Thanks for the reviews yesterday! Quite a welcome back.

Chapter Two: Their Wills Be As Steel

"I see, Headmistress," Harry said, calm as the wind before a storm. "Thank you for telling me."

Minerva put one elbow beneath her to urge her body up, hating how weak she was, even now. A night to recover should have done more than this. "Harry," she said softly, knowing her efforts were probably useless, but feeling she should say this anyway. "Do nothing unwise."

"Oh, Headmistress, I wouldn't dream of it." Harry's eyes, meeting hers, were guileless as a first-year's. That would have stood no chance of fooling her even if he'd made an effort to modify his tone of voice to less than sickly sweet. "I think enough unwise things have been done in the last hour. Don't you agree?"

She drew breath to respond, and then fell silent as she felt the magic in the room gather and blow through a change. Harry's brow flickered with true lightning to match the lightning bolt scar. Through the windows of the hospital wing came the sudden scream of thunder, where before the night had been calm. Poppy let out a little exclamation and moved over to shut the windows with swift taps of her wand. Minerva was sure that that motion carrying her further from Harry was only coincidence in the way she was sure the Aurors had only chosen Severus, Peter, and Regulus to question by coincidence.

"Harry," Minerva murmured. Her heart labored unnecessarily hard. This was Harry, a student—a child—she had come to know well over the years. "I meant what I said."

His eyes blinked, then focused on her. "So did I," he said, and it was unnerving how his face remained so calm while outside the wind picked up and wailed. Perhaps its voice was speaking for him, though, Minerva thought, expressing all the anger that could not come from his mouth. "I will not go alone to the Ministry. I will not assassinate Minister Juniper and cause us all trouble and havoc again. But I will get my father back, and Peter and Regulus, too. They've been through enough. Even if the Ministry treats them with utmost politeness, they don't deserve this, too."

Minerva stared. She didn't think she had ever heard Harry refer to Severus as his father like that, without hesitation or flinching or consciousness of who might overhear the name. He turned and strode towards the doors of the hospital wing without giving her the chance to comment, either. The Rosier-Henlin boy, who had been hovering in the corridor, caught up with him and said something of which Minerva could only make out the word "Draco." Harry shook his head and gave a clipped response, and the other boy nodded and kept at his heels. He was Harry's sworn companion, Minerva remembered. He had heard the declaration that Harry would not go to the Ministry alone. He would insure Harry kept that promise, if his own word did not.

"I could Stun him and keep him here, quietly," Poppy said, coming up beside her.

Minerva snorted and glanced at the matron from a corner of her eye. "Do you really think you could, Poppy? Answer me truthfully now."

"No." Poppy sighed and patted at her graying hair with her wand. "No, damn it, I can't." Minerva expected it when she turned fiercely on her. "And you! You are to lie still and quiet! What did you mean, sitting up like that and reaching for the wards when the Aurors came through the Floo?"

Minerva ground her teeth. Poppy tended to treat every patient in the hospital wing like a recalcitrant first-year Gryffindor, unless they did exactly as she said. That only two of those descriptions applied to Minerva made her all the more resentful. "I meant to keep them from harming anyone under my care, Poppy—"

"You are meant to lie still and quiet," Poppy repeated, and abruptly charmed her bed to lie flat. Before Minerva could sit up again in startled outrage, Poppy cast a binding spell, and then an alarm that would tell her if Minerva moved. Since her wand was on the bedside table, Minerva could only ineffectually glare.

"We are not going to lose our Headmistress," Poppy answered her gaze, as if that made up for the indignity, and walked towards the back of the hospital wing, probably to fetch another foul-tasting potion.

Minerva closed her eyes. She hated her weak heart. A witch should still be strong and active in her seventies, not tied to a bed, even if the ropes were invisible.

Her only chance was to recover as quickly as she could. The world outside the hospital wing needed her too badly to let her lounge around in bed.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry's mind raced smoothly through the steps he would have to take as he went back to the dungeons with Owen. He was glad that this crisis had come after he'd made his decision and not before. If it had come before, then he might well have wavered and tried to let Juniper have his free will, twisted and hurtful of others as that free will was. Or he would have remembered that he didn't want a war on two fronts and been prepared to let the Ministry get away with almost anything.

But now—

He still didn't want a war on two fronts, and neither did the Ministry. Therefore, they shouldn't have taken Snape, Peter, and Regulus away. And someone else's free will ended when he tried to kill or imprison another person who had committed no crime. Harry had defended the Hogwarts students against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, not letting them have their free will simply to kill them.

This was another case where he would not let anything happen to people he loved and had sworn to protect.

He lengthened his stride as they passed the stairs that led to the Hufflepuff rooms. "Owen," he said over his shoulder. His sworn companion inclined his head to show he was listening. "Fetch Syrinx, if you would."

"No need," said a soft voice from near the top of the stairs, and Syrinx Gloryflower appeared. Her eyes were wide and clear and an unnaturally bright green; if she ever looked tired, she must do it in the moments when she was away from him. "I am here." She touched her left arm when Harry raised his eyebrow. "The scar felt when you had need of me, sir, and pulled me."

It still made Harry uneasy to hear a girl his own age call him "sir," but titles had fallen to the bottom of his list of things worth arguing about.

"Who else would you recommend?" he asked Owen bluntly.

"Where are we going?" Syrinx asked, and Harry told her the situation in a few terse sentences while Owen bowed his head in thought. She nodded, her eyes growing wider and clearer and more serene.

"It depends on your goal, my l—Harry," said Owen, looking up again. "Do you want simply to free your father and his friends, or do it in a way that avoids open conflict with the Ministry?"

"Freeing them is the first priority," said Harry. "Everything else is secondary. Including avoiding or inciting war with the Ministry." He saw Syrinx's eyes fire, but of course they would. She was in training to be a war witch, and she preferred conflict to words. "I will try words first. There is no need, as the Headmistress says, to be unwise." He heard the storm scream outside, and he barely suppressed the impulse to lift his head and scream back to it. "But I will need those who won't hesitate to fight beside me against the Ministry if something goes wrong."

Owen nodded. "Then I would recommend Alastor Moody, the werewolf Camellia, and Narcissa Malfoy."

"I won't disturb Narcissa," said Harry, crushing down his immediate impulse to complain about the length of time it would take his allies to get here, and what might happen to Peter, Regulus, and Snape in the meantime. Yes, it will take a few minutes to Apparate here. But I will not go unguarded. I promised I wouldn't. "She's grieving. And are you sure about Moody? He worked for the Ministry for decades."

"I can judge loyalty," said Owen quietly. "He's loyal to you, Harry. You give him something to fight for. And the Ministry was never a good fit for him, except maybe during the First War. He's too wild, and his standards of justice are his own. Summon him."

"And if you won't call Mrs. Malfoy," Syrinx put in unexpectedly, "call Nymphadora Tonks. She knows the Ministry, and I don't think she'll look kindly on what they just did."

"Thank you, both," Harry murmured, and then turned to use the communication spell. Camellia would have to have someone Apparate her, since she was Muggle, but she lived with several werewolves who were witches and wizards, and it was a long way from the full of the moon. All three allies were excellent candidates, he thought, now that Owen and Syrinx had mentioned them.

Do you see? whispered a part of his conscience that he rarely listened to. It is better to consult with others when you can. It gives you a context for your own decisions. It stabilizes the way you react. And it is wiser and more adult than simply running off to the Ministry on your own.

It does hurt more, though, Harry responded, and then heard Moody's voice through the flare of phoenix song, and turned to explaining again.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

Aurora lifted her head, uneasy. Erasmus had called for her a few hours ago, after he was convinced that he was secure in his power, and she had not left the Minister's office since. They'd spent time looking through paperwork, discussing those laws and funding requests Scrimgeour had been considering when he died, and there was nothing in any of them to cause her the feelings she experienced now.

She looked up and out the enchanted window. Of course, since the Ministry was underground, the window wasn't real, but it was charmed, currently, to show a view of Muggle London at night, and probably would be for quite a long time. Erasmus believed in looking reality in the face as much as possible.

The night had been calm and clear when she last looked, riding under the last light of the slowly waxing moon. And now—

"Erasmus, look," she whispered, gripping his arm.

He looked, just as clouds rushed together in the middle of the sky. Lightning seared over the buildings like a Muggle torch magnified to elephantine size. It spat once, and then a steady rain began to fall. Aurora found the rain more terrible than the thunder, somehow. It spoke of cold, unwavering vengeance, and slow floods, not uncontrolled strikes like the lightning did.

"Is this a Dark attack?" Erasmus asked, not moving his arm from her grasp.

"Not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Aurora said, finding a name and a face, now, for the magic that she could feel boiling throughout London and heading towards the front door of the Ministry. "That's Harry."

SSSSSSSSSSS

Erasmus was prepared by the time Harry and his—troupe, was perhaps the best name, given that no other single word could possibly encompass the two teenagers, two former Aurors, and werewolf who followed him—came to his office. One of the Aurors, one who had remained loyal to the Ministry, had questioned him on what to do, and Erasmus had told him to let them in. This was the most perfect test for the vates, really, to see what would happen when he was face-to-face with the Minister he had to accept would take Rufus's place.

On their own, Mad-Eye Moody and the werewolf, who was snarling softly and not attempting to conceal her amber eyes or her teeth at all, might have been intimidating enough. Nymphadora Tonks and the other two children were trying, but they could not quite manage it.

Harry outshone them all.

He paced through the office door in wild silence, his eyes finding Erasmus and not wavering. Their deep green was not, as the Daily Prophet had often and ridiculously described them, the color of the Killing Curse. Instead, Erasmus thought, they were the color of a stalking tiger's eyes. And Harry obviously believed that he had prey in front of him. His magic quietly piled through the door after him and filled the office from end to end. He would never have dared that with Rufus.

Erasmus decided he would let the boy speak first. What he said should be revealing. So he sat, and studied them, and listened to the werewolf's snarl with a shudder of distaste, and clamped down on Aurora's arm when she would have stood or spoken.

"Let them out," Harry said.

Blunt. Lacking eloquence. Erasmus lifted his head and his eyebrows in the same moment, to show that he was not afraid. "I assume this is about the servants of You-Know-Who?" he asked.

"Voldemort," said Harry.

Erasmus couldn't help it; he flinched. He had seen the victims of the spells Voldemort had woven to make his name so feared. He saw Harry note the flinch, and his eyes changed again. Now they were hawk-like, staring and imperious, and the small, contemptuous smile that curled his mouth was that of a strong man faced with weakness.

Erasmus shook the impression off. He was not afraid. The boy must learn that he could not get his way all the time simply because he was a powerful wizard. "I took them into custody on hearing of the attack on Hogwarts," he said calmly. "We need to understand how this Dark magic that apparently possesses the minds of its victims and causes them to nearly kill Headmistresses works. I promise, they will be well-treated. I appreciate that Severus Snape was able to stop short of the kill." Though I would wager McGonagall had more to do with that than he did. "I only want to ask them questions in an environment where we will not be interrupted."

"You could have done that at Hogwarts," said Harry, who was, really, dreadfully unwilling to compromise. "Behind a privacy ward." He shifted, and Erasmus was startled and disconcerted to see that the two adolescents behind him, a tall, dark-haired boy and a golden-haired girl who looked as if she had a good Light pedigree, mimicked him without thought. He has sworn companions? That, I had not heard. "There was no need to bring them to Tullianum."

"It was a precaution only." Erasmus softened his voice as much as possible. The magic felt like claws resting against his face, ready to rasp and take off skin. The boy had anger and to spare, given the storm outside and that sensation. Erasmus would avoid upsetting him if he could, but the truth remained that the boy had to learn to face reality. "As I said, we still do not know all the details, but we hope to learn them. If they had been traitors and servants of You-Know-Who, we would have to isolate them from others. If they are not, there is no harm done. We are questioning them now—"

Harry stiffened. The claws on Erasmus's face dug in until he knew they could shear down and open his jugular. Outside, the lightning flashed several times. Beside him, Aurora sat still as still.

"Questioning them, you said." Harry's voice was calm and flat. Given the magic, Erasmus could have found his control terrifying—would have found it so, if he would let himself feel such emotions around a boy so young.

"Yes," Erasmus said.

"How?"

If fear was permissible for a Minister with so much on his shoulders, Erasmus would have felt fear then. The boy had taken a step forward, and his green eyes seemed to swallow up the world, and his soft voice was only a further terror.

"We are not barbarians," said Erasmus. He knew why the boy was so upset, but he was allowed to be resentful at the implications of Harry's anger. "We do not torture our prisoners. We are merely using Veritaserum."

"And were they given a choice in the taking of it?" Harry asked, cocking his head.

"Such choices are usually suspended in a time of war," said Erasmus. "As this is." He became aware that he was leaning away from Harry, and he forced himself to sit up straight, though he still maintained the grip on Aurora's arm. She had had—unfortunate—tensions with Harry, and might say something even now unless he made it clear that she should not. "I am acting within the letter and the spirit of Ministry law, vates, I assure you."

"I don't believe you."

Erasmus raised an eyebrow high, irritated at last. "I am an Elder of the Wizengamot, child. I do know Ministry law and edicts better than you do." He knew that the claws against his face might grow sharper, but some things had to be said. He would continue to do what was right, not what was expedient.

Harry simply stared at him.

"Do you have any evidence to the contrary?" Erasmus demanded. "Have you seen into the cells where we are questioning them, to know that our Aurors are abusing their authority?"

"Now that," said Harry, "is a good idea."

The floor turned transparent, images of shining stone overlaid on air. Erasmus found himself staring straight down as floor after floor changed, and then they could see into the underground recesses of Tullianum, the blank, bare walls somewhere between gray and yellow in color. Harry's magic, unsurprisingly, had taken them straight to the Death Eaters.

The view changed and swooped, making Erasmus's stomach heave and his mind rebel. Given the angle they were looking at, they should have been gazing down at the heads of the Aurors and their prisoners. But Harry had changed everything, and now they were looking at them straight on. And the Aurors could see them as well; Rippleworth actually dropped a vial of Veritaserum, which rang on the stone. Erasmus watched tiny drops of clear liquid escape between shards of glass, and tried to contain his anger.

This cell held Severus Snape, understandably surrounded by five Aurors holding their wands, since he was the most dangerous Death Eater, and had almost killed the Headmistress. His head lolled, his face slack with the effects of the truth potion. Erasmus did not need to look at Harry to feel how intensely his concentration focused on the man who was, if rumor must be supported, not only guardian but like a father to Harry.

"Was he given a choice about taking the potion?" Harry asked. Erasmus started to answer that he had instructed the Aurors to explain what refusing Veritaserum in such a situation would do, but it was Rippleworth who answered, his voice as high and frightened as a much younger man's.

"I—we told him that he had nothing to fear if he really wasn't guilty. He still would have refused, so—" And then he stuttered to a stop, though more, Erasmus thought, because someone in the room had cast Silencio on him than because it was his choice.

Long moments passed in which Erasmus thought his own heartbeat irregularly loud. Then he realized it was the magic's heartbeat, surging back and forth a few pulses behind the thunder that continued to rage outside the windows.

Their vision of the cell moved a few times, showing, clearly, red finger-marks on either side of Snape's face, where the Aurors had probably gripped it and held his nose in order to force him to swallow.

"I see," Harry said.

Erasmus glanced at him. He intended it to be a quick look, so that he might turn back and reassure his Aurors they had done nothing wrong—they needed to know the truth about what had happened at Hogwarts, and if Snape had been innocent, he really need have nothing to fear from the Veritaserum—but he found himself transfixed by Harry's eyes. The flare in them this time was deepest, purest rage.

"I am taking them now," Harry said. Still calm. But the magic pressed closer and closer, reminding Erasmus of a chained dragon, and the sworn companions the boy had acquired in defiance of all law and custom were shifting from foot to foot as if they longed to charge. "They have done nothing wrong, and their rights have been violated—" that word was a whipcrack "—by the Ministry. If you are unsatisfied, I will give you my memories of what happened at the school to place in a Pensieve, and I am sure Headmistress McGonagall will be pleased to do the same thing. But you will not keep them here any longer."

"Harry," said Erasmus, hoping a personal appeal might calm him. "Think, boy. We do not need a war on two fronts."

That small, contemptuous smile curled Harry's mouth again. "I agree," he said. "You do not need one. Therefore, you would be well-advised to release Severus Snape, Peter Pettigrew, and Regulus Black into my custody immediately."

Erasmus stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. He imagines that he can threaten the Ministry all on his own? And he threatens war over something as minor as this? Perhaps he is more unstable than I thought.

"We cannot divide the wizarding world," he said. "Not now. There has been no panic so far only because our people are reeling in shock, still. The Minister has been assassinated. Death Eaters are at work again. The Dark Mark has been seen. All these are signs of the war to come. We cannot—we must not have a civil war on top of them. You must work with us." He touched the text of the edict he'd been planning to send to the Daily Prophet in the morning. "The first step is in stopping use of the absorbere gift. It is Dark magic, too dangerous to use."

Harry's eyes half-lidded. Erasmus felt a surge of anger mixed with fear. He cannot turn against this. He cannot! We cannot divide our forces.

"Too dangerous not to use," Harry said softly, and he was almost purring. That was the rumble of a great cat, though, Erasmus thought, not the comforting purr of a Kneazle. "Voldemort is an absorbere. Do you really think he cares what the Ministry says about use of that gift?"

"At least you will not use it," Erasmus countered. "You will not be like him. We must not lose all our standards in this war as we did in the first one."

"It seems to me that you have already lost them," said Harry. "Forcing prisoners to take Veritaserum."

"No one forced—"

"Those say otherwise, Juniper." Harry nodded to the red finger-marks on Snape's face again. "And I have had enough of this. I will fight Voldemort on my own if need be, but I will not allow the Ministry to take anyone I love from me. I have had enough of that from the Dark Lord." His eyes swooped for a moment into shadows that made Erasmus tense and Mad-Eye Moody grip his wand. The werewolf edged forward with an eager snarl. Harry didn't seem to hear it. "Answer me clearly now, Erasmus Juniper. Are you my enemy or my friend?"

"I am your Minister," said Erasmus. He could feel despair welling up, but the Minister was no more allowed to succumb to despair than he was to fear. The stupid child. Did he not understand the division he would cause if he turned against the Ministry? Did he not realize Erasmus was the only one who could lead them in this war and stood a chance of winning it, but that that chance would be much reduced if Harry acted like a wild or Dark wizard?

"Wrong answer," Harry said, voice delicate as the first flower after winter. "Sir."

His magic rose around him, thick, solid as the limbs of a beast, growing, and plunged down into Tullianum. Erasmus caught glimpses of it moving through other visions, but the one he had the best view of was the snatching of Severus Snape. A howling whirlwind scooped him up and bore him through suddenly appearing, and as suddenly closing, tunnels in the stone. In moments he and Pettigrew and Black stood in the office, blinking—or lolling their heads, in the case of Snape, who was unconscious.

Harry, when Erasmus looked at him again, had black, serrated wings coming out of his back, and his eyes were as dark as Darkness.

"I would ask for your help," Harry said, "but that is clearly impossible. I would ask that you not interfere, at least, with my own war effort, but I see that is also impossible; you are too convinced of your own rectitude and unable to listen to the voices accusing you of hypocrisy. As long as I can, I will ignore you. Understand, Juniper, if you are in my way, and if you represent a serious hindrance to my efforts to keep others safe, I will destroy you."

It was said so calmly that, by the time Erasmus fully absorbed the impact of the words, Harry was already moving. He flung up his arms, flapped the bladed wings once, and wrapped the former Death Eaters and the five people who had come with him in individual whirlwinds. Then a ninth one took him, and whipped him around in a circle, and together they vanished from the Ministry, gone via some method that did not disturb the anti-Apparition wards.

Erasmus was sure the green of the boy's eyes lingered after time, staring at him, and the invisible claws razed a thin line of blood down his cheek before departing. The storm fell unnaturally silent in the same moment.

Erasmus lifted his hand, in that silence, and touched his cheek. Then he turned to Aurora. She gave him a slight nod, and Erasmus wondered if she were really thinking what he was. The boy had given him a bit to think about, including whether it had been right to force Veritaserum onto even suspected Death Eaters, but his disrespect for the Ministry outweighed any benefit he might have offered.

"Well," he said. "It seems he must be brought to heel."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

He'd felt it begin even as he fell into the grip of the intense, icy rage that had sustained him in the Ministry office. He'd felt Voldemort's grip, reaching out, snagging on the edges of his soul, trying to coax the rage into hatred, and the hatred into a hold that he could use to drag Harry to him.

Harry had fought two battles, one public, one private, but he'd managed to steer the hatred back into fury by the time they Apparated home from the Ministry. It had cost him, though. He collapsed to his knees on the Hogsmeade road, his breath rushing in and out of his lungs so hard it hurt, sweat damping his jumper and making his fringe more like seaweed than hair.

"Harry?" Regulus's hand was on his shoulder, which Harry thought half-wrong. He'd just rescued Regulus, so he was the one who should sit back and let himself be taken care of, instead of trying to comfort Harry.

Then he remembered his decision on top of the Tower again. I said I would rely on others as well as letting them rely on me.

"I'm all right, Regulus," he said softly, glancing up. But Owen leaned over him then, and his expression was so anxious that Harry frowned. "What is it?"

"Your scar's bleeding," said Owen.

"Voldemort reached out to me," Harry admitted, rising to his feet. "When he felt the emotions. He'll always be trying to take me, if he can. If I'd hated Juniper enough, he would have made another attempt."

Owen stared at him, horrified. "How are you going to live with that?" he finally demanded.

Harry blinked at him. Really, what kind of question is that to ask? "The same way I lived with it just now," he said. "Fight him off. I can't do anything else."

"You'll have to strengthen your Occlumency," said Snape, who really had no business speaking, given that Harry's magic was the only thing holding him on his feet. His voice was still slurred from the Veritaserum, but regaining strength and sharpness. "To close the link between your scar and his mind."

"I'm not sure it will work," Harry said honestly, moving towards his guardian and casting one of the spells he'd learned while studying medical magic, which located hidden wounds. He found a few bruises along Snape's ribs, and had to breathe slowly to calm the impulse to break out into swearing. "This is based on a mark from Voldemort and the amount of hatred in a person's soul, not the connection that he and I had before."

"You will still try," Snape said, snapping his head up to stare at him. Harry smiled, then reached up and gently caressed his face, smoothing away the red finger-marks with the touch of his magic.

"Are you well?" he whispered.

"Yes. I told them the truth about the attack on Hogwarts, and they had not had time to ask more than a few embarrassing personal questions."

From the look in Snape's eyes, Harry was not sure he believed that, but he was forced to accept it as truth with the Veritaserum still in his blood. Besides, rest was the most important thing for Snape right now. "All right, sir," he said, and nodded to Regulus, Peter, Owen, and Syrinx. "Thank you for coming," he added, to Moody, Camellia, and Tonks. "Someone is waiting to transport you back to London, Camellia?"

"Yes." The werewolf's eyes shone fiercely, lack of moonlight or not. "I am only disappointed that I got to bite no one."

Harry snorted. "It wouldn't have done any good this far from the full moon."

"It would have frightened them."

Harry simply nodded. He still didn't like frightening or intimidating other people—it was too close to what the oaths of the Alliance of Sun and Shadow said he was not to do—but it worked far better than bloodshed. It was what he had had to do to Juniper, after all.

"Thank you again," he repeated, and Moody and Tonks gave him faint smiles and turned away. Harry watched them go, shaking his head slightly. They seemed happy to have been included, though they hadn't been able to fire curses, either. It was strange, how little it took to content some of his allies.

Camellia lingered. "You have no message for the packs, vates?"

Harry hesitated, then sighed and gave in. "I would like them to watch out," he said. "I think Voldemort will start attacks on London wizards and Muggles soon. The werewolf packs are the best source of information I have to keep watch over them and warn me if something happens, and of course you're powerful in battle."

Camellia snapped her jaws together and bowed her head slightly, eyes and teeth agleam. "It shall be done, vates." She turned and loped off. Harry could see a shape moving a few steps down the Hogsmeade road; starlight revealed it as Trumpetflower, a witch and member of the pack who had taken his phoenix song call for Camellia and Apparated her. A moment later, Camellia took her arm, and they were gone.

Harry guided Snape, gently floating, up to the doors of the castle, while examining Peter and Regulus with both magic and questions. Peter seemed shaken, but physically fine. Regulus studied Harry back with an intense, narrow-eyed gaze that Harry didn't like.

"What?" he asked finally.

"There has never been any Black heir with the magical power you have," Regulus murmured, "and never any who dared stand up to the Ministry as effectively and thoroughly as you've done." His teeth, in turn, flashed in a smile. "I was simply thinking how it would make my parents stir if they knew. A halfblood, and a legal heir and not a blood child at that, accomplishing what all of them could not."

Harry snorted. "Your mother already likes me," he said, thinking of the portrait of Mrs. Black that hung in the hall of Grimmauld Place, and then turned to Syrinx. "Would you go to the hospital wing and the Headmistress, Syrinx, please? Tell her I've fetched everyone back and am making sure they're settled comfortably. I'll come and speak with her if she wants me to, but I'd much rather wait until morning."

"I'm sure she'll let you," Syrinx said, touched his shoulder with her hand like a butterfly's motion, and then ran ahead to the castle.

After that, Harry's main task was convincing Snape to stay in his quarters; Peter and Regulus were adult enough to go to their beds and begin sleeping the Veritaserum off. Harry, at last, cheated and asked Snape if he was tired, to which he had to give a truthful answer. Harry gave him a Calming Draught, laid him flat, and even fluffed the pillows, just to complete the outrage.

All the while, his mind hummed along another track. He could not be entirely certain his proposal was welcome, but if it were, it would give him some rest and peace of mind as well as another family—perhaps.

So he finished putting Snape to bed, and then wrote his letter. The climb to the Owlery was long, but Hedwig fluttered over to him the second he came through the door, settling expectantly on his shoulder and nipping at his ear. Harry stroked her for a long moment, bathing in the warmth and scent of her, before he spun his arm and launched her out the window into a sky now free of storm.

He gazed after her for a moment. The darkness was faintly tinged with dawn. Draco would probably be waking from his unbreakable sleep soon, and would want to know what had happened while he was under the influence of the Dreamer's Crown.

Harry only hoped it wouldn't provoke an argument, that they'd gone to the Ministry without Harry using his magic to snap the dream.

Keep going.

He yawned, dragged a knuckle across his eyes, and then went back to the dungeons and his bed. He might as well snatch the hour or so of sleep he would have before Draco awakened and he had things to do.

SSSSSSSSSSS

It was awful, Connor thought. Solemn and awful.

He walked quietly beside Ron through the private graveyard the wizards of Ottery St. Catchpole had used for generations to bury their dead. It was a tiny plot of land, but it was theirs in ways that had nothing to do with money. Ron had told Connor that he didn't think it could be sold.

And probably not, Connor thought. There was place magic here—or at least he imagined so, from having heard Harry's descriptions of Woodhouse. It paced slowly around them, now and then forming into a solid dust cloud of a creature that looked rather like a camel. It nodded a heavy head at them, and then broke apart and went back to pacing the graveyard.

The headstones in every direction were for the most part plain, with only names and dates, though here and there a poem was carved. Each had a cluster of small red-orange flowers growing near it, probably tended by the place magic. Connor paused when he caught sight of the matched stones that proclaimed the resting places of Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Molly Weasley's twin brothers. They'd been great heroes of the First War, and it had taken five Death Eaters to bring them down.

One of whom, Connor thought with a little sigh, was Lucius Malfoy. And now his son is at Percy's funeral.

He gave a half-incredulous glance to the side. It was a miracle, he thought, that Molly Weasley had agreed to let Draco come. But when Harry had asked if he could attend the funeral and give Percy a tribute, Molly had told him to bring whoever he liked. And she had not done anything more than stare when Harry showed up with Draco on one side and Snape on the other.

Draco was behaving himself, at least, Connor thought. He gave quiet, polite condolences to the elder Weasleys, nodded to Bill and Charlie, and kept well out of the way of the twins, Ron, and Ginny. Ron refused to look at him, but that was to be expected.

Percy's coffin lay near the open hole in the grass, ready to be lowered. Only the top third was open, concealing what Ron had told Connor in confidence was the absolute ruin of his lower body, thanks to Indigena Yaxley's thorns. His family filed quietly past, putting in tokens of the love and affection they'd borne for Percy. A baby blanket from Mrs. Weasley's hand, a pair of glasses from Mr. Weasley's, a carved fish from Bill, a Ministry pamphlet from Charlie's. The twins put in something carefully wrapped in parchment, which they let no one see, and then lingered beside the grave, staring at Percy, for longer than anyone else.

Connor waited, and walked forward with Ron and Ginny. Ginny also cradled something wrapped in parchment, which she refused to look up from. Ron had his old wand, the one that had snapped in second year. "He tried to fix it for me," he said simply when he saw Connor looking.

Connor nodded.

He hadn't known Percy well, but he did remember the evening he'd come down from his room in his third year, close to tears of frustration from trying to work out the proper movements of Venus and Mars for Astronomy, and Percy had leapt at the chance to help him. Now knowing what he knew about that year—that Percy had been under pressure from Dumbledore to become a spy at the Ministry—Connor thought Percy had wanted a distraction more than anything else, but it didn't matter. He'd still worked with Connor, patiently, until Connor got it right. And Connor had drawn out a representation of that same equation again, and he tucked it under Percy's left shoulder, next to Ron's wand.

Harry came forward alone, and Draco and Snape faded into the background with careful propriety. Harry put something that briefly caught the sun and flashed gold into the coffin. Connor blinked, wondering what it had been.

Then he stepped back and lifted his voice in the phoenix song.

Connor had only heard a phoenix mourn once before, the night that Harry had lost Fawkes and sent his sadness skirling all around the castle. This was different. Sterner, not quite as sad—Connor didn't think he would ever again hear anything quite as sad as that first requiem—and a salute.

As the song continued, rising and falling in majestic sliding notes along the scales, Connor felt the urge to close his eyes.

And visions of Percy rose in his mind when he did. Percy bent over a book in the Gryffindor common room, lower lip caught between his teeth, lamps gleaming on his glasses. Percy in a corridor in third year, telling Harry in a hushed voice the true state of affairs between him and Dumbledore. Percy behind a desk in Scrimgeour's office, eyes wide as he absorbed his new world, where Connor had never personally seen him. Percy closing in behind Scrimgeour, arms full of paperwork but eyes fierce, ready to protect his leader to the death.

As he had.

And then came the vision of that which Harry had seen five nights ago, with, mercifully, phoenix flames overriding the image of Yaxley's thorns piercing Percy. There was only the fire, the rising symbol of phoenix or firebird, the symbol of Light.

Harry's song died softly back into a pool of honor, and then warbled and faded away. Connor opened his eyes to see him standing with his head bowed, shivering.

How many requiems will he have to sing, before it's all done? Connor thought, and shivered himself, and went forward and took his brother in his arms.

Harry made a soft little sound, then clung to him. They walked slowly to the back of the graveyard as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley worked the spells to lower the coffin into the earth. Connor didn't look over his shoulder. This was a private moment for the family, the lowering, though anyone else they permitted might attend the other ceremonies.

Draco met them near the fence, and tried to take Harry away from Connor. Connor subjected him to a glare and hung on. Draco raised an eyebrow, then nodded and leaned on the fence. Snape hovered next to him, gaze simultaneously on Harry and darting around looking for danger.

"They're planting the stone," Draco said suddenly, and Connor knew he could turn around again if he wanted to.

So he did, and saw the great puff of dust that seemed to form when the stone landed, touching the left and the right sides of it with flame, planting the red-orange flowers that endured here for reasons that Connor didn't know but which Ron could probably tell him. He resolved to ask, later.

Harry gave a final, soft trill, and so Percy Weasley was buried.