Chapter 36

Severus didn't hear Harry Apparate in, but he felt his pendant grow hot. He was in his bedroom and only had a page of his book left so he called out that he would be down in a minute and continued reading.

Half a paragraph from the end, his floor started to crumble. He dropped the book, snatched up his wand and darted across the unsteady floor, rushing out into the hall and down the stairs. In the sitting room, he found Harry on his hands and knees, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe through it, shaking all over. The carpet was completely destroyed and the concrete beneath was cracked, and his furniture and bookshelves were rotting away, books threatening to come crashing down.

Severus didn't want Harry to get used to him using Legilimency to halt his panic attacks, so he'd refused the times when one struck Harry during their training over the past week, but this was far worse than before. If Severus didn't put a stop to this then the whole house would fall down around them.

Harry didn't react to his presence, even when Severus crouched in front of him. Severus didn't touch him, knowing it would only end in him getting hurt, just aimed his wand at Harry's head and said softly, "Legilimency."

Harry's mind was a mess. Severus saw flashes of a man and a woman dying, Lucius, Bellatrix. A voice ordering him to kill. Voldemort congratulating him. And again, the man and woman dying, falling abruptly still and silent over and over and over.

He had to steady the memory, put it back in order so Harry would stop fixating on just the deaths and let it settle in place with the rest of his memories, then Severus could smooth over the emotions. He couldn't stop Harry feeling them completely—he wouldn't; Harry needed to feel this now or it would be worse later—but he settled them until the panic stopped.

Severus withdrew from Harry's mind and Harry collapsed to the floor entirely, still sobbing, but the rotting had stopped. Severus repaired what he could, just to ensure the house wouldn't collapse, then warily put a hand to Harry's hair. When he wasn't thrown across the room, he more confidently started petting him. It was all he could think of to do.

When Harry's sobs reduced to hiccups, he sniffed, wiped his nose on his hand, and said brokenly, "I killed them."

"I know."

"I'm a murderer."

"You did what you had to."

Harry jerked his head away, sat up, and lashed out, slamming a fist into Severus' chest. "That doesn't make it any better! I killed them! I took away their lives!"

Severus grabbed his wrists, firm but not restrictive, grip loose enough Harry could pull away if he tried, and his gaze was unforgiving as he met Harry's. "And you will take more. You will kill and torture and do horrible things that will give you nightmares for the rest of your life, but it's what you have to do."

Harry drew his hands away, wrapping his arms around himself. "Why are you saying that?" he asked in a small voice.

"Would you prefer I lied to you as I've done your whole life?"

"I…"

"You have people who will comfort you and do it a damn sight better than me. You can go home and know that Black and Potter will smile and pat your shoulder, and for a while you can tell yourself everything's fine, but the faces of the people you've killed will haunt you. I know they will because the people I've killed still haunt me. I will not lie to you about this, Harry. I'm not going to tell you that everything's going to be okay because it's not, and if you don't have someone to remind you of that then it'll be that much worse when you realise it. The people whose lives you took today are only the beginning, but you chose to put your friends' lives before theirs and you have to live with that."

"I've got no right," he said, head down, eyes averted. "Why should their lives be worth more than the people I killed? I'm not God, I shouldn't choose that."

"Do you really think that man and that woman are worth more than Lyle, Villiers, and Longbottom? Than Granger and Weasley? Even Black or Potter?"

"No…"

"That is not something to feel bad about," Severus told him.

"But I didn't have to kill them. I could have found some way to save them. Snuck them away to get new lives somewhere else and changed Lucius and Bellatrix's memories."

Severus reached out, making sure Harry saw him, and gripped the boy's chin to tug his face up to look at him. "Loathe as I am to say this, that voice in your head was right. Doing that would have been far too risky."

"How do you…?"

"I heard it when I was using Legilimency."

"It made me kill them."

"It encouraged you," Severus corrected, a little harshly, "but do not start placing blame on it. You killed that couple, you have to accept that, like it or not."

Harry closed his eyes. "It's not fair," he whispered. "It's not fair, I never asked for this. I didn't want any of this."

"But it's what you've got and you can't change that. You'll do as the Dark Lord asks and it will haunt you, but your friends will live."

"What if I can't? What if it's too much?"

"Then they die," Severus said simply.

"I don't want them to die."

"Then do as the Dark Lord orders." He dropped his hand from Harry's chin to his shoulder, squeezing it. "You have your options, Harry. Either you obey the Dark Lord, or your friends die. They're poor options but it's what you've got. You have to decide how much your friends' lives are worth."

"Tell me it's worth it."

It's worth it.

"Is it?"

If you're going to doubt me, why ask? You never care for my opinion anyway.

Harry had no response to that. It was the night before his birthday, just over two weeks since he'd murdered the Marions.

He'd been summoned twice more in that time. The first time was to force a Ministry witch to give up information about the protections on Amelia Bones, and just hours ago he'd been called on to join in the killing of Igor Karkaroff. Some other Death Eater had captured him, but they'd all been summoned to torture him before Voldemort killed him. Harry gathered hurting a traitor was meant to display their own loyalty. It made him sick to watch and terrified of being discovered himself, but his Occlumency training was progressing well. If Voldemort had been looking at his mind tonight, he hadn't found anything.

It's worth it. You love your friends, you're very fond of Sirius, you even like James. You don't want them to die. These peoples' lives are worth it to keep them safe.

"You didn't want me to join," he pointed out. He lay in bed, not sleeping, though he'd have liked to, except he knew his dreams would be full of Karkaroff's screams and the sickening state his body had been in by the time Voldemort killed him. His Occlumency wasn't good enough yet that he could stop his nightmares, especially not so soon after something happened.

That's because you didn't want to, and because our esteemed lord and master is a bully and we hate bullies.

"I'm a bully now."

Bullies cause misery and suffering simply because they can; we're just doing what we have to. We're protecting ourselves and what's important to us and that is something I agree with whole-heartedly.

"What's important to me. You don't care about my friends or Sirius or James. You don't care about anyone."

I care about you.

"You sound like Snape."

That's insulting. Your daddy might say he cares and maybe he's even done a few things to make up for his poor parenting, but I am heavily invested in your well-being and always have been. For the time being, obeying the Dark Lord is good for your well-being. Losing your friends would likely shatter your already fragile mind even further, as would much more torture.

"I'd have thought that's good for you. I'd end up with more voices in my head. You'd have friends to keep you company."

I don't need friends. I am the only one that needs to live inside your head.

He managed to get a few hours sleep that night until, as he'd predicted, nightmares of Karkaroff woke him. He showered, dressed, and went downstairs to find a pile of gifts waiting for him on the dining room table.

There was one from Cid and Tyler, which he hadn't really expected, but although both their names were on the label it was written in Tyler's hand. There was a letter with it, which he opened with some trepidation despite the gift. It was signed only from Tyler, but it spoke of both of them. Tyler was spending the rest of the summer with the Swift family, although he wasn't settling in well with them. He had nothing kind to say about his step-mother, Cid's mum, and he wasn't too happy with his father, either.

But he also mentioned that he wasn't holding a grudge over what had happened to him. He said Cid's anger over it was easing, too, but that he was glad Harry wouldn't be sharing a dorm with them in September. Harry tried not to feel too hurt by that.

There were gifts from Hermione and Neville, too, but that wasn't as surprising. He'd already had letters from them. Hermione had passed all her OWLs with Outstanding marks, except Defence which she only got Exceeds Expectations. Neville was pleased to have got six passing grades, including an Outstanding in Herbology and Exceeds Expectations in Defence and Charms. They both looked forward to sharing classes with him next year.

Draco's present was by far his best that year, though: Nyneve's journal.

Harry would have left immediately for Malfoy Manor, except when he said he was leaving Sirius replied, "Make sure you're back in time for dinner. We're going out."

Harry paused on his way out the kitchen, clutching Nyneve's journal. "What?"

"It's your birthday, we're going to a—"

"No," Harry said. "No, Sirius, I don't want that."

Sirius frowned. "It's your birthday. Don't you want something special?"

"No."

"We've hardly got to spend time with you these past two weeks. You never talk to me: can't you manage to spend one evening having a nice meal with me?"

"It's my birthday," Harry pointed out angrily. "I shouldn't have to do something I don't want to."

"You should spend it with your loved ones!"

"Draco is one of my loved ones, and at least he doesn't make me do things I don't want to."

"I'm not ma- look, I just want to spend some time with my godson."

"Fine, then I'll be back for bloody dinner, but I'm not going out. Get a takeout," Harry snapped, then whirled and stalked off, ignoring Sirius' yells for him to come back.

When he reached Malfoy Manor, he threw himself at Draco as soon as he got to the front steps, where Draco came to meet him, and kissed him hard.

"How'd you get it?" he demanded when they broke apart.

"What?" Draco said, looking a little dazed.

"This." He was still holding the journal. "The Dark Lord vanished it, how'd you get it?"

Draco smiled. "The Dark Lord didn't vanish it permanently. After you told me about it, I wrote to my father and convinced him to let me have it."

"Thank you."

Draco kissed him, arms tightening around him. Harry opened his mouth to the kiss, fingers tangling in Draco's hair, and pressed closer.

He stiffened when Draco's hand slipped under his shirt and Draco pulled it back out, breaking the kiss.

"Sorry."

Harry licked his lips, said, "It's fine."

Surprise flickered in Draco's eyes, then a hopeful little smile curled his mouth. "Yeah?"

Harry nodded. "We should go inside though if… if you're gonna… feelmeup."

He said that last bit as a hurried mutter, but Draco grinned broadly so he tried not to feel too embarrassed about it. They went through the manor with only a brief stop by the conservatory for Harry to say hello to Narcissa, and then headed up to Draco's bedroom. Once there, Harry stood awkwardly, not sure what to do next, but Draco pulled him into a kiss and Harry relaxed into it.

"You sure you're happy with this?" Draco asked, one hand playing with the hem of Harry's shirt. Harry nodded.

"I want to."

"Do what exactly? Touching like before?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. I'm not wearing the kind of robes I can just drop to the waist, though."

Harry drew back slightly, looking him up and down. "Do you mind if I transfigure them?"

"Into?"

"Jeans and t-shirt."

Draco's mouth twisted. "Muggle clothes."

"They are easier to… and I promise I'll transfigure them back."

"I suppose," Draco conceded, and jumped when Harry made his Wish. He wriggled. "Feels so weird. And constricting. Stop laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing at you," Harry said, holding back a grin.

"Uh huh," Draco said sceptically, and kissed him.

They took it slow, touching each other with their shirts on for a while before removing them. Whether it was that or he was just luckier this time, Harry had no flashbacks, no panic attack. His mind was fixed solely on Draco—Draco's hands, Draco's body, Draco's face. He was soft and gentle and warm and Harry was surprised to find himself growing aroused, especially when he imagined what they must look like from an outside perspective.

They'd moved onto the bed, Draco lying with Harry over him, and at the thought of watching them—without lingering on the oddity of watching himself make out with someone—Harry became abruptly aware of a tightness in his jeans. He tried to draw back slightly, afraid of Draco feeling it, but then Draco pressed his own hips up against him, and he realised he wasn't the only one getting aroused.

They both stopped. Draco's hips dropped down and Harry pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He could feel himself flushing, but Draco's cheeks were pink, too.

"Too much?" Draco asked.

"Maybe," Harry said.

"Do you want to stop?"

Harry thought about it, then asked, "What would happen if we didn't?"

"Didn't stop?"

Harry nodded.

"Um… I don't know." He looked uncertain for a moment, then said slowly, "I wouldn't want to go all the way right now, and I'm guessing you're not ready for that either."

"All the… you mean… do it?"

A glint of amusement entered Draco's eyes. "Do it?"

"You know what I mean."

"Sex," Draco said bluntly, and laughed when Harry blushed. "How do manage to be friends with Cid Villiers if you can't even hear the word sex without blushing?"

"Shut up," Harry muttered, poking his chest. "And no."

"No what?"

"I'm not ready."

"Okay. So… what do you want to do?"

Harry shrugged. Draco rolled his eyes.

"If you don't want to… go any further… then we should probably stop and find something else to do. But if you're okay with some grinding…"

"Um… I think… I think I'm okay with that." Or at least with finding out if he was okay with it. He was aroused enough that, even after their conversation, he wanted to climax rather than make it go away. All it took was imagining the two of them from an outside perspective and his jeans became uncomfortably tight.

He figured he probably shouldn't mention that to Draco, though. Getting more excited over watching than participating was probably insulting.

Draco smiled. "Okay then," he said, and tugged Harry down to kiss him.

They built up to it again, not taking as long as before but getting comfortable as they carried on. Harry tried not to think too much about what they were doing, to just let himself feel—feel Draco's hand sliding down his side and around his back, feel Draco's chest under his own fingers and his nipple growing hard, to feel Draco's hips press up against him and pressing down with his own.

When Draco clutched at his hips and thrust up, breathing short and sharp, Harry drew back to watch his face. Draco whimpered slightly and lifted his head to kiss him, but then dropped back down. Harry stroked his cheek and ground his hips down, more interested in the reaction it got from Draco than how it felt to himself. Draco groaned, fingers clenching on Harry's hips, and Harry did it again and Draco cried out, shuddering against him.

Watching that, seeing Draco's head tilt back and his mouth open and his eyes flutter shut, did far more to send Harry over the edge than the physical sensations against him. He ducked his head and buried his face in Draco's shoulder as his own orgasm came over him.

Draco's arms came around him after, one stroking gently over the small of his back, the other moving up to bury in his hair.

"You liked that," Draco said.

Harry nodded. He figured he probably shouldn't mention that he enjoyed watching Draco the most. "Did you?"

"Hell yes," Draco said, and Harry laughed. "Can I have my robes back now though? Also, clean us up? Otherwise I have to get up and change, and I don't want to move from here."

"Lazy butt," Harry said, but cleaned them up. He had to Wish Draco's shirt onto him before transfiguring it and his jeans back to robes.

Draco kissed his temple. "I'm not lazy, I just don't want to leave your side."

"You're not at my side, you're under me."

"Even better," Draco said with a grin, and Harry snorted, but he wouldn't deny he was happy right where he was, too.

Not for the first time since putting Yaxley in his cage, the Assistant sat outside it, trembling as he ignored a deep desire to vanish the bars, unmute Yaxley, and accept whatever punishment came to him. Yaxley couldn't give him orders, but his desire to be free still echoed down the Bond.

Yaxley, with nothing better to do, had taken to using the Bond to constantly summon him. The Assistant could resist it for a while, but it was like a chain in his chest pulling him back to his Master, growing more painful the more he ignored it, and eventually he had to give in.

He'd tried letting Yaxley hurt him, thinking that if the man was allowed to vent his frustrations then he'd stop calling for the Assistant. He blinded himself so he couldn't see any mouthed orders, nor have written ones shoved in his face, made sure the bars were impervious to vanishing, transfiguration, or anything else that would enable Yaxley to escape. As always, he assigned Dobby to keep watch in case Yaxley got the better of him.

"If he kills me," he told the elf, "then leave him here to starve."

Then he entered the cage and gave Yaxley his wand.

When Yaxley finally wearied of abusing him, the Assistant crawled out, patched himself up, nicked some pain relieving potions from the Hogwarts infirmary, and went for a much needed spa day.

Yaxley didn't stop calling.

It was time for a new plan.

Harry's booklist came the day after his birthday. He already knew one of the books that'd be on it; he'd helped Sirius and James pick out what textbooks to assign for Defence. Despite it, he didn't go to Diagon Alley as he hadn't heard back from Ollivander about his new wand yet.

He was summoned again the following Sunday. The meeting was in the large room this time, although there were only seven others instead of the thirty or so who'd been there the first time. They all had their masks on, but Harry recognised Lucius and Antonin's, and Bellatrix had her hood down so he could tell her just by her hair, but he had no idea who the others were.

He was ordered to accompany them to kill an entire street, with specific orders that he was to engage in the torture beforehand. It made his stomach turn, but his Occlumency was good enough now that he could force down his disgust and horror. He would do what had to be done to save his friends' lives.

The others already had the location and Harry had to take Antonin's arm to let him side-along Apparate him rather than go by himself.

"Don't try to dual Apparate with me," Antonin warned him before he left. "I'm no good at it and one of us will Splinch; just let me take us."

Before Harry could ask if he could go with someone else instead to avoid potentially leaving something behind, Antonin squeezed his arm and they vanished.

Normally when he teleported, there was the briefest sensation of painlessly falling to pieces before snapping back together again somewhere completely different. This time, it was like getting stuffed through a tight rubber tube. He'd felt the same sensation when the Assistant took him from the Three Broomsticks in June, but he'd forgotten about it with everything else that happened. Evidently his teleportation really was different to normal Apparition.

He staggered when they reappeared on a street, groaning slightly and feeling nauseous. Why were all normal methods of magical travel so unpleasant? It made him glad for his own brand of teleportation.

"That is Fleetwood's home," Lucius' voice said, drawing Harry's attention. "No one is to try entering it if they value their extremities."

He looked at the house Lucius pointed at, and almost threw up.

They were in Bath, on Tyler's street.

"Bella, you and Nott take that one," Lucius said, pointing at the house next to Tyler's, then the one at the end of the cul de sac. "Jugson, Gibbon, in there. Antonin, Evans, over there. Avery, with me."

They started for the houses he'd indicated, wands already drawn. Harry didn't move. Between their location and the mention of Nott's name, he was frozen in place, battling to keep down a sudden panic attack.

Antonin realised he wasn't following and stopped, turning towards him.

"You realise this is a test of your loyalty," he said and Harry jerked his head up to look at him. "The Dark Lord is well aware you're familiar with people living on this street. Our intelligence says Fleetwood's son isn't staying here at the moment, but the boy in that house—" he pointed to the one Lucius and Avery were heading to, the Stones' home "—is also in your year at Hogwarts."

"A-Alex," Harry said. "Alex—you expect me to let them kill him?"

Antonin looked around. The others had reached their targets and were breaking into the houses now. He pushed his mask up to sit atop his head and stepped closer to Harry, lowering his voice.

"I shouldn't tell you this, but Lucius has orders to let the family live… unless you refuse to torture and kill the Muggles in this house." He gestured at the one Lucius had ordered them to. Charlie's house, the girl Tyler and Alex were friends with. "The Stones are a pureblood family, if a young one, and they've never stood against us. The Dark Lord doesn't want them killed, so they're merely hostages for now. Lucius is waiting for my confirmation that you've killed the Muggles, and if he doesn't get it then he will kill the Stones."

Harry closed his eyes, clenching his fists. It took every bit of Occlumency he'd learnt in the past few weeks to keep his despair and anger from overwhelming him. He hadn't thought he'd ever have to kill someone he knew, but it was either Charlie—a girl he'd met only a handful of times—or one of his schoolmates.

It's not even a question, the voice said without sympathy. I don't care for any of them, but the Muggles will die no matter what. Antonin will kill them if you don't, so you may as well get the job done and save yourself the guilt of the Stones' death… and the torture we'll suffer for disobeying.

Harry opened his eyes and looked at Antonin. "Why are we killing them?"

Antonin cocked his head. "I told you—"

"No, why kill all of them?" Harry gestured around at the five houses. "Everyone except Marcus Fleetwood. Why are we killing them? It can't just be to test me."

"Aside from the fact they're Muggles and therefore deserve to be killed? The Dark Lord wants to send a message to Marcus Fleetwood."

"Cursing his son isn't enough?"

Antonin smiled at Harry like he would at a young child that didn't understand a simple concept. "That had nothing to do with this. Fleetwood's boy was cursed because of you, not because of him."

Even though he knew it was true, having someone say it so bluntly made him feel awful. He didn't say anything else, just glanced at the Stones' house then started walking. His feet felt like blocks of cement, but he forced himself to pick them up and walk unsteadily towards Charlie's house. Antonin pulled his mask back down and followed.

Disabling the intruder alarm was easy. It was late enough that everyone was in their beds, but at a Wish from Harry they all came traipsing down to the large family room. As well as Charlie and her parents, Johnny was there, the Muggle boy Harry remembered meeting twice. Given that he and Charlie were both in their underwear when they arrived, Harry assumed they'd made up and got back together. Mr and Mrs Bennett looked surprised by Johnny's presence, but they had more to worry about right then than their daughter sneaking her boyfriend into the house.

They heard a crash from somewhere else in the house and Antonin went to investigate it. Harry thought of Wishing the family dead right then, quickly and painlessly, but he'd been ordered to torture them and if he didn't then Antonin would have the Stones killed.

"Look what I found," Antonin said. Harry looked around to see him levitating an old man into the room, dropping him onto the floor beside the rest of the family, now sitting terrified with their wrists tied and their mouths gagged. The old man seemed to be made of wrinkles and liver spots and each breath came in a wheeze. He struggled to even look around the room. "He's practically dead already."

The man coughed and wheezed. "I've… still… got… some life… in me… yet…"

Antonin pushed his mask up. He looked amused. "So you do. Shall we see how long you last, old man? I do enjoy a good experiment. Let's see how well that muddy heart of yours last when you see what I do to your… granddaughter, I'm assuming?"

He pointed his wand at Charlie, who gave a muffled scream and pressed her bound wrists against her stomach and drew her knees up. The old man gave a wordless noise of objection.

"Oh," Antonin said softly, his smile widening. He flicked his wand and Charlie jerked up to float a foot off the floor. Johnny made a startled noise behind his gag, staring wide eyed, and her parents screamed. Mrs Bennett moved as if to go to her.

"Stop her," Antonin ordered Harry, gaze never leaving Charlie. Harry forced Mrs Bennett back down again.

Tears spilt down Charlie's face and she still had her hands pressed to her stomach, like she wanted to protect that from them more than anything else. Antonin vanished her gag.

"Please," the girl begged instantly, "please don't hurt my baby."

Harry's eyes went wide. Johnny and the Bennetts all made stunned noises, Johnny especially.

Antonin chuckled. "I thought so. You can't be very far along. You've not even the slightest bump yet."

"Please, don't kill me, please."

"And your boyfriend here had no idea," Antonin went on, ignoring her pleading. "Nor your parents." He tutted and shook his head. "What must they think of you. What about you, old man?" He made a tiny gesture with his wand and Charlie spun slowly. "This girl must be no more than sixteen, unwed, and she's already with child."

"Stop it," Harry said, making a Wish that had Charlie dropping to the floor. He didn't stop her as she instantly crawled over to her mother, just conjured clothes onto her and Johnny, making them both jump.

"Is this your refusal to do as ordered?" Antonin asked, sounding unconcerned if it was. "Shall I send a message to Lucius already?"

"No. But you said I had to torture them. You don't have to humiliate her."

"Humiliation is a form of torture, Harry. But… as you wish." He gave a half bow and gestured around the room. "Torture them. Any way you like, but you're not to kill them until they beg for death."

"Are you enjoying this? You told me you only tortured people as an experiment."

Not that he'd ever believed that, but he was putting off what he knew he had to do.

"This is an experiment," Antonin said. "I get to see how long it takes someone to beg for death with your brand of torture. I'll compare it to the times of our colleagues."

"They're not my colleagues," Harry snarled.

"They are, like it or not." He pushed back his sleeve and looked at his watch. "Do begin. I'm curious to see how you compare to the others."

Harry suddenly wished Antonin was just a sadist like Bellatrix. Somehow it felt worse to have this whole situation viewed as an experiment.

He looked over the five terrified Muggles as he considered the best thing to do. He refused to be 'creative' in his torture—to do anything bloody or viciously violent, like he knew the others often did. He wanted this whole thing over and done with as quickly as possible, but that would mean causing intense amounts of immediate pain and he balked at the thought.

Do it. If you start with less pain and build it up, they'll be more resilient. By the time you reach a pain level that makes them beg for death, it'll be more than if you simply start high. Begin with the worst pain you can cause and they will soon break.

It was horribly logical. Swallowing thickly and hating himself, he made a Wish.

Even gagged, their screams were almost enough to make him stop as soon as he started. He knocked his mask off as he slapped his hands over his ears, closing his eyes to the sight. He forced himself to keep it going for as long as he could bear—long enough to drive him to tears—and then stopped it. He lowered his hands and opened his eyes, looking over them. Mr and Mrs Bennett, Charlie, and Johnny lay gasping and whimpering, twitching slightly. The old man was utterly still, eyes open and staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

"That's no surprise," Antonin said, looking at the old man. "His heart probably gave out. No matter. Shall we see if the others want to die yet?"

Tears still dripping beneath his mask, Harry vanished the gags. For a moment their was nothing, then:

"Kill me."

It was Johnny, gasping the words out desperately.

"Don't do it again, please, just kill me, I'd rather die."

Antonin looked at his watch, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Harry said sharply, "Don't. I don't want to hear it."

Antonin glanced at him, nodded. "Kill the boy then."

Harry did. With only a puff of one last exhale, Johnny went limp and still. Charlie sobbed.

"Let me kill them," Harry said to Antonin. "I tortured them already."

"Not enough. Do it again."

"No!" Mrs Bennett cried. "God, no, not again, please. Just kill us."

"You don't get to speak for your husband and child," Antonin said. "Only yourself."

"I-I d-don't w-want to d-die," Charlie sobbed.

"Let her go," begged Mr Bennett. "Kill us, but let her go. She's pregnant, for God's sake. How can you kill a pregnant girl?"

"After what Harry just did, she's probably not anymore," Antonin remarked, and Harry had to turn aside, choking down a sob as Charlie wailed. "I'm no expert, but that sort of stress on the body so early in the pregnancy? I'd imagine a miscarriage is almost guaranteed."

"You're a monster!" Charlie shrieked, and leapt up with surprising speed. She stumbled slightly, but still managed to grab Harry's face in both hands, manicured nails digging into his cheeks. "You're both monsters and you'll burn in hell!"

Well, she's not wrong.

"Shut up," Harry said, because they were both right. He was going to hell, demon deal or not, and he would deserve everything that happened to him once he got there.

Antonin flicked his wand and Charlie was wrenched away from Harry. Her nails gouged his cheeks deep enough to splash blood on the carpet.

"Punish her for that," Antonin ordered and Harry wiped at his cheek, wincing slightly.

He shook his head. "It was your fault, not hers."

"Just kill me," Charlie raged, eyes filling with tears even as she glared angrily at Harry. There was no recognition in her eyes as she looked at him. "If you've already killed my baby, you might as well kill me too."

Harry did, before she could change her mind. Mrs Bennett screamed her name and threw herself over the limp body. Mr Bennett roared with fury and surged to his feet, cursing so much that Harry almost missed Mrs Bennett's quiet, "Kill me."

It took Mr Bennett a moment to realise his wife died. When he did, he stopped short of attacking Harry. He looked around at the roomful of dead, and his face crumpled. It was a despair so deep that he didn't even cry.

"Go on then," he said, voice utterly devoid of any emotion, like his heart had been killed with his wife and daughter. He didn't look at Harry or Antonin. "Finish me off as well."

His death brought such a sudden, overbearing silence to the house that Harry thought he would suffocate. He ran out the house and stopped in the street, retching and sobbing, gasping for breath.

By the time he pulled himself together, the others joined him and four Dark Marks painted the sky a sickening green.

Only when they were back at the hospital did Harry realise the significance of four Dark Marks. He said and did nothing as they reported to Voldemort and received praises, but when he dismissed them Harry followed Lucius, Antonin, and Bellatrix down along the hallway from the meeting room instead of heading for the exit.

"Shouldn't you be going home?" Lucius sneered at him, pulling off his mask and running a hand over his hair.

"You killed them."

Lucius said nothing, just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Alex Stone and his family. You killed them, didn't you?"

"Well I certainly didn't sit down for a nightcap with them," he said, then frowned as several hairline fractures cracked through the floor. Bellatrix and Antonin, further ahead and talking intimately, Antonin's arm around her shoulders and Bellatrix's hand on his arse, stopped moving, glancing around.

Harry looked past Lucius to Antonin. "You lied to me."

"There's no point getting upset about it now," Antonin replied with that smile of his that Harry hated so much, the nice one. It quickly vanished when the floor beneath him splintered, sending him and Bellatrix staggering.

"Evans!" Lucius snapped. "Do you want to earn the Dark Lord's wrath?

Harry yelled wordlessly, but he reigned in his magic, fixed the damage, and stormed off. Once outside, he teleported away and reappeared in Snape's kitchen, where he yelled again, and the room blew apart around him.

When Snape came in, Harry was knelt on the cracked linoleum, surrounded by splintered fragments of the dining table and cupboards, with various foodstuffs splattered over the walls, floor, and himself. At first Harry didn't even realise it was Snape—he looked like an upper-middle aged man with salt and pepper hair and a short beard—and gaped up at the apparent intruder, so stunned that he didn't react, but then the man's features twisted and morphed and Snape's appearance grew out of them.

"Have you been out?" Harry blurted.

Snape lifted a messenger bag over his head and set it by the door, then waved his wand to repair a chair and sat in it. "The Polyjuice was complete. I made contact with one of the dealers I know. What happened?"

"I got angry."

"I can see that. I meant your face."

Harry touched his cheek, feeling the scabs and flaky dried blood on it, and told him what happened. After, he added, "You know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"I haven't cried." Harry sat against the door into the garden, staring at his hands in his lap. "I liked Alex. We weren't really friends, but he was nice enough, but I haven't cried that he's dead." He paused, feeling self-disgust boiling inside him, but no tears wetted his eyes. "I haven't even cried over Charlie and her family."

"You've just destroyed my kitchen."

"But that's anger. I killed them. She was pregnant and I killed her, and I tortured her first. What kind of monster does that and doesn't even cry about it? I'm not upset, I haven't had a panic attack or anything, I'm just angry."

"Who are you angry at?"

"I told you—Antonin lied to—"

Snape shook his head. "Who are you really angry at?"

Harry looked up at him, confused. Snape said nothing, just stared back, giving no hints or clues.

Yourself, the voice said, and Harry knew it was right.

"Me. I'm angry at me. I believed him." He leant back against the door, closing his eyes. "I believed him because it made it easier to kill that family. I could pretend that I was saving someone."

He laughed bitterly. Snape said nothing and Harry sighed. He was so tired. Not the kind of tired that came from physical exhaustion, but tired in his soul, the kind of tired that no amount of sleep could ease. He was sixteen years and five days old, but he felt like he'd lived a lifetime already. If he didn't know so surely where he was headed in the afterlife, he might look forward to dying. But there was no rest for him in death. Not that he deserved any.

"Seven for seven," he murmured.

"What was that?"

Harry opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. "I've killed seven people now. Seven dead to keep seven alive."

Snape said nothing to that. What was there to say?

Harry sighed, looked around. He made a Wish and the room repaired itself in just a few seconds. There wasn't much to be done about the food he ruined, but he could recover enough coffee beans for Snape's breakfast in the morning and he could go shopping for more food then.

"I don't want to go home," he said after.

"Why not?"

Harry shrugged.

"I'm too tired to do any Occlumency training with you," Snape told him.

"I don't want to do that anyway."

"Then what do you want?"

"I don't know."

Snape sighed irritably.

"Can I stay here?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Black will worry if you're not there in the morning."

"I'll send a note. He'll probably be annoyed, but…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"I've no spare bed," Snape pointed out. The second bedroom had been converted to a lab, an Undetectable Expansion Charm making it suitably sized for such.

"I probably won't sleep anyway," Harry said. "I just don't want to go home right now."

"As you wish." He rose, pushed his chair under the table, but paused before leaving. "You should heal those cuts."

Harry looked down.

"Keeping them won't bring those people back to life."

"I know that."

"Then heal them. You would have to explain how you got them, and they'll do you no good to keep." When Harry said nothing, he added harshly, "You won't forget what you've done tonight, Harry, even without those wounds to remind you."

"It's not fair. They're dead. I shouldn't get to just magic away the injuries she gave me."

"Life isn't fair. Curious questions about how you got them won't make anything easier for you. I've seen enough of your mind to know you'll guilt yourself quite enough without them. Heal them, or I will."

Harry glared up at him. Snape glared back. For a moment neither of them moved, just stared at one another, until eventually Harry sighed.

"Fine," he muttered, and Wished himself healed and the blood gone. "Happy now?"

"Tremendously," Snape said dryly, and turned on his heel. "Try to keep the noise down, whatever you decide to do. Good night."

Olivia Swift was a bitch.

Tyler knew she was strict and domineering. He'd heard enough from Cid about her over the years, and he'd met her once last summer. She'd been very polite at that time, though there was an unmistakable sense of unforgiving expectations, and Tyler thought Cid might have been exaggerating when he complained about her, but it turned out that politeness was reserved for guests. Now that Tyler was her step-son, he was subject to the same strictness that Cid complained about so much. Dylan might have been the breadwinner, but Olivia was the real head of the household and she ran it like a prison.

After nearly ten years growing up with Marcus and having the freedom of a home where his guardian was often absent, the Swift household was unbearable. He didn't like being told when to get up, what to wear, when to eat, what to eat. His first argument with Olivia, on his very first day in the house, was over the fact that he was vegetarian and under no circumstances would he eat any meat. Not because of any overwhelming love of animals, but just because he couldn't stand the taste and texture. It wasn't like it even caused Olivia any problems; the Swifts had a house elf that did all their cooking and it was more than happy to make up a vegetarian dish for Tyler at every mealtime.

There were many more argument over various topics. Tyler floo called Marcus to complain and say he wanted to go home, but Marcus convinced him to at least try and last the summer. He and Professor Dumbledore had put up a lot of protections on the Swift home to protect him and Cid from any further Death Eater attacks—though neither boy could see why; Voldemort didn't need to break in to hurt them—and Marcus was extremely reluctant to let Tyler live with the freedom he was used to.

It was hell to deal with. Olivia never said or did anything explicit, but Tyler got the very clear impression that she didn't like him. Not because he wasn't her child or because she didn't like Dylan having a child from another relationship, but because Dylan acknowledged Tyler when he was a bastard. Tyler realised after a few snide comments that she thoroughly disapproved of children born out of wedlock.

Dylan was of no help. He made token objections if called upon for support, but quickly caved to a harsh word from his wife. He doted upon Layla, sneaking her treats and gifts and smiling benignly when Olivia called him out on it, but seemed to think Cid and Tyler needed a woman's firm hand to become proper men. He didn't say anything about Tyler calling him by his first name, which was good because Tyler wasn't seeing him as a father any more than he saw Olivia as a mother. He certainly wasn't what Tyler imagined in all his years of wondering what his real father was like.

Their last argument was about Charlie Bennett and Olivia's refusal to let Tyler attend the funeral. The whole family had gone to the Stones' funeral, but Olivia said Charlie, as a Muggle, wasn't worth it. Tyler called her a racist bitch. That got him locked in his room for the night with a Bubble Mouth Hex and no dinner.

While the rest of the family were eating, he put on some of the Muggle clothes Olivia wouldn't let him wear around the house, packed a bag, downed a vial of anti-sickness potion, and climbed out the window.

He walked ten minutes until he reached somewhere sufficiently quiet, and then reluctantly threw out his wand hand. There was a bang, and the Knight Bus appeared in front of him. A sulky young woman Tyler recognised as being a few years ahead of him at Hogwarts jumped down and gave an unenthusiastic introduction before asking where he wanted to go.

"Bath," he told her, and gave his street name before adding, "How much to move me to the front of the line?"

"I don't take bribes," she sniffed, which was bollocks because Tyler had never met a fellow Slytherin that didn't take bribes.

"I get travel sick. Really bad."

"Twenty-five sickles," she said, and he handed it over. He might have taken his potion, but he still hated travelling.

Five minutes later he stepped off onto his street. He looked up at his home as the bus vanished. None of the windows were lit, but that didn't mean Marcus wasn't home. He might just be in one of the rooms at the back of the house.

Tyler turned away from it, looking around at the rest of the houses. They were just as dark, but he knew they were empty. He felt his throat tighten when his gaze fell over the Stones' house. He'd known them since he was six years old, almost ten years, and Alex had been his best friend in the time before Hogwarts. They'd drifted apart a bit once they started school, separate houses leading them to different friends. For Tyler, at least; Alex had never got on as well with the other Hufflepuffs as Tyler did with Cid and Harry. Maybe it was why he'd been so happy to get a baby sister.

Tyler swallowed the lump in his throat, blinking back tears. He hadn't much cared for the youngest Stone, but what kind of monsters killed a kid barely past her second birthday?

His eyes slid over to the next house. He and Charlie had always had an on-off friendship, sometimes falling out over the stupidest little thing and then making up again later. They had a playground marriage when they were seven and then got divorced a week later because Tyler put chewing gum in Charlie's hair. They spent the summer after his third year going out and he lost his virginity to her in the treehouse at the end of her garden, then she dumped him because she didn't want a long-distance relationship.

Without thinking about it, he started towards the house, going around the side and clambering over the garden fence. He ran over to the biggest tree, the one with the treehouse, knowing where it was even in the darkness—the street lamps didn't shine this far and the moon was new—and hauled himself up the ladder.

He was a foot from the top when he realised the trapdoor above him was open. He stopped, staring up at it, heart pounding in his chest. Who was up there? Was anyone or had Charlie just forgotten to close the trapdoor last time she was here? That made more sense, he thought; or perhaps he was just trying to convince himself there was no danger. But Death Eaters wouldn't come back, surely; they'd killed everyone already, there was nothing here for them.

He swallowed, looked down and back up again, then slowly climbed a few more steps until he could carefully peek his head through the trapdoor. It was pitch black inside, not even the starlight managing to break through the two windows. If there was anyone hiding inside, he couldn't see them. There was a torch on the shelves, he knew, but they were on the far side, and that was assuming Charlie hadn't taken it out or the batteries hadn't died.

He hesitated a moment longer, then hauled himself the rest of the way up, got on his hands and knees, and crawled across the floor, feeling for anything in his way, one hand in front of his face so he wouldn't smack into the shelves when he reached them.

His hand just brushed the wood of them when he heard a rustle of movement. Next thing he knew, he was pressed flat to the floor, a hand in his hair pulled his head aside, and a set of teeth sunk into his throat. He yelled, tried to struggle, but the weight on top of him was unmoving. He grabbed the hair of his attacker—long and thick; probably female he figured—and tried to pull them away, but they only bit down harder on his throat.

Then they jerked back. They shifted and he thought he could make a break for it, but they just grabbed him and rolled him over, sitting on his hips, one hand on his shoulder to hold him down with surprising strength. He heard a small scrape of noise, a click, then blinding light in his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, heard a gasp.

"You…"

It was a woman's voice. The light shifted slightly and he cautiously opened his eyes. He saw the outline of a body that took form into an average-sized woman as his eyes adjusted. He couldn't quite make out her face properly, but got the impression of someone perhaps thirty years old, looking down at him like she could hardly believe he existed. When she snarled, he saw fangs, but he hardly needed that to know what she was. The biting had been a big giveaway.

"You look like him," she whispered, a mixture of longing and hatred in her voice. "So much…"

Tyler licked his lips and tried to unobtrusively slide his wand from his pocket. "Like who?"

"Who are you?" she demanded. "What's your name?"

"Tyler. Tyler Lyle."

Her breath hitched. "How—"

His wand came free. He shoved the tip under her chin, and said, "Inpello."

She was thrown off him and across the treehouse to crash into the far wall. Tyler scrambled up and over to the trapdoor, missed his footing when he first went down, managed to catch the rung below and started climbing as fast as he could.

He was half-way down when the vampire jumped through the trapdoor above him. She grabbed him on her way past, they crashed onto the ground, and Tyler had no chance to try getting away before she had him on his feet, shoved him against the tree, and buried her teeth in his neck again.