Disclaimer: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling. A/N: Non-verbal communications are written in italics.

* M rated for mature readers, mentions of male/male sex.

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Part 1/Chapter 12:

Tuesday. Andre's eyes went straight to Harry, who was sitting at the table, and eating one of yesterday's rolls. Strange how he always knew exactly where he was. The mess was gone from the single bed, and now his letters were in a neat pile on the table, except for the one open in front of him.

Harry knew when he woke, and chose to ignore him. This was his last day, but he wasn't quite sure how to leave. He'd previously decided to do it quietly in the night, but the show of support had changed his mind. His friends were precious to him, and he should say goodbye. And not just to the Gryffindors. He could apparate, he could do magic without his wand, and anyway, surely they would not attempt to constrain him in front of the whole student body.

Andre woke, stretched, and went off to the shower, unselfconsciously nude.

Harry glanced over at the blackboard, where his message was left. 'Please return my wand, and please provide anti-bruising lotion.' For him, the bruises of battle were only a reminder of defeat and humiliation. And four days later, they were very obvious, on his face and on his body. There was no answer, but then it had been written before dawn.

Andre joined him once showered, and picked up the book on the table. He asked casually, "Have you read it, Harry?"

Harry glanced at the book. He'd skimmed briefly over it, but he didn't like the book. Probably most of it didn't even apply. It spoke only of female Hecatemae. He didn't plan on taking it with him. And he didn't plan on talking to Andre. He wanted to be away from him. He would not allow himself to become dependant on another person.

Andre said, quite sadly, "Every time I think you're beginning to respond to me, you do this. Freeze yourself off again."

Harry glanced at the blackboard, where writing was appearing. 'Mssr. Melenchon, Harry asks for his wand and for anti-bruising lotion. As you are in charge of him, please say if you would like him to have them.'

Harry hissed in fury. He'd find his wand. He didn't want it given only at the request of his bloody, bastard bloody Soul Mate! He went angrily to the blackboard and erased both messages.

Andre was uncertain what to do. In Harry's current mood, if he did get his magic back early, he could kill Andre. In the end, he picked up the book, and started to read. Harry paced, until breakfast arrived. There were also two glasses of potion, marked Calming Potion and Strengthening Potion.

Andre picked up the Calming Potion, sniffed at it, and said, "It appears to be exactly what it says." On the other hand, he wasn't at all sure about the so-called 'strengthening' potion. It had more of the appearance of Compliance Potion, which was only allowed to be used in mental institutions. He made no objections when Harry threw them out, and returned with a glass of water from the bathroom tap.

Harry resumed his pacing after breakfast. He felt strong enough again, though far from the level of fitness he'd had prior to his incarceration in this room, over a month now. He did some exercises, finding the sore spots, but doing them anyway.

A message appeared on the blackboard, beautifully written, presumably with magic, as no-one writes beautifully on a blackboard. An invitation for Andre to join Dumbledore and Fudge, the Minister for Magic, for morning tea. Andre glanced at Harry, who was still pacing, and made an attempt to know how he was feeling. It was like it mostly was, he could tell he was alive and close, but that was all. But all the signs of discontent were there. There was the other thing, that Dumbledore could not be trusted to do what was best for Harry.

Andre made the decision not to leave him alone, not now when he walked jerkily back and forth across the room. He wrote his refusal, but put it politely. For the moment, they were dependent on the headmaster's hospitality. One could not expect a Hecatema to face the world so soon after the Bonding. Maybe it was the source of his agitation now, that he was more clearly sensing the magic all around him.

Dumbledore frowned when the polite refusal was shown, and asked Fitzroy if he minded if he looked at the monitoring screens. He'd been very annoyed when the Watching Wall had been rendered useless.

Fitzroy replied, "They no longer work. I assume that Melenchon suspected they were there, maybe did an all-embracing Revelio."

Dumbledore smiled at the healer, expert in his field, and added some very persuasive Mind-Magic. "I fear that Harry might be being stubborn. It's our Harry, and his stubbornness and courage have saved him in the past, have they not?"

Fitzroy said quietly, "From He Who Must Not Be Named."

Dumbledore repeated, very seriously, "From He Who Must Not Be Named."

Fitzroy said slowly, "There are indications that he is fighting the Bond, though I know of no other cases when it's happened."

"I want to help him. You know he is named by Prophecy as the one to destroy the Dark Lord. He has to be strong, and to be strong, he must accept his Soul Mate."

"Newly Bonded Hecatemae die if they're separated from the Soul Mate. He has no choice but to accept him. He cannot leave even if he thinks he wants to."

Dumbledore beamed genially, "We can help him accept the facts. I will simply make an unexpected entrance. The Minister as well, maybe."

Fitzroy was surprised. It was what he'd attempted himself, but he'd assumed that the headmaster would never allow it. He spoke cautiously, "Visitors at this stage will overload his senses, making him feel dizzy and panicky. It could even make him faint."

"Exactly. And Melenchon will find communication opened, and he will know exactly how to help him."

"The knowledge is instinctive. The Soul Mate always knows."

"Harry is unique and Melenchon needs help, I think. Harry must be made to accept that he needs his help and his leadership."

Fitzroy said yearningly, "I would have liked to see the Bonding," then flushed, and looked at Dumbledore. Had he revealed himself too much? But the headmaster gave him such a feeling… - that he could be trusted utterly. He could talk to Dumbledore. The wise old man could be trusted. He would understand the frailties of ordinary people.

Dumbledore smiled benignly, "So we'll do it then? Morning tea, without warning. We give him a shock, and he falls into the arms of his Soul Mate." Melenchon could be angry, but Dumbledore was confident that he would not remain angry, not when he realised the benefit of their actions. He must want to dominate the boy. It was only natural.

Dumbledore was annoyed that Fudge declined to join him, even protesting that Hecatemae needed their protected sanctuary for those vital first months. Maybe it was because Dumbledore wasn't talking to him face to face. Floo message or owling was not the same. He had a better idea. He'd have a House Elf bring in the tea. Encountering a powerful magical creature on the fourth day would give Harry a very severe jolt. All for his own good, of course, or at least that was how he'd present it to anyone who queried. Dumbledore didn't lie to himself. He liked to see Potter humbled. The boy was far too independent.

After breakfast, Andre's eyes lingered over Harry. He was still at the table, coffee beside him, a half eaten roll pushed away, and flipping through the pages of a text-book. Andre didn't risk rebellion by demanding, but gently touched him, and murmured to him, "Come to bed now, Harry. I want you."

Harry complied, thinking it would be the last time. How would Andre react when he left? It didn't matter. He was not responsible for Andre.

Andre took as much care as always, disappointed that he could never elicit excitement in the boy. He was a good lover. His wife had thought he was a good lover. Why was Harry indifferent? He was merely patient and docile, when by Day 4, a Hecatema was supposed to be avid for it, begging for it. These days were the days when the sexual relationship was supposed to soar to a new high.

For the first time, he wondered just how much was myth. Why was a Hecatema Bond supposed to give so much more happiness than a Vere Ultima Bond, for instance? Because they were so rare, could the happiness of the Bonded Hecatema couple be exaggerated? He knew he loved Harry, but it was not undiluted happiness to have him close. He worried about him, yearned to be closer, was sometimes even irritated with him. He'd never thought that if he won a Hecatema, he could possibly be irritated with his Bond-Mate.

Harry dropped into a sleep afterwards, as Andre had come to expect.

Andre rose, dressed, and started reading the book about Hecatemae, but looked up in confusion as Harry hurriedly grabbed his letters from the table, and then the book from his hands, and stashed them under the mattress of the single bed. There was a knock, but Dumbledore didn't wait, entering the room as Andre rose indignantly to his feet.

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded at the bed, where Harry sat again, quickly pulling blankets over his nudity, "I see that a part of the Bond-magic is going well, anyway."

Andre stood, and said coldly, "This is an intrusion."

"Not at all!" Dumbledore said merrily. "I brought you morning tea since you declined my invitation."

Two House Elves brought in trays, and Dumbledore said, "I know that Harry loves scones with jam and cream, and Ijiniah has hot chocolate, as well as coffee for the adults."

Harry stared at the pure glow emanating from the House Elves, before shaking his head, and banishing the colours from his perception.

Dumbledore was amazed that he wasn't screaming and covering his eyes, but concealed his disappointment, drew his wand, and said, "I'll just set the table, shall I?"

Harry jumped as the spell was cast. Too visible, almost hurting. His own magic hadn't hurt him like that. The headmaster kept an eye on him, and said, "A decorative flower arrangement, maybe."

There was another spell, but this time Harry was ready for it, and only took in that it appeared a little different from when Andre made a spell. Would he be able to identify the source of a spell, then? From something like a magical signature?

Andre had his eyes on him, concerned. He was astounded at the actions of the headmaster. In his position, he had to know that a Hecatema would be terribly stressed by such a visit. But Harry simply drew his knees up, still covered by the sheets, put his arms around his knees and watched the headmaster warily. Andre went to him, a robe in hand. Harry accepted it, slipped out of bed, and picked up his clothes. Too bad if he needed a shower again. The visit was uninvited.

He emerged from the bathroom in jeans and shirt, and paused. Andre was radiating hostility, he could feel it. He wasn't showing it, and Dumbledore said happily, "Scones and hot chocolate, Harry?"

Harry looked at the scones, and joined them at the table. When Dumbledore conjured a third chair, he didn't even jump. He was hungry, and there were scones. Dumbledore himself poured him some hot chocolate, and although Harry looked suspiciously for signs of a glow, the high calorie treat called to him, and he downed it quickly.

Andre smiled at him, and asked, "Shall we call for more."

Harry glanced at the headmaster, and said sweetly, "Yes, please, Andre."

Dumbledore reached out as if to pat him on the shoulder, but Harry beat a quick retreat. He didn't want to be touched.

Andre said, in a calm voice, "Headmaster. I think you have forgotten the care needed with newly Bonded Hecatemae. You must not touch him, you must not expose him to spells, and you must not expose him to magical creatures such as House Elves."

"Why!" Dumbledore looked bewildered, almost hurt, and said, "I am so sorry. I just thought that the boy could use a treat, and, of course, I wished to know you better."

Harry was cursing himself for retreating. Whatever his motives, Dumbledore had given him the opportunity to see that House Elves looked different, and now he'd seen how a spell looked now. Far more intense. He'd seen them before when others did not, but never so clearly. Being touched by another person was another thing that was supposed to be difficult, and he'd avoided the chance to experience it. There was no point in making his escape, and then falling over in shock if a stranger happened to touch him, or if he was attacked once out in the muggle world. A lone boy was attacked sometimes, nothing to do with being Harry Potter, just that he was a not unattractive and apparently defenceless boy.

Dumbledore spoke gently, "Please return to the table, Harry. I promise I will not touch you, or do anything to frighten you."

Harry looked at Andre, seeing his absolute fury, hidden behind a polite veneer. He returned to the table.

Dumbledore smiled at him, "Would you like me to butter you another scone?"

Harry looked at him, and didn't answer. Deceitfulness swirled around the headmaster. That was something that Andre hardly ever showed, even now, when he was trying to pretend to the headmaster that he was not extremely angry. Dumbledore didn't wait for an answer, but generously buttered a few scones, and handed them over to Harry. Harry brushed his fingers as he accepted, and started. It was true that it felt rather alarming.

Dumbledore said to Andre, casually, "I have written to Harry's former guardians, informing them of the situation, and I'll send someone to collect any of his possessions left there."

Harry glanced at Andre, and started to eat his scone, wondering if Andre would say anything.

Dumbledore pressed, "Well, Harry? What has happened to your manners?"

Harry looked at the door, extending his senses, feeling that there were at least two wizards out there. What would he feel if someone physically grabbed him? The magical shields were down. It was just a door-knob, maybe not even locked.

Andre said, "You'll have to excuse my boy, Albus. He's just feeling a little overwhelmed right now. I'm sure you understand."

Dumbledore studied Harry, whose attention appeared to be on the food. He remarked, "He appears to be quickly recovering physically, but the healer says it's days since he sat in the recording chair."

"I will soon enough call the healer if there is any cause to do so."

"He asked for his wand, I heard."

Andre hesitated, unsure what to answer. He still didn't want Harry to have his wand, just in case. Harry was finishing his last scone, and made a face at his sticky fingers. Dumbledore laughed, and said, condescendingly, "Still just a boy, aren't you, Harry? Go and wash."

Harry flashed him a glance, and stood up. Both the men spun in their chairs as he made a sudden leap for the door, out before they knew it. Two wizards, one in the distinctive robes of a medi-wizard, one probably a hospital assistant, or maybe a guard, pure and simple. The second acted very quickly, grabbing him around the waist. When Dumbledore and Andre emerged, both men were holding him, as he struggled.

Andre said loudly, "He is not to be hurt."

Dumbledore shook his head, and said, "The extra powers seem to be taking a little time to appear. He doesn't seem to be in trouble because he's being touched."

Andre said, in a calm voice, "Be still, Harry."

Harry stopped struggling.

Dumbledore aimed his wand, and said the incantation for the Twilight Spell. Harry cried out in pain, and Andre whirled on Albus, "Why did you do that? He obeys me!"

Dumbledore said smoothly, "Only a Twilight Spell, harmless. Healer Fitzroy will have a proper look at him." He smiled reassuringly at Andre. "The minor hurt is because the magic is taking effect after all. I was beginning to doubt it."

Andre bit his lip. It hurt him to see his boy restrained, but he must not leave. He could be in serious trouble without the protection offered by himself and by Hogwarts under Dumbledore.

Harry was unable to block Andre off so completely under the Twilight Spell, and Andre felt his distress, though he should have been feeling relaxed and sleepy. It was a spell used by healers, when a patient was not being cooperative, usually because of pain. He said, "I will hold him, calm him down."

Fitzroy said, "I'll make a physical check, then. So take his outer clothing off, if you would."

The shirt first, and the healer winced as he saw the bruising. "Anti-bruising lotion?"

Andre said, "Yes, please. I will apply it. He doesn't like other people touching him."

Dumbledore watched assessingly, as gentle fingers spread the lotion over the several bruises on chest and legs. Andre didn't touch his face. Harry was docile, just sitting on the side of the bed, head hanging.

Dumbledore remarked, "Harry was always a fighter, though I'm surprised you had trouble subduing him when he was so weak."

Andre felt another surge of irritation, but still held his temper, even when he remembered the watching wall. Had Dumbledore been watching then? Even when the room it faced onto was in ruins?

Finally, Fitzroy said, "I'll check with a few monitors now."

Harry shook his head, pulling away, and Andre suddenly felt his voice in his head, pleading, Make them go away.

Andre said gently, "Lie down then, Harry. Have a sleep."

He turned to the healer and headmaster, the hospital assistant still watching from the door, and said firmly, "That is enough! I insist that you leave now before he is further distressed."

Fitzroy said, "Just a few readings. We may be able to give you some indication when his new abilities will fully manifest."

Andre felt Harry's distress become more acute, and he barked, "No! You have to leave now!"

Dumbledore said graciously, "It is only natural that you want to protect him." He glanced at the healer, and said, "We will go." Just as they left, he beckoned Andre closer, and said, very quietly, "I was helping, you know. If he feels that you protect him, he will be more likely to accept you."

Andre nodded, stiffly. The moment they were gone, he threw up his own shields, and returned to Harry, cradling him in his arms, murmuring reassurances, almost crooning to his beloved boy. Harry relaxed in his arms. Andre wouldn't hurt him. He knew that.

By the time the Twilight Spell wore off, Harry was asleep again.

Lunch came, and Andre glanced over at Harry, wondering whether to wake him. Harry opened his eyes, and straightaway noticed the scent of the hot meal waiting for him. Andre laughed, aloud, "I can almost see your nose twitching."

Harry gave a slight grin himself, but went into the bathroom first, pleased that the sore spots on his body were gone. His face looked appalling, and he touched the massive bruise on the jaw, then gently over his left cheek. Andre's face was still bruised as well. His gently exploring fingers stilled with the sudden realisation. Andre liked seeing him like this. Liked seeing what he'd done to him. The bastard! Tears gathered in his eyes, and he put a silencing shield on the little room before starting to cry in his acute loneliness. He could not depend on Andre. He could not depend on his teachers, or any other adult. He would leave the world of wizards, where horrible things happened. Nothing horrible had happened to him among muggles, not since he'd left his relatives. He would be alone. It was a lot safer to be alone.

Andre went twice to the door, and turned away again, not knowing whether or not to go to him. He could hear nothing, and maybe he just had a stomach ache from the amount he'd been eating. Indecisively, he sat at the table, and looked at the trays. As always, one marked for himself, one for Harry. He heard the sounds of the shower, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Harry practised apparating across the room again before coming out to dress. And he thought with a lift of his spirits, going away clothes.

When he finally sat at the table, Andre said, "Have mine if you want. They may have put calming potion on your meal again."

Harry regarded the meal in front of him, and picked up his utensils. There was no potion that he could see.

***chapter end***