Chapter 25

By the time the Assistant realised he'd been drugged, it was too late. He was already halfway unconscious and with no time to find an antidote, especially as he couldn't be sure what he'd been drugged with.

When he came to, he was lying on the floor of Voldemort's meeting room with his wrists shackled, the metal etched with runes. Voldemort stood over him, with a tall blond man the Assistant recognised as Preston Yaxley, formerly head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad until he was arrested in February. His arrest would have been a huge loss to Voldemort; he was one of the most highly placed Death Eaters in the Ministry.

Right now he was holding a small knife and a thin, leather-bound, very familiar book.

"Oh you son of a bitch," the Assistant swore. He attempted to get up, but Voldemort pointed his wand and one of the floorboards curled up and wrapped around the Assistant's neck, holding him down. "The fuck are you doing?"

"You'll speak to me with respect, Assistant."

"You're breaking our agreement," the Assistant snarled, grabbing at the wood around his throat and tugging forcibly. "You said you wouldn't transfer my Bond. I've done everything you asked."

"And yet I find I still don't trust you. Preston, are you ready?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Fuck you! Preston, you lay a hand on me and I'll rip your fucking bollocks off!"

Yaxley crouched by him and the Assistant swung a leg up and kicked him in the head. When his head came down, the Assistant slung his shacked wrists around his neck and pulled it tight. Yaxley choked, but then the chain snapped and the Assistant's hands jerked down and slammed against the floor, the boards curling up and over his arms. His ankles suffered the same, leaving him spreadeagled and unable to move.

It didn't stop him screaming, which he did loudly and violently, cursing them both until Voldemort charmed his teeth stuck together. Even then he grunted and screamed through his teeth, twitching beneath the restraints as he fought to escape them.

"Preston, get on with it," Voldemort ordered.

Yaxley dropped the hand that was rubbing at his throat and opened the book to a dog-eared page, laying it on the floor. He picked up the knife he dropped when the Assistant kicked him and used it to cut his palm, then cut the Assistant's. It wasn't easy; the floor restraints were around the Assistant's lower forearm so he could still twist his hand.

Not enough to stop Yaxley slicing him and grabbing his hand, squeezing their bloody palms together as he picked up the book with his other hand so he could recite a lengthy Latin incantation. On the final word, two ribbons of light sprung out from their joined hands, one a dark yellow, the other a bright silver but with a thin strip of black through it. The yellow coiled itself around the Assistant's forearm, the silver around Yaxley's, and they glowed brightly for a moment before fading away.

The Assistant finally stopped thrashing, falling limp and still. Yaxley stood and Voldemort waved his wand, letting the Assistant open his mouth again. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

"Have you quite finished acting like a child having a tantrum, Harry?"

"You've finished trying to steal me from my Master," the Assistant replied dully.

"You have a new Master now."

"Yes, I know. Quite why you'd pick him, I don't know. I'd have been better off with Andy or Cal."

"Preston is a powerful and intelligent wizard. He'll be a far more suitable Master than your last one. Preston?"

"Tell me your Trigger," Yaxley ordered the Assistant, who shut his eyes and smiled.

"I don't know it. My last Master never saw fit to inform me."

"How can you not know it? He must speak it to fully ensure your obedience."

"That he must, but he needn't let me know it, which you'd know if you'd done your research properly. It's called Shrouding. Chapter four."

The Trigger, that one word that could make him obey his Master's orders no matter what. It hurt him to disobey his orders, but he could resist if he really wanted to, unless that word was used. The worst thing was, he didn't know what it was and he never would. He heard it, but the subtle magic of Shrouding meant it could be a word as odd as supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and his mind, and anyone else's, would pay absolutely no attention to it, even if he was given an order as short as 'sit'. Even more unfortunately, the Assistant knew his Trigger was something relatively common and simple enough to be accidentally discovered.

The Assistant opened his eyes again, looking at Voldemort. "You might at least have Bound me to someone knowledgeable, my lord. I fear my life is compromised by having my soul in the hands of someone so uneducated."

"Then let that fear encourage you to obey him even without your Trigger."

"I have little choice but to obey him, as you well know." He wriggled his feet and fingers. "Might I be relieved of my chains now, given that you've put me in far more restrictive, albeit invisible, ones?"

"Preston," Voldemort said, and the Assistant flicked his gaze to him.

"You will obey every order the Dark Lord gives you," he said, and the Assistant had to suppress a groan, closing his eyes again as Yaxley continued. "You will not betray him. You will not fight him. You will speak to him with respect at all times. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master," he muttered mockingly.

"You will speak to me with respect. I ask you again, is that clear?"

A tremor ran through the Assistant and his hands clenched, but he couldn't fight it. "Yes, Master," he said sincerely.

You do realise there's a slight problem with your decision to have a relationship with Draco, don't you? the voice said later when Harry was lying in bed. It wasn't quite curfew yet and he wasn't sleepy, but he couldn't focus on his homework or anything else right then. He'll be expecting more than just a few innocent kisses, like all the nasty things Cid likes to talk about and which you have absolutely no interest in doing with him. Even in your dreams you never do anything with him. You just watch. You might have enjoyed kissing him earlier, but you weren't aroused. You didn't want to do anything more than that and you still don't.

The door crashed open and Harry jumped, looking through his curtains to see Cid enter, stalk straight up to Harry's bed, and yank the curtains open with wide grin. Tyler followed him in more sedately, going over to his own bed and picking up his cat, Aurora.

"So you finally did it," Cid said.

"Did what?" Harry asked.

"Fucked Malfoy."

Harry sat up, gaping. "I did not—" he started loudly, then lowered his voice. "I did not fuck him!"

'And you can shut up,' he said to the voice, which was sniggering at him.

"What did you do with him? Because Malfoy turned down Tyler claiming that you two were going out, and Ed Coleman told me he heard you two talking in the library a week ago and you claimed you'd slept in Malfoy's bed. So really, all the evidence suggests you're fucking him."

"That's wasn't—I never fucked him. We just shared a bed. It was the summer and—"

"Wait, you were at his house?" Tyler interrupted, and Aurora meowed in protest as he stopped scratching her ears. "This summer?"

"It was only one night."

"The Malfoy family really has gone to the dogs," Orion sneered from his own bed. The three of them looked at him. He leant back against the headboard and didn't look away from the paperback book held in one hand as he spoke. "They used to be a respectable family, now look at them: patriarch a fugitive, getting divorced, and the only heir sleeping with halfie boys. It's such a shame to see a family like that fall apart so easily."

He turned the page of his book, acting as though he hadn't spoken to them at all.

"Dare you to say that to his face," Cid said. Orion ignored him. "Yeah, I thought so. You know he's still a whole lot better than you, Devaux. People around here actually respect the Malfoy name, even with Mr Malfoy in prison. I don't see anyone gossiping about the Devaux family."

Orion shot him a filthy look. "My family is respectable enough that no one needs to gossip about them. When they discuss us, it's only to comment on how perfect we are. At least I have a family name people know. No one's heard of yours."

"They might not know Villiers, but they certainly know Swift."

"Irrelevant. You're not related to Dylan Swift by blood."

"Nope, but he has a daughter he loves more than life itself, and that daughter happens to think the sun shines out of her big brother's backside. All she'd have to do is smile sweetly at her daddy and he'd do anything for her, even name his step-child heir to the family fortune."

"So, you are going out with him, right?" Tyler asked Harry, who'd prefer they keep arguing with Orion.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess? He turned me down and he never turns me down. It seems pretty serious to me."

Harry shrugged. "We kissed. Earlier, in the library."

"Seriously?" Cid sighed. "I know you're a nerd and all, but you couldn't have picked a more romantic spot than the library to make out?"

"It's not like I planned it! It just sort of happened. We were talking and then he said he wanted to kiss me and we did."

Tyler shrugged. "Sounds about right."

" 'Sounds about right'?" Cid said disbelievingly. "What happened to spontaneous kissing? Who the fuck asks permission?"

"Malfoy does. He asks before he does anything, or at least warns you first. It's kind of annoying when you just want him to get on with it, but he insists. I asked him about it once; he said his mother made a huge deal about consent issues and communication when she explained the birds and bees."

Cid sniggered. "He got that talk from his mum?"

"Apparently."

"Dad tried giving it to me, but I already knew about it all from these guys in the village. I'd listen in on them talk but they caught me once and told me all about it. Dad didn't even ask; he was just glad he didn't have to do it. What about you?" he said to Harry. "Who'd you get the talk from? Your godfather? I assume you got it before this summer."

Harry flushed and muttered, "No one. I read about it in books."

That was true enough for the basic biology of sex, but it wasn't how his education had begun. Living on the streets inevitably brought him into contact with prostitutes, male and female, and a few times he'd watched them work with a childish curiosity. It was probably why he'd developed a taste for voyeurism.

"You do know how to, right? To fuck a guy and stuff?" Cid said. "Because if not you might want to read up on it before you get much further with Malfoy."

Told you, singsonged the voice in his head.

"You avoiding me?"

"No."

Liar.

"So you're not hidden in the furthest corner of the library studying ridiculously ancient runes—again—because you're embarrassed by what happened yesterday?"

"No."

"And you're not refusing to look at me because you've changed your mind about wanting to go out with me but don't have the nerve to tell me so?"

Harry said nothing. Draco nodded.

"Evans, do you remember what I said in the summer, after the first time I kissed you?"

"You said lots of stuff."

"The bit about not being a pathetic Hufflepuff who'll cry and write bad poetry if you turn me down."

"Yes."

Draco sighed. He reached over and took the book from Harry's hands then grabbed his chin, lifting his head and staring at him until Harry reluctantly met his gaze. "Evans, I may not be a pathetic Hufflepuff but I do have my dignity and I'm not going to be messed about. I like you—a lot. I want to go out with you. If you don't want to, fine, but don't play with me. So I'm going to ask you one last time, and if you say no, it's fine, I accept it. But I want a straight answer: do you want to go out with me?"

"That isn't—"

"Yes or no, Evans."

"It's not that simple!"

Draco dropped his hand. "How is it not that simple? Either you like me or you don't. What's complicated about it?"

"Because I don't—I like you, I do, and I'm not embarrassed by yesterday, it's just I don't…"

"You don't what?"

Harry let out a frustrated sigh and got up, folding his arms over his chest as he turned away from Draco, moving to the window and looking down onto the grounds at a group of first years playing tag. He didn't say anything for a while, but Draco remained equally silent, apparently content to wait him out, and eventually Harry sighed again, leant his head against the glass, and muttered, "I don't want to have sex."

He had his magical eye on Draco, so he saw the surprise cross his face then the smile that followed and the quiet laughter. A sudden anger rushed through him and several shelves of books started rattling dangerously. Harry grit his teeth, breathing hard and forcing himself to calm down before he caused any damage.

"Is that really what this is about? Sex?"

"Don't mock me," he snarled.

"I'm not mocking you, Evans." He stood, moving around the table to come and stand on the other side of the window. Harry glared at the glass. "You realise there's more to relationships than sex, don't you?"

"I'm not stupid," he snapped.

"You're acting stupid. If you've got some other reason not to go out with me, I'd love to hear it, but not wanting sex isn't enough. You said you like me, so go out with me."

"Why? You're going to want sex and… blow jobs and… and all that other stuff, but I don't and I probably never will so you'll just end up hating me because I won't give you what you want, so we might as well just not go out and stay friends."

"You enjoyed yesterday, right? I mean, you were conjuring butterflies and you said that means you're happy, so you liked kissing me."

"Yeah, but… I mean, kissing is… it's not…"

"It's not sexual."

Harry nodded.

"Okay, so we keep things non-sexual."

Harry glanced at him then away again.

"I'm being serious, Evans. I'm willing to try a non-sexual relationship. Cuddling and innocent kisses only."

"And if that didn't work? If you want more?"

"Then I… will… figure it out. Don't look at me like that," he added when Harry glanced at him sceptically. "We like each other and we want to go out, we've established that. Surely the decision to ignore my sexual desire is mine, not yours?"

This boy really does have it bad for you, doesn't he? Willing to give up sex just like that… what on earth does he see in you, I wonder.

"I just don't want you to hate me."

"I won't. Not for this anyway. I'm going into this fully informed of the boundaries; it's not like you're leading me on with false expectations."

"You'll hate me for something else?"

"Well if you turn into a clingy, obsessive, controlling arsehole, yeah, I'm gong to have some issues with you."

Harry smiled at that.

"So, we're going out?" Draco said.

"One more condition."

Draco sighed. "You'd better be worth the effort, Evans. What is it?"

"Stop calling me Evans."

Draco blinked, surprised, clearly expecting something more than that, then a smile spread across his face. "What would you prefer?" he drawled, stepping closer and sliding his hand across Harry's hip. "Darling? Sweetie? My foxy little thing?"

"Shut up," Harry said, poking a finger into his side and grinning. "You can call me Harry."

"The rest of your friends call you Harry."

"Funnily enough I think that might be because it's my name. Just possibly."

"How about pet? Dearie? Sweet cheeks? Cutie-"

Harry kissed him, breaking him off in mid-word. "Forget it. Just stick with Evans."

"Make up your mind."

"I'm not having you call me 'sweet cheeks' or any other ridiculous names. If you really object to using my name that much, I'd prefer Evans to 'dearie' or 'pet'. That makes me sound like your cat or something."

Draco chuckled. "I'm sure you'd make an adorable little cat," he said, and kissed him before Harry could object.

You two are disgusting, the voice sneered, but Harry ignored it because he honestly didn't care what it thought.

In the wake of the escape, most of the Death Eaters only spent a few days in the hospital base. Voldemort didn't want them there whole time, and they didn't all get along anyway so it would have been a recipe for disaster in any case. Some of them had gone to relatives who could hide them from the Ministry; others had private properties that the Ministry didn't know of; and the rest went to safe houses set up in preparation for them.

Only three people remained at the hospital: Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Antonin Dolohov. Initially, Rodolphus Lestrange remained as well, but whatever love there was between him and Bellatrix was killed in Azkaban just as surely as Bellatrix's sanity, and after a loud and violent argument he went off to join his brother.

Bellatrix was much happier. So was Antonin, who now had the privilege (some might say misfortune) of sharing Bellatrix's bed on occasion. The Assistant felt bad for him; Antonin had a tragic love for Bellatrix and mistakenly seemed to think that sleeping together meant she'd one day return his feelings.

Yaxley was in one of the safe houses, a place he shared with Merrick Mulciber and Frederick Nott. They liked to pretend they didn't get along, but given a strong drink each and they were happy as clams in one another's presence. All three were sexual deviants of some degree and the only real difference between them was their preferences and how they went about subduing their victims.

With the Bond transferred, the Assistant moved in with them. The Bond was kept secret—Voldemort didn't want it getting out he needed magic to control his followers—so Mulciber and Nott just thought they were lovers. The full extent of the Assistant's powers wasn't commonly known, but his ability to shift his appearance got out and most people thought he was a metamorphmagus.

The lovers part wasn't entirely untrue, either, to the Assistant's displeasure. He loved sex, and sex with his Master had an intensity to it that he couldn't get with anyone else, but Yaxley's tastes ran young and the Assistant didn't enjoy pretending to do that, even if it was better than Yaxley finding a real teenager.

It didn't take long for Yaxley to reveal exactly what kind of Master he was. Just days after the transfer they were in the kitchen of the safe house when Yaxley claimed his coffee tasted like piss, prompting the Assistant to respond with, "I didn't know you drank piss often enough to know what it tastes like."

Yaxley slapped him, a sharp and unexpected open-handed hit. "I have told you to speak to me with respect."

The Assistant lifted a hand to rub his stinging cheek and looked at him balefully. "It was a joke, Preston."

Yaxley slapped him again. The Assistant hit him back, hard enough to split his lip and knock him back against the kitchen counters.

"Don't. Hit. Me."

Yaxley touched a finger to his lip then looked at the Assistant. "Don't ever strike me again, and don't you dare give me orders. I'm the Master in this relationship."

"I'm well aware of that. It doesn't give you the right to hit me."

Yaxley lashed out once more and the Assistant threw up an arm to block the blow then backed up a step, glaring at him angrily. When Yaxley went for his wand, the Assistant disarmed him with a flick of his fingers, snatching the wand out of the air.

Yaxley held out his hand. "Give me my wand."

"I am not your punching bag."

"Give me the wand!"

The Assistant didn't. His hand shook.

"Give me the fucking wand!"

The Assistant's hand jerked then he lifted it and dropped the wand into Yaxley's own outstretched palm. Immediately Yaxley jerked it in a diagonal slash and the Assistant staggered, hands going to his chest, eyes going wide as he let out a weak gasp. He stumbled against the counters, face screwing up in pain as he attempted to breathe despite his ribcage shrinking and crushing against his lungs.

Yaxley watched him slide down to his knees, one hand clutching the sideboard while the other scratched at his chest like he could tear through his skin to grab his ribs and pull them back. He could easily have stopped the curse, but the Bond held him back, that persistent sensation that he had to submit to whatever his Master did to him.

"Never take my wand from me again. In fact, never use magic against me again, Harry." He crouched, grabbing the Assistant's chin and harshly jerking his head up to look at him. "I own you. I will do as I like to you and you will take it because that is what you're supposed to do."

Yaxley dropped his chin, rising and stepping back, and only then flicked his wand and murmured the counter curse. The Assistant gasped and collapsed to the floor completely, coughing weakly and drawing in harsh, ragged breaths to refill his now unrestricted lungs.

"You're mine. Don't ever forget it."

Perhaps in an effort to avoid the fear generated by the Azkaban breakout, Harry's new relationship became the talk of Hogwarts. To no surprise, the fact that he was dating the son of the man who kidnapped his 'father' was a subject for hot gossip. Half the school thought he was nuts and the rest thought he was being lured to the dark side.

"I heard Hannah Abbott and Morag McDougal talking about how they think you need saving," Hermione told him as they waited for people to turn up to the DA club one afternoon. "They're convinced you've been jinxed or that Malfoy's slipped you a potion or something."

"Seriously? That's ridiculous. Actually," he said thoughtfully, "the most ridiculous part of that is a Hufflepuff standing up for me."

The first Quidditch match of the season was the second Saturday of October and provided some distraction to the gossipers. It was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, as always, and the Gryffindor team was more than half made up of Weasleys since they took on Ginny as Seeker and Ron as Keeper. But Ron's skill was only middling and he didn't fare well when faced by the usual pre-game taunting.

He played abysmally in the match. Harry actually felt sorry him; he didn't like Ron, even after living with him for weeks in the summer, but he had to feel bad when the rest of the Slytherins started singing a taunting song.

Harry left then. He knew Draco had come up with the song and he had no interest in watching the ensuing disaster. He might be Draco's boyfriend, and he might believe Draco was growing as a person, but it didn't mean he'd be supportive of Draco's dumber ideas.

That besides, he had something he wanted to do and, when he saw Dumbledore wasn't at the match, he decided this was the best time to do it. He Wished people to pay no attention to him and slipped out the stands, flying quickly towards the castle once he reached the ground. Inside he headed up, passing a few students and teachers who weren't interested in Quidditch. The seventh floor around Dumbledore's office was empty, but the headmaster himself was in, Harry saw when he looked through with his magical eye.

He knocked on the gargoyle. It twisted its head up and said in a gravelly voice, "State your name and purpose."

"Harry Evans. I'd like to speak to the headmaster."

The gargoyle looked forward again, several seconds passed, and then it hopped aside. Harry stepped by and rode up the revolving staircase, finding the door at the top already open.

"Mr Evans," Dumbledore greeted, standing by Fawkes' perch and feeding the phoenix treats, eyes never leaving the bird. "What can I do for you today? I saw you leave the Quidditch pitch; is my eyesight worse than I thought and Slytherin is not doing well in the match?"

"No, we're winning. Wiping the pitch with them, actually, and I'm not interested in watching a slaughter. I wanted to ask you something, professor."

"Of course." Dumbledore gave Fawkes the last of the treats, stroked his head, and moved to his desk. "Please, shut the door and take a seat. What can I help you with?"

Harry closed the door and moved forwards, but didn't sit. He didn't plan to stay long.

"In June, you mentioned Occlumency and said I could use it to block out the visions from Voldemort."

"Yes, I understand you never went to Professor Snape for those lessons."

"I need a different teacher."

Dumbledore sat, relaxing in his chair and smoothing down his beard before linking his fingers across his stomach, tilting his head back, and staring at the ceiling. "Might I ask what's prompted you to seek tutelage in this now?"

Harry debated lying, but didn't see any point in it. "I think I saw the Azkaban breakout."

Dumbledore had been idly twiddling his thumbs but they stopped at that. "You think?"

"I had a seizure the night it happened. Tyler said that I was laughing manically right before it happened. The last thing I remember doing before it was Arithmancy homework and there's nothing funny about that."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, but I can understand where you're coming from," Dumbledore murmured. "I can see why you'd wish to avoid the visions when they put your health at risk; however, Professor Snape really is the only possible teacher. Occlumency is a rarely studied art. Only one other person within the Order is capable of it to the level that he is."

"Then I want them," Harry said.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Why not?"

Dumbledore lifted his head and, for the first time in months, met Harry's gaze. Harry felt a sudden and intense rush of hatred for the man, and one of the many objects on Dumbledore's rickety tables explodes. Harry jumped and Fawkes gave a startled squawk.

Dumbledore dropped his eyes to the desk. "That's why, Mr Evans. I'm the only other person who could teach you Occlumency, and having me inside your head would be an even worse idea than having your father."

Another object blew up.

"He's not my father."

"He is," Dumbledore said gently, "however much you might hate him, and as I say, he's your only option for an Occlumency teacher. If you wish to keep Lord Voldemort out of your head, you will have to accept your father in it."

"You skipped my match."

Harry opened his eyes to find Draco standing by his bed, holding the curtains open and frowning down at him.

"I saw the start of it."

"Why'd you leave?"

"You were obviously winning, I didn't care to watch Weasley's humiliation, and I had something to do."

"You realise that as my boyfriend you're supposed to support me in these kind of things?" Draco drawled.

"I do support you," Harry said, sitting up, "but it doesn't mean I'll force myself to sit through something I'm not interested in."

"But you like Quidditch."

"Today wasn't really a Quidditch match so much as an attempt to see how much you could wind up the Gryffindors."

Draco was still frowning at him. He looked around when the door opened and Orion and Stuart came in, then climbed on the bad and sat opposite Harry, letting the curtains fall shut again.

"Are you angry at me for winding up Weasley? It's not like you like him."

"Of course not," Harry said. "I think it was dumb, but I'm not angry at you. Why would you think that?"

"You seem kind of pissed. What have you been doing all morning?"

Harry looked down at his lap, fiddling with the hem of his robes. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"Mattered enough to miss my game," Draco said, but with concern rather than admonishment.

Harry looked up, smiling faintly. "Draco, do you have any idea how narcissistic you are?"

"If I say yes, does that make me better or worse?" he answered, and Harry laughed.

"Probably worse. Is it lunchtime yet?"

"Near enough. Shall we go?"

Harry nodded, glad when Draco didn't push to know what he'd been doing all morning, especially as mostly what he'd been doing was thinking about Snape, arguing with the voice, and blowing things up.

The voice wanted him to stop taking the Draught of Peace, which meant at least reaching a level where he could stand to be in the same room as Snape without blowing things up. After thinking about it, he did decide that letting his hatred affect him so much was giving Snape a worth he didn't deserve. He shouldn't waste so much anger on a man he wanted nothing more to do with than absolutely necessary, but knowing that and putting it in practice were two different things.

At lunch, he let his magical eye swivel around to stare at Snape while he ate. His anger was definitely less than it used to be; as long as he didn't think about Snape abandoning him then he could keep his magic under control. The real question was whether he could do it for the length of a Potions lesson—or an Occlumency lesson.

Learn to, the voice ordered him. Even if you can't control your emotions, you should at least control your magic.

Harry bit his lip, turning his gaze away from Snape as he finished eating and stood to go. He wasn't sure controlling his magic was really an option; if he hadn't done it by now, would he ever?

He left it for the rest of the weekend. On Wednesday, he pocketed his Draught of Peace, but didn't take it before Potions. He hung back as the rest of the class entered the dungeon, fingering the vial, and then approached the door. Snape glanced up as he started handing back their last homework assignment.

"Close the door and sit down, Mr Evans."

Harry moved slowly to his seat, watching Snape. His anger and hatred bubbled beneath his skin, but he forced himself to control it, reminded himself that Snape wasn't worth it. This man hadn't cared enough to look after Harry when he was young; why should Harry care enough to hate him now?

He made it. He had to keep reminding himself over the course of the lesson, and he had a couple of close incidents when Snape spoke to him and passed close by his desk, but otherwise the lesson passed without incident.

He still didn't approach him about Occlumency lessons. He wasn't sure he could manage that just yet.

You're just avoiding him, the voice said. You might manage Potions lessons, but you still don't want to get close to him.

Harry couldn't even refute it, because he still hadn't approached Snape by the end of term.

Harry was supposed to be going home for the holiday, but a week before school broke up, Sirius wrote to ask if Harry could stay because James wasn't doing well. Since the Azkaban escape, he'd grown more and more antsy, with more bouts of anger and depression. Sirius didn't think Harry's presence would help.

He didn't really mind, except all his friends had gone home, as had many others. It wasn't quite as quiet as the Easter holiday the year the Chamber of Secrets opened, but the castle was still fairly empty. Slytherin only had five students staying, including Harry.

On New Year's, after much prodding from the voice, he plucked up his courage and went to see Snape. He found him in his private rooms and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. Through the stone, he saw Snape rise from his sofa with an irritable look and a silent grumble, probably thinking there was some problem in Slytherin, but irritation turned to surprise and then wariness when he saw Harry.

"Mr Evans. What are you doing here?"

Harry momentarily forget what he'd come to ask and instead blurted out, "Do you ever think of me as Mr Snape?"

Snape looked as startled by the question as Harry was, but he answered cautiously, "No. So long as I've known you, it's always been Evans."

"What about when I was a kid?"

"Then it was just Harry. I avoided thinking about the fact you had Potter's surname, but knew I had no right to associate my own with you."

It was about the most perfect answer Harry could have asked for. Part of him wanted to be mad that Snape never thought of him as his own, but he fully agreed that Snape also had no right to, yet that small, childish part of him that still desperately wanted a real parent delighted at knowing that Snape refused to acknowledge him as James' child even when Harry used his name.

"Is that all you came here to ask?"

Harry shook his head. Reminding himself to be respectful given that he was asking a favour, he said, "I was wondering if you'd teach me Occlumency. Please."

Snape didn't look surprised at the request. He leant out the room far enough to peer up and down the corridor then looked down at Harry. "Are you aware of what that would involve?"

"Yes."

"And you're willing to have me inside your head?"

"Yes," Harry said again, if more grudgingly.

"You realise the lessons would be better done without the Draught of Peace. It would interfere with your ability to properly block your mind."

"I stopped taking it in November, anyway."

"Very well. Do you wish to begin immediately? Then I will meet you in my office in ten minutes," he said when Harry nodded.

That wasn't so hard now, was it? the voice said as Harry turned away and Snape's door closed.

"Oh, shut up."

He went straight to Snape's office and spent the next ten minutes throwing a rubber ball against the wall. When Snape turned up, he came from the opposite direction to his rooms and was carrying Dumbledore's Pensive. In the office, he set it on the desk and started removing memories to store inside it. Harry was tempted to ask what he was putting inside, but he didn't want to sound too interested in Snape's personal life, and he was a little afraid of the answer.

When Snape was done, he moved the Pensieve to one of the high shelves then turned to Harry. "I will attempt to break into your mind. You will resist me. You may disarm me or defend yourself in any other way you can think of, provided it is neither illegal nor causes me permanent harm. I would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from throwing me around as you have in the past."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Brace yourself… Legilimency!"

He could feel it, this presence inside his head, and half-forgotten memories from his childhood began to draw forwards, but before they could he Wished simply Out and the presence vanished.

Harry blinked, mind coming back to the office. Snape was looking at him consideringly.

"Was that you Wishing, or was it the voice in your head telling me to get out?"

Harry's breath hitched and Snape nodded.

"The voice."

"Have you told anyone about it?" Harry demanded.

Snape scowled. "Watch your tone. But no; if I tell anyone, it'll be Healer Karpel. You should tell her yourself, or someone."

"I don't need help. Are we done?"

"No. That might have been the voice yelling at me, but you were Wishing, weren't you? If you're to learn this properly, you need it do it without Wishing. Reject me with your mind, not with your magic. Let's try again… Legilimency!"

But Harry didn't throw him out this time. He didn't even try. When Snape first delved in, he drew out the very first memory Harry had, of falling down the stairs at Privet Drive and bouncing off the safety gate at the bottom, unharmed. It was the first time he did accidental magic, and it was after that he was banished to the cupboard under the stairs for a bedroom.

When other memories started flowing, he let them: Vernon hitting him, being sat in the cupboard under the stairs for days on end, being forced to do chores way beyond what a six year old should have to do, more hitting, listening to his uncle shouting abuse at him for being an unlovable, worthless freak.

When he felt Snape start to draw out, he pulled him back in with a snarl. "No."

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Snape but he was focused on his mind, on the memories, and thought of the day Vernon put him in the hospital. He didn't remember it all that clearly, but he remembered enough to throw at Snape, and he remembered the time in hospital afterwards, half blind, arm in a cast, stitches in his stomach from where they operated to fix the internal bleeding.

Snape staggered. Harry blinked and shook his head slightly, now trying not to think of things he spent years ignoring.

"I'm sorry."

Snape's voice was quiet. He leant against the back wall, hands braced against the bricks, and he stared at Harry with undisguised guilt. It was the most open expression Harry had ever seen on him. "I realise it's worth little, but I am sorry."

Harry, to his surprise, felt only a flicker of anger at Snape's apology.

"I'm over it," he said. "I realised that I was wasting a whole lot of energy hating you, but you're just not worth it. You didn't care about me; why should I care about you? So I've moved on. You're nothing more to me than just another teacher."

He thought something like hurt flashed across Snape's face at that. He didn't care.

When Remus found James sitting in his room, sobbing like a child while blood dripped down his chest, James didn't tell him why he'd cut himself. Remus didn't push it, just healed the wounds, vanished the knife, and held James until he stopped crying, agreeing not to call for Sam the psychiatrist when James begged him not to.

He'd just been so mad. Months had passed since the Azkaban breakout and his Master still hadn't come for him. The longer it went, the worse James felt. It was like a growing itch under his skin that no amount of scratching could make go away. He was restless, too, constantly tapping and fiddling and battling an urge to pace.

Cutting himself was an effort to scratch that itch, and when it hadn't worked he'd cut through the words etched into his collar, putting a strike through Property of Lucius Malfoy in a desperate fit of anger.

He'd instantly felt so utterly awful that he'd just slashed himself with abandon. His Master was going to be furious with him when he finally came for James; he didn't think even the self-punishment would appease his anger, as it shouldn't. There was no excuse for spoiling his Master's mark.

Then there was Sirius and Remus. His friends. He wasn't supposed to think that, but in the months he'd been with them he remembered loving them and he remembered being willing to die for them. His Master had beaten him into thinking he shouldn't believe that, but the longer he spent with them, the more he got to know them as adults, to see the men they'd become instead of the boys he'd been taught to hate, the more he liked them again.

He hated himself for liking them, knowing he was going against his Master's orders, and yet he couldn't stop himself. Sam said that, as a grown man, he could like whoever he damn well pleased and part of him was beginning to think she might be right. That terrified him, because she also said his Master had no right to treat him like he had and that James didn't have to believe the things he'd said. If she was right about one thing, it might mean she was right about the others, and he couldn't handle that.

It left him longing for the days when he'd been locked in his cellar; at least then things had been simple.

As always, Severus answered Voldemort's summons with a knot in his stomach. Voldemort claimed he didn't want to kill Harry anymore, but with the imprisoned Death Eaters free, they were well on their way to becoming an army again, and Severus feared that Voldemort's clemency would only last until he had his powerbase re-established.

He appeared on the outskirts of the hospital—it was impossible to Apparate directly into it—and walked in, entering through what used to be general admissions, taking the chance to settle himself as he headed for the meeting room. It was on the middle floor and he had to take the stairs; no one had ever bothered to repair the lifts.

He'd just stepped onto the stairs when something made him look up and he jerked aside as a green plastic ball the size of a football almost dropped onto his head. It halted just millimetres above where his head had been, hovering in mid-air. He stared at it. It was transparent and inside was a terrified looking rat with a silver paw.

"Sorry, Severus, didn't mean to almost hit you," a voice called down.

Severus looked up to see the Assistant looking over the railing of the floor above, grinning. There was a half-healed cut along his jaw and three of his fingers were bandaged; Severus never saw him without some kind of injury since the Azkaban breakout.

Severus suspected there was more between Yaxley and the Assistant than just a relationship, and Dumbledore agreed, but he hadn't been able to find out what. They'd both seen the Assistant's power; there had to be something that kept a man that skilled from fighting back against Yaxley's mistreatment of him.

"What are you doing with this anyway?" he asked, tapping the ball.

"Exercising Wormtail. All those months in Azkaban made him lazy and weak. Care to join me?"

"Delightful though I'm sure that is, I've been summoned."

"Kinda figured that. I meant afterwards. Or you can join me for some supper."

"Is Goyle back yet? Pettigrew's food is so abysmal it's safer testing my students' potions."

The Assistant laughed. "You know Pete there purposely ruins your food? He's actually almost as good a cook as Andy."

Severus looked into the plastic ball and drew his wand. "Does he now."

He tapped the ball and it began to spin rapidly.

"Anyway we got a house elf," the Assistant added, watching the ball spin faster and faster. "I told Bella about Sirius freeing Kreacher so she summoned him and bound him to her service, and now we get prime house elf food."

"Delightful, I'm sure," Snape said dryly, squirrelling that bit of information away to tell Dumbledore. How did the Assistant even know Black had freed his house elf from service? "But I have to return to the school once I'm done here."

"Pity. Maybe some other time."

Severus nodded an agreement and continued up the stairs with a smirk as Wormtail vomited inside the ball.

By the time he left the meeting room, he could feel the pallor in his own face and smirking was the last thing he felt like doing. The Assistant sat on the stairs leading up to the top floor and he rose when Severus came out, opening his mouth to speak. Severus didn't give him chance.

"He wants to see you," he said, hearing the coldness in his own voice. The Assistant didn't ask about it, and Severus stalked away, feeling a chill in his bones and desperately regretting his choices in life.

Harry came back to his dorm after classes on the last Friday of January to find a plain white box on his pillow. It was about six inches long, three inches wide, and three inches tall, encircled with black ribbon with a small card tucked under it. He pulled the card out and flipped it open to read, For Harry Evans, to be opened in private.

Oh, God, the voice moaned unhappily. He's leaving gifts on your pillow. That's sickening. Were I more than a voice in your head, I might actually vomit.

Harry frowned, climbing onto his bed and pulling the curtains shut. That wasn't Draco's handwriting. He tugged the ribbon away and wiggled the lid off the box, then felt his chest tighten. There was another card inside, this one black but with the Dark Mark etched on it in green. Dreading what might be underneath, he carefully picked it up, and then gave a surprised cry.

Laying in the box, stiff and very obviously dead, was a rat with a single silver paw.

Well at least it's not a vomit-inducing romantic gift.

He yanked the curtains open just enough to dig in his drawer for a two-way mirror that Sirius had sent him for Christmas, then jerked them shut again, Wishing for them not to open to anyone else and putting up Silencing Charms so no one would hear him.

"Sirius! Sirius Black! Sirius, please, it's urgent, I need to talk to you now."

The surface of the mirror rippled but instead of Sirius it was James' face looking out.

"Sirius is in the bathroom," he said. "He'll be out in just a sec. What's wrong?"

"I can't—I'm sorry, James, it needs to be Sirius."

James nodded. "It's fine. I understand. I just thought I was going mad for a minute, hearing voices. He's coming now. Sirius? Harry's on your two-way mirror."

The mirror blurred and Sirius face appeared then. "Everythi-"

"Sirius, it's Wormtail."

Sirius' face instantly turned serious. "What about him?"

"He's dead. I got—"

"Dead? How do you know?"

"I just got back from classes and there was this box on my bed and when I opened it, Wormtail's inside, as a rat."

"You're sure it's him?"

"It's got a silver paw and this card came with it." He picked up the card with the Dark Mark on, turning it over to face the mirror, and as he did he saw writing on the back.

"Shit," Sirius swore. "Harry—"

"There's a message on the back."

"What message?"

He read it straight from the card. It wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be.

I hope one day you'll replace the gap this leaves in my ranks. It's a position far more worthy of you than this rat.