I'm very, very happy that readers liked the last two chapters so much. Thank you! Review responses on LJ later.
This is the last proper chapter of Year 2; there will be an interlude also posted today, and then Year 2 ends. Year 3, Comes Out of Darkness Morn, begins on Friday. Look for me then!
Chapter Thirty-One: The Boy-Who-SurvivedSnape hadn't gone far towards the school when he heard footsteps pounding behind him. Curious, he glanced back. He wondered if Hagrid had come out of his hut to check on the damage to the Forbidden Forest. If he had, then Snape would make him useful and send him to Madam Pomfrey so that she could have a bed ready for Harry.
His perspective altered dramatically when he realized that the two figures running towards him were a wizard and witch—in fact, a wizard and witch he knew, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They must have Apparated as close as they could to Hogwarts and run the rest of the way. Snape narrowed his eyes and waited for them, gently shifting Harry against his chest when he moaned.
Narcissa was the first to reach him, her hair trailing behind her like a cloud of moonlight. "Severus," she said, barely taking the time to nod to him. "The wards on the Manor sensed—magic from Wiltshire." Even here, Snape thought, she was not going to say aloud that those wards were tuned to strong Dark magic, perhaps more keenly than any others in Britain, and could identify where it was coming from. "Has something happened to our son?"
Snape said, "In a sense." Narcissa's face tightened so much that he hastened to reassure her. "Not to him, but to someone he values very much." He shifted so that she could see Harry lying against his chest. He did not think that he needed to explain. It would take too long to probe all the details of what had happened anyway, and she would be able to sense the power rolling off the boy.
"Ah, no," said Narcissa softly.
Snape stared at her. She did not look quite as stressed as she had when she assumed Draco was hurt, but it was close. She put out a trembling hand to stroke the hair back from Harry's forehead, and Snape was so astonished that he let her. Narcissa winced at the sight of the red, silver-limned lightning bolt scar.
"I know that my son values him," she explained, without looking away from Harry. "He is nearly all that Draco talked about this summer. And I have reason to suspect that he is a more suitable friend for Draco than most." She lifted her eyes to Snape's. "Please, tell me what happened."
He would have, but Lucius came close then and said something unfortunate.
"It had something to do with the rising of our Lord, I thought," he said, with a gesture to his left arm, ignoring his wife's sharp glance. "And now I am here, and there is no risen Dark Lord." He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowed and filled with some complicated, cold emotion. "I am disappointed."
That was, perhaps, the most stupid thing he could have said.
Snape's rage was still very near the surface. And angering him had been known among the Death Eaters as a tactical error. Only Bellatrix Lestrange was worse, and Bellatrix was often too angry to take any coherent revenge. Snape never was.
He didn't need his wand, which was a good thing, as getting it would have meant shifting his arms from under Harry. He merely focused on Lucius and breathed, "Sectumsempra."
The spell had barely flown before a voice from the general vicinity of his chest shouted, "Protego!"
Snape's spell hit the misty shield that had formed in front of Lucius, and Snape barely ducked aside in time as it came back at him. He watched it fly past, and endured regret—both that he hadn't managed to hit his intended target, and that Harry gave a little shudder and moan after protecting Lucius, the effort of actually using his magic still too much for him.
Snape moved so that he could see Harry's face, and snarled, "Why did you do that?"
Harry glared back at him, as much as he could glare when he looked weary to the bone. "Because," he said, "he's Draco's father. That means I value him. And honestly, he said that to test you. That was part of the dance." He rolled his neck, slowly, so that he could see Lucius. "I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy," he said formally. "That spell was launched to protect me, and I am the one who must ask that you forgive its use. Do you?"
Lucius was frozen. Snape felt a self-congratulatory smirk spreading across his face despite the mistake that Harry said he'd made (and damn purebloods, anyway, with their dances and their games). At least events had moved so fast that Malfoy hadn't been able to keep up with them, either.
Lucius gave a deep, choked cough, as though the Sectumsempra had actually hit him after all, and then nodded. "Of course, Mr. Potter," he said. "And I ask that you forgive my…callous remark." His eyes landed on Snape again, and this time they had the proper wariness in them. "I had not known that you had such a fierce protector."
Snape decided there might be mockery in those words. If so, he was determined to ignore it. He simply nodded and then turned back towards the school, Harry cradled more closely against his chest than ever. He was going to put him in the hospital wing, instruct Pomfrey to let no one near him except Draco, and then go to Dumbledore. There were some things that needed to be said.
To his surprise, both Malfoys walked behind him. Snape met Narcissa's gaze, and only Narcissa's. "Draco is safe, I said," he murmured.
"I know," said Narcissa softly. "And I would still like to know what happened. I know you, Severus. Why did you become so angry at Lucius when he talked of the Dark Lord's return?"
This, at least, Snape thought, Harry cannot cast a spell to interfere with. "Because your husband is the reason that Harry is like this," he said, and had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen. "He gave him a diary at the beginning of the year that turned out to contain a piece of the Dark Lord's memory. It possessed Harry and destroyed a good portion of his mental defenses. And now Harry's mind is ripped to pieces by that and the destruction of his familiar, who was bonded to his mind. You can see why I would not be in the best of moods around Lucius."
The rage was still there, but he could contain it, and even better was watching Narcissa turn around, standing like a wall between Snape and her husband, and draw her wand. Lucius stopped walking, a look of utter bafflement on his face.
"Narcissa—"
"Silencio," Narcissa said, and Lucius's mouth refused to work. Narcissa went on without a pause. "Lucius Abraxas Malfoy," she said, very slowly. "Did you think that you could hurt someone who is dear to my son and not have me find out?"
Lucius just stared at her.
Narcissa moved a step forward. "You knew," she hissed, with a viciousness in her voice that Snape thought would have done credit to Harry's snake. "You knew that Draco needs him, and you still tried to destroy him."
Lucius made some gesture that Snape knew would attempt an explanation—probably trying to say that he had not known the diary contained a fragment of the Dark Lord at first. From the look on Narcissa's face, it wouldn't have been enough even if he could say it. Snape watched in glee.
"If what I suspect will happen now happens," said Narcissa, her voice gone smooth and dark, "then I will make sure he is safe from you, Lucius. And if that means that Draco and I must leave the Manor for the summer, so be it." She glared at her husband for a long moment, all poised, cold beauty. "I am disgusted with you," she added, and turned towards Snape, holding her arms out for Harry.
Snape hesitated briefly, then handed the boy over. "He needs to be taken to the hospital wing immediately, Narcissa."
"I am not an idiot, Severus," she said. "Unlike some people standing on this lawn," she added, and swept away.
Lucius must have managed the nonverbal counterspell, as he gasped out, "What does she think she's doing?"
"Choosing her loyalties," Snape told him, and then turned away to find Dumbledore and do the same thing.
"Come in, Severus."
Snape determined not to be put off by the fact that Dumbledore had known it was him before he knocked on the door to the Headmaster's office. He opened the door instead, stepped inside, shut it behind him, and fixed his gaze on Dumbledore.
How can he look so normal? he thought, when Dumbledore merely returned his gaze blandly. Does he know what news I bear with me? Does he know what I have discovered? I would think not, and yet… I have been fooled before.
Snape called gladly on his rage again. He was not trying to match magic with the Headmaster, and there was no Harry to interfere this time. He narrowed his eyes and drawled, "How long did you think this could continue before I discovered the truth, Albus?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about, Severus," said the Headmaster cheerfully. "I'm not omniscient, you know. Sherbet lemon?"
Snape shook his head. He didn't take a seat, either, even though Dumbledore was clearly looking between him and the nearest chair. "I've seen the web that you put in Harry's mind," he said. "I know that you had something to do with suppressing his magic and changing the course of his thoughts. Did you really think that no one would ever find out?"
Dumbledore sighed. "Ah, yes. The web was necessary, Severus." He sat back and met Snape's gaze calmly, as if he really thought that would be all.
"Necessary," Snape echoed. "Just as his training in wandless magic was necessary, I suppose, and his blind devotion to his brother, and the utter shattering of his mind that he's experienced now?"
Dumbledore's face changed. "I had assumed that young Harry's familiar would stabilize him," he murmured.
"His snake is dead, Albus!" Snape slammed a palm into the middle of the Headmaster's desk. "She died in that Chamber! And don't think for a moment that I'm accepting Connor Potter's story as the real one. He believes it, yes," he added, as Dumbledore opened his mouth. "That does not make it true. And I will no longer stand back and allow that kind of truth to obscure my mind. I was the one who stabilized Harry, Albus. I was the one who discovered the truth about what you've done to him, and about what your precious Gryffindors have done to him." He was breathing hard by the end of it, his magic sparking and snapping at its shields. "Give me one good reason that I should not take this to the Ministry and see you sacked for condoning and enhancing the abuse of a helpless child."
Dumbledore's face was stern. "I had faith in your skills as a researcher, Severus," he said. "It seems that I overestimated them."
Snape simply stared at him, and waited.
"If you had studied the phoenix web," Dumbledore continued, "you would have found that not only is it Light magic, but it must be accepted willingly. It is not abuse, and it is not illegal. I could never have placed the web in Harry's mind unless he had agreed to it. He chose to become what he is, Severus, and it is our choices that make us who we truly are. In this case, it is sacrifice for his brother. That is Harry's role, the one chosen for him by the prophecy and his parents, but also by his own will. I fear that you have severely underestimated the depth of Harry's commitment to Connor. I am disappointed in you, Severus." Dumbledore's eyes shone with that disappointment, which might have nearly broken Snape an hour ago.
Snape straightened his back. That was an hour ago. And if it isn't as simple as showing the web to the Ministry and demanding they do something…well, I never thought it would be. He ignored the slight, sour taste of his own disappointment, and forged ahead.
"He cannot truly have known what he was agreeing to when you placed the web, Albus. How old was he? Six? Seven?"
"He was four," said Dumbledore quietly. "And he did know. By that age, his mother had already taught him his vows, and about the danger that Voldemort presents to his brother."
Snape shook his head. He wanted to say something, but his disgust and his rage were holding him silent for now. His magic reached out instead, and one of the odd silver instruments on a shelf behind Dumbledore exploded with a spang.
Dumbledore glanced at it, then turned his calm gaze back to Snape. "Do control yourself, Severus," he scolded.
Snape controlled himself with a massive effort. He was obviously not going to convince Dumbledore that he was wrong. He bowed his head slightly. "And you are determined to persist in this?" he asked. "The web has caused damage to Harry's mind, giving him headaches when he tried to tell me—something that you had done." He was not sure it was the best course to reveal that he knew Dumbledore had Obliviated Lupin. "It was badly damaged by the wounds in Harry's mind, and by the death of his snake, since she was involved in it as she was in every other turn and twist of his thoughts. It has served its purpose. Surely you could remove it now."
"That would not be the best course," said Dumbledore. "I have made tests, Severus, to see if perhaps Harry would be trustworthy without the web. None of them have proven so."
"Trustworthy for what?" Snape sneered. "Trustworthy to trot across a battlefield and lay his head on the chopping block?"
"Severus," Dumbledore chided him.
Snape once again stared at him, and waited for an answer.
Dumbledore nodded to the Sword of Gryffindor, still laid across his desk. "I tested Harry with the Sword. It burned him. It was reacting to the potential in him to become like Voldemort. I cannot be sure that Harry, free of the web, would still continue to act in the name of the Light and goodness."
Snape braced himself, then reached out his left hand and gripped the sword's hilt. He snatched it back at once, and showed Dumbledore the reddened blister in the center of his palm. "You know well enough that the Sword reacts to the presence of Dark magic in another wizard," he snarled. "That is not a final test, Albus."
"There have been others." Dumbledore's face was gentle, but implacable. "I sent Fawkes with the Sword to help anyone in the Chamber who might need it, the moment Minerva informed me of what had happened. You heard young Connor's story. He used the Sword to kill the basilisk, and Fawkes healed him of his poisoned wound."
"Then why do you think Harry's magic was loose in him, if that is all that happened?" Snape said. He was beginning to get a headache. He had hoped for—something from Dumbledore. Some concession, some sign of remorse, some sigh of grief. He had not expected to meet this wall of quiet stubbornness. "I know that you felt what was happening to his mind. You practically sent me after him!"
"It was the presence of Riddle that caused him to react that way," said Dumbledore, firmly. "And I sent you after him because I knew that you could, and would, choose to save him, Severus. I assume that his magic is now under control?"
"Barely," said Snape, forcing out the words that he needed to speak and not the ones that he wanted to use. Well, the best expression of my feelings right now would be a wordless scream. "He needs quiet and privacy for the summer. He asked me to make sure he would not have to stay with his parents, because he is afraid that he would kill them." He saw Dumbledore's brows draw down, and suspected that he had just chalked another black mark against Harry on the old wizard's slate. He hardly cared. "I was planning to take him to Spinner's End with me."
Dumbledore was already shaking his head. "You know that your wards are not strong enough to contain magic like his, Severus. If it burst free… And, forgive me, Severus, but you are not anyone's first choice for the caretaker of a child."
Snape clenched his hands into fists. He would not bother addressing Dumbledore's second accusation, but the first was true enough, and something he had not thought of. Spinner's End was not deep-warded, because Snape only lived there two months of the year, and because it was not a hereditary home. If Harry created another storm, he did not think he would be able to hold or hide it.
And then Snape thought of another solution, and smiled unpleasantly.
"Harry will go to Godric's Hollow for the summer," Dumbledore continued, unaware of Snape's private elation. "I am sure they will treat him well, since his life was in danger in the Chamber, or else they will respect his privacy because of the Fugitivus Animus spell. Yes, I felt him cast that, and admired the touch," he added to Snape's raised eyebrows. "Either way, he will have the family around him, and powerful wards."
"I am not a parent," said Snape casually. "And my wards are not powerful enough." He took a deep breath and tried out another smile that he hoped was less unpleasant than his first one. "But I know a set of parents whose wards are the most powerful in Britain, easily able to contain Dark magic of the kind that Harry wields by nature. And they would be more than happy to take Harry."
Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. Give the old man credit for that, Snape thought, in the middle of emotions that wanted to become laughter. He has always been quick.
"Harry's parents would never agree to let him go to Malfoy Manor," said Dumbledore quietly.
"Under the Fugitivus Animus spell? They will not care." Snape shrugged carelessly. "And Narcissa Malfoy is already here, Headmaster. If you believe that you can take her from Harry's side now, with Draco there and Harry so important to her son, then you are a better wizard than I am."
Dumbledore sat quite still for a long moment. Then he said, "Severus, you do not understand a great many of the choices I have made."
"Nor do I want to," said Snape, making his voice as cool and polite as possible. "But I understand what even half-understood truths can do. Try to remove that spell from the Potters, Headmaster, or try to remove Harry from the Malfoys before he is ready, and I will go to the Ministry. It will take only a few words in the right ears to stir suspicion of you." He braced himself and waited.
Dumbledore's eyes came to him, shining and sad. "Why have you turned against me, Severus?" he whispered. "I have—"
"Done me good, yes," said Snape, not in the mood to hear it. "And done Harry evil. You forget, Headmaster. I am a Slytherin. I know Dark magic intimately. Whether it is Dark in name or not, I recognize the consequences, and I will be more than happy to spread the knowledge I have obtained—unless you make this bargain with me."
He waited. Dumbledore waited. Snape thought they both wanted some sort of invisible balance to tip, some way of yielding without losing face. He wondered if Dumbledore would try to Obliviate him, but suspected that he would have done so already if he were going to.
In the end, it was Dumbledore who gave in, and Snape suspected he did only because he still needed Harry for his thrice-damned prophecy. He looked away and waved a hand. "In the end," he said, "you will see that things are falling out as they must."
Snape turned towards the door without answering. He suspected the Malfoys would already have made their own decision, but he wanted to see and speak with them.
And if he had anything more to say to Dumbledore, he did not know what it could be.
It was only when he stepped out of the office that he realized Fawkes had not been on his perch in the corner.
It was like a fever dream.
The first time Harry opened his eyes, it was to become aware of someone clinging to him like a limpet as he lay in a bed in the hospital wing, and that someone was Draco.
Or maybe it's not like a limpet. Maybe it's like a shark and remora. I'm a shark, aren't I, capable of destroying?
Harry gave a giggle. He sounded drunken.
"Harry's awake," said Draco, in what might have been an address to himself, or his mother, who hovered nearby, or the universe in general, and then snuggled into Harry's shoulder and refused to move.
Harry managed to sit up and fix his eyes on Narcissa Malfoy, who gave him the faint, cool smile that he remembered from last Christmas. Her eyes were much warmer, though. Harry told himself to concentrate on that, and not the faint aura of Dark magic he could see rising from her like a black flame.
"Harry," she murmured. "Draco has decided that you should stay with us for the summer. That is," she added, with a gentle glance at her son, "Draco has refused to leave Hogwarts unless we let you come with us to the Manor. And since I have no desire to leave either my son or my son's best friend here under the control of people who have proved—less than the best caretakers—" Harry caught his breath at the cold rage in her eyes "—I have opened my home to you, if you will be so gracious as to accept our invitation." Her eyes came back to him, and her smile warmed. "Will you accept?"
"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry managed to say awkwardly, "are you sure that you want me there, after Professor Snape attacked your husband?"
"Do not be ignorant, Harry," Narcissa chided him gently, and Harry felt himself flush. Ignorance was not an acceptable part of the dance. "You saved my husband's life, or at least his chest, this evening." She tilted her head, and her eyes were diamonds. "And I have since found out that my husband did—certain unfortunate things to you. In fact, we should offer you the hospitality of the Manor in abject humility, as you would have every reason in the world not to accept. I will personally take it upon myself to see that my husband does not harm you while you are there."
"And me," said Draco, tightening his hold on Harry's arm until Harry thought he might have cut off the circulation. "He's never going to hurt you again, Harry. Never." He lifted his face, and he was smiling, but Harry wasn't fooled. Draco never gave up when he was holding his head like that.
Harry thought for a moment of raising all the potential problems with that. He thought of cautioning Draco that Harry might someday become the Malfoys' enemy, and then it would not be Lucius's or Snape's fault that they were at odds. He thought of saying that he did not deserve this hospitality. He thought of saying his Dark magic might destroy them all.
But he could not. He needed this too much. He would warn them about his magic, but he could not refuse their invitation.
"Thank you," he murmured, and saw Draco's face light and Narcissa's become softer. "But—Mrs. Malfoy, my magic—"
"We felt it," Narcissa interrupted him, calmly. "The Manor has wards for a reason, Harry. You will be safe there."
Harry licked his lips. "You do not think I will present a danger to you?"
"I would never invite anyone into my home who I thought posed a danger to my son," said Narcissa.
Harry nodded, slowly, never taking his eyes from her face. He believed that. Draco might protest that he was safe with Harry in total ignorance of the situation, and Merlin alone knew what kinds of games Lucius was playing, but he could trust Narcissa.
Abruptly, the world filled with a drifting golden haze, and Harry felt his thoughts and magic rise like fire, trying to send him to sleep. He yawned, and Narcissa reached out and gently touched Draco's shoulder.
"I think we should let Harry sleep now," she said.
Draco turned around to glare sulkily at his mother. "But—"
"Draco," said Narcissa, in that way she had, and that was that.
Draco sulked a bit, then put a hand on Harry's forehead. "I'll see you soon," he whispered, and Harry, lost somewhere beyond the gold, nodded.
The Malfoys headed towards the entrance of the hospital wing. Harry watched their blurring figures for a moment before his awareness shattered on the sharp edges of reality as if he were falling down stairs, and he fell asleep.
Like another fever dream:
Harry woke to a croon he had reason to know, and a high-pitched voice attempting desperately to keep to a whisper that he recognized after a moment.
"Harry Potter? Is Harry Potter awake?"
Harry shifted and moved until he found a comfortable position for his aching head, then opened his eyes. A pair of brilliant black eyes met his. Fawkes sat on the edge of his bed, and crooned again as Harry looked back at him. Then a house elf moved into view. It took Harry another moment to connect Dobby with the voice that had whispered to him, because the elf wasn't wringing his hands or pinching his ears. His face was calm and intent.
"Harry Potter is awake," he whispered. "Dobby is glad."
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked softly. "Did you hear the Malfoys discuss taking me home for the summer?"
Dobby nodded. "Dobby's masters will say that Dobby is a bad elf," he said, still whispering. "But Dobby will protect Harry Potter. Dobby works in the Manor. If Lucius Malfoy tries to attack Harry Potter, Dobby will not let him."
Harry experienced a brief and entirely unexpected stab of pity for Lucius.
He did move past it, though, when Fawkes trilled at him and moved closer, nudging at his shoulder with his head. Hesitantly, Harry lifted his hand and scratched the phoenix's neck. Fawkes crooned again, and blinked slowly, like an owl.
"Fawkes says that Harry Potter is on the road," whispered Dobby. "Harry Potter is beginning."
Harry felt his jaw gape slightly. "You can understand what he says?"
Dobby eyed him. "All house elves understand phoenixes, Harry Potter, and all phoenixes understand house elves."
"I never knew that," Harry muttered.
"Harry Potter has never asked Dobby," Dobby said simply. He listened as Fawkes uttered a stream of notes, then smiled. Harry didn't know what to make of that smile. It was intent and dreamy, as though Dobby saw something in the future that he truly enjoyed. "Fawkes says that Harry Potter is on the road to being a vates," he said.
"What is that?" Harry tried to force his aching brain to work. He knew the word, he knew that, but he didn't know what it meant right now.
"All of us know," said Dobby, instead of answering. "All the magical creatures know. House elves, phoenixes, centaurs, unicorns, dragons." He shuddered convulsively as he spoke the last word. "We know what might happen. No prophecies, no destiny, no masters. What might happen, if it is chosen. We wait, and we hope."
Harry felt his eyes drifting shut again, despite his desire to keep them open. "Is that why Fawkes helped me?" he murmured.
Dobby's answer was nearly lost between the planes of sleep, but Harry managed to hear it. "Not all of it, Harry Potter. Some of it is because he likes you." A pause. "And because he is sorry."
And a third dream, or occurrence, or odd meeting that Harry would not have imagined for himself:
He found himself abruptly awake, staring straight up at the ceiling, but with the consciousness that there was someone at his bedside. He turned his head, and saw Connor asleep in a chair, his arms piled on Harry's bed and his head resting on top of them.
Harry watched his brother for a moment. Connor's dark hair was ruffled as though with wind, and the sound of his breathing was soft with dreaming. Harry reached out a shaky hand and touched his shoulder.
Connor jerked up, blinked, then oriented himself. They stared at each other.
Harry was the first to look away. He'd seen the first cracks of childhood in his brother's hazel eyes. Connor had started to grow up. He'd seen horrible things in the Chamber, nearly died there—both in reality and in his altered memories—and survived. He knew about his compulsion ability now. And he was free of Riddle's possession, probably for the first time since Harry had sent the madman from his own mind.
"Harry," Connor whispered, as if reading his thoughts. "I—I had Riddle in my head. I understand more about you now."
Harry turned back. Connor met his gaze and gave him a thin, tremulous smile. Harry let out a harsh breath. "Was all of it him?" he asked. "I mean—were you trying to compel Hermione because of him, and did you argue with me because of him, and did you act strangely because of him?"
Connor nodded slowly. "A lot of it. But the compulsion ability is mine. And he had to let me out to deal with you in our conversation after Valentine's Day. He has no clue how to confront love, Harry, no clue at all." He smiled grimly, fleetingly. "I understand him so much better now." His smile dropped away, and he trained his eyes on Harry's face. "Some of the things you said during that conversation convinced him that you suspected he was there, so he did draw back and let me act more naturally in the months since then. But I—I could always feel him." His hand drifted up to his scar. "Such slime, Harry, such filth. How did you stand it?"
"Pretty much the same way you did, I imagine," said Harry, and heard his voice crack down the middle. "I survived."
Connor caught his gaze, and his eyes were wild and fierce and bright. Harry had never seen his brother look that way. He felt the shards of his heart stir, just a little.
"Yeah," said Connor quietly. "We did, didn't we?" He stood up abruptly, and reached across the bed, and put his arms around Harry. Harry turned his face into his brother's shoulder, and held on that way.
"I know that something's wrong," Connor whispered to him. "Mum and Dad and Sirius haven't said one word about you since you landed here, not one word. They don't seem to see you when I'm here and they come in. I asked them about you once, and they were on the verge of asking who you were. It's like you moved away a long time ago." He paused. "Did you do that?"
"Yes," Harry whispered, his voice cracking again. "I had to, Connor."
"Shhh, I know," Connor said. His hand moved up and down on Harry's back. "When Mum came near your bed, your magic started spitting around you, and a lightning bolt nearly took her down. I think it's best if you stay apart from all of us a little while." He let out a breath. "I don't think that going with the Malfoys is necessarily the best choice, but it's not my decision. You're leaving today, you know."
"Today?" Harry tried to sit back and see Connor's face, but his brother wouldn't let him. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Nearly two weeks," Connor said. "They canceled our exams with all the excitement, you know. Hermione was moping." Harry could hear the smile in his voice. "Neville and Luna were telling anyone who would listen that you didn't Petrify them, that it was something called Wrackspurts. And they got Smith revived, the prat, and he's been poking me to know when you're going to get better." He paused for a long moment, his hand still. "Do—do you want to attend the Leaving Feast? It's tonight."
"I don't think I could," Harry said honestly, and closed his eyes. He was already tiring again. It was less a physical than a mental tiredness, as though his mind were weary of thinking. "I want to rest, Connor. That's why I'm going to the Malfoys, to rest. You can tell the others—whatever you want."
"I'm going to tell them the truth," Connor whispered back. "That we were both possessed, and you're the bravest person I know." His hands tightened once more on Harry's back. "And don't worry about Dad and Mum and Sirius. I'll figure out what's going on. I promise."
Harry tightened his hold back, and felt the first emotion that wasn't tired in some fashion bubble up inside him. It was fury, and it was cold and dark and could easily build.
If Mum hurt me, she could hurt Connor.
"Write to me," he whispered. "Let me know you're all right. And—and take care of Remus for me?"
"Sure, Harry," Connor said. "Don't worry about it. Take care of yourself."
Harry closed his eyes. The future was coming, and when it got here, he would have to worry about any number of things. There were still the memories to face, and his magic, and the concerns about the Malfoys, and what Dobby had said, and what was going to happen when he finally saw his parents again.
But, for now, he could think about resting, healing, taking some time for himself, and he didn't even have to feel guilty for it.
"Ready, Harry?"
Harry recognized Draco's voice, and drew gently back from Connor. "I'll see you soon," he whispered.
Connor hugged him once more, roughly, and then hopped off the chair and made a beeline for the door. "Malfoy," he said with a cool nod as he passed Draco. Draco just scowled at him. Harry concealed a smile.
Draco turned and looked up at him, eyes brilliant with emotions that Harry supposed he could spend some time exploring. "Ready, Harry?" he repeated.
"Yes," said Harry, and he was, the world stretching clear and crystalline around him suddenly. He looked up and saw Narcissa Malfoy standing in the doorway, ready to carry him if he couldn't walk. "Let's go home."