Thank you very much for the reviews for the last chapter! Review responses in LJ this afternoon as per usual.
And on we go.
Chapter Twelve: ParalysisHarry isn't going to like this.
I don't care, Draco reassured himself fiercely as Harry stirred slightly in the hospital bed and then opened his eyes. He doesn't have to like it. He has to put up with it, though. I'm not leaving him alone.
Draco clenched his teeth. He intended to tell Harry the truth about what he had seen yesterday, and then heard while Harry was in the hospital wing last night. Harry wouldn't like that, either.
Draco didn't care. Sometimes friends had to do things that friends didn't like.
"Draco," Harry said, staring up at him with obvious surprise, as well as other emotions that Draco didn't bother taking the time to figure out. Harry wouldn't want him there. He already knew that. It was time to move on to other, more interesting facts. "I didn't know that you would be here. Don't you have studying to do?"
"It's Sunday," said Draco, and leaned closer to him. "No classes. No homework unless I want to do it." He spent a moment studying Harry. Harry just kept on blinking at him. His eyes were clear and very green from this close, but wary. He had his head tilted so that, for once, his fringe revealed his lightning bolt scar. Draco smiled despite himself. Harry made him feel helpless in so many ways, and this was one of them—that he could simultaneously be powerful enough to make Draco's head ache and vulnerable enough to make Draco want to grab him and hold him close.
"It's Sunday, then," said Harry. "But aren't you hungry?" He turned and glanced out the window of the hospital wing. "I think it must be near noon already."
"I ate a big breakfast," said Draco. He decided that he could be patient. Diverting Harry's attempts to get rid of him one by one was good practice for dealing with the distinctly peeved Harry he would be facing in a moment.
"Oh." Harry paused and tried to think of something else to say. Draco watched his mind work, and the lazy loopings of Harry's Locusta on his chest. Sylarana fascinated him. She fascinated all the Slytherins, and some of the House practically worshipped Harry for being able to talk to her. Draco didn't think that Harry had caught on to that yet. "Um, well, didn't you want to celebrate the Quidditch victory yesterday?"
"There wasn't much of a celebration without you there," said Draco. He took a deep breath. "And no, Harry, I'm not tired myself, and I don't think that I ought to be in the library studying ahead for Professor Snape's class, and I'm not interested in a walk around the lake today. I even brought food for Sylarana. Here." He dipped a hand into the pocket of his robe and found the treacle tart he'd put there from dinner last night. He extended it to Sylarana, who uttered a hiss that Draco dared to imagine was pleased, and swallowed several pieces whole. Draco saw her folded fangs gleaming as she ate delicately.
"Oh," said Harry again. "Thank you." Sylarana faced him and hissed something then, and Harry's eyes widened. He hissed back. Draco half-closed his eyes. He had heard tales of Parselmouths, but had never imagined he would meet one, unless the Dark Lord returned someday. Even after a month of knowing Harry could do it, it still startled him, and touched off a shiver deep within a part of him that he had no name for. The most Slytherin part, perhaps.
"What did she say?" Draco asked, when the conversation seemed to have finished, and Sylarana went back to eating the treacle tart.
"She thanked you for bringing the food." Harry's eyes were carefully watching the door to the hospital wing now, as though he expected visitors at any moment. Draco allowed himself a smirk. Harry wasn't really all that transparent. But Draco had been close to him for more than a year now, and had watched him carefully in all that time, and he knew what those tiny facial expressions meant.
"You aren't going to be able to get out of this conversation, Harry," he said. "I think we should have had it the first day we met, but I didn't know you then. And since then, well, you've been busy being Connor's brother, and I've been busy being a Malfoy." He shrugged.
Harry winced. "Yes, I know," he said. "I did tell you that Connor was more important to me, remember—"
"I can't see why," Draco interrupted, struggling to keep his voice to a level tone. If he thought too hard about the Boy-Who-Lived, he would begin shouting. "He treats you… Harry, he would treat dung on his broom better than he treats you. At least the dung would inconvenience him a bit, and he wouldn't expect it to lie down beneath his feet and apologize for getting in his way."
Harry's chin rose, and the sense of magic he exuded when angry started chewing at the outer edges of Draco's shields. Draco winced and strengthened them again. He'd had to do that constantly since the beginning of the year. Harry's power continued to grow. Draco had never heard of that before, but then, he had never heard of someone like Harry, either. He would face both, and do what he needed to do to make sure both survived.
"He's my brother," said Harry.
"That doesn't excuse the way he treats you!" Draco found himself yelling abruptly, and tried to rein in his voice. Madam Pomfrey had told him that if she found him making too much noise, his visit with Harry would be over. "It doesn't, Harry," he went on after a moment, lower but no less intense. "Nothing could, not even if you owed him a life debt and this was the way you were repaying him."
Harry shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. "She told me that you wouldn't."
Draco blinked. "Who?" For some reason, bizarre visions of his own mother telling Harry such a thing filled his mind.
"Our mother," said Harry. "Lily. She told me that no one outside the family would understand why I had to protect Connor. Or no one else in the family, even, except me and her. She told James and my godfather yesterday, and they didn't take it well." He shook his head and sighed. "It doesn't matter, though," he went on after a pause so brief that Draco had no chance to fit in a word in edgewise. "I'll keep doing what I have to do. I hardly need anyone's approval to do so. That includes yours, Draco." The edge of his magic sharpened once more.
Draco raised the shields a little higher. "I'm not talking about approval," he said. "I'm talking about disapproval of the whole bloody thing. Don't you notice what he's doing to you, Harry? Don't you care?"
Harry shook his head slowly, his fringe once more brushing over and hiding his scar. "I know what it probably looks like from outside, Draco—"
"No," Draco interrupted slowly. "I don't think you do."
Harry just waited. When Draco closed his mouth again, he went on, patient as the streams that Draco had watched running on the edges of the Malfoy estates. "But I know what it looks like from the inside, and no one else except Lily does. I was trained to be a guard and a protector to Connor. That's what I am. Yes, I've suffered setbacks, and I've betrayed him." He closed his eyes for a moment, wrinkling his nose. Then he opened them, and his gaze cut through Draco. "I betrayed him the moment I was put into Slytherin, in many ways," Harry said, his voice so detached that it made Draco want to weep. "But there are subtler ways than that—doubting him, holding him back, outshining him. I've done all of them. But I am going to try to recoup them, to change myself back into the brother he wants and needs."
Draco slammed his hands down on the bed, then glanced hastily over his shoulder. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight. She had, in fact, murmured something about being grateful that Draco was here to take care of Harry, just in case any more "mysterious hexes" manifested themselves. Maybe she'd meant it.
"Damn it, you shouldn't have to do that," said Draco. "Harry, don't you understand this? Just because you're in Slytherin doesn't make you evil. Do you think I'm evil?"
Harry paused, a faint shadow on his face. "Of course not," he said. "But—it's different for me."
"Tell me," said Draco. "Tell me how."
Harry pushed himself back into the pillow. Sylarana lay motionless on his chest. Draco was interested to notice that she watched Harry and not him. Harry had told him that she could speak in his head. Draco wished there was a way that he could eavesdrop on those conversations.
"It just is," said Harry quietly. "You're not Connor's blood relative, and—well, your father was a Death Eater—"
"Under Imperius—"
"Not under Imperius. I have the evidence—"
Draco recognized the diversion tactic for what it was, then, and had to smile. "Very Slytherin of you, Harry," he said. "Change this into a different argument. But I'm not letting you. Not this time. We've had the other argument often enough to satisfy me. We haven't had this one yet. Tell me how it's different."
"I'm his brother," said Harry. "His twin. It would be too easy for people to compare us, Draco. I don't want them to compare us. I want to be ordinary." Sylarana apparently said something. Harry ignored her, or at least gave no reply that Draco could hear. "He's the Boy-Who-Lived. He's going to have to unite and lead the wizarding world someday. He needs to be set higher than he is. If I can do things that make people think better of him, I will. If I can do things that protect him, I will. If I can do things that make myself smaller so that he can stand taller, I will." By the time he finished, his eyes were shining, as though he regarded some sacred thing.
"But you shouldn't have to," said Draco. "My parents wouldn't have made me do that if I had a brother." Horrifying thought. Imagine having to share my toys!
"Yes, but your brother wouldn't have been the Boy-Who-Lived," said Harry, giving him a smile of such patience that Draco wanted to slap him. "That's the difference, the grand difference that I don't think you'll be able to get past. Our mother would never have asked me to do this if Connor was anyone else, or even if he was important to the war but not in the way he is. But he is the key to defeating Voldemort. I know it. That's the central truth of my life, Draco. I live to serve him." He took a deep breath and watched Draco carefully. "You still don't understand," he added a moment later. "I can see it from your eyes."
Draco was shaking with anger and disgust. Of course, if he yelled out everything he was feeling, then Harry would just turn away from him, and perhaps the last chance that he had to get through Harry's barriers would be lost.
He forced himself to speak calmly. "Of course I understand," he said. "I just don't agree."
Harry smiled at him. "That's because you're not inside the family."
"Do you have an answer for everything?" Draco snarled at him.
"Of course," said Harry. "Our mother trained me in what kinds of arguments someone outside the family would make, the kinds of misunderstandings they would have, the ways they'd try to coerce or persuade me otherwise. I know them all. I know the counters to all of them. If I can defeat my own doubts, then I can surely defeat someone who doesn't know that first thing about me." For a moment, a pensive look crossed his face. "She never did tell me why someone would be so eager to convince me otherwise," he added in a whisper. "That's the part I don't understand. Can you tell me, Draco? Why anyone would care?"
Draco laughed hollowly. I'm not the only one who can't understand something, Harry.
But he didn't think he would make much progress with that line of reasoning, either. He turned, instead, to what he thought Harry should know. "Do you know what your brother said about you yesterday?"
Harry's head turned to him like a flower to the sun, his eyes wider and clearer than they had been, his lip snagged between his teeth, hope scorching his face. Draco caught his breath, and then remembered that Harry was only looking at him that way because he was talking about Connor.
Jealousy crackled and flared in him. He hadn't envied the Prat-Who-Lived all that much before. Why should he? Connor was a complete Gryffindor, and that meant he had nothing Draco wanted.
Except Harry's loyalty. I want him to look at me like that. I want him to pay attention to me because I'm his friend, not just because I'm talking about his brother.
"It wasn't anything good," Draco warned, to give Harry some excuse for his stare-filled moment.
"I know that," said Harry. "It couldn't be, after yesterday. But tell me."
Draco swallowed back another surge of sickness, that Harry would welcome even taunting words from his brother, and leaned close. "He said that he thought you were still possessed," he said quietly. "That there was no other way that you would foul him like that, reaching for the Snitch. That there was no way that you could hate him this much, could act opposite him instead of on his side, if you weren't still possessed."
Harry closed his eyes. This time, his expression was that of someone who had received an answer to a prayer. Draco found that he had to turn away. He wanted to punch something.
"Ah," Harry whispered at last. "That means that I just have to try harder. I haven't tried hard enough yet."
Draco turned back. "And so you don't care about that at all?" he asked. "Tell me, Harry. What's your first reaction to hearing Connor say something like that? To know that you've worked so hard not to betray him, as he sees it, and still he thinks that you have, because you won a game for your House?"
Harry opened his eyes. Maybe it was the question. Maybe it was the fact that he'd obviously been feeling strong emotion a moment ago, and so was caught off-guard. Maybe it was just Draco's hopes that he would see a somewhat more normal side to Harry if he pushed hard enough.
But, whatever the cause, Draco was sure that he saw rage flaring in Harry's eyes for a moment.
Then it was gone, sudden as a bolt of lightning. Harry shook his head. "I'm angry, of course," he said in a completely level tone. "But I'm not supposed to feel that."
"Why not?" Draco challenged.
Harry watched him patiently, head on one side. He reminded Draco of no one so much as Snape trying to coax a particularly stupid student along.
"I wouldn't understand," he summarized, feeling a dull flush start in his cheeks.
Harry nodded and started to open his mouth to say something else, but a loud crack echoed through the middle of the hospital wing then, and startled Draco. He turned around to find, of all things, one of the Malfoy house elves standing at the foot of Harry's bed. Dobby's eyes widened and he squeaked at the sight of Draco, and he lifted a hand as if he would leap away again.
"Dobby, stay!" said Draco commandingly. The Manor's house elves didn't obey him exclusively, but when neither his mother nor father was in the room, he was the one they looked to first.
Dobby lowered his hand, shivering, and stared at them both for a long moment before he abruptly began to beat his head on the floor. "Dobby is sorry!" he wailed. "Dobby came to apologize, and found Master here, and Dobby—Dobby does not know—"
Draco gasped abruptly and sagged backwards as his head began to pound like a timpani. Harry had sat up in his bed. His magic was rising around him. Dobby stopped talking and stared around himself as the air turned into a clear cage of blue glass. He reached out one hand and felt at the glass, then turned and stared at Harry.
"Mr. Harry Potter, sir?" he squeaked, all trace of fear gone. "Mr. Harry Potter is—is like this?"
"I'm powerful, if that's what you mean," said Harry, his voice full of command. "And now I want to know why you tried to hurt my brother. I know that you threw that Bludger at Connor yesterday, and come to think of it, you probably prevented us getting through the barrier at Platform 9¾ too. So tell me what you thought you were doing. Why were you trying to hurt Connor?"
Dobby abruptly began to wail and sob again, beating his head and his hands on the glass cage. It didn't break. Draco cautiously took one hand off his head. Harry was determined, now, not angry. Draco could lean back and admire the crafting of the glass. He knew of no one who could make a cage like that, especially so suddenly, and especially not one that was apparently resistant to house elf magic. He wondered idly if Harry realized that he'd done the spell without his wand, and also without speaking a word.
"Dobby cannot tell!" the house elf was saying. "Dobby—Dobby cannot let Mr. Connor Potter be hurt, but Dobby—Dobby serves his Masters—his Masters wouldn't want him to tell—"
Draco narrowed his eyes. What is the idiot elf babbling about? "I am your master in this room, Dobby," he said. "And I want you to tell me what you're talking about right now."
Dobby flung himself on the floor in misery, gripping his ears and banging his forehead into the stone. Draco put a hand on Harry's arm when he tried to sit up further. The house elf wouldn't seriously hurt himself. He wouldn't be allowed to. He had to address the master who commanded him, and he had to be in good enough shape to do that.
Dobby sat up at last, and wiped at his streaming mouth and nose. Then he looked Draco in the eye, sniffled, and said, "Dobby—Dobby has heard Masters talk about Mr. Connor Potter. Dobby has heard them say that there is danger at school this year for Mr. Connor Potter. Master went and fetched a book. An evil book." Dobby shivered. "Master put it at school here to harm Mr. Connor Potter this year." He looked up, eyes large and pleading. "So Dobby tried to keep Mr. Connor Potter safe. Dobby is a bad elf."
Draco stared, as shocked as if the house elf had flung a Blasting Curse at him. An evil book.
He can't mean the diary Harry was talking about, the one that possessed him? He can't! Harry would hate me forever if—
Then he glanced to the side, and saw Harry giving him a watery smile. He shook his head as if he knew exactly where Draco's thoughts were going.
"That book did come from your father," he said quietly. "He was going to put it into Ginny Weasley's cauldron at Flourish and Blotts. I took it instead. I didn't know exactly what it was, but I knew it was probably Dark." He shrugged as Draco stared at him. "I took the risk. I don't blame you, Draco. Will you please stop looking at me as if I should?" He squirmed under Draco's gaze and turned his face away.
"My father hurt you," Draco whispered.
Harry whipped back around. "No! Draco, don't say that. I don't think he knew what it did, or why give it to Ginny? It would have made more sense to give it to me or Connor in the first place, since we're the ones that Voldemort would most want to possess—"
He stopped talking, and looked as shocked as Draco had. Draco couldn't appreciate it properly. He was reeling.
The Dark Lord. Harry had the Dark Lord in his head. And my father was the one who gave him the book that made it possible.
He found himself stumbling to his feet. Harry watched him with wide eyes and shook his head once.
"I haven't told anyone," he whispered. "Your father isn't going to get into trouble, Draco. Please. I promise. I took the risk. I don't think he knew."
"Master knew the book was evil," Dobby volunteered from his cage, and then began beating his head on the floor again. "Dobby is bad! So bad!"
Draco just shook his head back at Harry. He wanted to scream and cry now, but for different reasons. His father had put Harry in danger, even after knowing how much Draco valued Harry, even after listening to him talk about Harry all summer.
"Harry," he gasped. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I just—I have to think about this."
"Draco, wait—"
But Draco bolted and ran out of the hospital wing. His heart and his head thrummed with something near to madness, and he was sobbing as he went. The only good thing he could hear behind him was the crack that meant Harry had let Dobby go.
Harry stared at where Draco had been, and then closed his eyes. That did not go well.
"The boy had to know about his father," said Sylarana, and then she crawled up his chest towards his face, and laid her head on his chin. "He should know his father is loyal to the one who degrades snakes to do his bidding, and what his loyalty means."
"But I didn't want him to find out like this," Harry muttered. He rubbed his head. It ached, probably from lack of food. "I didn't want to force him to choose between his friend and his family. This wouldn't have happened if I'd just pushed him away from me in the first place. I—"
His voice choked off abruptly. Colors blurred and swam across his vision. He felt Sylarana give a single cry and then fall silent. When he reached out for her, someone swatted his reaching mental hand away.
There. That is better.
Harry tried to scream. He knew that voice. Tom Riddle.
Not so strong without your little snake, are you? Riddle purred at him. When Harry's eyes closed briefly in a blink, he could see the young man, standing in front of the stone wall he had first seen him near, his face fixed in a smile. His eyes were bright, and his cloak blew around him in a storm of power. The power stabbed dark fingers into the stone walls and sandy floor. Harry didn't have to think long to knew that that power was being used to control him. Now, I've waited long enough, and I'm bored, and I want to hurt you some more. Let's have some fun.
Harry felt himself stand and begin moving out of the hospital wing. Riddle laughed and adjusted the tendrils of power that he held. Harry's walk altered slightly, as though he were a horse on a rein.
Harry fought. He used all the Occlumency that Snape had taught him against Riddle, flinging up visions to distract him, tempting memories to make him let go of his power, curtains that would part on deeper areas of Harry's mind and let Riddle have a firmer grip. Riddle ignored them all, and finally snorted and clenched one hand shut. The storm of images ceased. Harry felt a firm door close on that part of his mind that knew how to practice Occlumency.
I know you, Riddle told him in a bored voice. I've been in your mind all the time that Severus Snape—his voice on those last two words was absolutely vicious—tried to teach you any of the mental arts. When I have a firmer grasp on you, when I have become you, then I intend to wait for a session when he isn't expecting it and leap on him. Riddle was hissing now, and Harry thought the next words he spoke might have been in Parseltongue. I've read your memories, Harry. Severus Snape is a traitor. He will pay. I swear he will pay.
Harry tried again to get away, calling to Sylarana. She didn't respond. Riddle snorted at him. Did you think I would overlook her? Of course not. She is asleep, the way that I put her once before.
Harry's world collapsed inward like a dark star. That means—that means—
That you were the one who Petrified the mad girl? Of course. Riddle sighed. I could simply have killed her, but I find that I prefer this way. His voice turned abruptly cutting, slicing, making Harry writhe in pain in his head, but not in his body. His body was still walking steadily down the stairs and along the hallways, pausing in a hidden corner whenever someone might come by. I want to hurt you, Harry, and Petrifying your friends one by one will do that to you.
I don't understand, Harry thought. He couldn't win the struggle against Riddle, not yet. Now was the time to save his strength and try to figure out some way that his possession could still help Connor. Why do you want to hurt me so specifically? Why not my brother?
Riddle laughed, sounding like a dragon gone mad. I know what you are, Harry. How do you think that I was able to hide in your head? He paused a long moment, then added impatiently, Your scar. A conduit to me. So peaceful here. So at home.
I can tell Snape about you, Harry said, as they rounded the corner to the third floor. He'll get rid of you.
No, Riddle disagreed cheerfully. I don't think he can. He never found me in all his searches of your head, did he? And he won't get the chance. You'll be suspected this time, Harry. Either you'll tell them the truth, or they'll catch you at it. I haven't decided which is more fun yet, he said.
Then I'll be expelled, Harry snarled. They were proceeding rapidly along the third floor now, and he readied himself to watch for the entrance to the Chamber. Perhaps he could throw all his strength against Riddle there, and resist opening it. Fat lot of good I'll do you then.
A flare of fire down the middle of his head silenced Harry. He doubled over briefly, clutching at what he guessed was his scar, and then kept walking.
I don't like defiance, Riddle said calmly, but with a dangerous undertone to his voice. And you are defying me, Harry. How, when you are mine? You'll Petrify another friend of yours now. You'll turn the school, and most especially your brother, against you, even if you tell them the truth. Possessed by Lord Voldemort? Who would shelter you then? And then, when I'm strong enough, you'll bring me back to life. How does that sound, Harry? Months and months waiting for something to happen, while I gather my strength?
Harry didn't answer. It would probably be counted as defiance again if he did. He kept to himself, breathing carefully, seeking areas of his mind that were beyond the control of those fingers of power.
He thought he had one. He readied himself. He had to see, if nothing else, where Tom Riddle was hiding in his head that Snape hadn't managed to find him.
Sorry, can't let you see this part, said Riddle abruptly, and the colors in front of him turned the shade of sunburn. Harry found himself blinking a moment later. He stood in front of a large puddle of water, once more, and this time the message cut into the wall said: Who shall resist the Heir? Stand before him and despair!
On the floor lay Neville Longbottom's Petrified body.
Harry sagged to his knees and clutched his burning head. That was as far as Riddle let him get before he reasserted control.
You'll stay here until someone comes, Riddle murmured. I hope it will be your brother, but I suppose I can't plan on that. He sighed. Meanwhile, I think I should tell you what I'll do to your brother, when I have him in my power—in your power. It will be the same thing soon.
Fuck off! Harry yelled, and accepted the pain that answered him. That was better than doing nothing. And he was still watching from the unoccupied corner of his mind.
Footsteps sounded abruptly around the corner. For a moment, Riddle stood to attention in Harry's mental vision; then he frowned and shook his head.
It would be him, he muttered. I am not ready to face him, not yet.
He dived. Harry watched him, and watched him go, and felt the control leave his body at the same moment as Sylarana came back to life, hissing furiously. Harry sagged to the ground, tears on his cheeks.
He heard the footsteps round the corner, pause, and then come running towards him. Someone knelt beside him and turned his head around. Harry found himself staring into Snape's face.
The pain in his head grew worse. Riddle was trying to incapacitate him before he could tell, Harry knew.
He held onto the strong stare of Snape's black eyes, and forced the words out before he let pain and guilt together whirl him into the darkness.
"Tom Riddle is hiding in the box."