This chapter is pretty damn ugly, in lots of ways. Be prepared.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Father and SonHarry woke to the sound of shouting. He blinked and touched his temple. He felt calm and clear-minded now, though a bit light-headed. After a few moments of thoughts, he realized it probably came from not having enough food, and stretched for the tray his mother had left beside the bed. The bread and the soup were cold, but he would eat them, the way he was feeling. It was good practice for the future, anyway. He was hardly going to be able to choose his food on the battlefield.
The shouting intruded on his consciousness again, just as Sylarana stirred and said, "I have wanted to bite everybody who has come and seen you, except the werewolf."
"You haven't bitten anyone, have you?" asked Harry, hurtled abruptly into worry as he sipped at the cold soup. Chunks of slimy vegetables slid down his throat. He tried to ignore them. "Please tell me you haven't."
"I haven't. Share the soup. The werewolf and your rabbit-father are arguing now. I hope the werewolf eats him." Sylarana slithered up his arm and laid her head along the rim of the bowl, tongue flicking as she sipped at the soup. She gave him one glance out of eyes that had turned almost the color of his own. "How much do you remember of what happened before you fell asleep?"
Harry shook his head. "Not much. I know that my mother confirmed the existence of a prophecy, and Remus—Remus was angry about something. What—"
Then the shouting rose loud enough for him to hear it. Harry had assumed that it was one of Remus's and Sirius's endless arguments about the way Sirius went out drinking and womanizing. They were one of the constants when they were both in the house at Godric's Hollow. But now he realized that it was their father and Remus arguing. He tensed and listened.
"—going to take Harry with me," Remus was saying, with a raw anger in his voice that Harry had never heard before. "Merlin, James, can't you see that he'll suffer here? I still don't know what Lily's doing to him, because she backed off when she saw she wasn't convincing me, but I know that he needs to be taken away. I'm bringing him to Dumbledore."
"You don't understand, Remus!" James sounded as if he'd been repeating that for a little while. "I didn't either, at first. But I promise you, this is what needs to happen. If you would just sit down and let Lily explain it to you—"
Remus cut him off with a growl. Harry blinked. Remus was gentle. Remus went out of his way to avoid reminding people that he was a werewolf. That he would do it now was beyond Harry's comprehension.
"Why don't you explain it to me, James?" Remus said, and the growl was lurking behind his words. "If you understand it so well, if she convinced you of it, then explain it to me. Now, James."
Harry heard a solid thump, as though their father had fallen against the closed bedroom door. "Remus," Harry heard him say helplessly. "There are so many things that you don't understand, so many things that have to come true."
"Name one."
"You know about the prophecy," said James.
"Yes." Remus sounded as if he had bitten off the word, and his voice was closer than before. Harry shivered and hugged his arms, fighting the temptation to go out there. He didn't know what his appearance might provoke Remus into doing, though. It sounded as though he had managed to provoke Remus quite a bit already, though he didn't remember how. "And I know that that can't excuse what you've done, James. There was nothing in the prophecy about teaching one son to master wandless magic by the time he was twelve."
"That's one of the requirements, though," said James. "Remus, you were there, that night—you came back before everything had calmed down—you know what we saw, what we felt—"
"Damn you, James.," said Remus, and Harry flinched. "Is that what this is about? I thought you'd got over that when you befriended me in school. How could someone who wasn't afraid of being friends with a werewolf be afraid of his own son?" His voice sounded more weary than angry now. "Now, step out of the way. I'm taking Harry with me."
"Remus, don't make me hurt you," James whispered. "Please. We lost Peter. I don't want to lose you, too."
"I might, might, be able to forgive you someday if you step aside now," said Remus. "Let me through."
There was a long pause, and then the sounds of scrambling. The door opened in the next moment, and Remus strode into the room. His eyes came to rest on Harry, and he let out a long breath and came to him, enfolding him in a hug that made Harry feel decidedly odd.
"You survived," Remus whispered into his ear. "But Merlin knows how much more of this you can take before you crack. I don't intend to let you take any more. Come on, Harry. I have to get you out of here. Dumbledore will know what to do. He's protected people in danger from their own families before. Come on." He started to lift Harry out of the bed.
Harry resisted, particularly when he found that he wearing only pyjamas. "I don't understand, Remus," he said. "Why do you think they'll hurt me if I stay here? I promise, they've never hit me."
"I know that," said Remus, though there was doubt in the back of his voice that it hurt Harry to hear. "But they've done other things, Harry. I don't even know the full extent of them. I just know they're evil."
"They're not," said Harry, feeling his headache start again. A brief explosion of yellow ran across the back of his eyelids. "If you understood everything, Remus, you would see that—"
"Put him down, Remus."
Harry stared over Remus's shoulder. James was back in the doorway, holding his wand and—something else. Harry frowned. He thought it was a knife of some kind, but he didn't know why his father would rely on a knife when he had his wand near at hand.
Remus shook his head even as he turned around, still holding Harry. "This has gone on long enough, James. I—"
And then he stopped, and made a strangled sound that Harry felt against his chest and his throat as well as heard. Then he whispered, "Silver. You would actually threaten me with silver. James, what has happened to you?"
Harry recognized the knife in his father's hand then. It came from a set of ceremonial daggers that Lily sometimes used for drawing runes. It shed the light in shaky patterns, and Harry thought James's hand was trembling, but that did not matter. What mattered was that he had it.
And the Marauders had suffered another betrayal. This one was connected to Harry in some way, though he couldn't remember what had happened. He began squirming.
"Please, Remus, put me down," he whispered.
"Harry, you don't know what you're saying," said Remus. He hadn't moved, but he began to growl now, a sound that made James's hand shake even harder. "I can fight my way out."
"But I don't want you to lose your friends because of me!" Harry whispered back fiercely. "Please, Remus. I promise they won't hurt me. I want you to leave, to get away from here."
Remus stood still for a long moment. Then, slowly, every motion obviously made against his will, he lowered Harry onto the bed. He backed away, hands up, and James changed the angle of the knife and used it to point the way sharply out the door.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Remus," he said, quietly but firmly. "And until you do, you can't expect to do anything but anger the rest of us."
"I'm going to talk to Dumbledore," said Remus, edging out sideways. "I swear it, James. I think you've gone mad, the lot of you. And he's the only one who has a chance of bringing you back to sanity."
"Good," said James. "Speak with Albus. He can explain it to you."
Remus bared his teeth. Harry had never found them threatening before. Now, with Remus's head slightly bowed, his amber eyes focused, and a thick, musky smell like that of a wild animal filling the room, he did.
"If you or Lily hurt him again before we come back," said Remus softly, "then I promise I'll take revenge."
James paled. He swallowed several times before he managed to say, "Dumbledore can explain all of this. I promise, Moony."
"Don't call me that," said Remus, and half-lunged, his teeth snapping shut on air. James dropped the knife. Remus didn't move closer, but his gaze was filled with murky emotion that, in turn, filled Harry with guilt. "You don't have the right anymore."
He turned and stalked out, shutting the door behind him. James stayed by the bed, so silent that Harry could hear the crack of Remus's Apparition a few moments later, when he was outside the wards.
Then James sat down on the edge of Harry's bed and put his head in his hands. Harry hesitated. He wanted to comfort his father, but he thought a touch might set him off. He had a previously unsuspected talent for making people angry, he thought.
"It's all right, Harry," James whispered, lifting his head and looking at him, finally. His hazel eyes were clear, though weary in a way that reminded Harry of Connor's when he thought he might not be the Boy-Who-Lived. "Come here." He held out his arms, and Harry crawled into them, leaning his head against his father's chest and hearing the strong beat of his heart.
James stroked his hair. Then he said, "You understand why we have to keep you here, don't you, Harry?"
"Of course," said Harry. "I don't know what made Remus so angry. I mean, you know, don't you? You know how Mum trained me, and why, and what kinds of things I learned?"
"Of course," said James. "And it took me months to accept it, and I'm your father. I'm not surprised that it's taking Moony longer. He's Connor's godfather, and he's always had—well, kind of a soft heart in some ways." He laughed. The laugh didn't sound sincere. "But I understand your training, Harry. I know why it was necessary."
Harry felt his incipient headache vanish. He nodded, and James's arms came around him more firmly.
"Lie back in the bed, Harry," his father said a moment later. "I don't think that you're completely recovered yet."
Harry let James lay him down, and tuck the blankets around him. That felt odd, too, if nice. Harry wasn't used to this kind of treatment when he wasn't sick or severely injured, and then he usually knew what had happened to land him in bed. This time, he really couldn't remember.
James leaned near him and smoothed his hair down over his forehead, much as Lily had done the last time she came to see him. His gaze was completely serious. Harry met his father's eyes, squinting a little as James shifted around in front of the window and the April sunlight haloed his face.
"Has your mother ever told you about the capture of the Lestranges?" he asked.
Harry blinked. "No. She said it was your story to tell, Dad. Are you going to tell it to me now?" He felt his heart beat a little faster. He had already faced Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange in battle last year, and had regretted his lack of intimate knowledge about the way they fought, the spells he could expect them to use, then. It looked as if he were finally going to get that information. If he faced them again in battle—and eventually, he thought he would; eventually, all the Death Eaters would rally to Voldemort's side when he found a way to return—then this would be good to know.
"Yes," James whispered. "It was just after the attack on us, you know. You and Connor were still healing when we received word that the Lestranges had attacked the Longbottoms and tortured poor Frank and Alice into insanity. Or maybe I should say that Bellatrix did that," he added, with a little twist to his mouth. "Rodolphus was never as dangerous as she was.
"The Aurors nearly captured them when they left the Longbottoms' house, but they managed to Apparate away, and they couldn't trace them. They turned to me, because they knew that Bellatrix was a Black, and I was Sirius's friend and had some knowledge of Black family homes where they might be hiding."
"Why didn't they send Sirius?" asked Harry.
James closed his eyes and let out his breath for a long moment. "That was—two days after the attack," he said. "And Peter's betrayal hit Sirius hardest of all. He was in the Ministry when they interrogated Peter. I don't think he slept for three more days after that. He had to hear every last detail, every last confession.
"Well, I didn't. But I wanted—I wanted to kill something, hurt someone. We'd come so close to losing both of you." His hand came out and rested tightly on Harry's shoulder for a second. "The Aurors gave me a purpose and a reason to go looking. When I heard about what had happened to Frank and Alice, I was even angrier. Neville lived, but he could have died. He was in that much danger. And what if we'd been in the house when Voldemort attacked, Harry? He would have killed us, too. You would have been left orphaned. Neville's situation could so easily have been your own. I wanted Bellatrix squirming and screaming at the end of my wand. It was the one time in my life I think I was ready to perform the Cruciatus.
"I Apparated to a family home that Sirius told me about, a little cottage in the woods where he and his cousins used to spend the summer together. No one was there, but I found signs that someone had been, and a message in a code that Sirius taught me to read. It directed Rodolphus's brother Rabastan, and anyone else who could read it, to follow the Lestranges to another safehouse. And this safehouse was one I knew well, since it was Sirius's home when he was a child."
"Grimmauld Place," Harry whispered, remembering the stories that Sirius had told him.
James nodded slightly. He still hadn't opened his eyes. "Yes. So I Apparated there. I was able to get most of the way into the house before they noticed me. They'd been expecting company, you see, but of the Death Eater kind, and they were supremely confident that no one else could have found them.
"I dropped Rodolphus while he was still fumbling for his wand. And then I faced Bellatrix." James squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, as though to prevent the fall of tears. "And we fought, Harry. I'd never been that angry. I'd never wanted to kill someone so much.
"But Bellatrix is a powerful witch—"
Harry shivered in remembrance of the curses she'd cast at him, and nodded.
"And she'd had a lot more practice at that kind of hatred than I had. She fought me to a standstill, and got me to the point where I thought I couldn't throw another hex. She laughed at me, and even that wasn't enough to give me extra strength in my wand hand, though it would have been when we were still in school.
"And then she said—she said, 'It should have been me going after your sons, Potter, and would have been if Wormtail were a bit smarter. I wish it had been. I enjoy the way that babies scream under the Crucio.'"
Harry found he could envision it well: Bellatrix standing there and taunting his father, James with his head bowed but eyes suddenly full of fire as he listened to the Death Eater.
"What did you do?" Harry whispered.
"I held her under Crucio for ten minutes," James responded.
Harry could not help it; he gave a massive shudder, and then raised his head and stared at his father in disbelief. James was gentle. Oh, it wasn't the same kind of gentleness as Remus's—he would yell and punish if he had to—but it wasn't their mother's sternness, either. He was the one who would rather laugh off mistakes than scold for them. And Harry had never seen him use a curse, only hexes and jinxes on Sirius, who could return as good as he got.
"What?" Harry said at last.
"Yes," James said. His face had a very strange smile on it. Harry found that he didn't like it very much. "I did one of the things she probably did to Frank and Alice—though knowing her, she varied the timing of the curse and the intensity of it, so as to break them. But I think I might have driven her partially insane before she ever went to Azkaban."
He shifted closer to Harry, eyes still shut. "After I brought them both in, I gave up my position as an Auror. Part of it was necessity, and that was what I told Sirius and Remus when they asked. We had to stay hidden behind the isolation wars while we raised you. If the Death Eaters—excuse me, former Death Eaters—knew where we were, they would have spared no effort at that point to destroy your brother. Better to stay close to home, and only venture out to Diagon Alley or elsewhere when we absolutely had to."
"But that wasn't all of it," said Harry, not having to ask. He knew, now.
"No," said James. "I'd found something in myself that disgusted me. I never knew I could torture someone like that. I couldn't believe that, after I did it, I wanted to do it again. I was still shaking with the urge to make Bellatrix suffer when I handed her over to Alastor Moody. And the power that filled me, Harry, the power was its own temptation. I knew, then, what kind of magic my grandparents had given up when they decided to ignore some of the older pureblood customs and dedicate the Potter line to the Light permanently. It was Dark power. All purebloods feel it to a certain extent. It's the power that can most stir up magic, can make it flow through you so that you feel like you can do anything."
Harry closed his eyes and sat perfectly still for a long moment, remembering the magic that had answered him when he fought Riddle in December.
"The way the older purebloods lived, the dances and the marriages and all the rest of it, made that power grow," James whispered on, his voice like water murmuring in the darkness. "It was a way of sculpting terrifying wizards. They pruned all the ones who couldn't control themselves, and that's the part most people don't understand; they only see the exile of Squibs and the scorning of those wizards with average or lesser power. But they got rid of powerful dunderheads, too, and those who just didn't fit. Rodolphus wouldn't be alive if the Lestranges had followed all the old customs, and that Sirius survived being born a Black is a miracle. Bellatrix would be alive in that kind of world, though, and Lucius Malfoy. That's the world I looked into when I tortured her. It's the world that my grandparents gave up."
For a long moment, he sat there and simply breathed. Harry put out his hand, and felt his father's heart beneath his fingers, beating as fast as that of the rabbit Sylarana had called him.
The rabbit has fangs, said Sylarana in his head, subdued. I am willing to grant him that.
James opened his eyes, finally, and fixed Harry with his gaze. "And it's the kind of world that you would have fallen into, that your mother and I are afraid you would have fallen into, if she hadn't taught you dedication to your brother," he said. "The dances wouldn't have been enough, not if you just learned them by themselves. They're designed to channel power, but for selfish benefit." He grimaced for a moment. "It's not an accident that so many of the powerful pureblood families went into Slytherin House year after year, you know."
Harry bowed his head. 'And so, when I was Sorted into Slytherin, you thought—"
"Your mother was frantic," said James quietly. "I didn't know about your training then. But she feared for a little while that all her efforts had been for nothing, that you were going to be that kind of terrifying wizard.
"We see now that you aren't, that your dedication to your brother is intact."
Harry nodded, and felt a bright, warm glow fill his heart. He was glad that his parents could see that. He would have persevered whether or not anyone else believed in him, because he believed in himself, but it was nice to have company on a road so lonely.
"And now she's told me everything," said James. "I didn't understand at first. I even cursed her, if you can imagine that." He smiled slightly and shook his head. "But she made me remember what I felt when I captured the Lestranges. I'm not as strong as you are, Harry, and I'd been trained since I was born to resist temptation, to bow to the Light, and to be a Gryffindor. And I still gave in, even if it was only for ten minutes."
He leaned forward and picked Harry up, cradling him against his chest. "You're stronger than I ever was, son," he whispered. "It is absolutely essential that you never feel what I did, the temptation to make someone suffer like that." He kissed the top of Harry's head. "I never want you to be able to cast Crucio. You have to want to cause someone else pain to do that."
"And a more powerful wizard would have more of a temptation to do it," Harry whispered, thinking again of Snape, the raw magic he could feel shifting and snapping under the wizard's tight control. Oh, Snape controlled it, but it was only too obvious that his shields weren't the trained ones that Harry had, or the ones based on the dance and pureblood custom that Draco did. These were reflexive shields, born of wariness and experience with that power flowing unchecked before Snape finally dammed it. Harry pitied him, and wouldn't have wanted to be like him for anything in the world.
"Oh, yes," James whispered. "And since so many powerful wizards were born to the pureblood families, and they were taught to control themselves in such a way as gave priority to their families, and damn anything else…"
He wrapped his arms more tightly around Harry. "I know Remus probably thinks that we've done the same thing, warping you only to obey your own family exclusively. But it's the way that Lily chose to control your power, Harry, the best guide she could give you. And even then, she's sometimes afraid it wasn't enough. When you fight with Connor, for example."
"I might fight with him sometimes," said Harry firmly, "but only because I want him to succeed. I would never want to be Minister of Magic or something while he was just an ordinary wizard."
James nodded. "She's finally coming to that conclusion. And Dumbledore will help Remus come to the same conclusion, I'm sure."
He laid Harry gently back in the bed, and hovered over him. Harry looked up at his dad, and managed a small smile.
"I'm so sorry that it took me this long to notice," whispered James, trailing a hand over Harry's forehead. "Lily didn't think I could be trusted for a long time. And I probably couldn't. I just wanted to retreat after what I'd done to the Lestranges. I wanted the perfect family life. I didn't want any reminders of the outside world disturbing us. So she and you handled the outside world, and Connor and I grew used to living behind the isolation wards and not thinking of anything but our family."
"And now?" Harry whispered. "You don't hate me or anything, do you?"
"Of course not!" said James, sounding shocked. "I love you. I'm sorry that you were born into this burden, Harry. I can wish you'd been born with less magic, or that you had been Sorted into Gryffindor, so that you could be surrounded by people who are dedicated to the Light and control their power in a different way, instead of purebloods dancing their dance. But I know neither of those things can come true. So this is the best compromise. And the moment Lily managed to make me see what I had in common with you, that she'd been trying to prevent an experience like my torturing the Lestranges ever happening to you, then I understood." He sighed. "I only wish Remus had had an experience like that."
"But he's a werewolf," said Harry. "He has to try and keep that part of himself under control. Couldn't you use that to convince him?"
"No," said James quietly. "That's what we were arguing about before he tried to abduct you, in fact. He doesn't understand why, if Sirius and I trained ourselves into Animagi during the school years just to be with him, we couldn't compromise with your power too." He shrugged. "He thinks we're afraid of you, so much so that we bent and clamped down on you and twisted you into some foreign shape, instead of acknowledging your magic and just hoping for the best."
"But just hoping for the best would have been stupid," Harry pointed out. "It would have been leaving too many things up to chance." He felt a bit sorry for Remus. He clearly didn't understand the devastation that Harry's magic could wreak if it ever got out of control.
"I know," said James. "But we'll let Dumbledore convince him." He studied Harry for a moment, his face pensive. "Are there any other questions you have?"
"No. But I'm really glad you know, now," said Harry, leaning back against his pillow and smiling sleepily at his father.
James smiled, bent, kissed him on the forehead, and then left the bedroom, shutting the door gently behind him.
They are afraid of you, said Sylarana. And they should have hoped for the best.
"Why?" Harry asked, returning to the soup. "What if I'd been the kind of child to get angry at Connor for stealing my toys, and my magic had exploded and really hurt him?"
Sylarana did not have an answer to that, as Harry had expected. He finished the soup and went to sleep.
"Harry! Harry! Remus is here!"
Harry looked up anxiously as Connor leaped up from reading the latest Mad Muggle comic and dashed for the door. Remus was ducking in, and he picked up Connor and swung him around, laughing as his brother laughed.
Harry studied Remus's face as he came nearer, but though Remus smiled at him absently and embraced him, he didn't seem inclined to stay and talk. Harry bit his lip, debated on the ethics of it a moment, and then decided he had to know.
"Legilimens," he whispered, with a flick of his wand, and pushed gently into Remus's mind.
He saw Remus arriving at the school three days ago, having a cup of tea with Dumbledore, staying at Hogwarts to talk with the professors for a time—including Snape, on the progress of the Wolfsbane Potion—and then leaving again. Harry blinked and pushed back a little further.
He could find no memory of a visit to Godric's Hollow.
Harry understood, then. Dumbledore had Obliviated Remus.
He sighed and fell back into his own head, which was beginning to ache, and Remus glanced at him curiously, mildly. Harry smiled at him, sad that there hadn't been any other option. Of course, this had kept the Marauders' friendship from cracking completely, which meant it was the best course.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Remus asked.
Harry shook his head, and Sirius came into the room just then, shouting "Moony!" and tacking him. Remus laughed and began teasing Sirius about which one of the female Hogwarts professors he'd been having an affair with.
Harry went back to his book. It wasn't the ideal solution, of course not, but it was something that had to be done.
Liar.
That could have been any one of the voices in his head. Harry wasn't going to bother figuring out which one. He knew the truth, knew what was really important, and was sorry for what truths and ethics had to fall between the cracks. That was just the way it was. That was the way he had to live.