Thank you again for the reviews! I'm glad that so many people liked that chapter. Review responses will be up in my LJ later.

Meanwhile, Harry plays politics, and tries to convince Connor to play them.

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Gryffindor Among the Slytherins

"No," said Justin.

Harry paused and stared at him. They were waiting in the greenhouses for their Herbology class to begin; since it was a warm day and they would need to protect their ears when they moved the Mandrakes again, Harry had thought he'd better talk to Justin before then. He'd assumed it would be a simple task. He'd tell Justin that Connor had changed his mind and wanted to make up with the other Houses, and while Justin would probably be skeptical, and the rest of the Hufflepuffs even more so, it wouldn't be nearly as hard as it would be with the Slytherins. Then Harry could move on to Ravenclaw, perhaps talking to Penelope Clearwater, the prefect whom Dumbledore had assigned to watch him, and then have another talk with the Slytherins to prepare them for Connor's visit. The first one…hadn't gone well. Harry had expected to spend the most time on convincing his House of his brother's good intentions.

Instead, Justin was proving unexpectedly stubborn about the whole thing.

"No," he repeated, frowning and shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Harry. I don't believe that he's suddenly a different person."

"He's not," said Harry, quashing his annoyance at Justin. He was better at controlling his temper than ever now, after living without the box for two months. Besides, it had probably been something he said, some odd wording he'd used, that made Justin react this way. "But he is sorry. He was worried about thinking I was the Boy-Who-Lived, and that influenced his judgment." He wasn't going to tell anyone about Connor's compulsion gift until his brother was ready to announce it to the school in general. "Really, Justin, I promise that he'll try hard not to act like a git. Can you find it in your heart to forgive him?"

"You don't understand," said Justin quietly.

"Obviously," said Harry, before he could stop himself.

The other wizard gave him a small smile. "We could forgive him, as you call it, for acting like a prat," he said. "If it was just anything he'd said about our House or one of us, and he hasn't said much. But he hurt you, Harry. And we find it a lot harder to forgive when someone hurts one of our friends."

Harry blinked. He would not have thought of that objection himself, left a decade to do it in. "But I forgave him, Justin." Maybe he hadn't been clear on that part. "I said that I understood why he'd hurt me, and he promised not to anymore. We talked it all out."

Justin narrowed his eyes. "And you think that really excuses four months of dodging around you and trying to make you look bad? You think that excuses lying to his friends about visiting you in the hospital wing?"

"Not excuses, as such," said Harry. "Just…I understood why he did it." He shrugged. "And since I've forgiven him, and I was the one most directly affected, it would look odd for you to go on disliking him, wouldn't it?"

"Not at all."

Harry jumped and looked over his shoulder. He hadn't heard Zacharias come up behind him. He found himself wondering where Professor Sprout was. Surely she could get here and save him from having to have a conversation with the sharpest of the second-year Hufflepuffs?

Justin, the prat, was stepping back with a small smile and just letting Zacharias handle this.

"Now, I've been listening," the other boy began, with no immodesty at all. "And from what I could hear, I don't know if Potter's suspicions about you being the Boy-Who-Lived have any basis in reality at all. I would say they don't, since we all know Potter's not the brightest candle." Harry bristled, but Zacharias kept right on going. "But, either way, I think he'll make a poor leader. He didn't even notice he was alienating people, from what you said. You'd make a better one." He paused and waited to see what Harry would say to that.

"It doesn't matter what might or might not happen," said Harry. "He has to be the leader, because he's the Boy-Who-Lived."

"I told you, I don't know much about that," Zacharias said amiably. "But I know a little about leadership. My mum took me to watch the Wizengamot operate, the way that any good pureblooded mum should. And you're more like them than Connor is."

"He'll lead a different way," said Harry. "It's war-time, after all."

"And then he'll go into politics?"

With the suspicion that he was being herded into a particular conversational trap, but not quite able to see what it was, Harry nodded slowly.

"Ah." Zacharias flashed him a cheerful smile. "And what makes you think that someone will make a good political leader just because he made a good wartime leader? The two require different sets of skills. Not much use saying 'Charge!' in the Wizengamot."

"Headmaster Dumbledore is both," said Harry. "Or was both. He led in the First War with Voldemort."

Zacharias shrugged. "I told you, I know politics."

"Not as well as you think you do, if you think that someone can't be trained to be good at it," Harry muttered, glancing over his shoulder and seeing Professor Sprout hurrying through the snow. He sighed in relief and jerked his head in her direction. "Looks like we've got to stop talking."

"In just a minute," said Zacharias. "And I'd rather have someone who's naturally good at it than someone who has to be trained. Like you."

Harry shook his head. "That's not ever going to happen."

"Are you a Seer?" Zacharias sounded very interested.

"No, I'm not," said Harry, and luckily Professor Sprout arrived then and he could cover his ears. Throughout it, he could feel the Hufflepuffs' eyes on him, and he frowned back at them. He didn't understand why they were resisting so hard. Connor had made a mistake. He hadn't committed a crime. He was only twelve, and he had much, much more time to grow better. If by some miracle Harry survived the Second War, then he would continue training Connor, of course, but in case he didn't, he still expected his twin would do well. That was the reason he'd been chosen for this duty.

And Zacharias Smith wouldn't know genuine innocence and purity if it bit him on the arse, he thought.

Yes, said Sylarana sleepily. The cold made her so sluggish that she barely spoke at all when they were in the greenhouses, but curled up on Harry's arm and dozed.

Yes what? Harry asked her.

She was asleep again, so Harry shook his head and turned to tend to his Mandrake, his mood not much better in shade than the flat white sky overhead, currently shedding more snow.

I don't understand why more of them can't see it. Connor's been much more pleasant this week than usual. He's won over most of the Gryffindors. He smiles at me and laughs with me. The Slytherins I expected would be suspicious, just because of the House rivalry, but why the Hufflepuffs? I don't understand.

Harry braced himself and stepped into the Slytherin common room. He was going to speak with Draco, Blaise, Vince, and Greg again. Their last confrontation about Connor had escalated into screaming (on Draco's part) and thrown objects (on Blaise's part). But Harry was going to make them see reason. Connor was coming for a visit this weekend. Harry wanted Slytherin House to be following Connor before the end of the year, or at least be in a tentative alliance with him.

It's not like I'm asking them to make nice with all Gryffindors, he thought as the wall slid shut behind him. Just one. And that one is the Boy-Who-Lived. You'd think that more of them would realize living under Voldemort isn't pleasant and that their parents made a bloody mistake…

He paused. It looked as though the entire House had gathered in the common room, including the sixth- and seventh-years, and they were waiting for him. Their chatter fell silent as he stepped in, and they stared at him for a second. Harry blinked at them, and blinked further when he saw Draco and Blaise sitting on a couch near the fire, a place that Marcus Flint usually liked to occupy.

Flint was standing up, though, and walking towards him. He paused, staring keenly down into Harry's face. Harry cleared his throat nervously. He'd thought his relations with the Quidditch Captain were working out well. He'd caught the Snitch when they played Ravenclaw, and he attended every practice.

"What is it, Flint?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound bored and unconcerned.

"Draco told me what you said," Flint murmured. "About wanting your brother to visit the common room."

Oh, shit. I didn't think they'd tell. Harry glared at Draco and Blaise. Blaise smirked at him. Draco just waved a lazy hand. He had his other hand in the pocket of his robe, holding something. Harry would bet it was that bloody bottle. Draco never seemed to leave his room without it.

"Well, yes," said Harry, deciding he would have to tough it out on his own. Sylarana's mutters of help by biting were nothing he wished to entertain. "Why not? People have friends of other Houses in here all the time. And sometimes more than friends," he added, hoping that would be enough to disconcert Flint. He'd supposedly had a Ravenclaw boyfriend in here more than once, though Harry had never known if the rumor was actually true.

Flint blinked, but all he did after that was give a small smile and shake his head. "Not Gryffindors, however," he said. "And especially not someone who's been trying to discredit and work against one of our own for most of the year."

"Connor's changed," said Harry. "And he really is sorry for what he did. But if you just shut him out of the common room, Flint, then you won't get a chance to see how sorry."

"I say let him in."

Harry turned his head, blinking. That was Vince, who barely said anything at all when he wasn't in class. Now he stood up, and, though he flushed, otherwise ignored the eyes on him.

"Harry's right," he went on. "We'll never know what the Boy-Who-Lived is like if we don't actually get to see him."

Flint looked thoughtful. A murmur traveled among the older students, and Harry heard the speculative edge to it. Vince's comment had twisted the conversation in a new direction. Those Slytherins who were the children of Dark wizards or Death Eaters must be wondering now if it wouldn't be better to get a close look at the Boy-Who-Lived, see what he was like, before he was fully-grown and dangerous.

Harry set his teeth. He would have to remain by Connor's side every moment of the time he was here. He wouldn't put it past someone else to try to curse his brother or slip him some kind of poisoned sweet when he wasn't looking.

"That's true," he said. "And you'll never know what other possibilities he might bring with him if you don't actually talk to him, either."

Flint's eyes snapped back to him. For a moment, he looked incredulous. Then his face shut down, except for a small smile that teased the corner of his mouth.

"Possibilities, Harry?" he asked. "Possibilities like joining the side of the Light? Dumbledore's side?"

Harry kept his gaze steady. There really hadn't been another way to phrase it. And if this was going to be a political battle, it might as well be in the open, and not hidden behind slippery words and phrases. That would give Connor an advantage, rather than giving it to the Slytherins.

"Yes, like those," said Harry.

Every eye in the common room was on him now. The silence was growing oppressive. Harry didn't look at them, though. He only looked at Flint. He couldn't change everything that had happened in the past. He certainly couldn't alter Slytherin into a House devoted to the Light overnight. Connor would have to do that, and it would be a long and slow process.

But he could place the possibility on the table, and acknowledge where he stood: that being Slytherin did not mean he would turn against the Light and serve the Dark. He'd thought that was pretty bloody obvious, given who his brother was, but if it wasn't, then now was the time that they could see and understand it.

Flint leaned slightly forward. He said softly, "So young, and you've already chosen your political loyalties, Harry?"

Harry let out a long, slow breath. He really wants to know? They really want to know?

Well, why not? If it will help Connor visit my House, then yes, I'll bloody well do it. And I think I may surprise them.

He glanced at Draco, making the direction of his gaze obvious, and slowly everyone else turned to follow it. Draco smiled slightly at the attention, looking very much like his father at that moment.

"I'm friends with Draco Malfoy," said Harry calmly. "I spent Christmas at Malfoy Manor last year. I might have gone this year, only I was rather busy with being possessed at the time." That raised a few chuckles, though not many; the gazes were too intent. And if it wasn't true, if he would have spent the Christmas with his family instead, then nobody was ever going to know. "I know the pureblood ways. My father is James Potter; my godfather is Sirius Black. I asked and asked and asked until they taught me how to act like a pureblood, and I read books on pureblood history myself."

"Yet you were shocked when you were put in Slytherin?" Flint's voice had a sneer to it now.

Harry flicked him a glance. "My brother is the Boy-Who-Lived. I'm a Potter, and we've always been Gryffindors. Family is important, isn't it? You'd probably stand by yours no matter what?"

Flint nodded slowly, a faint gleam of appreciation in his eyes.

"So, yes, I was shocked," said Harry, and then shrugged. "But I accept that I'm a Slytherin now.

"That doesn't mean that I'm about to abandon my brother. That wouldn't be very loyal to my family at all. And it's no good trying to pretend to be something I'm not. My mother is Muggleborn, and she told me stories about the First War, what it was like, and about the war with Grindelwald. I've learned more about what happens to Dark wizards who face Gryffindors than I've ever wanted to know."

"Gryffindors died in those wars, too," Flint breathed, just a trace of warning in his tone.

Harry nodded. "And Gryffindors brought down each Dark wizard in the end. So, no. I can see how history tends, thanks. I want to survive—which I'm sure is a Slytherin trait."

He asked Sylarana to emerge. She did, sticking her head out of his sleeve, then her whole body, and coiling on the surface of his sleeve in plain sight. She flicked her tongue at everyone watching, and Harry heard a few caught breaths. It was one thing to know he was a Parselmouth, and another to see his Locusta.

Harry smiled at her. "I think it's time that we remind them of something," he said, knowing he was speaking in Parseltongue. He didn't quite understand the expressions that crept over most of the Slytherins' faces, expressions of reverence and awe, but he could use them. "Agreeable?"

"Of course," she said. "For all that I love being so close to your skin, your sleeve does get hot and stuffy sometimes."

Harry nodded and held up his arm so that Sylarana's scales flashed in the firelight. She hissed at everyone, darting her tongue out to taste the air. Delight mixed with a keen dread shone in most of the eyes Harry met.

"I am a Parselmouth," he said, careful not to look directly at Sylarana in case he ended up hissing. He wanted to say this so everyone else could understand. "And I'm not going to deny that—the same way I'm not going to deny that I'm friends with Draco Malfoy and the brother of Connor Potter, the same way that I'm not going to deny I'm a Slytherin from a Gryffindor family, the same way that I'm not going to deny I'm a halfblood who knows a lot about pureblooded ways. I don't see any reason to deny any of what I am."

Liar, said a sudden cold voice in his head, the flicker of his magic that he'd tamed and subdued in the struggle with Riddle.

Harry ignored this. It was the liar. Yes, his magic might be Darker than most people would think, but it was his magic. It obeyed him. He could ignore anything it might try to say.

The Slytherins watched him for long moments. Then Flint nodded slowly. He had an amused expression on his face, but not only or even primarily amused, Harry knew.

"I say we allow the little prat to visit Slytherin," he said, "as long as Harry stays right by his side at all times."

Harry nodded. He had no intention of ever leaving his brother alone with Slytherins, either—for the safety of both sides.

He coaxed Sylarana back under his sleeve and went up the stairs to the second-year boys' room, ignoring the eyes he could still feel on his back. They seemed to think he was impressive.

Let them see Connor when he's defeated Voldemort, Harry thought as he got ready for bed. That'll be impressive.

"But I don't think that the Chudley Cannons stand a chance of winning against the Montrose Magpies, of course," said Draco in a bright, chatty voice. "What do you think, Potter?"

Harry could feel Connor fuming at his side. He knew well enough why Draco had chosen the Chudley Cannons to pick on—after all, they were Ron's favorite team, and Connor had made them his, too, out of loyalty. It was also true that they weren't a very good team. Draco had been casually mentioning this many different times while Connor visited, but now was the first time he'd actually spoken about it directly to Connor.

Harry willed his brother to respond calmly. The visit had gone much better than he had expected so far—which meant, no one had actually tried to punch or hex anyone else. It probably helped that there was a small central group of them: Harry, Draco, Connor, Blaise, Vince, Greg, Millicent, and Pansy. Other Slytherins wandered past from time to time, as though to stare at the tame Gryffindor out of his natural habitat, but no one stayed long.

"I think," said Connor at last, his voice carefully neutral, "that everything depends on circumstances, Malfoy. You can't deny that the Cannons have a brilliant Seeker this year."

"Yes," Draco acknowledged, which made Harry blink. He should have guessed what was coming next. "Too bad she can't make up for the other six dead logs in the air that fill the rest of their positions."

Harry clenched his hand on Connor's arm—a good thing, too, or he thought his brother might have exploded out of his seat. Connor closed his eyes, breathing tightly, then opened them and went for the meat of the matter with his usual Gryffindor directness.

"Why are you doing this, Malfoy?" he asked. "I'm supposed to be here as a gesture of peace, of sorts. Shouldn't you be trying to be, well, peaceful, instead of insulting me all the time?"

Draco opened his mouth to make some crack, but Harry said, "Draco, why don't you check your bottle?"

Connor glanced sideways at him, curious. Harry just raised his eyebrows and waited until Draco opened the pocket where he kept the bottle and checked it. His face turned paler than normal. He would have seen, Harry thought, that the bottle was gleaming red as a ruby right now. Harry was angry with Draco, though he wasn't showing it openly.

Draco swallowed, let his pocket fall closed, and said, "It's just hard, Potter. You're a Gryffindor. We're Slytherins. This is unnatural."

Connor barked a laugh. "It feels that way, doesn't it?" he murmured. "But my brother says that I need to unite all the Houses, and I think I should listen to him. So I'm here, trying to make nice. The least you could do is play along."

"Why did he say that?" asked Pansy, speaking up for the first time. She leaned forward and stared at Harry. Harry met her gaze as calmly as he could. He didn't really know what to make of either of the second-year Slytherin girls. He hadn't paid them enough attention, and now that was coming back to bite him on the arse. He would have to remedy that next year.

"Because I'm to be the leader of the wizarding world someday," said Connor, thankfully sparing Harry from having to answer the question. "And I don't think that he wants me to leave the Slytherins out." He half-smiled at Harry, who smiled fully back. There was a reason that he was at Connor's side on a couch across from Draco and the others, who were arranged in chairs around them. He wondered if any of the Slytherins had noticed the political dimension of his positioning yet, or if they simply dismissed it as Harry needing to be close enough to restrain his brother in case Connor did something foolish.

Both, Harry thought. Whoever said that a gesture should have only one meaning? I'm a Slytherin, so I get to make sly little double-handed gestures too.

"You really think that?" It was Millicent's voice, elevated a little in surprise, and the question was directed at Harry.

Harry shrugged. "Of course I do," he said. "The Boy-Who-Lived, Bulstrode. Who else would do?"

Millicent blinked as if he'd slapped her, then sat back in her chair and scowled thoughtfully at Connor. Harry didn't know what was going on with her, but then, he didn't know what was going on with Millicent in general. She could play her little games if she wanted, but if she really thought that someone else would have a better chance at Minister of Magic than Connor, then she was living in a dreamworld.

"We were talking about Quidditch," said Blaise. "And now we're talking about politics. I find both of them boring." Or uncomfortable, Harry thought, watching the small smile on the boy's dark features. Blaise had tried out for the Quidditch team as Chaser and failed to make it, and his mother, Arabella Zabini, though Dark, was notoriously unaffiliated with anyone except her husbands, who kept dying. "I'd like to talk about something else. Namely, why you've gone from such a prat to someone trying to 'make nice' with Slytherins."

"I don't think those things are too far apart, really," Connor retorted.

Harry could feel the tension rising, saw Draco's eyes narrowing, and knew he was about to say something unfortunate. He intervened. "We had a talk," he said firmly. "He came around, Blaise. He apologized. I told you all this already." He really couldn't comprehend why Blaise had brought this up again. It was part of the original argument that had led to Harry insisting that Blaise was being more of a prat than Connor, and the other boy throwing a book at his head. "He really does want to make friends, or he wouldn't be here."

"Actually," said Connor, "I wouldn't be here if not for Harry. He was the one who convinced me to come." He leaned back and looked seriously at Harry. "And he's the only one convincing me to stay."

Harry sighed. Now all the Slytherins, except Millicent who still appeared lost in her own world, were fuming at the implication that they weren't good hosts. "Does anyone want to play a game?" he suggested.

"Of course," said Draco at once. "Wizards' chess."

Harry winced. Connor hated chess, not least because Ron could so easily beat him at it. "Not that one," he said hastily. "What about Exploding Snap? Or—"

"I want to go flying," said Pansy, her voice abruptly bright and mindless. "Ooh, doesn't that sound marvelous? I love seeing you on a broom, Draco. Your golden hair blows so beautifully in the wind."

I know she isn't that stupid, Harry thought in confusion. Then he understood. She's pretending to be that stupid. And, damn it, Connor's playing right into her hands. Look at that condescending look he's giving her. Merlin take you, Pansy. And you, too, Connor. Just because a girl sounds as if she's giggling all the time doesn't mean that she doesn't take time out in between the giggles to think. You've been spoiled with Hermione.

"Of course," said Connor. "I love flying. And no one's on the Pitch. The Hufflepuffs should have finished their practicing by now." He stood up and grandly motioned for them to follow him. "Come on, everyone!" He sprinted for the entrance to the common room.

Harry took the opportunity to hiss at Pansy, his voice covered by the noise of moving bodies. "What are you doing?"

"You'll see," said Pansy, her voice self-satisfied. Then she giggled and blinked her lashes. "And what makes you think I'm doing anything, Harry?" she asked.

Harry ground his teeth. "Just leave him alone," he said.

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt him," said Pansy. "Why would you think I'm going to hurt him? Would I really attack him using spells? I'm just a poor widdle girl, Harry." She swept past him towards the door.

Harry followed, agitated, doing his best to get in front of everyone and beside Connor. It did no good. Blaise, Vince, and Greg had stood up before him, and Draco was in front, walking beside Connor and actually complimenting him on his performance in the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor game. Harry was beginning to suspect a plot, and not just on Pansy's part.

"Oi, Potter, you forgot this."

Harry turned, just in time to catch a shrunken package that Millicent flung at him. He recognized his Nimbus 2001 after a brief moment. He shook his head. "I'm leaving it behind," he said. "I'll fly a school broom."

"Why?" asked Pansy, and she giggled. "I think it's wonderful to watch you fly on your broom, Harry." She giggled louder, attracting Connor's attention. "Just wonderful," she said. "You never lose when you're on it."

Connor's eyes narrowed in competitive fervor, and Harry began to have some inkling of what the Slytherins were doing.

"No, damn it," he said.

"Why not?" Connor asked, sounding curious. "I'd like to see what you can do when you're flying full out, Harry, and we're not both after the Snitch."

Shit. Harry knew what was going to happen, and he disliked it immensely. He made one more attempt to break free. "But you've seen me and Connor fly against each other," he said. "I think it'd be more interesting to see Connor and Draco race. Draco's a good flyer."

"This isn't a game," said Draco, who'd turned backward so he could keep an eye on Harry. "It's a race, and that's different. Just a contest of speed, instead of seeing who can snatch a golden ball out of the air. I want to see you fly, Harry. I know you're fast."

Connor's eyes sparked even more.

Shit, Harry thought sickly. If he lost this contest, Connor would assume that Harry was lying to him again, since he'd already admitted to being the better Seeker. And if he won…

His brother might take it like a good sport, but Harry knew it would drive a little wedge between them that didn't need to be there.

"I want to race you," said Connor, and that sealed it.

Harry and Connor stood on the far end of the Quidditch Pitch, each with his broom lying beside him on the grass. It was an unexpectedly pretty day, with the sky a very sharp, pale blue, and looking higher than normal. Draco and Blaise stood at the far end of the pitch, with the other Slytherins arrayed in a ragged line along it, to see how the race might vary as the twins actually flew it.

"Come on, Harry," said Connor out of the corner of his mouth. "This is going to be fun."

No, it's not, Harry thought. His stomach was roiling and clenching in misery, and Sylarana's soothing thoughts did little to help him.

"Tempus!" Draco intoned from the far side of the pitch, and a small hourglass appeared in the air beside him, filled with tiny grains of sand. One would fall for each second it took them to race, Harry knew.

"I'll call when they should start," said Pansy. "Stand ready. On five, gentlemen. One—"

"Show me everything you've got, Harry," Connor whispered.

Harry stared at his brother. Connor nodded back at him, then turned and fixed his gaze on the far side of the pitch.

"Three—"

How can I disobey that? If my brother asks me to do it…

"Five!"

Connor was on the Cleansweep in a flash, but Harry had already called his Nimbus 2001 up and was mounted. Connor rose, striving for height, and Harry followed just behind, fighting for one more moment.

Then he remembered again that Connor would think he was lying if he lost. And he would rather see a small spark of betrayal in his brother's eyes than a large one.

He let his breath go and unleashed his speed.

The Nimbus seemed to dance beneath him as he soared upwards and sped past Connor, and Millicent and then Pansy yelped as he blasted over them. The feeling that always filled his chest filled it now, as though nothing could happen to him when he was up here except triumph, and he swooped past Vince and Greg and touched down beside Draco and Blaise like a swallow come home to roost.

"Well bloody done, Harry," said Draco, and then grabbed him and held him tightly in a hug. Harry turned his head to look at the hourglass. A tenth grain of sand was just falling.

Connor landed five grains later. He was quiet for a long moment. Harry fought his way out of Draco's embrace and turned to face his brother.

Connor drew in a deep breath, nodded once, and then said, "You told me the truth, Harry, and you did as I asked. Thank you." He reached out and clasped his hand. "If you say that making up with the other Houses is a good idea, then it is."

Harry felt a surge of dizzy joy. Connor trusted him the way that he trusted Connor, then—implicitly. He swallowed and swatted at his eyes, which wanted to tear up.

The other Slytherins were clustering around them. Harry thought he could hear Pansy chattering about what a beautiful sight he was on a broom, but he didn't care. If they'd tried to tear him apart from his brother, then they'd lost. This was what Connor had needed to lose the last of his doubt.

He turned briefly, and caught Draco's eye. Draco didn't look disappointed. He looked smug. He caught Harry's gaze and winked.

Harry shook his head. I don't know what his goal was, then, but it's not going to deter me. They will learn to accept each other sooner or later.

And, abruptly, he knew what the next step was.