers
down. "I've already started studying place magic, because
Woodhouse can be an enormous resource for me if I only know how to
use it. I'm going to join Connor in his lessons to become an
Animagus. I have allies with capacities I've never called on, who
can do things that I <em>know</em> they can do but have never delegated
them into doing. I'm going to reach out and make contact with the
enemies of my enemies. I'm going to start asking questions about my
parents' past, because I need to figure out what that prophecy that
took Dumbledore means, and if my parents really defied him three
times." He folded down his thumb, and sighed in annoyance at
running out of fingers. "<em>And</em> I am going to work on getting
my left hand back."</p><p>"What has changed?"
Snape asked quietly.</p><p>"I'm <em>tired</em>,"
Harry said honestly. "It's also the werewolves and the <em>vates</em>
path and the fact that I've already committed myself to revolution,
of course, but this attack made me realize just how <em>sick and tired</em>
I am of people threatening and attacking and trying to kill and
capture and bind me." He thought back to the compulsion of the
<em>Obliviate</em> artifact the Unspeakable had used, and how it
reminded him of ways that Dumbledore and Lily had tried to enslave
him. "I've put up with it for too long. And I don't think
fighting to defend myself is wrong any more—and there are ways I
can fight on the offensive against more people than Voldemort without
utterly forgetting my morals." He glanced over his shoulder at
Snape. "You showed me that, sir, when you reminded me that I had to
care more about the living than the dead. I'll do what I need to
do, and live with the consequences. And I won't let them make me
afraid."</p><p>Snape's eyes were
fierce with pride. "This time, I actually believe that you might do
it, Harry," he said.</p><p>Harry gave a wry
smile. He couldn't deny that he'd struck out before when he'd
felt backed into a corner, and then not followed up when his enemies
stepped away, because it wouldn't be right. But the image of the
Unspeakables <em>Obliviating</em> Erica, so casually, and then watching
as the lift rose and Harry escaped, confident that he could do
nothing to fight them, not really, had <em>pissed him off</em>.</p><p>"You're well if I
leave you alone, sir?" he asked. Snape's temper was still making
his magic writhe and squirm.</p><p>Snape stared hard at
him. "I promise I am not going to poison any werewolves," he
said.</p><p>Harry snapped his head
down in a short bow, and then turned and headed for his room. He had
quill and ink and parchment there. He would write down what he
remembered of the attack as well, and then he would make a list of
people he was going to delegate specific tasks to.</p><p><em>It's time, </em>he
thought, sorrow slipping down in him like rain across glass. <em>I
wish I could still do everything, and take on the responsibilities
that should be mine, but I can't, not anymore. If I try to fight on
too many fronts, I'll lose on all of them. So I'll ask Hermione
to do the legal research, and some members of the pack to help with
feeling out other werewolves, and Honoria to lend me some of her
illusions, and others to watch enemies of mine who need to be
tracked, and Draco what luck he's had with developing new spells,
and Erica to help with guarding, and Peter to train me in Animagus
abilities, and</em>—</p><p>His mind pulsed
smoothly, seeing far ahead. Behind it all, like a mantra, hummed a
single thought.</p><p><em>I will not let them
make me afraid.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 14*: Intermission: Before the Darkness Cower</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>No chapter yesterday because I had to re-outline, but now we're cooking again. All the Intermissions, by the by, are Snape's dreams.</p><p><strong>Intermission: Before the Darkness Cower</strong></p><p>"Really, Severus,
come along." One elegant arch of Lucius Malfoy's eyebrow, as much
to say that he didn't know what he was going to do with Severus if
he couldn't follow a simple instruction like that. "You wouldn't
want to keep your future Lord waiting, would you?"</p><p>Severus—who thought
of himself as Snape in those moments when he could, determined to
pound out both his mother's surname and the name his mother had
given him from his head—kept his face calm while Malfoy was
looking, but allowed himself a sneer the moment he turned away again.
Malfoy embodied all the reasons that Severus hated purebloods, even
as he envied them. Casual grace, yes, with a promise of steel
beneath, but little <em>real</em> strength. Lucius's tactics lay in
devastating remarks, in noting breaches of manners and making those
who committed them feel like children, in facial expressions and
soft, coaxing words. But he had taught Severus to feel magic, too, as
pain, in the way that Malfoys did, and the first thing Severus had
realized was that he was stronger than Lucius Malfoy.</p><p><em>And only fools rely
on raw strength, </em>his mother's voice sang in his head.</p><p>Severus grimaced. It
was always like that, a thought that might praise or steady him
coiling around with a scorpion's sting in its tail.</p><p>The tunnel widened
ahead of them, and Malfoy made a pleased sound beneath his breath,
then halted. Severus could see his nostrils flaring wide to sniff. He
wondered that Malfoy would be so obvious about it. He himself had
already smelled the odd scent flowing down the corridor: rich, dark,
earthy, with the edge of a tang that Severus could only describe as
night.</p><p>"Ah," Malfoy said,
and then raised a hand and motioned Severus forward, stalking softly
forward himself.</p><p>Snape followed him.
They were walking through the catacombs beneath a monastery so
abandoned that Muggles didn't even remember it had existed any
more. Now and then they passed alcoves filled with bones. Severus had
wondered at first that the Dark Lord chose to meet in a place like
this, but Malfoy had explained it to him. The Death Eaters took their
name, and the Dark Lord gave his word, as a promise of immortality.
They were not, of course, afraid of death, and they would show it by
standing among bones and skeletons.</p><p>Severus had kept,
tightly clenched in the center of his own mind behind the Occlumency
shields he had already learned, the treacherous thought that someone
who sought immortality was, of course, afraid of death.</p><p>But he was not joining
the Death Eaters because of any riches or glory or eternal life. He
was joining because this was the one place in the world, as Malfoy
had promised him, where he would be able to give his bitterness and
hatred free reign. All of those people the Dark Lord would
target—Mudbloods, Muggles, Light-devoted purebloods who would
refuse to join him—were those who had <em>places</em> in the world,
places that Severus was outcast from for one reason or another.</p><p>His hand tightened on
his wand for a moment as he and Malfoy rounded a corner, and he
remembered Tobias, his father. Tobias and Eileen had been involved in
a great gyre of self-hatred; Severus remembered first realizing from
the time he was four that his parents had married each other in order
to destroy each other more effectively. But Tobias had at least
regarded his wife with eyes full of satisfaction. He understood her.
She was a witch. He had not known how to regard Severus—born to a
Muggle, and yet magically stronger than his mother was—and that had
pushed Severus forever, if he ever would have thought of it, out of
trying to live as a Muggle. He was the child of no world, not of two.</p><p>"Kneel."</p><p>That was the only
warning Malfoy gave him before he abruptly dropped to a knee. Severus
had been ready, though. Malfoy was always pulling shit like this,
trying to catch Severus off-guard and make him look bad. It was the
way Malfoy reminded him that, however strong he was, he would always
be a halfblood.</p><p>Severus's knee
touched the stone floor at the same moment Malfoy's did, and he
bowed his head. He had not seen into the room ahead of them yet, had
not seen the Dark Lord sitting on his dark throne.</p><p>He found that he did
not need to. The breathing darkness that surrounded him, the earthy
scent, was enough to give away its owner's personality. For
Severus, it was like being in the belly of a beast. The beast lay
licking its jaws contemplatively, while all around him great coils of
strength stretched into the darkness. In a short time, it would arise
and devour the world. For now, it was content to lie still and dream
of its future conquests.</p><p>Severus had never been
in the presence of someone so strong. Dumbledore was a Light Lord,
yes, but he had long ago harnessed his power, and mostly used it to
play silly games. Something about not intimidating people, and
wanting them to see that not all Lords were evil, he had said the one
time Severus asked.</p><p>This was someone who
was not afraid to use it. This was someone who understood that
limitations on power were just another form of weakness.</p><p>This was someone whose
strength Severus could join in and ride, and strike back with at the
ones who had hurt him.</p><p>All those thoughts
raced through his head in an instant, and then the Dark Lord's
voice spoke, high and cold and perfectly in tune with the fall and
rise of the beast's breathing. "Lucius. Leave us."</p><p>"My lord," Malfoy
said, although Severus detected a faint hint of confusion in his
voice. Severus did not dare to smile over that, but he pictured
Malfoy as a beast dragging a wounded leg as he escaped, and that was
enough.</p><p>And then Malfoy was
gone, and he was alone in the room with the Dark Lord. Severus felt
Voldemort turn his regard on him.</p><p>It was not easy to
bear. But Severus had not needed Lucius's warnings for that. Rumors
had traveled through Slytherin House ever since the Dark Lord's
sudden and spectacular appearance eight years ago. They had whispered
that this was a <em>real</em> Dark Lord, one who made Grindelwald look
like a whipped dog. A large part of Grindelwald's strength had come
from his allies, and from the Lightning Guard he hollowed out into
mindless fighting automata and arranged about him. This Lord was a
force to be reckoned with all by himself, either the most powerful
wizard in the world or almost there, a Parselmouth, an <em>absorbere</em>,
the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself.</p><p>All those features
added enormously to the legend, Severus had to admit, and made it
easier to know what place in life the Dark Lord would take up;
continuing Salazar Slytherin's work of eliminating Mudbloods was
only fitting for a descendant of his. Slytherin had tried to make it
happen by keeping Mudbloods from a wizarding education that would
teach them to control their powers. Lord Voldemort was simply
more…direct.</p><p>"I can feel your
mind moving."</p><p>The words were calmer
and colder than the ones spoken to Malfoy. Severus had expected that,
too.</p><p>"Rise."</p><p>He stood, his eyes
still carefully on the floor. He could see the bottom of a dark
throne, now, the slick stone gleaming as if polished by blood. The
only light in the chamber came from a group of torches arrayed about
the circular walls. The light showed they were not actual torches,
though. Their light was the color of death, pale white and constantly
shifting, and Severus allowed himself a touch of wonder. He had heard
the Dark Lord had rediscovered witchfire; he had not known he would
ever see it.</p><p>The serpent wrapped
three times around the throne lifted her head and hissed lazily at
him. The Dark Lord laughed, and then hissed back, his hand descending
in a slow caressing motion to slide along the snake's neck.</p><p>Severus listened to
the breathless hissing in clinical detachment. Yes, he could see why
this had captured Malfoy. Merlin knew why, but Lucius had a wild
dream of becoming a Parselmouth someday.</p><p>"Why have you truly
come to me?" the Dark Lord asked abruptly. "Nagini smells such
bitterness in you as would become a wizard many times older than you
are."</p><p>Severus started to
reply, but Voldemort cut him off before he could. "You may raise
your eyes and look at me."</p><p>Severus did that,
cautiously. For one thing, meeting the eyes of a Lord-level wizard
was almost <em>never</em> a good idea, even if he didn't have the
gift of compulsion the way both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord did. For
another, he knew the Dark Lord was a Legilimens.</p><p>The Dark Lord's face
was wrapped and warped with shadows, the legacy, Severus knew, of
long years of study in Dark magic outside of Britain. His eyes burned
out of the middle of that, though, smoldering coals. Red. The force
of his Legilimency reared out of them like the wolf from Norse
mythology who was meant to eat the sun.</p><p>Severus had been
prepared. As the Legilimency came at him, he flattened his Occlumency
pools, shimmering silver shallows over the most important secrets he
wanted to keep. He let the Dark Lord see everything else: the
bitterness piled on bitterness that he endured when those who should
have been his peers in Slytherin House discovered that he was a
halfblood; the endless exploits and tricks and attempts to kill him
that the Marauders engaged in; how every corner of their world
granted him uneasy respect for his magical ability while putting
barriers in the way of everything else; how even Professor Slughorn,
his own Head of House and Potions instructor, had favored Lily Evans
over him, Mudblood though she was and inferior student to Severus
though she was, because she was pretty.</p><p>The dark tide sluiced
over him, allowing him to somewhat study Voldemort as Voldemort
studied him. Severus could feel hatred in it, and the thick film of
long contact with magic based on blood and death, and the oil of
indifference to suffering. The Dark Lord used pain and fear and
hatred as tools to achieve his goals. He would not let himself be
distracted by the chance to make someone suffer just a bit more. He
could judge torture and murder to a nicety, and know when they would
be effective and when they would not.</p><p>And, of course, the
Dark Lord was letting him see all this, and he knew what Severus
knew, and some of those impressions might be wrong. Severus accepted
that. What <em>mattered</em> was the magic, and the knowledge. He had
no doubt that the knowledge was real. The Dark Lord had been
gathering support for eight years, and that support was moving faster
and faster, as almost the whole of Slytherin House rippled with
growing tendrils around its sixth- and seventh-year students, as the
Dark pureblood families forsook their stubbornness and listened more
closely. As an avalanche gathered more power the more it rolled, so
the Dark Lord was very close to his first great rising.</p><p>"Well, well,
Severus."</p><p>Severus looked up. He
had been lost in his own mental impressions of the Legilimency, and
had not used his physical eyes in some moments. He found the Dark
Lord regarding him with—</p><p><em>Approval? Surely
not. But he does seem to recognize something in me.</em></p><p>"You are utterly
willing, are you not?" The Dark Lord's voice was soft with
something that might have been amusement. Severus did not mind.
Amusement was one of the mildest reactions he received. Besides, the
Dark Lord could be amused and still let him torture and kill and
strike and <em>use</em> the magic that flared so restlessly inside him.
He nodded.</p><p>"Very well," the
Dark Lord said. "Your initiation will be a month from now, in the
middle of that first great rising."</p><p>Severus nodded again.
Unspoken were the words that if he told anyone about this, he would
be dead. Of course he would. He had come into a world where the
realities were simple: life and death, blood and power.</p><p>But it was a world
where he had a place, a defined relationship to all of them. He was
contemptuous of life, unafraid of death, a means to release blood,
and a possessor of power. He was here, and they were there, arrayed
about him, in directions he knew precisely.</p><p>"You will be a
valuable addition to my ranks," the Dark Lord said softly. "You
know by heart lessons that many of my Death Eaters must spend months
or years learning." A long pause, while Nagini sang a crooning song
and laid her head in the Dark Lord's lap. "Your mother taught you
well," the Dark Lord finished at last.</p><p>Severus nodded again.
Of course, he had not truly hoped to preserve his mother's identity
or teachings as a secret.</p><p>"You are dismissed,"
the Dark Lord said. "I am pleased with you, Severus, very pleased."</p><p>Severus bowed, and
then turned and trekked out of the chamber. The passage was not long,
and he had memorized all the ways that Malfoy brought him out of
habit.</p><p>He had not spoken a
single world in the entire audience with the Dark Lord, he realized,
while for years he had tried to justify himself with words—in
Slytherin House, to his father, with his professors. That, more than
anything, told him that he had found a place where he belonged, and a
perfect understanding with a man who would use him and discard him if
he were useless—but who would also offer him the opportunity for
revenge.</p><p>Severus was willing to
be used, for that.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 15*: Unspeakables and Slytherins Play Chess</h2>
			<p>The Unspeakable plotline is fitting into the story really well, actually. (Suspiciously well).</p><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: Unspeakables (and Slytherins) Play
Chess</strong></p><p>Snape came awake with
a gasp that he could not control. At least the gasp was soundless,
and he pinched his lips shut immediately after allowing that puff of
diseased air to escape. Then he sat up, hand closing on the wand that
lay close beside his head, and snapped, "<em>Candela.</em>"</p><p>The candle sitting on
the table near his bed burst into flame. Snape studied his bedroom,
or rather, the room Harry had given him, carefully in the wake of the
dancing shadows. He could see nothing. The strangest sensation that
he felt, now that he was awake, was the tingling of remembered pain
in his left forearm, and a half-smothered desire to call himself
"Severus."</p><p>He sat back, slowly,
against the pillow and closed his eyes. Just before he left Gollrish
Y Thie to come to Cobley-by-the-Sea, Joseph had volunteered
information, quite unexpectedly, on the dreams that the Sanctuary
used to heal the minds of those who refused the Seers' help.</p><p>"Usually, the dreams
last only as long as the guest is in the Sanctuary." Joseph had had
his hands dancing over the powdered bicorn horn, powdering it
further, and he hadn't looked at Snape even when Snape stared at
his back. "But then, most of our guests remain until the healing is
complete. If he leaves before it is, then the dreams may pursue him,
adding themselves to his mind until he faces and acknowledges the
buried memories and problems the dreams want him to acknowledge."</p><p>Snape laughed now,
also soundlessly, and without amusement. <em>What other acknowledgment
can I give? I paid my penance for that mistake, that choosing of Dark
over Light. I carry his brand and will for the rest of my life, and I
served Dumbledore's cause until I saw how corrupt he was in his
turn.</em></p><p>But, of course,
nothing would ever be enough to pay for his mistakes. Snape had known
that when he saw the pity in Dumbledore's eyes each time he
returned from a spying mission to report, when he saw McGonagall
watching him, when he saw the way his students shied away from him.
It was the same as it had always been. Every time he reached out
through the walls of bitterness, his hand was slapped away, and when
he reacted with the defensive pride he had earned, then others
accused him of unreasonable sarcasm or hatred.</p><p><em>That is not true, </em>a
voice that sounded suspiciously like Joseph's informed him. <em>There
is one exception. Harry.</em></p><p>Snape caught his
breath, then nodded shortly. Yes, very well, Harry was not one who
slapped his hand away. And Snape had decided to face the dreams in
the first place because of Harry, and he had come to live in a house
full of werewolves because of Harry.</p><p>And, at the moment,
Harry had far more to worry about than Snape did. The Unspeakables
were no enemy to disregard.</p><p>Snape stood, gathered
up a cloak from the corner of the room, and went to the door. He had
known almost at once that it was still deep night; his years as a
Death Eater gave him a sensitivity to the hours. He was not likely to
meet anyone as he walked the halls of Cobley-by-the-Sea and thought,
and that was exactly the way he liked it.</p><p>He stopped at Harry's
room first, of course. He was one of the few people who did not have
to worry about the wards on the door, because Harry had tuned them to
Snape so that he could bypass every one of them. He opened the door
and looked in carefully, forcing his eyes to see past the tricky
shadows the moonlight through the open window wanted to impose on
them.</p><p>Harry lay in a jumbled
bundle in the middle of the bed that at first made no sense to Snape,
until he realized that the bundle consisted of two boys coiled around
each other. He snorted and eased the door shut. That occurrence had
become more common than not of late. Draco spent almost every night
in Harry's bed rather than his own. Snape supposed that he did not
mind that. If Harry had a nightmare—or, Merlin forbid it, a
vision—then Draco would know at once, and could wake him up. If
someone tried to attack Harry while he slept, Draco would be there to
fight for him.</p><p>Of course, if Draco
pushed too far and did something that panicked Harry unforgivably
instead of amusing him, then Snape had his vengeance carefully
prepared. One month of uncontrollably and wetly sneezing and vomiting
every time he became aroused should make Draco reconsider before
doing <em>that</em> again.</p><p>Snape eased into the
kitchen and lit the candle waiting on the counter with a flicker of
his wand, then drew out a kettle from the kitchen cupboard and set
about making tea. He made the Muggle motions automatically, though he
used his magic to prepare it. When he noticed, he scowled and made
himself stop performing them.</p><p>Once, he had believed
that he belonged nowhere, because there was nowhere a halfblood <em>could</em>
belong. Then he'd accepted his place in the magical world, and that
meant he struggled to reject everything that was Muggle about him.</p><p>From what he could
remember, Dumbledore had once considered sending the Potters to live
under Fidelius in the Muggle world itself, once Harry and his brother
were marked. Snape was grateful that he had not. To have a son who
thought of himself as part of that world would be intolerable.</p><p>A light step behind
him warned him. He whirled about, wand raised, and just barely
managed to keep from casting the curse on his lips. Amber eyes
gleamed in the moonlight through the kitchen window, and a growl
throbbed in the throat of the woman standing behind him.</p><p>She stopped, with a
shake of her head, once she recognized him. "Professor Snape,"
she said shortly.</p><p>Snape inclined his
head coldly back to her, and held up the kettle. The woman nodded.
"Yes, please," she said, and then sat down on the other side of
the table, still watching warily. All the werewolves, Snape knew,
could smell his jumpiness around them, and this one—</p><p>Well, this one had a
keen nose, and another reason altogether to want to avoid his curses.
Besides, she was a Muggle. She knew she had no defense against his
wand, other than a werewolf's innate resistance to direct magic,
and that meant nothing if Snape cut down the roof and let it fall on
her. Snape had observed the pack when they did not know he was
observing them, and noticed those who had no magic automatically kept
their subservience around the ones who did, unless they were mated.
Harry seemed to think that the pack functioned smoothly together,
without hierarchies except for the distinction between packmate and
alpha. Snape knew better.</p><p><em>Power is always
there, if one looks for it, </em>he thought, and waited until the
kettle began to sing before turning again to face this werewolf, a
young woman who called herself Camellia. He was gratified to see that
she had her arms folded. It made her look more like a sulky teenager,
though he assumed she was in her early twenties, and less like the
monster he had glimpsed looming ahead in the darkness in the spring
of his sixth year.</p><p>"You have not yet
told Harry?" he asked silkily as he poured the tea into two
separate cups.</p><p>"He hasn't made a
comment," said Camellia, watching the tea as if she wanted to be
sure that he would put no potion into it. Snape concealed his
amusement. <em>If I wanted to do so, she would not see me do it. </em>"I
assume that he knows and just doesn't want to cause discord. I
mean, how could he not know?"</p><p>"By that alone, you
prove that you do not truly understand him," Snape said coldly as
he levitated Camellia's cup across the table to her, and sat down
on the far side with his. "If he knew, he would come to us and try
to reason matters out. And he would feel far more anger for my sake
than yours."</p><p>Camellia pulled her
lips back from her teeth without a sound. As the moon turned towards
the dark, that was less of a threat than it might have been if it
were swelling, but it was a threat all the same. The whole pack could
smell his fear, Snape knew.</p><p>He controlled that
fear now, though. He knew that he had to, if he wanted to live and
work in the same place that Harry was living. And the knowledge of
the poisons—three separate ones now, not just the silvery one he
had invented when he was brewing those months after the attack
outside Hogwarts—lying in his trunk upstairs was one of the major
things enabling him to control it.</p><p>"<em>You</em> are the
one who does not understand what an alpha means to his pack," the
girl said, spitefully. "It doesn't matter that he's not a
werewolf. He's <em>ours</em>. Ours to protect, to love, to be led by,
to guard. And he's sworn himself to be more than that. You will die
if you touch him with hostile intent. I need no magic, not even the
full moon, to kill." She lifted one hand as though to remind Snape
of her more-than-mortal strength.</p><p>Again the terror tried
to cry in him, and if he let it, the cry would turn to a remembered
howl, the howl blowing down the tunnel out of the Shrieking Shack in
the moments before James Potter had come hurtling towards him,
shouting his name…</p><p>But he was master of
that fear. He had subdued it so well for years that even Harry had
never sensed it. Snape weighted it and threw it into an Occlumency
pool, and said, "What you have yet to understand is that Harry must
share himself with far more people than your pack. He is not <em>just</em>
yours, for he is owed debts and has responsibilities in every
direction."</p><p>Camellia showed her
teeth again, but this time it was definitely in a smile. Snape
watched in momentary confusion as she drank her tea, deliberately
lapping it, and then put down the cup and stood.</p><p>"That is the place
where you do not understand," she said. "None of us expected Loki
to return us equal love to the love we had for him. We were too many,
for one thing, and his bonds to all of us were different. And he
loved Gudrun more than he loved us. He fulfilled his obligation to
the pack by giving us a new, highly protective alpha. We accept that.</p><p>"But Harry is that
alpha now. <em>We </em>love <em>him</em> that way. It does not matter if
he also frees house elves, if he loves his mate more than he loves
us, if he sides with you. He is still ours by virtue of our love for
him."</p><p>She whirled and
stalked out of the room, leaving Snape alone with his tea and his
thoughts. He finished the first, carefully organized the second, and
rose.</p><p>He did not think Harry
had noticed yet that it was almost always Camellia who spoke with
him, Camellia who took the lead when he planned something with the
werewolves, Camellia who had detailed the way in which the werewolves
would guard the festival being held two days from now and sniff over
members of arriving packs. She was the highest-ranking of the pack
after Loki, despite her lack of magic. She had power.</p><p>He was sure Harry had
not noticed, did not remember, that it was Camellia who had seized
his guardian that day by the lake and held him, her teeth pressed to
his throat, while another of her companions seized Draco and a third
went after Moody. If Harry knew, he would have reacted as Snape
predicted he would, ironing out the problem. If nothing else, he
would know now that he couldn't leave that animosity between Snape
and Camellia simmering.</p><p>He did not yet know,
and Camellia had not told him. She might be a werewolf, but she was
no Slytherin.</p><p>Snape would keep the
information silent until he could best use it.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus was working
early that morning, before even Percy Weasley had arrived. He had not
been able to sleep, and of course the Minister Flooing to the
Ministry was not something that anyone would question.</p><p>He <em>did</em> question
the knock on his door, until he realized how soft it was, almost
ghostly. He should not have been able to hear it across the office,
and yet he did. And neither of the Aurors standing guard outside had
raised any alarms. It was the way that the Unspeakables had contacted
him before, when his first allies from the Department of Mysteries,
swearing to back him against Amelia, appeared.</p><p>He responded as they
had told him to, closing his hand around his wand and tapping his
fingers on it three times.</p><p>The door seemed to
become misty, and then two gray-cloaked figures appeared, walking
through it. Wilmot still did not raise the alarm, and his wards
didn't react, either. Rufus nodded, reluctantly impressed. The
artifacts the Department cared for, those things too dangerous or
Dark or cursed to be allowed into wizarding society, permitted them
to do many things that other wizards would misuse—once mastered. It
was, Rufus thought, and not for the first time, a good thing that the
Department of Mysteries was loyal to the Ministry.</p><p>"Minister," said
the first cloaked figure, the slightly taller one. His companion had
taken a seat already; he bowed before taking one. His voice was calm
and inflectionless. Rufus was sure he would not have been able to
recognize it in a different context. "We bring you grave news."</p><p><em>You hardly expected
good news, </em>Rufus reminded himself, and inclined his head shortly.
"What is it?"</p><p>"We have a division
in our own Department," the Unspeakable said. "A few of our
members think that our goals can best be met by aiding Amelia Bones.
They have been feeding her information, and we believe that her
sudden courage to pass new anti-werewolf laws and establish the
Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts may come
from their backing."</p><p>"That would make
sense," Rufus said slowly. In his last conversation with Amelia,
he'd made a good deal of eye contact. Her own eyes were wide,
graveyards where fear had gone to die, and she seemed constantly on
the verge of telling him something. "She is, then, constrained to
act against her will?"</p><p>"Not with
artifacts," said the calm voice. "With terror alone. But yes, we
think so."</p><p>Rufus leaned back in
his chair and closed his eyes. In the end, though, he had to shake
his head. He simply knew too little about the Department of Mysteries
to choose what the best course of action would be. But that was why
he was lucky to have allies there, he knew. He could lean on their
advice. The Unspeakables might rarely act in concert with other
Departments, and then for motives as mysterious as their titles, but
ultimately, they were chosen for their loyalty to the wizarding world
as a whole. They would despise someone like Cornelius Fudge, who had
only been in the office for his own good, but <em>they</em> had
approached <em>Rufus.</em> They appreciated him, Rufus knew.</p><p>"And you do not
think we can stop this influence as of now?" he asked.</p><p>"No," said the
Unspeakable. "Until we know the reason our siblings think
encouraging Madam Bones is an aid to our Department's goals, we
cannot act. Keep it as a stalemate for now, Minister. The weight of
the situation must be the only thing that changes it. Knowledge is a
precious commodity."</p><p><em>I should have
expected an Unspeakable to say that, </em>Rufus thought, shaking his
head again. The secondary purpose of the Department of Mysteries,
besides making sure that wizarding society was cleared of anything
intolerably dangerous, was to gain as much knowledge of those
artifacts as they could, so they could be used to benefit wizards and
witches when they were understood. Some of the greatest magical
discoveries in the last two centuries had come from the Department of
Mysteries. That an Unspeakable would counsel waiting until he had all
the knowledge he needed was no surprise.</p><p>"There is one thing
more," the Unspeakable said. "I would hesitate to mention it,
Minister, but we know you as a man of duty, who does the right thing
even when it does not suit his own convenience." He paused. "Alas,
there are other people in the world who are not so dutiful."</p><p>Rufus's muscles
tightened. He knew, somehow, what this was about, even before he
asked for confirmation. "Harry?"</p><p>The Unspeakable's
hood moved in a shallow nod. "Yes. We approached him yesterday,
when we realized that he had come to the Ministry and used magic in
the offices of the Department for the Control and Regulation of
Magical Creatures."</p><p>Rufus's hands
clenched on the side of the desk. <em>Would Harry have been able to
resist the temptation, with the new anti-werewolf laws on the books?
He knows what Department, other than the Department for the Control
and Suppression of Deadly Beasts, is responsible for handling those
laws. Amelia's pets only hunt. The Regulators take care of
registered werewolves. </em>"What did he use the magic to do?"</p><p>"Try to escape the
notice of our wards, first of all," said the Unspeakable. "Then
we felt his power flare. We are still not entirely sure what that
meant, but we have noticed an unusual bustle of activity in one of
the offices."</p><p>Rufus closed his eyes.
<em>He would not compel anyone. I could not believe that of him. But
he did say the last time we met that while he hoped he would never
have to use magic against anyone in the Ministry, he would do it now.
Intimidating someone, as he did to Amelia? Clearing the way for a
friend? Oh, yes, I can see it.</em></p><p>"Go on," he
whispered, while his heart racked itself apart with bitterness for
the necessities of war and revolution.</p><p>"We tried to talk to
him, but he evaded us. We can only assume that he thought we were
trying to hurt him, instead of have a private conversation. When we
attempted to use one of our artifacts that would have established a
privacy barrier, he swallowed the magic from it." The Unspeakable
hesitated again, a minute pause hardly worth observing if all his
other words had not come out so calm and steady. "We fear that he
may consider our artifacts as sources of magic that would allow him
to accomplish more and greater things."</p><p>Rufus swallowed. <em>Harry
drains magic from people with only the greatest reluctance. From
objects? There were those stories of children whom Voldemort
condemned to be Squibs in the attack on Hogwarts, whom Harry restored
as wizards. He did that by draining Black magical artifacts. </em></p><p><em>But he's the heir
of Black. What happens if he chooses to see the Department of
Mysteries and its collections as acceptable prey, because they are
not sentient?</em></p><p>Rufus could see him
deciding that. And Harry was—well, not inclined to listen to
advice, not all the time. Rufus could not see him deciding, now, to
raid the Department of Mysteries and drain the artifacts there. But
what if he decided, in the end, that it was the only way to make
those he fought for safe? The anti-werewolf laws stood a good chance
of getting worse, and before Harry would stand for werewolves being
executed again or sent to prison, Rufus guessed, he would rise for
them.</p><p>He remembered Harry's
calm, stern face, and the magic that had flared around him. Harry had
made his choice. He had used magic in the Ministry—Lord-level
magic, against which ordinary wizards and witches didn't stand a
chance.</p><p>And Rufus wanted the
Ministry to be a place for ordinary wizards and witches, where they
could get the help they needed and craved, and where the law, which
was a tool that could work for anyone, not just those with enough
power, was in effect.</p><p>It was, perhaps, a
distant, foolish dream of his, the one that said, someday, the
exceptions for Lords and Ladies that were built into wizarding law
would be smoothed out. That everyone ordinary would learn not to live
in fear of that powerful magic, that they would remember their
numbers were as a great a force, in many ways, as that magic, and
they would nod in approval as the last traces of a positively Dark
Ages mindset were excised from the Ministry's records.</p><p>Harry had seemed to
understand that, when Rufus warned him that he didn't want Lords
mucking about in his Ministry. Dumbledore's magically compelled
Order of the Phoenix had crossed the line. Harry using magic to aid
his own supporters, if that was all he had done, did the same thing.</p><p>"I will have to
contact Harry and tell him this," he said heavily, opening his
eyes.</p><p>"He will probably
write to you," the Unspeakable said softly. "Violent
and—misunderstanding of our role as the former Mr. Potter seems to
be, he is not dishonest."</p><p>Rufus nodded,
appreciating that. It was true. Harry would probably realize their
ways had parted already, assumed Rufus would find out somehow, from
the Unspeakables or broken wards if nothing else, and know that all
that remained was the formal apology.</p><p>"When he does, do
not tell him of our role, though of course he may guess it," the
Unspeakable cautioned, rising to his feet. "We must understand the
divisions in our Department first. And, of course, the price of our
aid remains the same as always: if you tell anyone of it, it will
stop coming."</p><p>"I understand."
Rufus leaned back and regarded them with bleak eyes. "Thank you for
telling me the truth, gentlemen. I could only wish that everyone's
loyalty to the Ministry was as great as your own."</p><p>The Unspeakables gave
short half-nods, half-bows, then went fuzzy and vanished. A moment
later, Rufus heard Wilmot's voice greeting Percy. Then the door
opened and Percy entered the office, humming under his breath.</p><p>He stopped when he saw
the expression on Rufus's face. "Sir?" he said hesitantly.</p><p>"I have a new task
for you, Percy," Rufus said, trying to force his features into an
expression of good humor. He <em>could not</em> allow himself to brood
on this. He had known that his and Harry's paths would most likely
separate one day. Harry was not a Declared Lord, but no one with that
level of magic ever remained outside politics for long.</p><p>And Rufus could not
sacrifice his dreams, his people, his <em>Ministry</em> for one person,
however complex, however good an ally or leader he would have made.</p><p>"What is it, sir?"</p><p>"You have a training
sessions coming up soon, I believe," said Rufus neutrally. "One
in which you, as a junior Auror, are to observe one Department in the
Ministry and see how it smoothly functions from day to day."</p><p>Percy blinked a bit.
"Yes, sir."</p><p>"Make sure it's
the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures,"
Rufus said. "Harry has been there, and he may have left some—traces
of magical activity, or unnaturally fast help for an ally of his."</p><p>Percy's face cleared
with recognition—and with an unexpected sadness. Rufus was forced
to realize, once again, that he was not the only person who had
valued Harry highly. "Yes, sir," Percy whispered, and then took
his place at his usual desk, behind the thick privacy ward, in a
thoughtful mood.</p><p>Rufus sat back in his
chair and closed his eyes again. This seemed to be his morning for
thinking.</p><p><em>Are we truly so
different? Is there not something I could have done that would have
made matters fall out for both of us? For that matter, is there some
way that we can ally with each other even now?</em></p><p>But every road he
turned in the maze led to a dead end. There was simply no <em>way</em>
he could choose Harry over the Ministry. He was what he was: the
Minister of wizarding Britain, responsible for the safety of many,
not only a few, and not only those who had sworn oaths to him. There
were hundreds of wizards who did things that Rufus disapproved of
morally every day of his life. There were plenty in the Ministry,
including Amelia, who had surrendered to fear. It was still his
responsibility to see that criminals received a fair trial, that
Departments went on functioning in spite of the fear, that the world
spun on. He would do what he could for the werewolves, but he could
not change his whole path to help them, as Harry had.</p><p><em>And while I am
affected by Harry's story, and while he has helped me, there is a
reason I never become his full-fledged ally. He is a revolutionary; I
am a reformer. There it is, at the bottom of it.</em></p><p><em>I wish him well, I
always will, but we cannot walk side by side.</em></p><p>He sat up and shook
his head. Perhaps things would look better once he had his morning
cup of tea.</p><p><em>And perhaps not.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry had almost
finished his letter to Lucius, and the one to Fred and George to ask
if they could establish some line of communication to Percy, when an
unfamiliar owl swooped through the window of Cobley-by-the-Sea. He
rose warily to his feet, especially when a pair entered a moment
later, one flying to Connor, who was reading a book on Animagi on the
other side of the room, and one to Draco, just glancing up from a
letter to his mother. Since Peter had told him of Rosier's trick
with the Snitch Portkey, Harry was paranoid about any letter that
didn't come with Hedwig or one of the owls that the werewolves sent
out.</p><p>Connor, though, had
already opened his letter, and now he laughed—at the look on his
brother's face, Harry assumed. "It's all right, Harry," he
said, and waved the paper within around. "It's our OWL results!"</p><p>Harry blinked, then
turned and accepted the parchment from the bird gently nudging at his
shoulder. He scanned it for a moment, and then, in spite of himself,
he began to laugh, too.</p><p>"I fail to see what
is funny about one's OWL's," Snape remarked from the door. He
never let Harry alone long now without checking up on him, as if he
feared Harry would take belated offense from their conversation in
Gollrish Y Thie and go to another of the Black houses. <em>Or perhaps
he's just avoiding the werewolves, </em>Harry thought, as he grinned
at his guardian.</p><p>"I got an
Outstanding in the Divination practical," Harry said, and then
began laughing all over again at the expression on Snape's face.</p><p>"How did <em>that</em>
happen?" Connor demanded, sounding envious. "I was Poor at it!"</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"Because I made up a load of bollocks, and the proctor accepted
it." He returned to his parchment again. "That <em>must</em> be the
reason I got Exceeds Expectations in the Astronomy theory portion,
too. I can't remember enough of the bloody constellations."</p><p>"I can," Draco
announced.</p><p>"Outstanding,
right?" Harry asked him, and Draco nodded smugly. "Not my fault
your mother's star-obsessed," Harry muttered, and went back to
the parchment again.</p><p>"Outstanding in
Potions, one would assume," Snape drawled, leaning against the
doorway.</p><p>Harry smiled at him.
"Both the theory and the practical."</p><p>He wondered if either
Draco or Connor noticed the softening in Snape's eyes, or the tiny,
tiny inclination of his head that he gave at that news. Harry felt a
brief, flashing wave of pride lift him, as if he were a speck in a
beam of sunshine.</p><p>It was replaced by a
gnawing hunger. Sometimes, Harry's own yearning for a parent who
<em>acted</em> like a parent surprised him. At least this time, he had
expected it, and he could somewhat quell the hunger by telling
himself sternly that Snape was proud of him and loved him. What more
could he expect? It was better, far better, than the ultimately false
love his mother and father had pretended to.</p><p>He distracted himself
with the OWL results again. Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark
Arts, both theory and practical—he would have been embarrassed to
get anything less, especially with Acies as a professor last year.
Exceeds Expectations in History of Magic. <em>Whoever marked that must
</em>really <em>have liked loads of bollocks. </em>Exceeds Expectations
in Charms, Acceptable in Transfiguration, probably because they'd
made him use his bloody wand. The latter mark did worry him, though.
If he hoped to become an Animagus, he needed to improve. At least
he'd achieved Outstanding in the Charms theory portion and Exceeds
Expectations on the Transfiguration exam.</p><p>Acceptable in
Herbology, no surprise. Acceptable in Arithmancy, which he had no
doubt Hermione had received an Outstanding in; he didn't have
Hermione's head for numbers. Harry nodded. All right, then. He
thought that was fine for someone with highly specialized knowledge,
mostly wandless magic, and a Dark Lord after his head at the time,
along with a battle he was planning for.</p><p>He started as he felt
warmth drape around his neck, and then Argutus's head poked around
his throat. "<em>What did you receive?</em>"</p><p>Harry shook his head.
He had tried to explain to Argutus about OWL's before, and the Omen
snake never understood, but that never kept him from asking.
"Outstanding in all the subjects that matter," he told Argutus,
floating the OWL results in the air beside him and scratching the
serpent under the chin, "except Transfiguration, which is a
problem. If I want to figure out how to become an Animagus, then I
need to grow better at that."</p><p>He caught a glimpse of
Snape staring fixedly at him from the corner of his eye. Harry
frowned, though he made sure to keep it to himself. <em>Why? It's
not like he hasn't heard me speaking Parseltongue before.</em></p><p>"<em>But you are
going to be an Omen snake,</em>" Argutus said, sounding confused.</p><p>Harry blinked. "What?"
He was actually fairly sure that his Animagus form, if he ever
managed to achieve it, would be a lynx.</p><p>"<em>Because I'm
here, and I can show you how to manage it,</em>" said Argutus. "<em>And
because it's the only animal worth becoming, of course.</em>"</p><p>Harry chuckled and
buried his face in the snake's scales. "I'm afraid it doesn't
work that way," he said.</p><p>"<em>So what way does
it work?"</em></p><p>Harry began again to
explain. At least there was the hope that Argutus might understand
the Animagus form better than he understood OWL's, and Harry
preferred arguing with his Omen snake to any other form of argument.
Argutus's presence had been a comfort yesterday, when he'd told
Draco and Connor about the Unspeakable attack and had had to endure
both oaths of vengeance and Draco looking at him gently, tenderly,
all over, as if he might have an invisible wound somewhere.</p><p>And then Draco had
ended up sleeping in bed with him last night, and insisting on some
lazy morning snogging.</p><p>Harry glanced up and
met his partner's eyes from across the room. Draco raised one
eyebrow and smiled.</p><p><em>He did say he was
going to push. </em>But then Harry let that part of his thinking,
along with his explanation about Animagi to Argutus, lapse, because
Draco was mouthing something.</p><p>It looked like, "Just
wait for the festival."</p><p>Harry frowned
uneasily, wondering what that meant, until Argutus nudged him again
and demanded, "<em>But why can't you just convince your soul that
it looks like an Omen snake? Maybe it will listen.</em>"</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Lucius enjoyed owls
interrupting him at breakfast no more than he did callers using the
spell Charles Rosier-Henlin had invented. He therefore finished his
tea before he accepted the letter, for all that he knew it was from
Harry.</p><p>It seemed that Harry
had wanted to go formal for this request—or perhaps he had wanted
to see if someone were watching his post and if Lucius actually
received the letter—or perhaps Draco had told him that Lucius
preferred to accept letters. He felt a small smile widen across his
face as he fed the snowy owl bits of bacon from his own plate. <em>Such
a treat, to be able to wonder about many possibilities with this
Lord, rather than only one.</em></p><p>He opened the letter,
and the ambush came.</p><p><em>Dear Lucius:</em></p><p><em>As Draco may have
told you, I am currently exploring legal options available to the
Black heir in my handling of the anti-werewolf laws. I went to a
certain office in the Department for the Control and Regulation of
Magical Creatures, which is now held by a man named Aurelius Flint,
Marcus Flint's father. He seemed to know more than I would have
given him credit for, especially because the old debt to the House of
Black merely obliges the person working in that office to help;
there's no reason he could have anticipated beforehand that I would
choose that route or that I would want information about that
particular problem. What do you know of Aurelius Flint? Is he a
contact of yours in the Ministry? What are his political positions,
his connections?</em></p><p><em>Thank you,</em></p><p><em>Harry.</em></p><p>Lucius put the letter
down on the table and stared at it. The snowy owl hooted cheerfully,
as if to say that any time he felt like writing a reply, she would
carry it.</p><p>Lucius stared through
her in turn. He was thinking.</p><p>He could see why Harry
had not been afraid to trust this information to a letter. What he
was doing was perfectly legal. That exception for the House of Black
had been passed long ago, and anyone who wanted to look at the books
would find it.</p><p>Aurelius
Flint was the center of a vast network of favors owed and secrets
possessed. Lucius knew him personally, and had done favors for him
himself on several occasions. That, in and of itself, was something
Harry could find out by asking someone else, and was not what had
torn the ground out from under Lucius's feet to reveal the abyss
hiding below.</p><p>No, there was the fact
that Flint had worked through a network of favors that had resulted
in Lucius being able to enter the Ministry undetected and torture the
Potters. And he undoubtedly had the information, or could in a few
hours' time, that would reveal that to Harry, even after Lucius had
taken steps to have someone else, former Auror Fiona Mallory, take
the fall for his torture, and then put her into a coma when she was
sacked.</p><p>If Harry discovered
that Lucius had tortured his mother and father, Lucius's power and
favored position with Harry would come to an end. He had no illusions
about that. Justified vengeance or not, acting on pureblood
traditions or not, claiming the debt for child abuse that Harry never
would or not, Harry would feel compelled by his morals to turn his
back on Lucius.</p><p>He reached into his
robe pocket and drew out another letter, this one on a simple sheet
of gray parchment, with the seal of an hourglass, black on gray. That
had come last night, by no visible means; it had been under Lucius's
door when he went to bed. The parchment said only, <em>We are in
conflict with the former Mr. Potter, over werewolves. You will know
your danger shortly.</em></p><p>And now he did. The
message was from the Department of Mysteries, which Lucius had
contacted for the Dark artifact that had put Fiona Mallory into her
trance—irreversible save for the help of that same artifact. If
Harry was in conflict with the Unspeakables, that made a second
outlet by which he could learn about what had happened, and who was
responsible for felling Mallory, and why. Lucius could not say he
understood the Unspeakables, any more than most ordinary wizards
could. They might tell Harry the truth for their own reasons, or to
end the conflict, or to distract him by throwing him someone he could
save.</p><p>And Lucius with her,
but as someone to damn.</p><p>If Lucius did not want
to lose his power in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, he must move
carefully. And the slight phrase "over werewolves" added to the
Unspeakables' message had already given him an idea, even though he
did not know why the Department of Mysteries would be interested in
werewolves.</p><p>It could work. It
could. But it would have to be done slowly, and secretly, and oh so
carefully, because if Harry found out, Lucius was not sure that his
claim on Harry's attention would be the only thing in tatters.</p><p>He had walked through
barbed conflicts like this before—when unknown people within
Hogwarts were threatening his son, and in his days among the Death
Eaters. If, this time, he had more to lose, that did not mean that
this walk was impossible, he told himself. He only had to watch for
more thorns.</p><p>He would survive, and,
more, he would thrive, secure his family's position closest to
Harry's side, get rid of the danger, and bury his own past mistakes
in one stroke.</p><p>Lucius relaxed enough
to reach for more bacon and feed it to—Hedwig. A saint's name. A
lovely owl, really.</p><p>He would achieve
success where others would only see lurking failure.</p><p>It was what a Malfoy
did.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 16*: Harry's Festival</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: Harry's Festival</strong></p><p>This time, Harry
didn't get much more warning than a soft, gleeful laugh.</p><p>The talons that raked
down his left shoulder sent him to his knees, gasping in pain. He
turned about, his balance jolting as his weight transferred from his
hand to his stump, and stared. The bird was hovering overhead, its
clawed wings clapping steadily and its talons opening and closing.</p><p><em>You should know
what I am now, </em>it told him. <em>And you should not have forgotten,
you should never have forgotten, no. You are involved in too many
battles, but one lies behind them all, and that is the battle that
must be faced at the end, the true war, with your true enemy.</em></p><p>"I don't know what
you're talking about," Harry growled, forcing the words out past
the pain in his shoulder. The cold that crept across the cuts <em>hurt</em>,
but in a few moments, they had gone numb. Harry glanced down, and
restrained a grimace. At least the cuts weren't nearly as deep or
severe as the ones the bird had inflicted on him in the Sanctuary.</p><p><em>Look in the mirror,
</em>the bird said, and laughed, and then lifted straight up towards
the ceiling of the loo. It vanished through a spray of warm water,
confirming Harry's idea further that it was a creature of pure
magic. If it wasn't, then the warm water should have done <em>some</em>
damage to a creature of ice.</p><p>Harry spent some time
staring after it, then shook his head and stood, walking over to the
mirror. Since he <em>was</em> in the loo, he should check.</p><p>The ice was already
melting from the cut, defeated by the warm atmosphere of the shower.
Harry stared, and for a long moment could make out no pattern. Then
he twisted to the right, and realized that the wound could be seen as
a lightning bolt made up of three separate lines.</p><p><em>And has every wound
it's given me been a lightning bolt?</em></p><p>Mind preoccupied, he
tried a healing spell, but of course it didn't work. None of his
healing spells ever seemed to work on the wounds that the bird gave
him, unless it was a minor effect like warming them or stopping the
blood flow. He wrapped his towel around his waist and stepped back
out into the bedroom.</p><p>Draco was awake, and
watching him.</p><p>Harry told himself
that it was ridiculous that his focus shifted almost at once from the
cut on his shoulder to the fact that he was nearly naked in front of
his boyfriend. Draco would probably like him to think that way, but
he had the wound to deal with, and then the festival, which was
today, required arrangements and preparation.</p><p><em>You're afraid, </em>a
voice that sounded far too much like Sylarana's told him.</p><p>Harry told it to shut
up, and shifted so that his shoulder was to Draco. "That damn bird
showed up in the loo again," he said.</p><p>Draco jumped up and
came to his side at once, exclaiming softly as he tried to heal the
cuts. He said nothing about their shape. Harry thought one had to be
in the right position for that, and he was already thinking there was
nothing to it. He <em>knew</em> some of his other cuts hadn't been
shaped like lightning bolts, and why should he believe anything the
bird said?</p><p>"And you don't
know what this bird is, Harry, or why it's doing this?" Draco's
fingers pressed into the skin under the wound, making Harry hiss.
Draco murmured an apology, and tried <em>Integro.</em> This time, Harry
could feel the skin closing over the cuts, and relaxed with a little
sigh. They really were small compared to the massive amount of
shredded skin and blood and pain the bird had seen fit to inflict on
him last.</p><p>"No. My best guess
is that there's a wizard imprisoned somewhere who's really angry
at me, and his magic's grown a personality of its own and come to
mark me. It would fit with the 'he' the bird talks about, and the
fact that its personality reminds me of my magic's after it first
escaped the phoenix web." Harry squinted at his shoulder. The last
traces of pain, from both ice and blood, were leaving now. He nodded
his approval. "But without knowing who the wizard is, and with the
bird appearing so suddenly and without warning, I don't know how to
stop this."</p><p>"I don't like that
Vera had no idea what it was, either," Draco muttered, running his
hands down Harry's sides until they stopped at the towel, toying
with it. Harry felt gooseflesh break out along his spine, but
steadfastly ignored the touch, shrugging instead.</p><p>"Neither do I. But
that's why I don't think I'll find the answer anytime soon. If
the Seers in a magic-filled Sanctuary don't know what it is, then
why should anyone else? At least I know that bird isn't the product
of something broken or rotten in my own soul. I think they would have
been able to See <em>that.</em>"</p><p>Draco nodded. His mind
appeared to be on something else now that the cuts were healed, and
Harry suspected he knew what that something was. Determinedly
concealing a shiver, he turned towards his trunk.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>He glanced over his
shoulder. "What?"</p><p>"Why are you so
nervous with my seeing you nearly naked?" Draco's face was calm,
as though he were asking about an obscure point of plant lore, but
the look in his eyes was anything but casual. Harry suppressed
another shiver.</p><p>"Because I feel
frightened," Harry said, deciding to be blunt. Draco blinked, his
face losing some of the calm mask, and Harry nodded, never taking his
eyes away. "It's not just the fact that I'm not clothed and you
are—"</p><p>"In pyjamas,"
Draco murmured.</p><p>"That doesn't
<em>help</em>," Harry said. "It also isn't just the fact that I
know you wouldn't hurt me. It…" He shook his head, wondering if
he knew how to say it. Or, rather, if he could bear to tell Draco the
details. He was so <em>tired</em> of everything leading back to his
training, and the thought of talking about what he believed to be
true of bedding made his cheeks heat up.</p><p><em>I do so much better
when I know that I'm giving my time or attention to someone else,
and don't demand anything in return, </em>he thought miserably.</p><p>"Harry," Draco
said. "We have to speak about this sooner or later. You're not
nearly as uncomfortable with touching me as you used to be. Is this
something new? Or an outgrowth of the same thing?"</p><p>"An outgrowth of the
same thing." Harry decided that he had to explain, or he would
probably never be able to get dressed. "Draco, I—I never expected
to have a lover. At all. My mother told me that lovers are supposed
to be equals and partners, and the most important people in the world
to each other. It wouldn't be fair for me to take a lover or spouse
when the most important person in my life was Connor, because it
wouldn't be fair to <em>them</em>. They would be expecting, and
deserving, my full attention, and it would go elsewhere. And I
suppose I still believe that, at some level. Not about Connor, but
about the war effort and the revolution effort." He folded his arms
and leaned against his trunk, trying to ignore the fact that Draco
was now looking at his chest as if he were—as if he were someone
special and physically beautiful. Harry had to ignore this, or not
only would he never get dressed, his explanation would never go
anywhere. "I'm going to be <em>vates</em>. I will be all my life. I
don't see how I can ever stop, and the task is going to take longer
than my lifetime."</p><p>He met and held
Draco's eyes. "And—I suppose I'm still worrying that if we
become lovers, I won't be able to give you all the attention and
time you deserve. I love you, Draco. You don't deserve scraps of
attention, spare moments thrown your way whenever I'm not doing
anything else."</p><p>Draco listened in
silence. Harry thought he was thinking about it deeply, until he
said, "Are you done?"</p><p>Harry blinked. "Yes."</p><p>"Good." Draco
moved a step forward, his expression calm and determined. "Harry.
Listen to me. You <em>never</em> need to worry about this again. Your
mother painted a picture of a lover who would never complain, I
think, someone who would just leave without a word the moment he
thought your attention was going elsewhere." He nodded, as though
in response to Harry's expression. "You're understanding now.
I'm not like that. I'm not made for silent stoicism. I told you,
I'm going to <em>push</em>. I'll let you know, believe me, if I
think that you're neglecting me."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"You deserve someone
who can pay attention just to you." Harry ran his hand through his
hair. "I don't understand why you don't want that."</p><p>"Because I'm not
in competition with another person," Draco said. "I'm confident
that I'm more important to you than anyone else, Harry. As for
being in competition with ideas—you're not in love with them. And
frankly, someone who only pays attention to me each and every moment
of the day, and to nothing else, strikes me as madly obsessive, not
as in love."</p><p>Harry cocked his head.
"So I'm worrying for nothing?"</p><p>"Yes." Draco
nodded at the cuts on his shoulder. "Just as I think I could have
reassured you earlier if you had actually told me what the bird was
and what it was doing. You still have a problem with keeping secrets,
Harry. But this isn't a problem." His voice and face were both
unearthly and calm. "Bedding each other isn't going to change
anything so fundamentally that you have to start paying attention to
me and only me."</p><p>Harry nodded slowly.
He supposed he should have started questioning this earlier, in
retrospect, but Lily had made the dream of lovers absolutely focused
on each other sound so wonderful. She had made it sound as if she
expected Connor's future marriage or joining to be like that, and
she had said that it was the relationship she and James would have
had if she hadn't needed to rear one son to save the world and the
other to guard him.</p><p>"I should warn you,"
Draco went on, the tone in his voice signaling an obvious shift in
subject, "that if you <em>don't</em> put on some clothes soon, I
won't be responsible for what happens next."</p><p>Harry laughed and
opened his trunk, the nervousness he'd felt around Draco for the
last several days dissipating. So bedding would change some things,
but not everything, and he could still love Draco that way and be
<em>vates</em>.</p><p>He hesitated for a
moment, then shook his head. <em>Draco did say that I should </em>ask
<em>questions I was wondering about, instead of always keeping them to
myself.</em></p><p>"Can I know one
thing?" he asked, as he pulled out a shirt and tugged it over his
head.</p><p>"Of course," Draco
said, his voice a little more normal now.</p><p>Harry peered at him
over the collar of the shirt. "You keep looking at me with—"
<em>Come on, Harry, you can say this, you aren't a ten-year-old and
you aren't just the boy your mother raised. </em>"—desire in
your eyes," he finished determinedly. "Does that mean something?"</p><p>"Besides the fact
that I desire you and really want to fuck you when we're both
ready?" Draco grinned at him. "Not really."</p><p>Harry did end up
flushing after all, and turned to find pants and trousers. Draco
laughed at him, and then went to the loo himself.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"So I should
register everyone's wand as they come through the door?" Erica
was patting at her dark blue robes, which one of the werewolves had
lent her. She'd been frightened to go back to her flat once she saw
the memories in Snape's Pensieve, convinced she would find it
haunted by Unspeakables. Harry had read her mind with Legilimency,
but found the <em>Obliviate</em> web there far different from the one
he'd faced when he freed Remus's memory. He didn't want to dare
try and touch it until he knew more about the artifact that had
caused it.</p><p>"Right," Harry
told her. They stood near the front door of Silver-Mirror. Harry had
chosen it as the most impressive of the Black houses, given all its
treasures, including the sun-pool and the wind-pool and the pictures
by Neptune Black, though he'd heavily warded the pools and the
portraits beforehand so that no one could actually touch them without
his permission. "When the guests begin arriving, just ask them for
their wands. Everyone except some of the werewolves who were born
Muggles should have one."</p><p>Erica bobbed her head
several times. Harry squeezed her hand, reassured her that she should
do fine, and then moved away from the front door himself, through the
hall lit by the gleaming fire-pool overhead. Golden drops crept down
from the ceiling along lengthy chains that led to lamps, filled the
lamps with rich light, and then departed back to the fire-pool
overhead. Harry could see some of the werewolves who'd just arrived
from Cobley-by-the-Sea, including Camellia, gaping at it. He smiled
to himself, wondering what the rest of his guests would make of it.</p><p>He tripped over the
hem of his robe then, and scowled. He'd ordered the robes from
Madam Malkin's with all the appropriate symbols proclaiming him
heir of the House of Black, because if he was going to do this, then
he was going to do this <em>right</em>. But, for whatever reason—maybe
it was actually in the specifications for festival robes—Madam
Malkin's had made them incredibly thick. They swirled around in his
feet in such heavy folds that they barely lifted out of the way in
time when he tried to walk, and as for trying to stride, forget it.</p><p>Someone intoned a
quick charm behind him, and his robes began floating gently around
him, just enough not to be noticeable. Harry craned his neck back and
saw Snape, in black robes slightly richer than what he normally wore,
tucking his wand away.</p><p>"Thank you," said
Harry. "I needed that."</p><p>Snape smiled thinly.
Then his eyes darted to the door, and his mouth firmed into a thin
line. Turning, Harry saw Remus just entering, surrounded by other
werewolves formerly of Loki's pack. He had the urge to tense up
himself, but this was going to be a festival with guests in the low
hundreds. He didn't have to talk to Remus if he didn't want to.</p><p>"Play nicely," he
murmured to Snape.</p><p>"I play <em>cleverly</em>,"
Snape said, and then turned and swirled away into the mass of guests
already there. Harry sighed and went to greet the rest of the pack.</p><p>Remus tried to catch
his eye several times. Harry ignored him politely each time, and then
Peter showed up to share tales that Regulus had told him about the
house, and Harry excused himself gratefully.</p><p>More guests arrived.
There were those who had already taken the oath to become part of the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow, of course, but there were also people who
had spoken to him at the meeting on the spring equinox, and pureblood
families Harry had invited because it was traditional and whom he
suspected had accepted the invitations out of curiosity.</p><p>And there were the
werewolf packs.</p><p>Harry found that he
could tell the alphas at once, and he didn't think it was because
Loki had given him the magical ability to do so; he had simply been
around werewolves now, and he knew more about how the packs
interacted. In a group of three or twenty of people with amber eyes
and elongated teeth, he watched the way their heads swiveled, and the
person they looked to, if only for a flickering moment, before they
spoke, and how they tipped their bodies relative to that person. That
usually let him locate the alpha.</p><p>Some of them were to
be expected: a huge man taller than Loki had been and with a more
commanding presence, a man with a torn face and a missing eye that
said he'd often been involved in status fights, a witch with
prematurely white hair who looked as if she never laughed. But others
Harry would not have suspected if he hadn't learned to read the
signs. A frankly tiny woman with very dark skin and hands so soft
that they felt as if she hadn't done a day's work in her life
sniffed Harry's ears and then nodded to him.</p><p>"My name is
Peregrine," she said, and Harry recognized the name of an alpha
Camellia had told him he'd been lucky to get, since she violently
distrusted most wizards and had escaped from Ministry officials
trying to track down unregistered werewolves more than once.</p><p>"Welcome,
Peregrine," Harry said, and the alpha seemed appeased by the
respect in his voice. She showed her teeth in a half-smile, at least,
before she led the pack members swirling around her over to one of
the refreshment tables set up along the wall. Harry had taken care to
send Rose and her mate after a good amount of meat as well as fruit
and vegetables, bread and tea and cheese and wine.</p><p>There were so many
guests there that Harry found he didn't have time for long,
drawn-out conversations. He swirled among them, exchanging snippets
of personal concerns with those he knew well, and finding a variety
of polite topics to talk about with those he didn't. He knew eyes
were on him. He wasn't worried. Narcissa herself had looked him
over and pronounced him a Black heir her line would be proud of.
Harry didn't think he had to take anyone else's opinion about
that seriously.</p><p>Gradually, he did turn
his steps towards the back of the room. He had a surprise waiting for
many of his guests, in the form of a certain Pensieve and a Black
artifact that reflected images.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape didn't try to
prevent the pull of the crowd from leading him where it wanted him to
go, but, on the other hand, when he did catch a glimpse of his prey,
he moved in that direction. So, not long after the second half of
Loki's pack arrived, he found himself standing behind him as he
filled his plate from one of the refreshment tables. He appeared
entirely unaware of any watchers. Snape savored that for a long
moment, nursing his tea, before he spoke.</p><p>"Hello, Lupin."</p><p>Lupin started
violently, and Snape had the pleasure of watching him struggle not to
drop his plate. In the end, he set it down on the edge of the table
and then turned around, his eyes so wary that Snape could almost
forget they were amber.</p><p>"Hello, Severus,"
Lupin said, his voice formal and correct. "Did Harry send you to
speak with me?" Hope tainted his voice, but Snape sneered, and the
corresponding expression died off his face.</p><p>"No," Snape said.
"Why should Harry want to talk to you, Lupin? He said all he had to
say to you the other day. He loves you still—" the words burned
his tongue and lips like acid "—but he will never trust you again
until you prove to him that you can be trusted."</p><p>"And I don't know
to do that!" Lupin's eyes shone with a gratifying desperation. "I
know that he's the alpha of the pack now, and I thought I could
teach him about the ways of werewolves. But he's kept his distance
from me, and now I've found out that he thinks I've <em>betrayed</em>
him."</p><p>Snape had another
pleasure then, that of being surprised into a laugh. "And you think
you did <em>not</em>?" he asked, when he managed to recover. "Of
course you did, Lupin. You never let him know that your allegiance
had changed, that you considered yourself a werewolf to the exclusion
of all else, even his <em>surrogate godfather.</em>" He watched Lupin
wince under that accusation. "You abandoned him when you were his
father's friend, his brother's godfather, the last of those who
had both seen him grow up and whom he thought he could trust. You
know so much about him. He is vulnerable to you. And you turned
around and sold the information to Loki."</p><p>"There was never any
question of payment," said Lupin stiffly. "It was a question of
pack loyalty."</p><p>"And you did not
tell him about that, either." Snape paused, watching Lupin through
narrowed eyes. This was the reason that he did not quite believe
Camellia when she said that, because Harry was their alpha, the pack
loved him and would bite off the hands of anyone who looked at him
sideways. Lupin was showing no sign of either kind of love he was
supposed to bear Harry. "Why not, Lupin?"</p><p>"I knew that he
would not understand."</p><p>"So quick to judge,"
Snape mused. "In a life where you should have learned the folly of
that."</p><p>Lupin flushed. Snape
lifted his cup of tea to his lips to hide a smile. Really, Lupin was
proving to be quite the entertainment. Delicately torturing the only
living, free, traitorous Marauder was something Snape had known he
would enjoy, but he had not foreseen how much.</p><p>"I understand now,"
Lupin said suddenly. "It's because of <em>you</em>, isn't it?
He's been keeping his distance from me for your sake."</p><p>"And thus," Snape
said, "we have the first evidence that lycanthropy can and will rot
one's brain when one bears the curse for longer than thirty years."</p><p>"You bastard,"
Lupin breathed. Snape couldn't tell whether or not he'd heard
him. "That's it. You're not afraid of werewolves, you're
afraid of <em>me</em>, and Harry thinks that he can't listen to me
because of that. When I joined the pack, you encouraged him to see it
as a betrayal, because you've always thought of me that way, as a
treacherous <em>animal.</em> Otherwise, he would have regarded it as a
separation over principles. But you poisoned him against me."</p><p>"I assure you,
Lupin," Snape said, his hand dropping so that it brushed the pocket
where both his wand and a certain vial rested, "that whatever
feelings I may harbor for your loathsome kind, I would not act
against Harry in that way. As in so many things, I fear you are
confusing me with yourself."</p><p>Lupin showed his
teeth. Snape controlled a shiver, but his scent must have changed,
because Lupin's eyes flared with triumph.</p><p>"You are afraid,"
he said. "Of me. And you're going to go and tell Harry that, that
I didn't betray him, but you encouraged him to think I did."</p><p>"Lycanthropy rots
the brain indeed," said Snape. His hand slipped into his robe
pocket and closed over the wand. "Harry made the decision on his
own. He came back from the Sanctuary no longer as inclined to forgive
slights and insults and betrayals as he once was. You have not
learned to deal with him in this new form, Lupin, so you blame me.
But you have forgotten that ordinary wizards are shapeshifters in
their minds and souls, when the impetus is great enough."</p><p>Having delivered that
dignified line, Snape turned to leave, but felt a hand close on his
shoulder. He knew it was Lupin's hand, and instinctively jerked
away, spilling his tea. Though there was no evidence that a
werewolf's nails could spread infection in human form, the thought
of one of the beasts touching him brought back too many memories.</p><p>Lupin spun him around,
using that more-than-human strength Snape hated so much, and nudged
him back a few steps until he hit the wall near one of the lamps. His
mouth was open, just enough to give Snape a glimpse of fangs and
gullet, and he was growling softly, under his breath.</p><p>"You are going to
tell Harry the truth," he said. "I want you to tell him the
truth. You did <em>something</em>. There's no reason that he would
stay away from me otherwise. There's no reason that I would find it
so hard to accept him as alpha—"</p><p>"Let him go, Remus."</p><p>The voice was cold,
and steady, and so firm that Snape could not at once place it. He
slid his eyes to the side, and saw Peter Pettigrew standing there,
his wand poking unobtrusively out of the corner of his sleeve so as
not to attract attention, his blue eyes fastened on his former
friend.</p><p>Snape remembered Peter
from the Death Eaters as well as his school days, of course, but he
had had little contact with the man since his escape from Azkaban,
and this Peter was neither the fat companion to bullies nor the
cringing man who had fawned over Voldemort—and who, Snape reminded
himself, had only been a shadow in any case, an act to convince
Voldemort that Peter had joined him out of jealousy. Peter had had
the courage and strength to do what none of his friends did. Snape
himself had not dreamed at the time that Peter's actions were other
than what he saw they were.</p><p><em>Three of us, </em>Snape
thought now, <em>Peter and Regulus and I, all working against
Voldemort in secret for our own reasons, and we could not trust each
other enough to tell the truth. </em></p><p>"Peter, you don't
understand—" Lupin breathed.</p><p>"I understand that
you haven't made any attempt to change at all," said Peter. "If
you're having trouble accepting Harry as alpha, that's a matter
to take up with him and the pack. If you're going to change your
mind and come back to us, then you'll have to act like that, not
just claim it's going to happen. You waver and waver, Remus, and
your convictions are few." His lip curled, and he moved a step
closer. "No wonder you and James got along so well."</p><p>Lupin let Snape go as
if burned. "I never cooperated in Harry's abuse," he said
defiantly. "I never knew about it, and then I found out, and then
Dumbledore <em>Obliviated</em> me, and I feared my own anger, so I—"</p><p>"Excuses," Peter
said, pacing up beside Snape as Lupin backed further away. He never
took his eyes or his wand off the werewolf, but he nodded to Snape.
"Are you all right, Severus?"</p><p>"I am," said
Snape. He slid a sideways glance at Peter, wondering if it was only
his words that had intimidated Lupin so.</p><p>Peter kept on
watching, not moving, until Lupin dropped his eyes and moved away.
Peter huffed out, a deep breath, and then shook his head. "He never
truly apologizes," he remarked, as he tucked his wand back into his
sleeve. "Excuses his own behavior, yes, and explains his
convictions and his reasoning at length, but he hasn't said sorry.
I think that's the first thing he has to do with Harry, and he just
won't accept it. He's convinced himself that he's wronged for
being a werewolf, and that all werewolves are wronged, and that
apologies are for other people."</p><p>Snape cocked his head
thoughtfully. If he had heard a better description of Lupin's
behavior, he couldn't remember it. He thought Harry might have said
the same thing, if he were clear-eyed enough to see Lupin for what he
really was.</p><p>"What was the spell
you were going to cast?" he asked.</p><p>Peter laughed softly.
"The Flea Incantation."</p><p>Snape raised an
eyebrow. "And that works even on a werewolf in human form?"</p><p>"Of course," said
Peter. "The fleas can still sense that a werewolf's blood is
richer and more to their liking than the average human's. And
they're hard to get rid of, because they can't be spelled away."
He blinked innocently. "Especially if one casts the spell every few
days, so that they come back just as the victim thinks they're
gone."</p><p>"I suppose that one
could not learn this incantation?" Snape murmured.</p><p>Peter cocked his head.
"An offer might be open, as long as there is a counter-offer of not
using it enough to seriously annoy Harry."</p><p>Snape smirked, and
moved off to a corner to practice. <em>There may be something to be
said for pranking.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"And I thought you
should get to know each other."</p><p>Harry concealed a
sigh. He really couldn't blame Connor. He hadn't spent as much
time with his brother as he'd planned to do since Connor came to
stay with him, and none at all with the person his brother wanted him
to meet. But he could have wished that Connor had chosen to introduce
his girlfriend to Harry <em>after</em> Harry had shown his allies the
memory of the Unspeakables' attack.</p><p>As it was, Harry had
to hold a polite expression on his face as he nodded to Parvati. "I'm
glad to hear that you're dating Connor, Parvati." Though they
didn't know each other that well, he thought "Miss Patil" would
have sounded even more awkward, and "Patil" rude. "He needs an
anchor at his side, Merlin knows."</p><p>Connor laughed.
Parvati, who was wearing a heavy dark gown that showed off her long
black hair and delicately pretty features, didn't.</p><p>Connor glanced back
and forth between them for a moment, and then smiled. "Things are
probably strained with me here," he said, shaking his head. "I'll
go get something to eat, and let you two talk in private." He
nodded, and bounded off through the crowd before Harry could stop
him.</p><p>"I did have
something that I wanted to say to you without him here, actually,"
Parvati said, the moment he was gone.</p><p>Harry blinked, and
took a moment to respond. He had assumed neither of them would say
anything, other than perhaps, "So." And that was all he managed
after his moment was done. "So?"</p><p>Parvati folded her
arms and nodded. Harry had rarely seen her when she wasn't
laughing, or fawning on Professor Trelawney in Divination. This way,
though, she almost looked like a grown woman. "I don't like the
way that you've tended to take Connor's help and give him nothing
in return," she told him.</p><p>"Help?" Harry
hated to sound like an idiot, but he had no idea what she was talking
about.</p><p>"I know it was his
idea to tell everyone that you were the Boy-Who-Lived," said
Parvati seriously. "I'm not blaming you for that. And it's
true, anyway, so I can't object." She put her hands on her hips.
"But you haven't paid attention to him the way that you should
pay attention to a brother. You barely spend any time with him. You
ask for his help when it suits you, like changing the way he's
linked to Lux Aeterna, but you didn't give <em>him</em> help. He's
only gone into battle while you fought <em>once</em>, and then he
didn't get to ride the second iron thestral with you. That was
Malfoy." Her curled lip told Harry what she thought of Draco. Well,
there it was hard to blame her. She was Gryffindor, and from a Light
pureblood family. "I know you aren't a Lord, you keep proclaiming
it, but there are ways that you act like it, by having sworn
companions. Why aren't you keeping Connor that close to your side?
You act like he's not your brother at all, until it's convenient
for you to remember."</p><p>"Connor's never
asked me for that," said Harry. "I assumed he didn't want to
cut a lightning bolt scar in his arm and swear himself to me."</p><p>"You assume too
much," said Parvati softly. "He talks about you all the time. He
<em>loves</em> you. And you don't seem to love him as much."</p><p>"I may not spend as
much time with him, but we're in different Houses," said Harry,
aware he sounded defensive. He didn't care. The suggestion that he
didn't love Connor was too ridiculous for words. "Rival Houses,
too. And he had no reason to go to the Sanctuary. And I do try to
help him with dueling training and all that, and I—"</p><p>"It's just gone
from one extreme to the other," said Parvati blithely, ignoring the
way Harry stared at her. "You were obsessed with him until third
year, and since then you've ignored him. You didn't even know we
were dating. You were surprised he asked me to the Yule Ball. You
didn't realize how nervous he was about the Tasks in the Triwizard
Tournament. You barely talked to him at <em>all</em> last year, except
when you wanted something. He loves you like a brother, and you treat
him like a—an acquaintance." Parvati cocked her head. "He
deserves more than that. He deserves better than that."</p><p>Harry heard Lily's
words echoing in hers for a moment. <em>Someone whom you love deserves
all your time and attention, Harry.</em></p><p>"I've been a bit
busy," Harry said stiffly.</p><p>"So busy you can't
make time for your brother at all?" Parvati arched her eyebrows. "I
find <em>that</em> hard to believe. Padma and I are in different
Houses, too, and we make time for each other. We're twins.
Sometimes I find it hard to believe that you and Connor are. He loves
you more than you love him."</p><p>Harry felt a shard of
doubt lodge in his heart and grow.</p><p><em>Is that true? I
know that Draco and Snape are both more important to me than Connor
is. But what if I'm the most important person in the world to him?</em></p><p>"I don't like
seeing the boy I love being used," said Parvati. "If you keep
doing it, then I'll do what I have to do. He'll get what he
deserves. You might be a <em>vates</em> and a Lord and all the rest of
it, but he's your <em>brother.</em> Make time for him. He wants it."
She nodded firmly and turned away, just in time to welcome Connor as
he came back through the crowd with a plate of food.</p><p>Harry watched for a
moment, heart aching, but had to shake his head when Connor invited
him to stay for just a little longer and talk to him and Parvati.
Connor looked disappointed. Parvati shot Harry a look which said,
clearer than any words could have, <em>Do you see what I mean?</em></p><p>Harry turned away and
went to the table with the Pensieve, brooding. It took him a moment
before he could touch the Black artifact, a prism, and coax it into
life. It shone with several rainbows, and made people all over the
room turn their heads. By the time Harry cast the spell that would
carry his voice to the ears of every guest, most of those people were
paying attention to him.</p><p>"Good evening, and
welcome to my festival to celebrate my sixteenth birthday and my
becoming the legal heir of the Black line," Harry said formally. He
could hear most of the conversations dying down. "I know it's
traditional to receive gifts at such a time, but I prefer giving to
receiving. Thus, I give you the gift of a warning. I do not ask that
you act on this warning, only that you hear, and see, and remember."</p><p>He turned the prism so
that it aimed at the Pensieve, and then moved the heavy silver
bracelet around his wrist, the one that carried the Black crest and
which he had to wear to make this artifact function, to the side of
the prism. The rainbows narrowed into an intense cone of white light,
and sprang into the Pensieve's silver liquid. Harry saw the figures
in the memories dragged storming to the top of the basin, and then
up, bursting into being over the heads of the watchers.</p><p>Numerous necks craned
backward. If Harry's own experience was any indication, however,
the angle didn't really matter. He was <em>in</em> the memory,
watching as he appeared before the Unspeakable who'd tried trap him
in the lift. Everyone who looked could see that it was a collar the
Unspeakable was holding, and Harry could hear astonished murmurs.</p><p>The memory-Harry
called for help, and Erica came running. From there, the fight
proceeded as Harry had known it would. He heard gasps when he erased
the hand of the Unspeakable reaching for Erica, and again when he
used fire to consume the Still-Beetle shell and drained the magic
from the globe the Unspeakable had thrown at him. By contrast,
everyone was silent after the calm "<em>Obliviate!</em>" and
Erica's complaint that she'd lost her memory.</p><p>Harry let the images
fade, and the light from the prism flicker and die as well, before he
spoke.</p><p>"I don't know what
the Department of Mysteries wants," he told them bluntly. "I can
tell you that it has something to do with werewolves. I was informed,
by a source I trust, that they were the ones behind the new laws that
werewolves must wear collars and carry identification wherever they
go.</p><p>"They tried to
capture me. In doing so, they declared themselves my enemies. I
wonder now how many times they've done something like this, but
<em>Obliviated</em> the witnesses and used their artifacts to cause
chaos that blended into the stories they told their victims. What
else do they have in their arsenal, beyond collars they think can
hold a Lord-level wizard, glass globes imbued with the magic of time,
and basins that can cast spells from a distance?</p><p>"I don't know. But
I do know they operate in the shadows and within the guard of fear.
The Ministry employees I talked to were terrified to speak their
names.</p><p>"I have sworn not to
let fear rule me. Those who try to make it rule other people are
those I will try to stop. Be wary, but not afraid. Their greatest
weapon is secrecy and hiding and the unknown. If we expose them, they
will have nowhere to hide. If we bring their artifacts up into the
light of day and learn to understand them, then they are no longer
unknown.</p><p>"My alliance is the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow, but the Shadow part of the name only
expresses our welcome to those who practice Dark magic. It has
nothing to do with the shadows the Unspeakables cast. Those shadows,
I will tear down, and make fade before the Light."</p><p>He inclined his head
in a bow, then moved away from the table and back into the crowd.
Instantly, there was a stir of people wanting to speak to him. Harry
wasn't surprised, and waited patiently for the first to approach
him.</p><p>Strangely, it was a
wizard Harry didn't think he'd met yet, clad in robes so rich
that Harry suspected he was a pureblood. His hair was long and
silver, and his eyes vivid dark green. He carried a feather in one
hand, and Harry eyed it, wondering if someone had decided to give him
gifts for his festival after all.</p><p>"Harry <em>vates</em>,"
the wizard said, in a deep voice that made Harry want to hear him
sing. "I came to offer you this feather, as a token of myself."
Solemnly, he held it out. Harry took it. His power had already told
him that it had no magic, that it really was a mere token. "My
Animagus form, you see, is a sea eagle."</p><p>Harry blinked. He had
studied the list of registered Animagi in Great Britain, and none of
them was a sea eagle. But why would an unregistered Animagus reveal
himself like this? "Who are you, sir?"</p><p>"My name is Falco
Parkinson."</p><p>Harry's eyes
narrowed. "I read about you," he said. "You were Albus
Dumbledore's tutor, the one who told him he couldn't be <em>vates
</em>without sacrificing his magic. Then you were Hogwarts Headmaster
for a year, and then you died."</p><p>Falco smiled mildly,
his eyes growing sharper. "So many people believed that," he
murmured. "But when one walks between Light and Dark, one may fool
people with competent illusions and glamours, and playing to what
they want to believe."</p><p>He must have removed a
barrier on his magic, though it wasn't one that Harry had felt. In
an instant, his power blazed throughout Silver-Mirror. Harry stared
at him. It was Lord-level, and reminded Harry of a wind come from the
sea, bearing a scent of flowers.</p><p>"I was Albus
Dumbledore's tutor," Falco agreed. "I was the one who taught
him about balance and sacrifice, although I did not foresee the
warped way he would pass those ethics onto you. Then I left the world
for fifty years to wander the paths of Dark and Light, because I
thought Albus had matters well in hand." Harry shivered for a
moment; he remembered those paths, or half-remembered them. The wild
Dark had shown them to him for a moment on Midwinter. They were not
something a mortal wizard had any business knowing. "When I came
back, I learned what had happened, and I studied you and Voldemort in
silence for a time. Now I am convinced that you will destroy the
wizarding world in your flailing, unless someone does manage to show
you a proper balance." Falco stared at him calmly. "You would be
best-advised to Declare. Then I can be your mentor, and not your
enemy."</p><p>Harry wanted to laugh.
He <em>wanted</em> to. That Falco could have observed him and yet come
to the conclusion that Harry would Declare just to avoid conflict
with him was absurd.</p><p>But he was remembering
a prophecy that might come true three times, and that concerned a
Dark Lord each time, and had so far only felled one.</p><p>"What is your
allegiance?" he demanded.</p><p>Falco nodded, as
though he approved of the question. "I have none. I have spent a
long time between Light and Dark, convincing them both that I might
someday Declare for one of them if they could show me enough magic to
convince me. Neither has, as yet. I have remained alive for centuries
in the same way. They preserve my life in hopes that I might
Declare."</p><p>"Then why do you
think I need to Declare?" Harry asked. "You haven't done it
yourself."</p><p>Falco looked mildly
startled. "My power grew with my age, and by the time I arrived at
its full extent, I knew the nature of the wizarding world," he
said. "The growth of <em>yours</em> is unnatural, and you are just a
child. A Declaration would give you a path to follow, oaths to obey.
At the moment, you do little but strike at the foundation of our
world while giving nothing back."</p><p>Harry thought it was
an argument he could have believed, as recently as two years ago. But
he had done his own share of thinking about ethics and sacrifices
since then, and if there was one thing he had learned, it was that
making the same choice and sticking to it in every situation was not
for him. It had been the right choice to go with Evan Rosier due to
his "persuasion" and try to save the children of Durmstrang. It
would have been the wrong decision to give in to Voldemort and
sacrifice his life to doom all the children in Hogwarts.</p><p><em>Besides, nothing is
that simple. I am not meant for the easy path.</em></p><p>"I live day by day,"
he told Falco. "I live <em>while</em> other things are going on. It
sounds as if you want me to become a Dark Lord or Light Lord first
and foremost."</p><p>"That is what
Declaring means." Falco looked impatient now. "Will you Declare
or not? You should. Those with Lord-level power must not go
unchecked. Your magic is the most important thing about you." He
nodded to the feather in Harry's hand. "I give you that as a
gift, so that you can set wards against me spying on you in my sea
eagle form. But I will be also helping Voldemort if you do not
Declare, to preserve the balance of Light and Dark. Would you rather
have me as mentor or enemy?"</p><p>"Neither," said
Harry coolly. "I walked that path once, with Dumbledore, and I know
how it ends." He curled his hand around the feather. "I will not
Declare."</p><p>"Enemy, then,"
said Falco, and his arms melted into wings, and he rose, and swirled
out of the room while people were still gasping and staring. No one
had tried to approach them, Harry noticed. Falco had probably set a
ward to insure that they couldn't. Now Draco came running towards
him, his wand drawn and his face pale save for two bright spots of
color on his cheeks.</p><p>"Was that
Dumbledore's ghost?" he demanded, as he curled his arm around
Harry's waist and pulled him towards him.</p><p>"No," said Harry,
leaning against him. "Falco Parkinson. A man I thought was dead,
but a living Lord-level wizard who's going to oppose me."</p><p>"Why did he reveal
himself to you, if you had no idea he was still living?" Draco
asked in bewilderment.</p><p>"Something to do
with balance, likely." Harry looked again at the sea eagle feather,
but still it didn't grow any magic or change form in his hand. He
shook his head. "Just another enemy for me to fight."</p><p>Draco snarled low in
his throat. "For <em>us</em> to fight," he said. "And this was
supposed to be more dramatic and take place later, but for now, I
don't care." He tugged Harry's head back and kissed him
fiercely.</p><p>Harry kissed back,
hearing more gasps and several low, interested comments. He fought
for and won control of the kiss for a moment, but Draco put up a good
struggle. Harry drew away before his head could cloud too much, and
gave a grim smile at the staring crowd.</p><p>"For those who don't
know, we are going to be joined," he said. "This is my future
partner, Draco Malfoy."</p><p>Draco lifted his head
haughtily, letting everyone get a good long look at him. Harry smiled
at him, knowing his lips were swollen and not caring. He knew that
some of the strangers in the room were staring at him, and he didn't
care. He knew that Snape was rapidly making his way to his side,
snarling threats under his breath, and he didn't care.</p><p>Two years ago, Falco
might have convinced him. A year ago, he would have driven Harry
frantic with worry. Now, all he did was get his blood up.</p><p><em>When are my enemies
going to learn that they can't make me afraid?</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 17*: Lessons, Bloody Lessons</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen: Lessons, Bloody Lessons</strong></p><p>Harry shifted so that
the book on druidic magic settled more comfortably into his lap.
Another problem with not having two hands, he reflected, was that the
Levitation Charm made it difficult for him to hold heavy books
steady; it always seemed to hover the left side of the book just
above where he gripped with his right hand. He muttered under his
breath and shifted again, then went still when he heard a snort from
Draco.</p><p>Draco was actually
sharing the bed with him and had fallen <em>asleep</em>, which Harry
thought was a good sign of how much the festival had wearied him. It
was before midnight, so Harry had felt justified in leaving the
candles burning whilst he read. But if he woke Draco up now, he
wouldn't feel it was worth it.</p><p>He waited, but Draco
just turned restlessly away and buried his face in the pillows again.
Harry huffed out a sigh and went back to the book.</p><p>It actually had
several different definitions of place magic, which made it more
interesting and useful than most of the books Harry had tried to read
on the subject so far.</p><p><em>The oldest
definition of a druid's magic is the magic bound to a place where a
human has lived for years, or where the particular druid's family
has lived for centuries. A magical place has time to grow used to
humans when they dwell there for this long. Place magic is, in
general, slow-moving, and slow to take notice of those creatures who
are in motion. That is why its greatest emblems are trees, hills, and
stones, those slow-aging, still giants of the world. Though a river
may run through a magical place, and other humans may live there, it
means nothing if the river's course frequently shifts or the other
humans often depart. The place magic must first notice a human living
in it, and then wrap itself around the human—come to consider him
or her as part of what latter researchers have called the "matrix."
In older writings, this is often referred to as the "current."</em></p><p>Harry thought of the
current of magic traveling Woodhouse. It had not seemed to notice the
humans who poured into the valley for the spring equinox meeting—any
of them. But it had noticed when they tried to move stones out of the
sides of the valley, and had promptly put them back where they were
supposed to belong. He wondered why the Antipodean Opaleye had proved
the exception able to move the stones. She was also a moving
creature, and hadn't been in Woodhouse long enough for the valley
to have adapted to her.</p><p>He went back to
reading.</p><p><em>Some have argued
that this cannot be the only way a place's magic exists, because
some druids did travel about, and were connected to many different
places, not only one. Though research on this subject is uncertain—we
understandably know less about druids who moved frequently than those
who lived in the same home for years and left their writings
behind—there is a good chance that these druids had already
established themselves in one place and persuaded its magic to wrap
around them. Then they chose a certain circuit of places that they
traveled, usually a circular or vaguely circular path. Essentially,
they</em> created <em>a second magical place, one bounded not by hills
in the manner of a valley or the sea in the manner of an island, but
by their travels. They persuaded the current that had wrapped them in
the first place to extend outside its original home and wrap this new
circuit. The great principle of place magic is its wholeness. The
druids who became linked to their new homes were not conquerors. They
had to submit to becoming part of something greater than themselves,
a small blade of grass in the great lawn.</em></p><p>Harry gnawed his lip.
He knew that some of the Opallines who studied druidic magic worked
that way; Paton had told him. They lived for years in certain
isolated valleys like Woodhouse, or made their homes into magical
places with old techniques.</p><p>But he did not have
time to either live in one place for that long, or create place magic
by traveling in a circuit.</p><p>He turned another
page.</p><p><em>Understandably,
some wizards have wanted to take advantage of place magic without
binding themselves to one place. They may build rooms that mimic both
the limitations of place magic—namely, that its power cannot be
moved outside its boundaries—and its benefits—namely, that magic
concentrated in one area is enormously powerful, and may develop a
sentience of its own, as all magic tends to do when put under
confinement for long enough. There are several rooms in Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that take advantage of this
principle. They will provide secure rooms to train or see the future,
but one cannot train or see the future with impunity in any room in
the school. The Founders, in their wisdom, realized that Hogwarts
itself could not be filled with place magic. Too many people travel
through it every year, and the majority of those are young wizards,
still in the throes of growing. There is too much motion for place
magic to sustain.</em></p><p><em>This may be the
place to indulge ourselves in a digression. Despite many attempts to
argue that place magic is neutral—as some of the druids were
rumored to have practiced Dark rituals and blood magic—in the
modern practice, and in those older examples, such as the rooms at
Hogwarts, that survive to the present day, it tends and turns towards
the Light. Place magic is deeply ordered, deeply calm, and the
personalities and sentience its bound magic creates tend to be
intelligent and calm as well, not raging beasts. Under the old
definitions of Dark and Light magic, place magic is Light because it
is tame, not wild. </em></p><p>Harry nodded. <em>That
would be why the Antipodean Opaleye could do as she liked, then.
Dragons are the wildest creatures of the Dark. Woodhouse probably
couldn't even feel her, or she was strong enough to oppose its
tameness.</em></p><p>He read a bit more,
but though the book discussed some of the ways that one might build a
room like the Room of Requirement, and speculations on how places
that were not obvious candidates for druids' dwellings had been
made into them, there was little that sounded as if it would help him
present himself to the magic of Woodhouse. He was about to close the
book when a passage at the end of the chapter caught his attention.</p><p><em>Finally, there is a
little-practiced technique that may help the possessor of a magical
place in bringing himself to its notice. Researchers have argued that
in some places, the magical current is so strong that a druid could
not have made a stone or wooden house for shelter from the elements
without first introducing himself. The magic would have put the trees
and stones back into their places, and not troubled to notice him.
Yet the first thing a druid often did when moving into a magically
powerful place was to build such a house. </em></p><p><em>This argues for a
method of introducing himself suddenly, and later dwelling in the
place to confirm the bond, not create it. And, indeed, in the oral
records supposedly transferred from the druids and written down
centuries later, rumors of such a method exist. "Entering the
dream" is its common name. What it might have consisted of is not
known, but is of intense interest to those modern witches and wizards
attempting to revive druidic practices.</em></p><p>Thoughtfully, Harry
closed the book and laid it aside. So now he had another phrase to
look for. Or perhaps he could ask Hermione to look it up for him.
She'd already written him a list of twenty-four ways the new
Ministry laws on werewolves violated precedent, and wanted something
else to do. The wound she'd taken from Rosier's Severing Curse in
the Battle of Hogwarts still limited her ability to move around, and
she'd finished her summer homework already, of course.</p><p>Harry blew out the
candle and then lay down. Draco immediately rolled over and buried
his head in Harry's shoulder, with a muffled snort. He didn't
wake, though.</p><p>Harry stroked his
hair. Then he shut his eyes, and told himself he was going to <em>sleep</em>,
and not worry about things. He needed to rest.</p><p>Besides, he'd
already created a schedule of lessons he had to study in the next few
weeks until Hogwarts began again, and things he had to do—especially
spending time with Connor. Parvati's words had stung him deeply. He
hadn't been the brother that he could have been, and certainly he
couldn't delegate this task to anyone else the way that he could
some of his research and spying. He would go and be the brother that
he should have been.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"You do have to
concentrate." Peter's voice was light and soft, but Harry could
still tell that he was trying desperately not to laugh. "Think
about what you know about yourself. You have to—"</p><p>"I've been doing
that all morning," Draco snapped, opening his eyes again and
glaring at Peter. "And I <em>still</em> don't know what my Animagus
form is going to be. How should I know what the traits that are going
to make me into an animal are? You're a rat, but not everything
about you points to that."</p><p>"You might start by
considering that you're an insufferable brat," Connor said from
his corner. "It takes longer than just a morning, Malfoy, you <em>knew</em>
that."</p><p>Harry sighed as Draco
turned to yell at Connor again. He had thought that this would work
because Peter could instruct all three of them—Draco had insisted
on joining in—on how to become an Animagus at the same time. So
far, though, Draco had whined and fussed, and Connor, who had been at
this longer and actually <em>wanted</em> to hear what Peter had to say,
had retaliated whenever Draco upset him too much, and Peter either
shook his head or bit his lip to conceal his chuckles.</p><p>"Draco," Harry
said. Draco was instantly focused on him, with an intensity that
Harry found rather disturbing. He cleared his throat and shook his
head. "Connor <em>is</em> right about this. You can't do well at it
immediately just because you got an Outstanding in the
Transfiguration theory portion of your OWLs. It takes a long time."</p><p>"Three years,"
Peter confirmed calmly. "That was how long it took us. But we
didn't have an instructor—we certainly couldn't tell Professor
McGonagall what we were doing, because she would have asked <em>why</em>
we were doing it—and we made mistakes because we didn't know what
some of the books we could find referred to. I plan not to let any of
you make those same mistakes." He cocked his head and sat down on
top of the desk in the front of the room. This had once been a study
in Cobley-by-the-Sea, and though the bookshelves were empty now, it
still looked the part. The three boys were sitting on the floor in
front of him. "If you <em>can't</em> accept that this will take a
long time, Draco, then you shouldn't try this. Envisioning your
animal form is only the first step, and Connor's right, it does
take weeks."</p><p>Connor looked smug.
Draco sulked. Harry sighed and leaned across the distance between
them, clasping Draco's hand.</p><p>"Why do you want to
become an Animagus, Draco?" Harry asked him quietly. "Think about
that."</p><p>"Because I want to
be at your side when I can," Draco snarled back, not quite keeping
his voice down. "And I'm better at Transfiguration than you are.
This shouldn't be a problem for me."</p><p>"There's a reason
I'm not teaching Transfiguration, you know," Peter remarked to no
one in particular. "I'm good at the Animagus transformation, and
I know how to train someone else in it, but that isn't the same
thing as knowing <em>all</em> about the theory of Transfiguring
objects, or other people. And someone who's good at theory
shouldn't expect to be an expert Animagus the first time out,
either."</p><p>Harry thought that
would make Draco explode again, but, perhaps because it came from
Peter instead of Connor, it just made Draco bite his lip. Then he
nodded his head reluctantly. "I suppose I can see that," he
muttered.</p><p>"So let's start
again," said Connor, bouncing in place. "I <em>know</em> that I was
getting a vision when Malfoy interrupted." He blithely ignored
Draco's glare.</p><p>"What was it of?"
Peter asked intently, leaning forward.</p><p>"Something
four-legged," said Connor confidently. "And medium-sized, and it
<em>definitely</em> had hair. So, a mammal, but there are lots of
medium-sized mammals with four legs and hair." He wriggled. Harry
smiled. <em>He's passed through everything relatively unscarred. I
wonder how he did it. </em>"I want to go back and look for it
again."</p><p>"And there was
nothing else?" Peter asked intently. "No silhouette?"</p><p>"The silhouette was
forming when Malfoy interrupted me," said Connor, and sent Draco a
superior look.</p><p>Draco opened his
mouth, but Harry squeezed his hand, murmuring, "Show him you're
the better person," sand Draco shut it again and looked away.</p><p>"That's good
progress, Connor," Peter said warmly. "But even once you have the
silhouette, it can take weeks or months to fill it in. James got
stuck on the silhouette for weeks."</p><p>Connor blinked. "How
could he? It was a <em>stag.</em> That's pretty distinctive."</p><p>Peter shrugged. "He
thought the antlers were horns, and he spent all his time trying to
make them form horns instead of antlers. This process is fraught with
peril, from your own preconceptions if nothing else. As I said, it
took me a long time to accept being a rat. It took Sirius a long time
to accept that he was a black dog rather than a paler one, simply
because he thought the reference to his family name was too obvious.
So try to see and accept what's truly there, not what you think is
there, or what you want to be there."</p><p>Connor nodded and shut
his eyes again. Harry nudged Draco's ribs with his elbow, and Draco
sighed and shut his eyes. Harry half-lidded his own eyes, which made
a better concentration tool for him than shutting them completely;
when he did, he was too apt to start thinking about <em>everything</em>
he had to do, rather than just his Animagus lessons.</p><p>He was fairly sure his
form would be a lynx, but that could have been because he'd had
that form in his visions with Voldemort. Peter had warned him that
being certain one already knew one's form could be the biggest
single block to envisioning it. Harry tried to think about why he
<em>wouldn't</em> be a lynx, but his mind kept returning to it.</p><p><em>Why was I one in
the first place? I retreated into that form as if it would protect me
during the visions—and it did, keeping me out of the way and in the
darkness. But why that form? Why not another kind of cat? Why not a
bird, with wings that would fly me out of danger? There has to be a
reason why it was a lynx.</em></p><p>His mind wandered,
brushing over the traits that the lynx was graced with in legends and
stories. Harry remembered ideas of lynxes being keen-eyed, graceful,
beautiful, the cleverest of the cats. He smiled faintly. He would
<em>like</em> to imagine that he was that way, but he had made his
share of stupid decisions, and he had missed truths that lurked under
his nose before.</p><p><em>Will I do that
again? Does it matter whether you're a different person at one
point in your life than at another? Was a lynx my destined form two
years ago, and would it be something else now?</em></p><p>Harry was tempted to
reject the notion, simply because Peter had remained a rat all his
life, and James a stag long past the point when Harry would have said
any nobility or pride was gone from him. But he didn't know enough
about the process of becoming an Animagus to say that for certain.</p><p><em>Something else to
ask Peter.</em></p><p>Eventually, Peter told
them to open their eyes and discontinue the meditation. Then he told
Connor to go read about four-legged mammals. Connor nodded with an
enthusiasm Harry couldn't remember him exhibiting for any subject
other than Quidditch.</p><p><em>On the other hand,
do I actually know what he might like studying? I'm not in half his
classes with him, and he chose to take Care of Magical Creatures. And
that's another of those things we haven't talked about.</em></p><p>When Harry considered
it, he was appalled by how little he knew about his own brother, and
not just the things that Parvati had listed. He watched Connor leave
the room, and felt a throb of longing travel through him. He wanted
to talk to him, and not because Parvati had suggested it. He wanted
to do it simply because he <em>wanted</em> to.</p><p>But he couldn't do
it right now, because he had something to talk to Peter about as long
as he was in the same room with him. He uttered a little sigh and
turned back to Peter, even though Draco was hovering near the door,
obviously eager to escape.</p><p>"Peter?"</p><p>Peter glanced up.
"Yes?"</p><p>"This is an odd
thing to ask you about, but you're the only one left who knew our
parents and whose word I would trust right now," said Harry.
Remus's name hung, heavy and unspoken, between them. Peter nodded
and laid down the book he'd started to pick up. "I think the
prophecy that caused Voldemort to mark us might be coming true more
than once." Again Peter nodded; Harry had told him about that
speculation when he came to Hogwarts to help prepare for the
Midsummer battle. Since Peter had been a sacrifice because of the
original prophecy, it seemed only fair he should know about
Trelawney's third one. "But I don't know if it fits Dumbledore
in all the particulars. I know that Lily and James defied Voldemort
three times in the First War, and that was the reason Dumbledore
thought their sons could fit the prophecy. But did my parents defy
<em>Dumbledore</em> three times? Could he actually be the first Dark
Lord in the prophecy?"</p><p>Peter narrowed his
eyes thoughtfully. "I'll have to think on it a bit, Harry. I
don't remember all the times that might count. But my instinct is
to say that yes, they did. And one time was during their seventh
year."</p><p>Harry cocked his head.
"What happened?" Lily hadn't mentioned this—but then, she'd
wanted Harry to love and follow Dumbledore, not disobey him. If she
had ever turned on him, then that might have lessened her credibility
in her son's eyes.</p><p><em>Lily was very
careful with me</em>. Harry suffered a stab of anger as he thought
about that. <em>Too careful.</em></p><p>"Most of the older
Gryffindor students knew we were going to be soldiers in the War,"
Peter began, leaning back on the desk. Harry heard Draco huff in
impatience behind him. He ignored that. This was history he had never
known, and which could be vitally important for defeating Voldemort
and whoever the third Dark Lord in the prophecy would turn out to be.
"Albus asked us, and we loved him and looked up to him, and he
trained us himself. So we said yes. But James suffered a brief
rebellious streak during our seventh year. I think it had something
to do with his parents, your grandparents, dying in the summer before
seventh year, and James becoming a Potter in his own right. They were
old even for wizards when they had him; they'd almost given up hope
of a child. So their deaths were natural, but they reminded James
that he might have his own not-so-natural death in a few months or a
year.</p><p>"He decided there
were more important things than the war in the world. He made plans
to go off and live on his own, outside Albus's influence." Peter
shook his head. "I only heard about this afterwards, so I never
knew how defined his plans actually were—whether he was going to
flee to France the way so many of the older students in other Houses
did, for example. But he wanted to go. And since he was an illegal
Animagus, and Albus didn't know about it at the time, he even could
have kept out of his way for a good long time. None of us would have
betrayed him, certainly.</p><p>"The problem was, he
wanted Lily to go with him, and he knew she was more devoted to Albus
than he was. So he kept putting it off and putting it off, until one
night when—" Peter broke off, looking embarrassed.</p><p>"They had sex,
didn't they," said Harry, and shook his head when Peter flushed
more deeply. "It's all right, Peter. I don't like to think
about my parents having sex, but I knew it had to have happened at
<em>least</em> once." Harry gestured at himself.</p><p>Peter nodded. "So he
persuaded her. They ran away. They left on a Friday night, and were
gone for most of a weekend, so not that many people noticed at first.
It was actually a Quidditch practice that made people realize James
was missing, not just sulking somewhere because he'd had a fight
with Lily.</p><p>"So Albus was
prepared to go looking for them. But then they came back before he
could. They were shamefaced, but James never wavered again. I have no
idea what Lily said to him, only that it was her idea to come back."</p><p><em>Of course it was,
</em>Harry thought. He knew that Dumbledore had begun "instructing"
Lily in her third year. By the time she reached her seventh, she
would have been tangled up in chains of sacrifice, and not even the
influence of the boy she loved would have stopped her for long.</p><p>"But why did you
know so little about it?" Draco sounded curious himself now, if
reluctantly so. "If none of you would ever have betrayed him, then
why didn't he tell you about it?"</p><p>Harry looked up in
time to surprise an incredibly bitter smile at the corners of Peter's
mouth. He tried to smooth it away, but it was there, and Harry winced
as he remembered the way the other Marauders had treated Peter. <em>His
devotion was never repaid with devotion.</em></p><p>"Oh, Sirius and
Remus knew," said Peter. He was spinning his wand in his fingers,
his voice cool and reflective, with barely a glint of the emotion,
akin to hatred, that Harry knew waited like black water under the
surface. "But they didn't tell me. They were still dealing with
my Animagus form, and all its implications. Thought I would <em>rat</em>
them out, apparently." A blue spark leaped from his wand and
earthed itself harmlessly in the carpet.</p><p>Then Peter mastered
himself. Harry saw him shake his head and stop spinning his wand.
When he next looked up, his face was probably as calm as he pretended
it was, or at least he wore a better mask. "To be fair to them,"
he said, "at that point I was still changing from the horrible
person I'd been in fifth and sixth years to someone better. So
while I wouldn't have betrayed them, they didn't know that. They
didn't know what to <em>make</em> of me. I was changing, and they
didn't know why."</p><p>"Why did you
change?" Draco demanded.</p><p>Peter just shrugged,
and this time, Harry thought, his smile was like a wall. "Many
reasons."</p><p>Harry recognized the
end of the conversation, even though Draco seemed like he wanted to
ask more questions, and dragged Draco out of the room. He went,
grumbling. "Sometimes I don't know what to say to him," he told
Harry, as they turned a corner in the direction of one of the
libraries. "He doesn't seem like a man who spent twelve years in
Azkaban, and then he'll do something that reminds me."</p><p><em>I wonder just how
much of that man is there, and we just aren't seeing him,</em> Harry
thought.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"So, are you going
to talk, or are you going to do it?" Draco lay in the middle of
Harry's bed, hands folded beneath his chin and a lazy,
self-satisfied grin on his face.</p><p>"I'm going to do
it." Harry glared at him for a moment, then turned back to Argutus.
The Omen snake held steady, coiled around his left arm, his scales
faithfully reflecting Harry's left wrist, and the dark shimmer of
magic above it. Harry knew now that this was a Permanence curse,
meant to prevent him from being able to attach a limb of any kind of
flesh to his stump, and after some time searching among the books,
he'd found a counter to it.</p><p>He stretched out his
hand above it, took a deep breath, and murmured, "<em>Pausa iam</em>."</p><p>The black shimmer in
Argutus's scales grew bigger, spreading like a sunburst. Harry held
still, even when a burning, itching, tingling sensation spread
throughout his stump. The book he'd found the countercurse in had
emphasized the importance of holding still, lest the magic should
gain an even deeper hold as it was dragged off the end of his limb.</p><p>The spell gave a final
spit and snarl, and then vanished in a small implosion. Harry
shuddered at the pain racing down his arm, but it faded. He sat back
and looked at Draco with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>"That's the second
one," he said quietly. He'd removed the first curse in the
Sanctuary. "Two more, one big one, and I should be able to have a
second hand." He stroked Argutus's head in thanks, and the Omen
snake unfolded and slid away from him, slipping out the door. Harry
suspected he was going to sun himself on the cliffs.
Cobley-by-the-Sea's windows were so scattered that any sunlight
usually moved on too quickly for Argutus.</p><p>"That's
wonderful," Draco breathed, and then looked a bit abashed. "Not
to say that you're not handsome with only one hand, Harry, that's
perfectly true. But for you to have two hands again, when Bellatrix
and Voldemort tried so hard to insure that you wouldn't—"</p><p>"Or just wanted me
to despair," Harry muttered, standing up and stretching. "I don't
think Voldemort ever planned for me to survive the graveyard."</p><p>Draco snorted and
rolled over. "So he's an idiot. We knew that—where are you
going?" he added sharply, as Harry headed for the door.</p><p>Harry glanced back at
him, startled. "To spend time with Connor. I told you I was
thinking about that."</p><p>Draco scowled and dug
in his robe pocket. Harry watched, not understanding, until Draco
pulled out a wooden coin and threw it at him. Harry caught it
automatically and looked down. It was the coin the assassins in the
Ministry had thrown at him, marked with a winged horse in the middle
of flight.</p><p>"I'd think finding
out who cast that would be more urgent," Draco said.</p><p>Harry curbed his
irritation. <em>He doesn't like it that Connor's doing better than
he is in the Animagus training, I understand that. </em>He tossed the
coin back to Draco. "I already know," he said. "It's not a
secret, really. I asked Zacharias to check for me, because I know he
has some contacts in the Ministry. This is a symbol for Shield of the
Granian, a militant group of flying horse breeders. They've fought
back before when the Ministry was going to pass laws that restricted
breeding or imposed price controls."</p><p>Draco stared at him.
"Stupid of them to use coins that proclaim their identity," he
said at last.</p><p>Harry shrugged.
"Maybe, maybe not. No one's ever found out who's in Shield of
the Granian. Either they're all good at glamours or they have
someone who can Transfigure their faces and then put them back. And,
of course, the breeders themselves disavow all their tactics. I
suppose they might be afraid that I'm going to free the Granians
and other flying horses they breed. But I'm not convinced this came
from them." He nodded at the coin in Draco's hand. "I think now
that Falco Parkinson was spying on me and told the attackers the time
of my meeting with Skeeter. I've set up wards against him doing
that again in his sea eagle form. But it could have been disused
remnants from the Order of the Phoenix, for all I know."</p><p>"I don't like it,"
Draco said. "I think you should stay here with me so that we can
talk about it some more."</p><p>Harry snorted. "You
want to talk about other things."</p><p>Draco sighed and
rolled his eyes. "And is that a crime?"</p><p>"Not at all," said
Harry quietly. "But I want to spend time with my brother right now,
Draco."</p><p>"So the problem is
still lack of time."</p><p>"And someone else
reminding me that I haven't given as much time to Connor as I could
have," Harry agreed, and turned away. He felt Draco's frustration
behind him as Harry slipped down the hallway, but he said nothing
else.</p><p><em>Good. </em>Harry
shook his head. He had to admit he was feeling a bit harried with all
these problems pushing in on him.</p><p>But he had chosen the
vast majority of them, via his oaths and his acceptance of the
positions and power other people handed him, and so he couldn't
complain, but had to do the best he could. Besides, it really
shouldn't have taken Connor's girlfriend to tell him he was
neglecting Connor. Harry should have seen that for himself.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Connor was trying to
understand what Harry wanted, he really was, but so far Harry was
stumbling over his words and being tongue-tied, so it didn't work.
Connor half-wished Harry would make a speech. He had liked Harry's
speech about the Unspeakables, and he'd understood all of it.</p><p>"But you want to
have fun," he said, trying to clarify the matter.</p><p>Harry shrugged as if
embarrassed and scuffed one trainer on the floor of Connor's
bedroom. "I'd like to have fun <em>with you</em>," he said. "I've
missed you, Connor. I want to spend time with you."</p><p>"You are," said
Connor, mystified. "We're having Animagus training together every
day."</p><p>"Time other than in
lessons," Harry clarified, sounding even more flustered.</p><p>"Then you could have
<em>said</em> so," Connor said, and laid his book on Animagus forms
aside. So far, he'd eliminated relatively few animals his form
might be; as he'd told Peter, there were many, many medium-sized
mammals with four legs. "I don't mind practicing Quidditch, if
you want to."</p><p>Harry smiled as if he
had forgotten there was such a thing as Quidditch, but was happy to
be reminded. "I'd like that."</p><p>Connor went to a
corner of his room to pick up his Nimbus, while Harry used a
Summoning Charm on his Firebolt, which seemed to be his favorite
method of attracting it. Connor studied his brother out of the corner
of his eye as they jogged towards the door in Cobley-by-the-Sea that
led out onto the cliffs. Lines of strain and tension were leaving
Harry's face, and now and then he smiled as though he were
envisioning catching the Snitch out of the air.</p><p><em>This is good for
him, then. </em>Connor contemplated something he hadn't
before—certainly not when he thought of himself as the
Boy-Who-Lived. <em>I reckon he gets tired of being a hero.</em></p><p>They stepped out onto
the cliffs, and Connor felt the crash and thud of the waves far
below. He breathed in the salt air. It was bracing, and he thought it
would be interesting to fly on their brooms where the winds crossed
and divided in front of the rocky walls. He hopped onto his Nimbus,
and darted over the side.</p><p>"Not fair!" Harry
complained, but he was up on his own broom in a moment, and Connor
knew the Firebolt could catch the Nimbus any day, so he wasn't
particularly worried about it being fair. He was more curious to see
if he could continue flying straight into the wind ahead of him now,
or if he would be forced to swerve.</p><p><em>Swerve</em>, he
thought, as a current forced him towards the cliffs. Connor turned
his broom, pushing straight into it, and the wind howled and
plastered his robes to his body. Connor whooped. He wondered if Harry
even heard the sound, though; the air was fierce enough to push it
away.</p><p>He found himself
shivering, wishing for gloves and other Quidditch gear they hadn't
taken the time to put on, but then strangled the wish. The wind
wasn't <em>that</em> cold, even if it did have the teeth of the ocean
in it. He rose, and then rode out over the Atlantic.</p><p>The sea was gray
beneath him, vast and shuddering and white-capped. Connor thought
about dipping down and wetting his feet in the foam, but decided that
he would be good. It would probably panic Harry to see him diving
into a situation like that without protection.</p><p>His thoughts ran along
that track until he turned around to see what his twin was doing, and
saw him diving straight down, apparently trying a Wronski Feint on a
breaker. He pulled out of it in time to avoid crashing, but as he
plunged through a trough and then rose again, the next wave caught
him a solid slap across the body.. Harry yelped, and spat salt water.
His hair was already streaming, his glasses so thick with water that
Connor wondered why he didn't just pull them off. Connor laughed,
and was abruptly happier than he'd been since he learned Harry was
going to the Sanctuary, and why.</p><p>"Watch where you're
going!" he called.</p><p>"I suppose you could
do better, then," Harry yelled back.</p><p>Connor snorted. "Who
do you think you're talking to?" he shouted, steering his broom
around a particularly stiff wind. "I'm not only a Seeker, I'm a
<em>Gryffindor </em>Seeker. That means we automatically take risks that
you Slytherins are too cowardly to try."</p><p>He thought, as he said
the words, that he would have meant them only two years ago. And
though it was hard to see from this distance and with his
sea-splattered glasses, he thought he could see Harry's eyes widen
as he heard both the words and the playful tone.</p><p><em>We're both so
different from what we were, </em>Connor thought in satisfaction. <em>They
tried to mold us, and they didn't succeed. Take that, Lily.</em></p><p>If he kept on thinking
like that, though, he would have to think about Sirius, and Connor
still missed him, so he put it out of his head to listen to Harry's
reply.</p><p>"You mean that
Gryffindors are idiots who think with their balls instead of their
heads," Harry said carelessly. He held out his hand, gripping his
Firebolt with his knees, and a ball of golden light, about the size
of a Snitch, formed in his palm. Connor squinted to keep track of it
as Harry bounced it up and down. "But they're even bigger
bluffers."</p><p>Connor snorted.
"Right."</p><p>"Let's see you
catch this, then." Harry whipped the ball of light away from him.
It immediately arced and headed down towards the waves, now and then
weaving back and forth like a feather. "And Wronski Feint <em>only</em>."</p><p>Connor tossed his head
back and half-reared his broom. He knew he was grinning like an
idiot, but he didn't care. <em>Merlin, this is fun. </em>He waited
for the Snitch-ball to settle on a wave, and then he dived.</p><p>The wind was strong
enough to feel like someone punching him in the mouth. The cold bit
him so badly that his hands shook where they gripped the broom. He
was peripherally aware of not only wind but water darting around him,
and while he understood the air, a few minutes of watching the ocean
wasn't enough to understand that.</p><p>He didn't care. This
was the most brilliant thing <em>ever.</em></p><p>He cut in close to the
top of the wave, and stretched out his right hand. He clasped it
around the ball of golden light, which warmed his palm slightly, and
opened his mouth to crow.</p><p>Water flooded it
instead, and the taste of salt. Connor felt the rearing wave catch
the tail end of his broom at the same time, creating just enough of a
tug that he unbalanced when he tried to dart back into the air. He
tipped sideways, and upside down, and another wave engulfed him.</p><p>Connor kept one hand
on his broom and the other on the golden ball of light, which meant
he had none free to pinch his mouth and nose shut. He swallowed a
great deal of salt and began coughing. He'd heard that sea water
didn't kill you on the first drink, but it tasted bloody <em>awful</em>.
Maybe it just took a second or third gulp.</p><p>He pulled his legs in
towards his chest and kicked out again, hard. That had helped when he
swam in the small pond near their house in Godric's Hollow. But the
Atlantic wasn't a pond. He stuck his foot straight into some other
current that spun him off-course. Meanwhile, water pressed on his
chest like a great hand, and more flooded in through his nostrils and
mouth, and he couldn't get a breath, and his eyes stung so badly
from salt that he wanted to close them, and he had lost track of his
path back to the surface.</p><p>He thought he heard
Harry shouting his name, but that could just be what he wanted to
hear. Certainly, the ringing in his ears and the wild thumping of his
heart was too loud to <em>really</em> let him hear anything else.</p><p>Then a hand grabbed
him, and so did something invisible that Connor guessed was a
powerful Levitation Charm, and together they pulled him out of the
water. Connor gasped, and then wondered why he couldn't breathe
yet, and then a great sluice of water came up his throat and answered
the question on its own. He coughed frantically. Harry pounded his
back, and he choked and more water came out.</p><p>"Connor, can you
hear me?" Harry's voice was frantic. "Can you nod?"</p><p>Of <em>course</em> he
could nod; Connor let his head fall forward and then fall back. Harry
choked on a gasp of his own, and the pounding hand and Levitation
Charm went back to work. Connor blinked, and blinked, and finally
made sense of what he was seeing. He was lying face-down across
Harry's Firebolt, staring at the sea below, while his Nimbus
dangled in front of him and his right hand remained clutched tight
around the golden Snitch-ball.</p><p>He was safe. He
relaxed as much as he could while Harry practically beat him, because
when he could finally talk again, he knew just what he wanted to say.</p><p>He spat and heaved and
coughed and hiccoughed, and finally the half of the Atlantic he'd
swallowed was back where it belonged. Harry helped him sit up, and
all the while he was talking, his words spilling over each other in
panic and relief.</p><p>"Connor, I'm so
sorry—I never should have done that—I should have known better
than to think—"</p><p>Connor held up his
right hand and opened it, displaying the golden ball. Harry fell
silent; Connor thought it was in shock.</p><p>"I <em>told</em> you
that Gryffindors don't bluff," Connor said, his voice more of a
croak than he would have liked, but still making his point.</p><p>Predictably, his
brother said, "But I almost <em>killed</em> you, it was a bloody
stupid dare—"</p><p>"It was <em>fun</em>,"
Connor said firmly. He reconsidered a moment, then added, "Except
for the almost-drowning part."</p><p>Harry said nothing.</p><p>Connor twisted around,
letting the Snitch-ball go so that he could clasp Harry's shoulder
and peer straight into his worried eyes. "Really, it was," he
said. "You're not responsible for every tiny thing that happens
to me, Harry. And that was <em>fun</em>. I like a bit of danger, you
know." He grinned. "I'm Gryffindor."</p><p>"But if I hadn't—"</p><p>"But you did, and I
went after it, and it was fun," said Connor. He laughed. "And it
proved that I'm the better Seeker than you are after all, because
of the risks I take for my team. Watch!"</p><p>He swung his leg over
Harry's broom and hopped off it. Harry shrieked like Parvati might.
Connor had never let go of his Nimbus, though, and after one exciting
moment of tangling limbs and freefalling, he was mounted on his own
broom again. He swung around Harry, laughing.</p><p>"You need to relax,
Harry," he told his brother. "It's not normal to scream this
much when you're having fun."</p><p>Harry only shook his
head, staring at him. Connor blinked. "What?"</p><p>"I wondered how you
stayed so open even when bad things happened to you," Harry
muttered. "Now I think it has a lot to do with growing a sense of
humor, and not brooding on your mistakes."</p><p>Connor grinned. "You
<em>have</em> been sadly deficient in that regard, Harry."</p><p>Harry just nodded,
taking it too seriously again. Connor changed the subject. "Why
could you put me on your Firebolt, anyway?" he asked. "I thought
Draco had it charmed so only you could ride it."</p><p>Harry's face changed
in an instant. "I'm going to <em>kill</em> him for that," he
said. "I had to break the damn charms before I could pull you up
here, and I thought I was going to lose my grip." He considered
Connor for a moment. "Which do you think would be more fun: yelling
at Draco for that, or just letting him notice that the charms are
gone and <em>then</em> telling him the reason?"</p><p>Harry, Connor
reflected sadly, had a lot to learn about pranking. "Neither, of
course," he said. "You come in alone and pretend I've drowned
because the Firebolt flung me off when you tried to use it to rescue
me. Then I show up behind Draco and give him a heart attack."</p><p>Harry hesitated a long
moment. "I don't think—"</p><p>"He deserves it for
being such an utter tosser," said Connor firmly. "I know that he
wanted to give you something of your own for your birthday, but
charming the Firebolt so I couldn't ride it was just stupid."</p><p>"It was," Harry
muttered.</p><p>"Yes, it was,"
Connor coaxed. "Come on. This is funnier."</p><p>Harry hesitated for
another moment. "I'm not saying I'll do it," he began.</p><p>Connor grinned and
went to work persuading him. The expression on Draco's face would
be completely worth it, in his opinion, but even more worth it would
be teaching Harry to have some fun again.</p><p><em>And some fun with
me. I have missed him.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 18*: Vox Populi</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>Here comes chaos again.</p><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen:
<em>Vox Populi</em></strong></p><p><em>Bang!</em></p><p>Draco watched as the
feathers flurried down around him, and tried to convince himself that
exploding a pillow was better than making Connor Potter's head
explode. And then he remembered that perhaps it was, but he didn't
want to feel morally good right now, he wanted to feel <em>satisfied</em>,
and this wasn't <em>helping.</em></p><p>Someone knocked
tentatively on his door. Draco ignored it. He knew who it was, and he
didn't want to talk to that person right now. He didn't even want
an <em>apology</em> from that person right now. When that person had
had a good amount of time to brood on his mistake, then he might have
something to say that Draco would listen to.</p><p>Draco pointed his wand
and intoned another curse. This time, his headboard exploded. Draco
exhaled harshly. <em>That's something very good about being here, </em>he
thought. In Malfoy Manor, he would have had house elves Apparating in
right now, squeaking in distress about Master Draco's property
being destroyed. But here, he could destroy anything he liked and
only worry about a handy little <em>Reparo</em> afterwards. Maybe Harry
was right, and life was easier without house elves.</p><p><em>Well, he'll have
the opportunity to see if he's right about something else, too, and
whether it really is easier to sleep without me in his bed for the
next few nights, </em>Draco thought. This time, he cast at the wall.
The walls of Cobley-by-the-Sea were stone, though, and so thick with
wards that Draco's spell bounced back at him. He had to raise a
quick <em>Protego</em>, and that calmed him a bit.</p><p>Draco sat down on the
bed, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. Harry had
come in alone, his face so distressed that Draco had believed him
immediately when he started talking about the charms on the Firebolt
and Connor drowning. Draco realized now that Harry had been
distressed over agreeing to play the prank on him, but that didn't
matter. He'd still <em>gone along</em> with his brother.</p><p>"Draco?" Harry
asked.</p><p>"Go <em>away</em>,"
Draco said, and then flopped back on his bed and folded his arms
behind his head, scowling up at the canopy.</p><p>"Draco, I wanted to
apologize and say—"</p><p>"I don't want to
<em>hear it!</em>" Draco yelled, and that silenced Harry's knocking
and talking both. Harry sighed a moment later, and Draco heard the
sound of him walking away from the door.</p><p>He told himself that
was what he wanted, but moments later his mood had changed and he
wanted Harry to have continued talking at him, maybe even yelling
back, and knocking down the door if he had to. That would have showed
<em>real</em> dedication, and that he was so sorry he would rather
spend the evening coaxing Draco to talk than with that stupid bloody
brother of his.</p><p>Draco knew he was
being childish, he recognized it, and he didn't care.</p><p>He took a deep breath.
His thoughts slowly ceased racing in fury around the center point of
his indignation and calmed down. He clenched his hands in the sheets,
but didn't reach for his wand to curse something else, and that was
a bit of an improvement.</p><p><em>Why can't Harry
behave like a normal person? </em>he asked the unfair universe that
had made him fall in love with a boyfriend who still treated a snog
as a special occasion. <em>Why couldn't he see that playing that
prank on me would have hurt me, and so why couldn't he refuse to go
along with it?</em></p><p>The thing was, Harry
had realized it, and had been sorry immediately afterwards. Draco
could acknowledge that. But that didn't change the fact that he had
gone along with it in the first place.</p><p>He punched a hand into
the pillow. He had <em>believed</em> that that prat Connor was dead,
damn it!</p><p>Draco closed his eyes
and breathed out harshly. He was getting upset again, and if he let
that happen, then Potter would have won. So Father had always said,
and Draco had no reason to distrust his father on this score. He
concentrated on breathing while he picked through all his reasoning
in his mind.</p><p>Harry had told him he
wanted to spend more time with Connor. That was one thing. But even
that was iron-clad; Draco could almost believe Harry had created a
schedule for spending time with his brother and other people the way
he had for studying various subjects until Hogwarts started. Why
couldn't he see that he didn't have to regiment his hours? He
could handle crises as they arose, and he could spend lazy afternoons
as well as lazy mornings in bed with Draco.</p><p>Harry was living too
much of his life too consciously, and Draco didn't like it. He knew
that Connor was Harry's brother, just like the werewolves were
Harry's pack now and Snape was Harry's guardian. But Harry seemed
convinced that he had to balance them, instead of just—just <em>living</em>
with them.</p><p>His thoughts might
have gone on spinning down that path if he hadn't remembered
something that Blaise Zabini, the traitor, of all people, had said to
him once. Draco had wanted Harry to wake up and notice that he was in
love with him, and Blaise had told him that if he were waiting for
Harry to act like a normal person, he'd have a long wait.</p><p><em>And that's true,
isn't it? </em>Draco sighed and opened his eyes again, waving his
wand and casting <em>Reparo</em> at the headboard. <em>His training, his
new political life, all the rest of it, probably make him think that
he does need to grant a certain amount of time to each person, and he
probably felt like he needed to go along with the prank to keep his
brother happy. Then he hated it when he saw how unhappy he'd made
me, but still, his focus was on what we felt. Not on what he felt.
He's not normal in that he couldn't judge what effect on </em>him
<em>that prank would have. </em></p><p><em>Damn it. I hate his
mother. It's still all tangled and writhing around him, even though
he's so much better in so many ways.</em></p><p>Draco entertained a
pleasant fantasy of torturing Lily Potter for a little while, then
pushed it away. That wouldn't do anything productive. Besides,
trying to figure out how to break into Tullianum gave him a headache.</p><p>He would be the bigger
person, he decided. He would be the one who understood what the prank
had done to Harry, since the Potter prat was probably still laughing
his head off and Harry would be brooding on anything but that. He
would be the one who looked at the person in the middle.</p><p><em>Is it fair that I
have to be? No, it's not. But it's not fair that Harry has to
divide his days up either. </em></p><p><em>Besides, this way I
get to push more. </em>Draco smiled. <em>Potter just wants jokes out of
Harry. I want much more important things, and I get to have them.
There's no reason that I can't be both caring and
self-interested.</em></p><p>He would wait until
the morning to approach Harry about it, though, Draco decided. Then
he would start on the clean slate of a new day, and Harry would be
more likely to think he wasn't angry any more.</p><p>Satisfied, Draco
repaired the pillow and curled up for a nap. Meditating on the
Animagus form he should have been able to see already was exhausting.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Good morning,
Malfoy."</p><p>"Good morning,"
Draco said neutrally as he entered the kitchen. The werewolves still
called him by his last name most of the time. Draco had to call them
by their first names, because most of them had no surnames, or had
rejected them. He most often compromised by calling them nothing at
all.</p><p>Camellia glanced up at
him from where she was turning sausages over, her eyes darkening as
they focused on the doorway. "Harry's not with you?"</p><p>"Not right now."
Draco stepped around her to pour himself orange juice, rather
enjoying the piercing way her gaze focused on him.</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"We had a row
yesterday," Draco said, and leaned against the counter so he could
sip his orange juice. "He played a stupid prank on me." He
shrugged. "I forgave him, and I'm going to talk to him this
morning, but we didn't sleep in the same bed last night."</p><p>Camellia continued
cooking the sausages for a moment, while her frown deepened. Then she
put down the pan and leaned forward, looking at him. Draco snorted
inwardly and waited. He had thought one member of the pack would
approach him with an "If you hurt our alpha" speech sooner or
later, and it made sense that it would be Camellia who did that,
since she was the one who spent the most time around Harry.</p><p>"He's our alpha,"
Camellia breathed. "He's not a werewolf, so he has no chance of
forming a mating bond with any of us. I'm not saying this out of
jealousy or a sense of competition, Malfoy. I'm saying this because
it's <em>true. </em>Hurt him, and what's left of you won't be
recognizable as human."</p><p>Draco sipped his
orange juice.</p><p>"He's <em>ours</em>
in a way you can't imagine," said Camellia, and this time her
teeth snapped together. "He's ours to defend and protect. It's
perfectly obvious that he takes next to no time for himself. We're
going to insist that he does very soon, and without any twitchy
little lapdogs ruining it for him either—"</p><p>"And you think that
insisting on that is the best way to get him to relax?" Draco
laughed lightly and examined the back of his wrist. "You should
understand. Harry doesn't know how to relax, unless he's flying.
He tries, but everything becomes another battle for him, or of use to
war and politics. And you can't tell him that you want him to
relax, because then he does it as a favor for other people." He
raised his eyes mockingly to her face. "I stand a far better chance
of actually breaking down his barriers, because he <em>expects</em> me
to be a brat. I can use that. And I can irritate him so much that he
won't realize he's let his guard down until the moment passes."</p><p>Camellia regarded him
without moving or blinking. Draco had heard werewolves understood
such staring contests as tests of dominance, but he didn't look
away.</p><p>"You had <em>better</em>
be right," Camellia said a moment later, and turned back to make
sure the sausages didn't burn.</p><p>"I am," Draco said
softly, but she didn't look at him again. He sat down on the other
side of the table, and smiled at her back. It was stiff with
disapproval. Snape would probably have looked the same way if Draco
told him of his plans.</p><p>Draco didn't care.
It had finally come to him last night, as he was falling asleep, that
Harry's problem with the prank and his problem with intimacy were
connected. He was too conscious, too afraid of hurting someone else.
He was never going to let his control truly go if he could help it.</p><p>Draco had to <em>provoke</em>
him into letting go, and then he would get what he wanted and Harry
would get what he needed. It was a win-win situation.</p><p>A few minutes after
Camellia brought over breakfast, a strange owl flew in through the
window, a lovely gray creature mottled with black spots. Draco eyed
her in curiosity as she landed on the table. The <em>Daily Prophet</em>
owls were usually instantly recognizable, but though this one carried
a thick roll of newspaper around her leg, she didn't look like one
of them. She was too alert, and nearly vibrating with importance as
she sat there.</p><p>Draco picked up a
whole sausage link, on instinct, and extended it to her. The owl
watched him for a moment, then deemed that acceptable and ate it.
Only then did she hold out her leg, haughtiness in every line of her
body. Draco removed the cord binding the newspaper. <em>Perhaps it's
a special edition.</em></p><p>It wasn't. It was a
different paper altogether, with the title flanked by dancing women
with long hair. Draco raised his eyebrows. It didn't take much
looking to see that the women didn't wear robes, nor much
imagination to think of what their long hair cloaked.</p><p>The paper's name was
also overgrown with vines bearing grapes, and each of the letters on
the end melted into fancy type, dripping down into bottles of wine.
Thus, it took Draco much longer to read it than it took him to
imagine what the women had on, or didn't, under their hair.</p><p><strong><em>Vox Populi</em>,
</strong>said the title itself. The smaller letters underneath that were
ornamented as well, with more grapes and what looked like horns, but
easier to read. <em>The Voice of the People.</em></p><p>Draco frowned. <em>I
haven't heard anything about this. </em>He looked at the headline,
hoping that would provide him with a clue. A moment later, he choked.</p><p><strong><em>Minister
Conspiring With Unspeakables</em></strong></p><p>"What's the
matter, Draco?" Harry asked just then. Draco felt his hand descend
to squeeze his shoulder, and then pause.</p><p>Draco read the article
beneath the headline. He could feel Harry reading it with him.</p><p><em>According to
unimpeachable sources, the Unspeakables of the Department of
Mysteries have been hunting our own Chosen One, the former Harry
Potter. They cleared the Atrium of witnesses, and attacked him when
he went to visit the Ministry on a completely legal and rather
important mission. The only companion Harry had was the checkpoint
witch, but he still managed to fight the Unspeakables off. According
to our sources, the gray-cloaks attempted to collar Harry and use a
powerful artifact, stinking of time magic, on him. When he and his
companion escaped, the Unspeakables chose to </em>Obliviate <em>them.
Little did they know that Harry is a Lord-level wizard, and
undoubtedly used to fighting off such tricks.</em></p><p><em>Our question is:
where was the Minister in all this? Why has he said nothing about an
attack on the Chosen One in his own Ministry, by his own employees?
Why did he not notice that no one except the checkpoint witch was
suddenly in the Atrium, that powerful magic was used—both in the
attack and in the escape—and that the checkpoint witch then
vanished?</em></p><p><em>We contend that
Minister Scrimgeour knows full well what happened, but is ignoring it
in favor of letting the Department of Mysteries do as they liked.
What do we </em>know <em>about the Department of Mysteries, anyway?
Very little. They are supposedly chosen by an artifact that will not
choose anyone disloyal as a servant, but we now ask: loyal to what
purpose? Is the artifact really working for the good of wizarding
society, as the Unspeakables have always contended, or for the good
of the Department of Mysteries, and no one else?</em></p><p><em>The Minister's
trust in this Department is sorely misplaced. Attempting to stalk and
capture the hero of the wizarding world, the only one who can defend
us from Voldemort, is beyond the pale. We call on Minister Scrimgeour
to explain himself, preferably now.</em></p><p>There was no author's
name. Of course there wouldn't be, Draco thought, a bit numb.
Someone writing an article this inflammatory wouldn't want to be
known, even by pseudonym.</p><p>There were others
things that stunned him more. He had <em>never</em> seen a newspaper
print Voldemort's name. He had barely even seen it written, unless
Harry was writing the letter. The strident tone made no pretense to
the objectivity the <em>Prophet</em> always supposedly sheltered
behind, either. Draco shook his head, wondering who in the world was
behind this, and why they expected to get away with it.</p><p>"Look," said Harry
quietly, and turned the page.</p><p>Draco blinked. On the
second page was a too-familiar photograph of Harry flying at the
dragons in the Triwizard Tournament. Draco had long since wondered
why they couldn't use another picture of him, perhaps one that was
more recent and had Draco in it as well, and showed off the ring
proclaiming the joining ritual on Harry's hand.</p><p>The headline above it
was something new, though.</p><p><strong><em>Did He or Didn't
He: Compelling New Evidence that "Chosen One" is the Chosen of
Dragons Only</em></strong></p><p>Draco skimmed
the article, shaking his head. It argued that Harry hadn't really
defended the students at Hogwarts from the dragons when Mulciber cast
the <em>Imperio</em> that caused them to break free from their wards;
instead, he had communicated with the dragons because he was <em>their</em>
hero, <em>their</em> child of prophecy. It mixed truth with lies so
merrily that Draco could see how many would be convinced, and there
was no author's name on this one, either.</p><p>"I don't
understand," he said, as he looked through other articles and found
ones that talked about Harry as a hero, ones that derided him, ones
that argued for the mixing of wizards and Muggles, and ones that said
the magical and mundane worlds should remain separate. "What is
their <em>stance?</em>"</p><p>"I don't think
they have one." Harry flipped the paper over to the very back, and
touched something Draco hadn't noticed yet, the name of the
publisher and press.</p><p><em>Dionysus
Hornblower, The Maenad Press.</em></p><p>Draco grimaced. He had
actually heard of the Hornblower family, though not of Dionysus in
particular. They were mad eccentrics who usually didn't Declare,
but had plenty of Galleons thanks to a few common, useful
transportation spells they'd invented centuries ago. They interbred
with Muggles and halfbloods and Veela and whoever else caught their
eyes, usually without the benefit of marriage. Lucius had warned
Draco never to have dealings with a Hornblower, unless he was using a
binding oath with wording he'd chosen himself. If there was a way
to cause chaos, a Hornblower would find it.</p><p>And Dionysus had been
the Greek god of wine, revelry, and madness, and the Maenads had been
his followers, women who went wild and danced their way through the
hills. Draco flipped the paper back over and looked again at the
dancing women around the title.</p><p>The Maenads had also
torn apart wild beasts and men they caught, from what Draco
remembered. They were utterly indiscriminate in their choice of
victims; mothers had slaughtered their sons if the god had commanded
them to. Hornblower naming his press after them and choosing them as
the emblem of his paper was as close to a declaration of war on all
sides as Draco could imagine.</p><p>"They're going to
publish anything they want," Harry murmured. "And most of it
won't be believed, doubtless, but they have some accurate
information." He touched the leading article again. "They had to
have talked to someone who was at my festival, or perhaps the writer
was there himself."</p><p>"<em>Why</em>,
though?" Draco asked. "There are so many other ways that this
Dionysus could cause trouble, with much less expense to himself. Why
this one in particular?"</p><p>"I'm glad you
asked that question."</p><p>Draco jerked his head
up. The gray-and-black owl had stayed on the table, though he hadn't
noticed; most post owls left after they'd been rewarded for their
delivery. She had her wings spread, fanned out, and her beak open. A
cloud of glittering light floated out of her beak, and formed the
image of a wizard, probably in his thirties, smiling at them.</p><p>Draco immediately
didn't like him. He had a look that Draco had seen only once
before: on the face of the werewolf called Loki. It was a look that
said he wasn't in control of everything, but he would fling the
Severing Curses anyway and let the blood fly and settle where it
would. That quite twisted what Draco thought would have been an
ordinary face otherwise, with gray eyes and brown hair and a tiny
birthmark on one cheek.</p><p>"I sent this message
with most owls, but most people aren't going to ask." Dionysus
sat behind a desk of some kind. Now he leaned forward confidingly
over it and winked with his left eye. "Now, you, you're curious.
You want to know what's been going on. That's good. That's
proper. That's the first step on the road to true freedom.</p><p>"Simply put, the <em>Vox
Populi</em> exists to publish those articles that most people won't
ever get to read, thanks to the <em>Prophet</em> and its vicious
politics of strangling dissent at the mouth." Dionysus sneered.
"I'll publish anything anyone sends to me, and the only editing I
do is for grammar. That's the only thing that could shame my paper.
The truth never can."</p><p>"You don't know
what the truth is, you old git," Draco muttered, but of course the
sending couldn't hear him, and prattled on.</p><p>"I pay for
everything, and pay the writers, too, so you don't need to worry
about the expense of printing. I want <em>everyone</em> to know the
truth. The Ministry's had everything its own way for far too long.
And now we're moving into a war, into a <em>revolution</em>, and they
want to pretend that nothing's changed." Dionysus's eyes
glittered in a way that Draco thought was unhealthy. "That's not
true. I'm taking my example and my inspiration from Harry <em>vates</em>,
who is <em>our </em>prophet and seer as much as he's for the magical
creatures. He values freedom, and well he should! Freedom is the most
important thing in the world."</p><p>Draco couldn't help
turning his head to see what impact that had on Harry. He found Harry
watching the sending with an expression born of resignation. Harry
caught his eye and turned his hand palm-up, mouthing something Draco
could barely hear under Dionysus's rattle. <em>Sow the wind, reap
the whirlwind.</em></p><p>"—And now we have
a force that can challenge the Ministry." Dionysus nodded several
times, as if to prove that he really, really believed in it. <em>He's
a Hornblower, of course he does, </em>Draco thought. "We have one
paper that can centralize and vocalize all the dissent, and let our
people know that they're not alone. They can realize that centaurs
think the same way they do, and that the people they always respected
just because they were pureblood don't deserve that respect, and
that <em>they can say so.</em></p><p>"Our motto, besides
being the voice of the people, is the same as the Alliance of Sun and
Shadow. We aren't afraid, and our enemies can't make us be."</p><p>The sending stopped
talking, and a moment later the light dissolved and poured back into
the owl's mouth. She gave a little shake of her feathers, then
leaped into the air and sped out the window as though afraid they
would kill the messenger.</p><p>Draco twisted to look
up at Harry again. "You didn't need that," he said.</p><p>Harry huffed out a
breath, and sat down on the opposite side of the table, taking the
paper with him as he went. "No, I didn't," he said, staring at
some of the articles, "but I can hardly control what people do,
either, or think that my example is going to inspire only restraint."</p><p>Draco folded his arms.
"Must you be so—so <em>reasonable</em> all the time?" he hissed.</p><p>Harry looked up at
him. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"You can get angry,"
Draco told him. Camellia dodged between them to set a plate full of
sausages down in front of Harry, but Harry, his eyes on Draco, didn't
appear to notice. "You've been doing well with it since the
Sanctuary. And now it's—drying up again." He couldn't find a
word that fit what he wanted to say better. "You're acting as
though anything anyone does in your name, you can't be angry about,
and you can't denounce."</p><p>"Well, I plan to say
that I didn't help to establish or fund the <em>Vox Populi</em>, if
anyone asks," said Harry, sounding a bit bewildered. "But I can't
be angry that Hornblower took my example and ran with it in a
direction I wish he hadn't. Of <em>course</em> that was going to
happen sooner or later. I've set myself up as a political figure,
Draco, the leader of an alliance. People are going to misunderstand
me and misinterpret me and worship me in ways I wish they wouldn't.
That's practically a given. It still makes me uncomfortable, but
that's not the same thing as angry. I chose this position, I chose
the game, I chose the consequences. I have to live with them."</p><p>Draco shook his head
and waved one hand in his fury. "And you're going to divide
yourself up again to deal with this problem—"</p><p>"Actually," said
Harry, a small smile creeping over his lips, "I'm not."</p><p>Draco blinked. "What?"</p><p>"I have too much
happening already." Harry laid down the paper and leaned forward.
"I've reached the limit of what I can deal with by myself. That's
why I asked Hermione to research the legal loopholes in the
anti-werewolf laws, and Zacharias Smith to research that flying horse
symbol. And now I'm looking for a good solicitor to help us
represent the werewolves, through Miriam Smith. I thought about going
through the Gloryflowers, but everyone and her second cousin knows
that Laura Gloryflower's niece is a werewolf now, so that won't
work. The Smiths are still terribly respectable. I can't do that
all myself, I'm pressed for time to just do the essential things—"</p><p>"Like eating your
breakfast," Camellia muttered, drifting up behind him.</p><p>Harry obediently
picked up his fork, but didn't let the interruption faze him. "—And
this situation is the same way. I'm going to ask someone else to
handle it for me." He took a few more bites, not removing his eyes
from Draco.</p><p>Draco shook his head.
"Who?" He couldn't think of many other allies who could move
with impunity in the circles Dionysus Hornblower traveled. The
werewolves were in danger of arrest if they set foot outside the
Black houses, Dionysus Hornblower had no respect for blood status and
no reason to listen to pureblood money, Harry's allies in the
Ministry were right out, Pettigrew had few if any political
connections, and Harry would probably not trust Snape to control his
temper.</p><p>"You."</p><p>Draco blinked again.
"Pardon?" he said at last, in what he knew was a rather faint
voice.</p><p>Harry cocked his head,
and his eyes glittered, bright and sharp. "Draco," he said
quietly. "I know you made a few connections in the Ministry last
year, after we defeated Dumbledore. I didn't know it at the time,
but I figured it out later. You've kept them up, haven't you?
You've not just let them go."</p><p>Draco nodded
reluctantly. He really didn't think Harry had noticed, to tell the
truth. Those connections would have been a nice way to surprise him.</p><p>"I think you'll be
able to communicate with them more easily than I'm able to talk to
<em>anyone</em> in the Ministry, Scrimgeour included." Harry leaned
back and clasped his hand behind his head, ignoring Camellia's
mutters about food. "And I know that some of them have respect for
the Malfoy name and the Malfoy money—but you're not your father.
You don't have as intimidating a reputation preceding you. You can
make them underestimate you and take them by surprise.</p><p>"You can possess
people as well. And I know you can read minds, not just control
actions. That ought to be <em>bloody</em> useful in figuring out
secrets."</p><p>"You don't think
it's unethical?" Draco blurted. He'd thought of using his
possession gift in just that way, but he had assumed Harry would hate
the idea.</p><p>Harry looked down at
his plate without seeing it. "If you're going to control their
actions, then I would say yes," he murmured. "It was hard to
condone that even for the Midsummer battle, when I knew it was kill
or be killed. But this situation, while less desperate, is certainly
consumed with spying." He took a deep breath. "I won't let my
enemies drive me around in circles, Draco. I'll ask someone else to
liaise with the Maenad Press. Honoria, I think. Her illusions are
good for so much in that line, and she'd be thrilled to be asked.</p><p>"I need information,
Draco. Now that the Unspeakables are in the battle, it's more
crucial than it was before. Even your father couldn't tell me that
much about them. And most of the ways of getting information are
unethical in one sense or another. I'm never going to torture
people for it, but this?" Harry looked up and nodded. "Yes, I
think this will work. <em>If</em> you promise that you won't use the
information just to fulfill personal grudges, or your possession to
control their actions unless it's a matter of life and death."</p><p>Draco threw his head
back. He felt warmth spreading over him like sunshine. Harry's
trust honored him, and violating it would not be worth the momentary
satisfaction he might gain from revenge.</p><p>"So you want me to
help with managing your reputation altogether, don't you?" he
asked softly. "Keep an eye on how it changes, what new rumors are
rising, how the <em>Vox Populi</em> and the other papers are affecting
things?"</p><p>Harry nodded again.
"Yes. Scrimgeour was going to do that for me while I was in the
Sanctuary, but…well."</p><p>Draco cocked his head.
His mind felt full of possibilities, burgeoning like the grapes
growing around the title of the <em>Vox Populi</em>. He wondered for a
moment if Harry felt like this all the time, then tried to dismiss
the thought, because that just made him shudder.</p><p>"It would be more
than just having a few contacts in the Ministry, Harry, you know
that," he said. "I'd want to fight for you on several different
levels. I'd try to recruit people for the Alliance, find out what
the Unspeakables were doing, discredit your opponents."</p><p>"I know that."</p><p>"Have you abandoned
your morals, then?" Camellia did not sound at all pleased. "I
would not see you become different than you are now, Wild, simply to
satisfy the political requirements of wizards."</p><p>Harry leaned back in
his chair and shook his head at her. "I've accepted that I can't
win this battle if I do nothing," he said quietly. "And doing
nothing would be the only way to insure that I made no questionable
decisions. I am <em>vates</em>. I have to push forward. I have to speak
news that people won't want to hear. And if someone imposes on the
free will of another, I have to fight back against that. The trouble
will be restraining myself so that I <em>only</em> fight back until
that other person's free will is restored, and then stop." He let
out a breath and looked at Draco. "So, Draco, I'm trusting you to
bring me the information unless the situation is so urgent that you
have to act immediately and you don't have time to reach me. Don't
just use it indiscriminately."</p><p>"That's why you
can trust me and no one else in this position," said Draco, while
more ideas grew. He had acquaintances among the seventh-year
Slytherins Harry had never bothered to make; he had never been as
close to his own Housemates as many other Slytherins were, coming
from a Light-devoted family who'd hidden away from the wizarding
world. "I want to defend you, Harry, you know that, not just
advance my own interests."</p><p>Harry grinned at him.
"Your interests are intertwined with mine. I understand that much,
Draco." He hesitated for a moment, then said, "By the way, I'm
sorry for the row we had yesterday."</p><p>Draco was glad that
he'd already decided to accept and forgive. It made him able to nod
and say, "You played that prank because you wanted to please your
brother, didn't you?"</p><p>A tension he hadn't
realized Harry was carrying melted out of his shoulders. "Yes,"
he said, leaning towards Draco. Over Harry's shoulder, Draco caught
a glimpse of Camellia scowling ferociously. He smirked at her and
clasped Harry's hand. Harry didn't seem to notice the byplay.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. It made you feel so
terrible, and I felt guilty for hours afterward." He hesitated, as
if pondering whether he should speak the next words at all, then
offered, "I didn't sleep well last night."</p><p>Draco felt a flash of
triumph, but he adopted the most innocent expression he could.
"Because you felt guilty?"</p><p>"Because you weren't
there," Harry mumbled, his cheeks flushing even more brightly.</p><p>Camellia scowled
again. Draco raised Harry's hand to his lips, eyes challenging.
Camellia whipped around and stalked away.</p><p>Draco did believe that
she wasn't jealous of Harry as a werewolf would be of a potential
mate. But her jealousy was actually more dangerous in the long run.
Relatively few people might want to share Harry's bed (though Draco
didn't believe that, because how could anyone not want to?). Dozens
of them would struggle to be close to him, some for the wrong
motives. And the ones with the right motives could still exhaust him,
as he would want to give them all appropriate time and attention.</p><p>Draco would make sure
that that didn't happen. He would evaluate the people who wanted to
come close, and send off the ones who would drain Harry more than
they would help him. If he was going to be recruiting members for the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow, he would be the guard and first line of
defense there.</p><p>That would help Harry,
and it would help Draco. He wanted Harry to be relaxed and happy. And
by this time, the selfish reasons and the unselfish ones for that
were so tightly interwoven that he wondered if one could actually
separate them anymore.</p><p>"I've already
forgotten that prank," said Draco, being absolutely honest, because
it had led him to this point and because it made Harry's eyes
brighten. "I'd like to sleep with you again tonight, if you'll
let me."</p><p>"I want you to,"
Harry said at once.</p><p>His gaze moved away
from Draco then, falling on the <em>Vox Populi</em>, and the lines
around his mouth tightened. "I was going to talk to Snape about
that book," he said, and, after one more squeeze to Draco's hand,
stood and wandered out of the kitchen, leaving his breakfast mostly
uneaten.</p><p>Draco snorted. <em>He
needs a distraction. We both do. I am going to provide one.</em></p><p>He leaned back and
smirked at the ceiling. <em>And if it's a distraction that will
provoke him to the point of lowering his barriers, so be it. That's
the only way he'll truly </em>relax<em>, and the only way he'll be
refreshed when he has to face what's coming after this.</em></p><p>Draco picked up the
<em>Vox Populi</em> and made his way towards the door. He had letters
to write and research to do. Time to see if some of the tidbits of
information that his father had mentioned on the Hornblower family
over the years were grounded in rumor or fact.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 19*: Draco Decides To Be a Distraction</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>I had a few people ask me to warn for this, so here it is. This chapter does contain heavy slash. If you don't want to read that, stop at the sentence, "And Snape isn't maddened by the presence of werewolves in the house right now."<p><strong>Chapter Fifteen: Draco Decides To Be a
Distraction</strong></p><p>"And you think that
you need the book?" Snape's voice was casual, and only his grip
on the silver stirring stick showed how tense he was. Harry had
interrupted him in the middle of brewing yet another new potion.
Sometimes he thought this was how Snape stayed sane in the middle of
so many werewolves.</p><p>"I do," said
Harry. "I've been having dreams—"</p><p>"Visions?" If
silver could snap, Harry was sure that Snape's grip would have
snapped the stirring stick.</p><p>"No, no." Harry
smiled, and that didn't appear to reassure his guardian. He held
out his hand in a placating gesture instead. "I mean it. They
aren't visions. They're not even dreams that let me clearly see
the title of the book at first. I think this was more in the nature
of my mind realizing what I needed before I did, and prodding me with
a few dreams to get my attention."</p><p>Snape looked away from
him. "That book has passed through the hands of many owners over
the years," he said carefully. "If it contained a cure for
lycanthropy, I am sure that someone would have noticed."</p><p>"Really?" Harry
studied his turned face. <em>He looks as if he's sleeping better, at
least. I'm glad of that. </em>"From what Draco told me about it,
each person who reads it is driven to brew a potion that resonates
with their goals. Maybe there is a potion that <em>could</em> cure
lycanthropy, but only if someone opens the book looking for just that
and nothing else. Or maybe I can create the base and then modify the
potion from there."</p><p>"It's possible."
Reluctance think as treacle still crowded Snape's voice. He turned
around again. "But you cannot be under compulsion, Harry. You are
<em>vates</em>. Do you forget so easily?"</p><p>Harry blinked. "Of
course not. But a willingly chosen compulsion is different. If it
were really true that a <em>vates</em> can't compel himself, I
couldn't swear binding oaths, either, or make promises."</p><p>Snape clenched his
teeth. Harry could almost hear him striving for some other way to
refuse his request, though he wasn't using Legilimency. Harry made
his voice as gentle, as warm, as persuasive, as possible.</p><p>"I promise I won't
misuse it, sir. I promise I'll bring it back to you the moment I
have the list of ingredients copied down—"</p><p>"That won't be
possible," said Snape. "The book makes you want to keep it with
you until the potion is completed. If you could simply separate
yourself from it when you'd chosen the recipe, then Melissa
Prince's spell wouldn't work." He hesitated a moment. "She
was an ancestor of mine," he added.</p><p>Harry blinked. "She
<em>was</em>?" Now that he thought about it, he supposed he
remembered someone telling him Snape had descended from the Prince
line, but he refused to claim any of the (largely empty) honors that
could have been his, including having the Prince coat of arms on the
back of his chair at the equinox alliance meeting.</p><p>"Yes," said Snape,
and then turned away and stared into the cauldron again.</p><p>Harry narrowed his
eyes. <em>I know he's a halfblood who wasn't raised in the
pureblood rituals. And I know the Prince line was proud enough that
they were horrified at the thought of producing a bastard child when
that Muggleborn Lord claimed to be related to them, even if he did
have Lord-level power. A parent—a mother—who married a Muggle or
a Muggleborn…</em></p><p><em>I wonder what she
would think of herself? I wonder what her family would think of her?</em></p><p>And Snape's face was
darkening with shadows again, as if all the nights of good sleep
meant nothing in the face of this revelation. Harry took a deep
breath and guessed.</p><p>"Are the dreams
about your mother, sir?"</p><p>Snape turned so
suddenly and so viciously that Harry stumbled back a step. This time,
his magic must have lent its strength to his hand, because the silver
stirring stick actually bent under his fingers. Harry shuddered a
bit, and Snape looked down and seemed to realize what he'd done.
Carefully, he laid the silver stick aside.</p><p>"They are about
nothing important," Snape said.</p><p>Harry could almost
hear the rattle of scorpion stings in his words. Ice was slowly
creeping across the walls, and it wasn't Harry's. He knew that
Snape could have a cold temper himself on occasion, though; fourth
year was a more than good enough example of that.</p><p>"All right, sir,"
he said quietly.</p><p>Snape eyed him for a
moment, then swept across the room. Harry waited while he rummaged
through a trunk. Snape had explained that he never let the book out
of his possession unless someone else was borrowing it with his
permission; the compulsion spell on it, and the potions within, were
too dangerous. Harry could understand.</p><p>He remembered the
expression on Snape's face a few moments ago, and wished there were
other things he understood as well.</p><p>Snape turned and
tossed the book to him. Harry caught and examined it. It had a
handsome, dark cover, with the words that he remembered seeing from
the time when Draco was brewing a potion to summon Julia Malfoy on
the cover. <em>Medicamenta Meatus Verus</em>, or Potions of the True
Path.</p><p>And he could feel the
<em>magic.</em> It woke at once, rolling around the cover and in
between the pages, purring and laughing and rubbing against his
fingers like a cat. It wanted to reach out to him, Harry thought. It
was already looking at him, tracking inconsistencies in his own
principles, searching for cracks that would allow its compulsion to
bind him.</p><p><em>This is freely
chosen, </em>he reminded himself, and concentrated on a potion to cure
the lycanthropy curse, and let the book fall open.</p><p>The purring sound in
his ears intensified, and then the book's pages turned as if an
invisible hand manipulated them. Harry felt the web curl around his
shoulders like Argutus, and it whispered words he couldn't quite
make out. He waited for the book to settle on a page, his heart
pounding hard.</p><p>And then it did, and
Harry glanced down the page, and almost laughed aloud. It was no
wonder that no one had managed to work out a cure to the lycanthropy
curse so far, he thought. This was a potion to free the soul and the
body from a curse, but a note in neat handwriting towards the bottom
stated: <em>To break any truly powerful curse, this potion must be
invested with some of the bearer's magic.</em></p><p><em>Most of the people
preparing the potion wouldn't want to sacrifice their own magic,
</em>Harry thought. <em>Or they wouldn't have any idea how to do it,
except to a magical heir. I'm </em>absorbere. <em>I can do this.</em></p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>That was Snape's
voice, somewhere beyond the roaring in his ears. Harry blinked and
looked up at him. "Hmmm?"</p><p>"You will be well?"</p><p>Harry nodded, his mind
already swimming with plans. Most of the ingredients of the potion
were common, but most potions brewers wouldn't think to add them in
the order the book recommended, because they were explosive when
mixed. The book recommended a magic-infused base that would get
around that, though, and Harry knew where a few other useless, pretty
artifacts were stored in Silver-Mirror that could give him the magic
he needed. "Yes."</p><p>Snape sighed, but
said, "Then go and begin your brewing, I suppose."</p><p>Harry wondered out of
the room, still reading the instructions for the potion. But, perhaps
because he had had practice before in handling one overriding problem
while sparing some time for others, he did make himself a note. <em>Send
an owl to Gollrish Y Thie. Get Joseph here to help Snape.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco was extremely
frustrated. Today was the day he had planned to push, break some of
Harry's barriers, and make him relax, but he couldn't <em>find</em>
him.</p><p>He had used the
morning to good effect, writing his contacts in the Ministry, and
even some of those more responsible to his father, and playing on the
power of his name and his closeness to Harry to ask them to look
carefully at the Ministry's anti-werewolf—and
anti-Harry—politics. But then he had gone down for lunch, and he
couldn't find Harry. None of the werewolves who would talk to him
had seen him, either. Peter was busy practicing Animagus training
with Connor, and they were both annoyed with Draco for interrupting
them when Connor had been about to see his silhouette. Draco
privately thought Potter was just being a whiny little brat, as
usual, and hadn't been anywhere ready to see it.</p><p>It finally occurred to
Draco that he might not be at Cobley-by-the-Sea, but in one of the
other Black houses. He hastened to the library Harry had set up with
Floo connections to all four houses, trying to think. Where would he
go?</p><p>Probably not Wayhouse,
he thought. There was no one there, and the house's temperament was
so uncertain that Harry had specifically said he didn't want to
visit for a while.</p><p>Not Grimmauld Place,
either. Draco was sure that Snape would have been fuming in that
case, over Harry going to talk to Lupin.</p><p>He cast a handful of
Floo powder into the flames and announced, as confidently as he could
given that he'd just reasoned it out, "Silver-Mirror!"</p><p>The flames turned
green, and Draco hopped in. Briefly, he was whirled around, and then
flung out into the main hall of the house, beneath the golden
fire-pool. Draco blinked and looked around. He had expected Harry to
be in front of the pictures, perhaps pacing, staring at them moodily,
and wondering when Regulus would reappear. That would have been a
perfect time for Draco to try and break him out of his brooding.
Being teased about said brooding tended to do that to Harry.</p><p>Instead, the hall was
empty, but Draco could hear low muttering and fussing coming from a
side door, one that didn't lead to the wind-pool. He walked over to
it and peered carefully around it.</p><p>Harry was sorting
through a pile of tiny treasures, spoons and statuettes and coins and
others that Draco knew no one would have looked at twice if they
didn't tremble with magical power. In most cases, though, the
spells on them were minor, nothing more than a charm to make them
brighter and more polished, or cast a mild illusion that might
entertain a child for a few minutes. Harry had had them all piled
here after the Midsummer battle, Draco knew. He wanted the treasures
he could drain to restore the former Squibs all in one place.</p><p>Now, though, he had a
cauldron set up beside him, boiling with water and smelling of
hedgehog quills and something else that Draco couldn't immediately
identify. Draco frowned. <em>Is he actually planning to melt some of
those treasures? Why? What would he use molten silver for?</em></p><p>Suddenly Harry gave a
small noise of satisfaction and stood up, a tiny mirror in his hand.
He breathed on it, and then nodded at whatever he saw there; Draco
couldn't see from this angle. He stared, and then Draco felt the
pull as he used his <em>absorbere</em> gift on the mirror, drawing the
magic from it.</p><p>Draco shuddered. <em>He's
making a potion that uses a lot of magic? What is it? And I wonder if
he's thought that turning all the Black treasures into useless
trinkets isn't a good idea? I know he doesn't value them, and
Regulus doesn't care, but someone else might.</em></p><p>"Harry?" he asked.</p><p>Harry jumped, but not
as badly as Draco thought he should have. Instead, he just glanced
up, gave a distracted little, "Hmmm," and looked back at the
mirror. Then he nodded, dropped it, and walked across to the
cauldron. Draco smelled a gush of rose scent as Harry poured the
magic into the potion. It paused for a moment, then began bubbling
more enthusiastically.</p><p>"What are you
doing?" Draco asked, coming further into the room.</p><p>"Starting to brew a
potion that I hope will be a cure for lycanthropy," Harry said, as
calmly as if he did this every day. He turned and picked up a book
lying next to the cauldron. Draco recognized it from the shape of the
spine alone. He'd spent two months carrying that book around and
staring into it every day. And in the end, he'd summoned the ghost
of his ancestor and received—well, empathy, yes, but also a glimpse
of how very wrong everything could have gone.</p><p>"Harry," he
hissed. "Why on earth are you using <em>that</em> book?"</p><p>"Because it's the
only one that might tell me the recipe," Harry said absently, and
flicked a page over. "And the cure is the one part of this process
I can really control, at least until Fred and George set up a means
of contacting Scrimgeour through Percy. And I want to be able to do
<em>something</em> for the werewolves, not just sit around and be a
pack leader in a few isolated houses. Once I go back to Hogwarts, I
won't be able to do even that." He looked up, blinking. "This
potion will take some months to brew, but that's under normal
working times. If I concentrate those months into a few weeks of
intense effort, then—"</p><p>"You'll be needed
to do other things!" Draco came a step forward, vibrating with
indignation. <em>I can't believe that Snape would be so stupid as to
give him that book. </em>"I could barely concentrate on anything
else while I was brewing that potion to summon Julia Malfoy. What
makes you think you'll be able to?"</p><p>"You could still do
your schoolwork and argue with me." Harry didn't sound concerned.
"I can keep up, Draco. But I had this idea from my dreams, and I
finally remembered where I'd seen a book with a title like that
when I woke this morning. This is a way to do it." He smiled at
Draco. "I accepted the compulsion willingly. It's not going to
hurt me."</p><p>Draco shook his head,
hardly able to find the words. <em>He knows how many different things
he has to concentrate on, and then he goes and does—this. I suppose
he does think that he'll be able to brew the potion and still do
other things. He isn't the kind of person to just abandon his
responsibilities.</em></p><p><em>But he won't be
able to. </em>Draco shuddered. His memories of the compulsion creeping
into his brain were two years old now, but when he thought of it,
they came curving back, cold fingers stroking his thoughts, twisting
them in all kinds of different directions. <em>And I think I wanted to
be my family's magical heir less than Harry wants to find a cure
for lycanthropy. This is going to ride him, and he'll neglect his
Animagus training and his political commitments and breaking the
curses on his left wrist. </em></p><p><em>He'll neglect me.</em></p><p>Draco narrowed his
eyes. It seemed that his task of distraction was both more necessary
and harder than he'd thought. Harry had already turned away again,
murmuring to himself as he laid the book down and picked up what
looked like a salt cellar but was probably full of another
ingredient. The small golden specks that Harry added to the potion
with a delicate shake confirmed that.</p><p>"Harry," Draco
began.</p><p>Harry looked up from
the potion. "Hmmm?"</p><p>"I don't think you
should do this," said Draco. He glanced sideways at <em>Medicamenta
Meatus Verus. </em>He could almost feel the damn book smirking at him.
"And you can break the compulsion, I know you can. Breaking webs is
what a <em>vates</em> does."</p><p>Harry tilted his head
to the side. "But why should I want to break this? I want to find a
cure for lycanthropy, Draco, and this is my best chance to do so."</p><p>Draco came a step
forward. "But you could copy down the recipe and then break
yourself from the web."</p><p>"Snape said I
couldn't," said Harry, looking fretful. "Or the spell on the
book wouldn't work."</p><p>"So what?" Draco
demanded.</p><p>"Then I wouldn't
finish brewing this as fast as possible," said Harry, as if talking
to a child. "And I do want to finish it." He turned around and
faced the cauldron again, this time adding what looked like the edge
of a swan feather. The cauldron gave a contented gurgle which didn't
comfort Draco at all.</p><p>"This is stupid,"
said Draco, deciding to be blunt. "You made another
spur-of-the-moment decision, and you think that you should finish
this because you haven't achieved a victory in a while."</p><p>Harry jumped. Then he
turned around again, and Draco saw that the words had pierced through
his compulsion. Harry didn't like to consider that his motives
behind making this choice weren't purely altruistic. But he <em>did
</em>want to break another web or brew a potion that would cure
lycanthropy to show that not all his victories were compromises like
showing the Pensieve memories were. Draco was convinced of it. Harry
could be selfish and short-sighted, too.</p><p>"That's not true,"
Harry said, but his eyes were narrowed, and his magic soared up
around him enough that the room reeked of roses. "I'm not doing
this just to gratify myself."</p><p>"No, but you are
frustrated," said Draco. Someone else might have been standing
behind him and whispering the words into his ear. He could see the
pattern Harry had fallen into over the last few days since the
festival now, and wanted to kick himself for not seeing it
beforehand. "The festival didn't go the way you wanted, with
Falco Parkinson showing up and then escaping, and the Pensieve
memories not birthing a movement against the Unspeakables. Then you
spent time with your brother, and that didn't go the way you
wanted, either. And then the <em>Vox Populi</em> came along, and while
you delegated me to deal with it, you didn't anticipate it, and
that makes you angry. You're trying for something you think will
enable you to make a definite step forward. And maybe it <em>will,
</em>Harry, but you can't afford to do nothing else for a few weeks.
Which that damn thing will make you do." He scowled at the book.</p><p>"I am not angry,"
said Harry, while behind him a pile of small Black artifacts
rearranged itself for no apparent reason.</p><p>"Of course you
aren't," said Draco, with a tolerant smile. "And Snape isn't
maddened by the presence of werewolves in the house right now."</p><p>Harry opened his mouth
to counter that, but closed it with a growl. He then shut his eyes
and took a few deep breaths.</p><p>Draco didn't want to
give him time to recover himself. He might decide that continuing on
with the book and the madness and the potion was a good idea, and
Draco didn't want that. He could feel the same excitement that he'd
discovered this morning at the thought of provoking Harry welling up.
He would get out of this what he wanted and Harry what he needed.
Pointing out that Harry was stupid to make the same mistake he'd
made was just an extra.</p><p>"He isn't thinking
about them by driving himself into brewing," said Draco. "But he
can afford that, because no one is looking towards him to lead them.
You're in the opposite situation, sorry, Harry. And it was your own
choices that put you there. You were so philosophical about that with
the <em>Vox Populi</em>, that people wouldn't do just what you wanted
them to do. And now you're already running away from it? You expect
everyone to pause while you brew this potion?"</p><p>The wall behind Draco
turned to ice, and a spoon <em>pinged</em> as it was bent out of shape.
Draco wished it hadn't. Harry looked towards the sound, and his
face went ashen. He shook his head and closed his eyes, and the smell
of roses palpably sank.</p><p>"I can't afford to
argue with you about this, Draco," he said softly. "I have to—"</p><p>"Do other things, I
know," said Draco, with a nod. Harry opened his eyes hopefully, and
Draco used his words to hit him between them. "You have to run away
from your responsibilities. You have to subject yourself to
compulsion from a book you should know better than to trust, after
what it did to me. You have to make sure that you do something
concrete, even though no one is demanding that lycanthropy cure from
you right now. You have to pretend that you're still only a
political nonentity, and what you choose to do with your time is your
choice. Meanwhile, you deny yourself the right to get angry over
something like the <em>Vox Populi</em>, and you assume that you're at
fault in that prank, when it was your brother."</p><p>Harry swallowed and
closed his eyes again. "Draco, stop it," he whispered.</p><p>Draco paused and
studied him. He frowned. <em>He's far closer to the edge than I
thought. I wonder how much time he did spend sleepless because of
guilt, not because I wasn't there? </em></p><p>And then his
uncertainty fed back into his anger and his determination. <em>If he
couldn't sleep because of guilt over that stupid prank, then he
lied to me. He should know better than to do that.</em></p><p><em>Besides, it's a
service for me to tip him off this edge. If I don't, then who knows
when he might fall and shatter? At least this is a point when people
aren't expecting that much from him—and if I can get him to
release all this anger and guilt and whatever else is befouling him,
then he'll only handle what comes after this better.</em></p><p>Draco wrapped the
whole gift to himself with a bow of self-interest. <em>And I'm not
frightened by his anger. Quite the opposite. </em>He felt a pull low
in his groin at the thought, and went back to work on Harry.</p><p>"You're setting
yourself up to fall again, you know," he told Harry
conversationally. "You've done quite well for the last little
while, but now you're retreating into old, and stupid, behaviors.
Yes, let's put the <em>vates</em> under a compulsion, that's a
wonderful idea. If you're an idiot who thinks he has to keep doing
favors for others or people won't love him."</p><p>Harry gave a huge,
jolting flinch that shook his entire body. "Stop it," he said.
"That's not what I think."</p><p>"Yes, it is," said
Draco, quick to follow things up now. He could feel the momentum in
the room shifting, changing, charging forward, and he didn't dare
lose it. "You accept that we love you, Snape and me and your
brother—I wonder if you accept it from anyone else?—but you still
think that you need to come up with <em>reasons</em> that we should
love you. You still avoid letting us know when you're angry and
trampling on our wills, and not just because of the <em>vates</em>
idea. How many times have you smoothed anger back into the depths
because you thought we would hate you if you said what you really
thought?"</p><p>That was too far,
deliberately too far, and Draco knew it. Harry's back stiffened
with outrage. Two spoons rose from their pile and sped past Draco, to
clatter against the wall next to him. He didn't flinch, for a
simple reason: he wasn't afraid.</p><p>Harry was getting
angry, and the anger was a magnificent sight. Draco wished that Harry
could see himself in it; then he wouldn't have asked that stupid
question the other day, about whether Draco physically desired him,
or only wanted emotional intimacy. His eyes were alight now, with
fire that he usually kept too carefully in check out of fear of his
magic, and a complex dark star spread out behind him, briefly forming
a pair of white-gold wings.</p><p>"I know you don't
hate me, and never will," Harry said, his voice low. "And I've
really changed in the Sanctuary, and I'm going to keep pushing
forward. I promised you that, Draco."</p><p>Draco looked at the
book and the cauldron, and raised one eyebrow. He really didn't
have to say anything else.</p><p>"This is a choice I
made that doesn't have <em>anything to do with you</em>," Harry
told him.</p><p>Draco wanted to cheer.
He didn't think he could yet, though. Harry wasn't really
listening to his own words. Let this drop, and he was too likely to
start castigating himself for saying such words at all. Harry made
too much of small rows and tiffs and insults, thinking that each was
a case of him stepping on someone else's free will.</p><p>"Yes, it does,"
said Draco. "Why is it that you never rest, Harry? Why is it that
you can't relax? Because the only kind of love you've ever been
comfortable with is conditional, and you believe that if you wait too
long, perhaps the people who love you will think you're lazy, and
shift their love somewhere else."</p><p>"That's <em>not
true!</em>" Harry's dark starburst spread a little further, and a
mirror shattered. Draco didn't even duck, because the glass pieces
were going the other way. Besides, ducking would also snap the mood.</p><p>"You set yourself
arbitrary time limits," Draco said. He gestured at the book and the
cauldron again. "At least, for those things that you do for other
people. You pushed away and ignored your own loss of a left hand for
as long as you could, because you didn't want to be thought selfish
and weak. You wanted to heal others' grief instead of looking at
your own, because Merlin knows that your own grief frightens you."</p><p>"Stop it!" Harry
was yelling now, his hand clenched. "I'm not afraid!"</p><p>"Yes, you are,"
said Draco, and found himself smiling. He thought he would have been
even if he didn't expect a certain very enjoyable result from
Harry's broken barriers. "The only times I've <em>ever </em>seen
your pain and your grief were when you literally couldn't hide them
anymore, Harry. Even in the Sanctuary, you kept most of it hidden
because you didn't want to interfere with my healing. Or that's
the excuse you gave. It's amusing, really. Other people curl up and
cry in fear when they hear someone say Voldemort's name. You curl
up and cry in fear because you think someone else might see you in
pain."</p><p>Harry snapped his hand
viciously sideways. Draco found himself unable to move as Harry
headed towards him, his eyes brighter than they had been. The
white-gold wings were dripping light, but kept resurrecting
themselves, stronger illusions on Harry's back each time. Draco was
definitely hard now, and more than ready. He wondered how much more
pushing it would take.</p><p>"That is not true,"
Harry hissed at him. "Take it back."</p><p>Draco raised his
eyebrows again. The magic was holding his jaw shut. Harry hesitated,
and Draco saw a hint of self-awareness creeping back into his eyes.
Any moment now, he was going to blame himself for expressing a
reasonable level of anger that he'd been provoked into.</p><p>Draco couldn't let
that happen.</p><p>He still had control
of his facial muscles, so he let a deliberately mocking look cross
his face, as much to say that he knew the truth when Harry didn't.</p><p>Harry stared at him,
and Draco felt the pressure of Legilimency. This was even <em>better.</em>
He let one thought sound over and over at the forefront of his mind,
so that Harry would be sure to hear it. <em>If you're really
overcome most of your training, as you've promised me you've been
trying to do, then I don't think your fear of bedding me has
anything to do with that. I think it's just fear.</em></p><p>Harry snapped.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry knew he ought to
be able to stop, to slow down. His magic was further out of control
than he had ever let it expand before, even when they rode back in
the carriage from the Sanctuary and Paton said he had felt it coming.
It was blooming and singing around him, and he knew that ought to
frighten him.</p><p>But those conclusions
were like words written on a page pinned on a wall across the room.
They might be true, but they couldn't touch him right now.</p><p>He just wanted to make
Draco <em>shut up</em> and stop saying things that weren't true. Of
<em>course</em> he believed that Snape and Draco and Connor loved him
unconditionally, of <em>course</em> he wasn't afraid like Draco was
insinuating he was—how <em>dare</em> he insinuate that!—and of
course he <em>did</em> feel guilty when he had a reason to and didn't
mope unreasonably.</p><p>And of course his
training was still there, and not just ordinary fear of bedding. So
he would prove to Draco that the training <em>was</em> still there.</p><p>He had the feeling
that there was a contradiction in his thoughts somewhere, a place he
couldn't quite touch.</p><p>He didn't care.</p><p>He let the magic go
and grabbed Draco's chin in his hand, growling again in annoyance
at the lack of a second one. He had to correct that soon, he thought
muzzily. For now, his chest was hot and tight and fell smaller on the
bottom than the top, and his thoughts leaped and careened and ran in
strange directions, but the main center of them was always the same:
<em>proving Draco wrong.</em></p><p>He kissed Draco, more
roughly than he'd ever dared to before, because he had always been
afraid that if he did, he would hurt him, he was so much the
stronger—</p><p>Except that that
couldn't be true, because he <em>wasn't</em> afraid. And so he
would kiss Draco hard and even <em>bite</em> him if he wanted, because
Draco wasn't afraid of him, and he should be, and Harry wanted to
show him just how <em>wrong</em> he was.</p><p>Draco moaned. Harry
didn't think that was supposed to happen. He didn't have much
time to think about it, though, because Draco, since he was no longer
being pinned against the wall, had leaned forward, one hand in the
center of Harry's chest, and shoved him backwards, and Harry went
half-sprawling, and he rolled over and came up to one knee in the
coins, because, damn it, he wasn't <em>done</em>.</p><p>He didn't use his
magic to stop or slow Draco down as Draco sprang at him, though,
because why should he? He didn't need to. He was going to show
Draco that he was <em>wrong</em>, because any moment his training would
kick in and push him away screaming, and that meant Draco would see
that Harry really had struggled to overcome it and hadn't been able
to.</p><p>He would be <em>wrong</em>.</p><p>Harry thought it was
very important to remember that, so he clung to it even as the rest
of his thoughts scattered like small startled birds, because Draco
was straddling him, and Harry was gasping because he hadn't known
the jut of hipbone digging into his belly could feel <em>good</em>.
Then Draco leaned down and kissed him again, and Harry found out that
he liked teeth clashing together, even when it was outside battle or
Draco convincing him to go to the Sanctuary.</p><p>But any moment his
training would hurt him and he would win anyway, so he felt it safe
to kiss back, letting a flood of hot wetness that was certainly
partly blood run through his mouth, and then roll over so that Draco
dropped, shocked, onto the floor beside him. Harry reached out and
raked the air with his fingers, and Draco's shirt and trousers
parted into neat strips of cloth that fell to the floor. Draco
blinked, looking entirely taken aback for a moment.</p><p>"Didn't think
someone who was afraid would do <em>that</em>, did you?" Harry asked,
and then his eyes took over from his mouth and he shut up for a
moment. Draco actually looked…well, he looked much better than
Harry had expected him to look for someone with the training he had,
because, obviously, someone with the training he had couldn't
expect to be normal and couldn't take a lover.</p><p>But he looked really,
really good, and Harry found that he <em>wanted</em> to kiss Draco
somewhere other than on the mouth. He crossed the floor between them
while Draco was still blinking, and he didn't remember if he did it
on hands and knees, or if he got up and ran. It didn't matter,
because any moment the training would kick in.</p><p>He rolled to a stop
beside Draco and fastened his mouth roughly on his chest, licking and
biting again, and determined to find a place on Draco that would do
what the place on his neck did to him. It was not <em>fair</em> that
Draco knew about that place on his neck. Sensitive ears as revenge
didn't really count, because <em>everyone</em>, practically, had
sensitive ears.</p><p>Draco cried out
abruptly when Harry licked one of his nipples, and Harry thought he'd
found the place. But, really, just having something in his mouth
didn't prove the point, because then he couldn't talk, so he
swung a leg over Draco's hips and straddled him in turn, and
reached down to Draco's groin. That meant he removed his hand from
Draco's chest and so couldn't hold him down anymore, but Harry
thought he probably wouldn't want to move away. At least, if the
way that Draco gasped and then twitched in his hand was any
indication.</p><p>Harry hummed in
satisfaction and stroked Draco more firmly. His magic was leaping
around them in dizzying, twisted, brilliant patterns. Harry thought
he saw it create a bolt of lightning out of the corner of his eye,
and a pair of entwined figures who looked like him and Draco, but
then he let most of his attention go back to what he was doing.</p><p>There was so much
<em>heat</em>, engulfing heat like the second real kiss he'd shared
with Draco, when he came out of the Maze in Lux Aeterna alive, as if
they were standing in the middle of the summer sunlight. Harry could
taste salt and sweetness in his mouth, and his head shone with fog
and sun and fog and sun in alternating patterns, and he was rolling
his own hips now, in motions that vaguely surprised him, because
surely someone who'd had the training he'd had would not know how
to do that.</p><p>He found himself
pressing firmly against Draco, so firmly he hurt his own wrist where
he was stroking Draco, pinning his hand between their bodies. And he
regretted not having a second hand more than ever, because now Draco
was writhing around and making noises. Harry quite liked the
noises—even if half of them sounded like abbreviated versions of
his own name and the other half were variations on <em>Fuck</em>—but
the writhing made it difficult for him to keep doing what he wanted
to do, which was stroke and pull and press down.</p><p><em>He should know to
hold still, </em>Harry thought, somewhere in the fog-dazzled
confusion. <em>I know how to hold still, and if I know how to do it,
then he ought to know how to do it.</em></p><p>The sun broke through
the fog again as Draco shuddered abruptly against him, and Harry felt
his hand grow warmer. He blinked, and stared at Draco, and the way
his face had gone slack with pleasure, his eyelids fluttering in
regular contractions, his mouth gasping in air, and he thought,
<em>Merlin, I made him feel that good? </em>There was genuine wonder in
his thoughts. Harry thought the wonder would last.</p><p>It didn't. He'd
lifted his head from Draco's chest, and as if that had drawn
Draco's attention, he opened his eyes and rolled Harry over with
unexpected strength. Then Harry found himself with his trousers
tugged open and then his pants, as if Draco didn't care about all
the work he'd done that morning putting them on, and then a hand
grabbed hold of <em>him</em>, and all the tightness and heat rushed
from his lower chest to his groin, and wonder had a different
meaning.</p><p>"Wish I had you
naked," Draco snarled at him. "<em>Should</em> have, if you had
done this like a normal person." Harry wondered what he was
babbling on about as his head rolled back and he heard his breath
coming in short, sharp gasps and his hair rasped against his cheeks
and he found himself pressing his hips up in irregular jabs. "Saw
you naked once already, though," Draco added inanely. "It'll
have to do for now."</p><p>And on <em>now</em> he
gave one hard tug, and Harry cried out as pleasure hit him like Light
magic, rich and rolling and white-gold, and ripped him away from the
world for at least a few moments.</p><p>He kept waiting for
the training to appear. It never did.</p><p>He came back to
himself slowly, with the sense that he needed to collect bits and
pieces which had never broken free from him before. He found Draco
sitting beside him, staring into his face.</p><p>He didn't look as if
he'd lost, even though Harry had proven he wasn't afraid. He
looked very much as if he'd won something instead. He was trying to
be solemn, Harry thought, but a smirk tugged the corners of his mouth
up.</p><p>And it hit Harry,
then, what he'd done.</p><p>He shoved Draco, hard,
with his hand and his magic. Draco went over backwards, which was
happening a lot lately, and gave a wince when he landed. Harry
guessed that he'd finally managed to notice they were rolling
around on top of Black artifacts, something they'd both ignored
earlier. Harry thought he had a number of bruises and small cuts on
his own back and hips.</p><p>He didn't care. He
struggled against the lassitude in his muscles and the tangling of
cloth around his legs, and snarled, "I know what you did."</p><p>"And you're
angry?" Draco grinned at him.</p><p>Harry opened his mouth
to snap back, then paused. Either way he went, he realized, Draco had
won. Either he'd coaxed Harry into showing the anger he'd been
holding back on, or he was proving that he was right about Harry
being unwilling to express his anger.</p><p>"Damn it!" Harry
shouted, and scrambled away. He didn't even know how he felt
anymore. He should be angry at Draco for manipulating him, he knew
that, and part of him was, but when he looked over at the cauldron of
brewing potion and <em>Medicamenta Meatus Verus</em>, he wondered what
the hell he'd been thinking. Draco had reacted to stupidity with
provocation, the way Harry himself had done with Snape. And he should
be angry at Draco for lying to him, but Draco wouldn't repent for
that. He'd always cared less about it than Harry had, and in the
tradition of accepting allies with different morals than he had, he
couldn't insist that Draco change.</p><p>And Draco had made him
feel <em>so</em> good, even if what he felt right now was mostly messy
and sticky. He closed his eyes and shook his head. The little cuts
and bruises ached now. The cooling liquid on his leg felt disgusting.
The memory of how he'd refused to hold back anything, his magic or
his rawer instincts, was enough to make him worry for what could have
happened.</p><p>But he mostly wanted
to feel that pleasure again.</p><p>"Damn it!" he
yelled again.</p><p>Draco chuckled.</p><p>Harry opened his eyes
and glared at him. Nearly naked, his pants darkly splotched, his
blond hair going every which way and his face sweaty and pink, Draco
had still won.</p><p>"I grant you that
one," Harry said, knowing he should sound more upset, and not let
afterglow infuse his voice. "And I'll copy down the recipe and
then return the book to Snape."</p><p>Draco nodded, clearly
pleased.</p><p>Harry sighed. Maybe he
<em>should</em> be angrier, but he wasn't. And if he wasn't
angrier, then maybe—</p><p><em>Maybe no one has
the right to tell me I</em> should <em>be angrier.</em></p><p>That was a new
thought. Harry had spent so much time trying to learn how to be
normal and to see what he missed because of his training that he
hadn't considered that some of his own, non-normal reactions might
be all right.</p><p>He stood, slowly, and
cast a cleaning spell that left him considerably less sticky than
before, then pulled his pants up. He looked over at Draco, and found
his eyes lingering on him. Harry blushed.</p><p>"And <em>now</em> he
blushes," Draco said, as if making the observation to a third
person, unseen.</p><p>Harry shook his head,
and leaned against the wall, trying to work out how he felt other
than dizzy and angry and relaxed and good and—</p><p>And happy.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 20*: Another Visit to the Ministry</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen: Another Visit to the Ministry</strong></p><p>"Because I thought
you needed someone to help you."</p><p>Snape leaned forward
across the kitchen table. Harry simply watched him. He was grateful
that there were other people in the room: Trumpetflower, studiously
reading the <em>Prophet</em> and pretending the argument wasn't
happening; Rose, watering a plant she'd bought on her trip to
Muggle London; Connor, trying to describe hippocampi in a letter to
Parvati. It reminded Harry that other people could see his emotions,
if he let them escape his control. He did not let his hand tremble on
the cup of tea. He didn't let himself put down the cup of tea and
reach out to Snape.</p><p><em>He's suffering
enough already. If he doesn't care about embarrassing himself,
that's one thing. But I won't mortify him in front of others. </em></p><p>"I do <em>not </em>need
the Seer," Snape hissed.</p><p>Harry wondered,
distantly, if this was what it had been like for Snape and Draco,
when they thought he needed healing and he insisted he didn't. But
no frustration gripped his chest, the way it seemed to have happened
with them. All he felt was a general weariness, with determination
like sliding stone under that.</p><p>"Joseph agreed to
come," said Harry quietly. "He has as much right to be at
Cobley-by-the-Sea as you do. I can't force you to talk to him. You
asked me why I invited him. I answered. That's all."</p><p>"As much right as I
do?" Snape's face had gone white, leaving his eyes like staring
black coals. "So I am only as welcome a guest in your house as
others are?"</p><p>Harry could feel the
listening silence become <em>listening</em> silence. Trumpetflower no
longer turned the pages of the paper. Rose's murmuring to the
plant, which was withering in the sea air, had gone silent. Connor
held as still as if someone had just summoned a thestral.</p><p>Harry had already
decided on his response to things like this, or he might have sat
there and flushed. As it was, he felt dull heat creeping up his
cheeks, but he simply drained the last swallow of his tea, walked
over to the counter, and began running the water to clean the cup. He
was getting better with cleaning charms, but water still worked the
best.</p><p>"You did not answer
my question," Snape said to his back, his voice betrayed.</p><p><em>That's because I
was close to saying something I would regret. </em>Harry reminded
himself again that Snape was suffering. The dreams were taking their
toll on him nightly, but, judging from his reaction to what Harry had
said about his mother, he was <em>definitely</em> not in the mood to
discuss them with anyone else. He needed to know that Harry wouldn't
give up on him, but he didn't need poking and prodding. Harry would
walk away when he got angry.</p><p>"Most people are
welcome in Cobley-by-the-Sea," he said, when he knew that he could
keep his tone even. "People who swear to the Alliance. People who
don't, and who might be looking to become part of the Alliance.
People who need my protection, and wish to claim it." He turned
around, bracing his hand on the counter behind him, and looked up at
Snape. "People whom I love."</p><p>"You did not answer
my question," Snape repeated.</p><p>Harry shut his eyes
and turned away. Snape was a Legilimens, and still more skilled at
that than Harry was himself. He would see the rage if Harry met his
gaze much longer. He might already have noticed the small leak of
magic that made Harry's cup tremble.</p><p>He left, walking
upstairs to the bedroom he now shared with Draco. Draco was still
asleep, though—the only reason Harry had eaten breakfast without
him—so he leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths,
counting to ten in Mermish, an old distraction technique Lily had
taught him.</p><p>When he finished, he
had returned to a much calmer state, and told himself, again, that
Snape was suffering, but didn't want to talk about his suffering.
Joseph was in the same house with him now, calm and patient, and not
engaged with as many different tasks as Harry was. Harry hoped he
could delegate the actual handling of Snape to him, since Snape had
made it clear how unwelcome his ward's inquiries were. Joseph would
not give up.</p><p>He pushed open the
door. Draco sighed and rolled over, then abruptly sat up, as if
missing Harry's warmth in the bed, and blinked at him. A moment
later, he snorted.</p><p>"Went to breakfast
without me?"</p><p>Harry felt his face
relax into a grin, almost against his will. "Did lots of things
without you," he agreed in an appropriately solemn tone. "Woke
up, breathed, showered, ate breakfast."</p><p>"I might have shared
in the shower, at least." Draco's voice was low and teasing in a
way Harry had never heard it before. He flushed, but he didn't
think it was as much as he would have at one point. He shook his head
in wonder. <em>Trust this to be the most comfortable bond I have at
this point, rather than the most awkward.</em></p><p>"True," Harry
said. Draco's eyes brightened, and Harry laughed at him. "But
since sex appears to drive most other thoughts out of your head, I
did want to know what you were mumbling about last night. Something
about Unspeakables and a paper?"</p><p>"Yes." Draco
leaned forward, obviously trying not to just eye Harry's chest,
covered by a shirt though it was. Harry sat down on the bed to make
it easier for Draco to focus on his face. Draco blinked and did so.
"The Minister still hasn't contacted you?"</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"No. And Fred and George seemed convinced that no one could detect
the messages they passed to Percy. They were sending them disguised
as pranks. Anyone who asks will think Fred and George just don't
like their brother."</p><p>"Then I think he's
either not going to say anything to you about the Unspeakables, or
the Unspeakables themselves are interfering," said Draco
decisively.</p><p>Harry frowned. "You
don't know that."</p><p>Draco gave him a
pitying glance. "Harry, don't you know <em>anything?</em> In
politics, there's no such thing as an innocent silence. You hadn't
had <em>any</em> post from the Minister at all, and given what you said
happened to you in his Ministry, you should have. Certainly he
wouldn't approve of his own employees attacking you. And if he
didn't believe you at all, he should have demanded an apology. The
story is spreading now; I received an owl from Mother yesterday that
said she heard of it among people who weren't at your festival. So
he should have responded, and he hasn't. I think someone's
interfering with his letters. And yours."</p><p>Harry gnawed his lip.
"And you think I should draw him out somehow? But if the
Unspeakables are really interfering, how? They can stop information
from reaching him in the Ministry far more easily than I can convey
it."</p><p>"Do something that
he won't have any <em>choice</em> but to respond to," Draco said.
"Write an article about the attack under your own name."</p><p>Harry nodded slowly.
"And you think the <em>Prophet</em> would print that?"</p><p>Draco raised his
eyebrows. "Who said anything about the <em>Prophet?</em> I was
thinking of sending it to the <em>Vox Populi</em>, Harry."</p><p>"That wouldn't
work. No one would believe anything that anyone said in there,"
Harry said in disgust.</p><p>Draco gave a little
half-smile. "You'd be surprised. Besides, if your name appears
with the article, then it would be a simple matter for you to disavow
it if it really wasn't yours. But <em>claiming</em> it? I think that
will make a difference. And you heard Hornblower babbling on. He'd
be glad to do you the favor."</p><p>"Maybe," said
Harry, still unconvinced. "Why would that draw the Minister into
responding where nothing else would, though?"</p><p>"Because, so far, no
name has appeared, and the <em>Prophet</em> hasn't carried a story
about it," said Draco. "And because he knows that you'd be
protesting if your name was used without your permission—no matter
how many people decided to disbelieve you. Your name appears, you
support it, and he'll know that it's either true or the person
who wrote the article has your permission. I think either would worry
him, given what power the Boy-Who-Lived can command. So he'll
contact you."</p><p>"At the least, I
suppose it would make an interesting experiment to see what he does
when an article like that gets published," Harry said slowly.</p><p>Draco gave him a feral
smile. "Exactly."</p><p>"Right then," said
Harry, and leaned forward to clap Draco on the shoulder. "I'll
write it. Want to give me a hand?"</p><p>This time, he was the
one who blushed, in the face of Draco's delighted laughter.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry blinked when a
gray-and-black-spotted owl hurtled through the window of
Cobley-by-the-Sea that very evening. He had thought Hornblower would
take some time to read his article and get back to him; he must have
articles pouring in every day, judging by how thick the <em>Vox Populi</em>
was. But this owl had arrived just a few hours after he sent Hedwig
off.</p><p>The owl extended her
leg impatiently. Harry removed the message. It was brief enough,
thanking him for the truth and for letting his voice be heard, and
containing a payment of seventeen Sickles. Harry smiled and poured
the money through his fingers, feeling oddly proud. It was the first
money he had ever earned by simply <em>doing</em> something that wasn't
magical. The power of his name was undoubtedly why Hornblower had
agreed to print the article so fast, but that didn't matter. He had
still earned this.</p><p>"It'll be out in
tomorrow's paper?" Draco asked, leaning down to peer over his
shoulder.</p><p>Harry nodded. "And,
as you said, the Minister's response will be very interesting,"
he murmured. He was growing more and more concerned. Fred and George
had owled him earlier, insisting that they had sent several messages
to Percy, with codes that no one except those who were members of the
Weasley family could have figured out, and had yet to receive an
answer.</p><p><em>I doubt the
Unspeakables can control all the ways this article can reach him,
though, even if they are watching Percy's correspondence and the
</em>Prophet. <em>People will talk about this even if Scrimgeour thinks
the </em>Populi <em>is nothing more than rubbish.</em></p><p><em>Your move,
Minister.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus sighed and sat
down slowly at his desk. It was only seven-o'clock, and he'd been
in the Ministry for two hours already. He'd spent an hour and a
half of that arguing against giving the Department for the Control
and Suppression of Deadly Beasts new powers. He'd had unexpected
support from the Head of the Department for the Control and
Regulation of Magical Creatures, who didn't like the new Department
edging in on territory that Department nominally controlled, and
still Amelia had almost won.</p><p>Every time he needed a
reminder of how thin the ice he walked on was, someone was sure to
provide three.</p><p>He reached for his
teacup, and then an owl hurtled through his wards as if they weren't
there and landed on his desk. Old Auror instincts had Rufus leveling
his wand before he thought. The owl didn't move, though, simply sat
still and ruffled her feathers. Then she gave him an irritated look,
as much to demand where the owl treats and the admiration for her
were already.</p><p>Rufus narrowed his
eyes. "<em>Deprendo</em>," he said.</p><p>A mist of blue wavered
up from the owl's feathers in answer. Yes, she was a magical
construct, which explained how she had passed the wards, but didn't
explain where she was from. The gray feathers with black spots looked
vaguely familiar, but Rufus couldn't imagine what the pattern
signified.</p><p>He noticed that she
carried a thick coil of paper. Either it was a newspaper or a
wrapping of many papers around a threatening missive. Rufus didn't
laugh. It could be a Howler, but he had received worse things since
he became Minister.</p><p>He cast <em>Deprendo</em>
on the newspaper, too, but that was normal. Still, someone could have
woven the newspaper with a hidden hex. He floated it off the owl's
leg and spread it out in front of him, one hand ready to flick down
in the motion that would call the wards to his defense.</p><p>Nothing happened,
though. The newspaper unfolded, and Rufus could see the title and the
dancing Maenads on either side of it. He grimaced. He'd heard of
the <em>Vox Populi</em>—he had some of his own private spies, of
course, who informed him the instant anything likely to cause
enormous changes appeared in public—but he hadn't thought
Hornblower would dare to deliver a paper directly to him.</p><p>Then he saw the
headline.</p><p><strong><em>Boy-Who-Lived
Confirms Unspeakable Attack.</em></strong></p><p><em>By: Harry </em></p><p>Rufus shook his head
numbly. This—<em>wasn't</em> true. The <em>Vox Populi</em> had used
Harry's name without his permission, and he would be angry when he
heard. It might even break the cold silence with which he'd
answered every piece of correspondence that Rufus used to try and
reach him.</p><p>Nevertheless, he
leaned forward and read the article, fascinated to learn what this
unknown writer would dare to say. It was in first-person, presumably
to maintain the illusion that such a thing had really happened, and
ensnare those otherwise rational people who would believe that no one
but Harry could know all the details of such a thing.</p><p><em>I visited the
Ministry on August 8th, in order to try and gain
information on the anti-werewolf laws the Department for the Control
and Suppression of Deadly Beasts has passed. I ended up stumbling
unexpectedly into a trap much deeper than I had believed any were
laid. An Unspeakable pursued me out of the Department for the Control
and Regulation of Magical Creatures. He had a collar in his hand. I
believe he was planning to capture me.</em></p><p><em>I had wrapped
myself in a spell of my own creation which kept him from finding me
in the lift we rode together, but he stood in the doors of the lift
when they opened and held the collar towards my neck. I became
visible long enough to call for help and duck under his arm. However,
I quickly realized that the only person left in the Atrium who wasn't
an Unspeakable was the checkpoint witch on the gates. When I called,
she came running, but otherwise only Unspeakables closed in.</em></p><p><em>I protected Erica
when one of the Unspeakables would have grabbed her, erasing the hand
of the one who did so.</em></p><p>Rufus heard the paper
crumple, and realized he'd reached out and gripped the side, nearly
shredding it. He swallowed and eased his grasp as much as he could,
so that he could continue reading the article. But his heart was
beating much too fast, and his breathing was erratic, and he wanted
nothing so much as to firecall Harry—assuming he knew where Harry
was—and shout at him.</p><p><em>He used magic in
the Ministry. He used magic against my people.</em></p><p>He had known that, of
course, from hearing what the Unspeakables told him, and from what
they confirmed of a spell placed on Aurelius Flint, but hearing about
it secondhand and reading Harry's own not-even-apologetic account
of it were different things.</p><p>Then Rufus shook his
head. He'd fallen into the trap. Harry hadn't written the
article. Someone posing as him had. But he would definitely have to
speak to Harry, and soon, so they could correct this misconception
that might seriously hinder the ability of the Department of
Mysteries to continue working.</p><p>He went on reading
anyway, his eyes sliding down the words in fascination.</p><p><em>Erica and I then
ran for the lift that would transport us back to the entrance of the
Ministry. There were Unspeakables ahead of us as well as behind us,
however. One of them flung a Still-Beetle shell at me. The shell
contains the magic of a Lord-level wizard, and would have frozen me
to the ground, unless it was spelled to work as a Portkey. Then it
would have transferred me into a cell where the Unspeakables,
doubtless, could examine me at their leisure.</em></p><p>Rufus frowned. If that
was true…</p><p>But it wasn't true.
It was an article written by someone posing as Harry, in a newspaper
that would turn to rubbish, just like everything Hornblower touched
did. And if there <em>was</em> the slightest hint of truth to this,
then the Unspeakables who had attacked Harry were the same ones who
had frightened Amelia. No one could say who they were or what they
wanted yet. It was best to let their colleagues study and handle
them, rather than blame the whole Department of Mysteries for
something a few of them had done. Rufus knew Harry understood that.
He had insisted that not all werewolves be blamed for the actions of
one pack.</p><p><em>More proof that
this article-writer is not him, </em>Rufus thought, and continued to
read.</p><p><em>I used fire to
destroy the Still-Beetle shell before it hit me. The Unspeakable who
had flung the shell had a ring that absorbed the fire, however, so it
did not harm him. He next cast a small glass globe that appeared to
contain a rose, and rang with the magic of time. I swallowed the
magic, and broke the globe harmlessly. I do not know what it would
have done, but I believe it was another attempt to capture me. After
this, I locked my eyes on the Unspeakable and told him to move.</em></p><p><em>He did, and Erica
and I made it to the lift. However, the Unspeakable dipped his
fingers into what looked remarkably like a Pensieve filled with blue
liquid instead of silver, and spoke the single word, </em>"Obliviate."
<em>Though the liquid splashed on the floor far below the lift, it
still took Erica's memory of the event.</em></p><p><em>I felt the
compulsion to forget clawing at my own mind, but my will was strong
enough to throw it off. I am not sure if the Unspeakables believed
that I had forgotten as well, or if they were content to let me go
because they believed I could do nothing against them.</em></p><p><em>I can and will do
something against them. I have created multiple records of this
event, including Pensieve memories placed in the basin no later than
fifteen minutes after the chase was done. I have shown these memories
to those who attended a certain festival marking me as Black heir,
but I will show them to anyone who wishes to see. If someone owls me
with a certain public time and place, I will arrive, carrying the
basin with me.</em></p><p><em>Their greatest
weapon is secrecy, and the terror of secrecy—altered memories,
unknowable artifacts, the threat of vanishing into silence and never
coming out again. If we destroy those shadows, they must face us in
the light.</em></p><p>Rufus was almost
light-headed with relief by the time he finished. The unknown
article-writer had gone too far. He'd made claims that would be
impossible to back up. The moment someone asked to see the Pensieve
of memories of the attack, Harry would ask what he was talking about,
and that would be the end of that.</p><p>On the other hand, the
last lines concerned Rufus. Someone attacking the Unspeakables
because they practiced secrecy, and prying into the shadows around
them, would make it impossible for them to function. Rufus <em>knew</em>
that most of them were loyal; the Stone that chose them made certain
of that. Because a few had somehow managed to turn traitor was no
reason for the rest to suffer.</p><p>What would make it
worse was if <em>Hornblower</em> were to take it into his head to dig
through the shadows. Rufus had encountered the man before, in the
service of one fringe cause after another, though it had been three
years since the last time he had really moved. Hornblower believed
himself responsible to no one and nothing but the principles he had
adopted this month. He was like a terrier, too, and never let go as
long as there was something to be worried at.</p><p>Rufus looked
thoughtfully at the magical owl, which still sat preening itself on
his desk. "Can you carry a message for me?" he asked.</p><p>The owl looked up and
hooted at him.</p><p>Harry had ignored all
his owls so far, Rufus thought, as he reached for ink and parchment.
But he wouldn't ignore this one, not when he saw the message Rufus
had sent. It was simple—the false article torn free of the <em>Vox
Populi</em> and wrapped in an envelope, along with a piece of
parchment that said simply, <em>We need to talk.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"I am glad you
listened to sense," Draco said, as he flicked a mote of dust from a
sleeve Harry did not believe actually had dust on it.</p><p>"I try," Harry
muttered. He'd had a short argument with Draco first, of course,
because he had feared that going into the Ministry with too large an
entourage—an entourage that included werewolves—would smell of
intimidation to Scrimgeour. But Draco had pointed out that the last
two times he'd been in the Ministry, someone had attempted to kill
or capture him. Harry had said that more people around him wouldn't
prevent that, and besides, he would feel compelled to defend them
all.</p><p>Draco had <em>looked</em>
at him until Harry admitted that most of those he would take along
were capable of defending themselves, and that, apart from a few
communication spells to ask Hawthorn, Adalrico, Peter, and Narcissa
if they would mind coming with him, was that.</p><p>They stepped out of
the lift and moved towards the Minister's office. Harry hadn't
replied to Scrimgeour's owl; he'd simply appeared, and
deliberately brought along people who wouldn't mind waiting hours
if Scrimgeour couldn't see him right away. He didn't want any
more post intercepted by silent enemies he was sure, now, must be the
Unspeakables. There was no one else who would have both the interest
and the undetectable methods to keep Percy from contacting his
brothers, or to isolate the Minister and Harry from one another.</p><p>Harry turned the
corner into the final hallway that led to the office, and saw Wilmot,
as well as an Auror he didn't know, guarding Scrimgeour's door.
They straightened at the sight of him. Harry gave a soft snort. He
didn't believe they hadn't known he was coming. Messages had
presumably raced through the Ministry the moment Harry came in with
twenty people surrounding him.</p><p>"The Minister has
visitors," said the Auror Harry didn't know, a small, prim woman
whose severe hair and brown eyes reminded him of Vera. Vera, of
course, had never looked that unsympathetic, or had that tight a grip
on her wand.</p><p>"We'll wait,"
said Harry politely.</p><p>"On what?" the
Auror demanded.</p><p>Adalrico was already
taking several small objects out of his pocket—crumpled pieces of
parchment and crumbs, mostly—and Transfiguring them into chairs.
One was large, elaborate, draped with banners of silver and green,
and took up half the hallway. Harry winced a bit, but he sat down
when Adalrico elaborately bowed him towards it, sneaking a glance at
the Auror. The look on her face was priceless.</p><p>"On these," Harry
said, and noticed that the other chairs Adalrico had Transfigured, he
gave to the werewolves. He felt a wave of warmth that burned up the
embarrassment of a few moments before. If anyone walked past and
noticed that the people sitting down, except for Harry, had amber
eyes, while the pureblood wizards remained on their feet, that should
tell them where this particular delegation stood.</p><p>"And how long do you
intend to wait?" The Auror had recovered herself quickly, Harry had
to give her that. Her hold on her wand had increased, though, to the
point where her knuckles were the color of milk.</p><p>Harry shrugged. "Until
the Minister is done speaking with his other visitors. I didn't
tell him I was coming, so of course I didn't have an appointment."</p><p>The Auror stared.
Harry ignored her, and turned to Narcissa, who was examining the size
of the hallway with a cool, appraising gaze. Harry smiled. "Not as
big as the entrance hall in Malfoy Manor?"</p><p>"Truly," Narcissa
murmured, "if things had been different, Lucius might have been
Minister. I was estimating the number of ways this hallway could be
improved. There are not many. The Ministry has always been grim."
She cocked her head to the side, and a faint smile touched her lips.
"Grim would suit Lucius, but he would demand an environment more
imposing, I'm sure."</p><p>Harry snorted. Lucius
was supposedly working on a very important project at which he
couldn't be disturbed. If it was anything like his other important
projects, it would end in a few months and never be spoken of again.</p><p>He glanced up as he
realized someone was missing. Narcissa still examined the walls.
Adalrico had Transfigured his last chair and stepped back with a
flourish. Hawthorn, wearing a slight glamour charm that made her eyes
appear hazel instead of hazel-tinted amber, was quietly speaking with
one of the werewolves about Wolfsbane. The rest of the pack lounged
on chairs as if they couldn't believe their luck. And Draco had
moved up to stand at the arm of Harry's seat.</p><p>Harry frowned. <em>Where's
Peter?</em></p><p>He saw a flash of gray
along the wall near the Aurors' feet, and sighed. Peter had slipped
into rat form and gone ahead. Harry knew he had to trust him to take
care of himself—that was something he really needed to learn—but
he couldn't help thinking the Minister's office might have wards
on it that would imprison or hurt Animagi. His hand absently rubbed
the stump of his left wrist.</p><p>Wilmot and the
suspicious Auror showed no sign of noticing that something was wrong,
and shortly, because he was looking for it and for no other reason,
Harry saw the small gray shape returning. Peter slid round the far
corner behind Adalrico and then came strolling back a moment later,
as though he had arrived to join the group late.</p><p>His eyes found
Harry's, and he mouthed a single word.</p><p><em>Gray.</em></p><p>Harry hissed beneath
his breath. That meant Unspeakables were in Scrimgeour's office
right now, dressed in gray cloaks.</p><p>He swallowed his anger
and agitation. He had expected this might happen, after all;
Unspeakables were stopping Scrimgeour's post. He was here, and if
the Unspeakables attacked him here, they were going to face much more
serious opposition than they had when he was alone or only with
Erica. He forced his hand to relax and his magic, which had been
rising around him, to sink back into silence, folded around him like
cloth. He reminded himself to thank Snape for teaching him
Occlumency, again; it helped him weight and sink his emotions, and it
might be a tiny positive thing that would help rebuild the trust that
had broken between them again with Harry's comments about Snape's
mother.</p><p>Draco's hand
tightened on his shoulder. "Unspeakables are here?" he breathed,
so softly that the Aurors on Scrimgeour's door had no chance of
hearing. Harry wondered if the wards he suspected the Unspeakables
had strung throughout the Ministry would listen in, however.</p><p>"Yes, they are,"
said Harry.</p><p>Draco said nothing. He
leaned against the wall and closed his eyes instead. Then his hand
fell limp on Harry's shoulder.</p><p>Harry restrained his
agitation again. Draco had gone hunting with his possession gift. He
was doing what Harry had <em>asked</em> of him. Harry could not, and
would not, interfere, no matter how worried he was for Draco's
safety in the minds of people who had things like the <em>Obliviate</em>
Pensieve. He sat still and relaxed, and watched the bag that hung
casually off Camellia's left shoulder.</p><p>Draco tapped his
fingers on the side of Harry's neck much sooner than Harry would
have expected. "Two of them in there," Draco murmured, again
barely moving his lips. "Just telling the Minister that they know
some of their own attacked you, but those are renegades from the rest
of the Department of Mysteries, and what they need is undisturbed
time to investigate the matter within their own ranks. They're
having to work hard to convince him," he added. "I think
Scrimgeour thought the article was entirely false."</p><p>Harry glanced at the
bag hanging from Camellia's shoulder again. It contained Snape's
Pensieve, and the memories. Draco followed his gaze, and a strangely
feral expression overcame his face. Harry thought he'd seen the
same expression in the eyes of wolves hunting deer.</p><p>Then he was trying to
remember where he had seen pictures of wolves hunting deer, and thus
missed Scrimgeour's door opening.</p><p>"The Minister will
see you now," Wilmot announced a moment later, and Harry saw a
flash of red hair disappearing back into the office; Percy must have
come out and told him.</p><p>Harry rose, darting a
glance at Draco. Draco grimaced and shook his head, eyes saying
clearly that if the Unspeakables hadn't come out of the office,
then Harry shouldn't enter it.</p><p>Harry shrugged back.
If the Unspeakables attacked him in front of the Minister, he had no
compunctions about using his magic to defend himself. And he didn't
think Percy and Scrimgeour would try to lure him into a trap, which
meant the Unspeakables had probably gone out a different way.</p><p>Draco hesitated, then
nodded, but positioned himself at Harry's right shoulder. Harry had
no objection to that.</p><p>Wilmot and the other
Auror crossed their wands, though Wilmot looked regretful about it.
"You're the only person whom the Minister wants to speak with,
Harry," Wilmot said.</p><p>Harry spent a moment
looking into his eyes. Wilmot turned his head just slightly aside, as
most of the werewolves tended to do when fixed with a challenging
stare. Harry didn't think he was treacherous.</p><p>He took Draco's hand
and squeezed his wrist, hard, then cast a nonverbal Summoning Charm.
The bag on Camellia's shoulder flipped open, and the Pensieve
skimmed out and towards him. The female Auror jerked and shot a
<em>Stupefy</em> at the Pensieve that Harry made it duck so as to miss.</p><p>"Nervous?" Harry
asked.</p><p>"I wonder why?"
Draco asked, giving the words a particularly nasty twist that Harry
knew he must have learned from his father.</p><p>"You can't take
that in there," the female Auror told him, as the Pensieve settled
into Harry's arms.</p><p>Harry raised his
eyebrows. <em>When they push this far, it's time to push back. </em>"I've
been attacked twice in the Ministry," he said pleasantly. "I've
agreed to enter the Minister's office without anyone at my back.
Unless the Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly
Magical Artifacts That Look Just Like Pensieves has passed a new
edict barring them from the Minister's office, I <em>am</em> going to
take this inside so that he can see the memories of the second
attack."</p><p>"You can't," the
female Auror repeated stubbornly, but Scrimgeour's voice came from
inside, firm and final.</p><p>"Let him in, Hope."</p><p>Hope gave Harry a look
that said, "This isn't over." Harry gave her one back that he
wanted to say, "Of course it isn't, you're still alive," and
then passed her. He thought she recoiled. He didn't care enough to
keep watching her, though.</p><p>Scrimgeour still sat
behind his desk, the way he always had. A cup of tea stood near at
hand, and in front of him was spread the copy of the <em>Vox Populi</em>
that Harry supposed he had ripped the article out of. Or, no,
actually, he realized as he came nearer. This one was whole, with the
article he'd written on the front page.</p><p>"Harry," said
Scrimgeour, voice distant and neutral.</p><p><em>The Unspeakables
did get to him first, </em>Harry thought, but he was feeling
unnaturally calm, rather than angry. He'd started thinking this
morning, and each new "precaution"—the people here and talking
to Scrimgeour, that the Minister seemed to disbelieve in his account
of the attack altogether, the fact that he had a reason to think he
was in danger in the Ministry and still had to leave all his friends
behind—just tipped his thinking more and more in this new
direction. Scrimgeour was acting as if he didn't care what happened
to Harry; the Ministry, and its people, were more important.</p><p><em>I'm sure they
are, to him. But I no longer need to bend over backwards to
accommodate every little sensitivity he has, if he won't show me a
moment's consideration.</em></p><p>"Minister," he
said, and sat down in the chair across from Scrimgeour. He could feel
Percy Weasley's intent gaze from the desk behind Scrimgeour's,
concealed under a ward. He subdued another rise of irritation, but
let the words accompanying the emotion through. <em>If he has to have
protection every moment of the day, why should I be treated any
differently? I know there are people who want me dead, even if some
of them are blind and wounded right now.</em></p><p>"I know the article
is false," Scrimgeour started. "I summoned you to discuss who you
thought might have the <em>gall</em> to do this using your name."</p><p>Harry half-lidded his
eyes and drowned his temper in another Occlumency pool. "There is
no trick, Minister," he said. "I wrote that article."</p><p>Scrimgeour's face
tightened. Then he said, "And I suppose that you'll tell me the
memories are in that Pensieve?" He nodded to it.</p><p>"Yes. So you can see
it for yourself." Harry braced the heavy basin with his left arm
and held it out. It sloshed, nearly sending some of the silver liquid
over the rim. Harry frowned. <em>I want a second hand.</em></p><p>Scrimgeour rapped his
fingers on the desk for a long moment. Then he said, "If you say
the attack happened, Harry, I believe you. But that leaves two things
for us to discuss." He leaned forward earnestly. "First of all,
you don't know who the Unspeakables who attacked you are. There's
reason to think a division in the Department of Mysteries has split
them into two factions, or even more. The ones who attacked you were
those who do want to see stricter anti-werewolf laws passed. But that
doesn't mean tarring all Unspeakables with the same brush is a good
thing, as you did in this article. That hinders the ability of the
loyalists to do their job, and sends the ones who did commit crimes
scuttling even deeper into their holes."</p><p>Harry imagined his
mind flooding with cool, calm silver, to hold back the frustration.
"And where did you hear about this division, Minister?"</p><p>Scrimgeour shook his
head. "I can't tell you that."</p><p><em>Unspeakables, then.
Poisoning the well. </em>"I couldn't see the faces of the ones who
attacked me," said Harry intently. "Unless you can suggest some
way to separate the traitors from the loyalists, I have no reason to
retract what I said." He paused, then added, "I notice the
Department of Mysteries didn't come forward to denounce what some
of their members had done."</p><p>"It's complicated,
Harry," Scrimgeour said. "I don't understand the full story
myself, but I don't think anyone does. The Department will
investigate it. I will ask you not to stir the pot further."</p><p>Harry smiled thinly.
"I can't promise that, Minister. I stir the pot just by
existing."</p><p>Scrimgeour took a deep
breath, and his bad leg moved in a spasm, as though it hurt. Harry
thought he was holding back frustration of his own. "The second
thing," he said, "is that you used magic against employees of the
Ministry."</p><p>Harry blinked for a
moment, then said, "Who were trying to capture me."</p><p>"You're still a
Lord-level wizard," said Scrimgeour. "And you're an <em>absorbere.
</em>It's magic that others can't do. You know how I feel about
that. Much as I felt about Dumbledore compelling my people, in fact."</p><p>"I saved one of your
employees, though I couldn't save her memory," Harry said.
"Doesn't that matter to you?"</p><p>"She's welcome to
return to work at any time," Scrimgeour said. "The word I
received was that she didn't come to work for several days, they
couldn't contact her, and she's been sacked."</p><p>"They couldn't
contact her because she fled from her flat," said Harry. "In
expectation that Unspeakables would come after her."</p><p>"Tell me where she
is now, then, and I'll tell—"</p><p>"I'm not going to
tell you that," said Harry softly. <em>Not when you had Unspeakables
in your office, and they're probably listening to us right now.
</em>"She's mine to protect."</p><p>"<em>Listen</em>,
Harry," Scrimgeour said. "The Department of Mysteries can't
just reveal their secrets like that. The Stone chooses 'em for
loyalty, and that's important. Even the traitors are acting in
accordance with the Stone's wishes, though they've misinterpreted
'em somehow. I can't destroy an entire Ministry Department
because it houses a few of my employees who haven't behaved as they
should, and I can't order a full investigation when it would
endanger the security of the British wizarding world."</p><p>"I understand,"
Harry said. "Likewise, I can't let people who turn to me for
protection be hurt and do nothing about it, and when attacked I will
defend myself."</p><p>Scrimgeour grimaced as
if he'd swallowed a lemon whole. "I am <em>asking</em>," he said,
"that you make a public statement acknowledging that there are some
mistakes in your account, and that you leave the Department of
Mysteries to punish its own, rather than dragging them into the
light, as you put it in your article."</p><p>Harry tilted his head.
"You fear the power of my name, don't you?"</p><p>"As you said, you
stir the pot just by existing," said Scrimgeour. "And they're
trying to find 'em, Harry—the traitors, I mean. But they don't
need this. Not now. And not from the Boy-Who-Lived."</p><p>"I said I would use
what power my reputation and my magic could give me, Minister,"
Harry said calmly. "And I am."</p><p>Scrimgeour stared at
him incredulously. "So you won't even give them a chance to solve
this on their own?"</p><p>"If they had come to
me themselves and explained the nature and manner of the problem?"
Harry laughed. "Of course I would. As matters stand, I have only
your word—and, I suppose, theirs—that the division exists at all.
For all I know, the whole Department of Mysteries does want to
capture me, and those who came after me were following the Stone's
orders. That doesn't even touch what they want with the werewolves.
I won't yield on this, sir."</p><p>Scrimgeour closed his
eyes and bowed his head. "That makes matters harder than you know,"
he said in a strained voice.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"I cannot tell you
that." Scrimgeour refused to look at him.</p><p>Harry raised an
eyebrow and stood. "Well. It seems that our communication problem
isn't going to be resolved after all. Good day, Minister." He
turned for the door.</p><p>"Harry. Wait."</p><p>Scrimgeour had been
one of his most trusted allies at one point—or, if not an ally, a
leader Harry could trust to defend his people—so he turned around.
Scrimgeour had a hand extended to him, and the expression of pleading
on his face made Harry's heart give a painful lurch.</p><p>"You are <em>vates</em>,"
Scrimgeour said. "Surely you can respect the free will of the
Ministry employees in this matter? Surely you can give the Department
of Mysteries a few more days?"</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"Their free will extends until the border at which they attack me,"
he said quietly. "And I no longer make excuses for my enemies,
Minister, any more than I doubt the abilities of my friends to fight.
It's insulting to do that, really. If someone tries to collar me or
tells me that he wants to bring me to trial for the death of his
child, I believe him."</p><p>He turned away and
stepped out through the door, brushing past Hope, who still stared at
him suspiciously. Wilmot's gaze, by contrast, was appealing.</p><p>Harry didn't meet
it. He wasn't Wilmot's alpha, and though he admired the man's
courage to walk above the abyss that the Ministry had become for
werewolves and still somehow hold his job, he couldn't spare Wilmot
the agony of decision. The Minister seemed determined to trust the
Department of Mysteries. Harry would not</p><p>He scanned his people
carefully, meeting pair after pair of eyes, and murmuring spells that
should let him detect any magic placed on them. He sensed nothing.
Harry relaxed a little.</p><p>"Nothing strange
happened?" he asked.</p><p>Draco, who'd taken a
sharp step forward when he saw Harry and then controlled himself as
if he didn't want anyone to think badly of a Malfoy's
self-control, shook his head.</p><p>"Good," Harry
said, and led the way back towards the Atrium. He was worried enough
to want to Apparate them straight home from the corridor, but he
couldn't without tearing through the Ministry's anti-Apparition
wards and essentially poking Scrimgeour in the eye. He had no grudge
against the Minister, or the other innocents whom the wards
protected.</p><p>Besides, he didn't
want to seem afraid, despite his failure to convince Scrimgeour to
trust him above the Unspeakables.</p><p><em>I will not let them
make me afraid.</em></p><p>He remembered,
abruptly, the news he'd intended to warn Scrimgeour about, to
prepare him. He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. It
wasn't news that directly affected the Ministry, and everyone would
find out the truth in a few days, anyway. Scrimgeour could wait and
read it on the front page of the <em>Prophet</em>.</p><p><em>I wanted to warn
him to prepare for chaos. But chaos is what's coming, no matter how
he tries to stall it, and I don't want to warn the Unspeakables.</em></p><p><em>Let's see what
they do when Thomas's storm spreads its wings.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 21*: Dancing Above the Abyss</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>Sometimes, I like torturing my characters. For instance, this chapter makes me gleefully sadistic.</p><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen: Dancing Above the Abyss</strong></p><p>Thomas smiled as he
admired the front page of the <em>Daily Prophet</em>. He and his people
might almost have written the article. They hadn't, of course,
because there was just too much to say and they could never have
chosen what would go in such a short piece of writing. Rita Skeeter
had studied their report instead, asked intelligent questions, and
written the article.</p><p>He loved the
photograph, though. It showed him holding up a copy of the thick,
bound <em>Report on The Grand Unified Theory of Every Kind of Magic.
</em>They had chosen that title, in the end, over the probably more
accurate <em>Report on The Grand Unified Theory of Every Kind of
Wizarding Magic.</em> Thomas was happy about what he'd learned from
talking with the centaurs in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. Their
magic did seem to run on the same lines as most wizardry, and so he'd
not insisted that the title of the report had to change.</p><p>The headline was
intriguing, too, sure to get attention and make the readers see that
they owed an allegiance to the truth, whatever their personal
prejudices.</p><p><strong><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em>PURE BLOOD
NOT SO MAGICAL AFTER ALL</em></span></strong></p><p><strong><em>Grand Unified
Theory Suggests Differences Between Muggleborns and Others
'Insignificant'</em></strong></p><p>Thomas hummed under
his breath as he read the opening of the article.</p><p><em>An international
team of research wizards—whose members include the Chinese Light
Lady Jing-Xi and the British wizard Thomas Rhangnara, husband of Head
Auror Priscilla Burke—today published their Grand Unified Theory of
Every Kind of Magic, a project on which they have been working for
decades. The Grand Unified Theory draws some surprising conclusions,
including that other factors have far more influence on a wizard's
magic than blood.</em></p><p><em>"It's something
obvious to anyone who looks, of course," Rhangnara said. "After
all, the most pureblooded families produce Squibs, and how could
Muggleborns occur at all if all witches and wizards must have one
magical parent?"</em></p><p><em>He rejected, along
with the Russian research wizard Ilya Petrovitch, the ancient notion
that all Muggleborns are descended from halfblood marriages or from
Squibs exiled into the Muggle world.</em></p><p><em>"The research
simply doesn't support that interpretation," Petrovitch said, via
translator, from a firecall yesterday. "There are many factors that
work together, and while genetic heritage is one of them, the most
important appears to be the </em>choice <em>of the magic. Sometimes it
chooses non-purebloods to wield it. Sometimes it doesn't choose the
children of purebloods. Magic is more sentient than we always
thought, and far more interesting."</em></p><p><em>Asked what some of
the other factors that influence magical birth would be, Rhangnara
listed them without pausing: the mother's will for the child in her
womb (why, he said, the children of raped witches are almost always
Squibs); where one lives (some of the first admitted Muggleborns in
the British Isles came from places hallowed by druids); and weather
the day one is born (thunderstorms produce more witches than
wizards). He has obviously studied this in detail, and just as
obviously loves the work.</em></p><p><em>"There's so
much that goes on that we haven't acknowledged," Rhangnara said.
"More, there's so much that goes on that we can't control. The
old methods to 'insure' the birth of magical children almost
always focus on blood. Even in the old days before the International
Statute, when wizards and Muggles lived side by side and they knew
about us, wizards were encouraged to intermarry with their own kind
first and foremost. But it's not nearly that simple. We have a
wonderful culture that calls itself pureblood, full of rituals and
ceremonies and beliefs that are a legitimate heritage. But that has
next to nothing to do with blood. After all, Muggleborns can learn to
be part of that culture, too, and many have."</em></p><p><em>He named the old
Dark Lord Fallen as an example; though he claimed to be a bastard son
of the Prince pureblood line, he was in fact a Muggleborn.</em></p><p>"<em>We have a
tendency to rewrite our own history," he added. "So when someone
says that there's never been a Muggleborn Lord, I've learned
that, in fact, there often has been, but wizards—or the Lord
himself—would prefer people to forget it. And the same thing
happens with ancestry. Pureblood families will claim they've always
intermarried with wizards, and sometimes, that's even true. But,
most of the time, it's not." The Malfoys and the Blacks, he said,
are examples of families with recent Muggleborn ancestry. By his
estimation, Abraxas Malfoy, father of the current scion, Lucius,
displayed the classic signs of a powerful halfblood wizard.</em></p><p>Thomas frowned. He <em>had</em>
said more at that point, but for some reason, Skeeter had summarized
and skimmed a lot of it. He wondered why. It was all interesting.</p><p><em>Rhangnara fully
expects the Grand Unified Theory to change the way that wizards think
about themselves. </em></p><p><em>"It's
wonderful," he said. "For so long, our view of the world has been
so simple. We could track where magic went, and we just ignored the
things that challenged those ideas. And now we've learned that most
of those ideas aren't true at all, or are just smaller drops of
water in a vast ocean. Even the Grand Unified Theory only leaves us
on the brink of more mistakes to explore and perceptions to shatter.
The future is going to change as we wander through them with our eyes
open.</em>"</p><p>Skeeter had at least
chosen the right quote to end on, Thomas thought, happily. How could
anyone not be excited by that image of the future?</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Lucius opened the
<em>Prophet</em> that morning, and narrowed his eyes at the photograph.
<em>What has Rhangnara done to get his photograph in the paper? Harry
said nothing about any such move, and he is usually good enough to
warn us before—</em></p><p>Then he saw the
headline, and went very still.</p><p>He could feel his
heart galloping, regular as running footsteps, in his ears. The table
trembled a bit. Lucius had to let his magic get far out of control
before he could manage even that much wandless power, but today, he
thought, while his body shook with sincere, helpless rage, it was
justified.</p><p>"Lucius?"</p><p>Narcissa's voice
came from the door of the breakfast room. Lucius did not care. He
could not look up from the article, or keep from following its
bizarre conclusions to the end. More and more of them piled up, and
his rage grew stronger, and his scorn.</p><p><em>There is no such
thing as the choice of magic. It only grows a personality when
confined. It cannot choose who will wield it and who will not.</em></p><p><em>Place magic? An old
and discredited belief of the druids. There are magical places, such
as Harry's Woodhouse, but they will never notice a modern wizard.</em></p><p><em>Weather? Storms?
How can they determine our children's futures? They are only wind
and rain.</em></p><p>Then he read the
paragraph where Rhangnara had the gall to claim that the Malfoys had
recent Muggleborn ancestry, that Lucius's own father had been a
halfblood.</p><p>He froze as he read.
He thought of going into the room he had shown Draco when he
confirmed his son as magical heir, and the Malfoy ancestors speaking
to him of shared blood and responsibilities, and he knew that what
Rhangnara said was a lie, designed to cast aspersions on him.</p><p><em>My father was not
the son of his mother and a Mudblood. If he was, then he would not
have been a Malfoy, and not able to be confirmed as magical heir.
That room would have honored only a son of my grandfather.</em></p><p>And then he wondered
if Abraxas could have been the son of his father and a Mudblood
woman, brought into the family, adopted as her own child by Lucius's
grandmother Anais Henlin, and the door firmly shut on any discussion
of his befouled heritage. That would make him both a halfblood and a
Malfoy.</p><p>Lucius marshaled his
thoughts, then placed them carefully in a box and locked them away.
He would not consider them again. They were false. The Malfoys were a
pureblood family, and his grandfather would no sooner have touched a
Mudblood, or a Muggle, than he would have cut off his own hand.</p><p>"Lucius?" That was
Narcissa again, standing near the table, her eyes wide and wondering.</p><p>He looked up at her,
and remembered what the article had said about the Blacks also
sleeping with Mudbloods. But surely that had been in previous
generations. The recent ones had campaigned to bring back
Muggle-hunting. They would not have done that if they had known what
they were.</p><p><em>Or they would have
done that if they needed to convince others that they were perfect
purebloods, and hide their shame deeply, where no one would look for
it. </em></p><p>Lucius also placed
that thought in the treasure chest. He would not think of that.
Narcissa was pureblooded. <em>He</em> was pureblooded. Draco was
pureblooded. He would not think that his son's veins were swarming
with dirty blood, or his wife's.</p><p><em>Much less my own.</em></p><p>"It seems that one
of Harry's allies has done something mad, again," he said dryly,
and extended the paper so that she could read it. Narcissa accepted
it and sat down, only letting a tiny, well-bred gasp escape her mouth
every so often.</p><p>Lucius stared at her,
at her lovely face, at the way she sat with her blonde hair just
escaping in soft curling wisps around her white throat, at the
delicate bones of her cheeks. <em>Finer than any Mudblood's, surely.
She is not one of them. </em></p><p><em>No, of course she
isn't. Rhangnara is mistaken. And he would not have made those
remarks about Malfoys and Blacks unless he intended to attack our
family personally.</em></p><p>Lucius nodded his
head, securing the truth in his own mind, knowing what he must do. He
felt a vague sorrow at the thought of it, but a greater irritation.
He was already entwined in careful plotting for which Harry would
throw him out of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow in a moment, <em>if </em>he
learned of it. He would have to add another coil, this time focused
on getting rid of Rhangnara.</p><p><em>That, however, will
be a pleasure. The other is a sacrifice I wish I did not have to
make.</em></p><p>Lucius flexed his
fingers, checked to make sure that his face was smooth as Narcissa
hit the part of the article that concerned their families, and
reached for his teacup.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Hermione sat up in her
bed with difficulty, and managed to reach one of the treats on the
bedside table to give to the owl who had delivered the <em>Prophet</em>.
The bird snapped up the food delicately and then spread its wings,
soaring out the window. Hermione watched it go wistfully. She
understood the importance of spending time in bed and taking her
recovery carefully after the Severing Curse, and it wasn't as
though she <em>never</em> got to write to anyone, and of course she
received the <em>Prophet</em>, and she would be going back to Hogwarts
in less than two weeks, but still she wished she could have just
waved her wand and uttered a Summoning Charm for the treat.</p><p>She opened the paper.</p><p>She stared at the
headline on the front page. She stared at the photograph. She read
the article.</p><p>She closed her eyes.</p><p>For a moment, thoughts
tumbled and reoriented themselves in her head. She didn't know what
to think, how to feel. She had learned the pureblood rituals to show
up some purebloods, and because she was convinced it was the only way
a Muggleborn could make anyone important pay attention to her. As the
article said, wizards were adept at lying to themselves. Hermione
could be as brilliant and get as many O's on her OWL's as she
wanted—as she had, in almost everything—and still people like the
witches and wizards at Harry's alliance meeting could give her
pitying looks and turn away. She had to adapt and fit in, and the
only pleasure she might get out of it was someone complimenting her
on her skills and <em>then</em> learning that she was Muggleborn.</p><p>But now this.</p><p>After a moment, her
emotions stopped brewing quite as wildly, and settled on happiness
and fierce determination.</p><p><em>If it's true,
then no one can say that I must have Squib ancestors, or that I must
be a changeling switched at birth. </em>That was one of the
speculations Hermione had overheard at the alliance meeting, and it
had irritated her profoundly even then. Anyone who had read about
fairies knew they didn't <em>do</em> that, and probably never had.</p><p><em>If it's true,
then Zacharias is going to be so upset.</em></p><p>Hermione shrugged. Let
him be upset. She liked Zacharias a great deal—sometimes she
thought she loved him, sometimes she wasn't sure; it wasn't
something she could analyze properly—but he had too much invested
in his pureblood ancestry. Hermione had tried to adapt and succeed in
many things because she had learned, during her third year, that
intelligence would not get her <em>everywhere.</em> If this revelation
destroyed Zacharias's conception of the world, then he would just
have to rebuild.</p><p><em>And Zacharias can
be wrong like anyone else.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Connor was glad that
he had been awake before anyone else but Trumpetflower—who didn't
seem to sleep—and not because he was writing a potentially
embarrassing letter to Parvati, as had happened the other morning. It
meant he got to see the <em>Daily Prophet</em> first, and look at the
story, and laugh and laugh and laugh, and then laugh some more at
Trumpetflower's shocked face when he passed the paper to her.</p><p>It meant he got to sit
back and watch when Harry and Draco came downstairs, yawning. Draco
sat at the table, while Harry went to make them toast. He was getting
better at the toast, Connor thought. His fire charms didn't burn
the bread to ashes any more.</p><p>The <em>Prophet</em> lay
on the table, face downward. Connor had put it like that on purpose,
for maximum shock value. Draco grumbled under his breath about people
who couldn't fold a paper courteously when they were done with it,
picked it up, and turned it over.</p><p>Connor was a bit
disappointed with his initial reaction. Draco didn't shriek. He
didn't shout something about Rhangnara being wrong and how <em>dare</em>
he do this and Harry should fix this right now. His eyes narrowed
slightly, as if he were trying to force the sleepiness away.</p><p>Then his face went
pale, as if he were going to faint.</p><p>Connor brought his arm
up in front of his mouth to muffle his laughter in his sleeve.</p><p>Draco read through the
article. Connor could tell by his face when he hit the most
interesting parts. When he reached the revelations about blood not
being important, his face turned ashen. As he went on, he shook his
head more and more, until he looked as if he had epilepsy. Then he
reached what Connor knew were the paragraphs on the Black and Malfoy
marriages, and tossed the paper into the air, snarling. He snatched
his wand from his sleeve in the next instant. Connor was sure that he
was going to set the paper on fire.</p><p>The <em>Prophet</em> was
tumbling all over the kitchen in a mess of sheets, and Connor had his
wand, so it was no trouble for him to wave it and call, "<em>Accio</em>
front page!" just as Draco cast <em>Incendio</em> at the rest of it.
The stink of burning paper filled the room, but the article had
already sped over to Connor and settled itself firmly in his hand.
Connor pressed the beaming photograph of Thomas Rhangnara, waving his
heavy book, against his heart and grinned at Draco over the top of
it. Draco looked <em>murderous</em>. That was fun. Connor liked it when
Draco was looking murderous. It meant he lost control and shouted
entertaining things. He had come up to Connor's room the other day
to make the silliest accusations over the prank that he and Harry had
played with the Firebolt. Draco had said it had hurt <em>Harry</em>.
Connor knew that couldn't be true, because he and his brother were
close enough now that Harry would have come to him and told him about
that—if not the day after the prank, certainly later.</p><p>"Give it to me,
Potter," Draco spat.</p><p>"Why?" Connor
asked. "It's an innocent article. It never did anything to you."
He petted the paper as if it were a Kneazle kitten and watched in
fascination as Draco's face darkened further. "Besides," Connor
added, just to fan the flames, "it's <em>true.</em>"</p><p>"It is <em>not</em>!"
Draco shouted, and actual spittle came flying out of his mouth on the
last word. Connor applauded.</p><p>"I think this is the
least like a pureblood wizard I've ever seen you act," he told
Draco. "I see the article <em>was</em> true after all. And I bet it
was a Muggle your great-grandfather slept with."</p><p>Draco let out a
wordless howl and tried to spring across the table at him.
Trumpetflower had grabbed him, though, and just like the rest of the
pack, the slender werewolf had much more strength in her arms than
someone might think at first. She held Draco effortlessly, and took
away his wand with a simple movement. Connor put his head down on the
table, unable to muffle his giggles any longer.</p><p>"Enough, Draco.
Connor."</p><p>That was Harry, and he
didn't sound like a brother, he sounded like a leader. Connor knew
that meant he had gone too far. He lifted his head and gave Harry a
contrite look. Harry nodded to accept it. He sometimes seemed to
believe that Connor could not possibly cause <em>that</em> much
trouble, because he was a Gryffindor and Harry considered Gryffindors
a bit simple-minded compared to devious Slytherins. Connor didn't
think Harry was even aware he had that prejudice, but Connor himself
was not above exploiting it.</p><p>"What's the
article?" Harry asked, though in a tone of voice that said he
already knew. He extended his hand, and Connor put the front page of
the <em>Prophet</em> into it. Harry read it quickly, his eyes
narrowing. Now and then he nodded, as though he were encountering a
piece of information he hadn't expected, and near the end his eyes
widened. Connor smiled. <em>I didn't think Rhangnara would dare to
mention information about specific families, either, but he did.</em></p><p>Harry put the paper
down on the table and turned to face Draco. "Let him go,
Trumpetflower, please," he said.</p><p>Trumpetflower did it
immediately, and stepped away, but she kept her gaze on Harry. Connor
wondered idly if Harry had really <em>noticed</em> the way the members
of the pack looked at him. Probably not, because Harry never noticed
things like that. He assumed he just asked for things and they got
done, because people wanted things from him or because of Loki's
request. But Connor knew that some of the werewolves were thinking of
Harry as their true leader. He'd seen the process happen last year,
as the students stopped looking at McGonagall as a substitute for
Dumbledore and started seeing her as the real thing.</p><p>But he looked away
from Trumpetflower and went back to watching Draco, which was much
more fun. Connor had accepted that Harry and Draco were going to
join. He also knew they had had sex at least once, because he wasn't
as unobservant as his brother seemed to think. But he also knew that
Draco was only civilized on the surface, and underneath lay a bloody,
sodding, prissy little wanker. Harry was about to get a sharp
reminder, it looked like.</p><p>"That article isn't
true," Draco told Harry, with a great deal of appeal in his voice.
Connor knew the sentiment: <em>Make it not be true. </em>He had done
the same thing to Harry when he was younger, especially after Harry
took Lily's magic away, but he had grown up since then. Draco
hadn't.</p><p>"It is," Harry
confirmed quietly. "Thomas told me weeks ago, when I contacted him
about coming to the meeting for the Alliance of Sun and Shadow."</p><p>Draco just stared at
him. Harry looked back, his head on one side, his expression
regretful but calm. Connor smiled. <em>He isn't going to yield.
Good. Harry gives Draco what he wants far too much of the time.</em></p><p>"Everything?"
Draco whispered. "About the Dark Lord Fallen being Mud—Muggleborn?
About blood not mattering as much as we thought? About the families—"
He stopped and shuddered, seeming unable to continue.</p><p>"All of it, as far
as Thomas can tell," Harry said. "He might have made a mistake;
it wouldn't be the first time. But from what they can tell right
now, yes, it's true."</p><p>"<em>What's</em>
true?" Draco's voice had deepened. Connor shook his head. <em>He
wants to see if Harry will actually say it. Of course he will. Idiot.</em></p><p>"The part about your
grandfather probably being a halfblood," said Harry.</p><p><em>See? </em>Connor
thought at Draco, while the other boy wrapped shaking arms around
himself. <em>You thought he wouldn't, and of course he does. If Lily
hadn't given him that stupid training, he would have gone to
Gryffindor for sure.</em></p><p>"And that would make
me one-eighth Muggle," said Draco, his voice deep with disgust.</p><p>"Or one-eighth
Muggleborn," said Harry. "I really don't think there's any
way to tell, and Thomas certainly didn't mention one."</p><p>Draco shook his head.
"My <em>grandfather</em> was a <em>halfblood</em>," he repeated, with
a tone of nausea in his voice.</p><p>Connor <em>felt</em> the
sudden deep silence in the room. He turned his head, and saw Harry's
face so tight that it looked smaller.</p><p>"Why, yes," Harry
said. "Just like your boyfriend is a halfblood."</p><p>Draco stared at him.
Then he scowled and said, "That's not what I meant, and you <em>know</em>
it."</p><p>"How?" Harry asked
pleasantly.</p><p>"It's not—you're
not—I <em>know</em> there's a difference," said Draco. "I'm
not prejudiced against you, Harry. This is about my family, about
what blood I have in me."</p><p>"So blood is one
thing and a cock is another?" Harry hissed. "I'll keep that in
mind."</p><p>Connor was glad he
wasn't eating, as he would have choked. He had always known that
Harry had a fouler mouth when he got upset, but he hadn't expected
him to say anything like <em>that.</em></p><p>"It <em>is</em>
different!" Draco yelled as Harry turned his back. "You aren't
giving me a chance! My whole world has just turned around, I've
just found out that I'm not who I always thought I was, and you—"</p><p>"I know that it's
different with you," Harry said, not looking back. "It always is,
Draco. I think you only accept that I'm a halfblood because you
don't have to think about it. The moment you do, then something
like this happens."</p><p>He trotted out of the
room and disappeared. Trumpetflower glided after him. Connor knew
Harry would have a guard of werewolves until he reached his room or
some other safe sanctum.</p><p>Draco sank down on the
other side of the table, looking a mixture of disgusted and angry and
shocked and defeated. Connor coughed and stood up. Draco's gaze
darted to him, and his expression changed again, eyes gone nearly
opaque with hatred.</p><p>"None of this would
have happened if you hadn't started it," he said.</p><p>Connor laughed again,
because he couldn't help it. "Oh, yes, Malfoy, <em>I</em> control
the <em>Prophet,</em> and choose which stories to print," he said.
"And I funded all the research Rhangnara's group did, didn't
you know? I've been setting this up since before I was even born,
that's how powerful I am."</p><p>"He knows I didn't
mean that," said Draco. "I don't forget he's a halfblood, I
just don't think about it."</p><p>"Maybe you should,"
Connor said, and left him there.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus wanted tea. And
a headache potion. And to go to bed and wake up again so that the day
could begin once more.</p><p>But mostly, tea.</p><p>He had already
searched his office and confirmed that he had nothing to make tea
with there. He didn't even seem to have a cup left. While he was
sitting and wondering who could possibly have stolen his cup, and
what they could possibly want with it, the door opened and Percy
Weasley entered, carrying two cups of tea and a folded copy of the
<em>Daily Prophet</em>. He held one of the cups out to Rufus without a
word. Rufus grasped it and drank greedily.</p><p>It soothed his
headache, a bit, and he settled back in his chair with a sigh. Percy
had already taken his desk and spread the paper out in front of him,
with the air of someone who'd already read it. Rufus braced
himself. Percy was still a trainee Auror, and that meant he was
supposed to be getting practice in gauging and anticipating people's
reactions. Time to see if the instructors were still working since
Moody left.</p><p>"What do you think
will happen as a result of that?" Rufus asked, nodding at the
article.</p><p>Percy frowned in
thought. He was usually careful, and he had a brain, when he wasn't
trying to jump between the Minister and deadly curses. Rufus approved
of that. There were plenty of Aurors who could leap into action at a
moment's notice and <em>Stupefy</em> the enemy. Percy was the kind
who knew how to ask questions, and which ones were important.</p><p>"Well, the
purebloods with a lot of influence in the Ministry aren't going to
be happy," Percy said. "And even the ones without a lot of
influence in the Ministry, I suppose. Most pureblood families have
something in the way of pride for their names and their history, and
some of them trade on it. Not us," he added hastily. "But some."</p><p>Rufus smiled thinly
and decided not to tell Percy about his second cousin on his father's
side who had once tried to bluff his way out of Auror custody on the
strength of, "But I'm a Weasley!" He nodded. "And if enough
people believe it to be true, what do you think will happen?"</p><p>Percy's face went
blank, but Rufus couldn't tell if that was awe, or shock, or just
more thought. "Oh, Merlin," he whispered. "It's going to be
<em>total</em> chaos, isn't it? Not just a few pureblood families
upset that they supposedly had adulterous ancestors. Chaos
<em>everywhere.</em> Muggleborns believing that laws should be changed,
and magical researchers questioning the basis of some ethics, and
people trying to use this information for their own gain, and
charlatans promising that they can help parents control how much
magic their children are born with…" Percy trailed off, staring
at the wall.</p><p>"Yes." Rufus
looked at the paper with another sigh. He knew Thomas Rhangnara was
connected with Harry, though not how closely. But it was true, just
as the Unspeakables had warned him, that Harry was going to bring
more chaos down. Revolution was one thing, but Rufus had dealt with
revolutionaries before; they usually had clearly-defined goals and
the tendency to babble on at anyone who would listen to them. Harry
was the only one he'd ever met whose main course of stirring up
trouble seemed to be inspiring others to cause that trouble.</p><p>The Unspeakables, by
contrast, brought clarity. They were being extraordinarily open with
him for someone who wasn't even part of the Department of
Mysteries, though Rufus suspected his office helped.</p><p>They'd told him that
the renegades in the Department had been more devious than they
thought. The truth of the attack on Harry was as he'd told it—a
fact that had been obscured when the Unspeakables first came and
spoke with Rufus. They'd believed, then, that some of their people
had been part of the "attack," but had just wanted to speak with
Harry.</p><p>Now they knew that
some of their own had been <em>Obliviated</em>, and, more, dream-woven,
which made them think that certain experiences had happened in
reality when they were just waking dreams. The <em>Obliviated</em> and
the dream-woven had recovered their memories, and they were one step
closer to finding the traitors. But they had asked Rufus to delay
Harry from spreading more chaos if he could. Trust of the
Unspeakables would diminish if the Boy-Who-Lived said they were to be
distrusted. And now the Unspeakables who had come to Rufus suspected
their traitors had had help from outside the Department. They even
thought they knew who, but it would take some time to confirm if they
were right.</p><p>Rufus had had hope.
The Unspeakables were being as open with him as they could without
breaking their oaths to the Stone, which chose them, and was an
artifact as ancient, powerful, and incorruptible as any justice
ritual. What was sworn to on the Stone could not be broken or
doubted—but the traitors had found a way to keep their oaths while
advancing only a narrow set of goals that did not truly benefit the
Department of Mysteries. The loyalists' inquiries into how were
continuing.</p><p>Rufus, armed with that
knowledge, had faced Harry, and found him worse than the cold, proud
boy who would not reply to his letters out of sheer stubbornness. He
had found someone who could not seem to understand that more people
than his revolutionary group existed in the world. He had found
someone who was not content to defend himself with the common magic
available to everyone, or make his way to other levels of the
Ministry in an effort to find help when he was attacked, but had to
use his <em>absorbere</em> gifts, and thus increase both the traitors'
fear and the likelihood that Harry would use it against <em>other</em>
Ministry employees.</p><p>He had found, Rufus
feared, an incipient Lord.</p><p>He stared in silence
at the paper, at the smiling man who held the book with the acronym
<em>GUTOEKOM</em> gleaming in gilded letters and could not seem to
understand why other people would not welcome his theory. Rufus felt
as if he were looking at Harry, too, and Harry's allies—dancing
above an abyss, and not understanding the emptiness that lay below,
or the people who would fall.</p><p>Rufus knew he would
have to wait, because the Unspeakables had asked him to, and because,
though the balance between him and Amelia had very subtly begun to
shift in his favor, it had not tilted all the way yet. He could not
even send a letter to Harry, because Harry would only ignore it in
his pride and certainty that he knew what he was doing, as he had all
the others.</p><p><em>Galling, </em>he
thought, <em>to wait while your Ministry rips itself to shreds around
you, and the best and brightest hope of the wizarding world looks
first to himself and those he has sworn to protect, and only then to
the world his actions will shake.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"And this is where
we have the major presses," Dionysus Hornblower was yelling
cheerfully, over the thump and clack of the <em>Vox Populi</em> being
produced. "Run without house elves and on our own magic, of
course."</p><p>"Of course,"
Honoria murmured, watching as the machine in question gleamed and
ratcheted and danced through its motions in a blaze of metal. The
Maenad Press used a large house near the end of Diagon Alley. Honoria
wondered idly whether they'd had to bribe the shopkeepers near them
to ignore the noise, or if they'd just bought the space and planned
to expand. Dionysus looked as if he were an expanding kind of wizard.</p><p>He had been absolutely
delighted when Honoria appeared and said that she was to function as
Harry's liaison with the Maenad Press. And, to be honest, Honoria
was delighted right back. Dionysus was brash and too confident and
noisy, as the instantly converted tended to be. (Honoria's mother
had been noisy about having married a pureblood wizard most of her
life). He worshipped Harry in one breath and criticized him soundly
in the next, mostly for moving too slow. He yelled at the people
working on the <em>Populi</em>—editing articles, assembling the
paper, creating the magical construct owls that delivered it—and
they yelled right back, unintimidated. He had already mentioned going
to Azkaban, fighting with Aurors, sneaking out of enemy territory
during the First War with Voldemort, sleeping with an unknown woman
only to find out that she was a Death Eater the next morning, and
more stories that Honoria wanted to hear in full. Ignifer would just
hate him.</p><p>He was the epitome of
<em>Gryffindor</em>, whatever his House at Hogwarts had actually been,
if he had attended Hogwarts. Honoria wasn't entirely sure he hadn't
spent his years between eleven and seventeen on the run all over the
Continent while being taught Dark Arts, illegal Charms, and blood
magic.</p><p>Honoria had missed
people like this.</p><p>"That owl is missing
a left wing, Jamie!" Dionysus yelled at one of his workers, who
probably wasn't even named Jamie, but was instantly correcting his
mistake. He turned back to Honoria, beaming. "Have a plethora of
articles on that new theory," he said. "Due to come, or whatever
its name is. Fascinating nonsense. Have you read it?"</p><p>Honoria blinked. "Ah,
no." She'd split her days lately between visiting the Maenad
Press—well, spying on it at first—scouting out London pack
territory to help the werewolves who lived there with escape routes
if the Department showed up on the next full moon, and shagging
Ignifer.</p><p>"Pity," Dionysus
said. "Read the first hundred pages last night. Changed my mind on
some things. Changed my mind <em>com</em>pletely. That young Harry,
he's a changemaster, yes?"</p><p>"I don't know what
that means," said Honoria. She felt a grin threatening to split her
face. She was left behind and scrambling to keep up. It was
<em>fantastic</em>.</p><p>"Means he comes into
a place, and it changes," said Dionysus. "But he knows about that
and anticipates it, not just hides in fear. Changes the center of
gravity, as some Muggles I know go on about. Hepzibah, don't make
me come over there and finish editing the bloody thing for you!
Congratulations, Jamie boy, now the owl is missing its right wing.
Yes, Harry knows how to change things."</p><p>Honoria laughed. She
was having <em>fun</em>. She'd have to thank Harry for giving her
this assignment.</p><p>And then the entire
room turned red. Honoria lifted her head in astonishment. The globes
filled with a heatless light charm that hung from the ceiling had
been white-gold before, but now they blazed like the fire of an angry
Hungarian Horntail.</p><p>"What does that
mean?" she asked.</p><p>Dionysus had a gleam
of battle in his eyes when she looked back, and had already drawn his
wand. "Means the wards have been triggered," he said happily.
"Use of a powerful magical artifact not in common use nearby. The
Unspeakables have shown up. Thought they would." His grin widened.
"Ready for them."</p><p>"What?" Honoria
said blankly, and then the Unspeakables attacked.</p><p>It was like nothing
she'd experienced. Gray cloaks were swooping out of nowhere,
seeming to congeal out of mist that drifted from the walls. They
carried glass globes, thin straps of bronze, patches of light that
made Honoria's head hurt to look at but which drew her eyes anyway.
Some of them definitely had swords. The level of magic in the room
had increased to the point that Honoria didn't think she'd felt
anything like it, even when Harry was at the alliance meeting.</p><p>Dionysus howled
happily. "Hullo, you bastards!" he shouted, and swept his wand in
a gesture Honoria knew she had never seen before. "<em>Lions roar,
you know.</em>"</p><p>The crimson glow from
the lights grew more intense. Then the walls appeared to catch on
fire, and from them came glowing shapes that intensified and took on
solid form as they flew. They were magical constructs, like the owls,
Honoria thought, but these had the shape of lions. By the time they
landed, each had a mouth full of teeth and paws bristling with sharp
claws.</p><p>The Unspeakables
turned to deal with them. Honoria saw some of the swords come
sweeping down, and even though they only cut across a lion's
shadow, the crimson creatures screamed and vanished. One shoved its
head towards the light in a gray-cloaked figure's hand and then
charred and crisped, like a moth venturing too close to a flame.
Honoria was sure, in the moments before she took to her gull form so
that she could fly above the chaos and be in less danger from it,
that she saw one Unspeakable also rip a lion apart with the two
halves of a glass globe.</p><p>But the lions were
doing their damage, too, tearing open gray robes and making blood
fly, and Dionysus's people were rising with their wands in their
hands now, as if they had expected it. Honoria knew she'd made the
right choice in taking to the wing, no matter how many people had
seen her change and so knew she was an Animagus. The flashing colors
of <em>Stupefy, Diffindo, </em>more hexes and jinxes than she could
count, and an occasional Severing Curse were blinding. She shuddered
in particular at recognizing the Severing Curse, thinking of a cold
night in October when she'd dropped between Harry and Igor
Karkaroff and felt one of those catch her across her chest and belly.</p><p>Dionysus was in the
middle of it all, directing the attack like the master of a circus
directing the acts. His shouts of encouragement in battle, Honoria
found, didn't sound much different from the scoldings he gave to be
sure that his people did what they were supposed to do with the
paper. He had a shield around him that appeared to eat every attack
the Unspeakables could come up with, but which didn't stop his own
spells from getting out. Honoria saw him stun and bind two
Unspeakables whose cloaks fell back to reveal pale, shocked faces,
and he dueled with another one-on-one for two minutes before putting
him out with what Honoria thought was a time-delayed blast of light
that blinded him.</p><p>The thunder of spells
and roaring from the lions and teeth-clattering rattle from some of
the artifacts the Unspeakables carried only lasted for a few minutes,
but that was more than long enough for Honoria. <em>Give me Woodhouse
and planned battle any time, </em>she thought, winging uneasily in
circles, dodging the occasional curse from someone who'd noticed
her.</p><p>Then the Unspeakables
still standing vanished, taking their artifacts with them. The lions
at once paused and lowered their heads towards Dionysus, bowing like
shadows made of flame. Then they leaped and melted into the walls
again, and the lights turned back from crimson to white. Dionysus
swept the room with a practiced eye, and nodded.</p><p>"Jamie, help
Hepzibah bandage that wound," he said. "Diana, you're off-work
for the rest of the day; go home. Godric, for the love of all that's
holy, you'll sit down now or I'll <em>sit</em> you down."</p><p>Honoria returned
cautiously to the floor, changing back into her human body as she
went. Dionysus saw her and grinned.</p><p>"There you are,"
he said. "Should have reckoned you would be a gull. I like it, I
like it. Fits."</p><p>"You—you sounded
as if you were prepared for that," Honoria said, staring at the
Unspeakables lying on the ground. Even the bloodied ones seemed to be
just unconscious, not dead. She expected them to change into mist at
any moment, but they didn't. They just lay there.</p><p>"I was," said
Dionysus. "Bastards are always showing up when they think I'm
making too much trouble." He nodded once or twice. "Worked up a
battle plan with my people, and we only use spells that aren't
going to send us to Tullianum. Besides, the Unspeakables are always
aiming to capture, not kill. Only fair if we do the same to them."
He nodded again. "Mind you, this is the most serious attack we've
ever had, but I anticipated that. I'm seriously annoying them at
the moment."</p><p>"And the lions?"
Honoria asked.</p><p>Dionysus chuckled.
"Like them? They're the products of an artifact I stole from the
bastards. And the shield, too. And a few other little things." He
winked. "Of course, tell anyone other than Harry and I'll know
who prated."</p><p>"How do you steal
from the Department of Mysteries?" Honoria said. She needed to sit
down. Dionysus had steered her into a chair before she could think to
ask for one.</p><p>"When they try to
recruit you and then change their minds later," said Dionysus
gleefully. "They would have modified my memory or chained me there
to do whatever it is they do to prisoners. Theft was the least they
deserved. Bastards." It seemed to be his favorite insult.</p><p>"And what are you
going to do—with them?" Honoria nodded at the captured
Unspeakables. Dionysus followed her gaze, and his whole face seemed
to become sharper.</p><p>"Right now? Have a
good laugh at the Ministry with the <em>Populi</em>. And then introduce
them to another little toy of mine. Bastards are all immune to
Veritaserum, but not to my toy." Dionysus actually rubbed his hands
together. "And then tell Harry about what I find. If I want to.
Certainly report it in the <em>Populi</em>. The people deserve to hear
and know the truth."</p><p>Honoria leaned on her
hand and shook her head. She supposed one of her major tasks would be
convincing Dionysus to share all of what he found with Harry, since
the Unspeakables were Harry's enemies as well, and also what he
might know about the Department of Mysteries from the brief time he'd
spent training there. He might share it without convincing, but
Honoria was not willing to wager on that. He could change his mind in
a moment.</p><p><em>Merlin, this is so
much fun. Now that I know what to expect, anyway.</em></p><p>She leaned back and
smiled at Dionysus. "This is going to make the Ministry look very
bad," she said.</p><p>Dionysus chortled.
"They deserve it. Bastards."</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 22*: Dionysus and His Maenads</h2>
			<strong>Chapter Eighteen: Dionysus and His Maenads</strong>
<p>"The
Unspeakables he talked to confirmed that they attacked the Press because they
wanted to shut him down," Honoria said, her eyes half-slitted in enjoyment as
she sipped at the cup of orange juice Harry had given her when she refused tea.
"And something else, which he was reluctant to tell me at first until I
reassured him that it would never go further than your ears." She gave Harry an
enigmatic look. Harry nodded. He certainly wasn't about to announce whatever
Honoria had to tell him from the front page of the <em>Prophet</em>. That
Hornblower would do so in the <em>Populi</em> was shocking enough.</p><p>Honoria let
out her breath. "They did want to capture him—him and anyone they could get
their hands on, really. They would have <em>Obliviated</em> me and anyone else
they didn't take. Dionysus said that it's their usual course. The Unspeakables
usually strike to capture, not kill, unless the other person has invaded the
Department of Mysteries. He also thinks it's why that faction of Unspeakables
seems to want to identify werewolves with collars and papers, rather than just
kill them the way the Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly
Beasts wants to."</p><p>"What do
they <em>do</em> with their prisoners?" Harry whispered, feeling a convulsive
shudder travel through him at the thought of going down into the bowels of the
Ministry and never emerging again.</p><p>"That was
the thing we couldn't find out," said Honoria, with a sad smile. "At least, not
from those Unspeakables. Dionysus said they swear an oath not to talk about it.
He was surprised he'd got that much out of them." Her fingers slid along her
glass. "But he can guess, based on what he saw in his own short time in the
Department of Mysteries."</p><p>Harry shook
his head. He still found it hard to believe that anyone sane would approach
Dionysus Hornblower and ask him to have anything to do with secrecy. "What does
he think they do, then?"</p><p>"Use the
magic and the bodies of those they capture. He said it would make sense, given
that they wanted to capture you."</p><p>Harry gave
a smile he knew was twisted. The most important thing about him was his magic,
Falco Parkinson told him. Well, why wouldn't the Unspeakables have thought the
same thing? And a Lord-level wizard who could drain magic himself was probably
of interest to them. <em>Pity I can't send them after Voldemort.</em></p><p>He did toy
with the idea of spreading a rumor that Voldemort was recovering, but then
shook his head. The panic it would cause wasn't worth it, and it was unlikely
to distract the Unspeakables from everything else they were doing, including
influencing the Minister.</p><p>"Thank you
for assigning me to the Maenad Press," Honoria said, capturing Harry's
attention again. "I <em>love</em> this. Dionysus is who I want to grow up to be."
She was grinning.</p><p>Harry
raised his eyebrows. "But not who you want to shag?" he asked, grateful to be
able to tease her about something.</p><p>"Please."
Honoria stood with a shrug. "As if I have any interest in men. If I did, there
are people who would already have filled that place."</p><p>"Tybalt?"
Harry knew they were old friends.</p><p>"Among
others." Honoria winked at him, and then turned and walked towards the Floo on
the far side of the room. Casting a handful of green powder into the flames,
she called out, "Dragonshome!" and was gone.</p><p>Harry
leaned back, with his arms folded behind his head, and closed his eyes. He was
in the middle of a seething, boiling cauldron here, and this time, he didn't
have the excuse of retreating to the Sanctuary while someone else watched the
pot for him. He felt, rather, as if the Maenads pictured on the front page of
the <em>Vox Populi</em> would sweep around the corner at any moment, seeking to
tear him apart in retaliation for all the mistakes he'd made.</p><p>He had to <em>plan</em>,
had to <em>think</em>, and some of it would take longer than a single day.</p><p>For the
moment, though, he might as well go up to a bedroom bereft of Draco and try to
sleep as well as he could. Harry knew that the morning, which would bring the
publication of Hornblower's article on the attack, would be vicious.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Ignifer
felt Honoria arrive home, the wards twanging, but she couldn't leave the room
and go to her, as much as she wished to. She was occupied in a different
conversation with a very different woman in a fire, instead. This was her
mother, Artemis, who had firecalled her every day for the past sixteen years,
trying to persuade her to change her mind and Declare for Light again.
Resisting her had become considerably easier since Ignifer had started sharing
a bed with Honoria, though.
<p>This time,
something had changed. Artemis had given her scolding. She had asked Ignifer to
make submission to her father so that Cupressus might forgive his daughter and
welcome her back. Ignifer had refused. But now Artemis lingered, her eyes
darting around the room beyond the flames as if she wanted to admire Ignifer's
paintings and panels. Ignifer stood with her arms folded, refusing to close the
connection before her mother decided on it. That would not be <em>polite.</em></p><p>"Do you
ever find," her mother said at last, "that there are some things you cannot
discuss with your fellow dishonorables in the Dark? Some things that are
unspeakable?"</p><p>Ignifer
opened her mouth to reply, and then shut it slowly. She stared at her mother.
Artemis stared back with pleading eyes.</p><p>Ignifer
understood the silent message well enough. <em>She has reason to think that the
Unspeakables are watching their house. Well, why not?</em></p><p>She had
known, from the time when she was a small girl and still thought her father the
center of the universe and the greatest wizard in creation, that the Apollonis
family had artifacts on hand that other wizards wouldn't like them possessing.
It was just a sign of shortsightedness, Cupressus had explained to her. Other
wizards would say the artifacts were dangerous, but they weren't, not if
treated with respect. What would cause them to lose blood or limbs was forcing
those artifacts to perform like slaves or beasts of burden. One approached them
in honor, or not at all.</p><p>Then had
come a day when Ignifer returned home from her tutor's house and found all the
artifacts gone, her mother white to the lips, and her father with a burn on his
face. He refused to speak a word. He simply fingered a scrap of gray cloth.</p><p>Ignifer had
learned that Unspeakables had raided the house and removed the artifacts,
saying they were too dangerous for any family to possess, even the most
Light-devoted family in Ireland. She learned it in that roundabout way that she
learned most things in the Apollonis household. Rumor and myth and murmured
words and glances eventually distilled into reality.</p><p>She did not
believe, even now, that the artifacts had been the kind commonly raided from
criminals. Cupressus would never have stood for anything Dark in his home, as
his reaction to Ignifer's Declaration proved. He had thought they were safe,
and they had certainly been of the Light.</p><p>And now the
Unspeakables were pressuring him again, it seemed, or watching him, or urging
him to act against Harry.</p><p>"There are
many things that are so difficult to say," said Ignifer carefully, watching her
mother. "I was reared in the Light, and even those who chose Dark late in their
lives find me odd." She heard the door to the room open behind her, and knew
that Honoria had entered. Artemis's face tightened, but she still didn't shut
down the Floo connection. "But I know that sometimes, silence is the best
course."</p><p>Artemis's
eyes closed in relief. "Yes, that is true," she whispered. "Silence, and only
speaking when it's time. I am glad that you understand me, daughter." And then
the Floo connection went dark, the green to the flames spluttering and dying.
Ignifer shook her head.</p><p>Honoria
wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned up to kiss her. "What was that
about?"</p><p>"Unspeakables
trying to push my father to do what they want, I think," Ignifer said, turning
around to bury her face in Honoria's hair. She smelled so good, and in the past
few months, Ignifer had begun to dare to allow herself to think that the smell
wouldn't be snatched away from her just as she got used to it. "Or perhaps make
him act against Harry."</p><p>There was
silence for a moment, and then Honoria snorted.</p><p>"They're
trying to push <em>your father</em> around?" she asked. "The man so stubborn that
he's resisted reconciling with his own bloody daughter for over a bloody <em>decade</em>?"</p><p>"Yes,"
Ignifer murmured into her ear. "I wish them joy of Cupressus Apollonis." For
the first time in sixteen years, she could imagine her father acting as he
normally would without pain, and the subtle, inflexible rings he would spin
around the Unspeakables trying to spin rings around him. Cupressus had held his
own family in check with an iron will, but he had done much the same thing with
the other Light-devoted families of Ireland, to the point where all of them
considered him their leader. Like only Harry that Ignifer could think of,
Cupressus was not afraid of the Ministry's shadow-hunters.</p><p>Honoria was
laughing, Ignifer realized when she came back from her daze. "So do I," she
murmured. "And now. Bed?" She tilted her head up hopefully.</p><p>Ignifer
kissed her. "If you say so."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry
yawned before he could stop himself, then winced and shook his head. He hadn't
spent a productive night as far as sleep went; sometimes he'd managed to snatch
a whole hour before he had to rise up and pace around his room again, because
he'd had another idea or another insight or another plan to fit into place. As
it went, his throat hurt with weariness, and sometimes his eyes blurred.
<p>But he
could repair that with sleep later, and he had seen things that he would never
have seen if he had waited until the morning. His step as he came down the
stairs was firm, and he felt a quiet confidence filling him. He was in the
middle of chaos, but his priorities in the middle of that chaos were the same
as they had always been: stay on the <em>vates</em> path, help those who looked
to him for protection, continue to live and heal himself simultaneously with
everything else. He thought, now, that Scrimgeour was faltering precisely
because the chaos had warped his own vision of what his priorities should be.</p><p>He entered
the kitchen, vaguely aware of one of the werewolves, probably Trumpetflower,
walking behind him. They did seem to always keep an eye on him. Harry wondered
if he should be worried by that; he doubted they had so closely observed Loki.
If they couldn't trust him to take care of himself, they might not trust Harry
to take care of <em>them</em>, and there had to be mutual trust between pack and
alpha. All the research Harry had studied agreed on that.</p><p><em>Another
thing to consider.</em></p><p>Only one
person was in the kitchen: Draco, sitting at the table and scowling at a paper.
Harry couldn't see whether it was the <em>Prophet</em> or the <em>Vox Populi</em>
from this angle. He suspected it didn't matter.</p><p>Draco
jerked his head up when he saw him, and stared. Harry just nodded back. He
needed to—talk to Draco. That was the best description he had come up with of
what he wanted to say. Not yell, of course, but "reconcile" would imply more of
a breach than Harry had thought was there, and "apologize" was not entirely
true. "Face the truth with," maybe.</p><p>"Good
morning, Draco," Harry said quietly. "I'd like to speak with you, if you don't
mind." If Draco told him to sod off, then he'd eat breakfast and go talk to
someone else. Snape was a good candidate.</p><p>Draco
blinked as if that were the last thing he'd expected, then looked over Harry's
shoulder and scowled. Harry turned. As he'd thought, Trumpetflower stood there,
amber eyes fixed on him.</p><p>"I don't
want an audience," Draco snapped.</p><p>"Fine,"
said Harry, and caught the tail end of an astonished look on Draco's face
before the Malfoy composure covered it. <em>Really, did he think I'd refuse a
reasonable request? It's only stupid things I'll refuse. </em>Harry nodded at
Trumpetflower. "We're going to my room. Will you stand guard outside it and
make sure that no one interrupts?"</p><p>"She could
hear something," Draco said.</p><p>"I'll cast
a ward so that she can't," said Harry.</p><p>"I want to
stay here," said Draco, folding his arms and scowling.</p><p>"Other
people have to get in and eat breakfast," Harry said.</p><p>Draco
opened his mouth, then shut it again and stood up. He watched Harry with more
interest now. Harry arched an eyebrow back, gave a thin smile, then turned and
led Draco out of the kitchen.</p><p>Trumpetflower
caught his arm. "Wild, are you sure it's a good idea for you to be alone with
him right now?" she whispered. "Loki could handle Gudrun, but they were mates.
It was impossible for them to truly hurt each other."</p><p>Harry
squeezed her hand. "I'll be fine, Trumpetflower, but I <em>would</em> appreciate
it if you would talk to anyone who wants to talk to me and turn them away for
right now. And, of course, not try to undo the ward so that you can listen in,"
he added, catching a glimpse of her wand in her shirt pocket.</p><p>Trumpetflower
lowered her eyes. "We just want you to be safe, alpha, that's all," she said.</p><p>"I know,"
said Harry, and waited until she nodded. He could feel Draco's eyes on his
back, and knew the balance of his mind was sliding more and more from angry to
thoughtful. Or, at least, it should be if he was any kind of Slytherin at all.</p><p>Harry led
the way up the stairs, Draco just behind him and Trumpetflower at <em>his</em>
heels. He let Draco see him casting the ward on their room that would prevent
anyone outside from listening in, even with some of the less common and
cleverer eavesdropping spells. Trumpetflower took up her position as guard, and
Harry walked inside with Draco and shut and spell-locked the door.</p><p>He turned
around. Draco already had his arms folded again, and the mulish anger on his
face. Harry doubted it was entirely genuine. Draco was going to push and see
how much he could get away with, as he so often had before. Harry fought hard
not to smile. Making this into a conversation between reasonable adults,
instead of a shouting match, had paid off.</p><p>"What you
did to me yesterday was wrong," Draco started. "You <em>knew</em> about that
theory, and you didn't tell me!"</p><p>"I knew
about the Black and Malfoy marriages, and the general truths of the Grand
Unified Theory, before then," said Harry. "I am sorry for not telling you—if
you can tell me that you would have accepted this at any time."</p><p>"What?"
Draco blinked.</p><p>"If I had
told you about this when Thomas first told me," Harry said, making sure to
watch Draco's eyes, "would you have accepted it? Or would you still have been
nauseated that your grandfather was a halfblood?"</p><p>Draco's
eyes flicked slightly to the right before he said, "Of course I would have
accepted it. It would have been in private, not making a fool out of me in
front of your prat of a brother!"</p><p>Harry shook
his head. "You're lying, Draco, and I don't need Legilimency to tell that,
either," he added, when Draco opened his mouth to protest. "I should have
handled the situation better. I can admit that. I should have done it in
private. But I don't think you would have accepted it even that way."</p><p>"<em>Why</em>
did he do that?" Draco burst out. "He <em>must</em> know that the only
Black-Malfoy marriage in existence right now is my family's! He's making all
three of us look bad. He must have done it on purpose! Why aren't you trying to
exile <em>him</em> from the alliance for treachery against your partner and his
father?"</p><p>"Because he
doesn't see it that way," said Harry, blinking. He knew blood was important to
Draco, but could he have truly spent time in close quarters with Thomas and not
realized he wouldn't care about that? "He sees it as an interesting fact. Maybe
amusing, given that those families have always said they were pureblooded to the
bone. I'm sure he said more than that, and Rita Skeeter chose what to include
in the article. That he <em>did</em> say it, I have no doubt. It's interesting to
him, Draco. And that's all. He didn't mean it as an attack because he can't
conceive of blood being as important to someone as it is to your family. You're
still magical, and you're not research wizards, as he is. Does it matter how
you got to be magical?"</p><p>"Of course
it does!" Draco said.</p><p><em>Now
we're getting somewhere. </em>Harry leaned against the bed. "Why?"</p><p>"Because
we're <em>not</em> Muggles," Draco said passionately. "We don't share anything
with them, Harry! And even the Muggleborns like Granger—I suppose it's good
that she can study the pureblood rituals and fit in, but you <em>can't say</em>
that she's the same as we are!"</p><p>"Probably
not," said Harry. "I think this came too late for a lot of people to completely
change the way they feel about blood. But Hermione's children? I can see them
growing up proud of who they are, not caring about the old prejudices. As
Thomas said in that article, it's the future that's so exciting, more exciting
than the revision of the past."</p><p>"She's <em>not
the same</em>," Draco snapped.</p><p>Harry
frowned a bit. He thought he knew where this was going, but he wanted to be
sure. "Draco," he said. "I'm not going to make you change your mind, though
there are some things we need to talk about with blood. But what do you want,
exactly? You know that I won't just stand silent as you call Hermione a
Mudblood. That's under common rules of politeness."</p><p>"I want you
to believe that there's something different about her," Draco insisted.
"Because there <em>is.</em>"</p><p>Harry had
to laugh, though he tried to do it as gently as possible. Draco stared at him,
betrayed.</p><p>"Draco,"
Harry said, striving to make his words also gentle, "even if I believed that,
do you think it would matter to me? I'm trying to bring centaurs, werewolves,
house elves, into this alliance—all people that are far more different from you
than you are from Hermione. Difference is not enough to put me off someone.
Behavior would be, and if Hermione tried to use this to force you to change
your mind on blood differences, well, that's wrong. So far, though, I don't
know what she thinks. So far, all I have is your behavior to judge by. And it's
not impressing me very much."</p><p>"It's
different," Draco said, and now he was pleading. "You know that, Harry. You
were raised pureblood."</p><p>Harry
winced. <em>I thought it would come back to this sooner or later. </em>"I wasn't,
Draco," he said.</p><p>Draco
blinked again.</p><p>"I was <em>abused</em>,"
Harry said, though the word made his skin crawl as he said it and all his
trained sensibilities want to revolt in protest, "into believing that I needed
to know those rituals to win Connor allies. That is the <em>only</em> reason that
I know as much as I do, Draco. Not interest in the rituals for their own sake.
I can't think of much I'm interested in for its own sake. I was also raised
with a belief that Dark was evil and Light was purely good, and that I could
trust Headmaster Dumbledore before anyone else. I changed my mind on those
things. Why shouldn't I change my mind on the others? Evaluate them, rather
than blindly believe them? Culturally, I'm pureblood. But if that means I have
prejudices, I won't hold onto them just because I was raised with them."</p><p>"But if you
don't, then your blood—" Draco stopped.</p><p>"I know,"
said Harry calmly. "I know that my knowledge of the old dances made some of my
allies look past my blood. By now, though, people like Mrs. Parkinson and Mr.
Bulstrode should know me well enough not to care about that. If they don't,
they can always leave the alliance." He took a step forward. "The real
candidate here, Draco, the first real test, is you. Do you love me enough to
actually <em>be</em> in love with someone who's half-Muggleborn? Or do you want
to ignore it the way you always did? I'm afraid that I don't want to ignore it
any longer. You believe strongly in purity of blood. If you speak up about it,
though, I'm not going to be silent. I will remind you that I'm a halfblood as
often as you remind me that you're a pureblood. We are <em>equals.</em> Nothing
can change that. Unless you want to step out of the joining ritual now, of
course."</p><p>Draco was
silent for so long that Harry began to fear what he would say. But he steadied
himself against the temptation to back off, and apologize, and say that of
course it didn't matter what Draco believed, that Harry would always be there
by his side to accept and support him.</p><p><em>It
matters. Damn it, it does. And I cannot be afraid, not like this. I am </em>vates.
<em>It's my path to grant freedom first and foremost. If Draco can't look past
this, it's better that he be free of the joining ritual now, so that he can
find a partner he's happier with. No one I love can wear chains.</em></p><p>Harry lost
his train of thought as Draco let loose a little snarl and grabbed him, yanking
him close and kissing him hard enough to involve much pain and little pleasure.
Harry accepted it, because he thought he had his answer. He waited until it was
done, and then stepped back and asked, "Well?"</p><p>"You win,"
Draco said. "You always do."</p><p>Harry shook
his head. "Not good enough. I don't want to claim victory over you. Do you
accept what it's going to be like, Draco? That this argument isn't one we can
just resolve, that it's going to turn between us while we live over and around
it? I don't want to have an imaginary agreement, where both of us feel
constrained to never talk about blood or the Grand Unified Theory. I want to be
able to argue with you."</p><p>Draco
closed his eyes. "My fault for falling in love with a <em>vates</em>," he
muttered. Then he glared at Harry. "As long as we're using honesty, I hate it
when you talk about the end of the joining ritual. It makes me feel as if <em>you</em>
want it to end."</p><p>Harry
smiled. "I want it to end, but not for the reasons you think," he said.</p><p>Draco
stared at him again. Then he said, "You're too good with words. Yes, damn it,
all right. We live with this. And I won't call Granger a Mudblood when I see
her again."</p><p>"And I
apologize for not telling you earlier," said Harry.</p><p>Draco gave
a short nod, then took a closer look at Harry and snorted. "You didn't sleep
any better than I did last night," he said, and climbed into his own bed,
patting the sheets beside him in silent invitation.</p><p>Harry
hesitated only a moment before joining him. He had other things to do, that was
certainly true, but what he wanted most was the courage to do them, not the
time. There was nothing that had to be handled <em>immediately, right now.</em></p><p>Besides, he
wanted to sleep with Draco.</p><p>He settled
himself carefully in the strange bed, and then found it wasn't strange at all
as Draco's arms wrapped fiercely around him. Harry rested his head on Draco's
shoulder and his hand on his spine.</p><p>"Someday,
I'll be the one to reach out first," Draco murmured into his ear.</p><p>Harry
snorted, stirring Draco's hair. "Not everything is a sacrifice," he said. "Or a
debt. I wanted to talk to you, so I did. Simple as that." He closed his eyes.
Weariness was coming in now like a tide, as if it had only been waiting for the
moment he lay down to return.</p><p>"Nothing
with you is simple," Draco whispered, and then Harry was fairly sure he fell
asleep. Or maybe that was himself, remembering nothing past the moment in which
Draco touched his hair, with a gentleness that felt strangely akin to awe.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus had
received messages from Unspeakables and magical owls and regular owls and
Percy, but he had to admit that finding a letter slid under his door was new.
He had come to the office at a more normal time today, and therefore had only a
few moments to cast spells on the envelope, looking for hexes, before Percy
strode in with the <em>Vox Populi</em> swinging from his hands.
<p>"Look at
this, sir!"</p><p>Rufus
examined the article, and his mouth tightened. Of <em>course</em> Hornblower was
claiming that Unspeakables had attacked the Maenad Press. It was the kind of
thing he would claim, the kind of story that he would wave in the air as a
banner, trying to rally the masses. The problem was, this time he was only one
factor among many troublesome ones, and the rallying might actually work.</p><p>"What's
that, sir?" Percy had caught sight of the letter.</p><p>"I don't
know who it's from, yet," said Rufus. He was sure that it could not be from the
Department of Mysteries; they would have come to him themselves, rather than
send a letter, and in any case they usually used gray parchment and an
hourglass sigil. "I found it shoved under my door this morning."</p><p>Percy
narrowed his eyes. "And no one saw anything?"</p><p>"No." Rufus
knew Percy didn't trust Wilmot, though Percy couldn't say why; he just shuffled
his feet and looked embarrassed when Rufus asked. "And I don't think there are
any spells on it." Nevertheless, he cast a spell that would hang the letter in
the air a distance from him, then cast yet another that would slit open the
envelope. Inelegantly, the three sheets of paper tucked inside tumbled out.</p><p>Rufus
examined what he could see. It wasn't a letter. It appeared to be pages ripped
from a book. He frowned and cast another spell. But the <em>Deprendo</em>
revealed no sign of magic on the pages, Dark or otherwise. Rufus felt safe, at
last, to pick them up, shuffle them, and read them.</p><p>They began
in the middle of a sentence, which wasn't helpful, but Rufus quickly discovered
why his mysterious correspondent had wanted him to see them.</p><p><em>--did
not believe in the loyalty of those who would have sworn themselves to the
shadows. He was a Light Lord, and fierce with it, a deadly opponent of any such
thing as secrecy. He asked how the newly formed Ministry could have a Department
that worked in the shadows and yet be the bastion of justice for the wizarding
world that it was supposed to be.</em></p><p><em>The
first Unspeakable, whose name has passed into history only as the First,
reassured him. "We have one artifact already that we have studied and
understand the purpose of," he said. </em></p><p><em>This
artifact was the Stone, a great gray block at least ten feet high, and
ornamented with white runes. The Light Lord examined it, and admitted it was
undeclared, neutral magic, neither Dark nor Light. But he demanded a
demonstration of how the Stone would keep the Unspeakables loyal to the
Ministry.</em></p><p><em>The
First laid his arm upon it, and cut his palm in the manner of someone securing
a life debt oath. "I swear that I will be loyal to the Stone," he said. "And
the Stone serves the Ministry. I cannot lie, save in the service of the Stone.
I cannot hurt others, save in the service of the Stone. I cannot vanish into
the shadows, save in the service of the Stone.</em>"</p><p><em>Those oaths are the ones all Unspeakables
have taken from that day to this one, and the Stone has kept them loyal.
Minister after Minister has been pleased to accept those oaths. The
Unspeakables are chosen by the Stone; they do not choose themselves. Promising
recruits who cannot accept the oaths and subordinate their wills to the Stone's
do not join the Department of Mysteries. The Stone itself is the product of
another world—for similar artifacts, one may consider the Maze that
traditionally sits within the Potter home of Lux Aeterna—and it cannot be
fooled as the artifacts of this world may be.</em></p><p><em>It is worth noting, since it is so often claimed as a folk story, that
the Light Lord Seaborn was not satisfied with the Unspeakables' explanation. He
asked how they could know that the Stone was loyal to the Ministry, and they
told him that the Stone spoke in their heads. They invited him to put his hands
on the Stone and listen. But the Light Lord Seaborn expressed a strange
reluctance to do so, saying that he feared his own will would be taken.</em></p><p><em>Yet every Minister from that day to this who has been introduced to the
Stone has agreed that its purposes are the Ministry's. They know it, as perhaps
only the Unspeakables otherwise do. Those of us outside the Ministry are
fortunate to even know the Unspeakables' oaths. But the will of the Stone, once
sworn to, cannot be broken. Unspeakables may seem to do wrong in the public's
eye, but they do, always and only, what will advance the goals of the Stone,
and thus of the Ministry.</em></p><p>Rufus swallowed. He had known that,
of course, though not the specific details about the Light Lord Seaborn. He had
known the Unspeakables served the Stone, and that they could not break their
oaths. He had known that even the traitors could not really be traitors, not in
the sense of acting against the Ministry, and therefore they must have simply
interpreted the Stone's orders wrongly. He had been willing to grant the loyal
Unspeakables time to find them, because they were still his people, and they
had acted wrongly out of the best of motives, not out of fear as Amelia had. It
had to be the best of motives. The Stone guaranteed that.</p><p>But he had not known the Stone was
from another world.</p><p>And he should trust the Stone so
much only if he remembered meeting it and hearing from its own mind that its
sworn companions served the Ministry.</p><p>But he did not remember meeting it.</p><p>"Sir?" That was Percy, and he
sounded concerned, but he also sounded as if he were speaking from a very long
distance away. "Is something wrong?"</p><p>Rufus shook his head and looked back
at the pages. And that was when he saw that some of the letters on the pages
were circled, faint marks that would hardly show up unless someone were looking
for them. He would have pulled a piece of parchment from his desk and written
the circled letters down, but suddenly he was oppressively aware, as he had
never been before, of the wards that ran throughout the Ministry, allowing the
Unspeakables to watch what went on. They had been strengthened in his office,
for his own protection, of course.</p><p>Sick doubt filled his belly. He had
believed the Unspeakables blindly, as he only should have after meeting the
Stone. The sense of serene confidence described in these pages suited him
perfectly.</p><p>And he could not remember meeting
it.</p><p>He ran his eyes over the letters on
the page instead, memorizing them. He had used to be fairly good at acronyms
and codes when he was an Auror. Then he snorted and crumpled the pages up,
tossing them in the air with a snarled, "<em>Incendio.</em>"</p><p>Percy gasped as ashes drifted down.
"Sir?" he asked.</p><p>"Damn pages were trying to put a
compulsion on me as I read them," said Rufus, wondering if the Unspeakables'
wards could pick up his heart beating in his ears like a frightened hare's.
"Time-delayed spell. Trying to fill my head with stuff and nonsense about our
allies."</p><p>Percy looked outraged. "And it was
Harry who was doing that to you, sir?"</p><p><em>I must walk a tightrope. I must not let the Unspeakables know that I
suspect what they are doing to me. If they are doing it to me. If Harry really
is right, and they were lying. </em></p><p><em>They cannot lie, I thought.</em></p><p><em>Save in the service of the Stone. </em></p><p>"It must have been," said Rufus.
"There were no identifying marks on the papers, but who else would have a
reason to try?" He shook his head. "And <em>compulsion</em>, too. It seems
that he has slipped from his <em>vates</em> path."</p><p><em>I must be careful. If they took me to meet the Stone and I do not
remember it, Merlin knows what else they could do to me.</em></p><p>He provided a sympathetic ear to
Percy's outrage, while he rearranged the circled letters on the pages in his
head. It didn't take long. The message was too short to be a sentence, only
thirteen letters long. It was obviously a name, and in a few moments he had it,
if only because that name had drifted across his mind more than once in the
past few days.</p><p><em>Aurelius Flint.</em></p><p>Rufus let out a sharp breath as he
considered that. Other people in the Ministry were willing to play chess on his
side, if he let them. At least, he <em>thought</em> that was what this message meant.</p><p>And he needed allies. Reaching out
to Harry would only reveal to the Unspeakables what he knew. They had stopped
Harry's post reaching him—and didn't that make more sense than Harry just
refusing to answer letters, out of boyish pride or not?—and they had altered
his memory. Rufus was far more vulnerable to them than Harry was. He would have
to play his cards so close to his chest for now that not even Harry could be
allowed to see their faces.</p><p>For now, he must maintain the tense
status quo, dancing between balancing the Department Heads and his own power,
and now he had to add the Unspeakable as malevolent partners.</p><p>His gaze wandered across the room
and fell on the portrait of his grandmother Leonora. She gave him a serene
smile.</p><p>Rufus narrowed his eyes, and
wondered if Aurelius Flint had a portrait in his own office.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry stood outside Snape's door for
a long moment. He didn't want to do this. He wanted to do this even less than
he had wanted to confront Draco. There, there was at least the chance that
Draco would reach out to him, because of the love they shared and because Draco
couldn't bear arguing with him. Snape had not seemed interested in reaching out
to him halfway.
<p>It didn't matter, though. Not after
this morning.</p><p>Aware of the person waiting around
the corner, Harry reached up and rapped on the door.</p><p>Small sounds from inside the room,
sounds of cursing and pacing, went quiet. Harry waited. Snape must have some
means of identifying him. Harry would let five minutes pass, then knock again.</p><p>The door opened after three minutes.
Snape stared at him without expression. Perhaps he expected a scolding, Harry
thought. Perhaps an apology. Well, he was about to get neither. Harry really
didn't have time for either. And he had someone on his side who would do a far
better job of the scolding than he could. That person had the time, the
interest, and the lack of personal connection that Harry now thought were key
to helping Snape. He loved Snape so much that he backed off when he saw that he
was hurting him. And perhaps if Snape's dysfunction had remained in snapping at
Harry and silently fuming at himself, then that would have been enough.</p><p>Not after this morning, though. Not
after Harry had heard raised voices in the entrance hall of Cobley-by-the-Sea,
and then heard a curse he recognized, followed by a shriek and the scent of
burning hair and skin. If Harry had not been there, if he had not known the
countercurse to <em>Ardesco</em>, and if he had not dropped the wards on
the house long enough to Apparate with her to Hogwarts and the hospital wing,
he knew Camellia would have died.</p><p>Snape had
cursed one of the werewolves. Understandable, perhaps, with the full moon only
two nights away, and the house's main focus, including Harry's, on brewing
Wolfsbane and making plans to protect the pack from the Department for the
Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts.</p><p>But he had
stepped past the point where Harry could allow this to continue. The rest of
the pack was silent, but it was a threatening kind of silence. They lay in an
immense pile for comfort in the middle of Cobley-by-the-Sea's biggest room,
their amber eyes shining in the dimness when Harry looked at them. He had told
them that it would never happen again, and that he would deal with Snape.</p><p>They had
watched him. They were shaken, Harry knew. They had depended on their alpha to
protect them, and he had not. They would be questioning whether they could
trust him now. They would definitely not trust Snape. The temptation during the
full moon to slip out of the rooms in which they would otherwise lock
themselves, pad down the hall, and chew through Snape's door…</p><p>Harry bowed
his head. This had gone too far. He had tried to balance Snape's free will and
the free wills of the werewolves, and had ended up giving too much free rein to
Snape's.</p><p>Snape
wasn't healing. Harry bore the onus of having waited so long to try and heal
him. He looked up into Snape's eyes, and said, "I'm sending you away. To
Hogwarts, in fact. I notice that you haven't given Headmistress McGonagall your
resignation, so you still plan to teach Potions and act as the Head of
Slytherin House. That's fine. But you'll have to spend the last few days before
the start of term preparing at the school itself."</p><p>Snape said
nothing. Harry had expected that. Snape had said nothing for too long. <em>Perhaps
I should have left him in the Sanctuary, </em>Harry thought, <em>or denied his
request to come with me in the first place. But that would have stepped on his
free will, too. These are the costs of being </em>vates</p><p>"I can't
force you to leave," said Harry. "I know that. And I can't just leave you to
hurt, for both your sake <em>and</em> others'. What happened to Camellia could
happen to someone else at Hogwarts."</p><p>Snape
finally spoke, his words glistening dark as pitch. "Did you know that she was
the werewolf who attacked me, held me, and threatened to infect me, that day by
the lake?"</p><p>Harry
blinked. "No. I didn't recognize her."</p><p>"She was."
Snape's voice held only a little of what Harry knew must be a rushing torrent
of hatred.</p><p>"Did she
threaten to infect you now?" Harry asked, making sure to keep his voice calm
and toneless.</p><p>Snape
looked away from him.</p><p>"I thought
not," Harry said. "You're going, sir. And I'll send someone with you to help you
and make sure that you don't curse anyone else." He nodded to the corner, and
Joseph stepped around it, his eyes fearless and patient and fixed on Snape.
"Regardless, you are not welcome in this house. You used magic against someone
under my protection."</p><p>"I never
swore the oaths of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow," Snape snarled.</p><p>"And
because of that, you think I'll allow you to curse anyone you want?" Harry
narrowed his eyes, and let Snape catch a glimpse of his own anger. "<em>No</em>.
You've stepped too far. I've tried to help. You've slapped my hand away, except
for short periods that I hoped might be signs of healing, or balancing. I can't
help you. I know that, I've tried, and I've failed. I'm exhausted. If you
really wanted to fester in your own bitterness, I would have been content to
let you do it, because that only hurts you and me, but not this. Not this," he
repeated, because now Snape was staring at him as if he didn't understand.</p><p>"You
cannot—" he began.</p><p>"He can,"
said Joseph, and his voice was merciless. "You haven't been acting like a
guardian towards him lately. He's been playing the role of parent to you, and
you've reacted, at best, like a sulky child. But sulky children don't nearly
kill other people because of insults." Harry was glad that Joseph wasn't
talking to him like that; he'd never heard anyone, even Snape himself, muster
so scathing a tone of disappointment. "Come with me, now."</p><p>He reached
out and clasped Snape's arm firmly, while Snape was still too astonished to
protest. The Portkey he held in his other hand activated then, and the swirl of
colors caught them up and washed them away. Harry closed his eyes. He'd
obtained the Portkey from McGonagall while he was at Hogwarts. Harry would send
Peter later with Snape's Potions equipment, most of which was too heavy for an
owl to fly.</p><p>He hadn't
realized, when this started, how much <em>faith</em> it was going to take him. He
had trusted Snape, and too much. Now he had to trust that what he was doing was
for the best, that what actually mattered was giving Snape another chance to
prove himself while making sure he couldn't hurt others.</p><p><em>This is
probably why Willoughby and other people want to bring me to trial. They don't
trust me any more, and why should they?</em></p><p>Harry
straightened with a shake of his head. That was done. He would go and speak
with the pack now, and make it clear that he took his responsibility as their
alpha seriously.</p><p>He loved
Snape, but he couldn't permit him to lash out cursing werewolves left and
right, any more than he could let Draco blindly hurt Connor.</p><p><em>Or vice
versa. I've made two mistakes now, going along with that prank and letting
Snape stay here without a check on his animosity for so long, and I'm only
lucky the consequences haven't been more devastating.</em></p><p><em>What do
I do?</em></p><p><em>Watch
out, of course. And try not to make any more.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Minerva was
prepared for it when Severus and his Seer appeared in her office. If she had
not been prepared for it, she would not have given Harry that Portkey in the
first place. As it was, she sat primly behind her desk, hands folded. She had
already been to see the burned young werewolf in the hospital wing, and the
sight had filled her with a rage that she had not felt against Severus in all
the years they had been colleagues.

<p><em>May I
remind him of the teacher he faced during his years as a student here. Perhaps
that will get through to him where nothing else will.</em></p><p>The Portkey
spun the two figures out in a whirl of colors in even less time than Harry had
told her it would probably take. Severus was staggering, as he obviously hadn't
expected to come this way, and he pulled away from the other man in a moment,
his wand raised high, a curse on his lips—</p><p>Minerva
raised an eyebrow. The wards around the school, back under her control after
the tearing down and rebuilding Harry had helped her with in the spring,
snapped taut, and all Dark Arts magic in the room abruptly ceased to function.
That affected no one but Severus, of course. His curse failed, and for a moment
he stared at his wand as if it had betrayed him.</p><p>"That is
enough," said Minerva, making sure to keep her voice smooth and cold, the way
the lake froze in winter. "Severus."</p><p>Severus
turned and looked at her, but said nothing. Minerva understood his glare, well
enough not to wither under it. Severus was a frightened boy in one part of
himself, and someone had dug up that part and put it on display.</p><p>"My name is
Joseph," said his Seer, bowing and drawing Minerva's attention. His face was
the calmest she'd ever seen, though a hint of frustration appeared when he
looked at Severus. "I'll be staying in the dungeons to help the Potions Master
heal. I hope that you don't mind."</p><p>"I wouldn't
have agreed to accept him back without your company," said Minerva crisply, and
that, at least, made Severus pay attention to her.</p><p>"Minerva,"
he whispered.</p><p>"I would
have contacted Professor Slughorn and told him that I needed him to return,"
Minerva said. "It's true, Severus," she added, as the betrayed look on his face
grew further. "I saw the young woman you cursed. She'll be lucky if she manages
to grow any hair on her face again. What is the <em>matter</em> with you, that
you would use <em>Ardesco</em> on someone outside of battle?" Her own frustration
and fear bled through in her voice. She could see how badly Severus needed the
sanctuary of Hogwarts, the work he was used to doing, the protection of people
who understood him, but Remus Lupin could be argued to need the same things.
Minerva had sent him away without hesitation when it became obvious that Remus
was a danger to the children she had sworn to protect. If it came to it, she
would do the same thing to Severus. She would not play favorites in this, and
though Severus might tell himself so, it had nothing to do with Slytherin and
Gryffindor.</p><p>"She
insulted me," said Severus at last, every line in his body tight with rage.</p><p>"And you
replied with a curse instead of that cutting tongue of yours?" Minerva made
every line in her own face tight with disapproval. She was thinking of the boy
Severus had been, caught in a spiraling circle of hatred with the Marauders,
and how it seemed that he had now turned outward and wielded that hatred upon
others. The image of the burned woman in the hospital wing vied with the image
of young Severus in her mind's eye. She had failed him, she could admit
that—she felt she had failed every student who had gone to Voldemort—but she
could not stand aside because of that and allow him to visit the consequences
of her failure on others. "I do not believe you could think of no insults equal
to what she had done."</p><p>"I will
not—"</p><p>"You <em>will</em>,"
Minerva told him. "These are the conditions of your employment here at
Hogwarts, Severus. I am making Filius Deputy Headmaster. I am going to inquire
personally after your talks with Joseph. And if you curse any of your students,
even with something so mild as boils, I will sack you."</p><p>Severus
said nothing. Minerva recognized the mask he'd bolted over his face now. She
had seen it too many times in the years when Albus sat in her place, and she
felt the familiar frustration sweeping over her. The temptation to back off and
leave him to stew in his own bitterness was strong.</p><p>Save that,
now, she was the one in the position of protecting the students from him, not
Albus. And she did not have the hold over him that Albus had. She had to make
sure that he understood her, and if he could not accept the terms, then she
would sack him now.</p><p>"Very
well," Severus said. His voice had become its bored, mocking drawl again. "I
accept, Headmistress. Now, if you will excuse me, I will scuttle back into my
dungeons, where I belong." He bowed and strode quickly for the door.</p><p>Joseph
followed him. Minerva frowned, but he turned, gave her a reassuring nod, and
kept on following Snape.</p><p><em>If he
can see his soul, and still wants to help him, then I suppose that there is
hope, </em>Minerva thought, and rubbed her brow, sighing.</p><p>Then she turned back to testing the
wards. Contrary to what Severus might think, her tasks did not all revolve
around tormenting him.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry came
down to breakfast the morning after the first full moon night of August feeling
hopeful. His pack had stayed in the Black houses during their change, all given
Wolfsbane, most sleeping beyond locked doors. Camellia had returned to them,
healed of her burns by Madam Pomfrey's skill, and if she had demanded that
Harry stay with her when she became a werewolf, well, she had the right to
demand that. Harry had found some moments of surreal comfort in pacing up and
down the halls of Cobley-by-the-Sea with a huge dark werewolf at his side, and
even in watching the hippocampi with her.</p><p>Those
allies of his he'd delegated to watch the werewolf packs in London—Honoria,
Ignifer, Narcissa, Tybalt, and John—had contacted him near dawn with reports of
success. No Department hunters had come after the packs there. Harry knew there
might be reports of new hunts in the <em>Daily Prophet</em>, but he was thinking
there probably wouldn't be. Most other werewolves in Britain didn't live in
packs, but as scattered individuals, and the majority of them had refused the
collars and identification papers. The hunters would have to stumble on one by
sheer good luck.</p><p>He picked
up the <em>Prophet</em>, glanced at the first page, and had his hope destroyed by
the headline.</p><p><strong><em><span style='text-decoration: underline;'>DEADLY
WEREWOLF MURDER</span></em></strong></p><p>Harry took
a deep breath, and read.</p><p><em>Members
of the Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts are
recovering this morning after a deadly attack on their headquarters last night
by a werewolf. </em></p><p><em>"He was
only one, but he was a monster," said one hunter, Gerald Darkling, 53. "He had
white fur, and he moved like a lightning bolt, and none of our spells could
affect him, even when they hit him. He bit anyone who got in the way, but he
tore Felicia apart. What's left of her doesn't look human."</em></p><p><em>Felicia
was Felicia Joyborn, one of three Department hunters who killed two werewolves
last month…</em></p><p>Harry
closed his eyes. That would have told him, even if the description of the
werewolf hadn't, what had happened. Loki had taken vengeance on one of the
murderers of his mate.</p><p>Harry
rubbed his forehead tiredly. He'd given warning about Loki's possible future
attacks in the interview he'd granted Skeeter, in the letters he'd posted to
Scrimgeour—which he now knew had never reached their destinations—and in a few
messages he'd tried having Fred and George pass to Amelia Bones for him, since
he doubted she would listen to what he had to say.</p><p>And it
hadn't worked.</p><p>Harry could
see the path stretching ahead. The papers had been full of the chatter about
the Grand Unified Theory in the past few days, but this would bring the
werewolf issue back into focus. The Department had been ravaged, one of their
members murdered and others made into werewolves. The outcry against the packs
would rise again, especially once someone figured out who the attacker must
have been. The Unspeakables would be able to push through, with much less
resistance, laws that made the collaring and identifying of werewolves
mandatory. Harry would have to work hard to disassociate the packs he was
protecting from this madness, if anyone would believe him in any case.</p><p>All for
Loki's vengeance.</p><p><em>This is
why I hate revenge, </em>Harry thought dully. <em>Because it never affects only
those people it's supposed to affect. It splashes more widely, and it makes one
person's rage more important than the free wills of all the rest. </em></p><p>He took a
deep breath and stood. He had a pack to reassure. He had speeches to prepare,
since some of the reporters would want to talk to him, and Hornblower would
probably contact him about an article for the <em>Vox Populi</em>.</p><p>And he had
Department hunters to offer support to—both the newly-made werewolves, and
those two hunters left who were now in danger from Loki's teeth. Politics did
make for strange bedfellows, indeed.</p><p><em>And who
said this would be easy?</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 23*: Intermission: The Initiation</h2>
			<p><strong>WARNING: Graphic gore.</strong></p><p>The lines Rosier
quotes are taken from Swinburne's "Anactoria."</p><p><strong>Intermission: The Initiation</strong></p><p>Snape wondered that no
one in the building they were about to attack could feel the power
lapping around him, Malfoy, and Rosier in black, quiet waves. Perhaps
they simply accepted the Dark Lord's magic as part of the natural
power of the night; it was the autumn equinox, the old holiday of
Mabon, when the light and darkness were of equal lengths.</p><p><em>The pause before
the night grows longer, </em>Snape's father had once called it.
Snape had stared at him in astonishment. Tobias could only have
learned that from his wife, and he had said it long after he stopped
communicating with Eileen in anything more than grunts. But he had
turned away when his son tried to speak to him about it, and never
said it again.</p><p>It <em>was</em>, though.
Snape could feel the power of the night on the wind that swept over
them where they crouched in a low, scrubby field of trampled grass.
Cold dryness filled his mouth. Overhead, clouds tattered across the
moon, which had just begun to dwindle. The stars seemed smaller than
normal, and impossibly far away.</p><p>Snape shook his head
slightly. Whatever concealing spell the Dark Lord was using, it still
seemed strange to him the Light wizards could not sense how their
lives were about to end.</p><p>"It is time."</p><p>Malfoy said that as he
rose to his feet. He carried his wand out already, and the moonlight
let Snape see his faint smile as he held it up. Beside him, Rosier
laughed, but Rosier was always laughing. Snape drew his own wand, but
didn't raise it as yet. The point of this raid, for him, was to
undergo his initiation into the Death Eaters. That meant he had a
specific kill to make, in a specific way. No blindingly striking out,
for him.</p><p>A low cry drifted up
to them, a sound like a dying deer might make.</p><p>"<em>Now</em>," said
Malfoy, in an exultant voice as soft as the cry, and then aimed his
wand at the house. "<em>Cremo!</em>"</p><p>The house's roof
exploded into fire. Snape could hear the screams of the children
inside, and knew a moment's wild contempt. Observations had
indicated those children were at least seven and nine years old, and
they were both magical. They should have known how to defend
themselves by then. That they did not was pathetic. That their
guardians had not taught them to expect something like this, when
they were in the middle of a war, was beyond scorn.</p><p>The house's door
tore open, and a wizard in a huge, floppy robe ran out, his wand
aimed at the flames. He didn't even glance at the Death Eaters.
Snape wondered, with weary incredulity, if he actually thought <em>chance</em>
had started the fire, when the Dark Lord's people were everywhere
hunting Mudbloods and the Light wizards who sought to protect them.</p><p>"This one's mine,"
said Rosier. "<em>Glubo!</em>"</p><p>The curse manifested
as a stream of black fire that Snape could barely see, which struck
the wizard full-on in the back as he tried to deal with Malfoy's
conflagration. He staggered as if under a physical blow, then let out
a wail of astonished pain. The robe flew aside as his skin began to
peel from his body, strips falling from the spine, unwinding from his
neck, yanking like pared apple skin from his legs. Snape watched the
flesh revealed without flinching. He had charred out the part of
himself that should be horrified by such things, he thought. Or the
Marauders had done it for him.</p><p>"As the poet says,"
breathed Rosier. "I pray thee sigh not, speak not, draw not breath;
let life burn down, and dream it is not death." His laughter
returned then, sharp and high. "Except that it is. It <em>always</em>
is."</p><p>"Howard!" cried
someone inside the house, and then out came a witch with long, pale
hair. A sudden flash of light from the fire revealed that she bore
the yellow eyes of a pureblood Light family.</p><p>Rosier tilted his head
at Snape. "That one's yours," he said. "I prefer them
younger." He glided forward, aiming for the house where the
Mudblood children lay. He easily avoided the charge of the red-haired
wizard who sprang out, and who soon saw Malfoy anyway and ran forward
with a shout. Snape concealed a smirk as he caught a brief glimpse of
Malfoy's face. Lucius had not known that Gideon Prewett was here,
and the chances that he would be able to defeat him all by himself
were extremely small.</p><p>And then Snape was
alone with his victim. A Vance, he knew that, but he could not
remember her first name.</p><p>She stared at him, one
hand scrambling for her wand, caught between her terror for the
wizard Rosier had flayed and her terror of him and the shock of the
attack and the horror of it all. Snape held her eyes, and did not
look away as he raised his own wand.</p><p>Every Death Eater
initiation was different. For some, Lord Voldemort would require that
they did something they personally found repugnant, such as killing a
child, to show their dedication to his cause. For others, they had to
use a bloody, torturous spell, rather than the painless Killing
Curse. And for still others, the test was a test of emotion.</p><p>The Dark Lord had told
Snape to commit a murder in a certain frame of mind. Then the Lord
would read his mind when he came back to the Death Eaters and learn
if he had actually done as he had been instructed.</p><p>Snape had never
murdered before. He wondered, distantly, if he should have felt some
hesitation. Gryffindors would have said yes. Even some of his fellow
Slytherins would have said so. They bragged about practicing <em>Crucio</em>,
but they would have gone faint and sick if they had seen it used on a
human being, rather than the rats and spiders they found to practice
with.</p><p>But none of them knew
the lessons that Snape's mother had already taught him by the time
he entered Hogwarts at eleven. <em>The Dark Arts take a steady hand
and a clear mind. And, above all, you must not care that much.</em></p><p>Snape met the witch's
eyes, and said, "<em>Ardesco.</em>"</p><p>The flames exploded
from within the Vance woman's body just as she readied her wand.
She screamed and screamed as her eyeballs blazed from behind with the
fire, as her hair caught flame from underneath, as her bones were
briefly outlined against her skin with the sheer intensity of it.
Usually, that curse took some time to kill, giving the victim a
chance to counteract it, but Snape had cast with considerable power
and care. She died, but the death was concentrated into a few seconds
of endless pain.</p><p>He watched, and he
noticed the way that her skin smelled as she fell, and the blackened
smears her crisped hair cast on the grass. Then he turned and walked
to the house. Behind him, Malfoy was battling more and more fiercely
with Prewett, but that was to be expected. Snape was not blind, even
if the others were, to the consequences of the Dark Lord sending
Malfoy to a house where that wizard lurked. Malfoy had failed to
defeat him time and again, and the Dark Lord wanted only the
strongest to serve him.</p><p>He peered into the
house, and saw that it was done, the Mudblood children dismembered.
Rosier sat in the middle of one bed, tracing a hand in the liquids.
He was chewing on something. Snape thought it was a heel, with a
large strip of flesh still attached. He glanced up at Snape, blinked,
and swallowed.</p><p>"Any trouble?" he
asked.</p><p>Snape smirked. "Malfoy
is having some trouble with one of the Prewett twins," he said.</p><p>"Let him have
trouble," said Rosier comfortably. "They won't kill each
other." He lay back and closed his eyes in bliss as the blood crept
under his robes. Snape wrinkled his nose. He could not imagine
<em>bathing</em> in the liquid; it would dry into a sticky mess that
would prove hard to clean off later. But Rosier evidently enjoyed it.</p><p>There were few Death
Eaters like Rosier, and Snape was just as glad.</p><p>He lifted his head as
he felt the alteration in the night around them. It was not merely
the cessation of curses from outside, which indicated Prewett had
once again escaped. It was the arrival of that deep, earthy power
that he had felt around him when Malfoy had taken him to meet his
Lord. He turned to the door and fell on one knee moments before the
night parted to reveal Lord Voldemort.</p><p>Rosier let out a
small, happy sound. "I would kneel, my lord," he said, "but
this bed <em>is</em> so warm."</p><p>Voldemort laughed, a
hissing sound that seemed to come from the back of the house more
than from in front of them. "I will grant you that concession,
Evan," he said. "And Severus."</p><p>Snape lifted his head
and met the Dark Lord's eyes. He felt the Legilimency sweep into
his mind, a casual scything, looking for the emotions he had felt
when he killed the Vance witch.</p><p>He showed his Lord
everything, of course. He had no reason not to. It was true. He had
joined the Death Eaters to have revenge on his enemies, but he would
not run into battle madly shouting, a liability to his Lord's
larger cause. His rage was not even smoldering embers. What was left
was the cold ashes of bitterness, and the wormwood satisfaction of
inflicting losses, of any kind, on the hypocrites and liars and
braggart children of the Light.</p><p>Snape had changed from
even as much as a month ago, when he had first met the Dark Lord. He
had had a chance to walk among and work with the other Death Eaters,
and he had seen what they were. He knew he was beyond them, save
perhaps the mad Rosier, who genuinely did enjoy what he did. He was
not <em>touched</em> by what he did. He had no personal rivalries as
Malfoy did with the Weasleys, no desire to seek out the Marauders
before anyone else. What he had was the ability to do anything, as
long as it <em>hurt</em> the Light.</p><p>Voldemort was smiling,
he realized when he looked up. "Very good," said the Dark Lord,
softly, and then lifted his wand, yew body and phoenix feather core,
symbols of resurrection. "Bare your left arm."</p><p>Snape did as he was
told, never taking his eyes from his Lord's. The smile might have a
touch of genuine amusement to it now, Snape thought. That did not
matter. He knew exactly what he was here for, and what the Dark Lord
could give him.</p><p>"Severus Snape,"
said Voldemort, "wizard, son of Eileen Prince, do you consent to
serve me all the days of your life?"</p><p>"I do," said
Snape. He could accept a lifetime of torturing and killing and
hurting those who hurt him, he thought. Easily. The satisfaction was
worth it.</p><p>"And do you consent
to be loyal to me, putting my goals and not your own first, for as
long as you shall live and carry the Dark Mark?"</p><p>"I do." Snape saw
a gleam far back in Voldemort's deep eyes, and knew he was signing
his freedom away. He did not care. Freedom had never brought him
revenge.</p><p>"Do you consent to
wear my Mark upon your skin, and take no steps to remove or alter
it?"</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"<em>Morsmordre!</em>"</p><p>And the Dark Mark
formed on his skin.</p><p>Snape had never felt
any pain like this pain. <em>Crucio</em> did not compare. Knives
slashed his skin open, his flesh, his bone, and imprinted the Dark
Mark deep, deep, deep, into the core of his being.</p><p>Against the temptation
to flinch, however, Snape brought up all the memories of the times
that his mother had told him what his blood meant, all the times he
had succeeded in class only to be passed over in favor of those who
had higher status or looked better, all the times he had learned that
his magic, his very <em>power</em>, meant nothing, that he was nothing,
that he was a scrap of being.</p><p>He countered pain with
pain, and he did not flinch, and he did not scream.</p><p>He looked up, and
Voldemort was smiling at him. "Our next attack shall be on a family
the old fool, Albus Dumbledore, would give much to defend," he said
softly.</p><p>And Snape felt
something like peace.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 24*: Interlude: The Liberator's Third Letter</h2>
			<strong>Interlude: The Liberator's Third Letter</strong>
<p><em>August 27th,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour: </em></p><p>You may be wondering
why you have not heard from me in some time. For that, I can only
apologize. My family has grown increasingly paranoid over recent
events. They seem to fear that the Light will lose its prominence in
our world to Dark purebloods. And <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>anyone </span>could be a traitor
selling out to the Dark, particularly their youngest daughter, who
has not adopted their attitudes towards the Light and the Order of
the Phoenix with as much enthusiasm as the rest of her family. So
they have kept a closer watch on me, and sometimes searched my rooms
for ink and parchment. My will to aid you remains strong, but the
means of doing so have been almost taken from me.</p><p>I have more names for
you:</p><p>-Paul Fredericks. You
know him as a Granian breeder, I'm sure, and associated with Shield
of the Granian. It's true that his economic interests occupy him
more than anything else, but he thinks, and is probably right, that
the Light will favor his interests more than the Dark. He has been in
contact with Order of the Phoenix members whom Hestia Jones
contacted. So I overheard my mother saying to my father.</p><p>-Keep a close eye on
Pharos Starrise. It's true that he's not the power his uncle was,
but my father has mentioned him, and thinks that very weakness is
what might make him turn to the Light in different ways than his
uncle did. If his name has been brought up in my hearing, I am sure
that it can mean nothing good.</p><p>-I do have more
information on Falco Parkinson for you. He walks the "paths" that
Lord-level wizards are sometimes tempted by. These paths lead through
Light and Dark, and both of them grant him powers in the hopes of
seducing him to their sides. In particular, I have found that he can
bend time. This is not exactly what a Time-Turner does; he cannot go
back into the past, and he does not have to take a care with meeting
himself. What it allows him to do is get from one time to another
without simply waiting through the hours or days in between. He
vanishes from one and then appears in another—rather like a
prolonged Apparition. He uses it mainly to hide from his enemies, as
they cannot find him in the wizarding world while he bends time.
However, from what my parents have said, this power is not perfect.
He may look for a Time-Turner or other artifact, such as one in the
Department of Mysteries, to enhance it. Please watch for this, and
guard your artifacts accordingly.</p><p>It has taken me five
days to write all this information down, taking advantage of rare
moments when I am alone, which is why the date is written last next
to my signature. I sincerely hope that my owl finds you well,
Minister Scrimgeour. You are the best hope of the Light, as I know
that the <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span> cannot Declare, and Falco Parkinson is Light in
name only. Like Dumbledore, he will use any means to secure his ends.
And the Order of the Phoenix is more aimed at destroying the man who
destroyed their leader, or serving Parkinson, than in carrying the
fight against the Dark Lord forward.</p><p>I work for freedom.</p><p>Yours,</p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 25*: A Most Tumultuous First Day</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>Long chapter ahoy.</p><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen: A Most Tumultuous First Day</strong></p><p><em>Refusing people
seems to have become a regular feature of my life, </em>Harry thought.
"No," he said aloud.</p><p>Camellia frowned and
let one hand smooth across her head. She would probably regrow the
hair that had burned in Snape's <em>Ardesco</em> at some point in the
future, but Madam Pomfrey hadn't managed to save it. "It's true
that we wouldn't have much to do in the school," she said, "but
it would be a comfort for some of us to be close to our alpha. And—"</p><p>"There are many
reasons I'd like you to stay away from Hogwarts," said Harry.
"Most are practical. There are parents who won't like you so near
their children. You won't have much to do there. Where you would
stay becomes a problem. What happens if someone offends you near the
full moon becomes a problem." Camellia flushed. Harry clenched his
hand into a fist briefly, wishing that either Camellia or Snape would
tell him <em>what</em> they'd said to each other. So far, though,
Snape had refused with his silence and Camellia had simply refused. <em>I
cannot force it from them. </em>"And what you would do if someone
threatened me becomes a problem."</p><p>Camellia blinked. "It
does?"</p><p>"Of course it does,"
said Harry. "The majority of the people who might threaten me at
Hogwarts are <em>children</em>, Camellia. They do it because of a
sudden flash of temper or because I've hurt a member of their
family, not because they're Death Eaters." He resolutely pushed
away the memory of those Death Eaters who had turned out to be
present in Hogwarts last year. "They don't deserve the pack to
pile snarling on them for that."</p><p>"You need someone to
protect you," Camellia said.</p><p>"I'll have that,"
Harry said. "Peter will be there. Henrietta Bulstrode, whom I
believe you mentioned being impressed with, will be there. McGonagall
will be there, and while she can't protect me at the expense of
other students, she won't let them hurt me just for amusement,
either." He almost said Snape would be there, but he wasn't sure
how much he wanted Snape to think about defending him. <em>Better for
him to concentrate on his healing. </em>"Draco will be there, and he
keeps a closer eye on me than anyone else. And Connor will be there.
He's rash, but he's got much better at dueling now, and he's my
brother."</p><p>For a moment, Camellia
paced in a circle. Harry folded his arms. They were in the middle of
the large room where the pack liked to sleep all together in a pile,
but it was empty now. Harry supposed the others had wanted to leave
him and Camellia some privacy. That wouldn't stop them from
demanding to know what he had said when Camellia left the room, of
course.</p><p>"Take a few from the
pack with you," Camellia murmured, pleading. "Including me. And
Trumpetflower. She's a pureblood witch. She could help you with
your alliances. She knows things about wizarding society that I never
will."</p><p>Harry let out a long
breath, doing his best not to make it sound like a sigh. "I'm
sorry. No. I've thought about this. If the werewolf situation
wasn't so delicate right now, and if I thought I was in serious
threat of bodily harm at Hogwarts, then yes, I might consider it. But
not now."</p><p>Camellia dropped to a
knee abruptly and bowed her head. Harry jumped and glanced over his
shoulder, wondering if someone else had come in, but the study door
was still firmly closed.</p><p>When he turned back,
Camellia murmured, "Loki never—separated from us for as long a
period as you plan on. He understood the closeness of pack to alpha,
and why we need it. Please, I beg you, Wild, do as he did."</p><p>"Choose another
alpha?" Harry asked.</p><p>Camellia jerked her
head up, eyes frantic. "Of course not! Stay here with us, or allow
us to follow you where you go."</p><p>"I'm sorry,"
Harry said softly. "I am willing to pass on the position of
responsibility, but not to put you in danger, as you would be if you
went out in public right now—<em>especially</em> as Loki's former
pack." His letters and articles had not done the good Harry hoped
they might. The <em>Prophet</em> exploded with more and more reports of
fear each day, wondering if werewolves were conspiring to murder the
whole of the Ministry and speculating that each unusual magical crime
was the work of "werewolf anarchists." The full moon had passed,
but the hysteria had not died out. Harry doubted it would any time
soon.</p><p>"Most alphas would
not do this," Camellia said, rocking back on her heels and staring
at him.</p><p>"I know," said
Harry. "Which might make me a good alpha for the summer, but not
otherwise. But we should discuss this with the rest of the pack,
Camellia. Allow them to make the decision whether they want me to
remain in this position, or choose someone else."</p><p>Camellia bit her lip
until a small trickle of blood ran down her chin. "There is no
simply yielding to what we want, is there?" she asked.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"I used to do that," he said. "I've even done it recently.
But not only is it impossible now with so many conflicting claims on
me, it's insulting. Who am I to think that someone else can't
function without my presence? Who am I to try to just offer comfort
when comfort might not be what that other person wants?" He caught
Camellia's eye. "If someone refuses to come to me and say what I
can do to aid the festering wrong in her soul, then who am I to
presume that I know what that wrong is and how to deal with it?"</p><p>Camellia's face
flushed utterly red. She said, "There are—links that can be made
even without your being a werewolf, Wild. A share in the packmind,
for example. Then you could know what we think without our having to
speak it aloud."</p><p>"I've read about
that," said Harry. And he had, as he spent whatever free time he
had in the last few days researching on the werewolf cure potion. "It
means that I would consider the pack's priorities mine. Doesn't
it?"</p><p>"Yes," said
Camellia reluctantly. "Its purpose is to drown insecurities and
help new werewolves feel welcome among their peers."</p><p>Harry reached down and
squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't. I
can try to give you what you need, but I can't be <em>just</em> your
alpha."</p><p>Camellia muttered
something, but then stood, padding across the room to open the study
door and summon the rest of the pack. Harry braced himself. He knew
whom he would choose as alpha if the pack wanted a new one, but he
had the sinking sensation that they would not.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco winced as the
slam of a trunk lid echoed down the hall. Harry had been packed
before last night, and Draco had carefully tucked his clothing and
his textbooks away this morning. That left only one candidate who
would have to make so much noise.</p><p>Draco slid out through
the door of his and Harry's room and made his way towards Potter's.
It stood half-open, so, satisfyingly, Draco was able to slide around
it and into the room before Harry's brother noticed him. When he
caught a glimpse of Draco from the corner of his eye, he yelped and
stumbled over his feet, sitting down hard on his arse.</p><p>Draco fought to keep
from laughing. In the end, he found that letting a small smirk cross
his face got his point across so much more efficiently.</p><p>"Prat," Potter
hissed at him, standing up. "What do you want?"</p><p>"I thought a herd of
rampaging hippogriffs had broken into the house, and I was coming to
defend Harry's property," Draco said lazily. His hand dropped to
rest on his wand. "I see that wasn't necessary." He eyed
Potter's trunks. One was shut, but barely so; the locking spell on
it might falter at any moment. The other still stood open, and
despite being filled with many shrunken packages, was near to
overflowing. "Honestly, Potter, couldn't you pack with a bit more
class?"</p><p>Potter twisted his
head as if he intended to gnaw at himself like a dog with fleas.
Draco <em>did</em> so hope that was his Animagus form; it would be
amusing. "Am I disturbing your delicate sensibilities, Malfoy?"
he asked. "Of course, that wouldn't be hard to do given that I'm
a halfblood, would it?"</p><p>Draco felt most of the
amusement leave him in a moment. He narrowed his eyes. Infuriatingly,
this just made Potter smirk.</p><p>"I forgot that just
being in the same house with someone like me made you disgusted,"
he mocked. Draco said nothing, but the effort it took him to do was
enormous. "I forgot that you hate people for who their ancestors
are, until, of course, you have to apply that hatred to yourself.
Then you just insist the shagging didn't happen. Too late this
time, I think. What with it splashed all over the front page of the
newspaper—"</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>,"
said Draco, and the effort it took him to do that instead of cast a
curse was almost inhuman.</p><p>Potter rolled his
eyes. "When you wake up to reality, Malfoy." He took a step
forward. Draco wondered if this combination of rage and frustration
was what Snape had felt before he cast <em>Ardesco </em>at the
werewolf. "It's simple, really. You can't go on singing about
your pureblood superiority the way you used to do without being a
hypocrite. What's so hard to understand? Would you rather go on
being a hypocrite? Or would you rather wake up and admit what the
rest of us have known for two years—that you love someone who's
part of that world you hate so much, so singing about pureblood
superiority is just a <em>bit</em> of a conflict of interest? Doesn't
it comfort you, your newfound heritage? It makes you more like Harry,
after all, and that was what I thought you wanted."</p><p>Draco breathed through
his nose, fighting away the temptation to leap out of his body and
take possession of Potter's. Those words distracted him too much,
bringing up memories of fourth year when he was desperate enough to
risk his life on the chance that he could become magically equal to
Harry, and made it the more likely that he would <em>hurt</em> the git
if he controlled him now.</p><p>Potter took another
step, and then his eyes went over Draco's head. Draco knew who was
standing in the doorway, even before he smelled the scent of roses.
This smelled like rose <em>petals</em>, actually, brewing in a potion.
Draco congratulated himself for noting that subtle difference. That
meant that Harry was quietly angry, and incredibly disgusted.</p><p>"That will be
enough, Connor," said Harry. "<em>Enough</em>. Merlin. Do you use a
Time-Turner that replaces you with your third-year self on occasion?"</p><p>Potter frowned, then
swallowed, obviously dealing with painful memories of his own. "It
was just insults," he said. "Not curses."</p><p>Harry came forward to
stand next to Draco, and slip an arm around his waist. Draco again
didn't have to say anything. He just raised his eyebrows. Potter
flushed to the roots of his hair.</p><p>"Incredibly vicious
insults, aimed to hurt," said Harry. "Aimed to push Draco over
the border into striking at you, I should think. And that's just
<em>stupid</em>, Connor. I might end up angry with Draco, but you'd
also be hurt, and I don't think Draco would be as reluctant to tell
me the truth about what happened as Snape was."</p><p>He glanced at Draco
from the corner of his eye for confirmation, and Draco shook his
head. Harry let out a sighing little breath, and then turned a look
on Potter that made Draco chuckle. Potter glared. Harry didn't
appear to have heard his laughter at all.</p><p>"And then I'd be
angry with you." Harry's voice had dropped lower. "The way I am
right now, as a matter of fact. This kind of stupidity ought not to
happen even if you didn't have Snape and Camellia's example right
in front of you. That you do makes it inexcusable."</p><p>"I'm sorry,
Harry." Potter's eyes had lowered, and his face burned with such
vivid color now that Draco wished Weasley was standing in the same
room for comparison's sake. He'd always thought Weasley was the
reddest blusher he'd ever seen, but now he wasn't sure. "But he
did start it. He came into <em>my</em> room and asked me why I couldn't
pack more quietly, and I said—"</p><p>"I heard what you
said," Harry interrupted. "And the fact remains that you went too
far, Connor. And it was <em>calculated</em>, not something you did
innocently. I hate that. I'm not in the mood to talk to you much
right now."</p><p>"I'm sorry—"</p><p>"Apologize to Draco,
not me."</p><p>Potter glanced away.
Draco looked at Harry in time to see his mouth tighten.</p><p>"I
thought not," said Harry. "You really didn't care about hurting
him." He let out a few controlled breaths, then said, "I thought
the other things you did, the prank and the teasing the day the Grand
Unified Theory was published, were either to try and make <em>me</em>
have fun, or innocent, the mistakes of a child. Now I'm not so sure
about that."</p><p>"Harry, I'm <em>sorry</em>,
I said that—"</p><p>"And not to the
right person." Harry shook his head, then turned away, speaking to
Draco as if Potter had ceased to exist. "Are you all packed? I
think we should leave for the station in fifteen minutes at the most.
Granted, it won't take us a lot of time to walk from the Floo
connection, but—"</p><p>Draco moved gracefully
along at Harry's side, this time ignoring the temptation to glance
back at Potter. Self-control made winning an argument so much more
fun. His glee was the sweeter when he didn't show it.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry slipped the
school robe over his head, grateful for the fact that the ride on the
Hogwarts Express—the first one he'd taken since his first
year—had been quiet. He doubted that would continue once he arrived
at the school, but a period of time in which he could just talk to
Draco, without someone appearing to demand his help or insult his
boyfriend, was priceless.</p><p>He swallowed back
anger at Connor. It was no use yelling. That wouldn't work. Lashing
out with his magic was even less productive. Silent treatment and
cold waiting worked best with Connor, giving him nothing to latch
onto so that he could convince himself <em>he</em> was the poorly
treated one—and giving his temper time to cool down, so he could
actually think.</p><p>Harry would rather the
whole insulting session this morning hadn't happened, of course. He
had listened in growing disbelief; he had thought his brother more
mature than that. And now it turned out he wasn't, and it had
forced Harry to evaluate several things about the last few weeks that
he had thought were innocent.</p><p>He was <em>not</em>
pleased.</p><p>To keep himself from
sliding back into brooding, he laughed wryly and shook his head.
<em>Simultaneous living. That's what has to happen. I'll have to
change my mind all the time in the process of living. I keep saying
that to people. It just struck a little closer to home this time than
normal.</em></p><p>A swift movement
outside the window caught his attention. Draco had gone to the loo,
so Harry was alone in their compartment. He frowned and turned,
keeping his body back from the window even as he craned his neck to
look. Old lessons drummed in his head. <em>If you're standing behind
glass when it shatters, you'll take glass in the face, and won't
be able to fight. </em></p><p>He could imagine that
it was his own voice and not Lily's sometimes, if he concentrated.</p><p>The large, graceful
shape that curvetted past the window, moving incredibly fast,
couldn't be imagined to be anything other than what it was. <em>A
Granian</em>, Harry thought. The swiftest of the flying horses, and
probably the most beautiful; this one was dapple gray.</p><p>Harry remembered the
symbol carved on the wooden coins that the attackers in the Ministry
had thrown at him and Draco, and prepared a <em>Protego</em> to shield
himself against flying glass. A hoof could cave in the window quite
easily.</p><p>The Granian didn't
kick it in, however. It flew past again, or perhaps that was a
different one. Harry could make out a rider in robes on its back, but
not much else, given its speed. The rider had his hood pulled over
his face, anyway.</p><p>Harry narrowed his
eyes. <em>What in the world are they trying to accomplish? It's not
as if attacking me would do much good now, when they've forewarned
me. And they can't see much through the windows if it's simply
regular spying. Accompanying the train until it enters an ambush?
Once again, they shouldn't have shown themselves. What are they—</em></p><p>"<em>Harry!</em>"</p><p>Argutus settled like a
warm loop around his head and shoulders. Harry put up his hand to
stroke him, while watching as the same Granian, or another, went past
a third time. <em>No, definitely not spying, not when they don't
slow down enough to peer in the train. </em>"Not now, Argutus. I'm
watching—"</p><p>"<em>There's an
omen!"</em></p><p>Harry glanced down at
the shimmering coils wreathed around his neck, and caught his breath.
Gray shapes moved above a long, dark one vaguely recognizable as the
Hogwarts Express; the vision sharpened as he watched. In the midst of
it was a crouching figure with white-blond hair.</p><p>And Harry remembered
the angle of the wooden coins thrown during the attack in the
Ministry, and understood what Shield of the Granian wanted.</p><p><em>The coins came from
the side. They could have thrown them more directly at me, if I'm
really the one they wanted to hurt, or at Camellia and Rose, if they
were the targets. </em></p><p><em>They were aiming
for Draco. And swooping around up here keeps my attention away from
what's happening in the back of the train.</em></p><p>Harry turned and held
out his hand. The door of the compartment came flying open, and
almost off its hinges. Harry ducked out and past the students who
were traveling from one compartment to another as the Express slowed,
or seeking a private place to change into school robes. He felt his
elbows impact with ribs, and he stumbled on cloth, and there was
indignant squealing from throats all around him.</p><p><em>Shit. They're
going to keep me from getting to Draco in time, </em>Harry thought.</p><p>Then Argutus reared up
on his shoulder, and gave a hiss that echoed up and down the train.
The students nearest to Harry wasted no time plastering themselves
against the walls. Harry ran up the corridor towards the back of the
train. Over the clatter of the wheels on the track and the shrill
whistle, he still thought he could hear a sharp, scraping sound—like
the impact of hooves with metal.</p><p>A burly Gryffindor
seventh-year loomed in front of him, the Head Boy badge gleaming on
his chest. Harry had no time to stop and see who it was, and he
didn't care about the arm lifted to stop him. He simply dropped and
rolled under it, then came back to his feet just beyond and pounded
on.</p><p>A pale flash from the
side, and then he heard a fired curse, followed by one of the more
ordinary variety. Harry whipped himself around, feet skidding as he
halted his momentum, and Argutus hissed in protest as his shoulder
impacted hard with the wall.</p><p>Draco was crouching in
an empty compartment, his wand lifted and still trembling with the
aftermath of cast magic. He wore his school robes, tie, and the
Prefect's badge that had come to him since Blaise Zabini had left
the school last year. A small hole had been stamped in the roof above
him, and Draco had probably thrown his spell through that. Given the
speed of the Granians, Harry wasn't at all surprised that he'd
missed.</p><p>"Draco!"</p><p>He turned and glanced
at Harry, and at that moment something small fell through the hole,
aiming straight at him. Harry caught a glimpse of glass, and all his
senses trembled with ringing magic of the kind he had faced in the
Ministry when the Unspeakables cast a similar globe at him.</p><p>He didn't have much
time to make a decision. He thrust out his hand and shouted, "<em>Accio</em>
globe!"</p><p>The glass projectile
changed direction in midair and flew at him. Harry ducked to avoid
letting it touch his bare skin, and heard it hit the compartment door
above him and shatter.</p><p>Whatever had been
inside it fell on him. Harry twisted again, trying to make sure the
brunt didn't hit Argutus. He felt some kind of wet dust drape his
face, and a bruising sensation grabbed his belly.</p><p>The sensation quickly
grew worse, and Harry felt his head <em>roll</em> towards his belly, as
if he were a carpet. He braced his own magic against it.</p><p>And felt, impossibly,
his own magic drain away from him. He might as well have tried to
grip running water.</p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>Draco could have been
shouting for help, or shouting his name in distress. Harry didn't
know. What mattered was that he had to understand what was happening
to him before he could stop it.</p><p>His magic continued to
run away from him, contracting inside him. Harry closed his eyes and
concentrated on his scar. No, Voldemort was not nearby, and he didn't
think any other <em>absorbere</em> existed in Britain right now. It
wasn't that.</p><p>Golden light filled
his vision, and deafening phoenix song his ears. And then there was
familiar pain in his head.</p><p><em>The phoenix web,
</em>Harry thought in incredulity. <em>No. How is it returning? I
didn't hear anyone say the incantation, and it would explain why my
magic is diminishing, but—</em></p><p>And then he realized
his body felt strangely light, except for an unfamiliar weight at the
end of his left wrist. Opening his eyes confirmed it. His limbs were
smaller, and he had—</p><p>He had two hands
again.</p><p><em>They're turning
me younger. And putting the phoenix web back on me at the same time. </em></p><p><em>The dust in the
globe!</em></p><p>He lifted a frantic
hand to wipe at his face, and then felt a tongue sweep past his
fingers, picking it up. Argutus let out a surprised hiss a moment
later, and his weight on Harry's shoulders abruptly lessened, but
he didn't stop licking at the dust.</p><p>Draco was shouting
somewhere in there too, and water struck Harry's face, sluicing off
some of the dust. Harry spat, in case it had got in his mouth, and
rubbed his back and shoulders frantically against the wall. He
couldn't do anything with his magic, which kept slipping away from
him when he reached it. He suspected that the changes the phoenix web
had gone through when he was thirteen or twelve were so numerous that
his magic couldn't keep adjusting to them so fast, and couldn't
remain available to him.</p><p>Draco shouted again,
and then Harry hissed as <em>all</em> the moisture vanished from his
skin—the dust, his sweat, the slick wetness Argutus had left behind
as he licked at him. His mouth hurt terribly, as dry as it was, but
he had stopped changing. He had control of his magic again.</p><p>He opened the gulf of
his <em>absorbere </em>ability as wide as it would go, and began to
swallow the foreign magic of the dust that still lingered on him. It
was an odd sensation, as if the snake he envisioned the
magic-swallowing gift as were steadily lengthening. The magic gushed
into him, and Harry felt his bones creak as he grew again. The
phoenix web blew past his eyes in a confused flurry of light and
song, and vanished.</p><p>And the hand he had
resting on his left cheek vanished.</p><p>Harry grimaced, but
didn't allow himself to stop draining the magic until he was sure
there was none of the dust left. Then he could open his eyes and nod
to Draco, licking his lips to urge some saliva into his mouth.</p><p>"Clever, with the
dehydration spell," he murmured. "Thank you."</p><p>Draco nodded, and
turned around to stare at the hole in the ceiling of the compartment
again. "What <em>was</em> that?" he demanded. "Why in the world
were they attacking us like that?"</p><p>Harry shook his head,
unable to talk more right now. He looked at Argutus. The Omen snake
was smaller, but not as young as Harry had feared. He was darting his
tongue out thoughtfully now.</p><p>"<em>It tastes like
mice,</em>" he explained, when he caught Harry watching him.</p><p>Harry snorted in
helpless laughter, even as he scanned Draco once more. "They didn't
hit you with anything?"</p><p>"No, only you."
Draco had put his wand away, but the hand he touched his face with
shook. "Why did they do that?"</p><p>Harry waved his hand
at the wall of the compartment. "<em>Speculum caelum</em>," he
whispered, and a small, transparent mirror appeared in his palm.
Harry studied it closely. It showed the sky outside the Express, and
while the sky gleamed with gray clouds, as was usual this time of
year in Scotland, he could see no sign of Granians.</p><p>"I suppose they
attacked trying to deage you," he said. "But they didn't have
any other weapons that would do it, and they didn't want to attack
the train as a whole. They probably have some children on here
themselves. When they realized the attack had failed, they fled."</p><p>"That was aimed at
me?"</p><p>Harry looked up. "Of
course it was," he said. "So was the attack in the Ministry. They
threw the coins from your side. I was near enough that I could have
been hurt, but you're what they wanted."</p><p>Draco's mouth
tightened. "Trying to cripple you?"</p><p>"I would assume so,"
said Harry, "but assumptions are stupid at this point. It could
also have been a strike at your father, or trying to remove you from
the game. If someone had heard rumors of your possession ability, for
example, they might think you're too dangerous to live."</p><p>Draco narrowed his
eyes. "I used it on the battlefield with the Death Eaters," he
said. "And I told Scrimgeour about it."</p><p>"I don't want to
think that the Minister told anyone," said Harry. "But with the
Unspeakables involved? That globe they flung was an Unspeakable
artifact. I think we can safely assume <em>that</em>. They could have
read it out of Scrimgeour's mind, or he might have told them
because he assumes he can trust them." He hesitated, then added
reluctantly, "Or perhaps they sensed you moving through their minds
that day I visited Scrimgeour with the Pensieve, and just waited
until now to get their revenge."</p><p>"They can't have
been responsible for that first attack, if that's the case,"
Draco reminded him.</p><p>"I know," said
Harry. "But I think this is an alliance between Shield of the
Granian and the Unspeakables. The Unspeakables would have used a more
direct kind of attack if they were working on their own, after what
happened at the Maenad Press."</p><p>Draco nodded. "So we
can't be sure what they want, but we can be sure that they want to
attack me as well as you."</p><p>"That's right."
Harry studied him again. Draco still remained unwounded, but the look
in his eyes… Harry held out his arms.</p><p>Draco shook his head,
but came over and embraced him. Argutus wriggled out of the way with
a complaint about being smothered. Harry focused his magic on the
Omen snake for a moment. He could sense no adverse effects from the
dust. Argutus had grown younger again, smaller, about the size he'd
been before the last time he shed his skin. But the dust didn't
appear to be a poison.</p><p><em>Of course not,
</em>Harry thought, remembering the facts Honoria had learned from
Hornblower. <em>They seek to capture, not kill.</em></p><p>He gave a violent
shiver and tightened his hold on Draco. Draco didn't move, didn't
object, didn't say anything, but Harry could feel the tension in
his muscles as he leaned his head on Harry's shoulder.</p><p><em>All they've done
is earn themselves another enemy, </em>Harry thought, and used that
idea to distract himself from thoughts of what would have happened if
Draco had died or been captured.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry couldn't help
keeping an eye on the heavens as they climbed out of the carriage
near the front doors of Hogwarts, but he still saw nothing. It was
evening, anyway, and the clouds were drawing in, spitting rain. <em>Not
ideal Granian flying weather, but then, the Express was hardly an
ideal place for them to attack.</em></p><p>He stepped up to the
front of the carriage and spent a moment touching the noses of the
thestrals who drew it. The great horses turned their heads and
watched him. Stroking their fur left a slick of cool dampness on
Harry's skin, but he didn't mind. It grounded him, and made the
thoughts chasing around his head settle.</p><p>"I have to go to the
Headmistress before the Sorting Feast begins," he explained, when
he saw Draco watching him. "She needs to know about the attack on
the Express, and I don't think it can wait until tomorrow."</p><p>Draco nodded. "I'm
coming with you."</p><p>Harry relaxed. Stupid
as it might be, he didn't want Draco out of his sight right now.</p><p>He strode into
Hogwarts, making for the Headmistress's office, Draco keeping pace
with him all the way. People called out his name, and Harry waved at
them distractedly. He wanted to talk about multiple things with
everyone around him, yes, but informing McGonagall was his priority
for right now.</p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>That was Connor's
voice, coming from behind him. Harry's back tightened, and he heard
Draco make a noise like a tiger interrupted at dinner. But he kept
walking, counting footsteps in his mind, and ducked away neatly just
as Connor's hand tried to clamp down on his shoulder blade.</p><p>"Where were you
going so fast?" Connor demanded, sprinting around in front of him.
His hazel eyes were too bright, his cheeks flushed with more than the
effort of running. "What happened on the train?"</p><p>"An attack," said
Harry shortly. "If you really want to hear about it, come with us
so that you can be there when we tell McGonagall. We don't want to
linger now, and we don't want to tell the story twice." He heard
Draco's noise stop. <em>Well, good. Perhaps it's knowing I won't
make an exception for Connor.</em></p><p>"I wanted to
apologize," Connor said. "And see if you were all right. And,
Harry—"</p><p>"<em>Later</em>,
Connor. Come with us or stay behind." Harry turned intently towards
the stairs. He didn't look back to see if Connor was following or
not. McGonagall might already be on her way down with the Sorting
Hat, and he didn't want to delay the Feast too long, either.</p><p>He met her on the
stairs a few meters from her office. McGonagall wore slightly fancier
robes than she had last year. Harry wondered if she were moving
slowly into the role Dumbledore had occupied before he fell, then
dismissed the notion. He had a story to tell first.</p><p>"Harry,"
McGonagall said, frowning. "Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter." From that
last, Harry knew Connor must have followed them after all. "What
happened?"</p><p>"An attack on the
train," said Harry, and saw her eyes darken. This was the
Headmistress he remembered from the time Rovenan had used the
Entrail-Expelling Curse on him last year. "Several Granian-riders
cut a hole in the compartment where Draco changed his robes and then
dropped an artifact at him. I'm sure the artifact came from the
Department of Mysteries. It was a small globe filled with the magic
of time, and when it shattered, it dropped a wet dust that succeeded
in reversing time for me to the point where I was twelve or thirteen.
By the time I fought free of it with Draco's help, the Granians
were gone." With each word, it seemed, the Headmistress's face
grew grimmer, and Harry finished with, "I'm not sure if another
attack like that will happen again. I did want to warn you."</p><p>"You did the right
thing, Mr. Pott—Harry," said McGonagall, shaking her head. She
had been one of those who had a hard time adapting when he renounced
his last name, Harry thought, and the habit of four years was still
difficult for her to break. "We will speak more of this later, when
the Feast is done. There are things I have been meaning to discuss
with you anyway." She paused, studying him. "For now, I will say
that I take your safety as seriously as I take the safety of any
student here. I will <em>not</em> tolerate your enemies following you
onto Hogwarts grounds in order to take revenge or pursue their
political disagreements. I ask that you take reasonable precautions,
and keep your sworn companions or others with you as much as
possible."</p><p>Harry nodded. Owen and
Michael would be happy to take up the slack where they could, and he
had no intention of doing without their guardianship, if only because
it would also provide protection for Draco. "Thank you, Madam."</p><p>McGonagall nodded, and
then swept past them. She wasn't quite as intimidating as Snape,
Harry thought, but she looked regal.</p><p>He turned around, and
Connor was staring at him. "All of that really happened?" he
asked in a small voice.</p><p>"Yes," Harry said.
He wondered if he should refrain from saying anything else—he was
still angry at Connor because of what had happened this morning—but
decided that a few words would do him more good than silence right
now. "I don't appreciate threats to Draco," he told Connor. "Of
<em>any</em> kind."</p><p>Connor flushed as he
had that morning, and nodded, stepping out of the way. Harry paused,
but he made no apology as he'd said he wanted to. Harry hissed
between his teeth and headed back down the stairs.</p><p>Draco waited until
they were away from Connor to speak, at least, which was an
unanticipated courtesy. "I <em>can </em>defend myself, Harry. Does
that mean I can hex him with your approval, if he threatens me
again?"</p><p>Harry glanced at him
sideways. "You're more likely to get in trouble for it here,"
he said. "House points taken, and all."</p><p>"Mother taught me to
recognize that," Draco said, his face relaxing into a smile for
some absurd reason. "It's called 'dodging the question,'
Harry."</p><p>Harry sighed. "As
you pointed out, you can defend yourself," he said. "And I
concede the point that Connor's motives are not what I thought they
were. On the other hand, think about the consequences of hexing
<em>anyone </em>who annoys you, Draco. There are more Slytherin ways to
go about things."</p><p>Draco considered that
as they passed into the Great Hall and headed for the Slytherin
table; they were nearly the last to arrive, but Millicent had saved
them places next to her. Just as they sat down, the smile returned, a
near-smirk this time, blossoming across Draco's face.</p><p>"Hmmm," was the
only thing he said.</p><p>Harry shook his head
and turned his attention to the first of the first-years, sitting
under the Hat. He couldn't plan ahead for what might happen between
Draco and Connor. That was insulting to them, too, at least as much
as to imply that Draco couldn't defend himself. He could only react
as things happened, and hope they didn't hurt each other too badly.</p><p><em>And that neither of
them crosses the alliance oaths, and forces me to cast them out.
</em>Connor had sworn to the Alliance of Sun and Shadow the day after
Harry brought him back from Lux Aeterna.</p><p>"SLYTHERIN!" the
Hat shouted. The small, dark-haired girl whipped it from her head,
beaming, and ran for their table.</p><p>Harry shouted a
welcome as his contribution to the applause of his Housemates, and
decided to think about nothing for a time but guessing where the
first-years would go.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Minerva nodded
as the last of the first-years went into Ravenclaw, and then stood.
For a long moment, she scanned the Great Hall, letting her eyes rest
on an anxious face there, a perturbed one here, someone red-faced and
on the verge of crying—that was a first-year in Gryffindor,
obviously stunned by his Sorting into that House, whom she would make
sure to bring to Peter's attention—and then sweep down the head
table. Peter gave her a calm look. Henrietta Bulstrode was grinning;
she did that often. Severus sat in silence with his Seer beside him,
white to the lips. That, too, had become usual in the past few days.</p><p>She looked at Harry
last. He had a composed mask on, and seemed to be waiting for her
speech with as much impatience as any other teenage boy, so that he
could eat.</p><p>Minerva let out a deep
breath, and began.</p><p>"Welcome to another
year at Hogwarts," she said. "Welcome to our new students and our
old—and to our new professors as well. Peter Pettigrew will be
taking over from Acies Merryweather as Professor of Defense Against
the Dark Arts and Head of Gryffindor House." A smattering of polite
applause for that, mostly from the Gryffindors; they hadn't had the
time to get to know Peter last year, as he'd only been at Hogwarts
for a few short weeks before the Midsummer battle. "Hilda
Belluspersona is our new Transfiguration Professor." That brought
some more clapping. Minerva wondered if it came from the fact that
Henrietta looked more approachable, or from the fact that Peter had a
criminal record.</p><p>She braced her hands
on the table and leaned forward. The easy part of her speech was
over.</p><p>"The events of the
end of last year have revealed a few simple truths," she said. "I
hope that you will keep those truths in mind as you attend Hogwarts
this year." Albus, she reflected, would have arranged for the older
students to hear this in private—but then, Albus had recruited the
older students, mostly Gryffindor ones, as soldiers in the last war.
Minerva did not intend to do so, and she also did not intend to let
her charges die for lack of information.</p><p>"We are at war,"
she said, and heard some of the first-years suck in their breaths.
"Some of you have fought in that war. Others were victims of it, or
related to its victims. Lord Voldemort may attack again. The wards
are strong, and our determination to protect you is stronger, but if
we forget we are at war, terrible things may happen." She
suppressed a grim smile she doubted her students would understand,
and made sure it came out as more comforting. Alastor Moody had spent
a good amount of the summer at Hogwarts, setting up wards that
mimicked the ones on the secure portions of the Ministry. She
supposed his theme of <em>constant vigilance</em> had worked its way
into her own head.</p><p>She had reason of her
own to believe it, of course. She had lived through the war with
Grindelwald, though she had been a student herself at the time, and
then through the First War with Voldemort. It had been Albus's
leadership she'd looked to for comfort two decades ago, but the
first time, she had invented and repeated her own maxim to herself,
again and again. <em>Lions do not sleep in times of danger.</em></p><p>And if she was a
lioness now, all these children were her cubs. She was not about to
close her eyes and leave them vulnerable.</p><p><em>Or to each other.</em></p><p>"Those terrible
things often involve students at Hogwarts turning on each other,"
Minerva told her students, who were listening to her in a silence
that seemed to ring with other voices shouting her words. "Traitors
can break the strongest wards, the most vigilant guardianship.
Traitors are not doubters, I would have you understand. Doubting,
thinking, questioning, are necessary to keep our heads in war.</p><p>"Fear makes good
traitors. And anyone in the school who become so afraid as to curse
another student on purpose, hurt someone else over politics, or try
and give up Hogwarts to Voldemort and his servants in return for
personal safety is a traitor."</p><p>Minerva cocked her
head, feeling the weight of all those stares on her. But she would
not become bowed by that weight, as Albus had. She would make sure
that her choices were made with eyes open.</p><p>"I will not ask you
not to be afraid," she said. "I will ask you to come to us if you
fear, and talk to your fellow students instead of using your wands on
them. We would always rather hear of terror now than suffer the
consequences of it later. We are at war, and ripping ourselves apart
from the inside, no matter how good the apparent cause, solves
nothing."</p><p><em>There. </em>That
speech should tell them that she wouldn't tolerate attacks on Harry
for "causing" the war, or the agitations between Light and Dark
families being fought out inside the school, or those students afraid
of werewolves attacking those sympathetic to them.</p><p><em>Harry might still
hold his strength back. I will not. My school will not become a
battleground.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Hermione lingered at
the Gryffindor table even when Ron glanced at her a time or two,
obviously expecting her help with leading the first-years up to the
Tower. Hermione waited until she saw Zacharias approaching her, and
then made a shooing gesture at Ron. He frowned, but turned to the
first-years—especially the small boy who had begun to cry when the
Hat shouted his House name—and began explaining the route.</p><p>Zacharias was almost
to her now. Hermione could make out the thunderous frown on his face.
She braced herself. She had expected something intense to happen when
Zacharias refused to discuss GUTOEKOM in his letters to her, and
simply ignored her when she did try to broach the subject. From his
expression, it was not going to be anything good.</p><p>What he didn't seem
to realize was that he couldn't intimidate her.</p><p>Zacharias halted, and
kept frowning. The badger scar high on his cheek, which he had
received when he summoned Helga Hufflepuff's spirit into his body
during the Battle of Hogwarts, made him look stronger and more
serious than Hermione remembered, as if it diminished the lines
sarcasm had carved on his face. He had also grown during the summer,
and stood taller than she did. Hermione didn't care. She waited.</p><p>She had acquired a
copy of the entire book about the Grand Unified Theory before she
came back to Hogwarts, and devoured it in three fascinated days. If
it was true—and no one had yet managed to prove it wrong—then it
meant she belonged in the wizarding world just as much as any
pureblood who might despise her for being born of Muggle parents. She
didn't have to keep her eyes on the ground and apologize any more
for not having the right "blood," or even have her only source of
satisfaction be that she could learn the dances well and thus trick
other wizards into thinking she <em>did</em> have the right blood.</p><p><em>Magic chose me to
wield it, </em>she thought, heart beating hard with wonder. <em>Who are
they to dispute that choice?</em></p><p>"You know what I
feel about the Grand Unified Theory, I think," Zacharias said, in
that pompous manner he had.</p><p>"You think it's a
load of bollocks," said Hermione.</p><p>Zacharias blinked,
then gave a short nod of acceptance. "I do. And I just want to make
it clear that I haven't changed my mind about marrying you as soon
as we leave school, Hermione." She fought to keep from gritting her
teeth at the smug assurance in his voice that that would happen. <em>He
hasn't changed so much after all. </em>"There's some
anti-Muggleborn sentiment running high even in my family right now,
but it'll pass. Just don't insist that it's true to my mother,
and—"</p><p>"Why shouldn't I
insist it's true?" Hermione asked, not loudly. Her voice was
still keen enough to make him shut up, even to surprise a gape out of
him. She went on. "I've read the research, Zacharias. It's
<em>brilliant. </em>And it makes so much more sense than trying to say
that purebloods always breed true—except when they suddenly have
Squib children, or when magic suddenly shows up in a family that's
never had magic before. They had <em>statistics</em>, Zacharias. The
number of times that Muggleborn witches and wizards turn out to have
Squib ancestors in the last five generations is just above zero. And
did you know that the births of Muggleborns increased during those
years when the purebloods almost interbred themselves out of
existence? Magic was going to return to the world somehow, even if it
wasn't in the families who thought they should always have it."</p><p>Hermione was aware
that her voice had risen. She didn't care. What Thomas Rhangnara
and the others had done <em>was</em> brilliant, and she hadn't seen
any defense against it so far that didn't consist of covering one's
ears and bawling.</p><p>Including, it seemed,
Zacharias's. He was puffed up like a cat about to attack. He
snorted. "That's not true," he said.</p><p>"Yes, it is," said
Hermione, and took a step towards him. "Have you read the report?"</p><p>"Of course not.
It's—"</p><p>"A load of bollocks,
yes, I know," said Hermione. "I know you think that. I was just
trying to determine whether that came from direct experience, or the
load of bollocks that determines one can know the contents of a book
without having read it."</p><p>Zacharias's face was
such a deep red that Hermione might have been tempted to fear for his
health, except that she knew he didn't have any heart problems;
he'd told her so himself last year, when bragging about the
physical and magical health of his family. He'd wanted her to know
so that she didn't have to worry about her children carrying any
taint, he'd said.</p><p><em>Except the taint of
having a Muggleborn mother, apparently, </em>Hermione thought, as she
watched Zacharias try to wriggle out of it.</p><p>"It's more
complicated than purebloods never having problems, of course it is,"
he said, voice obviously on the verge of snapping like rotten ice.
"But that doesn't mean the research is <em>true</em>, Hermione. If
it were, it would mean that the old families really aren't anything
special—"</p><p>Hermione smiled.</p><p>It was all she had to
do. Zacharias jerked as if stung, and said, "You can't think
that. Not with everything I told you about the Smith family,
everything my ancestors have done."</p><p>"I wasn't
impressed with your blood," said Hermione. "Never with that. I
was impressed because you were intelligent, and because you rode into
battle and gave yourself over to Helga's spirit without knowing if
you would come back, and because you told me that you loved me and
thought <em>I</em> was intelligent." She lifted her chin. "I never
cared about who your parents were, Zacharias, and I thought you
didn't care that much about mine. I was wrong, wasn't I?"</p><p>"It's more
complicated than that," Zacharias said.</p><p>"I can see that,"
said Hermione. "That's the <em>great</em> thing, don't you see?"
She had to fight the impulse to extend a hand to him. One couldn't
compromise when arguing with Zacharias, or he would mistake it for
capitulation. "That magic doesn't just follow bloodline, that it
means so many different things and chooses so many different people
to wield it. That's so much more interesting and marvelous than
just trotting along with blood. It's <em>brilliant.</em>"</p><p>Zacharias shook his
head, lips pursed and nostrils flaring, and turned away from her.</p><p>Hermione became aware,
then, of how many people were watching them. She lifted her head,
though she flushed when she saw Hannah Abbott's eyes shining, and
Colin Creevey looking at her the way he usually only looked at Harry
or Connor. It was the first time she could remember that people had
admired her for something other than her marks or how much she could
help them with their homework.</p><p><em>And it will go on
that way, </em>she thought. <em>I have no plans to abandon what I think
any time soon. Especially if Zacharias continues to insist on the
research not being true without ever having read it. </em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco supposed he
should have helped the other Slytherins Prefects take the first-years
down to the dungeons, but there were plenty of them who could do
that, and it wasn't as though the dungeons were very far away from
the Great Hall. He would much rather accompany Harry to the meeting
with McGonagall he had after dinner, and when he mentioned that,
Harry nodded without hesitation.</p><p>"As long as the
Headmistress doesn't object," he said.</p><p>"I can't imagine
why she would," Draco murmured, eyes on Harry as they stood and
walked towards the gargoyle again. Perhaps they would make it without
being stopped by Harry's prat of a brother this time. Draco would
prefer that.</p><p>He had thought about
what his vengeance on Potter should be while eating dinner—well,
while he and the other Slytherins ate dinner, and Harry ate from a
case of food he'd brought along with him from Cobley-by-the-Sea.
(Harry was really taking this determination not to live on any house
elf labor too far). McGonagall talking about what she would do to
students cursing other students meant hexing was out, even before
Harry had reminded him that there were more Slytherin ways to take
vengeance. And Draco had to admit, his experience with Potter that
morning had reminded him how enjoyable it could be to hand his
victims just enough rope to hang themselves with.</p><p>He now thought he
could get to Harry's brother by flaunting how close he was to
Harry, and slowly taunting Potter into rages. Much the same tactic
the git had used on him, actually, but with Draco in control this
time.</p><p>It would have to be a
careful plan, because Harry would hate it if he found out, and there
was the strong chance Potter would <em>tell</em> Harry if he figured it
out. But it couldn't be too subtle, or a Gryffindor wouldn't
notice in the first place. Draco found himself getting more
interested in the challenge the more consideration he gave it. It
would occupy him whenever he wasn't bedding Harry, studying for
classes, working his contacts in the Ministry, or trying to figure
out who had wanted to kill him.</p><p>Draco frowned slightly
as Harry caught the Headmistress just outside her office and spoke to
her in a conversation he didn't need to hear, since it included
unnecessary apologies for the inconvenience to her. Did he really
believe Shield of the Granian had come after him because of his
possession gift?</p><p><em>No, </em>he thought.
<em>The Unspeakables likely wouldn't have let me leave the Ministry
that day if they'd sensed me in their minds. I still think they
were doing it to hurt or cripple Harry somehow. Merlin knows he goes
a bit mad if he thinks I'm in danger.</em></p><p>"Mr. Malfoy, follow
along, please."</p><p>With a start, Draco
looked up and realized that he'd missed McGonagall speaking to the
gargoyle and opening the moving staircase. With a short nod, he
stepped onto it after her and Harry, and heard the gargoyle grind
shut behind them.</p><p>"In truth, Harry, I
was concerned about your safety at Hogwarts even before you reported
this attack," McGonagall said.</p><p>Only last year, Draco
thought, Harry would have done something idiotic like insist that
Shield of the Granian had been after Draco, and not him. Instead, he
just nodded in resignation. <em>Perhaps he's remembering that he
actually did get hurt in the attack, </em>Draco thought. Watching
Harry shrink and lose his magical strength had been bloody
terrifying.</p><p>Watching his left hand
appear and then disappear again had been—painful. Draco shook his
head to get rid of such thoughts and focused on the conversation in
front of him.</p><p>"I don't see what
else can be done about it though, Madam," Harry said, pushing his
glasses up his nose. "We have the wards. We have my magic. We have
Owen and Michael, who've sworn to me. We have Peter, and Mrs.
Bulstrode, and Draco." He smiled at Draco, who smiled back. "But
if my enemies plan enough, then all of those advantages can be
bypassed."</p><p>They reached the
office, and McGonagall walked in ahead of them, sitting down behind
her desk with a nod. "I know that, Harry. But there are a few
options I wished to ask you about. For one thing, Mrs. Gloryflower
has contacted me. She wishes to present Hogwarts itself with a gift
of artificial animals, watching over the students. They would help
anyone in danger, but, of course, they would be focused on you in
particular."</p><p>"What kind of
animals?" Harry asked, as he and Draco took chairs in front of
McGonagall's desk.</p><p>McGonagall reached
behind herself. Draco was impressed to note that the office looked
different than it had last year, when McGonagall had still had the
odd artifact from Dumbledore's days about, and plenty of his
paperwork. Now she had emptied the office of the artifacts and lined
the walls with neat bookcases instead. The Sorting Hat went to the
highest shelf, in a place of honor. A richly-decorated sword Draco
remembered seeing clutched in a phoenix's talons in the Chamber of
Secrets hung in a glass case on the wall behind her. The perch that
phoenix, Fawkes, had once graced stood in a corner, in silent
memorial to the bird who had died at Midwinter. Draco restrained
himself from peering under the desk to see if there was a cat basket
and balls of yarn there. All in all, it was a room that his mother
might well have called elegant.</p><p>"Butterflies,"
said McGonagall now, turning around and holding her palm out.</p><p>Harry laughed in
delight. Draco snapped his attention back, and saw that the butterfly
in question was silver, ornamented with delicate blue-green
tourmalines along its wings. It rose into the air with a quiver, and
then darted up in front of Harry, hovering there.</p><p>"They would roam
about the school," McGonagall said, "watching, and able to alert
any professor at once if there was danger. Mrs. Gloryflower also said
that they could harm those who might attempt to harm another, if no
help can come in time." She took the butterfly back and touched its
wings. When she held it up again, Draco could see thin, sharp blades
springing out from beneath the tourmalines. He blinked, then did
another once-over of the butterfly sitting in McGonagall's palm.
<em>Light families can create some dangerous creatures when they want
to, I suppose.</em></p><p>"And
they can't be fooled into attacking an innocent person?" Harry
asked.</p><p>McGonagall shook her
head. "Nor is that all," she said. "Mrs. Gloryflower said that
you had written her at one point before the Midsummer battle, and
asked if she had any ideas for making you appear more Light and less
Dark in the eyes of your Light allies."</p><p>Harry exhaled, and
nodded. "Yes. What did she decide on?"</p><p>"She has a young
cousin who has been tutored out of Hogwarts to become a war witch,"
said McGonagall carefully. "I have agreed to let the girl transfer
here. She would be a sixth-year, as you are. Her name is Syrinx. Mrs.
Gloryflower asks whether you would be willing to accept her as a
sworn companion, as the Rosier-Henlin twins are."</p><p>Draco scowled. He had
almost forgotten about the twins, even with Harry talking about them.
He disliked the idea that they would be around Harry most of the
time, and that now a stranger would be joining them. At least the
twins were a year older than he and Harry were, and Syrinx was a
girl, so they couldn't share the same room with them.</p><p>Draco smiled. He had
plans for that room empty of everyone but Harry and himself, given
that Vince, Greg, and Blaise had all vanished as the years passed.</p><p>"Of course, if she
was willing." Harry's voice was resigned, but not actually
resentful. "What else, Madam?"</p><p>"I give you a
certain amount of leeway," McGonagall said. Draco looked at her,
and realized her eyes were half-lidded, so that she looked more like
a cat watching a mousehole than she usually did. "For example,
allowing your allies to meet on school grounds, and permission to
attend the alliance meeting that you organized in the spring, though
it meant missing several days of classes."</p><p>Harry nodded. "I
know, Madam."</p><p>"I will continue to
grant you that leeway," said McGonagall. "As long as you remember
that you are also a student, Harry, and subject to the rules of
Hogwarts, particularly the ones I detailed at the Sorting Feast. Do
well in your classes. Defend yourself as you must, but I would prefer
that you curse no one, and do not attack."</p><p>Draco opened his mouth
to protest. What would happen if the student in question was a
legitimate threat to Harry, as several of the Ravenclaws had been
last year, and twisted what had happened around to make it look as
though Harry had attacked them?</p><p>Harry's face,
though, registered actual admiration, and respect. "Thank you,
Madam," he said, bowing his head. "It's good that Hogwarts has
a Headmistress who cares more about the safety of her charges than
her image, as Dumbledore did. Don't worry. I won't have trouble
restraining myself."</p><p>McGonagall nodded, a
sharp gleam entering her eyes. Draco wondered if she had already
known that Harry was extremely unlikely ever to need the warning, and
had used this as a test of sorts.</p><p>He must have made some
discontented little noise, because abruptly the Headmistress was
looking at him. Draco strove to put his chin up, despite his
discomfort. He was just as glad that he wouldn't have to have this
woman for his NEWT Transfiguration class.</p><p>"Mr. Malfoy," said
McGonagall coolly. "I am still not <em>entirely</em> sure how far I
can trust you, but circumstances being what they are, you are also in
a position to cause more trouble than the average student. I expect
you to abide by the rules of conduct I spoke of at the Sorting Feast,
as well."</p><p>Draco inclined his
head stiffly. "Of course, Headmistress," he said. <em>I'm hardly
going to let you catch me, you old cat.</em></p><p>McGonagall went on
staring at him long enough to make him wonder if she had been a
Legilimens all along, and then nodded. "Good." She looked back at
Harry once more. "I think you may go to the dungeons now, Harry."</p><p>"Thank you, Madam,"
said Harry, and stood. "I'll speak to Mrs. Gloryflower myself and
thank her for the butterflies and Syrinx's presence. I'm glad
you've agreed to them."</p><p>Draco kept his face
smooth as they left the office. He wondered if Harry would say
something to him about the attack, or the talk with McGonagall, or
even her parting words to him, but Harry said, apparently out of the
air, "Are you all right, Draco?"</p><p>"Why wouldn't I
be?" Draco frowned. <em>Did I show something on my face? I didn't
mean to.</em></p><p>Harry turned to face
him on the moving staircase, holding his arm and staring into his
eyes. "Because you looked upset when McGonagall mentioned Syrinx
Gloryflower. I wanted to make sure you'd agreed to her presence."</p><p>Draco felt a smile
tugging at his lips. He couldn't feel bad about Harry noticing
that, even though it <em>did</em> confirm that he needed to keep his
face more controlled. He leaned nearer Harry and kissed him. Harry
accepted it, languidly moving his hand from Draco's arm to the nape
of his neck, but pulled back a few moments later and gave him a
serious look.</p><p>"I'll survive,"
Draco said. "And if you treat her with cool consideration, and no
more than that, I'll have no reason to get jealous."</p><p>Harry smiled. "There's
no chance it would be more than friendship, in any case," he said.
"Why should it be, when I already have the one person I really
want?" He kissed Draco again.</p><p>Draco let thoughts of
vengeance go for right now. "About our bedroom," he began.</p><p>"What about—"
And then Harry caught on, and his eyes widened. "We could
Transfigure the beds, if we wanted," he breathed. "No one else
will be in there."</p><p>"Exactly," said
Draco. "I have a lot of plans for that privacy. And a brand new
book on locking charms, in case anyone interrupts us."</p><p>Harry seemed to be
trying to be serious, but his grin was fighting its way out. "We
can use the privacy to study, can't we?" he asked. "Or to
discuss battle strategies no one else can overhear. Or—"</p><p>"Wanker," Draco
muttered, and kissed him again, glad that, by the time they returned
to the dungeons, the first-years should have been herded into their
bedrooms, and determined that not even Millicent wanting to talk to
them would keep him and Harry from <em>their</em> bedroom for long.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Connor punched his
pillow.</p><p>Then he decided that
wasn't enough, so he pulled his wand out, aimed it at his pillow,
and shouted, "<em>Concutio!</em>"</p><p>The pillow blasted
apart in a mass of cloth and feathers. Connor stood panting and
glaring as they drifted down onto his bed, now and then shaking his
head so that his fringe would get out of his eyes.</p><p><em>Why would Harry
think I was trying to just bait Malfoy into cursing me? </em>his
thoughts said, for the thousandth time. <em>I could have defended
myself, and I would have.</em></p><p><em>You didn't let
him know that, </em>his thoughts pointed out, also for the thousandth
time. <em>You didn't deny what he accused you of.</em></p><p>"I shouldn't have
to," Connor muttered, flopping down onto his bed and making the
feathers rise and flurry around him. "Why? It was just insults, and
it's Malfoy's fault that he reacted so badly. And Harry took <em>my</em>
side when that article about the theory came out. Malfoy's just a
wanker."</p><p>"No arguments there,
mate."</p><p>Connor rolled over and
watched as Ron approached his own bed, stretching his arms over his
head and yawning. "He is," he told Ron earnestly. "He gets me
in arguments with my own brother."</p><p>Ron gave him a quick,
curious glance, started to open his mouth, then shut it and shook his
head.</p><p>"What?" Connor
demanded.</p><p>Ron watched him for a
long moment. Connor scowled. He always hated it when Ron did that. It
was the same look he gave chessboards, right before he moved his
piece and won. <em>Always</em> won, in fact. Connor had never managed
to beat Ron in a chess match, and didn't know anyone who had.</p><p>"Well, it's like
this," said Ron at last. "Brothers fight. All the time. We fought
with Percy, Ginny and the twins and me, when we found out that he
wasn't going to take the Ministry job our dad got for him. And I
fought with the twins for pranking me. And Bill and Charlie fought
something <em>awful</em> the first year Charlie was at Hogwarts, to
hear Mum tell it, because Bill didn't like having someone there
with the same last name as him. And then there was the time Fred
sneezed in Dad's food, and Charlie got blamed for it, and then
Charlie came outside and found Fred, and—"</p><p>"What's your
<em>point</em>?" Connor demanded, knowing he sounded sulky, and not
caring.</p><p>Ron shrugged. "We
made up again," he said. "We usually didn't want to, and
sometimes it took months, but we always made up again. But we did it
by either explaining everything—Ginny picked that up from Mum, too,
she's an absolute terror for it—or just agreeing to forget about
it. And you and Harry don't forget it, and you aren't talking to
him about Malfoy being a wanker. And he doesn't talk to you about
this prank, either, you said, but that doesn't mean it didn't
hurt him. He probably assumes you would have told him if you had a
serious problem with his boyfriend." Ron grimaced as if he'd
bitten into a sour apple. "So talk to him, Connor. If you don't,
then he'll just go around thinking you don't feel guilty, and
that'll drive the fight deeper, and you'll get upset at him for
not realizing you're upset and keep silent, and things will get
worse and worse."</p><p>He paused, a long
moment, chewing his lip. Connor waited.</p><p>"And the thing is,
mate?" Ron tilted his head and studied him for a moment. "You <em>are</em>
being a git about this. Just a little. Even though Malfoy's a
wanker and doesn't deserve him, he's Harry's boyfriend, and
arguing with him hurts Harry. It's like if Harry argued with
Parvati all the time. You'll have to make peace sooner or later. "</p><p>Connor's mouth fell
open. He tried to say, "Ron—"</p><p>Ron began digging
through his trunk, and ignored him.</p><p>Connor fell back on
what used to be his pillow and stared at the ceiling again, thinking
fiercely. Could that <em>really</em> be true? He'd assumed that Harry
knew which behavior of Malfoy's was ridiculous and agreed to things
like the prank because he agreed that Malfoy's head needed to have
the air taken out of it. He hadn't considered it in the light of
Harry trying to balance his brother and his boyfriend.</p><p><em>Not just his
boyfriend. His partner. And that means that Malfoy's probably not
going to go away.</em></p><p>Connor shuddered and
wrapped his arms around himself. Then he stood up, shook his head,
and walked to the door of the bedroom. He didn't want to think
about this right now.</p><p>He would go and find
Parvati. She always made him feel better.</p><p>He could feel Ron's
eyes on his back, but he ignored that. Ron could be wrong, too, just
like Harry.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 26*: The Earth Will Shake</h2>
			
		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 27*: Intermission: Disaster, Thy Name</h2>
			<p><strong>WARNING: Graphic gore.</strong></p><p><strong>Intermission: Disaster, Thy Name Is Regulus</strong></p><p>"Severus."</p><p>Snape stiffened at the
sound of his first name, and glanced over his shoulder. Regulus Black
stood behind him in the early summer darkness, his head cocked and
his eyes gleaming with intensity. Snape didn't remember that
intensity from school. Granted, Regulus had been a year younger than
he was, even if they were in the same House, but Snape had made it
his business to know him, since he was Sirius Black's brother. He
should have noticed something like this.</p><p>"What are you doing
here?" Snape asked. "Here" was the remains of a wizarding
community just past the Scottish border. It was the closest the Death
Eaters had yet attacked to Hogwarts, but Snape knew that would
change. Besides, angering Dumbledore and panicking his followers
hadn't been the main reason they staged this attack where they did.
It was a sufficiently isolated place to test the Black Plague spores
that Adalrico Bulstrode had finally managed to create. The Dark Lord
was not entirely pleased with the results, however, so it would be
some time before the spores saw use in formal battle. Snape nudged
the remains of a swollen body with his foot, and wrinkled his nose.
His Lord had ordered him to search for tatters of bubo-marked skin
which he could brew into a potion to neutralize the plague. It would
be important to have that for the Death Eaters once the spores worked
properly, Snape knew, but he found the task distasteful. The bodies
stank.</p><p>"I'm out of
Hogwarts now." Regulus leaped lightly over a body and joined Snape,
giving a peculiar shudder as he landed. The smell did take getting
used to, Snape thought. Regulus rolled up his sleeve and thrust his
left arm under Snape's nose, forcing him to confront the Dark Mark.
"And I chose to follow our Lord."</p><p>Snape glanced quickly
at Regulus, then away. "Of course you did," he said. He wondered
why the news should have surprised him. Everyone knew that Sirius
Black had run away from home at the end of Christmas holidays in
their sixth year, and that his parents had disowned him and settled
on Regulus as their heir. Of course the Dark Lord would court the
only heir of such a prominent, Dark, pureblood family, since the
oldest son was beyond his reach and firmly wrapped up in the webs of
the Order of the Phoenix.</p><p>"Yes." Regulus
kicked at a body, then shook his head. "How <em>do</em> you stand the
smell?"</p><p>"Not easily."
Snape saw a woman with a still-intact black bubble on her chest, and
knelt, using a Cutting Curse to remove the patch of infected skin.
Blood spread where it had been in a sluggish, disinterested stain. He
rose and wrapped the skin in a bit of cloth, tucking it into his robe
pocket. "Did the Dark Lord send you to find me?"</p><p>Regulus jumped a bit.
"Oh! Yes, he did. He said that he wanted you to return to him as
soon as possible. Something even more urgent than creating a potion
to resist the plague has arisen." His voice fell into a stentorian
imitation of Voldemort's tones. Probably unconscious, Snape
decided. At least, he hoped it was unconscious. He would not live
long if their Lord decided that Regulus was mocking him.</p><p>"Then we must go to
him at once," said Snape, and turned to stride over the ground
paved with sprawled limbs and burst organs.</p><p>"Of course," said
Regulus again.</p><p>It took Snape a full
three minutes to realize he had reached the edge of the village and
Regulus wasn't with him. He turned around, an impatient comment on
his lips.</p><p>He saw Regulus
kneeling over a woman whose head had leaped off her neck when the
spores landed, carefully aligning the broken pieces of skin once more
and closing the head's eyes. Snape wondered, incredulous, if he
would say a mending spell, but Regulus seemed to realize how
inappropriate that would be. He just stood, nodded a moment at his
handiwork, and then hurried after Snape. He even took the lead a
moment later, in fact; Snape <em>had</em> to stand still and stare
after him, wondering what in the world had prompted him to make that
unnecessary gesture.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"He's dead."</p><p>Snape came very close
to breaking his glass stirring rod on the side of his cauldron. He
tended to enter brewing so deeply that he was not aware of what was
happening around him. A weakness, he knew, and one that he <em>must</em>
take steps to correct. He laid the stirring rod gently aside, without
letting his hand tremble, and turned to face Lucius.</p><p>"Do you think I keep
track of your comings and goings, Lucius?" he drawled, and had the
satisfaction of seeing Lucius's triumph-flushed face turn red for a
different reason. "Who is dead?"</p><p>"Gideon Prewett,"
said Lucius, with savage satisfaction. "And his brother Fabian. It
took us five of them, but we brought them down."</p><p>Snape nodded curtly,
to keep from saying something unfortunate, namely how pathetic it was
that it had taken five Death Eaters to kill two Light wizards. Yes,
the Prewett twins were famous, respected wizards, but the Dark Lord's
followers were supposed to be more powerful—those who had the
desire and the will to conquer death.</p><p>"Enjoy your prize,
Lucius," he said, as he turned back to his potion. Voldemort had
wished for a potion that would allow anyone to mimic the effect of
the Dementor's Kiss. So far, Snape was having no luck. There was
simply not enough information available about Dementors, even in the
vast libraries he had access to as Voldemort's trusted servant; few
wizards had ever been interested in them.</p><p>"I will," said
Lucius, his voice gone languid and content. "This is the last of
the major attacks for a month's time, and Narcissa is waiting."</p><p>Snape heard the pop of
Apparition from behind him, and returned to his cauldron. Or, he
tried to return to his cauldron. In a few moments, he had to put the
stirring rod down and pace in a circle. He made sure it looked as if
he were trying to stretch muscles tense from the bowed position the
brewing had put him in. He was largely alone in this wing of the
Riddle house, but one never knew who might be watching. And, of
course, his Occlumency barriers were up, as they always were.</p><p>He could not show that
the tension in his muscles came from wild contempt, of the kind he
had felt a year ago for the Mudblood children killed in his
initiation.</p><p>He had known when he
came into the Death Eaters that few were like him, either in level of
magic or level of dedication. They were there because they feared
death or wanted to follow the Dark Lord on his quest to create a
pureblood world free of taint. Snape had accepted that he would have
to work beside people he did not understand and did not like. That
had always been true, because there was no one in the world like him.</p><p>He had not known that
he would <em>despise</em> them so much.</p><p>They bragged when
their own blood pride should have told them to keep silent. They
resorted to ugly and obvious spells where simple, elegant ones would
have done—in fact, where their Lord had commanded them to be
careful, because he did not want a certain attack to be revealed as a
Death Eater one yet. Then they seemed surprised when the Dark Lord
kept his word and tortured them for their failures. They made the
same mistakes again and again. They denigrated the care Snape took
over his potions and did not understand why their Lord valued him,
even when he explained. They smashed interesting magical treasures
recovered in their raids as easily as they smashed the skulls of
Mudbloods.</p><p>Snape had never known
there would be so little <em>grace</em> in what he had become.</p><p>"Severus?"</p><p>That would be Regulus,
the only one who persistently called him by his first name other than
the Dark Lord—and since the first time he had met Voldemort, Snape
had never failed to sense his magic and be kneeling when Voldemort
entered a room. He cut off his circling at once and faced Regulus,
his robes snapping to behind him. "What?" he snarled.</p><p>Regulus blinked, then
held up his hand. "I thought you might want to see this," he
said. "I just came back from a visit to my parents, and they agreed
that I could take it to show you."</p><p>Snape drew breath to
bark a retort, and then the silver globe lying in Regulus's palm
came to life. It opened its sides as wings made of light, and Snape
saw the gleam of stars on deep, velvety blackness. In the center of
them was a golden dot of sunshine, and the planets of their solar
system dancing around it.</p><p>He came closer, and
stared. He had never seen any magical device so intricate on so small
a scale. Whoever had made this had replicated the colors of Saturn
perfectly on a globe the size of Snape's thumbnail, and the others
were smaller. Yet, when Snape murmured a spell that sharpened his
eyesight, he could make out the gleam of green continents on the
Earth globe. It was perfect down to the last and the smallest.</p><p>This was what Snape
had once believed all magic should be: calm grandeur, going about its
beauties, not even noticing the efforts made to hinder it.</p><p>He gazed, and gazed,
and when he looked up, Regulus was watching him. His face had
relaxed, though, and he said nothing, only nodded with a small smile
before he gathered up the globe and took it away with him. He could
get away with the smile, Snape thought. Regulus was known to smile
and joke like that—it was put down to him being both young and the
spoiled heir of a prominent family—and appreciation of art was not
disapproved of among the Death Eaters, though many of them didn't
see the <em>use</em> of it, and lacked the wits to do it themselves.</p><p>Strange, Snape
reflected as he began brewing again, that the only Death Eater who
seemed to show him something of grace and beauty was Sirius Black's
brother.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"<em>Amputo!</em>"</p><p>Snape roared the word,
and the Order of the Phoenix witch facing him fell screaming, trying
to lift her wand and unable to do so. Of course, it didn't help
that the spell had wrenched her left arm away from the rest of her
body and left it lying on the ground, and that her left hand clutched
her wand. All that remained sticking out of her left shoulder was a
bag of bone and flesh about the size of Snape's wrist.</p><p>He could have left it
there. The blood loss and the shock would have finished her, and he
was needed elsewhere in the battle; he could hear spells exploding
around him as the Death Eaters fought to turn the Order's ambush
into a victory for their side.</p><p>But he could not leave
yet, because it was not <em>enough.</em></p><p>He focused on the
witch again, and whispered, "<em>Coquo.</em>"</p><p>The spell curled
around her legs first, and the woman began howling, a noise of pure
misery that didn't sound human, but reminded Snape irresistibly of
a werewolf's cry. He shuddered, but he didn't look away from his
victim. It wasn't the full moon, and in any case Fenrir Greyback
had been assigned to a different part of the battle, as he always was
at Snape's request. He had the leisure to stand still and watch as
digestive acids consumed the woman's feet, then her thighs, then
her groin. The howl as she was eaten below the waist made something
like peace come back into Snape's heart.</p><p>She was a torso with a
right arm and a head now, and still alive. Snape wasn't done with
her yet. "<em>Torridus.</em>"</p><p>The Dehydration Curse
wrinkled her skin, and the woman tried to cry out again in misery,
but she had no saliva left in her mouth, and therefore could make no
sound. Her eyeballs rolled crisply in her head. Her hair crackled as
she waggled her neck. Her skin gleamed with a dull patina in the
firelight behind her; Snape had taken her sweat away.</p><p>Snape smiled. He saw,
from the corner of his eye, someone who had been approaching him back
away. He didn't blame that person.</p><p>He finished it.
"<em>Extorqueo</em>."</p><p>Giant, invisible hands
grabbed what remained of the witch and began twisting her head in the
opposite direction from her body. Snape saw her mouth moving as her
head traveled in a circle, and then the clean, crisp <em>snap</em> of
her neck rang a good distance across the battlefield. A moment later,
the invisible hands pulled her body and her head apart in a spray of
blood. Snape blinked as blood flew across him, pattering his face,
soaking his robes, and shards of bone rang past him like shrapnel.
One sliced his cheek open.</p><p>He smiled.</p><p>"Severus?"</p><p>And then he turned and
then he saw Regulus—Regulus, whom he had thought dead at the
witch's wand—and then he fell to one knee, overwhelmed, and
Regulus was there, one hand tentatively resting on his shoulder.</p><p>"I—you didn't
need to do that," Regulus whispered. "I was all right. And even
if I hadn't been—" Snape looked up to see him shaking his head,
and he said no more, but Snape knew what he meant, as clearly as if
he'd finished the sentence. <em>Even if I hadn't been, you
shouldn't have used those spells. You know more of grace than that.
Clean kill, and move on. </em></p><p>Yes, Snape thought, he
should have done that. He should have. Pleasure in torture was a
refined amusement in the proper place.</p><p>A battle was not the
proper place.</p><p>He felt a shifting as
of continents inside him, and that was the first time in nearly two
years that his scorn turned on himself, pouring over him like the
flood of digestive acids from the <em>Coquo</em> spell. He should have
known better. He knew how to take revenge. One took it in the best
and safest way, and in the coolest frame of mind. One did not succumb
to rage like a—</p><p>Like a Gryffindor.</p><p>That was the first
time that Severus Snape looked at himself with clear eyes, and saw
what he had become, and despised it. There was nothing of the grace
or beauty or grandeur there should have been in the Death Eaters, and
none in the Dark Lord, and none in him. The notion that he could walk
through ugliness and remain untouched by it was gone. The notion that
he could turn ugly and not care about it was gone.</p><p>And it was Regulus's
fault, for retaining a note of grace that he probably didn't even
realize he possessed, for calling Snape by his first name and trying
to share beauty with him and advocating a cleaner revenge. He was the
reason it all tumbled apart in Snape's mind, two years after his
first meeting with Voldemort, and refused to put itself back together
again.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 28*: Confluences</h2>
			<p>Once again, I know some people don't want to read heavy slash, so, if you don't, skip from the point that says, "Draco glanced at Harry curiously," to the scene break. This chapter has six scenes, and the fifth one does contain slash.</p><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-One: Confluences</strong></p><p>On the day the article
in the <em>Daily Prophet</em> came out that proved Aurora Whitestag and
Philip Willoughby had decided to work together, Harry decided that
he'd had enough of this nonsense and wanted to <em>talk</em> to
people.</p><p>He came into the Great
Hall to find people staring at him. Harry rolled his eyes. <em>When
they do that before breakfast, one thing is usually the cause: an
article in the paper. </em>He didn't think it was the <em>Vox Populi</em>,
though. Most of the students still took that less seriously than the
<em>Prophet</em>, and anyway, Hornblower was busy cutting his way
through a forest of supposition about the Minister and his fitness to
do his job right now. He hadn't published anything concerning Harry
in the last five days.</p><p>Harry sat down at the
Slytherin table. Millicent tossed a copy of the paper to him without
a word. Harry nodded to her, and let his Levitation Charm catch it,
holding it in the air in front of him while he spooned up porridge
and poured pumpkin juice for himself. The shop in Hogsmeade he'd
paid to deliver breakfast to him each day had proven less than
imaginative about their choices, not that Harry minded the bland food
that much.</p><p><strong><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em>VATES NEEDS
MONITORS, OPPONENTS SAY</em></span></strong></p><p><strong><em>Monitoring Board
May Be Best Compromise</em></strong></p><p><em>By: Melinda
Honeywhistle</em></p><p><em>"I have been
worried that we haven't done the right thing so far," said Aurora
Whitestag yesterday. "After all, the</em> vates <em>needs to
concentrate on fighting the war against You-Know-Who. But I hope this
new solution will be an acceptable compromise to both parties."</em></p><p><em>Whitestag was referring to the new petition
brought before the Wizengamot yesterday, which asks for a monitoring
board to be established on the former Harry Potter's activities.
The members of the monitoring board would consist mostly of those
parents whose children Harry killed before the Battle of Hogwarts,
but a few Wizengamot members and a professor from Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry would be welcome as well, Whitestag said.</em></p><p>"Harry obviously needs some supervision," she
said. "He trained during the summer, but I think he returned to the
wizarding world before his training was complete. He needs more. We
can suggest tactics to him, and make sure that he isn't using his
magic irresponsibly. He benefits from our presence, and the whole of
our world benefits from making sure the Boy-Who-Lived is properly
trained. And properly watched over, of course."</p><p><em>Philip Willoughby, whose daughter Alexandra
died in the attack on Hogwarts, and who has petitioned to bring Harry
to trial, appears to have thrown his support behind Whitestag.</em></p><p><em>"I've given up hope that I'll ever see
Potter put in Tullianum for his crimes," he told this reporter
yesterday. "But a monitoring board is a good idea. I've been
beyond grateful that so many people in the wizarding world have paid
attention to me, a Muggle father whose daughter was still looked upon
as inferior by many of her peers. I've made good friends, and those
friends will stand behind me to put the monitoring board in place,
even as they stood behind me in the petition about the trial."</em></p><p><em>Whitestag says that her own motive, and the
motive of many of the parents of the Dozen Who Died, as the children
have come to be known, is not vengeance for the dead, but simply
making sure the entire wizarding world survives.</em></p><p>"There's a good reason that no teenager has
ever been a Lord," she says. "They cannot be trusted with that
much power. It's not Harry's fault that this happened to him. If
anything, I think it's our fault, the fault of parents and
professors, for leaving him with abusive parents who twisted his
sense of honor and justice. Under our care, he will learn more about
what he can be, rather than just growing into whatever monstrous form
he might achieve without us."</p><p>Harry finished the
article and shook his head, laying the paper on the table. Draco
promptly snatched it, and Owen settled into place on the other side
of Draco, patiently reading around the jerking motions of his hands.</p><p>Draco said nothing
when he'd finished. Harry went on eating, and waited for the storm
to break.</p><p>"Why aren't you
upset about this?"</p><p>At least Draco had
hissed that into his ear, not shouted it to the Great Hall. Harry
arched an eyebrow. "I am," he said. "But yelling about it won't
do any good. They might not even get the Wizengamot to decide on this
any time soon, given that they're occupied with deciding what to do
about the werewolves. At least I'm forewarned. And I accepted
consequences like this when I mercy-killed those children, Draco."</p><p>Draco shook his head.
"You <em>are</em> infuriating," he said, but his voice was more
resigned than anything else.</p><p>"I'm trying not to
be," said Harry firmly, and pushed his porridge bowl away,
standing. Draco stared at him. "I'm going to find Snape," Harry
explained to that stare, "and ask if he's far enough along in his
healing for him to want to see me."</p><p>"After what he said
to you in Potions class the other day?"</p><p>"Yes," said Harry
mildly. He had been hurt when Snape criticized his potion as he had
never done in Harry's years at Hogwarts, casting aspersions not on
his training—that training would have included Snape's teaching,
of course—but on Harry's desire to experiment by himself, and
implying that Harry thought himself too good to brew ordinary class
assignments. It was such a reversal from a few weeks past, when Snape
had trusted Harry with Potions work enough to lend <em>Medicamenta
Meatus Verus</em> to him. Harry had thought about it for a while,
though, and managed to calm down. It had been hurtful, but
considering what Snape was going through right now, it was a miracle
that he was rational enough to teach classes at all, never mind speak
politely to a student. Harry thought it could even be an honor,
though dubious, that Snape cared enough about him to single <em>him</em>
out. Usually now, Snape just paced in circles around the room, having
put the instructions for the potion on the board, and stared at
everyone.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Because I want to
see if I can help him in his healing, and I want to see if I can have
my guardian back," Harry said, and smiled at Draco before he
trotted out of the Great Hall. Not surprisingly, Snape hadn't been
at breakfast. He avoided them now, since the first day of term when
he'd come near to Transfiguring a Hufflepuff girl into something
embarrassing. Harry thought that meant Snape was listening to
Joseph's advice, and that was a hopeful sign.</p><p>He made his way to
Snape's quarters, all the time counting the minutes in his head
before Potions. It should be enough time. He'd made sure to come to
breakfast early, and the Potions classroom wasn't that far from
Snape's rooms. He had half an hour.</p><p>He had opened his eyes
this morning, lain staring at the ceiling of their four-poster for a
moment, listened to Draco's soft snores, and realized that gestures
of reconciliation wouldn't go amiss. Waiting to discuss things
because he didn't want to infringe on someone else's free will
was only making assumptions, again. How could he knew whether pride
held them back, or anger, or simple misunderstanding of Harry and his
motives, unless he asked? He hadn't asked Snape what had happened
between him and Camellia since that initial question. He hadn't
persisted in visiting Snape because he thought it might hurt him.</p><p><em>But it might hurt
him if I stayed away, too. And I'm never going to know if I don't
ask. </em></p><p>He reached Snape's
door just as it opened. Joseph stepped out, his gray robes swirling
around his ankles as he shut the door gently. He saw Harry, and
frowned, shaking his head.</p><p>"This is not a good
time, Harry."</p><p>"Why not?" Harry
tilted his head and waited. He felt poised, calm, balanced. He had
accepted that there was no direction he could move in that was free
of mistakes. He could make a mistake in pressing the matter when
Snape was so wounded. He could make a mistake in waiting to press the
matter, because then Snape would assume Harry didn't care about his
suffering. He could make a mistake in any tiny gesture or word that
someone took the wrong way. He had to be willing to make those
mistakes, and bear the consequences of them, and keep moving forward
with a little more knowledge under his belt, eyes a little more open.
If Snape's moods really did change as rapidly as the weather, then
Harry would have to keep considering them, that was all.</p><p>"He had a very bad
dream last night." Joseph murmured as if his words would hurt the
air—or as if Snape were listening from inside the room, which Harry
thought was much more likely. "A dream that involved memories he
had not only pressed down to the bottom of his mind, but tried to
destroy. He did give me permission to tell you they involved Regulus
Black. And since Regulus is not here at the moment, there is little I
can do to help him."</p><p>"And how is he in
general?"</p><p>Joseph sighed. "The
same. Willing to give me scraps and bits of information, but not
explain specific twists in his soul. Convinced he is vile. Hurting
and unwilling to show his pain, but wishing there was someone in the
world who knew of it."</p><p>Harry nodded. "And
is there anything that you think I can do, even if he doesn't want
to see me or talk to me?"</p><p>"I don't see
what," Joseph said. "Even I can see that he needs your presence,
but I will not admit you to his rooms when he has asked me not to."</p><p>Harry bit his lip.
"What about a letter?" he suggested. "That comes to him and
lets him know that that I'm here and waiting, but he doesn't have
to write back, or even read it, if he doesn't want to."</p><p>Joseph blinked.
"That—that might work. But you know that he could write a letter
full of the most violent abuse back to you?"</p><p>"I've taken
worse." Harry found himself grinning. He was always happier when he
had a plan, a way to move forward after being stuck in place. "And
I want to speak to him, Joseph. If you don't think it will hurt him
more than help, I'll take the chance."</p><p>Silence passed for a
moment, while Harry went on gazing expectantly at Joseph and the Seer
mulled it over. Then he nodded. "If you believe that you can stand
it," he murmured.</p><p>"I can," said
Harry. "And anyway, he needs it. And I love him, so there you go."
He smiled at Joseph one more time, then turned and made his way
towards Potions class, already composing his letter in his mind. When
he was far down the dungeon corridor, he heard the door of Snape's
quarters open and then close, but he didn't look back. If Snape had
come out to peer after him, Harry would let him have the sight of
Harry he seemed to want, without forcing his guardian to meet his
gaze.</p><p><em>Does it really
matter who makes the first gesture of reconciliation, who reaches out
first? No. This isn't a sacrifice, and I'm not doing it to be a
sacrifice. Snape can tell me to fuck off, and I'll fuck off. He
can yell at me, and I'll accept that.</em></p><p><em>Now, after Potions
class, I'll find Connor and approach him. I think I can catch him
on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Really, the fight he had
with Draco was silly, and I should have given him the chance to tell
his side of it long before this. At least arrange a time for us to
use a Pensieve.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape did not feel
human.</p><p>He also did not want
to go into the dungeons and teach the Potions class.</p><p>But McGonagall had
given him the terms for his remaining at Hogwarts, and this was one
of them. And if he was forced to leave Hogwarts and go
elsewhere…Snape did not know how he would survive. He knew he would
be less than he was here, a sack of blood and bones and charred
memories. He had essays to mark and classes to teach as long as he
remained Potions Master.</p><p>The only advantage
being away from Hogwarts might offer was being away from Harry.</p><p>Since he had started
dreaming of Regulus and the part Regulus had played in driving him
back to the arms of the Light, he had found it harder to tolerate
being around Harry. He wanted to see Harry. He watched him when he
ate in the Great Hall during lunch and dinner, talking with the other
Slytherin students or lost in contemplation or arranging dueling club
meetings. He wanted Harry to come to him, to apologize for sending
Snape away from Cobley-by-the-Sea, and explain that he had punished
Camellia and she would never touch Snape again.</p><p>But he did not want
Harry near him at the same time. He could not forgive him for being
absent as he suffered the dreams, or summoning Joseph and leaving him
to the Seer's nonexistent mercies. He wanted Harry to understand,
but not ask questions. He wanted Harry to realize what the dreams
were doing to him, but he didn't want to have to tell him about the
dreams.</p><p>He knew that was
irrational. That only made the pain worse, particularly when days
passed and Harry made no effort to seek him out at all.</p><p>And then, today, Harry
had come and spoken to Joseph outside the door, and Snape had
listened. Harry spoke of writing a letter to him. Snape hated the
thought of it, at once. Harry should have known better than to reach
out to him after the dreams of Regulus that tormented him night after
night.</p><p><em>Harry doesn't
know about the dreams of Regulus, </em>whispered his saner mind.</p><p>Snape didn't care.
He should have known. Harry was a Legilimens. He could have met
Snape's eyes and read the dreams out of his mind. That Harry
wouldn't do such a thing because of his dislike for compulsion of
any sort was worse, because it suggested Harry prized his precious
principles above Snape, and only confirmed another old truth his
mother had told him: that no one would ever love him above anything
else. Harry had only cared when he was essential to the cause, and
now that Snape had revealed his wounds and his bitterness, he had
turned away.</p><p>The thoughts, mad and
sane, and the bitterness made a rope so strong that Snape nearly let
himself hang from it rather than listening to the words Harry spoke
to Joseph. And then he laughed aloud when it was done, because Harry
expected vileness from him.</p><p><em>How can he, after
all I have done for him?</em></p><p>But if Harry had not,
then Snape would have despised him for not learning the lessons he
had tried to teach the boy. Only a fool would assume he would write a
calm, coherent letter back in this state, or even try to communicate
at all. No matter which way Harry turned, he was a fool.</p><p>"Are you fit to
teach today?"</p><p>Snape looked up.
Joseph had come back through the door, and stood leaning against it,
watching him thoughtfully.</p><p>"I must be," Snape
rasped out.</p><p>Joseph nodded. "And
if the letter comes and you don't want to read it, you can always
burn it."</p><p>So Joseph knew he had
overheard—or he guessed it, because it was the kind of thing
someone with Snape's pitch-colored soul would do. Either assumption
was unacceptable. Snape snarled at him and turned away.</p><p>Joseph said nothing
else, which Snape was grateful for. He prepared for the Potions class
in quick, efficient movements. He had already memorized the recipe
for the potion. He would put it on the board and leave his students
to follow it as best he might. A glare from him was usually enough to
put even the most confident and skilled of the sixth-year NEWT
students off their careful following of instructions. Hermione
Granger had made small mistakes in each class since the start of
term.</p><p>He strode into the
corridor, his face formed into a cold mask, his hands clenched around
his wand. If he had met anyone on the way there, he didn't know
what would have happened. But he did not, and he opened the door of
his classroom and swept in, coldly pleased to note that a few talking
students scrambled into their seats.</p><p>"Twelve points from
Hufflepuff for slowness," he said coolly, because Susan Bones
hadn't moved fast enough. She lowered her eyes, her face the
picture of misery.</p><p>Snape waved his wand,
and the Potions recipe appeared with a short <em>bang</em> of colored
smoke. He turned around and let his gaze sweep across their faces
menacingly, silently instructing them to get to work. Most of the
students ran for the ingredients closet at once. Only three didn't
move: Draco and Granger, who always copied down the instructions or
checked them against their books before they did anything else—</p><p>And Harry, who sat
calmly in his seat, staring at Snape with large green eyes.</p><p>Snape stared,
unblinking, pouring all the malevolence of commingled pain and hatred
into his gaze, using it as a blade to slice at Harry's Occlumency
barriers. Harry gave a small smile, and then his barriers fell and
Snape found himself in a mind he barely remembered.</p><p>Harry's thoughts had
changed since the last time he had seen them. Then, they had
resembled a steel skeleton barely touched with leaves. Now they were
a living tree, and the dark spaces between the branches that had once
been filled with uncertainty curled with new twigs and new
leaves—emotions and experiences Harry had had no context for,
before. Snape stared.</p><p>Harry nudged softly at
his Legilimency. Snape complied, so caught off-balance was he, and
found himself looking straight into Harry's love for him.</p><p>It cut like sunlight
and hurt like blades. Harry didn't expect that Snape would wake up
from his pain one day and return to the person he had been. He knew
the healing might last the rest of his life. He knew that Snape might
never be his guardian again, might never speak to him directly again,
might be useless to the war effort and Harry's <em>vates</em> path
from this moment forward.</p><p>That didn't matter.
Harry's love for him would still exist, because Harry's love for
him didn't depend on any of those things.</p><p>Snape felt his
carefully constructed reality sliding away from him. He had <em>known</em>,
even as he raged about Harry refusing to speak to him more directly,
that he had no right to expect this kind of devotion. Eileen Prince
had been right. That kind of devotion didn't exist.</p><p>And here it was,
staring back at him.</p><p>Snape snapped his gaze
away and snarled, "Mr. Potter. Do you <em>wish</em> for the low mark
you will receive if Mr. Malfoy does all the work? Begin."</p><p>And he could feel
Harry smiling even as he rose from his seat to obey, because Snape
had slipped enough to call him by the last name he had discarded.</p><p>Snape didn't need to
open Harry's letter. When it came, he would burn it, but not
because he didn't want to read it. He would burn it because he
already knew what it would say.</p><p><em>Why should this
change things? </em>he thought, scrambling to rebuild the mask Harry
had destroyed. <em>After all, his love could still be a sham, or a
lie. He could still love you mainly because of what you have been to
him, and not for the person you now are. He has made no effort to
learn what you are now.</em></p><p>But Snape doubted that
any rationalization he could make would dent or damage the fact of
that love. He could change his mind. He could rage. He could storm.
He could drive Harry away, or attempt to split open his heart with
the cruelest words he knew. He could decide that he would never see
Harry again.</p><p>None of that would
change the fact that the love existed, and would go right on
existing, in spite of him.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry caught up with
Connor just as Connor was about to duck into the safety of the
Defense classroom. The first thing Connor knew of his presence was
the hand on his shoulder that tugged him gently to the side and
leaned him against the wall. "Can I talk to you?" his brother
asked him.</p><p>Connor thought of
refusing. He <em>should</em>, he knew. Parvati was right. Harry could
have solved the whole problem between him and Malfoy by demanding
Connor's side of the story when the argument had first happened.
Connor would have given in with just a little more pressure. He
wouldn't have wanted to apologize to Malfoy, but doing that and
explaining were two different things.</p><p>On the other hand,
Harry had caught him. Connor didn't want to yell at Harry in front
of the other NEWT Defense students. Parvati would want him to avoid
making a scene.</p><p>"I suppose," he
said, ducking his chin into his chest and scowling up at his brother
from beneath his fringe.</p><p>Harry just nodded. "I
wanted to know if I could hear what happened between you and Draco,"
he said. "If you don't want to tell me or can't remember
everything, I can get hold of a Pensieve, and you can put the memory
in there. Then I can watch it and make my own decisions."</p><p>Connor blinked, his
mouth coming slightly open. "Did you use Legilimency on me?" he
snapped.</p><p>"What? Of course
not." Harry blinked back at him. "Why would I have?"</p><p>"That's what I
wanted to do!" Connor exclaimed. "Tell you the truth, everything,
with just a bit more prompting. But instead it lapsed into silence
for two weeks, and you didn't make any effort to pick it up again."</p><p>Harry winced. "I
know, Connor," he said. "I'm sorry. That was a mistake on my
part. If I really want to consider myself as respecting the free will
of everyone, then I need to know more about those people and what
they want, and I need to approach them instead of letting the wounds
between them and me fester." Connor nodded in approval. That was
something like the apology Parvati thought Harry should have given,
though not as detailed. "Now. Can I hear?"</p><p>"After class,"
said Connor. "In a Pensieve," he added, because he didn't think
that he could recall all the details of the conversation, and he
didn't want Harry to think of him as biased.</p><p>Harry nodded, and then
Malfoy arrived behind him and took his arm, giving Connor a
condescending look. Connor just rolled his eyes and made his way to
the back of the class. Malfoy might be with Harry from now on, as his
boyfriend, just the way Ron had said, but he didn't have to like
it.</p><p><em>And after what
Harry sees in the Pensieve, then he probably won't like Malfoy
quite as much, either.</em></p><p>Connor settled into
his seat and contemplated that pleasant prospect as Peter entered and
swept to the front of the classroom. He was much less nervous today,
Connor noted absently. Teaching did seem to agree with him, the
longer he did it.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry pulled his head
slowly out of the Pensieve he had borrowed—Draco's, used when he
invented the spell that let one person experience another's
mindset—and blinked, shaking drops of silvery liquid from his hair.
Connor sat on his bed in the Gryffindor sixth-year boys' room,
watching him anxiously. Harry sat back and shook his head again.</p><p>"I think we were all
three at fault," he told Connor.</p><p>His brother's mouth
fell open, and Connor spluttered, kicking out a foot behind him with
such violence that it got tangled in the bed hangings. Harry waited,
watching in silent amusement as Connor shook his head and clenched
his jaw. Connor had not grown up all the way yet. <em>Such a child,
still, sometimes, but I know he's capable of better things. </em>And
that hope tempered Harry's anger, and really, he should have
allowed it to do so earlier. He knew how much good was in people. He
was supposed to look for it, as <em>vates</em>. He should never have
allowed his silent treatment of Connor to last so long.</p><p><em>Really, why do I lose my temper? It
only does more harm than good. Accepting what other people do, and
trying to talk to them about it, and accepting it if they get angry
at me, are all more productive than offering them cold shoulders or
harsh words.</em></p><p>"I wasn't!" Connor burst out at
last. "He came into my room just to taunt me!"</p><p>"Then you taunted him back," said
Harry, calm as steel.</p><p>"He didn't have to say what he
did!"</p><p>"No, he didn't," Harry
agreed. "And neither did you." He leaned forward, stretching out
his hand to clasp his brother's. "Connor, did you think it would
make him more sympathetic to halfbloods, to say that he would have
to accept them?"</p><p>"No," Connor said sullenly,
avoiding his handshake and looking at the floor. "I wasn't—I
wasn't thinking about making him accept halfbloods, or arguing him
into it. I just wanted him to <em>shut up</em>."</p><p>"And would you say that was
childish?" Harry asked.</p><p>"No more childish than what he did!"</p><p>Harry leaned back against the
pillow—he sat on Neville's bed, since Neville was in NEWT Ancient
Runes right now—and tapped his fingers on his chin. Draco's ring
caught the light and sparked it back at him, making Harry blink.
Diamond afterimages raced across his vision as he glanced back at
Connor. "But do you really want to be a child all your life,
compared to him? Do you really want Gryffindors to seem childish next
to Slytherins?"</p><p>"I suppose not," Connor said,
staring at the floor. "I just don't see why I have to be the more
mature one all the time."</p><p>"Oh, not all the time," said
Harry. "But Draco is more mature most of the time." Connor sat
up, his mouth flying open in protest, but Harry shook his head at
him. "You know he is, Connor. He was trained to keep his composure.
He's hexed you and attacked you, but you've done the same thing
to him, and more often. He says horrible things about you, but to me
or in his head. You tend to say them to his face."</p><p>"I thought you said we were
all three at fault there, and
not just me," Connor said from between gritted teeth.</p><p>Harry nodded. "I know. I was at
fault for speaking to you so abruptly, and believing that the words I
overheard were the whole story." They certainly had not been;
according to the Pensieve memory, he had missed more than half the
conversation. "I'm sorry for that. And Draco was at fault for
intruding in the first place. He could have ignored you slamming your
trunk." He took a deep breath and braced himself for Connor's
anger. "But I think you were more at fault than he was."</p><p>Connor stared at him. Then he leaped
to his feet and stalked towards the door.</p><p>"Connor?" Harry pitched his voice
low and kept it gentle, and Connor halted, holding the door handle,
scowling ferociously. "Will you hear me out?"</p><p>Connor gave a quick, jerky nod. Harry
nodded back, and then spoke his thoughts as carefully and honestly as
he could.</p><p>"It wasn't honorable to attack
Draco that way, Connor," he said. "It wasn't Gryffindor. You
knew how upset he was about the Grand Unified Theory. More to the
point, you knew I'd sided with you over him, because I thought he
was going to physically attack you that day in the kitchen, and you
knew what had happened a few days before between Snape and Camellia.
What you did was cruel and calculated and horrible in its timing."</p><p>"He has to learn to accept
what you are," Connor ground out. "I don't see why you stay
with him, Harry. He <em>hates</em> you
for being a halfblood."</p><p>"No, he doesn't," said Harry, a
bit surprised that Connor saw it that way. "Why would he? I think
he loves me more than any notion that purebloods are perfect. But
everything changed so suddenly. And that is my fault, for not
preparing him properly. I don't think he realized that Thomas
thinks—and I think—that pureblood culture is still a wonderful
and valuable thing. Our main disagreement isn't about the culture
or the rituals. He thinks there's a genetic difference between
someone like him and someone like Hermione, and that the difference
makes him superior. I don't agree with that, but I can live with
it. If he takes years to change his mind, so be it."</p><p>"That's disgusting, though."
Connor's face had wrinkled itself up like the face of a small dog
about to bark at someone. Harry entertained himself for a moment with
the notion that his Animagus form might be a dog, then pushed it
regretfully aside. He had to be serious right now.</p><p>"No more disgusting than what I did
to both of you." Harry cocked his head at him. "Or taking
advantage of an opponent's weakness."</p><p>Connor's eyes fell, and a blush of
shame worked its way across his face. Harry waited. His brother might
still have some trouble admitting he was wrong, but he couldn't
hide behind the notion that he was right any more.</p><p>Connor's next words still caught him
by surprise, though.</p><p>"How can you stand him?" he
demanded, eyes flashing as he took a step back towards Harry. "Forget
about the Grand Unified Theory, forget about blood. He's cruel and
mean-spirited and takes advantage of you. Why do you love him, Harry?
Do you know that?"</p><p>It was Harry's turn to flush as he
remembered Christmas last year. He had told Draco why he loved him,
an incredibly long list of reasons. He managed to give a short nod.
"I do."</p><p>"Then tell me." Connor's eyes
narrowed further.</p><p>Harry looked away. "I don't want
to share that with you, Connor," he said.</p><p>"Then I don't see why I
should forgive him." Harry heard a rustle of cloth that he knew was
Connor crossing his arms. "It sounds as if you <em>are</em>
ashamed of yourself for loving him, really. You know that he's
everything I said he was, and you're still attracted. Well, I can
understand your bonding to him because he was your first friend here,
but <em>really</em>, Harry, spending
the rest of your life with him because of that?"</p><p>Harry felt angry heat fill his chest.
He stood. "Are you willing to tell me all the reasons you love
Parvati?" he demanded.</p><p>Connor shut his mouth so hard he
nearly bit his tongue. "Well, no," he admitted at last. "It's
a private thing."</p><p>Harry nodded. "And it's the same
way with me."</p><p>"But no one <em>cares
</em>why I love Parvati!" Connor took an insistent step forward. "I
want to know why you love Draco. I'm asking you. I want to know.
Why won't you tell me? Shame is the only reason I can think of.
You'd think Draco would be
happy to hear you reciting all the reasons—"</p><p>"There's no way I can win this
game," Harry said quietly. "Don't you see that, Connor? If I
tell you, then I'll betray Draco's privacy, and he's asked me
not to do that." It was one of the requests Draco had made of him
last year, his head pillowed on Harry's chest, his eyes soft and
content. "If I don't tell you, you'll go on thinking I'm
ashamed of him, or that it's just lust."</p><p>"I know it's not lust," Connor
said dismissively. "Not with your training. But I really don't
think he's good for you, Harry. How can I keep quiet when I think
that? How can I not try to separate you from him? And how can I
believe that you're not just blind if I don't hear your reasons
for loving him?"</p><p>"I wouldn't try to separate you
from Parvati, even if I thought she wasn't good for you," said
Harry. "I accept that you love who you love, Connor."</p><p>"She's not the daughter of a
Death Eater," said Connor. "She's not even a Dark witch. Has it
occurred to you, Harry, that you could take a lot of hurt from Draco
if he does decide that he would rather believe in pureblood
superiority than in you? And what happens if he Declares for the
Dark?"</p><p>"The same thing that happened when
you Declared for the Light, I imagine," said Harry. "I still
won't feel compelled to choose a side."</p><p>Connor was breathing fast, his face
flushed with frustration. "I just wish I knew why you would choose
him over me," he said. "That's all."</p><p>"I don't want to choose him over
you," Harry whispered, holding out his arms. Connor didn't move
into the embrace. Harry winced and dropped his arms, telling himself
he had no right to feel angry or disappointed. His anger or
disappointment would just cause so many more problems in the long
run. "And I don't want to make you choose Parvati over me."</p><p>"I won't," said Connor. "I can
balance. But I don't think that you can balance between us, Harry.
We're too different. And I think you could be in danger from him."
He gave a little nod, as if someone had offered him a command, and
stood straighter. "I love you, Harry. I want to make sure you're
safe."</p><p>"I don't need protection from
Draco," said Harry, feeling tired.</p><p>"I think you do." Connor gazed at
him, eyes wide and earnest. "I've thought about it a lot over the
past two weeks, Harry, and I've talked it over with Parvati. But we
had to wait and see what you would say. If you'd forgiven me and
agreed that Draco's attitude was dangerous, I wouldn't have to do
this. But I think he is a danger to you, and you'll only wind up
getting hurt. I'm sorry."</p><p><em>I should have talked to
him before this</em>, Harry thought. <em>I
left it too long. It's my fault.</em></p><p>He took a deep breath and tucked the
blame away, because unless the guilt could help him not to make the
same mistake a second time, it was useless. He knew how Connor could
change, wavering from moment to moment, abandoning prejudices that
solidified in his mind when new information came along and seeing his
way to clarity when he realized he'd made a mistake. He had nearly
done that when Harry pointed out that attacking Draco via his
pureblood beliefs wasn't honorable. Give it a few weeks, and he
would probably change his mind again.</p><p>Connor seemed confused when Harry gave
him a politely determined smile and walked past him to the door.
"Harry?" he asked his back.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Harry said. "We'll
have to agree to disagree on this, Connor. Just know that I love you
both. I wouldn't give up contact with you to please Draco—I
didn't do it in third year—and I won't give up being Draco's
partner to please you. I'm sorry. If you can't live with each
other, I understand that. I won't make you act like best friends or
brothers. I do love you both."</p><p>Connor tried to say something, but
when Harry paused and waited, nothing emerged. He sighed gently and
shut the door behind him.</p><p><em>This time, though, I
won't just wait and wait for him to say something. I'll talk to
him every day. I'll let him see that I'm happy with Draco. I'll
show him the truth until that overcomes his willingness to embrace a
lie.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco glanced at Harry
curiously. Harry had seemed unusually fidgety that evening, even as
Draco studied his Animagus notes some more and Harry tried to read
information on place magic that Granger had researched for him. He'd
said something about "entering the dream" when Draco asked, and
Draco didn't understand what that meant, so he'd been willing to
let it drop. He was more interested in how close he could come to the
visualization now, anyway. He knew his form was four-legged,
relatively small, and not bulky, but not what it <em>was</em>,
yet.</p><p>"Draco," Harry said
abruptly, and Draco put down the notes and turned to face him at
once, because Harry sounded near-panicked, something that never
happened.</p><p>"What is it, Harry?" Draco asked,
his eyes roaming his partner's face. Harry was flushed, and the
flush had crept everywhere except his lightning bolt scar, which
stood out as a pale line on his forehead. Draco was just as glad not
to see that turn red.</p><p>Harry shook his head, then abruptly
grabbed Draco's neck with his hand and drew him close for a kiss.</p><p>Draco blinked, but he was hardly about
to object this, so he responded, grabbing at Harry's shoulders and
hair and pulling him forward. Harry pulled him backward, so for a
moment they engaged in an undignified tug-of-war, and then they
sprawled in the middle of the bed. Draco muttered a protest as his
teeth hit Harry's, and Harry gasped an apology, but didn't stop
kissing him.</p><p>Draco kicked out, trying to find a way
to get a better purchase on Harry and stop just scrabbling around in
the middle of the bed. Then the room smelled of roses, and Harry
rolled him over again, with magic rather than a hand, and Draco found
himself on his back, gasping as he stared up at Harry.</p><p>"Will you let me touch you?" Harry
whispered to him. "Just—touch you? That's what I want to do
right now."</p><p>It cost Draco actual physical pain to
remove his hands from Harry's skin, but he nodded. Harry murmured a
thanks and then pulled at Draco's tie and his shirt, taking them
off so smoothly that Draco barely felt a brush of cloth across his
skin. He thought Harry must have used magic, but it was very hard to
look away from those green eyes, so he wasn't sure.</p><p>"I love you," Harry murmured,
bowing his head and beginning to kiss his way down Draco's chest.
Draco gasped, wondering why he couldn't speak, wondering why he
wasn't more panicked by the feeling of not being able to breathe,
wondering why he suddenly seemed to be lying in a bed of summer
sunlight. "I don't care if someone else disapproves, I know it
might cause problems but that doesn't mean I'll stop loving you,
and this sounds so stupid Draco but I don't know if you're
listening to me right now anyway—"</p><p>Draco might have told him he was
listening to him if Harry would just stop <em>touching</em>
him. But he wasn't, he was nipping and kissing and lucking and
sucking, and Draco's skin felt taut and stretched, as if all of it
were ready to slip off his body and fly into Harry's mouth. It was
an effort to keep his hands at his sides, and he didn't succeed,
though they only flew up in loose fists when Harry stripped him of
both trousers and pants, as efficiently as he'd stripped him of
shirt and tie.</p><p>"Love you," Harry said softly, and
then took Draco in hand, stroking him with his hand and rolling over
so that his hip lay against Draco's, as if he wanted to surround
him as much as possible with Draco still flat on his back in the bed,
watching his face all the while.</p><p>Draco closed his eyes. He was adrift
in gold. It altered and rippled in his mind, like sunlight changing
through moving leaves. He had thought, foolishly, that the pleasure
he shared with Harry would not change in essentials from one bedding
to the next. It seemed he was wrong. This pleasure was keener,
sharper, than that which they'd shared while tumbling on the floor
in Silver-Mirror. Draco found he couldn't keep his hips still as
they rolled up in short jabs into Harry's hand. He knew his breath
was leaving his mouth in gusts of hot air, too. Light traveled past
his eyes. He had lost track of the rest of his body. Mouth and eyes
and cock—did he need to worry about the rest?</p><p>When he came, he heard Harry's voice
say something, but he couldn't make it out under the intense
pressure and pleasure inside and out. His head grew too heavy for his
neck as he trembled out the last spasms of light and warmth, and then
he knew where his hands were. He reached up and gripped Harry's
shoulder, pulling him down, managing to open his eyes just enough to
whisper, "What did you say?"</p><p>"The usual," Harry whispered,
kissing him. "I love you."</p><p>Draco tried to answer, he really did.
But a huge yawn escaped his mouth, and the thought of moving hurt. He
wanted to sit up, though, and reach down to touch Harry. He wanted to
give him some hint of the pleasure he'd given Draco.</p><p>Harry kept his hand away when he
tried, though, the metal of the ring on his finger cool against
Draco's palm. "I'll be fine," he whispered. "I wanted to do
that, to remind myself that you're real, that you're not just
sitting on the other side of the bed and studying notes, but actually
in my arms if I want you." Draco could hear him smiling, though he
couldn't open his eyes to see it. "And in my hand."</p><p>Draco attempted a protest. "But,
Harry—" He thought it should be stronger, and maybe it would
really have been, but the warmth had traveled back into his limbs,
puddling them. He could feel Harry rolling them over, so that he lay
fully within Harry's embrace, and then he was fussed about until he
didn't think any part of him was touching the blankets, but draped
fully over chest and hips, groin and arms.</p><p>"I'm here," Harry murmured.
"We're both here. Nothing's going to separate us, Draco." His
arms tightened possessively around Draco's chest. "Go to sleep."</p><p>And Draco did, letting his head
bob down until his nose rested in the crook of Harry's neck. The
last thing he heard before he fell asleep was the soft, contented
purring of Harry's magic, like the rumble of a great cat, and the
last thought he had, absurdly, was, <em>His Animagus form</em> is<em>
a lynx.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry took a deep breath and
shook his head before he walked into the Great Hall the next morning.
He had something to say to his brother, and he had thought long and
hard about the right words as he lay with Draco cradled in his arms
last night, still a bit stunned by his own desperate need to <em>feel</em>
Draco and be assured he was there and real.</p><p>Draco came up, brushing his shoulder
against Harry's. Harry smiled at him, then moved towards the
Gryffindor table.</p><p>Connor was sitting head-to-head with
Ron, planning Quidditch strategies by the sound of it. He looked up
in surprise at Harry, and then his face tightened in an expression of
resignation.</p><p>"Come to scold me about yesterday?"
he asked.</p><p>Harry stood surveying him for a
moment. Connor looked as if he hadn't slept well, but still
stubborn, still determined, still trying to do what he thought was
right. Just like he had been in third year, come to think of it, when
he thought Harry was going to kill Sirius, or just like he had been
in fourth year, when he was trying to go through the Triwizard
Tournament despite being terrified of it, or just like he had been in
fifth year, when he had chosen to testify at Lily and James's trial
and hadn't told Harry about it beforehand, in case Harry tried to
stop him.</p><p><em>We both think we're
right. This time, though, I'm not going to let misunderstanding get
in the way, or sympathy for him make me look past it. He's doing
what he thinks is right, but that doesn't change the fact that it's
fucking stupid.</em></p><p>"No, actually," Harry said. "I've
come to tell you that I'd like us to get along, Connor. I know that
probably can't happen yet, but it will in time. If you decide to
marry Parvati, I'd like to be able to talk to my sister-in-law
without screaming at her. And to my brother without screaming at him,
as it happens. And I'd like you both to be able to talk to your
brother-in-law without screaming at him."</p><p>Connor's face tightened with
distaste. "Harry, Parvati told me some things about him that you
should know—"</p><p>"And I'm going to listen to them,"
said Harry with a nod. "But you should know, Connor, that I'll
never stop loving both of you, and trying to balance all three of
you, making sure that you have what you want and what you need as far
as that's possible. And I won't believe that Draco's going to
turn against me until he actually does."</p><p>"Harry—"</p><p>"I'm not leaving him," said
Harry plainly. "He's my partner. He'll stay that way until the
day he says he doesn't want to be any more. You can argue and I'll
listen, Connor. But I won't obey."</p><p>Connor's face tightened again, this
time with frustration. "Harry, you could solve this whole dispute
by telling me why you love him."</p><p>"He doesn't want me to. I don't
want to." Harry cocked his head, watching Connor closely. "And I
don't think it would solve things; you would come up with another
objection, Connor. I won't ask you to love him. I will ask you to
accept that I do."</p><p>"If you would listen—"</p><p>"If you would," said Harry, "you
would hear what I'm trying to tell you. I love him. I won't leave
him. He's mine, and I'm his. That's the way it is."</p><p>He paused, but apparently Connor
didn't have a counterargument for that right now; his face
expressed nothing but dismay. Harry nodded once and turned away from
the table.</p><p>On the way, he caught Ron's
eye. Ron raised his brows, then clenched his left hand into a fist in
front of his heart. Harry smiled and returned the gesture of respect
as best he could; it didn't have exactly the same meaning, but
since he lacked a left hand, he could tell Ron accepted it. He
lingered long enough to hear Ron say, "You're being a right
idiot, mate," which caused Connor to gape at<em> him</em>,
and then he made his way back to the Slytherin table.</p><p>He met the owl who delivered his
morning porridge from Hogsmeade, and stared unlading her. He merrily
ignored Draco's stare for quite some time, until Draco said, "So
you had an argument with your brother about me."</p><p>"Hmmm," said Harry, pouring the
porridge into the bowl it came with, and reaching for the vial of
juice. Orange juice this morning.</p><p>"And you fought with him for me,"
Draco said. "Why?"</p><p>Harry looked up. "What do you
mean, <em>why</em>?"</p><p>Draco's face changed slowly, as if
clouds were moving across it. Then he put his hand on Harry's arm
and leaned in to kiss him.</p><p>Harry accepted it for a moment,
returned it for a second moment, and then pulled back and sat down to
eat his breakfast.</p><p>He kept feeling Connor's stare from
across the way, and when Parvati joined him for breakfast, the stare
redoubled. Harry didn't care.</p><p><em>Some of the people I love
are being stupid right now. That's all right. They'll get over
it, and I can wait for as long as they need.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 29*: Terror Runs On Four Legs</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!<strong><br>
</strong></p><p><strong>WARNINGS: Graphic
gore. Cliffhanger.</strong></p><p>And now, things go
<em>spang.</em></p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Two: Terror Runs On Four Legs</strong>
<p>Harry heard Connor
muffle a surprised squeak when he caught up with him and Parvati on
their way to Care of Magical Creatures. "Can I walk with you?" he
asked them, as politely as he could under the circumstances.</p><p>Connor just stared at
him. Parvati leaned around Connor's shoulder and gave him a far
more pointed stare. Harry bore it. <em>She's concerned for Connor,
</em>he told himself. <em>If Draco had a brother who ignored him most
of the time, and that brother was dating a Dumbledore supporter,
wouldn't I be concerned?</em></p><p>"You don't have
Care of Magical Creatures," Parvati said.</p><p>Harry inclined his
head, smiling. "No. But I have a free period, and I know Connor
said Hagrid's lesson would be short today." The Magical Creatures
classes had been abbreviated since Hagrid had taken a sting from a
mysterious, and probably illegal, creature he was keeping in the
Forbidden Forest. "So I thought I could speak with you after the
lesson, if that's all right."</p><p>Parvati laid her hand
on Connor's shoulder. Connor stopped walking and turned to look at
her. Parvati whispered to him, suspicious eyes on Harry's face.</p><p>Harry waited some
more. And waited. Parvati had a lot to say, but he would have had a
lot to say, too, under similar circumstances. He plucked at some kind
of flying bug who obviously thought his skin was a flower, and then
they turned towards him, both faces gone equally resolute. Harry was
glad that Connor had a girlfriend who could match him for
determination.</p><p>"We've decided
that you can talk to us after Hagrid's lesson," Connor allowed,
voice and stance still wary. "But you have to be as open as you
can, Harry. Don't start ranting the moment one of us says something
you don't like."</p><p>"I promise," said
Harry. He was glad that Draco wasn't present; trying to have all
four of them together for this first extended conversation with
Parvati just wouldn't have worked. Draco had free time as well, but
he'd chosen to spend it working furiously on visualization of his
Animagus form. Michael was with him, so Harry didn't have to worry
about his safety. "Should I meet you at Hagrid's hut, or
somewhere else?"</p><p>"On the way back to
the school," said Parvati, her hand still on Connor's shoulder.
Her eyes remained hard as flint. "As we approach the entrance
hall."</p><p>Harry nodded. "That's
fine." Parvati blinked, but Harry meant what he said; he wanted
both of them to be comfortable, so that they would talk with him
instead of shouting, and he didn't care where they met, so it meant
nothing that he'd given up control of that aspect to Parvati. "I'll
see you in a short while."</p><p>He nodded to Connor,
but gave Parvati a sweeping bow that he knew she would recognize,
since she came from a Light pureblood family. The bow ended with a
sweep of his hand at the level of his throat. Once, it had granted a
sibling's consort power to mercy-kill one if necessary. Now, it was
meant as a formal welcome into the family, a sign that he didn't
object to Parvati's presence.</p><p>Connor was already
walking on. Parvati lingered, staring, then shook out her long dark
hair and hurried after Connor. Harry watched the way she took his
arm. He smiled. <em>She loves him, at least. She's not just playing
with him.</em></p><p>He turned away. He
would go back near the entrance hall and wait. For once, he had
nothing else to do. He'd written his letter to Snape, concentrated
dutifully on his Animagus transformation, talked to Camellia, read
some more on the place magic information that Hermione had obtained
for him, and finished his homework. There were advantages to feeling
uneasy with laziness.</p><p>The owl met him as he
entered the section of the grounds just in front of the castle. Harry
looked up curiously. From the direction it was coming from, it might
have just flown from the Owlery, but it settled onto his shoulder
with a weary hoot. Harry clucked to silence the hissing Many snake
around his throat, and took the envelope from the bird, stroking her
feathers. She buried her head against the side of his neck,
trembling.</p><p>The envelope was
actually the message itself, Harry saw, the parchment folded into the
shape of a letter. The ink dashed across the paper, splattered with
terror.</p><p><em>Dear Harry:</em></p><p><em>I was one of those
who kept silent when your first offer of help arrived, because I
didn't think I would need it. And now I do. September's full moon
is rising, and I don't trust the Ministry to keep me safe anymore. </em></p><p><em>I am one of the
three hunters who killed the werewolves in July. I know that you
don't have any reason to like me, but the stories about you say you
help even those whom you have a reason to dislike. So.</em></p><p><em>I want to come to
you and shelter under your protection for the three nights of the
full moon. I want to make sure Loki doesn't kill me. I saw what he
did to Felicia. In return, I'll bring you information about the
policies on werewolves that the Department plans to pursue next. You
can demand other concessions of me if you like, but please, please
help me.</em></p><p><em>Kieran Morologus.</em></p><p>Harry caught his
breath. His hand crumpled the parchment, and a stir of magic rose
around him that made the owl stir, as well, spreading her wings and
hooting uneasily.</p><p>Harry had to work to
catch his breath and calm down before he could think about the
request, and even then, his first impulse was to refuse. Kieran had
brought this on himself by hunting werewolves and scalping them.
Harry thought he might even have been the hunter in the <em>Daily
Prophet</em> photograph who had held Briar and Gudrun's scalps in
the air, grinning. It would be a betrayal of the pack and a betrayal
of the dead to help him.</p><p>But, Harry reminded
himself reluctantly, as his ethics tugged at him, he had reached out
to the Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts
after Loki's attack and informed them that he would try to heal the
damage wrought. He hadn't warned them well enough, not if Loki
could still take them so entirely by surprise. And he had managed to
ignore the horrible things that his former Death Eater allies had
done. And Loki's vengeance, if achieved, would only make things
worse for his pack. It certainly had last month, as more and more
people became in favor of restricting werewolves. If Loki hadn't
sworn himself to revenge, then some of the hysteria might have died
away, and they might be further along the path to a peaceful solution
by now.</p><p>It didn't take Harry
long to make up his mind. He could do nothing to bring back the dead,
but he could try to spare the living. And if Kieran would give him
information on the Department's policies, then he could protect his
pack. There was still the chance that they would view it as a
betrayal, of course. In that case, Harry would step aside as alpha
and hope they appointed Camellia.</p><p>He cast the Summoning
Charm to bring him ink, parchment, a quill, and owl treats from his
room. The owl on his shoulder shivered again as the items zoomed past
her, but ate the treats gratefully from his palm. Harry supposed she
must have picked up on part of her owner's terror, and he was sorry
for it. Whatever Kieran might have done or not done, she didn't
deserve the fear.</p><p>"You're beautiful,
aren't you?" he murmured, running his fingers through her
feathers. And she was; a barn owl, but nearly as pale as Hedwig on
the belly and under her wings, while her golden eyes had a hint of
green. "You don't mind taking a reply back?"</p><p>She already sounded
better as she gave a little hoot and traced a strand of his hair
through her beak. Harry smiled and sat down to write the letter,
telling Kieran that he would protect him, and giving him a detailed
description of Wayhouse. They certainly could not face Loki at
Hogwarts, Harry wouldn't ask the pack to leave Grimmauld Place or
Cobley-by-the-Sea, and Silver-Mirror had too many treasures in it
that he could see Kieran handling "accidentally," or Loki
breaking when he attacked.</p><p>Harry handed the
letter back to the owl, and spent some time coaxing and petting her
before she would take off. Then he sat back and summoned a mental
calendar into his head. He nodded. The first night of the full moon
was the twenty-fifth, and it was the eighteenth now. That should
leave him plenty of time to prepare, including strengthening
Wayhouse's wards to meet the assault and contacting Gloriana
Griffinsnest to see what she could tell him about werewolves on the
vengeance-path.</p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>When he looked up,
Connor and Parvati were approaching him. Harry stood to meet them,
but Parvati shook her head, gesturing him back onto the steps.
"You'll want to be sitting down for the vast majority of this,"
she said, grimacing. "You won't like what we have to tell you."</p><p><em>True, but probably
not for the reasons you think, </em>Harry decided, and sat down,
giving her an expectant look. Parvati arranged herself in front of
him. Connor stood beside her, clutching her hand. Parvati squeezed
back, now and then running her palm over his.</p><p>"You may not know
all the details of the crimes that Lucius Malfoy committed,"
Parvati announced. "My father fought in the First War. He knows. He
testified at Malfoy's trial, trying to get him convicted. It didn't
work, of course, because he managed to convince the Wizengamot he'd
been under Imperius all along. But my father knows the details."</p><p>"So do I," said
Harry, a bit surprised. <em>Didn't Connor tell her I studied the
history of the First War as part of my training? </em>"I know that
he was involved in the death of Edgar Bones, of the Prewett twins, of
the Nascent children. There are other allegations that can't be
proven, but I don't have much doubt they're true. He was at the
Battle of Valerian, for example, according to the Ministry's
reports." He grimaced, feeling a sour taste fill his mouth. Along
with Lily, he really preferred the title "Slaughter of Valerian"
to the official name. The inhabitants of the village had had no
chance to fight back against Voldemort's flesh-eating rain.</p><p>"And you aren't at
all worried that the father's tendencies have passed on to the
son?" Parvati's eyes were sharp, her mouth very wide.
"Particularly given that he has hexed Connor more than once, and he
used Dark Arts in the battle?"</p><p>Harry gave her a hard
look. "There's a difference between using Dark Arts, and using
them maliciously."</p><p>"They're still
<em>Dark magic,</em>" Parvati insisted.</p><p>"I know," said
Harry. "But I've used them myself. I've taught the members of
the dueling club how to use them, including you and your sister. Did
you really forget that?" Disappointment was welling up in him, no
matter how much he tried to push it back down, tell himself it did no
good. "<em>Ardesco</em>, which I demonstrated and which a lot of you
picked up at once, is a Dark Arts spell."</p><p>"I found them hard
to use," said Parvati quietly. "And so did Padma. But Malfoy uses
them well enough. And he's frightfully vengeful and jealous over
you." Harry only nodded; he couldn't really disagree there.
"Aren't you worried that he might use Dark Arts on someone else,
just because that person insulted you or—or was less than perfectly
kind to you?"</p><p>Harry blinked as his
estimation of Parvati turned a corner. "You're afraid of him,
aren't you?" he whispered.</p><p>Parvati gave a violent
shiver, then lifted her head. "I'm Gryffindor," she said. "So
I won't run. But yes, I <em>am</em> afraid of him. Connor's told me
that Malfoy almost physically attacked him a number of times, and
that he's killed in battle. I won't stop defending Connor." She
leaned her head against Connor's neck, never taking her eyes off
Harry. "It's a small thing for him to decide that Connor's
girlfriend is just as annoying as he is, and to decide to hurt me."</p><p>"And you think it
would be simpler for both of you if I just stopped dating him,"
Harry said, voice flat.</p><p>"Not only simpler,
but the right thing to do." Parvati was recovering now, as if her
admission of fear had given her back her strength. "Family is
important, Harry. And you have so little family left now. Your
parents were horrible to you. Your guardian is acting like a madman.
Connor is lonely."</p><p>"I am," Connor
volunteered. "Who doesn't talk to their brother for two weeks
because they're angry at him over a fight with their boyfriend?"</p><p>"I can think of two
people like that," Harry said.</p><p>Connor flushed, but
tried to persist. "We <em>are</em> brothers, Harry. We should spend
more time together than we do. But I know Malfoy's going to object
to that, because he wants you all to himself."</p><p>"If and when he
objects, I'll call him on it," Harry said. "But I apologized to
you yesterday for making mistakes, Connor, including not bringing
this up sooner." He faced Parvati. "I can promise that I'll
never let Draco hurt you. But that doesn't mean I'm going to give
up dating him, or that I'm going to hold him accountable for what
his father did. Lucius Malfoy is one person. <em>Draco</em> Malfoy is
another."</p><p>"I don't see how
you can think he's more important than your brother." Parvati
looked fretful, and she nodded at the ring on Harry's hand that
Draco had given him during their Walpurgis joining ritual. "Blood
is more important than a circular piece of metal."</p><p>Harry cocked his head.
"Does that mean that you would choose Padma over Connor in a
heartbeat, if you had to choose between them?"</p><p>Parvati froze. Connor
took a step forward. "It's not fair to ask her things like that,"
he hissed. "I thought you were trying to keep the peace between us,
Harry, not start more arguments."</p><p>"I think everything
should be out in the open, that's all," Harry told him, never
taking his eyes off Parvati. "I want to understand what's going
on. And I'm most interested in what she has to say. Come on,
Parvati. What do you think? Would you choose your sister over your
boyfriend?"</p><p>Parvati unfroze. "I'll
never have to make that choice," she hissed. "Padma is part of
the Light, and she would never hurt me. She approves of Connor. She
gets along with him. But your Malfoy might curse anyone he thinks is
taking up too much of your time and imagination. That's what Dark
wizards do."</p><p>"A family gathering,
Harry? And you didn't invite me? I'm feeling left out."</p><p><em>Fuck.</em> Harry
stood, not coincidentally placing himself between Draco and Parvati
as he did so. "Draco." He reached back, looping an arm around his
partner's waist and dragging him to his side. "I don't think
you've been formally introduced, though you certainly know each
other. This is Parvati Patil. Connor's girlfriend."</p><p>Draco resisted the
pull of Harry's arm. Harry darted a glance at his face. It was
flushed in a way it usually only got after sex, and Draco seemed on
the verge of drawing his wand. He gave a tight little nod.</p><p>"My condolences on
your lack of taste," he told Parvati.</p><p>Parvati let out a
little squeaking hiss; Harry was suddenly and absurdly sure her
Animagus form would be a mongoose, rearing up to attack the nasty
snake. "How <em>dare</em> you, Malfoy," she said. "And to think
that I assumed your parents would have taught you manners. I suppose
any Malfoy prefers torture to courtesy."</p><p>Harry felt the shift
against his side as Draco's hand plunged into his pocket after his
wand.</p><p>Harry spun, putting
himself between Draco and Parvati again, but this time facing Draco
and <em>holding</em> his wand hand so that he couldn't draw it. "No,"
he hissed into his ear. "Don't move it to curses." He looked
over his shoulder at Parvati, sparing a hiss to calm down the Many
snake, who appeared to have decided that the nervous owl was a
forerunner of the kind of day he was going to have. "I think you
should apologize," he told her.</p><p>Parvati tossed her
hair, and Harry felt a surge of frustration. <em>Connor's found a
partner who's his match in stubbornness, too. </em>"No," she
said. "What if I don't want to? What if I think that Malfoy going
for his wand only proves that, in fact, he knows nothing of manners,
and proves all the things I said about him? That he would as soon
curse me as look at me, and he's going to hurt me someday, and he's
going to hurt your brother?"</p><p>Draco struggled,
nearly managing to haul his wand hand from Harry's hold; that Harry
had only one hand didn't make it any easier. He leaned forward,
bracing himself against Draco, hip to hip, chest to chest. He would
use his magic to bind Draco if he absolutely had to, but he would
prefer to get through this without it. "He did it because you
insulted him," he said.</p><p>"And a normal person
would have insulted me back, not reached for his wand," said
Parvati. Her eyes shone. "Don't you agree, Connor?"</p><p>Harry looked at his
brother, only to find Connor's face pale. <em>He's probably
thinking of Snape and Camellia, or what I talked to him about after
his and Draco's fight.</em> Harry did not blame him.</p><p><em>He is stubborn, he
is stupid sometimes, but he can see what's in front of his face. </em></p><p>"Parvati," Connor
began in a low, troubled voice.</p><p>Draco moved so fast
that Harry had no time to react, stepping back and making Harry
stagger. Then his hand was free, and he whipped it out of his pocket,
his wand aimed directly at Parvati.</p><p>Harry said, even as
his magic reared up around him in the form of vine-green snakes,
"<em>Stop it right fucking now, Draco.</em>"</p><p>Draco's mouth
clamped shut after the first syllable of a spell; Harry wasn't sure
which one it had been. He stared at Harry. Harry snarled at him, and
the snakes writhed around his body, awaiting a command to attack.</p><p>Draco went on staring.
Harry knew that he recognized the snakes as an extreme manifestation
of anger. He must be wondering what in the world he could have done
to make that fury be directed at him.</p><p>Harry turned, the
snakes coiling around his arms and neck. Parvati had gone silent,
eyes wide and face almost white. Connor was the only one there who
seemed capable of looking at him and not cowering or flinching.</p><p><em>I don't want to
make them afraid. I don't. I don't. </em>Harry swallowed several
times, and some of the magic drained away, the snakes losing form and
lapsing into a bright green glow around his body. He shook his head.
<em>I should not have done that. I should not have frightened them. </em>He
dragged his hand through his hair, aware it was shaking. He thought
of hiding it, then realized it might help the point he wanted to
make. He held it out, and let them see his wrist tremble.</p><p>"I don't like
getting angry," he said. "I'm not interested in keeping track
from moment to moment of who's trying to pull whom apart, or what
all the old wounds are." He sent a hard glance at Parvati, hoping
she would understand his reference to Lucius Malfoy. "The same
thing I said yesterday remains true. I'm going to keep talking to
you both. I still love you, Connor, and I still want to welcome you
into my company, Parvati, even if we can't be best friends. But
I'll have to change my manner of dealing with you." He swallowed
the other words he wanted to say: <em>I thought I was dealing with
adults. I see I was wrong. </em>That would only escalate things
unnecessarily. He had already gone too far by showing the snakes.
Balance had to be maintained, if at all possible. "And both of you
will have to get used to Draco."</p><p>"But he would have
cursed me," Parvati pointed out.</p><p>Harry kept himself
from yelling by a serious effort that made him feel as if he were
choking. If he gave the reply he wanted, then Connor would only get
upset with him again, and they would have another fight on their
hands. Harry imagined his mind as the serene silver surface of an
Occlumency pool, and made it be so. He had never been so grateful to
Snape for teaching him self-control as he was now.</p><p>"Because of what you
said," he replied, calmly, when he was sure that his voice would
not shake or hint at unguessed-of depths of anger. "I won't go
into who started this. But insulting words are just as dangerous as
curses, in this kind of situation. And given that I know you're
afraid of Dark Arts from him, I don't know why you would give him a
reason to want to curse you."</p><p>"I was showing you
his true colors," Parvati said.</p><p>Draco uttered a low,
squalling sound of outrage. Harry stepped back until his back was
pressed to Draco's chest, and silently promised himself that if
Draco reached for his wand again, he would find his hand full of
something disgusting.</p><p>"I know him," said
Harry quietly. "You don't. The problem has been that you don't
know him well enough, and neither does Connor, and neither of us know
you. So. I'd like to propose having a few weekly conversations
until we <em>do</em> know each other well enough."</p><p>Parvati shook her
head, frowning. "You have to schedule Connor into your life, Harry?
I find that disappointing."</p><p>"I find everything
about <em>you</em>—" Draco started.</p><p>Harry squeezed his
wrist, and he stopped. "No, I have to schedule both of you," he
said, and that seemed to make Parvati stop and think. "This is the
way I should handle it, I think. I'm <em>vates</em>. I won't
abandon Draco, and I don't want to abandon either one of you. Yes,
it's artificial, not spontaneous, but we've seen what spontaneous
conversations between us are like now. I don't want <em>anyone</em>
hurt."</p><p>"But you want to
protect your boyfriend more than you want to protect us," Parvati
probed.</p><p>Harry raised his
eyebrows. "Don't you want to protect Connor more than you want to
protect me?"</p><p>Parvati scowled and
kept silent. Harry wondered how much of that had to do with the fact
that Connor was curled around her shoulder, whispering into her ear.</p><p>"So." Harry gave a
tight nod. "I know for a fact that all four of us are free on
Thursday evenings. Would that be acceptable? Thursday evening at
seven-o'clock, in the Room of Requirement?"</p><p>Parvati and Connor
exchanged glances. Then Parvati nodded, and Connor said, "We could
make that work, I think."</p><p>Harry let a little of
the iron bands of his self-control fall away. "Good. We'll have
one conversation, and try to get through it without insults, or
curses, or screaming of any kind. Does that sound like an acceptable
goal?"</p><p>Again, they both
nodded. Parvati's face remained pale, and Harry hoped that he might
have reached her with the comment about Connor, or the one about
Padma, or the one about her and her twin learning the Dark Arts. She
wasn't a complete hypocrite. He could coax her into reasonableness,
he hoped.</p><p>"Good," said
Harry, and held Draco back until both of them were inside Hogwarts
and out of sight. Then he turned to face his boyfriend.</p><p>"That bloody <em>hurt</em>,"
Draco complained, wringing his wrist where Harry had gripped it.</p><p>"Good," said
Harry, and then swallowed. <em>No.</em> His voice wanted to be low and
savage with Draco, but that wouldn't do any good. <em>My anger just
isn't productive, not with this. </em>"Draco, I want this to work.
I agree that she was wrong to insult you. But what were you thinking,
flinging a curse? You remember what McGonagall said about students
hexing other students. She would consider them traitors."</p><p>"I <em>considered</em>,"
Draco said stiffly, "that she has no right to say that kind of
thing. I was going to teach her a lesson, that's all."</p><p>Harry closed his eyes
and pushed up his glasses. "She doesn't," he said. "But you
didn't have the right to throw a curse either, Draco."</p><p>"You can't be on
both our sides at the same time, Harry," Draco said, sounding hurt.
"That's not possible."</p><p>"It is when I'm
more interested in solving the problem than placing blame," said
Harry, and again swallowed back more anger, like bile. "I want this
to work, Draco. I'm willing to work my arse off so that it can.
Please don't spoil it."</p><p>Draco just looked away
from him.</p><p>Harry breathed out
gently, and counted to three in Mermish. <em>That ought to be enough.
</em>"I don't really care who started it, not any more," he
said. "I don't really care about what <em>might</em> happen in the
future. I only care about what <em>will</em>. And one of the best ways
to alter that is to attack those problems at their roots." <em>And
to be patient. I might want to tell them off for being petulant
children, but that would only cause more problems. And I would be
excluding myself from blame, in that case. My silent treatment of
Connor played an enormous part in this. </em>"Conversations between
us are the only way I can think of to get us talking, rather than
flinging insults or hexes."</p><p>"She wants you and I
to stop dating," said Draco. "I think she won't give up."</p><p>"Wait until
Thursday, and see if she still says that," Harry said.</p><p>Draco turned to go
back into the castle. Harry followed a few paces behind him, rubbing
at his brow. He had a headache that had nothing to do with his scar,
or the odd dreams he'd been having lately. He was angry at
everyone, including himself, but anger that took the form of blame
wouldn't help. So he would keep it to himself.</p><p>But he wasn't sure
even that would help. Maybe expressing open anger with Connor would
impress the seriousness of the situation on him. Maybe he was being
remiss in not scolding Parvati, in not being more openly annoyed at
Draco.</p><p>But he couldn't be
<em>sure</em>, especially since every time he got angry, he made the
situation worse So accepting the consequences of what he had
done so far, and insisting on rationality rather than anger at all,
from anyone, seemed like the best thing, the only way to allow the
clash of free wills.</p><p>A particularly vicious
bolt of pain shot up from his jaw. Carefully, Harry unclenched his
teeth.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry eyed Wayhouse's
wooden wall. "Be still," he said.</p><p>The wall grew a mouth,
a pair of large lips blue as if with cold, that pouted at him. Then a
tongue popped out, and the wall blew him a raspberry.</p><p>"Stupid house,"
Harry muttered. A pair of eyes grew above the mouth and the tongue
and crossed at him, then vanished back into the wood. But when Harry
listened, the wards held. So Wayhouse had decided to shelter both him
and Kieran until morning. Harry nodded.</p><p>He turned to Kieran,
who hovered anxiously behind him. "We'll do this each night of
the full moon," he said. "I'm surprised that your last fellow
hunter didn't want to shelter with you, however."</p><p>Kieran gave a quick,
nervous smile. He was a tall man with fierce brown eyes whom Harry
supposed might have been handsome once, before fear had charred him
hollow. "He has family in France," Kieran responded. "He took
refuge there. He doesn't trust you to protect him." He paused,
hands twisting together. "Thank you for doing this," he
whispered. "I know you don't like me."</p><p>Harry shrugged. "I
don't like Loki's vengeance even more," he said. <em>I'm in
the same room with a murderer, but when has that ever been new? </em>He
wasn't betraying the pack, either, because Loki wasn't part of
the pack. Both Camellia and Remus had tried to convince Harry that
interfering in Loki's vengeance was a bad idea, but Camellia's
arguments consisted only in warning him that Loki couldn't be
stopped—which Harry thought was nonsense, as long as Wayhouse's
wards held—and Remus's had escalated into a shouting match before
long, because he said Harry was betraying all werewolves by
associating with a hunter in the first place. He hadn't seemed
interested in the argument that Loki's vengeance would make things
worse for all the werewolves in Britain.</p><p>Between the shouting
match and the two conversations with Draco, Connor, and Parvati
between the eighteenth and now, Harry's head felt as if it were
about to split open. He'd become an expert in burying his temper,
and not just in Occlumency pools. He knew numbers in Mermish up to a
hundred now; he'd had to learn them for the times when he and Draco
went back to their bedroom and lay in rigid silence, Draco upset with
him for conceding anything to Connor and Parvati, Harry upset with
himself for being upset.</p><p>Protecting Kieran was
almost a relief. Wayhouse's wards were incredibly strong, tied to
both the house itself and the determination of the Black heir. Harry
was not going to let Loki kill anybody tonight, so that was no
problem.</p><p>He had not asked
anyone to come with him, because they either had good reasons not
to—asking other werewolves to side against Loki was madness, and
most of his allies were busy watching the London packs or
accomplishing the tasks Harry had asked them to do—or they could do
nothing that Harry's magic and wards couldn't. Connor and Draco
would both have been willing to accompany him. Harry didn't want
them there. If it came down to a duel against Loki, which Harry
didn't believe it would, they weren't strong enough to battle a
werewolf who had been a pack leader, and would only make distractions
for Harry's attention. And if it came down to sitting in Wayhouse
behind wards all night, Harry would rather not share conversations
with one of them about the other.</p><p>Having them <em>together</em>
in the same place all night was not even to be considered.</p><p>But they had made some
progress. Harry had to admit that. It might cost him headaches, but
he had kept the paths of conversation between all four of them open
and moving, and forced all of them to reconsider their assumptions,
including Parvati's assumption that Harry didn't value Connor
enough because he wouldn't spend every minute with him and Draco's
assumption that Parvati's fear of him was based on nothing but
hearsay. They would get there in the end. Harry reminded himself of
that whenever he was sure that these conversations would last for
years and do nothing. Two only so far. He could do more.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>Harry looked up in
surprise; he'd almost forgotten about Kieran. He shook his head.
"You promised me that you would tell me something about the
Department's politics concerning werewolves if I protected you,"
he said. "So, tell me."</p><p>Kieran nodded and took
a seat in one of the chairs Harry had provided. This room had once
been a kitchen, and it was on the second floor of Wayhouse. Harry
thought it was as good a place as any to wait out Loki's arrival
and useless dashing of himself against the wards. "The Department
plans to collar all werewolves soon," he said.</p><p>Harry snorted. "They
already said that would happen."</p><p>Kieran shook his head.
"No, they just said that all werewolves had to wear collars, by
law. They're smart enough to know that most of the werewolves in
Britain aren't registered, and there's no way they could make
them register." Kieran paused, licking his lips. "Except now,
they've found a way to make that not matter."</p><p>Harry narrowed his
eyes. "Tell me."</p><p>Kieran shrank back in
his chair, intimidated. Harry tried to make his face relax. Kieran
stuttered, but got back on track. "Th—they plan to send out the
werewolf tracking spell across Britain, in a pulse that will surround
them and linger. So anyone who's a werewolf, whether or not they're
registered, will be instantly identifiable. The ones who come in of
their own free will have to wear collars and remain under the
Ministry's eye. Those who have to be dragged in will take the
collar, but be put into Tullianum."</p><p>"Fuck," Harry
breathed.</p><p>"Most of the
werewolves Loki turned in his attack on the Department are there
already," Kieran added. "The Ministry declared that they wouldn't
be able to keep themselves safe enough, and the walls and wards of
Tullianum will do it for them."</p><p>Harry closed his eyes.
"So that's why none of them have answered my letters."</p><p>Kieran swallowed, an
audible click in his throat. "The Ministry had no idea what to do
with forty new werewolves. They caged them up and hoped for the
best."</p><p>"Do they have
Wolfsbane?" Harry asked, opening his eyes.</p><p>Kieran shook his head.
"A few do, but most of them couldn't afford it."</p><p>Harry winced,
remembering Hawthorn's account of what had happened during her one
transformation, the first after Fenrir Greyback's bite, when she
went without Wolfsbane. <em>And the first transformation's always
the worst, and it always kills some of the newly-bitten. Fuck. </em></p><p>"If they hate them
so much, why are they capturing and collaring them?" he asked. "Why
not just kill them?"</p><p>"Because the
Unspeakables want to use them," Kieran whispered, as if the walls
had grown ears.</p><p>Harry felt his heart
stop.</p><p>"Why?" he
breathed. "For what?"</p><p>"I don't know."
Kieran shook his head wildly, but the words spilled forth from him as
if he were glad to give them up at last. "When I was a hunter, they
told us to capture a few werewolves if we could in the attack on
Loki's pack. We didn't manage it, though; we just killed those
two. But there was a family whose son had just been turned. It was
his first change, and they drugged him with some sort of incredibly
strong potion. It didn't put him to sleep, or calm his mind, but it
made him docile enough that the Unspeakables could handle him. I know
they took him down into the Department of Mysteries. I don't know
what happened after that. But if they have a lot of werewolves in
Tullianum, they can take them conveniently, and no one will really
notice or care."</p><p>Harry curled his
fingers around the arm of his chair. Both Tullianum and the
Department of Mysteries were far beneath the rest of the Ministry. He
wondered how short a distance it was between them, really.</p><p>"And you swear that
you have no idea what they're doing?" he demanded of Kieran.</p><p>Kieran shook his head
again. "No. That I heard that much at all was the result of people
gossiping who shouldn't have been. Felicia—" He swallowed, and
Harry told himself to remember that he was talking to a man who had
seen many of his comrades turned into werewolves and another ripped
apart, and told that his fate on the next full moon would be
Felicia's. "Felicia had a relative connected to the Department of
Mysteries. He passed the rumors along to her, and she told me. And
for all I know, they may be wrong."</p><p>Harry half-lidded his
eyes and fought to control his breathing. The urge to <em>do something</em>
to get the werewolves out of Tullianum, to brew the cure for
lycanthropy, to find out what had happened to the young werewolf
captured during July's full moon, was struggling in him. He wanted
to push to his feet and go flying out through the door of Wayhouse.
He felt as if he were useless if he weren't doing something. He had
spent too much time in the last few weeks on his bonds with Draco,
Connor, Parvati, and Snape. How could he have?</p><p>He put the emotions
back under the serene surface of his mind again. He could do this. He
could stay here and protect Kieran, his duty for the night. He opened
his eyes, and asked, "Was there anything else you could tell me?"</p><p>"Well, some older
Department policies, but they've changed now, with so much of our
strength turned into werewolves," said Kieran fretfully. "They
mostly concerned—"</p><p>Loki howled.</p><p>Harry knew in a moment
who it must be. The howl rang through the wards, though they should
have been able to hear nothing from outside—feel Loki's impact on
them, perhaps—and echoed in his ears. His mind flashed with images
of darkened nights around campfires, his ancestors crouching and
shivering in fear while howling creatures prowled just beyond the
flames and stared with red eyes and cried out their hunger.</p><p>He heard a strangled
sob, and smelled piss, and knew Kieran had just wet himself. Harry
turned to face the wards, ready to put his own strength behind them
if it were needed. He had linked chains of Shield Charms up already.
He had trusted to the combination to keep them safe.</p><p>Camellia's words
echoed in his mind again. <em>You can't stop him or turn him aside,
Wild. Not a werewolf on the vengeance-path. Please, please don't
try. You have no idea what will happen if you do.</em></p><p>And there was the fact
that Loki had crashed into a Department of werewolf hunters, turned
forty of them, torn apart one, and escaped.</p><p>But Harry told himself
not to be ridiculous. None of the Department hunters had been
Lord-level wizards, and they hadn't been expecting the attack; they
had been getting ready to go hunt the London packs. He knew what was
coming. He—</p><p>Wayhouse shook. Harry
staggered. He felt as though he'd just met a score of charging
knights. The howl came again, louder and closer and from every corner
of the sky this time, like thunder.</p><p>Kieran was screaming
mindlessly. Harry shook his head and called his magic, pouring it
into the wards, weaving more chains of Shield Charms, slightly
reassured as more and more moments passed, and nothing happened.</p><p>Then he felt Loki
break the wards.</p><p>It should not have
been possible. But Wayhouse was wailing in anguish, and Harry knew
the feeling of magic failing to stop an assault; he knew it from
countless hours of practice as a child, when pain curses would make
it through his shields, and from the Quidditch pitch in his first
year, when Bellatrix Lestrange had thrown curses so strong they
cracked his wandless <em>Protego</em>. These wards parted, and slid in
jagged edges like the broken glass of a window pane around Loki's
body. He was within them, padding forward.</p><p>Kieran moaned. The
sound couldn't cover the noise of great claws ripping through a
wooden door.</p><p>"<em>Stay here!</em>"
Harry yelled at Kieran, though he doubted he needed to give the
warning, and stepped out of the kitchen, shutting and locking the
door firmly behind him. Now he could hear the sound even more
clearly, rending and tearing from downstairs. Harry took a deep
breath and wrapped his magic around him in a tight ball.</p><p>Gloriana Griffinsnest
hadn't been able to tell him that much about a werewolf hunting for
vengeance because of his mate's murder. She had said that she'd
heard tales about no one being able to stop such a werewolf, but she
didn't believe them. Why should she? Kill a werewolf, and they were
dead.</p><p>Harry touched the
silver knife hanging from his belt. He hoped he wouldn't have to
use it. He would kill Loki if he must, but he would prefer this night
pass with no loss of life.</p><p>The next howl knocked
knickknacks juddering from their shelves. Harry saw a frightened face
form in the wall, and knew Wayhouse itself was on the verge of panic.
He whispered soothing words, while he walked slowly down the stairs
and faced the front door. The shimmer of wards and Shield Charms
between him and it was almost a solid wall. He could see, blurred and
dizzy as if moving underwater, the black, hooked nails and the edge
of the paw, and then came a glimpse of a furred shoulder, shoving
hard.</p><p>The door did not so
much break as disintegrate. And then Loki stood there, staring at
Harry.</p><p>Harry had never seen
him in werewolf form. He understood now why Camellia had told him
Loki's "surname," on the rare occasions he chose to use it, was
Palefire. His coat was white, the hardly-gold color of his hair, and
thick as a snowdrift. The light sent up a faint halo around it. His
amber eyes glowed like suns from the middle of a head that came up to
Harry's shoulder, bigger than any other werewolf he had ever seen.</p><p>Harry knew from the
shine in those eyes that Loki had taken Wolfsbane, or had otherwise
arranged to have his intelligence unfettered. He held up the silver
knife in silent warning, and reared his own magic. Black snakes
unfolded around him, hissing.</p><p>Loki opened his mouth.
The howl that came from it shook the world.</p><p>Then he jumped at
Harry.</p><p>He passed through the
wards and Shield Charms like water; they melted and rippled around
his body. Harry dropped to one knee so as not to meet the full weight
of that leap and aimed the silver knife so that Loki should impale
himself on it.</p><p>But a werewolf was not
a wolf; Remus had told him that more than once. Loki snapped his body
sideways in midair, bending his belly away from the knife; it carved
through some of his fur, but did no worse damage. He landed with a
thump that made Wayhouse tremble <em>again</em>, shook his fur as if
shaking off water, and turned towards the stairs.</p><p>Harry shouted and
threw the silver knife straight at him. Loki ducked, bowing his head
to his paws, and it went over him and rang off the wall. He placed
one paw on the bottom step.</p><p>Harry, frantic now,
opened his <em>absorbere </em>gift. He would have to make sure that he
didn't swallow Wayhouse's magic along with Loki's, but if
spells and wards weren't going to stop him, draining his magic
would have to.</p><p>What he swallowed made
him gag. It wasn't like the foul, tainted magic of Voldemort and
the Death Eaters; it was solid instead, so that Harry couldn't
absorb it. He tried, and tried, and it was like choking on a stone
each time. He saw Loki turn his head, glancing at him with amber eyes
full of pity, and then he rose up the stairs like an avalanche in
reverse, going for Kieran.</p><p>Harry lunged again,
this time summoning magic to flood his muscles. He would grab Loki
and <em>wrestle</em> him to the ground if he had to.</p><p>Jaws closed on his leg
and spun him around. Harry fell, gasping. Looking up, he saw a
shimmering, silvery shape hovering over him, a werewolf as pale as
Loki.</p><p><em>Gudrun</em>.</p><p>Gloriana hadn't
mentioned that the ghosts of the murdered werewolves hunted beside
their mates. Harry wondered bitterly if it happened all the time, or
if it was just the magic's way of making sure he couldn't get in
the way and interfere tonight.</p><p>Frantic, he tried to
call on the rage that had once made him will Fenrir Greyback out of
existence. But panic didn't provide the same kind of anger that
fear for Draco's life had. The ghost of Gudrun simply looked at
him, and then tucked her tail to her belly and flew towards the
stairs.</p><p>Harry remembered where
his real battle lay then, and called out, "<em>Ardesco!</em>"</p><p>Loki's fur smoked,
and then stopped. Harry tried three more spells, casting them so fast
he could hardly tell them apart. None of them worked. They melted and
splashed against Loki, exactly as the wards and the Shield Charms
had. Loki had reached the top of the staircase.</p><p>Camellia's words
came back again, damning. <em>You can't stop him or turn him aside,
Wild.</em></p><p>Harry had never
imagined that that meant he just <em>wouldn't be able to.</em></p><p><em>Please, </em>he
thought, dropping Wayhouse's wards so that he could Apparate into
the kitchen. <em>Please, don't let him bite Kieran. </em></p><p>He appeared between
Loki and Kieran, crouching on the floor, using his body as a shield.
Loki padded forward a few steps and stopped, amber eyes filled with
emotions Harry couldn't understand.</p><p>"Please," Harry
whispered. Helplessness beat at his ribs like wings. The only time he
had ever felt this bad was when he lay strapped on an altar stone in
a graveyard, his wandless magic bound inside his body by the power of
Midsummer, and watched Fenrir Greyback and his consort devour a
child. "Please, please, do not. I know you can understand me, Loki.
Please, give it up. Your people's future may depend on it. Every
bite you give sends the wizarding world further into the depths of
madness and terror. And if that doesn't convince you, I promised to
protect Kieran. Please. Please."</p><p>A movement off to the
side made Harry look up. The ghost of Gudrun hovered there, watching
him. She had been beautiful, as pale as her mate, with large,
intelligent eyes and long legs that made her body look more graceful
than an ordinary wolf's, instead of monstrous.</p><p>"Please," Harry
told her.</p><p>She looked down at
him, amber bleeding into her eyes, taking over from the silver color
of ghosts. She bowed her head, and Harry heard a cold, distant whine,
a sound that could have come from the Thorn Bitch's briars rubbing
together.</p><p>He felt wind pass over
his head.</p><p>Loki leaped and came
down precisely behind Harry, pinning Kieran to the floor and tearing
him away. Kieran screamed in utter terror, and then Loki raked up
with his front legs and down with his back ones, ripping open
Kieran's chest and disemboweling him in the same movement.</p><p>Harry nearly vomited,
not from the smell but from the powerlessness. He reached out with
his magic and simply flung it at Loki, not bothering to shape it into
spells, just wanting this to <em>stop</em>.</p><p>The magic parted
around Loki. He moved his hind legs again, and blood sprayed Harry's
face and glasses, blinding him and dripping into his mouth. He spat,
pulling his glasses off, trying to see what was happening, cursing
the lack of a left hand.</p><p>He blinked his
eyelashes rapidly to free them of caked gore. When he could see, he
knew he was too late. Loki had crushed Kieran's skull in his jaws
and ripped his head free of his neck.</p><p><em>I promised to
protect him. And I could not.</em></p><p>The pain of his
failure scooped into Harry like his own <em>Exsculpo</em> spell,
leaving him hollow. He found himself leaning forward, hand out, and
did not even know what he was reaching for. He knew his body shook
with sobs, though, sobs of unleashed mourning.</p><p>Loki bit down, and
rent Kieran's body into two pieces. Harry wondered if he would ever
be able to see a werewolf's strength as beautiful again, or only as
horrific.</p><p>Loki stepped
delicately away then, and turned to face him. Harry knelt there,
staring at him. He knew Loki could tear him apart, or make him into a
werewolf, and thanks to the protection Loki had gained by swearing
himself to this vengeance-path, Harry wouldn't be able to stop him.</p><p><em>He cannot be
stopped. He cannot be turned aside.</em></p><p>Gleaming amber eyes
watched him from a field of blood and snow, and then Loki slipped
past him and padded down the stairs. Harry felt him pass through the
remains of Wayhouse's broken door, and then the broken wards. The
ghost of Gudrun lingered for a moment, and Harry sensed the wet touch
of a tongue to his cheek.</p><p>Then they were gone,
and he was alone with his frightened, whimpering house and the broken
body of the man he had promised to protect.</p><p>Harry folded his arms
on his knees and bowed his head into them. Tears made slow progress
against the blood on his cheeks. His shoulders shook with his
sobbing. Blame boiled in his stomach until he felt as though he'd
swallowed poison.</p><p>For a moment, he
wanted, with a simplicity and clarity he hadn't felt since he'd
mercy-killed the children outside Hogwarts, to die. There were some
mistakes that could not be forgiven.</p><p>Then he took a few
deep breaths and drove the emotions back into the places they
belonged. If they acted as lashes on his soul, to drive him out of
inactivity and into doing something about this, then he could use
them. If not, then he had no time for them. This was battle, and he
couldn't pause to attend to his own wounds.</p><p>He rose to his feet,
and, waving his hand, gathered the broken bits of Kieran's body
back together. Then he prepared to repair Wayhouse's wards. When
that was done, he would make a firecall to the Ministry, trying any
and all Departments until he found a Floo that was open—or he would
wait until morning, if none of them were. He knew from Kieran's
last name that he'd relatives at the Ministry at one point. If none
worked there now, the Ministry would at least know how to contact
them.</p><p>His balance wavered
for a moment, when he saw how many scraps of flesh Loki had torn
loose from Kieran's body, but he could not afford to fall, so he
did not.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry returned to
Hogwarts just after noon the next day. It had taken him that long to
locate Kieran's relatives—he no longer had anyone working at the
Ministry—and turn the body over to them. It had been a cousin who
came to collect him, Jenna. Her shock and her slowly widening eyes
and her vomiting had been no less than what Harry expected. He had
asked if she wanted to know anything else about her cousin's death,
but she only shook her head and turned away from him. He could not
blame her for that.</p><p>A few Ministry
officials had acted as if they would like to interrogate him, but
they couldn't figure out what to do or who should do it. After all,
Harry had been protecting Kieran, by his own story. And the
Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts was in
limbo at the moment, due to the destruction of so many of its
members. This was only a late casualty.</p><p>In the end, after a
confused hour in which Harry was shuttled between Amelia Bones's
office and one in the Department for the Control and Regulation of
Magical Creatures, he was released to go home.</p><p>He Apparated to the
edge of the Hogwarts wards, on the road to Hogsmeade, and used the
walk to get used to the knife-wound that seemed to have taken over
his soul. No, it felt more like a sword-cut, he decided. Horror was
part of it, but so was guilt, and so was his half-panicked
determination to make sure this <em>never</em> happened again.</p><p>He had learned his
lesson after the mercy-killing; Vera had taught him better. He would
not tumble into depression, not when other people were depending on
him. He had wrought this situation, and while looking back on it and
lamenting it would satisfy one part of him, it did nothing in the
long run. Eventually, he would make the wound stop feeling like a
sword-cut and make it into another whip in his soul, driving him
forward so that he would not collapse.</p><p>Harry wasn't sure
what he used to keep on his feet long enough to reach the entrance
hall: the lessons learned in the Sanctuary, Lily's training, his
own innate stubbornness. Whatever it was, it worked. He was breathing
more easily by then, and felt ready to face others. He had used the
communication spell to let Draco, Connor, Joseph, McGonagall, and
others know he was well, and, briefly, what had happened. It helped
that he'd had the chance to cleanse himself of gore. That helped a
great deal.</p><p>He lifted his gaze as
a shadow moved in front of him. It was McGonagall who came to meet
him, her face ashen as he had never seen it before. She clutched the
<em>Daily Prophet</em> in her hand.</p><p>"Mr. Pott—Harry,"
she said. "I told the others to stay where they were. I thought you
should hear this from me."</p><p>"What is it?"
Harry asked quietly. He hadn't had time to glance at the newspaper
this morning. He wondered if they were reporting Kieran's murder
and him as an accomplice in it. <em>Willoughby might have the chance
to see me on trial after all.</em></p><p>McGonagall took a deep
breath and stood straight as a blade. It struck Harry, for no
apparent reason, that this was the way she might have looked
reporting to Dumbledore in the First War.</p><p>"They've declared
open hunting season on werewolves," she said. "Any of them can be
killed without penalty, provided that the killer can confirm they're
werewolves afterwards. And they've arrested Hawthorn Parkinson."</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 30*: At Daggers Drawn</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>A note on the title: "At daggers drawn" is a metaphor for "at the point of open conflict."</p><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Three: At Daggers Drawn</strong></p><p>The news made Harry
<em>want</em> to collapse. But he knew he couldn't. For one thing, if
he did, he probably wouldn't be able to get back up again. And even
if he managed it, then other people would try to make him lie still
and—and rest, or something. He couldn't do that.</p><p>He turned the shock
into another whip, driving him on. He fastened his eyes on
McGonagall's face and said, "And we don't know anything about
who betrayed her?"</p><p>McGonagall shook her
head. "Only that the Aurors came and arrested her early this
morning. She was taken to Tullianum under suspicion of being a
werewolf. Ownership of the Parkinson estates was stripped from her."
Then she pursed her lips, making her look more like the stern
Professor he was accustomed to, and held out the paper. "This is
what it said."</p><p>Harry took the paper
and studied it. But McGonagall had already told him all the
essentials; the rest was just the usual fluff that the <em>Prophet</em>
tucked around the Ministry's declarations to make them seem less
blatant than they really were. "Safety of the public" mingled
with "best way to handle them" and "done for the rights of
werewolves as well as others" in his eyes. Harry blinked, and
realized the words were dangerously near to blurring and swimming.</p><p><em>No</em>.</p><p>He nodded and handed
the <em>Prophet</em> back to McGonagall. "I'll go and speak to
Scrimgeour about this," he said.</p><p>A new shadow moved
across McGonagall's face. "Are you sure that is wise, Harry?"
she asked. "The arrest is new, and the Minister may be unable to do
anything about this until the emotions in the Ministry calm somewhat.
In a day, perhaps two—"</p><p>"No." Harry shook
his head. "From this point forward, it's only going to get
worse." He felt weariness push at him like a tide, but he ignored
it. He had hoped to avoid this. He had hoped matters wouldn't come
to this head. But they had, and unless he managed to persuade
Scrimgeour to move against the edict right away—which he didn't
expect to happen—then he was headed for a course of open rebellion
against the Ministry. He had tried, and others had tried, but it
wasn't enough. "They've passed a law making werewolves unsafe
<em>everywhere</em>, Madam. It's not going to die in a day or two.
It'll build from this point forward, and if no one does anything to
oppose them, because they want to wait and see what happens, or
because they're afraid, then the Ministry will pass <em>more</em>
laws against werewolves. And who knows who it'll be next? Dark
wizards, maybe. There were a few laws like that on the books
already."</p><p>"They will not pass
laws like that, Harry," McGonagall whispered, as if she wanted to
reassure him. "Dark wizards are still too much a part of the
population, and too in control even now. There are small numbers of
werewolves compared to Dark wizards."</p><p>"But werewolves can
make more of themselves, fast," said Harry flatly. "And there are
still two nights of the full moon left, during which werewolves can
transform and wreak all sorts of havoc." He stared directly into
her eyes. "Madam, do you think <em>rationality</em> is involved here?
I don't."</p><p>McGonagall looked away
from him. Harry could feel her own fear and determination as if she
were speaking into his thoughts. She was concerned for her school,
worried about what would happen to her students if she tried to
shelter werewolves or take a side in this conflict.</p><p>Harry gripped and
squeezed her arm. "I'm not asking you to take my side," he
said. "You have responsibilities that I don't. What I'm doing
is easier, actually, because I don't have hundreds of young
wizards, and their parents, depending on me. You can step back,
Madam, and tell anyone who asks that I'm not doing this with your
good grace or your permission."</p><p>"You are still one
of my students, Harry," McGonagall said, pulling herself upright
like an offended cat, and Harry realized he'd mistaken the source
of her concern.</p><p>It warmed a few of the
icy whips he had to worry about now. Harry smiled at her. "Thank
you, Madam, but from this point forward, I don't want you to worry
about that. I don't think I'll be coming back to Hogwarts for a
good while, if ever."</p><p>"Harry—"</p><p>He gently shook his
head at her and held out his hand. "<em>Pack</em> Harry's things,"
he said clearly. "<em>Accio.</em>"</p><p>Then he had to wait
while the charms packed his trunk and flew it to him. Harry shrank
the trunk when it got there and tucked it into his robe pocket. The
only thing he had left was the Firebolt, which waited for him in the
Quidditch shed.</p><p>"I hope the
Slytherin team can find another Seeker in time," he told
McGonagall. "No offense to your House, but I still want mine to win
the Cup."</p><p>McGonagall went on
staring at him.</p><p>"And take good care
of Snape," Harry added, starting to turn on his heel.</p><p>"Wait. Harry—wait."
McGonagall spoke as if the words had been torn out of her. "You
aren't asking anyone to go with you?"</p><p>Harry glanced back at
her over his shoulder. "There are a few people I'll ask to join
me, if what I fully expect happens and the Minister can't help me,"
he said calmly. "But it has to be a choice, and I want them to have
time to think about it, not be swept away in immediate outrage over
Hawthorn's arrest and the announcement of the hunt. It's not
going to be <em>easy</em>, and I don't think some of my allies, like
Snape, can manage it at all. For me, there's not a choice." He
lifted his left arm, shaking back the sleeve to show her the scar of
the formal family oath he'd made with the Parkinsons. The scar was
burning and tingling. "It's not just the promise I made to help
the werewolves that drives this forward. It's the promise I made to
the Parkinsons. Hawthorn is the last member of her family left
alive." Other than Falco Parkinson, Harry supposed, but he didn't
think that counted, or the old wizard wouldn't have been able to
act against him. Besides, the oath hadn't affected Henrietta when
he first knew her, even though she was part of the Bulstrode family.
"I'm going."</p><p>"Surely, Mr. Malfoy,
your brother—" said McGonagall, still sounding as if someone had
slammed her over the head with a Beater's bat.</p><p>"I'll speak with
them later," said Harry quietly. "As I said, I don't want them
pulled along by runaway emotions." <em>And I want them to have time
to think about this and what it really means. Being my brother and my
lover, even being my allies, is one thing. Joining me in a rebellion
is quite another.</em></p><p>He nodded one more
time to McGonagall, and then turned and began walking back towards
the Hogsmeade road, with only a short stopover at the Quidditch shed.
Meanwhile, his mind calmly listed the places he could go for
sanctuary, and the best choices among them.</p><p>His allies' houses
were out, of course, until he found out how much they wanted to be
involved in this; Hawthorn was the only one he could be sure of on
that count, and the Garden would be swarming with Aurors, and
probably Unspeakables. The Black houses held the pack, and Harry
suspected Shield of the Granian, if they had received information
from Falco and were working with the Unspeakables, might already have
passed that tidbit along. They would wait a short time before moving,
since invading the estates of a prominent pureblood family wouldn't
look good even now, but surely no more than a few days.</p><p>So he needed a place
that would shelter both him and the pack, and he needed it ready in
no more than a few days' time.</p><p>Harry felt a smile
pull at his mouth. There was only one choice, really.</p><p>The emotions he felt
had changed, he thought. Now they felt less like whips driving him
forward, and more like a wind tugging him on, pointing the way
towards his ultimate goal.</p><p>He reached the outer
limit of the wards, and Apparated, the hills of Woodhouse clear in
his mind.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry arrived at the
Ministry's front entrance without fanfare, but also without
attempting to hide. He was waiting to see what would happen when he
approached. Did he still have any allies in the Ministry? He didn't
know, at this point.</p><p>His magic lapped
around him, thick washing waves of it that made the checkpoint wizard
stare at him. Harry raised an eyebrow, pointing out the utter folly
of asking for a wand. The checkpoint wizard nodded quickly and let
him through.</p><p>Harry walked to the
lifts that would take him to Scrimgeour's office, all the while
reaching out with his magical senses, delving deeper into the stones
of the Ministry than he had ever done before. When he sensed the
faint traces of buried spells, he murmured the incantation that
Millicent had taught him once upon a long time ago. "<em>Aspectus
Lyncis.</em>"</p><p>The world around him
turned almost white with radiance. Harry nodded slowly. When he
squinted through the radiance, he could make out the buried traces of
the Unspeakables' wards. They were not really undetectable, but
they were made of spells not usually used for defensive purposes, and
so twisted on one another that Harry thought they would hurt the eyes
of most wizards looking, and buried so deep that most people wouldn't
find them.</p><p>Harry gave a tight
little smile. The wards ran everywhere, and vibrated with sound,
bringing it to some central place below the rest of the Ministry. He
supposed the Unspeakables sat there in the middle of their web and
listened, and there really was nothing they didn't hear.</p><p><em>Let them listen all
they want</em>, he thought, as he rode in a lift to the top of the
Ministry, and then stepped out and into the corridor that led to
Scrimgeour's office. <em>Let their ears ring. I'm not hiding.</em></p><p>He recognized neither
Auror on the door to Scrimgeour's office, and wondered if that
meant Wilmot had already been captured. McGonagall hadn't mentioned
the Department's plan to send out the werewolf-tracking spell and
surround every lycanthrope in Britain with a blue fog. Perhaps they
were waiting to do it until the full moon had passed, or perhaps the
declaration of the hunting season had replaced Kieran's old
information.</p><p>Harry knew he would
have to be prepared to react when the information came along. He also
knew that he could probably know just by going to Amelia Bones's
office and using Legilimency on her.</p><p>But he didn't want
to. He was going to war like a <em>vates</em>, not otherwise.</p><p>The two Aurors on the
door got more and more nervous as they watched him come closer. Harry
stopped in front of them and surveyed them. Both men, both ordinary
in appearance, one with slightly nicer robes, perhaps a pureblood. He
wouldn't want to kill them.</p><p>"I need to see the
Minister," he said, and let a snake of golden light curl around his
shoulders. It didn't strike, it just watched them, but one of the
men began sweating, and Harry suspected he'd stumbled into a
phobia. "Now."</p><p>"He's with other
people at the moment," said the Auror with slightly finer robes.
The other one watched the snake and made a faint gargling noise that
might indicate his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.</p><p>"What kind of other
people?" Harry asked.</p><p>He found out in a
moment, though, because either the Minister hadn't set up the wards
that blocked sound or the shouting had grown too loud for them. And,
what was more, he knew the voice doing the shouting.</p><p>"—not close! I
don't care! I know you have your reasons, Minister, but I have
mine, and I can't <em>do</em> this any more! It just—it isn't
what being an Auror is about! This is the <em>last straw!</em> And for
you to sit here and say that you won't do anything about the
hunting season, that you can't do anything—" The shouter
stopped and audibly drew in her breath, but then continued in a voice
that sounded no softer than before. "Then you will be pleased to
accept my resignation."</p><p>The Aurors moved out
of the way like a pair of well-trained dancers as someone flung the
door open. Out stepped Nymphadora Tonks, her hair flaming red with
orange streaks, her eyes wide and blue and bright as lightning with
emotion.</p><p>She caught sight of
Harry, and stopped. She blinked a bit, then said, "Oh. Erm. I just
joined your rebellion."</p><p>Harry smiled in spite
of himself and held out his hand. "I know. I heard," he said.</p><p>"Well, they were
going to sack me anyway for shouting at the Minister, weren't
they?" Tonks muttered, and stepped forward to clasp his wrist. She
stumbled on the way, but steadied herself against the doorframe,
never taking her eyes off Harry. "So, when do we leave?"</p><p>"Right after I talk
to Scrimgeour," Harry said.</p><p>Tonks scowled,
transformed in a moment from bumbling girl to someone far more
dangerous. "He's <em>insufferable</em>, Harry. It's not going to
do any good."</p><p>"I've got to try,"
said Harry, and then remembered the wards that ran everywhere, and
the fact that a few minutes of waiting in the hallway for him could
put Tonks in danger. He laid his hand on her arm and concentrated,
closing his eyes. The Imperturbable Charm leaked into her skin and
surrounded her with a glowing cage of purple light.</p><p>Harry opened his eyes
to see her poking at it, and explained, "So that no enemies can
touch you while I'm gone."</p><p>Tonks swallowed, and
then her face hardened, and Harry suspected he was seeing the
battle-trained Auror. "Right," she said, and stepped aside. Harry
went into the office, and shut the door behind him with a gentle gust
of wind.</p><p>Scrimgeour sat at his
desk. Percy sat at his, behind the ward that probably protected him
from the notice of most people, his hand clutching his wand and a
hostile expression on his face. Harry eyed him sideways and shook his
head. He would be sorry to alienate Percy, but there was no help for
it, not if Scrimgeour was going to present a public face supporting
the hunting season and Percy was going to stand by him.</p><p>"Minister," Harry
said, crossing his arms and inclining his head. "You know why I'm
here."</p><p>Scrimgeour flicked one
eye towards the walls. Harry snorted. <em>So he knows about the wards,
and he's afraid to say anything in front of the Unspeakables? Well,
I'm not. And the best way is to destroy their advantage of secrecy.</em>
He glanced at the walls, found the Unspeakables' listening wards
shining in the stones, and opened up the <em>absorbere</em> gift. The
magic ran down his gullet, and the wards vanished.</p><p>"Your Unspeakables
have betrayed you," he told Scrimgeour bluntly. "They want
werewolves captured and brought to Tullianum to use for experiments.
They have the forty werewolves from the Department for the Control
and Suppression of Deadly Beasts there already. And anybody captured
in this hunting season will benefit them more. Meanwhile, they can
use the cover of fear the hunting season provides to work against me,
and anyone else who opposes them. The public's attention will be on
werewolves, not wizards in gray cloaks. And why shouldn't it be?
You know as well as I do what kind of opposition this hunting season
is going to raise among the packs. All the peace that we tried to
keep in London, gone. The alphas will <em>have</em> to strike, to
insure that their packs are safe, to protect them if someone comes
hunting, to find new hiding places. The Unspeakables just lit our
world on fucking fire. And it will get worse if you don't help me,
if you wait for some imaginary day when opposing them will not cost
you."</p><p>Scrimgeour's face
had gone the color of ashes. Percy was on his feet, glancing back and
forth between the Minister and Harry, nearly vibrating.</p><p>"You took down their
wards," Scrimgeour whispered.</p><p>Harry nodded, his
attention on the walls. The Unspeakables would be weaving wards again
soon, but Scrimgeour's office was nearly as far from the Department
of Mysteries as one could get and still be in the Ministry. It would
take at least a few moments before the wards arrived, and when they
got near again, he would destroy them once more. "Yes, I did.
That's the reason that you were afraid to speak with me openly,
wasn't it? Fear of them?"</p><p>"Minister," said
Percy, stepping out from behind his desk.</p><p>Scrimgeour had
recovered something like sense and courage, though. He folded his
hands in front of him. "It was." He stared at Harry with a
calculating eye. "And what do you intend to do? Burn out the
Department of Mysteries?"</p><p>Harry half-closed his
eyes and reached, out and downwards. He could feel magic pulsing
through the Ministry in a thousand directions; he knew and dismissed
most of the spells that powered it. Wards slid over his consciousness
and faded into the background. The magic protecting Tullianum became
meaningless noise. As he dived further and further towards the
Department of Mysteries, though, the magic thickened, and the number
of unfamiliar spells increased.</p><p>And in the center and
the heart of it all waited something that slammed like a stone wall
against Harry's awareness. He felt it as a hunter's cold, bright,
sharp mind. It turned to face him, and he knew it saw him.</p><p>He had known something
like it once before: the Maze in Lux Aeterna. A mind vastly stronger
than any wizard, an alien uncompromised magic. But this was wilder,
and stranger, and Harry knew in an instant that he could not fight
this thing, not yet. It had had centuries to lie in its place and
grow strong. Invading the Department of Mysteries and trying to
tangle with it was a suicide mission.</p><p><em>For now.</em></p><p>He opened his eyes,
trying to shake the sensation of watching eyes in the back of his own
mind, and said, "Not yet. What's in the center of the Department
of Mysteries, Minister? Can you tell me that? Something from another
world?" He thought he knew, from his last conversation with
Scrimgeour, but he wanted to be sure.</p><p>"The Stone," said
Scrimgeour. "It's what chooses them, and what they swear their
oaths to."</p><p>Harry nodded. He
couldn't guess the true nature of the Stone from that brief
glimpse, but he knew it was probably the reason the Unspeakables were
acting against him. An oath sworn to something like that would be
obeyed, and if it decided to send its servants after Harry, they
would go.</p><p>"So you have a
choice now, Minister," he said. "To oppose the hunting season, or
not. You told Tonks you wouldn't. Why?"</p><p>Scrimgeour's face
contorted into a helpless snarl. Harry, as he ate an Unspeakable ward
trying to reach up to him, was impressed.</p><p>"Because I am <em>this</em>
close," Scrimgeour said, holding up two fingers, "to becoming a
figurehead in my own Ministry. I move a step out of line, and Amelia
Bones can strip me of power. Granted, I don't think she'd last
long. None of the other Department Heads would do what she told 'em.
But they don't want me commanding 'em, either, at least not
without bargains that will take months to work out. And while she was
in charge, the Ministry would burn. If you think the wizarding world
is on fire now, Harry, it's nothing compared to what would happen
if she took it over."</p><p>"They've made you
into a figurehead already, if you're too frightened to move on
provocation like this," Harry said softly. "Don't you see that,
Minister? You have nothing to lose now. You can't play your games
in the shadows and hope that none of them will notice you any longer.
If you stand up and declare martial law, you stand a chance—"</p><p>"Of getting nothing
done," said Scrimgeour harshly. "The Wizengamot chose to pass
that hunting season, Harry, in a secret meeting last night to which I
was <em>not invited.</em> They also left out a few other key people who
might have objected, Griselda Marchbanks, for example. But there's
nothing I can gain by opposing them at the moment. They'll cast a
vote of no confidence, and put Amelia in as temporary Minister. I've
already told you what a disaster that will be."</p><p>Harry eyed him for a
moment. "But if all that's true, sir, then what do you think you
can accomplish by staying in office?"</p><p>Scrimgeour's face
altered, showing an unholy joy Harry had never seen from him before.
"Because this hunting season is the beginning of the end," he
said. "They're overstepping their bounds, now. A few <em>potential</em>
friends I had will fall into my hands like ripe fruit. They didn't
think the Wizengamot would go this far. They see now that they will.
I can pressure the Department Heads once that happens. A few more
pushes, and then a few more, and they'll fall down." He met and
held Harry's gaze. "We can keep this conflagration from
spreading. We can remove Amelia and other Wizengamot members rotted
by fear and replace 'em with new ones. They can still turn me into
a figurehead if I object <em>immediately</em>. But a short wait, and
I'll have 'em." He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "And of course
I said I was supporting the hunting season in front of Tonks. Not
stupid, am I?"</p><p>Harry let out his
breath and ate another ward. He wondered if the Unspeakables were on
their way up from the Department of Mysteries, yet. "And what about
the Unspeakables, sir?" he asked. "Do you really think they'll
let you do this? They can still use their artifacts to change your
mind, as long as you remain in the Ministry. And they can corrupt new
members of the Wizengamot with fear, the same as they corrupted the
others. This hunting season is what they wanted, for whatever obscure
reason. They won't let you destroy it."</p><p>"The second edict we
make is going to be against gathering so many magical artifacts in
one place," said Scrimgeour. "The first will be against the
hunting season."</p><p>"I'm sorry, sir,"
said Harry softly. "I don't believe this can work. You want to
remain within the bounds of law, or at least propriety—" he
suspected some of the allies Scrimgeour was talking about were those
who would have the power to bribe new friends into joining their side
"—and the Unspeakables are already defeating you there."</p><p>Scrimgeour narrowed
his eyes. "And you want <em>what</em>? Toppling? Revolution?"</p><p>"I don't want it
in the sense of panting after it," Harry said. "But I think it's
necessary, yes."</p><p>Scrimgeour shook his
head slowly. "And I am not doing this for power," he said. "If
I thought there was a chance that Amelia wouldn't damage the
Ministry too badly, or that someone other than her would take my
place if I abandoned my post now, I would join you. But there isn't."</p><p>Harry felt a rush of
compassion overtake him. Scrimgeour still thought things wouldn't
change too much, that he could reform instead of revolt. And perhaps
he was right, at least on his own scale. Perhaps he would be able to
pursue the path he preferred and still got things done.</p><p>But that ability would
come from Harry distracting the Unspeakables and shaking things up.</p><p>Harry didn't mind.
At least Scrimgeour hadn't dived so far into fear that he was
supporting the hunting season blindly. And, he told himself, he had
known this would fail. He let the possibility of cooperation with the
Minister fall to ashes in his mind, and bowed his head.</p><p>"I'm not doing
this for power, either," he said. "I'm doing this because I
think it's the right thing to do. Good day, Minister." He turned
to face the door, eating another ward on the way. Let Scrimgeour have
a few more minutes of peace and privacy in which to compose himself.</p><p>"You're not going
into Tullianum, are you?" Scrimgeour's voice was unmistakably
apprehensive.</p><p>Harry turned back.
"No." <em>Not yet</em>. When that happened, he would have a plan
that would let him succeed the first time. <em>Perhaps</em> he could
win right now if he went to Tullianum and tried to free forty-one, or
more, werewolves, but some of them would certainly die on the way,
and innocent Ministry people caught in the way might be hurt. And
there was the very simple truth that Woodhouse wasn't prepared to
receive them yet. Harry would do what would give his people the best
chance of living, not merely of escape.</p><p>He needed information,
first. He needed to plan. And for that, he would need Tonks and
Moody, and anyone else who might be able to tell him more about the
Ministry.</p><p>He had already tried
to communicate with Hawthorn, and received no answer. That didn't
surprise him. The wards in Tullianum blocked post owls from reaching
the prisoners. Surely they wouldn't allow anyone to simply speak
with one, either.</p><p>"I wish you would
not do this," said Scrimgeour, but his face was relaxing. Given
that Harry had said he wasn't going into Tullianum right now, Harry
thought, he must reckon there would be no jailbreak at all. <em>He
probably still has trouble imagining me in a full-blown rebellion
against the Ministry.</em></p><p>"I wish I didn't
have to," said Harry, and then turned and left. He knew Scrimgeour
could feel it when the wards came back up. Let the man do what he
could to reform the Ministry. That wasn't Harry's task.</p><p>He found Tonks
waiting, unbothered, in the hallway. She smiled when she saw him, and
Harry nodded and took her arm.</p><p>"I'll take you to
a place you'll be safe," he said. "And then I have to go see a
man about some words."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Lucius had expected
it: the wards twanging as a sign that Harry had Apparated to the
Manor. The only suspense was the specific aid that Harry would ask of
him. In any case, his price would be the same. Lucius leaned back a
bit further and read more of his <em>Daily Prophet</em>, humming.
<em>Terrible news about the hunting season, simply terrible.</em></p><p>He heard footsteps,
and looked up to find Harry standing in the entrance to his library.
Harry inclined his head. "Lucius."</p><p>"Harry." Lucius
watched him. Harry's eyes shone with more raw power than he had let
loose in a long time. The air around him <em>rippled</em>, as if he
stood in the center of a heat haze. Lucius found it difficult to see
the walls and furnishings through the sheer magic. "Did you want
something?"</p><p>"Yes, I did," said
Harry, coming forward a few steps. He didn't sit. He didn't need
to. Voldemort would have, Lucius thought, during the First War, but
the Dark Lord had possessed the power of making every chair a throne.
Harry didn't, not least because he projected the <em>conviction</em>
that he didn't think of himself as anything very special. Lucius
knew, now, that Harry wouldn't torture him. It removed a certain
edge. "You'll have heard the news, of course."</p><p>Lucius nodded.</p><p>"I'd like to ask
you to work for me within the Ministry." Harry's eyes were
fastened on him. "Discourage people from participating in the
hunting season, and go against the Unspeakables, and trade favors for
as much information as you can. I need a finger on the Ministry's
pulse, since there's no way I can be there myself for a while."</p><p>Lucius smiled at him.
"I would be delighted to do that for you, Harry."</p><p>"Good," said Harry
in relief, and turned towards the doorway.</p><p>"<em>If</em>," said
Lucius.</p><p>He saw Harry's back
tense. The heat haze of power rose into pain. Lucius grimaced and
rubbed his forehead. The more time he spent around Harry, the more he
could go without those twinges, but it never lasted long.</p><p>"You are my ally,"
said Harry, without turning.</p><p>"I know that,"
said Lucius, and it came out sharper than he intended, because of the
pain. He rushed to correct his mistake. "I am, of course, Harry. I
will obey the Alliance oaths. But using the Malfoy contacts to
benefit you is a different thing altogether. Especially over
something in which I have as little—interest as I do in the
werewolf problem."</p><p>Harry spun on one
heel. "It can't benefit your family, you mean."</p><p>Lucius smiled
slightly. "Someone must think of these things, Harry. Narcissa is
unlikely to. Draco is too young."</p><p>"Name your price,"
said Harry.</p><p>"You withdraw your
support from the Grand Unified Theory," said Lucius. "I am not
asking you to exile Muggleborns—" a struggle, but he managed to
use the right word "—from the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, or stop
fighting for their rights. But claiming that there is no difference
between us and them, and trying to grant them rights based on that
alone, is doomed to failure. Quietly, make it known that you don't
believe in the theory. Whisper the right words into the right ears.
Remind them that you have a pureblood partner, that you were born of
a pureblood line though you renounced your last name, that you are
now the legal heir of a very old family. I suspect taking the surname
of Black might be necessary, in the end. A simple gesture, but it
will accomplish much."</p><p>"There is a problem,
Mr. Malfoy," said Harry, clenching his jaw while his magic rippled
around him. Lucius remained unafraid. Harry was not about to cast
<em>Crucio</em>. He knew the signs of that. "I <em>do</em> believe in
the theory."</p><p>Lucius chuckled
softly. "And do you also believe that a new theory is enough to
erase a thousand years of culture and ritual?"</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Harry. "The dances, the rituals, the naming traditions, the
political loopholes—all of those are valuable and should be
protected. Respected. But what it <em>means</em> is that no pureblood
family can cling to a supposed genetic difference any more. If
someone who wasn't born into the culture learns it, they should be
accepted as fully a wizard or witch, just as much as someone like
Draco."</p><p>Lucius had to restrain
a flash of anger. Not only was Harry being unreasonably stubborn, he
was <em>daring</em> to compare a trained monkey of a Mudblood to
Lucius's own family. A comparison to a family like the Rosiers
would have been acceptable.</p><p>Keeping his voice
calm, Lucius murmured, "And that is what we do not want to see
happen. There is a difference. Make it clear that you are aligning
yourself with us, that you accept this culture as your own, and that
you are reaching out to Muggleborns only for political reasons, and
you will have more than you can imagine—not only my help in the
Ministry, but the help of pureblood families in other wizarding
communities who have hesitated, unsure of your direction."</p><p>Harry breathed in and
out, eyes fastened on his. Lucius waited. He was sure he would win.
He was not asking a sacrifice of Harry that would hurt anyone else,
and the boy didn't really care about the power of his name and
reputation. He would choose the surname of Black for a good cause,
unaware of all the repercussions.</p><p>"No," said Harry.</p><p>Lucius paused. He
could not have heard what he thought he heard. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"No," said Harry.
"I will not. I support the Grand Unified Theory, Lucius, and the
conclusions it reaches, and the changes it will make in our world. If
I cannot have your help, then I do not have it. Good day." He
nodded once, then turned and began walking in the other direction.</p><p>"So changing your
name is too great a sacrifice to make?" Lucius mused aloud, not
letting his posture alter. His father's lessons had not been
learned in vain.</p><p><em>Even if he was a
halfblood.</em> But Lucius had had a lot of practice strangling that
particular thought, and he did it now without pause.</p><p>Harry halted, looking
over his shoulder. "I don't think you know what I'm proposing,
Lucius," he said. "<em>Open</em> rebellion against the Ministry.
<em>Open</em> defiance of the hunting season. <em>Open </em>protection of
werewolves, and those who wish to join me. The Alliance of Sun and
Shadow remains what it was—an organization to encourage thinking.
But this is the beginning of a revolution."</p><p>Lucius felt as if he
were tipping, falling down the slope of an abyss. It was not a
pleasant sensation. The last time he had felt anything like it was
when Draco came to him to be confirmed magical heir.</p><p>Harry must have seen
the twitch of an expression on his face, because he smiled, and the
smile was feral. "Yes. This is the beginning of the end. They've
finally pushed me too far. I won't be going back to Hogwarts for a
while. I'll be in a sanctuary with those who can fully commit to
joining me." He breathed in and out, his eyes never leaving
Lucius's. "I knew you wouldn't be one of them, so I didn't
see the point of asking you for anything but what I did. That you
refused me makes the task a little harder, but not impossible. I'll
still do this."</p><p>Lucius imagined
everything he had worked for upended, and he could not restrain a
snarl. <em>This was not supposed to happen. Harry was supposed to
panic just enough to become amenable to guidance, and remain within
the limits, as he always had.</em></p><p>His voice was
snowfall, however. "And you are not worried about overstepping the
bounds of your <em>vates</em> task?"</p><p>Harry laughed. The
sound was like wind in the treetops. "Hardly. This hunting season,
if allowed to go unchallenged, is the beginning of a whole new
oppression of free will, the kind that we haven't seen in four
hundred years. I am allowed to push back when someone tramples on
free will. That is when they give up their ability to do as they
like."</p><p>Lucius watched him.
Harry gave him one more fierce smile, and then Apparated out. The
gift that Lucius had given him at the end of their truce-dance linked
Harry to the wards of the Manor, and he could pass in and out of them
at will, like a member of the family.</p><p>At the moment, Lucius
had never regretted any gift more.</p><p>He only sat still for
a few moments, however, breathing. Then he spoke to his left wrist,
reciting the communication spell that Charles Rosier-Henlin had
invented.</p><p>Draco's voice
answered him a moment later. "Harry? <em>Harry.</em> Thank Merlin. I
wanted—"</p><p>"Draco, this is your
father."</p><p>His son shut up.</p><p>Lucius continued,
half-wishing this was a firecall. He wanted to see Draco's face. On
the other hand, by the time he could arrange for his son to reach a
hearth, either through the Headmistress's office or through
Severus, Harry might have spoken to Draco, and then the decision made
would be irrevocable, Lucius knew.</p><p>"Harry is becoming a
rebel against the Ministry, against pureblood tradition, against
everything that is right and true," he told his son. "He supports
the Grand Unified Theory to an extent that will destroy our culture
and make us no different from Mudbloods. He will not agree to the
completely reasonable compromise I tried to offer him. <em>Listen to
me, Draco.</em> I forbid you to join him in this mad rebellion."</p><p>"Father," Draco
said faintly, "if you're trying to say that I shouldn't court
him, then—"</p><p>"Not at all," said
Lucius. He didn't want to lose the hold his family had on Harry,
and whether Draco agreed to break the joining ritual or not, that was
what would occur if he pressed this issue. If he pursued Harry
against his father's express permission, then he would be breaking
his ties as a Malfoy. Lucius would not let that happen. Draco was his
heir, as well as his son, and he would stay that way. "I wish for
you to join with Harry when he comes to his senses. But until he
comes to his senses, I wish you to stay away from him. Do not join
him in his flight. Do not join him in raising wands against the
Ministry. Do not protest publicly against the hunting season, or the
arrest of Mrs. Parkinson."</p><p>"Father," Draco
whispered.</p><p>"This is my command,
Draco, in the name of Lucius and Abraxas," said Lucius, invoking
the old, formal terms. "On pain of disownment."</p><p>Draco's breath
rushed noisily in and out of his lungs. Lucius waited. He knew he
would win. If he had allowed Harry to reach Draco, or Draco to argue
and build up a head of steam and exercise his impulsive temper, then
it would be far more in doubt. But by giving the threat first, he had
controlled the interaction.</p><p>"I—I understand,"
Draco said at last.</p><p>"Very good," said
Lucius, and ended the communication spell, because there was no more
to say. He reached out to take up the book he had been studying on
mind control spells again, his heartbeat already restored to normal.
Things with Harry had not gone exactly as he had hoped, but if he had
won no advantage for his family, at least he had contained the
damage.</p><p><em>Such a shame about
Hawthorn, </em>he thought. <em>Such a shame, indeed.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Narcissa stood outside
the door of the study until she could be sure that Lucius had
finished the communication spell, until the turn of a page signaled
that he had resumed his book. Then she turned and began to climb the
stairs to her room.</p><p>Her back was straight
all the while, her neck so stiff it almost hurt. But when she reached
her room, she could close the door and lean against it, letting it
take some of the weight from her shoulders, and shut her eyes.</p><p>She wondered if Lucius
had thought she would not find out about his threat to Draco, or
whether he had planned to come and tell her later, with just enough
honey in the words to sweeten it.</p><p>She wondered why he
did not see that he had overreached himself, that Draco had said only
that he understood, not that he would obey, and that forcing his son
to choose between his family and his lover was a test not even Lucius
had gone through.</p><p>She wondered if Lucius
really thought she would simply stand silent throughout this, playing
the part of good little wife, as Muggles were said to do.</p><p>Narcissa opened her
eyes and moved across the room. It was the one place in the house
that Lucius never intruded without her express permission, but since
he had been in here so often, he assumed he knew the contents. He did
not know, or he had forgotten, about the trunk at the back of the
closet.</p><p>Narcissa gazed at the
trunk. It bore her maiden initials, not the married ones, and it bore
memories. Her mother had given it to her when she left for Hogwarts,
nervous, but not <em>too</em> nervous, for surely she would go into
Slytherin, the House where she had two older sisters already. It was
made of polished ebony, the initials worked near the lock in silver,
and no one but Narcissa could open it.</p><p>She opened it now.
Unpacked, save for a single folded robe of gold and green. Narcissa
had left many of her belongings there when she still considered that
perhaps one of the fierce fights she and Lucius had had in the first
days of their marriage would send her fleeing home. She had assumed
she would not have time to pack completely, but she had wanted
something to wear.</p><p>As she had learned to
trust Lucius, she had removed more and more of the old clothes from
the trunk.</p><p>Save this one.</p><p>Narcissa shut the lid
and turned away. She was waiting. She had to wait. She had already
made her own decision, but what action came out of that decision
would be determined by someone else.</p><p>She wondered, while
she drew her wand and began to practice dueling spells, why Lucius
had never <em>noticed</em> that all their fiercest battles had been
about Draco, and that she had won all of them—giving him his name,
sending him to Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang, delaying his training
in the pureblood rituals until he was of an age not to be broken. She
wondered why Lucius had never thought that, if it came to a dispute
between her husband and her son, she would side with her son.</p><p>She loved Lucius, of
that there was no doubt. But she loved Draco more.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco felt as though
the world had changed into a carousel while he wasn't looking. He
lay in the center of his bed, the bed that he had shared with Harry
just yesterday. He had given up asking Harry to let him go with him
to Wayhouse and guard Morologus. Harry had refused and explained the
reasons, and they were good enough reasons. Or they had seemed good
enough reasons yesterday, when Draco was sulking from the latest
fight they'd had over Harry's brother and his girlfriend. He'd
fallen asleep assuming he would see Harry in the morning, and
wondering if Harry knew how <em>infuriating</em> it was for him to hold
back on his anger, always, and be the calm and sane voice of reason.
Draco wanted to see his eyes flash, if only for the possibility that
anger might turn into arousal.</p><p>And now.</p><p>And now.</p><p>Draco wondered if the
fates had thought him too blind. Obsessed with the argument with
Potter, with flirting with Michael just enough to lure him along
without breaking his heart, with the utter <em>bitchiness</em> of
Potter's girlfriend, and with pushing Harry until he lost his
temper and admitted he was human. Had it too been too small a scale
of suffering? Had it tempted them too much?</p><p>So they had taken it
all away—not by killing Harry or wounding Draco, but by giving him
a choice between lover and family.</p><p>It was not a decision
Harry would want him to make, Draco knew. He would say unhesitatingly
that Draco should choose his family, because Harry's own rebellion
could survive without Draco, but Lucius Malfoy's anger would refuse
to blow over, perhaps for the rest of their lives. Harry would hate
it, Harry would want Draco at his side, but he would still let him
make the choice. Not only would his <em>vates</em> principles demand
it, but Harry would consider his personal reasons for wanting Draco
at his side not as important as Draco's for wanting to remain where
he was.</p><p>His
father did not even think there was a decision to be made, or he
would have pressed Draco for his word.</p><p>That meant it was
truly Draco's choice.</p><p>He had never been so
sure that so much depended on his will, and never so unsure that he
could make the right decision. He wasn't a Malfoy just then. He
wasn't Harry's friend or lover, the role that had most defined
the last five years of his life. He was himself. He felt as if he
stood on a mountain in the sunlight, but the sunlight was
unforgiving, and rather than the view, Draco was more aware that he
could be seen for miles and miles.</p><p>Whatever he picked, he
was going to be different from now on. This choice was going to prune
more of his childhood away from him. It was already doing so.</p><p>Draco put his hands
over his face and lay there, breathing.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 31*: Called Woodhouse, Called the</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four: Called Woodhouse, Called the
Ancient Vale</strong></p><p>Minerva sipped her
tea. It made her look dignified. There was no one around to see, but
that didn't matter. Her parents had once told her that she should
be dignified even if she was nothing else, and at the moment, Minerva
feared she was dangerously close to being nothing else. She sipped.
The teacup trembled in her hand, and threatened to send hot tea
sliding over her fingers.</p><p>She set the cup down
at once, and stared at it grimly.</p><p>"He will do the best
he can."</p><p>Minerva was glad that
she wasn't holding the cup now, or she would have surely spilled
the drink all over herself when Godric appeared, the Founder's
shade looking both stern and hopeful. "I know that," she snapped.
"That's not what I was worried about. His best still might not be
good enough, and he will not be going to war in the same way he went
to war all the other times. He'll be fighting defensively, not
offensively. The last time he had to withstand a siege, he did not do
it well."</p><p>"He will not be
withering under a pitched grief this time," Godric murmured. "Nor
with people who blame him for what has happened."</p><p>Minerva frowned,
remembering the expression she had seen on Harry's face when she
had told him about Hawthorn. For a moment, it had been frighteningly
empty, like looking down a mine shaft, or into Voldemort's eyes.
Then she had seen guilt and self-loathing of the kind she was
familiar with from last term climb into the expression. And then it
had all changed, with a speed that was equally frightening, into
determination.</p><p>"I think he has
transformed his grief," she told Godric quietly. "He will use it
to drive himself forward."</p><p>The Founder blinked,
then spread his hands. "But that is a <em>good</em> thing, surely?"</p><p>Minerva couldn't
explain why she thought it was a bad thing. It was certainly
something she would have been proud of one of her Gryffindors for
doing. And it was a far more healthy tactic than Harry had used to
cope the last time he blamed himself for something.</p><p>Yet the unease
remained.</p><p>And so did the bitter
realization she had suffered as she looked into Harry's face: she
could do nothing to help him without jeopardizing her school and the
position of responsibility she had chosen, but if he had asked, she
would have tried to do—something. She did not know what it would
have been, but it would still have been done.</p><p>She scowled into her
tea.</p><p>It was not pleasant to
know that, after Albus and after her knowledge that she had to care
for the students of Hogwarts when no one else would, she had found a
leader who could have commanded her to follow him with a word.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry was impressed
with the speed that the southern goblins used to get him into a room
alone, especially since he hadn't come to see the <em>hanarz</em> or
to discuss goblin politics, just to open a new account. He assumed
that they had something they wanted him to do, however, so he
inclined his head politely when the <em>hanarz</em> appeared. She had
not changed since he had seen her last, still with dark gray skin,
direct eyes, and the silver chain around her neck. Harry kept an eye
on the metal. He had seen her work magic with the shackles set into
her skin last time. If she had something to accuse him of, something
to hurt him for, the chains were the means by which she would do it.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>Startled, Harry met
her gaze. He had never heard her call him that—but, of course, he
hadn't seen her since he renounced his last name. He nodded. "Yes?"</p><p>The <em>hanarz</em>
leaned forward across the carved stone table that separated them. The
guards behind her carried quivers of arrows and bows and wore heavy
ornaments at their throats, but didn't react as their leader neared
him. Harry supposed they must consider him safe, perhaps because he
had freed the southern goblins with the help of several other wizards
in a cooperative ritual. "We know what it will mean, that you are
fighting the Ministry and freeing the werewolves," she said.</p><p>Harry stared before he
could help himself. He wondered if they had figured that out from
reading about the hunting season in the newspaper and the fact that
he had come to them when he was supposed to be in Hogwarts, or
through a more magical means. "It means full-out rebellion," he
said, nodding. "I didn't come here today to involve you in it,
<em>hanarz</em>. I mean only to insure that they cannot freeze the
Black accounts, so I'm transferring money into another one."</p><p>"We have gifts for
you," said the goblin, as if she had not heard him. She removed one
corner of the robe that covered her, and the dark iron chain that
curled out of the side of her throat and into her right shoulder
rose. Harry watched it twitch and throb and hum. Then it lashed
towards him, and a wave of sound shot over his head, causing him to
duck. Harry turned, but could see nothing visible as the wave of
sound hit the stone, and, apparently, traveled through it and on.</p><p>"What was that?"
he asked, turning back.</p><p>"A call," said the
<em>hanarz</em>, "to let those who hear it know that the <em>vates</em>
is fighting for the rights of magical creatures and needs help. Those
who wish to answer it will. It is not audible to human ears," she
added, "no matter what they use to listen." Harry, his mouth
open, closed it again, nodding. He had been afraid the Unspeakables
might use some artifact to intercept the call and ambush any allies
on their way to him.</p><p>"The second gift is
one we were asked to keep in trust for you," the <em>hanarz</em>
said, "by someone who approached us with awe and humility. We
honored her request." She snapped her fingers, a sound like
breaking twigs, and one of the guards stepped forward with a tiny
chest. Harry knew the chests of Gringotts, thought, and suspected
this one was linked to a vault, transporting the money from it into
the chest until the owner said to stop. The guard opened it, and
Harry blinked. Inside lay jewels instead of the coins he had
expected—small diamonds, tiny rubies, silver and golden ornamented
bracelets that he could tell at once weren't magical but would
fetch hefty prices. Harry blinked again, this time to clear some of
the dazzle from his eyes.</p><p>"Henrietta Bulstrode
left this for us," said the <em>hanarz.</em> "In accordance with
the Unbreakable Vow that you asked of her, she donated half her money
to begin an Augurey sanctuary. But she converted other money for you,
since her daughter wanted nothing that came from her."</p><p>"Why jewels?"
Harry whispered.</p><p>"We will sell them
for you," said the <em>hanarz.</em> "The money will return to a new
account, linked to neither her nor you—a goblin vault. Thus we will
make sure the Ministry cannot get to you even if they do manage to
freeze most of the human monies here." Her lip curled. "We will
take particular pleasure in offering the jewels for sale to Ministry
officials."</p><p>Harry let out his
breath. "I thank you, <em>hanarz.</em> This is too much—"</p><p>"And not done yet."</p><p>The <em>hanarz</em>
nodded to the goblin who had escorted Harry here, and whom he was
vaguely aware had remained standing just behind his shoulder. He
hurried out of the room, and returned in a few moments, his feet
flapping gently on the stone floor. Harry examined what he held. The
dark, curving object was not one he saw every day, and he finally
realized it was a horn, carved of a black tusk of some kind, and
banded with silver.</p><p>"What is it?" he
whispered, lifting the horn. The grasp the goblin had used to hold it
was only reverent, he saw. The horn was marvelously light, and moved
like a dancer's hand in his.</p><p>"A horn to call our
aid," said the <em>hanarz</em>. "It will send a summons through
rock and stone. We would prefer not to move yet, as we prepare to
reveal our freedom to the world of wizards, but you are <em>vates</em>,
and you have freed us, and that makes you ours as much as it makes
you anyone's." She nodded to the horn. "This is carved of
karkadann alicorn, from the beasts we hunted in the days when we
ranged further afield than Gringotts. No wizard has had it since
Salazar Slytherin bound us." Her intense yellow eyes fixed on his.</p><p>Harry ducked his head,
embarrassed. <em>For over a thousand years, then. </em>He, Draco,
Snape, and others had been the ones who freed the southern goblins
from Slytherin's binding. "You're certain you wish to give me
this?" he asked.</p><p>"We are more than
certain," said the <em>hanarz</em>. "By gold and iron, by steel and
stone, by silver and bronze, you have kept your promises."</p><p>Harry nodded, and
slipped the horn into his pocket. "I'd like to set up the new
vault, please."</p><p>"Of course, Harry."
The <em>hanarz</em> bowed to him with a sound of clinking chains.
"<em>Vates.</em>"</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco sat in Defense
Against the Dark Arts and tried to pay attention; he really did. But
the decision he had to make seemed to sit beside him, in the place
where Harry should have been, and poke him with a long bony finger,
and whisper words that Draco did not want to listen to.</p><p><em>What happens if you
decide against your family? Harry would still accept you without the
Malfoy name and money, of course, but you would not be what you have
always been. You would be a penniless wizard, with only your
possession gift and your pure blood to be proud of—and since Harry
supports the Grand Unified Theory, you would not be </em>allowed <em>to
be proud of your pure blood. </em></p><p><em>What happens if you
decide against Harry? He will accept the decision, of course, but
someone else might get close to him. Look at that Syrinx. </em>Draco
stared at the Gloryflower girl, sitting calmly on the other side of
the classroom. <em>You know that she's going to go to him the moment
he summons her. It's not impossible that they could share things
that you won't get to experience, that Harry would become more and
more like her the more time he spent around her. It's happened
before. Snape and I managed to influence him against his family.</em></p><p>"Mr. Malfoy?"</p><p>Draco almost flinched.
Someone calling him by that name just then was unfortunate timing. He
looked up and met Pettigrew's eyes. "Yes, sir?" he said
quietly.</p><p>Pettigrew nodded. "Can
you demonstrate <em>Ventus</em> for us?"</p><p>It was a wind spell,
one they had practiced half a hundred times in the dueling club.
Draco did it without thought, from his seat, and a wind blew across
the room and snatched a pile of scrolls off Pettigrew's desk,
sending them tumbling all over.</p><p>The professor simply
raised an eyebrow, though several students giggled. One of the things
that made him such a good teacher, Draco thought, was how calm he
was, and how little quarter he gave to emotions like frustration that
managed to distract and destroy "teachers" like Trelawney and
Hagrid.</p><p>"Not quite what I
had in mind, Mr. Malfoy," said Pettigrew. "If you would leave
your seat and demonstrate the wand movement for us? I will show you
how to combine <em>Ventus</em> with other spells, but one must be sure
of the wrist turn first." He stepped out of the way, and Draco
stood and walked up to the desk.</p><p>He would have welcomed
a chance to show off before the class, ordinarily. Now, he had to
clench his hand down to keep it from trembling. His decision walked
behind him, all the way up, and he was intensely aware of the
watching eyes.</p><p><em>What will they
think of you, if they make the wrong decision? </em>The bony
finger-poked his shoulder again. <em>What will your mother think of
you? The other pureblood families? None of them will look at you with
disappointment as fiery as your father's, but what they will say
about you will be scathing enough. "Don't be like Draco Malfoy,
son. He chose his halfblood lover over family honor.</em>"</p><p>He snapped his wand
down and across, performing <em>Ventus</em> again, and listened
half-heartedly as Pettigrew explained to the rest of them that he
wanted to combine a flame spell with it that would turn the wind into
a wall of fire. Once, it would have made him sing with glee to learn
an incantation like that. Now, he simply wanted Harry to be there
again and his father to be sane and all to be well with the world.</p><p><em>And if I don't
choose Harry, none of his allies will ever trust me again. Pettigrew
will look at me with disappointment in his eyes. There goes all
chance of a peaceful settlement with his brother. I should live in
fear of Professor Belluspersona. And Snape… </em>Draco shuddered. He
had been the one to tell the Seer, Joseph, that Harry was gone.
Shortly after Draco had returned to the Slytherin common room, there
had come a spell that shook the dungeons, and a shrieking that set
his hair on end.</p><p>Snape had not appeared
in Potions classes today. Joseph had come in instead, with the plans
for it, and managed to teach the classes competently, if not well.
Draco wondered what had upset Snape more: learning that Harry was
gone, or why. Harry had not even asked Snape for help with defending
Morologus, since he had assumed that Snape would of course not want
to be anywhere near Loki when he transformed, and he had enough of
his own problems. Draco thought Harry considered Snape essentially
"wounded in action" lately, a casualty, not his guardian.</p><p>And, well, that might
be true, but there was nothing to say that attitude would not
infuriate Snape.</p><p>"I think that's
enough to go on," said Professor Pettigrew, who had just finished
explaining the theory, apparently, and was now summoning another
student to the front of the classroom to demonstrate the flame charm.</p><p>It took Draco three
tries to master the combination of spells, much longer than it
normally did. The whole time, voices murmured and collided in his
head.</p><p><em>Did you really
think that you could avoid making this choice forever? Did you think
that your father and Harry would be content to work side by side
forever? Did you think that neither of them would make a demand that
the other would be unable to fulfill?</em></p><p><em>Yes, I bloody well
did, </em>Draco thought, savagely, to make the voices shut up. <em>The
only time they've ever been this close to open conflict, I managed
to avert it by out-dancing my father. And he's tied his own fate
more and more to Harry's since then. He began the truce-dance not
long after he nearly killed him with Tom Riddle's diary. I had a
right to think it would continue.</em></p><p>The voice had no
answer for that, and Draco's head cleared. By the time Defense
class ended and he had listened to Professor Pettigrew's assignment
to write an essay on the theory of combining charms for homework, he
had decided that perhaps what was most wrong was the <em>way</em> he
was thinking about this.</p><p><em>Instead of thinking
about what I'm going to lose, I should think about what I'm going
to achieve by choosing either way. What's in it for me?</em></p><p><em>And, most
importantly, what do I want?</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape felt as though
someone had taken a mallet to his mind.</p><p>He paced in circles
around his quarters, from which Joseph had been banished, from which
he had removed his students' essays, from which everything that
could take damage was gone. It had to be that way. The spells he felt
the urge to cast, and which he did not deny himself, because they rid
him of the rage that threatened to cloud his head, would too easily
kill someone else or destroy parchment.</p><p>The mallet blow had
come in the form of a combination of news: what Harry had done the
night before last, defending a hunter from a werewolf and losing the
hunter, and Harry's flight from Hogwarts.</p><p>Harry had contacted
Joseph to say that he was well after his adventure with the hunter,
so that Joseph would pass along the news to Snape. He had not talked
to him directly.</p><p>He had not asked Snape
for help in defending the hunter.</p><p>He had not talked to
him before he ran away to confront the Ministry and perhaps come
close to losing his life. In all of those actions, he had assumed
that his guardian was too weak to help, or even to tolerate hearing
Harry's voice come from his left wrist.</p><p>And he had been <em>right.</em></p><p>Snape could see what
he had become now in relation to Harry. It maddened him. Harry had
not blinked an eye once the dreams, and the decay of Snape's
emotional walls, started. He had put himself in Snape's way for as
long he could, insisted on his getting help, displaced Snape from his
immediate presence once he attacked Camellia, talked to Snape through
Joseph, written him letters, showed him the love in his eyes when
Snape used Legilimency on him.</p><p>They were all steps
that he might have taken for another of his wounded allies—steps
that he might have taken with his own parents if they had not been
hopelessly weak, and arrested by the time Harry had the strength to
do so.</p><p>Harry did not consider
him a guardian any more. He would not ask Snape for help, because he
believed that Snape had no help to give him. So he took care of Snape
instead, and turned him into a petitioner, a dependent on his good
will and generosity. Harry had no parental figure any longer, and he
had adapted to it with surprising speed and grace, because he had to,
and because he had walked without parents for so long that it was
second nature to him.</p><p>It drove Snape <em>mad.</em></p><p>All those years of
earning Harry's trust, of showing him that Snape could help him
where no others could, of getting Harry to relax enough to let
someone else protect him and be the strong one—wasted. Snape knew
Harry might relax in someone else's protection while he recovered
from a wound, but that did not imply trust. It implied practicality.
Harry would still be thinking as a defender, and when he healed, he
would take the defender's position once more.</p><p>He'd thought he
could not be a good son last year, Snape remembered. But he had been
wrong, hadn't he? It had been Snape who was not a good parent.</p><p>He turned and cast a
crumbling curse at a table he'd Transfigured from a feather. It
showed down in shards of wood, and helped keep Snape from the
whispering pain that tried to enter the back of his head.</p><p><em>I have no son. And
through my own actions, because I transformed, and Harry changed to
meet me—took the position of healer. Why shouldn't he? He is used
to being that for everyone else.</em></p><p>Snape did not know if
he would have the strength to push beyond the circle of his
self-justifications and hazy rationalizations and double binds if it
was only for his own sake that he was doing it. After all, it was so
much <em>easier</em> to lie in the middle of the mud and bewail his
fate. And Harry would not mind him doing it, would simply keep up
being the parent for however long he had to.</p><p>But for Harry's
sake, he could plunge through the disgust and the hatred and the
pain.</p><p>He could not join
Harry yet. He was wise enough to know that. But when he had healed
enough of his bleeding wounds that he could be an asset, then he
would go, and tell Minerva to hire Slughorn in his place for however
long it took.</p><p>He summoned again the
will that had kept him alive and spying for that year among the Death
Eaters, when it would have been so much easier to surrender to the
darkness, or lie down and die. He wanted his son back.</p><p>Then he shouted for
Joseph.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"I did try to tell
you." Camellia's voice was strung-out, worn out, defeated. "No
one can stop a werewolf on the vengeance-path for his mate, Harry.
Not even you."</p><p>"I could have
Apparated away," Harry whispered. He sat in a room in the main
building of Woodhouse, the wooden one in the center of the stone
quadrangle, watching the sun rise. He had slept well enough last
night, casting <em>Consopio</em> on himself so that he wouldn't lie
awake and worry about things, but he'd asked Tonks to shake him
near dawn, since he didn't know how to modify the sleeping charm so
it would end at a specific time yet. Getting the right amount of
sleep was very important. "I could have taken Kieran somewhere
else."</p><p>"It wouldn't have
mattered," said Camellia quietly. "How do you think Loki found
Wayhouse in the first place? No one told him, Harry. The presence of
the prey a werewolf takes vengeance on pulls him along. You could
have Apparated anywhere you liked. He could have followed."</p><p>"If we kept
Apparating—"</p><p>"Eventually, you
would have lost strength," said Camellia. "Eventually, you would
have had to sleep. And then he would have caught up. I did try to
warn you. I told you that he couldn't be stopped or turned aside."</p><p>Harry rubbed his scar.
He would get angry if he spent too long thinking about this, and that
would mean another headache. "I wanted to tell you that the pack
should be ready to come to Woodhouse by the end of today. The Black
estates won't be safe for long, and they're no place to hide
forty-one more werewolves."</p><p>"And you think
Woodhouse will be?" The sarcasm, and skepticism, was clear in
Camellia's voice. "What makes it any safer? As soon as you free
those werewolves, you'll be an outlaw in truth, Wild."</p><p>"And you would
rather have me not free them?" Harry raised his eyebrows, and
wished again that Charles had managed to modify the spell to make
someone's face visible. He wanted to see what Camellia looked like
right now. "I have to, Camellia. I have a formal family oath
pulling at me as well as the wider one I swore to help werewolves.
But I thought you would be glad. They are your own kind."</p><p>"I want you safe,
Wild," Camellia whispered. "And if that is selfish, so be it."</p><p>Harry
smiled tolerantly. "Ah. That I can understand. But yes, I do plan
to make Woodhouse safe." He stood up. "I have to go now,
Camellia. Get the pack ready. I'll contact you near evening with
detailed Apparition instructions for those that can Apparate."</p><p>He waited only for her
assent before he cut off the communication spell. Then he strode from
the study through the halls to the kitchen.</p><p>Woodhouse had narrower
rooms than any place he'd ever been. The walls seemed to arrange
themselves in cramped corridors and hidden nooks behind staircases on
purpose. And, of course, everything was made of wood. Harry thought
it might actually be perfect for werewolves; there were many small
"territories" they could doze in if they wanted to be alone, the
study and kitchen and a few other large rooms for piles, and the
intense, comforting smell of trees everywhere.</p><p>Tonks was waiting in
the kitchen, looking through the <em>Daily Prophet</em> and idly
munching on a piece of burned toast that she'd made out of bread
delivered that morning. Harry had contacted a few Squib-run shops in
wizarding London, which were grateful for the custom and didn't
mind sending the owls up early to fly with bread and orange juice and
other things to Woodhouse. Harry made a mental note to himself to
switch other deliveries from Grimmauld Place and Cobley-by-the-Sea to
Woodhouse. With eighty people here, or more than eighty, food would
otherwise be a problem.</p><p>"What are they
saying?" he asked, when Tonks peeked around the paper to wish him
good morning for the second time.</p><p>"The usual
nonsense," said Tonks. "I don't think anyone really knows what
you're doing yet, but they can speculate on it. They know you've
left Hogwarts. They think that you've decided to go into seclusion
and, I quote Honeywhistle quoting someone else, 'brood on what he
thinks is injustice.'"</p><p>Harry snorted and
spread marmalade across another piece of the bread. "Well, then, I
ought to take them by surprise."</p><p>Tonks nodded. "Moody
said that he would come around noon?"</p><p>"Yes. I <em>hope</em>
that's enough time to accomplish what I need to do." Harry bit
into his bread and stared out the window. Beyond lay Woodhouse's
valley, more than half brown now that autumn had begun, but with some
grass still growing green and luxuriant from the constant rain. "If
not, then you and he start planning the best route for our attack on
Tullianum."</p><p>"Remind me again
what you're doing."</p><p>Harry looked at Tonks.
Her face was serious, and he was startled to see a resemblance to
Narcissa there, which he didn't think he'd ever noted before. Her
hair was flat black, and hung in close curls around her face. She had
retained the same lightning-blue eyes from yesterday, though.</p><p>"A technique called
entering the dream," Harry said, swallowing a bite of his bread.
"We can't use a lot of magic here in Woodhouse, and defensive
wards will only hold for so long. What will make this a <em>true</em>
sanctuary is to convince the place that we're part of it, and to
use its magic to defend us."</p><p>"And you think you
can do this." Tonks's voice was flat, and a match for Camellia's
in its skepticism.</p><p>Harry nodded.
"Hermione found me some notes on the subject. Mostly, wizards and
witches don't do it because they don't want to make the effort
required, or pay the price."</p><p>"Price?" Tonks's
voice had sharpened, as had her gaze. Harry wondered if she thought
him suicidal.</p><p>He wasn't. He
couldn't afford to be. He had read Hermione's notes until he
nearly went blind yesterday, in between arranging for the
establishment of a separate vault and food deliveries. "Yes. You
have to stay bound to a place for a certain period of time after you
enter its dream and get it to notice you. Witches and wizards prefer
not to do that. I can, now." He finished his breakfast. "I'll
leave for small journeys like freeing the werewolves from Tullianum,
but otherwise I'll stay in Woodhouse for at least a month. It'll
make a fine base."</p><p>"What else is
involved?"</p><p>"Humility," said
Harry quietly, standing. "Being able to set aside thoughts of
oneself and focus on something larger. Getting used to an alien
mind." He smiled. "I think that being <em>vates</em> has prepared
me for that if anything can."</p><p>Tonks reached out and
clasped the stump of his left wrist. "Be careful."</p><p>"Of course." Harry
stifled the odd thought for a moment that no one else should touch
him there, because that was Draco's place to touch. Then he shook
his head and stepped out of the wooden house into the sunlight of
Woodhouse.</p><p>It would be a clear,
calm day, he thought. There were clouds passing across the sky, but
they were underlit, and only served to make the blue appear brighter.
The woods blocking one end of the valley shone, since they were
mostly evergreens. Puddles lay here and there among the browned
grass, making Harry blink in surprise as they caught the sun with
unexpected dazzle, like the jewels that Henrietta had arranged for
him.</p><p>He sat down in a patch
of grass not far from the stone quadrangle, beneath a lone oak. He
could feel the steady current of the place magic circling the valley,
attending to its stones and hills and trees, the long-lived,
non-moving things, loving them, paying no attention to small moving
wizards and witches who rushed about.</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath and closed his eyes. "<em>Consopio</em>," he whispered.</p><p>And he fell into his
own dreams, seizing control of them with Legilimency even as he fell,
remembering what Hermione's notes had said.</p><p><em>Entering the dream
means blending one's own dreams with the place. Most wizards and
witches, not having conscious control of their dreams, cannot do
this. A Legilimens, or someone using the Lucid Dream charm, may
manage it.</em></p><p>Harry dreamed of
himself sitting in a place much like the one he had actually chosen
to sit in, his mind reaching outward. The current of place magic was
visible here, because he wanted it to be, a rushing white tide that
crested against the stones on one side of the valley, then washed
over the trees, then turned and danced over the buildings that had
been here so long the magic no longer objected to them. Patrolling,
ignoring, dreaming, it continued along its busy way.</p><p>Harry reached out and
slid his dream flawlessly into the dream of the current, matching it,
trying to see what it did.</p><p>And Woodhouse noticed
him.</p><p>The first touch of its
awareness nearly paralyzed Harry, so alien was it. Woodhouse had no
conception of distance or direction. It was <em>itself</em>, forest and
trees and houses and stone and the sky above, and every point on its
body was equally distant from every other point. The only thing Harry
could compare it to was a tapestry, or the way a tapestry might think
of itself if it were sentient. Every thread connected to every other
thread, and there was no center, so it might be said to be all of a
piece.</p><p>No notion of
separateness was tolerated. The moving creatures that rushed about in
Woodhouse were separate, but of them it was not obliged to take any
notice. They tried to move it around and make parts of it be alone,
and it took away those parts and put them back. It was itself, and it
dreamed.</p><p>Harry felt the urge to
struggle madly back to the surface, into his own head and his own
dreams. But Hermione's notes had words to say on that, too.</p><p><em>The wizard who
cannot give up his own individuality, even for a few moments, cannot
enter the dream. He must trust to the place magic. He must submit
himself to a greater purpose. The place magic is no more malicious
than the ocean. As a swimmer is at the mercy of the waves and not in
command of them, so the wizard must become—but even more like a
piece of driftwood than a swimmer, knowing himself borne to a place
he does not choose, and not contesting it.</em></p><p>Harry took a deep
breath and submerged himself. Old notions helped. The idea that he
was important and separate from his duty was the new one, the idea he
had come to late in life, not the other way around. He imagined
Woodhouse as the world, the place he had to save, the thing
infinitely more precious and beautiful and important than one small
wizard. He slid away.</p><p>He drowned.</p><p>Woodhouse was aware
that a new thing had entered it. It examined the new thing. It was a
seed that might someday become a tree, blown in from elsewhere. The
seed had buried itself in strange soil for a tree, but the soil was
just as important as the ordinary ground. Sunlight warmed it, and
water fed its lips, and it grew upward just as the other seeds would.
But it was a tree that grew like a flower, dying in a short time.</p><p>Woodhouse turned it
over and over. The small thing turned with the turning. It had
branches, branches with bare twigs; it must have dropped its leaves
early. It walked on stone, but did not stay rooted there. Trees did
not stay rooted when a storm came and blew them over, either. It did
not want to be separate. Nothing wanted to be separate that was part
of itself. The dream blended with its dream, and the thing was not a
small rushing thing anymore; it was part of Woodhouse. It could still
move, of course, because every point in Woodhouse was part of itself.</p><p>It might go away, but
it would arrive again. It might move stones from the valley's
walls, but they were its own stones, as much a part of Woodhouse as
its own limbs were. It might bring other small rushing things. For
its sake, Woodhouse would tolerate them. It tolerated the migrating
birds that came in and rested for a day and departed again. They
would be part of it for as long as they stayed.</p><p>Woodhouse noticed it,
and liked it, and made the small rushing thing part of itself, and
put its dream back into its head, because the small rushing thing
could not stay asleep all the time, any more than the sky could stay
light all the time. But it would always be part of the dream.</p><p>Harry blinked and sat
up, slowly. He still felt as if his head had cracked open and let in
the sea; that was the only experience he had had, before now, of such
vastness. His hand trembled as he stroked his own hair, and he looked
at the valley with new eyes. In its own way, it <em>was</em> as vast as
the ocean. Take the world of every blade of grass and tie it together
with the world in every nook and cranny of each tree and the thoughts
of every bird and the gleam of the dissipating puddles…</p><p>Harry shook his head,
dazed. The sun stood near noon now, and he thought that Moody must
have arrived. He stood, shakily, and made his way back towards the
quadrangle of buildings.</p><p>The current of place
magic circled past him, and tugged at him as if he stood in water.
Harry smiled in spite of himself. He was part of it now.</p><p>And if half of
Hermione's notes, or a quarter of what else Harry had read on place
magic, were true, then Woodhouse would protect him, when his enemies
tried to attack, as if it were defending <em>itself</em>, because he
was part of it. Power slept in stone and tree and soil and earth. He
could not ask for a safer haven for the werewolves.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco was so deep in
thought, considering what he would gain by choosing Harry or choosing
his family—and the advantages were considerable, on either
side—that he didn't hear Potter until the other boy came up
behind him and actually shouted his name into his ear.</p><p>Draco turned around,
one hand on his wand, and arched his eyebrow. "Potter? What do you
want?"</p><p>"I wanted to know
what you'd decided about Harry, of course," said Potter flatly,
as if he had a perfect right to the knowledge. "Are you going to
abandon him like so many other people are, or are you going to stand
beside him?"</p><p>"I'm thinking
about it," said Draco, and made sure that his voice was the one his
father used for dealing with idiots. Potter's face turned red,
predictably.</p><p>"You know that Harry
would choose you in an instant," he accused, voice gone tight.</p><p><em>If I was so mad as
to ask him to choose between you and me, the way you've been doing?</em>
Draco stared into Potter's eyes, and reminded himself that Harry
wouldn't want him to curse his brother. Besides, they were in the
middle of a corridor between classes, where any professor could see
and stop them. "I don't think you understand my choice," he
said. "There are factors you aren't aware of." <em>And which I
won't tell you about, because you'd be stupid enough to bleat,
and then my father would become aware of it, and force my hand. This
is </em>my <em>choice.</em></p><p>"Well, tell me what
they are." Potter folded his arms and gave him a challenging
glance.</p><p>"No."</p><p>Potter started to
answer, but the voice of his bitch of a girlfriend interrupted him.
"Don't worry, Connor. If he won't tell, then he won't tell,
and there's nothing we can say to make him change his mind.
Besides, this is just more evidence that Malfoy doesn't really care
about Harry."</p><p>Potter, to his very
small credit, looked uneasy as Patil wrapped her arm around his
shoulders and led him away, but he didn't object. Draco snorted at
both their backs.</p><p>The idea that people
would think him unsupportive of Harry because he hadn't said
anything about Harry's disappearance or the werewolf situation so
far entered his mind. He dismissed it. He was <em>not</em> going to let
other make people make him afraid, or influence his decision. He
would not.</p><p>He thought he knew
what his choice would be, how the scales were tipping, but he wanted
it to be <em>true.</em> Neither Lucius nor Harry would welcome him if
he made his decision and then regretted and whined about it later.</p><p><em>The way I whined
about Potter and Patil?</em></p><p>Draco could feel his
face flushing a dull red, and was glad that almost everyone else was
in Arithmancy already, so that no one could see. He did pause to lean
against a wall and take a deep breath before he entered the
classroom, as much to come to terms with this new and disturbing
realization as to hope that his face cooled down.</p><p><em>I was acting like a
child. Father would have been disappointed in me. Harry probably was,
but said nothing about it. That decision was as much mine as anyone
else's, and I was making the wrong one.</em></p><p>That only increased
his determination not to make the wrong one this time.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Connor blinked. Of all
the things he had expected Peter to say when he sought him out and
told him that he wanted to help Harry, this wasn't one of them.
"You think I ought to just stay at Hogwarts?"</p><p>Peter raised a hand,
then cast a locking ward on the door. It was one he had used a few
times at Cobley-by-the-Sea to insure that no one would interrupt
their Animagus lessons. Connor sat down in a chair beneath a banner
that depicted the Pied Piper of Hamelin legend and waited for Peter
to take the chair across from him. Peter had arranged his quarters to
be smaller and warmer than the ones either Sirius or Remus had had
when they taught here. Connor still felt a jolt of homesickness when
he looked around. He would have liked it if either Sirius or Remus's
quarters had looked like this. He would have <em>loved</em> it if James
had been a good father, and had been able to become Defense Against
the Dark Arts professor.</p><p>"Connor."</p><p>He looked back at
Peter. Peter had that serious, stern, thoughtful look on his face,
the one he only got when he was about to say something really
important. Connor clasped his hands and leaned forward.</p><p>"Your <em>support</em>
is essential to Harry," Peter told him. "You can speak out
against the anti-werewolf laws, and against Mrs. Parkinson's
arrest. You can do whatever you think you need to do so that other
people will understand that you think these laws are a horrible,
horrible thing. But would you be willing to leave Hogwarts and go to
where Harry is now?"</p><p>Connor blinked. He
hadn't thought that far ahead. He had pictured himself fighting at
Harry's side in battle, comforting him when Malfoy made the choice
to do nothing that he seemed closer and closer to making, and
standing with him when he won, as he inevitably would. Someone, he
hadn't thought about the day-to-day business of life with Harry in
the meantime.</p><p>"And would Parvati
want to come with you?" Peter asked.</p><p>That was something he
hadn't thought of. Connor huffed out a breath. "I suppose not,"
he said. "She doesn't—like Harry all that much. I mean, she
knows that he's important to me because he's my brother, and she
wants him to pay more attention to me because of that, but that
doesn't mean that she would want to run away from Hogwarts and
fight battles at his side."</p><p>Peter was nodding.
"And Harry wouldn't want you to make the choice to abandon her,"
he said. "Besides, he's going to need <em>someone</em> here at
Hogwarts who can watch what the students are thinking, and report it
to him. Professor Belluspersona and I can only do so much, since
professors don't hear all the gossip among the students. McGonagall
has to think about what's best for the school first and foremost.
Snape…" Peter grimaced as if he'd bitten into a wormy apple and
shook his head. "Harry needs someone who can know what direction
the students' thoughts are turning, and what gossip they're
reporting from their parents."</p><p>"Ah." Connor
nodded his head. "And you know that Malfoy won't do it, because
he's not loyal to Harry."</p><p>Peter made a choking
noise. Connor squinted suspiciously at him. If he didn't know
better, he would say Peter was holding back a laugh. But why should
he be? He was clever, quick, observant. He had to know what Malfoy's
current behavior was like, and what it meant. Connor felt far less
pleasure than he had thought he would about being right. Malfoy was
faithless, it was the last day of the full moon and he was doing
<em>nothing</em>, and that would hurt Harry.</p><p>"Something like
that," said Peter. "But in any case, he's not trusted by as
many people as you are. He's too conspicuous, and people will be
watching him more than the other way around."</p><p>"Won't they do the
same thing to me, once I declare my support of Harry?" Connor
asked.</p><p>"They'll expect it
of you, I think," said Peter, smiling. "Show them Gryffindor
honesty, and listen with Slytherin deviousness."</p><p>"I can do that,"
Connor muttered. "I think it's Gryffindor deviousness, though."</p><p>Peter nodded. "The
other Houses tend to underestimate us and our skills in sneaking
around." He clasped Connor's shoulder. "Let's do what we can
to support Harry and not hinder him, the way that going to him when
you're only half-trained in battle and worried about Parvati
probably would."</p><p>The words were so
gentle that Connor couldn't flinch from them. He nodded, newly
determined on the best probable course. "Right."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry nodded. "And I
highly doubt they've managed to change the corridors of Tullianum
in two days' time," he said. "I would be more worried about the
traps the Department of Mysteries might have set up along the way."</p><p>Moody snorted, his
real eye shining with excitement. His magical eye was fastened on the
rough map that he, Tonks, and Harry had worked out of Tullianum.
Since both Moody and Tonks had been Aurors, they had both patrolled
the new prison and stood guard on the cells, and knew it fairly well.
"If you're <em>really</em> worried about them, boy…"</p><p>He trailed off. Harry
looked up. He didn't think he'd ever seen Moody looking <em>shifty</em>
before—except for when he'd truly been Mulciber, and probably
couldn't help it. "What?" he asked.</p><p>"I have
some—contacts who would help." Both Moody's eyes looked at the
map now, as if he wanted to avoid showing his real emotions. "People
I came to know during my years as an Auror. People not entirely on
the wrong side of the law, but not in good graces with the Ministry
either."</p><p>Harry nodded. He had
once heard Moody described as the wildest of the Aurors. It made
sense that he would have friends who existed on both sides of the
fence, so long as those friends weren't Death Eaters or other
criminals who had done things that Moody considered wrong. The old
man's sense of justice was infinitely more personal than Harry had
thought when he first met him. He had made his peace with Harry using
Dark magic, after all, as long as he did the right thing with it. "If
you think they can be helpful, then invite them along. Or ask for
information from them. Which were you planning on?"</p><p>"Both," said Moody
blandly, and then gestured at the map with his hip, a gesture Harry
thought he might have developed over the years since he'd earned
his wooden leg. "When are you planning to attack?"</p><p>"In a few days,"
said Harry. "I wanted to wait for the full moon to pass, of course,
and then I wanted to give some time for my allies to catch their
breaths and think <em>rationally</em> about what they want to do."</p><p>Moody narrowed his
eyes as if sniffing out a rat. "If they're loyal to you, they
should have been here already, boy."</p><p>Harry stared at him
calmly. "I'm not forcing anyone," he said, "except those who
declare themselves in support of the anti-werewolf laws. Then I'll
force them aside. But Mr. Malfoy, for example, has decided not to aid
me unless I renounce the Grand Unified Theory."</p><p>"And the others?"
Moody's voice was a growl.</p><p>"Some have
responsibilities they can't abandon," said Harry, thinking of
McGonagall and Henrietta and Peter. "Some are already doing other
tasks, and it's essential that they remain in place." He'd
asked Rose and a few other werewolves from his pack whom he trusted
to go to London and ask the alphas if they wanted to bring their
people to shelter under him. Depending on how many of them came,
there might be a need for fewer guards on the London packs when
October's full moon rose. Honoria was going to come with them when
they attacked Tullianum to lend the expertise of her illusions, but
then she would return to the Maenad Press, where Harry thought she
could do the most good. "And some are dealing with problems of
their own." Snape, and Narcissa Malfoy, who would surely choose to
side with her husband.</p><p>"And some of them
you simply haven't called," Moody finished, sounding disgusted.</p><p>Harry met his eyes and
nodded. "I'm asking for full commitment. I didn't want anyone
to grant that and feel bad later."</p><p>He expected another
sarcastic comment; instead, Moody watched him and murmured, "So
different from Albus."</p><p>Harry gave an uneasy
shrug. Then he turned sharply as his left wrist rang with phoenix
song. Touching it, he asked, "What is it?"</p><p>"Strangers," said
Camellia's tense voice. Harry had asked her to be one of the
watchers on the valley's outer edge, since she'd refused to go to
London without him. "They're—" She paused, and then her voice
said, soft with wonder, "They're not human."</p><p>Harry blinked, said,
"I'll be there," and slipped out of the wooden house, Moody
right behind him. He couldn't see anything until they managed to
make their way around the stone buildings, though.</p><p>Camellia and the other
sentries stood in a ring around a group of perhaps thirty goblins.
When he drew near, however, Harry could see that they weren't a
delegation of southern goblins come to visit. They were northern,
tall, with much longer claws and teeth, and six fingers on either
hand. Bronze and gold sparked from heavy bracelets and anklets. Harry
knew their leader, and tilted his head down in deference as he
approached them.</p><p>"Helcas Seadampin,"
he said. "Welcome."</p><p>Helcas, the goblin
Harry had first contacted when they began to talk about removing the
web that contained the linchpins, swept a full and fluid bow. He
seemed to move more easily than the last time Harry had seen him.
Harry wondered if that was the effect of the web being gone, or
simple happiness. Certainly there was wild joy in his face as he held
out his hand, carefully closing his jagged claws around Harry's
wrist.</p><p>"Harry <em>vates</em>."
Helcas nodded over his shoulder. "There are goblins with us from
all four clans, Seadampin and Stonecantor and Waterrune and
Ternretten." Harry wasn't surprised to notice that there weren't
thirty goblins there after all, but thirty-two. Some carried spears,
some bows and quivers, some lengths of what Harry thought was chain,
but which shone so brilliantly he couldn't be sure. "We are ready
to go to war beside you," Helcas continued, and <em>that</em> got
Harry's attention.</p><p>"You're sure?"
The northern goblins had waited to reveal their freedom. Harry had
assumed, without a real reason to now that he'd thought about, that
they would wait as long as their southern cousins. But, of course, it
was stupid to assume so. The Gringotts goblins had much more to do
with humans now. They would cause more chaos when they moved. The
northern ones would mostly show off just how powerful they were.</p><p>"Of course we are,"
said Helcas, and there was a softness in his tone that Harry hadn't
known he was capable of, since his voice was like a gull's shriek.
"<em>Vates.</em> You are ours, as much as you are anyone's. You
will not stand alone." He grinned then, a girding wall of so many
fangs there was barely room for his tongue. "And it is time that
wizards learned what goblins are capable of. We have not been to war
in centuries."</p><p>Harry nodded,
overwhelmed. "The <em>hanarz's </em>call summoned you?"</p><p>"We heard of your
need that way," said Helcas. "That does not mean she is the only
reason we are here."</p><p>Harry nodded again and
started to say something else, but the ground shook with a familiar
thunder then, and he turned instinctively towards the forest entrance
of the valley, since that was where they had entered during the
spring alliance meeting. And, sure enough, the centaurs appeared,
their hides glinting palomino and bay and chestnut and black in the
high sun. Harry recognized the one who led them, the powerful male
called Bone.</p><p>He started to call out
a greeting, but they didn't return it. Harry tensed. Bone had a set
expression on his face that might mean trouble. Harry didn't know
why the centaurs would have cause to be angry at him, but he prepared
to defend himself, his pack, and the northern goblins anyway.</p><p>Bone halted with a
crash about twenty feet away from him. Then he shouted, "<em>Ave!</em>"
and reared. When he came down, it was in a kneel, his front legs
tucked underneath him. The other centaurs followed suit, kneeling in
a wave, and Harry wondered if it was possible to die from
embarrassment.</p><p>He cleared his throat.
"Bone, thank you, but—you can rise."</p><p>Bone looked up at him.
"We come to you as soldiers," he said. "That is how centaurs
greet their commander."</p><p>"Oh." Harry
blinked. "I—of course." He realized they would have to amend
the attack on the Ministry to include the centaurs. "And you don't
mind the wizarding world finding out about your freedom, either?"
he asked faintly.</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Bone. "The stars spoke. It is time."</p><p>Harry nodded. Then
Camellia cried out again, almost a howl, and Harry turned sharply.
Something was coming through the wards, something for which they
parted like water, and something so big that even Woodhouse took
notice, because of the way the feet made its earth shake.</p><p>He saw the horn first,
black and corkscrew. It nudged aside two trees, and then the creature
emerged fully into view, shaking out its coat, which was the
creamy-white color of a polar bear's. Its feet ended in multiple
hooves each, and it stood the size of a rhino. Harry found it hard to
meet the eyes, which were as deep as oil wells. When it stepped into
the open and he could see every inch of it, he realized the tail was
a lion's, whippy and crowned with a puff of white hair, not a
horse's.</p><p>A unicorn, but <em>what</em>
a unicorn. Harry knew the creature, though he had only seen it once,
in a vision Fawkes had shown him. Fawkes had flown around the world,
singing to the magical creatures of their <em>vates</em>, and this
unicorn had heard him in Africa. A karkadann; its name meant "lord
of the desert." It was as vicious and violent as the unicorns Harry
had freed from the Forbidden Forest were gentle. Harry knew ancient
Muggles had seen karkadanns battling with elephants, before wizards
had decided to lock them away for their own protection.</p><p>"How did one get
free?" he whispered.</p><p>Bone started to
answer, but the karkadann bugled at the sound of his voice, and the
sound was a shrill trumpet that set Harry's heart on fire, a true
battle-call. He held out his hand, and the unicorn trotted towards
him, each foot coming down with a <em>thump</em> that jolted everyone
except the centaurs. It halted next to him and tilted its head down
to stare.</p><p>Harry met its gaze as
best he could. The karkadann stared at him for long moments, then
blew out its breath. Harry gasped. The breath was sweet and hot and
sandy, and smelled of corpses rotting in the sun. And it affected
Harry more profoundly than even the trumpet had, filling him with
visions of fighting and defending and killing those who would try to
kill him.</p><p>His magic soared up in
answer. The karkadann shook its—no, Harry realized, <em>her</em>—horn
in satisfaction, and snorted. Then she turned away to begin a patrol
of the valley, following the general direction of the current of
magic.</p><p>"That is one piece
of news we carry," Bone said, after each of them had spent several
breathless moments watching her. "The webs are beginning to melt,
<em>vates</em>, just a little."</p><p>Harry turned to stare
at him. "What?"</p><p>Bone nodded, eyes
large and serious. "Yes. The stars sang of it as a sign of a true
<em>vates</em> existing in the world. Unicorns run where they will;
there are reports of a ki-lin abroad in China again, for the first
time in centuries. The nundus are straining at their webs in Africa.
Dragons are hatching in greater clutches, and more of them are
surviving. And now and then, if they intend to join in a battle for
more than just food or territory, a single member of a species may
slip free of its web altogether." Bone led his gaze to the
karkadann. She was grazing now, though every few moments she ripped
her head up and stared around self-importantly, to foil any enemies
that might be sneaking up on her.</p><p>"I've never heard
of that," Harry said. "I—all the books I read on <em>vates</em>
said nothing about this."</p><p>"It is true," said
Bone. "It has not happened in centuries, and when it did, it was
probably at a time when the wizarding communities were not
interconnected and could not know that the various, scattered
rebellions added up to one great pattern. And, of course, the
knowledge of what a <em>vates </em>is has retreated and been kept alive
mostly by the magical creatures."</p><p>Harry shivered. "So
it doesn't matter that I'm only in one country in the world?"</p><p>"It would not if you
were only a Lord-level wizard," said Bone. "But you are a <em>vates</em>.
So the freedom you spread encourages freedom. Many of the ancient
webs were tied to each other for reinforcement, and almost surely, as
some of them begin to fall, that unravels the edges of others. And
the unicorns." For a moment, he smiled. "The stars say the
unicorns are running, and where a truly free being of Light is,
compulsions cannot hold. For every unicorn who chooses to run through
Australia, a bunyip stirs, and for every one who chooses southern
America, the old sleeping jaguars hear. Surely you did not think they
would have no effect?"</p><p>"I suppose I thought
they would keep to themselves," said Harry, overwhelmed. "They
seemed to want to when I set them free."</p><p>"They go where they
will," said Bone. "The world is awakening again, <em>vates</em>.
Not all as a result of you, not all as a result of your choice, but
as a result of choices on choices, the unending building of them."</p><p>Harry struggled to
regulate his breathing. "It's going to cross over into the Muggle
world eventually, isn't it?"</p><p>Bone simply inclined
his head.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes.
For a moment, he caught a glimpse of what he'd started, of what it
might mean for Muggles to live in a world where unicorns were a
reality, of how dangerous it might be, of what wars it would start—</p><p>And of the fact that
he couldn't stop this now without putting the unicorns back under a
web, which he was not going to do.</p><p>He opened his eyes and
nodded, the vision fading. "Whatever comes, I am ready to face it,"
he said.</p><p>The karkadann reared
abruptly, towering against the morning, and bugled again. Harry
wondered who heard it, and what it made them think of.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco closed his eyes.
He was leaning against a pillow in the bed he and Harry had shared as
little as three days ago. It felt too empty, too big.</p><p>He was in the bed with
the curtains drawn around him, hiding him, the only Slytherin
sixth-year boy left. No one was here to see him. The door was locked.
He did not have to feel alone if he did not want to.</p><p>But he did.</p><p>And at the same time,
he was once again standing on the mountaintop, exposed unforgivably
to all eyes. The moment he made his decision and moved, then people
would know. He could not remain in this comfortable limbo forever.</p><p>Draco snorted.
<em>Comfortable? It's been anything but comfortable. I didn't ever
wish to know that much about myself.</em></p><p>But he'd
investigated, and made the lists in his head, and thought about what
he would lose and what he would gain with either side, and confronted
the fact that he wasn't ready—yet—to give up the belief that
purebloods were superior, and thought about how it would affect his
mother, and still there was only one decision he could make.</p><p><em>This isn't about
what my parents think, or what my peers will. They'll think
whatever they wish. I can affect it, but I can't control it. </em></p><p><em>This is about what
I </em>want.</p><p><em>And what I want,
more than anything else, is to be myself. Strong, dignified, proud,
powerful. I won't be that if I continue to let my father think he
controls me. I'll only be waiting for some day of proving that
never comes, like Harry's brother, or his father.</em></p><p><em>I want respect. I
want love. I want people to gaze at me and envy, not what I have, but
what I am.</em></p><p><em>I want Harry, not
least because he's the one who can help me achieve all that.</em></p><p>Draco opened his eyes
and nodded, then tapped his left wrist. Phoenix song warbled for long
moments before Harry's distracted, sleepy voice said, "Hmm? What
is it? Connor?"</p><p>Perhaps he thought
only his brother would have been rude enough to speak to him near
midnight. Draco didn't care about the rudeness, though. "Harry,"
he said.</p><p>He could <em>hear</em>
Harry waking up, the pause between his reply and Harry's answer
enough time to consider implications. Then Harry said, poised and
strained and tense, "Draco."</p><p>"I'm coming to
you," Draco said. "Tell me where you are."</p><p>"You've made the
decision on your own?" Harry asked carefully. So carefully, trying
not to step on anyone else's will. Draco was glad that he was not a
<em>vates.</em></p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"You know that it
might mean—Draco, your father and I quarreled," said Harry
bluntly. "I don't know for sure if he'd want you to stay away
from me, but I think he probably will."</p><p>"He told me to stay
away," said Draco. "I told him I understood. He took that to mean
I'd agreed. Sometimes, he forgets I'm a Slytherin, too."</p><p>"Draco—" Harry's
voice was on the edge of upset, now.</p><p>"I chose," said
Draco. "This is about what I want, Harry. Tell me where you are.
Now."</p><p>"I'm dropping the
wards," Harry whispered. "We're in Woodhouse. If you touch the
Portkey bracelet, it should take you to me."</p><p>Nodding, Draco climbed
out of bed and scooped up his packed trunk. Argutus, lying on top of
it, stirred sleepily. Draco was sure that Harry hadn't meant to
leave him behind, but that was what had happened. Draco intended to
correct that mistake. Really, he reflected as he gazed at the packed
trunk, his decision had been made even before he got into bed. "Now?"</p><p>"Now," Harry
confirmed, and there was a crack in his voice through which Draco
heard joy.</p><p>Draco touched the
bracelet of magic on his wrist that would transport him to Harry's
side, unless there were powerful wards in the way. Since so many of
the locations where Harry stayed were powerfully warded, it was often
less than useful, but this time it worked, tugging him and the trunk
and Argutus through a whirl of colors and landing them all in a
bedroom. Argutus crawled out of the way, probably uttering complaints
Draco couldn't understand.</p><p>Harry waited on the
other side of the room, near the bed, his eyes wide. He was still
dressed in robes, crumpled though they were from sleeping in them. He
stared straight into Draco's face, and Draco waited.</p><p>Then Harry let out a
loud sound neither sob nor cheer, and crossed the distance between
them faster than Draco thought physically possible. His hand latched
in Draco's hair, his handless arm wrapping fiercely around his
waist, and then he tilted Draco's head back and kissed him as if
he'd been starving for it.</p><p><em>Yes</em>, Draco
thought, smugness settling in his belly as he kissed back. <em>This is
what I want. This is what I deserve.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 32*: Jailbreak</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Cliffhanger warning.</strong> But the clifhanger is easily avoided. Just don't read the last scene.</p><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five: Jailbreak</strong></p><p>Harry woke in a flood
of early morning sunlight. He blinked for a moment, wondering why on
earth Tonks or someone else hadn't shaken him awake with the dawn,
and then realized the warm weight in his arms might have something to
do with that.</p><p>Shifting, he raised
himself on one elbow and looked down at Draco.</p><p>Draco slept on his
left side, the soft snores that he always denied making emerging from
his mouth and nose in little puffs of air. That, in turn, stirred his
hair, which stuck up around his face in tiny independent clumps.
Harry stared at him for a long moment, then closed his eyes and
swallowed.</p><p>He had hoped that
Draco would choose to come to his side. He had even hoped it would
happen without his having to ask, because he did not know what to say
in the face of Lucius's opposition. To force Draco to choose
between his family and Harry was intolerably cruel.</p><p>And now Draco was
here, and had chosen, and had explained, last night before they both
fell asleep, all his reasons for doing so. The reasons quieted every
objection that Harry might have raised against his presence, except
for the sorrow that would result for Lucius when he found out.</p><p>Harry would have made
himself survive if Draco had chosen otherwise, he knew. Transforming
every pain, every irritant, every impatience into determination to
win this battle had worked for him in the last few days, and was
working now. And he would not have shown Draco what he felt; he would
have wanted him to be happy, and his boyfriend's brooding would
have made him unhappy.</p><p>Now, though, Harry
could lean his head down until his cheek rested on Draco's, a
gesture he wouldn't have dared with Draco awake, and breathe,
"Thank Merlin you chose this. I needed you so much."</p><p>He closed his eyes and
lay there in the sunlight, feeling warmth close around them from
above and below.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Lucius was
concentrating so intently on a spell that might be just the thing to
curb Rhangnara's ambition that he started when the phoenix song
warbled. He clenched one hand on the book to keep from dropping it
and glared at his left wrist. It went on singing, however, so Lucius
forced his voice smooth and asked, "What is it?"</p><p>"Father."</p><p>Draco's voice, smug
in the way that it was when he won a game. Lucius only felt a renewed
surge of irritation. Draco knew his morning routine. He should have
known better than to interrupt Lucius during the hour that he used
for studying spells and writing correspondence.</p><p>"Draco," he said.
"What is it? Has something happened?" Harry might do any number
of mad things in his distraction. Lucius would write a letter for
Julius to take to the Department of Mysteries when they occurred, of
course, so that the madness would be controlled and contained. The
boy needed more guidance than Lucius had ever suspected he did, when
he still thought of Harry as someone he could follow without
complaint. He was like a wild horse who resisted breaking to the
rein.</p><p>"You could say
that," Draco said, and his voice dripped with self-satisfaction
now. Lucius felt his curiosity peak. Whatever it was must have been
<em>very</em> good news, and perhaps that was why Draco had interrupted
him, because he could not wait to share it.</p><p>"Out with it,"
said Lucius, marking his place in the book of mind-control spells
with a peacock feather quill and leaning back.</p><p>"I looked carefully
at all my options, Father, and made a choice I've been putting off
for far too long," Draco began, his voice subtly mocking. Lucius
frowned lightly. It must have been self-mockery; Draco saw now that
the choice really was simple. <em>That probably means the news is not
as momentous as I hoped. </em>"I wanted to let you know at once that
I'd made it, of course. As of this moment forward, by your own
words, you no longer have an heir."</p><p>Lucius felt the breath
in his throat turn to frost. His left hand clenched over the arm of
his chair until there came a warning creak of wood. "What did you
say?" he whispered.</p><p>"You heard me."
Draco's voice took on a lazy drawl. <em>He has never sounded more
like me, </em>Lucius thought, even while he fought to keep his feet in
a suddenly reeling world. "You threatened to disown me if I chose
Harry's rebellion. And now I am sitting in the same house as Harry,
eating the same breakfast, after having slept in the same bed last
night. When one chooses a side, it's always best to do it
<em>thoroughly</em>, don't you agree?"</p><p>And those last words
alone were a slap at Lucius, who had always sought to keep his
options open, and danced on both Harry's and the Dark Lord's
sides for as long as possible. He would not show it, however. Now he
was grateful that the communication spells had no visual component,
so Draco could not see him clamping his teeth together.</p><p>"You will have no
money from me, Draco, until you renounce this madness and come back
home," he told his son. "You will have no sanctuary in our Manor.
You will have no help from those who call themselves friends of the
Malfoys."</p><p>"Oh, I knew all
that," said Draco.</p><p>The careless manner in
which he said it further infuriated Lucius. "And what do you think
this will do to your mother?" he asked. "Your standing among the
pureblood circles? Your reputation as a wizard?"</p><p>"Mother is the only
one of those I regret staining with my defiance," said Draco. "You
may tell her yourself, if you like, as I can't imagine that you'll
keep this quiet. And she did not raise a son who would cower tamely
in front of his father." His voice changed cadences, to taunting.
"Really, Father, I only said that I <em>understood</em> your request
to keep away from Harry, not that I would obey it."</p><p>Lucius, lost in an
icestorm of anger and frustration, did not allow himself to lament
that mistake. It had been understandable. "You will regret this
decision yet, Draco," he whispered.</p><p>"I don't think so,
Father," said Draco. "A wise woman told me over the summer that I
wasn't as much like you as I was like Mother, and I see now that
she was right. You would never have defied your father if he made you
choose between him and Mother, would you have? But that doesn't
matter. I'm with Harry now. I weighed my choice, figured out all
the consequences of it, and still chose. I have what <em>I</em> want to
make me happy. I imagine you can't say the same."</p><p>The communication
spell ended. Lucius sat where he was for a long moment, staring at
the wall and pointedly not shaking.</p><p>Then he stood and went
to the hearth to firecall his solicitor. He would not speak to
Narcissa about Draco's disownment until he could present it to her
as a <em>fait accompli</em>. She would be on his side, of course,
because they had raised their son to act a certain way and he was not
acting it, but she might still protest such a step. Lucius would ease
her pain as best he could.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Our first goal is
to keep the people we rescue from Tullianum <em>alive.</em>" Harry
said, leaning forward over the table, his hand splayed flat on the
surface and his eyes traveling from face to face. "Not to kill
Unspeakables. Not to weaken the Ministry. Not to gather information
that will be useful for a later attack on the Ministry, as I hope
that we won't have to do this again. Is that understood?"</p><p>Draco looked from
person to person, and saw them all nodding. He concealed a smirk
behind his hand. There were many more wizards than had been there
this morning. A short argument with Harry, just before Draco had
called his father to talk to Lucius about the terms of his
disownment, had revealed that Harry was waiting to call on his allies
because he wanted to give them time to make up their minds—and,
Draco thought, because he was afraid that more of them would act like
Lucius if he "took them for granted." Draco had trounced this
supposition quite quickly, by pointing out that at least <em>some</em>
of them were probably waiting anxiously for Harry's call, not
wanting to interrupt in case he was doing something important, and
unable to simply Apparate to his side because they had no idea where
he was.</p><p>Harry had blinked and
muttered, and then started using the communication spell to talk to
his allies, most of whom responded just as eagerly as Draco had
thought they would. He'd shaken his head and rolled his eyes,
though he'd been careful not to let Harry see him do it. Sometimes,
Harry forgot which way the balance of power tilted. And his
assumption that people who would help him in war against Voldemort
wouldn't want to help him in a rebellion against the Ministry, or a
rebellion undertaken because of werewolves, was, frankly, laughable.</p><p>The Bulstrodes were
here now, all four, though of course Millicent's little sister,
Marian, was bedded down for a nap. Syrinx, Owen, and Michael had
finished Apparating an hour after Harry had spoken to them. Thomas
Rhangnara and his eldest two children had appeared with <em>pops</em>
that sounded gleeful to Draco's ears. Ignifer Apollonis stood stern
and tall next to Honoria Pemberley, who <em>would not stop whispering</em>
with Tybalt Starrise and his Muggleborn partner. (Draco was proud of
himself for thinking the term Muggleborn instead of Mudblood).
Delilah Gloryflower was there too, the bells in her hair shaking as
she bent over the map. Moody, Draco's changeable halfblood cousin,
and the goblins and those few centaurs who could fit into the room,
as well as those werewolves who would be helping with the attack,
were scattered here and there amongst them.</p><p>Draco told himself he
was <em>not</em> ashamed that he was the only person bearing the name
of Malfoy in the room, and put the thought away as Harry took a step
back from the table. Harry's eyes were brilliant with
determination, his face so set that Draco thought swords would have
broken on him. He didn't seem aware of the fact that people were so
fixated on him, or he would have been blushing and stammering. Of
course, Draco thought, Harry did his best as a leader when he thought
about what he had to accomplish, and not what he meant to the people
who followed him. He would never have believed it, anyway.</p><p>"We'll be waiting
to Apparate until we're outside the Ministry," he was saying now.
"The anti-Apparition wards are simply too strong for most of us to
tear, a few people excepted." His gaze lingered on Apollonis and
Adalrico Bulstrode, Draco noticed. "And then I'll need as many
people as possible to take as many werewolves as possible in
Side-Along Apparitions. We don't have time to get a detailed
explanation of Woodhouse to their ears."</p><p>"Is the karkadann
coming?" asked one of the goblins, one Draco thought was female,
with ornaments of bronze and gold gleaming from her wrists.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"She'll remain here to guard Woodhouse, along with some of the
pack and a few centaurs, of course." His gaze turned to the tall
centaur Draco thought was named Bone, or something else ridiculously
simple. "I know that your people cannot Apparate. What—"</p><p>Bone laughed, his eyes
shining. "We have our own ways of getting from place to place,"
he said. "Do not fear that. Now that our web has changed and our
magic is free, the wizarding world shall learn it again." He folded
his arms over his chest and gave a stern nod. Draco concealed a
shiver, as best he could. He had grown up on stories of centaur
rampages and what they could mean for wizards.</p><p>"What about those
who get in our way?" Honoria asked, loudly.</p><p>All eyes focused on
Harry. His expression never wavered, though, and Draco had to wonder
if he'd underestimated him.</p><p>"Our primary purpose
is still rescuing the werewolves," he said. "And by the oaths of
the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, causing excess fear is immoral. That
means I don't want you going out of the way to seek Ministry people
to murder."</p><p>They waited. Everyone
had known that, Draco thought. The difficult part, the other part,
was what they were waiting for Harry to talk about.</p><p>Harry let out a harsh
breath. "Our primary purpose is rescuing the werewolves," he
repeated. "And those who deliberately put themselves in the way of
that have lost their right to simply depart, lives intact. Use
defensive magic as long as you can, but defend your own lives and the
lives of the pack first. If it has to be done, kill them."</p><p>A profound silence
followed in the wake of Harry's words, and Draco noticed that the
faces of all in attendance were solemn. He knew why a moment later.</p><p>Acting against the
Ministry was one thing; even breaking werewolves out of jail could
win them the silent applause of some in the Ministry who stood
against the anti-werewolf laws in secret. But killing the Ministry's
people would bring them to the brink of open war.</p><p>Harry could have
evaded that by commanding his people to avoid killing at all costs.
He clearly wasn't going to.</p><p>Draco took a deep
breath and shook his head, feeling a shock travel through him rivaled
only by the shock he'd had that morning when he saw the karkadann.
Things were changing.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Lucius looked over the
last of the documents his solicitor had handed through the Floo
connection, and nodded. He reached out and picked up the quill,
holding it for a moment over that last line.</p><p>He need only sign, and
Draco would be disowned.</p><p>It was not permanent,
of course, because Lucius did not believe Draco's little fit of
teenage rebellion was permanent. When Draco realized what it really
meant to be alone in the world, separated from his parents, from his
name, from everything that made him who he really was, then he would
give in. He could not want to be at Harry's side only, Lucius knew.
No Malfoy was content to remain in the shadow of another for long. If
the Dark Lord's reign had lasted, Lucius Malfoy would have carved
himself out a separate name. Draco, however, had no reason to think
that Harry would give him position and power and prestige over
others. In the end, he would withdraw from his lover because he could
not be his own person while Harry overshadowed him. He would have to
return to his father and build on the family name to become a power,
as every Malfoy for the last ten generations had.</p><p>Lucius brought the
quill down, and signed. It was only a temporary cut. His son would
come to his senses and return. Being in the bed of a Lord-level
wizard was not enough to make up for lost money and lost <em>connection</em>,
in a world such as theirs where connection was so important.</p><p>That done, Lucius
bundled the documents back through the Floo connection and went to
tell Narcissa.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry appeared at the
Ministry entrance with most of his human and goblin allies clustered
around him, but invisible under Honoria's illusions. Harry spent a
moment studying the glamours, wishing he knew how to make them. They
shimmered like Invisibility Cloaks, adjusting themselves to their
surroundings. In moments, Harry could no longer see his allies, but
only the dirty and graffiti-covered alley.</p><p>He took a deep breath,
and knew he was studying the glamours and how to make them just in
order to put this off. He turned to the broken telephone box and
pushed the sequence of numbers corresponding to M-A-G-I-C that would
let him in.</p><p>Nothing happened. No
voice, welcoming or otherwise, spoke. Harry narrowed his eyes
slightly, then shrugged and stepped away, focusing on the telephone
box.</p><p>"<em>Modero</em>,"
he said.</p><p>The magic surged
through him and, following the path of his will, grabbed at the magic
around the telephone box. Harry felt a moment when the Ministry's
wards grappled with him, trying to retain control of it. But he
repeated the spell, and the box was ripped away. Harry nodded and
stepped into it, feeling Draco, Owen, Michael, and Syrinx crowd in
behind him; they had agreed those four should go with him first, no
matter what happened. The lift slid downward, moving more smoothly
than he remembered it doing, and deposited them in the Atrium.</p><p>They stepped out to
the shrill jangle of alarms. Harry smiled sourly, even as he made the
lift rise again to start bringing down the rest of his allies. Well,
he had hardly expected to enter <em>quietly</em>. Even tearing apart
the Ministry's anti-Apparition wards and appearing much closer to
Tullianum—which he'd decided against doing because most of his
allies weren't strong enough to do it, so Harry would have had to
make multiple trips Side-Along Apparating them—would have caused
panic, and probably louder alarms.</p><p>The only person in the
Atrium at the moment was the checkpoint wizard, who was gaping at
them, or, presumably, at him, since Harry was the only one visible.
Harry had insisted on that. He hoped at least a few people who might
otherwise oppose their mission would stand aside when they saw him,
knowing they couldn't face his magic.</p><p>Not so the checkpoint
wizard. He leveled his wand at Harry and tried to squeak out some
sort of challenge.</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath and dropped all the barriers on his magic that he could,
retaining only the one path of focus necessary to get the lift up to
the surface of the alley. His power filled the Atrium like a rising
tide, sloshing all over the walls and the fountain and the checkpoint
wizard. From behind him, Harry heard a half-drunken giggle, and knew
it was Draco. He tended to get like that when Harry released his
magic fully. Harry still didn't know why.</p><p>The checkpoint
wizard's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed in a dead
faint. Harry shrugged and moved forward, eyes fastened on the gates
beyond him. <em>One less person to fight.</em></p><p>And then the gates
opened, and out poured a flood of wizards in dark robes, moving with
a battle-trained precision that Harry recognized. <em>Aurors.</em></p><p>He felt a glimmer of
magic from behind him, and a tiny mote of light darted towards the
Aurors. Syrinx, Harry knew; he doubted Draco or either of the
Rosier-Henlin twins would have used Light magic. The Aurors, busy
arraying themselves into a battle line, didn't notice as the tiny
mote divided into many parts, one for each of them, and drifted up to
hover in the corners of their eyes.</p><p>They sure as hell
noticed when each mote grew into a sunrise, though, blinding them and
sending them sprawling backwards, clawing at their faces. Harry
glanced over his shoulder and nodded, to let Syrinx know he was
proud. Behind them, the lift landed with another load of their
allies.</p><p>Harry faced the gates
and began walking over and between the sprawled Aurors. Everyone who
was actually entering the Ministry had memorized the map of
Tullianum, and knew how to get there. Besides, with Harry going in
front of them, the wards should be broken by the time they reached
it, and the hidden prison revealed.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Narcissa knew what
Lucius would say to her, when he arrived. She had known from his low,
furious voice through the door this morning what had happened. She
hadn't heard the conversation, but she didn't need to. Draco had
made the choice she always suspected he would, and now the only thing
that remained was to go and join him.</p><p>Her trunk was packed.
She had on a gown that Lucius should recognize, since she had worn it
the day when they heard of Sirius's final strike against his
abusive parents. Subtle gray, accented with silver on the sleeves and
the skirt, it spoke of a great wrong done by one's own family, and
the wearer of the gown having the strength to endure and mourn the
wrong.</p><p>Lucius would recognize
it the moment he came through the door into her room, and Narcissa
knew one of two things would happen then. She was hoping that she
need only stand, hold Lucius's eyes, turn, and Apparate. She could
pass out through the wards of Malfoy Manor as Lucius's wife, and
she had checked; the wards on Grimmauld Place were still open to
welcome her. Regulus had arranged that exception before he left, and
Harry had never sought to end it.</p><p>She waited.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus stood straight
as every alarm in his office, it seemed, began to shrill. These were
alarms he hadn't installed, and Fudge hadn't ether; they were
old, meant to warn the Minister that the Ministry's entrances were
under attack. Rufus reached for his wand, wondering if it was Death
Eaters, or werewolves determined to free their pack members, or
perhaps Dionysus Hornblower, who had tried this more than once—</p><p>And then he felt the
wash and sweep of magic from below. A Lord-level wizard was in the
Ministry, and his power rose, flooding the rooms, destroying the
wards, hitting those who would try to fight him and making a good
portion of them cower and whimper in fear. The power did not have the
tainted edge that Rufus knew from viewing the left-over remnants of
Voldemort's spells, and he didn't think Falco Parkinson, whom the
Liberator had warned him about, would try a strike like this, not
when he was committed to cautious movement and watchful observance.</p><p>That left only one
person.</p><p>And now he heard the
unspoken <em>Not yet</em> on the heels of Harry's promise that he
wouldn't invade Tullianum, and damned himself for a fool.</p><p>"What is it, sir?"
Percy's voice was nearly as shrill as one of the ringing wards, and
Rufus reminded himself that the boy was still very young, a trainee
Auror.</p><p>"Harry," said
Rufus, which explained it all, really. He reached into his desk
drawer, pulling out a ring of gray metal that contained an old signet
in the shape of a flowering rose, and tossed it to Percy. Percy
fumbled, but caught it, and stared at him, looking confused. "Go to
Burke," Rufus commanded. "Now. Show her that ring. The Aurors are
bound to obey me and not Bones in a situation like this. She'll
know what this means. <em>Now</em>," he stressed, when Percy went on
blinking.</p><p>Percy stood straight
then, nodded, and ran madly out of the room. Rufus slid his wand into
its holster, gathered one more object from his drawer, and stepped
out of his office, nodding to the two Aurors who waited on guard.</p><p>"You're with me,"
he said. "Sworn to secrecy, of course. I'll know who talked about
this if anyone did, and gut 'em. You understand me?"</p><p>Both of them nodded,
eyes wide with something between fear and battle-joy. Rufus reached
out and slapped the flat piece of stone he held against the wall. Not
all the Ministers had used this set of defenses, because not all
Ministers had been battle-trained. But Rufus was, and he intended to
defend his ground and his people.</p><p>Magic embedded in the
walls shimmered and hissed in response to the touch of the stone
plaque—place magic, based on spells woven in when the building was
constructed. Rufus didn't think any modern wizard would know how to
weave them, and that was a true pity. The stones ground aside, and
opened up a steep descent, something between a staircase and a chute.
Numbers along the walls marked where various floors were. Rufus
nodded. He would go to the tenth level and wait there. Better than
running madly all over the Ministry trying to catch Harry.</p><p>Rufus had no doubt
that Harry was making for the prison, to free as many werewolves as
possible. He forced himself, however, to strip the emotions from that
idea, and only consider it as part of battle tactics. It didn't
matter that he was facing a man he would have been proud to consider
a leader and a friend. What mattered was that he was facing a man
making for Tullianum.</p><p>His bad leg did not
bother him as he went rapidly downstairs. On his way to battle, it
almost never did.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>The door opened.</p><p>Narcissa stood. Lucius
was entering with an expression on his face that was the closest
thing he could come to gentle, and which he wouldn't have used if
there were anyone to see, including house elves. He must have
banished them from this part of the Manor. He had bad news to tell
her, said the look in his eyes, but he hoped that they would be the
stronger for it.</p><p>He saw her. He saw the
gown. He <em>stopped</em>. Narcissa had never seen him judder to a stop
before. She did not think she was ever likely to see it again, so she
appreciated it while she could.</p><p>She stood there a
moment more, letting him absorb the message of the colors and the
packed trunk, and the fact that she considered it was he who had done
the wrong and not Draco, and then turned, stooping to reach for the
trunk.</p><p>Lucius's snarl
behind her, harsh and low, told her that he was not going to take the
dignified way out after all.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry had seized
control of the lifts as he had the telephone box, commandeering them
all to transport his allies to the level below the Department of
Mysteries, where Tullianum's entrance was located. The people who
had been riding the lifts had given them skittish looks and piled off
at once, meaning that the bulk of his allies had reached the bottom
with no casualties, except the blinded Aurors in the Atrium. Harry
was cautiously pleased.</p><p>Granted, they had only
gone down two floors, since the Atrium was on the eighth, but Harry
was still hopeful.</p><p>He stepped out of the
lift onto the tenth level, and found a stiff wind of resistance
meeting his magic. This close, the presence of the Stone was
overwhelming. Harry could feel it like the throb of a living
heart—or, no, since many small shocks ran through it, perhaps the
throb of a living brain was closest. He shook his head and glanced
over his shoulder. Honoria had lifted the illusions, so that they
could see who was there and not there, and wouldn't bump into each
other. She did circle overhead as a gull, though, ready to cast more
illusions as they were needed.</p><p>Moody was missing, of
course. Moody had explained that while his contacts trusted <em>him</em>,
they were reluctant to show their entrances to the Ministry to anyone
else, so they would cause havoc elsewhere while Harry and his allies
went for the prison. They had provided the current signal that would
unlock the room where the prisoners' wands were located, which
neither Moody nor Tonks had known, since it was changed every few
days. Harry had considered asking how Moody's allies had known it,
and then decided not to.</p><p>The centaurs were not
present, any of them. Bone had continued to smile when Harry asked
him what was going to happen, except for mentioning the centaur
office in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical
Creatures. In the end, Harry had given up and accepted that the
centaurs would serve as another distraction.</p><p>And Thomas, of course,
had his own reasons for coming along. Harry was content to leave him
to them.</p><p>He faced forward. They
were in a dimly-lit hallway of dark stone, similar to the dungeons at
Hogwarts, but absolutely dry. Harry snorted. When he first came here
with Dumbledore, to watch the vote of no confidence for Fudge,
Dumbledore had told him there was no way to reach the tenth level
except through the ninth. But both Tonks and Moody had insisted
otherwise, and when he had asked the lifts to drop further than the
ninth level, they'd done so. <em>So much for secrets that only the
Hogwarts Headmaster is supposed to know.</em></p><p>He took a step
forward.</p><p>The ceiling above them
opened, and dozens of tiny glass globes laden with the time-reversing
dust that Harry recognized from the attack on the Hogwarts Express
fell out.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Narcissa shook her
sleeve, and her wand fell into her hand. She turned to face Lucius,
holding it, and surprised him again, as the sight of the gown had.
He'd taken a single step forward, his own wand already out, lips
open in the incantation for the Body-Bind, but he paused when he saw
her readiness.</p><p>His expression
remained surprised after a few moments, even though Narcissa thought
it should have changed back by now. After all, he was the one who had
started this, had turned this into a duel instead of letting her
Apparate away and thinking on his mistakes. She wondered that he
thought she was unprepared to face him.</p><p>They hadn't dueled
with spells since the early years of their courtship. That didn't
matter. They had dueled countless times since then, with words and
silences and gestures and the way they raised their son. This was
only a return to what had been, the eternal blaze of a wheel spinning
round.</p><p>Lucius found his voice
then, and not in a curse. "Why, Narcissa?"</p><p>"Do you remember,"
Narcissa asked him softly, "the question that you put to me on
Draco's first birthday?"</p><p>He did. Of course he
did. Her husband did not forget things like that. His face went blank
again, and Narcissa approved. Lucius had made several stupid mistakes
in the past few days, but she would truly have worried if he could
not have regained his self-control.</p><p>"I joked," Lucius
said.</p><p>"I didn't," said
Narcissa. "I always tell you the truth, Lucius, somehow. You are
the one who chose not to see it."</p><p>He stood where he was,
motionless as a sleeping portrait, and watched her. Narcissa waited.
The tension in the room washed over them like the tension before a
building storm, and she could see Lucius's muscles coiling in
response to it.</p><p>Narcissa didn't joke
about things like this. Lucius had asked her what would happen if she
ever had to choose between her husband and her son, and Narcissa had
told him she would choose her son. He had kissed her, laughing, and
then they had put Draco into the cot and gone to bed themselves.
Narcissa had assumed he had listened to her.</p><p>He had not, and
underneath everything else Narcissa felt a stir of irritation. Lucius
was prone to value his own opinion above those of others, but this
was ridiculous, not thinking his wife was an equal partner in their
marriage, with a will as strong as his own.</p><p>And so it had come to
this—not because Narcissa or Draco had done anything, not at root,
but because Lucius's pride had blinded him to truths he should
always have acknowledged as true.</p><p>Appropriately, Lucius
cast the first spell.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry felt his mind go
blank, but the emotion there was neither surprise nor shock. It might
have been rage.</p><p>"<em>Modero</em>,"
he intoned, as he had with the telephone box, and the globes
clustered into a delicate mass and flew at him. Harry held up his
hand and controlled their flight. They didn't shatter, but hovered
around him, shimmering delicately in the dim light. Harry stared into
them, and saw that, unbroken, the dust twirled through shining
patterns that had nothing to do with gravity. He shook his head.</p><p>Then he lifted his
head. The pulses of the Stone were singing again, and Merlin knew
what it would command the Unspeakables to do next, now that this
first trap hadn't worked.</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath and opened his <em>absorbere</em> gift. He hadn't been
planning to do this, since their first purpose was rescuing the
werewolves, but now he didn't care any longer. If the Department of
Mysteries was going to attack them from above and behind, he would
give them something else to think about.</p><p>He drank the magic
from the globes, which made the dust stop sparkling and settle into
useless rubbish on the bottom of the glass. He drank the power from
the chutes that had opened to drop the baubles, and reached behind
them, towards a store of rich magic that had nothing to do with the
Stone. He swallowed and gulped and absorbed, and he felt himself ring
with power, growing swollen with it. He was draining artifacts he had
never seen, and he did not care. The whole purpose of this was to put
the Unspeakables on the defensive, and make them more concerned with
protecting their precious Department than attacking one individual.</p><p>He felt the
Unspeakables begin to react; the Stone's pulses changed direction
and grew more urgent. Harry grabbed some of the magic he'd
swallowed and sent it flowing in a massive slap into the Department
of Mysteries. Hopefully, that would be enough to knock the
Unspeakables silly.</p><p>Then he faced the door
that Moody's contacts said hid the prisoners' wands. There was a
ward keyed to a password covering it, and a strong enough one that
Harry would ordinarily have been glad to have the password. Now,
though, he was practically bloated with the magic he'd swallowed,
and most of that magic had to do with time.</p><p>He released it in a
narrow beam at the wooden door. The door promptly began to age, the
wood turning into puffs of harmless dust that curled around each
other and blew away. The room beyond appeared, a neat set of shelves
stacked with wand-cases, and showed two Aurors scrambling to their
feet, breathless with surprise.</p><p>Harry looked them in
the eye and said, "I want to know where the wand of every werewolf
you've put in Tullianum is. That includes Hawthorn Parkinson, and
your former comrades from the Department for the Control and
Suppression of Deadly Beasts." When they hesitated, he used his
magic to deepen his voice. "<em>Now.</em>"</p><p>The walls trembled.
The Aurors nodded and began to work, one of them pulling wand-cases
off the shelves while another flipped through notes on the table,
probably to look up names and descriptions she didn't know off the
top of her head.</p><p>Harry caught a glimpse
of a door opening in the side of his vision—further down the
corridor, towards the hidden entrance to Tullianum. He turned sharply
just as the Minister stepped into view.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Narcissa spun aside
from the Cage Curse, and dropped to one knee beyond the table that
she usually used to write her correspondence. Sometimes, she had
considered telling Lucius about all the traps she'd built into the
furniture in this room, and then she had put aside the notion. A
woman must be allowed to have her little secrets, her mother had told
her once.</p><p>Narcissa used one of
them now, brushing her fingers along a carved dragon on the table
leg.</p><p>There was a click, and
several holes opened along the table's legs and rim and underside,
firing a series of tiny silver darts at Lucius. He had to move his
wand fast to deal with them, and in the meantime Narcissa seated
herself on the table, legs crossed and swinging idly, wand braced on
a knee.</p><p>It was one thing to
best Lucius in a duel. It was another to make him realize he had
lost. She would not do that unless she managed to trounce him with
composure, and not only with magic.</p><p>Lucius finished off
the last of the darts. Narcissa aimed her wand at him and murmured,
"<em>Acclaro iactatia</em>."</p><p>There was nothing
Lucius Malfoy did hate more than showing his emotions.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Thomas had seen the
young red-haired wizard duck into the Head Auror's office and then
out again, but he hadn't removed the glamour on himself. Nor had he
done anything when other Aurors began to rush from behind their
desks, milling around like bees with ants invading their hive before
they organized and marched out. He waited until the door to her
office actually opened from the inside, and then he stepped forward,
dropped the glamour, put himself in the way, and smiled at her.</p><p>"Hello, Priscilla,"
he said.</p><p>His wife halted in
mid-stride. Thomas studied her, rejoicing, as always, in the way she
looked. She was taller than he was, and her blonde hair hung to her
shoulders, and her face was stern and neutral. Well, not entirely
neutral, not right now. She expressed enough shock at seeing him,
Merlin knew.</p><p>"Thomas," she
whispered.</p><p>Thomas nodded. "I'm
here with Harry," he said. "A lot of us are here with Harry, in
fact, including some goblins. Did you know that a <em>vates</em>
destroys webs just by being around them? But the goblins' web he
broke under his own power. The northern goblins are free again,
Priscilla. We're living in the middle of a new age." He cocked
his head and smiled. "I always wanted to study history, and now I'm
<em>living</em> it. That's much more exciting."</p><p>Priscilla stared over
his shoulder, as if she expected the Minister himself to come
marching up between the desks and scold her for taking a moment to
talk with her husband. "Thomas, I can't stay," she said.
"I—someone invaded the Ministry—" And then she stopped,
doubtless realizing who had invaded the Ministry, and put a hand to
her mouth. Her eyes, staring at him, became wet.</p><p>Thomas reached out and
patted her hand. "We hardly expect you to take wing and follow us,
my dear," he said. He was sad to see Priscilla so distressed, so
torn. He'd wanted to come and talk to her, make sure she knew that
even though they were on opposite sides now, he didn't blame her.
How could he? She had been appointed Head Auror long before the
Ministry had passed its ridiculous, nonsensical rules against
werewolves, and she couldn't have known that things would get this
bad. "I won't ask you to call off the Aurors, either. I just
wanted to talk to you and tell you about my own decisions. I've
decided to remember that I'm Harry's ally first and foremost."</p><p>"Thomas," she said
again, but this time there was a wealth of pain in her words.</p><p>Thomas leaned forward
and kissed her on the cheek. Priscilla turned her head away, and—was
she crying? Thomas hadn't planned on that. He hadn't wanted that.
He patted her arm in an awkward attempt at comfort. This choosing of
free wills thing was obviously harder than it had looked when he'd
seen Harry's Malfoy beaming at his side. He had thought that going
to his wife and explaining his choice would be nobler than writing
her a letter or leaving her to learn about it on her own. Now,
though, she looked as though someone had taken a hot iron to her
chest, and Thomas didn't feel much better himself. He wasn't sure
if the pain was more like a hot iron or like someone hitting him with
a heavy cudgel, however. He wondered how he could find out.</p><p>"I love you," he
told her. "And I get to see a <em>vates</em>. And I'll understand
anything the Minister has you do to the rebellion. Ministers don't
tend to like being rebelled against, after all, or take it kindly.
Don't be sorry for me, my dear. We are living in such interesting
times."</p><p>He kissed her one more
time, and then turned to go down to the fourth level, where the
centaurs had said to meet them. Along the way, he decided that the
pain <em>was</em> more like being slammed in the chest with a cudgel.
Shock waves seemed to be passing through his body just under his
ribs.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Lucius felt his wife's
curse strike him, and snarled. He knew what it did, and he hated how
he couldn't <em>defend himself</em> because the darts had put him
off-balance just long enough for the curse to strike him.</p><p>A voice began to wail
from the side of his head, the voice of the shock and pain he felt.
Then another began to mutter in anger. So soft and heated were the
words that only the names of Draco, Harry, and Narcissa could
occasionally be made out. And a third voice started crooning about
its own stupidity.</p><p>Lucius knew his cheeks
were flushing, that he was losing control of the impulse to shout at
his wife. But how could she have done this? He had known she would
understand that Draco's disownment was for the good of the
family—and if she had not, why hadn't she come to him at once, so
he could explain?</p><p>He always struck back
when someone hurt him. Always. He had never considered what would
happen if Narcissa hurt him, though.</p><p>He knew he should
plan, and rationally determine the best course. But the betrayal was
too great, and too sudden, and the muttering voices around him,
showing off the emotions that he wanted to keep buried and
controlled, didn't <em>help</em>.</p><p>Knowing he should hold
back, but no more capable of doing so than of flying without a broom,
Lucius whipped his wand sideways and cast a curse that would cause
Narcissa's pretty skin to come up all boils. It would not ruin her
beauty permanently, but the pain was sharp and stinging. He wanted to
hear her scream.</p><p>Anything but have her
sit there, legs crossed in the dove-gray gown trimmed with silver,
quietly laughing, and aware of how very much more in control she was
than he was, and having to consider, because of it, that perhaps he
had been wrong to disown Draco.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus saw Harry's
stunned face turned towards him. He saw the people gathered around
Harry in the narrow hallway, including Tonks, identifiable at once by
the frizz of blue hair around her head, and <em>goblins</em>, <em>goblins</em>
of all creatures, with bows and spears and glowing white chains in
their hands.</p><p>He didn't allow
himself to think about them. He knew Harry, and though he would never
have wanted to use that knowledge to battle Harry, now that it had
come to this, his wants had very little to do with it. He flicked his
wand and intoned the spell that he had to use—nonverbal, of course.
Harry would have stopped him at any cost if he heard him utter it.</p><p>Draco Malfoy spun out
of the line of allies and towards Rufus, summoned by the urgent
<em>Accio</em>. He stumbled twice, and once nearly regained his feet
and resisted the magic, but the distance separating them was short,
and Rufus grabbed his shoulder before he could break free. He laid
his wand against Malfoy's throat, and to his credit the boy
understood the threat and went limp and quiet. Rufus raised his eyes
to Harry's and held them there.</p><p>Harry was <em>ablaze</em>.
Magic ran around him in colored ripples, blue fading to green and
then to indigo and fiery patterns that mimicked the colors of a
phoenix. His face was unearthly, green eyes glowing with the force
and fury of a suicidal fanatic's. Rufus saw enough power dripping
from the end of his left arm to nearly form another hand there,
perhaps, if he had paid attention to it.</p><p>Rufus took a deep
breath of relief. He had managed to reach Harry before he freed
anyone from Tullianum, or, in fact, did anything irreparable. And he
understood Harry's weakness. So long as Malfoy was in his custody,
Harry wasn't about to move against him. Rufus would never hurt the
boy, of course, but he had no qualms about using him as a hostage to
prevent this—this madness. Just the thought of what would happen if
Harry broke the werewolves out of Tullianum was making his head reel.</p><p>"Harry—" he
began.</p><p>Then someone pushed
him out of his own head. It was so sudden that Rufus had no chance to
resist. One moment he was in control of his body and the next he
wasn't, sitting in a tiny prison cell in the very back of his mind.
He felt his arm uncurl from around Malfoy's throat and the wand
lift. Then he turned and calmly Stunned the two Aurors with him,
adjusting Malfoy's body so that it didn't fall to the floor at
the same time.</p><p>Then he lifted his
wand and Stunned himself.</p><p>Rufus felt the
invading presence leap and pass out of his ears, and then <em>he</em>
was the one with the stiffening limbs, the ringing ears, the shriek
of protest in his mind that did no good as he felt Malfoy open his
eyes and shake his head and step away from him. He <em>did</em> think
he heard the presence, the possessing mind of Draco bloody Malfoy,
chuckle.</p><p>Well he might chuckle,
Rufus thought, before he fell and dimness claimed him. He had
forgotten entirely about Malfoy's possession gift, which he'd
heard the truth of from Malfoy's own lips, and he deserved
everything that happened as a result of that.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Narcissa recognized
the curse Lucius was using, and, more than anything, <em>that</em> made
her sad. Lucius truly had lost control of himself. He probably
imagined that she would hurt, and cry out, and then apologize in a
little girl voice, and that would be the end of it. She wondered if
he remembered that she had stopped being a good little girl a long
time ago. In fact, she didn't think she'd been a girl since the
first time she saw one of Bella's rages, long before she knew
Lucius.</p><p>She dropped off the
table, her gown tangling around her and incidentally providing a
shield of sorts against any other curses that might come her way. She
rolled along the floor, back towards her trunk and away from Lucius,
and she heard him casting another curse. This one was a pain curse.
Narcissa felt some relief. That one would make her scream like a
woman, at least, and he flung it with a strength Bella would have
approved of.</p><p>She lifted <em>Protego,
</em>then flicked her wand towards the sound of the voices muttering
about Lucius's emotions. She did not need her eyes to hurt him, and
she used the Blood Whip, the curse that make shields explode, so
Lucius would have to duck or have his throat ripped out. It was the
reason she had spoken the incantation aloud. At the moment, lost in
the depths of rage as he was, she could have killed him if she used
the spell nonverbally and he had no idea what was coming, and she
wanted him to know that, and know that she knew.</p><p>Narcissa sat up again,
and found Lucius on his knees, panting, glaring at her. His blond
hair was mussed, and the Blood Whip had hit him on the side of the
neck after all, inflicting a long gash that would take some time to
heal. Narcissa was surprised and disappointed that he had slipped
<em>that</em> far. She shook her head.</p><p>"Regain your
composure, Lucius," she said softly. "Or I will start to think
that you have no Malfoy pride left."</p><p>He lashed his wand.</p><p>Narcissa's eyes went
dark, her hand went limp, and an invisible grasp grabbed her throat
and began to squeeze.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Thomas met the chaos
on the third floor. He started to see people running madly away from
the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures,
all of them shrieking at the top of their lungs. He shook his head
and wondered why. He would either be running <em>towards</em> something
interesting, or trying to ambush it, and so crouching in one place
with his voice silent and still. But then, people had always screamed
too much, in his opinion.</p><p>A witch grabbed his
shoulder and tried to drag him along with her. Thomas shrugged her
off and turned to stare at her. She stared back, panting. She had
dark hair that stuck up straight from the back of her head. Thomas
was charmed. He knew from studying GUTOEKOM that that probably meant
she had some trace of lightning magic, but he had only seen those
kinds of people in dry words on a page, never met any in reality. He
opened his mouth to ask her about her family history, but she
interrupted him.</p><p>"<em>Run!</em>" she
screamed in his face, and left Thomas blinking. There was no need to
be rude, he thought, even if one <em>was</em> on the verge of
panicking. "There are centaurs running up and down the corridors!"</p><p>Thomas brightened. So
they had managed to find a way into the Department for the Control
and Regulation of Magical Creatures after all, just the way they had
promised Harry they would. "How many?" he asked eagerly. "And
do you know how they got there?"</p><p>The witch stared at
him some more, while Thomas patiently waited for an answer to his
question. Then she spat at his feet, said, "Fine, it's your
funeral," and turned for the stairs, pushing him away. Thomas
stepped back to let other people get past, and reached the bottom of
the stairs with a little shrug.</p><p>When he poked his head
into the Department, he grinned. Bone and three other centaurs, all
palomino, were indeed galloping up and down the corridor, whooping
and stabbing with their spears at the walls. Thomas wondered if
anyone else had noticed the small white sparks that were flying from
their hooves, indicative of magic. Probably not. A little danger was
enough to make sure people never noticed the important things in
life, unless they were research wizards.</p><p>He hailed Bone by
name, and the centaur looked up at him and nodded, without ever
stopping his steady gallop. His hooves shook the walls. Thomas
listened, and realized there were many more hoofbeats than there
should be, with this small a herd in the Ministry. He laughed.</p><p>"It's partly
illusion, isn't it?" he asked, cupping his hands around his mouth
to increase the power of his yell.</p><p>Bone nodded at him
again. Thomas grinned in excitement. That fit directly into some of
the GUTOEKOM theories that he had debated endlessly with Petrovitch.
Petrovitch was one of those adherents to the idea that magical
creature magic was fundamentally different from wizard magic, so
different that no mere wizard could hope to understand it. But Thomas
had done what any sensible research wizard would do and looked for
clues in the middle of old theories about ancient Grecian magic,
since centaurs had come from Greece in the first place.</p><p>And sure enough, he'd
found ideas about centaur magic there. This was just confirmation of
more. White sparks and illusions and magic that fed on fear,
probably, since everyone was running around and screaming their heads
off. Thomas leaned on the wall and tried to think about the way to
word his conclusions to convince Petrovitch, while Bone led his
people around in one more grand sweep.</p><p>"It was the centaur
office, wasn't it?" he asked, just to make sure.</p><p>Bone nodded again.
Thomas smiled. That <em>settled</em> it, as far as he was concerned.
The centaurs could appear in places named after them and dedicated to
them, at least once they were free of their webs. The Ministry had
practically been asking for an invasion by having a room named the
centaur office. It was similar to the way that holy sites had worked
in ancient Greece, with the gods appearing at certain places and
stirring certain legends. Once a name and a dedication were in place,
they could appear. Not that the GUTOEKOM wizards had come to any sort
of consensus on just what the Greek gods had <em>been</em>, yet, or how
they fit into the magical systems, but that didn't matter. What
mattered was working out how they did it. Place magic, Thomas knew,
that was the key, but of what kind?</p><p>He was engaged in
these important speculations when the door on the staircase behind
him opened, and Aurors tried to invade the Department, firing curses
at the centaurs. Thomas was annoyed. He turned and hit the Aurors
with a Mandarin spell that would give them six legs instead of two,
so that <em>they</em> could see what it felt like to be interrupted
while they were trying to do something important.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Lucius watched his
wife struggling to breathe, and swallowed vicious satisfaction like a
shot of Firewhiskey. Narcissa should have known better than to
challenge him. Really, she <em>had</em> known better. She had to have
done so. But what mattered was that he had her under control now.
With the last of her breath, she was gasping, "Lucius, I yield."
Her fingers could barely stay curled around her wand any more.</p><p>Breathing heavily,
Lucius released the Choking Curse. He left the blinding one in place,
however, because he was not stupid. He walked over and stood staring
down at Narcissa. She barely looked as though she'd been fighting,
if one excused the few wrinkles in her gown. Lucius, meanwhile, was
well-aware of the mussed hair that stood away from his head, and how
his breath rushed in and out of his lungs with an audible rasping
noise, and how blood trickled over the side of his neck.</p><p>Not to mention the
voices muttering about his emotions. A fourth voice had joined the
others, a high-pitched whine that said how unfair things were, for
both Draco and Narcissa to betray him. Lucius did his best to ignore
it. He couldn't end the spell; it was one of those pesky ones, like
the Fisher King Curse, that only the caster could undo.</p><p>He bent over Narcissa
and examined her. No, he had been wrong about only the wrinkles in
her gown appearing, he saw; there were the bruises of the Choking
Curse on her throat. He reached down and laid his own fingers over
them, gently pinching the bruised skin and making Narcissa moan.</p><p>A fifth voice appeared
to talk about his arousal. Lucius bared his teeth in its general
direction. He had at least dismissed all the house elves from this
wing of the Manor, even if he had originally not wanted them to
witness Narcissa's tears.</p><p>The first thing he
knew of Narcissa's continuing defiance was when her wand hit the
side of his leg, and she whispered, "<em>Debilitas.</em>"</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry caught Draco's
hand and pulled him close to him, unable to speak, for just a moment,
of what it meant to him that Draco had both emerged unharmed from a
difficult situation and managed to Stun the Minister and his allies
so Harry would not have to fight them.</p><p>Draco grinned back at
him, a smug curve of his lips, and then kissed him hard enough to
hurt. Harry blinked as a cut appeared in his own lower lip, and Draco
whispered to him, "When we get back to Woodhouse, I am <em>so</em>
fucking you."</p><p>Harry shook his head,
soothed down the heat that wanted to appear in his belly at the
thought, and turned to face the guards in the wand-room again. They
had frozen at the sight of the Minister falling, but one look was
enough to make them scramble. They had freed perhaps thirty wands
from their cases already, Harry saw, and he wondered if they kept the
wands organized by recency of confinement to the prison. Or perhaps
all the werewolves' had been in one place.</p><p>He faced the door into
Tullianum. It glimmered with wards, of course, such strong ones that
most people wouldn't even notice it was there. Harry had acquired
enough power that it was visible to him. And the magic was running
through him, anxious to be used. He could destroy the wards with a
spectacular blow and protect the people in the tunnel with him at the
same time, the magic suggested.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
He wouldn't do that, on the off chance it would hurt someone. He
opened up his <em>absorbere </em>gift and ate the wards instead. They
dimmed steadily, and soon the door into Tullianum was just an
ordinary door, with a locking spell on it. He heard some of his
allies murmur as it appeared.</p><p>He glanced over his
shoulder, and grinned. Honoria was busy creating illusions, all of
big, grim wizards with dark robes and white masks and aimed wands,
facing down the corridor behind them. When the Aurors arrived—Harry
was a bit surprised they hadn't already, but supposed the
distractions were keeping them, well, distracted—then they wouldn't
know who was real and who wasn't for a good many moments. Besides,
the sight of pseudo-Death Eaters would panic them.</p><p>"Trumpetflower,"
he called. He blinked. His magic had crept into his voice, it seemed,
seeking expression any way it could, and he sounded like the
karkadann. "I need you here."</p><p>The witch was at his
side in moments, her nostrils flared. Harry needed her to sniff out
the cells that contained werewolves from the ones that didn't. He
had briefly considered a plan to free all the criminals in Tullianum,
to preoccupy the Aurors with trying to recapture them, but rejected
it. It would be on his head if a freed murderer did manage to escape,
or someone else who had done something they deserved to be locked
away for. It was for those who had committed no crime but suffering
that he had come.</p><p>"Ready?" he asked,
and Trumpetflower nodded. Harry reached out and snapped his fingers.</p><p>The door to Tullianum
wrenched open, showing the tunnel beyond. The guards standing there
cast a massed arsenal of spells the moment it happened.</p><p>Harry opened his mouth
and drank them in.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Narcissa felt her wand
jab home. Really, the moment Lucius had given in to temptation and
laid his fingers along her throat, he had been lost. She had known
where he was, and he hadn't paid attention to her hand tightening
around her wand once more. Then she had been able to jab her wand
forward, and the curse she chose really didn't distinguish between
which parts of the body it went into. It would weaken him no matter
what happened.</p><p>Lucius fell, folding
over himself with a graceless thump as all strength fled his limbs.
Narcissa rolled away from him, and coughed. The grip of fingers on
her throat still hurt, and she grimaced to think about what the
bruises would look like. But a glamour would cover them, and she had
won.</p><p>She touched her wand
to her eyes and murmured, "<em>Finite Incantatem.</em>" In a
moment, the blinding curse cleared, and she could see. She shook her
head and stepped across the room to her mirror, fixing her hair back
into place with several small whispered spells. The face that looked
back at her was pale, but still composed enough. She touched her wand
to her throat, and the marks of fingers disappeared.</p><p>She turned around and
came back to face Lucius again. His eyes widened, and his panting was
nearly spasmodic as she bent over him. But Narcissa, wiser than he,
watched his wand hand, and she saw the fingers twitch and then fall
limp, too tired to get a grip of any kind.</p><p>"Too bad, Lucius,"
she said softly. "You should have remembered that, even though you
are a stronger duelist than I am, I have won all the duels into which
I poured my full heart. All our duels over Draco. Not to mention the
one we fought because you wanted me to take the Mark, and, because I
won that, you never brought it up again." She pressed her lips to
his temple, feeling a surge of pity for him, her proud, handsome
husband brought so low. The voices around him were all muttering in
various tones of humiliation now.</p><p>Pity or no pity, she
still kicked his wrist, hard, as he tried to snatch the hem of her
gown. Lucius fell back with a moan.</p><p>"Think to yourself,"
Narcissa told him. "Ask yourself why I would have poured my full
heart into this, why I wanted to win so badly." She kissed him, bit
his lip, and turned, picking up her trunk on the way.</p><p>Just before she
Apparated to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, she summoned the house
elves back to this wing of the Manor. It would not do for Lucius to
lie helpless on the floor for the hours it would take the <em>Debilitas</em>
curse to wear off.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Hawthorn put her hands
over her face and tried to breathe. All her limbs hurt, and her
clothes were shredded. She had torn them herself, in the frenzy of
her change. Her jailers had made her put them back on, insisting that
they had nothing else for her to wear.</p><p>She had stayed here,
in this narrow cell scarcely wider than she was and without a bed,
for two nights without Wolfsbane. She had held out a feeble hope
that, because the moonlight could not reach her through the thick
stone, she would not transform, but of course she had. Her mind had
vanished for the first time in two years, and she had become a
ravening beast who would have slain her husband and daughter, had
they appeared living in front of her. Denied that, she had clawed at
the stone and bitten at herself. She had urinated in the corners of
the cell, and the smell of piss was, to her, the smell of
degradation.</p><p>Known as a werewolf,
she had no life left to look forward to. Delilah Gloryflower had
survived her revelation because she had a powerful family surrounding
her, one that could raise constant legal challenges in the face of
the demands that she be turned over to Tullianum. Hawthorn was alone,
and the Aurors who descended on the Garden had <em>known</em> what she
was, both lycanthrope and former Death Eater. They might have hated
her enough for one or the other; with both, their contempt was
horrible. They'd only had to scratch her with silver, and Hawthorn
found herself becoming weak and sick. The scratch, high on her left
shoulder, still hurt like fire, and radiated angry red lines.</p><p>She wondered, in a
half-daze, if she would lose her left arm. She did not think she
could bear it as calmly as Harry had borne it.</p><p>The door to her cell
opened.</p><p>Hawthorn crouched back
into a corner, fighting the instinct to yelp and snarl. If she could
not face her torturers, or those come to lead her to trial, like a
pureblood witch—the torn robes and the wound and the <em>smell</em>
made that impossible—then at least she would not face them like a
beast.</p><p>She blinked. It was a
dream. It had to be. Harry stood in the door of the cell, with a
smile that faded rapidly as he watched her. Hawthorn knew the smile
did not fade because she had displeased him. It faded because,
impossibly, in a dream, he was here to rescue her, and he did not
like the way she had been treated.</p><p>Harry turned his head
and spoke words that Hawthorn did not understand, because the daze of
wonder was making her heart beat so hard she couldn't hear them.
Glamour appeared over her then, cloaking the rents in her robes,
making them look whole again. Another glamour spread around the cell,
masking the stains and the sharp smell of piss. Hawthorn began to
believe that this was real, and that she might come forth from her
confinement with some dignity after all.</p><p>Harry reached out and
grasped her right arm, drawing her to her feet. Hawthorn couldn't
restrain a gasp of pain as her left arm was jolted, and Harry's
eyes went at once to the wound. They narrowed. Hawthorn held still
and let him study it as long as he pleased. The pain was nothing next
to the fact that she now knew no one could just gape at her bare
skin.</p><p>Then Harry said
quietly, "Let's go. We still have to get everyone out of here."
The eyes he raised to her face blazed with anger, and for the first
time, Hawthorn realized the magic around him, thick with a smell like
evergreens at the break of day. "And they can never hurt you like
this again," he said.</p><p>Spoken that way, it
didn't sound like a promise, but a certainty, a prophecy. Hawthorn
allowed herself to believe, and leaned on Harry's shoulder as he
led her out of the cell.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Falco bowed his head.
It had come, then.</p><p>He'd felt the burst
of magic from the Ministry as he worked on spinning yet another dream
for Harry, one he would be forced to pay conscious attention to; so
far, most of the others were shattering like thrown eggs against his
Occlumency, and he never seemed to acknowledge the odd image that
remained in his head. The dream split apart entirely as Falco heard
the bell ringing from the Ministry.</p><p><em>Clang, clang,
clang</em>, it reverberated across the country, and woke things better
left sleeping. Falco frowned as he felt Harry's power enter hidden
caves and make the creatures bound there stir, as it made the bones
of the dead dragon and the bones of the sleeping live one on the Isle
of Man shake, as it traveled out into the ocean and roused answering
screeches from the Augureys in Ireland.</p><p>Harry was raising his
magic in the Ministry itself, and this time, Falco knew it was not to
combat another Lord-level wizard. Tom was still in hiding, and no
other Lord or Lady had yet entered the country, though they were
watching, all of them, to see if the reckless youngster in Britain
would yet doom them all. Falco knew what reputation his island must
be gaining in the eyes of the international wizarding community, as a
household of hooligans, and was ashamed.</p><p>Tom, Harry's proper
opponent, was yet too weak to take him on. Falco had not managed to
find any way of healing his wound.</p><p>That meant it was up
to him.</p><p>He changed into his
sea eagle form and sped out of the paths of Dark and Light, aiming
for the real world. When he reached it, he would Apparate. It seemed
that it was time he and Harry met in battle, face to face.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 33*: Against the Lord of Sea Eagles</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Six: Against the Lord of Sea
Eagles</strong></p><p>Harry could feel his
anger rising. The moment he saw Hawthorn crouched in the corner of
her cell like some whipped dog, it had begun, and now it traced a
glowing, warm path up from his belly to his throat, waiting to
explode. The magic that danced around him and within him only urged
it higher, because once his temper exploded, the magic knew he would
use it more.</p><p>He concentrated on the
warmth of Hawthorn's arm around his shoulders, on the way she
leaned on him, and reminded himself again and again that he couldn't
explode, that he needed to get her and the others out of here and
insure they survived. He murmured reassurances, and took down the
wards on the doors that Trumpetflower identified as having werewolves
behind them, and tamed his anger again and again, shoving it back
into determination. <em>I'll let them survive. I'll get them out.
I have to remember that our purpose here is to keep them all alive
and insure they reach Woodhouse, not taking revenge.</em></p><p>He was sorry now that
he hadn't managed to think of a tactic for handling the
Unspeakables' time globes other than swallowing the magic. No one
needed this much power, and it was already shoving at him with ideas
of its own, since he held it so tightly in confinement. Harry didn't
know what its personality would be like if he allowed it to finish
growing, but he knew already it was mischievous.</p><p><em>Have to keep going</em>,
he thought, and reminded himself that anger hadn't saved Kieran,
and anger at the Minister hadn't been the best way to handle that
situation. Draco had been smug and chuckling when he possessed
Scrimgeour. With that example of rage-handling in front of him, how
could Harry justify losing his temper?</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>Harry turned his head.
Trumpetflower was standing in front of a door, her neck bent to one
side and a puzzled expression on her face. "What is it?" he
asked, wondering if she had smelled a werewolf imprisoned here whom
they hadn't been told about.</p><p>"I—"
Trumpetflower gave him a sharp look. "She isn't a lycanthrope,
but there is someone in here who smells like you, Wild."</p><p>Harry knew at once who
it must be, and he refused to allow himself to react. Lily wasn't
part of his life any longer. Neither was James. Both were in
Tullianum, behind locked doors, but there were plenty of locked doors
they passed without releasing the prisoners. These would just be two
more. He shrugged. "I know who it is, and she stays here," he
said.</p><p>Trumpetflower's eyes
widened. "Very well," she said, and stepped away from the door as
if it were warded with blades.</p><p><em>Damn it. I
frightened her.</em> Harry turned to count the werewolves behind them,
automatically adjusting his posture so that he could support
Hawthorn. There were thirty-three, and a thirty-fourth was freed as
he watched and had her wand pushed into her hand. Harry nodded. <em>We're
close to getting out of here. And I have to remember that our primary
purpose is to keep them alive. Remember that.</em></p><p>"Wild?"</p><p>Harry turned. Rose was
near the front of the line, her nostrils flaring as she stood near a
door that wasn't as heavily warded as the others. She glanced at
him and let her tongue loll out of her mouth in a grin. "Do we have
room for one more werewolf to accompany us to the valley?" she
asked.</p><p>Harry blinked. "Of
course. Who is it?" He reached out and drained the magic from the
wards, and Rose easily smashed the lock and opened the door.</p><p>The boy inside looked
no older than Harry himself, though both taller and stronger. He was
already sniffing, and his eyes were a brilliant enough amber that
Harry knew he must have been bitten young. He stepped forward and
touched his cheek to Rose's before he glanced at Harry.</p><p>"My name is
Evergreen," he said. "I was part of Loki's pack. You must be
our new alpha. You have the transferred smell about you."</p><p>Harry fought to keep
from grimacing at the mention of Loki, and thought he was successful.
"Yes," he said. "And I do remember you. You were the one who
bit Elder Gillyflower and—" <em>And started this mess, </em>he
wanted to say, but now was not the time or the place to sound
accusing. "And went to Tullianum for it," he finished. "Even
though you were born a Muggle."</p><p>Evergreen grinned.
"That's me." He touched Rose's shoulder and moved around her
into the corridor. "It's good to see you again, Rose." He
glanced up and down the hallway. "This is a general jailbreak?"</p><p>"No," said Harry,
as Trumpetflower yelped near another door and he reached out to
remove the wards on that one. "Only for people unfairly accused of
no other crime than being werewolves and tossed in here."</p><p>Evergreen's grin
widened. "It's good to see that you're doing what Loki wanted
you to do," he said. "Even if it <em>is</em> later than he wanted,
and took more provocation than he thought it would."</p><p>Harry didn't respond
to that. He watched as the newly released werewolf reclaimed his
wand, and listened.</p><p>There was some strange
sound under the reverberations of power all through the tunnel. Harry
could feel it drawing nearer like a storm; it definitely came from
outside the Ministry. If he concentrated, he thought it sounded like
jangling bells. A delicate sound, not threatening, but he shouldn't
have been able to hear it through this magic.</p><p>A Lord-level wizard
was coming. And while the power was barely familiar, since they had
met only once, Harry knew it must be Falco. He would have known
Voldemort anywhere, he thought.</p><p>Harry suppressed the
urge to scream. <em>He probably wants to scold me for rebelling
against the Ministry, or for not keeping his balance. And he will
certainly fight me. He wouldn't approach like this, forsaking all
caution, if he just wanted to watch.</em></p><p>He pushed the urge to
scream into more determination, and flung out his hand. If the magic
wanted to be used, then he had a use for it. He thought of the need
to keep the werewolves alive, to spare as many people casualties in
getting out of the Ministry as possible, and to reach Woodhouse
safely, and <em>pushed</em>.</p><p>The magic poured out
of him as if he were a hive and it were the honey, thick and viscous,
but assuming the shape he wanted it to make. A shining corridor
formed, bursting through the walls of Tullianum and running up
through the Ministry, finding the lift chute and running up from
there until it met the Atrium, then rising again until it hit the
surface of the alley. Harry concentrated, building the walls up,
making them as strong as wards backed by linked Shield Charms, so
that neither Unspeakables attacking from the sides with flung
artifacts nor Falco striking from above would get through.</p><p>He wanted them out of
here alive, and he wanted them out of here <em>safe</em>. When they
reached the end of the corridor, then people would have to Apparate;
Harry couldn't extend the corridor from London to Woodhouse without
breaking about fifty thousand laws centered around the International
Statute of Secrecy. But they had always known that. It was fighting
their way out of the Ministry, with the added complication of an
angry Lord-level wizard arriving, that was the problem.</p><p>He pressed his hand
against his throat, and cast <em>Sonorus</em>, so that when he spoke
everyone could hear him. "You'll have to take the corridor," he
said. "Follow it until it ends. As long as you stay in the path,
then nothing can hurt you. When you reach the end, you'll be
Apparating to a place called Woodhouse. If you don't know where it
is, Side-Along Apparate with someone who came with me. They know. You
should be safe there."</p><p>"What about not
wanting to go?" demanded one of the werewolves who must have been a
member of the Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly
Beasts. Harry didn't recognize her, at least. "If we escape with
you, like this, then the Ministry is going to see us as rebels."</p><p>"Your only
alternative is to stay here," said Harry. "And you should have
seen how the Ministry treats werewolves in Tullianum by now."</p><p>The woman hesitated,
as if for half a heartbeat she were thinking about Stunning him to
gain credit with the Ministry, but then she glanced around at the
people who had come with him and subsided. Most of her comrades were
already hurrying up the glittering path that stretched ahead of them.
Harry was glad to see Adalrico Bulstrode near the front of the line,
visible by his limp, urging people along with both dignity and grace.
Millicent wasn't far from his side. As long as those two were
there, Harry thought, he could count on the line to keep in order.</p><p>He turned his head
upward. Falco was very nearly level with the Ministry by now. Harry
thought, and a whip of light coiled around his body and rose up
through the stone, to gain form and substance when it entered the
air. It ought to be as good a signal as any other to Falco of <em>Here
I am</em>.</p><p>"Why aren't you
coming?" Draco asked him.</p><p>Harry started. It
seemed that people had obeyed orders for once in their lives, because
when he glanced around, he was standing near the back of the line.
Only Draco, Owen, Michael, and Syrinx stayed clustered close to him,
staring at him anxiously; most people were at least twenty feet away
down the corridor.</p><p>"Because Falco
Parkinson is approaching," he said, and saw Draco's eyes widen.
"Yes. Exactly. I need everyone else <em>out</em> of here. <em>Now</em>.
With luck, he won't want our duel to destroy the Ministry, but if
anyone associated with me remains here, he could attack them. <em>Move.</em>"</p><p>To his credit, Draco
started moving, but he reached back and caught Harry's left wrist
as he did so, and Harry's three sworn companions stayed at his
back. Harry growled under his breath—his being in the corridor
would probably encourage Falco to attack it—but the thought of the
arguments that would pop up later if he tried to badger Draco into
leaving him alone kept him moving. His eyes remained on the ceiling,
anxiously scanning. Falco's magic sill spoke from the air, not as
if he were diving under the ground and trying to strike from beneath.</p><p>Then the side of the
corridor split open, and Falco arrived from thin air, a wizard with
long, flying silver hair, clad in dark green robes that shone with
some symbol Harry thought might be a scale, his hand held out. Where
that hand moved, reality rippled, and Harry saw the corridor drying
up and flaking away.</p><p>He had no idea what
might happen if that hand touched him, and no time to find out. He
rolled, pushing Draco into Michael, Owen, and Syrinx, forcing them
backwards and away from the immediate scope of the duel. Then he
raised a shield that, he hoped, would keep them safe.</p><p>Falco had nearly
reached him by the time the shield was done. He launched the
reality-bubble at Harry's head.</p><p>Harry ate it. It cost
him to do so. He could feel the same dragging pain in his gut and
throat and magic that he had experienced when he was gathering in
Voldemort's tainted power during the Midsummer battle. Sooner or
later, the <em>absorbere </em>gift closed in on itself and tried to
digest what it had swallowed. Harry was reaching the point of
oversaturation. Not even creating the corridor so that his people
could escape unmolested had used as much magic as he hoped.</p><p>"I wish it did not
have to come to this," Falco said sadly, as he landed in front of
Harry. He still looked more than half sea eagle, his hair gleaming
like feathers, his feet having the shape edge of talons, as though he
had not bothered to complete his Animagus transformation. "If you
had Declared for Light, then I would have helped you as well as Tom.
Britain needs a Dark and a Light Lord, to keep the balance between
them both."</p><p>Harry didn't bother
answering. He had no idea what Falco could do; the best he could do
was gather in his own magic and release it in a form that he hoped
Falco wouldn't fight that well, because he knew that Falco didn't
share the same gifts that he and Voldemort did.</p><p>A dark green snake
solidified in front of him, one that had Sylarana's eyes, and
fangs, and Locusta venom. Harry hissed out a command in Parseltongue,
and it slid forward, gaze fixed on Falco.</p><p>Falco waved a lazy
hand. His power spluttered out and destroyed the snake. Harry rebuilt
it, the scales piling on even faster this time around. The magic,
happy to be of use and recognizing a familiar pattern, spun and dived
and darted and wove the serpent back into being in moments.</p><p>Falco dodged the
snake's first strike, but his gaze remained on Harry. Harry met it
fearlessly. He was fairly sure Falco was a Legilimens, but he didn't
think Falco had the power to compel him, any more than Voldemort or
Dumbledore had. Perhaps it would do the irascible old man good, to
realize that Harry had no intention of backing out of this rebellion.</p><p>In a moment, Harry
realized something was wrong, something <em>else</em> that Falco knew
and he had never studied. He couldn't remove his eyes from Falco's.
His mind was tingling and going numb, and his will to command his
magic was going to sleep. It wasn't compulsion, because Harry was
sure he would have struggled instinctively against that by now. It
just gave him—different thoughts.</p><p>Harry found his breath
slowing, his head lolling back on his neck, the sharp, urgent ideas
about getting the werewolves out alive deserting him. Falco carefully
stripped back those emotions and dived deeper into his mind.</p><p>And he found the anger
Harry had been suppressing.</p><p>Harry found himself
awake again, alive, the rage <em>bursting</em> out of him like a golden
fist out of his chest. It hit and crushed the snake, which was trying
to bite Falco once more, but it also hit and dealt Falco a stunning
blow. Harry saw him lose his feet and fly backwards, an expression of
true surprise on his face before he slammed into the stone of a
Tullianum corridor and lost all expression for a moment.</p><p>Harry snarled. His
ears rang with the karkadann's cry, and he felt as if her breath
were here, raking over him. He wanted to rend, to tear, to kill. He
thought of the way he had killed Dumbledore, and wanted to do the
same to Falco. He could strip him of all his magic, draining it into
another vessel so that he wouldn't lose the ability to swallow, and
then take even the magic that had kept him alive so long. Wouldn't
the Dark and the Light be pleased that someone who had fooled them
was dying? They must see that Falco wasn't going to grant his
allegiance to either one of them any time soon.</p><p>And then he heard a
voice cry out his name behind him, sharp and urgent, and <em>Draco</em>
blazed like a phoenix in his mind.</p><p>What was he doing? He
didn't have the time to drain Falco, assuming it was even possible;
Falco didn't have Dumbledore's fear of the prophecy paralyzing
him. His first goal was to get everyone out <em>alive.</em></p><p>Harry tamed his rage,
though now it felt like pulling on the reins of a cart to which the
karkadann was attached. He turned it, and sent it plunging in another
direction. He took a deep breath, and concentrated on a vision of the
corridor intact, whole, with the shimmering colors that made up its
walls spreading like oil slicks. <em>Impenetrable</em> oil slicks. He
just didn't have time for this. None of his people had time for
this.</p><p>He turned and checked
on Draco, Owen, Michael, and Syrinx. The shield that had sheltered
them was half-crumbled. Harry nodded sharply to them. "We're
going to run," he said. "Up the corridor. Go in front of me.
Don't look back. I need you at the end to help Apparate werewolves
to Woodhouse. I don't think they can have moved all of them out
yet."</p><p>Draco opened his
mouth. It looked like it was forming a protest. For that matter, Owen
looked as if he were going to join in the act.</p><p>Syrinx caught Harry's
eye, bowed, and said, "Of course. They need us." Then she began
to run. Owen hesitated, and then, as if he remembered that he bore
the lightning bolt scar, too, and didn't want a Light witch to
outdo him, he followed. Draco lingered, still staring hard at Harry.
Michael was probably not going until Draco did, Harry knew.</p><p>Harry saw Falco
stirring from the corner of his eye. They didn't have much time.
"Please," he said. "Draco. Run."</p><p>Falco vanished.</p><p>Harry felt his magic
as a pendulum swinging out, gathering momentum and weight on the way.
When it hit, it would be massive. Harry poured all his magic into the
strength of the corridor, all he had gathered and then some. He would
have cut a hole in his own magical core and drained out his power
like Voldemort's if he thought it would help.</p><p>"Not without you,"
said Draco.</p><p>When Falco's strike
landed, it would either splinter the corridor, or it would bounce
from Harry's shields. Harry didn't know what it would do to
anyone who stood with him, unprotected.</p><p>"<em>Go</em>!" Harry
screamed, and that seemed to convince Michael, if not Draco. He
grabbed Draco's arm and practically yanked him off his feet as he
started to run, feet drumming on blue light. Harry turned to face the
cut of the pendulum. It came back at him as if it had a scythe on the
end, like a pendulum he had seen once in the Room of Requirement,
when he used it to heal from what his parents had done to him.</p><p>Harry had been willing
to let that pendulum cut his palm and shed blood, so that he could
renounce his family name. He would endure far more than that, to keep
the corridor intact and the boy he loved, with everyone else, safe.</p><p>Falco's magic met
his.</p><p>Harry felt the walls
of Tullianum shake, and wards brace and buckle. He heard terrified
screaming from those prisoners still in their cells, and probably
from the upper floors, where the Ministry's people would be
wondering what the hell had just happened. He heard a howl that might
have come from the throat of a wounded werewolf, far ahead of him.</p><p>He felt it throughout
his body.</p><p>The magic seemed to
liquefy his bones and turn his viscera to jelly. Lightning bolts
crept up his arms. Harry could hear a stronger pounding than his
heart in his ears, and wondered madly if it was <em>possible</em> to
hear one's brain sloshing against one's skull. He heard a single
dull snap under the pounding, too, and grunted. <em>Broken bone, don't
know which one.</em></p><p>A gnawing, familiar
pain low in his side told him. <em>Broken rib</em>. He had first felt
one when Quirrell, acting for Voldemort, cast a <em>Crucio</em> on him
in their first year. He breathed through the pain, as he had done
then. He was fighting for higher stakes now than he had done even
then—more lives, and as much peace as possible.</p><p>He lifted his head
when he thought it was done.</p><p>The corridor had held.</p><p>Harry saw Falco
hovering beyond it, staring at him, his face oddly rippled by the
glass-like light. He had wings, and a sea eagle's face, but a human
body, still flaring with the dark green robes.</p><p>Harry stared back at
him, and wondered if he would try another strike. He knew he would
resist it. It might break another rib, or his leg, but he would
survive it.</p><p>Falco only shook his
head, and then vanished. Harry concentrated. He could feel his magic,
hear the jangling bell-music, but it was retreating. Falco had given
up on harassing them, for now.</p><p>Harry let out a long
breath, let the pain throb, and forced himself to his feet. He looked
up the corridor ahead of him, and saw only tiny, distant figures,
hurrying away. He permitted himself a grim smile, and then began to
time his walking, around more and more throbs of pain from his
wounded side.</p><p>His magic pulled
feebly at the pain, but Harry had given all the swallowed power to
the corridor, and he had never studied the kind of healing spells
that would let him set broken bones; the ones to heal wounds
inflicted by curses had seemed more valuable. He was afraid of
setting the bone wrong if he tried to heal it on his own.</p><p>At least he could
travel by Apparition, he thought. Traveling by Floo or Portkey with a
broken rib hurt to contemplate.</p><p>Step and hurt, step
and hurt. Yes, it ached, but Harry had had worse. His hand, which
rested on the rib to cradle it, twitched, and Harry smiled grimly. He
couldn't reach the stump of his left wrist from here.</p><p>And he could turn the
pain into the same determination that had carried him forward so far,
and made him resist the urge to turn tail and flee when Falco struck.
Getting everyone out alive was what was important. He was climbing up
the staircase the corridor had formed through the lift shafts right
now, and hadn't seen a single dead body. That cheered him up
immensely.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Falco was more
frightened than he liked to admit.</p><p>He had believed that
by bending time and curving away from the boy, he could keep his
attack hidden. He <em>should</em> have been able to. It was one tactic
which, dependent as it was on sheer strength, he had never been able
to teach Albus; his innate preference for subtlety had sat in the
way. And the boy was less powerful than Albus, especially with so
much of his magic drained into protecting others. He should have
crumbled before the blow.</p><p>Instead, the boy had
sensed him coming and had time to prepare.</p><p>Falco's mind was not
on what Harry might do to unseat the balance in the future, now, or
what the international wizarding community would think of Britain.
His mind was on a room in a house at Godric's Hollow that he had
had to spend days analyzing before he came up with an answer.</p><p><em>Harry should not
have been able to sense my attack.</em></p><p><em>But Tom could have.</em></p><p>Falco was wondering,
again, what exactly had happened in that house. He had <em>thought</em>
he understood. A series of coincidences that, timed and dancing to
prophecy, were not coincidences. An equality of power that had
allowed Harry to survive the Killing Curse; a touch too weak and the
curse would have slain him, a touch too strong and the returning
magic would have blown his body apart. A transfer of Darkness that
was not yet complete, and had made Harry Voldemort's magical heir.</p><p>But that transfer had
included only Parseltongue and the <em>absorbere</em> gift, Falco had
thought. What he discovered in the room had certainly led him to
think so.</p><p>He now had to consider
that perhaps the transfer had sped more than just those two abilities
along the path to Harry. And if so, what else had come down the link?
What else could Harry do that his magical father could also do? What
if he were wrong, and Harry should have Declared Dark, not Light,
after all?</p><p>But what if he must
Declare Light, to balance out the Darkness within his soul?</p><p>This had splintered
his plans. Falco soared back into contemplation, sadder and wiser
than he had been a few minutes ago. Harry continued to confound his
expectations, but it was much better that this happen and come out
into the open. If Falco had not known this and then prepared to
destroy Harry, he could have perished because of his overconfidence.</p><p><em>Better to wait and
study and see what comes.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco finally managed
to resist the pull of Michael's arm when they were somewhere on the
stairs to the ninth level. Jerking away, he drew his wand, pointed it
at the wide-eyed boy, and said, "If you <em>ever</em> do that to me
again, I'll make sure that people think you're a girl for the
rest of your life."</p><p>"But you—" said
Michael, and then clenched his jaw shut and turned away. Draco let
out a shaky breath and faced back the way they had come, scanning the
red-green-blue tunnel frantically for a sign of Harry.</p><p>He saw him, stumbling
on the steps but always making his way higher. His right arm curled
around his side, supporting what looked like a broken bone, and when
he came closer, Draco could see the dark stain of blood on his robes.
He bit back the impulse to hurt someone and reached out, touching the
crook of Harry's elbow. Harry looked up and blinked, then frowned.</p><p>"Draco? You should
have made your way to the end of the tunnel," he said. "It'll
take longer to Apparate everyone out if we don't have people who
know Woodhouse there."</p><p>"What were you
thinking, telling me to hurry away like that?" Draco breathed. He
had intended the words to come out in a shout. He found that he
couldn't make them. Harry's face was pale, and he looked as
though someone had hit him multiple times with a Bludger, never mind
the broken bone.</p><p>"Trying to keep you
safe," said Harry. "You couldn't have withstood that blow from
Falco. <em>I</em> barely withstood that blow from Falco." He nodded
up the staircase, beyond Michael. "And now I'm here, so can we
hurry to the end of the tunnel? I think there are some people who
will refuse to leave until they see I'm safe—" his voice said
he didn't know why "—and the longer we linger here, the more
danger we're in."</p><p>Michael was already
climbing. Harry followed him, and Draco stayed at his side where the
width of the stairs allowed him to do so. He wondered why Harry
wasn't groaning, and then realized the groaning was probably masked
by the huffing breaths he took every time his foot came down.</p><p>"I didn't want to
leave you," Draco murmured. "And I could have stood beside you,
you know. No need to toss me behind a shield."</p><p>Harry looked at him
gently, though for a moment his jaw clashed as he ground his teeth
together. "I know that, Draco," he said. "I know that you <em>want</em>
to fight beside me. You did wonderfully with the Minister. But Falco
was attacking with sheer strength, and he almost defeated me. I'm
still not sure what sent him away. At that point, you couldn't
stand against him, and if I had seen you die or get wounded, I would
have gone mad. So I chose the best compromise I could."</p><p>Draco chewed his
tongue for a moment as he thought about that. Didn't he still have
the right to demand to stand beside Harry? Or would asking make him
as childish as when he'd asked Harry to choose his side over
Potter's and Patil's?</p><p>He didn't know. It
bothered him that he didn't know.</p><p>They reached the end
of that staircase, and then the corridor ran smooth and straight for
a while through the Atrium. Draco could see Ministry employees gaping
at them; a few were tapping with their wands on the side of the
tunnel, but they drew back from that hastily when they saw Harry.
Draco smirked at them, and put an arm around Harry's unwounded side
to support him for a moment as his steps grew heavier and his breath
huffier.</p><p>Figures moved near the
gates, making Draco start, but it was Moody, along with several other
people who kept their faces cloaked in glamours that shifted and
changed, revealing too many features to keep track of. Moody grinned
at Harry. "Mission done," he said. "Information obtained."</p><p>Harry nodded, and a
doorway slid open in the side of the tunnel. Moody was the only one
who entered. The others turned and faded back into the shadows.</p><p>"Contacts," Moody
told Draco when he saw him staring. "They don't trust anyone
except me." He tossed a wooden scrollcase in the air and caught it
as it came down again, laughing. "We got what we came for."</p><p>Draco wanted to ask
what that was, since the only role Moody's contacts had played in
the original plan was to fetch the password for the room where the
wands were stored and to act as a distraction, but he kept his
tongue. Harry's huffing breaths were growing worse, and from the
number of staring figures on the staircase ahead, where the tunnel
rose up to the alley they'd come in by, most of their group had
indeed waited for Harry. Draco heard them cheering at the sight of
him.</p><p>He also felt a surge
of magic from Harry. When he glanced at him, his face looked normal
again, and the stain of dark blood on his robes was gone. Harry also
lifted his head and walked as steadily as possible, nodding back to
the cheerers in a reassuring fashion.</p><p><em>I suppose he has
to,</em> Draco thought. <em>Otherwise, they'll worry too much about
him to fix on Apparating. When we get to Woodhouse, then he has time
to collapse and drink a healing potion.</em></p><p>They climbed the
stairs, Draco reversing his position so that he could stand close to
Harry's broken rib and keep anyone too enthusiastic from jostling
the wound. Luckily, only a few people actually tried to <em>hug</em>
Harry. Others kept their distance, talking in soft and excited
voices. Harry made a point of nodding and replying to most of them,
though Draco could see how eagerly his gaze sought the end of the
tunnel and the point where they could leap into nothingness and
continue on to Woodhouse.</p><p>They reached it
without anyone from the Ministry stopping or slowing them down. Draco
took a werewolf by the arm at Harry's insistence, glancing at him
all the while. Harry was talking to the werewolf called Evergreen,
though, and didn't look back at him. A moment later, they vanished.</p><p><em>Really</em>, Draco
thought, and did his best to think of the wide expanse of grass
inside Woodhouse, near the pine forest, where the centaurs liked to
stand. He hoped that no one else would be Apparating there just then.
Actually, he wasn't sure if he <em>could</em> Apparate, and if not,
then he would wait until someone else came back for him, but he
wanted to try.</p><p>Then a phoenix's
warble broke his concentration. Draco sighed. "Sorry," he said to
the werewolf, a staring, shocked woman of about thirty, who just
nodded. Draco bent over his left wrist. "Yes?"</p><p>"Draco?"</p><p>It was his mother's
voice. Draco blinked, and swallowed, and suspected that sorrow would
distract him too much to Apparate after all. "Mother?" he asked.
"Didn't Father tell you about the disownment?" He wasn't
going to let her contact him under false pretenses, and thus hide the
choice he had made. He had expected Narcissa to be horribly
disappointed with him and stay with Lucius, which had to meant that
she didn't yet know.</p><p>"He did, Draco,"
his mother's voice said softly. "I've left your father for now.
He didn't want me to leave. I'm at Grimmauld Place. I'll join
you as soon as you tell me where you're going."</p><p><em>So it wasn't
tears that were going to distract me, but joy. </em>Draco choked back
a whoop. He still considered himself a Malfoy, and it would be
undignified to do that in front of a complete stranger. He didn't
ask his mother if she was sure, either. That would be insulting to
her as someone who was born a Black and had married into the Malfoy
name.</p><p>"We're at
Woodhouse," he said. "You know, the place that we fought
Voldemort's forces last October?" The werewolf next to him gave
him a sudden look. Draco ignored her. If she didn't know what she
was getting into, then she should never have left Tullianum.</p><p>"I remember it
well," said Narcissa. "I will see you in a few moments, my son."</p><p>"See you," said
Draco, and let the communication spell end. He knew he was grinning
like a fool, and <em>that</em> he didn't think he could hide. It
didn't matter. His mother had chosen him over his father. He wasn't
going to be the only person with the name of Malfoy in Harry's
rebellion after all.</p><p>He didn't even care
that Michael had to Apparate him, and Owen had to Apparate the
werewolf. He still couldn't stop smiling, and it only grew worse
when they landed in a puddle not far from the quadrangle of stone
buildings and he saw his mother waiting, her blonde hair shifting
behind her in the brisk breeze.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry concealed his
gasp as they landed, but that apparently wasn't enough to fool
Evergreen. The young werewolf sniffed once, then looked at him, and
for the first time since he'd come out of his cell, some of his
grin faded.</p><p>"I can smell blood,"
he said.</p><p>Harry nodded, and
cursed himself for not remembering a glamour that would cover scent.
Well, since he was about to take a healing potion and <em>deal</em>
with the broken rib, it wouldn't be a problem for much longer. "I'm
going to take care of that," he said. "You can wait here for me,
or ask someone else what's going on." He glanced up and saw
Camellia hurrying over from her sentry post under the pines. "Some
of your packmates are here."</p><p>Evergreen glanced up
and gave a joyous howl, hurtling several steps forward. Camellia met
him in the middle of it, and they rolled on the ground together,
mock-growling and tussling with each other. Camellia laid her head on
the grass just long enough to give Harry a look of eloquent thanks.</p><p>Harry smiled, then
turned away and walked as rapidly as he could towards the wooden
house and the room where they'd placed the healing potions his
allies had brought along. Tonks met him on the way there, studying
him worriedly. Harry nodded to her. "Broken rib."</p><p>"It'll be tender
even if you use Bone-Set," Tonks warned him.</p><p>"I know," said
Harry. "But the point is to deal with the pain. I have too much to
do to let it incapacitate me."</p><p>Tonks opened her mouth
as if she would say something, then shut it, shaking her head. Her
hair turned black, but she just shrugged when Harry questioned her.
Harry decided it couldn't be of importance. Tonks was one to speak
her mind when she had something to say.</p><p>He went to work on the
pain instead. It was too sharp to <em>ignore</em>, the way that Lily
had trained him to ignore most of the curses he cast on himself, but
he could take the screaming urge to curl up around it and transform
it into something else. So he did. By the time he did locate the
narrow green bottle of Bone-Set that Elfrida had brought and swallow
it, the pain and desperation had become more whips to urge him along
the path towards what would come. They had freed the werewolves from
Tullianum. Now he had to settle them into Woodhouse, and prepare for
the Ministry's response.</p><p>Tonks went on watching
him all the while. Harry asked her twice more what was wrong, once
before he drank the Bone-Set and again while he waited for the sweep
of honeyed fire through him to mend the bone and ease some of the
pain, but she shrugged again the first time and said the second,
"When I know how to phrase it, then I'll tell you."</p><p>Harry had to admit
that was fair. He used the moments when he <em>had</em> to stand still
and let the potion work to list tasks in his head. Contact the shops
and increase the food deliveries, tighten the wards around the Black
houses so that anyone trying to break in would bounce back—an
impossible task when there were as many people living there as had
been the case with the werewolves, since they had to be able to pass
in and out, and breathe—let the people waiting for word back in
Hogwarts know that he was all right, find places for everyone to
sleep, check on the wounded, explain how the defenses in Woodhouse
worked, arrange for regular patrols of the valley…</p><p>"Sir?"</p><p>Harry looked up.
Syrinx Gloryflower was standing in the doorway, her face solemn.
"There's an argument breaking out, sir," she said. "One of
the werewolves attacking your good name, and another defending it. It
hasn't come to teeth yet, but it might."</p><p>Harry nodded and moved
a few steps away from the cupboard that had contained the potions,
deliberately raising his arms. The skin was still tight and tender
enough over his ribs to make him hiss, but he could move.</p><p>"There directly,"
he said, offered one more reassuring smile to Tonks, and then hurried
after Syrinx.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Remus was fighting to
control his rage, but it was hard to remember that he should do so,
even with ordinary witches and wizards watching, when his opponent
was as strong, with as much of a temper, as he was. Camellia had been
bitten very young, just like Remus, and he didn't have to hold back
if he attacked her. And right now, he was as close to attacking her
as he had been since he first met her.</p><p>"He <em>left me
behind.</em>" He tried to speak softly, but to put a proper snarl
behind the words, he needed to raise his voice. "He's my alpha,
and he left me here. I'm a wizard, and I could have helped, but he
left me here."</p><p>Camellia stood in
front of him, lips wrinkled, amber eyes flashing, and seemed as
oblivious to their audience as Remus was conscious of it. "Because
he can't trust you," she said. "We all know why. You're still
too much a wizard, Remus. You haven't let the packmind wash over
you. You haven't adapted to considering him a leader in place of
Loki; you still think of him as a temporary replacement. Or you think
<em>you</em> should be leader." Camellia's jaws snapped shut, and
she flicked her head to the side as if she were tearing out someone's
throat. "And we all know why that began, and where that would end.
We don't need someone as changeable as you are leading us."</p><p>Remus growled. He
didn't move his eyes from Camellia's, keeping them locked
straight in a challenging stare, and Camellia began to growl back.
They moved closer to each other, or at least Remus did. He could feel
his blood singing in his body, his shoulders tensing and hunching.
Camellia would, too, the spiral of inevitability catching them up and
turning them closer and closer to each other. One of them must spring
first, but Remus didn't know which one it would be. He had little
control right now; if the tension built up in him first, he would do
it, but nothing said it had to be him.</p><p>"<em>Enough.</em>"</p><p>Camellia's eyes
snapped away from Remus's as if torn, and she dropped into a
crouch, arching her neck to bare her throat. Remus felt the impulse
to do the same thing, but he shook his head. This wasn't the alpha
Wild speaking. This was the boy he had known from a child, his
friend's son, <em>Harry.</em></p><p>The person who had
left him behind, when he could have come along, defended the
captives, and been one more person to soothe them with his scent and
Apparate them back to safety. He turned sharply on Harry.</p><p>He surprised himself
by locking his eyes in the wrong place, on Harry's shoulder;
somehow, he had forgotten this latest growth spurt. He shook his head
and met Harry gaze to gaze. That wasn't much better, actually, and
not only because of the pack instincts urging him to look away. He
felt a creeping irritation at the deep calmness there. How could
Harry be so calm? Granted, he had managed to survive and get everyone
away from Tullianum without casualties, but he had to have heard the
argument. The Harry Remus had known would have shown more empathy for
his side.</p><p>"Why did you leave
me?" Remus snarled at him.</p><p>"Simple," said
Harry, as if they were discussing the weather. "I didn't trust
you."</p><p>Remus braced himself
to keep from trembling. Both the wizard and the werewolf in him hated
that statement. "Why?" he whispered. And he had meant <em>that</em>
statement to be proud, and it didn't come out that way.</p><p>Harry tilted his head.
"Because of this," he said. "You alter like water with wind on
it, Remus. You <em>could</em> have helped me, but perhaps you would
have cast a curse at the Tullianum guards for treating werewolves the
way they did. Perhaps you would have argued with me at a crucial
moment. Perhaps you would have disobeyed an order I gave and got hurt
as a result."</p><p>"I am firm in my
devotion to the pack," said Remus.</p><p>"Which is why you're
arguing with me." Harry took a step forward, staring at him
deliberately.</p><p>Remus couldn't help
it; he had to avert his gaze. "This is an unusual situation," he
said. "Having a human alpha is—not done."</p><p>He could see Harry
shrug from the corner of his eye. "Loki chose me. I wouldn't have
asked for the responsibility if he didn't think me fit for it."
Harry smiled. "Be happy, Remus. I'm fighting for the rights of
werewolves the way you wanted me to, at last. And I'll welcome
reconciliation any time you choose to reach out and start acting like
a man—or wolf—who wants to discuss his problems, instead of an
innocent wronged. For right now, that doesn't seem likely."</p><p>He turned and walked
away. Remus stood where he was, shivering and wondering what in the
world he should do next. The rebuke had <em>hurt</em>, like a cuff with
tooth behind it.</p><p>He had been hurt when
Harry left him behind, and the reason still seemed too simple. <em>Why
can't he trust me? Was changing my mind and joining the pack the
only thing that convinced him I might be untrustworthy?</em></p><p>One thing was clear to
Remus now, though. He would find little sympathy from his packmates
for the problems of living with a human alpha, or having a boy he had
helped to raise in a position of authority over him. Most of them had
adapted to Harry's presence without a pause.</p><p>Perhaps the problem
really wasn't with Harry or the pack, but with him.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"But he didn't
have to <em>say</em> it in front of everyone," Michael said, for the
fortieth time.</p><p>Owen restrained the
very adult and mature urge to slap his twin upside the head. Then he
wondered why he was restraining himself. His hand shot out, and
caught Michael's temple a solid hit as he whipped around from
pacing their room. Michael, utterly unprepared, staggered and sat
down on his bed, then put a hand to the bruise, which was turning
dark purple, and frowned at Owen.</p><p>"What was <em>that</em>
for?" he asked. His fingers twitched, wanting his wand, Owen knew.
He probably only kept himself from reaching for it under the sure and
certain knowledge that Owen could out-duel him.</p><p>"I <em>told</em> you
this was going to happen, that's what it was for," said Owen,
sitting down on his own bed and leaning forward. "The moment you
started pining for his boyfriend, I told you."</p><p>"Draco flirted with
me," said Michael. "Or, at least, he was happy to take in my
admiration and pretend it mattered to him." He paused, blinking.
"Do you think he did that just to get me to admire him more?" he
whispered.</p><p>Owen rolled his eyes.
"And now the secret of why you're attracted to him comes out,"
he said. "You're both brats, and you're both blind as fuck."</p><p>Michael turned a sulky
shoulder towards him.</p><p>"I don't care who
you're attracted to," Owen told him plainly. "Even a little
flirting isn't a problem; I know you never tried to put your hand
in his pants." Michael stiffened at that, and Owen paused and
stared at him. "Please tell me you're not that much of an idiot."</p><p>"Of course I'm—"
Michael broke off, fuming at the lack of a good way to answer that
statement. "I object to you referring to it in such a crude
manner," he said at last.</p><p>"So, staring and
flirting aren't problems," said Owen, deciding he wouldn't even
<em>touch</em> this latest bit of ridiculousness. "But did you think
that Malfoy would really fall in love with you, Michael? To get upset
when he talks about fucking Harry is <em>stupid.</em>"</p><p>"He just didn't
have to do it in public," whined Michael.</p><p>Owen stood, shaking
his head. He was glad that he wasn't <em>vates</em>, and didn't
have to do the intricate little dance Harry did to spare his twin's
feelings. That meant he could say exactly what Michael needed to
hear.</p><p>"Frankly, I don't
understand why they're in love with each other," he said. "It
must be shared experiences. Harry could do better. Malfoy's so
self-involved you'd think he'd rather marry his own mirror. But I
don't need to know <em>why</em> it works for them. I just know that
it does. And if you sulk and whine about it, and that impairs the
oath you swore to Harry, I <em>will</em> take it out of your hide."</p><p>"As my
two-minutes-older brother?" Michael objected.</p><p>"As head of the
Rosier-Henlin family."</p><p>That at least got
through to him. Michael lowered his eyes. "All right," he
whispered. "I understand. It was a stupid mistake, and I would be
even stupider if I let it hurt Harry. That doesn't mean it doesn't
hurt, you know." He flopped down on the bed and pulled a pillow
over his face.</p><p>Owen shook his head
and strode for the door. He would contact their mother, to reassure
Medusa that they were both all right, and then he would join Syrinx
in settling as many werewolves as they could. <em>He</em>, at least,
remembered what it meant to be a Lord's sworn companion, and that
didn't include hiding one's face and sighing over love matches
that were never meant to be.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"You'll never have
to go without Wolfsbane again."</p><p>Hawthorn started and
dropped her hands, which had been covering her face. She'd been
shown to a narrow wooden room in the central building of the
quadrangle, given a bed, and told to rest. She couldn't rest,
though. Even with a window in the wall, this reminded her too much of
her cell in Tullianum.</p><p>The sense of lightness
and magic, and the fresh wild scent, that came with Harry were most
welcome. Hawthorn looked at him in silence, not sure what to say. She
was caught between intense gratitude for her rescue, intense
humiliation at the way she'd been treated, and a growing rage and
hated hot enough to melt iron.</p><p>"I promise you,"
Harry said, moving forward and sitting down on a stool at the end of
the bed. That put his head lower than hers. Hawthorn didn't doubt
that had been on purpose. "Never again." He clasped her hand.
Hawthorn wondered if he was pouring magic into her, or if the surge
of strength she experienced when he did that came from being close to
the one she'd chosen to follow.</p><p>"How much of this
rebellion did you start because of me?" She asked it quietly, but
Harry heard.</p><p>"A good deal,"
said Harry. "The hunting season the Ministry announced would have
pushed me into it, but when I read that you were arrested…" He
shook his head. "It was the end." He looked directly into her
eyes. "Do you know who betrayed you?"</p><p>The rage and hatred
boiled over. Hawthorn bared her teeth. Harry didn't move. Hawthorn
supposed that spending a good deal of his time in the last two months
with a pack of accepted werewolves had taught him to ignore that.
"No," she whispered. "They are dead when I find out."</p><p>"The number of
people does seem to be limited," said Harry, and sighed. "But I
don't think it can have been anyone in the Alliance, or they would
know I'm set to drain them of their magic once I find them. Who
would <em>risk</em> becoming a Squib?"</p><p>Hawthorn snarled
again.</p><p>"Greyback bit you as
revenge for not helping him raise Voldemort, though," Harry went on
quietly. "Do you think that Walden Macnair was his only
co-conspirator in that plan? Or could there have been others, people
who would remember the bite, and have the ability to pass the
knowledge that you were a werewolf along?"</p><p>That had been
Hawthorn's first thought. She shook her head. "They never let me
know all their names," she said. "I can tell you what former
Death Eaters I suspect of likeliness to do something like that, but I
don't think it's enough."</p><p>"We'll find them,"
said Harry, and his hand ground down on hers hard enough to crush
bone. Hawthorn was a werewolf, though, which meant stronger than the
normal run of witches. She squeezed back.</p><p>"And they are dead
when we do," she said. "And the Ministry guards who treated me as
they did are dead."</p><p>Harry's hesitation
was infinitesimal, but she caught it; she smelled the surge of
uncertainty in his scent. "What?" She held the growl back with an
effort. To be a son of high principles was a fine thing, but surely
Harry should understand how she felt, that she would want revenge for
her mistreatment.</p><p>"They will be dealt
with," said Harry quietly. "But if a murder returns you to
Tullianum, is it the best course?"</p><p>Hawthorn couldn't
face his eyes right now. She put her arm over her face and rolled
away. It was her left arm, and there came the faintest tingling from
her Dark Mark as she felt Harry's gaze linger on it. <em>Yes, </em>she
thought at him. <em>I am a vicious witch who took revenge for the
killing of my daughter, and I was the Red Death, and I want revenge
for this, not justice.</em></p><p>She suspected Harry
would probably persuade her otherwise, in the end, but she wanted to
enjoy these uninterrupted moments of rage.</p><p>"I wanted to kill
something, when I saw you," Harry said softly.</p><p><em>That</em> was new.
Hawthorn peered out from beneath her arm. "Why didn't you?"</p><p>Harry smiled slightly.
"Because we weren't there to kill." He deliberately let his
hand glance across her Dark Mark. "Sleep well, and let me know if
you need anything."</p><p>Hawthorn stared at his
back as he left, and wondered if she should be comforted or confused.
Then she decided to put it aside for now, and enjoy being in a room
that had a tub off to one side spelled to fill with hot water.</p><p>For the first time in
three days, she would be <em>clean.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry paused outside
Hawthorn's room to shake away the memories of her crouched, shaking
and bewildered, in a corner, and the moment when he had nearly
destroyed half the prison with his newly acquired magic. Reliving the
memories brought the emotion back.</p><p>And his rage did no
good, could do no good, unless he could use it to fuel other
purposes.</p><p>He shoved it down
again, transformed it into energy to complete the next few tasks on
his list, rubbed his forehead as his scar ached, and then strode away
to look for Draco and his mother. It was wonderful that Narcissa had
come to their side, had personally chosen them over Lucius—Harry
would never have thought she would do so—and he wanted to make sure
she knew she was welcome.</p><p>And then there would
be more things to do. There truly was no ending, no resting.</p><p>Harry shrugged his
shoulders. He had told Draco once that life <em>was</em> those unending
responsibilities one had. He couldn't complain about a lack of
excitement or variety, at least.</p><p>Smothering a wry
smile, he veered towards the sight of white-blond hair.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 34*: Interlude: The Liberator's Fourth Letter</h2>
			<strong>Interlude: The Liberator's Fourth Letter</strong>
<p><em>September 30th,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour:</em></p><p>I ask that you forgive
me for sending this letter at a time when the whole of the British
wizarding world is abroil with the rebellion of Harry <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span>. I
know you are busy. However, my parents are distracted along with all
those other false fools who pretend to have Declared for Light when
they have really only Declared for peace and safety. This means they
have let more information than usual slip to me, and I have been able
to send this owl off much sooner than I might have been able to
otherwise.</p><p>The more my parents
talk about Falco Parkinson, the more concerned I am. He does not seem
to have the constraints that Albus Dumbledore had. As mad as he was
at the end, the Light Lord had at least lived in our world and knew
much about the political and emotional currents running through it.
Falco Parkinson has <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>not</span> lived in our world. He retreated. I
have researched such retreats before this, when I first became
curious about Lords and Ladies of great power. Going into the
"paths," as the books call them, is always bad. It detaches a
wizard from what it means to be human. He thinks in terms of ideals.
He regards other people as pieces on a chessboard.</p><p>This was not seen as
such a bad thing in older centuries, because many wizards thought of
magical creatures, or Muggles, in the same way. But when these Lords
and Ladies began to treat <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>other</span> <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>wizards</span> as chess
pieces, then wars started, because our proud people do not like to be
so disregarded. Lords and Ladies were gradually urged to stay part of
the world and not retreat into the paths, and many did.</p><p>Falco Parkinson is
never recorded as Declaring for either Dark or Light. Why my parents
are clinging so fervently to him, I do not know. I think only his
connection with Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix
reassures them.</p><p>We are dealing with an
opponent who considers none of us <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>real</span> in any important sense,
Minister. We are dealing with an opponent who considers us small
beads to slide along a scale, so that he might bring it into balance.</p><p>And who will determine
that balance? Why, he will, of course.</p><p>We must have
freedom—both from Falco Parkinson, and from the people who would
ride on his talons as the only route to regaining what they have
rightfully lost.</p><p>Yours,</p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 35*: Like a Hell Broth Boil and Bubble</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>This chapter is mostly
a reaction one, and its title is, pretty obviously, an allusion to
<em>Macbeth</em>.</p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Seven: Like a Hell-Broth Boil and
Bubble</strong>
<p>Rufus heard the
<em>Ennervate</em> distantly, as if it were happening in another world.
He felt it when someone grasped his arm and pulled him to his feet,
though, all the while shouting into his face. "Minister! Minister!
Are you all right? Are you <em>awake</em>?"</p><p>He opened his eyes
then, blinking, and the first thing he saw was the glittering
corridor that stretched through the tunnel beside him and, doubtless,
up and on through the Ministry. He grimaced. Then he touched a hand
to his face, turned to face the Auror shouting at him, and snapped,
"<em>Yes</em>, yes, I'm awake."</p><p>The man backed down,
abashed. Rufus turned an eye on the corridor again, and cast a
<em>Reducto</em> at it. It bounced, and he barely had time to get out
of the way as it did. Rufus shook his head. <em>Harry, I don't doubt
that you used this to rescue your people, but why did you have to
leave it here? I'm going to have to turn to the Unspeakables to rid
us of it. That will put me further in their debt.</em></p><p>"The damage?" he
demanded of the Auror next to him.</p><p>The man had pulled
himself together enough by then to make a useful report, at least.
"Forty-two prisoners missing from Tullianum, sir," he said,
"including the last capture, Hawthorn Parkinson. You and your
guards stunned. Several Aurors with minor wounds from tripping on a
staircase." His face flushed as Rufus stared at him. <em>It sounds
ridiculous said aloud, </em>Rufus thought, <em>no matter how legitimate
the cause may have been. </em>"Madam Bones was tied and left in a
Body-Bind, while her face was painted to look like a clown's. We
don't know what the purpose of that was, other than to humiliate
her. And of course there were—some of us blinded in the Atrium when
the attack began, but we're recovered, now." He smoothed a hand
down the front of his robes and refused to meet Rufus's eyes,
again. "There's a lot of damage on the fourth level, in the
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
Centaurs were there."</p><p>"Centaurs."
Rufus's voice was flat.</p><p>The Auror nodded
miserably. Rufus wondered if they'd drawn lots for which one had to
approach him and tell him this. "Yes. They seem to have appeared in
the Ce—Centaur Office, sir. They galloped up and down the halls and
kicked in doors and windows and broke furniture, but they didn't
kill anyone."</p><p>Rufus closed his eyes
and shook his head. "Go to the entrance of the Department of
Mysteries," he ordered. "Fetch me the first Unspeakable you see.
We'll need to talk to someone about removing this corridor."</p><p>The Auror sketched a
little half-bow and darted away. Rufus rubbed a hand across his face
and stared at the tunnel again. Harry had achieved exactly what he
came here for, he didn't doubt, getting his prisoners out and doing
it with a minimum of casualties. That certain other humiliating
things had happened, like his own Stunning and Amelia's
embarrassment, were incidental, distractions or the fortunes of
rebellion. They could be hushed up, Rufus hoped.</p><p>What could not and
would not be hushed up was the extent to which Harry's invasion was
a thumbing of his nose to the Ministry. That had to be stamped on
quickly, or it would encourage others to think they could get away
with flouting the law.</p><p>And it meant Harry
would have to be declared an outlaw and a fugitive, along with all
the werewolves he harbored.</p><p>Rufus felt a great
weariness rising up in him. Things would have been so much easier if
Harry had come to him and they had talked this out like rational
wizards. He understood that Harry didn't like the hunting season,
but in another month or two, Rufus would have gained some control in
the Wizengamot and persuaded them to scrap that edict. Harry had just
destabilized things so utterly that Rufus wondered if he would be
able to gain control any time in the next half a year.</p><p>But he would not get
things done by standing around in the tunnel to Tullianum and
wondering. He turned and began crisply ordering the former guards on
his office door to inspect the damage to the prison, and make sure
that Harry hadn't broken the wards on those cells that hadn't
opened.</p><p>He would control what
he could. He might be skating on open water instead of ice now, but
he could not allow the wizarding world to fall into chaos. He had
seen the fringes of such chaos during the First War with Voldemort.
It must never be allowed to happen again.</p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>That</em> had been
enlightening.</p><p>Rita Skeeter wondered
if anyone would notice the difference in her buzzing as she zipped
down the corridor and up towards the lift shafts that would take her
to the surface. Did beetles sound different when they were smug?
She'd never had anyone to tell her that, since there were so few
people she'd ever shown her Animagus form to.</p><p>She had wondered if it
was a good idea, staying close to the Minister instead of trying to
follow Harry and his companions when they freed the werewolves. She
could have crept onto someone's neck and followed them in their
Apparition. On the other hand, the chance was too great that Harry
would have anti-Animagus wards up around his secret stronghold, and
Rita really didn't want to have to explain herself to an angry
<em>vates</em> who could swallow her magic.</p><p>But she had stayed
close to the Minister, and so heard of Amelia Bones's denigration.
It would make the perfect touch to the article that she intended to
write for the <em>Prophet</em> and bring out—perhaps tomorrow,
perhaps more quickly than that if the <em>Evening Prophet</em> would
accept it.</p><p><em>How should I phrase
it? Sweet concern? Shocked fear? A touch of malicious amusement? The
malicious amusement would fit most readers' image of me, but then
they might believe I was pulling it out of thin air. And shocked fear
might turn more people against Harry than he, or I, wish.</em></p><p><em>Sweet concern it
is, then.</em></p><p>Rita let her wings do
her humming as she flew out of the Ministry and towards the small
flat where she kept most of her writing materials. The wizarding
world was boiling, and Rita intended to add to the boil, while
striving to keep the cauldron from overflowing. <em>No</em> one thrived
when civil war exploded in the streets, but reporters thrived when
there were so many interesting stories to keep alive, and so many
different sides to them.</p><p>She felt more alive
than she had in years. She thanked whatever luck or chance or fate
had said she was going to live in interesting times.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry swallowed the
last bite of bread and honey, and then began the communication spell.
He'd waited until late enough in the evening that he hoped Connor
would be alone. If he was in the midst of a dueling practice session
or Animagus training with Peter, well, Harry was sorry, but he needed
to talk to his brother now.</p><p>The warble of phoenix
song lasted only a moment before Connor's impatient voice said,
"Harry?"</p><p>Harry smiled, then
remembered that his brother couldn't see him and put the smile into
his words. "Connor. Hello."</p><p>"We heard about the
attack on the Ministry," said Connor. "It's in the <em>Prophet</em>
already. Are you all right? Did you get everyone out? Are <em>they</em>
all right? Did you know that Malfoy ran away somewhere?"</p><p>"We got everyone out
we went there for," said Harry. "And some we didn't. There were
a few wounded, none fatally." His broken rib had been the worst of
those casualties, though, which humbled him. There were times that he
felt he didn't deserve such good fortune. "And I don't know
what you mean about Draco, Connor. He's right here with me." He
glanced across the room, to where Draco was sitting on a bench and
earnestly talking with his mother. He hadn't left her side for long
since Narcissa had arrived. Harry suspected that he was just stunned
and dazed that his mother had actually chosen him, and had to make
sure of her with every press of her hand and every stare into her
eyes.</p><p>He finally noticed
Connor's silence. "Connor?" he asked, wondering if he shouldn't
speak himself. Perhaps someone else had come into the room, and
Connor had to hide that he was receiving a message from his brother.</p><p>"Harry, I—"
Connor cleared his throat awkwardly. "I was so sure that he wasn't
going to support you. He didn't say <em>anything</em> about Mrs.
Parkinson's arrest or the hunting season for three days. Do you
know why?"</p><p>"His father
threatened to disown him if he supported me," said Harry. "So he
kept his mouth shut. Then he made his choice, and then he came to me.
That's the whole of it, Connor." His own, private emotions, those
that had made him wonder how he would endure this without Draco at
his side, were his to keep.</p><p>"Oh." Connor's
voice was subdued. "I never thought of that. Parvati said he was
probably disloyal to you, that he <em>must</em> be, if he couldn't
even tell me why he was keeping silent."</p><p>Harry quelled a surge
of irritation. It was unworthy of a <em>vates</em>, but one reason he
was thankful this rebellion had happened was to remove him from an
environment where Connor and Draco would do nothing but argue. "Well,
now you know what's true," he said, and made his voice cheerful.
"How is Peter? The others?"</p><p>"Still in shock, I
think," said Connor. "Everyone at dinner was discussing the
article, but no one knew <em>what</em> to make of it. I heard a few
people say that you were a villain, and a few people say you were a
hero, but someone always shouted them down. Then the shouting person
didn't know what to say when someone asked them for their opinion.
I think you just managed to shock a big portion of the wizarding
population, Harry." His voice had a dryness on the end of the
statement that Harry thought he'd picked up from Peter.</p><p>"Well, they can take
a few more blows, then," Harry muttered. "I'm going to be
sending letters out tomorrow."</p><p>"To who?" Connor
asked.</p><p>"The Minister, for
starters." Harry stretched his right arm out and shook it as it
cramped. Even the kitchen in Woodhouse wasn't <em>that</em> large,
and sitting as close as he was to Camellia, he didn't have much
room. "Telling him what terms I'm offering to come back into the
fold and act like a good little boy."</p><p>Connor made a choking
noise. Then he said, "But, Harry, you were the one who <em>started</em>
this rebellion."</p><p>Harry blinked. "And?
Your point?"</p><p>"Aren't you
supposed to be the one listening to terms?" Connor asked. "Not
offering them?"</p><p>Harry laughed aloud.
Camellia gave him an anxious glance and a sniff. She seemed to be
under the impression that he needed someone keeping track of his
scent and his emotional state at all times. Harry didn't know why.
He let his hand rest on her shoulder while he spoke to Connor. "I'm
sure the Minister will think the same thing, Connor. Quite frankly,
though, <em>everything</em> about this rebellion is unusual. I don't
think the Ministry has ever faced something like this. On the other
hand, it didn't do anything this stupid, either. So I'll tell the
Minister what I want, which includes the scrapping of the hunting
season. If he can do that, I don't really have a reason not to
surrender and come back and stop this. I don't want to tear the
wizarding world apart. I'm not committed to civil war for its own
sake, or rebellion because I think myself personally wronged. I'm
committed to revolution, and mental revolution above all. The
Minister managing to do what I ask of him would be sufficient to show
that he's moving in that direction."</p><p>"I'm worried about
you," said Connor, sounding subdued again.</p><p>"Why?" Harry could
feel contentment rushing through his body. He didn't know why
anyone should be worried about him. Other than the tenderness over
his broken rib, everything since he arrived back in Woodhouse had
gone according to plan. He'd talked to people, defused fights,
showed the werewolves where they should go, and been happy as he only
was when he was busy. The images of everyone squabbling were fading
away. Most of the people in Woodhouse seemed to realize that endless
arguments would only drain their energy, and were, at worst, talking
to each other in cold voices.</p><p>"Because I don't
know what's going to happen next," said Connor. "Will you get
out of this alive? Will you have the <em>chance</em> to tell the
Minister your terms? Everything's so uncertain, Harry. At least
with the Midsummer battle, we had a plan. Here, I don't think you
do."</p><p>"I'm doing what I
can, such as protecting the werewolves," said Harry. "From what
you described at Hogwarts, no one else is any more sure than I am.
The trick is not to get panicked over it. We're in freefall right
now, Connor, but I have wings."</p><p>Connor was quiet
again. Then he said, "All right. I love you, Harry. I hope things
work out."</p><p>"They will," said
Harry. "And if anyone gives you grief because you're my brother,
Connor, go to Peter or McGonagall. Both of them will protect you from
curses or attacks."</p><p>"I know that!"</p><p>Harry laughed again at
the indignant tone in his brother's voice. "Making sure you did.
Good night, Connor. Sleep well." He ended the communication spell,
and then leaned forward around the edge of the bench, slowly scanning
the room until he spotted the person he wanted. He was speaking with
Rose and Trumpetflower, snarling at something they'd said.</p><p>"Evergreen?" Harry
called. "Could I talk to you for a moment?"</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Connor rolled over on
his bed, tucked his arm around his face, and lay there <em>breathing</em>.</p><p>He had never imagined,
not once in a thousand years, that Malfoy had gone to Harry when he
disappeared. He thought his father had pulled him out of school. It
would fit the silence that Malfoy had maintained for the days before
his vanishing. He was trying to distance himself from Harry, appear
as neutral as possible, and then he would retreat to safety.
Political power games were one thing, Connor had thought, but
rebellion was another, and Lucius Malfoy must have commanded his son
not to support Harry. And of course Draco had obeyed.</p><p>Except that he hadn't.
Except that disownment, if Lucius Malfoy had done everything he
could—and Connor was sure he could—meant that Draco had lost his
father's support, his family's support, his money, and the
sanctuary of Malfoy Manor and any other properties.</p><p>His reasons for
keeping silent even made sense.</p><p>And it sounded as
though Harry didn't have a single doubt of Draco's loyalty, so
this wasn't some ploy to get close to him just to increase the
power of his family in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. Draco might be
clever, but Connor thought Harry was cleverer. If there had been some
hole in Draco's story, some lie, then he would have seen it.</p><p>Connor pushed his face
into his pillow, and let out a sigh that, even to him, sounded huffy.
He hated having to apologize. It made his mouth taste nasty.</p><p>Now, though, he
thought he would feel worse if he <em>didn't</em> apologize. He had
sworn the oaths of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, just like Draco
had. One of them was to think as rationally as possible, not to let
one's thoughts be overtaken by fear. And what had he done? Reacted
against Draco out of fear, influenced by Parvati's fear of him as a
Dark wizard. Parvati wasn't afraid of Harry, except if he lost his
temper, because she knew that he used Light magic too, but Draco was
a different matter. Parvati had been raised on stories of how
Malfoys, and Dark wizards in general, tortured their enemies. And
Lucius Malfoy had been a Death Eater.</p><p><em>I suppose Draco
might have it in him to torture someone, too, </em>Connor thought. <em>But
if he did it, it would be for Harry's sake. And I don't think he
would. Harry would throw him out of the Alliance if he found out
about it.</em></p><p>So he had to eat crow.</p><p>Connor grimaced. He'd
speak to Draco tomorrow, then. That would give him some time to
swallow his pride. And tonight, he would go to Parvati and tell her
that they'd been wrong.</p><p>He wasn't looking
forward to that conversation, but hiding from it wasn't something a
Gryffindor would do, so he swung himself off his bed and went to do
his duty.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry closed the door
behind them. He and Evergreen stood in a narrow room, one of the
closets of Woodhouse, and wards already sparkled on the walls,
shutting off anyone from hearing what they'd talk about. Harry
turned to face the young werewolf squarely, and met his eyes.</p><p>Evergreen glanced away
at once. Harry knew that was a good sign. A direct stare would be a
challenge, and that would mean that Evergreen hadn't accepted him
as alpha.</p><p>"I freed you because
Rose asked," he said. "And because I assumed that you bit Elder
Gillyflower because Loki asked you to, not because you want to run
around biting people. If you <em>do</em>, then I'll have no problem
confining you and assigning guards to watch you. I wouldn't leave a
werewolf there for the Unspeakables to experiment on. That doesn't
mean I'm willing to let a monster run free."</p><p>"Have no fear,"
said Evergreen. His voice was humble for the first time. Harry was
reminded of the way that Camellia would put on a false face of
snarling, snapping bravado in front of other people, and then show
her worry when they were alone. "I did that because it was the best
way, the <em>only</em> way, to get people to pay attention to us, and
because Loki asked me to. You have a different way, and you're my
alpha now, human or not. I'll follow you." He turned back to
Harry. "Can I—approach and sniff you? The others saw Loki
transfer his power. I only heard about it. It would help if I could
smell it for myself."</p><p>Harry nodded, and
Evergreen strode forward and bent his head to sniff carefully about
Harry's neck. Harry watched him without fear. Evergreen was his own
age, and besides, he'd been born Muggle. If he did try to bite,
Harry could pin him to the wall with magic. There was no way he could
fight back.</p><p>Evergreen stepped away
from Harry at last, and dropped to one knee. Harry felt his face heat
up. "There's no need to do that," he began, reaching his hand
out.</p><p>"There is, for me,"
said Evergreen. "My devotion to Loki was always extreme, because he
helped me. He helped all of us. He was the only alpha who moved on
helping werewolves, rather than just hiding a pack and hoping the
hunters or the curious would pass them by and they could live their
lives in peace. But now you've come and freed us from prison, and
you've insisted that your human allies treat us well." He clasped
Harry's hand and pressed his cheek to it, his eyes staring up at
him with no trace of mockery. "I owe you devotion as deep as that I
gave to Loki."</p><p>Harry's happiness
had vanished, and he felt a tingling ache begin in his scar.
"Please," he said quietly. "I—I am glad that you won't do
something like bite Elder Gillyflower again, and that the transfer of
alphas has gone well for you, but <em>please</em>, please don't kneel
to me."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>Harry had no notion
how to explain the mixture of panic and disgust churning in his belly
without making it sound as though he hated Evergreen, so he simply
shrugged. "It makes me feel uncomfortable," he said, and
Evergreen accepted that.</p><p>"Then I will not."
He stood back up and stared into Harry's eyes for a moment more.
"You should know, <em>vates</em>, that, whether I kneel to you or
not, I do plan to fight to the death for you."</p><p>He left the room.
Harry put his hand over his eyes and breathed shallowly for a few
moments.</p><p>He thought about
casting <em>Extabesco plene</em> on himself while he went to write his
letter to Scrimgeour, but he knew that would make his allies panic
when they couldn't find him. He couldn't just order them out of
bowing and kneeling and making declarations of devotion and loyalty,
either, since that would be contrary to their free will, and he
didn't even have a solid reason for it.</p><p>But he did wish,
violently, for a moment, that all of what they wanted to do could be
accomplished with simple actions and words, and without gestures.</p><p>Harry shook his head,
smoothed his discomfort back into determination, and went to work on
his letter to the Minister. He planned to show it to several people
before he sent it. He would want Narcissa's perspective, to see how
well it used diplomatic language, and he would want Hawthorn's, to
make sure he was not leaving out an injustice. He might have been
tempted to consult with Hawthorn alone, but he feared she was too
vengeance-obsessed to see straight.</p><p>Once he had the letter
written, he would send copies to the Maenad Press and the <em>Daily
Prophet</em> and Mr. Lovegood at the <em>Quibbler</em>. He had no idea
if Scrimgeour would actually announce the contents of the letter, and
he wanted to make sure the rest of the wizarding world knew what it
would take to end his rebellion.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"It's insolent,"
said Percy firmly. "After everything you did to support him, and he
sends you a letter like this?"</p><p>Rufus shook his head.
He didn't have the words to describe the letter Harry had sent him,
and, apparently, all three major newspapers. He read it again, in the
hope that doing so might give him the words to answer.</p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour:</em></p><p><em>I do not claim to
speak for all werewolves, or all magical creatures. The only ones I
can speak for specifically are those who have joined me in this
rebellion and given me leave to reveal their presence. For those, and
for the wizards and witches who have tired of seeing injustice and
chosen to join the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, I raise my voice now.</em></p><p><em>We do not demand
changes so sweeping and immediate that they would provoke only
opposition. The Ministry has changed its position towards magical
creatures several times over the last century, and some of those
changes have even been positive. We are willing to work with you, and
with the other witches and wizards who have more traditional stances
on the matter, to solve the problems.</em></p><p><em>But the hunting
season must end. We cannot tell what rights the Ministry will take
away next. If they hate magical creatures who are human for ninety
percent of the year, what is to stop them from making similar, and
worse, mistakes with centaurs, or goblins, or house elves? Why is the
Ministry's first course to panic and imprison them, and the second
to declare legalized murder, instead of attempting to supply them
with Wolfsbane and search for a cure? Prejudice and hatred can be the
only conclusions.</em></p><p><em>Likewise, there
must be serious attempts at negotiation with magical creatures who
are free of the webs. The northern goblins are free. They have little
interest in the wizarding world, but if wizards do want to trade with
them for work in metal or stone, they will demand equal terms to
those given human craftsmen. There is no reason this should not be
granted. A good faith effort by the Ministry would involve
establishing a new committee to begin the negotiations, rather than
assigning the goblins to deal with the Department for the Regulation
and Control of Magical Creatures, the very name of which is
insulting.</em></p><p><em>The centaurs who
dwelt in the Forbidden Forest are free. They changed their nature so
as not to rape when their web ended. However, they would still find
themselves unwelcome in many cases. A good faith effort by the
Ministry would involve sending representatives to the Forbidden
Forest to speak with the centaurs, listen to their story, and decide
how they should be integrated into the British wizarding world, or
how they should live separately if they decide to do so.</em></p><p><em>We do not intend to
simply campaign for the freedom of those Dark creatures who need to
be negotiated with more carefully—for example, giants, sirens, and
dragons. Voldemort loosing sirens and giants on Britain without a
care only shows that he is no </em>vates<em>, and that our goals are
far from his of causing chaos, misery, and despair. As for dragons,
the case of each species, and even some individuals of each species,
must be handled carefully, and the statutes that keep Muggles
ignorant of their existence worked around.</em></p><p><em>For any bound
reptilian species, including wyverns, Harry </em>vates <em>offers to
serve as a translator from Parseltongue. For others, centaurs and
goblins, who speak both the human tongues and have education in other
ways of communicating, stand ready. Barriers of language cannot be
allowed to lie in the way, either as obstruction or excuse.</em></p><p><em>If and when the
Ministry can promise equal protection for werewolves under the law,
and a fair trial for any accused of crimes beyond bearing the
lycanthropy web, the wrongly-imprisoned from Tullianum will be
pleased to return to the wizarding world.</em></p><p><em>The Ministry's
rights over our lives ended when they declared murder legal. We
require not only a reversal of that declaration, but a commitment to
keeping it forbidden. We offer rational arguments. We do not desire
to be met with irrationality.</em></p><p><em>Signed, </em></p><p><em>Harry </em>vates <em>and
the Alliance of Sun and Shadow.</em></p><p>Rufus shook his head,
a grim smile on his lips. This time, though, he didn't feel the
weariness he had felt yesterday; he felt impatience instead, and
skepticism mixed with sarcasm.</p><p><em>Does Harry really
think this is going to force anyone to move? They'll react badly,
and they'll insist that he come in for trial, where before they
were afraid of his magic. Fear turned to stubbornness and mixed with
anger is a volatile liquid that must be handled carefully, and Harry
isn't here to stir the pot.</em></p><p>On that note, Rufus
had visitors to deal with, people he wouldn't have had to give the
time of day to yesterday. But twenty-four hours could change a great
deal, and not always for the better. Rufus wished Harry had
remembered that lesson, or that someone had taught it to him.</p><p>"Mr. Weasley."
Percy looked up, practically hovering on his toes. He hadn't
stopped reading his copy of the <em>Prophet</em> and muttering darkly
under his breath; Rufus was glad to give him something different to
do. "Please show Mrs. Whitestag and Mr. Willoughby into the
office."</p><p>Percy nodded and
strode across the room, flinging his door open. Rufus smoothed his
face into the expression of polite interest that he wore for most
visitors like this—the occasional pureblood with a mad idea who
managed to win access to him because of money or influence.</p><p>This time, though,
only one of them was a pureblood. The other was a Muggle backed by
purebloods who found him a useful tool. And thanks to Harry's
little stunt yesterday, Rufus would have to take their words far more
seriously than he would have otherwise.</p><p>Aurora Whitestag
entered first. Rufus regarded her warily. She concerned him more, and
not just because she knew more about the wizarding world than
Willoughby, and there was no sign that she was a tool like he was.
She <em>believed</em> in what she was saying, enough to stand by it,
and there was no sign that she was a fanatic. At worst, she would
become another level-headed revolutionary like Harry. Rufus didn't
want any more of them. One was enough for his people to deal with.
The only thing he could be thankful for was that Whitestag was not a
Lady.</p><p>Philip Willoughby
followed her. He looked less steady than the first time Rufus had met
him, but months of being a grieving father and not accomplishing what
he set out to do would take their toll on anyone. His hazel eyes had
deep marks of exhaustion under them, and he sat in his chair like a
sack of potatoes. It didn't surprise Rufus when Whitestag spoke for
both of them.</p><p>"Minister, you know
that we've joined forces to propose a monitoring board for young
Harry." She waited until he nodded, then leaned forward. "We have
enough support to begin it now, we think. Several members of the
Wizengamot have agreed to be part of the board, including Griselda
Marchbanks."</p><p>Rufus blinked several
times. That was a surprise. Marchbanks was a staunch ally of Harry's,
as far as he knew. Perhaps she did think Harry needed restraint and
supervision, or perhaps she was agreeing so that Harry could have one
friend on the monitoring board.</p><p>"It's a little
hard to see how it would be set up now, ma'am," he told her.
"Given that Harry is in hiding and in rebellion against the
Ministry."</p><p>Whitestag smiled. She
had dark eyes and dark hair, and pale skin, and an air of certainty.
She was the kind of woman Rufus might have been drawn to himself,
twenty or so years ago. "Oh, we're talking about when he comes
back," she said. "And he <em>will</em> come back, Minister. He
knows he's too important to our world to stay in hiding forever.
He's the Boy-Who-Lived. We need him. And say what you will about
Harry, I think he has a very strong sense of duty."</p><p>Rufus reevaluated her
again. Whitestag had clearly picked up more about Harry than had come
through in her rare <em>Prophet</em> interviews. That only made her
more dangerous, of course. Rufus did not want Harry caged. Part of
that was personal fondness, but more of it was certainty that that
would involve <em>more</em> mucking around in his Ministry when Harry
saw the cages and chains and broke free of them.</p><p>"He does," Rufus
said slowly. "But what makes you think he would agree to this
monitoring board? He also has a very strong sense of independence,
and it's only got stronger. I don't think a boy who would plan a
battle at Hogwarts all by himself with the help of a few allies will
take kindly to someone looking over his shoulder."</p><p>"He will if we make
it part of the bargain for his coming back into the wizarding world
in good standing," said Whitestag. Willoughby muttered something
about the battle and how his daughter might have lived if someone had
been there to rein Harry in. Whitestag ignored him. "That sense of
duty, Minister. His followers won't stand for something as dramatic
as a trial, or Harry being arrested and sent to Tullianum, and I
don't think he will, either. But a monitoring board? A small
sacrifice that will also insure he has adult counselors, ones who
have good reason to fear his running wild?" She tilted her head and
smiled. "I think he will."</p><p>"He does have a
guardian," Rufus told her. "Professor Severus Snape. And I
believe that Headmistress McGonagall take something of an
affectionate interest in the boy as well."</p><p>"We saw that when we
came to talk to her," said Willoughby darkly.</p><p>Whitestag put a
calming hand on his arm and glanced at Rufus again. "But we've
been listening to reports from Hogwarts, sir, in the form of children
whose brothers and sisters died in the attack," she said. "They
say that Professor Snape is barely able to teach his own classes now,
and may soon retire or go into seclusion altogether. Emotional
problems. And Headmistress McGonagall, admirable as she is, has a
whole school to look after. If she had been willing to abandon her
responsibilities, she would have gone into exile after the boy. We
certainly cannot send Harry back to his parents, not when he
renounced them, and not with the way they have treated him. Nor do
those friends and allies he has surrounded himself with seem adequate
to give him guidance. I believe custody of Harry should be taken away
from Severus Snape and shared between the monitoring board,
Headmistress McGonagall, and those of his friends and allies who are
most trustworthy. We would have to interview them, of course."</p><p>Rufus hid his alarm.
He had heard nothing of Snape's degradation. "It's an
interesting idea, Mrs. Whitestag," he said, "but I'm afraid I'd
have to think more about it before giving you a definite answer."</p><p>Her smile brightened
her face. "Of course, sir." She stood, her head half-bowed. "If
anyone has been patient in the face of enormous provocation from
Harry, you have been. We lost our children, but I have come to see
our losses more and more in the pattern of larger losses for the
wizarding world if Harry does not receive the training he needs. He
killed our children because he is still half a child himself, being
asked to bear burdens we should not have piled onto a teenager's
shoulders. I am doing this for his sake as much as for that of my
dead daughter and son."</p><p>Rufus looked into her
eyes. He <em>believed</em> her.</p><p>And it terrified him.</p><p>"I—I will speak
with others, Mrs. Whitestag," he said. "In particular, I would
like to confirm some of the information you gave me. And then I will
talk to you again about what we should do."</p><p>She bowed to him, a
full formal gesture of the kind that even most purebloods didn't
bother with anymore, and then took Willoughby's arm and guided him
gently out the door. Rufus wondered if she had brought him to make
her case look stronger, or to offer him moral support. It could have
been both.</p><p>Rufus did not want to
see that monitoring board established, even now. It could interfere
with Harry's work as <em>vates</em>, and he valued that as an ideal,
though he didn't think Harry would go about it in a practical way.</p><p>He wondered, though,
if Whitestag was right and it would be the only acceptable way to
settle the rebellion in the eyes of the wizarding world.</p><p>He shook his head, and
turned to making sure he got some information on Professor Snape. He
doubted the Unspeakables would stop him, any more than they had
stopped Whitestag and Willoughby from visiting. They would probably
be pleased with the thought of restricting Harry, and they knew he
was in their debt for their removal of Harry's tunnel.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry concentrated.
His magic surged through him in pulsing waves, still touched by
tenderness from his broken rib. He pictured them concentrating on the
end of his left arm, and then let out a deep breath and the words of
the countercurse at the same time.</p><p>"<em>Supervenio ad
integritas!</em>" It had the force of a shout, though he kept his
voice low.</p><p>His left wrist
shivered, and when Harry opened his eyes, it was to see another curse
dissolving from it, melting off in gray strips the color of rain. A
slight numbness he'd never noticed existed was suddenly gone. Harry
blinked, and felt phantom pain in his missing fingers. He carefully
pulled his magic back from his left hand—the book he'd retrieved
the countercurse from said it should be left alone, to recover from
the effects of the Dark power—and sat down hard on his bed.</p><p>He closed his eyes and
allowed himself to bathe in the exaltation for a moment. <em>The third
curse broken. Now I need to study before breaking the fourth one. </em>If
he could believe the mirrors at the Sanctuary, the next curse was the
last preventing him from having a hand, but also the hardest to
break. It would take time for him to recognize the pattern in
Argutus's scales from any book; the ones he'd looked through so
far all had nothing.</p><p>He used those moments
of recovery time to search his mind for traces of his Animagus form.
The only thing he saw, silhouette or not, Peter's lessons or not,
was a lynx. Perhaps that meant his mind was still too full of
Voldemort's visions, but Harry thought it was more likely to mean
that his Animagus form <em>was</em> a lynx, especially because the one
he envisioned had four paws instead of three.</p><p>He stood in the next
moment, and strode outside. He should seek out and soothe the
karkadann, who still only allowed him—and a few of the more violent
werewolves—to get close to her. She patrolled the valley
faithfully, and grazed, and attacked no one, but she had been rushing
around Woodhouse yesterday, horn lowered and stabbing at the air. She
needed someone to calm her.</p><p>He stepped out into
sunlight. They had had three days of rain since they rescued the
werewolves, but today had decided to be fair, with light sparking
from wet needles in the forest and puddles on the ground and flashing
spells where Adalrico drilled those werewolves who had wands in
dueling. Harry made his way carefully between puddles towards the
forest, where the karkadann stood with one foot scraping the ground,
staring moodily up at the rock walls that surrounded Woodhouse.</p><p>She turned long before
he reached her, and uttered a deafening bugle. Harry felt his cheeks
flush as people turned to look at him, but at least most of them
turned back to their tasks right away. Three days had been enough to
dull all but the most fervent gratitude, and get people used to the
myriad tasks of being rebels in Wales. Even the karkadann was no
longer as much a point of interest as she had been.</p><p>She trotted up to him
now, though, head lowered and horn sweeping the air in front of her,
madly glad to see him. Her first breath nearly knocked him over, and
Harry had to duck to avoid the enormous nose. He felt
battle-readiness surge up in him, the result of her voice and breath.</p><p>He looked at the
karkadann thoughtfully. She backed, her left hind foot stamping.
Since she had multiple toes instead of a single hoof, Harry thought,
it shouldn't have made that much noise, but it did. The sound
reminded him of war-drums.</p><p>Harry's gaze went to
the sides of the valley. He hadn't seen any Muggles in the area,
and a quick touch to the sense of Woodhouse that hovered in the back
of his mind confirmed there probably weren't any. Woodhouse's
place magic defended it and kept it hidden from those who weren't
magical themselves. It would have been settled and used long ago,
otherwise.</p><p>Harry made up his
mind. The karkadann badly needed to run. Without people, Woodhouse
was just barely big enough for her. With them, she couldn't gallop
without upsetting someone's pet project.</p><p>He gestured to the
rocky walls, and the great unicorn understood him without a word
spoken. She slid to one knee, though, and Harry hesitated for a long
moment before he reached out, gripped that shaggy off-white fur, and
hauled himself onto her back.</p><p>This close, the smell
was utterly overwhelming. Harry could smell blood and death and dust
and sand. They didn't disgust him. He found himself shouting
instead, meaningless noise, just to make himself heard, and leaning
down along the line of the karkadann's spine.</p><p>She took one step
forward, then two, then kicked out and began to <em>really</em> run.
Harry saw the valley's cliffs rushing closer and closer, and then
she jumped. The hills became blurs of gray and brown and green. She
landed with a jolt that reminded Harry of the blow he'd taken from
Falco in their battle—and jostled his still-healing rib—and then
turned to the east, surging towards the place where the hills
flattened around the forest entrance to Woodhouse.</p><p>Harry couldn't
remember the last time he'd been this uncaring of what might
happen, except on his Firebolt. The karkadann's feet dug deep into
the grass and soil, flinging up divots of them that sometimes came
high enough to splatter against his robes. In the desert, Harry
thought, it would be puffs of hot sand. Her muscles rolled and
surged, and Harry reminded himself that karkadanns dueled with rhinos
and elephants. The stink surrounded him and soaked into his skin, but
it was wild, and, as such, no more repugnant than the musk that hung
around werewolves. He bounced and shifted in place, but that was what
the firm grip with his hand was for.</p><p>And he could feel the
joy gathering in her, especially when she came down off the hills and
saw the flat expanse of autumn grass in front of them.</p><p>She hesitated,
prancing.</p><p>"Go," Harry
whispered.</p><p>As if she actually
obeyed his words instead of her own free will, she leaped forward,
and Harry heard dirt wash around them and suspected her hind feet had
carved a sinkhole this time. He crouched down further, because the
wind of their passage was strong enough to become annoying, and
stared ahead. The world split into two around the gleaming neck, the
proud lifted head, the black corkscrew horn. Harry heard himself
laughing, and didn't remember when he'd started doing it.</p><p>The karkadann made an
odd sound as she galloped, half like a horse's snort and half like
a bellow so wild that it made Harry's ears sting and smart. She
wheeled around at the end of one charge, nearly sitting down on her
hindquarters, and then plunged madly at right angles to her stop.
Harry thought he'd slip off for a moment, but instincts honed in
Quidditch saved him. He gripped with arms and legs and hand, and the
next thing he knew, they were shooting north, the karkadann still
safely underneath him.</p><p>She lowered her head
and hunched her shoulders, and suddenly they were <em>bounding</em>,
all her feet leaving the ground at once and coming down together
again in one place. Harry's teeth rattled in his head, and he had
to fight not to bite his tongue. The karkadann didn't look back at
him, or neigh in concern, but kept on doing it. After all, Harry
thought, she probably realized he could get off if he didn't like
it.</p><p>He stayed on.</p><p>The karkadann slewed
around in a half-turn, and then dug her front legs in and bucked,
shooting her hind legs behind her, for no reason other than the fun
and the wild pleasure of it. Harry slid to her neck and clung there,
then slid backward as she reared on her hind legs and screamed her
desire for death and conquering and wind and running to the sky.</p><p>Harry, with his heart
in this throat and his glasses half-sliding off his face, recalled a
snatch of something an ancient Muggle author had once written about
karkadanns. "He is never caught alive; killed he may be, but taken
he cannot be." The web put on them had proven that author wrong,
perhaps, Harry had thought, the first time he read about them.</p><p>Now he knew it hadn't.
The web might prevent karkadanns from coming in sight of Muggles or
going where they wanted to, but the beast underneath Harry at that
moment was tameless. She would only come to someone's hand because
she wanted to. She screamed her freedom to the whole world and didn't
care who knew it.</p><p>When she dropped from
her rear, with a satisfied snort that shook the earth, she turned her
head to the side and waited. Harry leaned out, reaching sideways far
enough to touch her ear.</p><p>She smelled of
ferocity and freedom. Harry met the black eyes and wondered how many
times it had been the last sight some other person or creature ever
saw.</p><p>"You're
magnificent," he whispered. "You are."</p><p>The karkadann gave
another snort, agreeing with him.</p><p>Harry carried on
stroking her ear for a time, until she turned and trotted back
towards Woodhouse. She jumped casually from the side of the hill into
the valley, shaking several people from their feet and making some of
the water in the puddles leap a dozen feet in the air. Harry shrugged
when his people glared at him, but couldn't find it in his heart to
be <em>really</em> sorry. He was alive again, his blood galloping
around in his veins as if it had four feet and a horn as well.</p><p>He slipped off the
karkadann's back. She went to graze, snapping her lion-like tail in
a whipping half-caress around his shoulders on the way. Harry shook
his head, grinning, and wondered what in the world he had done to
deserve company like this.</p><p>An owl dipped down
towards him, and he was temporarily distracted. He opened it, and
blinked when he read the contents.</p><p><em>October 3rd,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Harry:</em></p><p><em>This letter is to
inform you that Auror Edmund Wilmot is still working in the Ministry.
He originally prepared to flee from his post when he believed that
the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would use a spell to locate
</em>all <em>werewolves, but they have not so far released the spell,
perhaps for lack of people to capture the revealed lycanthropes.
Therefore, he will remain as an Auror and pass information along. He
knows that you could use a spy there. The main plot he has overheard
talk of so far is of a monitoring board, controlled by the parents of
the Dozen Who Died, to watch over you. Also, the Minister had to
resort to calling on the Unspeakables to get rid of your corridor. </em></p><p><em>He believes he has
a foolproof method to slip his owls out of the Ministry. He will give
more information as it becomes available.</em></p><p><em>Peregrine.</em></p><p>Harry shook his head
again, dazed. Peregrine was one of the alphas of the London packs,
one who had agreed to bring her people to shelter under Harry and was
making arrangements to do so, and, presumably, the alpha Wilmot would
have gone to.</p><p>For Wilmot to remain
in place, in the face of intense danger, to do this for the sake of
the rebellion…</p><p>Harry felt another
surge of awe and wonder and gratitude. <em>Why are such people helping
me? What have I done to deserve this?</em></p><p>With the feeling that
life was, at the moment, wonderful, he went to take a shower to
remove the sweat, and then write another letter to the Minister. Four
days without a response was too long.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 36*: Master of the Rising Tension</h2>
			<p>This is one of those
chapters where, if you want to avoid slash entirely, you're going
to have a hard time of it; the first three scenes all at least
involve the characters thinking about it. Use your discretion.</p><p><strong>C</strong><strong>hapter Twenty-Eight: Master of the Rising
Tension</strong></p><p>Draco shut the door
quietly behind him.</p><p>Not quietly enough, it
seemed. A moment ago, Draco would have said Harry was completely
absorbed in the letter on his knee, but he blinked and looked up.
"Draco?" he asked, shoving his glasses up with his hand and
causing the letter to almost drift to the floor. His Levitation Charm
snatched it up and put it back, but Harry grumbled about losing his
place before he said, "Is something wrong?"</p><p>Draco frowned, then
reminded himself what he'd come here for. Harry had only finished
riding the karkadann half an hour ago. Draco had given him some time
to shower, but, he hoped, not shed the joyful mood entirely. Harry
had been open to kissing him in joyful moods before. And Draco had
only had to glimpse his face, flushed and laughing from the ride,
before a sharp spike of <em>want</em> had made him remember what he'd
promised Harry in the Ministry corridor.</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Draco. "Why should something be wrong when I only wanted to
spend time with my boyfriend?"</p><p>Harry obviously didn't
assign any innuendo to that statement, because he smiled. "Nothing.
But you've been talking to your mother almost since she arrived, so
I thought she might have dismissed you because her ear's getting
tired."</p><p>It was true that
Narcissa had been in his thoughts and at his side since she arrived,
Draco thought, but that had only been his wonder at the thought that
she had chosen him, after all. He had thought from the time he was a
child that his mother and father were, while not identical, <em>joined</em>;
seeing one break away from the other had been an impossible concept
to grasp. If he chose against one, he would be choosing against the
other. And now here his mother was. Small wonder he had wanted to
talk to her, to hear all the details of her duel with Lucius, to know
exactly what was happening and realize again how much she loved him.</p><p>He realized Harry had
turned back to his letter while he was distracted, and frowned again.
He stepped closer and took the letter out of Harry's hand. Harry
squawked like Granger as that resulted in a long trail of ink down
the side of the parchment, and glared at him.</p><p>"Draco, that letter
is to the Minister—"</p><p>Draco bent down and
kissed him, pushing Harry onto his back before he knew what was
happening. He didn't <em>exactly</em> want to bed Harry in
irritation, but he could use the emotion to begin this. And the
moment he had skin under his hands, and the memory of Harry's
flushed face in his head, his thoughts narrowed and oriented towards
one point. He <em>wanted</em> this, damn it.</p><p>They'd both come
alive out of the Ministry jailbreak, they'd done it with no
casualties other than a few wounds, and Draco had Stunned the
Minister and saved Harry from having to fight him. That deserved some
bedding, Draco thought.</p><p>Harry hissed, though,
and the sound wasn't a noise of irritation, but of pain. Draco sat
back at once. <em>Is there something in his training that makes him
react to being pinned like this?</em></p><p>He realized the truth
when Harry sat up, massaging his right side, where the rib had
broken. Draco stared. "I thought you took a healing potion for
that?" he demanded.</p><p>Harry gave him a
strange look. "Of course I did. But it was a broken rib. The
Bone-Set could only heal the break, not ease all the pain. It's
going to be fragile and tender for a few days."</p><p>"It's <em>been</em>
a few days since then." Draco was unable to keep the pettiness out
of his voice. Even though it had been his fault as much as Harry's
that they'd shared the same bed for the last few nights, but only
for sleeping, and spent their days doing entirely different things,
he wanted this now. He shifted uncomfortably, and saw Harry's gaze
dart to his groin.</p><p>"You get aroused
fast," Harry said.</p><p>"We're hanging a
mirror next time," said Draco. "So that you can see yourself and
<em>understand</em> why I get aroused so quickly."</p><p>Harry's flush
deepened to the color of red clay. He stood and reached out, clasping
Draco's hand. "Listen, Draco," he said softly. "I'm hurt,
but it won't last forever. In a few more days, at most, it should
be entirely healed. It already feels better than it did yesterday.
Can you wait that long?"</p><p>Draco nodded
reluctantly. He supposed that he could always ask Harry to wank him
in the meantime, but he wanted more than that—he wanted to see
Harry entirely <em>naked</em>, for one thing, which hadn't happened
since Harry had faced Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets and won—and
anything less would feel like settling. Draco didn't want to
settle. He intended to push.</p><p>"Good." Harry
squeezed his hand. "I <em>am</em> sorry about this, you know."</p><p>Draco looked steadily
into Harry's eyes. They shone earnestly back at him. And Draco
could see that, yes, he was sorry—</p><p>To not be able to give
Draco what he wanted.</p><p>"Do <em>you</em> want
this, Harry?" Draco demanded abruptly. "If your rib was healed,
would you go along because you want to bed me, or because this is a
gift you can offer me?"</p><p>Harry's flush
deepened again. "Both," he said. "I <em>do</em> like—watching
you, Draco." Draco considered demanding that he say the words, but
that would only tie up Harry's tongue, and he needed it to say the
words Draco wanted to hear. "You're beautiful when you feel that
much pleasure in a way that you aren't at other times. Not that
you're <em>never</em> beautiful at other times," he hastened to
add.</p><p>"I know," said
Draco, holding up a hand. "I know what you mean, Harry. But there's
a more pertinent question, I think. How much does your own pleasure
factor into this? Not how much you like watching me come, but how
much <em>you</em> like getting off." He was remembering the time
Harry had brought him to climax and then arranged Draco on his chest
afterwards; it had been warm and pleasant and had already taken its
place as one of Draco's favorite memories, but now what he was
especially remembering was the way Harry had said, "I'll be
fine," when he attempted to return the favor.</p><p>Harry was looking away
to one side, and wouldn't meet his eyes.</p><p>"It's less
important," he said.</p><p>Draco stifled a growl,
then wondered why he was bloody well doing that and released it. He
had promised Harry that he was going to push. "<em>Why</em>?"</p><p>"It's not a
problem of feeling good," said Harry, not looking at him. "It's
<em>not</em>. I liked it fine when we were at Silver-Mirror. It's
just—I thought about it afterwards, and I didn't like the feeling
of collapsing like that. I don't like the feeling of letting all my
barriers down at once."</p><p>Draco saw the problem
almost at once. The point in the last few months when Harry had
seemed most relaxed was at the Sanctuary, in the pool where Draco had
massaged his shoulders. On the other hand, both times he'd bedded
Draco had been intense, hurried experiences, full of emotion, with
Harry not really <em>relaxed</em>, no matter how content he'd been
afterwards.</p><p>"I wish you had told
me about this before," said Draco, trying and failing to keep the
frustration out of his voice. "I could have helped, Harry."</p><p>Harry gave him a sad
smile. "In the midst of all this?" His hand-wave took in not only
Woodhouse but also the rebellion, Draco knew. "We've both been
busy, and you've been coping with extremes of emotion in the last
few days. I didn't think your mother would join us, either.
Besides, I don't think of it as a problem—"</p><p>"I bloody well do."</p><p>Harry gave him a
sideways look. "The answer to this will probably seem obvious the
moment I ask it, but I don't care. <em>Why</em>, Draco?"</p><p>Draco shook his head.
He didn't have the words to explain just <em>why</em> he wanted to
see Harry entirely naked, taking as much pleasure from their bedding
as Draco did. He just knew that he did.</p><p>So he said that.
"Because I want that to happen, Harry." He shifted, deliberately
drawing Harry's eyes to his groin again. "I don't consider it
bedding if you just wank or suck me off for the rest of our lives. I
want to fuck you, too, you know."</p><p>"It wouldn't be
the rest of our <em>lives</em>," said Harry. "We're just a little
busy right now—"</p><p>"We always will be,"
said Draco. "I know that you're <em>vates</em>, Harry; you were
that before I fell in love with you. I've put up with the notion
that I have to share you with your goals and your allies and all
kinds of magical creatures. But you have to share them with me, too.
That means that I won't suffer being put off forever. And if I did
let you do that, we'd fall into some comfortable 'compromise'
I'd wake up from and hate years later. No. We're going to live at
the same time as we're rebelling." He raked Harry's body with a
deliberately lingering look that Harry glanced aside from. "Your
rib has to heal completely, of course. But until then, I want you to
think about the fact that your own pleasure matters to me as much as
mine does."</p><p>"Draco—" Harry's
words were a plea, now.</p><p>"No arguments on
that score, Harry," Draco said pleasantly, though his heart was
pounding hard and he couldn't tell what emotion was uppermost in
him. <em>Anger? Determination? Bloody-minded stubbornness? </em>"I'm
not taking a sacrifice to bed. That's not appealing to me in the
slightest."</p><p>He turned and stepped
out of the room, shutting the door behind him again and trying to
convince himself that that had been worthwhile, after all. He'd
nipped something in the bud that he might have ignored in a haze of
desire and then regretted afterwards—</p><p><em>Who am I kidding?</em></p><p>Draco sighed and went
to find one of Woodhouse's small rooms to cast wards and Silencing
Charms around. He had come to important realizations, yes, but none
of that impacted the arousal that Harry had inspired in him and which
wasn't going to be truly satisfied for at least the next few days.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry managed to
finish the letter to the Minister, though his thoughts kept bouncing
back to what Draco had said to him. At last he laid the parchment
aside and ran his hand through his hair. He couldn't send it right
now, anyway. He wanted Narcissa, Hawthorn, and Adalrico to look over
it first.</p><p><em>How can I make
Draco see that this isn't a sacrifice for me? I just—I just have
problems relaxing to that extent, and there's no reason that should
prevent him from experiencing pleasure.</em></p><p>Harry had assumed it
was one more thing, like the taste of porridge or chocolate, that
mattered to him and him alone, and since he didn't care that much
about it, then no one else should care that much about it, either.
But Draco did seem to care about it, and given his newfound
pushiness, he would shove and worry at it, Harry knew, until they
reached a point where Harry gave Draco what he wanted.</p><p><em>And what I do want,
too, what it would be pleasant to have, but not as desperately as he
seems to want it.</em></p><p>Harry shook his head.
This was getting him nowhere, and the thoughts were distracting him
from important things. He transformed the impulse to lie there and
let the worries inside his head have free rein to the impulse to take
care of those important things, and snatched the letter.</p><p>The request it
contained was simple. It wanted to know why the Minister had not yet
responded to the Alliance of Sun and Shadow and their demands for
werewolf legal rights. Surely, outlawing murder was not <em>that</em>
hard a decision? Even a small gesture of good faith would content
them, for now. But so far, there had only come this cold silence, and
that made the Alliance think the Ministry was dithering.</p><p>Harry suspected that
Scrimgeour was probably grateful for the silence, and for the fact
that so many factions in the Ministry had no idea how to respond. And
he wouldn't thank Harry for pushing.</p><p>Harry didn't care.
The silence wouldn't endure. If he gave his enemies time to rebuild
their anthill, then they would inevitably come to conclusions that
sounded good but which decided against his people. So he would do
what rebels were supposed to do, and kick over the anthill again.</p><p><em>Time to set this to
boiling, </em>he thought, and sought out Narcissa.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Narcissa Malfoy was a
very long way from stupid. The only arena of her life in which she
would admit to, perhaps, carrying things too far was her grudge
against her sister Andromeda, which had lasted through years of
silence and years of sniping letters. Their communication had grown
coldly courteous again in the last few months, as Narcissa coaxed
Andromeda to come out openly for Harry; she nearly had in the summer
before Harry's fourth year, but then retreated when she and
Narcissa fell out and she discovered how close Harry was to Narcissa.
And now the owls in the last few days had been warmer than ever,
because Andromeda did care that her beloved daughter had decided to
join Harry's rebellion. Very much.</p><p>That intelligence
meant that she could take one look at Harry when he held out his
latest letter to the Minister, and say, "You had an argument with
my son, didn't you?"</p><p>Harry flushed. "Not
so much an argument as a—clash of words," he said, and shook the
letter. "Please, Mrs. Malfoy, it's important."</p><p>"What about?"
Narcissa asked as she took the parchment. Harry's deepening blush
gave her the clue. She paused, wondering what advice to give.
Bellatrix would have laughed and made filthy jokes, Andromeda would
have been delicately blunt, but she was neither of their sisters.
Besides, neither of them had produced a son, or married a Malfoy.</p><p>"I'll tell you
this now, Harry," she said. "Draco loves you. He may be devious,
but he would not force you to do something that made you
uncomfortable simply because it pleased him. He wants to please you,
as well. And there is nothing wrong—nothing—with indulging your
own taste for pleasure."</p><p>"Mrs. Malfoy,
<em>please</em>." Harry had backed away a few steps by now, and had
his head down. "Please, will you read the letter?"</p><p>"I told you to call
me Narcissa," she chided him gently as she held the parchment open
on her lap. She sat on a bench in one of the narrow corridors of
Woodhouse, the better to observe what was happening everywhere and
note the stirrings of arguments and dissension. So far, no one had
expressed serious objections against being here—the freed
werewolves, even the ones not originally Harry's allies, knew the
Ministry would not offer them kisses and roses if they betrayed
Harry—but Narcissa knew they would come, and she would not let
Harry be taken off guard. "And what I say is true. The world will
not cease to spin because you think of yourself for once in a while."</p><p>"But I am," said
Harry, lifting his head with a quick, angry jerk. He breathed deeply
in the next moment, and all the lines on his forehead smoothed out.
<em>Too quickly, </em>Narcissa thought. <em>Unnaturally. </em>"I'm
making sure I eat and sleep on time, ma'am. I do use a sleeping
charm if I'm prone to lie awake and let my thoughts race around my
head. I don't exhaust myself trying to fulfill impossible requests.
I'm learning to refuse people things I don't think they should
have. I'm becoming what you advised me to be in one of the Starborn
letters, someone capable of deciding where my magic should go and
what it should do, rather than assuming that I have to be a servant
for everyone who asks."</p><p>"This is more than
that," said Narcissa. "This is taking time and happiness for
yourself, Harry." She wondered if she could have had this
conversation with any other sixteen-year-old boy in the world.
Usually they needed to slow down and be told to<em> remember</em> that
other people existed, and their actions affected those people. "No
one will curse you if you do that."</p><p>Harry shrugged. "I
know that, ma'am."</p><p>"<em>Narcissa.</em>"</p><p>"Narcissa," he
agreed, but it was too obviously a concession to her. Narcissa eyed
him for a moment, and wondered if she should press the issue.</p><p>Then she decided not
to. Sometimes, as with Andromeda, one needed to let matters rest.
Besides, her son would be better-suited to know when Harry was
depriving himself, and much more determined than anyone else to deal
with it.</p><p>She turned to the
parchment, and shook her head, ignoring his soft sigh of relief. "If
you want to phrase this as a demand, the first line is too
conciliatory, I think."</p><p>"I want it to be
more of a request," said Harry. "The letters can increase in
ferocity as they grow on."</p><p>"We may not get that
far," said Narcissa. This, at least, she felt competent to address.
"<em>We</em> know that you're taking this rebellion seriously, but
so far, the most impressive thing we've done is the Ministry
jailbreak, and that will already be fading in its impact on the minds
of the public. We need other methods of showing them we're serious.
A demand would do it."</p><p>Harry opened his mouth
to argue, and then he spun and stared towards the window. Narcissa
followed his gaze, expecting to see an owl, but nothing hovered
there. Harry's magic rose anyway.</p><p>"What is it?"
Narcissa asked.</p><p>"Intruders on the
borders of Woodhouse," said Harry tightly. "It's telling me
about many small rushing things. It doesn't like them. They may be
Aurors or Unspeakables."</p><p>A moment later, a
ringing neigh and howls both came through the window, signals from
their sentries. Narcissa stood, smoothing down her robes, and then
shook her wand into her hand.</p><p>"They're
entering," said Harry, and his magic rose and swamped the building.
The next moment, he vanished, and Narcissa suspected he had Apparated
directly to the attackers' side.</p><p>She turned and went to
warn those who hadn't heard, and then to find Draco. Her mind
drowned fear. They had Harry with them, and they had known it would
come to this sooner or later, as long as they were rebels against the
Ministry. She was not in the least afraid.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry landed on the
outer fringes of the pine forest, to find that Woodhouse's warning
had been even more impressive than he thought. The Aurors in question
hadn't fired a spell yet, but they were hostile towards parts of
the valley, slapping branches out of the way as they tried to sneak
in. Then Woodhouse had picked up on their hostility towards him, and
its stance had altered from tolerance of the small rushing things to
active annoyance.</p><p>Woodhouse would still
not attack, given that its place magic would simply defend any stones
or trees the Aurors tried to move, but its annoyance could run
through Harry, and <em>he</em> could certainly attack.</p><p>He reminded himself
that intimidating people at the Ministry had stopped anyone from
dying. He didn't know if he would be so lucky here, but he could
certainly show off his magic.</p><p>He stepped around the
tree in front of him and did so.</p><p>The air around the
dark-robed wizards turned dry. Harry raised his magic as heat, rather
than fire, thinking of the deserts the karkadann had run. He murmured
a milder version of the dehydration curse Draco had used to save him
from the time-globe on the Hogwarts Express, and the witch in front
of him started gasping as moisture was sucked from her mouth. He
carefully kept the magic away from the trees; since he was part of
Woodhouse, the valley presumably wouldn't hesitate to lash at him
if it caught him hurting another part of itself.</p><p>Harry let the air
around him shimmer, too, and waited, doing nothing more than arch an
eyebrow.</p><p>The witch in front of
him flicked her wand, trying a nonverbal spell. Harry clenched the
fingers of his hand, cast a <em>Protego</em> in front of his chest, and
then aimed the spell, a stronger dehydration curse, over that. The
witch made a soundless cry as the tendons in her hand dried to the
consistency of old leather, and her fingers spasmed open and dropped
her wand. Whatever hex she had chosen sputtered out against the rocks
and needles under her feet.</p><p>"Now," said Harry
quietly. "What are you doing here? Tell me that, and I might be
persuaded to let you live." He could feel the karkadann shoving
through the pine trees to get to his side, but he didn't worry. She
was at a disadvantage in cover as thick as this. And he could easily
use his magic to restrain her from killing anyone, should he deem it
necessary.</p><p>Someone moved forward
from the back of the group—a tall woman with blonde hair sweeping
her shoulders, whom Harry recognized. She halted and nodded at him.
Then she said, "Karen, you were supposed to inform him he was under
arrest first, before you cast a spell. Remember it. I certainly
will."</p><p>Karen mouthed
something sullen. Harry inclined his head to Priscilla Burke.
"Hello," he said. "The Ministry must consider this important if
they send the Head Auror after me and mine."</p><p>The karkadann knocked
into another tree behind him and let out a bellow of frustration.
Harry stood firm, not letting the temptation to charge when he heard
the trumpet overwhelm him. He watched the Head Auror's face
instead, caught in a stream of slanting sunlight. He knew she was not
here as Thomas's wife, because she would have already joined them
if that was the case.</p><p>"The Ministry has
declared you, and everyone who shelters with you, an outlaw," said
Priscilla. "The charges are numerous. Sheltering fugitives,
intrusion into and damage of Ministry property, endangering public
safety. There were others, but I didn't bother memorizing them."
She let out a long breath. "The point, <em>vates</em>, is that you
should surrender and come with us now."</p><p>"Will my people be
properly treated?" Harry asked mildly. "For example, will Mrs.
Parkinson be treated like a human being, and not cut with silver, and
shoved into a corner of her cell, and left to put on robes torn in
her transformation?"</p><p>Priscilla jolted as if
he had slapped her. "That did not happen," she whispered.</p><p>"Oh, but it did."
Harry took a step forward. "That's the reason I'm asking for
guarantees from the Ministry. I don't trust them to keep my packs
from being murdered. Why in the world would I trust them with
anything else?"</p><p>"Who did this?"
Priscilla said.</p><p>Harry shrugged.
"Hawthorn said that every single Auror who came after her
contributed something to it—slapping her, spitting on her, kicking
her, casting pain curses. <em>Something</em>." He held Priscilla's
eyes, even when they watered as if she were trying to blink, and
pulled more and more of his magic close to him, in a thick sheen that
made the rest of the forest waver like a mirage. "There were twenty
of them. That's a purging of a good part of your Corps, I think."</p><p>Priscilla closed her
eyes and visibly fought for mental balance. Then, as if aware that
this would make her look weak in front of her people, she chose a
glare. "You don't—I don't think you understand. I would like
to begin such a purge, and make sure that my own people never treat a
prisoner like that again, but I need you back in the public eye to do
it. I need to hear Mrs. Parkinson's testimony, or at lest see her
memories in a Pensieve, to know who was responsible. If you surrender
and come along, then we can quiet some of the public suspicions. So
long as everyone is still shouting about werewolves running around
and trying to murder us in our beds, nothing we do will make any
difference. We have to have a calm environment."</p><p>"Correction," said
Harry. "If we surrender, they'll think they've won. And they'll
make sure that none of the <em>really</em> damaging testimony reaches
the outside world." He looked up as the karkadann finally found the
passage through the trees and came to a stop beside him, snorting and
stamping. Harry reached up and stroked her shaggy foreleg, ignoring
Priscilla's gape. "And that means the end of our freedom, the end
of our chance to change things, and the end of our inspiration for
the rest of the wizarding world. My answer to that is no, ma'am,
unless we have either action from the Ministry, or binding oaths that
swear they won't harm us and try to make us vanish the moment we're
in their custody."</p><p>"Without your coming
back now, it will come to civil war, and not just rebellion," said
Priscilla, her voice tight.</p><p>"Why?" Harry
asked.</p><p>"Because people are
starting to support you," said Priscilla darkly. "The pages of
the <em>Daily Prophet</em> are swarming with letters. In London,
several werewolf packs have secured their lairs and prepared to fight
any Aurors who arrest them, or anyone else trying to harm them, to
the death. Someone else tried to invade the Ministry yesterday, and
got away before we could find out who it was. And now we have letters
coming in from—from people we can't afford to ignore in France
and Spain, asking why the Minister hasn't done something about the
Alliance's demands so far, and how they look oh so very reasonable
to <em>them</em>." She scowled. "The Americans are doing the same
thing, but the Americans <em>always</em> do that. France and Spain are
usually quieter."</p><p>Harry allowed himself
a thin smile. He didn't know much of the British Ministry's
reputation abroad, but he could imagine how it had suffered under
Fudge. And then it would have had a year of seeming competency under
Scrimgeour, only to tremble and explode now. It was no wonder that
even Scrimgeour's enemies wanted to stop the Alliance, because they
would want a smooth transfer of power. Coups didn't look good on a
Ministry's record.</p><p>"It doesn't look
good, does it?" he asked innocently. "That one rebel can defy the
whole of a Ministry armed with permission to use dangerous spells, as
well as dangerous magical artifacts?"</p><p>Priscilla closed her
eyes. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, <em>vates</em>,"
she said, and then she waved her wand and lifted a privacy ward
between them. "I received permission from the Minister himself to
seek you out and try to stop this," she said. "He was willing to
wait before, but the invasion yesterday and the letters from the—the
people in France and Spain are unnerving him. Amelia Bones is just
about <em>ready</em> to declare war at this point. If you come along
now, we'll avoid that. If you don't, then we won't."</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath. Then he said, "You and Scrimgeour both seem to think I
didn't know what would happen when I started this rebellion. That's
wrong. I did. I did it to prevent even worse things from happening."</p><p>"You want corpses in
the streets?" Priscilla whispered. "You want blood? You want
war?"</p><p>"I don't want it,"
said Harry. "But that's what I'm going to get. And without it,
we'd have people dying in the street anyway. Their killers would
just say they were werewolves later. And we'd have the Department
of Mysteries doing whatever the hell it likes, under the guidance of
the Stone, and the Ministry shaking apart around Scrimgeour's ears.
He's got a war of his own to fight, whether he likes it or not.
He's not going to save his Ministry this way, and neither am I. I
don't <em>want</em> to save it. It couldn't protect the innocent.
It didn't try."</p><p>"War," Priscilla
said. She was hung up on the word, Harry thought. "A rebellion is
one thing. A war is another."</p><p>"Revolution is a
more frightening word than either." Harry smiled so hard his face
hurt. "And I'm committed to it. I told the Minister I was. I
can't understand why people don't take me seriously. Perhaps
because I'm sixteen." He heard branches twitching and snapping
behind him, and hoped to Merlin that his people would stay back. The
confrontation was balanced on the edge of a knife. Priscilla's
Aurors would fire curses if they thought their leader was in danger.
"I'm also a Lord-level wizard, and I've finally decided to use
that. You'll have an awfully hard time fighting me, unless you
really <em>want</em> to contact Falco Parkinson and ask him to try, or
find Voldemort and wake him up." Priscilla flinched at the mention
of the Dark Lord's name. Harry just barely kept from rolling his
eyes. That might set the Aurors off. "Or invite another Lord or
Lady into Britain, I suppose, but if one of them was willing to work
as an assassin, others would become jumpy."</p><p>"You can't do
this," Priscilla breathed. "This is why I didn't join your
rebellion. You value life too little."</p><p>Harry started to
answer, but just then it happened.</p><p>One of the Aurors had
edged around to the side. Harry had kept an eye on him, but hadn't
stopped talking to Priscilla. For one thing, that would have brought
about open conflict if nothing else did. For another, the man had
kept his wand in his robes, though one hand tucked down and close to
it.</p><p>Now, he flung a vial
of some kind of potion. Harry didn't know who the target was.
Perhaps it was meant to break apart on the rocks and splash all of
them with the acid or poison inside.</p><p>What it did was smash
against the karkadann's leg as she pawed at the ground restlessly.
Her fur promptly began to smoke, and an awful sizzling sound spread
across the air. The karkadann screamed like a mountain falling, and
then she brought down her head.</p><p>Harry had
underestimated how fast she could maneuver with trees all around
her—or perhaps he had only thought of charging, and not wielding
her other weapons. The black corkscrew horn, four feet long, impaled
the Auror, and Harry heard the smash and wrench and twist of bone as
it pierced his spine. The karkadann reared, shaking the body so
violently that Harry heard more bones snap, and bits of flesh tore
loose and spotted the robes and cheeks of those who watched. Then she
screamed again, and, half-turning, the corpse still caught on her
horn, lashed out with one hind foot. Another two Aurors went flying.
One came up limping; the other lay still, with what looked to Harry
like a broken neck.</p><p>Then the Aurors began
shouting and lifted their wands, and Harry knew the chaos that would
explode in a moment. This was the first battle of the war, first
blood shed. He had a moment to prevent heavier losses than there
might otherwise be, and he took it.</p><p>His magic surged out
of him and to the sides, spreading the heat shimmer further and
faster. The Aurors it hit simply stopped moving, like flies trapped
in amber. That included Priscilla, who was caught in an awkward
position with her neck half-twisted around. Harry kept pushing, and
lifted them all into a hovering position, holding them above the
trees.</p><p>Beside him, the
karkadann shifted as if to move forward. Harry reached out his hand
and put it on her leg. She snorted, and bowed her head. Blood had
soaked the white fur of her face and dribbled around her gleaming
black eyes in a grotesque mask. Harry held her gaze.</p><p>"No more," he told
her.</p><p>She didn't have to
obey, but she chose to. Indeed, a moment later, her eyes lifted to
the Auror on her horn, and she snorted in contentment. Harry
remembered legends that said karkadanns would carry the bodies of
young elephants on their horns until the weight killed them, and
repressed a shudder.</p><p>He turned to face the
Aurors.</p><p>"The terms are the
same as they have always been," he said shortly. "The Ministry
has to show that it can treat werewolves with the same rights as
humans. It has to do the same with all magical creatures, in fact. It
has to show that it cares more about the people it's meant to <em>serve</em>
than advancing its own agenda of pettiness and fear. I'm not going
to listen to any arguments that call on me to keep the peace when its
own Aurors aren't even capable of doing that in an ordinary
<em>arrest.</em>"</p><p>He flicked his hand,
and the amber-air shifted, moving the Aurors out of the pine forest
and towards the edge of the valley. When it had dropped them on the
grass, Harry took a deep breath and reached out to Woodhouse.</p><p>Woodhouse was amused.
The small tree with no leaves wished to expand the trees. It wished
to hold the edge of the valley as safe as the center of the valley.
Because every part of Woodhouse was the same as every other part,
that was an easy request to grant. A touch, a surge, and every blade
of grass and every stone and every speck of dirt in that area was set
to watch. Then the surge ran all around the hills, all around the
place that recognized itself as Woodhouse, and they all came aware.
The sky above it, which was its sky, would know when intruders tried
to fly through it. There were ways that the small rushing things
could try to appear inside it without going through the ground or the
air, but Woodhouse watched them, too. It made the tunnels carved
through nothingness solid, and the whirl of false air carried in
objects impossible. All of this was very easy. Anything could have
done as much. One part of it asked, and another part granted. And if
the small rushing things that tried to hurt it did not come back,
then so much the better. The valley could get on with its dreaming.</p><p>Harry rushed, gasping,
out of the trance, and found Camellia beside him, along with Draco.
Draco clasped his shoulder, and stared into his face, and never said
a word. Camellia was more vocal.</p><p>"Did you raise the
wards?" she demanded.</p><p>"Better than wards,"
said Harry. His voice sounded strange, too deep. He shook his head
and tried to adjust to having just a body, not stones and roots and
soil. "Woodhouse is watching for us now. It would have allowed most
people to enter it before. Now it will alert me when someone tries.
We can let them Apparate in, or Portkey, but we don't have to."</p><p>"Wards, Wild,"
said Camellia. "Just in case."</p><p>Harry agreed. If
nothing else, the wards would make the Aurors, or whoever arrived
next, think of them as important, and they would waste time attacking
them instead of trying to counter the place magic. He set to work
weaving different kinds of shields around each other. He couldn't
use some kinds, because of Woodhouse's magic interfering with them,
but now that he was part of the valley, he knew instinctively which
kinds would be hurtful and didn't try to use them.</p><p>When the wards were
set in place, and tightened and tautened from hill to hill like
ropes, Harry bent over the karkadann's leg. She snorted, as though
to reassure him there was nothing to worry about, and tossed her
horn, playing with the Auror's body some more. Harry examined the
sides of the wound carefully. The potion had created a large pit and
cauterized it in the same moment. He used <em>Integro</em> on it, but
that only made the karkadann stamp. Harry listened carefully to her
sounds, and looked into her eyes, for any sign of pain, and saw none.
Of course, karkadanns were born for killing. It was entirely possible
that she had magic which made the pain lessen, and was already
healing the wound.</p><p>Only then did he turn
to look at the bodies, and use his magic to pull the broken corpse
from the karkadann's horn. She lunged after it for a moment, then
lost interest and bowed her head to push playfully at his shoulder
instead.</p><p>He had sent the
wounded Auror out with the others. That left the impaled one and the
one with the broken neck, who was definitely dead when Harry walked
closer to him. He grimaced and shut his staring eyes, wishing his
face wasn't on the wrong side of his body.</p><p>He felt guilt as a
hollow behind the determination. He didn't have time to stop and
give in to it. One of the dead Aurors had tossed a potion at the
karkadann and started this. The other had got in the way. Yes, he
wished it could have ended with no killing, but he had known it was
not likely to. He could entertain no fantasies of walking out and
offering himself up, because these attackers wanted the other people
with him even more than they wanted him.</p><p><em>You knew what was
happening when you began this. </em></p><p>He weighted both guilt
and anger, and threw them into the Occlumency pools. Then he pushed
the broken bodies out beyond the forest, for Priscilla and her people
to claim, and turned to face the others. There were many more waiting
behind the karkadann now: Hawthorn, who looked sorry to have missed
the battle; Narcissa, with her wand in her hand and a cautious
expression on her face; Evergreen, snarling; Remus, who looked away
when Harry caught his eye; Adalrico Bulstrode, his face set and grim;
Millicent, who nodded in response to a question Harry didn't know
he'd asked.</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath, and made himself into the leader that was needed.</p><p>"We've got a war
coming," he said. "Best we plan how to meet it."</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 37*: Sunrise In the West</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Nine: Sunrise In the West</strong></p><p>Falco sat down against
the ruined wall and closed his eyes. A wind skittered through his
hair, and he shivered. It had been a long time since he'd been so
vulnerable to such mortal sensations.</p><p>But what he had
learned in the ruins of the house at Godric's Hollow left him
feeling more vulnerable than he had for a century.</p><p><em>It is begun, and
will not be ended, until—when? Until one or both of them are dead?
</em>But he did not think he could see even that far ahead. His
investigation of the past in that house had given him only pictures
of possible futures, and since he could never have predicted the
initial occurrence that had begun this, he did not think he could
predict the one that was going to end it.</p><p>He only knew that it
stretched across the wizarding world, a tangled skein of prophecy and
hatred and death and magic, and it was confusing all his certainty.
He wondered if even a necromancer could have seen the truth of
Harry's death, if she looked at him right now.</p><p>One thing it had
confirmed for him, though. Harry needed training. Harry needed
guidance. He needed to know more about the realities behind Light and
Dark magic, the means of fooling them and the means of wielding them.
He did <em>not</em> need to be distracted by this minor rebellion of
ideas that would flourish and die within a few years at most. His
very life was hostage to something larger than he was, and until he
solved that problem, his attention belonged there, not anywhere else.</p><p>Falco's immediate
course was clear, and so it had been worth coming back to Godric's
Hollow after all. He must crush this rebellion. But he could not do
so by direct action. He would be unable to teach Harry anything if
the boy thought of him as an enemy, and responsible for the failure
of his childish ideals. So he would do it from behind the scenes,
deft little touches the boy could assign to any of a dozen people.</p><p>It would begin with a
dream. The ones he had conjured for Harry might be failing against
the boy's mental defenses, but most wizards had nothing like them.
And there were many with a paranoid fear and hatred of werewolves at
the moment, thanks to the Ministry's poisoned rhetoric.</p><p>A dream could fan that
fear and hatred to burning flames.</p><p>Falco stepped into the
paths of Light and Dark.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Indigena coughed, then
blew air across the page she was studying. Part of the problem with
reading a book as old as <em>Odi et Amo</em> was the musty smell; it
had never quite disappeared even after Indigena performed three
separate cleaning charms. The rose that curled about her wrist could
shed a sweet scent, but it made her dizzy and dreaming if she sniffed
it for too long.</p><p>She paused at the
heading of a chapter named 'Brands and Scars' and tilted her head
back. The thorns on her back slid out of their casings and twisted
upright like the ears of some great beast. Indigena had already
discovered they were sensitive to powerful magic, and, together with
her own more normal senses, they helped her clarify what she was
feeling.</p><p>A powerful wizard on
the move. Falco Parkinson. Indigena grimaced. She hated that, for
right now, there was so little she could do against him. Her wounded
Lord needed her more, and the best plan to help him regain some
dignity and pride involved long, slow research and Indigena sitting
by his side every day so that she could whisper the words into his
ear.</p><p>Then it would require
months of working—though, if she had understood her Lord aright, he
had begun that part already, with the only candidate he could find.</p><p>Indigena sighed again
and consoled herself that this reading and research and whispering
would <em>eventually</em> produce action. Not before next year,
certainly, and not for months even then, but it would happen.</p><p>"May you destroy
him, Harry," she murmured, and went back to reading.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"And what were the
words that she spoke to you?"</p><p>Snape gritted his
teeth. He did not want to say this. There were times he regretted
ever giving in to Joseph. Awash in a sea of pain, and knowing there
was more ahead if he swam deeper, his best instinct was to turn
around and wade back to shore. Why should he care about healing? He
had carried these wounds all his life long, and he could brew
Dreamless Sleep to avoid the visions of his past. He could shut down
that part of his mind and survive by going cold. He had done it
before.</p><p>And during that time,
he had made stupid mistakes that got him arrested by the Ministry,
and very nearly destroyed Harry's bond with him forever.</p><p><em>Remember why you
are doing this, </em>he told himself again, and raised his eyes to
Joseph's face. "That there were three truths in life," he said.
His tone was flat. "One was sorrow. The second was ugliness. The
third was death."</p><p>"And you <em>believed</em>
her?" There was no contempt in Joseph's voice, as Snape knew
there would have been if he told this story of his mother's truths
to almost anyone else. There was only intense compassion, and he
emphasized the word for the sake of making sure that Snape had really
believed Eileen Prince.</p><p>"Yes." If he
half-closed his eyes, Snape could see the boy he had been, so anxious
to grow up and learn these adult truths that his mother had promised
not even all the men and women in the world knew. He had already
known that he did not fit with other children. Too ugly, too tall,
too smart—and, as the years passed and the "accidents" around
the house happened with increasing frequency, too magical. By then,
his mother had taught him about blood status, too. He was nine, and
she had taken him out beyond the edge of town to watch a cat die.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"I saw them happen,"
said Snape. The cat had been a young gray tom. Someone, someone
Muggle, had staked its left hind leg to the ground and wrapped barbed
wire around it, so that the cat tore more and more flesh loose the
more he struggled. "I saw sorrow." Someone had put a leg trap on
the right front leg, and the cat had pulled nearly hard enough to
sever the limb, but not enough to escape. "I saw ugliness." The
cat's eyes were crazed and rolling, and the sounds that emerged
from his mouth were sick, disgusting squalls of the kind to make
Severus hate weakness. "I saw death." His mother had murmured the
spell that would stop the cat's heart, but after they had watched
for long enough that he understood she was not doing it out of
compassion. She was doing it because some things did not deserve to
live, and because the cat had taught him all it could. The cat's
head had dropped, its body had sagged and puffed out, and then it was
dead. Severus remembered watching it and not thinking of death as a
release from pain. It was the end of everything, and the body it left
behind the reminder of a life full of hurt.</p><p>"Snape?"</p><p>Snape blinked and shut
his eyes, coming back from the half-life he had lived at that age,
when everything was a daze, a haze, of grayness, and the only light
he had was sharp and cutting, primed to reveal the most unfortunate
truths of the world. "Yes?"</p><p>"Do you still
believe that now?"</p><p>Snape sneered. "Of
course not. I learned there were at least two realities my mother had
forgotten to mention. One of them was hatred; she planned for me to
live my life in unflinching truth, and not hate so things so much I
would try to change them. And another was revenge. She thought I
would never be in a position to take it."</p><p>"And now?" Joseph
repeated insistently. "Since you asked for help with the healing?
Since Harry became your son?"</p><p>Snape wondered how to
answer, what to say. If he said that he did not believe those things
any longer, he would tell Joseph what he wanted to hear, but he would
sound weak. If he said that he believed them, Joseph would press
further and further, and try to find out why.</p><p>Snape did not want to
give him the truth—that he didn't know. Certainty, of any kind,
was better than uncertainty.</p><p>"Severus?"</p><p>"Do <em>not</em> call
me that," Snape snarled. "I did not give you permission to call
me that."</p><p>"So you didn't."
Joseph refused to look apologetic. "But it was the only name that
got your attention. I called you a few times before, and you didn't
answer." He paused. "Do you still believe that now?"</p><p>Snape took a deep
breath, and reminded himself that this was Slytherin courage: the
courage to look at the world as it really was, instead of believing
in a false ideal and dying stupidly for it, as the Gryffindors would.</p><p>"I don't know,"
he whispered.</p><p>Joseph smiled, a smile
that was like all of his expressions, water wearing away at a stone.
"Good," he said. "That's the first step."</p><p>"Admitting
weakness?" Snape fixed him with a flat stare, and imagined that
Joseph was one of the fifth-year Gryffindors who lived to torment him
this term; they appeared to have forgotten all basic Potions
competency over the summer. He did not need, quite, to use the scowl
that he would have used on Neville Longbottom, not for this. "This
will make me stronger?"</p><p>"When you're
standing on quicksand, it's best to know it, not pretend it isn't
there," said Joseph.</p><p>Snape restrained the
impulse to say that it was much better never to step on quicksand in
the first place. He inclined his head.</p><p>"Now." Joseph sat
up. "I'd like you to tell me what it was you saw which convinced
you that these things she told you were truths of the world, instead
of truths only in her own shredded imagination."</p><p>Snape began to recall
every detail of the gray tom. Telling Joseph about grotesqueries was
the one part of his healing he actually enjoyed. If he caused the
Seer to turn green, or go a bit gray about the lips, then it was
worth any amount of pouring memories into his ear.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry grimaced as he
came out of a dream that felt oddly like a nightmare. He opened his
eyes, and then stopped when he recognized what sat on his chest, one
talon hooked into his pyjama top, staring at him with its beak an
inch from his face.</p><p>The bird laughed at
him. This time, it said nothing, only raked its talons viciously down
the center of his chest. Harry ground his teeth together and
succeeded in not screaming by sheer force of will; Draco was curled
up in his arms, face resting only a few inches from the new, freezing
wounds, and Harry didn't want to wake him.</p><p>The bird gave another
chuckle, and then rose into the air, three-clawed wings working with
a leathery sound that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck
stand up. Then it vanished. A moment later, Draco stirred, and then
sat up so violently that Harry's arm hurt as it fell off his back.</p><p>"What is that?" he
asked, staring at the wounds.</p><p>"The bird again,"
said Harry softly, and looked down. The slashes were parallel, as
they always were, and covered with frost, as they always were, dark
red gobs of frozen blood glinting here and there like rubies. This
time, at least, the scratches were not as deep or long as they had
been in the Sanctuary. He shook his head and smiled at Draco, who
didn't look reassured. "It didn't say anything to me this time,
only marked me and left."</p><p>"Marked you,"
Draco whispered.</p><p>Harry studied him, but
said nothing. Sometimes, Draco could have the most remarkable ideas,
but only if no one interrupted him. Harry had seen him use it to
solve Arithmancy equations before, sitting still with his eyes
half-shut and then delving into the midst of an answer it would have
taken them hours to reach any ordinary way.</p><p>But Draco blinked,
then sighed and shook his head. "I still don't know what it
means," he admitted, "any more than we did back at the
Sanctuary." His hand wandered into Harry's hair, tugging at the
strands now and then as if he couldn't help himself. "I know that
I don't like it, and want it to stop happening."</p><p>"Me, too," Harry
muttered.</p><p>Draco tugged at his
hair again, not hard enough to hurt but enough to cause small beads
of feeling to race down Harry's scalp, and then pulled his head
back to kiss him. Harry opened his mouth. He didn't know if it was
the shock of seeing the bird again, or the need to reassure himself
that Draco was there and unwounded, at least, even if he wasn't,
that made him shift, wrapping his arms around Draco. He only knew
that suddenly he was more eager for a snog than he'd been in weeks,
and his rib was healed enough for him to go through with this.</p><p>Draco rumbled, a sound
that Harry might have described as a moan if his mouth was free when
he made it, and then rolled slightly to his back, bringing Harry up
to elbow and arm. Harry deepened the kiss, but refused to hurry it,
even when Draco's rumbles seemed to urge him to do so. He slid his
own hand into Draco's hair, and shifted so that most of his body
covered Draco's own ribs. He didn't feel much, and wondered if he
was supposed to, or if perhaps the feelings in that moment consisted
of Draco's skin under his hand, warmer than he had expected from
his pyjamas and the blankets, and the taste of his mouth, which was
fuzzy but not <em>that</em> bad. <em>Is one sign of romance when you
don't think your partner has morning breath? Or perhaps I have no
sense of smell right now.</em></p><p>Someone pounded on the
bedroom door.</p><p>Harry just barely kept
himself from jumping so that he bit into Draco's lip or smacked
into his forehead or did something else embarrassing and hurtful.
Gently, he pulled away and licked the small cut in his tongue Draco
couldn't help making. Draco looked mortified. Harry smiled and slid
out of bed. The bird's wounds had gone numb, and otherwise he wore
pyjama bottoms and top. There was no reason he wasn't fit to meet
whatever message someone had brought now.</p><p>Except that, when he
opened the door and saw Camellia's face, he had to lean a bit on
the wall. Camellia must have been able to smell what they were doing,
but she would make no mention of it.</p><p>"What is it?" he
asked, and heard his voice flatten.</p><p>Camellia answered the
same way. "Peregrine was leading her pack from their safe house to
a place where they could Apparate out of sight of Muggles. Several
young wizards attacked them." She let out a few quick breaths.
"Twelve of them are dead. Peregrine's here, but wounded, and the
two who defended her and arrived with her—they're afraid they
won't survive."</p><p>"I'm coming,"
said Harry softly, and turned to look back at Draco, who was peering
over the blankets. "Trouble," he said, and then he followed
Camellia, leaving it up to Draco if he wanted to join in or not.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Remus wondered if
anyone outside the packs would be able to understand all the nuances
of what was happening here.</p><p>In the center of the
room they had chosen—a study, Woodhouse's largest, to accommodate
as many people as possible—sat Peregrine, the small black leader of
the pack that had run north of Loki's, and lived the closest to
Muggles. She sat with her head lolling to the left, her back against
a chair, her breathing shallow. A cut ran down her side, from
collarbone to groin, shallow but long, and shedding drop after drop
of blood. It shredded her shirt, and that she could not curl up
enough to shield her throat and belly from attack said much about how
vulnerable she was. Of course, the cut had been made with silver.
Remus could smell the poison settling into her.</p><p>On either side of
Peregrine curled the pack's other two survivors, a woman on the
left, a man on the right. Both were almost naked. Both were covered
with bruises, and stank of internal bleeding and organs shutting
down. Both obviously did not care. They had kept up a constant chorus
of snarls since appearing. Remus, if he squinted, could see the faint
white cords that ran from their necks to Peregrine's throat; he
knew that, if any others of their pack had still been alive, those
cords would have been as bright as stars to them. The two survivors
were draining themselves of strength to give their alpha a chance to
combat the silver's poison and survive. It was killing them. They
did not care. Their snarls and their eyes and their bared teeth said
that no one would touch Peregrine as long as they lived.</p><p>Hawthorn Parkinson
crouched in front of them, about five feet away, coming no closer.
She had one hand extended, though, and was talking constantly in a
low, soft voice lost under the snarling. She seemed to be of the
impression that Peregrine's packmates had to let her approach
sooner or later. She did not know accepted werewolves, Remus thought.
More was the pity.</p><p>Loki's pack—no, he
must try to think of them as Harry's pack, he must—sprawled
behind Hawthorn, in a loose half-circle. They knew that there was
nothing they could do, other than pay these protectors the tribute of
a good death-vigil. They had got their alpha out alive, in the middle
of an attack that had to have been fierce; none of them had details
yet, because the survivors had not spoken, and only knew the number
of dead because they knew how many had been in Peregrine's pack.
They would watch, and mourn their passing.</p><p>Then the door opened,
and Harry stepped in.</p><p>Loki's pack lowered
their heads at once, submitting in the presence of their alpha,
watching him. Remus felt the impulse to do the same. He resisted it,
half-rising to his feet instead. There were too many nuances here
that Harry did not understand. Hawthorn at least had the instincts
that came from carrying a wolf-web of her own, even though she did
not know all the packs' customs, and could not. Harry had no sense
of belonging to their world. What Loki had done in transferring the
bond to him was not enough, especially when he refused the packmind
that would have let him understand them all at the deepest level.</p><p>Harry turned towards
the movement. So did Camellia. Remus wasn't sure if it was the
frozen command in her eyes or the perfect lack of interest in Harry's
that made him sit down again, and watch.</p><p>Harry stepped forward
until he was level with Hawthorn. The guards' attention switched to
him. Of course it would, Remus thought. Wizards had attacked them.
They would smell the magic on him, without the counterbalancing
smells of wild and wolf, and they would hate him.</p><p>Remus clenched his
fists. Why did no one <em>tell</em> Harry these things?</p><p>Harry merely stood
where he was, staring back at the two snarlers. Then he tilted his
head back and began to sing.</p><p>The voice that emerged
from his throat was no wolf's, but almost as pure—high and sweet
and thrilling, a phoenix's. It was not louder than the snarls. It
did not have to be. It swirled around them in complex, starry
patterns. Remus could see flames darting around Harry's skin in
faint outlines, as faint as the cords of Peregrine's pack, and it
made him tremble and want to bow his head.</p><p>He continued watching,
though, because he could not see what the song was meant to do, and
if Harry moved forward now, he <em>would</em> get bitten.</p><p>The guardians
trembled, and raised their voices. Harry went on singing. He didn't
appear to take any notice of them; instead, he lost himself in his
own voice. Remus heard a dirge there, the mourning song of sunset, as
a great flame passed from the world and ceased to renew itself.</p><p>He shook his head
sharply. This was a <em>phoenix</em> song. They were not phoenixes,
whatever animals some packs might like to name themselves after. He
did not think this would work.</p><p>Then he saw it was.
The male werewolf trembled and laid his head on the floor, and ceased
his weak snarl. The female kept on going, but she didn't lunge and
snap when Harry stepped closer. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head
dropped to the floor as well. A moment later, she was asleep.</p><p>The white cords
binding them to Peregrine winked out of existence.</p><p>Harry was at
Peregrine's side in the next moment, and Remus finally realized he
carried a bottle of the white paste that they had smeared on
Hawthorn's infected cut when they removed her from Tullianum. He
set it to hover in the air beside him while he uncorked it and pulled
out more and more, smoothing it over Peregrine's cut. Remus heard
the pained undertone in her breathing ease.</p><p>Harry kept singing the
while, though now it was a hum. It redefined the tension in the room,
and made them seem more like comrades uniting against a common enemy.
Remus saw other members of the pack relax from the corner of his
eyes, felt the currents racing through the packmind soothe into a
trouble-free sorrow.</p><p>A few moments later,
and Peregrine was asleep to match her packmates. Harry stepped away
from her and towards the sleeping werewolves.</p><p>He did—something.
Remus wasn't sure what to call it. It seemed as if Harry unfolded a
layer of himself, tucked it around his hand like cloth, and then held
it out to the two survivors. One piece of the cloth wrapped the
female werewolf, one the male. They both paused in their breathing,
and Remus wondered if Harry had sent them on to the peace of death.
They could at least die with a sense of accomplishment.</p><p>Then they breathed
again more strongly, and the stink of their pain and dying eased,
blowing slowly away like the remains of hunger when satisfied.</p><p>Remus blinked several
times. He had known that Harry could absorb magic from artifacts and
other wizards. He had not known, or he had forgotten if he had, that
Harry could also give some of his own magic to others, and so restore
those like these werewolves, who had given of their power to protect
their alpha, to health.</p><p>Harry's face was
pale when Remus looked at him, and his voice whispery when he finally
ceased the song. "We need to have a council to discuss what happens
next," he said. "Everyone who wishes to be a part of it, please
meet me in the kitchen in five minutes." He glanced at Camellia.
"Find a bed for them, first."</p><p>And he swept out of
the room, and left Remus to consider that his actions had been
efficient, and kind in some ways—and perhaps he couldn't have
done that if he were caught up in the packmind, because he would have
understood the sacrifice Peregrine's wolves were making and would
have let it go forward.</p><p>The world shifted a
little more around, and inside, Remus as he thought about that.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry could almost
smell the emotions racing around the room as his people crowded into
the kitchen, though he wasn't a werewolf. His song had eased some
of their tension and anxiety, but only just. He could see it in their
tightened jaws, feel it in the way their fingers tapped the table,
hear it in the mutters that jumped from mouth to ear too quickly to
become audible. He tilted his head to the side and called their
attention with a simple flare of his magic.</p><p>"We don't know who
attacked them yet, do we?" he asked. He wasn't sure how much
information Camellia had got from Peregrine before the silver
poisoning took her under. "Wizards" she had said, but perhaps
there were names.</p><p>"No," said
Camellia. "It almost seems to have been a random attack—but they
hit them as they left their safe house, so it couldn't have been.
<em>Someone</em> betrayed them, but I can't imagine who." She shook
her head, a fast, helpless movement that slowed as she looked at him.
Harry did his best to stand straight and project an air of confident
pack alpha, because that was what was needed right now. "No member
of the pack would have. And why would someone in the other packs?
They have to know that the Ministry won't grant then immunity from
the hunting season, not with the way they turn on their heels and
break their promises."</p><p>Harry nodded. "And
their location?"</p><p>"The street in front
of their safe house," said Camellia.</p><p>Harry nodded again.
"Did they Apparate in?"</p><p>"Peregrine couldn't
tell me that, Wild."</p><p>That meant that Harry
couldn't just go to the street and start draining magic, the way he
might have tried if the wizards were locals. It would have been a
swift and fitting punishment for the attackers. This way, though,
Harry had no idea if wizards even lived in the area, or if he would
be draining the right ones if they did. It was too easy to Apparate
in and then Apparate away again, out of reach. And he wasn't about
to wake Peregrine up right now to ask.</p><p>"Very well," he
said. "We'll watch the newspapers just in case they report the
werewolf kills, though I don't think they will." His mind felt
like a narrow tunnel made of light, and he turned to Moody, who stood
almost across from him on the other side of the table, hands braced
as if he would bring them down in a massive slap at any moment.
"Alastor." Moody fixed both eyes on him. "I think now is the
proper time to use that information you and your people took from
Madam Bones's office."</p><p>Moody grinned, and his
magical eye rolled, making him look half-crazed. "With pleasure,
boy." He and his contacts had been the ones to break into Amelia
Bones's office and paint her face like a clown's. The sheer
humiliation of it—and a Body-Bind to prevent her from looking in
the wrong direction at the wrong time—had meant that the Ministry
people didn't suspect the <em>real</em> purpose of their raid. Moody
had located certain records that the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement wouldn't want spread about. Some had gone to his
contacts, for blackmail material and as payment for their help. Moody
had kept the rest. As he limped out of the room, Harry thought he was
looking forward to using it.</p><p>"We're going to
hit them through the <em>newspapers?</em>" asked Bavaros, Rose's
mate, his voice a disapproving growl. As a werewolf, he was the
biggest and blackest Harry had ever seen. "What kind of retaliation
is that? Killing must be paid back in justice, Wild."</p><p>"And it will,"
said Harry. "As soon as we know who did this. I refuse to attack
and kill a dozen wizards because a dozen werewolves were killed.
That's the kind of thing that won't make them sleep until they've
eliminated us." He turned to Narcissa then. "You said that your
sister might have some interesting things to offer us, Narcissa."</p><p>Narcissa nodded
slowly. "And I think that she will help us without reservation now,
as long as you will permit me to tell her the details of what
happened today."</p><p>Harry inclined his
head, and Narcissa hurried off. Harry faced the rest of them, and saw
the narrow, intent expressions on their faces.</p><p>"This cannot go much
further without shed blood," he said without preamble. "We saw
that the day before yesterday, when the Aurors came. But I will fight
a defensive war first, and that means that I will ask you to <em>wait</em>
before attacking. Anyone who does will cause more fear, and will have
to walk away from the Alliance of Sun and Shadow." He held the eyes
of those few who seemed reluctant, like Bavaros, until they nodded
their consent. Harry nodded once more. "Good. Now, I am going to
make arrangements to keep the rest of the London packs safe."</p><p>His eyes went to
Hawthorn. "Mrs. Parkinson," he said, "you are a hunted
fugitive, but for the task I want you to do, speed is important, more
than secrecy. Will you be willing to go to the London alphas in
person and deliver a message?" He had not established the
communication spell with most of the alphas, and many of them refused
to receive owls from wizards—or from the alpha who had taken Loki's
place, since some had had rivalries with him. A lone werewolf, not
part of an accepted pack, stood more of a chance of being taken
seriously.</p><p>"Gladly," said
Hawthorn, her eyes full of life. The silver-infected cut on her
shoulder had almost healed, Harry saw. "Give me a list of names and
Apparition locations, and I will leave."</p><p>"Good," said
Harry. "For the rest of you, defense is the most important thing we
can concentrate on right now. If you are a wizard, I want you to
practice dueling until you <em>drop.</em> If you're a werewolf born
Muggle, you are now on permanent patrol of the valley, in alternating
shifts. Camellia, you're in charge of arranging those. The Aurors
know where we are. I expect another attack before long, from either
them or the Unspeakables."</p><p>"And what will you
be doing?" Bavaros asked. There was less venom in his voice than
before, but he still sounded frustrated.</p><p>"Working on things
to make them leave us alone, of course," Harry replied, and then
turned away. He needed to find the list of names and Apparition
locations for Hawthorn, and then a relatively isolated part of
Woodhouse to make the statement he wanted to make. And, before that,
he wanted to drain some of the Black artifacts that he had brought
along. Giving his own magic to make sure that the werewolves with
Peregrine didn't die had tired him, as had the phoenix song. He
would need to rest.</p><p>An arm curled around
his shoulder halfway down the hall. Harry turned, blinking, and met
Draco's eyes. Draco looked as if he were made of fire, given how
bright his gaze was.</p><p>"We're going to
show them," he breathed. "Going to show them all, aren't we,
Harry?" And he leaned forward and kissed him hard enough to hurt.
Harry didn't care. He kissed back, single-mindedly. His mind was no
longer a narrow corridor filled with light, but a galloping horse,
speeding towards its destination.</p><p>"I hope so," he
said.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Hawthorn appeared in
the first Apparition location, on a Muggle street which shocked her
with the brightness of its colors and its stink. Even without her
current nose, she thought, the reek would have overwhelmed her; with
her werewolf sense of smell, she almost fainted. She plugged up her
nostrils and plunged across the street in quick steps, with only a
glance to make sure no Muggle cars were approaching. Rubbish and
petrol and dirt and other things she couldn't identify—they
blared and yammered at her, and she would have given a great deal to
be able to <em>ignore</em> them.</p><p>She reached a door in
the house she'd been told to look for, and knocked impatiently. The
house was a rather typical Muggle one, small and square and looking
like its neighbors on either side. But a woman who smelled like snow
and pine needles opened the door, and if she didn't have amber
eyes, she was probably wearing green lenses, or green magic, to cover
them.</p><p>"Welcome, sister,"
she said, when she saw Hawthorn. "What's the matter?"</p><p>Hawthorn told her in
brief words about the attack, and the woman's mouth tightened as
she listened. Then she nodded, and said, "I'll warn the others of
my pack. But we'll want to know a few more details. Will you come
in?"</p><p>Hawthorn was more than
willing to step into the house. It did not look so drab inside, where
the walls were bright with fairly good amateur paintings and strips
of colored paper arranged in collages. She understood the reason for
the latter when laughter rang down the entrance hall and two children
chased each other into view, both wrestling on the floor. One had
amber eyes, and easily pinned the other, who didn't and began to
cry about it not being fair.</p><p>The woman she'd met
at the door pulled the amber-eyed child off the other one and tossed
him into the air. He squealed on the way down. The woman and the boy
lying sprawled on the floor both laughed.</p><p>Hawthorn was the one
who heard the <em>cracks</em> as Apparating wizards arrived, perhaps
because she was so used to listening for it, perhaps because she had
been half-expecting it since she heard about the attack on Peregrine.</p><p>She flicked her wand,
and powerful wards surrounded the house. They wouldn't hold against
a steady barrage of spells, but they were strong enough to deflect
the first, which would have torn apart the lungs of the woman
standing beside her if it had come through the window. In a moment,
the children's laughter changed to shrieks, tinted with a howl in
the case of the amber-eyed boy.</p><p>"Get them to
safety!" Hawthorn snapped at the woman, whom she knew was a Muggle.
She scurried to obey, thankfully, with no muttering about rank. The
pack's wizards were already appearing, stumbling sometimes, caught
up in their own pyjamas, frizzes of hair standing out from their
heads, but with wands gripped in their hands.</p><p>Hawthorn fell to one
knee as a <em>Crucio</em> came through her wards. It missed her, but
caught another of the wizards, who dropped, writhing and screaming.
The other closest one bent to tend to him.</p><p>She was a fugitive
anyway, she told herself. And someone willing to use Cruciatus was an
enemy who needed to be stopped.</p><p>She stood, and leaned
out the window. She could see the witch she thought had fired the
<em>Crucio</em>, golden-haired and yellow-eyed and disdainful. She was
a daughter of some Light pureblood family or another, which didn't
make what she'd done any better, but made Hawthorn all the more
eager to fell her. Too many of the Aurors who had hurt her in
Tullianum had had yellow eyes.</p><p>She spoke the words
clearly, and felt the thunder of the magic pass up her wand. "<em>Avada
Kedavra.</em>"</p><p>The beam of green
light went through the wards, of course; no barrier could stop the
Killing Curse. The witch turned her back just before it hit, and fell
sprawled on the lawn of the Muggle house next door. Hawthorn laughed,
and heard it come out as a bark and then a howl.</p><p>She didn't know what
her chances were of getting vengeance on the Aurors who had hurt her.
There were so many of them, and Harry's obsession was justice.</p><p>But these were wizards
trying to destroy a pack that had never done them harm, out of
intense paranoia and fear. They were perfect targets to soothe some
of the hatred in her soul. And she did not even need to worry about
concealing her activities from the Muggles all around them. The
Ministry was the one who must send in its Obliviators. Hawthorn was a
<em>revolutionary</em>, and a fugitive, and beyond all their standards.</p><p>At peace in a way she
hadn't been since her Death Eater days, she chose her next target.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Andromeda." The
voice was gentle, and wistful, and tinged with just a hint of an
accent; unlike most of his family, Jean Delacour had learned to speak
English at a very young age, when their parents had thought he and
Andromeda would make a good match. That had soon ended, when the
Delacour family made an alliance with the Veela Council instead, but
they had known each other by then, and visited summers, and remained
friends.</p><p>And, Andromeda knew as
she stepped out of the Floo and let Jean brush the soot gently from
her robes and kiss the tips of her fingers, a little bit in love with
each other, at least on his side.</p><p>"Jean." She dipped
her chin and switched to French; her mother had not been remiss in
insisting that her daughter learn her betrothed's language as well.
"I come to beg you to do a favor for an old, withered woman past
the prime of her beauty."</p><p>"There shall be no
ending of the prime, my dear one." Jean escorted her to a seat in
front of the large table he used as a desk in his study, never
letting his hand enfold more than her fingernails. It was courtesy
that his wife insisted upon. Andromeda was just grateful, at that
moment, that she had understood that they were friends, and permitted
Andromeda to continue to visit at all. "What brings the fairest of
the Blacks to me? Speak, and it shall be set in motion when the words
are ended."</p><p>Andromeda sat,
ruffling her robes out around her. She had no fair beauty to show off
like Narcissa did, but dark hair and eyes set off by pale skin and
dark green robes had always done the trick for Jean; they were doing
it now, she saw, from the way his glance followed her. "A favor for
a mother fond of her daughter," she said, with a little sigh. "A
daughter who has run off to join rebels and werewolves and turn
against the Ministry, but whom her mother cannot help loving anyway."</p><p>She saw Jean lift his
head as if scenting a wind, and hid her smile in a simpering frown.
He would have heard of this already, of course. The French Ministry
of Magic might not have <em>that</em> much interest in making the
British Ministry look bad, at the moment—the French Minister
certainly didn't want Voldemort turning his sights across the
Channel—but the French purebloods were a different matter. They
were so carefully caught up in their own intricate dance of Light and
Dark that a Lord-level wizard who could balance between both was of
intense interest to them. Add in the Veela Council with their
interest in the <em>vates</em>, and the fact that Beauxbatons had
received an influx of students from Hogwarts this year talking about
the Midsummer battle, and there were plenty of French wizards and
witches who believed that Harry should be given all the help that his
government could give him, not hindered. He should be breaking webs
and defeating Voldemort, not forced to hide in a valley because the
Minister was an incompetent idiot who couldn't control his own
Department Heads.</p><p>"That is a rather
large favor," Jean said, sitting back and watching her without
blinking now. Andromeda had never known anyone who could go as long
without blinking as he could. Perhaps he had taken lessons from cats,
or his wife.</p><p>"It is a rather
large love," said Andromeda, and drew out a lace handkerchief to
hide a sniffle in.</p><p>Jean let out a
long-suffering sigh. "My dear one," he said. "What am I to do
with you?"</p><p>"I have already told
you that," she replied, letting a bit of the sting through. She had
never favored men who pretended that they were stupid. Genuinely
stupid ones could be entertaining. But Andromeda had chosen her own
Ted for intelligence, and if she had ended up marrying Jean after
all, she would have insisted that he drop this act at once,
especially around her. She suspected its continuation was his wife's
fault.</p><p>Jean inclined his
head. "You have hinted at it, my dear. But there are so many things
I could do to help you. What shall it be? Easing the pressure on the
rebellion? Distracting this <em>vates's </em>enemies? Contacting
allies for him?"</p><p>"All those and
more," said Andromeda, leaning forward. "As well as the demiguise
hair that I know you have on hand." She savored his astonished
look, but met it with a sad one of her own, and a headshake. "I
know, Jean," she said. "I always know. When I realized that
someone was buying up all the demiguise hair at the same time as the
protests against its use began, I realized who that must be. You
should make the names of your operations a bit less transparent to
someone who knows your history. As well as your false protest
groups."</p><p>Jean inclined his
head. "You cannot expect me to give him one of the most important
Wolfsbane ingredients for free, I hope?"</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Andromeda. "Charge him a <em>fair</em> price. And in return,
send a few Veela to him to see how they are treated. I promise you,
there is no one who will better protect them and insure their
future." She had to admit that, even though she had been reluctant
to get close to the boy when she saw how much he depended on
Narcissa. She still would not willingly enter his valley and consort
with her sister. But her daughter had made her choice, and that took
away the option of standing aside and pretending nothing was
happening.</p><p>"He is still in the
midst of a British rebellion," Jean mused. "And you think he
would welcome French ties?"</p><p>"He knows the rest
of the world exists, but it has not yet reached out to him," said
Andromeda, and again calculated her voice to sting. "Is that his
fault, or the fault of wizards and witches who do not want the Dark
Lord to notice them?"</p><p>Jean simply nodded,
not having the grace to look ashamed. He would have been one of those
who counseled his friends among the pureblood wizards and allies in
the Veela Council to remain neutral, Andromeda knew. Jean was
primarily a builder; he extended his business practices quickly on
the surface, but in reality after years of planning, and he used
allies and cats-paws for most of his more daring political moves. He
was more interested in creating security for those who would follow
him than in grabbing at glory and watching it fade. He was the
opposite of her sister's husband in that way. "Then I have a few
cousins I may send him. Tell me, is young Millicent Bulstrode in the
valley with him?"</p><p>Andromeda could not
hide her astonishment this time, and he laughed at her.</p><p>"We have ties that
you do not yet suspect," he said. "We have reached out to this
<em>vates</em> in our own way. Now is merely the hour to make ourselves
known to him." He grasped and kissed her hand. "Go back to
England, my dear. You shall have your distractions, and your allies.
The release of pressure will take longer, but there are favors and
those who owe me favors. Your daughter will be safe, and <em>our</em><em>vates.</em>" His teeth flashed as he smiled. "If Britain does
not want him, we might as well show him how courteous France can be."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry started to shut
the door of the tiny contemplation room behind him, and then frowned
as Draco ducked around it before he could. "You're sure?" he
asked.</p><p>Draco simply nodded.
He knew what Harry was planning, and he wanted to be close. Harry
seemed to think he would find the sensations too overwhelming. Draco
didn't believe so.</p><p>Besides, he wanted
<em>something</em> to make up for the interrupted kiss that morning.</p><p>Harry eyed him, then
shrugged and closed his eyes. For a few moments more, he breathed,
and his magic, restored to normal strength after the draining of a
few Black artifacts, drew in around him. Draco leaned against a wall
and waited. This room was entirely made of wood, of course, and had
no loose furniture, as was appropriate for a place where one was
supposed to sit on the floor. That meant there would be nothing to
fall into when Harry made his statement.</p><p>Harry opened his eyes
and let his magic rise.</p><p>It started as the
smell of roses, but it added so many more folds to itself in seconds
that Draco could not think of it only that way. The air split open,
and glittering diamond-edged blades of sunlight came forth. They
rolled around Draco, flashing and spinning, and the illusion of a
great cat bounded through them, silver-clawed and dark-furred. Draco
was sure it was a lynx.</p><p>The taste of Chocolate
Frogs filled his mouth, and the low hum of phoenix song his ears.
Then there came a warm pressure on his skin. It was like the warmth
Harry had called to face the Aurors in the pine wood the day before
yesterday, but this didn't dry out his skin. It pressed close, soft
and delicious, and he realized with a start that Harry had drawn
inspiration for it from the heat shared beneath their blankets this
morning.</p><p>He managed to look at
Harry through all that, and, fascinating as the magic was, this was
more than worth it. Harry's eyes were closed, but his hair shifted
around him, and the light and the lynx began with him and extended
from him, and the music and the smell of roses and the warmth
<em>belonged</em> with him in ways Draco couldn't articulate. He had
changed out of his pyjamas into normal robes and tended to the cuts
on his chest, and he looked calm and confident and stubborn.</p><p>Of course he did,
Draco thought. He wasn't doing anything all that extraordinary.
Everything he did was an extension of things he had done before. This
was only a message appended on to the end of a longer one, which the
British public as a whole had been too stubborn to read.</p><p>The magic swirled, and
rose. And it expanded up to the roof of Woodhouse, and then higher,
and then higher.</p><p>Draco swore he could
feel it pass through the edges of the place magic and the valley's
wards, pacing upwards, shimmering as it did so, a second sunrise in
the west. It continued flowing, continued rolling, sweetness on all
levels. There was nothing frightening about it, unless you were one
of Harry's enemies and hadn't realized the sheer strength that
was his to command.</p><p>It unrolled, and it
kept on unrolling. Draco felt the overwhelming urge to close his
eyes.</p><p>He did, and now he
could hear the phoenix song more clearly than ever. The song took him
down into itself and showed him the truth in the midst of the fire.</p><p>Harry did not promise
death to his enemies. He promised resistance, and the resistance
would go on growing until his goals were accomplished and his
enemies' fears dead. He would have rights for werewolves and
freedom from webs for other magical creatures, reworking of Ministry
laws and a change in the balance of things, and anything else he
wanted. Blood would not stop him. Death would not stop him. Nothing
would stop him.</p><p>It was a rational,
calm, determined "Fuck you" to the rest of the wizarding world.
Harry asked them to view his magic as hope and freedom if they could,
but he was not overly worried about what would happen if they did
not, because he was also asking them to view it as <em>power.</em> And
it was a message of change, above all.</p><p>Draco basked in all
the mingled sweetness, the greatest extent to which Harry had ever
let his wings unfurl, and squinted through the maze of light at
Harry. <em>So strong, so stubborn, so beautiful. And he's mine.</em></p><p>That thought inspired
an emotion too possessive to be called lust. Draco stepped forward
and curled his arms around Harry, dragging him against his chest.
Harry stepped backward in the same moment, tilting his head so that
he could kiss Draco at a less awkward angle than would otherwise have
been required.</p><p>Draco cradled Harry's
face and let the dawn take him away.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus closed his eyes.</p><p>Yesterday had come the
shine of Harry's magic, and immediate reactions of panic and fear
and wonder, and the first open attacks on werewolf packs, most of
which had resulted in the packs escaping with few losses and fleeing
deeper into hiding. Rufus had had to listen to people bragging about
relatives who had managed to kill werewolves, or congratulations for
those who had. They were dealing with the "monstrous menace" that
threatened to overtake Britain.</p><p>Three days ago,
Priscilla had returned empty-handed, with the news that Rufus's
last hope for peace, the appeal to Harry for the greater good and
greater number of lives in Britain, had failed. Not only had it
failed, it had resulted in two dead Aurors. The others were baying
for Harry's blood and the blood of his karkadann—a <em>karkadann</em>,
of all creatures—now. And she had told Rufus, in confidence, about
how disgustingly at least one werewolf prisoner had been treated.
Rufus knew the name of that werewolf prisoner. She was one of Harry's
closest allies, just to make things better.</p><p>Today brought
headlines blazing across the papers. The <em>Quibbler</em> carried
photographs of the dead werewolves that they'd obtained Merlin knew
how, the bodies obviously unmarked in the way that meant the use of
the Killing Curse, and asked loudly whether the Ministry had granted
permission to use the Unforgivables along with their hunting season.
The <em>Vox Populi</em> trumpeted support for Harry from every page,
and demanded to know how the Minister felt concerning the deaths of
his people and the retreat of the "real heroes" into one valley
in Wales.</p><p>The <em>Daily Prophet</em>,
and his own Floo connections, carried the worst news.</p><p>Rufus opened his eyes
and read the headline again.</p><p><strong><em><span style='text-decoration: underline;'>NEPOTISM IN
THE MINISTRY</span>:</em></strong></p><p><strong><em>Amelia Bones's
Niece, Other Relatives of Ministry Officials Committed Crimes</em></strong></p><p><em>By: Rita Skeeter</em></p><p>The article contained
extremely sensitive information concerning the arrests of various
Ministry officials' children, siblings, parents, and other family
members, for everything from fraudulent sale of protective charms to
use of the Imperius Curse. All that information had been contained in
files in Amelia's office; it could not be destroyed thanks to the
fact that the arresting Aurors would be alerted by ward-alarm if that
happened, but it could be hidden and hushed up and forgotten about.
And it had been. No one was supposed to know it was there, and since
the purpose of invading Amelia's office had seemed to be to mock
her and paint her face like a clown's, no one had checked on the
files.</p><p>Someone had stolen
them, and then given the knowledge to the <em>Daily Prophet</em>.</p><p>Rufus knew what it
would mean. Embarrassment, of course, but also demands for full-scale
investigations into the Ministry, re-arrest of some of the worst
offenders, and resignation of those who had done the most contortions
to protect a loved one.</p><p>And then, this
morning, he had received a firecall from one of his agents in the
French Ministry, to warn him that the pureblood community in France
was stirring like a beehive, and all the action was Harry-oriented.
Spain would not be long in following suit. Rufus had barely finished
speaking to that agent when another contacted him from the Portuguese
Ministry. Minister Faria Santa Rita was preparing to issue a
declaration condemning the British Ministry's actions against the
<em>vates</em>, the agent had said; obviously the British Minister
could not see that the war against You-Know-Who was more important to
every country of Europe than the war against werewolves.</p><p>Rufus's Ministry was
shaking to pieces around his ears.</p><p>It seemed that they
were to have an earthquake, and a revolution, whether or not they
wanted one.</p><p>Rufus considered the
photograph that Skeeter had chosen to illustrate her story. It showed
a scurrying Amelia Bones trying to get out of sight before the camera
could capture her; each time she passed across the picture, she
wrapped a fold of her robes around her head. It made her look
remarkably guilty, which of course was part of Skeeter's point.</p><p>Rufus didn't feel
far different, himself.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 38*: Intermission: A Leap Into Burning Light</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Intermission: A Leap Into Burning Light</strong></p><p>Snape crouched, his
eyes lowered, and listened to the sharp shrieks and cracks ringing
through the room. Most of the time, the Dark Lord used magic to
torture his prisoners, or at least magic channeled through physical
objects. It wasn't often that he had a taste for the more mundane
forms of punishment.</p><p>Now, though, he was
having Lucius whip the Muggle mother of a Mudblood girl who had
already died, her ribs piercing her lungs after uncounted rounds of
Cruciatus. Lucius did it as perfectly as he managed every other type
of torture. He moved around the woman, managing to make the whip come
from an unanticipated direction every time, making her start and
flinch and moan and beg for mercy long after she should have known
she would receive none. The rest of the Death Eaters knelt on the
stone floor of the torture room, in a loose half-circle, while the
Dark Lord sat beyond Lucius, on the chair of black stone that he had
used the first time Snape met him in the catacombs. Nagini coiled at
his feet as usual, and hissed in time with the screams.</p><p>Bellatrix Black
Lestrange watched with her mouth open, but Snape didn't think many
of the others were any more enthralled than he was. Regulus would
certainly have yawned and made some sarcastic remark if he dared.
Others trembled on the urge of whispering to a neighbor. But their
boredom was real. They simply didn't take the enjoyment out of this
that the Dark Lord did, or they didn't see the symbolic value of
leaving a whipped and broken corpse among the others.</p><p>Snape knew that none
of them carried the brewing cauldron of hatred, disgust, contempt,
and self-contempt in their chests that he did.</p><p>And none of them had
made the decision he had made—or almost had. He had attended the
torture session tonight, even though Voldemort would have exempted
him from it to brew a potion if Snape had asked, because he wanted to
be sure. Did he <em>really</em> feel nothing as the whip fell again and
again? Could he take no pleasure in the thought of doing the same to
his own enemies, if the Death Eaters actually managed to capture
James Potter and his wife and not let them escape time after time, or
if the seduction of Sirius Black worked?</p><p>No. He could not. What
he preferred was so much more real, the black bones of the world that
his mother had always whispered to him were there. It did not cloak
itself in symbols. It had no need for black robes and white masks. It
did not tire, as the Dark Lord did, of the torture and order an
execution too soon.</p><p>If he had one of his
enemies at his mercy, he would not make mild work of them, and he
would not make confusing gestures to show them his hatred. He would
<em>tell</em> them of his hatred, and then he would cause them such
pain that they could not be in doubt of it.</p><p>Of course, he had
thought that a short while ago, and he had taken too much time
killing the witch he had thought killed Regulus.</p><p>He no longer had the
clear path running before him, the certainty that he knew the truths
of the world even if no one else around him did. Nor did he have the
acceptance he used to have, that he could do as others demanded of
him, as his Lord demanded of him, and not be touched or broken by it.</p><p>Regulus had come into
the darkness and was not the less himself. Snape could not say the
same.</p><p>He wished for a
challenge that would make him himself again. He wished for a path
that would carry him, not out of the darkness, but through a tunnel
placed in the darkness, a narrow beam he would walk upon or perish by
falling from. He did not aspire to forgiveness. How could anyone but
despise him, when he despised himself?</p><p>Except Regulus—but
that was a confusing subject and not one he was ready to touch.</p><p>Snape wanted to tuck
the confusion away, and <em>know</em> what he was. And there was only
one man who might be able to tell him.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>It was not easy. It
involved two months of dancing attendance on the Dark Lord just a bit
too closely, so that he seemed anxious to curry a favor that had
never faltered, jealous of a standing Voldemort had always granted
him. Of course, he also had to avoid annoying his Lord so severely
that he would be tortured or actually demoted. And he had to keep up
his brewing and his attention to the politics of the Death Eaters in
the meanwhile.</p><p>Snape did not mind. It
was good practice for the status he expected to have when he returned
from Dumbledore's office. He would be a spy, and he must then keep
himself in check at all times, or he would die. He focused the
attention on himself, and with every small success he won, making the
Dark Lord think a certain thing even when he was armed with the most
piercing Legilimency Snape had ever met, he despised himself a bit
less. Oh, the sea of contempt and self-loathing was still there and
always would be, but he could build a bridge across the surface
again.</p><p>And at last it worked.
The Dark Lord grew just exasperated enough with him to want him at a
distance, but not so irritated with him that he considered Snape a
bad servant. He gave Snape the mission on a night when most of the
other Death Eaters were out tracking down Aurors and turning their
ambushes on them. Snape knelt at the foot of the throne and allowed
neither his body nor the surface of his thoughts to give him away.</p><p>"You are to discover
the general location of both the Potters and the Longbottoms,"
Voldemort told Snape. "Rumor is that both Alice Longbottom and Lily
Potter are set to deliver at the end of July, but they have retreated
into hiding. Find them, my faithful servant. You know why." Snape
was the one who had overheard the prophecy that claimed the one with
the power to destroy the Dark Lord would be born as the seventh month
died. He thought of it as a bit of stuff and nonsense himself, but
bringing back that information—even if it was only a few lines of a
more complete prophecy he had not had the time to overhear—had
secured his position at his Lord's side.</p><p>"Who is my partner
to be, my Lord?" Snape laced his voice with just a bit of an
ingratiating whine, as if he could not stand to be gone from his
Lord's side for that long without someone else to get one up on. It
worked.</p><p>"No partner,
Severus," said Voldemort, and stroked Nagini with one hand, hissing
something soothing to her as she lashed her head back and forth.
Snape and Nagini had never got on. "You will do this alone."</p><p><em>Perfect.</em></p><p>"As my Lord
commands."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape felt the pulse
of wards as he arrived at the school. He was not surprised.
Dumbledore had raised wards that would alert him to the presence of
anyone on Hogwarts grounds with a Dark Mark, after a surprise attack
that had nearly killed several of the Mudblood children venturing to
Hogsmeade.</p><p>He continued walking,
but he bowed his head, and he limped. He had broken his own leg with
a potion in his body to help him endure the pain, and then healed it
again, clumsily. It would make him look as though he had taken a
beating. That was what he wanted. He knew that Dumbledore would be
much less inclined to accept him as truly repentant if he seemed to
have planned this. It had to be an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment
change of heart. That was what the Headmaster loved in his
Gryffindors. That was the weakness that Snape would play to. He would
make the Headmaster think he was volunteering to be a spy because his
conscience was actually troubling him.</p><p>No one needed to know
that it was <em>justifications</em> he had trouble coming up with any
more, not reasons to keep torturing and killing.</p><p>"Stand where you
are."</p><p>It was McGonagall who
stopped him, of course. Snape would have expected nothing less. He
halted, huddling under his cloak, and then slowly lifted his head. He
had also used a potion that would leave bruises on his face. He heard
her swallow, but she kept her wand steady on him nonetheless as she
called for Albus to come out and join her on the grounds.</p><p>The Headmaster came.
With him came light. He had taken to freeing his magic more and more
often since his open battles with Voldemort, and it hung around him
in a glimmering white aura.</p><p><em>There is power
here, </em>Snape thought. That comforted him. It made it seem more
likely, that he would think he could shelter under Dumbledore's
protection. No one sane would leave Voldemort's side if he didn't
have a sanctuary to run to, another Lord to protect him.</p><p>He went to his knees
as though the light had overcome him, and began to sob like a child.
Another potion insured that the tears came easy. Both the Headmaster
and McGonagall had known him as a student, and knew how hard it was
for him to weep. It was not something Snape had done easily or
willingly even after the attack by the precious golden boys of
Gryffindor, the Marauders.</p><p>He heard Minerva
swallow again. Then she whispered, "Severus?"</p><p>"Severus," Albus
echoed, and his voice was sterner. "Why have you come?"</p><p>Snape shook his head,
letting the tears take his voice, and held up his left arm, shaking
the sleeve back from it. He instantly had two wands pointed at him,
but that didn't matter. They would see the knife slashes around the
Dark Mark, as though he had tried to cut it free from his flesh.</p><p>They would take him
into their arms and their hearts. They would accept his tale of
repentance and believe it, because they could not imagine why someone
would join the Dark Lord in truth, unless they were mad or
power-crazed. Hatred of the depth to which Snape bore it was beyond
their ken.</p><p>They would never know
that it was a mixture of Regulus and self-contempt and contempt for
the other Death Eaters and Regulus again that had driven him here.
They would demand sacrifices of him. No one could take the Dark Mark
unless they were willing, and so the Order of the Phoenix had no way
to obtain a spy in Voldemort's camp unless a loyal Death Eater
turned to them. The few who had changed their minds so far had simply
fled. Snape could change that. They would demand that he do so.
Dumbledore would say, with a sharp twinkle in his eyes, that it was
the only way Snape could show he was <em>truly</em> sorry for his
crimes.</p><p>Snape would let them
believe he was reluctant. He would use the danger to learn himself
again and steady his soul against the pounding waves of confusion.
They would never think to look for that, because they would not
believe that was important enough for someone to risk his life and
his body.</p><p>Dumbledore would look
for his motives, but Snape had hidden his motives from Voldemort, who
was the better Legilimens. He would fail. He would think Snape was
sincere, not least because of the tears and the show of weakness.</p><p>He would not realize
that one could show a lesser weakness to protect a greater, and most
especially to cure the greater.</p><p>That was another thing
Snape's mother had taught him.</p><p>On the night he
changed his life to change his soul, his cheeks were wet with tears,
but the innards of his mind were dry.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 39*: A War Within Their Hearts and Minds</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Thirty: A War Within Their Hearts and
Minds</strong></p><p>"Come in, Severus."</p><p>She had known it would
come to this someday, Minerva told herself as she watched Severus
stride into her office and sit down in the chair in front of her
desk. Yes, other parents might have been able to refrain from
following their children into battle, but most of those parents
didn't teach in Hogwarts, and none of their children were engaged
in raising rebellion against the Ministry. And none of the parents
were Severus, and none of the children were Harry.</p><p>In the moments before
Severus began to speak, Minerva had time to study his eyes, and know
she was losing him. Perhaps she had lost him long ago. His first
loyalty had never been to the school. It had been to Albus at one
point, the man who had rescued him from the darkness and given him a
life worth living. Then it had been to Harry, and it had stayed that
way even through arrests and battles and losses.</p><p>Best to accept that
she would always have had a temporary Potions Professor and Deputy
Headmaster in him, rather than a permanent one.</p><p>"You will need to
hire Slughorn to fulfill the Potions position, Minerva," he said,
his voice astonishingly composed. "I fear that I can no longer give
you my best service. He has years of experience. He will also make a
good Head of Slytherin House. He understands those who do not have
problems that consume the whole world." And Severus smiled,
faintly, the first time Minerva had seen him do so since the term
began. "I have not understood them in some time."</p><p>Minerva nodded, a deep
stickiness in her throat that prevented her from speaking for long
moments. It felt like the Sugar Quills she no longer ate for this
very reason. "You are going to join Harry?"</p><p>"I did not say
that."</p><p>And she saw the deep
lines carved around his mouth, and the wariness in his eyes, and
realized that he did not know, even now, if she might turn him over
to the Ministry if he admitted his destination.</p><p>Impulse made her lean
across the desk between them and put her hand on his arm. Severus
tried to sit back, or sit up, and reach for his wand. Minerva
maintained her grip, staring into his eyes. It was rare that anyone
who knew he was a Legilimens did that, and it gave him enough pause
for Minerva to have her say.</p><p>"I am on Hogwarts's
side in this battle," she said. "The side of Hogwarts is not the
side of the Ministry. You are one of my students, and so is Harry. I
would never betray either of you to the Aurors, Severus."</p><p>"You may not have a
choice." His mouth was tight, his eyes shadowed, and still he
looked better than he had on most days he taught Potions. "Not if
the Unspeakables, who are also his enemies, come. They will take the
information from you before you know what they are doing. They will
insure that you can tell no one else about it, and that you do not
even remember their visit."</p><p>"They cannot corrupt
Godric, or the other Founders," said Minerva. "Godric assured me
of this. The anchor-stones are older than the vast majority of the
Unspeakables' artifacts. Do not worry about me, Severus. I have my
own defenses. Leave me to guard your back, and go to your son."</p><p>He stared at her, and
Minerva tilted her head up, letting his sight flare into her mind and
soul. He would read everything there. He would read the determination
to protect Hogwarts and her children; he would read the difference
between what she wanted to do and what she could do; he would read
how she had resolved that particular battle, by making herself into a
protective Gryffindor lion and insuring that no one would be able to
use her or her inner knowledge of Harry as a political weapon.</p><p>He lowered his head,
and blinked. Minerva waited. It was by far the deepest Legilimency
she had ever suffered from Severus, and it made her head hurt. But if
it reassured him, then it was worth it, it was all worth it.</p><p>And then Severus said,
"I never understood you," and it made her want to cry, and her
throat burn fiercely that she could not, after all, go with him.</p><p>"No, you didn't,"
she said quietly.</p><p>He said nothing more,
and he didn't apologize. He stood and walked out of the office,
with nothing more than a quick head-bob.</p><p>Minerva sat back and
closed her eyes. She felt a hand on her shoulder: Helga, deepest and
quietest of the Founders, coming to soothe her in this moment. That
she could not do anything else didn't help, because she had acted
in accordance with responsibility and duty.</p><p>But if she had been
able to act solely for herself, then she would rather have followed
Harry to battle. Gryffindors might be born to protect, but they were
also born to go to war.</p><p>The choice she had
made did not invalidate that part of herself, and never would.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Her head hurt.</p><p>Priscilla drank a
headache potion, choking at the taste. She had never liked it, but
she had never liked the way that her headaches tended to linger for
hours unless she drank one, either. It was rare that she had
headaches any more, and even rarer the ones like this one, bristling
across her forehead like bones shifting beneath the skin.</p><p>She set aside the vial
when she was done, and leaned back in the chair, and closed her eyes.
The dragonhide pushed against her neck, smooth and soft and
comforting. That didn't ease the feeling that the rest of her body
was a wishbone tugged on by two impatient children.</p><p>She owed allegiances
in both directions in this damn war, and she had no idea what to do.</p><p>Priscilla had hoped
that matters would resolve when she went to Harry, which had been the
reason that she had agreed instantly when Rufus offered the mission
to her. If she could just persuade him out of starting a war, then
her course would be clear. The rebellion would collapse without him.
Thomas would come home. He might have to spend some time in
Tullianum, but Priscilla was confident she could win him free. Harry
was the one they all wanted, the prominent criminal. No one would
care about a man who fired a few curses at Aurors to give them six
legs, next to that.</p><p>And she would have
answered her own honor, which had driven her to join the Aurors in
the first place. It was <em>not</em> right that some people might
getter better treatment than others, that passions might rule over
reason. If a murderer was killed because the Aurors let a member of
the murder victim's family into the criminal's cell—while the
criminal was chained and had no wand—then that was not justice.
Priscilla disliked rage. She distrusted fanatics. She preferred the
rules that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement used, because
they were at least rules and they said that someone arrested for a
particularly bad prank and someone arrested for being a Death Easter
both still had the right to breathe without pain, to eat, to drink,
and to stay distant from vengeance-obsessed relatives.</p><p>Before Harry had sent
the Dementors away, the Aurors had had holding cells in the Ministry
for those criminals who hadn't been sentenced yet, or who were to
serve lesser punishments than going to Azkaban. Priscilla had
preferred that. The cells were either in the Department itself or
scattered on other floors. It was possible to know in an instant, or
have someone see it, if a prisoner was being mistreated. It wasn't
possible in Azkaban, of course, with how rarely inspections came
there, but at least in Azkaban one knew the prisoners had already
been tried and sentenced, and they had been handled humanely before
then.</p><p>And then had come
Tullianum, with holding of sentenced criminals and criminals awaiting
trial all in one place. More to the point, it was near the Department
of Mysteries, and far away from the rest of the Ministry.</p><p>Inspections were rare
now, and abuse was easier to hide.</p><p>Priscilla was
disgusted and sickened to realize just how easy.</p><p>The Aurors were not
what they had been, not if fear could push them to hurt werewolves
that way. Priscilla had assumed that most of her people believed
about werewolves what she did: they were monsters three times a
month, and there were laws against them that one might feel one way
or the other about, but a werewolf in custody was the same as any
other prisoner. It wasn't up to Aurors to change the laws. It was
up to them to enforce them, and to act with honor.</p><p>And now she found out
that wasn't true.</p><p>She could not remain
where she was.</p><p>On the other hand, she
could not go to Harry. He had enacted no neutral standard, either. He
would kill those who opposed him. Priscilla believed him when he said
that he was willing to do <em>anything</em> to secure political freedom
for werewolves and other magical creatures, whether he said that by
word or by magic. That meant no limitations. That <em>might</em> mean a
code of honor for prisoners and the like, but she had no way of
telling that. And what would happen if he caught the people who had
attacked the werewolf packs yesterday, or those of her Aurors who had
abused Hawthorn Parkinson? Could they expect mercy?</p><p>Priscilla would have
said yes a while ago, when Harry still acted within limitations. Now
she horribly feared the answer was <em>no</em>. If Harry had set
himself up as judge and executioner, then it almost certainly was.</p><p>She could not go to
him on the off chance that she might make things better. She was no
clever thinker, to come up with new laws. She enforced them, and she
would not be able to stand by and silent if Harry insisted on doing
things without the rule of law, or fudged matters because one person
was a werewolf and another wasn't. She would only be a thorn in his
side, rather than a help.</p><p>And neither could she
remain in the hypocritical Ministry that had betrayed everything she
believed in.</p><p>Priscilla took a deep
breath, drew out parchment and quill and ink, and began to write her
resignation.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"I don't know how
to react. This is so far outside anything that I ever imagined
happening."</p><p>Connor had listened to
an answer like that for the last few days. He had always been
patient. He had always patted Parvati's shoulder, and told her that
he understood, and that he found it overwhelming sometimes, too. Then
she would turn around and lean her head on his shoulder and cry, and
Connor could stroke her hair and marvel over how ordinary all this
was, and how it wasn't the kind of life he would have expected to
have after twelve years as the Boy-Who-Lived. He liked it that
Parvati wasn't a shining heroine of the kind that his mother had
once whispered he would marry, because no one else deserved him. She
was someone he had to work to deserve, just as he was sometimes a
person <em>she</em> had to work to deserve.</p><p>But he thought this
particular phase had gone on for long enough. They were <em>Gryffindors</em>.
They ought to face what was bothering them. Parvati was hiding from
the monster under the bed. Connor, though, thought that the best way
to get rid of a monster hiding under the bed was to challenge it to a
duel.</p><p>"Parvati," he
said.</p><p>As if she knew what he
would say, her shoulders tensed, and she stared at the far wall of
the sixth-year boys' room, empty except for them. Ron had cleared
out easily, with a look Connor didn't have to work hard to
interpret. Seamus and Dean were working on homework down in the
Gryffindor common room. Neville was—somewhere.</p><p>"I think we have to
choose how to react," Connor went on. "Draco joined Harry, and
he's loyal to him. And most of Harry's allies are <em>Dark</em>
wizards. If we think they're doing the right thing, then we have to
accept the fact that sometimes Dark wizards can do the right thing."</p><p>"We don't know if
they're right," Parvati whispered.</p><p>"You think the
Ministry is?" Connor would be thunder-struck if she thought that.
She had often told him how much she liked Remus, and how she wished
he could have come back to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. She
was <em>not</em> prejudiced. Connor knew his girlfriend better than
that.</p><p>"No," said
Parvati. "But I just don't think that anyone is. How can they be?
They ought to talk to each other, not toss around magic like they
don't know what they're doing."</p><p>Connor thought for a
moment. "Harry's burst of magic frightened you, didn't it?"
he asked. She had done strange things before when she was frightened.
Managed to hold innocent remarks against Harry, for example. She had
also held not-so-innocent remarks against Draco, but Connor couldn't
blame her for that. He had done the same thing, and he wasn't
afraid of Draco; he just thought he was a right git most of the time.</p><p>"Yes," said
Parvati, tense as a bowstring, sitting with her arms wrapped around
herself. Connor wanted to hug her, but she looked as if she would
shrug off the embrace, so he kept his hands at his side. "How
could—I didn't know that he was <em>that</em> powerful, Connor. It
was enough magic to destroy the school."</p><p>"Yes," Connor had
to agree, because he really didn't think she was wrong. "But he
didn't."</p><p>"But imagine if he
came back and got angry," Parvati whispered. "What if he wasn't
able to restrain himself? What if he hurt someone?"</p><p>"He's restrained
himself so far," said Connor, and felt his face heat up. "Think
of the patience he had with us during that last week he was here. Do
you think he <em>wouldn't </em>have made our heads explode if he
really wanted to? He must have wanted to, and it didn't happen. I
don't think you need to worry about my brother's self-control,
Parvati. Besides," he added, because he knew this had been a
problem between Harry and Parvati somehow, though he still didn't
know exactly how, "you know that I love him and want to spend time
around him. Would I really want to do that if he was a barely leashed
killer?"</p><p>"I don't know,"
Parvati whispered, ducking her head. "I just really don't know,
Connor. I <em>told</em> you that I needed to have time to think about
this."</p><p>Connor narrowed his
eyes. "And you've had some time. Now tell me your decision. Are
you going to start saying tomorrow that you support Harry? Or are you
just going to sit in scared silence like all the other rabbits?"</p><p>"It's not that
simple," said Parvati. "Maybe you can trust him because he's
your brother. But what if he got angry at me and decided that he
needed me gone?" She rushed on before Connor could object to that.
"I did trust him before, somewhat. He went through all those awful
curses the Ravenclaws fired at him, and never lost his temper. But
this rebellion, and the magic he released—he's changed, hasn't
he? How do we know he isn't going to come back to the school and be
<em>so</em> different that he might hurt someone, even if it is
accidentally?"</p><p>"We don't," said
Connor evenly. "But we can't go around living in fear, Parvati.
It's stupid and not very Gryffindor. And I swore the oaths of the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow, that I would think rationally before I
acted. I wasn't thinking of those around Harry and Malfoy. Now I'm
trying to do better. And I say that we give Harry a chance. Until he
<em>actually</em> make someone else's head explode, I don't think
there's a reason to believe he will."</p><p>Parvati sat in
silence, head bowed.</p><p>"Well?" Connor
prodded her.</p><p>She looked up at him,
eyes flashing, and he realized they'd stepped beyond the boundary
of her tolerance. "I do have the right to think about this on my
own, you know," she snapped. "You made up your own mind quickly,
but that doesn't mean that I need to.</p><p>"Yes, you need to,"
said Connor, his own temper rising. "Because I need to know if I
can count on my girlfriend to support me, or <em>not</em>." So far,
there was little open opposition to Harry's rebellion in the
school, but there were lots of stares and loud questions about
whether Connor was <em>sure</em> that Harry was right. It was lonely.
He wanted Parvati to stand at his side, or make up her mind to stand
on the opposite one. Then he could argue with her, loudly, and have a
different way of handling things.</p><p>Parvati shook her
head, furiously, and her eyes shone with both anger and tears. "Don't
push me, Connor. It's not that simple. It's <em>not</em>."</p><p>"So you're on the
opposite one, for right now," said Connor, and pushed back from the
bed, and stood up. "All right, then. That's really all I wanted
to know." He glared at her. "So you can leave, now. This is <em>my</em>
room, after all."</p><p>"Shared with four
others," said Parvati, but she tossed her hair and got off the bed.
"We're going to talk about this later, Connor," she said,
catching his gaze and holding it.</p><p>Connor had one of
those surges of intuition that he received sometimes from Merlin knew
where. "Why?" he asked quietly. "Why are you surprised? You
were the one who claimed to know how important spending time with my
brother was to me, and you were the one who comforted me when Harry
was too busy to notice. Are you actually surprised that I don't
want to choose between you? Or were you counting on me to choose
you?"</p><p>Parvati turned away
and padded to the door, but not before he saw her deeply wounded
look. Connor stifled the impulse to go after her and apologize, and
instead flopped down on his bed and crossed his arms over his chest,
huffing.</p><p>He was <em>right</em>,
damn it.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>This was really
dangerous. She couldn't even Apparate. And if her family found out
what she was doing, then they would punish her so severely that she
cringed just thinking about it. She'd probably have to have a guard
every time she left the Gryffindor common room, and her mum would
probably get Hermione to do it. And Hermione <em>would</em> do it,
because she would be horrified, too.</p><p>But Ginny didn't
care. She had felt Harry's magic, and it had inspired in her a
yearning she'd never felt before, to be <em>there</em>. It wasn't
as if she could concentrate on homework lately, anyway. Who <em>cared</em>
about writing some stupid three-foot essay on the proper way to
prepare chopped liondragon scales, where there was a war going on out
there and she had to be part of it?</p><p>She'd packed all her
clothes and all her school things; she wasn't going to leave
something behind, just in case they found her gone before she could
reach Harry's valley and got Hermione to cast a tracking spell on
something she owned, which Ginny had heard Hermione talking about
being able to do. Her trunk was shrunken and in her pocket; she'd
had to wait a day because she hadn't mastered the Shrinking Charm
on the first try. She had left the common room with a casual remark
about homework and the library, carrying a book; she didn't think
anyone had noticed it was one of her textbooks, which she shrank the
moment she was out of sight and tucked in her robe pocket, too.</p><p>Then she walked
briskly towards the Quidditch shed, looking over her shoulder every
now and then, but trying not to be too obvious about it. She was a
Chaser on the Gryffindor team this year, and she could claim that she
wanted to go to a late practice if someone caught her. It was late,
but not <em>that</em> late, just before dinner.</p><p>She planned to get on
her broom and fly west and south. She knew how to keep out of sight
of Muggles; that was one thing Arthur Weasley had taught all his
children early, since they lived near plenty of them. And the track
of Harry's magic was still hanging in the air, the sweet delicious
smell of it. Ginny knew she could follow it.</p><p>She made it down the
stairs to the first floor. She made it through the stampede of
students heading for the Great Hall early. She made it to the doors.</p><p>"Ginny?"</p><p>Ginny felt her back
stiffen and her fingers twitch, reaching for her wand; the instincts
Moody had trained into them for the Midsummer battle last year were
still functioning. Then she reminded herself that the whole point was
not to be caught, and there were still people passing towards the
Great Hall. She couldn't act like this was anything unusual.</p><p>She turned around and
pasted a smile on her face. "Yes, Neville?"</p><p>Neville blinked at her
and shuffled his feet. "Where—where are you going?" he asked.
He had a pot in one hand, and a plant in it. Ginny didn't recognize
it on a quick glance. He was probably taking it out to one of the
greenhouses, though.</p><p>"Out to practice,"
said Ginny. At least Neville wasn't on the Quidditch team, and was
unlikely to know their schedule. "I missed the Quaffle <em>seven</em>
times during our last practice, can you believe it?" She faked a
little laugh, and hoped no one was listening, because it sounded
horrible to her.</p><p>"Oh. B-but—"
Neville bit his lip, then took a deep breath and said, "But Ron is
in the Great Hall already. So how can there be a practice?"</p><p><em>Damn. Damn bloody
damn. </em>Ginny controlled the impulse to just Stun Neville and make
a run for it. She <em>might</em> make it to the Quidditch pitch and
grab her broom before anyone stopped her, but it was unlikely.</p><p>On the other hand,
Neville had been part of the dueling club, too, and he'd fought in
the Midsummer battle. There was the chance that he just might
understand. Ginny darted a glance left and right, and saw no one
watching them. Even the cluster of Hufflepuffs passing right by were
talking about dinner and speculating about whether there would be
treacle tart for dessert tonight.</p><p>"Listen, Neville,"
she said, and stared into his eyes. She'd found that intimidated
people. "I'm running away to join Harry."</p><p>"Why?" Neville
whispered. At least he had the sense to keep his voice down.</p><p>"Because I feel so
<em>useless</em> here," said Ginny bluntly. "And there might be
something I can do there." She winced as she said the next words,
but she had to say them. Moody had taught them too well. Useless
bodies in battle weren't worth the time it took to protect them. "I
can fight, if he needs someone to do that. And even if he just needs
people to chop potions ingredients and help with mundane tasks like
cooking—because he's not getting food from house elves, now—I'd
rather do that <em>there</em> than <em>here. </em> I feel like—I have
to do <em>something</em> to help. I can't just sit in Hogwarts and
ignore what's happening."</p><p>Neville considered her
for a long moment. Ginny shifted from foot to foot, and hoped he
wouldn't make it much longer. Someone was bound to start looking at
them sooner or later. If he did it for a minute more, Ginny promised
herself, she would Stun him and run, consequences be damned.</p><p>Finally, he smiled.
Ginny blinked, her hope rising. <em>Does he understand? Is he going to
let me go?</em></p><p>"You can come with
me," Neville whispered.</p><p>Ginny stared at him.
"<em>What</em>?"</p><p>Neville flushed pink,
but nodded. "I—he asked me to research plants that could help
stop Indigena Yaxley," he said. He hefted the pot in his hand.
"I've finally developed this, but Professor Sprout said that she
doesn't want to send the seeds to Harry. She had relatives killed
by werewolves too, y'see. So I'm taking the plants to him, and
then, if he tells me to leave, I will."</p><p>"How are you going
to get there?" Ginny whispered back. Neville was hopeless on a
broom.</p><p>"Gran's taking
me," said Neville proudly, his ears picking up the flush from his
face. "She said that she's happy I'm taking my responsibilities
seriously. So I'm going." He smiled, and Ginny thought she saw a
glow of magic around him, bright and content. He had been so happy
last year when the Light had called on him to contribute magic to
Harry's fight against the wild Dark, she remembered. "She's
meeting me on the outer edge of the grounds in five minutes. She can
Apparate us both."</p><p>Ginny grinned. She
couldn't wait until they both got to Harry and he saw that he had
more help than he'd ever imagined.</p><p>"You're the
bravest of them all, Neville," she said. "Even his brother is
just sitting around here."</p><p>Neville flushed and
smiled, but luckily didn't stammer. In fact, he swept a ridiculous
bow, nodded to the doors, and said, "Shall we go, my lady?"</p><p>Ginny laughed, and
hooked her arm with his, being careful not to jostle the pot he
carried. "Lead on, my gallant knight."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Hermione? I'd
like to talk to you."</p><p>Hermione marked her
place in her book with a finger and looked up. "Changed your mind
about the Grand Unified Theory, Zach?" she asked sweetly.</p><p>His face mottled with
red. "I asked you not to call me that," he hissed at her.</p><p>"You also asked me
not to remind you that I was Muggleborn, last time we talked."
Hermione turned to face him, trying to stir her face from the
distinctively evil grin it wanted to settle into. "By all means,
Zacharias. What have you come to talk to me about this time?"</p><p>Zacharias took several
deep breaths, but if that was actually an effective way of calming
himself down, Hermione had yet to see it. She studied him and waited.
He was handsome enough, she supposed, and he had taken some effort
with his robes this morning.</p><p>But that was the
point. Hermione wouldn't have minded if he wore fine robes; he had
money, he could afford it. But he had chosen robes that had a badger
over the heart, and badgers dancing all along the hem, as if he
wanted to remind her he was of Hufflepuff's blood. Hermione didn't
think he needed them. The badger-shaped scar on his cheek said that
he was of Hufflepuff's blood, and, more, it documented the <em>risk</em>
that came from that, and how Zacharias had accepted the risk anyway,
and gone angry into war for love of her. Why he wanted more than
that—why he wanted to make her think he was an arrogant pureblood
instead of a wizard who would use whatever magic he possessed to
avenge his loved ones—was beyond Hermione.</p><p>"I think we should
be friends again," said Zacharias.</p><p>"Just friends?"
Hermione asked.</p><p>He flushed once more
and shook his head. "More than that," he said. "I love you,
Hermione."</p><p>"I think I could
love you too, Zacharias," said Hermione consideringly. "But you
haven't given me much reason lately to think that you love <em>me</em>.
You talk about my having to abandon all the things I'm interested
in if they're Muggle. You don't want me to visit my parents, or
you want me to 'educate' them in how to be the parents of a
pureblood witch and the grandparents of pureblood grandchildren. And
you want me to marry you right out of school. What if I don't want
that?"</p><p>"But that's the
way <em>everybody</em> does it!" Zacharias exclaimed. "Then you can
have time later to work on whatever you're interested in. You raise
the children first, and have heirs. But you're going to live at
least a hundred years, Hermione. Do you really want to be raising
children when you're forty-seven or fifty-five? You do it when
you're younger."</p><p>"<em>If</em> and when
I marry and have children, I wouldn't think of it as a chore to
finish as soon as possible, or just a way to have heirs," said
Hermione quietly. "I would treat it like a good thing, an important
thing, because it deserves to be treated that way." She pushed a
curl of her hair behind her shoulder. "But I don't even know if I
want children, Zacharias. Not right now. Maybe I'd change my mind
in a few years."</p><p>He stared at her, and
couldn't seem to think of anything to say.</p><p>"I know," said
Hermione. "I know that you want children to have heirs. But I'm
not pureblood, Zacharias. I can learn the rituals and wear the
clothing, but I'm not going to think like one just because you want
me to. I don't care about securing the next generation of the Smith
line. I wouldn't care if we had a child who was a Squib, and I
would try to make her life as easy as possible. I don't care that
much about the definitions of Light and Dark, except that I think the
Light does make things better for Muggleborns in general. I can't
care about the things that you want me to care about. The Grand
Unified Theory just showed that up, not made it happen. I think we
would be awfully unhappy if we did get married." She leaned forward
and held his eyes. "Don't you think so?"</p><p>"Hermione—"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"My mother—"
said Zacharias, and stopped.</p><p>"I know," said
Hermione, and shrugged. Even though Zacharias was legally the adult
heir of the Smith line, since they preserved the old custom of
majority coming at fifteen instead of seventeen, Zacharias still
craved his mother's approval. Hermione had met Miriam Smith briefly
last year, when she'd come to the school to ride one of the golden
horses. It had been a brief and chilly meeting. "But you did say in
June that you loved me, and that you didn't understand pureblood
ideals if they made you reject someone like me. What happened to
that, Zacharias?"</p><p>"There wasn't
this—thing then," said Zacharias stiffly.</p><p>Hermione took a deep
breath. "So it would have been all right for you to say that you
loved me and didn't care I was a Muggleborn in the privacy of our
own home, but outside it you would have cared what people said and
did about you having a Muggleborn wife?"</p><p>"Hermione, there are
people who will be happy to help us and sell to us and trade with
us," said Zacharias, putting a hand on her arm. "As long as you
behave like a pureblood. But if you go around saying what—you say,
then they'll get offended. Surely you can see that? They're all
representatives of very old families. Muggleborns who are too loud
threaten them."</p><p><em>I did misjudge him.
</em>Hermione met his eyes. "It's fun to make people think I'm a
pureblood," she said. "But it's not enough any more. They're
going to think I'm some kind of—trained monkey in the end, once
they find out the truth. I want things to really change, Zacharias,
and fitting in won't do it."</p><p>He looked at her, his
face a picture of misery, and then turned and left the library.
Hermione supposed that was an improvement over their last two fights,
which had ended with them screaming at each other.</p><p>She sighed and turned
back to her books. Revolution hurt.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus barely studied
Priscilla's resignation before he tossed it into the fire. He knew
it would be serious. Priscilla always was.</p><p>He sat back and put
his hands together, and took several deep breaths. What he planned to
do would have been easier if Priscilla stood with him. <em>No matter.</em></p><p>"Sir?" Percy
Weasley was watching him anxiously from behind his desk.</p><p>Rufus stood. He would
have Percy, and the two Aurors who had been with him when he went
down to try and stop Harry's invasion of Tullianum; embarrassment
about their utter failure to do anything that day seemed to have made
them more loyal. And he would have help from Aurelius Flint, he was
fairly certain. There was a portrait on the wall of his office, one
of a parrot, and Rufus's grandmother Leonora had proven amicable to
slipping into it now and then and conveying information to Flint that
the Unspeakables couldn't hear. At least, Rufus hoped they remained
unaware of it.</p><p>And there were allies
outside the Ministry, if he chose to call upon them.</p><p>"Sir?" Percy
repeated.</p><p>"Come with me,"
Rufus ordered, and the younger wizard fell into place behind him, no
questions asked. There were times, Rufus thought, when Auror training
was definitely good for something.</p><p>He made his way to the
door of his office and stood there, his hand resting on the knob. The
moment he opened it, then things would change, and he would lose what
was at least a secure seat in the middle of the maelstrom, even if it
was no longer a comfortable one.</p><p>He reminded himself it
was secure only because no one considered him worth paying attention
to anymore, and opened the door. The two Aurors who waited outside
snapped to attention.</p><p>"Come with me," he
repeated, and they hastened to do so. Rufus strode up the hallway,
walking fast enough that he didn't think his bad leg showed.</p><p>He was going to get
his Ministry back.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 40*: The Ritual of Cincinnatus</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-One: The Ritual of Cincinnatus</strong></p><p>Rufus met Aurelius
Flint on the fourth floor, at the entrance to the Department for the
Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Flint had two other
people with him, muffled in cloaks. Rufus eyed them sharply before he
relaxed. The cloaks were dark green, not gray, and really, while he
still thought Flint might betray him, he wouldn't do it via the
Unspeakables. Flint seemed to have as much reason to be tense around
and frightened of them as Rufus did.</p><p>"Only two?" Rufus
asked, in the low voice, less piercing than a whisper, they'd
taught him to use on Auror raids. He looked Flint in the eye, and saw
him make a shallow movement, more bob of his head than nod.</p><p>"Fewer willing than
I thought," he said.</p><p>Rufus could understand
that. There were some people who, driven against the wall, would
gather their courage and be willing to stand up and fight the
Unspeakables, but there were many who were too afraid, or simply
determined to retain a neutral position where the Unspeakables would
have no reason to bother them. Rufus had been one of the latter
himself at one point. When he'd become Head Auror and then
Minister, he had to deal with the Unspeakables, but he still thought
it better to remain outside their webs when possible.</p><p><em>So we are seven.
</em>Rufus let no one see his grimace. He could only hope that
Griselda Marchbanks had managed to sweet-talk nine people into coming
with her. Of course, he needed to hope for a lot of things, including
the luck to reach Courtroom Ten safely.</p><p>"This way," he
said, and made for the walls. He carried the stone plaque that would
grant them access to the Ministry's inner staircases in his pocket;
he had also hoped he wouldn't have to reveal its existence to any
strangers. If Flint had gathered others, then perhaps—</p><p>Rufus cut off the
thoughts with a shake of his head. Blaming his comrades was a bad
move. He wouldn't get any more.</p><p>He touched the plaque
to the wall, and the wall yawned. Rufus looked down into the
darkness, and wondered if it was a metaphor for what they were
walking into. The Unspeakables had plenty of magic he didn't
understand. Would they step down into the staircase and never emerge?
Or would only their bodies come back, talking and smiling, their
minds locked into new thoughts or altered by Unspeakable artifacts?
They would have to pass far too close to the Department of Mysteries
for Rufus's liking.</p><p><em>You are thinking
too much.</em></p><p>Rufus put his foot on
the staircase leading down.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"And you think you
are ready?"</p><p>"I think I am."</p><p>Joseph said nothing,
but Snape had learned to read his silences. The Seer was not
convinced. It had only been a few days ago, he might as well have
said, that Snape was struggling to rebuild his mental walls after one
of the dreams. Did he want to go to Harry as a guardian, or the
burden he had turned out to be when he couldn't control his own
temper in a house with werewolves? And in Woodhouse there would be
many more werewolves, including the one who had threatened to infect
him and reached out and placed her <em>hand</em> on his arm…</p><p>Snape shrugged the
memory away, and slid the last vial into the traveling case. Those
were thickly padded with bicorn fur to insure that the glass stayed
intact through the vagaries of Apparition. They would have to be.
Joseph had never seen Woodhouse, so Snape would have to Apparate them
both, along with all the Potions supplies he intended to bring with
him.</p><p>"What will you do if
you aren't ready?" Joseph asked the question of the walls, the
door, the hearth, everything but Snape.</p><p>"<em>Make</em> myself
ready."</p><p>"You cannot know—"</p><p>Snape turned around
and fixed him with a sharp eye. "Yes, I can," he said, with an
intensity, if not a volume, that seemed to convince Joseph to shut
up. "I was—weak before." He grimaced, but this was a man he had
already told far more damning and humiliating weaknesses to, so he
pushed himself to speak. "I preferred to remain within my own head
and content myself with my bitterness, how no one would ever
understand me, and that others were lauded as heroes while I, who had
done far more, received stares and sneers and sobs." He held up his
left arm, and shook the sleeve back to force Joseph to confront the
Dark Mark. He had noticed the Seer still found it hard to look at.
Sure enough, he glanced away, and Snape calmed as he regained a
measure of control over the situation.</p><p>That had been the
problem all along, he thought. <em>Control</em>. He had allowed others
to define him. He had snapped at the werewolf's taunting as if he
were once more a schoolboy. He had flung objects at Harry's head as
if he were younger than that—a child of four or five unable to
control the simplest and most laughable impulses. He had endured the
dreams with the ultimate weakness. A stronger choice would have been
to accept the Seers' help with them from the beginning, or else to
take Dreamless Sleep and avoid them.</p><p>The moment he had
grasped the fact that he had no choice and began pulling himself out
of the pit with both hands, his life had improved. He still required
Joseph's help, but even his need for that was lessening day by day.
And with a small number of simple techniques rooted in the more
disgusting memories, he had more and more control of their
interaction.</p><p>He had always known
that about himself. It was why he had such an affinity for Potions,
why he had hated Walpurgis Night, why he had wished there was some
way to control what happened to Harry long after it became clear
there wasn't. He <em>needed</em> to feel as though there was
something he controlled. The focus had needed to change from his
wallowing in self-pity to his life, and that had actually worked when
he made the change.</p><p>"And now that is
done," Snape continued. "Now I have remembered once again that
many of my enemies and those who hurt me are dead or in confinement—"
reminding himself of James Potter rotting in Tullianum had helped
hurry his recovery enormously "—and that those who remain will
never grant me the respect I wish as long as I hide in the past. I
know that while I remain distant from Harry, others could influence
him in ways I would not approve of. No one will grant me the gifts I
wish to receive. I must <em>take</em> them."</p><p>"I fail to see,"
Joseph said, in the water-voice, "how that life is different than
the one you were living before you came to the Sanctuary."</p><p>Snape met his eyes and
felt able to really sneer at him for the first time. The Seer could
glimpse souls, find words that irritated and pinched and forced Snape
to think of things he would rather not, and persist through flares of
temper that would have made even Dumbledore back off. But he did not
know everything, and with this remark, he proved how little.</p><p>"Because I intend to
keep having the dreams," said Snape. "I intend to keep talking to
you. Is that not why you came from the Sanctuary? To keep me
talking?"</p><p>Joseph frowned. "Yes,
but I will not allow you to simply put everything back together the
way it was. You can't. The walls are shattered, and there would
only be death, if not for you, then someone else—"</p><p>"I <em>understand</em>
this," Snape interrupted. "But I need no longer make healing my
sole passion. I have advanced far enough in it that I can do other
things at the same time. That is what Harry once said he would do,
and what I have finally gathered enough courage to join him in. It is
foolish to think the healing could be completed all at once, when you
yourself said it would take years."</p><p>"Years that you
need," said Joseph.</p><p>"Years that I do not
have," Snape snarled, "when my son is at war—" he had also
gathered the courage to call Harry by that name in Joseph's
hearing, now "—and I could aid him in ways that no other can or
will. I will continue the healing. I will speak with you. I will have
the dreams. But I will not become a whimpering patient and then a new
man. I will have more of the past in me than you approve of." He
took a step forward, and Joseph backed away, the first time he had
done so. Snape exulted inside, but kept it off his face. "Harry did
the same thing, though it took me some time to realize that. He did
not become the Slytherin hero I wanted when I first started training
him. He changed. His present is always marked by his past. Like
father, like son, I would say."</p><p><em>And like past, like
present. </em>The dream two nights ago had reminded him that he had
been a <em>good</em> actor, that when he first came to Dumbledore he
had carried the weight of two Lords' gazes on his shoulders and
made them both think he was their man. That his convictions had
shifted later was of no matter.</p><p>He should have
remembered that he could fool most everyone he chose, when he wanted
to make the effort.</p><p>He would <em>act</em> as
if he were more healed than he really was. This time, he would allow
no taunting werewolf to pierce his shields, any more than he had
allowed Lucius Malfoy's taunting to do the same when they were both
Death Eaters. And in time, the act would become reality, the lie
truth.</p><p>Joseph, he saw, had
nothing to say in response to his declaration. Snape raised an
eyebrow and turned to make sure the final set of vials was securely
packed.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>That journey
downstairs in the darkness was one of the most surreal Rufus ever
experienced.</p><p>He expected, at every
step, to be stopped. Or perhaps the walls, barely seen in the light
of the <em>Lumos</em> carried on Flint's wand, would blur and time
would stretch around him, and he would wake in his office with new,
Unspeakable-planted, thoughts in his head, and think this had all
been a bad dream. He accomplished each step, and still he knew the
<em>next</em> one would be the end of this. Even wondering why the
Unspeakables had let them get this far if they knew what he intended
did not ease Rufus's worries. They would be waiting at the end.
They would be waiting on the next turn of the staircase. They would
be waiting in Courtroom Ten when he opened the door, if by some
miracle they got that far.</p><p>And then they reached
the bottom, and opened the door onto the tenth level of the Ministry,
into the corridor where Draco Malfoy had stunned him. Rufus blinked
for a long moment. There were no Unspeakables in sight.</p><p>There would be, at any
moment.</p><p>He led his people past
the hidden door of Tullianum, and through another door into a
different corridor, the one that most visitors were likely to see, if
they were summoned to stand before the Wizengamot. He frowned as they
walked up it, because something was different. Some pressure and
presence of magic he usually felt was gone, or something new had been
added. He could think of only two candidates. Neither was good news.
Either the Stone had noticed them and was extending its influence
into the tunnel, or the Unspeakables had removed the wards that
usually guarded the place and were no more irritating to a trained
Auror than music in the background. Yet there was no sign of the
Unspeakables.</p><p>Flint gave a loud
sniff beside him. Rufus glanced at him, unable to decide if that had
been a snort of contempt or not, and then realized it was an <em>actual</em>
sniff. Flint's nose was wrinkled, his eyes studying the corridor
ahead as if he would force the stones to give up their secrets.</p><p>"What is it?"
Rufus asked.</p><p>Flint shook his head,
but his eyes didn't stop scanning. "Familiar smell," he said
shortly. "Smelled something like it before, on some of the
artifacts we handled. Don't know what it is, though."</p><p>Rufus had to accept
that. They reached the door of Courtroom Ten, the one that led to the
gallery, and stepped through it.</p><p>The room was empty,
and so quiet that the echoes of their footsteps sounded as if there
were half a hundred of them. Rufus shut the door behind him, still
tense. Flint's information had indicated that Courtroom Ten was
specifically warded against the magic of the Stone—something one of
the Ministers had done years ago, so that the Wizengamot's
decisions would be truly objective, without influence from the
Department of Mysteries. Rufus could have laughed at the idea that
the Wizengamot would manage objectivity at all, outside influence cut
off or not, but he had been too grateful at the news that a place
might exist where they could talk unheard by the Unspeakables.</p><p>And too pessimistic,
at the same time, that they would ever manage to use it. He looked
one more time for the Department of Mysteries people he was sure must
be here. Nothing and no one greeted his eyes. The room remained
empty, and since they had stopped walking, the loudest sounds were
Flint's sniffs.</p><p>Rufus looked out into
the vast sunken courtroom with the single chained chair where
Minister Fudge and Severus Snape and Harry and Harry's parents had
all sat in their time, and shook his head. He wondered if he would
ever stand trial there. If Amelia Bones or someone else took the
Minister's office, he probably would.</p><p>But things had gone
too far. He had to take this risk, even if it killed him or threw him
out of office—and he suspected it would.</p><p>He turned to his
people. "Griselda Marchbanks is coming, with enough other people to
make a difference, I hope," he said, and drew his wand, his gaze
going to Percy and the two Aurors who had followed him down. "Flint,
I'll ask for an oath from you later, and your companions, if you
are sure they can be trusted to give one."</p><p>"They can," said
Flint. One of the green-cloaked wizards moved his head in a nod. And
Rufus had to accept that, because they needed the numbers.</p><p>He turned to Percy,
whose mouth was open. "I need you to swear an Unbreakable Vow,
Percy," he told him quietly, catching his attention less with the
words than the use of his first name. "What we're going to do
here cannot leave this room, and I'll need you to tell a number of
extremely dangerous lies to safeguard it. Can you do that?"</p><p>Percy's eyes were
wide, though less wide, Rufus noticed, than the ones of the second
Auror who had followed him downstairs. He shook his head, but not in
denial. "I don't understand, Minister. What is this?"</p><p>"Invocation of a
tradition that most wouldn't expect me to invoke," said Rufus,
with a small smile he knew was nasty, "because I don't have
enough people. But what I need is <em>bodies.</em> There are going to
be seventeen of us here, if all goes well—a third of the number of
the Wizengamot, and one of them the Minister. That's what we need.
Of course, we also need all our stories to agree."</p><p>Percy swallowed, the
click in his throat bouncing off the walls. "Unbreakable Vows kill
you if you don't fulfill them," he whispered.</p><p>"They do." Rufus
refused to look away from his face.</p><p>Percy stared into his
eyes as if he'd never seen him before. Rufus looked back. He was
fairly sure Percy's loyalty was to him, not his family and not the
Ministry and not the Auror program, but if he was wrong, this would
be the time he found out.</p><p>"What happens if I
refuse?" Percy breathed.</p><p>"Then you'll be
<em>Obliviated</em>," said Rufus. He made sure Percy heard the regret
in his voice, and also the adamant. "We can't take the chance
that you'll be questioned under Veritaserum and give away our
secrets."</p><p>Sweat broke out on
Percy's forehead. Rufus didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't
blink. He could have cast a modified version of <em>Imperio</em> on
Percy and made him follow through, but he wouldn't. There were
certain standards one did not break, no matter how far one was
willing to descend.</p><p>The thought came to
him that perhaps an Unbreakable Vow wasn't that different from the
Imperius Curse, when all was said and done. Rufus put it aside. It
was almost certainly true, but truer was the fact that he couldn't
afford to deal with it right now.</p><p>Percy passed the test.
He exhaled through his nose and nodded, his face pale as salt next to
all that bright red Weasley hair. "All right, sir." He knelt.</p><p>Rufus knelt with him,
and reached out to clasp his hand. He looked up at Flint. "Will you
be our Bonder?"</p><p>"Certainly, and
welcome." Flint stepped forward and aimed his own wand at their
joined hands. Rufus took Percy's eyes in a gaze that was not going
to allow either one of them to blink.</p><p>"Do you swear to
hold secret the truth of all you see here?" Rufus asked.</p><p>Percy swallowed again,
but said, "I do." Flint nodded, and a narrow stream of fire shot
out of his wand and encircled their hands. Rufus felt it slide and
tickle along his skin, and for a moment he was forcefully carried
back to a night sixteen years ago when he'd made an Unbreakable Vow
of his own, one he would probably refuse now if he could.</p><p>He shook his head. <em>The
First War is behind us. </em>"Do you swear to tell the lies we shall
ask you to tell, up to and including to members of your own family or
others you trust with your life?"</p><p>"I do." Percy's
voice was a little stronger this time. The fire moved again, and now
their wrists looked as if they were bound in a knot. Rufus moved his
gaze to those bonds as he asked the third and final question.</p><p>"Do you swear to
remain loyal to all those you meet here, no matter who they are or
what they ask of you?"</p><p>Percy jolted. Of
course, he didn't know most of those people or who they were. He
held Rufus's eyes for a long moment, asking without words if he
could actually trust strangers, and then he bowed his head. He had
come this far, his slumped shoulders said. He might as well go
farther.</p><p>"I do," he
answered softly.</p><p>The bands of fire
coiled tight and sank into their skin. Rufus hissed out a breath and
then stood. He held Percy's hand for a moment longer than
necessary, squeezing, he hoped, hard enough to brand the impression
into skin and bone. It was the only thing he could do, since he
couldn't apologize and he couldn't say that the Vow would be
broken someday, if Percy was patient and kept his silence. That
wasn't true. It would always need to hold, or Rufus would have
chosen some lesser form of commitment.</p><p>They weren't
spinning history here, he thought, as he turned to face the two
Aurors who had accompanied him down. They were spinning lies, but it
was the lies that would become the history, not the truth. The truth
would go behind guarded tongues to the grave.</p><p>The first of the two
Aurors, the woman called Hope, stared at him for a long moment. Then
she knelt and held out her hand for his. Rufus repeated the oath with
her, seeing her eyes watching him with less trust than Percy's but
something deeper behind them. She understood what was happening here,
he thought, probably better than Percy did.</p><p>Then came the second
Auror, a young man barely out of training, called Frederick. He
stammered and looked away and mumbled and flushed, but he knelt in
the end. Rufus felt a sense of peace settle on him as the last words
of that Vow were said. Now he could take his own, and Flint and the
ones with him could take theirs.</p><p>"The Vows are a good
idea," said Griselda Marchbanks's voice abruptly from behind
them. "But my allies will back it up with their own magic, since
the Unspeakables might have a way around the Vows for all we know."</p><p>Rufus turned. Griselda
was there, and she had brought the required number of people with
her, so they could truthfully say there were seventeen of them at
this little meeting.</p><p>Rufus had thought they
would be humans, though, not goblins.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Hawthorn leaned on the
door, gently, until it opened. Then she peered in through it. None of
the others had been willing to disturb Harry, but none of his other
close allies, the ones he might accept an interruption from, could
move as silently as she could.</p><p>She saw him dropping
the final pinches of a shredded plant into the potion that simmered
in the vial in front of him. Then he closed his eyes and bowed his
head. Hawthorn felt the same ripple she'd encountered before, when
Harry yielded his magic to help Peregrine's wolves, move into the
liquid. It gave a shiver, and then it turned the color of silver.
Hawthorn flinched in spite of herself.</p><p>Harry turned and
looked up at her; perhaps her flinch had made her arm brush against
the door. "Hawthorn," he said. "You can come in." He gave the
silver liquid a final, thoughtful glance, then sat down on the chair
waiting beyond the table where he'd brewed the potion. Those were
the only pieces of furniture in the room. "Was there something
wrong?"</p><p>Hawthorn shook her
head, and, taking out her wand, Transfigured a piece of dust on the
floor into a chair she would have to remember to Vanish later.
Woodhouse's rooms were so narrow that extra furniture simply
crowded them. "No, Harry. We just—" And then she paused again.
One reason she had been the one to volunteer was that she might be
able to find words where the others couldn't. And now that she was
here, she found Tonks was right. What she was about to say sounded
stupid.</p><p>"Are you all right,
Mrs. Parkinson?"</p><p>She didn't want to
provoke that from him, though, that retreat into formality. And
perhaps the best thing she could do was engage him with informality.
Treat Harry like a Lord, and he responded like a servant. Treat him
like a person, and he often didn't know how to hide.</p><p>"I'm not, Harry,"
she said. "I was worried this afternoon. We all were."</p><p>Harry frowned. "I
know that George is a bit of a loud-mouth, ma'am, but I don't
think all the new werewolves share his views. Most of them know that
they can't just go home as long as the Ministry is hunting them. A
few of them were berating him the moment he finished yelling. <em>He</em>
hates being a werewolf, yes, but some of them have learned to accept
it, or think they can. And they know that they don't really have a
choice but to fit into the valley right now. I don't think we have
to worry about the werewolves from the Department turning on us in
battle. If the Ministry were offering shelter and safety to everyone
turned by Loki's bite, then yes."</p><p>"That wasn't the
reason we were worried," said Hawthorn. "He accused you of not
killing Loki when he had the chance."</p><p>Harry's frown grew
more pronounced. "I know he did, ma'am. I was there."</p><p>"And you started to
grow angry, as anyone would at an unjustified accusation," Hawthorn
said. "Then you closed your eyes, and your magic stopped rising and
your anger vanished as if it had never existed."</p><p>"Of course it did,"
said Harry. "I put it away."</p><p>That was the answer
she had been afraid of. Severus Snape had owled her when Harry's
parents were first arrested, with copies of the memories of Harry's
training he had retrieved from Dumbledore. Hawthorn knew about the
box or the cage that had contained a great deal of Harry's emotions
at one point, and she knew that he could not be allowed to build
another. At best, it would be a temptation for him to go on putting
emotions into it even when there was no reason to do so. At worst, it
would become a permanent weakness for him, and at some point in the
future would open and do more mental damage.</p><p>She reached out and
clasped his hand. "Where did you put it?" she asked.</p><p>Harry tried to pull
back from her, but only managed to retreat to the end of his arm.
Hawthorn saw his eyes change again, but then the emotion was gone and
Harry was settling back into the chair, as if he couldn't imagine
why he'd wanted to move away from her in the first place. That
frightened Hawthorn more than all the rest, and made her sure was
doing the right thing.</p><p>"In the Occlumency
pools," he said. "The way Professor Snape taught me to."</p><p>Hawthorn breathed in
and out, holding his eyes. Harry just looked at her with polite
puzzlement.</p><p>"Harry," said
Hawthorn, "we're concerned that you're shedding your anger too
quickly. If you keep too much of it suppressed, it could break
open—in the midst of battle, perhaps, but there's no telling when
it would happen. And then it could hurt those who are dear to you as
well as your enemies."</p><p>"That won't
happen," said Harry, with the same confidence he had exuded after
he'd thrown his magic in the Ministry's face.</p><p>"Why not?"
Hawthorn asked.</p><p>"Because that's
why I'm controlling it," said Harry. "So that I won't yell
the wrong words at the wrong moment, or upset someone else's
healing with rage when they need calm."</p><p>Hawthorn hesitated,
wondering if she should tell him the rest, but decided it had to
happen. Otherwise, he would be caught by surprise. He had other
people watching, but they did not have a werewolf's nose, and his
pack was focused on Harry to the extent of ignoring other packs.</p><p>"I think Peregrine
and her wolves need anger," she said. "So do some other packs,
like the one I helped escape, who were attacked out of the blue and
are frightened and enraged. They need to know that you take this
threat seriously. They arrive here, and you're so calm, Harry, so
coldly determined. They would like to see a bit more fire, to
reassure them that you won't make a compromise at the expense of
their lives."</p><p>Again a shadow moved
across Harry's face, and again it vanished between one blink and
the next. "I'm doing what I can," he said, and nodded to the
silver potion on the table. "That's the first stage of a cure for
lycanthropy, I think."</p><p>Hawthorn stared.
"What." She felt so much sheer astonishment that she could not
ask it as a question.</p><p>"I think so,"
Harry went on earnestly, staring over his shoulder at the potion.
"The problem is, the potion has to be made by the person whom the
curse clings to. That means that you'd have to brew the potion to
remove your own wolf, for example. A potion I brewed would do you no
good."</p><p>"I could do that,"
Hawthorn whispered. "If—if this is true, Harry, why hasn't it
been discovered before?"</p><p>Harry looked at her
with a sad smile. "Because it's also a poison that has a sixty
percent chance of killing lycanthropes," he said. "One of the
major ingredients is silver, and the potion turns silver, too. That's
fatal to werewolves, even though it isn't to most other kinds of
curses." He shivered. "And it requires the willing sacrifice of
magic. No matter what happens, that magic is gone from you forever."</p><p>"I could do that."
Hawthorn found she couldn't take her eyes from the potion. "I
made part of my magic into a ring for your partner. I can remove it,
willingly sacrifice it."</p><p>"That won't work,"
Harry said quietly. "That kind of sacrifice slides the magic into a
solid object, or <em>makes</em> it into a solid object, like the stone
on Draco's ring. The potion is a liquid." He hesitated, then
continued, "Also, the reason that most willing sacrifices work is
that the witch or wizard yields his magic to gain something he or she
wants more. You knew that Draco would be indebted to you, for
example."</p><p>Hawthorn nodded.</p><p>"Only part of this
sacrificed magic is supposed to go into the potion," Harry
confessed. "A tiny part. The rest is simply wasted, spent on the
air. Not many witches or wizards can muster the will to sacrifice
their magic and leave themselves permanently weaker with so small a
potential reward. And without will, of course, a willing sacrifice
doesn't exist."</p><p>Hawthorn shifted
uneasily, trying to keep from looking at the potion. It didn't
work. The silver gleam only seemed to make it more tempting, not
less, even though it had caused her to flinch when she first saw it.
"I think I could stand the loss," she said.</p><p>Harry shrugged. "There
may even have been some wizards who fit all that criteria and managed
it," he said. "But the potion recipe is rare, the ability to
muster the will and pass the magic into the potion is rarer—and, of
course, it doesn't work at all for those werewolves born Muggle—and
then the fact that the poison could kill most of its victims makes
people reluctant to try it." His mouth quirked with a smile that
Hawthorn might have called bitter, but she couldn't read the
shadows underneath it in her fascination with the potion. "At
least, they tend to <em>live</em> under the werewolf curse."</p><p>"Why did you make
this, if you knew it wouldn't work and you aren't a werewolf?"
Hawthorn asked softly.</p><p>"To see if it <em>would</em>
work." Harry rubbed his forehead. "I can regain the magic I put
into the potion, since I'm an <em>absorbere.</em> And that same thing
allows me to pass the power into a liquid; it's just a matter of
opening my gift and pouring the magic elsewhere, not using a spell. I
was hoping to learn a sure way for someone else to put his magic into
the potion, if he wanted to do it. But I didn't learn anything
useful. I'll experiment with the recipe, next time. Some
substitutions won't make it explode, and might produce differences
in the final result."</p><p>Hawthorn nodded in
distraction. The potion was useless, she reminded herself. And even
if she managed this on her own, there was no guarantee that it would
work instead of kill her.</p><p>But she could not stop
thinking about what would happen if she did manage to brew the potion
and drink it. And if it was not poison, then when she woke as a
pureblood witch again, what would her life be like?</p><p>She could hardly
imagine it, and she didn't know if that was because she really had
forgotten what it was to be human, or because so many evil things had
happened to her that she could not imagine good fortune.</p><p>Harry's touch on her
arm brought her back. "I promise, Mrs. Parkinson," he said
gently, "if something happens with this, if I can brew a cure, then
I'll let you know immediately. But I should start the second batch
now. Some of my ingredients won't keep fresh for very long."</p><p>Hawthorn nodded, and
let herself be herded out the door. She wanted Harry to have absolute
calm for his experiments. Who knew what he might discover?</p><p>She did pause on the
way up the corridor, certain she had forgotten something she'd
meant to say to Harry, but then the wondrous possibilities of that
potion preoccupied her mind again, and she shook her head and forgot
it.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"Griselda." Rufus
couldn't take his eyes from the goblins, particularly one large
female who stood next to the Wizengamot Elder and appeared to have
chains actually <em>braided</em> into her flesh. "I—I didn't know
that you were bringing these friends. Are they here as witnesses?"</p><p>"They're here to
make up the seventeen we need to complete the ritual," said
Griselda bluntly. "This isn't just a human cause any more, Rufus.
I knew that you might be nervous if I brought werewolves, and I don't
think I could find any right now anyway, with how thoroughly they've
gone to ground." She was a tiny old woman, but when she tilted her
head up and her eyes stared at him through a mass of wrinkles, Rufus
was the one who felt small. "But goblins are magical creatures.
<em>Free</em> magical creatures, who are willing to help me for the
same reasons I've helped them in the past, and to have a voice in
the wizarding world's future course."</p><p>"Free," said
Rufus, since that was the word that had leaped out at him most, if
only because of Griselda's emphasis.</p><p>"Yes," said the
female goblin. "We are slaves no longer, Minister. We have no
reason to keep serving you, except that we desired to keep our
freedom locked in stone until the best moment for releasing it."
She smiled, showing a mouth full of unfortunately pointed teeth, no
less bright than the chains woven around and into her skin. "Our
web has been gone for more than a year. Now is the time for our
moving."</p><p>Rufus breathed in and
out, and tried to think. Granted, he knew very little about webs, and
less about the ancient wizards and witches who had woven them. Guilt
and lies and forgotten history had covered up so much that, when he'd
tried to learn what he could about them, he mostly found historians
engaged in blaming other factions for the necessity of webs in the
first place. "Does this mean," he asked at last, "that you
would no longer serve in Gringotts?"</p><p>"We have not served
since our web was broken," the female goblin said. "I am the
<em>hanarz</em>, and I lead my people again. Our magic has returned,
since it is no longer bound. And we have stayed in the bank. But if
you do not grant us a part in this, now, we will withdraw."</p><p>Rufus tried to imagine
their economy collapsing, and could not .The devastation that it
would do to not only the British wizarding world, but those other
communities who had financial ties to Britain, was intense. And the
goblins were the only ones who knew how to open most of the vaults,
the only ones who knew the ways past the traps, the only ones who
knew to the Knut how much money each vault contained.</p><p><em>They could have
held us hostage at any time, </em>he thought. <em>They waited this long
to show us they were serious, and to put themselves in a position
where we wouldn't have the chance to refuse, I suppose.</em></p><p>He had no choice,
literally, and not only because they needed seventeen people for
this. Traditionally, the choice to place the Ministry's control
entirely in the hands of the Minister had to be made by seventeen
people, a third of the Wizengamot, in the room where the Wizengamot
most often met. That pulled an old ritual into play and set wheels
turning that would, Rufus hoped, keep him safe from the Unspeakables
long enough for deeper changes to take place.</p><p>He had avoided doing
this so far because he had seen no way to persuade sixteen members of
the Wizengamot to agree to it, and he had still hoped to avoid what
was essentially short-term dictatorship. Then he had studied the
wording of the old documents again and discovered that they said
seventeen people, a third of the <em>number</em> of the Wizengamot, not
actually "a third of the Wizengamot." He needed seventeen bodies,
and he needed a way to insure that those other people would not tell
the truth about what had happened, and he needed to locate sixteen
Wizengamot members—well, fifteen now, since Griselda had joined him
after all—to <em>Obliviate</em> and convince them they had voted this
way. Actually kidnapping the Wizengamot members and bringing them to
Courtroom Ten would have been too risky, too likely to attract the
Unspeakables' attention, and would have taken too long to
arrange—and there was no reason for them to agree, once they were
here.</p><p>The goblins would
agree, if he agreed to certain other things. Rufus needed them as
much as they needed him, he suspected. They must not want open war,
or they would have declared it already.</p><p>He watched the <em>hanarz</em>,
and Griselda Marchbanks standing implacable beside her, and knew they
must have reasoned this all out already. They were only waiting for
him to catch up.</p><p>He caught up. "Your
people will swear the Unbreakable Vow?" he asked the <em>hanarz</em>,
barely restraining himself from asking Marchbanks if the goblins
would. He had to treat them as equals, and speaking to a human about
them in front of their faces was not the way to do so.</p><p>"We will," said
the <em>hanarz</em>.</p><p>Rufus nodded, and then
turned to the wizards with Flint. "I'm going to ask you to remove
your hoods now," he said. "I want to know who I'm swearing to
before we decide this."</p><p>They did so, and Rufus
received his second shock of the night. It didn't come from the
witch standing on Flint's right, a hard-faced woman whom Rufus
didn't know, but suspected worked in the Department for the
Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.</p><p>It came from the
wizard on Flint's left. Tall, pale, cool and blank-faced as he met
the Minister's gaze—Lucius Malfoy.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry frowned and
studied the bubbling potion once more. He should have made it do more
than bubble when he'd added the pinch of comfrey. He wondered if he
had read the recipe wrong, and turned his back to fetch the book.</p><p>Luckily, therefore,
his eyes were not aimed at the potion when it exploded. Harry felt
the flood as a rush of sticky coolness across his back, which soaked
his shirt and his robe and felt almost soothing for a moment before
it began to burn.</p><p>Harry shoved the pain
into an Occlumency pool and dropped to the ground to roll as he
stripped the clothes off with smooth movements. A good portion of the
potion came off, but some still remained. Harry heard himself make a
noise of annoyance, but it all felt distant, as if it were happening
to someone else. He just rolled over and over, and shook his head
when he felt his scalp beginning to burn, before he concluded that he
would need water.</p><p>He conjured water
above himself, and let it flood down with an enormous splash. That
quieted the burning on his scalp and across most of his back and
shoulders. Some places, though, still continued to hurt as if the
potion were acid eating into his skin. Harry stood and looked over
his shoulder, to see that globs had dripped down and were clinging to
his lower back, edging towards the base of his spine.</p><p>The door opened
then—well, opened was a mild word; it was more like it flung itself
open—and Snape strode in.</p><p>Harry stared at him,
caught so far out of his zone of expectation that he had no idea what
to say or do.</p><p>Snape took one look at
the potion, sniffed, grimaced, and snatched up a handful of comfrey
leaves waiting on the table Harry had set up on the far side of the
room. "The source of the pain cures the pain," he lectured as he
stepped forward and pressed the leaves against the drops of silvery
liquid on Harry's back. Harry let out a loud sigh and closed his
eyes; the acid-like burning dropped away as if potion and leaves had
ceased to exist together. "When you're working with demiguise
hair and powdered bicorn horn, at least. And you were, weren't
you?"</p><p>Harry sighed again and
peered up at Snape, trying to feel something other than sheer
surprise. "What are you doing here, sir?"</p><p>"Rescuing you,"
said Snape tartly, and dropped what remained of the smoking pinch of
comfrey leaves on the floor. "Guarding you." He caught Harry's
chin and tilted his face up, staring directly into his eyes. Harry,
confused, allowed that, and Snape's face bore a truly alarming
scowl in the next instant. "What have you been doing to yourself
with Occlumency?" he asked, giving Harry's shoulder a sharp shake
with his other hand. "It is a good thing that I came when I did. I
doubt anyone else here would have recognized it."</p><p>"I've been
suppressing my anger, and letting compassion and sympathy and
determination through, so that I can keep working and give people
what they need from me." Harry rubbed at his eyes with his hand.
Legilimency that keen always made them water. "Shouldn't you be
back at school and recovering, sir?"</p><p>"Joseph agreed that
I was well enough to come to Woodhouse." Snape picked up Harry's
stained robe and shirt and flicked his wand at them. Most of the
potion vanished. On consideration, though, Snape handed only the
shirt to Harry. "The robe is ruined beyond repair," he explained
shortly. "And you should know that suppression of emotions is
dangerous, Harry."</p><p>Harry felt the anger
rise, but he grabbed it automatically and smoothed it back under the
surface of the Occlumency pool as he pulled the shirt on, reminding
himself that while Snape might have been well enough to come, he
would still be recovering. "Thank you, sir," he said stiffly.</p><p>"No one else has
spoken to you about this?" Snape demanded.</p><p>"They tried,"
Harry muttered, wondering why he felt like a sulky child. This was
<em>Snape.</em> He knew how to deal with Snape now. He extended
understanding and compassion as much as he could, while keeping in
mind that Snape might always want distance from him. It was not all
that different from his relationships with most everyone else, except
that he loved Snape more and Snape was more damaged. Snape had no
right to put him in a child's role again, as if he really were
still Harry's guardian, rather than one to be protected.</p><p>"And you distracted
them, I would assume." Once again, Snape caught Harry's chin and
looked into his eyes. "No more. I am here now, and I am not so
easily distracted."</p><p>Harry felt discomfort
squirm like a worm in his belly. He <em>had</em> trusted Snape to
handle things like this, once upon a time, but that had changed, and
why should it change back? Snape was not fully recovered. And if
Harry let the Occlumency barriers fall apart, then he might start
yelling at people who didn't deserve it.</p><p><em>Some of them would
prefer that.</em></p><p><em>But some of them
wouldn't, </em>Harry pointed out, with the more reasonable side of
himself, and pulled away again.</p><p>Snape didn't seem to
be angry. Harry eyed him cautiously. Either the new Snape or the old
one would have snapped at him—the new one for Harry upsetting him
in the midst of his own pain, the old one for putting himself in
danger by suppressing emotions and dropping comfrey in a volatile
potion. This Snape only nodded and said, "It shall take some time,
of course."</p><p>"You should be back
at Hogwarts, sir," Harry tried again. <em>I don't think he can
play the role of guardian, even if I need one. And I can't let
myself depend on him and be let down again, not when so many people
are depending on </em>me. <em>I can't. </em>"You should be taking up
a challenge that's easier than this one, if you do think you're
partly healed. Teaching a Potions class all the way through and
actually talking to the students, for example."</p><p>He supposed from the
flicker of Snape's eyelids that that stung. But it only won him
another nod and said, "I did not expect to walk back into your life
and be welcomed with open arms, Harry. I meant that. It shall take
time."</p><p>"Listen," said
Harry desperately. "Sir. Please. I can't—I don't trust you
the way I used to. I trust you to heal at your own pace, and to know
what's best for you most of the time. I trust Joseph to protect
you. But I don't know what you'll do in a valley full of
werewolves, and I don't know if I can trust you to—to take care
of me the way you seem to want to." The words sounded embarrassing
as they fell from his lips, and he could feel his cheeks heating up.
Harry grabbed the embarrassment and smoothed it under the surface of
the Occlumency pool, too, so he could face Snape with adult calmness.
Stammering and flushing like a teenager would only convince Snape he
was in need of care. "Please. If you stay here, you'll find a
place, I know that, sir, but it won't be as my guardian."</p><p>"Yes, it will,"
said Snape.</p><p>Harry stared at him.
<em>Merlin, I want to trust him, but how can I?</em></p><p>"In the meanwhile,"
Snape added, without a change of expression, "you should wash. A
swift soaking spell will not clean the rest of the potion off as a
shower will."</p><p>Harry nodded. That, at
least, made sense. He turned to leave the room and go to the loo,
feeling Snape's eyes on his back the entire time.</p><p>He felt two emotions
fighting in him, both too strong to be shoved into an Occlumency pool
right away. One was a frantic concern. Snape shouldn't be among
people who would upset him yet. His barriers were too fragile. Joseph
might think he was healed, but he'd tended Snape in isolation. Who
knew how he might act in company? Who knew what harm he might be
inflicting on himself, standing here?</p><p>The other was a
desperate yearning to trust Snape as Snape insisted he could, to have
<em>someone</em> who didn't need constant consideration of his more
delicate feelings and wouldn't care if he yelled, to be able to
lean on someone else.</p><p>The clash hurt, but
Harry had accepted that most of his emotions would. He would wait
until these grew less passionate, so he could tuck them away. Then it
wouldn't really matter how much he trusted Snape; he would still be
able to react, and think, rationally.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"You," Rufus said.</p><p>Malfoy only smiled at
him. The smile had no content, Rufus thought, cold and blank as a
winter sky. "Me," he agreed. "And I will swear the Unbreakable
Vow with you, Minister, and I will participate in this ritual. I said
that I would. I made my choice."</p><p>"Why?" Rufus
demanded. He realized he was aiming his wand at Malfoy, and that both
the woman who had come with Flint and the goblins were shifting
uneasily. He didn't care. This was <em>Malfoy</em>. The memory of
battling him in the midst of a flesh-eating rain had never quite left
Rufus, and he had long since suspected that Malfoy interfered more in
the Ministry than he let on, that some of the people who should have
been loyal to ideals of justice and law were instead loyal to
Malfoy's coin. He could not believe the bastard would dirty his
fingers with something this risky, rather than watching as the
Ministry thrashed itself to death and then picking over the corpse.</p><p>Malfoy shrugged. The
motion barely disturbed the pale white-blond hair that lay on his
shoulders, and it barely disturbed his composure, either, it seemed.
"Because things have not turned out as I hoped," he said.
"Because certain promises were made and not kept. Because those I
counted my allies have turned on me in ways I did not anticipate."</p><p>"I heard that you
disowned your son," said Rufus. "Did you really believe that that
would make Harry happy?"</p><p>A slight widening of
those pale gray eyes was all that remark earned him, that and the
words, "Do not speak of what you do not understand, Scrimgeour. I
am ready." He knelt and held out his hand, poised as if he would
crush the one laid in it. "Or do you really intend to swear Vows
only with those who already pant at your heels like dogs?"</p><p>Rufus restrained
himself from a snarl with difficulty. He knelt and clasped Malfoy's
hand. It made no attempt to put pressure on his. It was barely a
weight. Holding Malfoy's gaze, he said, "Griselda. Will you be
our Bonder?"</p><p>She stepped forward,
and Rufus demanded the same three terms of Malfoy that he had
demanded of Percy and his Aurors. Malfoy swore them without
complaint, without flinching. Rufus didn't think he blinked,
either, but perhaps he simply timed his blinks to Rufus's own, and
thus hid them.</p><p>When that was done,
Rufus had to take his own Vow; honor would allow him to do no less.
Malfoy asked for the vows without a hint of mockery, which made it
worse. Rufus pulled away as soon as the ritual was done and turned to
take Griselda's hand, feeling as if he had held a corpse's
fingers.</p><p>They all swore to the
oath alike, human and goblin, and so put themselves on an irrevocable
path. It was far more dangerous than a vow to simply be loyal, Rufus
thought, as he swept them over again with his gaze. There were things
in existence that could <em>make</em> them tell the truth, Veritaserum
foremost among them. If the Unspeakables captured one of their little
group and forced Veritaserum down his throat, that was the end,
because the potion would force them to tell the truth, and the Vow
would kill them before they could.</p><p>Committed. Changed.
Altered. The faces that stared back at him were uniformly
anxious—except for Malfoy, who probably wouldn't show much more
emotion than a vampire even now, and the goblins, whom Rufus had no
practice in reading.</p><p>Rufus took a deep
breath, and held his wand high. The Minister had to begin this
ritual. "I arrive at this moment," he intoned in Latin. "I come
to the turning of the world and foresee darkness ahead for wizard and
witch, and death for those laws we have kept sacred. I am the
Minister of Magic for Britain, and I ask that you hand control of the
Ministry over to me, for I am the one who knows the path through the
darkness."</p><p>He saw a silver mist
emerge from the tip of his wand, and form into a shape. He waited,
mildly curious, even through his desperation, to know what the shape
would be. The ritual documents had said only that it would be an
animal symbolic of the situation at hand.</p><p>He suffered a moment
of shock as it became a wolf, and then shook his head as the wolf
loped over to sit down at his side. <em>Of course. I should have
known. What else could it be, given what's caused this unrest?</em></p><p>Griselda spoke the
next part of the ritual; they had decided that was safest, since she
was the only actual member of the Wizengamot in the room. "We hear
and heed you," she said, also in Latin. "The Minister knows the
path through the darkness. The Minister can bring peace to us, but
only if we give him the power to do so." She faced the people, both
human and goblin, who had drifted into a loose circle around her. "We
are seventeen. We stand in the room where the Wizengamot has met most
often for the two years. Do we grant power to the Minister?"</p><p>"Yes," said the
<em>hanarz</em>, in English.</p><p>The other goblins
replied one after another, their voices harsher and more croaking
than anything human. Rufus could feel the magic in the room growing
stronger, and now he could smell what he thought Aurelius Flint had
smelled, the unusual, stony tang of goblin magic. Flint must have
encountered it on goblin weapons and other objects that his
Department dealt with. Rufus found it hard to breathe as it
surrounded him, imprisoning him in a block of invisible marble. The
silver wolf sat motionless at his side.</p><p>"Yes," Griselda
echoed, when that finished, and turned to the wizards.</p><p>"Yes," said Flint.</p><p>"Yes," said the
woman who had come with him.</p><p>Malfoy held Rufus's
eyes, long enough to make Rufus wonder if he would choke to death
before the bastard made his choice, and then inclined his head and
murmured, "Yes."</p><p>Percy, Hope, and
Frederick gave their answers almost at the same moment, as if they
were desperate for this to be done with. Rufus understood. Now he
felt as if his body <em>had</em> turned to stone, and he could barely
lift his wand and speak the next part of the ritual, the part that
sealed the end of it and subjected his mind to examination by the
magic—and was the reason, apart from the distrust and independence
of the Wizengamot members, that so few Ministers had ever invoked
this particular form of control. Rufus had to be sincere in his
desires. If he were doing this for his own personal power, and
nothing else, the magic would kill everyone in the chamber.</p><p>"I promise," he
said, again in Latin, "to lead us through the darkness, to bring us
to peace in the end, and to lay down the crown I carry when I am
finished with all the reasons I call this power. In the spirit of
Cincinnatus, who yielded control when his task was done, I speak, and
in the spirit of no Emperor."</p><p>The pressure grew
inside his head. Rufus felt as if hands held his brain. He felt the
magic looking at him for a moment: a presence cool as Malfoy, with
little interest in why he was doing this or who he was. It examined
him to make sure he was the Minister of Magic, as he'd claimed to
be, and it examined his intent and his motives. Rufus closed his eyes
as the pressure increased steadily into agony, and tried to think
thoughts that were as truthful as he could.</p><p>And then the silver
wolf tilted its head back and howled, and leaped into the air. Rufus
opened teary eyes to see it multiply, many small wolves rising up the
walls and running into the ceiling of the courtroom. He blinked, and
wondered if he should feel any different. Of course, perhaps the
pressure flooding out his ears was release enough.</p><p>Then he felt it. His
fingertips tingled, and his muscles jerked as if he'd received a
lightning shock. He felt tiny threads grow from his eyelashes and the
strands of his hair, and the awareness of wards grew in the back of
his mind like so many small birds chirping at their mother.</p><p>The others were
watching him, he realized, and waiting for an answer.</p><p>"It's done," he
whispered. "I control all magic used in the Ministry."</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 41*: The Hills In Their Might</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Two: The Hills In Their Might</strong></p><p>Rufus waited. He had
sent Percy and the others on their way immediately after they'd
emerged from Courtroom Ten, having handed them the names of
Wizengamot Elders he wanted them to find, <em>Obliviate</em>, and tell
the story about their having voted Rufus power to. He'd glanced
dubiously at the goblins, but Griselda, who was staying with him to
support his story just in case someone arrived earlier than they
expected, had assured him they could find the Elders and perform the
<em>Obliviate.</em></p><p>Rufus suspected that
meant at least one of them had a wand, and the ability to use some
wizard magic, probably from some wizard blood. It had been illegal
for goblins to have wands for several hundred years—a provision
that most people accepted as common sense, and which most goblins
didn't apparently care about.</p><p>He didn't say
anything about it. Laws could change, and they would have to.</p><p>"What can you feel
from the Department of Mysteries?" Griselda asked now. She sat in a
chair in front of his desk, holding a cup of magically warmed tea.
Rufus had granted permission for any warming spells to be performed
in the Ministry, as long as they were only strong enough to warm a
cup of tea. It was an odd thing, that granting of permission. He
needed to locate the spell spluttering in the back of his mind,
unable to form until he agreed to it, and then nod or shake his head.
If he nodded, the spell went forward. If he shook his head, the spell
died, and no one else could perform that kind of spell in the
Ministry, either.</p><p>It was a frightening
and exhilarating power, even if it <em>was</em> bounded by the walls of
the Ministry. Rufus supposed he was discovering what it was like to
be a Lord-level wizard.</p><p>He wondered that Harry
had not gone mad with the power, either with the temptation to use it
or with hatred of it.</p><p>"Little," he
answered Griselda now. "It's closed off. The Stone's pulses are
dimmer than before, and vary with my breathing. I think all their
artifacts are under my control now." He sipped at his own tea, but
it didn't soothe him the way it usually did. He knew what the
newspapers would say when he made his announcement. <em>Minister Gone
Mad</em>—at least one of them, probably the <em>Daily Prophet</em>,
would use that or a variation of it. There would be claims that he
was crazy with power, that he was a child playing a game he didn't
understand, that he was in collusion with the werewolves to bring the
Ministry down. Dionysus Hornblower would be ecstatic, Rufus thought
sourly. The man considered himself a rebel oppressed for all his pure
blood and his money, and he would love to be able to see Rufus as a
personal enemy.</p><p>"You think?"</p><p>"If they're within
the walls of the Ministry, then I can control them," Rufus told
her. "They'll have to receive my permission to function, and I
won't grant that if I don't know what they do, or if they're
intended to harm someone. If the Unspeakables took the artifacts out
of the Ministry already, there's not much I can do to prevent the
Unspeakables from using them."</p><p>Griselda nodded
grudgingly, accepting that. Then she said, "And what about this
Stone? It's sentient, isn't it?"</p><p>Rufus inclined his
head. "And I can no more keep it from plotting and planning than I
can control your thoughts just because you're in the Ministry. But
if it tries to use magic, it has to come through me."</p><p>"You're not going
to have an easy time of it for the next few days," Griselda
murmured.</p><p>Rufus shook his head
this time. "No, I won't. I'll be taking Pepper-Up Potion and
wishing there were more hours in a day before I'm done with this.
But that's what I knew would happen when I invoked the Ritual of
Cincinnatus. I have no reason to complain." He squinted
thoughtfully at Griselda. "I'm more curious about your reasons
for being there, Griselda."</p><p>The old woman snorted,
a formidable sound to come out of such a tiny body. "Why should you
wonder, Rufus? You know that I've always been in close contact with
the goblins. I was part of the ritual where they freed themselves.
This is the best chance for them to make their freedom mean something
more than a war against the wizarding world. If they make themselves
indispensable to solving your problems, then you'll have to listen
to them when they demand certain concessions from you."</p><p>"And for <em>you</em>?"
Rufus persisted.</p><p>Griselda gave him a
cold smile. "You think that I must have some tie to the goblins,
Minister? A goblin ancestor? A goblin husband?"</p><p>"No," said Rufus.
"But I've never understood what began your support of them. Why
you cared. You can't say it was because you were a compassionate
witch. I know many compassionate people who don't think about the
goblins, who just accept them as there to be our servants."</p><p>She nodded. "But I
was the one who looked, and the one who thought, Rufus. And if I had
to make compromises and become part of alliances that I found
distasteful in my years as an Elder, at least I preserved that one
motive uncorrupted. At least I knew I was fighting for one thing
purely good.</p><p>"And then Harry
came. He is <em>vates</em>. He is the actual fulfillment of hopes that
we thought were going to be disappointed for as long as we both
lived, the <em>hanarz</em> and I." Griselda shrugged. "I'm one
hundred and sixty-seven years old. I certainly thought that I would
die before a <em>vates</em> arrived.</p><p>"I didn't. And now
that world is possible, and I may have a chance to see some of the
future come true myself, before I have to go." She fixed him with a
steely eye. "I'll make the world better for my friends. And I'll
make the world better for the <em>vates</em> who freed them, if at all
possible."</p><p>"I am fighting for
the Ministry," said Rufus. "And for your goblins, perforce.
That's not the same thing as fighting for Harry."</p><p>"You'll restrain
his enemies," said Griselda. "You'll change the Ministry's
stance towards werewolves. Both of those are enormous gifts to the
rebellion."</p><p>Rufus said nothing. He
had the feeling that Griselda would take what he had to say badly,
and he was distracted by the tickle in the back of his mind. A few
people were trying to use the Floo to arrive in the Ministry. He
granted permission, and let them come in. But he could almost feel
their wariness as he felt the magic. Someone would be suspicious
about why the Floo connections had taken so long to work, and then
someone would try to cast a spell that had nothing to do with warming
tea, and then the better-informed would guess.</p><p>Rufus intended to tell
them the truth before then. His allies had had several hours to reach
the Wizengamot members and <em>Obliviate</em> them, so he would have to
hope that he could produce the men and women who had "voted" him
into power when all was done.</p><p>"Come with me,
Griselda?" he asked.</p><p>She nodded and stood.
"Tell me, Rufus," she asked, "when do you have to give the
power back?"</p><p>"When it doesn't
help me any more," said Rufus. "When I know that I've
accomplished the task I set out to accomplish. That's not in anyone
else's eyes, mind you, but mine. And my mind could change.
Something I think is necessary now might turn out not to be necessary
after all. If that's the case, I'll need to complete this ritual
earlier than I suspected."</p><p>"Otherwise, the
magic will kill you," said Griselda.</p><p>Rufus gave her a grim
smile of his own as he opened the door and went to tell his people
that he was their dictator for now. "And all our allies, too.
There's a reason that Ministers didn't often invoke this ritual,
you know. They usually couldn't find anyone to stand with them."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape had decided that
his first order of business—well, if one did not count rescuing
Harry from the explosive potion, and then settling his effects into
one room and ignoring Joseph, who took the one next to his—ought to
be talking to those who had seen Harry in the past few days, and
finding out how bad his use of Occlumency pools was. He stepped into
the kitchen, confident that Harry would still be in the shower.

<p>Camellia was sitting
at the table, and she stood up when she saw him. "You," she
snarled.</p><p>Snape didn't wish to
be unoriginal, so he simply looked at her and didn't respond. He
knew she might have spent time around Harry in the past few days, but
he would learn nothing useful from her. Either her hatred or his own
fear would overcome what she might say. He turned on his heels to
find someone else.</p><p>He heard quick
footsteps crossing the floor towards him, silent but not silent
enough; she was human right now, not a wolf who could pass through
the forest without a twig snapping. He turned, and let her see his
face, rather than his wand. He wore the expression he had used when
he killed victims among the Death Eaters who didn't matter to him
personally. He let her see that she <em>didn't </em>matter to him.
She was only a piece of flesh and blood that stood in his way. He
denied her any independent existence, any past outside this moment.</p><p>Camellia flinched and
cowered. He had expected that. Harder people than this werewolf had
done so, and the werewolf's strength was the pack. Or the alpha,
perhaps, but Harry wasn't nearby right now.</p><p>That was the best way
to shut them out, Snape thought. He couldn't control what they read
in his scent, but he could control what they read on his face, and
there were few werewolves who trusted their noses <em>over</em> their
eyes. They spent most of their time as humans, and humans were visual
creatures. Feed them the right expressions and the right gestures,
and they would have to question whether he was really afraid.</p><p>He said nothing, and
left the kitchen with a ferocious stride. A simple <em>Point Me</em>
led him towards the bedroom where Harry had spent most of his time,
and where he was showering now. Snape was glad to find Draco standing
in the half-open door, staring towards the loo as if he couldn't
figure out what had possessed Harry to bathe in the middle of the
day.</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>The boy startled most
satisfyingly, and then turned around. "Sir," he breathed, his
eyes widening only a bit before they narrowed. "What are <em>you</em>
doing here, sir?" he asked, with a frigid courtesy that reminded
Snape of Lucius. "Have you only come to hurt him?"</p><p>"Save him from
himself, rather." Snape snapped his fingers and gestured with his
head, and Draco responded automatically, moving out of the way so
that Snape could enter the room. Snape concealed his smirk. Draco had
spent years thinking of him as the Slytherin Head of House and
someone with almost parental responsibilities; that he would obey him
was a good thing, and let Snape know where the point of control was
in their interactions. "I found him in the midst of suffering from
an explosive potion that hit him across the back."</p><p>Draco caught his
breath. "Is he all right?"</p><p>Snape nodded. "He'd
removed most of it. I applied comfrey, which caused the mistake in
the first place, to it, and then sent him to take the shower." He
raised his eyebrow and looked at the chair at the end of the bed, and
Draco took it. Snape remained standing, as he would have in the
classroom. "He will live through it with no scarring and only faint
burns," he reassured Draco. "What I want to know is other
behavior he's been exhibiting during the past few days."</p><p>"Such as?" Draco
had his shoulders set tight and his chin lifted. Snape knew he would
have to tread carefully. He was Draco's professor and Head of House
still, somewhere in that young mind, but Harry was Draco's partner
and, by now, surely lover. If Snape ran into too much of a protective
wall, he would get nothing from him.</p><p>So he would have to
show Draco that they were allies in this, that they might need to
cooperate in saving Harry from himself as they had so often in the
past.</p><p>He decided that a bit
of bluntness, honesty on a subject Draco wouldn't have known about
for himself, was in order. "When I looked into his eyes, I could
see Occlumency shields impeding the progress of normal emotions to
the surface of his mind," he said, and saw Draco's face twitch.
"He's been preventing himself from feeling angry. Most of it
simply fades. That which does rise, he sinks. He's been doing the
same with other emotions, including fear and desperation. He told me
himself that he lets sympathy, compassion, and determination through.
What he neglected to mention, and what I could see from the state of
his shields, is that it's nothing else. He's been living in a
distant shell for the past few days, hasn't he?"</p><p>Draco was staring at
the far wall, and his face twisted with an anger that did not at all
resemble Lucius's, somewhat to Snape's surprise. Then he
remembered where he had seen it before: on Narcissa's face, when
she told Snape the tale of how Harry had left his mother's house on
Christmas Eve almost three years ago. "That's what it means,"
Draco breathed. "I did notice he was withdrawing, but I thought the
pressures were overwhelming him. He wouldn't talk to me, but he
always seemed to be working on that damn werewolf cure, or talking to
werewolves, or reassuring other people that Woodhouse would protect
them whether or not the wards were in place, or—doing something.
And then he'd climb into bed and use a Sleeping Charm on himself,
because he said he would lie awake worrying otherwise. He's been
making himself into someone who can answer the pressures, whether or
not he really can." Draco stood and kicked the leg of his chair.
"The bloody <em>bastard.</em> Why didn't we notice?"</p><p>"You did not know
the mechanism," Snape murmured, his mind working hard. He could not
simply burst through Harry's shields and insist that he express the
emotions he'd been suppressing. That could be disastrous, given the
tendency of Harry's emotions to influence his magic. Besides, Harry
would probably feel anger at <em>him</em> before anyone else, and that
wouldn't help Snape in winning his trust back. "And abuse of
Occlumency can look like competence to someone who does not realize
what's happening."</p><p>"Talking about me
behind my back, sir?"</p><p>Snape turned swiftly.
Harry had come out of the loo, his clothes firmly back in place; at
least he'd retrieved a clean shirt. His hair still drizzled and
dipped water, and his glare was steady.</p><p>Snape chose the truth.
There was no other tack that would work. "Yes," he said calmly.
"Knowing that you would not tell me this."</p><p>Draco stalked past him
and halted in front of Harry. Harry stared at him, then looked away.</p><p>"Do you think that
I, or anyone else, wants you to sculpt yourself into something you're
<em>not</em>, just so that we can win this war?" Draco asked him.
Snape couldn't tell if his voice was actually calm, or simply
bereft of any emotion but a building anger, strong as a tsunami.
"None of us do, Harry. We understand limitations. We all have them.
We're all human. And that you've been making yourself surpass
those limitations, not because you really have the ability but
because you can twist your emotions like a puzzle…" Yes, building
anger, Snape realized, and the anger was here now. "It's a cheat,
and it's stupid, and it's a lesson that you should have learned
by now. And it's going to fail, probably at the worst moment."</p><p>"I have no choice,"
said Harry, voice pitched low. That surprised Snape. There was a time
when Harry would have snapped back that of course he had changed and
learned his lesson, and couldn't Draco see it?</p><p>Then he remembered for
how long Harry had been sinking his emotions, and grimaced. Harry
didn't differentiate now between anger that would do harm and anger
that would do no harm. He'd probably sunk any irritation he felt as
soon as he felt it.</p><p>"I have to win this
rebellion," Harry went on, looking up. "I have to be the kind of
leader who doesn't flinch anymore. <em>I'm</em> the one who took up
the responsibilities, and said I would do them. I shouldn't have
done that if I was going to fail, because the people depending on me
deserve better. And there's no one else I can hand the task over
to. So I'm doing what I have to to get through it, Draco. Yelling
at people won't help. Nor will working myself into exhaustion. I
<em>understand</em> that, now. I know what I need to do, so I'm doing
it." He shrugged, eyes locked with Draco's. "And I won't fail
simply because I have the urge to shout at someone else, or lose my
temper over something stupid. That's something children do, not
adults."</p><p>Snape felt a moment of
profound sadness. Harry believed that, it was plain to see. He wasn't
skating on a skin of rotten ice as he'd been when he tried to
ignore his abuse. This conviction went all the way down.</p><p>They would have to
work hard to get through it.</p><p>"You're still an
idiot," said Draco. "The reason leaders can get so much done,
Harry, is that they <em>delegate</em>. Assign someone else to work on
those projects you think you need to sink your emotions for. I know
that Mrs. Parkinson would <em>love</em> to work on the werewolf cure.
And if certain werewolves do nothing but snarl when talking to you,
then have them talk to someone else. You don't need to do
everything, Harry. That was the lesson you told me you'd learned
and didn't."</p><p>"Certain werewolves
will talk only to me," said Harry. "That's the way of it,
Draco. I know they aren't perfect." He smiled briefly. "They're
human, after all. Some don't like me, some don't like other packs
being here, some don't like the situation. And that's normal. How
can I get upset over that, when the motivations behind it are so
<em>normal</em>?"</p><p>"Tell them to talk
to other people," said Draco. "Tell them to shut up for right
now, because you can't just send them home. Or come back and yell
in private, if you don't want to yell in front of them."</p><p>Harry shrugged. "There
isn't a reason to yell later, either."</p><p>Snape moved, then.
Draco would dash himself against the walls of Harry's Occlumency
until he hurt, and achieve nothing. Harry's Occlumency was entwined
with his thinking processes to the point that he was saying things he
would have known were irrational at once in any normal frame of mind.</p><p>But Harry had shown
his anger in front of Snape.</p><p>He took a step
forward, and Harry's gaze came to him. At once, his shoulders
tensed and his eyes hardened. He even backed a step away. Draco
started and glanced over his shoulder, then moved silently out of the
way.</p><p>"You shouldn't be
here," Harry breathed. "You're not healed."</p><p>"And neither are
you, if you can speak such nonsense," Snape retorted. He remembered
the trick Harry had played on him when he said words he would have
taken back a moment later. He waved his wand, and the spell captured
the words Harry had spoken a moment before and played them over so he
could hear them.</p><p>"There isn't a
reason to yell later, either."</p><p>Harry's face paled
as he listened. Snape repeated it, and repeated it, and, before he
set it singing for a fourth time, he asked, "Would you agree that
that is true of anyone else, Harry? Draco? Myself? Your brother? You
who were so understanding of my anger, and Draco's, and your
brother's? You, who yelled back at us when you felt unfairly
pressed on the matter of Rosier and Durmstrang? You, who found anger
a source of strength when you battled Voldemort?"</p><p>Harry bowed his head.
"Those were all different situations," he whispered. "This has
to be handled with diplomacy and tact, or the werewolves are in
danger, or people are in danger from me. I already made things worse
by yelling at my brother when he fought with Draco, and then ignoring
him for two weeks, just because I was angry."</p><p>"Your brother is
young," said Snape. "And not the standard for all intelligence
and all emotional reaction." He was tempted to add <em>thank Merlin</em>,
but he didn't want Harry pushed into defending Potter. "That does
not mean you must never get angry at anyone else again, Harry. With
this example in front of you, you are unlikely to ignore anyone for
two weeks now."</p><p>Harry's breath was
rushing now. For some reason, Snape thought, it was much harder for
him to maintain his calm and patience around his guardian—perhaps
because he was still so surprised to see him here, perhaps because he
knew Snape could read his mind.</p><p>"I know I'm going
to make mistakes," Harry whispered. "But the mistakes are so much
more severe in their consequences now that I have this many people
depending on me, and the anger usually makes things worse. How <em>can</em>
I be sure that it won't make things worse if I get angry?"</p><p>"Decide from
situation to situation," said Draco impatiently, before Snape could
speak. "You've always said that, Harry. You've always done
that. I don't understand why this is so different, why you've
locked yourself into this shell. <em>Why</em>?"</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"I don't know," he whispered.</p><p><em>That took less time
than I thought it would. </em>Snape was wary of his capitulation, for
that reason. It might be false, and Harry would retreat behind his
walls again the moment he was alone. Snape wanted to follow it up,
and make sure that Harry's lack of a rational answer meant he <em>had</em>
changed his mind.</p><p>Draco again moved
before he could, catching Harry's chin and tilting it up. He was
smiling now, where Snape would have thought he would be scowling. He
kissed Harry. Snape raised an eyebrow as the kiss went on, but
ruthlessly controlled the several sarcastic comments that he would
have used if he had caught them snogging in Hogwarts's rose bushes.
If he could control his interactions with others, then he could
control his own responses.</p><p>"You don't,"
said Draco. "And this is another mistake, Harry. That's it. It
hasn't caused irreversible damage yet. It might, though, if you let
it go on. Will you repair it before then, Harry? Yes, it'll be
harder than what you've been doing, but—"</p><p>"Nothing is ever
simple," Harry finished, and he had a smile on his face, and if he
avoided Snape's eyes for now, at least it was much better than what
he might have done.</p><p>Snape could have said
many things just then. He might have done so. But then Harry's head
lifted, and the blaze that filled his eyes was, if not anger, so
passionate that Snape paused to admire it.</p><p>And then Harry said,
"They're attacking Woodhouse."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Woodhouse was angry.

<p>It could ignore the
small rushing things. Why should it care about them? What they did in
their lives outside the valley was not its concern. And as long as
they were inside the valley and did not try to move or hurt its
parts, that didn't matter at all. They might strike at each other.
That was almost expected. But Woodhouse would dream around them, and
past them, and soon they would be gone and other small rushing things
would take their places. They lasted less than the life of one tree,
and they could not even dream of matching one of the hills in age.</p><p>But its stones and
pebbles and blades of grass and air were all aware now, because of
the leafless tree that had entered the dream and made itself part of
it. And there were small rushing things coming towards it who wanted
to hurt <em>that</em> part of it. That was wrong. They could have other
small rushing things, but not that one anymore, because it was part
of Woodhouse.</p><p>Creatures swooped
through the sky. They had four legs and feathered wings and other
creatures seated on their backs. Those sitting ones carried magic
that was not part of the magic of the valley. So long as they only
flew, they did not matter.</p><p>But then they entered
the air above Woodhouse, and it felt their hostility towards its
leafless tree. They had four legs, and feathered wings, and creatures
seated on their backs.</p><p>And they had lungs.</p><p>The air above
Woodhouse turned around and left them alone. Small rushing things
could not survive without air, and winged creatures could not fly
without it. They fell. Their legs kicked, and their lungs gasped and
cried. Woodhouse did not care. They tumbled on the grass, and the
grass turned and swept over them, binding and drowning them. Legs
were seized and held. Small rushing movements <em>stopped</em>.
Woodhouse was a master of the game of stillness, while small rushing
things needed to move. It bound them, held them. They lay still, and
that meant they could not hurt anything that was part of itself any
more.</p><p>Small rushing things
appeared on the hills. Woodhouse had shut off the tunnels through
nothingness that most of the two-legged things used to reach the
valley, but these had opened them anyway, through devices of magic
that buzzed and stung like bees not of Woodhouse stinging bees that
were of Woodhouse. The valley was angry.</p><p>The devices of magic
rose, and aimed into the valley. They would strike the grass, if
Woodhouse let them. They would hurt the leafless tree.</p><p>But the small rushing
things had legs, and they stood on the hills.</p><p>The hills danced.</p><p>Ripple and shake and
shudder and shrug. Not a large dance. Nothing like the dances that
Woodhouse remembered being part of it when it had been larger than it
was now, and the earth had danced for joy to music that played out in
the oceans, and the hills had changed their very shape. Just a small
movement, and only in the hills, not the grass, because movement in
the grass might hurt the leafless tree and the houses and the trees.</p><p>Such a small dance,
and the outsiders lost their balance. They rolled down the hills, and
into the grass. The grass wrapped them in moments, and held them
<em>still</em>, and air went out of their lungs, and stones leaped on
them. They had tried to hurt Woodhouse. They <em>had</em> hurt it, by
carving tunnels where no tunnels should be. That was wrong.</p><p>Outsiders came through
the pine woods, small rushing things that the stones and the grass
let through, because they could not sense hostile intent. And then
they reached the pine woods and cast flames at the trees.</p><p>Woodhouse did not like
flames.</p><p>The pine trees lashed
their branches and gathered the small rushing things into their
embrace, drawing them close. Then they were not small rushing things
anymore, because they could not move, but leafless trees. But they
had not entered the dream and not asked Woodhouse to protect them.
They had attacked.</p><p>The pine trees could
bear storms, bend and thrash before them, and if they shed needles
and lost branches, at least they were still alive when the storm
ceased. But Woodhouse knew that the leafless trees could not bear
storms. The pine trees gripped them and twisted their branches, and
they broke. Then they dropped the leafless ones under their roots and
grew over them, and that ended that. They were gone, and Woodhouse
looked around for other attackers.</p><p>There were others on
the very fringes of Woodhouse, sensed by pebbles and grasses, but
they vanished, stepping into what was not Woodhouse and carving their
tunnels through nothingness. They had learned.</p><p>That satisfied
Woodhouse. It looked around one more time, and then dropped back into
stillness, and awareness, and dreaming.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry came out of his
trance to find himself kneeling on the floor and Draco shaking his
shoulders. He wasn't surprised. He had lost track of his limbs
entirely, enveloped in the greatness that was Woodhouse. It would
move his arms and legs if it needed them, but otherwise he was no
more or less important than the hills and the pebbles and the
seed-heads in the grass.

<p>"Harry! What
happened?"</p><p>It took Harry a moment
to respond. He felt settled into his own head once more, but where he
could have spoken by means of wind and twitch and leaf-rub a moment
ago, now he had to speak with words.</p><p>"They've stopped
attacking," he said.</p><p>He could hear howls
through the window, though, and the enraged trumpeting of the
karkadann. He stood and led the way through the halls towards the
door from the house and thus the outer quadrangle of buildings. Snape
and Draco followed, not attempting to prevent him from going. Harry
wondered if the very strangeness of the experience had forced them to
reconsider their stance towards him. He hoped so.</p><p>He knew what he would
find when he stepped out into the valley, perhaps the only one who
did. He had another example of rage to confront, and another
consequence of the course he'd taken.</p><p>The werewolves were
gathered in a thick clump around the downed winged horses. Harry went
to them. Bavaros was the first to notice him, and to jerk his head
down in a sharp bow that he'd never given Harry before.</p><p>"This is your work,
Wild," he said, and there was no question in his voice.</p><p>Harry looked at the
twisted bodies. They were all Granians, the same swift-flying gray
pegasi that had attacked Draco on the Hogwarts Express in September.
They lay with twisted legs and wings, barely visible under the tight
mesh of grass that covered them. He didn't think he could persuade
Woodhouse to let them go any time soon. The land considered that
small rushing things were only not a danger when they were still, and
it hadn't held these for long enough.</p><p>The riders had worn
cloaks and hoods, but the hoods were flung back from their faces by
the force of their landing. They'd all died choking for air. Harry
saw splayed hands that had clawed for it, and the edges of darkened
faces and bruised throats and blackened tongues.</p><p>They were all corpses.
Woodhouse had made them so in the space of just a few minutes, and
Harry knew he would have to visit more corpses soon.</p><p>"They were from
Shield of the Granian," he said, stooping to gently nudge a wooden
disk free from the grip of a blade of grass. Since he was part of
Woodhouse, the valley didn't object to him taking it. Harry lifted
the disk high, to show everyone the flying horse carved on it. "They
struck at us twice before—though I never knew for certain what they
wanted. They were working with Unspeakables during the last attack."
He turned the disk over in his hand. "I suspect that we have made
fiercer enemies of them, this time," he added, so softly that he
wondered if anyone overheard him.</p><p>He had forgotten the
keen ears of werewolves. "It doesn't matter," Bavaros told him,
voice just as fierce. Harry lifted his head in surprise. "They
<em>attacked</em>. We saw them come flying in the moments before the
air split and they fell and the grass bound them. You said that the
valley would defend us, and it did. It's not your fault that it
defended us so well the attackers died."</p><p>Harry looked from
amber eye to amber eye. A few did look regretful, as though they
would have preferred a lesser cost, but most shone like Bavaros's,
probably reflecting the dominant mood of the packmind. Or packminds;
the group included werewolves who had fled to refuge in Woodhouse in
the past few days.</p><p>Harry remembered what
Hawthorn had said. <em>Some other packs, like the one I helped escape,
were attacked out of the blue and are frightened and enraged. They
need to know that you take this threat seriously.</em></p><p>Woodhouse had shown
them that, Harry realized. He could not see a trace of resentment
amid the regret. The people here considered Shield of the Granian
enemies, no matter what grudges they might have had against Harry,
personal or economic, and they were quite pleased with a defense that
cost not a single life of theirs. They were pack. They felt every
loss like a gaping wound, and they had lost enough people to make
them hate the notion of losing another.</p><p>Harry had simply not
realized that would be quite so <em>strong.</em></p><p>He inclined his head
back to Bavaros, slowly, and moved on to the next group of corpses,
the ones spilled down the hills and bound with grass and rocks. He
did spare a glance for the pine wood, but he doubted he would find
any bodies there. The trees had buried the leafless trees—the
attackers—quite well. From what Harry could remember, they'd worn
dark robes. They might have been more ordinary wizards with the
location of the valley somehow betrayed to them.</p><p>They might have been
Aurors.</p><p>Harry grimaced, and
then put the thought away. He'd killed two Aurors a few days ago,
or at least been present during their deaths. What he had to worry
about now was the living, and those dead he could see. Until he <em>knew</em>
for certain they were Aurors, he would not waste time in fear.</p><p>The goblins were the
largest part of the group clustered around the bottom of the hill.
Harry saw why when he drew closer. They stood with their chains
blazing white in their hands, facing off against the karkadann, who
was snorting and grumbling and swishing her horn back and forth, with
an occasional angry shriek to make up for it. Harry frowned and
caught Helcas's eye.</p><p>The goblin's voice
was deep enough that Harry could hear him beneath the karkadann's
cries. "She wants to get near and kill him," he said. "There's
one still alive. We thought to save him for you."</p><p>Harry quickened his
pace until he'd reached the karkadann's side. He raised his hand
and laid it along her flank.</p><p>She planted her
forelegs and lashed out with her hind ones. Harry thought it was
mostly instinctive. He did manage to duck out of the way in time. But
he didn't want her to go on kicking at him, so he sent a small
lightning shock into her hide to remind her who he was.</p><p>She whirled to face
him, and went from enraged to calm in such a short time that Harry
blinked. She lowered her head and rubbed him with her horn, which
felt cool and slightly scaly. Her snorts had the sound of coaxing to
them.</p><p>Harry nearly laughed
when he realized what she wanted—for him to open the ring of
goblins and let her at the living enemy. He stroked her face-fur,
still stained with dried blood from the dead Auror, and shook his
head. She snorted sadly and flicked her ears forward so that they
half-covered her eyes, looking at him and waiting to see if that
would do the trick.</p><p>"No," said Harry,
and the karkadann pulled back with a sulky little stamp of her foot.
Harry stepped forward, and the goblins let him pass. The karkadann
gave a prance. The ring tightened again at once, and Helcas shook his
chain so that it made a sound like falling arrows. The karkadann
stepped back and tried to pretend it had never been her intention to
come forward in the first place.</p><p>Harry shook his head
and looked at the prisoner. He lay still bound by the grass of the
valley, with tendrils trying to writhe their way into his mouth and
choke him, and a constant rain of pebbles bombarding his body. Some
magic obviously protected him, however, turning the grass back
whenever it reached its goal and making the pebbles recoil with sharp
<em>pings. </em>He ignored them entirely, staring straight at Harry.
His face was pale, his eyes dark and his eyebrows heavy, and the gray
hood of an Unspeakable framed them all.</p><p>Harry felt a surge of
vicious satisfaction, especially when he glanced in several
directions and noticed that all the sprawled bodies wore gray cloaks.
They had possessed the magic to Apparate here, despite the
protections Woodhouse had set up against that, but not enough to
actually combat the place magic.</p><p>"Your name," he
told the captive Unspeakable.</p><p>Scornful silence
answered him.</p><p>"You realize that
you're a prisoner now?" Harry asked. "That you won't be able
to leave?"</p><p>The silence grew more
edged. Harry smiled, and knew the smile had edges of its own.
"Woodhouse is very patient," he said. "It won't give up until
it breaks through whatever spells protect you. And the only way that
you'll get any food or water is if we give it to you."</p><p>The man spoke at last,
grudgingly, as though speaking was like letting precious diamonds
fall from his lips. "You wouldn't do that. We know you. The Stone
has told us about you. You would not let me starve, no matter what I
said or did."</p><p>Harry felt anger
trying to rise. There came a poised moment when he nearly shoved it
back under the surface of the Occlumency pools and spoke to the man
in a hushed, soothing tone, persuading him to see how much better
cooperation would be.</p><p>And then he remembered
what Snape and Draco had said about anger, and he remembered the
feeling of the valley's rage. It had certainly not thought it was
doing something wrong. Conceptions of morality had little place in
Woodhouse's thinking. What hurt it was painful and wrong, and
protecting any part of itself, no matter what the small rushing
things' motives for hurting it, was right.</p><p>Harry had been the one
to bond with the place magic and unleash this carnage. On the other
hand, he had hardly forced his enemies to attack him—especially the
Unspeakables, whose grudge against him he still didn't know the
source of, and Shield of the Granian, who had allied with the
Unspeakables for equally unknown reasons.</p><p>He had said that he
was serious about defending his people. That was the reason he
couldn't get angry, because they depended on him so much.</p><p>On the other hand, if
they <em>needed</em> him to get angry, <em>needed</em> him to back up an
attack like this, and not undermine it, with sheer fury? Would he
still refuse, because he was afraid of what might happen?</p><p><em>I will not let them
make me afraid.</em></p><p><em>Even of myself.
Especially of myself.</em></p><p>He let the rage seep
into his eyes in answer, and remembered what the Unspeakable
time-globes had nearly done to Draco on the train, to everyone when
they invaded the Ministry, to him during the initial attack in the
Atrium. He remembered the <em>Obliviate </em>they'd used on Erica,
and the attack on the Maenad Press, and their influence with
Scrimgeour.</p><p>His magic flared
around his body and hissed like a pit of vipers. The Unspeakable lost
his composure enough to look briefly startled.</p><p>"I've tried to
hold back," said Harry softly, "and all that has done is
encourage the Ministry to legalize murder, my enemies to think that
I'm too soft to punish them, and <em>you</em> to continue with this."</p><p>The Unspeakable
snorted. "And you believe that I'll be won by that? That I'll
fear you?"</p><p>Harry tilted his head
towards the man's dead comrades without taking his eyes off him.
"Will we torture you?" he asked. "No. Will we kill you? If you
try to kill us. Will we keep you and get the truth from you? Oh yes."</p><p>The Unspeakable only
sneered. Harry knew why. Honoria had told him after the attack on
Hornblower that those who worked in the Department of Mysteries were
immune to Veritaserum.</p><p>"Professor Snape,"
he called, without taking his eyes from the man's face.</p><p>Snape strode forward
through the goblins, who let him in without question. He stood
looking down at the man for a moment. The man looked back, defiantly,
and then started and looked away. Harry smiled. It seemed their
prisoner had just discovered that Snape was a Legilimens.</p><p>"His name is
Croaker," said Snape. "And he believes that more of his people
will be along to attack you and rescue him shortly."</p><p>Harry nodded. "Do
you think that you can get more from him, sir, given time?"</p><p>"Yes," said Snape
softly, and then undid his left sleeve. Croaker was looking at him
again now, though he kept his head bowed so that he didn't make eye
contact. Snape didn't try for it. He just held the arm out so that
Croaker could see his Dark Mark.</p><p>Harry saw the
Unspeakable's face turn gray, just a bit. He let his own smile bare
his teeth, to add to the impression.</p><p><em>Of course I'm not
really going to let Snape torture him. But impressions are useful.
And if impressions can keep me from having to actually kill or
torture someone, I'm all for them. </em>Harry felt a moment of
intense regret. <em>If I'd been stronger earlier, perhaps it
wouldn't have come to this open war against the Ministry, and we
could have found a more peaceful solution.</em></p><p>But he hadn't done
that, and it <em>had</em> come to this. Flinching now, in such a way as
to put his people in danger, would be the greatest mistake he could
make, Harry thought. Forget rage. Forget upsetting someone who would
only talk to him. Losing Woodhouse and the lives of everyone in it
would do more damage to his people, his cause, and him personally
than anything else.</p><p>And did he <em>really</em>
think that someone else could never forgive him if he lost his temper
and said something unfortunate?</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath. He knew what was happening now. The Occlumency pools had
opened one leak, and he had suppressed so many emotions that they
were breaking through in a tide now. In one way, it was a good thing.
After all, he could see how irrational his former behavior was. And
his recovery period had been much shorter than it would have been if
he'd done this last year.</p><p>But in a few moments,
they were going to rise all at once, and that was rather more of a
problem.</p><p>He snapped his head at
Croaker. "Make him talk as soon as you can, Professor Snape," he
said, which was a suitably ambiguous command, and turned around,
looking at the goblins. "Make sure that the karkadann doesn't
kill Croaker on his way to confinement." Helcas nodded. "Don't
bother with the other bodies for right now," Harry continued.
"Woodhouse will hold them until it's sure that they're no
threat. I'll dictate letters later, letters that I hope will go to
Shield of the Granian and the Unspeakables and show them how useless
this is. Any attack on Woodhouse will only result in more deaths for
them. They may be more willing to talk terms now."</p><p>He finished in a rush.
His head felt flooded with the same silver liquid he envisioned as
lying in the Occlumency pools. Emotions sloshed and stirred in him,
joy and rage and irritation and gratitude and so many other things
that he wondered how he'd gone a few weeks without feeling them.</p><p>He asked Woodhouse if
it would open a path through nothingness—a way for him to
Apparate—to his bedroom. Woodhouse did it without fuss; he was part
of it, after all. Harry leaped, and landed lightly on his own bed a
moment later.</p><p>He took the time to
string wards around the room, and then curled up and let his own
mistakes catch up with him. He hoped it wouldn't last very long;
from the intensity of the coming storm, he suspected it would be
short but fierce.</p><p>Gratitude was at the
forefront, marching like rain, and Harry thought that was only
sensible. <em>If it hadn't been for Draco and Snape and Woodhouse,
Merlin knows what might have happened to me.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 42*: Breakthrough</h2>
			<p>Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>Another of those
chapters with a heavy slash warning. Avoid reading the fourth scene
if it isn't your cup of tea. Also, the second scene contains heavy
descriptions of gore, though it doesn't actually occur.</p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Three: Breakthrough</strong>
<p>Harry felt anger sweep
around him. Apparently, the flooding emotions had decided to leave
him at the mercy of others, and let the anger come back later. He
felt it as a vast current, but hovering somewhere in the background,
while fear took him first.</p><p>He panted, his eyes
tightly closed, his body jerking with all the worry, all the terror,
all the concern he'd forced himself to suppress in the last few
weeks. Images of Connor turning his back on him flashed through his
thoughts, and images of Draco killed by Shield of the Granian or the
Unspeakables, and thoughts of somehow hurting Snape so badly he never
recovered, and what seemed half-memories of werewolves dead and
dying, as though he had been at all the attacks on the packs' safe
houses himself.</p><p>It <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>But the fear left him,
because other emotions had to take their place. Irritation bit him
with sharp teeth, and skittered up and down his arms with scaly feet.
How often had he wanted to scowl because someone else was making <em>no
sense</em>, or because the Minister refused to move and refused to
move, and Scrimgeour didn't see that was just as bad as what his
Ministry was doing, in some ways? It made their actions seem as if
they occurred under his aegis and with his approval, not
independently.</p><p>He plunged so suddenly
from irritation into lust that he didn't know where one emotion
ended and the other began. He caught his breath as his groin
tightened and his mouth dried out. He pressed his face into the
pillow and tried not to think how much it smelled like Draco. That
would make everything worse.</p><p>His magic lay along
his skin now, warm and purring sweetly. Harry was vaguely surprised
it didn't manifest more violently, but then his attention went back
to the building heat in his belly and the urge to touch himself. He
moaned softly and slid his hand along the pillow instead. The lust
wouldn't last, and already he could feel embarrassment stinging his
cheeks. He was as close as he had ever come to not caring about that,
though.</p><p>The magic gave another
purr, and Harry realized it wasn't violent because it wanted him to
open the wards and let Draco through. Harry laughed weakly, a
croaking sound given the absence of moisture in his mouth. "Not a
chance," he told it. "It's going to change any moment."</p><p>A golden pinwheel
whirled across the room and detonated with a long <em>bang</em> on the
wall, as his magic began to sulk. Harry had to ignore it. Another
wave of heat traveled through him, gripping his muscles and making
his hips lift, and Harry closed his eyes and wished it would go away.
<em>Merlin, who knew I was suppressing this much of it?</em></p><p>Luckily, it did change
then. Odd darts of happiness stung his skin, and he remembered when
he had managed to bond with Woodhouse, when he had seen Draco appear,
when he had realized that Narcissa Malfoy cared more about her son
than she did about her husband. He laughed, and the sound ended in a
gasp as the joy leaked away again. He hadn't been suppressing <em>that</em>
much of it; some had come through the Occlumency pools as his own
grim determination to do even more when he accomplished something.</p><p>A pause succeeded the
joy. Harry felt the currents that surrounded him swirling and
plunging into his body, and he thought he was prepared for the anger.</p><p>He wasn't.</p><p>Rage burst inside his
head like a thunderstorm. Harry pushed his face into the pillow to
muffle a scream. He felt flames springing up through his skin, and he
could only hope that the wards would help with that. Ordinarily,
Woodhouse would lash back at anyone who used too much fire magic
here, but he was part of Woodhouse now. Parts of itself were allowed
to hurt itself, under Woodhouse's sure and certain conviction that
the damage wouldn't last for long.</p><p>He lifted his head,
and saw his magic stalking the wards, looking for a way out. It had
manifested as a Grim, the great black dog the size of a pony, the
omen of death that Sirius had so resembled. Harry knew the old
legends of Grims. They paced behind people walking home at night,
their breath hot on the back of the walking person's neck. If the
victim turned around and saw the Grim, he would die soon.</p><p>The Grim faced him.
Its eyes were red, more crimson than Voldemort's when he had still
had eyes. Harry met them, and felt the Grim's longing as if it were
his own, the longing to hunt and tear and rip apart. The people out
there had infuriated him. Why should he protect them? He could
destroy them. He had the power to do that, and might made right,
always.</p><p>Harry let out a low
whimper. He had assumed that he could control the rage, that he only
had to let it fly at the wards and the wards would hold secure. He
hadn't realized the Grim would want more than that.</p><p>He shuddered, and the
anger twisted like a fishhook in his belly, dragging the guts out.
Why should he wait? Why should he lock himself up for the good of
those who could defend themselves if they knew what was good for
them? The Grim was not going to hurt those who hadn't angered
Harry. It would administer a bite to some werewolves, a stab to
Snape, a snap here and there to Draco…</p><p>Harry had to grip and
try to reel in the rage again. This time, he didn't mean to tuck it
behind Occlumency shields, but he could not let it hurt anyone else.</p><p>"No," he
whispered.</p><p>The Grim's body
rippled, and then the magic that made it up vanished into a whirlwind
of black sparks. The sparks surged directly at Harry and bit into his
face. He cried out, and then the rage and the magic were back inside
him, doing pain and inflicting pain and making him see what he
suffered when he locked up every bit of anger.</p><p>Insults rang in his
ears as if they were being spoken for the first time. He felt the
same breathless frustration he had when Connor and Draco and Parvati
argued and he wanted to tell them to shut up and fuck off. His scar
ached from tension, and his teeth hurt from clenching them together.</p><p>He managed to bury his
mouth in his pillow just before he uttered one long, endless scream
of fury that he was sure would have brought someone running to try
and break into the room, wards or no. He pounded his fist beside him
on the bed, hard enough to tear a wound open on his palm, and
growled.</p><p>His magic ran
shimmering over him in endless flames, not burning the bedcovers
because once they were burned they could not resurrect and be targets
for its wrath, but simply lapping him with fire again and again. And
his clothes had no such protection as the blankets did. A dim part of
Harry was aware that burning the blankets might bring him to burn the
wooden walls and the windowsill and the other parts of Woodhouse he
shouldn't burn. But carrying the flames on himself? He could do
that. His clothes vanished into ashes, and then he felt the anger
over every inch of his skin.</p><p>Why <em>shouldn't</em>
he be upset over the obstructions the werewolves put in his way? If
George and the others who had been part of the Department for the
Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts really wanted not to be
here, they should have stayed in Tullianum and trusted to the
Ministry's hospitality. Harry hadn't forced them to come with
him. He had told them what they could expect, and they had had the
choice. And now they whined and fussed and wanted to go home to a
place where they could expect to be killed on sight? Oh, yes, that
was <em>much</em> better than what they had here, a place where they
were protected and would have Wolfsbane and could learn how to
control their lycanthropy around others who had much more practice
than they did.</p><p>He had done them <em>such</em>
a wrong.</p><p>And Connor! What in
the world was wrong with his brother? Didn't he see that he was
falling into the same trap James had, trusting the word of the woman
he loved above anything else? He had the example right in front of
him! And he was doing it <em>anyway.</em></p><p>And Parvati! Harry
snarled through his teeth, and the bedclothes around him once more
came close to igniting. But Harry concentrated, and the rage created
an image of her face in front of him instead and then punched it in
the teeth, sending it off into a cloud of dissipating sparks.</p><p>What <em>right</em> did
she have to ask him to spend more time with his brother? If it was
something Connor wanted, he should have come and asked Harry himself.
He was a big boy, an adult. He could do that.</p><p>And then for him to
insult his boyfriend, to say that Draco was a Dark wizard and they
couldn't trust him—</p><p>Harry held out his
hand and conjured a sphere of glass in it, the size of the
time-globes the Unspeakables had used on him. He threw it at the
wall, and listened with satisfaction to the sharp singing of shards.
He made another and threw another, and then another, and then
another. His magic swept up the shards and danced them in the air,
making a maze, a mosaic, of patterns.</p><p>He had a right to ask
for some consideration. And if Parvati was that afraid of powerful
wizards who used Dark magic, she was probably afraid of <em>him</em>
right now. He wondered idly if that was why Connor hadn't said
anything about her the last few times they'd spoken.</p><p>And Draco! The blow of
that fury caught him in the stomach and threw him backwards. He
claimed to be more mature, and Harry had even thought he was, and
then he insulted Connor and Parvati and refused to be quiet and cool
and composed under their insults in return—even as he insisted to
Harry in their bedroom at night that he <em>was</em> quiet and cool and
composed, and what Harry thought were insults were merely truths
wrapped in cutting sarcasm.</p><p>But he could not be
too angry at Draco, because so much of that had been healed when he
appeared in Harry's bedroom with the Portkey-bracelet, and that led
to thoughts of joy and lust. Harry shied away from those and back
into the rage.</p><p>Snape was next. Bloody
selfish <em>git</em>, what did he <em>want</em>? Harry left him alone,
and that wasn't what he wanted. Harry gave him help, and that
wasn't what he wanted. He moved Snape out of the house so that
Snape wouldn't hurt the werewolves or be bitten, and Snape accused
him of not loving him enough. Harry gritted his teeth to hold back
another scream, then decided <em>Why not? </em>and screamed anyway. The
sound was satisfying, and the magic ornamented it with a parade of
red sparks that broke apart into decorative streams of blood as Harry
watched.</p><p>Nothing he could do
would give Snape what he wanted, and nothing he could do would give
other people what they wanted, Harry thought, his mind plunging down
in a dizzying spiral. His anger wasn't right. Holding back the
anger wasn't right. Rescuing them wasn't right. Leaving them to
rot wasn't right. He might think he was committed to making
mistakes and learning from them and going on, but how could he when
<em>every</em> step was a mistake, including the ones he tried to make
with his previous mistakes in mind?</p><p>He should have been
able to find other solutions to this. He should never have let it
come to war. And when the first werewolf murders began, he would have
been responsible. He would have been like Scrimgeour, wringing his
hands and saying he would win peace in a while and then never doing
it. How many werewolves would have to die because he didn't want to
kill regular wizards?</p><p>Someone like Dionysus
Hornblower had more courage than he did, because at least he stood up
and spoke what he honestly believed in and didn't feel guilty for
fighting back. But Harry was guilty for hurting everyone he'd hurt.</p><p><em>Oh, here comes the
self-loathing, </em>Harry thought, as he wrapped an arm around his
eyes and let the few tears that would fall. For the most part, the
emotion coiled up in his gut as a black ball, too tight to permit any
expression but a sore throat and burning eyes. <em>Right on time.</em></p><p>He lay there while he
thought through most of his actions and envisioned all the other
roads he could have taken. Of course, the roads ran out when he got
to the memory of the Midsummer battle; he still did not know what he
could have done differently to stop Voldemort from killing those
dozen children one way or another.</p><p><em>Not killed them
yourself, </em>whispered his conscience. <em>Not have blood on your
hands. Or at least made sure that the wards were secure beforehand,
and escorted the students down to the lake yourself. That would have
made more sense. Why did you never think that Voldemort would attack
before Midsummer? You lured him, made him think the date important.
He might wait to launch his full forces until then, but there was no
reason to think he should wait until the day of the battle to arrive.</em></p><p>He writhed, and made a
sound in his throat that was neither whimper nor sob. Then he rolled
over on his back, and repeated what he had learned in the Sanctuary,
the lessons Vera had drummed into his head until they stuck.</p><p><em>You cannot change
the past. You can live for the future and try never to make those
mistakes again, but if you once begin to think that you can pay for
the past, then you will be paying the price for the rest of your
life, until you begin thinking that even breathing is too selfish.</em></p><p>His breathing calmed,
and he sighed out, waiting for the next emotion to come. But nothing
happened. He lay where he was, a hollowed-out shell, surrounded by
the pieces of glass that his magic was still dancing and dandling,
and decided that the storm was done. His mind was back in its proper
place.</p><p><em>And I'm naked,
and the room's a mess, </em>he thought, wiping at his face. <em>Almost
certainly my face as well. But I can wash, and the room can be
cleaned.</em></p><p>Harry lowered the
wards, and called the glass pieces out of existence. After making
sure no small glittering shard lingered in the corners for someone
else to step on, he walked towards the loo for the third time that
day, wincing. His muscles ached as though he'd kicked and
lashed—perhaps he had, he didn't remember—and his head was
clear but hollow. He hoped that a shower would help him figure out
what to do next. At the least, it should soothe the aches and pains.</p><p>Then the door opened
behind him, and he heard Draco's voice ask, "Harry?"</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"You can do nothing
to me. I know what your Lord's like. He won't permit you to
torture someone."</p><p>Snape paid no
attention to the ramblings of the man who called himself Croaker as
he warded the room where they'd put him. This was one of the
smaller studies at Woodhouse, but that made no matter. For what Snape
planned, the room did not have to be large.</p><p>He did ward the walls
against the sound of screams escaping, making sure to speak the
incantation aloud so that Croaker could recognize it.</p><p>"Do you think that
will intimidate me?" Now that the Unspeakable had decided to speak,
he seemed to have decided that Gryffindor-like bluster was the
appropriate course. "I've been through more than you can imagine.
I've gone through trials to approach the Stone that will make
whatever you can do to me look like love taps."</p><p>Snape said nothing. He
finished the warding and turned to face Croaker. The man had been
stripped of his gray robe, and then his clothing. Snape wanted none
of the nasty artifacts that the Unspeakables carried with them to
protect Croaker during this. He'd then cast a spell to make sure
that Croaker had none of the artifacts embedded into his body, and at
last was satisfied.</p><p>The nakedness had been
a common trick the Dark Lord used when interrogating his prisoners.
Hard to feel proud, hard to feel worth something, when all the cloth
that protected you from the outer world was stripped away.</p><p>"What are you going
to do? Do you really want to risk your own Lord throwing you out just
because you wanted to fulfill your sadistic Death Eater urges?"</p><p>Snape still said
nothing. He simply looked at the man.</p><p>He knew Harry would
not allow him to torture Croaker with pain curses as the fool
deserved. And he knew that if he began with such curses, he could
keep going, until he hit the edge of <em>Crucio</em>. This man had
tried to kill his son. Snape could have spoken the <em>Avada Kedavra</em>
now and succeeded, given his hatred of anyone who tried to do that.</p><p>So there were good
reasons not to begin the torture.</p><p>But Snape didn't
have to. He was an excellent <em>actor</em>, and that was what was
needed to break Croaker.</p><p>"How long have you
served the Stone?" he asked, his voice neutral and without
inflection.</p><p>Croaker laughed. "Long
enough to know what you're trying to do. It's not going to work."</p><p>Snape raised his wand
and intoned another incantation, one he doubted Croaker was familiar
with. He was remembering the graveyard at Midwinter, and the vines
that had held Harry still so that the Dark Lord and his Thorn Bitch
could do what they wanted to him.</p><p>The vine formed in the
upper right hand corner of the study. It turned its head back and
forth, a vegetable snake, and then began to unroll across the floor,
heading steadily for Croaker. Its end thinned and sharpened as it
came, growing spikes that Snape knew would look like teeth. They were
supposed to.</p><p>"Have you ever
imagined," Snape asked, in the same neutral tone that he'd used
before, "what it is like to have something grow <em>through</em>
you?"</p><p>"You can't
frighten me, I told you that," said Croaker.</p><p>"It is exquisitely
painful, I'm told," said Snape, reaching down and stroking the
vine when it came to a stop beside him. The tendril rubbed against
his hand. "Imagine being bound down on top of a patch of bamboo.
Bamboo grows through <em>anything</em>. And it grows quickly. Imagine
it growing through you. Imagine the ends of the stalks sharpened so
that it impales you as it grows." He raised an eyebrow, and studied
Croaker's face. A slight movement of his left arm, and he brought
the Dark Mark into view once more.</p><p>"Now, of course, I
have no bamboo, and we do not have the time for such a torture,
anyway," he said. "I want you able to speak in the end, even if
we have to wait for your throat to heal from screaming. But I have
something almost as good." He touched his conjured vine again.
"This is small, and it will grow."</p><p>He leaned forward,
holding Croaker eye to eye. "Imagine if it were laid against your
face," he whispered.</p><p>Croaker said nothing.
His skin was pale, and a sheen of sweat had started on his forehead.</p><p>"Imagine," Snape
whispered, making his voice into the one that he used on the first
day of classes to tell his students about the mysteries of Potions,
"that it grows as slowly as I tell it to. Imagine that you see the
teeth on the end drawing closer and closer to you, inch by inch."
He reached down and skimmed his finger across the end of the vine.
When he lifted it, he let Croaker see the blood slipping from the
small cut. "Quite sharp," he said. "So sharp that you would not
feel the cut at first. But you would be waiting for it, every muscle
straining, hoping against hope to sense and stop the moment when the
integrity of your eye was breached.</p><p>"Slowly, slowly, it
grows. Imagine it chewing through your cornea, slowly blinding you.
Do you know what it would be like, to suddenly lose sight in one eye
and not be able to get it back? You would sit there while the vine
coiled around your skull, around the eyesocket, growing and growing,
chewing and chewing.</p><p>"You may think that
you would find escape in death, but that is not the case. There are
spells that can keep the victim alive through this." Snape flicked
his wand, murmuring, "<em>Vita usque.</em>" The spell tightened as
a silver crown around Croaker's skull, sinking into his hair. Snape
smiled. "And now you will be kept.</p><p>"The vine crawls
into your brain. Imagine the pain depriving you of language, of
sight, of memory. The brain is a wondrous and delicate thing,
Croaker. Disrupt one connection, and you may be able to think a word
and not say it. Disrupt another, and you may be able to have no sight
again even if I heal your eyes when this is done. And the vine,
blindly burrowing, going where I tell it to, is merciless. It travels
through your brain and comes back.</p><p>"Out the other
eyesocket, of course. This time, you may feel the teeth chewing from
the back of your cornea. Can you imagine the pain you will feel when
it severs your optic nerve? Well, you need not imagine it, as you
will soon enough be able to feel it for yourself.</p><p>"The vine will grow
out through your other eye. Then its journey will take it to your
cheek, I imagine. It will eat through the skin. I'll hold it there,
because it's not often that I get to admire the sight of teeth and
gums, open to the air through shattered flesh, stained with running
blood.</p><p>"Then to—yes, your
tongue, I imagine. It will shed its seed on the stump of your tongue,
because of course I do not need that to remain when you have no
intention of speaking aloud. More vines will grow from that and down
your throat, the more easily to reach your stomach. Thanks to the
<em>Vita usque, </em>you will be alive to enjoy all this, Croaker.</p><p>"The pressure on the
inside of your body is intense, I'd imagine. The vines were not
meant to travel the esophagus, but they will make do. And then they
will reach the stomach." Snape chuckled. "That part, I must
admit, I cannot wait for. The human stomach contains a number of
potent acids to aid in digestion. I sometimes use distillations of
them in my Potions work, though sadly, some of them must be bought on
the black market, as international wizarding law frowns on the
practice. Imagine what happens if the stomach lining is pierced, and
those acids pour through and onto the other organs. Can you imagine?
The white-hot end of a sword in the belly would be kinder, I think.
It would at least take less time, because with the <em>Vita usque, </em>no
one could—"</p><p>Croaker screamed.</p><p>Snape knew that
scream. That was why he had put the wards up, so that no one would
hear it and try to interfere. It was the sound of the defeated, the
broken, the sound that said <em>no more, no more, I'll tell you what
you want to know, just make it stop, just make the pain stop. </em></p><p>And he had won this
with no more than words. Snape was quietly impressed with himself.</p><p>Of course, given
Croaker's training, there was always the chance that he was
pretending. Snape cupped his chin and tilted it up. At his command,
the vine coiled around his arm and halted with its razors not that
far from Croaker's eye.</p><p>The man flinched and
sobbed and almost bit, trying to yank away. Snape got a good look
into his eyes, though. He had broken. And he was no Occlumens; that
much, at least, Snape would have recognized. Most Legilimens could
recognize an Occlumens, if not read what was behind his shields.</p><p>"You'll tell me
what I want to know?" he asked, making his voice disappointed.
"Truly? Or must I take an eye?"</p><p>Croaker screamed
desperately. He had reached that place where one threat was as bad as
another, Snape knew. He could have threatened to tie Croaker to a bed
and tickle him, and he would have received the same reaction.</p><p>"Very good," Snape
said softly.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus stepped out of
the lift and into the bare corridor that led to the black door that
led to the Department of Mysteries.</p><p>He had been through
the rest of it: the stares of disbelief when he had announced he was
invoking the Ritual of Cincinnatus, the bellows that he couldn't do
this, the comparisons to a dictator—which he had accepted, of
course—and the resignation of several Ministry employees at once.
But many others had stayed, and Rufus knew they were already
persuading themselves that this was not so bad.</p><p><em>Of course they are,
</em>he thought. <em>They were frightened enough to think the
anti-werewolf laws were a good idea. At that level of terror, there's
not much they won't convince themselves of.</em></p><p>And now he faced the
Unspeakables.</p><p>He halted in front of
the black door and waited for someone to come out to him. No one
came. He felt the breathing pulses of the Stone in the back of his
mind, and the throb of contained magical artifacts. Those felt more
like a toothache than anything else. He couldn't tell what they
were or what they did, and if he commanded one of them into life,
Merlin only knew what would happen.</p><p>Rufus waited, giving
permission for someone to use a filing spell and denying an
Apparition while he did. The latter irritated him. He supposed that
there were some idiots who of course would test his control over the
Ministry and think that now that things had so changed, things always
forbidden might be possible, but he wished the sensible people
outnumbered the idiots.</p><p>The door opened at
last. An Unspeakable stepped out, clad in the gray robe that covered
his face, as usual. He shut the door behind him and stood in front of
it. Rufus scrutinized him, but if he was actually bracing himself
against the door in a defensive stance, Rufus couldn't tell.</p><p>It made his voice
sharp. "You know what I've done?" he asked. "The Ritual of
Cincinnatus has been invoked. Do you know what it means?"</p><p>"Of course we do,
Minister." The Unspeakable's voice was a blank, bereft of tone or
age or gender. It could have been the same voice that had spoken to
him in his office, back when he still trusted them. It might not have
been. "You control all magic used in the Ministry."</p><p>"I do," said
Rufus. "And I will categorically deny you the right to use any
artifact that I don't understand."</p><p>The Unspeakable
shuffled a foot. Rufus had no idea if that meant discomfort, or a
simple shifting of weight. "There are artifacts we are studying
that we must be permitted to use, Minister," he said. "And there
are people in the Department whom the artifacts keep warm and fed and
sheltered. They would be uncomfortable if you severed their
connections to them."</p><p>"Show me these
people," said Rufus. "Let me see the magical objects that you
claim are warming and feeding and sheltering them."</p><p>"Even a Minister who
has invoked the Ritual of Cincinnatus cannot enter the Department
without the Stone's permission," said the Unspeakable.</p><p>Rufus suffered a brief
spark of shock at the defiance, and then wondered why he was
surprised. The Stone must know that he distrusted it and its
children, or he would have come to them for help with controlling the
Ministry, instead of doing something that would explicitly give him
control over the Stone and the artifacts.</p><p>"Then have it give
me permission," he said evenly.</p><p>"I cannot do that,"
said the Unspeakable. "No one tells the Stone what to do."</p><p>"Save me, now,"
said Rufus.</p><p>The Unspeakable
stopped moving. Then he said, "The Stone was very distrustful when
it first came here, Minister Scrimgeour, frightened of the enemies of
the Ministry. It built traps into its Department, traps that do not
depend on magic to work. Poisons and the like."</p><p>"Are you threatening
me?" Rufus made sure to keep his voice soft and his hand away from
his wand. He had been in situations like this before, facing the
criminals and Dark wizards he had chased as an Auror. Make the wrong
move, and what was a tense but working moment would dissolve into
chaos.</p><p>"I am giving you a
history lesson, Minister," said the Unspeakable. "You seemed
curious as to why no Minister had entered the Department without the
Stone's permission. And now you know why."</p><p><em>They've
booby-trapped their home ground. Of course they would have. </em>Rufus
evened out his breathing, as well as his anger about not being able
to accomplish everything he wanted. He bowed to the Unspeakable.
"Then I will not disturb the Stone," he said.</p><p>"And you will give
us permission to use our artifacts?" the Unspeakable asked.</p><p>Rufus gave him a
smile. He would bet that it startled the man, though the Unspeakable
betrayed no emotion, so that might have been only his hope speaking.
"Of course not."</p><p>"People will die,
Minister."</p><p>"Which people?"</p><p>"People in our
care."</p><p>"Tell me."</p><p>The Unspeakable was
silent.</p><p>Rufus nodded. "I
thought so. I control the magic in the Ministry, sir. You control
your home ground, and presumably do so with the Stone's help. What
you've forgotten is that I have no reason to trust you any longer."
He sharpened his gaze. "I've heard about the attack on Woodhouse.
I may be unable to stop you from using the artifacts outside the
Ministry, but I can do other things."</p><p>"Those things would
be, sir?" The Unspeakable's voice remained as featureless as a
new snowfall.</p><p>"Watch the
newspapers," said Rufus, and turned and departed with a sweep of
his robes. The Unspeakable watched him go, but made no move to stop
him. Of course not, Rufus thought. Any spell he might attempt, any
artifact he might throw, owed its functioning to Rufus at the moment.</p><p>And if they killed
him—</p><p>Rufus smiled a smile
he knew was wolfish. A Minister dead during the Ritual of
Cincinnatus, through no fault of his own and no natural cause, roused
the magic's ire. It gained the motive and the ability to avenge
itself on the Minister's killers, It would know who they were.</p><p>The Department of
Mysteries, trapped or not, remained part of the Ministry's physical
building. Rufus doubted they wanted to see what would happen when all
the power in the building's stones was turned against them.</p><p>Besides, they would
have to deal with the storm when it broke tomorrow. Rufus was rather
looking forward to the storm. It would make people wail again, but
there was nothing they could do in the Ministry as long as he
controlled the magic there, and at least it would change the balance
of power.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco had lingered in
the corridor until he felt the wards crumple and fall away. He didn't
have the strength to break through them—he didn't think anyone in
Woodhouse did—and while the silence from behind them unnerved him,
he wouldn't let himself think that meant anything bad.</p><p>But they were gone,
and he opened the door, and saw Harry walking naked towards the loo,
as if it were something he did every day. Draco was distantly aware
of a cut on Harry's hand that looked as if it were already scabbing
over, and of some odd scorch marks on the walls, but he was mostly
aware of the fact that he had Harry in the same room with him,
entirely naked, for only the second time. And this time, while Harry
had suffered, it was nothing like what he had gone through in the
Chamber of Secrets.</p><p>"Harry?" he
called, and realized his voice was husky with arousal. He didn't
care. In the moments it took Harry to turn around, he drew his wand
and cast a locking spell on the door, one that would sting whoever
tried the handle. He was <em>not</em> going to let anyone interrupt
this.</p><p>Harry at last, slowly,
turned to face him. Draco was delighted to see that he had an
erection. Harry's skin immediately flushed red absolutely
everywhere, but that was only to be expected.</p><p>Draco took a step
forward.</p><p>Harry took a step
back.</p><p>Draco halted, and made
himself wait, difficult as that was to do against the impulses that
were urging him to simply take Harry to bed, that said the lust would
overcome the fear for both of them. "Harry," he said quietly.</p><p>Harry breathed in and
out, and that was the loudest sound in the room for long moments.
Then he shook his head slightly, and said, "Draco. I ache all over,
and my face—" He gestured to it. For the first time, Draco
noticed the tracks of tears there. He'd been rather more occupied
in looking elsewhere on Harry's body, he had to admit. "I'm a
mess. I should shower."</p><p>"I think you look
fine," Draco whispered. <em>This is perfect. It would be a crime to
waste such a perfect opportunity. </em>"Harry, tell me the truth. If
I let you shower and run the aches out of your muscles, will you come
back and get into bed with me and do what we both want to do?"</p><p>Harry swallowed. "I'd
lose my nerve," he whispered. "No."</p><p>Draco nodded. He felt
slightly detached from what was happening, soaring above it, but that
was all right. The wind that carried him was dizzying arousal, heat,
white-gold lust. He wasn't going to make a mistake. He didn't
think there was a mistake he could make, at this juncture.</p><p>"Then come to bed
with me," he said, and held out his hand.</p><p>Harry stared at it.
Draco waited. He could see the longing in Harry's eyes, longing
that <em>existed</em>. The problem wasn't that Harry didn't want
him. But he was afraid of what would happen if he lost control of
himself.</p><p>Draco decided that he
could probably help, as the moments stretched on and Harry still
didn't move. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head.
He made the movements casual, without hurry and without a deliberate
slowness that would tease. He suspected Harry wasn't ready to be
teased right now.</p><p>"What are you
doing?" Harry whispered.</p><p>"Making your
decision easier," Draco said, and laid his shirt on the floor. Then
he kicked off his shoes, then his socks, and reached for his
trousers. He glanced up to see that Harry's flush had deepened.
Draco smiled. <em>It's not all embarrassment this time. </em>"You've
said before that you enjoy bringing me pleasure, Harry," he
murmured. "Should we start with that?"</p><p>"I do," Harry
breathed, as though the words had been charmed out of him. "I've
missed that."</p><p>Draco hid his joy
behind a grave nod. He pulled his trousers down, then his pants. He
noticed Harry's shoulders fall a little when he did. <em>He did feel
more vulnerable when he was naked and I wasn't. Good. This should
calm him down, then.</em></p><p><em>Not to mention make
this a hell of a lot easier.</em></p><p>Draco stretched out on
the bed and extended his hand once more. He wouldn't force Harry to
come to him. He couldn't. He let his gaze, and the evidence of his
arousal, and Harry's own, do the work for him.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes
and whispered, "What am I doing?" But he took a step forward.</p><p>"Nothing wrong,"
Draco said softly. His words seemed to die as soon as he said them.
He wondered if it was his imagination that the walls were turning
dark blue and purple, and then realized it wasn't; it was Harry's
magic. That might be the same thing insuring his voice was quiet.
"Something very right. Come <em>here</em>, Harry."</p><p>Harry, though still
hesitant, came to the foot of the bed and stood looking at Draco for
a moment. Draco waited. He could wait. Harry's magic had turned the
walls a deep purple, the same color as the <em>ianthinum </em>he
remembered from the Room of Requirement when Harry had exercised his
emotions in there. Heat moved shimmering through the room, but it
didn't resemble the heat of sunlight that Draco remembered from
their earlier encounters; it felt like heat from a jungle, thick and
old and—</p><p><em>Wet</em>, Draco
thought, before he could stop himself.</p><p>Harry took one final
deep breath, and climbed onto the bed.</p><p>Draco clasped his hand
and pulled him forward. He already leaned back against the pillows,
and Harry knelt between his spread legs. Draco could feel his cock
twitch with the heat, the nearness, of Harry's skin. He was glad
that Harry showed no signs of backing off, now. He didn't think he
could bear to let him go when he was within touching distance.</p><p>He leaned forward and
did something he hadn't had the time to do before, kissing Harry
gently, then deeply, then more insistently. Halfway through the kiss,
Harry began to respond, leaning nearer, uttering a soft, stifled
moan, taking his hand out of Draco's so that he could slide it into
his hair.</p><p>Draco leaned back
further. Each movement seemed subtle, as slow as a dance. Harry's
elbow poked him in the stomach, and he flinched for a moment, but
even that hurt less than he supposed it should. Harry was no longer
trembling with fear, but suppressed eagerness. Draco felt gladness
sweep through him, joining the rest of the emotions and the deep
color of Harry's magic.</p><p>Merlin, he felt as if
he <em>contained</em> music.</p><p>He shifted Harry
slightly to the side, or Harry moved; at this point, Draco found it
hard to tell. His head was hazy, the world slow. But he noticed it
when Harry aligned their groins, and when Harry's chest came to
rest against his. That added a sharpness to the heat that ran through
him. Draco bucked once, then twice, and saw Harry's mouth open in a
gasp he couldn't hear, saw his eyes close.</p><p>Draco thought he said
something. But then, he was always thinking he said something, and in
the press of Harry's magic, it kept being lost. He kissed Harry
again, and lifted his hips again. He would do what he could, but he
couldn't move <em>that</em> well, trapped by Harry's weight. It was
up to Harry, too.</p><p>Harry swallowed, and
opened his eyes. Looking steadily into Draco's, he braced his hand
and the stump of his left wrist on Draco's shoulders, and then
lifted his body and brought it down.</p><p>Draco shivered, a
full-body shiver that seemed to start with his hips and end up
somewhere around his lungs. This time, he definitely said, "Yes,"
and Harry took that for encouragement—which he bloody well should,
Draco thought, somewhere through the fog—and lifted himself to come
down again. Draco's hands found their way to his hips and stayed
there.</p><p>Harry's face shone
above him, pink and red, flushed with sweat now, his dark curls
dampened with it, his green eyes bright as jungle flowers, but what
Draco remembered more than anything else was the <em>feeling</em> of
it. Heat and silence and softness and pressure, wound up and around
and in and all about them, and now and then he could hear the magic
crooning through the silence, a sound like a bird singing faint and
far away.</p><p>He waited. He rocked
between his body's rhythms and Harry's on top of him, but he knew
there was a moment coming when he would be able to do something he
wanted to do.</p><p>And then he knew when
it was. His own body told him the time. Draco shifted, locking his
legs abruptly into place behind Harry's ankles and thighs, urging
him downward faster and harder than he was ready for.</p><p>Harry blinked, his
face startled for half a second. Then he tilted his head back and
gasped out, and Draco knew a moment of intense satisfaction as Harry
permitted the pleasure to sweep over him. He could feel him jerking,
the wetness splattering his own stomach, and hear Harry's soft
intense cries. They were so close Draco could feel the individual
muscle spasms, in fact, as Harry allowed his body to do what it
wanted, for once, and stopped worrying about what it would mean for
his mind and his magic.</p><p>It meant a wonderful
thing for his magic, as far as Draco was concerned. The skin of heat
around them wove tighter and tighter, binding them together into what
felt like a cocoon. Harry couldn't stop moving, his hips flexing,
and that meant Draco could tilt his own head back and give in just a
moment later; he couldn't move that far away, with magic above and
below insistently pressing them closer.</p><p>He held tight to Harry
as pleasure ran through him like water or light, hollowing him out
and sating his hunger at the same moment. The warm wetness smeared
between them a moment later seemed almost an afterthought; what Draco
really felt, more than just wet or warm, was <em>good</em>.</p><p>He let his own body
move lazily, his hips rising and falling, until the cocoon of magic
unbound them and the moment was done. Then he ran his fingers through
Harry's hair—he had to do it twice, because it was so slippery
with sweat that he lost his first grip—and lifted his head for a
kiss.</p><p>Harry was smiling.
Draco kissed him firmly, rolling them both to the side meanwhile so
that Harry lay next to him instead of on top of him. Harry broke the
kiss to yawn and stretch his arms over his head.</p><p>"Well?" Draco
asked, and wondered if he should have waited to speak, given the
smugness in his voice. Then he decided that, no, it didn't matter.</p><p>"That—" Harry
swallowed, and Draco wondered if it was nervousness or simply
awareness returning to his eyes. "That felt so <em>good</em>, Draco."</p><p>"You won't be so
nervous doing it again, then, next time?" Draco stroked Harry's
face and cheek and mouth. Harry's magic had drawn back, but Draco
could still hear it singing to itself, the sound somewhere between
crooning and purring.</p><p>"Only because I
think it might distract me from other things," said Harry, and
smiled again, and then kissed him with unexpected fierceness, driving
him back into the pillows. "<em>Thank</em> you, Draco," he
whispered into his ear when he finished. "Thank you."</p><p>Draco yawned in return
and reached for his wand; while he enjoyed the warmth of the wetness
on his stomach, it was turning cool and too sticky for his tastes. A
wave of the wand, a muttered cleaning charm, and that was gone. Draco
didn't want to Vanish the sweat, but—</p><p>"Do you still want
that shower?" he asked Harry.</p><p>Harry didn't answer.
When Draco glanced at him, he realized Harry was asleep, his
breathing slow and quiet, blending with his magic's purring.</p><p>Draco smiled. It was
the second time Harry had slept without <em>Consopio</em> since
arriving in Woodhouse; the first time had been the night Draco joined
him. He wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled them both together,
luxuriating in the fact that Harry never woke, so deep and natural
was his rest.</p><p><em>That's another
reason beyond the pleasure to do this, </em>he thought, as he let his
own sated exhaustion run over him in languorous waves. <em>He sleeps
well after it. I'll have to remember to remind him of that.</em></p><p>The magic purred.
Draco, infinitely pleased with himself, Harry, and the world, drifted
off.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 43*: Interlude: The Liberator's Fifth Letter</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Interlude: The Liberator's Fifth Letter</strong></p><p><em>October 10th,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour: </em></p><p>May I congratulate you
on your new and much bolder move? I think the wizarding world will be
happier after this, though at first we may have to endure a period of
chaos. But that is always the truth. When any storm comes, at first
people complain how hard the rain is, and then they accept, when it
is done, that the storm watered the grass and made the air clearer
and more beautiful.</p><p>My family's fortunes
are declining, and they are inclined to blame you and Harry <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span>.
I cannot tell you how much this gratifies me. They still speak of
Falco Parkinson as a savior, but their voices when they do so are
tentative, questioning. They will, before long, abandon him as a bad
joke. They must.</p><p>Do you know what he
has done, Minister? Of course not, because he keeps to the shadows.
But my parents have a glass that links them to him, now. This is a
treasure of the Order of the Phoenix, passed among the various
families and members, and always moved hastily when they think that
someone who is not part of the Order might have seen it. That is the
reason it was taken from its last hiding place and passed so swiftly
to us.</p><p>I risked a beating to
catch a glimpse of the glass while my mother prattled on and on to my
elder sister, but it was worth it. It is indeed what I suspected. It
shows the view of the leader of the Order, but they must make a
special effort to communicate with him. My parents have not made that
effort. They claim that they don't want to disturb Falco in his
important work, but I think now that they were always less connected
to him than they said they were. He may not even know they exist.</p><p>…Forgive the stain
on these first words, Minister. My father came into the room to
lecture me on duty and threaten again to confine me to a coffin, and
I had to fold the letter hastily so that he would not see what I had
written. I nodded meekly and tamely long enough, and he went away.</p><p>The glass showed Falco
in a misty gray place, weaving images between his fingers. The images
were small, but they appeared to me to be werewolves and the full
moon. Then he waved his fingers, and the images flew through the air,
with Falco flying beside them in his sea eagle form, as if escorting
them. He landed at the windows of sleeping wizards and witches. The
images slipped into their heads, through their ears.</p><p>He is sending dreams,
I think. What does it mean that he makes people dream of werewolves?
Nothing good.</p><p>Please do not be
surprised if the resistance to your reforms is stronger than you ever
expected it to be. It is not your fault, nor the fault of your
reforms' language. Parkinson is inflaming people against you and
your plans. Speak about strange dreams, Minister. Work it into a
speech, if you can. That might persuade people to listen more to the
world outside their heads and less to the one inside it.</p><p>My mother will search
my room soon, and she may find this letter. I send it to you as-is,
sir, and ask for no response, as always.</p><p>May we all be unbound.</p><p>Yours,</p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 44*: Ward Eaters</h2>
			<strong>Chapter Thirty-Four: Ward-Eaters</strong>
<p>"Harry!" A hand
was shaking his shoulder, and someone was shouting his name, but it
was from so very far away. Harry didn't see why it couldn't wait
a touch, so that he could wade through the rest of the very
interesting dream he was having.</p><p>"Harry, you <em>have</em>
to see this!"</p><p>That woke him, at
least. Harry opened his eyes, and blinked. He didn't remember
taking off his glasses before he and Draco had had sex yesterday, but
he must have, because everything in front of him was a blur,
including the white object Draco was trying to show him. "What?"
he asked. His voice trailed off into a sleepy yawn.</p><p>Draco shoved his
glasses onto his face, and then held up the paper in front of him.
Harry rubbed at his eyes to remove the last traces of sleep-dust, and
leaned close to see what he could see in the <em>Daily Prophet.</em></p><p>The headline shocked
him speechless. When he didn't respond in enough time to content
Draco, he began bouncing up and down on the bed behind the newspaper,
saying, "Harry!"</p><p>"I saw," Harry
whispered. "I'm just not sure if I can believe. This is real?
This isn't some trick of Hornblower and his <em>Vox Populi</em>?'</p><p>Draco
made a rude noise. "That's printed on coarser paper, and the
newsprint isn't as even," he said, as if those were things that
Harry should have noticed for himself. "He can't afford the best
like the <em>Daily Prophet</em> can, no matter how rich he is."</p><p>Harry shrugged. He
honestly hadn't noticed. As long as he could read the newspaper, he
tended to care about what was on the page, not its consistency or the
quality of the printing.</p><p>There was certainly
nothing wrong with the screaming headline that stood up and called
out a turning point in their battle before him.</p><p><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em><strong>ANTI-WEREWOLF LAWS REPEALED</strong></em></span></p><p><em><strong>Minister Calls Them 'Archaic,' Announces A
New Way</strong></em></p><p><em>By: Melinda Honeywhistle</em></p><p>The article wasn't
that complimentary to Scrimgeour—most of Honeywhistle's articles
weren't—but Harry got the gist of it. The Minister had summoned
the Wizengamot and told them what he thought of the anti-werewolf
laws, how they damaged the noble cause of peaceful relations between
wizards and werewolves, and how he wanted them to think long and hard
about the laws and whether there was a <em>one</em> of them they would
really want to keep.</p><p>The Wizengamot had
voted thirty-one to twenty to repeal the existing laws. They were
drafting new ones to deal with the situation, and expected to remain
in seclusion until they'd finished.</p><p>Honeywhistle concluded
the article with a sulky suggestion that the Wizengamot was dominated
and controlled by the Minister. "Their compliance is to be perhaps
expected," was the last sentence, "given that Minister Scrimgeour
now controls all magic used inside the Ministry."</p><p>Harry had no doubt
that was part of it, but the Wizengamot Elders <em>could</em> leave the
building and vote elsewhere—and they would have done so if it was
something as simple as Scrimgeour telling them to vote the way he
wanted because he was temporary dictator of the Ministry. No,
Scrimgeour had done something else, but Harry was damned if he could
figure out what.</p><p>"Does that mean the
rebellion is done with?" Draco whispered. "Does that mean that we
can go back to Hogwarts?"</p><p>Harry looked up at
him. "Do you want to?"</p><p>Draco's face
convulsed in irritation at once. "I want to be wherever you are,
idiot," he said. He leaned down and kissed Harry so hard that Harry
was gasping and dizzy when he pulled back. "So I can do that,"
Draco finished. "I simply wondered if the rebellion was done, now
that you got what you wanted."</p><p>Harry caught his
breath and licked his lips and tried to think about something other
than the smooth, bare expense of Draco's shoulders, and what he
would see between his legs if he moved the newspaper. "No," he
said. "The Minister is drafting new laws, but no one has any idea
what those laws will be yet. They might be less restrictive but still
not grant werewolves the rights of full citizens. And there's no
word of what might happen with the goblins and the centaurs and other
magical creatures. So we'll stay here until we have those gestures
of good faith—either actual laws or binding oaths—that we asked
for."</p><p>Draco nodded.
"Woodhouse will protect us," he said, and kissed Harry
insistently once more. The paper crinkled between them, and he
started to shift it out of the way. Harry might have protested, but
he was remembering exactly how Draco had made him feel yesterday, and
he wanted to feel like that again.</p><p>Someone pounded on the
door.</p><p>Harry heard Draco's
locking spell undone, and barely had enough time to spread the <em>Daily
Prophet</em> over them both when Snape stepped into the room. He knew
him by the firmness of his left step and the slightly dragging nature
of his right, and the sweep and snap of his robes, before he ever saw
his face.</p><p>There was a pause.
There was a very long pause. Harry, lying with his head on Draco's
shoulder and most of his face under the paper, felt Draco shaking
with silent laughter against him. He wished he could laugh. His flush
was all embarrassment and not lust now, at the thought of Snape
catching them.</p><p>Finally, Snape's
voice said, in the depths of freezing cold that he usually reserved
for when a seventh-year-student made a mistake that he should have
corrected in first year, "You must come to the kitchen. We are
having a strategy meeting."</p><p>"So were we," said
Draco innocently.</p><p>Snape's response was
to shut the door with a massive slam. Draco rolled off Harry and
laughed, and went on laughing even when Harry hit him on his
shoulder, which should have hurt since he had no clothes on.</p><p>"That didn't even
make <em>sense</em>," Harry told him. "That joke, I mean. What do
you mean, a strategy meeting?"</p><p>"It didn't <em>have</em>
to make sense," Draco said, rolling over and smiling at him. "What
was important was that he saw he couldn't intimidate us. There are
times I think he'd want to roll you up in bicorn fur and prevent
you from moving for the rest of your life, Harry. He has to learn
that you're an adult now, and that includes having sex." He
started to kiss Harry again.</p><p>"A strategy meeting
in the kitchen, he said," Harry reminded him, and rolled out of
bed. His embarrassment had reduced his lust to ashes.</p><p>"You should shower
first," Draco said. "You're all over sweat. And we could
share."</p><p>Harry performed a
quick cleaning charm on both himself and Draco, listening to Draco's
yelp as it roughly scrubbed his skin with some satisfaction, and then
summoned a new set of clothes from his trunk to him. "You'll have
to get dressed, too," he added, keeping his back turned to Draco.
"I don't think you'd want anyone else in the kitchen to see
your strategy."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry stepped into the
kitchen, and blinked. Among the faces he'd expected around the
round table were a few unfamiliar ones.</p><p>"<em>Neville</em>?"
he asked in astonishment.</p><p>"Harry." Neville,
holding a pot in which a small, spiky plant grew, beamed in pleasure
and something Harry recognized a moment later as nervousness. He
wasn't sure he'd be welcome. He gave a quick little motion
somewhere between a nod and a bow, and held out the pot. "This is
one of the plants I was breeding to counter Yaxley's magic-binding
vines."</p><p>Harry accepted the pot
and stared at the plant inside. This close, he could see that it was
mostly dark green, but had crimson spots here and there, and the
spines were thorns, thick and furred at the ends. He shuddered and
shook his head, shutting off the awful memories that wanted to rise.</p><p>"What does it do?"
he asked Neville.</p><p>"It'll react to
the presence of the vines," Neville said. He nodded to the thorns
that curled around the plant's stem, his nervousness fading as he
talked. "It grows a lot deeper; the roots extend down like the
coils of entrails, you see, so they're much bigger than they appear
at first, folded again and again. Those shoot straight out, and they
bear thorns of their own. Those claw the vines apart."</p><p>"This is wonderful,
Neville," Harry murmured, setting the pot aside. "And you're
welcome to stay here, if you'd like." He was uncertain. Neville
might only have come to turn over the plant. Of course, he could have
sent it with an owl if that was the case.</p><p>Neville stood
straighter, and inclined his head in a small, formal bow that Harry
recognized after a moment. Light purebloods used it as a token of
pledging loyalty, if not formal allegiance, to a Lord-level wizard.
"I was hoping that you would say that, Harry," he said.</p><p>Harry nodded back, and
turned around again, towards a face he'd only seen a glimpse of
before Neville distracted him. "And Ginny?"</p><p>Ginny beamed at him.
"Yes."</p><p>"Why?" Neville
might have used his errand as an excuse, but Harry couldn't imagine
what Ginny could have told her family that would have permitted her
to come. Her parents had been upset with her, or so Connor had told
him, even for fighting in the Midsummer battle, where they really
couldn't spare anyone from the field. They had thought her too
young, or not a good enough fighter, or—this was Connor's
opinion—their baby girl. She could have been a sixth-year and they
would have still objected to her fighting in a way that they didn't
to Ron or the twins doing so.</p><p>"Because I was tired
of being useless." Ginny lifted her head and glared at him as if
she wanted to intimidate him. Harry wondered if he was the only one
who noticed that her lower lip was trembling; like Neville, she'd
been uncertain of her welcome. "No one knows what to think in
Hogwarts, everyone changes their opinion daily, and there's just
too little firm ground. I wanted to come here and help any way I can.
I may not be able to fight like a fully-trained wizard, but my mum
taught me other things."</p><p>Harry nodded. "And
did your family say you could?"</p><p>Ginny flushed to match
her hair.</p><p>Harry sighed. "I'm
not looking forward to the Howlers," he murmured. "But you're
fifteen, and you fought last year, and it's true that I do need
people who want to help." Many of the werewolves didn't really
<em>want</em> to help; they wanted to complain. Now that he was
allowing himself to feel angry again, Harry was aware of a steadily
rising irritation with that. What had happened to those afflicted
with Loki's bite was horrible, but could he help it if they refused
to make the best of a bad situation and instead would rather lie
about lamenting? "So if you still want to stay, you can."</p><p>Ginny smiled and
clasped her hands. "Thank you, Harry," she said. If she heard
Draco's mutter about weasels, she ignored it. Harry reached back
and slapped Draco's shoulder without turning from the gathering in
front of him. He had noticed two other new faces now.</p><p>"I think I met you
briefly at the alliance gathering in the spring," he told the young
man who stood next to Millicent. "But I don't remember your name,
sad to say."</p><p>The man smiled. "My
name is Pierre Delacour," he said, with only a slight accent to his
English. "And this is my cousin Adrienne." He nodded to the
slight young woman at his shoulder, whom Harry had had trouble
seeing. He squinted, and now he could see her fully, including the
slight shimmer of a silver cloud that seemed to cover her magic. He
felt his hackles rise.</p><p>"Why is she wearing
a web?" he demanded.</p><p>Adrienne laughed and
gave a curtsey; the robes she wore were more like gowns than robes,
Harry noticed. "I am full Veela," she said, in an accent that
sounded more Spanish than French to Harry. "I drink a potion so men
will not notice me so much. It is entirely willing, I assure you."
She had long silvery hair and blue eyes—features Harry remembered
from Fleur at the Triwizard Tournament, and from the Veela at the
Quidditch World Cup. She wore a ring on the hand she held out to
Harry. Harry clasped her hand and kissed the back of it, studying the
ring. It was heavy, with what looked like silver layered on top of
silver, surrounding a square stone that was flat and blue and had the
gloss of metal.</p><p>"What does this
mean?" he asked.</p><p>"I am an official
representative of the Veela Council," said Adrienne, with another
smile. "I come to see if you are a good option for alliance. You
are <em>vates</em>, and we must look at you."</p><p>Harry nodded. "And
you came for the same reason?" he asked, turning to Pierre.</p><p>Pierre smiled, and
Millicent flushed. "Not entirely," Pierre said softly. "There
is more than one kind of alliance to be made here."</p><p>Harry let it go,
though he could tell some of his allies were puzzled about what that
meant. It wasn't their problem to worry about.</p><p>"We're having a
strategy meeting," he said, "because of the headline this
morning. I assume that most of you saw it?"</p><p>Some heads shook, so
Harry cast an <em>Accio</em> for the nearest <em>Prophet</em>, and heard
someone yelp as it tore out of her robe pocket. Harry shrugged an
apology and spread the paper out so that everyone could see the
headline.</p><p>An immediate babble of
voices started. Harry let it continue, at least until he heard
someone saying, "We can go <em>home.</em>"</p><p>"Not yet," he
said. The voices cut off as if an axe had fallen. Harry didn't know
if that was a good thing or not. "We don't know what new laws the
Wizengamot will come up with. That <em>could</em> include granting
werewolves the same rights as wizards, but we don't know that for
sure. And that does nothing for the goblins—" he inclined his
head to Helcas, who stood on the other side of the table and listened
"—or the centaurs." Only Bone was in the room, but he brought a
hoof down in a solid stamp when Harry looked at him. "The only
thing we know is that the new laws will presumably be less
restrictive."</p><p>"We <em>can</em> go
home, though," George said, leaning forward across the table. Harry
restrained his groan. George was the most vocal of the new
werewolves, always asking when they could go home, hinting that he
wouldn't have any trouble fitting back into the wizarding
world—ignoring the fact that most people would know he'd worked
for the Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts,
and would know what it meant that he'd survived Loki's attack—and
saying that he knew spells to keep his lycanthropy concealed.</p><p>"There is one danger
you have not considered," said Snape, and his voice silenced George
quite effectively. The werewolf turned around and gaped at him. Harry
looked at Snape, wary.</p><p>"What is that, sir?"
he asked.</p><p>Snape nodded several
times, as if to say that the due of respect Harry accorded to him was
acceptable if not quite what he wanted, and said, "I questioned our
Unspeakable prisoner, Croaker, yesterday. I wanted to make sure he
was holding nothing back, and after some time, he did tell me what I
wanted." Harry masked a shiver. Snape's blank face and tone said
nothing about whatever methods he'd used to get that information
out of Croaker—but then, Harry had told him, basically, that he had
a free hand. "The Unspeakables wanted werewolves in Tullianum for
easy access to them, because they were indeed conducting experiments
with your kind." Harry hoped he was the only one who noticed the
sneer on the last words, but given the expression that appeared on
Camellia's face, he suspected he wasn't.</p><p>"What kind of
experiments?" Remus leaned over the table to challenge, and Harry
wanted to bury his head in his arms and groan. Did Remus <em>always</em>
have to take the most exasperating course?</p><p>"Why, experiments to
see if they could duplicate the werewolf curse in some respects,"
said Snape, his eyes glinting. "However, they know lycanthropy has
its drawbacks. What they wanted was the ability to change a person
into other animals, on other dates than the full moon, without the
vulnerability to silver—and to control the transformation for
themselves, rather than having a wolf within the person's body
control it. Imagine a world in which the Unspeakables strike from
afar, turning an enemy into a great cat and having him attack and
kill someone else, then revealing him as an unregistered Animagus all
along. With their ability to <em>Obliviate</em> others and control a
person's mind, they could have the wizard himself believing it. And
such cases do occasionally happen. Who would question it?"</p><p>"And what would
happen to those people who were already Animagi?" Harry asked, sick
at the thought.</p><p>"Why, the
Unspeakables would want to control those transformations as well, of
course." Snape's face was a blank. "There is much they would
give to be able to do that, and as long as they are giving the lives
and magic of werewolves, they are paying no price themselves."</p><p>"What are they doing
to the werewolves they took into the Department?" Harry was not
sure he wanted to hear, but he was sure he couldn't afford not to.</p><p>Snape gave a piercing
glance—to Harry's surprise, it was in Ginny's and Neville's
directions, as if he thought they were the ones who should not hear
this, rather than the werewolves themselves. Then he turned back to
Harry. "Taking them apart is the delicate way of saying it, Harry."</p><p>Harry stifled a rush
of sickness, and nodded. "And why did the Stone aim them at me in
particular?"</p><p>Snape shook his head.
"Because you are a champion of werewolves. Because your magic is
very strong, and they thought your character and the fact you had not
Declared for a Lord made you vulnerable." He steepled his fingers.
"Croaker told me something fascinating, something I never knew.
When a Lord Declares for Light or Dark, the power of Light or Dark
wraps that wizard and protects him. It is not a conscious thing. As
we have seen, the wild Dark may still be angry at the Dark Lord. But
it makes them safer from attempts to mentally control them. This may
be because Lords usually use compulsion themselves." He leaned
forward, hands flat on the table now. "They considered you a prize,
Harry."</p><p>Harry snorted. "Many
people do." He paused. "Did you uncover any information about why
they might have allied with Shield of the Granian?"</p><p>"The Granian
breeders do fear that you will try to take their horses, and thus
their source of profit, from them," Snape said. "So they intended
to destroy you or capture Draco as a bargaining chip, if they could.
The Unspeakables talked them out of killing you, and sent them after
you to reach you in places they could not."</p><p>"And do they
actually have webs on their horses?" Harry asked.</p><p>"Croaker was not
interested in that, and did not bother to find out."</p><p>"If they do, then
I'll ask them to break them sooner or later." Harry drummed his
fingers on the table. "A separate offer of peace to them might not
go amiss. Pointing out that the only people of theirs who have died
are the ones who have attacked me would do, and telling them what I
do with webs is imperative. If the horses aren't sentient, and they
don't use webs, then all I can really do is ask for better
treatment, not break them free." He turned to Narcissa. "Do you
know anyone connected to Shield of the Granian, Narcissa? Anyone who
would be willing to carry a message to them for us, and do it without
distorting its content?"</p><p>Narcissa frowned
slightly. "It is years since I was friends with the women connected
to those families," she murmured. "But it may be that it is time
to renew old acquaintances."</p><p>Harry nodded. "Do
what you can. I don't consider that a particularly urgent matter
unless they attack again. I think they may have learned their lesson,
while the Unspeakables will keep coming because of the Stone." He
looked back at Snape. "Did you find out what the Stone wants?"</p><p>"New magic," said
Snape. "It is an experimenting intelligence, apparently. It wants
to learn and know new things, and to make new things. It does not
care what it must sacrifice in order to do so."</p><p>"Just like all my
other enemies," Harry murmured, and smiled in spite of himself.
"And it wants to use me as a source of fuel?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"At least it's
more honest than Dumbledore wanting to use me as a savior for the
world," Harry muttered, and this time sought out Ignifer. He hadn't
heard any reports from Honoria in the past few days—obsessed as he
had been with working on the werewolf cure and trying to keep his
emotions in check, he hadn't made much time for those of his people
outside the valley—but she would have come to Ignifer, or told her
if anything unusual had occurred. "What is happening with the
Maenad Press, Ignifer?"</p><p>She frowned.
"Hornblower is already swinging from supporting you whole-heartedly
to questioning your decisions," she said. "Some of the articles
appearing in the <em>Populi</em> have called you a murderer, and
insisted that you be tried for your part in killing 'those fine
Aurors, Unspeakables, and independent wizards who tried to stem the
bloody tide,' to quote one of them."</p><p>Harry nodded, and
decided that he could feel all the guilt about that he wanted, but
<em>later</em>. "The situation is delicate, then," he said. "And
no matter what Scrimgeour's intentions, we can't count on the
repeal of the anti-werewolf laws bringing in much support. To some
people I'm a murderer, and they'll remember that no matter what
happens legally. We do need to settle the rebellion if we can, show
that we can compromise if possible, but not at the cost of everything
we've worked for."</p><p>"Does this mean that
you won't allow yourself to be taken and dragged off to prison?"
Remus asked abruptly.</p><p>Harry faced him and
arched an eyebrow, wondering what was going through his head. "Of
course not. I may ask for sacrifices from myself that I would not
from anyone else, because I know that I can pay them, and I may pay
those sacrifices the other side asks if they seem reasonable. But I
won't give up as I would have last year, especially not to avoid
violence. I chose violence when I started on this course."</p><p>Remus lapsed into
silence. Harry studied him and wondered if he could talk with him
later, work out what was bothering him, and why in the world he had
asked that bloody question.</p><p>Then he snorted to
himself. <em>Oh, yes, I'll add arguing with Remus to my list of
other essential things that need to be done. At this point, I'll
have to wait until he comes to me and actually demands my attention.
I can't waste time chasing down people who don't want to talk.</em></p><p>"Given that the
Unspeakables want werewolves so badly, we can't end the rebellion
yet, end of the anti-werewolf laws or not," he said, ignoring the
sounds of dismay from George and the others who supported him. "The
Unspeakables are still part of the Ministry, and even Scrimgeour
controlling all the magic in the building doesn't help much when
they attack outside it, as we've seen. Will he risk open conflict
with the Department of Mysteries? If he will, then I think we can
trust him to back us. Otherwise, we'll continue to wait."</p><p>Someone else started
to ask something, and then the karkadann bugled from outside. Harry
caught his breath against the tide of battle-lust that swept his
blood, and told him it was probably nothing, just an unusual maneuver
by a centaur that she didn't like. Woodhouse would have warned him
if attackers were near.</p><p>Then she screamed
again, and this time it was a cry of pain, and Harry's uncertainty
whispered, <em>If anyone could get through the place magic, it would
be the Unspeakables.</em></p><p>He asked Woodhouse if
he could Apparate outside, and received permission in seconds. He
leaped, and then he was standing in the grass, near the place where
the broken corpses of the winged horses still lay, clutched and held
by Woodhouse's defenses, and staring at the gray-cloaked ranks who
had appeared on the nearest hill.</p><p>They were holding
spheres of intense white light, and the karkadann was charging them.
One of the spheres flickered as Harry watched, and a burst of white
flew at her. It carved a bloody trail down her back. She stopped,
screaming and tossing her horn in rage, and then ran on again.</p><p>Harry knew how they
must have passed Woodhouse's defenses then. The last time, what had
triggered Woodhouse's response was hostile intent towards Harry
himself, who was part of it, and its trees and grass, also part of
it. If the Unspeakables had brought weapons that would only harm the
living things not part of Woodhouse and no hostile intent towards
Harry himself, then the place magic wouldn't rouse. It was the same
situation the Death Eaters had been in last year when Harry and his
group attacked them, since none of them had bonded to the valley.</p><p>He wondered if any of
the Unspeakables realized what would happen now.</p><p><em>Probably not, </em>he
told himself, <em>or they wouldn't have done this.</em></p><p>And his magic unfolded
its wings.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Indigena snatched her
hand back from the page of the book as if it'd burned her. It took
her a moment to realize that it hadn't been a surge of magic from
the ancient leather that had hurt her. Her thorns were vibrating from
the surge of power from the west and south, as Harry's magic roared
full-throated.</p><p>Indigena blinked at
nothing for a moment. She wondered that she should so easily
distinguish Harry's magic from Falco's, and she worried that her
dedication to her Lord might be fading if she could.</p><p>But then she realized
there was a simple explanation for that, and smiled. Harry's magic
had a sharp, dark edge from its indebtedness to Voldemort's. Falco
stank to her. Voldemort's magic smelled like fresh, deep earth,
damp with the smell of rain. Harry's magic bore the scent of fresh,
damp earth that someone had not made the best use of in attempting to
plant too many flowers at once.</p><p>There was nothing she
could do to influence the battle, since nothing she could do would
let her leave her Lord's side. He would be unhappy even to hear
about the battle, unless it ended with Harry wounded. She silently
wished Harry good luck instead, and then turned another page and bent
over the beginning of Chapter 13. <em>Since he already has the
compulsion gift, I doubt that this will be useful to him.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry could have done
a number of things, he supposed. He could have flung fire at the
Unspeakables, and they would have roasted; he didn't think they had
artifacts that would protect them against <em>all</em> attacks. He
could have chosen something uncommon, like lightning or acid. He
could have called on the karkadann and sent her charging at them; she
was already running straight towards them again, despite the spheres
of white light in their hands and the wound on her back.</p><p>Harry didn't see a
reason to do any of those things, though. He simply opened his
<em>absorbere</em> gift and began swallowing the magic from their
artifacts, and from their bodies, and from their wands, and from
anything else they might carry on their persons. He felt none of the
reluctance to do this that usually plagued him, only a grand disgust
that their constant attacks had made this necessary at all.</p><p>One sphere and then
another went dark, and Unspeakables gave the low, pained screams of
wizards who had suddenly become Muggles. Harry snarled in his throat,
and turned towards the ones who had wounded the karkadann—and did
it again as he watched, with what looked like a sword but shot darts
that made her scream and rear as they caught her in the forelegs.</p><p>Then
another held up something dark and mottled gray. Harry could see it
weirdly well from that distance, which he shouldn't have been able
to.</p><p>His <em>absorbere</em>
gift hit it and ended. Harry let out a loud gasp, and nearly lost
control of the magic he had gathered. It felt like being punched in
the teeth.</p><p>He watched,
narrow-eyed, as the mottled gray thing twisted in the Unspeakable's
hands and reared out a slender neck, dragon-shaped, with a blocky
dragon head on the end. It roared, and the sound traveled up into the
air as an almost visible cone of pure force. Harry followed it, and
saw one of the wards still hanging over the valley crackle like
burning paper and disappear.</p><p><em>I should have
wondered about that,</em> he thought. <em>I only hung the wards to make
the werewolves feel safe, but they should have warned me when someone
approached, even if Woodhouse didn't.</em></p><p>He focused on the
ward-eater the Unspeakable carried, and wondered what it was made of
and what to do with it. He was sucking magic from the rest of the
Unspeakables, still, but he was approaching the full amount he could
carry—they simply had so <em>many</em> artifacts, and defensive
spells, and small surprises sewn into the pockets of their robes—and
when the ward-eater roared in his direction, he lost control briefly
and staggered to his knees, panting harshly.</p><p>"What can we do,
Wild?"</p><p>Harry glanced up.
Camellia stood at his side. He wasn't surprised she had come first
of all of them. Her eyes were brilliant, but she looked at the
wizards with understandable frustration. Born Muggle, this wasn't
the kind of battle she could participate in.</p><p><em>Unless.</em></p><p>Harry held out his
hand. "Take my hand," he said. His voice was weird, distorted, as
if he were underwater, from all the power he carried, but Camellia
clasped his wrist with utter trust. Harry pulled, and she knelt in
the grass beside him. Harry stared into her eyes, and still saw
nothing but trust there.</p><p>"Can you carry some
of the magic for me?" he asked.</p><p>"I—yes."
Camellia blinked. "Though I don't see how I can hope to contain
it, Wild."</p><p>"I'm going to try
something," said Harry, and ignored another scream from the
karkadann. She wasn't dead yet, he thought he would know if she
was, and the ward-eater would block most of what he could do, and he
was going mad under the pressure of the magic racing around him. He
moved their joined hands so that his palm rested on Camellia's
shoulder, and closed his eyes.</p><p>He called on his will,
and the magic he had gathered, glad to be useful, surged to the
surface of his skin.</p><p>Camellia gasped, but
made no sound of protest or pain as the magic flooded into her. Harry
set it to carving out a magical core in her. That was what wizards
had that separated them from Muggles—a reservoir to carry and hold
the power. Most Muggles could be affected by spells, but trying to
use a wand was impossible, because the wand simply had nothing to
connect with in them.</p><p>Harry used some of the
magic to create a core. It was a strange process. With his eyes
closed, he could see flashing purple veins and green ones, as if he
were plunging into the midst of a jeweled tunnel. With his eyes open,
he just saw Camellia's face, anxious but not in pain.</p><p>The magic reached the
bottom of its dive and spun out. Harry could swear he saw a
spider-like creature for a moment, its legs and its mandibles working
incredibly fast, creating a net of spun silk across the bottom of the
new core. That insured the magic wouldn't run away as fast as it
gathered. Then the spider tightened its hold and began climbing back
up the side of Camellia's—stomach? Harry had no idea where the
physical analogue of the magical core would be, in her—weaving as
it went. Tighter and tighter grew the strands of the net.</p><p>The rest of the magic
poured in.</p><p>Harry felt the growing
sentience in it, inevitable when it was as tightly confined in so
small a place as this was. The personality was rather different from
any he'd encountered before. Of course, he had extremely limited
experience with this kind of thing; the magic he'd encountered in
Woodhouse and the magic he'd peeled off from himself to give to
Elfrida Bulstrode were the only ones that truly counted. The magic
he'd drained from Black artifacts to restore those children
rendered Squibs by Voldemort's attack hadn't forged this intimate
a connection between him and the person he gave it to.</p><p>This magic was cool,
confident, and deeply protective. It would tend to bury its
uncertainty in action, and right now it was looking forward to
hurting its enemies. Harry wasn't <em>that</em> dumb, so he realized
a moment later that it was shaping itself after Camellia; it was her
magic now, so it acted with and resembled her.</p><p>He sensed just when
enough would be too much, when the magic would destroy Camellia
instead of help her, and he pulled back, severing the connection with
them by tugging his hand from her shoulder. Camellia stared at him
with a dazed expression.</p><p>"You can help me,"
said Harry softly. "I've given you the <em>absorbere</em> ability."</p><p>Camellia swallowed and
glanced up at the Unspeakables on the hillside. The ones with the
other weapons had fallen back by now, doubtless seeing they'd only
exhaust themselves against Harry, and win no victories. The one with
the ward-eater was advancing, holding it out. "How do I use it?"</p><p>Harry gave her an
encouraging smile. "Imagine a mouth opening in front of you. That
mouth is going to pull on the magic of the Unspeakable, and <em>only</em>
the Unspeakable. You'll be swallowing the magic."</p><p>"But what controls
it?" Camellia's voice had got smaller. "I never—a few wizards
have told me that magic feels like exercising an extra set of
muscles. I don't know which direction to move in."</p><p>"In this case, it
mostly depends on what you want to happen," said Harry. "Free
will. I know you have a strong one. The magic should do as you like."</p><p>Camellia nodded
tentatively, and then focused on the wizard in front of her. A moment
later, the Unspeakable staggered. Harry shook his head. The <em>absorbere</em>
ability felt like a buzzing along his skin, the irritated tickling of
ants' legs.</p><p>"What are you going
to do?" Camellia called, as Harry reached out.</p><p>"Pull at the
ward-eater itself," said Harry, focusing on the block of gray
material. He thought it was rock, but it didn't matter what it was.
"From behind."</p><p>He leaped, and
Apparated up the hill. He heard someone shout, but the Unspeakable
was engaged with Camellia and couldn't turn in time.</p><p>Harry drank.</p><p>The magic that came
flooding towards him was more alien than anything he'd felt so far.
He caught a glimpse of a mind tight-wound with glittering, alien
threads, with existence so long that the concept of quickness, of
engaging with others rather than watching them, filled it with anger.
It was angry that it had been forced to respond so quickly to <em>this</em>
situation. It would have preferred to observe, as it always did, and
make its changes so slowly that the humans could not see them.</p><p>It would have done all
that, but now the moment had arrived when it needed to change or
cease to exist, it thought, and so it had moved to change. It could
disrupt the magic around it if it must, though it had been reluctant
to show its ability forth. Its servants had always kept secret the
fact that it was its immunity to magic, and not its magic itself,
that was the most important facet of it.</p><p>Harry reeled a little
as he was thrown back into his own head. The ward-eater was a piece
of the Stone.</p><p>He didn't think that
he could drain it, now that he knew. The Stone's immunity to magic
included his <em>absorbere</em> ability.</p><p>But he could make it
retreat from the battlefield, by making its servants useless to it.
The Stone needed wizards, those who could understand magic in a way
that Muggles simply couldn't, and who belonged in the Ministry and
the wizarding world in a way that Muggles weren't considered to. He
reached out again to the Unspeakables up the hill, tearing their
magic apart and sending it sliding off into the air in splashes when
he couldn't swallow it.</p><p>The Stone, or the
ward-eater, let out a wail of loss through the dragon-head. Harry was
simply inflicting losses too heavy; Harry could feel that, through
the tentative bond that connected them now. Few served the Stone in
comparison to the overall numbers of the wizarding population, and it
had already lost too many of them pursuing this one target, tempting
though he was with all the magic he possessed.</p><p>The Stone called.
Harry felt it pulling on bonds joining the Unspeakables, not unlike
those bonds that linked the packmind. The Unspeakables Apparated if
they still could, or grabbed the arms of those comrades who could and
went along. Harry felt the urge to do so himself, before he shook his
head and severed the bond that bound them.</p><p>He could feel the
Stone snarl in the moment before he did so. It knew that he knew it,
and it was wary now. Harry could almost feel thoughts that, in
something human, he would have called <em>We might need to have peace
after all.</em></p><p>And then they were
gone, and Harry stood blinking on the hill, and the karkadann ran
around in nothingness screaming in frustration, and Camellia was
staggering up the slope towards him, laughing and sobbing.</p><p>"That was—<em>thank</em>
you," she said, and then collapsed on his neck and started crying.</p><p>Harry held her as much
as he could; he was missing a hand and stood a few inches shorter
than she was. He stroked her back, and murmured in her ear, "I know
I didn't warn you. If it hurt, I'll take it back."</p><p>Camellia withdrew at
once, shaking her head, her eyes too bright, but not only with tears.
"No," she whispered. "I—I understand why they screamed, now,
the ones you took this from. There's no way that I could give this
up."</p><p>Harry nodded, then
held out his hand and whistled for the karkadann. She came trotting
to him, kicking hard enough that clods of dirt and grass flew out of
the ground. When she crashed to a halt beside him, she gave him a
look so expressive that Harry had to chuckle. Two battles now, and
she hadn't been able to kill anyone.</p><p>He patted her side,
standing on his toes, and she obligingly knelt so that he could look
at the wound on her back. To his relief, it was already scabbing.
Karkadanns <em>did</em> have magic that would let them heal faster than
most, he supposed; the violence they did to each other and to other
animals of their homelands demanded it. He touched her shoulder once
more, and she bounced back to her feet with another snort and a final
kick before she started grazing on the grass where the Unspeakables
had stood.</p><p>"It's going to
make trouble, isn't it?" Camellia asked hesitantly. "I mean,
making me a witch, but giving me that gift, too?"</p><p>"I expect it is,"
said Harry, turning around. "But I've won more than I've lost.
I know what the Unspeakables are doing, now, and how their Stone
thinks. And now that they've attacked a second time, when the
Ministry's already announced a changed attitude towards werewolves,
either the Ministry is going to have to admit to hypocrisy or
distance itself from the Department of Mysteries."</p><p>"Which do you think
is more likely?" Camellia asked, as they moved back towards the
ground.</p><p>Harry grinned at her.
He felt wild and light and reckless, his emotions blowing through him
like wind. He felt like a karkadann. "I have no idea."</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 45*: Fathers and Heirs</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the review on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Five: Fathers and Heirs</strong></p><p>Indigena crouched over
her Lord and closed her eyes, her hands vibrating with the
convulsions of his body. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and was
not sure who she was apologizing to: her Lord, or herself, or
whatever was causing this and shaking her Lord like a terrier with a
rag.</p><p>The convulsions had
begun not long after Indigena felt Harry's magic rising in the
west. Her Lord had screamed, the sound echoing in the confined space
of the tunnel. Indigena had crawled to him and tried to ask him what
was wrong, but he had been unable to answer, only crying out again in
a great voice. Indigena had done what she could to keep him from
swallowing his tongue, from vague memories that that was what one did
in the middle of a seize, and she had tried to cast binding spells,
but they broke. She almost considered that a hopeful sign—her Lord
might be recovering his magic—but she could not tell, and after
that there was only screaming and thrashing.</p><p>She murmured
reassurances and stroked his face. The skin felt cold and scaly under
her fingers, and the scent of earth was strong around her. But then,
they were underground. Indigena shook her head. She had almost lost
her sense of smell, or at least lost her ability to tell the
difference between magic and ordinary soil.</p><p>She murmured to him
again, and then Voldemort's back arched, and he uttered a thin
whistling sound too horrible for a scream. Indigena shuddered, her
eyes fastened to his face, wondering what in the world was happening,
and what in the world she could do about it.</p><p>Then something moved
in the upper corner of their tunnel.</p><p>Indigena looked up.
The flicker of movement repeated itself, and for a moment she caught
a glimpse of bright colors, fever-bright, splintering on themselves
like a rainbow in a pool of water broken by a careless step.</p><p>Then the movement
faded, and didn't repeat, but at least her Lord slumped down again
and took a deep breath into his lungs.</p><p>Indigena shook her
head and smoothed her hands down his sides. He was too thin, his ribs
standing out against his pale skin like dry sticks. She knew that he
could not die; he had told her as much. But the thought of suffering
what he did just in order to remain alive made her feel a deep pity
for him.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus looked up with a
faint frown as the owl came winging in through the window. He
recognized her at once, of course; there couldn't be many even
among snowy owls who had the obvious intelligence in their golden
eyes that Harry's Hedwig did. She landed on his desk and held out
her talon to him with a demanding air.</p><p>Rufus took the letter
from her leg. It was in an envelope, and the seal was one he hadn't
seen before: a circle of stars backed by a crescent moon and a rising
sun. Of course, it had to be the seal of the Alliance of Sun and
Shadow; that would fit, and who else would be using Harry's owl to
send their letters?</p><p>He opened the letter.</p><p><em>October 10th,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour: </em></p><p><em>Several things have
happened at Woodhouse in the last hour, and you deserve to know all
of them. First, the Unspeakables attacked us again. I believe there
were twenty of them this time, and they managed to slide around the
wards that I'd constructed using various weapons of their own.</em></p><p><em>The most important
of those weapons was a piece of the Stone. It ate the wards and
managed to deflect my own magic-eating abilities. When my mind
brushed against it—I believe a temporary connection was initiated
because I tried to drink magic directly from it and could not—I
learned why. </em></p><p><em>The Stone is immune
to magic, Minister. I am almost sure that you do not have as much
control over it as you think you do.</em></p><p><em>It saw that it was
losing its servants to me, and while the Stone may not care enough
for its Unspeakables to avoid sacrificing them, it cared enough that
it knew simply throwing them at me would cause it to lose. It
retreated, and took the Unspeakables with it, by pulling on bonds in
their minds. If you do not see now that the Department of Mysteries
is a danger to the Ministry as a whole, with its highest loyalties to
itself and not the ideals of justice and law, I am not sure what
proof will convince you. I am glad that you have managed to repeal
the anti-werewolf laws, but I am not sure what will take their
places.</em></p><p><em>Please make sure
there are laws specifically forbidding experimentation on werewolves
and their magic, even by the Department of Mysteries. We have
questioned an Unspeakable prisoner we captured in the attack
yesterday, and he said that that is the reason they wanted werewolves
caught alive and imprisoned in Tullianum: they remove them into the
Department and use them. They are trying to figure out a way to
impose controllable transformations—controllable by themselves, of
course—on others, and to do it in such a way that the
newly-transformed wizards are immune to silver and can change at
times other than the full moon. Their research would almost surely
enable them to control Animagi, as well, if it's completed.</em></p><p><em>They wanted to use
me as a source of fuel, since I am Lord-level and yet not Declared.
Apparently, Declaration carries protections against such a thing.</em></p><p><em>Also, you deserve
to know what happened in the battle. Once I discovered the Stone
could resist my ability to eat magic, I knew I needed help. Next to
me in battle at that moment was a Muggle werewolf, one member of a
pack I lead. I managed to give her a magical core and the ability to
eat magic as well, passing it on from the power I'd swallowed. She
helped me to drive away the Unspeakable holding the piece of the
Stone. This proves, of course, that the conclusions of the Grand
Unified Theory are much likelier to be close to reality than the
pureblood prejudice favored for so many generations.</em></p><p><em>I hope that you can
use your information usefully, Minister.</em></p><p><em>Sincerely,</em></p><p><em>Harry.</em></p><p>Rufus felt the world
crash down around his ears.</p><p>He was almost sure
that Harry did not see all the implications, if Muggles were able to
have magic. There would be no justification for keeping their worlds
apart anymore. The most important part of themselves, the part in
which most wizards invested their identities, would be common after
all, contagious as a disease. The Muggleborns had embraced the Grand
Unified Theory; Rufus could not think of anyone who would embrace
this. Even some Squibs would balk if they found out they could become
wizards, but Muggles could, too.</p><p>And there was, of
course, the question of whether people would join Harry for personal
gain or loyalty, and what they would do if he was able to make them
stronger than they already were. With the <em>absorbere</em> ability,
they could become more powerful on their own. They could use that
gift in ways that Rufus thought Harry never would. The wizarding
world might, as a worst-case scenario, rip itself apart in an orgy of
draining, and then a few strong wizards would emerge at the top. It
would make the Ministry's careful work and the long cultivation of
laws that could both accommodate average wizards and leave some
loopholes for the Lord-levels useless.</p><p>And making a werewolf
that strong! What was Harry thinking? What if she decided to take
vengeance for the persecution of her people in the last few months?</p><p>And where would the
magic that Harry intended to give others come from? It must be
drained. He could get it from objects, but he had come to the point
where he would swallow his enemies' magic without hesitation. Would
becoming Harry's enemy merit an automatic descent into Squibhood?
What about becoming the enemy of one of his friends?</p><p>Rufus caught his
plunging thoughts and tied them back with reins. They reared and
stamped and snorted, but at least he wasn't losing his head over
fear, which had been his first reaction. He could think and breathe
again.</p><p>He must not lose his
mind to fear. That was what the Wizengamot had done, and that was the
reason Rufus had found it so easy to convince them to repeal the
anti-werewolf laws. Fifteen of them already thought they had voted
for him to complete the Ritual of Cincinnatus, and Griselda knew she
had. Sixteen, plus the seventeenth of Rufus himself, made a third of
the Elders, and that was enough to swing wavering neutral parties, or
those who were so susceptible to threats that the strongest, closest
one could change their minds. Thirteen others had come to them
because of that; they were more afraid of Rufus and his power over
the magic in the Ministry than they were of the werewolves.</p><p>Rufus had grimaced as
he worked on them, but he already knew they were cowardly,
weak-willed enough not to resist the implementation of a little fear.
The Unspeakables and Loki the pack leader had made them dance like
puppets. He couldn't count on them to hold strong or listen to
rational argument. He could only make use of them for what they were.
And he had.</p><p>They were in seclusion
until they finished considering the anti-werewolf laws. But the
Minister could interrupt them.</p><p><em>I will have to,
</em>Rufus thought, as he gazed down at Harry's letter.</p><p>He didn't know if
Harry realized it, but in one stroke, he had won his rebellion. They
could <em>not</em> risk what would happen if Harry decided to take this
particular weapon onto the battlefield. They could not risk wizards
growing like toadstools. They could not risk the other countries who
had agreed to the International Statute of Secrecy descending on
them. The decision to reveal wizards to the Muggle world was not
Britain's alone.</p><p>Harry was a breaker of
boundaries, an unweaver of webs. Rufus was not sure he would care
about that. And even if he did, even if he probably would, there
would be others, other <em>absorberes</em> he could make, who would
not.</p><p>He stood, gripping the
letter firmly in one hand, and made his way to Courtroom Ten. He
planned to share all the information in the letter with the Elders,
including the parts about the Department of Mysteries. Once they
found out what the Unspeakables had wanted, Rufus thought he could
count on a few more of them to swing to his side. Juniper, for one,
would not like to find out that he had been used by wizards
interested only in experimenting with werewolf magic. He felt
lycanthropy was a curse, full stop, and should be left the hell
alone. He even looked on efforts to develop Wolfsbane with stolid
disapproval.</p><p>Rufus could see it
now. He would propose an alliance of the baffled, outraged, and newly
enlightened Ministry with Harry against the Unspeakables. They had
not known. Now they did. And how much of the inflamed prejudice
against werewolves could be tracked to that source? The Department of
Mysteries was a convenient scapegoat. They would take the blame for
the hatred and the fear that other people had actually felt. Rufus
already knew what lies he would spin.</p><p>It was not pretty. It
was no prettier than the Unbreakable Vows he had made his allies
swear in Courtroom Ten, no prettier than the lies they had to tell to
safeguard what had really happened there.</p><p>But if Rufus wanted to
look pretty, he would have gone into war wizardry, not politics. Let
his hands get dirty. At least it meant that others' wouldn't have
to.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco contained his
outrage through the announcement Harry made of Camellia's new
powers, through the frenzied celebration by her pack, through Harry
happily answering all the questions everyone else had about this, and
through Thomas Rhangnara's incessant chattering at Camellia.</p><p>"But what does it
<em>feel</em> like?" Rhangnara pressed her.</p><p>Camellia, her cheeks
flushed, a smile Draco thought was far too smug for some
witch-come-lately on her face, simply shook her head. "You have
magic yourself," she said. "You must know what it feels like."</p><p>"But not the
<em>absorbere</em> ability." Rhangnara made a note on the scroll he
was carrying nonetheless. "And what's the difference between what
you were like and the way you are now? I know some research wizards
say that being a Muggle or a Squib is like being deaf, dumb, and
blind, but we've never been Muggles or Squibs, so how do we know?"
He looked at Camellia's left ear, as if to see if it had changed
shape.</p><p>"It is <em>not</em>,"
said Camellia, sounding offended. They were sitting in the kitchen,
with Camellia in the place of honor at the table's head, draped by
werewolves. Rhangnara sat next to her, earnestly scribbling down her
every word. Harry lounged in a chair halfway down the table, smiling.
Draco wanted to punch him. "My sight is a little clearer now and
the world seems a bit more wonderful, that's all."</p><p>Draco would have
wagered every Knut he had left to him that she was lying. Being a
wizard was <em>much</em> better than being a Squib or a Muggle. One
only had to listen to the screams of those Harry drained of their
magic to know that.</p><p>Rhangnara asked a few
more questions, all of them as petty and useless as the first. Snape
had left long since, stepping out of the room as if he would strike
someone should he stay. Draco understood perfectly how he felt. The
whole world had just gone merrily tumbling downhill, and no one else
in the room acted as if they knew that.</p><p>Finally, <em>finally</em>,
he managed to snag Harry and drag him aside, when everyone was
involved in listening to the battle from Camellia's perspective yet
again. Draco cast a privacy ward around them.</p><p>Harry smiled at him.
"Some tactics you wanted to share?"</p><p>It took Draco a moment
to remember back to their conversation of this morning. He forced a
smile. Harry picked up on his mood almost at once, and stood
straight, his own grin vanishing. "What's the matter?"</p><p>"Why her," Draco
said, the words the only ones that would emerge from his tight
throat, "and not me?" He was imagining what could have been, if
Harry had expanded his own magical core, or given him the <em>absorbere</em>
gift. They would have been equals. His father would have had no
trouble confirming him as magical heir. Draco would have a separate
standing in the eyes of the wizards who followed Harry—not his
lover, not the only one who could handle Harry when he was on the
verge of explosion, but someone with unique and powerful gifts of his
own.</p><p>Harry blinked.
"Because you never asked," he said.</p><p>Draco gave him a
little shake. "I didn't know it was <em>possible.</em>"</p><p>Harry shrugged.
"Neither did I, until today. And then Camellia was the one beside
me, not anyone else. If someone else had been, I would have tried the
same desperate tactic." He searched Draco's face. "Do you
really think I would have refused you that magic?" he asked softly.
"Why?"</p><p>Thrown on the rocks
like that, Draco couldn't answer the question, couldn't say why
the gesture to Camellia—a result of chance, to hear Harry tell
it—felt so much like a slap in the face and a rejection of most of
what they'd shared. He ground his teeth for a moment, and then
said, "Because if anyone is going to receive something that special
from you, it should be me."</p><p>"Of course, if you
want it," said Harry. "I think I could trust you not to misuse
it. I do trust Camellia, because she's loyal to me as alpha and has
to know that if she abused the gift, I would take it away in an
instant. And her magic is quite average otherwise; I had to use most
of the power carving out her core and then making sure it wouldn't
drain as soon as I poured magic into it. And I wouldn't trust Snape
with this right now, nor Remus." He tilted his head at Draco. "I
trust that you wouldn't drain Connor, or Parvati?"</p><p>Draco felt his hands
shake. He hid it by cupping Harry's chin and tilting his face up.
"No," he whispered. "Never. It would be a temptation, of
course, but just having them know that I <em>could</em> would be enough
to content me. I'd keep my drawing to objects and enemies, like you
do."</p><p>His mind was reeling,
but it oriented now around the concept that he might possess this
same gift himself. Yes, the wizarding world in general would be
upset, but <em>he</em> could have it. He could finally cease to feel as
if he were lesser than Harry in any way. Granted, his driving
ambition for some time had not been to have magic equal to Harry's,
but the old longing wasn't as buried as he'd thought.</p><p>"You were never
lesser to me," Harry murmured.</p><p>Draco started. "You
used Legilimency?" he asked Harry, who was staring directly into
his eyes.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"I didn't have to. Your thoughts were screaming out your
happiness." He stroked Draco's shoulder for a moment. "You <em>do</em>
realize that, right? My magic is what makes me able to be <em>vates</em>
and a war-leader, but it doesn't separate us in any fundamental
way. I've never felt that I was better than you because I'm more
magically powerful, Draco, I swear it. It would be like—it would be
like saying someone is better than someone else because they have
more money or a bigger house. Magic's just a tool, Draco, just what
allows me to do what matters to me, like unbinding webs and
protecting others. That's all."</p><p>Draco stared at him.
Twice in several moments his world had broken into pieces, but this
was a revelation about Harry, not about how the wizarding world in
general would react to Harry's ability to make Muggles into wizards
or witches.</p><p><em>He really doesn't
think that his magic makes him any different than the rest of us. He
really doesn't.</em></p><p><em>No wonder he makes
a terrible Lord. To be a good one, you have to have some sense of the
gulf that kind of magic opens between you and everyone else.
Voldemort has it. Dumbledore had it. But Harry just sees it like his
having an extra limb, or a pair of wings, or a talent for music.</em></p><p>Draco wondered if he
should laugh or cry. He wondered if he should try to explain it to
Harry. But he was almost sure the last project was doomed to failure.
Harry had seen people bow to him and thank him with tears of
gratitude in their eyes, and still he thought they were comfortable
with the gestures or grateful for their freedom. Draco could tell him
how most people would consider him, how they thought of most Lords,
but Harry would only blink and make some connection with how that
encouraged people to remain under webs.</p><p><em>He doesn't think
himself above others. I doubt he ever will. He makes mistakes, but it
comes from things like not knowing how the wizarding world will react
to this, not because he thinks he has the right to make decisions
that others don't.</em></p><p>Draco decided he
wouldn't explain. He just shook his head helplessly, and said, "Now
I know it, Harry." He held out his hand, and added, with a tone of
wistfulness in his voice he couldn't mask, "Now, can you give me
the ability to eat magic, please?"</p><p>"You sound like
you're asking for a sweet," said Harry in some amusement, but he
reached out to clasp Draco's hand. "I'm still carrying some of
the extra magic from the battle," he said. "The <em>absorbere</em>
ability wants to digest it, but I don't need to be any stronger
than I already am. And if I need to, I can drain some of the Black
objects that I brought along."</p><p>Draco opened his mouth
to object to this squandering of Harry's inheritance, and then
closed it again. Harry saw what <em>use</em> those objects could be,
first, and he obviously thought that sitting around and decorating
rooms was not enough of a use.</p><p>He closed his eyes as
he felt magic begin to move up his arm like a lance of melodic acid.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Indigena was dozing
when her Lord erupted in screaming and thrashing again. She tried to
catch his shoulders, but his head flew up and knocked her in the face
instead. She heard the distinct crunch of her nose breaking, but the
flowers and stems under her skin shifted to repair it quickly enough.</p><p>She was more concerned
with Voldemort, whose convulsions brought his head dangerously close
to cracking open on the hard earth wall of their retreat. She turned
to the plants she had rooted in one corner of the tunnel and called
for help, and they came, unfolding tendrils that erupted into soft
pink flowers as they reached her. Indigena was sure that Voldemort
would be horrified if he awakened and saw himself cradled on
swift-roses, but at the moment she didn't really care. The petals
would help pillow his head, and that was all she wanted.</p><p>As the flowers pressed
themselves into position, Indigena smiled in spite of herself, in
spite of her worry and fear. They obeyed her because they loved her.
She did not have to carry tendrils beneath her skin or spend every
waking moment with them to have a special bond with them now.
Indigena thought everyone should have such love in their lives. It
might teach someone like her Lord to care about more than the
conquering of the next enemy.</p><p>Her attention switched
back as a long cut opened on Voldemort's chest. Indigena shook her
head, and lowered her right arm so that some of the aloe-like plant
that grew under her fingers might heal it. The cut began to scab over
as soon as she touched it, which was a common thing with
magic-inflicted wounds.</p><p><em>Who could be
magically powerful enough to reach through my barriers and hurt him
from this distance, though?</em></p><p>The only answers that
came to mind were Harry and Falco. Indigena thought she would
recognize the smell of Falco's magic, and if Harry knew where her
Lord was, surely he would be here already.</p><p>She gently shifted
Voldemort's hands to the side as more cuts appeared on his
shoulders. The hands were clasped around a golden cup with badgers
for handles and would not let go. That didn't matter. What mattered
was that she be able to reach and tend the wounds, wherever they
appeared.</p><p>A loud hiss made her
look up. For a moment, she thought it was a snake, not unreasonably
drawn to her Lord, but she could see nothing. She could <em>feel</em> a
presence, however, stirring around her Lord like a wind, prowling and
snarling. Its temperament was wild and vicious.</p><p>It paid no attention
to her. One more pace, one more whirl, and then it shot through a
hole in the dirt roof. Indigena shrugged, waited to see if it would
affect what was happening to her Lord at all, and then returned to
tending him.</p><p>Not long after the
strange presence had left, however, her Lord ceased to convulse.
Indigena sighed in relief and reached for <em>Odi et Amo</em> again,
keeping a careful eye on Voldemort. No more wounds appeared, and his
hands were creeping like spiders along the sides of the cup again,
usually a good sign. He stroked the cup and murmured to it when he
was in one of his midway-moods. On the very best days, he could talk
with her and tell her of his plans, but Indigena would take this over
screaming and thrashing, or the deep silence that sometimes afflicted
him, when she had to lean over him to hear his breath.</p><p>She stroked his
shoulder absently as she read the book. The scaly, snake-like skin
had ceased to feel strange to her when she was transformed so
thoroughly. Now it simply felt like dry dirt against her
fingers—bereft of nourishment, but not unpleasant.</p><p>She would never leave
him. The debt was a constricting chain, but it meant nothing without
the honor behind it, the honor that her nephew hadn't had. She
would stay with the Dark Lord and make up the Yaxley pride the best
way she knew how.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry opened his eyes
slowly. He winced when pain resounded through his body like a leaping
child yelling for sweets.</p><p>"What do you feel
now?" an eager voice asked from the side. Harry managed to turn his
head a little, and saw Thomas sitting in the chair next to his bed,
leaning forward. The scroll he'd written on while questioning
Camellia dangled from his hands, and he was asking questions so fast
that Harry doubted he'd notice when it slipped to the floor. "Do
you think that you could say why that didn't work? Would you say
the transfer of magic to another feels more like giving birth, or
more like handing over a gift? Could you do it to someone whose wand
was broken? What about someone born magical and then drained? Could
you—"</p><p>"<em>Enough</em>,
Rhangnara."</p><p>That was Snape's
voice, so tense and quiet and cold that even Thomas blinked and shut
his mouth, though more in surprise than fear, Harry thought. He
managed to roll his head over and look up at Snape, eyes watering. He
couldn't tell if that was from the light or the pain.</p><p>"Sir," he said,
trying to sit up. There were still instincts in his head that
protested the thought of being flat on his back in front of Snape.
Snape murmured something, however, and an invisible band formed above
Harry, gripping his chest and holding him down. He frowned at Snape,
and considered shouting, but with Thomas there, he didn't like to.</p><p>"You should not move
far or fast," said Snape, as if that were self-evident. "When you
tried to transfer your <em>absorbere</em> gift to Draco, something
happened. You both began screaming in pain—"</p><p>"Is Draco all
right?" Harry attempted to sit up again. He had assumed that Snape
would have said something at once if Draco was hurt, but perhaps he
wouldn't, not if he wanted Harry to remain in bed.</p><p>Snape tightened the
invisible band with nothing so much as a flicker on his face. "Draco
is well," he said. "Asleep, after watching by your bed until I
made him rest. He experienced a short trance of pain, and then
recovered from it." He leaned towards Harry. "You, however, went
into convulsions."</p><p><em>That would explain
the muscle aches, </em>Harry had to concede. "Well, I'm not now,"
he said. "Let me up."</p><p>He released some anger
into his voice, as a sop to Snape. His guardian went on speaking as
if he hadn't heard him. "And then powerful magic surrounded you
and spread away from you in a web."</p><p>Harry blinked. "A
web?"</p><p>Snape held out a
Pensieve towards him—his own, Harry saw after a moment. "I have
preserved the memory here."</p><p>"I want to see it
again, too," said Thomas, and pushed his head forward and into the
silvery liquid before anyone could stop him. Harry rolled his eyes
and pushed his head in beside Thomas's.</p><p>He winced to see Draco
flailing and rolling on the floor, and it took him a moment to tear
his eyes away and see what Snape had been talking about. A web,
glittering as if made of dew and light, did extend away from his
shoulders, spreading out into the air in a regular pattern.</p><p>And it led straight
from him to Camellia, unless one counted a single white thread that
trailed forlornly away from his back into the air.</p><p>Harry watched as
Camellia also began to shake, with a sick feeling in his stomach. <em>I
acted too quickly again. I didn't consider the consequences. I
can't believe that I keep doing this</em>.</p><p>The
white web contracted, rippling, as dark magic started to pass along
it and through it. Harry squinted, and thought he could see the
ripples as black serpents, sidewinding around the strands of the web
until they reached Camellia. Then they bit her, and she <em>screamed</em>.
It took Harry another moment to recognize the noise. It was the same
one that wizards gave when they became Muggles.</p><p>The snakes turned
around and rolled back to him holding something white in their
mouths. They spat it like venom at the flailing Harry in the image,
and his back arched so hard that Harry wondered if he hadn't
cracked his spine. Then two of the snakes climbed along the white
thread that extended from his back, fading as they went further and
further. By the time they reached the outer wall, they had vanished
entirely.</p><p>Camellia gave a
strangled sob. Thomas-in-the-memory knelt down next to her, talking
softly. Camellia shook her head, and Thomas assumed a sorrowful
expression and put his hand on her shoulder. The memory ended then,
as Snape turned towards Harry and scooped him up into his arms with
ruthless precision.</p><p>Harry pulled his head
out of the Pensieve, and shook it. "Camellia lost her magic," he
whispered.</p><p>"Yes," Thomas
confirmed, patting him on the shoulder. "She'll be all right,
though. It was a shock, but lycanthrope physiology really does give
then an amazing amount of strength, you know. She's sleeping right
now, but we talked, and she says that she thinks she'll recover.
Did you know that the werewolf curse might have started because
people wanted to be <em>stronger</em>? There's some interesting
research coming out of <em>America</em>, of all places, that suggests—"</p><p>"Rhangnara," said
Snape, in that protective snarl again, and Thomas blinked and focused
on Harry.</p><p>"Right," he said.
"I think you're a unique occurrence, Harry. You could only create
the magical core and transfer the <em>absorbere</em> gift in the first
place because you're half a magical heir."</p><p>Harry blinked, and
said intelligently, "What?"</p><p>"You're
Voldemort's magical heir," said Thomas, genuinely not noticing
Snape's reaction to the name, Harry thought. "But the transfer of
gifts and power isn't complete. It <em>began</em> that night that he
attacked you, but it didn't end, the way it should have. Most
transfers between magical ancestor and heir, well, complete
themselves. Either the magical ancestor dies and the gifts achieve
full strength in the heir, or the ancestor makes the choice to pass
along the gifts before their death. But that usually leaves him or
her without magic, and they die anyway." Harry nodded, thinking of
Elfrida's choice to send her power on to Marian despite the fact
that it would mean her death, because her daughter's best chance to
be a magical heir was right after birth. "The transfer between you
and Voldemort was interrupted as it was made, because the reflected
Killing Curse hit him and his spirit vanished, taking the gifts with
him." Thomas spread his hands. "It stretches out between you like
a tunnel. Down that tunnel comes magic. I think it can wash back and
forth between you. Didn't you say once that his <em>absorbere</em>
ability changed after the resurrection ritual?"</p><p>Snape hissed, and
turned on Harry. "You <em>told</em> him that?" he demanded.</p><p>Harry ignored him. He
had told Thomas that shortly after Thomas came to the valley, during
the time when Snape couldn't seem to care whether he found another
guardian or not. What Harry did during that time was his own lookout.
"Yes, it did," he said. "He had it before the night when he
came and attacked my brother and me, but not as strongly. He could
drain someone, but it left him weak for days afterwards. When he
resurrected, his ability had improved. And our dream connection
changed, too," he added. "I used to be able to act in the
visions. Then, I wasn't able to do so."</p><p>Thomas nodded
excitedly. "The situation is unusual, but not impossible," he
said. "After all, the transfer happened in the first place. The
prophecy saw to that. Because the prophecy is taking so long to be
fulfilled, I think that helps. The tunnel between you depends on the
connection between your souls, and it depends on the prophecy. You
amplified the magic and practiced with it during a time when he was
still bodiless and powerless to use it. Then, when he came back to
life, he could draw on that greater experience, and become a more
powerful <em>absorbere.</em>"</p><p>"But when I gave it
to Camellia—" Harry said.</p><p>"I don't think you
could have done that at all if Voldemort wasn't incapacitated right
now," said Thomas. "He doesn't have the ability to use the
<em>absorbere</em> gift, so it goes back to drifting in the tunnel
between you. You use it when you draw on it, but you could also give
part of it to someone else."</p><p>"Then why did it
leave her at all?" Harry could hear Snape's teeth grinding. He
ignored him. He wasn't responsible to Snape, and Thomas was the
only one in Woodhouse who understood this transfer of magic and could
help him right now. "We should have been able to share it."</p><p>"Because you tried
to give it to Draco, as well," said Thomas quietly. "The gift
resented being stretched so far. It snapped back together, and took
itself away from Camellia as it did so—along with the magic that
you'd transferred to her. I think she may still have her core, and
so she's a Squib, technically, instead of a Muggle, but she has no
magic."</p><p>"Did the magic go
back to Voldemort?" Harry asked. The one thing he would not be able
to forgive himself for out of this was if he had accidentally
strengthened his enemy.</p><p>"I don't think
so," said Thomas. "The magic's greatest desire is to be used,
and he could not use it right now. I think it retreated into the
tunnel between the two of you. It's very strange, though," he
added, with a slight frown. "The tunnel still counts as confinement
for the magic, and it remains trapped, unable to return to the
magical ancestor or bind fully to the magical heir. I would have
expected it to grow intelligence, as magic so often does when
confined, and to be fairly upset about this."</p><p>Harry froze. "I
think it may have," he said.</p><p>Thomas just frowned at
him, but Snape understood, since Harry had told him about this at the
Sanctuary. "The bird," he said.</p><p>"What?" Thomas
asked.</p><p>"There's a bird
that's appeared from time to time," said Harry, wondering why he
couldn't have seen this before. The bird's crimson eyes had even
been the color of Voldemort's, at least before he lost them. "It's
made of pure magic, and only I can see it. It comes through all the
wards in Hogwarts and Woodhouse and the Sanctuary. It talked of being
bound to me and resenting it, and being bound to 'him' and
resenting it. It regularly scratches me." He hesitated, then drew
up his pyjama top and showed the bird's claw-marks on his chest,
the most recent wounds, to Thomas.</p><p>Thomas leaned forward
and stared at the wounds in fascination. "I've never heard of
magic doing that," he murmured. "I can see it wanting to kill
you, or kill Voldemort, so that the tunnel would end and it could go
to one of you or the other. But perhaps that's impossible, given
that Voldemort cannot die and you're bound to him by the prophecy
unfulfilled. It's doing the best it can. I still don't know what
to make of the scratches, though."</p><p>"Do you think I
could still give magic to Camellia?" Harry asked. "If I tried not
to pass on the <em>absorbere</em> ability?" He ignored Snape's
scowl.</p><p>Thomas shook his head.
"It would be shaky," he said. "The magic might grow bored and
resentful and decide to take itself away at any moment. From the way
you describe it, it hates you. It would do something like that just
to spite you, I think, and that could overcome its longing to be
used."</p><p>Harry nodded, mind
still half on the bird. He knew he had felt the viciousness it
carried before. Now, he knew where. In the graveyard on the Midsummer
day he'd lost his hand, when Voldemort's magic had returned to
him as <em>he'd </em>returned to his body. It had unfolded great
wings made of blades and cried aloud, and Harry had felt how evil it
was, how much hatred it had. For everything.</p><p><em>It's shared
between us. It's confined. That would only make it more vicious.</em></p><p>And he was heir to
that bladed magic, and it didn't like him. Harry suppressed a
shudder.</p><p>"This is so much to
absorb," Thomas was murmuring. "There are a few places it links
into the Grand Unified Theory, but in others there are gaps." He
leaned forward and fixed Harry with an earnest stare. "Would you
mind if I studied you, Harry, and the connection between you and
Voldemort? Perhaps waited for the bird to appear again? Perhaps—"</p><p>"You are <em>not</em>
studying my son."</p><p>Snape said nothing
more than that. He just stood at the end of Harry's bed like a rock
wall, and Thomas shut his mouth again. This time, though, he gave a
faint smile and climbed to his feet.</p><p>"I understand," he
said. "I suppose I wouldn't want someone studying Rose, either,
and deciding to prod at her magic and mine and tell me how it
worked." His tone said that he was dubious about that and how much
he wouldn't like it, though. He bowed to Harry. "I hope that you
rest well and recover, Harry."</p><p>He turned and departed
before Harry could speak again. When he could, he snapped the
invisible bond that held him down by sheer force of will and sat up,
glaring at Snape. "What right did you have to do that?" he asked
in a hiss. "If studying this bond can help me defeat Voldemort,
then I say we should try it."</p><p>"You are my son."
Snape didn't move. "You deserve more than to become an experiment
for a research wizard."</p><p>"Thomas didn't
mean any harm—"</p><p>"I am sure Rhangnara
did not." Snape sneered. "But that kind of attitude will do you
no good either, Harry. He would push you to exhaustion, or into
danger. Has it occurred to you that there has been danger already,
from your misguided gesture of good will? This could influence the
bond between you and Voldemort, strengthening him or drawing his
attention."</p><p>"Thomas didn't
think it would." Harry wished he could swing his feet to the floor.
He was shaky with pain and remembered pain, though, and he wouldn't
be as tall as Snape anyway. He tilted his head back, and tried to
look as if he were unconscious of his shortness compared to Snape.
"He said that the magic wouldn't go back to Voldemort, because he
couldn't use it."</p><p>"Has it occurred to
you that he may not be right, given that this is entirely new?"
Snape's voice had a familiar sound to it, as if he'd been
suppressing generations of fury. "His guesses are at best guesses."</p><p>"Has it occurred to
you," said Harry, his voice as low and hard as he could make it,
"that I still don't trust you in the duties of guardian?"</p><p>"Name me one who
will perform them more faithfully," said Snape. "I will step
aside for him at once. Or her."</p><p>"That's not the
point!" Harry resisted the urge to grind his teeth together, but
just barely. "I became used to not having a guardian in the past
few months. I admit that you helped me with the Occlumency pools, and
that was a mistake I made. Giving magic to Camellia might be another.
But I don't need someone hovering over me <em>so</em> protectively
that we miss valuable opportunities to learn new information!"</p><p>"When the
information is conditional on your life and your magic," said
Snape, moving no muscle except the ones in his jaw, "then I
consider it part of my business, Harry."</p><p>"<em>Why</em>?"
Harry wished words could set the bedroom on fire by themselves. He
had to restrain his magic from joining in and trying to grant his
wish.</p><p>"Because I care for
you," said Snape. "And because whether or not you are my ward,
you are my son." He reached out and smoothed Harry's hair back
from his brow, baring the lightning bolt scar. "This is not all you
are," he said. "I will not allow it to become all you are."</p><p>Harry dropped his eyes
in defeat. He wanted to argue, but he didn't know how to do it
without damaging the fragile bond between him and Snape even further.
And he <em>did</em> want a parent, a guardian.</p><p>He just didn't know
if it could be Snape, given what he had done in the past few months,
given what he might do again if he didn't continue to work on his
healing with Joseph.</p><p><em>Wait.</em></p><p>Harry lifted his head.
Normally, he disdained making bargains like this anymore, but he and
Snape had fallen back several steps. And trying to pretend everything
was all right wasn't going to make it so.</p><p>"Can I ask you
something?" he said. Snape nodded, and Harry continued, "Have you
spoken to Joseph since you've been here?"</p><p>Snape's lips
thinned, which Harry thought was as good as an admission. He nodded,
his eyes not wavering from his guardian's face. "Then please do
that. That way, I'll know that you're taking time for your own
healing, and not just mine, and that you are <em>serious</em> about
this. I know that I'm your son to you, sir, but during these last
few months, I started seeing myself as <em>your</em> guardian."</p><p>"No one asked you to
fill that role," Snape said harshly.</p><p>Harry blinked. "Of
course not. But it was the only kind of bond with you I could have."</p><p>Snape glared at him,
wordless. Harry pressed on. "I did get used to having a parent,
sir. I want one again." <em>I think. </em>Harry thought of parents
rather as he did of comrades in battle; they were pleasant and
sometimes necessary to have, but depending too much on them could
cripple him in those moments when he would need to move alone. "But
I can't trust you until I'm sure that you're not using me as a
distraction from your own problems. And if you're not healing any
further, you might fall apart at any moment, and take me with you.
I've already explained why that can't happen." He held Snape's
eyes. "Please, sir. Continue your talks with Joseph. In return,
I'll try to be as good a son as I can."</p><p>Snape thought about
that. Harry waited. He could almost see the protests forming in
Snape's mind, and dying one by one. Yes, they had reached a stage
of their relationship where they shouldn't need bargains like this,
but their relationship was no longer the same as it had been four
months ago. That meant they needed this.</p><p>Or, at least, they
needed the willingness to work on this from both sides.</p><p>After a few moments,
Snape inclined his head. Harry sighed out. "Thank you, sir. Now,
I'll go find Draco—"</p><p>"He is still
asleep," Snape said. "I have set an alarm to let me know when he
wakes. And you, Harry, took more damage than you know in your
convulsions. You need to rest."</p><p>Harry gave him a
tolerant glance, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "It's
not that bad, sir—"</p><p>He staggered. Snape
lifted him with <em>Mobilicorpus</em> and settled him back into bed
before Harry could object. Then he took his glasses.</p><p>"<em>Sir</em>," said
Harry, with sternness that failed somewhat as the warmth of the
pillows and blankets soaked into his consciousness. His legs already
felt as if they were made of stone. He yawned. "You cast a sleeping
spell," he accused Snape, his words coming out slurred.</p><p>"Merely one to make
the bed more comfortable," Snape murmured. "It is your own
exhaustion doing the work, Harry."</p><p>Harry mumbled
something incoherent. Fog crept over his awareness, and despite a few
thoughts of checking on Draco and Camellia, his breathing evened out.
His mind staged a last, pitched battle against the darkness before
sleep managed to overcome him entirely.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Snape stood gazing
down at his son for a few moments. Harry breathed with his mouth
open, his face curled as if to shelter under his hand. His left wrist
still lay, a scarred stump, higher on the pillow. Snape shook his
head. <em>If he considered getting his own hand back one tenth as
important as this rebellion, he would have a second one already.</em></p><p>"Watching him, you
look the picture of the peaceful father."</p><p>Snape stiffened. He
had not heard the door open, nor Joseph slip into the room. He did
not turn. "He has just made me a bargain," he said. "That I
will try to be the best father I can to him, and he will be the best
son he can to me. But that means I must talk to you." He turned
with a grimace to the Seer.</p><p>The man simply nodded,
with one final glance at Harry. "He may benefit from talking with
me, as well," he said.</p><p>Snape concealed his
triumph. "He has shamefully neglected his own healing since we
returned," he said. "He believes that because he overcame the
guilt he carried in the Midsummer battle, for example, he has nothing
more to learn from someone like you."</p><p>Joseph nodded again.
"I can See that," he said. "And as for you, Snape—forgive me,
this is only something I have noticed through watching the two of you
interact, and hearing your stories of him. Has he ever called you
Severus?" He hesitated a moment, as if afraid the next step would
be a step too far, and then finished, "Or Father?"</p><p>Snape toyed with the
idea of hexing the Seer, but he had asked for this kind of thing when
he agreed to Harry's bargain. Seers were made to walk into fire, it
seemed. "No," he said. "He calls me Professor, or Professor
Snape, or sir. I have never invited a closer term of address. He has
never offered one."</p><p>Joseph nodded. "Please
come with me," he said. "We don't want to disturb him, of
course, and it seems that we have much to talk about."</p><p>Snape said nothing as
he followed the Seer out, but <em>he</em> looked back at Harry before
he shut the door. Harry was his son.</p><p>He could not help
feeling a slight smugness as he followed Joseph, for all the danger
the day had promised. Two good things had come out of it. The first
was that Camellia the werewolf had acquired, and then <em>lost</em>,
her magic. She knew true pain now, and she might learn some genuine
humility out of it.</p><p>The second was that,
while Harry's ability to create stronger wizards was sadly
temporary, the Minister did not need to know that.</p><p>"We really must see
if we can cure you of smirking like that," Joseph murmured.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus looked out over
the congregation of wizards and witches in front of him. Only some of
them were reporters. Others were Ministry employees, and some had
appeared the moment the Minister had announced he would hold a press
conference. They were almost certainly curious to see what a dictator
looked like, Rufus knew. If no one charmed rotten fruit to fly at
him, he would be surprised.</p><p>But then, he hadn't
assumed the Ritual of Cincinnatus would make him <em>popular.</em></p><p>He stepped up to the
stage, with Frederick and Hope close beside him, and Percy further
back, under a ward. Griselda Marchbanks was with him, and the <em>hanarz</em>,
but most of the spectators only gave her odd glances and turned away.
They would assume that the goblin was a personal attendant, Rufus
knew, at best.</p><p>They were about to be
rudely disabused.</p><p>He looked up into the
flash of cameras, waited until he thought he had their attention, and
began.</p><p>"As many of you
know, I am currently in control of all magic in the Ministry," he
said. And here came a wormy apple, right on cue, levitating at his
face. Rufus flicked it lazily out of the way with his wand, hoping it
had at least confirmed for whoever sent it that no, he did not
control all magic <em>outside</em> the Ministry. They could stop
murmuring about him hiding behind his walls, now. "I performed the
Ritual of Cincinnatus with the help of sixteen Wizengamot members,
including Elder Marchbanks." Griselda gave a little bow.</p><p>"What many of you do
not know is <em>why</em>.</p><p>"Our society has
struggled under a dark miasma of fear in the past few months. At
first, we blamed it on the werewolf attacks. Then, it came to my
attention that there had been attacks on Harry <em>vates</em> in the
Ministry itself." Rufus ignored the gasps that arose, and the
shouted questions about whether the <em>Vox Populi</em> had been right.
"I pondered, but I had good information saying that the attack was
not real, or at least misunderstood. I ignored it.</p><p>"And matters grew
worse and worse. The fear grew stronger. Laws were passed making it
impossible for werewolves to live among wizards. A jailbreak into
Tullianum took place. Harry <em>vates </em>went into rebellion.
Ministry scandals broke. Our world shook itself to the foundations,
and still I did not know what to do.</p><p>"Blame me for being
so pathetic and weak. Blame me for waiting so long to do what needed
to be done. In times of war, the British wizarding world looks first
to its Minister, and I have failed you.</p><p>"I took up the reins
on the same day that important information came to me. First, the
werewolf packs were betrayed by dreams—dreams that inflamed the
hatred of wizards who may have mildly disliked them, and then gave
away the location of their safe houses." Rufus heard the shouts
cease, and a peach that had been rising above someone's head
dropped back with a <em>splat</em>. He concealed a grim smile. <em>So,
the Liberator was right. </em>"And then, I learned that the hatred
of werewolves in the Ministry, the impulse to create laws against
them, came from a specific place: one of our own Departments, the
Department of Mysteries."</p><p>Everyone in the crowd
looked up as owls abruptly lifted from behind the stage, soaring into
the cloudy sky. They aimed in all directions, and scattered rapidly,
their wings beating hard enough to cause a rain of feathers to fall.</p><p>"Those are owls
bearing sealed letters containing this same information to a hundred
people of my own choosing," said Rufus calmly. "Those people
include various foreign Ministers of Magic. If the Department of
Mysteries chooses to try and <em>Obliviate</em> the lot of us, they
will not succeed in stifling the truth."</p><p>He saw a few people
Apparate away. Rufus shrugged. They were outside the Ministry; not
much he could do to stop them. And if they were frightened of the
Unspeakables, then he could hardly blame them.</p><p>"They wanted
werewolves to experiment on," he said. "And they wanted to use
the discoveries from that magic to control people." He paused and
swept the crowd with a sharp gaze. "All that hatred, all those
laws, all that killing done, merely to insure that some werewolves
came alive to Tullianum and their devices.</p><p>"They were the ones
who attacked Harry <em>vates.</em> They are the ones who have spent
lives, including the lives of people not connected at all with them,
to insure that he is captured or taken, and brought nothing but
death." He took a deep breath, and told his first deliberate lie of
the speech. Well, he'd had a lot of practice, since he was also
guarding the Ritual of Cincinnatus.</p><p>"They were the ones
who sent the dreams."</p><p>He saw faces grow
tight, and some of the looming fear in the crowd change to anger.
Rufus nodded slightly. He would not say that Falco Parkinson had sent
the dreams, although that was the truth, and he would certainly pass
that truth along to Harry. He would not betray the Liberator that
way; her family might be able to figure out from this announcement
that she had helped him. And Falco would be less cautious if he did
not realize that Rufus knew he existed, and that someone was spying
on him and passing information along.</p><p>And besides, it made
the Department of Mysteries into a perfect scapegoat. Rufus doubted
that they would contradict him. To do so, they would have to break
their own stated code of secrecy and silence. He expected an emissary
from the Department to approach him instead, and offer a quiet peace
agreement.</p><p>"We have lived in
fear of shadows, and the full moon, too long," Rufus concluded. "We
will do so no longer. We will make sure that all our people know the
difference between honest concern and open terror, and this is the
end of terror's reign." He lifted one of the pieces of parchment
in front of him. "Along with the repeal of the anti-werewolf laws,
the Wizengamot is now considering what peace terms should be offered
to Harry <em>vates.</em>"</p><p>"And when will <em>your
</em>reign of terror be done, Minister?" someone bold called out.</p><p>"When it's done,"
said Rufus, and allowed himself a full, tooth-bared smile this time.
"The Ministers in the past who did this? The Ritual of Cincinnatus
killed 'em if they tried to retain power beyond the point they
needed it."</p><p>More people blinked at
him.</p><p>"As well," said
Rufus casually, nodding to the <em>hanarz</em>, "matters have changed
between southern goblins and wizards. Madam Marchbanks and her
partner, the <em>hanarz</em>, will be delighted to speak to you about
that."</p><p>He stepped back, to
make it clear that although he lent his authority to what Griselda
and the <em>hanarz</em> had to say, this had not been his idea, and he
was not dominating their decisions.</p><p>He had done what he
could, he thought. The Wizengamot had indeed seen the implications of
Harry's ability to make other wizards <em>absorberes</em>. They had
agreed without hesitation to ask for peace, and to make the werewolf
laws much less restrictive. They had hemmed and hawed on Harry's
other requests.</p><p>It would take work,
Rufus knew. But arguments were much better than killing.</p><p>He saw a movement off
to the side, and looked down. Aurora Whitestag was approaching the
stage. She gazed up at him and smiled diffidently.</p><p>"Minister," she
said. "I was wondering if we might talk?"</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 46*: Not Every Problem Is His To Solve</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Six: Not Every Problem Is His To
Solve</strong></p><p>Connor winced as the
door slammed. Then he rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling.
He and the ceiling were fast becoming old friends.</p><p>He had tried, again,
to explain to Parvati that there was little chance of Harry coming
back and hurting them. She seemed to consider that he'd won his
battle. Connor didn't see how. The <em>Daily Prophet</em> kept
reporting on the progress of the arguments between Harry and the
Ministry, as they tried to hammer out acceptable laws to apply to the
werewolves, and debated about beginning to address the other terms
that Harry had wanted, including representatives sent to the northern
goblins and centaurs. Until that was finished, Connor knew Harry
wouldn't think he'd "won."</p><p>Parvati had still
argued that it was winning, and that Harry would come back all puffed
up with pride and expecting the Light pureblood families to do as he
bade them, since he'd not only taken their leader away but proven
that everything they'd ever done in relation to the centaurs,
goblins, and other species was wrong.</p><p>Connor couldn't help
it; he'd laughed at the thought of Harry <em>ever</em> being proud,
and Parvati had stormed out.</p><p>"Do you think she'll
ever come 'round?" he asked Ron, without looking at him.</p><p>Ron uttered a loud
grunt. Connor rolled over. Ron was bent over his Defense Against the
Dark Arts textbook, studying hard enough that the back of his neck
had turned red. Only Connor didn't think that was from the studying
at all.</p><p>"If you're angry
at me about Ginny running off to Harry, you know, you should say so
and get it over with," he told Ron, then waited.</p><p>As expected, Ron
slammed down his book and whirled around. "All <em>right</em>," he
snarled. "She hasn't responded to <em>one</em> bloody Howler that
Mum sent her. Not <em>one!</em> Does that mean she's happy for what
she did? Not sorry for it? That she's not thinking about what's
going to happen when she comes home? Mum won't let her out of her
<em>sight</em>. And she's blaming <em>me</em> for encouraging her
somehow!" Ron's face twisted up. "How could I have? We were
both in the dueling club last year, we both fought, but Hogwarts
<em>needed</em> us!"</p><p>"So your mum's
wrong," Connor concluded.</p><p>Ron glared at him.
"Don't you say that!"</p><p>"But you didn't
think Ginny was wrong to fight last year," said Connor, as
reasonably as he could. "Why do you think Ginny was wrong to run
off and fight this year?"</p><p>"Because she didn't
take me with her!"</p><p>Well. That was
unexpected. Connor lay in silence for a moment, blinking, and Ron
leaped to his feet, so swiftly he almost hit his head on the canopy
of his bed—he was growing, Connor thought, getting near as tall as
his brother Charlie—and grabbed his book, stuffing it into his
trunk. A moment later, he'd grabbed his broom, too, and looked at
Connor. "Let's go practice," he said.</p><p>Connor was about to
agree, since the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match wasn't far
away, when an owl he recognized came fluttering through the window of
the tower room. He grinned and shook his head. "Sorry, Ron, got a
letter from my friend," he said, and undid the letter tied to the
owl's leg.</p><p>Ron swore under his
breath and slammed the door shut behind him in unconscious imitation
of Parvati. Connor tore the letter open, stroking the owl's
feathers. She was beautiful, a dusky gray owl with black markings on
her legs and around her eyes. Connor didn't know her breed, and
neither did anyone whom he'd asked, but that didn't matter. She
was affectionate, too, ducking her head and nipping gently at his
fingers with her beak when he petted her.</p><p>The letter was sloppy,
as always. Mark wasn't the best writer.</p><p><em>Hi Connor!</em></p><p><em>Everyone's all
excited here. I don't think most of us know what to do with
ourselves while Harry plots and plans. I mean, he must know what he's
doing, right? But it's taking so bloody long! But no one else
really wants to criticize Harry to his face, except George. And,
well, George is all right and all, and I'm sure he misses his
family, but they wouldn't want to take him back </em>anyway<em>, he's
a </em>werewolf. <em>Try telling him that, though.</em></p><p><em>But for the most
part, it's brilliant here still, it's just all the waiting that I
can't stand. And it's a little overwhelming being around your
brother, sometimes. Imagine a waterfall that walks around and
sometimes grows a little louder than it needs to be and sheds
rainbows in one color. That's what his magic feels like to me. </em></p><p><em>Still no definite
answer on when we'll all be coming back. Harry's determined to
have the Minister's word before he moves. I can't blame him for
that. I want a law that says that we'll never be hunted again, but
Merlin knows if we'll get that. The Ministry, bunch of bloody
puffed-up fools, doesn't want to commit to anything, and Harry
actually tore up the latest version of the laws they sent him because
it was too restrictive.</em></p><p><em>Stupid idiots!</em></p><p><em>Anyway, I sent you
something I was playing with and thought you might like. I carve
sometimes when I have nothing better to do, and right now there's a
</em>lot <em>of 'nothing better' to do. I know you said you were a
Seeker, and I've seen pictures of you in the paper as a Seeker,
too, so I hope you like it!</em></p><p><em>Best wishes,</em></p><p><em>Mark.</em></p><p>Connor shook the
envelope, and a wooden Snitch fell out. The wings were just carved
into the sides, and wouldn't actually beat, but Connor thought it
could be enchanted to fly quite easily. He tapped it with his wand,
and it rose and hovered back and forth, though the wings still didn't
beat. Connor grabbed for it, and smiled.</p><p>Mark was a young
werewolf who'd started to write to him a few days after everyone
went to the valley. His first letter had been belligerent, insisting
that he wanted to know things about Harry from his brother, because
he didn't trust Harry not to lead them into a trap. Connor had
snapped back, wondering if he would have to tell his brother about a
traitor in the valley.</p><p>But Mark's second
letter had been much gentler and more conciliatory, and Connor had
eventually realized that what he needed was a <em>friend</em>, someone
to talk to about events in Woodhouse. He was much younger than the
other werewolves; apparently he'd just left Hogwarts two years ago,
had drifted from place to place, and finally had been sent to the
Ministry by his exasperated parents. Then he'd become part of the
Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts, and then
he'd become a werewolf. His life was hard enough to stir some
sympathy in Connor, and he wrote like an—like an <em>ordinary</em>
person, the way Connor supposed he himself was in the wake of his
revelation of Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived, the way Parvati had been
when he liked her. It was nice to have an ordinary friend to talk to,
even if Mark didn't tell him all that much that Connor couldn't
learn from Harry himself.</p><p>And the Snitch made a
fine gift.</p><p>Connor gathered up
parchment and ink to write back, sprawling on his bed while the
wooden Snitch darted around his head. Absently, he snatched it out of
the air, and then winced. Those stiff little wings <em>hurt.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Peter leaned forward,
eyes traveling over the tables while he ate. Next to him, Henrietta
Bulstrode made an anxious little noise in her throat. Peter glanced
at her, and she caught his eye and jerked her head at the Hufflepuff
table. He followed her line of sight.</p><p>Two seventh-year
students were arguing in low, heated voices. One of them abruptly
shook her head, and turned back to her meal. The other watched her
with his face set in stone. Then he began eating, too. Peter raised
his eyebrows.</p><p>"What?" he asked
Henrietta. The students could have been arguing over Quidditch, exam
marks, or, considering that they were male and female, a dating
arrangement gone sour. Neither was in his NEWT Defense Against the
Dark Arts, so he didn't know them.</p><p>"The boy has a Dark
Mark," said Henrietta, as if this happened every day.</p><p>Peter stiffened.
Henrietta pinched his arm, the left one, just above the Mark. Peter
shook himself and remembered the lessons he'd learned during his
months in the Death Eaters—hell, the lessons he'd learned in his
seventh year, when he'd had to conceal disgust and anger to keep
his friends. He picked up his fork and ate several peas. By the time
he was done with that, he had remembered how to look calm again. "How
can you know?" he murmured, his voice just a breath of air.</p><p>"Spell," said
Henrietta, and tapped her wand, which rode in her belt, close against
her left hip. "It flashes me a vision of a dark green skull with a
snake in its mouth whenever someone with a Dark Mark gets close
enough. I know about yours, but now that Snape is gone, you should be
the only one here who has one. And today that student passed me in
the hall, and the skull flashed in front of me."</p><p>"He's not in your
NEWT Transfiguration, either?" Peter asked, though he knew the
answer as he did. If he were, then Henrietta would have sensed his
Mark long before now.</p><p>"No," said
Henrietta. "I think his name is Leo, but that's all I know about
him. He wouldn't have wanted to make an impression on many of his
professors, I think." She gave a thin smile and stroked her wand.
"And now we know why."</p><p>"If we try to corner
him, he'll run," said Peter. He knew that much, from experience
with some Marked Slytherins in his sixth year. Evan Rosier had very
nearly killed someone else before he'd fled school grounds, simply
because someone caught a glimpse of the Mark under his robe and
stopped to ask him about his new tattoo.</p><p>"I know that,"
Henrietta said, in a slightly scornful voice, as if asking him what
in the world he was doing, thinking she didn't <em>know</em> that.
"Watch." She waved her wand and intoned an incantation that, to
Peter, sounded singsong. He saw one of the forks next to Henrietta
twitch and grow legs, and then it became an enormous ant, which
slipped under the head table before anyone else could see it.</p><p>Peter could only make
the ant out by squinting as it scuttled its way over to the
Hufflepuff table; Henrietta had darkened it when she Transfigured it,
so that the silver wouldn't flash and reveal its position. There
could be no doubt when it reached the boy with the Dark Mark, though.
He leaped to his feet, screaming and waving his arms as though he'd
been stung, pulling attention from all over the Great Hall.</p><p>"Mr. Harkness!"
Professor Sprout was on her feet, no doubt appalled that one of her
students was causing such a disturbance in public. "What <em>is</em>
the meaning of this?"</p><p>"There was a huge
bug!" Leo cried back, and Peter wondered if his high-pitched voice
was honest fear or good acting. Then he winced. He hated that he had
to wonder things like that. "It—" He pointed under the table,
but Peter would have given good Galleons on the chance that
Henrietta's little toy had already hidden itself in a shadowy
corner. Leo's face fell. "Well, there was one right here," he
concluded, rather lamely.</p><p>"That is no reason
to disrupt dinner," said Professor Sprout sternly. Pomona was
generally cheerful, Peter thought as he watched her, but then, most
of the students in her class paid strict attention, so as not to get
eaten by dangerous plants. And she did expect better behavior of her
House than this. "You will sit down at once."</p><p>"Yes, ma'am,"
said Leo, sounding thoroughly abashed, and started to.</p><p>Henrietta had murmured
another spell, however, one that Peter recognized as a cutting curse
that did not produce a visible line of light. As Leo sat down, his
left robe sleeve sagged, slit down the line of the seam.</p><p>And because everyone
was looking at him, everyone saw the Mark.</p><p>The screams were
immediate, and the girl sitting next to him was one of the first to
crowd away, the expression of horror on her face so genuine that
Peter didn't think their argument had been about the Mark after
all. Leo froze for a moment, and then leaped to his feet and drew his
wand, obviously intending to fight his way out of the Hall.</p><p>Wards lashed out of
the wall, blue lines that bound his arms to his sides and squeezed on
his wrist until he dropped his wand with a squall of pain. Then
Minerva's voice spoke, so cold that most of the screams stopped at
once, and Leo turned bulging, miserable eyes on her.</p><p>"Mr. Harkness,"
she said. "I will deal with you <em>now</em>." She left the head
table with a sweep of her robes and a curl of color along the edges
of them—a result of the wards that foamed around the Hogwarts
Headmistress and hissed with her indignation. The wards gripping Leo
turned and pulled him straight into the stones, bearing him to the
Headmistress's office by the shortest route. The last sound he made
before he vanished was a miserable, strangled cry.</p><p>"I suppose I should
go, too, and inform her of what I know," said Henrietta casually,
standing. "Which isn't much." She cocked her head at Peter.
"You'll stay here?"</p><p>"Yes," said Peter
faintly, and moved to join his other colleagues in calming the
frightened students while Henrietta strode through them like they
weren't there and vanished out the Hall's doors.</p><p>Peter shook his head
as he walked towards the Gryffindor table to check on his students.
Previously, he had divided the entirety of the school into three
rough groups, based on their reactions to the Ministry and Harry's
negotiations: scornful, the ones who were impatient for this all to
be over with and thought nothing would change; frightened, those who
thought this would mean things would change fundamentally and were
wary of sharing a school with a fellow student so powerful; and
supportive, those who understood something about why Harry was doing
what he had done and embraced it.</p><p>Now, it seemed as
though he needed to add potential Death Eaters to the list.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Minerva arrived in her
office to find Leo sitting in a chair, his eyes wide and his hands
flexing as if he could grip the wards and rip them apart like ropes.
He stopped trying to tear them when he saw her, and instead only
lowered his head so that his chin rested on his chest, avoiding her
eyes.</p><p>Minerva opened her
mouth, ready to say something, and then decided that it would be best
to wait for Professor Sprout and Henrietta; she had noticed the other
woman's games at the head table, whether or not Henrietta thought
she had. She had not been Transfiguration Professor for nothing. She
sat down and waited in the midst of a cold silence. Leo sometimes
looked at her as if he would like to say something, but he always
turned his head away again, as much as the wards would permit him.</p><p>Minerva considered him
in the meanwhile. He had been a student in her classes for five
years, and she had known him, slightly. He worked quietly, and the
only time she remembered him losing points for Hufflepuff was in his
first year, when he had a hard time not talking to his friends in
class. He was a halfblood, or so she thought; he had said something
to her once about his mother being a witch, and how he had thought
the spells in Hogwarts would be easier than what she'd taught him
at home. He was slight, with brown hair and brown eyes and an
altogether unremarkable appearance. It seemed that he'd continued
that trend of ordinariness, and turned it into a virtue for his Death
Eater status.</p><p>Soon enough, Pomona
spoke the password for the gargoyle. Henrietta arrived just behind
her, according to the wards, and both of them rode the staircase
upwards. Minerva composed herself, and put memories of the child Leo
had been away. What mattered now was that he was a young man, and he
had made this decision, and they would deal with him as an adult.</p><p>Pomona arrived and
immediately turned and stared at Leo. "Mr. Harkness," she said,
and then no more. She simply shook her head. Minerva was glad to see
that. Last year, Filius had defended one of his students who attached
Harry, and who had turned out to be a Death Eater. Pomona might have
done the same if there were no conclusive proof, but not with the
Mark glaring black on his arm.</p><p>"The extent of his
involvement in the Death Eaters is what we are here to determine,"
said Minerva calmly. "Be seated, Pomona, Hilda." She remembered
to speak Henrietta's disguise-name just in time.</p><p>Pomona took a seat
with such rapidity that she almost tripped over her robes; she
couldn't seem to look away from her student. Henrietta sat down
primly, sweeping her skirts around her. Minerva could see why she had
chosen this disguise. It was almost as far as one could get from the
dangerous woman Henrietta Bulstrode was known for being, who would
want robes that did not hinder her movement.</p><p>"Mr. Harkness,"
said Minerva then, facing him, "you are accused of being a Death
Eater. Do you deny the accusation?"</p><p>Leo was silent for
long moments, as if trying to decide how much he ought to tell. Then
he said, "I never—I've never met the Dark Lord or anything like
that. I just have the Mark."</p><p>"And why is that?"
Considering that she wanted to shout, Minerva thought she did well in
keeping her voice just cold enough to crack stone.</p><p>"My mother—my
mother supported the Death Eaters in the First War," said Leo, and
jerked his head nervously. "She spent a year in Azkaban, but she
was released, finally. She never really gave up on him, though." He
threaded his fingers together and clenched them. The wards that held
him would let him do that much. "She talked to me about the Dark
Lord. A lot. And sometimes she thought he would come again, and she
could do more than she had. But she didn't know what to do about
it, until she heard of his resurrection."</p><p>The words were
spilling out now, and Minerva quietly told the wards in her office to
record what Leo said. It might be that they would need it for
testimony later, if Pensieve memories did not prove to be enough.</p><p>"Then she spoke to
one of the Death Eater recruiters when he came. Azkaban broke her.
She—she couldn't really do anything to help the war. But she
could ask me to take the Mark. I did, this summer, when I turned
seventeen. I just—I just wanted to please her, that's all."
Leo's lips and eyelids were both trembling. "I've never killed
anyone. I swear. My mum's not even Marked. She just supported the
Dark Lord and lent money to him. And I don't know if I even believe
what he does." He stared miserably at the Mark on his arm, as if it
should have the answers.</p><p>Pomona closed her
eyes. Henrietta, cool as Midwinter, said, "He is lying."</p><p>Leo's eyes flashed
open, and he stared at her. Minerva frowned. "In what way?"</p><p>"Only the Dark Lord
can give the Dark Mark," said Henrietta. "And it must happen in
an initiation. If he didn't meet the Dark Lord, then he would not
bear the Mark. That is the truth of it."</p><p>"I didn't meet
him!" Leo's voice was shrill with fear now. "I swear, I didn't,
I <em>didn't</em>. The recruiter was the one who gave me the Mark. He
pointed the wand at me and intoned <em>Morsmordre</em>, and there it
was. It wasn't an initiation. I didn't kill anyone. I swear."</p><p>"Extend your arm,"
said Minerva, and he nearly snapped the wards in doing so. She bent
forward and stared at the Mark on his arm, frowning. It was true that
it looked exactly as it should look, black snake and skull entwined,
and it radiated magic that rang as Dark to her senses.</p><p>On the other hand, she
had wards on the grounds that should have prevented someone with the
Dark Mark and hostile intent from entering the school at all. And if
Leo hadn't killed someone, it was not a true initiation. That much,
the Order of the Phoenix had known since the First War. All Death
Eater initiations involved a murder, though the exact method of
killing and the age of the victim would vary widely.</p><p>"Keep your arm
extended, Mr. Harkness," she said, and pointed her own wand at the
Mark. "<em>Abi in malam rem</em>!"</p><p>Leo gasped as the
magic broke over his flesh, gripping his skin and twisting it.
Minerva flinched a bit as she listened to his howls, but didn't let
it show on her face. It was a painful Transfiguration, but it was
also nearly as good a test as Veritaserum would be. The spell
banished an unwanted change back to the person who had first cast the
spell. If Leo <em>had</em> wanted to bear the Dark Mark—another trait
of Death Eaters; the Mark could only come to one who was willing—then
the brand would stay in place, and Minerva would arrange with Horace
for Veritaserum.</p><p>But the Mark shrank
and writhed and paled, and then it gathered itself into a hive of
black bees that flew, angrily buzzing, at the wall and vanished. Leo
stared down at his arm. A faint, white scar in the shape of the snake
and skull still showed. Minerva nodded. He had been partially
willing, then. And since Henrietta had seen fit to reveal the Mark in
front of the Great Hall, they would have to insist that Leo leave
Hogwarts for at least a little while. But he was supremely unlikely
to be executed or imprisoned, now, and he would be able to return to
Hogwarts next year, if no earlier, to finish his NEWTS.</p><p>"Thank you," Leo
whispered. "Thank you."</p><p>Minerva nodded to him
again. "You are welcome, Mr. Harkness. However, I believe that it
would be best if you stayed away from home for right now? What would
your mother do to you when she noticed this Mark gone?"</p><p>Leo closed his eyes.</p><p>"I have friends who
can find him a place to stay," said Pomona, her face bright with
relief at not having to expel one of her students. She stood and held
out her arm. "Come along, Mr. Harkness."</p><p>Minerva didn't relax
the wards. "Just one moment, Pomona." She turned back to Leo. "I
want your binding oath that you will never truly take the Mark, and
that you will not take up arms against Hogwarts," she said.</p><p>Leo gave the oath
gladly, swearing it in the name of Merlin and his magic, and then
Minerva let Pomona lead him away. She was already speaking gently to
him as they went. The gentle tone would hide sharp questions, Minerva
knew. If the boy <em>was</em> hiding anything else, Pomona would have
it out of him before he left school.</p><p>That left her alone
with Henrietta, who frowned slightly. "So that Mark was a false
one?"</p><p>"It was," Minerva
confirmed. "A Transfiguration. The recruiter, whoever he was,
doubtless did it nonverbally, and used <em>Morsmordre</em> to cover
that. But it was not an initiation." She frowned at Henrietta. "I
wish you had come to me privately with this, instead of confronting
him before the Great Hall. He might not have had to leave school."</p><p>"And he might have
been lying," said Henrietta, without batting an eye. "There was
no way to tell, and I take no chances where Harry's safety is
concerned."</p><p>Minerva told herself
this was a natural consequence of hiring someone like Henrietta
Bulstrode as a professor, and dismissed her. Then she sat back behind
her desk and closed her eyes.</p><p><em>So we have someone
giving false Dark Marks to those who might succumb to familial
pressure to bear them. And why? To keep the Ministry occupied? To
ruin the reputations of ordinary wizards and witches? But most of
those who would be most damaged by being exposed as Death Eaters are
so opposed to Voldemort that they would never agree to carry the Dark
Mark in the first place.</em></p><p>So involved was she in
her thoughts that she did not notice the gargoyle beginning to move
until it already had. Then she opened her eyes and looked sharply
through the wards. A student was on her way up the staircase, a
student with long blonde hair and large glasses whom Minerva
recognized a few moments later.</p><p><em>Miss Lovegood. And
what does she want?</em> There was the possibility that she might have
information on Leo, as, last year, she had been able to tell Minerva
which of the Ravenclaw students had cast the Entrail-Expelling Curse
at Harry. Therefore, Minerva waited until the door to her office
opened and Luna stepped inside.</p><p>Luna's face was
intent, and she moved across the office with a silence and purpose
that Minerva found herself curiously reluctant to interrupt. She
reached the middle, just before Minerva's desk, and turned around,
hands extended and pointing towards the bookshelves. Minerva glanced
from side to side, but could see no books rising from their settings
in what might be response to a nonverbal spell or accidental magic.
She returned to looking at Luna, a bit bemused, but willing to wait.
Since learning the girl heard impressions from objects, she was much
more tolerant of her foibles, and had instructed the other professors
to be the same way.</p><p>Luna opened her mouth
and moved her lips in round shapes, as if tasting bubbles. Then she
gave a little hop forward and held out her arms in front of her. Her
fingers poked and prodded at an invisible wall for a long moment
before she abruptly opened her eyes and smiled.</p><p>"It's gone," she
said. "It really is."</p><p>"Miss Lovegood?"
Minerva kept her voice from sounding irritated, but she was not sure
puzzled was that much better. It would have done her incredible harm
with any number of sixth-year Gryffindor students. But Luna seemed
too far gone in her own concerns to notice if the Headmistress
sounded confused, and answered seriously.</p><p>"There was an object
in your office that hated the whole world, Headmistress," she said.
"I felt it when I visited you last year to tell you what the chairs
said about Gilbert Rovenan. It was so <em>angry</em>. It hated, and it
wanted to tear and rend and destroy." She faced Minerva with a
dazzling beam. "But it's gone."</p><p>"It is," said
Minerva flatly. She was not sure what most disturbed her: that she
could have had something like that in her office, no doubt a
dangerous enchanted object of some kind, or that it could have <em>moved.</em></p><p>"Yes." Luna smiled
at the bookcases. "When you reorganized your office, you must have
got rid of it. You got rid of a lot, I think. These shelves are new."
She stepped forward and ran one hand across the wood. "And happy
with it," she added. "New objects like being in places full of
old ones. They can talk and share stories that they might never get
to hear, otherwise."</p><p>Minerva prevented
herself, with difficulty, from deterring into a discussion of what
stories her bookshelves might have heard. The thought of the walls,
floors, and doors watching her every move of their own accord,
without wards, was disconcerting. "Do you know what it was, Miss
Lovegood?"</p><p>"I never knew,"
said Luna, her voice already back to its content, dreamy self. "It
felt like a Wrackspurt, and I know that Wrackspurts come into
people's heads at night and cause evil dreams, or change their
actions. But it wasn't a Wrackspurt, because then it would have
come into someone's head, not into an object. They can't control
objects." She gave a little frown. "Headmistress, could you tell
people to stop splashing water on the stones in the courtyard?
Several of them spent centuries at the bottom of an ocean, and they
don't like the wet. Rain and snow is bad enough. I've tried
talking to the people who splash across them dripping from Quidditch
practice, but they don't want to listen to me."</p><p>Minerva felt the same
helplessness that had confronted Luna's professors for so long,
before they began learning how to listen. She restrained it, and said
only, "I'm afraid that you must take that up with Madam Hooch,
Miss Lovegood. Perhaps she would be willing to tell the Quidditch
teams that they must dry thoroughly before they come in from the
practice field. And, of course, there are the students trekking back
and forth from Professor Sprout's greenhouses to consider, and the
Care of Magical Creatures classes."</p><p>"I didn't think
about them," said Luna, brightening. "I'll talk to the
professors, Madam. Thank you." She turned and wandered out of the
office.</p><p>Minerva gave her walls
another searching glance. It was true she had moved most of Albus's
artifacts out of the office after last year, but she thought she
would have known if she had something that powerfully enchanted, and
Dark, in here.</p><p>She thought.</p><p><em>What could it have
been? And where could it have gone? </em>The worse thought was
definitely that the thing possessed the power of moving itself about.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Hawthorn opened her
eyes with a start. She'd had trouble sleeping, of late. If she
wasn't having nightmares of Tullianum Prison, she was having
nightmares of the Thorn Bitch's plants tearing Pansy apart in front
of her.</p><p>She sat up and called
<em>Lumos </em>to her wand, which sent flickering shadows around the
room—but that was better than the absolute darkness she had tried
to sleep in. Once, she had only been able to sleep without light.
Lately, it gave her foul dreams.</p><p>She stood, scratching
her left arm, and walked across her narrow room to stare out the
window. She could see the moon from here. It was very nearly full.</p><p>She would have to
transform, again. Her skin crawled with the thought.</p><p>She had become <em>used</em>
to being a werewolf, but she would never love it, the way that so
many members of the packs did. She would never want anything more
than to be a pureblood witch again. Well, and she wanted her husband
and daughter, but she knew that was impossible.</p><p>The cure might not be.</p><p>Hawthorn watched the
moon, and remembered what Harry had said of the potion he thought
might help cure lycanthropy, and how each werewolf would have to
prepare his or her own dose, and how even then it was difficult and
stood a sixty percent chance of killing the werewolf.</p><p>The thought came
sneaking into her head, for the first time. Before, she had only
allowed herself to consider brewing processes, and spells that might
let her transfer her magic into a liquid.</p><p><em>I would be willing
to take the risk.</em></p><p>She had said she was
going to live, after Harry came back and after they swore to the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow, but she hadn't, had she? A month and a
half of blissful life, and then she had been cast into the cells.</p><p>Those three days
without the sun, at the mercy of the moon, had changed something
fundamental in her, Hawthorn knew, something she was still recovering
from. She would bear what she had to bear, and she would survive,
because suicide was for weaklings and cowards. But she did not want
to live as she had been, a beast who could be hunted and hated. The
new werewolf laws might make her more acceptable, but she would still
smell the fear and disgust around normal wizards and witches, now
that they knew what she was.</p><p>She could take no
pleasure in it, as someone like Camellia could. Camellia had been
bitten before she was a year old; she had never known anything else,
at least not that she could remember. Hawthorn had spent decades of
her life as a normal witch. A little more than three years of being a
werewolf was not enough to make her a Camellia.</p><p>She closed her eyes. <em>I
want to change once more—become a normal witch, with no
lycanthropy.</em></p><p><em>Once, and no more.</em></p><p>She would begin
working on the werewolf cure for herself, tomorrow.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Adalrico sighed and
bent to bandage his heel again. The Fisher King Curse that Augustus
Starrise had gifted him with before he died needed to be regularly
tended to and cleaned and bandaged. The wound would not kill him, and
it would not become infected, and it would not close. It simply
existed, impairing his walking and his life, if he allowed the smell
to build.</p><p>He had become very
good at spells that would conceal foul scents since Augustus died,
even from werewolves. There was that to be said for the state of
things.</p><p>But when one was awake
in the middle of the night, troubled by evil dreams of one's own
past, learning to conceal foul scents seemed small compensation.
Adalrico scratched his left shoulder and yawned, then lay down again
next to Elfrida, trying not to wake her. Marian slept in a cot in a
corner of the room, and Millicent was in the room next door. Too easy
to stir someone to alertness, if he did not watch out.</p><p>And then, of course,
he couldn't sleep. He lay awake and stared over his wife's
shoulder instead, watching the reflections of the moonlight on the
wall.</p><p>This was not the war
he had envisioned when he had joined Harry, he thought. He had
thought he would have a chance to fight those who were trying to
stifle <em>all</em> independence and change in the wizarding world,
whether those wizards were Light or Dark. Part of him had rejoiced at
going to war again, after so many years of peace. He had served an
unworthy master the last time, but this time there had come one
worthy of a Bulstrode. When Harry had built the Alliance of Sun and
Shadow, and then cast his defiance in the Minister's face, Adalrico
had been ecstatic. Surely, now, he would have a chance to fight.</p><p>And he had not. Other
than their jailbreak in the Ministry, the fights had ended before he
could enter them, and he had not had the time to cast a single spell.</p><p>Elfrida stirred and
murmured against him. Adalrico comfortingly rubbed her shoulder,
still watching the light and shadows on the wall.</p><p>He wanted to fight. He
wanted to prove to the wizarding world that the Bulstrodes had pride
still. Their motto was <em>Duramus</em>, We endure, but he also wanted
to triumph. The best way he could do that was in battle, and there
was so little chance of that, as long as Harry operated by tact and
diplomacy and argument. His daughter was a different case, but
Millicent had proven that she was an adult woman to him this summer,
no longer standing in his shadow. He could not point to her as an
example of his honor; she had her own.</p><p><em>And whose fault is
that? </em></p><p>Adalrico took a long
breath, wrinkled his nose at the smell that always lingered after he
had changed his bandages, and closed his eyes. It was his own fault,
his own fault entirely. This was not the war he had envisioned. That
did not make it the wrong war. It meant he had something to
contribute, if he could look beyond the end of his nose. He had known
some tact; he had managed to survive in the vipers' nest that was
the Death Eaters, after all. Perhaps he should be thinking about
drawing on that experience to serve Harry, instead of expecting
Harry's experience to change so he could show off to advantage.</p><p>He was an adult, and a
wizard, and he had lived through much, including the first rise and
the first fall of the Dark Lord. Now was only another change to ride.</p><p>It was not long after
that before his breathing slowed and deepened to match his wife's,
and he fell back into a sleep that, this time, was plagued by no evil
dreams.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 47*: Homo Homini Lupus</h2>
			<p>The title of this
chapter is Latin, and means, "Man is a wolf to other men." Also,
the ending could be considered a cliffhanger.</p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Seven: Homo Homini Lupus</strong>
<p>Rufus signed his name
to the document with a flourish, then sat back and looked over it. He
felt sure Harry would agree to this set of laws. They did everything
that he had asked for, and they were more than he might have expected
to win over two years of asking.</p><p>They insisted that
werewolves had the same rights as wizards—the right to exist
without being hunted, the right to fair trials if they were accused
of crimes, the right to hold wands and paying jobs and property, the
right to custody of their children, and the right to exist without
collars and without papers and without experimentation. They included
provisions for distribution of Wolfsbane to werewolves who agreed to
register themselves as lycanthropes; otherwise, due to the fact that
people existed who <em>would</em> buy Wolfsbane just to keep it out of
the hands of werewolves, they would have to make their own
arrangements. Since Harry had mentioned in his last letter that he
thought there was a possibility that a werewolf cure might emerge
someday, after months of dedicated work, Rufus had added a promise
that the funds originally used to establish the Department for the
Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts would go to studying the
cure instead.</p><p>In a few weeks, the
new Goblin Board would begin sending its representatives out to
negotiate with the northern goblins. Most of the representatives were
human, but there were some southern goblins, at the <em>hanarz's</em>
insistence. Rufus hoped they would be able to begin by the sixteenth
of November.</p><p>And there were some
wizards in training with the Department for the Regulation and
Control of Magical Creatures to contact the centaurs. Rufus was
privately uncertain how effective that would be; unless Harry led
every party himself, there remained a certain element of terror in
venturing into the Forbidden Forest. But it was the good faith effort
that Harry had asked for.</p><p>The bigger projects—in
particular, reaching out to magical species all around the world, and
potentially eliminating the boundaries between wizards and
Muggles—would have to wait. Rufus didn't think they would be able
to accomplish them anyway, given how protective other wizarding
communities tended to be of their own territory, but Harry had
surprised him before. If he could succeed, then Rufus had no problems
lending his voice and praise to Harry's efforts.</p><p>And so, it was done.</p><p>All except for one
thing, of course.</p><p>Rufus turned his head
expectantly towards the door just as the knock sounded. The hardest
thing to give up when the Ritual of Cincinnatus left him, he thought,
would be the wards. He had adapted to using them almost as a second
pair of eyes. He had caught two Aurors beating a prisoner that way
the other day—they obviously hadn't realized the Minister
controlled wards in Tullianum, as well—and several more employees
in minor infractions that he could come in and personally inquire
about. The temporary Head of the Auror Office, a young man named
Bingley, was scrambling hard to keep up with everything, but Rufus
had done better on his own than he expected.</p><p>And now he knew that
an Unspeakable was coming to see him.</p><p>"Come in," he
called.</p><p>The young man who
walked in had his hood down, giving Rufus his first glimpse of an
Unspeakable's face. He was handsome enough, a wizard with black
hair and brown eyes and vaguely familiar features; Rufus thought he
might have known this one's brother or father in Auror training
once. He sat down facing Rufus and inclined his head in a shallow
nod, before speaking in that same inflectionless voice they all had.</p><p>"Minister. The Stone
has offered this peace treaty." He held out a parchment that Rufus
knew wasn't enchanted with harmful spells. He had specifically
forbidden the members of the Department of Mysteries to use any magic
in their own domain. This had been written entirely by hand; they
hadn't even been able to <em>Accio</em> the parchment or the quill to
themselves.</p><p>Rufus scanned it
carefully. Every term was just as he'd asked for, though, even in
the language that he asked for. The Department of Mysteries agreed to
stop their experiments on werewolves, to serve the good of the
Ministry first and foremost instead of their <em>own</em> good, not to
war with Harry, and to avoid pressuring the members of the Wizengamot
as they had done in the recent past with Amelia Bones and others.
They also agreed to reduce their spy wards throughout the Ministry to
wards on Tullianum and on the eighth floor, the Atrium, only; those
wards would help defend the Department.</p><p>Rufus wondered if he
could really trust the Department of Mysteries. But then, he had
ruined their cover of secrecy rather spectacularly. In the past few
weeks, his people had called loudly and more loudly for an
investigation into the Department itself, to split it open and expose
its secrets to the air. Rufus had known that trying to force the
Unspeakables to open their doors would be walking into a death trap,
especially given the Stone's immunity to magic. But he could and
would use the stalemate to reach an agreement, and now it seemed that
he had.</p><p>"You know that by
signing this, it commits you?" he asked, and held out the parchment
towards the Unspeakable. "And if we see you disobeying <em>anything</em>
on this list, or even suspect that you have, I will simply disband
the Department and declare all Unspeakables outlaws."</p><p>The man gave him a
thin smile, but his voice remained the same inflectionless wonder as
before. "We do, Minister. I have the Stone's full permission to
sign this, I assure you. And we do find it much easier to work within
the Ministry than outside it." He picked up the quill on Rufus's
desk.</p><p>Rufus shuddered. He
could feel the ripple and twitch in the air, the sliding power of
another mind in the room with him. He lifted his head with an effort,
and met the Unspeakable's eyes, and realized the Stone was looking
out at him from them.</p><p>"I am here," said
the voice. It was deep now, and no longer without inflection, though
the words stopped and started at odd points, and Rufus would not have
said that he could identify the emotion that inhabited them. "I
have approved this."</p><p>The Unspeakable bent
and signed <em>The Stone</em>. The words blazed across the parchment to
Rufus's eyes, letters of red and gold, and then the great presence
departed, and he was left sitting at his desk, stunned and shaken.
The young man rose to his feet, bowed, and then turned and left as
well.</p><p><em>It is just as well
that we never tried to go to war with that thing. This is inadequate
as a punishment for all they have done, but it is the best we can do.</em></p><p>Rufus gathered up the
signed documents and turned around to hand them to Percy for copying.
One set would go to the <em>Daily Prophet</em>, which tracked all the
negotiations, and one to Harry. If he approved them, then the debacle
would be done and the rebellion could conclude.</p><p>Rufus rather hoped
Harry would approve them, and not just because he was tired of the
arguing. There was something rather poetic about a rebellion that
began with September's full moon and ended with October's.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"What are you
worried about, Harry?"</p><p>Harry started. He had
come into the room where Joseph was waiting for him to begin one of
their talks, but his thoughts had been elsewhere, and he had believed
he was alone. "I'm not worried about anything new," he said,
and sat down. "I think we were talking about my hand last time,
sir."</p><p>"Call me Joseph,"
said the Seer, sitting back and cocking his head. "And, forgive me,
Harry, but most people who observe you for a long period of time will
note the way your forehead furrows and you bite your lip when you're
worried about something. And you were doing it just now."</p><p>Harry sighed. <em>I
have to learn to control my facial features. Another set of lessons,
I suppose. </em>"The full moon is coming," he said. "The third
one since Loki made his vow of vengeance. That means that he's
going to attack and kill the third hunter who killed his mate,
Gudrun."</p><p>"And you are
worrying about finding this hunter and sparing his life?" Joseph
asked.</p><p>Harry scowled. Joseph
had a gentle and patient tone that made him want to hit things. It
was even worse than Vera's. Vera, he hadn't met under the best
circumstances, and so he was willing to forgive her almost anything
once he accepted the idea that she'd spied on his soul without his
consent. But Joseph was supposed to be <em>Snape's </em>Seer, and
Harry had agreed to talk to him only under duress. "Yes, of course
I am," he said shortly. "It was partly Kieran's death that made
me start this rebellion in the first place, and a wish to find some
other way for wizards and werewolves to live together that didn't
depend upon oaths of vengeance. But I don't even know where the
third hunter is, just that his family has taken him into hiding
somewhere in France. And I'm sure Loki has already crossed the
Channel by now."</p><p>"Have you warned his
family about the consequences of standing in his way?" Joseph
asked.</p><p>"I sent owls. I
never received a reply."</p><p>"Then you have done
all you can," said Joseph firmly. "But this is a new subject for
us, and one I would like to discuss. Kieran's death."</p><p>Harry shook his head
and stood, turning towards the door.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>"I agreed to talk to
you because I wanted to be a better son to Professor Snape," Harry
said quietly, staring straight ahead. "And because I recognize my
own healing is an important goal." <em>Just one that takes up so
much damn time, time I can't afford right now. </em>It had ended up
taking Draco and Snape together to insist that he talk to Joseph at
all. He would have been willing to make another journey to the
Sanctuary, but in the <em>future</em>, not right now. These arguments
with Joseph took away from valuable time when he could have been
talking over future plans with the packs, reviewing the latest laws
the Minister'd sent him, peeking in on Hawthorn as she worked with
the lycanthropy cure, soothing the karkadann, conversing with the
northern goblins and the centaurs, envisioning his Animagus form,
studying the final curse on his hand, or simply resting with Draco.
"Not because I thought that I needed to heal from <em>every</em>
single thing that had ever happened to me."</p><p>"Kieran's death
had some part in the beginning of the rebellion, you said," said
Joseph. "Obviously, it's recent, and it's important to you. I
would like to know why."</p><p>Harry let his breath
out. He could get angry, of course he could, but it was unproductive
to get angry at Joseph. He simply looked at Harry, or Snape for that
matter, with wise and patient eyes, and it worked as well as hitting
a brick wall—more likely to break something in the one doing the
hitting than move the recipient anywhere.</p><p>"It's a horrible
story," he said. "I promised to protect Kieran, and I couldn't.
He died. I failed." He swallowed several times, and for a moment
saw Loki again, shimmering pale as he smashed through the door. He
saw Kieran's blood flying, heard the flesh parting under Loki's
nails and teeth. He remembered the feeling of spinning down and down
as he had knelt there, the momentary impulse to kill himself and be
done with it. If everything he put his hand to failed anyway, the
world could more than spare him, it would be better off without him.</p><p>And he had hauled
himself back from that, because he had known that the world would not
really be better off without him, and he had transformed that despair
into determination to see wizards and werewolves adopt some better
way of living side by side. If he could have saved Kieran, he might
not ever have found that stubbornness. He would still have done
something when he heard Hawthorn was arrested, but it might not have
been rebelling.</p><p><em>It's past, and I
rescued what scraps of worth I could from that, and made use of them.
</em>Harry deliberately slowed his breathing. <em>I don't need to
talk about it the way Joseph imagines I need to talk about it. Snape
gains value from reliving his memories because he denied they
happened for so long, or he rewrote them in his mind and made them
into something else. I haven't done that. I remember all my
failures very well, thank you. </em></p><p>"I think there is
more to it than that," said Joseph.</p><p>Harry blinked, and
returned to the room, and remembered the last words he'd spoken to
Joseph. He shook his head and gave him a grim smile. "Nothing
important."</p><p>"Really." Joseph
leaned forward. "I have seen how fervently you defend all those
around you, Harry. I do not like to imagine what would happen if
someone under your protection died. It must have been a horrible
evening for you."</p><p>"I <em>told</em> you
it was a horrible story," said Harry, with a slight shrug.</p><p>"Have you spoken
with anyone about this at all?" Joseph pressed. "Draco, one of
your adult allies, Severus?"</p><p>"No," said Harry.
"I don't see the need to. I took all the lessons I could from it,
and that's the end."</p><p>"What were the
lessons?"</p><p>"That I needed to do
something more than make empty promises," snapped Harry, and winced
as he saw a current of wind pick up from the corner of his eye,
rattling the delicate parchment maps that Joseph had hung on the
walls, and which seemed to be his main form of decoration. "I'm
sorry, but I don't think I'll ever be ready or willing to talk
about this," he added, and then stepped out and shut the door
behind him.</p><p>The bird was waiting
for him in the hall. It didn't try to claw him this time. It simply
clung to the wall of the corridor, not very far away given how narrow
most rooms in Woodhouse were, and stared at him. The claws on its
wings opened and flexed shut in peculiar ways. Its red eyes were more
piercing when it wasn't laughing at him, Harry thought, not less.</p><p>"I don't know what
you want," he whispered to it. "I have tried to kill Voldemort
before. It didn't work. Twice, the Killing Curse didn't work."</p><p>The bird flew over and
hovered in front of him. Harry braced himself for another meaningless
image. The bird had taken to showing him those over the past weeks.
One was a dark burrow with a golden cup inside it, and one a dark
house that looked vaguely familiar, but was surrounded by trees in
full leaf that Harry was sure he had never seen, and one was a view
of Hogwarts, and one was a cramped, narrow desk in an unpleasantly
Muggle-looking place.</p><p>Harry had tried asking
questions about the images. He had tried drawing them and showing
them to others, but Snape and Draco and Thomas couldn't tell him
what they meant either. He had tried willing himself to Apparate to
them, but other than Hogwarts, where he didn't want to go until his
rebellion was officially finished and he could be readmitted as a
student, they were too indistinct to permit that. He didn't know
what to do with them.</p><p>But this time, the
bird didn't show him a meaningless image, but one full of meaning.
In fact, it was a fat leather-bound book with a title printed on the
spine in letters of silver. Harry raised an eyebrow. The title was <em>Of
Lords and Their Powers</em>, and he had brought the book with him from
the Black libraries.</p><p>That image faded, and
a number appeared, also glittering silver against a dark background.
<em>453</em>.</p><p>Harry shook his
head—he still didn't understand why the bird couldn't simply
speak and tell him what it wanted him to know instead of sending him
images and book pages to look up—but he went to his bedroom and
opened his trunk. Draco was lounging on the bed and looked up with a
welcoming smile, but he stilled as the blankets near his feet
shifted. Harry knew that would be the only indication Draco would
have of the presence of the bird, which had followed him.</p><p>Harry opened <em>Of
Lords and Their Powers</em>, and flipped to page 453. It began in the
middle of a paragraph, which he skimmed without interest—something
about the consequences of Lords gaining the protection of Light or
Dark after Declaring, which he already knew. The bird had to know he
would never Declare, even if it wanted him to do so.</p><p>There was a paragraph
under that, though, which read:</p><p><em>There is one final
requirement to being considered a true Lord, which I almost hesitate
to mention. On the surface, it seems simple and obvious, and not only
most Lords but most wizards would not be who they are without it. But
at the same time, there have been some powerful wizards who abruptly
lost their magic, and this was the only reason they could offer:
magic loves to be used. Magic loves to be made much of, and noticed,
and appreciated. Though the personalities it develops when under
confinement vary, one may say the major component of them all is
</em>vanity. <em>These few powerful Lords or almost-Lords who lost
their magic did it through treating it like a shoe or a robe, only
something useful, and never showing any wonder or delight or
appreciation. Of course, most wizards, for whom their magic is their
being, need never worry about this.</em></p><p>Harry lowered the book
and stared at the bird. It stalked in a circle, lashing its tail, and
stared back.</p><p>"I don't know what
that has to do with the images you showed me," Harry whispered.</p><p>The bird lifted and
flew at him, landing on his shoulder and giving him a sharp nip on
the earlobe with its toothed beak. Then it flew at the wall,
vanishing on the way. Harry grimaced and touched his ear, which
dripped blood.</p><p>"Here." Draco was
already beside him with a cloth, which Harry took gratefully to mop
at the wound. "What was that all about? I notice it didn't
scratch you this time, but biting isn't much better."</p><p>"It wanted me to
read this." Harry tapped the paragraph; he had the book hovering in
the air in front of him, cradled by his Levitation Charm. "I think
I understand why. What I <em>don't</em> understand is how that has
any connection with the burrow and the house and Hogwarts and the
desk it showed me."</p><p>Draco bent down and
read the paragraph, one hand on the book and one on Harry's left
shoulder. Both tightened as he continued reading. Then he lifted his
head and said, "I thought of this when you offered to share the
<em>absorbere</em> gift with me, Harry, and now that I've noticed it,
I can't stop noticing it. You <em>don't</em> appreciate your magic
enough. There are times you rejoice in it, but how rare are those
times? Even for magic that can't hurt anyone? For example, I don't
think I've ever heard you sing like a phoenix unless you're
trying to heal someone or express sorrow."</p><p>Harry felt his face
flush. "And you think that's connected to why the magic won't
let me give any of it back to Camellia?"</p><p>He had tried again and
again since Snape deemed him healthy enough to get out of bed after
the failed attempt at giving the <em>absorbere</em> gift to Draco.
Camellia had a magical core now, just as a Squib did; Harry ought to
have been able to fill it as he had the magical cores of the children
turned Squibs by the Midsummer attack. He should have been able to
drink magic from Black artifacts and pass it along.</p><p>His magic wouldn't
let him. Every time he opened his <em>absorbere</em> gift, the bird
appeared, settling heavy and claw-prickly onto his shoulder, and
watched. As long as he only drank magic, it didn't mind. But the
moment he turned that towards some goal like feeding Camellia or
pouring it into the lycanthropy cure or, Merlin forbid, trying to
weave a magical core for another Muggle werewolf, the bird attacked
him. Harry winced, and touched his hand, still holding the cloth, to
his face in remembrance. When he'd tried to create a magical core
for Rose, the bird had slashed his face, and come extremely near to
taking his eye. Only a spell Snape had learned from Madam Pomfrey had
let Harry not have a second scar on his face.</p><p>Harry had put all that
down to the vicious streak of temper the bird seemed to have
developed trapped between him and Voldemort. He had assumed its fit
over his giving both Camellia and Draco extra power would pass, and
he would be able to use the <em>absorbere</em> gift for more than just
digesting magic again. But now he had to wonder. Was the magic doing
that because it was angry that he didn't appreciate it enough?</p><p>"Yes," said Draco,
and again Harry had to struggle, as with Joseph, to remember the last
thing he'd said to him. "I think that's exactly it, Harry.
Maybe the magic would have been content to let you do this forever if
Voldemort hadn't used that ritual to resurrect himself, because
Thomas says the connection between you wasn't really a tunnel until
then. But now it's aware, and it wants you to do certain things
with it." He tilted Harry's chin up until he met his eyes. "Can
you blame it?" he whispered. "When you know that the goblins and
the house elves labored unacknowledged for centuries, and how unfair
that was?"</p><p>Harry winced. "I
just—Draco, I dislike using my magic for things that don't help
other people."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"Self-indulgence,"
said Harry flatly. "It's self-indulgence, and I can't afford
that."</p><p>"In this case, I
think it's indulgence of your magic, and nothing else." Draco ran
a soothing hand down his back. Harry had noticed him picking up a
habit of that since he arrived at Woodhouse. More disturbing was his
own new habit to relax into the stroking and arch his back towards
it. "Think about it, Harry. You respect the free wills of more
people and magical creatures than I would ever be able to. Respecting
the free will of your magic shouldn't be hard."</p><p>"It's not that,"
said Harry. "I'm not afraid of the effects on my magic, Draco.
I'm afraid of the effects on myself."</p><p>Draco laughed. "You
think you'll become a Lord just through allowing yourself to
delight in your abilities more?" He bent over and kissed Harry. "I
promise," he whispered, when he drew back enough to be able to
speak, "I won't let that happen. Trust me?"</p><p>"Of course." The
response was automatic, but it made Harry blink when he realized what
he'd agreed to. Draco laughed again as he sighed.</p><p>"Can't hurt to go
out and create pretty lights tomorrow," he said. "Or sing, Harry.
I think more people would like to hear you sing than have."</p><p>"All right, all
right," said Harry.</p><p>He heard a flap, and
turned around. The bird clung to the wall, watching him with what
Harry could have sworn was approval, before it turned and vanished
through the wood again.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"This is
embarrassing."</p><p>Draco ignored Harry.
He had been saying some variation of that for the last ten minutes,
as they walked out of the main quadrangle of buildings at Woodhouse
and across the valley to find some place that wouldn't be too
public for Harry, away from the sentries and the wizards practicing
dueling under Adalrico Bulstrode and the karkadann, who had stopped
grazing and pranced over to be petted when she saw Harry. Draco
didn't care if it was embarrassing. Harry had promised that he
would do it, and that meant he would do it.</p><p>Draco couldn't even
describe what he'd felt since Harry's debacle with trying to give
Camellia the <em>absorbere</em> gift. At least, he didn't think he
could have described it to anyone else. He could speak the words in
his own head, and they didn't sound silly or too sappy there, the
way they would have if they were spoken aloud.</p><p>He felt lighter, as if
he had been carrying a burden and finally been invited to lay it
down. He felt more smug, more contented and surer of his place in
Harry's life. He felt as if he stood a chance of being respected by
other people out of Harry's shadow, whether or not he ever had
magic to equal his, whether or not he managed to achieve deeds as
heroic as his.</p><p>Harry had never
thought of him as lesser. He had never believed that because Draco
didn't have the same amount of magic, he was inferior in any way.</p><p>This changed things so
much that Draco felt as if he stood on a mountaintop in the sight of
the sun again, as before he made his decision to go to Harry instead
of obey his father, but this time he could actually enjoy the view
instead of being afraid of what others were thinking as they looked
at him. Why <em>should</em> he be afraid of what others were thinking
as they looked at him? He was better than they were, and he knew it.
He was judged as he deserved in the eyes of everyone who mattered to
him.</p><p>And that wouldn't
change once he encouraged Harry to give his magic the freedom and joy
it wanted. It would only improve. Harry might actually be able to
<em>relax</em>, as he rarely did except when he was moving fast, on a
broom or a karkadann. And that would lead to his being more relaxed
with Draco, and giving Draco more of what he wanted, including more
sex.</p><p>Draco did not see any
way in which his life <em>wouldn't</em> improve, based on what would
happen this morning.</p><p>At last he thought
they were far away enough from everyone for Harry to be not
immediately embarrassed. He turned around with a coaxing smile and
held out his hand to Harry. Harry looked at it suspiciously, as if
Draco might somehow charm him into piping away like a songbird at the
merest touch.</p><p>"Why don't you
hold my hand while you sing?" Draco asked. "Touching me seems to
calm you."</p><p>"I wouldn't call
last night calm," Harry muttered, but he did as Draco asked. And
then he stood there. And stood there. Draco watched him. It was a day
nearly as bright as spring, though the chill in the air and the
polished blue shell of the sky necessarily spoke of autumn. Harry
shifted from foot to foot.</p><p>"Go ahead and sing,"
Draco said at last.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes,
and a deep flush crept up his face. Then he drew his breath in and
sang.</p><p>Draco found himself
smiling immediately, and didn't try to stop it. At least Harry was
making an honest attempt. This wasn't the mourning dirge he'd
sung when Fawkes died, nor yet the music he'd used to heal the
burned people lying in their own minds at Gollrish Y Thie. It wasn't
even a battle song to improve morale. It was a chorus of gladness
that gathered its legs beneath it and leaped straight up.</p><p>Draco heard the deep,
contented purring that Harry's magic had given when he and Harry
finally bedded each other after Harry woke from his Occlumency pools,
and trails of blue and purple light, in deep, jeweled colors, unwound
from his shoulders and looped around them both as Draco watched. The
song went on flying, and the magic chased after it, creating fan
patterns of flame. The flame was cold, though, and not at all the
high, solemn joy a phoenix's fire might evoke. Instead, it formed
pictures of gravely stalking birds—peacocks, herons, storks—only
to the next moment turn them into falling showers of stars, like
fireworks, and race madly about in a mixture of light and wind.</p><p>Harry's voice rose.
Draco didn't know if he was getting lost in the song, or gaining
more confidence. That was primarily because he couldn't look away
from the light show in front of him. The light and the wind had now
formed an owl-like pattern, white and golden-eyed in imitation of
Hedwig, and were rotating it in circles—upright, to the left,
upside-down, and to the right. Draco wondered what the motive was,
then scolded himself. The motive was to have fun, of course.</p><p>He laughed, but he
didn't think the magic was making him laugh, as the phoenix song
after Midwinter had made him feel sorrow. His hand tightened on
Harry's, and when the snowy owl dissolved into more brilliant
chaos, he was able to sneak a sideways look at Harry's face.</p><p>Harry had his eyes
open and was watching the displays his magic made with a half-dazed
expression. He shook his head once or twice, but didn't stop
singing. The magic giggled to itself and zipped up and down, then out
to the sides, forming the pattern of a crossroads.</p><p>In moments, the
crossroads pattern firmed into a golden one. Draco watched as each
end began to glow with a ball of light, which shimmered and added
colors until he had trouble looking directly at any of them. By now,
everyone in Woodhouse might be staring, but Harry didn't seem
inclined to end this, either the song or the light show.</p><p>The balls raced down
each arm of the crossroads, rumbling all the way like boulders
dropped into narrow tunnels. When the four of them met in the center,
they collided with a blaze Draco instinctively closed his eyes
against, and which still flared like sunrise through his eyelids. A
last, great chord of music went up, and Draco couldn't have said
whether it came from the magic or Harry's throat.</p><p>Then the song dropped
triumphantly back to earth, and was over.</p><p>Draco slowly opened
his eyes and blinked away the afterimages. Then he looked at Harry—</p><p>Whose face was shining
with wonder, who was touching his own throat as if he didn't know
what to do with it, and whose magic filled his eyes and his body as
if he were made of glass.</p><p>Draco took a swift
step forward, seized Harry's head, and gave him a kiss that was
half bite. <em>No one</em> could have blamed him for that, he was
convinced. Hell, holding back on kissing Harry was probably a crime
in most civilized countries.</p><p>Harry started to kiss
back, and then became aware of their audience, the people pressing
across the grass to stare at them. His cheeks flushed again, but he
returned their stares and gave Draco a kiss only a bit less chaste
than it would have been otherwise. Draco wished Harry had thought to
Apparate them to their bedroom. Instead, Harry stepped away and
nodded to those watching.</p><p>"What was that for?"
Evergreen, the werewolf, asked. Draco gave him a sidelong glance. He
thought Evergreen watched Harry too much. "What's the danger?"</p><p>"No danger," said
Harry, even as his cheeks turned Weasley red. "I just wanted to
have fun."</p><p>Draco smiled. Harry
had had fun, whatever mortification he might feel now, and from the
deep, contented rumbling Draco could hear if he listened, it seemed
that his magic agreed.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry stretched his
arms above his head and threw his shoulders back. They had finally
brewed enough Wolfsbane for each werewolf in Woodhouse to take for
all three nights they would transform, a little before the full moon
actually rose on the first night. The packs had already taken their
Wolfsbane for tonight, of course, but Harry had been unsure if they
would finish the brewing before tomorrow.</p><p>He glanced over at
Snape, who was capping the vials of potion and putting them carefully
in a large cabinet fastened to the wall of the room they'd taken
over as their Potions lab (it had been the room where Harry worked on
the werewolf cure, first). Harry narrowed his eyes. Snape's hands
had the slightest shake to them, not something anyone would have
noticed unless they knew him.</p><p>"Sir?" he asked.
And there was the slightest pause before Snape answered, again
something most people would not have noticed—but a pause that he
might have used to conceal how badly Harry's question startled him.</p><p>"Yes, Harry?" he
said, in a neutral tone.</p><p>"I'm going to
spend part of the evening in the valley with the packs," Harry
said. "But you'll have important brewing to do in your own rooms,
of course."</p><p>Silence. Harry went on
watching his guardian's turned back. He wondered if Snape had not
thought he would offer him an out, or had simply committed himself to
accompanying Harry outside, despite his own fear and hatred.</p><p>"Important brewing
must not be neglected," Snape said softly.</p><p>Harry nearly sagged
with relief. He could not have forced Snape to stay behind, and would
never have tried, but the thought of what could have happened if
Snape had been persistent…</p><p>"Of course it must
not be, sir," he said, and moved towards the door.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>He paused again. He'd
rarely heard Snape's voice sound so uncertain. He looked over his
shoulder, but Snape still had his back turned. "Yes, Professor?"</p><p>"Why have you never
sought permission to call me by my first name?" Snape was now
trying to mask desperate curiosity as idle curiosity. Harry could not
imagine why the answer would be so important to him, but he told the
truth with all appropriate gravity.</p><p>"It seemed too
informal, sir. Our first years, of course, we were professor and
student—"</p><p>"That almost never
prevented me from addressing you as Harry, instead of Mr. Potter."</p><p>Harry blinked. "Yes,
sir, but I assumed that you wanted to distinguish me from my brother.
And our father," he added, thinking of the black hatred that had
burned between Snape and James even after Snape officially became his
guardian.</p><p>"Yes," Snape all
but breathed the words. "And after I became your guardian, Harry?"</p><p>"It would have been
inappropriate." Harry cocked his head, wondering what Snape wanted
from him. "You were there to defend me and protect me and restrict
me when it was necessary. I did tell you that I wasn't a child,
sir, and you accepted that. So our relationship was as two adults
most of the time. I admit there were days I behaved like a child, or
a sulky adolescent, and you had to become the parent." He smiled,
and tried to add the smile to his tone, but since Snape still didn't
turn around, Harry wasn't sure what effect that had on him. "But
since then, you've never invited a closer acquaintance. I assumed
it wasn't allowable, sir, either for me or for yourself. You're
an intensely private person, I know, which is one of the reasons that
talking to Joseph is so hard for you."</p><p>Snape turned around
then. "I consider myself your father, Harry. You know that, from
the bargain we made."</p><p>Harry nodded.</p><p>"And yet."</p><p>Harry sighed. "I
didn't know you wanted anything different, sir. And you know I've
always been more comfortable with formality."</p><p>Snape spoke as if he
were jumping off a cliff. "I would—appreciate it if you would
call me Severus, Harry. For various reasons. I spent years hating the
name and training myself not to think it. Severus was a weakling, and
the man I became was not. But I am, I hope, eventually recovering the
name from the memories I told Joseph about. Besides, you called your
abusers by their first names. I would like at least that same level
of intimacy."</p><p>"I assumed you
wouldn't want equal standing with them in any way, sir," said
Harry, his voice as careful as he could make it.</p><p>"This kind of
standing? I do." Snape leaned forward, face intent. "You are my
son, Harry, in ways that you were never theirs—not least of all
because they never tried to claim you that way." A sneer entered
his voice. Harry could see the effort it took him to force it back
down. "I would not consider your treatment of me the same if you
called me Severus," he finished at last, softly. "I would
consider that you afforded me the same courtesy and friendliness that
you show to Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Parkinson, in addressing them by
their first names."</p><p>"Even that's new,"
Harry warned him. "And I stumble plenty of times."</p><p>Snape laughed, a sound
half-genuine and half not. "And you believe that I am one to blast
anyone for stumbling at this point, Harry?"</p><p>Harry nodded, slowly.
He was still absolutely sure that this would end up cracked on the
floor like an egg soon, but he could try. "Good night, s—Severus."
The name felt odd on his tongue.</p><p>"Good night, Harry."</p><p><em>Then</em>, he could
finally leave and shut the door. Harry shook himself as he walked
quickly up the narrow corridors and towards the exit from the wooden
house into Woodhouse itself.</p><p>He could have
understood it better if this had been something Joseph recommended
Snape do, to help him recover. He would have understood if Snape
really <em>had</em> wanted to be considered at least equal to James and
Lily in importance in Harry's mind.</p><p>But instinct told
Harry that the most important reason was simply that Snape had wanted
this, and wanted this from <em>him</em>.</p><p><em>It's so strange
to think about Snape needing anything from anybody, </em>he thought,
as he pushed open the door. <em>It's so strange to think about
anybody wanting that from me, specifically, not just any child
they've adopted. And Draco. I thought he wanted his pleasure most
of all. And he wants my pleasure, too. And even my magic! It wants my
delight in using it, not just use.</em></p><p>It was so strange.
Harry felt as if he'd entered a new country, one that the Sanctuary
hadn't prepared him for but which everyone else knew from early on
in life. He was going to stumble so often. He just knew it. How in
the world was he supposed to offer people things that came from <em>him</em>,
and not common decency and compassion? How would he tread the line
between doing something natural and good, and self-indulgence?</p><p><em>I don't know. I
only know I have to try.</em></p><p>He put the thoughts
away as he stepped out into Woodhouse. At least, he thought, here
were werewolves who wanted nothing of him. A good thing, too, since
Harry's own hope that matters would be resolved before the full
moon had not come to pass. When they looked over the Minister's
latest set of laws for the werewolves, Hawthorn had pointed out that
there was no provision to punish the Aurors and others who had
attacked werewolves while the hunting was still legal. There wasn't
even a blunt statement that the Department for the Control and
Suppression of Deadly Beasts was going to be disbanded, only that the
funds would be used for something else and that no more hunting would
be allowed. Harry had written Scrimgeour that morning explaining the
problem. He hadn't heard anything back yet.</p><p>He tried to put the
troubles in the back of his mind as he saw the valley.</p><p>Harry was very glad
that Snape had stayed inside now. The moon had already risen.
Woodhouse was packed with werewolves, the members of more than a
dozen packs as well as those who had become werewolves because of
Loki, nudging each other with their noses and sniffing and licking,
or sitting on their haunches and staring at the moon.</p><p>Harry saw a flash of
silver, and a moment later made out the wolf who must be Peregrine: a
black bitch with an overwhelming presence, made more dramatic still
by the silver-white markings along her shoulders and spine. She stood
looking at the moon herself, then threw back her head and howled.</p><p>The wolves on either
side of her, the remnants of her pack, responded instantly, and then
other voices joined them, and others. Harry closed his eyes and
listened. He could not call it a dirge, or a song of triumph. It
didn't sound human enough for that. It was hunting music, but
fiercer and freer and more savage than that heard from any human
horn. This was what the packs must have sounded like when direwolves
still ran the world, Harry thought, half-dreaming, shaggy beasts
older than any werewolf, and hunting prey they had never seen.</p><p>When he opened his
eyes, the howling had stopped and Peregrine was guiding the others on
a run around the rim of the valley, beginning with the entrance near
the pine woods and continuing on past the hills and the houses. Harry
found it hard to see them, given that the only light was that of the
full moon, but that didn't matter. The moonlight was just right for
seeing them, he thought, the flashes of silver on Peregrine's
shoulders leading the way and the fawn and white and brindled and
gray and sometimes black coats pouring after her. Sometimes a gleam
marked a mouth of bared teeth or a pair of amber eyes catching the
moon just right. Soon Harry stood near the side of the widening ring,
and no matter how fast he turned, he couldn't keep up with them
all.</p><p>He saw no werewolf as
pale as Loki, and for that he was grateful. He tried not to think
about what Loki was probably doing in France at the moment, and
failed.</p><p>Twice the wolves made
a circuit of the valley, and then gradually they slowed, panting
heavily and turning the game into more individual ones, snatching at
and playing with each other. Harry couldn't tell if they were
splitting up by packs or not, since he found it hard to recognize
most of them in wolf form. He did notice Remus tussling with
Camellia, who bit him sharply on the nose and loped off to stand by
herself. She still hadn't recovered completely from the loss of her
magic.</p><p>Then a dirge arose.</p><p>Harry turned, the hair
on the back of his neck rising. A pale fawn bitch stood by herself,
head tilted back and voice rising and falling in an ululating wail.
Harry wouldn't have felt so bad if he didn't know who it was.
<em>Hawthorn.</em></p><p>Slowly, though his
skin prickled all over with sweat and shock, he moved towards her.
The other werewolves made no move to follow him. Harry wondered if
that was because Hawthorn was part of no pack.</p><p>He whispered her name,
halting near her. She stopped her howl and stared at him with
sorrowful amber eyes.</p><p>He whispered her name
several more times, but of course she couldn't speak in this form,
and she wouldn't consent to nuzzle his hand or take comfort from
him. She moved away and lay down, curling her tail around her nose.
Harry heard the other werewolves turn back to their games. He sat
down next to her, talking softly.</p><p>"I do think the
werewolf cure can be perfected," he said. "Perhaps some research
into the origins of the curse would help. Thomas said it might have
originated in America, of all places, and I wonder—"</p><p>He paused, his earlier
thought about direwolves catching up to him. Direwolves had lived in
America, hadn't they? And he didn't know if they had looked like
werewolves, but there might still be some connection between that
shape and the fact that werewolves looked so different from normal
wolves.</p><p>He stood, intending to
take his insight to Thomas and ask if it might help, but just then
Hawthorn howled mightily and jumped to her feet, speeding past him.
Harry whirled. Running to meet Hawthorn was a distinctive golden
werewolf—Delilah Gloryflower, the war witch and another of Fenrir
Greyback's victims. Her coat was apparently not supposed to mimic
her blonde hair that closely, but someone had forgotten to tell that
to her magic.</p><p>And
close behind her was her aunt, Laura Gloryflower. She must have
Apparated Delilah with her, Harry thought. Since they'd approached
without hostile intent, Woodhouse had let them in.</p><p>He went to greet her,
wondering what was wrong. Delilah and Hawthorn were nudging each
other and making low whimpering sounds in their throats that he
didn't like, but it might only be the relief of packmates reunited.</p><p>Laura's face told
him it was not, though.</p><p>"Gloriana
Griffinsnest found out that Claudia was a werewolf," she said
quietly. Harry nodded; Claudia was the third member of Delilah's
and Hawthorn's little pack. He wondered if Gloriana had imprisoned
Claudia, and what they would have to do to get her back.</p><p>"She killed her,"
Laura said.</p><p>Harry froze. Then he
whispered, "What?"</p><p>"You heard me,"
said Laura, vicious in a way that Harry had never seen her. Her face
had a halo of fur around it, and fangs were growing in her mouth. Of
course, she was <em>puellaris</em>, able to turn into a lioness to
defend her children, and Delilah was her niece. "Gloriana killed
Claudia. She is dead." She stopped, as if she wanted to say no
more, but then pushed ahead. "And she believes that she will have
no trouble from the Ministry—I heard her say this the other
day—because many of the pureblood witches and wizards cannot
believe they value the lives of werewolves as much as those of
ordinary witches and wizards."</p><p>Harry felt as if the
world were spinning around him, and he felt weirdly calm.</p><p>He met Laura's eyes.
He saw her take a step back at whatever she recognized in his face.</p><p>"I
suggest that we make the Ministry step up, and prove that they do,"
Harry said.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 48*: On the Eve of Revolution</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>Sometimes, there are no right decisions. There are only decisions you can live with.</p><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Eight: On the Eve of Revolution</strong></p><p>"But there is
nothing we can do," said Draco in a calm, reasonable voice. "You
have to understand that, Harry. Since you disagreed with the latest
set of werewolf laws that Scrimgeour sent, then what Mrs.
Griffinsnest did is still not illegal."</p><p>"It's not legal,
either," said Harry, not looking up from the letter he was writing.
"The Ministry repealed the werewolf hunting season, remember? So
right now, one could argue that it's not legal <em>or</em> illegal to
kill werewolves."</p><p>"That's strange,"
said Draco.</p><p>Harry nodded. "I
agree. But that doesn't mean I have to simply say that it's
strange, and sit back to hope the Ministry punishes Gloriana. I want
to make it clear to Scrimgeour that this is going to require more
action."</p><p>"And if he can't
do that?" Draco asked. "If he finds his hands bound? He's given
you so much already, Harry. The Wizengamot must be nearing the end of
its patience with him, and with you."</p><p>Harry whirled around.
Draco's face went pale as he looked at him. Harry guessed that his
magic had altered the look of his face or his eyes; it would explain
Laura's reaction, too. Harry held Draco's gaze and murmured, "I
know what I'm going to do if Scrimgeour doesn't respond. I have
countermeasures in place. But it would be useless to upset all the
Ministry's delicate work if Scrimgeour is going to arrest Gloriana
anyway. I'm writing him." He nodded at his letter. "And if he
doesn't do anything, then it's revolution, and not rebellion, he
wins."</p><p>"For one werewolf?"
Draco asked.</p><p>"Yes." Laura had
told him how it had been. She usually spent the full moon nights with
Delilah. When Delilah had begun to howl and paw at the ground, then
grabbed her arm and tried to pull her out the door, Laura had
Apparated first to the Griffinsnest home, thinking that something
might have happened to her niece's packmate. She had found Gloriana
drawing silver knives out of Claudia. It was not murder, to hear her
describe it, but butchery.</p><p>Claudia was someone
Harry hadn't managed to protect, either. He should have insisted
that she come to Woodhouse, even though the reason she had remained
still in the first place was to prevent the mad lycanthrope-haters in
her family from finding out she was a werewolf. And she had been his
ally, not a werewolf hunter who had appealed to him for protection
when he couldn't run anymore.</p><p>She had depended on
him, looked to him—if not as alpha, as defender. She had helped him
in the original attack on Woodhouse a year ago. She had come to
Hawthorn when Hawthorn so badly needed her comfort after the
Midsummer battle. Harry had sent her Wolfsbane.</p><p>And now she was dead,
and the rage in him was screaming like a trapped and cornered thing,
the way he thought Claudia might have screamed when she was cut
apart. Or would she have gone to her death with more dignity than
that? Even when Fenrir Greyback's bite had ripped off her right ear
and left her with a huge scar across her face, Claudia had been
mostly silent, Laura said, and tended not to complain about her loss.</p><p>That Gloriana had also
helped him with information about accepted werewolves made no never
mind. She had turned on her own relative, her own blood. She had done
it when she had to know that Claudia would be reluctant to fight
back; she had Wolfsbane, so she wasn't a savage monster, and even
if she only wounded Gloriana, she would still infect her with
lycanthropy. What Gloriana had done was so far from justice that it
only added to the building scream in Harry's head.</p><p>He attached the letter
to Hedwig's leg. The snowy owl was awake, of course, since it was
night, and she had fluttered over to his shoulder at once when he
entered the bedroom, as if she knew this would be important. She
looked at him now, and Harry stared back into her golden eyes. He
wondered if Claudia's eyes had shone like that before she died, if
she had tried a desperate gaze to make Gloriana understand.</p><p>"Minister
Scrimgeour, girl," he whispered.</p><p>Hedwig rose like a
white shadow and drifted through the window. Harry took a deep breath
and laid his head down on the desk for a moment. Draco's hand
brushed his shoulder once, hesitantly, as though questioning whether
he wanted to be touched, and then withdrew.</p><p>"And what are you
going to do if this doesn't work?" Draco asked softly.</p><p>"That's my
contingency plan," said Harry, and grabbed another piece of
parchment. He could feel his mind crystallizing, his memory pulling
up the <em>Daily Prophet</em> articles he'd read over the last few
weeks, and even before that, during August and September. A list of
names unscrolled past his eyes. The names at the forefront of that
list weren't Light pureblood wizards, but most of their allies
were.</p><p>Like Gloriana
Griffinsnest. And Laura had said that many of the pureblood witches
and wizards believed that the Ministry did not value werewolves'
lives as much as theirs. That meant they might have heard Gloriana
bragging about her werewolf kills, or expressing attitudes that would
mean she intended to murder any werewolf who appeared in her
vicinity, family member or not. They could know damning evidence.
They could cast her into the Ministry's jaws.</p><p>If they had some
reason to do so.</p><p>Harry would give them
a reason to do so. The Light pureblood wizards had largely fallen
from grace after the accusations of child abuse on the part of their
leader came out, and the few Light pureblood wizards in Harry's
inner circle were not enough to convince them they had similar
standing with his Dark allies. He knew they had lost influence at the
Ministry, if only because Lucius and other Dark wizards had regained
theirs.</p><p>And now his break with
Lucius was going to help him, help him most wonderfully.</p><p>Fear of werewolves
might have begun this killing, but it would not end it—not if Harry
had anything to say about it. He would not simply intimidate people
into accepting equal rights for werewolves. He had seen how shaky a
basis for <em>any</em> kind of lasting conviction terror was, how it
could turn around and bite those who had begun it. He would use the
much safer pillars of self-interest and ambition to build his house
on.</p><p>Fling a rope to the
Light pureblood wizards, promise to try to use his political
influence to help them regain theirs, and they would be more willing
to support things like rights for werewolves and the Goblin Board.
Those were the broader goals.</p><p>And also smaller ones,
a personal gift for a personal gift. The personal gift Harry wanted
was Gloriana Griffinsnest, and enough evidence to try her fairly.</p><p>The personal gift the
Light pureblood wizards wanted was some form of control over him.</p><p>He could give that to
them.</p><p>His letter began, <em>Dear
Aurora Whitestag.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus put Harry's
letter down slowly, feeling sick. Hedwig had flown straight to his
office to find him. He had stayed at the Ministry that night, falling
asleep over some paperwork, but he had no doubt the snowy owl would
have flown to his house if she had to.</p><p>A murder. A murder
that could break or make the Ministry's stance on this, that could
provide a rallying point for their enemies or a rallying point for
their own side. And Rufus knew what the Wizengamot, especially the
Elders who were chafing under his control, would do once they heard
of this. He might control all the magic in the Ministry, but he did
not control their minds or their free wills. And they would run like
mad to the first person who claimed that what Gloriana Griffinsnest
did was not wrong, because that would mean they could start working
to say that the new laws were unjustified and werewolves should be
restricted once more.</p><p>Rufus had thought he
had climbed safely on wings of power above the sea of chaos. He
should have known that it would reach up and drown him sooner or
later.</p><p>He knew there was no
way he could agree to Harry's request. The laws bound him. Werewolf
hunting was illegal now, but provisions to try anyone who killed a
werewolf as they would for any other murder were not yet legal. And
Mrs. Griffinsnest would surely argue that, as well as arguing that
she had no idea the dead werewolf might not attack her; she had been
living in her house for months, after all, disguised as a human, and
could have had some nefarious plan. If she wanted to be honest, why
not admit her lycanthropy?</p><p>What would Harry's
response to that be? In his letter, he only spoke of a contingency
plan. Rufus didn't know what it was. All-out war? Leaning on his
Dark allies until the Ministry crumbled and did what he wanted?
Refusing reconciliation until a trial date was set?</p><p>Rufus simply didn't
know.</p><p>"Sir?"</p><p>Rufus looked up. Percy
had stayed with him, and been awakened by Hedwig's fluttering
arrival. Now, though, he stood by the hearth, staring into it.</p><p>"Someone's trying
to establish a Floo connection, sir," he said. "Should I let them
through?"</p><p>Rufus sat up. He
didn't think it could be Harry, because Harry wouldn't have sent
a letter if he intended to firecall, but he would bet Galleons to
Knuts that it was related. "Do so," he said, with a nod, and
Percy tapped the hearth with his wand and then stepped back out of
the way. Rufus hoped vaguely that he looked presentable. Falling
asleep over one's desk was a marvelous way to get ink smeared on
one's cheek, but not much else.</p><p>The face that appeared
in the flames was one of the last he expected. "Mrs. Whitestag,"
he said, and tried to keep his voice simply cold, without any of the
massive irritation that arose the moment he saw her. This was the
last time of night that he wanted to talk about the bloody monitoring
board, which she had tried to insert into their conversation after
his speech the other day. "Can I do something for you?"</p><p>"Minister," said
Whitestag simply, and smiled at him. She held up a piece of
parchment. Rufus squinted, but couldn't make out what was written
on it through the green-tinged flames. "I came to say that we have
heard of your recent difficulties, and you need not worry. We can
give you all the evidence that you need to convict Gloriana
Griffinsnest of wrongful, premeditated murder."</p><p>Rufus stopped
breathing, literally. Percy had to pound him on the back. He let out
a great whoop of air, wished Whitestag hadn't been watching, and
leaned forward to stare. "And why would you be willing to do that,
ma'am?" His mind was racing. He knew Whitestag was undeclared,
without allegiance to either Light or Dark, though she had been
working with the Light purebloods, the ones with the most reason to
want Harry bound and controlled. And some Light purebloods had
supported the anti-werewolf laws as well, because most of the
officials in the Ministry supporting them were of the Light, and
because they seemed to believe they had to achieve power any way they
could against the Dark and its creatures. He knew of no reason that
they would agree to turn their backs on Mrs. Griffinsnest, a woman
who had only done what most of them talked about and wished they had
the courage to do.</p><p>"Because," said
Whitestag, with another shake of the parchment she held, "Harry
<em>vates</em> has seen sense. He has acknowledged that, for all that
he named his organization the Alliance of <em>Sun</em> and Shadow, he
has had very little to do with the Light of late. He invites more
Light wizards to come to his side. He says that he understands how it
would look like he was wild and uncontrolled, or at best in the
control of the Dark, since so many of the Dozen Who Died were
children of Light pureblood families. He says that he has broken with
Lucius Malfoy." She paused and looked at him inquiringly.</p><p>Rufus half-closed his
eyes, thinking of Lucius's pale face in Courtroom Ten. It would
pale further when he heard of this, Rufus was certain. Lucius had
disowned his son and refused to support Harry's rebellion, unless
lifting Rufus to dictator of the Ministry could be counted as
supporting it, but Rufus had been sure he meant to regain his place
at Harry's side eventually. If Harry was publicly announcing a
break with him, Rufus did not see how that could happen.</p><p>"That is true," he
had to say. "Lucius Malfoy disowned his son Draco, Harry's
courting partner in a joining ritual." He could not say much more
than that, because the Unbreakable Vow he'd sworn in Courtroom Ten
would not let him betray Lucius, but Whitestag didn't seem to need
more than that. She only looked happy.</p><p>"And Harry has
accepted the monitoring board," she went on, her voice swelling
with triumph.</p><p>"He cannot," said
Rufus, before he thought. "He is <em>vates</em>. How could he accept
a set of such close restrictions on his movements?"</p><p>"Oh, we don't mean
to be restrictions," said Whitestag instantly. "That was my
intention when I began to circulate the idea of the board, I admit,
and had not studied the situation more closely. But I have read what
a <em>vates</em> is, Minister, and I will say now that what I
originally intended would be impossible. Harry must be free to
consult his own conscience and do what it says. We simply mean to be
a set of voices for the Light, as his closest allies are already a
set of voices for the Dark. He carries the shadows with him. We will
be the sun." She smiled. "We mean to swear the oaths for the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow. There are a few who won't agree, I
know, but most who supported the monitoring board will."</p><p><em>Because they listen
to you, </em>Rufus thought. Whitestag was their leader, the one who
had hammered them into a united force and could get them to do what
she said with a flick of her eyebrow or a lift of her finger. It
rather reminded Rufus of a werewolf pack. Whitestag led not because
she was the most magically powerful, as Dumbledore had led the Order
of the Phoenix, but because she was the cleverest and had a charisma
none of the others could match. And she was the reasonable face,
where for so long Philip Willoughby had been the face of the grieving
parent. Her interviews in the <em>Daily Prophet</em> had always come
across as rational, the words of a woman able to adapt to changes and
accept new information as she found it.</p><p>Rufus had simply not
realized that was <em>true</em>, that Whitestag would happily
compromise and accept some lesser version of what she had wanted in
the beginning for the sake of having something at all.</p><p><em>She's not a
fanatic, she's a politician, and I was wrong to underestimate her.</em></p><p>"So you believe that
Harry has agreed to this of his own free will?" he questioned
heavily.</p><p>Whitestag laughed. "I
would like to see who could impersonate the <em>vates</em> and get away
with it, or make an offer in his name that was not sincere! Yes,
Minister, I do. He wants Gloriana Griffinsnest brought to justice.
Who would not? She murdered an ally of his."</p><p>"With the state of
the laws, that may not be possible," Rufus warned her.</p><p>Whitestag smiled.
"Minister, think for a moment about the allegiance of those who
will most heartily protest a fair trial—well, those who <em>would</em>
have, this morning."</p><p>Rufus thought.
Erasmus, Juniper, Gregorian, Kildain—</p><p>All of the Light.</p><p>Whitestag closed her
left eye in a slow wink as she saw him catch on. "This isn't just
a bargain to support werewolves or give us our monitoring board,
Minister," she said quietly. "This is a bargain to bring the
Light back to power, to equal standing with the Dark. It unites the
major lines of force in the Ministry, the reasonable Light
purebloods, the reasonable Dark purebloods, and Harry <em>vates</em>.
The fanatics will be left out in the cold. Juniper, for instance,
might not vote for this, because he hates werewolves. But that
doesn't matter. The central elements are coming together, and we
can save justice, equal rights for werewolves, and the reputation of
the Light, so badly scratched and scarred and stained by the actions
of Albus Dumbledore. We can save your term in office, Minister."</p><p>"You are
undeclared," said Rufus. "I fail to see why this makes you so
happy, Mrs. Whitestag."</p><p>"I can rejoice for
my allies, can I not?" Whitestag's large dark eyes were guileless
as they met his. "And I have what I want," she ended, in a softer
tone. "So, Minister. Summon the Wizengamot. Tell them of this
outrage. Tell them of the compromise we are establishing. Encourage
them to pass the new laws <em>now</em>. Harry has said that he will
agree to the last set of terms that you sent him, because he trusts
the Ministry to do the right thing and punish a murder committed
<em>after</em> werewolf killing was made illegal."</p><p>"It was not—"
said Rufus, and stopped.</p><p>"Exactly," said
Whitestag. "The Wizengamot was meeting in the middle of the night.
This is urgent, sir, <em>so</em> urgent. Who can say at what hour the
laws passed, before or after the murder was committed? In truth, sir,
the Wizengamot had already agreed to offer this set of terms to
Harry; the <em>Daily Prophet</em> will record that, given that you sent
a copy of the documents to them. What rendered that offer useless was
Harry's refusal. And he has changed his mind now."</p><p>Rufus breathed through
his teeth. He could refuse, after all. He could say this was immoral,
trying Gloriana Griffinsnest for something that had not been illegal
when she did it. He could refuse to summon the Wizengamot.</p><p>But murdering a
werewolf was not legal, either, and had not been since the edict
about the hunting season was repealed more than two weeks ago. And
neither was murder moral. And hadn't he plunged into dark waters
already, with the Ritual of Cincinnatus and the lies that protected
it? If he needed a clear conscience, he should have persuaded sixteen
Wizengamot members to vote for him, not taken the first sixteen
people who showed up and guarded what they did with lies and secrets
and <em>Obliviates.</em></p><p>How could he say that
<em>this</em>, with one more lie, was worse?</p><p>Rufus bowed his head.
"You are certain," he asked, one more time, "that Harry made
this decision of his own free will?"</p><p>"Let me read you the
last paragraph of his letter." Whitestag held the parchment up. "<em>I
know that there are some who will question my sincerity on this
point, or argue that I am acting out of vengeance and misguided rage.
To them I say: I am </em>vates. <em>I knew before I began to walk this
path that there are thorns among the roses, and that stepping on the
free wills of others would cost me. I have stepped on the free wills
of others before this, because I know it was not the Minister's
will that I break into Tullianum, nor all the werewolves' will to
be forced into coming to Woodhouse as the best alternative to dying.
A rebel cannot help but defy the common will. I am trying to correct
that now. I will not give up what I have fought so long and so hard
for, but I can try to reach out and respect the free wills of people
I considered enemies, if they agree not to be enemies any longer, and
I can take on oaths. If I swear an oath, I do so by my own free will.
If I wear a collar, I choose to put that collar on my neck myself.</em>"</p><p>Rufus could think of
times when Harry had done that, including his oath to defend the
werewolves and his attempt to work with Rufus on the matter of the
Unspeakables, instead of breaking into open rebellion at the first
sign of trouble. He had put off revolution as long as he could. And
now he was offering to pursue that revolution through legal means as
much as possible.</p><p>Rufus might question
Harry's motives for this, but it was true that it was absolutely
Harry's choice to agree to the monitoring board, if that was what
he really wanted.</p><p><em>You can have a
mildly clean conscience—and even then, you would be letting a
murderer escape and Harry do Merlin knows what next, which might
result in more deaths—or you can accept one more lie and make it
truth.</em></p><p>"I am going to
summon the Wizengamot," he said.</p><p>Whitestag smiled at
him, and gave a little bow. "This has been a night for seeing
sense," she said. "Until we meet again, Minister."</p><p>The flames flared and
died. Rufus rose and walked towards the door of his office, hearing
Percy's light footsteps at his back.</p><p>"Sir?"</p><p>Rufus turned around
and looked at Percy, almost hoping for some condemnation. Percy would
have the right. He had been part of the Ritual of Cincinnatus, and if
he thought things had gone too far and it was costing too much to do
what they wanted to do, then Rufus needed to hear it.</p><p>But Percy's face
shone with admiration instead. "Sir," he said, and then stopped,
and then said, "<em>Sir</em>. You're upholding the spirit of the
law, not the letter. I find that much better than the other way
around."</p><p>Rufus gave a jerky
little nod, then opened his office door. The dozing Aurors on either
side of the door, Rags and Hope, stood up straight and turned to look
at him.</p><p>"We're going to
Courtroom Ten," said Rufus, and began walking fast enough that they
hurried to keep up with him. He felt Percy's stare on his back, and
knew it did not judge. He would have to be the judge of himself.</p><p><em>There is no right
answer, is there? I would feel just as many qualms if I turned
Whitestag down and insisted on not trying Griffinsnest.</em></p><p><em>I suppose this is
something Harry and I have in common: trying as best we can to do
what's right, with the wrong always mixed in with it. I suppose
Harry's known that since he killed those children. The ability to
say "this is absolutely right" belongs to other people.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry felt as if he
had a bad case of sanity. The anger that had stalked whirling around
his skull at first had left him as soon as he wrote the letter to
Aurora Whitestag, or perhaps simply dived under the surface of his
mind and started brooding on its time to reemerge. He had been able
to see what would happen next as if the bird were showing him images.</p><p>And, sure enough,
those things had happened. Or, at least, two of them, the ones
concerning Draco and Snape, had.</p><p>Draco had read the
letter to Whitestag over his shoulder. There had been no way that
Harry could hide what he was doing from Draco, and he rather
preferred not to try. Draco had kept quiet while Harry sent the
letter off with a barn owl, but then he'd loosened his tongue.</p><p>"And you're going
to <em>accept</em> this monitoring board, Harry? Are you <em>mad</em>?"</p><p>"No," said Harry.
He leaned against the wall of their bedroom and watched Draco. He'd
awakened him when he came in and started writing the letter, but he
didn't think that mattered. Neither of them could have gone to
sleep at this point. Draco's eyes were wide with anger and his face
was pale, and Harry could feel <em>his</em> anger turning around and
around in the depths of his mind. It really had just dived, and it
had claws and fangs, and it wanted to come out. Harry shut the
trapdoor on it and watched Draco. "It's part of what must be
done. If the Light purebloods wanted something else of me, then I
would give them something else. This is what they want. I'm lucky,
in a way, that they want this so badly that they're willing to fall
in behind Aurora Whitestag."</p><p>"She doesn't lead
anyone that important," said Draco dismissively. "Just that group
of parents who want justice for their 'murdered' children—"</p><p>"They <em>were</em>
murdered," Harry said, and heard the growl in his voice, and shut
the trapdoor again. <em>Pace, pace, pace, </em>his anger went. "Whether
you think Voldemort did it or I did, they were murdered."</p><p>"<em>Mercy-</em>killed,"
Draco said.</p><p>Harry shrugged. "Have
you been reading the papers, Draco? Maybe it isn't as noticeable,
under the discussion of the new werewolf laws, but there's always a
reference somewhere, if only in a paragraph, to Aurora Whitestag and
what she wants. I think she's like your mum, in some ways—she's
got the political connections and the persuasive powers, even if she
isn't officially Declared for Light herself. A lot of the Light
purebloods will listen to her. Offer them a more balanced political
Quidditch pitch along with the monitoring board, and they'll take
this." <em>I think. I hope. </em>Harry did not like to imagine what
his <em>vates</em> commitment and his oath to defend the werewolves
might drive him to do if the Light purebloods did not accept this.</p><p>"So she might lead
them," said Draco. "But it's still sacrificing part of your
freedom to them."</p><p>"<em>Part</em> of it,"
said Harry. "They have to know that I'm not going to do exactly
what they want; part of the bargain is their supporting werewolf
rights, after all, so I'm not trading them everything for Gloriana
Griffinsnest. I'm building a coalition, Draco. That means
compromises on our side."</p><p>"So far," said
Draco coldly, "I can't see that anyone other than you
compromises."</p><p>"The werewolves have
had to compromise enough," said Harry. "And the goblins, and the
centaurs. And I'm not going to let the Dark wizards who've been
such faithful allies to me suffer, unless they make political moves
totally unrelated to the Alliance and the Light wizards make opposite
ones. There's not much I can do about that, because <em>that</em>
would be stepping on someone else's free will, too."</p><p>"So sacrifices are
all right, as long as they come from you?" Draco's voice was acid
now.</p><p>"I choose to make
them." Harry looked steadily at him. "Did you think we could get
through this without sacrifices? Even you made one. You made one of
the greatest ones here, Draco, private and personal though it was.
You gave up your father and his approval for me. Did you think that
was the last?"</p><p>"You've given up
too much already!" Draco's voice rose. "I chose to give up that
wanker's approval, Harry, but you—"</p><p>"Are choosing this."</p><p>Draco fell silent, but
he was still visibly seething. Harry held his eyes in a gentle gaze
and shrugged.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he
said. "This is the price they wanted. This is the price I chose to
pay. Personally, I doubt they'll push that much, because they have
to have known there are few other circumstances in which I would
agree to the monitoring board at <em>all</em>. We'll meet in the
middle and work out something that appeals to both sides."</p><p>"Both sides of
<em>what</em>?"</p><p>Harry looked up. Snape
had come through the door, his narrow gaze going from Harry to Draco.
Someone must have told him about Claudia's murder, Harry thought.
He wondered idly if Snape had emerged from his room when he heard the
collective howls of the werewolves or Laura's swearing, or if Laura
had fetched him. Harry could see her doing that. She would think that
he needed a parent right now.</p><p>"Harry sent a letter
to Whitestag, sir," said Draco, before Harry could say anything.
"And other Light wizards. Offering them a coalition if they would
help him bring down Gloriana Griffinsnest and support werewolf
rights. And he accepted that monitoring board they wanted him to
have."</p><p>Snape turned and
glared incredulously at Harry. Harry looked straight back. He was not
as tall as Snape and never would be, but right now he didn't have
to be. The rage paced around its cell in his mind and snarled and
snarled and snarled, and Harry knew he had to be strong enough to
make decisions without its influence. He was so tempted to go to
Gloriana Griffinsnest himself and rip her life away from her, and he
knew he had to resist that temptation. That way lay stepping off his
<em>vates</em> path.</p><p>"And you promised
that you would try to act as a son to me," Snape whispered.</p><p>Harry staggered. It
honestly hadn't occurred to him that Snape would take it that way.
He wondered if Draco had thought about it, and if that was why he had
included the mention of the monitoring board.</p><p><em>Stop it,</em> he
told himself then. <em>Some paranoia is fine, but you can't live if
you distrust the people close to you that much.</em></p><p>"I did promise that,
sir," he said. "And I can assure you that I would never allow the
monitoring board to have guardianship over me, nor to take me away
from you. I would break all the agreements before that would happen.
You're too important to me."</p><p>"I do not understand
why you agreed to this in the first place," said Snape. His voice
was a little louder now. Good, Harry thought. He found the whisper
hard to cope with. It reminded him of what his own father might have
sounded like, if James was ever that disappointed in something Harry
had done, as opposed to something Harry had done to hurt him or Lily.
"You must know that they will press, finding places where they can
take more from you, using your own psychology of sacrifice against
you."</p><p>"I don't think
they will, sir," said Harry. "And if they try, then I'll push
back, because I know it would be hurting you."</p><p>"Not because it
would be hurting you."</p><p>Harry gave a short
laugh. "You can't have it both ways, sir. Who does this hurt
more, me or you? Are you trying to make me feel guilty for being
selfish, or are you saying that I should be <em>more</em> selfish?"</p><p>"I am saying that
you should think about yourself before the wants of Light pureblood
wizards," said Snape, "allies or not."</p><p>"A purely selfish
life has been impossible for me since my mother trained me," said
Harry flatly, and shrugged. "If that training makes it easier for
me to accept the inevitable political compromises, this is one time
I'll take that."</p><p>Snape stood looking
into his eyes. Harry looked back, and when Snape's Legilimency
reached out to him, with a tentativeness that showed he was free to
reject it and hide behind his Occlumency shields, Harry let it in,
and showed Snape the caged fury, the process he'd gone through
while thinking of what would probably happen with the Ministry and
what he thought was likely to happen with the Light pureblood
wizards, what he would allow the monitoring board to do and what he
would not allow it to do.</p><p>"It's my choice if
I bind myself," he said quietly, shutting his shields at last.
Letting Snape see that much was his decision. Letting him see more
was not. "And no one can say that is wrong."</p><p>Snape turned and
simply left, shutting the door behind him. Harry doubted it was the
last discussion they would have on the subject. Harry turned to
Draco, who was staring at him with shadows behind his eyes.</p><p>"I did choose this,"
Harry insisted. "I did."</p><p>"It's still a
sacrifice," Draco whispered.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"By that logic, so is everything."</p><p>He turned restlessly
away. Then he paused as he saw a barn owl skimming towards the
window. He went over and held out his hand, and the owl alighted on
his arm. It carried an envelope with the seal of a leaping stag on
it, and when Harry broke it open and read the letter inside, he could
feel a smile widening across his face.</p><p>"What is it?"
Draco demanded, crowding towards him.</p><p>Harry held up the
letter. "She agreed," he said simply. "So did her allies. So
did Scrimgeour."</p><p>He could feel
something like peace welling across his soul, soothing the caged fury
in his mind at last. <em>No, I won't have everything I want, but
I'll have the justice and the freedom that my allies need and
deserve. That is more than enough.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Rufus surveyed the
gathered members of the Wizengamot. Most of them were still yawning
and bleary-eyed, but he met a few sharp gazes: Griselda Marchbanks,
of course. Most of the people they had <em>Obliviated</em> and managed
to persuade further to their side after that. Elder Juniper, damn
him, frowning and folding his arms. Amelia Bones, but she was
sharp-eyed the way a rabbit had to be, Rufus thought, watching out
for its next predator closing the distance.</p><p>He began the way he
had thought he would, telling them flatly about the murder of Claudia
Griffinsnest, and then interweaving the promise of more political
power for the Light with the promise of the rebellion ending, and the
situation that made them look a laughingstock in the eyes of other
wizarding governments finally resolved. Juniper's face darkened
into a scowl as he listened, but others sat up and leaned forward.
Even Amelia finally wore an expression that was not terror for the
first time since the Wizengamot had gathered after the Ritual of
Cincinnatus.</p><p>"As part of the
bargain, Harry <em>vates</em> has agreed to accept a monitoring board,"
Rufus said. "I know that some of its members will be parents of the
Dozen Who Died, but not all. There must be some Wizengamot Elders as
well." He glanced at Griselda. "Madam Marchbanks, Mrs. Whitestag
at one time told me that you had agreed to participate in this
project."</p><p>"I did."
Griselda's voice was strong and confident, but Rufus could see the
doubt in her eyes. She might have agreed to sit on the board when she
thought it was the best solution to the debacle between the goblins'
<em>vates</em> and the rest of the wizarding world, but now that her
friends were getting what they wanted, Rufus wondered if she
regretted that decision.</p><p>"It will ease my
conscience to know that you are part of this," said Rufus. "I
would not have endorsed it if Harry <em>vates</em> himself had not
chosen it." <em>And even now I do not think it the best solution, </em>he
could have said, but he kept that part to himself. He scanned the
rows of seats in the gallery. Even single member of the Wizengamot
was there. That was good. No one could complain later they'd been
left out of this, or didn't know what it was about. "It is
certainly true that, commitment to free will or not, Harry <em>vates</em>
is still very young, and he may have made different decisions if he
had had adult guidance and counsel from both Light and Dark wizards,
not only Dark. He has the Gloryflowers on his side, and the
Opallines, and the Starrise heir, but they are the only Light
families who have truly agreed to the Alliance of Sun and Shadow.
Harry is also sadly lacking in Muggleborn and halfblood support,
though he is a halfblood himself and his Alliance claims to represent
them both. But we have all kinds of wizards here, and perhaps we can
make the decision now and insure that Harry receives the guidance he
needs and his group becomes more representative. What do the rest of
the Elders say? Should we lay our power behind this?" He paused,
and when no one immediately said anything, added, "We shall put it
to a vote. Elder Juniper."</p><p>Juniper was quiet,
thinking. Rufus could almost see him weighing the advantages of Light
being able to fight Dark with the fact that it would involve voting
for werewolf rights.</p><p>But Juniper had
already dissented, simply refusing to vote, on the new laws the
Wizengamot had passed. And perhaps he realized, or thought, that it
wouldn't really matter what he said; Gloriana Griffinsnest was
still likely to be tried.</p><p>"I agree," he
said.</p><p>Rufus fought the
temptation to close his eyes, and moved on from there. A few Elders
abstained. Most accepted eagerly, almost all of them Light-devoted or
Light-Declared. A few Elders voted against it, surprising Rufus; he
had thought they would be content, as they had been supporters of the
werewolf laws. Griselda, of course, supported it.</p><p>When that finished,
with strong support for accepting Harry's compromise, Rufus nodded
sharply. "Thank you, sirs, madams. I will ask that if you wish to
be considered for membership in the monitoring board, you contact
Harry <em>vates</em>, Aurora Whitestag, or our own Madam Marchbanks; I
had no hand in coming up with the idea, or urging Harry to accept
it." It was as much as he felt able to distance himself from this.
"I will be available after this meeting in my office, however,
should anyone wish to speak with me."</p><p>He did have to talk
with a few people on his way out, among them Elder Juniper. The other
wizard was smiling in an odd way as he faced Rufus and made a little
bow with his hands clasped behind his back.</p><p>"Well-danced," he
said.</p><p>"I am not sure I
understand you, sir," said Rufus stiffly. Juniper was only a few
years older than he was, but with a lift of an eyebrow, he could make
Rufus feel like a seventh-year Slytherin caught snogging his
girlfriend in the rose garden. Albus Dumbledore had once had the same
effect on him.</p><p>"You took steps that
must be painful for you, and never missed a one." Juniper's gaze
strayed to his bad leg. "I would never have imagined that someone
with such a wound could cope so well."</p><p>He bowed again, and
wandered away. Rufus sighed, though under his breath, and wondered if
his discomfort was going to be so visible to everyone.</p><p>He hoped not. He had
received most of what he wanted, and that would have to be enough. If
he thought Harry was making too many sacrifices, he would have to be
patient, and watch, and interfere where he felt able to do so.</p><p>One of the Light
Elders was tugging on his arm now, wanting to know something about
the makeup of the monitoring board. Rufus turned to tell her to go
talk to Griselda, and wondered what the morning would bring.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 49*: Intermission: Back Into the Storm</h2>
			<p><strong>WARNING: Torture. </strong></p><p><strong>Intermission: Back Into the Storm of Ravens</strong></p><p>Snape stepped into the
throne room a half hour after Voldemort had called his other Death
Eaters. All the muted conversation among them immediately stopped.
Masked faces turned towards him, and then no one moved. Snape
wondered, with an amusement that was buried deep under the shields he
had piled on his mind—shields woven of both Occlumency and the
coldness that his mother had taught him as part of survival—whether
they had expected him to run, as other Death Eaters did when they
decided they did not belong to their Lord anymore.</p><p>But Snape would not
run. How could he? No matter where he went, he bore a brand on his
arm that would identify him at once. So he was made to kneel at the
feet of the dark throne, by his own choice. What had changed were the
amount of control he had over his mind, and the amount of foresight
that he was using to predict his future, and the consequences of
failure.</p><p>Those supposedly minor
changes would give him more freedom than any of the kneeling fools
now contemplated. Snape supposed he would feel a distant pity for
them, too, if emotions were now part of his regular mental carriage.</p><p>"Severus."</p><p>The Dark Lord was
speaking to him. Well-trained reflex made Snape drop to one knee and
bow his head. "My Lord," he murmured.</p><p>"You know that you
will be punished." Voldemort's voice was almost friendly. That
didn't fool Snape. He had heard this tone before, and the Dark Lord
used it only when he was about to go into one of his deepest rages.
"You did not come when I summoned you. You know that no excuses are
sufficient for this."</p><p>"Yes, my lord,"
said Snape, and kept his head bowed. Inside, far behind his shields,
he was laughing. Inside, he was free. His mind had become a haven
full of ice scorpions, and all his weaknesses were frozen. Voldemort
would never know how little it had cost him. Snape did not plan on
telling him.</p><p>"Lucius. Bellatrix.
Regulus." Voldemort's voice as he spoke the names was sharp,
resonant, a voice Snape had not heard before. "You will stay.
Others of my children, depart."</p><p>The other Death Eaters
did not have to be told twice. They all but ran from the room. Snape
remained kneeling where he was, his eyes on the floor, and yet he
knew what would be happening behind him, because he knew all of the
three Voldemort had invited to remain so well.</p><p>Lucius would be taking
off his mask, so as to display his perfectly composed face to his
master; what mattered most to him was not the reality but the show.
Bellatrix would be leaning forward, her black eyes liquid and intent
as a hunting panther's. She loved the torture of disgraced Death
Eaters, and often complained that her Lord did not punish enough of
them.</p><p>Regulus would be
struggling against letting his face pale or his eyes fall, even as he
pulled off his mask. Voldemort had chosen him because Snape and
Regulus were close, and he knew that. So this was a test of Regulus's
loyalty as well as Snape's own. If he made a single gesture in an
attempt to restrain the Dark Lord, then he would be placed under
torture as well.</p><p>Snape hoped that
Regulus would hold firm, but he couldn't do much about it if
Regulus chose not to. What he could do was kneel with his eyes on the
floor, and accept the torture that came with his supposed betrayal,
and decide to survive it.</p><p>He knew that most of
the disgraced Death Eaters died. Everyone knew that. But the fact was
only one of many icy stones in his mind, such as the part that
counted how soon he might reasonably slip away to Dumbledore with a
report on the Dark Lord's activities. It was not any more important
than they were.</p><p>Voldemort spelled the
door shut with wandless magic. Snape was unimpressed, in the haven of
his deepest self. He could have done the same thing if he <em>wished</em>
to, and was truly angry.</p><p>"Let us see what a
little pain may teach you about loyalty, Severus," Voldemort
whispered, a sound hardly louder than Nagini's scales on stone,
pointing that long yew wand at him. "<em>Obscurus</em>."</p><p>And his eyesight was
gone. Snape gave a little flinch at that, because he knew it was
expected. There was another way to see his mind, he thought, beyond
shielded and the home of ice scorpions. It was a stage. He had all
his emotions and reflexes on pulleys, like cardboard scenery that he
could lift up or lower down as it was needed. Lucius would be
jealous, did he only know how easy it was.</p><p>"<em>Incarcerous.</em>"</p><p>And his limbs were
splayed out and held by ropes. Snape fell in an awkward position, and
heard his wand tumble from his robe pocket. He also heard Regulus's
indrawn breath. He felt a touch of exasperation. <em>Can he keep
nothing to himself? I can play my part perfectly, and he will still
draw the Dark Lord down on him through his own clumsiness.</em></p><p><em>"Crucio.</em>"</p><p>Voldemort usually
began with milder pain curses and worked his way up. But then,
disgraced Death Eaters usually came in cringing and gabbling excuses,
or simply ran and had to be hunted down. Snape had strode in half an
hour late as if he had every right to be there.</p><p>He had done it to test
the Dark Lord, and he had done it to test himself. If he could not
stand even one <em>Crucio</em> from the Dark Lord's wand, then he
could not stand his spying, which ran the constant risk of it. Having
encountered the reality, he would comprehend the risk better. And he
was eager to see what his own response would be to the torture. He
regarded it as he would have a Potions experiment, to see what would
happen when extreme pain was added to the base of one Severus Snape.</p><p>He screamed. Of course
he screamed. The pain running up and down his sides was like ten
thousand hot forks jabbing him, like acid that started in his chest
and ate outwards, and his limbs were flopping like the limbs of an
art burnt to death by aiming sunlight through glass. It hurt. The
<em>Crucio</em> was a spell that Voldemort had perfected during his
Dark Arts studies in other countries; he added a twist to it that
enabled him to keep it up indefinitely, while most Dark wizards soon
became exhausted by the effort to pour magical strength into the
spell. Well, and they became distracted and disheartened by the
screams, Snape thought. Most wizards still had a reaction to the
sight of a fellow human being in such pain.</p><p>The Dark Lord did not
have that problem.</p><p>He screamed, and he
felt the first stab of true agony as some internal organ ruptured
under the strain. He gasped as a rib broke and pierced his lung. He
knew his lungs were filling were blood, and he rode the edge of
death.</p><p>It filled him with
exultation, cold as the breath of a winter night. If he died, he did
it on his own terms. He was not the like the cowards who ran away or
came back crying and hoping to be forgiven. Fear did not rule him.
His mind was his own, and his mind was free.</p><p>He was unsure how long
it lasted. He only knew that it was done, sudden as falling off a
mountainside, and he heard the measured tread of his Lord's steps
coming towards him. The hem of the robe brushed over his face. Snape
pursed his lips and managed a competent kiss to it.</p><p>Voldemort paused. Then
Snape knew he was bending down, his face coming so close to Snape's
that he smelled the scent of stone and old, dead flesh.</p><p>"You kissed my robe,
Severusss." Voldemort's voice grew into a hiss when he was
surprised, which did not happen often.</p><p>"You are my master,"
Snape whispered. It was difficult to talk. He heard the wheezy breath
that indicated blood was bubbling in his lungs and his air was
running out. Well, blood <em>was</em> bubbling in his lungs and his air
was running out. His voice, if not his words, could reflect reality.
"I would not—cry for mercy. You are my master."</p><p>Voldemort was silent
for long moments. "And if I tortured you again?" he asked. "If
I brought you to the brink of death and then asked you to acknowledge
me, Severus?"</p><p>"I would do so,"
Snape said. He forced himself not to remember that he could be on the
brink of death already, for all he knew. "I took your Mark of my
own free will. I am yours."</p><p>He heard the swish of
robes as Voldemort moved away, and the <em>Finite Incantatem </em>that
ended the binding on his limbs and restored his eyesight. He lay
staring at the ceiling, while Voldemort instructed Lucius and
Bellatrix to feed him healing potions and insure that he survived.</p><p>They picked him up and
moved him, none too gently. Snape coughed blood, and cried aloud when
one of his ruptured organs brushed another one. Bellatrix's
distrustful eyes glared down at him, so dark that he could see them
even past the black spots dancing in front of his vision.</p><p>"You are lucky,"
she whispered, with the sound of jealousy clear in her voice. "You
do not deserve so much of the Lord's good will."</p><p>Snape closed his eyes.
He knew that he might still die from the <em>Crucio</em>, which he
estimated must have endured for at least fifteen minutes. He knew
Regulus's absence might mean that Voldemort was keeping him behind
to torture him. He knew that he was probably far from sane at the
moment, at least in some eyes.</p><p>He did not care.</p><p>He was free.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 50*: The Day of the Phoenix</h2>
			<p><strong>WARNING: Cliffhanger. </strong></p><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Day of the Phoenix</strong></p><p>Harry watched
patiently as the sun arose. He had not slept, and it felt as if
grainy weariness were clawing at his eyes. But he could wait to rest
until he performed certain important tasks. And he wanted one of
those tasks to be symbolic.</p><p>So he waited as the
sun arose. And beside him and behind him were Snape, Draco, Laura,
Delilah, and Narcissa. Hawthorn had stalked away from him when she
heard of Harry's proposed bargain, and most others were still
asleep. Delilah had only changed back to human a few moments ago,
when the moon sank beneath the surface of the earth and the balance
of power shifted from night to day, but she was here nonetheless.
Harry was glad. He hoped that her support would help others angry
over his terms for settling the rebellion, in particular the other
werewolves.</p><p>Snape's hands were
tight on his shoulders. Harry knew he hadn't given up his concerns
about the monitoring board, though he might have held whatever fit he
intended to hold in private. There were shoals ahead for them, too,
tricky places to be negotiated.</p><p>Harry knew all of it.
It didn't bother him. Now, watching the first rays of gold crawl up
the sky, he was truly calm. His pacing rage had curled up and gone to
sleep, like a werewolf with Wolfsbane locked into a room for the
night. He was doing the only thing he could, and seeking the only
path forward.</p><p>But, of course, it
would help if he could make it look like the <em>right</em> thing as
well.</p><p>So he waited as the
sun arose, and when he could finally see the edge of it over the
curve of Woodhouse's hills and pine forest, he began to sing.</p><p>This song was
different from all the others. Harry didn't want to cause just one
emotion with it, either sorrow or joy. He lifted his voice as a
tribute to the fallen in the past, and he did it so that he might
link those fallen to the future and salute them by giving a clearer
image of what their deaths had won. He sang what was gone, and he
sang what would come. He could imagine, if he closed his eyes and
thought about it, Fawkes rising in a circle above him, every turn to
the left marking an acknowledgment of death and mistakes made and
griefs unchanged, and every turn to the right marking an
acknowledgment of life and mistakes that could be prevented and
things that could yet alter.</p><p>Harry had given up the
chance to punish other killers of werewolves when he agreed to this
bargain; he knew that. If he was going to emphasize that Gloriana's
crime was a crime because it had occurred after the new laws were
passed, then he would have to say that the other crimes were not
crimes because they had happened when the hunting season was legal.
He had taken what he thought he might be able to have—justice for
the one murder that had happened close enough to the rebellion's
end to merit a trial in the eyes of the public. That was what had
made Hawthorn stalk away from him. She did not like to be told that
she could not seek vengeance against the Aurors who had hurt her
because to do so would unleash a string of attacks, illegal duels,
and blood feuds.</p><p>Harry hoped she would
forgive him. He hoped they would all forgive him. He poured all that
into his song, and waited until it filled Woodhouse like an
overflowing bowl of music. Then he let his magic go, too, and poured
that into his voice.</p><p>Phoenixes had been
associated with the sun for as long as they existed. Some legends
said they had borne their ashes to the sun itself when they came back
from the dead. That was not true, and Harry knew it, but some of the
other legends about phoenixes had proven to be true of him, who only
had the voice and the fire and not the body. So he imagined his voice
growing louder and louder, and mingling with the sun's rays as they
spread all over Britain.</p><p>He sang, and he wanted
everyone magical to hear him doing so.</p><p>His vision flattened
as he sang, and then it rose and <em>spread</em>. He might have been on
dragonback, looking down on the British Isles from a grand height.
They appeared as painted images below him, with gaping holes full of
light and movement that let glimpses of moving figures through. He
saw Augureys in Ireland pause and lift their heads, beaks gaping, at
the sound of the song. He saw a unicorn begin a pass through a Muggle
town, breaking the boundaries between magic and mundane and spilling
the melody into their lives. Harry had never known the look of almost
painful wonder that the Muggle men and women wore for the moment he
saw them. He decided that must be what it was like to live in a world
without magic and then suddenly glimpse it.</p><p>He saw people flooding
in to work at the Ministry stop moving, and close their eyes. He saw
McGonagall open the front doors of Hogwarts, and come out into the
aftermath of a thunderstorm, tilting her head to the sky. Connor was
trying to make gestures to tell everyone else that this was his
brother, since he didn't want to actually speak and interrupt the
song, and Luna was smiling.</p><p>Pharos Starrise
clasped his hands behind his back, leaned against the wall of his
ancestral home, and fought the longing to relax and weep. Harry had
been instrumental in the death of his uncle, and still sheltered his
mother's murderer, and he would not forget that.</p><p>A man grooming a
Granian in the west of Scotland paused and squinted at the sun. He
had heard that the boy <em>vates</em> had a phoenix's voice, too, but
that didn't matter to his cause. He had no idea why the chords and
warbles he was hearing now <em>should</em> matter, but he knew that
they did, somehow.</p><p>Lucius Malfoy was very
pale, and his face only grew paler as he listened.</p><p>Harry's voice
hovered and lingered over the Isle of Man, and Calibrid Opalline
braced her hands on the table in front of her and bowed her head,
relaxing from the burden of caring for her family for one moment.
Paton stroked the head of his youngest grandchild and listened with
distant eyes. A few of the burned children Harry had woken from their
fear-induced trances after Acies had come laughed and stretched out
their hands in recognition of the voice that had freed them.</p><p>The Hebridean Black
dragons in the sanctuary on their islands came awake all at once,
bellowing and shouting, even the ones in the thick of the sleep that
followed when they'd eaten well. Their handlers, of the MacFusty
clan, ran about trying to calm them. Dark head after dark head turned
in the direction of the phoenix song, and fire flared and danced
across the stone and across the sea.</p><p>Harry reached after a
pitch of determination and stubbornness that carried him, and all
those listening to him, to a pinnacle of change, where they could
shine in the sun. He held them there, lingering, on a single,
stretched note.</p><p>And then he let his
voice dissipate, fading into the sunlight and the air and the slowly
thinning colors of dawn, and freed them.</p><p>Opening his eyes, he
nodded to the people gathered around him. "Let's make the plans
that we need to make," he said quietly. "The first thing I need
to do is contact Scrimgeour about the time we'll be arriving."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Hawthorn had changed
back while she was in the middle of clawing her bedding apart. She
collapsed on the floor, her hand clenched on the sheet, and breathed,
hearing the thud of her heart and the rasp of her lungs as if they
belonged to someone else.</p><p>Her packmate was dead.
The hole she had felt when Fergus died was there again, but deeper
and more pervasive this time, as if one of her <em>limbs</em> had
vanished when Claudia did. Hawthorn had known her longer. She had
taken comfort with Claudia when Pansy died. Several mornings she had
awakened to Claudia wrapped around her, her breathing soft and steady
in her ears. And if she rarely spoke words of sympathy, she had her
eyes to talk for her. Hawthorn sometimes found herself wishing she
had known Claudia before the attack, but it would have been unlikely
they would ever meet; Claudia was the daughter of a Light family, and
engaged in doing private research on the nature of Light and Dark,
and inventing or modifying new spells. However she came to know her,
Hawthorn was grateful.</p><p>And now she was <em>gone</em>,
and the only thing Harry could think of or talk of was a trial to
make sure that Gloriana, her murderer, went behind bars in Tullianum.</p><p>It was not enough. She
could suffer the same treatment that Hawthorn had when she was
captive in Tullianum, and it would never be enough. How <em>could</em>
it be enough when that woman had made part of Hawthorn's <em>self</em>
vanish?</p><p>Even Delilah did not
quite understand, perhaps because her powerful family had protected
her and she had not gone to Tullianum with Hawthorn. Apparently,
Aurors had approached the Gloryflower property, but Laura had changed
in front of them and roared at them, and they had rapidly found
excuses to be elsewhere. She did not understand that Hawthorn had
looked on their little pack as one of the few worthwhile things to
come out of the last few years, and now that Claudia was gone, the
loss diminished everything that had come before. She felt the same
loss, but she looked at it through a different lens.</p><p>Hawthorn knew she
could mourn Claudia's death by more useless gestures—ripping the
bedsheets apart as she had done while still a wolf grieving for the
death of her packmate, or trying to get vengeance on Gloriana
Griffinsnest, when that would only see her exiled from the Alliance
and perhaps dead. Or she could curl up and lower her head like a good
little dog and tell Harry that she understood, that why should she
ask for vengeance when she could have justice?</p><p>Or she could do what
it was actually in her to do.</p><p>Take this rage. Hide
it deep. Grow the hatred the way she would grow a flower that she
wanted no one else stealing the seeds of: place it in a corner of her
garden and tend it alone, hidden from all eyes.</p><p>The hatred, and the
determination that came with it, would give her a cure for her
lycanthropy in the end, Hawthorn thought, and perhaps even one that
did not stand such a high chance of killing her. And they would give
her the patience to wait and watch, and take her revenge in so hidden
a way that not even Harry could argue against it, nor would have any
idea that she had done it.</p><p>Hawthorn had killed
only one fellow Death Eater for something she had done, which was try
to get the Dark Lord interested in using Hawthorn's husband. She
had done it by waiting, and watching, and then, in the end, arranging
matters so that it was Lucius who actually killed the woman, thinking
it all his own idea. She could do the same thing now. The sword would
cut down her enemy, but no one would be aware whose hand had held the
hilt.</p><p>She rose and pushed
her hair back into shape, then grasped her wand and changed her
tattered clothes for new. She conjured water that she poured into a
basin on the end of her table and slowly bathed her face, while
peering into a similarly conjured mirror to make sure that she looked
normal.</p><p>She was a pureblood
witch, not a mindless beast. She was always going to remember that,
no matter how many times the world exasperated her and tried to make
her forget it.</p><p>When the knock came on
the door, she could open it and smile at Harry's anxious face. He
tried to explain, to apologize—as if anything could apologize for
Gloriana Griffinsnest not dying in pain—but Hawthorn got there
first, pitching her voice calm and sweet and low.</p><p>"It was something I
should have realized on my own, Harry, given the oaths of the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow." She smiled at him, and he studied her
face carefully back, looking for guile. Hawthorn would give him none.
He had been a good leader. He had even understood why she used blood
curses on Indigena Yaxley in the midst of battle. It was not his
fault that he did not understand this, that their stances on
vengeance must part forever. And, in fact, in the best scenario, he
would never have to know. Hawthorn would simply complete her
vengeance with no one the wiser and leave Harry happy and content
with her. "I am calm now. And I agree that this compromise is the
best one we can look forward to."</p><p>"Do you want to go
with us when we leave Woodhouse?" Harry asked. "The Minister has
asked us to meet him in front of the Ministry at noon. The time of
brightest Light, you know." He gave a faint smile as if he were
embarrassed about the symbolism of that, at least. He should be,
Hawthorn thought. "Only a small delegation is going, of course. New
laws or no new laws, most of the pack leaders are still bitter or
fearful, and many of them had their homes destroyed in the attacks,
so they have nowhere to go but Woodhouse right now."</p><p><em>I know, </em>Hawthorn
wanted to say. <em>I was at one of those attacks. And your efforts to
ease their pain, while commendable, are simply too late and not
enough, Harry. </em></p><p>What she said was,
"Yes, I should like to go. Is the Minister going to show Gloriana
Griffinsnest in front of the wizarding world, and explain her
arrest?"</p><p>Harry nodded.</p><p>"I should like to
go," Hawthorn repeated softly, scratching her left shoulder.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Indigena leaned
against the wall of the burrow, pressing her ear to the earth and
listening in rapturous silence until the last of Harry's song died
away. Then she sighed, and the tendrils of the swift-roses and other
plants gathered around her writhed in agreement. The song had been
like sunlight, and they were sorry to see it go.</p><p>She checked on her
Lord, but he still lay in the coma he had worn since that strange
attack of convulsions, his hands clasped tightly around the golden
cup, his breath rasping in and out of his lungs. No more strange cuts
had appeared on his body. Indigena was grateful for that. She'd
examined the cuts, and the only things she thought they resembled
were the talon marks of a raptor, a hawk or an eagle. She did not
know how to prevent them from appearing, nor what spell might have
been used to cause them.</p><p>She did add finding
out to her other load of research. She had enough to read about,
Merlin knew, but she could not simply ignore a spell or piece of
magic that was likely to prove dangerous to her Lord.</p><p>Indigena dragged <em>Odi
et Amo</em> towards her again, and blew dust and dirt off the cover.
Her grandmother would be furious to see Indigena treating a valuable
book this way. She had been the one to teach Indigena about gardening
and the love of green and growing things, but she had always insisted
on both of them washing their hands before they came into the
library. "Weeding isn't reading," she'd said, and Indigena
still believed that.</p><p>As it was, she had
little choice.</p><p>Currently, she was
rereading Chapter Eleven, in hopes that it would provide some clues
as to why her Lord's latest plan wasn't going well. Indigena was
trying, but she wasn't as strong as he was, and with only the one
candidate to practice on—well, two if one stretched it, but it was
the difference between a healthy plant in a pot and a few seeds that
had gone through fire and flood and might or might not sprout—she
dared not step too clumsily and lose control altogether.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry glanced over the
group of people going with him. Draco, of course. Snape would not be
left behind. Narcissa was coming with them, and Harry was glad of
that. He had the feeling she was genuinely calm, not merely
pretending to be calm the way that Hawthorn was. She would add to
their group by her presence, her composure, and her quiet refusal to
let anything undignified happen while she was around.</p><p>Harry was less sure
about taking Delilah and Hawthorn, but both deserved to be present
when Claudia's murderer was delivered to justice. Besides, he
thought that Delilah would be all right with Laura to restrain her.
And the Gloryflowers were necessary to counter the perception that
every single one of Harry's allies, even the ones he brought along
in such an important moment as this, was Dark.</p><p>Adalrico was coming,
and Millicent; Elfrida would stay with Marian in Woodhouse. Harry,
after careful consideration, had chosen Camellia and Trumpetflower as
representatives from his own pack. Remus had almost sat up and begged
when Harry announced the need for candidates, and had sunk back into
his chair with a stricken expression on his face when Harry refused
him. But he had also given Harry a sharp glance that said he might be
arriving at the beginnings of comprehension. Harry was glad for him,
if that was so. He missed Remus sometimes.</p><p>Peregrine would come
to witness and speak for the packs driven out of their homes in
London by the hunting, though Harry had persuaded her two guardian
wolves to stay behind. There was simply too great a chance that they
would bite if someone even looked to be threatening Peregrine, and on
a day of the full moon, that was inexcusable. Helcas would come for
the goblins, and Bone for the centaurs. Harry did wish there was a
way to take the karkadann, but he couldn't imagine Apparating her.</p><p>He himself took
Helcas's arm, while Draco took his mother's, and looked around as
the others matched up into people who could Apparate and those who
couldn't, holding tight to their partners. "Everyone knows the
general area in front of the Ministry that we want to aim for?" he
asked. "The alley that holds the telephone box?"</p><p>Nods came back at him
from around the circle, and Harry smiled. "Good. Let's do this."</p><p>He closed his eyes and
shut all the confused, crowding thoughts out of his mind with
Occlumency. He breathed, deeply and easily, and made himself think of
the gains he was going to win by going ahead with this plan. Some of
them were things he should have done long since, like including more
Light wizards in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. Aurora had made the
point in her letter to him that there should be more Sun among the
Shadows. Though Harry disagreed politely with her about that
interpretation of the Alliance's name, it was a useful impression
for this meeting, along with the Minister's suggestion to meet at
noon.</p><p>He put away the
considerations of whether what he had done was right. He was
surrounded by his own doubts and doubters. Other people would talk to
him and take him to task if he became too complacent. He did not
think that he ever need feel uneasy about resting on his laurels,
because he wouldn't get a chance to rest, and to some people, these
wouldn't be laurels.</p><p>They Apparated, and
landed with stone beneath their feet. Harry heard Helcas give a deep
sniff beside him, and opened his eyes to see a look of bliss on the
goblin's face.</p><p>"What is it?" he
asked in curiosity.</p><p>"This city smells of
stone and metal." Helcas looked approvingly towards the visible
parts of Muggle London, smothered half in sunlight and half in fog.
"I have long wondered how many of my southern kin lived here, where
they could not hear the sound of the sea nor feel the wetness soaking
their shoulders. Now I see that London may have its compensations."</p><p>Harry nodded, and
glanced about to see that everyone had arrived safely, though Bone
was checking his hooves and tail-tip to make sure nothing had been
Splinched. Then he turned and looked down at the alley, at the
welcoming committee the Minister had set up for them.</p><p>It was more elaborate
than Harry would have guessed, or perhaps people were simply more
eager to see the end of the rebellion than he had assumed. Around the
telephone box blazed a ring of light, a leaping fountain of it that
rose and then cascaded back down, never quite touching the stones.
Harry recognized it as a variation of the spell that could create a
private dueling circle for two combatants. At the head of the ring,
under a banner floating in the air that said <em>WELCOME BACK VATES,</em>
stood the Minister, with several members of the Wizengamot behind
him. Harry was happy to see Griselda Marchbanks and some southern
goblins among them. Outside the ring of light gathered others, trying
to press forward. The light rejected them, though, bending inward a
small distance and then firming again to push them back.</p><p>The moment Harry met
Scrimgeour's eyes, the ring of light expanded to include him and
his companions. Harry paused a moment to let everyone arrange
themselves as they'd agreed on—Draco at his right shoulder, Snape
at his left, and the others spreading out in a tail like a comet's
behind that. Harry frowned as he heard hooves clopping, and hoped the
others remembered his directive that Bone and Helcas should not be
left to the last row.</p><p>Then they advanced.</p><p>Scrimgeour stood with
his head up, watching them come. Harry hadn't seen him in a month,
and was struck by how much he had changed. His eyes had shadows
behind them, as if he had crossed battlefields. His stance no longer
carried the unconscious pride it had before, of a man who knew his
place in the world and what to do with it. Now he looked like someone
who'd tap-danced on a peat bog and learned to keep his steps even
in spite of that. He stood with his whole body balanced around the
scroll he held—the scroll with the final, promised terms of the
rebellion settlement, Harry guessed. His hair had paled further. If
it had any color now but white, Harry couldn't see it.</p><p>He had to honor
Scrimgeour. The man had made some dangerous, difficult, and ethically
prickly decisions of his own, of which the Ritual of Cincinnatus was
only the most prominent one. And there were more difficulties with
meeting with Harry like this, giving him the amount of respect that
he might to a visiting Minister of Magic. Some people would sneer at
Scrimgeour, and see him as bowing down to the intimidation of a
sixteen-year-old boy. Aurora was confident they could save
Scrimgeour's position in office along with the Alliance, the rights
of werewolves, and the political power of the Light. Harry was not so
sure.</p><p>He halted about twenty
feet away from the Minister, far enough that he could see curses
coming in time to deflect them, and bowed. The crowd outside the
circle of light yelled, but their voices were dimmed to murmurs by
the ring. Harry wondered if they were shouting mostly scorn or
encouragement, and which it would be better to hope for.</p><p>"Minister," he
said. "Thank you for inviting us here. You have the agreement that
we came to sign?"</p><p>"I do," said
Scrimgeour, and tossed the scroll into the air. Harry's surprise
lasted only until he saw the strands of light reaching out from the
sides of the ring, catching the parchment and unrolling it from its
golden ribbon. It opened quickly, and then a melodious, uninflected
voice spoke from it, reciting the terms aloud. Despite its beauty,
and the necessity of having all of this read aloud so that the
audience would know what it said, Harry shivered. The voice without a
trace of emotion or tone reminded him just a little too much of the
Unspeakables' voices the first time he had heard them.</p><p>"Minister Rufus
Scrimgeour, temporarily dictator of the British Ministry of Magic due
to the Ritual of Cincinnatus, and Harry <em>vates</em>, leader of the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow, have come to an agreement. The Ministry
promises to offer werewolves the same rights as witches and wizards.
This set of terms was offered to Harry <em>vates</em> on October 24th,
1996, and accepted by him later the next day. Thus, the murder of
Claudia Griffinsnest by Gloriana Griffinsnest that night was unjust
and illegal, and will be recorded as such by the Wizengamot."</p><p>A large puff of
colored smoke rose off to one side; Harry suspected it was more to
draw attention than anything else, since there was no reason the
Aurors holding Gloriana couldn't simply have Apparated into the
ring of light. He turned to see them, and tried to restrain a snarl
of vicious satisfaction. Gloriana was shackled, and held in such a
position that it was impossible for her to walk with her head held
haughtily high and pretend to no discomposure. In fact, she lost her
calm the moment her eyes fell on Harry.</p><p>"You did this!"
she almost screamed at him, straining at the chains to reach him.
Harry saw the fetters were silver, and had to duck his head to hide a
smile. "You were the one who made sure I was arrested!"</p><p>"By my acceptance of
the Minister's terms of an alliance, yes, I did," said Harry
quietly. He was aware that the voice had stopped reading the scroll,
but he didn't much care. If the audience wanted to hear the
exchange between him and Gloriana, they would hear it. "You
committed a murder. Of your <em>blood relative.</em>" He could let
contempt and disgust drip from his voice now, and if everyone not in
his alliance thought that came mostly from the fact that Gloriana and
Claudia had been related, and not because he hated the idea of the
murder in the first place, they were free to think that. "I merely
requested the Ministry to follow through on its promise."</p><p>Gloriana strained
against her chains again. "And what about the other hunters and
attackers during the hunting season?" she shrieked. "Are you
going to accuse them, too?"</p><p>Looking into her
distended features, Harry could see how intently she must have
thought she was going to get away with this. It was the only
explanation for such deluded behavior now. That added to his sense of
satisfaction about sending her to trial. "No," he said, though
that drove a dagger into a different part of himself. "What they
did was legal by the laws of the time. We cannot arrest them for
that, though I stand by my conviction that what they did was
unethical if not illegal. But the laws <em>did</em> apply when you
murdered Claudia, ma'am. I hope that you enjoy your trial."</p><p>His fury was awake and
pacing in his chest again. He was strong enough to rip Gloriana
apart, if he wanted.</p><p>He held himself back.
He watched in silence as the Aurors escorted Gloriana to the
telephone box, and led her down. Then he turned to Scrimgeour. The
Minister was watching him intently, but he relaxed when Harry looked
at him, and waved at the scroll. The toneless voice began to speak
again.</p><p>"The terms are the
same as those sent to the <em>Daily Prophet</em>. Werewolves will no
longer be hunted. They will be tried fairly. They may hold paying
jobs, wands, and custody of their children and property legally
theirs. They need not wear collars, nor carry identification papers,
and any imprisonment in Tullianum on charges of being a werewolf
alone is strictly forbidden, as is experimentation by the
Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries. The Ministry regrets
that such atrocities were necessary to make it see its duty towards
its werewolf citizens."</p><p>Harry could hear
Peregrine and Camellia muttering together behind his back, but he
didn't turn to face them. They were probably saying that the
atrocities were regretted even more by those werewolf citizens who
had had to live through them. And, well, that was true, but Harry
could not reach back and change the past. He had to keep his eyes on
the future.</p><p>"In addition, those
funds that once went towards the Department for the Control and
Suppression of Deadly Beasts will be directed towards brewing
Wolfsbane for all registered werewolves and making sure that a cure
for lycanthropy is researched," the voice continued implacably.
"The Ministry also agrees to set up a Goblin Board to address
communication with the northern goblins, and to have southern goblins
among its representatives. Other Ministry employees will venture into
the Forbidden Forest to treat with the centaurs, and discuss
registration for Being status and interaction with humans."</p><p>Scrimgeour paused the
voice from the scroll and turned to Harry. Harry inclined his head.
"I accept that," he said.</p><p>The Minister nodded,
and the voice began once more.</p><p>"In return, Harry
<em>vates</em> agrees to lay down his rebellion. He will return to the
wizarding world and acknowledge the legal authority of the Ministry
of Magic once more. He also agrees to accept more Light wizards into
his Alliance of Sun and Shadow, as long as they will swear the oaths
involved, and he accepts a monitoring board to watch over him and
guide his behavior. Two prominent members of this monitoring board,
Aurora Whitestag and Griselda Marchbanks, will help him to choose the
other members."</p><p>Movement stirred
behind Scrimgeour's shoulders, and the two women broke apart from
the rest and came out to stand on either side of the Minister. Aurora
Whitestag looked as if someone had set the world on fire for her.
Madam Marchbanks's expression was more guarded. Harry could not
blame her. He nodded to both of them as to two equal comrades and
turned back to the scroll.</p><p>"The Ministry
recognizes that the monitoring board does not claim to have official
guardianship of Harry <em>vates</em>, but they can and will advise in
him matters to do with his <em>vates</em> task and his destruction of
the Dark Lord You-Know-Who, with the details to be hammered out in
private conference. Members may include Light and Dark wizards, and
wizards of any blood status, as well as magical creatures. The only
requirement is that they meet the approval of all three people
selecting the members, and that they swear the oaths of the Alliance
of Sun and Shadow.</p><p>"Finally, all
charges against Harry <em>vates</em>, including trespass on and damage
to Ministry property, and harboring fugitives, are dropped.</p><p>"Witnessed this day,
October 26th, 1996, by supporters of both Minister Rufus
Scrimgeour and Harry <em>vates</em>, and the wider wizarding community.
Signed—"</p><p>The scroll's voice
broke off abruptly. Scrimgeour held out his hand, and the parchment
came skimming over to him. He produced a quill and ceremoniously
signed his name at the foot of the page, then held it out to Harry.</p><p>Harry could feel the
tension of the people behind him as he took the scroll, but he
couldn't see any magical bindings or compulsion spells on the
parchment, other than the expected one: after he signed it, he would
be expected to abide by the terms. And he could do that. He let it
float in the air as he accepted the quill from Scrimgeour and signed
his name. After <em>Harry</em>, he hesitated only an instant before
using <em>vates</em>, wrinkling his nose as he did so. Doing this felt
too much like claiming it as a title, but he had no last name—and
probably never would, if he had anything to say about it—and it was
how the scroll had referred to him.</p><p>"Signed by Minister
Rufus Scrimgeour and Harry <em>vates</em>," the voice said, though
now Harry thought it had a hint of triumph in it, and then the
parchment rolled itself back up and the golden ribbon tied it. Rufus
drew out his wand and tapped the scroll, and a second copy came into
being. He held it out solemnly to Harry.</p><p>Harry was just opening
his mouth to say something significantly splendid when he heard the
warble of phoenix song from above his left wrist. He blushed as
Scrimgeour smiled, and then took the scroll and murmured quickly,
"I'm sorry, but I don't think that I can speak—"</p><p>"Harry." It was
Paton Opalline, his voice tight and urgent in a way that Harry had
never heard it before. "The dragon is gone."</p><p>Harry blinked. "What?"</p><p>"Acies," said
Paton. "The British Red-Gold. Calibrid just went to look in on her,
and she's gone. We didn't feel her fly away or break any of the
spells keeping her asleep. We don't know when she left, or where
she is."</p><p>Harry closed his eyes
for a moment. He had a very good guess as to what might have awakened
Acies, come to think of it. He remembered the Hebridean Black dragons
holding up their heads and bellowing when his phoenix song spread
across the Isles. Dragons were called the Singers, and Acies had
changed in the wake of siren song and the frenzied music of Light and
Dark on Midsummer Day. And it might follow, it <em>might</em>, that she
would follow the lure of the phoenix song to him.</p><p>Harry had to go to a
battlefield where he could fight her.</p><p>"Thank you, Mr.
Opalline," he said now. "I will—"</p><p>And then he heard the
sound of tearing sailcloth, and knew it for the sound of immense
wings. He swung around amid screams, and lifted his eyes to the sky.</p><p>Coils of red-gold
filled the western horizon as the dragon came storming straight
towards him. Her jaws were already open, as if to breathe fire, and
Harry imagined the destruction such flames could wreak in Muggle
London—what it would mean for unshielded Muggles, or unshielded
wizards, to face a dragon—and he remembered the Death Eaters
melting. Acies was already swinging her head from side to side, as if
she couldn't see him and was thinking about another target.</p><p>Harry stepped forward,
and began to sing.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 51*: Wings Vaster Than The Earth</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Forty: Wings Vaster Than The Earth</strong></p><p>Harry wasn't
entirely sure what he was doing as he sent his voice spiraling
upward, other than trying to draw Acies's attention—or the
attention of the dragon that had once been Acies. He must remember to
make that distinction, he thought. She had said once that she wanted
him to remember her when there was nothing human left in her, and
this was the case now. She did not remember him. Essentially, Acies
had died on that tower above the Hogwarts battlefield on Midsummer
Day.</p><p>But his song had
awakened her, and dragons were called the Singers. He sent his voice
arching upward, reaching, hoping.</p><p>She barreled down
towards him, and what came out of her mouth in answer was not song
but flame.</p><p>Harry had been
thinking it might be. He'd had his magic hovering around him, and
now he raised it and whipped it forward, intoning <em>Protego</em> in
his head and imagining a protective shield surrounding all those
people gathered in the alley. It helped that it was a physically
confined space, and that he didn't have to try to shield many
people spread out over a wide area.</p><p>The fire, that
piercing beam of concentrated white light, hit the shield and
splattered against it. Harry could feel the dragon's devouring
magic working against his own, a mindless beast, striving to eat the
shield, and then fall through it and eat the people beyond. Harry
breathed sharply, letting the breaths come between breaks in his
singing, which he still hoped might calm her, and sent his strength
reeling into the shield in slaps at the same time. Already, the
effort was pulling at his magical core. Either he was more exhausted
than he'd thought or the dragon's magic was more powerful than
he'd thought. He believed it was the latter.</p><p>And he knew he didn't
have long before the fire either ate through or some idiot drew his
wand and cast a curse in his panic—which would weaken the shield,
coming from behind as it did. The only blessing right now was that
the dragon was close enough that her flame was a narrow lance, which
only spread out as it neared the target; otherwise, it would have
consumed the buildings all along the alley in flame. And as it
trembled around the Shield Charm, sliding further and further in
sheets of white sun-heat, Harry knew it wouldn't be long before
that happened.</p><p>He could think of only
one thing he could do, and it would be tricky.</p><p>But then, Harry
thought as he sang, if there was one thing someone might name him by
this point in his life, it was an expert in tricky situations.</p><p>He threw most of his
strength into the shield, recklessly draining his magical core, long
enough to insure that those behind it would be safe for at least
another few moments. Then he looked up at the dragon, gave himself
only a moment to judge distance and speed and height—he'd played
Quidditch, he knew how to do this, and the dragon was close—and
Apparated himself onto her back.</p><p>He landed on simmering
scale with a thump that made blisters rise on his palm and his legs
ache and <em>burn</em>, and the dragon reared back, her fire spraying
into the air, and <em>screamed.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Falco circled in the
air, staring. He had attended the ceremony that marked the end of the
rebellion in his sea eagle form, watching with angry eyes as Harry
accepted the Minister's terms and then signed the scroll. Others
didn't know or care about the changes they were inflicting on the
wizarding world, but at least they had either fought against it or
mindlessly followed their leaders into what they thought was a better
day. They had not, as Harry had, possessed immense magic that could
change the balance of the world and then not <em>paid attention</em> to
what they were doing.</p><p>And then the dragon
appeared. Falco himself was still debating what he should do—he had
never faced a British Red-Gold before, and they had been dead long
before his time—when Harry Apparated himself out from under the
shield.</p><p>The dragon reacted at
once to the presence and the weight on her back, slight though it
was, confirming all the rumors Falco had ever heard about the
sensitivity of scales along that region of the neck. She swung her
head up and turned and tried to bite the new threat, her flame dying
out from between her teeth so that she didn't singe one of the few
parts on her body vulnerable to fire. But Harry had chosen a good
position, just behind the neck, and she couldn't reach him with her
teeth.</p><p>She began hovering in
midair, with awkward beats of her wings, one clawed talon rising to
pluck him off.</p><p>Falco stared, and felt
something like a shard of envy pierce his heart when he saw what
Harry did next. <em>To be that young again, and that reckless.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry felt as if he
knelt on sand in the middle of summer noontime. The scales shimmered
beneath his hand, the color of blood in sunlight, incredibly
beautiful, but Merlin, they <em>hurt</em>, blisters were already
forming and bursting all along his palm, and he could feel his
clothes beginning to smolder.</p><p>There was one thing
that might shield him. He concentrated on the idea of what would
happen if Acies should roast all these people beneath him simply
because she'd been drawn by his song, how monstrously <em>unjust</em>
that was, and how he would have more deaths on his conscience,
because of that, because it was always his fault when something like
that happened.</p><p>With a roar, his own
phoenix fire rose and spread out through his skin. Harry blinked at
the world through a sheening of blue flame, and felt the burning in
his legs and hand stop. Then he opened his mouth, took a deep breath
that smelled of smoke and brimstone, and began to sing again.</p><p>He hoped the Shield
Charm had held long enough, though in his heart of hearts he thought
he would know if Snape and Draco had died. He hoped the white fire
sliding down it had not reached the roofs of buildings on either side
of the alley, which they would turn into torches. He hoped many
things, but he kicked them all out of his mind, sinking them into the
Occlumency pools, and concentrated on the song.</p><p>This time, Harry was
remembering those images that Fawkes had given him as he danced among
the clouds on Midwinter night nearly a year ago, the moonlight and
starlight and sunlight and all the legends that came with them. He
had given Harry the gift of his voice, and the gift of his fire, and,
once, the gift of his tears, which Harry had spent on Evan Rosier.
But he had given him something more than that. He had died as a
sacrifice.</p><p>And what came through
him was Light.</p><p>Harry sang the song of
morning, and he reached out and touched the wild vibrations of the
dragon's mind, which was tuned to the song of the Dark. Dragons
were the prime Dark creatures in at least one sense. They were <em>all</em>
wildness, <em>all</em> will. They did as they liked and cared for
nothing that held them back. Harry had seen that when he peered into
the minds of the three dragons at the Triwizard Tournament. And they
had all been lesser dragons, smaller cousins of the British Red-Gold
breed.</p><p>She was Wildness.</p><p>Harry felt his song
meet a greater one, brooding in the dragon's mind for centuries
with no one else to unleash it. It sang in every beat of her wings,
in every turn of her talons, in every blast of her fire. It did not
want to listen to him, and it did not want to turn back; in fact, the
very fact that there was a Light singer abroad in the world this
morning had infuriated it, and had given it the strength to break
free of the sleeping spells that Calibrid cast on it. It had come to
find him because it could not bear to see Harry exist, singing his
little songs of tameness and enslavement.</p><p>Those words of hatred
were the Dark song's lyrics, and they appeared in Harry's head as
if branded there. For a moment, the heat of the dragon's scales
crept back into his consciousness, and he knew that he would burn if
he thought too much about it.</p><p>He shook his head and
threw himself into the song again, forcing his way forward through
shields of blue, telling the Dark song in wordless warbles that it
had made a mistake.</p><p>The song uttered a
sneering screech and insisted that it had not.</p><p><em>But you did, </em>said
Harry, with a windy phrase that he thought Fawkes had intoned that
night, dancing between the dark clouds. <em>You think I am a Light
wizard with the voice of a phoenix. But I am not.</em> And he thought
at his hand <em>Manus flagrans!</em></p><p>The jolt of alien heat
that he sent up through Acies with the Burning Touch Curse did not
hurt her, but it was a Dark spell, and one that most Light wizards
would not use. Harry felt the astonished silence of a starry gulf
spread around him. The Dark song, reeling, did not know what to
think.</p><p>Harry tried to convey
that as best he could. The phoenix's voice was not the best place
for a discovery of the Darkness within oneself.</p><p>But there might be a
place, the place where Dark wildness and Light respect for free will
met. They were not so different in those aspects, Light and Dark. But
the Light cared more about restraining itself for the sake of others,
while the Dark would take other wills captive so that they wouldn't
interfere with its own—and thus they produced the aspects of Light
tameness and Dark compulsion.</p><p>Harry was more Light
in that aspect, and he could not deny it, but he had known rage. That
night when Bellatrix had cut his hand off, he had come near to
joining the wild Dark that roared between the stars, simply because
his emotions and his magic had both spiraled out of control. The Dark
song in the dragon's mind caught a snatch of that and bayed like an
eager hound, demanding to know more of it.</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath, to fuel the music that he would need to tell this, and then
plunged straight into song and out through the other side.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Falco could not
believe that Harry had not killed the dragon yet. He must know that
even a British Red-Gold likely would not survive a jolt of magic to
the heart. And he was closer to her heart now than he would have been
on the ground. And if he did not know dragon anatomy well enough for
that trick, then he could have drunk her power and made her unable to
fly or breathe fire, both of which dragons relied on their innate
magic for.</p><p>Instead, it was as if
he were <em>communing</em> with her, talking with her the way that he
would have an intelligent being, and trying to argue her out of
attacking those common wizards who waited below, their necks craned
up, staring at the wheeling dragon and the blue-glowing boy on her
back.</p><p>Falco darted a quick
glance at them, the ordinary ones. They were well; the flame had gone
away before it could dent the Shield Charm, though a moment more and
someone might have been wounded. But they weren't getting under
shelter. Falco uttered a screech of disgust. Had the very sight
<em>frozen</em> them? Sometimes he despaired of the ability of people
to protect themselves. This was yet another reason that he hadn't
Declared. A Dark Lord or Light Lord was expected to shelter those who
followed him, and Falco would rather they learned to protect
themselves.</p><p>His gaze went back to
Harry as the song changed. Falco frowned slightly. He had spent a
year among phoenixes once, back when his magic was still mostly
Light, back when he had hoped that his Animagus form would be a
phoenix. And he knew that their voices didn't sound like that.</p><p>Determined to discover
what dangerous mistake Harry was planning on making this time, he
canted his wings and swept upward, trailing behind the dragon so that
she wouldn't decide to roast him and scoop him up for a meal with
her talons. Wizards had died in stupider ways, facing a British
Red-Gold.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry, with a grimace,
gripped some of the careful not-thinking he had grown to prevent
these memories from ambushing him and <em>ripped.</em> They came
flooding back into his mind as if they had happened yesterday, and
the Dark song did not see them, but heard them through his voice.</p><p>Harry sang the despair
he had felt as he writhed with helplessness and watched the boy
Greyback and Whitecheek had killed die in front of him. They had died
in the end, and one could argue that they had paid for their crime
with their lives, but that hardly mattered to the exposed, raw
memory. Harry should have been able to protect him—he was still the
strongest wizard there, before Voldemort's resurrection ritual—and
he had not.</p><p><em>And I did not
Kieran, and I did not Claudia. I make empty promises and I do not
keep them. </em>Helplessness was a wine he had forgotten how much he
hated, a cold poison sliding down his throat. <em>If I could use a
Time-Turner to go back in time and prevent Gloriana from killing
Claudia, Loki from killing Kieran, and Whitecheek and Greyback from
killing him, then I would.</em></p><p>The Dark song howled
eagerly, and demanded more.</p><p>Harry gave it the pain
and the suffering of having his wrist cut off, the impressions he'd
fallen through, down into some neverending ocean of black and red. He
had thought, at the time, that he would never stop falling. Sharp
teeth bit his left wrist, and fire clawed at it, and he forced his
eyes open to see that it was bleeding, the blood sizzling into steam
on contact with the dragon's scales.</p><p><em>More</em>, hissed
the Dark song.</p><p>Harry gave it the rage
he had felt when fighting Voldemort. And the Dark song sighed and
crooned and hissed at him.</p><p>Harry was glad his
eyes were open. He saw the moment when the dragon, freed as if from
the necessity of communing with him, turned her head back down and
eyed the streets of gaping, screaming Muggles beneath her. Secure in
the knowledge that she bore a Dark singer and not a Light on her
back, she could get on with the hunger clamoring in her belly.</p><p>Harry tilted his head
back, and sang joy, and sang Light, and snagged the dragon's
attention into furious roaring again.</p><p><em><hr size=1 width=100% noshade></em></p><p><em>He cannot alter
like that. He cannot move between Dark and Light like that.</em></p><p>It wasn't possible,
as Falco well knew. He had once studied the arts that he thought
would permit him to move between the allegiances that easily, and
song was one of them. Why should it not be? It meant different things
to each listener, and yet it was lauded as a universal language. And
he had come to the conclusion, sadly, that the Dark and Light knew
all about song, and the other ways of escaping their attention and
not Declaring, and he could not fool them that way.</p><p>So he had learned to
think the thoughts that must be thought, courting first one and then
the other until he knew the paths and the secrets of both well enough
that he could flit seamlessly into and out of them, tempting both
with the knowledge that his Declaration might be right around the
corner.</p><p>And now Harry was
moving between them in such a crude way, throwing himself from rage
to joy.</p><p>Falco shook his head
from side to side, an unnatural gesture for a sea eagle, but perfect
for the negation he wanted to express, and heard expressed, as well,
in the dragon's roar. <em>The Dark is not so easily fooled. She
knows what he is now, and she will pull him off in a moment. </em>The
dragon had already pulled up to hover again.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry poured all the
intensity and all the joy of the moment of Draco's arrival at
Woodhouse into his voice. This was what he was, damn it. The Dark
song did not get to say that he was only Dark, only wild and
war-like. He might be more wild than he was at peace, but those
moments of happiness were part of his life, too.</p><p>The Dark song rolled
back to him and stabbed him with chords made of his own memories,
showing him all the despair and guilt and hatred that he had admitted
to, and asked him whether most of his life had not been suffering.
Even this settling of the rebellion had come from the desire to take
vengeance, hadn't it? He hadn't settled the grief about Kieran in
his soul, and that had driven him to take extreme measures when it
came to claiming justice for Claudia. He was not grieving; he was
raging, and trying to destroy her murderer, and those were things
that someone Dark, someone obsessed with revenge, would do.</p><p>Harry told it about
the moment when Draco had appeared in his bedroom at Woodhouse, the
flooding joy and shock and relief when he had realized what this
meant, the hesitancy he had had in accepting the offer until he
realized that Draco's long absence had come from the <em>need</em> to
think this over, and how no kiss had ever tasted so good as the one
they shared then. Draco had followed his own heart, his own choice,
his own goal, his own will. That was what Harry wanted for everyone,
that kind of courage. It was the hardest thing to do—or perhaps the
second hardest, with the only thing more difficult than that being
restraining one's own will and making sure one did not step on
others. But that was Harry's task as <em>vates.</em> Draco's task
in that short period of time had been to make sure he knew what he
really wanted, and he did.</p><p>Harry had never loved
Draco so much as he did in that moment. He would never understand why
weakness of will might draw someone else to a partner. Harry loved
and admired and <em>needed</em> strength.</p><p>The Dark song coiled
and lashed about him, confused. Harry heard it hissing steadily in
his ear, and then he felt the scrape of talons on his head as the
dragon tried to pluck him from her back once more.</p><p>Harry sang the memory
of the Walpurgis Night when Voldemort had tried to enslave the wild
Dark, and he had helped it. He gave the Dark song that was Acies's
mind the image of that, the freedom, the utter submission he'd done
to the Dark—riding it, not trying to chain it or confine it—let
her mind fall headlong into that, and then ripped the image into
something else.</p><p>He was high in the air
above Britain, on Midwinter night, his heart aching as he watched the
Light grip and fight the wild Dark, forcing it back. Fawkes had died,
an immortal creature who should have burned and come back to life
again and again. That immortality laid down, freely given, had been
enough to open a gate and bring the gryphon through. The Dark song
recoiled, screaming.</p><p>Harry threw it into
the Chamber of Secrets, himself kneeling on the floor, his mind in
shreds after Sylarana's abrupt death, and the silent self
swallowing the bit of Tom Riddle that he'd left in the diary,
swallowing his magic, and then coming over to show pictures to Harry.
He had tried to reason that he did not hate his family, that he had
no reason to hate his family, and the silent self had replied with
implacable truth, implacable fury. The Dark song came back to him,
purring and growing fat on the loathing Harry had felt for his
parents and brother.</p><p>And then they were in
the Owlery on the day that Harry had broken free of the phoenix web,
and Harry sent notes like arrows to sting and scratch the Dark song,
and show it how he had come free of that web in the moment at spring
equinox when Light and Dark were balanced. Triumph, gentle and
fierce, rose in him, and once more the dragon screamed in confusion.
She knew no gentle triumph. From the moment dragons broke the egg,
all life was a war, an endless battle to send their wills forth and
not have them balked by others. The shell was the first enemy, and
then the hatchlings that would devour their siblings in the nest if
they could. She did not understand how a victory could be for the
self and not involve hurt to someone else.</p><p>Harry twisted again,
and showed her a victory that had done harm, when he killed for the
first time. Rodolphus Lestrange's body had carried a piece of
Voldemort, once imprisoned in a locket that Sirius wore and Regulus
stole, and Harry had known it was necessary to kill him. But he had
been thirteen, and exhausted from Sirius's death, and the
revelation of <em>him</em> being the one to deflect Voldemort's
Killing Curse and not Connor, and the freeing of the Dementors. He
had just wanted it all to stop. That kind of dizzy exhaustion that
lashed out because it didn't know what else to do was familiar to
the Dark song, and it crept back, suspiciously, singing a low chorus
at him to confirm what he was.</p><p>And then it
understood, and Harry had no need of the violent alteration between
memories. It grasped him, it understood him, as both Dark and Light,
dragon-phoenix, human-Singer. It had never known something like him
in the world before, just as the dragon knew nothing else like her.
It wrapped itself around him and clung, as one comrade-in-arms to
another, hissing and purring. Harry took a deep breath, feeling his
throat burn, and murmured reassurances, all the while thinking of
what he could possibly do with a British Red-Gold. There was no way
she could come back with him to Hogwarts, of course. She would burn
down the Forbidden Forest and devour everything that lived within it
in a week.</p><p>The Dark song cried to
him again, the song of something swimming alone in the deep gulf
between the stars. <em>Lonely. So lonely, </em>it said, in a series of
repeating roundels. It had gone to the Isle of Man because it had
sensed the presence of the skeleton that the Opallines had made into
Gollrish Y Thie, and it had thought it might find another of its kind
there. But then it had not, and the dragon grew maddened and breathed
her fire out.</p><p>Harry swallowed. He
knew one way to change that, to change things, but he had no way of
knowing if the Dark song, and the dragon herself, would accept it. He
could only ask.</p><p>He conjured an image
in his head, and let it pour through his voice. The image was small,
and hopped, and leaped, and flapped, and was not unlike the small
rushing things that Woodhouse thought of all animals not part of
itself as. He gave the dragon the image of hatchlings, hatchlings of
her own blood, and wondered if she would accept that.</p><p>The dragon let out a
roar that cascaded through a dozen harmonies, and made Harry's ears
bleed and his eyes burn, and let him know that hatchlings of her own
blood would be more than welcome; they were needed, necessary. She
wanted to mate, wanted to lay, but she could not find a mate of her
own kind anywhere in the world.</p><p>Harry sang
understanding, peace, compromise. She would not find a mate of her
own kind anywhere in the world. But before her building rage and
despair could overwhelm her, he presented her with the image of the
Hebridean Blacks on their isles. They lived near the cold, deep sea,
where much food drifted and swam. They had males who had bellowed
back to the phoenix song even as she had, and had been angered by the
presence of a Light singer in the world. They were not her own kind,
but perhaps they were close? Perhaps she would go there, and accept a
mate, and produce hatchlings of her own, hatchlings of mingled blood?</p><p>The dragon thought
about that, and then she turned her wings to the north.</p><p>Harry bent over her
scales, still protected by phoenix fire that he kept from dying with
sheer will, and breathed.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Falco followed the
dragon on wide wings of his own, and wondered, in his heart of
hearts, what this all meant.</p><p>There was no doubt in
his mind that Harry needed to Declare. Of course he did. And then he
went and alternated between Dark and Light as if he needed not to,
and Falco did not see how he could do that and expect to get away
with it. The Dark and the Light were amused with him right now,
perhaps, and knew that he was so young that his bounding between them
was no more than the gamboling of a spring lamb. But they would catch
on, and they would not be amused, and they would demand that he
choose one side or the other, and Harry would not be ready.</p><p>And he had used this
alternating in a very dangerous manner, to tame a dragon who might
have destroyed a city—who <em>had</em> appeared in front of very many
Muggles, all of whom would have to be <em>Obliviated</em>. The sight of
a dragon was sometimes blamed for causing the persecution of witches
and wizards that had resulted in the separation of the magical world
and the mundane one. Of all the sights in the magical world, the
Muggles least knew how to cope with a dragon, how to accept what it
would mean for them if creatures mightier than they were existed.</p><p>This was no game, this
was no joke, and yet it had been treated as if it were a game and a
joke. Harry had only won by a gamble that either Light or Dark—or
his magic, stretched thin as it was—might have decided to put an
end to at any time. This could not be allowed to continue, with the
wizarding world and the balance Falco lived to preserve teetering on
the edge of risk.</p><p>Falco made his choice.
Harry valued free will more, and that put him closer to Light. And he
carried a phoenix's voice in his body, and that meant that he
actually carried a shard of the Light in his throat.</p><p>And despite Falco's
efforts to help Tom, he was not getting better.</p><p>Therefore, Harry
himself must be made to Declare for Light, and Falco himself would
have to take the position of Dark Lord. He mourned it, but to keep
the balance, sacrifices were sometimes necessary, and he would demand
them of himself, too.</p><p>He thought he heard
thunder rolling around him for a moment, and felt a general heaviness
in the air, but then it was gone, and he concluded it must have been
a manifestation of wild magic stirred up by the dragon. He shrugged
his wings and continued following Harry and the British Red-Gold,
wondering where Harry would finally set her down.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry was shivering
with effort by the time the Hebrides finally came into view. That was
not long as the dragon flew—and this dragon flew enormously fast
and, at last, high, so that there was less chance of Muggles seeing
her—but he had to fight to keep singing, to protect himself from
her heat with his own flames, and to ignore the cold of the wind that
whipped past him and wasn't impressed with the phoenix fire. Then
his lungs started laboring because they were thousands of feet in the
air, and Harry gave up counting the minutes or worrying about Muggles
seeing them. He would sing to her and keep her calm enough to fix on
the idea of a mate, instead.</p><p>The dragon slanted
down, and Harry saw the isles appear below, out of the leaping sea.
He saw Dragon-Keepers running in circles, and smiled wanly. Those
would be the members of the MacFusty clan, the wizards native to the
Hebrides, who tended their dragons and kept them from getting out of
control. Of course, right now the Blacks were dangerously close to
getting out of control, rearing and spreading their wings and
flaunting themselves if they were male, or crouching low over their
nests and snarling if they were female.</p><p>Acies wheeled once,
and then dived straight down. A moment later, a Hebridean Black shook
off the wizards trying to calm him as if they were nothing and rose
to meet her. Acies spread her wings wide and roared, fanning flame
between them, and he roared back, not seeming at all intimidated by
her strange color or even stranger size.</p><p>Harry looked about for
a moment, but he could see no convenient way for him to simply leap
off, and he certainly didn't wait to stay on Acies's back during
her mating. He lowered his gaze, fixed on a tiny rock among the
lashing waves, and Apparated to it just as the Hebridean Black
breathed, bathing Acies's talons in flames that only seemed to
tickle her.</p><p>He appeared on the
rock, and staggered, struggling to keep his balance on the
water-slicked stone. He tried to grip with his hand, and then
snatched it away again. The blisters were so painful that he'd be
surprised if he were able to hold a quill for the next few days.</p><p><em>Good thing that I
already signed that scroll with Scrimgeour, </em>he thought, and then
cast a Sticking Charm on his feet so that he would stay still and
looked up.</p><p>His breath caught. The
dragons were dancing above him, displaying for each other, their
voices deep and booming music that made the stone beneath his feet
vibrate. As Harry let his song and his flame die at last, he saw
Acies rake her intended's back with fire. The Hebridean Black
rolled and bit to put the flames out, and scratched her on her right
foreleg. Blood drizzled into the ocean water, and Acies flew higher
and spread her wings to show off their colors.</p><p>"<em>Vates</em>?"</p><p>Startled, Harry looked
up. An older wizard was standing on a rock not far from him, little
more than a stepping stone, his wand in his hand and a smile on his
face. He wore thicker robes than Harry was accustomed to seeing, and
his gray eyes were surrounded by lines from squinting into sun and
rain. He had long, wild white hair that reminded Harry a bit of
Moody's.</p><p>"My name's Gerald
MacFusty," he said. "I wrote to Headmistress McGonagall at
Hogwarts when the British Red-Gold woke and left us." He glanced up
for a moment, as though he didn't know how not to watch the mating
dragons, and then he shook his head and looked back at Harry. "I
have long experience working with dragons," he said gently, "and
know how to offer some healing for burns." He nodded to Harry's
hand, and, Harry realized, his legs. He had taken some burns before
the phoenix fire managed to protect him. "Hold out your hand."</p><p>Harry gratefully did
just that. As the pain in his hand eased, he found his gaze going
back to the dragons. "They're wonderful, aren't they?" he
asked.</p><p>"Oh, they are that."
Gerald murmured an incantation Harry wasn't familiar with, and the
dry pain in his legs eased. "We wish more people remembered that,
both how beautiful and how dangerous they are." He leaned across
the water between the rocks then and gripped Harry on the shoulder.
Harry looked back into his face.</p><p>"Thank you for not
killing her," Gerald said softly. "We feared you would have to,
when she left."</p><p>"So did I," said
Harry. "But she was bound with a sleeping spell, and then—well, I
woke her up with my music today. I won't spread my voice around the
Isles like that again without thinking of the consequences," he
added.</p><p>"We know, lad."
Gerald nodded to his feet. "Unstick them, then take my hand, and
I'll make sure that you get some tea and something to eat before
you have to go back south."</p><p>Harry murmured <em>Finite
Incantatem</em>, and then heard Acies roar again. He looked up,
shading his eyes with his hand, to see the dragons chasing each
other, twining around each other in a spiral dance straight into the
heart of the sun. A deep contentment spread through him.</p><p><em>She's still
alive. She's still free. Sometimes, I can keep my promises.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 52*: Dawn and Dusk, Sun and Shadow</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>This one is mostly full of reactions.</p><p><strong>Chapter Forty-One: Dawn and Dusk, Sun and Shadow</strong></p><p>Draco paced. The
Minister had invited them all inside the Ministry, and had invited
Draco, Snape, and Helcas into his office. Draco had refused, though,
preferring to have the space of a corridor where he could move back
and forth as he needed to, his hands rubbing and clenching over one
another and sometimes disordering his hair.</p><p>"You're making
yourself look ridiculous, Draco." Narcissa was seated on a conjured
chair with her back to the wall, her eyes trained on a book that
Draco could have sworn she hadn't brought with her. "Do sit down.
Take a few deep breaths. The air will not hurry away from you."</p><p>"And what would you
do, if Lucius was flying Merlin knows where on a dragon?" Draco
snapped at her.</p><p>Narcissa glanced up at
him; her eyes were calm and cold, and her face had not the slightest
sign of any emotion but irritation. "I would trust that he had a
good reason for doing so, and would come back," she said. "You
must trust your partner, Draco darling, or what good is the joining?
He trusted you to make you own decision when Lucius threatened to
disown you. From what you and he have said, he never once asked you
to make the decision earlier than you did."</p><p>"But that was making
a choice, and this is jumping on a <em>dragon</em>," Draco explained,
thinking his mother didn't quite understand that. He would have
remained outside, staring up into the sky, the way that some of
Harry's other allies and the people who had come to witness the
ceremony were doing, but that just made him feel a right idiot. He
hated being a right idiot in front of people. At least he and his
mother were the only ones in this corridor; Snape and Helcas were
shut in the Minister's office with him. "That's a bit
different, Mother."</p><p>"Is it?" Narcissa
carefully marked her place in her book with an embroidered scrap of
cloth that Draco was also sure she hadn't had earlier, and folded
her hands primly over her knees. "Is it really, Draco? He trusted
you. Do you trust him? He has gone off into danger before, and always
come back. Besides," she added, with a bit more censure to her tone
than Draco had heard so far, "whether you are angry or not, it does
not do to lose one's composure in public, my son. It shows your
enemies that you have weaknesses."</p><p>"Everyone has
weaknesses," Draco mumbled, and knew he was being childish. His
face heated up. Grateful as he was to his mother for joining him in
the rebellion and turning against Lucius to be with him, at the
moment he wished she had never come at all. Not even Harry could make
him feel as embarrassed and deeply ashamed as his mother did.</p><p>"But they don't
always show them," said Narcissa, and the coldness in her voice had
deepened. "I think you have gone too long without being reminded of
that lesson." She sat up, and Draco had the uncomfortable vision of
a great cat looking down its nose at him shortly before it set to
eating him. "I will be the first to admit that you have strengths
your father will never understand, Draco. But he has imparted wisdom
to you as well, wisdom that you should make good use of. You are in a
very public position as the spouse-to-be of a <em>vates</em>. Whether
or not you wish to have it so, many eyes will be focused on you. And
the son I raised would wish to have it so."</p><p>Draco sighed and
tugged a hand through his hair, messing it up further, but unable to
care right now. "I do want people to pay attention to me, Mother,
but there's no one <em>here</em> right now." Even the Aurors who
usually guarded the Minister's office had gone inside, perhaps
because they didn't trust a goblin alone with their precious
Scrimgeour; Draco wasn't sure. There were wards watching them, of
course, but no passers-by.</p><p>"There is always
someone watching," said Narcissa sharply. "Remember what I taught
you about comportment, Draco. Why do some people practice all their
lives for it and never achieve it?"</p><p>Draco could feel his
flush deepening again. "Because it goes deeper than skin and bone,"
he muttered, letting the words be tugged from him. "Because someone
who does not live grandeur in his mind will never live it in his
body."</p><p>"Good," said
Narcissa, with cold approval. "That is very good, Draco. You can do
this. Your beloved is on a dragon riding to who-knows-where, but the
last time we saw him he was still alive, and he is one of the most
powerful wizards in the world. Think about those things, rather than
the fact that you do not know where he is."</p><p>Draco nodded, and then
began breathing with more regularity. He could feel the flush fading
from his cheeks, and he drew his wand out and spelled his hair to lie
flat again. He wondered what he had been thinking, as his emotions
cleared from his head. They were in the Ministry, and in the
Ministry, someone was always watching. It didn't matter whether his
last name was Malfoy or Black, here, and it didn't matter whether
Harry was on a dragon's back or gone to face Voldemort. He
accomplished nothing for his own reputation or Harry's by losing
his temper.</p><p>He heard footsteps
around the corner just then, familiar footsteps. He looked sharply at
his mother, only to find that she had heard them, too. But Narcissa
didn't rise to her feet as he had expected. Instead, she sat where
she was like a winter queen on her throne, ice in her hands and her
eyes.</p><p>Lucius stepped around
the corner and paused as if he had come on them suddenly. It was a
very good performance. If he had been caught up in his ranting over
Harry, Draco might even have been fooled.</p><p>Now, though, he could
see how the performance was off, just a note or two. Lucius was
feeling it in his skin and bone, but not his mind.</p><p>Draco drew himself up
and offered a bow to his father. He was remembering lessons seared
into his brain before he had ever started Hogwarts. He had not
learned some of the older and less common pureblood rituals until he
was thirteen, and then only thanks to Harry, but he knew the common
ones. He gave Lucius the bow one would give a respected enemy, and
saw his father's eyes linger on him a touch longer than they should
have in response.</p><p>Then his father looked
at his mother. Narcissa looked back.</p><p>And Draco saw what it
was like when people of equal strength fought, and both of them knew
why they were fighting.</p><p>"I have missed you
in my home of late, Narcissa," Lucius said, with politeness that
Draco thought more appropriate to a dinner party. "I have sometimes
turned a corner and expected you to be there, or held out my arm,
expecting you to feel your hand on it, and encountered nothing but
air."</p><p>Narcissa did not even
blink. "I have not missed your home, Lucius," she said. "I have
been living in a wooden house, and sleeping in a cramped room, and
helping my son and my future son-in-law prepare for the changing of
the wizarding world."</p><p>Draco winced, but he
had the sense to do it inwardly. Narcissa had not only refused
whatever reconciliation Lucius was offering—though, knowing his
father, Draco suspected it was only on his own terms that Lucius was
offering one at all—but made the point that she was part of the
political power structure around Harry and his father was not. She
might have slapped him in public and done less damage.</p><p>"I have keen eyes,"
said Lucius quietly. "I can see where the flow of power tends. And
I have followed that flow, instead of locking myself in fetters to
the useless, crumbling stone of structures whose time has passed."</p><p>"I am happy for you,
in your freedom," said Narcissa. "I have chosen not to follow
power. I have followed strength instead."</p><p>Draco's eyes darted
back and forth from face to face, noting every line, every twitch,
every hitch in their breathing. And he realized why Narcissa was
winning. She believed absolutely in what she was saying. Body and
mind said the same things. She had no regrets about her decision,
because she had made the right one in the first place.</p><p>Lucius was trying to
say he had made the wrong one without actually doing anything that
would require him to back the statement up. And so, Draco thought, he
was faltering, and far more hurt by Narcissa's words than she was
by his—if his hurt her at all. Draco thought they simply shattered
against her stone.</p><p>Draco understood, at
that moment, why hypocrisy was a bad thing. Not because the "good"
people like Gryffindors claimed it was, but because saying one thing
and believing another weakened one's ability to act as if one were
perfectly right. The contradiction existed beneath the surface no
matter how furiously it was denied. Bringing them into alignment
required a single smooth <em>belief</em>, no matter what lies one might
tell others. One had either to tell the truth to himself or lie so
smoothly that one could shift between lies at need.</p><p>Draco felt that
understanding come over him as an epiphany for his particular
situation—if he did not act as if eyes were watching even when they
probably weren't, then he would fail in front of actual eyes—and
as a burst of contempt for his father.</p><p>He must have made some
noise. Lucius's eyes turned on him. "And you, Draco?" he asked,
with a faint tremble of amusement in his voice. "Have you followed
strength? Or would you give it another name?" The slight sneer to
the words implied that he thought Draco would say something about
following his heart.</p><p>"I would," said
Draco. "My mother, lovely as her phrasing was, missed two important
words." He could see Narcissa's brows rise from the corner of his
eye, but he was concentrating on Lucius, and could not spare the
attention it would take to think properly about that. "I would say
that I followed <em>my own</em> strength."</p><p>Lucius frowned. "You
know that are you still disowned," he said almost pleasantly.</p><p>"I know that."
Draco managed to hold his voice and face blank, and even interject a
tone of boredom into the former. He saw a slight twitch around
Lucius's mouth that indicated he knew he had lost.</p><p>He managed a graceful
retreat, at least. "You might consider coming to Malfoy Manor for
dinner," he told Narcissa. "Or even a light lunch. The house
elves miss being asked to cook the delicate dishes that you so
preferred."</p><p>"You may ask the
house elves to prepare the dishes, of course," said Narcissa. "And
then put them on one side of the table in front of an empty chair,
while you sit across from them and stare at them. It would match the
amount of conversation you would receive from me."</p><p>Draco did not quite
mask a laugh. Lucius's gaze came to him, deadly as a scorpion's
sting, but he knew when he was beaten. With another slight bow to the
both of them, he retreated around the corner.</p><p>Narcissa waited until
the footsteps faded, then waved her wand in a subtle gesture that
Draco knew meant she was checking for listening spells. She relaxed a
moment later and turned to Draco.</p><p>"That is one useful
thing that our alliance with Harry has taught me, at least," she
said. "That having one's will all the time is not quite a good
thing. He could have so much with a small compromise, but he is
unwilling to name the compromise aloud, let alone ally with someone
else, as you and I have done, on equal terms to win it. His pride is
a hollow ice shell."</p><p>Draco nodded slowly.
The father he had once so admired was not a good guide, it seemed, in
terms of either power or strength.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"I must say that it
<em>does</em> concern me."</p><p>Rufus resisted the
urge to press his hands across his brow and massage away the headache
forming there. He remembered, fondly, the time when Severus Snape had
been guilty of enough stupidity that Rufus could speak a few words
and remind him that this was not how Slytherins behaved. Now Snape
was behaving like a perfect Slytherin, ferreting out every possible
suspicious term in the scroll he and Harry had signed, and suggesting
ways in which they might turn to his ward's disadvantage. Rufus had
assured him that no one would choose members of the monitoring board
overtly hostile to Harry; they couldn't, when both Harry and
Griselda Marchbanks as well as Aurora Whitestag would have to approve
the choices. None of that kept Snape from twisting words back and
forth and sideways to see if they held up, and pointing out if they
didn't.</p><p>"The scroll clearly
says that all three must make the choice," Rufus said now, in a
deeply final voice. "I will not change that so that you can have a
part in it, Mr. Snape." He would have used the title "Professor,"
but since the man was no longer teaching, he didn't deserve it.</p><p>"Did I ask you to?"
Snape watched him with implacable dark eyes.</p><p>The stress must have
been affecting Rufus more than he thought—that, or the impossible
fact that Harry had signed their treaty and then flown off on one of
the largest dragons the world had ever known. He didn't demur with
courtesies or backtrack and adhere to the letter instead of the
spirit of Snape's words. He didn't even care that the northern
goblin Helcas, originally invited into the office so that he and
Rufus could discuss the terms of the Goblin Board, was watching them
argue with a highly amused expression. He found himself saying, "You
did in all but name. You may be present when they make the choices,
if all three of them agree. Otherwise, no. You are Harry's
guardian, but Merlin knows that Mrs. Whitestag and Elder Marchbanks
will treat him more like an <em>adult.</em>"</p><p>Snape's eyes
narrowed and his face paled, but he said nothing. Rufus seized the
chance to turn away and nod to Helcas. "It seems only fair that
there should be a member of each magical species the <em>vates</em> is
concerned with on the board as well. What do you say, Helcas?" He
had some hesitation about addressing the northern goblin by his first
name instead of his clan name, but Griselda had cautioned him that
the clan names were actually prized more by the goblins, and he
should never call a member of a clan by one without explicit
permission to do so.</p><p>The northern goblin's
eyes narrowed, and his claws flexed. Rufus watched his hand as
unobtrusively as he could. He wondered if northern goblins really did
wear their nails longer than southern goblins, or if the fact that he
knew the goblin sitting across from was free from any magical
constraint made him notice them more.</p><p>"We do not wish to
control our <em>vates</em>," said Helcas at last. "But nether do we
wish anyone else to control him. Yes, I will accept a position on the
monitoring board, to make sure the power is not being abused."</p><p>Rufus blinked a bit.
"If all three approve you, of course," he said.</p><p>"But you said that
there should be a goblin on the board," said Helcas, looking
directly at him. "Obviously, you mean to have a hand in the
process, Minister, if only in the selection of candidates. And those
of my people who are with me now will refuse to stand for
consideration. So yes, I will serve on the board."</p><p>Snape's amused gaze
was all too heavy. Rufus nodded sharply, and hoped that his
embarrassment wasn't obvious. "Then we should—"</p><p>"There is another
clause in the treaty that I had questions about," said Snape
pleasantly.</p><p>Rufus forced himself
to smile.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Aurora Whitestag sat
with her hands neatly folded in front of her, and listened to the
others talk. She wondered that no one else around her seemed to
notice that they would win as much by silence as by words.</p><p>"—can't let that
change things!" Philip was saying sharply. Aurora cast him a slow
glance of pity. His grief for his daughter had long since mutated
into a striving after empty vengeance. In some ways, she thought the
monitoring board would be a relief for him, even though he wouldn't
be able to sit on it, because he would have to find something else to
do with his life. "Just because he flew away today on a dragon
doesn't mean he's a hero or anything like it."</p><p>"You don't see
things from our point-of-view." Lisa Addlington stood with her
hands on her hips, trying to smile at Philip and failing. Aurora
nodded a little. Lisa was useful, but she did have little tolerance
for poor Philip and his inability to understand the most basic facts
of the wizarding world. "No one else could have done this. And he
will be <em>remembered</em> for this. And what he did was an explosion
of glory that not even the Ministry might be able to contain from the
Muggle world." The Obliviators had been sent out, Aurora knew, but
if people weren't babbling about seeing a dragon, she doubted they
would find all the Muggles who had. "And he obviously didn't
arrange for this—"</p><p>"Of course he did,"
Philip snapped.</p><p>"You can't control
a dragon that way, even if you're a Dragon-Keeper." Lisa's
patience was obviously cracking. "You just <em>can't</em>."
Aurora had the feeling that she barely kept herself from adding,
"Muggle." "So I believe that he accidentally summoned the
dragon with his song this morning, or attracted her because he's—I
don't know, attractive to dragons. There was something about it in
the <em>Daily Prophet</em> last year, I think." She shook her head
and looped a curl of her hair around her finger, as if to prevent
herself from saying something she'd regret. "This wasn't a
publicity stunt. It <em>is</em> an act of heroism that's going to
make him look even better than he used to in the eyes of the
wizarding world. We have to change with that, move with the times."</p><p>Lisa was probably the
smartest of all of them, Aurora thought, standing. She made a good
second-in-command.</p><p>Their eyes came to her
at once. She was the one who had worked hard to make sure that they
got at least this much from Harry. She was the one who led them. She
was the one who had argued Philip into seeing that a monitoring board
was better than a trial that would probably release Harry back into
the world anyway, because most of the Wizengamot considered him a
brave little abused boy or someone too powerful to anger.</p><p><em>No</em> one was too
powerful to anger, Aurora thought. That seemed to be something that
wizards and witches who followed Light and Dark had trouble
comprehending. Aurora was glad now that she had never Declared,
though her own ideals were closer to the Light than anything else. If
one saw something wrong, then one had to confront and fix that
problem. One didn't cower because the wizard in question was
magically powerful, or the Minister, or <em>vates.</em></p><p>"Harry won't want
to use the publicity," she told them with absolute certainty. "It
will still exist and influence people's opinions of him, of course,
but that doesn't mean he'll consider it a weapon. So we can use
it to promote the monitoring board instead. These are the men and
women willing to mentor and guide a young man who can ride a dragon
and prevent her from destroying the city of London. He is the
strength, but we are the power."</p><p>They listened to
her—except Lisa. Aurora liked Lisa. She pulled and champed at the
bit, and her son had died beside the lake, too, so that she had moral
authority equal to Aurora's. And rebellion was good, Aurora
thought. It was a sign that other people were <em>thinking</em> about
this. "Do you really think that'll work? The <em>Daily Prophet</em>
will just want to run stories on him. They won't ask <em>us.</em>"</p><p>"Of course they
will." Aurora lifted her eyebrows. "Why wouldn't they? We're
witnesses. More to the point, we're witnesses that cane tell
connected, coherent stories, with pithy and pretty phrases, about
what happened."</p><p>Lisa smiled abruptly.
"And we're the ones who'll remain close to him, so that we can
help manage his public reputation. It's not a duty that he wants
the trouble of assuming, so why shouldn't it be left up to his
advisors?"</p><p>Aurora inclined her
head. "Quite." It sometimes appalled her, how little Harry cared
about what he appeared like to others. His reputation would have
galloped quite out of control in the past few months, especially
among Light wizards, if she hadn't worked to pull them all together
into some kind of unified response, and sometimes given interviews to
the <em>Daily Prophet</em> when they asked. It wasn't about telling
the truth, of course, or not just that. It was about saying things
that looked good in print and helped sell newspapers.</p><p>It had been quite
fascinating, to read about what a <em>vates</em> was and how Harry
could be one, and to understand what the consequences of that were
going to be for the wizarding world. It sometimes seemed to Aurora
that Harry's parents and Albus Dumbledore had <em>set out</em> to
breed themselves a <em>vates</em>. They'd required not only a
powerful wizard, or a powerful wizard in love with freedom, but a
powerful wizard in love with freedom and willing to limit himself so
that others could flourish when necessary.</p><p>Interesting. So
interesting. Aurora was determined that Harry not be left to run
wild, for the good of the wizarding world, but it would be
interesting, too, where she would have thought the task might have
contained inherent boredom.</p><p>And she, unlike
Dumbledore and Harry's parents, would see what was in front of her.
Harry had changed from the boy he was, into a young man who simply
needed more of an introduction to principles of Light and restraint,
and less of the guiding hand on the reins that he might have required
if the monitoring board had been added last year. As he changed,
those who hoped to keep up must change with him.</p><p>She could do that. She
didn't understand what was so hard about it.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Hawthorn couldn't
help her gaze straying up to the sky, even though it had been hours
since Harry and the dragon had vanished, and twilight was creeping
over the buildings of London now. She had remained in the alley
outside the Ministry when most of the others went inside or departed,
not having any fondness for the building where she had spent three
days without Wolfsbane, magic, or freedom.</p><p>She had had no time to
think when the dragon appeared. She had gaped, and then Harry had
raised the Shield Charm against the flames, and then he had vanished
and reappeared on the dragon's back. And then he had glowed with
blue flames of his own, and his song had raised and soothed the Dark
and the Light, and then the dragon had flown away.</p><p>Hawthorn clenched her
hands so hard that her nails dug into her palms and the blood ran. A
few of the others still waiting, Peregrine and Trumpetflower in
particular, glanced over at her, sniffing as they smelled the blood.
Then they caught the expression on her face and turned away.</p><p>There was no reason
that this should be so hard on her personally, other than the reason
it was hard for everyone: they could not be sure that Harry was alive
or dead.</p><p>Except that it was,
and Hawthorn grabbed it and dragged it into the sunlight—or the
deepening twilight—and held it there until she figured it out. Then
she wished she hadn't.</p><p><em>I am a maze of
contradictions lately, </em>she thought, and in the back of her mind,
her wolf howled, demanding blood and vengeance for Claudia.</p><p><em>He didn't kill
her, though he could have, and it would probably have been better for
everyone in the end. He leaped onto her back and argued with her—or
communed with her—and then took her away. He's probably taking
her somewhere she can't interfere with the wills and freedom of
others. </em></p><p><em>It didn't matter
that the ceremony to end the rebellion was today, and that the
monitoring board has to be established, and that we're all waiting
for him. He wasn't going to kill her just because of that. He made
time for her, and he's going to make time for similar things in the
future. He might get impatient or angry, but he'll make time for
them.</em></p><p><em>And I was going to
devote my life to vengeance from now on.</em></p><p>Hawthorn shut her eyes
until they hurt her like her clenched hands. She had said she was a
pureblood witch. She had thought that, when Harry came and rescued
her from Tullianum. She had said that she was going to be that when
she wore silver ornaments to Draco Malfoy's festival confirming him
as magical heir last year, and didn't care about the burns they
left on her skin.</p><p>And her enemies
mistreated her and wounded her, and she lost a packmate, and suddenly
all she was, again, was a werewolf?</p><p>She had said she would
not let them define her. And then she had let them do it.</p><p>A deep current of
shame ran through Hawthorn. She had thought a few days ago that she
did not bear Harry's burdens, and was glad of it, because if she
were as busy as he was, she would have no time to work on the
werewolf cure. Now she wondered why her life should revolve around
the werewolf cure, or around getting vengeance for a fellow werewolf.</p><p><em>There is more to me
than that. That is what Harry has remembered. There is more to him
than sixteen-year-old boy, or Lord-level wizard, or abused child, or
even </em>vates. <em>And there is more to me than werewolf, and more
than pureblood witch, and more than someone who must seek vengeance
for Claudia because no one else will.</em></p><p><em>My life didn't
end when my husband died. My life didn't end when my daughter died.
My life didn't end when I was bitten. And I would have ended it
now, because I would have broken the Alliance oaths with Harry, and I
would have broken the formal family oath—</em>her hand traced the
scar on her left arm, cutting across the Dark Mark—<em>because I
wanted to drown myself in bitterness and hatred.</em></p><p>She shook her head and
let out a slow breath. <em>Perhaps the time is coming when I can't
recover from something like this, when I won't be able to do
anything but surrender to the flow of events. But it's still not
yet. I can still rise above this. I'm strong enough.</em></p><p>And then Harry
Apparated into the alley.</p><p>The others stirred,
including Camellia, whom Peregrine and Trumpetflower had snarled at
until she stopped howling. But Hawthorn was the one who stepped
forward and enfolded Harry in a deep embrace.</p><p>Harry blinked at her,
but certainly didn't object to the hug, and even curled an arm
around her neck in tentative response. "Mrs. Parkinson, are you all
right?" he asked. "I'm sorry that it took so long, but I
literally couldn't think of anything else to do, and then I had to
recover from the flight with the MacFusty wizards, and then I had to
come back by multiple Apparitions. I didn't want to try to cover
the whole distance in one leap."</p><p>"Thank you, Harry,"
Hawthorn said softly into his ear.</p><p>"For saving your
life?" Harry's puzzlement grew more pronounced. "I—of course,
Mrs. Parkinson."</p><p>"Call me Hawthorn,
please." Perhaps that would help anchor her, help her remember that
for all the loss and sorrow she had sustained, including the loss of
her family, she was still alive.</p><p>Harry might have
sensed something of the reasons behind her request, because he didn't
protest anything about politeness. He went still against her instead,
then whispered, "Very well, Hawthorn," and put his hand on her
left arm, covering oath scar and Dark Mark both.</p><p>She stepped back then,
and let his packmates swirl about their alpha, muttering and licking,
and Bone come up to shake his hand. Peregrine was stiffer—in some
part of herself, Hawthorn thought, she still remembered that the
<em>vates</em> had not been able to save her pack—but she nodded to
him and murmured something about being glad to see him back safe.</p><p><em>Werewolves are not
rational when they lose packmates, </em>Hawthorn thought, watching
her. <em>And that was what I was doing. Indulging my wolf's rage,
instead of my own grief. I will have to ask how an accepted werewolf
mourns. </em>Her gaze went sideways, to Camellia, who stood watching
Harry with a rapturous expression. <em>I am sure that some of them
will not mind telling me.</em></p><p>"Harry!" a voice
shouted from the telephone box.</p><p>It was Draco. Hawthorn
stepped back and watched, smiling, unable to decide if she were more
amused or pleased to be a witness to this.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry swallowed
nervously as he caught a glimpse of Draco's face. It was
almost-composed, now, but pulses of other emotions moved under it,
and his hair was disarrayed, if only from the wind of his run as he
moved through the Ministry. Harry wondered how he had known he was
back, and then told himself it was probably simple coincidence. Draco
had come up to see if he'd arrived, and found him here.</p><p>"Draco," he said,
and then he took a deep breath and forced out the notion that he
might have to accept a scolding. <em>I cannot live in fear of them. </em>He
walked forward, so quickly that he seemed to startle Draco, and then
caught him in an embrace and kissed his cheek, while Draco blinked.</p><p>He recovered quickly,
of course.</p><p>"You heroic idiot,"
he breathed into Harry's ear. "Will you ever stop doing things
like that?" His words had a certain wistful tone to them.</p><p>Harry swallowed and
replied honestly. "I'm not sure, Draco. Probably not. I see what
the best solution is, and I tend to do that without a lot of
discussion."</p><p>"That's one reason
that you need me, then." Draco's arms tightened around Harry's
waist hard enough that Harry grunted as he was pulled forward and
against his boyfriend's body. "To make you see why discussion is
important, and help you plan ahead of time when possible." His hand
ran through Harry's hair. "And to try to prevent situations like
this from happening," he added waspishly.</p><p>"I know," Harry
whispered. "And—I know it hasn't happened much in Woodhouse,
Draco, but I hope that the next few months of my life will be at
least a <em>little</em> quieter. And I'd like advice on how to live
with the monitoring board, how to move in politics, how to make
decisions without letting my emotions influence me. The last thing
has happened too often."</p><p>Draco remained silent
for a moment. Then he said. "I can do the first two, but what makes
you think I'd be any good at the third?"</p><p>Harry had to pull away
from him enough to see his face properly—a little hard to do in the
falling night. "Because you are," he said. "You waited and made
the decision to come to me <em>rationally</em>, Draco. I was pleased
about it, of course, but you pleased yourself, and not me or your
father. You have a strength of will that I admire. Didn't you know
that? One reason I love you is that you're so strong. It's a
strange strength, sometimes." He was smiling. He didn't want to,
because it was such a serious subject and he didn't want Draco to
think he was making fun of him, but it seemed inevitable. "It
manifests in being petulant, or shrieking at me when anyone else
would lower their eyes and pretend everything was fine, or sulking
when most people would try to keep their emotions concealed. But it's
always there, no matter how it's disguised. And when it rises
purely to the surface, I don't think there's a thing in the world
that can stop you or make you afraid."</p><p>Draco's voice
trembled when he spoke, and so did his hand as he reached out to
stroke Harry's hair. "I had no idea you thought that."</p><p>Harry felt shame
squirm in his stomach. "You didn't? Merlin, Draco, I'm so
sorry." He squeezed his hand and met his eyes. "I'll try to say
it more often. I forget that just because I think it and it seems
obvious to <em>me </em>doesn't mean other people know it."</p><p>Draco dragged him into
a kiss without saying anything else. Harry forced himself to forget
about their audience, and the fact that they still had details of the
monitoring board to work out and his enemies would be waiting for
him, and became an equal participant in the kiss, rather than just
letting it happen.</p><p>Under his enjoyment,
he had a new determination.</p><p><em>His strength is not
always self-confidence, then. I did forget that. I want him to see
how much more he means to me than he might think he does. There's
no reason that he should always be the one to give attention and time
and words and kisses. I can give that back just as well. </em>Harry
reinforced the determination with stubbornness. <em>And from now on,
that's what's going to happen.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 53*: The Monitoring Board</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Forty-Two: The Monitoring Board</strong></p><p>Harry wasn't
surprised when the werewolves didn't follow him inside the
Ministry. The moon would be rising soon, and though they'd taken
Wolfsbane, confined corridors were not the best place for several
large wolves. Harry did think about riding back up in the telephone
box to charm them invisible so that no Ministry lackeys or Muggles
would take it into their heads to hunt them, but Draco's arm closed
around his waist when he mentioned that plan.</p><p>"Laura Gloryflower's
with them, Harry," he said calmly. "Or was. I saw her walking
around the corner of the alley just as the telephone box started to
lower us. She'll Apparate them back to Woodhouse, charm them
invisible, or do whatever else needs to be done."</p><p>Harry pondered that
for a moment, then nodded and relaxed back against Draco's arm.
"You're right," he said. "I should be thinking more about
facing Whitestag and the parents of the Dozen Who Died, shouldn't
I?"</p><p>Draco gave him an odd
look.</p><p>"What?" Harry
asked.</p><p>"Nothing," Draco
murmured, though the look on his face was so odd that Harry thought
it <em>had</em> to be more than nothing. But he gave Harry silence, so
they reached the Atrium without Harry becoming any wiser.</p><p>There, they found
Aurora Whitestag waiting for them. A few other men and women stood
behind her, people Harry didn't know, but he found it hard to look
at anyone save her. He wasn't sure if that was the result of magic,
the importance he knew she would hold in his life in the future,
charisma, or all three. She was one of those people who could command
attention by the way she stood, though, and she was doing it now.</p><p>"Hello, Madam
Whitestag," said Harry, deciding that formality was the best way to
handle her. If nothing else, it would show that he wasn't reluctant
to offer her respect, and she did technically hold a title now that
she was part of the monitoring board. "I am sorry to have kept you
waiting. The British Red-Gold is settled in the Hebridean Black
sanctuary now."</p><p>One of the women
behind Aurora started to say something uncomplimentary, but Aurora
held up a hand, and she fell silent. Harry studied her eyes. They
were dark and serene. <em>I will have to learn what invisible leashes
she has everyone else on, </em>Harry decided. <em>Is the basis of her
control the way she speaks? What she thinks? What she knows? Or
something else? </em>He knew it couldn't be magical power. Aurora
was considerably less powerful than Snape, and perhaps even weaker
than Draco was, though any comparison of a teenage wizard and an
adult wizard was hard to make.</p><p>"It is of no moment,
Harry," said Aurora gently. "What matters is that you're here
now, and willing to work with me and Madam Marchbanks to choose the
members of the monitoring board. I trust that you <em>are</em> ready to
work with us?"</p><p>Harry nodded firmly.
He was very tired, having been up two days and one night now, but he
wouldn't let himself think of it, or use his magic, which might go
wonky with his weariness. He would make the best decisions he could,
and listen to Madam Marchbanks if he had any doubts.</p><p>"Good." Aurora
smiled at him and turned towards a small door Harry hadn't seen
before, located in a corner of the Atrium not far from the gates.
He'd always thought there were only Floo connections there, for
Ministry employees to come in and out. The small gathering of witches
and wizards behind Aurora followed her steps, so Harry and Draco did,
too. He was aware of some of the strangers looking askance at Draco's
arm around his waist. Harry ignored that. They could think what they
liked. If it crossed into the realm of action or words, he would sit
on them.</p><p>One of the women did
open her mouth, but Aurora glanced back, caught her eye, and shook
her head.</p><p><em>She's dangerous.
She must have heard a small gasp, felt a twitch, something. I'll
have to be careful how I deal with her. </em>Harry worked up as much
resolve as he could. A night without sleep wasn't his greatest
problem, here. The sheer variety of experiences the day had offered
him was. He had sung a phoenix song, signed a treaty signaling the
end of a rebellion, ridden a dragon north, and Apparated back to the
Ministry again. Now he was going to negotiate, which was something he
hadn't done so far today. Harry thought he would have preferred to
ride another dragon.</p><p>He reminded himself
that, looked at in a certain light, this <em>was </em>riding a dragon.
He had to keep track of shifting currents of wind and the dragon's
flame, and ignore certain other things that were not as important. He
was quite sure that Aurora would manage to sneak certain conditions
past him, or have people on the board that Harry would not have
chosen for himself, because they seemed neutral on the surface and
truly weren't. But what he wanted was to make sure that he had some
Light wizards in the Alliance, that they swore the oaths, and that
they would not unduly restrict him from his <em>vates</em> tasks.</p><p>For that, he could put
up with—</p><p>And then Draco set his
feet and shook his head, perforce pulling Harry to a stop as well.
Harry blinked at Draco. The room they were about to enter looked
perfectly ordinary. There was a long table in the center of it,
surrounded by carved chairs that Harry thought had been conjured;
they were too fine for the normal run of Ministry furniture. Madam
Marchbanks sat at one end, in the middle of a cluster of three seats.
Harry knew that he and Aurora would take the other two.</p><p>"What's the
matter?" he asked Draco.</p><p>"Professor Snape
isn't here," Draco said.</p><p>Harry blinked again,
then said, "No one said that Snape would be choosing the members of
the monitoring board—"</p><p>"But he can be
present when you choose them," said Draco flatly. "And he bloody
well will, Harry, or I'm hitting you with a sleeping charm now."
He said the last in such a fierce whisper that Harry was fairly sure
no one else heard him.</p><p>A hissing trail of
yellow light curled around Harry's fingers—his magic getting out
of control with his temper. He tamed it. He didn't want to hurt
someone. And the more he thought about it, the more he winced at the
thought of Snape being left out of these negotiations. He would think
Harry had chosen guardians to spite him. And he would certainly
distrust most of them, and examine the wording of the treaty again
and again, looking for sore spots.</p><p>"Very well," he
said, and shrugged apologetically at Aurora as she turned around to
look at him. "Sorry, Madam. I want to call my guardian and make
sure that he can join us and speak for me."</p><p>"I would prefer that
you not call him," Aurora replied, voice just this side of censure.
"He intimidated several of my people merely by his appearance in
the alley today. I fear we will not make fair, unbiased decisions if
he is in the room with us."</p><p>Harry started to
reply, but Draco's voice got there first, harsh and cold as
grinding ice floes. "Harry is sixteen," he said. "Not of age
yet by the common wizarding standard. And Professor Snape is his
guardian. He <em>will</em> be with him for something this important.
You should know this, Madam Whitestag, since you are, after all, a
stickler for rules, and laws, and justice."</p><p>Aurora studied Draco
for a long moment, then said, "I'm well aware of Harry's age,
Mr. Black." She nodded to Harry. "Summon your guardian, then."</p><p>Harry tapped his left
wrist and murmured the communication spell, and heard Snape's voice
respond at once, tight and eager as a racing hound's. "Harry? You
have returned?'</p><p>"Yes, sir. I'm in
the doorway of a small room in the Atrium—"</p><p>"I know it. I am
coming." And the communication spell cut off. Harry could feel
himself flushing dully under Aurora's eye. She did not look
condemning, not precisely, but he felt rather like a student who had
insisted on having his parents with him when he faced the
Headmistress over a minor infraction of Hogwarts rules.</p><p>"The last I heard of
Professor Snape, he was rather—upset," said Aurora, with the air
of one hunting for a delicate word and finally settling on an
inadequate substitute for what she really meant. "Are you sure it's
wise to have him in a room with other people who might make you feel
uncomfortable even if they don't mean to, Harry?"</p><p>Harry sighed. "He's
past that now, in large part, Madam. And Draco is right. I'm
sixteen, and my guardian should be with me."</p><p>Aurora said nothing,
but simply stood with them, obviously more than willing to wait. Her
companions had filed past her and found themselves seats about the
table. Harry struggled not to shift from foot to foot, or, for that
matter, to lean against Draco as if seeking comfort. He had to
impress these people, so he stood as straight as he could and with as
much of a cold expression on his face as he could muster. It was
easier once he remembered what Lily might have told him to do if he
was in a case concerning Connor, and then the self-consciousness fell
away. He wrapped himself in a cold shell, and nothing could hurt him.</p><p>It truly did not take
long for Snape's footsteps to sound up beyond the gates, and then
he was there, his eyes flitting over Harry's face as though looking
for signs of damage taken in the hours since they had parted. Then
his left hand gripped Harry's shoulder. Harry managed to conceal
his start, but he'd been gone far enough into the coldness that
being touched felt strange.</p><p>And he knew Snape was
keeping his right hand free so that he could use his wand. That
annoyed him.</p><p>"Let us begin,"
said Snape. "Helcas and the others who wish to be considered for
membership in the monitoring board are following me, but they said
that they wanted to speak with the Minister first, and they care
little about which humans sit the board. They are more interested in
those humans' actions. Attempting to control their <em>vates</em>,
for example."</p><p>Aurora gave Snape a
flat, unreadable look, and gestured into the room. "After you, Mr.
Snape."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Aurora had to admit to
being rather nonplused as they all finally, finally, sat down at the
table where they should have sat the moment Harry Apparated in. The
reports she had received from Hogwarts said that Snape was a broken
man. Everyone agreed on it, students from all four Houses. He could
barely teach Potions. He certainly could not defend the <em>vates</em>
he claimed as his son in an environment like this. Since he would
cast curses at everyone who looked at him sideways, Aurora was within
her rights to ask for him to be excluded.</p><p>And now, this. Aurora
didn't think his façade was perfect; there was strain that
might show if he was pressed. But she did think that he would watch
their candidates so closely that some of the people she needed on the
monitoring board might not make it. He would object to any Light
wizard, almost certainly.</p><p><em>So vexing.</em></p><p>But she knew how to
respond to vexation. One stepped back and thought of new plans. And
so she watched as Harry moved to the head of the table to take the
chair on the left side of Madam Marchbanks, while his guardian and
his lover sat on the left of <em>him</em>. She saw the yawn that Harry
could not quite conceal, and the way his partner all but bent over
him, and the mistrustful looks that Snape was giving everyone in the
room, even those undeclared witches and wizards who were here because
they thought the safety of the wizarding world a good idea.</p><p>Aurora smiled a bit.
<em>It may be true that Harry is sixteen years old and needs his
guardian with him, but he is an adult in that he makes adult
decisions, and we are granting him an adult part in the monitoring
board and the selection of its members. He doesn't need to be
shepherded, or watched as if he were going to break an arm on the way
to his chair. </em></p><p>Treat Harry like an
adult, insist on <em>his</em> opinions and not the opinions of his
guardian and lover, and Aurora thought this would work. Harry was
obviously tired, and would miss some things. That meant that the
monitoring board could do what it needed to do, rather than what
Snape and Lucius's son wanted it to do.</p><p>Aurora shut the door
and moved around the table to take the chair on Marchbanks's right.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"I think we should
begin with consideration of Light wizards," said Madam Marchbanks.
"Since, after all, part of the original purpose of this monitoring
board is to introduce more Light wizards into the <em>vates's</em>
councils."</p><p>Draco sat back in his
chair, his eyes narrowed. He couldn't quite stop looking at
Whitestag—he knew she was <em>up</em> to something—but he forced
himself to. The first candidate was sitting up at the end of the
table, consciously shifting in her chair. This was obviously
something the Light's running dogs had planned. And Harry wasn't
ready to deal with this yet, Draco thought, as Harry concealed
another yawn. He should have been in bed.</p><p>But they would insist
on this now, and even fully conscious, Harry might have allowed
through some of the witches and wizards Snape and Draco would
disqualify. That was all right. That was one reason they were here:
to be the suspicious Slytherin bastards Harry couldn't be when he
was making a good faith effort.</p><p>"I agree," said
Whitestag. "And the first candidate of the Light is Lisa
Addlington."</p><p>"Is this wise?"
Snape asked, even before Draco could raise an objection. "I know
that Mrs. Addlington's son died beside the lake." He gave her a
shallow nod that couldn't really be interpreted as sympathy, Draco
thought. "Grief may drive her to make her decisions, rather than
interest in the safety of the wizarding world or my son."</p><p>"I think I may speak
for myself, thank you," said Addlington, with a sniff. Draco didn't
like her. Not only was she Declared for Light, but she had a manner
of tossing her head that he thought was affected. Only much younger
women should do that, and Addlington's face wasn't of the
pureblood, elegant mode that would allow a witch like Narcissa to get
away with the dramatic expression she was trying now. "I will not
allow grief for my dead son to control my actions. I do think that
power should be used safely and responsibly, always, and what
happened beside the lake was neither safe nor responsible."</p><p>"Do
you know what happened there?" Snape's voice was low, and
remarkably ugly, Draco thought. "If you had the slightest idea—"</p><p>"I think Mrs.
Addlington knows," said Draco, with a faint smile at the witch and
a warning shake of his head at Snape. They would accomplish nothing
if all they did was insult the lapdogs of the Light. "But I am less
clear why she should be a member of the monitoring board. Having lost
a child is qualification enough?" He put a politely inquiring frown
on his face and looked at Whitestag.</p><p>She was watching him
as though she were really noticing him for the first time. Draco
resisted the temptation to preen or stretch at the attention.</p><p><em>She may see me as
dangerous now, but I'll be even more so if I don't let on that I
noticed her noticing.</em></p><p>"Mrs. Addlington has
lost a child," said Whitestag, with a degree of control that made
Draco wonder how she could stand to surround herself with all these
fools. She was a pureblood witch with composure Lucius might envy, or
at least the ability to pretend to it. It must hurt, to see the rest
of her circle so unskilled in acting. "And she is of the Light. And
she is committed to the future change of the wizarding world." Her
eyes grew half-lidded, and her voice took on the tone of a mother
scolding her child. "And I must ask, Mr. Black, that you refrain
from interfering. The final decision for each member of the
monitoring board must be made by Madam Marchbanks, the <em>vates</em>,
and myself."</p><p>Draco didn't allow
himself to react to the last name she'd given him. It was true
that, technically, until Lucius confirmed him as his legal heir
again, Draco's last name was his mother's. Most wizards, however,
would be courteous enough to ignore that and refer to Draco by the
last name he'd been born to. Whitestag was making a point.</p><p>He made one back. "I
was unaware that objecting to a possible choice not yet made by the
monitoring board constituted interfering," he said. "Strange,
that critical thinking and the Light seem so often hostile to one
another."</p><p>"Draco, please,"
said Harry, with weariness in his tone that made Draco look sharply
at him. His eyes were shadowed, but he watched Lisa Addlington keenly
enough. "I'd at least like Mrs. Addlington to explain what kind
of commitments she's made to future changes in the wizarding
world."</p><p>"I've continued to
invest my money in Gringotts, despite the new demands made by the
southern goblins," Addlington said stoutly. "I do think that
humans and magical creatures should live <em>together</em>, not apart.
I've tried to persuade some of the other parents who lost children
to Harry's magic that taking vengeance wouldn't do any good,
because he's the Boy-Who-Lived, and we need him."</p><p>Draco bristled. He saw
Harry blink once, as if absorbing the blow of her words, and then
nod. "You have the knowledge that you'll be required to work with
magical creatures, at least," he said. "And that is a
prerequisite for swearing the oaths of the Alliance and becoming part
of the monitoring board. Will you swear the oaths now, even before
you become part of it?"</p><p>"I will," said
Addlington, and drew a knife from a pocket in her robes.</p><p>Draco could almost
<em>feel</em> Snape getting ready to breathe a curse beside him. Harry
forestalled them both. "Mrs. Addlington," he said, "we do not
swear by blood in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. It might create an
unfortunate precedent. We use words alone."</p><p>The woman blinked at
him, and Draco was at least pleased that Harry had managed to
disconcert her on his own. "What are the oaths, then?" she asked
slowly, laying down the knife. "And what are the consequences for
breaking them?"</p><p>"I will drain your
magic," said Harry. As the first time he had said it, Draco was
terribly impressed by the level tone Harry managed in that threat. He
could do it, and he would do it. He had no need for elaborate
torture.</p><p>"I understand,"
said Mrs. Addlington. "And the oaths?"</p><p>Harry sat up. Draco
could almost see him throwing weariness off like a cloak. A bit of
his magic woke up and curled about his shoulders in a blanket of pale
mist. Whitestag drew back from him, Draco was pleased to note. <em>He</em>
should be the only one who found Harry's magic not frightening at
all.</p><p>"I swear to be part
of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow until I can in good conscience be
part of it no longer. I swear to hold loyalty and allegiance to my
allies, no matter who they are, no matter how much magic they have,
no matter what kind of magic they use. I swear to hold the space of
my own mind sacred, to make decisions as best as I can based on
thought instead of reaction, to test my own beliefs until they
shatter or until they prove themselves solid. I swear not to let fear
rule me. I swear to walk among interacting freedoms, to study the
impact of my own free will on others', and to think of the
consequences of my actions."</p><p>Harry said that all as
if he were delivering a self-evident truth—the way that he probably
thought of the Grand Unified Theory, Draco thought, with a slight
grimace. But this wasn't the Grand Unified Theory. This was an oath
that he had sworn himself, and held to, when he made his decision,
and not out of fear. The more Draco thought about it, the more he
could see that he'd sworn to and kept those oaths. He wondered if
Addlington would be able to say the same.</p><p>Falteringly,
Addlington repeated the words, guided patiently through them by
Harry. Draco concealed his sneer as best he could. <em>No, she's not
worthy of the title of pureblood, not if she can't memorize
something that simple in a few seconds.</em></p><p>When that was done,
Harry smiled at her. "Welcome to the Alliance. I do want more Light
wizards and witches within it." He turned to Madam Marchbanks. "Do
you have any objections to her, Madam?"</p><p>Broodingly, the old
woman studied Addlington and then reluctantly shook her head. She
wanted to protect Harry's safety, Draco thought, but that was hard
when he seemed out to sabotage it. He knew exactly how she felt.</p><p>"Good," said
Harry. "Lisa Addlington is accepted as a member of the monitoring
board, then."</p><p>Draco saw Whitestag
smile, and he wanted to say something. But he could never have come
up with the words that Snape did a moment later, the perfect words to
stop the stupid choices in their tracks.</p><p>"Perhaps we should
define the extent of the monitoring board's supervision?" Snape
murmured. "How much it might oversee Harry's actions, how much he
must consult with them, what they reserve the right to veto and what
they do not?"</p><p>"I think that an
excellent idea," said Whitestag. "And since there is so far only
one accepted member of the monitoring board, beyond the three of us
who make the decisions, I think it appropriate that all other
candidates, as well as those involved in, ah, overseeing the process,
wait outside the room."</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry could see what
Aurora was doing. He was a bit surprised that it had taken her so
long to object to Draco and Snape's presence, really.</p><p>He met her eyes and
said pleasantly, "Really, now, Madam, I see no reason for that.
This monitoring board, and the fact that it exists and will help me
make decisions to control my behavior, is a matter of public record.
We do not need to keep its function and the extent of its power
secret."</p><p>Aurora hesitated for
the briefest of moments, but she must have already chosen her tactic,
because she moved swiftly. "Of course, you are right, Harry," she
murmured. "I only thought that, as an adult and someone who is
capable of making adult decisions, you would prefer to have such
private matters, well, private. The relationship between a leader and
his advisers is rather intimate. Adults do not need to be disciplined
in public."</p><p><em>Make me seem and
feel like a child, </em>Harry thought. <em>And leave me with no other
option but to send Snape and Draco away, if I don't want to look
weak. Clever. But she should have done it earlier. Draco already set
this context up by demanding that Snape be here, as my legal
guardian, and she was the one who emphasized my age when she spoke to
the paper.</em></p><p>"As you have so
often said, Madam, I cannot be trusted to act on my own as yet," he
said, flavoring his voice with regret. "If I were completely adult,
then I would have found some way out of the situation by the lake,
and I would have no need of the monitoring board at all. As it is, I
am only a sixteen-year-old with power, both magical and political,
far beyond what might be expected of someone my age, and I need adult
guidance and help. That includes the guidance and help of the adult I
trust most." He leaned backwards towards Snape without taking his
eyes off Aurora. "And, of course, if the other candidates truly
want to become part of the monitoring board, they need to know what
their duties will be."</p><p>Aurora didn't show
any sign of defeat. Harry hadn't thought she would. She simply
nodded, as though she had expected everything to work out like this
all along, and murmured, "Of course, <em>vates.</em> And now, how
much adult guidance and help do <em>you</em> think is necessary to
control your actions?"</p><p><em>Finally</em>. Harry
kept himself from breathing a sigh of relief, but it was a near
thing. This was another reason he had been able to agree to the
suggestion of a monitoring board where he hadn't been able to agree
to the suggestion of a trial. Standing before the Wizengamot for
crimes he could not convince himself were crimes would be a farce and
add nothing to his <em>vates</em> task in the end. But a monitoring
board could help him by giving him extra pairs of eyes when he began
to tread a downward slope.</p><p>"I have made
decisions that I would consider to be wrong," said Harry.
"Sometimes, as beside the lake, I do not know what right decision I
could have made. But another pair of eyes, or several pairs, could
help me see a way out of this. Recognize the limits of personal
power, and show me where integrity lies. Teach me where illegal is
<em>not</em> another word for 'the whim of those in power,' but
does happen to coincide with 'moral.' Show me aspects of Light
pureblood culture I might have ignored in my haste to embrace the
Dark."</p><p>"Forgive me, Harry,"
said Aurora, voice low and smooth and concerned. "I was convinced
that you <em>were</em> familiar with Light pureblood culture, as your
father is a Light pureblood wizard."</p><p>Harry shook his head,
and ignored the way Snape's hand tightened on his shoulder. There
was nothing he could do about Snape's personal dislike of James
right now. "Not in detail, Madam. Lily Potter never thought I had
to learn the specific rituals, because I would not need them to build
alliances with other families. Connor's dedication to the Light
would be enough."</p><p>"Then teaching you
those courtesies and rituals must be part of the duties of the board,
of course," Aurora murmured. "And having myself and Mrs.
Addlington on it may teach you ways out of decisions like the one you
made by the lake. I have to admit, Harry, I have been over the
situation many times in my own mind, and I do not see what else you
could have done." She ignored the muted noises from some of the
other people in the room, keeping her gaze on Harry. "So I believe
the problem is one of fundamentals. We should not have depended on
you so much in the first place. You should not have had to take up a
burden better settled on the shoulders of adults."</p><p>Harry could hear the
passion in her voice, and suspected she was telling the truth. She
was not blinded by the Boy-Who-Lived legend, then, or at least she
was more than aware of the <em>Boy</em> part.</p><p>"I wish I had not
had to," he said simply. "But I am <em>vates</em> now, and leader
of the Alliance, and several other positions that I cannot give up.
The monitoring board will not ask me to do that."</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Aurora, and Harry realized that had not been a concern for her.
He would have to judge her more carefully, he reminded himself, so
that he could learn more about what she wanted and not what he
thought she wanted. "We will ask you to come to us when you make
decisions that could have political consequences in the wizarding
world. If you move specifically within a single magical creature
species, that is not a problem. But since you are a political leader
at such a tender age, you need the wisdom of older and more political
wizards."</p><p>Harry stifled his
impatience. <em>She is only right, only speaking from a position of
truth as she sees it. </em>"And what about those decisions that must
be made quickly, Madam? I could hardly have consulted with the whole
monitoring board about leaping onto the dragon's back today."</p><p>"Ah," said Aurora.
"But if we handle this correctly, such situations will become less
frequent, Harry. I do not think it ridiculous to ask that when you
hear about something happening at a distance—for example, a dragon
raiding in Ireland, if such a disaster ever happens—that you come
to us and ask."</p><p>"Even if stopping
the dragon would have no political consequences for the wizarding
world?" Harry asked.</p><p>"Of course," said
Aurora. "Because your death would have <em>enormous</em> political
consequences for us all, Harry. A negotiation or a web-lifting within
a magical creature species, as I understand it, does not endanger
your life. But a situation that threatens your safety? Yes, I think I
must insist that you consult with us." She looked over Harry's
head, and he turned to see Madam Marchbanks nodding.</p><p><em>Of course she
would, </em>Harry thought, frustrated. <em>She makes it sound so
reasonable. None of them understand that sometimes my life is a tool
like the rest of me, like my freedom or my magic, to be used to do
what must be done.</em></p><p>He felt teeth close on
his ear, a reminder that his magic, at least, didn't like being
thought of in such a way. Harry hid a grimace, and wondered how he
would reconcile using his magic for enjoyment with what the
monitoring board wanted him to do.</p><p>"Very well," he
said. "I agree to that. <em>If</em> the situation crosses over into
the wizarding world and would endanger my life, I will consult you."</p><p>Aurora smiled. "Good.
And of course, we must think more carefully about the balance between
Light and Dark on the monitoring board—"</p><p>"And the balance of
species," Harry said, as the door opened and Helcas entered,
followed by Bone. "And the balance of blood, I would say. Madam, do
you have any Muggleborn or halfblood candidates waiting?"</p><p>"Several." Aurora
ignored the confusion that stirred in the rest of the room, as her
cronies tried to accommodate a centaur and a northern goblin at the
table. Harry was amused to see Helcas simply take over a seat that
had sat empty between two wizards, while Bone stood behind him and
scowled at the walls as if he didn't like the way they shut him in.
"Would you like to meet them?"</p><p>"Yes," said Harry.
"I would."</p><p>Aurora gestured a
wizard forward who had short brown hair and a permanent squint; Harry
thought he probably needed glasses and refused to have them. "This
is Marvin Gildgrace," she said. "His father is Muggle, and his
mother a pureblood witch." She smiled at him. "Tell us why you'd
like to be a member of the monitoring board, Marvin."</p><p>"I've thought a
lot about this," said Marvin. His voice was abrupt and grated on
Harry's ears, but that, he told himself, wasn't a good enough
reason to dislike someone. "I've read about Ministry laws,
although I've never worked in the Ministry myself. I can tell you
when something is illegal, Mr. Pott—that is, <em>vates</em>. And what
the consequences are likely to be of breaking the laws." He blinked
hopefully, and leaned forward. "And how to deal with them, of
course," he said in a low voice, with a nod to Helcas and Bone.
"And what options they have when dealing with wizards."</p><p>"They're in the
same room we are, Mr. Gildgrace," said Harry. "Why don't you
speak to them?"</p><p>Marvin blinked as
though that had never occurred to him, then turned and repeated what
he had said to Helcas and Bone. Helcas didn't bother to respond,
simply looking at his claws as if he thought they needed to be
trimmed. Bone stared straight at Marvin and said nothing.</p><p>"I don't want to
accept him," said Harry. "Prejudices against magical creatures
don't make him a good recommendation to me."</p><p>"There are few other
halfblood candidates," said Aurora, and smiled at him.</p><p>"I'm not
prejudiced!" Marvin protested at the same time.</p><p>Harry sighed, and
settled down to the dickering.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>It was past midnight
when they left the room. Harry stumbled on his way into the Atrium.
The lack of sleep was catching up with him, and the lack of food. The
cup of tea he'd felt necessary to take while he was with Gerald
MacFusty was the only nourishment he'd had for too long a time—he
couldn't remember when he'd last eaten, actually, since his
stomach had been wound too tight with anxiety to do so this
morning—and he wanted to go back to Woodhouse, eat, and rest.
Draco's arm around his waist was more than welcome, now.</p><p>But they had
accomplished what they set out to accomplish. The monitoring board
had eleven Light wizards and witches on it, three of them halfblood,
one Muggleborn, and only Lisa Addlington one of the parents of the
Dozen Who Died. All had sworn the Alliance oaths, all had said they
would not interfere in his <em>vates</em> work but would help him with
Light pureblood courtesies and Ministry law and the "Light
perspective," and all had been approved by all three of them.</p><p>Harry was quietly
disgusted that Marvin Gildgrace was a sitting member at all, but he
had said again and again that he had nothing against any other
species, and he was one of the few halfblood candidates, and there
was nothing incriminating in his past. Harry had been all but
compelled to accept him, especially when Aurora had agreed without
pause to let an equal number of Dark wizards have a place on the
board. She had even mentioned that she would particularly welcome the
additions of Narcissa Malfoy, Hawthorn Parkinson, and Adalrico
Bulstrode, which meant Harry was left, again, uneasily convinced that
she was far more clever than he'd thought.</p><p>Madam Marchbanks had
raised hardly any objections, except to a woman who'd turned out to
have been sacked by the Ministry for theft. And she had welcomed
Helcas and Bone, as well, of course, as an unnamed southern goblin
representative who would not be the <em>hanarz</em>. Because Helcas,
Bone, and this goblin were the only candidates of their species who
offered themselves, Aurora accepted them as well.</p><p>So the monitoring
board was mixed, and would help him with matters where Harry feared
he might abuse his own power. It was really the best solution he
could have hoped for.</p><p>"He's asleep on
his feet," Draco's voice said quietly, close to his ear. "Do
you think, sir—"</p><p>"Yes," said Snape,
and then picked him up. Harry could only decide that they must be
safely out of eyeshot of any of their tentative allies. He would
never have made Harry look weak like that in front of them.</p><p>"I can walk, sir,"
he murmured. And he could. He <em>could</em> open his eyes and walk and
make political statements. He just preferred not to right now.</p><p>"Call me Severus,"
Snape murmured into his ear. "I did ask that of you. If you can
walk, you can do that."</p><p>Harry sighed. "Very
well. I can walk, Severus." He tried to open his eyes, but
someone's hands seemed to be pressing on them and keeping them
shut. He yawned.</p><p>Snape put him on an
expanse of warm muscle that felt like Bone's back. Harry opened his
mouth to ask if Bone had actually offered to carry him, and then slid
into sleep in a simple, uncomplicated manner. He never felt the
Apparition.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>"But do you actually
think we can keep control of him?" Lisa stood in the room off the
Atrium when the others had gone, looking expectantly at Aurora.</p><p>Aurora clucked her
tongue at her. "Of course we can," she said. "And it's not
about keeping control, anyway, Lisa. Do you control a storm? Do you
control a dragon? You can bridle them and turn them, perhaps, but not
control them. So we teach him to run along a more confined path,
instead of making his own by destroying everything and everyone who
stands in his way."</p><p>Lisa nodded slowly.
"And you really think that we'll be able to achieve that, with
the way this board is set up?"</p><p>Aurora thought of the
many times she had nearly seen Snape draw his wand to curse someone
during the meeting. She thought of the passion in the eyes of Harry's
Malfoy lover—protective passion, of course, but still too mixed
with apolitical considerations to be truly effective. She thought of
the glances exchanged among many of the board members when Harry had
insisted that other magical species be granted a few seats, and that
at least some of the Dark candidates be werewolves. She thought of
the way Harry had accepted the offers made in good faith <em>as</em>
made in good faith, and what she had heard of and seen in the way he
interacted with people, gradually relating more and more to them as
individuals and less and less as representatives of a particular
interest.</p><p>A friend would be able
to give more and broader advice, on many other topics than the
monitoring board had limited itself to.</p><p>"I do," said
Aurora, and smiled.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 54*: The Aftermath</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Forty-Three: The Aftermath</strong></p><p>Harry opened his eyes
slowly. He knew he had fallen asleep—he could remember the feeling
of Bone's tendons and muscles shifting beneath him, if he
concentrated—but he didn't know what had happened after that. He
tried to roll over, and heard a grunt as his elbow connected with
soft flesh.</p><p>"Watch where you put
that, please," Draco said, blinking open his eyes and regarding him
with his head tilted to one side.</p><p>Harry opened his
mouth, and then shut it again when he realized that both he and Draco
were naked, his back against Draco's chest, Draco's arms locked
around his waist. He had to find something adequate to the moment,
but his stomach took over the chore, interrupting with a loud rumble.</p><p>"I thought you would
be hungry," Draco murmured, making no effort to release the hold he
had on Harry's waist. He nodded to the right, and Harry followed
the motion to see a tray of food already sitting on the table next to
the bed. Draco moved his hand so that he could hold his wand and
gesture at the food, and the pancakes and sausage started steaming
slightly from warming charms. He'd left the orange juice and slices
of apple alone, Harry noted in relief. "Now you don't have to go
far. <em>Wingardium Leviosa</em>," he added, and the tray floated
towards them.</p><p>Harry managed to sit
up, although Draco made it more difficult by refusing to let go of
him unless Harry actually shifted and made it clear he wanted that to
happen. At last they wound up with Harry propped against the pillows,
the tray on his knees, and Draco sitting with his arm around Harry's
back and his head leaning on his shoulder.</p><p>"Don't you want
some food?" Harry remembered to ask, just before he speared one of
the pancakes with his fork.</p><p>"I ate last night,
and then again a few hours ago," said Draco evenly. "I wasn't
quite as tired."</p><p>Harry felt his face
turn crimson, but he refused to <em>act</em> embarrassed, even if his
skin insisted on giving him away. He cut up his pancakes into chunks,
and ate two of them before he asked. "So what happened after we
returned?"</p><p>"Snape put you to
bed," said Draco. "I ate my meal and joined you. Then I woke up a
few hours ago, ate my breakfast, and fetched this meal for you." He
paused. Harry waited. Draco was arranging matters in his head, he
realized, rather than acting impulsively. He wondered if that had
come about because of something that had happened yesterday.</p><p>"I have heard,"
Draco said at last, neutrally, "many people wondering what's
going to happen now. The rebellion is done, but most of the packs
don't have a home to return to."</p><p>Harry nodded. "I've
thought of that. And I think the best solution for a home for them
would be to stay in Woodhouse, at least for now. There's plenty of
room for them here, and I can construct wards that will protect
them." <em>If my idea about asking the place magic to defend them
doesn't work</em>. "As for food and jobs, now that werewolves can
have paying jobs and they're no longer fugitives, I was thinking
that the Alliance of Sun and Shadow needs people working exclusively
for it."</p><p>"Really, now."
Draco shifted, and Harry winced as his chin dug into his shoulder.
Draco murmured an apology and moved to a more comfortable position.
Harry took another bite of pancake, wondering why in the world Draco
wanted to be this close. "And you think werewolves would be the
best choice?"</p><p>"They've sworn the
oaths, most of them, and I'm going to ask those who didn't to
swear them before I give them jobs," said Harry dryly. "And
they're the ones who need it most. Others are part of the Alliance,
but either have commitments outside it or don't need the jobs, like
the goblins. Besides, some of the werewolves are Muggles—" he
thought with a pang of Camellia, who had been able to enjoy being a
witch for so short a time "—and wouldn't be able to find a job
in the wizarding world <em>that</em> easily. I don't want them
condemned to the kind of menial labor handed to Squibs so often. So
I'll create a headquarters for the Alliance, and set them to work
promoting it. Talking about the oaths to those who are interested,
explaining those aspects of pack culture they feel comfortable
sharing, giving interviews to the newspapers and writing articles for
the <em>Vox Populi</em>, making political links with people who don't
want to swear the Alliance oaths yet, that sort of thing."</p><p>Draco was silent.
Harry finished his pancakes and started in on the apple slices, and
still he said nothing.</p><p>"What?" Harry
asked finally, when he'd swallowed the first few bites of apple.
"Don't you think it's a good idea?"</p><p>"It's not that,"
Draco murmured. "I just think that your political enemies will make
a <em>bit</em> of a fuss if you only have werewolves working there."</p><p>"Do you have any
other suggestions?" Harry asked eagerly. "Because I think you're
right, but most of the witches and wizards who aren't in the
Alliance won't want to work with werewolves anyway, and they <em>are</em>
the ones who need this most."</p><p>"Then use the
witches and wizards who <em>are</em> in the Alliance," Draco
suggested. "Some of them are purebloods and don't need to work.
And some of them don't have defined tasks, or won't now that the
rebellion is ended. What about Ignifer Apollonis? Do you honestly
think she would object to working with werewolves?"</p><p>Harry shook his head.
Ignifer had been a bit uneasy around the packs at first, but she'd
relaxed, and she'd even made friends with one of the werewolves who
had nearly bled himself dry of magic protecting Peregrine. "How
many ordinary wizards and witches do you think should be mixed in
among the werewolves?"</p><p>"A fair number, at
least," said Draco. "You don't want people to avoid the
Alliance altogether for fear of being bitten."</p><p>"And we also don't
want to encourage fear and prejudice," Harry reminded him, and
chewed the next apple slice emphatically.</p><p>Draco paused, then
nodded. "That's true," he murmured. "If we use wizards and
witches as the public face of the Alliance, it only looks like we're
afraid to admit to the werewolves." He thought again while Harry
ate. Then he suggested, "Perhaps a quarter as many wizards and
witches as there are werewolves? And I don't mean that has to
happen right away, either. Slowly, as more people hear about the
Alliance and swear the oaths. It could be just Ignifer and anyone
else who really wants to do it in the beginning. Rose Rhangnara might
be another good choice."</p><p>"Really?" Harry
was startled. He hadn't noticed her being friendly with any
werewolves in particular.</p><p>Draco nodded again.
"She's not going to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, and of course her
father wouldn't send her to Durmstrang again even if it was open.
She's not of age, but she <em>does</em> spend a lot of time among the
packs. I saw her talking to the alpha who calls himself Hawk the
other day. Talk to Thomas. I think he'd probably agree because she
can learn so much."</p><p>He imitated Thomas's
voice so well on the last words that Harry had to laugh. Then he
choked, because of the bit of fruit caught in his throat, and Draco
had to pound his back to get it out.</p><p>"Watch out," Draco
murmured in his ear. "Of all the embarrassing ways to die, Harry,
choking on a piece of apple in your boyfriend's arms! What <em>would</em>
the monitoring board say if they heard that?"</p><p>Harry started to
answer, and then paused, and not only because his throat was burning.
Then he said, "What do you think about the monitoring board,
Draco?"</p><p>"That it's a
monstrously bad idea, of course." Draco leaned away from him for
the first time, folding his arms and glaring just past Harry. "The
way I always did. Whitestag acts as if it won't be that way, but it
will. The definitions they imposed on themselves leave a lot of
maneuvering room. And I don't like the way they persuaded you to
accept Gildgrace."</p><p>Harry sighed. "I had
to. He was one of only a few halfblood candidates, and he did swear
the oaths, and he—well, <em>I</em> think he's prejudiced against
goblins and centaurs, but <em>he</em> insists he isn't, and was I
really going to say that I trusted my interpretation of his thoughts
more than his statement of them? And Helcas and Bone didn't object
when I asked them."</p><p>"You could have used
Legilimency on him," Draco commented, still staring slightly past
Harry. "Learned whether he really is prejudiced or not."</p><p>"And violated his
free will," said Harry, his voice sharpening slightly. "I'm
sure he would have said no."</p><p>Draco took a deep
breath, then shifted forward and clasped Harry's left wrist. Since
Harry was about to take his first bite of sausage, and he didn't
think Draco would have interrupted his eating without good reason, he
stared at him, waiting.</p><p>"Harry," Draco
said, his voice so soft that Harry nearly lost it in the sound of his
own breathing. "You don't need to offer your enemies <em>chances</em>
to trample you. You acted as though you really wanted the monitoring
board to control you, yesterday. Some of the things you said, some of
the compromises you agreed to…" He shook his head. "I don't
understand why you did it."</p><p>Harry relaxed a bit.
He had been afraid Draco was about to confront him with evidence of
some massive political mistake he'd made. But he wanted an
explanation, and it wasn't one Harry was at all averse to giving
him.</p><p>"Because I think I
<em>have</em> been too reckless," he said. "I don't really expect
the monitoring board to be able to help me all the time with
situations like a British Red-Gold suddenly appearing. Some decisions
I'll have to make fast and on my own. But perhaps they can give me
advice in less desperate circumstances, and make me consider nuances
I would toss away in my haste, otherwise. Some of them are people
with perspectives I'd never hear, otherwise, and some of them are
people who've suffered personal losses because of my hasty
decisions. So it might help. And as a price to come back into
wizarding society and stop the hunting, it was very small."</p><p>Draco reached out with
his free hand and tilted his chin up, meeting him eye to eye. "May
I enter your head and see that for myself, Harry?" he asked.</p><p>Harry gave a shallow
nod, and held his possible panic in tight control as Draco leaped
into his mind, not controlling his body but reading his thoughts. It
felt like a cold wind, which blew through one ear and out the other.
Harry shook his head sharply, shivering.</p><p>"You really feel
that way," Draco said. "You do think you need to be more
controlled than you have been." He collapsed back against the
pillows as if someone had stolen all the strength from his muscles,
staring at Harry.</p><p>Harry nodded. "One
thing I thought of while riding the dragon was how hard it is to hold
my own will in check, Draco," he said quietly. "Particularly when
I think I can do something good. That has resulted in arrogant
behavior on my part in the past. I know best, so I do what I think is
best, but it's not always <em>right.</em> I'm not looking at the
monitoring board to change my habits of behavior so much as my habits
of thought. Maybe next time, I <em>will</em> set up a plan instead of
leaping in, and I <em>will</em> learn to think more clearly instead of
letting my emotions take over."</p><p>"And my own efforts
and Snape's weren't good enough for you, then?"</p><p>Harry almost shoved
the tray off his knees in his haste to put his arms around Draco.
Luckily, he did remember to mutter a Levitation Charm so that it
could hover beside the bed instead of just dropping off into
oblivion. Then he could lean forward and hug him, and Draco could hug
back. Harry held him tightly enough that he hoped he could squeeze
out the pain he'd heard in Draco's voice.</p><p>"That isn't it,"
he whispered. "You and Snape love me, and in the end, if restraint
would hurt me, you tend not to give it. And when I feel bad about
hurting you, it's about <em>hurting</em> you, not because I think
what I did wasn't a good idea. So I need people who don't care
that much about me to teach me more impartial habits of thought.
That's all, Draco. Really. I have to learn not to ride all over
their wills, and I get away with it around you more often. This is
about my <em>acknowledging</em> your emotions, not avoiding them."</p><p>Slowly, Draco relaxed,
and they sat in silence for a few moments longer. Then he said, "And
what if you disagree with a decision the monitoring board makes?"</p><p>"Then I'll argue
with them." Harry sat back, smiling to encourage him. "I do still
have a mind and a will of my own, Draco. What I'm asking for help
with is restraining the <em>excesses</em> of that mind and that will.
I'm looking for someone to argue with, not order me around."</p><p>Draco bit his lip as
if he would say something about that, but then shoved Harry's
shoulder and said, "Finish your breakfast. It's almost noon
already. Then you should have a shower and get ready to address your
adoring public."</p><p>"Almost <em>noon</em>?"
For some reason, Harry hadn't gathered that from the angle of light
coming through the window. He started to throw back the blankets, and
Draco got there and pulled them back up just as efficiently.</p><p>"You're not facing
them naked and hungry," he informed Harry. Then he tilted his head,
and a small smile touched his lips. "Unless, of course, you're
not hungry for food," he said. "Then I think they can wait a
little while longer, until we're sure that your—stomach is full."</p><p>Harry damned his blush
and tried his best to match Draco's tone as he replied, "If we
made sure of that, it would be evening before I was ready to talk to
them."</p><p>That made him even
more embarrassed, in a way, but it was worth it to see Draco's
mouth and eyes widen, and he had the tray that he could pull into his
lap to cover his own unfortunate reaction.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Draco lay back on the
pillows and listened to the sound of Harry's shower, wishing he
could go in and join him. But no, he needed to think about this, and
for that, he needed at least a partially clear head.</p><p>So. Harry wanted a
monitoring board to teach him those things he didn't think he could
learn from the people who loved him. And if those things had been
only Light pureblood courtesies and the like, then Draco would have
understood. It was true that the Light wizards closest to Harry were
atypical in how little regard they had for those courtesies. The
thought of Tybalt Starrise trying to be dignified and teach Harry the
proper way to receive a guest made Draco snort in laughter.</p><p>But Harry also wanted
someone to restrain him, <em>just in case</em> he trampled on someone
else's free will.</p><p>Draco rolled his head
restlessly on the pillow, then arched his back and stretched. At
least it worked a little of the tension out of his muscles, and the
last thing he wanted to be when he stood with Harry to address
everyone in Woodhouse was tense. He already knew some of the
werewolves—the ones transformed by Loki, at least—would object to
Harry's plan. He wanted to appear relaxed and coolly dismissive,
not as if he were going to hex them on the spot.</p><p><em>When will he
understand that just because his will conflicts with someone else's
doesn't mean it's a trampling? Or that just because someone's
angry with him over something he did doesn't mean they have a good
reason?</em></p><p>Draco frowned
thoughtfully at the ceiling. What he had seen in Harry's thoughts
was a good deal more reasonable than what he had seen a year ago.
Harry <em>had</em> healed, <em>had</em> improved, and at least he no
longer objected to people wanting to follow him.</p><p>What he objected to
was <em>commanding</em> them. He wanted to be a leader, because that
was inevitable at this point, but by equal argument and debate and
discussion and agreement, negotiation and treaty, rather than by
ordering people around. The rebellion had bothered him even as he
organized it, Draco knew, largely because it involved breaking apart
from the Ministry, which had legal authority, and ordering people to
do things like protect Woodhouse. There was a reason that the
Alliance oaths were so loose; they were designed to encourage the
free will and ability to act of those who swore them, and if someone
wanted out of the Alliance, it was a simple thing to announce that
and turn away from it.</p><p>Harry no longer
objected to seeing himself as equal. He still didn't want to see
himself as being in control. If he had an impartial authority he
could listen to, such as the monitoring board, he thought that
wouldn't happen.</p><p>Except that Draco
didn't believe the monitoring board was impartial, and he didn't
believe they would give Harry just advice on restraining himself for
the good of everyone else, and he was <em>damn</em> sure that they
didn't see Harry as equal to themselves. There were some contexts
in which Harry would be under control if he didn't claim control.
This was one of them.</p><p>He doubted he could
make Harry see that, though, at least until the monitoring board
badly misstepped. Harry was likely to think that the more he objected
to the board, the better a job it was doing; they weren't there to
please him, but to advise him. At least he'd objected to
Whitestag's attempt to send Draco and Snape out of the room
yesterday.</p><p><em>I'm less
reluctant to trample on people's free wills than he is. </em>Draco
gave the ghost of a smile. <em>So I'll be readier to guard his back,
and try political games to limit the monitoring board's power.</em></p><p>Draco already knew
what his first tactic would be.</p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry stood patiently,
with Draco at his right shoulder and Snape at his left, awaiting the
first protest. He had explained his plan to offer shelter in
Woodhouse to those werewolves who wanted it, and working for the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow as a means to grant them money and
independence. <em>Someone</em> would not like it, he thought. He had a
private wager going with himself whether that would be George or
someone else.</p><p>"And what are <em>we</em>
supposed to do?"</p><p><em>George. Of course.
</em>"That's up to you," Harry said quietly. "I know that some
of you have families back in the wizarding world, families you didn't
dare go to when the hunting season was still in effect, in case you
endangered them or forced them to choose between their safety and
yours." A few of those bitten by Loki nodded. "I wouldn't force
anyone to remain in Woodhouse, or accept employment from me. It's a
choice. So if you do have a family and a home to go to, count
yourselves lucky." He looked towards Peregrine and the other alphas
whose pack homes had been utterly destroyed by the curses cast at
them. "Others do not have as many options."</p><p>Peregrine's eyes
glittered at him. "We do not, <em>vates</em>," she said. "And I
thank you for offering this."</p><p>Harry inclined his
head, and turned back to George. "I can't win a paying job for
you otherwise," he told him. "I can't <em>force</em> someone to
hire you. I can't even ask the Ministry to take you back, unless
they can find a position for you in some other Department, because
the Department you worked for is gone. If something happens and you
think that someone refuses to hire you because you're a werewolf,
<em>then</em> I can help. But otherwise, if you don't want to accept
employment from me, I don't know what you expect me to do." He
heard the sharpness of his voice on those last few words and winced,
sliding the anger away. When dealing with George, anger didn't
help; it just fueled his own rage, and then they would be engaged in
a shouting contest, and it wouldn't end well.</p><p>"I'm not worried
about someone refusing to hire me because I'm a werewolf," said
George, though his expression said otherwise. "I'm worried about
someone refusing to hire me because I was a <em>fugitive</em>. You
didn't give us a choice about remaining in Tullianum or coming with
you. Death or becoming an outlaw isn't a <em>choice.</em>"</p><p>Harry heard Camellia
growl, joined a moment later by Trumpetflower and Evergreen. He held
up his hand and shook his head, and the growls slowly slid into
silence. Harry sighed. This <em>would</em> be something his pack would
see as an insult to their alpha.</p><p>"I gave you as much
of a choice as I could at the time," he said. "Besides, the
Ministry has said that all crimes done during the rebellion are
excused. They couldn't refuse to punish the people who hunted you
and experimented on you, and then turn around and punish you for
running away from that hunting and that experimentation. So if
someone does refuse to hire you because you're a fugitive, you also
have grounds on which to come to me."</p><p>"And if I don't
want to depend on you?" George's head rose as if someone had
challenged him to see how high in the air his nose could get.</p><p>"Then <em>don't</em>,"
said Harry, his patience very nearly at an end. "I am offering you
as many choices, as many paths, as I can. It's not my fault if you
refuse to walk those paths."</p><p>"Really, George,"
said a young man who had also suffered Loki's bite, whom Harry
didn't know very well. He thought he was only nineteen, though. He
frowned at George as though he were a small bug the younger man
wanted to crush. "What do you expect him to do? He's offering us
jobs and a home if we want it, and you're going to scorn it because
those aren't the jobs and the home you want?"</p><p>"That's not what
I'm saying!" George snarled. "I'm saying that it's thanks
to him that we're marked as werewolves and fugitives in the eyes of
the wizarding world! And if he thinks anyone will be happy to hire
us, he's <em>stupid.</em>"</p><p>"I can't do
anything about it until it actually happens," said Harry evenly.
"Insisting that I punish potential employers for what <em>could</em>
happen is just as idiotic. Ask me for help if you will. Blame me if
you will. But if you refuse to help yourself, then it's your own
call what happens to you."</p><p>He rolled his eyes and
turned away, searching for Thomas. He found him not far from the
wall, staring intently at it and writing down notes on a piece of
parchment. Harry blinked as he realized what was happening. Thomas
was nicking the wall with a knife, and watching as Woodhouse's
magic caught the chips of wood before they could fall to the floor
and put them back in place.</p><p>"Fascinating," he
said, when he saw Harry watching him. "It really takes care of its
own, doesn't it? And it knows intent. It'll punish the people who
are hostile to it, but it just ignores the people who aren't, and
cleans up their mess."</p><p>Harry smiled. "It <em>is</em>
fascinating," he agreed. "And, sir? Is it all right with you if
your daughter Rose works with the Alliance of Sun and Shadow to help
the werewolves?" He had already asked Rose, and she had verged on
ecstatic. Harry thought she was one of those people who had fretted
at being unable to do something to personally distinguish herself
during the rebellion.</p><p>Thomas raised his
eyebrows. "In what world would that not be all right with me?"</p><p>Harry laughed in spite
of himself. "Some of the parents <em>did</em> rather object when
their children fought without permission in the Midsummer battle,"
he admitted. "So I thought I should ask you."</p><p>Thomas waved a hand
idly and turned back to the wall. "She's perfectly capable of
making those decisions on her own," he said. "Many of those
laws—even the one that says wizards come of age at seventeen—come
from parents not trusting their children enough, or being too afraid
of accidental magic. I did some research into them when I first began
looking at the Grand Unified Theory, you know. And accidental magic
is much less accidental than they think it is, and much less likely
to happen just because a child is angry." He abruptly looked at
Harry. "That reminds me. Jing-Xi has asked to meet you, sometime in
the near future."</p><p>"Who?" Harry
asked, blinking. He knew the blinking didn't make him look any more
intelligent, but he had no idea whom Thomas's mind had leaped to.</p><p>Thomas smiled. "One
of my fellow research wizards," he said. "From China. A Light
Lady. She's interested in the level of your magic, I think, and how
you became so powerful so young."</p><p>Harry swallowed a bit.
He had never met another wizard of Lord-level power as anything but
an enemy, at least since he was twelve. "I'd—have no objections
to meeting her, of course," he said, aware his voice was strained.
"Did she say when she wanted to speak with me?"</p><p>Thomas waved his hand
again, his attention focused on the wall. "Sometime," he said.
"Not that soon. Jing-Xi knows that a rebellion is rather
time-consuming. At one point, the Chinese government wanted her to do
something, and she proved to them they couldn't force her. It took
her about a year."</p><p>Harry nodded, rattled,
and stepped away from Thomas. Draco caught his arm in turn.</p><p>"Longbottom and
Weasley are asking when we're going back to Hogwarts," he said
softly, and gave Harry something to think about other than a Chinese
Lady who was probably going to tell him all the finer points of
etiquette between Lords and Ladies that he'd violated. "I think
Weasley's worrying about the reception she'll have from her
family." Draco was smirking. Harry frowned at him. He knew the
Howlers Ginny had received almost daily for a time had amused Draco,
but there was a limit.</p><p>"Not for a few
days," he said. "I think we have to talk to McGonagall about
actually being readmitted as students. The more gestures of good-will
we can make, the more people will see that we're serious about
fitting back into the wizarding world."</p><p>"We are?" Draco
murmured the words, shifting so that his nose was buried in Harry's
hair. "In a way, it would be so nice if we could stay here, Harry,
and act as the political leaders we already are." His voice was
soft, coaxing, and his hand slid up and down Harry's back in that
way Harry found hard to resist. "School will seem so <em>boring</em>
after this."</p><p>"Boring I can take,
right now," said Harry. "Normal and quiet are other words for
boring." He moved away from the hand on his back, which was harder
than he'd thought it would be. "But I do want to show that we're
going about things legally. We'll appeal to McGonagall and the
board of governors. So we'll look like good little children."</p><p>"And that's the
image you want to project?" Draco demanded.</p><p>Harry snorted. "Not
necessarily, but I think it's the one we'll have to project right
now. The people who only rely on appearances will be contented, and
the ones who know better won't start thinking less of us just
because we speak a few contrite words and look appropriately resigned
to finishing our education."</p><p>Draco snickered and
kissed him behind the ear. "Can we wait until after Halloween?"
he asked abruptly.</p><p>Harry blinked at him.
"Why?"</p><p>"The third part of
our joining ritual is on Halloween," said Draco. "In case you
forget." His eyes said that he knew very well that Harry had
forgotten.</p><p>Harry winced. This
hurt more, and in a different way, than the realization that Draco
hadn't known Harry loved him for his strength of will. "I did,"
he said. "I'm sorry, Draco. I don't—" He shook his head and
squeezed Draco's hand, unable to say what he wished, or didn't
wish.</p><p>"After this one, I
don't think you'll forget again," Draco murmured into his ear.
"After this one, I think you'll be looking forward to them, and
demanding to know why they don't arrive faster."</p><p>Harry smiled, because
he couldn't think of much else to do right then, and stepped gently
away from Draco. "I should owl McGonagall, and make sure she knows
that we're formally requesting permission to return to Hogwarts,"
he said. "And then I should speak with Snape, and see if he
actually feels like going back to teach, or whether he'd rather
remain in Woodhouse until he's healed."</p><p>"I think you'll
find that he'll want to go wherever you go," Draco said.</p><p>Harry gave a rolling
shrug of his shoulders. "I wish he could make decisions the way you
could," he said. "Considering his own health and wants first, and
what responsibilities he owes to anyone else secondarily, if at all.
Given how selfish he always thought he was, you'd think it wouldn't
be difficult for him."</p><p>"Not all of us can
be me," said Draco, "gifted with the ability to think
rationally."</p><p>"And pride nothing
can make a dent in."</p><p>"You wouldn't love
me if I were any different," said Draco, and kissed him again, this
time with a challenge in his eyes, as much to ask if this would
embarrass Harry. Harry was aware of the eyes watching them, at least
some of them critical, but he kissed back, and nodded as he pulled
away.</p><p>"I wouldn't."</p><p><em>We have just as
much right to do this as anyone else, </em>he told himself again. <em>It's
not my fault if someone underestimates Draco because of this, or
thinks I never pay attention to anything but him, and tries a stupid
political move. There's no reason that we should have to confine
kissing to our bedroom, or why I should have to pretend that the ring
on my hand means nothing.</em></p><hr size=1 width=100% noshade>Harry did not
understand, that much was plain. He was frowning as he listened to
Snape telling him that he wished to go back to Hogwarts and take up
the duties of Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House that Minerva
was willing to return to him, rather than stay in Woodhouse.</p><p>"But, sir—"</p><p>Snape raised his
eyebrows.</p><p>"Severus," Harry
corrected himself, with a sideways look to ask if Snape was sure he
wanted that level of informality. "You'd be able to heal better
here. More cleanly, without as many distractions. I know that you've
grown better able to bear the strains of teaching now, but are you
sure that you want to bear them at <em>all</em>? Woodhouse would make
your—"</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>To his credit, Harry
stopped talking and gave him his full attention the moment he heard
the sternness in Snape's voice. Snape held his eyes for a long
moment without blinking, just to make sure his notice didn't
wander.</p><p>"Harry. I wish to
continue my healing at school, in the midst of teaching and other
duties. Joseph says, and I agree, that the isolation of the
Sanctuary, or Woodhouse for that matter, would only weaken me. I have
enough practice at being strong enough in front of only myself, or
myself and a few others. The true test will be acting like a human
being in front of other people, including those who have no reason to
care about my fits of temper."</p><p>Harry looked a bit
doubtful, but nodded.</p><p>Snape continued to
push. "Besides," he said, "if I remained, we would find it hard
to continue our bargain with each other, to be a better father and
son. Draco would find it difficult to cope with the monitoring board
alone. And you would begin living without healing at the same time, I
think, since Joseph would be here with me."</p><p>Predictably, Harry
bristled. "I did promise Draco that I would start looking for a way
to break the fourth curse on my wrist," he said. "And using my
magic for enjoyment's sake, so that it doesn't desert me."</p><p>"And healing from
your emotional wounds?"</p><p>Harry looked away.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>"I'm as healed as
I'm going to get, sir," Harry muttered. "The last thing Joseph
wanted to speak to me about was—it didn't <em>matter</em>. I've
dealt with it."</p><p>"And that would be?"</p><p>"Kieran's death at
Loki's teeth," Harry said, looking back at him, his chin jerking
upwards in a little defiant movement, as if daring Snape to ask about
this, either. "And I told him the truth—that I turned that into
anger for the rebellion. I've dealt with the emotions of that by
transforming them. I don't see why I need to talk about them."</p><p>"Regardless," said
Snape, "you did make the bargain with me, Harry. And it will be
easier for you to keep if Joseph is there."</p><p>Harry reluctantly
nodded. "It's not that I don't want to keep my promises, sir—"</p><p>"I would never know
it, from the way you're addressing me."</p><p>"<em>Severus</em>,"
Harry said. "But some of these things are more important than
others."</p><p>"That we can agree
on, at least," Snape said. <em>But not how we rank them. You would
push anything to do with yourself to the bottom of the list, if you
could. </em></p><p>Harry smiled at him in
relief, and then darted out his hand and touched him on the arm, as
if a stronger touch would hurt him. "It's not that I don't want
to keep my promises," he repeated, a wistful look on his face. "And
it's not that I don't want you there. But I saw how you suffered
last time, sir—Severus. I don't want to see you suffering like
that again. It hurts me too, you know."</p><p>"I know," said
Snape. "I should know, Harry, from the way it feels when I see you
suffer in your turn."</p><p>Harry ducked his head.
"I should go, Severus," he said. "I need to talk to Woodhouse
and convince it to shelter the werewolves—and let me go, since I'm
still strongly bonded to it." He paused a moment, as if waiting to
see what else Snape would say, and then quietly slipped out the door.</p><p>Snape turned back to
the potion he'd been brewing, an idle experiment more than anything
else, an attempt to change the potion's color from deep purple to
pale purple. He had a conversation with Joseph in a few minutes, and
he intended to go into it with a will and as clear a mind as
possible.</p><p><em>It will be
interesting to see how truthful Harry's words really are, when we
are back at Hogwarts. The rebellion is done, and there is no
immediate crisis on the horizon, only those that will take some time
to build. I hardly expect the monitoring board's interference to
become obvious overnight.</em></p><p><em>Harry will have the
time and the peace to concentrate on his own healing as well as those
building problems. If he avoids that, it will be up to us to show him
he is. No more forced healing, however. He is less than a year away
from being an adult; it is time we pointed out the path and let him
walk it on his own.</em></p><p>Snape blinked as an
odd pang struck him in the chest. He had felt something like it
before, but not for a long time. After some searching of his memory,
and probing at his Occlumency pools, he discovered it again.</p><p>It was the restrained
trepidation he had felt when he let Harry go to Godric's Hollow for
Christmas his third year, the fear that he was making a mistake, but
had to let his child make it. Sooner or later, all parents had to let
their children walk into danger, and hope it did not damage them too
badly.</p><p><em>Has it taken us
this long to get back to that point? </em></p><p>Snape stepped back and
contemplated the sickly purple color of the potion—not quite what
he wanted, but it would do. <em>No. I think not. Then, I suspected he
would break, and he did, and Draco and Narcissa and I had to work to
put him back together.</em></p><p><em>Now, we may
actually stand a chance of stumbling, and not breaking when we land.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 55*: Glory Be</h2>
			<p><strong>WARNING: Heavy slash.</strong> Since this chapter
covers the Halloween ritual, it's pretty much all slash, so if you can't stand
that, don't read this chapter. I've edited this to an M rating; if you want to read unedited posts, you can look at my LJ or my Skyehawke account, both of which links are available in my profile.</p><p><strong>Chapter Forty-Four: Glory Be</strong></p><p>Woodhouse did
not understand why part of itself would ever want to leave. It preferred to
dream and grow, and the current of magic that circled it paced the same path
over and over again. With that, it could achieve a depth that the small rushing
things would never understand. They thought that life consisted of traveling
far and broad and wide. Only Woodhouse knew that life meant <em>deep</em>,
knowing itself so well that no small rushing thing could ever fool it.</p><p>And now
part of itself wanted to go away. Woodhouse sang to the small leafless tree in
the dream, and tried to understand why.</p><p>The
leafless tree's dreams flowed into it, and Woodhouse absorbed them and
understood. The tree was not leaving them forever. It would still have a root
system that extended back to the valley, and tied it to the hills and the soil.
Those roots were more small rushing things who could become small leafless
trees, as it had- not entering the dream, but bound to the dream. If Woodhouse
would consider them part of itself, then it could still be whole.</p><p>Woodhouse
was pleased. Other small rushing things would learn to be leafless trees, and
then they would not wish to harm the valley, because they would be part of it.
The dream would grow deeper, and not split into parts. And if the network of
roots extended outside the valley, then Woodhouse's awareness would travel with
the leafless tree, and they could always pull back and fold into the valley if
they met with any trouble. Woodhouse would learn the far and the wide without
ever sacrificing the deep.</p><p>It agreed,
and went back to dreaming of winter.</p><p>Harry
blinked and touched a hand to his head as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He
hadn't- well, he hadn't expected that to happen, at least. If he understood
correctly, Woodhouse now considered the werewolves who would stay here part of
itself and would defend them, which was what Harry had wanted, but it would
retain a connection to him, too, and consider the werewolves extensions of <em>him</em>,
and thus also of itself. And it would keep a bond fastened to his mind, so that
he could retreat to the valley whenever he wanted.</p><p>Harry
looked around the hills and the trees, felt the battering current of place
magic as it passed him in its endless rounds, and shook his head. At times he
thought the worst mistake British wizards had ever made was letting knowledge
of place magic pass away from them.</p><p>He turned
back to the quadrangle of buildings in the center of the valley, and scratched
his forehead. His scar didn't hurt, not exactly, but it tingled all over with a
slightly itchy feeling, as if his skin were a little too tight for him. He'd
been feeling that all day, since he ate breakfast, and somewhere in the back of
his mind even while he communed with Woodhouse and should have been able to
feel only the valley. He wondered what it meant.</p><p>As he
entered the quadrangle of buildings again, the tightness on his forehead grew
so bad that his head slewed to the side, like a unicorn's following the
guidance of his horn. Harry gasped and stumbled for a moment, wondering if this
was some odd side effect from being in close quarters with a karkadann. He had
spent the last few days since he'd appealed to McGonagall to return to Hogwarts
mostly with other people, but he had soothed her when he could, and ridden her once.
He didn't think that her magic should be so sulky that she could summon him
away from other things he was supposed to be doing.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>The pulling
tightness to his skin vanished. Harry blinked up and realized he was standing
in front of Draco, who must have come out a back door of the wooden house. He
looked at Harry in puzzlement for a moment. Then his face broke into a smirk,
and he nodded.</p><p>"What?"
Harry demanded, a bit irritated to think that Draco knew what this strange
thing was or meant, and hadn't bothered to share it with him.</p><p>"You're
feeling it now," Draco whispered. "It <em>is</em> Halloween, after all, and this
is the third time we've done this. I partially arranged the first ritual,
offering you the gift of the ring, and you had to choose the setting of the
second." His eyelids dropped, shading his eyes. "And now, this third time, the
magic is arranging things for us. It makes you want to be close to me."</p><p>Harry just
stared at him.</p><p>Draco
laughed a little. "This ritual is <em>old</em>, Harry. And like all old rituals,
it's partially a mold for the magic that comes into it, but it also directs and
shapes the people who participate in it. And now it's directing and molding us.
It wants you to touch me, to be close to me." He shrugged and reached out to
put his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Not that I object. I want the same
things, after all, and I don't have a problem giving in to those impulses." He
bent and kissed Harry firmly on the mouth.</p><p>Harry
returned the kiss for a moment, then broke away with a gasp. The air between
him and Draco seemed stretched as taut as his skin, and the air whined and
buzzed in his ears like the words of the vicious bird. He felt as if he might
climb out of his skin and up the walls. "Wait- Draco- "</p><p>"Yes?"
Draco just raised an eyebrow, and didn't move back from him.</p><p>Harry
moaned, and winced to hear himself. "Why would it be affecting us this
strongly, just now?" he asked. "I thought the ritual proper doesn't begin until
tonight."</p><p>"The
Walpurgis ritual began at night," said Draco patiently. "The ritual on your
birthday began during the day. This is the <em>whole</em> day. It began at dawn,
properly. And why shouldn't it? This ritual is called the Breaking of
Boundaries, Harry. It would be strange if it let itself be confined on one side
of the divide of night or day."</p><p>Harry
shivered. Now that he was close to Draco, he could feel the magic humming,
contented, in his skin, no longer pulling on him. But he could feel other
sensations, too, as if potions were brewing under his flesh, and his cheeks
were already darkening with arousal stronger than anything he'd felt before.
And he knew it was going to get worse; this was low tide.</p><p>Draco's
hand rubbed his back. Harry leaned into the touch, closing his eyes, and felt
the arousal calm a bit. "I didn't- I didn't know," he whispered into Draco's
ear.</p><p>"I know,"
said Draco. "Why do you think I left those books on the ritual for you out,
Harry? I wanted you to be warned. And I did tell you, two days ago, that we'd
be spending most of this day together."</p><p>"I thought
that was a ritual requirement, not a magical one." Harry shuddered and bowed
his head. He was slipping along the edge of control, and he hated the
experience. It had been hard enough for him to let go behind wards, when he
knew the emotions from the Occlumency pools <em>must</em> be released. He could
not imagine how he was going to get through this. What would happen if the
barriers on his magic broke and he hurt someone else?</p><p>"If you would
stop worrying about others for three seconds and enjoy yourself," Draco
murmured into his ear, forcing Harry to hear him over the mad pounding of his
heart, "you would know that you can't hurt them, Harry, not today. The ritual
is drawing a circle around us. It wants us close together, it wants us focused
on each other, and it wants us able to touch and influence only each other.
Your magic could hurt me- if it ever would, which I know it won't- but today it
can't do so much as raise a bruise on someone else's skin."</p><p>Harry
frowned at him. "How did you know that I was thinking about that?"</p><p>Draco
touched his forehead, slightly to the left of his scar, never taking his eyes
from Harry's face. "The ritual opens up our minds, too, Harry, and mingles our
thoughts. And your thoughts are <em>loud</em>. I wonder how Snape taught you
Legilimency, if he could hear you shouting in his head all the time."</p><p>His voice
was light and teasing, but Harry was beginning to panic again. He imagined the
boundaries that could break, and now what struck him was not fear that he would
hurt Draco, but fear of what Draco would see.</p><p>"Really,
Harry." Draco's voice was somewhere this side of hurt. "After everything? You <em>really</em>
think that I'd see something in your mind or your heart that disgusted me?
You're really ashamed of showing me part of what you are?" He paused, cocking
his head to the side. "And did you never think that <em>I</em> might be ashamed
of showing off who I am?"</p><p>"You have
nothing to be ashamed of," Harry whispered. "I- Draco, I- " His entire face
felt on fire, and not because of the magic. He had never been so embarrassed in
his life. There were- there were <em>baser</em> things in him that he hadn't
wanted to share. Everyone had those, didn't they? But most people didn't enter
a ritual that was going to break down the boundaries and force those secrets to
splay like thrown dice over their unsuspecting partner's mind.</p><p>"Harry.
Look at me."</p><p>Reluctantly,
Harry lifted his eyes and locked them on Draco's, and to his shock, it was like
falling down a tunnel. He could see into his mind, see into his thoughts, grasp
them and understand them. The thoughts coiled around him like veins of ore in a
tunnel, and he could follow them wherever they led.</p><p>There was a
dark vein of obsidian that Harry looked into and found was hatred for Connor,
simmered and baked deep. Draco still saw little <em>use</em> to the prat. He knew
he was important to Harry, and for that reason, if nothing else, he tried to be
civil to him, but still, Draco didn't see a single thing Connor had done so far
that couldn't have been done more admirably and with more strength by someone
else. He had been a fighter in the Midsummer battle, but they all had been. He
was Harry's brother, but that was more a source of weakness than use. He had
existed to take the Potter inheritance so that Harry wouldn't have to, but
there were ways of changing the inheritance so that it was no longer linked to
the Potter name, and then Harry could have had what few solid gifts his parents
could have given him. He was just <em>there</em>, and he irritated Draco.</p><p>Reeling
back from that, Harry banged into another, this one a vein of crystal. That was
Draco's feelings about his father, unexpectedly turned clear and pure by the
encounter he'd had with Lucius in the Ministry when they went there to end the
rebellion. He'd seen the way his father's tactics failed against his mother's.
He'd seen that just because one had a cool face and cutting words didn't make
one into a victor. And he'd decided that what he wanted most was <em>real</em>
strength, under the surface. Chill masks had their place; Draco would never
deny that. But he hungered most for the strength that made the chill mask a
natural part of one's armor.</p><p>Harry
turned again, and behind him was a glowing strand of emeralds, dark green
flecked with gold, the lust Draco felt for him. And if Draco dreamed of
fucking, of sex until they were exhausted, of days in bed when they could make
love slowly and no one else would expect anything else of them, of a time when
Harry would look at him with glassy eyes and begging body and nothing else in
the world mattered to him- weren't those his dreams? Wasn't he entitled to
dream them?</p><p>With an
enormous effort, using the training Snape had given him in Legilimency, Harry
jumped back and out of Draco's mind. He stood where he was for a moment, eyes
locked on Draco's, chest heaving with his breath.</p><p>Then he
Apparated frantically away, feeling his skin stretch yearningly towards Draco
as he did so.</p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco stood
blinking in the aftermath of Harry's vanishing, and then shook his head
lightly. He didn't have to wonder why Harry had fled, after all. The Breaking
of Boundaries had already let him see the answer to that, blazing in his
boyfriend's eyes and echoing in his thoughts.</p><p>Harry had
had the chance to learn what the ritual was about. Draco had left the books for
him, and hinted at it sometimes, and waited patiently for Harry to ask
questions. And he hadn't. He had ignored the books, other than a few nervous
sideways glances. And he'd always found something more interesting to struggle
with or ask about when he could have been learning about a ritual vital to his
future happiness.</p><p>Draco
wasn't that surprised, he thought, as he walked leisurely towards the tugging.
Harry was probably Apparating into several places around the valley, since the
pull on Draco's skin changed direction constantly. He didn't mind. Harry would
find out soon enough that he could not leave a certain radius. Even if he
wanted to Apparate to the other side of the world, he couldn't do it.</p><p>No, he
wasn't surprised. He <em>was</em> exasperated.</p><p>How many
promises had Harry made that he would concentrate on things that affected him
personally? How many times had he said that he wasn't afraid of what he and
Draco would someday share? How many words had he spoken about wanting to spend
time with Draco and think about his healing when the pace of events calmed
enough to allow him to do so?</p><p>And Draco
had waited, been patient even when it seemed as if his body was one low constant
ache of arousal and need, and not complained. He had known when he fell in love
with Harry that Harry wouldn't be able to return his love immediately, so he <em>couldn't</em>
complain. It would be hypocritical if he did. He was only facing the challenges
of a situation he had entered with his eyes open.</p><p>But he had
relied on Harry's willingness to make an equal effort, and work against his
training, and get used to being seen, and stop fucking <em>running</em>. And Harry
hadn't done it. Oh, he had hidden his impulse not to do it well, because he had
so many responsibilities and challenges of his own, but that didn't matter.
Face him with the first true test, and he ran.</p><p>Draco
lengthened his stride, and smiled a little. This wasn't a test that could be
run from. The ritual was only the third spoke out of thirteen on a swiftly
turning wheel. Their free consent to enter this three-year dance had given the
magic the permission it needed to bring them closer together, and the fact that
Draco had acted during the first ceremony and Harry had acted during the second
one had been another confirmation, if one was needed. So now the Breaking of
Boundaries was happening. Draco's hands itched with the need to touch Harry.
His eyes watered, and what would best soothe them would be looking into Harry's
eyes and reading his thoughts.</p><p>And Harry's
boundaries would be falling, including the ones he'd put up to protect himself
against those things he wanted and thought were ugly. Draco grinned, and didn't
try to stop it. This was the first time, he thought, that Harry would come face
to face with his desires, as opposed to lust he could always pretend was
focused on Draco.</p><p>That was
the main reason Draco was giving him a few minutes alone, instead of hurrying
directly to his side now that the pull on his skin had settled into a steady
tug towards the pine woods. Harry <em>needed</em> this time to face himself. He
needed to acknowledge that not only could he want to be the source of Draco's
pleasure, but he could want pleasure for its own sake.</p><p>And if what
Draco had read on the surface of his thoughts was true of the bottom, that was
the mildest of the things Harry was close to learning about himself. He had at
least acknowledged, a time or two, that what they did in bed felt good.</p><p><em>Give him
time, </em>Draco told himself, and halted near one of the hills, leaning his
face against the rock. His skin streamed with sweat in the chill air. <em>Yes, I
could have told him about this, but more to the point, he could have asked. And
I want him to acknowledge that, yes, this isn't just about what the magic wants
and what I want. It's about what he wants.</em></p><p><em>Snape
and I can encourage him, but in the end, we can't fight his battles for him. We
made that mistake once already, and he told us we were acting like Lily, and he
was right. Now, he has to be the one to stop acting like James.</em></p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry had
Apparated to the outer ring of Woodhouse's hills, the place where they sloped
down to the grass. He found he couldn't go any further. He could <em>imagine</em>
London well in his head, and even Hogwarts, though that was a longer jump than
he would have been willing to try under ordinary circumstances.</p><p>But he
couldn't go there.</p><p>He felt as
if he were a horse on a great lead rein, plunging in a circle that widened only
a few feet now and then, and shrank most of the time. The circle was centered
on Draco. His muscles shivered and shook, his skin was so sticky with sweat
that Harry felt as if he were about to slide out of his clothes, and when he
Apparated back into the pine woods on the eastern side of Woodhouse, he had to
fight to keep his mind from being taken over by a vision of Draco.</p><p>He landed
hard on stones and roots and needles, and lay there gasping, painfully aroused,
biting his palm as he struggled to hold in sounds that would betray him worse
than his frantic panting did.</p><p>He could
feel the magic of the ritual, wilder than the patient wearing-down of the air
in the Sanctuary, more persistent than the place magic, diving into the depths
of his mind and wrenching up memories he didn't want to look at and drilling
through barriers he would have preferred to keep in place and forcing
acknowledgments out of him he didn't want to make.</p><p><em>You want</em>.</p><p>And he did,
he wanted, there were times he wanted nothing so much as to wank until he came
or throw Draco onto the bed and fuck him, and-</p><p>Harry gave
a slick shudder of revulsion. He couldn't believe he felt this. It was so
selfish. He didn't want to feel it. He wrapped his arm around his face and
gasped into it, but that was no good, because the touch of other flesh or even
fabric now was making him think things he didn't want to.</p><p>He <em>refused</em>
to touch himself. He could do that.</p><p>Angrily, he
twisted through the waves of lust that were attacking him. He knew what it must
be. Most sixteen-year-old boys were victims of lust, or of their hormones, or
of whatever name they wanted to give it. Harry had always been sturdily proud
that he wasn't, that he'd managed to subdue those rare longings he had and get
past them. His training had helped with that. He was grateful to his mother for
it, because hormones would have proven a distraction to everything he had to
do.</p><p>And now the
barrier was broken, and they were attacking him.</p><p>Harry
hadn't wanted it broken. He tried to imprison the emotions behind a wall, but
if he could still build a decent one, the ritual's magic ate through it in a
few moments. Harry made a harsh sound and shuddered.</p><p>Did he need
to be ashamed of this? Draco certainly didn't act ashamed of it. But then,
Draco wasn't <em>vates</em>, or leader of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. He was
important, of course he was, the most important person in Harry's life. But he
could make political decisions when he needed to; he wasn't required to make
them all the time.</p><p><em>Maybe
you aren't, either.</em></p><p>It was the
same voice that had accused him of wanting. Harry wasn't sure whose voice it
was, his or Draco's or Snape's, but the more he listened, the more it sounded
like a prim version of his own.</p><p>He wished
his bones would stop telling him they would crawl out of his skin if he didn't
go to Draco. He had fought stronger magic than this, and kept his sanity
intact. He should be able to fight this. He was an adult, he said, he didn't
need a guardian, and he should act like one. He set himself to fight.</p><p>Then he
realized the problem with that. He wasn't fighting an exterior enemy casting <em>Imperio</em>
or some other compulsion spell at him. He was fighting himself, his own buried
wants and desires and longings that he'd suppressed because he didn't want to
feel them. And now he had a voice insisting that those suppressed things were
all right, that he didn't have to avoid them.</p><p>Harry shook
his head in confusion, and then lifted his face in alarm. All around him, the
pine trees were blazing. Had he lit them on fire? Since Woodhouse considered
him part of itself, and thought that no part of the valley could attack any
other part of the valley, it wouldn't necessarily stop him.</p><p>Then he
realized this wasn't fire. This was pure magic. Coronas of color extended
around the trees, deep purple closest to the trunks, blazing red and green and
blue further out. As Harry watched, conjured birds blazed into being from the
blue rings, doves colored almost the same as the pines, and wheeled around each
other before they scattered across the forest. They took on more solidity as
they went, and he doubted they would fade once they got out of range of his
magic.</p><p>His power <em>was</em>
breaking loose. And its first impulse was to create and drape beauty over the
trees, not destroy things. Harry blinked and stared at the images for a long
time before the flinches in his skin made themselves known again. Then he
stared at his hand, and pondered what he'd learned.</p><p><em>I- I
didn't destroy Woodhouse because I let my magic fly. I always assumed I would,
and then I didn't.</em></p><p>Perhaps
that meant that some of the other things he desired weren't as disgusting as
he'd believed. And perhaps that meant that if he did break a barrier on
occasion, and acted as he wanted instead of as he thought he must, the world
wouldn't come to an end.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>Harry
lifted his head sharply. Draco stood a few feet away, his back against one of
the pines, shivering as the light played over his shoulders like warm feathers.
Harry could only imagine the self-control it was taking for him not to come
closer right now. And then he didn't have to imagine, because looking into
Draco's eyes made him know. It was like standing a step away from water when
one was dying of thirst.</p><p>Harry let
out a deep breath. "I chose this," he said, getting to one knee and then
managing to stand. He knew his clothes had many small rips in them from rolling
around on the stones, and that blood might be trickling over his skin, too. He
didn't care. The rush of well-being that had swallowed him on seeing Draco was
already fading, and other urges were making themselves felt just behind it.
"And I <em>have</em> been remiss in keeping my promises. If I hadn't been, then
this wouldn't be striking me so powerfully now."</p><p>Draco
nodded. Sweat was already matting his hair to his cheeks and the sides of his
face. Harry swayed forward a step, and then forced himself to stop. If he
touched Draco now, that would be the end of rational speech, and he didn't want
Draco to think he'd been dragged into this unwilling. Draco <em>had</em> to
understand.</p><p>"I want
this," Harry said clearly. His vision was awash with fire and light and magic
and wonder, the barriers in him breaking more rapidly now that he was so close
to Draco. "I <em>do</em>. And for once, I'm not going to be afraid of it."</p><p>Finally,
finally, he gave in to the magic that was sliding around him and tugging at him
like many small impatient hands, and walked forward. He caught Draco's mouth
with his own and Vanished his clothing and Draco's.</p><p>There were
rocks on the ground, roots, dirt, and needles. Harry willed some of them to
transform into a cushion, and that ceased to be a problem.</p><p>He found it
very hard to stop kissing Draco. It felt as if he had never understood before
what it was like, to have someone else's tongue in his mouth. And then he
realized that he <em>hadn't</em>, because he had never allowed himself to
concentrate on his own feelings to that extent. He'd been too preoccupied,
waiting for his training to come back, or worrying that he was hurrying or
hurting Draco.</p><p>"Stop <em>thinking</em>,
already," Draco insisted, tugging his mouth away and than yanking on Harry's
hair with both hands. Harry hissed at the pain, but even that ran along his
nerves as if it had new paths to travel for the first time. "<em>Feel</em>,
Harry."</p><p>And Harry
leaned forward, and did.</p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco knew
the difference now. He had thought Harry relaxed and uninhibited when he'd
lured him into bed after the release of his emotions from the Occlumency pools,
but now he knew Harry had been constraining himself, keeping up a barrier so
that his magic would never do anything potentially frightening and Draco had
nearly to coax him into orgasm.</p><p>Not this
time.</p><p>Harry rolled
him onto the cushion, his magic giving his muscles strength Draco doubted he
would have had in any ordinary situation. Draco caught his breath for only a
moment before Harry landed on top of him, driving it out again.</p><p>And then
they were kissing, and who cared about breath?</p><p>Draco
licked every corner of Harry's mouth he could reach, knowing it was enormously
wet, and not caring. Harry's glasses were going to get broken between them- but
the moment he thought that, they were gone, safely Vanished. Harry's eyes were
open, full of falling green, and staring directly into his, and he'd read
Draco's thoughts.</p><p>Draco could
read his now, too. Harry was being forced to question those opinions he'd
relied on for so long that he'd thought of them the same way he thought of
objective reality. He no longer thought he was evil for wanting to simply reach
out and take control sometimes, not if the person involved was inviting and
welcoming the control. And he no longer thought it was selfish or base to want
to feel the pleasure he felt when he was in bed with Draco.</p><p>He <em>wanted</em>
to scoff, he really did, that Harry could ever have thought he was selfish, but
Harry was tearing free of his mouth abruptly, and that <em>hurt</em>, both to
lose the kiss and to break eye contact, and Draco hissed an obscenity, and
Harry hissed something back, practically in Parseltongue, and rolled down his
body, ignoring the way his elbows jabbed Draco's stomach in his haste.</p><p>Draco was
not sure what he expected. He pushed himself up on his elbows just as Harry let
his breath ghost over his groin. Draco blinked, and then his head fell back and
he moaned loudly.</p><p>Harry might not have known what he was doing entirely. Draco wasn't much help. His mouth was
shaping words, but they weren't the most articulate words around. He rolled
almost off the cushion at one point, but Harry seized his thigh and held him in
place. He tried to express his enthusiasm in some way other than the violent
pulling on Harry's head and jerking of his hips, but he didn't think he was
successful.</p><p>Harry
chuckled. Draco almost screamed. <em>Merlin</em>, so close already, he <em>wanted</em>
to, he <em>wanted </em>to, and he didn't think he had ever cared so much about
one thing. Of course, his body had wanted this since he woke up this morning,
or, at least, wanted contact with Harry.</p><p>He made
himself sit up and look down at Harry, reaching out one hand to cup his cheek.
Harry glanced up at him, and their eyes met.</p><p>Draco
looked for a moment straight into pure power, pure exultation and pleasure,
swifter than riding on a broom above the Quidditch pitch and wilder than a ride
on a karkadann- the first time in his life that Harry had ever forgotten
self-restraint and simply taken joy in what he could do.</p><p>Draco felt
spiral trails of triumph and pleasure rise and dive through him, seeming to
originate from the crown of his skull and his stomach, and when they met as a
helix in the center of his chest, he shuddered and shook in a way that
seemed the fulfillment of all the twitches he'd experienced since waking this
morning. Harry was laughing, but Draco didn't much care. He'd never
felt anything so <em>good</em>. When he shut his eyes and thus cut off his gaze
with Harry, tilting his head back, the pleasure lessened only a little.</p><p>Harry
pulled back, wiping his mouth when Draco peeked again. He was smiling, still
smugly self-content.</p><p><em>Time to
test how much he's really changed,</em> Draco thought, and fought past the
lassitude in his muscles that wanted him to lie down and go to sleep. "You're
going to let me return that," he said, eyes locking on Harry's.</p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry felt his
own breathing speed up, and wasn't afraid of what Draco might think the reason
was. Draco was meeting his gaze, anyway, and he <em>knew</em> what the reason
was.</p><p>The thought
of someone doing that to him made him want to leap out of his skin with
excitement, and at the same time roused old spasms of fear. He didn't want to
lose control. More to the point, he didn't want to take a position that could
possibly be construed as stronger than Draco. He didn't want to <em>control</em>
anyone.</p><p>Draco's
gaze sharpened. "This is my choice, Harry," he said. "And it's going to happen,
I promise you."</p><p>Harry
closed his eyes and swallowed. His arousal was painful by now, and if he didn't
allow Draco to touch him with <em>something</em> soon, mouth or fingers, then he
was going to have to wank. And Draco was offering freely, and Harry <em>wanted</em>
it. For a moment, desire battled desire, and Harry wondered if he could show
even Draco this much trust.</p><p>Then he
opened his eyes, fastened them on Draco's, and nodded, lying back on the
cushion and spreading his legs.</p><p>Draco's grin lashed across his face like a whip. He
leaned forward first, and, too quickly for Harry to read his intent out of his
eyes, sucked at the place on Harry's neck that he hated, because it was so
sensitive.</p><p>Now, with his skin stretched tight and hot over most of
his body, it made Harry scrabble madly at the cushion with his hand, his cries
incoherent; he thought he started on a curse but didn't manage to finish it. He
wanted to <em>come</em>, damn it. He hooked his legs around Draco's and pulled
him forward, chest to chest. If Draco was going to be a tease, then he could
damn well rub against Harry like a rabid animal and finish what he was starting
right here.</p><p>But Draco pulled away, shaking his head, his mouth
twisting as if he wanted to smirk but was too astonished to do so. "Remind me
to ask for this side of you again," he murmured, inching down the bed until his
mouth was promisingly close to Harry's groin. "It's not in the same <em>room</em>
with cringing and shy."</p><p>"Are you going to bloody do this, or not?" Harry
demanded, and Draco didn't give him a wounded look for the demand. He only
smiled. Harry felt a fear so old he'd barely known it was there any more char
and die. He could speak in a sharp tone, be something other than the perfect
pureblood who asked for more with a tone of cold courtesy in his voice or the
diplomat who expected a refusal, and it was not the end of the world. Draco, in
fact, was looking at him as if he wanted to fuck him.</p><p>"Of course I'm going to bloody do this," Draco murmured,
and then leaned forward.</p><p>Harry had wondered what this would feel like.</p><p>It was <em>incredibly</em> different. Harry screamed, and
then bit the palm of his hand. Draco said something- Harry
didn't know what it was, but he found his hand whipped away from his mouth by
an invisible tug of magic. He supposed the point was that Draco wanted to hear
him, not hear him hold back.</p><p>He didn't. He fell into some realm where all that
mattered was what he felt. He could sense the heat around him, eating up his
skin, and the magic of the ritual inside him, eating through any wall he tried
to raise, and the softness of the cushion behind his back, shifting as he
rolled from side to side, and the slick trickle of saliva and sweat and <em>wetness</em>-</p><p>He came.</p><p>Unlike the two other times this had happened, there was no
reluctance in him to pour himself out, to enter a moment when the pleasure was
so keen that he couldn't keep track of his body or his magic. Harry knew he
made some sound, deep and embarrassing, by the feeling of rawness in his throat
when he floated back down, and he knew he was tired and limp and so sated that
the relaxation seemed to travel into his bones. And for a moment he had been
sure he knew what standing in a British Red-Gold's fire was like.</p><p>But it was done, and he couldn't even <em>move</em>. He slitted
his eyes when Draco crawled up beside him, and tried to say something, but
wound up shaking his head as a yawn strained his jaw.</p><p>Draco read it from his eyes, anyway. And for the first
time in far too long, his smile was without an edge. <em>This is what he wanted,
</em>Harry realized, as they kissed, slowly and lazily this time. <em>To see me
completely open to him, not worrying about what would happen tomorrow, or
making shagging him just one among many things I needed to do, or thinking of
anything but </em>him.</p><p><em>That's what I wanted, </em>Draco's thoughts agreed. <em>Now
go to sleep, Harry. You want it.</em></p><p>And Harry did want it, no matter how much he thought he
should stay awake, because it was the kind of thing someone honorable would do.
He blinked and curled himself into Draco's arms. The heat was flying away from
him now, but being against Draco's bare skin brought it back, and the ritual
magic remained shining in his chest like a phoenix egg.</p><p>Then he did what he wanted, feeling better than he ever
had.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 56*: Readmitted</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Forty-Five: Readmitted</strong></p><p>Harry snuggled closer
to Draco. He had been unwilling as well as unable to leave him for
long yesterday, and though he knew the ritual had technically ended
at midnight, there was no law against wanting to hold his boyfriend
in their bed, too. Draco never woke. His breathing was deep and
contented, and the biggest movement he made was to press his back to
Harry's chest.</p><p><em>He was right, </em>Harry
thought, dropping his head so that his hair slid down the back of
Draco's neck. <em>After this joining ritual, I can't wait for the
next one.</em></p><p>A flutter of wings
broke his reverie, and he glanced up over the curve of Draco's
shoulder. An owl sat in the window, patiently watching him. Harry
frowned a bit. He didn't think the bird was a breed he'd seen
before—ash-gray, with gleaming orange eyes. In fact, he saw as he
slid gently backward from Draco and stood, it wasn't an owl at all.
Someone had sent him a goshawk, and someone had convinced the bird to
bear a letter. Harry didn't know what the context might be. From
what he had read, goshawks were more likely to bite a wizard's
thumb off than carry his messages, and spells made to tame other
birds didn't work well on them.</p><p>Carefully, he
approached the bird, a spell to block a sudden strike at his hand or
face on his lips. But she simply stared at him, particularly at his
throat, and let him take the letter. Harry stepped back, gaze still
roaming her for a threat, and cast several detection spells on the
letter before he was satisfied that he held a simple piece of
parchment.</p><p>When he opened it, he
had to squint and use <em>Lumos</em>, and not only because of the
darkness in the room. The penmanship was incredibly shaky, as though
the letter-writer had done this on the back of a flying horse.</p><p><em>Harry:</em></p><p><em>If you have
received this letter, then you should know that my last hunt is done.
The last of those who murdered my mate is dead, and the path I walk
is growing narrower and swifter and steeper. With November's full
moon, its end comes, and mine.</em></p><p><em>Because you have
taken my place as alpha of the pack, the invitation I extend to them
comes also to you. When the full moon rises in November, my pack will
be taken to a forest, where I will be waiting. You may come with
them. If you choose to resist the magic, it will not transport you,
but I would prefer that you come. I would show you, if I can, why I
chose the path that I did.</em></p><p><em>Loki.</em></p><p>Harry's mouth
tightened, and he looked back at the goshawk. She continued to watch
his throat—the place where the collar of white light had settled
after Loki detailed him to lead the pack, Harry realized. He shook
his head slightly.</p><p>"Why does he
continue to do this?" he whispered. "Doesn't he realize I would
hardly be kindly disposed to him after he killed Kieran in front of
me?"</p><p>The goshawk gave a
little preening flap on the windowsill, as much to say that this did
not concern her, and then turned and launched herself strongly into
the darkness. Harry stared down at the letter again. Behind him,
Draco stirred and murmured a sleepy protest at the lack of warmth.</p><p>"Harry? Come here."</p><p>Harry had to smile at
his tone, a combination of sulky whine and true longing. "I'm
here, Draco," he said, and floated the letter to the table beside
the bed, while he slid in behind his boyfriend and wrapped his arms
around him again. Draco flipped over to hold him, and seemingly fell
asleep again before he could make another request. Harry rubbed his
back and stared at the place where the goshawk had been.</p><p><em>He could have done
more good by offering himself up to the British or French authorities
and standing trial for his crimes like any ordinary wizard. But I
suppose the ritual he chose to invoke might not let him. Magic like
the power that let him pass me and my wards and kill Kieran has a
price.</em></p><p>Harry closed his eyes,
and tried to distract himself from thoughts of what would happen in
November by the warm and willing weight in his arms. Draco murmured
into his ear, and that helped, too.</p><p>The dream of pine
needles and the sharp smell of snow and wolves howling did anything
but help.</p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"And you can't be
convinced otherwise." Camellia's face said that she knew it was a
lost cause even as she pleaded it, but she made the request anyway,
her eyes shining and her throat all worked into one tight lump.</p><p>"No. I'm sorry."
Harry leaned forward and squeezed her hand. "Even if I didn't
want to return to Hogwarts, I think I would need to, to show everyone
that I'm doing my best to fit back into normal wizarding society.
And the pack can't come with me there. Guarding me the way you
would want to would segregate me too much from the average student."</p><p>"But you're not
the average student," Camellia told him, wrinkling her nose, as if
"average" were a dirty word. "I don't see why you should have
to act like one, or why you should have to leave your pack behind
you, Wild."</p><p>Harry smiled. He
suspected that Camellia was too wound in the ways of the pack to
consider any other course reasonable. From what Camellia had told
him, there was little point in lying or concealing one's strength
in a werewolf pack. The strongest was the one who became alpha. The
thought of holding back on magical prowess or intelligence was
foreign, as was the idea of pretending to more power than one had;
what was the <em>point</em>? And so Camellia saw no reason for Harry to
try and soothe other people who might have negative perceptions of
him. He should have his pack to walk beside him, and his snakes to
form a solid escort shutting him off from the rest of the school, if
that was what he wanted.</p><p>"I will come visit
you on weekends," he said. "You have my promise of that. Unless
you would rather choose another alpha?"</p><p>Camellia shook her
head. "None of us are discontent, Wild," she said. "If we are,
you will be the first to know, and one of us will challenge you. Or
simply ask you to appoint another alpha, of course."</p><p>"And if I chose
someone not strong enough to control the pack?" Harry asked. He
thought he knew the answer. He simply wanted to see if he was right.</p><p>Camellia shrugged.
"Then we'd topple him or her, and the strongest one of us would
take over. And the loser would be expected to take his or her place
in the pack with no resentment," she added, correctly anticipating
Harry's question. "People who resent the place their own talents
earn for them are so—so <em>human</em>."</p><p>"Even if there was a
cure for lycanthropy available, you wouldn't take it, would you?"
Harry asked her.</p><p>"Of course not."
Camellia looked at him with the kindly exasperation Harry had seen
the pack use with one of the human guests who broke some unspoken
rule, and occasionally for the werewolves transformed by Loki's
bite when they resisted the obvious. George received it quite often.
"I was bitten when I was less than a year old. I'm twenty now.
This is what I <em>am</em>, Wild. I would never give it up." She was
quiet for a moment, then added, "Having magic was wonderful. But if
I were forced to choose between that and lycanthropy, I would choose
to retain my lycanthropy."</p><p>Harry nodded. "I
understand, Camellia. And I would never force such a choice on you.
I'll be honest. I still hope that I can give you magic again
someday, but I don't know if it will ever happen."</p><p>"I know that."
Camellia leaned forward and rubbed her cheek against his. Harry
sucked in a shocked breath, then forced himself to hold still. He
knew the pack relied on such physical affection as a means of
creating bonds among themselves. If it felt wrong for him to touch
anyone other than Draco right now, that wasn't the pack's fault.
It was the lingering effects of their joining ritual from yesterday.
"If it hadn't been for such a fortunate chance, you would never
have had the ability to give me that gift in the first place. I
accept it."</p><p><em>She does, </em>Harry
thought, after a few moments more of studying her face. <em>That must
be part of the pack mentality that she talked about. Accept reality
and get used to it. Yes, I wish more people around me thought that
way. </em></p><p>"Do you know how
long you'll have to spend at the school before you can come back
and see us?" Camellia asked, picking up her cup of tea and taking a
sip from it as if nothing had happened.</p><p>Harry glanced down at
the official letter near his hand. McGonagall had signed it, and all
the members of the board of governors. They consented to his
returning to Hogwarts as a student, but the language was restrained
rather than enthusiastic. That was the governors' fault, Harry
knew, not the Headmistress's, but it did mean that he would have to
act carefully, the focus of many eyes.</p><p>"A few weeks, at
least," he said. "I want to establish myself as someone not
interested in rebellion, and that will mean obeying the rules.
Students aren't technically supposed to leave the school at all
except for Hogsmeade weekends or holidays—or to go to St. Mungo's
if they're too badly hurt for Madam Pomfrey to cure. I don't
think that my Apparating to Woodhouse counts under any of those."
He tried to smile, but Camellia didn't return the smile.</p><p>"It shouldn't need
to," she said. "They should bend the rules for you."</p><p>"That's one thing
we agree on, at least," said Draco, as he entered the room and
pulled up a chair behind Harry. Harry Levitated the milk and a cup of
tea over to him, performing a warming charm on the tea as it moved.
Draco raised an eyebrow and tipped some of the milk into his cup.
Then he flung an arm around Harry's shoulder and leaned in for a
morning kiss. Harry gave it to him, aware of Camellia watching
benevolently. He was just glad that the ritual magic, as Draco had
explained to him yesterday, would have kept anyone from intruding to
watch their coupling in the woods. The entire purpose of the Breaking
of Boundaries was to lower the barriers of the joining couple, not to
make them visible to everyone.</p><p>"You're
different," Draco said, pulling Harry's attention away from
memories of yesterday, for which Harry was duly grateful. "They
should put up with that, instead of pretending that you aren't."</p><p>Harry shook his head,
nearly knocking the teacup from Draco's hands. He leaned back a
little so that wouldn't happen again, and explained, "That's
the problem. I've broken so many rules. I've acted as though I
was already an adult wizard, and an outlaw, and at a times a Lord.
They get nervous, because someone sixteen years old shouldn't have
that much freedom and power, in their eyes. What if other children
took ideas from it? So I have to show them that I am willing to
accept restraints and limits. The monitoring board is a good idea,
but it's only the beginning. I have to show that I'm a student
like any other, that I can receive detentions and attend classes and
listen to my Head of House."</p><p>"And that's what
I'm saying," said Draco, as patiently as if Harry had never
responded. "They may want you to act like that, but you're
<em>different</em>. And you're the one who's going to save them all
when Voldemort comes hunting." If there was any trace of a flinch
left in him when he said that name, then Harry could neither hear nor
see it. "They should be falling over themselves to kiss your hands
and feet, not saying that you can only do such and such a thing."</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes.
This wasn't a part of the joining ritual, or a discussion of <em>vates</em>
principles, or a point of etiquette. This was something on which he
and Draco were not ever going to agree. When he'd peered into
Draco's mind yesterday, what he'd seen was a young man who had a
mindset remarkably similar to a werewolf's. He thought strength
should take precedence. Unlike a member of the pack, he wasn't
above using manipulation to make people think he had more strength
than he really did, but someone who couldn't be ignored shouldn't
be denied, either.</p><p>"I <em>want</em> them
to demand that I act like an ordinary student and wizard," Harry
said. "I <em>want</em> them not to be awed, and if the way to
reassure them that is to act like a student, like someone younger
mentally than I am, then I will."</p><p>"And you're still
so afraid of command?" Draco caught his eyes in a gaze that was not
fair, because it carried the knowledge of each other they'd
attained during the Breaking of Boundaries out into the open light of
day. "If their requests interfere with your conducting the war or
being a <em>vates</em>, you'll still give in and work around them?"</p><p>Harry tried to look
away, and found that he couldn't. Draco's eyes all but compelled
an answer, and at least he heard himself saying, "No. I won't. In
those cases, I would break the rules to get what I needed to do done.
I've done it plenty of times before, after all."</p><p>Draco sat back with a
satisfied smile and reached for his tea again. "Good. I think you
should remember what you are, Harry. Other people can forget if they
want to, but if you do, then I'll remind you."</p><p>"It might be useful
for me to forget sometimes," Harry pointed out, picking up a slice
of bread and biting into it. It would be one of the last meals he ate
in Woodhouse, and he tried to stifle the sadness of the thought with
rational arguments. "If I can act as I <em>should</em> in front of
the monitoring board, for example, then they're less likely to
suspect me of rebellion, and they'll loosen the restrictions a
bit."</p><p>"I have plans for
the monitoring board," said Draco, smiling dreamily into space.</p><p>Harry choked on his
bread. "Draco," he said warningly, when he could speak.</p><p>Draco cocked his head
at him. "Yes?"</p><p>Dear Merlin, he was
beautiful, the sunlight through the window making his hair and his
face gleam with the same level of intensity. Harry found his hand
reaching out to touch him, regardless of the half-chewed piece of
bread still in it. Draco reached out and caught the stump of his left
wrist, his smile becoming something intensely private and
self-satisfied. Harry was vaguely aware of Camellia standing and
leaving them alone—the way that she might have left Loki and Gudrun
alone, he thought.</p><p>"I'll do whatever
I think needs to be done about the monitoring board," Draco said,
his voice low enough that Harry wondered if Camellia could have heard
anything, even if she had remained in the room. "And you won't
stop me, Harry, because you don't trample on anyone's free will,
do you?"</p><p>"No," Harry said,
and frowned. His own voice was a breathless little huff, and he
didn't think it ought to be. He tried to pull back, to stop his
mind from dancing on the dizzying precipice it seemed to prefer when
Draco was around, but he only managed to shift the focus of his
stare, from Draco's face to his eyes. "I don't want you
destroying the monitoring board, Draco," he said, and that sounded
stronger. <em>Good</em>. "We worked too hard for it, and it's the
necessary compromise for the end of the rebellion."</p><p>"I would never dream
of destroying it." Draco's fingers stroked the end of his wrist,
a light, absent gesture that Harry didn't think he would have felt
if he hadn't been aware of <em>every</em> place the two of them were
touching. "But I would dream of restraining it. I'm not <em>vates</em>,
Harry, and at times like this, I'm very glad."</p><p>Harry closed his eyes.
The sensation didn't end, though. He still sat in early morning
sunlight with Draco, and his chest still felt tight and warm, and he
was still remembering the ritual from yesterday.</p><p>"Excuse me," he
said, and pushed his chair back from the table, standing rapidly.
"I—I need to go finish my breakfast."</p><p>Draco chuckled, not
sounding at all upset. "Yes," he said, as Harry shuffled out of
the room. "I thought you might."</p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco waited until he
was sure Harry was out of the kitchen and not coming back. It would
have pleasant if he had, of course, because then they could take care
of Harry's little problem together. But this way, Draco could
attend to his letters, the one he had received and the one he needed
to write.</p><p>He took the piece of
parchment out of his robe pocket. He'd received it the day before
Halloween, and put it aside because he'd known, even if Harry
didn't, that he wouldn't be in any shape to do complicated
thinking on Halloween. Now he let himself read it one more time, to
make absolutely sure that he hadn't misunderstood a single thing
the writer said. It was from a young Auror who'd seen Harry and
Draco defeat Dumbledore and taken up a loyalty to them, of sorts.
Their communication had been interrupted for a long time, first by
the Sanctuary and then by Harry's troubles with the Ministry, and
Draco hadn't been sure she would respond when he wrote again. But
her response had come so fast that Draco wondered if the poor owl had
had any time to rest.</p><p><em>Dear Malfoy: </em></p><p><em>You have nothing to
worry about. There are people in the Ministry who are loyal to your
partner, even though the Minister could command their nominal faith.
The Ritual of Cincinnatus startled us. We </em>think <em>that Minister
Scrimgeour still has our best interests at heart, but there is
nothing wrong with supporting Harry, especially since he and the
Ministry are supposedly allies again.</em></p><p><em>And the laws you
asked me to investigate are indeed the way you remembered them. It
was a way for the Ministry to compromise with Lord-level wizards long
ago, so that the Lords and Ladies would not be forever fighting the
Ministers. Certain loopholes have never been closed, and certain laws
on the books were never changed. No one questioned my copying of
those books. Auror trainees are supposed to become intimately
familiar with them as a part of their training, after all.</em></p><p><em>Below is a copy of
the relevant law about restraining a witch or wizard with Lord-level
power when they are working with the Ministry for the good of
Britain.</em></p><p>Hugwood's Decree of
1793: Any wizard or witch of Lord-level power, whether Declared Dark,
Light, or neither, who does not officially oppose the edicts and
decrees of the Ministry of Magic, and acknowledges a rightfully
elected Minister of Magic as his or her legal authority, is entitled
to be free of supervision in his or her personal life. This applies
but is not limited to cases of Auror raids, investigations by the
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and
other Departments of the Ministry, and questioning by the
Unspeakables. Suspicion of a crime must be proven to have some basis
before any agent of the Ministry may arrest a Lord or Lady, and then
they are to be treated with all due courtesy and respect, and are
entitled to an interview with the sitting Minister of Magic as soon
as possible.</p><p><em>Thus, your
suspicions were correct: in absolute terms, the monitoring board
watching Harry is illegal. I suspect they are relying on his age to
excuse this, if they even know about Hugwood's Decree, but the law
is clear. Age does not enter into it. Any wizard or witch of
Lord-level power must be free to act as he or she will, and the
moment Harry's rebellion ended and he acknowledged Minister
Scrimgeour as his legal authority again, their justification for
action against him also ended. </em></p><p><em>What you do with
this knowledge is, of course, up to you. I do not intend to move
myself until I know that the monitoring board is causing our </em>vates
<em>discomfort, and it may be best to save this weapon until the very
last moment, since you could turn the board to your own uses. But I
wished to tell you that your memory of the law was not faulty. </em></p><p>Draco smirked and
folded his letter, smoothing out the creases carefully and putting it
into his pocket. He didn't intend to destroy the monitoring board
any time soon. As his friend said, it might be useful, and it kept
the parents of the Dozen Who Died content for right now and out of
Harry's way. And it occupied Aurora Whitestag, whom Draco thought
was the most dangerous of Harry's opponents. But if the
interference ever became too much, he wanted the absolute
confirmation that the Ministry had had no right to ask this as a
compromise of Harry in return for ending the rebellion, and that
Harry had violated his own rights in asking for it.</p><p>Now he had a letter to
write.</p><p>It didn't have to be
long, and so it wasn't. Draco also wrote it while people wandered
in and out of Woodhouse's kitchen, fetching themselves breakfast.
He felt glances darted at him. He ignored them. Why shouldn't he be
able to? He was a pureblood wizard, and he was doing something
perfectly legitimate, and most of the people watching him were
halfblood or Mudblood idlers. And if they were his equals, they could
never have matched his own confidence and poise.</p><p>He finished with the
letter and studied it for a moment, then nodded and stood to seek out
an owl. He imagined the expression on his father's face when he
received it, and had to chuckle.</p><p>It let Lucius know
that Draco was willing to take up the Malfoy name and legacy again if
he agreed in public that his disownment of his son had been a
mistake, and promised never to consider such a course again. It had
no trace of crawling about it, although, legally and formally
correct, Draco had signed his name as 'Draco Black.' It would
force his father to bend his pride.</p><p>And
if he couldn't, then Draco was still secure. He knew Harry had no
compunctions against sharing his fortune with Draco and Narcissa; in
fact, his mother would stay at Silver-Mirror until Lucius came to his
senses. Neither of them was hurting. Both of them knew they had done
the right thing.</p><p><em>Time for Lucius to
bend his proud neck.</em></p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Ginny bit her lip and
waved her wand at her trunk. "<em>Pack</em>."</p><p>Her clothes began
jumping into it in neat order. Ginny nodded as she watched the books
arrange themselves under her clothes. Everything was folded so
crisply she could have cut herself on the creases. Bill was arriving
at Woodhouse to take her to Hogwarts—or perhaps the Burrow first.</p><p><em>And why am I
nervous?</em></p><p>Ginny reminded herself
sharply that she had done the right thing. She had come to Woodhouse
because she thought she could be of use. And she <em>had</em> been.
Even if it was only to cook food—Harry ordered plenty of food from
the Squib-owned shops, but it usually arrived uncooked—and to use
cleaning charms that didn't offend Woodhouse and to stop arguments
between werewolves and other people by casting a spell that made
people pay attention to her instead. She'd done those things. She'd
smoothed over minor problems, and maybe stopped some of them from
becoming major problems. She'd done things.</p><p>She didn't have
anything to fear from her mother, or Ron, or anyone else who might
yell at her.</p><p>She lifted her head
proudly, then shrank the trunk and floated it behind her as she
walked out of the house. Harry caught sight of her, and turned at
once to offer her his hand. Ginny clasped it, looking into his face,
and saw nothing there but honesty and calm and gratitude.</p><p>"Thank you for doing
this," Harry said quietly. "Even if you don't think you changed
the course of the rebellion, the fact that you were willing to do
this <em>shows</em> everyone that this rebellion mattered to more
people than just werewolves. And I hope that you do retain that
courage, Howlers or not."</p><p>Ginny found it a lot
easier to smile when he said that, though she knew that worse than
Howlers awaited her at home. Surely it would be home that Bill took
her to first, and not Hogwarts. For one thing, none of the returning
students were expected to attend class today, and Ginny knew that her
mother would want to see her.</p><p>"Thank you," she
whispered, and hesitated, and then gave Harry a little bow of the
kind that pureblood Light wizards were supposed to use. Her family
was that, even though they didn't choose to emphasize the purity of
their blood. Harry bowed back, and then looked up.</p><p>"Hullo, Bill," he
said.</p><p>Ginny turned to face
her eldest brother as he brushed casually through the crowded
hallway, nodding to the few goblins there more cordially than he did
to most of the humans. His gaze locked on hers, and Ginny braced
herself. Bill had never sent a Howler himself, of course—that was
more Mum's way—but he could still give scoldings with the best of
them. Ginny had almost broken her arm sneaking a ride on Fred's
broom once, and what he'd said to her hurt more than all the
half-hysterical screaming from their mother.</p><p>Bill grinned at her.</p><p>Ginny blinked, sure
that her eyes must have been playing tricks on her, and then Bill
gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. Ginny blinked
again, and then Bill said, "You have everything packed?"</p><p>"Yes," said Ginny,
in a bit of daze, and then Bill's hand was on her shoulder,
escorting her away from the crowd. She exchanged a few nods with
people she passed, and did pause to say goodbye to Neville, but for
the most part Bill kept her moving. And yet he wasn't angry. In
fact, he started whistling as they came to the edge of the valley and
the end of the anti-Apparition wards. She didn't understand.</p><p><em>Unless he's
really looking forward to watching Mum scold me.</em></p><p>"Why are you so
happy?" she finally demanded, turning to scowl up at him. "I
think that what I did was the <em>right</em> thing. And I'd do it
again, if I had to choose. And of course I couldn't tell Mum and
Dad, because you know they would never have let me go. And—"</p><p>"I know that,
Ginny." And Bill gave her that grin again. Ginny recognized it;
Charlie got it when he won the Gryffindor-Slytherin match in his
seventh year, and Fred and George when they came up with a trick that
made their father laugh after a long, weary day in the Ministry of
Magic. But she'd never received it before. "I think you did the
right thing." He kissed the top of her head.</p><p>"You do?" Ginny
felt a surge of warmth travel from the top of her head to the bottom
of her toes. "You <em>really</em> do?"</p><p>"Of course." Bill
caught her hand in a firm shake. "I work with goblins, Ginny.
They're people, some of them better than any wizards, and they
deserve as many rights as we have. And then I heard my little sister
ran away to join the rebellion and help goblins get rights, even
though she had to know that she would get a dozen Howlers. You're
doing the right thing, Ginny, and you went to someone you knew would
protect you, not right into the middle of battle." He winked. "And
of course you didn't get permission. You don't ask for permission
before you follow your conscience. You follow it."</p><p>Ginny knew she was
grinning like an idiot, but if idiots grinned when their big brothers
approved of them, she didn't mind being one. She took a firm hold
on his hand in return, and said, "Does that mean that you're not
going to join in Mum's scolding?"</p><p>"I'm going to ask
her to listen to your side of the story, and support you," said
Bill. "Because you listened to your conscience, Ginny, and if Mum
wants to keep you from doing that, she can bloody well stop being my
mum."</p><p>Ginny wondered if her
grin lingered in the air behind her when they disappeared.</p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Remus had a decision
to make.</p><p>He had contented
himself with watching during the rebellion, noting the decisions
Harry made and the way he made them, observing the way that he
interacted with the pack, listening to the words he used to justify
himself to Peregrine and other alphas who had had their homes
destroyed. Now that the rebellion was done with, he had to collect
his observations of Harry and put them together.</p><p>And what he had
learned was this: Harry made a competent alpha for Loki's pack. He
still refused the bonds of the packmind, and that meant he ignored
currents that Remus himself would have sensed, or Camellia, or anyone
else who had spent some time in wolf form.</p><p>On the other hand,
Remus was not sure that Harry could make a competent alpha for <em>him</em>.
He simply had too much of an urge to correct Harry's behavior. He
looked at him and saw Lily and James's baby boy, the quiet, bookish
child who had hung back and seemed to be a transplanted Ravenclaw at
times and a shadow at others. Remus had helped raise him, and he
didn't know if he could bow his head and yield to him now.</p><p>But what did that
mean, especially since Camellia and the other members of Loki's
pack were content with Harry?</p><p>It meant that he
should find a different pack. If the problem was with no one else,
Remus thought, it had to be with him.</p><p>The words had hurt
when he first said them aloud to himself, in the darkness of his own,
solitary bedroom a week ago. But he had said them many times since,
and the sting lessened each time. And now he had a friendship with
one of the other alphas, Hawk, who had lost many of his older members
to the strike on his safehouse—they had died protecting the
children—and had hinted, in that tentative dancing-around-the-truth
way that werewolves had when suggesting to another that he didn't
truly belong in his pack, that Remus was welcome in his.</p><p>Remus knew almost no
one in the pack would miss him. That he could oppose Harry at all
indicated that his bonds with them weren't deep. And why should
they be? Remus hadn't followed the path that any of the others had.
Loki had courted him into his pack, not adopted him. Before that, he
had formed a ragtag sort of alliance with Hawthorn, Delilah, and
Claudia, but the thing they had most in common was the werewolf who'd
bitten them, and Hawthorn hadn't been truly willing to learn the
ways of an accepted werewolf, so that pack was doomed before it
began.</p><p>No, Camellia and the
others would close the hole he might leave and heal without him. Hawk
would welcome him, and the young werewolves he led, still feeling
their way with each other, would accept Remus more easily than older,
established lycanthropes in a hierarchy would.</p><p>Maybe he would finally
be able to act like the werewolf he wanted to be. And if he wasn't
feeling the push to follow Harry's commands while remembering the
child he'd been, Remus might have a chance at a more equal
relationship with him.</p><p>"Remus?"</p><p>Startled, Remus turned
his head. Harry stood in the doorway of his bedroom, staring at him
quizzically.</p><p>"My neck started
itching," he said. "And I could see your name when I closed my
eyes. Camellia said that meant you wanted to speak to me. What
about?" His voice was guarded, cool, but not outright hostile, and
Remus could not blame him for that. It might be what he deserved.</p><p>He wanted to smile
sadly, but he held it in. Those measures only took effect with an
alpha when he and his subordinate weren't close. They shouldn't
happen at all in a properly run pack. And they didn't need to
happen with Camellia, or Trumpetflower, or any of the others. That
was only one more sign that he didn't belong in Loki's pack any
more.</p><p>"Yes, I do, Harry,"
he said, leaning forward. "I wanted you to know that I'm going to
a different pack."</p><p>Harry blinked. "You
are."</p><p>Remus nodded. "It's
just—too hard, for both of us, if I stay here," he said, staring
into Harry's eyes and ignoring the temptation to look down or off
to the side. "I'll always remember you and resent having to obey
someone part of me thinks of as a child and part of me thinks of as a
pup. And I still haven't thought through everything Lily and James
did, or come to terms with my part in it all." He gave a quick
shake of his head. "Maybe, if the laws had let me testify at the
trial last year, that wouldn't be the case. But it is, and I don't
think you need me putting such pressure and strain on the pack. In
the meantime, the rest of the pack hardly needs or likes me. I'd
rather go somewhere I can do some good, and then approach you with an
offer of reconciliation when we're both ready."</p><p>Harry studied him in
thoughtful silence. Remus wondered what he would say as the pause
stretched into minutes. Would he want Remus to remain where he was,
so that they could rescue their connection after all?</p><p>But Harry held out his
hand, nodded, and said, "I understand. I hadn't realized how much
of this was still festering inside you, Remus. Go somewhere, and
bleed it out, and then contact me again. I'd like to have you as a
friend more than as a surrogate godparent or a packmate."</p><p>Remus winced a bit at
that too-honest assessment, but caught Harry's wrist and looked him
firmly in the eye. "Go with the scent of snow in your nostrils and
pine needles under your feet, Harry," he said. "And try not to
worry too much if that blessing becomes literal. You'll know what
to do when the time comes."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>But Remus had already
said too much. He wasn't supposed to betray the secrets of pack
customs like that. He never had been a very good werewolf.</p><p><em>Well, it's time I
learned how to be a better one, </em>he thought, and nodded a goodbye
to Harry, and went to find Hawk.</p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Finally, there was
nothing left to do but go to Hogwarts.</p><p>Harry took several
deep breaths as he packed the last of his clothes into his trunk.
This was the end of the rebellion, and from now on, he could act like
a normal student—until the next crisis arose, but as long as he
tried to think about what he did before he did it, and listened to
the monitoring board, and tried to obey the school rules, then he
should be able to <em>avoid</em> the next crisis.</p><p>The next moment, he
groaned. <em>This is never going to work. I'm doomed to land in the
middle of crises all my life.</em></p><p>"Ready, Harry?"</p><p>The door had opened to
reveal Snape. Harry nodded and shrank his trunk, then looked towards
the loo with a frown. "Draco!"</p><p>Draco stepped back
out, a preoccupied frown on his face. It was a look he'd worn all
day. Harry wondered if he were more worried about going back to
Hogwarts than he appeared. "Are you all right?" he asked.</p><p>A toss of his hair,
and Draco was back to his normal self. "Yes," he said, and picked
up his own trunk. "I want to say farewell to my mother, of course,
but since she wants to say farewell to us, I hardly think that's a
problem, is it, sir?" He darted a glance at Snape, who merely shook
his head.</p><p>Joseph joined them as
they made their way towards the kitchen, where the people who wanted
to say goodbye awaited them. Harry watched in amusement as Snape's
face tightened, but then had to look away as Joseph met his eyes and
mouthed something about having a conversation soon. He wondered when
the Seer would understand that while he was perfectly happy to talk
about things that actually <em>mattered</em>, he'd dealt with
Kieran's death, and that was in the past now.</p><p>Narcissa was the first
to meet them when they entered the kitchen, but she was <em>only</em>
the first; there were many more people than Harry had suspected. He
felt his face flame, even though so far they were only staring, and
Narcissa was stroking Draco's hair back from his forehead and
murmuring something in his ear that was probably much more
embarrassing than being stared at.</p><p>Draco nodded. "I've
thought it through, Mum," he said. "This is what I want to do."</p><p>Harry believed he
heard Narcissa utter a delicate sigh, but she turned to him then, and
Harry had other things to say. "I hope you understand that you're
always welcome in Silver-Mirror, Mrs. Malfoy," he said. "For as
long as you like."</p><p>"Narcissa," she
reminded him, and hugged him instead of merely clasping his
outstretched hand the way Harry had thought she would. His face now
hot enough to hurt, he hugged her carefully back, and she murmured
into his ear, "Take care of him, Harry, and let him take care of
you. And I'll see you soon, since I have a seat on the monitoring
board."</p><p>"Yes, Narcissa,"
Harry said automatically, because he couldn't think of another
thing to say, and turned away to face the others.</p><p>Hawthorn touched his
shoulder with one hand, a soft push more intimate than an embrace.
"Take care of yourself, Harry," she said. "And thank you for my
life back, and my freedom, without which life is worth nothing."</p><p>Harry considered her
warily as he reached up to touch her arm in return. <em>Something</em>
had changed her from the woman who tore apart her bedding over
Claudia's death, but he still couldn't tell what it was. He hoped
it would stay constant, though, so that Hawthorn would not yield
herself to bitterness and outrage again. "You deserve freedom,"
he said. "And so much more than that. I wish there had been some
way to bring justice to the Aurors who hurt you, but—"</p><p>Hawthorn shrugged
carelessly. "Sometimes there is not."</p><p><em>That</em> made Harry
look at her suspiciously, but Adalrico Bulstrode had come up and
asked for his attention, so he had to let it go. And then, after a
cordial wish for his continued good health, Adalrico actually said,
"At first I longed for bloodshed, to show you why my name was
feared when I walked among the Death Eaters. And then I decided that
a war of words is better."</p><p>Harry blinked.
"Really, sir?"</p><p>"Yes. This way, my
enemies are much more likely to underestimate me." Adalrico
chuckled. "Their memories of the time I was feared are nearly
twenty years old. If I have to go to battle again, they will think me
soft because I did not fight in this rebellion, and I can prove them
wrong."</p><p>Harry smiled, though
the logic was strange to him, and shook his hand.</p><p>Pierre Delacour was
waiting behind Adalrico, his hand intertwined with Millicent's. And
next to him was Adrienne, his Veela cousin, and she spoke first,
before Pierre could say a word—or perhaps instead of him, Harry
didn't know. "I will carry a good report back to the Veela
Council, Harry <em>vates</em>," she said, eyes fastened to his. "You
have what we seek."</p><p>"What is that?"
Harry asked. It might be something as simple as "magical power,"
for all he knew. The most useful piece of information he possessed
about the Veela Council was that their decisions needed to be
unanimous, and with several hundred members, it took them years to
get anything accomplished.</p><p>"You were outraged
when you heard about the deaths of werewolves," said Adrienne.
"Most wizards are not. They—" She said something in French,
then shook her head. "They <em>say</em> they care about Veela," she
said. "They <em>think</em> they care about Veela. But they care more
about humans. We do not blame them. They cannot help it. But you can
help it, and you do. You will have werewolves and centaurs and
goblins and Veela with you, and they will matter as much to you as
humans. Not as much as your mate, perhaps." She smiled at Draco,
then smiled back at Harry. "But you will care if someone puts them
in prison, or hurts them. That they are not human does not matter."</p><p>"Of course it
doesn't," said Harry blankly, wondering why the Veela Council had
needed an observer on him to figure <em>that</em> one out. "I could
hardly be <em>vates</em> if I thought differently."</p><p>"There are many who
have claimed to be <em>vates</em>, or claimed our allegiance, and do
not care," said Adrienne placidly. She was the one who took and
kissed his hand this time. "Good wishes go with you."</p><p>Harry nodded, still
surprised, and turned around to say farewell to the werewolves. Some
of the alphas had accepted his offer to shelter their packs in
Woodhouse and work in a headquarters that would operate out of
London, once Harry figured out which of several seemingly abandoned
buildings near Diagon Alley actually belonged to the Blacks. Others
would return to their safe houses, which could be cleaned up and
repaired in some cases, and were formally giving up his protection,
though, they hoped, not his friendship.</p><p>Harry answered as
politely as he could, and worked his way through the packs until he
arrived at the northern goblins, who were standing near the back of
his room. Helcas had a crooked smile as he watched him. Harry
wondered if he had sharpened his teeth into points for a good goblin
clan reason, or to frighten the people around him.</p><p>"Take this, as a
token of our friendship, and to summon our aid if you need it,"
said Helcas, pressing a chain into his hand. "Swing it, and we will
hear your call, as our southern cousins will hear the call of their
horn. We could hardly be your only allies without a way to hear you."</p><p>Harry knew of no way
to refuse the gift gracefully, so he accepted it with a murmur of
thanks, and coiled the chain around his wrist. "And you will
contact me if you are having trouble with the Goblin Board in the
Ministry, I hope?" he asked.</p><p>Helcas gave him a
superior look. "We are not like wizards, Harry <em>vates</em>," he
said. "We can admit when we need help."</p><p>Bone nodded when Harry
caught his eye. "So can we," he said. "We will follow you back
to Hogwarts. And we have an advantage over your other allies, <em>vates</em>.
We are close beside you. Should you raise your flag in rebellion
again, you have only to call on us." He looked wistful for a
moment, and Harry realized that the centaurs had had little chance to
fight directly, except when they had gone with him to the Ministry to
break Hawthorn and the other werewolves out of Tullianum. Harry was
torn between sympathy and hoping fervently that he never had the
chance to rise in rebellion again. When he started hunting Voldemort,
he hoped it would be a private thing, involving only him and those
others who had some reason to hate the Dark Lord, rather than a great
war that would rip the lives out of innocents.</p><p>"Thank you," he
said instead, and went outside. He had one more person to say
farewell to, one who wouldn't fit into the kitchen.</p><p>The karkadann
trumpeted on seeing him. She stood on the other side of Woodhouse,
but that hardly mattered. She sprinted towards him, her feet tearing
divots out of the ground as usual, and skidded to a stop in front of
him. Harry shivered. To be so suddenly close to such speed and power
and heat was daunting. Her head dipped, and her black horn rubbed
along his shoulder as she gave a low squeal.</p><p>"I know," Harry
whispered, stroking her mane. It fell through his fingers like heavy
sand. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do, some way
I could take you with me. But you couldn't live in the Forbidden
Forest. The webs would try to bind you, and the other creatures would
try to eat you."</p><p>The karkadann snorted,
but it was a cheerful sound, instead of the pouting one that Harry
had expected. She brushed her horn against him restlessly, and then
breathed out, the stink of rotting meat rushing over and bathing his
face.</p><p>Harry blinked, and
then realized he had a vision in his mind, similar to the visions he
used to receive when Fawkes sang. The karkadann was sprinting across
sand in a place Harry supposed might be North Africa. She bugled, and
webs splayed and spun around her as other karkadanns emerged. The one
who had come to visit Harry stopped running and began telling them
all about the <em>vates</em>. The others stamped their feet as they
listened, and then one of them hit another with his horn, and then
the whole gathering exploded into an orgy of violence that was also a
dance.</p><p>He sighed as the
vision faded, and looked at the karkadann sternly. She snorted at
him, unrepentant. She was going to do it, and he could hardly control
her.</p><p>"<em>Try</em> to be
good, anyway, and don't let anyone glimpse you on the way out of
England," Harry muttered, and then watched with his heart in his
throat as she kneeled before him for a moment, her horn and her
forelegs and her mane sweeping the ground, before she turned and
exploded towards the east and the pine forest with a burst of pure
power.</p><p>"<em>Are we going
home now?"</em></p><p>Harry started. It was
Argutus, curled up in a pocket of his robe, who had asked the
question. Harry smiled and stroked the Omen snake's head as it
looked out of the pocket. Argutus had had little to do while the
rebellion continued, except explore Woodhouse, and he had made it
clear that he was tired of that. He would be glad to see Hogwarts
again.</p><p><em>Hell, I will be,
too.</em></p><p>"Yes, we are,"
Harry replied, and then turned to find Snape, calming his fears as
best he could on the way. For once, he would think about everything
working out for the best. The karkadann would get out of England
without anyone seeing and shooting her. The Ministry would keep its
promises. Those werewolves who didn't want to stay in Woodhouse
would find homes and jobs of their own. His relationship with his
pack would survive, and Loki's strange letter would mean something
other than the death it seemed to promise. His bonds with Draco and
Snape would grow deeper. Joseph would understand that there were some
conversations they didn't need to have. Hogwarts would a calm place
to spend the remainder of his sixth year.</p><p><em>I can dream, can't
I?</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 57*: Intermission: Discovery Is Your Death</h2>
			<p><strong>Intermission: Discovery Is Your Death</strong></p><p>"Severus."</p><p>Snape continued to
brew, because he knew who it was. Only three people called him
Severus. One was the Dark Lord, and Snape would have sensed his magic
coming and knelt long since. One was Regulus, and his voice was
well-known and seemed to reach into the forsaken, neglected corners
of Snape's soul—not that he would allow it to remain there.</p><p>The third was Lucius,
who used his first name without invitation. And this was him now,
sounding intolerably self-satisfied as he lounged against the doorway
of Snape's Potions lab in the Riddle house.</p><p>"What does our Lord
wish, Malfoy?" Snape said at last, when he thought enough time had
passed to allow Lucius to seethe, but not enough to show disrespect.
He did not want to become entangled in the twisted games that the man
played with the other Death Eaters, not now that he had to keep his
mind clear for his three most important tasks. He had to spy for
Dumbledore, and he had to convince Voldemort he was still loyal, and
he had to take care of Regulus, who had very nearly broken from the
intense torture that the Dark Lord put him through for his reactions
to the fifteen-minute <em>Crucio</em> Snape had endured. Politics had
never been less of a concern to him than they were now.</p><p>"Why must it be our
Lord's request, Severus?" Lucius's voice was delicate and
shallow, and two years ago, Snape might even have believed that he
was truly hurt. But he had become a Death Eater since then. The
friendly man who had coaxed him into the Dark Lord's fold, and
taught him how to sense magic as pain, might as well have gone into
exile. "Why can it not be mine?"</p><p>"You wish little
that I can provide, Malfoy," Snape said calmly, watching as the
potion came to a boil. He cast the last handful of comfrey he held
into it, and the liquid hissed like Nagini. Then it calmed, the
ripples spreading out with unnatural speed from the center of it.
Snape lifted his wand and cast a stabilizing spell on the potion,
then nodded. Ten minutes of cooling, and he could take it to Regulus.
It would soothe the jerking motions in his limbs, very nearly
bordering on convulsions.</p><p>A light step was all
the warning he had before Lucius's wand was pressed against the
back of his neck. Snape stared straight ahead and cursed himself.
<em>Yes</em>, when brewing, he had the tendency to fall into a trance
state and only consider the potion in front of him, not the man
behind him, but it was a weakness he usually remembered and
compensated for. And he should have done so now. Snape was far more
angry at himself than he was at Lucius. Lucius was simply being
himself. He would be obsessed with power plays and precedence until
the day he died.</p><p>"You will not ignore
me when I am speaking to you," Lucius whispered.</p><p>"No," Snape
agreed, not letting his cold mask slip from either face or voice. If
this potion cooled for more than ten minutes, then he would have to
make it again, and Regulus would suffer more hours of pain—only
minutes to those who did not hurt as he did, but endless while one
endured them. Snape knew that well, even if it had usually been
mental knives that laid him flat and not physical ones. Sometimes he
thought he could feel the blades stuck through his head if he turned
his neck just right. Some James Potter and his friends had put there,
some Eileen Prince, and some Tobias.</p><p>What Lucius had never
done was put one there. And he would have the chance if this took
more than ten minutes, and Snape had to brew again. So he would make
sure that it did not take that length of time.</p><p>"What do you wish,
Lucius?" he asked, and took care to make his voice appropriately
humble.</p><p>On the verge of
getting what he apparently wanted, Lucius grew coy. Of course, he was
probably able to sense that time was important to Snape, and
therefore he didn't want to hurry. He twirled the wand against the
back of his neck. Snape counted heartbeats and translated them into
minutes. Three had already gone by.</p><p>"I know where you
go," Lucius said at last, in a murmur so soft that Greyback could
have been lurking outside the room and he would not have heard, "when
you go off by yourself."</p><p>Those solitary
journeys were Snape's trips to report to Dumbledore. He did not
dare use an owl, nor slip off on his own too often. He was necessary
to the Dark Lord's success as his Potions brewer, and now he had to
care for Regulus as well. He had to go under the cover of his
missions.</p><p>And if Lucius knew
what they meant—</p><p>But he did not, Snape
was certain. He would have gone to Voldemort if he had. Lucius had
tied his life to Voldemort with that Dark Mark on his pale, pretty
arm. He could not afford the loss of this war.</p><p><em>Unless he really
does want something out of me more than he wants to see our Lord win
against the old fool.</em></p><p>But no, Snape would
not think that. He would think that Lucius was running a very long
bluff. And if he was, then Snape would bring his own greatest weapon
into play. It was not one he had thought to use so soon, just a few
months after he created it, but if it was required, then it was
required.</p><p>"You do not know,
Lucius," he said calmly.</p><p>"And why not?"
Lucius's voice surged with eagerness, no doubt hoping that Snape
would tell him what he hadn't been able to find out himself through
sheer carelessness.</p><p><em>Unless he knows
already.</em></p><p>Snape told himself
sternly that Lucius did <em>not</em> know, and that he was to stop
thinking of that, now. The emotions and the thoughts dropped back
beneath the Occlumency pools, and he could breathe more freely, now.
He even managed a smile, and a slight chuckle, just this side of what
would probably push Lucius to curse him.</p><p>"Tell me." The
wand poked him hard enough to rock his head forward.</p><p><em>Seven minutes</em>.
He had three left. And really, Snape hated being pressured to act
like this, and he disliked revealing his greatest weapon so early,
and he was only confirming to Lucius that there was indeed something
important about the way he slipped off by himself, which wasn't
what he had wanted to do. But sometimes, one made a sacrifice one
hadn't wanted to keep playing.</p><p>He thought a nonverbal
spell, using wandless magic; he was certainly angry enough to do so.
And a tiny charmed vial floated out of his robe pocket. Lucius
shifted his head to stare at it.</p><p>To his credit, he
recognized the liquid inside the vial at once. Why not? It was a
potion that Voldemort had ordered him to make and use on a prisoner a
month before, insisting that Lucius brew it again and again until he
got it right.</p><p>For a long moment,
there was nothing behind Snape, not even breath. And then Lucius took
the wand away from his neck. Snape turned to see him bowing. His face
was full of hatred, but mingled with the hatred was respect, and a
calculation that Snape recognized and even trusted. Lucius would not
stop hunting him, trying to repay him for this humiliation, but he
did understand, now, what lengths Snape might go to to defend
himself, and so he would not try something this stupidly obvious
again, either.</p><p>"My apologies,
Severus," he said. "I had no idea you were so busy." He gave
him a shallow nod, and then turned and walked away.</p><p>Snape floated the
charmed vial back into his robe pocket, scooped up a cup, dipped up
the cooling potion on the ten-minute mark, and then bore it to
Regulus.</p><p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Regulus was
half-delirious from the pain, even after Snape had made him sip the
potion and then eased him back onto his pallet. That was the only
reason he was saying such ridiculous things, or had such a
ridiculously tight grip on his hand now.</p><p>"You're a good
friend, Severus," he murmured, his eyes sliding relentlessly shut.
The potion induced sleep after it soothed the pain. "Such a good
friend."</p><p>"I am not." Snape
sat still, the cup in one hand, and monitored the flutter of
Regulus's pulse in his throat, making no attempt to return the
grip. Though it was rare, ingestion of this potion sometimes caused
the drinker's heartbeat to speed up beyond what was comfortable.
And what would he do if someone came by and saw him clutching
Regulus's hand and mistook it for weakness? He could not afford it,
not now that he was a spy. Discovery of any kind was his death. "Your
brother insured that I would never feel any friendship for a Black."</p><p>Regulus laughed, and
forced his eyes open. Snape tossed him a cool look. "What have I
told you about fighting the potion's effects?" he demanded.</p><p>"You—you're so
much better than the rest of them," Regulus muttered, and his
glance was fond. "And sometimes you act as though you thought you
were exactly the same. You can't see it, can you, Severus? I
thought you knew, and were guarding the treasure inside you from
contamination against the darkness. And now I realize that you don't
even see it. You <em>do</em> think you're the same as the rest of
them."</p><p>"You are babbling,"
Snape told him flatly.</p><p>"No, I'm only
speaking the truth, something I can't do now," said Regulus, and
his grin was half-crazed. "You have the strength to survive where
none of them do. You have the courage that's going to bear you out
of here. The rest of us might die, but you'll flutter free
like—like some moth. No, like some <em>phoenix.</em>"</p><p>"And now you're
raving," Snape said, frowning. The potion's effects sometimes
relaxed the boundaries of the brain, but not by this much. He peered
again at Regulus's pulse.</p><p>"I'm not,"
Regulus insisted. "You're more than just a Death Eater, more than
just Voldemort's servant."</p><p>Snape didn't look at
him warily, because someone was watching. Someone was <em>always</em>
watching. The Dark Lord depended on all his Death Eaters to watch one
another. "Of course I am," he murmured. "I am his most trusted
servant." He eased Regulus's faltering hand from his and back
down onto the pallet.</p><p>"A phoenix,"
Regulus muttered, closing his eyes, finally. "Strong enough not
just to survive, but to live."</p><p>Snape shook his head
and kept on watching as his restlessness smoothed into sleep. While
he did, he thought of the vial in his robe pocket, the glittering,
transparent green liquid with a lock of fragile blond hair floating
in it.</p><p>Lucius had come to
them exulting a short time ago, delighted by the birth of his son. It
had been the first honest emotion Snape thought he had ever seen on
his face. And as he celebrated and conjured wine for those Death
Eaters in the Riddle House, Snape had seen a strand of hair clinging
to his robe, and had charmed it free with a simple motion of his
hand.</p><p>This potion, graced
with a strand of the victim's hair, would make them die choking on
their own blood. And it worked from a distance, and the younger the
victim, the better.</p><p>Snape doubted that
Lucius would try anything against him while Snape essentially had a
knife laid against the throat of the vulnerable Draco sleeping on
Narcissa's breast. But it would have been pleasant to keep the
weapon safe and secret for a while. As it was, Snape knew he would
have to watch his back. Lucius would kill him if he could.</p><p><em>Perhaps it would be
best, after all,</em> Snape thought, as he gazed at Regulus's
sleeping face, <em>if I let him know about the second strand of hair,
the one I do not carry on me at all times.</em></p><p><em>You are wrong,
Regulus. I am no phoenix. Or I am, at best, one that burns with a
black flame.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 58*: Interlude: The Liberator's Sixth Letter</h2>
			<p><strong>Interlude: The Liberator's Sixth Letter</strong></p><p><em>November 3rd,
1996</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour: </em></p><p>I am sorry that I
haven't been able to communicate with you more often, sir. The
worst happened. Soon after I sent my last letter, my father did find
out that I had communicated with someone else without his permission,
though he did not find your name.</p><p>I suffered. But it is
a means of suffering I am used to, and endure, my eyes looking
towards the day when all can be free.</p><p>My father released me
from the coffin he chose for me when it became obvious that things
had changed in such a way as to favor the cause of the Light. The
first thing he did when I was conscious again was to tell me about
the bargain that the Light pureblood families had made with Harry
<span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span>. I asked as many questions about this bargain as I
dared, and it seems genuine. At least, it is genuine on Harry's
part.</p><p>The Light wizards like
my parents, who have always regretted the fall and loss of Albus
Dumbledore, will try to secure more out of it than they should
rightfully have. I tell you this as a friend, Minister. My father has
made no solid plans as yet, but he has not gained as much as he feels
he should have in the last few months, and that always irritates him.
He is a regular Lucius Malfoy for scheming and planning—but he
considers himself different, of course, because of the allegiance he
Declared for. I wish that he might look into the Mirror of Erised or
another legendary glass at some point, and see his own ambitions writ
there in easily recognizable prose. That might reconcile him to the
notion that Dark and Light are not as different as he thinks, at
least when he is the exemplar of Light in the comparison.</p><p>The mirror that my
parents used to make contact with, or spy on, Falco Parkinson is
gone. I am sorry, Minister. I can only surmise that they grew nervous
having it in their possession, and passed it on to another member of
the Order of the Phoenix.</p><p>The more I listen and
look, the more convinced I am that Falco Parkinson never actually
made contact with my parents, or any other members of the Order. They
wouldn't be so quick to abandon him and focus their attention on
this bargain with Harry <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span> if that were the case. That does
not mean he isn't dangerous, but you may have to worry less about
his fanatical followers and more about him.</p><p>Keep as close an eye
as you can on Harry and his monitoring board, Minister. And look
close to your own allies, as well. One may harbor a serpent in the
breast without even realizing it.</p><p>May the shadows
shelter you.</p><p>Yours,</p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 59*: I Am No Lord</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Forty-Six: I Am No Lord</strong></p><p>Connor
hugged him on his way into breakfast a few days later, and Harry turned and
looked at him in puzzlement. Connor blinked back at him for a moment, then
laughed and hugged him again. "I can't be glad about my brother being back?" he
muttered into Harry's neck.</p><p>"I—of
course you can," said Harry, and gave him a one-armed hug. His hand was
clutching his response to Loki, which he'd intended to send from the Owlery
after he ate. "But you've hugged me every day now."</p><p>"I missed
you," said Connor simply, shrugging, and hugged him again. Harry could feel
Draco's stare on the back of his neck. He ignored it. It was one thing for
Draco to dislike Connor for what he'd done in the past, and another for him to
be jealous of his touching Harry.</p><p>"Where's
Parvati?" Harry felt free to ask, when Connor pulled back. He had held back on
the question as long as he could, but he was wondering if the amount of time
he'd spent around Connor in the past few days was responsible for driving his
brother's girlfriend away.</p><p>Connor
glanced at the floor.</p><p>Harry made
a soft concerned noise, and let the letter hover in the air beside him as he
grasped Connor's chin and tilted it back up. "Well?" he asked, the moment they
were eye to eye and he doubted that Connor could hide anything important from
him.</p><p>"She—said
that she needed to think about things, and I needed to think about things,
too," said Connor, with a small shrug of his shoulders. "I still like her, but
we disagreed too much. She was afraid that you would come back to the school so
proud of what you'd achieved that you wouldn't hesitate to use your magic on
other people." He peered at Harry from beneath his fringe. "And I told her that
wasn't true, and then when she saw it wasn't, she turned away from me. I think
she doesn't like being proved wrong."</p><p>"And that
only became apparent to you now?" Draco sneered from behind Harry.</p><p>Harry gave
him a swift reprimanding glance, and turned to his brother. "I'm sorry, Connor.
If you think it would help, I'll talk to her myself, and try to explain that I
have no interest in using my magic against others."</p><p>Connor
shook his head. "She barely took it well from me, Harry. She'd scream at you,
and then feel embarrassed about it later."</p><p>"All right."
Harry was the one to hug Connor this time, and to watch with pitying eyes as he
went to the Gryffindor table. Then he took up Loki's letter again and
accompanied Draco to the Slytherin table.</p><p>Heads
turned as they walked across the Great Hall. Of course they did, Harry thought,
and strove his best to stay calm. They had only been back at Hogwarts for three
days. That wasn't long enough for most of the students to start thinking of
them as Housemates and not rebels. And if some of the students followed the
articles in the <em>Daily Prophet</em> that declared Harry had done a great
service for the wizarding world by ending the rebellion, and others followed
the articles in the <em>Vox Populi</em> that claimed Harry had made a cynical
political bargain with the Light wizards in return for increased power among
his favored magical creatures—could Harry blame them for that? Yes, in some
ways, both of those were true.</p><p>"I wish
they would stop staring," Draco said viciously as they sat down and accepted
the cornflakes and pumpkin juice from Millicent.</p><p>Harry
looked at him in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time Draco had
complained about attention, positive or negative. "Why? Don't you enjoy being
looked at?" He added a teasing tone to his voice, and grew even more surprised
when Draco shook his head at him.</p><p>"What do
you have to <em>do</em> to make them see that you're not going to use your magic
against people?" Draco muttered, and then sank into brooding.</p><p>Harry
shrugged. "Some of them won't believe it no matter what I do or say," he said,
and poured milk across his cornflakes. "I try not to let it bother me, Draco.
At least my past isn't on display in the papers the way it was last year, and
people aren't attacking me with curses the way they did then, either. And at
least I have you now, in a capacity greater than I did last year." He squeezed
Draco's wrist reassuringly.</p><p>The frown
remained in place. Harry ate, darting glances sideways at his boyfriend from
time to time.</p><p><em>I don't
understand why this bothers him so much. If anything, our roles should be
reversed. He's the one who understands how politics work, better than I do, and
he knows that people won't always be reasonable, especially if it suits their
purposes to remain unreasonable.</em></p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
<p>Draco <em>did</em>
understand how politics worked, and he had read the articles in the <em>Vox
Populi</em> closely, as Harry had asked him to do. And it seemed to him that a
large number of them all had the same style, though of course, as was typical,
the paper listed no actual author for the writing.</p><p>This author
was among the most cautious and clever of them. Rather than claiming outright
that Harry was part of some vast conspiracy to take the wizarding world away
from its rightful possessors and hand it to the magical creatures, as some of
the wilder voices did, she—Draco thought of the writer as a woman, for some
reason—suggested that that <em>might</em>, <em>possibly, could</em> happen, if
certain concerned citizens of the wizarding world didn't observe the signs
carefully. She approved of the monitoring board, and now and then listed
increased powers for them as a good thing. She hinted now and then that Harry
had won everything he wanted, including herding the Light wizards into his
fold, with a minimum of fuss. And what might someone with that kind of power of
persuasion do to the Ministry and the political situation of the British
wizarding world? He even had contacts in other countries, if the record of
foreign Ministries of Magic supporting him was true.</p><p>Draco had
found an opponent, one he respected, but that didn't mean he wasn't incredibly
frustrated.</p><p>The
frustration only increased when he watched the Patil bitch and other students
who should have <em>known</em> better shying from Harry. He hadn't flattened the
Ministry with his magic, or come back to the school and demanded concessions
from the Headmistress. Ironically, Draco thought, it might have been easier for
them to understand if he had. Lords had a long history of acting that way,
whether Light or Dark. The only thing that varied was <em>what</em> they
demanded.</p><p>But Harry
didn't ask for anything, and so now most of them were convinced he was playing
some sort of long-running game, and that the werewolves were merely the first
of the magical creatures to receive equal rights. From the murmuring Draco had
heard, house elves were next.</p><p>He glanced
at Harry, eating his cornflakes with a placid expression, and as placidly
convinced that everything would work out. He shook his head. That wasn't to say
that Harry was unconcerned by what happened around him, or unresponsive to
threats. But he didn't tend to respond to the threats until they <em>became</em>
threats. He was all about curing ills, and not preventing them.</p><p>He could
have used the devotion he <em>had</em> garnered from the saner sections of the
British wizarding public to ask for anything he wanted. He could have at least
asked for small things from his Housemates, such as being made Seeker on the
Slytherin Quidditch team again. Instead, he had told Draco that the new Seeker
they'd chosen, a fourth-year named Sam, flew better than he would right now,
having practiced as Harry hadn't had a chance to do in the last few months.</p><p>He accepted
so much of what happened to him.</p><p>It drove
Draco <em>mad.</em></p><p>His
attention was distracted when he saw an immense bird flying through the window
of the Great Hall, heading straight for him. Even among the maze of owls
dropping the <em>Daily Prophet</em> and the <em>Vox Populi</em> and letters on the
House tables, it stood out; it was a great horned owl, and those weren't used
for ordinary message delivery. Draco's heart beat all the harder when he
recognized the owl as Julius, kept solely for Lucius Malfoy's most important
post.</p><p>Julius
landed in front of him, scattering Draco's plate and bowl as if neither
existed, and fixed him with a condemning yellow eye that didn't make Draco hold
out much hope for the contents of the letter. Draco took the envelope
carefully, and still didn't quite manage to evade the large beak that nipped at
him, gashing open one of his fingers to the bone. He was grateful for his
father's training in schooling one's emotions in public then; his face remained
cool even as blood poured down on the tablecloth, and even as Harry exclaimed
and cast a healing spell at him.</p><p>"What does <em>he</em>
want?" Harry asked, casting a flat look at Julius. Draco remembered the owl
cutting open Harry's own wrist and arm, but he had accepted the pain. It seemed
it was different when Draco was the one hurt, and he felt a ridiculous stir of
warmth at that even as he tried to open the letter without getting blood on it.</p><p>"For me to
read this and respond, I would wager," Draco murmured.</p><p>The letter
was simple, and had been written in gold ink. Draco searched his mind for the
significance of that for only a moment before he remembered. Malfoys used gold
ink to address traitorous spouses and rebellious children.</p><p><em>November
4th, 1996</em></p><p><em>Dear
Draco Black:</em></p><p><em>In no
way do I accept the 'compromise' that you appear to be offering. What promises
I make, I keep.</em></p><p><em>There
will be no public apology unless it comes from your own mouth. You will meet me
in private, and I will explain how matters stand to you. What lies between your
mother and me is our own affair, and I will have a different meeting with her.
But for now, you will come to the Manor on this Saturday, and explain your side
of the story. I will listen without interrupting, and then I will tell you
mine. I am confident that you will see sense.</em></p><p><em>You will
not abandon all you have become, all I have trained you to be, simply because
you wish to bed a halfblood.</em></p><p><em>Lucius
Malfoy.</em></p><p>"I received
a letter from him, too," said Harry.</p><p>Draco
looked up. Harry was holding a piece of parchment flat in his own hand as if he
didn't want to touch the writing, and he gave Draco a small, hard smile.</p><p>"This is
his formal resignation from the Alliance of Sun and Shadow," said Harry.</p><p><em>My
father has gone mad. </em></p><p>Draco
didn't think that was literally true, but he <em>was</em> sure that Lucius's
pride and stubbornness were preventing him from making some very simple
gestures of submission and apology. And now he wanted what he had always had,
including a place in Harry's good graces and admiration in his son's eyes,
without bending one inch of that stiff neck.</p><p>"How far
can he actually travel from you?" he asked Harry. "He's in a truce with you,
after all, and you gave him the gift of Parseltongue as he gave you the gift of
passing the Manor's wards."</p><p>"He can go
as far as he wants," said Harry, his eyes almost unearthly, "as long as he
doesn't hurt me, one of my allies, or someone else." He nodded to the letter in
Draco's hand. "If that had contained an actual physical threat to you, I could
call him on violating the truce-dance. As it is, he's approaching you in the
context of disowning a family member, and I can't interfere with a pureblood
family, unless they actually ask me to." His lips twisted. "I wonder if that
was one reason he was very careful to truce-dance with me as an individual, and
not commit himself to me more than access to the Manor implies. He wanted to be
sure that I wouldn't be seen as part of the family, that I wouldn't have the
authority to ask him what the <em>fuck</em> he thinks he's doing by disowning his
only son and magical heir."</p><p>"I'm not
exactly his magical heir," Draco murmured, his mind racing. "I'm the Malfoy
family's magical heir. He can't take that away from me. But only certain
legacies come down to the bloodline to the magical heir. Blood heirs and legal
heirs receive different things, and he might choose someone else as legal heir,
simply to make me angry."</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>He recognized
the tone in Harry's voice from long experience, and he shook his head without
even looking at him. "He isn't going to cause a change in the joining ritual,
Harry, or what we have between us," he said, turning his hand so that it
clasped Harry's wrist. "I made my choice when I followed you. He can't do
anything to foul that up. He can accede to what my mother and I want, or he can
live the rest of his life in loneliness and isolation."</p><p><em>And he
would probably do it, too. </em>Draco remembered an argument his mother and
father had had when he was five that had endured nine months, and at last
resulted in Narcissa giving in, because she had not cared as much about the
initial insult as Lucius in the first place. The only matters on which she
tended to defy Lucius periodically were matters related to him, Draco thought.</p><p>Well, that
was his mother. But he did not intend to give in this time. It was time for
Lucius to realize that his son was not Narcissa, and neither was he a mindless
pawn, and he cared about this argument very, very much.</p><p>"No
response," he told Julius.</p><p>The owl
flapped his wings and hissed at him in agitation. This close, Draco could see
every shining curve of that scything beak, and could well imagine what it would
do to his face, if Julius bit his cheek the way he had bitten his finger. He
didn't care. He forced himself to stare into those unblinking yellow eyes, not
blinking himself, and at last the great horned owl was the one to turn and flap
away, wheeling the length of the Great Hall before he launched himself through
the window.</p><p>Draco sat
where he was, breathing steadily for a few moments, warmed by the firm grip of
Harry's hand on his. Then he shook his head, retrieved his breakfast dishes,
and went back to eating.</p><p>He resolved
to put Lucius Malfoy and all matters connected to him out of his mind for right
now. His refusal and his demands were both simple. The political problems
surrounding Harry were more complex and required more of his attention.</p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
<p>Lucius
stood when he noticed Julius wheeling towards the Manor; wards attuned to the
owl gave his master eyes to see where he flew, as soon as he came within a
certain range. But Julius went to his owlery without once glancing at a window,
and left Lucius to stand there in heart-thundering silence for a long moment.</p><p>At last
what <em>must</em> have happened occurred to him, but he did not wish to accept
it.</p><p>His son had
betrayed him, for a halfblood lover, a last name tainted by madness, and a wife
who had also refused to return, though Narcissa had at least done him the
courtesy of sending a note. Draco could not have been blunter had he shown up
for the meeting after all, offered Lucius a <em>Fuck you</em>, and then walked
out again.</p><p>Lucius was
tempted, for just a moment, to sit down and put his hands over his face, or to
give in to some other childish and dangerous impulse like smashing one of the
priceless treasures sitting on the shelves of the study. But he stifled the
impulse at once. His father had told him the truth when he said that if one let
one's private behavior become less than impeccable, sooner or later one would
slip in public.</p><p>Instead,
Lucius took several deep breaths and closed his eyes. When he opened them
again, he knew they were as clear and calm as a lake in winter. More to the
point, his mind was detached and drifting, and he could consider the matters
that pressed in on him carefully, clinically, instead of as problems that would
eat him alive if he waited.</p><p>He had
suffered several setbacks of late. It had become obvious to him that the
Unspeakables had betrayed him early on, when he made his once-a-month check for
impositions in his mind, and discovered a section of <em>Obliviated </em>memories
he could not crack open. Add to that that he had not received his promised
reward for the distraction he had given them—a werewolf served to them on a
platter, and they could not keep Harry's attention away from politics?—and he
was no longer inclined to trust them. So he had become part of the Ritual of
Cincinnatus, and he still expected to reap the rewards from that.</p><p>And then he
had disowned Draco to teach him a lesson, and the boy was too much of a boy to
bow his head and make an apology like a man. Lucius would have arranged things
carefully for the private meeting, if Draco had agreed to come to it, and that
would have ended the matter and repaired the crack in the Malfoy family's
façade that currently gaped open for all to see.</p><p>But there
was another course he could take. Lucius grimaced. He did not <em>like</em> this
course, not least because it would taste like ashes in his mouth.</p><p>And it was
the only way that he could get close enough to Draco and Harry again to regain
their trust, and arrange matters to his satisfaction. Narcissa was a different
matter. That she had bothered to send a response meant Lucius could deal with
her on another plane.</p><p>But the
boys…</p><p>Lucius
shook his head delicately, in sadness for the impetuosity of youth, and went to
put matters in motion.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Potter."</p><p>Harry
continued walking out of Defense Against the Dark Arts, even when the footsteps
behind him, and the insistent call of the word, made it obvious that someone
was talking to him. He turned in the moment before a hand would have grasped
his shoulder. He decided that he wasn't very surprised to find that he faced
Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw.</p><p>"That's not
my name anymore," he said distantly, and Terry's face flushed. But he took a
few deep breaths and managed to calm down. Harry could see Draco coming up
behind, and practically feel Syrinx, Owen, and Michael starting to converge.
Apparently their lightning bolt scars hurt if he was feeling irritated enough,
which made Harry wish he had never allowed them to swear those oaths or cut
their arms.</p><p>"I know it
isn't," said Terry. "But I didn't want to address you with your first name, and
any other sounds like a title."</p><p>Harry
watched him with a little more interest. At least he was intelligent enough to
realize how often people used <em>vates</em> as if it were a substitute for
"Lord." And intelligent enough to despise it, too. "You have my attention that
you wanted so desperately," he said. "What is it, Boot?"</p><p>"Everyone
else is talking about what you meant with the monitoring board and your other
political moves," said Terry. His eyes traveled over Harry's head, and Harry guessed
that one or more of his sworn companions had arrived. "But no one seems to have
asked you directly. So I will. What <em>are</em> you going to do?"</p><p>Harry felt
a reluctant smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "What I said I would," he
said. "Meet with the monitoring board on occasion. Work with the Light wizards
to make sure they regain some of the political prominence they lost through the
accusations against Dumbledore. Protect the rights of werewolves and other
magical creatures, including guiding some of the members of the Centaur
Committee into the Forbidden Forest." They had contacted him over the weekend
and practically begged Harry to help them find the centaurs—and probably make
sure that the centaurs didn't eat them, though the letter hadn't actually <em>said</em>
that. "Ask more people to swear the Alliance oaths. Speaking of that, do you
want to?"</p><p>Terry shook
his head. "I like to understand someone I'm going to give my political
allegiance to first," he said. "And I still don't understand you, Pott—Harry."
He grimaced as if he found the name hard to speak. Harry was privately
delighted. These were the people he had hoped to reassure by taking on the
monitoring board, those not fully committed who would now feel free to speak
instead of simply cowering away from him. That he could <em>hear</em> Draco
growling about it was irrelevant. "What do you <em>gain</em> from this?"</p><p>"Rights for
werewolves," said Harry. "And more people swearing to the Alliance of Sun and
Shadow. And more trust from those Light wizards who seem to have forgotten
about fighting Voldemort and decided to fight me, instead."</p><p>There was
no flinch at Voldemort's name, and Harry's estimate of Terry rose another few
notches, especially when the Ravenclaw boy just went on studying his face. "And
you have no interest in Declaring?" he asked slowly, after a few minutes.</p><p>Harry shook
his head fiercely. "<em>None</em>. I never will. Just as I have no plans to take
a last name right now just to make it easier for people," he said, and Terry's
smile seemed against his will. "I'm not a Lord. I'll say that as many times as
I need to make people aware of it, to make people accept it. I'll help in
return for help. And I do want to destroy Voldemort. I think it's the only way
to make our world safe from his madness. But I don't want to rule over others."</p><p>Terry
cocked his head. "Hmmm," he murmured. "Well. I'll need to think about it a bit
more, and have conversations with a few more people. Politicians are good
liars, after all. But one of my aunts is on the monitoring board. I can talk to
her, too, and see what she thinks."</p><p>"Which one
is she?" Harry asked. He didn't know most of the Light wizards and witches
they'd inducted onto the monitoring board. They were candidates that Griselda
and Aurora agreed on, and they had sworn the oaths, and that was enough for
him.</p><p>"Elena
Gilliam."</p><p>Harry
thought he remembered her now, a sandy-haired halfblood witch with an air of
quiet confidence. "Do talk to her, Boot," he encouraged him. "I want to leave
enough room for everyone to make up their own minds."</p><p>"Just the
fact that you're doing that raises you in my estimation," Terry said, and
actually bowed to him a little before he turned away.</p><p>"How can
you endure insults like that?" Draco asked, the moment Terry was out of
earshot. Or perhaps he asked that <em>before</em> Terry was out of earshot. Harry
didn't really know, and didn't really care. He was flooded with sunlight at the
thought of people <em>thinking</em> about him, instead of simply leaping to
conclusions based on what he'd done for werewolves or what they'd read in the <em>Prophet</em>
or what they felt, as had happened under Dumbledore's spell last year. This was
free will in flood, and of course some of it would be turned against him. He
had to be willing to listen to his opponents.</p><p>He was
looking forward to the first meeting with the monitoring board, Harry realized,
with faint surprise.</p><p>"What
insults?" he responded to Draco, still watching Terry go. And some of the
people who had been listening to them had thoughtful expressions on their
faces, not stupid or adoring ones. It made Harry want to laugh and dance and
sing. "He was honest about everything. That doesn't mean he was insulting."</p><p>"He
questioned your motivations." Draco was practically vibrating next to him. "How
many times do you have to say, again and again, that you aren't going to be a
Lord before people <em>understand</em> you?"</p><p>"I would
rather say it a hundred thousand times than intimidate one person out of asking
me questions," Harry said quietly, studying Draco with a faint frown. It was true
that he'd asked Draco to watch out for political realities around him, and that
Draco saw more than he did, but it almost seemed as if— "Draco, do you really
think I <em>want</em> all the notice and attention that goes with being a Lord,
let alone the unquestioning acceptance?" he asked. "I'm sorry if I gave you
that impression. That's not the truth at all."</p><p>"I think
you have the right to demand to be taken at your word." Draco's eyes were dark.
"And not to have to answer questions that are obvious and rude."</p><p>Harry shook
his head and started moving towards the Transfiguration classroom. Professor
Bulstrode was unforgiving of late students. "It would save some time. But I
want to be questioned, Draco. What I don't appreciate is refusal to recognize
reality, whether that's on an opposite side or my own."</p><p>Draco took
a few deep breaths through his nose. Harry could feel his sworn companions
behind him, watching intently, and Michael's gaze in particular. He would be
wondering if a fight between Draco and Harry increased his own chances of
flirting with or dating Draco. Harry felt sorry for him, but on top of that, he
was mystified. What in the world had given Michael the impression that he had a
chance?</p><p>"It seems
that this is something we'll agree to disagree on, Harry." Draco's voice was
resigned. "I agree with Camellia. You should be able to have what you want,
what you need, even at Hogwarts. Saving the wizarding world a time or two
entitles you to that. If you decide that you want to do without the monitoring
board, or to visit your pack, who is anyone alive to tell you no?'</p><p>"But I <em>want</em>
the monitoring board." Harry turned to face him in the hall. He would take
Henrietta's detention or scolding or, most likely, combination of both. It
would even help to demonstrate that he followed and obeyed rules like the
normal students. "It's part of the compromise, yes, but it's also a chance for
people like Terry to make up their own minds, by its very existence. I did tell
you this already, Draco. Shouldn't you take me at my word, as you were so upset
about Terry not doing?"</p><p>Draco's
face turned white, and he cast a privacy ward around them that shut even the
sworn companions out. Glancing at them, Harry saw Owen putting a hand on
Michael's arm and shaking his head, and Syrinx standing patiently against a
wall. Since Harry hadn't indicated that he didn't want the privacy ward, Harry
thought, she would not burst through it.</p><p>"I've found
a decree that says the existence of the monitoring board as a whole is
illegal," said Draco steadily, eyes fastened on him. "Lord-level wizards are
supposed to have a certain freedom in dealing with the Ministry, and something
like this should never have been allowed."</p><p>Harry
winced. <em>Well. I suppose this was an unavoidable consequence of asking him to
watch out for my political interests.</em></p><p>"Don't
interfere, Draco," he said. "I'm asking you not to."</p><p>"I wasn't
planning on it unless they did something to restrict your freedom," said Draco.
"But when you say that you want someone to question you—Harry, they don't want
to do that. They're not as honest as you think they are. They're not going to
create a space where people can exercise their free wills, in the end. They're
going to make sure that you compromise yours."</p><p>Harry
stirred restlessly. "Do you have any proof that they're not as honest as you
think they are, Draco?"</p><p>"Not yet,"
said Draco. "Other than some articles in the <em>Populi</em> I think were written
by someone on the monitoring board."</p><p>"Those have
no names attached!"</p><p>"Nonetheless."</p><p>Harry
sighed and raked his hand through his hair, then decided that absolute honesty
and only absolute honesty would do. He stepped forward and gripped Draco's
shoulder, staring directly into his eyes.</p><p>"I want the
monitoring board here," he said quietly. "I know that you don't. I appreciate
that you're willing to look out for my interests even when I can't, Draco. I
love you. I don't know if I can convey how much I love you with words, and
kissing in the middle of a corridor isn't ideal, either." By now, Draco's face
was flushing, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Harry shook his head.</p><p>"But in
this, I have to ask that you wait to strike at the monitoring board until you
have proof of wrongdoing," said Harry. "<em>I am no Lord</em>, Draco. I never want
to be. I never want to demand unreasonable prices from my political opponents,
and asking for the end of the monitoring board <em>I</em> proposed would be
unreasonable at this point. And that means that I can't use the exception that
you found, either. It's relying on my magical power, or rather, the threat of
my magical power and the precedent of how others with extreme magical powers
have been treated, to get me out of trouble. I don't want to slip and slide out
on loopholes."</p><p>"You're too
Gryffindor for your own good," Draco muttered, sounding as if his throat were
full of spiderwebs. "Too interested in curing problems instead of preventing
them from arising in the first place."</p><p>Harry
smiled sadly. "Maybe I am." He did kiss Draco, a quick, chaste peck to the side
of his mouth that unfortunately made Harry think of other things. Already, he'd
had to build several barriers to keep his mind off sex; it seemed that the
Breaking of Boundaries had shattered the strongest ones of his training, which
blocked his hormones. It was damn inconvenient, was what it was, Harry thought.
"But I do ask that you wait. That's all. I can't force you to. But I can ask."</p><p>There was a
long moment when Draco stared at him and said nothing. Then he bobbed his head
quickly.</p><p>"If I must,"
he said.</p><p>"Thank
you," Harry said, and then cast a <em>Tempus</em> charm and cursed. "We <em>are</em>
late for Transfiguration, Draco."</p><p>He
dispelled the privacy ward, and they ran. Halfway there, Owen and Michael had
to turn to go their own classes, as seventh-year students. Harry was sure that
he could feel Michael's gaze on the back of his neck until he peeled off, and
that it was resentful.</p><p>He shook
his head. <em>Maybe I should speak to him about that, though I was under the
impression that Owen already had. </em>Then Harry thought of something even
better. <em>Perhaps I should offer to release him from his oath. That would
lessen both my discomfort and his.</em></p>SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
<p>Draco
rapped his fingers against the desk, and immediately attracted Henrietta
Bulstrode's gaze. "Mr. Malfoy," she said. "If you would come to the front of
the classroom and <em>attempt</em> to show us the preferred way to Transfigure
Mr. Potter back from a slug, you may be less bored."</p><p>Draco felt
his face flush a dull red as he stood. Obviously, Bulstrode hadn't forgiven him
for not paying attention in her class the last few days before he disappeared
to join Harry. That he was making one of the most important decisions of his
life would not be accepted as an
excuse.</p><p>As he
struggled to reverse the Transfiguration she'd performed on Harry's brother,
his mind went back to the thoughts that were occupying him, and which
distracted him thoroughly from appreciation of the fact that Potter was now a
boneless creature leaving a trail of slime wherever he crawled.</p><p>Harry had
asked him not to interfere with the monitoring board.</p><p>But Draco
was convinced that it was better for him to do so, so that he could have his
traps in place when they tried to catch Harry.</p><p>But going
against what Harry wanted could involve not only arguments with Harry, but
distracting himself from other political concerns and enemies of theirs. And it
would certainly make any other threats he identified look less serious to
Harry, if he made a mistake with this case.</p><p><em>What
I'll have to do is show him why it's a good idea to prevent instead of cure, </em>Draco
decided, while he struggled through the incantation to try and Transfigure
Potter back for the sixth time. <em>Finding out who wrote those articles in the </em>Vox
Populi <em>would be a good start, because it would show him that the monitoring
board doesn't want what's best for him, after all.</em></p><p>"Mr.
Malfoy."</p><p>He looked
up. Henrietta's glare was no less intimidating through her younger disguise
than it had ever been.</p><p>"This is a
simple spell that you should have been able to perform by now," she said, her
voice clipped. "For a wizard of your innate power, it is easy. You will write a
foot-long essay on what you have been doing wrong, and present it to me on
Wednesday morning."</p><p>Draco
clamped his teeth together and bowed his head. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured, and
returned to his seat, while Henrietta called Granger forward to Transfigure
Potter back. That she managed it on the first try didn't make Draco feel any
better.</p><p>Harry
squeezed his wrist as he sat down again, and Draco looked straight into his
sympathetic smile, though he didn't say anything. Bulstrode had proven herself
annoyingly good at sensing the slightest stray efforts at conversation.</p><p>Draco felt
his resolve twist away from annoyance into simple certainty as he watched
Harry's smile. Harry could go on right on believing what he liked about his own
status and his own problems. Draco would not openly oppose him, and he would
not go behind Harry's back, as Lucius had tried to do with Narcissa. He would
simply find the truth and <em>show</em> it to Harry.</p><p><em>There's
no reason that we can't approach each other in equality, with the truth. What
else have we both fought for? </em></p><p>It was
meant in good faith, but that thought sent Draco off into daydreams of what <em>else</em>,
personally, he had fought for in his relationship with Harry, and earned him a
detention when Professor Bulstrode demanded an answer to a question from him
and he nearly said something obscene. At least Harry stroked Draco's hand
sympathetically again while stifling his laughter.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 60*: In Quest of Balance</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Forty-Seven: In Quest of Balance</strong></p><p>"I don't
see why you should."</p><p>"Because
they requested it," said Harry, glancing at Draco. "And I don't have any reason
to refuse." The letter lay on the bed between them. Harry had actually been
trying to complete his Transfiguration homework, as well as the extra lines
that Henrietta had assigned him for being late to her class. Draco was
complaining about the letter, and had been for the last half-hour. At least he
had given up on convincing Harry of the evil of the monitoring board, and was
instead insisting that they had no right to require him to attend a meeting
with them that weekend.</p><p>"The
Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game is this weekend," Draco tried.</p><p>Harry
smiled. "And I'm not playing in it, remember? I'm sure Sam will do fine."</p><p>"He's not—"
said Draco, and then shut his mouth and looked the other way.</p><p>"Were you
about to say that isn't as good a flyer as Connor is?" Harry couldn't help the
laughter bubbling up in his throat. "Or does it kill you that a Gryffindor
could do better at something than a Slytherin could?"</p><p>"He's not
as good a Seeker as you are, I meant to say." Draco glared at him. "The team
would have accepted you back if you insisted on it."</p><p>"And I
didn't." Harry was growing tired of this. He understood why it mattered to
Draco; if nothing else, it was a distraction from Lucius's stupid behavior and
the worry over what his father might do out of stubborn pride. But Harry didn't
have that same stubborn pride of his own, and Draco saying he should became
more and more wearing. "Sam flies better with them, now. And I already answered
Madam Whitestag, and said that I would attend the meeting on Saturday. This
will be the first full gathering of the monitoring board, given that the Dark wizards
and witches offered a place on it didn't attend last time. It's important."</p><p>"Did she
say I couldn't come?" Draco lifted his chin.</p><p>Harry shook
his head. "Both you and Snape are welcome. That ought to show that she doesn't
intend anything evil, surely? If she really wanted to weaken me, she would try
to separate the two of you from me."</p><p>"She's
waiting," said Draco, folding his arms. "When you trust her, and are less
likely to turn on her the moment something happens, then she'll move."</p><p>"If she moves,"
said Harry, with what he thought was a generous helping of patience, "then
she'll surely reveal herself. Do you think she's a more subtle political dancer
than your mother, Draco? Narcissa has a place on the board. So do Hawthorn, and
Adalrico, and Ignifer. Do you think Madam Whitestag can do something that will
go ignored by all of them?"</p><p><em>He
probably forgot that, </em>Harry realized, as he watched Draco's face drop. <em>He
defends me so well that he forgets he's not the only protector I have.</em></p><p>Draco chewed
his lip for a moment, then sighed. "No," he said. "But I told you my reasons
for being unhappy with the board, Harry. It's still illegal, and the Minister
could still dissolve it if you asked him to."</p><p>"I won't be
asking him," said Harry, turning his back so that he could work on his
Transfiguration homework more effectively. "And if someone else does ask him,
I'll know the source of the request."</p><p>Sullen
silence answered him. Harry concentrated fiercely on the words in front of him,
until they threatened to blur.</p><p><em>I don't
know why he can't accept that this is my choice. I have to have restraints and
people questioning me. The monitoring board might not be that reasonable on the
matters most important to us, but they'll give the more reasonable people a
chance to pluck up their courage and start thinking instead of reacting. </em></p><p>And Harry
was firmly convinced that it was, indeed, working. Terry Boot had come up to
him, after all, and so had a few of the Hufflepuffs who had opposed him last
year, Susan Bones and Ernie Macmillan. They'd spoken in cold but courteous
voices, and asked questions, including a very good one from Susan that Harry
had felt unprepared to completely answer. And he was grateful to her for that.</p><p>"<em>And
what happens if someone asks you to make a sacrifice for the good of the
wizarding world that hurts one small portion of it?</em>" Her voice still echoed
in his head, and her eyes were steady and accusing. "<em>If you did have to
choose between sacrificing werewolves and everyone else, what would happen?"</em></p><p>Harry knew
the answer to that, of course. It would depend, first of all, on who "everyone
else" was, and how the werewolves were being threatened. But then would come
his oath to defend werewolves' rights, which would turn his blood to silver unless
he kept it. And it would be pitiful if that were his only reason, his only
motive. He ought to be above simple practical necessities. He <em>ought</em> to
be able to provide ethical reasoning to back up his actions, reasoning that
could convince those who did not care about his <em>vates</em> duties, and who
were not interested in hypothetical situations.</p><p>If he could
not communicate with the people who regularly read the <em>Daily Prophet</em> and
the <em>Vox Populi</em>, Harry tended to think the problem lay with himself, not
with them.</p><p>So it was a
good thing that he was being held back, and challenged, and forced to examine
his own morals and mistakes closely. It was a good thing that he would be
called to account. And with Madam Whitestag in charge of the monitoring board,
he could be sure the account would be close and honest.</p><p>He only
wished he could communicate his sense of hope and excitement about this to
Draco.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Aurora
raised her eyebrows when Harry joined them in the small room off the Ministry's
Atrium, the room in which they had laid the foundations of the monitoring
board. She had said nothing to discourage him from bringing his guardian and
his lover along with him, but she had not expected him to do so. She had hoped
he realized that with Snape there, staring at them, and Malfoy sneering at
everyone who so much as made a slip of the tongue, the chances for honest
discussion were very low.</p><p><em>Well, he
is still a child. And he may not have had a choice, no matter how much he
wishes to cooperate with us. They could have ordered him to bring them along,
and he would have wanted to indulge them.</em></p><p>It was a good thing that she had
laid plans for this contingency, and that not all of Harry's Dark allies were
as quick of eye and mind as someone like Narcissa Malfoy was. They had eleven
Light wizards on the board, Aurora herself, Madam Marchbanks, the northern
goblin Helcas, the centaur Bone, the southern goblin Griphook, and eleven Dark
wizards. Aurora had already told Marvin that Narcissa Malfoy was his task, and
a few others would handle Hawthorn Parkinson and Adalrico Bulstrode. She would
need someone to distract Snape and someone to oppose Draco Malfoy, now.</p><p>She watched
the Malfoy boy narrowly as he sat down on Harry's left side, and saw the way
his eyes went to Lisa when she made a remark about being "less than a proper
pureblood" and laughed loudly. His sneer flashed for just a moment, but that
moment was long enough for Aurora to see it.</p><p>As for
Snape—well, he had been a Death Eater, and that he had repented for it did not
change the past. Shadow, the Light Muggleborn wizard who had abandoned both his
names when he saw Death Eaters slaughter his family in front of him, would keep
an eye on Snape.</p><p>Aurora made
her way over to the other side of the room whilst people were still settling
into their seats and chattering to each other about their expectations of the
Ministry and what they could expect from Scrimgeour. Lisa caught her eye and
slid into a corner, raising her brows on the way.</p><p>"Draco
Malfoy," Aurora murmured. "He despises everyone who doesn't act like a
pureblood. Ask questions about the Grand Unified Theory. Don't speak exactly
like the image of a pureblood witch urges you should. Keep him from following
Harry when I talk to him in private at the end of the meeting."</p><p>Lisa smiled
faintly and nodded. She was proud of being a pureblood in her own way, Aurora
thought, but the death of her son had severely shaken whatever faith she might
have put in Harry. And she despised those purebloods like the Malfoys who set a
certain standard of behavior on the surface and pretended that was all that
mattered, as if courtesy somehow excused them from being immoral.</p><p>She took
her place at the end of the table. Aurora made her way to the seat directly
across from Harry. She had Madam Marchbanks on one side and the southern goblin
on the other. She wondered if they had intended to disconcert her. If so, they
would fail.</p><p>She sat
down and fixed her eyes on Harry's. His own gaze was far from challenging, but
hopeful and even relaxed.</p><p><em>He does
wish to cooperate with us. If we can only isolate him, then everything will be
well. </em>Aurora had a speech prepared she thought should work, especially
since Harry himself obviously thought the monitoring board such a good idea.</p><p>She leaned forward,
smiled at Harry, and began the questioning. "Tell us about your last week, <em>vates.</em>"</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry
cocked his head. <em>Simple questions. Well, I can do that. </em>He felt Snape's
presence at his shoulder, just waiting for someone to do something wrong, and
Draco sneering down the table at Lisa Addlington, who hadn't taken her chair in
the most graceful manner. He hoped neither would interfere. He wanted to do
this on his own, and their suspicions wouldn't help.</p><p>"I've made
good progress at fitting back into Hogwarts, I think," he told Aurora, who
nodded. "I've been attending the same classes I attended before the rebellion
began. Those include NEWT Transfiguration, NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts,
and NEWT Potions."</p><p>"I have a
question," said a wizard down the table suddenly. Harry turned to look at him.
He was a man with white hair, but a young face. Harry vaguely remembered that
he was their token Muggleborn wizard on the board, and that he called himself
Shadow. "Is it truly <em>fair</em> for you to be in the NEWT Potions class,
Harry? After all, Professor Snape teaches that class, and yet he's your
guardian, and everyone knows how he favors Slytherins." His eyes were burning
holes as they fixed on Snape.</p><p>"I think it
would be less fair if Professor Snape tutored me outside the class, sir," Harry
said. "That would imply special treatment, and privileges that I don't want to
receive."</p><p>"There are
others who could give you Potions lessons." Shadow flapped a hand, obviously
considering his objection unimportant. "Horace Slughorn, for example. Didn't he
take over the Potions Master post a short time ago?"</p><p>"He did,
sir," Harry said, wondering where this was going. "And he acted as Head of
Slytherin House, at the request of the Headmistress."</p><p>"I think he
would be a better teacher for you, by far." By now, Shadow's face carried deep
lines of anger. "At least that way we would know that a <em>Death Eater</em> was
not in charge of teaching the future <em>vates</em> how to make delicate poisons
and explosive concoctions."</p><p>Harry
sensed Snape's rage like tendrils yanking across his skin. "I am a <em>former</em>
Death Eater," said Snape, each word a crack of black ice. "I served as a spy
for the Light, and was exonerated when I came to trial."</p><p>"Yes."
Shadow leaned forward across the table, arms folded. "By the word of Albus
Dumbledore, the very man who abused and tormented the child you now serve as
guardian to. Was that that way it was? Passing Harry from one master to
another, so that he might never escape the controlling web of Dumbledore's influence?"</p><p>"Shadow!"
Aurora said sharply. "I will not have this. Professor Snape does speak the
truth. He was exonerated." She turned away from the Muggleborn wizard with a
small shake of her head and fixed her eyes on Harry, ignoring Snape's huffing
breath. "However, he does raise a legitimate point, Harry. Do you feel that
Professor Snape treats you fairly? Would you feel more comfortable in separate
Potions lessons?"</p><p>"I can only
repeat what I said before, Madam Whitestag." Harry worked to keep his own fury
out of his voice. Shadow obviously hated Death Eaters. Harry couldn't see this
as an attack on Snape. He would probably attack Hawthorn or Adalrico the same
way. "I think that would imply a mark of privilege that I wish to avoid. I want
to be <em>ordinary</em>, insofar as I can be. I want the other students to see
that the professors treat me, well, like them. I did receive a punishment of
extra lines this week, from Professor Belluspersona, for being late to her
Transfiguration class. She is teaching me the way I wish to be taught. And as
for Professor Snape—" Harry swallowed. He couldn't say that Snape had <em>never</em>
rewarded him unfairly in class; he had done plenty of that in Harry's first
year, when he tried to separate him from Connor. "He may have done so in the
past, but he and I are both trying to move beyond that point."</p><p>Aurora
sighed, a small, delicate sound of disappointment. "I understand, Harry. But it
does make for an awkward situation, always, when a professor has children at
the school." She might have gone on, but a loud slap of parchment being set
down interrupted her. Harry caught sight of a genuinely annoyed expression on
her face as she looked down the table. "<em>Yes</em>, Mr. Gildgrace, what is it?"</p><p>"If I
might," said Marvin, the halfblood wizard Harry remembered disliking, and being
pressured into allowing on the board. Aurora had pointed out, quite rightly,
that they had too few non-pureblood candidates to dismiss one, and if Marvin
said he was not prejudiced against goblins and centaurs, Harry had no reason to
distrust him. "I have made a study of how many Dark wizards have sworn to the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow, as compared to the number of Light wizards who
have, and the numbers are still pitifully few." He faced Harry. "Why have you
not made an effort to recruit more Light allies, Mr. Pott—<em>vates</em>?"</p><p>"I am in
negotiations right now to do this," said Harry, glad he was able to say
something positive. "I am speaking with the children of several prominent Light
families at Hogwarts, who were driven from any chance of allying with me by the
child abuse accusations against Albus Dumbledore. I think I will quickly have a
longer list of allies to present to you."</p><p>Marvin
sniffed and squinted down at his parchment. "I must say, <em>vates</em>, that
some of your allies are impressive. The Rosier-Henlin family, for example. Even
if gained through not quite…legitimate means, they do have good reputations. It
is their Declaration that is the problem, not that they've been accused of
crimes."</p><p>Narcissa
sat up across the table. "And what would you consider legitimate means, Mr.
Gildgrace?" she asked sweetly.</p><p>"Why, if
Harry had approached them himself, of course," said Marvin, glancing at her.
"Instead, it seems that he used someone else to dance for him. Someone with a good
many political connections, and excellent powers of persuasion, but still a
second party. I can say that that won't work with most Light wizards. They need
to see the real product, as it were." He gave Harry a faint smile. "Meet you
face-to-face, Harry. Many of them do believe that's the only way to truly judge
someone."</p><p>Harry
nodded. "I understand."</p><p>"I was the
person who approached his Dark allies," said Narcissa quietly.</p><p>Marvin
raised his eyebrows. "I was not accusing you, Mrs. Malfoy, but that <em>is</em>
interesting to know for certain." He scribbled a quick note down on his
parchment. "I do believe, though, Mrs. Malfoy, that the Light-allied wizards
would object to your doing it again, for—well, the reasons I told you." He
peered at her apologetically. "And the name of Malfoy is no longer exactly
untainted in their eyes, if it has ever been, given your husband's recent break
from Harry."</p><p>"I am not
my husband." Narcissa had never looked cooler or more elegant, Harry thought,
as she sat there and calmly refuted every assumption Marvin threw at her. "I
have chosen to follow my son and his joined partner, and I do not regret that."</p><p>"And you've
chosen to become part of this board." Marvin nodded. "I approve of all of that,
Mrs. Malfoy. I hope you don't think I'm being hostile. I just wanted to make
the point that Harry needs more Light allies, and he won't be able to rely on
you to secure them."</p><p>Narcissa
gave a minute bow of her head and sat back, but Harry could see the narrowing
of her eyes. Now she was wondering how deep Marvin's knowledge of her ran, and
how he knew that she had been the one to dance for him to the Rosier-Henlin
family and others. And where he had obtained this information in the first
place, of course. It would make her a little warier before moving.</p><p><em>Of
course, if what he's saying is true, then it's better we know this now, so that
we don't offend any of the Light wizards,</em> Harry thought.</p><p>"I hope not
all those allies will be purebloods," Lisa Addlington offered from the end of
the table. "Thanks to the Grand Unified Theory, we know that they are not the <em>only</em>
chosen children of magic, now. Or I hope we do." She gave a superior look along
the table, and Harry felt Draco stir beside him.</p><p>"Of course
not all of them will be purebloods," he said, with a bored expression on his
face. "But that doesn't mean that the purebloods in the Alliance of Sun and
Shadow should be disregarded, or assigned a lower place than they one they've
achieved."</p><p>"I don't
recall addressing you, Mr. Malfoy." Lisa's own eyes were narrow. "You're
neither on the monitoring board nor under the supervision of it. I have to
wonder why you accompanied Harry, today. Are the Dark purebloods so desperate
for influence that they must have eyes everywhere?"</p><p>"I came
because he's my lover, my partner in a joining ritual, and my equal in every
area of life," said Draco, and his voice had tightened. "Will you tell me to
leave him alone because of that, Addlington?"</p><p>"For
someone who prides himself on courtesy, you forget titles easily." Lisa tossed
her head, and Harry saw Draco's disgust increase exponentially. "I would prefer
to be addressed by <em>Mrs. </em>Addlington, and not solely by my husband's last
name. I need not shelter in his shadow."</p><p>Draco
started to retort, and Harry placed a hand gently on his arm. "I agree that I
need more Light allies, and more non-pureblood allies," he said. "Can you
suggest a good place for me to start, Mrs. Addlington?"</p><p>Lisa smiled
at him. "Of course I can." She took a piece of parchment from her pocket, and
Harry whispered a Summoning Charm that brought it to him. Opening it, he saw a
list of names. "They begin with some halfblood cousins of mine," Lisa added,
"but not everyone on that list is a relative of mine, I assure you."</p><p>Harry
nodded, scanning the list rapidly. He recognized a few of the last names from
Hogwarts, and thought he might start working from them. "Thank you, Mrs.
Addlington," he said, folding the parchment and tucking it into a pocket of his
robes. He faced Aurora again. If he could conduct a conversation mainly with
her, then it might ease the temptation for Draco, or Snape, to snipe or be
sniped at. "The monitoring board was supposed to instruct me on certain Light
pureblood rituals and customs, I know," he said. "Whom did you have in mind for
a teacher, Madam Whitestag?"</p><p>"I was
expecting to split the task equally between myself and Madam Marchbanks," said
Aurora, blinking as if she hadn't expected the question. "We would certainly
not wish you to go uninstructed, Harry. Though I am undeclared myself, I do
know the customs of the Light better than those of the Dark. And of course
Madam Marchbanks quite literally has more than a century of experience." She
gave the older witch a smile that Harry noticed she didn't return.</p><p>Harry
looked carefully at Madam Marchbanks. She was frowning at several of the Light
wizards along the table, as if she wanted to object to them but couldn't quite
find the words to do so. "Madam?" he asked, and she looked back at him. "Do you
agree to instruct me, along with Madam Whitestag?"</p><p>She nodded
at him. "I can meet with you twice a month," she said. "Or I can send you post
with questions and lists of instructions in the rituals. Or I can send you
books."</p><p>"If you can
manage it, I would prefer all three of those options," said Harry, and was
gratified to see a look of surprise on Aurora's face. A moment later, she
smiled at him. Harry dipped his head, his own smile breaking out. <em>She'll see
now that I really do want to cooperate with them. </em>"The meetings may be the
hardest to arrange, but I will try to shift my schedule to accommodate yours,
Madam."</p><p>Aurora
glanced casually up and down the table. "Are there any other questions that
anyone else wished to ask the <em>vates</em>? I am sure that most of us can agree
that the measures Harry has taken to acquire more Light allies and learn the
Light rituals are adequate for now, and that he may remain in the classes he
currently occupies in Hogwarts." She bent over a piece of parchment in front of
her, scribbling rapidly on it. Harry assumed it was a private checklist of some
kind, perhaps the minutes of the meeting or a reminder of what she hoped to
accomplish with each one.</p><p>"I do have
a suggestion," said Shadow, and leaned forward again. "I would like to visit one
of the Potions classes during which Professor Snape teaches the <em>vates</em>.
Or, at least, I think someone from the monitoring board should visit them,
though I can't imagine why either Professor Snape or Harry would object to my
presence." He flashed a sneer at Snape, which produced the retort Harry had
expected.</p><p>"If you
believe that I will allow someone intent on upsetting my son into my classroom
for the sole purpose of upsetting him—"</p><p>"Shadow
does not intend to upset Harry, Professor," said Aurora sharply. "We can assign
a different observer, if he troubles you so much. And—forgive me, but I did not
know that you had claimed formal adoption of Harry. That is certainly a change
in his status that the monitoring board should have been informed of." She looked
at Harry, who was forced to shake his head.</p><p>"I am
Professor Snape's ward still, Madam," he said. "He is my legal guardian. But he
does call me son, and I consider him a father." He felt his face burn as the
monitoring board stared at him in silence, even the Dark wizards. It was the
first time he had ever said something like this in public.</p><p>"Congratulations
to you both," said Hawthorn, sounding sincere about it. His other Dark allies
were quick to add their praise, Harry noted, far better than the weak applause
that Lisa Addlington gave, and which was the only response he noted at all from
the Light wizards.</p><p>"And of
course the notion of sending an observer into Professor Snape's Potions classes
is perfectly ridiculous," Hawthorn went on, blithely. "He would not accomplish
his purpose. Both Professor Snape and his son would act differently in front of
an observer, and he would not be able to see what a normal day for them is
like. That is nothing to say what other students of the class would do."</p><p>"We could
send someone under an Invisibility Charm," Lisa suggested.</p><p>"It's
called a Disillusionment Charm, you <em>uneducated</em>—"</p><p>"Draco,"
Harry hissed under his breath. He glanced at his boyfriend's narrowed eyes and
flared nostrils, and shook his head. He had not realized how strongly Draco was
prejudiced against anyone who supported the Grand Unified Theory. <em>I must
never leave him and Hermione alone together for any length of time. </em>"I
apologize, Mrs. Addlington," he added, while Lisa looked on, silently scandalized.
"That wasn't what we intended by my partner's attendance here today." He
clamped his hand on Draco's arm and gave it a little shake.</p><p>Draco gave
him a cool glance, then turned around and nodded stiffly to Lisa. "Sorry,
Madam." Still not the name that she had asked to be called by, Harry noted.</p><p>Harry
sighed and faced Aurora, only to find that she'd slid the parchment she was
writing on across the table to him. Neither Snape, glaring at everyone
indiscriminately, nor Draco, glaring at Lisa, seemed to have noted. Harry read
it quickly, upside-down.</p><p><em>May I
speak privately with you after this? </em></p><p>Harry
caught Aurora's eye and nodded. He couldn't blame her for wanting that, given
the disruptions and petty arguments of the meeting. She sat back, relaxing, and
smiled at him, which made him more sure that he'd done the right thing. It
would not be a bad thing to be on friendly terms with the main power of the
monitoring board, Harry thought. For better or worse, many of the Light wizards
would follow her.</p><p><em>And for
better or worse, Draco and Snape will follow me.</em></p><p>When he
thought of how they'd behaved today—well, how <em>Draco</em> had behaved today,
at least; the argument with Shadow was not nearly as much Snape's fault—Harry
felt his cheeks burn. And so he spoke up now, as there was a temporary lull in
the conversation.</p><p>"I do
consider Professor Snape my father," he said firmly, "and I will not condone
visits to his class that might cast doubt on his guardianship." He stood with a
glance up and down the table. "Does anyone else have anything else to ask me?"</p><p>No one else
did. Draco was standing as if he would drag Harry from the room, though, so
Harry went on speaking. "Then, Madam Whitestag, I can ask you what I wanted to
ask you. May we speak privately for a moment?"</p><p>Draco
turned his head, eyes intent and brow furrowed, but since Harry had said he was
the one with the question, those were the only gestures he made. Harry shook
his head, and Draco sighed. He seemed to know he hadn't made a good showing
today, though, and didn't protest further.</p><p>Snape was
more vocal. "I would like to be present for any conversation between Harry and
another person," he said.</p><p>Harry
touched his arm, and left his hand there until Snape looked, reluctantly, down
at him. "Please, Severus," Harry murmured, remembering the name this time.
"This isn't about a legal matter." He would leave if it turned out to be. "I
want to do this."</p><p>Snape
stared back into his eyes, and Harry let a few of his Occlumency barriers fall.
He had to repress his impatience to do it. <em>Why are both of them being so
protective of me? They won't even believe that I can decide, on my own, to
cooperate with the monitoring board, or to speak with one person? What do they
think she'll do, secretly turn into a Light Lady and pin me to the wall?</em></p><p>Perhaps
Snape sensed the impatience, or the thoughts behind it, because he gave a
slight nod and stepped aside. Harry sighed with relief, added, "Thank you for
coming," to the rest of the monitoring board, and then followed Aurora out into
the Atrium.</p><p>He cast a
privacy ward around them before they began talking, and checked himself for
tracking spells. He loved Draco and Snape, but he wouldn't put it past them to
spy on his and Aurora's conversation.</p><p>"What did
you want to speak with me about, Madam Whitestag?" he asked.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Aurora
considered him for a moment. Harry looked calmly back at her, his eyes intent
and shining. And Aurora had to smile, because it was painfully obvious, now,
that Harry really <em>did</em> want the freedom of will and debate that he had
said he did; it was overprotective allies, and perhaps Dark wizards determined
to secure their personal power and their position close to him, who had made
him seem otherwise. He had rebelled against the Ministry because they had given
him no other choice, not because he was in love with violence or getting his
own way.</p><p>Her
strategy had changed even from the beginning of the meeting, when she realized
that few of Harry's Dark allies would speak in this meeting of the monitoring
board; they were still learning the names of those involved and seeing how they
reacted. The elaborate traps and baffles they had laid were nearly useless in
such a situation. But Harry was growing as exasperated by the behavior of his
allies as he was by the behavior of Shadow and Marvin. Aurora hoped still to
win a victory that would make giving up the presence of a few Light wizards on
the board worth it.</p><p>"Harry,"
she said, and clasped her hands in front of her. "I am sorry, but I don't think
the board will work as it stands."</p><p>She saw his
face waver into concern. "Why not, Madam?" he asked, and ran a hand through his
hair. It seemed to be his standard nervous gesture. "I know that Draco and
Snape had arguments with the board members today, but—"</p><p>"While I'm
not excusing the behavior of your allies, I need to apologize for the behavior
of mine," Aurora interrupted quietly. "I had no idea they would be this
hostile. And insinuations and rumors and glances can do even more to hurt than
outright insults. I am concerned with what Marvin implied about Mrs. Malfoy,
for example."</p><p>Harry
shrugged. "It is true that she danced and gathered Dark allies for me, Madam.
But I will be more than willing to contact Light families myself."</p><p><em>How did
he draw so powerful a woman, so young? </em>But Aurora suspected that had much
to do with Draco Malfoy's close place at Harry's side, so she wasn't as
concerned. It was not a trick Harry could duplicate with anyone else. "I am
glad," she said. "But I would not wish future meetings to be as unproductive as
this one. I wish an environment where we can speak and interact comfortably. I
am willing to dismiss Shadow and Marvin from the board, if you think it would
help."</p><p>Harry's
face was troubled. He opened his mouth, then shut it and shook his head. Aurora
waited. At last he said, "But we would have to find more Light wizards to
replace them, wouldn't we? And in the meantime, the work of the monitoring
board couldn't go forward."</p><p>"That is
true." Aurora tilted her head. "Except—"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"Technically,"
Aurora said, "Griselda and I count as Light witches on the board, too, so it is
already overweighted. I am not declared, of course, but most people treat me as
though I am, and most of my morals and my closest associations are with the
Light. I would be willing to dismiss Shadow and Marvin, and count Griselda and
myself as two of the eleven needed to balance the Dark allies. If you would
accept this, of course. I am sure that I can convince my allies to accept it."</p><p>She held her
breath, and tried not to make it look as if she were doing so. She had taken a
gamble, but if she understood Harry as she hoped, it would win her something
much larger.</p><p>Harry
sighed. "But you and Griselda are supposed to be neutral," he said. "Or, at
least, you balance each other out. I counted Madam Marchbanks as a friend
before the board began, and you as an opponent." Aurora was pleased that he did
not say "enemy." "If you dismiss two of the Light wizards, I should dismiss two
of the Dark ones."</p><p>"But I
doubt many of them would take that well," Aurora said mildly. In truth, she
wanted to retain Harry's Dark allies as long as she could, until she could draw
them and see who must be countered, who could be ignored, and who could be
useful. Like it or not, she was now in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, and
these were the core of what she had to work with. So long as she did not
violate the oaths to cause fear in others, and thought about her actions, she
believed she could get along with them. "I <em>am</em> willing to give up Marvin
and Shadow, Harry. They work well with other Light wizards, but not with Dark
ones. I am sorry. I should have studied them more closely before I presented
them as candidates for the monitoring board."</p><p>Harry
stirred unhappily. Finally, he said, "I could—I could leave Draco and Snape at
Hogwarts when I meet with the board in the future, Madam. As a good faith
gesture. I think we should try at least one meeting without any of the ones who
caused the most controversy today."</p><p><em>Yes.</em>
Aurora had what she wanted. She knew she was lucky to have distracted Snape and
Malfoy as much as she had today. They were meeting with the full board for the
first time, and in the future they would be warier and more alert for threats
to Harry. One meeting without them would be a blessing for her cause. "I am
glad that you think so, Harry," she said. "And what about Mrs. Addlington?
Should—"</p><p>"No."
Harry's face tightened with exasperation. "Most of the problems there
originated with Draco, and I will ask him to apologize to her, Madam." He
lifted his head and stared intently into her eyes, reminding Auror that he was
a Legilimens. "I <em>want</em> to work with you," he whispered. "I mean it,
Madam. Please. Please let me do this."</p><p>Aurora
nodded, slowly. The reluctance she felt was real. Harry needed to be played on
the line like a fish right now. Draw in him too tight, ask him to make too many
sacrifices, and either he or his allies would balk. She would rather move
slowly than risk everything to get what she wanted a little faster. "All right,
Harry. You can tell Professor Snape and young Mr. Malfoy that they can attend
the third meeting, if you wish."</p><p>"Thank
you," said Harry. "And don't worry, Madam. I will <em>make</em> them understand.
Shadow provoked Professor Snape, but Draco's behavior was inexcusable."</p><p>Aurora
smiled, and let the light of it shine out of her eyes. "And how are you, Harry?
Are you sleeping well? Eating well? Have you taken any time for yourself in the
last few days?"</p><p>Oddly, <em>that</em>
was a mistake; she saw it as soon as she asked. Harry's eyes shuttered, and he
gave her the look of some wild animal shying from a trap. His voice was clipped
when he spoke. "I eat three meals a day, Madam, and sleep eight hours each
night, and I take as much time for myself as I need."</p><p>Aurora
sighed. "I reminded you of something evil, didn't I? I did not mean to. I am
sorry, Harry."</p><p>He relaxed
bit by bit, and now looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Madam Whitestag. But I do have
to put up with that kind of questioning from Professor Snape, and Draco, and
the Seer we have in residence."</p><p><em>Does he?
</em>And Aurora grasped another piece of the puzzle that was Harry <em>vates.</em>
"Then I will ask nothing more," she said. "I want the monitoring board to be
what you <em>need</em>, Harry. And if others are attending to your physical and
emotional needs—"</p><p>"You can
help me with my political and intellectual ones." Harry stood straight now,
smiling easily. "And I need reasonable opponents right now, Madam, who are
still willing to work with me."</p><p><em>He is
exactly what the world requires to defend us from Voldemort. Just a bit of
guidance, that's all he needs, not much. </em>Aurora relaxed. "Then I will
endeavor to be that for you, Harry, though if you continue to be so reasonable
yourself, I may soon lose my opponent status," she said, and he laughed.</p><p>"Thank
you," he murmured, and dropped the privacy ward, making his way back to his
guardian and lover.</p><p>Aurora
watched him go with a deep sense of contentment. He might not Declare, he might
not call himself a Lord, he might not even have trained as much as she would
have liked him to in the means of defeating the Dark Lord, but she was starting
to think that he would be a better leader than she could ever have dreamed.</p><p><em>And if I
can play some small part in making our world safe, then I will consider that
enough. Nothing can even make up for the loss of my children, just as nothing
can ever make up for Harry's childhood. What we must be content with is the
aftermath, the future, the moving-forward.
</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 61*: Tea and a Cup of Philosophy</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Forty-Eight: Tea and a Cup of Philosophy</strong></p><p>Harry kept the set of
his shoulders as relaxed as he could, considering that Snape had just
herded both him and Draco into his private quarters and shut the door
behind them. He hadn't had a chance to speak to Connor and ask who
had won the Gryffindor-Slytherin game, though from the glimpse he'd
caught of his brother's beaming face, he suspected he knew. The new
Slytherin Seeker was good, and probably faster than Connor since he
was smaller, but Harry had watched him, and he simply couldn't
match the skill Connor showed in making swift turns, hovering, and
diving in such a way that his opponent's eyes would miss him.</p><p>"Please sit down,"
Snape said, in a voice that Harry hadn't heard from him in a long
time. In fact, as he turned to face Snape, warily, he was fairly sure
that he <em>hadn't</em> heard it before. But he took a seat on the
couch, and Draco sat down beside him, still fuming. Harry had asked
him to apologize to Lisa as they left the Ministry, and had received
an incredulous stare, along with a snapped comment that his one
apology to her already counted.</p><p>"I'm sitting down,
sir," he told Snape. "What's wrong?"</p><p>Snape ignored him for
a moment, waving his wand to conjure teacups and a tray, and then
nodding to cabinets in the far corner of the room. They unlocked
themselves, and a crock of milk and a pot of tea surged out of them,
floating over to the tray. Harry stirred uneasily. "You've become
skilled in Transfiguration since I was last here, sir," he
ventured.</p><p>"This is tea that I
brewed, not conjured," said Snape, not looking at him.</p><p>Harry relaxed. He
would gladly drink it either way, but he was happiest to hear that it
hadn't come from reliance on house elf labor, which would have made
it impossible for him to drink. He waited for Snape to pour cups for
him and Draco, since that seemed to be what he wanted, and then
sipped. The tea was hot and sweet enough just as it was. He would
never understand why Draco wanted so much milk in his.</p><p>Snape turned to face
him, taking a seat on the chair. Harry watched him carefully. The
lines of his face were locked in a brooding mask, but that was hardy
unusual. <em>Did he have a dream last night that shook him? He should
have told me. I would have been glad to leave him at Hogwarts today.</em></p><p>"I should not have
let myself be distracted like that, into arguing with a man who has
reason to hate me," said Snape, in a voice of deep calm. "However,
my distraction came from a legitimate source, Harry. I was using
Legilimency to read what I could of their thoughts, without alerting
them to the fact. Since many of them do know I can do so, I had to
catch their eyes in short glimpses and learn what I could from
those."</p><p>Harry felt his hand
tighten on the teacup so quickly that it was a miracle it didn't
shatter. Carefully, he set it down on the broad, flat arm of the
couch and sat up. Draco leaned against him, heavily, as if to prevent
him from standing. Harry didn't try. He intended to stay right here
and confront Snape about what he had done.</p><p>"These people are
supposed to be our allies, sir." He kept his voice to one that
could cut glass, away from insults. He could hardly treat Snape with
less courtesy than he'd given to Aurora. "If they find out what
you have done, they will have reason to demand that I not bring you
to <em>any</em> meeting of the monitoring board, not just the next
one."</p><p>"You didn't tell
us about <em>that</em>," said Draco.</p><p><em>Yes, and this isn't
the moment or way I would have chosen for telling you, either. </em>But
the damage was done, and Harry wouldn't take it back, or only
spring the bargain with Aurora on them when they prepared to go to
the next meeting of the monitoring board. "Madam Whitestag offered
to dismiss Marvin Gildgrace and Shadow from the board, and let her
own presence and Madam Marchbanks's make the Light rejoice," said
Harry. He had to shove a load of emotions into the Occlumency pools,
and shook his head as they seemed to bubble under the strain. His
barriers never had been the same since the ritual on Halloween. "In
return, I agreed to leave both of you behind for the next meeting."</p><p>"And isn't this
the <em>exact</em> same tactic you told me would make you wary of her?"
Draco pounced the moment Harry stopped speaking. "You said, 'If
she really wanted to weaken me, she would try to separate the two of
you from me.'"</p><p>Harry opened his
mouth, then shut it. He clenched his hand on the couch arm for a
moment, nearly upsetting his teacup, and said, picking his words
carefully, "I don't think she meant it like that—"</p><p>"She did," said
Snape. "That was a well-coordinated attack. Shadow came for me,
Mrs. Addlington for Draco. I think she meant Gildgrace to draw
Narcissa, but he did not succeed. Madam Marchbanks was too distracted
and distressed by what happened around her to be aware that something
was wrong, or connect the behavior of her allies into a concerted
pattern aimed at us." He breathed in silence for a long moment, his
eyes locked on Harry's. "And that is only as much as I managed to
learn given the distracted way in which I looked," he added. "I
am sure there was more, hiding beneath the surface. Do you <em>see</em>,
Harry? They are not your allies. They want to weaken you. They want
to set boundaries on you that will hold you back from acting as
<em>vates</em>, as an effective ally to the werewolves, as an effective
Dark wizard."</p><p>"I'm not a Dark
wizard," Harry pointed out. He was in too much of a daze to say
anything else.</p><p>"For many Light
wizards, using one Dark spell makes one a Dark wizard." Snape
sipped his tea, eyes never leaving Harry's face. "I have even
heard some of them doubt Scrimgeour's loyalty to the Light, because
he used the Ritual of Cincinnatus, when I would say that there is no
wizard alive right now whom they should trust more. And your mentor
is Dark, your partner is Dark, those wizards who have stood by you
for years are Dark. Making an overture to the Light is not as simple
as offering them political power, Harry. They will be laboring to
increase it, and in this case, that means restraining you and guiding
you into certain channels." His tone took on a more personal
animosity. "And you will let them do it, if you allow yourself to
be separated from those who love you. I have said once before that
sometimes you seem to care more about your enemies than your
friends."</p><p>Harry gave a shiver,
and said nothing.</p><p>"I'd like an
answer to that question, actually," Draco said, voice bright and
brittle. "Why <em>do</em> you offer chances to your allies that you
don't to us, Harry? Why would you not be as upset if a Light wizard
who was a Legilimens read my thoughts, and Snape's? I suspect you
would make excuses for him. Why?"</p><p>Harry knew the answer
to that. They were not going to like it. But then, when had they
ever?</p><p>"Because the more
objective someone is, the more likely he is to realize my mistakes
when I make them," said Harry quietly. He rushed on, though Draco
was opening his mouth to speak. "Both of you want to protect me, I
know that. But both of you might move too quickly when someone <em>does</em>
have innocent intentions, or is only protecting their interests the
way you would, were you in their place. Both of you may indulge me
too often." He turned to face Draco. "For example, you want me to
dissolve the monitoring board. And then what would happen?</p><p>"It would be
dissolved," said Draco. "And you would be free again."</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"The monitoring board was the compromise that ended the rebellion
and brought Gloriana Griffinsnest to trial," he said. "At the
very least, the Light wizards could take back their evidence that's
going to convict Gloriana. At worst, they could say breaking one
promise means I'll break others, and so I can't be trusted. And
then everything we've fought for will have collapsed."</p><p>"Not <em>everything</em>,"
said Draco, his eyes shining fiercely. "I don't know about you,
Harry, but <em>my</em> greatest battle has been to see you happy and
free. And the monitoring board being gone would relieve you of yet
another burden you should never have had to carry."</p><p>"I can't simply
dissolve it," Harry told him.</p><p>"Not even if every
Light wizard on it is against you?" Snape asked the question as if
it were an idle one about Potions ingredients. "Not even if you
have reason to believe that your life would improve in every way if
it vanished?"</p><p>"You said that Madam
Marchbanks isn't against me," Harry reminded him. "And she's
in close friendship with the southern goblins. If they told her about
this, then she would side with us, not other Light wizards."</p><p>"The fact remains
that the board is filled with snakes, and that Madam Whitestag is the
deadliest of them." Snape's cup rang as he put it down. "You
will only increase your freedom if you rid yourself of them, and a
<em>vates</em> must be free."</p><p>"Both of you have a
different definition of my freedom than I do," said Harry, and his
own voice rang with frustration. "Both of you think of it mostly in
terms of what I can do. I think of it mostly in terms of what I'm
able <em>not</em> to do."</p><p>"Why?" Draco
demanded.</p><p>Harry gave him a flat
stare. "Because I've had to use my magic to solve so many
problems already, and I'd rather offer people a choice and the
freedom to make it," he replied. "Because I don't actually
<em>enjoy</em> intimidating others; in fact, I hate it. Because I'd
like to see multiple alliances forming and flourishing in the
wizarding world, not just the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. If
absolutely <em>nothing</em> else, I'd want such alliances to exist so
I could see what reasonable people they might recruit whom we'd
miss, because they were growing up in the strongholds of our enemies.
I wish that I had made an invitation to Indigena Yaxley to join me
first, you know."</p><p>"I don't
understand that." Draco, at the moment, with his arms crossed and
his brow furrowed, looked determined not to understand it.</p><p>"And that's your
choice." Harry shook his head, and stood up. "I have to decide
what I'm going to do about this. Thank you for telling me, sir."
He could not thank Snape for reading their minds, and hoped that
Snape understood why. "I want to go and think. <em>Alone</em>," he
added, when Draco stood to accompany him.</p><p>"You should not be
alone," said Draco. "Just in case someone does manage to corner
you in the grounds, Harry."</p><p>Harry called his magic
and let it briefly cloak his shoulders in a mantle of snow. It melted
almost instantly in the heat of Snape's fire, but he thought he'd
made his point. Harry spoke it anyway. "If I can't be safe with
my magic within Hogwarts's wards, then I'm not safe anywhere,
Draco, and certainly not in bed in your arms."</p><p>He turned and walked
out of the room, feeling their eyes on his back all the way.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Rufus watched the wolf
that stood in front of his desk. It watched him back.</p><p>The wolf's body was
made of congealed gray mist, which made it look more like a natural
wolf than Rufus would have thought it could. Now and then it licked
its jaws, and though the tongue was white instead of pink, that also
looked natural. When he did not say anything or do anything
interesting immediately, it lay down and closed its eyes, a pale,
astonishing blue.</p><p>Rufus peered into his
cup of tea as if it might hold the answers. Nothing but tea looked
back.</p><p><em>If you look into
the tea, the tea looks into you, </em>Rufus thought, and then closed
his eyes, took a deep breath, and told himself to stop this. He knew
what he had to do. There really was no other choice, not if he was to
hold true to the principles that had guided him here in the first
place.</p><p>It was only the
thought of what might come after he made this decision that was
frightening him. But the rebellion had ended, and he had made a truce
with the Department of Mysteries, and the monitoring board had not so
far exploded in a shower of flesh and blood.</p><p>Of course, perhaps he
would wake up in a few days to find that the rebellion had began
again, and the Stone was sending its Unspeakables on their silent
missions again, and that he was needed to help sort out pieces of
Aurora Whitestag from those of a dozen other witches and wizards. And
two goblins and one centaur, of course.</p><p>Rufus took one more
deep breath and told himself that he could not fear the future. He
had done what he could, all he could, and now he had reached the
limit of his rope. Whatever he did in the future, he would have to
use a different tactic.</p><p><em>Probably a good
thing. You know you would be bored if you did one thing for too long,
and your enemies would have a chance to get used to you and predict
your motions.</em></p><p>The wolf abruptly
uncurled and sprang to its feet, taking a step nearer to the desk,
looking up at him. Rufus nodded at it, and let the Ritual of
Cincinnatus go, laying down his control of all magic in the Ministry.</p><p>He felt the wards
uncoil and unbind within his head like the cracks of whips parting.
He felt his familiarity with various spells drain until he was back
to being what he had been, an ordinary wizard who knew the spells as
they formed and sparked within his own body, and nothing more. He
felt the Ministry breathe a sigh of relief that faded halfway
through. That sigh was no longer his to hear.</p><p>The wolf swelled with
power as it stood there, the living embodiment of the ritual, the
mold the magic had chosen to pour itself into. It looked at him with
blue eyes, so contained and confined that it was sentient in those
moments, and if magic could bless, Rufus would have sworn it blessed
him.</p><p>He had let the ritual
go before he strictly needed to. He had not forced it to demand the
magic from him, and he certainly had not forced it to kill him or his
companions.</p><p>The wolf turned and
bounded into the walls, its personality dissipating as it went, the
magic racing back into freedom. Rufus sat back and sipped at his cup
of tea, and wondered when others would notice.</p><p>And if he had the time
to have a bit of fun before they did.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry took his broom
up from the Quidditch Pitch into a singing wind. The day was not that
fair, with heavy hanging clouds that would probably scatter rain down
later, but the sun lent a golden undertone to the air, and Harry
could admire the deep, damp contrast between gray and green, still
stubbornly lingering in the Forbidden Forest.</p><p>Besides, he thought
better in flight than he did on the ground.</p><p>He took the Firebolt
up to three hundred feet, and settled into a lazy circle, a bit wider
than the Pitch. He stared down, and for a moment his imagination was
filled with memories of the times he'd plucked the Snitch here, the
time in his third year when Sirius had tried to kill him, the time in
second year when a Bludger had broken his arm, the time in first year
when the Lestranges had come onto the Pitch and Harry had had to
battle them while throwing the game for Connor—</p><p>He snorted and shook
his head. <em>I didn't come here to brood about the past. That's
one thing I'm free not to do anymore, think nonstop about the past.</em></p><p>He turned so that he
was lying on his back along the broom, swinging one foot to stir it
in the air. He supposed he shouldn't do that, that someone else
would believe it dangerous, but for once he didn't care.</p><p>He had to think.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes
and considered the ramifications of what he'd told Draco and Snape.
Dissolve the monitoring board, and he might as well break all his
agreements with the Light wizards. How could they trust him again?
Why should they have reason to? And Madam Whitestag, who was, at the
very least, a canny leader and capable of uniting people who would
ordinarily have scattered in a dozen directions—who had managed to
forgive Harry enough for the death of her children to try and work
with him—would be offended beyond recapture.</p><p>No matter what Snape
and Draco thought, simply dissolving the monitoring board was not an
option.</p><p>Harry gave a short
little nod of his head. So what were the choices, then? And how was
he going to make them?</p><p>One came to him almost
immediately. Madam Marchbanks would not act against him, and she was
clearly and closely allied to the Light—<em>Declared</em> for it, in
fact, which Aurora was not. She could lead the monitoring board in
Aurora's place. Aurora could work with her in the capacity that she
had already said she would, sending instructions and book on Light
pureblood rituals to Harry, but Harry would ask her to step down from
leading the board.</p><p>When she asked why, he
would explain the truth, that he had realized she had set her running
dogs on his allies, and he could not trust someone who did that.</p><p><em>And what will she
do then?</em></p><p>Harry opened his eyes
and stared at the lazy stripes of cloud directly above him. He wanted
to dive frantically away from them towards the ground, and use up the
excess energy that thrummed through him, but he forced himself to be
still and consider what he knew of Aurora.</p><p>Strong-willed. A
leader. Both of those things would make her unhappy when working with
the monitoring board in any diminished capacity from the one she
played now.</p><p>On the other hand, she
was also careful, and clever, and could look past the idea of revenge
for her dead children enough to approach Harry as a political
opponent, not a personal enemy. And despite the outrage Snape and
Draco showed over the way she'd handled him, Harry did not really
believe they would have encouraged him to approach Aurora any other
way, if they had been on a board in charge of supervising <em>her</em>.</p><p>She was far more
likely to blink at him when he announced that he wanted Madam
Marchbanks to take over the board, curse the luck that had caught her
out, and then work with him again. Harry hardly expected her to stop
trying to step around and trick him. This time, though, he would be
watching for that. He would incorporate the plans of hers he could
into his own plans, and stop others.</p><p>He had gone into the
meeting today stupidly trusting. But it would be equally stupid to be
so distrustful that he lost the chance of converting Aurora
altogether. For whatever reason, the more of himself he showed to the
people around him, the more he did for them, the more they tended to
like him and respond in turn. Harry did not pretend to understand it,
but he had seen how Snape had changed when Harry started Occlumency
training with him, and when Snape had shared his mind while he
rebuilt it after Sylarana's death. Hawthorn had told him the story
of how Harry's simple offer to brew her Wolfsbane had changed her
life after she was bitten by Greyback and given her back her
strength—and something similar had happened to her recently, if the
way she thanked him when he came back from riding the dragon was any
indication. Adalrico had grown comfortable enough with him to tell
him the tale of torturing and raping Alba Starrise. Harry might not
know the exact nature of the gift he seemed to have for reaching out,
but he would be stupid to discount it.</p><p><em>And I have enough
enemies, </em>he thought, thinking of Lucius, thinking of the
Unspeakables, thinking of Philip Willoughby and those other parents
of the Dozen Who Died who would not be contented with this
compromise, thinking of Falco, thinking of Voldemort. <em>Aurora may
become one of them permanently, but first, I want to approach her and
see if I can't convince her to support me.</em></p><p>Harry gave a smile he
knew was faint. But, in truth, if he had to do something other than
just ask Aurora to give up tactics that would threaten the alliance
between them—and he doubted she would give them up, even if she
said she would—he preferred this form of manipulation. Let her see
him for who he was. Harry had rarely attempted to hide that, and it
went badly when he did. He could hold secrets. He could lie by
omission. But he could not say he was not <em>vates</em>, not at this
point in time, and he could not pretend that he did not value the
free wills and decisions of others. He did.</p><p>Now, of course, there
was the problem of what to do about Draco and Snape, who would
explode when they heard of this.</p><p>Harry sighed, clenched
his hand around the broom handle, and swung himself off, turning
around so that he gripped it with his knees and hung moodily
upside-down. That sent blood rushing to his head, but it was such a
perfect expression of his emotions that he didn't think he could
resist.</p><p><em>Nothing I can do
but tell them truth, and explain my reasoning, and give them a chance
to respond. Explanations are fine. Protests are fine. </em></p><p><em>But sooner or
later, I have to make my own mistakes. I should have been the one to
sense what Aurora was doing today. I'm a Legilimens, too, and if my
stupidity prevented me from using that, or ferreting out her tactics
from watching her, then that's my own fault. Draco would hate it if
I tried to protect him from every mistake, and sending Snape to
Joseph meant nothing until Snape decided to heal on his own. </em></p><p><em>I've healed so
much in concert with them, and benefited so much from their help, and
it would be ingratitude personified to abandon them now. But acting
on my own, trying to learn what I can when I don't have someone to
watch my back, is not a bad thing, either. I've had to do that with
Rosier, and in Voldemort's mind, and in the Forbidden Forest, and
on Acies's back. If my healing is going to function on more than
one level, if I'm going to live simultaneously, then I need to heal
both with Draco and Snape </em>and <em>apart from them.</em></p><p>He disliked the
conclusions that immediately jumped into his mind from that. If he
were going to be honest with himself, that would mean that he had to
work on healing his wrist and talking with Joseph, too, and he would
have to do it not just when Draco and Snape asked but of his own free
will.</p><p><em>Don't want to, </em>he
whined to himself. <em>I could still do without a left hand. I could
still do without talking about Kieran's death. They just aren't
as important as other things. </em>He could list at least ten things
more important than either of them without trying.</p><p>But he had to. And if
sometimes he resented it and whined to himself in his head, at least
the resentment and the whining would <em>stay</em> in his head. Snape
and Draco should no more have to bear everything with him than they
should have to help him heal in everything, or spot and guard against
his every mistake.</p><p>His head pounded
rather with blood, so Harry swung himself back onto his broom and
ascended at a steep angle. He flew upward until the heartbeat in his
ears sounded normal again, then flipped over and dropped straight
towards the ground.</p><p>His muscles stretched,
and his ears went from chilled to warm in a series of uncomfortable
moments, and the Pitch drew nearer until it seemed to fill the entire
world. Harry pulled up a moment after that, his arms straining, and
zipped in a circle backwards.</p><p>He flew that way until
most of his uncertainties had changed into something else, into
careful, rueful determination to walk forward. Sometimes he would
have given much to be as <em>certain</em> as Draco and Snape were,
whether that was on the right political course or on what a
Lord-level wizard deserved.</p><p><em>But certainty isn't
always for me, I suppose. And that's all right. </em></p><p>He arched his back
until it cracked, then landed and made his way to the Quidditch shed
to put the Firebolt away.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor grinned when he
saw his brother wandering away from the Pitch. Harry had obviously
been out flying, probably thinking about Quidditch and wishing that
he could have played today. Well, Connor would be more than happy to
tell him how the game went—unless, of course, Harry had another
place to hurry off to and be.</p><p>Connor tried to stifle
a flare of resentment as he called his brother's name. Harry looked
up and saw him. He grinned and waved with his hand.</p><p><em>He's always so
busy. The moments when he has time for me are so rare.</em></p><p>But against that,
Connor could set twelve years when Harry had had no time for almost
anything or anyone but him. He told the flare of resentment to shut
up and go away, and then he had reached Harry and they were turning
around for a moment in an effort to adjust themselves so that they
walked side by side instead of in opposite directions.</p><p>Harry laughed as they
figured it out, and then said, "So, how much did Gryffindor defeat
Slytherin by?"</p><p>Connor arranged his
face into a careful expression of neutrality. "Oh, not that much,"
he said. "You still have a chance of taking the Quidditch Cup,
especially if you utterly trounce Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. And
there's a new Seeker on Ravenclaw that's really quite good, and
by the time I play him he'll have had a chance to get better and
better, so I might not defeat him at all."</p><p>"Out with it,"
said Harry mildly.</p><p>He had tried to
respect Harry's feelings as a Slytherin, he really had, Connor
thought, but he simply couldn't resist bursting into laughter. "It
was six hundred and twenty points to one hundred," he admitted.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I don't think you have a chance of taking
the Quidditch Cup at all."</p><p>"If you beat us by
more than <em>five hundred points, </em>we don't bloody deserve it,"
said Harry, his voice thrumming with indignation. "Where was Sam
looking for the Snitch? Up his own arse?</p><p>"Actually, it was
the Keeper's fault, mostly," Connor offered. "He just can't
keep his own goal covered, Harry. Meanwhile, Ron flew like Merlin had
touched him, and I don't think Slytherin knew what hit them there.
They were used to thinking of Ron as the weak point of the team,
because he <em>was</em>, the last time you played us." Connor
snickered, remembering the expression on the Slytherin Beaters'
faces when they started trying to direct the Bludgers to hit Ron, and
he had managed to avoid them every single time. "They don't
realize that's changed."</p><p>"We deserved to
lose," said Harry, voice firm now. He paused a long moment, and
Connor wondered what would come next. He didn't think it could
diminish his joy, whatever it was. There was a raucous party going on
in Gryffindor Tower. They had won for more reasons than just Harry
not being on the Slytherin team, and they all knew it. They had
worked <em>well</em> together. Connor could barely remember the game,
in fact, except for scattered moments. The Gryffindor team had fallen
so smoothly into a whole that it was more an impression of silent
communication, wheeling flight, and always, always knowing where a
teammate was and what would happen next.</p><p>"Connor," Harry
said at last.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Do you think—"
Harry scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not just saying this
because of your argument with Parvati, or because I think she's
right about me and Draco all the time, or anything like that. But I'd
like to spend more time with you. I really would. A Seeker's game.
A day when we go to Hogsmeade together and talk about stupid things.
Could I?"</p><p>Connor didn't know
what to say for a moment. He felt joy welling to the surface of his
chest, to burst out his throat. When it came, he wasn't sure if it
would be a laugh or a happy shout. It turned out rather like a
mixture of the two, and apparently it rather startled Harry, as did
the hug Connor grabbed him in a moment later.</p><p>"Of course, you
prat," he muttered into his ear. "And this doesn't have to have
anything to do with Parvati, or Draco. We're <em>brothers</em>,
Harry."</p><p>He felt Harry relax,
and hug him back. "Good," said Harry. "And now I have to go
tell Snape and Draco something that will make them very unhappy."</p><p>"Want support?"
Connor asked.</p><p>"You'd laugh at
the expressions on their faces," said Harry.</p><p>"They could use
that," Connor pointed out. Sometimes he was appalled at how little
<em>humor</em> there was in Harry's life. He couldn't count Draco's
snide comments, or Snape's sarcasm either, for that matter. They
didn't do that to make Harry feel good, they did that to destroy
competition for Harry.</p><p>"Maybe they could,"
said Harry. "But not this time."</p><p>Connor stepped back
and studied his brother for a moment. Harry's jaw was set, and he
moved as if he were going to jump on his broom, find Voldemort, and
duel it out right now.</p><p>"Give them hell,"
Connor said, and stepped out of the way.</p><p>Harry tossed him a
fleeting smile as he made his way towards the dungeons.</p><p>"And then tell me
about it, later!" Connor yelled after him. For once, he didn't
worry about being left behind. Harry could obviously take care of
himself.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape waited. He and
Draco had sat in silence when Harry was gone, and Snape had wondered
at that; he would have thought Draco, at least, would have ranted and
paced up and down the room. But instead he preferred to sit with his
arms folded on his knees and stare at the floor. Snape supposed he
could hardly blame him.</p><p>His own thoughts were
tending along a track inspired by Harry's last words.</p><p><em>If I can't be
safe with my magic within Hogwarts's wards, then I'm not safe
anywhere, Draco, and certainly not in bed in your arms.</em></p><p>And there was always
the chance that Harry would not be safe, no matter who accompanied
him, no matter what happened, no matter who pointed out the threats
to him. He had already had to go into danger numerous times, even
when he knew it was dangerous. And then there were his opponents. If
the Light wizards were stupid and stubborn enough to demand a
monitoring board in the first place, then Snape could not discount
Harry's fear that they would be stupid and stubborn enough to
revoke their other promises if the monitoring board was dissolved.</p><p><em>I said that I would
try to let him go, to fail and make mistakes. He will not crumble
this time as he did when he battled his mother. I do not believe that
Aurora Whitestag can harm him without his active cooperation. She had
that today. Do I really believe that she will have it again?</em></p><p>No, Snape had to
think. He'd watched Harry's eyes when he admitted using
Legilimency, and behind the resentment that that had happened at all
was a stronger resentment towards Whitestag for making such tactics
necessary. Now he knew. Now he was warned.</p><p>Now Snape himself was
warned, and would not have to do such piecemeal Legilimency again, so
he could better respond to attempts at distraction like Shadow's.</p><p>And then there was
Draco.</p><p>"Why
could Mrs. Addlington bait you so easily?" he asked Draco abruptly.</p><p>Draco started. Then he
looked at Snape as if he were mad and answered, "Because they so
obviously wanted only to hurt Harry. Everyone but my mother and his
other allies, of course," he added dismissively. "And then she
was making remarks about purebloods and the Grand Unified Theory, and
I <em>knew </em>Harry wouldn't say anything against her, since he
accepts that load of rubbish. How could I let her remarks go by, and
let her think that everyone in the room agreed with her?"</p><p>"It is not
impossible that others did not want to hurt Harry," said Snape,
watching him closely. Draco had his own frustrations, that was clear,
but he had let them build up to an unacceptable level today. Snape
considered his own reaction to Shadow's provocation to be
unacceptable, and Draco's response to Addlington had been far
worse. "Madam Marchbanks, for example."</p><p>"She's <em>Light.</em>"</p><p>Snape snorted in spite
of himself, hardly able to believe what he was saying. "That does
not make her evil."</p><p>Draco sprang to his
feet and began pacing, then. "The monitoring board <em>needs</em> to
be dissolved," he said, in a low, passionate voice. "I'll say
that as many times as I need to. I'll do whatever I have to to make
Harry see that. It's impossible that he doesn't see it. He needs
freedom to act on his own."</p><p>Snape cocked his head.
"Is this more about ending a danger to Harry, Draco, or winning an
argument with him?"</p><p>Oh, that earned him a
glare. But Draco was not Lucius, and that glare did not bring back
enough memories to disconcert Snape. Snape continued, easily able to
play the role of Head of House in this environment. "I think that
you may wish to step back and consider your own actions before you
consider his. You would not wish to be a liability to Harry, Draco."</p><p>"I am <em>not</em>—"</p><p>"As you were not
today?"</p><p>Draco folded his arms
and turned away.</p><p>Snape rolled his eyes
and wondered silently why he was always the one who needed to speak
such obvious truths. "Think of yourself, Draco," he said. "Study
your own emotions and reactions as you are encouraging Harry to study
his." He paused, noting the tense set of Draco's shoulders, and
added softly, "Harry will not hate you if you Declare for Dark."</p><p>Draco whipped around
so fast that he stumbled. Snape saw his face flush in humiliation as
he steadied himself. "How did you know?" he whispered.</p><p><em>A lucky guess,
combined with Legilimency. </em>But Draco did not need to know that.
"Because you are growing more and more entrenched in your
sentiments towards the Light," Snape said. "Because you are once
again seeking to define yourself, and you cannot do that solely as
Harry's lover and partner. Because you <em>are</em> a Dark wizard,
Draco, with an affinity for those spells, with that deep distrust of
the opposite allegiance, and with a love for tactics that Harry will
avoid using if possible. <em>Tell</em> him that you are Declaring, and
he will understand."</p><p>"I thought—I
should remain undeclared…"</p><p>"That
is Harry's path," said Snape. "It is not the path for many
other wizards. And he will not hate you if you do this."</p><p>Draco nibbled his lip
and stared at the floor. He had not expected his own defining moment
to come at such a time, Snape guessed. But it was here, and he had to
meet it, rather than continue denying it and driving himself into
misguided attempts to live vicariously through Harry. That only made
him act as he had today. Some said that Light and Dark called to the
souls of those wizards suited to them. Snape doubted that, but if it
could be true, then the Dark was calling Draco. And Midwinter would
be here soon, the greatest time of power of the wild Dark. Its voice
would resound more clearly now.</p><p>"I should," Draco
whispered. "He would want me to do what most pleases me, not what
most pleases or benefits him."</p><p>Snape nodded, and said
nothing more. Draco had made the decision. He would urge himself
along the path now.</p><p>A knock sounded on the
door, and Harry stepped inside without waiting for an answer or an
invitation. Snape's eyebrows rose when he saw the determination
written on his face.</p><p><em>Well. It seems that
this conversation shall be interesting, indeed.</em></p><p>He sat forward to meet
it.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 62*: A Matter of Equality</h2>
			<p>Just a warning that
after this chapter, I won't be updating for at least one day, and
possibly a few, due to a probable lack of Internet access; I expect
to be able to write but not post. I <em>will</em> continue this story,
though. Also, <strong>the second scene here contains heavy slash, so skip
it if you are uncomfortable with that.</strong></p><p><strong>Chapter Forty-Nine:
A Matter of Equality</strong></p><p>Harry was gratified to
see that Snape looked at him as if actually eager for the
conversation to resume, though he was concerned about Draco's
flushed face and loosely clasped hands. <em>Well, whatever the matter
is, he must speak to me about it. I'm unable to guess what he holds
back and hides, most of the time.</em></p><p>"I've thought
about what you said," he admitted. "I still don't think I can
dissolve the monitoring board. But I will ask Mrs. Whitestag to step
down and let Madam Marchbanks take her place. And I do intend to tell
Mrs. Whitestag why." He held up his hand as Snape's mouth opened,
in a silent plea to let him finish. Remarkably, Snape shut his mouth
and did so. "I think I can understand her. What she wants is power
over me. Being sent away from me won't help that. On the other
hand, remaining near me means a chance to turn her towards me as I've
managed to turn other people—simply by showing her what I stand
for, and what I intend to do to accomplish my goals. I expect her to
apologize for her wrongdoing and use more subtle versions of the
tactics she already tried. Now, I'll be watching for them, and it
will be no more difficult than other political waltzes I've danced
in the past."</p><p>Snape raised his
eyebrows, but waited for an extra moment, as if to make sure that
Harry were finished. Harry nodded. Snape said, "And do you believe
that you can convince Madam Marchbanks to take up the post?"</p><p>"Yes," said Harry.
"She wasn't happy with what happened today. And you said she
isn't against me. And she is clearly Declared for Light, so no one
can say I'm dismissing Mrs. Whitestag only to put one of my Dark
allies in her place."</p><p>Snape nodded slowly.
Harry glanced at Draco. "What do you think?" he asked.</p><p>Draco rubbed his hands
together for a moment. "I suppose you can't get rid of the
monitoring board yet," he admitted. "I didn't think about the
larger political picture." Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying
that Draco often didn't think about the larger political picture.
"But I think setting some definite limits would be helpful. Do they
expect to supervise you for a few months? Until you're legally of
age? Until they agree that you won't do anything else
irresponsible?" Draco snorted at that, and muttered something about
Harry's never convincing the monitoring board of that, if he hadn't
been able to convince Draco and Snape.</p><p>"Not a bad idea,"
said Harry, surprised. <em>What conclusions did he come to while I was
gone? </em>"And I can ask Madam Marchbanks about that more easily
than I can Mrs. Whitestag. She would probably find some way to slip
out of answering."</p><p>It was obvious that
Draco was still distracted, still thinking of whatever had occupied
him while Harry was gone more than he was thinking of Harry's
answer. Harry waited, and waited, and waited, and still no answer was
forthcoming, only the nervous washing of Draco's hands. Harry
looked to Snape, only to receive a scowl and a jerk of his head at
Draco, as much to say that the tale was his partner's to tell.
Harry stood and waited as patiently as he could.</p><p>"Harry," Draco
said at last. "Would you mind if I Declared for Dark?"</p><p>"I—" Harry had
to think about that for a moment, but in the end there was only one
thing he could say. "Of course not, Draco," he said. "Is
Midwinter calling you?"</p><p>Draco winced. "I
don't like the thought of that," he said, as if Snape were no
longer in the room; the tone was one Harry had only heard from him in
private before. "That I would be Declaring to the same form of the
wild Dark that killed Fawkes and tried to make you into a Lord."</p><p>"The wild Dark was
irritated then," said Harry, and forced himself forward through a
blur and haze of phoenix fire in his memories. "And you can't
help the time of year when you feel the call, Draco. It's a very
rare and special thing to feel at all." He reached out and gently
ran his hand up and down Draco's arm. "I will never mind that you
have Declared, and especially not your allegiance."</p><p>Draco nodded, mute.
Harry studied him for a moment, then made an educated guess that he
would swear did not depend on Legilimency. "Is this part of the
reason that you were so rude to Mrs. Addlington during the meeting?
That you were occupied with thinking about the wild Dark, and what it
would mean if you swore yourself to it?"</p><p>A second nod. Harry
gathered Draco into his arms, feeling the same surge of intense
protectiveness that he knew Draco had felt for him more than once.
"You don't need to keep such concerns to yourself," he
whispered into Draco's ear. "You would yell at me if I did. I'm
not going to yell at you—" he smoothed his hand up and down
Draco's spine, the better to calm him "—but I do want to know
about them sooner than this in the future."</p><p>Draco gave a little
sigh and relaxed against him. Harry went on smoothing, and glanced
over at Snape. His guardian's gaze was sharp, piercing, as much to
ask why Harry himself wouldn't accept that kind of comfort more
often, but he nodded, as if approving of his tactics with Draco.</p><p>Harry eased Draco back
onto the couch. He found that his arms didn't want to leave him,
but he kept them on Draco's spine and shoulders. Moving them lower
would spark unfortunate thoughts, and he already had enough trouble
with those since the barriers on his hormones broke during the
Halloween ritual. He had no idea how Draco, or for that matter other
sixteen-year-old boys, coped with being flooded with thoughts of sex
<em>all the time.</em></p><p>"And are we coming
with you to the next meeting of the monitoring board?" Snape asked
the question as if it needed to be addressed <em>right now</em>.</p><p>Draco abruptly
stiffened against Harry, and then pulled away and turned to look at
him. Harry frowned. He knew Draco didn't have Occlumency training,
and so there was no reason that he should be able to bury his
emotions that well and that suddenly. That could only mean that he
considered Harry's answer more important right now than his crisis
about Declaring.</p><p>Harry couldn't look
them both in the eye while he replied, so he settled for Draco. "No,
you're not."</p><p>Draco drew his lips
back, showing his teeth, and said nothing at all.</p><p>"Explain," said
Snape.</p><p>Harry reminded himself
not to sound defensive. He had made this choice for perfectly good
reasons. Just because he hadn't known Draco was so twisted up
around the notion of Declaring, and just because he still didn't
know why Snape appeared to be taking this so well, didn't mean that
his choice was invalid. "Because I want to go alone," he said.
"Because I promised Mrs. Whitestag that you wouldn't be there,
and showing up with both of you along would warn her at once that
something was wrong, and give her time to prepare her defenses before
I tell her the truth. Because, sometimes, I need to make my own
mistakes, and that includes mistakes on the battlefield of politics.
I want to see what tactics and enemies I can recognize without
someone there to watch my back."</p><p>Snape studied him
broodingly when Harry looked again, his eyes dark with what Harry
could only imagine were memories. Then he nodded as if those memories
had been the things to convince him of Harry's validity.</p><p>"I think this is a
mistake," he said. "I think you will fall badly without us."
That made Harry bristle in spite of his resolve to hold calm, but
Snape didn't give him the chance to show off his anger. "But it
is a mistake that you need to make. If we force you to rely on us,
then you will grow cramped. We have made you see the need to heal,
and helped you heal. Now is the time that you began to step into
healing that does not include us."</p><p>"I know that, sir,"
said Harry, touched beyond measure. <em>What did he think to turn him
in this direction? He might have been inside my head with me while I
was riding my broom. </em>"I already know that I'll need to speak
to Joseph on my own, and work on breaking the curses on my hand on my
own. That is, I can have help from Argutus and others, but the will
to guide me through them has to be my own."</p><p>"Where did you go to
think?" Draco asked, curiosity apparently overcoming his urge to
remain coldly silent.</p><p>"Up on my broom."
Harry gave him a faint smile. "I think best when I'm away from
the ground. And—well." He shrugged. "I do have to make mistakes
on my own. I'm nearly an adult, and I can't remember a time when
I lived truly free of the domination of at least one other mind.
First it was my mother, and Connor when she wasn't with me. And
then it was Tom Riddle. And then it was the influence of those I
couldn't abandon, like my father, and those I didn't want to
abandon, both you and Professor Snape—"</p><p>He stopped when he saw
Snape's expression, touched with just a hint of rebuke. He took a
deep breath and made himself say it. "Both you and Severus." He
countered the feeling that he was being informal and deserved a
punishment for violating such boundaries with the reminder that Snape
had wanted Harry to call him by his first name. "And all of this
has been wonderful, but it's still made my life far too simple.
There's always someone to blame for a mistake, or someone to trust
when I should be relying on myself, or someone who makes me see that
I need to peel back another layer of my training. Always someone to
be my hands, my eyes, my ears. That started to change last year, but
it didn't go far enough, or something like today could never have
happened. I should have been intelligent enough to see the meeting of
the monitoring board for what it was, the way I should have been
intelligent enough to recover from my grief over the Dozen Who Died,
and the way I should have seen that the Sanctuary was my best
option." He nodded to Snape and then to Draco. "So far, my
mistakes have mostly been mistakes of omission. I want to change them
to mistakes of commission, if only as practice for the war."</p><p>"Commendable,
Harry." Snape's voice was soft, and full of a strange sound.
Harry could only compare it to waves breaking on rocks, because he
didn't think he'd ever heard an emotion like it before. And then
he looked at Snape and saw that his eyes were shining with pride, the
kind of pride that Narcissa might have in Draco when he did something
particularly fine.</p><p>Harry ducked his head,
feeling his cheeks burn with a wild flush. <em>I don't deserve that.
Many other children figured out how to grow up a long time ago, or
they just feel it and have no need to verbalize it.</em></p><p>Then he took a deep
breath, and told the guilt to shove off. <em>Why shouldn't I feel
that I deserve this? Professor Snape loves me and is proud of me. I
can accept it and glory in it the way any child would glory in a
parent's approval.</em></p><p>"Thank you,
Severus," he said, proud of himself in turn for remembering the
name. He looked at Draco. "Can you see what I mean, Draco? Why I
need to attend the next meeting of the monitoring board alone?"</p><p>Draco sighed and
looked down at his clasped hands. Harry didn't like the sigh. He
would have preferred a yell. He put a hand under Draco's chin and
lifted his head again so that they could meet eye-to-eye.</p><p>At last, Draco gave a
quick little nod, though his gaze still didn't give away as much as
Harry would like. Harry smiled and stood, wrapping an arm around his
boyfriend's shoulders. He had the urge to escort him back to their
bedroom in Slytherin and simply spoil him.</p><p>"Thank you, both of
you," he said, and waited only for Snape's nod before slipping
away with Draco.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco lay on his
stomach on their bed, and felt more than heard Harry murmuring, the
words falling into his hair and trickling along his ears like
moisture.</p><p>"You silly prat, why
couldn't you <em>tell</em> me?" His hand dug into Draco's
shoulders, easing away the tension with a skill Draco hadn't known
he had. Well, he supposed, there was nothing to keep Harry from
observing other people, and learning what they knew. "You could
have," Harry whispered. "You could have. The wild Dark isn't
just the incarnation of it that killed Fawkes. It's also the white
deer that ran away from us at Walpurgis, and it's the Dark that
Voldemort tried to chain, and it's the Dark that danced around me
when I went to my first Walpurgis, and took me into it, and broke me
apart, and put me back together. It's too large to be just one
thing. Of course I'm not going to be upset if you Declare for it,
Draco, any more than I was at Connor Declaring for Light."</p><p>Draco didn't think
he could relax if Harry was going to compare him to his brother. He
managed to wrestle up on one elbow, only to drive Harry's fingers
into an unexpectedly tender place on his shoulder with the movement.
He threw back his head, gasping, and Harry leaned down and captured
his lips in a kiss.</p><p>The angle was awkward,
and made Draco's neck ache. He found that he didn't care. He
turned over, looping his arms around Harry's shoulders and dragging
him down to him. Harry hummed under his breath, but then reared up
and managed to make it a sound of protest.</p><p>"Draco, don't
you—"</p><p>"Not right now,"
Draco murmured.</p><p>Harry nodded, and then
slid away from him before Draco could make him stay in one place and
kiss him. Draco felt a warm hand on his hip, and then Harry muttered
again, not his name this time, and his trousers and pants vanished.</p><p>And then Harry's
mouth was surrounding him, and Draco gasped, because this wasn't
like the wild, intense coupling they had shared on the Halloween
ritual. This was fuzzier, and made his eyes blur, and mingled with
the steady call he had been hearing on the edge of his perceptions
for a month now, and had tried to deny was the wild Dark each time.</p><p>When he closed his
eyes, the call billowed around him like a storm, sweeping him up into
high, shining cold, while at the same time the sweetness and warmth
of Harry's mouth kept him anchored to the earth below. Draco's
back melted, and he seemed to have wings. But he also <em>definitely</em>
had a body that was not melting, but growing harder and harder, both
in terms of his erection and in terms of the movements he was making.
He had no idea how Harry was handling it, because, once again, he
seemed to have no idea where his hands were, where the rest of his
body was—</p><p>The call sounded in
his head like a thunderclap at the same moment he came. Draco sagged
back against the pillows, exhausted, and knew his decision was made.
Harry gently drew back. Draco heard more spells, all of them quiet
enough not to disturb him; they cleaned him up, and Vanished his
shirt, and settled him under the covers. Harry's hand brushed
through his hair, and Draco turned his head so that he could kiss the
palm.</p><p>"I'm going to
Declare," he whispered.</p><p>"On Midwinter?"
Harry's voice matched his for quietude, as if they would disturb
something sacred by speaking of the Declaring ritual any more loudly.</p><p>"Yes," Draco said,
because he wasn't sure his head would move if he tried to nod. "And
Harry, I love you."</p><p>"That, I knew."
Harry's lips brushed along his cheek like his hand, and then Draco
found himself spilling into the first genuinely unbroken sleep he'd
had in more than a week. He had nothing to feel sorry for, and
Declaring would satisfy the needs of his soul without changing his
relationship with Harry.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry leaned on the
wall of the dungeon corridor and shivered. He <em>knew</em> he had to
do this. He couldn't have half of honesty and not the other half.
He couldn't bask in the approving looks from Draco and Snape if he
only had words and not actions to inspire them.</p><p>But he didn't want
to do this. The reluctance was so strong that he almost turned back
in the direction of the Slytherin common room. Harry was sure that
Draco would still be sleeping, and he could join him. He imagined
slipping under the covers and sliding his arms around his boyfriend,
the warmth of his body, the softness and scent of his hair—</p><p>And then he reminded
himself that he was standing in the middle of an open hallway, and
let the thoughts subside, and knocked firmly on the door in front of
him.</p><p>Joseph opened it a
moment later. He paused when he saw Harry, and studied him carefully.
Harry tossed his head like a nervous horse—he couldn't quite help
the gesture—but returned the gaze, and then Joseph nodded, as if
either the gesture or the gaze had helped him decide.</p><p>"You're ready to
talk now, Harry," he said, and opened the door further. "Come
inside."</p><p>Harry did. Joseph's
quarters were not as finely decorated as Vera's had been when she
stayed in Hogwarts, but of course she had not stayed in the dungeons,
either. Joseph had hung his maps on the walls with charms to protect
them from the damp stone. Under and beneath and over them hung
banners that Harry hadn't seen before. He squinted, but couldn't
make anything of the symbols on them. Now and then he thought he saw
something that looked like the crest of a Hogwarts House, but he
doubted it was, and the next moment the familiar figure had blended
back into a sea of chaos.</p><p>"Here we are."
Joseph nodded, and Harry turned away from the confusion of the walls
to see that a table stood in the center of the room, with a chair on
either side of it. Harry took the one nearest the door, and Joseph
smiled faintly at him and took the other. He leaned forward, eyes
intent. "Suppose that we start with you telling me what <em>you</em>
would like to talk about, Harry."</p><p>"I reckon we should
begin with Kieran's death," said Harry reluctantly. "If only
because you seemed concerned over it, and I don't understand why
you were."</p><p>Joseph leaned back in
his chair. "What would you say if someone else told you he'd been
suicidal, Harry, if only for a few moments?"</p><p>Harry swallowed. "I
would be concerned about him."</p><p>"And?"</p><p>"I'm not like
everyone else." Harry clenched his hand in front of him, feeling
shards of emotion poke at him like broken bones. At that moment, he
really did wish the Breaking of Boundaries ritual had repaired all
the walls it ripped down. "And it really was only a few moments,"
he added. "I wouldn't commit suicide unless—" <em>Damn. </em>He
hadn't meant to say that last word.</p><p>Joseph raised his
eyebrows, and said absolutely nothing.</p><p>Harry looked aside.
"Unless I caused the world more trouble alive than dead," he said
softly. "There might come a time when it's necessary. I've
always known that. If Voldemort made me into a weapon somehow, if he
managed to possess me, or if I went mad and became a Dark Lord, then
I would want to be dead. I wouldn't want to give my friends the
burden and grief of dealing with me."</p><p>"Why would you have
killed yourself when Kieran died?" Joseph asked.</p><p><em>That question I can
answer. </em>"I made a promise to protect him," Harry said simply.
"I know now that nothing could have kept him away from Loki, not
once Loki invoked that vengeance ritual, but I didn't know that
then. I should have made wards or spells or preparations of <em>some</em>
kind that would defend him. The same thing happened when the children
in the Life-Web died. There should have been <em>some</em> way for me
to save them."</p><p>"Some things are
impossible," Joseph said. "Do you realize that, Harry?" He
sounded slightly bemused. Harry supposed it wasn't something he had
to explain to most people he talked to.</p><p>"And I'm supposed
to be the answer to impossibilities," Harry snapped. "I'm
<em>supposed</em> to be able to do things that other people can't.
That's what having Lord-level power means. Instead of casting Dark
spells that torture people or manipulate them into doing what I want,
I happen to prefer saving and healing. And people become used to
thinking of me as able to do any healing and saving that needs to be
done. So when I do run up against something I can't change, I start
aching."</p><p>"Suicide is still a
rather extreme response to that kind of failure," Joseph noted.
"Especially since it would prevent you from saving or healing
anyone else in the future."</p><p>Harry hissed in spite
of himself, and wished he had ears to lay back. <em>Lingering poison
from the dreams of Voldemort, my arse. My Animagus form is a lynx,
and the sooner Peter accepts that, the better and faster he can train
me. </em>"I know it is," he said.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>He folded his arms and
scowled at the floor.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>"I don't—I don't
want to be the kind of person who doesn't keep his promises,"
Harry said to the floor. "I don't want to be the kind of person
who hurts his friends. I don't want to be the kind of person who
wounds the world the way that Voldemort does, the way that Dumbledore
did."</p><p>"And?"</p><p>"To avoid becoming
that kind of person—if I thought there was no way I could benefit
anyone by remaining alive, but would only hurt them—then I would
kill myself, yes." Harry raised his head and stared at Joseph.
'That's the way I <em>am</em>. And I know that you're probably
going to say suicide is a selfish act, but I'm talking about
extremes, rather like the situation with Kieran or the Life-Web. No,
I'm speaking about something even more extreme than they are,
because I could still benefit Draco and Snape, if no one else, by
remaining alive then. If there ever comes a point where it would be
more selfish to live than to die, then of course I'm going to die."</p><p>Joseph sat in silence
for long enough that Harry began to hope he didn't know how to deal
with this, and would let him go for right now. He hadn't put his
conviction in quite those words before, but of course it was true.
How could it not be? He might set safeguards on himself, like the
monitoring board; he might have people who loved him for himself,
like Draco and Snape. He was much more healed than he had been five
years ago. He knew what love for people besides Connor was. He knew
that what his parents had done to him was abuse.</p><p>But he still did not
know how to value his life simply because it was life. Harry was
hoping fervently now that it was the kind of knowledge he would never
learn. What mattered was how he lived, not that he lived. In the end,
when all the other guards were gone, the final judge of his impact on
the world had to be himself. And if he did nothing but scar it, how
could he justify staying alive?</p><p>"And for others?"
Joseph asked.</p><p>"I don't know what
you mean," Harry said pleasantly.</p><p>"If you thought your
brother was only scarring the world by remaining alive," Joseph
said, "would you tell him to kill himself?"</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Harry, recoiling at the thought. "I don't think he ever
could arrive at that point. Besides, even if he did consider suicide,
he would have to make the decision on his own. I couldn't interfere
with his free will like that."</p><p>Joseph stared at him
in silence a moment longer. Then he said, "You have most unusual
views on life and death, Harry."</p><p>"But that's a good
thing, right?" Harry persisted. "If suicide is a fundamentally
selfish decision, then it's good that I'm showing some
selfishness, isn't it?"</p><p>Joseph put his head in
his arms and sighed. Harry watched him, a bit irritated. It seemed
that when he <em>did</em> arrive at and believe in whatever conclusions
they wanted to foist on him, there was always another set of them
waiting just beyond, and then they were angry because Harry didn't
believe in <em>them</em> yet.</p><p>At last, Joseph said,
"And if your Malfoy considered suicide?"</p><p>Harry flinched.</p><p>"You don't want
him to, do you?" Joseph leaned forward. "And yet you can sit here
and tell me that you would judge your life as if it were a toll
exacted on or paid to the world, and if you found it only exacted,
you would cut it short." His voice simmered with a passion that
Harry didn't understand.</p><p>Harry swallowed a few
times. Then he said, "Yes, it would hurt. <em>Merlin</em>, it would
hurt." The mere thought of Draco with his wand aimed at himself, or
a knife in his hand, made Harry's skin crawl up his spine trying to
get away. "But it would still be his decision. I would argue with
him if I thought he was under the Imperius Curse or otherwise
influenced from the outside, and I would need loads of proof that he
wasn't. If it were under his own free will, then I would have to
stand aside. I would <em>have</em> to. I would hate it, but I would
<em>have</em> to."</p><p>Surprisingly, Joseph
smiled. "At least, there, you do see yourself and others in the
same light," he murmured. Then he leaned forward again. "And now
I wanted to ask you about what you think might make your life worth
living, beyond the pleasure that you receive from helping and healing
others."</p><p>Harry sighed. "This
is going to be about how things taste again, isn't it?"</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry waited patiently
outside the castle for Connor to come back from Care of Magical
Creatures. It was an unusually beautiful day for mid-November, the
rush of clouds across the sky polishing it to the color of diamond,
and the sun lingering as if reluctant to abandon the world, even
though the clouds were racing to meet it. Harry could smell frost in
the wind, and he wondered, absently, if the blessing Remus had spoken
for him would soon come true after all, snow and pine needles.</p><p>He heard laughter on
the edge of his perceptions, mad, exultant laughter. He ignored it.
The wild Dark could call Draco all it wanted, and he was already
preparing for the ritual that he would hold on Midwinter. But that
didn't mean Harry had to listen to it. He told the laughter to go
away.</p><p>In a few days, Harry
thought, leaning back to breathe in the wind, it would be a year
since his parents' trial. He shook his head. He could not even have
imagined that he would feel <em>this</em> way a year later, after the
broken mess he'd been then. But at the time, he didn't think he
had really conceived of living beyond the few days in which the trial
would take place. He had thought too much of rescuing James and Lily,
and not enough of what would happen afterwards.</p><p>"Harry!"</p><p><em>There</em> was his
brother. Harry put the unhappy thoughts away, and rose to his feet
with a smile. Then he raised his eyebrows, and wondered if not
telling his brother that he wanted to play a Seekers' game with him
was the best idea after all. Parvati trailed behind Connor, not
exactly beside him, but close enough that Harry could entertain the
idea of them having a conversation.</p><p>"Connor," he said,
and nodded to Parvati. She looked at him with haunted eyes for a
moment, then shook her head and walked past him into the castle.
Harry forced himself to drop those thoughts, too, just like the
broken memories of his parents' trial. In the past few days, he
hoped, his Occlumency barriers had finally started to recover from
Halloween. He would be grateful when they were back to full strength,
and he could control his own mind in the way to which he'd become
accustomed. "I thought we'd fly together, if you had no
objection."</p><p>"Of course not."
Connor grinned at him. "I can show you the move that won me the
Snitch and the Gryffindor-Slytherin game."</p><p>"I can counter it,"
said Harry, feeling a rush of simple happiness that didn't have its
origin, for once, in anything complicated he had done to help the
world. His brother's grin brought back too many memories of flying
together in Godric's Hollow. Harry had held himself back, yes, so
that neither his parents nor his brother had ever guessed his true
skill on a broom, but that had become second nature by the time he
was eight or nine, and then he had enjoyed the games by riding on top
of his instincts, and having fun. He was curious to see if he could
recapture the feeling now that it wouldn't have that quiet,
simmering satisfaction of knowing he was obeying Lily underneath it.</p><p>"No, you can't."
Connor rolled his eyes. "It's a move that Ron and I developed,
one you've never even <em>heard</em> of."</p><p>"And Ron isn't
here right now," Harry pointed out.</p><p>Connor narrowed his
eyes then. "That doesn't matter. I'm going to defeat you
<em>anyway.</em>"</p><p>Harry snorted, and
they made for the Quidditch shed, arguing on the way.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor was <em>determined</em>,
this time. The game on Saturday had been wonderful, productive,
brilliant. The Gryffindor team had never flown like that before, but
they were already planning the next time they would fly like that.</p><p>But Connor would still
have felt better about it if they had flown like that <em>and</em>
beaten Harry at the same time. The Slytherin team without him had
floundered so badly that there wasn't as much satisfaction in
defeating them. As Harry had said, the Slytherins had lost so badly
that they didn't really deserve the Quidditch Cup.</p><p>And now Harry had
offered him the chance to show what he could really do, opposite his
brother on a broom.</p><p>Connor picked up his
own broom, the Nimbus, with a tingle of excitement that seemed to
pass through his hands and communicate itself to the wood. He could
hear Katie Bell's voice in his head if he listened, the lecture
she'd given them during their last practice before the game proper.</p><p>"<em>A lot of people
will tell you that flying is like dueling, but they don't mean the
same thing by it that I do. They mean it's a matter of life or
death if you happen to fall off your broomstick or something else
goes wrong in the air. But what it really should be like is that
quickness and cleverness counts. A weaker wizard can win a duel with
a stronger one because he thinks of a spell faster, or he uses a
minor hex in a way that an opponent who only uses the Unforgivables
would disdain. It's the same thing in Quidditch. Your opponent
could have the better broom, and you could still win. In fact, I
think we all know that's possible.</em>"</p><p>Her glance had stabbed
Connor. He'd done his best to stand straight and tall, and nod to
Katie. They'd known by then, of course, that they wouldn't be
playing Harry on Saturday, but Connor had also known that Katie
thought him capable of beating his brother if he <em>were</em> playing.
Harry's Firebolt shouldn't be allowed to make that much
difference, and neither should his battle training. This was
Quidditch, and Connor was good at Quidditch. There was no reason for
him to lose just because Harry was the Seeker on the opposite team.</p><p>Harry had his broom in
hand by now, and had faced the back of the shed. "<em>Accio</em>
Snitch," he murmured. Connor felt the twang of several unlocking
spells undone, and then the Snitch came zipping through the darkness
of the shed and floated around his head.</p><p>Connor snickered.
"Should you have done that?" he asked.</p><p>"Oh, it'll give
the monitoring board one more thing to yell at me about, and that
will make them happy." Harry shrugged and slung his leg over his
Firebolt. "Come on." He raced out the door of the Quidditch shed
before Connor could respond, or even ask why the monitoring board
should care about minor school infractions, the Snitch following him
as if attached to a lead.</p><p>With a surge of
determination, Connor hopped on the Nimbus and rode out the door,
too, though he came perilously close to scraping a shoulder on the
wood. But if Harry could do it, then he could. Will counted for a
lot.</p><p><em>Yes</em>,
said an inconvenient voice from somewhere inside him. <em>Will was
what held Harry back when he could easily have defeated you in your
games as children.</em></p><p>Connor
told the inconvenient voice to shut up. Sometimes he thought like
that, and it galled him. It reminded him too much of the way things
had been. He wouldn't live like that again, mindlessly relying on
Harry's fondness for him to let him win games or do anything else
important. If he was going to defeat Harry, he was going to do it on
his merits.</p><p>Harry was circling
above the Pitch, waiting for him, when Connor made his way out of the
shed. Harry nodded to him, and then released his hold on the Snitch.
The tiny golden ball streaked away immediately, twinkling once before
fading. Connor smiled. The cloudy nature of the day would make it
harder for them to find it, since there was little sun to shine on
it.</p><p>His brother lay along
the Firebolt, his eyes scanning ahead. Connor started wheeling in the
opposite direction, breathing deeply to send himself into the
half-trance most useful for locating the Snitch. He tried to reach
out, to <em>think</em> like it did, to put himself in its place, and
know where he would go to evade the clumsy, grabbing hands of the
waiting Seekers.</p><p>He lost track of what
Harry was doing, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the
sudden flash beneath him, and the way he began diving before the
command to dive entered his head. Good, that was good. If he were
going to defeat Harry on quickness alone, then he would have to think
with his muscles, even before he thought with his brain.</p><p>A glimpse of movement
from the side startled him and broke his trance. He jerked his head
around to see Harry diving in a long, steep curve, flying with only
his knees locked on the broom, his hand extended impatiently forward.
The Snitch darted to the side at the last moment, and Harry cursed as
it escaped.</p><p><em>I don't want to
win just because he only has one hand, either, </em>Connor thought,
and called, even as he kept a desperate eye out for the Snitch, "Do
you want me to tie a hand behind my back, Harry, to make it a bit
easier for you?"</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes
at him as if that weren't worthy of an answer, and Connor supposed
it really wasn't. He turned his glide into another circle, watching
hawk-eyed, certain that he would spot the Snitch in a moment.</p><p>But he didn't, and
moments turned into minutes, and minutes turned into what felt like a
quarter of an hour or a half hour. Connor shivered as the wind cut
through his clothes. They wore only ordinary robes, not Quidditch
gear, other than the gloves. At the moment when they reached the
Quidditch shed, it hadn't seemed possible to take the time to dress
properly. Now, Connor was wishing that that had happened, much as he
was wishing that the Snitch would <em>appear.</em></p><p>Harry swooped past
him, into a long, elegant wave of a dive that pointed him abruptly
straight at the ground. Connor had one moment, just one, to decide if
this was a feint designed to throw him off or the real thing.</p><p>He saw Harry's head,
the way it was bent, and the way his neck muscles twitched, and the
way his hand had already left the broomstick again, as though he
could not bear to keep it flat, and thought, <em>Real.</em></p><p>He followed hard on
Harry's heels, but just beneath him, so that the Nimbus wasn't so
much chasing the Firebolt as shadowing it. He snapped his head up and
down like a bird searching for worms, hoping to see a streak of light
out of the corner of one eye.</p><p>The wind shrieked in
his ears, and then he saw the Snitch, doing a lazy spiral halfway
between him and the ground. Connor let out a shriek of triumph.
Harry's dive had been a feint after all, but it had led him in the
right direction. He plummeted, chasing it.</p><p>Then he saw a shadow
drift past him, and realized Harry had gone <em>beneath</em> the Snitch
and was now rising to catch it.</p><p>Connor's heart
pounded hard as he aimed from above while Harry aimed from below.
Either of them could be foiled in a moment by the Snitch darting off
to the side, but it hovered there as if waiting for them. He could
feel the gold in his hand, and taste eagerness in his mouth. His
fingers twitched. He <em>was</em> going to capture it. He would make
this work. It would work. He was going to make this work.</p><p>He fell, yielding
control of his broomstick entirely to the wind. The Snitch glowed,
and didn't seem inclined to move. Connor's hand shot out, his
fingers curved like claws.</p><p>And Harry swept past
in a blaze of speed and took it away.</p><p>Connor cursed, and
then had something else to curse about as the wind made the Nimbus
buck, very nearly sending him into the Keeper's goal. He locked his
legs desperately on the broom and turned sideways, into the wind,
letting it bear him up and over, and then kicked out of it. The
Nimbus spun twice, then righted itself. Connor sighed and turned to
look at Harry.</p><p>He felt some of his
resentment and desperation melt at the sight of his brother. Harry's
mouth was open with laughter, his eyes bright with it. And he was
waving the Snitch around as if it weren't just a Snitch, but the
answer to defeating Voldemort. Connor thought he could give up a
little satisfaction, for that.</p><p>"I beat you,"
Harry crowed across the distance between them, and Connor
reconsidered.</p><p>"Luck," he said.
"Not skill. And your broom is faster."</p><p>"Speed <em>is</em>
skill, in Quidditch." Harry patted the Firebolt without letting go
of the Snitch, then grinned at him. "Want another one?"</p><p>Abruptly, his head
jerked to the side, and he frowned. Connor looked warily around the
Pitch. When Harry looked like that, Death Eaters tended to appear out
of nowhere. "What is it?" he asked.</p><p>"Someone just came
onto the school grounds," Harry said distantly, staring at nothing
Connor could see. "Someone powerful. Not Voldemort, or I would have
recognized him. Not Falco, either. But I don't see what other
powerful wizard could—"</p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>Connor glanced down.
He recognized the wizard standing at the edge of the Quidditch Pitch:
Thomas Rhangnara. He waved and cupped his hands around his mouth.
Connor couldn't tell if he was simply a naturally loud shouter, or
if he had used some spell to enhance his voice, but Connor heard him
as if he were up on a broom beside them.</p><p>"Jing-Xi is here,"
Rhangnara called. Connor looked at his brother, and wondered why
Harry had turned pale at the name. "With the Headmistress's
permission, of course. She would like to meet you."</p><p>Harry swallowed
audibly, and called back, "Just a moment, Thomas!" He took his
broom down in lazy loops that, while the preferred method for
landing, were not what he normally used, being too slow. Connor
caught up with him on the way down and snagged the Firebolt's
bristles, making Harry look at him.</p><p>"Who is he talking
about?" he asked.</p><p>Harry swallowed again.
"Chinese Light Lady," he said. "One of the researchers who
helped Thomas with the Grand Unified Theory. She said that she would
be interested in meeting me. I just—I don't—I've never met
someone with Lord-level power who wasn't trying to kill me or
manipulate me before. I don't know if there's some special
etiquette I'm supposed to use around her, or not." His hand
scratched the back of his neck, and Connor had to catch the Snitch as
it flew away.</p><p>"If she wants to
criticize you, tell her to save the world first," said Connor
firmly, and pushed his brother on the back. "Do you want me to go
with you?"</p><p>"Jing-Xi wants to
see you alone," Rhangnara called, answering that question.</p><p>Harry gave him a
sickly smile, and then dived. Connor followed, wondering why he was
so nervous. It wasn't as though Harry had known what laws and
courtesies normally bound Lords and Ladies, and had mucked around
actively violating them. No one had ever bothered to tell him what
those laws and courtesies were.</p><p><em>And if she helped
Rhangnara, surely she's reasonable.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry didn't know
what to expect as he halted outside the room that had been Sirius's
office during the years he helped with the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
He could feel Jing-Xi's power beating beyond the door, but he
wasn't close enough yet to tell just what it felt like—or even
whether she might have barriers up to spare him some of the
overwhelming effect or not. He didn't know what to say, what to do,
what kind of etiquette might govern someone in a situation like this.</p><p>He forced himself to
take a few deep breaths and push his emotions into the Occlumency
pools. The barriers held. They would have to hold. He knocked on the
door, and felt the power turn its attention towards him. Or, no, not
the power, the mind. Harry wondered if perhaps that was normal. He
felt his own magic and Voldemort's as something separate from them.
Dumbledore's power, he hadn't felt often enough, and with Falco,
both his magic and his mind were so inhuman that it was hard to
comprehend them. But perhaps the magic was supposed to represent the
Lord's or Lady's personality, rather than just a facet of that
personality.</p><p>He had no idea.</p><p>"Come in," said a
pleasant voice with shades of several accents. Harry cautiously
pushed the door open.</p><p>Jing-Xi was sitting on
a chair in front of the fireplace, which she had Flooed through when
she received McGonagall's permission to come to Hogwarts. She wore
a garment half-gown and half-robe, of bright, pale green mixed with
gold. Her hair was long and black and straight, and drifted around
her like waving tendrils in deep seawater. Her eyes were dark and
bright, and fixed on him at once, expectantly.</p><p>But it was her magic
that Harry was most interested in. He would have been able to tell
she was Declared for Light with no previous warning, he thought. Her
magic curled around him, nudging at him with lively curiosity, but
showed no inclination to venture in where unwelcome. Now and then it
formed into the image of a cat or a winged horse, shadows that foamed
around Jing-Xi and collapsed in on themselves.</p><p>"Hello, Harry,"
Jing-Xi said.</p><p>Harry met her eyes
uncertainly. His right shoulder sagged under a sudden weight, and he
realized the bird had landed on him. He glanced at it and saw that it
was swishing its lizard tail, scarlet eyes fixed on the Light Lady.</p><p>"Hello," he said,
because it seemed polite, and the bird wasn't on the point of
attacking her, anyway. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what kind
of greetings I'm supposed to offer."</p><p>Jing-Xi rose. Harry
was startled to realize how tall she was; she had seemed small in
comparison to the puddle of her gown and her floating hair, but she
stood nearly the height of Bill Weasley. She dipped her head to him
in grave courtesy, then held out a hand. "Clasp my wrist," she
instructed, when Harry continued to hover uncertainly. "Then allow
your magic to flow over mine. That is the customary way of greeting
among those of our power." Her eyes were still bright with
something too gentle to be pity. "And it is not a surprise that no
one ever taught you that, considering what I know of your history."</p><p>Harry felt his face
heat up, but he could hardly deny that he had been abused, or that he
had never encountered someone like Jing-Xi on equal grounds. He
clasped her wrist, and tried to relax the barriers on his magic
enough so that she could understand what he was like without
drowning.</p><p>He realized, quickly,
when the flow of her power came back to him, that she wasn't
worried about drowning, and neither should he be. This sea of magic
was entirely separate from his, and not just because it was Light.
Jing-Xi didn't want to hurt or control him. Harry hadn't realized
how much of a difference that would make. He felt as if he were
gazing into a mirror of light and surging water, while a patient hand
scribed words on the glass so that he could read them.</p><p>Jing-Xi didn't want
to hurt him. She was interested in Harry's unique circumstances,
including the age at which he'd come to his power and the fact that
he was the magical heir of another Lord, which had happened before,
but not very often. She wanted to know more about what he was like as
<em>vates</em>, and she wanted to see Britain's one sane Lord, as she
considered him, take a stable place in the magical community. Those
last two were concerns anyone of Lord-level power might have had, but
the first two were flavored with a delving, driving, focused version
of Thomas's thirst for knowledge. She wanted to know because she
wanted to see how those things mattered to Harry, not just because
they might affect her in the future.</p><p>The communion ended,
and Harry blinked and stepped back. He studied Jing-Xi's face,
trying to figure out what she might have seen about him. Her eyes had
gone wide; he didn't know if that should gratify him or not. She
definitely didn't look bored, or as if the answers to her questions
had been horrible.</p><p>"Sit down, please,
Harry," she said, and resumed her own seat, settling herself with a
shake of her head that sent her hair drifting in new directions. It
didn't go very far, Harry noted; an invisible net seemed to scoop
it up and bring it back close to her head. Jing-Xi saw him watching
it, and smiled.</p><p>"You like this
spell?" she asked. "I cannot claim credit for it, I fear. It was
a gift from Stormgale."</p><p>"Stormgale?" Harry
echoed blankly as he sat down on the other chair. She spoke as if he
should know who that was, but though he now felt he knew Jing-Xi
herself better, the name was still unfamiliar. And the way that
Jing-Xi studied him now made him wonder if he had violated another
unwritten rule. It took all his effort to sit still.</p><p>"Kanerva Stormgale,"
said Jing-Xi slowly. "The Dark Lady of Finland. I had assumed you
knew her. It was partly her power you would have faced when you
battled the wild Dark last Midwinter."</p><p>Harry shook his head,
but not so much in denial of the acquaintance as in wonder. "Did
she <em>want</em> to destroy the British Isles?"</p><p>"Yes," said
Jing-Xi. "Actually." She gave a smile that looked half-sad to
Harry. "It takes a special kind of Lady to give herself to the Dark
and not lose her sanity completely," she murmured. "Stormgale's
sanity did not survive the transition. She wishes for the wild Dark
to destroy the world; she will help it along herself, but she does
not actively take a part in harming others as Tom Riddle does. That
might help somebody along the way, such as by gratifying the enemies
of the people she killed. What she would rather do is gift the wild
Dark with power and hope it can overcome the Light. Her specialty is
winter, the wind and the ice and the storm, and someday she will go
so deeply into them that she will never come back. She was very
irritated when you defeated the wild Dark." Jing-Xi tapped a finger
against her teeth, with an audible ringing sound that made Harry
jump. "That could be why she's never contacted you, come to think
of it. She and I have a friendship of sorts, but physical closeness
to another Lord or Lady means nothing to her. What means something is
finding somewhat of a kindred spirit. So far as I can tell, I am the
only one she has ever sensed."</p><p>"Would I have to
worry about her attacking the British Isles?" Harry asked
anxiously. <em>Just what I need, a mad Dark Lady on top of Falco and
Voldemort.</em></p><p>"I don't believe
so," said Jing-Xi calmly. "As I said, she is selfish. She has no
sworn companions. She does not want to share her life with anyone
except randomly and rarely. In her own way, she obeys the Pact."</p><p>"What Pact?" Harry
could hear the capital letter, but he had no idea what Jing-Xi meant.</p><p>"The Pact among the
Lords and Ladies in the world," said Jing-Xi. "For the most part,
Harry, we do not want war. We know that we could destroy too much of
the world between us. The Dark Lords and Ladies don't want that to
happen because they would no longer have lands and people left to
rule over, and the Light Lords and Ladies don't want that to happen
for the obvious reason. Voldemort is an exception. So was
Grindelwald. And then of course there are the two Lords in Australia,
but they confine their struggles to one another, and keep the Muggles
from noticing anything all by themselves." Jing-Xi shrugged. "So,
though we kept an eye on Voldemort when he returned to Britain and
announced himself twenty-six years ago, we did not do anything to
interfere. His native opposition, the Light Lord Albus Dumbledore,
must handle him, unless he actually extended his efforts at conquest
into another international wizarding community."</p><p>"He has, though,"
said Harry, wondering what in the world the Pact would mean to him as
<em>vates</em>. He was not about to refrain from trying to free a
magical creature species simply because they lived in Africa or Asia
instead of Britain, or, for that matter, if they lived in the rest of
Europe. "He's recruited Death Eaters from other countries."</p><p>"That doesn't
answer the definition of conquest under the Pact," said Jing-Xi.
"He must actually have attacked wizards in those countries,
provably—the Dark Lord himself, in this case, and not his Death
Eaters or people who may have been acting on his orders."</p><p>Harry nodded slowly.
He didn't entirely like the sound of that, but, presumably, their
agreement had endured for so long because it worked. "And because
I'm <em>vates</em>, and webs are melting now because of my presence
in the world?" he asked. "How does that fit in under the Pact?"</p><p>"It doesn't,"
said Jing-Xi. "The Pact is only a few centuries old, and was made
without a <em>vates</em> in mind. It has been much longer since someone
came as far as you did, Harry, and then she fell to using
compulsion." For a moment, Jing-Xi closed her eyes, and shook her
head. "I have read her diaries," she murmured. "She did
remarkable things. And then she tried too hard to demonstrate her
control of magic, and grew more interested in that than in serving
and freeing others, and she was using compulsion inside a month. She
Declared not long after."</p><p>Harry shuddered a bit.
"I will not let that happen to me," he said.</p><p>Jing-Xi regarded him
thoughtfully. "I see that you don't want to let it happen to
you," she answered. "But, at the same time, you must understand
that many of the Lords and Ladies aren't happy with you, Harry."</p><p>Harry snorted. "Well,
you told me that I don't fit under the Pact. But I had no idea what
it <em>was</em>, either, or how to obey it."</p><p>Jing-Xi leaned forward
and squeezed his hand. "That's why I'm here to help you," she
said. "You are unique—the magical heir of another Lord, a <em>vates</em>,
the youngest Lord-level wizard in history, someone who refuses to
Declare. The others don't know what to make of you and would cause
problems because of their uncertainty, or they would sit around
dithering before they would move, or they wouldn't move at all,
like Stormgale. They are willing to leave the problems of reaching
out to you up to me. And I don't mind it, Harry," she added,
before Harry could open his mouth. "You <em>are</em> young. That is
the reason for your ignorance, which you cannot help. Any mistakes
that you have made so far are excusable, because of that. And because
you are Lord-level, <em>not</em> a Lord, there are some things you will
never do the same as the rest of us. I want to help you come to terms
with the Pact—that is necessary, since the others would be sworn to
rise against you if you refused to obey it and started freeing
magical species in a country other than Britain—but also retain
enough of what makes you yourself that you do not surrender what you
are doing. What you are doing is necessary to the world." She
squeezed his hand. "I firmly believe that."</p><p>"If you don't mind
me asking, my Lady—"</p><p>"Jing-Xi, please. We
address each other by first names most of the time, Harry."</p><p>Harry nodded. "How
old were you when your power manifested?"</p><p>Jing-Xi laughed. The
illusion of a wave broke over her head and then faded. "That is a
hard question to answer, Harry. My magic simply never stopped
growing. I should have been able to tell how strong I was at twenty,
but not even my parents could answer that. And then I was stronger
still at thirty, and a Lady-level witch at forty." She gave him a
wistful smile. "My nearest neighbors are the Lords in Australia,
and Stormgale, of course, contacts me only when she wishes to, and I
rarely see my dearest friends, the Light Ladies who live in America
and Mexico, thanks to their constant work. I would appreciate
teaching you, if only to have a connection to, and a friendship with,
another equal of mine."</p><p>"I'm not exactly
equal, my l—Jing-Xi," Harry pointed out. He could tell she was a
bit stronger than he was.</p><p>"You are equal in
all the ways that matter, Harry." Jing-Xi squeezed his hand again.
"At this level, one must stop comparing and accept what comes,
because there are precious few of us in the world."</p><p>Harry felt his
shoulders slump in relaxation. "So you don't mind that I may have
broken the courtesies between us, or violated the Pact without
knowing what it was," he murmured.</p><p>"No." Jing-Xi
stood. "I cannot stay long this time, but I need not teach you
everything all at once, either. Do I have your permission to come
back and approach you again, Harry <em>vates</em>?"</p><p>Surprised at the
sudden formality, Harry blinked. "Why would you need my
permission?"</p><p>"You are,
essentially, Lord of the British Isles," said Jing-Xi. "Voldemort
is mad, and Falco Parkinson abdicated responsibility by retreating
from the world for so long a stretch of time. And I would normally
never step onto another Lord's territory without his invitation."</p><p>Harry kissed the back
of her hand. "You are assuredly welcome, my lady." His heart was
thumping hard, in wonder and joy that he might actually understand
something about what he was. The bird on his shoulder had vanished
already. It approved of Jing-Xi, Harry sensed, and would not try to
harm her.</p><p>"Thank you, Harry."
Jing-Xi smiled at him. "Declared or not, I find a congenial spirit
in you. I think we will work well together." Her smile widened.
"Perhaps I might even persuade Stormgale to meet you, at one point
in the future."</p><p>After the thoughts of
suicide and a carefully restrained present that had haunted him this
week, Harry thought, it was odd to think of a future unmarred by the
presence of Voldemort, a future where he might be what he actually
wanted to be.</p><p>It was even stranger
to think that there was someone as powerful as he was who could help
him in reaching that future.</p><p>"It would be a
pleasure to meet her," he said, and gave Jing-Xi a bow, and if
there was anything wrong with how deeply he bowed, she didn't
correct him.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 63*: Intermission: Now Comes The Night</h2>
			<p><strong>Intermission: Now Comes The Night</strong></p><p>Snape kept his eyes
down as he listened to Regulus pacing in the next room. His hands
never stopped moving, grinding the precise combination of crushed
petals and leaves for the next step of the potion. The Glorious Fire
potion was supposed to be difficult. In reality, Snape knew, the main
difficulty lay in having patience with the liquid and how it needed
to boil long enough to make it. Most brewers could not wait hours,
watching like a lizard on a rock, and still apply the next infusion
of leaves at the precise moment.</p><p>That moment arrived.
Snape dropped in the leaves and stirred the potion with his glass
stirring rod. The potion trembled, and then a tendril of white spread
through the liquid, moving outward from the center, extending itself
in gentle ripples until it was mostly pale with just a drop of blue
in the corner, like a staring eye. Snape considered it. Not as thick
as he would have preferred it to be, meaning the flames would not
burn for more than an hour, but it would do. He moved to gather a
cloth; the potion would need to be strained, a last step to remove
any impurities, and something else that impatient brewers often
forgot.</p><p>"Severus?"</p><p>He did not drop the
cloth. He did not drop the stirring rod. He did not turn around. He
only said, "Black," with as little welcome in his voice as the
lizard watching on the wall might have given a snake.</p><p>"I
need to talk to you."</p><p><em>That is not new</em>,
Snape thought, as he turned back to the cauldron and dipped the fine
mesh into the potion. It clung, dripping, and Snape wrung it out with
counterclockwise motions of his hands, slow and subtle, his gaze
fixed on the size of the splashes the drops made when they hit the
liquid in the cauldron, not on Regulus. What Regulus said would not
be anything he wished to hear.</p><p>"So speak," said
Snape, when some moments had passed in silence and he was certain at
least an eighth of the potion had been properly strained. The thinner
liquid was crowding to the top of the cauldron, floating above the
thicker potion. It reminded Snape of the foam on a mug. And then he
blinked, and the memories were safely tucked away, and it reminded
him of nothing at all.</p><p>"I—"</p><p>And Regulus fell
silent. He had been doing that often of late, Snape thought, as he
picked up a vial and filled it with the thinner, cream-like Glorious
Fire. It was not Snape's fault that he could not finish his
sentences.</p><p>Regulus <em>did</em>
seem to have a secret, from the way he stammered and hinted and
flushed of late. Had Snape not known better, he would have said
Regulus was working for the Order of the Phoenix, even as he was. But
Regulus never spent long periods of time alone; he sought out Snape
and had stunted conversations instead. Snape thought it much more
likely he had a lover somewhere, or was convinced he had "sullied"
himself by casting an unusual Dark Arts spell in the raid last week,
and did not want to admit it.</p><p>"Yes?" Snape
asked, when the silence had stretched long enough to pluck on his
nerves like fingers, and looked up.</p><p>"Do you—"
Regulus made a vague gesture at the Riddle house, and, Snape
supposed, the other Death Eaters who were somewhere in it. "Do you
ever feel like you're not part of them?" he whispered. "That
you don't belong?"</p><p>Snape's eyes did not
narrow, because he willed them not to. Regulus knew better than
anyone the differences between Snape and the rest of the Dark Lord's
followers. He had been the one to pluck at the beauty and grace in
Snape, to force him to see himself as different from those buried
under a rightful flood-tide of hatred and contempt, to make him go to
Dumbledore. That Snape had not shared any of these conclusions with
Regulus was irrelevant. The man knew his differences.</p><p>Which could only mean
that he was talking about his own.</p><p>And Snape did not want
to hear Regulus talking about that. Regulus was not <em>that</em> good
an actor. In truth, Snape thought, he had joined the Death Eaters
because his parents wanted <em>one</em> son who followed the Dark
properly, and he was tolerated mostly because he was the heir of an
undeniably pureblood family. Where someone like Snape, a halfblood,
would have to work hard to prove himself, Regulus's heritage spoke
for him. But he did not have that stable a position, and he could tip
from it if he dared too much.</p><p>To hear Regulus
questioning himself, trying to hatch a conscience that he had not so
far indulged, was to have a vision of Regulus's future death when
his acting skills ran out, as they inevitably must.</p><p>And so came the moment
Snape had known would come, when he must conceal his changed
allegiances from his—</p><p>Well. His. Trying to
give a name to Regulus and what Regulus had done to him was beyond
his abilities.</p><p>"I never feel that
way," he said, and stripped his voice of tone, of emotion, of
inflection that could possibly be taken as encouraging a confession.
"I feel only that I <em>must</em> belong, and if I do not succeed in
one spell or battle tactic, I will try another." His hand rested on
the cauldron. "My potions are my belonging. You know what would
happen if I failed with the Glorious Fire, or any other concoction
that our Lord asked me to brew."</p><p>It was a warning, as
clear as he could give without actually speaking it aloud, of what
would happen to Regulus if he stepped outside the boundaries of his
Lord's tolerance. And given that Regulus did not have even the
leniency that Snape's "devotion" to Voldemort and his skill at
potions had earned him, he would fall faster and further than could
happen to Snape.</p><p>Regulus's face
closed, and he nodded once. "You're right. Of course. My
condolences for your lost time, Severus." He turned and shut the
door behind him.</p><p>Snape stared at the
place where he had been, and tried to soothe the small voice that
whispered this had been a mistake. It had been a mistake for Regulus
to start <em>thinking</em>. He was not intelligent enough to survive if
he did that.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"<em>Morsmordre!</em>"</p><p>Peter Pettigrew
shivered as the snake and skull blossomed on his arm like a cancer.
Snape, standing at his Lord's side—he had been the one to capture
the Muggle Pettigrew had killed, and so he had a place of honor for
the initiation—glared into his old enemy's eyes.</p><p>Pettigrew bowed his
head. Of course, he would know now that Snape was a Legilimens, and
he would want to avoid having his every secret read out of him. Snape
took a deep breath, a slow one so as to avoid making his robes
shudder and reveal his weakness, and locked his hatred in the back of
his mind.</p><p>So Pettigrew had been
among his tormentors at Hogwarts. What did it matter? They were all
in the darkness here. And Snape stood higher in the Dark Lord's
favor than this quivering, cringing coward could ever hope to do. And
while <em>he</em> knew that he had become extremely important to Albus
Dumbledore, even as he used the spying to forge his own path through
the night, Pettigrew had only the very thin satisfaction of knowing
his own fear had made him a traitor to his friends.</p><p>But it did not work.
The impulse to attack was still there. Snape could not even decide
which torture he would use, should Pettigrew suddenly be handed to
him; there were too many poisons, too many painful spells, and he
would use each one with the knowledge that he really wanted James
Potter or Sirius Black to be writhing in front of him. But their pet
would do. He would do very well.</p><p>"Severus, stay."</p><p>Snape fell into a
kneel beside the throne as the other Death Eaters left, Pettigrew
among them now, scurrying along with his head lowered and his
shoulders hunched. He felt Voldemort's hand slide along his skin,
lingering to trace the outsides of his eyesockets. He did not flinch
at the touch. Long practice was the most of that, but his own rage
and hatred had their part to play.</p><p>"You are displeased
that I have accepted this one into my service, Severus," the Dark
Lord whispered.</p><p>"It is not my place
to say that, my lord," said Snape. <em>A breath.</em> "He is yours,
and I will not touch him." <em>A breath.</em> "I hated him, I hate
him still, but I should have left such feelings behind when I entered
the darkness and gave my loyalty to you." <em>A breath.</em></p><p>"You should have,"
Voldemort said. "And I should punish you for threatening our poor,
frightened Peter simply by your glare, and making his arm tremble a
bit when I was casting the Dark Mark."</p><p>"Punish me, my
lord," Snape said. He would use the pain the same way he always
did, to steady his body and clear his mind, and remind himself of who
he was and why he was fighting. "My own disloyalty shames me."</p><p>Voldemort was silent
for a time. Snape wondered if he meant to use nonverbal spells. It
wasn't a common tactic for him, since he wanted his victims and his
enemies to be able to anticipate what he was doing, and make it that
much sweeter for him.</p><p>Then the Dark Lord
said, "No, Severus. Not this time, I do not think. I will ask that
you watch Peter instead. A traitor may betray twice. If you see one
step out of line, if you see one twitch of the little rat's tail
that I have not ordered, then you will report to me at once."</p><p>Snape felt an enormous
peace sweep over him, soothing his hatred with the coolness of foam.
Intellectually, of course, he knew this was a tactic the Dark Lord
often used, setting his own followers to spy on one another, compete
for his favor, and channel their aggressive energy into overthrowing
each other instead of him.</p><p>Emotionally, he did
not care. He at last had one of the Marauders within his grasp. And
should Pettigrew twitch his tail not to Voldemort's orders, then
Snape would perform the torture fully, happily, gladly, and in such a
way as to convince any doubters of what he really was—because, with
Pettigrew, he <em>would</em> be a Death Eater, not Dumbledore's spy.</p><p>"Thank you, my
lord," he whispered.</p><p>There was a look in
Regulus's eyes, later, that said he might have lingered by the door
of the room and overheard. There was a look in Snape's eyes that
warned him not to try interrogation.</p><p>Regulus never did.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS<em><br>
</em></p><p><em>Severus!</em></p><p>Groggy, disoriented,
Snape woke. He had been awake for more than two days, first brewing,
then confirming that the new variation of the Black Plague spores
Adalrico Bulstrode had tried really left none of their victims alive,
then slipping away to report to the Order of the Phoenix, and then
engaging in a "mock duel" with Rabastan. Rabastan would have been
just as happy to kill him, Snape knew, and he could return only small
curses that were practically love taps, since showing his full
strength would have confirmed his hatred for the man, and confirmed
that emotion as a weakness. It was no wonder he had collapsed into
bed the moment he could.</p><p>But it <em>was</em> a
wonder that the Dark Lord had called to him mind-to-mind, a technique
that even a very skilled Legilimens didn't often practice. Snape
stumbled to his feet, made sure he had a robe on, and then hurried
out of his room and towards the throne room, where he knew
instinctively the Dark Lord was, thanks to the call throbbing in his
mind like a sore tooth.</p><p><em>Severus!</em></p><p>Snape ran. His mind
was clearing of fog as he tucked the weariness in his Occlumency
pools, and he knew something was <em>wrong.</em></p><p>He entered the room.
He had no warning, nothing more than Bellatrix's snarled "<em>Crucio!</em>"
Then he was on the floor, spasming with pain, and the Dark Lord was
bending over him, flaying his shields away, looking for evidence
of—Snape didn't know what.</p><p>He had been prepared
for this, of course. The secrets he needed to protect the most,
including his true loyalties, were already sunken to the bottom of
his mind like stones. The rest was foam and water and light, and free
for Voldemort's taking. Those claws raked through his mind, taking
indeed, scraping and stirring and seeking.</p><p>Then his Lord drew
back with a snarl, and, somewhere beyond his screams, Snape heard him
say, "That is enough, Bella. He did not know."</p><p>Reluctantly, or so it
seemed to Snape, Bellatrix let him go. He sat up, gasping with pain,
but controlling himself as soon as possible. There were other people
here, masked and moving restlessly, and he did not know who they
were. He could not reveal weakness in front of them.</p><p>"My Lord," he
whispered, and winced. He had bitten through his lower lip in his
attempts to control the screams, and blood made his words sound
slurred. He waited a moment, spelled it away wandlessly, and spoke
more coherently. "What has happened?"</p><p>"Regulus Black has
turned against me," said Voldemort, precisely and implacably. "I
wished to know if you had joined him in his treachery, Severus."
His scarlet eyes narrowed. "But you did not," he said. "You are
still my most loyal servant."</p><p>Snape sat still. They
did not have Regulus yet, he thought, or he would be here and
screaming. He might have fled. But he would not keep ahead of the
hunters for long, especially since he would probably go to one of the
Black houses. Snape knew much about Regulus, Regulus was his <em>his</em>
in an odd way, but Regulus was not that intelligent. And the Black
houses were warded. He probably felt safe there.</p><p>And he even would have
been, had not Bellatrix, born a Black, also served the Dark Lord.</p><p>The darkness came for
Snape then, for the first time, true night, lapping him and swelling
around him, as he saw what was going to happen—something horrible
he had not caused and could not stop without revealing himself, or,
at the very least, losing his position as Voldemort's trusted
second-in-command.</p><p>Regulus would not live
past this.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 64*: White Wolf, White Moon</h2>
			<p><strong>WARNING: Gore in the
last scene.</strong></p><p><strong>Chapter Fifty: White
Wolf, White Moon</strong></p><p>"But I don't
understand why you wanted to talk to me."</p><p>Harry drew out his
breath carefully, not wanting it to sound like a sigh. He had
encountered unexpected difficulty in talking to Michael. The unhappy
stares at the back of his neck had grown more frequent, and Harry had
overheard Michael and Owen arguing more than once, with the words
"duty" and "sworn companion" prominently mentioned. He had
thought that Michael had grown tired of his service but was too
proud, or too honorable, to break his oath. Harry had determined
releasing him would be the best thing to do in those circumstances.</p><p>Instead, Michael
appeared to understand none of the hints Harry had given him. Harry
was doubly glad now that he had chosen the Room of Requirement to
talk to Michael. It created a private place with thick walls, and
wards that would twang if anyone tried to enter. Harry had not
realized how long this would last, or how direct he would have to be.</p><p>Now he leaned forward
and said as gently as he could, "Michael. You aren't happy, and I
think I can guess why."</p><p>Michael stiffened.</p><p>"You're—entranced
with Draco," Harry continued quietly. He didn't want to insult
Michael by calling a deeper emotion an infatuation, but neither did
he want to assume the other boy was in love if it was only a crush.
"It must make you uncomfortable to be near me, since I'm his
lover and often with him. I'm offering to release you from your
oath so you don't have to keep suffering."</p><p>Michael looked as if
he were drowning, mouth open and dark eyes blinking and flashing and
fluttering with emotion after emotion. Then he shook his head, and
said, "You don't understand me at all, Harry. I doubt that you
ever will, as long as you continue to be blind to what's in front
of you."</p><p>Harry blinked in turn.
"Can you tell me what you mean, Michael?"</p><p>The Room had conjured
a small table and chairs for them, complete with a tea service.
Michael nearly tipped the cups over the side of the table as he stood
up violently, shoving himself back and scattering the chair towards
the far wall of the Room with a kick. Harry used his Levitation Charm
to rescue the objects, and watched Michael's back thoughtfully as
he paced up and down. <em>I did underestimate his fascination with
Draco after all, it seemed.</em></p><p>"I don't
understand how you can just ignore him," Michael continued, in a
low, intense voice. "Isn't it <em>obvious</em> that he wants to be
admired for how beautiful he is, how he carries himself, the smile he
gives when he's perfected an insult?" For a moment, he stood,
staring into space, and then whirled around and glared at Harry. "And
you don't give him a moment of physical admiration. You'll
compliment his intelligence and his will and his bravery until the
world ends, but his beauty slips right past you."</p><p>Harry thought about
that. "I suppose it does," he said. "I wasn't taught to think
of people in terms of beauty, and that influences the way I <em>do</em>
think of them. On the other hand, Draco has never come begging, hat
in hand, for this physical admiration that you seem to think he
needs."</p><p>"He shouldn't have
to beg." Michael folded his arms, wincing a bit. Harry suspected
the lightning bolt scar on his left forearm was twanging at him. This
was close to behavior that most Lords would frown on, even though it
wasn't outright disobedience or hatred of the Lord. "You should
notice. You should give him what he wants—all of what he wants. He
shouldn't even have to <em>ask</em>. If he were my partner, I would
do my best to love and spoil him."</p><p>"Those
aren't the same thing," Harry pointed out.</p><p>"I <em>know</em> they
aren't." Michael took a step forward. "And that's the whole
<em>point</em>, Harry. I want to remain near you, under oath, because
someone has to watch out for Draco's interests. If no one does,
then he's too apt to tumble back into a depression, and start
acting as if your own problems are the only ones that matter. They
aren't, you know. His matter, too, and if you don't start paying
attention to him, you might open your eyes some morning and find that
he isn't there at all."</p><p>Harry wondered if he
should feel jealousy over those words, or worry. Instead, he felt his
lips widening in an amused smile. "That's ridiculous," he said.</p><p>"Is it?" Michael's
voice was low and deep and smug. "Are you <em>sure</em> about that,
Harry? You've never noticed half of what he needs. Are you so sure
that you're what he wants out of life?"</p><p>"He was the one who
chose this joining ritual to use with me," said Harry. "Three
years, it lasts. Plenty of time for us to think about other potential
partners. And he became the magical heir to his family simply so he
could use this particular ritual. We're committed to each other,
yes, Michael."</p><p>"Perhaps he wanted
that time to think," Michael responded insistently. "Don't tell
me you haven't thought of that, Harry. He can love you and still
tire of you. You require infinitely more work than most other
potential partners. Wouldn't he grow weary of healing you at some
point and want more out of life?"</p><p>"I have thought
sometimes that he might," said Harry. "But he hasn't told me so
himself."</p><p>"And you haven't
asked him." Michael was holding his head the way Harry thought the
white stag at Walpurgis might have held it before the hunters. "I
thought so. You're afraid of what he might tell you, aren't you?"</p><p>Harry leaned back and
considered the other boy carefully. He was unsure what to feel. Draco
hadn't said anything to Harry about tiring of him, or needing more
admiration than Harry provided. On the other hand, that didn't mean
he didn't want to. But Michael had every motive to say it was true
even if it wasn't, because he might want Draco for himself.</p><p>In the silence,
Michael started scratching at the lightning bolt scar on his arm, his
expression one of irritation gradually deepening into pain.</p><p>"I'll talk to
Draco about it," Harry said at last. "But what happens if he does
want to stay with me, and the admiration that you mention isn't as
important to him as other aspects of our bond?"</p><p>"Then I still want
to stay close," said Michael. "He might change his mind."</p><p>Harry sighed under his
breath, and stood. "Thank you for talking to me about this, at
least," he said. "But I don't think he's going to change his
mind."</p><p>"You don't know
that."</p><p>There was nothing
Harry could say to that, not when he had seen himself persist in
stubborn hope long past the time when his relationship with his
parents could have been mended. He nodded at Michael and left the
Room of Requirement.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"So I thought I
would ask you," Harry finished, and then sat back and looked at him
expectantly.</p><p>Draco stared at him.
Harry had pulled him away from preparations for the Declaring ritual
that he would hold on Midwinter, and Draco's head still buzzed with
incantations for cold, with the smell of snow, with the thoughts of
what was going to happen when he cast his wand on the ground and took
that first step forward into the endless dark. By contrast, this
matter was so mundane, and so obviously beyond Harry's
understanding, that it was taking him some time to return to the
world and deal with it.</p><p>Harry shifted in his
chair, and tapped his foot on the floor. "I'll understand if you
don't want to talk about it right now, Draco, or if you do need
more than what I can provide," he said quietly. "I've always
understood that."</p><p>"You have not,"
said Draco, and rubbed his forehead, dismissing thoughts of
snowflakes firmly. It wasn't Midwinter yet, and he still had more
than a month before it would be. "What you haven't understood is
that someone could want to be with you despite your childhood and
everything else. You still think of your weak points and the trouble
they cause before you think of the strong ones, or the things that
made me fall in love with you." He took Harry's hand as Harry
gave him a little frown, and clasped it. "Do you remember the list
I gave you for Christmas last year, detailing all the reasons that I
love you?"</p><p>Harry nodded. This
close, Draco could feel that he was shaking. <em>So he isn't as calm
as he was pretending to be. Why not? He must have known that making
it seem like he didn't care wouldn't inspire me.</em></p><p>And then Draco had the
answer to that one, too, and simultaneously wanted to kiss Harry for
being so wonderful and slap him for being so oblivious. <em>He thought
that showing too much emotion about it would influence my decision,
and he wanted me to make it of my own free will. Stupid </em>vates.</p><p>"If I am ever tiring
of you, or want to break off the joining ritual," Draco said
softly, "it won't be an interfering sworn companion who brings
the news to you. I'll let you know, Harry. I <em>promise.</em>" He
couldn't stop his other hand from rising and tugging on Harry's
hair in one of the possessive gestures that he indulged in sometimes,
and which Harry let him perform. "Not that I ever could," he
added, and turned his head to brush his lips against Harry's cheek.</p><p>Harry leaned his head
on Draco's shoulder, butting like a cat, the most vulnerable
gesture Draco could remember him making in months. A few moments
later, he'd pulled away and relaxed entirely, smiling at Draco.
"Thank you," he murmured. "I thought so, but—I wanted to be
sure."</p><p>"Of course you did,"
Draco said soothingly. At least it was an improvement over what Harry
would have done months or a year ago, which was brooding on the idea
until he'd worked himself into the conviction that he had to make
Draco leave him for his own good. "Now go practice your Animagus
training. Tell Peter that you <em>are</em> a lynx, and making you wait
to be sure is just silly. You're a cat, Harry."</p><p>A faint smile, and
Harry was gone. Draco sat back and folded his hands behind his head,
both to stretch—he'd been hunched over a table in the library for
the past five hours—and to shake his mind onto a new track. He
hadn't wanted to entertain these thoughts while Harry was around,
in case he caught a glimpse of one with Legilimency and objected.</p><p>Draco had a lesson to
teach a certain interfering sworn companion, who evidently thought a
bit of harmless flirting meant Draco was dissatisfied with the
bedding and the conversations and the rituals and <em>everything</em>
else he shared with Harry.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS<em><br>
</em></p><p><em>Most Light families
wish for a stranger to enter their house with his wand laid across
his open palms. This displays the weapon in question without making
him go unarmed, which usually promotes feelings of fear and distrust
that are not wished for when encouraging a truce between two
families.</em></p><p>Harry yawned and
rubbed his eyes. The book Aurora had sent him on Light pureblood
traditions was a tedious read, filled with passive voice and
explanations for customs and rituals that Harry generally needed no
explanation for, because they were either obvious from the text or
similar to the Dark dances that he already knew.</p><p>And though Harry had
read many sections of the book twice now, he had still not discovered
an answer to several pressing questions, such as what happened if a
wizard was more dangerous without a wand than with one.</p><p>He slid the book into
the trunk at the foot of his bed. He could do that without waking
Draco, who was sprawled in deep sleep already, his mouth open and
little whistling breaths coming through his nose. Draco was sleeping
better now than he had in weeks, his study during the days—regular
homework taking second place to details of the Declaration ritual and
his Animagus training—exhausting him to the point where he both ate
and rested like a young Granian.</p><p>Argutus met Harry as
he went to the loo. The Omen snake coiled around Harry's arm and
his shoulders, making the odd, tingling hiss that Harry knew meant
contentment, and which he could have imitated either from Draco's
snores or from Mrs. Norris's purrs. "<em>Did you know that the
Ravenclaws have a spell they're working on that lets them track
you?" </em>he asked Harry.</p><p>Harry paused before
the mirror. "You can't understand English," he reminded
Argutus.</p><p>"<em>But I am
learning Latin,</em>" Argutus said brightly. "<em>And now I know
most of the common spell-words, and I can recognize your name.
They're talking about seeing you, and the spell produces a golden
spot of light that moves around the wall of their common room.
They've marked the wall so that it represents most of the locations
in the school.</em>" Argutus wriggled as Harry started to brush his
teeth; he'd regained most of the age and growth he'd lost to the
dust from the time-globe on the Hogwarts Express, and he was
continually struggling for balance on Harry's shoulders. "<em>But
they can't perfect it yet. They keep using the wrong form of the
verb. I tried to tell them that, but no one paid attention to me.</em>"</p><p>"Remember that none
of them can understand Parseltongue, either," Harry murmured, and
considered his reflection dubiously. <em>Do I have to be worried about
this? It's just a spell. But Snape would probably say that one
House in the school trying to perfect a spell like that means that
others are doing the same thing, but with more violent intent behind
it. </em></p><p>"<em>They should try.
If I can learn Latin, they can learn Parseltongue.</em>" Argutus
hung contemplatively from Harry's neck. "<em>Perhaps I can learn
to speak Latin?"</em></p><p>"I don't think
that would work."</p><p>"<em>Why not?"</em></p><p>Harry didn't know
enough about vocal cords and translation spells to satisfy Argutus,
so the snake was still wondering when they went to bed, and he coiled
around both Harry and Draco, an extra, living blanket of warmth.
Harry gathered Draco in his arms and closed his eyes. If he were
lucky, then this sleep would be free of dreams.</p><p>He wasn't lucky.</p><p>The dream started
slowly. Harry seemed to float in darkness, looking down on gleams of
green from a great distance. They could be trees, he thought, but
they weren't trees. He knew what they would be. He'd had this
dream several times already. He waited in silent suffering for the
realization, unable to verbalize it before his sleeping self knew it.</p><p><em>Killing Curses.
</em>They were Killing Curses. And witches and wizards were casting
them at each other, moving in the middle of that great darkness on
the ground, screaming in voices from which everything but terror and
the desire to cause more terror had gone. Harry felt his sleeping
self start and gasp in horror, but he didn't wake up. The invisible
chain on which he hung began to reel more urgently, lowering him
closer and closer to the chaos.</p><p>Everywhere he looked,
people died. The darkness had yielded to firelight, and the light of
other curses, and the white-glitter light of magic that consumed from
the inside. Wizards and witches writhed on the ground, and turned on
their own relatives, and put their wands into their own eyes and cast
<em>Avada Kedavra</em> so that they could escape the nightmare the
world had turned into. Harry watched as dangerous artifacts lay in
the rubble of a building that might once have been the Ministry of
Magic, free to anyone who wanted to come and gather them.</p><p>And he had caused
this.</p><p>That was the message
of the dream, available when he wanted to look at it. His insistence
on casting the stability of the wizarding world to hell and gone had
done this. If he persevered, many people would suffer. If he remained
still and quiet, and considered how to wield his power before he
wielded it, then only a few would suffer. And wasn't that to be
preferred, all things considered?</p><p>Harry had had this
dream over and again, and each time he had been unable to wake up
before it ended or talk about it when he was awake. He had sensed the
magic that ran over and under it like reins, binding the images to
his mind and his mouth to silence. He had not put up any sort of
trouble or rebellion, and the mind that drove it had grown careless
lately, evidently thinking that the quiet meant Harry was considering
his lessons like a good little boy.</p><p>Harry felt himself
drift into a moment just before waking, when the reins started
slipping from his mind.</p><p>He grabbed them and
drew them tight, and his mind shook like a wild horse, and then full
control over it returned to him. Harry heard a shocked gasp resound
in his ears, and he caught a glimpse of a whirling white shape that
might have been a sea eagle and might have been a maelstrom.</p><p>"Hello, Falco," he
said pleasantly.</p><p>The whirling white
figure turned towards him. Harry saw green eyes shining with rage. He
struck hard, plunging himself into them, trying to tear them out of
Falco's imagined head. On a battlefield like this, victory usually
belonged to the wizard who could envision the best solutions, or
understand the mental reflections of magic the best.</p><p>And Falco was no
Legilimens. The magic reaching out to him was dream magic. Scrimgeour
had written to Harry, detailing the information on Falco he had
received from someone called the Liberator, and Harry knew this was
composed of both Light and Dark. That meant Falco could most likely
defend himself from other dreams, should Harry try to turn the trick
back on him, but it was no guarantee that he had Occlumency shields
guarding the more vulnerable parts of his mind.</p><p>Sure enough, Harry
plunged past no more than the usual barriers that most wizards
carried against mental attack. He found himself in a turning,
twisting pattern of wind and water and light. He struck heavily left,
or what was to the left in a place like this, and let a current speed
him along. Now that he was within Falco's thoughts, what would draw
him were memories related to him, and hopefully not just the memories
of the times Falco watched him and thought him a very naughty boy.</p><p>Harry knew what he
would <em>like</em> to find, but he had no idea if he stood any chance
of finding it.</p><p>The current slammed
him straight into a barrier rather like a reef, and Harry reeled
back, gasping for breath. Then he saw the memory in front of him, and
he reached out and grasped it greedily.</p><p>The image enveloped
him completely. Harry stood on the ridge of a hill in front of a wood
that gaped with incredible green. He wasn't sure if it was the
Forbidden Forest or some place similar, but it sang with magic to
him—and webs. Harry had to grit his teeth and turn his back on the
trees so that he could concentrate on what the two wizards who
occupied the ridge were saying.</p><p>One was Falco, his
face a good deal more patient than it had ever been when Harry met
him. The other was a young Albus Dumbledore. He didn't wear robes,
but a suit that made Harry think this was the late nineteenth
century. At least, it might be if Dumbledore had any realistic grasp
of Muggle fashions. Harry reminded himself that he didn't know that
for certain.</p><p>Falco gestured with a
staff twined with flowers and vines. "Yes, I was Headmaster for
only a year, Albus. And I regretted becoming the Lord of Hogwarts
almost the moment I persuaded the governors to accept me."</p><p>"Why, sir?" Harry
wondered if he had ever heard Dumbledore's voice sound respectful
before this. Perhaps the time he had viewed another memory of
Dumbledore with Falco, the time when the older wizard had explained
that it was impossible to become a <em>vates</em> without sacrificing
one's magic.</p><p>"Because I
discovered that obedience was almost impossible to achieve." Falco
spoke with condescending regret so thick in his voice that Harry
found he would have liked to give him a right good thumping.
"Sculpting a child's mind <em>must</em> happen young. Without that,
a child reaches the age of eleven, and comes to Hogwarts, and though
you might try to teach him obedience, he's already learned too much
of the evil ways that his family encourages. He'll think of himself
before anyone else. He'll think of goals and ambitions instead of
limitations. And especially if he's magically powerful, he'll
grasp at the future and try to rip off a piece for himself instead of
asking if such change is really for the best."</p><p>Dumbledore nodded
solemnly. "And that's why you really gave it up, sir? Because it
was no good?"</p><p>"It was no good for
<em>me</em>," Falco corrected gently. "But I didn't know as much
about the ethics of sacrifice then as I do now. Perhaps if I were to
go back and try again, I would find it more congenial. But I do not
have the time or the inclination to try. I do encourage you to keep
trying, Albus, not to let up on your ambitions. Someday, you will
make a wonderful Headmaster of Hogwarts. But try not to let your
charges indulge in too much rebellion. It ruins them.</p><p>"Come to think of
it," Falco added musingly, "perhaps the reason I never succeeded
was that Hogwarts in my time carried so many predominately pureblood
students—though I know many halfbloods who slipped through
pretending to be pure. With Muggleborns, you might have better luck.
They're isolated in our world. When they enter, they don't know
anyone, and sometimes they'll cling to <em>anything</em> that
promises them a solid perch."</p><p>"And I should never
encourage disobedience from them, sir?" Dumbledore seemed a bit
doubtful. "Octavian says that sometimes a bit of slack on the lead
rein is good for the soul."</p><p>"Octavian is a
Malfoy," said Falco flatly. "Of course he would say that. Just
remember, Albus, the Malfoys always mean to be the ones <em>holding</em>
the rein, not the ones on the other end of it."</p><p>Dumbledore nodded.
Harry studied him warily. He was not sure which was stranger, to see
him alive again or to see his face without his long white beard.</p><p>"If a child disobeys
you, then he disobeys the ethics of sacrifice that I am passing on to
you," said Falco. "A few slips may be acceptable, if you discover
them early enough and then press down the net all the harder. Such a
slip must never happen twice. The mistakes must always be new and
fresh. And I do hope that you don't make mistakes of your own,
Albus. Unless you disbelieve in everything I'm teaching you, of
course."</p><p>"Of course not,
sir," Dumbledore hastened to assure him.</p><p>The force of the wind
and water pulled Harry out of the memory then, but he was grinning,
in spite of knowing that he'd seen the seeds of his mother's
corruption planted in that memory, and his own abuse.</p><p><em>I thought so. The
three times that my parents defied Dumbledore, and made him one of
the Dark Lords to fulfill the prophecy, could also be the three times
they defied Falco. Now, of course, I just have to be sure that all
their disobedience actually rested on flouting the ethics of
sacrifice. Peter's told me one incident that qualifies, when my
parents ran away on the eve of the First War. Now—</em></p><p>And then magic struck
him full force, and shoved him tumbling into the air.</p><p>Harry found himself
landed violently back into his body. He started awake with a shout
that made Argutus crawl to the other end of the bed, hissing, and
Draco grab him and hold him firmly.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>Harry didn't answer
him for a moment, scanning his own mind with a restless gaze. He
couldn't sense a trace of Falco anywhere within it. Of course, he
hadn't sensed a trace of him before, either. But the compulsion to
keep silent on the subject of the dreams should be broken now, so he
could go to Snape and ask for help in cleansing any lingering taint.</p><p><em>If I should. Do I
want to press more troubles on him when he's struggling with his
own evil dreams?</em></p><p>"Harry," Draco
said, and shook him. "What was that nightmare about?"</p><p>The choice had been
taken from him, Harry realized. He had to do what he could to explain
the nightmares, or Draco would talk to Snape, and that would mean
shouting and scolding. Really, Harry supposed, life was simpler when
he did talk about his nightmares and other things he suffered.</p><p><em>But I can't seem
to care about them as much as others want me to. </em>Only yesterday,
Joseph had talked to him for two hours about how Harry should have
some appreciation for his own life outside of what it meant to other
people. He had appeared overly excited when Harry cautiously
mentioned that sometimes he liked watching sunrises. Harry had kept
his pity for Joseph's excitement to himself.</p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>A fearful tone had
crept into Draco's voice. Harry shook his head and forced himself
to start talking about the dreams. At least they weren't as
frightening as his visions of Voldemort—Falco was simply an amateur
when it came to designing nightmares—and he had some hope of
resisting them now.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Are you all right?"
Draco asked, when his touch on Harry's shoulder had made Harry jump
for the third time that day.</p><p>Harry nodded and
stuffed his hand into his robe pocket. "Of course. Just—restless."</p><p>He knew why. Today was
a typical day in late November, with perhaps a touch more of a
nipping wind in the air than usual, and the first proper snowfall
they'd received yet, large enough for the first-years to make balls
out of and throw at one another. But tonight was the first night of
November's full moon.</p><p>Harry had felt the
magic boiling in him the moment he woke. It wasn't a power he'd
encountered before, even when he was around his pack as they
transformed. For one thing, it had a raw, brutal edge that infected
<em>him</em> with wildness, instead of letting him merely sense and
appreciate it. For another, it had the feeling of a great stretched
cord about it, as though its end terminated somewhere far in the
south and west. Harry remembered Thomas's theory that the werewolf
curse had its origin in the ancient Americas, and had crossed to
Europe sometime in the last ten thousand years, and wondered.</p><p>He had made his own
choice. He would let the magic of Loki's vengeance ritual envelop
him tonight, and travel with the rest of the pack to—wherever it
was Loki waited. He had consulted with Camellia, and though she
refused to tell him exactly what would happen, she'd reassured him
it was safe. She'd even reassured Draco and Snape, who'd taken a
great deal more convincing. Harry had finally managed to hush them by
pointing out that this was rather like the truce-dance, or fighting
the Dark at Midwinter: something wild and dangerous he didn't have
a great deal of control over, but which should protect him as long as
he stayed within carefully maintained boundaries.</p><p>Draco guided him
across the grounds and into the courtyard, where Harry locked his
legs and refused to go further. Being inside walls today only
increased the restlessness. He turned his head, wondering if he would
sense something different should he face in the direction where Loki
stood right now. But the twanging pull remained the same no matter
how he turned.</p><p>"I'll give you a
Calming Draught if it'll help, Harry," Draco murmured into his
ear.</p><p>Harry shook his head
and rubbed his palm on his robes to dry it of sweat. "No. I—I can
do this, Draco. Whatever this is." He gave Draco a smile. Draco
looked as if he were reconsidering his decision to let Harry go.</p><p><em>If he reconsiders
at this point, I doubt it'll make much difference. </em>The pull had
grown taut in Harry's nerves and spinal cord. Snape could try to
hold him back, and so could McGonagall, and Draco could possess his
body and try to control it. None of that would matter in such a short
while.</p><p>Draco touched him
again, and Harry spun, snapping his teeth. Draco retreated with his
hands held up before him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.</p><p>"So am I." Harry
pressed his hand to his forehead. It was still hours from the full
moon. He shouldn't be reacting like this. "I don't understand
what I—"</p><p>The pull grew so
fierce and sharp that Harry turned and took several steps forward,
towards the gates of Hogwarts. Howls cascaded past his ears, and in
his nostrils was the smell of snow and pine needles. The odd blessing
Remus had given him when they parted was meaningful now.</p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>"It's full moon,
wherever Loki is," Harry whispered, and then he took another step
forward and departed.</p><p>It wasn't
Apparition. He flew instead of squeezing through nothingness. Harry
thought it was something like his adventure with the Time-Turner from
his third year. Clashing waves of impressions swept and sang over
him. He heard snatches of ancient languages, and the laughter of
people long dead, and the howls of wolves that no longer walked the
earth. The howls quickly became the loudest sound, and pressed
against his ribs like knives, and then squeezed him after all, out
and down and <em>through.</em></p><p>Harry opened his eyes
slowly. He stood on white snow, in the center of a dim, deep forest.
He turned his head, snuffling. He was a wolf, and the fur clad his
limbs like a warm robe. Harry looked at it, trying to determine what
color he was, but the change, or perhaps the moonlight, had stolen
his ability to distinguish between shades that fine. He only knew he
was dark, perhaps black, perhaps a thick gray.</p><p>The trees were giant
spruces, soaring and meshing into one another, except for wide
clearings here and there like the one in which the pack stood. Harry
drank the smell of needles, and of snow. That was the sharpest, most
prevalent scent. The world was full of tin. He sniffed, and caught
different mixtures. The snow on the ground was different from the
snow on the branches of the spruces.</p><p>In fact, it was
different from any smell Harry had ever caught, altogether wilder and
more spirited and more intense. He didn't think he could attribute
that just to his new body. He didn't think they were in England any
more. He <em>knew</em> they weren't in the same century any more.</p><p>Around him stirred the
pack, the members sniffing and rubbing cheeks and jowls and noses.
Tails boiled the air, and nails scraped the ground, and streams of
piss turned the snow a color Harry knew was yellow, though right now
the scent was the most interesting thing about it. The scent told him
age and sex and state of health and pack rank and proclivity far more
clearly than a name could have. He sensed Camellia towards the front,
and moved in her direction.</p><p>She made a wonderful
sight, standing there, her shadow thrown long and defiant across the
open ground. Harry had always thought a werewolf unnatural compared
to a wolf, too long of leg and square of muzzle; in fact, Remus had
claimed the same thing. But in this forest, Camellia looked as if she
belonged. She surveyed them all, ears twitching, tail up, gaze so
calm that Harry found himself relaxing. He might not know what was
going to happen, but she did. He was certain of it.</p><p>And then the pack
turned. Harry felt the currents of the packmind flowing around him,
bypassing him. He yelped in mourning, and then saw who had entered
the clearing, and went rapt and still himself.</p><p>Loki stood there in
his wolf form, pale, white enough to fuzz into invisibility where his
fur collided with the moonlight. His amber eyes were two glittering
points of brightness in the midst of it all. His scent proclaimed him
chosen, and marked out, and no longer a part of the pack.</p><p>And it proclaimed him
something else, something Harry was trying hard to deal with at the
moment.</p><p>Loki turned and surged
into the forest. The pack followed him, a near-soundless rush, the
impact of paws on snow a great deal more silent than Harry would have
thought it could be. He found himself running with them, his nostrils
full of knowledge, his ribs full of bruising brushes from larger and
stronger bodies, his throat full of sorrow.</p><p>This was not a chase.
This was not a following to a great clearing where Loki would dance
his death dance and then die, as Harry would have said when he was
human.</p><p>This was a hunt.</p><p>And Loki's scent
proclaimed him prey.</p><p>He ran fast. Harry saw
his shadow sweep ahead, but only for a few moments. He was gone,
then, dashing across the needles like a hawk in flight, burying
himself in the lees of the spruces. Had there been undergrowth in the
way, Harry thought they might not have been able to follow at all.</p><p>But this forest had
many wide open spaces on purpose, and a lack of undergrowth. It had
been made for such hunts. Harry wondered if anyone ever used it for
anything else.</p><p>Camellia howled. In
moments, the pack took up the sound, baying like hounds, baying like
horns, baying in full voice. Loki kept silent. Of course he did,
Harry thought, even as his own timid howl mingled with the others;
he'd never done this before. The stag did not speak when he was
hunted. It was the wolves that did, singing salute and hail to their
prey.</p><p>And <em>farewell,
farewell, farewell.</em></p><p>Harry dodged around
trees and scrambled up slopes that would have left him tired and
panting in moments as a human. Scents and sounds, more than sights,
guided him, and warmth nearby let him know when one of his packmates
ran close. His fur shielded him from the cold. Shadows flashed a
swift death and died, judged in instants by instincts Harry hadn't
known he had and regarded as neither food nor enemy nor brother, and
therefore quite useless. He ran, and tasted the joy of what the
werewolf transformation could be, at least under the influence of
Wolfsbane. Mind and body sang the same song, without introspection,
without judgment, without second-guessing.</p><p>Save that under the
wolf, somewhere, struggled the mind of a very human boy who knew what
would happen when they reached the end of the hunt, and was desperate
to find some way to escape it.</p><p>The magic was too old,
too strong, Harry realized as they topped a ridge and scrabbled down
among boulders, the spruces fading around them. It had changed him
into a wolf. It had brought him, and the others, here, parting time
like water. He could not resist it. And Loki had chosen this fate
when he embraced vengeance. The magic had given him the ability to
pass through Harry's wards and resist Harry's spells.</p><p>And now it would claim
its price.</p><p>Harry wondered if it
was perversity, custom, or individual stubbornness that had made Loki
offer him the chance to participate in this, a ritual that the pack
had obviously known well and he did not.</p><p>The pack's cry burst
around him again, swelling and whirling and drifting down like snow.
Ahead of them, the ground broke into a deep ravine, one too wide to
span by leaping. It was a place they might have cornered a stag,
proud lord of the forest, whirling around to face them with stamping
hooves and head lowered, antlers brought to bear.</p><p>Loki was no stag, but
he was the prey. He turned, with his back to the ravine, his flanks
heaving with his panting, his lolling tongue a darker slash against
his pale fur. Harry saw him lift his head for all that, standing with
his throat and chest bared to the teeth of the first rush.</p><p><em>Willing sacrifice.</em></p><p>The magic howled all
around them, a tide heavy and thick as blood, an ancient voice that
gave and then took away again. Harry felt no sentience from it, as he
did from the lizard-tailed bird or the vicious power that belonged to
Voldemort. This was magic that had been old when wizards were
learning how to make wands, that understood only the terms of a
bargain always made and always kept, a bargain that it was not
possible to break once it had been enacted.</p><p>Harry knew its name
then, and it was <em>hunger.</em></p><p>Camellia surged
forward from the edge of the pack, and whirled as she came close to
Loki, her teeth shutting on the fur of his chest. Harry saw her
wrench her head sideways. The white fur tore. Blood sang down his
body and spattered on the snow. Loki swayed, but remained on his
feet.</p><p>Camellia flung her
jaws back, and chewed.</p><p>And Harry felt the
sacrifice travel <em>into</em> her, and he understood, then, why Loki
would have made a bargain like this. It was not merely to avenge the
murder of his mate, though that doubtless must have been a factor.</p><p>Each bite taken would
spread his blessing to the pack. Each wolf who ate of him would
absorb part of his power, and since he died a willing sacrifice, the
magic was doubly or triply potent. Loki had given his pack to Harry
because he did not believe that he could be a good alpha to them any
longer. But he had still abandoned them, in a sense, and he was
making up for that abandonment now.</p><p>Harry didn't know
why this should come as a shock to him. The notion of eating an enemy
and gaining of his strength had been prevalent in some human
cultures, too, at some points.</p><p>But he did know that
he could not be part of it. If he had been fully absorbed into the
magic of the ritual, then maybe…maybe. But he was still a wizard,
and not a werewolf, and so he found the strength to gain control of
his legs and back away, to the very edge of the pack.</p><p>He stood there with
his nose buried in the snow, shielding it as best he could from the
scent of blood, while wolf after wolf went forward and took his or
her turn at the feast. He was not sure when Loki died. Perhaps life
would linger in him until the last bite was consumed, or until the
blood and flesh and organs had been eaten and only fur and bones were
left.</p><p>He became aware of a
pale shape crouched close beside him. Turning, Harry saw the ghostly
form of Gudrun, Loki's mate, who had accompanied him to Kieran's
slaying.</p><p>Harry stared at her in
silence. She regarded him with enormous dark-silver eyes, and then
stretched out her tongue and licked his cheek, as she had when she
and Loki came for Kieran. Harry felt her saliva trickle down his fur,
cold even through its protection, chill as steel or death.</p><p>He wondered if the
lick was her way of trying to explain to him the grand and terrible
and wonderful thing happening here, too terrible and wonderful for
him to grasp.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes
and lay down in the snow, folding his paws beneath him and tucking
his tail around his nose. He could not stop the sacrifice. Apart from
the strength of the ritual's magic, Loki had chosen this path.
Harry had told Joseph that he would not prevent someone else's
freely chosen suicide, and he had meant it.</p><p>He had simply not
thought he would be forced to prove it so soon.</p><p>He did not know how
long it lasted, only that it seemed to last forever. The moon was
setting when Camellia's nose nudged at him and pulled him to his
feet, but since it had risen before this time in England, Harry
thought it might still be aloft at home.</p><p><em>Home.</em> The word
had never sounded so good to him.</p><p>He walked beside
Camellia for a few stiff steps, and then—he could not help it—he
turned to look back.</p><p>He did not see the
small mangled pile that might be all that was left of Loki's
earthly remains. He saw the ghost of Gudrun, rearing, as a silvery
shape flew at her, gaining form and coherence as it moved. It was
Loki, a strong-chested wolf, set free from grief and life at last,
nipping his mate's shoulder to get her to play with him.</p><p>Harry watched them
tumble and chase each other, a pair of pale wolves beneath the pale
moon, whirling out over the ravine. When they reached the far cliff,
they hovered for a moment, noses touching, tails wagging.</p><p>Then they leaped,
skimming over the boulders and the sheer drop, ascending towards the
stars. They faded as they rose. Harry knew he would never see them
again, or know where they went.</p><p>He bowed his head and
followed the push of Camellia's gently insistent muzzle, back
towards the clearing where the magic would change him again into a
wizard and bear him back to the world he understood.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 65*: Ideals of Restraint</h2>
			<strong>Chapter Fifty-One: Ideals of Restraint</strong>

<p>It wasn't
hard to catch Michael's eye, not when the other boy almost drooled on himself
the moment he saw Draco. <em>Now I know why my mother never wanted people
fawning on her, </em>Draco thought, waving Michael over to him as he stood just
outside the Great Hall. <em>However would one get the stains out of one's robes?</em></p><p>"Was there
something you wanted, Draco?" Michael looked as if he wanted to draw his wand.
A moment later, he did, giving in and casting a privacy ward.</p><p>"There is."
Draco cocked his head and stood straighter. He'd been leaning against the wall,
as much to encourage Michael to underestimate him as anything else, but for
this, he needed to be standing as upright as possible. The more he thought
about it, the more he saw Michael's assumptions about his bond with Harry, and
especially the joining ritual, as insulting to <em>himself.</em> Michael was in
love with someone who didn't really exist. Time for Draco to show him who did.
"I know that you spoke to Harry about me a few days ago."</p><p>Michael's
head jerked up. "<em>He</em> spoke to <em>me</em>," he clarified. "I wanted to
leave matters just as they were, Draco. I'm content to watch from afar for the
day when he hurts you."</p><p>"And you
think that's going to happen?" Draco's voice sounded odd in his ears—familiar,
still, but a strange thing to hear emerging from his own mouth. A moment later,
he identified the reason for that. He sounded like Lucius, far more than he had
for months.</p><p>"Of course
it is," said Michael. "You were the one who encouraged me to admire you, Draco.
You need admiration for your beauty. Oh, you need to be loved for your mind and
your skills, as well, but I can do that, <em>and</em> love you in the other ways
that you deserve to be loved. Harry can't. He told me himself that he was
conditioned never to think about looks when gazing at other people."</p><p>He leaned
forward, eyes shining, and Draco suppressed the impulse to move backward, even
as his rage surged. <em>He comes off as half-deranged, but I think he really
means what he's saying. He thinks he can give me what Harry can, plus all those
other things that Harry will always have trouble with.</em></p><p><em>He
hasn't thought about what I want back, though, has he?</em></p><p>Draco let
his lip curl and his eyes flick up and down Michael's body. "Hm. Well, I
suppose I can understand where you're coming from," he said, letting his voice
drag with reluctant interest. "But there's at least one bond with Harry that
I've never shared with you."</p><p>"What is
it?" Michael stood up straight himself, practically vibrating. "Tell me what it
is. We can duplicate it."</p><p><em>You
couldn't. You never could. </em>The most amazing thing about this to Draco was
not that someone would reach out to him while he was involved in a joining
ritual—of course someone else might find him impossible to resist, and the
ritual was not absolutely closed to outsiders until next Halloween—but that
that other person wouldn't consider what was in this new bond for <em>Draco.</em>
How could they match Harry's power, his laughter, the sight of him when he'd
broken the phoenix web or when he'd Vanished Fenrir Greyback from existence for
the crime of hurting Draco? Admiration was not enough; Draco saw that on enough
faces every day. What really mattered to him was what could come back, as a
gift, those things he couldn't invent or charm out of just anyone.</p><p>And Michael
had nothing to offer on that scale.</p><p>"I can
possess people," said Draco. "I've been in Harry's mind numerous times,
practicing control of muscles and thoughts with him. Can you stand to let me
possess you? I don't need as much practice any more, but that's one of the
reasons I know I can trust Harry completely, because he never refuses me
entrance to his mind. Will you let me do the same thing?"</p><p>"Of
course," said Michael, and leaned down, holding eye contact. "I can't even
imagine why anyone would refuse you."</p><p><em>You're
about to find out.</em></p><p>Draco
leaned back on the wall so that he would have some support, should his body
sag, and leaped outwards into Michael's mind. He could have drifted among the
thoughts, and let Michael sense him as simply a foreign presence. That was the
Lighter side of his gift.</p><p>But the
gift—born, as far as Draco could tell, from his transformed empathy mingled
with something of the latent Black compulsion—was ultimately Dark now, a tool
of domination and control. He had forced the Minister to do something he would
never do, Stunning himself and the other Aurors so that Harry could escape
during the jailbreak. And he was going to show Michael his true nature. He
valued compulsion and control more than free will, unless it meant the free
will of a few specific people, and he had no problems demonstrating that.</p><p>He lashed
sideways, through Michael's mind, and took control of his body in the most
painful way possible. He made all his muscles as taut as he could, and choked
off his breath. For a moment Michael wavered, blue in the face, trying
desperately to gulp in air. Draco showed off his complete indifference to the
idea of Michael's death. After all, if the body he was in <em>did</em> die, Draco
could always jump to another one. He could kill invisibly, undetectably, as he
had on the battlefield at Midsummer, when he'd seized control of more than one
Death Eater's mind and used his victims to guide others to the weak points in
the wards—traps baited with deadly spells.</p><p>Draco had
killed. And he did not regret it. He had felt sick while he did it, but
afterwards, no guilt had troubled him. He let those emotions seep through to
Michael, too, relentless indifference.</p><p>The gentle
boy Michael thought he loved, who needed reassurance and admiration just to
make it through the day, did not exist. What did was a Dark wizard on the verge
of Declaring, and who would not hesitate to use his weapons to get his way,
punish his enemies, and even inflict deadly lessons on those who irritated him.
Draco was not Harry. He had no intention of holding back unless it was actually
conducive to his goals to do so, while Harry would hold back to give others a
chance to recover, or think, or choose another course.</p><p>Draco
ripped himself free at last, knowing he would leave Michael with an enormous
headache. He was back in his own body by the time the hold on Michael's throat
eased, and he offered him a cool smile that made him flinch back.</p><p>"You should
ask Harry to release you from your oath," Draco whispered. "He might want to
give you a chance, but you and I both know, now, that you'll never have a
chance with me."</p><p>"I could
tell him that you flirted with me, that you encouraged me in the first place,"
Michael said. His voice was scratchy, and he coughed. Draco watched with
satisfaction. He would feel the pain of choking, but there were no telltale
finger-shaped bruises on his throat that might have got Draco in trouble.</p><p>"You
could," Draco agreed. "And he would be angry at me, doubtless. And you could
tell him that I possessed you, too, and forced you to see the truth, and he
would be angry at me." He took a step closer. "But his anger will pass. Harry
is <em>in love</em> with me. I don't think you understand that. His anger could
last for months, and in the end, it would change to forgiveness. You have no
standing in his eyes compared to me."</p><p>He waited
until Michael's gaze, simmering with resentment—more for the breaking of his
illusions than anything else, Draco thought—settled fully on him, and then
added, "Besides, if you tell him, I'll be sure to know. And then what I did to
you just now will seem like a Cheering Charm."</p><p>Michael
flinched away from him, face sick with fear. Draco snorted. "The regard you <em>had</em>
for me is insulting, you know," he told him. "My last name is Malfoy. And you
believed me a kitten?"</p><p>He turned
his back on Michael and walked in the direction of the dungeons, where he knew
Joseph was working with Harry. Michael's eyes flared at his back the entire
way. Draco doubted there was any love left in them now. He had wondered, at
first, if Michael would refuse to learn the point and remain stubbornly,
obliviously, around, waiting to pick up the pieces from a shattering between
Harry and Draco that was never going to come.</p><p>Instead, it
seemed that he hated Draco the more for having broken his false mirror so
resoundingly.</p><p>Draco
shrugged, delighting in the spare, elegant lift of his shoulders. <em>He is free
to hate me. It will not change matters. I am stronger than he is, and so is
Harry. And while Harry might be inclined not to notice the snake in the grass
until its fangs are sunk in his heel, I am more cautious. Together, we are
impossible for someone like Michael to destroy.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Tell me
again why you want the monitoring board to exist."</p><p>Harry
stirred restlessly and stared down at his hand. "Do we have to go through
this?" he asked. "I already told you everything I know, Joseph. It's not my
fault that you understand none of it."</p><p>"I
understand," Joseph said. "Or, rather, I understand your thinking. I don't
think <em>you</em> understand your thinking."</p><p>Harry
restrained a growl with effort. <em>Bloody Seer. </em>"Very well," he said, and
made his voice as offensively bored as possible. Henrietta, and even Peter, would
have given him detention for that tone. Harry was perturbed to see that it only
made Joseph smile, as if he appreciated it. "I want the monitoring board in
place to keep my bargain with the Light, and to insure that the trial of
Gloriana Griffinsnest actually takes place."</p><p>"Not just
that," Joseph said. "Or you would be content to dissolve it once her trial had
happened."</p><p><em>This is
the part that he doesn't understand. </em>"I also want to encourage opposition
to me," Harry said patiently. "I'm not sure that it would happen otherwise. The
rebellion might seem too sweeping a victory to many, reducing them to gobbles
and gasps in the corners. Voldemort's kind of opposition is mad. I don't think
Falco Parkinson is far from mad—and besides, he works alone, not trying to
gather allies. I want the monitoring board to have a chance to become what
Scrimgeour wants the Ministry to be. It's a chance for ordinary wizards and
witches to look around, realize I won't trample all over them, and start
thinking instead of merely reacting."</p><p>"All of
those are commendable ideals," said Joseph. "Or they would be, if you thought
to point those new enemies at all proponents of irrationality, and not just at
yourself. You told me that you value the monitoring board as chains on your
power, boundaries on your sense of self. Why is that, Harry?"</p><p>"I am still
a Lord-level wizard in power," said Harry. "Not a Declared Lord, and I never
will be, but I can intimidate others, and prevent them from bringing up
perfectly valid points that I've ignored. I want to show <em>everyone</em> that I
won't ignore those points, that I value those other perspectives, that I'm
willing to cramp and cripple my own magic, if necessary, so that they can have
the security and space to breathe and think that they need."</p><p>He jumped,
cursing, in the next moment. The bird had appeared on his shoulder without
warning, and its claws had raked down the side of his face, a punishing gesture
Harry had thought it incapable of now. He gingerly touched his hand to the
freezing scabs and glared as the bird wheeled through the air, clacking its
beak and hissing.</p><p>Its cold,
vicious voice came to him as it had not for months now. <em>Bound to you. Hate
you. Love you. Hate being bound.</em></p><p>"I know you
do," Harry muttered. "And that's one reason I won't let you go free. You would
do damage if you were unrestrained."</p><p>The bird
dived at him, claws spread wide. Harry ducked, and the creature passed over his
head with a whiff of magic and wind and faded through the wall. Harry shook his
head.</p><p>"Your magic
is displeased at the thought of being cramped and crippled, I would assume."
Joseph's voice held just the faintest trace of amusement.</p><p>"I can't
help it that it's displeased," Harry snapped, sitting back up. "I <em>can't</em>
just spread its influence wherever it wants to go. If nothing else, that
encourages people to sway towards me because of the power of my magic. It's an
unconscious compulsion, but it's a form of compulsion nonetheless. They'll make
decisions just to get close to me, to feel that power for themselves."</p><p>"And when
you know that resisting and cramping and caging your magic might send it back
to Voldemort?" Joseph asked steadily.</p><p>Harry
lowered his eyes.</p><p>"You are
not to blame for the natural reaction your magic provokes in others," said
Joseph. "Especially since caging it only results in its growing a personality
and determining to break free once more. You have seen the disastrous
consequences of that already, Harry. I believe it was called a phoenix web."</p><p>Harry
exploded to his feet and paced back and forth across the room. Joseph's
quarters were large, at least, and there was plenty of space for him to do
that. "I don't know what to <em>do</em>. I've tried to give other people a chance
to question me, and both Draco and Snape tell me the monitoring board was a bad
idea—and then I find out that I've made people actually plot against me, like
Madam Whitestag. I've tried to hold back my magic, and that only makes it angry
and likely to go to my enemies. I tried to avoid interfering in the Ministry,
and that didn't last long. I don't know how to keep the balance between
allowing others freedom and allowing my magic enough freedom that it doesn't go
mad." He ran his hand through his hair.</p><p>"<em>That</em>
is what I have been hoping to hear from you," said Joseph, voice soaring with
triumph. Harry frowned at him. Joseph smiled right back. "Your admission that
forcing bounds on yourself that you would never dream of forcing on anyone else
is a fool's dream. It won't work for practical reasons, and it should concern
your ethics, should it not, that a <em>vates</em> is giving up his freedom?"</p><p>Harry
leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. His magic lashed around him in
coiled ribbons, shaking the maps and the banners.</p><p>"Now," said
Joseph, "the only question left is why. You do not expect Falco Parkinson and
Voldemort to hold themselves back."</p><p>"They're
Dark Lords, or tending that way," Harry muttered, scrubbing his hand over his
face. "Of course they won't restrain themselves."</p><p>"And
Jing-Xi? Your Light Lady? Do you have a problem with the fact that when she
arrives, you can feel her power through a door? You've said that she's
interfered to settle problems in the Chinese wizarding community before, even
in the Chinese Muggle government. And you don't hate her for that."</p><p>Harry
hunched his shoulders.</p><p>"This comes
down to holding yourself to standards that others don't have to fulfill,"
Joseph continued remorselessly. "And do not feed me that line about Lord-level
wizards having more power and thus more need to be careful of their magic. You
don't hold even other Lords and Ladies to your standard. You still see yourself
as different, and I want to know why."</p><p>Harry
resisted the impulse to curl up and tuck his head into his arms. That wouldn't
remove Joseph's stinging words, dragging the truth out of him like the lashes
of a cat o'nine-tails, and that wouldn't remove the fact that now he finally
had to admit this to someone else. He had not said it before because he knew
both Draco and Snape would overreact, refusing to take what he said seriously,
and assuring him it didn't matter at all.</p><p>"I don't
trust myself," he whispered.</p><p>"That is
the truth," said Joseph, and Harry was achingly grateful that he had not said
that <em>of course</em> Harry could trust himself. "And why don't you trust
yourself, Harry? That, I wish to hear."</p><p>"You're not
going to give up, are you?" Harry asked his arms.</p><p>"No."</p><p>Harry
sighed. "I still remember the times when something pushed me, just a little,
and I went Dark."</p><p>He heard a
sharp movement, and looked up. Joseph was shaking his head. "I will not let you
lie to yourself," he said. "Those provocations were anything but little. The
Minister trying to steal your magic. Your mother attempting to convince you
that you should retreat with her to Godric's Hollow and never show your face
outside it again. Bellatrix Lestrange cutting off your <em>hand.</em>" Joseph
cocked his head. "It is inhuman to expect yourself to retain control in those
situations, Harry. At the same time, part of the reason that you lost control
so badly was your usual tight restraint. Surely you can see that? That some
relaxation on your part will soothe the problems and solve them for everybody?"</p><p>"What if I
cause trouble?" Harry whispered. "What if something happens to make me hurt
someone else?"</p><p>"And now
you are playing with hypothetical situations," said Joseph. "With what your
mother told you, and what you still believe at some level, that you could
become a Dark Lord. Hypothetical situations are the last refuge of the coward,
Harry. You know the truth. You've hidden from it for a long time now. You've
wanted to dissolve the monitoring board, to let your magic loose and flowing
free. And you've decided that those desires are somehow inhuman and the product
of a twisted mind." His voice lowered and became, to Harry's ears, horribly
tempting, coaxing. "If you would allow this freedom to anyone else, Harry, why
not yourself? Why must the <em>vates</em> fear and distrust himself, while other
wizards have complete confidence in their own thoughts and motives?"</p><p>Harry
looked away.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>"There
isn't an answer," Harry said at last, his voice breaking. "I—I was hiding from
the fact that there's not an answer, that there was a contradiction in my
reasoning, and that I didn't want to find that out. It's more <em>comfortable</em>
for me to be restrained and act within strict limits of what I can't and can
do."</p><p>"I know
that," said Joseph, and his voice had gone soft and compassionate. "But it's
not healthy, Harry, not anymore." Harry could almost hear him fighting the
temptation to add "if it ever was." Luckily, he successfully fought it. "You
need to let yourself go more, for the sake of your magic and the sake of
others, if you don't consider your own mental health a good enough cause. The
world needs a <em>vates</em>, you've told me. But the world needs a happy and
sane <em>vates</em>."</p><p>Harry
slowly nodded. He still felt an enormous reluctance to do as Joseph said, given
what could happen if he made the wrong decision and relaxed too many
boundaries. But he could not stay like this. He had lost the ability to simply
ignore the contradictions in his reasoning during his fourth year, he thought,
when Vera saw the real reasons that he behaved as he did. He could refuse to
examine them logically, but when they were brought out and paraded before his
eyes, he had no choice but to change.</p><p>Joseph's
arms curled around him. Harry tensed, then forced himself to loosen his
muscles. <em>I can start with this, </em>he told himself. <em>I can start with the
fact that it makes other people feel good to hug me. Perhaps I can, in the end,
accept that it might feel good to me, too.</em></p><p>"Now,"
Joseph said quietly in his ear. "I haven't asked for much commitment from you,
Harry, other than to speak with me on a regular basis and think about what we discuss
here. But I want you to carry this new understanding with you into the next
meeting of the monitoring board, and see what happens."</p><p>Harry
stirred unhappily, but didn't break out of Joseph's embrace. "Do I have to
promise?"</p><p>"Yes. You
do."</p><p>Harry
swallowed. "Then I promise."</p><p>Joseph
stepped away from him, smiling, and waved his wand to set a kettle of tea
brewing. Harry sat down numbly in the chair he'd risen from earlier and stared
at his hand, turning it over and over.</p><p><em>What if
I don't have to spend the rest of my time researching Animagus training and
other things useful to the war? What if I can have my second hand back if I
just concentrate on it, think about it, do the research? What if other people
would not be displeased to see me doing that?</em></p><p>Harry
swallowed. He allowed himself, cautiously, to examine his own thoughts on
getting a second hand.</p><p>He was
surprised at how badly he <em>wanted</em> it.</p><p>He sighed.
Of all emotions, desire was probably the hardest for him to both feel and
acknowledge. But now he had a promise anchoring him, and the next meeting of
the monitoring board was the first of December.</p><p>Dismally,
he tried to persuade himself that it would be all right. He had managed to hold
himself back during Loki's sacrifice, hadn't he? He could restrain his own
desire to interfere when it was important.</p><p>And he need
not fear himself. Perhaps.</p><p>"Drink your
tea," Joseph said quietly, putting it in front of him.</p><p>Harry ended
up using his Levitation Charm to do so. His hand shook too badly, as he caught
a glimpse of what he was going to need to change, if he really could trust
himself, and how radically and deeply it would need to do so.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Aurora
lifted her head like a hunting hound when Harry stepped into the room.</p><p>Something
had changed. She needed no one to tell her it had. One learned to see these
kinds of things for oneself, or one failed in politics—or found someone else
leading one. Aurora smiled briefly, but, mostly, kept her eyes on Harry and
tried to figure out the change.</p><p>He no
longer walked as if he knew every path ahead, nor as if he had a hand out
searching for someone to help and guide him. Instead, he moved like a child
walking for the first time, terrified, but determined to do it. His eyes met
hers, and Aurora saw them widen and then narrow, before Harry carefully looked
away again. His face set into lines that she knew all too well, having looked
at them in his guardian's face.</p><p>Aurora
suffered the brief and terrible suspicion that, though neither Professor Snape
nor the younger Mr. Malfoy was here, as she had asked, they were with Harry in
spirit. Then she dismissed it as mere suspicion. Harry had shown his
willingness to cooperate with the monitoring board. She would be acting against
herself soon if she did not watch out.</p><p>"Harry,"
she said, with a brief, familiar nod to him. Most of the monitoring board was
not yet there, only Madam Marchbanks, who turned the same kind of curious gaze
on Harry that Aurora suspected she had used. Marchbanks's was much more
obvious, though. "Is there something we can do for you? Any questions you wish
to ask about the training in Light pureblood rituals, before the rest of the
board arrives?"</p><p>"I came
early because I wanted to speak to the two of you alone, actually." Harry ran
his hand through his hair, and Aurora relaxed a bit. She knew that was his
nervous gesture, and the shaky confidence he manifested was only a phantasm.
Harry could not help but be himself, even when he tried otherwise. "I wished to
ask Madam Marchbanks to take over the monitoring board."</p><p>Aurora felt
the words catch in her throat, and she stared wildly at Harry.</p><p>Just for a
moment, though. Then her backup plans fell into place, and she cocked her head
and murmured, "That's very unfortunate, Harry. Have I done something to
displease you? You must know that many of the Light wizards are comfortable
with me as the head of the monitoring board, and wish to do nothing to disrupt
the arrangement."</p><p>"I see no
reason why they would balk at having Madam Marchbanks take over, Madam
Whitestag, since she's Declared Light." Harry nodded at Marchbanks, who was
watching him with narrowed eyes. "Provided that Madam Marchbanks agrees, of
course."</p><p>"I do,"
said the old woman. Aurora restrained herself from giving her a glance of
dislike, but it was a near thing. Marchbanks was necessary, she reminded
herself. And at least Harry was not insisting that one of his Dark allies take
the board—though he must have known that would not impress the Light wizards
who ate out of Aurora's hand.</p><p>"I would
still like to hear a reason why," said Aurora, and inflected her voice with
hurt. "What have I done to merit such an extreme rejection, Harry?"</p><p>"Set your
fellow Light wizards on me and mine like dogs." Harry's voice had no emotion.
Aurora studied his face. His eyes were blank as fields of grass. "Lisa
Addlington had orders to distract Draco, and provoke him to insure that I would
agree to leave him out of the meetings in the future. Shadow had orders to
attack Snape. You intended Marvin Gildgrace to draw out Narcissa, but she did
not respond as you hoped."</p><p><em>How did
he—But of course. Legilimency.</em> Aurora supposed she should have guessed
Snape's distraction during the prior meeting resulted from something more than
just anger. If the reports of him were true, he would have grabbed his wand and
cursed someone during the meeting, not just snapped ineffective insults in
return for Shadow's far more effective ones.</p><p>"Is this
true, Aurora?"</p><p>And now
Marchbanks were speaking as if she were horrified. Aurora barely restrained
herself from rolling her eyes. <em>As if she has not made her own political
compromises in her time! And she dares to scold me for making sure that the
monitoring board functions as it should.</em></p><p>"It is
true," said Aurora. "So far as it goes. You misunderstood my intentions with
those provocations, <em>vates</em>. I truly feel that Professor Snape and Draco
Malfoy are not the best influences on you. They may try to draw you down into
the Dark and make you behave more like them than someone undeclared should."</p><p>"Then you could have approached me
with that conclusion." Harry's voice and eyes once again gave nothing away.
Aurora found it unnerving. The free play of emotion <em>belonged</em> in his tone
and on his face. "One of the traits of the Light is honesty, is it not, Mrs.
Whitestag? But you did not. Instead, you tried to separate me from them. And
they are my guardian and my partner. Whatever their allegiance, you had no
right to coax them from my side."</p><p>Aurora
bowed her head submissively. She did seem to have fucked this up. Perhaps,
though, the situation was not lost. "Will you still permit me to remain on the
monitoring board, <em>vates</em>?" she asked softly. "I hope I have convinced you
how passionately I care about the future course of your education, and your
future influence on the wizarding world. I simply have not used the best
methods to show it."</p><p>Silence
answered her. Aurora looked up and found Harry's eyes fixed on her. Now they
spoke, but with intensity, more than any single and specific emotion. Aurora
forced herself to be passive, and regard Harry with an eyebrow that inched
higher and higher as the moments passed.</p><p>She didn't
bother looking at Madam Marchbanks. The old woman was too fully on Harry's
side. She would be aghast at the thought of letting Aurora remain.</p><p>But Aurora
knew political reality, and Harry knew his own reality. And he would think she
had to remain, so that he would have at least one person fully committed to
stopping him, should the worst happen and he lose control.</p><p>"If you
remain, Mrs. Whitestag," Harry said at last, "I will require an oath from you."</p><p><em>This is
not the way it is supposed to be. </em>But Aurora kept her face calm and
attentive, with no more sign that this troubled her than the tilting of her
head and lifting of her other eyebrow. "Yes?"</p><p>"An oath
beyond the Alliance oaths," Harry said. "An oath that says you <em>will</em> act
out of concern for my education and my influence on the future of the wizarding
world, and not out of concern for your own political advancement."</p><p><em>This is
impossible.</em> Aurora made her face as regretful as possible. "I cannot do
that, <em>vates</em>, unless others will swear the same oath."</p><p>She watched
Harry watch her, his eyes the picture of a stag before the hunters. His legs
did not tremble, and he did not have antlers, but she knew he was cornered. He
would hesitate to press her with another vow only she had to swear, and would
not presume to restrict her free will in such a way.</p><p>"No one
else on the monitoring board tried to take my loved ones from me." Harry's
voice was low, but very clear. "They all either truly wish me well, or were
obeying your orders. Mrs. Whitestag, I will have this commitment from you, or I
will have you gone from the monitoring board."</p><p>He could
not dismiss her. He could not. Aurora had too many of the right ears beside her
lips. She could whisper one word, and the Light alliance with Harry would sway
like a flag in the wind. He must know that. He must know that she could call
his bluff, and it would all crumble.</p><p>But he did
not seem to know that. His eyes remained bright, implacable. And his shaky
confidence had returned. He might jump off a cliff, Aurora realized, but he was
taking her with him.</p><p>For long
moments, the staring contest endured, and then Aurora bowed her head. Harry
could not afford to lose her from the monitoring board, if only because he
would want to keep her close and watch what she did, but neither could she
afford to be away from him for that long. Harry would either convert her
allies, or they would do something stupid enough, without her guidance, to get
themselves dismissed. And the Dark allies and Madam Marchbanks would close
ranks against her, Aurora was certain. She would not be around to subtly
influence people and remind them of what other alternatives than blindly
following Harry <em>vates</em> existed.</p><p>"I shall
swear that oath, Harry," she said at last, and used more regret. "If you really
think it necessary."</p><p>"I do,"
said Harry.</p><p>He had no
regrets, it seemed. Aurora, though irritated, had no choice but to draw her
wand and swear by her magic and Merlin, while Harry watched her with those
bright eyes. Then he leaned forward across the table, and included both her and
Madam Marchbanks in his gaze.</p><p>"We should
talk about how long the monitoring board's period of supervision over me
lasts," he said.</p><p>Aurora
concealed a groan. <em>Who has done this to him?</em></p><p><em>I will
learn, so that I can remove that influence from his life.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry
leaned against the telephone box outside of the Ministry and closed his eyes.
He had used the <em>Extabesco plene</em> charm, so that anyone coming out could
not see him. He was glad. He did not wish to be seen, and not for the usual
reasons. He would present a picture of weakness just now, his face pale and
damp with sweat, his legs shaking, his chest heaving as if he had run a mile.</p><p>And what
had done it to him was something that few people would have found difficult. He
had made Aurora Whitestag, who acted as an enemy to him even if she didn't mean
to do so, step down as head of the monitoring board. He had made her reaffirm
the commitments she said she had. He had argued the monitoring board's original
determination to remain watching over him until he left Hogwarts down to the
thirty-first of July next year, his seventeenth birthday and when he came of
age. He had asserted legal rights that other people probably thought were
common sense, and would have asked for the first day.</p><p>He had done it. And people had
frowned, and whined, and tried to guilt him, but they had gone along. No one
had stormed out of the room. No one had done much more than ask him some
slightly sly questions. No one had told him he was infringing on her free will
and he should draw back.</p><p>He had
asserted himself, and nothing had gone wrong, and no one had died.</p><p>Harry
tucked his head into his shoulder, shivering as the sweat on his skin began to
cool and dry. This <em>hurt</em>. He had escaped the shell of one kind of prison,
but the newer and wider world was far more frightening. In lessons with Jing-Xi
and conversations with Joseph, he at least understood the rules, even if he
feared he had already broken them in one case and resented what was asked of
him in the other.</p><p>But this.</p><p>This.</p><p>Harry
shook, on the verge of a panic attack, until at last it passed, and then he
took a deep breath and stood. Nothing had gone wrong for him, either, and he
was still alive.</p><p>But he
would have to do this again, and again, until at last he learned not to
restrain himself unreasonably or hold himself to unreasonable standards.</p><p>It must
happen.</p><p>He ran his
hand through his sweat-damp hair, murmured a drying charm, and turned to
Apparate back to Hogwarts. He did catch a glimpse of the lizard-tailed bird,
sitting on the high wall of the alley and watching him with something like approval
before it took flight, wings clattering invisibly across the sky.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 66*: A View In</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Two: A View In</strong></p><p>Snape sat with his
eyes closed and his face tilted upwards. He could only imagine what
some of his students would say, could they see him now. He could
imagine far better what some of his students in Slytherin House would
say. They would see weakness, and where they saw weakness, they
tended to attack actively or look for excuses to shunt one aside.
Snape could imagine the contempt in Millicent Bulstrode's eyes, the
word she would pass on quietly to her parents, and then the next time
Snape went to a meeting of the monitoring board or met with the full
Alliance of Sun and Shadow, Adalrico Bulstrode would be considering
him carefully, looking for evidence of his unfitness to be Harry's
guardian.</p><p>So he came outside and
sat as Joseph had suggested he do early in the morning, accustoming
himself to awareness of the world again long before anyone else would
be awake to see his weakness. Currently, he sat beside the lake, and
the sound of the water on the shore brought back old memories, as did
the frosted grass beneath him—for now, the snow had melted and not
returned, though it still lay in sullen slushy piles under the trees
of the Forbidden Forest—and the bite in the air.</p><p><em>Do not think of
them.</em></p><p>But
Joseph had told him to come out here and think of them, and what time
was Snape supposed to use for that, if not now? He concentrated, and
drew up the memories. Chill water and chill air and chill grass that
broke with a snap—or that might have been fragile ice. He was nine,
and his mother had taken him to see a ditch filled with water for one
of their lessons in the dirtiness and ugliness of the world.</p><p>This was the one time
Snape could remember Eileen Prince's methods not working. She had
meant to show him the dirt the water carried, he knew, and compare it
to the muddy blood running in his veins. She had meant to impress on
him the ugliness of steep brown banks, and water too choked to
reflect the sky, and grass that had died or gone brown in the wake of
autumn.</p><p>But the sun had shone
that morning, and caught on small gleams in the water and the frost.
That was what Snape remembered, an ugly scene rendered unexpectedly
beautiful, half-holy, by the sunlight.</p><p>His face flushed as he
thought about that. How he could have such thoughts? How could
someone who had led the life he had call anything "holy" without
mockery or irony?</p><p>But he had the
thoughts, nonetheless, and he knew that, five months ago, he would
not have considered the beauty of this memory at all. He would have
concentrated on his mother's words and blocked out the fact that,
then, he had blocked <em>them</em> out, staring instead at the small
miracle of water still running too fast to be frozen, autumn not yet
surrendered to winter even though staring it in the eye.</p><p>Past and present
mingled to the point where he was not surprised, and not even
alarmed, to hear a step beside him. Of course his mother would be
there. He turned his head and opened his eyes to greet her, certain
that in this mood, not even she could make an impact on him.</p><p>It wasn't Eileen
Prince. It was Harry, sitting down beside Snape with a casual air, as
though they shared sunrises by the lake all the time. He clasped his
guardian's hand and looked out over the water.</p><p>Snape studied him, and
waited for questions to well to the surface. There were none. There
was only a deep peace, which seemed to have as much of its origin in
the quiet breaths Harry drew as it did in the sigh of the wind and
the song of the water on edge of winter.</p><p>He turned his hand and
clasped Harry's fingers back. Harry gave him a quick, grateful
glance, as though this were an incredible privilege, and hesitated
for a long moment. Snape could feel him debating, though not what he
was debating, and he didn't think that he could have given an
answer to it anyway, not with his own gulf of deep silence gripping
and turning him.</p><p>Then Harry leaned his
head on Snape's shoulder and closed his eyes.</p><p>It was the gesture of
a boy asking for protection, not the gesture of a strong protector
sheltering a dependent, but Snape did not feel pressed upon, or as
though he would prefer Harry to resume the role he had adopted out of
necessity when Snape was feeling inadequate to the task of caring for
him. Indeed, he felt a satisfaction as deep and quiet in its own way
as the peace, and he wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders.</p><p>Harry's breathing
slowed and relaxed, as he lost whatever intangible nervousness had
made him come out here in the first place. Snape turned his head and
watched the sun's reflection shimmering in the water, dimmed but
unconquered.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Owen lay on his bed,
and stared at the ceiling, and cursed all idiots. It was better than
taking his <em>wand</em> and cursing all the idiots.</p><p>Michael would be
sulking on his bed in Ravenclaw, or perhaps talking to the Ravenclaws
who still distrusted Harry and trying to find sympathizers. Owen
hoped it was the former, for his brother's sake. The lightning bolt
scar would bite him, according to the ritual they'd used to swear
loyalty to Harry, if he tried to act against the Lord, or Lord-level
wizard, he'd sworn to. Owen didn't know if the bite was literal
or not. He didn't want to have to find out.</p><p>It would be best if
Harry released him from the oath, but Michael had said he wanted to
remain under it, to protect Draco's interests.</p><p><em>There's the other
idiot. </em>Owen had told himself again and again that his brother had
behaved badly. He had <em>known</em> that Draco was their Lord's
joined partner, and that no matter how Draco flirted or laughed, it
was still a bad idea to flirt back, or follow him and moon after him,
or let his feelings be known. One could do nothing about emotions,
but one could control one's face and actions. And Michael had
learned how to do that at Durmstrang, if not at home. So what had
happened was Michael's fault as much as anyone's.</p><p>But the other half of
the fault belonged to Draco. Draco had encouraged him. Draco had done
things which the devoted partner of a Lord never should have done.
Sometimes Owen wished they were living in older and simpler times, or
that Harry was a Lord who would strictly follow the ancient
protocols, which called for the Lord's partner to swear a similar
oath to a companion. Lords and Ladies were too important and rare to
be distracted by the machinations of someone bored or jealous. A slow
burning pain in one's hand, coupled with the loss of fingers if the
partner persisted in acting like an idiot, tended to discourage both
boredom and jealousy.</p><p>Harry would never do
that, and that was one of the reasons Owen and Michael had chosen to
swear to him in the first place—because Harry was also the kind of
person who would come to Durmstrang and rescue children tortured
under the auspices of another Lord, something most of the older
rulers wouldn't do unless the other Lord was a personal enemy.
Harry had accepted them, as he had accepted Draco, without trying to
change any of them, and his patience and forbearance were gifts. Owen
knew that.</p><p>But sometimes it was
all so <em>frustrating.</em> And it looked as if he would have to solve
this problem, since no one else would. Draco was smugly confident he
was right. Harry held back, trying to give both Draco and Michael
what they wanted. And Michael refused to divulge whatever had so
shaken him a few days ago; Owen suspected it was because he didn't
want to betray his beloved.</p><p><em>Beautiful and
cruel. Michael had plenty of chances to fall in love with someone
like that at Durmstrang, if he wanted. Did he have to wait until we
arrived at Hogwarts?</em></p><p>Owen sat up, with a
sigh, and laid his hand on the lightning bolt scar that cut across
his left forearm. If he thought hard enough, he could know where
Harry was. It wasn't something he used often, since he spent a
great deal of his time in Harry's company anyway, and the effort
left him with a headache. But he needed to find him now, and remain
by his side until there was the chance of a private conversation. The
contingent of seventh-year boys in Slytherin was small. Owen thought
his room would remain empty for at least the next few hours, so he
and Harry could talk.</p><p>Someone rapped on the
door before he could sink properly into concentration. Owen frowned
and stood. If it was one of the other blokes come back, he had rotten
timing, but one of the other blokes wouldn't knock, so it was
probably his twin. Then Owen would have to listen to Michael ranting
on about how wonderful Draco was, or about how bitterly his illusion
had been broken, and have his own sensible suggestions meet with
silence.</p><p>He opened the door,
and blinked. It was Harry.</p><p>"Is something
wrong?" he asked. It was hard to keep himself from adding a title.
Harry's magic blazed around him in a steady lightning storm, at
least to Rosier-Henlin eyes, and lately the incandescence had grown
brighter and brighter as he grew more confident and careless of his
power. Owen thought it only proper that someone like that should be
called Lord, or <em>vates</em> if he would not accept that word
It was the way things were done.</p><p>"Not with me,"
said Harry. He was still slightly shorter than Owen, but he stood and
looked gravely into his eyes now, and he seemed to stand taller.
"With your brother, and with Draco. I would appreciate your help on
how to deal with them, so that someone will represent Michael's
interests properly."</p><p>Owen blinked again,
several times, and moved backward. "I didn't think you had
noticed," he told Harry's shoulders, and then shook his head. He
didn't mean to say things like that. His father had instructed him
against damaging honesty. But Harry's magic <em>changed</em> things,
made the air sharper and wilder. Opening his mouth seemed to have
less adverse consequences then.</p><p>Harry turned around
and gave him a small smile. "For most of the time, I didn't. But
Michael had some reason to think he had hope of Draco, and he has a
reason to avoid him as he's doing now. What are they?"</p><p>Owen sank to his bed
in sheer relief. His <em>vates</em> had asked him a direct question.
That meant Owen could tell the truth without betraying his brother.</p><p>Quietly, he told Harry
about Draco's flirting, and then the incident he suspected had
happened a few days ago, about which Michael refused to give any
details. Owen himself thought it had to do with Draco's possession;
Michael always <em>had</em> failed to think about what it meant that
his beloved could control other people's bodies, just as he had, to
Owen's mind, not thought through the implications of Harry's
magic properly. Owen loved his twin dearly, but Michael had always
been the baby brother, and not even the death of their father and the
destruction of Durmstrang had changed that. He still had more of the
boy who played at skillets with their mother than the hardened
warrior within him.</p><p>Harry recognized that,
Owen saw as he listened. He was, of course, an elder twin as well,
and one trained to protect his younger brother—though he had been
told to elevate Connor, while in Owen's case he had been told it
was his duty because he was his father's magical heir, and stronger
than Michael, and one duty of the magically powerful was to shelter
those who were weaker. Owen should not have feared that Harry
wouldn't understand.</p><p>He nodded when Owen
was done, and said, "I'll talk to Draco, and make him apologize
to Michael—properly. I also have a punishment in mind for him."
He smiled grimly. "And then I'll release Michael from his oath.
That may be dangerous, because it could mean that he'll attack me
or Draco, but I would much rather see him free like that than bind
him close."</p><p>"It <em>will</em> be
better for him," said Owen at once. "He should not have taken
that vow in the first place. He didn't really know what it meant."</p><p>Harry considered him,
head tilted to the side. "What about you, Owen? Will it hurt you,
to know that your brother and I are essentially on opposite sides?"</p><p>Owen bowed his head.
"I am Michael's brother," he said. "And I am your sworn
companion and the head of the Rosier-Henlin family. Those two
allegiances to proper courtesy and custom pull against the other."</p><p>Harry smiled. "Thank
you, Owen."</p><p>He left, then. Owen
let himself sag back on the bed and close his eyes. He should still
be vigilant in the future, he knew, because there would be problems
he could notice and Harry never would.</p><p>But it was so
refreshing, so relaxing, so different than anything he could ever
have imagined, to know that Harry would notice at least some
problems, and take steps to solve them as only he could.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco felt Harry's
stare on the back of his neck like a blade.</p><p>It went on throughout
dinner, which Harry had been late to. Draco had trouble eating. It
wasn't so much that the food turned to ashes in his mouth or sat
poorly in his stomach; it was more that the hand which held his fork
shook badly enough that he had trouble holding a piece of food on it
consistently. When Harry stood, caught his eye, and jerked his head
towards the entrance of the Hall, Draco was almost relieved.</p><p>He made his way there
neither too slowly nor too quickly, giving anyone who had decided to
watch him a free lesson in grace, should he want it. When Harry's
hand clasped his arm, he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself
from wrenching away in shock, but at least it didn't actually
happen.</p><p>"What is it, Harry?"
he asked, as casually as he could.</p><p>"You possessed
Michael," said Harry. "After flirting with him in the first
place."</p><p>Draco's eyes widened
before he could stop himself. Then he cleared his throat. "Harry,
whatever tales he's been telling you—"</p><p>"It was Owen who
told me."</p><p>Draco closed his
mouth. Owen was a Slytherin. Harry had less reason to doubt his
powers of observation.</p><p>"You did that on
purpose," said Harry, his voice even and low. "I can understand
your wanting to be admired, Draco. Most of us do." <em>But not you</em>,
Draco thought, half in a rage, mourning, and not for the first time,
the lack of that common link that would have made Harry understand
this so much better. "But flirting with someone you knew couldn't
really respond to you, since you're closer to me than he is, and
you have a commitment to me in the form of a joining ritual—why did
you do that?"</p><p>Draco tried a few
times to answer, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He
had just clearly seen the emotion in Harry's eyes for the first
time. It wasn't anger, which he had expected and prepared to
weather.</p><p>It was disappointment.</p><p>Harry looked at Draco
as if he had left him alone in a perfectly neat room and come back to
find that Draco had destroyed it. His eyes were weary. This, too,
would pass, his stance said, of course it would, but he could wish
that Draco had done something more productive with his time than
create a mess he would have to clean up.</p><p>"I wanted to make
you jealous, a little," Draco whispered. "And he was there, and
already obsessed with me, and willing to give me the stares I craved.
I saw no reason not to take advantage of that."</p><p>He'd done what a
good Slytherin would do. He'd done what a neglected boyfriend would
do. Why did he feel so bad now?</p><p>"I could have
understood that perfectly if you were a normal adolescent," Harry
said. "But, for better or worse, this is more like a court, Draco.
I've had to grow up lately, and realize that I was hiding from my
responsibilities and some of the implications of Lord-level power. I
think you need to realize what it means when you flirt with someone
else, what can happen, what kinds of destruction it might encourage.
What if Michael had grown so angry during the rebellion that he
betrayed us to the Ministry, for example?"</p><p>"He wouldn't have
done that—"</p><p>"Are you so sure?"</p><p>Draco frowned and
studied the ground, uncomfortable. No, he wasn't sure, damn it.
Michael was sworn to Harry, but there were ways around a sworn
companion's oath, especially if he managed to convince himself that
he was doing it for Harry's own good. And some people in Woodhouse,
especially those werewolves who resented their condition fiercely,
might have listened to him if he sought for allies.</p><p>He had thought he knew
Michael. But he hadn't known that Michael's obsession for him
would grow.</p><p><em>What other things
did I miss?</em></p><p>And then shame sank
its claws into him, because dancing with and defeating those too weak
to know any better was one thing, and not anticipating the waltz of
another and making himself look like a fool was another. Draco felt
his cheeks heat up. This was wrong, if only because of its
consequences. Yes, hindsight was perfect, but his foresight needed to
be perfect, too, as much as it could be. He knew Harry would forgive
mistakes, unlike his father. If he had gone to Harry the moment he
realized something was wrong, then he could have avoided this. Or he
should have guessed the consequences and never started this.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he
whispered.</p><p>Harry didn't say
anything. Draco looked up to see that Harry had waved his hand, and
letters of fire were stitching themselves across the air.</p><p><em>You'll be
apologizing to Michael, and not just to me. I'll be keeping silent
and away from you for two days, one for the original flirting you did
and one for the possession of Michael. </em></p><p>"Why?" Draco
demanded.</p><p><em>Your punishment.
There's not much that I can do to punish you as you acted, Draco,
since I'll hardly be flirting with someone else. But I can and will
refuse to share myself with you for that little while. It's two
days, and then it ends, and then we'll put this aside. I only hope
Michael can do so as easily, once he's released from his oath.</em></p><p>Harry half-closed his
eyes, and then Draco felt as if a glass barrier had descended in
front of him. It took him a short time to realize what it cut off. He
could no longer sense Harry's magic, nor hear his breathing, nor
feel the warmth of his skin.</p><p>"<em>Harry</em>," he
said, and knew his voice sounded desperate.</p><p>Harry gave him one
more of those disappointed glances, and turned away. Draco tried to
reach after him, and his hand halted an inch from Harry's shoulder,
refusing to move any further.</p><p>"How long does this
last?" Draco whispered. "Two full days, or forty-eight hours from
this moment?"</p><p><em>Forty-eight hours
from this moment.</em></p><p>Draco swallowed, glad
that he would not have to sleep alone more than two nights, but
dreading the thought of those he would, and dropped his hand. Harry
nodded at him and walked away.</p><p>He started to turn
away himself, but Owen Rosier-Henlin stepped up to him then and
clapped him on the back. Draco eyed him warily.</p><p>"I've come to
conduct you to my brother, and make sure you've properly
apologized," Owen explained.</p><p>Draco concealed a
groan, and stifled the urge to turn his head and watch Harry go. He
had not expected Harry's absence to tear at him so much. They had
spent long hours apart in the past few days, after all.</p><p>But that was
different, because he had always known that he could go to and touch
Harry as much as he wanted to if he became bored or lonely.</p><p>He followed Owen along
dully, hoping Harry wouldn't choose to use this punishment often.
It was <em>horrible.</em></p><p>Of course, perhaps he
wouldn't have to if Draco didn't do things deserving of it,
either. Draco concealed his flinch and his frown, and decided he
could try to act a little better. Sometimes.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>The wards around the
Manor were all relaxed. His wand lay on the table, a good distance
from him. The auditory glamour around him, which concealed the voices
from Narcissa's spell that continued to murmur and natter on about
the states of his emotions, was thick and tight. Lucius sat back in
his chair and nodded to the house elf next to him, who bowed and
vanished.</p><p>He looked up when he
heard the light footstep cross the threshold of the study; with the
wards down, he had no way of hearing or seeing her before she
arrived. Narcissa paused when she saw him, her head high and her
blonde hair curling around her neck. Her eyes were placid as a lake
in winter.</p><p>Lucius inclined his
head slightly. "Welcome, Narcissa."</p><p>His non-use of a pet
name would not go unremarked, he knew. Narcissa sat down on the
padded bench placed at the far end of the room, a safe distance from
him. Besides the distance, it provided a straight flight of escape
out the door, while Lucius sat in a corner between bookshelves,
hemmed in if he tried to dodge. With many visitors, such small
disadvantages would not have hurt him, but Narcissa was too nearly
his equal for them not to matter. Lucius knew it, and she knew it,
and he knew she knew it, and she knew he knew she knew it.</p><p>They regarded each
other in silence for a long time, before Narcissa stirred and asked,
"Have you decided to repent yet, Lucius?"</p><p>The term repentance
would have galled him. In some corner of his soul, it did still. But
Lucius had prepared carefully for this meeting. He needed to handle
Narcissa differently than either of those rash and impulsive boys.
Narcissa had much less to lose from his antagonism, and she had
agreed to a meeting whilst neither Harry nor Draco would come near
him.</p><p>"For not telling you
beforehand? Yes, of that I repented long ago. For asking you to come
here? I do not see that I need to." Lucius paused, studying her.
Narcissa shone in the sunlight through the study window as if she
were made of glass. He found that he was very glad to look at her, as
he had not been glad in a long time. She was beautiful, and the house
had been without her too long. Two months was two lifetimes too long.
"For fighting with you?" he added softly. "I cannot be, my
beautiful one. We have not fought in too long."</p><p>He saw an answering
spark, almost unwilling, in her eyes. She would know, as he did, that
the last duel that had been that serious between them was when Lucius
had wanted her to take the Dark Mark. She had won that one, and given
how mad Voldemort was when he returned, she was right. She would be
wondering at the insinuation that she was also right this time.</p><p>Lucius did not think
she was. But with Narcissa, he could be almost honest, certainly
closer than he came to honesty with anyone else. He knew her
strengths, her weaknesses, her defenses against those weaknesses, and
she knew his. They had spent long years coiled together like two
drowsing serpents.</p><p>It was not deception
when another serpent offered a show of its lovely scales to the
other. The second snake must be wise enough to know the fangs were
still there.</p><p>"I will not be
returning to Malfoy Manor at this time," Narcissa announced, as
they moved through several silent steps of a dance conducted by the
expressions on faces and the minute gestures of the body.</p><p>Lucius inclined his
head.</p><p>"I will come again
on Midwinter's Day," Narcissa added, standing. "It is
appropriate that we should be present at Draco's Declaration to the
Dark, whatever our personal feelings on the matter are."</p><p>Lucius concealed his
shock and dismay deep. He had not known Draco was Declaring. He had
not thought it possible when Draco received the gift of empathy from
Julia Malfoy, and he had never known how much that gift had altered.
That was a weakness that Draco, of course, had never revealed to his
father.</p><p>"I will await you
then," he said, and tilted his head to the side so that she could
see his throat and his collarbone.</p><p>Narcissa waved her
wand, and tried to dismiss the glamour that hid the voices speaking
about the state of his emotions. Lucius had made it too strong for
such a simple spell, though, and the room around them stayed silent.
Narcissa's lips curved in a small smile, and she made him a tiny
curtsey, hands dropping her robes almost before they gathered them.</p><p>"I do hope that you
provide interesting company on the twenty-first, my dear husband,"
she murmured, and turned for the door.</p><p>Lucius let her depart
before he went to the bookshelves. He would use the ancient texts and
his knowledge of Draco's mind to guess what ritual he would use to
Declare to the Dark.</p><p>He was confident he
could guess, and turn it to his advantage. Draco was yet a snakeling
with fangs, not a serpent full-grown.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"And Harry, if you
would."</p><p>Peter watched closely
as Harry came to the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts
classroom and stood patiently waiting. His magic was a good deal
calmer than Peter had seen it in a week, and he glanced about now and
then as if wondering why in the world people stared at him. It was
amazing, Peter thought, how quickly one got used to the lack of a
left hand at his side; his Levitation Charm compensated well enough
for that.</p><p>"Now," Peter said,
"this particular lesson is in skill and creativity on the
battlefield. Varying a spell can cause an enemy much more trouble
than casting one he doesn't know." He saw a hand move from the
corner of his eye, and turned his head. Skills he'd developed as a
spying Death Eater helped him notice the kinds of subtle signals that
a teacher needed to recognize. "Yes, Miss Granger?"</p><p>"Professor
Pettigrew," she said, lowering her hand and frowning at him, "how
can that be? If you throw a spell at an enemy that he doesn't know,
wouldn't that mean that he <em>couldn't</em> grasp what would
happen next? It might make his shield explode for all he knows."</p><p>"There is that,"
Peter acknowledged calmly. "But a variation of a spell he knows
well can produce overconfidence, you see. He will not seek to fight
you because he thinks he knows the effects." He watched Hermione's
mouth widen in an O of understanding, then nodded at her and turned
to Harry. "Would you care to demonstrate one of the modifications
on a spell you know, Harry?"</p><p>Harry studied him
back. His eyes asked as clearly as words could, <em>You're sure that
you want my magic at full strength?</em></p><p>Peter inclined his
head a tiny bit. Harry visibly took a breath and stood up straighter,
extending his hand in front of him. He probably should have brought
his wand so he could practice the movements for the rest of the
class, Peter thought critically, but Harry rarely carried it any
more.</p><p>At least he did say
the spell aloud, instead of thinking it. Peter had started them on
nonverbal spells, but he wasn't going to try that with a variation
the first time off. "<em>Praestigiae,</em>" Harry said, enunciating
the word on the first syllable instead of the second.</p><p>Peter observed in
interest as several misty gray balls formed in the air and began to
whirl around each other. The spell usually produced an illusion, but
adding a second word to the end of the incantation often specified
what sort of illusion the caster wanted. Peter suspected that Harry
had left off that second word on purpose, and also played on another
meaning of the Latin word, that of juggling.</p><p>The balls gained speed
and focus, and Peter realized each one spun on a brilliant white
axis, going so fast that it seemed as if the gray should dissipate in
every direction. But that didn't happen. Instead, the white axis
sharpened and brightened, spearing into lightning, cracking in half
in front of Peter's eyes. Beyond lay a wide green vision that split
open to reveal a deep blue one, and beyond that—</p><p>Abruptly, the visions
vanished. Peter blinked and shook his head, and turned to see Harry
looking rather embarrassed.</p><p>"Er, sorry, sir,"
he said. "I didn't mean to enchant you and the others like that.
I let my magic go too much."</p><p>Peter acted at once.
Harry was finally permitting his power to stretch its wings, and
achieving a balance between uncontrolled danger and the kind of
restraint he'd practiced lately, which made Peter want to shake
him. He would not let Harry become mortified that his incantation had
worked too well and shut his magic up again.</p><p>"That did exactly as
it was supposed to do, Harry," he said firmly. "Bewilder and
hypnotize an enemy, correct?"</p><p>Harry peered at him
from beneath one black lock of hair, as if wondering when the axe
would fall, and nodded slowly.</p><p>"While the regular
<em>Praestigiae</em> simply creates illusions that may or may not
baffle a foe, depending on how good they are, correct?" Peter
drilled him. He could see Hermione and several of the other students
scribbling down notes on their parchments.</p><p>"Yes, sir," said
Harry.</p><p>"A useful
variation," said Peter. "And exactly what I asked you to do. Ten
points to Slytherin, Harry. Please do sit down."</p><p>Harry retreated to his
seat looking somewhat puzzled, but the puzzlement turned to
consideration as he sat there. Peter hoped he was <em>thinking.</em>
His magic had hurt no one, and if anyone felt humiliated about how
easily Harry had bound them, at least they only needed to think that
their professor had been bound in the exact same way. That ought to
prevent quarrels.</p><p>Good. Peter wanted
Harry to think about this, not hide from it. His magic was different
from the other students', and he ought to follow where it led him,
not refuse the road because it was too long or turned in unexpected
directions.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>He was awake again,
and if he did not feel quite alive, he was in good company. The
fragment pulsing in the cup did not feel quite alive, either.</p><p>"Indigena."</p><p>She was at his side at
once, summoned less by his voice, Lord Voldemort thought, than the
pulse of pain he radiated through her Dark Mark. He gazed at her
approvingly through his snake's eyes. Her eyes had gone completely
green now, without pupil or iris. She had given herself to her magic,
and only her commitment to him was deeper. That ought to be the
regular practice of wizards, not shunning their magic no matter how
ugly it turned them, but following where it led.</p><p>"My Lord?"</p><p>Lord Voldemort stirred
thoughtfully, flexing his fingers. The cup lay clasped in one hand,
always; as he uncurled one, he curled the other close. He was
vulnerable, and with the wound in his magical core, he knew the power
would still drain away from him.</p><p>But that was why he
had been wise. He was always wise, Lord Voldemort. If he could not
use magic in his body, he would go to a place where he could, and
wield others as his hands and limbs and feet.</p><p>"The use of the two
proceeds apace," he announced aloud. "I will require you to make
ready for the first test soon. Fetch <em>Odi et Amo</em> again, and
read me the eleventh chapter."</p><p>"Yes, my lord,"
Indigena murmured respectfully, and went to fetch the book.</p><p>Lord Voldemort
directed his snake to stare at the ceiling of his earthen refuge and,
very slightly, smiled. Soon he would leave this place and travel to
the one that had been prepared for him. With the hand he could wield,
he would have enough magic to protect him and keep him safe during
the journey.</p><p>And then he would
commence his new war.</p><p>Harry Potter was not
only the one marked to defeat him. He was not only a personal enemy
who had stolen thirteen years of Voldemort's life, lost to bodiless
suffering and pain. He was also the one who had hurt Voldemort so
deeply that what Albus Dumbledore had done to him looked like the
fumblings of a hedge wizard.</p><p>Lord Voldemort was
still going to live forever. He was still going to conquer the
wizarding world and rid it of the taint of Mudbloods forever.</p><p>But first, he would
destroy Harry Potter.</p><p>It would be done
carefully. Simply killing him would be too easy, as would torture of
those he was close to. The tortures had to be different from each
other, or at least sufficiently different to punish Harry. And Lord
Voldemort must be careful, must be precise, must strip from Harry all
that he had loved, which in the end would include his magic and his
morals and his sanity.</p><p>He would have to think
on this. He had time.</p><p>He would always, he
thought, caressing the cup, have time.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 67*: Vengeance Lies Dreaming</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Three: Vengeance Lies Dreaming</strong></p><p>"Come and look at
this article, Pemberley."</p><p>Honoria rolled her
eyes as she gathered up her robes to pick her way in among the
presses. No matter how long she spent at the Maenad Press, Dionysus
Hornblower refused to call her by anything but her last name. He
seemed to change his mind on her daily. Now she was the liaison with
the press Harry had assigned her to be, now she was a spy from the
cause of an underground rebellion and the Press's ally, now she was
a spy from a <em>vates</em> who had sold his cause out by cooperating
with Light wizards for the sake of a legal authority Dionysus cared
for less than spots on bread. Life was never boring, but sometimes
Honoria wished it wouldn't vary quite so much.</p><p><em>His
refusal to call me by my name should be refreshing, perhaps, as the
one constant, </em>she thought, as she finally hopped over a discarded
piece of metal and came down beside Dionysus, who thrust an article
impatiently at her.</p><p>Honoria took it up
carefully. It was written on fine parchment, which argued against it
coming from a student at Hogwarts; so did the accurate spelling. But
many pureblood families had parchment like this in the house. Honoria
did not see how she was supposed to tell anything about the article
from that.</p><p>"The content, girl,
the content," said Dionysus.</p><p>She read the article,
and stifled her complaint against the only other "name" that he
ever called her. Mad-Eye Moody had been the same, and Honoria had
liked him well enough, though she thought he needed to relax and
learn how to dance. And at least Dionysus had not decided to announce
her stupidity to the press at large today, as he had a habit of
doing.</p><p><strong><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em>DEPARTMENT OF
MYSTERIES 'UNSPEAKABLE' IN ITS LOYALTIES</em></span></strong></p><p>It didn't look any
different from the articles they printed almost daily—except,
Honoria thought as she read on, for the tone, measured and assured,
without the half-hysteria that permeated most stories about Harry's
treachery or the Ministry's treachery or the werewolves'
treachery or Voldemort's treachery. The <em>Vox Populi</em> was very
fond of treachery, usually.</p><p>This article outlined
a story of the founding of the Department of Mysteries that Honoria
had never heard before, beginning with the Stone and arguing that,
pretense or not, the Unspeakables still served the Stone and not the
Ministry. Some were things that she thought Dionysus couldn't have
known, either, given how early his "training" in the ways of the
Unspeakables had finished. The article-writer concluded with a few
sentences that made the hair on Honoria's arms stand up.</p><p><em>For now, when they
must fly against public outrage and loss of face, the Department of
Mysteries is quiet. But it will not remain so for long. If we do not
stand on our guard, they will return, filtering into our dreams,
turning our very shadows on the walls against us. Maintaining the
amount of light shed on them is the only way to harness them and
their Stone, to negotiate rather than face them in a hopeless all-out
war.</em></p><p>Honoria lowered the
parchment and rubbed absently at the gooseflesh on her arms. She
blinked as she caught a glimpse of Dionysus's scowling face.
"What?" she asked. "You <em>love</em> this."</p><p>"But I know who it's
from." Dionysus regarded the article with a jaundiced eye. "Our
readers won't know, of course, since we print without names, and
I've never let a story's origin disturb me before. But."</p><p>"But?" Honoria
prompted.</p><p>"This one's from
Scrimgeour." Dionysus all but snarled the word, and then met her
eyes as if daring her to challenge him.</p><p>Honoria blinked, and
had the urge to laugh. She supposed that the day would, of course,
come when the Minister would seek to use the <em>Vox Populi</em> to
express his opinion. Everyone else did. She would never have thought
that Dionysus, champion of freedom and the rights of everyone to
speak, would balk, though.</p><p>"And so?" she
asked gently. "You know that he can write these articles and send
them to you, too. And he certainly has the spelling and the writing
skills to be accepted." The only articles that Dionysus tended to
reject out of hand were the ones so badly-written it was impossible
to say what the author had meant.</p><p>"He's an enemy of
freedom." Dionysus turned his head upside-down, watching the
article from the corner of one eye as though it would burst into
flames if he regarded it directly for too long. "What would your
<em>vates</em> say about this, Pemberley? Since I consider him the
champion of freedom."</p><p><em>Only when it suits
you to do so. </em>"He would say that you should print the article,"
said Honoria, and gave it back to Dionysus. "If the Minister is
planning treachery, then it should be outweighed by the fact that
other voices in the same edition of the <em>Populi </em>speak against
him. And you know that Harry always gives his enemies a chance to
have their say, even to his own detriment."</p><p>"Then
he uses them to gain power," said Dionysus, but absently, showing
off his inconsistent philosophical position for the day. He went on
staring at the story, and refused to take it from her hand. "What
if it's a code? I print it, and it tells someone to attack the
Maenad Press, or gives other information damaging to the cause of
freedom?"</p><p>Honoria refrained from
rolling her eyes, but with a very great effort. "Change the wording
a bit."</p><p>"I can't do that!
Not to something I've agreed to print."</p><p>"Then don't print
it." Honoria shrugged. Dionysus's paranoia had kept him alive,
but it was tiresome to deal with. "I'm knackered. Going home to
be with Ignifer for a time." She turned to grow wings and rise out
of the mass of the press. She hadn't used her Animagus form to
reach Dionysus mostly because there was so little room for her to
change back from gull to human in the crowded mess of the floor where
they stood.</p><p>Dionysus caught her
shoulder, and he was heavy enough that it was hard to dislodge him.
"You won't consider writing that exposé I wanted?"</p><p>"No," said
Honoria, with finality. Dionysus had wanted her to write an article
on what it was like to live with an exiled Apollonis, or,
alternatively, a Light witch turned Dark. Honoria had her own reasons
for refusing, but those wouldn't content him. She had to find ones
that would. "That plays too much on Ignifer's blood status, and
makes everyone think all over again that purebloods are special and
worth more than other people. You don't want to undermine the Grand
Unified Theory like that, do you?" The one wind that remained
constant in Dionysus's character, or had so far, was the Grand
Unified Theory.</p><p>His shoulders
stiffened. "Of course not." He released her with a faint push.
"Go home to your lover. <em>Sarah</em>!"</p><p>Honoria transformed
and soared upward. She was nearly out of the building when she
remembered she hadn't had her joke yet today, and wheeled back to
lift her tail discreetly over the machinery of a press. The magic
that drove it could cope with most failures, but they hadn't yet
figured out a spell that would get rid of all the problems bird-shit
caused.</p><p>Thus fortified to come
back tomorrow and enjoy her task, Honoria merrily flitted out of a
window and was gone.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Ignifer was in the
extraordinarily odd position of talking with her father for the first
time since he had cursed her with infertility and not being furious
at him. She sat stiffly in front of the fire, hands clasped before
her, and watched Cupressus with a keen eye through the flames. He
crouched with his head poking through them. That alone was impossible
enough to earn Ignifer's attention. Cupressus Apollonis never made
a gesture that could be interpreted as submissive to <em>anyone</em>.
Ever.</p><p>"And that was the
end of it," Cupressus concluded. "The Unspeakables threatened to
publish what I'd done in the past, specifically in my foolish
youth." His slow glance said that he might consider foolish youth
to extend to thirty-six. Ignifer ignored those implications, and just
nodded. "I told them they were welcome to do so, but I would know
what direction the attacks came from, and I was not yielding my time
or my treasures to them to do with as they would." He sat back,
looking pleased with himself, and added, "Some others were not so
lucky as to avoid that trap. Or they went <em>seeking them out</em>, as
if one wanted the Department of Mysteries to engage with."</p><p>Ignifer tilted her
head. She knew that tone in her father's voice. He had specific
information, in this case names, and he would give it up if he was
given something in return. And once again she felt the temptation to
bargain with him.</p><p><em>Don't,</em> the
voice of experience told her. <em>His bargains are iron chains that
only slowly fade into being around your limbs.</em></p><p>But this time, she had
protection, while all the other times she had faced him alone and
crippled by the terrible yearning to return home, not to be an exile
any longer. She had Harry, and the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, and
their shelter even if her father tried to hurt her.</p><p>She asked, carefully,
"Would the names of these unlucky or foolish ones be common news?"</p><p>"Not common news,"
said Cupressus. "One is often watched in Ireland, because of his
importance, but no one would guess that he was so unfortunate as to
misstep. The other is shining brighter, but passing beneath the shade
of the Unspeakables could well dim his light forever."</p><p>The only thing that
told Ignifer was that the unlucky one was an important pureblood
wizard, and the other a Light pureblood wizard on the rise, not
necessarily important. But pursuing this line of attack would win her
a collar about the throat. She adopted an expression of indifference.
"And they are proclaiming their failures?"</p><p>Cupressus laughed
quietly. "Oh, daughter, <em>everyone</em> proclaims his failures, if
one only knows how to look. And read."</p><p>Ignifer gnawed her lip
a moment, trying to find her way through the strands of the
discussion. An important pureblood wizard who had slipped up. What
Cupressus was implying <em>could</em> mean that the consequences of his
failure had been announced in the <em>Daily Prophet</em>, but most
readers wouldn't know the nature of his folly.</p><p>And then she blinked,
because there was only one wizard who fit that description, and,
somewhat to Ignifer's own shock, she was involved enough in
politics now to know who it was.</p><p>She didn't blurt it
out to her father, of course. She nodded to Cupressus and said, "I
appreciate your willingness to share this knowledge with me, Father,
and I salute your resistance to unspeakable designs on your home and
property."</p><p>"You might have the
right to speak their names, again, in the future," said Cupressus
softly.</p><p>Ignifer didn't
react. Her father had told her again and again what price would win
her back her home and her family and his approval. She only had to
Declare for Light, and she would receive everything she wanted.</p><p><em>Was it stubbornness
that kept me Dark for so long, or honor? Well, it is honor now. I
won't abandon my allegiance in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, the
allegiance that lets me sit on the monitoring board, the allegiance
that means I can obtain what I want from my life instead of what my
father wants.</em></p><p>"As soon hope for a
change of voice, as a change of name," she told her father, and
then dismissed the flames. Cupressus would only offer some savage or
ironic farewell. Ignifer saw no need to entertain either.</p><p>The moment the flames
ended, she cupped her hands around her cheeks and bowed her head. Her
stomach was sick with nervousness, churning as if she would vomit at
any moment.</p><p>Only one wizard fit
Cupressus's description, and if he was right—and he might not be
right, Ignifer tried to tell herself, again and again—then that
wizard had been conspiring with the Unspeakables right under Harry's
nose.</p><p><em>Lucius Malfoy</em>.</p><p>He had publicly broken
with Harry, but almost no one knew why. Ignifer had to admit she'd
doubted it was over the disownment of his son. After all, what <em>reason</em>
did he have to dissuade his son from going to Harry? He was Harry's
joined partner, or would be, and using a ritual that required a level
of will and commitment that most parents approved of. Lucius Malfoy
was simply too practical to disown Draco in a fit of pique, or
because Draco had disobeyed some whim of his. He would need a
compelling reason, and an entanglement with Unspeakables through
which he hoped to escape blackmail would fit.</p><p>If it was what her
father suggested, then Lucius had not only betrayed the Alliance of
Sun and Shadow, but he had more personally and permanently betrayed
Harry. The Unspeakables had tried to <em>control</em> Harry. They had
tried to compel a <em>vates</em>. Lucius cooperating with them stated
that he did not believe in the very ideals he claimed to support.</p><p>Ignifer tried to pull
her rampant speculation up short. This might have been the very track
her father intended to set her mind running along. She really had no
<em>proof</em>, other than her father's word, and the odd coincidence
of Lucius breaking from Harry for some reason no one knew the full
tale of, and her own conviction that Lucius was slimy enough to do
something like this. For all she knew, Cupressus wanted her to become
Lucius's enemy to advance his own agenda.</p><p><em>Of course it's to
advance his own agenda.</em> Ignifer wiped at her cheeks and tried to
calm her breathing. <em>It always is. And he may want me to suspect
and accuse Lucius, and fracture the Alliance further, or weaken
Lucius's place with Harry. He is Lucius's enemy by allegiance. He
could want to see Lucius destroyed just because he's a Dark wizard.
I don't know anything yet.</em></p><p>But the suspicion sank
into her stomach and gathered force, if only because Cupressus had
been right about odd things before. He had predicted long years
before it happened that Cornelius Fudge would become Minister, and
that he would be weak and contemptible enough to need the "advice"
of prominent Light families, while fearing the Dark ones enough not
to seek comfort from them. And he tended not to make statements
without some kind of proof behind them. Lucius was really the only
candidate who fit his parameters this time, no matter how Ignifer
turned them in her mind.</p><p>A door banged, and
Honoria's voice called out, cheerfully, "Ignifer? Are you—"
Then she entered the room and crossed it in a soft run. Her arms
locked around Ignifer's waist, and when Ignifer looked up,
illusions of lions juggled tiny balls on her shoulders. Ignifer
cracked a reluctant smile.</p><p>"Who did this to
you?" Honoria whispered, stroking her hair. "The bitch or the
bastard?"</p><p>The descriptions of
her parents made Ignifer chuckle, and then feel bad for chuckling. If
her father was trying to help—but then, she did not know if he
really was, and he could intend to help the Alliance purely and
solely because it would benefit him. She didn't know, couldn't
know, and keeping the suspicions locked in her own skull was making
her nervous and jumpy.</p><p>She licked her lips
and did what she usually did at such a time: told Honoria.</p><p>Honoria went more and
more still as Ignifer listed the reasons she had for thinking Lucius
had been involved with the Unspeakables, and the reasons she had for
not believing Cupressus. At the end, Honoria jumped away and flung
her arms into the air, swearing. The illusions of flames sprang out,
crackling around her fingers.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," she
said, when other, and more eloquent, terms had deserted her. "There's
no way that we can move against this, either. Not easily. If we
accuse Lucius falsely, then we'll lose credibility and cost Harry
two of his best allies, and practically compel him to give Lucius a
second look and another hearing. If we turn out to be correct, then
it could still split the Alliance and put Harry in a very difficult
position. Is he going to be able to eat the magic out of his
father-in-law?"</p><p>"I don't know,"
said Ignifer, and she didn't. She had held firm to her own
promises, even when they cost her with her family, but that had cost
her, too, hardening her pride into a bitter, hollow shell. She had
also had longer than Harry had been alive to consider her position,
and she'd had people she despised begging her to reconsider her
choice. Nothing fortified the will like open attacks from the
opposition. No matter which principles Harry ultimately chose to
support, those of justice or those of mercy, he would have people he
loved and cared for on both sides, not scorned.</p><p>"It's not a good
idea to tell him just yet, maybe," said Honoria. "Not until we
have more proof." She paused for a long moment, and a slow, manic,
brilliant smile crept across her face.</p><p>"What?" Ignifer
asked.</p><p>"Minister Scrimgeour
sent an article decrying the Unspeakables to the <em>Populi</em>
today," said Honoria, and sat down on another chair, swinging her
foot. "I convinced Dionysus to print it. We could send news of
Lucius's possible treachery to Scrimgeour, since we know that he
distrusts the Department of Mysteries. He could look around for clues
to it, and he has a much better spy network than we ever will."</p><p>Ignifer smiled. She
knew the Minister didn't like Lucius Malfoy. Honoria's solution
was as close to perfect as it could get. At least they would know
someone was working on the problem, and someone with much better
resources to handle any eventual discovery—and, best of all,
someone without the Alliance of Sun and Shadow oaths hindering him.
"You're brilliant."</p><p>Honoria tossed her
head in pretended pique. "I'm <em>radiant</em>, I'll have you
know."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Rufus rubbed his
forehead. Days like today were why he hated being Minister.</p><p>Oh, it was very
pleasant when he could sign a truce to end a rebellion, or hear
near-assurances that Gloriana Griffinsnest would be judged guilty of
murder and put into Tullianum for a <em>very</em> long time. But those
days were pinnacles of high shining light in the morass of his life.
Sooner or later, the time always came to descend into the bogs and
valleys again.</p><p>First had come the
news that the Centaur Committee, which Rufus had hoped would be ready
no later than November sixteenth, was having problems. Some of their
original volunteers had flat-out refused to serve when they realized
that their tasks would involve actual <em>contact </em>with centaurs,
not simple paper-pushing. Rufus had written what reassurances he
could, but in the end the answer was to hire wizards less prejudiced,
if any could be found. It would further delay the Committee being in
actual operation.</p><p>Second was this
movement to start a new, wizard-controlled bank, now that some people
no longer trusted Gringotts. The <em>hanarz</em> of the southern
goblins had sent Rufus a polite note to the effect that her people
would consider any such operation unfair competition, and expect the
Ministry to support their legal claims against the upstarts.</p><p>Third was the
confirmation that some of the Muggles who'd observed the flight of
the British Red-Gold had escaped the Obliviators. Now the Muggle
papers were full of speculation on what the dragon could be. The most
heated debate was between those who thought it some political gambit
of the Prime Minister's and those who thought it some secret
project of the Queen's. But a substantial minority insisted it had
been a <em>dragon</em>, secret projects be damned, and those were the
ones bringing in variously-worded owls, some polite, some not polite,
from the Ministers of other countries, asking why in the world
Britain seemed intent on violating the International Statute of
Secrecy.</p><p>And now, this.</p><p>Rufus eyed the note
lying in the middle of his desk as if it were a Many cobra. Actually,
a Many hive would be less troublesome, since all of them in Britain
seemed to work for Harry. The note was from Ignifer Apollonis and her
lover, explaining that they had reason to believe Lucius Malfoy had
interfered in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow by cooperating with the
Unspeakables, and could he look into this?</p><p>Nothing would have
delighted Rufus more a year ago. Now, he assuredly could <em>not</em>
look into this, because the Unbreakable Vows he'd sworn in
Courtroom Ten bound him from betraying Lucius in any way.</p><p>He had sent Percy off
for tea when he first read the note, so that he could throw things at
the walls in peace.</p><p>The man's words made
so much <em>sense</em> in this context, he thought bitterly. Lucius had
spoken of not getting everything he wanted when he first appeared
with Flint and swore the oaths. And he hadn't, had he? The
Unspeakables hadn't managed to control Harry or prevent the
rebellion from happening, and Lucius had broken with Harry when the
rebellion began, so Rufus rather thought his motivation traced to
that. He had <em>not</em> thought to give Lucius's words that
particular spin, and so that meant he was sitting hand-bound in his
office and Lucius was walking around the roads of the wizarding world
free to do as he pleased.</p><p>It <em>pained</em>
Rufus.</p><p>He wished there was a
way that he could give the note to someone else and let that person
investigate Lucius. Wilmot would be perfect. He had told Rufus,
quietly, a few days after the anti-werewolf laws were repealed, what
he was, and the only questions Rufus had been able to ask in his
astonishment had been how he managed during the full moons and why he
had never noticed before. He was loyal to the Minister and
Harry—somehow both at the same time—and he was discreet. He could
look for proof of Lucius's treachery without blaring his intention
all over the front page of the <em>Daily Prophet</em>.</p><p>But even giving the
note to someone else would be a betrayal of Lucius; he could feel the
Unbreakable Vow tightening like a noose on his throat just thinking
of it. Rufus shook his head and crumpled the parchment up. The
tightening eased. If Honoria or Ignifer asked about the progress of
the investigation, then Rufus would simply have to say that he had
been unable to find proof, which was true enough.</p><p>Would Lucius go on
from this to act against Harry again? Rufus did not doubt it. Lucius
had broken his ties with the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, to hear the
<em>Vox Populi</em> announce it. And his own Unbreakable Vows bound him
from action against the Minister, not against the <em>vates.</em></p><p>Rufus's only comfort
was the fact that his article for the <em>Vox Populi</em> separated him
firmly from the Unspeakables, and thus from whatever Lucius's
activities for them had been. At least that particular association,
of blind belief in and support for the Department of Mysteries, did
not taint him.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Lucius tapped his
fingers rapidly against his knee as he read the description of the
Declaration ritual on page 363 of <em>Declaring for Children. </em>Then
he shook his head. He could not see Draco choosing that particular
ritual. Not only was it demanding, long, and bloody, but it involved
an element of dominance that Lucius did not believe his son capable
of achieving, given what must happen after the ritual. No, Draco
would find a ritual that let him preserve his purity in the eyes of
his partner.</p><p>Lucius felt another
lash of irritation at the thought of Harry. If Harry had only done as
he was supposed to, and reacted to Hawthorn Parkinson's
imprisonment by means less extreme than rebelling, then Draco's
disownment would not have happened. Lucius would know what ritual his
son was using to Declare, and he would have been able to influence
him by subtle suggestions.</p><p>Neither boy had
responded to his letter indicating that he wanted to reconcile.
Lucius counseled himself, again, to patience. It would take more work
than that to earn back Harry's trust, and Draco's. It would take
months of perfect good behavior, and even cringing submission if
necessary.</p><p>He did not like
cringing submission. But he had done it for the Dark Lord, when he
still believed the man might give him gifts beyond the brand on his
arm.</p><p>Lucius scratched the
Dark Mark absently. Several times in the last week he had awakened
from rough dreams to find it tingling, and, once, when he peered at
the snake and skull by the light of the moon, surrounded with red
lines. Lucius had cast several spells on it, trying to determine
whether the Dark Lord was reaching out across the miles to influence
him, but the spells had revealed nothing. The tingling had ceased
now. And though Lucius had analyzed his dreams, he could not find any
way in which they would be useful to Voldemort. They were memories,
of times when he had punished his enemies, or future hopes, such as
what would happen when he finally disproved the Grand Unified Theory
and put the Mudbloods in their proper places. He often had such
dreams. Voldemort had not changed them in any way, had not planted
visions in his head as Lucius knew he had often done to Harry.</p><p>The thought of the
Grand Unified Theory reminded him that he had long meant to issue a
certain invitation. He spent a pleasant few minutes composing a
letter to Thomas Rhangnara, inviting him to come to the Manor. He
would like to discuss the implications of the Grand Unified Theory on
the heritage of the Malfoys and Blacks.</p><p>The letter sent with
Julius, Lucius turned and drew another book down from the shelves.
Somewhere, he would find a match for Draco's temperament and goals.
He would know that was the ritual his son was using, and he would be
prepared to use it when he went to Hogwarts on Midwinter's Eve.</p><p>He would never attempt
to change the force of his son's Declaration to the Light, of
course; the ritual would prevent such outright interference in any
case, and on the longest night of the year, the wild Dark was likely
to kill the wizard who tried something so foolish. No, what Lucius
would do was—minor, really. A suggestion here, a tweak there. The
wild Dark would approve of that, since Lucius was working with its
methods, subterfuge and deception.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor smiled as
another gray-and-black owl flew down and alighted on his bed. They
were beautiful birds, the ones Mark kept finding to send his letters.
The young werewolf had left Woodhouse, but continued writing to
Connor, mostly talking about his inability to find a job now that
most people knew he was a werewolf.</p><p>This letter was
typical.</p><p><em>Hi Connor!</em></p><p><em>Well, I did try
your suggestion today, and went to Gringotts. But they're not
hiring wizards anymore, did you know? Or, at least, they're only
hiring them for curse-breaking and other dangerous jobs that you have
to have a lot of experience in. One snotty goblin told me I just
wasn't fit for the job, and I'd need at least two more years of
private training before I attempted it. Prejudiced bastards. I can
say that because I'm a werewolf myself, you know, so I can't be
prejudiced.</em></p><p><em>I'm sending you
another gift with this letter. And yes, I know, check it for tracking
spells and Portkey spells and all of those things you like. It's
just a wooden model of a broom. I know you said once that you were
kind of jealous of your brother for having a Firebolt, so I made you
one!</em></p><p><em>Cheers, </em></p><p><em>Mark.</em></p><p>Connor shook the
package until the little wooden broom tumbled out on the bed. It was
just what Mark had said, a complete Firebolt down to the twigs.
Connor supposed he must have drawn the model from Harry's broom,
when he took it with him to Woodhouse.</p><p>Humming happily,
Connor went to enchant the wooden broom and Snitch and chase them
around the Pitch on his Nimbus. If he saw Harry along the way, he
would ask him if he wanted to play. Harry was spending an awful lot
of time without Draco these days, even though Draco's punishment
for being a right git to Michael was long over.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco took a deep,
bracing breath. He stood on top of the Astronomy Tower, lingering
behind after his NEWT Astronomy class had departed below. Professor
Sinistra had given him an understanding look when he asked if he
could stay. She knew how much he loved the stars, and she would think
this another opportunity for watching them.</p><p>It wasn't, though.
It was about listening, instead. This high, and this close to
Midwinter, Draco could hear the cry of the wild Dark as it swept
through the black spaces between the constellations, hunting down the
Light. The day was near when it would land and bite the year in half,
proclaiming its power with a thunderous roar that Draco thought even
Muggles might hear, if they would only listen.</p><p>His vision swam with
stars during the day, and with blackness at night. He could feel the
wind tugging on his heart, trying to make him follow it into the sky.
Draco resisted that—he would not lose himself that far—but he
could admire the savage beauty of the wild Dark.</p><p>If it were not
presumptuous, he would say that the tone and temper of the wild Dark
this year was much like his own, or at least as he perceived himself:
beautiful, cruel, cold, indifferent to attempts others made to crack
that coldness.</p><p>That observation, at
least, was the thing that had made him rethink his behavior with
Michael, and resolve not to do anything like it again. It was <em>beneath</em>
him. He would watch out for threats, he would battle them, and he
would work for his own advantage, but indulging himself with
vengeance was undignified. Draco wondered that his father had ever
thought it a good idea. A cool insult or quiet application to Harry
to take care of the problem worked much better.</p><p>Draco felt his smile
widen as he traced his eyes from star to star, almost seeing the
thing blacker than the blackness that danced between them.</p><p>He had no objection to
riding on Harry's power when he couldn't do something for
himself. If <em>he</em> knew who and what he was, what others thought
did not matter, and remaining in Harry's shadow, at least to their
perceptions, would just encourage more people to underestimate him.</p><p>But on Midwinter, at
least, it would be his night. He had chosen a ritual to Declare to
the Dark that he rather thought would surprise everyone who witnessed
it.</p><p>And it would certainly
surprise Harry, and serve as Draco's answer to those two days of
punishment when he hadn't been able to touch him or feel his magic.</p><p><em>Watch out, Harry.
You're about to find out what it's like to have a Dark lover,
Dark in heart and soul as well as in magic.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 68*: His Night</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Warning: VERY heavy slash in the seventh scene- edited to maintain an M rating. </strong>Skip it if you're not comfortable with it.</p><p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Four: His Night</strong></p><p>Harry came in late to
breakfast that day, but he was already feeling smug about what he'd
accomplished so far. A letter to Camellia to let her know he would
spend his Christmas Day at Silver-Mirror, after a few more days at
Hogwarts, and then some days with the pack, had gone out with the
first owl. Then had gone invitations to several of his allies who
might not have presumed to contact him at this time of year. He would
like to have Ignifer, Honoria, Hawthorn, Adalrico's family, and
Thomas with him for Christmas, if they would come. Snape, Narcissa,
Peter, Connor, and Draco would already be there, of course.</p><p>He paused when he saw
Draco sitting at the Slytherin table. Then he shook his head and
started forward. <em>Draco always sits at the Slytherin table, </em>he
told himself. <em>In fact, he usually sits exactly there and looks
exactly like that. What made you stop?</em></p><p>"Going to enjoy
yourself tonight?" he murmured as he took the chair beside Draco.
The owl from Hogsmeade bearing his own breakfast, shrunken packages
of cornflakes and milk, arrived then. Harry brought them back up to
normal size and Levitated the cornflakes in the air as he poured the
milk over them.</p><p>"Yes. And so are
you."</p><p>Harry stopped for a
long moment. The smirk in Draco's tone didn't deserve a startled
jerk and a craning of his neck, even if it was what Harry felt like
giving him. He turned his head slowly instead, fully expecting
Draco's expression to have changed by the time he saw him.</p><p>But Draco was still
smirking. Harry shook his head slightly. "I read the description of
the ritual you chose," he murmured. "It didn't say anything
about my joining in, though of course I'll be there to watch you.
And isn't Declaring about confronting the wild Dark on your own? Or
the wild Light, for that matter?"</p><p>"Ah." Draco popped
a sausage into his mouth and eyed Harry's breakfast with mild
disdain. "I didn't choose that ritual. I chose a different one."</p><p>"Which one, then?"
Harry demanded, trying to remember the books he'd helped Draco sort
through in the library. There had been too many of them, though, and
Harry had done nothing more than scan most of their pages. He had his
own tasks, and Draco had wanted to prepare alone.</p><p>"You should find out
soon." Draco glanced around the Great Hall. Harry tracked his gaze.
It was Midwinter morning, and most of the other students had gone
home already, unless they were staying at Hogwarts for the holidays.
Only Michael and Luna sat at the Ravenclaw table, and the Hufflepuffs
had a very small gathering that happened to include Zacharias Smith.
Hermione had gone, but Ron and Ginny both remained with Connor. Harry
meant to invite them to Silver-Mirror, too, if their parents would
concede to them celebrating Christmas with a bunch of Dark wizards.
Most of the teachers were at the head table, but both Professor
Sprout and Professor Sinistra had left to spend the holidays with
family. Draco sniffed. "A small audience, but I suppose it will do.
You'll all find out at the same time."</p><p>"And so this ritual
does require my help?" Harry took a bite of his cornflakes,
frowning. "I'll mess something up if you don't tell me what to
do, Draco, and I know that you don't want your Declaration anything
but perfect."</p><p>"You did well on the
last ritual where you had nothing but a few instructions, Harry,"
Draco said, and his voice grew low, teasing, intimate.</p><p>Harry swallowed, and
felt his face go warm. "That was different," he said. "That was
a ritual focused on the both of us. Isn't this a ritual focused
just on you?"</p><p>"I suppose I can
tell you a bit about it, since you won't be able to guess which
ritual I'm using just from this small piece of information,"
Draco said airily. "This Declaration helps me with what I want and
need, Harry. And one of the things I want and need is you."</p><p>Harry was still trying
to apply that vague statement to any reasonable course of action when
all the lights in the Great Hall went out.</p><p>There were startled
shrieks from several of the students, and even from the head table,
though later Harry thought the professors would deny making that
sound. He remained still in the blackness, trusting to his ears and
his magic to guide him. He'd tried, automatically, to conjure a
<em>Lumos</em> around his hand, but it had failed.</p><p>He could feel the Dark
in the room with them.</p><p>It rubbed against his
hand, a sensation of prickly fur that might hurt if it was rubbed the
wrong way; Harry had heard about sharkskin being like that, sharp
enough to cut a swimmer who touched it. It laughed in his head, a
curl of a chuckle that boomed into raging waves like the sea, and
clenched at his spine with fingers that seemed to pierce straight
through his skin and bones. Harry felt the weight above him, the
choking heaviness of a cave pressing down. His shoulders sagged under
stones, and his heart struggled to beat.</p><p>But the power still
left him free to turn his head and check on Draco. And what he saw
there stilled his breath.</p><p>A pulse of light was
around Draco—either that, or a pulse of darkness so much darker
than the rest that the rest became as light. Draco had his eyes
closed, his neck tilted back, and a faint smile on his lips. Jaws
outlined his head, cupping and cradling his skull, flowing into the
ill-defined form of a beast that crouched on his back. Harry knew
those jaws could close in a moment and turn Draco's entire face to
little more than scattered pulp.</p><p>The tableau lasted for
long moments, pierced only by occasional startled cries from the
other students. Harry felt his own breath quickening the longer he
waited. He had dreaded this day, because he knew it would remind him
of Fawkes, and he had thought the wild Dark would want to inflict
<em>some</em> punishment on him for fighting it last year.</p><p>But he should have
remembered that the wild Dark was never consistent from one day to
another, much less from one Midwinter to another. What he felt was
the proud greeting of a very proud power. It suppressed thoughts of
Fawkes and phoenix song, and drew his own darkness to the surface.
Harry felt as if his vision swam with tar, and his muscles twitched
with the need to run, as he had on Walpurgis after the white stag.</p><p>But no white stag
would come to them today, he thought, no such creature of light.
Tonight was the Dark's time.</p><p>And Draco's.</p><p>The night vanished the
moment he thought that, and Draco leaned back in his seat as the jaws
around his head went with it. Harry could see others crying softly in
confusion, or staring around as they tried to locate the source of
the darkness. Harry knew they wouldn't find it. The wild Dark had
taken all the light out of the Great Hall because it wanted to, and
then it had left again as suddenly. It had no source, and needed
none, because tonight the darkness was everywhere.</p><p>Draco opened his eyes
and turned his head away, not even looking at Harry before he did so.
<em>He knows I'm watching, </em>Harry thought, and something in his
mind—a remnant of the wild Dark, or the awareness that he'd built
up around Draco since the Halloween ritual, or the cruelty that he
looked at, sometimes, and then buried under the bed again—purred
with satisfaction at the thought.</p><p>Blood ran from two
precisely précised holes high up on Draco's skull, staining
the blond hair. Harry didn't have to ask to know they came from the
jaws' prominent fangs. Solemnly, he stretched out his hand and
caressed the hole on the left, without asking if Draco wanted the
wound healed. The wound couldn't be healed and still signify
Draco's willingness as it was supposed to.</p><p>"Does it hurt?" He
<em>was</em> surprised to hear his own voice sound so breathy, as if he
were still watching the beast hold Draco.</p><p>Draco turned around
and shook his head. "No. It doesn't." He caught Harry's hand
and bent low. Harry felt the impact of teeth on his palm, hard enough
to break the skin, if not to make him bleed. "Not against the
thought of what's going to happen tonight."</p><p>Harry watched him with
half-lidded eyes, feeling the darkness dance up and down in him. He
was not Declared. He never would be. He had the phoenix song and the
preference for Light ethics to ground him if he ever thought that
might be happening.</p><p>But he had a closeness
to Darkness, too. And it had been months since he had truly indulged
that—arguably, not since Walpurgis. Most of the magic he had been
working since he came back from the Sanctuary was Light. The joining
rituals he'd shared with Draco on Halloween and his birthday
acknowledged the presence of the Dark, but did not confront it.</p><p>It could do no harm to
indulge the wildness struggling to escape within him, as long as that
was what the ritual allowed.</p><p>Draco looked up and
caught his eye. At once he grinned, a feral expression that Harry was
sure he'd seen before, though he couldn't remember if it was on
Draco's face or someone else's. "You don't need to think
about this, Harry, or worry about the rules," he whispered. "I
called to the wild Dark last night. Its appearing this way is a sign
that the call was accepted. From now on, the ritual will handle
things." He reached up with his free hand and tugged at Harry's
hair, hard enough to hurt, the way he liked to do. "Let <em>go.</em>"</p><p>Harry held back one
more moment. "You're sure the ritual won't hurt anyone else?"</p><p>"Sure." Draco's
voice was breathy, too, come to that. "It doesn't want to. The
wild Dark isn't interested in easy victims, not this year. I've
given myself up to it, and it wants to play."</p><p>Harry nodded, and
heard triumphant laughter well in his head, followed by sweetness,
followed by the knowledge that he could float off the floor and out
the windows of the Great Hall if he wanted to.</p><p>He could always have
done that, at any time of the year. But this knowledge swarmed back
and struck him across the face like a blow from the bird's lizard
tail, and he took a deep breath that seemed full of the complementary
knowledge: that he might <em>want</em> to do it, too.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape knew which
ritual Draco had chosen to use, though he'd never seen it act.</p><p>He spent the day
observing the boys in silence. They helped him brew a stock of
potions that Madam Pomfrey would almost certainly need when the
students returned from holiday, as they played with magical toys and
took falls from brooms and stayed outside long enough to let the cold
air soak into their lungs. Harry brewed with his attention half on
the process and half on Draco. He made no mistakes doing it, so Snape
held his tongue. That was the only reason.</p><p>Draco brewed like a
dragon would fly, with intent, leaning forward into the hunt, given
so completely to it, heart and soul, that it was impossible to
imagine him doing anything else. Snape knew the ritual did not give
that perfection, only enhanced it. Usually, something else distracted
Draco too thoroughly to allow him that focus on potions. Now, he
stirred and cut and pounded and cast stabilizing spells as though
that were all that mattered in the world. Not like a madman, nor yet
a machine, but like a dancer in the middle of his music, each motion
a complete and transient work of art.</p><p>Snape shook his head
and told himself to stop with such poetic comparisons.</p><p>He had given Draco
<em>Medicamenta Meatus Verus</em>, two years ago, because he had
envisioned the boy taking a path that would carry him out of Harry's
shadow, and give him his own interests. Yes, Draco might have found
the path on his own sooner or later, but his obsession with Harry had
concerned Snape. If he could spend even a few hours a day
concentrating on what <em>he</em> loved, then it would be good for the
both of them.</p><p>That had been a
spectacular, resounding mistake. Snape could admit it now.</p><p>But only slowly was he
learning <em>why</em> it had been a mistake, other than the
consequences of the book's compulsion for Draco and its losing him
Harry's trust. It had been a mistake because Draco was finding his
independence on his own. And really, Snape supposed, that was the
only way it would ever matter to him, if he unbound <em>himself</em>. A
mentor could encourage, as Snape had seen Joseph doing with Harry,
but ultimately the decision came down to the student.</p><p>And here it was, the
culmination of Snape knew not what silent decisions and discussions
and debates and false turns. Draco had chosen a ritual that was going
to set him on a path that did not turn backwards. The Justification,
the formal name for the ritual, brought him face to face with
himself. And Draco, by calling to the wild Dark, by invoking this
ritual at Midwinter, had chosen to embrace the darker and Darker
parts of himself.</p><p>It was not necessarily
the future Snape would have chosen for him, especially as Harry's
partner. It was not the future, he felt certain, Lucius Malfoy would
have wanted.</p><p>But it was the future
Draco wanted, and it was the one he was going to get. Snape could see
the delicate tracery of black fire around him—that might even be
what continued to draw Harry's gaze, though he didn't know if
Harry was aware of it—and knew it would keep steering him along
this path. There was no stopping the Justification, once the call had
been given and answered.</p><p>There was only moving
through it, and surviving it.</p><p><em>For both of them,
</em>Snape thought, but he knew this was another situation, like the
monitoring board, when he had to step back and let them go. Harry
would survive it, both the ritual and having a partner like the one
Draco was transforming himself into. He wanted Draco to have his own
will? This was the consequence.</p><p>And, disturbing as it
was to see physical desire in his son's eyes, Snape had to admit
that Harry didn't look at all like he minded.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Greetings, Mother."</p><p>Narcissa narrowed her
eyes as Draco came into Silver-Mirror, forcing herself to see not an
intangible, indefinable attraction about him, but the actual, present
mantle of black fire. When she finished seeing it, she stood with a
small smile and bowed to him, not extending a hand. Draco would touch
only whom he chose to this day, and while Narcissa was certain he had
touched Harry, she would be extremely surprised if it were anyone
else.</p><p>Sure enough, Draco
simply nodded back and sat in a chair across from her, crossing his
legs. His gaze was keener than Narcissa could remember it being. Of
course, when she squinted, she could see a revolving dot of black in
the center of each pupil. Well, black or dark green. At this point in
the day, there was no difference between them.</p><p>"Is Father coming to
my Declaration?" Draco asked.</p><p>Narcissa nodded. "You
know that he may choose to try and bind the ritual in some way,"
she warned Draco. It was not unknown. Many Declaration rituals were
delicate things, and the individuals in the center of them needed to
give all their attention to the Dark or Light waiting for them, not
to what the spectators were doing. Parents had bound injunctions to
obedience into the patterns of the ritual before, and their children
had never noticed. Enemies sometimes introduced a weakness in the
form of a disease which slowly but surely weakened the victim's
heart. Narcissa would watch for such interference by Lucius. She
could not guarantee that she would catch it.</p><p>Draco laughed softly.
"He will, I'm certain," he said. "But you can't bind the
Justification, Mother, unless you begin before the wild Dark answers
the call."</p><p>Narcissa raised her
eyebrows. "And what makes you so certain that he did not?"</p><p>Draco leaned forward.
"Because Father underestimates me," he said. "He has
continually underestimated me. He didn't bother extracting a
promise out of me not to go to Harry during the rebellion, for
example. He merely assumed that I would obey him, because I'm his
son, and weaker than he is. And I don't think he's changed his
mind. He'll come prepared to counter any number of the weaker
rituals, but not this one. It's not one that he thinks I'll
choose." Draco's smile flashed for a moment, reminding Narcissa
of something that lay in the swamp and showed too many teeth. "Too
bloody for me, he'll assume. Too violent." He cocked his head.
"Too dominant."</p><p>Narcissa might have
protested that, but she remembered too many of the words Lucius had
murmured to her, when he still assumed they shared one heart and one
soul about Draco. He <em>did</em> worry about Draco's seeming
submissiveness to Harry, and underestimate his will. He forgot the
times Draco had chosen to exert his will—in second year when he
found out that his father had given Harry Tom Riddle's diary, when
he reached for confirmation as magical heir, when he refused, in
dozens of small and subtle ways, to do what his father asked of him.
Draco might not ordinarily exert his will, because he had to want
something greatly before he would think the effort worth making.</p><p>But when he did,
Narcissa did not think anything could stop him.</p><p>She met her son's
eyes, and inclined her head. "I think you are right, Draco," she
said. "And Harry?" She did not have to elaborate the question.</p><p>"Is going to enjoy
himself," said Draco blandly, and that ended that.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry shivered as they
made their way out onto the Hogwarts grounds. The sun was setting,
and that meant the time had almost come for Draco to finish his
ritual and call the wild Dark's direct attention. Harry, Snape, and
Henrietta, as a neutral Dark witness, would watch, along with Draco's
parents, but no one else was welcome.</p><p>Harry had to admit he
was almost sorry to see the ritual end. The day had been fascinating,
as the magic pointed out to him all sorts of small things he hadn't
noticed about Draco before. The color of his eyes, the way he bit his
lip not only when he was worried or thinking but when he was
concentrating deeply on a potion, the way his expression could light
with laughter even when he didn't make a sound out loud. At one
point Draco had stood in the pale winter sunlight falling through a
window and smiled, as if defying the Light to find any good in him or
take him back. The sunshine had turned the edges of his face to
blankness, his hair to a hard pure luster as cold as adamant.</p><p>And Harry had known,
for just a moment, what it might mean to find someone else physically
beautiful.</p><p>They walked through
snow now, and biting air that finally made Harry give in and cast a
warming charm, conceding that his training couldn't protect him all
the time. Snape was beside Harry, and Henrietta on the other side,
wand out as she checked for threats. Draco walked slightly in front
of them.</p><p>Then he turned around.</p><p>Harry
met his eyes.</p><p>He caught his breath.
Draco's face looked—uplifted, transfigured, filled with a
burning, brewing flame that Harry had seen only in a Light context
before, when he freed the unicorns and they cast their glory on the
bracken, the trees, and the rest of the forest. Come to think of it,
that had been in winter, too, almost two years ago now.</p><p>This did not shed
glory on anything. It shouted impatiently for its own glory to be
noticed. Draco looked up at the first approaching stars, and Harry
saw a faint red stripe of light stroke his face as the sun appeared
from behind racing clouds.</p><p><em>He doesn't need
to shout to get my attention, </em>Harry thought. <em>He has it.</em></p><p>He felt anxieties
worrying and pressing at him, trying to remind him of all the times
he had wounded or ignored Draco, or the recent fact that Draco had
hurt Michael out of pique at not getting attention, or getting the
wrong kind from the wrong person. But Harry shrugged and let them
slide off, and not even into an Occlumency pool. Draco had asked him
to relax and let go today.</p><p>He could. The worries
occupied him almost every other day, outside the bounds of the
ritual. This was for today. The worries would wait for tomorrow.</p><p>They reached the place
Draco had chosen, and marked out that morning, though Harry had not
known with what. He saw, now. A circle lay in the grass, framed by
steep banks of snow. Draco had used a spell—or perhaps the wild
Dark had used one—that burned the ground. Whenever a dollop of
slush slid into it, that dollop flashed and hissed into steam before
it could touch the circle itself.</p><p>Lucius and Narcissa
were waiting for them on the other side of the ring. Harry eyed them
for a moment. Narcissa wore deep blue robes, the color of sapphires,
the very oldest color of winter. She supported Draco, and indicated
that support by showing her approval of the time of year when he had
chosen to hold his Declaration.</p><p>Lucius wore white.</p><p>Harry felt his lip
twitch in exasperation. Lucius could not give <em>up</em>, could he?
The white proclaimed Lucius an outsider, dressed like a Light wizard
for all that he was Dark. He showed support, but only qualified
support. Draco had done something that disappointed him.</p><p><em>I hope it's the
choice of ritual, </em>Harry thought spitefully. He had restrained his
questions about what, exactly, would happen at Draco's insistence.
He didn't think Lucius had, but that he could not be satisfied even
now—</p><p>Harry cut himself off
with a shake of his head, and faced the burned circle as Draco
stepped within it. He walked with his head up, proud, self-assured.
He didn't look at any of them, though his sight line went past
Lucius and Narcissa as he faced the setting sun.</p><p>"I called to you,"
Draco said, his voice so low and warm and intimate that Harry's
body tingled with awareness, "before the dawn this morning, at a
moment of deepest dark when clouds were in the sky and snow was on
the ground. You answered me. Will you answer me now, and let me
justify myself to you?"</p><p>Harry caught sight of
Lucius's frown, which quickly turned into wide eyes. He mouthed the
words that Draco had just spoken, and took a step forward, as if he
actually intended to cross the burned line and take Draco away from
what he was doing.</p><p>Then blindness struck
them all.</p><p>Harry saw it as a
black hand that passed across his vision and stole away his sight. He
stood still, his shoulders hunched, his heartbeat suddenly the
all-consuming sense impulse for him as his panic built. But he knew
he had to remain quiet, and trust Draco. No one was allowed to
interfere. It seemed that no one else was allowed to see what
happened, either, except for Draco.</p><p>Harry heard a soft
crunching noise, like snow impacted by the push of dense paws.
Snape's hand rested on his shoulder. Harry leaned his cheek on it,
as he listened to the great beast walk towards his lover. <em>Stride,
stride, stride, stride</em>, and <em>thump</em>. Four feet, Harry
thought, and a long tail.</p><p>He could feel the
moment the beast halted on the edge of the burned ring. Silence built
around them, pregnant as the hour before a storm burst.</p><p>The voice, when it
spoke, made Harry nearly convulse in joy.</p><p><em>So. Show me that
you are worthy to live.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS<em><br>
</em></p><p><em>Let me justify
myself to you.</em></p><p>It was not until he
heard those words that Lucius understood how wrong he had been. The
burned circle and the sunset timing were common features of many
Declaration rituals. He had waited for Draco to humble himself, abase
himself, fall to his knees before the Dark in the particular version
of the Minor Music Ritual Lucius was sure he'd chosen.</p><p>He had never expected
his son to choose the Justification.</p><p><em>He cannot. He will
be killed.</em></p><p>Lucius had lunged at
the circle fully intending to put a stop to this madness. The Dark
had not yet accepted Draco's invitation, not yet arrived. Until it
did, there was a small chance that he could break the Declaration by
dragging Draco out of the circle.</p><p>He was exasperated
with Draco, irritated at his recent behavior, and determined to
control him, but he did not want to lose his son. And that was what
he would do if he let Draco do this.</p><p>Then he went blind,
and had to halt. He would survive if he stepped over the line of
burned grass, but not if he stepped upon it.</p><p>In the hammering
silence of that moment after blinding, doubt crept into his mind.
Draco was not foolish enough to do something like this when he was
sure he wouldn't survive it, no matter how desperate he might be to
prove his worth to Harry or his parents. He was Slytherin, a
survivor. He would not throw away his life.</p><p>So he must be
confident he could handle the Justification.</p><p>The doubt spread
through Lucius like a pattern of cracks through ice. And then the
Dark arrived, and he had to listen instead, but the doubt grew
further and further, worming fine lines into some of his most
cherished convictions.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p><em>So. Show me that
you are worthy to live.</em></p><p>Draco had been waiting
for this moment.</p><p>The Dark had come to
him in the form of a chimera. The head facing him was a lion's, but
the body a black goat's, and the tail that ran behind it was that
of a dragon. Sharp, ice-edged wings trailed from its shoulders, a
fan-shape like the ridge on some lizards' backs. Draco knew the
teeth could rend him apart, that the tail could cave his ribs in, and
that the hooves were sharp enough to scalp him. And it would all be
done with astonishing quickness, too. Chimeras were the swiftest
beasts that lived.</p><p>He had not been able
to predict the form. Of course he hadn't. The wild Dark did not
manifest consistency.</p><p>The lion's eyes were
a deep and sickly black, like the spots that Draco knew had swum in
his own eyes all day. Not looking away from them, he put out a hand.</p><p>There was no motion,
but the chimera's teeth were clamped around his fingers. Draco
imagined the scarred stump on the end of Harry's wrist. It could
sever his hand, he knew. It could crush his fingers to less than the
solidity of butter. Bone would tumble about him in small and
glistening shards.</p><p>He breathed evenly.</p><p>The chimera laughed at
him. He had passed the first test of the Justification, the
temptation to run away or cower, but there was always later. And he
had not managed to impress it. Nothing impressed the wild Dark, Draco
knew. One fought it, and then it circled away and became whole again,
forgetting the defeat.</p><p><em>Rather like my
father.</em></p><p><em>Rather like</em>,
the voice agreed, the pulse-pounding joy of a storm in flight, and
the wild Dark was in his head with him. Draco had invited it in.</p><p>It ravaged his mind.</p><p>It dived deep, and all
his memories were prey for and play for it. It dragged up the small
and selfish cruelties he had done as a child, and laughed at them. It
snickered at the memory of his proud and horrible father standing
helpless in front of the mess Draco had made of his room, with a
burst of accidental magic that insured no house elves could touch any
of the items. It grabbed his head and pushed it into his own
embarrassment over his first sexual desires, as a Kneazle's owner
might rub its nose over the feces it had left on the carpet.</p><p>Draco withstood it
all. He knew those things existed, and now that he had called the
Dark, he had no choice but to let the ritual continue. What the Dark
saw in him, what it told to him, what it did to him, was its own
choice.</p><p><em>Why did you call
me? </em>The voice made Draco shiver, but not with cold and not with
fear. It was the same arousal he'd sometimes felt over Harry's
magic in fourth year, when Harry grew angry enough to let it matter.
<em>You have nothing to offer me. What are you but a spoiled and
selfish brat?</em></p><p><em>A spoiled and
selfish brat who has done these things, </em>Draco answered, and he
brought up the memories of his wrongdoings.</p><p>He had known, even as
he flirted with Michael, that this might turn around and bite him at
some point. But he had been unable to stop. Why should he? It got him
what he wanted, admiration for his physical looks, the one kind he
lacked, and he was confident that he could survive what came after
this. He had resented Harry's punishment; it had made him
reconsider his actions, but only in the sense that he had been stupid
and would not do anything like it again because of the stupidity. He
had not agreed that Harry had any right to punish him. Nor had he
thought that his original impulses, the desire to flirt and be
noticed, were wrong. He should have chosen his target better, and
managed his emotions better, so that the admiration would not turn
into obsessive love.</p><p>There had been other
times like that, too. Draco had meant what he told Michael about his
possession. It had been strange to leap in and out of Death Eaters'
heads on the Midsummer battlefield, and know they were dying when he
left them, and that he was guiding them to their deaths in cold
blood. But he had not thought of them past the moment. He couldn't
remember their names now, couldn't remember the feel of their
minds. The pain of those actually important to him, himself and
Harry, had occupied him in the days after the battle, once he was
assured that his parents and Professor Snape had taken no serious
injuries.</p><p><em>That is the
greatest difference, then. </em>The wild Dark's voice was eager. <em>I
know the one who calls himself </em>vates<em>, and I know you. He has
many whose pain is important to him. You have few whom you truly
love.</em></p><p>That was true, Draco
acknowledged. He knew that Lucius loved only him and Narcissa. He was
fairly sure that his mother loved only his father, him, and Harry. He
came of a proud family tradition in loving fiercely, protectively,
possessively—and only those people he absolutely had to.</p><p>The wide circles were
for Harry. The compassion for every small and hurt living thing was
for Harry. The love for the wizarding world that the prophecy
proclaimed the one to defeat the Dark Lord had to have was for Harry.
He was welcome to them.</p><p>That did not mean
Draco hated the whole rest of the world. Of course not. He might try
to get along with them if it seemed beneficial, as it was more and
more coming to seem with Harry's brother, or he might do something
for them if it did not hurt him, or was amusing, or helped him in his
own plans, or pleased Harry.</p><p>But his compassion,
his love, were reserved for a few people alone. He did not see why
they should extend to more.</p><p>He supposed he had
tried loving more people in the past. There had been a time when he
loved Pansy as a friend, for example, or thought he did. Losing her
had hurt. But he had recovered from his grief and gone on. He had
seen what grief did to Harry when it was deep enough, casting him
down, disordering his mind. He had grieved like that over the loss of
his phoenix.</p><p>Draco did not. He
never would. The people who were important to him could destroy him
if they died, but that was just another reason to keep them safe as
strongly as he could. Draw the circle and defend—or, better yet,
reach outside the circle and manipulate so that fewer enemies would
ever look their way. The protection of those he loved was in the end
a protection of himself.</p><p><em>There were some who
called Slytherin irredeemably evil, </em>the wild Dark said in his
head, winding Draco around itself like thread on a spool. <em>You know
that is not true, do you not?</em></p><p>Yes, Draco knew.
Slytherin did not mean irredeemably evil. Light Lords had come out of
his House.</p><p>What Slytherin tended
to mean was <em>selfish</em>, to a greater or lesser degree. Selfish of
ambition, selfish of place and precedence, devoted to gaining one's
own goals and then hanging on to them. A Slytherin did not give coins
and compassion away to every stranger who passed unless doing so
would safeguard something more important, like happiness or a sense
of self-worth. And Slytherins loved best, were happiest, when they
could take those they loved away from the rest of the world and lock
them up like the treasures they were.</p><p>Draco could not do
that with Harry. But then, he'd always known he would have to share
Harry with most of the world. What he could do was evaluate his own
happiness, know what things he absolutely had to have for himself in
his relationship with Harry—just as he knew the people he
absolutely had to love—and ignore the things that didn't matter.
When someone did intrude on his territory, then it was the time to
fight back like an enraged dragon.</p><p>And Harry was not
someone who only had to be protected. He was a partner who could
protect, too, who could hold his own in a fight. Since Draco also
enjoyed being sheltered and petted and spoiled, this made him smugly
pleased. Harry's magic aroused him. His beauty made Draco want him.
His past inspired those rare bursts of sympathy Draco was capable of.
And he was honest enough to say, most of the time, exactly where they
stood.</p><p>The one thing Draco
could wish for with Harry was a little more lowering of the
barriers—more frequent sex, more attention paid to him physically,
more times when Harry would say what first came into his head instead
of holding back and phrasing it diplomatically. The Breaking of the
Boundaries had started them down this path. Joseph had encouraged
Harry to go further. Draco intended the Justification to show Harry
something so wonderful that he would never want to go back to the
cramped and sterilized little existence he'd led.</p><p>The wild Dark laughed
in his mind. Draco started. He'd almost forgotten its presence,
much more interested in exploring himself.</p><p><em>You are a selfish
and spoiled brat.</em> The wild Dark sounded highly amused. <em>You
entertain me, Draco Malfoy. You have what you have sought, my
recognition and your Declaration. You are a Dark wizard.</em></p><p>Searing pain radiated
from Draco's hand. Opening his eyes, which he had closed sometime
during the Justification, he saw the chimera removing its jaws. The
waves of cold and pressure turned to waves of ecstasy a moment later,
as the tooth-marks from that morning had. Draco closed his eyes again
and moaned.</p><p><em>Take your lover
somewhere else</em>, said the wild Dark. <em>No, not somewhere else. I
have changed my mind. </em></p><p>Draco opened his hazy
eyes in time to see the chimera facing the stars, tilting back its
head, and roaring. A spiral of snow came shooting down from the sky
immediately, shining so brightly that Draco was sure the stars
themselves were falling for a moment. Wind buffeted him, tore his
feet from under him, and carried him into the air.</p><p>He blew through
blackness, weightless and boneless, until he hit a cloth-covered
surface. Breathless, he bounced and tried to get up, but a heavier
weight pressed him down a moment later. Draco blinked, and pushed
through wild black hair, and saw Harry's startled face, green eyes
obviously free of the blinding spell the wild Dark had put on them.</p><p><em>Enjoy</em>, said the
voice, and the chimera was gone.</p><p>Draco knew this was a
room with a bed in it, and it could have been their own bedroom or a
place the wild Dark had conjured for them. He didn't know. He
didn't care.</p><p>He kissed Harry
violently, and so began the attack.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry rolled over,
gasping, his ribs aching, not only from the suddenness of the landing
but from the fact that he had landed on top of Draco. Then his
glasses smashed into his face as Draco kissed him.</p><p><em>This is new.</em></p><p>But it really wasn't,
Harry realized, after a moment in which he writhed under Draco's
hands and Draco flipped them both over with surprising strength so
that he was on top. This was the kind of passion or violence that
Draco had inspired in him the first time they did more than kiss, the
kind of abandon Draco had reveled in with the Breaking of Boundaries.
The difference was that this time, neither anger nor magic was
throwing Harry off-balance. He had a choice in how to respond.</p><p>He licked his lips, or
tried to—hard as they were kissing, his tongue simply ran right out
of his mouth and into Draco's—and considered what he wanted to
do. He didn't have to go along with this. He could insist that
things slow down, and they could make love more gently. Or he could
walk away altogether, perhaps. Harry doubted this lovemaking was part
of the Declaration. It was more something Draco wanted to do.</p><p>And something he
wanted. He could feel himself stirring already, arousal strung
through his nerves like hot wires, and thoughts he normally never
allowed himself to think drifting around his mind like bits of
flotsam in the sea.</p><p>He could walk away.</p><p>Or he could let
himself go.</p><p>He closed his eyes and
did.</p><p>He felt his magic
speed away from them both, unfolding like barbed wings and screaming
in joy. Somewhere, the lizard-tailed bird would be shrieking in
approval. But Harry didn't think he could hear it, because Draco's
hand had found that place on the side of his neck that Harry normally
hated and pinched it, hard.</p><p>Harry's body jerked
like a marionette, and he choked into Draco's mouth. Draco sat back
for a moment, looking pleased with himself.</p><p>Harry took the
opportunity to Vanish all their clothes. Draco's pupils dilated
noticeably when he found himself abruptly naked and sitting astride
an equally naked boyfriend. For a moment, the haze in his eyes
vanished all the same, and he gave Harry a quizzical glance.</p><p>"Yeah." Harry
could see his magic, beyond Draco's head, drawing what looked like
a series of intense and intricate pictures across the walls, but he
was more interested in the way Draco's eyes got even darker. "I
want it, too."</p><p>He waited for one more
staring, tension-laden moment, then reached up and cupped Draco's
head, drawing him down hard enough for his teeth to cut into Draco's
lip. Harry rolled them over, trying to get on top again. Draco braced
a leg on the bed and pushed off with his knee halfway through the
roll. Harry grunted as he landed firmly on his back once more, one of
the springs in the mattress stinging his shoulders.</p><p>"I want to do what
you've done to me twice now," Draco said, hovering over him.
"Twice you've touched me, and not allowed me to touch you. This
time, you're going to share yourself with me, Harry, and you're
not allowed to move. Or to give me anything in return." His eyes
cut as he leaned over and stared into Harry's face. "Or are you
too unselfish to do that?"</p><p>Harry gritted his
teeth. He wanted this, and not only because it would please Draco. He
could say that at least. The thought of lying still before Draco and
letting him touch him like that made a warm frisson run through him
that rivaled the cold ones the wild Dark had introduced.</p><p>"I <em>want</em> you
to touch me," he said.</p><p>Draco's smile was
pure triumph, and undoubtedly the most beautiful thing Harry had ever
seen on his face. He lowered his head and fastened his teeth on that
hateful point on Harry's neck. Harry swore as he bit it. The
tremors that set up seemed to make more muscles in his groin clench
than he'd known existed. He tossed his head back urgently, laying
himself bare for Draco, the voices that said he couldn't so muted
that they might as well not have spoken.</p><p>"Fuck, Draco."</p><p>"What do you think
I'm doing?" Draco muttered, and sucked on the bite mark, making
Harry half-shout. His body was slick with sweat already, and he'd
forgotten what cold felt like. He writhed on the bed, but kept his
hand from rising to touch Draco, just as Draco had requested.</p><p>Draco moved down the
bed, surprising Harry, who'd thought he would go slowly. But then
his hand engulfed Harry, and Harry let his head fall back
with a groan, deciding that quick was perfectly all right with him.</p><p>Pleasure made his body
shiver and convulse. Harry had lost control of his mouth, and had no
desire to have it back, even if what he was uttering <em>was</em> a
string of nonsense. He couldn't remember sex feeling like this
before, like stabs of spears up and down his body, and the urge to
push and thrust and scrape reduced to elemental necessity, rather
than a step in a dance or ritual.</p><p><em>That's because
you've never let yourself go before</em>, he realized. <em>This is
what it could feel like, if you'd trusted yourself enough. This—</em></p><p>And then he screamed
aloud, because <em>that</em> was a new sensation, yes it was. Not
mouth, and not hand. Well, all right, yes it was a hand, but in the
wrong place, or at least a place he hadn't expected it, stroking
gently around the curve of his arse and then parting his cheeks.</p><p>"Draco." Harry was
sure he said that. He might have wailed it, though.</p><p>"Lie still. You
promised me," Draco said, or Harry thought he said, somewhere in
the drifting haze that was currently his mind and his magic. "And I
think we're past the point of elaborating each step of a sex act
before we do it. If it hurts, tell me." He had something slick and
sweaty on his fingers.
Harry saw one glimpse of his intent expression before he threw his
head back. His whole body felt tight, and it did hurt, but then
stabbing pleasure invaded again, because it seemed Draco hadn't
forgotten about his erection. He whimpered.</p><p>The finger stopped
moving, but then pushed forward again a moment later. Harry thought
he was bracing himself on his heels, his legs arching, his spine
curving. He didn't know for certain. Every sensation that struck
him lasted only a moment before another overcame it, so that he was
buried in a succession of emotions and pressures and pullings, steady
as waves.</p><p>He babbled something
about "clean," he did remember that, and Draco said, "That's
why I brought my wand." Or something. Harry was currently trying to
breathe and remember that he had to do that and feel good <em>at the
same time. </em>It seemed impossible.</p><p>He could relax,
though, couldn't he? Go limp? Then it probably wouldn't hurt so
much. And he was already breaking boundaries anyway. He was here of
his own free will. Joseph would be so proud, Harry thought, and tried
to picture his muscles as limp puddles of flesh.</p><p>It worked. Suddenly
Draco's finger—fingers, probably—slid a little further. It
led to images of snakes, which was disturbing. Harry gave a drunken
little giggle, and saw his magic mess up the mural that it was making
on the ceiling above them.</p><p>"Hush," Draco
whispered, and kissed the side of his chest, which Harry thought was
an odd place for a kiss, and then pressed deeper. He had the oddest
expression on his face, Harry thought, as if he were groping for a
misplaced textbook at the bottom of his trunk.</p><p><em>Well, groping is
certainly the word for it—</em></p><p>He screamed then, and
didn't care if anyone heard him. He <em>really</em> didn't.
Pleasure was hitting him like boiling lead, and the hot wires strung
through his nerves had all come to life at once. Harry was certain he
was making all sorts of undignified motions with his hips, and
babbling nonsense.</p><p>"That's called
your prostate, Harry." Draco sounded unfairly cool and collected.
"I take it you like this?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>,"
Harry said, which was also unfair, because he would have liked to add
something along the lines of, "What does it look like?" But the
pleasure had other ideas, and so did Draco's fingers. Harry
supposed his hips did, too, if the way he was moving backward was any
indication.</p><p>He felt the skin on
his groin tingling and tightening, and he concentrated very hard on
that to the exclusion of all else, and so managed, with only a few
interruptions for panting, "Keep that up and—I'm going to
come—before you—get in—here, Draco." Yes, it was strained,
and trailed off to a moan at the end, but it was a complete sentence.
Harry felt prouder than he thought he had a right to be, most days.
Then he decided, <em>Screw it. I have a right to be as
proud as I like.</em></p><p>"Well," said
Draco, and at last a tremble of strain made itself known in his
voice, to Harry's eternal gratification. "Can't have that."
He eased backward, which eased the pleasure a bit, and Harry eased
his head around and watched Draco.</p><p>The darkness that had
transfigured his face earlier that day had come back. Harry didn't
think he'd ever noticed all those shadows or angles before, and
he'd <em>never</em> seen Draco look at him the way he was doing now.
Even the man-before-parched-water look during the Breaking of
Boundaries didn't compare. This was a look that said Draco wanted
to fuck him, would tear his own skin off in a moment if he didn't
fuck him.</p><p>"You're
beautiful," Harry told him, really <em>seeing</em> it.</p><p>Draco shuffled
carefully up the bed so that he could kiss him, biting Harry's
lower lip on the way, in return for the lower-lip cut that Harry had
given him, he supposed. "Never thought you'd say that so
passionately."</p><p>And then he was back
into position, and lifting Harry's legs carefully over his
shoulders, and Harry had the feeling he would be horribly
uncomfortable in a moment, but that didn't matter; it wasn't as
if either of them would be lasting very long.</p><p>"I should make some
long speech about your beauty, too," Draco said.</p><p>Harry wondered if he
noticed the magic that briefly stopped drawing pictures and came up
to hover behind him with steel claws extended.</p><p>And then he didn't
care, because Draco was pushing carefully forward.</p><p>It hurt. But Harry had
borne far worse pain, and never as much pleasure. When the pain ate
at him, he twisted away from it and rode under it. He would not risk
putting it in an Occlumency pool. The point at which he'd finally
broken free was no time to go back to his prison.</p><p>Draco pushed, and
pushed, and pushed again until Harry thought his legs were going to
tear off at the hips and his prostate had buggered off. Then he
halted where he was and tilted his head back. Harry watched the
darkness collect and swirl on his face, haunting every drop of sweat
that fell, every crease that seamed his forehead, every straining
line of his throat.</p><p>Then Draco pulled
slightly back and threw himself forward.</p><p>And it turned out that
Harry's prostate hadn't buggered off after all, just gone into
hiding for a little while. Harry forced himself back at least as hard
as Draco was thrusting forward, and laughed, because, damn, thinking
of the word <em>buggered</em> while it was happening to him was funny.</p><p>Draco gasped and tried
to say something, probably to ask why he was laughing. Harry didn't
give him the chance to. He called his magic, and it floated his upper
body from the bed, giving him leverage that Harry couldn't have had
with one hand missing. Draco moaned at the change in angle, and then
it was <em>his</em> turn to scream. That satisfied Harry, something
wild and selfish in him that he didn't want to admit hid at the
bottom of his mind and looked out through his eyes.</p><p>But this time he could
admit it, since he was admitting everything. He wasn't <em>vates</em>
or savior at the moment. He was just Harry. It felt wonderful.</p><p>And he didn't think
he could ever thank Draco enough for making him that way.</p><p>It really didn't
take long. Harry met Draco thrust for thrust, relentless in
competition, excitement speeding through him as it did when he flew
on his Firebolt. But this felt far fucking better than the Firebolt
ever had, and Harry found himself laughing again when he could find
the breath to do so, laughing for the pure joy and fun of it.</p><p>Draco caught his gaze,
and Harry saw him open his mouth again, then close it, seeming to
understand the laughter wasn't for his performance. He shut his
eyes instead and sped up.</p><p>Harry felt rapture and
joy and love and Draco pulling at him, trying to throw him off the
edge.</p><p>For the first time
ever, he really let himself go with them.</p><p>He shook as he soaked
his belly and his groin, his body responding in a way that only
catching the Snitch or thrumming with magic had ever made him do. The
thought wandered through his haze: <em>So this is why people like
having orgasms so much. They do feel good, don't they?</em></p><p>Draco was still
pushing inside him when Harry had done, and Harry didn't intend to
relax just yet. Draco had told him to lie still and accept without
giving, but Harry figured he'd already broken that rule when he sat
up. He reached out, gripped Draco's shoulder with his hand, and
pushed forward with all his might.</p><p>Draco's shoulders
twisted and rolled like someone doing a Wronski Feint, and then he
came, too, his head rolling back against Harry's wrist and his
mouth open. And still beautiful, Harry thought, even as the darkness
appeared to speed away from his face and leave it smeared with light.</p><p>He drew Draco towards
him when he was done and kissed him thoroughly. Halfway through the
snog, Draco recovered enough to join in. He pulled slowly out of
Harry without breaking the kiss; Harry only noticed that he had when
he rolled Harry over and flung a leg onto his hip.</p><p>"Are we done yet?"
he asked.</p><p>And
he would have accepted a yes answer, Harry could see that in his
expression. He felt almost sorry for the one he gave.</p><p>"No fucking chance,"
he answered, and had the satisfaction of seeing Draco's face flood
with delight before he closed in for another snog.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco woke to winter
sunlight, and blinked slowly. He lay tangled with Harry around him in
a bed that was not theirs. He'd assumed that the wild Dark had
tossed them into their Slytherin bedroom, but it appeared not.</p><p>He lifted his head and
looked slowly about, as much as he could with Harry resting on top of
him, his back against Draco's chest and his wild black hair
obscuring the view with every snore he made. Draco took in the colors
the sunlight showed, and then began to laugh.</p><p>That roused Harry, who
murmured, "What?"</p><p>"We're in an old
room where they put discarded furniture," Draco murmured into his
ear, "in case they need it, since not every year has a
Transfiguration professor competent enough to make comfortable
furniture. We fucked on a Gryffindor bed last night." He gestured
to the soiled, dusty red hangings around them.</p><p>Harry snorted, and
stretched, wincing as unexpected pains shot through his muscles.
Draco couldn't help being smug about that, even though he had quite
a few aches himself. <em>He</em> had done that to Harry. He had made
him let go—</p><p>No, that wasn't
quite true. He had made Harry come, yes. But Harry had done the same
thing to him. What made this truly special was that Harry had broken
his barriers and done as Draco asked because he <em>wanted</em> to,
reveled in his own selfish pleasure, and refused to care what anyone
else would think.</p><p>Draco no more expected
every day to be like that than he expected every day to be Midwinter.
But they had changed again, and if they turned backwards on the
spiral, they would also return to this point.</p><p>He had never felt so
self-confident, so self-satisfied, so violently sure in his life.</p><p>"Draco?"</p><p>He cocked his head at
Harry.</p><p>Harry had braced
himself on one elbow, his torso and head raised, though his lower
body was still comfortably twined with Draco's. He had a smile on
his face that Draco had never seen before, and eyes that were full of
light.</p><p>"I still think
you're beautiful," he murmured.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 69*: Chapterlette: A Collection of Glimpses</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>I'm calling this a
chapterlette because, technically, all the Intermissions are supposed
to be Snape's dreams.</p><p><strong>Chapterlette: A Collection of Glimpses</strong></p><p>Lucius sat before his
hearth in the study of Malfoy Manor and turned his cup of cold wine
this way and that. He could have had the house elves mull it, or
Transfigure it so that it retained all the alcohol of wine while
having a considerably sweeter taste. But at this moment, he thought
what he wanted, or should want, was harsh and unaltered reality.</p><p>He had failed.</p><p>He drank the wine, a
long gulp that did not yield until the liquid threatened to choke
him. Then he held the glass out in front of him and watched the fire
spark through it, catching delicate, glorious colors in it that he
did not deserve.</p><p>He had been wrong.</p><p>Another swallow of
wine, this time nearly enough to finish the cup. Lucius felt his lip
twitching, his head spinning with the advent of drunkenness. He would
normally never do something like this, but he was within heavily
warded walls, and a room where even the house elves knew better than
to disturb him. But this was punishment, punishment for failing to
recognize when he had made a mistake. He had kept plunging forward,
able to justify every error, able to say that, in truth, what he had
done was not so <em>very</em> great a problem. It might even weave more
opportunities for him. If the scheme with the Unspeakables failed, he
would turn to Scrimgeour. If that one failed—but it would not,
could not, when Unbreakable Vows bound them both—he would work his
way back into Harry's good graces. He would tame his son to hand
again. Each failure to do so only meant another chance to move
forward. He might have to alter his tactics, but that did not mean he
had been <em>wrong.</em></p><p>He saw now that he
had.</p><p>He had committed the
worst possible sin, one for which he had would have despised his own
father if Abraxas had been either weak or foolish enough to do it. He
had made Draco see him as unnecessary. There might have been moments
when his son would be glad to rely on him, lean on his strength, but
Lucius had taught him he couldn't. So Draco had looked within and
found his own strength instead.</p><p>He was dependent no
longer. He was someone who had faced the Justification and survived
it.</p><p>Lucius did not know
what had led his son to make that decision. Oh, he could guess. It
might be a matter of proving his worth to his partner, or wanting to
demonstrate his courage. Or he could have wanted a Declaration ritual
that Lucius absolutely could not tamper with. But there were other
Declaration rituals that were beyond parental influence and still
less risky. Lucius thought the risk was an inherent reason Draco had
chosen the Justification.</p><p>But he could not
imagine, still, what the compensation of it might have been.</p><p>Draco had become a
person Lucius did not know, and that was dangerous.</p><p>Worse, he had seen
Harry's eyes shining as he watched him. At the time, Lucius had
simply thought that meant Harry was infatuated with his son, and if
he could gain Draco back, then he could win Harry back, too.</p><p>Now he recognized it
for what it was. Harry admired Draco's strength, and a man who did
that would have no need for Lucius's strength.</p><p>He was in a trap, a
binding he could not get out of. And he had woven that trap of his
own making. He would never be safe again. Even if he courted Harry
and Draco back, and preserved the secrets the Unspeakables had
blackmailed him on, he could not imagine what would happen if Harry
and Draco found out that he had been the one to betray Hawthorn
Parkinson's condition to the Department of Mysteries.</p><p>Lucius drank more
wine.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Narcissa could have
been walking about Silver-Mirror, making preparations for their
guests. It was not so very many more days before they would all
arrive. And she knew her son was safe, so had no reason to worry over
him.</p><p>She was not. Instead,
she sat before the fire of the reading room where she liked to spend
the most time and gazed into the flames, and smiled.</p><p>She had done it.</p><p>It had taken years and
years of effort, years of maneuvering and arranging and yielding on
less important matters and, rarely, outright confrontation. But she
had done it. She had raised Draco as a wizard who could take his
place on his own in wizarding society, and who could do it well
enough to choose a ritual both his father and his partner would have
disapproved of, did they know all the details. Draco was not relying
on their approval. He had broken free of the chains that Narcissa had
feared might bind him when she first saw how obsessed he was with
Harry, the chains of doing nothing that went against Harry's good
opinion.</p><p>And now he had his
father to serve as an example, perhaps even an example of failure, if
Lucius pushed hard enough. He did not live to worship him as he had
when he was eleven.</p><p>Narcissa could count
her work done.</p><p>Oh, she would love
seeing what happened in the future years, how Draco, and Harry too,
continued their upward spiral, where it led them and what great
things they would achieve. But if someone had cast the Killing Curse
at her the moment Draco's successful Justification was finished,
she could have died with a smile on her lips.</p><p>She found that she did
not want to sit still after all. She stood and went to fetch herself
wine, glorying in the sound of her own footsteps. Often, in
Silver-Mirror, Narcissa found herself listening for ghosts, the
ghosts of her sisters and cousins and younger childhood self.</p><p>For tonight, there
were only her own.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape slowly tapped
his glass stirring rod against the side of the cauldron, the final
step in brewing the Sunflower Potion. A shimmer, and the potion
bubbled and burbled, and then quieted. Snape stepped away from the
cauldron and drew off the heavy gloves that had protected his hands
against stray droplets.</p><p>Somewhere in the midst
of Hogwarts at this moment, or perhaps even just down the dungeon
corridors in the middle of the Slytherin common room, his son was
probably getting the fucking of his life.</p><p>Snape dropped the
thought into an Occlumency pool. He had no wish to think it.</p><p>And he had no reason
to think that this was bad, he told himself. He had seen the look on
Harry's face throughout the day, the expression of self-discovery
and absorption in a miracle. Though the Justification might have been
what began Harry's intense attention to Draco, Snape did not think
the end of the ritual would make it cease. This was a necessary
chapter in his son's life, one that the woman who bore him would
have denied him when his only commitment was serving his brother.
That it had happened was a triumph for all of them. Snape could think
that way, even if he did not wish to think of the details.</p><p>But his thoughts
ranged beyond that, as they had a tendency to do. Snape knew it was a
tendency that exasperated Joseph. His mind had worked this way for
too many years for him to shut it off, however.</p><p>He had seen Draco,
today, pierce through a barrier he did not think Harry had a name
for. It was the barrier that kept Harry at least able to retreat from
the problems of others, to make decisions like the one he had to kill
the children under the Life-Web, to push ahead with sacrifices of
himself that might cause others emotional suffering because it was
the right thing to do.</p><p>Draco, if no one else,
was inside that barrier now. Harry was twined with him. He would find
emotional retreat from him very hard. And if Draco raised an
objection against a sacrifice, Snape knew Harry would at least
consider it.</p><p>Narcissa might approve
of that, seeing that Draco's dependence on Harry was at last
equally returned.</p><p>Snape did not know if
he did.</p><p>He feared what might
happen if Draco died in the war. He would have been concerned even in
a time of peace, but this, with the emotional destruction of Harry
that would follow in its wake…</p><p>Harry could easily
forget about everything else in his life if Draco died, including the
other people who loved him. He might seek to follow his partner,
instead of doing as he had told Snape last year, and trying to detach
himself enough from the deaths of those he loved that he could go on,
and function, and fight.</p><p>That entwining with
one another would only grow fiercer from this moment forward. Snape
feared it was another mistake that he must allow his son to make.</p><p>It was dangerous in
another way, too. Snape thought Draco might one day decide to detach
himself and find another partner. No, it was not likely, but
unlikelier things had happened. And that would destroy Harry as
thoroughly as his death.</p><p>Love during wartime
was never easy. Snape had reason to know. If it turned out that the
ending of love during wartime happened—</p><p>Snape's gaze strayed
across the room and locked on the cauldron full of purple potion he
sometimes toyed with, adding more ingredients and seeing how potent
he could make it without its boiling over or being utterly ruined.</p><p>It was now one of the
deadliest poisons he has ever brewed, unlikely to be cured by
anything short of a bezoar. Snape had at first imagined it applied to
werewolves, but he would and could apply it elsewhere if Draco were
ever…unwise.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor looked up
curiously when Harry and Draco came into breakfast at the Great Hall
the next morning. He hadn't been invited to the Justification, of
course, since he was Declared Light; even Harry's presence, as
undeclared, had tested the boundaries, apparently. But Peter had told
him he would be able to sense Draco's Declaration after the
successful completion of the ritual. Connor had wondered what it felt
like.</p><p>Now he knew. It felt
like a thousand irritating hands scratching at his skin, like the
light flick of beetles' legs climbing up and down his arms. Connor
grimaced and scratched, then forced his hand to still as Harry smiled
and walked towards him. Draco followed. His gaze was too smug
already. Connor would not show him any signs of discomfort.</p><p>"Good morning,
brother."</p><p>Connor could feel his
eyebrows rising in spite of himself. Harry sounded half-exuberant, as
if he would break out into laughter any moment, and he <em>never</em>
sounded like that. Even his greetings in the midst of joy were
reserved, as if he didn't want to tempt evil by being too happy.
But now his cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone.</p><p>Draco folded his arms
and leaned one elbow on Harry's right shoulder. Harry leaned into
him with a luxurious roll of his neck that made Connor stare. <em>Did
Draco put some kind of spell on him? He just never does this!</em></p><p>Then Draco caught his
eye, smirking a little, coolly, and leaned forward more possessively
on Harry, and Connor saw his expression past the swarming itch of the
new Declaration.</p><p><em>He fucked Harry
last night.</em></p><p>Connor sat there,
blinking. He was not sure what stunned him more: what had happened,
that Harry had allowed it, or that the effect still lingered
afterward, when the ritual was over. He could see Harry going a bit
wild in the presence of great magic. He tended to do that, since the
magic called to his own. But <em>this</em>? This scene with Harry
acting so much like a new lover, as if he were giddy, as if just—</p><p><em>As if just being
around Draco makes him happy.</em></p><p><em>Draco makes him
happy.</em></p><p>Connor stifled an
enormous sigh. He had lost the right to play games with Draco, then,
and try to antagonize him. He wasn't going to <em>bow</em> to the
prat, and if he spouted stupid shit about purity of blood Connor was
still going to let him know it was stupid shit. But Draco was a part
of Harry's life, and he made him damn happy, and there weren't
enough people who did that for Connor to have the right to drive one
away.</p><p>Besides, he thought,
he would get at least one funny moment out of this.</p><p>He stood and held out
his hand to Draco. "Congratulations," he said solemnly.</p><p>Draco's eyes widened
<em>most</em> gratifyingly. Connor let only a tiny smile out onto his
face. <em>He didn't expect me to be the bigger man. He expected me
to throw some fit about this. That means that if he reacts badly to
this, he's the one at fault.</em></p><p>Slowly, as if
expecting something from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to be hidden in
his palm, Draco clasped his hand. Connor wrung his, never looking
away from his eyes, trying to convey that he knew <em>exactly</em> what
Draco had done with his brother last night—well, if not exactly,
enough not to need any more details—and didn't hate it.</p><p>Draco looked extremely
put out. Connor smiled at him one more time and sat down.
"Congratulations to the both of you," he added to Harry.</p><p>Harry beamed at him
and dragged Draco away to the Slytherin table. Draco looked over his
shoulder a few times, as if he expected Connor to be sticking his
tongue out at him.</p><p>Connor wasn't going
to. He had better things to think about, given the new role Draco
Malfoy was going to play in his life and the new role he was going to
play in Draco's. There was what would have to happen if Draco ever
hurt Harry, for instance. He recalled Hermione saying once that she'd
found a spell that would tie someone's bollocks together behind
their ears, and that she'd considered using it on Zacharias.</p><p>Connor thought he
would owl her and ask to know the spell.</p><p><em>Just in case. </em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 70*: A Wind Drenched Christmas</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the chapterlette!</p><p>This chapter is almost pure fluff. Don't worry, that will be changing soon.</p><p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Five: A Wind-Drenched Christmas</strong></p><p>"She <em>should</em>,
if she just understood," said Ginny, her cheeks flushing so much
that Harry thought she would fall over. "But she won't let us.
She says that Christmas is a time for family, and Bill and Charlie
and Percy are all coming home, so we have to be at the Burrow, too."
She tossed her hair. "Never mind that we could visit you in the
morning and the Burrow later in the day!"</p><p>Harry thought Molly
Weasley's stubborn refusal to let Ron and Ginny spend Christmas Day
with him and Connor stemmed less from love of family and more from
worry about what her two youngest children might get up to around
Dark wizards, but he didn't want to tell Ginny that and make her
more sour. "I'm sorry you can't come," he said instead, and
held out the package he'd Levitated behind his back while she
complained. "Happy Christmas anyway."</p><p>She stared at him for
a moment, absolutely astonished, then carefully unwrapped the gift.
She was smiling by the time she had it halfway open, and looked up
with a grin. "Thank you, Harry." He'd got her Chaser's
gloves, made for clinging to the Quaffle better, and even hardening
themselves into a stone-like substance if a Bludger tried to hit her
hand. Harry felt it was a bit impersonal as a gift, but he still
didn't know Ginny all that well.</p><p>"Where'd you get
<em>those</em>, Ginny?" Ron was coming down the stairs of the
Gryffindor common room, his eyes riveted to the gloves, but he
relaxed and gave Harry a nod when he saw him. Harry grinned ruefully
and held out another package.</p><p>"I almost wish you
hadn't seen those," he muttered, while Ron speedily unwrapped his
package.</p><p>Ron gave a grunt of
both understanding and happiness when he saw his own gloves, this
time made for a Keeper, to cast extra warming charms on his hands; a
Keeper frequently did less pure flying during the game than the other
players, and their fingers could become paralyzed with the cold
during autumn or winter matches. He nodded to Harry. "Thanks,
mate." He paused, as if embarrassed, and Harry realized that he
probably didn't have a gift for him.</p><p>"It's all right,
Ron," Harry assured him. "It doesn't matter. I do wish that you
could come visit us for Christmas, but what you give Connor during
the rest of the year—and what Ginny did for me when she came to
Woodhouse—is too great to be repaid." He nodded to the gloves.
"This is just a small return, the only kind I can make."</p><p>"You're getting
better at the noble speeches, Harry," said Ginny, and her eyes
shone with laughter. "Three years ago, that would have sounded as
if you were oblivious to the implications of what you said. Now you
actually look human."</p><p>"Well, a large part
of that is Draco," said Harry, curious to see how they would react.
Ron opened his mouth, then shut it again. Ginny just rolled her eyes.</p><p>"He's important to
you," she said. "But a prat. He would have more friends if he
didn't act like such an idiot sometimes. Tell him that."</p><p>"I don't think he
cares," said Harry, startled to hear a little defensiveness leak
into his voice, and got another roll of the eyes in return.</p><p>"I <em>know</em> he
doesn't," Ginny pointed out patiently. "But then he can't
complain when people don't fall down at his feet worshipping him
the way he seems to want."</p><p>And with that, Harry
had to be content. Connor was down at dinner, and he would see him
tomorrow when they went to Silver-Mirror for Christmas, anyway, so
Harry was going to wait to give him his gift. He hugged both Ron and
Ginny and left Gryffindor Tower, leaning against the stone of the
wall for a moment as he closed his eyes.</p><p>He <em>did</em> feel
different. Granted, it had been only three days since Draco's
Justification, so perhaps he couldn't have expected the effects of
the ritual to end yet. But this was still so unusual that he had to
take notice of it. Contentment thrummed through every vein in his
body, and when someone said something bad about Draco Harry found
that he wanted to correct them immediately. And he kept
noticing—well, beauty. The beauty was only on Draco's face so
far, for the most part, but his eyes tracked beams of sunlight across
the floor of the Great Hall now, and just yesterday he'd halted in
front of a painting and stared at it, enthralled for the first time
with the colors in it.</p><p>Harry was a bit
frightened to discover what he was like with his barriers down. Did
this make him weaker? Surely such a fundamental change could not be
<em>all</em> positive. And he should retain the ability to lift the
barriers back again in case he was in a situation where he needed
them, like a battle.</p><p>Perhaps the effect
would recede with time, he told himself. He and Draco could spend a
larger portion of time both together and in bed right now than usual,
given the Christmas holidays. And that had to renewing Harry's
near-obsessive interest in him. Yes, it would probably fade as they
eased further away from the Justification.</p><p>He gave himself a
brisk shake, and went to find Luna so he could give her her present.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Luna touched the stone
of the wall, and listened gravely as she nodded. Yes, this large
block was unhappy here among smaller ones. When the Founders raised
Hogwarts, it had tried to tell them so, but none of them had the
ability to listen to objects. So it had sat here in the walls ever
since, unwanted and lonely. It needed to shrink, or the other blocks
needed to grow larger, to accommodate it.</p><p>Luna stepped back and
laid the book of spells she'd found in the library carefully on the
floor, studying the incantations and drawings again. She <em>ought</em>
to be able to adjust the size of the stone without altering the
composition of the walls, if she'd read it correctly. If she did do
something dangerous and made this section of wall waver, then the
stones would tell her. Luna smiled. It was so nice, being able to
listen to what things said. She was always surprised, and not a
little saddened, that more people didn't try it for themselves.</p><p>She aimed her wand at
the stone and whispered, "<em>Aliquantus.</em>"</p><p>A stream of pink light
shot out of her wand and circled the block. It shuddered, and then
began to resize itself. Luna watched with her breath bated, her wand
moving back and forth now and then so that she could speed the
shrinking of one side or slow the growth of another. The stone's
cries of distress grew fainter and fainter, until it was finally a
shape and size that worked well with the other stones. Luna ended the
spell and reached out, running her fingers gently down it.</p><p>"Luna?"</p><p>Harry was there. Of
course he was. He had the map of the school, and so he could find her
if he wanted. Luna turned around and nodded to him. "Harry. You
want your Christmas present now."</p><p>Harry paused as if
startled, and then used his hand to push the glasses up his nose.
"Er. No, I—I didn't know you had one for me, Luna." The Omen
snake draped around his shoulders, whom Luna often saw in the
Ravenclaw common room, cocked his head to look at her and uttered a
long hiss. Harry hissed back, then listened to the response, and
muffled a chuckle. "But Argutus says that I would be a fool not to
accept it," he added.</p><p>"Of course you
would," said Luna, and reached into a pocket of her robes,
filtering her fingers past scraps of parchment and pebbles that she'd
picked up because they remembered interesting things. She found the
cord of the necklace she'd braided for Harry, and pulled it out.
"These are gyrfalcon feathers," she told Harry. "Powerful
protection, you know."</p><p>"Against what?"</p><p><em>He is annoyingly
specific sometimes, </em>Luna thought, but she was willing to forgive
him for that. Most people tended to be annoyingly specific, unless
they learned how to listen. "Against rumors and bad ideas," she
said firmly, and then waited until he bowed his head so she could
drape the necklace around his neck. Harry touched it lightly and
smiled.</p><p>"I have a necklace
for you, too, Luna," he said, and brought it out.</p><p>Luna reached out and
took it, enchanted. The cord was of a thread she'd never seen
before, but it had come from a robe in the first place—perhaps a
piece of clothing from one of Harry's Black houses, of the kind
that nobody wove any more. There were sunflower petals hanging on the
cord, charmed to stay fresh. Sunflowers were a way of wishing someone
good luck, Luna knew, the ability to flare brilliantly even in the
midst of wind and crisis. She was pleased Harry had thought of them.</p><p>But what made it very
special was that Harry had braided pieces of his own hair among the
flower petals. Luna touched one dark curl, and nodded. It gave her
visions of being on Harry's head and bobbing and dipping as he
soared past a Bludger. It was very brave of him, giving this up, when
one's hair could be used against one in so many dangerous potions
and spells.</p><p>"Thank you, Harry,"
she said. She Levitated the necklace up over her head and settled it
at her throat. That way, it would be light and airy in the future,
and less likely to strangle her. "I wish you good luck at
conquering the Rotfang Conspiracy."</p><p>For just a moment,
Harry looked confused. But he didn't pursue the matter and then
look bored by her explanation, which Luna had known to happen many
times, and which always disappointed her. Conspiracies were like
objects; they would be much more fascinating if people just listened.
"Thanks, Luna," he said. "Good luck at—adjusting the size of
rocks in the tunnels?"</p><p>"Yes," said Luna.
"The Founders didn't always put Hogwarts together right, you
know. Sometimes there's a sound of a stone crying out in pain, or a
room crying because people are practicing too many of the same kinds
of spells in it. Then I have to help." She gave Harry a severe
glance. Even he wasn't beyond censure for this kind of thing. "Your
own robes would be pleased if you could get a left hand. They're
tired of flopping over your left wrist."</p><p>"Er," said Harry.</p><p>Luna listened for a
moment, then smiled. "Oh, but you <em>are</em> planning to get a left
hand," she said. "That's good. And Harry? I'm very pleased
that you and Draco Malfoy are sharing a bed. That's nice for both
of you. Are you redistributing your weight evenly across it when you
bounce? Because that's important, you know, to be sure that the bed
doesn't always get tired of having the same weight on every
spring."</p><p>Harry's face was
very red. Luna wondered in concern if a Heat Flea had bitten him. She
was about to offer the incantation that could check when Harry said,
in a strangled voice, "Happy Christmas, Luna," and beat a
retreat.</p><p>Luna made a careful
note to check for Heat Fleas later, and went back to work.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry woke slowly. He
nearly panicked for a moment, before remembering they didn't have
to hurry to Silver-Mirror; instead, he, Draco, Connor, Peter, Owen,
Syrinx, and Snape had come to Silver-Mirror last night, had a late
dinner with Narcissa, and gone to bed. Draco had said that he didn't
want to run around in the morning the way they'd had to do last
year, and this was better.</p><p>His turning over and
stretching woke Draco, who liked to sleep with both arms and legs
tucked around him lately, as if he were a monkey. It made Harry think
words like "adorable," which he didn't share aloud. Draco liked
to be told he was beautiful, but there were certain lines to be drawn
even in that.</p><p>"Happy Christmas,"
Draco whispered, and leaned forward to snog him.</p><p>Harry returned it
eagerly enough. He didn't know what time it was, and he wasn't
about to look away from the kiss to cast a <em>Tempus</em> charm. He
rolled slowly over so that he lay half on top of Draco, and slipped
one hand under his pyjama shirt.</p><p>The door flung open.</p><p>Harry made a muffled
shriek, and, luckily, drew back before he could bite Draco's
tongue, though it was a near thing. He turned around and glared at
Connor, who stood in the doorway with red and white sparks leaping
from his wand, grinning like Sirius in a really good mood.</p><p>"What are you
<em>doing</em>?' Harry demanded.</p><p>"What is <em>he</em>
doing?" Draco said at approximately the same moment, attempting to
hide his nakedness behind Harry. Harry clasped his hand and glared at
his brother, who didn't go away.</p><p>"It's time to come
downstairs and open gifts," Connor announced solemnly. "And I
knew that you were awake because I saw Draco go outside earlier."
He nodded to Draco as casually as if they were already
brothers-in-law and Connor walked in on scenes like this all the
time. "You went outside to watch the sunrise with your mother,
didn't you? A beautiful custom. And one that makes you wake up
early. I was generous and let you have an extra three hours of sleep.
You should thank me, really. All this lying around in bed all day
doesn't get gifts opened."</p><p>He shut the door with
a bang. Harry blinked at Draco. Draco blinked at Harry.</p><p>"I suppose we should
go downstairs," said Harry reluctantly. "Or he's liable to come
back in here."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor leaned against
the doorway in the hall and tried to keep his laughter down. He
wondered how long it would be before Harry and Draco worked out that
he had a ward up which alerted him when they were getting too
"intimate," so that he could innocently interrupt them.</p><p>It had taken him only
a few days to work out that just because he couldn't antagonize
Draco any more didn't mean he had to have less fun. He now had a
brother to tease. If he was having sex, Harry obviously wasn't that
fragile on the subject any more, and he could take a <em>lot</em> of
teasing. At the same time, he was unlikely to tease back for a while,
until he grew more comfortable with the notion that he was not only
having sex, other people knew that he was.</p><p>Connor liked to think
of it as part of his brotherly duties in making sure that Harry could
have at least a somewhat sane and normal life.</p><p>He trotted downstairs,
chortling, and met the impatient gazes around the tree with a
satisfied smile. "They should be down soon," he said.</p><p><em>And if they aren't,
then I'll take Snape with me when I fetch them. </em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry watched Connor's
face closely as his magic Levitated gifts from under the trees,
slinging them to their owners. He saw his brother blink and let his
face fall a little when he realized that Harry apparently had no gift
for him.</p><p>"Sorry for not
putting this with the others, Connor," Harry said, clearly enough
that everyone heard. "But there's no way that you wouldn't have
guessed immediately what it was, no matter how hard I tried to wrap
it." He turned his attention to the doorway and sent out a silent
<em>Accio</em>. Connor's gift hurried from the obscure room where
Harry had put it, one close beside Neptune Black's paintings of
other worlds, and through the doorway.</p><p>Connor's face when
he saw it made everything worthwhile—even, Harry thought, his
interrupting them this morning. His hands trembled as he settled the
Firebolt on his lap and stroked it, and his glance towards Harry had
turned so bright that it really seemed to outshine most of what was
in the room.</p><p>Harry grinned. "Happy
Christmas, Connor."</p><p>Connor gazed dreamily
at the broom, as he might have at Parvati. Harry leaned back against
Draco's shoulder, and just barely restrained the impulse to kiss
him, not wanting to look away from his brother's glowing face. It
had been obvious that Connor was jealous of his Firebolt, though he'd
tried not to be. And why shouldn't he have a good broom? He was
playing Quidditch this year, while Harry wasn't. He both needed and
wanted it more.</p><p>"That cost lots of
Galleons," Draco hissed in his ear. "Even now."</p><p>"Yes," Harry
agreed simply.</p><p>"Mine should be at
least as good," Draco said firmly.</p><p>Harry raised himself
on his elbow so he could see Draco's face. "It's not as
expensive," he said. "But I think it's even better. Money isn't
the only measure of worth, Draco. You've helped teach me that as
much as anyone else."</p><p>Draco blinked, looking
both stunned and cautiously pleased, and then unwrapped his gift.
Harry watched his face for the moment when he realized what it was.
There it was—the flicker of a line across his brow, a sharply
indrawn breath, and shadows in his eyes.</p><p>"A Pensive," he
whispered. "But it's already full."</p><p>Harry nodded. The
Pensieve had a containment spell on it that kept the silver liquid
inside from sliding out. "It's my memories of some of the most
painful times in my life," he said. "And the most joyful." He
thought of the perfect wording a moment later, and shook his head
ruefully. "The most <em>intense</em>, perhaps I should say. And it's
bound to that spell you invented, the one that lets you go inside
someone else's memory and feel their mindset."</p><p>Draco's stare at him
demanded more information.</p><p>Harry kissed him, not
caring for the fact that Draco's mother and his guardian sat right
across the room. "I've still hidden some things from you," he
whispered. "The way I felt about my parents' trial, for example.
And some others were always mysterious. I don't think you've ever
really understood the way I felt about Connor in first year. I don't
want those to be secrets anymore, Draco. So here you are. Whatever
you want to know about me, it should be in there. If it isn't,
ask."</p><p>Draco made an
incoherent noise and set the Pensieve aside before lunging forward
and seizing him in a kiss. Harry almost let himself be pushed flat
before he heard Snape clear his throat.</p><p>"Perhaps," Snape
said, in a voice so dry it reminded Harry of a desert, "we can
continue with this undignified orgy of gift-giving and save the other
parts of the undignified orgy for later?"</p><p>Harry heard Connor
laugh, and had his suspicions about the way his brother had come
bursting in on them that morning. He sat back up, clearing his
throat, and trying to smooth his hair flat, while he looked at Snape.
Understanding the silent command, Snape opened the wrapped package in
his lap.</p><p>He went very still.</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath. This was another of those risky gifts, like the forgiveness
letter he'd written to Snape last year. It seemed that their
relationship was doomed to be so volatile they'd never give each
other normal presents. Of course, Harry thought, if they did reach
the sock-trading stage they would probably be on the verge of never
speaking to one another again.</p><p>Snape opened the book,
and flipped through it, looking, it seemed, at each page, or at least
each clump of pages. Harry waited, his heart loud in his throat and
Draco's hand on his shoulder, just at that moment, most welcome.</p><p>"Some of these pages
near the end are blank," Snape said at last.</p><p>Harry cleared his
throat. "Ah—those are supposed to be for you to write what works
well for <em>us</em>," he said. "And I have no doubt that you could
write a book of your own on the subject, at this point."</p><p>Snape met his eyes.
Harry looked back as fearlessly as he could when fear was trying to
eat him alive. The gift—a book called, <em>What To Do With a
Powerful Wizard: Handling Relationships Between Magically Strong
Parents and Children</em>—was less literal and more symbolic. Harry
hoped the symbolism, of his desire to consider Snape a parent and not
just a guardian, was actually obvious.</p><p>From Snape's small
smile a moment later, he supposed it was either so, or Snape had read
the reason out of his eyes with Legilimency.</p><p>"Thank you, Harry."
Snape put the book aside. The gesture might have looked casual to
anyone else, but Harry had seen the way his hands were trembling. He
relaxed.</p><p>The other gifts went
more easily; He'd got books for Peter, Narcissa, Owen, and Syrinx,
all on various subjects. Peter's was the one that might have been
most sensitive, given that it documented wood-carving techniques
developed in the years he was in Azkaban, but it only made him caress
the cover and look wistful. Syrinx had already opened her book, which
was about advanced training for war wizards, and didn't look
inclined to pay attention to anything else.</p><p>That done, the rest of
the gift-giving could begin. Harry wasn't very surprised to open a
book on art appreciation from Peter. Now that he could see beauty in
physical objects, he suspected Peter would patiently tutor him into
seeing beauty in wooden carvings, paintings, murals, and the like.
Harry wondered if his days of draining pretty but useless Black
artifacts for their magic were over.</p><p>Narcissa gave him a
curious object that felt heavy in Harry's arms, but slipped and
slithered as he unrolled it, so that it took him a long moment to see
what it really was. He smiled, embarrassed, over the top of it when
he caught a glimpse of "Sirius" and "Regulus" and realized
its nature: a copy of the Black family tapestry with his name added.
It wasn't magical, so it wouldn't change to reflect the living
and dead status of members of the family as the original did, but it
did show him bound to Regulus with a dashed silver line, as adopted
heir.</p><p>"Thank you, Mrs.
Malfoy," he said, and she corrected him to Narcissa before he
really finished, glancing at him severely. Harry could almost see the
wheels in her head turning. <em>If he will acknowledge himself as
adopted Black heir, perhaps he will begin to acknowledge himself as
my son-in-law.</em></p><p>The tapestry was a
beautiful gift, woven from some pure black fabric Harry didn't know
and with the names done in silver, but it made Harry miss Regulus
something fierce. He put it carefully aside before he turned to the
next gift, Owen's.</p><p>It was a wooden
plaque, empty but for what looked like a depiction of the most recent
generation of Rosier-Henlins. Harry blinked at it, then turned to
look at Owen in puzzlement.</p><p>Owen met his gaze
calmly enough. "My mother is pregnant," he said. "I told you
that. She's due to deliver in three months. She'd like you to be
godfather for the child, Harry. Or—well, if you'll accept,
something a bit more permanent than that. An office much like the one
you're performing for Marian Bulstrode, where you show my little
sibling from the first day he or she exists that powerful magic isn't
something to be feared, or revered. The world's changing. My mother
wants her daughter or son to grow up in the world as it is, not as it
was."</p><p>Harry thought he knew
what the plaque was. "And if I agree, then it changes to reflect my
new status in relation to your family?"</p><p>Owen nodded.</p><p>Harry went on looking
at him for a moment more. He hadn't had as much time to spend with
his sworn companions as he'd like. He still barely knew Syrinx. And
he hadn't known Michael well enough to prevent the situation that
arose with Draco. It was something he'd like to change.</p><p>"Thank you, Owen,"
he said at last. "I'd be honored." He faced the plaque and
breathed on it, vaguely remembering that he had to do something like
that. Some of the plaques were so sensitive that they picked up the
magic from the sound of the words alone, but most needed a more
concentrated blast of air. "I accept."</p><p>The plaque shimmered,
and an invisible hand carved his name into the wood. Harry was
startled to see that three lines appeared with it. One dashed one
linked him to Medusa's name, and Harry guessed that would be the
one signifying his choice to stand in for the child. A thicker,
curvier one curled from him to Owen—the sworn companion bond. Harry
had no clue what to make of the thin line that curled about the spot
on the plaque beneath Medusa and Charles that the child's name
would presumably fill.</p><p>Owen came and looked
over his shoulder. "Oh," he said, sounding surprised. "I didn't
know my mother did that. She evidently wants you to name the child."</p><p>"She <em>what?</em>"
Harry was immediately apprehensive. The thought of saddling a
wizarding child with something unfortunate for the rest of his or her
life immediately filled his thoughts. What if he did it wrong? What
if he violated some naming tradition in the Rosier-Henlin family that
he knew nothing about? What if—</p><p>Owen's hand squeezed
his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry about it," he murmured.
"I'm sure you'll do just fine."</p><p>Harry, though not so
sure, nodded, and opened Syrinx's gift. <em>A shoe?</em> After a
moment, Harry understood. War wizards were supposed to own few
possessions, at least during this stage of their training. Like
independent action and unimpeded emotion, the right to them was
something they gave up, and then regained at the end of their
training. Syrinx would give some of her possessions as gifts, as much
to say that she valued the people who received them as for any
practical benefit.</p><p>When he looked at
Syrinx, she was smiling at him. "It's charmed to leap up and kick
your enemies in the jaw," she said. "It should break the jaw if I
did the charm right." A tremor of anxiety crossed her brow. "I'm
sure I did."</p><p>"Uh—thanks."
Harry set the shoe cautiously on top of the Rosier-Henlin plaque.
Luckily, it didn't appear to think the plaque was an enemy.</p><p>From Connor, he
received a watch made of bronze, which whirled with three-dimensional
representations of the planets when he opened it. Connor grinned at
him. "Brilliant, isn't it?" he asked. "I found it in Lux
Aeterna, behind a ward. It lets the current Potter heir know when the
bearer is in danger."</p><p>"And what else?"
Harry could feel a good deal of concentrated magic in the watch,
though not clearly enough to tell what it did.</p><p>Connor shrugged, more
interested in Peter's gift for him, a book on Animagus training.
"Don't know."</p><p>Harry thought it
wouldn't be a good idea to wear the watch as yet. He wrapped it
around the shoe, then took a good look at the gifts from Snape and
Draco.</p><p>Looking told him
nothing. Snape had filled his box with soft parchment, from the
sound, so that Harry couldn't tell what it was from the shape. He
opened it, and exclaimed softly. "I didn't think you brewed this,
sir," he said, tilting the vial he uncovered from side to side. The
golden shine clearly proclaimed the potion to be Felix Felicis, which
Harry had never tried to make himself; one slight mistake in the
brewing and things would go even worse than they usually did with a
volatile potion.</p><p>Snape snorted.</p><p>Harry glanced at him,
and was surprised to note a faint red tinge to his cheeks.
<em>He's…embarrassed? </em>"Thank you, sir," he said. "Really."</p><p>Snape nodded stiffly
and looked away. Harry decided he shouldn't call any more attention
to it. Snape was against potions like Felix Felicis as much as he was
against love potions, at least on the surface; he might not be <em>fair</em>,
but that didn't mean he would approve of a luck brew that was
essentially a way of cheating the odds. Harry carefully slid the vial
back into its parchment, and tried to bury his own emotions, as he
thought about what it meant that Snape believed that and yet had
brewed the potion anyway.</p><p>When he opened Draco's
gift, he didn't understand at first. The object hummed with
concentrated magic, but it appeared to be a perfectly ordinary
mirror. Harry turned it back and forth, and still could see only his
own face in it. The frame was beautiful, carved ivory with small
curlicues around tiny pearls, but had no sigil or lettering that said
what it did. Harry gave Draco a doubtful look.</p><p>Draco smiled at him,
and cupped his hand around the back of Harry's neck, bending his
face towards the mirror. "There," he breathed. "What do you
see?"</p><p>Harry peered close,
obediently, muttering under his breath the whole while. "Just
myself," he said.</p><p>And then he gasped as
the image rippled and changed, and color appeared to flow from the
side, where Draco had just touched the frame. What was left, when the
ripples settled, was—</p><p>No.</p><p>Harry tried to put the
mirror down. Draco wouldn't let him, wouldn't release his grip on
either the frame or the nape of Harry's neck. His murmuring in
Harry's ear sounded half-feverish.</p><p>"<em>Yes.</em> That's
what I see when I look at you, Harry. When just one person is
touching it, it reflects what that person thinks of the object in the
glass. But when someone else touches it, then it asserts <em>his</em>
reality. And you're beautiful to me. You are." Draco kissed his
ear.</p><p>Harry tried to turn
away from the image, but it was hard. The face—that wasn't <em>his</em>.
It couldn't be. It irradiated his eyes, his hair, practically his
skin with light as he had thought darkness irradiated Draco's face
on the day of the Justification. He was fascinated by the picture,
but it wasn't him. It couldn't be.</p><p>He buried his face in
Draco's robe, overwhelmed.</p><p>"It's all right,
Harry," Draco crooned into his ear. "Take as long as you need to
get used to this." His free hand swept over Harry's forehead,
tugging at his hair now and then. "We've already started on that
road. You can admit I'm beautiful. I've seen you staring at some
things as if noticing them for the first time. It'll come, Harry.
You might even acknowledge yourself as beautiful in a few years
without prompting, but I want you to know exactly how I see you."</p><p>Harry managed to
murmur his thanks, though still without looking up. He was
half-afraid to meet Draco's eyes at this moment, and see the
burning, possessive pleasure in them.</p><p>Draco kissed him
again. "Happy Christmas," he said into Harry's skin, more than
his ear.</p><p>Connor saved the
moment, or at least saved his brother from making a right idiot of
himself. "We still have some time before the others come," he
said brightly, impatiently. And he was right, Harry knew; his other
allies would be arriving later that afternoon, delaying because they
wanted to spend Christmas morning with their own families or, in
Hawthorn's case, because last night had been the full moon and she
would need time to recover. "Let's go flying in the wind-pool!"</p><p>Harry choked,
especially when he heard Draco's indignant mutter about not having
a broom behind him. He kissed Draco's chest and sat up, still
careful to avoid both his boyfriend's eyes and the mirror. Some
changes were harder than others.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry woke that night
with a start. For a long moment, he lay in his bed, skin tingling,
and tried to think what could have awakened him. It wasn't Draco,
who rushed soft snores into his ear without moving. And it definitely
wasn't Connor sneaking in to play a prank; when Harry chanced a
look at the door, it was firmly closed.</p><p>But <em>something</em>
had changed.</p><p>A bit unnerved, and
wondering if someone had managed to Apparate in past Silver-Mirror's
wards, Harry rolled gently from under Draco's guardian arm. Draco
turned and hugged the pillow instead. Harry lingered to stroke his
cheek and shake his head; he would be back, hopefully, before the
cold woke Draco up.</p><p>He made his way
carefully down the stairs. The celebration with his allies had been
louder and more raucous than Harry had expected, if only because
Thomas had brought his children along, and Marian Bulstrode could
walk now. A child nearly two years old with accidental magic not
fully under control, and utterly unafraid of any Black artifacts or
magic from the adults, could, Harry had discovered, get into quite a
bit of trouble. And then Thomas had stayed for a long time talking
about how he had received an invitation to visit Malfoy Manor from
Lucius, but had not gone because he was busy writing an article on
centaur magic and in the midst of some delicate research. It had been
entertaining, but had distracted Harry from helping to clean up the
rubbish. He hoped nothing had been left on the stairs.</p><p>He reached the main
room of Silver-Mirror, lit as always by the golden pool overhead that
forever sent its drops of flame down to fill the lamps, and looked
cautiously about. No one lunged out of the shadows at him brandishing
a wand. Harry frowned.</p><p>Then he heard a voice,
familiar and not heard in far too long, say, "Harry?"</p><p>Heart pounding, he
turned. Regulus stood next to one of the paintings, his hand resting
lightly on the wall beside it, his face widening into a smile as
Harry watched.</p><p>He might have repeated
Harry's name, but if so, Harry didn't hear it, since he'd
practically levitated across the room and gathered Regulus into a
hug. Regulus lost his breath, then got it back again long enough to
laugh, and returned the embrace.</p><p>Harry buried his head
against Regulus's chest, silly tears of gratitude making his shirt
damp. He hadn't dared think too much about what was probably
happening to Regulus in the world of the paintings. He was gone, and
there was nothing Harry could do to help him but make sure the Black
houses and artifacts were taken care of properly in the meantime. No
way to reach him, no way to know if he had succeeded or failed in his
quests to heal from the infection around his Dark Mark and to find
out what the Slytherin locket had been to Voldemort.</p><p>No way to know, but
now he was back, alive, warm, real, in Harry's arms. He was <em>back.</em></p><p>Regulus chuckled above
him. "I was automatically trying to read your thoughts and learn
what had happened since I was last home," he whispered. "Sometimes
I forget that I have a body, even now."</p><p>"I'll tell you,"
said Harry, pulling back and staring into his face, dazed with joy.
"I'll be happy to tell you. But you tell me something first."
He took a deep breath. "Did your healing go well?"</p><p>"It did."
Regulus's face was shadowed for a moment, but it couldn't
restrain the smile that burst forth. "The infection in my Mark is
cured."</p><p>"Then I don't care
about anything else right now," Harry said firmly, and clung to him
again.</p><p>He knew Regulus had
probably had disturbing things happen to him, and found disturbing
things out. It was there in the shadows around his eyes and his mouth
if nowhere else. And he knew he probably wouldn't like hearing some
of those things, that Regulus might be the bearer of bad news.</p><p>For now, he didn't
care. He didn't care about anything but the fact that Regulus was
there, one heavy hand stroking his spine, here and back and <em>home.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 71*: Horcruxes</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>Plot-pivotal chapter here. This explains, in part, why the
seventh story will be so dark. And it lets some of the secrets that have been
hidden since the second and third stories out. I've been looking forward to
writing it, in spite of everything it implies.</p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Six: Horcruxes</strong>

<p>"But he
might not be the real Regulus." Draco sounded calm, but it was obvious that his
voice wavered on the edge of breaking apart into shards of anger and concern.</p><p>Harry
snorted and looked over his shoulder. He'd been trying to adjust his robe in
such a way that the collar hid all the bite marks on his neck, and in the end,
he'd had to give up. Some of them were simply too high. And now he needed to
stop thinking about how he'd received them, or he was going to have a problem
on his hands. He gave a little shudder and focused his mind. "I suppose that
he's the unreal Regulus then?"</p><p>Draco
crossed the room and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, staring into his eyes.
"You don't know what he might have encountered in those paintings," he said.
"You said yourself that you didn't know exactly how they worked or where they
led."</p><p>"No one
does, though," Harry pointed out. "None of the Blacks ever explored them
completely. Regulus knows the functions of a few—the one where he originally
learned of the locket, for example, and the painting where he went to be
healed. He told me it was dangerous at the time. I still agreed to let him go,
since his infected Dark Mark was more of a threat to his life than anything
else could be at that point. And I'm sure that if there was a danger of one of
them sending back a copy of him that only looked and moved and spoke and felt
like the real thing, he would have told me."</p><p>"Maybe he
didn't know," Draco pointed out quietly, and ran his finger over the bite mark
low on the side of Harry's neck. Harry bit his tongue to keep from responding.
"Did you see what painting he came out of?"</p><p>Harry shook
his head. "I only felt a twitch in the wards, and woke up and went down to see
what had happened. He was standing in the gallery when I turned around. What I
felt was him returning."</p><p>Draco
tucked his arms around Harry and put his chin on his shoulder. "I still want to
sit with you when you meet with him, to learn this important information,
whatever it is," he said. "Will you let me do that?"</p><p>"Of
course," said Harry, and kept to himself the thought that Draco could have
achieved that without all these ridiculous suspicions about Regulus.</p><p>He <em>knew</em>
that was Regulus. Apart from anything else, he had felt the way the wards
danced around him, spinning a web to welcome the Black heir back into the
houses. Harry was legal heir, but Regulus had a history of blood and magic with
Silver-Mirror, had spent hours of his childhood here, and knew the paintings with
a bone-deep wisdom that Harry hadn't had the need to experience yet. It was
inevitable that the house would rejoice to see him come back, and would reject
an impostor, or at least let Harry know from its reaction that he wasn't the
true Regulus.</p><p><em>Sometimes,
Draco is simply too paranoid.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape had
gone very still when Harry told him that morning that Regulus had returned, and
in some part of himself, he did not think the stillness had ended, even though
he had stood up and moved around the room more than once since then. He had not
gone down for breakfast, not that anyone would compel him to the morning after
Christmas. He had spent most of his time sitting on his chair and staring out
the window that gave an enchanted view of a small wood crowded with leafless
trees.</p><p>Someone
knocked on his door.</p><p>Snape took
a deep breath, and shook his head, and stood. He had avoided Regulus because he
did not want the other man to see the past written in his eyes. Snape had lived
through scenes in his dreams that made him wary of how he would behave around
Regulus. He had lived one life in these last few months, and Regulus had lived
another. It was not fair to expect Regulus to act as Snape would inevitably
expect him to act, not fair to saddle a friend with memories of the time when
their friendship had been different from what it was now.</p><p>Joseph
would undoubtedly say he was being cowardly. But Joseph was not here.</p><p>Snape
opened the door, and nodded to Regulus. Regulus gave him a smile that lit his
gray eyes as though he were the second coming of Sirius Black playing a prank.
That steadied Snape, a little. If he thought of Regulus as an incarnation of
his brother, he could retain an emotional distance from him.</p><p>"Severus."
And then Regulus did the impossible, and hugged him.</p><p>Snape stood
rigid for long moments before he realized Regulus was not going to stop the
embrace until he returned it. Uncomfortable, he did so, and then slipped free
of his arms as soon as he could.</p><p>"Severus?"</p><p>Snape
wished he would stop using that name. It reminded him too keenly of the dreams.
But he wished even more that he was not acting like such a coward, so he turned
around and nodded to Regulus, and let himself smile the creaky almost-smile he
had achieved in the weeks before Regulus went into the paintings. "Hello."</p><p>"You made
me wait long enough for that." Regulus went sprawling into one of the room's
large padded chairs. Snape could almost hear the ghosts of Slytherin Prefects
gone scolding him for his inability to maintain a proper posture. "Harry's told
me a little about the Midsummer battle and the Sanctuary, but he said that the
parts concerning you were yours to tell. So. Talk." He fixed a demanding gaze
on Snape.</p><p>Snape took
a seat across from him. Perhaps he <em>could</em> last through this, after all.
At the very least, he would make Regulus see why he was acting so strangely,
and, perhaps, in common agreement, they could find their way back to a common
footing.</p><p>"The
Sanctuary forces healing on those who come to it," he said, and heard his sneer
soak his voice. "Whether or not they want it."</p><p>"But you
needed it," said Regulus.</p><p>Snape
breathed through his teeth, and was reminded of why he had always found it
particularly difficult to talk to Regulus in this mood. Sirius Black had a
malicious edge to his amusement, not so far from what a Slytherin might
achieve. Regulus was no wide-eyed innocent, but he could and did act obtuse to
subtler meanings, as now, and cling to what he saw as reality.</p><p>"Whether or
not I needed it is hardly the question," Snape said sharply. "I had lived
without it."</p><p>"Not well."</p><p>His teeth
ground down hard enough to make an audible noise, and Regulus gave a low
whistle of sympathy. "It must have been hard," he said, bouncing one hand up
and down on his knee, "to be with people you could neither bedazzle with your
bollocks about being fine nor scare away."</p><p>Snape
wished he knew the actual Evil Eye, the ancient ability to harm someone through
a baleful gaze. "I had dreams," he said. "I could have taken Dreamless Sleep to
avoid them. I did not. But they were hard to bear."</p><p>"Dreams?"
Regulus tilted his head, eyebrows raising.</p><p>"Memories."
Snape told him something he would have preferred to keep to himself, then,
because he could not stand the sharply skeptical expression on Regulus's face,
as though dreams should be something anyone could bear. "Memories of the time I
spent as a Death Eater, in fact. Currently, I've dreamed myself to the point
where you went after that damned <em>locket</em> and the Dark Lord tortured me
because he thought I knew something about it."</p><p>Regulus
sucked in a startled breath and sat back in his chair. Snape's bitter
satisfaction at having made an impact on him did not last for long. This was a
weakness, a crack in his façade. He should have borne it in silence. He did not
want Regulus knowing of this. Joseph was the utmost audience he could tolerate
for the dreams, and Joseph knew what they meant and talked through them with
him. Snape turned away.</p><p>"You know
why I didn't tell you anything," Regulus whispered, his voice amazingly soft.
"You <em>know</em>, Severus. I wasn't sure of your loyalties, and I had to
succeed, but it was more than that. I didn't want you to suffer death or worse
torture than you did if you had known something and not been able to keep it
away from his Legilimency."</p><p>"By that
time," Snape said, not looking at him, "I had concealed from him that I had
reported to the Order of the Phoenix for more than a year."</p><p>Regulus
snorted. "Concealed it so well I had no idea." His hand made a sharp impact on
something that was either the chair arm or the useless, delicate ornamental
table some idiot had thought to stand beside the chair. "You were an <em>excellent</em>
actor, Severus, remember? It's just that sometimes you chose to deploy those
skills against your friends as well as your enemies, and when that happened,
then no one could tell the difference. Friend or enemy."</p><p>He cut off.
Snape sat in silence, staring at the floor. He could feel Regulus staring at
him.</p><p>"I'm sorry
for your having to relive that," Regulus offered at last, quietly. "But, <em>believe</em>
me, Severus, I don't think you're weak for doing that, and I don't care how it
influences your behavior towards me."</p><p>Snape could
feel his shoulders tense.</p><p>"We're
friends," said Regulus. "We were friends then, even though you never wanted to
call it so. And we're friends now. I just came back from—from learning
disturbing things, disturbing things that I'm about to go tell Harry." The note
of sorrow slipping into his voice was so deep that Snape had no choice but to
turn and look at him. His face was tired, long circles slipping under his eyes
like afternoon shadows. "I want a friend. I need a friend."</p><p>"I am
changed," Snape warned him, with some difficulty, and then reconsidered. "No. I
am changing. I am not comfortable company—"</p><p>"When were
you ever?" And Regulus had the gall to smile at him.</p><p>Snape shook
his head, frustrated. "No. I was such uncomfortable company for a time that I
struck at one of Harry's werewolves, Regulus. And I acted not like his
guardian, but like another helpless child that Harry had to take care of. We're
making steps back in the direction of father and son now, but—"</p><p>"I know
you're changing," Regulus interrupted him, calm. "Everyone changes all the time,
Severus. What's finally happened is that you've been forced to notice." He
offered his arm. "Now. I know Draco will have insisted on hearing what I have
to say to Harry. I think it's only appropriate that his father should be there
with him, too, to comfort him in this time of crisis."</p><p>Snape
rolled his eyes, but took Regulus's elbow. If he did not, he knew Regulus would
follow him down the stairs, stubbornly offering his arm all the way and making
him look absolutely ridiculous.</p><p>Then his
ears caught up with his brain, and he halted. "<em>What</em> time of crisis?" he
demanded, his eyes flitting over Regulus's face. "What exactly did you learn in
those paintings?"</p><p>Regulus
gave a faint, bitter smile more like his old self as a Death Eater than Severus
had seen in years—at least in waking life. "Bad news," he said.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Regulus had
asked to speak to him in one of Silver-Mirror's studies, this one devoted to
books on Dark applications for Light spells. Harry had largely stripped one
particular shelf on healing magic, when he had thought that the Death Eaters
might try to turn healing spells against them on the battlefield, but the other
books were still there. Harry circled them, looking for something interesting,
while Draco remained near the door, seated in a chair that faced it.</p><p>A loud gasp
from him made Harry whirl around, his magic flaring. He saw Snape and Regulus
paused in the doorway, staring at Draco, who had risen to his feet and aimed
his wand.</p><p><em>At
Regulus, </em>Harry realized, in exasperation. He sighed and took a step
forward. "Draco—"</p><p>"Look at
the floor, Harry." Draco's voice was tight and strangled. "At his shadow."</p><p>Harry
looked. He blinked when he realized that Regulus's shadow did seem thin and
stretched, but that was probably the effect of the numerous lamps that lit the
study. He shrugged. "What? Draco, I don't—"</p><p>Regulus
took a step forward.</p><p>Harry saw
it then. Regulus's shadow followed him obediently, like a good shadow should,
but it did not have a human form anymore. Instead, a black dog paced him.</p><p>A Grim.
Omen of death.</p><p>Harry
raised his eyes to Regulus's face and stared. Regulus had stopped walking, and
was gazing calmly at him, ignoring Draco's wand, ignoring the way that Snape
had disengaged his arm and stepped away from him, snarling.</p><p>"I was
always going to tell you about this," Regulus began. "I just didn't think last
night was the appropriate time. I wanted last night to be a time of joy, Harry,
for a few hours." His smile was the saddest Harry had ever seen him give.
"Before the joy had to pass."</p><p>"He's
lying," Draco hissed. "He's not the real Regulus. <em>Look</em> at him, Harry.
Would the real Regulus ever sound that way? Look like that?"</p><p>Harry stood
gazing into Regulus's eyes instead of answering Draco. And he still saw the
light he was looking for in those gray eyes, the spark of the man he knew. He
was still sure this was the real Regulus, but—</p><p>"He would
if he had to grow up, Draco," Harry said softly, never breaking eye contact
with Regulus. "If he met something in the paintings that changed his world as
he knew it." He paused a long moment, then said, "But you should explain the
dog shadow."</p><p>"I will."
Regulus moved to stand in front of a triangle of chairs. "If you gentlemen will
sit down?"</p><p>Snape did,
but with a look of profound and personal betrayal on his face that made Harry
wince and glance away. Draco remained standing. Harry stepped up behind him and
put his hand on Draco's right shoulder, stroking gently and murmuring nonsense
soothing words. Draco shuddered and tipped onto his heels, molding his back to
Harry's chest. He didn't lower the wand, but at least Harry was sure he would
no longer fire a curse at a moment's notice.</p><p>He nodded
at Regulus.</p><p>Regulus
took a deep breath and reached for his left sleeve, jerking it up. Then he held
out his arm and turned it to face Harry.</p><p>Harry had
feared to see the Dark Mark radiating with lines of infection, not cured after
all, even though Regulus had told him last night it was. But the Mark wasn't
radiating anything. It would have been difficult for that to happen when the
Mark was gone.</p><p>Instead,
the same sleek black as the snake and skull had been, a dog stalked Regulus's
left forearm. The design was incredibly well-drawn, Harry had to admit. He
could see individual bits of fur, and the dog's—the Grim's—eyes were dark pits
it was uncomfortable to look at.</p><p>"The first
painting cured me of my infection," Regulus said softly. "That was quite true,
Harry. The second—" He cast a glance at Draco and Snape. "There is little I can
tell you about its nature in front of people who aren't the Black heirs. I told
you that it was called the execution picture."</p><p>"It killed
you, then," Draco said, and started pulling against Harry's hand again, trying
to get between him and Regulus. "It killed you and sent your dead body back in
place of the <em>real</em> Regulus. I knew it."</p><p>Regulus's
face registered surprise for a moment, before he barked laughter. Harry thought
the echoes went on a bit too long, as if there were a dog howling somewhere,
faint and far away. "You take me for an Inferius? No, Draco. I did not die. I
met Death."</p><p>"What was
it like?" Harry asked, unable to keep his eyes from moving back and forth
between Regulus's dog shadow and dog Mark.</p><p>"As I said,
I'm limited in what I can tell you with this audience," Regulus murmured. "But
in this case, the appropriate word is <em>she</em>. She is female in that world
the painting leads to, Harry. And very, very cruel."</p><p>He
shuddered, and then shook his head and announced, "If neither of you is going
to sit down, I will." He took the chair nearest Snape, not seeming to notice
the other man's fixed stare. Draco's wand tracked him. Harry tried to step away
and sit down in the other chair, but Draco's free hand tightened on his robe
collar. Harry rolled his eyes and stood still. <em>If it makes him feel better.</em></p><p>"She
changed your shadow and your Mark?" Harry asked.</p><p>Regulus
nodded. "So I couldn't forget our bargain. She made me a trade, Harry. I can't
tell you all the terms. As I said, wrong audience. But she gave me the
knowledge I sought, in return for this." He held up his left arm again, and the
Grim seemed to writhe and bend as Harry watched. "I'm marked as Death's own,
now. When I feel the call in the Mark, I have to obey it." He took a deep
breath, visibly bracing himself. "When she calls me on to die, I have to go."</p><p>Harry
clenched his fist, making Draco murmur and shift at the tight hold Harry had on
his robe. "And is it the necromancer's gift?" he asked. "Do you know <em>when</em>
you're going to die, and you just can't tell us?"</p><p>Regulus
shook his head at once. "No, Harry. Not that. She could call me in five
minutes, or a hundred years from now. I promise. I'm not lying about this." He
dredged up a smile that Harry felt compelled to accept as truthful. He did not
think even Regulus could look that cheerful about a death he knew would happen
soon, and he had never noticed any signs that Regulus was a very good liar.
Even his keeping the truth of the locket secret when he was a Death Eater had
involved more lies of omission, from what Harry knew, than commission. "So it's
not really all that different from what anyone else knows or feels about his or
her death. This is just—a bit more personal interest in the matter than most
people get handed."</p><p>Harry nodded,
and tried to ignore the pulse beating in his throat. "And she gave you the
knowledge you sought."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"What was
it? Were the locket and the diary weapons of Voldemort's, or were they
something else?"</p><p>Regulus
bowed his head and took hold of the arms of his chair. Then he looked up and
spoke in a soft, flat voice Harry thought he must have practiced.</p><p>"They're
called Horcruxes, Harry. They're physical objects containing a bit of the
creator's soul. Extremely Dark magic. They can only be empowered by a murder.
The murder splits the creator's soul, and he takes that shard and stores it
in—well, an object that he's enchanted to be indestructible, hopefully. The
shards can take on an independent life of their own, and usually do. That's why
you met Tom Riddle in that diary, and why a bit of Voldemort could possess my
brother. Horcruxes are <em>alive</em>, and not just in the way that a family
clock or a Foe-Glass is. They're fully as intelligent and aware as any human.
They won't know everything their creator knows. Tom Riddle was sixteen when
Voldemort made the diary, so sixteen he remained. But they can learn new
things, and if they can commune with or possess someone new, they can try to
return to independent existence by growing a body."</p><p>Harry
closed his eyes. He remembered the grayish lump growing out of Sirius's side,
the possession that Sirius had killed himself to prevent. He remembered Tom
Riddle trying to drain Connor's magic, and Harry's, so that he could live
outside the pages of the diary, or someone else's mind, again. Oh, yes, he knew
all about Horcruxes needing, or wanting, a body.</p><p>"That's the
way Voldemort's stayed immortal," Regulus went on, voice quiet, implacable.
"The Horcruxes each contain a piece of his soul, and his body holds the last.
Death showed me the number seven. That makes sense. Seven is a magically
powerful number. He split his soul into seven shards—one each for six
Horcruxes, and one for himself. It's impossible for him to leave his body
without a piece, of course. And that's how he survived when you reflected the
Killing Curse at him, Harry. You destroyed his body, and an ordinary Killing
Curse would have dispersed the soul, but that particular shard remaining was
too small to be affected by it. It fled and hid, and possessed Quirrell—made <em>him</em>
into a Horcrux, almost, except that this bit of soul was more intelligent and
older than the others, and always knew exactly what had happened to it. Now
he's come back in full power, but still containing only a shard of a soul."</p><p>Harry
opened his eyes again to see Regulus regarding him solemnly. "That's why the <em>Avada Kedavra</em> you tried on him in the Chamber of Secrets didn't work, Harry. He'll
still live—if you can call that living—as long as one of his Horcruxes exists."</p><p>"So we have to find and destroy the
others," Harry said.</p><p>Regulus nodded.</p><p>"Four more."</p><p>Regulus nodded again.</p><p>Harry shuddered a bit. The battles
with Tom Riddle and the bit of Voldemort possessing Sirius had been almost
unimaginably difficult. Perhaps the next four would be easier, since he was
older and knew what to expect now, but he was not counting on it. <em>Merlin help us if the other four Horcruxes
start trying to grow bodies. </em>"Do
you know what they are? Where they are?"</p><p>"Death made me a bargain," said
Regulus, his face disgusted now. "Not a sale. She offered me the knowledge of
what they were, or where they were, but not both." He sighed. "I accepted the
knowledge of where they were, Harry. I thought it would do little good if we
knew their physical forms, but not where in the world Voldemort hid them. After
all, if I'd only known that Slytherin's locket existed, and not the nature of
the traps that protected it, there's no way I could have stolen it."</p><p>Harry nodded encouragingly. There
was an odd roaring sound in his ears. He had wondered what the secret to
Voldemort's immortality was, and how in Merlin's name they would ever find out.
Now it was almost within their reach. Even partial knowledge was better than
none.</p><p>"She cheated even there, as much as
she could," said Regulus. "She gave me four images, but only two are likely to
be useful. One was Hogwarts. The other was a desk in a room that looked old and
Muggle and tired—probably somewhere in London, but even if I'd seen the outside
of the building, I couldn't have said for certain. Most Muggle places look
alike to me. The third was a dark place, a burrow of some sort, I think, but so
dark I couldn't make out the details—"</p><p>"And the fourth was a dark house,"
Harry finished, his skin prickling. <em>Those
are the images the bird showed me. That was what it was trying to tell me.</em></p><p>Regulus blinked at him. "Well,
almost, Harry, yes. This was a shack, actually, surrounded by trees. It stood
on a hill." He shuddered. "It's the most fragile or obvious hiding place, I
think, but Voldemort's protected it well. I could feel the curses just
glimpsing it."</p><p>And Harry <em>knew</em>, then, where one of the Horcruxes must be, and cursed himself for not
seeing it before. "The shack," he whispered, turning to Snape. "The little
shack near the Riddle house, near Little Hangleton. Do you remember? We passed
it on the way to the graveyard last Midwinter. It was so powerfully warded and
cursed that I didn't dare try to break the spells. Besides, I thought it was
only a minor curiosity at the time."</p><p>Snape's face went blank, then
stunned. Then it hardened, and he nodded. "Dark magic," he murmured. "Powerful
Dark magic, to guard a place in such shambles. And now we know why."</p><p>"Why he put the spells up, at least.
Not why he chose that place. Maybe if we can learn that, we can learn where the
other hiding places are, more specifically." Harry turned to Regulus. "Death
didn't give you a good sense of why Voldemort chose the hiding places he did, I
suppose?"</p><p>Regulus shook his head. "As I said,
she gave me as little information as she could. I'm glad that you recognized
that house, at least, and I recognized Hogwarts. I don't know what we're going
to do about the other two."</p><p>"I might have an idea," Harry
muttered, mind racing. <em>The bird
could help. Perhaps. On the other hand, if it could </em>really <em>help, it would have
told me about the Horcruxes and where they were outright. It obviously knows.
But I'll talk to it when I can. </em>"Thank
you, Regulus. I—I can't say that I like the idea of your risking your life for
this, even now." He met Regulus's eyes. "But it's enormously helpful. Thank
you."</p><p>"She told me one thing more,"
Regulus said softly.</p><p>Harry immediately went alert.
Regulus's hands were gripping the sides of his chair as if it were about to
ride it into a storm. Harry swallowed twice before he could get the words out.
"What?" he whispered. Draco leaned back against him and turned his head so that
his face rested on Harry's neck, mouthing soothing words. Harry hardly noticed.
His skin was clammy, and his breath quickened as he watched Regulus.</p><p>Regulus hesitated long moments,
until Harry wanted to scream at him to hurry up. And then he spoke.</p><p>"Voldemort knew he couldn't protect
the Horcruxes from every form of physical destruction," he whispered. "An
imaginative enemy could always come up with something he hadn't thought of. So,
in addition to protection from common curses, he used a spell that's part of
the Unassailable Curses—not even the caster can undo it, or take it back, or
break it by any other method than the one acceptable way of breaking it." He
fixed his eyes on Harry. "It might be as simple as a sneezing curse that can
only be undone by <em>Finite
Incantatem</em>, but then, you can only
undo it by the <em>Finite</em>, not by blocking someone's nose so they
can't sneeze; they'll keep on sneezing regardless. And Voldemort cast a curse
that said the Horcruxes could only ultimately be destroyed if someone died, as
a willing sacrifice, either with the intention of destroying the Horcrux or for
love of the person who intended to destroy the Horcrux."</p><p>Harry stared at him, then shook his
head. "That's not—"</p><p><em>Sirius. Sylarana.</em></p><p>Harry stopped, the words sticking in
his throat, the memories blazing in his mind. Sirius had cast the Killing Curse
on himself, died a willing sacrifice for the love he bore Harry and the love he
bore Connor, and to stop Voldemort from coming back into the world through him.
His last four words before the <em>Avada
Kedavra</em> had been to tell them
farewell.</p><p>And he could see, he could see if he
closed his eyes, Sylarana uncoiling from his arm and lunging upward at the
basilisk, her scream ringing in his ears. <em>Mine! My human! I defend him from other snakes!</em></p><p>And then the world trembled and
rushed, and he was back in Acies's Defense Against the Dark Arts class last
year, with her words on willing sacrifice circling his head like birds of prey.</p><p><em>A life laid down, a limb cut off
willingly, a privilege yielded without grumbling, forms the corner and the core
of all sacrifices that most wizards trust. Without that corner and that core,
sacrifice is usually seen as evil, or, at most, dubious magic. What can be done
with blood and flesh and other things not given willingly? A great deal, but
not as much as can be done with that yielded. The wizard's will adds its own
sanction to the spell or the potion or the ritual performed with that willing
sacrifice. The one the sacrifice is performed for grows more willing himself,
more able, more powerful. Perhaps he will even be able to survive whatever storm
comes after that yielding.
</em></p><p>And he had even wondered if Sirius
and Sylarana's sacrifices had made a difference in his battles with Voldemort
that followed.</p><p>They had. They had made all the
difference.</p><p>Harry shook his head. He was aware
that he had withdrawn from Draco, stumbling back against the far wall, and that
he'd banged his ankle on something, probably the leg of the chair. He didn't
mind. He didn't care. He couldn't think of anything but trying to deny what
Regulus said.</p><p>"No," he whispered.</p><p>"Yes." There came a faint creaking
sound—Regulus's hands tightening on the arms of the chair, probably. "I'm
sorry, Harry. There's no way around it. Death is cruel, but Voldemort is
crueler. To destroy the Horcruxes, four people who love you are going to have
to die."</p><p>Harry could hear his breath coming
out of his mouth in a moan. The worst part, the <em>worst</em> part, was that he had people around him who might be willing
to do that, to give their lives up for him.</p><p><em>It's
not—it's not right. The sacrifices were supposed to fall on me. Why shouldn't
they? The battle with Voldemort is my fight. I'm not alone in it, but why
should I have to have company in the sacrifices? Why should anyone be required
to do this?</em></p><p>"Or die
intending to destroy the Horcrux," Snape said sharply, somewhere beyond the
roaring in his ears. "You said that, Regulus."</p><p>"I did,"
Regulus agreed. "But, either way, Harry will almost certainly need to be there.
Voldemort sowed his doom the night that he made Harry his magical heir and
passed the <em>absorbere</em> ability to him. He can eat the magic of the Horcrux
left after the sacrifice, and he can either eat the piece of the soul or
destroy it by destroying the magic and the anchor it depends on. Without magic
and a physical anchor of <em>some</em> kind, the soul shard simply dissipates."</p><p>Harry
remembered the piece of Tom Riddle's soul unraveling, shrinking, shrieking, and
disappearing, after the destruction of the diary.</p><p>It was—</p><p>It was
unfair. It was unjust. But he would do what he could to make sure it wasn't.</p><p>"I can't
believe you're talking as though this is actually the way we'll fight the war,"
he said, taking his arm away from his face and glaring at both Regulus and
Snape. "It's <em>not</em>. We'll find some way around this. There has to be a
way."</p><p>"There is
no other way," Regulus said, his voice gentle. "I'm sorry, Harry, but this
particular Unassailable Curse can only be broken by a willing sacrifice of the
kind I described."</p><p>"Maybe
Death was lying to you," Harry countered. "You said she was cruel."</p><p>"That's
possible," said Regulus. "But then she could have been lying about the
locations of the Horcruxes, too, and you seem to believe that you have
independent confirmation that's not so. Besides, all the other information that
my ancestors ever brought out of that painting was true."</p><p>Draco was
suddenly in front of Harry, gathering him up in his arms. Harry laid his head
on his shoulder, but went on glaring at Regulus and Snape past Draco's neck.
"I'm not—I'm not going to have people dying just because they love me," he said
harshly. "No more sacrifices like that. We'll find <em>some</em> way around
this."</p><p>"And if
there is no way?" Regulus asked softly. "We know a way to destroy Voldemort,
Harry. We know it works. Twice, it worked. I would be skeptical, too, if
Sylarana or my brother was the <em>only</em> occurrence, but we have it twice.
The first time, Tom Riddle vanished after your snake died. The second time, the
shard of Voldemort managed to leap into Rodolphus's body—probably because he
was older and had more experience at possession than Tom Riddle—but when you
destroyed that, he was gone. Do we <em>dare</em> ignore what that implies, Harry?
Do we want Voldemort to ravage our world because we can't bear to think of
giving up our lives?"</p><p>"I'll give
up my life," Harry said stonily. He ignored Snape's thundercloud glare and the
way Draco's arms clamped around him, almost hard enough to cut off his breath.
"I'll give up my free time, and my learning of other spells that aren't Dark
Arts or ways to destroy Horcruxes, and my schooling. But I'm <em>not</em> going
to let other people die because they love me."</p><p>"Even if it's willing?" Regulus
said. "Remember, Harry, it has to be willing for this to work. Utterly willing.
An enemy couldn't put one of us under <em>Imperio</em> and demand that we kill
ourselves to destroy the Horcrux. That doesn't work in other willing sacrifice
situations; the magic doesn't accept it. So it would depend on our own free
wills. And you wouldn't respect our choices? As <em>vates</em>?"</p><p>Harry
became aware he was crying, but he couldn't move his hand up to wipe away the
tears because Draco's arm was in the way. And Merlin, how he <em>hated</em> to
cry, to show weakness in front of everyone. <em>They</em> were the ones who were
talking about paying the cost, about dying.</p><p>"I'm
not—I'm not worth this kind of devotion," he said. "Regulus, <em>no </em>one is.
Can't you see that? I can't demand this of anyone."</p><p>"And
demanding wouldn't work." Regulus's voice was like water wearing a hole in
stone by long and patient dripping, like Joseph's. "It would always, always be
choice, Harry."</p><p><em>No</em>.</p><p>"I just—I
want to work on some way to get around this." Harry shifted so that he could
bury his face in Draco's shoulder, and wipe some of the tears off. "But I don't
want to say that people have to kill themselves for the sake of defeating
Voldemort and that's the end of it."</p><p><em>It's not
true. It can't be true. Please, let it not be true. Loving me leads people to
their deaths already, when they go into battle. Please, let this not be true,
too.</em></p><p>"We'll do
research, Harry," Regulus said. "I would never suggest that we start committing
suicide just because Death said so. And we have to find the Horcruxes and learn
how to break the spells guarding them, too. But once we find them—"</p><p>Harry shook
his head wildly, stubbornly, and Regulus fell silent with a little sigh. Harry
stood there for a moment more, his heart beating hard, and then gently stepped
back, extricating himself from Draco's arms.</p><p>"I think
I'd like to be alone for a while," he said, and walked out of the room before
anyone could protest.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Five hours
later, Harry stood on the small tower on top of Silver-Mirror that some
long-ago Black ancestor had built as an observatory, and stared at the stars,
and felt his face twist in determination.</p><p><em>There
has to be a way around it. That's all. There are probably going to be more than
four deaths of people who loved me in battle. There are not going to be four
suicides.</em></p><p>He had
spent long enough on the tower, he thought, to persuade himself against the sly
little voice that whispered in the back of his head, sounding far too much like
Joseph.</p><p><em>You said
that you would have to accept their suicides if they were willing. You said you
would step out of the way if you believed that Draco did want to commit suicide
and he wasn't under Imperius or otherwise compelled.</em></p><p>Harry
slammed his hand down on the balcony around the tower. It cracked straight
through with the magic in his palm, and nearly fell. Harry took in a deep
breath, dragged the pieces back up, and cast <em>Reparo.</em></p><p><em>That
kind of suicide is different. For them, done because they want to do it. Or
done the way Loki did it, to benefit and strengthen others.</em></p><p><em>I—I
don't want people dying for me. I won't accept it. There has to be some way
around this. Sylarana and Sirius were willing to die for me, but Sylarana
didn't plan it. So there might be something there. We can look it up.</em></p><p><em>I am not
worth someone else ending their life that way. A battle situation is different,
equal risk to all, but this kind of decision? No. No. I won't.</em></p><p>Harry
closed his eyes, then whirled away from the balcony and strode back into the
house.</p><p>They were
going to find a way around this, a way to circumvent Voldemort's horrible spell
and not have people die for him.</p><p><em>I can
make sacrifices. I'm used to them. But it's unfair, unjust, and </em>wrong <em>to
ask someone else to make sacrifices because they love me. Draco deserves
better. Snape and Connor deserve better. Regulus deserves better. All my allies
deserve better.</em></p><p><em>I am not
worth that.
</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 72*: Intermission: Repudiation</h2>
			<p><strong>WARNING: Extreme gore hinted at.</strong>I don't know if it's
enough to squick everyone, but it may squick sensitive readers.</p><strong>Intermission: Repudiation</strong>

<p>It was
then.</p><p>It was
then, while he knelt with his head lowered and his eyes focused on the floor in
front of him—</p><p>His Lord
had ordered him not to look up. And while Severus Snape was usually not in the
habit of doing what his Lord told him to do, not in thought anyway, and had not
been for a year, he knelt, and did not look, and listened.</p><p>It was
then.</p><p>It was
then, while he heard flesh tearing, scoring itself open while the Rat's Claw
Curse ran up and down Regulus's body like a river of flowing blood in and of
itself—</p><p>The Rat's
Claw Curse was one that the Dark Lord rarely used. It mimicked the effects of feeding
rats on the victim's body, neither killing nor draining him of blood, and it
lasted longer than many other pain curses. When the victim heard the
incantation, he knew he was in for hours of torture. The <em>Crucio</em> could
snap fragile minds in under three minutes if continuously applied, and most
other pain curses could last only ten minutes at the outside, but the Rat's
Claw endured, and endured, and endured.</p><p>It was
then.</p><p>It was
then, while he knew that Voldemort was punishing Regulus for a crime Snape did
not know and did not understand—</p><p>He did not
understand how <em>Regulus</em> could have kept a secret like this, of all
people. Regulus was not a particularly good liar. He avoided confrontations and
played on his blood when he had need, and he killed hesitantly, but since he
also didn't try to gain much power or precedence in the Death Eaters, most of
the others rarely worried about him. He was not fun to torture, and their Lord
would not thank them if they accidentally killed him in their play and thus deprived
the House of Black of an heir and the Dark Lord of access to rare Black
artifacts. Regulus sought out Snape too much, and he talked too much. That he
had managed to keep from coming to Snape and talking about <em>this</em> was not
to be believed.</p><p>It was then.</p><p>It was
then, while Regulus arched his back and bellowed and shrieked and screamed, and
Snape knew that the only person he had really thought of as his since he had
joined the Death Eaters was suffering, was suffering, would suffer and not
live—</p><p>It was then
that his heart truly left Voldemort and embraced something like personal
loyalty to Dumbledore.</p><p>It was not
kindness. It was not compassion for the Mudblood and Muggle victims of the
Death Eaters. It was not a reformation of his conscience, a gazing back on the
past and a recoiling from his part in it. It was not a pure and shining
epiphany during which the Light visited him and made him stop being a Dark
wizard. He knew some members of the Order of the Phoenix would think so. He
knew Albus would want to think so, and Snape would allow him to use Legilimency
and find an answer something to that effect. It was nothing grand, or noble, or
philosophical.</p><p>It was pure
fleshly revulsion that the one note of grace he had found among the Death
Eaters was being ripped and torn out of its shell.</p><p>It was
then, and for that reason alone, that Severus Snape stopped being a Death
Eater. Dumbledore would destroy the man who had destroyed Regulus. Snape would
run in his train. He would weave all the pretty justifications that were needed
later, and make himself believe them.</p><p>Against the
enemy he could not bring down alone, he would fling a powerful wizard's
vengeance, even as he had thought to do to the Marauders when he first joined
Voldemort.</p><p>He did not
jerk when Regulus screamed with pain, because he did not allow himself to do.</p><p>It was
then.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 73*: Intermission: Rebirth</h2>
			<p><strong>WARNING: Once again, hinted-at gore.</strong></p> <p><strong> Intermission:
Rebirth</strong></p><p>The
graveyard breathed around him, and it was <em>true</em>, it was <em>real</em>, what
he had denied for so long was alive around him again, and the thirteen years he
had gone without feeling this had been the time he was dead, not the years when
he walked in the company of it.</p><p>His Lord's
power was everywhere, roaring, restored to a body now, leaping and pouring like
black water over the headstones, shaking its head in the mad gladness of a
chained beast with its bonds snapped at last. Snape tossed back his head and
let it bathe him. He laughed, or found that he was laughing, and did not know
how long he had been doing that.</p><p>He walked
with quick but unhurried steps towards the center of the graveyard. His Lord
held court there, still mighty though he was without his throne and his snake.
The other Death Eaters drew back slightly when they saw Snape coming.</p><p>"Severus."
Voldemort's voice hissed the sibilants more than Snape remembered from the last
time he had seen him alive. "My faithful servant."</p><p>Snape
dropped into a kneel, which hurt his knee. He was no longer as young as he had
once been. But it did not matter. What mattered was the painful awakening of
life inside him again. <em>Merlin</em>, how had he lived without this, this
circle of darkness that pulsed around him and sang wildly in his brain and
found its echo in the darkness within his own soul and the darkness on his arm?</p><p>"Have you
held true to me, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked. "Have you served me even when
the fool Dumbledore thought you were true to him?"</p><p>He already
knew the answer. The wiser ones among the Death Eaters gathered here would
already know the answer. But Voldemort wanted it said aloud. For the sake of
the less wise, Snape knew, and for the sake of sealing their bargain anew with
the words.</p><p>He lifted
his head and caught his Lord's gleaming scarlet eyes. Once, he nodded. "I have,
my Lord," he whispered. "Dumbledore holds me close to his heart, and gives me
custody of his precious children, and denies me nothing. But I have always been
yours." He dipped his head to kiss Voldemort's robes.</p><p>And he knew
the Dark Lord's joy, fierce and feral, echoed his own. Even Voldemort could
grow tired of those who cringed and whined and did nothing else, or those, like
Bellatrix and Evan, too mad to know the difference between respect and fear.
Snape's willing surrender was something he craved, because Snape had made the <em>choice</em>
to bow before strength, and, in this case, to return to his Lord's side.</p><p>"Then rise
to your feet, my faithful servant."</p><p>And he did,
and he let his mouth part in an expression half-sneer, half-laugh, to see how
the others drew back from him. He saved the best glimpse for the last, as his
eyes traveled the half-ring of Death Eaters and fell on the face of the boy
tied to the red-black rock, staring at him with utmost betrayal.</p><p>"Professor,"
he breathed.</p><p>Voldemort
rested one hand on Snape's shoulder. "Oh, dear, Harry," he said, with a mocking
tone in his voice that Snape would ordinarily have found too heavy, but was,
now, just right. "Did you think Severus was on <em>your</em> side? Did you
believe that he was a wizard of the <em>Light?</em> Your adopted father,
perhaps?" He laughed, and the other Death Eaters joined in, though Snape
doubted they truly understood the joke. "As if Severus Snape could ever be an
adopted father to James Potter's son!"</p><p>Harry's
face crumbled with something more than betrayal, then, and Snape rejoiced. He
could see his enemy's face doing the same thing. Harry looked so much like
James, especially when he shut his eyes, which weren't the same color, and
cried. Snape had won one victory over his enemies, and those long days of
tipping between hatred and something like a wavering affection for Harry were
settled now, decisively, in favor of his loathing for the Marauders. His Dark
Mark rang like a beaten gong with Voldemort's pleasure and his own.</p><p>"Stop!"</p><p>The voice
was shrill with fear, and high with hatred, and it was one that Severus knew
all too well. He pivoted smoothly, lifting his wand. Remus Lupin had Apparated
in to stand in front of the outer ring of Death Eaters, his own wand clutched
in a shaking hand and his face pale.</p><p>Looking at
him, Snape could not imagine why he had ever feared the werewolf. Tonight was not
a full moon night, and Lupin could not transform. His hair was gray and shaggy,
though he was the same age as Snape. His shoulders were hunched. His eyes were
tired, bearing the strain of transforming again and again for month after
month. He had never been more than a passable wizard, with much book learning
but without much magical strength.</p><p>"I've come
to rescue Harry," Lupin said, leveling his wand.</p><p>"You've
come to die," Snape corrected softly, and then glanced at his master. He would
nearly die if he could not play with Lupin, but it was true that Voldemort had
first choice about assigning prisoners to their torturers. If he gave Lupin to
Bellatrix or Evan, then Snape could do nothing but stand back and only join in
as his Lord told him he could.</p><p>Voldemort's
smile was horrible, and exactly what he had hoped to see. His Lord had not
forgotten what he had seen in Snape's mind the first time they met, then, and
the hatred that had driven Snape to his side.</p><p>"He is
yours, my servant," he said.</p><p>Snape
lifted his wand, and struck Lupin's away with a simple <em>Expelliarmus.</em> He
heard Harry scream, but that was a small thing, sour even, beside the chance to
wreak vengeance on the body of the man who had nearly killed him when he was in
his sixth year at Hogwarts.</p><p>When he
pulled bones from sockets, when he drained Lupin's body of blood and charmed
new liquid to fill his veins as fast as they emptied, when he broke Lupin's
elbows with a single, simple spell, <em>then</em> the sounds could mingle with
Harry's screams and make a sweet music indeed.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape sat
up, breathing hard and touching his forehead. Almost—almost he thought he had
been dreaming after he had finished his dream of Regulus's torture, even though
he should be near the end of the visions the Sanctuary had provided him by now.
Joseph had already expressed surprise that the nightmares had lasted so long,
but then said that Snape must have had dozens of years of pain to heal, which
was quite true.</p><p>Slowly, his
breathing returned to normal, and he shook his head. No, he had not dreamed
after the dream of his repudiation, or, if he had, he could not remember it. He
had a headache, but that was probably from grinding his teeth as he slept, an
old habit. His left arm tingled uncomfortably, but he'd been sleeping on it.</p><p>He rose and
walked slowly towards the far corner of his room in Silver-Mirror, in search of
a headache potion. If he <em>had</em> dreamed, he was almost certain it was a
dream about the Marauders, an old nightmare, full of gleaming amber eyes down a
hallway and a bubbling snarl.</p><p>There were
still times he wished he could pay Lupin back for that. Peter did not deserve
his vengeance, and Potter and Black were beyond it, but Lupin—</p><p>Snape drank
the headache potion. <em>Harry would never forgive me if I hurt Lupin.</em></p><p><em>But
still, it would be sweet, if he turned against the wolf and permitted that to
me.
</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 74*: Sacrifice, Power, and Joy</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Seven: Sacrifice, Power, and Joy</strong></p><p><em>I will not give up.</em></p><p>After days of study,
days of searching, Harry could say that only one book in the Hogwarts
library contained the word "Horcruxes," and that alluded to them
only as "Dark magic of which we are forbidden to speak." There
were powerful destructive curses in some of those books—Snape had
given him permission to use the Restricted Section—but none that
would reverse an Unassailable Curse, and none that could stand in for
a willing sacrifice.</p><p>Of course, Harry had
known that. He tried to tell himself that he had known that. A
willing sacrifice was the most powerful of magic, always. Nothing
else could have changed the centaurs' nature from rapists to
gentler creatures and allowed him to free them from their web.
Nothing else could have enabled Charles Rosier-Henlin to so
thoroughly destroy Karkaroff, as he had with the <em>Pyra</em> spell;
it was sure to kill precisely because it required the
suicide-sacrifice of a wizard. Nothing else could have destroyed a
Horcrux.</p><p><em>No</em>.</p><p>He would keep
searching.</p><p>A hand slammed down on
the book in front of him. Harry blinked at it for a long, stupid
moment before he realized it was blocking the words he had tried to
read, and that probably meant the interrupter wanted something of
him. He sat back, blinking again, and looked up. Draco's eyes met
his, shining with such intensity that Harry blinked a third time.</p><p>"What is it, Draco?"
he asked. His voice was thready, but that came from hours of not
using it. It had been a week since they returned to school, and Harry
had not shouted himself hoarse with fury and frustration since the
first day.</p><p>"I want you to tell
me what you're doing," said Draco, his voice low and pleasant
enough, but Harry could hear an edge within it. He frowned.</p><p>"You know what I'm
doing," he said, even as he cast a privacy ward around them. They
were hardly about to release word of the Horcruxes to the whole
school. "Researching a way to get around the willing sacrifices. Or
break an Unassailable Curse without using a sacrifice."</p><p>Draco just watched
him. Harry found it hard to meet his eyes, and didn't know why. He
<em>knew</em> he was doing the right thing. As Regulus had said, even
if four people decided to sacrifice themselves for the sake of
destroying the Horcruxes and had no loving connection to Harry, Harry
would still need to be there and drain the magic that the soul shard
clung to. If he could find one thing to make the task easier, one
thing that would ease the agony of those deaths or make them not have
to happen at all, then it was his duty to do so. He was twined in
this, by the scar on his forehead, and the prophecy that overlapped
him and Draco and his brother and Merlin knew who else, and the fact
that Voldemort hadn't simply succeeded in killing him the first
time.</p><p>"And I don't
suppose you know anything about the monitoring board," Draco said,
still in that reasonable voice.</p><p>"Of course I do,"
said Harry. He pitched his voice into the earnest tone of a
second-year Hufflepuff answering questions in Transfiguration. "It's
headed by Griselda Marchbanks, and it has equal numbers of Light and
Dark wizards on it, and—"</p><p>"You don't know
that they sent an owl wanting you to meet with them this weekend?"
Draco cut in.</p><p>Harry shut his mouth
and looked away.</p><p>"I thought so,"
said Draco. "You haven't been paying <em>attention</em> to anything
outside the library in the past week, Harry. There's the owl from
the monitoring board. There's a note from Ignifer Apollonis that I
can't open, because it burns me every time I try. She charmed it so
that only you could read it. That came Thursday, and I assume it's
information she doesn't want to convey by the phoenix song spell.
It might be urgent. And there's the fact that half of Slytherin
wants to ask you to play Seeker for them in the Ravenclaw game,
despite the fact that Sam's actually on the team." He paused for
a moment, then added, "And there's the fact that you're
slipping so badly in your classes that <em>all</em> the teachers have
noticed, not just Belluspersona and Snape and Pettigrew."</p><p>"You could use her
name," Harry muttered. "We're behind a privacy ward."</p><p>"I prefer not to
slip." Draco's voice sharpened. "While you're locking
yourself away from the world, Harry, life is going on without you.
And it <em>needs</em> you. Idiot. Or do you really think that finding a
way around those sacrifices will mean that you're no longer <em>vates</em>
or a student at Hogwarts or a Slytherin or <em>my partner</em>
anymore?"</p><p>"This is more
important!" Harry hissed. "It has to be. You heard what Regulus
said. I've got to be involved in—"</p><p>The look on Draco's
face stopped him. Last year, it might have been hurt. Now, it was
just black fury.</p><p>"More important,"
he said. "So I'm less important than the Horcruxes, am I?"</p><p>"Draco, you know
what I meant—"</p><p>"No, actually, I
<em>don't</em> know what you mean." Draco drew his wand, not taking
his eyes from Harry. "We're supposed to be <em>past this</em>,
Harry. Before, I could threaten to use binding spells and sleeping
spells on you, and you'd sigh and let yourself be coaxed back into
a semblance of a normal life. And then you reached the point where
you didn't need that, where you were actually thinking of and
looking out for yourself, and I relaxed. And then I passed through my
Declaration. That means that I won't just threaten you now. I <em>will</em>
use those binding curses and sleeping spells on you."</p><p>"Draco—"</p><p>Draco whispered
<em>Consopio</em>, and Harry had to place a <em>Protego</em> before it to
fend it off. "Stop this, Draco," he said, anger and fear and
worry sharpening his voice to a diamond edge. "<em>Stop.</em>"</p><p>He shook his head,
white-blond hair tossing in several different directions. He didn't
look exhausted, or upset, Harry thought. He looked bloody furious.
"Do you want me to stop? Fight me, Harry."</p><p>"You're
delusional—"</p><p>"You are, you
<em>wanker</em>, for denying me what I want from you, for not
fulfilling your promises, for acting like a bloody child when you
<em>know better!</em>" Harry was glad that he'd thought to add a
silencing spell to the privacy ward; Draco's yells would have
brought Madam Pince running, otherwise. "If you were still
suffering from your training and the idea that you had to do
everything, I could excuse this. But you're <em>not</em>. And it's
time that you learned better, Harry, and stopped falling back on that
for everything. You've changed. You've grown up. So act like an
adult, not a child! And if I need to treat you like a child who needs
a nap, then I will." He aimed another sleeping curse, this time
nonverbal, but Moody had taught Harry to recognize the wand movement
for that one, and Harry deflected it, too.</p><p>He could feel
irritation bubbling up in him, lava beneath broken pieces of ice. He
was angry that Draco had interrupted his research, and he was worried
that someone might come around the corner and see, if not hear them,
squabbling like madmen, and he was—</p><p>He was conscious that
Draco was right.</p><p>"Shit," he
whispered.</p><p>He wasn't sure if it
was the word or the softness of the word that made Draco lower his
wand and eye him critically. Harry waved a hand vaguely to signal the
duel was done, and sat down on the chair. Draco tensed, but Harry
stared past him, and didn't return to the book. Draco seemed to
consider that a reason to lower his guard and take another chair,
though his wand remained steady.</p><p>"I can't bear it
if someone else dies for me," Harry told the air. "Sylarana
didn't know she would die, just that she was willing to. Sirius did
it for both me and Connor, and to keep the world safe from Voldemort.
That was how I lived with their sacrifices. But this—if Regulus is
right, I'll either have to live with the knowledge that someone is
dying <em>because</em> he loves me or ask perfect strangers to give up
their lives based on the intention to destroy the Horcruxes."</p><p>"And save the world
from Voldemort," Draco said, in his own most snide and irritating
tone. "You <em>always</em> forget that bit, Harry."</p><p>"Shut it, will you?"
Harry asked, but without heat, which he thought was the only reason
Draco actually did it.</p><p>Harry sighed. "If
this was three years ago, then I'd be able to get through these
sacrifices by promising myself suicide at the end, to atone for
them." He ignored Draco's leaning forward so fast that his elbow
connected with the table, and the subsequent curses. "But that was
before I swore to the <em>vates</em> path, and entered the joining
ritual with you, and built the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, and
decided that I'll actually have a future." He reached across the
table, and Draco's hand was there, waiting for his. Harry squeezed
it. "All those things <em>have</em> to continue. They matter to more
people than just me."</p><p>"That's always
your test, isn't it?"</p><p>"Always." Harry
ignored the bitterness in Draco's voice. That was part of him, and
it was not going to change. Harry rather liked that part of himself.
"And it would be more selfish to neglect those concerns while I'm
researching the sacrifices, or <em>because</em> of the sacrifices, when
they're waiting."</p><p>"Or right beside you
and willing to tell you when you're being an idiot."</p><p>"That, too." Harry
stood up, with a sigh, and glanced at the books. Once, he had had a
thick bubble that he could use to ignore reality, built by his
training and his love of Connor and his conviction that if someone
did try to tell him to live differently, it was merely because they
did not understand the necessity of Harry's role. Now, the shells
he could build were thin, and liable to rupture the moment reality
introduced itself to him. Creeping in like a whipped dog was the
knowledge that he had been ignoring: that he couldn't stop living
because of this.</p><p>"Someday, you'll
know this from the beginning, without having to reason yourself into
it," Draco muttered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and
steering him from the library. "And without making me miss dinner."</p><p>"You can go to the
kitchens, and I'm sure the owl sent from Hogsmeade will be waiting
for me," Harry said, with a shrug.</p><p>Draco gave him a long,
measuring glance. Harry frowned. <em>It's a long time since he did
that, like he doesn't understand me. Usually, he understands me too
well. </em>"What?"</p><p>"It doesn't bother
you that I eat food the house elves provide, even though you don't,"
Draco said slowly.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"I wouldn't expect you to change that, Draco. You don't see
anything morally wrong with it, so you're not being a hypocrite,
and you grew up with it, so it's not as though it's a sudden
habit you adopted at Hogwarts because it's convenient. What I <em>can</em>
do is provide reasoned arguments if you ever want to listen, and hope
to show you that life can be lived perfectly well without house elf
labor. We have magic. We can do basic cleaning and cooking charms
without much loss of our time. I don't think there's such a large
difference between life with house elves as slaves and life with
house elves free—except for the house elves, it means a great deal
more than it ever will to us."</p><p>"It's a status
symbol," said Draco. "A privilege. The Weasleys don't have any
house elves. The Malfoys do. It makes a difference."</p><p>"Yes, but I think
the difference is stupid," Harry pointed out.</p><p>"And yet you won't
force me to change."</p><p>Draco's voice was
<em>wary</em>, now, and Harry wondered how in the world he had gone
from scolding Harry about sacrifice to sounding as if he feared to
lose an argument about house elves. Harry could not understand why he
would be <em>afraid</em> of losing an argument. All he had to do was
not listen to Harry, if he really wanted to keep the same opinion,
and if he changed his mind because the arguments were good enough to
convince him, then surely that only proved his desire not to change
his mind had been wrought out of stubbornness in the first place, and
not reason?</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Harry, and kissed the side of his cheek. "<em>Vates</em>,
remember? I'm not forcing you to change, Draco."</p><p>"You would like it
if I did."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And you <em>could</em>."</p><p>"Could what? Could
force you to change?" Harry stopped walking and turned around,
gripping Draco's shoulder. It was Draco's turn to avoid his gaze.
Harry shook him slightly. "Draco, I won't use compulsion. And you
know that. And what else in the world could force you to change?"</p><p>"Threats," said
Draco, sounding sulky. "Promises. Growing more distant and colder
to me until I do."</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"That's not what I do, Draco."</p><p>"But you know that I
will?" Draco cocked his head, and his eyes had returned to that
earlier intensity. "They're tools in a Dark wizard's arsenal,
Harry, and I will use them sometimes. If not with you, with others.
And with you, too, if they're the only way I can get you to stop
being an idiot, or come to your senses, or not do something stupid."</p><p>"I know that,"
Harry said, beginning to feel faintly exasperated. "Suffice it to
say, Draco, that you weren't the first Dark wizard I ever met."</p><p>"And you're fine
with it," Draco clarified. "And you won't force me to change
the way I act."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Why did you ignore
me when I half-choked Michael, then?"</p><p>Harry shoved his
shoulder. "Now you're being deliberately obtuse. You know there's
a difference between consequences for an action and forcing you to
change your behavior. That's what's going to happen if you play
around with someone else's emotions deliberately, or for the same
reason you did with Michael's, except that next time it would be a
week, and after that a month. That doesn't mean I'll enter your
mind and try to alter your beliefs, Draco, or chase you down and
prattle at you about house elves until you convert. When you jump off
a step, you know gravity's going to pull you down, don't you?
It's not the stair's fault if you fall and cut your knee. You
<em>chose</em> to do it. But the stair won't force you to jump down,
and neither will I."</p><p>"You're human,
Harry," Draco said, so quietly Harry could hardly hear him. "You
can't expect your decisions and your punishments to have the force
of natural law."</p><p>"I'm going to try
to come as close as I can to that." Harry stared into his eyes. "I
love you, Draco. I'm in love with you—and that's the only
person I can say that about, even as I love others. I don't like
punishing you. But neither am I going to say that your actions have
no consequences just because you're my partner and my lover." He
managed to say that without blushing. Harry was proud of himself.</p><p>Draco studied him with
troubled eyes, then tugged on Harry's arm. "Come on," he said
with forced lightness. "Let's find your owl."</p><p>Harry let Draco pull
him along, much as he let him change the subject. He knew Draco still
didn't really understand. He wondered if he ever would, until or
unless he changed his mind on house elves and like subjects.</p><p>Perhaps it was like
Draco not understanding about the sacrifices. He would claim that if
someone wanted to kill himself to destroy a Horcrux, why should Harry
worry? It was the individual's free choice.</p><p>He didn't believe,
as Harry did, that death ended all opportunities for change. He
didn't see, as Harry did, the world full of glorious souls packed
with glorious possibility, and that the moment a person died, that
stripped away the possibilities for them. Harry didn't want people
sacrificing their lives for him because he believed he was not worth
it, but, also, he did not want to be the reason that lives full of
grander chances ended. Who knew what better things those sacrifices
might have done, had they been allowed to live?</p><p>Thus why he had wanted
his parents to live. Thus why he hadn't killed Dumbledore until
driven to do it in the last extreme. Thus why he hadn't wanted to
turn his back on his brother, Draco, and Parvati even during those
few weeks in September when they were driving him mad. He could see
himself as a champion of free will and a champion of life. He did not
want to be a champion of death.</p><p>Which, really, should
be selfish and Slytherin enough on Harry's part to content Draco.
Harry wondered if he would ever manage to express it to him in words
that would.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco should be
looking at his book, he knew. They had a Transfiguration exam
tomorrow, Professor Bulstrode making sure they hadn't forgotten
their lessons over the holidays, and, as Peter had warned him,
Transfiguring other humans was distant enough from becoming an
Animagus that Draco's growing expertise in one wouldn't help him
in the other. He <em>had</em> to pay attention.</p><p>Instead, he found his
gaze continually straying to Harry, who lay curled with his head on
the pillow and one arm around his face, in a defensive posture he
usually adopted when he didn't want someone to see his emotions or
his tears. It worried Draco that Harry was sleeping that way.</p><p>But he had been sane.
He had done what he had to do. He'd eaten a late dinner, and
answered the monitoring board's request for a meeting with a letter
that simply said he would come but bring both Snape and Draco with
him, and opened Ignifer's note—it said something about
information from her father, Draco gathered, and Harry had
immediately contacted her and told her that it wasn't worth
bargaining with Cupressus yet, given what he would demand in
return—and he'd talked to the rest of Slytherin House about
playing Seeker. Draco had been present for the conversation, and he
would have said in the beginning that the other Slytherins would win.
Yet Harry had spoken reasonable words about practices and fairness to
other players and the harmony of the team, and in the end he'd
walked out of the common room with Sam still secured as Seeker.</p><p>Draco could not
understand it—not how Harry had won without hexing people, not why
he had wanted to refuse the position of Seeker in the first place
when the rest of the Quidditch team was falling over themselves to
offer it to him, not why Harry <em>wouldn't</em> simply use some of
his power to get what he wanted.</p><p>So, yes, compulsion
was right out, but there were threats, intimidation, and the resource
Draco thought Harry most underestimated: the sheer, shimmering power
of his magic, which, unbound as Harry carried it lately, made other
people practically twitch to be near it. That was entirely natural,
the wizardly longing for magic. Harry might not have a Declaration,
and he might be making no efforts to recruit more sworn companions as
Voldemort had recruited his Death Eaters, but he still had the <em>power</em>
of a Lord or a Lady, and at base that was what drew other wizards or
witches to him. To stand in the presence of such a pure example of
what they coveted was enough for some people. It would make others
listen. And still others would at least assign themselves as neutral
parties in relation to Harry, because Lords were too rare to destroy.
One had to put down a mad dog like Voldemort. Otherwise, they were to
be spared if at all possible.</p><p>And Draco had seen
Harry use all of those in the past.</p><p><em>Only when he
absolutely thought he had to. Only when he believed something more
precious would be lost if he hesitated than if he acted.</em></p><p>Power under restraint
was such an alien thing to Draco. He supposed that was the Lucius in
him. Narcissa moved more gracefully and elegantly, that was true, but
she <em>moved</em>, and used the clever words and political connections
that were her particular weapons as she saw fit.</p><p>Harry could do so much
more than any of them, and yet he preferred to do so much less.</p><p>Draco put his
Transfiguration text down, not even pretending to pay attention now,
and folded his hands behind his head to consider Harry. Harry was
content to let him have his path, the path of the Dark that was
already changing Draco in ways he could notice and, doubtless, in
ways that he didn't notice. Certain spells were easier now, others
more difficult. He could feel a vague hostility towards any Light
wizard, though that died as the days progressed and the wheel of the
year since the ritual turned. He found himself more confident, more
prone to expressing his opinions. That might have been magic, but it
might as easily have been his renewed sense of a place in the
wizarding world. He had a solid foundation on which to stand. He was
part of a tradition that stretched back generations, and didn't
only include Malfoys. He was an adult, in ways that even turning
seventeen wouldn't make him.</p><p>Harry neither tried to
sway him from that road, nor felt inclined to follow it. It was as if
he were merely moving in company with Draco, down a parallel but
unconnected path.</p><p>Yet most people Draco
knew argued for their beliefs. Couples ended their love affairs over
them. Potter still hadn't approached the Patil bitch again, or at
least not on any permanent basis. The state of things between Granger
and Smith had settled into something like all-out war. Even Terry
Boot's girlfriend, a seventh-year Ravenclaw Draco didn't know,
was capable of extended bouts of nasty silence, after which Boot
usually apologized.</p><p>He and Harry should
clash so strongly—Dark-raised and Dark-Declared versus Light-raised
and undeclared, pureblood versus halfblood, traditionalist versus
revolutionary, ordinary wizard versus Lord-level—that they would be
continually driven apart, unless one of them changed his views to
support the other. And yet they didn't.</p><p>Draco would have felt
easier if he could have understood <em>why.</em></p><p><em>Perhaps it's a
result of some things that don't change, </em>he decided slowly, as
he picked up his Transfiguration text again. Professor Bulstrode
would not understand a preoccupation with his lover, no matter who
said lover was. <em>We change, we change all the time, but there are
basics that don't. It's the Dark for me, and Harry's love for
self-sacrifice, for him.</em></p><p>Perhaps he should
trust to its working, Draco thought, and think less about <em>how</em>
it did.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"He is worse than we
thought, then."</p><p>Harry simply nodded,
not really trusting himself to speak. After some hesitation, he'd
decided to tell Jing-Xi about the Horcruxes. If he failed, and
Voldemort moved to take over more of the world than Britain, the
other Lords and Ladies would need to know the secret of his
immortality.</p><p>Jing-Xi leaned back in
the chair she usually used when they met. Her power crept throughout
the room, Harry had found, and wrought subtle transformations, or
Transfigurations. The chair grew larger, and with sunbursts along the
arms and on the back, or with dark patterns that mimicked the
patterns of her waving hair. The stone above the hearth turned
rose-colored. A subtle scent of flowers, not ones Harry was familiar
with, wafted through the air. Harry assumed they were natural
attendants on Jing-Xi, or perhaps on any Light Lady. It wasn't as
though he'd ever met one before, to know. Or perhaps she'd made a
special study of Transfiguration, or magic of the senses. That might
fit with her interests as a research witch.</p><p>Before Harry had
finished studying the new shape the hearth was sculpting itself into,
Jing-Xi leaned forward and captured his attention again. "I will
tell the others about Voldemort when I speak to them," she said. "I
will meet Pamela Seaborn, the Light Lady of America, in a week's
time. For now, Harry, there is another part of your etiquette
training that you have not yet mastered, and should before you make
contact with anyone Lord-level other than me."</p><p>"Which part?"
Harry sat up nervously. So far, his etiquette training with Jing-Xi
had consisted mostly of history, which she'd told him enough of to
make his head spin. There was the Pact, which made Lord-level wizards
and witches not interfere with each other's magical communities.
There were procedures for dealing with wizards and witches like
Jing-Xi, whose power grew for decades, and procedures for dealing
with wizards and witches whose power had mostly come on them by the
end of their second decade, who were more common; Jing-Xi said Tom
Riddle had been one of those. There were permissions to be asked
before one visited another country that had a Lord or Lady in it, and
the reasons those permissions had come about. There was the dizzying
dance done to keep those of the Light and those of the Dark away from
each other's throats. And there were more names of historical, dead
Lords and Ladies than Harry knew if he could remember. But Jing-Xi
had spoken relatively little about what Harry should do when he met
someone else of his power level in person yet, because, as she had
said, she was the only one he would have occasion to meet and not
battle for now.</p><p>Jing-Xi gestured at
the hearth, and then at her chair, which this time was sea-green with
the waving patterns done like seaweed, as Harry had thought of the
first time he saw her hair. "The signs," she said. "These are
the small, involuntary manifestations of one's magic. They tell a
visitor what to expect, and they reassure him or her of honesty. Of
course, most wizards and witches of lesser power are surprised or
afraid when they see what I do <em>without</em> trying—" she tapped
the chair "—so for the most part we keep our magic behind light
barriers. In the presence of another Lord or Lady, those barriers
constitute a lie. We let them fall. The signs that emerge tell those
we meet something about us, our moods and states of mind and health."
She leaned forward and fixed her eyes on Harry. "Each time, I have
warded this room so that our magic does not spill outside it. Since I
am stronger than you are, you could not destroy Hogwarts by letting
go of your power while I am here. Yet that does not happen. You have
kept the barriers up. I have no idea what your signs are."</p><p>"I told you about
the bird," said Harry, feeling a touch defensive. "No one else
can see it, not just you, and I don't know how to make it become
visible."</p><p>Jing-Xi shook her head
calmly. "That bird happened only because of the twists that the
connection between you and Voldemort has taken since his
resurrection. Thomas told me the whole fascinating theory of it. Your
signs, Harry, are <em>yours</em>. They occur in relation to no other
wizard. I want to see them."</p><p>"So would I,"
Harry muttered.</p><p>Silence. Then Jing-Xi
said, with exactly the tone of voice Thomas used when he encountered
something completely new, "You don't know what they are?"</p><p>Harry shook his head.</p><p>He could not have
borne pity, but Jing-Xi did not exhibit any. She regarded him with
steady dark eyes, then nodded. "I suppose that should not be
surprising, since your situation is unusual," she said. "Drop
your barriers, Harry, and we will see them for the first time
together. It is an honor. Usually, Lords and Ladies come into their
signs so young that they know them thoroughly by the time they meet
another of our power."</p><p>Harry swallowed. "I've
never dropped my barriers completely before, except during—"
Well, he wasn't about to tell her the details. That was something
shared and private, between him and Draco.</p><p>"You cannot hurt the
school," Jing-Xi whispered. "Nor me. If there is anyone in your
life you can relax with, Harry, it should be a Lady or a Lord. <em>Now.</em>"</p><p>Harry worked to still
his rapid, panicked breathing, and closed his eyes. He tried, as hard
and sincerely as he could, to imagine all his barriers falling, and
the magic coming out.</p><p>He heard a deep purr
as the magic expanded around him. Then Jing-Xi said, "Open your
eyes, Harry."</p><p>Harry did, and was
startled to find that the room had become bright and deep, the walls
splashed with jeweled colors: green, blue, purple, like a jungle
dreaming at night. Now and then he thought he saw a tree, but the
colors were too abstract to make a true painting. The shadows of
animals stalked through the jungle. When Harry focused on them, he
saw a snake, golden of scale and green of eye like Sylarana, and a
lynx, and a huge black cat with eyes as green as his own, which
turned and hissed at him.</p><p>"Ah," Jing-Xi
breathed. "That is what your magic does when left to its own
devices, Harry."</p><p>"Make a jungle?"
Harry tore his gaze away from the circling shadows to face her again.</p><p>"<em>Create</em>,"
Jing-Xi said, severe and serene. She was watching the colors and the
animals with an expression of honest wonder, honest pleasure, which
made Harry fight to keep from hiding all the magic again at once. A
sliding sensation, like raindrops, trickled along his skin. He wasn't
sure if it came from his connection to the magic thrumming all around
them, or from her magic interacting with his, or from the fact that
someone else was <em>looking</em> and <em>seeing.</em> "The colors will
reflect your dominant moods, I believe. The snake is important to you
in capacities you have already explained. The lynx?" One of her
tendrils of dark hair waved to point at Harry.</p><p>"I think it'll be
my Animagus form."</p><p>Jing-Xi nodded, and
held out her hand. One of the dark cats paused in spitting at Harry
and trotted to her, delicately extending its nose to sniff her
fingers. A bright white spark of lightning leaped between them when
it did so. The cat hissed and leaped away with claws that flickered
silver, then melted into the colors with the other shadows. Harry
realized he was raising his barriers in shock.</p><p>"No," Jing-Xi
whispered. "Do not send them away, not yet."</p><p>Reluctantly, Harry
forced them down again, and the signs reappeared. Two dark cats
followed a golden snake along the far wall, while a lynx played
beneath them. A third dark cat coiled in a half-tree and watched
Jing-Xi with wariness Harry had sometimes felt on his own features
when someone was trying to get him to do something he didn't like.</p><p>"I don't know what
those cats are," he felt compelled to say.</p><p>Jing-Xi smiled and
glanced at him. "And I did not know why I changed furniture as I do
until I was forty-three," she said. "Do not worry, Harry. You
will figure it out in time." She sat back and looked at the walls
in contentment.</p><p>"Should we—"</p><p>"Hush," Jing-Xi
whispered. "Your magic is free for the first time in your life,
Harry. Enjoy it."</p><p>Harry sat back in his
chair and tried. He found it easier to phrase it in his head as
words, though; the odd joy and the thrumming traveling his nerves was
too new. <em>This is what I can really do. And it doesn't hurt
anyone. All it wants is to exist by and for itself, to be used and
enjoyed. It doesn't need to answer to anyone else's call to be
worth something.</em></p><p>His breathing eased,
and gold flooded the blue and green and purple like the sun rising in
a distant sky.</p><p>"Beautiful, Harry,"
Jing-Xi said.</p><p>And, for the first
time, Harry could feel that it really was.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 75*: Missions Accomplished</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Eight: Missions Accomplished</strong></p><p>"If they continue
like this, the Quidditch Cup is <em>ours</em>," Katie declared,
spooning some potatoes onto her plate.</p><p>Connor chewed his own,
but made sure to swallow before he spoke. Lately, Hermione, probably
because Zacharias had played a prank on her involving it, had been
casting impossibly complex hexes on anyone who talked with his mouth
full. Ron had already had his mouth moved to the back of his head
twice. "I don't know about that, Katie. Yes, Sam is hopeless, but
the rest of the Slytherin team really isn't bad. They're just too
used to depending on the Seeker, and they haven't adjusted their
strategy to focus on the Chasers and the Beaters yet."</p><p>"You can't mean
that, mate!" Ron exclaimed, leaning over Connor and reaching for
the pork chops. "Your brother was the only player on the team worth
<em>anything.</em>"</p><p>Connor shook his head.
"Like I said—"</p><p>"Then tell me how
you expect Hellebore to do anything but hit the Bludger in some
direction our Chasers <em>aren't</em>," Ron interrupted pointedly.</p><p>"Well, all right,
perhaps focusing their strategy on the Beaters wouldn't help,
either," Connor admitted.</p><p>Ron tore into his meat
with a triumphant expression, started to say something, then caught
Hermione's eye and looked down at his plate meekly.</p><p>Connor stirred his
potatoes and looked around the Great Hall. He wasn't really hungry,
since he'd grabbed a late lunch due to Quidditch practice, and then
a nosh from the kitchens to fortify himself for studying later.
Besides, lately it seemed as if he couldn't stop <em>seeing</em>
things.</p><p>He wasn't sure if it
was Harry who had taught him to see that way, or Parvati. Harry had
certainly made it necessary in the first place. The brother of the
Boy-Who-Lived couldn't be blind, and there were certain things
Harry couldn't see, even as Connor hadn't seen certain things
when it had been his turn to carry the title. But Parvati was the one
who had taught him to tell at a glance who fancied someone else, and
whether a couple was having an argument. Connor hadn't wanted to
apply those lessons to Harry and Draco, but since Harry wasn't
going to abandon Malfoy, he'd started to.</p><p>He wondered when Ron
was going to notice that Lavender had a crush on him, or when Ginny
would notice that Dean had a crush on <em>her</em>. Merlin knew why
Lavender hadn't approached Ron, since Parvati was the only girl
Connor felt comfortable talking to about things like that. But he'd
confronted Dean, and Dean had gone all red in the face and muttered
something about "respecting Ginny's grief over Zabini."</p><p>Connor had pointed out
that Zabini had been a bloody traitor, and that anyway it had been
almost seven months since the siege of Hogwarts and Blaise's
well-deserved expulsion, so why not go and at least ask Ginny for a
date? But then Dean started talking about finer feelings, and Connor
found reason to be elsewhere.</p><p>His gaze went straying
down the table, past Ron and Katie's argument over Quidditch and
Hermione's intent writing of a letter—probably another one to the
<em>Daily Prophet</em>, to tell them something new she'd discovered
or thought of about the Grand Unified Theory—and locked on Parvati.
She wasn't eating much, either, but that wasn't unusual. The way
she toyed with her fork instead of sipping at her pumpkin juice or
looking politely around the Great Hall was new, though.</p><p><em>I miss her.</em></p><p>Connor scowled at his
plate. He kept missing Parvati, but he wasn't sure if going up and
talking to her would mean that he was apologizing for being wrong. He
didn't want to say he'd been wrong, because he <em>hadn't</em>.
Parvati had seen that all her fears were groundless, that Harry had
returned to Hogwarts with enough power to level the school but no
intention of leveling it. She should be the one to apologize.</p><p><em>Does it matter who
is, so long as I break this silence?</em></p><p>Connor chewed the
inside of his cheek as he thought about that. He hadn't thought of
it before; he'd just assumed that talking to Parvati would have to
include an apology, whether or not he meant it. But if he just went
up and talked to him? The worst she could do was ignore him and walk
on. And she'd done that for months now anyway.</p><p>He made his decision,
and stood up, making his way down the table. Parvati looked up
quickly at the sound of the bench scraping back, then turned and
stared at her food.</p><p>He stopped behind her
chair. He could see the back of her neck growing red, and wondered if
she was willing him not to talk to her.</p><p>"Parvati?"</p><p>Her hand tightened on
her fork enough that Connor was surprised it didn't go flying out
and clatter against the wall. And now everyone at the Gryffindor
table was watching them, including McLaggen. Connor wanted to get
somewhere away from his grin, before he went with instinct and
punched him. McLaggen was a nasty piece of work. He'd been the one
to suggest that they turn Harry over to Voldemort last year, and
Connor and Ron had had to sit on him and explain some things very
firmly before he saw the light.</p><p>He looked back at
Parvati, and reminded himself that he wasn't angry right now, that
he couldn't afford to be. Parvati had turned and was looking at
him, really looking at him, for the first time since November.</p><p>"Yes?" she asked.</p><p>"I want to talk to
you," said Connor. Her eyes widened, and he had to control his
reaction; she was so <em>pretty</em> when she did that. Her eyes were
so big and dark. "In the abandoned classroom on the Charms
corridor."</p><p>"Why?" she
whispered.</p><p>Connor wouldn't let
her hide behind ignorance. If he took a risk by talking to her, then
she was going to take the same risk. He folded his arms and frowned
at her. "You know why."</p><p>Parvati looked down
and spent a minute shredding her napkin. McLaggen, the obnoxious
piece of shit, went on grinning. Connor could feel his own neck
flushing, but he didn't move. He was Harry's brother, and that
meant stubborn. And he was a Gryffindor, and that meant brave.</p><p>"All right,"
Parvati whispered.</p><p>Connor started, then
remembered where he was, and nodded. "Good," he said, and marched
away from the Great Hall, heading for the Charms corridor. He
wouldn't let himself think about whether this was a good idea or
not. He'd suffered in enough silence and in enough impatience. It
was time to talk to Parvati and resolve this once and for all, rather
than leaving it in this endless drifting space where neither of them
knew what would happen next. He wanted his girlfriend back.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Parvati came in
quietly, barely stirring the air around her. Connor sat with his back
to the door, in a desk, tracing one hand through the dust. He wanted
to see what she would do if she thought he hadn't noticed her. He
had forced the matter, but it had to be her choice to talk about
this, on some level, or it would never happen—or, at least, it
wouldn't happen the way Connor wanted.</p><p><em>Thank you, Harry,
for teaching me that.</em></p><p>She paused. Then her
footsteps shuffled nearer and nearer, until Connor could pretend he'd
just noticed her. He turned around, and spent a moment or two gazing
at her. Her hair was braided with a pink ribbon he'd given her for
her birthday last year, and she looked at his face and then away
again, as if she didn't know where to glance. She wore a perfume
that Connor was fairly sure was some sort of flower, but he had never
bothered to learn what sort it was; he only thought of it as
"Parvati's perfume."</p><p>He stood up. She stood
there. A few moments passed, until Connor realized he would have to
begin.</p><p>"You're not acting
very much like a Gryffindor, you know."</p><p>Parvati jumped as if
stung, and then scowled at him. Well, Connor had meant the words to
sting. He folded his arms and mimicked her scowl. She mimicked his
arm-folding.</p><p>"I don't know what
you mean by that," Parvati said, voice turning icy. "Though I
would very much <em>like</em> to."</p><p>Connor heard the
hardness in her voice, and had to fight to keep from smiling. <em>There</em>
was the girl he loved—well, liked. Parvati stood her ground. She
didn't run. She should have come to him long before this. He
thought she would have, except for what coming to him would mean
admitting.</p><p>"You're not acting
brave," he said. "Were you that scared about being proven wrong?
Harry's my brother. You should have known I wasn't going to
abandon him completely. When I saw you were wrong, then I was on his
side. And now you've seen that he isn't going to destroy the
school."</p><p>Parvati stirred
restlessly, but didn't answer him.</p><p>"Well?" Connor
pushed. "The only answers I can think for your waiting this long
are that you were scared or stupid, and I know you're not stupid."</p><p>"It changes
<em>everything!</em>" Parvati suddenly flared at him, and her hands
dropped to her hips. "Don't you see, Connor? If I admit Harry's
right, then I have to fight beside him. I have to accept Malfoy and
all the other Dark wizards and allies he's got with him. I'll
have to do without house elves and order my meals from Hogsmeade like
he does and perform my own cleaning charms, and I don't <em>want</em>
to. I grew up with house elves. I like house elves. I'll have to
start thinking differently about centaurs and goblins and all the
other magical creatures that I've despised because it's
<em>comfortable</em> to despise them. If he's right, then I have to
change myself, and I <em>liked</em> the person I was."</p><p>Connor blinked. "But
you don't have to change everything," he said. "Harry doesn't
make people do that. You could accept that he's not evil and still
be wary of Dark wizards and eat the meals the Hogwarts house elves
make and—"</p><p>"I <em>know</em> he
doesn't make people change everything," Parvati interrupted with
a sigh. "That's become obvious. But <em>I</em> would have to change
everything, Connor, because that's the kind of person I am. I can't
stand hypocrisy. I don't like being wrong, either, but hypocrisy is
worse. All my principles have to be in accord. It's partly because
he would be my brother-in-law, but it's not just that. I was
horrified when I found out Dumbledore abused Harry, because that
meant I'd been condoning child abuse by following him, even though
I didn't know it. So all my principles have to align and flow from
the same place."</p><p>"No, they don't,"
said Connor, because it was the only thing he could think of to say.
He hadn't thought of adopting Harry's principles that deeply
himself. Maybe some day he would stop eating meals prepared by house
elves. When they weren't in Hogwarts would be a good time. And he
got principles of free will and treating others well from him, but
that was just common sense, wasn't it? And he had accepted that
Draco mattered to Harry, and he would treat Draco that way from now
on. But the rest could wait, and since Harry wouldn't force anyone
to change unless they advanced to the point of murder like the
Ministry had, Connor saw no need to force <em>himself</em> to change.</p><p>"Yes, they have to."
Parvati swept a hand through her heavy hair, nearly disordering the
ribbon that tied it. "For <em>me,</em> they do, because that's just
the way I am. And I've talked to Padma, and she's the same way.
But she doesn't have a problem, since she's always followed
Harry, so it's not much of a change for her. It's a bigger change
for me."</p><p>"So you're going
to start ordering food from Hogsmeade?"</p><p>Parvati nodded,
looking unhappy. "Yes, but that's expensive, and our parents
can't afford to keep sending me money, so I'll have to perform
some cooking charms, too. And get better at conjuring food, and
Transfiguring it. I'll be eating a lot of fruit for a few weeks."
One of the things Professor Belluspersona had showed them how to do
was Transfigure dust into apples and pears. They tasted dusty,
though, and even the best in the class, Hermione, could only make
them taste like slightly rotted apples and pears.</p><p>"You don't have
to," said Connor.</p><p>"Yes, I do," said
Parvati, her face taking on a stubborn cast. "I can't believe
something and do things that contradict that."</p><p>Connor frowned at her.
"So you think that I'm being a hypocrite because I believe that
house elves should be free but I eat Hogwarts food?"</p><p>"I didn't know you
believed house elves should be free."</p><p>"Well, I <em>do.</em>"</p><p>"Then you're being
a hypocrite because you eat Hogwarts food." Parvati paused. "Unless
you're someone like Malfoy, who can believe one thing but do the
opposite. I think he believes all the awful things he used to say
about Muggleborns, but he at least treats them civilly now."</p><p>"I'm not a
hypocrite," Connor muttered.</p><p>"So you believe one
thing but do the opposite?"</p><p>"No!"</p><p>"So you <em>are</em> a
hypocrite."</p><p>Connor
glared at her. Parvati glared back. Connor tried to remind himself
that this was one of the things he loved about her—well, liked a
lot—that she would retort and think she was right instead of just
folding in an argument the way a lot of girls would. But all he could
think right now was that when people converted to Harry's
principles, they seemed to pick up his arguing style, too. Parvati
wouldn't have cared if Connor was like Malfoy, but he wasn't, so
she expected better from him, the way Harry expected better from
someone who accepted the Grand Unified Theory.</p><p>"You're stubborn,"
said Connor at last.</p><p>"I'm a stubborn
witch who's going to apologize to Harry and get a lot better at
Transfiguration," Parvati agreed calmly. Connor realized he should
have talked to her before two months had passed. She'd had too much
time to think about what she'd do. "And you? What are you going
to do?"</p><p>"I want you to be my
girlfriend again."</p><p>"We can do that,"
said Parvati. "But you need to think about not eating Hogwarts
food, and cleaning your own bed."</p><p>"I don't know
cleaning charms."</p><p>"I can teach you."</p><p>"I'm horrible with
Transfiguring dust into food."</p><p>"I'll share my
fruit."</p><p>"I don't—it's
just <em>convenient</em>, Parvati, that's all."</p><p>"I'm sure Harry
will help you buy food if you need to. And you have the Potter
fortune, too."</p><p>Connor sighed. <em>Both
my brother and my girlfriend are determined to hound me. And when I
confronted Parvati, I gave her the courage to make this change she
was hesitating about, so in a way it's my fault. </em>"We'll
see."</p><p>Parvati gave him a
brilliant smile and reached out to clasp his arm. "And we'll
argue about it until you <em>do</em> see."</p><p><em>Being the brother
of the Boy-Who-Lived is hard</em>, Connor lamented, but then Parvati
kissed him, and he could put his arms around her and kiss her back,
and that was different enough from anything he'd done in months
that he didn't think about the argument for a while.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Parvati approached
Harry on Saturday morning. It was technically a Saturday he was
supposed to visit the monitoring board, Connor knew, but there had
been some problem with the Light members of the monitoring board
refusing to accept the presence of Draco and Snape at their next
meeting. So Harry had written to them, and they'd written back, and
he'd written again, and they hadn't settled their dispute enough
to agree on a meeting date yet.</p><p>Parvati marched
straight up to the Slytherin table while Harry and Draco were eating
breakfast and arguing about something. Knowing them, Connor thought,
it could be anything from the monitoring board to Quidditch. Draco
saw her first, and he hissed and drew his wand, leaning on Harry in a
way Connor found funny. It practically screamed <em>Mine!</em> about
Harry, and if anyone else in the school did still fancy Harry and
want to date him, Connor thought they would know they'd lost their
chance, just from looking at Draco.</p><p>Plenty of other eyes
were watching the Slytherin table now. Parvati cleared her throat in
what was almost silence. There were still a few conversations going
on at the far side of the Gryffindor table, and one at the Hufflepuff
table centered on Zacharias Smith, but Parvati's voice was loud and
defiant enough to override them.</p><p>"I wanted to
congratulate you, Harry," she said.</p><p>Connor could see his
bother's eyes narrowing. He would be expecting an insult of some
sort. Draco looped his wand in a lazy flick that Connor recognized as
the opening move of a Severing Curse, and Harry's hand gripped his
wrist and forced it up at the last moment, so he couldn't complete
the spell. Connor didn't like the fact that both moves were
practiced. <em>Is Draco always that wand-happy?</em></p><p>"For what?" Harry
asked, politely enough.</p><p>"Because you've
changed my mind." Parvati cocked her head at him. "You were
right, and I was wrong. You're right about house elves needing to
be freed, if the only reason they think well of us is that we've
enchanted them to think that way. And you're right about centaurs
and goblins. They've been free for months, but they haven't
attacked us. And the Ministry should never have legalized werewolf
killing." She hesitated, and Connor could almost <em>smell</em> her
gathering her courage. "And the Light owes you a debt, because we
followed a man who treated you so badly, and for so long," she
said, forcing herself through the words. "So I agree with you now,
and I'm going to start Transfiguring my food."</p><p>Harry looked utterly
gobsmacked. Connor treasured the expression. It wasn't often he got
to see that on his brother's face.</p><p>Before he could say
anything—not that Connor knew how he could do anything but accept
the apology—there was a movement at the Ravenclaw table. Terry Boot
stood up and moved away from the bench so that he was standing at
Parvati's level, though still a distance from her. "And I wanted
to say that she's right," said Terry. "I don't know if I can
start eating food that house elves haven't prepared yet, but I'm
using cleaning charms on my bed and my clothes already, Harry. And
you're right. It doesn't take long. There's no reason that we
should have to depend on house elves when we have our own magic."
He coughed and looked around, as though he didn't know why the
entire Great Hall was watching him, then gave Harry a stiff nod and
sat down again.</p><p>Someone moved at the
Hufflepuff table. Susan Bones stood up and bit her lip as Connor
watched. She was flushing to the roots of her blonde hair, and since
she had very clear skin, it was immediately noticeable.</p><p>"Um," she said.
"Um. My aunt was wrong, Harry. I thought you should know. And I'm
learning cleaning charms so I can take care of my bedroom." She
paused. "Um. That's all." She sat down again with the look of
someone spared execution.</p><p>Connor turned around
to watch Harry's face. He looked as if he had suddenly seen three
phoenixes fly through the room. He took his hand from Draco's
wrist, using his shoulder, from the looks of it, to block some other
spell, and leaned across the table to clasp Parvati's arm.</p><p>"Thank you," he
said, using a subtle charm on his voice that made it seem to sound in
the ears of every person in the Great Hall. "I know how much it
cost you to admit that. Change is never easy, and a change so
fundamental to the way we live especially isn't." He looked
straight into Parvati's face. "I don't know if I'll be able
to make you understand how much I appreciate this."</p><p>Parvati
smiled in a way that would have made Connor jealous if he hadn't
known that Harry was only interested in Draco, and Parvati was only
interested in him, and Draco would have drawn and quartered anyone
else who touched Harry with romantic intent, anyway. "Your eyes say
it pretty well," she said, and squeezed Harry's hand. "Thank
you. It took me forever to make up my mind, but Connor gave me the
courage to do it yesterday." She turned her head and fixed her eyes
proudly on Connor.</p><p>And then everyone in
the Great Hall was looking at <em>him</em>. Luckily, Connor had four
years of practice in dealing with that. He nodded back to all their
looks, and ignored the frankly disbelieving expressions, like the one
that came from Hermione.</p><p><em>What? </em>He hoped
his manner conveyed that silent message. <em>I give people the courage
to declare their minds all the time.</em></p><p>Inwardly, of course,
he was beaming, and he let the beam flood his face when Parvati
walked away from the Slytherin table and gave him a kiss, and then
Ron clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him, and some of
the people in the Great Hall actually started <em>applauding.</em>
Headmistress McGonagall joined in, too, her eyes more than proud.</p><p>Connor grinned, and
kissed Parvati back, and waited until they were done before he went
away to fly, because flying was the only way he knew how to deal with
joy this extreme.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Dart and roll and dip
and <em>turn</em>, and the turn whipped him around so fast that Connor
felt as if the blood were sloshing in his head. He pulled up,
laughing.</p><p>He wondered that Harry
didn't fall from the Firebolt he rode, since he didn't use it
that often. Connor, of course, rode the one Harry'd got him for
Christmas all the time, when Ron wasn't taking turns on it, and he
knew how to master it. By now, he knew almost everything about it,
including how to stay on when it turned upside-down because he gave
it the wrong command.</p><p>The wooden broom and
Snitch that Mark had sent him, which he'd enchanted to dart around
like the golden Snitch, drifted past him. They were slower than the
real thing, but they gave him training in catching things that were
almost invisible, since they didn't shine. Connor put out his hand
and caught them both at once, laughing again. He had a fast broom
under him, he had the Pitch to himself to practice, why shouldn't
he be happy?</p><p>A yank centered behind
his navel, so hard that Connor gasped. His first thought was that he
was falling from the Firebolt, or that someone had hexed the broom to
tip him off. Then he recognized the colors dancing all around him,
and he realized he was in the middle of a Portkeying.</p><p><em>But I checked the
broom and the Snitch for Portkey spells—</em></p><p><em>But not for
time-delayed Portkey spells, or ones that only activate when two
objects are put together.</em></p><p>He was cursing when
the colors spun him out in an unfamiliar place, and he let go of the
wooden broom and Snitch as soon as he could. He turned his head
quickly to take in his surroundings, clamping his legs on the
Firebolt. <em>From now on, no opening unfamiliar gifts in the post, </em>he
told himself sternly.</p><p>He hovered above an
enormous garden, which made him think of Indigena Yaxley, which made
him tense up enough to cause the Firebolt to swerve to one side. But
none of the plants reached for him and tried to devour him, so that
was reassuring. The garden was mostly snow and rock, anyway, with the
black stones arranged to thrust above the snowbanks in what Connor
supposed was some sort of artistic pattern. He didn't know; he'd
never been interested in gardening, and the estates at Lux Aeterna
were under the care of the brownies.</p><p>There was one clear
patch in a corner of the garden, he saw. An enormous bush grew there,
obviously protected by warming charms from the winter, and white
blossoms nodded on it. Other flowers grew in a circle around it;
Connor could see their colors from here. He bit his lip and tried to
remember what he could about plants like that from Herbology. The big
bush was hawthorn, wasn't it?</p><p>"Welcome, Connor."</p><p>He whipped the
Firebolt in a circle. A man had just rounded a stone wall that Connor
assumed backed up on a house, though the wall tingled with wards that
rendered the building itself invisible. He had a large grin, and dark
eyes, and dark hair, and Connor hadn't seen him often, but the
first time was by the lake in Hogwarts the night he found out he
wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived after all, and that was hard to forget.</p><p>"Rosier," he said,
and hoped that his voice didn't shake. A Gryffindor was supposed to
be brave. He was too busy concentrating on the other man's wand
hand to notice if his voice <em>did</em> shake.</p><p>The Death Eater
laughed, and undid his left sleeve, tilting his arm so that Connor
could see the Dark Mark. "Really," he said. "I would have
thought you would be warier of someone writing to you with the name
of <em>Mark.</em>"</p><p>And Connor felt like a
fool, but at least he was only a fool. He wasn't a crazy bastard.</p><p>"You're a crazy
bastard," he told Rosier.</p><p>Rosier didn't appear
to appreciate hearing this, for all that it was true. He turned his
left arm so that Connor could no longer see the Mark—and that was
fine, he didn't want to look at it, it was all <em>ugly</em>, and
made uglier by the red pattern around it, as though it were
infected—and drew his wand.</p><p>Connor put one hand on
his own wand, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stand up to most
of the curses Rosier threw. He'd used a Severing Curse on Hermione
in the Midsummer battle, and Hermione was magically stronger than
Connor was. So Connor should only meet Rosier spell for spell if he
absolutely had to.</p><p>A deep buzzing rode
his ears. He wasn't sure if he was afraid or not. Trembling raced
through his muscles, but that could be from the adrenaline that was
crashing into his veins. He could <em>feel</em> it coming, and it made
him remember that this man had been there when Harry's hand was cut
off. Connor wasn't sure he could fight him, but he wasn't sure if
he could depend on rescue, either, so he would have to try.</p><p>And if he'd wanted
an easy kill, Rosier <em>really</em> shouldn't have transported him
aboard his Firebolt.</p><p>Rosier cast a curse
that bloomed in racing tongues of blue flame. Before it was halfway
to him, Connor was safely away, spinning his broom around in a circle
that was usually used to chase an unwilling Snitch. The flames
sprouted past him and then died uselessly in midair.</p><p>Rosier used a
lightning curse. One couldn't outrun a lightning curse, as Moody
had taught them in those thirteen frantic days before Midsummer, but
one could fool an enemy into putting it where one wasn't. Connor
dodged to the left, and so Rosier cast the curse to the left, but by
then Connor was blasting away to the right.</p><p>He wondered if he
should race away across the landscape, in turn. But he had no clue
where he was, no clue if there were other Death Eaters around, and no
idea if perhaps Rosier could take the wooden broom and Snitch and use
them to get inside Hogwarts's wards. If he did, then it would be
Connor's fault. And there were the people who might be in the
house, too. Maybe Rosier had killed them all, but maybe not.</p><p>And the thought
lingered in Connor's mind that if he could kill or wound Rosier,
then he wouldn't be able to hurt Harry in the future.</p><p>One thing, at least,
he had to do. So while Rosier incanted a long and complicated pain
curse, Connor swept in low to the ground. Rosier paused to watch him,
and laughed, as if he were wondering if Connor would crash his broom
and saw him the trouble.</p><p>Connor was looking,
though. He found the wooden broom and Snitch lying in the snow, and
he flicked his wand, thinking, <em>Incendio!</em> A moment later, they
were charred ashes, and Rosier wasn't going anywhere using them.</p><p>Rosier didn't like
that. He snarled, and some cutting curse caught Connor across the
back. He yelled, and rose straight up into the air, cursing between
his teeth at the pain. It hurt like <em>fire</em>, it hurt like <em>hell</em>,
it hurt like a hit by a razor-tipped Bludger right across his muscles
and flesh—</p><p>It made him really
<em>angry.</em></p><p>Professor Snape had
told him once that when he was angrier, or thinking about defending
Harry, his magic got stronger. He turned around and aimed his wand in
Rosier's general direction. The spell he wanted to cast didn't
need to be aimed directly <em>at</em> Rosier.</p><p>"<em>Calefacto!</em>"</p><p>The ground around
Rosier heated, the snow rising in a cloud of steam. A moment later,
Rosier gave a faint yelp. He might find the pain pleasant, from what
Harry had told Connor, but at least the steam blocked his vision and
gave Connor a moment to circle and think about what spell would take
the crazy bastard out.</p><p><em>Not a spell</em>.</p><p>Connor debated for a
single fierce moment about whether or not this was right, but he had
even less time to think about it than he'd had in the Midsummer
battle. As the steam dissipated, he leaned over his broom and caught
Rosier's eye. Rosier had his head upturned, and was laughing, and
quoting some poet. Connor made himself not pay attention to that.
Instead, he swung his will like a whip, sending home a lash of
compulsion directly into Rosier's brain.</p><p><em>Drop your wand.</em></p><p>Rosier's hand
opened, and his wand tumbled to the dirt. At the same time, his
thoughts began to writhe in Connor's hold, fighting him. Connor
grimaced. The feel of his mind was unpleasant, pulpy. The only time
he'd felt something more disgusting was when he'd briefly tried
to compel Voldemort in Sirius's body to let him go, when that
madman had captured him in third year and tried to use him against
Harry. <em>That</em> had been dark and stinking corruption, and this
wasn't much better. It was very hard to compel someone insane.</p><p>And what he should do
with the compulsion…</p><p>Connor swallowed. He
knew what he should probably do, especially since Rosier hadn't
just hurt Harry. He'd hurt Hermione so badly she had to spend
months in bed, and before that he'd caught her last winter and done
something she still wouldn't talk about. So Connor should make sure
he couldn't cause any more trouble.</p><p>His morals fought
against it, though. Could he look into Rosier's eyes and send the
silent command <em>Die</em>, and really mean it?</p><p>He'd never tried.
He'd just controlled people's bodies and changed their thoughts.</p><p>Rosier very nearly
fought free from him; his mind made a flapping fish look dry. Connor
took a deep breath, and started to turn his Firebolt back to where he
could clearly see Rosier's face.</p><p>"Enjoying yourself,
Evan?"</p><p>The instant shock of
hatred that flooded Rosier's mind made Connor lose his grip. He
cursed and spun higher, clutching his wand as he watched a woman
stride from around the wall and towards Rosier. She was smiling, he
thought, but she looked so strange that it was hard to be sure.</p><p><em>This</em> was
Indigena Yaxley. Connor knew it by the green tendrils in her hair and
the way two thorns trailed behind her like obedient puppies. And,
from this angle, the shadows in her skin were so prominent that she
looked like a walking bush. He shuddered and flew higher.</p><p>Rosier was snarling at
Yaxley, the kind of low sound Connor thought a rabid werewolf would
make. Yaxley didn't seem at all bothered by it. She halted a few
feet away from Rosier and gazed at him. Connor couldn't see if she
was looking at one specific place on his body, or something he
carried.</p><p>"Having bad dreams,
Evan?" she all but whispered.</p><p>Rosier screamed,
snatching up his wand, and the next minute Yaxley burst into flames.
Well, she tried, at least. Her leaves writhed and danced, and then
the fire went out. Yaxley shook her head as she drew her wand.</p><p>"Really, Evan, you
must learn to control yourself," she murmured. "Fire is such a
pedestrian weapon. I had thought my thorns taught you more refined
methods of pain." She looked up at Connor and waved a hand at him.
"Hello!" she called. "Sorry for this, but we did have to
perform a test, and you were made the subject a long time ago. I
would have been here sooner, but—"</p><p>Someone else came
around the stone wall. Connor blinked, and fought the urge to rub his
eyes. <em>Mrs. Parkinson? What is she doing here? Well, I suppose it
could be her house…</em></p><p>He'd met Hawthorn
several times now, most recently at Christmas, and she'd always
impressed him as a kind and thoughtful person, even though she was
Dark. He did not know what to make of the expression on her face now,
as she gazed at Indigena Yaxley. Yaxley watched her back as if she
had all the time in the world.</p><p>Hawthorn and Rosier
cast curses both at once, though Hawthorn's was red and Rosier's
was black. Both hit Yaxley and bounced, the tight shield of plants
beneath her skin doing the work, Connor supposed. He flew in a tight
little circle, trying to decide what he should do. Curses were flying
now, incredibly fast, and he knew he wasn't good enough to go and
help. And he wasn't sure if he ought to attack Yaxley or Rosier,
either. He didn't know who was more dangerous.</p><p>Then Rosier turned
away from Yaxley and lifted his wand to the sky. Connor braced
himself as a red zigzag flew out. This was a Hunting Curse, and it
would follow him wherever he went on the broom. Rosier had probably
only waited to use it because Hunting Curses didn't cause much
pain, and he wanted to play.</p><p>"Evan, honestly,"
said Yaxley, like someone annoyed by the actions of a small child,
and pointed her wand at the Hunting Curse. It dissipated. She closed
her eyes in the next moment, bowing her head and laying her wand
across her left arm. Connor had to admit to a reluctant admiration,
that she could simply stand there and ignore all the magic that
Hawthorn was firing, and the other woman's enraged, hate-filled
screams.</p><p>The next moment,
Rosier howled as if stung by bees, and then Apparated out. Yaxley
glanced up at Connor and waved again.</p><p>"We'll see each
other. I look forward to the meeting," she said, with a smile, and
Apparated herself. And then Connor was hovering over Hawthorn
Parkinson's garden with melted snow beneath him and the sizzle of
curses fading around him, and the cut across his shoulders stinging
like hell.</p><p>Hawthorn lowered her
wand only slowly. She was looking at the hawthorn bush with the
flowers around it, Connor saw. Her face was blank, but slowly filling
with emotions he didn't want to see.</p><p>And he needed help.</p><p>"Um, Mrs.
Parkinson?"</p><p>Hawthorn shook her
head sharply and glanced up. A moment later, the frightening
expression was gone, and she gave a sad little smile.</p><p>"This is not the way
I would have chosen to bring you to my home, Mr. Potter," she
murmured. "But, nevertheless, welcome to the Garden. If you'll
come down, I'll heal your wounds, and Apparate you back to
Hogwarts."</p><p>Connor nodded, and
told himself his wariness was of no account. Hawthorn <em>had been</em>
a Death Eater. That didn't mean she still was. He took the Firebolt
down slowly, as the cut hurt more and more, and plowed a trail in the
snow as he landed.</p><p>Hawthorn didn't
appear to notice. She was looking at the hawthorn bush again.</p><p>Then she shook her
head and turned to Connor, her mouth thinning. "I don't know how
they got through my wards," she said. "But I will learn. And I
will find and kill Indigena Yaxley."</p><p>Connor shivered, and
not from the cold.</p><p>The next moment,
Hawthorn was the kind woman he had met at Christmas again, circling
behind him to exclaim softly over his wound, and mix scolding for
staying in the battle with praise for how well he had done. Connor
relaxed. He was used to mothers.</p><p>He did wonder why
Rosier had wanted him here in the first place, and what Indigena
Yaxley had come for. But, well—</p><p><em>Rosier is a crazy
bastard. And Yaxley is the Thorn Bitch. Do either of them really </em>need
<em>a reason for whatever insanity they planned? They were both mad
enough to become Death Eaters.</em></p><p>He was much more
interested in the cessation of pain from his cut, and then what he
would say to Harry—well, try to say—to avoid a scolding when he
returned home.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 76*: Hail, Joy</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>After this chapter, I won't post for a day. This chapter upset everything, and now I have to go back and re-outline the story again. I'll post the next chapter on either Friday or Saturday, depending on where you live in the world.</p><p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Nine: Hail, Joy</strong></p><p>Harry put his forehead
in his hand. "Right," he said, but his voice sounded hollow even
to him. "So you received a wooden Snitch <em>after</em> you received
a silver Snitch from a man you knew was Rosier?"</p><p>"Yes." Connor
sounded sulky and defiant and embarrassed all at once. He had sounded
that way ever since Hawthorn brought him back to the school and
explained to Harry, in quiet but emphatic terms, his little
adventure. Harry had then been forced to deal with Connor's
explanation, which emphasized what he called "heroics" and played
down what Harry was inclined to call "stupidity."</p><p>He would have asked
Hawthorn to remain and add details, but the look in her eyes, frozen
and dark, had made him realize how badly she needed to be alone. She
had just realized that her daughter's murderer was still alive, her
vengeance still incomplete, and unlikely to be completed any time
soon, if the way that Indigena resisted her curses was any
indication.</p><p>There were words Harry
could have spoken about vengeance and obsession. The latter passion
was one he knew himself, in at least half its variations. But he had
thought it best to let her go.</p><p><em>I can't dictate
the terms of her emotions to her, especially when the biggest step
she took to get over grieving Pansy turns out to be a false one. And
who knows? She may yet get to kill Indigena in battle. We're
enemies. </em></p><p>So instead he sat in
the Room of Requirement, the quietest place he could find on such
short notice. The Gryffindor common room and the Slytherin one were
both full of students studying or playing, since the weather outside
was too foul to encourage anyone to go there, and Draco was studying
Animagus training in their bedroom and wouldn't want to be
disturbed. And anyway, he would have been too eager to help punish
Connor.</p><p>"Why didn't you
<em>tell</em> me about this Mark person?" Harry decided that was the
most important thing to settle. He could accept his brother being
this mistaken, actually. It wasn't even as bad as the willful
stupidity Connor had set himself on in third year, when he had
understood the general terms of the situation between Harry and Lily
but refused to find out specifics. Harry couldn't figure out why
Connor hadn't told him about Mark at all.</p><p>"Because his
information matched the information that you were sending from
Woodhouse, and I thought he was a real person," Connor explained.
"And—well, I knew you would probably say it was dangerous, Harry.
And you knew I was writing someone. A friend."</p><p>"I didn't know
about the name, and the gifts."</p><p>Connor scoffed. "Tell
me that you would have thought the name actually a <em>clue</em>,
Harry. Yes, it was a pun on the Dark Mark, but there are <em>real</em>
people named Mark, you know."</p><p>Harry controlled the
impulse to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake him. For one
thing, he only had one hand, and that meant it would hardly be an
impressive gesture. For another, perhaps he wouldn't have picked it
up, either. He had to admit the justice of Connor's observation.</p><p>But the Snitches were
something else again.</p><p>"Why did you
continue corresponding with him when he left Woodhouse?" he asked,
controlling his own impulse to ask more questions about that. Connor
had already admitted that he knew nothing about Mark but what "Mark"
told him, and it was extremely unlikely Rosier would have given any
information away when he started his little game in Hawthorn's
garden. Harry wondered if Connor had yet worked out that Rosier's
accurate information about Woodhouse meant they had a traitor
somewhere in their ranks.</p><p>"I wanted to. He
wrote me as a friend, not just because I was the brother of the
Boy-Who-Lived." Connor shrugged, but the expression on his face was
not entirely mutinous; it was wistful, too. "I'm sure you don't
need reminding of this, Harry, but it gets a little lonely being in
the shadow of that name."</p><p>Harry caged words that
would have done more harm than good behind his teeth, and nodded. It
would have been worse for Connor than for him, even, because Connor
had had twelve years of believing that he <em>was</em> the
Boy-Who-Lived, while Harry's training had managed to insulate him
from jealousy and loneliness for nearly that long.</p><p>"That makes more
sense, then," he said. "But the <em>Snitches</em>, Connor."</p><p>"I tested the wooden
one for Portkey spells!" Connor folded his arms. "And other
spells that I thought could harm me. But I didn't think to look for
a time-delayed Portkey spell. Tell me that you would have thought to
look for it, Harry. Look me in the eye and say that."</p><p>And then something
very strange happened. Harry's first impulse was to sigh and glance
away, again admitting the justice of what Connor said.</p><p>What he said was, "I
wouldn't have <em>needed</em> to look for it, because I would have
been suspicious about the second Snitch I received after the silver
one, and taken it to someone like Peter, who could help me look for
spells like that."</p><p>His tone was snappish,
even. Harry blinked. Connor, sitting across from him, seemed taken
aback.</p><p>The next moment, Harry
held up his hand and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Connor. No. I
didn't even know time-delayed Portkey spells were possible. But
Rosier consistently does the impossible." He leaned forward. "I'm
glad that you're all right, more than anything." <em>Even though I
want to yell at you for being stupid.</em> But the yelling would only
make Connor more mulish and stubborn and devoted to argument, and
right now Harry needed the details of the battle from him. "Now,
tell me everything that you can remember about the conversation
Rosier and Yaxley had."</p><p>Connor relaxed and
did. Harry bit his lip hard when he heard Yaxley's comment about
bad dreams. He knew a man who had had more than his share of those in
the past few months.</p><p>"And how did Rosier
react?" he asked.</p><p>Connor shrugged. "He
went mad. I don't know. I thought it was a reference to a private
joke."</p><p><em>And there's the
infected Dark Mark. </em>Harry did not yet know what to make of that.
Snape's Dark Mark had been infected before the Midsummer battle. So
had Lucius's, Hawthorn's, Adalrico's, and Peter's. And
Regulus's had been infected before he departed into the paintings.
Harry had assumed at the time that it was some new trick of
Voldemort's, and had ended when Harry cut the hole in his magical
core, blocking his ability to reach out to his former Death Eaters
across that distance.</p><p>But perhaps the
potions Snape had brewed to ease the pain of the infected Marks both
before and after the battle had had their effect. Lucius, who hadn't
taken those potions until he was able to enter Hogwarts, had had the
infection longer than the others. Rosier, meanwhile, had been without
them entirely, and the red tracing Connor described around his Mark
sounded familiar from the infection patterns Harry had seen.</p><p>Of course, there was
the question of why Rosier and Yaxley would have lured Connor to
Hawthorn's garden at all, and why Yaxley's question had made
Rosier so angry, if he already knew the infected Dark Mark was
connected to his nightmares.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>"Hmmm?" Harry
looked up, to see Connor pushing his chair back from the table the
room had conjured for them, and looking apologetic.</p><p>"Do you need any
more details, or can I leave? Only I should tell Parvati that I'm
back. Merlin knows if she's heard anything by now, but I want to
tell her myself that I'm all right."</p><p>Harry nodded and
smiled. "Yes, we're done. And be sure to tell her thanks again
for her announcement this morning."</p><p>Connor's face
softened, and a proud smile overtook it—a smile that Harry had
sometimes felt on his face when he looked at Draco, or seen on
Lucius's when he looked at Narcissa's. "She's something,
isn't she?" he said quietly, and then turned away and left before
Harry could answer.</p><p>Harry stood. He would
contact the other former Death Eaters—well, he would speak
face-to-face with Peter and Snape, and send a letter to Lucius—and
ask them about bad dreams and infected Dark Marks. He expected a
negative answer, though. Snape's dreams had been Sanctuary dreams,
from what he knew, and Joseph would have been able to sense if there
were evil intent within them. And none of his other allies had
reported nightmares.</p><p>But there was the
chance of—</p><p>What?</p><p>Well, he really could
not say what, unless he knew what Yaxley and Rosier had planned.
There was the question of Snape's dreams, and the Dark Marks, and
the traitor in Woodhouse.</p><p>And there was the
moment when Harry had snapped at Connor, allowing his anger and
sarcasm brief rein, instead of the sympathy that he knew were most
effective after the initial scolding.</p><p>Harry shook his head
as he left the Room of Requirement. <em>That one, I don't
understand. Has some other barrier broken in me? Was it a sign that
I'm letting myself go more? Joseph will know. I should seek his
opinion on Snape's dreams, anyway.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"No," said Joseph
firmly. "Severus's dreams were normal for the Sanctuary, Harry.
They brought him face-to-face with bad memories he'd suppressed.
It's usually only those memories that any person faces, since
they've had a chance to get past and heal from others. The rare
exception is torments that keep recurring as if they were still
happening, and then the dreams take care to show those entrenched
sorrows from another angle. And the dreams have ceased now. He told
you that?"</p><p>Harry nodded. "He
said he'd returned to having dreams that he can hardly remember
unless they're particularly vivid, and that's the normal state of
things with him." Snape had scowled when he asked, and that more
than anything else had reassured Harry he was growing stronger,
beginning to escape from the long prison of his memories. The
half-hysterical defensiveness he'd displayed at the beginning of
the autumn term was still clear in Harry's own memory.</p><p>"That is Severus,"
Joseph agreed. He leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of
him. "And you had some other reason for coming to talk to me today,
Harry. What was it?"</p><p>Harry grinned
ruefully. "Am I that obvious?"</p><p>"Now, you are."</p><p>Harry nodded and
leaned back, half-closing his eyes as he sought to describe his
unusual outburst with Connor. Joseph waited. Harry had learned to
like the listening silence that surrounded the man, silence of a
different quality than that around Vera, which always suggested
half-heard answers. If nothing else, when Joseph was waiting to
speak, he wasn't actually speaking the complex statements that made
Harry reevaluate himself often and sometimes hate him a little.</p><p>"I spoke to Connor
for one moment without controlling my emotions," Harry began
carefully. "I told him that I would have taken the mysterious gifts
he was receiving, which endangered his life today, at once to someone
more experienced with Dark magic so he could check them for unknown
spells. But the truth is that I might not have, so I was being
hypocritical. Besides, it wasn't the best thing to say at that
point in time. Connor needed comfort and gentleness and caring just
then. He'd just been kidnapped by Rosier and nearly killed, for
Merlin's sake. So I don't know why I said it. I wondered if it
was a sign of something else strange happening in me, a barrier
that's been let down which I didn't know was falling."</p><p>Joseph said nothing.
Harry waited until he couldn't stand it any longer, and then peeked
from under his eyelids so that he could see the expression on
Joseph's face. Joseph had his mouth slightly open, and then he
broke into delighted laughter as Harry watched. He blinked.</p><p>"Er. Sir?"</p><p>Joseph held up a hand
and shook his head. Harry waited for the laughter to stop, smiling
himself in the meantime, and trying not to let worry conquer his
gladness at the sight of so much merriment. Was something wrong? Had
he broken some barrier Joseph hadn't anticipated him breaking?</p><p>Finally, the laughter
stopped enough to let the Seer speak. Joseph still had traces of it
in his eyes and around his mouth as he leaned forward and fixed his
gaze on Harry.</p><p>"What you have done
is entirely normal," he said.</p><p>"For what stage of
barrier-breaking?" Harry asked.</p><p>"I mean, <em>normal</em>,"
Joseph said. "We all make slips of the tongue, Harry. We all say
insensitive things at the wrong moment. And we're all hypocrites
sometimes. I've had a rather forceful reminder of that in the last
five months, talking with Severus. He would have been breathing fire
if you'd tried to have dreams and hide their contents from him in
the same way he did with you. Yet he had no problem preserving those
memories for conversations between us, and he deliberately made the
conversations as uncomfortable for me as he could—the one thing he
would have insisted that you <em>not</em> do in your own healing."</p><p>"So that
means…what?" Harry waved his hand in the air and let it fall.</p><p>"Welcome to the real
world, Harry." Joseph no longer had the laughter in his expression,
but he smiled with his eyes and his lips and his whole face, the most
sincere and deepest smile Harry had seen in a long time. "You've
advanced to the point where you can make mistakes and not feel such
guilt over them that you castigate yourself for days. And it's with
your brother, no less, once the whole center and pivot of your
existence. That is such a good sign that I cannot quite name how
important it is."</p><p>"But—" Harry had
a sudden horrible vision of himself prancing through the world and
hurting people without realizing it. Merlin knew he did enough of
that already, because he simply didn't <em>understand</em> some of
the principles others took for granted. "Does that mean I'm
doomed to be a hypocrite and inflict wounds on souls?"</p><p>"No more than all of
us," said Joseph firmly. "And yes, Harry, that does happen—with
me, with Severus, with your Malfoy, with your brother, with you, with
<em>everyone</em>. What I think you've failed to understand this time
is that those mistakes aren't unforgivable. One can be selfish and
make up for it later. Or someone can take a wound that stings one day
and forget about it entirely the next. Not everyone holds grudges for
a lifetime. Not everyone will hate you and plot vengeance against you
for a slight. And you need not beggar yourself, in time or money,
making extravagant gestures of sympathy and appeal and submission to
those you've wronged."</p><p>Harry blinked at the
far wall. He'd known that all his life, of course, but it seemed
like a revelation to him.</p><p><em>This is the first
time I've felt it, I think. Before, I might have believed it, but
it was only an intellectual belief. This is like the difference
between someone telling me I can fly on a broom and actually doing
it.</em></p><p>"So I don't have
to be perfect," he whispered.</p><p>"If there are any
traces of that remaining in you, Harry, get rid of them," Joseph
responded, sounding serious now. "There is no way for you to be
perfect anyway, but in the waters you've chosen to swim, it's
especially important. If you flinch from every instance of hurting
someone, you can't argue for free will in any capacity. If you try
in haste to repair every mistake you make, you'll cause worse
wounds. And if you think that you're doing all you can and no one
can blame you for certain moves or motives, then you'll end up
selfish without even realizing it. Someone can <em>always</em> blame
you. Escaping blame isn't the thing that matters."</p><p>Harry immediately
thought of the Horcruxes, and how his studying obsessively about them
must have seemed selfish to Draco, and perhaps also to Regulus, who
had risked his life for the information and felt so bad on the day he
gave it to Harry. And what would have happened if Harry had insisted
on intervening in Loki's sacrifice, simply because it made him feel
bad to watch the death and he wanted Loki to live? Selfishness,
again, though he could tell himself it wasn't because he was
rescuing someone else from certain death and rescuing the pack from
having to become cannibals.</p><p><em>Everything is
selfish from some perspective.</em></p><p>Ideas he hadn't had
before cracked like lightning across his mind. <em>And what I need to
do is establish a perspective I can trust. Self-critical, of course,
because a </em>vates <em>needs to be. Honest, because I need to detect
lies in myself. But critical of others, too, because they're not
always whitewashed, and able to make declarations and enforce certain
boundaries when they're hurting others—or me, I matter too—and
able to forgive myself when I've done something that isn't really
all that great a mistake.</em></p><p>He leaned forward and
put his head in his hand.</p><p>"Harry?" Joseph
had crossed the room in one stride and crouched beside him with his
fingers resting on his arm.</p><p>"I'm all right,"
Harry whispered. "Just give me a moment."</p><p>He was seeing a new
vision in his mind, which was also a very old one: the winding path
of possibilities, twined in green and gold, the colors of Dark and
Light, leading away before him, providing a chance to correct
mistakes once made, and the more glorious for mistakes and errors and
other times when the walker would slip and fall, flowering with all
the grander chances and potential inherent in the soul.</p><p>Only this time, the
path was his.</p><p>And
he imagined that twining with all the paths that other people could
take, snaking among them, intersecting with certain threads and
cutting off others and tangling in a complicated relationship of
snarl and counter-snarl with still more, and whirling apart and
around and continuing on, but always coming back, dancing with Draco
and his enemies and his friends and Connor and the centaurs and the
house elves and the dead and Voldemort, because they all shared the
same world. The dead, if nothing else, had a mental share in the
world of the living.</p><p>He would still need to
be careful, because his mistakes could cause more damage than the
mistakes of others, thanks to the responsibilities he'd picked up.
But he had the opportunity to do more good, too, and he would never
fulfill those opportunities if he never took a risk and expanded his
boundaries to learn what he could do. He had before only used
confrontation and direct consultation when pushed. Even the
conversations with Joseph, which had done him so much good, had taken
Snape giving him a push to enter.</p><p>But that was silly.
His own word should be enough. His own dedication should be enough,
helped along but not solely provided by others. He had to be active
in dancing his own path, because no one else was going to do it for
him without making him less than he could be in the process.</p><p>A wave of light
crashed into his mind.</p><p><em>And that's why
Lily's treatment of me was wrong. I said once I mourned for all the
people she could have been. But she took away the people I could have
been, too. And that was wrong, as wrong with me as it would have been
if she'd done it to Connor, if Lucius had done it to Draco, if
Parvati's parents had done it to her.</em></p><p>People had told him
that before. Harry had been willing to mouth the words.</p><p>Now, he <em>felt</em>
it.</p><p>He realized he was
crying, or, at least, something like tears rimmed his eyes. He
touched them with a finger, and wondered if they came from sadness or
joy. Was he thinking more about the past and the waste it had been,
or the future and what he could still have, now that he knew this?</p><p>He did regret,
fiercely, certain parts of Lily's training now that before he had
valued, especially his ability to withdraw behind emotional walls.
How much of life had it kept him from?</p><p>But he would not allow
the regret to destroy him, any more than he could allow one obsession
to consume him. He was changing, growing, and if she had marked him,
she made up an increasingly smaller part of who he was. He had said
as much when he defended her at the trial. Then, though, he had not
thought of growing more. He had believed he would always retain the
exact same balance of Lily's training and his own thoughts, the new
ones.</p><p>He hadn't. He was
moving on, had moved on already, and was starting to begin a new
life.</p><p>He could make mistakes
now, and it was all right. He could do normal things if he wanted to,
and it was all right. And he could make the decisions that he still
needed to make, because he was <em>vates</em> and this was war, and it
was all right. And he could defend those decisions, because he needed
to trust himself.</p><p>It was all right.</p><p>He stood and shook his
head. Joseph drew slowly back from him, his eyes wide, focused in
that way that Harry knew meant he was looking at the complex of his
soul, not the surface of his body.</p><p>"I—" And Joseph
was silent and shook his head. Harry wondered if he could explain
what he saw. It was all right if he couldn't. Harry didn't think
he could describe his own vision to the Seer right now, either.
Perhaps later, when it wouldn't feel like blasphemy to put it into
words.</p><p>He smiled at him,
said, "Pardon me. There are things I need to do," and then turned
and made his way rapidly back down the dungeon hallways, to a door
he'd shut behind him not an hour before.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape looked up
sharply from his purple potion when a knock sounded on his door. He
cast the last Permanence Charm he needed to keep the belladonna from
reacting with the palm leaves while still watching the door
mistrustfully. Who could be coming to see him at this time of day, on
a Saturday? Harry had been here not long ago. Snape had no detentions
planned. And he didn't want to talk to Joseph right now, because it
would undoubtedly turn into a lecture on the morality of brewing
poisons.</p><p>Whoever it was knocked
again, and then Harry's voice called out, "Severus? Please, I
need to talk to you."</p><p>Snape rapidly cast the
standard stasis spell that would keep the potion in exactly the same
state he left it, and then strode across his office. He could hear a
catch in Harry's voice, and that he had called him by his first
name without prompting—</p><p>He flung his door
open, and found Harry leaning against the wall with his head bowed.
Snape reached down, ready to gather him into his office, support him
from falling, or do whatever else needed to be done.</p><p>Harry lifted his head.</p><p>Snape could only
stare, transfixed. He had never seen pure, unclouded joy in Harry's
eyes before. He was not sure he had seen it at all for fifteen years,
since the day on which most people believed Voldemort to be defeated
forever.</p><p>Harry laughed, and
then flung his arms around Snape, a hug neither companionable nor
consoling. Snape did not know what to make of it, and stood there,
arms frozen, hands twitching.</p><p>"Thank you," Harry
whispered. "I finally understand why you brought my parents and
Dumbledore to trial, why you did it for the sake of my past as well
as my future. And I forgive whatever anger I might still hold towards
you. <em>Thank </em>you, Severus. Thank you."</p><p>Snape could put his
arms around Harry's shoulders then, but it was half a nerveless
fall; he didn't have the strength to keep them aloft any more. He
closed his eyes, and wondered if this was what it felt like to have
one of the more recent wounds in his soul heal itself.</p><p>"What brought this
on?" he did manage to whisper.</p><p>"Joseph." Harry's
voice had a sound of song. "And I'm sure sometimes I'll want to
curse him as well as bless him, because being this open to the world
means that I'm going to make a lot more mistakes from now on. But
that hardly matters right now. I'm just—I feel <em>human</em>. Can
you believe it?"</p><p>Snape was the one who
needed the support of the doorway then. There were no words he had
less expected to hear while he lived.</p><p>Harry held on a moment
more, then spun away, as though he were a Snitch, too small and too
light to stay in one place. "I have to go do something else," he
said intensely. "I'll tell you about it after dinner. But I have
to do it now." He started to run away up the hall.</p><p>"Is it dangerous?"
Snape called after him.</p><p>Harry whirled around
to smile at him, but didn't stop running. "Not this time," he
said, which made no sense, but he vanished before Snape could stop
him.</p><p>He stood there a long
moment, staring after Harry, and realizing he had no idea what would
happen next.</p><p>He went slowly back
into his office, and shut the door behind him, then stood there, at a
loss. Brewing a poison had suddenly lost its appeal.</p><p>And the most
irritating thing was that he could not even say <em>why</em>.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"<em>Are you ready?"</em></p><p>Harry nodded, then
realized Argutus wasn't looking at him, with the angle he was
draped around his shoulders, and said, "Yes." He held his breath
as Argutus shifted further into position, swinging his neck and head
around like an extra arm.</p><p>There was a dark shine
in his scales, a softened, blurred four-point star. Harry
concentrated his attention on it, all his will, and then leaped
forward.</p><p>He drew up his magic
and dropped all but the flimsy barriers that Jing-Xi had said would
prevent others from seeing his signs. He didn't want to unduly
disrupt the life of Hogwarts, but he wanted to have as much strength
available to him as possible.</p><p>He brought his magic
down like a hammer on the last of Bellatrix's curses on his left
wrist.</p><p>The dark star in
Argutus's scales flared, sending out sharper points of blackness,
trying to anticipate every curl of his power and deflect it. Harry
heard a hissing in his ears that had nothing in common with
Parseltongue. The curse hated him, or, at least, it hated any attempt
to break it, and it wanted to remain where it was, and pollute his
flesh, and prevent him from getting another hand.</p><p>Harry didn't want it
to remain.</p><p>He wove his will into
his magic, envisioning it as strands of white silk, as delicate and
yet as subtly strong as the material of a spider's web. He wrapped
his wanting and his desire and his objection to having the curse
remain around the end of his wrist, and then he drew it tight. The
sharp points of the dark star were cutting through his strands as
fast as he could spin them, but that was all right. They were simply
not numerous enough to cut through them all.</p><p>Harry wove tighter and
tighter, and caught and crumpled one dark green point, and whirled in
towards the center of the curse.</p><p>And then he was <em>within</em>
it, seeing and understanding the spell in his mind even as he watched
its reflection shift and change in Argutus's scales, and he wanted
to laugh aloud. Bellatrix had been clever. This part of the curse
<em>depended</em> on desire. The person who broke the curse had to want
to actually break it. And the curse's outer shell was designed to
softly discourage that, to cast the perception that everything was
better off just as it was, and changing was too hard.</p><p>Harry brought up his
image of the green and gold path in defiance of that passivity, a
soft and seductive trap he knew all too well, and the curse hissed
like someone sucking in his breath.</p><p><em>By my desire and by
my will, this is the end, </em>Harry replied, and then slammed
forward, as strongly as he had when he had to break the egg-shaped
stone the centaurs favored to save Draco's life, as strongly as he
had when he wanted to set the house elves free, as determined as he
had been to drain Voldemort's magic and cut a hole in his magical
core.</p><p>This time, though, for
himself.</p><p>And the world did not
end, and he did not fall down writhing in self-doubt and self-blame
and self-guilt.</p><p>The curse did end,
though, with a ringing expansion of black that covered Harry's
sight for a moment. He had to close his eyes. When he could look
again, the first thing he glanced at was Argutus's scales.</p><p>They reflected only a
normal left wrist, without magic of any kind on it.</p><p>Harry dropped back on
his bed, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until he was short of
breath and tears ran down his face again. Argutus crawled from his
neck and shoulders onto his chest to be more comfortable, a great
warm length of glimmering flesh and muscle.</p><p>"<em>That was fun</em>,"
he said. "<em>I think I should look into curse-breaking for the
goblins. If they are all that fun, then I want to work for Gringotts.
They would not have to pay me, except in dead rabbits."</em></p><p>Harry stroked
Argutus's head, and Argutus flicked out his tongue to touch his
hand. Harry held up his other wrist, his left wrist, and looked at
it.</p><p>It served no one
anymore for him not to get a hand. Just because he broke the curse
for his own reasons, just because he sought a little of his own
pleasure and his own joy, did not mean it would cost others their
happiness.</p><p>Oh, there were
decisions he could make and pleasures he could seek that would, of
course. Voldemort was the living exemplar of that. But he would learn
them, and know them, and keep away from them where he could, and keep
dancing along that path his epiphany had shown him.</p><p>For the first time he
could remember, Harry had the sense that life was there to be tasted,
and taken, and sampled, and he wanted to live as intensely as he had
ever wanted anything.</p><p><em>And if it becomes
necessary for me to die in this war or to destroy a Horcrux, then I
know what I'll be giving up, for the very first time. And if
someone else dies as a sacrifice, </em>this, this <em>is what they'll
be giving up.</em></p><p>The horror he'd felt
at the thought of someone else dying sharpened into sheer
appreciation of what such a death could mean. Harry took a deep
breath, and then forced himself past that moment and into the moments
that lay beyond it.</p><p><em>And the free
yielding of such splendor as this is the greatest sacrifice, the
grandest decision, anyone could make.</em></p><p><em>If people have to
die to destroy the Horcruxes, they will be heroes. Heroes in a way
that I don't think people can be just by living, or by dying.</em></p><p>But he would continue
researching ways to get around that prohibition and the Unassailable
Curse more fiercely than ever, now that he knew what it could entail
giving up.</p><p>Harry sat up and
stretched. Draco would return from dinner soon. Harry would need to
eat, and he would research on Horcruxes for an hour, and he would do
some schoolwork that really needed to be done.</p><p><em>Draco shouldn't
have to push me back into life anymore. Now that I know it's always
there to be lived, I'm going to do it myself.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 77*: Prometheus Unbound</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Sixty: Prometheus Unbound</strong></p><p>Draco opened the
bedroom door slowly, keeping his wand out. Harry hadn't been at
dinner, and Professor Snape had come in looking more than a little
shocked, as if he had seen a unicorn gallop through the dungeons.
Draco couldn't discount that something had happened to Harry. It
probably wasn't something <em>bad</em>, because otherwise Professor
Snape would have looked murderous, but even merely "unexpected"
was often also "inconvenient."</p><p>He'd even approached
Potter and asked, but Potter, the prat, hadn't known anything.
Draco had stung him with an insult and gone away. He was sure that <em>he</em>
would have known more than Potter about Harry if Harry were his
brother.</p><p>The bedroom appeared
empty at first, but then Draco realized the curtains were drawn on
the near side of the bed. He steeled himself to find Harry wounded or
sick, and yanked them open.</p><p>Harry turned his head
towards him.</p><p>Draco actually <em>dropped
his wand</em>. He was just glad that no one else was in the room to
see that wholly embarrassing and rather unnecessary episode. He
didn't immediately reach down and pick it up, either. He couldn't
take his gaze from his partner's face.</p><p>Some shadow that had
lingered in the back of his eyes had gone away. Some tension that had
always hunched his shoulders had vanished. Some darkness that had—</p><p>And then Draco decided
he should stop using metaphors and actually ask Harry, because Harry
had lifted himself onto his knees, reached out, caught Draco's
shoulder with his hand, and leaned forward to kiss him. Or, well, all
right. He'd ask him when the kiss was done.</p><p>Draco responded
automatically, lifting one arm around Harry's shoulders. He
realized his hand was shaking. He finally broke free, panting a
little, and said, "Talk." And now his voice shook. He couldn't
recall Harry ever kissing like that, like it wasn't a chore or a
means to relax but something he really <em>wanted</em>, perhaps even
<em>needed.</em></p><p>Harry laughed. And
even the laughter was different. Draco told himself it couldn't be
and he was imagining things, but the laughter sounded in his ears as
defiantly different, no matter what he thought.</p><p>And now he was
repeating himself, if only in his head. He fixed his eyes sternly on
Harry's face and waited.</p><p>"I was a hypocrite
to Connor today," said Harry, sitting on the edge of the bed and
swinging his legs. Draco's puzzlement increased. He couldn't
recall Harry making many excess movements, either, or at least not
out of joy. They usually expressed worry or fury or fear. "I
snapped at him when I should have known how to hold my tongue, since
he'd just had a traumatic experience—"</p><p>Draco snorted.</p><p>Harry eyed him.
"Rosier kidnapped him and tried to kill him."</p><p>"Well, perhaps I can
concede it was traumatic, then," said Draco, and inclined his head
an inch. "But I'm more interested in the impact this experience
had on you, Harry, thanks."</p><p>"So I snapped, and I
shouldn't have," Harry continued, this time crossing his legs and
bouncing the right up and down on the left. "I went to Joseph, to
ask if some barrier had broken that I didn't know about. He laughed
at me, then told me it was normal, and <em>everyone</em> is a hypocrite
sometimes. And—well, it was like the tide of the lessons that
everyone has been trying to teach me broke over me all at once. I
realized that I <em>can</em> live, and that I <em>can</em> be normal, and
that I <em>can</em> make mistakes and not lacerate myself over them,
because everyone makes them. I realize that I wanted to live,
really." Harry tapped his left wrist. "And I realized, after I
went and finally forgave Snape for bringing my parents to trial, that
I wanted to break the last of the curses on my wrist. So we did,
Argutus and I." He gestured to the end of the bed. Following his
gaze, Draco saw the Omen snake asleep on top of Harry's trunk.</p><p>"So, Draco, what do
you think?"</p><p>He turned back around
to see Harry sitting eagerly forward, eyes fixed on his face.</p><p><em>Wanting</em> his
approval. <em>Demanding</em> it, where before he might have hinted at
best, or sat there with his eyes meekly downcast and accepted
whatever criticisms Draco wanted to make.</p><p>Draco reached forward
gently, and cradled Harry's cheek in his hand. Harry grinned a bit.</p><p>"You can touch me
more firmly than that," he said. "I won't break."</p><p>Draco shook his head,
not sure how he could convey what he wanted to say—"I know"
would sound inane—and then kissed Harry thoroughly, persistently,
<em>deeply</em>. Harry leaned back and moaned, opening himself to it,
more trusting and with more barriers lowered than Draco had ever seen
him give. Tears stung his eyes, but he was already putting them
aside, especially when images of snakes and cats began to waltz
around Harry.</p><p>They had at least an
hour before anyone else required their presence. And there was only
one way Draco knew to make Harry really understand what this change
meant to him.</p><p>He climbed onto the
bed and drew the curtains closed around them, shutting out the worry,
shutting in the joy.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor leaned around
Hermione and stared at Harry again. Harry and Draco had just come out
of NEWT Potions and were debating whatever Snape had had them brew
today. Draco was grinning like a fool, so much so that it interfered
with his side of the debate. Harry made wider gestures with his arms
than Connor had ever seen him make, and slammed his fist into Draco's
shoulder when he apparently said something particularly inane. Connor
shook his head in wonder. <em>Something's different with Harry, but
I don't know what it is.</em></p><p>"Hermione?"</p><p>She glanced up from
her Potions book. Connor and Ron had waited to collect her before
they went to lunch, but Hermione didn't seem as concerned about
eating or walking down the hall as trying to improve a performance
that was no doubt already perfect. "Hmmm?"</p><p>"What's—I mean,
does Harry look different to you?"</p><p>Hermione turned around
and gave a critical glance back down the hall. Then she shrugged.
"Oh, that. He's happy, that's all." She added something about
"powdered bicorn horn" and went back to frowning at the text. "It
doesn't <em>say</em> to stir counterclockwise on that potion," she
muttered. "How did Harry know how to do that? I hope Professor
Snape hasn't been giving him extra lessons simply to make him
better, when he doesn't need any help. That would be unfair."</p><p>Ron snorted and
straightened up from the wall. "This is <em>Snape,</em> Hermione.
When has he ever been anything but unfair?"</p><p>Connor couldn't stop
looking at Harry. He hadn't seen much of him yesterday, but he
would have thought his little adventure on Saturday would still weigh
heavily on his brother's shoulders. And now—</p><p>"Did he say why he's
happy, Hermione?" he asked.</p><p>"Something about
learning things," said Hermione, and then stuck her nose pointedly
in the book and headed down the corridor towards the Great Hall,
avoiding bags and feet by means of specially-trained Hermione senses.
Ron followed her, leaving Connor to hover indecisively. He wanted to
ask his brother, but he wasn't sure that Harry wouldn't resent
him interrupting the debate.</p><p>Harry caught sight of
him just then, though, and waved him over. Connor trotted slowly
nearer. Draco frowned and put a hand on his wand, but it was Harry's
wide smile that made him wariest.</p><p>"Sorry I didn't
tell you yesterday, Connor," Harry said, not sounding all that
apologetic. "But I was busy writing letters. The situation with the
monitoring board is ridiculous. We're meeting this Saturday and
that's that." He shrugged. "I'm better, though. I decided to
forgive Snape and break the last curse on my left wrist, and the
moment I can decide on which kind of artificial hand I like best,
I'll be getting one and learning how to use it. I'll want to
Transfigure it into flesh eventually."</p><p>Connor just stared.</p><p>He had never known his
brother this happy, this fully human. Whatever had happened had
slammed down barriers Connor would have said would never fall, if
someone had asked him on Saturday.</p><p>"Connor?"</p><p>Harry had waved his
hand in front of Connor's face, looking concerned. Draco was
leaning on his shoulder the way he had the first morning after they
shagged, his eyes just daring Connor to say something stupid. Connor
shook his head and snapped out of his spell. Whatever had changed, he
was, of course, happy for Harry. And he wondered if Draco realized
yet that more and more people would find this changed Harry
attractive, and possibly make offers for him. The courting ritual
wasn't irreversibly binding until Halloween of this year, if Connor
understood correctly.</p><p>"Congratulations,
Harry," he said, and held out his hand. Harry shook it, then pulled
him into a hug. Connor was near enough to hear Draco growl softly. He
rolled his eyes and deliberately held onto Harry a little longer than
he normally would. After all, now he knew it wouldn't make his
brother uncomfortable, and Draco could stand to learn that sometimes
Harry wanted to hug other people.</p><p>"Thanks," said
Harry as he let go. Then he smiled. "Oh, and Connor?"</p><p>Turning away to catch
up with Ron and Hermione, Connor paused. "Yeah?"</p><p>"I found that ward
you put on Draco and me to warn you whenever we're doing more than
kissing," said Harry, voice still pleasant. "If you <em>ever</em>
do something like that again, then the ward will make sure you get
images of what we're doing instead. Full-color images that won't
go away no matter what you do."</p><p>Connor shuddered,
while Draco laughed. It was one thing to know that his brother had a
sex life, Connor thought. It was another to know that he was willing
to discuss it, and it was another thing altogether to <em>see </em>it,
especially when it involved a <em>Malfoy.</em></p><p><em>Maybe Draco isn't
the only one who has to get used to a changed Harry.</em></p><p>"Uh, I'll remember
that."</p><p>Harry nodded serenely
at him and walked towards the Great Hall. Draco followed him. He must
have thought they were at an angle where Connor couldn't see them,
because, for a moment, he had the <em>soppiest</em> expression on his
face. Connor would have said, if forced to describe it, that he'd
fallen more deeply in love with Harry just over the course of the
last few moments.</p><p><em>Damn Parvati for
making me see things like that, </em>Connor thought, and gave himself
a clout on the ear to, hopefully, forget it, and went on to lunch.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Owen shut the door of
the classroom slowly behind him. He had received a message from his
brother, a brief warble of phoenix song followed by an equally brief
five words, asking him to meet Michael here, in this small room
they'd adopted as their private place. It was little more than a
broom closet, but it worked, especially because they weren't in the
same House and Owen spent so much time apart from his brother since
he'd chosen to remain Harry's sworn companion.</p><p>He had expected many
things when he came here, including the rage or regret Michael
usually expressed, or demands for gossip about Draco. Owen always
refused to provide the last, but that didn't stop his twin from
asking.</p><p>He had not expected
tears.</p><p>He cast <em>Lumos</em>,
since the room had no windows. Michael sat with his head bowed in his
folded arms on one of the desks, trying not to cry and miserably
failing. His sobs were quiet, though. If Owen hadn't heard his
brother sob before, he didn't know that he would have recognized
the sounds.</p><p>He moved up behind
Michael and rubbed his arm. Michael continued to cry without
acknowledging him for a moment, then turned with startling violence
and embraced Owen. Owen curved his own arm around his brother's
shoulders, and they stood like that.</p><p>Then Michael broke
away from him, stood up, and intoned a curse Owen hadn't heard him
use since their fifth year at Durmstrang. The desk disintegrated,
floating down into a pile of dust and sand.</p><p>Michael aimed his wand
at three more desks and did the same thing. And then he stood there,
flushed, and panting, and tearful, and obviously hating the fact that
he couldn't hide his tears any more.</p><p>"Are you quite
done?" Owen asked.</p><p>"It's hopeless,
isn't it?" Michael asked dully, and slumped to the floor. "I
saw them today. Draco's <em>never</em> going to leave him, is he?
When the <em>vates</em> changed, for whatever reason, he bound Draco to
him for good."</p><p>It disturbed Owen that
Michael would only call Harry <em>vates</em> and not by his name, but
at least he could discuss him at all; when Harry had first released
Michael from his oath, he would only say <em>him</em> in a tone of
spitting contempt. Owen sat down beside his brother. "I think it
was hopeless even before that," he said, and rolled his eyes when
Michael glared at him. "Well, I do. You know my opinion. If our
roles were different, if you had known Draco before last year, if
Harry wasn't the kind of political leader he is—if, if, if. The
point is, by the time you met Draco, it was clear what their roles
were, and what one you were going to choose. You really shouldn't
have sworn to Harry if you knew that you couldn't control yourself
around Draco."</p><p>"You're only this
sensible because you've never been in love," said Michael
sullenly, and buried his head in his arms.</p><p>"Maybe I am," said
Owen. "It doesn't change the fact that you took on a certain set
of responsibilities and then betrayed those responsibilities." His
voice grew stern in spite of his resolve to remain sympathetic. "You
were a sworn companion, Michael. And like I said, you shouldn't
have taken up those duties in the first place if—"</p><p>"Yes, I've heard
this from you, a hundred times." Michael stood up and paced
restlessly around the room, pausing to kick viciously at a desk that
still existed. Then he spun around and stared intently at Owen. "Tell
me this. What do you think of Draco now?"</p><p>Owen sat back,
half-lidded his eyes, and thought about that. He hadn't thought
much of Draco at first. He was important to Harry and had an accepted
role in his life, and it wasn't Owen's place to speak badly about
him, or offer his opinion at all unless it was asked for. Of course,
he <em>had</em> his opinion, and that was that Draco sometimes
displayed flashes of blinding power and insight, but was far more
likely to display flashes of blinding stupidity, and needed Harry
much more than Harry needed him.</p><p>In the past few days,
watching them wheel around each other like a pair of dragons in
springtime, Owen had revised that opinion, but he hadn't put words
to it until now.</p><p>"They need each
other," he said quietly. "They rely on each other in ways beyond
the obvious. And sometimes I can see that strength in Draco that I
was missing before, when he casts a spell in NEWT Defense Against the
Dark Arts, or looks at Harry and thinks no one is watching. He hasn't
learned that you can be quiet and still be strong, yet, I think. He's
inclined to blare it, but that kind of blaring usually contains
arrogance and conceals no strength at all. Now he's starting to
shine in the quiet moments, too. Strong <em>and</em> loud at the same
time. He's learning. Slowly, but learning."</p><p>"And now you think—"</p><p>"I think I can see
why you claim you're in love with him, yes." Owen looked up at
Michael. "I still think you were stupid to do what you did."</p><p>Surprisingly, his
brother ignored the statement Owen thought he would take offense to
and latched onto the other. "<em>Claim</em> I'm in love with him?"
His face flushed, and he bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.</p><p>Owen let out a small
breath, his eyes locked on Michael's. "It's not the kind of
love Mother had for Father, or he for her," he said. "It's not
the kind of love Harry and Draco have. You want someone to shelter,
Michael. I can understand that. But Draco isn't someone who would
be content to shelter behind you. He wants to fight beside his lover
in battle. This is the first time I've thought he might actually be
able to do it, mind."</p><p>"And that means that
I'm in love with—what?" Michael laughed sardonically. "The
reflection of the <em>vates</em> I see in Draco?"</p><p>"An illusion."</p><p>Michael stared at him
for long moments, and then turned and slammed out of the room. Owen
winced a bit as the door crashed behind his brother, but he had no
intention of retracting what he'd said.</p><p>Sometimes he wished he
could be kinder, softer, more prone to sympathetic words of the kind
that their mother had shared with their father. But he had too much
of Charles in him, and Michael had too much of Medusa. And Michael
was not head of the Rosier-Henlin family, and did not have to think
about the consequences of what he said and did in the same framework.</p><p>He <em>had</em> chosen
to be a sworn companion, though, with all the glories such a thing
implied.</p><p>He could not complain
because the costs of the glories were more than he would wish to
bear.</p><p>Owen stood, gently
snuffed out the <em>Lumos</em>, and left.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Henrietta did not
dance out of the classroom, but that was only because it would be
undignified for a professor to dance.</p><p>When she got back to
her private rooms, she <em>did</em> cast a spell that Transfigured the
walls into billowing cloth, like the sides of a tent. Then she had to
cast stabilizing spells to make sure Hogwarts didn't collapse
around her, but that didn't matter. She had also conjured tea and
biscuits, biscuits of a kind she didn't often eat any more,
biscuits like her mother had made for her long ago. One crunch, and
the chocolate filled her mouth and bubbled around, nearly dripping
down her chin. Henrietta closed her eyes and moaned softly. It always
did taste better this way, when made with a witch's magic, then
when prepared by the hands of house elves. Harry was right about
that.</p><p>Harry. Harry. <em>Harry.</em></p><p>Henrietta gave into
temptation and sang a small song. There was no one around to hear
her, since she had silencing spells in place on her quarters already.
That way, no students could hear her cursing them when she marked up
their essays and found out that they were making the most elementary
mistakes with Transfiguration. <em>She</em> had learned things very
fast, why couldn't <em>they</em> learn them very fast?</p><p>The history song was
an old one, about sworn companions accompanying one of the ancient
Lords who had actually given a damn about them down a long, dark
trail. That had been the Lord Gyrfalcon, who had wanted to destroy
Death itself. He had been a corrupted necromancer, not keeping his
vows, but he had kept faith with those who followed him. There had
been seven of them in the end, Lord Gyrfalcon, his lover Lord Julian
Parkinson, and five sworn companions who would not turn back and
would never slow down.</p><p>Henrietta only got
through one verse before she broke into laughter, though, and then
cast soap bubbles out of her wand and twisted them into interesting
shapes. She took another bite of chocolate biscuit and licked hastily
to keep the chocolate where it belonged, inside her mouth, making
things sweet.</p><p>Maybe it wouldn't be
so bad if the chocolate did drip down, though, she thought, unless a
student came to her door and saw her like that. She could stand to
lose a bit of the taste. The whole world was sweet, right now.</p><p>Harry had changed, and
had become what Henrietta had always known he could be—someone who
had all the virtues of the ancient Lords without having to Declare.</p><p>She leaned back,
folded her hands behind her head, and hummed another snatch of the
history song. She had watched Harry all week, and there was no doubt
that he paid more attention to people around him now and less to his
fear of hurting them. And his magic! He had worked Transfigurations
that surprised him, but not Henrietta. Lord-level magic took some
strange paths to get where it needed to go, and there were a few
barriers that could be broken by sheer strength. Harry couldn't
break them while he held himself back and restrained his power for
reasons Henrietta couldn't understand, but let his magic fly and he
had a sudden violent improvement.</p><p>He hadn't yet seen
his Animagus form, though, he confessed to her. Henrietta was not
worried about that. It would come in time.</p><p>Harry would survive
this war. That was partially because of the change. Now Henrietta had
more faith that he would eliminate his enemies before they could do
him harm.</p><p>But it was also
because, if she had had any doubts remaining about Harry, they had
just been sealed off. She was his, loyal and close and collared like
a running hound. And she was happy to be so.</p><p>She wondered if anyone
she passed in the halls daily knew that only her love for Harry held
her back from cursing them all. She was still a Dark witch. She still
had all the contempt for Light wizards that she ever had. She had
learned a grudging respect for some of them, especially Headmistress
McGonagall.</p><p>But if Harry ever
asked her to kill McGonagall, Henrietta would not hesitate.</p><p>It was very simple,
really. There was the rest of the world which was loyal to Harry,
Henrietta's comrades. And there was the rest of the world which was
not, and would have to go through her to get to him. And if Harry
wanted that part of the world dead or maimed or tortured, he had only
to ask.</p><p>Henrietta smiled at
the ceiling. It was not <em>her</em> fault if none of them saw that.
They should have paid more attention to the history songs—the ones
about the only way dragons had ever agreed to serve wizards, the ones
about the courtship of Lord Julian and Lord Gyrfalcon (and what a
terror they had been, two Dark Lords united in power and in purpose),
the ones about the sworn companions who had stayed and fought for a
Lord or Lady instead of running.</p><p>Love bound her, love
made her tame, and within its chain she was free.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Aurora was waiting.</p><p>She had not liked the
peremptory tone of Harry's latest letter, the one demanding that
they meet in the Ministry that Saturday, or he would know why. It was
not like Harry to demand at all. Aurora worried about what it might
have cost him, or who might have put him up to it.</p><p>But the monitoring
board had come, and a few of the Dark wizards had filed in looking
excited, as if they had secrets. Aurora had pegged them at once.
Harry might have insured that Griselda, and not Aurora, had power
over the board itself, but he could not deprive her of her eyes. They
were likely candidates for the ones who had put him up to this.</p><p>Narcissa Malfoy, in
particular. She moved as if treading on a burning cloud, her eyes too
bright and her head so high it was a wonder she didn't bang her
nose on the ceiling. And she sat down on her side of the table and
looked directly at Aurora with a smile she'd never shown before.
That made Aurora immediately wary.</p><p>And then the door
opened, and Harry came in, walking between Draco Malfoy and Severus
Snape as if he had not a care in the world.</p><p>Aurora half-stood. Now
she <em>knew</em> something had happened. Some of the shadows had
vanished from Harry's face, and he wasn't cringing in any way or
form. He looked at everyone else in the room before her, in fact,
nodding to his Dark allies and not bothering to do more than look
courteous to the Light wizards. He looked less than that when his
eyes passed over Marvin and Shadow.</p><p>Then his gaze focused
on her.</p><p>And he looked at her
as if she were a respected enemy.</p><p>Aurora squashed her
impulse to say something. She inclined her head to Harry instead, and
sat back down. Harry took his seat across from Griselda, not
releasing her eyes, and used his magic to widen the two chairs next
to him, so that Snape and Malfoy could sit down. Aurora had made sure
the chairs were a bit narrower than usual on purpose, to see what his
reaction would be.</p><p>He was responding like
a Lord, that was what he was responding like.</p><p>Aurora bit her lip in
vexation and sat still, her heart pounding hard. At least she knew
that Lisa Addlington and Shadow would somewhat curb themselves this
time, and talk more softly. That would make the points she hoped to
score with Harry easier. If she could show that her influence on them
could be wielded for his good as well as his detriment, Harry would
be more likely to trust her.</p><p>But Harry didn't let
Griselda speak, though that had been the procedure at their last
meeting. He spoke instead, and his voice was firm, respectful, quiet,
and utterly unlike anything he had used before.</p><p>"I've decided that
the monitoring board should meet on a regular schedule," he said.
"Every other Saturday is reasonable, I think. That allows me time
to complete my schoolwork, and means I am not leaving Hogwarts at
some unreasonable hour of the day. My education is important to me,
of course, as an underage wizard." That was said so blandly that
Aurora didn't note the sarcasm until a few moments later. "And I
would also like other Light wizards on the board."</p><p>"We agreed to
these," said Aurora, speaking before she thought.</p><p>"Oh, I know," said
Harry, his eyes, which had turned to look at others, swinging back to
meet hers. "But I have come to realize it's not a good idea to
let my enemies have control of me, Mrs. Whitestag. And that was what
I did, under some misguided idea that my enemies could hate me and
yet offer me rational advice."</p><p>"None of us hate
you, <em>vates</em>," said Lisa, earnestly.</p><p>Harry snorted. "I
don't think 'dislike' and 'want to control my actions and
strip me of my family' is really all that different from hatred,
Mrs. Addlington," he said. "I do have Light allies who would like
a place on the monitoring board, yet would hold firm to their
allegiance. Laura Gloryflower, for example. A few of the Griffinsnest
family. Paton Opalline. I did not ask them before because I felt that
I could not have them with me." Harry laughed, a small, chilly
sound. "Does that make good political sense? Of course not. They
are my allies. I owe them more than that."</p><p>"And what about
keeping a balance of different kinds of wizards on the board, Harry?"
Aurora asked. They were losing him. The dragon had woken and snapped
the reins, and he would fly if they weren't careful. "We need
halfblood and Muggleborn members, and I have never heard of your
having any close Muggleborn and halfblood allies."</p><p>Harry smiled
charmingly. "I am halfblood myself, Mrs. Whitestag," he said. "I
think that should count for something. And some of the Opallines are
adopted Muggleborns, or halfbloods. They are an enormous family. I'm
sure Paton would be happy to send me some of his relatives who fit
those requirements if I asked."</p><p>"I don't think you
know what you're doing, Harry," Aurora said gently, while behind
her the others rustled and buzzed in a panic. "You need these
members on the monitoring board to reassure your Light allies."</p><p>"I can offer them my
word and my behavior," said Harry. "If they aren't reassured by
that, they won't be my allies, anyway." He looked bored now. "I
<em>am</em> reorganizing the board, Mrs. Whitestag. So far, it's been
almost nonsensical. When we met, you imposed restrictions on me that
no rational person would have agreed to, including that I come here
without my guardian. Our meetings are irregular, delayed by bickering
that doesn't suit the adults I thought we were. Or almost-adult, in
my case." Harry smiled like a shark. "I'll be of age in less
than seven months, Mrs. Whitestag. You only have until then to
supervise me. To make it count, you should accept the regular
meetings with half Light and half Dark wizards as the best compromise
I'm willing to make."</p><p>Aurora stared around
the table. The Dark wizards looked smug. It was obvious they'd all
known about this. The goblins looked on the verge of laughter, as
much as Aurora could read their ugly faces. The centaur, Bone,
stamped his hoof slowly, his gaze fixed on Harry and filled with
approval. Griselda seemed to be watching a sunrise. And none of her
allies were ready to help her, because they were caught too
off-balance by the winds of this hurricane.</p><p>Aurora took a deep
breath, and turned slowly back to Harry. Whatever had awakened him,
she would find and eliminate it if she could, but to have the chance
to do that, she needed to stay close to Harry. And she was the most
important Light member of the board, ultimately, since she was the
leader. She was the one who could persuade the others to accept
conditions they might hate. She was the organizer. She would not
object too much, lest she be cast off the monitoring board.</p><p>"You are right,
<em>vates</em>," she said, catching Harry's eye. "The monitoring
board has not so far performed its designated purpose. If you think
it needs reorganization in order to do so, that is what will happen."</p><p>She ignored the
clucking and squawking from her allies, staring at Harry, willing him
to accept this.</p><p>Harry gave her a lazy,
self-satisfied smile that said he knew what she was doing, and
<em>appreciated</em> it, damn him.</p><p><em>Someone put the
notion of his own power into his head.</em></p><p>And from that, her
course was clear—at least her goal, if not the way she would need
to tread to get there.</p><p><em>Somehow, I must get
it out again.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 78*: A Different Kind of Birthing Bed</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-One: A Different Kind of Birthing
Bed</strong></p><p>"I don't know if
the <em>Daily Prophet </em>will publish it," said Harry. It was all
he <em>could</em> say, after he had finished reading Hermione's
letter about house elves. It stunned him and moved him and made him
feel as if he had been neglecting the magical creatures who might
have suffered most under their webs and their direct subjugation to
wizards. His hand shook as he lowered the paper to the table.</p><p>"Oh, I thought they
wouldn't," said Hermione calmly. She sat on the other side of the
table, with books from at least six different parts of the Library
spread out around her. There was one about Dark magic, two on
fantastic beasts, one on old Ministry laws, and three Harry hadn't
had the chance to read the titles of, but was sure were all
different. "I was thinking of sending letters directly to the
owners of the house elves themselves. A letter-writing campaign. And
letters could go to the <em>Quibbler</em> and the <em>Vox Populi</em>, of
course."</p><p>"Especially the
latter," Harry had to add. Dionysus Hornblower had not made up his
mind if Harry was an evil traitor or a kind liberator yet this week,
but he would pounce gleefully on the issue of house elves no matter
which way his judgment fell. Harry studied Hermione's letter once
more, then glanced up at her. "I'm humbled that you've cared
about this so much, when I haven't paid that much attention to it,"
he murmured.</p><p>Hermione shook her
head. "Why shouldn't I care about it? The more I look at house
elves under their web, the more I think that some of the ways wizards
treat house elves apply to how they treat people like me, too. We
don't suffer as much, but there's a sense that our magic is
just—there. House elves can do <em>wonderful</em> things, and most
people don't bother to wonder about that, or to think why magical
creatures who can perform such marvels without wands would ever have
agreed to serve them. And they don't want to think about how magic
sought us out, either, if it's only supposed to concentrate in
pureblood lines. And the fact that we can make our way into the
wizarding world successfully when we didn't even know it was there
for the first eleven years of our lives is overlooked, too."
Hermione's face took on a look of exultant rapture. "I'm
thinking of writing a book studying the way that Muggleborn children
grow used to the wizarding world, you know. It's not ever been
studied. There are a few books that are supposed to help us adapt,
but they're full of nonsense."</p><p>"If anyone can do
it, it's you, Hermione," Harry said, and felt one more shimmer of
awe run through him, joined by a frisson of happiness. At least he
knew that other people were adopting his cause as their own, even if
he didn't pay enough attention to them. It made him want to go and
do wonderful things to help inspire still others. "I'll get
started on writing my own letters."</p><p>"Good." Hermione
pushed a long scroll across the table towards him. Harry unrolled it
with both hand and Levitation Charm, and glanced at it curiously. It
seemed to be a list of names.</p><p>"House elf owners,"
Hermione explained without looking up; she was already looking at a
book that had <em>Arts</em> somewhere in the title. "The ones who
don't have any connection to the Alliance of Sun and Shadow yet,
and aren't your enemies, either. The neutrals we need to convince."</p><p>Harry smiled. "Thanks,
Hermione." As he stood, he caught sight of Zacharias Smith hovering
near the shelves. Harry wondered if he should scowl or give him an
encouraging look. He didn't know the current state of things in the
intellectual war between Zacharias and Hermione. He thought they were
talking to one another again, but Zacharias still found small points
to argue about, ignoring the larger issues that Hermione wanted to
raise with him.</p><p>In the end, Harry
settled for nodding to him and hurrying out of the library with his
list of names. He would make plans for writing letters for an hour
each day, and sending Hedwig and other school owls out with them in
the evening. That wouldn't take much more time than his studying of
Horcruxes did.</p><p>It had been more than
a week now since he'd discovered that he could matter as much as
the next person, and he could feel the insight slipping away from
him, sometimes. There were moments he wanted to go back to the way he
had been, flinging himself into obsessions without pausing to
consider what might be the better course. And he had snapped at Draco
sometimes, and been inconsiderate when Connor asked him for help on
Transfiguration homework, so he was definitely no longer as good at
balancing his needs and the needs of the world as he had been.</p><p>But the point was not
to cling to the insight. The point was to live it, and there were
ways that focusing on the house elves might help him do that.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>It was a few days
after he'd started posting the letters that Padma approached him at
breakfast with a very strange expression on her face. Harry swallowed
his scrambled eggs—he'd finally figured out what shops in
Hogsmeade could be trusted to cast the proper warming charms, and
that made his meals considerably more pleasant—and cocked his head
at her.</p><p>"Did you send my
parents a letter about their house elves?" Padma asked without
preamble.</p><p>Harry frowned for a
moment, considering the mental list of names, then shook his head.
"That was Hermione," he said. "Why? Is something wrong?" He
couldn't imagine Hermione being less than polite, and the Patils
were Light wizards well-disposed towards Muggleborns, so they
wouldn't take it as an insult to get post from one of them. He
hoped.</p><p>"She sent this,"
said Padma, and held it out.</p><p>Harry considered the
sheet of parchment. Hermione had talked to him about them, but he
hadn't seen one so far. It was a list of "Eleven Facts You Might
Not Know About House Elves," and the logo above it, which picked
out Elvish Liberation Front in elegant letters, marched across a
shield which a scowling house elf gripped.</p><p>The facts were true,
as far as Harry could see, including Number Four, which asked if the
reader knew that warming charms were actually faster than similar
house elf magic, though sometimes they didn't heat bread and drinks
as thoroughly. He handed the list back to Padma. "What's wrong?
Did it make your parents uncomfortable?"</p><p>"Well." Padma
shifted her weight. "They wanted to know how much you supported
this. How much the Elvish Liberation Front was Hermione's idea and
how much it was yours."</p><p>Harry shrugged. "Well,
I support it, of course. But the main idea was Hermione's, and the
main bulk of the work has been Hermione's." He looked around
Padma with a smile, to where Hermione was holding forth about E.L.F.
in the middle of the Gryffindor table. Ron looked bored, but Connor
was listening, though with the reluctant expression on his face that
Harry knew to be his brother's way of trying not to let what he
heard affect him. Harry looked back at Padma. "I am sorry for any
discomfort your parents are experiencing. Hermione chose owners of
house elves who weren't already in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow,
not people whose children attended Hogwarts. If your parents are
uncomfortable hearing about the Elvish Liberation Front, I'll ask
her if she'll refrain from sending them post."</p><p>"But you won't
make her stop." Padma had her lip between her teeth and was
worrying it.</p><p>"No." Harry drank
his pumpkin juice to hide his smile. This was exactly what he had
hoped would happen when he first started thinking about freeing the
magical creatures. The Centaur Committee and the Goblin Board of the
Ministry were good starts, too, in a way, but Harry's rebellion had
forced them both to happen. He wanted to see other witches and
wizards growing passionate about the differences in equality between
magical species without prompting. It would probably take the will
and intelligence of a Hermione to found each organization, though. "I
can't. E.L.F.'s not mine, but I do think what she's doing is
great."</p><p>Padma blinked, a bit.
"All right," she said slowly. "Only, I think the letters
annoyed my mother."</p><p>Harry shrugged.
"Hermione's goal isn't to annoy people." <em>At least, that's
not her primary goal. </em>Anyone who merely found the reminder that
house elves were enslaved annoying would be annoyed, and irritated,
and worried at. "Like I said, I'll ask if she'll leave your
parents off the next round of post she sends, but I don't think
she'll agree to it."</p><p>Padma left with a
faintly puzzled expression on her face, as if she thought that could
have gone better but wasn't sure how. Harry turned around when
someone tapped him on the shoulder, and found himself face-to-face
with Draco.</p><p>"Are you going to
send post to my father?" Draco's voice was casual, but he hadn't
yet learned how to control the set of his shoulders, and Harry knew
he was tense.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"He was in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. He knows all about house
elves. And I don't want to seem as though I'm acknowledging him."
Lucius Malfoy kept sending Harry letters which recommended courses of
action Harry wasn't comfortable with, including listening to
Lucius's side of the story. So far as Harry could tell, Lucius's
side of the story had a great deal of misplaced pride and
unconvincing attempts to grovel.</p><p>Draco half-closed his
eyes, and then said, "And what about me? Would you like it if I
stopped eating meals house elves had cooked? If I cleaned my clothes
instead of letting them do it?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Draco's head snapped
back as though he were preparing to be offended. Harry raised an
eyebrow at him. "You said, would I like it if you did? Yes, I
would. I didn't mean I would badger you into doing it." He turned
back to his eggs, and tried to conceal his laughter. He wondered when
Draco would notice that, in fact, Harry had been casting the charms
to clean his robes, and not house elves at all; Harry regularly used
a spell that cleaned all the cloth in the room.</p><p><em>The next time he
remarks on how much more convenient house elves are than charms, I'll
tell him, </em>Harry decided.</p><p>Draco was looking at a
forkful of sausages as though he didn't enjoy contemplating the
source of his food. He stuffed them into his mouth when he saw Harry
looking and made exaggerated sounds of pleasure.</p><p>Harry shrugged and ate
some more. Perhaps he and Draco would have an argument when he found
out about the cleaning charms, if only because Draco would be angry
at being duped. But Harry had to admit that he was looking forward to
it. If he no longer lived in his careful little world where his main
purpose was not offending others, then he had to accept the bumps and
bruises that would come with that.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry opened his eyes,
and blinked. He stood in the middle of a snowy field, with flat,
silvery grass stretching in every direction about him, and shadows
from the moon carving deep lines into the silver. He turned slowly
around, lifting his head now and then, trying to see more than moon
and stars and snow and drifting clouds. It was difficult.</p><p><em>I haven't had a
dream this vivid in a while. I wonder what will happen next? </em>Harry
braced himself for an attack by Falco or Voldemort.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>That voice rang bells
along his skin. Harry turned in the direction it came—from behind
him, but he suspected it would have been from behind him no matter
which way he faced when it first spoke—and took some time to
recognize the creature who poured towards him. It was a heat shimmer
of green and gold, like rippling leaves marked with sunlight and
tossed by wind. But the enormous eyes that stared out of it, green
and gold as well, he remembered.</p><p>"Dobby," he
murmured, feeling a bit ridiculous in addressing a creature who was
so far beyond his enslaved self by that house elf name.</p><p>The green eyes widened
in what Harry thought was an expression of pleasure, though. "I
need to hear it," he said, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "To
remind myself of what has been, of what still is, and of what will be
for others of my kind. I am roaming in other times now, and the past
is easiest to forget." The eyes pinned Harry with sudden intensity.
"I see that you are at last beginning to move on helping other
house elves, as wizards choose to call us."</p><p>"Yes," said Harry
quietly. He didn't think he could say anything else, or in any
other tone, confronted by the enormous shapeshifter that wizards had
caged and trapped in one form for so long—surely as great a sin,
chaining something that mutable, as the work they made the house
elves do for them. Harry himself had benefited from that work, and
had Dobby's help before he freed him. The debt he owed, as a
wizard, was so great that Harry didn't think he could pay it back
by acting as <em>vates</em>. He would have to do what he could and hope
it made a dent.</p><p>"You have waited."</p><p>"I have," said
Harry simply, and guilt coiled in him like a whip. He took a deep
breath and did his best to ride it. There was simply not enough time
in the world to feel guilty for everything, but for this, he owed
more than most. He <em>had</em> put off attending to house elves and
their needs, even when he promised Dobby that he would think more
about that.</p><p>It would have been
easy to make excuses, to say that the werewolf problem had been more
pressing, made so by Loki's actions, and that, when he had enough
magic to replace the linchpins in the northern goblins' web, of
course he had had to do so. But the fact remained that he had given a
promise and broken it.</p><p>Dobby studied him with
those enormous eyes, mirrors of a sun Harry had never seen, for a
moment more, and then formed and held out a hand. "I've brought
you into the midst of dreams to show you a chance that might help you
make up for your mistakes," he said. "Death and life mingle in
the air tonight, as they cross whenever one of us is born."</p><p>"Born?" Harry
asked, even as he clasped the hand with his own. For a moment, just a
moment, the skin under his own felt like the familiar, rubbery flesh
of a house elf. Then it seemed to melt and change. Harry grasped
after it, not understanding, until he saw his own body falling like
rain.</p><p>"Yes," said Dobby.
"One of my kind is born tonight, born into slavery. But there is a
chance that we may free him, and his mother, without violating
anyone's will, for death also lurks close tonight." He paused,
and Harry tried not to yell as he felt his arms shred from his
shoulders into rain, into light, into sound. "The birthing bed is
far away, so we travel as music."</p><p>Harry thought about
closing his eyes, but by then, he didn't have eyes to close
anymore. He was a spasm of sound, of packed thought, of song that he
could not hear because it was himself.</p><p>He could hear Dobby's
song, though, changing chords and monstrous shifting tones, and as
they flew through star-scattered darkness, with Dobby's music
drawing him along in its wake like a dragon hatchling by its mother's
side, Harry shivered with awe. The music extended further and wider
and wilder than he had ever known. How had the ancient wizards even
dared to think that creatures with souls like this should serve them?
How had they dared to ask?</p><p><em>Of course, they
didn't ask. They just enslaved, and then made both themselves and
the house elves forget about the origin of the slavery. It's easier
to live with if you don't have your guilt staring you in the face,
after all.</em></p><p>They turned through
whirling darkness and whirling symphonies, and finally settled into
place in a dim room. Harry stared around. Nothing seemed familiar,
though he could make out white walls that resembled those of some
rooms at Malfoy Manor. But it was the sight in front of him that
captured his attention—and was supposed to, he reminded himself
sharply.</p><p>A female house elf lay
gasping in a crude bed of cotton and rags. Other house elves
surrounded her, moaning, their large hands moving over her forehead
in trembling tenderness. Harry could see the blood soaking the rags
around her, flowing from between her legs. He looked at Dobby, who
had manifested as a green-golden shimmer at his side again, but
seemed invisible to anyone in the room. His great eyes were fixed on
the birthing bed.</p><p>"This is the moment
when life and death cross," he murmured, sounding like a catechism.
"Every life we bring into the world involves danger for the mother.
Every life we give to Life is one that we may also give to Death."
He detached a small slice of himself from the rest of his body, and
Harry had the impression of a finger lifting to touch his lips. "Do
you feel it, Harry? Do you feel <em>her</em>?"</p><p>Harry thought he meant
the female house elf, and reached out obediently. But, perhaps
because he was still transformed into music, his magic couldn't
connect with the mother's suffering.</p><p>He started to say no,
and then noticed the shadow in one corner of the room. It was an
elegant black dog, smaller and slimmer than the one that followed
Regulus, but in all other ways similar. The pointed muzzle aimed at
the birthing bed. The eyes were glittering dark pits. Harry shivered.
He had never seen Death before, and if someone had asked him to
imagine her, he would not have imagined something so patient, so
cool, such a poised hunter.</p><p>"This is the moment
when life and death cross," Dobby said again. "And this is the
moment when we may do what I will ask you to do without violating
anyone's will, because the owner has resigned his claim to the
mother. He believes she will die, and the babe with her. Will you
save them, Harry?"</p><p>Harry glanced again at
the black dog. "And <em>she</em> won't have something to say about
it?"</p><p>"She is only one of
the forces in this room," Dobby pointed out. "Life may yet win.
She cannot <em>prevent</em> that from happening."</p><p>Harry vibrated slowly,
which he thought meant a nod right now. "And if I put myself into
the contest, then I'm struggling against her?" He could remember
what that kind of struggle had cost Voldemort, and he was not sure
that he wanted to enter it himself. He didn't understand house elf
magic at all. More than that, he did not want to end up with the kind
of thirst for immortality that struggling against death seemed to
imply.</p><p>"Only as healers
do," Dobby said softly. "As all life does, as the mother and her
babe are doing even now. I ask you to struggle against death, and I
ask you to cut the webs for this pair of house elves as you do so. Is
that so great a sacrifice?"</p><p>Harry began to breathe
more easily. And as he looked at the black dog, almost the image of
the one Regulus carried on his arm and at his heels, it was much
easier to think of Death as the cruel bitch—literally, in this
case. She was a shadow, a powerful shadow, but not one he had to give
in to. And if it came down to a contest between life and death, Harry
knew which side he was on.</p><p>"Very well," he
said softly. "But won't the other elves attack me when they see
I'm there?"</p><p>"I will explain to
them," Dobby said, and then Harry melted out of music and back into
his bodily form.</p><p>He bent over the
laboring house elf, while around him he heard a chorus of gasps and
squeaks. Gently, he pulled the rags aside, and caught a glimpse of
the baby's head, smaller and rounder and greener than the head of
the only other newborn he'd been this close to, Millicent's
sister Marian.</p><p>The mother's hand
found and gripped his. Harry looked up and met her enormous eyes,
gleaming like lamps in the dimness.</p><p>"Save Jiv's baby,"
she whispered. "I is too weak to make it."</p><p>Harry returned her
fierce clasp without answering, and then looked back at the baby. The
head was in the wrong position, he thought; that was at least part of
the reason the mother had lost so much blood. He didn't dare touch
it with his hand, and not only because he thought his wrist would be
mashed to a pulp before the mother, Jiv, was done with it. He simply
didn't know what he might break, what clumsiness he might
perpetrate with his fingers.</p><p>He let his barriers
down, and called fully on his magic. It came and flooded around him,
and Harry shaped it with his will, instead of a spell. He knew of no
spell that would do what he wanted, though a midwife probably would.</p><p><em>Arrange the baby so
he can come free. Patch her wounds so that she can live while I work
on the web.</em></p><p>He felt his magic flow
forward around him, thick as a tide of blood, as determined and as
patient. It met a force as determined and as patient. Harry looked up
at the black dog in the corner of the room, and found her dark eyes
focused on him, seeing him. He let out a slow breath, and told
himself that Death saw everyone, all the time. She gave her personal
notice to few. Even Regulus had had to work for it.</p><p><em>She will not make
me die any faster, </em>Harry reassured himself. <em>There are other
lives at stake here. </em>He looked down at the bloody, torn green
flesh, one more time, and then set his magic free to do as it needed
to. Trails of glimmering, pale light, like spiderwebs fleshed in dew
and sunshine, slid between Jiv's legs, and the baby cried weakly as
the power urged his head gently in a different direction.</p><p>Jiv tried to sit up
and see what was happening, her grip increasing on Harry's hand as
she did so.</p><p>Harry waited a moment
to be sure that he wouldn't just erupt in a cry of pain, then
pushed her gently flat again. "Lie down," he whispered, and
reached out and touched the web that bound her.</p><p>This wasn't like
Dobby's half-tattered web, worked at and torn already by the work
of Decus Lestrange. This was whole, and the thick strands of the
slave web under the one that confined Jiv's power and magic made
Harry wince. Jiv was so convinced she was a servant, born and made
only to be so, that if her master walked into the room right now, she
would try to leap to her feet and ask him what he wanted.</p><p>Harry moved his
fingers in Jiv's clasp, trying to stroke her palm, a reassuring,
soothing motion, and heard her cry again as the baby shifted
position. Her long ears flapped, and her jaw worked.</p><p>Harry focused on the
web. He remembered what he had done to break Dobby's web, the
double slicing, and sought for weak points.</p><p><em>There.</em> There
was one of them, at the foot of the web. The wizard who owned Jiv had
resigned his claim to her, convinced, as Dobby said, that she would
die. And Harry could use that, unraveling the web that no longer had
an anchor from that point of least resistance.</p><p>He swirled down in
that direction, his magic pacing and preceding him. At the same time,
he could feel his magic working to let Jiv's son emerge into the
world, and if he concentrated, he would suddenly see a collage of
blood and muscle and skin and Death's waiting presence. He tore
himself away from that, though, and back to the web.</p><p>All his power was up,
and flung into the task. Harry felt fully occupied as he hadn't
done since the bursting of the phoenix web.</p><p>Then he forced himself
to stop thinking about it, and turned to the task.</p><p>The first coil he slit
easily enough, sliding down and through the linked slave web and
magic-binding web. He felt Jiv convulse, her fingers pressing on his,
but the sensation grew more distant as he entered the second knot of
the web.</p><p>This one towered over
him, slick and glistening like a fish, the two strands twined so
tightly into one another that Harry didn't see how it was meant to
come undone. Of course, it had never really been <em>meant</em> to come
undone; those ancient wizards who wove the web had not wanted house
elves free. But now Harry had to climb this mountain in the
moonlight, and he was going to do it.</p><p>In the end, he did it
with less finesse than he would have wanted. He shaped a pair of
enormous jaws, not unlike the ones he had attacked Tom Riddle with in
the Chamber of Secrets so long ago, and <em>chewed</em> through the
mountain. He felt silk gum up in his teeth and spin through his
brain, looking for a hold. Harry brought up his <em>vates</em> beliefs
in defense against it, blazing.</p><p>The web snarled and
swung away, dissipating and tattering further the further it moved.
Harry hoped that meant it wouldn't be able to find a host at all,
as it probably could in a wizard's mind more amenable to
compulsion.</p><p>The sides of the web
in front of him now led away as a helix, dancing separately from each
other but crossing back together. Harry separated the jaws into two
pieces, two skating figures that slid up and down and around each
loop of the helix. It was important that he not lose track of which
was which.</p><p>Up, down, around,
upside down; his perception split and dizzied him as the figures
skated, and dragged knives behind them. Harry was drawing on more
magic than he had in a long time, the pull centering in his chest and
his heart. It felt good, though. Now he knew he was <em>using</em> the
magic, not merely wasting it, or locking it up and refusing to wield
it, as Jing-Xi had told him rather sharply was what he had done in
the past.</p><p>The web began to
unravel in front of him, enough of it cut now so that its stability
was compromised. Then the helix strands crossed over each other, and
brought the skating figures briefly back together, and Harry gasped
as he was rudely thrown into a union of all his magic, straining
birth and staring Death and laboring heart and crushed fingers and
unweaving tapestry.</p><p>He shook his head, and
the perceptions shrank to manageable levels. He could still see his
magic working to save Jiv's life if he looked, and feel his body if
he wanted, but right now he was not looking and he did not want.</p><p>His perceptions sliced
the last of the web, and then turned around, sensing an enemy behind
them. Harry understood when he saw the net of autumn colors unfolding
over Jiv's legs. The web had replicated itself, reaching for the
new house elf entering the world, to make him a slave from the moment
of his birth. It would not settle on him if he died, and the newness
of it made its weaknesses apparent, but Harry still could not allow
it to begin to bind. Jiv's son was too fragile. The promise of
freedom and the nearness of death would reach out to him at the same
time as the web, asking a young brain to deal with too many factors.</p><p>Harry stretched,
throwing his momentum and his magic behind him, to break the strands
of red and gold and orange.</p><p>And then a mightier
power swirled around him like a stream in flood around rocks, and
swept past him, and ate the web. Harry gaped for a moment, then
understood. Jiv's magic was free, and she no longer thought of
herself as a slave. She was acting to save her son and herself.</p><p>"Get out, Harry,"
he heard Dobby's voice say.</p><p>Harry pulled all his
magic back together with a clap that sounded in his ears like
thunder, though probably less impressive than that in the real world,
and gasped; it felt <em>strange</em>, alien, to have only one
perspective now, one way of seeing things. He opened his eyes and
flexed his hand, and watched as, for the first time in countless
generations, a mother house elf used her magic to serve her child
instead of her master.</p><p>The magic resembled
Dobby's only in the shots of green and gold that Harry could see
drifting through it; it was much closer to blue-green, so that he
seemed to watch the scene underwater. The magic curled and claimed
the young house elf, dragging him the right way around at once. Jiv
knew the proportions of the baby's body as she knew her own, Harry
thought, and did not need to perform the same delicate, probing work
that his magic had tried.</p><p>The web flexed forward
like a stingray. Jiv's magic covered and <em>cored</em> it, and the
web exploded into scattershots of light, small darting fish that
hurried away in a panic and were gone.</p><p>Then Jiv's magic
swung around again, in a current, and Harry had one moment of seeing
her cradling her son in her arms, her head bowed, her ears flapping
in that familiar house elf way, while around her the others cheered.</p><p>In the corner, Death
bowed her head, and the black dog became a shadow, became a note of
music, became nothingness. Harry felt a cold touch on the back of his
neck, and she was gone.</p><p>Jiv and the baby began
to expand. Their dark green skin turned to blue-green, and Harry saw
a rising tidal wave of magic and water and light and foam. The wave
crested, turned on glittering silvery toes, and then flowed outward
into the universe. Harry wondered what forms Jiv and her son could
take, what they would do, and was both glad and sad that he would
never know. He would have <em>liked</em> to see it, but some knowledge
should be beyond the reach of wizards.</p><p>Dobby touched his
shoulder and turned him around. Harry smiled into his eyes, which
were smiling back at him.</p><p>"You are still
<em>vates</em>," said Dobby, as if making a prophecy. "This is
still what you want to do for the rest of your life."</p><p>"It is," Harry
said, and then blinked. He lay in his bed, his muscles sore, aching,
his arms clasped around Draco, murmuring the words into Draco's
hair.</p><p>"What is?" Draco
asked with a yawn, only half-awake.</p><p>"Go back to sleep,"
Harry whispered. "I'll explain in the morning."</p><p>Draco obeyed. Harry
lay there, and grinned at the ceiling of the four-poster, and felt
the exhaustion of magic used and exercised in every part of him.</p><p><em>I am </em>vates.
<em>That is still the core and the heart of what I want to do with my
life, the most important thing. Thank you, Dobby, for reminding me.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 79*: Wood and Bone and Blood and Iron</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Two: Wood and Bone and Blood and
Iron</strong></p><p>Draco flexed his
fingers in a slow pattern that his mother had taught him the last
time he visited her, to make himself calm down and think about
something else. It kept him from snapping immediately at Harry, who
sat with his arms folded on the other side of the bed and didn't
seem to understand what he'd done wrong.</p><p>"Well, I don't see
it," he said at last. "How could you free a mother and a child?
House elves are valuable, and house elf children can work within a
few days of being born. The owner wouldn't have given them up."</p><p>"He already had,"
Harry said promptly. "The webs over the house elves link to the
owners' <em>intentions</em>, which I didn't know. He believed she
would die in childbirth, and the baby with her. He'd resigned his
claim to them, and that's why Dobby and I could step in and
interfere." He shrugged. "It doesn't make any difference to the
free will of the owner. In one sense, they would be gone from his
control. Now they're simply gone from his control in another
sense."</p><p>Draco braced himself.
He could tell he and Harry were going to collide, and he didn't
want that, just a few days before February second and the fourth
courting ritual. "Harry," he said.</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>Draco licked his lips
and leaned forward. "It makes a large difference. If you had saved
their lives and maintained the webs, the owner would have wanted them
back, don't you think? And if he had known there was a way they
could survive the night, he would have never resigned his claim to
them. You lied, at least by omission, by not waking him up and
telling him the truth."</p><p>There was silence for
a moment. Draco, who had expected an angry outburst, was surprised.
He watched Harry sit there with head bowed, and wondered if it was
possible that he was actually thinking about this.</p><p>Then Harry lifted his
face, and Draco recoiled a bit at the look in his eyes. He told
himself to be still and not flinch, though, even when the shadow of a
snake draped over Harry's shoulders. If he backed down from Harry
through fear of his magic, he would never be an equal partner in
their disputes. He would always have <em>only</em> the opinions that
Harry allowed him to hold or express, and no others. He was striking
a blow for his own freedom by not flinching.</p><p>That didn't stop him
from wanting to yield just so that the thick flow of magic over him
would turn sweet. But those instincts were only instincts, and he
could control them. Draco breathed softly, his eyes fixed on Harry's
face.</p><p>"I should have
<em>maintained</em> the webs?" Harry asked softly. "Do you realize
that asking me to do so violates every commitment I have as a <em>vates</em>,
Draco?"</p><p>"I thought you
already did that," said Draco. "By violating the owner's free
will, I mean. He should have known, and should have made the decision
to let Jiv and her son go with full knowledge of what was happening."
He paused, and then flung the words. If nothing else, they might make
Harry so angry as to throw him off-balance. "Or are you afraid that
he'd refuse, and you'd have to abide by the respect for wizards'
free will that you promised, and that means that you'd have to see
that freeing house elves is wrong-headed?"</p><p>Something burst behind
him. Draco thought one of the bedposts had cracked clean through. He
still did not let himself back down. At the moment, his trust in
Harry was a fragile thing, as likely to splinter as a bedpost was,
but he <em>still</em> would not yield. Harry was Harry, and Harry would
never hurt him.</p><p>"Freeing house elves
is not wrong-headed," said Harry softly, after a long, ominous
pause. "If their service was something natural, the ancient wizards
would never have had to put a web on them to compel their slavery in
the first place. And though I would have argued with the owner had he
maintained a claim to them—I wouldn't have had a choice, because
then the webs would likely have been too strong for me to cut
through—I don't think that what I did this time was wrong."</p><p>"Why not?" Draco
challenged him insistently. If Harry couldn't defend his position
in an argument with him, then he wouldn't be able to defend it with
political rivals. Draco was doing him a favor, really.</p><p>"Because I would
have had to <em>actively</em> help in the enslavement of house elves,"
said Harry. "I would have had to heal Jiv and her son and haul them
back into their webs. You maintain that the owner would have wanted
to keep them <em>if</em> he had known I could save their lives, and not
otherwise. And why should I save their lives just so that he could
keep them?"</p><p>"Because—" Draco
paused.</p><p>"I already know that
I'm not going to like whatever you have to say next." Harry's
face was frozen. "Just say it, Draco."</p><p>"Because a wizard's
will is more important than a house elf's will," said Draco.
"Because he deserved the chance to know it. Because I still think
that a wizard's allegiance should be to his own kind, Harry, and
you owed Jiv's owner more responsibility than you showed him."</p><p>"I see." Harry
gave him a nod, then stood and walked towards the door.</p><p>Draco couldn't help
it; he called out after him, "Where are you going?"</p><p>Harry looked back at
him. "To <em>think</em>, Draco. That's all." He paused for a
moment, and spoke words that he probably meant to be comforting
without any softness in his face, which meant they weren't
comforting at all. "It doesn't involve giving you the silent
treatment again, or leaving you. If I did either of those things,
you'd know." He held up his hand so that the Black ring on it
shone, and Draco imagined he would probably strip it off as a sign
that their courting ritual was done, if he should decide to do so.</p><p>Then he shut the door
of their bedroom, and shut Draco off from him for a time. Draco lay
back on the bed, and thought.</p><p>At one point, he saw a
glimmer of scales move past the bed, and Argutus raised his head up
to look at him. The Omen snake let out a long, breathless hiss that
was probably the equivalent of a scolding in Parseltongue, and then
hooked himself around the handle of the door and went after Harry.</p><p>Draco scowled and
rolled over to push his face into the pillow.</p><p>What had Harry
<em>expected</em> him to say when he told him about this? He knew where
Draco stood. He knew what Draco thought about Mudbloods. It was one
thing to treat them politely in public, and another thing to actually
think them equal to pureblood wizards. Draco didn't. Their magic
could be the same. Their blood never would be, and neither would
their heritage. There were dozens of things that Draco, raised in a
pureblood environment, knew and accepted the way that a fish knew and
accepted water. Granger would never know them. Hannah Abbott, from
Hufflepuff, violated them all the time, minor rules of politeness
about staring and what words one used in public. Merlin, even <em>Harry</em>—</p><p>And there he stopped,
because if someone had asked him to judge Harry on behavior, without
knowing anything about his blood, Draco knew what he would have said.
He would have called him pureblood.</p><p>He rolled restlessly
off the bed and pulled on a set of clean robes; the ones he wore were
too rumpled for his taste now, and covered with sweat from the fear
he'd briefly felt once Harry's magic spread throughout the room.
As they settled around his shoulders, Draco relaxed. There was
something <em>soothing</em> about wearing clothes cleaned with house
elf magic. He would make sure to tell Harry so, the next time he saw
him.</p><p>He didn't dare go in
search of Harry, so he set about arranging the components he would
need for the Imbolc ritual. It still wasn't for a few days yet; he
had plenty of time to find them and then persuade Harry to come near
enough so that the ritual could start. Perhaps, in a way, it was a
good thing they were having this argument now. There was no other
courting ritual that would fit angry words so well.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry was still
"thinking" at breakfast the next morning. Draco did make his
comment about robes cleaned with house elf magic, and Harry turned
and stared directly at him.</p><p>Of course, Harry then
said, "I use a cleaning charm that cleans all the cloth in the
room, Draco. Including your robes. House elves haven't touched
anything in our bedroom for months." And that stole all his
triumph.</p><p>Draco turned away with
a helpless scowl. He ate a few bites of pancakes, took a few sips of
pumpkin juice, but the savor had gone out of all of them. Then he
burst out, "And what's going to happen to families who can't
<em>afford</em> to give up their house elves, Harry? The ones who'll
have to buy food and cook it on their own from now on? Have you
thought about that?"</p><p>Harry turned and
stared at him. "Draco," he said a moment later. "Did you really
not know?"</p><p>"Know what?" Draco
demanded.</p><p>"It's something I
suspected, but Hermione confirmed it," said Harry, small puffs of
breath escaping him that made him sound unattractive and impatient.
Draco considered telling him so, but decided that not interrupting
might be the best course of action right now. "Owners of house
elves <em>do</em> give them money to buy food, but it's smaller
amounts than they'd have to spend on food on their own—Knuts
instead of Sickles or Galleons. The house elves take that and use it
in markets run by house elves who are bound to harvest and take care
of the food, rather than clean and care for a single specific
household. They buy the food cheaply, but it's still good. The
house elves take the money back to whoever owns the fields. That's
the way that a few pureblood families have profited all these years,
really: supplying the house elf market. They could raise the price at
any time, and they have, sometimes. That's part of the reason that
some pureblood families, like the Weasleys, stopped owning house
elves. It was cheaper for them to conjure or buy their own food,
especially when they had a good Transfiguration wizard, than send the
house elves to buy it."</p><p>"That's not—"
said Draco. "You're lying. You must be."</p><p>"Why?" Harry
asked.</p><p>"My father never
mentioned anything like that."</p><p>"Have you asked
him?"</p><p>"Why would I ask him
about house elves?"</p><p>"My point is made."</p><p>"Sarcasm doesn't
suit you, Harry," said Draco. He jabbed his fork into his pancakes
and glared at them, wishing he didn't have to think about them
being made from flour and—other things that house elves bought at a
house elf market, run over by squashy green fingers.</p><p>"Oh," said Harry
softly. "And here it was going to be my new way of facing the
world."</p><p>Draco shoved his plate
back. The food didn't taste good any more. "If you knew about
this," he said harshly, "why didn't you do something about it
years ago?"</p><p>"Because I <em>didn't</em>
know," Harry said. "<em>I</em> wasn't curious enough either,
Draco. I've taken what steps I can to rectify that, but they're
very small, and some of them are undoubtedly too late. I've
benefited as much as any wizard who attends Hogwarts by the fact that
house elves are slaves here. And Merlin knows, now, what I've done
to other species that I didn't even realize at the time. The
wizards who wove those webs were clever. They hid the house elf
market and the webs themselves so that their descendants, us, would
never even have to <em>think</em> about where our food came from and
how our world got along. And thinking about it hurts, and involves
self-blame, and will take years to heal. I do know that. I'm not
demanding that everyone change right now if they object to changing.
That's the reason that I haven't simply broken all the webs on
house elves in Hogwarts with a wave of my hand. But I'm not going
to join in this weaving as a deliberate affair any more. That's the
reason I didn't go to Jiv's owner and tell him I could save her
life, and her son's life. Either I would have had to let them die
to make a point, or I would have had to conspire to put them back
under webs if he decided that he wanted them his and alive. There are
some things that my allegiance to other wizards and other wizards'
free wills can't command, Draco, and active torture of another
species is one of them."</p><p>Draco shook his head.
"It's simpler than you think, Harry," he whispered. "Or more
complex. I'm not sure which any more."</p><p>"Tell me which."
Harry's voice had calmed a bit, no longer a raging tide, but more
like calm, flowing water. "I'd be happy to listen, Draco. None of
the arguments I've heard so far for keeping house elves as slaves
sound reasonable to me, but maybe one will. Talk to me. Make me see
the situation has some side I haven't considered."</p><p>"It's part of our
heritage," Draco said quietly. "Can you understand that, Harry?
My family is different from a family like the Weasleys, who let their
house elves go. And I know that you don't care as much about family
heritage, given that you renounced your last name and that you don't
seem to even care about Black treasures except as a source of magic,
but you should understand this. House elves are ours like the dances
are ours."</p><p>"But the dances are
a matter of training and binding <em>yourselves</em>," said Harry.
"This trains and binds another species."</p><p>"That doesn't make
a difference in the eyes of a pureblooded wizard considering his
heritage." Draco made a vague gesture with his arm, and wished he
could put what he meant into words more easily. "They're all the
same. The house elves are a piece of it, neither more nor less
important than the rest, that speaks a message about the family's
wealth and purity of blood to another family."</p><p>"It's a message
written in wasted lives, Draco." Harry's voice had acquired the
passionate, quiet tone Draco had learned to fear. "I don't think
that's worth either the ink or the parchment it requires."</p><p>"But it's <em>there</em>,"
said Draco. "And you said yourself, Harry, that you'd benefited
from the enslavement of house elves. So you ought to be able to
understand this. How can you expect people to think differently about
it when you yourself haven't thought differently about it until
now?"</p><p>Harry watched him
thoughtfully for a moment. Then he said, "I can't expect them to
change their minds on the spot. What I can do is keep presenting the
truth—and presenting <em>myself</em> with the truth. If I make
assumptions, change them. If I make a mistake, atone for it. If I
benefit from the services of house elves in some way I don't even
notice right now, stop it. This path isn't ever going to end for
me, either, Draco, any more than for a typical pureblood wizard,
unless I actually manage to free all house elves in my lifetime,
which frankly I would be surprised to see happen. There will always
be something new to discover, something I neglected, something I
should have thought of before and feel like an <em>idiot</em> for not
thinking of. I have to change my thinking, test it. I'll throw
ideas off a cliff and see if they shatter. And if they don't, they
still have to be tested, again and again."</p><p>Draco shuddered. The
notion of doing that to his own mind and thoughts revolted him. There
was no <em>rest</em> in it, no peace.</p><p>And this was the kind
of thing that Harry wanted to do for the rest of his life?</p><p>"Excuse me," he
muttered, and stood, pushing back the bench, and fled from the Great
Hall. He could feel Harry's eyes on his back the whole way, not
condemning, but faintly puzzled, as if he did not understand why what
he had said had scared Draco.</p><p><em>He can face up to
that, maybe, </em>Draco thought, as he leaned against the wall outside
the Hall's entrance and tried to catch his breath. <em>But how can
anyone else? He's asking the rest of us to share that path? How can
he?</em></p><p>What scared Draco most
was that he couldn't stop thinking about the house elf markets,
now, and how his family <em>did</em> pay for their food, just in small
coins. And how it was a web that bound the house elves to serve the
Malfoys, and not magic and pride and purity of blood that awed them
into doing so, as Draco had been taught was the case.</p><p>If he could not stop
thinking about those things, did that mean they would eventually draw
him down the path to join Harry? That he would come to agree because
those thoughts would not stop whispering in his head, would not stop
confronting him with inconvenient truths?</p><p>That was a frightening
thing.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco felt the pull of
the Imbolc ritual the moment he opened his eyes. He rolled slowly
over and looked at Harry, who had spent the night with him, though he
had spoken of little before they laid down and went to sleep. Harry
lay with his cheek pillowed on his hand, his breathing soft and slow
and deep. The Many snake curled around his throat, and the Omen snake
wrapped around his legs, both shifted their heads to look at Draco.</p><p>The moment Harry
opened his eyes, and their gazes locked, the ritual would begin.</p><p>Draco took a deep
breath, and scrambled out of bed. He had to go to the loo first.</p><p>As he moved, he
glanced at the small table next to the bed, where he'd arranged the
materials he would need for the ritual. A branch from the Forbidden
Forest marked the presence of wood. There was a delicate owl bone
saved from Potions, and a corked vial of mouse's blood, and an iron
heart bought from a shop in Hogsmeade. Harry had either not noticed
as Draco slowly accumulated them, or had chosen to say nothing about
them.</p><p>In a short time, Draco
knew, he would have no choice. The ritual already swayed and flowed
around him, insistent as a tide. This was a different kind of pull
than the one at the Breaking of Boundaries, which wanted them near
each other. This one felt like a call to battle, the horn that marked
the beginning of ancient wars between Dark Lords and Light Lords.</p><p>And it should, Draco
thought. This was the Presence of War.</p><p>He shut the door of
the loo behind him and raked his fingers through his hair, striving
to slow his breathing. The Presence of War would affect him the wrong
way if he weren't calm. Draco would enter the battle
half-hysterical, and determined to win, when that wasn't the
ritual's purpose at all. It was to show up the differences in the
minds of the joined partners, make them see and feel where their
deepest disagreements lay, and how they might function as comrades in
battle despite that. Just as this year's Walpurgis ritual, the
fifth one in the cycle, would reaffirm them as friends and lovers,
the Presence of War was meant as an exploration of the relationship
they would share when they fought.</p><p>The depth from the
Breaking of Boundaries would still be there. Draco was almost not
looking forward to that. He and Harry would slide into each other's
minds. This time, though, the magic would guide what they saw.</p><p>And it would not all
be wonderful.</p><p>"Draco?" Harry was
knocking on the door.</p><p>"I'll be right
out," Draco shouted, damning his voice as it shook, and hurried to
relieve himself. He wouldn't have time for a shower. That was all
right. The Presence of War was in the room, gliding shadows of curses
haunting the walls, and one was rarely clean on a battlefield,
anyway.</p><p>He finished, and
washed his hands, and then opened the door. His eyes met Harry's.</p><p>Harry gasped as the
ritual sliced the air between them, as their minds opened and slid
into each other's. Draco braced himself with one hand against the
door, blinking dizzily. That was the only way he could keep hold of
his own body as his head turned and his thoughts blended with Harry's
in a context that made having just one opinion seem bizarre.</p><p>He swam down into a
chasm of guilt he hadn't known existed. Harry <em>did</em> harbor
some guilt about having benefited from house elf slavery from so many
years, and he was determined to help lift house elves' webs
partially so that he didn't have to suffer any more. It was a
selfish motive that he didn't seem to have considered. Draco spun
and showed the chasm to Harry, wondering what he would say about it.</p><p>Harry's answer was
to expose a tiny nugget Draco hadn't been aware of in himself: that
even if he came to believe Harry was right, he would still act as if
he were wrong, and refuse to think about it, much the way he refused
to think about his father killing Mudbloods, because to do otherwise
was to lack family pride. <em>And is avoiding humility any better a
motive than avoiding guilt? </em>Harry asked.</p><p>Draco flinched, but
felt his anger rising to sustain him. He just had to balance that
anger, keep it cold instead of burning hot, so that the Presence of
War wouldn't urge him and Harry into an all-out battle. He replied,
<em>At least I know what I am. I've always been a Malfoy. That's
always been important to me.</em></p><p><em>Even though your
father disowned you? </em>Harry spun out skeins of memory: Draco's
decision to go to Harry during the rebellion, his joy and relief when
Draco had come to Woodhouse, Draco's spiteful reply to Lucius that
had probably encouraged Lucius's own stubbornness. <em>And is being
a Malfoy more important to you than I am?</em></p><p>Draco snarled at him.
<em>That's not a fair question, Harry.</em></p><p><em>I think it deserves
an answer.</em></p><p><em>Then I think I
deserve an answer. Is being </em>vates <em>more important to you than I
am?</em></p><p>Harry, infuriatingly,
swung into cold anger as if he'd been swimming there all his life,
tumbling down through cascades of light while he considered, without
letting up on his irritation with Draco. <em>It's the most important
task I have, </em>said Harry at last. <em>That doesn't mean it's
more important than you are. I put people and tasks in different
categories. That's like asking if breathing is more important to me
than eating. They both matter vastly to me. I might die more slowly
if you take one away from me than I would the other, but they're
both necessary to sustain life.</em></p><p>This was why Draco
hated arguing with Harry, because he managed to make everything sound
so <em>reasonable.</em></p><p>Harry tossed back
images of Draco sulking in a corner, or hitting Connor with a hex
that turned his hair purple, or something else juvenile. He disliked
arguing with Draco because Draco often acted like a child, or
believed something was right and just wouldn't admit it.</p><p><em>I'm not a child
nearly as often as your brother is, </em>Draco snarled. <em>And you go
along with it, you know. Or else why play that prank where you told
me that the charms on your Firebolt meant you couldn't rescue him
and he drowned?</em></p><p><em>That was a mistake,
</em>said Harry. <em>I'm sorry for it. How many bloody apologies do
you need, Draco? Fourteen? Sixteen? Ten? </em></p><p><em>I need you to mean
it. I need you to care enough for me in the first place that you
wouldn't have agreed to play the prank just to appease your
brother.</em></p><p><em>And if I agree to
do something just to appease you? How is that different? </em></p><p><em>I'm your partner.
I should matter more than your brother.</em></p><p><em>Just the way that I
matter more than your father and your family name. I see.</em></p><p><em>You have no idea
what it's like. You're not pureblood.</em></p><p><em>I can see into your
mind at the moment, Draco. I have an excellent idea of what it's
like. I'm seeing it in all the particulars. </em>Harry's voice
grew edged with acid. <em>It seems that most of what it 'means' to
be pureblood doesn't have its own significance. You define yourself
in relation to your opposites. You couldn't be pureblood if there
weren't Mudbloods. And you couldn't raise yourself above other
families if there weren't families like the Weasleys who were poor.
You </em>depend <em>on them for your existence. Your history songs and
your dances and your manners are so wound into them that without
them, you'd have no context to put the songs and the dances and the
manners in. And that's really fucking pathetic, Draco.</em></p><p>Draco knew he was
wounded, that if he thought too seriously about Harry's words, he
had the potential to let them go too deep. So he defended himself by
reaching for the tangled knot of emotions that still lay closest to
Harry's center. <em>And you? Have you thought about what it means
that you could have beauty and wealth and power and pride, and you
ignore it all because—why? </em>You <em>don't find them of inherent
value? Have you ever thought that someone else valuing them might be
right? That thousands of wizards down the generations valuing them
might mean you should give them another look?</em></p><p><em>Because they're
not important to me. </em>Harry's voice had a sound of
self-satisfaction that Draco hated. At least before his latest
change, he might retreat and admit that Draco could have a point.
Now, he trusted his own impressions enough to stand his ground.</p><p><em>And you love that
about me, admit it.</em></p><p>Harry's voice
sounded as if it were coming from the center of his mind. Draco
started. He hadn't thought Harry had slid that far, that deep, that
fast.</p><p><em>I have. </em>He felt
Harry's presence turning like a snake in a burrow in the center of
his mind, nudging at the core of his beliefs. <em>You'll always be
something finer and stronger than you want to allow yourself to be,
Draco. When the situation calls for it, you can rise into that
strength. You'll fight and defend me from your father because I
matter to you. You'll choose between your family and me, when it
wasn't right or fair to force you to do so, because you didn't
concentrate on the rightness or fairness of the circumstances. When
you think about what you want, and are persuaded that it's time to
make an effort to achieve it, you soar. The rest of the time, you're
content to creep on the ground, or sulk and wait for the person
arguing with you to get tired of the argument. That's it, isn't
it, Draco? The problem with your making a change isn't that you're
incapable of thinking anyone who isn't a pureblood is right. It's
that—</em></p><p><em>Don't you dare
say it, Harry Potter, </em>Draco warned him.</p><p><em>It's laziness.
And fear. Fear of what such an immense change would mean, laziness
about making that change at the deepest levels of your being.</em></p><p>Draco rushed him.</p><p>It was a physical
charge, a short one that ended with him tackling Harry to the floor.
But it was more a mental charge, one that carried him over the
barriers Harry had put in the way and landed him squarely in the
center of Harry's own mind.</p><p>He could see
glittering justifications stretched all around him. Harry had his own
fears, and chief among them was yielding to the longings he sometimes
experienced, for freedom and beauty of his own, or to lie back and
not take life so seriously for a morning, or to just do the easier
thing, like letting house elves feed him. He hadn't destroyed those
desires. It wasn't that he never felt them. Instead—</p><p>Draco laughed. <em>You
think I'm afraid of something ridiculous, Harry? Look at yourself!
Do you really think wallowing in bed for a morning would mean that
you go on wallowing the next day, and the next day, and the next day,
and never experience self-denial again?</em> He snorted.</p><p><em>I got over those,
</em>Harry defended himself. <em>I'm growing better. I value pleasure
now, and I know that I deserve it.</em></p><p><em>Not all the time.
</em>Draco nudged and poked some more. <em>You still have those
ridiculous fears. You still hope your noticing of beauty will go
away. You still welcome the backsliding you'll do, because it
proves to you you're human. You've finally reached the point at
which you count yourself equal to other people. Well done. Now
acknowledge that most of the time you're </em>better <em>than they
are, more. It's lying if you don't, and burying your head in the
sand. It means that you get frustrated at them for not making 'easy'
decisions that are really only easy to you. You're not everyone,
Harry, and it's silly to pretend you are. Count yourself
extraordinary.</em></p><p><em>Confront your
fears.</em></p><p><em>You first.</em></p><p>The Presence of War
snorted around them like a well-satisfied horse, and Draco started.
He'd been so caught up in the argument that he hadn't thought of
keeping his balance, only the battle. And now Harry was aware of the
pulsing magic, too, and he stilled beneath Draco, his fish-like
thoughts stirring the water with their tails.</p><p><em>What comes next? </em>He
asked it as though he hated to ask Draco anything, but Draco was the
one who knew about the ritual, so he had to. Draco gloated in the
knowledge, and received a lash of fiery anger back. That would be so
magnificent if Harry ever let it out in sex, he thought.</p><p><em>Does everything
come back to fucking with you? </em></p><p><em>It comes back to
fucking with </em>you, Draco corrected, and then stood. Harry rolled
his head to track his progress as Draco went over to the table beside
the bed and gathered up the branch, the bone, the vial of blood, and
the iron heart. When he carried them back over, Harry sat up.</p><p><em>What are those? </em></p><p><em>Honestly, you
should be able to see. You're in my head. But I'll indulge your
own laziness. </em>Draco grinned at Harry's snarl, and laid the
objects out on the floor. <em>Now. You have to choose one of them. </em></p><p><em>And do what with
them?</em></p><p><em>Just choose, first.
Feel drawn to them. Listen to what one calls you.</em></p><p>Harry's eyes
narrowed; he suspected Draco was making fun of him. But he turned and
looked at the objects, reaching out, his hand hovering over them.</p><p>Draco let his
breathing slow, and turned his own attention to the objects. The iron
heart didn't call to him. Nor did the vial of blood. But that meant
his hand swerved towards the bone and the branch, and he knew, he
just <em>knew</em>, that whichever one he chose wouldn't be the one
Harry chose.</p><p>Sure enough, his hand
closed on the bone, and Harry's on the branch.</p><p><em>What does that
mean? </em>Harry demanded.</p><p>Draco replied before
Harry could dig through his mind looking for the answer, which would
have been uncomfortable. <em>The four objects all have different
meanings. The ritual is called the Presence of War, but it used to be
known as the Bonding of Wood and Bone and Blood and Iron. </em>He
turned to face Harry, folding his legs in front of him. <em>It has to
do with facing war, and which object you consider to be the way you
fight. Iron is strong, but more brittle than most metals; it needs to
be forged into steel before it can take blows. That's the war of
someone who would rather do anything than surrender. And blood flows
everywhere, but it dries. That's the war-way of someone who would
rather shed the blood and then forget about it. Vengeance answers for
all. Last time pays for all, </em>he added, on an inspiration; he knew
that Harry knew the phrase from the justice ritual he'd used on his
mother.</p><p>Harry nodded slowly.
<em>And the bone? </em></p><p><em>It means that I
prefer digging out conflicts. </em>Draco gave the bone a light twitch.
<em>I can break. I'm more fragile than the iron is, even. But bones
are usually surrounded by ligaments and flesh and tendons that
protect them and prevent them from snapping simply from the ordinary
stresses of life. I like to surround myself with that context, and
then dig far enough down to feast on the bones of my enemies. I
prefer allies, not acting on my own.</em></p><p><em>The wood? </em>Harry
turned the branch back and forth in his hand, as if to admire it. He
probably was, Draco thought.</p><p><em>You're alive. You
change and grow around conflict. I can do that, too, but bone grows
with less force and more slowly than a tree does. A tree can break a
branch and still be mostly alive, while a broken bone has to be
reassembled. </em>Draco reached out and laid his hand on Harry's
arm. <em>Of course, you also bow before storms, and can drop
individual branches to keep the roots and the trunk thriving. So
you'll compromise more readily than I can, and listen to others'
angry winds more readily than I can.</em></p><p><em>And that means
we're not right for each other? </em></p><p><em>It does not, </em>Draco
said, barely resisting the urge to snap. <em>We needed to see into
each other's heads instead of just choosing wood or bone or blood
or iron so that we would </em>understand <em>each other's choices.
The Breaking of Boundaries confirmed our essential likeness. This
confirms one of our essential differences. And now we have to live
with it, instead of backing out.</em></p><p>Harry caressed the
branch for a moment, looking thoughtful. Then he leaned forward and
kissed Draco, hard.</p><p>Draco was happy enough
to return the kiss, even though he pulled back a moment later and
said, <em>We still have things to talk about, you know, and you also
know that you'll end up compromising before I will.</em></p><p><em>And you know that
you'll shatter before I will, and that I'll be there to
reassemble you, </em>Harry retorted.</p><p>Draco smiled in spite
of himself. <em>So long as that's clear. </em></p><p><em>It is.</em></p><p>Draco lay back, and
settled in for a debate on the ethics of house elves, Mudbloods, and
whatever else Harry wanted to discuss. Hard satisfaction, rather like
a bone itself, shone in his chest.</p><p>They were not
perfectly matched. But Draco thought he would have been more worried
if they were. There was no way that their wildly disparate lives
could have shaped them that well for each other. "A perfect match"
would have meant large discrepancies, somewhere, they were ignoring.</p><p>And now they knew each
other better, and their arguments could proceed on the basis of
confidence instead of ignorance.</p><p>They might not
convince each other for a long time. But they were <em>speaking</em>.
And if one of them was bone and the other wood, at least they had
good reasons for being so.</p><p>Draco could live with
Harry being a tree in battle, if only because he knew he was flesh
where it counted.</p><p><em>I </em>did <em>hear
that, you know.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 80*: And Fire Goes Free</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Three: And Fire Goes Free</strong></p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>Harry jerked his head
up. He was becoming more attuned to joy than to anger now, at least
if the anger wasn't confined in a ritual Draco had told him only
later was called the Presence of War, and the joy in Hermione's
voice was <em>transcendent.</em></p><p>"What is it?" he
asked, as she ducked around a shelf and avoided Madam Pince's glare
as if by accident. She pushed a piece of parchment into his hand and
stood beside the table, bouncing from foot to foot. Harry, glancing
over her shoulder, saw that Zacharias had followed her and hovered
near the door of the library, blinking now and then. He wouldn't
often have seen her like this, Harry guessed.</p><p>"Just read the
letter," said Hermione. "It's not from one of the people I sent
'Fourteen Simple Spells or Charms That Can Substitute For House Elf
Work' to, but I think that doesn't matter. Wait until you see who
it <em>is</em> from. More people are hearing about E.L.F., Harry!"</p><p>Harry smiled and
shoved his book aside. He'd been researching the ethics of willing
sacrifice for some means of getting around Horcruxes, but he could
afford to take a few minutes and see what had made Hermione so
excited.</p><p>The letter was written
in a flowing, wavy script Harry had never seen before, and blue ink.
He half-closed his eyes as words about blue ink came back to him,
from the books that Aurora Whitestag and Griselda had insisted he
study. The color meant a desire for peace and reconciliation, and was
often used for treaties. The script, though—he couldn't remember
seeing a mention of that anywhere.</p><p><em>Dear Harry: </em></p><p><em>I know we have met
before, but it was not under the best of circumstances. When I heard
about your desire to free house elves, I persuaded one of my allies,
of the Fiona family, to send a copy of his letter on the subject to
me. I had not received one, for obvious reasons.</em></p><p><em>I find your
arguments compelling. Given that I try to live, always, in accordance
with the ideals of the Light, I would not like to think I had
enslaved house elves, even accidentally. But I am not convinced by
the idea that the webs have endured since ancient times and have
induced the desire for natural servitude in the elves, rather than
preyed on it. I would like to meet with you and discuss this further.
If you manage to persuade me, I would free my house elves.</em></p><p><em>That last is on my
honor as a wizard and a faithful follower of the Light.</em></p><p><em>Of course, it would
be wrong, according to the ancient dances, for you to visit me alone
and without an introduction, and most of your allies would find my
estate—painful, given the number of wards that are up to protect my
family against Dark wizards. Therefore, I would ask that you bring my
daughter with you. She knows the place, and can reassure you of both
the position of the wards and my good intentions. I look forward to
the visit.</em></p><p><em>Yours in the Light,</em></p><p><em>Cupressus
Apollonis.</em></p><p>With an effort, Harry
kept himself from balling up the parchment and throwing it across the
room. He did manage to summon a smile and look up at Hermione with
that smile firmly in place.</p><p>"That's brilliant,
Hermione," he said.</p><p>"No, it's not."
Hermione narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to stare into his face.
"What's the matter, Harry? Don't you think he's sincere?"</p><p>At one point, Harry
might have lied to make her feel better. Now, he shook his head.
"No," he said. "He's still angry that Ignifer refused him by
becoming Dark. He cursed her with infertility. And now he wants me to
bring her along when we go to his estate in Ireland. I think this is
just another ploy to get her back."</p><p>"He doesn't say
anything about that," Hermione pointed out doubtfully, looking at
the letter as if it would somehow proclaim Cupressus's bad
intentions through the ink.</p><p>"Well, he wouldn't,
would he?" Harry shook his head and made an attempt to calm
himself. It was hardly Hermione's fault that Cupressus had been the
first to respond, though it <em>was</em> a disappointment. "But,
trust me, Hermione, this is just a ploy. The day he's sincere about
freeing his house elves is the day he takes the curse off Ignifer,
and I don't think that will ever happen."</p><p>Hermione's eyes and
face were chill. "So he said he would take the curse off if she—"</p><p>"Came back to him
and Declared for Light again." Harry swept a hand over his face.
"After Declaring for Dark because the wild Dark saved her life when
she called. She's only keeping her word of honor. But, of course,
that word of honor is null and void when it comes to the Dark."</p><p>"So what should I
do?" Hermione looked doubtfully at the letter. "This was folded
up inside a letter for me that said my project sounded interesting to
him and he wanted more information. I thought he was sincere then. He
spoke of the Light and free will and how much he wanted to obey the
ideals of the Light."</p><p>"Oh, he does,"
said Harry, his mind lingering on the unpleasant man he'd met
almost a year ago now, at the spring equinox alliance meeting.
Cupressus was another Augustus Starrise, another Lucius Malfoy,
dedicated to the Light but far more dedicated to having things all
his own way. "Just his interpretation of them."</p><p>Hermione nodded. "And
you think that would include treating Muggleborns like house elves?"</p><p>Harry blinked. "I
don't know all the specifics of that," he said. "But I think it
might."</p><p>Hermione nodded again.
"And Merlin knows, I could never live with anyone who did that,"
she said.</p><p>Zacharias flinched.
Harry shook his head, and turned back to his book as Hermione left
the library. "I'll write an answer to Cupressus thanking him but
refusing his offer," he called after her—quietly, so as not to
rouse the wrath of Madam Pince. "What you choose to do is up to
you."</p><p>"Isn't it always?"
Hermione said, and then snapped out of the library and was gone.
Harry went back to concentrating furiously on what the book had to
say about willing sacrifices. So far, it merely consisted of
repeating what Acies had told them, but in more boring terms and with
less clear and succinct language.</p><p><em>There is a way.
Somewhere, there must be a way.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Hermione?"</p><p>She halted in walking
down the hall and turned to face him, her hands on her hips and the
letter from Apollonis crumpled against her robe. "What is it,
Zach?"</p><p><em>She knows I hate to
be called that.</em> But it wasn't something Zacharias could
complain about—not now, not when so much else lay between them. He
took a deep breath and tried for a winning smile that didn't come
out that winning when Hermione faced him with her glare. "Can we
talk?"</p><p>"Will it end better
than our last conversation?" There was a slice of pain in her eyes,
buried deep. Zacharias was almost glad to see it. At least it made
her more human, without the constant bustle and determination that
had lifted her, for a while, into the realm of someone not all that
human, like Harry.</p><p>"That was your
fault—" Zacharias began.</p><p>Hermione took a step
towards him. "Zacharias, you implied that not only were house elves
beneath your consideration as a serious topic of conversation, but so
were the rights of Muggleborns. I've <em>found</em> means of
discrimination in the laws. Only Muggleborn children are monitored
for the use of magic at home. That's what all that elaborate
Ministry language meant." She took a deep breath that had pain
dragged on the end of it. "Now, I can think of some reasonable
arguments you could present to that, though I wouldn't accept them.
That there are no magic-using adults in Muggle homes, for example,
and so Muggleborn children need to be forbidden from using their
wands during the holidays in case of accidents. Even though it <em>does</em>
mean that they come back to school with less practice doing certain
kinds of spells, which I'm <em>sure</em> is a coincidence," she
added in a mutter. "But you said that only a fool would think that
was an interesting thing to talk about."</p><p>"I—" Zacharias
swallowed what he had meant to say, which was a defense of the
pureblood point-of-view, and looked at her, hard. Hermione was tired,
and her eyes avoided his for a moment, as though she wanted to brace
herself for the coming argument. But, for the first time, those signs
didn't comfort him with thoughts of an imminent victory just ahead.
They made him feel—wrong. It was wrong that Hermione should look
that way, but especially wrong that she should look that way when
speaking with him.</p><p>He held out his arm.
"Can we walk?"</p><p>The stunned glance
that she lifted to him hurt; he could admit it. But he kept holding
out his arm, and didn't specify a position for her to grip it in
with his own hand. He left it up to her whether she would walk with
him as a pureblood witch or an ordinary woman.</p><p>Hermione blinked for a
moment, then shifted the letter from Apollonis to her left hand and
draped her fingers over his arm. Zacharias noticed, and told himself
not to rejoice in, the fact that she'd taken up the position of an
older witch being escorted by a younger wizard.</p><p>They paced down the
hall together, and headed out the doors, by common agreement.
Zacharias cast a warming charm; the February air bit more than he
would have expected, and Hogwarts's grounds were deep in snow.
Hermione cast a complicated spell, one of her variants, that warmed
both her hands and her robes. Zacharias felt as if he were walking
next to a roaring fire.</p><p><em>Would you be stupid
enough to reject a new spell just because someone who wasn't
pureblood invented it?</em></p><p>Of course, from what
Zacharias knew of history, his ancestors hadn't done that, and nor
had other pureblood wizards. They had simply adopted the spell into
their own repertoires and detached it from its owner as soon as
possible, so that no one would know someone with dirty blood had been
its source. It was of a piece, or so said Hermione, with denying they
had any Muggle ancestry, or saying that every Lord-level wizard had
been pureblood. It was a commonly accepted truism, but that did not
make it the truth. Half of pureblood history was woven of lies, of
stories that made good <em>stories</em> but poor truth.</p><p>Zacharias did not
think it was half. A tenth, at most. But he was in love with a woman
who believed otherwise, and he would have to either compromise with
her or lose her.</p><p>He blinked at the wall
of the courtyard, which was covered with traceries of frost.
Discovering that he was <em>willing</em> to compromise should happen in
a calm setting with sweet wine and a chance to think, he thought. Not
outside in a cold so keen he was beginning to shiver once more.</p><p>Before, he hadn't
seriously thought of listening to what Hermione said. She would get
over it, and they would live together the way they had planned,
putting one over on smug pureblood society by pretending to be part
of it in public and laughing about it in private.</p><p>Only, the months had
passed, and Hermione had not changed her stance, nor grown less
interested in the Grand Unified Theory and the concept of rights for
Muggleborns that would make them equal to pureblood wizards. And now
she was interested in house elf rights, and Zacharias knew there was
no way she could pretend to be pureblood again. Too many people would
know her name now as the person who made up lists of reasons to stop
using house elves and sent them in the post.</p><p>Zacharias had held
back. He had tried to argue her around, and he had tried to use cold
silence to make her come running back, and he had tried to reason
with himself that this was the only thing he could do. His mother had
taught him the importance of family and heritage—and heritage was
what this was really about, not blood. Hermione would have to see
that, too, or else she just wasn't a good wife for him.</p><p><em>But maybe I wasn't
a good husband for her, either, the way I was acting.</em></p><p>"Hermione?" he
asked at last.</p><p>"Hmmm?" She tilted
back her head to look at him. She had a snowflake caught in her
eyelashes. Last year, Zacharias would have taken the chance for a
kiss, but they were too far apart to risk it right now.</p><p>Still, though. He had
made sacrifices of his own. The badger scar on his cheek, left over
from his summoning of Helga Hufflepuff when he had learned that
Hermione was dying of a Severing Curse, twinged. He had done what was
only supposed to be done for blood or love, and he was going to let
her go?</p><p>He stepped away from
her and lifted her hand to his lips. "Can we begin again?" he
asked, breath warm against her skin.</p><p>Hermione did not melt
as he would have liked her to; she considered him carefully instead,
lights rippling and gleaming in her brown eyes. "And you'll
consider what I have to say seriously?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And you won't
assume I have any desire to conform to what purebloods want, that
there's some inherent rightness in those rituals that I have to
sense just because I'm Muggleborn?" Defiant words, bravely
spoken, but Zacharias could hear the yearning underneath her tone. He
was not the only one who had missed someone.</p><p>"I won't assume
that," he said, and moved closer, and clasped her hands in his own,
looking earnestly down at her. "The one unforgivable crime, my
mother taught me once, is lying to yourself. And I've been doing it
for months now. I've pretended that rituals matter more to me than
you." He shrugged. "And that's not true."</p><p>Hermione's mouth
fell slightly open, and then she caught herself and shut it again. "I
can think of other unforgivable crimes," she muttered.</p><p>Zacharias held her
eyes, and waited. He had made the first moves. She would have to make
the next set. He had made mistakes. So had she. If she <em>was</em>
unable to compromise, then they would have to separate.</p><p><em>Until the next time
you realize how much you miss her, </em>the taunting voice in the back
of his head whispered.</p><p>Zacharias ignored it,
and waited.</p><p>Hermione sighed, and
stepped forward, and kissed him, delicately, on the lips. It wasn't
all that proper; the partner of purer blood was supposed to guide the
kiss, in most dances. But Zacharias let it pass, this once.</p><p>"I'll let you have
a chance," Hermione whispered. "One more."</p><p>The words did not
frighten him. Where there was one more chance, there was the ability
to win a second. Or a third, or a fourth.</p><p>The courtyard of
Hogwarts was as strange a place to come back together again as it was
to discover he was in love, Zacharias thought. But he would take it.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"I don't think
it's a good idea."</p><p>"I can't pass it
up." Ignifer paced back and forth in the center of the room, not
looking at Honoria. "You know what he has. Harry didn't say
anything about that in his letter, so I'm sure Father hasn't
mentioned it to him. He has information, Honoria. Information about
Lucius dealing with the Unspeakables, but also information about one
other person." She spun, letting her robes flare behind her. It was
easier to watch their swirl than to look into her lover's eyes. "We
need that information. Who knows who the other person is? I've
tried to think, but the clues he gives are too vague."</p><p>Honoria stepped in
front of her, grasping Ignifer's chin and forcing her to look at
her. "You know what price he's going to demand."</p><p>Ignifer took a deep
breath and met Honoria's eyes. They were full of love and
compassion, but also fear.</p><p><em>She really thinks
that I'll walk into my old house and give away my freedom.</em></p><p>Ignifer reached out,
gripping Honoria's wrist and holding it tighter and tighter until
the smaller woman let her go with a wince. "I have to do this,"
she whispered. "I want to do this. It's possible that he'll ask
some smaller price from me than the surrender of my free will and the
Declaration back to the Light, and Harry <em>needs</em> that
information. He's given me so much, Honoria: a place to belong and
be myself again. I want to give something back to him."</p><p>"You've sworn the
oaths of the Alliance," said Honoria, anger bleeding into her
voice. She moved her head in a single sharp jerk that reminded
Ignifer of a gull pecking at something that annoyed it. "You've
saved his life. You've fought for him. What more does he have a
right to ask of you?"</p><p>"It's not what he
has a right to ask of me," Ignifer said softly, turning away. "It's
what I want to offer."</p><p>"You know that your
father would make you give me up," Honoria told her back. "He
would say that you couldn't have a female lover if he accepted you
back into the family. He would want you to marry someone and bear him
a magical heir. For all that the Light families don't care about
magical heirs, Ignifer, your father was certainly pleased that you
were his, wasn't he?"</p><p>"He was," said
Ignifer distantly. She remembered the days she had spent with
Cupressus, asking questions no one else would be allowed to ask,
touching objects in his study that would have involved curses if her
younger siblings had touched them, and learning old secrets of
Ireland that not even the other Light pureblood families knew. Once,
she had known her world and her life and her place. She had given up
more than mere comfort, more than a home, when she chose the Dark.
And now it was her choice to go back and face what she had left
behind.</p><p>Honoria did not
understand. She was not going to embrace principles she had
abandoned. She was going to embrace freedom.</p><p>But sharing the idea
would diminish the prospect, somehow, Ignifer felt. She wanted to
hold and entertain this idea alone.</p><p>And, if nothing else,
it made a good test of how much Honoria and Harry really trusted her,
what they thought she would do in pursuit of freedom.</p><p>She turned and cast a
handful of Floo powder into the flames. Her mother's head appeared
almost at once; Ignifer so rarely firecalled first that she thought
the house elves had standing orders to fetch one of her parents when
she did.</p><p>She met Artemis's
eyes and spoke in Latin, the language of her childhood, her first
language, the kind of peace offering her mother would mistake for
more than it was. "Tell Father that I'm coming home, and that I
will accompany Harry when he does so, to talk about house elves."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"<em>Vates.</em> A
pleasure." Cupressus Apollonis performed a flowing bow. He
straightened up and kept his eyes on Harry, not Ignifer, though she
stood right behind him. From reading those books on the Light
pureblood rituals, Harry knew this was how it was supposed to go,
each guest welcomed individually. "I greet you with no blade, with
no shut door, with no wand raised, but with an open door and in the
hopes that you will consider this house your own."</p><p><em>A pretty blessing.
</em>Harry extended his magical senses as he inclined his head, a bit,
and returned the proper words. He wanted to sniff out any compulsion
spells Cupressus might be using before they found him. There must be
a reason that Ignifer had persuaded him to come to her father's
house and talk about freeing the house elves, and there must be a
reason that she had chosen to accompany him, but Harry did not know
what it was. Cupressus compelling her would make a good explanation.
"And I step through the open door onto a path that I can hope will
be walked in the light of sun and moon and stars and fire, themselves
each a source of light."</p><p>Cupressus sighed
softly. "Ah. I do not often hear the old words any more. Such a
pleasure to have them vibrate in my ear." He turned to Ignifer
then, and held out his hands, in a simple mark of appreciation that
Harry could not have made—but would when he had his left hand back,
Harry reminded himself, to silence his momentary envy. "And
daughter. Welcome home."</p><p>Harry started, then
caught himself and averted his eyes. The blessing was the one a
parent would actually use to welcome a straying child, even though he
knew that Cupressus could be doing no such thing, given how Ignifer
would have to abase herself before her father would welcome her back.</p><p><em>He wouldn't,
would he?</em></p><p>Harry had to admit,
grudgingly, that he had less idea of what Cupressus Apollonis would
and would not do than he had thought. He understood Lucius well
through long exposure, and the key to Augustus had been his obsession
with his dead sister, but this man was more of a mystery.</p><p>"Father," said
Ignifer, and took one of his hands, and kissed both his cheeks.</p><p>Harry had to drop his
eyes to the carpet so he wouldn't stare this time. He shook his
head slightly and stepped forward, looking around the house so that
he wouldn't try to speculate on the mechanics of a dance he didn't
understand between parent and child. He had never been very good at
that, anyway, given how little experience he had of true parenting.</p><p>The Apollonis home was
large, with light flooding everywhere. Rather than walls, Harry saw,
most of the house was all window, enormous planes of glass stretching
from floor to ceiling, reinforced with spells so wind couldn't
shatter them. Other spells, subtle enough that he had to work to
notice them, collected the sunlight from outside and channeled it
into beams that flashed and twinkled on the golden wood of the walls.
The sun was not bright outside today—ordinary, pale winter light,
barely encouraged by its gleam off the snow—but inside the
Apollonis house, they seemed to be standing in the full flood of
summer.</p><p>"Please, come
further," said Cupressus, and gestured them forward, to where three
chairs sat in front of the fire. One stood at a distance from the
others, and he took that one. Harry had to suppress an exclamation as
he sank into his own. It was wonderfully warm and comfortable, an
adaptation of cushioning charms he had not known existed. When he
looked up, Cupressus was lounging back, and his cheeks and mouth
smiled, if not his eyes.</p><p>"The Light studies
how we may make and better things," he said softly, "not how we
may destroy them."</p><p>Harry held his tongue
back from saying that his mother, Light-devoted, had done what she
could to destroy him, and watched Ignifer to take his cue. She sat
down in the chair next to him and showed no surprise. Of course, that
could be because her eyes never moved from her father's face, and
she did not want to demonstrate weakness in font of him.</p><p>A cup of wine appeared
next to Harry—carved of wood, not glass. Harry looked from the
liquid in it to Cupressus's face, and did not move.</p><p>"In deference to
your sensibilities," said Cupressus, picking up his own cup and
sipping, "I Summoned the wine, rather than having house elves serve
us. And I assure you that this wine was prepared years ago, by the
hands of Squib servants we had at the time, not house elves." He
closed his eyes and sighed.</p><p>Harry, reluctantly,
picked up his cup and drank. Openly doubting what Cupressus had said
to him, implying that his host was deceiving him, was a serious
breach of hospitality. The wine was warm, and sweet, with a sharp
tang at the back of it that almost made him think lemons were
involved in it somewhere.</p><p>"Now, we may adapt
to the true business you have come about, I hope." Cupressus's
eyes flared open, and Harry was reminded of a lazy cat lying in front
of a mousehole. "You know one dimension of my offer, <em>vates</em>.
I am interested in your arguments, and I do wish to free my house
elves. There is another dimension that my daughter may not have told
you of."</p><p>Harry glanced at
Ignifer in surprise. Ignifer didn't move. "He has information,
Harry," she said, voice like a cold blade in the midst of all this
perfumed warmth. "Information about wizards dealing with the
Unspeakables. One wizard is Dark and one is Light, I think. And both
could hurt your cause."</p><p><em>I should have
suspected the Unspeakables would begin to stir again. </em>Of course,
that led to the thought that Harry would like to know how Cupressus
had got hold of this information. He turned back to the man. "You
offer much," he said. "And I have heard no hint of a price thus
far."</p><p>Cupressus smiled, a
brilliant smile, well at home in this room of golden wood and
off-golden sunlight. "The price is simple," he said. "And one
that is in accord with history. When a Lord or Lady was challenged to
a duel, for example, a sworn companion could stand in for him or her,
and fight the duel instead. Or a sworn companion could give up a
treasured heirloom, or a small part of his or her magic, in repayment
for all that the Lord or Lady had done."</p><p>"Ignifer is not my
sworn companion," Harry said.</p><p>"But she considers
herself as such," said Cupressus, and turned his head to look at
Ignifer. "Do you not, my lady? I raised my daughter to think of
honor as the supreme good in the world. And you fulfilled that,
swearing to the Dark rather than the Light, because you believed it
the honorable thing to do." His eyes shone with what Harry could
swear was pride. "It was hard for you; it was harder than hard, it
was exile. And yet you resisted daily importuning from your mother
and the urgings of your own conscience to return, because you had
done what you thought was right. The long road can end, daughter. You
can lay your burden down. You can come home. The only thing you must
do is choose to embrace this simple trade, your old allegiance and
your old obedience to me in return for the freedom of the Apollonis
house elves and the information that I have to give."</p><p>"She would be less
honorable if she chose to betray the Dark now," Harry said. He did
not say the words above a hiss. He was too angry. He felt the drape
of a scaled body around his shoulders, and the room around them
deepened with the spread of jewel-like colors, blue and green and
red.</p><p>Cupressus only raised
an eyebrow. "Your magic is impressive, <em>vates</em>," he said.
"And it is what makes the difference in this situation. Ask my
daughter."</p><p>Harry turned
helplessly to Ignifer, hoping for an explanation. She had put down
the wooden cup of wine that had appeared for her, and sat with her
elbows on the arms of her chair and her arms folded across her
stomach.</p><p>"What he says is
true, Harry," she said, never taking her eyes from her father. "In
most contexts, it would be utterly dishonorable for me to betray my
oath to the Dark—though there would be some who would say that I
should never have abandoned my allegiance to the Light in the first
place."</p><p>"True," Cupressus
murmured. Harry didn't think he could help himself.</p><p>"But in this
context?" Ignifer shook her head, her red-gold curls rustling
around her head. Her yellow eyes, sign of a Light pureblood family,
were as calm as a hawk's. "No. I do consider myself a sworn
companion, though I have never given you a scar on my arm, and that
is all that matters to honor—the will of the individual. I could
yield myself to fulfill the bargain. Other sworn companions have done
as much and more in the past, and ended more tragically, on the end
of a wand or a rope. An enemy of the Lord has been satisfied with
killing them and so given up the notion of killing the Lord himself.
Some of those enemies have even become allies afterwards, in
admiration of the sworn companion's sacrifice." For a moment, a
smile ghosted across her mouth. "I recall the tale of a man who
executed a Lady's lieutenant, and then went on to become the Lady's
sworn companion, and died defending her from a Killing Curse. That
man was an Apollonis, Father, wasn't he?"</p><p>"He was indeed."
Cupressus raised his cup in tribute to his daughter.</p><p>Harry wanted to snarl.
It was <em>wrong</em> to talk so calmly and rationally about something
so strange and against all common sense.</p><p>Then again, was it
really any stranger than Lucius being proud, in their second year at
Hogwarts, when Draco had outdanced him, and agreeing to do what he
could to see that Harry was not expelled for Petrifying other
students? Pureblood dances sometimes made people do very strange
things in accord with honor.</p><p>"I am not a Light
Lord," he tried.</p><p>"That does not
matter." Cupressus's eyes, locked on Ignifer's, never moved.
"Ignifer acts in relation to you as she would her Lord, Light or
Dark. She is your sworn companion, and you are her leader, the one
who gave her a home after she had none for fifteen years. This is her
choice and her sacrifice to make." Now he did flick a glance in
Harry's direction. "Unless you would stand in her way, my Lord of
Free Will?"</p><p>Harry's hand
tightened into a fist. Cupressus had baited the trap perfectly.
Ignifer could have everything back that she wanted without feeling
she was betraying what she had chosen. And Harry could no more
interfere than he had interfered with Loki's sacrifice, or with
Pansy's.</p><p>He leaned back, taut
as a bowstring, and waited.</p><p><em>Did Ignifer know he
would do this? She must have. Why else agree to come? She meant to
trade her freedom for the freedom of house elves and whatever
information Cupressus has to give me.</em></p><p>"Just think,"
Cupressus said, his voice only a breath. "I am the leader of most
of the Light pureblood families in Ireland, Harry. Once they see me
giving up my house elves, they will begin to reconsider house elves'
value as a status symbol. If I can endure this with no loss of power,
then they will begin to think that they can. You begin a revolution
that will ripple across Ireland from here, <em>vates</em>. And such a
small price. Delivered so willingly."</p><p>Harry heard a ripple
of cloth. He looked sideways to see Ignifer sliding to one knee, her
robes puddling around her.</p><p>Harry wanted to look
away, but his eyes felt frozen. For long moments, he held still, and
Ignifer held still, and the world around them swayed like a bauble at
the end of a chain.</p><p>In the silence,
Ignifer's words were soft, but very clear.</p><p>"I renounce my last
name. I am no longer an Apollonis. I have no allegiance to that
family, and—" Her voice soared like a sunburst, dazzling,
outraged, on fire. "<em>Your curse has no power over a woman who is
not your daughter!</em>"</p><p>Harry felt magic <em>snap</em>
through the room. This renunciation was simpler and more basic than
the ritual he had used to give up his own last name, but also more
primal, and in some ways more powerful. He felt the moment Ignifer
and Cupressus's last connection was stripped away, a shimmer of a
bond that sparked into being between them and fell into ruin at the
same moment. The world shifted. They were strangers now. Blood from
one could not save the other, should one of them lie bleeding on the
ground.</p><p>And the infertility
curse on Ignifer was gone.</p><p>Ignifer was laughing,
when Harry came out of his daze. She had stood, and her hair blazed
around her, and her magic coiled up and down her arms as leaping
flames, and her robes lifted in the streaming hot wind she had
called. Cupressus was on his feet, his wand out, and firing curses
that burned up when they neared Ignifer.</p><p>Harry stumbled to her
side, and stared into her face. Ignifer looked down at him and
sniffed. "Did you <em>really</em> think that I'd yield to the old
bastard?" she asked. "I came to make one final test, to show
myself how much I missed what I once had, to make myself see it and
ask if this was what I wanted. And it isn't. Not at all." She
shot a triumphant glance at Cupressus. "And now he has no reason to
firecall me and taunt me with his power over my womb, and my mother
has no reason to badger me daily. It's <em>done</em>. I'm free."</p><p>Harry could think of
no words to say. He had never been more glad to see a sacrifice
avoided. His hand closed on her arm and squeezed, hard.</p><p>"You know that no
house elves in Ireland will be released now," said Cupressus.
Already, when Harry looked at him, he had recovered and put his wand
away. He might have looked cool and composed, were it not for his
shaking hands. "I will campaign against it. I will advise my allies
to hold on to their house elves no matter what happens."</p><p>"It was not worth
the price that you asked," said Harry. "I will not end slavery
with slavery."</p><p>"And the information
I have?" Cupressus eyed him. "The time is rushing close when you
will <em>need</em> it, Harry <em>vates</em>. You have no idea who stands
against you, dim in the shadows, once a scion of Light."</p><p>"What price—"</p><p>"You know the
price." Cupressus stared at Ignifer, who magnificently ignored him.</p><p>"Fuck you," said
Harry pleasantly, and turned away. "I am, as you reminded me today,
a Lord-level wizard, Mr. Apollonis. I have no need to crawl."</p><p>He accompanied Ignifer
outside the house, feeling as if he were escorting a victor off the
field of battle. Ignifer let her flames die when they stood on the
steps, and tossed her head back, to breathe in a deep gulp of air.</p><p>"It tastes so much
sweeter now that I'm not smelling it through an Apollonis nose,"
she explained to Harry, when she caught him watching her.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
He couldn't stop smiling. "And you <em>planned</em> to do that?"</p><p>"It was a test, as I
said." Ignifer's face was calm, and shone. "I had to tempt
myself, to see what I could endure. As it turns out, I love freedom
more than I thought. And Honoria." Her hand found his and pressed
it. "And you."</p><p>Harry kissed the back
of her hand. As they began to walk from the house towards the
Apparition point, he asked, "Do you know what last name you'll
take?"</p><p>Ignifer's smile
flashed out, more mischievous than Harry had ever seen it. "I
thought Pemberley might be nice," she said. "Honoria's mother
<em>did</em> so wish that someone else would have the same last name as
she did. I know she was thinking of grandchildren, but a wife might
be a nice substitute."</p><p>Harry laughed, and
felt thoughts of difficulty, including what problems Cupressus could
cause over house elves in the future, flame and die. For the moment,
they stood in the light of a far different fire.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 81*: What He Meant</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>The proverb Harry
quotes here is real.</p><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Four: What He Meant</strong></p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p>Harry wanted to shout
that, no, he wasn't sure, but he had made his decision. And he had
put this off long enough, saying he wanted it, saying he didn't
want it, claiming one thing and feeling another. He locked his eyes
on Snape's and nodded.</p><p>Snape fastened the
hand into place on the end of his left wrist, fingers moving with the
same delicate slowness he used in brewing a volatile potion. Harry
shuddered a bit as his arm sagged with the weight, and felt Draco,
standing behind him, grip his shoulders in reassurance. Harry
breathed in and licked his lips. <em>If this goes well, I might be
able to do that to Draco soon. </em></p><p>Snape's wand skimmed
over the edge of the silver where it joined Harry's wrist, and he
murmured the beginning incantations that would bond the hand to
Harry's arm and start the long, long process of Transfiguring the
metal into flesh and filling it with bones and knuckles, nails and
blood. Harry felt Draco's own hands tighten again. He had wanted to
do this for Harry, but his magic wasn't strong enough. It had to be
a powerful wizard whom Harry trusted completely.</p><p>And then it was done,
and Harry could feel the subtle, questing trails of magic traveling
up his arm from his wrist, now and then sniffing as they took in the
scent of his skin or blended with his own power. At one point, he
thought he felt them colonize a vein, and start busily learning his
blood. He shuddered slightly.</p><p>"You remember what
Manus said," Snape murmured, drawing Harry's attention back to
him. "You have to use the hand as much as possible. Slip the
fingers around those things you want to grip. Visualize making it
bend and move even before it can. Position it on the handle of your
broom alongside your right. And do welcome it, Harry." His hand
pressed on Harry's arm for a moment, hard enough to leave
fingerprints. "If you don't, the magic will sense that and
withdraw."</p><p>"I know," Harry
whispered. Those were all reminders that Rosalind Manus had given
him, over and over, when Harry had finally chosen her shop and owled
his order in, explaining what he wanted. Perhaps it was because they
communicated solely by owl, and had never met in person, but she was
refreshingly brisk about it, without peppering her post with
exclamation marks and questions on the nature of her patron. She had
asked innumerable questions about facts that Harry himself didn't
know but had labored to find out, including the length of his fingers
on his right hand and in what position the sun had been standing when
Bellatrix had cut his original hand off. Harry understood that she
needed to know that in order to create a model that would bond to him
instead of having to be Transfigured by force—a process that
usually resulted in an unholy mess—and so he'd done his best to
answer.</p><p>He had balked, a bit,
at the price; Draco and Snape had insisted that he choose without
looking at the Galleons it would cost him, and Harry had,
unwittingly, chosen the most expensive hand he possibly could.
Regulus had firecalled him the same day and had a long, stern talk
with him about blood pride and what the heir of the Black family
could and could not do with his vault. Harry had argued until Regulus
resorted to guilting him; Harry had spent Black money for other
causes, after all, so why not this one? And it would help ease
Regulus's own guilt, at not being in Harry's head when he lost
his hand, and being gone for eight months and not there to help him
when he needed it.</p><p>Harry had given in.
Now, he wondered if he shouldn't have.</p><p>"Stop worrying at
it, Harry," Draco said into his ear. "If you <em>do</em> worry at
it, then it's just going to detach, and you'll have spent the
money for nothing."</p><p>That made Harry try to
relax and think welcoming thoughts. The trails of magic winding
through his arm, which had slowed for a moment, brightened to red and
gold under his skin, and wended faster.</p><p>"That's it,"
Draco whispered into his ear, and Harry let himself think only of
that, the whisper on his earlobe and the soothing rub in his
shoulder, and watched as the lines shrank and glowed and thrummed.</p><p>"You will be whole
again," Snape said a few minutes later, into the silence.</p><p>Harry looked up in
surprise at his guardian's tone. Snape leaned on the wall, his face
as close to relaxed as it ever came, his eyes fastened on the silver
gleam of Harry's new hand. It was news to Harry that Snape had been
hurt, in his own way, by the loss of his hand, but it was another
reason to strive for and keep it.</p><p><em>And you can want
it, </em>he told himself sternly. <em>Just like anyone else would.
Normal person, remember?</em></p><p>"Thank you,
Severus," he told Snape, and then turned and nodded to Draco.
"Let's go practice. I don't want everyone in the Great Hall
gawking when I nearly tip over my pumpkin juice."</p><p>"They're going to
gawk anyway." Draco rubbed his chin along the side of Harry's
neck, eyes almost closed, an expression of sleepy contentment on his
face. "But at least it should be for the right reasons."</p><p>Harry smiled, a bit,
and imagined he could feel the fingers flex in return.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco approved highly
of Harry's new hand. For one thing, he had chosen well; the hand
was beautiful as gleaming silver, and would adapt to Harry's arm
much more smoothly than most of the other models, eventually making a
hand as lovely as the rest of his body was.</p><p>For another, his lover
would have two hands for the first time. Draco <em>did</em> look
forward to seeing what would happen in bed, then.</p><p>"Pay attention,
Draco."</p><p>Peter did tend to
notice when one of them slipped out of contemplating the Animagus
transformation. Draco bit his lip and closed his eyes, sending his
mind back to what it should be doing: fixing on his Animagus form.</p><p>He knew he was
something small, lithe, four-legged. But he could still see only the
silhouette. It frustrated him, this endless process of seeing what
was <em>really</em> there, what he <em>really</em> was, instead of what
he wished for. He had wasted a week with wings because he had hoped
his form would be able to fly. Peter had questioned him sternly,
informed Draco that a four-legged form was still marvelous, and
returned him to the simple drills of visualization until he could
promise meekly that he would try not to let his desires interfere
again.</p><p>Draco was beginning to
see why so few wizards became Animagi. One might be stuck as an
animal one didn't want, and it took so long even with an expert
teacher, and it required such bloody <em>patience.</em></p><p>He focused on his form
again, scowling at it. He could see the shadow of a turned neck, a
graceful, lifted head. The animal he would become stood at an odd
position in his mind. Peter had had him look through books—not for
images, but reading them, trying to recognize the name of the
creature he naturally thought of as standing in such a position.
Nothing worked. Draco was beginning to despair of seeing his form at
all, or at least seeing it before Potter saw his.</p><p>His thoughts wandered
again, but this time, he kept his eyes closed and his breathing deep
and even, just this side of drifting off to sleep, and he didn't
think Peter would be able to tell. He was thinking of his father's
latest letter, the one in which Lucius had all but sworn to take back
the disownment—if only Draco would admit he had been wrong. Since
that would take away the force of his decision, Draco had refused, in
lines he still thought of as clever and scathing.</p><p><em>Clever, </em>he
congratulated himself. <em>I am that. And cunning. That befits a
proper Slytherin, but not all of them are as clever as I am.</em></p><p>He started as the
silhouette in his mind moved, turning fully towards him, but clung to
his current train of thought. Peter had told them that sometimes this
would happen; if they thought of something that coincided with their
animal form, it might reveal itself to them.</p><p><em>Clever. Cunning.
What is small and lithe and clever and cunning, able to adapt and
survive the way I can, capable of great effort when necessary but
preferring to take smaller prey? </em>He knew from the shadow of teeth
that his form was a predator. And though it stung to adopt Harry's
description of him as lazy and only doing well when he needed to, it
made his form spring forward, shadows peeling back from it, showing
him the gleaming edge of a jaw, sharp teeth, bright amber eyes, a
coat as pale as moonlight, a body adapted to slipping into holes and
along the banks of streams to fool the hounds—</p><p>Draco opened his eyes
with a shout. Peter glared at him, and so did Potter, jolted out of
his trance. Harry looked at him expectantly, with a smile that
widened as he stood and came over, putting his arms around Draco. A
moment later, two hands pressed against Draco's spine, holding him.</p><p>"You found your
form," he said.</p><p>Draco nodded, his
heart singing with triumph, especially since he could look over
Harry's shoulder and see Peter's and Potter's expressions turn
to ones of interest and envy, respectively.</p><p>"What is it?"
Harry whispered in his ear.</p><p>"A fox," said
Draco. He knew his voice was smug. He did not care. "A white fox. I
should have guessed. Foxes are the epitome of cunning. They're
supposed to have magical powers, and dance to lure their prey close
to them. And they're clever. They'll run through streams and ride
on the backs of sheep to escape the hounds."</p><p>"They live in dark
holes, too," Potter muttered. "How appropriate."</p><p>Peter laid a hand on
Potter's shoulder and gave him a stern look. Then he nodded at
Draco. "Very good, Draco," he said. "Now that you know your
form, and exactly what it looks like, you can begin the exercises
that will blend your human body with your—vulpine one." He had
hesitated a moment, to remember the correct adjective. Now he smiled.
"More weeks of work ahead of you."</p><p>Harry sighed into his
ear. "The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big
thing," he murmured into Draco's ear. "Oh, Draco, be careful.
Remember the many things that will <em>save your life</em>, and don't
forget the one big thing that might doom you."</p><p>"You're telling me
to see the forest for the trees, Harry?" Draco had not experienced
pure joy in a few days, at least. It was pleasant to see it again. "I
promise I'll look. And you can be my eyes in the dark, since you're
the lynx."</p><p>Harry drew back,
grinning, and pushed his shoulder. "That's not certain yet."</p><p>Draco pinched him
back. Harry hissed. "Oh, yes, it is," he said, and ruffled
Harry's hair. "My little kitten."</p><p>Harry hissed at him
again, sternly enough this time that the Many snake on his throat
uncoiled. Peter shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Children,"
he said. "Settle down to visualizing again." He paused. "Well,
Harry, at least. Draco, come with me. I need to show you which books
you'll be using now."</p><p>Draco followed him,
smug both in the knowledge that he knew what his form was now, and
that he'd got there before Potter.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Thank you for
coming to meet me, sir."</p><p>Adalrico chuckled in
spite of himself and held out his hand to Harry. "Still so formal,
when we have been allies for more than three years, <em>vates</em>,"
he said. "Please, call me Adalrico, as you call Mrs. Parkinson
Hawthorn."</p><p>Harry relaxed a bit,
and his smile warmed his face. Adalrico glanced over his shoulder,
taking in their surroundings and making sure no one was nearby to
threaten Harry. Granted, they were meeting in front of the Ministry,
in the same alley where Harry had ridden the dragon, but one could
not be too careful of enemies. Adalrico and Elfrida still warded
their home tightly when one of them left, and they had only placed
Marian in the care of a trusted friend one or two times. Life in the
wizarding world had been difficult, once, and when it turned
difficult again, those who were prepared for it would survive the
best.</p><p>Adalrico almost wished
the difficulty would hurry up and arrive. Then he could go to war
again. Peace was telling on him. He woke from dreams of the First War
now, and they were not always nightmares.</p><p>"I appreciate you
coming," Harry reiterated, and walked towards the phone box they
would take into the Atrium, perforce drawing Adalrico with him.
"Merlin knows this will be a thankless task otherwise."</p><p>Adalrico nodded to
him. "And you want me to testify that your magic does not do harm
to Marian?"</p><p>"If you would."
Harry punched the number to let them into the Ministry and told the
witch's voice their names and business, then turned around, leaning
on the phone box while he waited for it to spit their badges out.
Adalrico tried not to stare at the new silver hand cradling Harry's
right elbow, and thought he succeeded. "The monitoring board has a
new idea about how to thwart me, now that they can't bicker about
who I bring to the meetings or how often we meet." He rolled his
eyes. "The latest idea, which Marvin Gildgrace gave the <em>Prophet</em>
an interview about, is that my magic could harm young children,
either in the womb or younger than two years old. If you could
testify that Marian received no ill effects even though I was with
her when she was born, I'll be grateful."</p><p>Adalrico frowned. He
had seen that interview, but it had seemed so ridiculous, just
another wrinkle in the striving over the Grand Unified Theory, that
he'd skimmed right past it. He thought now that he should have
searched it for a mention of Harry's name. "Why would he think
that?"</p><p>"Supposedly he has
<em>research</em>—" Harry's tone made it plain what he thought of
that research "—that wizard children have adapted to the presence
of Lord-level wizards in the world, but not one as young as I am.
Because I'm closer to a child in age myself, my magic can have an
adverse effect on them. Or something." He waved his silver hand in
the air. Watching closely, Adalrico thought he could see one of the
fingers bend, but that might have been wishful thinking. "I must
admit, I didn't try to follow the convulsions of his argument once
I realized he was targeting me, and why." His mouth tightened in
exasperation. "These Light wizards don't give up."</p><p>"Why bear with the
monitoring board?" Adalrico asked, a question that had been
bothering him. "You could dismiss them. You have the legal right to
do so."</p><p>Harry gave him a sharp
glance. "I see that someone's been talking behind my back," he
said, his eyelids dropping a bit. "I'll have to talk, too."</p><p>Adalrico let a faint,
chill smile wreathe his mouth. "Actually, Harry, no. I grew
interested in the ways that the Ministry has dealt with unexpected
Lords in the past myself, so I did my own research. And though none
of them have been <em>quite</em> as unexpected as you were, they still
should have treated you better. The threat of Voldemort, the fact
that you went against Dumbledore, and your age frighten them, and
make them think they can control you."</p><p>Harry flushed. "My
apologies, si—"</p><p>Adalrico raised his
eyebrows.</p><p>Harry sighed and held
out his flesh hand to catch the badges that dropped into them,
handing Adalrico's over. "Adalrico. I'm sorry. I should have
realized that other people can do their own research, of course. But
I had thought I'd demonstrated my resistance to control quite well
already."</p><p>"Light wizards never
understand that until you embroider it on a flag and wave it in their
faces," Adalrico said scornfully. "They'll try to drag you
down, Harry, like hounds on a stag. Even the lesson of the dragon
didn't linger with them long. It has to be your own magic." He
felt his skin prickle and his hair lift as Harry's magic rose a
little, heightened by Harry's outrage, and he sighed. The wild
scent of a thunderstorm was all around him, and he appreciated it as
he never had. Of course, there were so few Lord-level wizards in the
world to smell. He let his voice become a coaxing whisper. "Think
of what you could do with it."</p><p>The smell dropped
abruptly, and Harry gave him a faint, wry smile. "I have thought of
it," he said. "And there are some uses I prefer not to put it
to." He clipped his badge to his robe. "I don't think the Light
wizards are the only ones manipulating me. Sir."</p><p>That was deliberate,
not a slip of the tongue, and Adalrico accepted the message it gave
gracefully. "At least I am honest about it," he said.</p><p>"Yes. I've never
forgotten your honesty."</p><p>One look into Harry's
eyes made it obvious he was remembering the night when Adalrico had
told him about torturing Alba Starrise. Adalrico nearly swallowed his
tongue, but forced himself into a gracious nod. "I'm known for
that," he said.</p><p>Harry gave him a
dangerous smile and paced past him into the phone box lift. Adalrico
hastened to join him, and told himself he'd deserved that slap.
<em>Never forget what he is, and never stop watching. He changes so
fast, and he's recently changed so much, that you'll need that
simply to keep up with him.</em></p><p>They stepped out into
the Atrium, and Harry nodded to a door at the far end. "That's
where the monitoring board meets, that small room."</p><p>Adalrico concealed his
disgust. Harry should have demanded—could have demanded,
rather—both a larger room and one more convenient to his own
schooling at Hogwarts. But he had got this far being humble, and it
did seem that he had little use for trappings of rank, though Merlin
knew why. He merely nodded and took a step forward.</p><p>It was swift. Adalrico
saw the shadows stirring from the corner of his eye, and just managed
to turn before something silver skimmed at him, curved and silent as
one of the legendary death-blades. It caught him around the neck and
seared his skin with a cold burn as it closed. <em>A collar</em>,
Adalrico thought, and he felt his magic try to leap out through his
body and his wand, and slam against unseen barriers.</p><p>Then someone seized
his arm, and the tug of a Portkey took him away, and down, down,
down.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry didn't
hesitate; he released his magic directly at the Unspeakables in the
shadows, a hail of deadly knives that he thought up even as they
flew. The Unspeakables melted and dipped like bird's down in front
of the blades, two of them vanishing altogether. A third took
Adalrico's arm, and turned his hooded head towards Harry with a
smile he could <em>feel</em>, if not see, and they Portkeyed out
together. Harry cursed and raised his magic into a shimmering aura,
then directed it outward with a sweep of his hands. He realized only
a moment later that he had used the silver one as well as the flesh
one, and wondered if that would weaken his command.</p><p>It seemed to have made
it stronger, instead. The air around the Unspeakables froze, and they
were trapped in glittering blocks of blue ice. But the ice melted a
moment later, and they also vanished, soft as ripples in water.</p><p>Harry
clenched his flesh hand and tried automatically to close the silver
one into a fist, and cursed again. He was shaking.</p><p><em>They have Adalrico.
They took him into the Department of Mysteries. </em>Harry tried to
swallow, and felt as if something had stuck in his throat. <em>The
Stone isn't playing fair anymore.</em></p><p>He turned sharply as
wards rang and Aurors came barreling through the gates of the Atrium.
Too late, of course, Harry thought. Far too late. And the door at the
far end of the Atrium was opening, too, and Snape and Draco were
coming out. They'd gone ahead to wait for him, given that Adalrico
was Apparating in less than a minute after they descended and Harry
wanted to impress the monitoring board with how much he trusted Mr.
Bulstrode by having them come in together. Harry could see the looks
on their faces, and grimaced. <em>It'll be a long time before I hear
the end of this one.</em></p><p>And then the thought
fell away, and turned into sheer fury, because<em> they had Adalrico</em>,
and how could he worry about his own safety in the midst of that?</p><p>"What happened?"
It was the Auror called Hope who spoke, her eyes wide, her fingers
turning her wand in a nervous gesture.</p><p>Harry drew breath to
explain, and someone laughed.</p><p>Harry turned, his
silver hand rising in a flurry and flash of sparks. A man walked away
from one of the fireplaces at the other end of the Atrium. He was
putting something in his pocket—an Unspeakable artifact, Harry
thought, what looked like a key made of diamond. That was the reason
they hadn't seen him before.</p><p>He immediately had six
Auror wands trained at him, but he didn't seem to notice, or care.
His eyes were fixed on Harry's face, and his smile was horrible,
and he seemed to be waiting for something.</p><p><em>Recognition</em>.
And Harry knew him by his slightly dreamy, slightly mad eyes and his
pale hair—knew him by the reflection of another man through him, a
man who had looked like that. "Pharos Starrise," he said, and had
to close his eyes to keep from screaming. Was there no end to the
foul, ash-starred ripples that could spread out from a single act of
vengeance? Did no one but him ever get tired of claiming and shedding
blood?</p><p>The thought of
Cupressus Apollonis blazed in his mind like the edge of the sun in a
solar eclipse. <em>The scion of Light sinking into shadows. Pharos is
whom he meant. A Light heir, a setting star. Damn it! I should have
known.</em></p><p>"Yes," said
Pharos, his voice full of the sated sound that usually came to
someone else when they had a good meal, or a good round of sex. "And
he is gone, <em>vates.</em> He is gone where you will not find him."
He paused, and when Harry opened his eyes, Pharos's gaze was fixed,
glittering, on his left arm. "Or gone where you must follow,"
Pharos whispered. "You swore a family alliance with the Bulstrodes,
didn't you? The scars will break open and bleed you to death if you
do not fulfill it. Oh, dear. Venturing into the Department of
Mysteries, the heart of the Unspeakables' trap, in order to rescue
a single ally. Of course that is something Harry <em>vates</em> would
do."</p><p>And he smiled.</p><p>Draco had reached
Harry's side by now, but Harry didn't look at him. Draco offered
calm, and what he wanted was rage.</p><p>He let his magic
travel through his eyes. With nothing more than his gaze, he froze
Pharos into an awkward position, his neck twisted to the side, his
chest ceasing to move, his triumphant smile becoming a rictus. Harry
could feel trapped air brewing in Pharos's lungs, searching for a
way out. One of the Aurors cleared his throat, and he knew the
monitoring board would be watching him in silent horror, but he
didn't care, he couldn't care.</p><p>"You are going to
tell me everything you know about this, you fool," he told Pharos
softly. "Or you'll cease to breathe."</p><p>Hope <em>did</em> step
forward then. Harry turned a remote gaze on her, and she stopped, but
stood her ground. "You can't treat a prisoner like that," she
told Harry. "We have to question him. We have to put him in a cell
and protect him from—those who might try to harm him." She
hesitated for a long moment. "And that includes you, <em>vates.</em>"</p><p>The air in Pharos's
chest kicked and struggled like a trapped baby. Harry could feel the
urge to keep on holding Pharos tight, to kill him like this, or to
turn and rape his mind with Legilimency, get the information he was
hiding.</p><p>And the small, nervous
Auror, standing up for what she believed in, was the one to defeat
him.</p><p>Harry twisted his
silver hand, and Pharos collapsed to the floor, able to breathe
again, his face almost blue. Hope hurried forward and bent over his
shoulder, spelling his hands together behind him.</p><p>"You'll come and
present evidence to the Minister, of course," she told Harry. She
hesitated again, then said, "What is this about?"</p><p>"Pharos's uncle
had a twin sister," Harry said distantly. He watched Pharos rub his
throat and his neck, and tried to feel remorse at how close he had
come to killing him. He could not. What he could feel was the
screaming necessity to go after Adalrico, panting like the breath of
a Grim in his ear, and Draco standing behind him, running one hand
over his neck. "Pharos's mother. She committed suicide after
being rescued from Death Eaters. Augustus Starrise, the uncle, raised
her sons, and searched obsessively for her killers. He found out last
year that Mr. Bulstrode directed the torture. He challenged him to a
duel, and they fought, and Augustus died. That should have been the
end of it. It wasn't." He jerked his head at Pharos. "He has
something to do with the Unspeakables, and their taking Mr.
Bulstrode."</p><p>"I do." Pharos
could talk again already. He was smiling at Harry. "I gave them
information they need to trap you. In return, they promised it would
be Bulstrode they took." He laughed quietly. "And they've
shared a few immunities with me, too. You won't get what you want
by questioning me with Veritaserum, or magic. I'm immune to them
both."</p><p>"Torture would do
it," Draco whispered into Harry's ear.</p><p>Temptation—Harry
crushed the temptation. He leaned back into Snape's comforting
presence, and rubbed his left arm, which was beginning to itch, and
nodded to Hope. "I'll want to speak with the Minister, of
course."</p><p>"Of course," she
murmured, and waved the other Aurors forward to help her take Pharos
to the lifts.</p><p>Harry, staring blindly
about, caught a glimpse of the monitoring board, and Aurora's pale
face, and smiled a smile that made a few of them flinch backwards.
"The meting of the monitoring board is canceled for today, sirs,
madams," he said. "I hope you understand." He made sure his
tone said that he didn't give a damn if they didn't understand,
and then followed the Aurors.</p><p>Anger and horror
howled in his ears, combining with the itch on his left arm to urge
him to rush ahead. <em>He's your ally. He was endangered because he
was with you, and for no other reason. The Unspeakables only wanted
him to have you. How can you stand here? How can you not go and save
him at once?</em></p><p>Necessity answered.
<em>Because my life is important to other people, too. And Pharos
might know something about the traps the Unspeakables have set. It
would be stupid to rush ahead when he could warn us.</em></p><p>Necessity, Harry
decided, would have to shut up in a short while, if what he suspected
was true and the Unspeakables had really made Pharos immune to
questioning.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Rufus watched Harry as
he shut the door quietly behind him. Percy had preceded him into his
office, and Rufus had let him go first to make the young man feel
better, even though he hardly thought Harry would kill him over this
news. Now Percy's nostrils were flared, and he scratched like mad
along his shoulders, where Harry's magic would be making him itch.</p><p>It was strange, Rufus
thought as he limped across the room, the focus of five pairs of
eyes—Harry, Draco, and Snape had entered the office, and Mr.
Bulstrode's wife and elder daughter had been summoned—how Harry
could do nothing but sit casually in a chair in his office, and still
be murderously angry. His magic went back and forth across the room
like a stampede of scorpions, lashing the other way whenever it
encountered a wall. It remained invisible so far, but Rufus thought
that wouldn't last much longer when Harry learned what he had to
say.</p><p>He sat down, and
leaned forward, and gave them the news.</p><p>"Starrise is right.
We can't make him talk, not without bringing out knives and
other—methods we prefer not to use."</p><p>"Then bring them
out," said Bulstrode's daughter. Millicent, that was her name.
She leaned forward, her elbows gouging into the arms of her chair.
Big girl, Rufus thought. Strong girl. Strong enough to make Percy
reach nervously for his wand, at least. Rufus caught his eye and
shook his head. "I want my father back. I'll use whatever I have
to."</p><p>Rufus had not feared
being killed. He had feared this, clash of Light principles against
Dark. He said steadily, "That won't be possible, Miss Bulstrode.
We don't torture our prisoners."</p><p>"Except when you
accidentally let someone slip through the net," said Millicent,
with an unpleasant twist of her lips. "Usually a Dark wizard
suffering vengeance at the hands of the Light one, or a werewolf
'tripping' on the way into Tullianum. So 'accidentally' let
someone through now."</p><p>"No," said Rufus.
"I will not be a party to deliberate violation of another wizard's
rights."</p><p>Millicent drew breath
to speak, but it was Harry who answered, voice only mildly
inquisitive. "So you couldn't get any information about the
Department of Mysteries from him?" Around him, the scorpions
marched. To be in the same room was becoming actively painful, but
Rufus had endured worse. He replied.</p><p>"No. He hinted and
taunted about 'chains,' and that was all he would say." He
paused, studying Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry."</p><p>"So am I, Minister."
Harry nodded. "Especially since I am going to have to invade the
Department of Mysteries to get Adalrico back."</p><p>"No—" said
Snape.</p><p>Harry flipped his left
sleeve back. A fat drop of blood was just welling from a scar along
his arm which Rufus thought was normally faint and pale, but had now
turned pink as if newly inflicted. "I have no choice," he said,
every word as heavy as a falling boulder. "The family alliance oath
will name me traitor if I don't. And it would be right." He put
the sleeve back. "That doesn't mean I'll go alone. I'll take
anyone who's willing to go with me, and that includes whichever of
your Aurors you can spare, Minister."</p><p>"You'll have
them," Rufus promised, feeling a brief, dizzy spin of irony around
him for a moment. He had never thought he would be lending some of
his Aurors to rescue a former Death Eater he <em>knew</em> had escaped
Azkaban on only the flimsiest of pretexts. If asked sixteen years
ago, he would have preferred to let Adalrico Bulstrode rot where he
was.</p><p>But that was before he
knew what the Unspeakables did, before they rebelled against the
Ministry, before he became Minister, before he decided that holding
onto his principles was worth it even in the midst of crises. He
would not let Pharos Starrise be tortured, and he would not let it
happen to Adalrico Bulstrode, either.</p><p>Snape was talking
quietly with Harry, Rufus saw when he looked up. The words grew more
violent, and finally exploded into loudness when Harry pulled away
from him and stood up, eyes polished green stone. The scorpions were
visible now as great snakes, looped around Harry's body, their
hisses nearly drowning his words.</p><p>"I <em>know</em> they
want me. I <em>know</em> this is a trap for me, more than Adalrico. I
don't care. I'm going. I have to. Adalrico is my friend and my
ally, and I swore an oath." He flicked a glance at Elfrida
Bulstrode, who had sat pale and silent since she'd come into the
office, and whose face was almost milky now. His voice gentled. "I'm
sorry this happened to you, Mrs. Bulstrode. You can call whoever else
you think might like to go with us, but it can't take too long."</p><p>"I know," said
Elfrida, and seemed to recover, bending over her wrist.</p><p>Rufus went to fetch
his Aurors, and tighten the guard around Pharos. He had questioned
the man himself, hoping the words of another Light wizard might get
through to him. Nothing had helped. Pharos had only laughed at them,
and remarked now and then that his vengeance was complete.</p><p>Perhaps he could not
stop the Unspeakables from appearing in the middle of the room and
spiriting him away, but Rufus was certainly going to try.</p><p>And he would be
grateful for the chance to act on the, low cold anger rising in him
now. The Stone had sworn an oath, and had broken it, probably due to
some technicality in the laws of magic. The Unspeakables were
rebelling against the Ministry's ideals of law, and against his
direct control.</p><p>He would be more than
happy to help defeat them.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 82*: An Island In the Seas of Time</h2>
			<p><strong>Cliffhanger warning. </strong></p><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Five: An Island In the Seas of Time</strong></p><p>It was pain.</p><p>Adalrico had thought
he would be able to explain pain if someone asked him to. It was the
curve of the blade, the touch of the poison, the cool-eyed gaze that
evaluated when the acid had done enough. But now he knew he had only
truly known pain through one end. His had been the hand that
inflicted.</p><p>Now it was the hand
that felt.</p><p>They had his hand in
something that was eating his fingers away. The liquid swirled only a
small amount as his hand flopped like a fish, but the metal band
around his wrist held it there so it could not get away, and the
liquid ate steadily, cleaning flesh from bone, tearing it open with
tiny hooked teeth.</p><p>And beneath the skin
and the meat and the bone, which it cracked and swallowed the marrow
from, it fed on his magic.</p><p>Adalrico knew he would
come forth from this time weakened. There was no way that he could
not. But he wanted to know if he would come forth from it at all, if
he would see his wife and his daughters again. The steady burn of the
scar on his left arm, which the Unspeakables had set blazing like a
beacon, said that Harry would come for him, and that, yes, he would
walk in the sunlight again.</p><p>But the rational part
of him, which still existed somewhere beyond all the screaming and
all the pain, whispered that the Unspeakables <em>wanted</em> Harry to
come. Adalrico was a prize; they could study his Dark Mark, and take
his magic to guide their experiments. But Harry was a greater source
of power still, and strange in ways that Adalrico only barely
understood when Thomas tried to explain them, marked by the scar on
his forehead. They would want him, could use him, more.</p><p>And Adalrico's
capture was drawing him ahead, down and down into the darkness and
the madness.</p><p>That was what he
thought before the pain became all his world.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry halted and
lifted his head. They were in the corridor that led to the Department
of Mysteries. They had come down from the lifts, and entered a
hallway made of stone that looked like any other stone in the
Ministry. But the soft, subtle vibrations of magic around them told
Harry the truth.</p><p>He felt a sting of
admiration through his fury. <em>No wonder the Stone escaped for so
long. This part of the Ministry isn't in the same </em>world <em>as
the rest.</em></p><p>He could feel it, the
shifting sideways that occurred between one step and the next, the
short passage that the Stone had constructed—or caused to be
constructed, since Harry was not sure it could grow hands—and used
to join the Ministry and another, very similar place across the
boundary. Harry saw the rest of them start as they felt it. Hawthorn
and Snape, Draco and Narcissa, Elfrida and Millicent, Moody and
Tonks, and the ten Aurors Rufus had been able to give him on such
short notice, all knew the moment they stepped <em>between</em>, but
they did not know what it meant.</p><p>"Be careful,"
Harry said quietly to them. "Magic may not act here as we're used
to."</p><p>Moody snorted at him,
and his magical eye rolled around his head. Harry wondered if it was
his imagination that it went further and rolled faster than normal.
"And you think we needed a warning from <em>you</em> to figure that
out, boy?"</p><p>Harry smiled a bit,
reassured. Then the reassurance dropped away, and his rage flooded
back. He saw Snape lean away from him with a slight flinch, pressing
one hand to his forehead, and Draco lean nearer, sniffing
rapturously. The others expressed various signs of discomfort.</p><p>"The Stone does
expect us," he said quietly. "Stay as close to me as you can. If
I have to shield you, I won't have time to spread it out."</p><p>Not that they could
help but stay close to him in the narrow corridor, Harry thought, as
they made their way towards the black door at the far end. But beyond
this hall, he knew they would find any number of odd rooms, and some
of them would be large enough for the Stone to hit them from several
directions at once.</p><p>He was alert. That was
the only reason he heard them.</p><p>Insects streamed up
the corridor, glinting silver as spiderweb in the dim light. Harry
threw up his hands, and his first shield rose. But he was looking for
signs of the curses Moody had taught him as they came, and saw the
telltale red tinge in the same moment that Moody roared his warning.</p><p>"They'll make the
shield explode, boy! <em>Down!</em>"</p><p>Harry dropped his
shield and fell to one knee, using the rest of his magic to press his
allies flat and to reach out and slap the insects away with an
invisible hand of pure force. Some of them careened away, spinning
into the walls with a series of angry clicks and buzzes. Most of
them, though, kept coming as though the invisible hand didn't
exist, their legs spreading and their jaws opening.</p><p>Harry had no idea what
they would do if they touched his allies, and he had no intention of
finding out, either. Someone whom he loved was already dying for him,
hurting for him. He imagined the insects stinging Draco and Snape, or
biting them, and a slow, burning power heaved itself up his throat.</p><p>It was familiar, but
last time it had risen so quickly that Harry had had no time to study
it. Now he did, as it cracked red wings from the shelter of his back
and spread out through his eyes and ears and nose.</p><p><em>Go</em>, he willed,
thinking the word so loudly he would not be surprised if that gave
Snape a headache, too. <em>Do not be.</em></p><p>And they were not, the
insects winking out of existence the way that Harry had made Greyback
wink out of existence when he tried to attack Draco. Harry rose to
his feet in the ensuing silence and nodded back to Moody, the only
one with an eye in position to see him.</p><p>"We can proceed,"
he said. "They're gone."</p><p>"They'll have
others," Moody predicted, but he stood, with a long, slow glance
that Harry didn't have time for. If the old Auror wanted to be
afraid of him, then he could. Harry was going to rescue Adalrico. He
strode forward, and Draco and Snape and Millicent, pressing at his
shoulder, were anxious to follow.</p><p>Nothing else attacked
them in the corridor. Harry touched the black door, and felt the
throbbing magic beyond. He had his doubts, suddenly, about how
accurate the maps of the Department of Mysteries Scrimgeour had given
them would prove.</p><p>He took a deep breath,
gave a grim smile as he remembered the Minister's joke of "holding
down the line"—in reality, preparing the rest of the Ministry for
the moment when the worst might happen and Harry lost to the
Stone—and then pushed the door open.</p><p>As it happened, the
maps were accurate. In front of them was a room with a polished blue
floor, so deep that Harry very nearly did think he was stepping into
a pool. Candles flickered and sparked on the walls, blue as the
ocean. Black doors lined the circular walls, and Harry thought that
if he counted, there would probably be twelve of them.</p><p>"Behind me," he
said, the only warning he would give. His magical senses were
extended around him like a lynx's whiskers, but he could feel
nothing lying in wait. Of course, that only made him warier, and
certain there were traps somewhere beyond his reach. He paced
forward, and heard the others clinging close to his shoulders and
heels. Millicent was the only one who might have passed him, and
Harry put out his hand to hold her back. She took one look into his
face and understood.</p><p>When the last of them
was through, the black door shut. Harry held his breath, wondering if
it would work as Scrimgeour had told him—</p><p><em>Yes.</em> The room
began to turn, faster and then faster, until Harry had the urge to
close his eyes so he wouldn't vomit. He held still, though, and
watched as the doors danced. What they were doing to Adalrico would
be far worse. If his ally could bear that, then Harry could bear
this.</p><p>The revolutions slowed
and stopped at last. Harry strode towards the door directly in front
of him and reached out with his magic, pushing at it. One push, one
pull, and the door swayed gently open. Harry shoved it back against
the wall of the blue room with his magic, still not wanting to touch
the wood. The door thumped loosely, not the kind of thing it would do
if there were anyone hiding behind it. Beyond, in that room, Harry
could see nothing but darkness.</p><p>Well. He could also
hear something—whispers. And an invisible rope came coiling out of
the room, grabbed him around the waist, and would have tugged him in
if Harry hadn't braced his own strength and fought back. The magic
retreated with a hiss. Harry let out his own breath and glanced over
his shoulder.</p><p>"Do you know what
this place is, Moody?" he whispered.</p><p>"That'll be the
Death Room." Moody's magical eye was spinning like a top.
"Nothing much in it but a veil, boy."</p><p>"A veil?" Harry
turned and listened to the whispers again. Though it was hard to make
them out, he was almost sure one of them was Sirius's voice, and
another sounded like Sylarana's hiss, and he heard Fawkes's
warble. He shuddered.</p><p>"A veil that leads
to—some other place." Moody shook his head. "Nothing like the
Stone in there, that I ever saw, and it's only a room for the
dead." He watched Harry a moment, keenly, then spoke so sharply
that Harry jumped. "Shut the door, boy!"</p><p>Harry realized he'd
had one foot over the threshold. He tugged it back, took a deep
breath, and pushed with his magic. It was hard. Something in him
fought against the closing, lunging forward, thinking of the veil as
a tattered curtain he could pass, to find peace and old friendship
among the dead.</p><p><em>But it's the
living who need you now. </em>With an effort, and a loud click, he
shut the door. He expected the room to begin revolving again, but it
didn't, and Harry half-closed his eyes and touched the scar on his
left arm.</p><p>It blazed, and now
that he thought about it, Harry could feel a distinct pull coming
from one of the doors on his right. He turned in that direction, and
the others moved with him, obedient to his warning about the shields.
Harry turned and gave them a quick smile.</p><p>"Whatever we find on
the other side of that door, you have my gratitude for coming with
me," he said.</p><p>Then he faced the
wood, and felt Millicent's magic surge on one side of him, the
mirror image of her father's, dark and heavy and strong as stone,
and Draco's magic on his left, quick and lithe as a fox's.</p><p>His scar forced a drop
of blood up through the skin.</p><p>Harry opened the door.</p><p>The room around him
swooned. Harry tipped forward, and felt the others follow him,
scrambling. Beneath them, green and silver blazed, and Harry's
first, mad thought was that they were falling into the greatest
Slytherin bedcover ever woven.</p><p>But no, he could make
out cloudy shapes like trees, and thin threads of silver like
streams, and then he realized that they stood on the edge of a great
gray cliff, and then he felt the mind that heaved beneath him, and
then he realized that the door had opened directly on top of the
Stone.</p><p>And then the Stone
seized him and wrenched him out of the world, out of his body, into
the paths that lay on the other side of magic.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco shouted as Harry
vanished, but he had to face the enemies bearing down on them, dark
birds with glittering metallic bodies and jeweled beaks. They hurtled
out of the green-and-silver sky, and up from the gray cliff, coming
from every direction and none; Draco's vision wouldn't stop
spinning, as though his head had continued to fall, separate from the
rest of his body.</p><p>He cast a curse, but
heard a human scream of pain. Then talons made of diamond grazed his
arm, and he flung himself in the direction of what he thought was the
ground, clinging to the Stone. He felt it shift beneath him, and was
reminded that he couldn't even trust what they stood on.</p><p>He closed his eyes and
reached for the one gift that would avail him here, at least if the
birds had minds. He leaped.</p><p>And he was within a
cool, shallow puddle of thoughts, borne on heavy clanging bronze
wings, aiming along a straight line between crooked, twisting
mirrors, his beak open to rake across his mother's face.</p><p>He gained control and
then crashed into another of the birds, bearing it away from
Narcissa. He could see straight in this form, and he knew which
direction was up and which was down, and he reoriented himself and
spun away from the Stone, flapping his wings and crying. He could
guide the others, if they only <em>looked</em>, but none of them could
trust their eyes, and none of them could turn away from the battle;
more birds were coming.</p><p>Draco dived through
the bird's mind, looking for an answer. He refused to think there
was a solution that his possession gift might not be able to
discover. Yes, there <em>was</em>, and he would <em>find</em> it.</p><p>And there it was, as
if his desire to find it had pulled it into being. In front of him,
the puddle of the bird's mind boiled away, but connections led away
from it, thin and strong as spiderweb, to the others' minds. The
Stone could control one of them, and in so doing, control the flock,
its awareness leaping between them all, like the Many hive. There was
no central mind. It moved and changed as the Stone needed to change
it.</p><p>Draco had never jumped
so many minds so fast before.</p><p>Staring down the
connections, an instant before he flung himself through them, he had
the feeling that he had better learn.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry landed in a
twisted, oddly beautiful landscape. He crouched at an angle, holding
his head up and setting his magic blazing furiously around him, to
cleanse the air and steady the fluid in his ears so that he had at
least a small sense of balance.</p><p>He stood in the middle
of a black gravel path, the stones shifting softly under his feet as
he moved them. They were cool to the touch of his flesh hand, burning
coals to the touch of his silver one. Above him ran the gleaming
underside of a silvery road, and around him on either side twisted
gold and purple and more black and deep gray and palest white. He was
in the middle of a mass of crazy catwalks, and the magic around him
breathed deep tales of slumber, of Light power strong as that
gathered at Midsummer and Dark magic strong as that gathered at
Walpurgis.</p><p>"I am here."</p><p>Harry turned sharply.
A blocky gray shape drifted in front of him, an illusion or
representation of the Stone.</p><p>Harry didn't lash
out with his <em>absorbere</em> gift, though he longed to do so. He
knew the Stone was immune to it, to all magic. But it was becoming
apparent that it also manipulated magic with consummate skill.</p><p>"I want Adalrico
back," he said levelly. "Give him to me, and give him back
intact, and <em>maybe</em> I won't destroy you."</p><p>"You're angry,
aren't you?" The Stone sounded interested, as if he were a
scientific curiosity to be studied. The illusion angled and drifted
up, passing through Harry's head. He flinched, but felt nothing
from it, no touch of cold or sharpness. It was simply there, and for
the moment, it happened to be in the same place that his head was
occupying.</p><p>"Of course I'm
angry," said Harry, and pulled his magic tight as chains around
him, ready to lash out the moment they found a target. "You knew
that about me. You took one of my allies so that I would come here.
<em>Give him back.</em>"</p><p>His voice rattled
several of the paths. The Stone responded in a tone of quiet
amusement. "I knew that you would be furious, but not to this
level." For a moment, it was silent, and Harry turned his head to
watch the illusion. He half-wanted to ask where they were, but he
knew, if he thought about it. They were in the paths he had briefly
glimpsed last Midwinter, flying with the wild Dark, opening a gateway
for the Light's gryphon through his body. These were the secrets so
many Lords and Ladies had risked their lives to discover, the
unconquered country into which they blended when their tasks were
done or they couldn't withstand the call of Dark or Light any
longer.</p><p>Even Harry could feel
that call, nagging at the edge of his awareness, urging him to drop
his barriers and embrace the magic that flowed around him. What could
be better than being part of magic itself? He would have everything
pleasant that he did now, and none of the trouble and vexations. He
could stop making sacrifices. That was what he wanted, wasn't it?
That was what he deserved, wasn't it?</p><p>Harry laughed to
himself. <em>Lily was a harder taskmaster than you are, and she taught
me to deny pleasure, </em>he told the paths, and they danced back from
him like hurt deer.</p><p>"Yes," said the
Stone suddenly. "You are caught outside of time now. And that means
that I can finally find out where you stand in relation to time. I
will discover all your secrets eventually, but this is the one I am
most curious about." And it reached out and <em>ripped</em> him.</p><p>Harry screamed in
pain, his arms rising to cover his head, his magic leaping out and
falling back, defeated, from the Stone's absolute and utter
protection against it.</p><p>But something <em>else</em>
roared like an unleashed dragon, and this time the Stone was the one
who screamed.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape had closed his
eyes immediately when he found his vision would not stop spinning. He
had trained to blind-fighting in the Dark Lord's service, and at
least the sounds the birds were making were fairly constant. He aimed
his wand, and cast the Severing Curse, and heard wings and body
separating and tumbling through the air, to land with an echoing
crash. He did not dare open his eyes and gloat. He knelt down, to
protect the person who lay nearest him—Millicent, he thought.</p><p>He did not dare think
of Harry, either. He had to trust that Harry knew what he was doing,
and would fight the Stone on the level, in the way, that none of them
could. If he did not think that, then he might as well snap his wand
and cast himself off the Stone's dizzying cliffs right then and
there.</p><p>With his eyes shut and
the confusion of sight cut off, though, he began to hear something
else. It sounded like the throbbing engine of a Muggle car. It was in
the rock beneath their feet—that was always beneath their feet, no
matter what it looked like—and rising steadily to meet them.</p><p>Snape opened his
Occlumency pools, shielding and shading and splitting his thoughts.
He called up the rage that was brought only by the thought of Harry
in danger, but he forced himself to think of something other than
rescuing Harry while he did it. He spread his wandless magic out
around them, winged and fanged and vicious, ready to act as a net and
intercept what was rising from the Stone. He was the strongest of
them but for Harry. It was his duty to protect the others.</p><p>He heard the birds'
cries change suddenly, and nearly opened his eyes. Instead, though,
he concentrated on the throbbing.</p><p>Near.</p><p>Nearer.</p><p>Nearer still.</p><p>And then the Stone
tore open and tipped them down a chasm, and Snape spread his magic
out like wings, unfurled and unleashed it, and commanded it: <em>Hold.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry did not
understand what was happening. All around him was dazzling, white,
shadowless brilliance, brighter than the brightest lightning, and it
pierced his eyelids and showed him the changing and unchanging
outline of the fingers he'd pressed over them. And the Stone
screamed, and the dragon roared, and something caught him under the
ankles and tipped him up to float in space.</p><p>The lightning died.
Harry waited another few moments to open his eyes, though, certain he
would be burned if he did.</p><p>When he saw again, he
could only stare.</p><p>He floated in a new
kind of dazzle, one that he thought had not banished but occluded the
paths of Dark and Light. This was a white, scissor-shaped radiance,
cradling him on one blade and the floating illusion of the Stone on
the other. And spread out around him were coils.</p><p>Harry stared. One
unfolded like honey rope from his forehead, and stretched behind him
in a wide tunnel. When Harry turned his head, he could see the shape
of a bird, frozen forever within it. Or were there many birds,
hurrying back and forth between him and a distant point? Whichever
one was true—and perhaps both were true at once—he needed no
Thomas to tell him this was the representation of the link between
him and Voldemort that the attack at Godric's Hollow had forged.</p><p>It was odd. He had
imaged the tunnel as straight. Instead, it was angled, bent like an
elbow. Almost Harry thought it missed something, some other angle
that would have completed it and made it make sense, but he did not
know what his own thoughts meant, and in any case other things soon
snared his attention.</p><p>Under his feet drifted
another honey rope, coiled in on itself. When Harry peered closely,
he could see that running dogs marked it, and small, gray, shadowy
figures that reminded him of Dementors.</p><p><em>The second prophecy
that Trelawney made. It concerned Sirius's death, and my freeing of
the Dementors.</em></p><p>Harry swallowed. He
glanced back once more at the rope attached to his forehead—the
first prophecy, the one that proclaimed the savior who would defeat
the Dark Lord—and then turned to look for another. There should be
one more, Trelawney's third riddling, the one Harry thought meant
he would have to defeat two more Dark Lords.</p><p>And there it was,
stretched all around him, lapping him about, draping the white
scissor-blade, and joined and tangled with the first prophecy until
Harry could see the bird's wings beating in it, too. He took a deep
breath and shook his head, now having a good idea of the force that
had roared and risen to defend him.</p><p>It had been Time
itself. Harry was part of three prophecies at various points in his
life, and prophecies were living creatures, capable of shifting, and
two of them were still trying to happen. They would not have been
pleased if the Stone had peeled back Time from around him. Harry was
already caught in a maze of what had been and what would be. There
was no place for an interfering Stone.</p><p>He started to chuckle,
looking towards the illusion of the gray block again, which ached in
bruise-colored ripples, and then his breath caught in his throat.</p><p>Beyond the Stone
floated another rope, this one not honey-colored but dark green, shot
through with glints of gold. On the coils, her eyes fixed on him, sat
Death's black, slim hound shape.</p><p>A fourth prophecy was
coming for him. And judging from the color, it was dark and Dark.
Harry swallowed, and hoped fervently that it was the last one he
would have to live through. He didn't fancy being the subject of
three prophecies at once.</p><p><em>The last one I will
have to live through. Is it so? Does that glimpse of Death mean my
own death? And is it about the Horcruxes? </em></p><p>There was no way to
tell from this distance, and no way to be certain of the prophecy
until it arrived. Harry did not think that would be long. He wondered
if he should be relieved—especially that the war with Voldemort
would apparently not last long—or worried.</p><p>He glanced down at his
own body as light from it caught his attention, and blinked. He had
marks in this view of time, other than the scar on his forehead. The
imprint of a phoenix glinted on him, the beak starting at his throat
and the body continuing down his chest, and a golden-white trail
whorled all over him. By glimpsing its endless bends, Harry thought
he knew what it was. He had traveled the Maze, and the Maze was
outside time in its own way, from another world even as the Stone
was. It had branded him, and so had Fawkes's gift.</p><p>"You are
<em>interesting.</em>"</p><p>Harry looked swiftly
back towards the Stone again. There was still pain in its voice, but
even more awe.</p><p>"You are marked and
scarred and tattered by time, wound in the future and traced with an
immortal sacrifice, and through you Tom Riddle is marked and scarred
and tattered by time," the Stone said. "And the third. Where is
he? There is a place left in your aura, as if for a guest, and yet he
is not with you."</p><p>"I don't know who
you're talking about," said Harry, and started, quietly, to
gather and to swing his magic.</p><p>"It does not
matter," the Stone whispered. "I could spend centuries studying
this, trying to grasp the odd coincidences that let this come about.
<em>Such</em> a child of Time. And Time does not like me interfering
with you. Well. I will not, not now. I will deliver you up to it, and
study your life instead. Backward and forward, there is much material
here, and you will teach me more if I let you go than if I bid you
stay."</p><p>"Give me Adalrico,"
said Harry. The wonder had dulled his rage, but not restrained it,
and now it orbited him as on a chain, ready to strike at where the
Stone was vulnerable.</p><p>"I cannot," said
the Stone. "He is being used. His magic is fueling our experiments.
I will agree to a peace between us, and take no more of your allies,
but it would be only a corpse that I gave back to you."</p><p>"Wrong answer,"
said Harry softly, and then he reached out, crashing his magic
through the dream-world of Dark and Light, leaping and wrenching
through the paths, striking straight for the Unspeakables and bidding
them die.</p><p>He had done this
before. Then, it had been beside a lake, and it had been a web he
could not undo, and he had shouted the words in silence while tears
streaked his face. Now he shouted them aloud, and behind the tide of
his magic that struck the Unspeakables, his enemies, dead, he sent
the <em>absorbere</em> gift.</p><p>"<em>Adsulto cordis!
Adsulto cordis! Adsulto cordis!</em>"</p><p>They died of heart
attacks, and their magic, which would ordinarily have gone back into
experiments of the Stone's in death, sank down his gullet. Harry
tugged on the magic, bearing it to him, letting the <em>absorbere</em>
gift slam shut when it could hold no more and begin to digest. For
the first time, he welcomed the magic to make himself stronger. If
the Stone did not listen to him, if it chose to fight him rather than
save those still dear to it, then he would need that power to survive
the coming battle.</p><p>The Stone wailed, a
pitiable noise. Harry doubted it truly cared for the Unspeakables,
but they had belonged to it, and at least it sounded like a child
mourning for lost toys.</p><p>He waited in silence,
while his power expanded around him like a rippling pool, and he
began to gather and swing it again, that crashing chain that was also
a paired spear of destruction and magic-swallowing snake. He was
stronger than he had been. It didn't make as much of a difference
as he had expected. Swallowing magic, and saving it for himself
instead of using it at once to benefit others, did not instantly
corrupt him and turn him into a monster. He wondered a little, now,
that he could have thought it would.</p><p>He did not feel that
bad about the Unspeakables' deaths, either. They had been the
Stone's servants, sworn to it, bound to it, unutterably loyal. He
could feel the dying echoes of their bonds inside him, and it made
the slavery Voldemort enacted with the Dark Mark look like cords of
twine. They would not have yielded to save their own lives, and they
would not have given up Adalrico, and only their loss <em>might</em>
convince the Stone to give his ally back.</p><p>They had been human.
And he had killed them. Harry took a few deep breaths, watching the
Stone more with the edges of his pool of magic than with his eyes. He
would have to talk to Joseph when this was done and make sure he had
not torn another wound in his soul. But this was battle, this was
war, and if he could not handle it—either the killing of people who
would never be anything but enemies, or the consideration of their
humanity that would follow after it—then he should never have
joined it.</p><p>"You may have him,"
the Stone whispered.</p><p>Harry did not sag with
relief, because that would weaken the impression of uncaring strength
he presented. "Intact in magic and in body," he insisted.</p><p>"Intact in magic and
in body." The Stone tilted a corner towards him that Harry thought
was the equivalent of a meek head-bow.</p><p>"And you will not
interfere in my life again, or take any of my other allies."</p><p>"I already said I
would not." The Stone sounded faintly surprised. "You are too
fascinating."</p><p>"And you will leave
the Ministry and the wizarding world alone."</p><p>The Stone took its
time about answering, and Harry reached out to an Unspeakable and
began to drain her without saying a word.</p><p>"I will leave the
Ministry and the wizarding world alone," said the Stone quickly.</p><p>Harry let the
Unspeakable go. He hoped he had not already reduced her to a Squib,
but he kept himself from checking. He had Adalrico to think about.
"Then bring me back from the dream-world to the real one," he
said.</p><p>A long moment passed,
and then the Stone said, sounding more surprised than it had so far,
"Someone seems to be preventing me from doing that."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco jumped from
bird-mind to bird-mind, barely touching down in one pond before he
leaped on. In every mind, he planted the same direction, trying to
make it seem as if they were the creatures' thoughts, and not his
own. He cracked and split apart the water there, and placed the
series of ripples <em>he</em> wanted, so that the command would both
reinforce itself and travel through the connections into the minds of
the rest of the flock.</p><p><em>Save them.</em></p><p>The flock swirled and
descended before Draco could finish circling them. He cursed in words
that had no breath behind them, hoping that they hadn't done so
because the Stone sensed and decided to stop him, and turned to look
out one through one pair of topaz eyes.</p><p>He saw the best sight
he could have hoped for. The cliff his mother and Professor Snape and
the others were fighting on had cracked clean through, and they
dangled above the chasm in a net of light and pure magic no thicker
than algae. Professor Snape's pale face said where the net had come
from.</p><p>The birds were
grabbing their former prey with gentle talons, though, and flying
with them to another part of the cliff. Draco waited only long enough
to see his mother borne to safety, and to see the birds carting along
his own motionless body, and then leaped one more time, and went
home.</p><p>He sighed as he opened
his eyes, then grunted in annoyance as one pair of talons sank deeper
than it should have and the clamor of steel wings nearly deafened
him. He sat up as the birds put him down, and found himself wrapped
in his mother's embrace. The birds wheeled around them once, then
divided; half the flock flew away across the dizzying land of
mirrors, which was growing steadily less dizzying, while half
hovered, guarding them. Draco hoped the first half had gone to fetch
food and drink, which would be a good use of the "save them"
command, and let his head sag back on his mother's neck.</p><p>"You saved us
again," she whispered into his ear.</p><p>"I think Professor
Snape helped," said Draco, and blinked, turning his head. "Has
there been a sign of Harry?"</p><p>Narcissa shook her
head tightly.</p><p>All of them, from
Draco to the weakest Auror, felt the enormous flare of magic a moment
later.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry gasped as
something slammed into him, unseen. The dimension of Time flickered
and faded, and Harry tumbled, no longer supported on the
scissor-shaped blade, no longer able to see the phoenix imprint or
the Maze's brand or the prophecies that coiled about him. He lifted
his head, and saw himself on the black path once more, while above
him the other roads raced in different directions. The illusion of
the Stone had vanished with Time.</p><p><em>Who</em>—</p><p>And then a shape dived
at him, a glittering wave of power running at its back, and Harry
knew which enemy of his was at home in this country of strange and
secret paths, this country between the Dark and the Light. He began
to swing his magic as a chain, ready to meet Falco again.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 83*: Defiance</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Six: Defiance</strong></p><p>Falco had a vision in
his mind. The vision had settled there the moment he felt Harry
wrenched from the wizarding world and deposited between the paths,
the place where Falco himself had retreated to consider his options
and learn the magic of the Dark in more detail. The problem might,
after all, be solved without countless battles. If he could force an
attack on Harry's greatest vulnerability, he might yet win.</p><p>He had flown among the
paths while Harry talked with the Stone and wrapped himself in
prophecy, gathering up the magic he would need to cloak his endeavor.
The cloak was more important and harder to weave than the spell that
would attack Harry's vulnerable chinks. Harry had to be convinced
that Falco was really coming down on him with this gray wave of
power.</p><p>And then he had it
ready. Foam crested his shoulders, reaching around his wings, half a
sea eagle's and half a thestral's; communing with the Dark had
taught him the perils and the wonders of other kinds of
shapeshifting.</p><p>He turned and came
down on Harry with the wave behind him, sliding across the door
between the worlds that the Stone was trying to open to send Harry
home. The Stone could cut through the barriers by being what it was,
immune to magic unless it accepted the touch of it. But Falco was
stronger here still, given his courting of the greater powers, and he
easily healed every small slit that the Stone opened.</p><p>Harry tumbled back
into the world of the paths, and the prophecies retreated, and Time
loosened its clutch on him.</p><p>And Falco swooped,
with the wave hiding the weapon that hovered at his back like a knife
concealed in a palm.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco bit his lip,
riding out the explosion, or collision, that had torn through him.
His ears were ringing, and the blood dripping from the small gash on
his arm had started to flow faster. He pulled away from Narcissa as
soon as it was safe and climbed to his feet, looking around.</p><p>He should be able to
sense the direction Harry was in. At least, he felt as if he should
be able to, given their connection through the joining ritual and the
Portkey-bracelet. He laid his hand on the bracelet now and asked
silently what Harry's condition was. Harry had enchanted the
bracelet to let Draco know that, and also to bring him to his side if
there weren't strong wards in the way.</p><p><em>In shock and pain,
</em>the bracelet's silent, inflectionless voice told Draco.</p><p>Draco shook his head,
biting his lip again, and realized that most of the people gathered
around him were watching him closely. The sole exception was Snape,
who had pulled his magic back into his body and looked to be fighting
between collapsing where he was and searching for Harry.</p><p>"Do you know where
he is, Mr. Malfoy?" Hawthorn Parkinson's voice was terribly
polite.</p><p>Millicent was less so.
"Where's my father?"</p><p>"That, I don't
know," said Draco absently. He twisted the bracelet on his wrist,
and wondered if he should go to Harry. He <em>wanted</em> to, damn it,
but there would almost certainly be wards in the way, both the
Unspeakables' and the Stone's. He gave the rock beneath his foot
a vicious kick, to which it responded not at all. "But I know that
Harry is still alive, if in shock." He held up his wrist to show
the gleam of gold when mouths opened to ask how he knew that. "I
don't know if we can get to him, though." And he wasn't madly
in love with the idea of leaping to Harry's side without knowing if
he could help him. The last time he had done something like this,
going into the Ministry when Dumbledore had captured Harry and
subjected him to the <em>Capto Horrifer</em> spell, he had had the
Black coin to insure he was prepared when he landed.</p><p>His mother seemed to
sense the flow of his thoughts, and she gave a slight shake of her
head to indicate that she thought Draco's pause a good one. "We
must plan," she said. She took one more look around the landscape.
It had settled, Draco noted. Now they stood on a gray cliff, which
might have been made of granite, above a land of cloudy green trees
and silver streams. The bronze and steel birds swept around them,
vigilantly watching for threats. There was no sign of gray-clad
Unspeakables. "If there is a way that we can reach Harry, then we
should take it. Otherwise, we should keep in mind that we do not know
the laws of magic here, and Harry himself said that normal spells
probably would not work."</p><p>"I might have an
idea," said Draco slowly, and closed his eyes, slumping against
Narcissa's ready arm as he leaped up into the minds of the hovering
flock once more.</p><p>They welcomed him
eagerly this time, their shallow pools of thoughts adapted to his
touch, and Draco planted the idea of bearing the strange humans they
needed to keep safe towards the explosion of magic they had sensed
earlier. The birds did seem confused, for a moment, about where the
explosion had come from—not surprising if they were in another
world, Draco thought, or if Harry was. But Draco modified the idea of
"towards" to be "as close as they could," and the birds
turned and descended again, clasping shoulders and arms with gentle
talons.</p><p>Elfrida Bulstrode
spoke as they rose into the air. Draco heard her, dizzyingly, through
both metallic ears and human ones for a moment before he thought to
retreat into his own head. "What are we going to do, Malfoy?"</p><p>"Come as close as we
can to the source of Harry's pain," said Draco. "The wards or
the prison or the world where he's being held. That's where I've
told the birds to bear us." He held up his hand, and the ring that
Mrs. Parkinson had given him for his confirmation ritual as magical
heir flashed and glimmered. She had sacrificed a part of her magic,
making herself permanently weaker, for the sake of giving Draco an
important and shining gift. That magic still crouched on the ring in
the form of a small blue stone. "And I'll use what power I need
to so that I can burst through the wards or the walls, and rescue
Harry."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry could feel the
magic swelling around him, rising, moving oddly, shifting like the
wave he saw at Falco's back. He had more power here than he had
ever had, if he wished to use it. He had swallowed the magic from the
Unspeakables, and the Dark and the Light were here—or, at least,
curving through here—in all their might and could offer him gifts,
and he did not have Voldemort pulling on his magic just now and
drawing it towards him.</p><p>But Harry was
determined to remember what the price of gifts from the Dark and the
Light might be, and just because Voldemort was not yet a part of this
battle did not mean he would stay out of it.</p><p>He moved backwards,
and took a defensive stance, a shield of blades that appeared in
front of him. He built the blades themselves of light, narrowed to
such a thin edge that it would cut an eye out, and curled night about
the ends of them in hilts of black wood. Blades were a poor defense
against water, but Falco's magic was not truly water, and the
blades were not truly blades. All were only imagined representatives
of what could be, here, and Harry had finally, finally stepped into a
place in his own mind where he had cleverness and more to spare.</p><p>The wave fell on the
blades, Falco sweeping past just under it and adding another hammer
blow of strength to follow behind.</p><p>The blades quivered,
and cracked, and quaked. And Harry dropped the center out of them and
imagined them unfolding, rising, as a spiderweb, the edges of light
become tearing spokes or spider legs, snaring Falco's magic and
dragging it towards him and his gullet.</p><p>Falco let out a cry
Harry told himself was surprise, or fear. It was better than thinking
it was mere shock and irritation that would fade in a moment.</p><p>Harry didn't want to
try swallowing Falco's magic, not yet, when the <em>absorbere</em>
gift had not quite finished digesting the last meal he'd given it.
He swung the captured power around instead, casting his net away into
the maze of Dark and Light paths, giving Falco's magic to whatever
wanted to eat it. He heard a howl somewhere far away, and something
nameless in both the realms most mortal wizards understood scurried
to retrieve the prize.</p><p>Falco rose a second
time, the glittering form of a spread-winged sea eagle in the midst
of light. Harry juggled balls of power behind him, letting them rest
in his silver hand for moments at a time, and thought of Quidditch.</p><p>He studied Falco in
the meanwhile. This was the first chance he'd had to evaluate the
nature of his enemy's magic. He knew Voldemort's power, vicious
and fanged and bladed. He knew Snape's magic, like a tamer version
of Voldemort's, and without as much of the swallowed poison. He
knew Draco's, quick and adaptable and flexible, and Lucius's
dusty marble tomb, and Millicent's, a stone that might dance in an
earthquake at any moment.</p><p>Falco's was
different. Chilly as the light he mantled himself in, deep as deep
water, it revealed barely any of its owner's personality. Harry
blinked. Given his lessons with Jing-Xi, he hadn't believed this
possible. Even a small manifestation of his magic would show him to
those who knew him, and Jing-Xi had explained that a Lord or Lady
with a longer life was likely to develop a ferocious soul that
imprinted itself on the smallest signs of his or her power.</p><p>He studied Falco a bit
more, and then he understood. This <em>was</em> Falco's personality.
Chilly, deep, high, brooding. He saw himself as above humanity. He
understood very little of what they did. His long sleeps and retreats
into the paths that surrounded them now were part of that, but more
came from a refusal to understand that things had changed. Six
hundred years ago, when he had been born, this kind of height above
the world might have been the ideal for Lords and Ladies, and they
would have interfered with mortals only to adjust the "balance"
among competing forms of magic.</p><p>But even wizards
changed. Even Lords and Ladies died. And Falco had locked himself
into a mode that, if it did not permit dying, also did not permit
living. He tricked the Dark and the Light, and in so doing, he had
forgotten a good deal about tricking—and living with—others.</p><p>Harry comprehended a
great deal then that he hadn't understood before.</p><p>He was ready when that
chill light poured at him, trying to push him onto a golden path,
trying to open his mouth and force a Declaration to the Light past
his lips. He cast the balls like balls in Quidditch, the Snitch
darting away from his right hand and towards Falco, a bright and fast
thing all feathers and chirrups and hurrying summer morning. From his
silver hand came the Quaffle, a vision of mild gentleness, of
compassion, of spring.</p><p>Behind them, moving
almost too fast to be seen, were the Bludgers, and they <em>slammed</em>
into Falco, one and then another, cracking his light, letting him
know how stupid he had been, causing his world to shatter into
ringing shards around him.</p><p>Falco faltered and
fell. Harry let the cold light wash over him, and met it with the
naked strength of his will. He would not Declare. He found it wrong.
And he had performed too much Dark magic to be considered Light.
Would the Light really want a tainted prize like him?</p><p>Falco's attack,
calculated on a misjudgment of Harry's character, trembled and fell
after its master. Harry faced him triumphantly.</p><p>And Falco cast the
spell he'd been hiding.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>He lifted his head,
did Lord Voldemort, when he felt the clash of them far away, the Dark
Lord that was to be and the young one, his heir, the child of his
hatred, who would feel the bite of his hatred as the bite of an ice
scorpion very, very soon.</p><p>He listened to them,
and chuckled.</p><p>"My lord?"</p><p>That was his Indigena,
the one who had cleaved to his side, the one who came when called,
the one he felt almost tender towards. He stroked her hair with long
fingers, and watched through the snake's eyes as it slithered
quickly across the grass above the burrow, seeking for some signs of
the new Dark Lord's magic in the air. That new Dark Lord had
prepared a refuge for them. Why he should wish to do so was not yet
clear, and while he almost thought he could take his word for it, did
Lord Voldemort, he would be foolish to walk into a trap the enemy was
preparing.</p><p>"Lord Falco and Lord
Harry are fighting," he said. "And it is clear which one shall
win." He cocked his head as a spell leaped to him across the
distance, a spell not many people knew any more, a working of weaving
and silver chain that he, swift and great, had only learned for
himself in Egypt, in a city scorned by most European wizards as
haunted. "Though the contest may yet be interesting," he added.</p><p>He knew his Indigena
would have a baffled expression on her face. He did not mind. He
liked confusing her. He petted her hair again, and sniffed the smell
of roses.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Falco lay in place, as
if weak and wounded, and watched his spell do its work, wrapping
around Harry's mind in a dazzle of chain. Harry bowed his head,
rubbing his brow with his silver hand, seeming to know that something
was wrong and yet not realizing what it was. He should not have
known. Falco had been careful of that. And now he was casting his
second spell, as opposed to his second weaving of pure power, during
the encounter, reaching out and drawing one of them closer, the
nameless creatures who lurked between Dark and Light and had never
received any distinguishing notice from wizards because they merited
none. They could not affect the balance, normally. They were
scavengers who ran the paths and ate what scraps of nourishment fell
their way.</p><p>One was about to play
a part in determining the fate of the British wizarding world. Falco
wondered if it knew, then dismissed the thought. Nameless, these
creatures were also mindless.</p><p>The thing wandered
nearer, sniffing forlornly after the scraps of magic. It looked like
a hyena, but without the head, leaving only the hunched shoulders to
bend down and press a flat, blunt hole like a nose against the paths.
The paws sparkled with diamond claws, and the wire sticking up from
its back flagged like a tail. It was a living thing, a magical
creature, and that was the only requirement it needed to serve the
part it must play.</p><p>Harry saw it. The
spell moved deep in his eyes, changing him. He lifted his silver
hand. Falco hid his annoyance. It would have been more symbolic had
Harry used his wand, but he had forgotten that nearly all of Harry's
magic was wandless now, that he had adapted that well to this level
of power. Falco debated building in an urge to use his wand when he
rewound the control this would give him over Harry, and then
dismissed the notion. Best not to press too far. Restoring the
balance would be quite enough for him. He had no reason to attend to
all the minor performances that might accompany the grand gestures.</p><p>The nameless thing
squared its shoulders and turned to face Harry. Falco wondered if it
knew it was about to suffer. It might. He had read, somewhere, that
they did. He shook his head. One could read and forget many books in
six hundred years.</p><p>The end of the silver
chain sparked in his hand, winding through Harry's mind, giving him
access Harry did not realize he had. Like a certain class of
perception-changing spell Albus had used against Harry, it could
conceal its own presence from the minds of those it affected, and
erase any notion of itself that popped up.</p><p>In a moment, the spell
would force Harry to use compulsion against the nameless thing.</p><p>Using compulsion, he
would cease to be <em>vates.</em></p><p>And then he would have
no reason not to Declare, and because he knew what horrors Dark Lords
were, he would choose Light. Falco would Declare Dark, and fight him,
and most likely die, given the prophecy that bound Harry and Tom. And
then Harry would go on to fight Tom, and probably kill both of them
in the bargain. And Britain would be without any Lords again, which
was probably the best condition for her.</p><p>Falco was not afraid
to die. He <em>was</em> afraid of accidents.</p><p>But this spell, Harry
could do nothing against, because he did not know about it.</p><p><em>Age and cunning
will defeat youth and stupidity every time, </em>he congratulated
himself.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco had not known if
he would be able to sense the best place to break through the
barriers when they came to it. As it was, he didn't have to worry
about that. Every sense in him stood up and screamed. It took him a
long moment to realize that he was, in fact, feeling what the flock
felt; they knew the moment they had fulfilled their task and taken
him to the point where he was parallel to that collision of magic.</p><p>Draco did take a
moment to wonder, as he studied the scene in front of him, how his
possession gift had changed. He had never done that much research
into its origins, not really. He suspected that it came from the
mingling of his Malfoy empathy with the Black compulsion gift, but if
that was so, it should not have changed further; it had no reason to
do so, nothing else in him to blend with. He would have to read up on
it—</p><p>Assuming that both he
and Harry survived the encounter in the Department of Mysteries
today.</p><p>He shook his head, and
thought more about the immediate problem and what he would have to do
to solve it. The flock had carried them to a place in midair, which
looked like a huge, polished mirror. Draco could see more green trees
and silver streams and boundless gray sky on the other side of it,
and the distant reflection of the Stone. The problem was, this place
in the Department of Mysteries being what it was, he couldn't say
that this was a mirror. It might actually be that this room
continued, only in perfect reversal this time, even down to the
presence of a second Stone. Perhaps this was only as close as the
birds could bear them, a midpoint and not a gate or a wall.</p><p>But he would not
rescue Harry if he were fretting himself about philosophical
questions.</p><p>He held up his ring
and began to call on the magic that resided in it. In a way, he hated
to use Hawthorn's gift for this; the practical Malfoy part of him
whispered to husband the magic, to keep it for a point where he could
really get a use out of it instead of using it because there was no
better weapon available.</p><p>But the Black part of
him asked what the magic <em>should</em> be for, if not for rescuing
the man he loved? And the Malfoy part of him—or, at least, the
child of a father who had once valued his wife and son beyond
price—had no answer for that.</p><p>Draco smiled grimly.
There were times he could feel the two sides of himself, Malfoy and
Black, Lucius and Narcissa, fighting out the balance of his soul, but
he intended to be more than two battling sides. He was in the midst
of chaos now, weaving what he could, making the best decisions he
knew how while still in ignorance of the outcome, and that was a
talent all his own.</p><p>"Draco, wait."</p><p>His mother's hand
clamped on his wrist from across the air between them. Draco
concealed the impulse to snap at her, and turned a gaze that he hoped
was coldly courteous on her instead. Narcissa gazed back, more than a
match for him, and he lowered his eyes and nodded, indicating his
willingness to listen to what she had to say.</p><p>"Could you command
the birds to break through the barrier?" Narcissa gestured at the
steel vulture that held her, and flapped large wings stronger and
sturdier, Draco had to concede, than the glass the mirror was made
of. "They may have carried us this far only because you told them
to, but they would, perhaps, break open the barrier if you told them
to, in turn." She gave the polished air a mistrustful glance.</p><p>"I don't know if I
could," Draco retorted. "They guarded us and carried us so far
because of one command that I gave them: to keep us safe. If I
changed that, and told them to break through the mirror now, they
could drop us, or smash us into shards as they went through wards
that would not harm them." He gestured in a wide circle with his
left hand. "And I don't see any ground where we could count on
safely landing if they released us. And Professor Snape is exhausted
and could not catch us in time."</p><p>"If I wove a net for
us?"</p><p>Draco lifted an
eyebrow. "Try."</p><p>Narcissa waved her
wand. A spell that Draco recognized as a net which had wrapped around
most of Malfoy Manor the summer he had thought he was a dragon in a
human body and tried to fly off the roof spread out around them. It
was glittering silver, thick and strong and more easily able to bear
weight than the desperate construction of Professor Snape's magic.</p><p>It had nothing to
attach to, however, and the moment it formed it began to fall. Draco
watched it drift downward in silence, and then turned an eloquent
look on his mother. Narcissa only inclined her head.</p><p>"Do what you must,"
she said. "There was a time I would not have hesitated, were Lucius
on the other side of wards like that."</p><p>Draco nodded, and
turned his attention back to his ring, ignoring the muttering of some
of the rest of them. Millicent was worried about her father, and
Professor Snape was worried about Harry, and Moody was worried about
Draco's ability to lead a rescue like this. None of that signified.
He laid his will like an extra hand across the small blue stone, and
tapped into the freely given magic. He knew exactly what he wanted to
do. He wanted to break through the mirror, step through it or smash
it or rend it apart like cloth—whatever must be done to stop it
from separating him and Harry—and then reach Harry's side.</p><p>He visualized the
desire very clearly in his mind, and started to reach for his wand to
help the effect along with an incantation.</p><p>Then the world broke.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry felt his lip
curl as he gazed at the headless creature nudging at the foot of the
path. It was quite the ugliest thing he had ever seen, hairless and
without a purpose except to ramble about in magic and salvage what it
could. Peter's rats were beautiful and purposeful, the Many shone
like the sun, even the skeletal thestrals had an odd beauty, but he
could not see what this was for.</p><p>His silver hand rose
without his conscious volition. The trails of magic that bound it to
his flesh were warm and glowing, more pink than red now, more yellow
than gold. It would be good to use it to get rid of the headless
creature, wouldn't it? That way, he would show that he welcomed the
hand, considered it part of his body, and bond it more firmly to his
arm.</p><p>He might destroy the
creature, blasting it away a hurricane of fire. He might wash it away
in a sudden flash flood. He could do that. He was powerful, and
around him beat the heart of all magic, available and ready for him
to use.</p><p>Or he could compel it
to go away. It was the easiest method, barely the flick of a thought,
and then he could turn back to his battle with Falco, who was, he
should not allow himself to forget, his real enemy.</p><p>Yes, perhaps
compulsion would be easy—</p><p>And then the flood of
rejection and defiance came forth from the depths of his mind.</p><p>For thoughts like
this, the mere shadow of an idea of compelling Connor, he had feared
he was becoming like Dumbledore and forced himself through a breaking
and rebuilding in the Room of Requirement. He had taught himself he
could hate his parents and it was well, that he could reject his last
name and still retain the connection to his brother, that he could
forgive his parents and yet not want them around for the rest of his
life. There was no better way to make him forget about everything
else and concentrate on throwing off chains and delving into himself.
<em>Why</em> had he had these thoughts? How in the world could he have
them?</p><p>Why in the world would
a <em>vates</em> use compulsion?</p><p>He screamed, and dived
into his mind, redirecting his magic, telling it to lay open his
thoughts and show him <em>everything</em> he was thinking.</p><p>His vision spun
dizzily, as Legilimency and more ordinary power, including the
swallowed magic of the Unspeakables, sprang to do as he wished. Harry
had a brief, burning moment to wonder why more Lords and Ladies
didn't do this to themselves.</p><p>He stood above a map
of blue and green and red, and swept his gaze through guilt and
memories and the remnants of sated physical needs, and his gaze fixed
on the alien silvery chain twining through his thoughts, and he
reached in and yanked it out.</p><p>Pain leaped through
him, but it was nothing compared to what he would have felt <em>had</em>
he compelled the headless creature to go away. He flung off the
silver chain, and tattered it, and shook his head impatiently.</p><p>Then
he turned on Falco.</p><p>The Quaffle, Snitch,
and Bludgers he had constructed were shades of an idea. If Falco was
cold and saw himself as above humanity, then Harry could best battle
him by introducing warmth and the idea of what it meant to be human.
He could bring him back from his cold distance and force him to flee
if he saw, face-to-face, what he was not.</p><p>That had been what
Harry wanted to do when he had both some compassion for Falco and an
idea of finesse left, however.</p><p><em>Fuck finesse.</em></p><p>He called forth his
magic, winding it up into a massive wave of his own, bound to his
hands, flesh and silver, and then flung it forward, hitting Falco
with a flood of pure, raw wildness and strength.</p><p><em>You don't want to
be human? You don't have a choice.</em></p><p>He plunged Falco into
his own memories, his own emotions: the intense drama of the trial,
the memories of a child cutting himself with curses and only slowly
training himself out of pain, the graveyard and the wheeling,
screaming moment when he lost his hand, the dizzy joy of speeding
along on a broom, what it was like to have magic that manifested
itself as creativity and hot jungle life. He showed him what it was
like to be Harry Potter, Harry <em>vates</em>, and how he had already
lived more in sixteen and a half short years of life—ten of those
spent under a bondage he had not realized was bondage—than Falco
had in six centuries. He showed him again, and again, and again, and
again.</p><p>Falco fled.</p><p>Harry had not expected
that. He suddenly had no target to pour his magic against. He tugged
it back. It came reluctantly, shaking its head like a wild horse, and
Harry caught sight of Falco crouched at a distance among the paths,
his wings almost scraping a golden one, watching him with intense
fear.</p><p>Harry started to snap
his magic forward again, but he paused. Something hovered behind
Falco, reaching out to trail its claws teasingly down his back. Harry
thought it one of the nameless creatures that lived between the paths
at first, but in that case, Falco would have been aware of it, and he
didn't seem to be. Harry stared, trying to understand, and Falco
stared back, obviously not knowing the cause of his reprieve but
intent on absorbing as much information as he could about Harry while
it lasted.</p><p>The thing trailed its
claws, and looked at Harry, and smiled. And then, just for a moment,
it changed from a vague dragon into a shape like a chimera, like the
one that had come at Midwinter—or so Draco had told him, later—for
his Declaration.</p><p><em>This is the Dark.</em></p><p>And it hovered over
Falco, and it spread its wings, and it cradled him as if he were one
of its children, but Harry did not sense the kinship from it that he
felt towards himself, or the wilder, more vicious, more predatory
communion it had with Voldemort. It seemed to treasure his ignorance
instead, to treat him as a victim. If Falco was going to be the next
Dark Lord, he did not know his new allegiance well at all.</p><p>Harry's eyes
widened.</p><p><em>And what if that is
it? What if the power the Dark Lord knows not, in this case, is the
Dark? Falco is entirely ignorant of its nature. He's never Declared
for it before, never fought for it, and it hides itself from him and
laughs at him.</em></p><p>Harry felt his heart
beating harder and harder. He reminded himself that the wild Dark was
unpredictable, and it might change its mind and decide to welcome
Falco between now and the time when he Declared.</p><p>But if he could
creature a situation where the wild Dark might destroy Falco—</p><p>And if Falco Declared
on Walpurgis, or fought Harry on Walpurgis, the time of the next
great rising of the Dark, and Harry could not see him waiting until
Midwinter with the way he had attacked now—</p><p>Then Harry might be
able to consciously fulfill the prophecy for the first time.</p><p>He laughed aloud, and
Falco's eyes narrowed. Harry leaped forward, his magic running
around him like a whole herd of wild horses, shaking their heads and
tossing their manes and tails. He rushed at Falco. He thought he knew
how to destroy him, but if he could do it here and now, then he
wouldn't complain, and he didn't intend to wait.</p><p>He raised his magic,
and the foundations of the Ministry shook, and one path shredded like
light and showed Draco hovering on the other side of it, in the
talons of a metallic bird, staring at him.</p><p>Harry winked at him.
His anger turned to joy, and he sent another flood of life after
Falco.</p><p>Falco vanished.</p><p>Apparated, or bent
time the way that Scrimgeour had told Harry he could—Harry did not
know, was not sure, did not care. Hope had joined him, and it sang
and sang and sang until he could barely hear the voice of the Stone
underneath it.</p><p>"I will keep my
promises," the gray illusion said, as it appeared hovering beside
Harry. "You are the most fascinating creature I have yet met with.
Studying your relationship to prophecy alone could keep me happy for
half a year." Harry saw one corner tilt in that gesture like a meek
head-bow again. "Step through the slit. Your ally awaits you,
intact as you requested him to be."</p><p>Harry inclined his
head back to the Stone. He was no less angry with it, not really, and
he did not entirely expect it to keep its promises not to hurt him or
his allies, or the Ministry and the wizarding world. But if it broke
them, then he could rise against it and hurt it very badly through
taking its Unspeakables and its experiments away.</p><p>He had the magic, the
power, to do that, and while there were some things he would need to
be wary of doing with that power and always would—killing others
and draining their magic, for example—he could <em>use </em>it.</p><p><em>There are, </em>he
thought, thinking of the monitoring board, <em>going to be some
changes</em>.</p><p>And then he turned and
stepped through the slit in the paths into what was no longer empty
air but a solid, sturdy corridor that led towards a black door
opening on the circular blue room, and the birds were gone, and his
allies stood about him alive and unharmed, and Adalrico lay senseless
at his feet, and Draco was in his arms, breathing against him, heart
beating.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 84*: Minds, Scarred and Unscarred</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Seven: Minds, Scarred and Unscarred</strong></p><p>Draco closed his eyes,
and held Harry, and said nothing. He could feel cloth sliding under
his hands, and cold silver along his spine—cold enough to feel even
through the robe, as though Harry had placed his hand in the dark
spaces between the stars before he returned. He felt a beating heart.</p><p>And, because of who he
was, he felt the pressure and the presence of the stone in the ring
on his finger, still a bit of solidified magic he had not <em>quite</em>
managed to use before Harry broke open the barriers between the
dream-world and the room in the Department of Mysteries.</p><p>He might love Harry as
much for sparing him from using that magic as he might for the power
he'd just exuded, he thought.</p><p>Harry finally stepped
away from Draco with a small shake of his head. "Later?" he
murmured.</p><p>­<em>He—ah. </em>Draco
had to hide his chuckle as he caught sight of a flush that wasn't
embarrassment or dying worry or exultation on Harry's cheeks. He
nodded and let his fingers rest against the side of Harry's neck
before he moved to greet Snape. Snape did not touch him. That did not
matter. Draco could see the air around him humming with his relief,
his respect, his gratitude.</p><p>And Draco could add
his own to it, as he leaned back and folded his arms and watched
Harry move from person to person, soothing with words, sometimes the
touch of a hand, and occasionally a flicker of magic, if it seemed
that the wizard or witch in question needed to feel that. He also
darted quick glances from the corner of his eye at Mr. Bulstrode, so
that by the time Adalrico stirred and Harry dropped into a fluid
kneel beside him, Draco had the feeling that Harry knew quite as much
about his physical condition as if he had checked him over all the
time.</p><p>"Mr. Bulstrode,"
Harry said, and then corrected himself, with a faint smile on his
lips, at one of those jokes Draco hated because he hadn't shared.
"Adalrico. What hurts the most?"</p><p>"My hand."
Adalrico rolled on one side and held it out. Harry grasped and
studied it. Draco, who had come up behind him—when had he done
that?—scanned it narrowly. He could see dark, blue, fleshy bruises
along the fingers, but he wasn't sure what might have happened.</p><p>Harry's free hand
trembled, though, as he reached out and rested it on Adalrico's
forehead. "Transfigured flesh," he said quietly. "You'll have
the best care in the wizarding world, Adalrico. I mean it."</p><p>The man nodded and
closed his eyes. Millicent was kneeling down beside him, and her hand
clasped his arm as if it wouldn't move any time soon. Draco
couldn't blame her. He knew how he would have felt if it were
Narcissa in the clutch of the Unspeakables.</p><p>Harry stood, moving
aside like a dancer when Elfrida came to watch her husband, and
considered him for a moment more. Then he nodded, and turned, and
seemed surprised to find himself chest-to-chest with Draco.</p><p>He smiled, though,
instead of retreating as he would have once, and leaned in to
whisper, "Still not quite private enough yet for what I want to
do."</p><p>Draco raised his
eyebrows, stifled his own flush, and nodded. He could wait. There was
no reason to hurry.</p><p>Harry's heart was
beating.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Millicent cast the
spell lurking in her wand—at least, it felt as if it were lurking
there and not on her lips, and had been since the moment she heard of
her father's capture. The magic spread over Adalrico's body in a
soft, sparking net, popping gold and red before it vanished into his
joints and elbows. Millicent stroked his forearm above the Dark Mark
and watched.</p><p>Wisps of blue rose to
the surface of his fingers and chest and hair a moment later, like
steam off food. Millicent studied them, while her parents had a quiet
reunion in the middle of the floor.</p><p>Pain, the blue wisps
spoke of, and by the depth of their color, she could guess how severe
the pain had been.</p><p>This was the color of
the bruises on Adalrico's fingers. It spoke of suffering that was
never going to heal.</p><p>Millicent's hand
spasmed open, but she tucked it beneath his shoulder, so that no one
else could see, and heaved, to get him to his feet. Adalrico cocked
his head to look at her, and curved one heavy brow in amusement.</p><p>"Everyone else is
leaving," Millicent pointed out. Harry and Draco had moved over to
another black wood door in the walls, guided by an arrow of Harry's
magic that would—Millicent hoped—lead them to the correct portal.
"Unless you really want to stay here and spend some more time with
the Unspeakables, then I suggest—"</p><p>Her voice clipped
itself off at the look on her father's face.</p><p>"Millicent," said
Adalrico softly. "Do not joke about this. Promise me that you will
never joke."</p><p>Millicent strove to
swallow several times before she could. Then she whispered, "I
promise it."</p><p>Adalrico inclined his
head in a fragile nod, then stood. He leaned on Elfrida as she led
him towards the door, and that was the first time Millicent had ever
seen <em>that</em> happen. The Stone and the Unspeakables might have
given Adalrico back with the damage undone, but that was not the same
as healing it, and Merlin knew what he had seen and felt along with
suffered.</p><p>And he had come
through alive, and without a resentful glance towards Harry.</p><p><em>Could I have done
as much?</em></p><p>Millicent did not
know. She hadn't had <em>time</em> to feel resentment towards Harry.
She had followed Harry's summons to the Ministry through the
phoenix song communication spell when her father was taken, and then
she had wanted him back, and then she had prepared to fight
Unspeakables, and then she had fought birds instead, and then she had
knelt beside her father. Emotions other than sheer determination had
existed on the far side of <em>when I have him back.</em></p><p>But now she had her
father back, and he did not seem to blame Harry. He seemed to feel it
was a reasonable price to pay for the alliance, and that because
Harry had come and rescued him, that obliterated any blame that might
arise from the fact that the Unspeakables had only taken him in the
first place because he was Harry's ally.</p><p><em>Could I have done
as much?</em></p><p>And the thought
repeated in her head, and repeated, like the roar of surf, because
someday her father would be dead, and she needed to stand at Harry's
side, and she did not know whether she could maintain that kind of
blameless trust in a powerful wizard—that kind of trust in the
mechanics of power, for that matter, which accepted the risks of
becoming strong enough to attract attention.</p><p>But she had the
feeling that she would need to learn to do so, because neither the
commitment nor the danger was going away.</p><p>Millicent slid the
wand back into the holster on the side of her belt and followed her
parents.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Rufus was waiting for
them.</p><p>He hadn't gone with
them, of course. What might happen in the Department of Mysteries was
too strange to fathom, and on the off chance that it killed Harry,
Rufus had needed to remain above in the Ministry and prepare for the
worst. If he had gone down and been killed—</p><p>Rufus shook his head.
He did not know who would have been Minister. Amelia Bones's run of
power was done. Some members of the Wizengamot might jostle each
other for the Minister's office, but Rufus personally thought Elder
Juniper was the most likely to win. And given the delicate state of
affairs between the Ministry and the werewolves, and Juniper's
dislike of them, that might have been disastrous.</p><p>It was not the first
time he had had to stay behind and think of life and the future while
people he valued went to face death in the present. But perhaps he
had never been so glad as he was now to see those people come back
into the light, not unharmed, not safe, but alive.</p><p>He held out his hand
on instinct when Harry stepped out of the lift into the Atrium. Harry
gave him a quick glad glance, and clasped it back. Rufus narrowed his
eyes at the thrum of power through his palm.</p><p><em>He has grown
stronger again.</em></p><p>It would mean many
dangerous things for the Ministry, but not as many dangerous things
as an Unspeakable victory would have meant, or an illusion of the
Stone advancing with slow majesty up the corridors. Rufus would have
accepted the growth of Harry's magic for that reason alone.</p><p>And he could accept it
for another reason, he thought, as he turned to welcome his Aurors
back into the Ministry and congratulate them on their
courage—disgruntled though some of them looked. The part of him
that wanted to follow Harry was howling like a hound on the scent of
blood. Harry had defied those who insisted that a powerful
sixteen-year-old would destroy the wizarding world. He had done
things that Rufus was not sure Albus Dumbledore in the height of his
power could have done.</p><p>Rufus had felt the
blast of magic that soared up through the Ministry. It could have
meant so many things, including that Harry had simply grown tired of
the way the wizarding world worked and decided to claim it.</p><p>And yet, he had not
only not done so, he looked more interested in chivvying his allies
out of the lifts than demanding a parade and concessions from Rufus.</p><p>Just as he thought
that, Harry glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with him. "I
do trust that Pharos Starrise will be arrested and tried before the
Wizengamot?" he asked, in the tone of a gentle suggestion.</p><p>"He freely admitted
conspiracy with the Unspeakables," Rufus told him. "At the least
there will be a trial."</p><p>Harry nodded, and
turned away. Adalrico Bulstrode himself was coming out of the lift
now, leaning on the arms of his wife and daughter. He stumbled. For a
moment, Rufus caught a glimpse of the Dark Mark under his sleeve.</p><p><em>We have all
changed.</em></p><p><em>Some of us more
than others.</em></p><p>He sent the returned
Aurors, quietly, to Pharos's cell, to inform him that he was under
arrest. He paused, then also told them to tell him his victim had
come back alive. The Auror he told that to, Emily Frogswallow,
widened her eyes in delight that was almost unholy.</p><p>"And that doesn't
fall under the definition of torture, sir?" she asked, as if hoping
that it would, but also aware that Rufus wouldn't allow her to say
anything if it did qualify.</p><p>"It falls under the
definition of getting what he deserves," said Rufus.</p><p>Frogswallow
practically curtsied and danced away up the hall, arguing with her
partner about who would get to tell Starrise the truth.</p><p>Rufus smiled tightly,
and faced Harry. "I need to speak with you about the political
situation with the Stone and the Unspeakables," he murmured.</p><p>"Of course, sir."
Harry took a few more moments to talk with Adalrico, evidently
determining whether there was anything he needed, and then joined
Rufus. They made the journey to his office in silence.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry smiled a bit and
settled back in the chair Scrimgeour had given him. He was not sure
which felt better: the push of the cloth against his shoulders, or
the fact that Snape and Draco were back beside him, where they
belonged. He had missed them more than he realized in the dream-world
of Dark and Light and the paths. "Ah, but, sir, you don't quite
understand. This isn't entirely a political situation. It's also
a magical one. The Stone is fascinated with me. It saw the prophecies
that surround me, and the way I contended with Falco. It wants to
watch me."</p><p>Scrimgeour tapped his
fingers on the desk. "Like a hybrid in a glass cage."</p><p>"Well, rather, sir."
Harry shrugged and shifted position. He'd taken a hard knock on one
shoulder from a falling piece of magic, or perhaps simply from the
strain of channeling so much power through his body. Draco's hand
descended and massaged it. Harry allowed himself to think for one
longing moment about what he would like to have Draco do once they
were back in bed, then hastily reminded himself that he was in front
of the Minister, and certain reactions were inappropriate. "But for
that very reason, I think it's actually more likely to keep its
promises than a human in the same situation. It's a—a version of
a research wizard who doesn't have a family or eating or sleeping
or political enemies to distract him from his goals. It will watch me
and be tempted to do almost nothing else, I think. It was enthralled
with me. I wasn't just the passing entertainment of a moment. And
as long as it maintains its interest, then I won't be in danger
from it, nor my allies, nor the Ministry—and hopefully not the rest
of the wizarding world."</p><p>"Must you be a
sacrifice, again?"</p><p>Harry blinked for a
long moment before he realized what the Minister was talking about.
"I don't consider interesting the Stone in me a sacrifice, sir,"
he said, with a small smile. "It's passive, after all. And I did
what I had to do in the Department of Mysteries. Anyone else in my
place and with my power and with my mindset would have done as much."</p><p>Scrimgeour opened his
mouth as if to ask a question, then shook his head and let the words
die unborn. "And what will happen if the Unspeakables and the Stone
do slip out of control again?"</p><p>"Summon me." Harry
shrugged. "There are other things about me the Stone never
mentioned knowing. I think I can raise a mystery that will make it
interested again, and that makes it abandon its games for the game of
watching."</p><p>Scrimgeour sighed. "So
nothing is settled."</p><p>"Nothing directly,
sir. It may still break its promises. But it may also be more
faithful than any human. And even humans can break oaths, or act
against common sense," Harry added, thinking of Lucius, thinking of
Pharos. "We will have to wait and see what it does."</p><p>Scrimgeour
nodded, as if he didn't like it but couldn't think of anything
better. "You realize that some Light wizards may take the
opportunity to act against you?" he asked, eyeing Harry. "For
poisoning the mind of the scion of a noble and ancient family, or
whatever other grievance they can dream up? Not because they believe
it, but because they believe their political power may be lessened by
this?"</p><p>Harry laughed. "I
should be used to people creating accusations out of thin air about
me, sir. This time, though, I mean to give the accusations weight. I
will tell whoever asks that Pharos Starrise's means of taking
vengeance were foul and ridiculous. The ritual his uncle used should
have settled the debt between the two families, as it was meant to.
At the least, Pharos could have challenged Adalrico to a formal duel,
instead of giving him into the custody of men and women who are
enemies of all sane in the wizarding world. The Light's honor has
broken. They won't get far by pressing against me." He sat up a
little straighter. "And I mean to break the monitoring board."</p><p>"Do you."
Scrimgeour's voice was neutral.</p><p>Harry gave him a
direct look. "Yes. They've given me what they can. I haven't
turned on them and snapped at them. Anyone who wants to listen knows
that our few meetings have been riven by factionalism on both sides,
not my refusing to listen to their reasonable recommendations and
running off on my own, like the child they pretend I am. And I don't
really think the Wizengamot would end Gloriana Griffinsnest's trial
now, would they?"</p><p>Scrimgeour slowly
shook his head. "No. We've questioned her, and she's admitted
to a few unsolved murders of werewolves as well as to Claudia's. So
she must be tried, if not convicted."</p><p>"Good." Harry
stretched his arms above his head and gave a little shake. "I'm
going to do what I should have done in the first place: talk to my
Light allies about making Light wizards trust me and giving them a
voice in Dark-dominated politics. Not the monitoring board. Not
anymore."</p><p>"You do realize—"
And Scrimgeour flushed, and stopped.</p><p>"Sir?"</p><p>Scrimgeour appeared to
hold a private argument with himself. Harry leaned forward,
attentive.</p><p>"I wish," said
Scrimgeour at last, his tone striving for dignified and not making
it, "to be there when you talk to Aurora Whitestag and tell her
about the dissolution of the monitoring board."</p><p>Grinning, Harry stood
and extended his hand. He noticed only a moment later that it was his
silver one, but he didn't take it back. He would make the cold
metal flesh in the end. "Come with me then, sir. We don't have
far to walk."</p><p>Scrimgeour's hand
touched his. Harry knew that only by sight, since he couldn't feel
anything through the silver yet. But that would change. He would make
sure that would change.</p><p>And, really, seeing
the expression on Aurora's face ought to be enough to make up for a
disappointment in the matter of his metallic hand. If some things
were not yet right in the world, a good many other things were.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Aurora had felt the
shifting of magic, as though one foundation stone had just replaced
another at the root of the world. She was wary, and she did not
scurry home as the others had. Still she sat in the small room just
inside the Atrium, hands clasped in her lap, and waited. Griselda
Marchbanks sat with her.</p><p>She half-started when
the door opened and Harry stepped inside. He had a windblown look
about his features, as if he had run across the tops of a cliff and
let the desert touch him. The look he turned on her was cool and
remote. As Snape and young Malfoy and even the Minister crowded
inside, Aurora couldn't take her eyes away, couldn't see who else
he had brought to witness her humiliation. She knew the words he
would speak before he spoke them.</p><p>"The monitoring
board is dissolved," he said.</p><p>And she had to pull
herself together, and fling into the teeth of that uncaring coolness:
"Why?"</p><p>"I need it no
longer," said Harry, with a slight shrug. "And it did me more
harm than good, and next to nothing to secure political power for
Light wizards." He paused, and, for some reason, stared over his
shoulder at his Malfoy before he turned back to her. "And,
technically, it was illegal in the first place. The Ministry doesn't
deal that way with Lord-level wizards."</p><p>"Laws can be
changed." Aurora did not look away, did not weep. "And you were
the one who offered the compromise, Harry."</p><p>"Didn't know the
laws then." He looked utterly unapologetic, despite the
self-condemnation in his tone. "Should have. And since then, people
who have always cared for me and protected me looked them up, and
told me this was illegal. So. There's no reason to maintain it any
more."</p><p>"You are still very
young," Aurora said softly.</p><p>"And I've always
survived with help from friends," said Harry. He leaned back
against Draco Malfoy, a blatant gesture of disrespect, considering
that Draco was so much younger than Aurora, and had no political
standing of his own. His smirk widened when the Malfoy boy stroked
his shoulder, as if he didn't know or could not see the
implications of the gesture marking him as a pet. "I don't think
I need an entire monitoring board half-composed of enemies helping
me. It's a waste of your very valuable time and attention that
could be better turned elsewhere."</p><p>Aurora lowered her
eyes, and gave a slow nod. She had felt that burst of magic. She
knew, from the exultation on Madam Marchbanks's face, that the rest
of the wizarding world already on Harry's side was apt to think of
this as part of his <em>vates</em> duties, and that others would swing
towards him. Harry did command Light families who could stir the
loyalties of others. Opalline might be despised for not participating
in wars, but they could summon allies and pull strings that no one
else could. Gloryflower had soared back into prominence with Laura
Gloryflower's intention of protecting her werewolf niece.
Marchbanks followed him now. There would be others who would be glad
to take Aurora's place even if the monitoring board continued to
exist, and Harry would welcome them as his friends.</p><p>That they would be his
friends, and therefore less likely to criticize him and teach him
that there were limitations even to magic, would seem irrelevant to
both Harry and those who might replace her.</p><p>Aurora raised her eyes
to Harry's face as slowly as she had lowered them. She had never
found out what had changed his soul, but she knew now it had been the
death knell for her ambitions. She could never hope to gain the
advantage over him that she had wanted, never hope to put the leash
around his neck that she had been convinced had to go there, for the
good of the world. And that would remain true even if they patched up
their differences and he accepted her as a friend someday. He was not
in the mood to listen to advisers now. He would meet them, at best,
on an equal footing.</p><p>And he was not
interested in the words of a woman who had had two of her children
destroyed by him. That much was plain. Aurora wondered if he
remembered Heloise and Abelard's names.</p><p>She would retreat. She
could not win, and so she would not destroy herself trying. She would
retire gracefully from the field. She would help the Light achieve
what prominence it could in Britain, because the Dark was either mad
or intent on following a sixteen-year-old. She would dance as much as
she could in the unoccupied areas, not engaging with Harry.</p><p>And if what she feared
happened and all the great dream came tumbling down, she would
attempt to fight and preserve what she could, instead of dooming it
all to die with Harry because she had trusted him too much with its
protection.</p><p>"Thank you for
explaining, <em>vates</em>," she said. "I will leave now. You know
my name, if you should decide that you wish to ask for my help."</p><p>She saw the Minister's
face freeze from the corner of his eye. Aurora laughed, but only
inside, and it was a tired and bitter laugh. Had he expected her to
crumple? She saw no reason to do so. If her grief had been
overwhelming, she would have, but she was tired of such a long and
pointless struggle that would only end up raising another Lord.
Britain had chosen to follow magical power instead of wisdom. Let
them deal with it. It might even work out well for them.</p><p>She saw Draco Malfoy's
eyes narrow as if studying her, and Severus Snape lean forward like a
hound on the scent. Aurora avoided his gaze. She had begun studying
Occlumency since that first disastrous meeting, but she did not think
her barriers could stand up to his probing, yet.</p><p>Instead, she looked at
Harry, interested, even now, to see how he took this.</p><p>She found his eyes
peering back at her with bright, piercing confidence, the confidence
of a hawk who would not believe he could not strike the target.
Aurora concealed her pity behind a nod and a smile, and walked past
him.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Lucius leaned back and
closed his eyes.</p><p>Narcissa had written
him a letter describing the events in the Ministry. It was a short
letter, and listed only points of action, without telling what she
felt about them, or what Draco felt. She probably assumed he could
imagine what they thought.</p><p>There was one
exception to that: the last sentence.</p><p><em>Do you not wish,
now, that you had kept your loyalty to a man who would rescue you if
the Unspeakables ever captured you?</em></p><p>"Ah, Narcissa,"
Lucius whispered to the fire, and stood. "If you understood that I
have more to fear from Harry capturing me."</p><p>He accepted the truth,
now. He was alone. He had hoped to work his way back into Harry's
good graces by careful handling. He had hoped that with enough time
and enough obedient behavior—and a commitment to that obedient
behavior—Harry might want him as an ally again. And he had believed
that such a thing might work. Slowly, slowly, the new path dropped
into place exceeding fine.</p><p>His last hope had
always been that, if Harry did discover what he had done, he might
pause, hesitate, forgive—for Draco's sake if not Lucius's.</p><p>But now that hope had
flashed into flames, too. The Harry who had come forth from the
Department of Mysteries, who had killed without flinching, might,
possibly, forgive, but Lucius would not trust his life to chance.</p><p>It was time to
consider plans of self-preservation, plans of making sure that he
could survive Harry's wrath when it appeared, not plans that were
geared towards keeping him from ever discovering Lucius's secrets.
Lucius was a master at these. They had served him well when the Dark
Lord fell. Those like Bellatrix, who had believed he would never
fall, had been caught alive in the trap of their own assumptions.
Lucius did not intend to be.</p><p>It was time for plans
of escape.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Hawthorn scattered
some more dust into the potion, then, with a curse, cast a
stabilizing spell on the cauldron and stepped away with a deep
half-cry. She could not concentrate on even a possible cure for
lycanthropy right now, when so many thoughts were brewing around in
her head.</p><p>She stalked to the
window from which she could see her garden. The memorial of pansies,
hawthorn, and dragonsbane usually calmed her.</p><p>Today, it only made
her think of how Indigena Yaxley had come to her garden, summoned
Connor Potter there—Hawthorn believed it was ultimately her
summoning, and not Rosier's—and taunted her with her life. And
she had not taunted Hawthorn with memories of Pansy's death,
either. She barely seemed to remember what they were to each other.
She had gone on living her life when Pansy died, in spite of the
curses that had almost killed her.</p><p>And now there seemed
to be next to no way of killing her, if all of Hawthorn's curses
had bounced off.</p><p>She reached out and
murmured a spell that grew her fingernails into spikes, sufficiently
sharp and thin to be different from werewolf claws. She drew them
down the glass of the window, carving long, parallel patterns that
shrieked the air apart.</p><p>Hawthorn could not
allow Pansy's killer to live. At the same time, she knew Harry
would not take vengeance on her, and that seemed to be the one sure
method of making her die. And an execution held no appeal for her.
She wanted Indigena to die from vengeance, not justice.</p><p>Most of the time, she
could give up vengeance. She had done so for Claudia, though that
wound still pulled at her like the loss of a limb, sometimes. She had
done so for Fergus Opalline, dead in battle. She had done so for
Dragonsbane; he went to his death willingly, and she had known.</p><p>But for Pansy…</p><p><em>Let me have this.
Let me have this one scarlet, blood-soaked, screaming thing.</em></p><p>And she would not rely
on curses in battle again. Harry had accepted that because she had
done it in hot blood. But that was no way of insuring Indigena
Yaxley's death. Hawthorn had to do it slowly, in cold blood, had to
stand over her enemy's body and make sure it no longer breathed or
spoke or grew.</p><p>She wanted that.</p><p>And she was unsure if
she could achieve that.</p><p>She stood there,
silent now, save for the noise as she drew frost-patterns on the
glass, over and over again.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>There was an old
ritual that should have answered.</p><p>Adalrico thought of
the ritual as he sat in front of the fire, his hand stretched out
towards the heat. He was not trying to grip anything with it yet.
Millicent and Elfrida had cast healing spells on it until he told
them to stop. Marian was currently curled in his lap, asleep, the
only company he could tolerate because she did not know or comprehend
what had happened to her father.</p><p>There was an old
ritual that would have been inflicted on anyone who tried to take
vengeance when a feud was settled. It would have let Adalrico summon
Augustus's ghost and confront him with Pharos's actions. He would
have been horrified, and he would have turned his back on his nephew,
condemning them to meet no more. Adalrico knew it. Starrise had been
a stubborn old bastard, but he had been, every inch, a child of the
Light pureblood rituals. Invoking revenge when it should have been
done with was a violation of those rituals, and turning to help
outside the family made it doubly vile.</p><p>He lifted his hand and
flexed the fingers. As Harry had said, it was Transfigured flesh. He
could use the hand again, someday, perhaps as soon as a month from
now. He could do a great many things, actually. But he would still
have the memory of the acid wringing the muscle and the magic from
the bone.</p><p>There was an old
ritual he should have been able to use on Pharos Starrise, instead of
turning him over to the Ministry's justice.</p><p>Adalrico Bulstrode sat
before the fire, and the desire for vengeance stirred in him with a
bright and high and deadly song.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 85*: Intermission: Among the Nightshade</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Intermission: Among the Nightshade and Belladonna</strong></p><p>"And does he yet
suspect you?"</p><p>Snape could not help a
smile. He kept his face lowered, so that the other Death Eaters would
not see it, but his Lord would know it was there. And he would
forgive Snape for it, when he heard what Snape had to say.</p><p>"No, my lord," he
murmured. "I managed to convince him that I disappeared on the
night of your return to save the Potter brat, and arrived only a
moment too late. He did not take that well, but I gave him no hook to
hang his suspicions on. His Legilimency is not as great as your own."
He was offering flattery, but only if Voldemort truly wanted to look
for flattery. He <em>was</em> better at Legilimency than Dumbledore had
ever been. Part of what it required was a will dedicated to
dominating other minds, to finding out their secrets. And Dumbledore,
fool that he was when he could have been great, still held himself
back from that desire. It had grown worse since Harry died on the
altar-stone in the graveyard, and Remus Lupin had followed him. It
was as if he believed that no evil would happen in the wizarding
world if he did no evil.</p><p>Snape entertained the
vision of Dumbledore stepping aside when the Dark Lord walked into
the school, because he could think of nothing else to do. That was
easily enough to put him on the verge of chuckling.</p><p>"And your other
absences, my dear Severus?" One cold white hand came down and
cupped his cheek, and Voldemort's power sang around him, treading
the ground with a heavy step that made the Death Eaters standing on
their feet sway. Snape did not pretend to understand all the
complexities of that magic any more than he pretended to understand
the whole of the Dark Arts, but from what he knew, some of the Potter
brat's power had been wound with his Lord's own. Not until Harry
had died had that magic returned home to his Lord.</p><p>"He believes I am
still spying for him and the Order of the Phoenix, my lord," he
murmured.</p><p>Voldemort laughed, and
most of the other Death Eaters in the room laughed with him. Snape
did not. For one thing, it was not a joke they understood, nor had
any right to, and he did not share his amusements with lesser
mortals.</p><p>He listened carefully
to the peals of laughter, though, picking among them. Bellatrix was
only laughing because it was her Lord, and she did what he did.
Lucius was laughing because he had judged the moment was opportune to
do so. Like Snape, he had broken and returned to the fold after all,
now that he knew Harry was dead and there was no one to protect him
against his Lord's rage. After maiming him permanently and claiming
one night with Narcissa, Voldemort had decided his debt was paid
sufficiently to let him back into the Death Eaters, but Lucius was
always at the forefront of attacks now, and had to do what he could
to curry favor with the others.</p><p>Walden Macnair's
laugh was not as assured. Snape kept his face blank as he knelt
there, and never glanced in Macnair's direction.</p><p>The man was the most
likely to betray them of any of Voldemort's servants, he thought.
He was a coward, of late, as if his joy at killing dangerous magical
beasts for thirteen years had somehow translated itself into a
reluctance to kill humans. And he sometimes listened with a slightly
open mouth to Snape's descriptions of the Order of the Phoenix, and
with wide and shining eyes.</p><p><em>I will be watching
him.</em></p><p>"Describe Connor
Potter," said Voldemort suddenly, stopping his laugh and leaving
the other Death Eaters floundering. "What have they done with him,
now that his brother is dead?"</p><p>"Put him into
training, my lord, behind privacy wards that only his parents have
the keys to," Snape murmured. "They believe that he must meet you
and fight you soon, and that he is unprepared."</p><p>"Of course he is,"
said the Dark Lord. "I killed his brother, the true Boy-Who-Lived."
He paused. "Do not think I have forgotten what you did for me,
Severus, or the last bit of true pleasure I received from the boy's
death."</p><p>Snape smiled. For a
moment, as he had stooped over Harry, he had pretended this had all
been a ploy, Lupin a necessary sacrifice, and he had been going to
rescue Harry and take him home. He had waited to see the hope shine,
and then he had withered it when he took the disemboweling knife from
his Lord's hand.</p><p>"I wish you to
discover the secret of these wards, Severus, and bring the Potter boy
to me," said the Dark Lord.</p><p>Snape had known that
would be his mission. He could have protested, said that Dumbledore
would never trust him, but he knew that made no difference. He must
<em>make</em> Dumbledore trust him again, and get around the fool's
desires to see Snape as somehow responsible for Harry's death.</p><p>He was, of course. He
sat in the same room with the parents of the boy he had helped kill
and they stared at him with resentment, but not the hatred they would
have to express if they knew. It amused him enormously. Snape was
enjoying this form of revenge on James Potter more than he had ever
thought he would.</p><p>"Of course, my
Lord," he murmured, and made to stand.</p><p>"A moment, Severus."</p><p>Snape knelt back down
at once, and stayed there in silence as the Dark Lord sent all the
other Death Eaters away. They were in the Riddle house, a rather
obvious meeting place. But Snape had convinced Dumbledore that the
Dark Lord hated his Muggle ancestors so much he would never use their
home for either a meeting or a hiding place, and subtle Dark magic
helped to reinforce that impression the one time the Order of the
Phoenix came to search it. Lily Potter had walked right through a
room where Nagini lay curled on a pillow watching her. Laughter
roared in Snape's throat at the thought.</p><p>"I have an unusual
request for you," Voldemort continued when they were alone.</p><p>"My lord?"</p><p>For a moment, that
pale hand came out and caressed his face again. Then it caught his
chin, and tilted it up. Snape went obediently with it. The Dark Lord
spread out his Legilimency, and Snape opened his barriers wide before
it. He had no secrets from this man he had served so faithfully for
nearly twenty years.</p><p>The Dark Lord moved
through his mind like a mist with fangs, then nodded and stepped out
of it. "You still think of yourself by your last name," he said.
"I would like you to begin to think of yourself by your first."</p><p>Snape nodded. Of
course he would do so, and not ask why, if his Lord did not want him
to ask why—</p><p>"You wish to know
why, Severus." He was amused. Of course he was. Snape could feel
his Lord's magic breathing over his skin like the cool wind from
the lungs of some ice dragon.</p><p>"I do, my lord."</p><p>"And I do not yet
wish to tell you." The gentle, caressing hand on his throat turned
sharp as barbs. When he wished, the Dark Lord could use wandless
magic to grow claws that rivaled any werewolf's. "You will know
when I deem you ready to know, Severus."</p><p>"Of course, my
Lord." And then he rose to his feet and Apparated, because he could
feel the push in his mind for him to do so. Voldemort's eyes were
on his back the whole time, like burning coals, like watching
werewolves.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Severus! Come in,
my boy."</p><p>Snape had no sneer on
his lips when he came into the office of Albus Dumbledore, because he
never did. He bowed and took his place across the desk from him,
holding a shadow of sympathy in his face. He was thinking how
different it was when Albus called him by his first name than when
the Dark Lord did so. Voldemort, of course, knew his life, as he knew
the lives of all his Death Eaters, and knew why he didn't like the
name. To Albus Dumbledore, the informality it allowed him mattered
far more than what Snape wanted to be called.</p><p>"What did you
learn?" The man had offered him nothing to either eat or drink
before he began, showing just how anxious he was.</p><p>Snape began his
entirely contrived report, which attributed motives to Death Eaters
they did not have and prompted the Order of the Phoenix to watch for
attacks that would never happen, his eyes not moving from Albus
Dumbledore's face in the meanwhile. The man was pathetic. The news
of Harry's death, and thus the breaking of the prophecy, had broken
him. Now they were searching frantically for someone to be the
"elder" to Connor Potter. So far, Snape knew, they had found no
one. Two good candidates had mysteriously died in their sleep.</p><p>Albus nodded at every
third word he said, his eyes filled with old shadows. Snape felt bile
like acid creep up his throat.</p><p>Merlin, how he hated
this man.</p><p>He had wanted to use
him to steer a path through the darkness, to show Snape his own soul.
Instead, Albus had assumed that he had simply "won" Snape back
from the darkness, and paraded him as a prize before the other
members of the Order of the Phoenix. And, of course, he had briefly
allowed Snape to go to Azkaban, simply so that he could reward his
"true" allegiance later when he testified that Snape had been
their loyal spy all along.</p><p>A month with
Dementors, because Albus Dumbledore wanted to make himself seem more
heroic.</p><p>And, on top of that,
he would not use his power. At one point, he could have prevented Tom
Riddle's rise. At one point, he could have made Harry Potter into
the weapon that would have stopped the Dark Lord's second rise. And
he had refused, and hesitated, and hid behind prophecies, and
refused.</p><p>It was no wonder that
Snape preferred to serve another master. It was no wonder that he
wanted revenge on Albus Dumbledore—revenge hot as a knife, cold as
the hand of an Inferius, sweet as clustered honey on the tongue.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape slowly opened
his eyes. Another dream, and it tattered and flew across his mind
like clouds across the moon. He thought he had been dreaming about
Albus, but that was not unusual. The man still appeared in his
thoughts, both past and present.</p><p>Nothing hurt this
time; he had finally learned to sleep with his arms neatly folded on
his chest again, instead of tangling himself in the blankets as he
thrashed from a memory he had no wish to relive. He stood, and paced
across the room to check on his purple poison. He had mostly made it
as deadly as he could, and now amused himself with seeing how painful
he might make it.</p><p>In the end, he thought
it would be very painful, and would kill just quickly enough to give
the person who ingested it hope that she could be saved.</p><p>Snape sighed as he
cast yet another stabilizing spell on the cauldron. There were times
he dearly wished Remus Lupin were here.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 86*: Interlude: The Liberator's Seventh</h2>
			<p><strong>Interlude: The Liberator's Seventh Letter</strong></p><p><em>February 17th,
1997</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour: </em></p><p>Please forgive me
for not writing in so long. It took me a long time to understand what
had happened to me, and even longer to realize to what use it can be
put. So. I will commit these words to parchment now, while my family
is looking for political opportunities for the Light and not paying
as much attention to me.</p><p>I began having strange
dreams about Falco not long after I wrote my last letter to you. I
put it down to nightmares at first, then to anxiety and worries. But
soon I was dreaming of things I had never seen, and will never see,
as I am a witch of only moderate power. He walked the paths of Dark
and Light, and learned the disciplines of necromancy in a way that
made me uneasy. He did not intend to <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>commit</span> to being a
necromancer, but he is learning of death. And he is studying what
Lord Voldemort did in his first rise, and his abbreviated second.</p><p>I fear that he is
trying to become a Dark Lord. Why he should have changed his
allegiance so spectacularly is still open to speculation. He speaks
in the dreams, and I hear him, but I cannot read his mind.</p><p>I was at a loss, at
first, how I came by this information. Then I realized that I had a
scar on my hand that I did not remember having. I had paid no
attention to it at first, since I often wake with scars that I do not
remember having when I went to sleep, but this one throbbed when I
dreamed of Falco.</p><p>I confronted my
mother. She looked away from me, but at last she admitted that I had
the scar from grasping at a mirror.</p><p>A mirror! The time I
spent with the glass in which my parents could see Falco has affected
me, I think. Why, who can say? My parents and my siblings are all
more powerful than I am. Perhaps the glass connected with me as the
weakest of the family. Perhaps it sensed my intense interest in Falco
and grafted on to that. Perhaps it reacted to the less-than-perfect
devotion to the Light I can sometimes feel in myself.</p><p>Whatever its reason, I
have a connection to Falco through the dreams.</p><p>From these dreams, I
can tell you that:</p><p>He is studying Lord
Voldemort's tactics so closely that he may imitate them. I beg you,
Minister, listen closely for reports of new Death Eaters, even if the
reports seem false and self-contradictory at first.</p><p>He no longer appears
as interested in the magic of time as he once was. He is now more
fascinated with the magic of death. He has wrested secrets that only
trained necromancers usually know, including the knowledge of raising
spirits and sending them to possess the minds of the living.</p><p>He visits the coasts
and other waterways in Britain often.</p><p>He <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>does</span> <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>not</span><span style='text-decoration: underline;'>understand</span> the wild Dark. He often communes with it as if it
were a pet, or a deeply stupid child. I am not sure if this can be
used against him, since he seems intent on Declaring to the Dark
anyway, but it may help.</p><p>I will pass on more
information as it becomes certain, Minister. May the shadows shelter
you.</p><p>Yours,</p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 87*: The Advantages of Research</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Advantages of Research</strong></p><p>"I did think of one,
Harry."</p><p>Harry jumped and
glanced up from writing the letter to Tony Flotsam, a Muggleborn
wizard who'd asked for more information on house elves. By an
effort of will, he didn't scatter ink across the parchment, but it
was only by an effort of will. "Peter? You thought of another time
when my parents defied Dumbledore?" He put the ink and parchment
carefully on the table, and glanced towards the front of the library.
Madam Pince was scolding two third-year Hufflepuffs for throwing
books at each other, luckily, and couldn't overhear them, but Harry
cast a privacy ward around the table anyway. "Did it have to do
with the ethics of sacrifice?"</p><p>Peter took a chair and
nodded. "It did."</p><p>Harry studied him in
concern. His voice drooped, and so did his face, pasty white and with
nasty dark circles standing out from beneath his eyes. "Peter, are
you all right? Have you been sleeping well?"</p><p>A moment passed during
which Peter seemed to be trying to decide what he wanted to say. In
the end, he gave Harry no more than another nod. "Yes." He sat
up. "The memory came back to me when I was trying to remember
Defense Against the Dark Arts spells we'd studied in <em>our</em>
sixth year that might be appropriate for my class. James had a
certain—power in the Dark Arts, you know. They fascinated him. I
think that was why he broke when he realized that he'd used an
Unforgivable on someone else for ten minutes and enjoyed it."</p><p>Peter's voice was
full of shards of memories, and Harry didn't particularly want to
linger on James's torture of the Lestranges. He nodded, to
encourage him along.</p><p>"He didn't have as
much of a problem with the Dark Arts in school as he did later, when
he'd seen them used in the war," Peter continued, musing. "He
found a spell that would target purebloods."</p><p>Harry frowned. "How?"
Thomas's research had shown that even pureblood families often
produced wizards and witches of considerably lesser power than they
ought to have done, if purity of blood guaranteed that magic was more
likely to choose them—which it wasn't, but which was what most of
the European families had believed for years.</p><p>"It worked on
belief," said Peter. "It would attack someone who wasn't a
pureblood by birth but <em>believed </em>he was. Or someone who knew
the pureblood customs and worked to make himself fit in, like you."</p><p><em>I suppose some
spells could work like that. </em>Harry had rarely studied them.
Magics of the minds, and visions, and actual spells that would work
on the bodies of enemies, had been more of interest to him. "And
did he use it?"</p><p>Peter shook his head.
"He was more fascinated with the theory behind it than what it did.
All it would have done was give someone stinging boils. So he read
more in the book where he'd discovered it, and then more books. And
he brought the books to Lily and showed them to her. She was tempted.
She had infused so many of Dumbledore's beliefs by that point that
she was ready to fight in the First War. But she hadn't yet come to
think, the way she did later, that she had to use only Light spells
or she was damned. So she was willing to wield Dark Arts against her
enemies."</p><p>Harry nodded. He could
see how such a willingness would have been a violation of both the
ethics Dumbledore taught his mother and the kind Falco believed in.
One didn't have to Declare Light, since the Light needed enemies to
struggle against, but one couldn't hang in between and use both
kinds of magic. Harry sometimes thought that was what irritated Falco
most about him, other than his sheer ability to change the wizarding
world. "And did they use them?"</p><p>"On a few birds we
captured." Peter grimaced. "Curses that would have got them
expelled if any of us betrayed them. None of us did, of course. We
were all fascinated—all but Remus, but I think you know that. And
Sirius showed us some of what his compulsive power could do. He took
control of James's body and marched him around like a puppet. It
exhausted him, but he was competing with James, wanting to show that
he could do everything James could.</p><p>"<em>That</em>
panicked James. He burned the books and, I think, paid the library
for them. And he declared that he wasn't going to use Dark magic
ever again. Lily followed him; I think he convinced her that time, or
she thought about it and decided that a Light witch had no need for
those kinds of spells." A shadow passed over Peter's face. "Of
course, she would use spells that violated the ancient definitions of
Light, like free will, if the spell was <em>technically</em> Light."</p><p>"The phoenix web,"
murmured Harry, thinking how much easier his life would have been if
his mother <em>were</em> a bit more technical and exacting in her
definitions.</p><p>Peter nodded.</p><p>Harry sighed the
temptation to wallow in self-pity away. He had dealt with his past as
well as he was ever going to deal with it. Its major value now was
how it could help him in the war, and learning that his parents had
defied Dumbledore, and Falco through him, at least two times moved
them closer to being the first two Dark Lords in the prophecy. "Thank
you, Peter. Please let me know if you remember any other major
defiances."</p><p>Peter nodded and
stood, yawning.</p><p>"And get some
sleep!" Harry called as he walked towards the door of the library.
He turned back to his letter to Flotsam, concealing a yawn of his
own. He should probably feel like a hypocrite, he knew, dispensing
advice to Peter he wasn't disposed to take himself. In this case,
though, he'd been up late turning the advice Joseph had given him
about the Unspeakables over in his mind. Harry had gone to him almost
the moment he'd come back from the Department of Mysteries, wanting
to know if Joseph thought what he had done, killing people and
draining their magic in order to break the Stone, was right.</p><p>Joseph's gentle
questions, as usual, had led him down the right path.</p><p><em>If you had the
situation to face over again, would you do it, Harry? </em></p><p>Harry had hesitated,
but nodded. "I'd like to find some second road, but I don't
think there's a second road to take. The Stone values its servants.
It doesn't value much of anything else except what I'm unwilling
to give up, like my magic, and werewolves to perform its experiments
on, and my allies to drain for their magical power."</p><p><em>What would you want
done, if you were in the position of having a family member drained
and killed by an enemy?</em></p><p>"I'd want to know
why it happened. What motive he had for doing it. If his reasons were
good ones." Harry stared at his clasped hands. The silver one felt
too cool against his flesh one, even now, but small sparkling trails
of warmth moved up it.</p><p><em>Perhaps you should
talk to Dionysus Hornblower, then. He may know how much contact
Unspeakables still have with their families. Perhaps the Stone
forbids them to meet a sibling or parent again when they swear to it,
but perhaps not. In fact, learning more about these enemies in
general would serve you well.</em></p><p>Harry knew Joseph had
been speaking of what might happen should the Stone decide to
interfere in the war again. He, though, had considered it a valuable
reminder of what the human cost of war might be.</p><p>He rubbed at his eyes
and picked up the quill. He'd finish the letter, work on his
Defense Against the Dark Arts homework for an hour, and then spend an
hour on Horcruxes. And then he could go back to their bedroom, and
Draco. The thought of that made him smile.</p><p><em>I'm living, I
think. At least, I'm trying.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Zacharias. You
wanted to speak with me?"</p><p>Had it not been unwise
to do so, Zacharias would have smiled. His mother's voice sounded
so much like Hermione's. But he knew neither woman would appreciate
the comparison, so he would not give offense.</p><p><em>Even though you are
about to give offense in another way, far more deeply.</em></p><p>He shook those
thoughts aside and sat up. "Yes, Mother." Miriam Smith's face
floated in the green flames of the fireplace in the Hufflepuff common
room. As Zacharias was of age by his family's standards, he'd
been allowed to use a privacy spell so that others could see him but
not hear what he was saying. He felt some curious glances on the back
of his neck now, especially from Susan Bones, who appeared more
interested in the politics of the wizarding world than Zacharias had
ever seen her.</p><p>He let out a slow
breath. He didn't need to be thinking of Susan right now. He needed
to be thinking of his mother, and Hermione.</p><p>"What about?"
Miriam asked a moment later. Zacharias concealed his start well, he
hoped. It had been his intention to wait and draw his mother out, but
he hadn't done it consciously, not this time. He'd simply let his
thoughts distract him to the point where he hadn't paid attention
to the workings of her face.</p><p><em>It could be fatal,
</em>he thought, eyes locked on the impatient lines around his
mother's mouth, <em>to do that again.</em></p><p>"Something
political," he responded. "Something important. Unless you're
doing something more important still, Mother, and then I am sorry to
have disturbed you and shall wait respectfully until you contact me
to speak to you again."</p><p>Miriam studied him in
silence. Zacharias could feel the balance weighing and tipping in her
mind. She was currently engaged in trying to make sure that those
Light purebloods who opposed the Grand Unified Theory still had a
voice in the Ministry. She would not want to be taken away from it,
and she would doubt whether her son's preoccupations concerned
anything more important than that.</p><p>But, on the other
hand, Zacharias was not in the habit of contacting her on a whim.</p><p>She nodded, and
Zacharias could almost hear her deciding that she would grant him a
few minutes of speech. "What is it?"</p><p>All his graceful words
deserted him. He had planned a few metaphors, vague mountain passes
by which he might approach the subject, and now it was upon him, and
he could do nothing but gesture towards it.</p><p>Unless he walked the
direct path.</p><p>The direct path would
not have annoyed Hermione. She would have thanked him, probably, for
saying what was on his mind without prevarication. But his mother and
Hermione were two very different people on the surface, however deep
the similarities might run.</p><p>"Zacharias?"</p><p>And he was taken off
guard again. That was a grave enough sin for him to <em>deserve</em>
whatever punishment his mother might think appropriate for a direct
statement. So Zacharias spoke, without trying to clothe it in a
sapphire-colored cloak.</p><p>"I believe the Grand
Unified Theory is right, Mother."</p><p>Miriam did not
explode. That had never been her way, of course. Bursts of temper
were like stars going supernova: all they did was produce a great
deal of heat and light and die quickly. More was gained by waiting,
by thinking, and by obeying standards of honor and coolness that the
Light held dear.</p><p>Zacharias thought for
a moment that the Dark held them dear, too, and then pushed the
thought away. He was not to blame for what his ancestors had valued.
The only thing he could affect, ultimately, was his own actions. He
knew what would happen when he was announced as a believer in the
Grand Unified Theory. Some Light purebloods would shun him, and his
influence would lessen.</p><p>He had thought, and
thought hard, in the last few weeks if announcing his beliefs was
worth that. In the end, he could only conclude that it was. The last
straw had been reading the words of Muggleborns on the subject, and
the words of purebloods, and realizing that the Dark and Light
wizards of old families sounded more like each other than the Light
ones sounded like the Muggleborns who had come seeking sanctuary in
their world.</p><p>Zacharias was Light.
He was that before he was pureblood, or Hufflepuff, or a descendant
of Helga Hufflepuff, or the heir of the Smith family. If he could
only have kept those distinctions by doing something Dark, he would
not have. And it disgusted him to think he might have more in common
with Lucius Malfoy than Hermione.</p><p>"You must have
received some convincing evidence," his mother said at last. She
had no emotion in her voice at all. That was a very bad sign. Still,
Zacharias did not close his eyes.</p><p>"I did, Mother,"
he said. Quiet, respectful, rolling with the blows, baring his belly
and his throat to her if she wanted to tear them out. In the end, he
was beyond her reach, just like Hermione was. The mistake of the
Light purebloods lay in thinking this might go away if they clamored
enough. And if it had been only a refutation of the old pureblood
ways and rituals, then it might have. But this was proof positive, a
statement of existence and not refusal of existence. Zacharias did
not think anything was going to make it go away. Murder the wizards
who believed in it and burn their books, and still someone would do
the research. It would rise again. The facts existed whether anyone
cared to believe in them.</p><p>"Of what kind?"</p><p>"I read the books."</p><p>"And what did they
show you?"</p><p>Zacharias spread his
hands. "That our most basic and most primal attitudes are right,
had we listened to their wording," he said calmly. "That it is
<em>magic</em> that matters, not blood and not birth and not wealth.
Once, we used that to justify poor pureblood families climbing to the
ranks of the great, as long as a sufficiently powerful head guided
them. And it was used to excuse the actions of the son or daughter of
a poor parent." Miriam's eyes narrowed. Zacharias wondered what
tones and inflections she had heard in those particular words. He
hoped they were the ones he had meant to put there. "They had their
magic, and their magic should shine unclouded, not dimmed by the
stupid or thoughtless decision of a weaker mother. Or father."</p><p>"And, Zacharias?"</p><p>"Hermione is very
strong," said Zacharias thoughtfully. "So is Hannah Abbott, a
Muggleborn student in my House. And some others, like Justin, whom
you've met, aren't that strong, but they can recognize power, and
follow it because they know that magic so pure has a claim on them
that no other allegiance can. They fought for Harry in the Midsummer
battle, Mother, just as we did. The difference lies in that they
didn't need rituals to convince them, or alliances. They have
native honor, native recognition of magic. They have to, since magic
is the only bond that brings many of them into the wizarding world at
all; otherwise, they would live out their lives in ignorance of its
existence. I have to admire their courage, Mother, riding a ship into
uncharted waters. I don't know that I could do it, be taken from
everything I've known and loved at the age of eleven and shown that
I have one thing—just one thing—in common with many other people,
but that a good portion of those other people would despise me for
something else I had no control over, my birth."</p><p>"There are many
other things that matter in our world now," said his mother. "You
know this, Zacharias. Or we would simply have followed Dumbledore
mindlessly, and Harry as mindlessly now."</p><p>"But that's not
what we <em>say</em>," Zacharias insisted mildly. "We <em>say</em>
that we're not prejudiced against Muggleborns, and that they're
welcome among us, and that we would even marry them if they're
strong enough." He took a deep breath. "But you don't want me
to marry Hermione, Mother, even though she's strong enough."</p><p>"That is a
consequence of her political attitudes, Zacharias, and not only her
blood."</p><p>"But her blood is
part of it."</p><p>His mother was silent.</p><p>Zacharias shook his
head. "I think I need a wife like that, Mother. I would be <em>bored</em>
in five years if I didn't have one. I might get along better with
someone like Susan Bones, who's been raised to the duties of a
pureblood wife and knows the pace of our rituals, but my life would
be little more than dancing, of one kind or another. I am smarter
than most of the people in the school, you know that. I want a
challenge."</p><p>"And when your
<em>challenge</em> deserts you to run off with another man, or wakes
you in the middle of the night with her arguing?"</p><p>"I'll be sure to
keep Hermione away from intelligent Muggleborn men who support house
elf rights," said Zacharias, dryly. "And I would rather wake
because of arguing than because of my political enemies attacking my
home. With Hermione at my side, I'll see my enemies coming before
they get that close."</p><p>His mother sighed.
"Take a few days to think about this, Zacharias. I believe you will
change your mind." And the flames flickered and vanished as she
ended the firecall.</p><p>Zacharias shook his
head and stood. Yes, perhaps if he had been childishly infatuated
with Hermione, he would change his mind. But he had other, more
practical reasons to marry her. Keeping himself from boredom for the
next hundred and thirty years was a large part of that.</p><p>And what could he say?
She had been right. He would be stupid to ignore that, and he was not
stupid.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Indigena Apparated
into being near her house, and then paused. There were lights in
Thornhall where there should be none. Only her house elves were in
the house, awaiting her return, and they did not need light, their
large eyes seeing more clearly at night than ever humans' did.</p><p>She sped her steps as
she moved forward. The thorns on her back slid out of their sheaths
and twined restlessly in the air, looking for someone to stab.
Indigena rubbed their bark, letting the bumps beneath her fingers
soothe her rage, and then reached out and opened the door.</p><p>A lamp burned in the
hall. Indigena saw no house elf near it. She paused, looking around,
listening, the thorny rose on her wrist whose poison would kill in
two minutes lifting its head. Its petals rustled as it sniffed for
danger. Indigena could smell nothing, though, save a faint, warm
scent that was like her own, if she had visited sometime in the last
few days and moved through several rooms.</p><p>That made her narrow
down her suspicions as to whom it could be, at least. There were only
a few people who both smelled like her and were sufficiently powerful
to get through the wards. But Indigena could not imagine why they
would want to. She had gone to Voldemort, had fulfilled the honor
debt that Yaxley had owed him because her nephew Feldspar had refused
to return and join him. How dare they blame her now, if they were
here to blame her?</p><p>With stiff steps, she
walked into her study and stood there, regarding the woman in front
of the bookshelves silently. She did not look up, but Indigena had no
doubt she was aware of her presence. Indigena was not the only one in
the family to have made sacrifices in return for gifts, nor even the
only one whose sacrifices had made her less than human.</p><p>"Lazuli," she said
at last.</p><p>Her sister set the
book she held carefully back down, then turned to face Indigena. She
looked as lovely as always, pale, slender. The striped shadows on her
face could have come from the lit lamps. Indigena eyed her hands, but
Lazuli wore her trademark heavy robes. One would have to go up and
feel her arms before one could find the damage done to them.</p><p>"What are you doing
here?" she asked.</p><p>Lazuli nodded once, as
if she had expected the question. Her eyes were as bright a blue as
the gem she was named after, her dark hair heavy and long as the
robes were. She and Indigena did not look like sisters at all, but
that was only fair; they had had different fathers. "I came to see
if you had abandoned the house," she said, voice as soft and fine
as drifting dust. "If you had, by rights, Thornhall belongs to me."</p><p>Indigena shook her
head once, in weariness. "Lazuli, you know where I am. You know
what I am. None of that gives you a right to assume me dead, and none
of that is sufficient excuse to be in a house where most of the
plants would murder you on scent." She moved a step forward. "You
have been here for days. And you could always have owled me to ask
such a simple question. I asked once before." Her thorns began
stirring on her back again. "<em>What are you doing here?"</em></p><p>Lazuli studied her in
thoughtful silence. Indigena had never been able to intimidate her
when she was fully human, nor even after she began weaving plants
beneath her skin, but she had hoped this more drastic change after
Parkinson's blood curses would help. It did not seem it did. Lazuli
might have been regarding a cat puffed up and hissing at her for all
the reaction she showed.</p><p>"You surely must
know." Her voice had at least a hint of surprise, when minutes had
passed with Indigena refusing to answer this time. "Well. Not know.
But you know what I did, what gift I chose. Does it surprise you to
learn that I am interested to hear a <em>vates</em> is moving about in
the world?"</p><p>And Indigena had to
turn a corner and face something she had never suspected she would.
Most of the Yaxley family, though they practiced Dark magic and were
unafraid to walk the shadows, did not join in the wars of Light and
Dark. Feldspar had been the single, stupid exception, and he was
Peridot's son, not Lazuli's, so his stupidity was understandable.
Indigena had been the answer to that forgetfulness. She had never
thought she would have to face one of her family across a
battlefield. Voldemort could offer them nothing, and nor could Harry.</p><p>"A <em>vates</em> has
been moving in the world for the last year, Lazuli," she said. "Why
choose his side now?"</p><p>"Did I say I was
choosing his side?" Still soft and fine voice, still no trace of a
smile. That was what Indigena found hardest to comprehend about her
sister, the lack of any human warmth, the refusal to turn a hair.
Lucius Malfoy was more human, given that he gloated over his enemies.
Indigena would have said she herself was more human, but with the
shrubbery growing under her skin, she couldn't claim that any more.
"I am merely interested. And the reason I could feel him, Lazuli,
was that he stepped into the paths between Light and Dark. He may,
someday, grow interested in what lurks there. He may, someday, wish
to help Jacinth."</p><p>Indigena snorted in
spite of herself. "You chose what she was to be yourself, Lazuli."
It still stunned her, sometimes, what Lazuli had given up in pursuit
of improvement not for herself, but for her child. A Seer had told
her, accurately enough, that Lazuli would never bear the daughter she
wanted by lying with any man; her fate was to have sons, or stay
barren. So Lazuli had found and lain with something nonhuman, a
nameless beast that skittered between Light and Dark. Jacinth was
born half-human only, and Lazuli would be executed if she so much as
mentioned the name of the father's species to anyone else. They
were—not native to the paths between Dark and Light, but something
wizards had bound there, and feared, and forgotten long ago. But if
they found that a witch had summoned one and given it partial access
to the wizarding world, even if it was only through the gateway of
her body and a child of impure blood, they could remember.</p><p>Indigena eyed Lazuli's
arms again. "What are you missing today?" she asked.</p><p>She blinked in shock
when her sister answered the challenge by undoing the sleeves of her
robes and pushing them up. Her arms were very slender, not much more
than bone. Huge chunks of flesh were taken from them, bloodless,
worried by invisible teeth. As Indigena watched, another vanished.
They would regrow tomorrow, and be taken again, and again, and every
day for the rest of Lazuli's life. She had accepted that as the
price for Jacinth's fathering.</p><p>Indigena did not want
to face her sister on the battlefield. More than that, though, she
did not want Lazuli's indomitable will behind Harry.</p><p>"He wouldn't be
able to do anything for you," she warned. "Not when the beasts
out of the paths can't survive except by devouring other things."</p><p>"He freed the
Dementors," said Lazuli. "He freed the werewolves. He is freeing
the house elves, whom many purebloods would claim we cannot survive
without." Her voice was water with the moon reflected in it. "I
have already freed my elves."</p><p>Indigena stared at
her.</p><p>"They were
frightening Jacinth."</p><p>"Please, sister."
Indigena made some effort to swallow, to speak calmly. "You <em>know</em>
that the Dark Lord will win. He is too clever, and Harry is too weak.
My Lord knows magic he has not yet used on the battlefield. He is
immortal." She knew what the means of that immortality was, and she
briefly wished she could tell Lazuli, so she would understand how
hopeless Harry's cause was, but her Lord had bound her by oath to
say no word about it except to another Death Eater. "He has his
methods of building up another cadre of faithful followers. You will
doom yourself, and Jacinth, if you join Harry. He will lose, and the
Dark Lord will destroy you and the daughter you love."</p><p>Lazuli shook her head.
Indigena wondered why, until she said, "He will face Jacinth's
father if he tries that. I have much to gain from the <em>vates</em>,
Indigena, and nothing to lose. You are lost to Yaxley in any case.
And if someday my daughter can walk in the sunlight, her heritage
acknowledged by all, her father sometimes free to attend at her
side—I would pay much."</p><p>"We are going to
defeat him," said Indigena softly.</p><p>"You consider
yourself a Death Eater, sister?"</p><p>"I am bound," said
Indigena, a little more sharply than she meant to. "I had no choice
in that, just as you would have had none had the Dark Lord chosen
you. And I've always known what my road cost. They call me Thorn
Bitch. I <em>know</em> it. Even now I am doing things I would not do if
I were free, spinning webs that will upend the world. But, still,
sister. <em>Vita desinit, decus permanit.</em> I know the motto of our
family as well as you do."</p><p>Lazuli nodded. "And
if I choose Harry's side, I will hold by him as firmly as you hold
by your Lord."</p><p>Indigena felt a deep
sorrow engulf her as she gazed at her sister. There was nothing she
could do, no way that she could end this. She could not have forced
Lazuli to do anything even if she were free. Of course, if she were
free, Lazuli's determination to join Harry would just be the
amusing matter of a joke, not the difference between life and death,
as it would be now.</p><p>She knew it was
irrational, to fear her own sister this much. But ever since Lazuli
had chosen as she had, to be devoured each day for as long as she
lived and consider it small price for her snake-eyed daughter,
Indigena did not think anything could truly oppose her. Let her join
Harry, and the Dark Lord's victory had just become that much less
sure, Horcruxes and all.</p><p>And there were
others—wizards and witches, Dark and Light alike, who had mated
with creatures other than Veela, the only magical species widely
recognized as having the legal right to cross with humans. There were
children with glamours on their ears, on their eyes, on their hands
to give them the right number of fingers or hide extra ones. If Harry
could command Lazuli's allegiance, he might be able to command
theirs. It was a force Indigena had not even anticipated him calling
on.</p><p>"If you were only
concerned about honor," Lazuli said, bringing her out of her daze,
"you would not care, sister. You would fulfill your oath and leave
me to fulfill mine. I do not think you are entirely his, even now."</p><p>Indigena lifted her
head. "Thornhall is still not yours," she said. "The question
you came to have answered is answered. Leave, Lazuli."</p><p>Lazuli nodded and
turned away, another chunk of meat vanishing from her right arm.
Indigena watched her go, then turned feverishly to the shelves and
drew forth the books she had come looking for, on the old, old forces
of self-sacrifice, of love and hatred and how they could be to used
to hold and hurt. Her Lord wished to know if love, after all, was the
force that would oppose him, and for that Indigena needed more than
<em>Odi et Amo</em>, useful as it had proved in other things.</p><p>At least one good
thing had come of her sister's implacable behavior, she consoled
herself as she turned away. She now knew a threat that might help
Harry and oppose her Lord, and could warn him about it before it
manifested. Perhaps it might give him time to ensnare those who had
mated with Dark creatures as allies. He had once won werewolves by
offering them freedom. He could do the same thing this time.</p><p>She had almost left
the study before it occurred to her to go back and look at the book
her sister had laid down when she came in. The title did not reassure
her at all.</p><p><em>The Paths of the
Lords.</em> It had a section on the <em>vates</em>, and on what it meant
to be <em>vates.</em> Knowing Lazuli, she had used the book to look for
answers on whether Harry would be likely to help Jacinth, and found
them there.</p><p>Indigena swallowed.
She had to trust in her Lord, in her own honor, and the plans she had
made. Harry was likely to fall before the calendar year was out, or
perhaps the school year; her Lord had not been specific in his
gloating. Then she might never need to face her sister, and Lazuli
and Jacinth could remain in the shadows, letting them shelter them,
instead of chancing exposure to a disgusted wizarding world and a
harsh war</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 88*: A Birthday Celebration</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Nine: A Birthday Celebration</strong></p><p>Harry cast his
fifteenth charm on the letter. It glowed a little, and then the glow
faded, utterly failing to show that it had been smeared with any
venom that would transfer to his skin on contact.</p><p>"Someone could want
to ally with you for your own sake, you know," Draco muttered,
edging away. Harry's fourteenth charm had turned his pancakes
green. "You don't have to use every spell ever invented on that
letter."</p><p>"You would have
snapped at me if I didn't and then you saw the signature," Harry
pointed out. The letter had come with an unfamiliar owl, who still
sat at the edge of the table, preening herself and waiting for a
response. Harry had cast several spells before he unfolded the
parchment. Then he'd caught sight of the signature, which ended in
<em>Yaxley</em>, and decided that the letter could stand a few more.</p><p>"What does that have
to do with anything?"</p><p>Harry shook his
head—Draco would never acknowledge when he was being unfair—and
finally opened the letter. Reading it left him no less mystified than
before.</p><p><em>Harry </em>vates:</p><p><em>My name is Lazuli
Yaxley. I am the half-sister of Indigena, whom, as you know, fights
with Voldemort. We had the same mother, but different fathers. My
other sister is Peridot, the mother of Feldspar, whose stupidity in
serving the Dark Lord during the First War condemned my sister to
serve him in this one. </em></p><p><em>I have discovered
recently that you may be amenable to helping me with a large problem
of prejudice and disgust in the wizarding world. My daughter Jacinth,
for various and sundry reasons, will never have a free life if some
common attitudes do not alter. You are working to alter these
attitudes in regards to werewolves and house elves. It occurs me that
you could do the same for her. I would like you to meet her, and me,
on neutral ground. I am not willing to come to Hogwarts, but the
house of one of your allies would be welcome.</em></p><p><em>We have much to
discuss. I can offer you much: intimate knowledge of Indigena, which
will be important now that she is the Dark Lord's most dangerous
Death Eater; knowledge of the paths between Light and Dark without
your having to venture into them; a possible source of allies in
other parents who have children like mine; my wand and my will; the
support of a small portion of the House of Yaxley, though in this we
are individuals and it will not be a formal family alliance. In
return, I ask much: for you to fight for Jacinth as you would for any
of the other magical creatures under your protection; for you to
support those Yaxleys who agree to support you should the Dark Lord
fall on us; for you to not report me to the Ministry when you learn
the extent of the laws I have broken; for a fair hearing when my
sister has been a source of torment to you; for the meeting on
neutral ground. My owl will await your reply.</em></p><p><em>Lazuli Yaxley.</em></p><p>Harry shook his head
with a small, quick frown. In a way, he didn't want to refuse. This
was the kind of <em>vates</em> work he was supposed to do, wasn't it?
He didn't know what connection Lazuli and Jacinth might have with
magical creatures; if Jacinth were half-Veela, then they could have
gone through the Veela Council to ally with him. And if Jacinth were
not half-Veela…</p><p><em>That would explain
the line about not reporting her to the Ministry.</em></p><p>"Interesting?"
Draco asked, at his right shoulder.</p><p>Harry handed him the
letter. He expected laughter, and a shake of his head, and a murmur
that a Yaxley must be out of her mind to think that Harry would meet
with her. Instead, Draco's brow furrowed, and he chewed one corner
of his mouth so much that Harry thought he'd forgotten and mistaken
it for a pancake.</p><p>"Well?" Harry
asked at last. "What do you think?"</p><p>"You could do worse
than to meet with her." Draco handed the letter back and leaned his
head the other way, closing his eyes, still making his lip a ragged
mess with constant bites. "I'm trying to remember everything my
mother told me about the House of Yaxley," he said. "Hush a
moment."</p><p>Harry raised an
eyebrow. "Only a moment?"</p><p>"<em>Hush</em>, I
said."</p><p>Harry turned back to
his orange juice. Argutus, who was draped around his shoulders, asked
for an explanation of the letter, and Harry gave it to him as best he
could. To his surprise, Argutus stretched his neck forward and
flicked his tongue around the edge of the parchment, then retracted
his head and scented around the edge of Harry's flesh hand, too.</p><p>"<em>I thought so</em>,"
he said, sounding satisfied.</p><p>"What did you
think?"</p><p>"<em>There was the
scent of a strange snake, and I could not see one.</em>" Argutus
wound himself partially on to the table to steal a sausage from
Millicent's plate. She rolled her eyes, but permitted it. Most of
the Slytherins seemed to think that if they weren't swift enough to
prevent Argutus from taking their food away, they didn't deserve to
keep it. "<em>But the scent is on the letter. At one point it was in
a room with a snake.</em>"</p><p>Harry inclined his
head, almost unwillingly. If Lazuli Yaxley kept a snake, that would
make sense. It intrigued him, and he had almost nothing to fear on
that quarter.</p><p>"Can you tell what
kind?"</p><p><em>"Unfamiliar. I
look forward to meeting it. It smells like wind.</em>"</p><p>Harry looked
thoughtfully at the letter again. He knew one place that might be a
good candidate for his meeting with Lazuli; the difficulty was in
getting his potential host to agree to it.</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>Draco jolted and
opened his eyes, glaring at him. "I told you to keep quiet and let
me remember everything I've heard about the Yaxley family."</p><p>"Oh, I know enough
about that," said Harry blandly, and delighted in the way that
Draco's glare grew sharper. <em>Really, he ought to think more
carefully if he's going to handle politics for me. </em>"Generally
undeclared, but tending towards the Darker side of magic. And
obsessed with honor. If Lazuli does consent to ally with me the way
Indigena serves Voldemort, then perhaps I need not fear her."</p><p>"My mother fears
her, though," Draco insisted. "Not anyone else in the family, not
even Indigena or their sister Peridot, just her."</p><p>Harry blinked. <em>That's
unexpected. </em>"And did she say why? Or is that bit of important
information still hiding in the depths of your memory?"</p><p>Draco hit him, but his
eyes were serious. "She said that Lazuli Yaxley has an implacable
will. Once she decides she wants something, she won't stop working
until she gets it. And that could be dangerous, Harry, as you know.
She might decide that she wants something other than your friendship.
It would be better if you didn't get involved with this at all."</p><p>"But
she's reached out to me, and rejecting her now could be dangerous,"
Harry reminded him. "I don't know if she has any pride to insult,
but if she does, then this would do it. I'm <em>vates</em>, Draco. I
can't refuse to help someone sight unseen, and just because I might
be afraid of her. It'll make me look weak."</p><p>"And that's what
she's counting on," said Draco evenly. "Why do you think she
appealed to you in the name of the good you do for magical
creatures?"</p><p>"Because she wanted
my help," said Harry, getting a bit exasperated now. Sometimes,
Draco was both eager to remind him of the danger of politics and
seemingly convinced that Harry had to abandon his standards in order
to deal with that danger. "She knew this was a good means of
securing it. I wouldn't have expected her to do anything else."</p><p>"And you're really
going to meet with her, then?"</p><p>Harry looked at the
letter, then at the owl sitting at the end of the table. "I'll
suggest a meeting place. Then I have to suggest it to the person who
owns the meeting place, and it's someone who might not agree, for
all I know. And then I have to talk to Snape." Harry grimaced
slightly. "Three guesses on who's going to be the hardest to
convince."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p><em>Dear Adalrico:</em></p><p><em>I am writing to ask
if I may visit your home as neutral ground to use in a meeting with
Lazuli Yaxley. I trust to your wards and your care; Blackstone is
defended enough that I would not feel uneasy meeting with Yaxley
there as I would at Lux Aeterna. I doubt that Yaxley would agree to
that, at any event, as it is my brother's ground, and not hers. </em></p><p><em>The reason I ask
you in particular, sir, is that Yaxley wishes me to help her daughter
in return for her alliance. I know that you value your children
highly, and our bond was most truly forged through the birth of your
younger daughter. I do not wish to come to your home at the end of
February merely to meet with Yaxley, but to celebrate Marian's
birthday, to renew my commitment to her and to other children who
will, I hope, grow up in a different world.</em></p><p><em>If you would prefer
that I not use your home, I will understand. You have suffered enough
because of our alliance. But I thought I would ask, for the reasons I
have given above.</em></p><p><em>Thank you for
listening.</em></p><p><em>Yours,</em></p><p><em>Harry.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS<em><br>
</em></p><p><em>Dear Harry: </em></p><p><em>Meeting with a
</em>Yaxley? <em>You have gone quite mad. A meeting with someone else
of another Dark family I could understand or accept. I would even be
willing to open my home to a Light wizard, if one ever agreed to step
through Blackstone's doors. But this?</em></p><p><em>I had been
wondering why you sent a letter to me rather than spoke with me by
means of the phoenix song spell. Now I understand. You wish to appeal
more formally than the spell allows. The answer to part of your
request is no, Harry. My wife and I would both welcome a birthday
celebration for Marian, and having you at it. We agree that she needs
to live in a different world, and you have not spent as much time
with her as we once envisioned you doing. But our home will not
permit the foot of a Yaxley to cross its threshold when her sister
fights with the man who once ruled my life, and nearly ruined it.</em></p><p><em>Adalrico Bulstrode.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS<em><br>
</em></p><p><em>Dear Mr. Bulstrode:
</em></p><p><em>I understand your
reluctance, and your reasons are well-expressed. As it happens,
Lazuli Yaxley has agreed to an alternate location for the meeting,
one I am surprised she accepted. I will come to Marian's birthday
celebration, and not meet with Yaxley and her daughter until
afterwards.</em></p><p><em>I hope you and your
family are well.</em></p><p><em>Harry.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>Elfrida came to meet
him, clad in her pale blonde hair as in dignity. Harry caught her
hands and kissed them carefully, secretly delighting in the fact that
he had a left hand now to match her left one, and that she neither
flinched nor complained about it being too cold. She cupped his chin
as soon as the formal greeting with done, and lifted his face so that
she could look critically at him.</p><p>"You are tired,"
she said.</p><p>"I shouldn't have
agreed to lead a political alliance if I wanted my beauty sleep,"
Harry told her, with a slight grin, and stepped away from
Blackstone's fireplace so that Snape, Draco, Peter, and Regulus
could follow him. Hawthorn was already standing in a corner of the
room, he saw, talking quietly with Adalrico. He nodded to her.
Neither Millicent nor Marian had appeared yet. A fireplace across the
room brightened, and Narcissa stepped out, shaking her skirts to rid
them of soot. Harry raised an eyebrow. It was one of the few times he
had seen Draco's mother without formal robes. These skirts swirled
in deep shades of green that emphasized her pallor and the crown of
equally pale hair around her head.</p><p>"No one else is
expected," said Elfrida, catching his eye.</p><p>Harry found himself
relaxing. Sometimes, as much as he treasured his newer allies, he
wanted to be with his oldest ones. Not even in front of Owen and
Syrinx could he let down as many of his masks as he could here,
though Owen and Syrinx would be accompanying him to his meeting with
Lazuli Yaxley after Marian's festival. He smiled and moved over to
Adalrico.</p><p>"Where's the
birthday girl?" he asked.</p><p>"Still asleep, but
Millicent is fetching her." Adalrico held out his hand. Harry
hesitated a moment, seeing it was the one wounded in the Department
of Mysteries, but clasped it when Adalrico wriggled the fingers. The
deep, fleshy bruises on them were gradually beginning to fade. "I
am glad that you agreed to come, Harry," he added, as they let each
other's hands go. "It will be good for my children to know a
Lord-level wizard who does not want to conquer the wizarding world or
control them. It is a chance I never had."</p><p>Harry murmured
something polite in return, while fixing his eyes on Adalrico's
face. He could see shadows burning there, but Adalrico's eyes
remained steady. It seemed he didn't resent Harry for asking to use
Blackstone as neutral ground. Perhaps it was for the best. Harry had
been stunned when Lazuli agreed to meet him at Cobley-by-the-Sea, but
being surrounded by wards he was linked to, as Black heir, would give
him a security even Blackstone could not have provided.</p><p>"It is no more than
Lord-level wizards should have been doing all along," said Harry,
meaning it. The more he tried to learn about Dumbledore through
questioning Snape and Peter on their school memories, the more
intensely puzzled he became. <em>Why</em> would Dumbledore have wanted
to control his students the way he had tried to control Lily through
the ethic of sacrifice? Why would he want to have mindless followers
fighting behind him, instead of freely chosen allies fighting beside
him? It made no sense to Harry. Voldemort's madness was actually
easier to interpret; he had known nothing else, had probably been
born that way. But Dumbledore had known, at one time in his life,
justice and a powerful relationship to the rest of the world not
based on exploitation. That anyone would choose to fall from that
was—</p><p>Wasn't
comprehensible. And Harry was just going to have to get used to that,
and accept that his training and his magic had led him in different
directions, he supposed.</p><p>"Here she is!"
Adalrico exclaimed, turning away from him.</p><p>Harry caught a glimpse
of Hawthorn's face as he followed suit. She was very still, but
there was a wistful happiness in the backs of her hazel eyes. If she
could not feel joy with her own daughter dead, at least she might
feel its echo in the presence of other people's children, Harry
thought.</p><p>He reached out, making
sure he used his right hand, and clasped her arm. Hawthorn gave him a
strained smile.</p><p>Then Harry faced the
door of the receiving room, where Millicent was walking beside
Marian, murmuring advice to her much smaller sister that Harry
doubted she was taking. Marian had a child's garment on, a cross
between a tiny robe and a long shirt, and her dark hair was done up
in ribbons of green and white. Harry raised his eyebrows. <em>The
Bulstrodes truly are fond of the old ways. </em>In some of the most
ancient rituals, those ribbons would have been used to signal that
the child was now leaving the winter of infancy—the winter when
they could easily have died, and when the family could have more
easily given them up—and entering a spring in which her siblings
and parents would surrender their hearts to her. Of course, it could
also easily signify Marian's birthday on the cusp of spring.</p><p>Marian's head turned
as she came into the room, and she scanned their faces carefully. Her
eyes fixed on Harry, and stayed there. Harry held his breath. She
could probably sense his magic as the strongest in the room. Her
reaction would be telling, and might make all the difference as to
whether Adalrico's idea of rearing her around a friendly Lord-level
wizard would actually work.</p><p>Marian broke into a
smile. Then she pulled away from Millicent's hand and wobbled
unsteadily across the room to him. Harry knelt to receive her,
putting himself as much on her level as possible.</p><p>There was a stain on
Marian's shirt, as if she'd been eating a purple berry. It didn't
seem to matter. "Harry," she said, and then clasped his robe and
tugged on it insistently. If she noticed the silver hand as different
from the flesh hand, it obviously didn't interest her. "More
magic."</p><p>Harry nodded slightly,
hoped that Snape had his shields raised against a headache—he'd
complained enough about this day, Merlin knew, and Harry didn't
really want to distress him further—and lowered his shields.</p><p>Warm dark blue spread
out from his palms, as if he'd opened the gate to an ocean there.
Harry smelled the scent of sun-warmed grass, and autumn wildflowers.
Two purple hands unfolded from the light and began to paint a
picture, which grew to resemble Marian's face.</p><p>Marian laughed. The
sound was free, uncontrolled, not afraid at all. She put out one hand
of her own, and seemed utterly enchanted when Harry solidified one of
the purple fingers enough so that she could touch it.</p><p>Harry felt his eyes
sting with tears. He reached out and carefully picked Marian up. She
didn't kick, though Elfrida had warned him she might, but went on
gazing into the heart of the light, utterly absorbed, poking a finger
now and then and giggling when it poked her back.</p><p>Harry ducked his head
and rubbed his face in silky, dark, warm hair. For a moment, notions
of politics tumbled away from him, and so did notions of how
wonderful it might be if every child could be unafraid of magic.
There was only the fact that he knew he was acting <em>right</em> in
response to the rest of the world.</p><p>Jing-Xi had told him
about that, the responsibility that other Lords and Ladies—mostly
of the Light—felt for their people, and how wonderful it was when
they knew they had come down from lofty heights they placed
themselves on and others cooperated in building, and actually
<em>interacted</em> with others.</p><p>Harry hadn't known
if he would ever feel it, since he seemed mostly to piss other people
off through things like insisting on house elf freedom. He hadn't
known if he would ever fulfill the promise of the words Narcissa had
written as Starborn, encouraging him not to be a Lord, to defend and
serve and protect instead of compel.</p><p>Now he knew he could,
if only for a moment at a time.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Hawthorn glanced down
at her hands. Tears were blinding her, and not because Harry holding
Marian like that brought back memories of Pansy at a much younger
age, yelling as she raced in circles through the house and made the
elves squeal.</p><p>For a moment, the life
she'd lived lately, the one in which vengeance against Indigena
ached and pushed against her, opened up, and sunlight came through
the crack in the clouds.</p><p>It was more beautiful
and more piercing than the moment in which she'd given up bloody
vengeance for Claudia. It said that perhaps life was more important
than death, and the dead must give place to the living. It said that
it was things like this which mattered, more than the time when a
heart stopped beating.</p><p><em>I cannot think like
this. I cannot. </em>Hawthorn ran a hand over her face in anxiety.
<em>Pansy was my daughter. I must take vengeance for her. </em></p><p>She turned away from
Harry and Marian, because they were only confusing her, and watched
Draco Malfoy watching Harry instead. The expression on his face was
easy enough to understand.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco felt as though
he <em>understood</em>, then. He'd been going through Harry's
memories in the Pensieve he gave him for Christmas. Some made him
laugh. Some enraged him. Some broke his heart. None of them had ever
let him understand Harry's lack of ambition, why he wouldn't use
his magic to win just some small luxuries for himself, delights no
one else would miss and which they'd be glad to give to someone of
Lord-level power.</p><p>Now he knew. Harry
didn't want them because he was more interested in the greater
delights. His magic lapped the room like a purring serpent. He was
happier in that moment than Draco had ever seen him outside of bed,
his will and reality in accord, and it was his magic that had helped
him bring it about. He didn't want people to face him with fear,
but with wonder instead.</p><p>Draco put a hand on
his chest, feeling as if he'd swallowed a chicken bone. Harry
didn't like fear.</p><p>Oh. <em>Oh.</em></p><p>And that would be the
reason he'd included the desire to not cause fear in the oaths for
the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, and why he didn't want to
intimidate people, and why he didn't want to keep house elves as
slaves or servants. Why should he? He could have <em>better</em>
things.</p><p>Draco understood all
about wanting better things. He had simply never imagined that
respect and wonder could be two of those better things.</p><p>He wanted to move
forward and put his hands on Harry's shoulders and kiss him
breathless, but they were in public and Harry hadn't put Marian
down yet. It would have to wait.</p><p>For once, Draco didn't
mind waiting.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"<em>Vates.</em>"</p><p>Harry inclined his
head slowly as he stepped around the door into the blank stone room
of Cobley-by-the-Sea where Lazuli Yaxley had agreed to meet him.
"Madam Yaxley." Snape followed close on his heels, Draco just
behind, with Peter and Regulus peering over their shoulders. Owen and
Syrinx stepped through the door and spread out to stand on either
side of it, staring at Lazuli all the while.</p><p>Lazuli, who had been
looking out the window, turned to face them. And Harry met her eyes
and understood why Narcissa might fear her.</p><p>She was not the
strongest wizard in the room; she was considerably weaker than Snape,
and perhaps Regulus, and of course Harry himself. Her magic had a
Dark edge, but Harry had met and felt more vicious ones. Her cold,
polished manner was one common to many purebloods.</p><p>It was what the lack
of expression on her face meant that could frighten someone else. She
appeared to be totally uncaught, unlinked, unbound. No one else, said
her face, had ever made such an impression on her that she would hold
herself back and do what they said. She had never feared anyone.</p><p><em>Unconquered.</em></p><p>Harry subdued the
flash of immediate approval that caused in his heart. He might like
her as <em>vates, </em>but he was not here only as that. Lazuli also
proposed to join his political alliance.</p><p>"Madam," he
repeated, when she said nothing, but continued to study him. "You
agreed to bring your daughter. Is she here?"</p><p>"Jacinth," Lazuli
breathed, not taking her eyes off him. Harry had no idea what she
felt, what she was thinking. It didn't show in any flicker of
expression or any tiny gesture she made, both the places he was used
to looking for them.</p><p>A small girl came
around the side of the one piece of furniture in the room, a large
chair that faced the window. Harry studied her. She looked about
seven years old, and normal for a witch that age: dark-haired, pale,
nervous. She ducked her head away from Harry's gaze before he could
see the color of her eyes or make out much of her face. Of course, if
what Harry suspected was true and Jacinth was half-human and half
violently otherwise, she was probably wearing a glamour in any case.</p><p>"This is my daughter
Jacinth," Lazuli said, and put one hand on the girl's shoulder.
"For her, I offer you alliance and loyalty, in all the terms
discussed in the letter. For her, in return, you would be fighting. I
wish you to change the world so that she does not have to hide in the
shadows any more."</p><p>Harry cleared his
throat with an effort. "I would like to see her fully, first. Am I
right in assuming that Jacinth's father was not human, Madam
Yaxley?"</p><p>"That is so," said
Lazuli. "<em>Finite Incantatem.</em>"</p><p>Jacinth's outline
rippled under her hands. She looked up again, half-cringing. Harry
caught his breath, and strove to make sure that nothing showed on his
face.</p><p>Jacinth's eyes were
huge, golden, and caught under eye-ridges that made them stand out
from her head like a snake's. Delicate, incongruous lashes fringed
them, nevertheless, and Harry could see from her nervous blink that
she did have eyelids. A forked tongue flickered past her lips.</p><p>Lazuli stepped back,
and Jacinth moved forward, arms spread out as if putting on a
display. Delicate gray wings, the color of shadows, unfolded from her
back; they resembled a dragon's, though they weren't quite the
span of her arms, and Harry didn't think she could use them to fly.
Her robes split at the back to reveal a gray-black tail that ended in
a triangular point, and when she spun, Harry could see that her hair
joined with her spine, melting into obsidian–like spikes along her
spine that easily sliced holes in the cloth. She had two legs, but
they nearly seemed like afterthoughts next to the smooth muscled
slide of her back.</p><p>Harry heard Snape draw
his wand. Before he could say anything, or Snape could intone a
curse, Lazuli said, "Jacinth's father is here."</p><p>Harry looked up to see
the shadows boiling in one corner of the room. Something formed
there—a shape, dark and coiled, with no sign of legs, and no sign
of a head, either. From its back splayed wings, from its chest
projected a tongue. A maw opened and closed at one end, displaying
teeth as sharp as Jacinth's spikes.</p><p>"Severus," Harry
said softly, never taking his eyes away from the shadows. He could
feel its—his—magic now, and it was mad, sliding, Dark but too
wild for the Dark, shot with gleams of Light. <em>It is no wonder that
Lazuli said she could give me knowledge of the paths between Dark and
Light. She went there to mate with this—thing. </em>"Do not."</p><p>"Do you know what
that is?" Snape demanded, his voice choked with nearly as much fear
as he had ever shown around the werewolves, if not the same rage and
hatred. "They <em>hunted</em> us, Harry. To give them passage back to
the world is madness. And they will have it, if there is a child even
half of their blood alive." He spun on Lazuli. "Why did you do
this? Why?"</p><p>"I wanted to,"
said Lazuli Yaxley.</p><p>Harry looked back to
her. She had one arm slightly tilted, in such a way that he knew her
wand was up her sleeve, and she had her lips parted in way that
suggested her next words would be <em>Avada Kedavra.</em> She would not
miss, either.</p><p>Harry could see
emotion in her eyes for the first time. Love, such fierce love, and
such implacable will. Harry had no doubt that she saw Jacinth exactly
as she was, all the time, and loved her the more for it.</p><p>"You cannot
negotiate a settlement with <em>them</em>," Snape said, jerking his
head at the shadows. The creature had lost most of his form, Harry
saw, coming forward to coil around Lazuli's feet and lifting his
head to her arms. For a moment, her sleeve sagged, as if a chunk of
her flesh had vanished. Harry thought of the creature's teeth, and
wondered what price a nameless beast out of the paths would demand
for fathering a child. "It is not done. It is impossible."</p><p>"The <em>vates</em>
does the impossible on a regular basis." Lazuli lowered her arm.
"And this is his decision."</p><p>Harry turned to face
Jacinth. She had stopped spinning and stood with her eyes lowered,
her hands locked together. Delicate gray webs fluttered around her
fingers, he saw, opening and then closing again like breathing
flowers.</p><p>"How do you feel?"
he asked her, striving to make his voice gentle. "Do you wish to
live in the world your mother wants me to build?"</p><p>Her eyes came up and
met his, astonished. Then her face broke out in the most amazing
smile, stretching the shadows of scales beneath her skin. "You can
<em>talk</em> to me," she said.</p><p>Harry realized, then,
that he was speaking Parseltongue; the sight of Jacinth's eyes had
probably been enough to make him drop into the language. He opened
his mouth to apologize, but Jacinth rushed on eagerly.</p><p>"I can speak
English, too, but not so well. It makes me sound like a freak. And
none of the others can understand me in this language except Father,
and he only talks when he feels like it." She moved a step forward,
and the intense loneliness in her eyes made Harry's heart hurt.
"You can <em>talk</em>," she repeated, as if it were a miracle.
"Will you come back and talk to me sometimes?"</p><p>"Of course," said
Harry quietly. "If you wish it." He didn't glance at Lazuli
right now. This was between him and Jacinth. "And that will happen
whether we become allies or not. But do you <em>want</em> your mother
and I to become allies? It would mean other people knowing about
you." In Parseltongue, that came out more like "reading all your
scent."</p><p>Jacinth swallowed.
"I—could you make them stop staring sometimes?"</p><p>"That's what I
would try to do," said Harry. "Make them stop staring. Make them
not care what you sound like when you speak English. But I might not
win. It might mean people would know you, but hate you and fear you.
And it would take years even if I did win. Do you want this?"</p><p>Her tongue flickered
out again. Harry wondered if she was tasting his scent, reading his
truthfulness there. Then her eyes came back to his face with such
force he almost gasped.</p><p>"Yes," she said.
"Because I want to be able to walk down the street someday and not
have people try to kill me, which Mother said would happen. Some
stares wouldn't be so bad, compared to that. And I could always
insult them back in this language. And Father says when I grow my
teeth, I can threaten them, and they'll run." She hesitated. "And
that's the world where you live, isn't it?"</p><p>Harry nodded.</p><p>"Then I want to
visit you there. Sometimes," Jacinth added hastily, as if aware she
might be asking for too much.</p><p>"You have it,"
said Harry, and turned to face Lazuli. The shadow that had coiled
around her was gone. She was watching him with an expression he had
never seen before.</p><p>"Your daughter wants
this," he told her. "And if I could set Dementors free, I may be
able to do the same thing for Jacinth's father. I'll fight."</p><p>Lazuli sank so
gracefully that Harry didn't realize what she was doing until she
was already on one knee. Then she shook back her sleeves, and Harry
realized she was showing him her arms.</p><p>Her half-devoured
arms.</p><p>"I paid this price
for Jacinth's fathering," Lazuli said, into the silence. "Every
day I will pay it. And I would pay it in death. I love her, and she
is mine. Do you fight for her, there is nothing I will not do to
support you. I know the meaning of sacrifice."</p><p>Harry could only nod,
and then Snape was grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around and
trying to tell him something about Jacinth's father.</p><p>Harry listened calmly.
There were going to be arguments. He could not deny that. He would
have to struggle hard for a compromise, if Jacinth's father was an
enemy of wizardkind the way that Snape said he was.</p><p>He looked back at
Jacinth, who was now occupied in petting the coils of a shadowy body
that wound around her.</p><p><em>So I'll fight.
It's not the first time.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 89*: We Change</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Seventy: We Change</strong></p><p>Indigena shifted the
book in the dim light falling through the mouth of the burrow, and
then sighed. It was no good. Lately, her Lord's snake had been
restless around light, so she would have to go above ground to read
either by the radiance of the waning sun or a cast <em>Lumos.</em></p><p>Standing, she glanced
back once at the Dark Lord. He did not move, his hands clasped on his
chest and locked around the golden cup, the flesh-snake curled asleep
in the crook of his elbow. Indigena knew better than to think he was
in a coma, now, as she had when she first found him. Now, she knew
that he was hunting, sweeping on deadly, silent wings through the
currents of thought, all the more deadly because his prey, like the
owl's, did not know he was there.</p><p>She shuddered and
climbed the shallow series of steps that led out of the burrow,
pausing to blink in the sunlight.</p><p>The hole was high up
on the slight rise that cradled the Riddle House. Indigena could see
Muggle houses if she looked in the right direction, but she had never
wanted to. She preferred to look down on the graveyard instead, where
the ruins of her thorns that had poisoned Rosier still lay, and on an
old, abandoned garden. Indigena had started to coax the garden back
to life.</p><p><em>That might be a
pleasant place to read.</em></p><p>She had barely moved a
step forward, though, when the air in front of her shimmered, and a
sea eagle dropped through and flopped gracelessly to the ground.
Indigena rolled her eyes and stared over his head at the garden.
Perhaps if she concentrated hard enough, he would go away.</p><p>He didn't have the
grace to. He changed back into Falco instead, and climbed to his
feet, coughing slowly. Indigena studied him. She could see that the
sides of his face had changed, the skin peeling off and sloughing
away. That pleased her. He was devoting more and more time to the
study of the Dark that had once consumed her Lord, had made him less
than human even before he constructed the Horcruxes. That could only
mean Falco was further along the path to Declaring. The sooner that
happened, the sooner everything would be over. Indigena didn't
really like Falco Parkinson, nor some of the things his presence
obliged her to do.</p><p>Like be polite to him,
for example.</p><p>"My Lord," she
said, keeping her voice empty of the warmth she used for Voldemort.
"May I help you?"</p><p>Falco glanced at her
once, then turned to the burrow. "Why have you not yet removed to
the dwelling I prepared for you?"</p><p>Indigena choked on
bile. "Why should we?" she asked at last. "You could have
filled it with traps, for all I know. Did you think that my lord
<em>trusted</em> you?"</p><p>"This one is
insufficient." Falco's glare might have taken in the Muggle town
and the garden—Indigena felt her thorns lash at the thought—as
well as the hole in the earth that Indigena had emerged from. "He
deserves a habitation more fitting of his glory, and his destiny. I
have made one for him."</p><p>"He will move when
he is ready," said Indigena. "You forget, Lord Parkinson. Lord
Voldemort is no boy to be bullied and pushed and shoved about like
Harry." <em>And if you saw half as much as you think you do, you
blind fool, then you would realize Harry is not, either. </em>"If he
wishes to stay here and do important work, then he can stay here and
do important work."</p><p>"I need to speak
with Tom," said Falco abruptly, and pushed past her. "Stay here."</p><p>Indigena snorted and
sat down in the grass, tugging the book out to lay across her lap. It
concerned means of taming wild animals, including details of the
numerous unsuccessful attempts to tame dragons. Indigena doubted that
she would find what she really needed in here, but she was becoming
desperate. Her Lord's plan would be ready soon, and his broken
experiment was still not everything it could be. Indigena hoped to
find a way to bring it under control. Her Lord was doubtful that it
would endanger <em>all</em> their plans, but Indigena had grown warier
since Lazuli had joined Harry. She wanted a guarantee that they would
win, not merely the likelihood that they might.</p><p>She bent over the
nearest page, skimming paragraphs she'd already skimmed, and then
paused. <em>With those creatures whose wildness and danger is innate,
like the dragon, there is one other method that may be tried: the
golden bridle. </em></p><p>Intrigued—she hadn't
seen this before because of a few pages stuck together—Indigena
began to read.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Tom? Tom, are you
here?"</p><p>He felt him coming, by
the vibrations in the earth, long before the words struck his human
ears. The flesh-snake stirred, and opened its eyes. Lord Voldemort
swung its head so that it was pointing at Falco.</p><p>The older wizard came
down the steps of the tunnel and halted in front of him, staring at
him as if he had expected him to be on his feet. But a true Lord
could maintain dignity in any position. Lord Voldemort maintained
his, now, lying down and patiently clutching the threads of memory in
his mind. What he did now did not come naturally to him; it was a
variation on a very old bit of magic he'd once performed, and it
depended on certain qualities in the victims' minds that made it
necessary he encourage and nurture and prune certain kinds of
thoughts, not simply implant his suggestions. It was hard to hold
himself back, sometimes, and refrain from commanding those who should
be his because of what he was. He had to do the best he could.</p><p>"You are here,"
Falco said, and frowned at him. His voice was blunt, too blunt. When
he had his throne back, then Lord Voldemort would let no one speak to
him this way. "Why are you not in the other house?"</p><p>The snake could see
Falco's tattered silver beard, and torn robes, and glazed green
eyes. More to the point, it could see the changing of his aura off to
the sides of his body, where it had begun to decay and crumble in the
wake of his new studies. Lord Voldemort had to stifle exultation. The
old fool had turned to the paths, after all, and not been willing to
pay the full price for them. The Dark had embraced Lord Voldemort
when he Declared because he did not hold back. He gave everything of
himself but his life to reach the one goal worth reaching:
immortality. Falco was trying to hunt the paths while holding back,
hesitating, wishing for Light. The Dark would sense that, and it
would rip him apart, for that and for trying to use it for balance,
and for daring to trick it and try to pretend that he would belong to
Light, too, all these years.</p><p>"Because I do not
wish to be," said Lord Voldemort, when he judged the time had come.
He could have been a great artist, he could have, and right now he
was seeing the work of artistry on Falco's face and mourning wasted
opportunities. For this was part of his wreaking, part of his
working, him and Harry, oh yes, and since Harry could not be here to
see their joined triumph and would not appreciate it if he could, it
was up to him to take pleasure for the both of them. "I prefer this
cave and the memories it holds to the memories of the other house."</p><p>Falco's face took on
an unusual cast of desperation, and he took a step forward. "It
began there," he said. "It has to end there." And then he
stopped, as if he feared that he had said too much.</p><p>He laughed at him,
Lord-Voldemort-still-a-Lord-though-lying-in-the-dirt, thick and rich
laughter that boomed like the earth shaking. And he cowered away from
him, did Falco of the wrong desires and foolish mind, shaking his
head as if he could make it stop shaking, clamping his hands over his
ears as if that would change things.</p><p>"I know it," said
Lord Voldemort, when he could stop laughing. The snake swayed back
and forth in response to his mirth, making his view of Falco swing
and rock. "I did not know everything at first, but five years ago I
discovered the last vestiges of the truth. One cannot wander bodiless
in the Dark and learn nothing. A strange thing, an unusual thing, to
have a magical heir bound to one at a distance, sharing magic with
one, instead of dying properly and returning the magic to one, but it
has happened. I know him. I know the third. I know everything that
you would have told me, Falco, and nothing you can say will make me
remove there until I am ready. Yes, it will end there. When the snake
coils, when death comes down, when the moment swings between three of
us balanced and poised, it will be there. Even if it would have ended
elsewhere, I shall make a point of seeing the despair in Harry's
eyes before I destroy him." He laughed, and this time the thickness
was even deeper and even richer, like flesh ridden with maggots
before they ripened into flies. "Or will he destroy himself? I
think he will, when he learns what has happened. Oh, I think he will.
Will it not half-kill him to know this? A friend once said those
words, thought those words, a variation of those words. And now the
end is coming. Before it does, I will take from Harry everything that
he has loved. And when I reveal how deep my claws have sunk, how he
and no other is responsible for the harvest I have reaped, he will
kill himself, and my magic will come home to me."</p><p>Falco remained silent
until his eloquence ended. Then he shook his head, and said, "You
are mad, Tom. But it is your techniques that I need now." He leaned
forward. "I have been to the coasts, and still I cannot convince
the sirens to listen to me. What did you say to persuade them?"</p><p>It took a long moment
for Lord Voldemort to subdue his amusement, to stop dreaming of the
distant day when his magic would be all his again, to diminish his
irritation at being called by a Muggle name. But in the end, he
managed. He would tell the fool Falco how to control the sirens, how
to raise them. Of course he would. Using a brilliant plan like that
only worked once. Harry would rise against Falco, and destroy him,
because Falco was not willing to give himself fully to the Dark.</p><p>Oh, yes, he told him,
did Lord Voldemort, and all the time the snake swayed beside him and
dreamed of the end.</p><p>Out of that end, there
would be no morning, but only silence eternal, in an eternal night.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry shut his mouth
and looked expectantly across the room. Jing-Xi sat with her head
bowed, her long dark hair playing hide-and-seek around the arms of
her chair, her breathing deep and peaceful. Harry hoped he hadn't
said something wrong, or, worse, said something boring and sent her
to sleep.</p><p>But, in a moment, she
looked up and shook her head, sending her hair scattering in other
directions. Harry was almost sure he heard it squeal as it bounced,
but, if so, it was probably another sign of her magic, rather than a
spell she had set. Why would she want her hair to squeal when it
bounced?</p><p>"That is a very good
expression of what it means when a Light Lord cares for his people,
Harry." Her face wore the faintest edge of a smile, as if she were
proud of him and trying not to show it. "That you care for the
people of Britain in such a way—and other creatures as well—is a
good sign for the future. The others will be more inclined to accept
you into the Pact when the time comes."</p><p>Harry nodded. "Good."
And then he paused.</p><p>"Whatever matter of
magic concerns you, Harry," Jing-Xi said, and leaned forward, "you
must feel free to speak to me of it. There are things I can tell you
that no one else can, that no one else will—not from any malicious,
lying intent, but simply because they do not know how we exist, at
this level."</p><p>Harry nodded again. He
told himself that Jing-Xi's phrasing should not make him uneasy.
After all, Lord-level was a common term for someone with his might in
magic.</p><p>But it still made him
wary, any implication that he was above others, inherently superior
to them.</p><p>"I was wondering
what will happen with my <em>vates</em> influence spreading outside of
Britain," he said, and made a nervous gesture that he hoped aimed,
vaguely, in the direction of Africa. "Already a few species like
karkadanns can tear loose from their webs and come to me. Won't
that cause conflict in other countries? If there's a Lord in the
karkadann territory who becomes annoyed at me, how does that affect
the Pact?"</p><p>"Currently, we have
no solution for such a thing," Jing-Xi said. "As I told you, you
are the first <em>vates</em> since the Pact was formed, Harry, since we
began to look beyond the boundaries of our own magical communities
and think that we owed the world a responsibility to join together.
So, yes, it might mean open conflict if that happened and you annoyed
a Lord or Lady." She hummed under her breath, as though thinking.
"Though, truly, I would not think it the karkadanns you should be
wary of. Monika, the Dark Lady in Austria, makes it her habit to
breed magical creatures—"</p><p>"I thought that was
illegal," Harry said.</p><p>"Monika has never
cared overmuch about legalities," said Jing-Xi, as if that should
explain everything. "Excepting the Pact, of course. But she breeds
them, and is inevitably dissatisfied with them, and puts them aside,
bound in a web. You are her natural enemy."</p><p>Harry groaned and
tilted his head back. There were times, he had to admit as he
massaged his brow with his silver hand, when he <em>did</em> wish that
he hadn't chosen such a difficult path to walk as the <em>vates</em>
one.</p><p>But he had, it was
chosen, and there was no turning back, of course. What kind of person
would he be if he did? Like it or not, he was <em>vates</em>, and he
was in the position of Lord of the British Isles, since no one else
would protect them from Voldemort. The sense of intense binding and
protectiveness he'd felt when he embraced Marian and saw her
unafraid of his magic had not gone away. <em>That</em> was what his
wizarding world should be like, people touching him and taking from
his magic what they needed without fear.</p><p>So he would conflict
with Monika someday—if he survived his war with Voldemort. That was
inevitable. Harry shouldered himself to accept the burden now. At
least Monika did not have a prophetic bond with him, and perhaps she
would be willing to talk instead of trying to destroy Harry
immediately as Voldemort would do.</p><p>"There is another
thing we must talk of, Harry." Jing-Xi's voice was devoid of
inflection.</p><p>Harry glanced up, and
saw that she had risen from her chair. She stood over him, and looked
down, eyes deep and sad. Harry sat up. He did not think Jing-Xi would
hurt him, but he was prepared to defend himself if she did. His magic
rose around him, buzzing, and a dark cat formed, crouched, at
Jing-Xi's heels.</p><p>She smiled, then, and
shook her head. "I am sorry to have frightened you, Harry," she
said. "I only wanted to make you understand how serious this matter
was, but of course you would already know that."</p><p>She moved back and sat
down in her chair again, hands displayed all the while, shoulders
held in an unnatural hunched posture that looked like a half-shrug.
Harry, watching, finally realized that she was using the signal she
had taught him meant no harm between Lords and Ladies. He exhaled and
let his magic fade until the cat was less than a shadow wavering on
the floor.</p><p>"My Lady," he
said. "What is it?"</p><p>"There is a more
pressing concern for the other Lords and Ladies than your <em>vates</em>
path," she said quietly. "That has only happened in a few
countries, and most of the incidents were minor—individuals tearing
their webs, not whole species. Besides, most know that that would
happen with any <em>vates</em> in the world, whether or not he was the
youngest of us ever to come to power.</p><p>"But now your
<em>absorbere</em> gift is common knowledge among them, and the way
that you stand magical heir to Voldemort. You are in the mid-ranks of
Lords in terms of power, Harry. But you could easily become much
stronger." Jing-Xi met his eyes. "They fear that."</p><p>"Have you told them
about me?" Harry asked. "How I was raised to hate and abhor that
ability of mine?"</p><p>"I kept them quiet
that way for some time," said Jing-Xi. "But some of them are
watching, and they know that you drained Unspeakables in the British
Ministry of Magic. That makes them fear that you are growing
stronger, more confident, that the artificial restraints of your
training are falling away." She looked at his left hand. "And the
hand is another sign. You are not a wounded little boy. You are a
young Lord, not Declared, but still. As they see it, you are someone
who might drain them someday, if only to defend his islands."</p><p>Harry clasped his
hands around the arms of his chair. "I see," he said in a neutral
voice. "Would it reassure them if I pretended to go backwards?
Suddenly lose my confidence in public, wear a glamour that makes it
look as if I don't have the silver hand, and express concern about
my <em>absorbere</em> gift?"</p><p>Jing-Xi shook her
head. "They wouldn't believe it, not now. Most of them have an
idea how far you've come."</p><p>"Then what should I
do?" Harry spoke the words in a voice that he kept free of
frustration, and thanked Joseph for that blessing. Dealing with the
stubborn Seer was good practice for dealing with the whole of the
obstinate, frustrating, resentment-causing world in general.</p><p>"You should press
forward," said Jing-Xi. "But do it with an eye on the future,
Harry, and an eye on the world. They have spies in or near Britain
who can pass information to them about you. You should have spies on
them in return."</p><p>"I do have a spy
network that could span Europe, potentially," said Harry, thinking
of the Opallines. At one time, they'd started to open talks in
other wizarding communities for him, but most of those had come to
nothing; the official reasoning was that the other wizards saw how
well Harry was doing with his war and determined he didn't need
their help. "If that would do."</p><p>"It would be a
beginning," Jing-Xi acknowledged. "But you will need more in the
end, Harry. You will need to grow."</p><p>Harry sighed. "And
you think I'll be alive in a few years to care about this?"</p><p>He meant it as a joke,
but it made Jing-Xi lean forward and say, "Quite honestly? You do
not dare plan otherwise, Harry. On the morning that you defeat
Voldemort, you will need to be ready to defend yourself again."</p><p>Harry frowned. "Why?
You think that Monika would choose that moment to make her move?"</p><p>Jing-Xi shook her
head. "When the tunnel between you and Voldemort collapses and the
transfer of his magic to you is complete, I fully expect you to be
one of the strongest wizards in the world, because Voldemort <em>is</em>.
There may be someone who would think that he or she could catch you
off guard in that moment, reeling, drunk with victory, and not yet in
control of your magic."</p><p>Some
of Jing-Xi's stranger training made sense then, especially the
parts where she had encouraged him to visualize tasks that would
strain his power, and sometimes even to perform them. "You're
preparing me for that moment," Harry whispered. "You're trying
to get me used to carrying more magic than I carry now."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Harry leaned back in
his chair and stared off into space. He had not considered that
before, not really. He had simply assumed that once Voldemort died,
he would have control of the power that he'd had until the end of
fourth year, when Voldemort had resurrected himself and established
the tunnel.</p><p>But if there were
more—</p><p><em>I don't want it.</em></p><p>But wanting and not
wanting had very little to do with his fate, Harry had to
acknowledge. He had still not found a way around the sacrifices for
the Horcruxes, but he had listened, reluctantly, to Regulus's talk
about the warded shack near the Riddle house which evidently
contained one of them. They should secure that Horcrux, Regulus had
argued, before Voldemort either guessed or decided that they knew
about it and moved it to safety elsewhere. Voldemort had seemingly
forgotten that Harry would need to pass close by that tumbledown
house to come to the graveyard last Midwinter, but he might remember
at any moment.</p><p>They were going to try
for that Horcrux this weekend. Harry might have resisted, but he had
other plans in motion, too, and the love and liveliness he had felt
when he looked into Marian's eyes, and even Jacinth's, prompted
him towards this particular action. There was nothing that said he
had to kill someone to cleanse that Horcrux the moment he had it. If
he could have it, if he could study it, then it might become easier
to find a way around the Unassailable Curse.</p><p>"They'll have to
get used to it, I suppose," he told Jing-Xi. "And so will I."</p><p>Jing-Xi smiled, and it
was a proud smile, like a banner or a call to war. "Indeed."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor hung upside
down from his Firebolt, because he could.</p><p>Then he righted
himself and continued on around the Pitch. No one else was out to see
and contest him for the air. An odd mixture of rain and slush was
falling, at once cold enough to get through most cloth and heavy
enough to break many students' warming charms, and Katie had called
the Gryffindor team's practice off early. It wasn't a
particularly urgent time of year, either. They'd beat Hufflepuff
handily a few weeks ago, and the match with Ravenclaw was three
months away.</p><p>Connor didn't have
to go inside with the rest of them if he didn't want to, though.
He'd tossed the Snitch away just as Katie signaled for them to
leave the Pitch, and then claimed he would find it and bring it in
again. The rest had just shrugged and left him to it.</p><p>Since then, he'd
seen the Snitch several times, even trailing at his heel like a lost
puppy. It was there now. Connor spun the Firebolt towards it, and of
course it darted away. But it didn't go far. Connor speculated idly
that it didn't like the wet and the cold any more than he did.</p><p>He wondered why he'd
wanted to remain outside. Surely he could think just as well inside,
next to a warm fire, with Parvati curled up next to him, her hair
wreathed around his neck and her head resting in the crook of his
throat.</p><p>The thought made
Connor smile, until a dash of rain, driven by a brisk March wind, hit
him. He spluttered and shook his head, and went back to flying
around, now and then hanging upside-down to see if that would drive
these thoughts from his head. It didn't help, but then, Connor was
slowly becoming resigned to the idea that nothing would.</p><p>He circled the middle
of the Pitch in tight little rings, the Firebolt obedient beneath
him, and finally admitted it to himself:</p><p>The noticing hadn't
gone away.</p><p>He was still <em>seeing</em>
things, even when he didn't look for them. He'd noticed a shy
little Hufflepuff fifth-year who fancied Neville, even though she
never seemed to blush or giggle when he was around. He'd noticed
Luna Lovegood and Padma Patil talking more and more often, their
hands brushing against each other, Luna actually seeming to notice
Padma at least as often as she did the tables in the Great Hall. He'd
noticed the mornings when Draco and Harry were snappish with one
another, the mornings when they sported love bites, and the mornings
when they both grinned like fools.</p><p>But it wasn't just
noticing people falling in love and probably snogging, which would
have been bad enough. Connor had turned around the other day and
caught a glimpse of Millicent Bulstrode at the Slytherin table. He
knew her, of course. She ate things. She was there. She was the
daughter of one of Harry's allies. He knew a bit about her.</p><p>He'd never realized
that she had a faint smile on her face in the mornings, when she
didn't look quite awake, and was slowly eating her food instead of
tearing it apart. He'd always thought it was a smirk, but it
wasn't. It was a smile.</p><p>Connor dived at the
grass, almost hoping to scrape through a puddle and toss muddy water
into his face. It didn't happen, though, trained Seeker reflexes
twitching him out of danger before he reached the ground and sending
him back into the air.</p><p>He'd noticed that
Ernie Macmillan, a conceited Hufflepuff boor, was actually harmless.
Oh, he might brag about the purity of his family, but he didn't
call anybody 'Mudblood.' He collected Chocolate Frog cards and
went about his day with a small smile on his face, and he would tell
anyone who asked him, at great length, about the small shop he
intended to open when he left Hogwarts, mostly to make collecting
Chocolate Frog cards and other small things easier. He would probably
adapt to the changed world that the Grand Unified Theory created,
Connor thought, and with much less fuss than other purebloods. He
didn't see anything worth making a fuss about, unless it actually
happened to him.</p><p>He saw the way Ron and
Ginny fought, especially about her dating Dean now—one would have
to be blind to miss a Weasley spat in Gryffindor Tower—but now he
saw the way they crept back together, too, sometimes exchanging a
smile the next day, sometimes talking to each other as if the fight
had never happened. Connor wasn't sure they ever forgave each
other, but they <em>did</em> forget. The Burrow wasn't an endless
stew of boiling tempers, he had always known that, but now he knew
why it wasn't.</p><p>He'd realized that
Terry Boot was actually a fairly good artist. He never drew anything
<em>beautiful</em>, but he drew useful things, like small diagrams of
wand movements that were good for studying spells. He could dash off
a complicated drawing of a human wrist and arm in three minutes, and
then, if someone praised him, he'd look at them in polite
incomprehension, as if accepting compliments on the way he breathed.
Art did seem to be that instinctive to him, Connor thought.</p><p>He'd seen the dark
circles beneath Peter's eyes, one day when they were alone for
Animagus training, and commented on them before he could help
himself. He was sure Peter was having bad dreams, and he remembered
what that had meant for Sirius. Even Peter reassuring him, with some
amusement, that he did not have Voldemort in his head attempting to
possess him had not lessened Connor's worry.</p><p>They'd discovered
his Animagus form that same day—a wild boar—but Connor's heart
wasn't in his rejoicing.</p><p>And, worst of all—</p><p>Connor tried zipping
very fast in several directions, on the off-chance that if he flew
away from the thought, he didn't have to think it. But the thoughts
were in his own head, and came with him, and slapped into the back of
his head.</p><p>He was starting to
think that Draco Malfoy could be a tolerable person outside of his
function in making Harry happy.</p><p>He didn't know what
had first given him that impression, infuriatingly. He saw the way
Draco watched other people, with more observant curiosity than the
malice that Connor had given him credit for. He saw the way he'd
thrown himself into Animagus training; he <em>could</em> care about a
study he had no guarantee would give him some kind of personal
advantage, then. Of course, Connor was still determined to transform
first, but that was beside the point.</p><p>The point was that he
was starting to see all these little things, and it made life very
complicated. He couldn't just believe people were good and evil any
more. He saw frailties and weaknesses among people who weren't
Gryffindors or Light wizards that awoke his compassion, and strengths
that the people he loved best didn't have.</p><p><em>If I could stop
noticing things, </em>Connor thought, hanging upside-down once more in
the hope that the blood rush to his brain would drown his thoughts, <em>I
could stop growing up, or whatever it is I'm doing. That would be
pleasant.</em></p><p>"Connor Potter! You
come down here this instant!"</p><p>The shout carried
clearly through the storm that had now, mostly, translated to rain.
Connor flipped himself back over in astonishment and blinked at the
Pitch, absently thanking Merlin that he didn't wear glasses like
Harry.</p><p>Parvati stood at the
edge of the Pitch, arms folded as she glared up at him. Connor
snatched the Snitch, skimmed down the Firebolt towards her, and
opened his mouth to explain.</p><p>"What you were
<em>thinking</em>, flying in weather like this, I'll never know,"
Parvati said flatly, and seized his arm. "It's a long way from
the first day of spring, you realize?"</p><p>"Of course I
realize—<em>ow</em>!"</p><p>She'd tugged him
along, practically carrying him off his feet. "But maybe it's a
good thing," she added, with manic cheer. "That means that you
get to practice those drying charms I showed you the other day on
your Quidditch gear, since the house elves won't be washing it."</p><p>"Parvatiiii,"
Connor whinged.</p><p>She turned and
faced him, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"</p><p>Connor went silent at
the look on her face, the worry behind her eyes. And a small fire
that had nothing to do with imaginings of the Gryffindor common room
took up residence in his belly.</p><p><em>If I'm noticing
other people, I also get noticed.</em></p><p>He leaned forward and
kissed her. His lips were cold and wet, but she gave only a muffled
protest before kissing him back.</p><p>Connor slid his arms
around her, dropping the Firebolt to the ground, and had a final
thought before he became too busy for thinking.</p><p><em>Maybe growing up
isn't so bad.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 90*: Blood of Slytherin</h2>
			<p>The lines quoted here
come from D. H. Lawrence's "Snake."</p><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-One:
Blood of Slytherin</strong></p><p>"Promise me you'll
stay behind me when we Apparate in."</p><p>Regulus's voice was
tolerant. "Harry, I'm not going to promise you that."</p><p>Harry glared at him.
"Voldemort could have left traps around the shack that would reach
out to the Dark Mark—"</p><p>In answer, Regulus
drew his left sleeve back, showing Harry the Grim that crouched on
his forearm in place of a snake and skull. "I wish him good luck
trying to reclaim me from Death," he said. "You should be more
worried about Severus, and yet you aren't snapping at him and
trying to make him follow you like a duckling."</p><p>"That's because he
knows what would happen if he tried," said Snape, striding into his
office. Because he was in the mood to notice things like that, Harry
noticed that almost no trace of a limp remained in his walk; the
damage he had taken in the Chamber of Secrets more than a year ago
was healed. Snape saw him noticing and gave him a flat stare. Harry
hissed at him through bared teeth.</p><p>He could easily name
the feelings that bubbled inside him as he paced back and forth
between the hearth and Snape's door. Protectiveness, anger at the
mere thought of someone who followed him being hurt, and
determination to be the one at the front, wielding the magic that
would be more likely to spare his life and shield those who followed
after. The problem was that he couldn't explain them in a way that
made them acceptable to the people he wanted to guard.</p><p>Regulus had quietly
refused to let Harry go to the shack without him. He'd said that,
as the one who'd brought the news of the Horcruxes, he had the
right to see their capture of one through. And if he could sense
anything about the Dark magic around the shack which Harry might not
notice—an upbringing among Dark purebloods had to be good for
<em>something</em>, he'd said—then he should test spells before
Harry could.</p><p>Snape was coming.
Harry had not been able to dissuade him. His Dark Mark had not
tingled or burned in weeks, he said; there was no sign that Voldemort
was trying to interact with it. His dreams had retreated into normal
nightmares or bizarre interminglings of ordinary life and image-play.
He had nothing to weaken him, and that meant he seemed to have
fastened more firmly than ever onto the idea of becoming Harry's
father, not just his guardian.</p><p>Draco was coming.
Harry had looked into his eyes after he opened his mouth to protest,
and shut it again, knowing better than to continue.</p><p>Argutus would come,
because his scales might reflect hidden spells contained in the wards
around the shack. In fact, he slithered in through the open door now
and draped himself happily around Harry's shoulders. "<em>Here I
am</em>," he said. "<em>You may cease your waiting for me.</em>"
His tongue flickered, once, and he jerked his head towards Harry.
"<em>You smell of anger and frustration. Why?"</em></p><p>Harry sighed and
stroked the snake's head, ignoring Regulus's and Snape's
piercing stares. At least they couldn't understand him when he said
something in Parseltongue. "I don't want anyone else to be hurt.
I—I remember the wards around the house as incredibly Dark, giving
me a conviction that I would be cursed if I entered that I've never
felt anywhere else. And Voldemort could have strengthened them or put
in spells that only I am strong enough to oppose. I don't <em>want</em>
anyone else taking the risk or becoming the sacrifice"</p><p>The Omen snake flicked
his tongue against Harry's cheek, light as a kiss. "<em>This is
about them becoming sacrifices for the Horcruxes.</em>" Harry had
told him about that, but only after emphasizing, repeatedly, that
this was not an indication he wanted Argutus to make the decision
Sylarana had. "<em>You don't want to allow them to make their own
decisions.</em>"</p><p>Harry winced. It
sounded harsher in Parseltongue than it ever would in English. "I—"</p><p>Peter entered then,
with Draco at his side and Henrietta not far behind. Between them,
Peter and Henrietta had an unequaled knowledge of the theory behind
Dark magic, they had told him. Snape might have more practical
experience with it, but Henrietta had experimented and Peter had
studied obscure meanings and symbols that they could need to unlock
the riddles of Voldemort's curses.</p><p>Draco stepped away
from Peter and locked eyes with Harry. Harry glanced away miserably,
knowing he had been seen.</p><p>A pair of arms slipped
around his waist, and Draco sighed into his ear. "You're making
this a lot harder than it needs to be, you know," he murmured at
Harry. A stir at the door indicated the arrival of Owen and Syrinx,
Harry knew, but he didn't look up or back, if only because he would
have rammed his head into Draco's chin. "You have your role to
play, and we have ours. And if we want to be at your side when you go
into danger, you don't have the right to shove us away."</p><p>"I know." Harry
sounded pathetic. Responding to the tone in his voice, rather than
the words—so far, he'd been frustrated in his efforts to learn
English—Argutus rubbed against Harry's chin. Harry stroked his
skin with his flesh hand, since the silver one didn't transmit much
warmth as yet. "But this is probably the deepest instinct, Draco,
the one I can't shake. It's one thing to theorize in a library
about what needs to happen when we find a Horcrux. It's another
thing altogether to go into battle with one and <em>not</em> take the
point, not be the guardian, the defender—"</p><p>"The sacrifice."</p><p>Harry jerked against
his hold, but Draco had as firm a grip on him as he'd ever
achieved. "I wasn't thinking of it like that."</p><p>"That's all
right," said Draco cheerfully. "I'll think of it like that for
you. You can't just be the sacrifice and be done with it, you
selfish idiot. You can't just protect people, either. We <em>chose</em>
to be in this fight, and we'll fight beside you if we want. And
your life is more important to the wizarding world than any single
person's here." Harry shook his head automatically, and one of
Draco's hands shifted up to cover his mouth. "Ah, ah, just
listen. And we're important to you, and that means that we
shouldn't carelessly risk our lives, either, because our dying
would make you feel like you wanted to die. So it has to be a
balance, Harry. Doesn't everything? You're working as one of a
team, not in a unique position. I know how hard that is for you, but
it doesn't mean we'll change our minds."</p><p>Harry bit the left
corner of his lip, bit the right corner, and slowly, slowly worked
his shoulders downwards. He tried to dismiss the visions that had
filled his mind all night, of a curse opening dark wings on Snape and
rending him apart, of Regulus's Mark coming alive as Death claimed
him, of a silver blade like the kind set on some ancient wizarding
tombs to trap them sweeping out and cleaving through Draco's
neck--</p><p>He shoved that
particular image away, shuddering. Just thinking about it made him
near sick.</p><p>Draco bit the side of
his neck, not on the place that Harry hated, but just close enough to
distract him thoroughly, and stepped back. "You've talked to me
about this often enough," he whispered, when Harry glanced at him
over his shoulder. "You must not have thought I'd listen to you."</p><p>"When there was a
mirror around?"</p><p>Most satisfyingly,
Draco's face rippled with irritation. "I am <em>not</em> that
vain—"</p><p>"We're all
assembled," Snape broke in coolly. "I think we should proceed to
the Apparition point, Harry."</p><p>Harry had to take
several deep breaths before he could nod. "All right."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape watched Harry
closely as they moved along the Hogsmeade road towards the Apparition
point. None of them remembered the house well enough to Apparate
directly there, especially since they had last seen it in winter and
it was now almost spring, and so they would arrive at the place from
which they'd walked to the graveyard confrontation on Midwinter.</p><p>He saw many small
things, things he would have been unaware of a few months ago when he
was sunk in melancholy. Harry twisted his head from side to side
constantly, his chin up and his eyes seeking out those who followed
him. His hand now and then reached back and brushed Regulus's robe
or Snape's arm or Draco's hip. When he could, he walked in front
of the others, or at least to the front, talking to Owen
Rosier-Henlin and edging a bit ahead of him. He even moved his torso
so as to shield most of his snake behind him.</p><p><em>Putting himself in
the way of any danger that might strike us from that direction, </em>Snape
thought. <em>Following his instincts ingrained into him from
childhood—only this time, it's not just his brother he's
protecting.</em></p><p>But things had
changed. Harry would have argued more, at one time, or simply sneaked
out of the school and Apparated himself to the shack, without letting
anyone else come along with him into danger. Snape's lips still
tightened as he remembered the way Harry had forced him to stay
behind in his third year, when he'd gone tearing into the Shrieking
Shack to confront Voldemort in Sirius Black's body.</p><p><em>If he has altered,
so have we.</em> Snape let his fingers brush the wand that rode in the
holster on his waist. <em>We can work with his magic now, instead of
having to shelter behind it or coax him to use it.</em></p><p><em>And, resolved
though I might be to letting him make mistakes, he shall not suffer
their consequences unshielded.</em></p><p>The last months had
been good for at least that one thing, Snape thought. They had taught
him what it felt like to have only one person in the world who cared
for him—Harry—and reminded him of his Death Eater days, when
there had been another, Regulus, he thought lost forever.</p><p>Anyone who tried to
kill Harry as Voldemort had, apparently, killed Regulus would have
Severus Snape's spells to get through.</p><p>And if Harry did not
like that, he could be stunned and dragged unconscious back to
Hogwarts, and then delegate such tasks as this to the trustworthy,
rather than go on any more adventures.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry arrived with a
larger bump that he would have liked; a small mound of projecting
earth on the hillside had fallen away from where he remembered it.
Well, that and Draco had apparently tried to Apparate by himself
halfway through Harry Side-Along Apparating him.</p><p>"<em>Draco</em>," he
said in annoyance, turning around. Argutus was twining up and down
like a dancer, looking at everything new in delight, and promptly
unwound himself from Harry to vanish into the piled leaves.</p><p>Draco looked at him in
complete unconcern, picking twigs out of his hair. "What?" he
asked. "It's time that I learned how to Apparate, too. I'm
almost seventeen, and I don't need you to drag me like a child
everywhere."</p><p>Harry settled for
glaring at him, and turned to watch for signs of Muggle intrusion or
wizard notice. The hillside's trees were still bare, concealing
slushy patches of half-melted snow, but a freezing rain had begun to
fall, and Harry doubted anyone would come out to see them despite the
scant cover. He counted the landings behind him, and then the pairs
of footsteps, and relaxed a bit. Everyone had made the transition
safely.</p><p>Syrinx came up beside
him, one hand in her robe pocket. Harry knew she was touching a small
golden kitten that Laura had sent her, which could scout for danger
in an unfamiliar place. Her head turned and her eyes locked with
Harry's, calm and blank. "Ready, sir?" she asked.</p><p>Harry nodded. Syrinx
took out the kitten, put it on the ground, and whispered instructions
into the pricked metallic ear. The kitten scampered off immediately
into the leaves and the wet, and faded from sight. Harry had thought
the gold would reflect the light better than it apparently did.</p><p>"He'll warn me if
someone else shows up," said Syrinx, and touched the earring that
clung to her left lobe. Now that Harry thought about it, the kitten
had been wearing one, too.</p><p>He chided himself for
not noticing a detail like that. On a task like this, not noticing
things could get someone else rapidly killed.</p><p>But he'd had no
choice about their coming, unless he used conjured ropes or binding
spells to make them stay behind. He collected them all with his
glance, and then nodded down the hill towards the place where he
remembered the house being.</p><p>"Syrinx will be
watching for traps," he said quietly. "So will Argutus, and so
will I. But Voldemort may have left some we can't locate
immediately, or which are too subtle for the usual means of
detection. Watch out, please. Don't go charging ahead. Wands out."
That was useful only for Draco, though, since everyone else had
already drawn his or her wand. Henrietta was looking around with a
faintly wistful expression on her face, as if she wanted someone to
blast now.</p><p>Harry led, Syrinx and
Draco just slightly behind him. There might have been arguments about
that. He didn't let there be. He also ignored the freezing rain on
his skin, though he could hear a few muttered warming charms behind
him. He needed to watch out for magic, and the best way to do that
was not through a shield of charms.</p><p>Jing-Xi had taught him
to focus, to sharpen his sight, and pick out spells from the litter
of the mundane and low-level natural magic around them. It was a
skill Harry had used during his first year at Hogwarts, but not truly
since; he'd grown so accustomed to the spells in Hogwarts that he
could ignore them as he did the general shape of the stones and the
light of the torches.</p><p>Now he made himself
<em>see</em>, and not merely look. His eyes swept trunks and slippery
grass and the trailing edges of wizard robes and trainers and boots,
and then came back again, circling as restlessly as a young werewolf.
The rain made no difference to the spells he could see this way. It
would not have unless it were a magical storm, but his training gave
him an extra edge, too, insuring that the cold didn't distract him
as he searched.</p><p>They neared the shack,
and still Harry saw nothing outside the utter black hole of Dark that
was the house itself and the flickering flames of his companions'
magic. But he didn't care. There could always be something lurking
he hadn't uncovered. He stared at every trailing root, every
fluttering movement in the trees, every shift of the soil, and
refused to let anyone go ahead of him no matter how much they—well,
all right, Draco—pushed at him to do so. Voldemort was cunning, if
not intelligent. He could have set traps.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Indigena!"</p><p>She had been reading
in the garden, her skin enjoying the impact of the wetness and a
Dry-Shield Charm keeping the pages unharmed, but she put down the
book at once and vaulted into the burrow when her Lord called her.
She slid down the steps more than she descended them, vines uncoiling
from beneath the skin of her legs and clutching into the dirt. As she
landed a few feet away from Voldemort on the dirt floor of the
tunnel, she asked, "My Lord?"</p><p>"Someone approaches
the ring, Indigena."</p><p><em>The ring?</em> She
had been reading about circular components of the golden bridle
spell, and for a moment her mind tried to present her with a diagram.
But then she remembered the only thing that would have put her Lord
into this much of a panic, helped along, perhaps, by the tight clutch
of his hands on the golden cup. Someone was approaching the small
house not far away where he had hidden the ring of the House of
Gaunt, a hereditary treasure of his family and thus of Slytherin's
bloodline. And a Horcrux, of course.</p><p>An Unassailable Curse
protected it, and a special surprise that no one outside of Lord
Voldemort and she herself knew about, but Indigena, thinking, could
see why the Dark Lord might be afraid that this particular person
could pass the Unassailable Curse, if—</p><p>"Harry," said
Voldemort, and spat. The spittle landed on the earth and sank into it
with a sizzling sound. It took everything Indigena had to keep from
flinching back. Under her shoulders, her tendrils curled close for
protection, and the rose around her wrist tried to sink into her
skin.</p><p>"Do you wish me to
go to the house, my lord, and protect it?" Indigena asked. She had
not had time, between tending her Lord and studying, to make every
tree on the hillside into her devotee, but she was near it. The trees
would not obey her commands perfectly if she asked them to attack
Harry and whoever he might have brought with him, but they could slow
him down.</p><p>"No," said
Voldemort, a low snarl in the back of his throat. "The idea that
Harry could have learned about Horcruxes, and I not sensed it, with
what I know—<em>inconceivable</em>. And yet—" He closed his eyes,
and his body shuddered and went limp. Indigena waited, one hand
braced on the floor and the other clutching her wand. She would go if
she had to, she was mad to go if it meant that Harry had somehow
discovered the secret of her Lord's immorality, but she could not
act without orders. She forced herself to concentrate on slowing the
sick churning in her stomach, rather than doing anything else.</p><p>Voldemort was back,
then, and he let out a long, low howl that shuddered through the
chamber. Indigena felt his power spring up, blowing around him like a
wind, and then drain away again through the hole in his magical core.
She sighed. Until he could find a way to seal the hole, or convince
Harry to undo the curse, her Lord could act only by using others as
his hands and feet.</p><p>"Indigena," he
said, when the wind had died.</p><p>"Yes, my lord?"</p><p>"He knows," said
Voldemort flatly. "But if you attack, he will know that I know that
he knows. I do not wish this to happen. And if I use the easiest
weapon to hand, then I reveal myself too soon, and I cannot destroy
<em>all</em> that he has loved." He paused a long moment, then said,
"It must be risked. Use the golden bridle, Indigena."</p><p>She knew better than
to protest. Besides, Harry might be to the house by now, and trying
to break the Unassailable Curse. If he found its vulnerability—a
vulnerability that the Dark Lord could never have foreseen when he
cast it—then he might break it, or be able to guess how he could do
so.</p><p>She sat down on the
ground and began to speak the opening incantations of the golden
bridle. She drew her wand in a circle around her all the while, and
her plants sank into the soil to anchor her, and her left forearm
flared and tingled and opened to a flow of bladed power.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry eyed the house.
Closer to it, the feeling of evil, the stink of vicious Dark magic,
grew worse. He had the urge to bare his teeth and whine. He knew now
why Light wizards sometimes insisted that all Dark Arts were wrong.
If they had encountered magic like this, they had a point.</p><p>The curses cast a
steady feeling of doom and warning to stay away into the air. If was
no wonder, Harry thought, that Muggles had never tried to knock the
shack down, or explore it, even if they had been curious about it or
wanted to build something here. Muggles were mad for building things.</p><p>The hillside remained
untouched. Harry summoned his magic. Still he could see no spells
implanted in the soil around the house, and he was running out of
excuses to stand where he was. He could easily have remained there
all day if it meant protecting his companions from danger, but they
would not understand.</p><p>The house was still
the ruin he remembered from more than a year ago, with no sign that
anyone had been here since. Frozen mud caked the threshold and clung
to the base of the walls. Harry stepped nearer, and nearer, and then
reached out and laid his silver hand on the door.</p><p>Magic exploded all
about the house in a silent lightning storm. Acid that would have
devoured flesh leaped from the door. Harry already had shields up,
snapping, singing, spreading, in response, and the acid splattered
against the air a few inches from his and Syrinx's faces.</p><p>Some had hit his
silver hand, he saw, when he looked. But it did not work on metal as
it would have on meat. It simply slid down, sullenly. Harry shook his
wrist to get it off, and then studied the house again. He could make
out the spell that had concealed the acid ward now, so dim and
close-woven with the general traceries of Dark magic that trying to
detect it was like trying to see a Granian in stormclouds. He
grimaced.</p><p>"<em>Harry!</em>"</p><p>Draco had grabbed his
shoulder and shaken it hard. Harry turned around with a leap. "What?"
he demanded, picturing danger coming up behind him, one of the group
missing, someone—</p><p>"Are you all right,
you fucking idiot?" Draco had seized his cheeks and was staring at
him. Harry felt his face flush. He tried to pull his head free. Draco
wouldn't let him go. Harry had to drive magic into his own limbs so
that he could pull away.</p><p>"Of course," he
said. "I would have told you if I wasn't." He studied their
pale, silent faces—even Syrinx looked as if she had seen him fall
off a cliff—and realized then that the acid had shocked them. He
snorted. "I hardly expected to get to the Horcrux without
triggering a few wards," he reassured them.</p><p>Draco made a strangled
sound. Harry looked at him. "What?"</p><p>Draco pursed his lips
together and shook his head. Harry frowned, annoyed. <em>He can be
that way, then. </em>He faced the house again, and this time let his
concentration on the rest of the world slip away, so that the house
became the center of his vision. Then he sharpened the intangible
"light" by which he saw magic, and some Dark spells he had missed
before sprang out, pulsing.</p><p>The sheer scope and
scale of the curses wrought on the house to keep intruders out made
Harry dizzy. It was more than a web, it was a nightmare of thorns and
briars of spells intercutting each other, intersecting in knots that
made it seem as if they had edges, and then turning away again and
speeding off into the air at impossible angles. There was probably a
key somewhere, one strand that could be tugged to make it fall
apart—Voldemort would not want to be held away from one of his
Horcruxes if he had to fetch it quickly—but Harry had no idea where
it would be.</p><p>Or it could just be
that the Dark Lord was immune to all the spells on the house. With
the scale of his study in other countries, and just how many spells
Harry didn't recognize and thought were probably Egyptian or New
Zealand magic, it was entirely possible.</p><p>"I should have
brought Thomas," he muttered, taking a step forward. "Or
Jing-Xi."</p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>He glanced up. Regulus
had pressed forward, and was kneeling next to the house, carefully
keeping his hands inches from even the smallest of the thorn-spells.
He had one hand clamped on his left arm, over the Grim mark. The
Grim's shadow splayed in front of him, sniffing curiously at the
shack.</p><p>Harry walked over to
him. Regulus glanced up. "There's an Unassailable Curse here,"
he said softly.</p><p>Harry felt his face
drain of blood. "You're sure?"</p><p>Regulus nodded and
passed a hand over his eyes. "Death taught me to recognize them,"
he said. "She thought—well, she thought I might need the
knowledge." He laughed, but the laughter, to Harry, had a hollow
sound, and for a moment he felt the weight of what they faced
threaten to overwhelm him. "Why, I can't imagine," Regulus
added, with a sarcasm Harry would have thought more fitting for
Sirius.</p><p>"Is it a curse that
someone would have to die to break?" Harry asked quietly.</p><p>"No," said
Regulus. "I suspect he wouldn't want that, just in case one of
his Death Eaters had to retrieve the Horcrux or he came alone, once.
And it isn't the kind of curse one casts casually, that." He drew
his wand. "I've been studying Unassailable Curses," he
explained out of the corner of his mouth. "Still no way around them
that I can find." He caught Harry's eyes in a brief, intense
glance that Harry turned away from. "But I can identify what their
major components might be."</p><p>He extended his wand
towards a thin dark line that looked no different from most of the
other spells to Harry, except that it coiled around most of the
thorns in a pattern like a lazy figure eight. "<em>Vomica erinyos
comperta!</em>"</p><p>The curse blazed to
life. Harry grimaced and put his flesh hand in front of his eyes. The
blaze was manifested as thick, oily flames.</p><p>"Blood," said
Regulus.</p><p>"Vampires?" Harry
asked, when he thought he could bear the sight of the curse afire.
"Or we have to bleed someone to get inside?" Blood magic had been
part of the protection for the locket Horcrux, Regulus had told him.</p><p>Regulus shook his
head. "Not that kind of blood," he said. "I should have
said—heritage." He turned his wand around, frowning, then cast a
few more incantations. The curse blazed twice and was still once.
Regulus stared, and then laughed. Harry laid the silver hand on his
shoulder. It made him sick to hear such a sound from Regulus.</p><p>"What is it?" he
asked.</p><p>"I asked if the
curse was tied to the heritage of a specific family," Regulus
replied. "It seemed there were few families he could have used.
Most of his Death Eaters came from diverse backgrounds. Sure enough.
He used his own." He glanced at Harry again. "Only the blood of
Slytherin can break that curse."</p><p>"And he's the only
descendant of Slytherin left," Harry muttered, remembering what the
shadow of Tom Riddle had told him when he tried to control the
basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. A Parselmouth descended from
Slytherin had had to control that snake, no one else. "Bastard."</p><p>"Rather."</p><p>Harry rapped his flesh
hand against his knee. "Are there any other Unassailable Curses on
the shack itself?"</p><p>Regulus shook his
head. "Only that one."</p><p>"Then we need to
know a way to break that one, most of all," Harry breathed. "I
can get Thomas and come back to study the others." He stared for a
moment more, then turned to Snape. "Severus, I'll meet your eyes
and transfer the memory of what the spells on the house look like to
you. Then you plant it in the minds of the others with Legilimency."
He glanced quickly at Draco, Regulus, Peter, Henrietta, and Owen.
Syrinx stood off to the side, eyes slightly closed as she listened to
the golden kitten's reports. "I want you to tell me if you
recognize any of the spells. If not, just prepare to hold the memory
so that we can study it when we get back to Hogwarts."</p><p>"But you don't
want us to break the spells if we recognize one?" Henrietta asked
hopefully.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
"Destroying one spell we do know might trigger the spells we don't.
And I think we may only get one chance to approach what's in that
house, anyway. Better to study it and then retreat and come back when
we're prepared." He could feel relief growing in his chest. He
wouldn't have to ask any of his companions to die for him today.</p><p>He locked eyes with
Snape and reached out with his Legilimency. Snape grimaced when he
received the vision, and then turned and looked at Regulus. Harry met
Draco's eyes.</p><p>Syrinx jerked and
cried out. Harry spun around. He had been expecting Death Eaters to
appear to defend their master's Horcrux at any moment, but he had
hoped they would not. <em>Must they die after all? </em></p><p>"What is it?" he
asked.</p><p>"The kitten's
gone." The war witch plucked the earring from her ear and laid it
on her palm, staring. "Not enough time to see anything useful, sir.
Just the tip of a wand, and then he was blasted."</p><p>"I'm sorry,"
said Harry gently. He knew the Gloryflowers' bond with their
artificial animals ran deep enough that the loss of one hurt, and he
felt a pulse of anxiety for Argutus. "But he died bravely, and he's
told us there's danger." He looked around, but saw no sign of
Argutus. Closing his eyes and picturing a snake, he hissed a call to
return in Parseltongue—all he could do. He had no mental bond with
Argutus to compare to his one with Sylarana.</p><p>He
reached out his arm to Draco, preparing to Apparate him, and hoping
that this time Draco wouldn't get it into his head that he needed
to be an adult. Luckily, Draco took his arm with alacrity, and Harry
turned to see the other Apparition pair forming, Syrinx stepping up
to Snape without a qualm.</p><p>" 'And so, I
missed my chance with one of the lords of life,'" a voice intoned
from the other side of the house. "'And I have something to
expiate; a pettiness.' Running away from me would be such a
pettiness, Harry."</p><p>Evan Rosier came into
view, smiling. He held a glass bead with blue lines radiating from
it. Harry studied the lines where they curved off into the air, and
resisted the temptation to swear. If he hadn't been concentrating
so hard on the curses on the house, he might have noticed when the
lines established their web. As it was, there was now an
anti-Apparition shield over the immediate area, and Harry recognized
the general pattern as a variant on Ariadne's Web, the spell that
had sheltered the school of Durmstrang last year. He would have to
destroy or steal the glass bead in Rosier's hand to gain control of
the web.</p><p>"Do you like it?"
Rosier tilted the bead in his hand, admiring it. "I have studied
hard in the past year. It was something to do when I could not
sleep." He lifted his head, and his eyes were wild and dark and
laughing. " 'Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
now due to be crowned again.' You have taught me what it is like to
be an exiled king, Harry, and for that I must thank you. But I have
missed you."</p><p>"I told you once,"
said Harry calmly, ignoring the drawn wands and hissed-in breaths
from around him, "that the next time I saw you, I would kill you."</p><p>"Oh, yes, you did,"
said Rosier agreeably. "But I think that you should look at me and
see what I've learned first, Harry. <em>Pulmo dominatio!</em>"</p><p>Harry braced himself
to fling the spell back the moment it tried to get control of him;
Rosier was an expert in spells that got under shields and affected
the human body, like the Blood-Burning Curse that he had afflicted
Harry with the first time they fought in proper battle. But Harry
thought he could resist it, now.</p><p>He felt nothing. Then
he heard a gasp and felt a head sag against his shoulder, and knew
whose lungs Rosier had taken control of.</p><p><em>Draco.</em></p><p>The world went white.
It took Harry a moment to realize it hadn't gone white just for
him. His magic was flaring in a wide circle of shining fire all
around him, beating in time with his own heart, closing in and
turning around Rosier like a torture wheel. Rosier was watching it
with an expression of childlike delight. He wagged the glass bead, as
if to remind Harry of what was at stake.</p><p>"That was pretty,"
he remarked to Harry. "You must show me that again sometime." He
paused reflectively. "Or you could bring me raspberries. I have
developed a taste for them, in place of the blueberries that you
never brought me."</p><p>"Let him go,
Rosier," Harry said, trying to block from his mind the descriptions
of what he'd read the Lung Domination Curse as doing. Victims could
die slowly from lack of air, instead of quickly. Their lungs could
fill with fluid, and they could drown on dry land. They—</p><p>"You should have
acted more quickly," said Rosier. "You let me talk, and that is
always a bad idea, Harry. How many enemies' lives will you spare
while your friends die?" He smiled at him. "Let us make a wager.
I say four. How many do you say?"</p><p>A curse soared over
Harry's shoulder before he could recover his self-possession, aimed
for the glass bead in Rosier's hand. It hit a shield Harry hadn't
even seen, and shattered. Rosier laughed.</p><p>"I am much stronger
now, Henrietta," he said. "My magic has increased wonderfully.
Did I mention that?"</p><p>"Let him go,
Rosier," Harry said. The world had become simple, as simple as the
rage his wheel of fire expressed, as simple as the desperation that
was slowly eating his brain from the inside out. "Let him go, and
you may have whatever you wish of me." He lifted his wrists to show
that he had a silver hand attached to the left one. "Do you want
this? You can have it."</p><p>Rosier's eyes
blazed. "You are so kind to offer your hand to me, Harry," he
murmured. "But I think I want something else."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Do not trust him,
Harry." Snape sounded like nothing human. Harry flicked him a
glance and saw his magic crouched around him as a muscled shadow. "He
will keep no bargain he makes."</p><p>"Do shut up,
Severus," said Rosier. "You can't advise him in this
situation." He turned his gaze to fix on Harry. "And I think I
prefer your right hand to your left," he said, and showed his
teeth. "I am hungry, I think, for red, wet flesh, and not so much
for cold, hard silver."</p><p>Harry felt the waves
of his emotions crashing over him. Fear and rage alternated so
quickly he could hardly tell them apart any more. All he knew for
certain was that Rosier might as well have gripped his own lungs with
that curse. His breath came in time with Draco's needy, gasping
ones behind him. He did feel Draco sag briefly, in the manner that
meant he was trying his possession gift, but then he gave a jerky
sigh, and Harry knew it had failed. Probably Rosier was too insane
for Draco to possess.</p><p>"Harry," Draco
whispered, and Harry bent towards him, never taking his eyes from
Rosier as the air grew more and more tense. "I can't control him,
but there's something—I can't see it well—a golden bridle,
wrung over his thoughts—if you can break that, I think—"</p><p>And then he stopped
talking, and Harry looked to see his face turning blue.</p><p>He faced Rosier again,
and <em>screamed.</em> His ring of white fire soared, leaping like a
fountain, gouts of power rising and then falling right back down into
place, so they looked less like fountains and more like blades as the
moments wore on. Harry wanted to kill. He was mad to do so.</p><p>"No talking, no,"
Rosier said. "Did I give you permission to do that? <em>Naughty</em>
Draco." And Draco started breathing again, but only in shallow
pulses that Harry knew couldn't sustain him. "Now, Harry, come
forward and hold out your hand to me, so that I can bite your palm. I
prefer my meat alive when I can get it."</p><p>Harry moved forward,
ignoring the stifled gasps and curses from behind him, never yielding
Rosier's gaze. He had a moment, and no more, to decide what he
should do with the information Draco had given him.</p><p>Perhaps at another
time he would have planned and plotted. But now, everything was so
simple. He had to save Draco. He trusted Draco absolutely.</p><p>Thus it was that as he
came to a halt and held out his hand for Rosier to eat, he leaped
through his eyes, in a burst of Legilimency.</p><p>He saw at once what
Draco had meant. Beyond Rosier's eyes was not the chaos he would
have expected of a mad person, the chaos that Snape had once seen in
Sirius's mind when he was being driven insane by Voldemort's
possession, but a lashing sea with a bridge over it. The bridge
resembled a golden bridle if seen from a certain angle. And
underneath that bridle, the chaos fought still.</p><p>Someone had grasped
Rosier's mind and constrained him to appear.</p><p>And if Harry broke the
bridle, then he would be setting Rosier free to do as he willed.</p><p>Only a moment to make
a decision, and Harry chose freedom. He could not do otherwise. He
was <em>vates</em>, and the mad things, the wild things, the Dark
things, they deserved their freedom, too.</p><p>And Rosier held Draco
on someone else's orders.</p><p>Harry cleft the golden
bridle. It withered, falling away like the phoenix web. Someone
fought him for a moment, but that person was not strong enough to
hold on to the spell in the face of Harry's magic. He gripped the
bridle and shook it to death between his teeth.</p><p>And Rosier was free.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Indigena gagged,
feeling as though someone had punched her in the belly, and flopped
on the floor of the tunnel as gracelessly as Falco dropping out of
the air. She coughed and coughed and coughed again, and then moaned
softly at the merciless pounding in her head.</p><p>"Indigena?"</p><p>Somehow, she roused
herself and crawled to her Lord's side. His fingers felt her face,
and he whispered, "Harry knows that Evan was under the bridle
spell?"</p><p>She nodded, and let
her head fall forward, to rest on her Lord's chest. He did not
smell bad, like dirt and flowers and soft cool things. It gave
Indigena the strength to summon breath to reassure him.</p><p>"But he—didn't
spend much time in Evan's head," she whispered. "He didn't
have time to see the source of the bridle, nor where it was attached
on Evan's body."</p><p>"Good," said
Voldemort, his fingers clamping into her hair and on the back of her
neck. "Then we will move slowly, and subtly. The others are more
certain. Only our mad Evan, our broken one, needs such measures. Do
not repeat the spell, and Harry cannot trace the pattern."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry felt for a
moment as if he were falling into an abyss, a black, churning sea,
crushed with lightning, that reared up to meet him. And then he was
free himself, as Rosier's natural insanity reasserted itself, and
flung him out of his mind.</p><p>He was lying on the
ground, a torn bite in the center of his palm, staring up at Rosier.
There was blood on his teeth, and wildness in his eyes. And
realization, if not sanity.</p><p>He dropped the glass
bead and crushed it beneath his heel, all the time never taking his
eyes from Harry's. Then he aimed his wand at Draco—Harry
remembered, as if in a daze, that he had not used his wand to cast
the Lung Domination Curse—and shouted, "<em>Finite Incantatem!</em>"</p><p>Draco took a deep
breath, to show Harry he could.</p><p>A timeless moment
passed, swinging like a pendulum, during which Harry looked into
Rosier's eyes as he would the eyes of any wild creature he freed.
He saw the same hatred he had seen there when he used the phoenix
tears to heal Rosier's wounds in the graveyard last Midwinter.</p><p>And they were enemies
again, and Harry tried to make the ring of white fire race in and
swallow Rosier, and Rosier leaped away, the distinctive <em>crack</em>
of Apparition shattering into silence. Argutus's lunge carried him
futilely through empty air a second too late, and he chose, hissing,
to twine about Harry instead.</p><p>Harry turned, forced
himself to his feet, tamed his magic, snatched Draco close, and
Apparated. The others followed without discussion. Harry knew they
didn't need to be told where he was going.</p><p>He landed safely on
the grass outside Hogwarts, breathing in the scent of Draco's hair,
clutching him as if he would never let him go, and tasting the slide
of rain over his skin and his lips.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 91*: See What Beauty Falls</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Two: See What Beauty Falls</strong></p><p>Draco took a deep
breath, because he could, and then another one, because he could see
Harry watching him.</p><p>Harry had lingered to
tell the Headmistress what had happened and to answer questions from
the others as they arrived, with bare courtesy. Regulus had stepped
back and prudently let him go when his magic sprouted from his face
in bizarre bronze tendrils. Draco was of the opinion that this was
the right thing to do.</p><p>And not only because
Harry would be calmer if not forced to answer question after
question, of course. Also so that Harry could take care of him.</p><p>It was a wonderful
feeling, to know that at that moment, he was the center of Harry's
world and Harry would have done anything to protect him. He'd taken
Draco back to their bedroom and conjured food for him from a robe
that he never wore anymore. Draco had protested at first, expecting
it to taste like dust, but in fact it tasted like grapes. He'd had
to eye Harry sideways and wonder how much of what he did in class
failed not because he didn't have the talent but because he was
trying to channel raw power through the conduits of spells too small
for it.</p><p>Harry had fed him the
grapes, eyes so intent that Draco had felt unable to talk. Meanwhile,
his magic roamed the room, snakes twitching their tails and hissing
whenever Harry looked at them. Sometimes Harry hissed back, and
sometimes he talked to Argutus, but for the most part he kept up a
low murmuring of constant reassurances that Draco could only make out
some of the time.</p><p>"Love you…would
have torn him apart if he hurt you more than that…should have torn
him apart the moment I saw him…Merlin, Draco, no end to the things
I would do for you…has to be a better way to protect you…felt as
if my mind was ripping out of my skull when I knew that he'd hit
you with that spell…so clever, even in the middle of that pain, to
feel the golden bridle in his mind and be able to tell it to me…"</p><p>Draco leaned back on
the bed and let Harry touch him with his hands when the words weren't
enough any more. For the most part, Harry used the right one, but
Draco reached up and clasped his left wrist, letting him know without
words that the silver was welcome. And it was; the combination of
Harry's magic working to bind it to his body and a warming charm
made it only a little stiffer and smoother than Harry's right hand.</p><p>Draco reveled in the
fact that no one else would ever know what the touch of those hands
felt like, and in the gaze Harry gave him all the while, as if he
were the most precious thing ever to exist, treasure and lover and
friend all rolled up into one. He could have asked Harry to do
anything at that moment, and he would have done it.</p><p>He didn't intend to
<em>use</em> that power, of course, except to save Harry's life if
necessary. But he didn't care. The point was that he had it, and he
<em>could</em> have used it. Draco closed his eyes, and twitched a bit
as Harry spelled his clothes away and went to work, kneading his skin
and breathing over every sensitive place on his body and caressing
his groin as if he thought that it would vanish in the next moment.</p><p>The other times they'd
bedded each other stood out clear and sharp in Draco's mind,
mosaics of leaps and angles. This one didn't. This one was curved,
blurred, blending, sliding from a moment of pleasure to another
moment of pleasure, colors exploding behind his eyes, pleasure
soaking his belly from the inside and his hands and his chest and his
legs and then his belly from the outside.</p><p>Harry gathered him
close when he was done. He used his hands, but other than that, he
might have shifted Draco's weight by main force or magic; Draco
couldn't open his eyes to see. He lifted his head for a kiss, and
it was there. He leaned his head on Harry's shoulder, and it was
there.</p><p>He couldn't open his
eyes, he was so sated, but he could imagine the picture Harry must
make, crouched over him, eyes blazing as he stared at the far wall
and, Draco hoped, plotted vengeance on Rosier.</p><p>He did wish he hadn't
had to go through such an experience as the Lung Domination Curse to
get this kind of treatment, Draco reflected drowsily. But he had had
his place in Harry's life reconfirmed in a very pleasant way, and
now he drifted on the edge of bliss. He favored giving up all thought
about his dangerous experience today in order to flirt with sleep.</p><p>Sleep won, and seduced
him—though not as thoroughly as Harry had—into a slumber that
Draco felt as a leaping wave of blackness creeping up from his legs.
He might have tensed when it passed over his chest and above his
still-laboring lungs, but he did not. He was comfortable, and he was
relaxed, and then he was gone.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry waited until he
was sure Draco was asleep to lower the barriers over his magic.</p><p>The air all around him
went hot, bright, blazing, like a desert at noonday. Harry saw golden
trees take form on the wall, but they looked blasted and blistered,
as if they had stood too long in that fierce sun. Snakes looped
through them, but their heads and tails were both narrower, and they
showed fangs as they moved. Lynxes were nowhere in sight.</p><p>The black cats were
everywhere. One of them jumped up on the bed and nudged at Draco,
causing Harry to draw him more tightly into his arms, then lifted its
head and locked Harry's gaze, green eye to green eye.</p><p>Harry saw the rage
there, and he met it, because he had to, in a struggle only slightly
less fierce than the one with Rosier had been. He swung between the
desire, the <em>need</em>, to find and kill Evan Rosier so he could
never do something like that to Draco again. And not far behind the
anger was the desperate, maddened despair. Draco would be in danger
every time they went into battle, unless Harry did something about
it. And it was up to Harry to do something about it, because he was
the reason Draco was in danger. If he had not cared about Draco so
much, then his enemies would not have concentrated on Draco and tried
to kill him.</p><p>He knew he could not
solve either of those problems in the simplest ways, the ways that
would have been available to someone like Lucius Malfoy. He could not
order Draco to stay behind and out of danger, because that was a
violation of his free will. Nor could he simply seek out and kill
those who threatened Draco.</p><p>He regretted not
killing Rosier on sight.</p><p>He did not think that
he had it within himself to kill people on sight.</p><p>When he tried to think
about it, even given the rage in the cat's eyes and the rage that
had turned the room around him golden instead of deep purple and
green, all his <em>vates</em> instincts revolted, screaming. His love
of freedom was the only emotion as deep within him as his love of
Draco, and it was able to combat it. He could not simply kill someone
he thought was a threat, only to find out later that that person had
been an innocent, or someone coming to offer terms of surrender. He
could live with the consequences that might follow leaving someone
alive to talk, but not the other. If he slew someone by mistake, then
the shadows of suicide would come back, and he would look into the
abyss he had when he let Loki kill Kieran.</p><p>But neither could he
live if Draco were destroyed.</p><p>That was what he had
understood in the moments after they arrived back at Hogwarts, not
the moments when he tried to think of something to do to get Draco
free of the Lung Domination Curse or the moments when he sprawled at
Rosier's feet. As undeniable as the will to allow people their will
was the one that said his mind, his heart, his soul, were wrapped up
in Draco. If Draco died, he would follow. And if he allowed something
to happen to Draco, again, suicide out of guilt would be the road he
had to choose, the one his sense of right would <em>make</em> him
choose.</p><p>And yet he couldn't
do that either, since the wizarding world needed him alive to fight
Voldemort and achieve as much as he could of the tasks of a <em>vates.</em></p><p>For a moment, just a
moment, Harry closed his eyes and mourned in silence that he had not
been born Connor instead—the twin who turned out to be destined for
perhaps one task and that far in the future, after he had learned a
few lessons in love and compassion. He didn't <em>want</em> his
magic, he didn't <em>want</em> whatever thing in him made other
people follow him into danger, he didn't <em>want</em> his past, not
if it made him have to face choices like this.</p><p>But the moment passed,
and Harry opened his eyes again and scowled at the far wall.</p><p>So he could not take
the simple methods. So wishing that things were different did not
mean they would suddenly change into those different configurations.
So his definition of what was most important in life and what he
should do with his magic would not agree—probably never agree—with
anyone else's.</p><p>That didn't matter.
The choices and the consequences of his choices were still there, and
needed to be lived with.</p><p>And that was what made
him different, Harry thought, as he eased backward and pulled Draco
with him so that his head rested on his chest. The cat had lain down
beside him and was licking its claws. Now and then Harry felt a swipe
of its tail or its flank, feeling solid and smelling musky. <em>Real.</em>
His magic was strong enough to bring a creature like this fully
formed into life.</p><p>He must live with
them. Very well. Then he would. He was life-focused, not
death-focused, despite the thoughts of suicide that seemed to be
wheeling more and more often around his head this year. If he lost
people to the Horcruxes, then he would have to live on. He could not
think of death as an end, because he had given his life to larger
things, responsibilities that would still need him no matter how much
he wanted to die.</p><p><em>And I don't think
that I would have been happy any other way, not with my training.
</em>Harry had to acknowledge that. He did not know how to relax, how
to drug his mind and send it into submission. The closest he came to
it was during flight, and that was more often an occasion to think
about things he couldn't manage on the ground. And even in sex with
Draco, he was chasing Draco's pleasure and his own as fiercely as
he could, and then, almost the moment their bedding ended, his mind
pounded and raced down a new track again.</p><p>He would be destroyed
if Draco was, and he could not afford to be.</p><p>That was one truth.</p><p>He would not abandon
his principles against vengeance and binding the wills of others, and
that was another. Besides, Draco had proven himself in battle several
times now.</p><p>So the best answer
that Harry could come up with was a bodyguard. He would ask Draco his
opinion of the choice, but he would not accept any attempt Draco made
to persuade him out of doing it, any more than Draco had let him
escape without bodyguards after the Ravenclaws cursed him last year.</p><p>Besides—</p><p>Harry smiled, and the
black cat looked up from licking its claws and nudged its head
forward, sliding it along his side, making him tangle his fingers of
the silver hand in its fur and stroke it.</p><p>He knew how to spin
the idea of a bodyguard so that Draco would see it as a privilege of
uniqueness, rather than the intrusion that it had tended to represent
to Harry. Harry knew all about the vain side of his lover. Most of
the time, he could ignore it, or he only used it to tease Draco. This
time, it would be useful.</p><p>He stroked Draco's
hair and looked down at him with a faint shake of his head.</p><p>"I'll charm you,"
he whispered. "Persuade you. Manipulate you. You're a Slytherin,
and you'll understand, if you figure it out, that it was merely a
case of my following the traits of our House."</p><p>The cat licked his
flesh palm with a rough tongue, rasping over the wound Rosier had
made. Harry glanced at it in surprise, then shrugged. He supposed he
should bind it, but it had stopped bleeding and it didn't hurt. He
would take himself to Madam Pomfrey if it became infected.</p><p>He lay back and closed
his eyes. He should sleep while he could. The moment he was awake, he
had questions to ask Snape and others of his allies—specifically,
those who bore the Dark Mark on their arms.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Severus." Harry
was calm. Snape knew that from the way he hadn't retreated into
formality the moment Snape refused. "I do want to do this. I know
that you're a talented Legilimens and can sense most intrusions
into your thoughts, but if I'm right, then Voldemort's using a
spell that compels thought, and he's a very strong compeller. I
just want to look for traces of the golden bridle that I saw in
Rosier's thoughts. That's all."</p><p>Snape bared his teeth.
"Nothing has happened to me," he said, looking Harry in the eye.
"Since I ended the Sanctuary dreams with the one that told of
Regulus's death—"</p><p>Harry stepped forward,
but Snape's withering glare stopped him.</p><p>"I spoke of it with
Joseph," said Snape. "And that is over now. I have thought about
it, and soothed the stirred memories back to sleep, or else made an
effort to integrate them into my life and coexist with them." That
he had not told Joseph everything about his last dream, including
what would have made him look most weak, was not the point. "There
have been no vivid or compelling dreams since then. Rosier's line
about lost sleep likely means nothing."</p><p>"But Indigena
taunted him about bad dreams when he kidnapped Connor," said Harry,
"and he went mad. I think he knew he was being controlled, then, or
figured it out. I don't think they were working together at all.
Indigena, or Voldemort working through Indigena, made him send those
letters to Connor, and those carved wooden figures, and compelled him
to wait until they were ready to summon Connor to Hawthorn's
garden. Otherwise, do you think Rosier would have remained focused on
one goal for that long? I had the feeling that it was impossible for
him. He is simply too chaotic, and he would have wanted to do
something more to get to me than to merely summon my brother to an
ally's house and cast a few curses at him."</p><p>Snape had to admit
that the scenario sounded unlikely to him, too. But he could still
not believe that the Dark Lord was trying to control him by means of
bad dreams or a golden bridle spell. He would have sensed such a
thing. He was a Legilimens second only to Voldemort in Britain now
that Dumbledore was dead, and an Occlumens second to none. If there
was influence in his mind through dreams, then Voldemort could not
have hidden it from him.</p><p>And he did not want to
allow Harry to read his mind.</p><p>"Severus. Please."</p><p>Snape tossed his head
and turned away. "I do not wish to," he told his fire flatly.
"There are things in my memories that you do not need to see,
Harry." He had been dreaming about the Marauders lately, and
remembering the way that Dumbledore had allowed them to stay in the
school when he should have expelled them after the attack on Snape.
And he had allowed a werewolf to attend in the first place, madman
that he was. Snape clenched his hands. Now and then he woke so full
of hatred that he had to lie still and breathe deeply for a long
moment before he could stand and make ready to teach Potions. Joseph
said it was a healthy sign, a healing sign, that he could remember
that much hatred without either burying it in an Occlumency pool or
taking it out on his students, but Snape knew it made him shake with
remembered darkness.</p><p>Harry did not deserve
to see that wave of loathing directed at his father—the man who had
sired him, say rather—at the moment when Snape was trying to be the
best father to him that he could be.</p><p>"Please, Severus,"
Harry tried this time, as if the combination of the word and the name
in that order would work a miracle where so far they had not.</p><p>Feeling as though his
first name were tugging on him like the bridle Harry wanted to look
for, Snape turned around again. "Why don't you ask the others
first?" he asked harshly. "Why don't you ask Peter?"</p><p>"I already did,"
said Harry. "Asked, and looked into his mind. No trace of a golden
bridle. And he said his dreams were no worse than usual. They're
finally calming down now, after keeping him awake for a relatively
long time. Hawthorn and Adalrico and—" He paused a moment, as
though reluctant to say the name, then finished. "Lucius said they
haven't dreamed of violent memories or anything else recently. And
Regulus's mind isn't his own since he came back from Death, but
she fills it with visions that have nothing to do with Voldemort."</p><p>"Then why would you
think that I could have dreams that do?" Snape whispered, closing
his eyes. "Am I alone, and none of the others, to be compared with
Rosier?"</p><p>Harry touched his arm.
Snape opened his eyes to see Harry taking a deep breath as though to
prepare himself for climbing a mountain.</p><p>"I think he would
target you before any of the others," Harry whispered, "because
he was working that golden bridle on a man strong and difficult to
control. Rosier is only harder to control than you are because he's
mad." He paused, throat working. "And he would target you because
he knows that you mean the most to me out of anyone who wears a Dark
Mark."</p><p>Slowly, Snape knelt,
holding Harry's eyes all the while. Harry looked nervous and
miserable, the way he usually did when saying that one person was
more important to him than another, but he didn't glance away.</p><p>Snape dropped his
barriers. Harry was through into his mind, in a little rush of
Legilimency that he greeted with a gasp. Then he caught himself, and
began to swim with more grace than Snape had expected, heading
towards the center of his mind, sifting memories with gentle fingers
and looking for Merlin knew what sign of the Dark Lord's tampering.</p><p>It was—uncomfortable
to have someone else in his mind. It always had been, Snape thought,
which was one reason he was glad that he had learned most of what he
knew of Occlumency and Legilimency out of books, rather than in
combination with a teacher. His mind had been his secret refuge
during his school days when others taunted him, and even sometimes
from his mother's words. He could abandon Eileen's lessons and
retreat into a corner where he was the Half-Blood Prince, son of
pureblood royalty even if unacknowledged, and someday everyone would
admire him for his brilliance with spells and potions.</p><p>Sometimes he caught a
little jerk or flinch from Harry, but luckily, he did not have to
confront any particular memory when that happened. Harry's touch
was light, flitting from one part of his mind to the next. Snape
suspected that came from his respect for someone else's free will.
Harry would never be the best Legilimens in the world, simply because
he had none of the liking for domination that had made Voldemort so
proficient in the art.</p><p>Then he was out, and
Harry stood gazing up at him solemnly. Snape waited, not knowing what
he had seen.</p><p>"No trace of a
golden bridle," said Harry. "And I saw no dreams that he'd sent
in your memories." He reached out and put a hesitant hand on
Snape's arm again. "Thank you. I know that must have been hard
for you. And you're one of the bravest men I've ever met,
Severus."</p><p>Snape stared. It
hadn't occurred to him that part of the solemn shine in those green
eyes came from admiration. But it did, and he could only stand there
as Harry gave him a quick hug and then slipped quietly to the door.
He did pause there, looking back with a faint smile that warned Snape
he was about to say something to lighten the mood.</p><p>"Are you sure the
Sorting Hat never considered you for Gryffindor, Severus, with all
that bravery?"</p><p>Snape looked for
something to throw, but Harry was already out the door.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"I don't
understand why we're here," complained Melinda Honeywhistle,
tapping her quill against her scroll.</p><p>Harry ignored her
serenely, along with the other reporters who shuffled their feet and
muttered agreement. They stood in the center of the Hogsmeade road,
in a roped-off section that still left foot travelers room to get by.
Beyond the reporters, whom he'd invited, Harry had attracted a good
deal of curious attention from the villagers. That suited his
purposes. He currently hovered off the muddy ground in the center of
the ropes, not on a platform, but borne along on currents of pure
magic. That suited his purpose, too, which was to impress people to
death.</p><p>"You will in a
moment," said Harry, and turned his eyes upwards, since he'd seen
a moving shadow. Alas, it was only one of the thestrals, rising idly
from the Forbidden Forest and turning on a thermal. Harry watched
him, and stifled the impulse to rise and join him. He <em>could,</em>
yes, but only a small portion of the crowd would be able to see the
creature he flew in company with, and those who could would be
terrified. "If he comes, of course."</p><p>"You invited us here
for someone who might not even <em>appear</em>?" Honeywhistle's
face was ugly when Harry glanced at her again. "You should have a
good excuse for this, Potter."</p><p>"That's not my
name anymore," said Harry, with enough force that she started and
took a wary step back from him. Harry raised an eyebrow, and
pretended to let his anger drain away. He hadn't been angry at all,
had suffered only a tiny spark of irritation, but they didn't need
to know that. Sometimes using Slytherin manipulation was the best
thing to do after all. With the control he could have over his
emotions if he wanted to exercise it, Harry had managed to persuade
Draco to accept Syrinx as a bodyguard, to persuade Peter that his
form really was a lynx and he was ready to move on to more
complicated Animagus training, and to interest these reporters to
attend this showing, all in the last week. "At least I have that
much in common with the one I asked to appear here this morning. He
did have a name, once, but I only call him by it out of his courtesy.
I would suggest that none of you try using it."</p><p>He
saw an older wizard's lips shape the question, but he wasn't
about to give the name away.</p><p>Besides, in that
moment Dobby arrived.</p><p>He coalesced out of
the air, his shape coming together from a myriad white sparks that
until that moment seemed to have lain dormant in the mud. They rose
and spun around each other, then joined into a shape that Harry had
to swallow a chuckle at. Dobby had chosen the body of a black
unicorn, though the horn itself was white, and the tail was a mix of
red and white and green, and his eyes were green and blazing, and—</p><p>Harry narrowed his own
eyes a bit. The unicorn had a white scar shaped like a lightning bolt
extending from the base of his horn to the top of his eyes.</p><p><em>I'm sure he only
means to make a point.</em></p><p>Dobby blinked at the
reporters who surrounded him. Those eyes weren't just green, Harry
saw when he glanced into them. They had the same golden sparks, the
same immense wisdom, that he had seen when Dobby took him to the
bedside of Jiv and her son.</p><p>And the <em>magic.</em>
It poured into the world a few moments behind Dobby, soaking the
people who watched, turning the air damp and moist with a half-felt
rain. Dobby reared and brought down a single hoof that flashed from
black to white as it moved, striking the ground.</p><p>The mud and the
cobbles of Hogsmeade tore, and a spring of water fountained up,
singing quietly to itself as it flowed along the street. Some people
stepped away from it with a cry, but others came forward, looking
half-dazed from the amount of magic in the air, and bent to drink.
Harry smiled. His own senses were alive and awake, and he didn't
have to ask to know that the water was cold and clear in their
mouths, quite the best thing they had ever tasted.</p><p>"This is what can
happen," Dobby said, his voice so sweet that it was like that water
being poured over his ears. Harry shuddered, gooseflesh lifting on
his arms, trails of pure delight pricking around the center of his
back. "I was once a house elf, and then Harry freed me. Now I have
gone back to what my kind was meant to be. Shapeshifters of the
moment, changing as we move, changing to reflect what we learn of the
world, which is everything." He turned his head, and let the horn
glint, cleaving the air until the edge of it seemed like a needle.
"Long ago, we entered the house elf form, giving up some of our
greater power in order to learn about the limits, and it was thus
that wizards found and tied us with the webs. And we forgot what we
were. Now, because we have begun to be free, we have begun to
remember."</p><p>He turned and laid his
horn on Harry's shoulder. Harry forgot how to breathe. Despite the
scar and his odd-colored tail, Dobby had faultlessly imitated the
other aspects of a unicorn, including the graceful curve of its neck,
like nothing else in the world, and the warm, soft animal smell of
its fur.</p><p>"Thank you, <em>vates</em>,"
Dobby said, so softly that Harry had no doubt it was meant to remain
private.</p><p>Harry couldn't
speak. He nodded. Dobby flung himself back abruptly, rearing in
midair, his hooves dancing above the cobbles and mud as though he
were afraid of rousing a spring everywhere he went, and arched
against the sky.</p><p>"When you free us,"
he said, his voice soaring to follow his motion, "you free one of
the primal magical forces of the world. When you free us, then see
what beauty falls!"</p><p>His legs bent, his
hooves following the path of them like shooting stars, and when he
reached the end of his kneeling motion, he exploded.</p><p>The sparks that flew
everywhere from him were like black snowflakes. One brushed against
Harry, burrowed blindly along his sleeve for a moment, and then
reached bare skin and latched on.</p><p>Harry <em>saw.</em></p><p>For a moment, he
caught a glimpse of the path the shapeshifters walked on. It was
nothing like the paths of Dark and Light, not a defined road so much
as what Dobby's people—and almost he felt their name, teasing at
his teeth and tongue, there and then flown—had chosen to do with
their existence at the beginning. Long-lived, immortal if they wished
to be so, existing in the midst of immense magic, able to change
shape, they altered, and altered, and altered again, flowing through
all the other powers in the wizarding world and the Muggle one.</p><p>Why had they been
created? They did not know, and that did not matter. They did not
think they had been bred for a defined purpose like the flying horses
had been, but even if they were, they no longer remembered it. What
mattered was that they were there, they existed, and they had a
coherence and an identity of their own that did not depend on
anything anyone else said.</p><p>And then they were
bound.</p><p>That trapped them in
one shape. More, it trapped them in one relationship to wizards. They
were no longer free to approach individual wizards if they wished and
initiate bonds of friendship or love or enmity with them. They, who
had been the freest of the magical creatures, were trapped in
servitude, and convinced it had been their idea and was their nature,
and that was all they knew.</p><p>And now a <em>vates</em>
had come, and his breaking of the webs could restore to them choice,
the freedom of stars and skies and an endless, uncircumscribed life
and body. They were again what they had been, partnering wizards in
the great dance if they wished, but not compelled to do so. There
were no words for what that meant, and no words for how keenly
interested Dobby was, among all his other interests, in making sure
that the rest of his kind achieved it again.</p><p>Wizards could make up
for what they had done only by letting the race they called house
elves free. And that was all.</p><p>The moment ended.
Harry gasped, and saw Dobby, in unicorn form again, spring forward,
hooves drumming like bells on empty air. Straight up he ascended, a
flying shape, ridiculously-colored tail streaming behind him, and in
the sky he burst again and was lost.</p><p>Harry slowly surveyed
the crowd. Many there were crying openly, and one or two of the
reporters had fainted in shock. Melinda Honeywhistle was still on her
feet, but she swayed back and forth, her lips blue. Harry nodded, and
awkwardly cleared his throat. He had intended for them to meet Dobby
and see what could be gained when the house elves were free of their
webs, but Dobby had made a far more convincing argument than he could
ever have done.</p><p>And that was right,
Harry thought, the satisfaction slotting into something deep within
him. Ultimately, what he wanted was not to make the magical creatures
dependent on him, or dependent on the good will of wizards, but able
to speak in their own voices, make their own arguments, and live
their own lives.</p><p>When one could do
that, the beauty that fell out of it was greater, by far, than the
beauty wizards might achieve when they still had house elf slaves and
bound the other creatures as servants.</p><p>"Thank you for
coming," he said into the silence and tears. "You can always ask
me if you have questions."</p><p>He turned and floated
back towards Hogsmeade, mind shaking and stamping its hooves like a
unicorn. He had promised himself, in the wake of Rosier's attack,
to live life as best he could, and take precautions to insure that
the people around him could survive, without becoming paranoid about
it in a way that would steal all the joy out of surviving.</p><p>Based on what he had
seen from Dobby—the creature who had been, at one point, called
Dobby—he still had a lot to learn.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 92*: Oaths and Ties</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!<strong><br>
</strong></p><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Three: Oaths and Ties</strong></p><p>Unlike the last time
it had happened, Harry wasn't snatched out of a sound sleep. He was
sitting in the middle of the Slytherin common room, attempting to
find the best way to phrase a Potions essay. Draco leaned against his
shoulder. Now and then he shifted so that his head pushed into
Harry's robe, and muttered sleepily. Harry watched him with a faint
smile. He wasn't more than half trying to do his homework. The fire
and Harry occupied him far more. Syrinx sat on the next chair, her
attention on the motions of her wand. Harry knew she was practicing
war witch spells, without actually putting enough force behind the
incantations to make the spells happen.</p><p>The door to the common
room flung open, and Harry moved. He didn't realize it until a
moment later, when he found himself facing a blinking Owen, but he
had dropped his essay, turned so that Draco lay on the couch instead
of on his shoulder, and then whirled so that he was in front of both
Draco and Syrinx.</p><p>Owen blinked one final
time and held up his hand. "I'm not a threat, Harry," he said,
voice threaded with anxiety.</p><p>Harry dropped his
head, and managed to exhale. "I know that." He could see Michael
peeking in through the door of the Slytherin common room now, though
he dropped back immediately when he caught sight of Harry, and knew
what this meant. "Your little sibling is being born?"</p><p>"Yes," Owen said.
"Come with us, since you promised to stand as the child's
godfather, and give her a name." He hovered, looking at Harry
expectantly.</p><p>"Her?" Harry was
already tapping his wrist to speak with Snape and Peter, though, and
tell them where he was going, so for a moment he couldn't look back
at Owen for the answer. When he did, he surprised a small smile
teasing the corners of his mouth.</p><p>"Yes," said Owen
simply. "My mother suspected it was a girl, but she discovered it
for certain a week ago. The magical signature from her womb was
simply too much like a witch's, she said." For a moment, a shadow
brushed his face with its wings, but then he shook his head. "Father
would have liked to have a daughter," he murmured. "As it was, I
shall like having a little sister."</p><p>Harry wondered how
much of Owen's behavior came from a driving, consuming need to be
like Charles. He started to move forward, but a hand caught his
shoulder. Draco stood behind him.</p><p>"I want to come with
you," he said.</p><p>Owen caught Harry's
eye. "That is not a good idea," he said, "for a variety of
reasons."</p><p>He didn't need to
enumerate them all. Harry understood. Michael, of course, must attend
the birth of his younger sibling, but if Draco came with them, then
the atmosphere would be tense and uncomfortable. That was the last
thing Medusa Rosier-Henlin needed right now. Not to mention that the
addition of Draco would require the addition of Syrinx, and that
would further enlarge the circle of whom the family shared this birth
with, beyond what they wanted.</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath and faced Draco. "I'm sorry, Draco," he said. "I'm
going to ask you to stay here."</p><p>"You can't force
me to," said Draco, as if he had latched on to the notion of free
will and nothing else. <em>Well, perhaps he does think that I'll
always let him come with me if he just says that he wants to often
enough, </em>Harry thought. <em>There's little else that I've
denied him, or wanted to.</em></p><p>"I can't," said
Harry. "But you can't Apparate yet, and Owen and Michael and I
can. That's enough to make you stay here." He caught Owen's
eye, and Owen nodded and turned to lead the way out of the Slytherin
common room. Michael had waited in the hallway, luckily. Harry
supposed that he might have a modicum of sense, though he hadn't
often shown it where Draco was concerned.</p><p>Draco grabbed onto his
arm and held firm. Harry could see his face flushing as he realized
how much they were the target of curious gazes, but even that didn't
make him loosen his hold. "I want to go with you," he said, and,
when Harry hesitated, evidently thinking that Harry was going to give
in, rather than try to find a way to shake him off without hurting
him, he lowered his voice. "Please, Harry? Since the attack by
Rosier, I simply don't feel safe."</p><p>Harry shook himself in
irritation, warming the skin under Draco's hands with his magic
until Draco let go with a gasp. "Not this time," said Harry
shortly. "And you're safer behind the school's wards than you
are with me, Draco."</p><p>There was a new light
in the gaze with which Draco regarded him, meanwhile blowing on his
fingers as if they were singed. Harry didn't like it, and suspected
they would have an argument later. But he turned and went back to the
couch they'd been sitting on without a word. Tragically, he buried
himself in his homework again. Syrinx, on her feet and with her wand
half-drawn, sat down. Her bright eyes were fixed on Harry's face.
Harry couldn't tell what she was thinking.</p><p>Owen's hand caught
his wrist. "Come on."</p><p>Harry nodded, and
turned away. He knew how to balance one set of obligations with
another set of obligations, and sometimes, he simply couldn't give
in to what his boyfriend wanted.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Owen Side-Along
Apparated Harry through the Rosier-Henlin wards, and let him go as
soon as it was polite to do so. To his eyes, accustomed to seeing
magic in the way his family had done for generations, Harry simply
shone too brightly for comfort. He had summoned magic to drive Draco
back, and hadn't let it go. Lightning bolts played about him,
glowing and sizzling and striking the floorboards.</p><p>"Where is Medusa?"
Harry asked quietly, stepping away from Owen and looking around the
kitchen. It seemed smaller and darker now that his mother and his
brother no longer played here as they had used to, Owen thought,
looking around himself. Then he deliberately shoved the thought away.
His mother still lived. His brother still lived, and had stepped past
some of his infatuation with Draco, if his latest words were to be
believed. He had no reason to think that more tragedy would befall
his family.</p><p>"This way," he
said, and guided Harry down the short corridor that led to his
mother's bedroom.</p><p>She labored on her bed
with her blanket over her legs, her breathing sharp and short but
otherwise controlled. His mother would not indulge in the indignity
of screaming, Owen thought. He came to her side and put his hand on
her forehead. Medusa opened her eyes, saw him, and smiled faintly.</p><p>"Harry—has come?"
she asked, timing the words around contractions. Owen watched her
belly ripple under the blanket for a moment, and did not look away,
much as he would have liked to. He knew Medusa had midwife spells
that would help her ease the pain, keep the sheets clean and away
from her skin, and clean up the blood and afterbirth. But the thought
of what was happening to her body made him uneasy nonetheless.</p><p>"He has," he said,
and Harry stepped up beside him and made a short bow to Medusa.
Medusa nodded back, and then dropped her head back with a loud grunt
as a pushing pain made itself known.</p><p>"What would you like
me to do?" Harry asked quietly.</p><p>"Catch the baby when
she comes," said Owen, and pointed to his mother's legs.</p><p>Harry blinked. "But
surely a mother should be the first one to touch her child?" he
asked.</p><p>"No," said Owen,
wondering where he'd got that odd idea. "In the older days when
house elves helped with most births, their hands were usually the
ones that touched the pureblood children first." He gestured to his
mother's jerking hips. "Who touches her first isn't what makes
the difference. It's whose magic she feels first. House elf magic
is neutral as far as children are concerned; they only react to human
magic. In some cases, yes, it's important for their mother to be
the one to touch them, but you're the one who will teach her to
live in the world without fearing power, Harry. It's only right
that she should feel your magic sweeping across her skin first."</p><p>Harry nodded as if he
understood, but his face had gone pale and his eyes glossy for a
moment. Owen wondered if he was reliving bad memories. If so, he was
past them in a moment and kneeling at the end of the bed. "Is there
anything I can do to help?" he asked Medusa. His power unfurled
around him. This time, probably because he wasn't angry, there was
only a low, shimmery glare that Owen felt well-prepared to deal with.</p><p>He heard the door
open, and glanced up to see Michael entering. He nodded to his twin,
then looked back as their mother spoke.</p><p>"Yes. Talk to me."</p><p>"What about?"
Harry asked, as if the request hadn't disconcerted him. Come to
that, Owen thought, he wasn't sure it had.</p><p>"The world as it
will be when you have finished your <em>vates</em> duties." Medusa
had to kick out the words around the babe kicking and struggling at
<em>her</em>, but she managed. "The future you plan to build. Tell me
about that."</p><p>Harry nodded. He was
rubbing circles on Medusa's belly now. Owen didn't think it was
his imagination that her contractions had grown less violent. "Very
well. I plan for creatures to spend a lot of time talking to one
another." A faint smile. "I'm sure that you've heard about
the freed house elf who showed all those reporters what his people
used to be like?"</p><p>"Can't—open—the—<em>Prophet</em>—without—it,"
said Medusa. Owen stepped forward and picked up the vial sitting
ready on the bedside table, holding it so that his mother could see
it. She nodded, her hair so stuck with sweat to her forehead that it
didn't even move as she did so. Owen laid his wand against his
right arm, holding the vial carefully in his left hand.</p><p>"<em>Diffindo</em>,"
he whispered.</p><p>As his blood poured
from the cut into the vial, Harry went on talking, voice low and
patient. "Giving back their voices to everyone, or hearing the
voices that have been silent, will mean talking. And arguing. And
debate. I fully expect some of the swift processes to slow to a
crawl, because now we have to think about what we're doing to trees
and centaurs and house elves as we move along. We might not be able
to talk to some of the magical creatures; that was one reason we
thought most of them unintelligent for so long. But some, like
phoenixes, who will talk to us, can talk to them." Harry hummed,
and a strand of blue fire uncoiled from his throat and flickered
along his hair. Medusa's eyes followed it in wonder. Owen knew she
had heard the phoenix song from a distance on the morning Harry ended
the rebellion, but she had not seen the fire so close before.
"There's no reason for us to put up barriers any more, for us to
say that we can't help others because we can't understand them.
We <em>can</em>. What we've been putting off doing is using that
understanding. We want things fast. We don't like the idea of
limits. We think everything should be ours just because we're
wizards, or humans, or purebloods. But it's not true."</p><p>"That—will—be—"
Medusa had to break off, her mouth opening in what looked like a wide
yawn, and Owen knew it was the closest his mother had come to a
scream. The vial was full now, and he corked it, while performing a
spell that healed the cut on his arm. "Hard," she finally
finished, with a grunt and a gasp, blowing the pain out in a voice
only slightly higher than normal.</p><p>"It will be," said
Harry. His hand continued to rub soothing circles. His silver hand
rested on the bed, bracing him, and he never took his eyes off
Medusa, though sometimes, Owen noted, he watched the blanket bobbing
up and down, and sometimes he watched their mother's face. "I
think most humans are accustomed to thinking of ourselves as the
center of the universe, so even Muggleborns can't escape that trap.
But it doesn't really matter. Things will change. We'll become
part of the magical world, not the center. We'll realize that other
creatures have a perfect right to ignore us, and to interact in ways
that don't include us."</p><p>"And—other—Lords?"</p><p>"I'll deal with
them," said Harry. "Bargain with them until the end of time, if I
have to. Or fight them, though that I really don't favor, and won't
unless it's a case of giving up my <em>vates</em> duties or my
protection of Great Britain if I don't." His hand was rubbing in
time to his words, Owen finally realized, spreading a soothing shell
of protection around the babe. "I'm committed to this. I fully
expect to die before it's achieved. If something like it can be
made before I die, then it will be made with my help, not against my
will."</p><p>Medusa let out a
single high, thin screech, which Owen could pretend was like the
battle cry of a harpy if he let himself. "The babe comes," she
said. "You must be in place to catch her, Harry."</p><p>Harry adroitly flipped
the blanket back and bent close. Owen shuddered. <em>Better him than
me. </em>Yes, birthing rituals were sacred, but most of the time the
father and a midwife were there to help it along. Owen did not want
to see his mother's vagina close.</p><p>A moment later, Medusa
let out an enormous <em>whuff</em> of breath, and Owen felt some of the
magic she'd enchanted the bed and blankets with spring into motion,
as they began to ease her daughter's passage into the world, clean
up the afterbirth that followed, and clot the blood.</p><p>Then he heard a thin,
pinched cry.</p><p>Harry sat back up
slowly, face slightly dazed. In his arms wriggled and cried a bloody
babe, smaller than his forearm, head twisting back and forth until
Owen almost feared that she would snap her neck.</p><p>And Harry's magic
swirled and flared around her, light that blazed and danced like
magnesium on her skin. For a moment, she stopped crying and stared up
at him, eyes wide in astonishment.</p><p>Owen seized the moment
to perform the duties he had to as family head, and stepped forward.
Harry held his little sister up, and Owen gently dripped the blood
from the vial onto her forehead, down along her chest, and across her
arms and legs.</p><p>"Cradled safe,
protected, within the blood of Rosier-Henlin," he whispered. "I
claim you for our family." Most often, this ritual was done when
the child had her name, but that wouldn't matter so much as the
fact that she had been born safely and then claimed. At one time,
this would have been used to insure that a potential bastard child
took after the father, and a stronger version was used to bind a
magical heir to the family.</p><p>They had need of
neither of those uses—Owen was as capable of imagining his mother
in battle as he was of imagining her unfaithful to his father—and
so the ancient magic took hold, setting all the blood on the little
girl's body, both her mother's and her own, afire. Harry gasped,
but Owen put a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"It's all right,"
he said, in that tone that had soothed his brother when Michael was
being his most difficult. "See? The flames don't scorch her."</p><p>And they didn't.
They danced, pure dark green to inform anyone who liked that the
Rosier-Henlin family claimed Dark pureblood allegiance, over her
torso and head, and parted, swaying bright veils, over her face. In a
moment, they were gone, and the blood burned away.</p><p>Harry reached out as
if in a daze, and a basin of warm water sprang into being next to
him, conjured from pure magic. Owen blinked, then cursed to himself.
He knew there had been <em>something</em> he'd forgotten.</p><p>Harry cleaned the girl
without taking his eyes from her. Owen couldn't tell what he
thought, of the wrinkled face, or the red, small body, or the high,
piercing screams. But his magic was what—Little Sister, he would
call her Little Sister for now—felt, and that would serve her well
later in life.</p><p>Owen did make sure to
have a warm cloth that Harry could wrap her up in. By the time he
did, she had stopped crying, as she got used to the feeling of
powerful magic and was no longer cold. Her eyelids drooped, and her
head bobbed on her neck. Harry supported her head, carefully, and
then held her out to Medusa.</p><p>His mother looked
longingly at her daughter, but shook her head. "Not until you have
named her, Harry."</p><p>"But won't she be
hungry soon?" Harry's eyes were huge, standing out behind his
glasses. Owen bit his lip at the hysterical urge to laugh. He only
felt he knew what to do because he was playing the role of family
head even more than the role of much bigger brother. Harry looked
half-terrified, as if Little Sister were about to be kidnapped by
werewolves.</p><p>"She will," Medusa
acknowledged, and Owen saw her smile through her exhaustion and pain
as the midwife spells urged her legs shut. "So you had best name
her swiftly."</p><p>Harry gave a quick
little jerk of his head. "And you—the Rosier-Henlin naming
traditions—"</p><p>"We give Little
Sister entirely into your hands," Owen interrupted him, with a bow.
"Name her what you feel is most appropriate, Harry. Don't worry
about what names female ancestors of ours have had."</p><p>Harry swallowed, and
nodded, and then stood staring at the baby in his arms for a long
moment. Owen waited. He felt a fragile silence in the room even more
powerful than that which had begun with the birth, and he could hear
the deep steady breaths from his twin, waiting by the door.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry knew what he
would <em>like</em> to name the little girl. He just wasn't sure that
it would fit in well with the rest of the names in the Rosier-Henlin
tradition. He toyed with the idea of naming her Charlotte, after her
father, but for all he knew that might cause Medusa pain every time
she looked at her—and the one thing he was certain of was that no
one in the family would change her name once he'd given it.</p><p>Terror wheeled around
him in a blaze darker than any of his creative magic as he stared
into the tiny, sleepy, scowling face a few inches from his. <em>Such
responsibility. I've never had this much responsibility for
defining a single life before.</em></p><p>He let himself look
once more at the trust in Owen's eyes, and Medusa's. He couldn't
see Michael's face from across the room, and he had the feeling
that it was probably just as well.</p><p>He gave himself
permission to use the name he would like, and breathed across her
forehead first, whispering the name into her ear, so that she would
be the first one to hear it, and always carry a small piece of
private knowledge in her heart. That was one of the pureblood
birthing rituals he'd studied, and always enjoyed and valued. She
stirred, but didn't wake.</p><p>Harry looked up and
said quietly, "Her name is Eos Rosier-Henlin. For the goddess of
the dawn, because of the dawn she will live in." This time, he
pressed his lips to her forehead in a kiss, which made her squirm and
struggle back to wakefulness. The ritual had to include an original
blessing, preferably one that connected with the meaning of the name.
"Welcome to the world, little one. May you never forget the meaning
of time as the original Eos did, and likewise may you never be a
slave to it."</p><p>Eos began to cry then,
but Harry had heard Owen's exhale of breath. He looked into
Medusa's face as he handed Eos to her, and saw only contentment.</p><p>"That will do very
well, Harry." Medusa drew forth her breast and gently arranged her
child in position. Harry wasn't sure why that made him blush and
turn away, when he'd been between her legs. But he'd been too
involved in the blood and making sure that he was the one to touch
Eos to really care, then. "A new name, in both my family and
Charles's, but my name is Greek, and hers is, as well. A sign of
good luck." She kissed Eos's forehead in turn.</p><p>Harry sighed, nearly
falling over then and there with relief that he'd not done
something wrong, and looked at Owen, unsure if there was anything
else he needed to do. But Owen was engaged in smiling a smile very
like his father's, and reaching out to stroke his newborn sister's
head with delicate fingertips. Harry knew the ritual was done. He
would wait until they went back to Hogwarts, since he could tear the
wards on the home to escape, but he would prefer not to.</p><p>He leaned against the
wall, and became aware of someone leaning next to him. Harry turned
his head, and started in surprise. He hadn't even realized Michael
was still there, and he hadn't expected him to approach him if he
was. But instead, Michael was leaning forward and staring at him.</p><p>"That's really
important to you, isn't it?" Michael asked.</p><p>"What is?" Harry
asked, unsure which of the many aspects of the ritual or the birth
just past Michael could be referring to. "New beginnings?"</p><p>Michael gave a jerky
nod. He hesitated. Harry waited. He recognized the expression on
Michael's face, not because he'd seen him wear it before but
because he had seen it on other people. It meant they were thinking.
It was a bad idea to push someone like that into speaking before they
were ready.</p><p>"I've thought,"
said Michael, so softly his words were like ripples in running water.
"I've changed my mind. Could I—could I <em>please</em> become
your sworn companion again? I was wrong, and you were right, about
the damage I caused last time, and with Draco. But I think I
understand what you are now, and what Draco is, and I don't want
this gaping chasm between you or him or my brother and me to open up
any further." He shut his mouth with a snap, as if he thought he
had said too much, and waited.</p><p>Harry sighed, and
shook his head. He wanted to trust. He wanted to give second chances.
But too much had happened between them.</p><p>Michael looked lost.
He parted his lips, then looked away and shook his head. "I fucked
up that much, huh?" he whispered.</p><p>"It's not just
that," Harry said. "Or not solely that." He didn't know how
to phrase it, mostly because he hadn't imagined that Michael would
ever want to become his sworn companion again. He trod carefully,
phrasing the words in his head long before he let them pass his lips.
"It's also Draco. He would throw a fit. He might try to possess
you again. And there's the chance that he would give in to the
temptation of trying to flirt with you, simply to rouse my jealousy
or to see what would happen."</p><p>"So he would do it
because he was bored?" Michael's eyebrows nearly reached his
hairline.</p><p>Harry nodded.</p><p>"And you love him,
and you approve of this." Michael let out a deep breath. "And you
don't think he's a weakness in your alliance?"</p><p>"I didn't say that
I approve of it," Harry said quietly, hoping Owen and Medusa
couldn't overhear them. <em>What a conversation to have on the day
the newest scion to the Rosier-Henlin family is born. </em>"It's a
fault in him, but I can't force him to change. I can only keep it
from happening again, as much as possible, by attending to
circumstances around me more than I did when it originally occurred."
He blinked at Michael, who was still staring. "Do you understand
me? I don't mean to blame you for loving Draco, or for what <em>he</em>
did. You tried to protect him even then, and that's a sign that
your feelings ran deeper than he realized. But I won't chance it
happening again."</p><p>"You really don't
want another sworn companion," Michael said flatly.</p><p>"I could use one."
Harry didn't have to work to maintain his temper. He didn't think
Michael understood his reasons for refusing him. "But it's not
you. It can't be you. I'm sorry."</p><p>Michael turned away
from him, and murmured, "Do you know what it feels like to have
your brother refuse to talk to you, because, by his standards, you
did something to wrong the rest of the family?"</p><p>"Well, <em>yes</em>,"
said Harry.</p><p>He saw Michael's
shoulders stiffen, but he said no more. Instead, he walked over to
the bed and began to greet Eos with soft touches and softer words.</p><p>And that was right,
Harry thought, rubbing his silver hand across his eyes. He wasn't a
stranger in this bedroom. The one who really didn't belong, who was
only here by the grace of the family, was Harry.</p><p>He waited in silence
and patience for Owen to be ready to go back to Hogwarts. He wasn't
looking forward to the confrontation that would happen when they
arrived. Draco would understand his reasons for attending the birth
no more than Michael had understood his reasons for refusing to
accept a new oath from him.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco didn't.</p><p>"I want to know why
you left me behind," he'd said, very directly, and Harry, who had
picked up his Potions essay as if he actually wanted to work on it,
had replied as directly.</p><p>"Because you would
have caused tension with Michael, and intruded on the birthing ritual
for Eos," he said, sharpening the quill on the heel of his silver
hand. Draco had told him that was disturbing. Harry had argued that
it was not, as long as the hand still wasn't alive enough to feel
what he did to it. "And Syrinx would have had to come, and there
was no explicit invitation to include her."</p><p>"That's not very
fair to her," Draco pointed out.</p><p>"It's right,"
Syrinx said from her chair, in a puzzled voice. "Why would it have
to be fair?"</p><p>Draco shot her an
annoyed glance. It was true that, most of the time, he enjoyed having
a bodyguard. Syrinx was silent and efficient, and knew her place,
including enough pureblood rituals to correct Draco if he was about
to make himself look like a fool. But she reminded him of nothing so
much as Harry in the first two years Draco had known him. That wasn't
an image he liked, or a memory he wanted to encourage to return.</p><p>"Harry," he
insisted, focusing on him. "That's not a good enough reason. I
wanted to go, and you left me <em>behind</em>." He let a carefully
considered petulant tone into his voice. He was willing to sound like
he was whinging if it would get him what he wanted.</p><p>"I didn't bind
you," Harry said. "I just said that you weren't going. In this
case, I considered Owen's will, and Michael's, and Medusa's,
more important than yours, Draco. That's all." He bent down and
put his quill to parchment.</p><p>"You <em>burned </em>me."</p><p>"Made you let go of
me," Harry corrected absently, at the same time as he corrected a
mistake on the parchment. "And it didn't hurt, Draco. I know that
you took your hand away before my skin could truly get hot."</p><p>"You don't really
care, do you?" Draco could hear his voice rising, and was glad that
most of the other Slytherins had gone to bed. Those who remained
watched him with barely concealed amusement. He found himself unable
to mind, though. He could make a scene, and perhaps that would change
Harry's absent words to apologies. "I told you I haven't felt
safe since Rosier's attack. You wouldn't have cared if you came
back and found me gone again, or under the Lung Domination Curse."
Of course he didn't believe that, but he wanted to make Harry say
he was sorry.</p><p>Harry looked up at
him.</p><p>Draco took a step
back, feeling as if he'd been hit with a lead weight. With a quick
shake of his head, Harry gathered up his essay, quill, and inkwell,
and turned for the common room door.</p><p>"Where are you
going?" Draco called after him.</p><p>"Out of your sight,"
Harry responded, voice straining on the edge of calm. "You've
been acting like a brat all week, Draco. I indulged it. Why shouldn't
I? You'd had a bad scare. I almost lost you. And most of what you
did was harmless enough, and hurt no one other than me. Now, you're
being unreasonable, and you <em>know</em> better. You're not afraid,
you're just trying to use my fear of losing you to manipulate me."</p><p>"That's what
Slytherins do," said Draco, hiding behind a weak defense.</p><p>"No, Slytherins
manipulate <em>subtly</em>," said Harry, and he walked out of the
common room. The door shut behind him with a grating slide.</p><p>No one else in the
common room would look at him, Draco found when he turned round. He
picked up his homework, and, fuming, went to bed. Most of him was
just irritated, though, not angry. Harry would return in a few
minutes, and apologize, or laugh with him over it, and then tell him
the real reason that he hadn't wanted Draco to come with him
tonight. Perhaps it had to do with fearing to daze Michael with
Draco's beauty again.</p><p>The minutes became
hours, until Draco had to accept that Harry wasn't returning to
their bedroom that night.</p><p>And that made him
think that perhaps the reasons Harry had given him <em>were</em> the
real ones, and the emotion that had made him stagger back when Harry
looked at him—disappointment—was real, too.</p><p>Draco punched the
pillow savagely. He'd thought that he had some kind of absolute
control over Harry after Rosier's attack.</p><p>It hurt to realize
that he didn't, and that Harry was still perfectly capable of
walking away from him when he thought he was being childish. Even
Harry's tolerance, it seemed, had limits.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 93*: The Voices of the Light</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Four: The Voices of the Light</strong></p><p>"Harry. I wish to
speak to you, sir."</p><p>Harry turned in
surprise. He knew it was Syrinx; there was no one else in the school
who addressed him as "sir," bar the one time Snape had grown a
very, very dry sense of humor over a Potions mishap that Harry should
have known better than to make. "Syrinx," he said, with a small
nod, and snapped his fingers at one of the library chairs to move it
over for her. He was once again in the library, following every tale
of willing sacrifice he could to its end and trying to see some hope
along that track. Syrinx had come in so quietly that she hadn't
attracted Madam Pince's notice, much less his own. "Please, sit."</p><p>She took her seat at
once, with a delicate quickness Harry remembered from his own days of
training. He swallowed his envy. Syrinx only had this absolute
certainty of her place in life right now, he reminded himself. When
she finished this stage of her war witch training, then she would
take back her emotions and the other things that made her more like a
human than an automaton. So she did not really lead the simple life
he had led five years ago—and even that life had been more
complicated than it seemed, crisscrossed by the shadows of betrayals
he hadn't known about at the time.</p><p>"What would you like
to speak to me about?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. Sure
enough, Draco stood nearby in another aisle of books, poking sullenly
at them. Syrinx would not have gone far without him.</p><p>"I carry a message
for my family."</p><p>Harry nodded slowly.
If the message was urgent, then Laura Gloryflower would have
contacted him herself, by means of the phoenix song spell. This made
it much more likely to be a formal situation, requiring a
face-to-face meeting and someone of the Gloryflower bloodline to
carry out. "And what would she have of me?" he asked, dropping
into formal cadences. He heard Draco stop poking among the books and
come to stand at his shoulder. Harry didn't look at him. He did
intend to speak with him, to tie up the trailing loose ends of the
argument they'd had over his coming to Eos's birthing ritual, but
for the moment Syrinx's calm, pale face took all his attention.</p><p>"My cousin serves
the Light," said Syrinx, and paused, waiting for a response.</p><p>"It is honored in
its servants," said Harry. Draco snorted, but luckily didn't say
anything Harry would have to pinch him for.</p><p>"She watches the
reputation of the Light soar up and down in the world," Syrinx
continued serenely. "For the past year, she has watched its
travails with a wide eye and a blushing cheek. The Light has done
monstrous things to secure its own power. Even though she did not
follow Albus Dumbledore, he was the Lord of the Light in Britain, the
representative of our allegiance. His actions touch every one of us."</p><p>Again the pause, and
Harry gave the only response he could make, though it wasn't the
one he actually believed; the constraints of this dance demanded
acknowledgment of the truth of the messenger's words or an addition
of praise, nothing more. "The Lord of the Light did indeed abuse
his power."</p><p>"The monitoring
board and the end of the rebellion were believed to be a new era for
the Light," Syrinx continued. "And now she sees that they were
not. The monitoring board listened too well to that witch, Aurora
Whitestag, who wished nothing more than to manipulate you. They
danced on the end of her chain as if she were someone who mattered,
who could make their lives harder if she did not control them. And
she undeclared!" Syrinx paused a moment as though to calm down,
though Harry was sure the passion in her voice was all Laura's and
not her own. "The Light has relied on your power, passively, so
far. It is time for that to change. I am here as a representative of
Gloryflower and Opalline both. Paton Opalline and Laura Gloryflower
ask if you will join them in a formal family alliance, similar to the
one that you currently maintain with both the Parkinson and the
Bulstrode families."</p><p>Harry took a breath of
surprise. He had never suspected that either family would initiate
such an alliance; Paton had seemed happy enough with the connection
that Fergus's death had established between them, and Laura had
fought at his side in her own way, such as by sheltering Delilah from
the werewolf hunters. And to put themselves into the company of Dark
wizards! More to the point, to know that they were doing so, to draw
attention to the parallels themselves…</p><p>That, more than
anything, told Harry how much Dumbledore's actions had embarrassed
Laura.</p><p>Syrinx still waited
for his answer, he saw when he looked up. She sat with her hands
folded and her head tilted back, baring her throat. The meaning of
<em>that</em> gesture was not lost on Harry, either.</p><p>"I accept," said
Harry. "If they wish to tie themselves to me, and if they know what
they bind themselves to, an undeclared Lord-level wizard—"</p><p>"You misunderstand,"
said Syrinx, and for the first time, a faint smile graced her lips.
"They bind themselves to a <em>vates</em>. And they bind themselves
to Harry." Her hand slid over his forehead like a blessing. "My
anchor."</p><p>Harry frowned and
shook his head. "How <em>can</em> I be the one whom your sanity
depends on?" he asked, now that it was clear they were out of the
confines of the ritual. Syrinx would never have made such a personal
comment if they were not. "I haven't done much to encourage you
to choose me that way, and—"</p><p>Again, he was
interrupted. Syrinx was laughing quietly, with a tone of pure joy in
her voice Harry had been sure she was incapable of. She touched his
earlobe in a gesture that reminded him of the one with which she'd
touched her own when she spoke to the golden kitten near Voldemort's
warded house.</p><p>"You are too used to
looking at things from a Dark perspective," she said, "too used
to having allies who require endless persuasion and tugging and
flattery until they are satisfied. You have little idea what your
exploits look like through Light eyes, sir, and none at all what they
look like through mine. I find what you have done enough. More than
enough, admirable as the morning air is." She gave him a light kiss
this time, on the forehead above the lightning bolt scar, ignoring
Draco's growl. "If you wish me to tell you the tale of how the
past few months have looked from my perspective, I will. But the
Light sees differently than the Dark. It can tell when the Dark has a
good idea, and it adopts it. But we are not as the wizards you have
known." She smiled at him. "I look forward to helping you know
us."</p><p>Harry nodded, a bit
dazed. Syrinx paused, then added, "If it makes you feel better, it
was nothing you did, directly, that caused this. The immediate cause
was learning what we had done to house elves in the name of having
servants. My cousin's family and the Opallines intend to free
them."</p><p>Harry had to swallow
several times before he could speak. The example of such powerful
Light families doing this would send currents running through the
wizarding world. Some Light families who right now followed the
example of bastards like Cupressus Apollonis might start freeing
their house elves because the Gloryflowers and the Opallines had. "I
cannot thank you enough."</p><p>"You can thank us by
letting us become your allies."</p><p>Harry nodded once
more, and then Syrinx stepped back, turned off her smile, and became
part of the bookshelves. Harry faced Draco. He knew that Syrinx could
listen to every nuance of this conversation and not repeat any part
of it to another living soul. And it was something to know that Draco
would be safe even as Harry talked to him. A nightmare last night
about Rosier stepping through the wall to Portkey Draco away as he
had Connor made Harry simultaneously snicker at his own fear and be
glad to have Syrinx there.</p><p>"Draco," he said
softly, and Draco promptly turned his head away. Harry grasped his
cheek and turned his face back. "Look at me."</p><p>Draco's temper had
been boiling for most of the week, and Harry was sure that it would
spill over as soon as they locked gazes. It took a few moments longer
than that, but then Draco was ranting, though he kept it to a low,
heated voice that did not wake Madam Pince's wrath.</p><p>"What do you want me
to say, Harry? That I'm sorry? I could say that, I suppose. I tried
two days ago, and you didn't accept it. Or I could say that I'm
sorry I accused you of violating the standards of free will, but you
know what I'm like when there's something I want and you deny it
to me. You know how I was <em>raised</em>, as the sole heir of a Dark
pureblood family. And you know what I can do when I'm pushed. You
know what I've given up for you, what I've initiated for you—"
He made a flying gesture that Harry assumed was meant to take in
their joining ritual. "You know what I am. And then you persist in
trying to make me different than I am, expecting some behavior from
me other than what I can give. What can I say? I'm a brat."</p><p>Harry waited patiently
until he wound down, then said, "No, you aren't. Or you don't
have to be."</p><p>Draco blinked at him,
eyes narrowing slightly.</p><p>"Sometimes, what you
describe is a source of strength," Harry said, and leaned nearer,
until Draco seemed fascinated and couldn't glance away from his
eyes despite several small, flickering movements in his face. "It
drove you through those first two years when I barely acknowledged
you as a friend and thought you would get bored of me any moment. And
sometimes your stubbornness meant that you were the only one not to
leave me in a moment of crisis. The Chamber of Secrets, Draco. I
still remember that." He caressed Draco's cheek with a thumb. "I
am sensitive to what you've given up for me and what you've
initiated for me, yes. But I think the passage of time has fossilized
some of your conceptions of yourself."</p><p>"I don't know what
you mean," Draco breathed, looking as though he didn't know
whether to be angry or to give in to the caress.</p><p>"I know you don't,"
said Harry quietly, and kissed him, the first kiss they had shared
since their argument. He drew back before Draco's tongue could
touch his. "You have strength and weakness mixed, and the weakness
is made of attitudes that even <em>you</em> think of as frail, chinks
in your armor. But you refuse to abandon them, because you think
admitting them at all would mean another weakness. The furthest you
get is this sulky half-defense of them. And if you really could only
be a child and a brat and that was all, I would accept that argument.</p><p>"But I've seen you
at your highest and your best, Draco, when you put forth the effort.
I know who you really are, the man you try to hide from." Harry
raised his eyebrows, locking Draco in a gaze whose sheer intensity
made Draco flush. "The man who defied his father for me, who
possessed the Minister, who helped me in the graveyard last
Midwinter, who chose the most dangerous method of Declaring to the
Dark because it was the only one that answered his own pride. You <em>can</em>
be that person, Draco. Not all the time, but you can climb much
closer to him than you are now even in your moments of relaxation.
And I don't feel inclined to indulge the childishness that hides
him any longer."</p><p>"So you'll let me
know when my behavior is acceptable to you, will you, now?" Draco
made his voice as frigid as he could, but it shook on the last words,
somewhat destroying the effect.</p><p>Harry gripped his
shoulders and shook him. "You utter <em>idiot</em>," he said,
putting as much disgust and as much affection in his voice as he
could. "I want you to be better for <em>your</em> sake, Draco.
Because I've seen what you are when you push yourself, and what you
are is magnificent. You degrade yourself, not me and not the Malfoy
name, when you shove your pride down like this and pretend you were
never more than a bratty earthworm. <em>Rise</em>, Draco. I know that
you can do it. You have the ambition to do it, when you let yourself
know that. You aren't this child, and I won't let you pretend
that you are, any more than you would let me pretend not to be a
Slytherin."</p><p>He shut Draco's
protest with a kiss, fierce and strong, a demanding call for a
response, and stood. "I don't set a date when I'd like you to
change your mind on this," he told Draco. "But I want an equal,
Draco, damn it. I've seen him a few times. And I would like it very
well if you could find him by the vernal equinox."</p><p>Draco frowned. Harry
could hear what he was thinking: that that was only a week away.
"Why?"</p><p>Harry gave him a slow
smile. He deliberately reached for slyness and seductiveness, two
qualities he had never really tried to add to his expression before.
Draco bit off a tiny moan, and then stared at him.</p><p>"Wouldn't you like
to know," Harry whispered. "And maybe you'll get to." He
winked once at Draco, then turned around and walked out of the
library. He had to acknowledge that he'd done all the Horcrux
research he could for today.</p><p>Besides, the taste of
Draco's mouth and the slightly stunned expression on his face,
which was like the look Harry imagined he must have worn when Lucius
presented him with his ultimatum about the rebellion, had given Harry
a rather urgent problem that needed taking care of.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>He met the
Gloryflowers and the Opallines for the swearing of the formal family
oaths in Hogsmeade, pertinently enough, since that was also the place
where Dobby had shown the reporters the image of house elf freedom
and started this. Harry smiled as he watched more and more Opallines
appear. Some of the younger children, of course, couldn't really
understand the purpose of the ceremony, but they knew they were in a
place where they could pack snowball-like shapes out of the mud of
the streets and throw them at each other. That was part of the
definition of happiness.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>He turned sharply,
surprised to hear the joy in that voice—perhaps simply because it
was so long since he'd heard it as other than harassed. Calibrid
Opalline caught his hands, not seeming to notice that one was
gradually warming silver, and drew him nearer for a kiss. Harry gave
it to her, and then pulled back and looked at her questioningly.</p><p>She appeared smug.</p><p>"What?" Harry
asked, glancing around. Paton was making his way towards him, talking
in Manx to a child he held whose long hair swayed around the face and
hid most of his or her features. Angelica Griffinsnest was scolding a
girl Harry thought was her granddaughter for throwing mud, and the
girl was pretending to look sorry about it. No one else seemed to be
suffering Calibrid's secret source of excitement.</p><p>"None of our family
is going to have any more house elves." Calibrid clasped her hands
demurely in front of her, but Harry wasn't fooled. The shine in her
eyes made stars look dim. "And more than that, we're gradually
going to reveal ourselves to Muggles, little by little."</p><p>Harry understood her
smugness then. This was something Calibrid had wanted for a long,
long time.</p><p>"Where?" he asked.
"Not on the Isle of Man, surely."</p><p>Calibrid shook her
head. "No. The British Ministry would simply come in and <em>Obliviate</em>
all the Muggles. But one of my cousins has a—special understanding,
shall we say, with the Ministry of Portugal?" She laughed quietly.
"And it will be small, at first, tricks they can put down to
magicians or mad people. But they'll teach the Muggles the meaning
of enchantment again, slowly. The unicorns are already running all
around the world and bringing back the magic. I think it's time
that the wizards participated in that revolution, too. Freeing our
house elves is just the first step of many. We say that we value
magic, that we love it more than the distinctions of blood and
allegiance, and that powerful wizards are honored among us. We can at
least try to live as if we believe that."</p><p>"But what about the
International Statute of Secrecy?" Harry asked, his mind racing. He
knew Scrimgeour's people had struggled mightily to preserve that in
the face of Acies's attack and the sight of a dragon soaring over
Muggle London. He couldn't imagine the rest of the wizarding world
would react kindly to it if it were to happen in Portugal, either.</p><p>Calibrid said nothing,
but looked smugger.</p><p>"They're changing
that?" Harry asked in disbelief.</p><p>She shook her head.
"You misunderstand. We have people who are willing to risk going to
prison in all sorts of countries so that we can bring magic into the
world again. It's nothing more than what you risked, when you came
back after the end of the rebellion. It's not as much as werewolves
risked in these last few years, living among us and fearing that
someone would denounce them at any moment. It's time that ordinary
wizards shared part of the risk, don't you think?"</p><p>Harry licked his lips.
"I—"</p><p>"And before you can
come up with any nonsense," said Calibrid briskly, "just remember
that you may have inspired this, but you're not at fault for it,
and you're not responsible for the consequences. The glory and the
blame are ours, both. You've made us more willing to act with
freedom, <em>vates</em>. Is that not a grand thing?"</p><p>"A dangerous thing,"
Harry said, all the stories he had ever heard of Muggle persecution
of witches and wizards surging back full force.</p><p>"Oh, of course,"
said Calibrid. "Change always is. But that's one reason it'll
happen slowly, with some Muggles being <em>Obliviated</em>, but others
remembering. A unicorn here, a hippogriff there, a childhood friend
who's a wizard over there. Piece by piece, Harry, and we fit
through the cracks. They can't catch us all." The smugness seemed
to have carved permanent lines on her face by now. "And given our
family, they'll trace out the patterns of connections for a long
time before they realize that chaos tends to follow wherever Opalline
bloodlines flourish. And even then, they simply can't shut us all
out. We're too essential."</p><p>Harry chewed his lips
for a moment. "You do realize that the family oath will require me
to come to the rescue of anyone in your family who goes to jail?"</p><p>"No, it doesn't,"
said Calibrid, voice patient. "Really, Harry, it does not. Not if
we break a law, and we <em>know</em> that's what we're doing. If
we're used as a hostage by one of your enemies, and you know about
the situation in time to save us, then yes. But not when we take
risks that we know are risks. It's the same clause of the oath that
doesn't try to kill you if one of our children trips over a rock
and smashes her head open—or is eaten alive by a dragon." Shadows
in her eyes then, and no smile around her lips, but that lasted for
only a moment before it welled back up. "You can only do so much,
and we can only do so much. The ordinary accidents of living in this
world, and any extra chances that we decide to take, are not your
fault."</p><p><em>I have to learn, I
suppose, in the end, </em>Harry thought, as he looked into her
expectant eyes. <em>Dobby and the other magical creatures can make
their own arguments. And my allies can fight their own wars. Really,
I should be glad that I'm such an inspiration in the first place,
and not worry about what they do with that inspiration. It is their
own will.</em></p><p>He held out his flesh
hand. Calibrid clasped and shook it. Paton was at their sides then,
and he smiled at Harry.</p><p>"Shall we begin the
oath?" he asked.</p><p>Harry lifted his head,
caught a glimpse of Laura Gloryflower's golden curls moving
forward, and nodded. "Certainly."</p><p>"And after the
oath," said Calibrid, her voice quivering with excitement like
water dancing on the brim of an over-full cup, "I have something
else to tell you, Harry. Or ask you." She bit her lips and went
still, the brown skin of her face darkening further with a blush.</p><p>Harry raised his
eyebrows. "Very well." Then he drew the knife he'd prepared
from his pocket and called the attention of everyone to him with a
brief flare of phoenix song. Paton rearranged the child in his arms,
and Laura approached quickly. Calibrid was already holding her left
arm out.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco flinched as a
mud-ball splattered against the Shield Charm he'd hastily raised
around himself, then glared in several different directions, moodily.
He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be far away, doing other
things. But he'd had to come, because today was the declaring of
the formal family alliance, and he was not going to be anywhere other
than at Harry's side.</p><p>At his shoulder came
Syrinx, duplicating his movements gracefully. Draco glared at her.
She looked serenely back. There seemed to be nothing he could do that
would disconcert her.</p><p>Draco bowed his head
and kicked a piece of paving stone sticking out of the ground, then
scowled because it made his foot hurt.</p><p>He felt as though he
stood on the edge of an abyss, while below him several people,
including Harry, already circled on the wind roaring through the
gorge. They called out to him enticingly, told him to come and play,
that it was fun. And Draco refused to step off the edge because,
well, he couldn't, could he? He was bound to the edge of the cliff
by pureblood pride and family duty and all that he knew was true of
himself. He wasn't a daring Gryffindor, and he was never going to
be some fantastic martyr for the sake of magical creatures like Harry
was. Harry could love him for what he was or not love him at all.</p><p>But then he looked at
people like Connor Potter and Parvati Patil, who had changed out of
recognition since third year, and the thought crept sneakily into his
mind that who he was could alter.</p><p>And what if what Harry
said was true, and there was something fiercer, higher, better, in
himself that he could achieve all the time? What if Harry was right,
that he could grow up, and that growing up meant changing more than
he had so far?</p><p>It was <em>hard</em>,
though. What Draco remembered most about the moments when he had
lived life at its highest pitch, at least afterward, was how much
effort it took. It left him panting and exhausted. It left him
certain that he could do no more, and had to collapse into bed and
sleep for a few weeks. And it wasn't so long ago that he'd
Declared to the Dark. Or, if he looked back on Rosier's attack as a
moment when he had risen above the pain and dashed into the madman's
mind to learn the secret of the golden bridle, the last moment like
that was just a few days ago. Why did he have to change now? Why did
he have to have another moment like that so soon?</p><p><em>Because Harry
thinks you can be better than you are.</em></p><p>Draco knew he looked
sulky. He didn't care. He could look sulky in public if he wanted.</p><p>His father's voice
answered his thought as if summoned, a stern declaration. <em>Malfoys
do not show their emotions in public, because their wills trump their
desires. What they wish, passionately, is always more important than
what they may want in any one, fleeting, childish moment.</em></p><p>And this was a
childish moment. Children sulked, Draco knew.</p><p>And Harry had said
that he knew Draco was a man, somewhere under the façade of
sulkiness and petulance. And he had said that he wanted an equal.
Draco had thought, at first, that that only meant he didn't want
Draco trying to exercise power over him the way he'd tried to the
night of the birthing ritual.</p><p>Now he had to think
that it meant Harry wanted Draco to be able to keep up with him,
understand the same kinds of thoughts, do the same kinds of deeds—on
a level of matched glory, if not exactly the freeing of house
elves—and participate in debates on an equal level even if he
didn't agree. He had to know enough so that he could disagree in a
manner that didn't involve whinging.</p><p>Harry was calling him
on to be an adult. Draco wondered if, after all, his mental picture
shouldn't involve stepping over a cliff to fall onto the winds of a
gorge where other people circled, but should look like climbing a
mountain to join Harry, who was bouncing impatiently on one of the
upper ledges, waiting for him, convinced that it was only Draco's
slowness and not any inherent incapacity that held him back.</p><p>He didn't want to
think that, because it meant that the accusation Harry had made
against him during the Presence of War, that Draco could do anything
he wanted but was lazy, was true.</p><p>And that meant he had
no one but himself to blame.</p><p>He came to a stop
behind Harry, his head spinning, overflowing with ideas and thoughts
he could not stop thinking. It wasn't fair. Even when he didn't
actually have conversations like that with Harry, his partner's
voice was in his head, the words unfading, whispering at him. He
scowled at Harry's back.</p><p>The family oaths were
done. Calibrid Opalline, the Squib woman whom Draco still couldn't
<em>believe</em> Paton had chosen as his heir, was stepping back, her
pale hair rustling around her dark face as she handed Harry's knife
to him. Then she cleared her throat. Harry looked up at her.</p><p>"I did say that I
had something I wanted to ask you when the oath was sworn, Harry,"
she said. "And it is this."</p><p>Harry would be raising
his eyebrows, Draco knew, though he couldn't see his face from this
angle. He simply knew him that well.</p><p>Calibrid smiled. "Will
you marry me?"</p><p>Draco felt as though
someone had cast a Freezing Charm on his chest. He stared. Harry,
equally caught without words, backed up a step from Calibrid and
nearly slammed into Draco.</p><p>"No, he <em>bloody
well won't!</em>" Draco found his voice at last. "What kind of
witch do you think you are, interfering in a sacred joining ritual
like this?"</p><p>"A sensible one,"
murmured Calibrid, eyes intense, "taking a wizard who deserves an
excellent partner from one unworthy of him."</p><p>Draco could not speak.
The Freezing Charm seemed to have reached his tongue. He reached out
and dug his hand into Harry's shoulder. He knew from the way Harry
winced that he was hurting him, but he couldn't bring himself to
care.</p><p>Harry laughed a moment
later, tone light. Draco told himself he was the only one who heard
the strain in the back of his voice, let alone knew what it meant.
"Calibrid, it's a funny joke, but—"</p><p>"It's not a joke,"
said Calibrid, not moving. Her hands were clasped in front of her,
and if she was conscious of the eyes staring from either side of her,
Draco could not tell. He was reluctantly impressed, and furious with
himself for being impressed. "And it's not the price of our
alliance, either. I have offered. You would make me an excellent
husband, Harry. I have no reason to doubt your honor or your worth.
You aren't Declared for the Light, but given what you have achieved
so far, that doesn't matter; undeclared, you have done our world
far more good than Albus Dumbledore. You would have a family around
you who likewise loves and honors you. We would take a two-year
ritual, which would conclude on the second anniversary of this day."
She smiled, and Draco couldn't tell if her eyes were cruel, either,
when they came to him. "Spring is the best time to begin a
joining."</p><p>"You have no right
to do this," Draco hissed at her.</p><p>"Yes, I do."
Calibrid was calm. "Until Halloween of this year, and the seventh
ritual that you two pass through, anyone has the right to <em>ask</em>
one of the partners for his hand. The partner does not have to agree,
though." She darted a glance at Harry that told Draco she was
hoping he would agree, and that, no, this was not a joke. "And
while it would be extremely bad manners for a Dark witch to ask you
something like this at any point since the first Walpurgis dance, I
am a Light witch. The same rule does not cross Declared allegiances."</p><p>"I want to know what
you <em>meant</em>," Draco said. He could feel himself vibrating. His
breath had sped up until he was aware that he sounded on the verge of
hyperventilating, but he couldn't seem to slow it down. His face
was flushed with heat, and his hands were digging and twisting into
each other even though he hadn't told them to.</p><p>"About Harry's
worth?" Calibrid gave him a slow, scornful glance. "If he hasn't
already proven himself to you a hundred times over, I do not know
what poor words of mine can convince you."</p><p>"Not that," said
Draco. "About my unworthiness of Harry. Why did you say that?"</p><p>Calibrid's eyes
narrowed slightly. "Do you really want me to answer that, Malfoy?"
she asked. "In front of these witnesses?"</p><p>"<em>No</em>."</p><p>That was Harry's
voice, not his, and then Draco found privacy wards springing up,
encircling them. Sound from the outside of the sphere died. He could
hear his own rushing breath, and the slight squeak of Harry's feet
as he stepped away from both of them.</p><p>Calibrid wasted no
time.</p><p>"You don't share
any of Harry's ideals," she told Draco bluntly. "You fight
beside him, but plenty of people do that. Everything I've heard of
you calls you someone who whinges and lies back instead of trying to
get real labor done. You hardly care about anyone but yourself; if
you care about Harry, I think it's only on accident, and when his
will happens to coincide with yours. You take advantage of his love
for you to be horrible to other people." She looked evenly at Harry
for a moment. "I don't say all the fault for that lies with you,"
she added. "If adults will not discipline children, or even reward
them for their bad behavior, of course the child will do it again."</p><p>Harry flushed.</p><p>"You have <em>no</em>
idea," said Draco, the roaring of blood in his ears making it
difficult to be sure of what he was saying. "You have <em>no</em>
idea what we've been through together, what I've shared with
him—"</p><p>Calibrid laughed
unpleasantly. "No, I don't," she said. "Because you don't
show any sign of that in your outer behavior towards him. If you have
a deep and intimate bond with him, <em>I've</em> never heard anyone
say so. They talk about how you undermine him in public, pick at him
in private, and act like a spoiled brat to anyone who crosses you. If
no one outside your inner circle can see you as daring and splendid,
then are you really daring and splendid?"</p><p>"I love Draco,"
Harry said quietly.</p><p>"I have no doubt of
that," Calibrid assured him. "But he isn't a match for you in
love, Harry. He can't be. He just isn't open enough to the
world." She turned back to Draco. "I've grown used to reading
people, especially since I'll have to be the political leader of a
family who avoids war. I know expressions, and I've learned to tell
to a nicety how much the people I watch actually care about the
others around them, and give them credit for existing and having
wills and minds of their own. Harry is one of the most open I've
ever seen. You're one of the most closed. How in the world are you
going to be good enough for him? You're not just normal. You're
selfish. You require much more work than someone normally open to the
world would. And so you add to Harry's burdens instead of
complementing his strengths."</p><p>Draco could not see by
now, anger and tears making his sight blur. He opened his mouth,
prepared to fling an insult.</p><p>"And now you'll
try to insult me," said Calibrid, calm as ice at Midwinter. "Of
course you will. You don't know any other way. Why would you? It's
what a child would do, and you're a child."</p><p>Draco snapped his
mouth shut, and stared at her. His head echoed with snatches of
remembered words, but the most powerful one was <em>they.</em></p><p>The Squib bitch wasn't
the only one who thought this way of him. Harry's other allies did,
too. They hadn't seen enough of what he really was—what he could
be, in moments he shared with Harry—to think him strong.</p><p>And that was <em>wrong</em>,
and the only way he could ever show them how wrong they were would be
to—</p><p>To change his public
image. To act the way he dreamed of being. To behave like an adult,
and not a child.</p><p>The way that Harry had
asked him to consider doing.</p><p>Draco <em>knew</em> he
was greater than the Squib bitch thought he was. He was better than
any of them, all of them.</p><p>He just had to show
them that.</p><p>He stepped forward and
put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I want to go back to the
school now," he said quietly, never taking his eyes from Calibrid's
face. She gave him a contemptuous smile. Draco let out his breath and
reminded himself that he could not expect her to change her mind
about him just because he had confounded her expectations once. "If
you're done with the formal family alliances, can we do that?"</p><p>"Of course," said
Harry, his own brow furrowed, and dropped the privacy wards.</p><p>Draco waited while
Harry bid farewell to those who had come to talk to him, and then
turned back towards the school. As soon as they were out of their
sight, on the road to Hogwarts, he saw Harry's shoulders tense.</p><p><em>He thinks I'm
going to yell at him, take out my anger at Calibrid on him.</em></p><p>Draco stopped and put
one hand beneath Harry's chin, tilting his head up. Harry met his
eyes with a resigned stare.</p><p>Draco kissed him
gently, slowly, with attention to detail. Harry groaned. Draco waited
until he heard Harry panting into the kiss, then broke it off and
leaned their foreheads together.</p><p>Harry was smart enough
to recognize a Moment when he saw one. He waited in silence until
Draco spoke.</p><p>"I am going to show
everyone that I <em>am</em> worthy of you," Draco whispered. "I'm
going to show them what I really am."</p><p>Harry stepped away and
stared at him. Draco saw the quick leap of hope in his eyes, and how
he almost immediately tried to destroy it. That made a pulse of
sorrow slip through Draco, that Harry would assume anything like what
he promised was too good to be true.</p><p>"I promise," he
said. "Now it's something more than just your asking me, or even
wanting to do this to prove something to myself. I didn't know
other people regarded me this way." He felt his mouth trying to
twist into a sneer, and prevented it. Insults would not help him get
revenge on people who <em>expected</em> insults from him. "I'll
show them that I'm your equal—and your superior, even, if you
don't watch out."</p><p>Harry smiled.</p><p>For the first time
since the night of their argument, Draco felt warmth sweep through
him. The approval in Harry's eyes healed the disappointment he'd
felt then.</p><p>"I knew you could
be," Harry murmured. "I can't even imagine what you'll be
like once you finally start living at that level that you <em>can</em>
live at, all the time."</p><p>"I'll be the one
getting marriage proposals," said Draco, and he heard the acid of
jealousy burning behind his voice.</p><p>"I wouldn't have
accepted, you know that," said Harry, in the kind of tone that made
it a self-evident truth.</p><p>"I <em>know</em>
that," Draco said. "That doesn't matter, Harry. What matters is
the reason she had for proposing to you. Not thinking I'm worthy of
you! I'll show her."</p><p>And he could. Steel
had replaced the hot anger, as if he'd grown a new spine.</p><p><em>I'll become the
kind of person I can be, not the kind of person they want me to be.
I'll fulfill my potential so well they'll be ashamed of
themselves for questioning it.</em></p><p><em>I'll show them
who I really am.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 94*: Intermission: Gloom's Own Country</h2>
			<p><strong>Intermission: Gloom's Own Country</strong></p><p>"Severus."</p><p>"Severus."</p><p>"Severus!"</p><p>It seemed that he
heard the name everywhere, now that the Dark Lord had instructed him
to look for it and think of himself that way. Albus called him by it
when he wanted Snape to talk to him about some new strategy in the
war against the Dark Lord. McGonagall called him that when she wanted
to warn him against harassing her precious Gryffindors—not only
that, but she expected to be called Minerva. Moody, whom Albus had
hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, grumbled it
as an ironic greeting when he stumped past him in the halls.</p><p>And all the while,
Snape—Severus—became more and more aware how much he despised
them.</p><p>The death of Harry had
broken them, all of them, in ways that it should not have, given that
the supposed object of the prophecy, the Potter brat who looked most
like his father, was still alive. Albus's eyes were misty often
now, as if he saw the end of his life approaching and was half-glad.
Some essential snap had gone out of McGonagall's voice. Moody
taught grimly, as if he expected his students to survive rather than
triumph.</p><p>And James Potter came
to the meetings of the Order of the Phoenix looking as if someone had
roped him and dragged him through the mud behind a Granian.</p><p>Snape enjoyed those
meetings more than he could say. He must, of course, give false
details about Death Eater tactics and make sure it contradicted none
of what he had said so far; he must dance around Albus's constant
attempts to make him more accessible and friendly to the others; he
must know that on leaving these meetings, he went straight back into
the world that made him so uncomfortable, the world of Hogwarts where
he taught useless information to the children of his enemies. But for
a brief hour or so—the Order of the Phoenix never gathered in one
place for longer than that, these days—he could stare at his worst
enemy's face and know that he had helped kill his son and was going
to find out and deliver up the location of his other, and Potter had
no idea.</p><p>On this day, when he
came into the room, Potter was the only one there. Snape made his
footsteps as silent as smoke, and came up beside him before he could
hear him or turn around.</p><p>"Si—" Potter
began, turning his head. He seemed to forget that Black was dead,
too, half the time. He jumped in enormous surprise, and his throat
worked as he swallowed. Then he said, "Severus."</p><p>"James," said
Snape. It was the first time he had ever willingly done as Albus told
him, and called another member of the Order by his first name. Potter
tensed, his hands flexing over the arms of his chair. Snape took a
seat across from him, watching him carefully all the while, noting
the way his head tilted and the hazel eyes behind his glasses seemed
to widen in time to his panicked breathing.</p><p>"What do you want
from me?"</p><p>It was the barest
whisper, but Snape heard it. He made sure not to give any sign of how
much it pleased him. "I want what you want, James," he said. "The
defeat of the Dark Lord, and the freedom to act in accordance with my
views again." Only the first part of that sentence was a lie.</p><p>"You're lying,"
Potter breathed.</p><p>Snape could suppress
his first, startled reaction, too. No one knew the details of his
spying; many of them did not even know that he had been in the
graveyard when Voldemort rose, or that he regularly went back into
his Lord's service. Potter was merely striking out, hoping to hit a
nerve, not aiming at what he <em>knew</em> would frighten Snape or
expose him as a double agent. "About what?" he asked blandly.</p><p>"Wanting the defeat
of You-Know-Who." Potter stood and stalked towards him. "I <em>know</em>
you would be just as glad to see him take over, so that you could
have the pleasure of torturing my wife and son."</p><p>As usual, Potter saw
this great war of ideals and hatred and revenge all in terms of
himself. Snape did not allow a muscle to move, nor the bland
expression to leave his face. "Whatever lies you must tell to
accustom yourself to working with your schoolboy enemy, Potter," he
said, and looked away.</p><p>"<em>Petrificus
Totalus!</em>"</p><p>The spell bound him to
the chair, of course. What Potter didn't know was that Snape
commanded enough wandless magic, in situations of intense rage, to
break the binding and stand. And this had abruptly become a situation
of intense rage.</p><p>He let Potter get a
few steps closer, wand bouncing in his hand. He wanted to <em>destroy</em>
the man, not merely wound him.</p><p>"Severus," Potter
mocked. "I know you're lying, <em>Severus. </em>You know you're
lying. You're as black-hearted as you ever were, and I don't know
why Albus trusts you. You only remain part of the Order so that you
can carry information on our activities to—" He took a deep
breath and forced the name out. "Voldemort. You knew more Dark Arts
than the rest of us put together when you came to school for your
first year, didn't you? I always wondered where you learned them.
Now I think I know. You grew up in gloom's own country. Albus told
me a little about your childhood, the last time I asked. Not that I
think what your mother did to you excuses the way you've acted to
my own children, just to make that clear. In fact, it only makes me
wonder if you ever actually broke free of her influence."</p><p>Snape felt a white
light build behind his eyes. It burst out of him with a soundless
roar that rattled the windows of the meeting house, though Snape
doubted it shone through them. The Order had spells up to shield the
sights inside the house from spying wizards as well as nosy Muggles.</p><p>When he could see
again, the heaviness was gone from his limbs, and Potter lay on the
ground, stunned, barely breathing.</p><p>Severus wasted no
time. Potter was still only wildly guessing, but he might inspire the
other Order members to begin distrusting him, and that would ruin
Severus's own plans for remaining a double agent. And there was
what he had said about his mother.</p><p>No one talked about
Eileen Prince to Severus's face. Or behind his back, for that
matter, and he silently promised himself that Albus would also feel
his wrath, as soon as it was safe to exercise it.</p><p>He knelt beside Potter
and drew a small vial of silver potion from his robe. He had created
this potion, but hadn't tested it thoroughly yet. For the most
part, he wouldn't have used such a liquid even on his worst enemy,
because it might cause less pain than Severus wanted to create.</p><p>Now, he did not care.
Or perhaps he had the faith, implicit in some Potions Masters at
flying moments like an artist's faith in his work, that this one
would achieve what he had made it to do. He poured it carefully down
Potter's throat, and then massaged his throat muscles until he
swallowed.</p><p>Then he sat back and
waited until those hazel eyes fluttered and focused on him. "What
happened?" Potter muttered.</p><p>"You're going to
forget what really happened," said Severus, his voice calm and
stern. "You'll remember that I came in, called you James, and we
had an amiable discussion. It shocked you, and you accused me of
being a double agent, but I reassured you I wasn't, and you
believed me. Do you remember all that?"</p><p>"Yeah," Potter
breathed. "Yeah, I do." He extended a hand, and Severus grasped
it, pulling him to his feet. Potter pulled his hand back at once,
then nodded as if embarrassed. "I'm sorry I accused you—Severus."</p><p>"Not at all, James,"
said Severus, and then took a seat on the chair as they waited for
the others to arrive. He could feel the silver potion stretching
through Potter's veins like a liquid Imperius. He had only to
whisper orders, and Potter would do what he wanted. The effect was
more like a Memory Charm than Imperius, in that Severus would need to
create new memories to convince him what he did was his own will, but
it worked. And by the time the other members of the Order arrived,
Severus and James were laughing together, and Albus smiled serenely
as if his ridiculous policies had really achieved this all on their
own.</p><p>Severus smiled at him,
and showed none of the rage that lay inside him, gnawing on its own
chain.</p><p><em>Albus. You fool.
You do not know what you have waked in me. But you shall see son
enough. How I hate you, old man.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape rose with a
yawn, the strips of the dream feathering around him and falling away.
This time, he didn't wake up with much hatred, other than a
remembered crust of hatred towards Dumbledore. He felt satisfied, as
if he had accomplished something in the dream that pleased him very
much.</p><p>He shrugged, and
checked on his potions. The purple one was almost a game now; he made
it more deadly little by little, and sometimes it smoked and
overflowed and otherwise refused to obey what he asked of it. The
silver potion, which would help to heal gaping Occlumency wounds like
the ones Harry had suffered from Tom Riddle's attack in his second
year if Snape could ever perfect it, lay shimmering in a cauldron
beside that.</p><p>He turned to face the
round of Potions class and the dunderhead students he would have to
teach, most of them without even a tenth of Draco's or Harry's or
Granger's competence. But he felt less resigned about it than he
usually did, almost as if this life had been his own free choice.</p><p>He felt, for a moment,
as if he walked in morning's own country.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 95*: On the Rise</h2>
			<p><strong>WARNING: Cliffhanger. </strong></p><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Five: On the Rise</strong></p><p>Harry blinked and
carefully closed the door of their bedroom behind him. It wasn't
that it was all that unusual to come back to Slytherin and find Draco
sprawled on his belly in the midst of a series of books and
parchments. He had done it when he was still trying to visualize his
Animagus form, and then again when he thought he would be able to
transform a few weeks after he found it. And sometimes, when he had
to write a Potions or Astronomy essay that he wanted to be near
perfect, he would lose himself in a maze of words that even Hermione
might envy.</p><p>Now, though, Draco had
several maps hovering in the air around him, directing them with
sweeps of his wand. He lay on his stomach over an enormous book,
reading the words at the top of the page and moving gradually
downwards as he finished one set of them. Sometimes he glanced up and
waved his wand again, and one of the maps shot down to him. Draco
would make a careful mark on it, and then send it back up to join the
hovering circle.</p><p>Harry came nearer,
making Draco jump when he sat down on the bed. He doubted Draco had
seen him beyond the paper. "What are you doing?" he asked
curiously. It had only been a day since his meeting with the
Opallines and the Gloryflowers, and for Draco to have decided,
already, that he was going to do something like this, whatever it
was, was—</p><p><em>Unlike him. Unless
he really has changed his mind about being lazy and wanting to reach
for everything he can do in the last day.</em></p><p>Draco gave him a
smile. Harry scanned it for traces of grimness or irony, and couldn't
see any. "Calibrid reminded me that I need to make a place for
myself in your alliance, Harry, and as more than your lover," he
murmured. "But the Dark purebloods don't have any particular
reason to listen to me over you; they already know you, mostly, and
understand the advantages of allying with you. I don't have a pull
with the undeclared wizards, and the Light purebloods are wary of me
because of my family's reputation. You're better set-up to
approach the magical creatures than I could ever make you, and
Jing-Xi gives you a contact with the other Lords and Ladies. So I
wondered what kind of political allies I could contact and initiate
diplomacy with in order to make myself indispensable—"</p><p>"You already are
indispensable, Draco," Harry said. "Please. You have to know
that." The thought that Draco would think <em>now</em> that Harry
didn't want him as a partner because his political connections
weren't perfect hurt.</p><p>"Oh, I know."
Draco leaned back, caressed Harry's knee, and then kissed his right
hand, which hung down near him. "And if I only cared about your
opinion and mine, then I might be content with that, Harry. But I
can't. I need some political prominence and allies of my own. And I
need to reverse the image that most of your allies have of me, as
some spoiled and indulged pet who's allowed to run about biting
their ankles and dirtying the carpet."</p><p>Harry choked.
"Calibrid didn't put it <em>quite</em> like that," he pointed
out.</p><p>"No, she didn't."
Draco's face was politely blank. "But that's the way I think of
it. And, right now, my opinion counts the most. I want to be better
than that. And I've found a way." One of the maps zipped its way
over to him, and he spread it out so that Harry could see it. "What
is this of?"</p><p>Harry peered at it
cautiously. It looked like an unfamiliar coast, dotted with
unfamiliar wizarding communities. He was just about to say so when a
name he knew caught his eye, though it looked much smaller on the map
than it would in real life. That would come from the map showing only
the magical part of the city, he thought, and not the Muggle part.
"America," he said. "New York, and part of the coastline."</p><p>"Very good," Draco
murmured. "We haven't heard from the American wizarding
communities. Of course, some of them think this is a European war,
and they don't think that much about what would happen if Voldemort
won and left Britain. Or perhaps they think their Muggles would
protect them." Draco snorted. "They <em>live</em> with them, and
they can think that?" He waved his wand, and the map looped back
into the air, dancing with the others. "But if that attitude turns
out to be widespread among them, then it will make them that much
easier to manipulate."</p><p>"You're looking to
extend the alliance across the oceans, aren't you?" Harry asked
flatly.</p><p>Draco looked at him.</p><p>"I don't think
it'll work," said Harry, compelled to be honest. "Even the
wizarding communities who are much closer to us aren't taking an
interest in the war. They think I can defeat Voldemort, and they
don't want to be noticed by him if I can't. How much more is that
going to apply to the Americans, since they've got a whole ocean
between him and them?"</p><p>"Those oceans are
going to look pretty damn small if he breeds flying creatures,"
said Draco. "Or enchants some device that could permit
intercontinental Apparition. Or, for that matter, captures the Floo
Network. I'm looking ahead. I'm sure I'll find some people
among the Americans who want to do the same. Besides, Harry, you
forget the larger import of your own work. It's not the war with
Voldemort that will last and last all your life. It's your <em>vates</em>
task. And there are magical creatures in America, too, bound so that
they don't interfere with the Muggles. There are probably more of
them, in fact, since European Muggles poured in so fast that the
wizards and witches didn't have time to set up sanctuaries. They
had to work with webs and do the best they could to hide them in
plain sight. They knew the Muggles would kill them as exotica."</p><p>"And they're still
bound," Harry summarized.</p><p>"Do you see the tide
of Muggle occupation growing less, at all?" Draco's voice was
dry. He waved his wand, and a different map flowed down to him. This
time, Harry caught a glimpse of several lakes, and a peninsula shaped
vaguely like a hand. "They had a terrible time with the freshwater
sea serpents around Michigan. They're living practically under some
of the Muggles now, because there isn't any better place to put
them."</p><p>"And if my presence
breaks those webs—"</p><p>"It's not going to
be pretty," Draco finished. "There are too many magical creatures
side by side with Muggles, instead of off in some remote mountains or
forests the way they tend to be in Europe. Oh, some are hidden, but
not enough. And the American witches and wizards have this—this
<em>delusion</em> that the way they do things is oh so much better than
the ways more established magical communities do things. That
includes killing magical creatures who escape their bindings, rather
than risk them being seen by Muggles and having to <em>Obliviate</em>
the Muggles."</p><p>Harry hissed between
his teeth, and the shadow of a black cat appeared beside him.</p><p>"I rather thought
that would irritate you." Draco sounded amused. "And the Ministry
has its own customs and ways of doing things, too, including an
obsession with informality that, oddly enough, <em>still</em> makes
them infatuated with formal rituals. They'll pretend to scorn me
when I contact them, but they'll be secretly flattered that someone
from an old pureblood wizarding family is doing it, and they'll be
impressed that it's someone with such an important place in the
alliance. I really don't think they would accept that someone like
Calibrid Opalline could still be just as important to you. It'll
look better that it's your partner."</p><p>"I—this is
wonderful, Draco," Harry said, a little helplessly. He hadn't
thought of reaching out to the Americans for help. He had so much to
do that he'd focused on moving forward, and preparing to fight the
concrete threats that Jing-Xi could tell him about. But perhaps it
<em>was</em> time that he thought of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow
surviving, even thriving, beyond the immediate purpose of freeing
British magical creatures. "I don't know if you'll be ready to
do all this immediately."</p><p>"Oh, I'm not."
Draco indicated the immense book he lay on. "I've been reading
the history of magical communities in America, and I'll read more.
By the time I contact them, I want to be able to make them dance to
my tune. I might be able to do that right now with a British wizard,
but I'm smart enough to realize the limits to my knowledge. They
just won't be limits much longer." He smiled.</p><p>He looked so smug that
Harry couldn't help himself; he leaned in to kiss him, and Draco
returned it with interest. When he heard parchment creak and crackle
around them, though, Harry pulled back. "I'm interrupting your
studying," he said innocently. "Of course you'll want to finish
that first."</p><p>Draco groaned and
reached out as Harry moved backward, though his hand fell short on
the bed. "Harry, it's been a <em>week…</em>"</p><p>"But it won't be
much longer," said Harry, and winked. "The vernal equinox is in
just a few days, remember?"</p><p>Draco lifted himself
on his elbows and stared at him steadily. Harry stared back. He knew
Draco read the silent challenge in his eyes. So far, Draco seemed
intent on keeping his promise to live up to his potential and strive
for greatness, but it was only one day since Calibrid had so stung
him. There was no saying that he would keep up his intensity until
the vernal equinox.</p><p>"You'll be
spending the day with someone you can be proud of, Harry," Draco
said, when the stare had lasted long enough to make them both,
apparently, feel slightly uncomfortable.</p><p>Harry inclined his
head, and withdrew.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco glanced at the
bed. The papers and parchments he'd been studying earlier were
safely out of the way. The enormous <em>History of Wizards in America</em>
that he'd used to start working his way into, well, the history of
wizards in America lay on the bedside table, nearly tipping it. Even
their trunks were shoved back against the wall, and Draco had gently
but firmly put Argutus out the door when the Omen snake had tried to
enter earlier.</p><p>He closed his eyes.</p><p>He knew now,
humiliatingly, why he hadn't been able to do this so far. How many
books had he read in which he'd seen some sentence about will, and
how important it was? He could <em>want</em> to achieve this, but until
he really focused his will and aimed it towards the desired end, he
would always fail.</p><p>Now he did not intend
to fail. He gave himself over to the swimming desire. He was in one
place. The vision he wanted to reach stood at the other end. He had
to cover the ground between himself and it, and this first time, he
had to do it with nothing but will.</p><p>The books had advised
him to go more slowly, but Draco had <em>done</em> that, and nothing
happened. He simply couldn't be determined one day, and then
slightly more determined the next. It had to occur all at once, or it
would never occur.</p><p>Draco bent himself
towards the task.</p><p>It was hard. He felt
as if scrambled forward with an enormous load of rock on his back.
His head was bent, and sweat trickled down his neck, and distracting
noises came floating up from the Slytherin common room. He could hear
Syrinx pacing on the other side of the door where he'd exiled her,
if he listened hard enough. He could imagine Harry bursting into the
room and disrupting his concentration.</p><p>He could imagine
sagging back onto the bed and saying it was all too much. He hadn't
told Harry about this, just in case he did fail. So there would be no
one to scold him for not achieving it.</p><p>Except himself.</p><p>Wrong or not, the
general magical community had an impression of him that Draco had
never intended. It was up to him to correct that impression.
Spreading rumors of his magical competence would not do it. Promising
to work harder and then never working harder would not do it. Telling
Harry of what he wanted and receiving praise would only mean that he
put off the effort, because he could live for weeks on Harry's
praise.</p><p>And that was another
reason he was doing this, wasn't it? He had something unique to
offer to Harry's alliance if he could master this. Oh, sure, there
were a few other people helping Harry who could do the same thing,
but they all had the advantage, or disadvantage, of being <em>known</em>
for it. Draco could hide his skill, because no one would expect him
to have it. That might save their lives on a battlefield someday, or
on a spying mission. Voldemort would guard against those people he
knew to have this skill, but not against Draco.</p><p>That got him past one
twist and turn of the passage. The image he wanted to reach had drawn
a little closer.</p><p>And there was the
image of what Harry's face would look like if he found out that
Draco could do it. Draco imagined a pair of arms gathering him
closer, a pair of wide green eyes shining with approval and joy.
Perhaps Harry would even break the self-declared fast of sex that was
lasting until the vernal equinox, and share the bed with Draco for
something other than sleeping.</p><p>The image was closer
now, bristling. And Draco had the feeling that the hardest part of
concentration yet lay ahead. Neither the thought of Harry's
approval nor improving his own reputation would carry him through
this rocky country; he'd already used them as climbing rope.</p><p>He panted. For a
moment, his concentration did waver, and almost break into pieces.
But then he leaped sideways, and caught the rope he needed.</p><p>He wanted to do this
for his <em>own</em> sake, too. If he could be more than he'd always
thought he was, if other people had seen this greatness in him and he
hadn't, then he wanted to <em>have</em> that potential. The way to
have that potential was <em>not</em> by making efforts and then
slipping back. Other wizards might do that, but not a Malfoy. Not a
wizard like him, always stronger and better than other people thought
he was.</p><p>Not Draco.</p><p>He burst through the
last stretch separating him from the image. And suddenly it was
easier. The rocks he'd carried and climbed fell all about him,
tumbling light. His body lowered and grew stronger, and then he was
through, tumbling, his mental self colliding with the image and
wrapping it all about himself.</p><p>Draco cried out as he
felt his bones shift and his face elongate, his body shrink and his
skin ripple and turn inside out. It hurt, an instant of compressed
agony that might have been enough to make him give up the
transformation. But all the books had said that once it began to
happen, physically, the hardest part was past. It was the
concentration that took all the time and effort.</p><p>He opened his eyes,
aching as if someone had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and
slammed him into multiple walls, but also aware of an intense feeling
of accomplishment. He stood and stepped forward. For a moment, human
knowledge and animal instincts fought in him, and then the instincts
won and Draco found himself moving easily on four legs.</p><p>He stared into the
mirror he'd left leaning near the wall. After a moment, he spun
around and examined his reflection from the back, because he
positively could not believe that an animal could be so handsome.</p><p>He was a white fox,
just as he had seen in his vision. His fur was a deep cream color, so
that he wouldn't shine unnaturally beneath the moonlight, but stood
some chance of blending into snow. His paws were neat, quick, and
light. His eyes were gray, and he had no marking anywhere on his body
except a slight strip of black around his muzzle and mouth that
served to accent his equally black nose.</p><p>His nose! Scents were
flooding him, when Draco could pay attention to anything but the way
he looked. His ears flagged up and down, and he could hear sounds
through the walls that his Housemates would be embarrassed by if they
knew about them. His brush swished softly back and forth, a living
thing on its own. When Draco paid attention to it, then it grew heavy
and awkward and slow, but it picked up speed again the moment he
started watching it from the corner of his eye and mind.</p><p>He had done it. He had
achieved his Animagus form before any of the others had. And he had
done it because of the strength of his will.</p><p>Smug, Draco reached
for the will to transform back, and found that this came much more
easily. He knew what it was like to be a wizard, after all, had known
for most of his life, and the shape of large limbs and an unsensing
body snapped into place about him. Draco found himself staggering,
half in and half out of his clothes, and blinking at the mirror.</p><p>He tried to change
back into a fox.</p><p>A short uphill
struggle this time, and he could do it. Draco turned around to admire
the color of his fur again.</p><p>The bedroom door
opened. Harry's irritated voice said, "Draco, why were Argutus
and Syrinx outside—"</p><p>Draco turned and
trotted towards him. He heard Harry's voice die. When he looked up,
he couldn't read his expression well—not only was he further away
from Harry's face than usual, but his fox eyes saw things
differently—but he didn't have to. The flush on those cheeks and
the scent around him told how much he approved.</p><p>Draco jumped neatly
into Harry's arms, and settled back, and waited for praise.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor decided he'd
had enough of <em>that</em>.</p><p>"That" was Draco
staring at him all the damn time. Granted, he mostly did it in
Defense Against the Dark Arts, given that that was the one class
where Draco sat behind him and could do it most easily, but sometimes
he stared at meals, too, and whenever they passed each other in the
corridors. When Connor came to visit Harry in the Slytherin common
room, Draco sat on a chair nearby and rarely tried to join the
conversation unless specifically invited, instead murmuring a few
"yes" or "no" responses, and staring at Connor.</p><p>He caught Draco's
arm as the other boy left Defense Against the Dark Arts, and turned
him so that his back was to the wall. Draco smirked at him, and
glanced down at Connor's hand. "I hate to tell you this, Potter,
but I'm already thoroughly taken."</p><p>Connor dropped his arm
as if it were made of dragonfire, before realizing that was exactly
what Draco had intended him to do. He settled for a snort and a
disgusted look.</p><p>"You've been
watching me," he said. "I want to know why."</p><p>And then Draco paused
and licked his lips and looked nervous. As the moments passed and
there was no Slytherin, sly answer forthcoming immediately, Connor's
interest grew. So this wasn't a game after all, then, or an attempt
to make him feel uncomfortable around his future brother-in-law. It
was something more serious, and that might mean Draco wasn't
perfectly confident. Connor preferred that. He had some chance of
disconcerting Draco in turn.</p><p>"I've been trying
to see the past Connor and the future Connor in you," said Draco,
which sent Connor back into a state of confusion.</p><p>"What do you mean by
that?"</p><p>"It—there was that
Pensieve Harry gave me for Christmas," Draco said. "Filled with
memories of times I hadn't actually shared with him, mostly
childhood memories. And you're there so often. In so many of them,
the most important person in Harry's life. I wanted to know what
you were like." He made a vague gesture at Connor's chest. "And
I wanted to know how you could be like—this. You've changed since
then, but I don't know how you did it."</p><p>"Of course you
don't," said Connor, and stepped back from Draco, relaxing. It
wasn't so very wonderful that he should want to know, was it? Draco
was practically shouting his intention to change to the whole school.
Since Connor had had to shift his own perception of and actions
around Harry so dramatically, he was probably the best one suited to
give him advice. "Not even Harry knows. By the time he really
started looking, I'd already accomplished most of it."</p><p>"So tell me how,"
Draco said.</p><p>Connor shrugged, and
half-closed his eyes, forcing himself to return to memories that, by
now, had lost their sting and become part of his daily reality.
"After—Sirius killed himself, and I heard the truth about the
prophecy and watched Harry free the Dementors, I realized how much of
what I'd believed was built on lies. Harry helped me a bit with the
grief, and so did James and Remus, but so many people had sheltered
me from the world most of my life. I <em>wanted</em> to think about
things on my own. So I pretended I was more healed than I actually
was. Harry was so tied up in his attempts to get along with Dad, and
then with dealing with the beginnings of this alliance he's got now
and with Snape, that he didn't notice. Dad might have, but he was
more occupied with getting Harry back from Snape, and Remus was
grieving for Sirius.</p><p>"So I could think
about things like the end of considering myself as the Boy-Who-Lived
without anyone interfering. And I saw two roads I could take. One
ended in resentment of Harry, jealousy of him for having the title
I'd always believed I was mine. And the other ended with being
content with my own ordinariness, and a support for him instead of a
rival or an obstacle. That was the road I chose. I worked as hard as
I could to accustom myself to what I am now. I told myself every day
that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived. I made myself try to see the way
Dad and Mum—I mean, James and Lily—" Connor had fallen far
enough into his story to forget himself "—had really acted around
him, instead of just assuming they'd treated us the same. When I
flew, I remembered that Harry could do better.</p><p>"And I saw all the
things he'll never have, all the things I can do that he never can.
He doesn't even notice when someone loves him, most of the time. I
know when someone loves me. He has a hard time asserting his own will
and insisting on his own rights. I don't. He torments himself over
his mistakes. I don't. I love Harry, but there is no way under the
sun that I would want to be him."</p><p>He thought, for a
moment, of telling Draco about the noticing he'd started to do
lately, and how he thought that was probably Harry's fault, not
Parvati's. But he couldn't bring himself to. For one thing, he
still sort of hoped the noticing would go away, and he wouldn't
have to be what it was calling him to be. For another, Draco didn't
really <em>care</em> about that, about him. Connor was wise enough to
know that. Draco cared about him in relation to Harry, and if he
could understand Connor better, he would get along with him better,
and that would please Harry. What Draco Malfoy did, he did with
himself as the center of the universe and the only point of
reference.</p><p>And, finally, Connor
wasn't sure how to describe the noticing without sounding stupid.
So he'd noticed that Lavender Brown was very kind to the Gryffindor
fifth-years, and that Dean always stared off into space just before
he started panting, and that Neville had kept a little plant alive on
his windowsill for weeks that wasn't supposed to stay alive in this
climate? So <em>what</em>? It sounded stupid.</p><p>"Thanks, Connor."</p><p>He opened his eyes,
and blinked. It wasn't like Draco to call him by his first name.
But now he had, and now he even nodded and moved away stiffly, as if
cradling the new knowledge to himself made it difficult to walk.</p><p>Connor shook his head
in bemusement, and went to go study his Animagus transformation. He
had made it part of the way to the boar image last night before
falling back. That was all right, Peter had said. Just keep driving
forward, and he would reach it eventually. And a boar was a perfectly
fine form to have. Blunt, strong, cleverer than many people thought
they were, able to bring down barriers that separated them from
others.</p><p>On the way back to
Gryffindor Tower, Connor noticed three secret sneers, one blossoming
romance, and the sources of two future disputes. The result was that
he flopped back on his bed when he reached the Tower and scowled at
his ceiling instead of beginning to study right away.</p><p><em>Stupid noticing.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry woke on the day
of the vernal equinox feeling both smug and hopeful. He thought, he
really thought, that Draco had changed enough that what he'd
planned for the first day of spring could happen after all.</p><p>He'd worked through
most of his correspondence and all his homework during the rest of
the week, and he was sure that leaving for a few days would harm
nothing. And he <em>wanted</em> to leave for a few days. He wanted to
show Draco what he had planned, and he wanted—</p><p>He wanted a holiday,
damn it.</p><p>He'd wrestled with
the thought for a long time. He'd thought, at first, that it was
selfish of him, and then that Christmas ought to be enough, or the
upcoming Easter holidays. But Christmas had been ruined by the news
of the Horcruxes and what he'd have to do to neutralize them, and
Harry couldn't be sure something else wouldn't happen between now
and Easter to upset his plans. So he was going to take Draco away for
a few days following the equinox, the balanced day of Light and Dark,
the moment when power passed from Dark to Light, and he would refuse
to worry about any of the other problems that could plague him for
the space of that time.</p><p>He went down to
breakfast humming quietly, and received the owl that came from
Hogsmeade with a smile. Draco was late, but Harry had expected that.
Since it was the equinox itself, Draco would want to do something
dramatic. Harry ate with an eye on the doors to the Great Hall.</p><p>Draco stood there a
moment later. He came at once to Harry, his stride more confident
than it had been since long before the day when Calibrid scolded him.
Harry allowed himself to sit back and admire for a moment. Draco
looked so much better when he forgot to worry about defending his own
sulky desires, and instead set about influencing what other people
thought of him.</p><p><em>If he wants to
dispute the Grand Unified Theory, he should write against it, </em>Harry
thought, as he stood. <em>Not whinge about it and expect people to
listen to him that way.</em></p><p>Draco met him with a
kiss and a murmured instruction to sit down. Then he drew his wand
with a flourish. "I have a new spell to show you, Harry," he
said. "One that I'd been thinking about for the past few days,
but which I just worked last night."</p><p>Harry sat down with
what he knew was a giddy smile on his face, but he didn't care.
What mattered was that Draco had made a new <em>spell</em>. He loved
the moments when Draco showed off his power and his will and what,
together, they could produce. If nothing else, it moved Draco further
out from under his shadow, and gave him more freedom and
independence.</p><p>Draco held his wand in
front of him and closed his eyes. A moment later, a trickling yellow
light began to play from it, and formed into a ring in the air. Harry
leaned forward, seeing an unfamiliar image through it. It looked like
a coastline, a rocky one that might have been in Northumbria or
Ireland or Scotland itself.</p><p>The incantation Draco
used must have been nonverbal, because Harry continued to hear no
words as the image slowly swayed back and forth, seeking something.
Then it focused on a figure walking majestically towards the water's
edge.</p><p>Harry hissed in his
breath. "Falco!" he whispered.</p><p>"Yes," Draco said.
His voice trembled with strain. "The spell—seeks out one of your
greatest enemies, and then shows them to you. I was going to try
for—Voldemort, but I thought it was too risky."</p><p>"Too right," Harry
muttered, eyes focused on Falco. He had knelt beside the rocks, and
stirred one hand in the shallow waves now, eyes fixed on what looked
to be water no deeper than a tidepool.</p><p>Then the water
wrinkled, and a sleek head lifted itself from the surface, long
yellow hair flooding down its shoulders. Harry hissed again. It was a
siren, one of the merfolk Voldemort had freed from their web in
Greece and hunted Britain's coasts with for a time. Scrimgeour had
warned Harry that Falco seemed to be spending time near the coasts,
but Harry had not known that he had come so far as to get a siren to
speak to him.</p><p>Falco said something
now that the spell didn't pick up. The siren nodded, and pulled her
head back beneath the water. Falco stood up, still gazing into the
ocean, a tired expression on his face.</p><p>He Apparated. The
spell's image went dark for a moment, and then he appeared in a
clearing that made Harry sit up. He <em>knew</em> that clearing. It was
in the Forbidden Forest, not so very far from Hogwarts.</p><p>Falco extended his
hands, and they were full of wooden disks, which were familiar to
Harry from a certain attack Voldemort had instituted on the autumnal
equinox the year before last. He began to place the disks in a circle
around himself. Harry had no doubt that he intended to use them the
same way, to command sirens to attack up bays and rivers and so on as
Voldemort had—perhaps even send them up the Thames into London
itself.</p><p>"Draco," Harry
said. "Does this spell show what's happening right now?"</p><p>"It's supposed
to," Draco said warily.</p><p>Harry stepped away
from the table, his breath already rushing freely in his lungs, his
hand clenched. The silver hand flexed and bent a bit, but still
wasn't accustomed enough to his body to obey him completely.</p><p>"Listen, Draco,"
he said. "You've definitely earned what I meant to give you for
the equinox, but now it appears that I have to teach Falco a lesson."</p><p>"Harry—"</p><p>Falco, in the image,
raised his hand.</p><p>A moment later, the
sirens' compelling voices rang out from the Hogwarts lake, striking
through the school's wards as if they weren't there, twining
around the ears of students and making them face the doors of the
Great Hall glassy-eyed.</p><p>Harry grimaced and
ran, weaving wards behind him that ought to keep the other students
inside for at least a little while; under compulsion, they wouldn't
be thinking rationally enough to dismantle them immediately.</p><p><em>So much for my
holiday.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 96*: The Duel of Phoenix and Siren</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Six: The Duel of Phoenix and
Siren</strong></p><p>Harry came out on the
shore of the lake, sure that he'd brushed through wards as if they
were spiderwebs, but not remembering if he had or not. His gaze was
focused ahead, on the water and the sirens swimming there. He could
see darker, darting shapes he assumed were the selkies, the usual
inhabitants of the lake. The sirens swam with their heads lifted,
their faces distended as they sang, but not enough to make them less
beautiful. They were Dark creatures, every part of them made to
compel and lure. Harry didn't think there was anything that would
make them less beautiful.</p><p><em>I'll have to
silence them and lessen their hold over the other students and
professors first, </em>Harry thought, as he narrowed his eyes at them.
<em>Otherwise, Falco could command someone to attack me or hold them
in a hostage situation, and I hardly need that when I'm trying to
stop him from sending sirens to the attack in other waters, too.</em></p><p>He tried a simple
Silencing Charm first. Nothing happened. Harry nodded. He had thought
it wouldn't—if it were that simple, then most wizards would have
escaped siren clutches instead of falling prey to them—but he had
wanted to make sure.</p><p>He could feel the
strands of compulsion flicking into his mind, trying to weave webs
around his thoughts. His will sliced them and speared them and
dragged them away, but there were more and more as the sirens saw
him, admitted him as someone dangerous, and focused their music on
him.</p><p><em>I'll have to
answer their weapon with a weapon.</em></p><p>Harry opened his mouth
and called on the phoenix song.</p><p>It welled up from his
throat as if it had been waiting for this exact moment, like a
phoenix sitting in a bush and invisible until it was noticed. Harry
felt the first rush of notes exit his mouth like the bouncing pebbles
that heralded a landslide. When that passed, the landslide itself
could come, a percussive symphony that made Harry feel a bit dazed to
think <em>he</em> was making those sounds.</p><p>The sirens swam nearer
and nearer the shore. Their leader, one with long, fluffy blonde
curls, blue eyes, and a crown of twisted driftwood and pearls on her
head, folded her arms on the bank and leaned forward to press her
voice against Harry. A core of cool water slid down Harry's skin.
He could feel the temptation to relax, to give in. The siren plucked
at his desires for a holiday like fingers on the strings of a harp.
He had only to yield, and he could have that pleasure he'd dreamed
of. He liked to swim, didn't he? He could swim in this song, and no
one would bother him.</p><p>Harry smiled, a bit
grimly. The trap might even have caught him if he weren't used to
having his holidays spoiled and his relaxation interrupted.</p><p>He flung the phoenix
song like a spear at the siren, and she reeled back, catching herself
just before she sank. She flipped her head up and hissed, and Harry
caught a glimpse of sharp, curved fangs hiding among her ordinary
teeth. A faint red mark was appearing on her pale cheek, as if she'd
been burned.</p><p>Blue fire appeared
around Harry in the same moment, wrapping his arms and his neck and
his torso. He sang through it, spreading his voice like a net above
the surface of the lake.</p><p>The phoenix was the
singer of the Light, and the sirens the singers of the Dark. And they
were creatures of water, and he was a creature—or at least the host
of a creature—of fire. They were natural enemies.</p><p>At the same time, he
didn't want to kill them. He merely wanted to break the web of
their compulsion and drive them back. Harry knew that as soon as he
stopped singing, though, or grew tired, they would renew their
attack. They had agreed to aid Falco, from the image in Draco's
spell. That meant they wouldn't simply swim free from his control
as they had with Voldemort. They wanted this, this free source of
prey that Falco had promised them.</p><p>He would have to come
to some kind of compromise with them.</p><p>While, at the same
time, fighting Falco, and making sure that they were held back from
attacking people in the Thames and through whatever other bays or
lakes or rivers Falco had sent them to.</p><p>Harry grinned, and
thought the expression, to be proper, should be bloody and filled
with half-chewed flesh.</p><p><em>I've done harder
things, haven't I? </em>he thought, and then paced forward, his eyes
fixed on the siren queen. When she moved, he could see tendrils
spreading out from her, clear glassy tunnels that tugged on the ears
of the other sirens. More tendrils projected to north and east and
south, though Harry had to squint to see them.</p><p><em>She's their
queen. She's bound to them. And what influences her may influence
them.</em></p><p>Harry aimed the
phoenix song down the middle of that web. As he watched, the glass
glittered and turned golden, lit as if by sunrise, and then his music
shot away from him and down towards the distant places where other
sirens swam.</p><p><em>And what should I
sing of, to convince them?</em></p><p>Harry lifted his head
and sang of freedom.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Falco sighed when he
heard Harry's voice. The boy was simply determined to oppose his
plans, wasn't he?</p><p>But he was not as
angry as he once would have been. He was too tired.</p><p>Hunting among the
paths of Dark and Light, as well as cornering the wild Dark and
demanding it teach him, was hard, endless labor. He had done the best
he could, because he was fighting for the most sacred of causes, the
balance of the British wizarding world.</p><p>But he carried the
marks of his lessons on his body, and he always would. He almost
looked forward to the death that he assumed would come now, when he
faced Harry and Harry Declared Light to balance him.</p><p>But what mattered was
that his death would restore the balance, and prevent Harry from
being either undeclared or <em>vates</em>. He had to keep his gaze on
that goal, and use it to pull himself through the hard, muddy roads
that lay between him and that final, redeeming moment. He only hoped
that he would live to see it.</p><p>He had visited Tom,
and learned his technique for controlling the sirens, as well as a
few other tactics that a Dark Lord would use. It had hurt his sense
of the fitness of things to see Tom lying in the dirt, as if he did
not understand the importance of his power and the position he would
have again. Yes, Harry had cut a hole in his magical core, but there
were ways to get past that, and Tom would find them.</p><p>Falco lifted an arm
and held it up to the sky. He felt the wild Dark's attention center
on him. Until sunset and the balancing moment, the Dark was still in
control of this part of the year, slightly more powerful than the
Light. And it paid attention when such a powerful wizard made a
gesture that looked like the beginning of a Declaration ritual. Falco
had felt it patiently dogging his steps as he set up this trap, and
now it hovered just out of sight, sometimes watching the sirens and
sometimes watching him.</p><p>"I yield myself,"
he began. "I yield my power, my magic, my soul, my heart, my mind,
my body. I accept the strictures of wildness against order, of
compulsion against free will, of war against peace, of solitude
against cooperation, of deception against truth." He took a deep
breath. "I Declare myself Dark, and name myself a Dark Lord."</p><p>The magic in his chest
coalesced into a single bolt, which he flung into the sky. Above him,
it turned and swirled dark green, as if his power had bruised it.
Then the wild Dark caught the bolt, strengthened it, and sent it
roaring back to him like an arrow fledged with night. Falco dropped
to one knee as it hit him, but made sure it was only one knee. The
wild Dark did not truly care for submission on the part of its
wizards, even as it demanded that some acknowledgment of its greater
power was made.</p><p>Falco took a deep
breath, and counted the days over in his head. He would, of course,
attack when he had the best chance of winning, even though he did not
really believe he could win. This was meant only as a prelude, to
show that he was serious and <em>could</em> act like a Dark Lord, in
case Harry was tempted to doubt him.</p><p>Forty days. He would
attack on Walpurgis Night, of course, the night when the wild Dark
was in full force.</p><p>He felt claws hook
around his shoulders as the wild Dark settled on him, and glanced to
the side to see that it had sent him a dark bird, like a blackbird if
one discounted the glossy blue markings on its wings. It hooked one
foot through its beak and gave him a truly evil stare through one
small eye.</p><p>Falco faced forward
and began to prepare his next attack. He had studied Tom's tactics
and the history of the Dark's magic to learn how this was done, but
he had some of his own ideas, too. Harry had hit him with a flood of
memories in the Department of Mysteries that Falco had not been
prepared for.</p><p>But he could absorb
those memories, and learn them, and make weapons out of them.</p><p>He took the first
blade in hand, and held it tight, while he gazed into the distance,
towards the shore of the lake, and watched Harry wrestle with his
sirens.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Rufus blinked, feeling
as if he'd just awakened from a dream.</p><p>It was the most
<em>interesting</em> feeling. He'd been sitting in his office,
speaking with Elder Juniper about what further concessions to the
magical creature the Wizengamot was prepared to make, when an image
of water had surged in front of him. He couldn't immediately tell
if the water was the river or the sea, and it hadn't seemed to
matter. He should walk out of his office, and keep walking until he
saw it. Then he should plunge forward. He need not worry about
drowning. There would be hands waiting to catch him. He could almost
see the hands, in fact, rising pale arms that gleamed as if from the
reflection of lit water.</p><p>And then the
compulsion had faded, and now he was hearing music, a rising and
skirling song that made his heart beat faster and filled his eyes
with tears. Rufus shook his head and turned away from Juniper. The
Elder would never forget such a weakness, and Rufus must find out
what had caused it soon.</p><p>That was when he
noticed that the Elder seemed to be having some troubles of his own,
at least if the cough and the fist that scrubbed at his face were any
indication. Of course, he recovered soon after. Juniper was a
politician, and one who had survived years of power changes in the
Ministry bobbing relatively near the surface—too powerful to
indiscriminately anger, too weak to be seen as a threat every time
the power change happened. "The bloody hell's that?" he
demanded now, and his voice was gruff to conceal the presence of his
own sorrow.</p><p>Rufus tapped his wand
against the office's enchanted window in answer. It sped through
several views that showed various glimpses of London in which nothing
remarkable happened. Then they appeared to hover above the Thames,
and Rufus saw its gray waters churning as magical creatures swam free
around the foot of a Muggle bridge. From flashes of yellow hair, and
given what had happened to him just a moment ago, he would guess they
were sirens.</p><p>Hovering in the middle
of the air above them, as much on display to Muggle London as the
dragon had been, was the misty image of a young man wreathed in blue
fire, singing in the voice of a phoenix.</p><p>"Harry <em>vates</em>,"
said Rufus. <em>That should have been my first guess.</em></p><p>"Must he be so
<em>public</em> in everything he does?" Juniper demanded, leaning
over Rufus's shoulder to frown out the window. "The other
Ministries are going to think we're holding a damn <em>festival</em>
for the Muggles. Come learn about dragons! Come see that phoenixes
are real!" He waved a disgusted hand.</p><p>"I don't think he
means to be," said Rufus, and sat back with a little sigh to wait
for the end of the display. "He's saving the world again, Elder,
and that is sometimes a rather noisy endeavor."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry talked to the
sirens.</p><p>He made every note he
shed carry images of open water, oceans where Muggles never came,
rocks where the sirens could sun themselves and never have to duck
under the water for fear of a passing ship, air that would carry
their voices to charm fish and dolphins and never leave them in fear
of a sailor. Blue poured through his voice, and green, and the
silver-white of foam. Did the sirens really mean to swim in this
crowded, contaminated water for the rest of their lives? The seas
around Britain swarmed with rubbish, with humans, with ships. But the
oceans beyond the horizon were there, wastes of water only to those
who could not see, as the sirens could, as Harry could, the
remarkable freedom in them.</p><p>The siren queen
answered slowly, clotted music pushing through her mouth. They had
made a bargain. They would help the old wizard, and charm Muggles and
wizards into the water. It fulfilled their deepest instincts. They
were creatures of compulsion. They could not help but do what they
were doing. The vision Harry offered was attractive, but without
people to compel, an essential part of themselves was missing.</p><p>Harry changed his
song, made it sharp and merciless. He showed the siren queen how she
had served Voldemort, how she had served Falco, how she had done
nothing but swarm around the coasts of Britain for months because she
had to have some master to guide her. And was that really either
being at liberty or compelling the people she wanted to compel? <em>He</em>
knew the sirens were capable of greater things, that they did not
need to depend on humans. But if she wanted to, if she wished to turn
her back on greater things to answer some petty conception that
wizards had formed of her people, then of course she could do so.</p><p>The music flowed more
freely from the siren queen's mouth now. Of course she did not <em>wish</em>
to serve others. But it was what they did.</p><p>And had they ever
considered anything else?</p><p>Harry pitched the
phoenix song high, his mind on Fawkes in the last dance he had done,
so glorious and so wonderful that the thought of caging him seemed
absurd. Phoenixes chose whom they bonded to, whom they served, if
they served anyone at all, and they retained the will to leave an
unworthy companion. And wizards <em>respected</em> them for that, for
their freedom, as they would never respect sirens.</p><p>That was absurd in and
of itself, the queen's voice said, filling Harry's mind with
images of lapping, hot pools of dark water. Of course they should
respect sirens. Sirens could kill them, and phoenixes would not.</p><p>But even they had the
ability, Harry said, and cast out intricacies of warbles that charted
the way around sharp beaks and curved, gleaming scarlet talons.
Wizards knew there was a touch of danger in them. But they loved them
nonetheless. And they would not love sirens.</p><p><em>We need no man's
love, </em>the queen sang.</p><p>Harry smiled, and
strung his response, a series of rests and high notes that leaped and
rose and dipped like waves and troughs, along her reasoning. They
didn't need human love, did they? Any more than they needed human
respect, or human victims. They could swim free of all of this. Their
lives would only intersect with humanity's when they decided they
should do so. They had gone from one master to another, really.
Voldemort's trick of breaking their web had been only a trick. He
had enslaved them again at once.</p><p>Would they like to see
what it was like not to be slaves?</p><p>And voices answered
from everywhere, bay and inlet and lake and ocean and river running
to the sea. <em>Yes.</em></p><p>Harry ignored the ache
in his throat that came from his tiring voice. He <em>could</em> do
this. He would spin them a vision of freedom so enchanting that they
would never want to come closer to shore than the side of a rock
where they could sit and comb their hair. They should have their own
existence, separate from everything a human could conceive. Harry
would not be able to paint the whole of it, since he was human, but
he would show them the traces of it and hope they would follow them.</p><p>And
then he staggered, because a memory had hit him like a knife.
Suddenly he could not see the lake, or the grass at his feet.
Suddenly, he could see nothing but the day that Lily had told him he
would never have a lover or a family, because he was needed to
protect Connor. He felt as if he were seven years old, and the
reasoning echoed from every corner of his mind, picking up resonances
from his training, whispering in circles that he could not break.</p><p>Harry flung his voice
against the bonds. It didn't seem to make a difference. The memory
closed in on him and constricted him like a net, and he felt himself
shrinking to match it. Other memories flickered past him, fading when
he grasped at them. Draco, and Regulus, and Snape, were fading,
fading, fading, and he did not know why.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Falco had spun his web
carefully.</p><p>Its heart, its spider
if one willed, was the memory of Harry being told he would never have
a family or a lover of his own. That was powerful. But, by itself, it
would have done no good. If Harry had simply lived through the
experience at one time, the most Falco could have hoped to do was
distract him with the image.</p><p>The anchors of the web
were the corners of Harry's mind where he still wished for a life
something like that of his childhood self. Falco found envy of a girl
undergoing war witch training, for the simplicity of her existence
and her ability to put emotion away at a moment's notice. He found
a time just a few months ago when Harry had tried to slide all his
negative reactions into Occlumency pools, and what had happened when
that attempt failed; along with the relief had come self-disgust,
that he could not manage it. He found a dream, suffered more than a
year ago under Tom's curse, of a world where Harry existed only to
make alliances for his brother, and how <em>happy</em> it made him, a
deep and soaring joy that he'd taken care to shield from his
allies. In small and scattered parts of himself, Harry still wished
to be what he had been. If nothing had ever changed, his life would
have hurt much less, and he would not need to take so much
responsibility for so many positions he felt inadequate for.</p><p>What made the trap
perfect was that it depended on what Harry <em>wanted</em>. Let Falco
set up the web, and Harry's mind would weave it for him.</p><p>He stepped back,
holding his breath as he watched. This might be the moment when Harry
Declared, after all, he thought. Urge him deeply enough, and Harry
would have to call on the Light, and use its power to rise from the
trap.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"What's happening
now?" Juniper demanded abruptly.</p><p>Rufus, who'd looked
away from the struggle in the sky to the paperwork on his desk,
glanced back, and then stood. "I don't know," he said. His
voice rippled and shook with tension. He couldn't be bothered to
worry about that, or what effect it might have on Juniper's future
treatment of him.</p><p>Something had
happened. Something was going wrong.</p><p>The misty image of
Harry bound in phoenix fire had faded. Now it only showed as a dim
outline against a much stronger image of a white spider crouched in
the middle of a black-and-white spider web. Through the web whispered
two voices, voices which Rufus could hear as well as he had the
phoenix song a moment before, and, seemingly, the siren song before
that, though he did not remember the siren song as an experience of
music.</p><p><em>Harry, you'll
never have children.</em></p><p><em>Why not, Mum?</em></p><p><em>Because children
take time. They take almost all your time when they're little, and
they would be little for several years. Do you remember being little
for several years?</em></p><p><em>Some of it.</em></p><p>Rufus shuddered. He
recognized Lily Potter's voice, and Harry's, though it was
younger than it sounded now, of course. He was not sure what made him
wince more—the thought of what this scene being played out over
London right now meant for the defense against the sirens, or the
fact that he had a seat right next to something this private, now
dragged out on the stage of the public sky like a flayed corpse.</p><p><em>And you would have
to devote all your time to them, and to your spouse or partner.</em></p><p><em>I wouldn't have
any time for Connor!</em></p><p><em>Of course you
wouldn't. And it wouldn't be fair to your spouse or partner,
would it? Just like it wouldn't be fair to your father if I had
someone to serve like you have Connor, and I spent all my time away
from him.</em></p><p>Juniper touched his
shoulder. Rufus, feeling sick, glanced up at him, only to find the
Elder's eyes fixed on the sky.</p><p>"And now what's
happening?"</p><p>Rufus blinked and
turned back to the struggling sea of images, trying as best as he
could to ignore the voices.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>A longing to relax and
let the memory wrap him swept Harry. He <em>could</em> go back into the
egg, and then everything would be over. No one but Falco would ever
know it had been weakness that made him surrender, and not simply the
Dark Lord's overwhelming strength. He had the magic of the wild
Dark backing him now, making the web, a tool of compulsion, thicker
and stronger. No one would ever know what had happened. And Harry
himself would lose the memories, and never know he had been anything
different than what he was now.</p><p>He still wanted that
simple life. He still thought it would be easier, when he was
exhausted from a long day of making mistakes that other people would
never have made, to give in and let his training have its way.</p><p>He had told Draco that
some of his sacrificial instincts were never going away. That was
true. They were too deeply buried in him. He would always bear some
scars, would never be completely healed.</p><p>And it was those same
instincts that saved him now, sparking out like shards of broken bone
or eggshell from the sides of his mind, and slicing through the
strands of the web where they tried to come down.</p><p>Oh, yes, it would be
comfortable to surrender, but since when had comfort ever been a
priority of his, or something he needed?</p><p>And oh, yes, he would
be happy, since for him the world would never have changed from what
it was when he was a child, but what about Draco, Snape, Regulus,
Connor, Peter, all those who had learned to know and love him the way
he was? They would be devastated. He could not do that to them.</p><p>What would happen to
the sirens, and the vision of freedom he had promised them? What
would happen to the other magical creatures? Harry could not abandon
them, either. It was not something a true <em>vates</em> would do. For
the sake of others, he had to continue with the same degree of
freedom he had now.</p><p>He whirled through the
strands of the web, and cut it loose. A stray thought did whisper to
him as he watched it drift through his mind, a bit of displaced silk.</p><p><em>If there was a way
that I could still accomplish everything I need to do, but not feel
the </em>emotions…</p><p>And then he remembered
that, no, he needed the emotions, because Draco needed them from him.
And his affection was the only thing that seemed to get through to
Snape, not his rational arguments. Harry hissed and shook his head in
irritation. Yes, he had changed, and he was too adult to go back into
what he had been as a child, but it was still a shock, to be
confronted with <em>how much</em> he had changed.</p><p>He faced the sirens
again, and saw the siren queen drifting with her eyes fixed on him,
uncertain.</p><p><em>Bring it home now.</em></p><p>Harry channeled his
anger through the phoenix song, making what had begun as fury at his
own enslavement into fury at the mere <em>thought</em> of slavery, of
any creature and to any master. The sirens should swim free, out into
waves where they would never see the sight of a human being. They
should dive as deeply as they could, explore the secrets of the ocean
bottom that no one else would see. What lay in the water? Harry,
limited and trapped by his human body, could never know. The sirens
could.</p><p>And then the siren
queen's voice turned to align itself with his, like one fish of a
school swimming the same way as another. And then more and more
turned, and Harry felt the sirens in London and elsewhere face the
stream that was running to the sea. Turn, and turn, and <em>plunge</em>.
They would go home. No mere human could stop them, and no mere human
could command them.</p><p><em>Why would I want
to? </em>Harry replied, through the medium of the phoenix voice.</p><p>The siren queen
laughed at him, and said, <em>Because all wizards have that element of
desire to command, </em>and then plunged away before Harry could tell
her he did not. When he opened his eyes, the school was gone from the
lake in front of him, swimming into hidden tunnels in the bed and
sides, too small for any human to access, but which would carry them
ultimately to the ocean.</p><p>Harry's throat was
so sore he didn't think he could speak aloud for hours, and his
mind felt like stirred rubbish. He wanted to collapse. But instead he
turned to the Forbidden Forest and Falco, because that was what he
was supposed to do.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Falco felt the moment
when his trap failed, and he sighed, because, although he understood
the memories of Harry's childhood much more than he had when he
first faced his enemy, he did not understand the memories of Harry's
adulthood. Obviously, Harry had changed since his seventh year, and
the fleeting desires he felt to go back to what he had been were not
strong enough to overcome all the changes, bridge all the gaps and
lead him back.</p><p>He waited until Harry
was close enough to see him go, and then changed into his sea eagle
form. Harry tilted his head back to watch him lift. He did snap out a
few spells, but Falco's shields, of course, were firm and simply
deflected the magic. Falco was stronger than Harry was. <em>Strange,
that someone small and weak, in terms of Lords and Ladies in the
world, could cause such trouble.</em></p><p>Harry watched him with
the simple, uncompromising, piercing stare of a hawk.</p><p>Falco sighed again and
shook his head, turning for the distant skyline. He would face Harry
on Walpurgis, and he suspected he would be facing his own death.</p><p>But the Dark flew with
him now, a reservoir of untapped power, like a black companion eagle,
singing in his ears and whispering promises that things would be
different next time. Falco supposed he could do worse than listen.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Fire and song burst
back into the world again, so brilliant that Rufus had to cover his
eyes, and had the urge to cover his ears. So loud, so shining, so
insistent on freedom that for a moment he wanted to jump out his
office window—though it was false, enchanted to show any view he
wanted but not actually a window—and find his own waterway that
would lead to the sea.</p><p>When the song faded,
he lifted his hand to see that the Thames was free of sirens. There
were Muggles halted on the bridge, though, pointing to both the sky
and the river. Rufus shook his head. The Obliviators would be busy
tonight.</p><p>"So that's Harry
saving the world."</p><p>Rufus glanced at
Juniper. The Elder had sat back in his chair and looped his hands
together around his belly, his frown still directed at the place
where the image and the memory of Harry had gleamed.</p><p>"One way he does it,
yes," said Rufus. "Granted, this was a bit more public than
usual. When he went into the Department of Mysteries, I'm certain
that no Muggles saw him."</p><p>"I have never been
this close," said Juniper calmly, as if they were discussing some
neutral magical phenomenon. "It was—rather different from what I
expected. If what I suspect is true, though, young Harry had just
saved us from compulsion by sirens in more places than London."</p><p>Rufus nodded. "I
believe so, yes, Elder. If he had been in London, I don't think the
image would have been necessary. He could simply have sung on the
bank of the Thames, and that would have worked."</p><p>Juniper half-closed
his eyes. "It seems that some form of celebration is in order for
our phoenix-voiced young savior."</p><p>Rufus concealed a
chuckle. If Juniper thought to use Harry for a political purpose, he
would quickly find out how much of a subordinate Harry <em>refused</em>
to be.</p><p>But it might do the
magical world good to be reminded of what they owed Harry. Negative
articles had started appearing again, as the reporters recovered from
the shock of learning what wizards had done to house elves. Most of
them charged that Harry had done more stunts than actual, solid moves
for the public good. Dionysus Hornblower had decided that he was too
powerful this week, and those copies of the <em>Vox Populi</em> were
selling very well.</p><p>"Tell me what kind
of festival you had in mind," he told the Elder.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry glared at Falco
as the older wizard flew away. He was somewhat disappointed that he
hadn't been able to settle the contest here and now, but he didn't
think he could have. He had thrown more magic than he had thought
into that contest with the siren queen and the memory Falco had
summoned to torment him. His muscles trembled and ached, and his
throat felt as if someone had looped it with bands of hot iron.
Magical exhaustion stalked the edges of his vision, making it blur.</p><p>He still managed to
jump and whirl around when someone touched his shoulder, of course.</p><p>Draco stared at him
worriedly, before grabbing and crushing him in a hug. Harry braced
himself to be scolded. The barriers he had put around the Great Hall
must have fallen when he pulled all his strength into himself to
fight, but he had put them up in the first place. Draco wouldn't
have liked being separated from him.</p><p>"Are you all right?"
Draco whispered.</p><p>Wary—when would the
scolding appear?—Harry nodded against his shoulder. He touched his
throat and shook his head when Draco glanced at him expectantly.
Draco smiled. Harry had the impulse to take a step back from him.
<em>Where is the Draco who would yell at me?</em></p><p>"I'm not
surprised, with how much effort you put into the song," he
murmured, and kissed Harry's forehead. He glanced up as other
footsteps sounded outside the Forbidden Forest, then turned back to
Harry. "That was the most beautiful music I've ever heard," he
whispered.</p><p>Harry smiled,
uneasily.</p><p>Draco's arms
tightened around him, and his head came up like an antelope scenting
the wind—or a fox, Harry supposed. "And don't worry," he
said. "We <em>are</em> going to have that chance you talked about
showing me if I'd changed enough on the vernal equinox." His hand
caressed the back of Harry's neck. "It was a holiday, right?"</p><p>Harry nodded again.</p><p>"Good." Draco
rubbed his cheek against Harry's before he dragged him around to
face the rapidly approaching professors. "We deserve it, you and I,
after everything we've done in the past week."</p><p>With Draco standing
beside him, Harry thought, and sounding like that, he could believe
the holiday might actually happen.</p><p>Content in the
knowledge that he had someone else to fight for him, he leaned his
head on Draco's shoulder and waited for the inevitable crowd who
couldn't accept the idea that this was just something a <em>vates</em>
did.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 97*: Wound In Song and Crowned In Flowers</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Seven: Wound in Song and Crowned
in Flowers</strong></p><p>Draco felt hostile to
the whole world as he stood there with Harry in his arms. Well, at
least <em>potentially</em> hostile to the whole world. Anyone who would
try to take Harry away from him and insist that he make some speech
or answer questions counted.</p><p>He'd heard the
sirens' song less as music and more as a simple pull towards open
sky and open land and open water, at least until Harry had begun
singing back to them. Then he'd listened to the conversation
swaying back and forth, a thread of silvery argument countered by the
golden reason of the phoenix song. He'd not known he would be able
to follow it so well, or that the songs would twine around each other
in a tight net that tugged him on to the right conclusions. Harry was
persuading the sirens to leave, and they were going to leave, at
least if he could show them visions that charmed them enough to do
so.</p><p>Then he'd heard the
voices, the voices of Harry and his mother, overlaid on the
conversation as though they were standing in front of the lake where
the sirens sang.</p><p>It had been—a memory
Harry hadn't shared with him. Or he had and Draco had forgotten
about it. Either way, it had felt like the shock of hearing it for
the first time. It certainly explained some things that Draco had
often wondered about, including how Harry could be so bloody
reluctant to take a lover.</p><p>And it infuriated him
that so many people got to hear something so private about Harry,
almost as much as it did to look around the Great Hall and realize
how many of the expressions were ones of pity.</p><p>He'd raced everyone
else outside when the wards fell, to insure that he got to Harry
first. And now, as Harry leaned his head on his shoulder and briefly
succumbed to his nearness, Draco felt it had all been worth it.</p><p>The next moment,
though, McGonagall appeared in a gap of the trees, and Harry stood
straight and pulled away from Draco. Draco had to content himself
with running his hands over Harry's shoulder while the Headmistress
asked anxious questions about the presence of the sirens and the
safety of the school.</p><p>Harry wrote his answer
on the air in the same letters of fire that he'd used when he
refused to speak to Draco for two days. <em>The sirens came at Falco's
command. He's become a Dark Lord, and he was using the same
technique that Voldemort did to control them a few years ago. I drove
them away, but Falco escaped before I could do anything about him.</em></p><p>All stripped down,
Draco thought, very neat and simple. He wasn't surprised when the
Headmistress frowned and asked, "And what about the voices that we
heard, Harry? You and—" She glanced over her shoulder at the
curious students and professors appearing behind her. "Your
mother."</p><p>Harry's face turned
so pale that Draco grabbed his arm, afraid that he would faint on the
spot. He must not have realized other people could hear that, Draco
thought grimly. He would have wanted to keep it private, and now his
privacy was splattered across the air for everyone to see.</p><p>It made Draco dream of
seeking Falco out and possessing him, then forcing him to flay
himself. Surely that was possible. Making someone commit suicide with
possession was possible. So this ought to be.</p><p>Once again, though,
Harry refused to give in to whatever temporary weakness he might be
feeling. <em>That was a weapon Falco used against me, Headmistress.
Not intentional.</em></p><p>"He was trying to
make you become distracted and give him the upper hand in the
battle?" McGonagall asked, her eyes sympathetic.</p><p>Draco thought he was
the only one who noticed Harry's slight hesitation before his flesh
hand moved to trace the letters in the air. Well, Snape, who hovered
at McGonagall's shoulder and stared at Harry as if he were never
going to let him go again, and was only prevented by Harry's age
from picking him up and carrying him to bed, might have noticed, too.</p><p><em>Yes, Headmistress.</em></p><p>McGonagall sighed.
"Such are the ways of Dark Lords." She turned around and nodded
to the students behind her. "You are all quite safe, and the <em>vates</em>
is uninjured," she announced. "Back to your breakfasts, if you
please."</p><p>Of course, no one
pleased. They crowded around Harry, asking questions, staring in
fascination at his throat as if they couldn't believe that a song
so clean and spontaneous and pure had come welling out of it. Harry
endured it all, more polite than Draco could have been. It probably
helped that he couldn't speak, and his letters on the air only
answered one question at a time, so he could pretend to ignore those
he found too uncomfortable.</p><p>Snape made his way to
Harry's side as soon as possible, his hand falling heavily on
Harry's shoulder. Harry nodded to him and cleaved close. What the
Headmistress's sternness hadn't been able to accomplish, the
Potions Master's scowl did. Snape successfully won Harry free of
the crowd and led him inside.</p><p>Draco followed slowly,
thoughtfully, never letting Harry out of his sight, but thinking a
number of thoughts that were quite unusual for him. Harry would be
honored for this; even if no one else had seen the struggle or heard
the song, the children at Hogwarts would write to their parents.</p><p>Now, for the first
time, Draco thought he was seeing why Harry didn't want to be. He
had not looked triumphant when Draco came to fetch him, but simply
exhausted. For a few moments, at least, he had sagged as if he hurt,
as if his legs were unable to support him.</p><p><em>Perhaps, no matter
how great the achievement, having the celebration right after it
isn't a good idea.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry wanted to brood.</p><p>It wasn't—it
didn't hurt <em>that</em> much, to have a memory splayed across the
ears of those inside Hogwarts—and further away, for all he knew. He
could bear it. He could survive it. He had survived having people see
worse during the trial.</p><p>But he wanted an hour,
even just a few minutes, to curl himself up inside a little shell of
pain, and wrap the memories around a core that <em>he</em> understood,
that other people didn't dictate to him. The core wouldn't have
self-pity in it. It would have complete understanding. Because he was
the only person who completely understood himself, after all.</p><p>Just a few minutes
alone…</p><p>But it appeared he
wasn't to have that. First it was Snape remaining beside him as
they went back into the Great Hall, hovering until Harry sat down,
and then watching until he ate his first bite. Harry ducked his head,
a dull flush mantling his cheeks. He could understand the reason
Snape wanted to watch him—he had nearly vanished from life, in one
way—but surely all the people peering from the other tables and
watching him act paternal would embarrass him?</p><p>They didn't seem to.
Indeed, Snape leaned closer to him and said quietly, "See that you
do not forget you have a father here, if you wish to lean on him,"
before stalking back to the Head Table. And Harry <em>knew</em> that
Millicent, sitting on one side of him, and Draco, come to sit on the
other side, had heard.</p><p>Then it was Connor
coming over, to hug him and exclaim about his nearly having lost the
battle and how strange it had been, to feel his own limbs deadening
and turning inside out with fear and delight as he listened to Harry
and the sirens talk to each other. Harry returned the hug one-armed;
Draco was holding his other hand in something like a death grip.</p><p>Then it was Argutus,
come slithering over to demand to know why he'd been left out of
all the fun, and then it was a large gray owl, descending
magnificently towards the table, carrying an envelope with the
official Ministry seal. Harry ripped open the seal with his flesh
hand, leaving Draco to hold the silver, and scanned the letter that
lay inside somewhat desperately.</p><p><em>Dear Harry:</em></p><p><em>A great many people
saw your struggle with the sirens in the air over London. Though it
means that the Obliviators will be busy working amongst the Muggles,
it was an important reminder for our world of what we owe you. Will
you consent to having a small ceremony held in front of the Ministry
of Magic tomorrow, to honor your valiant sacrifice? We would not keep
you long, but it is important, we think, to reassure those who
watched that you managed to survive the battle without harm, and that
you remain in the wizarding world as a deterrent to threats, and the
champion of the magical creatures.</em></p><p><em>Sincerely,</em></p><p><em>Rufus Scrimgeour.</em></p><p>Draco took the letter
from him and read it when Harry offered it in silence. His voice was
soft and very pleased, thick as cream. "That's good news, Harry,
isn't it? You get to remind them of what's actually at stake, and
at the same time get a reward for your good behavior." He sniffed.
"Time that you actually had something of your own, I think, rather
than political concessions that any right-thinking wizard should have
granted immediately."</p><p>Harry managed to
smile. <em>It wasn't so long ago that you were opposed to some of
those political concessions</em>, he teased. He kept the letters
small, so that Draco was the only one who could see all of them. <em>Does
that mean you've changed your mind? Or was Draco Malfoy one of
those wizards who miraculously remain right, no matter which side
they're on?</em></p><p>Draco had the grace to
look embarrassed. Then he put his nose up and said, "This is the
Draco Malfoy who's your lover, Harry, and very proud of you." He
leaned closer, so that his nose ruffled Harry's hair, and
whispered, "And who's making sure we <em>will</em> still have that
holiday."</p><p>Harry shot him a
grateful look. Draco, occupied in reading the letter over again,
didn't notice. Then he sat back and started offering suggestions
for what Harry should write in his return letter, only half of which,
if any, Harry actually felt compelled to use.</p><p>He complained silently
to himself in his head, then took a deep breath and started writing.
So he wouldn't get time to brood. That didn't matter. The day had
to go on, and he was sure that he would be stared at in classes and
the corridors. Well, why not? He'd done a great thing, hadn't he?</p><p>The notion that he
hadn't remained in the middle of him, gnawing. And gnawed, and
gnawed, and gnawed, all the way through Potions while Snape's eyes
rested on him, through Defense Against the Dark Arts where people
craned their necks back to give him awed and excited looks, through
Transfiguration where some of the Ravenclaws who'd once made plans
to track him with a special spell seemed poised to take notes on
which miracles could come out of his hands.</p><p><em>I didn't do it to
impress anyone, </em>Harry thought, when he heard someone whisper
something about that, snickering. He thought it was one of the
seventh-year Slytherins. Of course, they had a right to be less than
impressed with him, since they lived in the same common room with him
and saw him trip over chair legs and slump asleep on the couches with
a train of drool running down his face. But, likewise, they should
have known him well enough by now to realize he would never do
something like this as a—as a—</p><p>As a Gilderoy Lockhart
stunt, really.</p><p><em>I just did it
because I had to. And that's it. People are heroes all the time
because they have to be, and no one gives them festivals for it, or
stares at them in the Hogwarts corridors and whispers behind their
hands.</em></p><p><em>I'm sick of it. I
wish it would go away.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Thank you for
coming here today, Harry." Scrimgeour was using a <em>Sonorus</em>
charm, so that the rest of the crowd who spilled, shoving and
pushing, into the narrow little alleyway could hear him. "This
festival in your honor is a small thing, the least of what you should
have, but we wished to see you honored as close as possible to the
day of the actual battle. It would not do for us to forget."</p><p><em>I wish you had,
</em>Harry thought. He simply nodded; it was still hard for him to
talk. That appeared to be enough to content the crowd, which
applauded and cheered wildly. They were in the same place where Harry
had held his press conference last Midwinter, to warn everyone in the
wizarding world that the wild Dark was attacking. It was extensively
warded against Muggles seeing anything, and an image of them floated
above the alley, showing, like the <em>Sonorus</em> charm, what
happened for those who stood near the back. Harry didn't think his
face had stopped flaming since he arrived.</p><p>"A small festival"
still meant the Ministry did stupid things. There were reporters
everywhere, most of them calling out excitedly for the smallest quote
from Harry, and with cameras snapping in his face every time he
forgot himself and glanced to one side. Garlands of flowers,
magically forced into blooming early—or actually brought from other
countries, for all Harry knew—lapped the posts and railings of the
small platform Scrimgeour had constructed, and an Auror had come
forward with another crown for Harry the moment he joined the
Minister. Harry had to restrain the urge to rip it off and throw it
into the crowd. They were blue flowers, with long thorns that seemed
in danger of poking him in the eye whenever he moved.</p><p>Draco stood beside him
on the platform, his arms looped together around Harry's waist, his
face deeply content. Snape was just behind him, armed with a scowl
that kept most of the reporters from trying to photograph him. Harry
had wanted Connor to come with them, too, but his brother had
refused, saying he'd had enough of celebrations in his name to last
him a lifetime. The only ones he wanted now were the parties that
came after he'd won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor.</p><p>Besides Scrimgeour, a
few members of the Wizengamot were on the platform: Griselda
Marchbanks, looking stiffly proud, and Elder Juniper, a man Harry
hadn't met before. He said little, but from the long and keen looks
that he directed at his face, Harry suspected he was a good
politician. The Minister had said, with a small shrug when Harry
asked him, that the festival had been mostly Juniper's idea, but he
had agreed with it because he thought the wizarding world should be
reminded of what they owed Harry.</p><p><em>What they owe me</em>,
Harry thought, as he gloomily surveyed the cheering crowd, most of
whom probably saw no more than a blurry image, <em>is an hour to let
me rest by myself and just think.</em></p><p>It hadn't happened
yesterday. Draco hadn't left him alone all day, including falling
asleep in his arms with a smile that seemed to have permanently
marked his lips. Harry had thought he would lie awake and do his
brooding, but his magical exhaustion—which he refused to go see
Madam Pomfrey for, in the only battle he won that day—and the
warmth of Draco so close had sent him spiraling into sleep far sooner
than he'd meant to go. And then he'd awakened today and had to
come to the Ministry for this <em>stupid</em> ceremony.</p><p>The Many snake, looped
around his throat because Harry had felt like bringing her, stirred,
reflecting his agitation. Harry wished he could raise a hand to touch
her without attracting instant attention; as it was, he hissed softly
to her under the cheering, calming her down. Parseltongue didn't
hurt his throat as much as English still did. He felt her coils
slowly shift into a state of relaxation, and the soft flick as her
hood and tongue worked to touch his throat.</p><p>"Your fame as a
<em>vates</em>," Scrimgeour said, when the applause had died down
enough that people could hear him, "has justifiably won you the
nods of the righteous before now, but the regard of the relatively
few." Harry didn't miss the glance he sent sideways at Juniper
when he said that last, and filed it away for future reference. "And
yet, you have freed the southern goblins, freed the northern goblins,
freed the centaur herd of the Forbidden Forest, freed the unicorn
herd of the Forbidden Forest, released a Many hive from its web,
freed the Dementors, survived two flights with dragons, negotiated a
settlement for the werewolves so that they might begin to enjoy the
same rights as wizards, and freed a house elf who was then able to
show the rest of us how we have gone wrong. That is an impressive
toll of achievement for a task begun—how long ago now, <em>vates</em>?"
He turned courteously towards Harry and waited.</p><p>Harry held up three
fingers. His throat still burned like hot iron when he spoke.
Swallowing made it only slightly better. But then, luckily, he wasn't
required to make some sort of speech at this mad ceremony.</p><p>He wondered for a
moment why Scrimgeour hadn't just summarized his accomplishments as
<em>vates</em>, something along the line of "freed many species."
Then he grimaced in resignation. That wouldn't have fulfilled
Scrimgeour's purpose, which was to remind the people watching and
listening, the people who loved him right now, exactly how much he'd
done and gone unacknowledged for. But still, Harry thought, nearly
rubbing his forehead with one hand before he realized how such a
gesture would be interpreted and stopped, he could have lumped a few
of them together. The centaurs and the unicorns and the Many hive and
the Runespoors, which not many people knew about, had all lived in
the Forbidden Forest. He could have made just one pithy statement
about that, and been done with it.</p><p>Merlin, his head hurt.</p><p>"Three years,"
said Scrimgeour, his voice proud and ringing. "How many of us could
have done so much in three years, even if we thought to begin
respecting the rights of magical creatures in the first place?"
More applause, of a kind which made Harry's teeth ache. "And now
you have the sirens to add to that list, Harry. Truly, a most
impressive accomplishment. Wizarding Britain would still be much more
a country of slaves than it is if not for you."</p><p>He paused for some
remark from Harry. And perhaps Harry could even have forced one out.
He should have said something about how Britain would still be a
country of slaves until Muggleborns were free and enjoyed equal
rights, perhaps, or until all house elves were free of their webs, or
until someone could walk down the street and not receive sidelong
stares—an allusion to Jacinth, and the other children who might be
like her, and a way to begin building support for them.</p><p>Perhaps it was just as
well that he didn't say that last, he thought, as he met
Scrimgeour's eyes, given the volatile relationship he had with the
press, and his dislike of being stared at for becoming Voldemort's
magical heir, never mind everything that had happened since then.</p><p>"You have saved my
own life several times over," Scrimgeour said, evidently deciding
Harry would not respond. <em>I love my sore throat, </em>Harry thought
sardonically. <em>It saves me all the trouble of coming up with an
excuse not to say something. </em>"And the lives of so many here. I
do not know how many were on the verge of jumping into the Thames
when the sirens sang—"</p><p>Embarrassed laughter
welled up from the crowd.</p><p>"But I can testify
that I was in tears when the phoenix song sounded." Scrimgeour
inclined his head to Harry, his face gone grave and respectful. Harry
knew he should admire the man's political instincts that let him
travel from a matter of laughter to a matter for sorrow so quickly.
He just wished he would stop talking and go away, though. "That is
another thing we should not forget, <em>vates</em>, that you saved us
from the wild Dark and that a phoenix loved you enough to give up his
life for you. We heard your voice once, on the morning when the
rebellion ended and we were able to give werewolves something like
the rights they needed." Juniper snorted, and Harry thought he knew
which issue the Elder and the Minister parted company over. "To
hear it again is a gift for our time, an unearned reward."</p><p>Harry just nodded,
while his face flamed so hot that it felt as if he were getting a
fever. <em>Does he have to keep doing this? I don't want people
staring at me. There are other things to stare at, genuine wonders
like phoenixes and sirens that share the world with you and which you
never look at. And Fawkes didn't die because he loved me. He died
because, without his death, the wild Dark would have taken me and
taken the world. That's heroism. Sacrifice. Not just another part
of my story.</em></p><p>"Given all this, and
the other things you have done for us, including your victories in
the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we see fit to present you
with a small token of the Ministry's appreciation." Scrimgeour
smiled slightly. Harry was sure that many would take that smile as
ironic. This close, he could see the deep sadness in the Minister's
eyes, and he suspected that his next words were true. "It is all
that we can give, other than our hands and our minds, to support the
same cause that you have supported, and truly, though the hands and
minds come closer to making up our debt, neither is enough."</p><p>Harry closed his eyes.
His head was spinning, and he felt nauseated. <em>Merlin damn you,
Scrimgeour, you've done more than enough. You've used all the
power of your office for my sake, and taken risks that you shouldn't
have taken if you wanted to remain a popular Minister. Why do you
have to do this, too? It's not right, and it's not fair.</em></p><p>"The Order of
Merlin," Scrimgeour continued. "Elder Juniper has asked to be the
one who presents it to you, and I can only agree to his request."</p><p>Harry snapped his eyes
open. <em>No.</em></p><p>The Order of Merlin
was mostly reserved for those who did valiant deeds in war; it had
been awarded posthumously to several members of the Order of the
Phoenix, including Gideon and Fabian Prewett, after the First War. It
could also serve as a reward when an ordinary citizen did something
heroic, like capturing a fugitive, in a way that went above and
beyond the call of duty.</p><p>Harry hadn't done
anything like that. He'd freed the sirens, for <em>their</em> sake
and not the sake of the wizarding community, and he had suffered
through a memory he hadn't been anxious to relive, since it would
remind the entire wizarding world he was an abused child. And he
hadn't managed to defeat or capture Falco, which would have turned
yesterday into a real victory.</p><p>He made brightly
colored letters appear in the air in front of Scrimgeour, shining
like lightning. <em>With all due respect, Minister, I can't accept
this.</em></p><p>Scrimgeour frowned
slightly. "Why not, Harry?"</p><p><em>I haven't done
enough to merit it.</em></p><p>Draco gave him a
little shake, and hissed in his ear, "Harry!" Snape moved a
stride forward, but Harry couldn't turn to see his face and didn't
know what he was thinking. Griselda and Juniper frowned. But Harry's
eyes were locked on the Minister, whose face was thoughtful, but
melting into a gentle smile.</p><p>"I assure you,
Harry," he said, "that you have." And he nodded to Juniper, who
moved forward to pin the medal on him.</p><p>Harry looked straight
into the Elder's eyes. It didn't take Legilimency to read the
emotions there. Juniper felt sorry for him, and that, along with the
desire to see what kind of political opponent Harry made, was what
had caused him to come on the platform and award the Order of Merlin.</p><p>It was too much. Harry
felt his self-control break and fall in pieces like rotten wood. He
drew back with a long hiss, and the Many snake reared around his
throat and swayed threateningly towards Elder Juniper. Thanks to the
image duplicating them in the sky, many saw that.</p><p>"<em>Harry!</em>"
Draco gasped.</p><p>Juniper stepped back
out of harm's reach, but his face had gone guarded, his eyes dark.
Harry was viciously glad that he had at least lost the traces of pity
he had shown.</p><p>"Harry, what is the
meaning of this?" Scrimgeour said, and his voice was gentle,
disappointed, and far too understanding.</p><p>They would not
understand his real reasons, none of them. And he'd already
disappointed everyone and ruined an important political moment that,
Draco would say, could have been used to do other people a world of
good. So no one should much mind if he did something even more
offensive.</p><p>Harry shoved Draco's
arms away from him, calmed the Many snake with a tiny hiss, and
Disapparated.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco didn't have to
ask where Harry was. While everyone else on the platform acted as if
Harry's disappearance was the work of Voldemort, he knew. When the
Minister had, in embarrassment, to cancel the festival and have Elder
Juniper take the Order of Merlin away—he had seemed deaf to Draco's
promise to hold onto it for Harry—he stood there in silence,
feeling his anger build, because he knew. And when Snape took him
back to Hogwarts and went to search the dungeons, Draco went directly
to the Slytherin common room and climbed the stairs to their bedroom,
because he knew.</p><p>Disappointment and
anger struggled in him, but the anger was steadily winning. <em>Why
couldn't he just accept this? Those feelings of unworthiness and
embarrassment could have been suppressed just a little longer. He
deserves those honors, and more, and even if he doesn't think he
does, then he could let </em>us<em> think he does, and give them to
him. And having his Many snake attack a Wizengamot Elder!</em></p><p>He wasn't sure if
Harry had gone a bit mad, or simply couldn't stand the thought of a
medal—which would count as a bit mad, in Draco's opinion—but
the simple truth of this was that Harry had set back his political
relationships. Draco had ears, and he could listen to what the crowd
was murmuring behind him before they Apparated, and what Juniper had
said to Scrimgeour before they left the platform. A few were shocked
at Harry's attitude. Many more were prepared to think him
ungrateful, or pitied him because he was an abused child and they
supposed the reminder might have been too much for him.</p><p>All that Draco could
think, as he opened the unlocked, unwarded door and stepped inside,
was that Harry had better have a <em>damn</em> good explanation for
this.</p><p>He
paused when he entered. A large, dark shape that looked something
like a beehive, but hummed with magic, occupied the bed. Draco gave
it a sharp glare. At last he worked out it was a layered cocoon of
wards, and that Harry was inside it. Probably brooding, he thought,
or building himself up to an unreasonable rage.</p><p>On the table near the
door sat a Pensieve. Draco walked slowly towards it. It was the
Pensieve Harry had given him for Christmas, filled with memories that
let him understand Harry's mindset at the time they were happening.
Draco hadn't worked through all of them. He always rejoiced when he
finally understood something strange Harry had done or said, but too
many of the memories made him sick with rage and hatred to view more
than two or three an afternoon.</p><p>The silver liquid in
the Pensieve trembled now above the brim, as though something new had
been added. Draco knew the exact usual level of the liquid. He'd
stared at it often enough, lying awake in the morning with Harry in
his arms, the only time he got to watch Harry sleeping without Harry
knowing he was doing it.</p><p>He cast one more
glance at the beehive, and verified he wasn't getting in without
suddenly turning into a Lord-level wizard. He reached out and plunged
his head into the liquid of the Pensieve.</p><p>The world turned
around, and then he was standing on the platform and watching Harry
listen to Scrimgeour's speech.</p><p>This time, though, he
could hear and experience Harry's thoughts.</p><p>Draco stared. Harry's
thoughts were angry, irritated, and resentful, but almost none of
them had to do with feeling himself unworthy of the Order of Merlin.
Most of them came from not having had enough time to put his head to
rights as regarded the memory Falco had shown the rest of the world.
No one had left him alone long enough for him to do it.</p><p><em>Oh, Harry, </em>Draco
thought, as he watched Harry's agitation climb and climb, until the
moment came when the Order of Merlin was offered and Harry <em>did</em>
turn into the paths of thinking that common heroism happened all the
time and wasn't acknowledged, so he didn't see why his should be.
<em>If you didn't want to go to the festival, you should have said
so. Scrimgeour would have accepted it, I'm sure. And if he hadn't,
then never mind. Why didn't you say so?</em></p><p>He knew the answer
almost at once, of course, because this memory enveloped him in
Harry's point-of-view. Harry knew it was a political
bridge-building opportunity, and he didn't feel able to refuse it.
And he understood Scrimgeour's purposes, and viewed the Minister as
an ally. If it made him uncomfortable and embarrassed, that was a
small price to pay for earning visibility and notoriety that might
benefit the house elves' cause, or someone else's cause, at some
point in the future.</p><p>Except that, this
time, it had been too high a price. Harry had needed more time to
hide and brood alone—though Draco wished he did not think he had to
work through his thoughts about the memory alone—and this time his
temper had splintered before the demands made on it. He hadn't
thought of the fact that he was a Lord-level wizard, and could keep
others waiting on his pleasure, if he desired it. No one would
object. They might be angry or frustrated, but they would remember
Harry's magic and what he had done for them, and calm down.</p><p><em>He does hate
disappointing people.</em></p><p>Draco pushed a little
further at the memory, wondering if Harry hadn't slept well last
night, and that was the cause of his tiredness. He smiled a bit when
he realized his own presence had lulled Harry to sleep long before he
was ready.</p><p>No, he realized a
moment later. Falco had used the memory as a web, trying to coax
Harry into surrendering to it, and Harry had yearned to do so. And
the guilt and the discomfort of that were mixed up with his efforts
to find some sort of peace with the fact that now most of the British
wizarding world knew about his old determination not to have a family
or a spouse.</p><p><em>Shit.</em></p><p>And he hadn't told
them about that, of course, because—</p><p>Because he was <em>Harry.</em></p><p>Draco came slowly out
of the memory, shaking his head, two resolves like iron blades in his
mind. One was that he couldn't be angry with Harry, because Harry
needed him too much for things like watching his back in a political
situation. Draco kept priding himself on his perception and his
keener instincts for what Harry could do, did he? Then he should have
been able to realize Harry's mounting anger was more a result of
emotional exhaustion than simple discomfort with the notion of being
celebrated, and insisted that everyone wait a day.</p><p>The second was that
they <em>both</em> needed that holiday, and he was going to make sure
Harry took it.</p><p>He looked over at the
bed just as the wards collapsed into each other and Harry came out,
shaking his head like a cat rising from water. His expression was
calmer than it had been since Draco first saw him after the siren
battle. He'd brooded, then, and confronted his pain, and probably
tucked it into some private corner.</p><p>He
faced Draco, and waited. It took Draco a moment to realize he was
waiting for a scolding.</p><p><em>How he thinks I
could, after having seen that memory—</em></p><p>But perhaps Harry
hadn't expected him to check the Pensieve.</p><p>He moved forward,
wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and kissing him softly. Harry
lifted both his arms in self-defense and made a low, confused sound
in his throat, which he grimaced about a moment later.</p><p>"Your throat still
sore?" Draco asked quietly.</p><p>Harry, head on one
side as if wondering what the trick was, nodded.</p><p>"Then you should go
to Madam Pomfrey," said Draco, slinging an arm around his shoulder
and tugging him to his feet. "And after that, we'll go to the
Headmistress. I'll do the talking, if you like."</p><p>Harry sighed
noiselessly, and the letters appeared on the air. <em>About the
festival I ran away from?</em></p><p>"About our holiday,"
said Draco. "Both of us need it, you as much as me, and I won't
let it be put off any longer."</p><p>Harry actually
stumbled for a moment. Then he glanced sideways, a glance that turned
into a full-on stare, and new letters appeared, erasing the old.
<em>You're not angry at me?</em></p><p>"Not when you share
like that," Draco said, with a nod to the Pensieve, and caught
Harry's eye. "Not when you trust me so much, the way that you
would never have trusted me just a year ago."</p><p>Harry, still hesitant,
still looking as if he believed this new situation would reverse at
any moment, put his arms around Draco. They stood there like that for
a moment, breathing.</p><p>Draco kissed the top
of Harry's head, and glared at the wall, imagining any enemy who
might try to stop them from vanishing together for a few days. <em>He
needs me just as much as I need him.</em></p><p><em>Anyone who tries to
get to him this weekend is going to have to pass through not just his
wards, but every trick I can put in place.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 98*: Interlude: The Liberator's Eighth Letter</h2>
			<p><strong>Interlude: The Liberator's Eighth Letter</strong></p><p><em>March 23rd, 1997</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister Scrimgeour:</em></p><p>Though you have probably already heard this, Falco Parkinson has Declared for the Dark.</p><p>I do not think he has any real idea of what he is doing. My dreams come clearer and clearer to me now, and in them he has the most ridiculous pitying look on his face as he listens to the instruction of the Dark. (I think he would have been happier to be a Light Lord, but he seems hardly likely to listen to me). He believes it will not catch him in the end. He thinks he is smarter than it is because he has fooled it for six hundred years. He does not dream of its delayed vengeance—</p><p>My pardons, Minister, for the long scratch of ink across the parchment at this point. My mother came in and grasped my wrist, pulling me to my feet, and stained the letter. Luckily, she did not look down to see what I was writing. I have made sure to write bad poetry on plenty of occasions, so my parents think now that that is what I write all the time.</p><p>She called me a fool, hissing it at me, close to my ear. I trembled, for I did not know what I had done wrong. As it turned out, she was angry about something my elder sister had done—or perhaps Harry. The rages burn and blend in her until I cannot tell their source. I can only tell that I am their most frequent target.</p><p>She nearly broke my wrist before she let me go.</p><p>I need to leave this house.</p><p>I still do not (quite) dare tell you where I am or who I am, Minister. My father knows when a letter leaves the house or enters it with his name in it, even anagrams of his name. And I still—perhaps it is unworthy of me, considering all they have done, but I would like to leave my family with an intact reputation if at all possible. They have done a great deal of <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>talking</span> about aiding Falco Parkinson, but they have not actually <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>accomplished</span> anything. They are harmless.</p><p>Except to me.</p><p>But, to finish with my chatter about Falco Parkinson. He does not dream the Dark might take delayed vengeance. He <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>does</span> plan to attack on Walpurgis, when the power of the wild Dark is at its height. Insofar as that falls out, he is intelligent.</p><p>I do not think he can win. But if my warning might make the battle easier for Harry or spare a life, then I will send it.</p><p>My growth is diminished and haunted here, and I am a shell of the person I could be, I should be. Harry's visions of freedom have inspired my own. In the end, I think, I must leave this house and take my chances in an outside world where I have no friends, no shelter to call my own—</p><p>And I inflict this on you in what is not meant to be a personal letter, Minister. My apologies.</p><p>Yours,</p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 99*: Three Hours</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter
Seventy-Eight: Three Hours</strong></p><p>"Why on earth you
didn't come to me immediately, young man, I will never know…"</p><p>Harry half-closed his
eyes, taking comfort in the way Madam Pomfrey bustled around him,
looking up the spells and fetching the potion she would need to
soothe his throat. She'd told him bluntly that his magical
exhaustion from yesterday had combined with the ache in his throat
from singing, and that was the reason he felt as if he were being
stabbed with hot wires every time he tried to speak. It would take
magical means to heal it, unless Harry wanted to go without speaking
for two weeks or more, to give the magical part of his fatigue time
to fade.</p><p>Harry hadn't thought
that would be so bad, but Draco's gaze, even and keen and piercing,
had kept him from admitting anything of the kind.</p><p>But Draco had ducked
out now, with a murmur about using the loo, and Madam Pomfrey talked
to Harry exactly as she would have talked to any other student who
had taken a reckless risk with his health—half-angry and
half-worried, muttering under her breath as she flipped pages and
practiced incantations, or uttered a small "Ah!" when she
realized she remembered the spell. There was no different, special
treatment for him because of who he was. He was simply Harry, a
rather stubborn and awkward boy who insisted on making his life more
stubborn and awkward.</p><p>"Here you are,
Harry."</p><p>She held out a vial of
green potion to him, soothing in both color and smell. Harry
recognized it as the Moly Draught, created to heal internal spell
damage. He swallowed obediently, and sighed; though the taste was
nothing to brag about, the sheer thickness and coolness of the liquid
helped.</p><p>"Now lie back and
lie still," Madam Pomfrey directed, and Harry reclined against the
pillows. He listened to the incantations she cast, and recognized the
purpose of most of them from his mad dash through medical magic last
year. Spells for the easing of pain, for the rooting out of magical
fatigue, and to break the unfortunate bond between the purely
physical ache and the less tangible damage to his magical core, which
together could cause more trouble than either on its own.</p><p>Slowly, the fire
seemed to run back up his throat and spill out his mouth. Harry
half-slitted his eyes, thinking he should be able to watch it do so,
but of course, other than a faint tracery of magic, there was nothing
to see.</p><p>Madam Pomfrey murmured
the final spell, and gave him a stern look. "As little talking as
possible for the next week," she said. "Absolutely <em>no</em>
singing. You used so much magic that your magical core stretched a
bit, to accommodate the phoenix song, and imprinted unfortunate
patterns in regards to it. Now, if you start singing, it'll think
that this exhaustion is what's <em>supposed</em> to happen and reach
for it. Keep silent on the phoenix front, do you understand?" Her
lips twitched, but Harry had no doubt from her eyes that she was
serious.</p><p>Harry nodded and tried
to look penitent. The matron nodded back and held out a vial of the
Moly Draught.</p><p>"Keep this by you
and take three sips every morning and evening until it's gone,"
she said. "No attempts to improve it, either."</p><p>Harry worked to keep
the look of resentment off his face—he'd only tried to improve
the medicine Madam Pomfrey gave him once, after a Potions lesson on
how adding normally volatile ingredients to a thick base could make
it taste sweeter—and hopped off the bed. As he made his way to the
door of the hospital wing, he could feel Madam Pomfrey's eyes on
his back, both tender and exasperated.</p><p><em>At least she treats
me normally. At least she doesn't think the world's ended because
I'm the one in pain.</em></p><p>He stuck his head out
the doors of the hospital wing and glanced up and down the corridor.
<em>Draco is taking a long time in the loo.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco was not actually
in the loo, but he had raced into it to relieve himself before he
went to do the rest of his tasks, so he did not consider it lying.</p><p>He'd contacted
Professor Snape with the phoenix song spell first, and told him, as
simply and directly as he could, what had happened to Harry and why
he'd run away from the ceremony. Snape had listened in silence, and
agreed without pause to Draco's suggestion that he and Harry take a
holiday, and not take too long about it, either, in case someone
delayed Harry out of sheer good will—or Harry decided to delay
himself because he couldn't just go away like that.</p><p>Then Draco spoke to
the Headmistress. She was more reserved, but when Draco related the
tale of what had happened at the ceremony to award the Order of
Merlin, she sighed.</p><p>"I suspect Mr.
Pott—that is, our <em>vates</em> does need surroundings Hogwarts
cannot provide him," she murmured. "You may leave for the
weekend, Mr. Malfoy, with the understanding that you are to make up
your schoolwork, and that you are <em>not</em> to trade my indulgence
for special favors in the future. Is that clear?"</p><p>"Yes, Headmistress,"
Draco said submissively, and fought to keep from snorting. <em>Of
course it's clear. Does she really think I'm stupid enough to let
her find out I'm skiving off, even if I were?</em></p><p>The next thing he did
was settle down with a piece of parchment, ink, and a quill, and
compose a letter. He didn't think Harry would let him send it. It
could serve as a model of the one he thought Harry should write,
though.</p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour:</em></p><p><em>This is a formal
apology for the scene I made on exiting the award ceremony this
afternoon. I beg your indulgence, as I was suddenly overcome by
emotions built up from the duel with the sirens, and afraid of
causing more harm if I remained. Circumstances similar to the trial
of my parents applied, as you yourself were able to see when Falco
displayed one of my memories. I will be out of reach for the next few
days, but I did wish to send this owl and explain my side of the
story.</em></p><p>Draco thought for a
moment, then added below that, <em>I will be happy to accept the Order
of Merlin in private, and offer a likewise private apology to Elder
Juniper of the Wizengamot.</em> Harry would hate that, but Draco
thought it was necessary after the debacle Harry had made at the
ceremony. For one thing, he didn't want to make a political enemy
of Juniper, whom Draco was hearing more and more about lately.</p><p>He indulged himself
completely by signing the letter <em>Harry Malfoy</em>, and then turned
it around to admire it.</p><p>Harry opened the door
of their bedroom just then, at the same moment as red letters sprang
to life in front of Draco. <em>There you are, Draco. What are you
doing?</em></p><p>Draco turned around
and fixed a stern eye on Harry. He was, potentially, caught off-guard
and doing something he should be ashamed of, writing Harry's
political correspondence for him. But he was only that way if he
allowed himself to be. What he <em>wanted</em> to be, what he would be,
was completely in control of the situation and assuring that Harry
got his holiday whether he wanted it right now or not. "Giving you
an example to follow," he said, and held the letter out.</p><p>Harry read it. Draco
knew the exact moment when he reached the part about the Order of
Merlin; his brow, clear until that point, furrowed, and he jerked his
head up with a soundless hiss.</p><p>"You have to,"
Draco said insistently, leaning forward, never relinquishing Harry's
gaze. "I understand your memory, Harry, but part of the reason you
reacted so strongly was that you hadn't had time to let your
emotions go. Now you have. And now's your chance to prove that your
thoughts about your unwillingness to take the reward really are just
remnants of your training, which you can overcome with some thought.
Unless they aren't, of course," he added, sharpening his voice to
a needle. "And then I think we'll need to talk, and include Snape
and Joseph in the conversation."</p><p>Harry glanced away
from him.</p><p>"You deserve it,"
Draco continued remorselessly. "You <em>do</em>, Harry." He saw
Harry's face start flaming as it had at the ceremony; this time, he
hoped, only embarrassment was behind the blush, and not anger. "If
you try to convince me you don't, you'll have to explain why."</p><p><em>You know why.</em></p><p>"Temporary feelings
of unworthiness, yes. And since they were temporary, they're gone
now," said Draco. It wasn't an easy thing, to ignore Harry's
glare, but since it needed to be done, he did it.</p><p><em>I don't like it.</em></p><p>"Now you sound like
you're whining."</p><p><em>Writing doesn't
have a sound.</em></p><p>"Splitting hairs,
Harry?" It wasn't so hard to hold his gaze, now. Harry was wrong
and he knew it. Draco liked arguing with people in that state. He
stood up and took a step forward. "This is unworthy of you, all of
it—both blaming your training when we all know it's just modesty,
and then acting like a sulky child. You're an adult, Harry, and
part of being an adult means owning up to your actions. You don't
just get to shoulder all the delicious guilt and leave the praise
behind. Accept it, now."</p><p>Harry clenched his
flesh hand around the silver one, and a brief wind of magic rippled
the bedcurtains. Draco didn't back down. He knew—had known since
the Presence of War, if not before that—that Harry would never hurt
him.</p><p>At last, Harry's
fingers loosened, letting the parchment drift free. He sighed and
glared at Draco. <em>All right. But I'm going to write the letter.
And I'm not signing myself with a last name.</em></p><p>Draco smirked. He did
think he'd manage to change Harry's mind on that, someday, too,
but that was for the future. He'd wanted two victories today. One
was making Harry accept the Order of Merlin.</p><p>The second was now.</p><p>"I'd hurry and
write it if I were you," he told Harry casually. "Since we're
leaving for our holiday three hours from now, and you'll need to
accomplish everything you want to between now and then."</p><p>Harry stepped back
from him with a speed that was comic, and his writing turned yellow
and acquired several exclamation marks. Then he shook his head, and
new letters appeared. <em>Three hours isn't enough time, Draco.</em></p><p>"Make it be."</p><p>Harry frowned.</p><p>"You did say that
you wanted to spend the holiday with me." Draco took a step
forward, and ideas flashed past him more rapidly, lending him an air
of the same kind he'd had when he confronted Lucius. Though he
hadn't thought about it before, he <em>knew</em> where Harry would
have taken him; suspicions coalesced too rapidly into certainty for
him to trace the path. "At Cobley-by-the-Sea."</p><p><em>How did you know
that?</em></p><p>Harry's eyes were
gratifyingly wide, and Draco gave a casual shrug. "Never you mind.
The point is, you wanted to go. Are you changing your mind now?"</p><p><em>No. That is.</em>
Harry stopped his writing as though he had to consider, hard, what he
was about to say. That didn't bother Draco. It only ate into
Harry's time, after all, and not anything else. He leaned back
against the desk, folded his arms, and gave Harry a stare that grew
longer as he waited.</p><p><em>I didn't expect
such a short length of time, </em>Harry said at last. <em>The
werewolves aren't in Cobley-by-the-Sea any more, since they've
chosen a new pack leader and gone either to Woodhouse or back into
wizarding society—</em></p><p>"They chose a new
pack leader?" Draco hated the surprise dripping from his voice,
since this was a situation where he'd wanted to remain completely
in control, but he had shown it, and now there was no way of taking
it back.</p><p>Harry raised his
eyebrows at him. <em>Yes. Camellia finally admitted that they needed
more of me than I can give them. She offered to bite me, but I
couldn't do that, especially not to Snape. So they chose her as
leader, and though they're still welcome in the Black houses for
sanctuary if they need them, they're living elsewhere. I think that
relieves Regulus, </em>Harry added, with a slight smile on his face.
<em>He thought constantly of all the treasures and traps in the houses
that could stab anyone who's not actually linked to the legacy of
his family.</em></p><p>"You didn't tell
me about the pack," Draco said.</p><p><em>I was sure I had.
</em>Harry shrugged. <em>Sorry?</em></p><p>That was another thing
that would have to change, Draco thought determinedly. If he was
going to spend as much time and devotion on Harry as he wanted, he
would demand equal time and devotion, and push Harry for it, until
sharing things Draco wanted to hear became second nature. Certainly
the fact that he'd left that memory of this afternoon in the
Pensieve was a step in the right direction. Draco could coax Harry
further, could make him see that he <em>wanted</em> to let Draco in.</p><p>This holiday would be
the perfect chance to do that.</p><p>"So we're going to
Cobley-by-the-Sea," Draco said. "And no one else is going to
disturb us there, so you should tell your brother farewell, and write
the letter to Scrimgeour. I'm not sure what else you need to do,
but you should do it." He waved his wand, murmuring, "<em>Pack</em>,"
and his own clothes and treasures began to jump obediently into his
trunk.</p><p><em>It's too short,
</em>Harry said, sliding the letters like an envelope under Draco's
nose so that he couldn't pretend not to see them. <em>Give me a
little more time.</em></p><p>Draco looked up at
him, and smiled pleasantly. "No," he said. "Both Snape and the
Headmistress already know, and you have their permission. Besides,
you don't have the best record of making decisions today. I want to
go on holiday, and I've already arranged matters. So there," he
added.</p><p>Harry's face
darkened. <em>You're a spoiled brat with no sense of shame.</em></p><p>"And at a time like
this, how fine a thing that is," Draco drawled, while he gathered
up their blankets with another wave of his wand. They were probably
cleaner and less dusty than anything at Cobley-by-the-Sea, and he
wanted to sleep in comfort; he had no intention of making himself
deliberately uncomfortable on what was supposed to be a holiday. He
looked up and raised his eyebrows. "Are you still just standing
there and scowling at me? It must be two hours and fifty minutes, by
now."</p><p>Harry stiffly stuck
out a hand, and the air next to him flared and turned into a
representation of a clock. Harry glanced at it, sighed, and then
gathered up parchment and ink and sat down to write his letter.</p><p>Smug, Draco turned back to his
packing. He had, of course, no right to indulge himself in a fit of
temper if Harry didn't. Harry could have argued that he wanted more
time, and if he'd done it strenuously enough, then Draco would have
given in.</p><p>But then, he could have asked for more
time before he attended the ceremony the Ministry held, too.</p><p><em>He'll learn to stick up for
himself, even if I have to lie in his path like a log in order for
him to do it.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry watched as Hedwig flew away with
his letter to Scrimgeour, and sighed. He'd made his writing less
purely apologetic than he wanted to, and he'd also written in a
sentence about accepting the Order of Merlin. The cause of both had
been Draco watching over his shoulder, and now and then making a
"tch" sound with his tongue between his teeth when Harry seemed
about to sign the letter.</p><p>He turned around to make his way to
Gryffindor Tower, and started. Connor was standing in the doorway of
the Owlery, watching him with a faint, fond smile on his face.</p><p>"Some fighter you are," he said.
"I followed you all the way up here, and you didn't even notice."</p><p>Harry frowned a little. If that were
true, he would have to work on that. Perhaps he should look for a
spell that would increase his sensory alertness. It wouldn't do to
have enemies sneak up on him on the field of battle.</p><p>Connor rolled his eyes and came over
to hug him. "You're leaving for holiday, aren't you?" he
murmured into Harry's neck. "The Headmistress told me. She seemed
convinced you were departing right away, and she didn't want me to
worry."</p><p><em>I wouldn't go without saying
farewell, </em>Harry said, positioning the letters behind his shoulder
so Connor could see them. <em>Unless we were having an argument, or it
was a matter of life and death.</em></p><p>Connor laughed into his neck. "You
take everything so seriously, Harry. Maybe a few days alone with
Draco will teach you how to laugh once more. You knew how for a
while, and it's slipped again."</p><p>Harry stirred restlessly. <em>This
holiday was supposed to be a reward for him, and it's turned into—</em></p><p>"What?"</p><p>Harry waved his silver hand vaguely,
unable to find the words. He would have been even if he could speak.</p><p>"You have a lover who thinks of you
and tries his best to make sure that you're happy, not just
indulging him," Connor mocked, pulling away. "How sad, Harry. I'm
sure most people in your situation would be whimpering and begging to
escape."</p><p><em>Since when did Draco become your
hero? You didn't used to think so much of him.</em></p><p>"Since I changed my mind about
things in general, and realized I have to be an adult and no one will
make it go away." Connor caught his chin and tilted his head up.
"Think of it as a corresponding turn to the one you've made,
Harry," he added. "I've learned to be more adult, and so has
Draco, and so has Snape, if he'd ever admit he wasn't perfect
before. And now you've learned how to be a child again. You've
had the bad effects today, exploding in public like that." Harry
looked at him warily, but Connor didn't seem inclined to scold. "So
now you get to experience the better side of it, which is being taken
care of. I ought to be an expert on that, don't you think?"</p><p><em>It feels like going to the
Sanctuary, even if I won't be gone so long. I just know that things
will explode in my absence.</em></p><p>"So let them explode," said
Connor. "We can get some practice picking up the pieces, and I
think that will be good for all of us." He hugged Harry abruptly,
and so hard that Harry wheezed when he let him go. "You won't
always be there for every crisis," he said, gripping Harry's
shoulders nearly as hard as he'd hugged him. "You weren't there
during the First War, even if you did end it, and they survived
without you. You have the right to this, Harry. <em>Go</em>." He gave
him a little push towards the top of the Owlery stairs.</p><p>Harry went, occasionally glancing over
his shoulder. Connor, it seemed, hadn't come to send a letter, but
just to play with Godric. At his whistle, the black eagle-owl came
down to his arm and landed, careful not to dig his talons in too far,
but ducking his head to nuzzle and nip at Connor's free hand. Harry
heard his brother laugh, a sound he hadn't heard in too long.</p><p><em>I should spend more time with him,
too. But not because it's an obligation, or because I want Parvati
to think well of me. Just because I want to, and because I want to
hear him laugh again.</em></p><p>The clock floated up against his
shoulder, nudging at it. Harry glanced at it, and sighed. He had very
little time left in the three hours Draco'd given him; writing the
letter had taken longer than he thought.</p><p>He hurried off to fetch Argutus, now
and then calling his name in Parseltongue. The Omen snake still
wandered the castle fairly often, and hadn't wanted to go to some
boring ceremony the way the Many snake had.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Rufus read over Harry's letter a few
times, to make sure he understood all the nuances of tone. Then he
firecalled Elder Juniper, sitting back in his chair near the office
hearth while he read the letter one more time. Percy had come up and
hovered gently near his shoulder until Rufus let him see it. His own
face expressed more honest doubt than Rufus felt able to show.</p><p>"Do you really think that he'll
keep his promise, sir?" he asked. "After the way he embarrassed
you earlier?"</p><p>"That wasn't deliberate, to look
at this." Rufus stroked the parchment. "And yes, I think he
will."</p><p>The fire flared, and Juniper strolled
into sight. Rufus nodded to him. "I have an apology from Harry
<em>vates</em> here, if you'd like to see it," he said, holding it
out. "And an offer to accept the Order of Merlin and apologize to
you in person."</p><p>Juniper didn't even look at the
letter. "I expected no less of such an honorable young man," he
said. "Tell me, Minister, if the choice came down to supporting
Harry or supporting the Ministry, what would you choose?"</p><p>Rufus narrowed his eyes. Juniper could
intimidate him as few other people could, but that did not mean he
was allowed to get away with cowing <em>this</em> blatant. "The
Ministry, of course," he said coldly. "I believe I have already
demonstrated that sufficiently. I did not support Harry's
rebellion. I took control of the Ministry with the Ritual of
Cincinnatus only when I believed that I had no other choice, given
the rebellion of my own Department Heads against me."</p><p>Juniper stared at him then, looking
him directly in the eye, and nodded. "You are right," he said.
"You are loyal to the Ministry, and always have been. My
apologies."</p><p>The fire flared, and he vanished.
Rufus sat back and rattled the parchment in his hand, intent eyes on
the flames.</p><p>"Sir?" Percy asked from behind
him.</p><p>"Hmmm?" Rufus asked. His mind
raced with visions of why Juniper might have been so abrupt with him,
when just yesterday they had watched the vision of Harry battling the
sirens and shared some of the same emotions. He was coming up with a
limited number of allies Juniper could both have and be willing to
risk offending the Minister for. He hoped he was wrong on his
guesses.</p><p>"Why did Harry do what he did? The
real, political reason? In your opinion, of course, sir," Percy
added hastily.</p><p>"I do believe what he wrote in the
letter." Rufus smoothed the parchment out again and attempted to
ignore his speeding heartbeat. "That he had a bad moment, and
erupted. That's all. He has no reason to lie about something like
that, and if he could have put a better face on it, he would have."</p><p>"But that's—" Percy shook his
head and fell silent.</p><p>"Worrisome in a political figure,
yes." Rufus was tempted to continue, to remind Percy that Harry had
never been a conventional political figure, but he held his tongue.
Harry had been effective <em>because</em> he could still be so gathered
and so calm so young, because he had much to offer his allies that no
other single person could duplicate. It was indeed a bad sign if,
when the pressure began to increase, their <em>vates</em> lost his
temper and became slightly more human.</p><p>On a personal level, Rufus was
relieved Harry was acknowledging his abuse and acting more like a
human being. But he didn't usually deal with Harry on a personal
level.</p><p><em>Hold firm and hold fast, Harry, </em>he
thought, gaze going to the last few lines of the letter, the ones
that talked about a holiday. <em>If a holiday is what you need, then
take it. We require you too badly to let you explode simply because
you wish to.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"You're sure about this."
Juniper's eyes were dark, both because that was their natural color
and because of the emotions thronging them. They fastened on her; he
was leaning against the hearth of his main welcoming room, sipping
carefully at the wine his house elves had brought them. Juniper was
an old Light traditionalist. While he might listen to the arguments
against keeping house elves carefully, he was not going to let them
go simply because of a bit of pretty rhetoric and sentimental
reasoning.</p><p>"Sure." Aurora Whitestag leaned
back in her chair and lifted her chin. She had worn her most formal
robes, precisely because of that old Light traditionalism. Once, a
host had been able to demand that his guests wear colors indicating
their allegiance, though that custom had fallen into disuse long ago.
Aurora had chosen pale blue robes, the color of an undeclared witch.
Juniper would appreciate the gesture, even as he knew she used it in
hopes of manipulating him. But that she was willing to make the
gesture at all, no matter what her motivations for making it, showed
her as someone he could, potentially, work with.</p><p>Juniper nodded several times, slow
jerks of his head that Aurora knew had sometimes made his political
enemies think him senile. Those political enemies weren't
influential any more. Those weren't drowsy motions, those were the
motions of a wading bird spearing fish, or opponents. "He does seem
more like a child and less like a young man, in the face of gestures
like this," he murmured.</p><p>"That is the contradiction of our
<em>vates.</em>" Aurora leaned forward earnestly. "He was too adult
at first, but with the revelation of his abuse, the cracks come
clear. There are times when he will act as if he had every difficult
area of his past mastered, and then he stumbles as he has here. That
was one of the main purposes I attempted to accomplish with the
monitoring board: giving him advisers who could watch for such
stumbles and prevent them from being too catastrophic."</p><p>"That is not the
way it happened," Juniper murmured, watching her.</p><p>Aurora shook her head. "I lost sight
of my purpose, and did not recruit the right allies."</p><p>"And why should I think that you
will have any better success now?" Juniper took a moody gulp of
wine.</p><p>"Because I am working with you,"
said Aurora honestly. "Because you can keep me on track, and
because you can recruit Light allies who wouldn't listen to me.
Understand, I would not be the controlling or guiding force this
time. That would be you, Elder."</p><p>"You are eager to surrender power,
then."</p><p>Aurora shrugged. "What is done with
power matters more to me than the degree of it I personally possess,
Elder. If I am in a position where I can influence the future course
of the British wizarding world, but at the same time not expose
myself to fighting that I'm not good at, nor open attempts at
manipulation I also lack the skill for, then I will be content."</p><p>She was silent, awaiting his decision.
She had been the one to approach him, after all, not the other way
around, moving immediately after the debacle in front of the
Ministry. This was the kind of slip she had feared Harry would make,
and she was determined that he not drag Britain down with him.
Juniper, potentially personally offended by the mistake, would make a
good ally.</p><p>"Your proposal has merit," Juniper
said at last, setting his wineglass down. "The trick will be not to
depend too much on the young man's psychology. It is key to
understanding him, but even that can fall afoul of his determined
protectors and the laws that account for Lord-level wizards." He
arched an eyebrow at her. "This time, Mrs. Whitestag, I am
determined to have a way to work with our <em>vates</em> that is not,
in the finer points, illegal."</p><p>"Understood," said Aurora, and
felt gratitude and relief wash over her. <em>I may yet hope to help
save our world, and this time working with someone who has more
political acumen than I do.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry shook his head as they appeared
with a bump in Cobley-by-the-Sea; Regulus had given them a Portkey,
so as not to have to drop the house's wards. Harry had told him he
thought they were perfectly safe in Cornwall, let alone in a Black
house. Regulus had given him a flat look, and Harry, unsure what had
caused his friend's dark mood, had not asked further.</p><p>Regulus had sent them to the bedroom
they would probably want to use, Harry saw, as he looked around. The
bed was large, and already stripped of dusty hangings, so that Draco
could spread out the sheets and blankets he'd taken from their
bedroom in Slytherin. Regulus had probably come and stripped the bed
himself. Harry licked his lips, feeling an uncomfortable frisson of
humility.</p><p>Argutus nudged him under the chin.
"<em>You are being very silly,</em>" he informed Harry loftily. "<em>I
am going to explore, and see what has changed since last time we were
here.</em>" He slithered down from Harry's shoulder, and Harry
charmed the door open so that he could make his way into the hallway.</p><p>"Here we are."</p><p>Harry moved out of the way so that
Draco could put his trunk against the wall, and watched in amusement
as Draco began to unpack it. Draco sometimes seemed incapable of
staying anywhere for a single night without making it look as much
like a home as possible.</p><p>Then Draco glanced at him over his
shoulder. "I think the mirror I gave you for Christmas would look
nice on that wall, Harry," he said, nodding to the one on Harry's
right.</p><p>Harry froze for a moment. He kept the
mirror tucked away. It made him deeply uncomfortable, and he couldn't
see much practical use for it. And if Draco was alone with him
here—which was certainly the case; he could feel the wards
whispering to him about the absence of other wizards in the
house—then the main thing for the glass to show would be their
reflections. Harry didn't mind looking at Draco's. He didn't
know that he wanted Draco looking at his.</p><p>But Draco's eyes held a distinct
challenge. They were alone here. Harry didn't need to worry about
anyone wandering into the bedroom and exclaiming about what they'd
chosen to decorate it with, at least for a few days. And if he was
committed to sharing himself with Draco, if this was private time
together, hiding secrets Draco mostly already knew about made no
sense.</p><p>He turned away and began to unpack,
taking out most of the gifts he'd received at Christmas and on
various other holidays, and which he mostly kept tucked away. Draco's
mirror he hung on the right wall, and Draco almost instantly moved a
table that sat next to the bed under it and placed on the table the
Pensieve Harry had given him. Harry leaned his Firebolt against the
wall, next to the wooden carving of many animals Peter had given him
for Christmas last year, once he'd unshrunken it. He Transfigured a
shelf for their books, while Draco was hanging the Slytherin curtains
around their bed and sometimes cursing at the rods under his breath.</p><p>They were done in a much shorter time
than Harry had expected. Looking around, he gave another little
shiver. The room also looked more like <em>home</em> than he had
thought it would.</p><p><em>Where is home?</em></p><p>Harry was somewhat disturbed to
realize he didn't know the answer to that question. He could think
of Malfoy Manor as home in some contexts, and Hogwarts, perhaps most
closely. But his mind shied from the thought of applying the word to
Lux Aeterna or Godric's Hollow any more, and he still considered
the Black houses Regulus's property, to be used if he needed them,
but not lived in—not by him. And other places he had stayed in or
seen, like the Sanctuary, of course couldn't qualify.</p><p>He bit his lip thoughtfully, and then
Draco murmured in his ear, "What <em>did</em> you have planned for
this holiday, Harry?"</p><p>He turned around. Draco was watching
him, hands folded beneath his chin as if his head were resting on a
desk, but for once making no attempt to touch him.</p><p>Harry cleared his throat, then winced
as it sent a prompt pulse of burning through his mouth. He'd
carefully packed the Moly Draught, and he looked forward to the next
dose he could take of it. He turned to his writing, and reminded
himself that no one else was here, no one else could see, and that
Draco wasn't likely to think he was writing anything particularly
ridiculous.</p><p><em>I wanted to show you what I see
when I look at you. Everything I see when I look at you. So we would
have discussions and debates about the Grand Unified Theory, and I
could give you lessons that would help you further along the road to
achieving your Animagus form. Except that you did that by yourself,
of course. </em>He shot Draco a swift grin, which didn't change
Draco's level, calm gaze at all. <em>And I wanted to watch the
hippocampi with you, and sleep in during mornings when we didn't
have anything else to do, and tell you why and how I appreciate you.
And perhaps have arguments about what I didn't appreciate, of
course. And, um.</em></p><p>He couldn't write the word. Draco
followed his gesture to the bed, though, and gave him a dazzling
smile for one moment.</p><p>"Well. Not too far from what I
planned, then." He stepped forward and lowered his voice. "Listen,
Harry. There's no reason that we can't still do that, given how
much I like to be spoiled—"</p><p>Harry felt his own face brighten.</p><p>"Except that it'll work for both
of us." Draco cocked his head. "So you tell me things about
yourself, too, and I tell you what I appreciate, and, at least once,
you lie back in the bed and just let me do whatever I wish with you.
You've given me gifts like that several times, after the Rosier
attack and after that disastrous meeting with the monitoring board.
I've never been able to just give you a gift, though. The closest
was Midwinter, but you disobeyed me and moved around."</p><p>Harry's face hurt from his blush. He
didn't move, though, when Draco caught his eye and held it.</p><p>"Will you agree to that?" he
asked.</p><p>Harry let out a slow breath. <em>No one
else is here. And Draco's hardly about to turn around and use this
against me. And if it's a weakness to be petted and spoiled on
occasion—well, that's what I wanted to do to Draco. It wouldn't
make him weak, would it? So it shouldn't make me weak.</em></p><p>He gave back a hesitant nod.</p><p>Draco's face softened in a way Harry
hadn't seen before, though he didn't smile. He reached out and
caught Harry's hand.</p><p>"Come on," he said, tugging him
towards the door of their bedroom. "Let's go watch the
hippocampi."</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 100*: A Dream of Spring</h2>
			<p><strong>Warning: The fourth
scene here contains very heavy slash. </strong></p><p><strong>Chapter
Seventy-Nine: A Dream of Spring</strong></p><p>Harry wondered if they
could have achieved this peace and perfection in any other season.</p><p>Draco stood beside him
as they watched the hippocampi through the transparent rock
separating them from the sea, his hands resting flat as though he
wanted to brush his fingers against the fins of the water-horses
swimming by. Harry had to divide his attention as he leaned with his
own shoulder on the rock, his eyes now and then on the darting herd,
now and then on Draco's face.</p><p>He knew Draco had
looked at the tadfoals and the mares before, but he must not have
been with him. Or he didn't remember enough about it from those
heady days at the end of summer when he'd been trying to negotiate
with the pack and the Ministry and learn about Falco's threat for
the first time.</p><p>Or he simply hadn't
seen Draco change enough then to appreciate what a difference this
made.</p><p>Draco's eyes
half-closed now and then, as though the magical light reflected
through the rock were too strong for him. His fingers opened and
closed in small instinctive motions that imitated the foals'
swimming. His face had shadows on it; Harry sometimes decided they
were the shadows cast from his nose and mouth, and sometimes believed
they were the lines of good and evil that Draco had learned to make
real in the intervening months. A strand of blond hair became crushed
between him and the rock as he leaned close, blue light filtering
over his skin, staring at the ring-game the tadfoals had started.</p><p>The herd appeared
entirely unconscious of the humans watching them, and Harry saw no
reason they should be informed. Their manes floated behind them,
uncoiling like whips, then jerked towards their necks again when they
made a sudden movement. Their tails lashed harder and faster, columns
of smooth muscle beside which even the tails of sirens looked weak
and powerless. Their eyes shone like an Antipodean Opaleye's, and
their skin was blue, was green, was some changing color in the light
of magic and the ocean. Harry watched as a mother hippocampus turned
upside-down to better shield a very young foal from a harsh current,
and felt an emotion move through him, deep and slow. It took him a
moment to recognize contentment.</p><p>"And the Blacks
really didn't breed them?" Draco whispered.</p><p>Harry shook his head.
The mother and foal had flipped back over and were swimming in
circles now, the mare patiently spreading her tail when necessary to
shield, but dropping it more and more, so that her child could feel
the full force of the water. Harry watched the foal's webbed hooves
open and close like gills, learning the Atlantic carefully, as if he
walked on top of jagged stones<em>. That's what I asked Regulus at
first. But he said they came here on their own. Just some magical
creatures doing what wizards don't want them to do</em>, he added,
and hoped Draco could read the pride that had slipped into his
writing. Not that he'd had anything to do with bringing the
hippocampi here, of course, but he thought, as a <em>vates</em>, he was
allowed to be happy that some magical creatures did not obey the iron
wills of his own kind.</p><p>"They're
beautiful," Draco murmured.</p><p>Harry cocked his head,
hearing something in his voice, and slid his own shoulder along the
glassy rock until he stood next to Draco. This time, he was the one
to put his arms around Draco's waist, returning the gesture that
was more usual the other way. <em>More beautiful free than any other
way? </em></p><p>Draco nodded in
distraction, and then blinked and glanced at him. "Wait. What do
you mean by that?"</p><p><em>Would you find them
as beautiful if they were bound by a web?</em></p><p>A click of the tongue,
the same "tch" noise that Draco had made when he'd written the
letter, and then he turned to face Harry completely. "We came here
to enjoy ourselves, not argue," he said.</p><p><em>We can do both at
once. </em>Harry regarded Draco as best as he could from so close and
with Draco's breath almost fogging up his glasses. <em>No one says
that all arguments have to be screaming matches. Some of them are
spirited intellectual debates.</em></p><p>Draco snorted and was
quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I do hope that you've
remembered to have your Hogsmeade owls direct deliveries of food
here."</p><p>Harry recognized the
distraction technique for what it was, but felt more than prepared to
accept it. Arguments could be part of this holiday, Draco's
conviction notwithstanding, but there was no reason to make them the
whole. If Draco wanted to wait to talk about it, they would wait to
talk about it. Harry still wanted to spoil him.</p><p><em>Better.</em></p><p>The light from the sea
put strange shadows on Draco's face as he turned completely away
from the hippocampi. "Better? What do you mean, better? You didn't
have that much time to arrange matters when we came to
Cobley-by-the-Sea."</p><p>Harry chuckled at him,
though the first trickle of actual sound from his throat hurt badly,
and anyway Draco gripped his arm to make him stop. <em>I know. But
I've been practicing, too. I knew that you probably wouldn't want
to eat food from the shops, and of course I won't want to eat food
from a house elf.</em></p><p>"What did you do,
Harry?" Draco looked torn between wonder and wariness. Given what
else had sometimes happened when he sprang a surprise, Harry really
couldn't blame him.</p><p>For an answer, he
asked, <em>What sweet would you want to have right now, if you could
have anything in the world? Answer honestly.</em></p><p>He watched Draco's
eyes, and caught a slight widening, but none of the darting or
flicking off to the side that would have meant he was making up an
answer to the question. Instead, Draco simply said, "A Chocolate
Implosion."</p><p>Harry looked polite
incomprehension at him, and Draco's cheeks flushed a faint pink.</p><p>"It, um. It's a
sweet that the house elves made for me a few times before my mother
realized that I'd invented it and forbade them to ever make it
again. It starts out as a chocolate cake, but it's scooped out and
filled with <em>just</em> pure liquid chocolate, not cake. Then the
cake top is put back on, and decorated with chocolate-covered
cherries. And then another layer of pure chocolate." By now,
Draco's cheeks shone like the sunrise. It was the most embarrassed
Harry had seen him in months. "My mother made me study magical
tooth care, too, for a solid week. She was so angry."</p><p><em>So it's been
years since you've had it?</em></p><p>Draco nodded, and
looked torn between hope and horror as Harry stretched out his flesh
hand, pointing towards a carved stone chair. Harry took a deep breath
and unspooled his magic, forcing it not through the narrow channels
that a Transfiguration spell would normally have taken, but through
an image of pure desire and will backed by Draco's words. Sweat
sprang out on his forehead. It was tiring, especially since he had a
tendency to think of Transfiguration as the <em>Animagus</em>
transformation now and start trying to use the techniques that Peter
had taught him.</p><p>But he persevered, and
the chair shimmered and slowly began to collapse inward, turning the
brown of rich, life-giving dirt on the way. Harry yanked his
imagination away from dirt when the chair began to smell like soil,
though. Carefully, he filtered more and more of his magic into
physical substance. Now he had to ignore the warnings in his own head
about doing so. If he used so much power on this, then he wouldn't
be ready to defend himself if battle came—</p><p>But battle was not
going to come. He and Draco were on holiday, and he had said that he
wanted to do this for Draco, so he was doing this for Draco. He spun
and forced and imagined. The part he had to expend the most
imagination on was the chocolate-covered cherries; he'd never
tasted them, so he went mostly with the taste of pure chocolate
mingled with what little he could remember of the fruit and hoped for
the best.</p><p>He was panting, a
little, gasping, by the time it was done, but he'd finished it. He
stepped back and surveyed his creation.</p><p>The Transfigured chair
resembled nothing so much as a chocolate cake in several layers, with
those layers trembling precariously on top of the rest. Small
cherries, some showing smears of red under the chocolate, peeked here
and there like eyes. Harry could smell it, too, so overwhelmingly
sweet that he wasn't surprised Narcissa had discovered what the
house elves were up to and made Draco stop.</p><p>He turned to look at
Draco, only to find Draco staring at him.</p><p>"How could you do
that?" he demanded.</p><p>Harry's first
impulse was to see the demand as anger and worry that he'd done
something wrong, somehow ruined Draco's childhood memory. Then he
reminded himself sternly that the mere <em>existence</em> of a cake
like the one Draco described couldn't ruin anyone's memory, and
it was far more likely that he was just surprised.</p><p><em>I've been working
hard on Transfiguration,</em> he said simply.</p><p>Draco stared at him a
moment more. Then Harry saw his whole body trembling, apparently with
the suppression of the impulse to run over to the Chocolate Implosion
and start eating it right away. He suppressed a smile of his own.</p><p>Draco seized his face
and kissed him as if he couldn't get enough, opening Harry's
mouth in moments with his tongue, holding him still as he ferociously
licked and bit. Harry returned as good as he received, and Draco
broke away from him in a moment, looking half-dazed and deliriously
happy.</p><p>"I am so much in
your debt, Harry," he said. "I don't suppose you could Summon
plates and knives?"</p><p>Harry did so from the
kitchen's cupboards, more amused than anything else. He did make
sure to write on the air, <em>Not in my debt, Draco. I wanted to do
this for you. Spoiling you, remember?</em></p><p>Draco only looked
happier. Once the knives and plates had arrived, he approached the
Chocolate Implosion with the air of a hunter stalking a savage beast.
Harry muffled his laughter and followed.</p><p>"You won't believe
how good this is until you taste it, Harry," Draco whispered,
half-reverently. "You <em>really</em> won't." And then he stared
at the cake as if he were trying to figure out where to start first.</p><p>Harry watched the
light gleam off his creation, and hoped it didn't taste like
sawdust, and drank down Draco's smile like fine wine.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco decided the best
time to do it was in the early morning, before Harry was properly
awake, and therefore before he could decide that something was wrong
and get nervous or irritated.</p><p>Only, it turned out to
be mid-morning, nearly ten-o'clock, because he had to sleep off the
massive feast of the Chocolate Implosion the night before.</p><p><em>No one's perfect.</em></p><p>But he would like to
make Harry feel he was, Draco thought, propping himself up on his
elbow and staring down at Harry, who was still wound in the sheets of
their bed and deeply asleep. His mouth was open, and he breathed
through that and not his nose, with a little whistling sound. Now and
then he turned over, though he usually turned back immediately. As it
was, he made a tiny amount of progress towards the left side of the
bed each time, and might eventually roll over if it weren't for the
fact that he'd be waking up before then, and Draco's guarding
eye.</p><p>Draco leaned over and
gently pressed his lips to Harry's, waking him. Harry blinked and
returned the kiss with interest, then hissed something in
Parseltongue. Argutus, asleep on one of their trunks, hissed back,
and he and Harry conducted what sounded like a casual conversation
and not an argument to Draco. Of course, he could be mistaken.
Sometimes half the hissing sounded angry.</p><p>He waited until it was
done, then murmured, "What did he say?" into Harry's ear.</p><p>Harry started to
answer, but a yawn interrupted. Draco found himself smiling a
phenomenally silly smile as he watched Harry wrinkle his nose and
curl his lips, before he brought one hand up to politely hide it.</p><p>"He said—" Harry
shook his head in annoyance, and resorted to writing, though he
strung the letters in a row above his chest and face so that Draco
didn't need to turn his head.<em> I asked where he'd been. He told
me about the sweetness of the insects and rats he caught in the
walls, and said that I couldn't have had something as sweet for
dinner. I told him about the cake, but he latched on to the name I
gave it—it sounds different in Parseltongue, implosion, you know,
like shedding skin?—and won't believe that it was good.</em></p><p>"Just a lazy, silly,
early-morning argument," Draco murmured.</p><p>"Hmmm." Harry
stretched his arms and arched his back, unselfconscious in a way
Draco had barely seen him act in their bedroom. Draco's eyes slid
greedily up and down his body, but were stopped by the sheets. Well.
They'd had sex last night, and right now he wanted to offer Harry
something else.</p><p>"I have something
not as silly to show you," he told him, and planted a kiss behind
Harry's ear. "Share it with me?"</p><p>Something in his voice
must have warned Harry. He paused in the middle of his stretch, and
rolled his head over until his gaze locked with Draco's. <em>Draco
Malfoy, what are you doing? </em>his writing demanded.</p><p>"Something
wonderful," said Draco, and used his most enigmatic smile and
brightest eyes until Harry gave in.</p><p><em>All right.</em></p><p>"Good, Harry,"
Draco breathed, emboldened by the trust on his face, and rose to
fetch the mirror from the wall.</p><p>He brought it back
half-concealed in his hand, but Harry saw it, or knew it from the
feeling of the magic, and sat up almost at once. Draco stopped and
held it out, making Harry look, and not moving forward when Harry's
eyes widened.</p><p><em>I'm not sure what
you want to do, </em>Harry wrote at last, the letters growing thorns
and snaps and flourishes over his head, the thorns pointing at his
heart. <em>But you're slightly mad if you believe that I'll think
this is wonderful.</em></p><p>"It is, though,
Harry." Draco made sure to remove all blame from his voice, and
wondered if Harry knew that he responded to that croon by slightly
rolling his head to the side, baring his throat. "I promise. I
won't force you to accept this. I simply want us to look at you
together so that I can tell you what I see."</p><p><em>You could do that
without the mirror. I know what you think I look like.</em></p><p>Draco wondered where
he had acquired the patience to coax Harry into this instead of
rushing him. "And yet that's been easy enough to avoid in the
months since Christmas, hasn't it? This is a holiday, where I want
to spoil you. This would count as spoiling you."</p><p>Harry was silent,
watching him, brow furrowed.</p><p><em>I know how to do
this now.</em> And he did. Draco pitched his voice low, the way he
would speak to a wild unicorn, assuming that one ever approached him.
"Harry, I believe that you have the courage to do this. I saw that
in your face when you went up into the Midwinter storm." Harry
shivered, but wasn't inclined to break the spell of his voice for
the mere mention of Fawkes, and that encouraged Draco. He had to take
some chances, risk making some mistakes. "I know how strong you
are, how far you've come. I know that you don't need to face your
reflection in the mirror in the same way or for the same reasons that
you had to face your parents. You'll survive without considering
yourself beautiful. But I want you to live, not just survive. And I
really think this will make your life better, not just content me.
Will you let me show you the glass and tell you what I want to tell
you? Please?"</p><p>He could only wait,
then, because Harry's face had gone smooth and blank and he had no
idea which way the balance would tilt. He had to wait while Harry's
right hand opened and closed on the blankets beside him. The silver
hand flexed a little, too. The heel of the palm had turned almost
flesh-colored now, and Draco didn't think the movements were all
born of magic. The hand was starting to connect with Harry's body.</p><p>He waited.</p><p>At last, Harry ducked
his head and gave a kind of nervous nod.</p><p>"You're sure?"
Draco demanded.</p><p>Again, a nod, and this
time it was accompanied by a glare and one of the lynx-like hisses.</p><p>Happily, Draco
clambered onto the bed beside Harry and picked up his right hand,
clasping it around the mirror. He leaned towards the glass, and
watched as the ordinary appearance of Harry's face flashed,
rippled, and grew more beautiful. Harry, as expected, stiffened,
because he wasn't used to seeing himself Transfigured like that, as
if he were a stained glass-window with the sun shining through it.</p><p>Draco leaned over his
shoulder and kissed his cheek, and began to talk in a low, gentle
tone.</p><p>"You grew into your
magic, Harry, in a way that I don't think anyone else could have.
You fascinated me from our very first meeting on the Hogwarts
Express, when I knew that you would be in Slytherin, but if it had
only been a matter of magic, I think I would have grown bored and
gone on eventually, the way you were always waiting for me to do. It
was more than that. I think I sensed, even then, that you had
potential to become a great wizard."</p><p><em>Liar</em>. Harry's
words wrote themselves over the glass, somewhat obscuring his
reflection. Draco didn't think that was an accident. <em>You cared
about power then, mostly.</em></p><p>"Not just power,"
Draco corrected, mildly surprised. <em>He doesn't think Lucius
taught me better than that? </em>"I had seen people who had power.
My father sometimes had friends over to the Manor, and my mother,
too. Some of them were magically powerful wizards who made my father
look small. And there was Professor Snape; I knew he was stronger
than Father. But though Father respected them, and taught me to
respect them, that wasn't the only quality you could judge someone
on. And he had something, and Mother had something, that none of them
did. You have it, though." Draco rubbed his cheek against Harry's
hair, delighted to feel him relaxing a little against him.</p><p><em>What is that?</em></p><p>"Strength. The
ability to go on surviving, enduring, and making the best of what you
had. People who can only function in one particular environment—the
dueling room, say—don't do very well. You have to be able to
change quickly on the battlefield, survive."</p><p><em>I refuse to believe
you knew I could do that. I didn't know I could do that.</em></p><p>Draco raised his
eyebrows, and leaned nearer, breathing on the letters that covered
the mirror, scattering them. "You did. Didn't Lily teach you to
use whatever weapons you could find against an enemy? You did that a
few months after I met you, on the Quidditch Pitch against the
Lestranges. You used some spells, but you also used the Bludger, and
you used the Slytherin team to protect your brother in a way you
couldn't have if you'd refused the position as Seeker."</p><p>Harry was silent, and
wordless. Draco licked his lips. He was, essentially, repeating a
lesson Lucius had taught him the summer before he left for Hogwarts,
but he had to put it in his own words. And he wasn't good with
those. Someone could be listening, and he didn't want to reveal
weakness.</p><p>He reminded himself
sharply that no one could overhear them here, and that many of
Harry's allies already considered him weak. That was one thing that
he was here to change.</p><p>"There are wizards
in the world who are powerful, Harry," he whispered. "You respect
them, but you can avoid them. Professor Snape is one of those people.
And there are people who are both powerful and strong. You respect
them, and you endeavor to be one of them, and you follow them if you
can't.</p><p>"And then there are
people who are powerful, and strong, and <em>mighty</em>. That means
they have this kind of wild beauty—" Draco could feel his own
blush steadily climbing "—that unites the other qualities and
sends them flowing above their heads, flapping like a banner, calling
other people to notice them. My father didn't think might was
something you could be born with, or even decide to develop. You had
to climb to meet it, and it's so tiring to live life at that level
that most people never make it."</p><p>Draco's hand clamped
down on his shoulder. "You've waved that banner for me, Harry.
What's more, you've taught me that it <em>is</em> possible to try
to climb. If you fall on the way, you've still done more, tasted
more of life, then all the people who are content to remain on flat
ground their whole lives long. That's one reason I love you, Harry.
Because you're wonderful, yes, but you've taught me to recognize
the wonderful in myself." He leaned his head alongside Harry's
neck and nodded at the beautiful reflection in the mirror. "And
there's the man who does that."</p><p>Harry twisted around
and kissed him almost desperately. Draco held himself back only long
enough to insure that the mirror was safe on the bedside table, and
then returned the kiss.</p><p>Harry's eyes had a
light in the back of them now, where there had been only shadows
before. Draco had reached him. He might not believe it completely
yet, but he believed something like it. That was good enough for
right now.</p><p>Draco closed his eyes
and let Harry bear him away.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry stepped back and
surveyed the table narrowly, then nodded. He hadn't had a chance to
look at the book that described this ritual in a few weeks, since
he'd first decided on the idea of a holiday with Draco and timing
it to coincide with the spring equinox. But he thought it was still
right. Those intense memorization skills Lily had trained into him
had not faded completely.</p><p>He stepped back and
looked at the door of the study with a faint smile. He'd sneaked
away from the bedroom while Draco took a nap, more than slightly worn
out from their activities earlier. And he'd managed to arrange the
necessary components for the ritual before Draco awakened. From the
sound of the hasty steps outside the study, though, his sleeping
beauty was asleep no longer.</p><p>"Harry, what—"</p><p>Draco took a step into
the room, and then his voice died. He stared blankly. Harry met his
eyes and smiled more broadly. He held out a hand.</p><p>Draco descended the
small flight of stairs into the study, eyes staring, face blazing.</p><p>Harry had decorated
the walls with branches. A few of them were tapestries or paintings
that he'd moved from other rooms, but more were conjured or
illusions. All wrapped around each other to enclose the study in an
endless wall of green. The sweet smell of pine needles filled the
room, and laurel leaves, and here and there the scent of newly budded
greenery that wouldn't open for a month or more without magic.
Harry had used illusions for that part. They had learned to
Transfigure food so it smelled good, but not other objects as yet.</p><p>Rushes carpeted the
floor. Harry <em>had</em> learned how to Transfigure those, once he
realized what a part of the ritual they were. Rushes had covered the
floors of the places where Dark and Light wizards came together on
the once-a-year meetings of reconciliation and trade that had, long
ago, been common on the equinox. Harry was going to have rushes, even
if it was a few days past the first day of spring.</p><p>The table had a soft
glow enveloping it, shaped like a double-sided cone that narrowed
from both ends as it neared the wood. One side was dark green, the
other gold. They mingled into pale blue on the table itself. The
colors of Dark and Light and the undeclared wizards; the book had
made it plain that he must incorporate them somehow, and Harry had
chosen this way.</p><p>And lining the table
were sixteen candles, all alight, surrounding a seventeenth,
mostly-built, candle in the center.</p><p>"Harry, what is
this?" Draco asked, when he'd reached the bottom of the stairs
and stood staring at the dark green cone of light, not knowing what
to do.</p><p><em>This is an equinox
ritual</em>, Harry wrote, stepping towards him. <em>I read up on it and
adapted it.</em> He nodded towards the candles. <em>Those are for you.
You're not quite seventeen, so the final one isn't lit yet. </em>He
smiled at Draco. <em>We can light it on your birthday, if you'd
like.</em></p><p>Draco tilted back his
head to look at the branches. "And these?"</p><p><em>Greenery. New life.</em>
Harry kissed him. <em>And a container, of sorts, for this spell.</em>
He stretched out his silver hand, and tested his voice. "<em>Accio</em>
crystal ball!"</p><p>Draco looked as if he
might laugh when the crystal ball rose from beside the table, where
Harry had put it, and skidded across the floor to land in his hand.
"Really, Harry, I know that you got an O at Divination, but—"</p><p><em>I told you I
adapted the ritual,</em> scribbled Harry, smiling at him. <em>Once, it
was used to arrange marriages between feuding families, and to
predict the future of the marriage. This time, I'm going to use the
crystal ball to show you what I hope for in your future.</em> He
breathed on the crystal ball, and held it up, letting Draco see
within it. He was using a modified version of the spell Draco had
invented to put memories with one's mindset into a Pensieve. It had
pleased Harry to work his own magic on his partner's magic, as much
as it pleased him to come up with a ritual of their own in between
the major joining rituals.</p><p>Draco stared as the
magic formed into distinct images. The first was of the man they had
both seen before, in a room at Hogwarts that foretold a possible
future for both of them. This Draco was an adult, more relaxed, and
they'd last seen him kissing Harry under some kind of a green
canopy.</p><p>This one stood in
front of a garden of red flowers, looking at them with quiet
satisfaction. A jeweled fly buzzed over one of the flowers, and it
lashed up and ate it. The Draco in the image chuckled. The real one
looked startled.</p><p><em>I don't think you
could ever invent something beautiful that wasn't also deadly,</em>
Harry told him.</p><p>"Harry—"</p><p>Draco wanted to say
something, but the next image showed him entwined in a bed with
Harry, and his eyebrows rose to his hairline. Harry flushed. He'd
deliberately been more daring and more detailed than he usually
allowed himself to be, and he was afraid it didn't look quite right
as a result.</p><p>He shook his head.
Draco was looking anything but disappointed. In fact, he made a low,
pleased sound in his throat as he watched the figures in the bed
shift.</p><p>Then the bed was gone,
and Draco grimly dragged a wounded Harry off a battlefield of yellow
sand, back into the shelter of red rock hills. He knelt over him
briefly, received the imagined Harry's nod of reassurance, and then
leaned around the cliff and cast a curse at their enemies. The green
light of <em>Avada Kedavra</em> made him look even older, but also more
dangerous, more determined, more decisive. All traces of softness and
childishness had gone from his face; he was a man grown.</p><p><em>No
matter what we come to, I know that you'll protect me,</em> Harry
told him.</p><p>Draco flew on a broom
that might have been a Firebolt over a Pitch crowded with struggling
players. He swerved above them all, and then let out a yelp of
triumph as the Snitch smacked into his palm.</p><p><em>I think you could
be a fine Seeker, if you wanted to</em>, said Harry. <em>But, of
course, there were never fair tryouts.</em></p><p>Draco enchanted a
clock to keep time and sing in a phoenix's voice, and was showered
with money by a grateful witch who'd always wanted just that. He
walked among the powerful, and they respected him in his own right,
and not just for his family name or for being Harry's lover. He
stood in Malfoy Manor and swore to uphold the ideals of his family
while making them his <em>own</em>, so that he was not a copy of Lucius
Malfoy, and the ancestors in the portraits stiffly nodded their
approval.</p><p>Image after image
after image, and Harry filled them with all the love and faith of
which he was capable.</p><p>At last, they faded,
and Draco said in a kind of choked voice, "They can't all be
true."</p><p>Harry studied him, and
smiled. Draco said that, but he wanted to believe they could all be
true. He was so greedy of many different kinds of recognition and
achievement that he would take them all and more.</p><p><em>I believe you have
the capacity to achieve them,</em> Harry wrote. <em>Whether you do? Is
a different question. There will be some you aren't interested in,
and some that you would rather fulfill in different ways. </em>He
stepped forward and laid a hand on Draco's cheek, letting the
crystal ball drift away. <em>But I believe that you can do it.</em></p><p>And Draco kissed him.</p><p>Harry gasped. That was
not part of what he'd had planned, not that he was complaining. He
had planned a quiet meal and a long conversation to be held while he
and Draco watched the hippocampi. But Draco was clasping the back of
his neck, tilting his head back, and whispering into his ear.</p><p>"I want you, Harry.
Want you so badly right now. The gift of you. So that you'll lie
still and let me do whatever I want, spoil you however I like. Will
you let me do that?"</p><p>And Harry could only
close his eyes and whisper an acceptance.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco took Harry back
to their bedchamber. He'd felt a different succession of emotions
in the last fifteen minutes: irritation and concern when he woke up
without Harry, startlement at the state of the study, and then
astonishment and shock and delight when Harry showed him that series
of images he could become.</p><p>Now, he felt
determination to make Harry share that delight, to shake with
pleasure in the one realm he'd always seemed reluctant to take
pleasure in.</p><p>He eased Harry back on
the bed, kissing him deeply enough that Harry made a startled little
sound against his lips, but didn't try to pull away. He didn't
try to remove his own clothes, either, and Draco nodded approval as
he took up his wand and murmured a spell to take them away. Harry
really was surrendering, letting Draco do what he wanted.</p><p>And what Draco wanted
to do right now was study Harry.</p><p>Harry opened and
closed his hands in nervousness as Draco looked at him, but made no
attempt to cover himself. Draco gave him another small nod. Just a
few months ago, Harry had been too nervous when naked—and
underwater, no less, so that Draco couldn't get a good look at
him—to stop shaking. Now, he looked torn between embarrassment and
desire that Draco get on with it.</p><p>And Draco did.</p><p>But slowly.</p><p>He avoided the place
on Harry's neck he already knew about, since he wanted to learn
what other places would make Harry shake as if he were drunk, or
gasp, or squirm with repressed longing to curl up, or thrust his
hips. He ran his hands gently through Harry's hair, arranging it in
different shapes and making Harry tilt his head back and forth and
raise his shoulders, half-helplessly. He kissed his scar, which
brought the strongest defensive reaction; Harry had to fight to hold
still on the pillows. His magic jerked and tumbled about him when
Draco located a spot on his shoulder blade that made his toes curl,
and he gasped and gulped several times when Draco leaned in to play
with his nipples as if they were toys.</p><p>He also blushed.
Violently. Draco could feel the slight added heat to the skin as he
let his hands glide over it, and smiled, amused. Well, he would see
if he could make Harry forget all about his embarrassment in a
moment.</p><p>He lay down gently
next to Harry, arranging himself so that he could stroke Harry's
shoulder and that tempting spot with one hand while he trailed the
other lower and lower. He let it hover over Harry's groin until
Harry made a tiny impatient noise, and then he slowly, slowly,
clasped his cock.</p><p>Harry made a gasping
sound and tried to hide his face in Draco's shirt.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>He felt the rasp of
Harry's hair against his chin, and barely heard the whisper. "I
just—it's too much—Draco, you've never—"</p><p>"I know. But <em>you</em>
have." Draco kissed the back of his neck, and felt his skin jumping
and shuddering with his heartbeat. "Hush, Harry. It's all right.
You can take without giving, sometimes. And this is just as much
spoiling for me as you. It's what I want." He stroked gently, one
time, and Harry seemed undecided whether to breathe or moan. Another
stroke, and his body made that decision for him; Draco thought it
sounded as if the noise had begun in his feet.</p><p>He shifted himself,
keeping Harry distracted with the steady and slow motion of his hand,
and picked up his wand with the hand that until that point had rested
on Harry's shoulder. He cast a spell Harry didn't notice, then
added a time-delaying charm to it. That done, he moved down yet
again, and very gently took Harry in his mouth.</p><p>Gasps and soft cries
came from above him. Draco thought that only half of them were from
pleasure. The other half came from Harry fighting himself, trying, as
hard as he could, not to sit up and demand that Draco take something
for himself, too. Sacrificial instincts, training against pleasure,
Harry's constant worry that he would be too selfish—Draco knew it
had many names.</p><p>He also didn't care
about its source, not right now.</p><p>As slowly as he could
bear, he licked at and around Harry, and kept one hand in place,
stroking his hips and his balls and now and then his arse, building
the level of pleasure slowly but steadily. Then he let the
time-delayed charm go with a whispered word, at the same moment as he
sucked and sucked hard.</p><p>Sudden pressure closed
on the spot on Harry's neck that always made him tremble, the spot
on his shoulder blade that had caused his toes to curl, his nipples,
his scalp, and all the other sensitive places Draco had found. Some
would feel like mouths, some like hard pinches, some like the mere
touch of trailing fingers. But all of them were working at once to
give Harry as much pleasure as he could feel.</p><p>Draco felt Harry lose
the battle against what he would probably call his better self. He
felt it with all five senses: the sight of Harry writhing in
abandonment, for the first time, without a ritual of some kind to
coax him into the right mood; the sound of him practically howling;
the feel of sweetened skin tightening under his hands; the smell of
steadily increasing musk; the taste in his mouth, not the most
<em>wonderful</em> taste in the world, but making him feel smug and
triumphant and loving.</p><p>He crawled back up
Harry's side and kissed his forehead, slowly waking him from his
daze. Harry blinked at him, and Draco rejoiced in the sight of his
eyes.</p><p>All barriers down,
finally, and it wasn't because of a damn ritual, or because he was
so emotionally exhausted that he couldn't maintain them after a day
of shrieking and crying and witnessing death and despair. Simply down
because he was sated, and because he trusted Draco.</p><p>Harry said, with a
tone in his voice that Draco had never heard, "Thank you."</p><p>If he had to give a
name to the tone, Draco thought, kissing Harry's lips this time, he
would call it dawning self-discovery, even wonder that something so
simple and physical could feel so good. And no, it hadn't been a
matter of life and death that Harry get over this bit of his
training.</p><p>It had just been
something Draco wanted to do.</p><p>He was so smugly
pleased that he could ignore his own arousal for a few moments, at
least until Harry suddenly shook himself like a seal rising from the
ocean and wrote, <em>My turn.</em></p><p>And his magic blazed
around him, and his smile shone, and Draco felt joy break open in him
like a spring of water, like a springing bound, like the rising
season of spring.</p><p><em>This may be no more
than a dream, </em>he thought, as he lay back and let Harry kiss him
senseless. <em>Just a fleeting glimpse of what we can't ever have
permanently. But dreams were meant to be enjoyed.</em></p><p><em>And we've sure as
fuck earned this one.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 101*: Realm of Night</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Eighty: Realm of Night</strong></p><p>Harry awoke slowly. He
found his hand trembling as he reached out to pick up his glasses
from the bedside table, and frowned. He and Draco had made it back
safely to Hogwarts, and a week had passed since the vernal equinox
that brought no crises, and he had had no nightmares. Why should he
shake now?</p><p>Then he realized the
room was cold, flowing and filled with a temperature more appropriate
to winter than spring. Harry shivered and fought the urge to duck
beneath the blankets. He had to find out what was happening.</p><p>He shifted, keeping
Draco behind him so that his warmth would at least partly shield his
partner from the chill, and then sat up. He saw the problem almost
immediately, but he didn't recognize what it was until it shifted
away from the glow of the silver strands of fog strung throughout the
room and came towards him, with an eerie silence given the size of
its hooves.</p><p>A cold tongue shot out
to touch the scar on his forehead. The thestral bowed its head and
rubbed its neck against him. Harry took a deep breath and ran his
hands through the mane, which flowed over his fingers like twigs.</p><p>"What is it?" he
murmured. The thestrals were the guardians of the Forbidden Forest.
He supposed they might have come to alert him of a problem in the
forest, but it seemed likelier they would have gone to Hagrid.</p><p>The horse stepped away
from him, large wings flexing. It bowed its head, and Harry followed
the gesture; so sleek and slim were the thestrals that he wasn't
sure what it was pointing at at first. Then he saw that something
other than silver fog coiled around its hoof, glowing blue.</p><p>Harry slid out of bed
and knelt beside the thestral with a scowl he knew was grim. This web
was solider and thicker than the others, a chain that grew more
present as Harry gave it his full attention. When he sat back, he
could see that it was tangled around the thestral's wings and neck,
over the eyes and the mane.</p><p>"You want to be free
of the web?" he asked, his voice still a croak.</p><p>He wasn't sure how
much English the thestrals could understand; Hagrid had trained them
to pull the carriages, but that didn't necessarily mean they knew
words beyond the simple commands that let them do so. And this
thestral simply stood and looked at him expectantly, mane falling
like a dark curlicue into its pale eyes.</p><p><em>I'll have to do
it. </em>Humans couldn't talk to any magical species they wanted,
but phoenixes could. Or, at least, the only phoenix Harry had ever
known had been able to, and that was the one whose voice he bore.</p><p>He sang softly, using
as little magic as he could. For one thing, it would wake Draco up.
For another, he really didn't want to exhaust his voice again just
as it had recovered. He focused his attention on creating a vision of
the web snapping within the thestral's mind; Fawkes had spoken to
him in images, not words.</p><p>The thestral danced in
excitement, and bobbed its head up and down like any ordinary horse,
cold breath shivering from its nostrils. Harry blinked, and nodded,
and stood. No magical species had approached him like this before,
asking for freedom now, as opposed to entering negotiations, but
there was a first time for everything, Harry thought. At one time, he
would have thought it impossible that a karkadann would come from
Africa to find him, too.</p><p>He laid one hand on
the thestral's neck, and swung onto its back. The creature let out
a tiny snort of satisfaction, and then turned and trotted towards the
door of their bedroom. Harry frowned. <em>How did it get in?</em></p><p>With magic,
apparently. The thestral looked at the door, and Harry caught a faint
glimpse of a shiny, slimy mind rolling over next to him, demanding
that the barrier cease to exist because the thestral wanted it so.
The door opened, and the thestral went out, its long, thin legs
negotiating the steps down to the common room better than Harry
thought a centaur could have done. Now and then it hunched its
shoulders to pass through a narrow gap; Harry ducked when it did.</p><p>The common room door
opened the same way. In the wide dungeon corridors, the thestral
began to trot, wings flagging up and down as if to hurry it forward.
Harry could hear the click of its hooves now, from a distance, like
dice made of bone. But no one opened the doors they hurried past, and
then they were up the stairs into the entrance hall, and through the
open doors and into the courtyard, and the thestral spread its wings.</p><p>Harry had only ridden
one of the great horses once, in his fourth year soon after his
freeing of Dobby, and he had forgotten how different the sensation
was from sitting a broom. Glory thrilled through his muscles as they
soared upward, and he could hear the wild Dark singing in the
distance. Of course it was singing, it was near Walpurgis and it
always sang then, but Harry thought sitting on a thestral's back
made him peculiarly suited to hear it.</p><p>Something sparked in
the air next to him, and then a black wolf paced the skies there,
green eyes shining at him over the fur, a brilliant silver lightning
bolt scar on its head. Harry nodded in wary greeting to the wild
Dark. This was the form it had worn when it had tried to corrupt and
seduce him after Bellatrix had cut off his hand.</p><p>The wolf only threw
back its head and howled joyously, though, and Harry heard the howl
as he had once heard Fawkes's voice, bringing him an image of what
was to come. <em>Many things change this night. We welcome a new
comrade, and the Bony People go home.</em></p><p>"Bony People?"
Harry asked, but the wolf turned and sped away, losing coherence in
the dark spaces among the stars. Harry shook his head and faced
forward again.</p><p>The thestral was
circling over the Forbidden Forest now, which swarmed with strands of
silvery fog like reflected moonlight. Harry could see the blue
chains, too, which he knew connected the thestrals in long slave
coffles. They all seemed to be moving towards a certain place in the
center of the Forest, and he wasn't surprised when the thestral he
rode slanted down towards it, wings beating only every now and then
as needed, to propel it forward.</p><p>They came down on a
wide space of dead grass, fenced with black, bare trees. Just by
looking at them, Harry doubted they would ever grow leaves, no matter
how late the season got. The thestral's hooves clicked again as
they landed; there must be stone not very far under the surface of
the grass.</p><p>They stood on a mound
in the center of the clearing, and the thestrals, visible by the glow
of fog and their chains and their white eyes, stood in a circle
around them. Every single one of them appeared to be staring at
Harry.</p><p>Harry warbled out a
low song, and grimaced as the notes stabbed him in the center of his
throat. He just hoped the thestrals wouldn't think from his
expression that he was unwilling to free them. He shaped a vision of
them free, and then of a curious thestral sniffing at something dead
to see if it was still bloody. It was the closest approximation he
could think of to asking them why they wanted to be free now.</p><p>The thestral beneath
him shifted and danced, but didn't reply. A stallion stepped
forward from the rest of the herd, wings so wide that he blotted out
several of the trees. He fixed Harry with an implacable eye, and
snorted.</p><p>The image that snort
gave in return was of a mare with a foal, and a pair of wings
spreading, and the moon rising. There were natural times for things
to happen, Harry supposed. The herd would not try to oppose those,
and it would not try to oppose its own desire for freedom. They had
come and fetched him because they wanted to be free now. Anything
could have caused it, even the other species' changing status in
the wizarding world or the fact that his <em>vates</em> powers
apparently encouraged webs to melt.</p><p>Harry nodded, and then
slid from the thestral's back to the mound. He bent down to examine
the blue chain that curled around its hoof. He knew already that this
wasn't a chain restricting movement; his mother had told him about
Dumbledore sometimes riding thestrals to important meetings during
the War when it was too far to Apparate, or too dangerous to make
multiple Apparitions in safety. So whoever had wound this web had not
done it to bind them to the Forest.</p><p>He raised an eyebrow
when he realized that the chain was two chains, like the two webs put
on the house elves. <em>Is one supposed to make them more docile?</em></p><p>No, he saw, as he
touched the chain and turned it slowly over in his hand. One set of
links was the web itself, a glowing tingle of pure magic he could
barely feel. The other manifested a bone-deep chill that lingered in
his flesh long after he drew it back, and which affected even his
silver hand when he used that instead. And, briefly, Harry saw the
cold chain pass through the light of the blue-glowing one, and saw
that its shadow took on the shape of a Grim.</p><p><em>They are bound to
Death. Or they are bound to keep them away from Death. </em>A prickle
like rat's claws raced down Harry's spine. <em>That would explain
something about why only those who've seen death can see them.</em></p><p>He looked up and sang
to convey an image of a broken-winged thestral trying to fly. He did
not yet know how to undo the chains, and he was afraid of what would
happen if he launched himself off the cliff and tried.</p><p>The stallion stepped
forward and shoved his nose into Harry's shoulder with a poke that
made it feel like the sharp edge of a shovel. The implication was
clear from that, no vision needed. The thestrals would give Harry
time to learn what he had to, but they wanted him to study it.</p><p>Harry nodded, and
stood. His mind was already whirling with possibilities. Why would
ancient wizards have wanted thestrals bound? He had never heard that
they were especially dangerous; other herds lived wild in the world
and barely interacted with wizards, other than coming to battlefields
after wars, attracted by the smell of blood. Was it simply because
this particular herd was useful? Or did it have to do with the nature
of webs in the Forbidden Forest, which tried to insure that every
creature born there was also bound there?</p><p>But he had to put that
idea aside when he studied the chains again. This was <em>careful</em>
work. Whoever had done this had left nothing to chance. The web
transferred itself generation by generation, as it did with house
elves, but the sheer intricacy of the damn thing said it was also
adapted to each individual. Harry might be able to unbind the whole
herd if he could find the common element that guided the chains.
Otherwise, he would be reduced to tediously undoing every link from
every stallion, mare, and foal.</p><p>He shrugged the
thought of boredom away. He had done much more boring things that
still fulfilled his role as <em>vates.</em> He looked up and composed a
short song of human parchment—surely the thestrals had seen writing
before, if only by peering from the edges of the Forest at students
doing their homework on the grounds—and a puzzling maze that would
end with the herd flying free. He would have to study, and he wasn't
entirely sure what he would have to study as yet, but he would ask
Regulus.</p><p>The stallion poked him
again, and this time it felt like the blunt edge of a shovel. The
herd was grateful. Harry nodded and touched his silver hand to the
stallion's neck in thanks, then turned away to find the path back
through the Forbidden Forest.</p><p>The thestral who'd
borne him thus far wheeled in front of him with a sharp turn and a
snort. Harry accepted the invitation and rode back, musing all the
while.</p><p><em>They're bound to
Death. Why? Would that be to keep them from going back to her, or for
some other reason?</em></p><p>He would have to talk
to Hagrid, Harry realized suddenly. The half-giant had trained the
thestrals to pull the carriages, and so a substitute would have to be
found. But, more than that, he loved the herd. Harry wasn't
entirely sure if the thestrals would remain in the Forest once they
were free, but he would have to prepare Hagrid for the possibility
that they wouldn't. Their wishes would still be honored, of course;
as <em>vates</em>, Harry could do nothing less. But he hoped that he
wouldn't have to infringe on Hagrid's free will to do this.</p><p>And he would have to
have another conversation he wasn't looking forward to having, with
Regulus.</p><p>Harry winced at the
thought of the questions he would ask. <em>I don't want to do this,
but at the moment, Regulus is the only person I know who's spoken
to Death directly, and even has her notice. Any tiny detail he knows
might advance my attempts to undo the chains further than a dozen
books would.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Hagrid sniffled, and
yet another large tear rolled down his nose and got itself lost in
his deep, bushy beard.</p><p>"I'll miss 'em,"
he whimpered.</p><p>Harry patted his
shoulder, feeling awkward, less for the depth of Hagrid's emotion
than for the form it took. "I know you will, Hagrid," he said.
"But they've got to fly free, don't they? I know that you
wanted that for Norbert." It had taken him a short while to
remember the name of the dragon Hagrid had rescued and tried to raise
in his first year. "Don't you want that for the thestrals, too?"</p><p>"Do yeh think—"
Hagrid mopped at his face with a large red handkerchief, and
finished. "Do yeh think they'd let me visit 'em?" He turned a
hopeful eye on Harry.</p><p>"I don't know
where they'll go once they're free," said Harry, compelled to
honesty. "It could be to another place in Britain, or they might
stay here, but they could also fly back across the oceans to the
places where the completely wild herds live. You know that, don't
you, Hagrid?"</p><p>"Don' want to—ter
let 'em <em>go</em>!" Hagrid said, and burst out in a fit of
wailing. Harry hugged him this time, but his arms could barely fit
around a quarter of his waist.</p><p>"What is the meaning
of this, Harry?"</p><p>Somewhat guiltily,
Harry glanced up to see Snape standing in front of him. It was
Saturday, and he still hadn't visited his guardian that morning. "I
have to free the thestrals, Professor," he said. He still preferred
the title in front of members of the Hogwarts staff. "I just told
Professor Hagrid so."</p><p>One of Snape's
eyebrows rose, and he stood that way, looking down on them both,
though Hagrid didn't appear to notice. "I see," he said, voice
clipped. "And you are not releasing the thestrals without proper
research into why they were bound in the first place, I hope?"</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Harry, a bit stung. He knew that Snape was upset he hadn't
called him "Severus," but, well, he hadn't wanted to. It made
him uncomfortable. The implication that he would simply dash ahead
and break webs and laugh and wave his arms around, not caring for the
consequences, was a bigger offense, in Harry's eyes. "I do know
already that they're bound to Death, and that I'll need to talk
to Regulus about his—acquaintance with some of that magic."
Though Hagrid appeared lost in his sobs, Harry wasn't quite ready
to mention Regulus's journey into the portrait in front of him. "So
I'll look into books on necromancy and the history of the herds.
Possibly another tame herd was once bound in the same way, and that
could show me why this one was."</p><p>Snape's eyes held
warning in them now. "Necromantic magic is dangerous, Harry."</p><p>"I know that,"
Harry said, thinking of Dragonsbane, thinking of Pansy. "But I need
to learn whatever I must to defeat Voldemort and to free the magical
creatures."</p><p>"Have a book on
thestrals," Hagrid unexpectedly volunteered, still mopping at his
chin and nose. "It might help. Don't know if it w-will." He
sobbed once more, then stood and went into the hut to look for it.
Harry looked sadly after him. Hagrid was one of the few people he
knew who might appreciate magical creatures as intensely as he did.
Unfortunately, he appreciated them as pets to be tamed, and that
meant he was inevitably going to have trouble with the idea of
freeing them to travel to a place and context where no humans would
ever try to tame them again.</p><p>"Harry."</p><p>He faced Snape again,
and saw that his guardian had knelt in the dirt, and extended one
hand towards him.</p><p>"Be careful how you
approach Regulus," he said, and hesitated for long enough that
Harry felt alarm rising in his chest. At last he said, "He has
asked me to brew Dreamless Sleep Potion for him, to ease the
nightmares of Death's country."</p><p>Harry swallowed and
nodded. "I'll only ask him to tell me what he wants to." Pain
was stuck like a broken breastbone in the center of his chest, as he
thought of what Regulus had given up for the information on the
Horcruxes, and the Mark that he now carried on his arm.</p><p>Snape swiftly rose
again as he heard Hagrid coming back, his lip curling slightly. "Why
the Headmaster puts up with him, I shall never know," he murmured.
"He does nothing but nearly burn his house down around his ears
with dragonfire and tame animals to hand that would be better left to
roam the Forest."</p><p>"Headmistress,"
said Harry.</p><p>Snape looked at him
with his eyes narrowed. "What?"</p><p>"Headmistress,"
said Harry, and smiled a bit, prepared to tease. "You said
Headmaster, Severus."</p><p>Snape's eyebrows
rose, and he stood stiffly for a moment. Then he nodded, and
murmured, "So I did," and turned for the school. Harry shook his
head at his back. <em>So like him not to admit when he was caught in a
mistake.</em></p><p>"'Ere you are,
Harry," Hagrid said, thumping back out and handing him a book which
was dwarfed in his hand, but which made Harry's arms sag with the
weight. "<em>All You Need To Know About Thestrals. </em>I added some
notes about Tenebrous." He sniffled again. "Let me know when yeh
do it, so I can—I come and say g-goodbye—" He trailed off into
bawling again.</p><p>Harry patted his
shoulder once more, and then cast a subtle lightening charm on the
book and went back to the castle.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry shrugged away
the memory of the strange letter he'd received that morning as he
appeared inside the wards at Grimmauld Place. If Elder Juniper wanted
to put off receiving the apology Harry fully intended to give him,
that was his right. Harry was a bit surprised that this was the
<em>second</em> meeting that had fallen through, but at least it left
him free to meet with Regulus.</p><p>He knocked on the
house's door for a moment, and listened. "Regulus?" he called,
when no one answered.</p><p>The voice of Capella
Black, Regulus and Sirius's mother, whose picture hung in the main
hall, answered at once. "Is that you, Dark Child? Come in, and let
me smell you."</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes
as he opened the door and stepped inside. At least the portrait
didn't tend to shriek at him the way it had whenever someone who
wasn't perfectly pureblood brushed by it. But she insisted on
calling him by a term Harry had looked up and not been impressed by.
Of course, the stories Harry had heard about Capella Black hadn't
made her sound <em>that</em> intelligent.</p><p>"Where's Regulus?"
he asked, stopping in front of the portrait. The curtains that
usually covered it were drawn back. Harry wondered if Regulus had
been talking to her.</p><p>"Upstairs, dear."
The woman in the picture sniffed rapturously, and then purred in
approval. "Necromancy, Dark Child? A tricky magic, but if you can
learn enough of its tricks without falling prey to its sacrifices, it
will make you very powerful."</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes
again, not caring if she saw it. The Dark Child was a prophetic name
for the Dark Lord who would rise to dominate not only Britain but the
entire wizarding world, so powerful that the wild Dark itself would
claim to have sired and borne him. Regulus had told him that his
mother had been waiting for a Dark Child most of her life, and had
for a time sincerely believed Voldemort was him. Now she appeared to
have transferred her convictions to Harry. Harry was uncertain why.
It might have to do with his <em>absorbere</em> gift, and his ability
to <em>become</em> more powerful if that was what he wanted. But he had
spoken to Capella often enough that he would have thought she'd
understand he didn't desire power.</p><p>"Upstairs, dear,
dreaming of death," Capella continued in a melancholy tone.
"Whereas you blaze with life." Another sniff. "And stink of
death." She nodded. "I do think that you are him. You will bring
a reign of night upon us all, and free us from the tyranny of
Mudblood filth and blood traitors."</p><p>"Spare me," Harry
muttered, and then turned as he heard Regulus's footsteps on the
stairs.</p><p>"Sorry about that,
Harry," he said. "I needed to—fortify myself with something."</p><p>The "something"
appeared to be a glass of wine, considering what he carried in his
hand. Harry stared at him in silence for a moment. Regulus flushed,
looked away, muttered, and then drew the curtains closed over
Capella's portrait with a suddenness that made Harry blink. He
heard one more chuckle from the picture, and then she was silent,
other than a faint hum that was probably the song of the Dark Child
again. She had been happy to explain, when Harry asked, that the
prophecy of the Dark Child was the ultimate shifting one, moving on
from generation to generation and making new choices when its
champion failed to appear. Harry had tried to point out that this was
more likely to mean it would never come true. Capella had winked when
he said that, as if he'd penetrated to the heart of some grand
mystery.</p><p>"Come, Harry,"
Regulus said, from the stairs, and Harry shook his head and hurried
up after him.</p><p>Regulus had fixed up
one of the upper bedrooms as his own. Harry glanced around curiously
from the doorway. The dominant color appeared to be silver—not from
any Slytherin remnants, Harry thought, as much as because it was a
bright color that went well with the dominant black of the house.
Regulus's chest and bed and table were all sleek dark wood gleaming
with inlaid traces of silver. His bedcurtains were unexpectedly thin
pieces of cloth, swaying at the touch of the slight breeze Harry made
as he slipped inside. The two chairs near the door were made of a
white-gold wood that Harry had only seen rivaled in the Seers'
Sanctuary.</p><p>Regulus sat in one of
them. He took a final sip from the wineglass, then put it down and
faced Harry.</p><p>"So. You want me to
talk about Lady Death. How beautiful she is, maybe, since you're
always rushing out to embrace her." Regulus was trying, but trying
too hard; Harry could hear the crackling strain behind the usual
playful, flippant tone.</p><p>"No," said Harry.</p><p>Regulus stared at him.</p><p>Harry leaned forward,
staring directly into Regulus's eyes. He hadn't sat down yet, and
was glad, because it let him get closer. "I want you to talk about
what you're comfortable with," he said. "I want to know what I
can to free the thestrals, but I would never want to make you
uncomfortable or violate your free will simply to do that. So tell me
what you can. And if that's not enough to figure it out, then I'll
continue reading. Merlin knows that both the Black library and the
Hogwarts library have enough books to let me figure this out."</p><p>He took a step back
and sat in his chair, folding his arms and staring at Regulus some
more. Regulus glanced away, glanced back, then picked up the glass
and took an expressive drink of wine.</p><p>"Bloody <em>vates</em>,"
he muttered.</p><p>Harry inclined his
head.</p><p>Regulus sighed. "All
right. I—</p><p>"You should know
that I didn't really know what to expect from the picture, Harry.
The descriptions given by the Black patriarchs have all varied so
much that it's impossible to know what you'll find there.</p><p>"I found a desert.
Its sand was brown-black, and I entered it just as the sun was going
down. I've never seen light so dim, this kind of smoldering
twilight. I think it was mainly the effect of the sand, but I can't
be sure.</p><p>"I heard a voice
hail me, calling me by name—not my first name, you understand, I
don't think the creatures in the portrait know anything about time
passing in our world, any more than we know about its passing in
theirs. This was a raven, or so I thought. Then it moved, and I
realized it was a skeleton with a coat of rotting flesh and feathers
on it. They regrew every time it landed, and then fell off again in
this mess of dust and maggots every time it took flight.</p><p>"It hailed me, and
asked me if I would come with it. I said that I would, and then I
began following it.</p><p>"It led me into
traps, Harry. It led me into pits that sucked at my feet and
swallowed me and consumed me alive." Regulus traced his elbow with
one hand, and Harry wondered if he was remembering it being broken.
"Through forests hung with bones, where one movement made them all
tinkle and gasp together, and the skulls laughed at me. Over a road
where I walked on what I thought were stones, until I came to the
end, and then I looked down and realized that every single one of
them had the imprint of Sirius's face. He was screaming, screaming
forever, trapped there." Regulus shuddered and put his hands over
his mouth, as though afraid he would vomit. "I'm still afraid
that he's trapped there," he whispered. "In Death's country,
that he's trapped there and can never get out."</p><p>"He's not," said
Harry at once, thinking of the strange touch on his hand he'd felt
after the Midsummer battle. "I think—I think Pansy summoned him,
and he was in the fight at Hogwarts when Voldemort tried to take the
castle. There were things that people talked about later which could
be explained only by the presence of a ghost among them. And I think
he licked my hand before he went home. I can't believe that he only
came forth to aid us and then went back to that horrible place."</p><p>Slowly, Regulus's
hands lowered. "Thank you, Harry," he whispered. "Well, that's
one nightmare conquered.</p><p>"I don't know how
long we walked. At one point, I asked the raven why Death chose to
live here. Why in such a place, instead of the way that the Greeks
imagined Hades, for example? I don't know why I thought that would
be more fitting, but that was the way I imagined it at the time.</p><p>"The raven laughed
at me. It told me that every soul is consumed in the same endless
journey, trying to find Death, and that it amuses her to put traps in
front of them so that the journey continues forever. Imagine, Harry,
that after we die we're doomed to walk that desolate country
forever. It's no wonder that some of the dead are eager to come
back as ghosts."</p><p>"But I don't think
we are," said Harry, surprised. "I've read some books on
necromantic magic in the last little while, you know that,
researching on how to free the thestrals. They describe a dark
in-between country that necromancers can access; most of the books
just call it the Realm of Night. And unless the ghost or spirit is
vengeful or otherwise has an interest in the living world, they have
to be <em>summoned</em>. Most of the people who die just seem to go to
sleep. Endless rest, Regulus, which isn't that different from Hades
when you think of it."</p><p>Regulus shuddered
restlessly, and then went on with his story without responding to
what Harry had said. "I stood before Death at last. I can't
describe her, Harry. She was decaying, and still beautiful. Tell me
how that exists, if you can."</p><p>Harry thought of Lily
and the decay of her mind and the bright frenzy of her sacrificial
passion, but this time it was his turn to keep silent. Regulus was
rambling on, anyway.</p><p>"She told me that
she had a use for servants, that she enjoyed interfering in the
world. She is patient, of course, and takes everyone when they come
to her, but if she can make a bargain, then she does. She's also
unique in the world, and proud of it, and the same stern, sad reaper
of lives that half a hundred religions perceive her to be. I don't
know if she looks the same to any two people. But none of that's
what you came to hear.</p><p>"She said that I
would be her hand in our world, since her hands in it were chained. I
think now she meant the British wizarding world, and not just our
world in general. Of course she's not chained here, and of course
thestrals are free in other places." Regulus looked up. "Does
that help?"</p><p>"It does, actually,"
Harry said slowly, thinking of a picture he'd seen in Hagrid's
book. It showed a thestral prancing with outstretched neck and spread
wings on a bronze seal found in an ancient necromancer's tomb. The
book had said that the thestral might be considered a kind of patron
saint of necromancers. It had insisted that that only came from the
association of thestrals with death, but it could, Harry thought,
have come because thestrals were associated with Death. "They were
bound because they're her creatures."</p><p>"And freeing them
would—"</p><p>Harry let out a
breath. "I don't know. I'll free one and see what happens. It's
looking more and more like I'll have to free them one by one
anyway."</p><p>Regulus nodded. He sat
there with his eyes closed and his breathing quick and faint and his
forehead covered with a light sheen of sweat, and Harry didn't
question the impulse that made him stand and move closer.</p><p>Regulus started a bit
when his arms enveloped him, but didn't hesitate to hug him back.
Harry felt him shaking, and leaned forward to whisper into his ear.</p><p>"Nothing I can say
will ever repay the debts that lie between us, for what you did for
me during the year when you lived in my head, and for what you did
when you went into that portrait, and for sharing information that
terrified you or made you think I would reject you. So I'll simply
say <em>thank you</em>, and that I love you, and that I hope you enjoy
the sunlight as much as you're frightened right now by the
darkness."</p><p>For a moment, Regulus
embraced him so desperately that Harry lost most of his breath, but
he had held his breath for longer periods of time, and simply waited.
When Regulus began to cry, he was there, as silent and as supportive
as he could be, offering silence or soothing words as Regulus seemed
to want them. Regulus's shadow rippled, dog-shaped, watching them.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry licked his lips
and shifted his weight forward. In the end, he had come to the
Forbidden Forest alone to free a thestral, despite telling Snape that
he wouldn't, because no one else thought he was ready, but the
stallion—who might be Hagrid's beloved Tenebrous—had come to
him last night and looked at him. A week of studying, and Hagrid's
teary agreement, and Harry's growing sense that the thestrals had
not killed or destroyed anyone, but had acted as heralds of Death and
her power, rather like banshees. That would lead to the idea that it
was unlucky to see one. Once, it had been.</p><p>Now, it might be
again.</p><p>He had found the dead
clearing after some minor searching; now that he knew what to look
for, he found a path of withered grass and leaves crushed to black
mold which led directly there. He entered to the accompaniment of
many pairs of bright eyes. In short order, the gaps in the circle
filled in as the rest of the herd sensed him and came to see what was
happening. They moved in absolute silence now, even when they had to
ease their wings past the trees or a pair came with necks entwined.
Harry didn't know why. He could probably have found out if he kept
reading.</p><p>But it was wrong to
keep them here, when he suspected it was only fear that had kept them
tied.</p><p>The stallion advanced
to meet him when the circle was complete, and Harry stepped around
the mound of grass and stone to kneel in front of him. He felt the
cold breath spreading frost along the back of his neck. It was a
reminder of how different the thestral was from any ordinary horse,
but he turned and lifted a hoof like any horse letting a blacksmith
examine him when Harry held out his silver hand.</p><p>He examined the chain
closely, studying, one more time, the dog-shaped shadow. The purely
magical chain he could absorb, but the cold one, forged in despite of
Death herself, could be broken only one way.</p><p>This was the other
reason he hadn't let Snape come with him, other than Snape's
disagreement about him ever being ready. Snape would not appreciate
what was required to break that chain.</p><p>Harry turned and laid
his arm along the chain, ignoring the immediate numbness that
followed, and the creeping pain. He reached into his robe pocket,
thinking fleetingly how much easier this was with a left hand, even
one he had to dip and scoop things up with instead of using his
fingers on, and pulled out the series of small thorns he'd plucked
as he walked.</p><p>Then he drove them
into his arm with all his strength, shedding his blood on the chain.</p><p>The links he touched
hissed and steamed and broke apart, puffing away like snow attacked
by sunlight. Harry promptly began moving his arm up the chain,
driving the thorns down over and over again, teeth clenched to keep
from screaming. Freely given blood—not such a huge sacrifice,
except that the chain was long, and there were so many chains, one
tying each individual thestral, and the person who freed them would
have to use thorns and not a knife.</p><p>And, of course, most
of the time no one would think to free thestrals.</p><p>Harry traveled in a
crouch, stabbing the thorns to open new flesh whenever it seemed that
the cut would clot, and growing weaker and weaker, more and more
dizzy, as his blood left him. At last, though, he had marked and
dissolved the whole chain from the stallion's hoof to the end,
which floated in a tangled ball of ghostly metal somewhere in the
center of the herd. Then he lay back, panting, and drank the magic of
the other chain down his gullet.</p><p>His vision blurring,
he saw the moment the last bond parted.</p><p>The stallion reared,
his body becoming longer and thinner and more elongated, but also
bigger, as though he were a piece of cloth spreading on the wind.
Harry soon thought he looked like a mass of bones on a dark cape.</p><p><em>The Bony People, </em>he
thought. <em>That was what the Dark meant.</em></p><p>The stallion's bones
<em>separated.</em> They drifted around each other like a
constellation, now and then orbiting, bound within the general
confines of the unfolded skin. When the spine went below the hooves,
Harry blinked in dazed confusion, and thought he should close his
eyes.</p><p>He heard soft paws
striking the ground beside him. He managed to open his eyes and turn
his head, thinking another thestral had chosen to come near him in
hopes that he could free it, or in attraction to the blood.</p><p>Instead, he saw a slim
gray dog, her head positively aristocratic, her body as thin as the
stallion's spine. She dipped her head, black eyes fixed on him, and
such perfect cold surrounded him that, for a moment, Harry thought
she had frozen him inside a black crystal.</p><p>Her tongue swept
across his silver hand. Harry screamed in pain as he felt the vicious
tingling pain of it, as though he was waking a limb he'd been
sleeping on for hours. Then the tongue returned for another scrape,
and the pain was worse, and on the third worse again. Harry heard his
voice crack as the cries strained his throat again, but he really
could not have stopped.</p><p>At last it ended, and
Harry pulled his hands limply to him, cradling his face,
uncomfortably aware of how light and clumsy they felt when he'd
given up so much blood—</p><p><em>Wait.</em></p><p>Harry pulled his hands
back and stared. His left hand was flesh now, its healing process and
acclimation to his body seemingly sped up, and it flexed and
responded as the other did. There remained only one patch of silver,
right in the middle of it.</p><p>It might have
resembled a dog's head, if Harry could have squinted enough.</p><p>He shivered, and then
rolled his head over to see the gray dog standing next to the
unfurled thestral, who was putting himself back together again,
in—indescribable ways. When he'd more or less wrapped himself in
a lump of skin, they both turned to look at Harry. He heard a faint,
high, chilling cry.</p><p>And then both were
gone, and Harry felt another thestral grip his hair, while yet
another rolled him gently over. He clung to consciousness long enough
to see them pick him up and begin transporting him towards Hogwarts.
He also managed to summon enough magic, with the power he'd just
swallowed, to set up a flare of green sparks about the color of the
Killing Curse. That would attract attention, and insure that he saw
Madam Pomfrey to get a Blood-Replenishing Potion.</p><p>The night around him
seemed deeper, wilder. He wasn't surprised when the black wolf came
and paced at the flying pair's side again.</p><p><em>The Bony People are
going slowly home. And Death knows you.</em> The wolf laughed, a
deeper and more disturbing sound than Harry had ever heard one of his
pack make. <em>An uncomfortable life you have, little cousin.</em></p><p>And it turned and
broke apart into blackness again. Harry closed his eyes and tried to
determine what would get him into more trouble: going into the
Forbidden Forest alone, or the long, ragged wound that ran the length
of his right arm.</p><p>Somewhere in the
wondering, he passed into darkness.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 102*: Intermission: Come Home To Your Heart</h2>
			<p><strong>Intermission: Come Home to Your Heart</strong></p><p>Severus held himself
still. The madness of his rage might have something to do with that.
If he moved, if he spoke, he would explode.</p><p>He knew he should have
suspected this would happen sooner or later. But he had not foreseen
it happening so soon. He had thought he'd managed to keep the
Headmaster's trust better than that, that Albus would accept his
story of being there in the graveyard <em>just</em> out of time to
rescue Harry, and that he stood a chance of completing the mission
the Dark Lord had set him: to find out a way to get past the wards
into the hidden house where Connor Potter was being trained.</p><p>And now Albus had told
him this.</p><p>"I am sorry,
Severus," Albus said gently, his face drawn. But there was a light
in the back of his eyes, a great light, where there had been none
before, and Severus knew that things truly had changed. "But I
cannot tell you the truth right now. It's not solely my decision.
Lily had to give her permission, too, and she chose not to." He
hesitated for a moment. "Harry's loss very nearly broke her. She
is not so eager to risk the safety of her sole remaining child."</p><p>Severus hid his sneer.
<em>Harry's loss broke her because she believed that they had no
hope of defeating my Lord without him. I know very well how she
treated the boy. It was not a child but a weapon she lost. </em>"And
so I, who have done more than any other single person but you for the
cause, Headmaster, am exiled from your inner counsels," he snarled.</p><p>"That is the matter
as it stands right now, Severus." Albus's eyes were mild, but
implacable. "If it makes you feel better, neither James nor Minerva
know, either. Lily is dead-set against telling anyone but me until
she is sure that what we suspect is true, and we have truly found a
new way to reassert the prophecy."</p><p>Severus inclined his
head. "May I be dismissed, Headmaster?"</p><p>Albus sighed. "I
wish you would not go away angry, my boy. This exclusion is not
targeted at you alone."</p><p>"May I be dismissed,
sir?" Severus fastened his eyes on the wall over Albus's shoulder
and spoke the way a schoolboy would.</p><p>"You may, Severus."</p><p>He turned his back,
not wanting to see the condescending kindness in those blue eyes, and
walked away.</p><p><em>So. They have
someone else who loves Connor Potter, someone who can stand at his
back and provide power when he faces my Lord. And due to the nature
of prophecy, it may even work. They cannot have found another Harry—</em></p><p>Except that, Severus
reminded himself sharply, he knew so little about Connor Potter's
training in recent months that <em>anything</em> was possible. He had
failed in his mission. He had gained control of Connor's father,
but questioning his old enemy would win him nothing when Lily refused
to tell the secret even to her husband.</p><p>Severus played with
the possibility that Lily might not be able to resist the temptation
or the stress and would give in, but he knew that the hope was a
faint one. <em>She kept Harry's training from him for a decade and
more. She isn't going to risk the secret she thinks the safety of
the whole world rests on.</em></p><p>He strode into the
solitude of his dungeons. His Lord had commanded him to begin work on
a new potion. This one was to be a seemingly harmless variant on
Veritaserum; it would make the drinker tell lies instead of truths.
Severus could easily pass it off as a potion done to keep his hand in
if anyone asked.</p><p>The effects of the
potion when they remained in the drinker's system for a time would
be—quite different.</p><p>Severus shut the
dungeon door behind him and began to brew the potion, which he had
already decided should be a deep green, only a few shades short of
the color of the Killing Curse. That meant he couldn't use half the
ingredients that would ordinarily have gone into a Veritaserum
variant. Concentrating deeply on such a challenge would keep him from
lashing out with magic, the sole intent of which was to destroy Albus
Dumbledore.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Here he is,"
Albus's voice said, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix
turned their heads as he ushered Connor Potter into the room.</p><p>They were all there,
including Moody, who had finally managed to kill Evan Rosier last
night, and Nymphadora Tonks, who was their best spy in an
increasingly hostile Ministry since Scrimgeour had been cast out by a
vote of no confidence. His Lord had laughed when he heard about that,
Severus remembered. It seemed only proper that the Minister Harry had
elevated into power should fall with him.</p><p>Such thoughts boiled
into less than steam in Severus's mind when he saw Connor Potter.</p><p>Nine months, from June
to March, hiding in isolation and training, had changed the boy.
There were deep shadows beneath his eyes that would have been more
usual beneath Harry's. He was as thin as Lupin, and walked with as
steady a gait as the werewolf after a full moon. But he radiated more
controlled power. Severus could sense the irritating traces of a
formal Declaration, too, if he pushed himself. The boy had given
himself to the Light.</p><p>But none of that would
have been enough to defeat the Dark Lord. Severus would have been
more amused than anything, if not for the look in the boy's eyes,
and in Albus's, and in Lily's. She walked behind her son, one
hand balanced lightly on his shoulder, the other hovering near his
head, as if she wanted to flick back the fringe and show the
heart-shaped scar for all to see.</p><p>Albus was the
confident man he had not been since the First War. Connor Potter
might have been carved of marble, both his face and the resolve in
that face.</p><p>And Lily Evans Potter
shone from within as though filled with flame.</p><p><em>They have found a
hope they believe in, </em>Severus thought, narrowing his eyes
further. <em>And the boy might be deceived, and even his mother,
though she would not give her belief to something less than
absolutely Light. But Albus would not make a mistake that could lose
him the war, not now, not after all the effort he put into the
training of Harry and the Potter brat.</em></p><p>"Wizards and witches
of the Order of the Phoenix," Albus Dumbledore announced, in a
voice that had none of the strain he had shown for the last few
meetings, "meet your champion, the Boy-Who-Lived, Connor Potter."</p><p>Several people stood
up to applaud as Connor bowed. Severus thought he was the only one
who watched Albus in that moment, who saw the soft and kindly look he
darted towards the boy.</p><p>The world froze, and
filled with light.</p><p><em>Albus. Albus is the
one who loves the boy. Albus is the one who will stand at his right
shoulder when the moment comes.</em></p><p>And given the prophecy
and Albus's immense power and the strange connection forged between
the Potter brats and his Lord on that fateful Halloween night—even
now, Severus knew Voldemort had not chosen to trust him with <em>all</em>
the secrets of that connection—there was at least a chance the
Order of the Phoenix would win the war.</p><p>Severus joined the
applause, but his mind rang with exultation, like a struck bell, for
an entirely different reason. He knew the news he would carry to his
Lord. He knew the permission he would ask.</p><p>If all went as he
expected it would, that permission should be granted, and he could at
last have his revenge on Albus Dumbledore for not expelling Sirius
Black and the others all those years ago.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Severus opened his
eyes with a gasp. A surge of some powerful emotion had awakened him,
but he could not grasp what it was. The dream was already breaking
up, scurrying madly to the corners of his mind as they always did
now.</p><p>He vaguely remembered
Dumbledore, and the Potter brat, and shuddered. Likely he had had a
nightmare of dueling the boy while the Headmaster stood in the corner
and encouraged him to be <em>kinder</em>. He was glad that he could not
remember it.</p><p>He swung out of his
bed, and examined his potions. Lately, he awoke as if by Muggle
clockwork with enough time in the morning to do some brewing before
he went to teach his classes. Perhaps he could even finish his newest
potion this morning; it was very nearly done.</p><p>He gave it a nod of
approval, the thick green potion shimmering in the cauldron next to
the purple poison and the silver healing draught. Yes, it was very
nearly done. Strange, to think it had started as a commission from
the twin Weasleys. Severus had bottled and sent the sample they'd
paid for on to them, but had retained most of it for himself,
fascinated by the harmless but intricate properties the potion
displayed.</p><p>He bottled it, a
procedure that took most of the time he had remaining, and then
hurried to put on his formal robes and go to the Great Hall for
breakfast.</p><p>On the way there,
Snape shook his head. Very strange, how refreshed he felt during
these mornings, when his intense dreams—whatever they were
about—and early awakenings seemed to argue that he should feel
tired. Very strange.</p><p>But then, the human
body and mind had their vagaries. Few wizards knew that better than
he.</p><p>And the matter went
out of his head, entirely, when McGonagall caught him on his way to
the Great Hall, explained briefly that they hadn't been able to get
through the wards on his quarters, and <em>then</em> explained what
Harry had been doing in the Forbidden Forest last night.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 103*: Our Own Voices</h2>
			<p>The poetry lines
quoted here are from "Leda and the Swan," by William Butler
Yeats.</p><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-One: Our Own Voices</strong></p><p>"You should have
known better."</p><p>Harry opened his eyes
to those words, and realized almost at once that he would not have an
easy time persuading Snape that he was fine. He rolled his head over
on the pillows, much as he had rolled it to look at the gray dog who
had come to represent Death, and grimaced. His head was still light
and faintly fuzzy from loss of blood. It wasn't the ideal position
to be arguing from.</p><p>But he could see by
the light coming through the windows of the hospital wing that it was
morning, and he bore no wounds that he could feel save the long,
jagged one in his right arm and the many light scrapes and bruises
that he would have from falling on the stones in the Forest. He had
survived and come back mostly whole. And he had had numerous hours to
sleep and recover. Madam Pomfrey must have given him a
Blood-Replenishing Potion. That meant he should be ready to face
Snape.</p><p>He heaved himself up
on his left elbow, as he knew his right arm would simply go watery
and drop him in a moment. He held Snape's eyes calmly. "I knew
that you wouldn't have let me do what I needed to do," he said.
"You'd told me as much. When I mentioned spilling blood on the
chain, even in the most casual way, you forbade me to do so. So I had
to go alone in order to make sure the thestrals were freed by the
only thing that would dissolve that cold chain. That's all."</p><p>Snape's face looked
like dark stone in its rage. He leaned nearer. "It will not be
happening again," he said.</p><p>"Yes, it will,"
said Harry. He could feel his insides squirming in discomfort. He had
felt bad slipping alone into the Forest without even leaving a note,
though someone could have found the note before he reached the
grounds and come after him. But it would have been a hundred times
worse had he not been doing this as part of his <em>vates</em> duties.
Yes, as a child he had run away and done things on his own for stupid
reasons, or to satisfy his training to protect Connor. But he had
made sure in his reading. Blood was the only way to free the
thestrals. The blood <em>had</em> to be drawn by thorns, not a knife
and not a spell. Something about thornbushes growing in the native
territory thestrals were from. Harry had not made up the requirements
of the procedure. He had merely decided to answer them.</p><p>"It <em>will not.</em>"</p><p>Harry blinked and
leaned a little away from Snape, using his right hand to wipe
carefully at the fleck of spittle that had landed on his face. He
hadn't seen his guardian this passionate in a long, long time. He
had lowered his voice instead of raising it, and Harry <em>did</em>
have the impulse to cast down his eyes. But how could he? He had done
what he needed to do. If he promised not to do it again, then he
would be betraying the most important path he walked.</p><p>"I have to use
thorns," he said. "I have to use blood. If you wish, you can come
with me next time, but I really didn't trust you not to Stun me and
take me back to Hogwarts the moment I opened my arm, sir."</p><p>"And you were right
to doubt that I would have let you do this mad thing." Snape's
voice just got colder and colder, harder and harder. "There <em>must</em>
be some other way to free them, Harry. Find it."</p><p>"There isn't,"
Harry pointed out patiently. "I <em>have</em> been trying to find
some other method that would work for most of a week. And it's
blood, and it's thorns. I'm sorry. But just like a Calming
Draught won't change its base for all that I worked on it, this
won't change for all that you protest, sir."</p><p>Snape closed his eyes
and murmured something violent, his wandless magic leaping and
crackling like lightning around him. Harry watched him in concern. He
wasn't going to change his mind about this, no matter how much
guilt he felt or what arguments Snape used. He wished he <em>did</em>
know a way to ease Snape's fear, though.</p><p>"Let me, sir. I
think I can handle him."</p><p>Harry's head jerked
up. Draco stood in the doorway to the hospital wing, leaning against
it. Now he stalked inside, and came straight up to Harry's bed.
Harry swallowed back a surge of nervousness. He hadn't seen Draco
this truly angry in months. Petulant sulks over not getting his way
were one thing. This Draco had a manner that reminded him partly of
Narcissa and partly of Snape.</p><p>Draco touched Harry's
right arm just above his wound, eyes never leaving his face. "You
would say that this was an acceptable price, correct, Harry? You
would say that, if your <em>vates</em> path leads you in that
direction, it's simply the one you have to go?"</p><p>Harry nodded,
mesmerized by the way that Draco's eyes speared him.</p><p>"And what happens if
you meet a magical species whom you have to free by sacrificing the
person dearest to you?" Draco asked quietly. "Or by giving up
your ability to love? Would you accept that bargain?"</p><p>"There doesn't
exist such a species," said Harry, feeling his back half-arch.</p><p>"There could."
Draco watched him thoughtfully, mercilessly, his face showing no
signs of yielding. "You don't know everything about the magical
species of the world yet, Harry, and especially not the webs that
bind them. There could be something wonderful or terrible out there
that would demand its freedom from you at that cost." He leaned
close, until Harry could feel his breath on his cheek. "Or there
could be one you would die to free. You nearly died to free one
thestral last night. <em>One</em>, Harry. And you will have to nearly
die again and again to free the rest."</p><p>"I didn't think my
life was in danger," Harry said, trying to pull away. Draco's
hand clamped on the back of his neck, and that, combined with the
weakness in his muscles from the blood loss, wouldn't let him move.
"I knew my magic would work to save my life."</p><p>"Then what's
this?" Draco seized his left hand and turned it over.</p><p>"A gray dog came and
licked it back into flesh," Harry said stolidly, but winced when
Draco's nails clanged off the small patch of silver that remained
in the middle of the palm. Yes, it was shaped like a dog's head.</p><p>"You didn't know
that would happen," Draco said. "You didn't know <em>anything</em>
about the cost of freeing the thestrals, Harry, not really. You only
knew how it had to be done. Tell me, why couldn't you have used the
blood from an animal to do this? Is there something in the books that
forbids it?"</p><p>"The animal wouldn't
have given the blood of its free will," Harry reminded him tightly.
"I did."</p><p>"And the books say
that the chain has to be broken with the blood of a willing
sacrifice?"</p><p>Harry knew he'd
hesitated a moment too long.</p><p>Draco reached out and
took his chin in an almost crushing grip. "I knew it," he
breathed. "That was all you, that decision to use your own blood.
If you do it again, Harry, I am going to break off the joining
ritual."</p><p>Fear froze his insides
more than the guilt ever could have. Harry stared into Draco's face
and finally whispered, "You wouldn't—don't do that. Don't
even threaten that."</p><p>"And why not?"
Draco's eyes were bright, scornful. "You say that you wouldn't
give up someone dear to you or the ability to love, Harry. And yet
you would give up what <em>permits</em> you to be dear to other people
and to love them, your life. You've never valued it enough. You've
treated it like some counter on a game board. I did think you were
mostly healed of that tendency, but this proves you aren't. It will
<em>end.</em> Remember what I said, Harry." His hand caressed Harry's
cheek, and he leaned in and kissed him hard enough to hurt, to steal
breath. "With this one action," he murmured, breath puffing
against Harry's lips, "you've said that you don't value the
rituals we've gone through so far, the possibility of what we could
be when the joining's done in about two years, or my presence in
your life."</p><p>"I didn't say
that!" Harry yelled, feeling his hold on his temper slip. "I
didn't think I would die!"</p><p>"But you put your
life in enormous danger, and you did it without telling anyone where
you were going, and you ignored an easily available choice that
wouldn't have put you in danger at all," Draco said smoothly, and
stepped away from the bed. "And you knew we would worry, Professor
Snape and I and your brother and all the others who love you, and you
did it anyway. You put one magical species ahead of all the others
you need to fight for and free. What would have happened to the house
elves if you died in the Forbidden Forest, Harry?"</p><p>"Dobby spoke better
for them than I ever could have—"</p><p>"Which doesn't
mean they <em>don't </em>need you," said Draco tightly. "Idiot.
Look me in the eye and tell me that you value your life, Harry."</p><p>"I do," said
Harry, glaring at him. There was guilt ripping through him <em>now</em>,
shredding him with bloody claws when he tried to think about this
from Draco's or Snape's point of view.</p><p>"And tell me that
you value the people in your life."</p><p>"You <em>know</em> I
do. I shouldn't have to prove that."</p><p>"But you do," said
Draco, "because you seem to have given up all notion of keeping
them and loving them last night. Prove to me that you do, Harry.
Voluntarily protect your life for at least the next month, until the
Walpurgis ritual. And never do something like this again."</p><p>He turned and left
before Harry had a chance to reply.</p><p>Snape said, "He
executes the punishment of a partner. I am going to execute the
punishment of a parent, Harry. Detention every night for a month.
Yes," he added, when Harry opened his mouth. "That includes
weekends."</p><p>"But sir—"</p><p>Snape looked at him.</p><p>"Severus," Harry
corrected himself with a groan. "I—how can it be moral to use an
animal's blood like that, put it through extreme pain in order to
do something I want to do?"</p><p>"As well ask how it
can be moral to make those who love you worry so much," Snape said,
and turned away. "I will await you in my office tonight, Harry. Do
not worry, it will be light labor, in deference to your healing arm."</p><p>He left. Harry lay
back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling his cheeks burn
with humiliation and rage.</p><p>The rage was small,
though, buried beneath the guilt for the most part.</p><p><em>I just—I just
thought they would be angry at me, but because I lied to them. I
never thought they would believe I didn't value my life. I do. It's
just—</em></p><p>And at the wording of
his next thought, Harry nearly swallowed his tongue.</p><p><em>It's just less
important than other things.</em></p><p>Harry curled up in
confusion, tucking his pillow beneath his cheek. He hadn't realized
the implications that thought would have to Draco and Snape, what
they would think and feel if they could hear him say it.</p><p>Perhaps it was time he
did.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>It took labor for
Draco to eat silently beside Harry instead of simply giving in,
wrapping his arms around him, and taking him back to their bedroom
for a round of sex that would knock most of the arguments between
them away.</p><p>But it was labor he
had committed himself to, and now he had to do it.</p><p>He shot a narrow-eyed
look at Harry, who was picking miserably at his breakfast. Two days
of rest, other than attending detentions with Snape, had improved
Harry's health considerably. But his mood hadn't followed that.
He had been quiet and downcast the first time Draco saw him after
their argument, and he'd remained quiet and downcast since.</p><p>He slopped orange
juice instead of milk into his cornflakes as Draco watched. Draco
shivered a little. Now the desire to reach over and comfort Harry was
so strong that it felt like a wave of the sea, running through him
and slapping his body from side to side.</p><p>And still he
refrained. He and Harry had a philosophical difference between them
in this area at least as deep as the one that had lain between his
parents about his disownment. Narcissa could not have yielded to
Lucius without loss of face and proving that she didn't really care
what he did to their family. Draco knew the same thing applied to him
now. Yield, and Harry would not take him seriously. He would risk his
life again, knowing he would have, at most, a few days of discomfort
afterwards—a small price to pay for a freed thestral.</p><p>Draco wanted the
lesson to go home once and for all. And it would. He could endure
days in misery. It made his food taste bad and left his hands itching
for a touch of Harry's skin, but that was better than endless
nights for the rest of his life lying awake and wondering where Harry
was this time and whether he would come home alive.</p><p>Draco had thought once
that he refused to be a suffering little wife, left behind while
Harry went on adventures. Well, he refused to be the hapless partner
either, left lying asleep while Harry risked his life, especially
when there were less risky choices to accomplish the same goal. Harry
would learn to value his life if only because Draco valued it.</p><p>Otherwise…</p><p>Draco took a deep
breath, and scraped at his plate with unnecessary violence, since his
food was already gone and there was nothing left to move around.</p><p>Otherwise he would
break the joining ritual. He had said he would, and he meant it. He
<em>refused</em> to be left behind, to be considered less than an
equal, while in the midst of a binding that was supposed to make them
exactly that. He deserved better than that.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape watched from the
corner of his eye as Harry came in and headed straight for the thick
pile of books he'd been reading for the last three nights. His
shoulders still tightened when he opened them, but he no longer
looked as if he would like to murder someone, Snape had noticed. He
supposed that was progress.</p><p>The books were
wizarding fey tales, Muggle fairy tales, and more ordinary children's
stories all mixed together. Harry was supposed to read them and take
notes. The one thing they had in common was their theme. All revolved
around the theme of a parent or child in danger, and the other coming
to rescue them.</p><p>Harry had snapped his
head up and stared at him in betrayal when he first figured out what
they were, that night when he came down after being wounded. Snape
had looked at him calmly until he turned away and took the notes he
was supposed to on them. The notes would say "what he learned."</p><p>The notes grew more
and more coherent each night; the first time, they had been little
more than erratic jottings, so badly-written that Snape couldn't
read them. Now, though, they contained comparisons between the
different kinds of stories, wonderings about the themes of the more
obscure ones, and, more and more often, the admission that the
parents loved their children and vice versa.</p><p>Snape went back to
marking his own essays while the soft scratch of Harry's quill
sounded behind him.</p><p>Draco had one lesson
to teach Harry, one about valuing him and considering him an equal.
With Snape, Harry's lapse was different; Snape did not want Harry
to have to consider himself in the relationship of a friend or
guardian or colleague to his own father. He wanted Harry to realize
that he could be a son, and that it was not always wrong when someone
wanted to stop him from doing something harmful to his own safety.</p><p>Add to that the fact
that, while he was in Snape's office writing about the stories, he
couldn't be outside, running about in the Forbidden Forest and
ripping his arms open with thorns, and Snape thought the trade was
more than fair. Harry would learn something. He would have Harry
under his eye. A month of detentions ought to press the lesson home
through even a skull as thick as his son's.</p><p>Snape marked the essay
in front of him 'T' with a flourish.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor waited
patiently around the corner. He could hear soft voices from ahead of
him, one a voice he'd known since childhood and the other one he'd
grown resigned to hearing for the rest of his life. They were
conducing a whispered, private conversation that he didn't try to
listen to. It was no one's business but their own what they said.</p><p>But between him and
them, standing unnoticed in this short side-corridor, was another
person.</p><p>One who had been
following Harry around lately, though his brother had been so sunk in
abstracted misery he hadn't noticed.</p><p>One who had decided to
intrude where he wasn't wanted, and whom Connor had finally decided
to put a stop to.</p><p>He heard a faint
smacking sound, and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. <em>You better
appreciate what I'm doing for your sake, Harry, </em>he complained
inwardly. <em>It's bad enough that I know you and Draco kiss, I
don't need confirmation of it.</em></p><p>A moment later, he
heard a soft and whirring <em>click</em>, and his hand shot around the
corner, grabbed the collar of the person waiting just ahead, and
dragged him back around the corner. He squeaked as Connor turned him
sideways and slammed him into the wall. Thanks to the bubble of the
Silencing Charm Connor stood in, and which now included his captive
as well, neither Harry nor Draco heard. Connor glanced warily around
the corner and saw them standing close together, so absorbed in each
other it was a bit sickening.</p><p>Luckily, he had a
diversion.</p><p>"Colin," he said,
and produced his best predatory smile, the one that Parvati,
impressed, had said made him look like a mad murderer escaped from
Tullianum. "Hullo." Then he waited.</p><p>Colin Creevey looked
in several directions for a moment, eyes darting as if he thought
Connor must be referring to some other Colin. Then he sagged, and
said, staring at the floor, "Um, hullo, Connor."</p><p>"That's a nice
camera," said Connor, indicating the one that Colin still held in
his hand. "I'd reckon it helps you take pictures of things—oh,
all sorts of things that no one else is ever going to notice."</p><p>The boy perked up, the
way he usually did when someone was talking about photography with
him. "It <em>does</em>," he said. "I took a picture of a flower
the other day that grows on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and
isn't in any of the Herbology books. Even Neville said he hadn't
seen anything like it. Do you want to see it?" He started fumbling
and patting at the pockets of his robes.</p><p>"Not now, Colin,"
said Connor pleasantly. "I'm much more interested in the picture
that you <em>just</em> took."</p><p>Colin fixed him with
wide, innocent eyes, and laughed a little. "<em>Just</em> took? Oh,
there aren't any like that, Connor."</p><p>"<em>Now</em>,"
Connor said, and snapped his teeth hard enough that Colin jumped and
tried to get away from him. Thanks to the hand on his collar, he
naturally couldn't. "The one of my brother and Draco Malfoy
kissing, Colin. Merlin knows I don't want to <em>see</em> it, but
I've made worse sacrifices for him."</p><p>"It's not what you
think," said Colin sulkily, as he unhooked the camera from its
strap and handed it over to Connor. "I mean—I didn't take the
picture because I'm going to sell it to the <em>Daily Prophet</em> or
anything like that. I took it because I noticed something strange
about Harry's right arm."</p><p>"What about it?"
Connor stared at the camera for a moment, but he was satisfied that
he'd tackled Colin too quickly for Colin to tamper with it. He put
it in his own robe pocket and smiled at Colin. "You'll get it
back after the evidence has been destroyed."</p><p>"I thought he might
have the Dark Mark," Colin said earnestly. "That bandage on his
arm, when he wasn't in a fight?"</p><p>Connor rolled his
eyes, not bothering to hide it. The world disappointed him with its
stupidity, sometimes. But he could still have a bit of fun, and that
would make up for the fact that he'd have to see, and destroy, a
picture of his brother kissing his boyfriend.</p><p>"Death Eaters wear
the Dark Mark on their <em>left</em> forearms," he said.</p><p>"Oh." Colin
deflated.</p><p>Connor paused as
though thinking, then leaned closer. "Listen," he said. "I'll
promise to tell you what he did if you'll promise to stop following
him. And not tell anyone else, either."</p><p>"You <em>would</em>?"
Colin's whole face shone with a disturbing mixture of greed and
hero-worship. "Oh, thank you, Connor! I promise, no one else will
hear about this, I promise, I promise, I <em>promise—</em>"</p><p>"Once was enough,"
Connor muttered, and then started speaking softly, Silencing Charm or
not. "He went into the Forbidden Forest to free thestrals. To do
that, he had to use thorns on his arm."</p><p>"Really?" Colin
breathed, eyes wide.</p><p>"Yes." Connor
lowered his voice further, as though he were afraid of Harry walking
around the corner and discovering them. Colin, who probably hadn't
realized they stood in a Silencing Charm, leaned nearer in
fascination. "He had to bleed from the hole cut by the thorns, and
spread it along the chain. And of courser, he had to keep opening the
wound again when it was about to clot."</p><p>Colin swayed a little
closer as Connor lowered his voice to a whisper. "And then the
chain was gone, and the thestral free, and do you know what it did?"</p><p>"What?" Colin
asked.</p><p>"It—"</p><p>Connor raised his
voice abruptly, yelling right into Colin's face. "<em>Hurt him!</em>"</p><p>Colin scrambled away
from him with a shriek, and took off down the corridor in the
direction of Gryffindor Tower.</p><p>Connor laughed as long
and loudly as he wanted, and then went on his way, now and then
patting the camera in his pocket, whistling. It seemed as though his
brother and his brother-in-law had made up, and so things were
swinging back towards equilibrium in their small corner of the world.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"It was actually the
Horcruxes that made me think the most about what you said, you know."</p><p>Draco lifted his head
from Harry's shoulder and blinked at him. He'd been half-dozing
his way through the afternoon; since Harry had come up to him,
apologized, and said that he'd thought about what Draco had said
and believed it to be mostly true, he'd been so overwhelmed with
emotions that sleep felt like the best thing. Granted, he was
half-thinking this peace would splinter at any moment and Harry would
shout at him—they'd never had an argument conclude so quietly,
without emotional collapses and yelling and breakdowns—but perhaps
this was a sign of how they had both grown up.</p><p>"What do you mean?"
he asked.</p><p>Harry stroked his
hair. His hands hadn't quite stopped touching Draco ever since they
came back to their bedroom. Draco could not say that he minded. "I'm
researching Horcruxes to find a way to get around the requirement of
sacrifice," he said. "Why shouldn't I research the thestrals to
find some way to get around the requirement of shedding my own blood
on the chains?"</p><p>Draco tensed a bit.
This was the part where their "mostly" agreement mostly ran out.
"You <em>can</em> use the blood of an animal," he told Harry.
"That's not immoral. You don't owe anything to ordinary animals
as you do to the magical creatures."</p><p>Harry ignored him.
"Both involve sacrifice," he said. "But the one was unthinkable
to me. Why not the other?" His hand curled around a lock of Draco's
hair and tugged. "Because it was me, and not other people, who was
in danger of losing my life in the Forbidden Forest? What a stupid
reason that would have been to refuse to research this further." He
snorted and tucked his head into Draco's shoulder, his words
muffled. "So I thought about it, and thought about it, and yes, you
were mostly right. I don't like the threat you made, and I don't
think that you were right about killing animals to shatter the
chains, but you were right about the rest. It's simply stupid to
propose exceptions between me and other people when I know that we
both inhabit the same plane of importance now."</p><p>Draco wondered which
part of that to respond to, and in the end chose the most innocuous.
He doubted that Harry would want to hear arguments for bleeding
animals but not killing them right now, or to hear that his life was
<em>more</em> important than the lives of the vast majority of wizards
in Britain. "It wasn't just a threat. I would have broken the
joining ritual, Harry. I don't deserve to be in a relationship
where I'm treated as less than your equal."</p><p>Harry rolled over and
squinted thoughtfully up at him. "I didn't know if you would be
able to go through with it," he said. "That was why I called it a
threat, instead of a promise."</p><p>Draco stared at him,
and then looked away. He'd come to regret saying that more and more
often as April and their argument both wore on, and if matters had
gone down to that point, he didn't know if he could have turned
away from Harry, either. It wasn't something he liked to spend a
lot of time contemplating. It had just felt like something that
needed to be said, to show how serious he was.</p><p>"Just don't put me
in a situation like that, and we won't ever have to find out how
much I meant it," he said, striving to keep his voice light.</p><p>Harry's hand cupped
his ear, and he tipped it to the side so that he could kiss the skin
behind it. "I don't want to," he whispered. "Hopefully, I'll
know better than to do something that brings it up."</p><p>Draco closed his eyes
and gave in to the light touches, the pleasure sweeping through him
as Harry gently bit and blew on his ears. Yes, he didn't want to
think about it. This argument was done with, and hopefully it would
never arise again, if Harry really had thought about what it meant
that he'd put his life in such danger. He would much rather think
about other things.</p><p>Including the fact
that in just a few more weeks, it would be the end of April, and the
time for their second Walpurgis ritual, the fifth out of thirteen,
taking place on the anniversary of the first.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry <em>had</em> been
thinking a lot. The week when he'd barely spoken to Draco and spent
his detentions reading stories that barely took up his attention had
left him with time to do that.</p><p>And he was beginning
to think that, if his life was equal in importance to others'—</p><p>And if he distressed
people this much when he put it in danger, the same way that he would
have been distressed if Snape was the one in danger, or Connor, and
let's not even talk about the heart-freezing fear he'd felt when
Rosier had cast the Lung Domination Curse on Draco—</p><p>And if he would become
indignant on the behalf of someone who was put off constantly by the
Ministry in the way that he had been—</p><p>Then perhaps that
meant that, when the third letter arrived saying that Elder Juniper
could not meet with him to accept his apology yet, and would Harry
try again next weekend, he had no obligation to write a reply
accepting the new proposed meeting date.</p><p>Instead, he wrote one
with his Transfiguration book braced on his knee to support the
parchment, now and then using a Levitation Charm to hold on to the
parchment, and sometimes remembering to use his new left hand.
Really, it had been a wonderful thing that Death did for him, when
she turned the silver hand to flesh.</p><p><em>Though it would not
have been worth the price of your life. </em></p><p>He shook the thought
away and bent over the letter again. He highly doubted that Elder
Juniper needed to know about his exploits in the Forbidden Forest.
What he seemed most interested in so far was the performance Harry
had given at the festival after freeing the sirens, and refusing to
accept an apology and put the matter behind them once and for all.</p><p>Harry answered in the
cool tone that he would have advised someone else to show with an
offended acquaintance who was being this difficult about settling
something important.</p><p><em>April 8th,
1997</em></p><p><em>Dear Elder Juniper:</em></p><p><em>I am writing again
to offer you an apology for my behavior at the festival that the
Minister tried to hold in my honor directly after the vernal equinox.
I have done so twice before, wishing to apologize in person, and each
time the meetings have fallen through. Now I have received another
letter asking me to wait, but specifying no reason that I should have
to do so.</em></p><p><em>I wish to make
amends with you, sir, but if we cannot do it face-to-face, the medium
of parchment is surely ancient and honorable enough to do so. I
hereby say I am sorry yet again, and if you wish to meet with me on
the third weekend of the month, then I am available to you. </em></p><p><em>Sincerely,</em></p><p><em>Harry </em>vates,
<em>Heir of Black.</em></p><p>He felt a bit odd
adding that last, but reminding Juniper that he had some claim to an
ancient pureblood line—albeit a Dark one, and not a Light one,
which Juniper would have respected more—could not hurt.</p><p>Draco read it over his
shoulder, and pressed his hand down once in approval. Harry sealed it
with the Black crest and went to send it by owl. Perhaps this would
content Juniper. If nothing else, Harry could not continually make
plans for meetings that had to be abandoned, because that meant he
didn't have mornings and afternoons free for doing the necessary
study to find another way to defeat the Horcruxes or free the
thestrals.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"He may know
something."</p><p>Aurora frowned at
Juniper's head in the fireplace and went on twisting the braid of
hair she'd assembled into an Egyptian pattern she'd learned. "And
why do you think that?"</p><p>Juniper silently held
up a letter. Aurora stooped closer to the hearth so she could read
it. She frowned more as she did, and sighed at the end. <em>Suspicion
isn't impossible, and I suppose that we couldn't put Harry off
forever.</em></p><p>"And what are you
going to do, Elder?" she asked, carefully moving away as the braid
threatened to slip out of her hands and trail into the flames.</p><p>"Give him his
meeting," said Juniper. "It should not harm anything. We are
debarred from immediate action, anyway. If I allow him to see my face
when he apologizes and see, in turn, the Order of Merlin pinned to
his shirt, then I daresay nothing evil will happen."</p><p>Aurora bit her lip
thoughtfully. "You don't think the Order of Merlin will give him
political influence sufficient to counteract what we're planning?"</p><p>"Unlikely," said
Juniper. "Most of the witnesses to the festival remember his
vanishing more than they do the reward. If it's a private meeting
and Harry does not announce it again to the newspapers—and why
would he, since he is so reserved about claiming such honors for
himself?—then the fuss should die naturally. Until we choose to
stir it up again, of course."</p><p>Aurora caught her
breath. Juniper was being more open in his contempt of Harry than he
had been when she had seen him last. "Does that mean that you think
we <em>must</em> move against him, sir?" Even as she negotiated with
Juniper, she had never been sure that he wouldn't announce one day
that acting against Harry was impossible and they might as well make
the best of a bad situation.</p><p>"I think we must,"
Juniper murmured. "I have studied his political activities over the
last several years, Madam Whitestag, and not merely the information
that you gave me." Aurora felt a stab of pride, that she had an
ally who could take the initiative that way. It was not something
that would have occurred to Lisa Addlington or Marvin Gildgrace. "And
I see consistent patterns. A fuss emerges, either from one of Harry's
mistakes or one of his heroics. He acts embarrassed in the wake of
it, and speaks to the newspapers like one who does not know how to
make the best of either his notoriety or his fame. Some aspects of
his psychology—the desire to hide, for example—became clearer
when I studied the records of his parents' trial. His relationship
with Albus Dumbledore was hardly something to boast of, either."
For a moment, Juniper's face darkened with anger. Aurora knew he
was thinking about the disgrace Albus Dumbledore had been to the
Light. She kept silent. She was undeclared, so it wasn't her place
to comment on Juniper's allegiance. "But it is, in context, good
news for us. He was reluctant to strike until the very last moment,
even given what the man had done to him. The reports of how he killed
Dumbledore are consistent as well. Self-defense."</p><p>"And what are the
implications that you see for our long-term strategy?" Aurora
asked. She knew what ones <em>she</em> would draw, but she had been
wrong before. She wished to see what Juniper would say.</p><p>"He will be
reluctant to fight us," said Juniper. "He will be equally
reluctant to oppose legal measures directed specifically at <em>him</em>.
It was the laws against werewolves, including that ill-advised
hunting season, that stirred him into anger enough to rebel. He
thinks he can weather attacks on himself, and he has little regard
for his honor or his pride." He brandished the letter again. "Even
with this, which is the first touch of pride I've seen from him, I
think it was the multiple refusals that nettled him, not the fact
that I refused to meet."</p><p>Aurora nodded. Juniper
seemed to understand Harry well, and the extra time provided by the
missed meetings hadn't revealed any secret legal weapon they could
use against Harry—only that they would need the support of either
more of the Wizengamot or more of the Light wizards than they
currently possessed. "Then I suppose that the apology and the Order
of Merlin could do no harm, and might even reassure him that you bear
him no ill-will, sir."</p><p>Juniper laughed
softly. "As indeed I do not. This insult is merely a convenient
excuse." He pulled his head back from the fire. "Until our
meeting a few days hence, Madam Whitestag."</p><p>Aurora bowed to him,
and waited until the fire died before she knelt down. The braid she
Levitated across the room. It had taken a long time, and included the
hair of many people she couldn't get a strand from again, including
her own dead children. It would never do to have it burned.</p><p>She cast a handful of
Floo powder into the flames, and waited patiently until the flames
sparked green and cleared, revealing a room paneled in white wood
that was really just opulent enough. If Aurora had been a Light
witch, she thought she would have wanted her home to look like that.</p><p>A house elf at once
hurried into the room, and stopped, squeaking and bowing, when it saw
her.</p><p>Aurora smiled at it.
"Would you fetch Madam Apollonis for me, please? Tell her Aurora
Whitestag would like to speak with her."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>The letter that
arrived back from Elder Juniper, confirming their meeting for the
third weekend in April, pleased Harry, but not as much as the letter
that arrived a few days later. It was at lunch when the Augurey flew
through the window of the Great Hall, squawking awkwardly, and landed
on the Slytherin table by planting its head in the mashed potatoes.
There was more than one burst of laughter. Harry had to admit that
the Irish phoenix was hardly the most graceful bird. This one,
hopping back to its feet only to half-tilt and almost step on its own
feathered tail, rather reminded him of Tonks.</p><p>It at last managed to
arrange itself and hold out its leg, and Harry took the envelope and
opened it. He was already relearning how to use a living left hand
again. So much easier than some of the magic that he'd used to open
envelopes and perform other simple tasks before, he thought. He'd
even noticed that he felt slightly more alert, as though the
permanent Levitation Charm had been a grand drain on his magic and
he'd never noticed it.</p><p>The letter was in a
hand he didn't recognize, and saluted him by every title the writer
could think of. Harry didn't mind that nearly as much as he thought
he would, not when he read the rest of the contents.</p><p><em>My name is
Periwinkle Lyrebird. You probably haven't heard of my family
before; we are purebloods, but we fell on hard times several
generations ago, and our name was never honored as much as same of
the older and more native families'. We have had little but our
name and our honor for those several generations—and our house
elves. There are several other Irish wizarding families in the same
situation.</em></p><p><em>We had one other
thing in common, until recently. That was faith in the patronage and
leadership of Cupressus Apollonis. Even if we had found some other
powerful wizard willing to lead us, he would have found it difficult
to make headway in Ireland against Apollonis. They are simply too
powerful, that house. Even when we heard of you, you didn't seem
very interested in Light purebloods as allies unless they could offer
you fighters, so we followed Cupressus in silence.</em></p><p><em>That changed with
the alliance meeting that you held last spring, and the news of the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow. And now we have heard that Cupressus lost
control of his daughter. You faced him that day, and yet you walked
out alive, and so did the Lady Ignifer. That once would not have
happened, when Apollonis was at the height of his strength. He is
afraid of you, and you can defy him successfully.</em></p><p><em>The other poor
Light Irish families have appointed me their spokeswitch. What I am
prepared to offer you, </em>vates, <em>is our allegiance and the
freedom of our house elves in exchange for protection from Cupressus
and certain financial considerations for our house elves. We can
survive without them. We have been reluctant to give them up because
of what they said about our status, but this is a new world, and the
concept of status is changing. If you can provide what we ask for, we
are yours.</em></p><p><em>Sincerely,</em></p><p><em>Periwinkle
Lyrebird.</em></p><p>Harry could not stop
grinning. Millicent read over his shoulder, and then let out a low,
impressed whistle. Harry glanced at her. Sometimes—in fact, since
the day her father had been captured and taken into the Department of
Mysteries—she had acted as if she would prefer to avoid his
company, but now she peered at him with bright, challenging eyes.</p><p>"And you'll be
accepting their offer, I suppose, Harry?" she drawled.</p><p>"Of course." Harry
gave Draco the letter. "I have money that can repay them for their
house elves. And that's a sacrifice I would much rather make,
Galleons to avoid infringing on anyone's free will, rather
than—others." His left hand flickered towards the slowly closing
wound on his right arm, rather than outright referring to it.</p><p>Millicent raised her
eyebrows and nodded. "Did you think you would achieve this many
victories in so short a time?" she asked softly.</p><p>Harry shook his head,
still feeling dazed and happy. If nothing else, this proved that
Cupressus's attempts to intimidate his allies in Ireland and slow
Harry's <em>vates</em> work there would only backlash on him. "No.
I hoped that a few house elves <em>might</em> be free on their present
owners' conviction by next year. And even if these are still the
house elves of my allies, as opposed to people who hear about what
the webs have cost and make the decision from their own conscience,
it's more than I expected." He felt, for a moment, as if a green
path were opening in front of him, leading into sunlight, and into a
country of no trouble.</p><p>It was only a dream,
of course, and a moment later he rescued the Augurey from the
marmalade and started composing his reply. But things were moving. In
spite of setbacks and mistakes, some of which he'd put in his own
path, things were moving. They would stumble forward, and they would
make it, in the end.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Henrietta often went
outside the school grounds to practice the Darkest magic she knew.
For one thing, it relieved Minerva of the troubled mind she would
have if she had to confront the fact that her Transfiguration
professor had—well, certain proclivities for boiled and flayed
skin.</p><p>For another, the
dampening effect of the wards often made her feel like her skin was
crawling. The Founders, other than Slytherin, had not wanted Dark
Arts practiced in Hogwarts, and Slytherin's influence had long
since been purged from most official rooms. Henrietta knew it wasn't
true, but she could feel disapproving eyes on her back every time she
performed a few mild pain curses. And from what she knew of the
Founders' shades Minerva worked with, those disapproving eyes might
be literal after all.</p><p>There was a third
reason as well, but that had been only a hope until today, when
Henrietta went into the Forbidden Forest, and thus further from
Hogwarts's main grounds than she had been since she arrived. She
drew her wand through the air, practicing slashing curses, pain
curses, boiling curses, flaying curses, curses that attacked the mind
and made it tear out of the skull. She had captured a number of small
animals to use as test subjects. When they ran out, she cast a spell
that let her feel the pain of plants and continued.</p><p>She caught a glimpse
of a robe whisking behind a tree as she cast a spell that she'd
heard Death Eaters used on raids, one which made the victim sure he
was being raped. Of course, it didn't work nearly as well on a
tree, but it translated itself into the equivalent pain of
violation—boring by grubs, Henrietta thought—and the mere sound
of the incantation was revealing. She smiled faintly. She was glad
that Harry trusted her enough now to have granted her license, under
the Unbreakable Vow she wore, to cast most Dark magic. The
Unforgivables were still forbidden her unless she was using them in
self-defense, but that wasn't so bad.</p><p>She cast another
spell. She caught another glimpse of the robe, and then one of dark
eyes she knew well.</p><p>"You might as well
come out, Evan," she called, as the oak's leaves withered and
shrank, and faint, keen wails of pain broke across the surface of her
mind like lightning bolts across a livid sky.</p><p>A long pause, and he
came out. He leaned against the tree he'd been hiding behind, his
gaze fixed on her face. Henrietta turned to face him, spinning her
wand around in one hand.</p><p><em>Evan Rosier. </em>He
wasn't as handsome as the Death Eater she'd raped when he came
with two others to convert her to Voldemort's service, and to kill
her if they could not convert her. He was thinner, for one thing;
more than a decade in Azkaban had done him no good there. His skin
was gray, and sagged on his face, though that wasn't as noticeable
next to the brightness of his eyes and teeth. He looked half-haunted
by shadows, the legacy of Dark magic that slowly closed in and made
the user's features run and blur. His dark hair was unkempt and
shaggy and straggled down his back like a werewolf's ruff.</p><p>"Why did you come to
me?" he asked her at last, voice softer than she'd heard it.</p><p><em>At least he's
smart enough to know that I was seeking him out, and allowed him to
stay, instead of simply running into him by accident. </em>Henrietta
spun her wand again and smiled. "I believe in fate, Evan," she
said. "Don't you? Certain things happen, and they can't be
denied. We've faced each other multiple times, and it's never
come to a conclusion. It will have to, you know, in the end. One of
us will have to kill the other. We're Dark wizards—well, a Dark
wizard and a Dark witch. It's what we <em>do</em>."</p><p>"Or we might kill
each other," said Evan. He came a step forward. Henrietta could see
the madness smoldering in the backs of his eyes, but for now it was
banked, like a well-tended fire. He was interested enough in what she
was saying to focus on her, not on the scraps of poetry chattering in
his mind.</p><p>Henrietta laughed.
"That's true. That might happen." She studied him for a moment,
eyes narrowed. "Have you been eating, Evan?" she asked
critically. "I wouldn't want to think you'd lose to me because
of poor nutrition. There's no grace in defeating an opponent who
can't fight."</p><p>"I don't
remember."</p><p>"The madness is
advancing in you, isn't it?" Henrietta asked. She had never been
sure whether Evan's insanity came from a specific incident in his
life or from using too much Dark magic or from genetic
predisposition, but it did seem to have got worse in the last few
years. Azkaban would not have helped that, either, though Severus
said Evan had <em>wanted</em> to go to the prison and experience the
touch of the Dementors.</p><p>"It is." Evan
leaned on the tree again, and studied her. "I dream about the night
you raped me. When I'm not dreaming of my Lord and what he did to
me, or of Harry and what <em>he</em> did to me."</p><p>"What did Harry do
to you?" Henrietta could feel her eyebrows crawling up her
forehead.</p><p>"Set me free,"
said Evan. "Cage me, kill me, succumb to me, but do not set me
free. I am wild, and wild creatures <em>bite.</em>"</p><p>Henrietta could hear
the madness growing in his voice again. She suspected she would get
neither her final duel nor useful information from him today. His
brief lucid interval was over. "You dream about the night I raped
you?" she asked, in the final hopes of getting <em>something</em>
useful.</p><p>"Yes. In the words
of the poet, 'Being so caught up, so mastered by the brute blood of
the air, did she put on his knowledge with his power, before the
indifferent beak could let her drop?'" Evan shook his head. "I
received only one piece of knowledge from you, Henrietta, and it was
how to hate."</p><p>"I thought you hated
before that."</p><p>Evan threw his head
back and howled his laughter, and Henrietta winced. His voice was
cracking. He really had been living in the wild like a werewolf,
eating nuts and leaves, probably, and little else. "I hated," he
said. "Everything. But the world was a game. After that, I hated
<em>you</em>, and I had opponents." He twisted his head to the side
and watched her like an owl for a moment. "I can accept your view
of fate. We shall meet and kill each other someday. But not today."</p><p>"Not today,"
Henrietta agreed softly, and then felt in her robe pocket. Evan was
back around the tree in a moment, but Henrietta finished lifting out
the thing she held anyway: a raspberry pie she'd had the house
elves at Hogwarts make for her. It was no longer hot, but still warm.
She set it carefully on the forest floor. "This is for you, Evan,
and it has no poison in it."</p><p>He put his head around
the tree and watched her. Henrietta held his eyes for a moment. So
much madness in them—burned to a low ember right now, but it would
rear back up and blaze like a wildfire in the end. She would have
what she wanted.</p><p>She Apparated back to
Hogwarts, but she saw him come forward, slowly, step by step, boots
slipping in the mud, to accept the pie.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Thank you for
coming, Narcissa."</p><p>His wife raised her
eyebrows as she sat down in the chair opposite his. Lucius knew just
how she would cross her legs, how she would fold her hands on top of
them, how her blonde hair would coil around her neck when she turned
her head. Mannerisms like that did not change in a few months apart.
"I wish I knew why I had agreed to come, Lucius. What is this
momentous news you have for me?" Her voice was cool and hard, like
frost on stone, and Lucius knew that it was right to say this to her,
if only for the pleasure of melting that frost for a moment.</p><p>"I am revoking the
disownment," he said casually. "Draco is once more a Malfoy, and
the legal and blood heir to the family's assets."</p><p>Narcissa's face
drained of color, and she actually let out a sharp, "What?"
before she regained control of herself. Then she said, "I will
believe this when I see it, Lucius. You would never yield up your
pride like this, unless Draco had given you a similar concession or a
greater one, and I know that he has not."</p><p>"Why not?" Lucius
asked, to see if she would say what he thought she would say.</p><p>Sure enough, she did.
"He would have consulted with me before he took such a drastic
step."</p><p>Lucius nodded. "Yes,
he would have. But circumstances have changed, Narcissa. I made the
decision to disown Draco because I believed that Harry's rebellion
was doomed, and that Draco was not strong enough to be the Malfoy
heir I wanted him to be. Now I believe that Harry has succeeded in
most of his goals—the most important ones—and Draco has proven
himself strong enough."</p><p>Narcissa snorted at
him. "And it only took you until four months after Draco's
Declaration to realize this?" It was the sixteenth of April, and
thus slightly less than four months since the Declaration at
Midwinter, but Lucius decided that he would be kind and refrain from
pointing out her error.</p><p>"I wished to be sure
it would last, and not be a simple slip into error again," said
Lucius. "Instead, I find that Draco grows stronger and more worthy
of being my heir every day since." And that was so, if what he
heard from his contacts in the Ministry and in Hogwarts was true.
Lucius could admit he felt pride, if pride like a mountaintop, pride
like Narcissa's voice.</p><p>"I wish to see the
papers confirming this," Narcissa said, her eyes glimmering frozen
lakes.</p><p>Lucius had just
received the documents from his solicitor that morning, in fact. He
fetched them from the study, amused but not surprised to see that
Narcissa was keeping her wand, hidden in her sleeve, trained on him
the entire time, and gave them into her hands. She also cast spells
to check them for contact poison before she actually grasped and
looked them over, he noted.</p><p>Narcissa shuffled
through them, and then sat back and stared at him, as if trying to
grasp his purpose.</p><p>"What is the
matter?" Lucius asked, deciding it was at least worth asking the
question. He could not predict every nuance of Narcissa's behavior.
He had given up on doing that. He <em>did</em> think that this move was
transparent enough that she should accept it for what it was: his
attempt to make sure he had an heir who could take over the Malfoy
properties and monies. That she did not know why he would want one
now was not a problem. No one would know.</p><p>"Why, Lucius?" she
asked quietly. "Why the disownment in the first place, if you are
doing this now? Why reverse it, when you did it in the first place?"</p><p>"That is information
I might share with you if you were to agree to return to your proper
place," said Lucius, grasping and holding her gaze. "At my table,
in the chair beside mine, in my bed."</p><p>Narcissa's lip
curled. Very slightly, of course, but it was answer enough.</p><p>Lucius nodded. "Then
I shall not tell you, Narcissa. I <em>will</em>, if you wish, swear
under Veritaserum that the Malfoy legacy is not a poisoned apple. I
leave Draco no deadly bargains, no crippling debts. He shall have the
fortune and the majority of the houses as whole as I can transfer
them."</p><p>"Why?" Narcissa
asked, but she whispered it this time.</p><p>He looked her in the
eye, and ached with the desire to reveal the truth to her. But that
would be foolishness. She was not of him, not now. She was a proud
and independent and beautiful creature, light and pale as a white
leopard in the winter sunlight. She was loyal to Draco, and not to
him, and it was his own fault that had made her so.</p><p>At long last, Lucius
thought, he was at peace with himself and his mistakes. He had
scorned the emotion before, but it was possible that Light wizards
and other proponents of conscience were clever when they spoke of it.</p><p>"Farewell,
Narcissa," he said, and pressed the documents into her hands. "You
may take these with you, if you like. Show them to Draco. Discuss
them with your own solicitor, to make sure they are genuine."</p><p>She rose from her
chair, still staring at him, and retreated out of the room in a slow,
baffled way. Lucius waited until he heard the whoosh of the Floo that
told him she had gone.</p><p>Then he turned back to
his study, to resume his reading.</p><p>The simple fact of the
matter was that he knew he would fall, now, soon. The truth of his
crimes would come out. When it did, Lucius could see only three
possible outcomes.</p><p>Harry would drain his
magic for Lucius's crimes against his parents and for violating the
oaths of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow.</p><p>Hawthorn Parkinson
would kill him for his part in betraying her to the Unspeakables as a
werewolf.</p><p>He would flee, and
survive.</p><p>The last path was the
one he was working to make come true. Yes, it was humiliating, but he
would rather be alive and humiliated, as he had been immediately
after the Dark Lord's fall, than dead or infected. He had built up
what he would need to escape. A small part of the Malfoy fortune was
invested in a separate account at Gringotts, enough to sustain him.
And the only Malfoy property not going to Draco was a small warded
house that only a member of the oldest living generation of Malfoys
could enter. Lucius had no siblings. Draco would be able to enter it
only if and when he died.</p><p>Harry could, of
course, potentially track him to that house and try to drain the
wards, but Lucius did not think such an action would be beneficial
for his son-in-law. The Malfoys and the Blacks had intermarried
before he and Narcissa had, several generations back. Finvarra Black,
whose mother was a Malfoy, had gone into one of the pictures hanging
in Silver-Mirror and come out with something small and fierce and
intelligent and irascible from another world. She had buried it
beneath the house Lucius had chosen, where it had slept since. Waking
it would be—uncomfortable for Harry.</p><p>He remembered what his
father had taught him, however. Family was <em>always</em> more
important than the individual. He had to have someone to take care of
the properties and fortune he would leave behind.</p><p>And he had only one
blood child.</p><p>Draco it was.</p><p>Lucius nodded once,
then sat down and picked up the book that he thought might be his
salvation, should Hawthorn come hunting him. <em>Surviving The Teeth
of Destruction: What To Do When You've Killed a Werewolf's Mate
or Child.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Indigena snorted as
she watched Falco fly away. She didn't know the whole of what he'd
come to talk to her Lord about this time, since they had, as usual,
sent her away during the meat of the conversation, but she knew the
majority of his plan. He would attack on Walpurgis, with the wild
Dark behind him, and he imagined this would be enough to win the
battle with Harry. Or perhaps he imagined it would be enough to make
Harry Declare for Light. Indigena didn't think that <em>Falco</em>
knew what he truly wanted any more. He had simply come far enough
along the road, and felt responsible enough for the British wizarding
world, that he couldn't fathom abandoning his supposed plan.
Indigena wondered idly who would actually get hurt on Walpurgis.
Perhaps both Falco and Harry would survive it, though she hoped not.</p><p>"Indigena."</p><p>She descended the
stairs into her Lord's lair, and paused when she realized that he
was sitting up, the flesh-snake wound around his waist, its eyes
fixed on her. "My lord?" she asked tentatively. He looked more
lively than usual, but that could be deceiving. Sometimes he looked
the wildest right before he collapsed and had to retreat into his own
mind due to the hole in his magical core.</p><p>"We will be moving
tonight, Indigena," said her Lord, and his tongue flickered across
his lipless mouth, "to the sanctuary that Parkinson prepared for
us."</p><p>Indigena knew she
couldn't hide her surprise, so she didn't try. "May I ask why?"
she said. "My Lord?" she added hastily.</p><p>"It soon will not
matter that he knows where we are," said Voldemort, and chuckled, a
sound like scales rasping on stone. "He will not survive Walpurgis
Night. My heir will destroy him. And this burrow is a potential
danger to us now, after the attack on the ring's house. Harry may
return and think to look for us near my <em>father's</em> house."
There was a depth of hatred in <em>father</em> that nearly matched his
hatred for Harry, Indigena thought; it would not surprise her if he
had used Tom Riddle's death to split part of his soul into the
Slytherin ring Horcrux. "As well, the accumulated magical energies
in this burrow are making my meditation difficult. My hand will soon
be ready to move, my Thorn Bitch, and I wish to be in a place more
special and symbolic to me than this when that happens. I was
conceived here, but my mortal birth was in London, and my truest
birth in the place we go. I wish to sojourn there."</p><p>"Yes, my Lord,"
said Indigena, thinking, for a moment, of the difficulties of
transporting Voldemort to his new home more than anything else. Then
his words crashed home into her ears, and she looked up sharply. "My
Lord? Does this mean that we are almost <em>ready</em>?"</p><p>"We are, my
Indigena." His snake hissed to echo the Dark Lord's laughter. "My
spy has given me much interesting information on the state of
Hogwarts in the last few days, as much as he ever gave me about
Woodhouse. No one thinks of poor Lord Voldemort any more, no one
thinks him a threat. And Harry's politics are becoming much too
settled as things are. And my control of my hands and feet grows
stronger every day. When I strike, when I take the first of those he
has loved, it will be little more than a month and a half hence."</p><p><em>Early June</em>,
Indigena translated, and trembled a bit. "And I shall have the part
in the strike that you promised me, my Lord?" she whispered.</p><p>"Of course, my dear
one. It was your plan." He smiled at her.</p><p>Indigena closed her
eyes, and tried not to feel overwhelmed. Her only weapon for so
long—she thought of the books she had read over and over—had been
parchment. Now she would finally take up her wand in her Lord's
cause.</p><p>She was a bit sorry
she would cast the wizarding world into screaming chaos when she did,
but it came not from any personal animosity, but an honor debt. There
were few wizards alive who would not understand that, if they truly
thought about it.</p><p>"Go, Indigena,"
Voldemort said, obviously knowing from her face what she needed.
"Walk in your garden. Say farewell to the flowers there."</p><p>Out she went, from the
dense, dark burrow into the open air and the declining sunlight. It
was nearly sunset on the third weekend in April, and she stood there,
just breathing, watching as the day, slightly longer than yesterday,
depended and then dropped. The scent of the tame soil, the living
soil, the strong soil, came in at her nose, and birds chirped
somewhere far away.</p><p>She had seen in the
<em>Daily Prophet</em> that morning, when she went in disguise to a
small wizarding village, that Harry had met with Elder Juniper of the
Wizengamot and received the Order of Merlin. She had smiled then,
because she was fond of Harry. She had thought it would be the best
news she received all day.</p><p>Now it was not, and
the endless waiting was nearly done at last.</p><p>She breathed, and
thrilled to the sense of being alive.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 104*: Day of Glory</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Two: Day of Glory</strong></p><p>Harry studied the ring
closely, then nodded and put it in his pocket. It would do. If he had
done what he was supposed to do in the first place, and studied the
joining rituals individually, as Draco had done, then he probably
could have found something even better, but at least he'd been
paying attention this time. "Thank you, Connor."</p><p>His brother hesitated
for a moment, staring at him. That made Harry, in turn, hesitate to
leave the sixth-year boys' bedroom in Gryffindor Tower. "What's
wrong?"</p><p>Connor swallowed, then
said, "Are you ready for this? Both tomorrow and—what the night
will bring?"</p><p>Harry smiled
reassuringly. He'd told Connor about the message he'd received
from Scrimgeour a month ago now, warning him that his nameless source
of information on Falco believed he would attack on Walpurgis Night.
Since Harry also believed that, and he didn't think he could have
kept battle preparations concealed from Connor anyway, he'd shared
the information with his brother. Connor normally wouldn't attend
Walpurgis Night given his Declaration and the fact that Harry was
sure the prophecy meant for Draco to stand beside him and fend off
Falco's attack, but he had offered to come with them, now, several
times. "I'm ready, Connor. A year ago? No, I don't think I
would have been." It made him smile more widely, to think how
nervous he'd been about that Walpurgis ritual, his and Draco's
first. "I've had time to get used to it now."</p><p>"If you're sure
you don't need me," said Connor, with a tiny nod.</p><p>"I would like you
along," said Harry. "But this celebration is supposed to be a
private time for Dark wizards, and the ritual—well, it will be
shared, but Draco and I need to be in the center of it."</p><p>Connor cocked his head
and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not <em>entirely</em> looking forward
to the sharing part."</p><p>"I hope you will,"
said Harry vaguely, and then waved his hand and departed from the
Tower. Connor watched him with intent eyes all the way to the door,
but made no other effort to keep him there.</p><p>Harry stopped walking
once he was a few floors down from the Tower and examined the ring in
his hand. This ritual, the Giving of Gifts, said that Harry needed to
return the gesture Draco had made for him the year before, and give
Draco some sign or signal of their partnership—ideally, an heirloom
from his family line. Given that Harry had rejected the Potter name
and his mother was Muggleborn, he was not entirely sure what to do
about it. Regulus had offered him Black artifacts, of course, but
given that Draco was half-Black himself, it had seemed vaguely
incestuous. This part of the dance was about the joining of different
facets of the partners' selves, not the same ones.</p><p>In the end, he had
asked Connor if he could look at some rings inherent to the Potter
line, and had chosen a golden one etched with lions and set with a
topaz. What he planned to do with it would, he hoped, alter it enough
to fulfill the confines of the ritual.</p><p>He ducked into an
alcove as a prefect's footsteps scraped by, waited until she'd
moved away, and then snapped the topaz out of its setting. He put it
on a windowsill, spent a few moments composing and deepening himself,
and opened his eyes to focus his gaze on the ring.</p><p>The gold began to
soften and sag as he watched, turning slowly molten, but not hot.
Just—soft. Harry held up his hands and parted them, and the ring
spun in the middle of them, losing its shape, dripping in strands of
metal that floated up to touch his fingers like the silk of a
spiderweb. He moved his hands over each other, and thought of what he
wanted to do.</p><p>He was becoming more
comfortable working with his magic this way, the way that Lord-level
magic was supposed to work. Jing-Xi had confirmed as much when he
asked her. He could act through traditional spells, but they
sometimes made inadequate casings for his power or wouldn't let him
achieve the effect he wanted. Outside those spells, he had to use the
hammer of his will to drive himself forward, rather as someone did
when completing the Animagus transformation. It was tiring, but it
was also more likely to result in what he wished.</p><p>Now he wished to use
the gold of the Potter ring as a base to create something that would
be unique to him, still an artifact of his family line, but, more to
the point, an artifact of <em>him</em>. He could see the general shape
of the ring in his mind, but deciding the symbols to put on it was
harder.</p><p>Then he smiled, and
presented the image of the ring in his mind's eye, and pushed
towards it.</p><p>His magic surrounded
him, not spreading out around his body like a pool, but thrumming
through his veins. Harry could feel it building as pressure behind
his eyeballs, in fact, a steady impress of song and blood and violent
motion. He was climbing a mountain. It could be done, but it made his
breath come short and the urge to vomit increase. And all through the
contrary sensations, he had to keep seeing the ring, imagining,
thinking of it.</p><p>Press, and suddenly
the overwhelming urge came to him to clasp his hands together, so he
did.</p><p>A blaze of white light
gathered all the golden strands up, and Harry, squinting, thought he
could see a small, hollow sphere forming in the middle of them.
Threads clasped each other and interwove. If he was right, the new
ring would not be a solid band, as the other had been, but a twined
one, a braided one. That was all right, <em>if</em> he could still have
what he wanted.</p><p>His magic surged up
beneath and carried him. Harry felt a moment's thrill. He worked in
partnership with his power, not commanded it, when it was like
this—the way that Jing-Xi had told him it should be. His power
carried him like a horse, and while he could direct it with reins and
halter, there was still a great deal of strength and speed under him
that might decide to do something else at any moment.</p><p>Kick, and soar, and
descend, and then they were in a new realm, so that Harry felt as if
small pieces of himself were being woven into the ring. He accepted
the feeling. He didn't know if it were literal, but if it was, it
just meant that the gift would be even more part of himself, and even
more fit for Draco. The gold had been held by Potters, but reforged
by him, who had no last name.</p><p>The strands shimmered
and shook and grew slimmer. Harry felt tiny points sprouting from
them, tiny indentations pressed into them, tiny parts of them extend
and wrap with other tiny parts. The sensation increased until he
didn't know if he had his own body any more, or if he were part of
this ring, made for the fourth finger on Draco's right hand.</p><p>And then he was back
in his body, spun out, dizzy, staring down at the new ring that lay
in his left palm. Every single braided strand was a lynx, slim body
twisted around, reaching ahead with outstretched paws to grasp the
one in front and trailing a tail behind for the next to hold, heads
lifted and wise ears pricked. The setting for the topaz still waited
at the top.</p><p>Harry solemnly snapped
the stone back into place, and then slid it into his pocket. He knew
what he was supposed to do in the Giving of Gifts from having
actually studied the ritual this time. Unfortunately, Draco also did,
and would be angling for an early glimpse of his gift if at all
possible. Harry didn't intend to give him one.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Try as he might, Draco
had not seen Harry's gift for him before they went to bed, which
meant that he awakened on the morning of the Giving of Gifts not
knowing what it would be.</p><p>He had lain awake last
night debating what it could be, when he wasn't worried about the
battle with Falco that Harry believed would come after nightfall and
how they were going to accomplish it. There was so little that could
count as an artifact of Harry's family. Had he chosen something
Black? Something Snape? Well, come to that, Professor Snape probably
didn't have any heirlooms, either, since his father had been a
Muggle—Draco felt his lip curl, but it was mostly habit—and his
mother had probably sold anything she had to help herself survive.</p><p>He lay next to Harry,
and fought to keep from stirring. The moment he made any strong
movement, the ritual would begin, and he wanted he and Harry to begin
that motion together.</p><p>Harry opened his eyes
at last, and smiled agreeably, sleepily, at him. "Good morning,"
he whispered, and grasped and kissed the back of Draco's hand.
Draco gave him a smile that he hoped was coy, but Harry laughed, even
though, without his glasses, Draco knew he couldn't see it well.</p><p>"You'll receive
your gift in a short time, Draco," he said.</p><p>"You won't
actually wait until noon, will you?" Draco hated how disappointed
his voice sounded, but the requirement of waiting until noon to
present this gift wasn't a major part of the ritual—more advice,
like the terms that said the betrothed couple should wait until the
end of the dance to share a bed. He had assumed Harry would disobey
the rule.</p><p>"In this case, I
want to." Harry considered him solemnly. "You don't really
mind, do you?"</p><p>Draco swallowed an
objection and shook his head. Harry was supposed to be the one
guiding and leading in this ritual, since Draco had guided and led in
the one last year, and had been the one to actually propose the
three-year dance. He had shown an inclination to read up on it in the
last few weeks and actually research what he was supposed to do,
which had made Draco satisfied in a way that nothing else so far in
their courtship had.</p><p>And he had kept his
life safe for a month, as he had promised. Harry really had made an
attempt to learn his lesson this time.</p><p>"Good." Harry's
face relaxed, and he kissed Draco one more time, on the cheek.
"Ready?"</p><p>Draco nodded slowly.
His brain felt larger than normal, like liquid sloshing around in his
skull. He and Harry inched away from each other, and then stood up
and climbed out of bed at the same moment.</p><p>Draco felt the Giving
of Gifts begin. His mind went leaping out from what seemed to be the
sides of his head, through his ears, curling like pearly liquid
across their bedroom and into the Slytherin common room. He caught
blurred glimpses of familiar faces, the fire, the dungeon walls, and
then his perceptions flattened and streamed upward, lashing viciously
into place.</p><p>Draco heard Harry give
a slight moan, and guessed that his mind had stretched further, since
none of Draco's family were actually in the school. He put out a
blind hand, and Harry caught and squeezed it. Draco leaned against
him, gasping a little, his brain reeling as he tried to adjust to
being mostly in his own body but also <em>there</em>, in someone else's
head, with random flashes of their reality intruding at random times.</p><p>This part of the
ritual was designed to link the joined partners to their in-laws, and
smooth out any problems between them by letting them share each
other's mindset for a day. Both Connor and Draco's parents had
accepted that this would happen, Draco reminded himself dimly.</p><p>He had not known how
<em>intense</em> it would be. In the back of his mind, he supposed he
had thought it would be like his own possession, where he could
control what was happening. But he retained awareness of his own body
and position. And he couldn't control it when a pair of eyes opened
and stared at a canopy of red and gold.</p><p>Connor rolled over and
sat up. Draco gasped a little at the feeling of an alien body, but
more at the content of his thoughts.</p><p>He was—</p><p>It was so simple, his
world. It was much like Draco's world, before he had changed his
mind about certain fundamental parts of it, like the innate
superiority of purebloods. Connor knew whom he liked and whom he
disliked, and now that he was not playing the part of the
Boy-Who-Lived, he saw little need to extend his sympathies unless he
had to. At the same time, it was fringed with soft and moving
shadows, what he called the noticing, which meant he picked up on
other people's moods and preoccupations and started seeing them as
more important, because they existed in the world, too, even as he
did.</p><p>It wasn't something
Connor was comfortable with, since he suspected it meant he was
becoming an adult, and he tried to hide from it whenever possible.</p><p>The perceptions ended
for the moment, and Draco staggered, leaning hard on Harry. A moment
later, he opened his eyes and peered at his partner.</p><p>Harry had his eyes
open already, and gave him a strained smile. "Ready?" he asked,
holding out his arm. They'd both showered last night, so as to be
able not to waste time this morning, or risk falling over in the loo
from a sudden and dizzying burst of another person's thoughts.</p><p>"I'm going to be
appreciating your brother before the day is out," Draco said in a
faint tone, resting his hand on Harry's arm. "I'm not sure that
I could ever be ready for that."</p><p>Harry laughed, and
something in the laugh made Draco turn to look at him. "Are <em>you</em>
all right?" he asked.</p><p>"Seeing through your
father's eyes right now," Harry murmured, striding across the
bedroom and managing to open the door more, Draco thought, by memory
than anything else. "It's very strange. I never realized how much
we do think alike, or at least how much we thought alike before I
changed my mind and rejected my training."</p><p>"He's a Dark
pureblood," said Draco simply. "Your parents largely raised you
like one, Harry, whether or not they meant to. That's why we got
along so well at first."</p><p>"No, that was your
doing."</p><p>Draco started to
respond, but stopped at the dazzling smile Harry was giving him. It
was a sidelong thing, from the corner of his mouth, and Harry's
eyes were still filled with whatever he was seeing of Lucius and
Narcissa, and it was absent, and it was loving, and it was the most
beautiful expression Harry had ever shown him. It accepted Draco's
place in his past, even, instead of blaming him for the persistent
sticking to Harry's side he'd done in their first two years.</p><p>Draco decided he could
wait until noon and endure the perceptions of Connor Potter after
all.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor chewed a crust
of toast thoughtfully, and wondered if Draco could feel it when he
did that.</p><p>He was feeling some
effects from the ritual, too, but they were smaller than what Draco
would be experiencing. Now and then the memory of a pureblood dance
he had never known would return to him, and it was like something he
had only temporarily forgotten. Once or twice he had had the dizzying
feeling of sitting at the wrong table, and there was flashes of
excitement that he refused to look at much further.</p><p>If this helped Draco,
it was all to the good, as far as Connor was concerned. He had done
more to accept his brother-in-law so far than Draco had done to
accept him. The Giving of Gifts might help Draco learn to live with
him.</p><p>He ate another piece
of toast and sneaked a glance at his brother. Harry had said he would
be fine, both with the ring and the fight with Falco tonight. Connor
was not sure. He would have liked to have been there to help.</p><p>Except…</p><p>Well, he couldn't.
He was Declared Light, and he could feel the hovering Dark of
Walpurgis as a faint, indistinct threat when he felt it at all. He
wouldn't be welcome at whatever celebration Draco and Harry would
attend, and which Falco planned to attack. This ritual, the Giving of
Gifts, was the only thing he had ever known in detail about what
Harry did on this night.</p><p>An elbow poked him in
the side. Connor turned to Hermione and blinked intelligently,
especially when he saw that Hermione was still buried in her book and
had no reason for poking him.</p><p>"Ginny's asked you
to pass the marmalade twice now, Connor," Hermione pointed out.</p><p>"Sorry." Connor
handed the jar down the table, and Ginny nodded at him before
smearing it over her toast. His gaze went straight back to Harry and
Draco as if nailed there, though, and he knew why.</p><p>He knew why Harry
concerned himself with Walpurgis so much. He might not have been a
Dark wizard, but he had a commitment to celebrating with them because
he hung between both Dark and Light. That should mean that he could
come to Light celebrations as well, though.</p><p>Now Connor just had to
think of a holiday he'd like to share with his brother. Their
birthday wouldn't work, even though it <em>was</em> near the old
celebration of Lammas, because that was the day of a joining ritual
between Harry and Draco.</p><p>Midsummer might do, he
decided slowly. He had read a little about Midsummer traditions last
year, before Peter had decided it was more important that he study
other things. And Merlin knew that Harry could use better memories of
that day. Losing his hand on it one year and fighting a battle the
next was not guaranteed to make him like it.</p><p>Connor hummed under
his breath, pleased with himself. He hoped that Draco could feel the
pleasure, and knew the cause of it. Just because he liked Draco now,
and had accepted that the other boy would play a phenomenonally large
part in Harry's life, didn't mean he had to stop teasing him.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry ran a hand
through his hair and shook his head as he and Draco headed towards
the outer courtyard.</p><p>He had learned more
from Lucius's mind than he would ever have suspected. The man
really <em>was</em> going to make Draco his heir again, something Harry
and Draco had both assumed was only a joke when Narcissa told them
about it, papers notwithstanding. Harry had not tried to find out
why—Lucius had only agreed to participate in the ritual if Harry
did not probe too deeply into his mind and his secrets, so he was
floating on the surface, away from anything Lucius did not want him
to know—but it was real.</p><p>He had changed.</p><p>And his world was
colder and dimmer than Harry had ever suspected it was, or, where
bright, was lit only by the kind of light that gleamed on and through
icebergs. Harry could not help feeling a bit sorry for him. Family
and pride and power were everything, tinted, a little, by love for
that family and the respect for power that Draco had told him about,
or warmed to sea-blue or soft green by some unexpectedly
philosophical thoughts like the difference between power, strength,
and might. Harry had a much better idea now of what it had done to
Lucius when Narcissa left him, and when Draco turned his back on him
to follow Harry.</p><p>Not that that made
those things any less Lucius's own fault, of course.</p><p>He and Draco stopped
in the middle of the courtyard, and turned to face each other. Harry
looked around. Though he knew the wild Dark was hunting behind the
stars, humming in readiness for its descent and the Walpurgis
celebration tonight, the overwhelming impression he received was one
of sunlight. The clouds were trotting swiftly as chariots towards the
west after an early rain, and the sun's weak flower in the midst of
that was the stronger for its setting, not at all diminished.</p><p>It was right, Harry
knew, turning back to Draco. The Giving of Gifts opened a new year
and turned the old year back on itself. It insisted that the partner
who had been more passive last Walpurgis take the lead this time, and
if Dark had been worshipped, now was the time of Light.</p><p><em>They were wise,
those ancient wizards, </em>Harry thought, as he pulled the golden,
lynx-made ring out of his robe pocket. <em>They knew that both Light
and Dark have a place in our lives, even if they were Dark
themselves. I wish the people now alive had one tenth as much wisdom.</em></p><p>Draco frankly gaped on
seeing the ring. "Where did you get that?" he whispered.</p><p>Harry merely smiled at
him. The words he was about to speak, adapted from a set of ritual
phrases he'd found in one of Draco's books, would give him the
answer.</p><p>"The gold comes from
my family," he said. "The family of blood and birth, the Potter
line. But I made the ring." He paused a moment to let Draco imagine
the magic that must have gone into that, then held it up, so that if
Draco had missed the lynxes that made them up, he could see them now.
"The lynx is associated with keen sight, and with guardianship,"
he said. "May I never lack in either duty towards you."</p><p>He leaned forward and
slipped the ring around the fourth finger of Draco's right hand.
His own silver ring, a Black heirloom, shimmered brightly. Draco
stood looking down at the gift for a moment, in a daze.</p><p>Then he looked up
swiftly and reached out for Harry, grasping his shoulders and pulling
him into a kiss. Harry resisted, until he could guide it for himself,
and choose exactly how hard their tongues and lips should meet.</p><p>He felt a tender
protectiveness, less frantic than the fear he'd felt for Draco's
life in Rosier's hands but nearly as strong, surge up in him. He
could guard Draco, then, and it didn't have to be a matter of
preventing him from doing what he wanted to do, or exercising tyranny
over him. What he did was not compulsion. If Harry took the dominant
position at times, that did not mean that he was ruling others
inappropriately, or that he had become a Lord. Sometimes, he was the
stronger one and better-suited to protect and defend, that was all.</p><p>His wonder at the
realization was such that he almost missed Draco saying hoarsely,
"Tease."</p><p>Harry raised a brow,
and then realized Draco was panting, flushed, more affected by the
simple kiss than Harry was. Harry smiled. <em>Well. He should be,
since I'm the guide right now.</em></p><p>"No tease," he
said brightly. "Just thinking about myself right now, as well as
you." He'd done that last weekend, too, when he'd met with
Elder Juniper and said he would be making his acceptance of the Order
of Merlin public, which he thought had taken the older wizard by
surprise. And that hadn't damaged him, or made him evil. The
feeling that filled him right then was such that he had to keep from
bouncing on his toes as he reminded Draco, "When nightfall comes,
then you can choose to go to bed with me if you really want to."</p><p>To his surprise, Draco
immediately shook his head. "No," he murmured. "We have a
battle to fight, you and I. I helped you face Dumbledore, and I'm
going to face Falco with you. But I'll think of some other gift to
give you before we go, Harry."</p><p>Harry gently touched
his cheek. "Good."</p><p>They turned and went
back into the school. Draco kept studying the ring on his finger.
Harry continued to expect some comment along the lines of gold being
a Gryffindor color, but apparently the gold was also rich enough—or
the craftsmanship of Harry's magic was beautiful enough—to
impress him.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Narcissa stood gazing
thoughtfully into the fire. She had come to stay with Regulus in
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place for the nonce, which translated to
"until her cousin was able to sleep without potions." Regulus had
sulkily insisted he was fine. Harry's quiet talk with Narcissa had
said otherwise, and Narcissa was inclined to believe Harry, on the
balance of the evidence.</p><p>Right now, though,
Regulus had been napping for an hour, with nary a nightmare to his
name, and that left Narcissa free to think and reason through the
many things that this day meant to her.</p><p>In a few short hours,
she would be going to a Walpurgis celebration—but not a normal one,
for they all expected Falco Parkinson to interrupt halfway through.
Harry would have his allies there to defend him, but none knew if
they could, given the presence of the prophecy.</p><p>In a few short hours,
she might be facing battle with a Dark Lord, a man she could have
been swearing allegiance to under other circumstances.</p><p>In a few short hours,
her son's fifth joining ritual would be done, binding him and Harry
together virtually for life. Someone else could still interfere, in
the sense of proposing marriage or joining to one of the partners,
until the Halloween ritual—as the seventh of the thirteen, it was
the fulcrum on which the others swung—but Narcissa considered Harry
her son-in-law already.</p><p>In a few short hours,
she would lose her sense of what went on behind Harry's eyes, which
the Giving of Gifts had currently inspired.</p><p>She leaned her head on
the mantle and closed her eyes. When she did, then she could catch
odd pulses of Harry's thoughts, fragments of his consciousness
whirring through her own like startled birds. She doubted that Harry
had looked as deeply into her own head, or wanted to look. He had no
problems with her as he did with Lucius. He would think he understood
her already.</p><p>Narcissa at least
hoped that he had seen she loved him.</p><p>But she used her
lesser access to his thoughts to probe while she could, to
understand.</p><p>Broken webs and burned
bridges and a mind rebuilt from scratch several times were her
dominant impressions so far. And so was a sense of self-worth that
pranced on the edge of an abyss. Narcissa wondered if the Alliance of
Sun and Shadow, or the werewolves, or others who depended on Harry
for strength and guidance, realized how very fragile their <em>vates</em>
was at times.</p><p>She had been grateful
before, passionately grateful, that Draco had Harry. He was what
Draco had wanted, the boy, and then the man, for whom Narcissa had
taken risks, and the cause and the person for whom Draco had pushed
himself to become more than a small seed growing in his father's
shadow. Draco was grander and finer than he ever would have been if
he had not met Harry. So Narcissa believed.</p><p>And now she was just
as passionately grateful that Harry had Draco. Neither of them was
necessarily strong on their own; her son, her beloved son, could
collapse into a spoiled brat, and Harry into a pile of shards. But
together, at least, they supported each other like a pair of entwined
trees.</p><p>Not that the battle,
and Harry's existence in general, and thus Draco's existence, did
not still seem like dancing on a volcano.</p><p>"Dark, keep them
safe," Narcissa whispered, and would have liked to believe that
somewhere she heard a great wolf howl in answer.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco had decided on
his gift for Harry a few hours before nightfall, and it was torture
to wait patiently until they had finished dinner in the Great Hall
and were on their way back to the Slytherin common room to give it to
him. He tugged gently at Harry's hand, drawing him towards a
sheltered alcove, and Harry went without question. Draco hid his
eye-roll. For the most part, Harry had handled the demands of the
Giving of Gifts well. He should know better than to simply give in
when someone else hauled on him, though—or at least, when Draco
hauled on him.</p><p>"What is it?"
Harry asked, as he turned and faced Draco across the small expanse of
stone floor between them.</p><p>"There's something
you should know," said Draco, and wished he had his wand out to
hold and make himself feel better. The consciousness that they were
going to battle in a few hours, accentuated by the uneasiness that
all Dark wizards felt on this day of the wild Dark, put him on edge.
Of course, he would probably have simply twirled the wand in his hand
and revealed his own nervousness. "Something I certainly never
guessed before today, so I couldn't have told it to you."</p><p>By now, Harry's
eyebrows had risen all the way, and his mouth had tightened with
concern. "Draco," he whispered. "What is it?"</p><p>Draco met his eyes,
and realized Harry thought he was about to say something awful. Of
course, he wouldn't stain the day of their glory in such a way, but
Harry didn't know that; awful gifts, home truths, were just as
legitimate a gift as any other kind in this ritual.</p><p>He leaned forward and
kissed Harry gently, then pulled back before it could be seen as
violating the constraints of the ritual. "It's nothing bad," he
said. "Just—unexpected."</p><p>Harry motioned for him
to go on.</p><p>"I think your
brother's all right," Draco muttered.</p><p>Harry responded with a
great peal of laughter richer than any Draco had heard from him in
months. Draco managed to pout, the way Harry would think he had to in
the wake of being laughed at, although he wanted to smile, or perhaps
stare in fascination. Harry leaned forward again and kissed him on
the nose, then enveloped him in a hug.</p><p>"Connor caught me
after Charms to say something of the same kind," he said. "I'm
very happy that you can both get along, Draco."</p><p>In the simple
statement, Draco heard an ocean's worth of relief, and he sighed
himself, resting his face gently against Harry's neck. Harry would
get to have what he should always have had: a loving family. And
Draco and Connor would make some effort to get along, since they were
both part of it.</p><p>Harry might not be
able to express that in words. It was all right. Draco knew how he
felt.</p><p>They stood there a
moment longer, and then heard Snape's quick, hurried footsteps.
They broke apart just as he came around the corner and stopped on
seeing them with a jerk that made his robes swirl behind him.</p><p>"Do you both have
your wands?" he asked them.</p><p>"Yes, Severus,"
Harry said, though Draco knew for a fact that he mostly preferred to
work without a wand now. "Are you ready?"</p><p>Snape inclined his
head. He would not have let Harry go to battle alone, Draco thought,
no matter how much he might hate the uncontrolled nature of the
Walpurgis celebrations.</p><p>"Then we go," said
Harry, and started towards the common room again. Draco followed just
behind him. Not really noticing what he was doing any more than he
had noticed the smile this afternoon, Harry reached out and put an
arm around his shoulders, tugging him towards him.</p><p>Draco could feel
Snape's stare. He put his head up and ignored it. He was quite
happy to walk within Harry's protection for a short time before
fighting beside him, if only because of what it promised for the end
of their ritual and their future.</p><p><em>And we </em>will
<em>have a future. I say so. </em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 105*: Night of Terror</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>WARNING: Gore.</strong></p><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Three: Night of Terror</strong></p><p>Falco came from the
sky, with the Dark running behind him.</p><p>It had taken the form
of a huge black wolf, which Falco supposed was as acceptable as any
other. He was a Dark Lord now, and Dark Lords should find pleasure in
ravening beasts—and this wolf resembled a werewolf more than a
wild, natural creature—and the color black. That he could not take
much pleasure from them was a failing in him. But he fully intended
to die tonight anyway. The plan was that he would not die until he
had forced Harry to Declare for Light.</p><p>And that plan, itself,
was simple. Falco would inflict a wound on Harry that he needed more
than his own magic to heal. To draw on such a source of power, he
would have to reach for either Light or Dark, and the Dark would be
fully occupied helping Falco. The Light would have to enter the
world, and for it to do so on Walpurgis Night would require either a
sacrifice, such as Harry had offered of his phoenix last Midwinter,
or a Declaration. He knew which one Harry was more likely to choose.</p><p>There were several
things that could go wrong. Falco did not intend to let them go
wrong. If nothing else, the Dark would help him, such as destroying
those spells of lesser power that Harry might try to use. It had
taken the form of not just a wolf, but one with his own green eyes,
showing him that it honored him.</p><p>Falco glanced at the
wolf one more time, and then turned swiftly back to stare.</p><p>For a moment, just a
moment, he had thought there was a silver lightning bolt cutting the
intense black fur of the wolf's forehead. The mark resembled the
scar on Harry's brow too much for Falco's comfort.</p><p>Then he realized the
mark came from a shroud of silver light the wolf was pulling with it,
drawing strength from the stars and the dark spaces between them
where their beams wandered. Falco shook his head and faced the ground
again, telling himself not to be ridiculous.</p><p>The Dark snarled
eagerly beside him. Falco reached out and put one hand on its neck,
feeling the incredible power surging beneath the soft mockery of fur.</p><p>And feeling that—well.
It would have been inhuman for him not to feel a bit excited, not to
look forward to the expression on Harry's face when they both
curved down.</p><p>On they traveled,
towards the point where the immense, mysterious backroads of the Dark
opened into the mortal night of the British wizarding world.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry was already
looking around when Millicent landed them at the Walpurgis
celebration, the largest concentration of Dark magic in Britain. He
relaxed when he saw no sign of Falco yet, and then gave a second,
longer look around, because what he <em>did</em> see was bizarre
enough, he had to admit.</p><p>The magic always chose
silver-and-green destinations for them—most of the time, Harry
thought, entirely created of the magic, or perhaps modified from
their normal appearances. He had been in a smooth green hollow where
a silver fire burned, and in a field of lilies and grass, and in a
forest last year, when he chased the wild Dark in the form of a white
stag. This one was stranger than the others.</p><p>It looked to be a
desert, with slick, dark green rocks twisting in every direction,
forming shapes that maddeningly remained on the edge of recognition,
very much the way that clouds did. Gleams of silver struck from the
top of the rocks, gleamed from crannies under them, danced on the
occasional flat surface as if the dark green were not stone at all
but polished metal. No matter where Harry looked, there was silver
light, and his eyes finally made out a ring of stars, low and
clustered around the horizon, taking every opportunity to shine
between the stones. It was—well, it was eerie.</p><p>He waited for some
sense of the wild Dark to overcome him, since it usually changed the
celebrants' moods, but nothing happened. He felt the same mixture
of fear and anger and quiet confidence that he had when he walked out
of the magic of the stone Millicent had used to bring them.</p><p>It was impossible to
think he wasn't affected. Easier, perhaps, to believe that the wild
Dark's mood and his coincided.</p><p>Harry nibbled his lip.
<em>I don't know if I dare believe that, though. I have no idea if
we're going to get that much help from the wild Dark.</em></p><p>"Harry!"</p><p>He looked up, and felt
the sweat of relief prickling around his body. Someone had lit a
fire, and many wizards and witches stood around it, warming their
hands against the intense chill air of the desert. As Harry hurried
towards them, snow began to drift down around them—shattered flakes
of pure silver, of course. When they landed on his skin, Harry
shivered and cast a warming charm. It didn't seem to help.</p><p>He had the impression
that the stars were staring at him through the gaps in the rock,
awaiting some recognition, some challenge, some conclusion. The dark
spaces between them rippled when he watched. Harry hissed between his
teeth. <em>Falco will come from the sky. I'm certain of it.</em></p><p>Draco and Snape were a
few steps behind him, no more, when he arrived at the fire. Many of
the faces there were unfamiliar, but a small contingent of wizards
and witches who had drawn off by themselves came forward to meet him.
Harry recognized most of his Dark-Declared allies, and exchanged nods
with them. Honoria's eyes were shining with excitement, and Thomas
seemed more interested in sifting the sand beneath his feet to find
out what it was made of than in paying attention to an upcoming
battle, but the others were grim.</p><p>"Do you think we'll
be able to help you?" Ignifer asked softly, so that the strangers
could not overhear.</p><p>Harry shrugged. "I
don't know. The prophecy might not tolerate interference at all, or
it might accept a low level." As if speaking of it had called his
attention to it, he could feel the prophecy now, a sweet charged
thunder, prowling around the distant ring of stars like a living
thing in a cage. <em>Well, it is a living thing, almost, with the way
it shifts. </em>"On the other hand, it let Dumbledore do almost what
he wanted last year, until the moment when Draco arrived and the
actual prophecy began to work. There'll have to be a different
sequence of events this time, since I'm ready and waiting for
Falco."</p><p>He kept to himself his
fear that the prophecy <em>would</em> allow Falco to hurt someone dear
to him before it looped him and Draco in to begin the destruction of
the second Dark Lord. If it had happened one time, it might happen
the next time. He would have forbidden his allies to come if this had
been any other time but Walpurgis, he thought—and then he pictured
what would have happened if he'd tried that, and sighed. No, he
wouldn't have been able to do it, not when they had their free
wills.</p><p>"The attack will be
from above, I think," he said, reaching back and feeling the
reassuring weight of Draco's shoulder beneath his hand. "Do you
see the way the sky is rippling beneath the stars?"</p><p>"More than that,"
said Hawthorn suddenly. "Can you smell the scent of the wolf
approaching closer and closer?"</p><p>Harry glanced at her
in startlement. She'd risen until she stood on her toes, her head
back, her nose working. It was only a few days past the full moon, so
Harry supposed he wasn't surprised that she could still use a
werewolf's sense of smell to good effect, but—</p><p><em>A wolf? Like the
one that greeted me the night when I freed the thestrals? Like the
one that tried to take me into the Dark the night I lost my hand?</em></p><p><em>What is the wild
Dark playing at?</em></p><p>He probably wouldn't
know until it was too late, Harry had to concede, and mentally, he
forced himself to live with that. "I can't smell the wolf, no,"
he told Hawthorn. "Does it resemble a werewolf pack or an ordinary
wolf?"</p><p>Two more sniffs, and
Hawthorn settled back on her heels, looking frustrated. "The
scent's turned," she said. "I have no idea where it went. It's
as though it ducked into a strong-running stream or a wind coming
straight towards me."</p><p>Harry touched her
elbow. "That's all right. You've been more than helpful. Just
knowing that the wild Dark is coming in the form of a wolf might give
me more of a clue to help defeat it." He doubted it, since
everything he knew about the wild Dark was both advantage and
disadvantage. It had behaved that way in the past, but it was so
chaotic that it might never do so again, or it might turn back and
use a mixture of traits that had helped it before. He faced Adalrico.
"Did you bring the wards that I asked you for, sir?"</p><p>Adalrico nodded and
held them out. Harry gathered them up. They were not, precisely,
wards, but half-bracelets of wood and leather that grasped a forearm
and sheltered those who wore them from most powerful spells. It also
limited the wearer's ability to perform defensive magic, but most
Dark magic didn't fall under that category, making Harry hope it
was all right to use them on Walpurgis. He had known Adalrico was
clever at making things, and had asked him if he could manage
something like this for everyone who would be at the celebration. If
nothing else, it would keep Adalrico's mind off Pharos Starrise,
whom, Millicent had told him in confidence, he was spending far too
much time thinking about.</p><p>"Good," Harry
murmured, passing them out one by one. He hesitated when he came to
Draco, though. He wasn't sure if Draco's part in the prophecy
meant that he couldn't wear one of the bracelets.</p><p>Draco met his eyes and
shook his head. "No, Harry," he said quietly. "In this, we're
equal, and if you have to cast a spell that defends me, I should be
able to do the same for you."</p><p>Narcissa sucked in a
breath, but when Harry glanced at her, she was silent, eyes even
shining with something that might have been pride. Harry turned away
and went on passing the bracelets out. He heard the sound of them
going home around wrists, and then someone tapped him on the
shoulder.</p><p>He glanced up. One of
the strange wizards who had huddled around the fire stood there. He
coughed. "Might—might we know what will happen?" he asked.</p><p>Harry smiled grimly
and nodded to the sky. "You know that a Dark Lord is coming?"</p><p>The wizard's hand
tightened around his wand. "We could feel as much, yes," he
murmured.</p><p>"And a prophecy,"
Harry said quietly, "claims that I'm the one who will defeat that
Dark Lord. To stay <em>absolutely</em> out of danger, you probably
should have stayed home. You can still Apparate there." He held out
the small remaining number of bracelets. "Some of you can wear
these. Otherwise, get yourselves under the strongest shield you can
find, and hope the battle doesn't touch you."</p><p>"This <em>is</em>
somewhat outrageous, you know," the wizard said stiffly, even as he
took the bracelets from Harry. "Walpurgis is a celebration for all
Dark wizards. It should not be interrupted by struggles from a few,
and it certainly should not mean danger for those who attend it."</p><p>Harry raised an
eyebrow, the odd combination of his own mood and the mood the Dark
seemed to have planned for him raising his confidence. "It's
<em>always</em> dangerous," he said. "Given the magic running
around on this night and the doorway that appears. As for not taking
place here, tell that to the prophecy prowling the sky." He could
feel it drawing nearer now, as if its pacing circles were getting
smaller.</p><p>The wizard stared at
him, then turned away as if he didn't know how to respond. He
probably didn't, Harry thought, and it was to the benefit of
everyone that this conversation end now.</p><p>He turned to Owen, who
was staring at the spaces between the stars with a frown as he
snapped his own bracelet on. "I need to ask you to stay out of the
way," he said quietly. "I know that you're sworn to protect me,
but—well, it can't happen now, not when the prophecy asks for the
particular people it does."</p><p>Own tore his gaze from
the sky, and nodded. "I know that, Harry."</p><p>His eyes were heavy
with shadows that had nothing to do with the upcoming battle, Harry
was sure, and he frowned. "What is it, Owen? Has Draco caused
another problem with Michael?"</p><p>"No," said Owen
softly. "Michael's caused his own problems. It's nothing I want
to talk about right now, Harry."</p><p>Harry made a small
half-bowing gesture and a note to ask Owen about Michael later, and
then turned. A breeze was tickling the back of his neck, a breeze
that hadn't been there a moment before. He held out his hand and
cast as strong a defensive ward over his allies as he could, then
moved forward. Draco walked at his right shoulder, the posture the
prophecy said he should take. How literal that had to be, Harry
didn't know, but he had to admit it was much more comforting to
fight Falco with full knowledge of what the prophecy said and how
well the three of them fit it, instead of half-guessing and only
realizing afterward what had happened, as in the fight with
Dumbledore.</p><p>The stars began to
dance and jingle and shake as if they were bells on a Christmas tree
branch. Freezing music drifted down to Harry's ears, sharper and
keener than the flakes of snow. He shivered a bit, then glanced over
his shoulder. Snape was not far behind him, a stubborn expression on
his face.</p><p>"Severus," Harry
said softly. "Please. Get under the ward."</p><p>"No," said Snape.</p><p>"He'll hurt you,"
said Harry, more agitated now. He could feel the first rising of
Falco's power in the distance, mighty as a tsunami. Of course, that
would not be, mostly, <em>his</em> magic, but the magic of the wild
Dark behind him. It seemed they were more closely allied than Harry
had hoped, when he first began to believe that the Dark itself was
the power this Dark Lord knew not. The prophecy was closer, too, and
its thunder rolled like lead weights down Harry's arms. As if that
were not enough, he could make out <em>two</em> of the damn things now,
tangled and nested in each other. He supposed one was the original
prophecy that Dumbledore and Lily had tried to raise him and Connor
to fulfill, and the second was the prophecy that said the original
one would happen three times. They'd probably both been present at
Dumbledore's defeat, too, but he'd been too caught up in the
battle to notice.</p><p><em>And now your mind
is running in every direction, and you're thinking nonsense. </em>He
turned forcefully towards Snape. "<em>Please</em>, Severus, go back."</p><p>Snape opened his mouth
to answer, and then the prophecies abruptly drew away. Harry turned
just as Falco came down.</p><p>He and Draco stepped
forward. He heard the soft sound that was Draco drawing his wand from
its holster, and then every other noise was lost under the enormous
shrieking howl of a wolf the size of Hogwarts.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Falco was in sea eagle
form as he dived, but he flickered in and out of it as he reached the
desert of the Dark and saw Harry waiting for him. Harry and others.
Falco very nearly smiled. He had learned many things from Tom that
were not as useful as he had hoped, like controlling the sirens, but
<em>one</em> thing Tom had told him was correct. It had to be, because,
watching from a distance, Falco had seen other people successfully
use the same tactic.</p><p>He nodded to the wolf
pacing beside him. It was enormous; actually, he didn't know how
large it was, because its edges faded into the night around them and
it rebuilt itself again and again from the blackness, now with a
grotesquely huge paw, now with a muzzle that could have smashed in
the Ministry. It lifted its head at his signal, though, and howled.</p><p>The waves of sound
rolled over and around him. Falco staggered, but managed to keep
flying straight. His heart surged and leaped, and he felt something
like gladness, the warmest emotion that had touched him in a long
time.</p><p><em>Almost over. And I
know this tactic works. Tom said so. Other people said so. Harry
cannot compensate for it.</em></p><p>The Dark shot around
him, circled around him, as he dived lower and lower, and made the
stars shake. Falco could feel the Light waiting just beyond, drawn,
as it always was, by the rising of any power of the Dark's.
Normally, it would not interfere on Walpurgis, any more than the Dark
would on Midsummer.</p><p>But it had lost a
wizard who had long flirted with it to the Dark when Falco Declared,
and if someone powerful enough called on it, giving himself or
another to the Light, then the gryphon would spread its wings.</p><p>Falco fixed his gaze
on the person who would make Harry do that.</p><p>A prophecy swayed off
to the side like a serpent ready and waiting to strike. Falco ignored
it. It was going to be fulfilled, of course, but that was why he had
come here. He was a willing sacrifice. A sense of clean and clear
purpose filled him. He was, in the end, different from poor Albus,
who had needed to torture people just to send out a signal. Falco
thought this battle would cost very few lives, maybe one, and maybe
two.</p><p>He struck. Harry had
already begun raising his magic to meet a direct blow.</p><p>Falco's strike went
past him, a wicked black arrow fringed with teeth, closing around
Draco Malfoy and flooding his body with poison, his lungs with black
smoke, his tissues with racing cancer. Ripple after ripple of power
went home, like waves pounding on the beach. Falco gave all he had
into the strike, not bothering to defend himself. Harry would realize
what had happened in a moment.</p><p>He heard the Dark wolf
howl in triumph, as he had expected.</p><p>He had <em>not</em>
expected to hear Harry howling back as if in answer, or to sense him
begin to fight instead of calling on the Light for help.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry turned as Draco
fell, shock in his mouth thick as the taste of mint, for a moment.
This <em>could not</em> happen. The prophecy had said that someone who
loved him, with power, must stand at his right shoulder and help him
defeat the Dark Lord. How—how could Draco—</p><p>And then he sensed the
reek of Dark magic coming from Draco, turning him into little more
than a corpse, and a barrier that hadn't fallen in almost two years
broke inside him.</p><p>It was one thing for
Voldemort to do something like this, or Rosier. They were madmen, and
both seemed to have a personal grudge against Harry. Harry <em>knew</em>
Falco opposed him for other reasons, and if such a human emotion as
hatred had occurred to him in the last hundred years, he had probably
rejected it as being contrary to what he wanted to achieve.</p><p>And now he had hurt
Draco.</p><p>The barrier crumbled
further. Pure and roaring rage had its own black tide in him, to
answer what Falco had done. Harry could sense the wild Dark drawing
back from Falco to watch, gleeful, as he turned the air around his
enemy, inside his lungs, on his skin, to serpents.</p><p>He saw the world
through a torrent of pitch, and he heard his own screams distantly,
mingled with long hisses in Parseltongue that he didn't think
anyone else could translate. He took a single step forward, still
forcing all his magic at Falco, wanting him to <em>drown</em> in venom,
as he had tried to drown Draco in it—</p><p><em>Don't think about
that. </em>He would crumble into his fear if he thought about that, if
he had time to think about his world falling from beneath him.</p><p>He thought of the rage
instead, and he screamed and screamed and ordered the serpents
forward, and an enormous one had coiled around Falco's body now,
half the arms of a man and half the flailing wings of a sea eagle,
and could crush him if Harry would but give the command.</p><p>Harry gave the
command. He could have wished Falco out of existence at that moment,
washed on the flickering waves of his own loathing, but that would be
too painless. He wanted the man to <em>suffer.</em></p><p>He heard someone
moving up behind him, but he didn't look to see who it was. He was
leaning forward, banishing thoughts of Draco as they arose,
concentrated on the <em>need</em> to inflict pain.</p><p>And then Falco's
magic rose up against his, and the wild Dark leaned in at his back,
unstoppable, unfightable. Harry's serpents exploded into a dark
rain of flesh and muscle, and he went sprawling to the ground, pelted
with bone shards, while Falco moved to hover above him.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Falco was frightened,
and angry. <em>Why is he not calling on the Light?</em></p><p>He could feel the
bruising impact of the serpent's coils on himself if he let his
mind dwell there. He would not let it dwell there. The wild Dark,
which had drawn off as if to watch the chaos with a gleeful eye, had
come back to him, and now it was helping him drive Harry down.</p><p>And a new thought
darted into Falco's mind, swift as rain, quick as light.</p><p><em>Why not kill Harry?</em></p><p>If it could be done,
then it would solve a great many problems. Yes, it would disrupt the
prophecy, but prophecies could shift. Obviously, it would have to
choose someone else if Harry was dead. It would still come true, but
human interference could change the course of it. Someone else would
kill Tom, that was all.</p><p>Of course, killing
Harry would leave Britain with two Dark Lords and no Light ones, but
Falco could depart again, going into hiding or to another wizarding
community where no Lords or Ladies lived. He was not bound to the
island of his birth. And it would mean no more <em>vates</em> in the
world, in a surer way than any Declaration to Light could ever do.</p><p>He wondered, for a
moment, how much of his decision was driven by the mighty and
unexpected pain he had suffered when Harry sent the serpents to grip
him, but he dismissed it from his mind. If he was going to kill the
boy instead of sparing him and making him Declare—and he had almost
made up his mind to do so; Harry was Darker than he had ever thought,
to reach for Dark magic at the moment when his lover's life was in
danger—then he didn't need to give him mercy or worry about his
own motives. He only needed to kill him.</p><p>He decided that
breaking his mind would be the simplest procedure. Whether or not the
body lived after that, his task was done.</p><p>He wrapped and shaped
his power into another arrowhead, aided by the will of the wild Dark.
He could feel it champing and dancing beside him, eager as a wolf on
the blood trail. Falco would fling the arrowhead into the exact and
vulnerable center of Harry's mind, and destroy his sanity; a second
shot would destroy the tattered shards of what remained.</p><p>And then someone else
attacked him from the side, and at the same moment, the prophecy rose
and <em>rushed</em> forward, a song in its throat like a tide made of
icicles—</p><p>And the wild Dark
wheeled back and away from him, once again hovering at a distance to
watch.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>The world was very
simple.</p><p>There was Harry, lying
still on the ground, covered in blood, covered in gashes. There was
the Dark Lord about to destroy him, with so much magic that it made
his head swim and his eyes blur. Harry could absorb that power,
perhaps, but backlash and worry about Draco had paralyzed him. He
could see tears already forming on Harry's face, as the fear for
Draco began to fight its way through the wall of hatred he had
raised.</p><p>Luckily for Harry, <em>his</em>
impulses were towards vengeance, and his hatred had always been
stronger than his fear.</p><p>Snape aimed his wand
at Falco, his magic rising like a tornado around him at the same
time, a wheel of eyes and fangs and claws. "<em>Inimicus!</em>"</p><p>Even as the Hostility
Curse shot away from him, he felt thunder like a drum in his head,
and a high, ecstatic singing that was probably the result of Harry's
allies doing something to aid him, assuming they had broken out of
the ward Harry had put them behind. Snape would not turn to look. He
was going to defend his child, and he was going to use Darker magic
than Harry would have approved of to do it.</p><p>The Hostility Curse
hit Falco, and the man—half a man now, half an eagle, and some
other creature, fading into night, at the edges—turned to stare at
him. He would have been stupefied and blinded by the loathing put
behind that spell, Snape knew. It was a curse that let an enemy know
exactly how one felt about him.</p><p>And knocked him
off-balance for the next one. Snape smiled slightly. "<em>Contundo!</em>"</p><p>That was a spell he
had learned from Evan Rosier, one that slipped inside an opponent's
magical shields and promptly began to beat on their joints and the
fragile places in their bones, shattering them. Falco shuddered, and
lost another moment to the pain, to the wonder that he could be hurt,
or perhaps to the fact that the wild Dark had circled away and
abandoned him again.</p><p>Snape followed that
curse with another. This was vengeance. It would not do to give his
enemy time to recover, but neither would it do to blend the curses
together so much that he could not <em>appreciate</em> the finer
nuances of pain Snape intended to give him.</p><p>"<em>Confervefacio!</em>"</p><p>His wandless magic
whirled around him and bore the spell up in a cloud of colored
sparks; while normally it could strike anywhere on the body, Snape
had wanted it targeted at Falco's eyes, and so it was. He smiled
again as he heard the shriek. One's eyes melting into jelly and
dribbling out of one's head would be a bit distracting even to a
Dark Lord.</p><p>Another step forward,
another Dark spell. "<em>Deliquesco medullae!</em>"</p><p>The marrow in Falco's
bones vanished. Snape had never felt the effects of that spell
himself, but he was told it was exquisitely painful. He listened with
a detached ear to the wail that produced, then swung into the next
one.</p><p>"<em>Ad</em>—"</p><p>And then Falco
recovered enough to strike out at him.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>It had all gone so
wrong, so badly, so suddenly, and Falco did not know what to make of
it.</p><p>He could hear the
rustling laughter behind him as the wild Dark watched him struggle
and writhe in pain, and he could feel the sudden creeping changes in
his body as his bone marrow vanished, and he could sense his magic
rushing in to compensate, but what drew his attention most were his
eyes.</p><p>He could replace them,
perhaps, but the <em>pain</em>—</p><p>This was Dark magic
unleashed. This was a man who had not become a Dark wizard because he
was thinking about the balance of the world and how many Light
wizards already existed, or even because he had come from a pureblood
tradition that expected its children to Declare for the allegiances
of their parents. This was an upstart, a wizard who had done what he
had done out of hatred, who even now was doing this out of vengeance.</p><p><em>He dared to hurt
me.</em></p><p>And Falco moved,
bringing around his power and striking out with it, shapeless,
formless, not knowing what would happen, but willing <em>something</em>
to do so.</p><p>He heard a dry crack,
and wished he knew if it meant that he had shattered Severus Snape's
back, or neck. He heard the wild Dark laughing again, howling itself
hoarse, but it did not come to him. He should have known better than
to trust it, Falco thought bitterly.</p><p>He began to
concentrate. He could, if he thought about it hard enough,
Transfigure flesh into other shapes. He <em>might</em> be able to grow
eyes in the palms of his hands. Granted, it had been years since he
had studied the delicate shape of the eye and he did not know if he
remembered enough about the iris and the cornea to be able to do so,
but he would try.</p><p>And then Harry
recovered.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>One kind of barrier
had given way when Harry was worried about Draco, and another when
that worry intruded and occupied his mind. And then he saw Snape
fall, one of his legs broken so cleanly that it had snapped like a
branch, and yet a third kind of barrier broke.</p><p>The lightless fury
that climbed out from inside him was familiar. He had felt it three
times before. Once was when Minister Fudge attempted to drain his
magic. The second was when his mother had confronted him and tried to
convince him to come back to Godric's Hollow with her. The third
was when Bellatrix had cut off his hand and he had faced Voldemort in
a duel immediately afterwards.</p><p>He had not felt it in
nearly two years. But it came back to him, filling his limbs with
familiarity. And Harry did not need to rise to his feet in order to
use it. He opened his mouth in a soundless cry, and the fury lifted
through him, ripping and twisting and warping through his magic,
blasting the air with such ice that Harry felt it lash and burn down
his throat. His magic came right behind it, and together they aimed
themselves at Falco.</p><p>And
then the wild Dark was there, too, slamming its shoulder into Harry's
power, driving it forward, howling and dancing. Harry could not rely
on it, he knew that, but the consideration seemed far away right now.
He reached for the chaos, and it answered him, harsh and gleeful as
if he had Declared for it. This was not the wild Dark of last
Midwinter, or last Walpurgis, or any other time but when it had come
from the sky after Midsummer and tried to charm him away. That was
the significance of the wolf form, Harry realized hazily. It had worn
it once before. It <em>was,</em> in fact, wearing it for the same
reason now, because he was uncontrolled enough to attract its
attention.</p><p>They hit Falco from
three fronts, three sides. Harry felt him writhing, filled with magic
as it held him up despite lack of bone marrow and tried to let him
know what was going on and protect him from attack.</p><p>He knew what he
wanted. And he was already divided neatly into three, his magic and
the rage and the wild Dark. He sent them each to their tasks, and
heard the wild Dark's voice whispering in his head: <em>I go.</em></p><p>The rage wrapped
around Falco, blasting him with the cold, whispering into his head
that he was going to die.</p><p>The magic opened
bright tunnels between Draco's and Snape's fallen bodies, sucking
Falco's magic from him without remorse, and channeling it directly
into them. Harry did not try to give his power to them as a permanent
gift. He did heal the break in Snape's leg, and the poison and
disease that Falco had set loose in Draco. He did it without
flinching, and he could not have said how he did it, though in an
ordinary state of mind, he would have had to think about it intensely
to achieve the effect he wanted. This was Harry angry, however, so he
simply willed it, and it happened.</p><p>The wild Dark waited,
poised, circling, until Falco was beginning to recover and fight
against the drain of his magic, which shock and pain had kept him
from doing at first. Then it struck. Harry saw a giant black paw move
across the sky, bearing silver nails like shooting stars.</p><p>It tore Falco apart on
all levels; the physical was the least of them. His organs spilled
out and pelted into the snow-covered sand around Harry with the soft
sounds of leather sacks bursting, but his mind went flying too, his
sanity torn like the cloth of a kite, and his soul unraveled like the
bit of Tom Riddle from the diary Horcrux, and his magic tumbled out
like blood and was sucked into the wild Dark's hungry maw.</p><p>It devoured him, and
in less than a minute Falco's skin was left floating in the air
like a flag. Harry thought it might come to rest on the earth in
front of him, but the wild Dark puffed on it and blew it away into
the night, to be chased and played with by multiple shadow-puppies.</p><p>And the prophecy sang
all around him, ecstatic, warm, somnolent.</p><p>Harry, gasping, drove
his hands into the sand and gradually worked himself to his feet. His
mind rang and his body blazed with power, which he knew would give
way to magical and emotional exhaustion, which would give way to
pain. But for the moment, the magic still held him up, and he bowed
in the direction the wild Dark had gone, understanding many more
things in that moment than he had before.</p><p><em>The power Falco
didn't know was the Dark. But it was my own Dark magic, and
Snape's, as well as the wild Dark. And that truly is chaotic. It
helped both him and us. Why? Probably for the sake of a good time. I
finally have a safeguard against every trusting it again.</em></p><p><em>And the prophecy—</em></p><p><em>The prophecy said
that Snape needed to stand at my right shoulder this time, and not
Draco after all.</em></p><p>Harry grimaced a bit,
as the lines of the third prophecy Trelawney had given shuddered in
his mind again.</p><p>"<em>Three on three
the old one coils,</em></p><p><em>Three in its times,
three in its choices.</em>"</p><p><em>The old prophecy is
happening three times. I got that part right. But it's making a
different choice of elder and younger </em>each time. <em>It already
chose Draco and me. It couldn't have us a second time. </em></p><p>He thought the
prophecy's song grew especially smug at that, as he turned to check
on Draco and Snape. His other allies had already broken the ward he'd
put them under, probably with their combined strength, and were
running towards them. Narcissa was bending over Draco, her face pale
with shock. Draco had his eyes open and appeared to be aware of his
surroundings, Harry saw.</p><p>He stooped over Snape,
and Snape's eyes met his without backing down. Harry squeezed his
hand.</p><p>"Thank you," he
said. "I would not—would not have found the strength if you had
not done what you did." Already he could feel the rage dissipating,
departing, not being locked behind barriers in him again, but fading
into the charged midnight. Well, if there was any time of the year in
which that could happen, it would be this one, especially since the
wild Dark on this Walpurgis seemed to have allowed him to mirror its
mood.</p><p>"I could not stand
by and see you hurt," said Snape in a groaning, rasping voice.</p><p>"I know." Harry
looked at his leg. "Can you walk?"</p><p>Snape demonstrated by
standing, though he braced one hand on Harry's shoulder to do so.
His face flashed white when he took his first step, but in a few
moments he was only limping, and Harry was satisfied. Falco's magic
had returned what Falco's magic had stolen.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>He turned swiftly,
Narcissa's voice making him fear the worst, but she shook her head
at him and stood with Draco in her arms. She must have cast a
Lightening Charm, Harry thought distantly as he strode over to her.</p><p>"He's asleep,"
Narcissa whispered. "The shock, you know." Harry nodded, and
avoided her eyes for a moment, but she caught his cheek with one
elbow and tilted his head up. "Harry. I do not blame you."</p><p>He made himself look
into her face until he believed her, then studied Draco with
wide-open eyes that saw the magic as well as the physical reality of
things. One by one, his muscles relaxed. There was no disease left.
Draco would probably still have to spend some days in the hospital
wing under the care of Madam Pomfrey, from the effects of having that
much magic shoved into and then drawn out of his body, but he would
do much more than simply survive.</p><p>He looked at his
allies then, but saw at a glance that all of them were standing and
well. The strangers who had been around the fire were gone, but Harry
saw no bodies on the ground.</p><p>"They Apparated out
when they saw the battle start," Thomas assured him, coming up to
him. "Cowards. That was <em>fascinating.</em>" He stared into the
black sky as if longing for the wolf to come back.</p><p>Harry sighed a little.
"From a certain viewpoint, yes, it was, Thomas," he agreed. "Do
you want to come back to Hogwarts with me and examine Draco?" He
trusted Madam Pomfrey, but he would feel better if he also had
someone to study Draco for the aftereffects of magic.</p><p>"I'd be
delighted." Thomas beamed. "Just let me inform Priscilla and my
children." He tapped his wrist with his wand to start the
communication spell.</p><p>Harry nodded to the
others. "Thank you for coming," he said. "I appreciate that you
were willing to stand with me. I'll be at Hogwarts if anyone wishes
to Apparate there and talk to me." He <em>certainly</em> wasn't
going to sleep tonight, as keyed up as he was.</p><p>One by one, the people
around him began to vanish. Snape seemed inclined to wait for him,
but Harry gave him a long look, and he went.</p><p>Harry used that
precious moment of time alone to compose himself, as much as that was
possible, and draw a deep breath.</p><p>Inevitably, his mind
returned to the prophecy.</p><p><em>It has to make a
third choice. It has to have a third pair for elder and younger. And
who is that going to be? Me and someone else who loves me, going in
to face Voldemort? I can't imagine doing it without Draco or Snape,
though. And if it's Connor…well, he still doesn't love the
whole of the wizarding world. I don't know who it can be, and that
makes me nervous.</em></p><p>He heard a low snarl,
and opened his eyes. The black wolf crouched in front of him,
green-eyed, bearing the silver lightning bolt on its head, and its
gaze was pure invitation, calling him into the paths of the Dark and
the million mindless secrets that lived there.</p><p>"I am not going to
Declare," Harry whispered. "Falco was wrong about that, and so
are you."</p><p>The wolf gave a little
satisfied chuff of breath, and spoke in the voice he'd heard on the
night he went to free the thestrals. <em>It doesn't matter what you
do. I will have you someday.</em></p><p>"I don't think
so," Harry said.</p><p>The wild Dark laughed,
and laughed, and then broke apart, scattering into the air as a cloud
of black flakes that it hurt Harry's eyes to see.</p><p>He glanced once at the
desert, then wearily Apparated back to Hogwarts. It had been a
Walpurgis night like none other in history, he thought, but he
supposed the wild Dark might be insane enough to disrupt its own
celebrations on a whim, too.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 106*: Interlude: The Liberator's Ninth Letter</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Interlude: The Liberator's Ninth Letter</strong></p><p><em>May 1st,
1997</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour:</em></p><p>Falco Parkinson is
dead.</p><p>I know that you
probably know this already, but I could not forbear writing you a
letter when I felt him perish in my head. I was having a dream I did
not understand, because of the confusion of light and magic in it,
but I saw the moment when the Dark rent him apart.</p><p>I am so relieved, sir,
but I can only imagine what you and Harry <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span> must be
feeling, now that the Dark Lord who threatened your power and his
life is gone at last. I hope my information has made some little
difference in the fight against him.</p><p>As well, sir, I heard
the speech that you gave a few days after I sent my last letter,
saying that anyone who was a friend of the Ministry and unfairly
threatened by your enemies had only to come to you for protection. I
have been thinking about that since. As I said before, I have so
rarely been out of the house that I am woefully ignorant about the
ways of the wizarding world. My parents Apparated me most everywhere,
when they allowed me out. I have seen the houses of some of their
friends, and Diagon Alley once or twice, but I have never seen a map,
and I am not sure how far the Ministry lies from my home.</p><p>I do not ask for
rescue. I am not even sure how useful my information was to you, sir.
I still think that I <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>must</span> find my way out of here myself. But
I will, if I can, include a subtle list of clues here that may enable
you to tell me my location relative to the Ministry. Sending a letter
to me will not work, but another speech which includes, among other
information, the placing of my father's house might. As I said once
before, however, he has spells that will enable him to identify a
letter leaving the house with his name in it, or an anagram, so I
must be as careful as I can.</p><p>I know we are in a
place often called the evergreen country.</p><p>I know that my parents
have often told me the Dark is anathema, and should be cast out of
proper wizarding society if at all possible.</p><p>I know that my
father's "friends" are submissive to him, and would bow their
heads and lend their money if he asked to any project, though none of
them have very much.</p><p>Our name resembles the
light that comes after the moon and the stars.</p><p>I am sorry, sir, that
I can be no more specific. And please do not distress yourself if no
opportunity comes for some months to give me any clue. I have
survived so far, and I can continue surviving. But I have begun to
trust that I <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>will</span> be free, and even that I have friends who
can aid me after my escape. I hope that I may someday see you face to
face, to thank you for the sense of purpose and the inspiration that
you have given me, and be able to do the same thing for Harry <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>vates</span>.</p><p>Yours,</p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 107*: A Week of Sunlight</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Four: A Week of Sunlight</strong></p><p><em>Thursday</em></p><p>Harry wasn't by
Draco's bed when he awakened, but he came in less than a moment
later, carrying a huge book in his arms, and his smile when he saw
Draco was as sweet as Draco could have hoped. "How are you
feeling?" he asked.</p><p>"Awful," Draco
said frankly, stretching his arms above his head and then wincing as
pains shot through them. "What in the world <em>happened</em> last
night?" He could remember the glimpse of a white eagle and a dark
wolf traveling towards him, and then nothing after that.</p><p>"Falco attacked
you," Harry said quietly. "Hit you with an arrow made of poison
that tried to corrupt your body." His hand stroked Draco's
shoulder as though he wanted to convince himself Draco was still
healthy, living flesh, and present in the same room with him. "I
grew angry and attacked him in turn, but he managed to throw me off.
Then Snape struck, and when Falco drove <em>him</em> back, I finally
mustered the rage to defeat him."</p><p>"Is Professor Snape
all right?" Draco asked, attempting to keep down his jealousy that
other people had got to see that sight and he hadn't.</p><p>"Yes, he is.
Recovering from a sudden healing of a broken leg, but Madam Pomfrey
says he'll be fine." Harry wrinkled his brow at him. "Draco,
what's the matter? You're biting your lip and trying not to
grimace."</p><p>"I love the sight of
you when you're in the full flood of your power," Draco said,
deciding that he couldn't conceal his jealousy well enough. "And
other people were able to see that, and <em>I</em> wasn't."</p><p>Harry put the book
down on the edge of the bed, keeping his head attentively bent over
the pages for a moment. Draco saw the muscles in his cheek quivering,
and knew it was to hide a smile. He scowled, and then scowled harder
when Harry began to laugh, quietly.</p><p>"If you think it's
<em>that</em> funny," Draco began.</p><p>Harry waved his left
hand at him, light striking silver from the dog's-head emblem in
the center. "Not at all. Oh, Draco. Some things about you will
never change, and I do love that." He leaned forward and kissed
Draco, nicely enough that Draco felt a bit mollified when he drew
back. "I'll put the memory into a Pensieve for you when you're
well enough to appreciate it. Now. Madam Pomfrey said you would be
feeling awful when you woke up, so I brought a book to read to you
and keep you entertained. But first, do you want anything to eat?"</p><p>"No," Draco said.
His stomach felt like a hollow, but it was a churning hollow. He was
sure that he would vomit up anything he tried to eat. He arranged
himself on the pillows and stared pathetically at Harry. "What book
did you bring me? It had better not be for homework."</p><p>Harry shook his head
and took a seat on a chair beside the bed, once again gathering up
the book. "No. I asked your mother what your favorite book had been
as a child, and she owled me this this morning."</p><p>Draco felt his mouth
fall open. Perhaps he should have recognized the book at once, but he
hadn't seen it for years, since his father had made a quiet little
speech on his eighth birthday and told Draco it was time to put away
childish stories and concentrate on pureblood rituals, history, and
spellwork. But sure enough, Harry was turning it to reveal the bright
green lettering on the brown leather cover that Draco remembered.
Perhaps he should have found it garish. He had learned to appreciate
it too young, however, to care. He associated that book with too many
memories of his mum or house elves reading stories from it to him.</p><p>Of course, it would be
embarrassing if anyone came into the hospital wing and found Harry
reading children's stories to him. Draco tried to warn him about
that. "Um, Harry, maybe you should put up a privacy ward?" He
shook his head a moment later. "What on earth inspired you to ask
my mum for that, anyway?"</p><p>"I almost lost you
last night," Harry said bluntly. "It was Falco's mistake,
ultimately. He could have paralyzed me if he'd taken you hostage—"</p><p>"Just like everyone
else," Draco said, thinking of Rosier and Voldemort.</p><p>Harry picked up his
hand and kissed the back of it. "But he tried to kill you," he
said softly. "I was so angry, Draco. I think part of me is still
reaching up into the night, trying to find the bit of my temper that
flew away. I'd like you to hear stories that I <em>know</em> you'll
enjoy. Please?"</p><p>Draco studied his face
for a moment. He could have defended his dignity by saying that they
were children's stories and of <em>course</em> he would want
different reading material as an adult, but the truth was that he'd
never enjoyed any other fiction he read with the pure, sheer pleasure
of the book Harry held now.</p><p>"All right," he
whispered.</p><p>Harry beamed at him
and sat back to flip through the book. "Which one do you like
best?" he asked.</p><p>It didn't take Draco
long to answer that. "The Sword, the Cup, the Tree," he said. He
had always felt the story flowing past him as a tide of wonder, of
beautiful words and images. He had tried to memorize it, but every
time he read or heard it, he became so caught up in the experience
that he was left with only scattered debris at the end. He was lucky
he was able to remember the title, he thought.</p><p>Harry sought a moment
for it in the table of contents, then sat back and began to read.
Draco closed his eyes, not to fall asleep but to let himself be drawn
into the tale more intensely.</p><p>"'A sword as
beautiful as morning! A cup like the bottom of a jewel! A tree that
bears song in its boughs! <em>Those</em> are the gifts that I want for
my joining, Mother, and I'll take no others.'"</p><p>Memories of warmth and
love and comfort piled up around Draco, adding to the warmth of the
blankets and the hand Harry placed on his, cocooning him in such
contentment that he would have purred if he knew how. He let himself
be swept away, once again.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p><em>Friday</em></p><p>Snape lifted his head
slowly. A small, soft sound had distracted him from his marking. He
turned around, half-certain he would find the Potter brat crouching
in a corner under his Invisibility Cloak and trying to distract him.
It was the kind of thing the Potter brat would do.</p><p>Harry frowned at him
over the potion he was brewing, a burn salve for the hospital wing.
Snape had tried to explain that Harry didn't need to repay Madam
Pomfrey for Draco's care, and Harry had said that he understood
that but wanted to make the potion anyway. "Is something wrong,
Severus?"</p><p>"I thought I
heard…something." Snape drew his wand and cast several spells
that would allow him to detect unseen intruders, assuming that any
had got through his wards in the first place. He could find no one.
Other than a spider spinning a web in a corner, Argutus, who was
coiled around the legs of the table on which Harry brewed his potion,
and a small army of ants come in from the Forbidden Forest who had
found crumbs in the corner and were excitedly carrying them back to
their nest, nothing was alive in the rooms but him and Harry.</p><p>"I didn't hear
anything."</p><p>Snape at last nodded
and turned back to his marking. This time, when the small sound
started again, he didn't turn or lift his wand. He tried to sharpen
his senses instead, imagining that his hearing extended beyond his
head. He chopped away other stimuli by lowering his eyelids until a
web of darkness occupied his sight and forcing his attention away
from the texture of parchment and quill beneath his hands.</p><p>The sound was
definitely coming from behind him, and not too distant. And it was
musical, if one wanted to apply the term musical to such a tiny,
faint noise. A hum? Yes, it could be a hum.</p><p>Snape's first
thought was of a trapped insect, perhaps a bee, his spell hadn't
managed to detect.</p><p>Then he had a far more
interesting thought, and cast a spell on himself to give him absolute
silence before he turned.</p><p>Harry was measuring
the next batch of ingredients into the burn salve. Argutus gave a
long, drawn-out hiss which Snape presumed was his version of advice.
Harry hissed back at him, sounding more amused than anything, even
given the often angry tone of Parseltongue.</p><p>And the small sound
stopped, and then resumed again the moment Harry ended his hiss.</p><p>Harry was humming
beneath his breath as he prepared the burn salve, seeming entirely
unaware of it.</p><p>Snape watched him in
silence for a long moment. Harry didn't stiffen or flinch or glance
up at him, and <em>that</em> was also unusual; most of the time, he was
too aware of his surroundings, to the point where Snap thought his
training had made it impossible for him to fully relax. Now, though,
he was focused, intent, and yet comfortable, and he hummed.</p><p>And Snape did not
think it was just the burn salve, a relatively uncomplicated potion,
that had made him so.</p><p><em>He likes being in
the same room I am. He likes brewing potions when he knows that I'm
here to watch him.</em></p><p>Snape shook his head
slightly, and Harry caught a glimpse of the motion from his
peripheral vision and stopped humming. "Is something wrong?" he
asked again.</p><p>"The Gryffindor
essays," Snape said with some dignity, "are particularly bad."
That was no less than the truth.</p><p>Harry laughed, and in
the sound was more delight than the situation warranted. Snape felt
an unfamiliar emotion heave itself slowly over like a seal in his
belly. Harry was—happy here with him.</p><p>"I'm sure you'll
manage to show that House of dunderheads what's what," Harry told
him.</p><p>Snape turned back to
face the essays again. "I certainly will."</p><p>He waited for the
humming to resume before he started the marking again.</p><p>It went on for
approximately ten minutes, before Harry said, in English, "Argutus,
<em>don't touch that!</em>" and there was a loud explosion and an
Omen snake to be rescued from the thick blue paste that had adhered
to his scales. But even that did not disconcert Snape. He credited
the humming with putting him in a good mood beforehand.</p><p>He might have few
enough moments like this with his son. He would take them when and
how he could.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p><em>Saturday</em></p><p>Harry paused for a
moment when he heard voices ahead of him. He had assumed he was alone
in the hallway just outside the library. He debated for a moment
whether he should walk ahead and simply pass whoever they were; they
seemed to be more intent on their conversation than going to the
library, while Harry needed to continue with his Horcrux research.</p><p>Then he recognized one
of the voices as Hermione's, and one of the voices as Zacharias's,
and heard his own name. He hesitated. He didn't want to eavesdrop
on them, but Draco would surely tell him he was stupid to miss a
chance to hear what people were saying about him among themselves.
And he listened to what Argutus told him of people's behavior,
which was just another form of eavesdropping.</p><p>He promised himself he
would move away the moment he heard something that made him
uncomfortable, and laid his head on the wall.</p><p>"—makes it a lot
more palatable," Zacharias was saying, his tone smug. Of course,
Harry didn't think he had many voice tones that were not variants
of "smug." "She even admitted that she might, <em>might</em>,
come around to thinking better of the Grand Unified Theory, since
Harry obviously doesn't feel that it denigrates his magic or makes
him look less powerful than he really is."</p><p>"Of course, Harry's
a halfblood," said Hermione, her voice relaxed and musing. Harry
smiled as he pictured her standing in a posture other than with her
hands on her hips, perhaps even leaning against Zacharias and closing
her eyes. If anyone deserved the ability to put aside her burdens for
a time and collapse like that, it was Hermione, especially since the
end-of-the-year exams were approaching and Hermione would soon make
life intolerable for herself and everyone else in Gryffindor Tower—if
she wasn't already doing that. "That might mean that your mother
would be less inclined to listen to him."</p><p>"She's not <em>that</em>
prejudiced," said Zacharias, and Harry could feel the look Hermione
gave him. "Or, well, all right, she is, but Harry's a special
case. His magic tends to overrule her feelings about his blood. If
that wasn't the case, she would never have fought beside him at
Midsummer, or let me do so."</p><p>"Would you have done
it anyway?" Hermione interrupted.</p><p>A reflective pause,
and Zacharias said, "Yes. It would have distressed my mother, but
yes."</p><p>Hermione made a soft,
satisfied noise. Harry, meanwhile, tried to stifle his grin and
failed. He hoped that no one would come up behind him and ask him why
he was grinning like a fool.</p><p>"As I was saying,"
Zacharias continued, "she <em>did</em> think that Harry would feel
insulted and belittled by the Grand Unified Theory, or not care that
much about it. He still doesn't have that many Muggleborn allies,
after all. His most influential campaigns have been about other
species. But now I've told her that he supports it fully, which is
true, and applauds the free will of magic that chose him apparently
at whim."</p><p><em>Whim would be
better than prophecy, </em>Harry thought.</p><p>"And that made her
say she'll think about it," Zacharias said. "It's a long way
from outright conviction, but it's much better than absolute
refusal."</p><p>"Good," said
Hermione, and then there was a sound of kissing which seemed like it
might endure for a while.</p><p>Harry softly backed
off and took another corridor to the library. He still could not stop
grinning like a fool, though a few of the students he passed gave him
odd looks.</p><p><em>That's how it
spreads, how it grows. A little at a time, tendril by tendril. Small
things help it along more than large epiphanies. And most of the
time, if I'm there, it's just as a guiding figure, not someone
actively helping.</em></p><p>Harry lifted his head.
House elves were speaking in their own voices now, thanks to Dobby.
If wizards and witches could do the same thing, he was more than
proud of what he had achieved so far.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p><em>Sunday</em></p><p>Harry smiled, and
stepped forward, firmly shaking the hand Periwinkle Lyrebird held out
to him. She was a small woman, almost dwarfed by the enormous red
robe she wore, marked with a dancing lyrebird. Harry eyed the patches
in it, and nodded to himself. The Lyrebirds were not much richer than
the Weasleys, if he read the signs correctly. They would benefit from
the money he gave them, and the debt of gratitude would benefit him
in more ways than just raising a few poverty-stricken pureblood
families back to their old status.</p><p>"As we agreed, so it
is done," said Periwinkle, in a soft, creaky voice that carried
some distance, thanks to the spells Harry had quietly spread on the
wind outside Hogwarts. The crowd of students, a few reporters, some
Ministry officials, and other purebloods, Light and Dark, who had
traveled to the school when they heard of what was going to happen
today leaned forward. "We have the promise of your allegiance to
protect us from enemies, <em>vates</em>, including Cupressus Apollonis.
In return, you have our alliance and our support. And we have your
promise of Galleons fulfilled." She turned to face the small group
of wizards and witches behind her, all representatives of Light
families who until recently had been too frightened to move against
Apollonis. "Now we fulfill our promise as concerns our house
elves."</p><p>The men and women
gently led their house elves forward. Harry wondered if they would
have been as gentle with them if this ceremony was in private, and
then forced himself to dismiss that concern, and breathe in the warm,
thin air and the soft May sunshine. It was public now, and they
treated their house elves kindly for this one moment.</p><p>After this moment, it
would no longer be a concern.</p><p>Periwinkle and the
other humans stepped away, and Harry knelt so that he looked into the
house elves' wide, earnest eyes. More than one pair was wet. Others
gripped their ears and pulled on them in silence, or tried to hide
their faces from Harry's gaze. They knew, at the moment, only that
they were being shoved away by families they had faithfully served,
and could not understand why.</p><p>Harry reached out for
their webs. Essential weaknesses pervaded them already, weaknesses
that would not have been there if the owners had not yielded their
claims of their own free will. He closed his eyes, committed himself
to a vision of transparent, tangled paths with enormous knots in the
middle that tied the conventional freedom-binding webs to the ones
that convinced the elves their service was of their own desire, and
launched himself forward.</p><p>It was not easy, but
it was as close to uneventful as any web-breaking Harry had ever
done. He felt Draco, out of the hospital wing for the first time this
morning, come forward and tighten his hand on his shoulder, but
otherwise sensations from his own body were distant. He sliced
through the webs like a knife, kicked at the knots, and bit his way
through the tangles, and sometime in the middle he felt the elves'
magic rise, helping him shrug the bonds off.</p><p>The moment the last
strands came loose, he flung himself backward, drawing his magic up
in golden-shining replicas of phoenix wings to let his audience know
it was done.</p><p>When he opened his
eyes, he saw the house elves' bodies dissolving in front of him,
turning into a mixture of great green trains and silver veils of
magic. They danced around each other, celebrating, losing shape and
form until Harry could imagine they were portraying the primal matter
their shapeshifting kind had come from. His eyes filled with tears as
he watched the image that, for one moment, arranged itself out of the
silver and the green: a healthy, living tree, with silver leaves and
fruit, rooted in the earth deeper than any human could go and
extending higher into the sky than any mortal tree could reach.</p><p>Then the magic
collapsed into one long, straight beam, and soared off into the sky.
Harry shaded his eyes with one hand, and thought they were aiming at
the sun.</p><p>He glanced around, and
saw more than one wet cheek, more than one pair of hastily wiped
eyes, in the audience. Some people gaped with open awe on their
faces. Harry smiled. Dobby's impact had spread far and wide, but
this would go further. And some people already looked hungry for
another sight of such wonder. Well, they could achieve it if they had
house elves and would free them.</p><p>"Thank you for
coming today," he said, and nodded to Periwinkle Lyrebird. "May
all house elves, in the end, go free with such grace."</p><p>Once again, as
yesterday, he was grinning like a fool, but this time he shared it
with more than one person, including Draco, who turned him around and
concealed his own foolish smile by pressing his mouth to Harry's.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p><em>Monday</em></p><p>Connor paused when he
reached his usual table for Charms study in the library. Harry was
sitting there, bent over his Charms textbook and muttering
imprecations under his breath which seemed to be directed at the fact
that he couldn't find the bit of evidence he needed to make a point
for his essay.</p><p>"Harry?" Connor
ventured at last. He glanced around, to see if Ron was sitting at
another table, but he hadn't arrived yet. Draco wasn't there,
either, for that matter, and that surprised Connor even more. He
would have thought his brother's boyfriend would be sitting right
next to him the day after he finally managed to leave the hospital
wing.</p><p>"Connor! Hullo."
Harry grinned up at him, and nodded to his book. "Have you started
on the essay for Flitwick yet?"</p><p>"Hermione tried to
make me, but I didn't let her," said Connor blankly, sitting down
and chiding himself for being so surprised. Why was it unusual for
Harry to want to study with him?</p><p><em>Well, he's never
done it before, that's why.</em></p><p>And because he was a
Gryffindor and didn't need to attend to all the intricate emotional
and verbal maneuvering that Slytherins seemed to perform around each
other, Connor felt able to ask straight out. "Why are you here,
Harry?"</p><p>"It occurred to me,"
said Harry, still flipping back and forth in the book, and then
slowing and reading a paragraph that seemed to continue from one page
to another, "that we don't spend much time together outside of
Quidditch practice. Now, I like flying, but I don't think it should
be the only interest common to both of us. And since I'm not
playing this year, and you are, all I'm really doing is training
<em>you</em>, while not benefiting Slytherin in any way." He grinned
again, letting Connor know that he didn't really mean that last
statement. "And I know that we both have some difficulty with
Charms. I know specific spells, but not a lot of theory connecting
them, because I mostly learned defensive magic, whether it was charms
or curses or something else." Connor flinched a bit, expectantly,
but Harry didn't look as though he was reliving bad memories of his
childhood when he talked about his training. "You have the
difficulty because—" Harry broke off and shook his head. "I
don't <em>know</em> why, Connor, and I should. I should know that
kind of thing about my own brother."</p><p>"I understand why
you don't," said Connor, anxious in case Harry should start
blaming himself again.</p><p>"I know," Harry
whispered. "But I want to spend some more time with you, and <em>find
out</em>. What is the biggest difficulty that you have with Charms?"</p><p>Connor let out a
small, relieved breath, and opened his book. "Hermione's asked me
that," he said. "And Parvati's asked me that. A <em>lot</em>."
He scowled, thinking of the way that Parvati could flip her wand and
perform the smallest and most delicate spells, ones that arranged her
hair to fall just the way she wanted or moved her makeup around on
her face without her needing to spend hours in front of the mirror
the way Connor had heard some Muggle girls did. "And I don't know
why. I don't think it's just one problem. Sometimes I understand
a Charm well enough, and then don't understand any of the others
related to it."</p><p>"Then let's look,"
Harry said, sliding over to sit in the chair next to him.</p><p>Connor couldn't help
taking one more look around the library. "Have you seen Ron? We
usually study together now."</p><p>"I know." Harry
peered up at him from beneath his fringe. "I caught him earlier and
asked him if we could have this hour alone. And I told Draco the same
thing. You don't mind, do you? I know I should probably have asked
first, but I wanted it to be a surprise."</p><p>"Not at all," said
Connor, and felt a small and happy pit open in the center of his
stomach as he bent over his Charms textbook beside Harry.</p><p>Harry concentrated,
and the book fell open at the page Connor had studied most often and
still didn't understand, the Bird-Calling Charm.</p><p>"How did you do
that?" Connor asked, impressed. "Did you read my mind?"</p><p>Harry looked at him as
if he were mad. "No, I felt the crease in the book and moved it so
it fell open there," he said, holding up his hand, which Connor
hadn't noticed under the binding.</p><p>Connor shook his head.
He was still unused to Harry having a left hand, and had missed it.
"Right."</p><p>It still didn't
diminish his happiness.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p><em>Tuesday</em></p><p>"Tell him he's a
bastard," Millicent said helpfully, hanging over Harry's
shoulder. "That's the worst insult for someone like him, to imply
that he's not the rightful heir of his family's legacy." Then
her eyes lit up. "No, use some of the proof from the Grand Unified
Theory to show that he must be a halfblood or a Muggleborn, because
of course no intelligence can possibly still exist in the pureblood
lines."</p><p>Harry raised an
eyebrow and noted to himself that Millicent seemed to resent the
Grand Unified Theory more than he'd thought. <em>Something to
remember. </em>"What do you think, Draco?"</p><p>Draco was reading
Cupressus Apollonis's letter, which he'd sent to Harry when he
found out his allies were abandoning him, in silence. Now he lifted
his head and raised a lazy eyebrow.</p><p>"You didn't even
notice the implication he gave that you both have an equal social
standing?" he asked.</p><p>"What equal social
standing?" demanded a Slytherin third-year, Josephine Hornblower,
leaning forward. Harry had been aware that the letter was attracting
attention outside the contingent of himself, Millicent, Owen, and
Draco, but this was the first person who had intruded.</p><p>"Look at this."
Draco unabashedly showed her the letter, ignoring Harry's attempt
to snatch it back. "He's claiming that they're both Lords.
That's insulting on at least two levels. Harry's not Declared and
he won't use compulsion, and Apollonis doesn't have enough power
to be a Lord."</p><p>"That was a turn of
phrase," Harry muttered, disgusted. "I think it was just his
wording that was bad. It's not what he <em>meant</em>, Draco."</p><p>Draco's second
eyebrow joined the first. "So what?"</p><p>Harry opened his mouth
to retort, but Josephine interrupted. "That's <em>disgusting</em>,"
she said roundly, and waved the letter like a banner. "He has no
right to talk to anyone like that, much less someone stronger than he
is and who just took his allies away from him. If he didn't have
the power to keep them, then he shouldn't have extracted promises
from them in the first place." She faced Harry. "I want to take
this and have my cousin publish it. Can I?"</p><p>Harry imagined that
letter in the <em>Vox Populi</em> and opened his mouth to refuse. It
would insult Cupressus horribly, and probably make him all the more
infuriated and likely to strike out blindly.</p><p>And then he thought of
the insulting tone of the letter, which he would have found
intolerable even when his training was in full effect, and how
Cupressus seemed to believe that the allegiance of Periwinkle
Lyrebird and the others was some sort of material possession that
Harry had stolen and could simply hand back to him.</p><p><em>Does he deserve the
courtesy of a reply?</em></p><p><em>No, he doesn't.</em></p><p>Harry shut his mouth
and nodded to Josephine. "If you want to send it to your cousin
Dionysus, you have my permission."</p><p>Josephine gave him a
smile that resembled a shark's, and jumped up from the table to run
to the Owlery.</p><p>"Was that the <em>wisest</em>
idea?" Millicent asked, gingerly.</p><p>Harry shrugged and
started eating again. "Maybe it would be better to keep it
private," he said. "But then, I think, he would continue to
believe that I was going to back down and yield to him. Elder Juniper
of the Wizengamot thought the same way, as long as I accepted the way
he owled me. And I have no time and no patience to dance with
Cupressus Apollonis the way he wants me to. I have no respect for
him, either, given what he did to his daughter." <em>His daughters,
perhaps. </em>Scrimgeour had told him that he thought their nameless
helper against Falco Parkinson was an Apollonis daughter, a younger
sister of Ignifer's, from clues in her latest letter, and he was
planning a raid to free her if possible. "This will at least set
the terms of our feud out in the open."</p><p>"Of course it will,"
said Draco, looking serene. "That's why I showed the letter to
Josephine in the first place."</p><p>Harry let him think
that.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p><em>Wednesday</em></p><p>"What is <em>that</em>?"
Harry slammed to a stop just inside the room that Thomas had taken as
his own, frankly staring. He had grown used to seeing scatterings of
odd notes, equally odd diagrams, and sometimes spell residue in this
room, but he had never seen anything like the white sphere that
turned gyrations around Thomas's head. Harry thought at first it
was following the course of his wand, but then he realized Thomas
stood with his hands and his wand both hanging limply at his sides,
laughing.</p><p>"There you are,
Harry." Thomas motioned him closer. "This is what happened when I
said <em>Diffindo</em> while holding my nose."</p><p>"While holding your
nose."</p><p>"Yes, indeed,"
said Thomas, not noticing or disregarding his tone of voice. "I
received some new research from Jing-Xi today. She said that the part
of the body least affected by cutting spells like <em>Diffindo</em> was
the nose." He touched his own nose, the strip of skin between the
nostrils. "Probably because it refuses to have its openings simply
sitting unconnected in the skin; they're surrounded on all sides by
more skin."</p><p>"And so when you
held your nose—"</p><p>"It influenced the
course of the spell," Thomas said smugly. "The magic reaches back
to the caster, and relies on the presence of an uncut nose to work.
Jing-Xi thinks that those people with damaged noses, say, broken in
battle, are the ones who can least successfully cast it. I hold my
nose, and the magic can't sense either a wound or the ordinary
place it depends on for its anchor. So it turns inside out and
becomes this unbroken sphere instead." He grinned up at the white
sphere. He held his hand out, and it came and hovered over his
fingers, never quite alighting.</p><p>"That's really
<em>strange</em>," said Harry, unable to help himself.</p><p>"No, it's not,"
Thomas said absently, still gazing at the sphere. Harry studied it,
too, but it wasn't like a crystal ball; he couldn't see a
reflection or a trace of a vision. It simply existed as a
dove-colored round object. "It all makes sense. It's just that,
most of the time, all the laws of magic are interconnected at levels
that we ignore, or never suspect exist. But we're studying them
right now."</p><p>"Do you think you'll
ever understand them all successfully?" Harry asked, intrigued
despite himself. Thomas's attitude towards magic in general
reminded him of his attitude towards magical creatures. It did not
really matter if the laws, or the magical species, had an impact on
the future course of wizarding society, or were <em>useful</em>. It was
enough that they existed.</p><p>"Of course not,"
said Thomas, looking momentarily distressed. "Or, at least, I hope
that I'm dead by the time it happens, if it does. How <em>boring</em>,
to live in a world like that."</p><p>He went back to
peering at the sphere, and Harry went back to watching him and
smiling, because he couldn't restrain that much of his amusement.
He'd intended to ask Thomas if he'd found any traces of magical
contamination in Draco's body.</p><p>But given Thomas's
expression and the sudden, slow revolution of the sphere for no
discernible reason, that could wait.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 108*: A Dagger Through The Vitals</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p>And here comes the angst, again.</p><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Five:
A Dagger Through the Vitals</strong></p><p>"Sir! <em>Sir!</em>"</p><p>Rufus woke with a
half-shout, staggering up from the middle of his bed. He blinked for
a moment, and then frowned when he saw the room lit only by the glare
of the green flames from the hearth. He habitually left his Floo
connection open to a select number of people, so they could fetch him
if there was an emergency at the Ministry in the middle of the night,
but he didn't recognize the woman whose head hovered there now.</p><p>"Is something wrong,
Madam?" he asked gruffly, trying to look as dignified as he could
while beneath the sheets in his pyjamas. A dressing gown hung on the
back of the bed, luckily, and he slung it around his shoulders while
he watched her closely.</p><p>"I'm sorry, sir."
The witch covered her mouth with one hand and looked down. Rufus saw
the crossed wand-and-bone emblem of St. Mungo's on her shoulder,
and doubted that it was because of any embarrassment at seeing a
near-naked man on her part. More likely, embarrassment at disturbing
the Minister out of his sound night's sleep. "But you did ask us
to let you know if she ever woke up, and they said this was the Floo
connection to use during the night, not the one in your office, and—"</p><p>"If <em>whom</em> ever
woke up?" Rufus asked, baffled. There were patients in St. Mungo's
whose awakening would have been cause for rejoicing, old comrades of
his put into comas by Death Eater curses during the First War, but
Rufus couldn't remember the last time he'd actually hoped for
that.</p><p>"Fiona Mallory,
sir." The witch seemed to shrink in front of him as he stared at
her. "The, er, the Auror arrested and sacked for the torture of
Harry Potter's parents, sir? She went into a coma from a Dark
magical artifact, and now she's awake."</p><p>Rufus felt his heart
give a single hard pound, and then he was fully awake and committed
to the situation. Fiona had been one of his finest Aurors before she
let her own anger at the abusive Potters get the better of her. He
had never been able to shake the sensation that her sudden sleep was
revenge more than an accident with Dark magic, even as he'd had to
admit failure and move her from the Ministry to St. Mungo's. "I
did leave instructions to know at once if that happened. How did she
wake up?"</p><p>The witch swallowed
loudly, and Rufus realized then that some of the pallor in her face
came from fear. "Un—Unspeakables, sir. They came into her room
with a kind of wand that held all of us motionless. When they touched
her with it, it glowed blue, and she w-woke up."</p><p>Rufus hissed. It made
sense that the Unspeakables would possess an artifact that could end
Mallory's coma. They probably had the one that had dropped her into
it in the first place. "And where is Fiona now?"</p><p>The witch cringed.</p><p>"Madam?" Rufus
asked softly.</p><p>"The Un—Unspeakables
gave her a Portkey," said the Healer, so softly that Rufus almost
couldn't hear her. "She was saying something about speaking to
Harry when she vanished." She peered at him with wide, frightened
eyes. "Has she gone to talk to the <em>vates</em>, then, sir?"</p><p>"Yes," Rufus said
shortly, only because she would spread rumors if he didn't
acknowledge this somehow. <em>Damn it, damn it, damn it. </em>The last
thing that needed to happen was Harry confronting his parents'
torturer in the middle of the night. Of course, it was probably
something the Stone would find amusing.</p><p><em>What are you
playing at now, rock?</em></p><p>"Thank you for
contacting me," he told the witch, and snuffed out the Floo
connection with a wave of his wand. Then he hurried to put on the
dressing gown and cast a handful of Floo powder into the hearth,
hoping against hope that he would not need to call long before his
target awakened.</p><p>"Headmistress's
Office, Hogwarts!"</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry felt the
surprised quiver of the wards before he even opened his eyes. He was
already rolling into a battle-prepared posture, feeling Draco's
loose clasp on him suddenly turn firm. He cast a silent Summoning
Charm for Draco's wand, and heard it smack into his palm.</p><p>Then he opened his
eyes.</p><p>A woman stood in front
of him whom he didn't recognize at first, gaunt and starveling, her
hair straggling like a mass of twigs around her face, her blue eyes
sunken in her head. She clutched the Portkey that seemed to have
brought her straight through the wards as if it would keep her from
falling. Harry narrowed his eyes. The Portkey wasn't the bit of
rubbish touched with <em>Portus</em> that usually served well enough.
It was a small, key-shaped piece of silver, and it shone with such
magic that Harry immediately brought some of his own power up in
defense.</p><p>"Auror Mallory?"
he asked slowly. The last thing he'd known, she lay in a coma from
an accident with a Dark magical artifact, and she wasn't likely to
wake up soon.</p><p>"Harry," she
whispered, and stared at him some more.</p><p>"She's not
supposed to be here," Draco said, his arms tightening so much that
Harry almost couldn't breathe. "How did she get through the
wards? What does she want? Be careful, Harry."</p><p>"I know," Harry
murmured, his puzzlement increasing when Auror Mallory simply stood
there. Someone had exercised her muscles for her, probably by magic,
while she lay in bed, but they were still thin blobs of meat around
sticks. She certainly didn't make a very efficient assassin. <em>Who
would send her, anyway? Why not send someone else to kill me? </em>"But—"
He shook his head, and decided that just because they were speaking
about her as if she wasn't there didn't <em>mean</em> she had to
stand there silent and gaping. "Auror Mallory," he said gently.
"Fiona. What are you here for? Who did this to you?"</p><p>Her eyes came
painfully alive, and she took a single staggering step forward. "They
rescued me," she whispered. "The ones who put me in the blackness
in the first place, they rescued me and sent me back."</p><p>"Who?" Harry
asked.</p><p>"The Unspeakables."</p><p><em>I thought the Stone
was staying out of politics, </em>Harry thought, even as he had to
admit that it wasn't a very political move to wake up a sleeping
woman and send her to him. Even if that woman <em>had</em> tortured his
parents. Harry felt an uneasy consciousness stirring and struggling
in him; he thought he should probably hate her more than he did for
that, but Lily and James had been put so thoroughly into his past
that it was like trying to remember a hatred from a hundred years
ago. "Why did they send you back?" he asked. "Why release you?"</p><p>"They wanted you to
know," Mallory said, and then bowed her head and began shivering.
Harry cast a Warming Charm on her, eye all the while on the silver
Portkey. It simply shone.</p><p>"Why aren't you
fetching Professor Snape?" Draco hissed to the back of his neck.
"You <em>should</em> be."</p><p>"I won't hear what
she has to say if someone takes her away now," Harry pointed out.
He thought this was eminently reasonable, and didn't understand why
Draco lifted his wrist as if he would cast the phoenix communication
spell. "<em>No</em>." He forced Draco's hand down, and turned to
look at Auror Mallory again. "What did they want me to know?" It
would probably be a lie, even if she sincerely believed it, but that
didn't matter. Harry didn't have to act on Unspeakable lies any
more. If the matter required it, he would go and face the Stone down
again in the Department of Mysteries. The anger surging through him
was certainly strong enough for that.</p><p>"Know—" Mallory
squeezed her eyes shut, and stood a moment as if debating whether to
tell him the truth. Harry, his magical senses raised to a high pitch
because he expected the silver Portkey to do something spectacular,
felt it when the wards on the Slytherin common room quivered and then
admitted someone. He grimaced. <em>Merlin knows how Snape found out
about this so fast, but maybe he felt her come through the wards,
too.</em></p><p>"Know that I only
tortured your parents later," said Mallory suddenly, opening her
eyes. "The first person who tortured them was Lucius Malfoy."</p><p>Harry felt the moment
when the words tore through him, a dagger through the vitals, a steel
blade that impaled and twisted his guts out of line. He wanted to
bend over and feel at the wound beating inside him, judge how badly
he was hurt.</p><p>But he heard Draco
draw a pained breath at the same time, and forced himself through the
moment by remembering he wasn't the only person with a stake in
this. He scooted backward and wrapped one arm around Draco's
shoulders and one around his waist, drawing him against him. He held
him there while he gazed at Mallory. "What did he do to them?" he
asked, surprising himself with the flat calm of his own voice. "And
when? Do you know?"</p><p>"Not long before I
was arrested," she said, voice becoming more lively, as if the
memories sparked more strength in her. "The same day. I was there
to take the fall for him, just in case someone suspected that
something was wrong with the wards on your parents' cells." Harry
saw a flash of contempt deep in her eyes, even now, for Lily and
James. He supposed they didn't stop being abusers to Mallory just
because they'd hurt. "I know he did something bad to them.
Something painful, worse than the battle curses I used. I don't
know what it was."</p><p>Harry nodded tightly,
and felt the touch of wet breath on his neck as Draco made a torn
noise of disbelief. "Hush," he whispered, then looked at Mallory.
"And this is true?"</p><p>"I swear it is."
Mallory smiled, a bit bitterly. "Scrimgeour sacked me after that,
because he thought I'd overstepped the boundary of my duties—"</p><p>"You did," Harry
murmured. He could feel Snape now, trying his best to open the door
of their bedroom. Harry lifted locking wards his guardian couldn't
get through and continued stroking Draco's back, gaze focused on
Mallory.</p><p>"How would <em>I</em>
have come into contact with a Dark artifact held in the Ministry?"
Mallory spread her hands. "The Unspeakables did it for him, put me
into that coma. And they took me out again. I don't know why. I
don't know anything about them. But I swear that everything else is
the truth."</p><p><em>I can't be allies
with Lucius any more.</em></p><p><em>But this is Draco's
father, and saying that is like saying I won't be Draco's lover
any more.</em></p><p>Harry felt the first
impact of Snape's magic against the wards, and sighed. He would be
in here in a moment, and he would probably attempt to kill Mallory
first and ask questions later. He was in that kind of mood, from the
sound of it. "I'll tell everyone else. You should go. Do you have
a safe place?"</p><p>Mallory blinked.
"You—you care about that? I tortured your parents!"</p><p>"You did." Harry
stared at her some more, and still there was a void of feeling where
he should have expected raw anger and pain. <em>Probably, the rest of
it just hurts too much.</em> And the silent sobbing Draco was now
giving against him increased his own emotions towards other people,
not Mallory. "But I think I forgave you for it. And you've told
me who really instigated the torment. So I think you can go." He
shuddered as Snape's wandless magic nearly managed to penetrate a
weak place in his wards, and added, "Not for very much longer,
though."</p><p>Mallory nodded. "The
Unspeakables swore they would see me safe," she said, and clenched
her hand around the Portkey, and tilted back her head, and dissolved
into a mass of silver sparks, and was gone.</p><p>Harry lowered the
wards and lay down on the bed with his arms folded around Draco,
still rubbing his spine, still letting Draco cling to him like a
young monkey, and now murmuring soothing words. "Draco, I'll
never make you choose. I promise. He's your father. I know that. I
respect that. You don't have to choose between us. I promise that—"</p><p>And then the door flew
open, and Snape was there, and perhaps it was better that Harry
hadn't promised anything, because the memory of the oaths of the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow were coming back to him, and what he had
promised to do to anyone who broke them, and the fact that Ignifer
had told him the Unspeakables had threatened her father. Cupressus
Apollonis had not broken. Would Lucius, who owed an actual debt to
the Unspeakables in the form of Mallory, have done so? And what might
he have given them if he did?</p><p><em>Not what, </em>Harry
thought, his mind landing as if by fate on the fact that they still
didn't know who had betrayed Hawthorn as a werewolf to the
Ministry. <em>Who. </em></p><p>Snape bowed over him,
saying harshly, "What happened? Are you hurt?"</p><p>"Not physically,"
said Harry, sinking his emotions into the Occlumency pools. Snape's
sharp glance said he knew what Harry was doing and did not approve,
but Harry ignored him. This was too important. He needed to view his
situation as an outsider and keep moving forward, or the pain would
cripple him. "Fiona Mallory woke from her coma. The Auror who
tortured my parents?" he supplied, when he saw the confusion in
Snape's eyes. "She said that she did cast curses on them, but she
was the fall witch for Lucius. He tortured them in more depth and
detail."</p><p>Snape closed his eyes,
and his mouth tightened for a long moment. Harry curled up more
around Draco.</p><p>"I am taking you
both to the hospital wing," Snape said, as the small, frantic
sounds that Draco was making soared. "He needs a Calming Draught."</p><p>Harry knew that Snape
would pour a potion down his throat, too, if Harry gave him the
chance. He would not give him the chance. His Occlumency would serve
him well enough, to let him think about this.</p><p>And he had to think.</p><p>But he could see the
path sprouting ahead of him, leading him, step by dismal step, to the
end of draining Lucius Malfoy of his magic.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco couldn't
breathe that well. He could hear Madam Pomfrey speaking to him in a
low, worried voice, trying to get him to uncurl from around Harry and
swallow a Calming Draught. Now and then she would stop and ask
Professor Snape for some report on his symptoms, and whether he still
thought Draco needed the potion. And all the while Harry held him and
didn't stop moving his hand on his back.</p><p>They probably thought
he refused to uncurl because he was ashamed, Draco thought, or
because he was frightened about what would happen to his father if
Harry went after him.</p><p>He wasn't, or else
that was only in some part of his mind which the main emotion he felt
wouldn't let him access. He was murderously <em>angry.</em></p><p><em>Did he have to be
so stubborn? So stupid? He tortured the Potters because he was taking
the place of Harry as vengeance-taker, I know. But he knew, he had to
have known, that this was one of the cases where the victim waived
not just his right to take vengeance but the right to vengeance
altogether. He should have come to Harry, talked to him, asked him
about this. And then Harry would have had the means of outright
refusal, instead of finding out </em>now</p><p><em>What he did was
wrong. I know how the tradition functions. Someone else can take
revenge if the abused child doesn't take it, but he has to have the
child's permission. The </em>only <em>exceptions are blood family.
Connor could have done this, but not Lucius.</em></p><p><em>And he thought he
was high enough above the old laws and rules to ignore them all. He
thought they didn't apply to him. </em></p><p><em>I am so fucking
tired of having Harry be a better guardian of the Malfoy honor than
my father is.</em></p><p>At last, he heard
Pomfrey and Snape discussing a spell to make him look up, and that
was when he decided that he'd had quite enough of that. He
uncramped his limbs, and when Harry gave him a long, anxious look,
nodded. He could sit up on his own. He <em>could</em>.</p><p>"Has anyone
contacted my mother?" he asked, attempting to ignore the fact that
his voice was hoarse and his face splotched from his tears of fury.
Madam Pomfrey came towards him with a Calming Draught. Harry held out
his hand and prevented her from doing so, eyes on Draco's face all
the while.</p><p>"No, Draco," he
said quietly. "We didn't know if you'd want that done. Would
you like it done?"</p><p>Draco nodded once.
Harry bowed his head slightly, then started to move away from the bed
and towards the hospital wing's fireplace.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>He got a look in
return that made him shiver, it seemed so cold and uncaring, until he
realized that Harry had locked down his emotions in order to
function. <em>Well, that makes sense. </em>"Yes?"</p><p>"Are you going to
kill my father, or drain him of his magic?" Draco was proud of his
voice. It didn't waver. It didn't even make it sound as though
those were things that might or might not happen. It made it sound as
though those were the only two alternatives, and Harry had to make
one or the other of them come true.</p><p>"I don't know,"
said Harry quietly. "It would depend on what he did to my parents.
And—to other people."</p><p>He took a handful of
Floo powder before Draco could ask what that meant, and cast it into
the fire with a call of, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!"</p><p>"Mr. Malfoy,"
Pomfrey said, almost shoving the vial in his face. "I do insist
that you swallow this. You are too on edge right now."</p><p>"I am not on edge,"
said Draco, and thank Merlin, he could use his voice like a rapier,
not like the wound spring he had suspected it might uncoil as.
Pomfrey actually took a step away from him. "I am <em>angry</em>. I
am mourning the downfall of my family honor. I am plotting ways to
let my father know how disappointed I am in him before he dies.
That's all."</p><p>"Let him be, Poppy,"
said Professor Snape quietly.</p><p>The matron glanced
between both of them, then threw up her hands and stomped away,
muttering about Slytherins. Snape took another step forward, eyes
focused intently on Draco. Draco leaned forward and looked back. This
was a man he hadn't seen in at least a week, since Snape had
visited him in the hospital wing after the battle with Falco
Parkinson: his Head of House.</p><p>"You know that your
father may not survive the morning," Snape said.</p><p>"I know it," said
Draco, and he did, and amidst all the pain that he wasn't going to
admit to was the clean, sharp sawing of his anger. He really did feel
that—not just because he wanted to, but because he <em>did</em>. It
swept him up in pride. He was a fitting Malfoy heir after all, in a
way that his father had not been for years. "He betrayed our name.
He betrayed our honor. He has to die. Or lose his magic," he added.
"That was the punishment Harry laid out for violating the oaths of
the Alliance, and I would be content with that."</p><p>"Lucius would rather
die than lose his magic," Snape said.</p><p>"I know that,"
Draco said.</p><p>"You are not
mourning the loss of your father?"</p><p>Draco curled his lip.
"I would be mourning it far more if I thought there was a chance
he'd been under Imperius, or otherwise coaxed into doing these
things," he said. "As it is—no. He knew what the consequences
of getting caught were, and one of the first lessons he taught me was
not getting caught. He should have known better."</p><p>Snape nodded and paced
slowly away from the bed towards Harry, who was talking to Narcissa
through the fireplace. Draco leaned back on the pillow and closed his
eyes.</p><p>He did mean it. Lucius
had always slipped through the nooses and traps his enemies laid
because he took grand risks, but no unnecessary ones. He had been
growing more reckless of late, as his disownment of Draco showed, and
the moment a Malfoy took a risk and failed, he became contemptible.</p><p><em>Unless he really
was under Imperius.</em></p><p>But he hadn't been.
And he hadn't been when he was a Death Eater, either, even if he
had managed to convince the Wizengamot he was.</p><p>Draco flinched a bit
as he recalled one of his very first serious conversations with
Harry, back in first year, when Harry had insisted that, yes, Lucius
was a Death Eater, and calmly detailed his crimes. Draco had refused
to believe it then—because he loved his father, but even more
because he could not believe that the proud, elegant man he knew
would leave evidence of his crimes behind if he had really performed
them of his own free will. So he had been under Imperius. He had to
have been.</p><p>But he wasn't.</p><p><em>And you tortured
three Muggleborn children and their parents to death, Father, and
left signs that you did so. You killed the Prewett twins, but only in
company with four other wizards. Your deeds in war are of a piece
with what you have done in the last year. </em></p><p>For the good of the
family, Lucius Malfoy had to cease to be a wizard.</p><p>Draco took a deep
breath, glad now that he'd learned the pureblood dances, glad that
he'd been raised a pureblood. This made things easier when someone
in the family had a horrible breach of taste or committed a
horrendous crime. Other families would hang on their necks and cry
and let themselves be dragged down, too. Draco had had the training
to cut a useless blood relative out of his heart quickly and easily.
The family must survive.</p><p>And then his mother
came through the flames, and put her arms around him, and Draco
allowed himself just a bit of comfort from knowing that someone else
<em>did</em> feel the howling sadness and the pain within him.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Hawthorn paused. A
letter lay on the table beside her bed. It had not lain there a
moment ago, she knew. She had only turned her back to retrieve her
hairbrush, which had fallen, and when she straightened, there it was.</p><p>Cautiously, she picked
up her wand and approached, casting several spells on the way. No
charms were revealed on the letter, only, strangely enough, the
fading glow of Apparition, as if it had managed to transport itself.</p><p>The parchment was
gray, and folded so as to make its own envelope. The seal holding it
shut was black, an hourglass. Hawthorn Levitated the letter into the
air and carefully slit the seal with a Cutting Curse, making the
parchment fall open.</p><p>The words were written
in an elegant, slashing hand, easily read from the careful distance
she stood at. There was only one sentence.</p><p><em>Lucius Malfoy was
the one who betrayed you to the Unspeakables, and through them to the
Aurors.</em></p><p>Hawthorn stared. She
felt old rage coursing through her like lava beneath solid rock. It
was easily roused. She had had dreams, lately—such dreams, hard to
remember, but still present in tattered pieces in her mind when she
woke, of running after the Aurors who had mistreated her when she was
in Tullianum, or Indigena Yaxley, or the mysterious person who had
been the one to betray her werewolf status, and biting them. She
wanted it so much. The hatred was a black beast beside her in the
dreams, always present for the bite, and always giving her a moment
of dark satisfaction before she finally woke.</p><p>But this—</p><p>This was confirmation.
If she dared to think it was. The Unspeakables could have sent this
letter through her wards. They could also be lying, trying to set
Harry's allies against one another.</p><p>But a part of
Hawthorn's mind she rarely used now, the part that had reveled in
the name of the Red Death when she ran with Voldemort, woke and
stretched and applied itself with rapid calculation to the
possibilities.</p><p>Was Lucius ruthless
enough to betray an ally like this? Yes, if it would gain him
something greater. Hawthorn did not know what else it might have won
him, but she knew the great prize: more unimpeded access to and
influence over Harry. Lucius and Harry had had their first falling
out around the time of the werewolf rebellion—just before it, in
fact. And if Lucius had betrayed her to the Unspeakables, he might
have hoped that he would have some more say over Harry's actions
with Hawthorn gone.</p><p>It had probably been
nothing personal. The Unspeakables wanted werewolves. Had they
demanded one of Lucius? They probably had. And he had given them one
close to Harry, close enough that it would hurt Harry when she was
taken. That it had provoked Harry into organized rebellion instead of
mad scrambling was simply Lucius and the Department's bad luck.</p><p><em>That doesn't mean
he did it</em>, Hawthorn counseled herself, trying to keep down the
howl of the wolf inside her. It was still near the dark of the moon,
but even now, a provocation like this was enough to rouse the beast.
<em>It means only that he had an opportunity to do so, and perhaps a
motive.</em></p><p>And the Unspeakables
would hardly have told this to her now out of the kindness of their
hearts.</p><p>With a hand that
trembled, Hawthorn took the letter, folded it up, and put it into her
robe pocket. Then she tapped her wrist with her wand to activate the
phoenix song communication spell. She would do nothing hastily. She
would not rush off to confront Lucius, as the Unspeakables had
probably hoped.</p><p>She would contact
Harry. She would ask him if he thought there was a possibility of
this being true, and if so, what they should do.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Lucius also found a
letter on his breakfast table that morning. He nodded. He had
expected it. Gray parchment, black hourglass seal. When the piled
stones began to fall at last, he had expected they would come from
this direction, the most vulnerable place.</p><p><em>We have told them</em>,
the letter said. <em>Harry and Hawthorn Parkinson. They will be here
soon.</em></p><p>Lucius laughed, a
little, and stood from the table to check that his defenses were
ready. Since he was found out, what he <em>could</em> do was face his
coming fate like a man. Some disgraced purebloods could recoup a bit
of honor to their names by admitting to accusations they knew were
true and accepting execution or maiming or a duel, whichever the
accuser chose.</p><p>He did not quite
intend to go <em>that</em> far. It was only fools who did. And Lucius
knew what honor was worth, and the answer was not his life.</p><p>But he would give what
credit he could to the Malfoy name, for the sake of the son who would
bear it after him.</p><p>And, thanks to the
Unspeakables' eagerness to make sure he knew just what was going to
happen to him, he had extra time to prepare.</p><p>He shook his head in
amused disbelief as he went into his study. <em>I hope that Harry
considers the trade in allies he's just made fair.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry watched Narcissa
and Draco embrace in silence, and tried to decide what to do.</p><p>Birds of fright
wheeled and scattered in his thoughts whenever he tried to attend to
them without the Occlumency pools. Therefore, he didn't try to
attend to them without the Occlumency pools. He kept his emotions
pinned, because they couldn't help him in this case, and considered
his options.</p><p>Execution of Lucius
was one possibility, for overstepping his bounds. But Harry had
refused that option with most of the people who had hurt him, his
parents included, and he would not embrace it now.</p><p>Turning him over to
the Ministry for trial would work—if only he could be sure that the
Unspeakables would not touch him there, if only he could be sure that
the Wizengamot would actually find him guilty this time and not be
swayed by Malfoy money and Malfoy charisma into letting him go. No,
much as he would have liked to, Harry could not say that he trusted
the Ministry to conduct an objective trial of Lucius Malfoy.</p><p>Cowing him as he had
Henrietta and binding him with Unbreakable Vows would perhaps have
been a choice if Harry thought he possessed the power to grind
Lucius's temperament into gravel. But he did not, and Lucius Malfoy
was not Henrietta Bulstrode. He might pretend to bow his neck, but he
would wriggle and test the slack in his bonds, and find some way to
get around the Vows, Harry was sure. Besides, intense anger at
Henrietta for the way she had treated Edith had been his main impetus
to bind her, not the injury Henrietta had done him.</p><p><em>If he harmed
Hawthorn, </em>his thoughts whispered, <em>could you not find the anger
to bind Lucius?</em></p><p>But if he harmed
Hawthorn, then he had done it while a member of the Alliance of Sun
and Shadow. And he had been subject to its oaths then, and there was
only one punishment for that. Harry had said he would drain the magic
of anyone who betrayed a comrade rather than simply withdrawing from
the Alliance.</p><p>He closed his eyes. He
would have found this so much easier if not for Draco.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>It took him a moment
to realize that the voice came from his wrist; he had been so caught
up in his thoughts that he hadn't heard the warble of phoenix song.
And, ah, it was Hawthorn's voice.</p><p>"Mrs. Parkinson,"
Harry murmured, glad his own voice did not shake. "What is the
matter?"</p><p>"I've received a
letter saying that Lucius Malfoy betrayed me to the Unspeakables,"
said Hawthorn. "I need—I need to come to Hogwarts and speak to
you about this. May I?"</p><p>Harry heard the soft
sounds from Draco's direction cease. He looked, because he couldn't
help himself, and saw Draco leaning in the shelter of his mother's
arms, eyes fixed on his. Harry looked straight into his boyfriend's
face, and could not look away.</p><p>He saw Draco mouth,
"Tell her yes."</p><p>As if in a dream,
Harry lowered his mouth towards his wrist and said, "Of course,
Hawthorn. Come ahead. I'm in the hospital wing."</p><p>"Wounded?"
Hawthorn's voice grew sharp. Harry marveled at her strength, that
even bound up in her own pain she would spare a moment's thought
for what might have happened to him.</p><p>"No," said Harry.
"Just in shock, a bit. Please do come ahead, Hawthorn." He ended
the communication spell when he heard her assent, and looked again at
Draco and Narcissa, not believing what he saw in their faces.</p><p>Draco spoke before his
mother could. "Drain him, Harry."</p><p>"Draco, he's your
father—"</p><p>"He betrayed her,"
said Draco stonily. "You don't <em>do</em> that, not when the ally
has never done you any harm. And not when you can get caught." He
shifted restlessly closer to Narcissa, but Harry thought he was
offering comfort as much as seeking it. "And he put you in an
impossible position politically, and he knew it. And he didn't
think about what the effect would be on you, of knowing that your
parents suffered. He just tortured them because he wanted to, because
he could. He doesn't think about other people, and the only time a
Malfoy can afford to do that is when he doesn't have any dependents
or any allies. He had both." Draco's face was eerie in its
intense conviction. "Drain him, and keep his power for yourself.
His magic is the only thing of value he has left to offer, now."</p><p>Harry looked at
Narcissa.</p><p>"If he did all that
Mrs. Mallory and Mrs. Parkinson have said," said Narcissa, after a
moment of long, long silence, "then I must agree, Harry. I am—I
am the one who sought Hawthorn out, who brought her into this
alliance with you. I did it intending her nothing but good, as well
as knowing that she would make a wonderful loyalist for you if you
could persuade her. It is like the maneuvering I did on your behalf
in the third year; I intended nothing but good, and still I wrought
you harm. I have wrought her harm, exposed her to my husband's
attention. I knew that he was conducting correspondence with someone
mysterious in the days before Hawthorn was arrested. I should have
picked up the clues."</p><p>"Mrs. Malfoy—"</p><p>"Narcissa, Harry.
Call me by the name I have most claim to. And I say that I should
have picked up on them. The standard that most matters in such a
thing is the witch's. I failed my own." Narcissa leaned her head
on Draco's hair, pale and silent.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes
and nodded, even as he heard, faint and far away, the "pop" of
Apparition as Hawthorn appeared on the edge of Hogwarts grounds.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Lucius felt the moment
Harry, Draco, Narcissa, Severus, and Hawthorn arrived on the outer
defenses of the Manor. Of course, the first three of them could have
passed through the wards without trouble, linked to them as they
were, but the presence of the fourth and fifth kept them excluded.</p><p>Lucius waited, calmly,
at the door to his study. On one side of him was a stack of papers
and ledgers that Draco would need to examine to know the intricacies
of the Malfoy legacy. Lucius had played him no tricks, but that did
not mean that what he must keep track of was <em>simple</em>.</p><p>On the other side of
him stood a single vial with three drops of clear fluid in it.</p><p>In his hand was his
wand.</p><p>He waited, and lowered
the wards when he felt Harry begin to drain them. He did not want his
home damaged. It would be Draco's home thereafter, and the home of
the heirs Draco adopted. It was not, strictly speaking, Lucius's
property to expose to the spells of his enemies anymore.</p><p>He could taste their
wariness as they ventured inside, looking for traps all the way.
Lucius had not trapped the rooms, however. They would discover that
eventually, and come to him. He was willing to while the moments away
by running his plan through his head, though he knew it was perfect;
he wished to admire the angles and the cleverness of it. And sooner
or later, they would arrive at the door of the study, and see him,
and pause.</p><p>They did. Severus was
in the front, beside Harry, and Lucius was glad, because they would
be able to identify the Veritaserum Lucius picked up and swallowed
even from a short distance.</p><p>The brief, cloudy
dullness of the drug came over him. However, Lucius fully planned on
telling the truth even without prompting, without questions, and so
the numbness faded.</p><p>He looked Harry in the
eye, and said, "I used a species of insect on your father that will
give him cancer in a short time. They should remain even though he is
drained of magic. The answer as to how to defeat them is there." He
gestured to the book on medical magic he'd placed among the Malfoy
ledgers. "I cast a spell on your mother that will stretch her dying
moment to an eternity of suffering. You can take that away by using
your <em>absorbere</em> gift, I am certain."</p><p>"Did you betray me?"
Hawthorn asked, shouldering Harry and Severus aside so that she could
see him. Lucius lifted his head and studied her, letting his mouth
reply without hindrance.</p><p>"I did."</p><p>And then things fell
out as he had known they would. Lucius felt almost as if he were the
piper and led his foes the dance.</p><p>Hawthorn howled and
charged at him. Lucius had known her rage and hatred would compel
that; even though she was a controlled witch most of the time, she
<em>hated</em> traitors, always had, and she had a werewolf's temper
urging her on now. He lifted his wand and cast the complicated
illusion spell he'd practiced until he could do it nonverbally.</p><p>The spell took form in
the air between them, in enough time that Hawthorn had to stop and
watch it. It reached into Hawthorn's memory and tugged out the
image of her child dying—it had to be her child, because her dead
husband had not been her mate—and played it again in front of her.</p><p>Lucius listened,
timing out the moments, feeling the stunned immobility of the others
melting instant by instant, and heard only the wolf in Hawthorn's
voice when she howled again.</p><p>She came at him
without mercy, but also without coordination, and her wand was
half-forgotten in the overpowering, pressing need to grip him in her
jaws or shred him with her nails. The book on werewolves had said it
would be so. The pack instinct was strong in them, and they could be
fooled by the spell into thinking that someone who had not actually
killed their child or mate was the murderer.</p><p>Lucius flicked his
wand again, and sang the second spell he'd prepared in his mind.
<em>Argenteus!</em></p><p>A series of silver
blades formed in midair between him and Hawthorn, and flicked
forward, studding her shoulders, her arms, her torso. The shock did
not kill her at once, as it would have with a normal human, but it
bore her to the ground, and then she howled once in such pain that
Severus bent over to help her.</p><p>Lucius had debated in
his mind whether Harry would bend over to help Hawthorn, too, but he
did not think so, and he was proven right as Harry stood where he
was, staring, eyes focused on him.</p><p>It was too bad,
really, that he had to be exiled from such power, Lucius thought,
watching even as he felt the winds begin to build and knew Harry was
gathering his magic to swallow Lucius's own. He should have trusted
his insight that night when Harry had declared the Alliance. Here was
a wizard worth serving, strength worth being close to—might, as he
had described it, once, long ago, to his son.</p><p>But that might was not
worth losing his own magic to, and so, before Harry could overcome
his own shock and doubt and personal pain long enough to drain him,
Lucius touched the Portkey that shone around his neck, in the form of
the top button of his robe, and flickered out of his study into the
room behind it. At his gesture, wards sprang up around the open door
to the study, blue and green and softly flickering. Lucius had shown
no one else these wards, not even his beloved Narcissa. His father
had impressed on him the need to keep them secret and safe, and so
Lucius had always done. Those wards, the product of an Unassailable
Curse, would only allow someone of Malfoy blood to pass into this
room, and they could not be destroyed, anchored as they were in the
actual flesh and tissue of the line, unless all living Malfoys were
already dead. Lucius thought the ancestor who designed them must have
faced an <em>absorbere</em> at some point.</p><p>Narcissa pressed
forward, and was thrown back. Harry tried to drain them, and the
wards slipped away from him and snarled. Lucius did lock eyes with
both of them, and try to give them a final farewell and a summation
of all they had meant to him and what he thought of them now.</p><p>Draco slid past his
mother, and into the room.</p><p>An expression of shock
came over his features, holding him in place. Lucius had known that
would happen. He spoke swiftly to his son, even as one hand shot
behind him to hover above the powerful Portkey they would have sensed
at once if he carried it on him.</p><p>"You are my pride,
Draco. Though I had little enough to do with it that I am ashamed of
myself, you have become a man, and a rightful heir to the Malfoy
line. The best of your mother is in you, and of me as well. You are
not a subordinate to Harry, I see that now, and you will do our blood
proud."</p><p>The Veritaserum in his
body would not let him speak less than the truth. Lucius used that as
a double-edged sword. It let him tell this young wizard, less than a
month from his seventeenth birthday and thus from coming of age, with
his blond hair half-tousled behind him from the wind of his speed and
his wand raised in an attack position and his body coiled in a
defensive posture, what he really thought of him.</p><p>And the words, so
unlike what Draco expected to hear, kept him frozen in place one
extra moment, the moment his father needed.</p><p>Lucius grasped the
Portkey.</p><p>The Manor dissolved
around him, shutting out the sight of Draco's lunge and the curse
he tried to cast, which Lucius was sure went through his fading form
and destroyed the desk he'd been standing in front of. He felt a
moment's faint regret. He had liked that desk.</p><p>He landed on a
desolate heath, and glanced around with a resigned expression.
Finvarra Malfoy had not chosen the prettiest of the Malfoy properties
to make the safehouse. Of course, if she had, then sooner or later a
child would have contrived to kill his or parent so that they could
safely inherit it.</p><p>And the house, though
small, would keep Lucius comfortably enough, alive and safe behind
wards that no one else could pass, because no one else was a part of
the oldest living generation of Malfoys.</p><p>He ducked into the
house, and the wards closed around him. Lucius took off his cloak
with a sigh and a shake of his shoulders.</p><p>The house was cold,
but a wave of his wand lit the hearth. He was thirsty, but a few
charms summoned him a glass and an old bottle of wine. Lucius had
been saving it for the day that his son came of age. He felt no
qualms in opening it now, even though he had always envisioned
sharing it with Draco in proud silence. He had seen that Draco was
already an adult, birthday here yet or no.</p><p>He drank, sitting
calmly in front of the fire, and cast the Summoning Charm to call a
book on the history of the merfolk to him. It was a subject he had
long meant to study, and had never had the time to look at before.</p><p>Merlin, he loved being
a wizard.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 109*: The Last of the Potters</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Six:
The Last of the Potters</strong></p><p>Harry did not wait for
Draco to come out of the warded room from which Lucius had vanished,
although he heard Draco curse and curse, the second one destroying a
desk. Snape had called him back with a low hiss to Hawthorn's side,
and Harry was stooping over her, seeing the red lines of infection
spreading out from each embedded silver knife.</p><p>"We must take her to
Hogwarts," said Snape, with what Harry recognized as one of his
more controlled expressions. "I do not have potions that can stop
silver poisoning here. She will need more than salve to insure that
she heals correctly, this time; she will need the potions, and
careful applications of medical magic so that she does not scar."
He was holding his hands away from Hawthorn's blood, Harry noted,
wary of the lycanthropic infection, even though it was the dark of
the moon. "And there may be supplies we can only fetch from St.
Mungo's, which will be a problem. They still make it a policy not
to treat known werewolves if they can get away with it, and Hawthorn
bears the Dark Mark as well."</p><p>"Leave that to me,"
Harry said quietly, staring at Hawthorn all the while. Silver studded
her like a collar, a collar put around her life. Harry could feel an
enormous weariness on her behalf. <em>So much suffering she has
endured, and still no end in sight. </em>He put out his hand, and
Hawthorn rose from the floor, Levitated in comfort. Luckily, she was
already unconscious from the shock and pain. "I'll take her back
to Hogwarts. You make sure Draco and Narcissa are all right."</p><p>Snape nodded, and then
Harry was running steadily back through Malfoy Manor, Hawthorn
skimming beside him. He steered her around corners and over furniture
they'd examined for traps, letting his magic and his muscles do
more of the thinking for him than his mind.</p><p>There were so many
things to be done.</p><p>There were so many
things he was not looking forward to doing.</p><p>But he had to do them,
so Harry carefully balled up his emotions and sank them, and then
reached the outside of Malfoy Manor with Hawthorn and Apparated away.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"We need Argent-Free
Potions," said Madam Pomfrey, with a helpless shake of her head.
"They've just been developed to help werewolves recover from
silver poisoning—it hasn't been a large area of research, for
obvious reasons—and I don't know all the ingredients, so I can't
just ask Severus to brew them. And the only place in Britain that has
them which I know of is St. Mungo's, to treat the few registered
werewolves who don't mind the stigma."</p><p>"Then we'll get
them," said Harry, and stepped away from the hospital bed. Hawthorn
looked slightly better. Madam Pomfrey had spelled the knives away and
used a combination of salve and potion to stop the progress of the
wounds. Silver poisoning was as hard to remove as most curses,
however, and the list of side effects Hawthorn might suffer from it
was long, even if she stopped short of dying: brain damage, loss of
ability to speak, a weakening in her magic, amnesia. Not to mention
the scars. The scars, Harry knew, could well be most damaging to a
pureblood witch of Hawthorn's pride. "I'll get them, from St.
Mungo's." He walked towards the fireplace.</p><p>"How do you think
you're going to do that?" Madam Pomfrey's voice was slightly
scandalized.</p><p>Harry glanced back at
her. She took a step away from him. Distantly, Harry wondered what
his face showed, anger or blankness, and which she would have found
more frightening. "Simple," he said. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived."</p><p>He cast a handful of
Floo powder into the flames, and called "St. Mungo's!" as he
stepped into them.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry found himself
emerging from the fireplace in a large, quiet, pale room that seemed
designed to calm people who might stumble into it at the middle of
the night shrieking about their or someone else's magical accident.
The walls were a light foamy blue, and the paintings were exclusively
of landscapes, mostly mountainous ones that faded into purple and
more blue, with exotic magical animals moving around in them. Harry
gave his head a shake when he felt his muscles half-uncoiling. <em>There
are wards that try to get you to relax, too. </em>He fought them off.</p><p>The door opened a
moment later, and a witch with large laughing eyes and a weary face
stepped into the room. "Hello, can I help—" She cut herself off
with a stare, obviously recognizing him.</p><p>Harry nodded to her.
"There's been a horrible fight," he said, and opened a rent in
one Occlumency pool to leak pain and fear into his voice. He would
use the power of his name and reputation to win what Hawthorn needed,
but he was not adverse to doing even more than that, and appearing
like an abused child. If other people were so determined to see him
that way, he might as well oblige them when it could get him what he
wanted. "A—a curse on a friend of mine. Practically a foster
mother." He looked down, clenching his hands together as if he were
trying with all his might not to weep. In reality, the inside of his
mind had never been so dry. "She's a werewolf, and someone used
the <em>Argenteus</em> curse on her."</p><p>The witch gave a
little gasp, and Harry looked up to see her eyes glistening with
tears. Yet she did cling to the questions that Harry supposed they
were trained to ask in such situations. "Is she registered, dear?"</p><p>Harry gave a little
sniff and nod. "Everyone knows she's a werewolf. That's wh-why
the enemy chose the curse for her that he did. He wanted to destroy
her." He let his voice sink, having decided a whisper was better
than a wail. "He wanted to destroy me."</p><p>"Oh, my dear," the
Healer murmured, and then pulled herself back on course with an
obvious effort. "And she's willing to pay for the potions that
she'll need to reverse the infection?"</p><p>"I'm going to pay
for them!" Harry judged it worthwhile to add some indignation to
his tone. "She's like a mother to me. I can't let her die!"</p><p>"Of course not."
The Healer licked her lips. Luckily, Harry thought, she didn't need
to ask if he could afford the Argent-Free potions, since everyone in
Britain by this point knew he was the Black heir. "And what's her
name, child?"</p><p>"H-Hawthorn
Parkinson."</p><p>"The Death Eater?"</p><p>"The <em>mother</em>,"
Harry corrected, and now he let the wail out. "The woman who's
lost her daughter and husband, and been imprisoned unfairly, and
suffered from the stigma of lycanthropy, and who's going to <em>die</em>
in just a little <em>while</em> if you can't give me something <em>right
now</em>!"</p><p>Harry didn't know if
it was his performance or the magic that rose up around him, rattling
the paintings on the walls, that decided the Healer. Either way, she
gave a brisk nod, blonde curls bouncing, and then said, "I'll be
right back with the Argent-Free potions, dear." The door opened and
shut behind her.</p><p>Harry flicked a hand
and cast the <em>Tempus</em> charm. He would give her five minutes
before he went after her.</p><p>She was back in four,
clutching four small stoppered bottles, three of blue glass and one
of green. "She <em>must</em> take the one in the green bottle first,"
she instructed him as she gave the potions to Harry. "Then the
first of the others half an hour after that one, and the other two at
intervals of an hour <em>each</em>. So an hour passes between the
second and the third, and an hour between the third and the fourth.
Do you understand?"</p><p>"Yes," Harry said,
and debated telling her that he was a well-trained Potions student
and could understand simple instructions. He decided not to. It would
have been satisfying, but it would also have ruined his impression as
a distraught child on the edge of breaking down. He gave her a
wide-eyed, worshipful look that had her patting at her hair, looking
flustered. "Thank you <em>so</em> much, Madam! Please, send the tally
of the costs to Harry <em>vates</em>. What's your name?"</p><p>"Eugenia Comfrey,
dear." The Healer was giving him a sort of helpless smile.</p><p>"I'm never going
to forget how you helped me," Harry declared, and that was true. If
she had been difficult and tried to refuse him, he would have had to
fight, but as it was, he would give the potions to Hawthorn, and he
would do it much more quickly than he could have otherwise. So what
if Eugenia had fallen for his bait and helped him because she thought
he was helpless, or because he was famous or a powerful wizard? That
was exactly what Harry had wanted her to do. It was hardly her fault.
"Thank you, thank you, <em>thank</em> you!"</p><p>Clutching the potions
close to his chest, he Levitated the Floo powder out of its dish on
the mantle and made the connection spring back to life, calling on
the way, "Hogwarts hospital wing!"</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco felt as if he
were moving, or possibly living, in a dream. His father had vanished,
he had destroyed a desk, and—</p><p>And that was it?</p><p>That was all?</p><p>He was the heir of the
Malfoy line and the Manor was his?</p><p>Well. That last was
not a question, really. Draco had reentered the study and examined
the ledgers and documents Lucius had left, along with instructions on
who to contact if Draco was suspicious about the provenance of any of
the documents. Yes, the Manor was his. Lucius had specified that
control of most of the fortune and most of the estates was to pass to
Draco in the event of his "disappearance," and the conditions
left for the disappearance matched the ones he'd just enacted.
Draco shook his head, slightly stunned. His father had been planning
this for a long, long time.</p><p>He turned and regarded
Narcissa. She hadn't moved from the door to the warded room,
staring fixedly at the blue and green lines of the spells, as if they
represented all the secrets Lucius had kept and all the parts of his
life he'd shut her out of.</p><p>"Mum?"</p><p>Narcissa stirred,
turning and giving him a faint smile. The smile worried Draco. It
made her look like a marble statue, and generally, when she appeared
less than fully alive, there was something wrong. He went over and
held her, feeling a fine tremble move through her body.</p><p>They were alone in the
house—Professor Snape had gone back to Hogwarts to brew potions
that Mrs. Parkinson needed—so Draco let himself lower his head to
her shoulder and whisper into her ear, "It will be all right."</p><p>"It did not end as I
expected," said Narcissa, so pure a time later that Draco could not
have said if it was moments or minutes.</p><p>"No. Not me,
either." Draco stared at the wards and the ruins of the desk, and
remembered the last words Lucius had spoken to him. He wanted to
believe that they were true. They probably were, or at least on the
same level of truth as the information Lucius had given Harry about
his parents. And yet his father had given those words to him, and the
Malfoy fortune, and still fled, instead of staying to take his
punishment, as recovered pureblood honor would have demanded he do.</p><p>The contradictions
were greater than Draco had ever thought he would find in a man like
Lucius. It showed, he supposed, that Lucius had raised him to be one
way, and Draco had actually <em>become</em> that person, that son,
never knowing that Lucius himself was satisfied with a shallower and
more cracked version of the truth.</p><p>Draco had read once
that the end of childhood was learning one's parents were fallible.
He would have ceased to call himself a child long before that,
really, but this sealed it. He felt old, immeasurably old, staring at
Lucius's faults with new eyes, forced to see him as just a person,
like any other, and not a sculpture of frozen perfection.</p><p>"Are you well?"
Narcissa asked him at last.</p><p>"Yes," Draco
whispered, and he was. He did not regret his decision. He had simply
come here expecting an end, that was all, and Lucius had assured
there would not be one. Draco felt like someone who had gathered up
his strength to make a leap across a ravine, only to find out that
the ravine was far narrower than he'd expected, and he'd stumbled
onto the grass beyond and crashed into a tree.</p><p><em>As if I should have
expected less from Lucius, really. His game lacks all sorts of
supports.</em></p><p>He kissed his mother
on the cheek, and finally stepped away from her. The Manor was his,
but he didn't have time right now to stay and make it <em>completely</em>
his. Exhaustion and worry and uncertainty clawed at him. "Come on,"
he said, offering his mother his arm. "Let's return to Hogwarts."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry nodded when he
recognized the flutter of Hawthorn's eyes—she'd taken all four
potions by then, and this was ten minutes after she took the last of
the blue ones—and leaned forward. She still might be damaged;
perhaps the silver poisoning had stayed too long in her body before
Harry managed to get rid of it. If so, he wanted to be the first one
to know. She had suffered this damage because of a man he had
trusted, after all, and because Harry had not reacted fast enough
when Lucius cast the multiple spells on her.</p><p>Hawthorn looked at him
with recognition, but then her eyes filled with tears. "Pansy,"
she whispered.</p><p><em>It might have
affected her memory. </em>Grimly, Harry forced himself through the
realization and past it. Mourning would not help Hawthorn now.
Learning what she had suffered and how to help her cope with it was
the most important. "Pansy's dead," he said gently, and
squeezed her hand. "Do you remember?"</p><p>Hawthorn turned her
head away. "Of course I remember," she said. "But Lucius showed
me the memory again—so strongly that I was convinced he did it.
That was why I attacked him the way I did, why he was able to cast
the curse." She paused, and said, "Will there be scars?"</p><p>"It's too early to
tell, but we don't think so," Harry said. "I fetched potions
from St. Mungo's to cure the infection, and Professor Snape will be
brewing more potions to help your recover. There will be weakness in
your shoulders and arms for some time. Madam Pomfrey doesn't think
it will have an effect on your magic, though."</p><p>She gave a shallow
nod. Harry, thinking she had something more she wanted to say, from
the trembling tension in her shoulders, waited, and wasn't
surprised when she said, "I hate Lucius Malfoy."</p><p>"I know," Harry
said.</p><p>"Do you?" Hawthorn
turned over so suddenly that Harry was concerned for her wounds, and
sure enough one on her right shoulder ripped itself open with the
movement. He silently cast <em>Integro</em> at it, and it knitted.
Hawthorn didn't even notice. "I don't know that you do, Harry.
Have you <em>ever</em> felt that kind of hatred, the kind that demands
vengeance? You certainly hate it enough to scold it out of all your
allies wherever you find it."</p><p>"I've felt it,"
Harry said, remembering the summer before his third year and how part
of him had hated his parents enough to set death traps for them,
traps he didn't even remember setting. "But feeling it and acting
on it are different things. If you'd simply believed the
Unspeakables' letter, for example, and gone after Lucius without
waiting for me, who knows what would have happened? He might have
killed you. Even if he only cast the <em>Argenteus</em> curse, you
might have died before help found you."</p><p>"I want him <em>dead.</em>"</p><p>The passion in
Hawthorn's voice was both human and lupine. Harry could understand
it. It didn't mean that he thought Hawthorn was fit to get out of
bed and go hunting Lucius yet.</p><p>He eased her back
against the pillows, and nodded to her frustrated gaze. "Yes, Madam
Pomfrey did say you'll need several days of rest."</p><p>Hawthorn closed her
eyes. Harry could see the exhaustion sweeping over her like a tidal
wave, but it was not enough to drown the burning hatred.</p><p>"I want him <em>dead.</em>"</p><p>And then she was
asleep. Harry contemplated her in silence for long moments, wondering
what the best course for her would be.</p><p><em>I won't let her
go hunting Lucius alone. Even if she's a stronger witch than he is
a wizard, he'll have had time to prepare his ground, just the way
he did at Malfoy Manor, and he can use her wolf against her,
especially if she finds him near the full moon. I'll help her do
what she must to earn peace. I won't stand out of the way just so
that she can foolishly dash in and get herself slaughtered. Hatred is
not a license to madness.</em></p><p>He stepped back from
the bed and gave a weary stretch, extending his arms over his head to
their furthest extent. He needed to rest. Then he would wake up and
do what else needed to be done.</p><p>Many of those other
things involved his parents.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Much to Harry's
relief, everything had come out as he intended. He'd come back to
their bedroom to find Draco already deeply asleep, worn out by
emotional turmoil, and so had gone to sleep himself without having to
answer awkward questions. A modified version of the <em>Tempus</em>
charm buzzed in his ear four hours later, and he rose and searched
among the papers Draco had brought back. Yes, there was the book on
medical magic that Lucius had said contained the possible solution to
James's cancer.</p><p>Harry picked the book
up and went to see Connor, using a few judicious Disillusionment
Charms on the way so that he wouldn't have to stop and explain his
presence to anyone. Merlin knew what rumors might coat the school
already, given Hawthorn's presence in the hospital wing and the
fact that Snape hadn't been there to teach his morning classes.</p><p>He reached Gryffindor
Tower—since it was after dinner, Connor should be there—and gave
the latest password. The Fat Lady admitted him without a murmur.
Harry glanced quickly around the common room, and found curious
stares coming to rest on them, but he moved too fast for anyone to
stand and ask questions; in moments he was already ascending to the
sixth-year boys' room.</p><p>Connor sprawled on his
bed, restlessly flipping through his Charms textbook and muttering
under his breath. When he strained his ears, Harry could just make
out, "Stupid damn Snake-Calling Charm. Why <em>shouldn't</em> it
use the same basic structure as the Bird-Calling one?"</p><p>"Mastering one
struggle only to become involved in another?" Harry asked, as he
shut the door behind him. "The story of your life, brother."</p><p>"<em>Harry!</em>"</p><p>He found himself
bowled back against the door by his brother's rush and hug.
Cautiously, Harry patted Connor's back with one hand, then pushed
him away a bit so that he could breathe without the book being
crushed against his chest. "What was that for?"</p><p>"No one knew where
you were!" Connor answered, with a glare. "I <em>did</em> go to
Slytherin after lunch, but one idiot wouldn't let me in, and
another idiot said that you were resting and I shouldn't disturb
you." He eyed Harry doubtfully. "Is that true? Did you actually
rest, and would I actually have disturbed you if I'd come in to see
you just then?"</p><p>"Yes," said Harry,
deciding unadorned truth worked best.</p><p>Connor looked taken
aback. "Oh," he murmured. Then he rallied. "Well! It was still
rude. And I'm glad to see that you've learned sense at last, and
you'll sleep after a difficult time. What <em>happened</em>?"</p><p>Harry gave him as much
of the truth as he thought wouldn't betray others' secrets, short
of the information about their parents, which he wanted to save until
last. He didn't tell Connor Lucius's words to Draco, even though
he'd heard them well enough, or exactly how badly Hawthorn had been
hurt. Those were their weaknesses, possible chinks in their armor, to
share or not as they willed.</p><p>Connor grew paler and
paler as he listened, and leaned forward and gave Harry several
little hugs along the way. "I'm glad that you had them with you,"
he whispered into Harry's ear, when the story finished. "I'm
glad that you weren't killed."</p><p>"So am I." Harry
patted his shoulder absently, then freed himself and held up the book
again. "Lucius gave me details of how he tortured our parents,
Connor. He took Veritaserum just before he did, so I know that what
he said was true. He gave James a kind of cancer with magical
insects, and the answer to how to cure it should be in this book. And
he set a spell on Lily that would stretch the last moment of her life
into a painful eternity, and he told me how to cure that, too. But
I'll need your help. Moral support, if nothing else." He tried a
smile, but he knew it was limp and unconvincing, and a moment later
he knew he shouldn't have tried it.</p><p>Connor, being
Connor-who-noticed-inconvenient-things the way he was lately, latched
on to the one thing Harry hadn't wanted him to latch on to. "How
are you going to be able to cure Lily?"</p><p>Harry met his eyes
calmly. "The <em>absorbere</em> gift."</p><p>"No." Connor's
face was the color of strawberries.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"<em>No</em>."
Connor leaned forward and closed his hands like hooks on Harry's
shoulders. They hurt. "Haven't you done enough to help them? The
little speech at the trial was <em>more</em> than enough. I don't
want you seeing them again, Harry. I'm sure that Snape would
agree."</p><p>Harry shrugged,
forcing his brother's hands away. "I might not need to be there
when they cure James—"</p><p>"You won't be,"
said Connor. "I can go in and stand with him and do whatever else
is necessary for that."</p><p>"But I don't think
there's any other way to remove the curse from Lily," Harry
continued. "I recognize what Lucius described. It was created by a
sacrifice. There's no countercurse for it, and no healing spell. I
can remove the magic by draining it. That's what I'll have to
do."</p><p>He felt calm, empty,
very drained himself. He'd thought when Mallory spoke to him that
he could not hate her for torturing his parents because it all seemed
so long ago. So it was with Lucius; the pain Harry felt on Draco's
behalf and for the betrayal Lucius had given Hawthorn was much worse
than what he felt when he contemplated the torture of his parents.
And they could be healed. That meant he could give them something
that would ease their pain, just as he'd done with other people.
They <em>should</em> be nothing more than those other people to him,
random strangers he could help, if they were really in his past. He
had cut them out of his life. Releasing them back into it would do no
harm, because they had no fertile ground to root in.</p><p>"Let the Healers and
the Ministry officials look at Lily first," Connor said, and Harry
was startled to see that he was pleading more than arguing. "There
<em>might</em> be another way to take the curse from her. Just—please,
Harry. Let them do that."</p><p>"They can do that,"
Harry agreed. "But if there's no other way to step around this,
then I'll see her, and do what I need to do to take away the curse.
No one deserves to suffer that much pain as they die, Connor."</p><p>"You <em>really</em>
have no desire for vengeance, do you?" Connor muttered.</p><p>Harry gave him an
empty gaze. "I've cut it out of me in regards to them," he
answered. "They need my help, so I'm going to help them."</p><p>He would do this
because it needed to be done, he told himself. The past was the past,
and might remain that way. This was for their futures.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Rufus sat slowly back
behind his desk. His whole head ached, but he had to acknowledge that
came from tension, and it wasn't going to be soothed by his usual
cup of tea, or Percy offering to do some of the paperwork.</p><p>The Healers had had
the Potters for the past week. They had finally confirmed that, yes,
they could do something about the cancer that James Potter had
burgeoning inside him—though it would require blood from a family
member. Connor Potter, Harry's younger brother, had offered his
blood for that.</p><p>But the curse on Lily
Potter was a strong Dark one, one that not even the man who had cast
it on her, Lucius Malfoy, could entirely remove. It had to be
stripped or drained by something that would absorb magic. And if such
an artifact lingered in the vaults of the Department of Mysteries,
Rufus didn't know about it. He'd asked for an official list of
such artifacts from the Unspeakables. Of course, there was nothing
like that on there.</p><p><em>Even if the Stone
isn't playing with Harry, it won't want to make this easy for
him. It probably wants to see what he'll do, when he has to face
his mother again.</em></p><p>Rufus had his own
speculations about the Stone's motives, of course. It seemed
strange that it had worked so specifically to insure <em>Lucius's</em>
downfall, rather than simply insuring that Harry knew about his
betrayal. Why a letter sent directly to Hawthorn Parkinson, rather
than solely the communication of Fiona Mallory to Harry? She might
have gone ahead and killed Lucius on her own.</p><p>The Stone might not
have minded that. But surely it wasn't as good as seeing Harry
upset? Harry had told him after the Unspeakables' capture of
Adalrico Bulstrode that the Stone seemed interested in him as a
figure of magic it had never encountered before, and it would
probably conduct experiments on him. Altering his moods could count
as one of those.</p><p>Rufus had listened to
Harry often in the past week, as they discussed his parents and the
Stone's motives. And all the while, words he couldn't speak had
been burning behind his tongue.</p><p><em>It may have
targeted Lucius because he took part in the Ritual of Cincinnatus.</em></p><p>The Stone hadn't
been able to see what happened in Courtroom Ten, but it could have
looked through the records of the wards and seen those seventeen
people approaching the bottom level of the Ministry. Or it could have
sensed the shimmer of the Unbreakable Vows around them, perhaps.</p><p>Plotting against it
would be enough to annoy the Stone. It had shone itself willing to go
after Harry for considerably lesser reason.</p><p>And that meant it
might seek to hurt the others who had been there. Percy. Aurelius
Flint. Griselda Marchbanks.</p><p>Rufus himself.</p><p>And still he could not
speak, not breathe a hint of the truth, the bridle around his neck
holding his mouth shut.</p><p>He closed his eyes and
breathed deeply, counting down the moments before he would have to
firecall Hogwarts and tell Harry that his magic was needed to heal
his mother.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"There's no other
way."</p><p>"That doesn't mean
you can't leave her to suffer."</p><p>Harry raised his
eyebrows. Snape had grown to hate the gesture in the last week. It
usually meant he was puzzled by Snape's lack of logic, and was
about to show why, in fact, things <em>could</em> be the way that he
thought they could. "But I can't," he said. "She's nothing
to me now, just a fragment of my past, just someone I've done with.
I have to approach her, but she's a stranger. I should be able to
help her like any other stranger and then leave her alone again."</p><p>"Do you really think
that will happen?" Snape lowered his voice a notch and took a step
forward. "That you'll be able to stand before her without your
emotions creeping upon you and overwhelming you?"</p><p>Unexpectedly, Harry
grinned. It was the first smile Snape had seen him give in a week,
and he did not like it. It had too much of the maniac in it, a glint
that he usually only associated with Evan Rosier.</p><p>"I do think that,
yes," he said, far too cheerfully. "I've been able to do what I
need to do in the past week, Severus, and balance the life I'm
leading right now with what other people require from me. I've been
eating and sleeping on time, haven't I? I haven't ignored my
classwork. I've come and told you when I had trouble sleeping, and
taken a Dreamless Sleep Potion for it. And at the same time, I've
helped comfort Draco and Hawthorn, and Narcissa when she needed it,
and helped prepare my brother to see our dad again. I think I've
done pretty well, considering how badly Lucius's betrayal might
have thrown off my center of balance."</p><p>"That is not what I
mean," said Snape.</p><p>"Then what do you
mean, sir?" Harry took a coaxing step forward. "I can't
understand it unless you explain it to me."</p><p>And there they met an
impasse, because Snape <em>could</em> not explain it, except with words
that sounded far too wet to him. He wanted Harry to—to live, was
the way he would phrase it, but Harry <em>had</em> been living. He had
not allowed Lucius's betrayal, nor the looming specter of the idea
that he would have to heal Lily Potter, to delay him for very long.
He had worked his way forward, and identified dangerous signs of
obsession in himself, and dealt with them. He had even, as far as
Snape could tell, continued to research ways of dealing with the
Horcruxes and freeing the thestrals. He hadn't broken down or flung
himself too madly into one thing, his major coping mechanisms in the
past. It was no wonder that Harry felt rather as though those fussing
over him were fussing over nothing.</p><p>But something was
still missing, and Snape could not say what it was. Or he could say,
and in the words he would expose far more sentiment than he was
comfortable speaking of.</p><p>"You know, sir,"
said Harry, evidently feeling that with the moment past, he had
decided not to speak at all, "if you need help of me, you have only
to ask." He reached up, squeezed Snape's arm comfortingly, and
then made for the door.</p><p>Snape found his tongue
again. "Harry, you <em>will</em> not go and heal Lily Potter."</p><p>Harry paused, but
didn't look back at him. "And how are you going to stop me?"</p><p><em>That isn't a
question I remember him asking before. </em>But Snape held calm even
in the face of such provocation. "I am your legal guardian," he
said. "If I say that you cannot go to her, then you cannot, Harry."</p><p>Harry sighed and
turned to face him. "You can't stop me that way, sir—"</p><p>"Severus."</p><p>"I don't feel like
calling you that now. You don't have a right to command me."
Harry cocked his head contemplatively. "I was wrong about the
thestrals. I made a mistake there. But here, I've waited a week.
There's no other way they can heal her. If I leave her like this, I
have the punishment of knowing that when she dies, she'll do it in
pain and suffering I could have prevented. I've thought about
things the way an adult would, and tried contingency plans, and they
didn't work. <em>You have no right to forbid me, sir.</em>"</p><p>Those words were
delivered in a tone that actually seemed lower than Harry's normal
voice, and some of the stones around Snape turned white-blue with
frost. He was forced to incline his head stiffly, never taking his
eyes off Harry.</p><p>"When you feel like
talking about this, then come back here and we will do so," he
said.</p><p>Harry relaxed then,
and the frost vanished. "I probably won't, sir," he said. "I
want to help her and have it over and done with, and then put the
emotions out of my mind. But thank you for the offer. I'll remember
it."</p><p>He left then, and five
minutes later, Snape thought of the perfect thing he should have said
to him.</p><p>Harry was Occluding
furiously to be able to get through this without collapsing.
Normally, given everything he had to do, Snape would have approved
that. It was certainly better than wallowing in the grief and guilt
as had happened when he killed the dozen children in the Life-Web.</p><p>But Occlusion meant
that Harry hadn't yet faced his emotions. If his life was really so
integrated and whole as he liked to pretend, then he should have felt
free to do that and still do everything else at the same time.</p><p>And there Snape ran up
against a wall of hypocrisy, because <em>he</em> hardly did that, did
he? The only usual activities in his days were eating, sleeping,
brewing potions, teaching, and marking, and the most usual emotions
he felt while doing it were anger and bitterness.</p><p><em>I hope someone else
tells him that, </em>he thought, rubbing his left arm; it had been
tingling rather fiercely since he woke up this morning. <em>Since he
will never accept it coming from me.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"This may hurt,"
the Healer told Connor.</p><p>Connor knew what <em>that</em>
meant. Things that hurt a little in the eyes of Healers and parents
hurt a lot in the eyes of children. So he braced himself for intense
pain, the way he had when Peter trained him last summer, and was
surprised when the only pain he felt was his arm contracting sharply
as the Healer drew blood out of it. The liquid flowed through the air
in patterns that followed her wand, and Connor, fascinated in spite
of himself, watched it intently as she directed it gently into a vial
that lay close at hand. Then she whispered "<em>Integro,</em>" at
his arm, and the small wound that had opened closed in a moment.</p><p>"That's all the
blood you need from me?" Connor cocked his head to watch the vial.
It had seemed immense when the Healer first showed it to him, but now
he could hardly believe that this small pool of red liquid would be
enough to save James from cancer.</p><p>"We can amplify it
and insure that it replicates itself when we put it in the body."
The Healer smiled at him. She was a short woman, with dark hair that
reminded Connor of his own, and pale blue eyes that made her
expression a bit watery but still kind. A round badge above her heart
said that her name was Betsy—something; Connor couldn't read the
surname. "So, no, we don't need much. Just the way that you only
need two mice to have a whole colony of mice soon."</p><p>"If the mice are
male and female," Connor pointed out.</p><p>Betsy laughed. "Well,
yes, that's right." She looked up as the door of the small,
enclosed white room where they'd sat, with only a portrait of a
stuffy-looking old wizard for company, swung open. "And here's
your father."</p><p>Connor stiffened, but
didn't bother pointing out that he called his father "James,"
and that only. He'd heard Harry referring to him as "Dad" a few
times in the past week, but Harry had denied that it meant anything
when Connor questioned him. And when Connor had tried to raise other
objections against Harry attending Lily, Harry had looked at him
patiently, and Connor knew he'd lost the argument.</p><p>Two Healers and two
Aurors accompanied James into the room. Connor didn't know why they
needed so many guards; James had been stripped of his magic, so he
was hardly about to grab a wand away from someone and threaten them
all.</p><p>And he looked so
<em>pathetic</em>, coming along between the Aurors, his head bowed as
if he hoped that he would be relieved of the weight of holding it up
soon. He was much thinner than Connor remembered, and his skin had
the ghostly pale look that Connor's got the time he was so sick as
a child that he had to stay inside for a month, only worse. His hair
was thick with grease and sweat.</p><p>"I <em>did</em> ask
for him to be clean," said Betsy, sounding a little irritated. She
waved her wand, and James's hair was clean, as were his arms.</p><p>He looked up then, and
froze when he met Connor's gaze. Connor returned the stare as
evenly as he could. He supposed the Healers hadn't told James whom
he was coming to meet.</p><p>"Son?" James
whispered.</p><p>"Connor," Connor
said stubbornly, and folded his arms over his chest.</p><p>One of the other
Healers looked as if he'd like to ask questions, but Betsy quelled
him with a glance. "Into this chair, Mr. Potter," she said, and
slapped the plain wooden seat in front of her.</p><p>The Aurors had to
steer James there, in the end; he wouldn't stop staring at Connor.
Connor just kept staring back. He felt a hard-edged pity, and a
certain satisfaction. James was paying for being a coward and a
hypocrite and someone who refused to see that his sons were being
abused even when he <em>knew</em> about it. Connor supposed he couldn't
ask for much more than that.</p><p>Betsy pushed James
down, and then picked up the vial with Connor's blood in it. With a
wave of her wand, she cut a small gash on James's arm—he
flinched—and then pressed the vial against it, and chanted a low
incantation. Connor craned his neck, but couldn't see the blood
flowing into the wound, just that one moment the vial's glass
glinted red and the next that it didn't.</p><p>Betsy healed the
wound, and then began chanting again, this time quite a long spell.
Connor couldn't keep up with the Latin, so he didn't try. He
noticed the Aurors talking quietly. Betsy had closed her eyes and
retired so entirely within the cocoon of the spell that Connor knew
she didn't notice.</p><p>James seemed to have
seen the same thing.</p><p>"What is your life
like now, Connor?" he asked.</p><p>Connor thought about
lying, to try and punish him, but he didn't think he knew James
well enough to say what would punish him. He might have changed again
in the year and a half he'd been in Tullianum, though his cringing
suggested that wasn't true. So Connor said, "Quiet. Voldemort
hasn't attacked since last Midsummer."</p><p>"And that was
Harry's doing?"</p><p>"Yeah." Connor
couldn't resist a dig, then. "He cut a hole in his magical core
and drove him from the battlefield. Quite the heroic son you raised,
even though you didn't have much part in raising him."</p><p>James shuddered and
put the hand of the arm Betsy hadn't gashed over his eyes. "Don't,
Connor," he whispered. "You don't know what life has been like
for me. My magic gone, and then my mind invaded by the visions of
Dumbledore's <em>Capto Horrifer </em>spell, and then days and weeks
and months when I had nothing to do but stare at the walls of my cell
and think."</p><p>Connor smiled. "Well.
With that much time, perhaps you've even come up with an original
thought."</p><p>"Why do you have to
be cruel?" James whispered, though there was no spirit behind it.</p><p>"Because you
couldn't restrain yourself in your cruelty," said Connor, his
exasperation bubbling over. "Maybe, if you'd shown <em>one</em>
sign of remorse for the way you behaved towards Harry, just <em>one</em>,
then I wouldn't feel like I had to hit you when you're lying
wounded on the ground. Instead, I testified against you, and then I
watched as you went to have your magic stripped, and I've never
regretted it."</p><p>James looked at him at
last. "I've raised one hero and one proud and thoughtless and
cruel young man, according to you."</p><p>Connor rolled his
eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. We both know that you had less to
do with our rearing than Lily did."</p><p>"But don't you
ever regret your childhood, and the way it ended?" James shifted
forward as much as he could, sounding earnest. "Don't you ever
wish it could have stayed the same, golden and untainted? Wasn't I
ever—" He paused, swallowed, then continued. "I'm always
'James' in your memories? Never 'Dad?'"</p><p>Connor saw what he
wanted, then. James had lost all sense of the person he'd once been
in Tullianum; he had too much evidence that he was a coward, a broken
man, a neglectful father, not the hero he'd once wanted to be. If
someone outside the prison still remembered him as a hero, then maybe
he could preserve some shreds of dignity when he went back into the
cells.</p><p><em>Bugger off, gift
for noticing, </em>Connor thought, and hoped fervently it would listen
to him this time.</p><p>He now had a choice
between telling a palatable lie that might ease James's pain a
little, or going with a truth that would be honest but work as a
torture. No, he didn't think back on his father as a father. He'd
worked hard to wipe out all trace of the emotion with which he'd
once regarded James, the same way he'd worked hard to remove all
traces of jealousy of Harry from his own psyche. Harry didn't need
a jealous brother. Connor didn't need a broken father hanging
around his neck. And he didn't regard the days of his childhood as
idyllic, either. How could he? He had to search every memory now for
the hidden signs of abuse, for the truth that he knew was there even
if he couldn't see it—<em>especially</em> if he couldn't see it.</p><p>Connor's hands
clenched on his arms. A year ago, he would have told the truth
without hesitation, but a year ago, his anger had still been hot and
burning.</p><p>His conscience spoke
in Hermione's voice, and told him that a lie wasn't the same
thing as resuming a relationship with James.</p><p>Connor sighed, and
spoke. "Sometimes I have good memories of childhood, yeah," he
said, and James's face lit up like the sky with fireworks after
Voldemort had been reported dead the first time.</p><p>"And me?" he asked
eagerly. "What do you call me, in your head?"</p><p>There was only so far
a lie could take him, though.</p><p>"James," Connor
told him.</p><p>He might have said
something else, but abruptly Betsy's still continuing Latin chant
rose to a climax, and Connor saw her magic roar through James and
sweep out again like a tornado. It came through the gash on James's
arm for a road. It was a golden tornado, and it held the broken,
black bodies of insects in itself. Connor curled his lip. <em>That was
a dirty thing Lucius did. And coming here to offer my blood and give
James a chance to live was the right thing to do.</em></p><p><em>He should stare at
his cell walls for many more years before he dies.</em></p><p>Betsy waved her wand a
few more times, then nodded briskly to the Aurors. "We're done.
You can take him back to the Ministry now."</p><p>James tried to
struggle as they lifted him, but one of them muttered an efficient
Stunning Curse, and he collapsed. Connor was glad. He didn't want
to know what the man who was once his father would have said.</p><p><em>Liar</em>, whispered
his conscience.</p><p>But Connor had done
enough of what it wanted for one day, so he ignored it.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry had a new tactic
for facing his mother. He had sunk his emotions to the bottom of the
Occlumency pools, then muffled the pools in dense fog, then draped
soft cloth over that, until the only feeling left near the surface of
his mind was a kind of vague compassion. He would have stopped to
help a dog dying in the street with that kind of emotion. He was
ready when the Aurors opened the door and ushered him in to face
Lily.</p><p>Snape had offered to
come with him. Draco had demanded to come with him. Harry had refused
both. He would have Aurors for companionship and protection, in case
Lily tried something desperate, and he doubted that either Snape or
Draco would be able to control the impulse to snap at his mother,
which would only distress her further.</p><p>Draco had had a long,
raging argument with him. Well. A one-sided, long, raging argument.
Harry had sat there and calmly stared at him. Then Draco had stormed
out, and come back later with his face tear-stained and lain down
stiffly to go to sleep with his back to Harry. Harry had talked to
him calmly enough the next morning about Lucius, and the difficulties
his going away like that had left Draco in.</p><p>There were burdens
that were other people's to carry, and some burdens that Harry
could help support. And then there were tasks that he had to perform
on his own.</p><p>The cell was utterly
plain and bare. There was a bed, and a toilet, and a table that Harry
knew held the trays of food the Aurors brought Lily. And there was
nothing else. No books, no <em>Daily Prophet, </em>no portraits. The
prisoners were expected to lie on their backs and stare at the
ceiling until they went mad, apparently.</p><p>"Here she is,"
said the male Auror who'd come with him, quite unnecessarily, in
Harry's opinion. And then they shut the door and stood in front of
it, and left Harry there with his mother.</p><p>She'd changed, of
course, growing paler, but not much thinner. Her green eyes held a
dull gloss to them. When she sat up and stared at him, Harry wasn't
sure if she really saw him. The Aurors had told him as they descended
into Tullianum that his mother had suffered from Dumbledore's <em>Capto
Horrifer. </em>The Healers had worked with her for months before
they'd been satisfied that she was sane enough to endure moments
alone without babbling at herself and tearing at her skin.</p><p>She whispered,
"Harry."</p><p><em>Well. This is
progress. </em>She hadn't tried to run screaming from the room yet,
which Harry had thought she might do, given how afraid of his magic
she had once been. He nodded. "Lily," he said. "I came to heal
you. The Healers talked to you about that, didn't they? About the
curse Lucius cast on you?"</p><p>She nodded rapidly,
too long, and then stopped herself with an equally senseless, abrupt
jerk. Her eyes wouldn't stop traveling over him. "And you're
going to heal me," she whispered. "And you're not a Dark Lord."</p><p>"No, I'm not."
Harry had known she might want to talk about personal things. He had
decided to keep his answers as short and soothing and noncommittal as
possible. He squinted, and a dark crust of magic slowly formed around
her. "Can you move towards the head of the bed, please?" he
asked, gesturing with one hand. "That way, I can see how the magic
winds around you more easily."</p><p>Lily scrambled across
the bed, still staring at him. "And you have a second hand now,"
she said.</p><p>"Yes," said Harry,
and resisted the temptation to say that Death had given it to him. He
was not going to speak about anything personal with her. Why should
he? He would hardly tell someone else who commented on his hand,
someone who didn't know him, the truth, and that was the position
where Lily stood in relation to him now. He studied the dark crust of
magic again, and then nodded. If she were still a witch, this would
have been difficult, but there was no magic anywhere on his mother
except for that one edging. Harry didn't have to untangle it from
under any other power. He just had to swallow it.</p><p>"You've become a
new person," Lily whispered. "Does that mean that you have
changed in regards to me?"</p><p>Harry could feel the
Aurors stirring uneasily. They were supposed to protect him if Lily
made a physical attack, but he thought Scrimgeour had also told them
to beware a mental assault. Once again, he was grateful that Snape
and Draco weren't here. They would already be trying to drag him
out of the room.</p><p>"No," he said, and
opened his gullet.</p><p>The moment he did,
Lily screamed, and cowered back against the pillows, wrapping her
arms around her head.</p><p>Harry sighed and
glanced at the Aurors. "What do you think I should do?" he asked,
carefully closing the <em>absorbere</em> gift. "She appears to be
terrified of my swallowing magic even though she has none to lose any
more."</p><p>"We can hold her
flat," offered the bulky female Auror, whom Harry thought looked
like Millicent's third cousin. She eyed Lily as if she would enjoy
gripping her wrists and holding them above her head.</p><p>"Not that, if
possible." Harry shook his head a little. "Perhaps I can persuade
her." He faced Lily again. She had pulled her arms down and was
regarding him over one of them. "I'm not going to drain your
magic," he said, making his voice as soothing as he could. "You're
not a witch. You can't lose it to me. I'm only going to try and
pull out a curse that would cause you pain in the future."</p><p>"I—I might let you
do that." Lily gave another shy rabbit-nod. "If—" And she
broke off and bit her lip.</p><p>"Yes?" Harry
leaned forward encouragingly. "What is the matter? What would you
like?"</p><p>"For you to talk to
me while you do it," Lily said.</p><p>Harry swallowed a
curse and stuffed the anger back into the Occlumency pool. <em>Fuck</em>.
Well. He had the feeling Lily knew exactly what she was doing. He had
disappointed her by refusing to engage with her on a personal level,
so she would ask for that as a price for good behavior.</p><p>Harry shrugged, and
told himself he was empty of feelings for Lily. He would talk to her,
if that was really what she wanted. She had not asked anything
terrible so far.</p><p>"Lie still," he
said, and once again, fixed his attention on the dark crust. Lily
still jerked, though this time it was before he opened the <em>absorbere</em>
magic. Harry thought she couldn't feel it; she was probably judging
when he opened it by how intent his expression had grown.</p><p>She asked, "Where is
Voldemort now?"</p><p>"Wounded," Harry
murmured. He pulled, and the first part of the curse flaked loose and
flew towards him. He grimaced. It tasted even fouler than some of the
Death Eater magic he'd eaten almost a year ago. "I cut a hole in
his magical core last year. He's hiding somewhere, and he hasn't
dared a strong strike in nearly a year. All his Death Eaters are dead
except the ones who became my allies, and Indigena Yaxley and Evan
Rosier."</p><p>Silence, and he had
the feeling she was staring at him in shock. But he refused to look
at her face and confirm that.</p><p>"I never knew—"
Lily whispered. Then she cleared her throat, and said, "Did Connor
help you?"</p><p>"Yes." Harry
cracked the crust in a weak place, and grunted in satisfaction as the
larger piece tore loose and soared down his throat.</p><p>"How did he help
you?"</p><p>"By using his
compulsion on a group of Death Eaters bringing in a tank of sirens.
They would have compelled most of the people in Hogwarts otherwise,
and Merlin knows what Voldemort might have made the hostages do."
Harry squinted, and finally picked the second loose piece of the
curse off. This bit tried to escape him, as if the Dark magic knew
what he was doing and didn't like being swallowed, but he snatched
it and dissolved it. His own boundaries expanded a little. This was
an unexpectedly heavy meal, but Harry rejected the idea of closing
the <em>absorbere </em>gift now and letting it digest this. He didn't
want to spend that long in the cell with Lily because—</p><p>Well, just because,
that was all.</p><p>"I want to know
more," Lily coaxed. "Are you any closer to fulfilling the
prophecy? Have you used the training I gave you to help you do it?
Have you thought about whether we were right, after all, to train you
the way we did?"</p><p>"No, yes, and I
don't know if you were right or not." The rest of the curse,
unfortunately, showed no sign of weakening just because Harry had
found weak points in the other pieces. Calling on it was like
stepping on a thick cake of ice. He had to stamp several times before
cracks raced through it, and it seemed as if he might be able to
follow the cracks to the center and pull the shards off completely.</p><p>"Harry. Look at me."</p><p>Sighing, Harry met her
eyes.</p><p>To his dim surprise,
hers were large and glistening with tears. "I <em>did</em> love you,"
Lily whispered. "When nothing changed, when even after that
horrible vision you didn't come and kill me—and then I found out
Albus had sent the vision—" She caught her breath with a sob.
"I've had a lot of time to think, Harry. I think that, perhaps, I
didn't express my love for you in the right way. But I didn't
<em>know</em> that for certain. Perhaps the good we did you outweighed
the evil. I didn't know it, because you wouldn't come and talk to
me."</p><p>Harry frowned slightly
in exasperation. She had a right to ask healing from him, even
comfort if she was so afraid of his <em>absorbere</em> gift. She didn't
have a right to ask for anything else.</p><p>He tore through the
rest of the curse, sending his magic running through the cracks in
the black crust. It responded, flickering and rippling up and down,
and then came loose. Indigo flakes raced towards Harry, who caught
them by stretching the "mouth" of his gift as wide as he could.
He swallowed the putrid mess, trying not to grimace.</p><p>"Harry," Lily
whispered.</p><p>He was occupied in
settling the newly absorbed magic in his gut, and didn't respond.</p><p>"I wish things had
been different," Lily said, her voice thin and reedy. "I wish I
had been able to express my love in a way that would have helped you
with future battles <em>and</em> kept you strong. I wish I had known
what the prophecy really proclaimed, that you were the Boy-Who-Lived.
I wish I hadn't needed to lie to Connor. I wish Albus had been a
different sort of man. I wish I hadn't lied to James, either. I
think I even regret that the training I gave you was—well, it could
be called abuse." She leaned forward. "But to know that, I need
to know how much it's helped you and how much it's hindered you.
Will you come back and talk to me again, Harry? Will you tell me
that?"</p><p>Harry hesitated. <em>Has
she changed? </em>It sounded as if she'd reconsidered some of her
thoughts, at least, some of the bone-deep beliefs she'd always
taken for granted. And she was asking for a relationship with him, a
new kind of foundation reared on burned and salted ground—</p><p><em>And what if I don't
want to make the effort to build one?</em></p><p>Harry stopped in his
effort to take a step towards her. His heart beat loudly in his ears,
and a rent in one of his Occlumency pools had sent a few emotions
bubbling towards the surface.</p><p><em>I don't want
this. I don't give a fuck if she's changed. It's too late. I
just want to go on and live my life, my life where she's a stranger
to me, and has no part in my standing or falling.</em></p><p>He tied up the
emotions then, before they could get out of hand, and made a cold
little bow to Lily. Then he turned for the door.</p><p>"Harry?" He heard
the sheets rasp under her fingers as she scrambled to the edge of the
bed. "<em>Harry!</em> Please, just tell me, the answer to that one
question. Has it helped or hindered you more? Do I have to call it
abuse?"</p><p>Oh, how part of him
longed to turn and shout at her, screaming that <em>of course</em> it
had been abuse, that she was blind to imagine otherwise, that once
again she was stumbling along in a labyrinth looking for ways to
excuse the unforgivable—</p><p>But if he screamed
that, that would just prove he hadn't succeeded in exiling her from
his heart after all, and that he should have brought Draco and Snape
with him today. And that <em>wasn't true</em>.</p><p>So he walked out with
the Aurors, and shut the door on her cries, and accompanied them up
the main corridor of Tullianum, past other shut cells of criminals
who might be worth a second chance, and might not be.</p><p>Maybe he could have
something different with her, if he chose to build it. Perhaps they
could have a reconciliation, a renewal.</p><p>But Harry knew already
that ninety percent of the burden would fall on him, and that it
would interfere with other relationships in his life which were
finally the way he had wanted them.</p><p>So he walked out of
Tullianum, and left her there.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 110*: Hawthorn, Dragonsbane, and Pansies</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the review on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Seven: Hawthorn, Dragonsbane, and
Pansies</strong></p><p>Rufus ran a hand
through his hair in frustration. Then he tried to smooth it back into
place, because it already looked enough like a lion's mane as it
was, and he'd slept on it, so that it stood out around his head. He
hadn't had time to use hair-straightening charms between the moment
that Hope had awakened him with the news and the moment he came
through the Floo into the office.</p><p><em>I don't remember
May as a month of escalating crises</em>, he thought, and had to
stifle a yawn. <em>On the other hand, I've only been Minister for
three Mays. Perhaps the months take turns.</em></p><p>He sat up then, and
took a deep breath. He couldn't afford to wander in mind. He had to
be clear and focused to take this problem seriously.</p><p>The clipping was an
article from the <em>Daily Prophet</em>—an article that the <em>Prophet</em>
hadn't published. Apparently their reporter, a keen young
Muggleborn witch with ambitions to become the next Rita Skeeter, had
uncovered far different things than they thought she would, and so
they'd sent the article on to the Ministry when she finished
writing it.</p><p><strong><span style='text-decoration: underline;'><em>WEREWOLF
COMMUNITIES 'LETTING THE DAYLIGHT IN'</em></span></strong></p><p><strong>Muggle awareness is
'the pack of the future'</strong></p><p><em>By: Irene Fairchild</em></p><p>Fairchild had been
assigned to create a report about werewolf packs in London and how
well they fit into the wizarding world, as far as Rufus could tell.
The <em>Prophet</em> had evidently expected a story with some negative
anecdotes, some positive ones, and little danger, since they'd
assigned Fairchild to write it well before the full moon.</p><p>Instead, what she'd
uncovered was that werewolf packs in London were making contact with
Muggles—especially the Muggle family of their bitten members, and
especially adolescents who seemed determined to follow any hint of
magic or wonder into dark corners. From what Fairchild said, a few
packs, led by alphas who "called themselves after birds," had
even accepted Muggles, biting those who asked.</p><p>Rufus did not
personally know anyone mad enough to ask for the curse of
lycanthropy. He was glad of it.</p><p>And the Muggles
crossing into the wizarding world…he felt half-helpless in his
quest to understand them. Surely most of them were frightened of
magic? He only had to read history to understand that, and he <em>had</em>,
including the pieces they wouldn't teach in Hogwarts because they
didn't want to scar fragile young minds. When had Muggle teenagers
decided that they <em>wanted</em> to know the wizarding world, that
they would rather run on four legs and watch people wave wands than
watch the telly, or, well, do the other things that Muggles did?</p><p>Rufus's headache
grew worse when he thought about the international scope of the
problem. The other Ministers would be contacting him soon, politely
asking why Britain seemed to have a problem keeping the International
Statute of Secrecy intact yet <em>again.</em> Harry fighting a dragon
above London, two siren attacks up the Thames in little more than a
year, and now werewolves. And those were just the greatest
violations. There had always been the minor ones, like a wizard
losing his temper and casting a hex on a Muggle, or children
carelessly riding brooms out of bounds. The Obliviators were always
busy.</p><p>And the werewolves!
<em>They</em> knew the rules of the wizarding world even if their new
Muggle friends didn't. Why were they doing this?</p><p>That, actually, Rufus
thought he could answer, and <em>wished</em> he couldn't. The
werewolves had been ignored and stigmatized and pushed at and hunted
for so long that most of them had formed into a cohesive community,
satisfying both human and lupine social needs, and come to consider
themselves as apart from wizarding society. Individuals could be
attracted by the promise of power or rights into behaving as the
Ministry wished, but the packs were much harder to court. Now they
did have those rights, at least in law, but individuals were still
maltreated, refused Wolfsbane, sneered at, and sacked without
warning. And so the packs, with knowledge of the victory that <em>could</em>
be won now, if they fought hard enough, and the hypocrisy breathed in
their faces at every moment, and that old conviction that they
weren't really wizards if wizards didn't acknowledge them, would
not see much wrong in turning to Muggles. Being persecuted was
nothing new to them.</p><p>Rufus could understand
it. But the idea of it still maddened him.</p><p>So there was an
international incident carefully deposited in the middle of his desk.</p><p>While he sat there
contemplating it gloomily, an owl soared through the window. Rufus
took the letter from it, wondering. He thought he had seen the owl
before, but he received so much post that he could not remember
where. At least he knew the owl and the letter it carried were not a
threat; there were wards around the Ministry now that examined all
birds for dangerous charms and curses.</p><p>He opened the letter,
and realized it was a response to his request for information from
Ignifer Apollonis. If the Liberator was a daughter of Cupressus
Apollonis, as Rufus suspected, he wanted to know the plan of the old
bastard's house and something about the traps he might have waiting
before he entered.</p><p>The letter was
disappointing, though.</p><p><em>May 16th,
1997</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour:</em></p><p><em>I regret to say
that there is little I can help you with. I have not been home except
for short visits in fifteen years, and then I was restricted to one
of two rooms: the entrance hall or the room where Cupressus
habitually receives guests. I agree that the clues the Liberator
gives sound like my family, and I do have a younger sister, named
Candor, but I do not believe that Cupressus treats her so badly. He
focused most of his attention on me. Candor was born five years
before I left the family, which would make her young, like your
Liberator. But I do not know her, as a person. I have no idea what
the day-to-day life in that household is like, and I wish to never
know again.</em></p><p><em>Regarding your
other questions, it is true that Cupressus had dealings with the
Unspeakables. I believe that they tried to blackmail him, and he
resisted. But, once again, I cannot prove this for certain, and I
would not trust memories fifteen years old when one is making a raid.
I am sorry that I cannot be of more help.</em></p><p><em>Yours under the
Dark,</em></p><p><em>Ignifer Pemberley.</em></p><p>Rufus folded the
letter with sharp, angry movements, and made a mental note to tell
Hope that the raid would have to wait until they knew there <em>was</em>
some reason worth approaching the Apollonis house for.</p><p>In the meantime, the
werewolf problem waited to be solved.</p><p>And Elder Juniper, who
was gaining more and more prominence in the Wizengamot of late, hated
werewolves.</p><p>Rufus wondered which
Fate had been assigned to make his life more difficult, and why it
had chosen May as the month to do so.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry eased gently off
the bed. He'd just given Draco a thorough massage—that was much
easier to do, now that he had two hands—and left him snoring. Draco
had appeared in their bedroom with a headache caused by sorting
through the documents Lucius had left for him. Harry trusted that
he'd managed to soothe it well enough. Draco didn't even move as
he walked towards the door, and Harry shut the door softly so that
the noises of the common room wouldn't intrude.</p><p>He stood on the other
side of the door a moment, considering. It was a Saturday, and no one
expected him for classes. It was also a few days since he had healed
Lily and Connor had gone to give his blood to James, and both Snape
and Draco were slowly calming down and had stopped giving him the
looks that meant they expected him to explode at any moment. Harry
had tolerated them while they lasted, but they put him on edge.</p><p>He knew whom he should
go and see. Hawthorn had returned to the Garden a few days ago. But
Madam Pomfrey had tried to persuade her to stay longer. When Harry
asked her why, the matron admitted that she didn't think Hawthorn
was mentally recovered, whatever physical recovery she'd
accomplished. Only one of the wounds had scarred after all, one high
on her left shoulder that she could cover with the sleeve of her
robe. But Hawthorn had still been in a black fury when she departed,
helped along, Harry thought, by the werewolf temper Remus had once
described to him.</p><p>He nodded. He would go
and see her, and hope a few days back in her home had done her good.
If they had not, well—</p><p>He would not see
another of his allies lost to the desire for vengeance. He <em>would</em>
not. It had caused too much trouble already. Deaths, and torture, and
the tying-up of various of his allies in other things; Tybalt
Starrise was <em>still</em> sorting out the legal and social problems
his brother Pharos had caused, and trying to decide how much support
he should give him in the courtroom and whether he should argue for
Tullianum or restriction in St. Mungo's.</p><p>The stronger the
Alliance of Sun and Shadow got, Harry thought as he started towards
Snape's office to inform him of where he was going, the more
careful he had to be about this, not less. More and more people
watched them. More and more people stood a chance of being affected
when Harry or one of his allies did something questionable, and more
and more people stood a chance of being those who brought the
questions. Harry stood in the center of his own web of influence, and
connected to many others. Pluck one strand of a web, and the others
vibrated.</p><p>He would not try to
persuade Hawthorn out of her hatred. He would not try to make it seem
as if her losses did not matter. But he would ask questions about her
desire for vengeance, and hope that the answers would reveal how very
little that desire mattered, against the real scope of things. And he
would offer his presence as a silent support.</p><p>If Hawthorn would not
talk to him, then Harry would simply wait outside the Garden for
however long he needed to.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Hawthorn dropped the
vial, and it cracked open on the stone floor of her Potions lab. The
silver liquid, the result of a good six hours' work on the
lycanthropy cure, splattered all over the floor and walls.</p><p>She half-shrieked,
which came out of her mouth as a howl. Then she sagged back against
the wall, her breath slow and steady.</p><p><em>I can't do this.</em></p><p>She couldn't do
this. She was trying to forget her desire to hunt down and kill
Lucius Malfoy—who had left behind no traces, anyway, and nothing
that could be used to track him—by working on something productive,
something that would change her status back to a pureblood witch's,
and relieve her of the major weakness that Lucius had turned against
her in the first place. Once, forgetting such inconvenient,
inappropriate emotions would have been a matter as simple as snapping
her fingers. Once, she was a self-possessed, self-controlled
pureblood, a player of the game.</p><p>And now she was a
hunter who wanted blood.</p><p>The wards twanged,
informing her that someone had appeared on the edge of the estate.
Hawthorn snatched her wand, secretly glad, secretly hoping it was
Evan Rosier. She would fight and destroy him without a qualm. And the
hatred would be less overwhelming when she was done, calmer and
quieter.</p><p>But she froze when she
stepped out the front door and saw the figure walking calmly towards
her across her neatly tended lawn, already thick with young grass and
the shoots of flowers. It was Harry.</p><p><em>No. I don't want
him to see me like this.</em></p><p>She retreated inside,
and shut the door. She listened to Harry's footsteps come closer
and closer until he rapped on the door, instinctively avoiding the
parts of the wood that hid traps and wards, and closed her eyes,
feeling sick. Why she hadn't told him to go away yet was beyond
her.</p><p><em>Of course, part of
me is weak. I do want his attention. If I could control my voice when
I asked for it, and prevent him from seeing the tears, I might even
invite him to come in.</em></p><p>"Hawthorn?" Harry
asked, the way he never used to do. He had always called her "Mrs.
Parkinson" until very recently. Hawthorn thought she might prefer
it now. The formality would have the bracing effect of a chill wind,
forcing her to stifle her emotional chaos and act like an adult. "I'm
here to speak with you about Lucius Malfoy. May I come in? The wards
allowed me to approach, but they aren't coming down, and of course
I don't want to tear them down."</p><p>She tried to respond,
and the words clogged in her throat like tears. She cleared them out
with a cough and began over. "Whatever you wish to say to me about
Lucius Malfoy can be said from behind a closed door."</p><p>There was a pause, as
though Harry hadn't expected that. Hawthorn wondered if he would
leave now. He had once been so easy to drive away; he would back off
the moment he poked an emotional wound. But this new Harry was—well,
more formidable, and less afraid that if he made one mistake, it
meant consequences his ally would never recover from.</p><p>"Very well,
Hawthorn," Harry said, and oh damn him, his voice was still warm
and he sounded as if he understood her position. "Madam Pomfrey
told me that you left the hospital wing still muttering about
vengeance. Why?"</p><p><em>You are not that
stupid,</em> Hawthorn thought, as she bolted straight and stared at
the door. <em>I know that you are not that stupid, Harry.</em></p><p>"Why?" she
whispered.</p><p>"That's what I
said," said Harry. She could hear him arranging himself
comfortably, probably folding his arms, and putting up a protective
layer of magic around his skin to keep himself safe from wards. "And
it's the whole substance of my first question, but I can rephrase
it, if you would rather. Why did you leave the hospital wing
muttering about vengeance?"</p><p>For a moment longer,
Hawthorn tried to restrain herself, not to let the full storm of her
temper burst on Harry. But this was too much. He knew exactly what
Lucius had done to her, he had seen her at her weakest moment in
Tullianum, he had helped her through other weak moments when Claudia
was murdered and Pansy died, and <em>he</em> asked her <em>this</em>?</p><p>"Because he hurt
me!" she shouted, and the words felt good as they ripped free of
her, even if she would much rather be shouting them at Lucius.
"Because this is the very <em>last</em> insult I can bear! I want to
hurt him, to twist his neck until it breaks, to torture him until he
knows as much pain as he's given me! I can reach him, or I should
be able to, and I can't reach anyone else, and then he <em>ran away!</em>
Traitor, coward, murderer—"</p><p>And the howl broke
forth from her throat, streaming up in a prolonged, ululating cry
that Hawthorn knew most people on the face of the earth would be
nervous about. Even Muggles would shiver and rub their arms at the
bloodthirsty call, and this near the full moon, those in the know
about werewolves would run.</p><p>Harry was not most
people. He remained silent until her howl faded, and then said, "May
I come in, Hawthorn?"</p><p>Hawthorn lashed out.
Her nails gashed long cuts in the door, and opened a series of holes
through which she could see Harry's face peering in at her. He
really was leaning against the doorway, with not more than a foot
separating them. And he refused to draw back or flinch when her nails
slit the wood.</p><p><em>Damn him. Damn him,
damn him, damn him!</em></p><p>Hawthorn wanted
someone to hurt. She had passed the line of caring who it was, just
as she hadn't cared when she saw the vision of Pansy that Indigena
and not Lucius had killed her. She showed a mouthful of teeth, and
snarled, "If you come in here with me, Harry, I will cause you
pain."</p><p>There was another
pause, and then Harry, his voice thoughtful, said, "I would like to
see you try."</p><p>That was too much.</p><p>Hawthorn tore the door
off its hinges, with that strength she so rarely used but now reveled
in, and sprang out. Harry straightened to meet her, and then moved
out of the way just in time with a half-dancing step that looked like
something he might have practiced in his childhood.</p><p>And his face remained
calm and mobile and understanding, and his eyes were without a trace
of fear.</p><p><em>Damn him.</em></p><p>Hawthorn refused the
temptation to attack as blindly and mindlessly as she had with
Lucius. Instead, she aimed her wand and cast one of the most
irritating blood curses she knew, nonverbally. It wouldn't hurt
Harry like the ones she'd used on Indigena, but it would make him
feel as if he had ants marching up and down his veins.</p><p>Harry deflected it
with a lazy wave of his hand and a wandless Shield Charm.</p><p>She fell back with a
snarl before she could help herself. For a moment, human rationality
struggled to the surface. She was facing an immensely powerful
wizard, one who could swat her like an insect if he really wanted to.
Wouldn't it be better to calm down and not fight him? He wasn't
her enemy. And if she gave up the anger and spoke to him, then he
might come around to her way of thinking.</p><p>But the beast surged
up when she remembered that she would collapse if she gave up the
anger.</p><p>She went back to the
attack, calling on the grass to rise. Perhaps she was not quite on
Indigena Yaxley's level, but the Parkinsons had once been called
"green blood," for the amount of gardening talent that ran in her
family. She could and would use the earth around the Garden to hurt
intruders.</p><p>The ground beneath
Harry's feet turned to mud, and he started to slide downward. None
of the traditional counters for such a thing would work on this mud,
Hawthorn knew, since the earth itself was obeying her, and could not
be coaxed back to hardness.</p><p>Harry didn't try the
traditional counters, which involved drying charms. Instead, he
simply left the ground and hovered above it, his magic spreading
around him in the shape of luminous wings.</p><p>Hawthorn felt the
magic in the air, and forcibly restrained herself from charging. She
considered turning the rest of the ground to mud, but knew it
wouldn't work. There was no reason that Harry had to land any time
soon.</p><p>Instead, she turned to
a curse she had learned from Evan Rosier, but rarely used. That meant
she had to speak it aloud, but if it was unfamiliar to Harry, it
still wouldn't warn him in time. "<em>Aer adamanteus!</em>" she
cried, and felt it in satisfaction as the air hardened in Harry's
lungs, turning to sharp blades. They would cut through the fragile
tissue and skin in a moment, and then sling forward and slit him from
the inside out, unless he knew the counter.</p><p>One part of her temper
screamed at her. Hawthorn ignored it. It felt far too good to release
the anger and hatred at last.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes
in what looked almost like an expression of ecstasy as the blades
began to slice out. And then he breathed, and Hawthorn saw that he
had turned her weapons into two harmless puffs of air. They danced
around his head like smoke rings, and then safely dissipated into the
atmosphere.</p><p>Hawthorn was
restricted to spells, while Harry could use wandless magic. She could
not hurt him. It was not fair.</p><p><em>No. There is one
weapon you have which he cannot match.</em></p><p>And there was, and she
bolted forward, legs coiling beneath her for the leap, claws
reaching. This close to the full moon, a werewolf's claws could
scar even in human form. And she wanted to scar <em>something</em>,
hurt <em>something</em>, tear <em>something</em>, and the people who were
justified targets of her vengeance were all too far away.</p><p>She felt herself leave
the ground. She saw the moment when Harry hung before her, face pale,
eyes wide and green, and she thought he would allow himself to be
gripped, held, ripped, torn, and in the middle of her intense, insane
hatred she felt a gratitude that hurt every bit as badly as Lucius's
betrayal had—</p><p>And then a whirl of
magic clasped her and turned her, and the golden wings folded around
her, feeling warm and living, the feathers slithering past her face
like leaves. Hawthorn fought, crying out.</p><p>Harry settled back to
the ground with her held in those magical wings. When she would have
struggled free, she felt his arms come around her, and instinct and
human memory made her hesitate for a single moment.</p><p>Then Harry began to
sing.</p><p>Hawthorn had heard the
phoenix voice before. She would never have described herself as
vulnerable to it. She had been awed when she heard him singing at
Midwinter, but they all had. She would not have given up her
vengeance for Pansy if she heard him singing on the Midsummer
battlefield.</p><p>And she was so tired.
Why did she have to be the reasonable one, the witch who bore losses
and went on living? No other single one of Harry's allies had
suffered as much as she had. She had lost her family to the war.
Fenrir Greyback had bitten her. She had been abused and tortured, and
had failed to kill her enemies, the one thing that might have eased
the burning losses. She had accepted <em>Harry</em> back into her life
even though he had killed her husband. Surely she had reached a
breaking point of some sort, and ought to be allowed to pass it.
Phoenix song should have had no attraction for her anymore, except as
a kind of squeaky warbling.</p><p>And yet, it was
happening.</p><p>Hawthorn found a
vision forming in her head, fighting past the emotions that plagued
her like a chick hammering its way out of the egg. It spread its own
glittering wings, and Hawthorn realized she was looking at the
aftermath of a battle. It might have been the Midsummer battle,
though the vision was so arranged that she could not look behind her
and see Hogwarts. There were bodies lying crumpled in front of her,
and furrows in the ground coated with blood, and grass trampled and
churned to broken earth, and twisted limbs and uprooted plants.</p><p>And the sun was
rising.</p><p>She understood the
vision. She was not stupid. Harry was calling on her—the song was
calling on her—to realize that no matter how many battles wizards
or Muggles fought, the sun went right on rising. The dead were dead,
and gone. The living had to keep waking up and going forward, no
matter how much it stung. They could not stop in one place and
grieve, because <em>they</em> were not the dead, and for them it was
not over.</p><p>Knowing that Harry had
reason to understand that intimately made Hawthorn feel no better.
She fought against the message, burying her head in her arms and
moaning. The vision was inside her head. If she concentrated hard
enough, then she could probably make it go away.</p><p>But she couldn't.
And as the sun rose in her mind, its light caught and glittered on
the dew, and the bodies began to vanish, as if someone had done the
work of cleaning up the battlefield. The furrows slowly grew a new
furze of grass, and the broken limbs became healthy young trees
growing where they had fallen, and spring sprang out full blast on
the spot. The earth forgot that there had been a battle fought here.
And the sun ascended higher and higher, and the song blazed in her
ears, demanding her compliance, calling her on.</p><p>If she were so weak
that she <em>would</em> psychologically freeze herself out of life,
then Harry would not have bothered. The phoenix would not have
bothered. But Harry knew she was better than that, and that was why
he called on her to rise. The only law of change was change.</p><p><em>It's not that
easy</em>, Hawthorn flung out in her head, as a bitter challenge. <em>My
husband and my daughter are dead.</em></p><p>And the vision
changed, this time showing her the memorial she had planted in her
garden, the hawthorn bush with the pansies and the dragonsbane
growing around it. She had done this—sworn to remember them,
planted living things for them, and then gone on walking down the
path. It had been hard, but it had to be done. No one had ever said
it was easy, in fact. The world was hard, and cruel. But it had to be
lived in.</p><p>Hawthorn could,
perhaps, have resisted sympathy. She <em>would</em> have resisted any
vision of suffering equal to her own, which Light wizards in the past
had used to try to persuade her that they were just as persecuted and
hated as Death Eaters. But this vision of a hard and cruel world
answered to her own expectations. The world could be ignored, but it
did not cease to exist because one person grieved.</p><p>Every objection
splintered and smashed against the reality of that song, against the
growing need she had to answer it.</p><p>And then the song
soared back steadily into the world of cruelty's mysteries, and it
pulled her with it.</p><p>She was crying, the
sobs racking her body, tears of fury and hatred burning down her
cheeks. And Harry was singing still, wrapping her more with his voice
than the hold of his arms, pouring into her ears vision after vision
of roads to walk, of hills to climb, of ponds to scramble through.</p><p>It did not end until
it ended.</p><p>And it did not matter
how hard the burdens she had to carry were. She was not free to stop
living. That was what she earned by being too fearless to kill
herself. More life, and all the difficulty of it.</p><p>The last vision was of
a path leading into a dusky gold sky, storm-colored, with weather
Hawthorn couldn't see beyond that—perhaps sunlight, perhaps more
storms. The phoenix song flirted its wings and tore forward, ending
on a high-pitched, shining note of pure ringing uncertainty.</p><p>Hawthorn slowly
lowered her hands from her eyes and stared at them.</p><p>"Perhaps that has
purged it," Harry said quietly.</p><p>And Hawthorn didn't
apologize, because she didn't think she would know what to say. She
simply knelt there in silence, instead, and Harry's arms wrapped
around her, and they were both still, there in the great
storm-colored world.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Remus sniffed
carefully at the air, and then let his tongue fall out to loll
through his jaws. He loved full moon nights now with a heady
impatient love he'd never felt when he was part of Loki's pack.
Perhaps, then, the reins of purpose that stretched around his body,
Loki's continual driving goal to win the war between wizards and
werewolves, had never let him feel it.</p><p>He turned and nudged
at the two wolves timidly crouched behind the corner. After a moment,
wobbling on their paws like puppies, they trotted around it. Remus
licked one face, nipped an ear, and prowled back and forth in front
of them, examining them, studying their eyes for some hint of the
glaze that would mean the Wolfsbane hadn't worked.</p><p>But it had. And he
could forgive them their timidity. They <em>were</em> pups, in a sense.
This was their first transformation. They had been Muggles until last
month, when they had finally convinced Hawk that they wanted the
bite, and weren't content to remain behind in the safehouse while
the pack ran. Hawk had bitten them himself, but had waited until the
last full moon night of April. He wanted them to have a month to get
used to the notion that they would be exchanging one conformation of
bone and muscle for another, a month to feel the moon singing in
their blood and their senses growing sharper and their world shifting
along with them.</p><p>The wolf on the right
had been a Muggle girl called Georgina. Now she made a lovely fawn
bitch, with brown brindles starting low on her sides and rippling
over her legs. Her companion, who called himself simply Tal, was a
slim black beast, built more for speed than the usual endurance.</p><p>And they would both
join the bulk of the pack waiting for them, if Remus could only get
them moving.</p><p>He made his nips
fiercer this time, and bit them under their tails. Georgina squealed
and started trotting. Tal resisted for a moment more, then tossed his
head and tore down the street. Remus loped after them.</p><p>He felt the moment
when it changed for them. Tal lifted his head and flicked back his
ears. Georgina tilted her neck back to sniff the air, then almost sat
down on her haunches with the wonder of it all.</p><p>Hawk's howl rose
from ahead of them, calling them on, sweeping them up, adding a trill
or note for each one of them. He was a good alpha, Remus had found in
the past six months, never forgetting a pack member's name, and
treasuring every single one of his wolves.</p><p>Georgina and Tal
answered, and Remus, too, their voices blending with the voices of
the eight other wolves, both the members of Hawk's original pack
and the turned Muggles and wizards and witches of the last few
months, who were padding forward now from around corners and up
alleys. They would run London tonight, joining with other packs, and
the Muggles would be half-sure they were feral dogs and half-sure
they were something else. It didn't matter, though, how long or how
far they chased; carefully-placed Concealment Charms, cast before the
transformation and scattered around the city, and the werewolves'
sheer speed insured that the Muggles never caught them.</p><p>And each day, their
world and the wizarding one blended together just a little more.</p><p>Remus stretched his
legs, and sped past both Georgina and Tal, making them try to catch
him. They could try if they liked. Remus fully intended to show them
his tail all the way through the run, which was made not for
hunting's sake but for sheer joy.</p><p>As he bounded up a
street towards where Hawk stood awaiting them on the doorstep of the
neighboring pack's safehouse, the moon briefly blazed out from the
clouds overhead, and Remus gave tongue again, in glory and exultation
and glee at being alive.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 111*: From Adalrico's Hand</h2>
			<p>Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!</p><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Eight: From Adalrico's Hand</strong></p><p>"Minister. May I
speak to you for a moment in private?"</p><p>Rufus glanced up
casually. He had been expecting Juniper to approach him almost from
the moment the Wizengamot had agreed to suspend discussion of the
werewolf packs' activities for the day, but he was surprised the
man had done so in front of Elder Hollyshead, a well-known rival of
Juniper's. <em>He won't believe that we're in collusion, no
matter how much Juniper wants him to. </em>"Of course, Elder," he
said. "Let me finish this conversation, and we can converse here
quickly, so that you might get home at a reasonable hour."</p><p>Juniper gave a faint,
inflexible movement of his lips that could look like a smile, if
studied under the right light. "I may have exaggerated when I said
that I wished to speak to you for a 'moment,' Minister," he
said. "We should adjourn to your office to have our conversation, I
think."</p><p>Rufus simply nodded
and faced Hollyshead again, whose bright yellow eyes darted between
them in a reasonable display of suspicion. "Was there anything else
that you wished to ask me, Elder?"</p><p>The older
man—substantially older even than Juniper, treading the edge of
ninety—drew himself up with a sudden shake and a rustle of his long
silver beard. "No, no, Scrimgeour," he said. "I can see that
Elder Juniper has urgent business to share. And my daughter will be
expecting me." He patted Rufus's arm and then strode towards one
of the private Floo connections that led from Wizengamot members'
houses to Courtroom Ten.</p><p>Rufus faced Juniper
again. "I don't see anyone else who wishes to talk to me, Elder.
Shall we go?"</p><p>They started out of
the courtroom together, but were necessarily somewhat separated by
the Aurors who came up to walk between them. Rufus wondered if
Juniper's slightly narrowed eyes were a result of the fact that
Rufus felt he needed protection to walk back to his office, or
because he had underestimated the Aurors' loyalty.</p><p>That was somewhat
comforting, Rufus thought, as he placed a hand on his hip in the
small gesture that soothed his bad leg. The worse the news got, from
the other Ministries and the Wizengamot's insistence that he "do
something" about the werewolf packs, the closer the Aurors seemed
to bond to him. It wasn't just those who had always been loyal,
like Hope and Wilmot. Some Rufus had never known to do more than
grunt and nod when he issued an order now noticed when Percy was a
moment late to the office or when Rufus's leg hurt especially
badly.</p><p><em>If it comes to a
coup­, at least I know the Aurors will not join it. </em></p><p>Then Rufus shook his
head sharply. He couldn't afford to think of such a thing, to
prepare for such an eventuality, when there was no sign that anyone
else was. Otherwise he would strike out with violence long before
anyone else dreamed of it. There had been no violently overthrown
Ministers in the last hundred years. That was a record worth
preserving. They could cast him out by a vote of no confidence, or
try to limit his power if the pressure from the public and the other
countries grew intense, but they would not try to murder him.</p><p><em>Perhaps</em>. <em>Not
if the Aurors are not with them.</em></p><p>Rufus put such
thoughts away when he entered his office and saw Percy rising to his
feet, his arms full of paperwork. "Sir," Percy began, and then
paused, blinking a little at the sight of his visitor.</p><p>"Elder Juniper and I
have some things to speak about in private, Percy," Rufus said
smoothly, and gestured to the door. "Now, I know for a fact that
Auror Arrow will give you another Stealth and Hiding task tomorrow.
Why don't you go and practice for it?"</p><p>Percy was not stupid.
He put down the paperwork, nodded, and made his way to the door. He
did pause on the way out and stare hard at Juniper. Rufus blinked.
The gaze was more like one of the adult Aurors' than he would have
expected. Though Percy had not finished his training, he had their
full sense of stubbornness and protectiveness towards the Minister,
it seemed.</p><p>The door clicked to,
and Rufus lifted his wards. Juniper twisted his lips in a small smile
as he sat down in the chair in front of his desk. "You have him
well-trained, don't you?"</p><p>"I'm the one who
saw his potential and brought him into the Auror program," said
Rufus, which neatly elided the issue of influence and how close he
actually was to Percy, and leaned back in his own chair with a
contented little sigh. His leg did hurt more lately. A sign of
advancing age, he knew, and potions could only do so much to quell
the pain. "Now, Elder. I noticed that you didn't speak up much in
the Wizengamot's debate. Given your well-known feelings on
werewolves, I was wondering why."</p><p>"Perhaps I felt that
nothing anyone else said could fully express the magnitude of my
thoughts on the matter," said Juniper. The smile had fallen away
from his face, and his hands made slow movements that reminded Rufus
of someone braiding a rope. "Yes, I hate werewolves, Minister. But
if I thought they could contribute to the wizarding world I love and
have fought so hard to preserve, then I would welcome them in
regardless."</p><p>"And?" Rufus asked
levelly. He made sure his hand had a clear path to his wand, and told
his thoughts to be sensible and calm.</p><p>"It is my
considered, carefully weighted belief that werewolves cannot
contribute to that world." Juniper stared at him. "It is, in
fact, my belief that the inclusion of werewolves in the wizarding
world, the attempt to give them equal rights, actively harms it."</p><p>Rufus took an
entertaining moment to imagine what would have happened if Juniper
had said that to Harry instead of him. He wondered if Juniper would
still be shaking in his chair from the cold of the ice that would
have coated the walls from Harry's temper.</p><p>Unfortunately, he was
not Harry, and could not rely on glares and powerful magic to make
his point. He had to settle for raising his eyebrows, and sitting
there with them raised, until Juniper flushed very slightly and
glanced away.</p><p>"So you're against
giving rights to people who are human for ninety percent of the
year," said Rufus. "Fascinating, Elder. It's no wonder you
haven't spoken that opinion in public yet." It would be political
suicide to do so. Many people still didn't support werewolves, but
carrying out certain actions in private and speaking the words aloud
were two completely different things.</p><p>"If it were only
those werewolves who register and accept Wolfsbane, and otherwise
live like wizards?" Juniper shook his head, his jaw clenched. "Then
I would not have a problem with it. But there are the packs,
Minister, and the packs are the ones letting the Muggles into our
world, according to that article. They define themselves as a
different culture, and independent of our laws. Separating ourselves
from them would be no more than doing what both sides want.</p><p>"Unfortunately, it's
not that simple, not when their telling Muggles about us can expose
<em>wizards</em> to danger as well. So I suggest, Minister, that we
make telling such secrets punishable with the rescinding of their
rights, including access to Wolfsbane. Werewolves who can demonstrate
that they've never engaged in such behavior will of course continue
to receive it."</p><p>"And so you'll
turn some of our people back into ravening monsters, and encourage
attacks like those happening last year, for the sake of making a
point?"</p><p>"There is no other
way to get through to them, Minister." Juniper leaned forward.
"They're not normal wizards anymore. They've cut themselves
off. I've studied the way a packmind works. It binds the members of
the pack together, and makes them consider those people and <em>only</em>
those people as mattering, as worthy of mattering, as important. That
means that an alpha won't care that he's putting people outside
the pack in danger. He might even let someone close to him run
without Wolfsbane if she wanted to. They truly <em>change</em> when
bitten, Minister."</p><p>"I've heard that
before," said Rufus. "From Amelia Bones, in the full extremity of
her cowardice. And I will not be swayed on this, Elder. The
werewolves received their equal rights because they were willing to
fight for them, and because Harry was willing to fight for them, but
it is to the Ministry's shame that they were not granted for so
long. They should have been granted <em>at once</em>. We should have
treated house elves better than we did. Goblins, too, and centaurs. I
<em>will not </em>allow such disgusting ideas to make a comeback, as
long as I sit in the Minister's office. <em>Get out.</em>"</p><p>Juniper rose slowly to
his feet, never taking his eyes from Rufus's face. Rufus simply
looked at him. He thought Juniper probably expected him to be
red-faced and blustering, but instead he was pale, and had not felt
so cool-tempered in a long time.</p><p>"As long as you sit
in the Minister's office," Juniper repeated thoughtfully. "That
may not be long, you realize."</p><p>Rufus lifted his head
and let his teeth show, and even his wand, peeking up in his hand
over the edge of the desk. "Has no one told you that it might not
be the most intelligent thing in the world to make such threats,
<em>sir</em>?"</p><p>The amusement vanished
from Juniper's face, and he leaned forward. Rufus brought his wands
up further, but Juniper showed no sign of intending to attack him.
Instead, he stared, and spoke again, his words slow and careful,
heavy, as if he were imploring Rufus to believe him.</p><p>"I act as honestly
as I can, as often as I can," he said. "I know what I love in the
wizarding world, and stand for. I know it's not popular to feel
that the core of our world are those wizards who have done the most
to keep our traditions alive and our people safe—the Light
purebloods. Nor is it popular to dislike the <em>vates</em> and feel he
has gone too far in trying to grant rights to magical creatures,
rights that come at the expense of wizards'. But I do feel those
things, and I will say them. And I will continue to fight for the
center of the wizarding world, the part that <em>must</em> survive, no
matter what others may think of me for it or what words I need to use
in public.</p><p>"Neither do I make
threats, Minister. I am only warning you that discontent against you
runs deep. Some of that comes from the Ritual of Cincinnatus, but
even more comes from the way you've dealt with the <em>vates</em>.
Someone should have taken the boy in hand the moment the abuse by his
parents was discovered—and we have learned that you had access to
such information more than three years ago, when the boy's mother
applied for guardianship of him after being stripped of her magic.
You did not investigate. The matter was left to rest, and it should
not have been. What it has led to is an image of you under Harry's
thumb."</p><p>"And why is that?"
Rufus asked. He was not entirely sure that he could trust what
Juniper was telling him. On the other hand, the Elder's reputation
for honesty was well-known.</p><p>"Because you bowed
to his rebellion," said Juniper quietly, "an open use of illegal
force against the Ministry. Because you have made an effort to pursue
and prosecute criminals who were linked to Harry in some way; the
trial of his parents should have taken longer to arrange than it did.
Because your glancing the other way, and the tampering with paperwork
to keep him free of his parents' custody, has been noted." He
hesitated a long moment, then shook his head. "Look here, Rufus,"
he said, dropping all titles. "I don't want to see you gone. I
find you more reasonable than most of the people who might take your
place. But neither can I commit to following a Minister who follows
someone else."</p><p>"I have never done
so," Rufus answered, knowing his voice was thick with passion, and
not caring. This conversation would damage Juniper as severely as him
if Juniper put it in a Pensieve and showed it to others. "I have
always done what <em>I</em> feel is best for the wizarding world. It's
a fact that the Ministry has had to spend the last fifty years
dealing with British Lord-level wizards, since Dumbledore defeated
Grindelwald and showed his full power. We botched it during the First
War. This time, we have to steer a course between shoals. I will give
Harry an ear. That does not mean I give him my hands, my back, or my
brain."</p><p>Juniper contemplated
him in silence for a long time. Then he said, "But you may believe
the Ministry's good coincides with Harry's."</p><p>"Because it may. It
often has, given the way Harry reasons and argues."</p><p>"And sometimes we
may need to disassociate ourselves from him, if only to protect our
own interests." Juniper shook his head, and his eyes had gone dark
again, with a warning that Rufus had to wonder about. Did it actually
match what he was saying? "You may <em>believe</em> as you like,
Minister. But, at times, you may need to <em>act</em> an independent
course from Harry, if only to prove your independence."</p><p>"And I do not
believe the werewolf issue is one where I need to do so, or could
give a convincing performance if I tried." Rufus folded his hands
on the desk in front of him and stared at Juniper. "You may depart
now, Elder. It seems as though we have little to say to each other."</p><p>"I think you value
some of the same things I do, sir." Juniper still stubbornly
lingered. "You value the continuity of tradition in the Light, and
the way that Light wizards have traditionally supported something far
greater than themselves: the peace and safety of all wizarding
Britain. We have sometimes operated on an ethics of sacrifice, yes,
but we have proven as ready to sacrifice ourselves as others. I wish
you could take that into account, rather than simply assuming that
our voice is one among many, of no greater account than another. You
are sworn to Light yourself, and are part of that proud history. You
know what we have done."</p><p>"And sometimes,
failed to do," said Rufus, thinking of Dumbledore, thinking of the
way that Light wizards had also refused to release their house elves
because doing so would lose them status or convenience. "Light does
not mean good, Juniper. I would have thought you would understand
that."</p><p>"In this day and
age, it does," said Juniper. "We are the only defense against the
coming storm."</p><p>"If a storm is
rising," said Rufus, "we will need Harry to fight it."</p><p>Juniper did not speak
again. He merely bowed, eyes still dark, and then turned and swished
through the door.</p><p>Rufus took a deep
breath and sat back. His head was pounding, and his belly shook, and
in general he felt half-hollowed.</p><p>He stood, and did what
he always did when he felt this way and was alone: began to make
himself a cup of tea.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"I didn't say that
I disagreed with you," said Draco, looking as if he were fighting
hard to keep his temper. "I just said that now might not be the
best time to demand equal rights for children like Jacinth, Harry."</p><p>"I don't see why
not." Harry finished the letter, looked it over carefully, and then
nodded. He'd explained the situation, giving enough generalities
that anyone reading the letter could guess what it was about, but
none of the specifics that might have led to Lazuli's arrest. He
tapped the letter, and it began to replicate itself with a calm
crinkling and folding of paper. One copy would go to every member of
the Wizengamot. "If we wait and wait, then who says that a better
time will ever come?"</p><p>"Yes, but the
werewolves?" Draco leaned back against the pillow with a groan. "I
just think you should wait until the Wizengamot's not so agitated,
Harry. They're still debating whether they should pull the
concessions that they granted the werewolves after the rebellion, you
know that."</p><p>"Of course I know
that." Harry left the letters to their self-copying and stood,
crossing to Draco so that he could drop a kiss on his cheek. Then he
nudged him over. Draco fell with a surprised grunt, and Harry started
massaging his shoulders. He had found in the past few days that it
tended to neutralize Draco's objections as well as relaxing him
enough for him to sleep. "But they should know that if they do
that, I'll just begin another rebellion."</p><p>There probably wasn't
a touch in the world that could have kept Draco relaxed through that.
He stiffened, then rolled out from under Harry's hands and reached
up to clasp his wrist. "Harry, you wouldn't."</p><p>Harry looked at him
calmly. Draco had lost all sorts of arguments to him in the last
week. That was because, this time, unlike the argument they'd had
over the thestrals, Draco didn't have a legitimate personal
objection to Harry's behavior. He could only try to persuade him,
and usually Harry had thought out his reasoning already. So Harry
looked at him patiently, and looked at him calmly, and Draco had come
to give up within a few moments of staring.</p><p>This time, though, his
hold on Harry's wrist only tightened. "You <em>can't</em>,"
Draco whispered. "Damn it, Harry, I don't want to lose you."</p><p><em>Hmmm. That isn't
something he's said before. </em>"You wouldn't lose me," said
Harry, gently stroking his palm with a fingertip. "Why would you
think me more likely to die in this second rebellion than the first?"</p><p>"That's not what I
meant." Draco heaved himself onto his knees and shifted his hand so
that Harry couldn't move his finger anymore. "Harry—the
political climate is different now than it was before the rebellion.
People are warier of you, because now they know you might break from
the Ministry openly, whereas before they could never have suspected
it. I don't want to lose you to the passion of the fight."</p><p>"I still don't
know what you mean." And Harry didn't. His puzzlement increased
at the desperation in Draco's eyes. Draco and Snape had become more
and more worried over him in the last few days, and Harry couldn't
figure out what he was doing to make them so fearful. If he knew,
then he would stop it.</p><p>Draco swallowed
several times before he spoke. "I—Harry, you've been so <em>intense</em>
these last few weeks. You've done what's needed when it's
needed, I can't deny that. But I've never felt like you were with
me the way you have been at other times. I always felt like you were
either thinking about me or thinking about something else. Never just
lying beside me in the bed, at home in your own body."</p><p>"Oh." Well, that
made sense, Harry supposed, in its own way. He hadn't often had so
many concerns continuing at one time.</p><p>Or he hadn't been so
good at balancing them before. Harry thought that was more likely the
cause of Draco's worry.</p><p>"You're used to
seeing me more obsessive, on the edge of collapse, or throwing myself
into one crisis," he said, and leaned forward to kiss Draco's
nose. "So you're waiting for the collapse to come, aren't you?"</p><p>Draco's face turned
red.</p><p>"I don't blame
you," Harry told him cheerfully. "I <em>have</em> done that. This
time, though, I promise, I've learned my lesson. The minute you see
me doing something self-destructive, you have my permission to tie me
to the bed and sit on me until I listen. All right?" A soft rustle
behind him let him know the letters had finished replication, and he
rolled off the bed to take them to the Owlery. A side effect of
having to use Levitation Charms for so many months was that he'd
grown very good at them. He could easily have the letters surround
him in a floating halo now, which would take up a little more room in
the corridor but be better for the ink.</p><p>"Harry…"</p><p>He glanced over his
shoulder. Draco was biting his lip, staring at him in the same
desperation. Harry settled the irritation that wanted to rise. He'd
just figured out what was going on. That didn't mean he could
expect Draco to smile at him and let him go off without a concern.
"Yes?"</p><p>Draco stretched out
his hand, then let it fall and shook his head. "Come to me if you
want someone to talk to," he said.</p><p>Harry nodded. "Of
course. You would be my first choice for most things, Draco, even
before Snape or Connor." He tried a sunny smile, wondering if his
expressions hadn't been bright enough to reassure Draco.</p><p>If anything, that only
increased the sharpness of his stare. Harry ended up shaking his head
in bewilderment and escorting the letters towards the Owlery. He
would do what he could to ease Draco's preoccupations, but it
seemed that no amount of reason would soothe them entirely. Probably
Draco just needed time, to see that Harry had endured day after day
without falling apart, and he would relax as the unusual became
routine with the passage of time.</p><p>Then he switched his
mind to thinking about the probable reactions to his letters. He
smirked a bit. Not good, but Lazuli had told him that she'd talked
to other parents she knew of, both Light and Dark, who had half-human
children like Jacinth, and they were ready for him to move now, to
let the wizarding world at large know about them. If someone made
lucky guesses and tried to question them, few—except those like
Lazuli, who had slept with species it was illegal even to speak
of—would deny it. They were still gathering strength, but their
storm was ready to burst on the wizarding world at any moment.</p><p>Besides, Harry thought
the Wizengamot's distraction over the werewolves might actually
serve him well. Split their attention onto two fronts, and they could
concentrate less on either taking packs' rights away or prosecuting
the parents of children who were not half-Veela.</p><p>Sometimes things
changed slowly, and suddenly they came to a sudden crackling burst of
growth. Harry was used to them both. He thought it was about time the
wizarding world had a chance to get used to the latter.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco worried his lip
between his teeth and stared at the canopy of their bed. He told
himself he was worrying too much. He told himself that his political
instincts were not infallible—not yet—and that even if Harry was
making a mistake with these letters, it would not cost him every ally
he had. Too many of his allies had blemishes themselves, in the eyes
of wizarding society. Why would a werewolf or a former Death Eater
assume she couldn't fight next to Harry because he was supporting a
parent who'd slept with someone nonhuman to sire or bear a child?</p><p><em>It isn't that. I
know it's more than that. I know that Harry, for one thing, still
hasn't talked to anyone about what he feels for my father, or what
he did to heal his mother—and now that Joseph has gone back to the
Sanctuary, he may never talk to anyone.</em></p><p>Except that that
wasn't true, either. Harry had talked to Hawthorn Parkinson about
her grief; Draco knew that. He had talked to Snape when nightmares
plagued him. He had certainly heard Draco's side of the story about
Lucius often enough in the last few weeks.</p><p>And as for what Draco
most wanted to know, it showed no sign of tearing Harry apart, and he
seemed honestly puzzled when asked questions about his mental health.
Draco thought he knew Harry well enough to tell when he was hiding
something. He was not hiding anything about Lucius or his mother, not
this time.</p><p><em>I really don't
understand. Maybe I am just overprotective of him.</em></p><p>And then Draco paused,
having a sudden idea about what he might be able to ask for, what
might help him find out if Harry's reactions were honestly changed
or if he was ignoring his feelings again, perhaps with the same use
of Occlumency he'd tried in Woodhouse. The best part was, he didn't
need to ask for this gift for another ten days or so, which meant
that he had time to observe Harry's reactions and decide for
himself whether Harry was faking it or not.</p><p>Satisfied, Draco
closed his eyes and lay as if asleep, though he listened for a sound
of Harry's return.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry stood waiting
quietly in Blackstone's entrance hall. The house was dim, as though
too much light would be an insult to the Dark family who lived there.
Or maybe that was just to emphasize the paintings on the walls. Harry
could make out figures, twisted limbs and beckoning hands and smiles,
but not whole bodies. The effect was rather striking. He walked
towards a painting that claimed it was called "The Procession of
Death" on the plaque beneath.</p><p>"Harry. Thank you
for coming."</p><p>He turned. Adalrico
stood behind him, in the entrance to what Harry assumed was a study.
He was trying to smile. It didn't work very well.</p><p>"You asked me to,
sir." Harry moved a few steps forward, never looking away from
Adalrico's face. He wasn't using Legilimency, but perhaps the
piercing quality of his gaze was still too much for Adalrico, who
abruptly turned away from him and retreated into the room.</p><p>"Won't you come
in?"</p><p>And he did, though he
still tried to tell from Adalrico's shoulders and spine what the
matter was. Why would Adalrico have invited Harry to his family's
home and then be upset when he arrived?</p><p>The study—for so it
was—was also dim, the walls decorated in gray and black, the carpet
a dark red that almost swallowed the firelight. Adalrico settled
heavily into a chair in front of the hearth. Harry stood across from
him until Adalrico gestured him to be seated, and sat only on the
edge of the cushion. He had the persistent feeling that he would have
to move sharply in a moment.</p><p>"I mean you no
harm," said Adalrico tightly, eyes focused on the flames. "It is
rather an insult to act as if I do, Harry."</p><p>"You are not acting
normally, either, sir," Harry said, deciding that now wasn't the
time for the name "Adalrico," no matter how he thought of the
man. "Forgive me for expressing honestly how I feel."</p><p>Adalrico took a deep
breath, and leaned over to pick up a glass jar from next to the
chair. Harry kept a close eye on the contents as Adalrico turned it
idly back and forth. It looked like a collection of black flakes.
Ashes? Perhaps, but Harry would not wager on that, especially once he
saw that Adalrico, for all his toying with the jar's lid, didn't
remove it.</p><p>"These are the last
Black Plague spores that I created for Voldemort," said Adalrico
abruptly, looking at him.</p><p>Harry hissed before he
could stop himself. The disease had claimed an enormous toll in lives
during the First War. If anyone had actually been able to prove that
Adalrico had created them of his own free will and not because he was
under Imperius, then he would still have been in Azkaban when
Voldemort rose again.</p><p>"I haven't used
them," said Adalrico, staring at the jar. "But I have wanted to
use them, several times, in the years since his fall."</p><p>"Especially on the
Starrise estate, sir?" Harry asked sharply.</p><p>Adalrico looked up,
caught his eye, and reacted badly to whatever he saw there, shoulders
stiffening. "You know my grievance against the family," he said.
"What Pharos Starrise did was outside the bounds of all proper
decorum. I had a <em>right</em> to be offended and angry."</p><p>"You did," Harry
agreed. "You also had a <em>right</em> to think about what it would
mean to act against Starrise, the family of which Tybalt is a part.
Tybalt is also a part of the Alliance, and acting against an Alliance
comrade is punished by a draining of magic." He heard his voice
grow sharper and sharper, but he did not care. "I have had one
weakness, one betrayal, among those Dark wizards closest to me, sir.
I will not tolerate another."</p><p>"I said only that I
have wanted to use them. Not that I had."</p><p>"And you will give
them to me so that you are not tempted to use them again?" Harry
held out his hand.</p><p>Adalrico looked away
from him.</p><p>"Why show them to
me, unless you intended to hand them over?" Harry pressed, suddenly
understanding Adalrico's nervousness in a new light. He had called
Harry here to present the spores to him, Harry was almost sure, and
then changed his mind. But by then, it would have looked extremely
suspicious to tell Harry not to come, not when he hadn't given a
reason in the first place. "<em>Sir.</em> I know that you have
changed. I know that you resent the Starrises, with good reason. But
if you allow those feelings to influence you into acting against
people who have never done you harm, then you cannot be part of this
Alliance."</p><p>"And if I had used
those spores only against Pharos?" Adalrico asked. "If I had
never told you about them?"</p><p>Harry felt the
atmosphere in the room shimmer and grow darker. Almost certainly,
Blackstone's wards were responding to their master's mood. He
called his own power, and the air draped around his shoulders grew
into a serpent, which lifted its head, hissing lazily. The Many snake
around his throat also stirred and inflated her hood.</p><p>"I would have
recognized the signs," said Harry, unmoving, deepening and
tightening the ice he'd locked around his more volatile emotions.
"I studied the First War, sir. I know that this kind of weapon is
too dangerous to be unleashed again. Someone in the Ministry could
have studied it if you used it against Pharos, and sooner or later it
might have emerged on a battlefield. If you use it, I will stop at
nothing to drain your magic."</p><p>Adalrico stared at
him, eyes reflecting a depth of hatred Harry had never seen him show
before. He knew none of it was directed at him, but that didn't
diminish his own stare. If Adalrico couldn't obey the rules, he
could damn well leave the Alliance. Harry wasn't going to entertain
another serpent in the breast.</p><p>And then the moment
passed, and Adalrico lowered his eyes and looked away from him. Harry
breathed carefully, not moving any other part of his body, and both
his black snake and the Many cobra held still, waiting for his
command.</p><p>"I—I'll give
them to you," Adalrico whispered, and waved his wand to Levitate
the jar of spores over to Harry. "But that doesn't mean I have
stopped hating Pharos Starrise. It should be my right to put an end
to him."</p><p>"You can't,"
Harry said, catching the jar and nodding his thanks. The lid was
sealed with a powerful locking charm that, so far as he could tell
with a short inspection, hadn't been tampered with. "Perhaps if
he had attacked you in a place other than the Ministry, yes. But he's
in Ministry custody now. Try to murder him, and you'll be
arrested."</p><p>"You could change
things so that that was not true," Adalrico suggested, voice barely
above a murmur.</p><p>The black serpent
reared, hissing. Harry said quietly, "Never ask me something like
that again."</p><p>Adalrico looked away
from him.</p><p>Harry waited to see if
he would say anything else, but minutes passed, and nothing happened.
At last, Harry stood, and dismissed the black snake. It did not go
easily. He must have been angrier than he knew.</p><p>"I still care for
you, sir," he said. "Even if you had never been my ally, I would
value you as Millicent's father. And you have helped me in the
past. But I <em>will</em> not tolerate this stupid striving after
vengeance that damages all of us. Pharos Starrise didn't learn that
lesson in time. Don't let him drag you down with him."</p><p>He walked out of
Blackstone, and Apparated back to Hogwarts, where he stood some time
on the path back from Hogsmeade, breathing the spring air and staring
off into the Forbidden Forest.</p><p>Then he crouched down
and carefully called intense heat to destroy the glass jar and the
Black Plague spores inside it. He burned them so hot that neither
spores nor fumes could escape into the open air. The glass turned to
slag, the spores to less than dust, less than ashes.</p><p>And then he had to
pause to renew, once again, the deep ice at the back of his mind,
which had filled his mind with clarity for the past few weeks and
helped him get what he needed to get done.</p><p><em>I will not use such
foul weapons. I will not permit Adalrico to kill Pharos merely to
satisfy his lust for vengeance. There are some things I will not do.</em></p><p>And then those
concerns retreated like the scrim of oil they were. It had nearly
happened, but in the end it had not. And if Adalrico had not given
him all the Black Plague spores…well, Harry would trust him until
he had proven he could not be trusted. But he would watch him a
little more closely from now on.</p><p>He walked calmly
towards the castle, already reviewing what he needed to do next in
his head.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 112*: Intermission: Purple, Silver, Green</h2>
			<p><strong>Intermission: Purple, Silver, Green</strong></p><p>Severus was adding a
drop of unicorn's tears to the green potion when he felt the pain
flare up in his left arm. Carefully, he tapped the vial to get the
last of the tears out, then set it down and turned to fetch his cloak
and mask. The burning grew worse in his arm, but not so bad that he
could not function. His Lord knew that he needed some extra time to
get beyond the wards so that he could Apparate.</p><p>Just as he made his
way towards the closet at the back of his office that led to a
tunnel, which itself led out onto the grounds, someone knocked on his
door. Severus groaned and turned. It <em>would</em> be his luck that
some member of his House needed help or comfort now. Quickly casting
a Disillusionment Charm on his robe and mask, and keeping a stoic
expression on his face that belied the burning coming from his left
arm, he opened the door.</p><p>Albus stood there, his
face taut with excitement. "Severus," he whispered. "You must
come with me. The Order has received intelligence from one of
Voldemort's victims that he is ready to begin a raid in Ireland. We
will be Apparating there to stop him."</p><p>Severus concealed
another groan. That was, very likely, the raid in which he was
supposed to be participating.</p><p>He held up his left
arm in silent answer. Albus's eyes narrowed at it, then at him.</p><p>"This raid will be
on homes with defenseless Muggle families and children, Severus,"
he said. "I am afraid that I must ask you to come with us this
time. Conceal your face, but do not add your wand to the other side."</p><p>Severus's
consternation enabled his thoughts to soar above the pain. There was
a time when Albus would never have asked him for that. Since he
assumed his little spy was loyal to him, he would have trusted
Severus to avoid casting curses at Order members, and to avoid any
killing that was not absolutely necessary to make a point in front of
another Death Eater.</p><p>Now he didn't trust
him to that extent.</p><p><em>Perhaps he has not
trusted me since the graveyard. It would explain why I didn't know
anything about Connor Potter's training or location.</em></p><p>His eyes on Albus, he
made his decision. The burning in his left arm was growing more
urgent, but only slowly so, like acid constantly replenished with
stronger and stronger forms of itself. First it would eat skin, then
flesh, then muscle, then bone. But he had time.</p><p>And he had a pawn he
could sacrifice to insure that Albus would think about other things
in a short while, and suffer for binding him like this.</p><p>"Very well," he
agreed, and Albus beamed and clapped him on the shoulder.</p><p>"Splendid, my boy!
We'll be Apparating from the gates in a few moments." And Albus
turned and strode away.</p><p><em>He trusts me a
little, then. His mistake.</em></p><p>Severus bent and slid
his wand over his left wrist, invoking the communication spell that
Charles Rosier-Henlin had taught the Death Eaters a week ago, when
he'd finally, finally been persuaded into coming to the Dark Lord's
side. "My Lord," he murmured, and heard the intense hissing of a
snake rise. "The old fool commands my presence on the phoenix's
side of the raid. I will work what havoc I can there, and return to
you as soon as I can."</p><p>There was silence for
a moment. Then his Lord's voice said, "Go, Severus, faithful
servant." Severus felt the intense thrill at the sound of his own
name that he'd felt since he followed Voldemort's advice and
started thinking of himself by his first name again instead of his
last.</p><p>And the burning in his
left arm stopped.</p><p>Severus shook his head
and blinked. <em>He must trust me indeed, to put off showing his
displeasure while I do this task for him.</em></p><p>That only increased
his determination to make his absence from his Lord's side
worthwhile. He strode towards the gates, his mind racing as he sought
for the best way to do what he wanted and make Albus pay.</p><p>And then he paused in
mid-stride, his whole body shivering with a dark delight.</p><p>He could not—</p><p>Could he?</p><p>He had not tested all
the limitations on his potions. What he wanted to do might be
possible, but there was a stronger chance that it was not. And he did
not want to embarrass himself by failing.</p><p>But if he did it
carefully enough, no one else would ever know, and he could keep any
failure to himself.</p><p>Severus nodded, and
sped up, arriving at the gates at the same moment as Minerva. She
gave him a narrow-eyed look, then stepped forward and received the
vision of the field in Ireland from a tap of Albus's wand.</p><p>Severus did the same
thing. For a moment, he was close to his old master, and could meet
those blue, twinkling eyes that did their best to see into his soul.
But Severus had been Occlumens enough to fool a more powerful
Legilimens for years, and he did not flinch away from that gaze.</p><p>Albus smiled at him,
then tapped his head and sent the vision into Severus's memory.
Like the other Order members, he Apparated.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>He easily ignored the
carnage around him, the blood, the broken limbs. There was a time he
would have found it troubling, when he still believed that the Death
Eaters should have some grace that the other side did not. Now, he
realized that the only grace or beauty anyone brought anywhere was
what he carried with him, and he and his Lord did enough with
contributing beauty and grace to the Dark. At times, in particular
moods, Bellatrix or Evan helped too.</p><p>They were helping now,
torturing a Muggle woman between them, sending her reeling from one
pain to another. Severus reveled in the screaming, and felt a
moment's urge to protest when Minerva mercy-killed her.</p><p>Then he remembered his
plan, and felt his mouth move in a deep smile. He turned and fixed
his gaze on James Potter. He'd had to overcome his cowardice,
because Albus insisted that every member of the Order of the Phoenix
be a fighter, and currently he was dueling with two Death Eaters who
were backing him towards his wife and son. Connor Potter led them, of
course, because he had to, the intermittent flashes of spells
catching his heart-shaped scar and making it gleam as if filled with
blood.</p><p>Severus concentrated.
He'd fed James the silver potion months ago, but it should still be
vibrating along his veins, the liquid equivalent of the Imperius
Curse, enabling Severus to command him.</p><p><em>Come here.</em></p><p>James turned and
lurched like an automaton away from the two Death Eaters, and towards
Severus. His opponents paused, momentarily confused, and then turned
and shrugged and found other targets.</p><p>His old rival halted
in front of him. Severus took a deep breath of satisfaction, and then
held out his wand and cast an illusion of the Dark Mark on James's
left arm. It wouldn't hold up to testing, and would not enable the
man to feel a summons from the Dark Lord, but in a moment's
glimpse, it looked quite convincing.</p><p>"Go," he said
quietly. He would have loved to send James after his son, but his
Lord had been explicit: no one was to kill the boy but him, and the
Dark Lord had not yet appeared on the battlefield, though Severus
knew he was close and watching. "You know who to aim for."</p><p>James nodded, his
hazel eyes full of steel and dreams, and then turned and lurched
forward. In a few moments, though, he was walking smoothly, his Auror
training and the intense duels of the past few months sharpening his
stride. He ducked and weaved past the Order members, and came up
close behind Connor Potter, whose spells, Severus had to admit, were
effective at blasting his enemies away. They were Death Eaters
Severus didn't care about, though, so they were no great loss.</p><p>James halted in front
of Lily, and held up his left arm so that she could see the Dark
Mark. Her eyes widened dramatically.</p><p>Severus was sure a
lull fell over that part of the battle, so that everyone near could
hear James say, "<em>Avada Kedavra.</em>"</p><p>The green light struck
his wife. She slumped. For a moment, James stood blank-eyed, staring.</p><p>And then his son hit
him, screaming, casting Cutting Curses that he shouldn't know over
and over, slicing his father's body apart, sending blood to cover
his robes, and then his mother's corpse, as James slumped on top of
Lily's body.</p><p>Severus released his
control, so that no one could find any trace of his mind in James's,
and then turned and faced the east, knowing instinctively that his
Lord was there at that moment. Voldemort's gleaming red eyes met
his.</p><p>His Lord was pleased.
A hissing voice whispered his name over and over in his ears.
"<em>Severus, Severus, Severussss…</em>"</p><p>And he, who had
survived to serve two masters and then chosen the best one when he
could no longer be a double agent, reveled in it.</p><p>Best of all was the
tragic look in Albus's eyes as he wrapped his arms around the
Potter boy and tugged him away from his dead parents, forcing him to
face his oncoming doom, his destiny.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Severus woke with an
edge of gladness and joy still riding his mind. He did not remember
the dream any more than he usually did, but he was just as glad to
have dreamt of something bright instead of dark for once.</p><p>He checked the
potions. The purple one was finished completely now, and had been for
some time, simply shimmering in its cauldron and now and then
uttering a slow bubble like swamp water. The silver one had a light,
misty cloud above it, one ingredient reacting with another. Severus
waved his wand and dissipated the cloud, then set the cauldron to
slow simmering again. He planned to ask Harry if he could use the
potion on him soon, since it seemed that there were once again wounds
in his son's mind, and this should work to cure him.</p><p>The green potion—</p><p>Severus shook his head
with a faint, fond smile. He could not wait until the green potion
was ready.</p><p>The world lurched
suddenly, and Snape put a hand to his head, feeling slightly ill. Had
something just happened?</p><p>Nothing more than the
departure of his mood and a more normal one asserting itself, he
supposed. Euphoria never stayed long with him. He scowled as he
remembered thinking about the wounds in Harry's mind. They had
almost certainly been caused by contact with his parents again.</p><p>Determined, this time,
to see into the bottom of Harry's mind and find out just how much
he was hurting, Snape stalked out of his offices. Harry had been
behaving <em>too</em> well these last weeks. It was time to see what
that kind of behavior was costing him.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 113*: Luna's Gift</h2>
			<p>And now, things get worse.</p><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Nine: Luna's Gift</strong></p><p>Luna slipped her hand
gently out of Padma's and stood. They had been studying for the
length of time it would take hippogriff teeth to break apart in salt
water. That meant that Luna had to go now, and hunt the object that
hated the whole world.</p><p>"Luna?"</p><p>Padma was looking at
her with a worried expression, but she had no reason to worry. Luna
was walking down friendly stairs, and by now all the portraits and
the other wary objects in the castle knew her and would watch out for
her. Even if Luna fell out of sight of a thing which could talk to
humans, the things that could see her would talk to the portraits,
and the portraits would talk to someone else. Luna was carefully
guarded as she had never been before, which was good, because Luna
found it as hard to talk to other people sometimes as if she were
made of stone herself.</p><p>"I'll come back
when the moon-glass is full," she promised, and flicked her wand at
an hourglass that stood on their table and would brighten as the moon
arose. The hourglass came to life at the enchantment, singing out
gratitude for being used. Luna liked the moon-glass, but she did wish
it would be quieter sometimes; it was so loud it drowned other voices
out. She kissed Padma and made her way through the Ravenclaw common
room, pausing at the door.</p><p>The door was telling
over the tales of its opening during the day to itself, since it
didn't expect any more visitors. To many doors in the castle,
curfew meant the time they wouldn't be opened any more. But Luna
had to open it one more time. Luckily, the door of the Ravenclaw
common room was cheerful and liked to add to its tales. She slipped
through with murmured thanks, and heard the count begin again behind
her as she started towards the Headmistress's office.</p><p>As she walked, she
expanded her senses beyond her head like a lion's mane, or a pair
of ruffled and pricked ears. She could do this, now; it was new, but
it was useful. She would use it to hear the voices of distant
objects, and those which normally never spoke even to her unless she
directly asked them: the solid, sullen foundation stones, the
tapestries whose tempers changed with every passing breeze, the
lintels whose oldest grief was at being thought of merely as part of
the doorways.</p><p>She was trying to hear
the object that hated the whole world. It should be somewhere nearby.
The other times she'd felt it, it was always in the Headmistress's
office, and even if it moved, the way she thought it did, then it
should leave some ripples of its passage behind, dark tales incised
into the walls.</p><p>She was going to find
it. The library tables had overheard Harry muttering to himself the
other day about dangerous objects, and surely that was the most
dangerous object in Hogwarts.</p><p>A stone complained
when she stepped on it. Luna knelt, stroked it, and then rose and
went on her way, feeling its contented purr roll along in the floor
beneath her, sending other stones into a paroxysm of contentment.
That made her walk a little more joyous than it might have been.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Sit down, Harry."</p><p>Harry took a seat in
front of Snape's desk, keeping his eyebrows politely raised. His
guardian's looks had sharpened today, away from the worry that he'd
seen in Draco and towards anger. Harry was sure he must have made a
mistake in Potions class or elsewhere to earn that fury, but try as
he might, he could not remember it.</p><p>"Yes, sir?" he
asked.</p><p>"How many times have
I told you to call me by my first name?"</p><p>Harry cocked his head.
<em>Maybe that was my mistake? </em>Snape had spoken to him in Potions
class today, and Harry had responded with a "Yes, sir," but most
of the time Snape didn't want his first name used in front of other
students anyway. If Harry had thawed his resentment, he might have
felt it then, because Snape had given no sign that the name-use he
expected of Harry had changed yet again.</p><p>But the resentment lay
deep in the icepack at the back of his mind, so he said, "Sorry,
Severus. What is it?"</p><p>Snape sat in silence
for a few moments more, as if considering how best to phrase matters.
Then he leaned forward and said, "Harry, I notice that you still
have not undergone a breakdown of the kind I would have expected when
you learned about Lucius Malfoy's betrayal."</p><p>Harry smiled proudly.
<em>Oh, that. Well, at least I can tell him he doesn't have to worry
anymore. </em>"No, I haven't," he agreed. "I've managed to
change things, Severus. My reactions are my own to control now, and
I'm no longer obsessing over my latest failure the way I used to
do. Draco talked to me about the same thing. I've managed to do
most of what people asked me to in the last few weeks." He heard a
sturdy pride in his voice. After a moment's consideration, he
dismissed it as a harmless emotion. It could stay there.</p><p>Snape's frown only
deepened. "I can only guess, Harry, that your arrival at this
unusual emotional state is achieved through use of Occlumency pools,
again," he said, his voice heavy with disappointment. "I cannot
permit that to continue. You <em>will</em> allow me to examine you with
Legilimency and start up a slow process of leaking through those
pools. If you think we cannot permit you to have a collapse about
Lucius, still less can we permit the kind of complete breakdown that
you had to go through in Woodhouse."</p><p><em>Well, I should have
known that any unusual behavior would only worry him. He's never
been one to believe in the first signs of my healing, unless he was
the one who prompted them. </em>Harry nodded, and leaned forward. "Of
course, Severus. I know I'm not doing anything wrong, with
Occlumency or otherwise, so you can look at my mind."</p><p>Snape blinked,
obviously caught off-guard. That increased Harry's hope, a little.
Snape was relying on past patterns of behavior to assume things were
wrong. When he saw how different things really <em>were</em>, he would
have to admit that this time, the past patterns of behavior were
completely destroyed.</p><p>Of course, Harry knew
that Snape probably wouldn't like the image of the ice at the back
of his mind that kept his emotions in stillness until he needed them.
His particular prejudice against them would be that they were solid
encrustations in Harry's mind, and Snape didn't like solid
encrustations; he had distrusted Harry's box long before it caused
trouble. Snape held to the old view of mental control, that an
Occlumens had to embody his emotions in some fluid construct like
wind or water, or else he would go mad. But Harry had encountered a
book in the course of his reading about some way to get around
Unassailable Curses that suggested that was not true. Solid images
could work, as long as they were solid images that could change. Ice
was ideal, since it could melt and flow into water, a fluid
container, and freeze again to keep the emotions out of the way.</p><p>But Snape probably
still wouldn't like it, even if Harry was able to show him that it
worked. So Harry would just not show the ice-banks to him. He would
go on for a few more months and demonstrate to Snape how well it
worked, without a breakdown, so that he would have to admit his fears
had been for nothing, the way he wouldn't do with only a few weeks'
evidence.</p><p>And to reassure Snape
that everything was fine, he intended to use another trick he'd
learned from the book about Unassailable Curses. Once, wizards had
believed that intense mental concentration on the condition that
allowed one to break the Unassailable Curse—for example, thinking
like a member of one particular family if the Curse said that only a
member of that family could pass the barrier—would work. It hadn't,
but the method those wizards worked out was useful to other arts of
mental control. So Harry conjured up a curtain of normal emotions and
floated it in front of the icepacks as Snape gently blew into his
mind.</p><p>The Legilimency
examined him quite thoroughly. Harry let him see the pools and all
the normal areas of his mind, the great steel skeleton covered with
budding leaves. The ice was at the very back of his thoughts, curled
around the tree's roots, where Snape would only have expected to
find unconscious impulses and half-formed desires anyway. The screen
of emotions gave the impression that that part of Harry's mind was
absolutely normal, unfrozen, untainted.</p><p>The wind blew out
again. Harry opened his eyes, and smiled into Snape's perplexed
face.</p><p>"Do you see,
Severus?" he asked, keeping himself from formality just in time. To
him, "sir" <em>was</em> a more affectionate term of endearment than
a first name. He called both his parents by their first names now. He
might think of people however he liked, by surname or title or first
name, but what he called them face-to-face was a different matter. If
Snape had allowed the formal distance between them to persist, an
expandable space that Harry could retreat into or come back from as
he had need, then Harry thought he might have felt even closer to him
than he did now. "I'm fine. I just managed to tell myself that I
couldn't break down right now, that people needed me, and so I kept
the balance."</p><p>And that <em>was</em>
true. It was what had decided him on using the ice, which he'd
already half-toyed with the idea of doing, but had given up when he
realized that he'd need access to all his emotions during the month
of April and the Walpurgis ritual. After that, though—well, Draco
had been so upset, and Hawthorn had been so upset, and the Ministry
was in flux and in chaos, and it would have been so easy to add to
Snape's burdens, too, if Harry were not watching out for that. So
he slid the emotions into the ice, and waited to tell people until
they would have to admit how much more efficient this was, and that
it worked for him. He could still retrieve the emotions whenever he
liked. He wasn't the cold monster he'd been for the majority of
his first two years at Hogwarts. But he was in control of them and
how he expressed them.</p><p>He thought this
perfectly fine.</p><p>"I had thought,"
Snape said at last, "that you were upset from the encounters with
Lucius and your parents."</p><p>"Upset for Draco,"
said Harry truthfully. "Upset for Hawthorn. And I wish someone else
could have healed Lily. But that didn't happen." He shrugged, and
sat looking earnestly at Snape.</p><p>He supposed it might
be that earnestness that worried Snape and Draco. He couldn't help
it, though. His freezing of his emotions had cleared his mind
wonderfully. He could <em>think ahead</em> now, and forestall hunger by
seeing when he would need to eat, and forestall sleepiness by
resting. And since he knew exactly when he needed to do certain
things, he freed more time for unexpected crises. This was the way he
needed to function, he thought, the way a leader would have to be
able to: ready to deal with whatever arrived suddenly in his life,
and able to keep the rest of his life foaming about, attending to
others' needs.</p><p>"I have a potion,"
Snape said quietly, "that I planned to give you, Harry. It would
have healed any gaping wounds left in your mind from your emotions.
But now…" He cut himself off and shook his head. "It seems I
was mistaken."</p><p>"You
were," Harry agreed, with a small smile. "But pleasantly
mistaken, which is unusual, and good when it happens."</p><p>In the end, Snape had
to let him go. Harry hummed under his breath as he walked towards his
bedroom. One Wizengamot Elder, Hollyshead, had already written back
to him in disbelief, demanding how he could want to let wizards and
witches who slept with nonhumans "evade their responsibility to the
magical community." He listed several points about how wizards were
dying out, and <em>more</em> of them should be marrying and having
children with humans, not less. Few people would want to marry the
half-human children of such unions.</p><p>Harry knew exactly how
to answer that letter, thanks to the ice. Before the ice, it might
have made him so upset that he couldn't think.</p><p>He wondered, for a
moment, what would happen if months passed and he showed Snape and
Draco how he had coped, and they still hated it, still insisted that
he should feel every spontaneous emotion that came along.</p><p><em>Well, then I can
show them I'm just following the lessons that Joseph taught me, </em>he
reasoned. <em>He taught me to take some time for myself and do what I
wanted to do. And this is what I want to do, </em>and <em>it helps
other people, and it doesn't hurt me. I don't see how they can
really object.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Luna arrived in the
Headmistress's office and stood still for a moment, gazing around.
It was late enough at night that the Headmistress had already retired
to bed. Luna could see the gleam of her fire under the door on the
other side of the room, and hear the soft clucks of the pieces of
wood talking to each other, arguing good-naturedly about who had been
the most interesting person to watch sleep in the bed.</p><p>No wards spoke at her
arrival; the walls and the floors knew Luna, and they would get in
the way of the wards and keep them from responding when it was
necessary to let her slip by. Luna appreciated the gesture, and she
thought Headmistress McGonagall would, too. She didn't deserve to
be disturbed, not this late, when she had the problems of a massive
school to take care of. And things always grew worse near the end of
the year, Luna knew, even if she didn't quite understand why.
Students kicked stairs more often, and threw books across the room.
Padma had tried to explain that it had to do with exams. But Luna
didn't think that could be it. One studied, and one got good
marks—most of the time, if one was in Ravenclaw—or one didn't.
Who would worry so much about it?</p><p>She stood in the
center of the office and turned in a circle. It hadn't changed
since the last time she saw it. Bookshelves stood along the walls,
still communing busily with them; the Headmistress had moved them in
only a little more than a year ago, and it took wizarding furniture a
long time to become acclimated to a new position, let alone an
entirely new room. Luna didn't dare think about Muggle furniture,
which she had heard was shifted around almost from moment to moment,
and without the use of magic, so that it often collided with numerous
rugs and bricks. A perch sat in the middle of the room, and sang of
the phoenix gone last year. The Headmistress's desk hulked, thick
with locks and wards and its own importance. The Sword of Gryffindor
hung in a glass case on the wall behind the desk, more dull and
unresponsive than most of the others; Luna knew that happened with
magical objects who had once seen a life of excitement and service
and were now relegated to museum pieces. It had taken forever for her
to persuade her father that his little belt knife, with a hilt
rumored to have been forged by Merlin himself, would much rather hang
on his belt and be used to cut paper occasionally than stay above the
mantle and never do anything.</p><p>But nothing in the
room felt like an object that hated the whole world.</p><p>Luna shook her head
slightly. She hadn't felt the object here all year. When she had
felt it before, though, the night she had come to tell the
Headmistress what the chairs said about Gilbert Rovenan, it had been
unmistakable, a flare of dark loathing. But Luna hadn't known until
she left the office that it was <em>in</em> the object itself. And then
she thought the Headmistress knew about it and had attended to it.</p><p>She should have
remembered that other people didn't listen, except for Harry, who
sometimes listened to magical creatures. If you didn't have arms
and legs, most wizards disregarded you.</p><p>She moved forward and
began to examine the walls, running her fingers lightly over them,
trying to find some hint of a crack or a seam where the object could
be hiding, and trying to attract the walls' attention to talk about
the present instead of the past. It wasn't easy. This was an old,
proud room, and pone to ignoring people who weren't part of its
history.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Snape paced back and
forth in his office, deep in thought. Part of him was adamant that he
should have forced Harry to take the silver potion—the part that
thought there was something off in the picture of Harry's mind. But
his son was happy, and healthy, and mentally sound. He should have
rejoiced in the news, not been sure that it meant something even more
wrong.</p><p>A sharp knock sounded
on his door. Snape turned, arrested. The person had knocked on the
part of his door that had no wards, and only a few people in the
school could see spells well enough to do that. He doubted Harry
would have come back so soon, or that Minerva would be walking around
Hogwarts this late at night.</p><p>"Come," he called,
lowering the wards with a few waves of his wand.</p><p>Peter stepped into the
room, his face haggard. Snape examined him in some concern. It was
not a surprise that their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher
should be able to see his wards, of course, or use a charm that would
make his face look normal to even determined observation. But Snape
did not like the fact that Peter's face appeared to have increased
to three times the number of shadows he'd last seen it covered in.</p><p>"I've tried to
stave off the dreams by telling myself they're just images of a
time long past, and they can't hurt me," Peter said, his voice
raspy. "But I can't do it anymore. I need some Dreamless Sleep
Potion, Severus. Please."</p><p>Snape nodded and went
to his shelves without complaint. He would hardly refuse potion to
someone who looked like that.</p><p>"What kind of dreams
are these?" he asked over his shoulder as he blended the powder
with water. He generally kept Dreamless Sleep in a powdered form,
except for the supplies storied in Pomfrey's hospital wing.
Dreamless Sleep was one of the few potions students would sneak into
his offices to try and steal, otherwise. But few of them were good
enough at Potions arithmetic to know exactly how much water and
powder they needed to mix together, even if they did surpass his
wards. "I know you were troubled by nightmares earlier in the
year."</p><p>"These are
nightmares, and worse than nightmares," Peter said. "They're—they
feel like the meditations of another part of me, a part that never
left Azkaban, and where the Dementors stayed for years longer than
they really did. I sit in my cell, and relive my own happy memories,
and get angrier and angrier. But this time, there's no phoenix web
to break. There's just my rage and hatred against my former friends
to stew in. I loathe it. It's terrible."</p><p>"You should hate
them," Snape murmured, studying the level of liquid in the vial
with a practiced eye. <em>There, that will do. </em>He carried the vial
back to Peter rather ceremoniously. "What they did to you was
inexcusable."</p><p>"Not unless I decide
it is," said Peter. He looked longingly at the potion, but did not
swallow it immediately. He knew better; he would collapse on the
floor of Snape's office. "They're a part of my life that's
over and done with. Good night, Severus." He turned towards the
door.</p><p>Perhaps it was the
first name. Perhaps it was a real longing to know how the rat had
accomplished it. Whatever it was made Snape call after Peter. "How
did you do it, Pettigrew? That letting go of your hatred, your
reversion into a simpler frame of mind?" He wasn't quite able to
keep himself from sneering out the words, but he told himself he had
a right to sound like that. This man had been one of his four
tormentors in school, and then by all appearances a traitor to the
Order of the Phoenix, one who had received only a bit more punishment
than Snape for deeds far less laudable. Snape still did not really
know him, or at least did not know this calm, patient man as a
continuation of the bumbling, sycophantic boy.</p><p>Peter glanced back at
him. "I asked myself what I would rather live for," he said
simply. "Vengeance, or possibility. And the Sanctuary helped, too."</p><p>Snape curled his lip.</p><p>"I know that you
don't think it did," Peter said. "Of course, I actually talked
to a Seer at first, instead of simply suffering through the dreams.
And, when I did, I came to realize that I blamed my friends less with
every passing day. First, I was set on helping Harry, and if that
involved bringing my friends and Dumbledore down, well, fine, but
they weren't the reason I was doing it. And then I helped kill
Sirius because he committed suicide with my wand, not because I
wanted him dead. And then I went to the Sanctuary to heal, not
primarily to hide from the Aurors. I made all those decisions with
someone innocent or myself in mind, Severus, not an enemy. I think
that's the problem with too many Dark wizards, really. You let your
enemies rule your life."</p><p>"I know that you're
still bitter, Pettigrew," said Snape stiffly, not liking the
implied rebuke in Peter's words. <em>The Light-Declared rat would
tell me how to live? </em>"I've seen you show it."</p><p>"Yes," Peter said,
"but it's one emotion among many. It doesn't control my life."
He lingered, eyes on Snape, saying without words whom it <em>did</em>
control.</p><p>Snape narrowed his
eyes. "Get out."</p><p>Peter went.</p><p>Snape paced in a
circle for a moment, then turned restlessly towards the door. He
should patrol the dungeons anyway, a task that he never quite
entrusted to the Slytherin prefects alone. And if his footsteps
happened to carry him to Minerva's door—well, she was one of the
few people in the school whom he felt comfortable asking for advice.
If she did not sleep yet, he would ask more of her.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Luna was surprised,
but not startled, when she felt the gargoyle leaping aside in
obedience to a human voice. Of course someone might wish to visit the
Headmistress now, and most people couldn't simply sympathize with
the gargoyle's loneliness and ask it to move aside that way. There
were a number of professors in the school who had the password.</p><p>Luna moved out of
sight behind the Headmistress's desk. The wards flickered out and
then came back again, stronger, concealing her presence. The locks
whispered welcomes to her in voices like little squirts of oil. Luna
asked each of them about their tumblers, and listened intently.
Perhaps a tumbler in a lock was the object that hated the whole
world. But as each lock reported back, she had to give up the idea.
No, they would know. Most objects knew the insides of themselves much
better than wizards gave them credit for, even complicated ones like
watches.</p><p>The door of the office
opened. Luna looked up and saw Professor Snape coming through, his
face set in a scowl. He glanced around, saw the empty and dark
office, and hesitated.</p><p>And then the object
that hated the whole world was there.</p><p>Luna opened her eyes
wide, but stood still so that it wouldn't notice she'd noticed
it. She didn't think this object realized she could listen, or it
would have hated her more than anyone else. Instead, it spat passion
like venom at Professor Snape, who didn't notice, of course.</p><p><em>No. Wait. It is not
angry at him. It is angry at part of him.</em></p><p>That didn't really
make sense. Luna had the impression like a hazy bar of shadow
wavering away from a light source; it existed, but it wouldn't stay
still, and it wouldn't let her get a good grip on it. And she
couldn't poke her head out from around the desk to see what had
changed, how the object had arrived, because then Professor Snape
would see her, and she would get detention, and have to spend it
hurting poor defenseless cauldrons by scrubbing them too hard with a
wire brush, or drowning the stones in the entrance hall that didn't
like to be drowned. Besides, she didn't think the object had
suddenly scuttled into the room; Professor Snape would have seen it
move and hit it with a spell. He was paranoid like that.</p><p>So she remained still,
analyzing her impressions, trying to understand. She had to
concentrate through the voices of locks and desk and stones and walls
and bookshelves, and it reminded her of trying to understand why
human things mattered; it was so hard.</p><p>Then Professor Snape
turned and left again, obviously having decided against knocking on
the Headmistress's bedroom door.</p><p>And the object that
hated the whole world left, too.</p><p>Luna carefully put her
head out from around the desk and looked about. Nothing had changed.
When she asked the floors, nothing had come up through them. When she
asked the ceiling, nothing had come down through it. When she asked
the walls, they complained of the weight of the bookshelves, but
admitted nothing had crawled through them.</p><p>It was all very
perplexing.</p><p>Luna left at last,
because the moon-glass would be shining soon, and the office had no
more tales to tell her. She asked the stones in the school to watch
out for something crawling through them, though, or to tell her tales
of abandoned rooms where powerful magical objects might lie. She
wanted to help Harry. He listened, too.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"Through the front
door, sir?" Hope's voice was low and tense with excitement.</p><p>Rufus nodded, and
briefly gripped her shoulder. The Auror grinned at him, and then
slipped around the side of the house. Rufus went back to studying it,
the Apollonis estate, lying far too still and peaceful under the
moonlight.</p><p>The Apollonis estate,
and the home of the Liberator who had helped Harry against Falco
Parkinson, if his speculations were correct. And <em>certainly</em> the
home of a man who had had artifacts the Unspeakables had seized in
his home.</p><p>Hope had brought him
the evidence just that morning, waving it proudly around her head.
Someone had misfiled the record and done all they could to prevent it
from being found short of destroying it, but Hope had finally
discovered it. Yes, there had been an Unspeakable raid on the home of
Cupressus Apollonis years ago, and many magical artifacts had been
carried away during it and taken to the Department of Mysteries. But
one had been returned to its owner: a narrow coffin-like box, just
big enough for an adult wizard or witch lying with arms folded to his
or her chest. The box had preservation spells on it, ones that would
keep the prisoner alive and breathing and fed and watered, and also
prevent him or her from breaking out.</p><p><em>That's the
Liberator's means of confinement</em>, Rufus thought, exultation
moving through him like oil as he read the paper. <em>And a law was
passed a year later that made that kind of thing completely illegal
for anyone to use on a human being. We have a reasonable enough
suspicion to raid.</em></p><p>He had brought several
Aurors with him, all Light-dedicated. Apollonis was fanatic enough
that he was likely to have wards around his house that might destroy
Dark or even undeclared wizards.</p><p>Hope was spreading
around the back of the house, with Berrywise, and Percy shifted from
foot to foot behind him like a small boy who had to go to the loo,
and other pairs of Aurors were approaching from the sides. Rufus
intended this to be a small enough raid that, if they really did find
nothing—not that he thought they would—it wouldn't make
headlines, or leave much evidence. They would step in quickly, arrest
the bastard who'd been abusing his daughter, free the Liberator,
and leave.</p><p>Rufus stamped his
foot, and felt a savage grin break loose across his face as if in
response to the movement. <em>Merlin</em>, this felt good, to be in the
field again, to be doing something concrete, instead of having to
negotiate with the Wizengamot through delicate mazes of influence
that might change any moment, and might result in any one of them
seeing him as under Harry's thumb. And thanks to Harry's bold,
very nearly Gryffindor declaration of political war in favor of
half-human children, the headache and the situation had both built to
a slow boiling point. Any moment the cauldron would overflow, but
there was no saying when.</p><p>He'd needed
something like this to get him away from both the Wizengamot and
Harry for a time.</p><p>He saw Hope's signal
from the back of the house. She and Berrywise had examined the wards
and found nothing they could not overcome, then.</p><p>Rufus nodded, and
signaled back, waving his wand in a way that made an Augurey's call
rise from it. Then he strode towards the front door, Percy tagging
along at his heels.</p><p>There were wards on
the front door, but most of them, as Rufus had surmised, were
directed at Dark magic. He used <em>Alohomora</em> to attack the lock,
and, when spells rose to protect it, used a special version of the
Confounding Charm that old Head Auror Samara Deronda, who'd been
killed in the First War, had developed to use on protective spells.
The spells tried to deal with what seemed to them to be multiple
unlocking charms, and in their dazzlement forgot about protecting the
handle itself. Rufus worked through a few more minor wards, and flung
the door open.</p><p>Cupressus Apollonis
was waiting there to meet them.</p><p>Rufus leveled his wand
at him. The old wizard's eyes widened a fraction, but otherwise his
perfect, polished expression never faltered.</p><p>"What is the meaning
of this, Minister?" he asked. "Why did you invade my home this
late at night?"</p><p>Rufus suppressed the
nasty impulse to ask if he would have been any more welcome if he'd
raided during the day. "I have reason to believe that you're
abusing one of your children, Apollonis," he said, and cast a
time-delaying charm, then whispered the Manacle Curse. A pair of
shackles formed in the air in front of him, gaping, awaiting
Apollonis's wrists, but not darting forward quite yet. "A young
daughter. You have a young daughter, don't you? Younger than
Ignifer Pemberley?"</p><p>He had the
satisfaction of seeing wounded pride touched to the quick in
Apollonis's eyes, then. But he fought it well enough, and said, "In
this house we do not speak her name. But I have a young daughter,
yes. Candor. If you <em>dare</em> accuse me of abusing her—"</p><p>"We have reason to
believe," said Rufus, as Hope and Berrywise entered through a side
door, herding Apollonis's wife Artemis in front of them, "that
you have shut her in a Confinement Box. We've received letters
whose provenance matches this house too closely to be coincidence.
Your daughter has used those letters to be a shining light on the
blemish of your honor. And use of a Confinement Box on a human being
is highly illegal, Apollonis, as you know."</p><p>The old bastard just
stared at him, too shocked to utter a word. Rufus felt satisfaction
slice him like a knife again.</p><p>"Mother? Father?
What is it?"</p><p>Rufus turned. A young
witch with tumbling golden curls, who looked about twenty-one years
old, was entering from yet a third direction, escorted by two of his
Aurors. She had blue eyes, not the yellow more common to Light
pureblood families, but otherwise she looked much like Rufus had
pictured her. She was certainly frightened enough.</p><p>"Candor Apollonis?"
he asked.</p><p>Her gaze shot to him,
and she nodded.</p><p>Rufus drew another
breath. "The Liberator?"</p><p>And her face returned
blackness.</p><p>Rufus frowned. <em>She's
probably frightened that her parents will punish her. </em>He shot a
glance at Cupressus and Artemis, both of whom were standing quite
still. "You can speak freely in front of them, Candor," he said.
"No one will hurt you."</p><p>"You're not here
to take us to prison?" Candor's voice was small.</p><p>"Of course not,"
Rufus said. "We want to free you, and to insure that you realize
you have a home and friends in the outside world. Your parents won't
be able to abuse you again, I promise."</p><p>"They've never
<em>abused</em> me," said Candor, her eyes flying wide. "What are
you talking about? What do you mean, freeing me? Who's the
Liberator?"</p><p>"If you had listened
to me, Minister," Cupressus Apollonis said, his voice low and ugly,
"you would have had time to hear me say that I sold the Confinement
Box six months after the outcast's miserable departure from this
house. I have not owned it for nearly as long as Candor has been
alive."</p><p>Rufus glanced back and
forth between both of them. <em>They are lying. One or both of them.
They must be. I cannot—I cannot have made a mistake.</em></p><p>Hope caught his eye.
Rufus nodded to her. "Will you agree to take Veritaserum?" he
asked Cupressus.</p><p>The old bastard lifted
his head proudly. "In the name of the Light, I have nothing to
hide."</p><p>A tense silence
succeeded that announcement, while Hope fetched the vial of
Veritaserum from her robe pocket and carefully placed three drops on
Cupressus's tongue. Candor said quietly that she wanted some, too,
and so Hope crossed over and fed it to her. Rufus clenched his hand
on his wand, and tried not to feel the wavering certainty behind
every Auror's eyes except for Percy and Hope.</p><p>"Have you ever
abused your daughter Candor?" he asked Cupressus, when the usual
test questions to establish known facts like name and location had
passed.</p><p>"No."</p><p>Rufus hissed between
his teeth. "Have you ever locked any child of yours in a
Confinement Box?"</p><p>"No. No Light parent
would do such things to his children."</p><p>"Have you ever tried
to support the Order of the Phoenix? Or Falco Parkinson?"</p><p>Cupressus actually
laughed at that one, despite the numbing effect of the drug. "No.
Why would I want to?"</p><p>Rufus turned to Candor
without answering. "Did you ever write me letters under the name of
the Liberator?"</p><p>"No." Candor's
eyes were wide, unfocused.</p><p>"Did you ever suffer
any abuse at the hands of your parents? Father or mother?" Rufus
glanced at the silent, watching, white-faced Artemis.</p><p>"No. Never."</p><p>And that was it. That
was over. He'd botched things. And badly.</p><p>Hope, nearly as pale
as Artemis, caught his eye again, and mouthed <em>Obliviate? </em>Rufus
considered it for a moment. He knew his failure would be all over the
papers in a few days if he did not.</p><p>But his own morals
made him hesitate. He'd <em>Obliviated</em> Wizengamot Elders into
thinking they'd voted for him to assume absolute power during the
Ritual of Cincinnatus, and he'd promised himself solemnly that that
was as far as he would walk down that particular slippery road. Could
he justify going farther now?</p><p>"Don't worry about
it, Minister," said Cupressus, his voice icy, but full of absolute
truth. "There are wards on this house which prevent me from
forgetting anything which happens inside it. I promise you, no Memory
Charm will work. The walls and the doors themselves would tell me if
I forgot something so important."</p><p>Rufus turned to face
Cupressus, his heartbeat hollow and fast. The Light wizard's yellow
eyes were narrow, and the hatred in them was very terrible.</p><p>"I shall not forget
this insult, Minister," said Cupressus, the effects of Veritaserum
already passing from his voice. "Never."</p><p>Rufus inclined his
head and wheeled around to leave, calling his Aurors to him with a
lift of his hand. There was nothing else he could do. Berrywise let
Artemis's arms fall with a slightly lost expression, and the other
Aurors who had been standing behind Candor followed him.</p><p>"What will we do
now, sir?" Percy asked softly as they came out onto the lawn again,
under the moonlight that no longer seemed as bright as it had just a
few minutes before.</p><p>Rufus stared at the
sky. He could hear Cupressus telling his wife he wanted to firecall
someone in the moments before the door closed.</p><p>He sighed. "Go back
to the Ministry. Put up with it." <em>Suffer it, as I surely will
have to when the news gets out. </em></p><p><em>Perhaps I should
have left the Liberator's rescue up to the Liberator herself, as
she begged me to do.</em></p><p>But the idea nagged at
him. All the information they'd had access to fitted Apollonis so
<em>perfectly</em>. If not him, then who?</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Aurora stirred up with
a half-shout when her Floo connection opened. She'd fallen asleep
in a chair in front of the fire, and her neck was sore and one arm
asleep from her leaning on it. She shook it out now, and waited for a
familiar face to appear, half-knowing it must be bad news. No one
ever firecalled in the middle of the night for any other reason.</p><p>However, the face that
formed in the fire was only vaguely familiar. <em>Cupressus Apollonis.</em></p><p>Aurora stared for an
impolite moment before she found her tongue, and knelt down to be
more fairly on his level. "How may I help you, sir? It's an
unexpected pleasure to have you contact me, but I fear, from the
time, that nothing good has happened to you."</p><p>Cupressus gave her
what was not a smile so much as a baring of teeth. Aurora knew it
could not be directed at her, though. She had not stepped, even
obliquely, on the interests of Apollonis. She waited.</p><p>"Madam Whitestag,"
Cupressus said after a few moments, "the Minister has…made a
grave mistake with me and mine. And not so very long ago, Harry <em>vates</em>
made his third grave mistake with me. The first was taking a child I
have sired away. The second was accepting the support of families
sworn to me. The third was publishing private correspondence. Now the
Minister has made me lose what little faith I still had in Harry's
allies, and he said enough to convince me he was acting with the
<em>vates's</em> support and cooperation." He paused.</p><p>"And?" Aurora
prompted, hardly able to believe what this sounded like.</p><p>"I find myself much
more minded to join the alliance that you and Elder Juniper are
weaving between you." Cupressus fixed her with a direct stare.
"There are particulars to be worked out. But not the fact of my
allegiance."</p><p>Aurora caught her
breath, and smiled. <em>Sometimes, perhaps, good news does come in the
middle of the night.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 114*: Interlude: The Liberator's Tenth Letter</h2>
			<p><strong>Interlude: The Liberator's Tenth Letter</strong></p><p><em>June 1st,
1997</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour: </em></p><p>I am <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>so</span> sorry,
sir, that I wasn't able to give you the right combination of clues
as to where I was! I heard about the raid on Cupressus Apollonis's
house; my parents were so outraged that they talked about it in front
of me. Of course, my father noticed I was listening and gave me one
of his dark glares—he believes he must intimidate me at all times,
and now he's even right about that, while before this a reminder or
two was enough—but he wasn't that serious about it. They are
worried. They think that the Ministry has turned against Light
wizards, and they may be next on the list of raids or arrests, for
all they know.</p><p>Since Cupressus
Apollonis did not specify what he was accused of in the papers,
except child abuse, I don't know what clue you might have followed
to him. <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Please</span>, though, sir, don't worry about me. I am very
nearly ready to leave this place. I think I may have been able to
figure out where the Ministry is from here, given memories of an
Apparition I remember my mother taking me on when I was very young.
If I'm right, then I'll go west when I leave the house. And after
that—well, I have magic. I have a wand, though I've rarely been
allowed to use it. And since I'm leaving forever, I'll risk
breaking into the cage where my mother usually keeps it.</p><p>So
many risks are changing me. I feel like Princess Black, with the
whole world open before me. But instead of my husband dying, it's
my fear that's perished.</p><p>I trust you, sir. I
know I can come to you and you'll grant me sanctuary. I would be a
little awkward going to Harry, and I don't know where Hogwarts lies
anyway. But I'll send you another letter in a few days, when I'm
ready to leave.</p><p>No more clues, though.
<span style='text-decoration: underline;'>Please</span>, sir, don't embarrass yourself for me! Such risks
could cost you your office. The wizarding world needs you in power.
Harry needs you in power. <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>I</span> need you in power. We all need
you, so that we can survive the coming war.</p><p>A few days more, and
all changes. I am so nervous, so excited, with my heart beating in my
throat. A new spring is beginning for me, even though the world's
spring is almost done.</p><p>Yours,</p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 115*: Learning to Relax</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Ninety: Learning to Relax</strong></p><p>Draco leaned his
elbows on the table and studied Harry through the corner of his eye.
Harry was reading a letter that had come in by an official Ministry
owl that morning, his face grave. Naturally, of course, most of the
people at the Slytherin table were trying to see over his shoulder,
including Millicent.</p><p>Draco wasn't. He was
observing the way Harry's face changed instead, how his grave
expression melted in a few moments. He tucked the letter into the
pocket of his robe where he usually kept most correspondence, and
nodded at nothing, and went back to eating.</p><p>"What was the letter
about, Harry?" Millicent asked. Draco wondered if he ought to
despise her for showing her eagerness like that, but he couldn't,
not really. If she hadn't asked, someone else would have.</p><p>"What letter?"
Harry raised his eyebrows.</p><p>Millicent laughed, and
so did most of the other Slytherins, assuming that Harry was trying
to make a joke. And a moment later he laughed with them, and shook
his head, and said, "The Minister. Private business, I'm afraid.
If it wasn't sensitive news, like the color of his pants, then be
assured I'd tell you."</p><p>That won him another
round of snickers, and Harry turned back to his breakfast, a
half-smile lingering on his face that dropped off almost immediately.</p><p>It was a small
incident. But it gave Draco another piece of the evidence he needed.
And if it didn't set the hot anger boiling in him that the thestral
incident had, it conjured an icy, needle-sharp anger, which seemed to
go in through one of his ears. He sat back and controlled his
breathing as best he could.</p><p>Harry, of course, even
when suppressing his emotions the way Draco was now <em>certain</em> he
was doing, was unfairly good at noticing other people's. "What's
the matter, Draco? Did something fall into your breakfast?"</p><p>"No," Draco
breathed, eyes focused on the wall over Harry's head. "It's
nothing for right now. Ask me later."</p><p>Harry bit his lip,
then nodded. Already his face had lost its look of concern. He
touched the parchment in his pocket instead, and seemed to be
thinking about whatever the Minister's letter had said.</p><p>Draco sat back, and
plotted his line of attack. He <em>could</em> move now, point out that
Harry's Occlumency, or whatever it was, was interfering with his
daily life. It wasn't much, but even a tiny lapse of attention
could be enough to condemn them all if this happened in the middle of
war.</p><p>Or he could wait for a
few days, and then ask Harry for what he'd always planned to ask.
He was going to be seventeen on the fifth of June, coming of age in
the wizarding world. The gifts presented on a wizard's or witch's
seventeenth birthday were traditionally some of the richest he or she
would ever receive, so what Draco wanted from Harry wouldn't be out
of place.</p><p>Or he could do
something else, so that he would know exactly how to phrase it when
it came time for his birthday.</p><p>Draco decided on the
third course of action after thinking about it for a short time. He
and Harry had Defense Against the Dark Arts today, and Professor
Pettigrew was mostly kind and understanding even to the students he
caught sleeping in class. Draco wouldn't pay for inattentiveness
there the way he would in Transfiguration or Potions, or even Charms,
where almost all their work was practical now.</p><p><em>Defense it is.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Wherever he went that
day, walking from class to class or sitting in the Great Hall or
working on homework in their room during one of their free periods,
Harry saw Scrimgeour's words in the morning letter floating in
front of him.</p><p><em>June 1st,
1997</em></p><p><em>Dear Harry:</em></p><p><em>I am sorry to have
to ask this of you, especially when my own faults have added to the
weight of your burden. But I must. If I do not, then we are risking
political disaster now or very near in the future.</em></p><p><em>I will ask that you
hold off on your campaign to make other wizards aware of half-human
children and how common they may really be, under the glamours, or
even under human skins that hold permanent Transfigurations. At the
moment, this is throwing the Wizengamot off-balance, giving them
another issue to consider when they are already fully occupied with
the werewolves and with what they see as my incompetence and my
favoring of Dark or undeclared wizards over Light. And it is leading
to a paranoia that is linked to and feeding off the kind they feel
for werewolves. Werewolves can be distinguished by certain subtle
signs if they have borne the curse long enough, and there is always
the ultimate test of locking them in a room on the full moon if one
must know, but half-human children are savagely protected by their
parents, and sometimes they may not even know they are half-human.
They could be anyone around us. That has prompted the Wizengamot
towards fears that anyone and anything—forgive the phrasing—could
be an ally of yours, but look like an ally of theirs.</em></p><p><em>I do not say that
you will never be able to win rights for half-human children. But it
will need to wait until the issue with the werewolves is settled,
which may be some time. Every emissary we have sent to the packs has
returned with the message that they are only interested in listening
to wizards who have sworn to the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. This,
understandably, is making the Wizengamot more upset.</em></p><p><em>I believe I made
the mistake I did with Cupressus Apollonis because I wanted so badly
to win a political victory, one that would prove my fitness to be
Minister, which my enemies are now questioning, beyond a doubt. I
slipped up through overtiredness and over-eagerness. No one can be
perfect, of course, but a Minister must come as close to it as
possible, and surely a </em>vates <em>cannot be far behind. Please,
Harry. I ask for more time both for my own sake, so that I may more
fully acknowledge and repair my error, and for your own, so that you
do not fall into the same trap I did.</em></p><p><em>Yours,</em></p><p><em>Rufus Scrimgeour.</em></p><p>Harry had to admit he
would have been happier with a more definite date and time. "Someday"
had been the one word that showed up the most often in correspondence
with centaurs, with goblins, with werewolves, with nearly everyone in
the magical world who was not a Light pureblood or halfblood.
"Someday" the Ministry would alter the laws that forbade
Muggleborn wizards and witches' use of magic at home during the
summer, even to save lives. "Someday" the werewolves would be
acknowledged as full partners in human society, and "someday" the
Wizengamot would consider certain cases that could have made the
difference and set precedents. This was looking like another case of
"someday."</p><p>But it was not fair to
put Scrimgeour on edge, either.</p><p>Worry and anger tried
to rise, especially when he considered that he had made Scrimgeour's
situation worse without knowing it—and he should have known it,
should have been able to study it. But he hadn't, and now <em>this</em>
had happened.</p><p>Harry shook his head a
bit and drained the emotions off, locking them back into ice where
they belonged. He absolutely must have a clear mind to deal with
this, or anything he did would just worsen the situation again.</p><p>"Perhaps you would
like to come up to the front of the classroom, <em>vates</em>, and
practice your Transfiguration skill on this chair?" Henrietta's
sharp tone let him know that she'd noticed the headshake.</p><p>Harry produced wry
amusement in himself and rose to his feet, coming forward. He had to
change the chair into a fly—hard on almost all levels, since it was
not only the Transfiguration of a nonliving object into a living one,
but a considerable difference in size. And almost none of the
students actually <em>knew</em> what a fly looked like, how the legs
and jaws bent, at least until Henrietta made them sit down, use
magnification spells, and study the results. Harry hoped that he
remembered just how the mandibles fitted together, how the wings were
supposed to align over the back, and what the buzzing noise it made
when it flew was like.</p><p>He faced the chair,
and though he intoned the incantation Henrietta had given them aloud,
he was forcing his magic through different channels, above and beyond
the spell. He <em>wanted</em> to change this chair into a fly. He made
that the goal of his desire, and sent all his focus towards that.</p><p>Halfway through the
spell, he realized he was thinking about how to answer Scrimgeour's
letter again.</p><p>And then he realized
that he'd frozen the determination he needed to send the magic to
one place, changing it back into ice, and leaving a great deal of
loose, unfettered power hanging about in the classroom. The power
darted in random directions, great wheels of yellow-green lightning
that were not deadly until they touched something, Harry thought, but
which he couldn't rein in yet.</p><p>He hesitated, trying
to decide which emotion would be best to deal with this, trying to
unfreeze and unlock it.</p><p>"<em>Vinculi!</em>"</p><p>Henrietta's magic
swept through the room a moment behind the Imprisonment Hex, jumping
like a well-trained dog to capture Harry's magic in its mouth. She
was nearly as strong as Snape, and the Imprisonment Hex had been
designed to allow a much weaker wizard to contain powerful magic, as
long as it didn't have a directing will behind it. In a moment,
Harry's dancing pinwheels slowed, and then bumped together until
they coalesced into a yellow-green fog. Henrietta waved her wand,
never taking her eyes from Harry, until he was able to hold out a
hand and call the loose magic back to him. He could feel his cheeks
flaming; a small leak had burst from the ice at the top of his packed
emotions, and embarrassment had trickled out.</p><p>"Class is
dismissed," Henrietta said.</p><p>There was a wave of
wondering half-protests; Professor Belluspersona had never dismissed
class for a magical accident, and even when Peeves got loose in the
room, she had only marched them into another and begun again. This
time was different, though. Harry knew it from the way her eyes
focused on him.</p><p>"<em>Dismissed, </em>I
said," said Henrietta, and then people began standing, picking up
papers and books and turning towards the door, not willing to stay
near their intimidating professor if she actually wanted them gone.
"Except for you, <em>vates</em>," said Henrietta, in a tone that
made Harry stand right where he was, his head lowered. "But that
<em>does</em> include you, Mr. Malfoy."</p><p>Harry glanced up.
Draco was lingering near the first row of seats, staring at him with
an expression somewhere between betrayal and disgust. Harry looked
away again, and then Draco was gone, striding out of the room with
quick, sharp movements. The door shut behind him with an expressive
bang.</p><p>"Now," Henrietta
said into the silence, "I have only seen a wizard lose control like
that when someone else cast a curse that suppresses the will at him.
<em>Imperio</em>, I might say, and you could lose your will." Harry
cringed, and took a moment to realize she had not actually cast the
spell. Henrietta's face remained blank. "Or you might have done
it if something suddenly distracted your attention. But no, a mere
distraction would not have let the magic go that formless. It would
have wavered, and the chair would have changed into <em>something</em>,
even if it was only a rabbit. I want to know what happened, Harry,
and I want to know right now."</p><p>Harry wondered if
Henrietta was simply that good at scolding, or if it came from the
fact that he'd never really suffered an admonishment from her
before that he had to take seriously. Botching a spell in
Transfiguration was one thing; he could study and learn how to
improve, and he hadn't botched much since he started learning the
right way to use Lord-level magic, around and outside the spells. But
this—she sounded as if he had done something that hurt or offended
her personally.</p><p>And the ice wasn't
working anymore. Already, some had melted to release more emotions
into his thoughts, shame among them.</p><p>Quietly, Harry told
her about the Occlumency techniques he'd learned from the book on
Unassailable Curses, how they weren't supposed to be dangerous
unless one never unfroze the ice, and how he'd assumed that
everything was working well. He kept his eyes focused on the far
wall. He didn't quite dare to meet her gaze, which was judging in a
way that he'd only felt from Millicent before. This was one of the
few times when Henrietta really had seemed like Adalrico's second
cousin.</p><p>Henrietta stood when
his recitation finished and walked across the room, studying one of
the pile of books she'd brought with her that morning. Then she
fetched it and came back to him. Blinking, unsure, Harry accepted it.
<em>Why would she be carrying an Occlumency book to a Transfiguration
class?</em></p><p>He understood when he
looked at it. It wasn't an Occlumency book at all. The cover showed
a witch who looked rather like Professor Trelawney, except
intelligent, holding a mirror in which was reflected a witch holding
a mirror, and then a smaller one, and then another, and so on. The
title proclaimed it <em>The Changes of the Mind.</em></p><p>"I began to study
this when I became interested in mental Transfiguration," Henrietta
said, voice almost without inflection. "It is still a new art, but
it is bound closely to Occlumency and the other mental areas of
control, to the actual <em>changing</em> of a target's mind. And
there are chapters that discuss exactly what may happen when someone
tries to change his or her mind after years of abuse or torture. The
author is from Africa. They deal with their victims of war and abuse
more rationally there, I have heard."</p><p>She tapped the book.
"If I am not mistaken, the page you want is 238."</p><p><em>I don't think
she's mistaken, </em>Harry thought, as he flipped the book open.
Henrietta's memory was prodigious; she had astounded her students
before by being able to remember who had had trouble with what spell
back at the beginning of the year, never mind just a week ago.</p><p>Page 238 began in the
middle of a dense paragraph. Harry skimmed it, and found what he
assumed Henrietta wanted him to see at the start of the next one.</p><p><em>One must be careful
with some of the more unusual Occlumency techniques—for example,
the use of ice, or of the Circling Gyre—in people who have suffered
mental and emotional abuse. Such abuse often includes the suppressing
of emotions. It is enough to create an addiction to their suppression
when a victim is also trained in Occlumency. Fluid containers and the
usual practices still work well with them, but they can and will
seize opportunities with the less common techniques to push their
emotions ever further away. And this can be disastrous, because
unusual techniques require close attention, not simple use, for up to
a year, until the Occlumens has truly mastered them.</em></p><p>Harry lowered his
eyes. "I honestly didn't know that," he said.</p><p>"I know you didn't,"
said Henrietta, and took the book away from him. "That's the only
reason I'm not escorting you to the hospital wing now, or to St.
Mungo's." She studied him for a moment more. "Am I right in
saying that this is the first time that's happened? What technique
were you using?"</p><p>"Ice," Harry said.
"And yes. The determination slipped away in the middle of my
casting the spell." He stared blankly at the chair he should have
turned into a fly. He thought of what would have happened had it been
a charging Evan Rosier, and shivered.</p><p>He heard a rustle of
robes. Surprised, he turned back to find Henrietta kneeling in front
of him. She was so tall that even on one knee, her eyes were still
almost level with his. She grasped his chin and tilted it up.</p><p>"If you were anyone
else, then perhaps you could train in such techniques and use them to
help instead of entrap yourself," said Henrietta calmly. "As it
is, you will not have the time. You must unfreeze the ice, Harry."</p><p>Harry hesitated for a
moment.</p><p>"I am <em>not</em>
going to compromise on this," Henrietta said, misinterpreting his
silence. "Or I <em>will</em> tell Snape. I love you as my leader,
Harry, but I will not protect you when I think you are doing
something stupid." She gave a sharp, shark's smile. "Even your
Unbreakable Vows could not guarantee you a <em>tame</em> Slytherin, you
know."</p><p>"It's not that,"
said Harry. "I wanted to ask if you would accept a vow from me.
Since you're under vows yourself—" he held Henrietta's eyes
for a moment more, to acknowledge what lay between them "—I can
think of no better oathkeeper. Snape and Draco will yell at me, and
they'll be right to do so. But they would not believe a promise at
this point, and they wouldn't punish me in the ways they would need
to even if I broke it. I know that you can believe it, and you will
punish me if need be."</p><p>Henrietta's eyes had
brightened, the way they always did when he paid sustained attention
to her. Harry sucked in a breath through his nose, and reminded
himself that he had made her this way. If that caused him unease now,
well, so be it. He ought to feel unease when reminded of what he had
bound Henrietta to.</p><p>"What is the vow,
Harry?" she asked. "And what consequences are acceptable?"</p><p>"If I do this
again," said Harry, "and by <em>this</em> I mean the suppression of
emotions, not the use of Occlumency, in any form, then you have my
permission to cast pain curses at me. I won't fight back."</p><p>"How many pain
curses?"</p><p>"Five."</p><p>Henrietta nodded. Her
expression had gone almost dreamy now. Harry wondered if anyone else
in the Alliance could have stood in the room with her and not been
disgusted. But she and he understood the bargain, and that was all
that really mattered. His dealing with Henrietta had always had a
different footing than his dealings with anyone else in the Alliance.</p><p>"Make the vow,
Harry. I want to hear it in a non-conditional form." Henrietta's
hand tightened on his chin.</p><p>"I swear never to
suppress my emotions in such a fashion again," Harry said steadily.
"Not with unusual Occlumency techniques, not with usual ones, not
with spells or potions. The consequences of breaking this vow are
five pain curses to be cast by Henrietta Bulstrode, and which I will
not defend against." He felt he should use her real name for a
promise as solemn as this, and he could not imagine that someone was
listening outside the door; Henrietta's wards would have caught
them.</p><p>He threw the force of
his magic behind the words, and though they did not bind the way an
Unbreakable Vow would have, he felt them settle around him, a steel
cage. Harry took a deep breath and shook his head. <em>I ought to be
able to give an ordinary promise and mean it, but I've tried that
and it doesn't work. So we'll try this. Needs must. What I did
was stupid, but I thought it would work. I don't think this is
stupid. Time will tell if it is.</em></p><p>Henrietta released him
at last, and moved away. "You'll come to me at once if you need
help or a reminder, Harry?" she asked in a clear voice.</p><p>Harry nodded. The grip
of the promise was still tight on him, rubbing like iron bars along
his ribs. It felt more comfortable than he would have suspected.
<em>Well, why not? I agreed to it of my own free will. And I know what
happens if I break it. It's like the vow I swore to help the
werewolves. You can't really argue with your blood turning to
silver in your veins.</em></p><p>"Now, go to your
next class."</p><p>Harry nodded to her.
"Thank you," he said.</p><p>"Don't let it
happen again, in my class or any other. That will be my thanks."</p><p>Harry gathered his
books and left the room. He met Draco waiting down the hall, but
Draco immediately straightened up and tried to pretend he had only
been lounging there by coincidence. Harry gave him a small smile.</p><p>In the back of his
mind, he imagined a sun, shining with all the fierce determination
he'd lost when the focus of his mind changed from the
Transfiguration. The icepacks began, slowly and steadily, to melt.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco did as he had
promised himself, sitting carefully back in his seat in Defense while
Professor Pettigrew gave a dire warning about the theory that would
occupy most of the exam. He didn't need to worry about that. He
knew most of what they'd studied this year already, thanks to books
from the Malfoy library, practice in the dueling club with Harry, and
research he'd done for other classes.</p><p>Now, what he needed to
do was look into Harry's mind and see how he was repressing his
emotions.</p><p>He was now sure that
it was happening, given the incident in Transfiguration (and what had
Harry been <em>thinking? </em>True, undirected magic really couldn't
hurt anyone the way a curse with force and will behind it would, but
it could have had any number of random and embarrassing effects). He
didn't know what to make of the small smile Harry had given him as
they walked to Defense Against the Dark Arts together, or the fact
that Harry had more emotion in his voice when he answered Pettigrew's
questions than he had seemed to have in the last few weeks.</p><p>He was determined to
find out, though.</p><p>His possession had
grown stronger and suppler the more he used it, rather like a muscle
being exercised. And Harry's mind had been familiar to him since
the very earliest days of its use, when he had let Draco possess him
to learn. Now, Draco easily drifted past Harry's shields and into
the back of his mind, looking for a sign of suppressed emotion or a
mind teetering on the edge of madness.</p><p>He saw ice.</p><p>He saw the sun melting
the ice, and as it trickled free and broke back into water,
sensations of emotions came with it, ones that Draco recognized from
the time when he'd still had empathy. Cold winds of shock, the heat
and pressure of anger, the purling sunlight of pleasure, the
prickling claws of irritation, were running into the soup of Harry's
mind and adding their living presence to what had been far too much
calm, ordered blankness.</p><p>Draco felt his own
stunned surprise, and, a moment later, felt Harry's awareness of
him.</p><p>Harry didn't try to
force him out of his head. And why should he have? Draco asked
himself a moment later. He had done nothing wrong. Or, rather, Harry
had done something wrong, by freezing his emotions, which meant that
Draco's small sin of transgressing the boundaries between their
minds was really not a sin after all, only the measure he had to take
to be sure Harry was all right.</p><p>Harry felt that
justification, too, and tolerated it. He showed Draco more and more
images of ice melting, the sun blazing, his mind growing thicker and
stronger with the addition of the emotions. He showed Draco, without
words, the promise he had made Henrietta Bulstrode, deliberately
thinking of the images and the vow.</p><p>Draco didn't think
there were any circumstances under which he would have allowed
Henrietta Bulstrode to throw five pain curses at him. But if anyone
did deserve them for all the trouble and pain he'd put others
through by suppressing his emotions <em>after he'd promised not to
do it anymore, </em>then it was Harry.</p><p>He drifted back into
his own body, and opened his eyes, and waited until Harry turned to
look at him. Harry did so, his eyes calm as they met Draco's own.
He knew what he had done, and he was sorry for it. Draco could yell
if he wished, but that wouldn't change Harry's mind
substantially. He was already slowly reintegrating his feelings—the
best way to do it, so that he wouldn't have a breakdown like the
one he'd had in Woodhouse—and had promised not to do it again.</p><p>This time, Draco
thought the promise might hold.</p><p>He leaned back, and
gave Harry a little nod, and decided to rework his notion of what he
would like for his birthday.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry chewed the base
of his quill, and carefully arranged phrases in his head. He had
quite a bit of correspondence to write that evening, both to
Scrimgeour and to the parents of children like Jacinth, warning them
why their struggle might take a little longer. He thought most of
them would be reasonable. If the choice was between fighting now and
helping to oust a sympathetic Minister, or waiting and giving that
Minister a chance to find his feet again, Harry knew which he'd
choose, and which Lazuli Yaxley would choose, and which most of the
people who had been in contact with them so far would choose.</p><p>He simply needed to
avoid "someday."</p><p>"That's another
thing you didn't do when your emotions were frozen."</p><p>"Hmmm?" Harry
glanced around at Draco, not sure what he meant.</p><p>"Chew on your
quill." Draco watched him with an expression of satisfaction as
supreme as if he, and not Henrietta, had been the one to show Harry
the truth. "Just like fidgeting in place, or daydreaming. Your mind
was so clean and inhuman that you didn't do the little things that
make you human."</p><p>Harry nodded. "I
know."</p><p>"<em>Why</em> did you
lock your emotions up this time, Harry?" Draco leaned forward. "I
think I've heard all your other justifications, but not this one."</p><p>Harry set the
parchment and quill aside for a moment so that he could totally focus
on Draco. "I'd been considering it for a while," he began. "And
now, of course, after that passage Henrietta showed me, I recognize
that as an excuse for what I wanted to do anyway. After Lucius, I
didn't want to suffer my own pain while I helped you through your
own, or Hawthorn through hers. And when I went to heal Lily, I warded
myself so entirely that almost no emotion got through. It seemed best
to adopt a variation of that, once I left her cell."</p><p>"Seemed best."
Draco shook his head. "I think you're the only person in the
world who would believe that, Harry."</p><p>"Yes, well." Harry
thought about that, then plowed through the next words. "I'm
always going to have scars from my abuse, Draco. I think my mistake
this time was assuming they were so healed that my new desire to
suppress my emotions couldn't <em>possibly</em> have anything to do
with my other attempts to do so. It did, and I should have realized
that. If I keep in mind that the past happened, instead of putting it
away, then maybe I do stand a chance of realizing this when it next
tries to happen."</p><p>"You promised that
you wouldn't suppress your emotions any more." Draco had a line
between his brows.</p><p>"<em>That</em>, I
did," said Harry. "But that's one specific action. There are
other things I could do that might be just as damaging, and would be
a result of my wanting to escape fully feeling, and which wouldn't
violate the spirit of the vow I made to Henrietta." He squeezed
Draco's hand. "That's why I rely on you and Snape to speak to
me when you notice something odd about me."</p><p>"It's bloody
frustrating when you keep insisting that nothing is wrong," Draco
grumbled.</p><p>"I know," said
Harry, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I know that I'm bloody
frustrating, and the fact that you love me anyway says an awful lot
about you, Draco. And about Professor Snape. And about Connor." He
serenely ignored the face Draco made at the comparison to his
brother. "Maybe it will be better now that I'm going to try to
think about the past, and wonder if a new action that sounds
absolutely wonderful to me has a connection to the past."</p><p>That decision hadn't
been easy. He'd faced it early this afternoon and forced himself
through it. He couldn't undo the past, couldn't make what had
happened to him solely a source of strength any more than he could
make the centuries house elves had spent under wizards' webs into a
learning experience. They had <em>happened</em>, and though his own
experience had been of significantly less duration and significantly
less damaging than the elves', it was as unchangeable. What Harry
could do was watch for its echoes rebounding into the future and
close them off when possible.</p><p><em>So my parents
aren't strangers to me. I'll never visit them, never see them
again, won't give them a second chance to establish a relationship
with me, but I can't pretend they never existed. And the fact that
I was—abused—</em>he still disliked the word—<em>happened. And
not all the effects it had on me are positive. I'll just have to
think about that, integrate it in with all the rest.</em></p><p>Maybe that was what
had been hardest. At one point, during the months when he'd talked
with Joseph especially, Harry had come to think he would reach a time
when he could integrate all aspects of his present life and past,
including his <em>vates</em> work and his relationships with Draco and
Snape and his bond with Connor and his politics and his battle with
Voldemort and his memories, and be at peace. And now, every time he
thought the integration was complete, there was another shard to be
added. He didn't think the peace of completion would ever come.</p><p><em>Well, of course
not, </em>he thought, and the emotion behind this thought was a
gentle, wry self-deprecation he hadn't felt in a while. <em>It would
be too simple otherwise. And I'm not destined to lead a simple
life.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Rufus stretched his
arms until they cracked. Then he sipped the last of his tea. Then he
signed his name to several small requests for funding that were usual
in the Ministry, down to the regularity with which they arrived on
his desk.</p><p>The whole time,
Harry's letter sat in the middle of the desk, and mocked him.</p><p>Rufus would have
laughed at himself for being afraid of an envelope and parchment, but
he had seen what they could carry. It was a piece of parchment, and
no official announcement, that had authorized the Aurors to use
Unforgivable Curses for a short time during the First War. It was a
letter that had told Rufus he was now Head of the Auror Office. It
was a newspaper article, an unpublished one even, that had prompted
this latest crisis with the werewolves.</p><p>But no one was in the
office with him, and he did need to know what news Harry had sent in
response to his request to delay for a short time on fighting for the
rights of half-human children. He slit the envelope open, slowly, and
as slowly drew out the letter folded inside.</p><p><em>June 1st,
1997</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister: </em></p><p><em>I agree that with
the rest of the wizarding world boiling right now, I may have chosen
the wrong time to press forward with this campaign.</em></p><p>Rufus closed his eyes
tightly, and tried to prevent tears from falling, which told him,
once again, how overtired he was, how much he had needed to hear some
news like this. Then he let out a long, slow breath and continued
reading.</p><p><em>I have sent letters
to my allies telling them the truth: that I feel moving right now
will cost us an ally and win us no friends. It is up to them to
accept this or not. Some may choose to act without me, bringing
petitions or challenging the laws. But I think most of them will
agree to stay quiet. They know how vital a friendly Minister is to
the success of this particular fight. Unlike the centaurs, whose
choice it is to live without the wizarding world or within it, these
allies of mine all have human parents, or at least human relatives.
They wish to be able to stay in our world. They would also like to
show their faces freely, that's all.</em></p><p><em>Distance yourself
from me in public and in the Wizengamot, if you must. I ask only that
you do not turn "someday" into "never."</em></p><p><em>Sincerely,</em></p><p><em>Harry </em>vates.</p><p>Rufus sighed. He felt
as if he had lived through a bad dream, believing it to be reality,
only to wake and find out it was only a dream after all, and he could
put those concerns away.</p><p>Then his mouth worked
up into a smirk he could feel. If anyone had been in the office
besides him, he felt sure they would have been flinching, or asking
questions.</p><p>As it was, now that he
had the time and freedom to maneuver, he knew <em>exactly</em> where
and how to hit Juniper's groundswell of support in the Wizengamot.
The Elders were clinging to Juniper not because he was their only
choice, but because he was the one who was saying what they wanted to
hear, and he had a fallow political reputation, vaguely good in many
people's eyes, not prominent. Now that he was finally choosing to
move, their impression was one of power on the rise, having gathered
itself by its long dormancy.</p><p>Rufus intended to show
them that his power, the active and real one, the one present on
stage during the great events of the last few years, was the one that
would truly rise in a wave, and knock Juniper and his supporters off
their feet.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>It was done.</p><p>Indigena glanced
around in satisfaction. The last wards were set on her Lord's new
home. Spells would twang an alarm if anyone approached within a mile
who was not loyal to Lord Voldemort. It had taken Indigena quite some
time to figure out how to hook the wards to true thoughts, and not to
something physical like the presence of a Dark Mark on one's arm,
but she had found a way at last.</p><p>She looked once more
at where her Lord was resting, and shook her head. Falco, might he be
the playing of the wild Dark for the next century, had done a good
job carving this place, at least. Tunnels connected three large
chambers, one meant as a throne room—currently the resting room—of
Voldemort, one meant as a meeting place, and one that Indigena
thought would work well for torture, given all the channels carved in
the floor to carry liquid. Packed earth made all of those, though her
tendrils had found every small hole in the dirt already.</p><p>Other, smaller rooms
would hold prisoners, or work as bedrooms. Indigena had already
claimed one of them for her own.</p><p>The wards twanged.</p><p>Indigena spun and
stretched out her arms. Her plants surged up around her, vines
running through her hair and plunging into the ceiling, walls
splitting apart as her roots urged them to the sides, the rose around
her left wrist rearing and ready to spit its deadly poison. Together,
they dragged her straight through the roof of the burrow and out into
the open light. Indigena rose, circled past the remains of a
shattered wall, and leaped over other chunks of rubble to stand
facing the east, where the disturbance had come from.</p><p>She saw what it was
soon enough. He approached openly, not trying to conceal himself.
Indigena gripped her wand tightly, though she had to admit not even a
barrier of thorns would have kept her entirely free from fear, given
the madness in his dark eyes.</p><p>"Why are you here,
Evan?" she asked.</p><p>"To look," Evan
Rosier said, folding his arms. "To see the place where you tried to
put a cage around me."</p><p>Indigena raised her
eyebrows. <em>His madness has advanced. </em>"That was near the
Riddle house, Evan," she said gently. "This is my Lord's new
lair." She moved her wand in an absent circular motion, wondering
if she could begin the golden bridle spell without Evan noticing. Her
Lord, for whatever reason, wanted the madman among his hands and
feet. They would have to bind him somehow.</p><p>"I used the wrong
verb tense," said Evan, and laughed at her. Indigena thought it was
the kind of laughter a rabid dog would issue, could it do so. "I
have a habit of doing that."</p><p>He leaned nearer, his
face friendly and full of cheer. "You should have killed me the
first time you met me," he said. "It would have saved you a good
deal of trouble."</p><p>Indigena cast the
first binding curse, but Evan had already leaped. Never mind that the
wards were supposed to prevent Apparition away from her Lord's
sanctuary unless Voldemort had given his permission to that person.
This was Evan. His magic largely did what it wanted, and always had.</p><p>She stood there,
shaking, and closed her eyes. She would not let one man who made it
his business to unsettle people unsettle her.</p><p><em>A few more days. A
few more days, and then you can move. That will rid you of some of
this nervous energy.</em></p><p>In the meantime, she
would garden. That always relaxed her.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 116*: The Old Light</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Ninety-One: The Old Light</strong></p><p>Rufus had made sure he
slept well. His mind was as clear as it was likely to become. He had
talked with Percy quietly as they went to Courtroom Ten, not about
what had happened the last time they were there, Unbreakable Vows and
Unspeakables and the Ritual of Cincinnatus, but about the progress of
his training. Percy, though inclined to squint at him at first as if
he thought there must be something wrong for the Minister to take an
interest in an Auror trainee, was describing it with enthusiasm now.</p><p>"And then they said
that the trainees who had a difficult time lying down behind the
walls and casting curses could get up, because it was their turn
now—"</p><p><em>Gryffindor. Pure
Gryffindor, every inch of him. </em>It didn't surprise Rufus a bit
that Percy preferred being in battle and casting curses to lying down
behind a wall and doing so in safety. He might change his mind if he
were ever in a real battle, since the walls would keep not only him
but the comrades he would care about safe.</p><p>And then Rufus
remembered that Percy had already been in a battle, the one in the
Ministry two years ago where he had stepped in front of a curse to
save Rufus's life.</p><p><em>Well, I was wrong,
then. Pure Gryffindor, plain and simple.</em></p><p>The Aurors waiting as
guards on Courtroom Ten opened the door for them. Rufus could see
their slightly wary gazes. They were weighing him, trying to decide
how much gravity he had this morning, how much force to pull the rest
of the Wizengamot towards him. Since the mistake with Cupressus
Apollonis, a few of the Aurors who had more political ambitions than
the rest were beginning to distance themselves from him. Personal
loyalty could not stand against loyalty to family for most purebloods
and even halfbloods, as Rufus had reason to know.</p><p>He smiled at them.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he said crisply. "A good day for the
Light." And he strode past them, not even his bad leg troubling him
much this morning. He'd soaked it last night in a long bath full of
the potions that the Healer he'd seen sixteen years ago, just after
he received the wound, recommended. He didn't usually do it because
it took three hours to bring a little relief, and besides, the wound
was a badge of honor. But for today, when he wanted to look as though
he controlled the British wizarding world—as he still did, as they
hadn't yet said he didn't—he'd bathed it to make sure he
would have <em>no</em> trouble walking.</p><p>A tide of speculation
was already rising behind him, then, and he added to it when he
appeared in the gallery of Courtroom Ten and walked to his place
beside Griselda Marchbanks. Usually, Rufus had waited in the bottom
of the chamber, near the place where prisoners sat, to escort the
werewolves who spoke to the Wizengamot in. Most of the Elders were
only willing to hear them if they had a guarantee of their good
behavior from the Minister himself.</p><p>Now there were no more
petitioners to be heard from. The Wizengamot was going to put the
werewolf crisis to a vote today, if Rufus had anything to say about
it, or at least make sure that this did not continue for much longer.
He needed either enough Elders to secure the vote or enough to make
sure his coalition did not crumble between now and the next session.</p><p>So he took his place
among them again, as an equal, and he could tell it affected them, to
see his confident stride and set face. He took the seat next to
Griselda, and nodded to her and a few other Elders who regularly
followed her, but let his gaze skim coolly over everyone else. He
could feel Percy, who'd followed him in to serve as an attendant
and secretary if necessary, holding in exultant laughter.</p><p>"Good morning,
Rufus," Griselda said, her voice so soft that even magnifying
charms would have had a difficult time bringing it to anyone else's
ears. "What has cheered <em>you</em> up so efficiently?"</p><p>"Good morning,
Griselda," Rufus returned. "You'll see in a short while, when
everyone else does."</p><p>She sat back in her
chair and looked thoughtfully at him. Rufus knew she was wondering at
his refusal to tell her ahead of time. Besides being the friend of
the southern goblins, she was his friend in her own right. Why would
he want to keep a secret from his closest allies?</p><p><em>Because nothing
must be allowed to go wrong, old friend, </em>Rufus thought, while he
sat back and kept his gaze as smooth and assessing as a hawk's. <em>You
would probably be able to look surprised when I told you about
Harry's letter, but I will not take the chance. The expression of
surprise must be genuine, and if someone asks you later whether you
knew what I was going to say, you must be able to say no.</em></p><p><em>Today, we begin on
a new footing. And there might be a few even of my friends reluctant
to follow me onto the ground I'll propose. Well. That is as it must
be. But in that case, I will not give them special consideration.</em></p><p>He watched the last
few Elders come into the room. Some of them were exchanging looks and
mutters with each other that were probably the results of growing
coalitions, or small, fragile alliances against Juniper. Rufus found
himself more and more amused as moments passed, and Juniper still did
not appear. It was unlikely that he would be late this day of all
days. He would wait until the moment the meeting was supposed to
begin, and then arrive, drawing all eyes to him.</p><p>And sure enough, that
was what he did. He came in clad in a dark cloak that wrapped his
robes so closely one would have thought it was December instead of
June. Rufus had made a private bet with himself that Juniper would
wear special robes for this special occasion. He wondered if he were
right.</p><p>Juniper handed the
cloak to one of the Aurors waiting next to the door, who didn't
look as if he relished being made into a house elf, but could hardly
protest a gesture like that from an Elder of the Wizengamot. Then he
strode into the middle of the gallery towards his seat, which was
just a bit left of center, his chin uplifted.</p><p>Rufus nodded slowly.
Juniper's robes were red, with a golden bird imprinted on them in
the colors of wavering flame. It was not a phoenix, as the stylized
flames around it showed, but a firebird, a much older symbol. The
firebird had longer legs, and its specialty was its dance, as the
phoenix's was its song. Once, in the darker ages when there were no
Ministries and records were uncertain, Light wizards bearing the
firebird symbol had been the ones who preserved history, the ones who
defended the defenseless, the ones who fought back Dark wizards who
would have made slaves of both Muggles and their own kind.</p><p>It was really no
surprise that Juniper was choosing to ally himself with that
tradition. In his own eyes, he <em>was</em> the continuation of that
tradition, one of the few wizards who cared about what happened to
the world he'd grown up in, and which he still valued.</p><p>Rufus had studied some
history of his own, though. He knew there had been Dark wizards in
the ranks of the firebirds. He knew that one way the Light wizards
had finally settled the slavery disputes was by binding magical
creatures to do the work instead. It was suspected that that was the
reason house elves had been bound, though details on their webs were
sketchy.</p><p>The firebird stood for
Light, for grace, for an old and proud set of customs that worked at
making the wizarding world better. It also stood for exclusion, for
cutting out, for oppression of others as long as those others weren't
part of the group the firebird wizards had sworn to protect.</p><p>It stood for
sacrifice.</p><p>Rufus had spent enough
time cleaning up the mess that sacrificial ethics had made of the
wizarding world. He wasn't about to let it start again.</p><p>He rose and extended
his hands with a slight bow. Juniper, who had opened his mouth to
make an announcement, turned to face him with a small blink.</p><p>Rufus caught his eyes,
and let his own opposition and pride and merriment shine forth.</p><p>Juniper's head
lowered slightly, and his face darkened. Rufus made his smile just
this shade of mocking, and then turned to face the rest of the
Wizengamot.</p><p>"Wizards and witches
of the Wizengamot," he said, "gentlemen and ladies of the British
wizarding world." He turned his gaze back and forth, regular as
clockwork, making sure to encompass them all. "We have heard a
great deal about tradition in the arguments set forth in the last few
days. We have heard that it is tradition to make sure werewolves
cannot harm others, instead of good sense. We have heard it is
tradition to keep our world secret from the Muggles, while forgetting
the historical pressures that led to the decision. And we have heard
that the core of our world is humanity for a very good reason:
because it is tradition. I see that Elder Juniper has come today
wearing another nod to the old allegiances.</p><p>"I am here today to
tell you that our traditions are fossilized, and have not dealt well
enough with the vast changes our world has undergone in the last few
years. Law, history, custom—all those are good things to keep in
mind. But we must also be mindful of the new, and able to face
challenges we have never met before. All laws, all incidents of
history, all customs, were new at one point in time. And now it is
our turn to make new ones that our descendants will follow."</p><p>He saw faces brighten
across the gallery. They were willing to listen, if he could only
convince them that he was worth listening to. And he would. He had
promised himself he would, and his conviction throbbed in his voice.
If he could <em>sound</em> convincing, then at least some of them would
be more open to his proposal, whether or not they chose to follow it
in the end.</p><p>He caught Juniper's
eye, and thus saw the almighty scowl the man was throwing him. Rufus
smiled sweetly back, and swept into the second phase of his speech.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Narcissa appeared, and
staggered. She had visualized the desolate heath properly, but not
the exact section of slope where she had Apparated. She caught
herself and turned, wand out, ready to defend herself against a
series of wards or a guardian beast. She was almost sure that she
would have to, given where she was.</p><p>But the bleak country
around her remained silent, without even a trace of singing birds.
The sun tried to catch on the withered grass and rough hill-slopes,
but there was nothing to attract its reflection or make it want to
shine. Narcissa shook her head and lowered her wand. She did not put
it away. That would be foolish, considering where she was.</p><p>She turned again, and
the house was behind her, looking remarkably similar to the old
picture she'd found.</p><p>She moved a step
forward, and then paused as conflicting emotions filled her. They
could hardly help but be conflicting. Her husband was in that house,
and the last time Narcissa had seen him, she would have lived
perfectly well if his magic had been drained from him.</p><p>Now, though, nearly a
month had passed, and he had not ventured out of the house or made
any other stir. And Narcissa had discerned for herself where he must
be, remembering the estate he'd once spoken of which his ancestors
had warded so that only one of the oldest living generation of
Malfoys could enter it.</p><p>And—well. Draco
would have been horrified to hear this, but her relationship with
Lucius was different, family pride or no family pride. He had
disgraced the family. But while Draco looked on him as a
disappointing Malfoy, Narcissa, who had not been born to the name she
carried, looked on him as a disappointing husband. He was not the man
she had married.</p><p><em>Not exactly. </em>The
final gesture he had made, leaving the Manor and most of the
properties to Draco, showed that he had a trace of that man left in
him. And Narcissa had fallen in love with Lucius over years, while
Draco had known his father from the time he was born and come to
accept and love him in a different way. Narcissa's bond with Lucius
had more to do with choice and free will.</p><p>This was not another
chance, she reassured herself as she walked towards the house. This
was another look. If Lucius could not change, she would leave, and
not look over her shoulder again, because there would be nothing
there to salvage. But she had not had enough time to be <em>sure</em>
he could not change.</p><p>Her mother's voice
scolded her in the back of her head, telling her that marrying for
love was a dangerous idea. Narcissa ignored it. Her mother had taken
the same view of Andromeda's marriage, and her sister was happier
with Ted Tonks than Narcissa had ever seen any pureblooded witch
who'd done her duty by the family be. Their own rigorous training
could not make up for a life lived almost without emotion.</p><p>Narcissa had been
lucky in that her duty and her heart led her to the same place. Now,
when they had apparently split apart, she thought she at least owed
her heart a last glimpse.</p><p>She was about twenty
feet away from the house when the door opened, and Lucius stood
there, waiting for her with an unsurprised look on his face. Other
than dark circles under his eyes that indicated a lack of sleep, he
also seemed unchanged.</p><p>"Narcissa. My
darling." He stepped away and made a deep bow, sweeping his arm
past himself. "Do come in."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"I wish you to tell
me, any of you," Rufus went on, his eyes burning over the wizards
and witches who stared at him, "when we last confronted a
Lord-level wizard the age of the <em>vates</em>. For that matter, when
did we have a <em>vates?</em> When did we learn that our own past
wrongs—the house elves, the centaurs, the goblins, the
werewolves—could have voices and come back to haunt us? When did we
last learn that a wizard many of us had trusted to be a Lord and
leader was a child abuser? The best of us, committing the worst crime
our world can imagine?"</p><p>He paused, and waited
for an answer. <em>This</em> was the risk that he was taking, and which
the other members of the Wizengamot might not follow him into. As
they grew older, many wizards grew more conservative, prone to
insisting that the way they knew was the only way. The training in
pureblood dances that many of them underwent only made it worse. The
pureblood dances made one strong—Rufus knew, having learned many of
them himself—but they did not often make one flexible. Someone
shaped by a certain set of rituals, Dark or Light, was shaped to fit
only one world.</p><p>And perhaps, at one
point in time, that world had been the only one that existed, the
only one that a Wizengamot member needed to concern himself with. But
that was not the case anymore. Rufus did not think it had been the
case for the last hundred years. And he burned now, himself, at the
thought of all that time lost. The Ministry could have been a beacon
of progress and <em>true</em> Light. They might not have had to put up
with idiots like Fudge.</p><p>But he could not
change the past, and that included his own mistakes. He could only
leap into the future.</p><p>"We have never
learned anything like that," said Griselda, her voice strong.
Usually, she relied on softness to make her point, causing others to
lean forward to hear her, but this time her words carried through the
courtroom.</p><p>Rufus smiled at her.
She had chosen to trust him. And since she was over a hundred and
sixty years old, many of the Elders would remember that she had lived
through events that were only ancient history to them.</p><p>"That doesn't mean
it's right to abandon tradition in our response," said Elizabeth
Dawnborn, a fussy Elder, younger than most, but with a very metallic
approach to the way the Wizengamot should do things. "We might not
have had a Lord become a child abuser before, but we've had child
abusers, and we've had Lords. Why not deal with them in that way,
Minister Scrimgeour?" She frowned at him, and rearranged her robes
around herself with a little jerk. "Why did you allow the <em>vates</em>
to kill him and not be arrested for murder?"</p><p>"Ask anyone who was
in the Ministry that day," said Rufus gently, which only made the
bite of his next words worse. "Ask anyone, Elder Dawnborn, and he
will tell you of the horrors of <em>Capto Horrifer.</em> The wizard who
would use such a spell has passed the limit that most criminals, even
child abusers, never cross. He cares only about hurting others. And
Harry was the only one who could stop him."</p><p>"It seems,"
Juniper said, interposing himself with a quiet, casual grace that
Rufus had to admire, "that you are determined to have exceptions
for your pet <em>vates</em>, Rufus, whether or not they make good
sense, whether or not he actually does anything to benefit the
wizarding world."</p><p>Rufus felt his eyes
kindle with delight. In Juniper's anxiety to make his point, he had
not chosen his words carefully enough. "Why, Erasmus," he said,
dropping the title, as Juniper had done to him. "I thought I was
<em>his</em> pet, that he pulled <em>my</em> leash, and not the other way
around. Or do we take turns kneeling and barking?"</p><p>That was a risk, in a
way, reminding the Elders of Juniper's accusation. But it also
pointed up the contradiction that lay in Juniper's words, and let
none of them escape it.</p><p>And, a moment later,
Griselda let out a shout of laughter, which led the common reaction.</p><p>Rufus held Juniper's
eyes through the chuckles, and saw the pale skin flush. He had made a
mistake, his most critical one in several days, but he might be able
to regain his footing if Rufus would just let him.</p><p>Rufus did not let him.</p><p>"And that is the
problem we need to solve," he said, swinging away from Juniper and
letting his passion swell his voice. He was doubly glad he had taken
the bath of potions for his leg last night. It enabled him to stride
back and forth rapidly, an impressive figure, rather than limping and
reminding everyone of what he had lost in the First War. "We are
trying too hard to approach the <em>vates</em>, and the changes he
brings along with him or inspires, through old metaphors. He must be
a pet of the Minister. No, he must be a Dark wizard, even though he
is undeclared, and even though we profess to value the allegiances of
other wizards when they make them, including statements of bowing to
neither Dark nor Light. No, he must be only an abused child, though
the Wizengamot itself condemned his parents to Tullianum, and want to
treat him like an adult otherwise. No, he must be an enemy of the
state, though he has shown himself willing to negotiate when
necessary.</p><p>"I propose a new set
of metaphors, witches and wizards. I propose making a treaty with the
<em>vates</em> as if he were the Minister of another country,
recognizing him as an adult before he turns seventeen, and appointing
him the liaison between the Ministry and groups such as the werewolf
packs."</p><p><em>That</em> made them
erupt, as Rufus had known it would.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Narcissa lifted her
head. "I am not stupid, Lucius," she said quietly. "I know the
house will not permit anyone not of the elder Malfoy blood to enter
it. I don't fancy being thrown on my knees for you to laugh at."</p><p>"My dear," Lucius
said, and lounged against the doorway as if lounging were an art,
"when was the last time I <em>laughed</em> while you were on your
knees?"</p><p><em>That one, </em>Narcissa
had to admit, <em>I stumbled right into. </em>She kept her head up and
watched her husband, noting the exact position of his wand hand.
Nonverbally, she cast the incantation that would tell her where any
wood on his body was. It couldn't catch all weapons, of course,
since it would miss metal blades, but it would reveal the hiding
place of a wand.</p><p>She blinked when she
realized that he carried no wand at all, that it must still be inside
the house, and stared at him.</p><p>"I don't need a
wand to talk to you." Lucius studied her from behind a strand of
blowing blond hair, and spoke the preposterous sentence with easy
confidence.</p><p>"You could not know
that," said Narcissa quietly. The silence around the heath and the
house seemed to absorb any words she might have spoken anyway, even
if she had shouted. She wondered if it was the effect of spells, or
if perhaps the Malfoy ancestor who had built this house here had
chosen the place for its quietude. "I might have come prepared to
kill you, Lucius. You embarrassed your family, which is my family by
right of marriage, and cost your son's partner and allies."</p><p>"My son's partner
and allies are not my son," Lucius said. "And you are not my son,
either, Narcissa. You are my wife. What we have between us is
connected to what we have between us and Draco, but not the same. You
know that."</p><p>"Need I remind you
that I chose Draco the last time you gave me a choice?"</p><p>"I did not give you
a choice," said Lucius. "I made the choice myself, and thought to
inform you. That was my mistake, Narcissa."</p><p>Narcissa stiffened
slightly. That had indeed been what offended her the most about the
way Lucius handled Draco's disownment. He had not asked her advice,
nor even listened to the few slight hints she tried to give him about
the building conflict between him and Draco. He had simply signed the
documents and assumed she would agree. She had thought, when she
Apparated away from the Manor after their duel, that that was
something Lucius would never realize.</p><p>But he had realized
it, and that made him infinitely more dangerous.</p><p>As well as more
attractive.</p><p>Narcissa felt suddenly
as if she were back in the heady first days of their courtship, when
every encounter with Lucius had the thick excitement of a lovers'
meeting, and the tension of a battle. Neither of them backed down
from the other. Show a weakness, and the other would bite in an
instant. She had won some battles and lost others. But she had grown,
almost, to think during the last year that Lucius would never win
again.</p><p><em>I deserve to lose
this one, then, for being that stupid. But the competition is not
quite over yet, because he does not know everything.</em></p><p>"I gave Harry my
permission to drain your magic." Narcissa made sure to empty her
voice of emotion, and Lucius's leg twitched the tiniest bit. "Draco
agreed to the same thing."</p><p>"You did not want me
dead," said Lucius, "but alive and a Squib. Did you not think I
would prefer to be dead, Narcissa?"</p><p>"Lucius, dear one,"
said Narcissa, with a faint sigh and a fainter smile, "you did not
listen to me. <em>Drained of magic</em>. You would not be a Squib, but
a Muggle, the way that Harry's mother became."</p><p>This time, it was
Lucius's lips that twitched, giving the round to her.</p><p>"As for what you
preferred," said Narcissa, "no, frankly, at that point in time,
it never crossed my mind, Lucius. You had betrayed one of our allies
and put your son and your leader in a horrible position. You had
embarrassed the Malfoy family name. I was more concerned with the
possible shame and degradation you had left behind you."</p><p>"Ah." Lucius
tilted his head and let his eyelids slip to half-mast. "And you
have come to find out why I did it, Narcissa, and to scold me for it
if possible."</p><p>"I prefer the term
<em>show you your mistakes.</em>"</p><p>Lucius nodded. "You
would. The simple reason I did it, Narcissa, was to maintain my life
and my power in as good a state as I could leave them. Betraying
Parkinson helped to provoke Harry into a course of action I hoped
would be easier to control than his careen throughout September, and
it removed the Unspeakables from blackmailing me—I imagined. And my
son should be able to survive on his own, without my support, and
without being judged by my shadow. If he is, then he has not yet
achieved the independence and the political recognition that he needs
to make a difference in the world, and he is still only 'Harry's
lover,' not 'Draco Malfoy.' This served as a test of Draco, in
the long run, to see how well he would adapt—a more controlled and
less dangerous test than many I could have devised."</p><p>Narcissa thought for a
long, fleeting, wild moment. She could accuse him of not wanting to
test Draco at all, of getting caught up by events, but he had
rewritten similar circumstances in his mind before. He could deny it
and claim that he had intended this "exam" for Draco from the
beginning. He might even believe it by now, the way he believed <em>he</em>
had been the one to provoke Draco into challenging him for his
confirmation as magical heir.</p><p>So she took his words
instead. With Lucius, it was always better to do so. "So you
maintained your life and your power, Lucius? Is that all?"</p><p>By the flare in her
husband's eyes, he saw the trap then, but Narcissa was speaking too
fast for him to forestall her by interruption.</p><p>"How pathetic."
Narcissa gave him a steady gaze, raking him up and then down. "How
pathetic that you wished simply to remain as you were, instead of
pushing forward, Lucius. Did you not once tell me that you wanted to
become more than you were, and that was the only reason worth
risk-taking?"</p><p>He bared his teeth at
her, mask cracked for the first time since the conversation had
begun.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Rufus waited to see
who would speak the first question. Really, he would be disappointed
if it were not Juniper. He should recover quickly enough to head the
pack.</p><p>"What is the meaning
of this, Minister?" And sure enough, that was Elder Juniper, his
voice calm and cold and utterly in contrast with the warm promise of
the firebird on his robes. "Do you really think the <em>vates</em>,
who has reminded us often enough that he is independent of the
Ministry, will agree to become a liaison for us? When he is already
pushing forward the campaign to give halfbreed children rights that
their inhuman instincts should deny them? The <em>vates</em> is a
child, a dangerous one, with a sense of impulse but no sense of
pacing or the rights of others."</p><p><em>Erasmus, Erasmus,
Erasmus.</em> Rufus stifled the temptation to shake his head in sorrow
at the Elder's fumbling. <em>You have just said many things that you
should not have.</em></p><p>"Owls fly faster
than words, Elder," he said, and unfolded Harry's letter that
he'd received yesterday evening, tapping it with his wand. A
neutral voice began to read Harry's words out loud, confirming that
he knew the fight for the rights of half-human wizards would take
some time, and that he was willing to wait. Rufus kept his eyes on
Juniper all the way through the recitation, and saw his face turning
steadily whiter. By the time the words finished, Rufus thought it was
all Juniper could do not to twitch.</p><p>Rufus lowered the
letter, and said calmly, into that dazed silence, "Harry <em>vates</em>
does not walk independently of the Ministry when he does not have to.
He let a hunting season be proclaimed before he chose to oppose us
with violence on behalf of the werewolves and shelter fugitives,
despite the oath that said his blood would turn to silver if he did
not openly help them. He refused the Order of Merlin at first because
he felt he did not deserve it. When he did accept it, it was only
reluctantly and with assurances that he <em>did</em> deserve it."
Rufus felt a pang of regret at that. As much as that trait of Harry's
was helping him right now, it was one he would rather Harry did not
have. "Now he has agreed to step back and wait on a cause that's
very important to him. Does that sound like someone who will refuse
to work with us, to obey the laws? Does that sound like an impulsive,
hotheaded child who cannot control himself? Does that sound like
someone who would, in fact, refuse to be our liaison with the packs?"</p><p>Silence answered him,
and then Griselda Marchbanks. "No. It does not."</p><p>"It really doesn't."
That was Daisy Longchamps, an Elder who had followed Juniper, but
whom Rufus often trusted to see good sense. It just had to be shoved
in her face first. She spoke reluctantly now, but with a set
determination to her jaw that said she wouldn't back down.</p><p>"No. It does not."
Rufus cocked his head like a bird at Juniper, who was looking
considerably paler now. "Nor does it sound like someone unworthy of
the extra autonomy I propose to give him, especially when he will be
seventeen at the end of July. What he sounds like is a unique person,
the first <em>vates</em> anywhere in the world. I would have Britain
<em>honored</em> by this distinction, Elders, not confounded by it.
Right now, we are easy targets for international criticism. But the
other Ministries, the other wizarding communities, do not have our
problems. Very smug they can be, resting on their laurels and
congratulating themselves on their belief that they would deal better
with a <em>vates</em> in their care."</p><p>He spun away and
lifted his hand, the one not holding Harry's letter but his wand,
high. "But suppose we show them that not only do we have a <em>vates</em>—he
was born in our country and no other, he is British, he is <em>ours</em>—but
we can work with him, use his goals to make our community better, our
laws more just, our people more forward-looking? They will have egg
on their faces for laughing at us then. Instead of claiming they
could do so much better, they will have to <em>do</em> that much
better, and without the luxury of a <em>vates</em> who will work with
them.</p><p>"We can gain our
prominence back with this change, as we will gain so much else. I can
see objections rising that treating with Harry as we would a Minister
will weaken our position—" that was the next thing Juniper would
have said, Rufus just knew it "—but <em>I</em> say that we can
hardly be weaker than we are right now, when we flounder and scrabble
madly in our indecision about the werewolf packs, and a
sixteen-year-old wizard outdoes us in maturity." He waved Harry's
letter again.</p><p>"I do not except
myself from blame. I have made mistakes. I have had Light wizards
believe that I am not their friend for accusing Cupressus Apollonis
of child abuse, and, as Harry says, I am aware that I might be forced
out, as much for making this suggestion as for anything else.</p><p>"But I say to you
that I am ready and willing to make amends for my mistakes, and this
declaration is the first step. It seals and strengthens our bonds
with our <em>vates</em>. It grants a concession that is hardly a
concession, given how close Harry is to wizarding maturity already.
It gives the werewolves what they have asked for—a speaker who is
sworn to the oaths of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow, who originated
them, in fact—and demands they prove that they mean what they say
about dealing with us. It determines our course, and gives our allies
the potential to be strong, or falter because they are not strong
enough, not because we made them falter." He paused, and flashed a
smile around the room. "It makes us look <em>damn</em> good."</p><p>The laughter broke out
again, led by Elizabeth Dawnborn this time, who stood up to clap. A
few witches and wizards followed her, then more, until ten of them
were standing. It was a start, Rufus thought, his heart pounding with
excitement, especially since some of those standing had been
Juniper's most noteworthy allies.</p><p>"Minister,"
Dawnborn said, her eyes flashing with that same contagious
excitement, "what you say makes sense. And I would much rather have
this move into the light of day. I am sick of debating about the
packs and chasing the same words around again and again. I wish
others to <em>know</em> what I am doing, where I stand. An official
announcement will have that advantage as well as all the others you
named. I support your proposal."</p><p><em>Ah, the honesty of
the Light. </em>Rufus was pleased. Dawnborn had an allergy to sneaking
around and hiding and keeping one's affairs private which was
common to many of the old Light families. She had been Light-sworn
since she was nine, a Gryffindor in Hogwarts, and well-known as an
advocate for wizards and witches whom the laws had hurt before she
became a Wizengamot Elder. Moreover, she was younger than most of
them, and more likely to be won heart and soul by a passionate
speech.</p><p>Glancing around the
room, Rufus could see that it wasn't that way with all of them.
Some would hesitate, and not commit fully in heart and mind until
they saw if this worked. But all of them could catch the mood of the
room now. Opposing Rufus in public at this moment was political
suicide.</p><p><em>I wonder if more of
them will go along because they think they must, and everyone else
believes in what I am doing, than will go along because they believe
in what I am doing?</em></p><p>It was a most amusing
thought. Of course, the biggest test was yet to come.</p><p>Rufus turned to face
Elder Juniper. "Elder Dawnborn has been particularly eloquent in
her appreciation of my efforts," he said. "Your thoughts, sir?"</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"You do not have a
right to call me pathetic," Lucius said, his voice drained of
emotion, but full of clenching teeth. "Or what are <em>you</em> doing
here, Narcissa, seeking a husband you claim has embarrassed the
family?"</p><p>Narcissa cocked her
head. Some of the funniest moments in her marriage—not necessarily
the best, of course—came when Lucius insulted himself without
realizing it. "Lucius," she said.</p><p>"<em>What</em>?"
That was a hiss. If Lucius had been a cat, his ears would have been
pinned straight back against his head.</p><p>"You do realize that
you have just called yourself a pathetic quest object, don't you?"
Narcissa kept her voice gentle.</p><p>Lucius opened his
mouth slightly and raised a leg as if he would step forward. Narcissa
tensed, the situation returning to her in a rush. If he came out on
the heath, out from under the protection of the wards, she would be
obligated to at least try to bind him and take him back to Hogwarts
so Harry could drain his magic.</p><p>The thought that she
wouldn't try very hard flashed through her mind, but she caught and
slaughtered it. She <em>would</em> try. She might have come to visit
Lucius, but that was a very far cry from letting him escape, or even
duel her. She had made her choice. Draco and Harry had her loyalty
and her love, Lucius only her love.</p><p>Luckily for both of
them, Lucius halted where he was, his head lowering slightly so that
his blond hair fell across his face. Narcissa waited, her fingers
clasped along her wand like twigs.</p><p>"If I built it back
up again?"</p><p>Lucius's voice was
so soft that Narcissa almost could not hear him. "What did you
say?"</p><p>He stared at her. "If
I built it back up again?" he repeated, insistently. "If I built
a reputation for myself? There are still Ministry contacts that
answer to me, and not to Draco—personal favors I did for them, and
which I am owed, that have nothing to do with the Malfoy line. And
there is—there are compensations under the pureblood rituals for
what I did to Parkinson. She is not compelled to accept them, but she
is compelled to at least listen to me, or betray her own honor."</p><p>Narcissa controlled
her breathing, but it was hard. Nothing Lucius ever did had so deeply
shaken her. For him to adopt the position of petitioner was—unheard
of. Even with Harry, he had always arranged matters so that he was
not simply apologizing or making amends, but performing another step
in the truce-dance, or doing something else that reminded the
"wronged" party of their fundamental equality.</p><p>Narcissa knew the
apology rituals. There was a reason they were rarely used. They
simply required more humility than most Dark purebloods had.</p><p>"You didn't give
Draco this house," she said. "You didn't give Draco the whole
fortune. Some Galleons were missing, transferred to a separate
account a few days before you signed those documents."</p><p>Lucius's eyes flared
with triumph, and something more than that. Pride in her, Narcissa
realized, pride that she had figured it out. "Yes."</p><p>"You intended to use
this as more than a place to hide from us," she murmured. "You
intended all the time to build your reputation back up, and to
approach us on a more equal footing when you'd made yourself
indispensable again."</p><p>Some strong emotion
was moving in her, like a current of dark water. She would call part
of it love, and part of it hatred, and part of it surprise at
Lucius's sheer audacity. The rest was not safe to name.</p><p>"Always."</p><p>She watched the proud
line of his throat, the flash of his eyes, and knew that part of her
would always be in love with this man, no matter what he did, no
matter what words or disloyalties passed between them. And she could
not condemn that part. It was reality that it existed. No one ever
got anywhere by fighting reality.</p><p>"I cannot answer
your question," she said. "About what would happen if you built
it up again. Because I do not know if that's possible. I do not
know if you could cause Draco and Harry to forgive you, or make
matters up to Hawthorn Parkinson for almost killing her and bringing
up the memories of her daughter again as well as betraying her to the
Unspeakables."</p><p>Lucius didn't flinch
when she listed the wrongs done to Hawthorn. Of course he did not.
Narcissa knew he did not regret them.</p><p><em>Selfish bastard.
Malfoy. Lucius.</em></p><p>"And if I did?" he
asked. "If I showed you that it <em>is</em> possible? Would you give
me a fair hearing, Narcissa?"</p><p>A moment passed, of
wind and silence and the desolation of the heath.</p><p>"I would,"
Narcissa said, and for a moment she let tears show in her eyes,
vulnerability to complement the vulnerability that Lucius had shown
her with his bowed head and soft voice. "You know I must, you
bastard. No proper witch could ignore someone so strong and so
beautiful."</p><p>She reveled in his
self-satisfied smile. She had <em>wanted</em> to see it again. They
were both yielding to each other: she promising to reconsider him, he
admitting that he cared enough about her and Draco's opinion to try
to do this.</p><p><em>The dance is not
ended. I do not think it can be until one of us is dead.</em></p><p>He did not speak again
as she stepped back and Apparated away, but he did kiss the back of
his hand to her. Narcissa saw him, and carried the gesture with her
into darkness, and then the bright, quiet beauty of Silver-Mirror.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>What else could he do?</p><p>He must say one thing,
for all that it screamed and scraped against his instincts, for all
that he had come into Courtroom Ten intending to say something
entirely different.</p><p>The firebird was warm
on his back. The ghosts of Light wizards past watched him, judging
him under the eye of history, the only judge who was always correct,
who was all-knowing.</p><p>And Erasmus Juniper
had to raise his eyes to Minister Scrimgeour's and agree that, yes,
his proposal sounded like one that would work, and would offer all
the advantages he had promised.</p><p>Watching Scrimgeour's
eyes kindle was like a punch to the stomach. But he had endured worse
political defeats. What he had never done, he thought, was to lose a
contest like this when there was so much at stake—possibly the very
future of Light wizardry and the traditions it had preserved down all
the centuries.</p><p>He waited in silence
while the Minister made another speech, extolling the virtues of his
proposal, and then called for a formal vote. Given what he had done
beforehand, calling on them to make their opposition or agreement
clear, it was self-evident that his proposal would pass, and it did,
with only a few of the bravest abstaining.</p><p>Erasmus would have
abstained, but he knew it would make him look like a sulky child.
Therefore, he voted to tie that irresponsible child to the Ministry,
and Scrimgeour thanked him with a smile too real to be sincere.</p><p>After that, there were
only a few moments before he could escape from the chamber,
retrieving his cloak from the Auror on the way. The robes he had
intended to wear as a sign of triumph, emblazoned and blazing with
the firebird, now seemed more like a sign of shame.</p><p>He Flooed back to his
own home, and spent some time standing in front of the hearth, his
head bowed, deep in thought, one hand braced on the flat stones of
the wall. He had to calm himself down before his afternoon meeting
with Aurora Whitestag and the other members of the budding alliance,
when he would have to warn them about this setback and explain the
effect it would have on their future actions. One thing was certain.
A good portion of their support in the Wizengamot was gone.</p><p>Desperation wouldn't
leave that easily, though. It bubbled and flowed and collected along
his spine, clinging in large gobs to the walls of his stomach.
Controlled breathing did no good. Counting to ten in all the
languages he knew, the languages of other countries and the subject
magical creatures, did no good.</p><p>And why should it?
Didn't this situation <em>deserve</em> a reaction of panic, of
desperation? And few people would give it one.</p><p>Of course, Erasmus
thought, few people understood what was at stake.</p><p>Not even Aurora
Whitestag and the allies she had helped to gather truly understood,
though Erasmus thought Cupressus Apollonis might come close. They did
not know that Light wizardry was dying, that too great a departure
from their traditions could easily mean that they would never have
those traditions back.</p><p>Erasmus spelled off
his robe and set it to floating in front of him, where he could gaze
at the dazzling firebird. Done in shades of gold that became red near
its body, with a long red beak and legs and a dull scarlet eye, it
danced above depictions of wizarding buildings throughout the ages.
So those wizards who had borne the symbol had danced about something
lovely and fragile, the flame of honor, of bravery, of true goodness,
always guarding and tending it carefully lest it go out in the winds
of wickedness.</p><p>They had had a point,
Erasmus thought. Even when the Ministry was built, even when Light
wizards came to dominate Dark in Britain's wizarding community
through a series of Ministers who were <em>all</em> Light, with every
Dark Wizengamot Elder or Lord falling into the traps of corruption
and slavery in the end, the thing they guarded was still a shimmering
and fragile flame. Not all the structures and strictures in the world
would protect a living thing from dying if someone crept through the
bindings and poisoned it.</p><p>And that had happened.
The Ministry had become an institution. Wizards who should have known
better had let their Declarations to the Light become routine. Dark
wizards were allowed to go free and avoid paying for their crimes,
including torture, rape, and murder, because they had money.</p><p>And now the very
species that those ancient Light wizards had bound, in the sure and
certain knowledge that someone must be at the bottom in any society,
were breaking free, and threatening to smother the last gutters of
the flame that were left. The Grand Unified Theory was the tool in
their arsenal meant to turn wizard against wizard if the accusations
of cruelty towards magical creatures didn't work, meant to make
them doubt themselves and the blood and the heritage that had always
singled them out and made them special.</p><p>Erasmus had built on
perceptions like that as he rose, seeking out people who felt the
same way he did, and could have the same passionate conviction to the
cause of goodness and Light, the same desire to protect what was
innocent and pure in their world.</p><p>But few people were
used to that level of committed thinking. Few felt the eyes of their
ancestors on them all the time. Indeed, the people who seemed to do
so were most often Dark purebloods, and of course they would not
hesitate to bribe and flatter and corrupt their opponents. That was
in the best family tradition of Dark wizards, after all.</p><p>Erasmus snorted, and
swung, his robe floating behind him, to eat lunch and dress for his
meeting with Whitestag and her supporters.</p><p>Well, he would show
others that level of thinking. Whitestag and the rest thought they
were using him. He was educating them in the meanwhile, making them
shed their small perceptions and rise higher, showing them that the
real danger of the <em>vates</em> lay in the real, beautiful things he
would kill in the rush to strive after some vague vision of
"betterment."</p><p>This was only a small
setback. Erasmus did not intend to allow that torch, passed from
generation to generation and still ablaze with love, honor, and
tradition, to go out.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 117*: Lie In My Arms This Night</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Ninety-Two: Lie In My Arms This Night</strong></p><p>"Parvati, we have to get—<em>ah</em>—"</p><p>Parvati shut him up by leaning in and snogging him thoroughly. Connor
gave in and wrapped his arms around her, more than happy to be a few
minutes late to Charms if it meant that he got to kiss her a bit
more, and hear the very interesting sound she made when he shifted a
bit closer to her, like <em>this</em>—</p><p>Of course, Parvati, the tease, backed up and left him that way, with
a small smile flirting at the corners of her mouth. Connor growled
and reached for her again, but Parvati said innocently, "We'll be
late to Charms if we don't hurry, Connor," and dashed down the
corridor as if she were as intent on making good marks as Hermione
was.</p><p>Connor took a moment to rearrange himself, including straightening
his tie and murmuring a few useful charms to cover up the marks
Parvati had planted all over his neck. It wasn't every day that his
girlfriend grabbed him where he was waiting outside Potions for
Hermione, hurried him into an alcove down the corridor, and settled
in for some serious snogging. Apparently, Parvati had seen something
in Divination that made Professor Trelawney praise her and give
thirty points to Gryffindor. Connor never <em>had</em> got to ask what
it was, because it was a little difficult to ask complicated
questions when his tongue was in Parvati's mouth.</p><p>To be fair, it would have been a little difficult to ask complicated
questions when his tongue was in anyone else's mouth, either. But
since his experience with other people's mouths was limited and
Parvati wouldn't take it kindly if he were to experiment, Connor
decided that he wouldn't mention that thought to her.</p><p><em>Honestly, </em>said the prim Hermione-voice of his conscience.
<em>Snogging in the dungeons like a pair of teenagers. </em></p><p><em>We</em> are <em>a pair of teenagers, </em>Connor answered the voice
with satisfaction. It tended to shut up in the face of common sense,
which even Hermione could recognize, and it did so now.</p><p>Connor checked himself over one more time, knowing by now that he
<em>would</em> be late to Charms, but not caring. He'd received a kiss
from Parvati <em>and</em> managed to do it in the dungeons without
Snape or the Slytherins catching them <em>and</em> shut the annoying
voice of his conscience up. Life was good.</p><p>At least, life was good until he passed the door to Snape's office,
which, unusually, stood half-open. Connor <em>had</em> to pause and
investigate that, didn't he? <em>Anyone</em> could have got in if the
door was half-open, or anything. Hagrid had been talking about trying
to raise manticores again lately. One could have wandered into
Snape's office and stung him, and then Connor could rush in and
heroically save him.</p><p>Then he listened to the voices that were coming through the door, and
his grin disappeared.</p><p>"Explain to me why you were smiling during Potions today," Snape
said, as if it were something he had a right to demand.</p><p>Harry's voice was soft and wary. Confused. Connor had heard him like
that before, when Harry tried to placate him in the midst of a temper
tantrum. It was a tone he had <em>really</em> hoped he would never have
to listen to again. "But, sir—"</p><p>Snape actually growled. Connor drew his wand. <em>I don't care what he
is to Harry, guardian or foster father or whatever part he's playing
in this twisted little game. I don't trust him. I don't even trust
him the way I trust Draco. If he hurts my brother, he's going to </em>get
<em>hurt.</em></p><p>"Severus," Harry corrected, with that little sigh in his tone
that meant this was something that happened often. "I thought you
would be happy. I was using a rare Occlumency technique to keep
myself from feeling most of my emotions, but Professor Belluspersona
caught me and made me stop."</p><p><em>I'll just bet she did, </em>Connor thought smugly. The
Transfiguration Professor was the sternest teacher in the school. And
better her than Snape to catch Harry in the middle of something like
this.</p><p>"You should have come to me," said Snape, his voice going quiet
and strained. Connor would have felt sorry for him if that were
possible, but five years of horrible treatment in Potions class
because of who his father was had left their mark. He didn't, not
really. "I would have been happy to help you with Occlumency,
Harry. It is much more my expertise, and she could have easily
damaged you, poking about in your mind."</p><p>"She didn't poke about in my mind, Severus," Harry hastened to
reassure him. That made Connor grind his teeth, how eager Harry
seemed to assure Snape that his mind was Snape's private and internal
sanctum. <em>Stubborn, greasy git. Can't he just be happy that Harry's
smiling again, without worrying about how it happened? </em>"She
discovered it from my behavior, from undirected magic in
Transfiguration. And she made me promise not to do it again."</p><p>There was a silence. Connor recognized it as a waiting silence. He
frowned and tapped his wand in the crook of his arm. <em>What can he
want now? </em></p><p>"You have made that promise many times before, Harry," Snape
said, with a voice like a building thunderstorm.</p><p>"I <em>know</em>," Harry snapped, and for the first time Connor
could hear annoyance, tension, in his tone. "This is different.
This was a vow. If I don't keep it, then she punishes me. And the
punishment is one that wouldn't hurt me as much as it would hurt
someone else, but it's humiliating, and it would mean I <em>failed.</em>
That's the reason I asked for it. I promise you, Severus, I want to
avoid the failure that would come with another suppression of my
emotions. And I did promise her in such a way as to cover the
suppression of all emotions, not just with the technique I was using.
I used ice, but—"</p><p>"You used <em>ice</em>?"</p><p>Connor had heard enough. He recognized the sound that followed
Snape's exclamation, which was a long stride forward. He just <em>knew</em>
that Snape would grab Harry in the next moment. He'd already crossed
the distance that separated them.</p><p>He burst in through the door, aimed his wand, and flung the spell
that Peter had taught him last summer with all his strength. He'd
been quite excited and proud of it, and couldn't wait to show it to
Harry, until he found out Harry already knew it. But that didn't mean
it couldn't be useful now, especially since it was a Light spell, and
Connor was good at those.</p><p>"<em>Aurora ades dum!</em>"</p><p>A sunburst of light opened inside Snape's mouth, spreading to
encompass his eyes and blind him. With a yell, he fell back. Connor
used the chance to put himself between the greasy git and his
brother, half-choking on a battle cry. He couldn't decide whether the
name of Lux Aeterna would be appropriate to shout here or not.</p><p>"<em>Connor!</em>"
Harry said in a horrified voice, and shoved at his shoulder blades.</p><p>Connor paid him no
mind. If Harry had really wanted to hurt him, he would have used
magic. And he had heard a soft <em>clink</em> as Snape fell. That was
more important than his brother's whinging on about what he'd
done to the professor.</p><p>With a sense of
absolute, confident righteousness, Connor aimed his wand at Snape's
right hand, which was caught halfway up to his face, as if he knew
that wiping at it wouldn't take away the blindness. "<em>Accio</em>
potions vial!"</p><p>Snape's hand opened,
and a vial soared out of it and into Connor's palm. Connor grabbed
it the way he would a Snitch, and turned it around, staring. The
potion pressed inside it wasn't one he recognized—of course, he
didn't recognize most potions—but he was certain he would have
remembered if he'd seen it before. It was thick, and silvery, and
clung to the glass like Parvati tended to cling to him when they were
absolutely certain they were alone.</p><p>"See?" he said,
turning it around and holding it up to Harry. "He was going to
force this down your throat."</p><p>Harry gave him a
withering glance. Connor had predicted that he would. "He was <em>not.</em>"</p><p>"Why don't you ask
him?" Reluctantly, Connor turned around and performed the
counterspell on Snape, so that the light of the Dawn Summons stopped
blinding him. "He was holding it in his hand. I heard it clink when
he hit the floor. Did you know he had it? Do you know what it does?"
He again tilted the vial, this time so that Harry could watch the
light sparkle off the potion.</p><p>"That—" Harry
stopped. Connor saw a trace of disturbance in his eyes. He probably
still didn't believe that Snape had planned to poison him, however
true it was, but he didn't recognize the potion, and that was
enough to confirm Connor's suspicions that Snape had been up to no
good.</p><p>A building hiss made
him twist around again, stepping in front of Harry as he tried to get
to Snape. Their professor looked half-crazed with anger, blinking and
shaking his head like a bear stung by bees, but Connor didn't care.
He was going to protect his brother. Harry had done enough of that
for him during their childhood. Now it was his turn.</p><p>"You realize that
you could be expelled for attacking a professor, Mr. Potter?"
Snape's voice was not loud, but obviously meant to be cutting.
Connor had seen him reduce third-years to tears with less.</p><p>Connor was no
third-year. "Not if I attacked in self-defense, Professor," he
said, and his voice was as cool as mountain snow. <em>Always stay calm
in the aftermath of battle, </em>the part of his mind that sounded
like Peter whispered to him. <em>Nothing disconcerts your opponents so
much. </em>"Or defense of another. I <em>might</em> have been
mistaken, of course. I'm sure that you have a perfectly good reason
to be approaching Harry with an unfamiliar potion in hand, holding it
so that he can't see it." He paused and gave Snape an expectant
glance.</p><p>"Insolent <em>brat</em>,"
Snape said, giving both words the full weight of his temper. "You
will have detention for a <em>month</em>. I will arrange it with
Minerva so that Gryffindor House loses the rest of its points—"</p><p>"We've won the
Quidditch Cup anyway, even if we don't get the House Cup," said
Connor comfortably, and ignored Snape's furious glare. "I want to
know what the potion is. I want to know why Harry didn't know you
had it." Harry chose to make things more complicated just then by
trying to take a step forward. Connor briefly wrestled with him, and
managed to make him stay in place. He and Harry were the same height,
but he was stronger, probably because Harry still wasn't completely
used to having two hands.</p><p>Snape was silent.
Connor aimed his wand at him. "We're <em>waaai-</em>ting," he
said in a singsong.</p><p>"The potion is an
experimental one of mine," said Snape, reluctantly. Connor thought
he was glancing elsewhere to avoid Harry's eyes, not his, but so
long as the professor looked properly ashamed of himself, Connor did
not care. "It heals Occlumency wounds, like the ones that Harry
sustained in his battle with Tom Riddle in second year. I was going
to give it to Harry so that any wounds left over from his use of ice
might heal."</p><p>"Going to give it to
Harry?" Connor echoed. "Force it down his throat, more like."</p><p>"That's <em>enough</em>,
Connor."</p><p>Harry was using That
Voice. Connor reluctantly stepped out of the way, and Harry glared at
him for a moment, little puffs of cold air rising from his mouth,
before he sighed and glanced at Snape.</p><p>"I appreciate your
help, Professor," he said firmly. "But I've made the vow, and
failing now, suppressing my emotions, would be so humiliating that it
won't happen again. I've looked at my mind and had Draco look at
it. I have no wounds. I melted the ice in time. I appreciate your
<em>intention </em>to help me. But force-feeding me a potion is not the
way to do it."</p><p><em>I knew that was
what he was going to do!</em> Connor folded his arms, letting his wand
hang over his left elbow. He fought the urge to crow at the look on
Snape's face. It was tormented, confused, as if he himself didn't
know what he'd planned. In a normal mood, Connor might have felt
sorry for him, given the noticing that wouldn't stop. But that very
confusion spoke against Snape. It said that he <em>might</em> have
forced the potion down Harry's throat, if it had suited him to do
so. He should have just given a denial that he would ever do such a
thing.</p><p>Harry took a deep,
dragging breath, then shook his head. His voice was like river ice in
early spring, Connor thought, squeaking and cracking with warmth
beneath the surface. "I know you want to help. I'll always
appreciate it. And the vow with Henrietta might well be a mistake.
But it's my kind of mistake—the kind of vow I couldn't make to
you or Draco. But, as you pointed out, I've made those kinds of
vows before, and broken them each time. This one—this one, maybe I
won't. It's at least different. It's at least worth a try."</p><p>More silence. Connor
stopped tapping his wand as he watched the two of them. He had the
oddest feeling that he shouldn't be here, that he was witnessing
something so private it was hurtful.</p><p>Snape nodded, once,
his eyes on Harry now. "I would not have forced the potion down
your throat," he said, his voice soft. "I would have told you
what it was and given you the choice before the end."</p><p><em>Liar, liar, </em>Connor
thought.</p><p>A smile crossed
Harry's face, though, making it clear that he accepted that. "Thank
you, sir," he said, and Snape didn't scold him for the title he
was <em>obviously</em> more comfortable using. Connor thought Snape
should never have made him use his first name at all. "Now, I
really <em>do</em> have to make my way to Charms, but I promise that
I'll come back this afternoon, and we can talk about this. All
right?"</p><p>Snape nodded. The
expression on his face made Connor glance away uncomfortably.</p><p>Harry turned to look
at him then, and shook his head. "Please don't expel him, sir,"
he said, as if <em>Connor</em> were the one who had done something
wrong. "He did attack in what he thought was defense of me."</p><p>"It <em>was</em>
defense of you," Connor pointed out.</p><p>Harry looked at him
patiently.</p><p>"I want to know why
he had the potion concealed in his hand," Connor said stubbornly.</p><p>"Because he wished
to help me, and sometimes he doesn't go about it the right way,"
Harry said, giving Snape a fond, exasperated glance. "And for other
reasons that he and I will talk about later." His hand clenched on
Connor's shoulder, and he steered him towards the door, then bowed
his head and whispered in his ear, though Connor thought Snape could
probably hear them anyway. He had such sharp ears that he could hear
a bubble popping wrong in a potion. It was only sadism that let him
ignore that so that the potions exploded all over the hated
Gryffindors instead, Connor was certain. "But thank you for trying
to protect me. I appreciate it."</p><p>Connor got steered <em>out</em>
the door, and Harry shut it behind them, then raced him to Charms.</p><p>That couldn't erase
the incident from Connor's mind, though. Or the fact that Snape,
questioned on his behavior, had looked lost, as though he remembered
nothing of the last several moments.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Draco could feel a
restless, itchy twitching climbing his shoulders, as though
<em>everything</em> had suddenly become that place in the middle of his
back where he could never scratch. Twisting didn't relieve it.
Eating didn't relieve it. Rubbing his back against the stone wall,
or asking Harry to scratch it for him, didn't relieve it.</p><p>He knew what it was,
of course. It was the evening of the fourth of June, which made it
less than twenty-four hours until the seventeenth anniversary of his
birth. He would come of wizarding age, then, and his magic would
mature with him. The magic was racing around under his skin,
building, needing to be used.</p><p>He snapped at Harry a
few times too many. Harry finally just stared at him, and Draco left
their bedroom to wander the corridors and try to find someone to
distract him. A duel would be pleasant, especially since he was
likely to be excused any wrongdoing on the grounds of its having
exercised his magic.</p><p>A shadow showed up in
the corridor ahead of him. Draco became alert and pulled out his
wand.</p><p>Connor came around the
corner. Disappointed, Draco lowered his wand. Harry wouldn't talk
to him tomorrow if he hexed his brother, and Harry talking to him
tomorrow rather needed to happen, if the birthday gift Draco had
asked him for was going to come off.</p><p>Connor jerked to a
stop at the sight of him, and gave an equally jerky nod. Draco raised
his eyebrows. Something was off. Connor usually gave him a bit of a
glare, if only because Gryffindor and Slytherin were still rivals
even if they weren't. But now he only peered past Draco towards the
door of the Slytherin common room, as if expecting to see Harry come
out.</p><p>"How is he?" he
demanded.</p><p><em>How is he?
</em>Bewildered, Draco ran a hand through his hair, then hissed and
wriggled when it felt as if all the hair on his scalp were standing
up at once. It probably was, from the way Connor's mouth twitched
when he looked at him.</p><p>"Just you wait until
<em>your</em> seventeenth birthday," Draco said sulkily, trying to
smooth his hair flat.</p><p>"Mine's over the
summer, thank you," Connor said cheerfully. "Fewer people to
watch and comment on my every move." His smile dropped away. "I
want to know how Harry is after that incident with Snape this
morning."</p><p>Draco frowned.
"Incident with Snape?"</p><p>Connor's eyebrows
would run out of forehead to climb across soon. "He didn't tell
you?"</p><p>"No, he didn't."
Draco shoved away the memory of Harry trying to tell him something
during lunch, but shutting up when Draco complained and carried on
about his gathering magic and insisted that Harry scratch his back
again. "What happened?"</p><p>"I heard him and
Snape arguing," said Connor. "About him suppressing his emotions
and a vow he made to Professor—Belluspersona." Draco was a bit
impressed that Connor had the presence of mind to use Professor
Bulstrode's fake name even here, even now. "Then Snape took a
step forward, and I intervened and cast a spell at him to stop him.
Turned out he was holding a silver potion to cure Occlumency wounds.
He claimed that he would have given Harry a choice about taking it,
but, here's the thing, he held it in his hand, out of sight, and he
couldn't answer when I first asked him about what it was and what
he intended with it. Harry didn't recognize the potion, either."
Connor's hazel eyes were almost amber with fury, as if reliving the
incident had caused him to get angry all over again. "I think Harry
was going to talk to him later and straighten matters out, but I
didn't get a chance to catch him after dinner and ask how that
went. So. How is he?"</p><p>"Brooding," Draco
said softly, now thoroughly distracted from the fact that he would be
seventeen tomorrow. "Not as patient as he usually is."</p><p>"Damn it." Connor
tapped his fingers against his wand. "Even when he isn't
suppressing his emotions, it takes a lot to get him that angry."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Draco was going to
blame the magic. The magic not only opened new pathways in his body
so that it could rush along them more easily—a wizard's
seventeenth birthday was the occasion of a wizard's attaining full
magical strength—but opened new pathways in his mind, too. That was
why he was having these thoughts. He couldn't escape, and it wasn't
his fault he had them.</p><p>But he was now
thinking what an incident like that with Snape would have done to
Harry, particularly if they hadn't been able to make the argument
up later—and he didn't think they had, from Harry's reaction.
And on top of that had been his complaining and his demand for an
elaborate spoiling tomorrow.</p><p><em>Damn it.</em></p><p>He had been acting
like a spoiled child <em>again.</em> It was at least as easy, Draco
thought, for him to slide back into that as it was for Harry to slide
back into controlling his emotions and being addicted to hiding from
them.</p><p><em>Stupid thoughts.
Stupid magic!</em></p><p>But the fact remained
that he would be a legal adult tomorrow, and a magical one, and he
did not want to act like a spoiled child on that day. Some other
people did. He had been doing it. Now, he didn't want to.</p><p>He had changed his
mind on his birthday present, again. He would have to go and tell
Harry that.</p><p>He was about to turn
and head back into the Slytherin common room when he realized that he
probably owed Connor thanks, or something of the kind. <em>Stupid
magic, making me think stupid adult thoughts. </em></p><p>He sighed and turned
around. "I'll—do what I can to take care of him," he said.
"Thanks for letting me know I had to."</p><p>Connor's eyes grew
round, and Draco smugly congratulated himself. That had been the
<em>exact</em> right thing to say, it appeared, in everything from the
words to the tone he'd phrased it in.</p><p>"You're welcome,"
Connor said, a moment later, after some more staring. "And do tell
me how he feels later. Just don't tell me any details of shagging
that you get up to." He gave an exaggerated shiver, then turned and
walked back in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.</p><p><em>Not shagging, </em>Draco
thought, as he spoke the password and the wall slid open for him. <em>I
don't think that will work this time. I want a way to make us both
happy tomorrow, without the confines of a ritual, and without making
Harry feel that he has to do something for me or even for himself.
Just a normal day. </em></p><p><em>That sounds right.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>He didn't remember.</p><p>That was the most
disturbing thing about his conversation with Snape, Harry thought,
lying back on his pillow and staring at the canopy of his bed with
his hands clasped behind his head. Snape didn't remember picking up
the potion, didn't remember deciding that Harry had Occlumency
wounds that had to be healed willy-nilly, didn't remember what he
would have done with the potion if Connor hadn't chosen that moment
to intervene. Harry had talked to him for an hour that afternoon, and
they'd used a Pensieve, and still they hadn't succeeded in
coaxing any memories to the surface.</p><p>And then Harry had
called him <em>sir</em> again, and there had been a row about names,
and Harry had left just in time to receive a letter from Scrimgeour
asking him to be the Ministry's liaison with the werewolf packs,
and then Draco had demonstrated world-class whinging skills at
dinner, but Harry couldn't snap at him because tomorrow was his
birthday and Harry knew that meant he wasn't completely in control
of his magic at the moment, and everything had left Harry tired and
with a headache and the prospect of doing more of this tomorrow.</p><p>He'd penned a
response to Scrimgeour after Draco left, accepting the new
position—what else could he do?—and then lain back and closed his
eyes and reveled in a few moments of peace alone.</p><p>It couldn't last, of
course. The door had to open in a few moments, and Draco had to come
back and sit on the bed. Harry braced himself for another outburst of
whinging, reminding himself over and over again not to get angry, and
not to suppress his emotions. Sometimes, having a sarcastic running
commentary in his head could help.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p><em>Well. </em>That
wasn't the tone he'd been expecting. This was soft, and probing,
as if Draco really cared about what he thought. Harry looked up.</p><p>Draco was chewing his
lip, looking at him with a more serious and thoughtful expression
than he'd worn in—well. Ages. Then he took a deep breath and
said, "I changed my mind on my birthday gift."</p><p>"Oh." Harry
ignored the dull flare of disappointment in his gut. He didn't have
to <em>express</em> his emotions, even if he had to feel them. And
really, attaining legal age in the wizarding world happened only
once. He should be willing to do whatever Draco wanted. He would have
been happier if he could do it cheerfully, but he just couldn't. He
would at least pretend to cheeriness. He forced a smile. "What
would you like?"</p><p>"A normal day."</p><p>Harry blinked. "What?"</p><p>"A day when neither
of us makes a special effort not to anger the other, <em>or</em> to
live in each other's pockets," said Draco, staring at him
intently. "Sometimes I think everything is too intense for us,
Harry. We have the rituals, and we have days like today where I'm
in intense pain and you're worrying intensely about Snape, but feel
you can't show that to me in case I take it wrong." Harry started
to ask how Draco had found out about his argument with Snape, but
Draco was plunging on. "So I'd like just a normal day. Feel
whatever you like. Say whatever you like to me, or don't say it; if
you want to keep silent about some things, that's fine, too. And
I'll try to be normal, too, and respond to you with the maturity
I've been lacking lately."</p><p>Harry was at a loss
for words. All he could really think of to say was, "Draco, it's
your birthday."</p><p>"And this is what I
want."</p><p><em>I don't trust him
to want only that, </em>Harry thought, and was mortified to know that
he'd thought it. But it was true. He didn't trust Draco enough
not to think he wouldn't change his mind and want some more
expensive or better birthday present a second later.</p><p>He could think that
Draco was lying to make him feel better. He couldn't trust that
Draco wanted this.</p><p>Draco either saw it in
his face, or jumped into his mind and read it that way. He shook his
head firmly. "This <em>is</em> the truth, Harry," he said. "I
want—I want to see if it's possible." He sounded as if he were
groping for words. "If it isn't, then we'll at least know that.
And if it is, then, well, it's new, and I'm supposed to have
several new experiences tomorrow."</p><p>Harry kept studying
him, and Draco's expression never faltered. He didn't lean
forward and kiss Harry, either, the way that he did when he was
trying to persuade him down some new path. He just—wanted, and it
seemed like that was going to have to be enough. Maybe it was enough.</p><p>Harry nodded, and,
cautiously, dropped the burden he'd assigned himself of making
Draco's birthday tomorrow perfect and splendid because he knew
Draco would want him to make it that way. "All right."</p><p>"Thanks." Draco
nodded back, then turned to reach into his trunk. "Did you happen
to have that book that Peter said could help us with that Defense
essay? I've gone to the library, and someone else has it."</p><p>"I think Hermione
does, but I know the answers anyway," Harry offered. "I'll
share them with you."</p><p>"Thanks," Draco
repeated.</p><p>They started on their
homework. Harry fought the temptation to poke at the tentative
silence between them, which was relaxing him more than anything else
could have done.</p><p><em>I could wake up
tomorrow and find that Draco's changed his mind again. I have to be
ready for that.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>In fact, the only
thing on Draco's mind when he woke in the morning was the intense
pressure in the center of his chest.</p><p>He had expected it,
though. He lay still for a few moments, eyes tightly shut, gasping in
controlled breaths, and waiting until the magic could pool in the
center of his chest and start spreading out again. It formed iron
molds around his heart and lungs, but it was not nearly as
frightening as the Lung Domination Curse had been. He simply had
trouble breathing for that length of time, and as each moment passed,
he actually grew more hopeful. The longer one had to wait, the more
powerful one was likely to become—or, more accurately, the more
one's magic would unfold.</p><p>The magic darted away
from his lungs in a few minutes, though, and wound through the rest
of his body like vines. Draco shrugged as best as he could where he
lay in bed. This was a normal day, and he was determined to face what
would be normality for the rest of his life with equanimity. <em>I
always knew I wasn't the strongest wizard in the school. That title
was taken long before I had a chance at it. And besides, it's not
how much power you have, it's how you use it.</em></p><p>"All right?"</p><p>Draco glanced
sideways. Harry was propped up on one elbow, watching him. Draco
nodded.</p><p>"Good." Harry
touched his hair in a good-morning gesture, then slid out of bed and
wandered over to use the loo. A ripple of glassy motion followed him.
Draco smiled. <em>Argutus</em>. The Omen snake had shown up last night
and been insistent on spending some time with Harry, who'd argued
with him for a while in Parseltongue, or perhaps played; the hisses
all sounded the same to Draco. And now he was going in to share the
warm water of the shower, which he loved, and perhaps another
argument.</p><p>It was all perfectly
fine, Draco reminded himself sternly. Harry had other people in his
life besides him. Even if some of the people were snakes, Draco could
give him time alone with them.</p><p>Besides, his first
gift had arrived.</p><p>Two owls escorted it
in, one of them real—his mother's owl Regina, all stern eyes and
flashing talons; she had no time for anyone but her mistress,
really—and one of them a magical construct created to support the
package. Draco relaxed as he saw that the box was the size he had
expected it to be. He didn't need spoiling from Harry. He was going
to get quite enough spoiling from everyone else.</p><p>He opened the box,
once Regina had circled around his head to show her disdain and the
magical construct had faded away, and stared. He knew his mother
would entrust him with a treasure when he came of age that she
thought him too young for at other birthdays, but he hadn't
expected something quite this <em>rich.</em></p><p>He drew it out slowly.
It shimmered and flashed, even in the relatively dim light of their
bedroom. Draco was not sure if it was gold or platinum or bronze, but
whatever metal it was, it was like the sun in water. It was a narrow
band of the right size to be worn around the head—a crown, in fact,
though perhaps more a coronet, because it lacked spikes and knobs. On
the front, where the tip would rest over his forehead, a curved
serpent and dog twined together, the serpent made of silver and the
dog made of obsidian.</p><p>There was a legend
that the Black family descended from a royal line, though the
historians all disagreed on who the family had been, and most of the
time even what country they had ruled. Narcissa had once told Draco
there were a few artifacts remaining in the Black vaults that
suggested the tales were true. He had never expected to see one,
though.</p><p>The note in the box
took longer to draw his attention, but once he saw it, he understood
exactly why his mother had sent the crown to him.</p><p><em>June 5th,
1981</em></p><p><em>My darling:</em></p><p><em>I write this note
on the day when you are one year old, and I can watch you squirming
in your cot, sometimes turning over to watch me. I do not know if you
will ever see it. That depends entirely on whether the potential I
see in you is real, and not the product of a fond mother's doting
love. If you achieve that potential by the time you are seventeen,
you shall receive this letter, and the crown that goes with it.</em></p><p><em>The crown has been
a weapon in some legends, but it is not a weapon of power. It is a
weapon of knowledge, always the stronger of the two, and of wisdom.
It grants lucid dreams, dreams where the dreamer may play a
troublesome situation over inside his head, and see what alternatives
lie either way. Since the events happen only in the dreams, you may
safely experiment with decisions that you would never make awake.</em></p><p><em>Do be careful, my
dear. The crown offers a sense of safety not often found in this, our
tumultuous life. There have been those who used it and simply became
absorbed into their dreams, because there, nothing could hurt them.
Do not let that happen to you. Use the crown circumspectly and at
great need. Take risks when you must. If your ancestors had not
sometimes taken risks, I would not exist, and the proud line of Black
would not exist, and thus neither would you.</em></p><p><em>I hope that you may
someday see this, that you do not fall short of my expectations. </em></p><p><em>Your proud mother,</em></p><p><em>Narcissa Black
Malfoy.</em></p><p>Draco whistled quietly
under his breath, and stared at the coronet. The Dreamer's Crown.
Yes, he had heard of it, and it hadn't originally belonged to the
Black line. It must have been stolen or won or traded long ago; in
those days, the pureblood families had been too proud to buy such
treasures.</p><p>Well, it was his now,
and he would treat it with the reverence it deserved. Carefully, he
settled it back in its box and started to cast warding spells around
it. No one would steal it from him, or wear it without his
permission.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry kept waiting
for—something to happen. For someone to yell at him. For another
letter to arrive saying the Ministry wanted him to take up another
position that he didn't feel ready or qualified for. For Draco to
change his mind and demand attention. Something.</p><p>But nothing like that
appeared to be happening. No post had come for him that morning at
all, and everyone else at the Slytherin table seemed interested in
their own affairs. Currently, Draco was taunting Millicent; she had
made several guesses about his birthday gift from his mother, and
still hadn't approached the correct one. Millicent, who insisted
that she must have guessed correctly a few minutes ago, was beginning
to flush, while Draco looked more and more smug.</p><p>"<em>Sausage</em>,"
Argutus said, hanging around Harry's shoulder and sliding his head
down the side of his neck. "<em>Remember the important things in
life. One of the most important things in life is feeding your Omen
snake sausage."</em></p><p>"You realize that you don't even
think they look like crickets anymore," Harry reminded him as he
stabbed a piece of one with his fork and held it up for Argutus. The
snake bolted it with a delicate combination of grace and haste.</p><p>"<em>They don't,</em>" Argutus
agreed. "<em>Now I enjoy them for the taste alone, for I am a more
refined Omen snake than I was.</em>" He turned his head and ran his
tongue along the outer shell of Harry's ear. "<em>Did I tell you
that I met another of my kind in the Forest the other day?</em>"</p><p>Harry blinked. "No."</p><p>"<em>I did.</em>" Argutus wound his
neck twice around Harry's, apparently just so that he could feel
the warmth in the hollow of Harry's throat on his soft throat
scales. "<em>I told her about you, and the castle, and how well-fed
and cared for I am here. She has no human of her own, either wizard
or Muggle. She was jealous.</em>"</p><p>"You could have brought her into the
castle and shared some of your food and luxuries with her," Harry
ventured.</p><p>"<em>No. They're mine.</em>"
Argutus's neck seemed to swell a bit, and Harry realized he was
bunching himself as if to coil around prey and crush it to death.
That would have been impressive, except that he was rather coiled
around <em>Harry</em> at the moment. Harry prodded at his scales to
tell him so, and Argutus reluctantly loosened his hold a bit. "<em>I
have a territory. All animals have territories; I have heard wizards
say so in the wizard language. The castle is mine. Humans can be in
it, and owls, and elves, and your Many cobra, and tasty rats. But not
other Omen snakes.</em>"</p><p>"Just because someone else says you
have a territory doesn't mean you have to have one," Harry
pointed out, struggling to hide a smile. It continually amused him
that Argutus had managed to learn Latin but not English. "It might
not actually be an instinct for your kind. In fact, I don't think
it is. You choose your own companions, and you choose your own places
to live. You could share the castle with someone else if you really
wanted to."</p><p>"<em>Don't want to.</em>" Argutus
had never sounded so sulky in his life, Harry thought. "<em>Mine.</em>"
He tapped Harry's temple with his tail. "<em>Now make your poor,
put-upon Omen snake feel better.</em>"</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes, and followed
the suggestion. And he realized, halfway through the series of
comforting hisses that were mostly to appease Argutus's vanity,
that he had relaxed, and nothing bad had happened, and they were
sitting at the table and having a normal day like any other snake and
his Parselmouth.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Lucius's gift came at noon.</p><p>Draco had expected that. He'd been
born at sunset on the fifth of June in 1980. It would be like his
parents to take the other positions of the sun during the day as
their cue for sending presents. His mother's had come close to
dawn, if not exactly at it. Though Draco had received a small host of
cards and simple gifts, such as a roll of parchment from Millicent,
throughout the day, his father would choose noon.</p><p>Three owls escorted it in through the
Great Hall's window. Draco had just recovered from the magic
holding his head in a vise, and blood still pounded in his temples,
but since he'd guessed correctly about the delivery time of the
gift, he'd had time to prepare. He stood to receive it, and ignored
the murmurs from the tables. Other wizards and witches had turned
seventeen this year and in years before, and they had received gifts
like this. Other than for the few pureblood families who declared
their coming of age at fifteen, this birthday was always a cause for
lavish celebration.</p><p>The two magical construct owls
vanished the moment Draco's hands touched the box. The real owl
folded his wings and sat on top with a hoot. Draco blinked. Lucius
had sent Julius, the great horned owl he used for things like Harry's
truce-dance gifts. It was an honor Draco hadn't expected,
especially since his recent quarrel with his father. Lucius had done
the bare minimum necessary to make sure the Malfoy estate passed on
to the rightful heir. A gesture like this was above and beyond the
bare minimum.</p><p>It also seemed Julius wouldn't let
him have the gift until he was satisfied that Draco was worthy of it.
He leaned forward, placing one of his talons on Draco's hand hard
enough to draw blood, and staring at him with wise, fierce, yellow
eyes.</p><p>Draco stared back, and kept himself
from flinching or reacting in any way at all. He didn't know what
Julius was looking for, so he would just have to let him see what was
there.</p><p>It appeared to work. With a clap of
wings and an almost silent leap, Julius wheeled and was gone through
the window he'd come in by. Draco looked down and opened the carved
wooden box.</p><p>Inside lay a knife. The blade had a
curious edge, Draco thought at first, twisting and seeming to rise
far too high above the blade, but then he picked it up, and realized
the supposed edge was actually a shimmer of dark magic. Violent,
corrupted magic, whether the original spell cast on the blade was
Light or not. Draco hid his shiver. This was a knife made to kill
things. It wasn't intelligent, but it didn't have to be.
Everything from the rippled patterns in the steel to the
uncompromising hilt—made of bone, and Draco knew it would be human
bone—said so. It was a sculpted murder waiting to happen.</p><p>His father's note rested in the
bottom of the box, explaining the gift, though Draco did not really
need the note to know what it was. Only one kind of knife would look
like this.</p><p><em>June 5th, 1997</em></p><p><em>My son:</em></p><p><em>Happy birthday, and congratulations
on having achieved legal wizarding age with all the odds against you.
I wish you health and happiness in the life you pursue, and if you
are ever captured and have no hope of escape, I wish you an honorable
death. This knife's edge will never dull. It will open your throat
or your wrists without hesitation; if need be, if your hand shakes,
it will guide itself to the cutting. Expect to feel a slight pain in
your arm if you use it.</em></p><p><em>Your father, </em></p><p><em>Lucius.</em></p><p>Draco sighed and leaned back, eyes
fastened on the knife. The knife could commit many murders, but only
one Malfoy suicide. If Draco's own blood hit it, it would dissolve.
But it would replenish itself, yanking on his arm bones to make
itself a new hilt, drawing out the iron in his body to forge itself a
new blade. Then a bit of Draco's own mind would lodge in it, the
darkest and most violent part of himself, awakened when the new owner
used it to commit murder.</p><p><em>Such a dark gift, father. But that
you thought me worthy of it is—praiseworthy. Honorable. Not
something I would have expected from you.</em></p><p>And that was probably the whole reason
Lucius had sent it, Draco thought, as he placed the knife back in the
box and closed it. To cause him to think about what <em>Lucius</em> had
done. Most things his father did came back to himself, in the end.</p><p>"Are you all right?"</p><p>Harry's hand on his shoulder and
Harry's voice in his ear were just what he needed, then, though he
wouldn't have asked. He briefly leaned back against him and nodded.
"Just fine."</p><p>He was aware, though Harry wouldn't
be, of the judging eyes of some pureblood children in the Hall. He
sat down afterwards and ate his lunch, and knew they were watching
him do it.</p><p>He ate every bite, calmly and without
once stopping or glancing at the wooden box beside him that contained
the knife.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry glanced sideways, started a bit,
and blinked.</p><p><em>Well. There's something I didn't
think I'd ever see. Draco falling asleep in Arithmancy.</em></p><p>Harry knew it was most likely the
fault of the magic humming through Draco's body, but it was still
funny. Draco was sprawled across his desk, his head bowed at an angle
that would make his neck hurt like fury when he woke up, and one arm
half-folded around his face, as if to cover up the equations he was
working on from prying eyes. His other arm hung off the desk,
trembling a little. That could have been from the force of his
snores, Harry thought, laughter bubbling up, or from the magic
working up and down beneath his skin, preparing his body for the
burst that would occur at sunset.</p><p>He tried to force down his amusement,
and then remembered what Draco had said to him. <em>A normal day. I
can feel amused if I want. It's </em>funny.</p><p>Even funnier was the expression on
Professor Vector's face when she came up behind Draco. "<em>Mr.</em>
Malfoy," she said, a little louder than strictly necessary. Or
maybe a little softer than strictly necessary, Harry thought, given
that Draco didn't stir. Harry had to muffle a snicker.</p><p>The professor gave him a narrow-eyed
glance. Harry bent innocently over his equations, and worked
innocently on them, like a good little student who didn't fall
asleep in class.</p><p>"<em>Mr. Malfoy</em>," Vector said,
and that did it. Draco sat up abruptly, blinking, and several people
in the back of the room laughed aloud, though of course they'd
stopped and were working on their equations as innocently as Harry by
the time the professor turned around. Draco felt at his mussed hair,
and his flushed cheeks, and blushed, further making him look ruffled.</p><p>"I expect you for detention tomorrow
at seven-o'clock, Mr. Malfoy," said Vector sternly. "Ten points
from Slytherin." She turned and stalked away with massive dignity,
to try to find people who were not so innocent as all that.</p><p>Millicent, sitting behind Draco,
groaned under her breath. Harry knew why. They were in a close race
for the House Cup with Hufflepuff, and the loss of ten points might
be enough to let it slip through their fingers.</p><p>Draco slid a furious glare at her,
then glanced sideways at Harry, face turning thoughtful. Harry
blinked, wondering if he was going to cast a jinx because Harry
hadn't awakened him.</p><p>Instead, Draco just smiled, slightly,
and then turned back to his equations, and Harry finally realized
that Draco had meant it when he said that he wanted Harry to feel
normal, and that he wouldn't scold him for those emotions.</p><p>It took a long time, and the presence
of Professor Vector sweeping past, before Harry could look innocent
again. He was tasting joy too strongly and sweetly.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Sunset came.</p><p>Draco knew when it happened, even if
no one else in the castle did. He had been born at the exact moment
of sunset, as his mother had told him over and over again. So his
magic coalesced and came together, carving the final pathways, when
the exact seventeenth anniversary of his birthday rolled along.</p><p>And that was as dinner was served,
with the red and orange light streaming over the chattering students.</p><p>Draco felt it beginning to build.
Strands of magic coiled and drifted in through his ears and his mind,
as though they had been floating about loose in the Great Hall and
were attracted to him. In reality, he knew, this was all his own
power, tugged away from the usual parts of his body where it resided.
It slid into his chest, and then lower, pooling in his solar plexus.
It was pleasant and unpleasant at the same time, as though he had
eaten too large and too good a meal and was now struggling to contain
the fullness.</p><p>He bent over the table, and felt Harry
rubbing comforting circles on his back. As if jolted into life by
that, other magic reached to him from outside and hummed in his ears.
He could feel his connections to the wards of Malfoy Manor and other
Malfoy properties, which were usually dormant unless he specifically
called on them.</p><p>"Step back now, Harry," he did
manage to gasp, when it felt as if he were about to grow wings.</p><p>Harry did, just as a soundless burst
of light and heat flared around Draco.</p><p>For the first time in his life, <em>all</em>
his magic was available to him at once. Draco gasped and shook his
head, and reveled in the feeling of it, power piled on power. No, it
was not as much as someone like Harry or Snape or Henrietta Bulstrode
possessed, but he was no slouch, and enough above average to content
him. If someone challenged him to a duel, he could put up a stiff
battle. He could defend his properties; the wards would obey him,
even against his father, thanks to the passing-on Lucius had done.
His possession gift shone in his head like a star, and for the first
time, Draco was absolutely certain it was a combination of Malfoy
empathy and Black compulsion; he could feel the separate components
of the magic like two hemispheres of a brain.</p><p>The glorious moment passed soon
enough. Draco sighed in the wake of it. He could <em>definitely</em>
see why most wizards chose to celebrate the seventeenth birthday as
the legal coming of age.</p><p>"Congratulations, Draco," Harry
said loudly, and held out his hand. Draco managed to stand and clasp
it with a firm shake.</p><p>The other Slytherins came over to
welcome him then, and some of those students from other Houses who
had already attained their proper age. Even Connor caught his eye and
winked at him from the Gryffindor table, though it wouldn't have
been appropriate for him to talk to Draco unless he was an adult
himself. Which he manifestly <em>wasn't,</em> Draco thought smugly.</p><p>Snape raised his goblet in toast from
the high table, though he looked pale and tired. The Headmistress and
Professor Vector, as well as Professor Sinistra, whose Astronomy
classes Draco continued to excel in, nodded to him.</p><p>He stretched once, and then settled
himself back into place, smiling at Harry. "Imagine what your
seventeenth birthday will be like," he murmured.</p><p>Harry looked startled, and let Draco
see it. That alone was precious. "I don't think anything like
this will happen," he said doubtfully. "Jing-Xi has told me that
Lord-level wizards are different most of the time anyway, and I've
already come to my full magical power thanks to—everything. I
think, if anything, that birthday will just confirm what I already
know. Perhaps unfold my magic a bit more. I don't think so." He
shook his head, and then looked across the room. "But I am
interested in seeing what will happen to Connor."</p><p>Draco shoved him. "I think I'll be
more powerful than he will."</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes and turned to
dig back into his meal. "I hope for my sake that you're equal.
Then I might have some peace."</p><p>Draco ate some more of his own meal
before he responded. The magic had swept through him, and changed
him, but he no longer thought it had altered his mind. This normal
day had just been something he wanted to have, and he had come up
with the idea all on his own. That pleased him.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>"Hmmm?" Harry glanced over at him.
Argutus cocked his head, too, though Draco knew he couldn't really
understand the conversation; he did seem to recognize Harry's name
when spoken.</p><p>"Sleep with me tonight?"</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>Draco shook his head. "I didn't
mean it that way. I mean—just sleep. Lie in my arms, and relax
together." He made an apologetic gesture meant to take in his back,
his chest, the whole hollowed-out mess of him. "I don't think I'm
in the mood for anything more vigorous."</p><p>Harry studied him in silence for a
long moment. And then his face softened, and he gave Draco a smile
that was so normal it made Draco want to crow in sheer delight.</p><p>"I'd like that," he said
quietly. "Yes."</p><p>He turned back to his meal, and Draco
turned back to his. Sometimes, he thought, the Light might have a
good idea or two. They had certainly hit on one when they chose to
adopt honesty as a standard.</p><p>His hand reached out, to find Harry's
waiting for it. Their fingers intertwined, and that was, for now,
quite enough.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 118*: Interlude: The Liberator's Eleventh</h2>
			<p><strong>Interlude: The Liberator's Eleventh Letter</strong></p><p><em>June 5th,
1997</em></p><p><em>Dear Minister
Scrimgeour: </em></p><p>It's done. It's
<span style='text-decoration: underline;'>done</span>, and there will be only a few moments between the time
when I cast this letter into the wind and the time when I can leave
this place for good and ever.</p><p>Well. I suppose it
might not be for good and ever. I'll probably still see my parents
at times. But I won't <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>live</span> here again, and that—and having
my freedom at last—is really all that I need to content me.</p><p>I suppose it would be
a bit strange to say that I consider you a friend, wouldn't it? But
I do. Even though you haven't been able to reply except for a few
lines in public speeches and that one botched raid (which I am still
embarrassed at myself for causing, by the way), I do feel that I know
you. You've been someone who listened to me, and there are few
times in my life when that's happened. I seem to have become
trapped into a larger cycle of not only not doing what I want, but
believing that I'll never be able to do so. You've broken that
for me, and I thank you.</p><p>This is—</p><p>In a short while, I'll
be at the Ministry. In a moment, I'll Apparate. This is the
culmination of so many months of waiting that I can hardly believe
this day is finally here. End of spring, beginning of summer. Oh, in
so many ways!</p><p>I can't wait to look
into your face, Minister, and be able to tell you what it means to
me, that my long imprisonment is ended at last. Thank you for giving
me a sense of purpose and courage in these last few months.</p><p>I fly!</p><p>Yours,</p><p><em>The Liberator.</em></p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 119*: Intermission: In Readiness</h2>
			<p><strong>Intermission: In Readiness</strong></p><p>He Apparated calmly to
his Lord's side that night. He knew what the Dark Lord would say to
him, every word planned out, every dance step smooth. He did not need
to be fearful or worried any longer. The arrangements had been made.</p><p>He appeared in the
Riddle house, but this was a room he had never seen before. After a
few moments of gazing about him, Severus understood. He was in
Voldemort's inner sanctum, an honor that only Bellatrix, among all
the Death Eaters, had received before—and then not for any special
merit, as he had, but simply because her mad loyalty was beyond
question.</p><p>The walls were smooth
and black, Transfigured into cool stone. Warming charms glittered
here and there along the stone, though, brightening and then fading,
and Severus understood their purpose—to provide a warm spot for
Nagini, and the other snakes that his Lord had collected about him,
to rest. The floor was smooth and raspy beneath his feet, paved with
either scales or a material not far from it. The chair that stood in
the middle of the room flowed into a twisting ramp halfway down the
seat, to provide an easy resting place for either snake or man. Or
someone like the Dark Lord, Severus thought as he went to one knee
and bowed his head, who was both.</p><p>"Arise, my child."</p><p>His Lord's vibrant
voice made the walls shake. Severus stood again at once, feeling the
deep thrill of pleasure within when his Lord spoke his name. Yes, he
had expected it, as he had expected everything about this night, but
it was still wonderful. Yes, wonderful was the word for it. His Lord
was the one who had taught him to appreciate his first name again,
and the man who called himself Severus now and had called himself
Snape in the past had never been so grateful for it.</p><p>Voldemort stretched
out a pale hand, and a shimmer of magic rose above it, growing.
Severus stretched his own hands out, warming them before the shimmer
as he would before a fire. His Lord had been drinking magic from
Mudblood children and recalcitrant purebloods. He was a wildfire, a
roaring glow of strength that would draw support from every wizarding
community across the world in the end. It could not help but be so.
The magic filled Severus's senses, and he swayed a bit, drunk.</p><p>"You have many
griefs, my child," the Dark Lord murmured, as Severus had known he
would say.</p><p>"Yes, my Lord."
His words glided around and around him like the whisper of newly
hatched vipers.</p><p>"And not least of
all is your grief against Albus Dumbledore."</p><p>"Yes, my Lord."
<em>Yess, yess, yess, </em>hissed his words, as they vanished and died.</p><p>"You hate him for
retaining the Marauders in school when he should have expelled them
and sheltered you, because you were the one who had almost died."</p><p>"Yes, my Lord."</p><p>"You hate him for
refusing to accept and shelter you when you spied against me. He
insisted that you place your life in danger for him each day, and he
had the arrogance to imagine that his precious Light had redeemed
you, that you joined the Order of the Phoenix for him and not to
survive."</p><p>"Yes, my Lord."</p><p>"You hate him for
the insults and patronizing air he has inflicted on you since,
including speaking your name when you never gave him permission to do
so."</p><p>"Yes, my Lord."</p><p>"You hate him for
continuing to favor the spawn of James Potter and the adult Marauders
even now. You hate him because you know he mourns the deaths of James
and Lily Potter in a way that he would never mourn for you, who gave
so much to him and to his cause."</p><p>"Yes, my Lord."</p><p>"My child, my dear
one, my serpent, my Potions Master, my Severus…" Voldemort's
eyes flashed. The air all around Severus turned a dull and shimmering
red, the color of old blood.</p><p>"I give the honor of
the kill to you."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Severus slowly
opened his eyes. He felt more relaxed and satisfied yet than he had
from one of these dreams. It was almost enough to cause him to wonder
if they might be erotic in nature, but no, he did not think so. They
refreshed his mind as well as his body, instead of leaving him in a
state of lethargy.</p><p>And if they brought up
old hatreds, as well, and floated them in the surface of his
mind—well, what could it hurt to imagine them? Albus was dead, and
disgraced. Sirius Black was dead, James Potter in prison, the
werewolf beyond his vengeance. He had made his peace with Peter
Pettigrew. He might remember the wrongs of the past and use them to
strengthen himself so long as he did not dwell on them.</p><p>He gazed on the
shimmering potions in the cauldrons near the wall, and gave a slow,
assessing nod to himself. Yes, they were ready whenever he wished to
use them. Perhaps he could convince Harry to take the silver potion
today.</p><p><em>Today. In
readiness.</em></p><p>The thoughts seemed to
slide through his mind like blasts of wind, leaving it fresh and
clean and—ready.</p><p>He pulled on his
robes, absently caressed his left forearm, and swept out of his
office to begin the day.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 120*: Slytherin and Gryffindor</h2>
			<p><strong>Author's notes
(important, please read):</strong>Okay, here's how it's goes. The
ending of this story is spread out over the next five chapters, all
of which will be posted today. All the chapters are at least
technical cliffhangers, except the last, so even though I'll be
posting them just a few hours apart, you may want to wait to read
them if you don't deal well with suspense. This ending is also
darker than the rest have been, to lead into the seventh story, which
is the darkest of all, and more of a cliffhanger itself; immediate
issues are resolved, but not their consequences. I'll begin posting
the last story on Tuesday or Wednesday, depending where in the world
you live. If you have questions, feel free to contact me on my LJ or
by e-mail.</p><p>Here we go.</p><p><strong>Chapter Ninety-Three: Slytherin and Gryffindor</strong></p><p>Harry rounded the
corner cautiously. He relaxed when he saw Snape striding ahead of
him, not yet returned to his office after dinner. He'd wanted to
catch him before Snape could bury himself in essays and resent an
interruption.</p><p><em>Once, you would
have known that he wished to be interrupted. He was the one who
wanted to see you, who didn't mind putting aside essays for a while
if it meant that you and he would talk.</em></p><p>And it might still be
that way, Harry answered the voice back determinedly, but they had a
few rugs to shake out between them first.</p><p>"Sir?" he asked.</p><p>Snape froze ahead of
him, and then swung around. Harry took a step back at the look on his
face, and then realized it wasn't really angry, just still, as if
he had caught Snape in the middle of a deep thought. And, of course,
when he didn't have a specific emotion filling his face, Snape
tended to look angry.</p><p>Harry forced welcome
into his voice. "Sir, I was wondering if I could speak to you. I
know that we didn't find anything in your memories about what might
have caused that lapse last time, but this time I have my own
Pensieve." He nodded to the one floating behind him. "It's
spelled with that magic Draco invented, which lets someone put a
memory into the Pensieve and share a mindset. I might be able to
learn why you did what you did if I can wear the emotions and the
perspective that you wore at that moment. Will you let me?"</p><p>Snape stood as if
listening, head cocked to one side. Then he murmured, "I do want to
know why that happened, Harry. However, I insist on one condition
that I want fulfilled if we look into my memories."</p><p><em>Just one? I can do
that easily enough. And I think I even know what it is. </em>"All
right," Harry agreed, happiness bursting in the center of his
chest. "Is it that I call you Severus? I can do that."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>He awoke.</p><p>It was the name that
did it, of course, the name <em>Severus</em> being the name of the
secret part of him, the part that <em>knew</em> he was half-pureblood
and different from the other children around him, the part that was
intelligent and showed it and was taken advantage of for it, the part
that hated Albus Dumbledore and Minerva and all the rest for daring
to use his first name when he hadn't given them permission.</p><p><em>Severus</em> was who
he was, the man who served his Lord. <em>Snape</em>, also called <em>sir</em>,
also called <em>professor</em>, was the mortal coil he shuffled on over
that, the dry skin that would provide his anonymity as he glided
through the halls of the school like a snake not yet ready to shed.</p><p>His Lord had told him
to remember his name, to learn to take pride and pleasure in it
again, and rejoice.</p><p>His Lord was right.</p><p>Severus knew what he
had to do. His Lord had told him he would know when the time was
right, and he did. He gazed at the Potter brat standing in front of
him, messy black hair and James's hazel eyes, and he had the
strongest urge to strike the boy down as he had his father. But no,
that could not happen, not now. His Lord wanted the boy to torture
and maim and harm and kill before the wizarding world's gaze. If
Severus slew him here, in a deserted corridor away from prying eyes,
there would always be rumors that he had escaped and lived on to
provide a hope for the Light. <em>Everyone</em> must see him die.</p><p>But there was another
whose presence was legend, and necessary to the fulfillment of the
prophecy, but whom everyone would believe was dead without that kind
of prompting. There was another Severus hated, whose kill the Dark
Lord had promised to him in reward for being a faithful servant.</p><p><em>Albus.</em></p><p>The Potter brat had
asked for private time alone together to practice Occlumency; so said
the Pensieve floating behind him. Severus kept his voice soft and
regretful. "Alas. I've just remembered that I must go to the
Headmaster's office. An appointment to keep."</p><p>The boy looked at him
with something like concern written on his face. "Is that another
lapse, Severus?" he asked, and the name rolled deep into his head,
awakening other memories, echoes, moments of being true to himself
that he had not had in the last little while, or only
widely-separated and scattered. Albus had cast a spell on him, he
thought, to keep the part of himself that severed his Lord asleep.
Well, he was awake now, and he would remember that spell, and if he
felt the numbness returning with the name "sir" or "Snape" or
"professor," he would make every effort to combat it.</p><p>"Another memory
lapse?" Because of course the Potter brat was nosy, and would have
thought that he noticed something wrong when Severus was himself and
not the bitter Potions teacher who lived night and day next to the
man he hated and could not even claim his revenge. He saw the boy
nod. He softened his voice. He could be good with children if he
wanted to be. He could act like <em>anything</em> if he wanted to. "It
could be. I promise, we'll use the Pensieve when I return. For now,
though, I want to hurry on. The appointment promises nothing good."</p><p>"McGonagall's
going to yell at you, probably," said the boy, and gave him a
rueful smile. "She does that."</p><p>Severus was quickly
growing disgusted with what his sleeping self had done. Acting
friendly around the Potter brat to dispel the idea that he was a spy
had been wise; <em>actually</em> befriending him was not. But he would
have to maintain the façade for a little longer, until he
could recover the memories of what he had done when acting as Snape.
And he would have to hold to the boy's strange fantasy that anyone
other than Albus carried Hogwarts. <em>Minerva! She will never have
the chance to ascend to power. When Albus dies, the school will fall
apart, and have to be closed.</em></p><p>Which was rather the
reason that his Lord had agreed to let him kill Albus in the first
place. He understood how much Severus wanted his vengeance, how the
hatred swam in his veins and beat in his heart and filled them to
fullness, but he would never let such a major kill happen <em>only</em>
for vengeance, or to honor a faithful servant. The Dark Lord knew
what would follow in the wake of Dumbledore's passing, the despair
that would spread like a miasma around the world. The Light would
lose its leader, and so would the Order of the Phoenix, even if most
of the wizarding world didn't know of the prophecy's existence.</p><p>"She does," he
agreed with the Potter boy, which cost him nothing, and made a short
bow. "In an hour, then."</p><p>Connor Potter nodded
at him and turned away, the Pensieve floating behind him. Severus was
a little surprised at the strength of the Levitation Charm around it,
but of course Potter had trained behind wards a long way from the
rest of the wizarding world, and was less than two months away from
his seventeenth birthday—a birthday he would never see. He had had
a chance to grow stronger in his magic.</p><p>Severus turned for his
office.</p><p>A few moments later,
he left it. Two vials, one full of purple potion and one silver, rode
in his robe pocket. The third vial was open in his hand, and, gently,
Severus coated the base of the dungeon corridors' walls with his
green potion. Any Slytherins who served the Dark Lord, who had given
their allegiance where it belonged, were already safely out of the
school.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Minerva was more than
slightly surprised when the gargoyle leaped aside and her wards on
the moving staircase informed her that Severus was on his way up. She
had planned on spending an hour alone with some tea and the latest
series of demands the school governors had sent around, which
happened every year when they were feeling ignored. But Severus
rarely visited her unless it was urgent. That meant a problem in
Slytherin House, a matter for the Deputy Headmaster to discuss with
the Headmistress, or, perhaps, a personal question, which might have
to do with his memory lapses. It was not a problem with a
recalcitrant student; gossip traveled fast in Hogwarts, and Minerva
had heard all the latest horror stories of Potions classes already.</p><p>She put her teacup
gently aside, and nodded to Godric, who had appeared next to the
desk. He usually offered suggestions about what to do with the school
governors' parchments that Minerva might have adopted if she were
also a shade and had no accountability to the living world. "Stay
invisible, if you would," she said. "I think Severus may be
talking about something important to him, near the center of his ego,
and your presence would harm his openness."</p><p>Godric rolled his eyes
to show what he thought of that, but faded back into the wall.
Minerva sat upright as the expected knock sounded. "Come in!"</p><p>Severus strode in.
After a glance at his face, Minerva revised her estimate. <em>A
problem in Slytherin House, with a student he does not particularly
like. </em>He would not have worn that expression of dark glee if he
were coming to talk to her about the memory lapses. He would be
defensive instead, resenting the necessity of the visit even as he
made it, taut and prickly and snapping like a hedgehog.</p><p>"Please sit down,
Severus," she said, and waved her wand to conjure up a second
teacup. "Tea?"</p><p>"Please," he said,
voice a tad deeper than usual, and took the chair in front of her
desk. Minerva snorted to herself. <em>Yes, a student he really does
not like. He is never polite unless he has something to gain from it
or he is so cheerful that he does not care about the effort it costs
him.</em></p><p>The teacup appeared,
and Minerva carefully conjured tea into it. She was trying to make
less use of house elf services herself, in hope of slowly weaning
Hogwarts from them altogether. That would take years, but a little
practice never hurt. Besides, she was a mistress of Transfiguration.
She should be able to make tea out of lint if she wanted to.</p><p>She felt a brief,
blurring sensation, and thought she heard Severus cast a spell. But
when she glanced up from the carefully-poured tea, he still sat on
the other side of the desk, with a small smile on his face. She slid
his tea across to him and picked up her own, taking a sip.</p><p>The tea itself was
warm, but ice seemed to reach out from it, spanning her mind with
frozen bridges, spilling coldness through her lungs and her limbs.
She sagged back against her chair, and felt her mind wander.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Severus's heart beat
as if it pumped excitement instead of blood. It had worked. The
slight time-delaying charm, which was not a common spell even among
the Death Eaters, had let him lean past Albus and slip the silver
potion, the liquid Imperius, into his teacup. Now the Headmaster
leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes unfocused, his mouth that had
spoken the name "Severus" and driven him further into hatred
hanging open.</p><p>"Now," said
Severus softly, drawing out the second vial of potion from his robe
pocket, the purple one, "you <em>will</em> do what I tell you."</p><p>"Yes," said
Albus's voice, so breathy that it sounded like a woman's, like
Minerva's. Severus snorted at the impossible thought. Next he would
believe what the Potter brat told him, that Minerva was in charge of
Hogwarts.</p><p>"What I wish of
you," said Severus, holding out the vial, "is to drink this."</p><p>The purple potion
smelled foul, as it was meant to, and was full of a dozen substances
that made it one of the deadliest poisons ever to exist, as it was
meant to be. Severus had worked on it for almost a year, from the
moment he had begun to dream most intensely. He thought he had a
right to be proud of it.</p><p>Albus reached out,
accepted the vial, and tilted the poison down his throat without a
blink.</p><p>Severus could not
contain his triumphant laughter, and he saw no reason to do so. The
wards on the Headmaster's office would prevent anyone else from
hearing him, anyway.</p><p>"It will not kill
you quickly," he told the Headmaster, the man who had caused him so
much pain and so much strife. "It will give you such pain as you
have never known. As you writhe in the chair, remember that you
should have chosen the side of Slytherin for <em>once</em> in your
deluded life. It's the fault of your golden Gryffindors that this
happened. If you had, just <em>once</em>, ever offered a miserable
child some comfort, then I would not have hated you so much."</p><p>Merlin, he could feel
the hatred. It dripped through his veins like blackest swamp water,
curdling and turning his blood brackish. The only comfort for it was
watching Albus's body jerk in convulsions as he began to suffer the
first wave of the potion's effects. A moment later, he began to
scream hoarsely, weakly.</p><p>Severus nodded in
satisfaction. His dreaming self had tried to give the silver potion
to the Potter brat, and indeed, that had been his Lord's plan at
one time. But it had gone awry, and it was unlikely now that Connor
Potter would accept anything from Severus's hand without asking
many inconvenient questions first. This was better. Turn the
Headmaster's trust against him, and he would die.</p><p>He started to rise to
his feet, and something cold went through him. Severus turned in
alarm. The one thing he had not planned for was that a ghost would be
here, Peeves or the Bloody Baron perhaps. The wards on the
Headmaster's office were supposed to keep them out.</p><p>It was not a ghost
that wheeled past him, but a shade. A Founder's shade, Godric
Gryffindor. Severus hissed, his hatred for all Gryffindors running so
high at that moment as to prompt him to reach for his wand.</p><p>But the shade dived
through the floor, aiming, it seemed, in the direction of the
dungeons. Severus let go of his wand, slowly. Perhaps the shades had
gone senile with the amount of time they spent bound to the school.
It was beyond him what help Godric Gryffindor thought to find in
Slytherin, especially now that the green potion would be working and
most of them would be incapable of helping anyone.</p><p>Still. It was not good
to linger here, even though he had wanted to watch Albus's death as
the convulsions broke his ribs one by one, and other, worse things
happened to him. With one final regretful glance towards the
Headmaster's desk—Albus had fallen off his chair, and lay on the
floor—he turned towards the top of the school and the final point
his Lord had wanted him to make before Severus joined him.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>"<em>What is that?"</em></p><p>Harry glanced up from
his Transfiguration essay. He knew how to conjure chocolate; that did
not mean he knew how to explain the theory behind it, and he was
grateful for the distraction Argutus seemed intent on giving him.
"What is what?"</p><p>"<em>That</em>."
Argutus's tongue darted out, and he unwound most of his body from
Harry's trunk, where he liked to stay. "<em>Something is wrong.
Look at my scales.</em>" He heaved his coils up towards Harry.</p><p>Harry stared. There
was a blurry green image moving in the Omen snake's mirrored
scales, something strange happening right at that moment. He didn't
know what to make of it, though. The image looked like nothing so
much as a picture of swamp gas or a cloud of foxfire.</p><p>"<em>And there is a
strange smell, too,</em>" Argutus added, darting his tongue out
again and swaying back and forth.</p><p>Alarmed, Harry put
down his quill. Draco was in the loo, letting him have unimpeded
access to reach out with his magic. He found nothing wrong in the
Slytherin common room. There were students dozing before the fire or
doing homework, their magic at a low ebb this late in the evening.
There was the old magic of the common room door, dozing until it felt
the tug of the password. There were the castle's wards. There was—</p><p>Harry's eyes flared
open. <em>Magic moving in the corridors. </em>And when he lifted his
head and squinted, he could see tiny tendrils of green floating near
the ceiling, so faint that he would have missed them if not for
Argutus's warning.</p><p>Abruptly, his throat
grew tight. He tried to draw in air, and couldn't do it. Argutus
asked him something in a worried voice, but Harry, his panic
building, couldn't spare the necessary attention to translate the
Parseltongue.</p><p>And then he heard
somebody collapse in the loo.</p><p>Perhaps if he had been
alone, the panic would have won. But with Draco in danger, his temper
burst free, and with it his magic. Harry held his palms apart and
shot his power out like a net, aiming straight for the foreign feel
of the green magic, which was subtle as smoke and not as powerful as
a spell. A potion, probably. Harry grabbed every single bit of it he
could find, not trying to swallow it, because he didn't know what
the effect would be, but churning the air and using wind to crowd the
potion fumes together into one deserted corridor and away from their
probable victims.</p><p>His own throat
released, and he took in air with a trembling gasp. Then he stood and
staggered towards the loo, Argutus coming after him and demanding
over and over again, in a voice that made him sound very young, to
know what was going on.</p><p>He found Draco blue in
the face, but when he half-collapsed next to his partner, Draco's
chest was still moving. Harry leaned down and huffed air into him
anyway, making sure it was clean. Draco coughed and sat up. His eyes
were glassy, but he was obviously alive, and his magic flared up in
him brightly to Harry's extended senses.</p><p>"What happened?"
Draco whispered.</p><p>"Magic from a
potion, I think," said Harry grimly, and then turned his attention
to containing the green fumes. His power raced probing through the
dungeons, taking the form of small whirlwinds and shying from
interaction with Hogwarts's wards, but found no more fumes above a
certain level of the stairs. Harry clenched his hands in wordless
thanks. The potion had been meant as a trap for the Slytherins, then,
and though eventually it would have risen to infect the whole castle,
Harry had managed to stop it before it got out of the dungeons. He
herded the excess green fumes into the side corridor with his
whirlwinds, and contained them behind a powerful ward.</p><p>"And the others?"
Draco had given him a once-over, and was now moving towards their
bedroom door.</p><p>Harry followed him
swiftly. He heard coughing and sleepy exclamations of protest in the
Slytherin common room, but everyone he looked at was alive. They
would have to check the bedrooms, though.</p><p>Harry felt anger
building in him. <em>What was this? A prank? Even if it was only meant
to send us to sleep, asphyxiation is no laughing matter. If I find
out the Weasley twins had a hand in this, or the Gryffindors did and
</em>Connor <em>knew about it</em>—</p><p>A hand snatched at
him, half-solid and half not. Harry staggered, then turned to catch
his breath. Perhaps this had been Peeves' work, and he could
confront the poltergeist now. Harry was in a foul mood, enough to
rend the ghost apart with his magic.</p><p>Instead, he saw Godric
Gryffindor, the shade of the Founder bound to an anchor-stone in the
school's foundations, hovering anxiously next to him. "You must
come!" he insisted. "Minerva's been poisoned by your Head of
House, and none of us know enough about potions to counteract it."</p><p>Harry stared at him
for a long moment. He wanted to protest, to say that Snape would
never do anything like that, but he remembered the memory lapses, and
he remembered the silver potion held in his hand the day before
yesterday when Connor intervened, and he remembered his feeling that
the green fumes had come from a potion—</p><p>His heart squeezed
like a fist breaking an egg.</p><p><em>Please. No. Do not
say he has served Voldemort all this time. No.</em></p><p>He rejected that
notion wildly. But he also didn't disbelieve Godric, that
McGonagall had been poisoned, and whether it was Snape or someone
Polyjuiced to look like him, she needed help.</p><p>"I'm coming," he
promised, and began to run. He heard Draco shout, and then,
apparently giving up on shouting, pound right behind him. Godric
swooped next to him like an anxious owl. People called questions as
he ran through the common room, but Harry did not care.</p><p>"What did the potion
look like?" he demanded of Godric as they came out into the dungeon
corridors.</p><p>"Purple," said
Godric, unhelpfully. "It smelled foul."</p><p><em>I know—Snape had
a purple poison, one that he was playing with while we were still in
the Sanctuary</em>—</p><p>But again Harry cut
himself off from the line of thought that would make him scream if
Snape was a traitor. What was important was that he save the
Headmistress's life. He did not think there was an antidote to
Snape's new poison—certainly he'd never seen Snape brew one—and
so he would have to fight it with another means, the only one that
worked on all poisons. He held out a hand in the direction of the
Potions store cupboard and threw all his magic into the spell he
performed next.</p><p>"<em>Accio </em>bezoar!"</p><p>He heard doors bang
and wood tear and stone shred as the bezoar soared towards him. He
snatched it out of the air and silently promised Snape he would
replace the broken cupboards and smashed potions later.</p><p><em>If there is a
later. If he has not betrayed us all.</em></p><p>They ran, then, or at
least Harry and Draco ran, with Godric floating beside them. Harry's
thoughts rose and fell in waves with his feet even as they ascended
the stairs out of the dungeon, even as the gargoyle moved aside for
them, even as they leaped up the moving staircase to the
Headmistress's office two steps at a time. When he lifted his foot,
he thought of Snape, and what his memory lapses meant, and whether he
had poisoned McGonagall of his own free will or not; when his foot
fell he thought of Draco, stubbornly keeping up with him, and how he
could convince him to stay behind and out of danger when Harry went
to confront Snape.</p><p><em>Did he lay down
that green potion along the corridors for me? Did he mean to insure
that I wouldn't be in any position to help McGonagall by the time
she started to die?</em></p><p>"Here, here, here!"
Godric blew through the door to the office, forgetting for a moment
that Harry and Draco were solid and would need to open it.</p><p>"Go warn the other
professors," Harry commanded the Founder's shade, knocking the
door open with a blast of his shoulder and his magic, both. "They'll
need to know what happened, and that any of them are in danger if
they meet Snape. Besides, there's nothing you can do here."</p><p>"I'll go," said
Rowena Ravenclaw, stepping around the desk. She had been beside
McGonagall, Harry deduced, and hurried towards her. "Since Godric
is too worried to concentrate, and Helga is already raising her
House." She stretched her arms over her head and dived into the
floor like a fish into water.</p><p>McGonagall looked
horrible. Already her robe was soaked with blood, and Harry thought
she had broken ribs from the convulsions. Her eyes were glassy, and
she gasped and choked, and her face had broken out into enormous,
pus-dripping blisters. Harry was glad again for Lily's training in
that moment, which had enabled him to see worse sights and survive
them.</p><p>He fell to his knees
beside her, pried open her jaw, and nearly lost a finger to her teeth
as it snapped shut again. He growled, and his magic spread into his
hand, lending him the strength to hold her mouth still as he plunged
the bezoar down her throat.</p><p>He felt the moment
when the stone's power counteracted the poison as a start and
stutter of steps. Suddenly the purple potion had to hesitate, and
flow backward, reluctantly leaving McGonagall's limbs and torso and
blood as the waves of healing spread outward from the lodged bezoar.
Harry kept his eyes fastened to the fluttering of the pulse in the
Headmistress's throat, and saw it slow, then begin to beat strongly
once more. The bezoar had won the battle. Harry had to close his eyes
and let out a deep breath, then. He had not been sure it would. If
any Potions Master could brew a poison strong enough to resist the
most powerful magical remedy, it would be Snape.</p><p><em>If he brewed it. If
that was him. If he's a traitor.</em></p><p>And now there was no
healing to be done, nothing that stood between Harry and finding out
exactly what the fuck had happened to Snape.</p><p>He sat back, and
nodded to Godric. "Fetch Madam Pomfrey. She'll live, but she
needs care for her ribs, and for her heart." He remembered Madam
Pomfrey arguing with McGonagall once about having a weak heart. The
poison would probably have attacked that, seeking to exploit any
weakness in its victim's body.</p><p>Godric nodded once,
and vanished. Harry closed his eyes and reached out, seeking the
familiar feeling of Snape's magic. He knew him, he could sense him,
he knew him among all the other different, existing blazes of the
students' and professors' magic—</p><p>Yes, he knew him. And
he knew where Snape was, he could feel it, and there wasn't any
reason for him to be there at this time of night. Harry swallowed,
and stood.</p><p>Draco was there,
catching his shoulders, staring into his eyes. "Wherever you're
going, I'm coming with you," he said.</p><p>Harry didn't have
time to argue about it right now. If worst came to worst, he would
shut Draco out of the confrontation with Snape so that he couldn't
be used as a hostage, but he didn't even know that this <em>was</em>
Snape, yet.</p><p><em>If the world loves
me at all, if fate is not entirely cruel, it will not be.</em></p><p>So
Harry merely gave a sharp nod, and then turned, speeding towards the
feeling of Snape's magic, speeding towards the Astronomy Tower.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 121*: Triple Edged Blade: First Cut</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Ninety-Four: Triple-Edged Blade: First
Cut</strong></p><p>Indigena wished she
could see, wished she could hear. Her Lord lay motionless in a corner
of his throne room, and reached out with his mind to cause havoc and
sow destruction in the minds of his enemies. He was <em>moving</em>, at
last, and Indigena would have liked to be able to share his vision as
his plans began to bear fruit.</p><p>But she had her own
task, and she was glad of that, too, glad in a different way. She
would finally be free of the enforced stillness that had enveloped
her. Reading books, crouching in burrows, using parchment as a
weapon—it had all taken too long for one part of her soul, despite
her understanding that they could have not moved earlier.</p><p>She spent one more
moment gazing at her dreaming Lord, then closed her eyes and
Apparated.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Severus stood on top
of the Astronomy Tower. He had finished enlarging the Dark Mark so
that it hung over the school as a malignant, glittering thing. No one
in Hogsmeade would miss it, and it might even be visible across the
whole of Scotland.</p><p>Idly, Severus wondered
if Muggles would see it. Then he snorted. <em>Better for them if they
do. It will help them prepare for the coming of their new Lord.</em></p><p>The night was full of
green fire, outside him and inside him. He had killed one man who had
been the target of his wrath and hatred for more than two decades,
but there were others. His Lord had promised him the werewolf, had
promised him Peter Pettigrew. His Lord was determined to punish the
Light for daring to oppose him, and in particular those people who
had surrounded and loved Harry Potter and pinned their hopes on him,
but hadn't had the sense to give up when he was killed. Lupin and
Pettigrew had both loved Harry. They were among the victims whose
torture the Dark Lord would draw out, though not as long as Connor
Potter's.</p><p>Severus stroked his
wand, and smiled, while the green light of the Dark Mark traveled
over him like the light of shooting stars. <em>That silver potion I
invented to poison werewolves would be a good start for Lupin. But I
will need something more than that. I wonder if I might find a spell
that mimics the full moon, and put myself in control of his
transformation? True, none of the ones invented thus far are
reliable, but I could create one that was. Or a potion—</em></p><p>"Snape!"</p><p>The sound of the hated
name made him swing, snarling. The Potter brat was just coming out of
the top turn of the staircase, the green light catching red
highlights in his dark hair, his eyes wide and staring. He halted
with one foot still on the staircase, and gazed at him with a face
full of outrage and betrayal.</p><p>Severus laughed. "What
is it, Potter?" he asked. "Disappointed to know my true
allegiance?" He felt the glee in him growing. His Lord would not
mind if he taunted the boy, or even maimed him, so long as the
maiming did not make the torture Voldemort had planned impossible.
"Sad to learn the true identity of the man who killed your
Headmaster, who killed your parents, who betrayed and killed your
elder brother, after so long?" He cast a lazy curse at the boy, one
that would slap him back and cause him only a little less pain than
the words could—a weak curse, actually, but one that the boy would
have needed trained power, not merely strength, to block.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry was close enough
to see Snape's eyes.</p><p>Close enough to see
the glint of red in them, to see the way they shone with the light of
the Dark Mark, to see their darkness tainted by surging malevolence
and hatred.</p><p><em>Voldemort has done
this to him. Voldemort is in possession of him. </em></p><p>And when Snape turned
towards him at his call, Harry could see his left sleeve swing back
from the Dark Mark, and he fought the temptation to close his eyes
and be sick all over the stones.</p><p><em>The Dark Mark. It
hurt him, sometimes, in the Sanctuary. Was Voldemort in his head,
trying to control his dreams, even then?</em></p><p>Then Snape began to
spout that nonsense about having killed the Headmaster, and his
parents, and his elder brother, and Harry could only stare at him in
astonishment. <em>He thinks I'm Connor. Whatever delusion
Voldemort's put him into, it's deep.</em></p><p>A curse came flying
towards him. Harry called up a wandless <em>Protego</em> without even
thinking and deflected it off to the side. He was still studying
Snape, still thinking. <em>It's as though Voldemort's put him into
another reality. I know the Sanctuary dreams allowed him to relive
the past, and after a certain point in time he stopped remembering
them. Perhaps that was when Voldemort's dreams began. And no wonder
we couldn't find anything with the Pensive and Legilimency, if he
buried himself that deep. And used the connection through the Dark
Mark, too. That's probably how he got around the hole in his
magical core. If he sends the magic through pieces of his power
lodged in other bodies, he's not pulling it into the center of his
body where it can drain out again. He makes the Death Eaters into
other bodies for him, hands and feet.</em></p><p>Snape made a low
noise. Harry glanced up and met his eyes, and saw confusion peering
through the tangled hatred.</p><p>And conviction, born
perhaps of hope, born perhaps of delusion of his own, came to him as
on the wings of a storm.</p><p><em>I can still win him
back. Break his delusion, force him to see me, and I may be able to
break Voldemort's control.</em></p><p><em>But it will be
delicate. No one can interrupt.</em></p><p>Harry raised wards on
the staircase behind him, a wall of solid power that no one would be
able to pass or break. He heard Draco's cry, and the impact of a
fist on what sounded like wood. Harry didn't glance behind him. He
took a step forward, eyes fastened on Snape's face.</p><p>"Sir," he said.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Severus did not
understand. The Potter brat was not that powerful. He <em>knew</em> he
was not that powerful. The prophecy said he could not be. Someone
stronger was supposed to stand at his shoulder, acting as a guide and
a guardian. At one point that would have been Harry, at another
Albus, but both of them were dead. Severus could not be facing such
power, not here and not now.</p><p>Besides, the Potter
brat would not have contented himself with deflecting his curse and
then speaking to him in a low, soothing voice—calling him by title,
even, as if he respected him! Connor Potter would scream and lunge
with his wand out, cursing Severus for a filthy traitor all the way.</p><p>It was almost as if
Harry stood there instead.</p><p>But it was not so,
because it could not be so. Severus had been awake when he saw Harry
die.</p><p>He thought.</p><p>Memories writhed and
twisted in his head. For a moment, his dreaming self, the one called
by "Snape" and "sir," fought to awaken. For a moment, he did
not know what was falsehood and what was reality.</p><p>But then he recalled
his hatred. That was real, the one thing he had to cling to, while
Harry, when alive, had tried to entice him to his side with false
visions of love. Severus knew that no one could ever love him. No one
had tried. His Lord cared for him in his own way, and so had his
mother, who had taught him the truths of the world, but neither of
them loved him.</p><p><em>Cling to the
hatred. It is the only reality you know.</em></p><p>"I have no need to
listen to you," he told the Potter brat, the dark-haired,
<em>hazel-eyed</em>, Potter brat, who stood before him. "I know you
are only trying to persuade me back to your side. Albus tried that,
too, and it didn't work. I am not of the Light. The Light does not
know <em>hate</em> the way I do."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSS</p><p><em>Hatred. That's
it. That's what Voldemort's using to control him, I think.
Hatred, and vengeance. He poisoned McGonagall because he thought she
was Dumbledore.</em></p><p>And Harry knew how to
fight hatred.</p><p>"Sir," he repeated
softly. "I'm not trying to redeem you. You've done enough to
redeem yourself. You chose to accept a child not your own—in fact,
the son of one of your worst enemies—into your care. You turned
your back on two masters, not just one, to support me, when you
really <em>believed</em> in Dumbledore. You gave up, you thought, on
any chance of my forgiving you because you believed it was the right
thing to do, putting my parents and Dumbledore in prison. How many
times have you put yourself in danger, nearly given your life, to
save me? And you charged forward on Walpurgis, screaming, for my
sake. You are Snape." He licked his lips, because the words that he
was to speak next still did not come easily to him, and he might
never have said them at all if not for the need to convince Snape by
any method possible. "My father."</p><p>Snape made a wordless
snarling sound. Harry saw him clutching his head.</p><p>"You are Potter,"
were the first clear words that emerged from that silent, rebounding
struggle.</p><p>"I am not," Harry
replied. "I gave up that name. I have not taken another." He
thought of a final, possible method he might use to convince Snape,
and raised his magic, surging, all around him. As he relaxed the
barriers, the jungle came out, the brightness of spring and the heat
of summer, the shadows of black jaguars and the coil of snakes. "Sir.
Remember. Know me. Did my brother ever have magic like <em>this?</em>
And you were one of those who taught me to appreciate it, to
acknowledge my own power. Please, sir. Remember. Come home. I love
you."</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>The Potter brat—</p><p><em>Who says he is not
the Potter brat.</em></p><p>Why would he choose
this method of reaching out to Severus? It was strange. The words he
spoke were strange. He had never considered Severus a father. Connor
Potter was in Gryffindor. That had put a barrier between them if
nothing else had. And for the first four years of school he was an
annoying shadow of his brother, and for the last two he had been his
Lord's enemy. Severus did not know him, could never have known him
the way he was speaking of. The appeal was bizarre. It had no chance
of convincing him to stay.</p><p><em>Unless—unless—Harry—</em></p><p><em>No! I saw him die!
I helped to kill him myself!</em></p><p>The world spun and
rocked and bounded around him, and where he found the strength to
say, "You are Potter," in the first place, he could not have
said. And then came the even stranger words about Severus teaching
him to appreciate his magic, and the infuriating declaration that he
loved Severus.</p><p>And then came the
magic.</p><p>Magic like a tidal
wave of spring, like the world that might contain love for a person
like Severus but called Snape, magic of racing bodies and high pride
and sustained courage. Slytherin magic, but magic not like the Dark
Lord's, though with twisting threads of familiarity buried in it,
as if the Potter brat were a distorted, echoing mirror of the mighty
reality.</p><p><em>What is reality? </em></p><p>The world spun, and
words were confusing, and memory had abandoned him, but the magic was
real. Severus swayed towards the magic as he had not towards even the
roaring fire of his Lord's power. It touched some deeper part of
him.</p><p><em>No! A lie!</em></p><p>He drew his wand and
cast wildly in the direction of the magic, to remind himself that
this was an enemy, to make the Potter brat defend himself and drop
the strange façade that was working on Severus for no reason
he knew. To make him stop the <em>magic.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry breathed deeply,
his eyes focused on Snape. He could feel his mind streamlining
itself, other concerns falling away, from what Draco would say when
he dropped the wards to his hope that the green fumes had not hurt
his Housemates. What he wanted now, what he wanted before he walked
away from the Astronomy Tower, was very simple:</p><p>He wanted his father
back.</p><p>"Remember," he
whispered. "You can do it. Remember—"</p><p>And then a curse came
at him, and Harry, who easily possessed the magic to swallow or
deflect it, had a split second to decide what to do.</p><p>He dropped his
defenses and let it through. A line of blood on his arm. It hurt, but
it could have been worse. And when he lifted his head and saw dark
eyes staring at him, he knew it had been wise. An enemy would never
let someone as dangerous as Snape hurt him. His brother would never
have done it. Even if his shield had failed, he would have raised it.</p><p>Harry took a deep
breath and pulled all his magic back behind him, still retaining its
presence so Snape could feel the familiarity, but showing himself
unprotected. He held out his hands, palms up.</p><p>"You're not him,"
he said quietly. "You're not the man Voldemort wanted you to be.
You're yourself, and I trust you."</p><p>Snape's wandless
magic came out, surrounding him with a maelstrom of half-glimpsed
eyes and snapping crab claws. He took a step forward, and his eyes
were crazed. The air around him promised pain, promised death.</p><p>Harry held his gaze,
and turned his head to bare his throat, but otherwise didn't move.
His vision blurred, so hard was his heart pounding, and Draco would
have said he was insane. But Draco was not here. It was his choice,
to take the risk, to trust.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Contradictions ran
around inside his head, smashing themselves together, sending
shrapnel and bouncing stones down to rain on the unprotected meat of
his mind.</p><p><em>Potter did not have
magic like that. Harry was the only one who had magic like that. </em></p><p><em>Potters do not
surrender. No son of James Potter would show himself that submissive.
But a Slytherin trying to win out over a stronger opponent might.
Harry would trust me like this.</em></p><p><em>This is—I saw him
die! I saw him die! I saw him die!</em></p><p><em>My name is Severus!</em></p><p>His magic rose around
him, responsive to his surging temper, ready to rend and rip apart if
he could only decide what he wanted to rip apart.</p><p>"You're yourself,"
said the boy whose eyes were hazel, whose eyes were green, whose eyes
were pits into endless blackness, "and I trust you." He bowed his
head and tilted his throat towards Severus.</p><p>His eyes flamed green
in the light, green in the light of the Dark Mark, green in and of
themselves, green as Lily Potter's eyes.</p><p>And he rose and heaved
himself forward from the back of his mind, Snape overtaking Severus,
fighting madly against the dreams and the sweet pull of the hatred
and the blaze in his left arm, the Dark Mark pulling on him to go
back to his Lord, tugging him towards the vows he had sworn so long
ago.</p><p><em>I am more than a
Mark. I am more than a promise.</em></p><p><em>I am more than the
people I hate.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry saw the struggle
begin in earnest. He knew it was probably similar to the struggle
Sirius had waged in third year to take his body back from Voldemort
for a few critical moments, but then he'd had Regulus, with his
connection to them both, to tell him what was happening. This time,
he would have no connection like that—</p><p>Unless he forged one.</p><p>He plunged forward and
put his hands on either side of Snape's head, holding it still. It
didn't seem to matter much. This battle was all internal. His dark
eyes stared blankly forward.</p><p>Harry plunged forward
again, using Legilimency to ride like a wind into the confused,
conflicted mass of Snape's mind.</p><p>The silver Occlumency
pools were bubbling, hung over by a dark miasma. Harry shivered. He
recognized the miasma. It was Snape's loathing, his revenge
impulse, the hook that Voldemort had used to get his hands on his
soul. Harry knew how powerful that was. It had showed up even after
Snape had supposedly loved him too much to let it take over, when he
had fed James the insanity potion in fourth year. It was not an enemy
to be lightly defeated.</p><p>But now the moment
came when he had to choose between losing that impulse towards
revenge and losing Harry. He'd never had to do that before. Even
the moment of the insanity potion was not test enough, because Harry
had still loved him and still testified at his trial.</p><p>Harry could do little
but hover and watch in silence as Snape fought. It had to be his
doing. If Harry tried to join in, he would be taking over Snape's
free will, and he would never know for certain if perhaps Voldemort's
hook remained in Snape's mind, only buried, not removed.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>He was Snape, the
Potions Master who hated teaching, the Dark wizard who had given too
much of his life to the cause of the Light, the father of an adopted
son.</p><p>He was Severus, the
scorned son of Eileen Prince, the favored servant of the Dark Lord,
the father of potions that poisoned and killed.</p><p>Names for himself
rolled through his head, adding weight to either side.</p><p><em>Hater of
werewolves.</em></p><p><em>Pupil of Albus
Dumbledore.</em></p><p><em>Deputy Headmaster.</em></p><p><em>Victim of the
Marauders.</em></p><p><em>Death Eater.</em></p><p><em>Foe of James
Potter.</em></p><p><em>Guardian of Harry
James </em>vates, <em>by order of the Ministry.</em></p><p><em>Friend of Regulus.</em></p><p><em>Occlumens.</em></p><p><em>Changer of desires.</em></p><p><em>Survivor.</em></p><p><em>Slytherin.</em></p><p>The hatred pulled
against the love, the revenge against the impulse to live life as he
would, and Snape/Severus knew they were both strong in him, both too
strong to simply be defeated. If he turned against either, then he
would lose a part of himself. Voldemort would have him, or Harry
would.</p><p><em>No. I will have
myself.</em></p><p>And that decided him.
Snape set his shoulder against Severus and pulled with all his might
towards love.</p><p>He felt some of the
webs in his mind rip and part, and immense pain filled his head as he
tore open an Occlumency wound, not nearly as broad as those Harry had
sustained in second year, but far deeper. He drained and bailed the
foul water, forcing it from him, forbidding himself to care more
about hatred of his enemies than he did about protecting Harry.</p><p>He turned his
Legilimency on himself, as Harry had done once at Godric's Hollow,
and he hacked and he burned and he tore and he screamed.</p><p>He had sacrificed part
of himself, hurt himself so badly there was no telling right now how
much he had lost. But the hatred had been Voldemort's hold on him,
even more than the Dark Mark. All the dreams of himself as Severus,
which he could now remember, had been focused on it, had encouraged
it, had told him to seek vengeance. And as he rejected them, so he
destroyed Voldemort's hold.</p><p>And then he was free,
and he could feel Harry's hands gripping either side of his face,
and he opened his eyes and stared straight at his son.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Harry screamed like a
hawk when he felt what Snape was doing. Yes, it hurt, yes, he had
lost some parts of himself and would never be the same, but he was
<em>free.</em> Harry lunged forward when his eyes opened and slid his
arms around him, holding him fiercely. For the first time in his
life, he thought he might know what it was like to have a father.</p><p>"Harry," Snape
whispered, and wrapped his arms tentatively around him.</p><p>Harry opened his mouth
to answer, and then screamed as his scar exploded into pain. Blood
drowned his eyes. He could feel Voldemort ripping open the old link
between them, sinking claws into his forehead, laughing triumphantly,
until all Harry could hear was the high, cold whirlwind of his joy.</p><p><em>Did you think that
was the only knife I had prepared for you, my heir? Hardly. It was a
distraction, and always meant to fail, though it would have been
wonderful had it succeeded. Now see what you have failed to prevent
in your concern with your father!</em></p><p>And visions slammed
into him, an avalanche of despair.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 122*: Triple Edged Blade: Second Cut</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Ninety-Five: Triple-Edged Blade: Second
Cut</strong></p><p>Rufus looked up with a
small smile when he hard the knock on his door, at long last. "Come
in, Hope," he called.</p><p>The Auror poked her
head through, trying and failing to hide a grin. "She's here,
Minister," she said. "Do you want me to send her in?"</p><p>"She's passed all
the tests?" Rufus asked. Of course, he knew the Liberator must
have, or Hope would not offer to let her come in. She would have been
kept for an hour in a room alone, without anything to drink, so that
she could not take Polyjuice, and she would have had the strongest
anti-glamour charms the Ministry possessed cast on her. Even if she
were the person who had written letters to the Minister that helped
him and Harry win against Falco Parkinson, one could not take
chances.</p><p>"Yes, sir," said
Hope. "And it's—well, it <em>seems</em> like her. From what I
read of her letters, she's like this. She's young, and so excited
she's fit to burst."</p><p>Rufus laughed. "That
sounds like the Liberator," he agreed, and leaned back in his
chair. His life was full of good news lately, it seemed. Harry had
accepted the position of liaison between the packs and the Ministry,
and the Wizengamot was falling in line, even those who had only voted
for his measure because everyone else had voted for it. And now the
Liberator had escaped from her parents' home and was waiting just a
few doors away. Rufus could not wait to meet her.</p><p>He glanced back at
Percy, who sat at his desk behind his ward, and met a grin that
matched his own. Percy had shared more of Rufus's concerns about
the Liberator with him than anyone else. It was only fair that he be
present at the first meeting with her, too.</p><p>"Bring her in," he
told Hope.</p><p>The Auror nodded, and
ducked out. Rufus shoved aside his paperwork and sat up, watching,
almost holding his breath until the two smiling Aurors waved the
young woman in, shutting the door behind her. The wards lifted.</p><p>The Liberator was even
younger than Rufus had expected her to be, with soft brown hair
tinged with blonde that hung to her shoulders, and large brown eyes.
She flushed under his scrutiny, to the roots of her hair, and ducked
her head as if, freedom and all, she still knew how to be shy. Rufus
reminded himself she hadn't been out of the house more than once a
month before. That she had summoned the courage to make the great
trek across England to the Ministry was a miracle.</p><p>"The Liberator, I
presume?" he asked, rising to his feet.</p><p>"Yes, sir," she
whispered.</p><p>"Might I know your
name?" Rufus put his hand out.</p><p>She graced him with a
dazzling smile, as if the request had restored her confidence. "Iris
Raymonds, sir," she said, and then caught his hand in a firm grip
with her left one.</p><p>Rufus started to
reply, to speak a welcome and reassure Iris once again that she'd
be safe in the Ministry, but a sharp sting interrupted him. He pulled
his hand away from Iris, startled, and stared. A small wound was open
near the base of his right wrist, seeping blood. From it, a numbness
spread up his arm.</p><p>And Iris was changing.</p><p>Shadows of leaves and
flowers appeared beneath her skin, flipping it over, rippling it
until her features became those of a different woman entirely—a
magic beyond Polyjuice, beyond any glamour Rufus had ever heard of.
Streaks of green flooded her hair. She shook her head, and tendrils
shone around her arms, dark eyes pooling and shining with power.
Where Iris Raymonds had only seemed a witch of average magic, here
stood a witch to be feared.</p><p>Rufus might not have
known who she was even then, had he not read the descriptions Harry
had passed him of Death Eaters.</p><p>"The Thorn Bitch,"
he whispered, still too caught off-guard to feel anything but
stunned.</p><p>"Yes," said
Indigena Yaxley simply. She watched him with a wistful smile, the
only remaining trace of the Liberator, then nodded to his right wrist
and held up her left arm so he could see the thorny rose coiled on
the back of her hand. "My poison is in you now, Minister. You have
approximately two minutes to live."</p><p>Rufus could not speak.
There was no answer to this, no way to explain how his life had
exploded or what it meant. Above all, he could not believe death was
upon him. He had too much left to do.</p><p>Percy leaped up from
behind his desk suddenly, a ringing battle cry starting from his
throat. Indigena swung her head, then bowed it, and two thorns on
long, slender vines lashed out from sheaths on her back.</p><p>One thorn took Percy
through the throat. The other plunged into his chest, staking him
like a vampire. When it pulled back out, something red and dripping
came with it, something Rufus looked away from.</p><p>He knew, now, that the
sluggishness gripping him was not the result of simple shock.
Indigena's poison raced through him, biting and stinging with cold
spikes, aiming for the heart. He tried to lift his wand to confront
her, but his hand could not grip. He watched from a numb distance as
his fingers opened and the wand fell to the floor.</p><p>Indigena withdrew her
thorns from Percy's tattered body and sat on the edge of his desk,
crossing one leg over another, watching him.</p><p>Rufus forced his mind
to work, to think. He had been poisoned before, in his work as an
Auror. There <em>must</em> be a way out of this. "How did you do it?"
he whispered.</p><p>Indigena's eyebrows
lifted. "Why, Minister," she said, "I'm a very, very good
liar. I thought you would have figured that out already."</p><p>"But what—what was
the plan?" Rufus forced the words through a closing throat. The
poison seemed to buzz and rattle in his ears, or was that his failing
heartbeat? "Why send me letters directed at the defeat of Falco
Parkinson?"</p><p>Indigena sighed and
shook her head. "There may be listening wards on the office,
Minister," she chided him. "Or someone could cast a spell that
picks up impressions from objects. I'd rather not spill my cunning
plan to you. Let us find something more pleasant to talk about in the
last minute of your life." Her face sobered. "I really did
consider you almost a friend, you know. The only person I could
communicate with during this time who wasn't my Lord. It is a pity
that we could not have met under different circumstances. You are a
good man."</p><p>Rufus's legs gave
out. He slumped to the floor, and Indigena bent, following him down.</p><p>"Sleep now," she
said. "You've done enough for the wizarding world."</p><p>Rufus closed his eyes.
He wondered what he should think of in the final moments of his life.</p><p>Unfortunately, all he
could think of was what would happen now that he was dead, who would
be Minister.</p><p><em>Juniper, of course.
They will turn to him out of sheer terror.</em></p><p>And before he could
fully comprehend the consequences of that, the Light came for him,
wave after wave, to welcome him home.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Indigena leaned down
further, and gently closed Minister Scrimgeour's eyes.</p><p>He had a peaceful
expression on his face at the last. Indigena wondered what he had
been thinking about. She would have liked to have shared it. But
then, her consideration of them as friends, in a sense, had been
one-sided, as it must inevitably be.</p><p>She was glad that this
was done. It had been her plan, her idea, that she would help Harry
against Falco Parkinson while making sure that the "help" did not
put Harry too far ahead of her Lord. She had come up with the plan
when she first realized that another Lord had entered the contest
between Light and Dark. Take the Minister at the end of the game, and
the blow struck would be a greater hindrance than the help of any
minor information she could research about Falco and provide through
letters. And the letters themselves, spaced out over time, never
quite matching the information of any existing Light family, would
encourage the Minister to trust her, and eliminate the difficulties
that would exist in getting access to him.</p><p>She'd had time to
write three letters and leave them with a contact at the <em>Daily
Prophet</em>—Gina de Rousseau, a woman who did not know her, but
would do nearly anything for money—with information to post them on
the dates indicated. Given her Lord's preparations for battle at
Hogwarts on Midsummer, Indigena could not have been entirely sure
that she would survive the fight, or have time to write the letters
if she was running or wounded. And that had been a wise precaution,
considering what Hawthorn Parkinson had done to her.</p><p>She had altered the
plan a little bit in the last stages, when she saw a chance to coax
Scrimgeour into acting against Cupressus Apollonis and losing himself
a Light ally. That had been an outside chance, though, a risk. She
was glad it had worked.</p><p><em>Glad and not glad
at the same time, </em>she thought, staring at the Minister. <em>I did
not want to kill you. But you would never have taken the Mark, sir,
my friend.</em></p><p>She gave a final
glance at Percy Weasley as she stood and pulled a leaf out of her
pocket. She had not wanted to kill him, either; his death had never
been meant. But since he was in the office with Scrimgeour, he had
needed to die.</p><p>She placed the leaf on
the ground and carefully Transfigured it, until a model of the body
she wore as Iris Raymonds lay on the floor of the office. She stabbed
a hole through the body's throat when the Transfiguration was done.
She had no intention of hiding that this was the work of the Thorn
Bitch, but she also had no intention of revealing her disguise if she
could help it, the disguise superior to Polyjuice and glamours of
every kind. It might come in useful later with people who were not
the Ministry's Aurors.</p><p>Her own wand had
rested safe in her pocket, wrapped with yew leaves, the same way
Indigena had smuggled it in when she attended the Potters' trial.
That did let her leave Iris's wand with the body. She parted from
it with only a little twinge. Her own wand and her plants were dearer
to her than a wand she rarely used.</p><p>Then she turned and
lashed up with her plants towards the ceiling. She would leave the
Ministry the same way she had once entered Tullianum, digging up
through solid stone.</p><p>While she moved, she
cast the Dark Mark, and it rose and streamed through the ceiling, to
hang over the Ministry and mark the sign of a Death Eater kill. The
passing of the Minister would send the wizarding world into chaos.
Indigena had just upended everything rather neatly, and she smiled at
the thought of the excitement to come, though she had killed two men
she did not want to kill.</p><p>She had other errands
in the meanwhile. First, she was to go to a certain orphanage in
Muggle London and fetch out the wand of Rowena Ravenclaw, a Horcrux
of her Lord. Voldemort had decided that the orphanage was not a
secure holding place for it. When Indigena had it, she would Apparate
back to Thornhall and bury it in her garden.</p><p>And then she
had—something yet again to do. She might have feared to do it, but
Harry was busy at the moment, thanks to her Lord. Indigena knew he
could not interfere.</p><p>Up rose the Dark Mark,
carrying its message of death and doom, and on Indigena climbed,
steadily, her vines ripping out the stones in front of her, cocooned
in the power of green and growing things, bringing her back to the
evening light.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 123*: Triple Edged Blade: Third Cut</h2>
			<p><strong>Chapter Ninety-Six: Triple-Edged Blade: Third Cut</strong></p><p>It came on him as a
sudden swelling tide would, black and littered with the wrecks of
ships. It struck through the Dark Mark on his left arm, and it
overwhelmed his mind like a sped-up spider's web of frost crawling
across rocks.</p><p>Lucius stumbled,
clutching at his left forearm, gasping, trying to find himself in the
sea of emotions.</p><p>The foreign presence
in his mind cut through his feeble efforts like a blade of ice. In
that moment, Lucius bitterly wished he had learned Legilimency, or
that the research on the Dark Mark he had conducted rather
desultorily a few summers ago had yielded results. It had not.</p><p>He could hear the Dark
Lord laughing, a sound he had not thought he would have to hear
again. He bent his head and scrabbled blindly for his wand with his
right hand. Some part of him thought that if he could cast a spell on
the Dark Mark, then the call would stop coming through it, trying to
make him leave the safety of the wards on the house and Apparate.</p><p>The blade had cut
through the surface layers of his mind, though, and brought up
something that Lucius himself had forgotten.</p><p>Dreams, dreams,
dreams. Black and purple and deep reaching blue, they rolled down on
him, and Lucius remembered how much he had hated Light wizards in the
aftermath of his Lord's first fall. They had sneered at him as if
they thought <em>he</em> should believe that what he had done as a
Death Eater was wrong, and Lucius had longed to simply draw his wand
and hex them.</p><p>And the Mudbloods who
had propagated the Grand Unified Theory, and the <em>disgusting </em>idea
that the Malfoy line had ever mingled its blood with the dust of the
earth—</p><p>Thomas Rhangnara, the
man he had yearned to control, to kill—</p><p>Against that welling
tide of contempt, Lucius tried to raise his love for his wife and
son, but he understood it as a feeble defense even as he tried. He
loved only two people in the whole world, and he had never believed
in the supposed "power" of love as the Light wizards did. He
could not shelter behind a shield he had no faith in.</p><p>The web tugged tight,
and bound the part of him that objected and would rather stay in the
house. Lucius rose to his feet, put his wand back in his pocket, and
passed outside the wards, ready to Apparate.</p><p>A small part of him,
still free, remembered a thought he'd had the first time he met
Harry, when Draco brought him to Malfoy Manor for the Christmas
holidays. He had felt a fierce gladness that he would get to face an
enemy like Harry Potter across the battlefield before the end.</p><p>That part of him
laughed, an ashy chuckle. <em>It does seem as if you will get your
wish after all. </em></p><p>And then he Apparated,
and he was kneeling at his Lord's side, head bowed to receive the
touch of his hand, while the part of him that knew better watched
from behind steel walls of hatred and Legilimency, caged by his own
lack of love, helpless to act.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>And he was back in
Azkaban, in the cold, filthy cell, surrounded by Dementors and the
stink, not of human hatred, but of human indifference, which was
worse, with the phoenix web shining in his mind, a beacon of what
being friends with James and Lily Potter, and the protégé
of Albus Dumbledore, had cost him.</p><p>"No!" Peter
shouted out loud, and shoved the vision away.</p><p>But it returned,
reinforced now by images from his dreams, sweeping up towards the
surface of his mind like dolphins seeking the sun. He had lost twelve
years of his life to that prison, and he would never regain the
weight, the sunshine, the health that should have been his. He had
broken free only to help someone else who was a sacrifice like
himself, and was that right? Was that fair? Should he not hate his
friends? Wasn't he <em>entitled </em>to hate them, when they had done
so much wrong to him?</p><p>Peter felt the burning
of the Dark Mark, the call to Apparate, as a dim and distant thing.
The hatred, and fighting the hatred, took much more of his attention.</p><p>The questions echoed
in his head, asked by a voice he recognized now, as he had not
recognized it when it appeared in his nightmares, taunting him.</p><p>Peter answered with a
blast of love.</p><p>He had asked himself
all these questions when he hid in the Forbidden Forest during
Harry's third year, cold and hungry, watching vigilantly for an
opportunity to get Harry alone and a weakness in the phoenix web that
would let him tell the truth. He had had no choice but to ask them
again in the Sanctuary, when Vera had peered at his soul and demanded
answers from him in her own inimitable, subtle way. The answers had
rung like bells in his head when he saw Remus walk away from Harry,
once again following the strongest personality in his immediate
vicinity, and when he had burned with the desire to punish him.</p><p>It was not a matter of
forgiving his friends and Dumbledore for everything they had done. It
was a matter of love being stronger than hatred, of caring more about
the future than the past. He could not change the past. He could
change himself.</p><p>He felt the hook lash
out, swinging, trying to snag on a projection in his soul—</p><p>And he felt it fall
back again, washed away by the fact that he had moved on into the
future. The Dark Lord snarled in his ear as his shadow dissolved from
Peter's mind like the nightmare it was.</p><p>Peter sat on the
floor, breathing, for what seemed a very long time. He knew he should
be moving—if this had happened to him, then something similar had
probably happened to the other former Death Eaters—but all he could
really think about was the fact that Voldemort had called him back to
the Darkness, and he had resisted. He was free of that threat, should
it ever come again.</p><p>Now, of course, he had
more of an idea why he'd had those dreams, always focused on his
enemies and his past, and more of an idea why he'd had an infected
Dark Mark almost a year ago. That had been Voldemort sending part of
himself ahead into the Marks, trying to sow his former followers'
minds with seeds that would grow and force them to accept him.</p><p>Someone rammed a fist
on his door. Peter stood, still blinking, and staggered over to it.</p><p>When he opened it, he
found himself on the end of Regulus's wand, and then his stare, and
then his embrace. Peter wheezed. He thought Regulus forgot most of
the time that, physically, he was still a young man in his twenties,
while Peter was in his late thirties now and not the best of health.</p><p>"Thank Merlin you
escaped," Regulus whispered. "When I realized what was happening,
when he tried to take me, I thought you would, but I couldn't be
sure."</p><p>"How did you
escape?" Peter asked.</p><p>Regulus pushed his
sleeve back from his left forearm, showing the dark dog on his skin.
"He has no claim on me any more," Regulus said quietly. "I
belong to another mistress now." His shadow snapped its jaws in
agreement.</p><p>Peter caught his
breath. "And Severus?"</p><p>"I'm sad to say
don't know." Regulus's eyes were shadowed. "Come with me to
find out?"</p><p>Peter followed at his
heels.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>The wolf in her
welcomed it, of course. It panted and wagged its tail and thought
that this was the greatest thing that had happened since the
invention of blood.</p><p>Hawthorn <em>fought</em>.
She had never known she could put so much effort into a single thing.
The hook scraped through her, bringing up the images of her dreams
where she had run on four feet after Lucius and Aurors and Gloriana
Griffinsnest, and still she shoved them, forced them away, answered
with Harry's image of the storm-clouded world and how one storm did
not mean the <em>end</em> of that world.</p><p>Her wards twanged.
Hoping Harry, or some other ally, had come to help her, Hawthorn
forced herself onto her knees, tried to ignore the burning in her
left arm, and stared blearily out the window.</p><p>Indigena Yaxley stood
on the lawn.</p><p>The wolf in her
<em>howled.</em> She <em>wanted her daughter back</em>.</p><p>Oh, Merlin, Pansy,
Pansy ripped apart by this monstrous woman's plants, her neck
broken, her beautiful daughter all destroyed and the most beautiful
part of Hawthorn's life snuffed out like a rose by a frost—</p><p>The wolf leaped. The
balance tilted. The hook caught, and Hawthorn knew a brief moment of
despair so exquisite that she would have rejoiced to have caused it
in an enemy.</p><p>Her hatred was
stronger than her love, and it had cost her even as Harry had
proclaimed in his speech last year, during the alliance meeting on
the spring equinox, that vengeance would always cost wizards and
witches.</p><p>"Come, sister,"
Indigena called, voice gentler than Hawthorn had believed it could
be. "I have long wanted to discuss gardening techniques with you.
And I know this is harder for you, and you will need a few days to
settle in. Mindless chatter might be just the way to do so."</p><p>Hawthorn stood,
grasped her wand, and passed out of the house. The wolf and the
blood-crazed witch walked together in the front of her mind, the
witch's fingers twined in the wolf's fur. The sane part of her
cowered in the back of her mind and cried, sometimes in sobs,
sometimes in muffled lupine whines. She had the deadening feeling
that it would not be sane for long.</p><p>Indigena laid a hand
on her shoulder, her smile full of pity. Then she closed her eyes,
and together they Apparated.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>It took less effort to
take possession of Adalrico than it had almost anyone else. Adalrico
knew that, understood the moment the hatred began inundating his
soul, and he half-defiantly half-welcomed it.</p><p>He had a <em>right</em>
to hate. Harry should have let him kill Pharos Starrise. The whelp
had defied law, custom, tradition, honor, <em>everything</em> when he
had told the Unspeakables to capture Adalrico. It was too much. It
was—there were no words for what it was, and if he had killed
Pharos, or at least performed a vengeance ritual of some kind on him,
then Adalrico knew he could have healed his wounds.</p><p>Then he would not be
subject to the call of Voldemort.</p><p>It had been a moment
of sanity that made him call on Harry, a moment of desperation as he
found himself plotting ways to actually use the Black Plague spores
on Pharos in the Ministry. And then, by the time Harry had arrived,
Adalrico had wanted to listen to the dreams. They were making him a
bit clumsier, a bit less than Slytherin in his planning, but did that
matter? He would have used them soon, and then been done with it, and
Pharos too.</p><p>In a way, it was
Harry's fault.</p><p>So the Dark Mark
flared, and so he gave up the long struggle to raise his soul from
the poisoned garden in which he found it. He was probably never meant
to escape anyway, not if he had gone back this easily. And he had
sworn the family oath with Harry. He could not act against Harry or
his blood family anyway, not without bleeding to death.</p><p>So it would not be so
bad.</p><p>Even as he knelt
before the Dark Lord's throne, Adalrico did not know if the
justifications he had woven came from pragmatism or despair.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Indigena appeared
among the other Death Eaters, Hawthorn Parkinson at her side, and
shook her head as she watched them. This was where her approval of
her Lord's plan ran out. She did not like fighting beside traitors.
They had no honor. They might <em>pretend</em> they had honor, that
coming back to their Lord as they had done proved they had it, but
nothing could make up for that first betrayal.</p><p>She gave a pitying
look at Hawthorn as the werewolf knelt. She had not wanted to play
this part, either, but her Lord had insisted. Hawthorn had resisted
hardest of all of them, because she was used to fighting her wolf, a
creature of savagery and hatred. It was no coincidence that, when her
Lord had chosen to test his control over Evan Rosier and make him
lure Connor Potter to a specific place, he had chosen Hawthorn's
garden to be that specific place. Indigena had had three purposes
there: to make sure that Evan did as he was supposed to, to make sure
that Connor Potter did not die before the punishment her Lord had
planned for him, and to see if Hawthorn would react to her with
hatred. When she had, the Dark Lord had known that he could use
Indigena as a final lure to tip the other woman's balance, if worst
came to worst and she resisted the dreams even to the end.</p><p>Glancing around the
throne room, Indigena noticed the absence of Regulus Black, Peter
Pettigrew, and, most surprising, Severus Snape. She frowned. <em>Really!
That particular traitor resisted the call of his own impulses towards
revenge to stay by Harry's side? I suppose I am impressed, but I am
more puzzled. I never thought he could do it, with as long as my Lord
has been in his head, seeing through his eyes and making him dream to
his will.</em></p><p>She paused when she
saw a figure she had not expected standing there, and clenched her
fists. Evan's black eyes stared at her, the eyes of a caught mad
thing, snarling. She almost expected to see the foam of a rabid dog
falling from his jaws.</p><p>"Relax, my thorn."</p><p>Indigena slid to a
knee with the others as Lord Voldemort rose from his bed, floating.
When he was this close to so many Dark Marks, he could command the
magic of their bearers. It circled through their bodies, the pieces
of him they carried on their arms, and through his; when the hole in
his magical core attempted to drain it off, it circled back to the
former Death Eaters instead. He had been unwilling, mostly, to use
Indigena this way, since she was with him willingly and he wanted her
to use her magic for more important things. But these Death Eaters
whom he was punishing for loving Harry and turning their backs on him
made the perfect hands and feet.</p><p>"Evan has come to me
like these others," said Voldemort, settling into his throne, "and
I have control of him."</p><p>Glancing at Evan,
Indigena was not so certain of that—<em>as well control a
thunderstorm—</em>but she held her peace. It <em>was</em> true that
Lord Voldemort would never have allowed anyone but her so close to
his Horcrux cup unless he was assured they would not rebel.</p><p>"And now, my lord?"
she asked.</p><p>"Now, my thorn,"
said her Lord, his hand caressing her hair while the snake wound
about his waist stared at her with red eyes, "you will go to the
new allies we have agreed upon."</p><p>Indigena sighed. She
didn't like <em>this</em> part of her Lord's plan, either. She did
not think the vampires would choose to serve Voldemort without asking
too high a price. But she had sworn to be loyal, and honor held her
still.</p><p>"And Harry?" she
asked, glancing up.</p><p>Voldemort laughed, and
the snake swayed.</p><p>"Dear Harry has seen
all that happened," Voldemort answered, "though only, of course,
what I thought wise to show him. I rather fear that I have made my
magical heir a bit upset." The snake swayed faster and faster,
dancing a mad pattern. "I rather fear that I have made someone else
who bears a scar, a brand, connected to me full of hatred."</p><p>Indigena, who
remembered reading the chapter "Brands and Scars" in the book <em>Odi
et Amo</em> again and again, knew what that meant, and knew where her
Lord was going when he closed his eyes and lashed his mind out and
down another Legilimency connection. Before very much longer, if
Harry's hatred was strong enough, they might have their Lord's
heir standing at their sides.</p><p>And having felt the
surge of Dark magic that destroyed Falco on Walpurgis Night, Indigena
was fairly certain it was strong enough. Harry had a temper when he
allowed himself to feel it.</p><p>Now, more than ever,
she was sorry that she could not follow her Lord into the vision, and
would simply have to wait patiently for the result.</p>

		
			<h2 class=chapterffdl>*Chapter 124*: Having Seen That Love Hath An End</h2>
			<p>The title of this
chapter comes from Swinburne's poem "Hymn to Proserpine,"
which, not coincidentally, also provides the title for the seventh
story,<span style='text-decoration: underline;'> I Am Also Thy Brother.</span> Also, <strong>this is the last
chapter of <span style='text-decoration: underline;'>A Song In Time of Revolution</span>.</strong>I will begin the
next story on either Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on where you
live in the world.</p><p><strong>Chapter Ninety-Seven: Having Seen That Love Hath
An End</strong></p><p>The vision flooded out
of Harry again, leaving him shaken and drained. For long moments, he
could only lie on the stones of the Astronomy Tower, blood soaking
out from his forehead, Snape's hand shaking his shoulder, and try
to absorb what he had seen.</p><p>When he knew—when he
had realized that the Minister was dead and three of his allies would
be forced to fight him again—then he <em>screamed.</em></p><p>His magic burst out
around him, phoenix wings gone dark, flaring with steel spikes and
serrated edges. Harry heard the wind pick up, and knew the harmless
whirlwinds he had raised to contain the green potion fumes in the
dungeons were puny compared to the might building now. As if in
response to the thought, thunder answered from overhead. His power
was drawing a storm.</p><p><em>And why shouldn't
it? </em>Harry thought, his hands clenching beneath him so hard that
he thought he felt a finger break. <em>And </em>why shouldn't it? <em>I
have a right to hate him. All he's done so far, and I thought I
hated him for that. But I never knew what true loathing was until
now.</em></p><p>The clouds above him
swayed and drew together, and obscured the place where the moon would
hang, were it not dark tonight. Harry lifted his head and cried out
again. The wings beat, hard, very nearly throwing him forward and off
the Tower.</p><p>Snape shook him again,
and Harry could hear him speaking, but he could no more afford to pay
attention to the words than he could have afforded to listen to
Argutus's Parseltongue when he thought Draco was dying of the green
potion. Snape was safe, and would not follow the others to
Voldemort's side because he had defeated Voldemort in his own mind.
But the others—</p><p>The others.</p><p>There were people
living in pain and people dead right now, and all because they had
tried to help Harry, or loved him. Voldemort might have struck at
Scrimgeour, because he was Minister, even if he had been Harry's
enemy, but the others would have been safe.</p><p><em>Everything I touch,
I taint.</em></p><p>The hatred built,
curved, piled steps of darkness, half hatred of Voldemort and half
hatred of himself. If it had been only one or the other, Harry
thought he could have stopped it from building. But how was he
supposed to resist this? No one he loved would ever be safe again.
Harry had felt the Dark Lord's triumph. If he had had this planned
for Scrimgeour and Percy, Hawthorn and Adalrico and Lucius and Snape,
he would plan something else for Draco, for Snape now that his first
plan had failed, for Connor, for McGonagall, for Regulus. Everything
and everyone who loved Harry was in danger while he lived.</p><p>Unless he went to
Voldemort now. Unless he destroyed him before he could take anyone
else or make anyone else suffer.</p><p>The wings had firmed
on his back, solid black shapes that channeled the wind. Harry stood
and made his way towards the battlements, his mind set into one firm
mold. He would find Voldemort. He did not know where he was and could
not Apparate there, but he would follow the burning of his scar,
which would act as a guide. He would find him and he would <em>destroy
</em>him. He would cause the Dark Lord such pain as he had never
known, until he told Harry where the Horcruxes were.</p><p>All of this had
happened because he had not hated enough, not been angry enough, not
been firm enough.</p><p>Harry pulled his magic
into himself with a roiling crash. The ward on the stairs behind him
disappeared. He would need the power it had contained when he faced
Voldemort.</p><p>He leaped into the
sky, and the wings caught and bore him as only a broom would have
done before. Steadily, he turned west.</p><p>"<em>Harry!</em>"</p><p>He whirled around.
Draco was on top of the Tower now, having broken through when the
ward vanished. He had a hand outstretched, and his voice was harsh
with something worse than rage, though his face was free of tears.</p><p>"Where are you
going?"</p><p>Harry laughed. The
storm laughed with him. His magic was everywhere around him, aching
and hungry for the kill, wilder than the wolf that had come to him on
Walpurgis Night. "I'm going to him, Draco. To kill him, as I
should have done before it got this far."</p><p>"Harry, <em>no</em>!"
Draco leaned forward. "I forbid it."</p><p>Harry arched an
eyebrow, and the wings on his back twitched. "How exactly," he
asked, keeping his voice gentle, "do you think you can stop me?"</p><p>Draco took a deep
breath and closed his eyes.</p><p>Harry was waiting for
the familiar feeling of Draco's possession gift in his mind,
though. He caught it, and captured it, and threw it from his head.
Draco gave a pained grunt and staggered back. He might have fallen
and split his head on the stones, but Snape caught him. Distantly,
Harry was glad of that.</p><p>He turned, ready to
fly again, ready to give himself to the abyss of fury. His magic
purred all around him, glad to be free. Other people kept telling
Harry that he had to be the leader in this fight with Voldemort, that
he had to set his magic free and use it. He should have listened to
them before.</p><p>He noticed a small
figure rising from the grounds to intercept him, and growled in
annoyance. He <em>did not </em>have time for this.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>As he leaned into the
wind, Connor had never been so glad that he had a Firebolt.</p><p>He'd spent time with
the damn broom since Christmas. He'd <em>mastered</em> it. No one
else could have taken the Firebolt off the ground and reached Harry
as fast as this. Granted, Connor had had to sneak out of the school
to the Quidditch Pitch first, because none of the prefects were
minded to let the students leave their common rooms with a mad Snape
running about, and that had taken some time. But when he heard, from
gossip brought back by those same prefects, that Harry had last been
seen heading upward, he had known he needed his broom.</p><p>And now this. The
storm. His brother's magic, restless, whipping around Connor in the
air.</p><p>Harry on black wings,
just above him.</p><p>Connor didn't intend
to fly away and leave him there. What kind of brother would he be if
he did that?</p><p>Harry was turning
towards him now, his eyes wide. Connor could see his lightning bolt
scar welling with blood as real lightning began to flash around them,
and the wind picked up. Connor ignored it all. He had played
Quidditch in worse circumstances than this. He braced himself against
the broom and scowled at Harry, wincing as he felt pain begin in his
own scar. He didn't usually feel it—the last time he'd truly
felt it had been when he spent months near Voldemort possessing
Sirius's body—but if there was any evening when it would happen,
it would be this one.</p><p>Voldemort was probably
behind Snape's poisoning of the Headmistress somehow. Connor could
see him attempting to harm Harry, because he had never known how to
act around Harry. But harming McGonagall with a poison was simply
clumsy. If Snape had wanted to kill the Headmistress, he would have
done something subtler.</p><p>"What are you doing
here?"</p><p>Harry's voice was so
low and thunderous that it took Connor a moment to sort it out from
the storm. Then he scowled harder, because he could not believe that
Harry would be that stupid. "Stopping you," he said simply.</p><p>"You can't,"
said Harry.</p><p>"Why not?" Connor
countered. "I think we take turns being the stupid one. You're
stupid right now. He's probably convinced you it's all your fault
and you have to settle this on your own. That's what he convinced
you of in third year, and second, too, though then you at least had
Draco with you. So right now I'm the smart one. And I love you,
Harry, and you are not going anywhere on your own."</p><p>Wind howled in his
ear. Connor raised his eyebrows, asking his brother without words if
he was supposed to be impressed.</p><p>"You cannot stop
me," Harry repeated, his face twisted into a grimace. Connor
thought that was four parts Voldemort and one part self-blame.
However Voldemort was possessing him, it had to have roots in Harry's
guilt and self-hatred, two of his strongest emotions. "My magic is
stronger than yours."</p><p>"Yeah, it is,"
said Connor. "But you can't do <em>this.</em>"</p><p>And he lashed his
compulsion like a rope around Harry's mind. <em>Fly back to the
Tower this instant, and stop being an idiot.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>He hummed, did Lord
Voldemort, he sang, because he had tapped into a part of his heir's
mind that was <em>his</em>, and which lay deep in the boy, and which
almost none of them knew about, though Harry had felt it stir in his
head a time or two when he let his temper fly.</p><p>Their magic lay
between them. So did the link, founded in the scar, and through that
Lord Voldemort could feed hatred and whisper to that buried part to
rise, to envelop and embrace Harry. Twice he had almost succumbed to
it—once with his mother, and once with Lord Voldemort in the
graveyard where he had lost his hand. Once the traitor and Lucius's
brat had saved him, and once the necromancer had. But no one would
get close enough to Harry to save him this time. Harry would push
them away, keep them safe, because he had already witnessed enough
loss through the visions Lord Voldemort had given him.</p><p>It was perfect.</p><p>Which was why it
rather annoyed him when he felt compulsion he hadn't put there
striking through his heir's mind. He reached out, though it was
slow and heavy and hard because the connection was so muted, and
tried to force the boy riding the broomstick near Harry away. It was
not his time yet. Oh, yes, Lord Voldemort knew what he would do with
Connor Potter, but falling from his broom, or dying in a blast of his
brother's magic, was too simple a death.</p><p>The boy simply
snorted, and turned to face him. Lord Voldemort received a vision of
his face, half-fueled by their mental connection and half through
Harry's eyes, and saw utter disdain there.</p><p>"I'm a compeller,
too," Connor Potter told him. "And compellers are immune to
compulsion."</p><p>Which made him even
<em>more</em> annoyed.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor could feel
intense pain in his head. The pain only bled into his anger. He was
<em>not</em> about to give in to the bastard trying to take his brother
away from him. He pulled on the rope he had fastened on Harry's
mind.</p><p>And Harry screamed,
and broke the leash, as any <em>vates</em> would be bound to do the
moment he felt a compulsion placed on him.</p><p>Then the full might of
his anger turned on Connor.</p><p>A wind came at him,
one Connor knew would smash the Firebolt to kindling and himself to
tiny bits of flesh. Of course, it had to catch him first, and he
wheeled and steered out of its path.</p><p>Then a crosscurrent of
winds tried to catch him. Connor tucked his knees close to his chest
and sent the Firebolt spinning out from between them, then clamped
his knees down again and dived from above Harry, making him start and
shy, his black wings fluttering nervously. He wasn't used to them
yet, while Connor knew everything about the broom under his hands and
knees, how to make it sing.</p><p>"You're being an
idiot, Harry," Connor called. "For Merlin's sake, you don't
need to go alone. You always do, and look what the hell happens. You
almost die of blood loss. Or you only succeed because someone
repossesses his own body for a moment and Peter's there to throw
the wand of the sacrifice to you. Going alone, by yourself, is
<em>stupid.</em>" He took a deep breath. That might make Harry pause
and listen, but Connor knew he needed words to attack the
self-loathing. "And Voldemort would be stalking someone else if you
didn't exist, me or Neville. People would still suffer, and still
die. Magical creatures won't be free if you go. We need you here,
Harry. Too much to let you go. Come back, now." He extended a hand
from his Firebolt, swinging in low over his brother, taking in his
wide, devastated eyes, from which rage was beginning to falter and
into which sense was beginning to come.</p><p>But with the sense
came the blame, of course.</p><p>"But they died
because they were connected to me," Harry whispered. "They died
because I loved them."</p><p>Connor rolled his
eyes. <em>Oh, for Merlin's sake—</em></p><p>"Do you need a hug,
Harry?" he asked.</p><p>That had the effect of
making Harry stare at him in confusion, interrupting his self-pitying
ramble. "What?"</p><p>"You need a hug,"
said Connor. "I think I'll give you one."</p><p>And, not giving
himself time to think, he launched himself straight off the Firebolt,
and towards Harry.</p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Lord Voldemort was
very, very, very annoyed. Deeply irritated. Displeased with life in
general.</p><p>Harry's hatred had
rolled away too easily, at the first minor challenge. That suggested
it would not be as easy to snare his heir's mind and drag him to
his side as Lord Voldemort had hoped.</p><p>And now he found
Harry's focus changing completely, from killing him or blaming
himself because he hadn't foreseen this to trying to catch his
falling brother.</p><p>Lord Voldemort could
admit when he was defeated. Besides, he had plans Harry had not seen,
plans to punish those who loved him that could begin now. Those plans
might be enough to gather Harry's hatred up so that he, Lord
Hunter, Lord of the Dark, could make another try in the near future.
He cut his ties to the anchor in Harry's mind.</p><p>He leaned back, and
announced, "It seems that my heir will not be joining us this
evening." His thorn's face fell. Lord Voldemort leaned forward
and caressed her hair again. "But we will see him soon enough, I
have no doubt."</p><p><em>It does not matter.
I know the third.</em></p><p align="center">SSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p><p>Connor was jumping
from his broom, because he was <em>mad</em>, and Harry had to catch him
before he could fall. He could not stand if someone else who loved
him died this night.</p><p><em>Or ever.</em></p><p>He flared his serrated
wings wide, so that they would not cut Connor, and then spread his
arms. Then he flew a little backwards, because Connor's leap,
brave, stupid thing that it was, had carried him in a wide arc over
Harry's head.</p><p>He felt the breath
leave him as his twin slammed into him, and scrabbled madly at his
robes for a moment. Then Connor's arms curled around his neck, and
his arms curled around Connor's back, and they hung there in the
middle of the air together, panting, while Harry tried to feel some
emotion that was not terror or self-pity or hatred of Voldemort or
deep annoyance at his brother.</p><p>"Why did you do
that?" Harry asked at last, because he had to know.</p><p>"To—get your mind
off what you were thinking about," Connor panted. "To give you
someone to protect. That's the only way to get you to stop thinking
about the dead. Get you to start thinking about the living."</p><p>Harry's eyes closed,
and he began to soothe the storm, to draw his power back into him,
and make this a calm, dark night in June, the way it had begun.</p><p><em>A calm, dark night
filled with so much death.</em></p><p>Harry shuddered. He
had learned a number of nasty things about himself in a very short
time. He could not protect everyone in this war. He was capable of
feeling enough mindless hatred towards Voldemort to want to kill him,
after years in which he had never hated anyone that way. He could
disregard the living people around him in his concern over the
imprisoned or the dead. He still tended to act alone first, if he had
a chance at all, and on impulse.</p><p>And the moment he felt
enough hatred—and Harry knew it would only increase, with Voldemort
attacking more people he loved and attacking innocents—Voldemort
could try to snatch him again. The curse scar was a vulnerability as
great as the Dark Mark of any Death Eater.</p><p>"I just want it to
be <em>over</em>," he whispered into Connor's ear, feeling a great
wave of weariness roll over him.</p><p>"You and everyone
else," Connor responded, his voice hard. "That's why you can't
charge off on a whim, Harry. We need you to lead this war, to fight
it, to help destroy Horcruxes, to free magical species—for <em>so</em>
much." His arms squeezed hard, again. "So you had better stay
right <em>here</em>, or I'll chase you down and compel you to stop
being an idiot again."</p><p>"If something does
happen to me—"</p><p>"We're doomed,"
Connor said, without preamble. "So make some attempt to stay alive,
Harry, yes? And don't you <em>dare</em> say anything about the
prophecy choosing me for the third round," he added with a savagery
Harry had never heard from him, when he opened his mouth. "It
might, it might not, but that doesn't excuse the fact that there
are many things only you can do. You're going to outlive this war
and make the world a better place, Harry. Show Voldemort that he's
only a tiny cloud in the sky of your life."</p><p>Harry said nothing,
but began to fly towards the Astronomy Tower again, with Connor's
words working slowly inside him.</p><p><em>So that's what
other people mean when they say my life is more important than anyone
else's. I—understand, now. Both emotionally and intellectually.</em></p><p><em>I'm the Light's
greatest vulnerability, because Voldemort is fighting this war to
hurt me. But I'll just have to continue on with being its greatest
weapon, as well. I have to do this. There really is no other way. And
I can't give in to hatred, or the impulse to hurt him independent
of allies.</em></p><p>He came in low, set
Connor down on the battlements, and landed softly, dissolving the
wings back into himself. Then he lowered his head, and relaxed into a
simultaneous pair of embraces, from Draco and Snape. He could hear
voices on the stairs. Peter and Regulus, it sounded like. He knew
they had not been taken, or Voldemort would have shown him that, too,
but it was nice to receive confirmation they were there, and free,
and alive.</p><p>He lifted his head to
the skies, and stared at the place where the moon should have been,
at the clouds rushing over the stars.</p><p>He felt Voldemort's
presence passing through his scar like a second, foul breath, beating
heart of the beast.</p><p>Harry bared his teeth.
<em>To the death, then, and the third round of the prophecy. Come on,
you bastard. I'm ready.</em></p><p>When he raised his
magic this time, he did it in the shape of a pair of phoenix's
wings, and sent his voice to follow it, living reminder of
immortality and greatest Light, a warning to Voldemort about what was
to come, mourning for the dead, and embrace of the future and its
endless sacrifices.</p><p><em>The End.</em></p><p>As I said, the new
story starts on either Tuesday or Wednesday. I hope you'll enjoy
reading along as much as I enjoyed writing it.</p>

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