Disclaimer: Can you believe I'm telling you Harry Potter is *still* not mine? Hmmm… Maybe I'll just say 'Ditto to previous chapter' next time instead. *g*
Author's Note: *blinks in shock* 'You love me! You *really* love me!' *giggles goofily*
Thank you so much to all of you who voted for me in the Harry Potter Fan Fiction awards. I still can't believe I won. I'll have you know that I did sign up to try to join the chat, but by then it was already over. Alack. *shakes head* I was poised, fingers hovering over the keboard and ready to go the week before, I tell you!
I am deeply honored and touched that you have enjoyed my writing. This last chapter has been a difficult one to write. Snape took control, and it took several revisions to wrest it out his grasp completely. Needless to say, being the long winded soul he is capable of being means I didn't get all I wanted said conveyed.
So… You'll get another chapter after this. But one more, I'm telling you! That's it. *nods head vigorously* No more. And it's going to be short! (I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince, here, so nod like you agree with me. It's the safest thing to do)
Also, I'm reposting the previous chapter, but it's only got two minor revisions to keep the sake of continuity flowing smoothly. Little tweaks, and considering how long it's been since I posted previously, hopefully you won't *quite* remember anyway. *g*
I am also still obsessed with reviews, so please feed the addiction. Hope you enjoy the chapter! On with the show…
Epilogue 2
Magic, it seems, has a profound sense of irony. Why else is an innocuous fifteen year old boy the most powerful wizard in all of Europe… possibly the world? Who else would I have to bind my life to than the son of one of my most despised childhood nemeses in order to save us all from the most evil wizard of our time? Why must *he* be the one to finally set me free? The Gods must find me terribly amusing.
The last of my obligations to Potter ends today. The spell that binds me to him will be severed, and my thoughts and feelings will be mine alone once more. I'll have to endure Black and Lupin, as well as Potter's sycophantic friends to do it, though, and feel my eyelid twitch at the thought. I make a mental note to take a flea repellant potion upon my return home. All the Weasleys are coming to dinner tonight at Potter Central, so I fervently hope to be gone by then. They're like locusts.
"Did you sleep well last night?" Albus asks me as we approach the threshold of Potter's new home.
"Yes," I lie. "Yourself?" I ask, indulging his annoying need for pleasantries. Albus has been introspective for days now, his eyes speculative with thoughts he's deigned not to share with anyone… evidently not even Minerva. I've watched her twitter about, taking up the burdens of Headmaster he lately seems to feel no need to attend to, her lips pursed with unspoken concern. She would have made an appalling spy.
"I slept well, thank you. How are your potions coming along? Any side affects to being tied to Harry when he cast the Curse?" Albus asks.
He's fishing. I've been closed mouth about the whole affair, with him and most especially with Pomfrey. It's hard enough to believe concern for me as a patient anyway, knowing that the Wizarding medical world is dying to know if I, like my former brethren, have been reduced to a Squib, since I obviously did not perish.
I don't tell them because it's too personal. How can a man my age, having done what I've done, get such a second chance? My magic is pure now. That is the only way to describe it. It leaps from my wand, eager in its response, fast and instantaneous.
Whereas before it was slow yet powerful, a steady thrum I wielded like a cumbersome fist, brutal and final, now my magic dances just below the surface of my skin. It sings in my veins, even when all I am doing is *thinking* about how best to alter or modify a potion.
As a child and sullen teen, I believed Dark Magic was the key to unlocking my inner resources, tapping that which I knew I had within me but had yet to access. Now I know the truth; the lessons I tried to teach Potter I've finally learned myself. It is all about Intent.
I'm no Squib by any means. At first I was terrified that I'd never be able to create another Dark potion; that I'd be limited to healing potions and the mundane like any common potions maker. Not true. Perhaps because I never intended harm with the Potions I've done (except for a few, and they were warranted), my abilities remain intact. Enhanced, even, now that I can feel my magic rather than forcing it through each brewing stage.
The Dark magic I've done, even those I've harmed, I've always held profound regret for. My magic must have sensed this reluctance, and through it I had found yet another way to punish myself. The way in which I cast magic must have simply been an extension of my guilt, and undoubtedly it would have remained unchanged until the day I died… Had it not been for him.
Dark. Light. Heart in Darkness, Soul in Light.
My sentence. My reprieve. Judgment passed, and I, a pathetic man lost in his own guilt, am forgiven by the very magic I expected to forsake me. How can I explain how beautiful it feels to be forgiven and believe it? To feel clean, and cleansed? My past will always remain with me, a reminder of my own pride and arrogance and what I came to. But I'm finally learning: Penance isn't just self-flagellation. I understand that now. It's admitting my weakness, my mistakes, and having the courage to vow to do better next time. There's no way in hell I'm admitting *any* of this to Albus.
"Better," I reply vaguely and feel him searching my face for more answers than I'm willing to give.
"Good," he replies, and I see his beard twitch. I hate it when he does that.
"And how is your recovery progressing?" I ask, changing topic.
"Well. I'm regaining strength quickly for such an old man," he replies brightly. The burden on both of us to sustain Potter's life took a tremendous toll once his Killing Curse was cast. Even now I find I fatigue easily. I can only imagine how Albus must feel, tied to us both.
My joints ache, and I find my dungeons do not help. I'll weather it, though. The comfort I find in those stone walls far outweighs any physical discomfort.
As we approach the front door, it opens to reveal Malfoy's former House Elf. Thrilling. I only learned recently he's stalked Potter for years. Color me surprised.
"We're here to see Harry, Dobby," Albus prompts politely, and Dobby smiles warmly at him before glancing cautiously at me. I have a reputation for a short temper with more than just my peers.
"Albus!" A voice says from behind the elf, startling the obnoxious creature. He beams toothily at Albus once more before slipping inside just as a hand reaches from behind the door, pulling it wider to reveal Lupin, a smile on his face as he gazes affectionately at us both. His expression annoys me.
"Headmaster! It's good to see you. Have you come for dinner?" Lupin asks before nodding to me and opening the door wide. "You're welcome, too, Severus," he says. I raise an eyebrow. Eat dinner with Black? Do I look tanked?
"No, no. We've some errands to run as well, so unfortunately we can't stay. Thank you, though," Albus demurs politely. "How has Harry been?" he asks a few moments later as we follow Lupin deep inside the ramshackle labyrinth Potter calls home. I don't bother listening to his reply.
I come four times a week to tutor the boy. I've seen how he's doing. He's ghostly pale, far too thin still, although he appears to be filling out a little. The dark shadows under his eyes only serve to further highlight the oddly luminous color of them. He's withdrawn and thoughtful. Not that he was ever gregarious, but at least he was close with Weasley and Granger.
He is disconcertingly watchful and misses nothing, I've realized. Ticks, gestures, habits… He notices them all, which makes me oddly uncomfortable when I'm teaching him. Being cruel in class serves a dual purpose. Not only do I teach the buggers how to endure and thrive in a hostile environment, but it keeps their heads down and avoiding eye contact as well. Although he doesn't talk much, he's a keen observer and has proven shockingly easy to teach as of late.
I don't think his near death has suddenly increased his I.Q., however. But perhaps it has taught him a thing or two about truly listening. He acts far older than a teen-ager, and his movements, still studied and cautiously slow, reinforce that impression of advanced age even while his gangly body makes him look all of twelve.
Lupin, I realize, evidently is giving a highly detailed account of just *how* Potter is doing as he is still answering Albus' questions. 'Fine' or 'Better' would have sufficed.
"… All of his professors were impressed how quickly he seems to be catching up…" I vaguely listen as Albus responds to Lupin's question about Potter's academic standing. What else is a bed-ridden boy going to do through the fall and winter months? Of course he'll get good at studying. I shake my head in private amusement.
I wonder idly as I scratch my forearm and Lupin drones on how Narcissa has weathered this storm. I'm sure she's been in her element playing the role of 'grieving widow', despite the public disgrace that has come upon the Malfoy name. After all, devoted spouses cannot be blamed for loving the wrong man, can they? I suppress a laugh as I visualize her saying just that. Oh, yes, my dear. You'll survive this just fine. But now that you're free of Lucius' influence, what are the values that *you* will choose to try to instill in your son? Where will you place your own loyalties? That I am curious to see.
I find it ironic how much information Lupin is supplying on Potter's behalf. Especially considering how much more he has to say on the subject of how Potter is doing than the boy himself *ever* would. Potter keeps his own counsel now, as far as I can tell. There's a distance between himself and those who love him… One I see keenly felt in Lupin and Black both. One I don't think anyone has successfully bridged yet.
I blink, vaguely surprised I didn't notice that we've traveled the length of the home and are now stepping out into the back yard beyond. The looming trees are awash in the colors of fall, a glorious burst of orange, brown and red, contrasted elegantly against the glittering light of the tiny spring that swirls lazily at their base.
It is as picturesque a scene as I once could ever have imagined The Boy Who Lived residing. The brutal memories of his past I now share are stark reminder how novel a good environment truly is for him.
Nestled amidst a cluster of gnarled trees is the building Lupin fondly calls a nursery, and obviously our destination. The huge clusters of windows that also serve as the nursery walls are slightly obscured with steam, hiding its contents from view. I quash a growing concern at Potter's safety in there, so far away from the home itself. After all, it will shortly no longer be my affair.
As Lupin pushes the enormous doors open before us, a slight touch of magic swirls inside my mind, alerting me that Potter knows I'm here. I catch a glimpse of Albus' eyebrow raising. Does that mean you felt that too, I wonder? How aware is Potter of the bond I share with his Headmaster?
It is indeed much warmer within the nursery than even Potter's home. I breathe deeply the moist smell of earth rich and fertile. I am amazed at the diversity of plants, both magical and otherwise that I automatically catalog as I glance past. I recognize a great many healthy specimens for my potions. My palms itch at the thought.
He's sitting lengthwise on a bench beside a small pond, legs buried beneath layers of multiple blankets. Black sits beside him as a dog… Good. So he wasn't left alone… but pops into human form the moment he realizes Dumbledore has arrived. Potter looks directly at me, and although his face is expressionless, his eyes hold a warmth that I haven't had the heart to snuff out… yet. I'm definitely going soft.
I've fed him energy and vitality each night since leaving Hogwarts. His nightmares still jolt me awake, and I'll admit to no one my tendency to use the link to try to soothe his well-concealed distress. He bottles everything up, a condition I'm all too familiar with. Poppy's anxious confession for the need for additional ulcer potions has left no question in my mind who it's for, although no one has told me directly.
"Headmaster!" Black says warmly, and I notice he too looks better than he has since his escape from Azkaban.
I feel a facial tick coming on. The further he looked from his Hogwarts days, the better I felt about him… which isn't saying much, considering I loathe the man. We still have a score to settle someday, he and I. But for Potter's sake, I've shelved it indefinitely. No matter. I have a long memory.
"Sirius, how are you?" Albus asks, his own eyes appraising. He appears to have come to the same conclusion as I have.
"Good. I love it here," he says, gesturing around expressively. His eyes are bright and the sallow coloring of his skin has turned faintly gold from sun. Chasing the neighbor's chickens, no doubt.
"Have you gone to town much?" Albus asks, and seemingly a curtain comes down over Black's expression. Potter is slowly standing up to join us.
"I never imagined myself resentful of people's skepticism against the Daily Prophet," Potter replies dryly in Black's stead.
Oh. It appears the public announcement of Black's innocence has left non-believers in its wake. Don't smile. Don't smile. I successfully repress the urge. Lupin strolls forward to stand beside his friend in silent support and comfort. I suppose snickering is a bad idea as well. Bother. Oh well. I'm only human.
"Having trouble 'getting the word'?" I ask, simply because some opportunities aren't meant to be passed. I swore an oath to the Light, after all, not to be nice.
"Severus…" Albus begins, a faint warning in his voice, but my eyes are on Potter. It's his response that interests me.
"I'm sure he's not the only one who would rather his reputation didn't precede him," Potter replies, and the barb hits home, even as it could be innocently read that he was referring to himself. I know better.
"The price of fame," I reply with a nonchalant shrug, and let it go. Potter's eyes flit between Black and myself, gauging and measuring. Those eyes are entirely too aware.
"They'll learn in time. I'll make sure of it," Potter promises, and I realize he's saying it to me as much as Black.
**My life isn't yours to meddle with, boy,** I send viciously. If I surprised him with the silent communication, he covers it well. Only the faintest hint of pupil dilation gives him away. Well done, I must admit.
Potter has no business associating himself with me. His own reputation is tarnished enough as it is. Who knows what will be the final push that topples public opinion against him? Anyone who wields the kind of power he'll have once he's fully recovered isn't likely to die of natural causes, and I've yet to read of one who led a peaceful life.
**And mine isn't yours to control,** Potter replies. My eyes narrow, but before I can retort, Black speaks up.
"You'll do no such thing, Harry," his godfather says sternly, and I have to repress a snort of amusement. How ironic that on this we agree.
"You've been persecuted long enough, Sirius. It's time it stops," Potter says firmly, and I notice Black's own resentment and bitterness fade in the face of Potter's determined proclamation.
"You've already saved the world once this year. Perhaps you can wait a little before trying again?" Lupin asks wryly, and I see Potter's lip twitch.
"I get it," Potter says with a roll of his eyes. It thankfully makes him seem a little younger. "But I won't let this go on for long," he promises ominously, and I sigh. It obviously isn't an idle threat. He means every word. Oh well. The three seconds he acted his age were nice while they lasted.
"Then perhaps I should intervene before Harry's cause turns into a crusade?" Albus asks, and I nearly miss the look of satisfaction in Potter's eyes before determination returns.
Did he just manipulate the Headmaster? I don't *think* my jaw is hanging open, but clench my teeth just in case.
"I'm sure that's not why you're here," Lupin prompts, and I notice his eyes are wide as well.
Did you notice too, Wolf? Did he really do that, or am I reading too much into this? I don't think I am. The satisfaction that flashed across Potter's face wasn't my imagination. I can't help but want to chortle aloud at the thought. How delightfully ironic! The master manipulator being manipulated…
Unless he knew he was being manipulated? I glance covertly at Albus. He's *twinkling* as much as ever. Albus, you would have made a *great* spy. And for that, I will always respect him.
Whether Potter's machinations were noticed or not, though, the results will undoubtedly be the same. There will shortly be a large publicity campaign to recognize Black's innocence. Ah, to wield Potter's influence.
Don't you look at me, boy, I glare as I abruptly catch Potter's eyes sliding over my face blandly. If I don't put a stop to it, he may try to do something to improve my reputation as well. Merlin protect me from a Gryffindor with a cause. How tedious.
"Indeed, we aren't. Too right, Remus. I don't suppose you could have some tea brought out? I would like to talk to Harry alone for a moment," Albus says in a clear dismissal.
Black looks at me, his eyes hooded. I'm no longer clear what his feelings for me are. He smiles warmly at Potter, ruffling his hair, then nods at me curtly before leaving. It amuses me that Albus' version of 'alone' includes my company. I think I'm oddly flattered.
Lupin nods respectfully at Albus, then at me as well. I pull out a flask of tea I brought with me. I tilt it at him with a bland expression on my face. No tea for me, thanks, my expression says. I'll not get caught in those two's prank wars again. Once was enough, much to Lupin's chagrin. I was an albino for two days, thanks to him, although after profuse apologies I must acknowledge that even I believe it was Black who had been the target. Having pink eyes was a bit too close for comfort to a pair of red eyes I'd now rather forget.
Lupin looks stunned for a moment. He pauses, as if questioning that I did indeed just make a joke. My gesture has completely flummoxed him. With wide eyes, he turns and retreats outside quickly, his shoulders shaking.
Potter's lips quirk as well as he watches them both leave. I'm sure he finds the Black/Lupin dynamic as intriguing as I do. How two grown men who share such a wealth of pain between them can act so… immature, is intriguing to say the least. Lupin especially.
I'm unclear of my own feelings now that Lupin has been de-clawed, so to speak. Years of animosity were founded on a very real fear. I know what a werewolf truly is. I've seen it. I knew it lived inside him even when it wasn't a full moon.
A calm exterior has hidden many a monster from view. In my former line of work, I saw what lay behind the guise of innocence. The faces of angels can hide very Dark souls. But no beasts lurk behind Lupin's eyes now… And as a man he's always been someone whose quiet intellect I respected, even while I loathed the company he kept.
Albus gestures Potter back to the nest of blankets he'd emerged from, although it boggles the mind that he's still chilled. It feels more like a sauna. I settle on a batch of smooth rocks at a distance, listening but not close enough to distract Potter's attention. Albus settles on the bench beside him, his movements ginger as if his joints pain him. I frown.
"How are you feeling?" Albus asks. Potter's eyes land on me briefly, a frown evident on his face as well, then slide back to his Headmaster. He noticed Albus' tentativeness too then.
"Better," Potter says sincerely. And although I believe him, his face is still tinted faintly grayish and lined with fatigue. It's a tiredness that can only come from long extended illness. It reminds me that although I have supplied him with ample energy, the majority of his recovery is still not yet complete. I think cutting the link is premature. I dare not say it aloud. I am not *that* soft.
"You are doing well this year," Albus says. Potter's lips compress for a moment.
"But there is still much to catch up on," he replies with a rueful shrug. I know he intends to study nonstop until he's caught up, but I don't intend to let him succeed. He needs rest, and if he refuses to acknowledge his need to recuperate, then I shall use any means necessary to insure he gets it whether he likes it or not. Even if it means enlisting Black and Lupin to do so. Perish the thought.
"Your Quiddich team misses you," Dumbledore says gently. Potter's shoulders slump a bit with discouragement. They've already lost two games this year, and it's unlikely they'll be able to win the House Cup at this rate.
"I miss flying," Potter replies candidly. Unspoken is the guilt he feels that his team lost. Of course, he doesn't seem to realize that anyone who loses against Hufflepuff is beyond redemption anyway. Is there anything you *don't* feel guilty about, Potter? I muse.
"Madam Pomfrey is hopeful that within a month or so, you may be strong enough to begin riding your broom again," Albus says encouragingly, his eyes jumping from Potter to me.
"I'd like that," Potter replies, hopeful skepticism plainly written on his face.
"I know what your professors tell me, but what do *you* think of how your magic is recovering?" Albus asked, his voice sofly conversational. Just a lazy day by the pond… Though his voice is couched in innocent inquiry, I know better.
Albus has listened eagerly as each of Potter's professors have reported back to him of Potter's amazing new grasp of magic. Since Azkaban, although his reserves have been dramatically depleted, each time a class assignment has required the actual performance of magic, he only needs one try for each new spell he does, no matter how complicated.
"It feels different now. I'm not sure why. It's like the magic guides how I do things," Potter says, frowning as he tries to formulate his reply. "Which is a good thing, as I don't have much energy to waste on multiple tries."
"It will take time for your reserves to replenish. Perhaps even years," Albus cautions. "It's important not to exert yourself too severely." Potter rolls his eyes.
"I don't think I'm in any danger of doing that," he replies dryly, a slight smile on his face. He of course is referring to the cadre of obsessive worriers that flock around him incessantly. I know Albus has given both Weasley and Granger the ability to visit him on weekends, and with Lupin and Black constantly hovering as well, I'm sure the poor boy gets absolutely no privacy at all.
"I'm curious. Have you been practicing your Animagus form?" Albus asks curiously. Potter's eyes nearly bulge out of his head. I go to take a sip from my flask to hide my amusement. It's the most animated I've seen him.
"You're kidding, right? Madam Pomfrey said she's got magical monitors to let her know if I do *any* non-school sanctioned magic at all," Potter replies, completely clueless.
As I was taking a sip from my flask, I'm not able to recover quick enough and snort tea through my nose. I can't help but cough a laugh or two even as I wipe my face, tears leaking in my efforts to repress future chortles. Absolutely priceless.
"What?" Potter asks me blankly. I don't think his expression would be much different if I suddenly burst into song. It's clear he thinks I've lost my mind. How rich and paranoid of her! No wonder the students are all terrified of the Hospital Wing, with threats like that. My regard for the esteemed Head Nurse rises up a few notches from the bottom peg, and my lips are still twitching merrily even as the rest of my face returns to bland indifference. Albus, too, is having a hard time keeping from laughing.
"Harry…" Albus begins. Potter turns back to Albus, already beginning to blush. He knows we're having a laugh at his expense.
"What did I miss?" Potter asks, and I am ridiculously pleased by his ignorance and naïveté. There's hope yet.
"There isn't such a spell," Albus replied, his voice trembling suspiciously.
"There isn't?" Potter asks, his eyebrows rising.
"No, Harry. There isn't. There are spells to monitor *any* magic usage by an individual, but certainly nothing that I am aware of that filters out curriculum oriented spells versus non-authorized ones," Albus explains. "Especially considering you're not even on school grounds."
"She lied," Potter states, his tone faintly shocked.
"Evidently, she did," Albus agrees.
"That… Well…," Potter frowns as he tries to reply. There are parts of his face that are blushing that I didn't think physically could. "I certainly bought it," he finally states, his voice almost an octave higher in embarrassment.
"Didn't you bother to validate it?" I finally can't help but ask. I didn't think it possible, but Potter turns even redder.
"Yes… Well, I asked Sirius about it," he says, and I raise an eyebrow.
"Indeed," I reply blandly, still highly amused.
"Needless to say, 'no' is the answer to your question," Potter replies, shaking his head ruefully, but I can see the glimmer of a smile on his lips.
"I see," Albus replies and motions for me to join them. I perch on the arm of the bench, refusing to displace either Potter or Albus. Potter's discomfort is causing him to avoid my eyes, which suits me perfectly.
"I assume you know why we're here?" Albus asks after a moment. Potter's face returns to its normal, solemn self.
"To break the link that binds us," Potter replies.
"Us?" Albus prompts.
"You, Professor Snape, and me," Potter replies. Albus appears pleased with the answer.
"Very good, Harry. How could you tell?" he asks, genuinely curious. He always did love a good mystery.
"I can feel you. Like I can the professor. I realized that I can almost *see* energies, sometimes. I could trace them to Professor Snape, and through him to you. That's what you did, isn't it?" Potter asks.
"It is," Albus responds. Potter's expression darkens, and I can see he's troubled.
"I wish you wouldn't have put yourself at risk," Potter says finally. I hold back my own angry retort to that statement. After all, he didn't want the bond with me either, in the beginning.
"It's simple really, Harry. You weren't alone. If I could take back all that happened to you, I would. If I could take your burdens upon my own shoulders, I would without hesitation. But the path you've walked is yours alone. All I can do is stand by your side and promise to do all that I can, to bring all that I have to bear to your aid. This I shall continue to do. To *not* have aided Severus in his support of you would have been reprehensible," Albus says solemnly. Potter's face is sad for a moment, and I resist the urge to try to probe his thoughts. Then he lights up with a gentle smile.
"I'm grateful to have you," he replies simply. Albus claps his hands as if proclaiming it's now time to get on with business, but I see Potter's reply has touched him. I suspect Albus expected Potter to blame him in some way for all that has come to pass. In a very real sense Albus' decisions and choices are what Potter has had to bear.
"But before we end the bond, let's allow Severus to remain one last time while you transform into your Animagus form. Just in case," Albus says, interrupting my thoughts. I nod and seat myself facing the bench, folding my legs underneath me. Albus eyes me enviously.
"It's been many a day since I could do that," he says nostalgically.
"I've got just the potion to replicate that," I reply.
"And would I still have any bones underneath?" Albus asks dryly.
"Ah. There's the rub," I answer. Potter's eyes are dancing as he looks between us.
"And now that Poppy's integrity is suspect…" Albus observes with mock melancholy, and out of the corner of my eye I watch Potter once again shake his head, his ears red.
"Alas," I answer in a wavering voice in a fair imitation of Albus' own.
"So, on the matter of returning to your Animagus form, is there any review you believe you'll require?" Albus asks, even though it's obvious he knows the answer. I hate it when he does that.
"No, sir. I pretty much memorized it over the summer," Potter replies. Actually, I think he did.
"Excellent. If this goes smoothly, I think you can begin to work with your Animagus form on your own, under supervision, of course… Do so sparingly at first. Take the opportunity to familiarize yourself with your Animagus form's more *unique* aspects. Shall we begin?" Albus prompts. Potter nods.
"Sirius is going to have kittens," he says, anticipation bright in his eyes. Personally, I would as well, if I learned that my godson was being encouraged to utilize his Animagus abilities so early in his recovery. But whether I think it's wise or not, I'll defer to Albus' discretion... And wait to corner him until we're back at Hogwarts.
"That I would be intrigued to see," I respond dryly, and allow my eyes to close.
With Potter so close by, the link between us has been practically humming in my ears as it is. I recognize Albus' machinations. This is to be one final 'check-up' before severing the bond that ties us together. One last, deep look into Potter's psyche to see if he's doing as well as everyone hopes. I understand his concerns. After all, Potter is so disgustingly *good*. Who is really like that nowadays? Albus has misjudged before. As have I.
**Ready?** I ask as I let myself fall away from my own body as easily as removing a robe. It's routine now, and Potter lets me into his thoughts effortlessly. The sensations are much different, though. This is the first time I've actively entered Potter's consciousness since Azkaban. There is no struggle to remain aware. I simply am.
Feelings and thoughts not my own wash over me. Pain. It's still here. Muted and dulled, but present. My guesses were correct. It is Potter who's taking the ulcer potions. I wish Pomfrey would have said something. With symptoms like these, I have much stronger recipes that will be far more effective than the weak ones she's been doling out. Regret. He's still struggling with guilt, I see. No surprise there, although what he has to feel guilty about, I don't understand. All I know is he doesn't seem capable of functioning without it.
He's still twitchy from the spell he unleashed; his nerves fried. But that's considerably better than it's been… There are even brief moments of stillness. Excellent. I move on. I have a small window of time in which to make a true assessment. He still suffers, but it's easing, and will continue to do so. He's endured far worse. I have no need to worry about him once our bond is severed. I don't.
His emotions are a jumble, far more complicated now that he's back home. It's obvious that he's still struggling to reconcile what he's gone through with where he is now. Too good to be true. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. All those trite sayings fit nicely. He's trying to allow himself to relax and enjoy, but can't quite let go completely. There's still a part of him waiting for something more to happen. Something bad. I sigh in his mind.
**Is there something wrong?** Potter asks. He's watching me watch him while Albus watches us both. I have a headache.
**No, Potter. Just seeing you still aren't sleeping well. Are you sure you aren't too fatigued to try this?** I sneer as a distraction.
**No, sir. I feel rested,** Potter replies politely. He's not lying. Evidently, he did have a nap this afternoon before coming out here.
**That is hardly the word I would use to describe how you feel,** I reply, then flinch mentally at my own tactlessness. That wasn't quite what I'd intended to say, but his pain is making *me* ache.
**I'm getting better. It's not perfect, but nothing is,** Potter answers, his voice firm and perhaps a bit defensive. I read clearly his frustration at having sympathy directed at him. He doesn't want it. Good. He'll get none from me.
**Say it isn't so,** I say dryly. I feel him begin to grow frustrated. Now why am I baiting him? Perhaps because I think it unwise for him to drain himself further still to satisfy an old man's curiosity, but at the stern look Albus has just sent my way, do not say so aloud.
**Sir, this is as energetic as it gets,** Potter explains in a tone that one would use with a child. I ignore it.
**Then I shall be leaving some explicit instructions with Pomfrey about just what your recovery regimen should also entail once this meeting is over,** I promise ominously, as much to soothe my own conscience as a commentary on the state of his health. He sighs.
**Yes, sir,** he says to placate me, and oddly enough, I am. I take his recovery seriously, and he does not question why, thank Merlin. It's embarrassing to realize that I have the capacity to fret over him like a mother hen… Like Black… But at least I do it with a margin of decorum.
Since the creation of the bond between us, I've found it fascinating to get such an intimate perspective of him. The face he presents to the world shows none of his pain, his insecurity, his guilt; while underneath, emotions churn up his insides.
I sense him holding me within his mind and watching me in open curiosity. He knows I'm taking his measure, and doesn't care. He may resent the intrusion, but I get the feeling he's already aware of my dreamtime interventions, and touched by them. It makes his response to this invasion of his privacy far more relaxed than I suspect it would have been otherwise. After all, he guards his feelings closely. If only they didn't show in his eyes, then everyone would be fooled.
**You've got to learn to let go, Potter,** I chide a bit more gently than I intended in response to echoes of his most recent nightmares reverberating within my mind.
**I'm trying. Truthfully, I am doing much better,** Potter replies.
I find a certain affinity for Potter in that we both stand at a crossroad. Our life purposes have been fulfilled. We are free of the destinies laid before us, although mine was of my own choosing. He's spent all his energy focusing on one goal, and now that it's done, he's a bit lost. He never expected to have a life *after* Voldemort, and truthfully neither did I. Our respective futures loom before us, empty and unexplored.
**Gentlemen,** Albus prompts, and I feel Potter start. Sneaky bastard. I didn't know he could speak to both of us this way. Obviously Potter didn't either.
"Sorry, sir," Potter says aloud, and I know my time analyzing him is at an end. I brace myself to leap to his aid magically should he need me, but will do nothing in the interim. I won't be with him any longer. He'll have to do this on his own. I ignore the small part of me will grieve the loss of companionship, and resent Albus for forcing it on me in the first place. Sentimentality is for the fools and foolhardy. I am neither.
Tingling skin is the first sign that he's enacting his Animagus abilities. Instead of a gradual buildup, however, as it was last time, it is instantaneous. I am startled to realize he's already at the next level. Flesh shifts, bones grow, bend, shorten, skin roils into something else entirely. I'm still with him as his perspective shifts, and the strange discomfort passes as quickly as it has come.
I think it worked. And I have feathers! he means to say, but fails. Instead, his throat clenches to make a sound, and he squawks, startling us both. As I see through his eyes, I find we appear to have panorama vision. I'd forgotten about that. All I can remember from the previous transformation is the bitter cold and his manic laughter. Intrigued, I sit back, an observer as he takes his time to get acquainted with his Animagus form.
Potter stretches his wing in front of him, anticipation making his heart beat quickly. He's pleased with the easy transformation, and rightfully so. He doesn't seem drained at all, just slightly breathless. He's eager to see what he looks like. As am I.
Thankfully, this time he has feathers. Something sweet smelling distracts him for a moment, and Potter looks around, concentrating on where the scent is coming from. I feel his mirth burble up as he looks towards Albus.
I'm amazed. Just like last time, a spark of humor shines forth as he realizes it's Dumbledore he's smelling. Is it something about the form itself that seems to lift his spirits? Could this be why his Animagus form appears to be Black's refuge as well, and if so, are the emotional responses the same between all Animagi? I'll need to ask Minerva about that. Or Albus, the crafty wizard. Is this why he was so insistent Potter transform?
I know the promise of becoming an Animagus was as much Albus' ruse to allow Potter to consent to the bond as it was a plan to sustain his life. Truly, I was shocked we were able to get him to transform even once, considering how much damage he'd already sustained from his dreams before the Burrow was ever raided.
**Do you think he's eaten so many sweets he's made of them now?** Potter jokes to me, only in half jest, breaking my chain of thought. Albus must have heard, because on cue he removes a small satchel of gumdrops from his robe pocket.
"You must be smelling these," Albus observes as he casually leans forward from where he was sitting, peering at Potter closely as he absently sets the satchel between them. "You're beautiful," he states, and Harry feels a little disconcerted by the compliment. It's not one a bloke gets often, anyway, Potter thinks, and I suppress the urge to shake my head. Only a teenager...
"Look at yourself," Dumbledore continues. "I think Poppy should have you transform into your Animagus form every time she wants to find out how you're honestly feeling," he only partially jokes. I make a mental note to emphasize that it would be even better for Potter to do so when his darker depressions descend. How ironic for *this* to be how Potter's Animagus form is finally utilized, instead of in Azkaban, where Potter had originally intended.
Harry quirks his neck forward and down in such an angle as to be able to look at himself. He has a bright red chest of feathers. Struggling a bit to view past his breast without losing balance, he lowers his head. Sure enough, he has gold taloned feet, which he flexes curiously against the cushion of blankets he currently stands on.
**Do I have the tailfeathers, too?** Potter wonders aloud, and I sigh.
**Well, look and see,** I say with feigned irritation. Potter's head snaps back up, and tentatively he begins to turn it around. It continues to turn and turn until he's facing backward.
**That's different,** Potter comments in surprise. He still has small patches scattered across his back where the feathers are obviously thin, but nothing indecent, and certainly not enough to chill him. Not that he could get chilled in this hothouse.
He does indeed have golden tail feathers. I suppress a painful moan as I realize even his Animagus form is Gryffindor colors. Could it get any more cliché?
"Try to fly, Harry," Dumbledore whispers intently, and my breath catches in my throat at the sentiment, even while my brain screams, Are you mad?! We're indoors, surrounded by magical flora that could just as easily *eat* Potter as aid him.
Potter, however, doesn't even hesitate, perhaps afraid the Headmaster will change his mind. His arms *wings* reach out beside him, and I realize he hasn't the faintest idea of the actual mechanics of flying.
**Potter…** I try to interject. Maybe we need to think about this. Do we even have enough space to fly?
Wings reach up and swoosh down, one beat, two beats, and Potter's feet leave the ground, his body surging upwards in bursts. He doesn't know how to fly. Has he even read up on what Phoenixes can do? Can he land? How did *I* get to be the practical one in this absurd little cadre of wizards? But then… Look who I'm with. Never mind. Potter soars up quickly, and a feeling builds in his chest, something powerful. I've never felt this from him before. It's not any emotion I recognize.
Phoenix are larger birds, not prone to the anxious fluttering of smaller avian. The wingspan alone could be easily compared to that of a Muggle swan, but longer, with hollow bones so light that allow even a gentle breeze to carry him long distances. Potter's wings sweep up in large lazy arcs and whoosh downward, propelling him through the air effortlessly. He's in his element, I realize, like watching a sea otter frolic in the ocean. Potter laughs. I can feel it in his mind, but the sounds he makes instead are burbling warbles. It's a birdsong of celebration.
He's a natural. I can feel it as he orients himself. *Up*. *Forward*. *To the right*. *Down*. There is no fear at all as Potter properly acquaints himself with his new form, dodging branches and glass easily. He soars at the highest peaks of the greenhouse, flying in slow, lazy circles. Albus is but a distant dot peering up at him delightedly.
This flight is exhilarating, leaving me breathless. What is it he celebrates? I silence my own thoughts and let his emotions course through me. I've never felt anything like it, and try to narrow it down to its' base components. Abruptly, it hits me.
*Freedom.* That's what he loves about this. He doesn't miss the speed and thrill of sharp angles he can achieve on a broom, although he loves that, too. At its core, it's the freedom to play in the air, to leave his cares behind and for a few precious moments *be*. No expectations, no duties, just the wind currents that gather underneath his wings and push him ever upward.
No longer The Boy Who Lived, or 'boy', or even Harry. He's simply flying, and it draws his concentration so tight that everything else falls away. Certainly it will return the moment he lands, but for a few precious moments… He feels joy.
I feel a faint fatigue begin to set in, knowing he's already exerted too much, and realize he's deliberately ignoring Albus who's trying to wave him back down.
**Potter. Quit ignoring your headmaster,** I say strictly while suppressing my own amusement at the sight of Albus waving his arms dramatically to try to catch Harry's attention.
**Ooops,** Potter says warmly, and I continue to watch Albus making a spectacle of himself. After a few more circles, Potter sighs and lets himself glide below them, making small fluttering adjustments here and there with just the tips of his wings, navigating the thistle of foliage not yet tamed by Lupin effortlessly. I brace myself for impact as he seems to be rushing towards the ground decidedly fast.
Instead, at the last second he sweeps his wings two quick beats, stopping his descent and allowing himself to hover for a moment before setting his feet down without effort, as if stepping from a carriage.
**Perfect touch down,** Potter proclaims happily, and I swallow a couple of times to try to get moisture back in my mouth. Ah, to be young and immortal.
"Well done, Harry," Albus says delightedly as I return to my own mind. Potter's face is flushed and he's grinning from ear to ear, breathless and slightly sweaty. It's the healthiest I've seen him look in a long time.
"That was marvelous, sir!" Harry proclaims and plops back in his nest of blankets. He's certainly not chilled now.
"I'll be curious to see if your Animagus form manifests the magical abilities of a phoenix as well," Albus says, eyes alight.
My hands restlessly adjust my robes, a cover to disguise their twitchiness at a sudden realization.
Great Merlin. Could I have unlimited access to phoenix tears? I have to count to ten several times to keep from leaping all over the possibilities. I mean, he's unhappy… He's a phoenix. What's not to like? I squash a morbid part of me before it volunteers to make him cry, just to find the answer. You serve Light, Severus. Breathe…
"Will I have a Burning Day?" Potter asks as his coloring slowly returns to normal.
"Eventually," Albus replies vaguely. Potter sighs loudly. I understand how he feels. It is annoying as hell when Albus gets evasive. We both know from experience, though, that inquiries will get him nowhere.
"Do Black and Lupin know your Animagus form?" I ask curiously. He smiles rather devilishly.
"They asked what I was. I described what I could see, but not what I was. I'm going to surprise them," he says. My eyebrows rise.
"I can see how that would surprise them," I observe. Albus is twirling a small segment of his beard thoughtfully.
"Your phoenix form has green eyes," he observes.
"That makes sense," Potter agrees. Albus searches his face for a moment.
"It also has a tiny gold lightening bolt scar," he says, tapping softly between his eyes. Potter's hand automatically goes to his forehead in an exasperated slap. He groans in frustration.
"Of course," he says, disgusted. He understands the point Albus is trying to make. Once someone sees him as a phoenix, it's not going to take long to put two and two together.
"I'm just letting you know to be discreet in who you choose to reveal this to," Albus says. Potter nods.
"I will," he promises. Read: the entire Weasley clan, Granger, Lupin, Black, all the Hogwarts professors… Most likely everyone *except* the Ministry. The thought amuses me.
"So… I'm sure your godfather is itching to find out what is taking us so long. After all, you're expecting guests for dinner. Shall we proceed?" Albus prompts, reaching out his hand. Automatically, Potter places his in it. Albus gestures me closer, and takes my hand as well.
"It has been an honor to do this with the both of you," Albus formally says. Harry blushes and smiles even as his eyes glance at me.
"I owe you both a Wizard's Debt for what you've done, but more than that… I owe you my sanity as well. Thanks just doesn't nearly say what I mean…" Potter stumbles while struggling to express his gratitude. He's thanking *me*. I am appalled. And *who* between the three of us defeated the darkest wizard of my time?
"Then don't try," I interrupt, uncomfortable.
"We already know, Harry. We already know," Albus murmurs warmly, giving Potter's hand a small squeeze, and begins chanting the words to break our bonds. First Albus looks to me, and I nod consent, then turns to Potter. He nods as well. Consent freely given and taken.
I'd forgotten the elegant power of the spell. It begins to suffuse my senses, pulling threads apart from a tapestry of energy I hadn't realized had been created. Instead of one magic, merged, separate and yet individual, now there were three. They are smaller, somehow, and seem less impressive, although the sum of our magic is appropriately divided. Potter's, of course, is larger than either Albus' or mine. By far. My my.
It's a strange feeling, as if fingers that had held themselves around my heart suddenly ease their grip. What I can only describe as magical 'white noise' and tendrils of emotions not my own vanish from my mind in an instant, leaving my thoughts stark and clear. Silent. But instead of the relief I'd expected to feel, I'm oddly empty.
I hadn't noticed anything different before, but I also feel… lighter, physically. As if I could jump in the air and hover a bit… Like I have been carrying a weight on my shoulders for months that now is suddenly gone. That was all him? I wonder, surprised.
Automatically, my eyes turn to Potter. He looks the same. His normal pallor has returned, and his eyes, although still bright and clear from the earlier flight, are also faintly sunken and shadowed. He catches me looking at him and smiles softly.
"It's all quiet now," he whispers, and I'm not sure if he even meant to say it aloud. His expression is a bit wistful. His words are appropriate, though, as we three all sit beside one another, together and yet alone.
Albus is the first to break the melancholy silence, slapping his thigh as if to signal the end of our meeting, and begins to stand. Potter still appears a little disconcerted as he discretely helps Albus up, then gathers the blankets he'd been sitting on into a bundle to bring inside.
The sun has dipped behind distant mountains, and the temperature is dropping quickly by the time we step outside. In the twilight we travel quietly back to Potter's home, each lost to our own thoughts. Black and Lupin are standing at the door. Weasley and Granger are standing behind them. Were they here the entire time? I didn't see them earlier. Hmm. I hope the others haven't arrived yet. They've all obviously been waiting for us. A smile lights up Potter's face as we head back, and I'm disgustingly, sentimentally glad to see it.
"I can't wait to show Sirius my Animagus form, Headmaster. Thank you both for helping me… I love that I don't have to wait to play Quidditch to fly," he says candidly, and oddly I realize that I know he'll be okay. He may still have a long road to recovery, but Albus was right to end the binding spell now. It is time.
"It's my pleasure, Harry, but rest assured it's nothing *I* did. I simply provided you with an opportunity… The rest is all you. After all, it's in your nature to fly," Albus says, even as Black and Lupin approach us.
Granger eyes me strangely. I think she of all Harry's friends is the most attuned to Potter's moods, and is trying to determine what brightened his spirits so considerably in such a short period of time. Weasley watches me cautiously, stepping back quickly to stay out of my way. Smart boy. Potter's two friends gather around him, undoubtedly to grill him about what he's been doing for the last hour, but quickly get knocked aside by an enthusiastic Black.
His godfather scoops Harry up in his arms, blankets and dignity be damned, and I fight the urge to smile at the sight. Lupin stands beside them both, laughing as Harry protests halfheartedly. The former werewolf catches me watching him and nods once, whether to thank me or greet me, I'm not sure. But I find I don't mind, either. Albus rests his hand on my shoulder and pulls me away.
"Let's go home," he says warmly. Indeed.
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