Glad that so many people liked both chapter and interlude. Thank you for the reviews!
This chapter bothers me in the way that others have not so far. Ah, well. Think of it as practice for the end of the year.
Chapter Thirteen: Padfoot and Moony"Harry?"
Harry hastily folded Starborn's letter and put it in the pocket of his robe as Connor ducked into the Owlery. Harry shook his head and turned back to his task, binding the bundle he'd made around Hedwig's leg as she balanced on her perch. When he was certain it wouldn't fall off, he stepped back and met Hedwig's golden eyes.
"Take this to Lucius Malfoy, girl, please," he said softly.
Hedwig hooted at him, leaned forward to run a piece of his hair through her beak, and then took off, her wings sending up a mist of dust and feathers. Harry sneezed through it, and heard Connor sneezing behind him. Harry smiled. It was a peaceful moment enjoyed with his brother.
It didn't last.
"Harry?" Connor asked, his voice thick with disbelief. "What are you doing sending gifts to Lucius Malfoy, of all people?"
Harry turned to face him. Godric, Connor's black eagle-owl, was trying to get his attention from his perch, but Connor ignored him. His gaze was fixed steadily on Harry, his hazel eyes wide with disbelief and something that looked like betrayal. Harry sighed. He had become accustomed to that look on his brother's face lately.
"Because I'm truce-dancing with him," said Harry simply.
The puzzled expression on Connor's face didn't ease.
Harry muttered under his breath. "Isn't Sirius teaching you anything?" he asked, irritated, as he pushed past Connor and turned towards the stairs. "He said that he would. You need to know about pureblood customs and history and honor in order to make a good leader."
"He's been teaching me in compulsion magic," said Connor, voice gone cold, as he trailed Harry. "I thought you'd be proud of me, Harry. This what I'm supposed to learn. I'm learning to fight, to survive in the war, to be the Boy-Who-Lived. What else do you want me to do?"
Harry turned around and leaned against the wall of the staircase. "Connor, what do you think will happen after the war?"
Connor's face went blank—not the practiced draining of expression that he had lately whenever Harry disagreed with him about Slytherins, but true confusion. "What do you mean? I know we'll win. Sirius told me that Light Lords have always defeated Dark Lords, and that's what he's training me to be, a Light Lord."
Harry stifled a shudder. He had suspected that, but he had a different idea of what the term might mean now, after reading Starborn's letter. "All right, so we win the war. And then what happens?"
Connor said, in the voice of someone still trying to understand what he was thinking about, "Well—I think that we'll put the Death Eaters in Azkaban." Harry held his tongue. His brother really wouldn't understand the contacts that Harry had among the former Death Eaters. "And then we'll heal people who were hurt in the war. And Dumbledore will probably make a speech." He shook his head. "I don't know. What do you think will happen after the war, Harry?"
Harry sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "I think that we'll have a lot of people to heal," he said. "And I think there will be people who resent us for winning. And there will be purebloods on our side, and purebloods who aren't. I think we'll have a lot of work to do, Connor, to put the wizarding world back together again. If you don't know pureblood history and customs, how are you going to do it? You'll have to send someone else to speak to them instead of coming yourself, and that's an insult."
"Harry, you think too much about this kind of thing!" Connor cried, and flung an arm around his shoulders. "Now, come on. Sirius said that you could sit in on my lesson today. Remember?"
Harry managed to hide his flinch. "Yes, right," he said.
He ought to be grateful, he told himself as they hurried down the stairs. He got to spend time with his brother today, and all the other people he could have spent it with—Draco, Flint, Luna, Neville, Zacharias, Justin—had understood, if reluctantly, that a day with his brother was a rare treat.
But Harry had hoped that Connor would want to spend at least part of the day flying or eating or playing a prank. He didn't want to sit and watch as compulsion magic was flung around for a few hours, then have to excuse himself because he was shaking and sick to his stomach with fear and revulsion.
As if reading his mind, Connor asked wistfully, "Harry, isn't there some way that you could become more comfortable with compulsion magic? For my sake? It's not a Dark gift, we know that now—"
"Remus would say it is," Harry interrupted. "You remember how he explained Light and Dark magic at the beginning of the year."
Connor shrugged. "Well, Remus was wrong. Are you going to believe him, or all the books that explain compulsion magic can be a Light gift, as long as the person who has it learns to control it?"
I got in trouble last year for trusting a book, Harry almost said, but stopped himself. Connor knew that all too well. He'd been possessed by Tom Riddle too, after all. "Can I read the book that explains what you are? You know, the goblin one?"
Connor blinked, then smiled. "Of course!" No doubt he was enthralled to see Harry finally interested in more than the disgusting aspect of compulsion magic.
Harry touched the letter in his pocket, and listened to the crinkle of parchment. Now that Starborn had given him an idea of what to look for, Harry really did want to read that book for himself, in the hopes that it would let him understand a little more of Starborn's cryptic natterings.
The goblins of the North have long proclaimed themselves different from the goblins of the South, who have been working and living among wizards since before the Norman Conquest. The goblins of the North, on the other hand, have said that they would respect only a wizard who met a certain set of criteria…
"Very good, Connor!"
Harry blinked and glanced up. Connor and Sirius were across the room in the Shrieking Shack, and Connor had apparently just compelled a rabbit to hop straight into his hand. His brother was laughing in delight, and the rabbit was wildly struggling, fighting no visible pressure on his body.
Harry's breath sped up, and his sight began to spin and narrow to a distant blur. He turned hastily, determinedly, back to Griphook Fishbaggin's book. He could see why it fascinated Connor. It talked a lot about compulsion magic in vague and abstract terms, and mentioned good uses to which it had been put.
But it also praised free will in higher terms, and Harry wondered how that could have escaped his brother. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to see.
That set of criteria has been variously and problematically defined, by both wizards and the goblins themselves. Following is a list of the words and phrases in Gobbledegook, the goblin tongue, that may be taken to refer to such a wizard.
Harry turned the page, and his mouth fell open. Connor hadn't been kidding about the list of terms. Even the simplest had its own explanation, peppered with frequent question marks.
Halark mazkatin. This phrase nominally translates to 'opener of doors,' but it is a puzzle why the goblins would need a second phrase for it, as they have their own word for 'porter.' Also, the doors are supposedly not literal. What does this mean?
Kevnaz. This word simply means 'seer.' At least, so I believed for a long time. However, I have learned that the implication is of a non-goblin seer. (Much as we refer to 'non-human' magical creatures, so the goblins of the North refer to 'non-goblins.') Yet, at the same time, do goblins believe that other species can even have true seers? I had not thought so.
And on and on it went, with Fishbaggin seeming almost as confused as Harry was beginning to be. He heard a throat clearing, and it took that to tear his attention away from the book. Connor stood in front of him, smiling slightly.
"Yes?" Harry asked, when his brother simply went on smiling at him, instead of doing something.
Connor shook his head, grinning. "Just wanted to see how long it would take you to say yes," he said. "Sirius wants to talk to you about something. I'll see you back at Hogwarts, all right?" He bounced towards the entrance to the tunnel that ran under the Whomping Willow and back towards school. Harry gave a bewildered nod to his brother's back, then turned and looked at Sirius.
Sirius sat down on the bed beside Harry and put his head in his hands.
Harry tensed up at once. This was going to be another of the very worst sessions, then, the ones where Sirius cried and shook. Harry had dreaded them ever since the first time they happened, when he first visited the pair. Connor had simply stood in the background, an expression of sympathy on his face, as Sirius sobbed and told Harry how much he meant to him, he was his godson, he meant something to him, didn't he see that? Harry had to respond with awkward apologies and attempts to explain his distance, none of which went over well with Sirius. Since that time, Connor had left them alone when they talked. He claimed, when Harry asked him, that godfather and godson needed time alone.
Harry somewhat doubted that. He, at least, didn't need any time alone with the person Sirius had become, or was becoming.
Somewhat shocked by the bitterness of that thought, he was unprepared for Sirius to lift his head, wipe his eyes, and say, "Your parents sent me a letter, Harry. They've had Aurors questioning them. Aurors! The letter said they had a son called Harry Potter attending Hogwarts, whom they didn't remember, and until an attempt to remove the spell on them worked, he was going to spend his time with a former Death Eater called Severus Snape. The letter said that their son had chosen Snape as his guardian, out of all the choices available."
Harry stared. Sirius had gone from shocky and shaky to furious. His eyes were glowing as they had when he attacked Snape in the Great Hall. His hands were clenched in front of him, and he was breathing fast. Harry felt his magic respond instinctively, pouring through the channels in his body, ready to raise barriers if Sirius attacked him.
"Why?" Sirius whispered. "Why Snape, Harry? Why do you want him? I'm at Hogwarts, and so is Moony. They sent along a copy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's letter. You could have chosen one of us. Why did you pick him?" The last word was a snarl.
Harry bared his teeth. So it's come down to this, then? Fine. He avoided it all summer, even after he knew. There's no reason to avoid it now. "Do you know why I put that spell on my parents, Sirius?"
"What spell, Harry?" Sirius demanded, leaning nearer. His teeth were bared in a dog's warning. "What did you do to them?"
"Fugitivus Animus Amplector," said Harry, as calmly as he could with his godfather so close. He wanted to defend himself, he realized. He wanted to call Protego and keep the Shield Charm between them. He wanted Snape there.
Sirius stared at him, then shook his head. "That's not possible," he said. "The Aurors would have recognized and broken that spell."
Harry laughed. It didn't sound nice. It made Sirius's face crumple a little. "They would have had to use as much power to break the spell as I did in casting it," he said. "And I don't think any Auror is quite that strong, or even two or three of them working in combination."
There. He'd said it, admitted his own power aloud to Sirius for the first time. Let's see how he takes it.
"Harry," Sirius whispered, and the balance in the room tilted crazily, away from anger and back towards sorrow again. "What have you done? What have you become? What's happened to my little godson who used to watch Connor singing about Gryffindor and clap his hands?"
Harry drew in a deep breath. "That wasn't me," he said. "That was—that was your godson. That was who I was, who my parents made me into."
Sirius froze. Then he said, "What are you talking about, Harry? Lily and James never made you sing if you didn't want to."
Harry clenched his fists, rolled off the bed, and stood up. He could feel the air around him chilling, his rage and his power spreading. "You were a Gryffindor, Sirius. Do you have to be such a bloody coward?"
Shocked speechless, Sirius didn't manage to respond before Harry turned and started shouting at him. It felt damn good to shout, Harry realized. The rage around him wasn't exactly turning hot, but it did relax, and seemed less likely to reach out and turn something to ice.
"They hurt me, Sirius! And you knew that, after what my mother told you last year, and you let them do it anyway! They twisted and warped my mind and my magic, bound me and changed me into something I never would have been if not for them! I still don't really know why they did it, except that they needed a protector for Connor, and somehow they decided I'd do! But they should have helped protect him, too! They were the adults. You were the adults. You didn't act like adults, but you were! You should have known! Why the hell didn't you try to get me away from them, Sirius? Why did you treat me as if I'd done something wrong, just because I was Sorted into Slytherin? And now you're on me about choosing Snape for my guardian." Harry tried to laugh. It got caught in his throat. "Did you ever think that maybe I feel safe with him, because he tried to do something to help me, when you didn't do a bloody fucking thing to keep my parents away from me, Sirius? Not one bloody fucking thing!"
Sirius's face was ghost-white by the time Harry finished. It turned as gray as the Dementor's robes in the next instant. He shook his head.
"There are so many things you don't understand," he murmured. "So many things…" He abruptly broke off with a cry, as though someone had hit him, and fell over and huddled on the bed again.
Harry shut his eyes and turned away. There was no satisfaction to be had in yelling at someone so weak, and he could already feel guilt creeping in where the rage had been. Sirius hadn't actually been the one who hurt Harry. That was his parents. But Harry shuddered at the thought of facing them, because whatever he told them would affect his bond with Connor. They were Connor's parents, too.
Do you have to be so selfish?
Harry tilted his head to the side. That sounded like his mother's voice, and it was definitely coming from inside his mind—
Does everything have to revolve around you? Can't you learn that other people have suffered in their lives, too, and that your sufferings don't negate theirs or make them any less?
A flash of light and fire behind his eyes told Harry what this was. The phoenix web was reviving, perhaps stirred by his immense explosion of rage, and reaching out to take what it could of his thoughts.
His mother's voice continued, relentless. So you were trained to play the role of Connor's protector. Does that matter? There was a time when you would have fought everyone else off rather than give up that role. Does that mean that we should apologize for making you what you are, the person Snape and Draco admire? They would never have paid attention to you if you weren't the way you were, if you were just the Boy-Who-Lived's older brother.
Harry shook his head weakly. This couldn't—this wasn't true—
Your magic is only so strong because it was confined. When the confinement wears off, then you'll be back to the strength that you always had. And then you'll want your parents, your godfather, but they'll have turned their backs on you, because you couldn't appreciate what you had while you had it. Do you want to be left all alone? It sounds like you're begging for that.
It sounded more and more like Lily as it went on, complete with the tearful recriminations on the end. Harry had heard her crying like that the few times as a child he tried to refuse his training, saying he was tired. Did he want Connor to die? She'd asked him that. Did he want his brother to lose his life because Harry didn't know how to perform an effective Shield Charm, because he would rather sleep than learn how to defend Connor against curses?
And every time, Harry had picked himself up and gone back to his books. He could be tired later. One of the books had expressed it best, giving part of a speech that a Light Lord defending against a Dark Lord six hundred years ago had spoken, and ending with Rest is for the dead.
Harry felt himself fall to his knees, but dimly. The phoenix web was spreading over his vision now, turning everything into a haze of fire and gold, tightening its hold on his mind. Thoughts that had seemed thinkable a moment ago were becoming less so. Why had he shouted at Sirius? What did it matter that Sirius hadn't confronted his parents about the way they treated him? Harry wouldn't have wanted him to. He would have been upset. And look what happened to Remus when he interfered. He had to become a sacrifice, too, or at least his memories did, for the good of the wizarding world.
You inflict such pain when you protest, pain on others and on your bonds with others. Do you want that? Do you want Connor to look at you with disgust someday? Do you want him to ask you whether you choose the Slytherins or him, and have you hesitate, and have him turn his back on you and the choice be lost forever? He's your brother. Draco is just your friend. How could you do this to him?
Harry cried out in misery, and heard footsteps abruptly hastening up the tunnel that led from the Whomping Willow.
"Harry? Sirius?"
Remus was in the room in the next moment, grabbing Harry and holding him close. Harry leaned his head on Remus's chest and stopped shaking. The phoenix web was retreating, pushed away by the presence of a person who obviously still cherished him, despite his daring to shout and use magic against other people.
Harry closed his eyes and fought to still the racing of his heart. He could feel Sirius and Remus exchanging glances over his head, and then heard them arguing, low-voiced. He could only catch splinters of their conversation through the pain and chaos in his head.
"..didn't have to do that…"
"Snape as a guardian, Moony! Snape…"
"…has reasons…"
"…way of spending more time with us…"
"…what happened…."
"No way we can tell him what happened! No way…"
"Hush, Sirius, I know, I know. Let's ask him." Remus gently reached down and tilted up Harry's chin, until Harry's eyes were level with his. The werewolf gave him an equally gentle smile. "Harry," he said conversationally, "did you know that I can run on full moon nights since I've started taking the Wolfsbane Potion?"
Harry blinked, trying to wrench his thoughts away from the consuming mix of guilt for his own actions and anger against his mother and Dumbledore for placing the phoenix web in his mind in the first place. "Really?" he asked cautiously. "I thought you still stayed—well, here, or in your office."
Remus laughed gently. "Hardly! I'm a man in a wolf's body now, able to roam and run without losing control of my instinct. Sirius transforms into Padfoot, and comes with me." He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, as if he'd had to convince himself this was the right decision. "And we'd like you to come with us. We run through the Forbidden Forest, mostly. I think it might be a good distraction for your magic."
Harry could imagine that it would be. The one thing he didn't want to think about was spending time with Sirius, after what Sirius had said to him.
But that wasn't really Sirius's fault, was it? You should have known better than to question him about that.
"All right," he whispered. "This full moon?"
Remus nodded enthusiastically. "Just one night, Harry. I don't know if you'd be up to running around all three nights, anyway." He smiled. "But you ought to see us. There's a—a wildness in the Forbidden Forest that I can sense when I'm not human. I think you'll enjoy it, too."
Harry swallowed several times. "All right," he whispered at last.
"Excellent!" Remus hugged him one more time and stood up. "Now, come on. I'm hungry, and want lunch."
Harry smiled at him and accompanied him out of the Shack. He knew Sirius was following them, but he didn't dare to look back. He was not sure if he would rush to Sirius in that moment, hug him, and beg his forgiveness, or try to strip his flesh from his bones with only the knife's edge of his magic.
Snape took one look at him when Harry came to help finish brewing the Wolfsbane that night and strode across the room, catching his chin and staring hard into his eyes. Harry averted his gaze and brought up his Occlumency shields.
He wouldn't understand, whispered the phoenix web. He wouldn't want to spare Sirius, would he? He hates Sirius. And you have to try to understand Sirius. It's obvious that something's happened to him. You have to try and understand, Harry. Everyone deserves a second chance.
"What happened?" Snape demanded, without letting Harry go.
"Nothing," Harry whispered.
"If you will not tell me, I cannot help you." Snape still didn't let him go.
Harry wanted to tell him. The temptation was strong, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue. But then Snape would get angry on his behalf, and storm and rage, and there would be another fight between Snape and Sirius, and this time Dumbledore might really sack Snape. How could Harry bear being the cause of that? He was barely standing the rush of memories that the phoenix web had brought back to him all day, of times when he'd hurt other people with his magic or his selfishness.
He cleared his throat. Snape waited, his eyes intent.
"I don't want to talk about it," Harry whispered, and then wrenched himself free and walked over to one of the waiting cauldrons.
Snape's eyes cut holes in his back. Harry chopped and mixed and sliced, and went on doing so until he felt Snape move back to his own work. He let out a low breath.
"Do not imagine for one breath that I have forgotten this," Snape said then, voice soft and deadly. "And do not imagine for one moment that I do not know who is the cause of this."
Harry glanced up in panic, only to see Snape staring fixedly at a locked cupboard across the room. "Your parents," Snape whispered.
Harry sagged. No, it wasn't healthy to have Snape so angry at James and Lily, but at least they were in Godric's Hollow, not here at Hogwarts where Snape might harm them. "Yes," he said, as though agreeing.
Snape said nothing for the rest of the evening, except to direct Harry in the brewing of the potion. His gaze didn't often waver from the locked cabinet, no matter what he was doing. Harry wondered what was in there that was so interesting.
"Ready, Harry?" Sirius asked, now looking smiling and cheerful, much more his normal self.
Harry stood outside the castle, shivering slightly as a chill breeze cut through him. They were on the lawn in front of the Forbidden Forest, which loomed dark and black and oddly inviting. Overhead, the full moon blazed with rigid clarity, like bone that someone had set on fire.
Harry's gaze went briefly to the werewolf standing on the other side of Sirius. Remus didn't look exactly like a normal wolf when transformed, being longer in the jaw and leg. But his coat was gray, and he had his head lifted so that he could sniff the wind. And he hadn't attacked anyone yet. Harry found himself hoping that the same thing was happening to Hawthorn Parkinson, wherever she was. He had delivered the Wolfsbane Potion by owl a few days ago, since she had written him that it was too dangerous for her to come to Hogwarts. Harry wanted to imagine her taking it and then running through the woods, enjoying the strength and speed and power of her lupine body without the urge to kill anyone.
He turned to Sirius and nodded.
Sirius grinned, the devil-may-care grin that he used when he played a prank. "Don't worry if you can't keep up," he said softly. "That's not the point. Just run."
He transformed into the black dog, and barked once.
Moony tossed back his head and howled. Harry shivered. That sound was definitely not a normal wolf's voice. It had no trace of melancholy to it, only wild power.
Padfoot barked again, and then began to run forward. The werewolf's legs surged down, and then forward, and he sprinted into the woods a good distance ahead of Padfoot. The big black dog barked enthusiastically, still running.
Harry ran after them.
It was easy to keep up with them at first, even with the branches slapping and scraping at him. He leaped over the trail sometimes as it twisted and turned in front of him, and took advantage of the clear areas that Moony and Padfoot had left. But soon they were plunging through thick underbrush that snagged but didn't stop them, and Harry had to run behind them, trying to keep track of the plunging shapes. He could see Moony still speeding up, moving effortlessly, and knew from his own harsh panting that he couldn't go much longer.
Then his magic came out.
Harry felt it stir and take a deep breath, as though it liked the smells of the wild Forest night. Then it swept through his body, and sped his feet, and cooled his panting, and eased the stitch that had started to grow in his side. Harry felt it lift and beat like wings, the way he had only felt a few times. One of them had been in the battle with Voldemort at the end of first year, and he shuddered. That had not been far from where he was now running.
But this time, he was not in battle, and the magic was not angry or defensive, only silent and intent. He wanted to keep up with Moony and Padfoot. The magic knew that, and it was going to help him.
He felt himself skim through tangles that should have caught him, and wondered if he was actually flying through them, or if his magic had simply brushed them aside. He avoided roots and rocks that should have caught his feet, and sprang across small hollows that should have made him trip. He ran and he ran and he ran, and still his breath passed cleanly and easily out of his lungs. It made him feel like singing.
A trill of song passed above his head as if in answer. Harry lifted his head, and saw Fawkes flying there, his wings spread wide and his tail trailing like a comet's. Even through the darkness, Harry could feel the phoenix's eye on him. Fawkes sang again, and then rose and disappeared briefly behind the branches. Harry knew he was tracking him, though, could feel the bright presence moving along steadily at his right shoulder.
Then there came the sound of hooves, and centaurs were galloping as steadily opposite him. They did not say anything, but when Harry glanced at him, they nodded their heads once, in grave gestures of recognition. They reared in the next moment, and tore back into the Forest.
Other creatures replaced them, things that Harry recognized from his reading and others he didn't. He thought he saw a swift, two-legged thing that was not a bird, with grasping talons and claws on its feet big enough to tear a man in two. He knew at one point there were unicorns, running with their tails behind them like streams of starlight, their horns catching the full moon's every gleam in ways that brought tears to his eyes. He knew he saw the coiling shape of an immense snake, and the striding legs of what could have been giant spiders. None of them stayed long, except for Fawkes, whom Harry could still feel like a beacon above him. All of them moved alongside him for a short time, often making some brief gesture of invitation or recognition, and then plunged back into the darkness of the Forest.
Harry felt less and less fear as he ran. His magic spread around him, filing the Forest with familiarity if not with light. He ran contained within it, spinning along as if on a broom. But this was the exaltation he had always felt on a broom strengthened and deepened. He was not afraid even when he recognized the three-headed shape of a Runespoor slithering rapidly beside him, and he called out a greeting in its own tongue. The three heads turned towards him, gave three identical snaps in unison, and then guided the Runespoor back into the bushes.
Harry knew it would have to end at some point, and it did. He jerked to a stop in a clearing, his heart hammering and his head filled with gold that did not come from the phoenix web. He spun around in a circle, his hands above his head, laughing. He felt the light when Fawkes came spiraling down and landed on his shoulder with a rushing croon. He felt his magic spread out further, shaking its head like a wild horse, rearing and dancing, with no purpose to hurt or destroy, only play.
He felt it when Moony came to the edge of the clearing and jerked to a stop, his nose in the air and his attitude and posture stiff. Harry turned and looked towards him, still smiling.
The werewolf's brilliant amber eyes were staring at him. Harry was puzzled by them. He could see recognition in them, the same that the other magical creatures had seemed to show him, but why? It was not as though Moony didn't know who he was. Remus had been around Harry since he was a baby.
"Good show, Harry!"
Sirius was behind Moony, panting, human again, his body covered with scratches and his face freer than it had been in a long time. Harry found himself thinking that he ought to run through the Forbidden Forest every night, if it did him this much good. Moony turned away, the odd recognition disappearing from his eyes, and nudged at Sirius's hand.
Sirius scratched his ears, his eyes on Harry now. "How did you keep up with us?" he asked, with a smile in his voice that said he knew the answer already.
"Magic," said Harry at once. Fawkes shifted on his shoulder and rubbed his neck against Harry's, prompting Harry to raise a hand and scratch the golden feathers. They bristled with a pleasant heat, counteracting the chill of the late October air.
Sirius smiled and nodded. "Think you want to run on?"
Harry thought about it, but an immense yawn caught him, and he shook his head. Fawkes made a chirp of protest as that disturbed his perch on Harry's shoulder. "I think I'll go back in and go to bed," he said. The air still thrummed with magic, but it had calmed down now. Harry decided he would sleep better with the memory of peace and wonder still untaxed, rather than exhausting himself. "See you tomorrow, Sirius, Remus." He nodded to the werewolf.
Moony's ears came up, and he stared hard at Harry. Harry shrugged and eased past them, back through the Forest. The walk was still light and easy, though far slower than it had been earlier. Harry supposed he ought to worry about some creature of the Forest possibly confronting and hurting him on the way back.
None of them did, though Harry did sometimes see signs of movement off the path, indicating he had an escort again. Maybe that was due to Fawkes, who showed no sign of moving from his perch on Harry's shoulder. Harry reached the entrance of the castle, and still Fawkes didn't move. Harry reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and paused to look at the phoenix again. Fawkes put his head on one side and watched him calmly back, with one eye.
"Won't Dumbledore be wondering where you are?" Harry asked.
Fawkes gave a cheerful trill. Harry couldn't translate it the way Dobby would have, but he recognized the tone: don't care.
Harry thought back to his last visit to Dumbledore's office. The phoenix hadn't been there. Maybe Dumbledore wouldn't worry at that.
"All right," he said, with a shrug that Fawkes reprimanded him for, and whispered, "Dignatio verus," to the wall. It opened, and Harry made his way to the third-year boys' bedroom. He saw a slight shift that was Draco relaxing into sleep. Harry had told him where he would be tonight, but the other boy had waited up for him anyway.
Fawkes fluttered from Harry's shoulder to the top of his canopy while he put on his pyjamas and brushed his teeth, but then insisted on coming inside the hangings with him and perching on the edge of his bed, radiating warmth.
"Cuddly thing, aren't you?" Harry muttered, and closed his eyes.
Fawkes began to sing, softly enough that Harry didn't think he was disturbing anyone else. He fell asleep contentedly, and for once, when phoenix music twined with his dreams, he wasn't frightened of it.
Albus Dumbledore stood at his window, hands clenched hard on the sill. He could see the full moon from here, and he knew that underneath it somewhere, Sirius and Remus were running, as well as other werewolves, some tame, some not. It was not that which had disturbed him.
Magic had brought him out of bed. Magic had jerked him awake. Albus could have slept through any of the ordinary small flares that were the professors performing spells, or a first-year's accidental magic escaping his control. But this was something else, a deep and booming symphony that had raised a thousand thousand voices in response to it. The Forbidden Forest was still stirring, not like a hornet's nest but like some sleek and beautiful creature awakened after a long sleep.
And about to go hunting, Albus thought, and shivered. This was the first song of a deeper threat than Voldemort was. He knew that Voldemort would be defeated, thanks to the prophecy. Harry might easily raise his voice and rouse so many answers that something altogether different would happen, something that would rock the foundations of the very wizarding world. And when foundations rocked, people died.
He must bind the boy again. It was the only answer. He had thought that the subtle strengthening of the phoenix web he had been doing lately would work, but if Harry's magic was as free as this, it was a sign that the web had weakened once more.
He turned to go back to bed, giving Fawkes's empty perch a frown along the way. Granted, the phoenix had been gone for long periods of time before, but it wasn't like him to stay away when Albus could have used the company.