Thank you for the incredible response to Chapter 16! I'm so glad that I took a risk and it paid off.
Chapter 17 is an immediate continuation of it, so you definitely will want to read that one first.
Chapter Seventeen: Shut Up, SiriusHarry was trembling by the time he landed beside Snape, despite Fawkes's warm presence on his shoulder, despite the fact that he knew there could be no going back, despite the comforting hand that Snape immediately clapped onto his other shoulder. Only his iron determination kept him from running.
Well, that and the sense of what he owed to so many people. The sacrifices had gone far enough.
It ends here.
Harry turned and lifted his chin, meeting Dumbledore's eyes. It was his move now. Harry was not about to clap his magic under bindings again. Nor would he run. He had every right to come over to his guardian and accept congratulations for winning the match for Slytherin. He had no reason to whimper and cower as if he had done something wrong, or hide.
He finally managed to unclench his fingers from the Snitch, and smiled faintly at Snape as he let the little golden ball go. Its wings were broken. "It looks like Madam Hooch will have to use a different set of balls for the practice matches," he said, and Snape's gaze grew, if possible, fiercer. It seemed as though he had forgotten the Quidditch triumph in the wake of what happened next.
"She will indeed," he said. "That was incredible flying, Harry. Both during the match, and what came…after."
Harry swallowed, and felt a tingle of weariness run through him. He didn't show it. They could not show any weariness, any weakness, not right now. The easiest course for the Ministry and anyone else who wanted to enslave him would be to pretend that a mere child couldn't handle that much magic, and herd him, clucking, into the "care" of someone who would make sure his power was bound again. But he had to be honest with Snape. He had promised he would be. "Better than you know," he said. "Sirius was trying to compel me to fall off my broom at the same time."
Snape did not move for a moment. Then his gaze rose past Harry, and Harry saw Sirius's death in his face. He apparently shouldn't have trusted Snape's newfound control around his godfather that much.
"He will not leave the Pitch alive," said Snape. If he had made it a loud, dramatic announcement, then Harry would not have worried. But he said the words casually, and drew the wand from his sleeve, and Harry knew he was seeing the man who had run as a Death Eater at Voldemort's side. Even more telling, the shields were rising off Snape's magic. If he wanted to, in this kind of rage, he could simply will Sirius's heart to stop beating. Harry was grateful beyond words that he had thought of his wand first.
He reached up and gripped Snape's arm, causing Fawkes to give a disapproving chirp as he shifted positions. "No," he said, when his guardian looked at him. "I don't want him harmed. I want him alive."
Snape did not look as though that would change his mind. Harry firmed his grip and leaned in close to say, "He is my godfather. He's still that."
"Not by the time I finish with him," said Snape.
Harry sighed. "I know that you probably think he doesn't deserve to be my godfather any more—"
"He does not," said Snape, his voice smooth, "deserve to live."
"Please let him speak to us," said Harry. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Dumbledore already coming towards them, his robes billowing around him. "Please let him explain why he would do such a thing. I have the power to demand explanations like that and get them, now. Dumbledore has to treat with me on a much more equal footing. Please?"
Snape took a deep breath. Then, abruptly, he smiled, and the shields came down over his magic again. "I suppose," he murmured, "that I would have little to gain from killing Black in public and in such a manner that the Headmaster, at least, would immediately guess my hand in the death."
Harry squinted hard at Snape. He knew him well enough by now to guess that the important parts of that statement had to do with killing Sirius in public and in a traceable way. But what about private, untraceable ways?
He is a Potions Master, Harry thought uneasily, and felt his heart begin to pound hard.
"Sir—"
He got interrupted by Dumbledore's arrival, and by Draco's. Draco stepped up to stand at his side, every bit of him radiating wonder and happiness and protectiveness, and Dumbledore halted in front of Harry and inclined his head in a little bow. It was by far the most equal gesture he'd ever got from Dumbledore. Harry bowed back, reassured now, despite Dumbledore's narrow-eyed glance at Fawkes. The phoenix preened his tail feathers and ignored Dumbledore.
"Harry," said Dumbledore, "surely you will want to come and speak with me about—your new magic, and other things, in the privacy of my office? Surely you would like some answers?" His eyes had a careful look to them, and Harry recognized it. Dumbledore was making as gracious a surrender of this as possible. He did not want Harry for one moment to think he was defeated. Harry could almost admire the old bastard. At least he knew his politics.
"I do," said Harry. "But I want Professor Snape to come with us, as my legal guardian, and Draco, as my best friend and as a witness from the pureblood community, and Professor McGonagall, as a witch of untouched reputation, and Hermione Granger, as a witness from the Muggleborn community, and Sirius Black, to answer for his crimes, and Remus Lupin, to be answered for the crimes done to him."
Dumbledore stared at him. He understood the reasoning behind Harry's gestures, of course, but he seemed stunned that Harry would actually go through with them. Harry raised his eyebrows mockingly, his fear retreating as he started to enjoy himself again. Of course I am going to go through with them. I'll use any weapon against you I can, Dumbledore, and not only the supposed Slytherin ones. The more witnesses, and the more varied, the better.
Dumbledore nodded once, and then said, "It shall be as you suggest. You will give me a minute to speak with Professor McGonagall, Miss Granger, Professor Black, and Professor Lupin?"
Harry inclined his head again. "Of course, sir."
He felt Draco take his arm as Dumbledore moved away. "Is that wise?" he whispered. "After all, Professor McGonagall is such a busybody. And Black just tried to kill you. And Granger's twice the busybody that McGonagall is, and—"
"Yes?" Harry encouraged mildly, his gaze locked on Dumbledore's retreating back. Sirius was human again, but still snarling and looking around for Peter, whom Harry thought must have got away. He sagged when Dumbledore spoke to him, though. Professor McGonagall was already making her way calmly towards the Headmaster.
"She's a Mudblood."
Harry glanced at Draco. "I can't force you to stop using that word, Draco," he said. "I won't force you to stop using that word. I will ask you to please stop using it around me. I don't like it, and it's ridiculous, anyway. Going by terms of sheer magical power, you know that Hermione's one of the strongest witches in the school." Fawkes added a croon after his words, as though to confirm that.
"I know that!" Draco sounded peevish. "But Mudbloods just don't belong, Harry. And I thought you were going to ally with the purebloods."
"I'm allying with everybody," said Harry. "If I can ally with the Dementors, I can surely fit in some witches and wizards who grew up in the Muggle world."
"You must tell me what happened with the Dementors," said Draco.
"Must?" Harry asked, watching Remus's expression as he glanced over Dumbledore's head at Harry. The Headmaster was casting Sonorus now, making some speech, probably reinforced with an edge of compulsion, to calm the crowd down and make them sure that things were being handled. Harry knew some people would calm down and leave, but he doubted that the Headmaster would be able to make them stop thinking about this. The headlines would appear in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. The Ministry would be notified. The news was probably already sweeping like a storm throughout the community of people Starborn was trying to maneuver.
Harry had to accept that. He had made his decision. There was no going back.
I suspect I will need regular reminders of that, he thought, and tightened his shoulders, causing Fawkes to flutter in place. The Headmaster had summoned Hermione. She was giving Harry a curious look, her hand tightening on something around her neck. Harry tilted his head. He could feel an intense aura of magic radiating from the thing, whatever it was.
"Well, I'd like you to tell me what happened with the Dementors," said Draco.
Harry broke his gaze on his enemies, or tentative allies, and smiled at Draco. "I will."
The other Slytherins surrounded him then. They ranged from Blaise, who was pretending everything was normal and accusing Harry of winning the game purely to lose him ten Galleons, to Millicent, who smiled more than she talked. But they walled Harry round in green and made him feel at home.
He did not look across the field for his parents and his brother. There seemed to be no point, not right now. His path was still too new.
"Would anyone fancy a cup of tea?"
Harry listened as Hermione and Sirius accepted, while everyone else refused, Snape with no more than a dark expression. Dumbledore had conjured chairs for the seven other people now crammed into his office. Harry sat between Snape and Draco, with Hermione and McGonagall across from him and Sirius and Remus in chairs on the sides of the rough circle. Harry could still meet Dumbledore's eyes, since Hermione's and McGonagall's chairs flanked the Headmaster's desk. Fawkes was not with him. He had fluttered away towards the dungeons, singing, rather than enter the Headmaster's office. When a phoenix chose his allegiance, Harry reflected, he did it rather thoroughly, and did not turn back, either.
He could feel the weight of tense expectation in the room. Merlin, he was radiating some of it himself. This was the moment when some shells were going to have to crack. He wondered idly for a moment what question Dumbledore expected him to ask first. Something concerning his parents, concerning Connor, concerning the phoenix web?
In the end, he decided it wouldn't matter. Rather than reacting to what Dumbledore wanted him to do, he would lead the dance and force Dumbledore to react to him instead.
"Professor Dumbledore," he said. He would stick to titles until they were open enemies. They weren't, not yet. This was the steel fist in the velvet glove, the same role he had danced opposite Lucius during his Christmas in Malfoy Manor. "Will you please enlighten me as to why Sirius Black might have been trying to convince me to fall off my broom during the Quidditch match?"
Hermione choked on her tea. McGonagall paled. Sirius slumped back in his seat, bowed his head, and wouldn't look at anybody.
Remus stood up and shouted at Sirius.
"You were doing that? I thought Harry might be having some trouble with his flying, but I never—Sirius—you really did—" He broke off, but his eyes were glowing, and his voice had become a rumbling snarl on the last words. Harry had only seen him angry like that once before, and then he'd been too deeply under the influence of the phoenix web to appreciate it.
"I did," Sirius said softly. "I can't—there is no apology that will be enough, Harry. But I'm sorry." He recited the whole thing in a dull voice, his hair still falling across his face.
"Tell me why, Padfoot," said Remus, stepping forward until he stood directly in front of Sirius's chair. "I'm owed that, at least, I think."
Sirius looked up, and Harry stared. He hadn't really paid attention to Sirius in the last few days, occupied as he was with the thoughts that Peter had asked him to think. Sirius barely looked human. His face was gray, his eyes bloodshot, and shadows that indicated lack of sleep and pain both were cut into his cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Moony," he said, his voice steady now, but still dull. "I can't tell the whole thing over again. I'll leave that up to Albus." He nodded to the Headmaster, and then slumped back down in his seat.
Harry looked in the Headmaster's direction, and surprised a gentle expression on his face. "Sirius?" he whispered. "You really grant me permission to tell them everything?"
"Yes," said Sirius, his voice flat and gray.
"You have suffered so much, my dear boy," Dumbledore murmured, and sighed. His eyes were more open than Harry had ever seen them. They were showing the love that Harry suspected Peter had gone to Azkaban for.
Dumbledore faced the witnesses and began to speak. His voice did not quaver, and his words did not falter or fade; they sounded almost detached. But the way his eyes went constantly to Sirius made up for all that he did not show in his voice, Harry thought.
"Harry Potter has asked why his godfather would betray him. I have denied him answers before, but now that Sirius Black has granted me formal permission to narrate the reasons, I will.
"Sirius Black was born with the compulsion gift—" Dumbledore waited patiently for the shock wave to finish traveling around the room, and continued in the perfect moment, which was the moment before Hermione could begin asking questions "—and had it trained ruthlessly by his parents. He had a younger brother, Regulus, whom some of you will remember." He looked to Remus, to McGonagall, to Snape. Remus's face had gone absolutely pale, Harry thought. He narrowed his eyes. He would ask Remus, later, why it was that he had agreed to go along with Dumbledore and the rest of them, and betray Peter and Connor.
"Regulus had no compulsion gift," Dumbledore said softly, "and did everything his parents wanted of him. He did not suffer as Sirius did. Sirius had the power, if he had not been trained, to make his parents do whatever he wanted them to do, to believe whatever he wanted them to believe. They had much smaller compulsion gifts, and they were terrified, scared sick, as purebloods often are, at the thought of being made to believe that perhaps Muggleborns were equal to them. My apologies, Miss Granger," he added. Hermione nodded stiffly. Harry looked hard at her, and realized she was the only Muggleborn in the room. She would probably be thinking hard, and twice as hard as any other Muggleborn student in the same situation would, because she was Hermione. Harry decided to speak with her later, if he could.
It kept him from thinking too deeply about what he had just heard, for a moment. Then the thoughts came rushing and pounced him. Sirius…they feared Sirius, just as my parents feared me.
"They tried as hard as they could to sway Sirius to their way of thinking, so that he would never wish to make them believe otherwise, because he would believe the same things," Dumbledore's soft voice continued. "They—well. I am afraid beatings would have been the least of it. But they were pureblood wizards, and, moreover, of a pureblood line to whom Dark magic came as naturally as breathing." He looked at Sirius again, and there was desperate fondness in his eyes. "Do you feel up to showing them the scar, Sirius?" he whispered.
Sirius took a deep breath, put his teacup down beside his chair, and rolled up his left sleeve. Harry stared. The scar there was one he knew he had never seen before, and should have; Sirius had probably been using charms to mask it. It rolled from Sirius's shoulder to just past his elbow, and resembled a branching vein. Harry was not sure what could have made it. It certainly didn't look like the cuts from a blade that he had studied how to heal, nor the aftereffects of any Dark spell he knew.
"That is the remnant of an Amotio Maga spell," said McGonagall, and when Harry looked at her, she seemed to be on the verge of fainting.
"Yes," Dumbledore acknowledged softly. "When his parents were displeased with him, they took Sirius's magic and locked it into a festering, flesh-eating wound on his left arm." His voice was emotionless. Harry wondered how long it had taken him to sound like that when he spoke of this. "It pained him horribly, and he could not use magic to ease the pain—nor to do anything else, for that matter, as long as the Amotio Maga curse was in operation. His parents would only give his magic back when he pleased them, which was not often. They were trying to teach him the horrors of living like a Muggle."
Dumbledore's voice warmed and grew sterner, both at once. "It did not work. When Sirius came to Hogwarts, he had a sympathy for Muggles and Muggleborns, both, since he had been deprived of both his own magic and control over it for so long. He was Sorted into Gryffindor, and I undertook to protect him, as I could not do before." He paused one more time, then sighed. "All of it, Sirius?"
Harry looked at his godfather. Sirius nodded, or the curtain of black hair hanging over his face nodded. It abruptly occurred to Harry that Sirius hadn't cut his hair in months. That had always been a sign that he was depressed in the past. Harry felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt for having failed to notice it.
Dumbledore sighed once again, and took a battered piece of parchment from his desk. He gave it to McGonagall, who stared at it and paled. She handed it past Sirius to Draco, who only stared at it without interest before handing it on to Harry. He took it with trembling hands. He recognized his godfather's script, though it was far shakier than what he was accustomed to seeing. Sirius must have written this letter when he was younger, Harry thought, and the date at the top of the letter confirmed it.
November 2nd, 1967
Dear Professor Dumbledore:
I know that you don't know me, but my name's Sirius Black. I need your help. My parents hurt me. But I know you're the wisest and the best wizard in the world, because you defeated the Dark Lord, and you'll help me, because you always help children in trouble. Even my mother says so, and I think she's afraid of you. Please, please help me.
Sirius Black.
Harry gave the letter to Snape, and stared at Dumbledore. "And you didn't help him," he whispered.
Dumbledore dipped his head slowly. "I did not."
"Why not?" Harry could not imagine not responding to such a letter. Sirius had just been a child.
"Because," said Dumbledore, with a sigh, "at the time, I had no power to help a child in desperate need. I was not yet Headmaster of Hogwarts. And I had no legal means to challenge a powerful, pureblooded, Dark family for control of their elder son and heir. The Wizengamot would have laughed at any legal challenge, no matter how Sirius was being treated. A child's letter was proof only of a child's temper tantrum, they would have said."
Dumbledore spread his hands slowly. "I have spent most of my life since trying to make up for that great wrong, and I fear that I have only exacerbated it. I could not save Regulus Black. I could not save Sirius from nightmares of his brother's torture and death at the hands of Voldemort. I could not save him from the aftereffects of that Dark curse used to forge the mental link between the brothers. Only Voldemort could have broken it, and it ended only when Connor Potter survived his Killing Curse."
"What aftereffects?" Snape asked the question with no emotion in his voice at all. Harry was glad. He could think of many emotions that would have made the room explode. Everyone was far too quiet. Remus had not stopped staring at Sirius, for one thing, and Hermione's tears were spilling silently down her cheeks as she read the letter.
"Sirius's mind has been—unstable since then." Dumbledore did not look at Sirius as he spoke. "He has had nightmares. And I asked him to take on a duty that I feared he did not have the strength to do, because we had a desperate need, and Sirius wished to be useful. First to guard Connor, by coming here to Hogwarts as extra protection for him, and then to tutor him in compulsion magic. Connor Potter also has the ability." Dumbledore closed his eyes. "I asked him, but I fear I made it sound an order. The Dark curse is prone to—twisting Sirius's good intentions, it must be said. Sirius seemed to take part of protecting Connor to be sabotaging Harry. And that came to a head today. I am sorry, terribly sorry, to you, Harry, and to Sirius. What mistakes I made, I made out of love, but that does not change the fact that they were still mistakes."
Harry became aware that his hands were clenched tight again. He tried to breathe, and could only utter a sound suspiciously like a sob, though he still knew he was not going to cry. He stared at Sirius, and thought how little he'd known of him at all, how the drinking and the womanizing were probably an attempt to live as normal a life as possible, how the dark circles under his eyes came from nightmares and not loss of sleep over his latest girlfriend.
"None of that excuses what you have done to Harry," said Snape then, and his voice was cold and utterly bereft of emotion or resonance. "Bound his magic and encouraged him to be trained into a weapon."
"I know," said Dumbledore, calm, accepting. "But that does not mean that the suffering of one can be made the reason for the suffering of others, as would happen if Harry were to unleash his magic." Harry looked up to find himself facing a stare full of passionate Gryffindor resolve. Dumbledore was not going to back down from this one, he knew.
Well, neither am I. Harry bared his teeth and hardened his heart. This was for other people, not him. "But you made Sirius's suffering the excuse for others'," he said.
Dumbledore's face went white. Snape's chuckle followed after that, low and smooth and dark.
"He has you there, Albus," he said. "And I feel free to say that, as Harry's legal guardian, I will not agree to your binding his magic again. Nor will I consent to Harry being near Black again, nor alone with him. He is insane, and he tried to cause my ward's death."
"FUCK YOU, SNIVELLUS!"
Sirius was out of his chair in an instant, bowling towards Snape. Harry had time to react, and he snapped up a barrier in front of Snape, a wall of white-golden light. He hoped Sirius would have time to react in turn, but he hit the wall and fell backwards. A steady stream of whimpers slid from his mouth, and he held a hand to his face, blood running between his fingers. Harry suspected he'd broken his nose.
Snape hadn't reacted except to breathe a little faster, but the glare he sent Dumbledore was deadly. "And I will definitely recommend that Black be removed from the school altogether," he whispered. "That he would attack another professor, not once but twice, is unacceptable. And as for attacking students, the way he did today—it would not matter if it was Miss Granger here, or Connor Potter. I would still ask for, no, demand, his removal."
Harry watched Sirius climb slowly back to his feet. Yes, his nose was broken. And Harry had caused that by no more than willing it to happen.
His magic reared around him, then settled on his shoulders in visible golden coils of power. Harry saw Sirius's eyes trace them, and blank hatred and rage turned to blank fear. Harry wound his fingers through each other.
He's unstable, he reminded himself, and looked at Dumbledore. "You must have had a reason to keep him here so long and let him train Connor," he said. "What was it?"
"I told you," said Dumbledore softly. "I asked him to train Connor in compulsion magic because he had the time to do so, the ability, and wanted to feel useful. I believed the duty would be light enough not to affect him adversely. I did not—"
"I can still do it."
Sirius sounded calm again. Harry looked back at his godfather, and saw that he'd lowered his hand. He'd probably cast a healing spell on his nose. His eyes were fastened on Dumbledore's face, and there was a deep, quiet desperation in them.
"I love both of these boys as if they were my own children," he said. "I know that Snivellus won't let me have any more contact with Harry now, for as long as he's Harry's guardian." The stare he sent over his shoulder said that he personally wouldn't let it be very long. "But I need the contact with Connor. Please, Albus. I'm sure that Lily and James wouldn't want you to stop letting me teach their son just because Snivellus is being unreasonable."
Dumbledore closed his eyes. He looked inexpressibly weary, but Harry knew he would assent before he did.
"Very well, Sirius," he whispered. "If you think you can control yourself around Connor, then you may continue training him." He sighed. "It would be the best solution, in any case. I simply do not have enough time to give Connor all the training and attention that he needs, while you do."
Sirius nodded fervently. "Thank you, Albus. I promise that you won't regret this."
"I will," said Harry, standing. He drew Dumbledore's gaze to him, and part of him reveled in the sick terror behind the older wizard's serenity. "Why should I consent to leave my twin alone with a man who's hurt me so badly, and could hurt him?"
"Because," said Dumbledore quietly, "Connor is doing well. He no longer unconsciously compels people. But he has much yet to learn. And it helps heal Sirius as well, to know that he's doing something."
"That's true, Harry," Sirius chimed in eagerly. "I promise that I won't hurt him. I could never hurt him. I could never raise my mind or my hand against him."
Harry turned and studied his godfather. It hurt to say what he felt he had to say next. "But you could do it to me."
Sirius flinched and turned his head away. "You don't understand," he whispered. "This Dark curse makes me react strongly to Dark magic. And you stank of it, and you chose a guardian who stank of it, and you're in Slytherin House, and it's just so hard, Harry—"
He began to cry then. He sank into his chair unattended. Remus was still frozen in the middle of the circle. Now he took his own seat, and drew Harry's eyes and attention back to him.
"I think," he told Dumbledore, "that Remus should know what you've kept from him, now."
Dumbledore tried to stare him down. Harry stared back, and let his magic unfold lazily. Even the barest touch of that power made Dumbledore narrow his eyes. Harry wondered how he felt the magic, if it was some horrific physical sensation.
"I know," said Remus then, quietly.
Harry stared at him. "You do?"
Remus nodded to Snape. "Severus mentioned it to me at one point. He said—he said I had learned you were being abused. That's what the stolen memories concerned." He closed his eyes. "And he also said that the Obliviate had to be removed delicately. My sanity is at stake if it's just stripped from my mind. I know that."
"Yes." Harry felt the claws of his power flex around him. He was reasonably certain that he could remove the Obliviate, now, when he'd studied Remus's mind for a little while. "But do you know why Dumbledore Obliviated you rather than try to persuade you?"
"Harry," said Dumbledore sharply.
"He was afraid he couldn't convince you," Harry told Remus, ignoring Dumbledore. "He was afraid that you would endanger a web in my mind, one that had been there for eight years, since I was four. That web fucked up my mind and bound my magic." He ignored the very slight flare of golden pain from behind his eyes. He had expected it, since the gray Dementor had told him the part of the web that concerned Connor was still there. "They needed me bound, to be Connor's guardian. Dumbledore here is terrified of what I'll become when my magic is free, don't ask me why—"
"You could become a Dark Lord," said Dumbledore, and the room appeared to flicker into darkness as if a cloud had crossed the sun when his own magic surged forward. Harry wondered if he was even aware of the edge of compulsion that rode his voice. He did see McGonagall bow her head and twist as though trying to escape a yoke, and Draco made a spitting, hissing noise. Harry hoped they had managed to fight it off. "You could become as vast and dangerous as Voldemort, Harry. We are already fighting one of him. I do not wish to fight two."
"I swear that I will not," whispered Harry. "I wish to defend, to protect and serve."
"Then why not remain as you have been?" asked Dumbledore, his voice ringing with wistfulness. "You would be defending, protecting, and serving under the phoenix web, and doing it with an easy mind and clear conscience."
Harry found himself laughing. The sound tore at his throat, but he went on making it. The look of shock on Dumbledore's face, the shine of mingled triumph and compassion in McGonagall's eyes, and the intent expression on Hermione's features were worth it.
"I want to defend, protect, and serve other people than just my brother," said Harry plainly. "And that is going to happen." He turned and met Remus's eyes. "Tell me when you want the Obliviate removed."
"I don't know," Remus whispered. "I—I have to think. I have to think about what I'm ready to know." He avoided Harry's eyes.
Harry suffered a brief surge of contempt. Remus probably didn't want to know, or wanted to think of some way to know about the abuse Harry had suffered and yet avoid losing his friends. Harry would not be at all surprised if he chose his friends, the way he had when he knew about that Halloween night.
Then he restrained his contempt. He could not simply step into Remus's mind and kick the barriers aside. That would make him no better than Dumbledore, no better than Voldemort. He had to respect Remus's free will, even if that led him to actions Harry despised, and only act against him when Remus actually did something to hurt him.
Harry faced Dumbledore again. "And now I want to know why you tried to put me back under the phoenix web," he said softly, "when I had said clearly that I did not want it. I want to know why you attacked Draco." Draco shifted closer to him. Harry put one arm around his shoulders, ignoring McGonagall's shock. She hadn't known about the Headmaster's attack on a student, then. Well, there is a first time for learning everything. "I want to know why you thought it was so important to have my magic and my mind bound."
"I have told you," said Dumbledore. "I feared that you would become the next Dark Lord."
Harry snorted. "When I was four?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore, his voice unexpectedly grave. "No other child has ever had power of that magnitude at such an age, Harry. Their power matures slowly, along with them. Tom Riddle was already a powerful wizard at eleven years old, but he did not suddenly leap full-blown into spells that would have taxed adults. He had been powerful since birth, and he went on refining his gifts. His magic gained ground because he learned new spells, new techniques, and new training. But yours…yours was simply and suddenly there, Harry, long after your birth, when to all appearances you were born a magically normal child. It had more than a touch of the unnatural about it. And given the prophecy, we could not let the future savior of the wizarding world grow up with a brother who would become a Dark Lord. We thought at first that your training would encourage the magic to lie still and accept refinement, but it wasn't enough. Your magic not only refined, it kept growing in raw strength, as if its sudden appearance in your life were not the end, as if it were drawing power from elsewhere. So, the phoenix web." Dumbledore let out a long sigh and passed his hand over his eyes. "Because the greatest opponent of power, and of the careless arrogance with which Tom used his power, is love."
Harry lowered his eyes. There were a great many things he wanted to say. He wanted to ask about the vates title that the Dementors had given him. He wanted to ask about what Starborn had said in his letter, about Harry having the potential to become a kind of wizard who was not a Lord. He wanted to ask about why they had to force him to love his brother, and not just rely on the natural love. He wanted to demand that Sirius be kept away from his brother.
But he looked at Dumbledore's face, and decided the first three would be unwise questions to ask, at least if he wanted to surprise Dumbledore in the future. And he looked at Sirius, and the words stuck in his throat.
They were so similar. They'd both endured, and managed to survive, suffering. They'd both been feared for their gifts. They'd both been asked to make sacrifices beyond what they could bear—though Harry knew, at least intellectually, that his sacrifices had been heavier than Sirius's.
It was true that Sirius hadn't hurt Connor. Not yet, pointed out a dark voice in the back of his thoughts. But his offenses had been against Harry himself, and if Harry chose to forgive them, he could.
Harry let out a long breath. "This is the way it's going to be," he said, and saw Sirius's head twitch towards him. "I don't mind if Sirius trains Connor—for now. If he ever hurts my brother, then he'll have me to contend with. The same if he hurts Snape, or Draco, or anyone else I care about."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes not moving from Harry's face. Harry stared back at him, and went on.
"I mean to have Professor Snape as my guardian, still." He ignored the firm grip on his shoulder. He'd expected it. "We'll deal with the Ministry. And I'm going to stay in Slytherin House and use my magic openly, the way I want to, free of its constraints."
"There are many things you do not know," Dumbledore warned him gravely.
"I know that," Harry snapped. "But I'm going to try to learn them, rather than avoid or ignore them." He couldn't help glancing at Remus as he said that. Remus flinched. The look in his eyes was odd now, a mixture of fear, pleading, and the yearning with which he'd watched Harry on the Quidditch Pitch. Harry stared back at Dumbledore. "I want you to stay out of my way."
"You're talking to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Harry," said Sirius, who seemed to have recovered from his crying fit.
Harry gave him a glance he knew was withering. "Shut up, Sirius," he told him in exasperation. "I forgive you for what you've done to me, but I know what you are now, and I'm going to be watching you closely."
"Those are the kinds of things a Dark Lord might say," Dumbledore observed quietly.
Harry snarled at him, and felt the walls shake slightly. He snatched back control of his rage before he could do something unfortunate. "No," he countered. "They're the kinds of things that a very angry, very tired, very magically powerful teenager might say when he's been forced to grow up and become a soldier too quickly and a sacrifice all his life."
Dumbledore was silent, regarding him. Harry turned, meeting the other eyes in the room.
"I won't demand anything from you," he told them—McGonagall, Hermione, Remus, and Draco. "I will ask that you use your discretion when talking about what you heard in this room. And if you do something to oppose me, please think about what I'll have to do in return."
Draco was grinning, now, and not bothering to hide it. McGonagall nodded, her eyes shining with pride. Remus glanced away from him. Hermione was chewing on a piece of her hair and scowling fiercely.
"And now," said Harry, rising to his feet, "I think I'm tired, and I have a party to attend in the Slytherin common room, and I'd like to walk back down to the dungeons under the protection of my legal guardian and my best friend." He held out a hand to Draco, who clasped it, hard. Harry glanced once at Hermione, regretting the loss of an opportunity to talk to her alone. But… "Hermione, I'm meeting Neville in the library tomorrow after lunch. Can you be there?"
Hermione blinked and nodded. She would probably go to the library the moment she left the office, Harry thought, and try to look up most of the terms she'd heard here. He wished her good luck with finding them. He could use the help, assuming she decided to help him.
"So our state is one of—" Dumbledore began.
"Armed neutrality," Harry cut in. "I won't attack you or your allies, Headmaster, and I expect the same courtesy of you. I will defend my brother and anyone else I care about if you threaten them. I will defend myself against future attacks by Sirius."
"That wasn't my fault," Sirius muttered.
"Shut up, Sirius," said Harry, without looking at him. It would take him a while to sort out his feelings for his godfather. He would prefer to do it away from him. "I will try to learn as much as I can about my magic, and the best ways to use it."
"There is so much damage you could do," murmured Dumbledore in a resigned tone.
"I prefer to think of it as how much good I could do," Harry corrected him, and then turned towards the dungeons, Snape and Draco immoveable barriers on either side of him. He didn't wait to see how the others sorted himself out. He was almost tired enough to skip the Slytherin victory party.
Albus slumped against his desk as Harry and the others filed out of the room. Things were bad, but not as bad as they could have been. There was still a spark of hope. Sirius could remain in Hogwarts to train Connor. The wizarding world would find out about Harry's power, but they wouldn't fall in behind him as they might have had he declared an open allegiance to the Light. Harry was still, technically, in a truce with him.
Harry did not know the full story behind why Albus had called his power unnatural. He did not know that Albus felt his magic as a narrowing of every possibility in the world, a darkening and a stripping away of the future.
Albus gave Fawkes's perch one last sorrowful glance, then stood up, shaking his head. Things had gone as they would. There was no turning back. He had lost some ground, but he would win it again. Harry had met his eyes a few times, too directly, during their conversation. Albus had used Legilimency, and knew he still bore part of the phoenix web, the part linked directly to his brotherly duty.
It was enough. It would have to be enough. Albus would make it be enough. Things were not as dark as they had been before, in the final days of the First War with Voldemort, or those days of the war with Grindelwald before Albus had felt comfortable enough to challenge him to single combat.
He had survived then, by loving the wizarding world. He would protect it now. Not all hope was lost.
He made himself believe that.
Snape saw Harry and Draco safe to the door of the Slytherin common room, where the boys stepped from the silence of the corridor into wild cheers, wilder catcalls, and the crooning and chirping of an overexcited phoenix. Snape shook his head and made his way to his own office. I hope the boy does not ask if he can bring the bird to classes. My answer will always be no.
He opened his office door, stepped inside, shut the door, and leaned against it for a moment. He let the emotions wash through him, burning triumph and bone-deep disgust and heart-high pride.
Harry had done it. He had done it. His strength was incredible, not only his strength of magic but his strength of soul. Snape did not think he could have emerged from that sort of binding and not immediately taken revenge on everyone who had ever done him wrong.
In fact, he knew himself not to be a very pleasant man, even with smaller wrongs than Harry had suffered. And he was about to prove it again.
Snape walked over to the locked cabinet at the back of the room, unlocked it, and took out the potion sitting on the back shelf.
Harry might have forgiven Black for what he has done, Snape thought, as he held up the bottle and admired the dark green shine of the potion. But I have not.