I apologize for the rather amalgamated nature of this chapter. It's mostly a transition between two arcs of action.
Chapter Eighteen: Pureblood RitualsHarry wasn't sure who held the Daily Prophet towards him first the next morning when he walked into the Great Hall with Draco; it seemed to come from half a hundred hands at once. Harry shook his head and took his place at the Slytherin table, accepted a copy of the paper from Millicent, and then glanced around the Hall, letting his eyes travel slowly from face to face. He had avoided the reactions of the other Houses to his magic yesterday, except for a few select members of Gryffindor. It was time for him to look and see what they thought now.
Half of Hufflepuff House waved cheerfully to him. That would be Justin's work, Harry knew, and Zacharias Smith's. They tended to argue with anyone who said that Harry was the next Dark Lord, and given Justin's sterling good sense and Zacharias's bloody-minded stubborn logic, they usually got their way.
The Ravenclaws were more subdued, and the students in his own year avoided Harry's eyes. A few of the older students who tended to torment Luna were cowering in their seats. Luna looked up from reading the Prophet upside-down to nod gravely at him, and then returned to her reading. Harry kept his gaze cool as he looked, finally, at the Gryffindor table.
Neville was picking at his food. Hermione wasn't there. Percy Weasley looked as if he'd been up half the night vomiting. Ron avoided Harry's eyes. The twins just grinned at him.
Connor was glaring at him, and so were the other Gryffindors.
Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to turn his back on his brother. He looked down at the article that adorned the front page of the paper.
It was typically melodramatic, of course, because the Prophet was like that.
HARRY POTTER: NEXT DARK LORD OR TRUE SAVIOR?
Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he groaned. They wouldn't—he couldn't believe that someone at the Prophet had really been overtaken by the same nonsense that Snape had spouted last year, about Harry being the true Boy-Who-Lived.
With dread, and yet a certain morbid fascination, he read on.
By: Rita Skeeter
Harry Potter, a student in Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and brother of our very own Connor Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, has revealed himself to be a source of immense magical power.
It happened during a Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game, with Dementors on the field and a dramatic attack occurring in the Gryffindor stands. Sirius Black, a Professor at the school and a descendant of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, was reliably seen to be wrestling with Peter Pettigrew. Our devoted readers will remember him as the Azkaban escapee who excited and concerned many of us when, as reported in the Prophet, he appeared on the Hogwarts grounds, apparently intending to murder Connor Potter.
Soon after the attack began, the Dementors appeared, and Harry Potter flew to confront them on his Nimbus 2001 broomstick.
What happened then, no one seems quite sure, but we do know that young Harry's magic expanded around him, in an explosion felt as far away as the Prophet offices.
"I think he's really powerful," said Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor student in Harry's year. "Did you feel that?"
"I suppose he's powerful," said Ron Weasley, also a Gryffindor student in Harry's year, and the best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. "I don't really know, though. I didn't think he was that strong."
"Please leave me alone," said Percy Weasley, elder brother of Ron Weasley, a seventh-year in Gryffindor House, and Head Boy. "I have a headache."
No Slytherin students were available for comment, and Connor Potter refused to do so. It is the understanding of this reporter that Lily and James Potter, parents of both the Boy-Who-Lived and our new magical prodigy, were at the game, but left before comment or a lack of it could be obtained.
However, there is no shortage of fascinating things to learn about the elder Mr. Potter. It seems that Harry caused rather a stir at Hogwarts last year, when he turned out to be a Parselmouth, and was rumored to be either possessed by the Dark Lord, or the new Dark Lord himself, during the unfortunate rash of Petrification incidents during the autumn months. While this reporter was unable to obtain information as to how that incident fell out, it is certain that Mr. Potter has acquired a certain aura of Dark magic. He also argued with his brother, the Boy-Who-Lived, and may actually have been present during the historic moment when Connor Potter killed the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets with the Sword of Gryffindor.
We have also found out that the elder Potters are under investigation by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for unspecified incidents, and that Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts and Head of Slytherin House, has become Harry Potter's legal guardian for at least the duration of the investigation.
Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was unavailable for comment…
That was as far as Harry got before a hand slammed down on top of the paper, knocking it to the tabletop and flattening it. Harry took a deep breath and looked up to meet his brother's eyes.
"How could you do that?" Connor whispered. "How could you hurt Sirius like that? He came back from Dumbledore's office yesterday a shadow of the man he looked before the Quidditch game. He told me that you didn't want him to be your godfather any more, that you'd rather have sodding Snape as your guardian." His face was flushed, and his eyes shone in a way that reminded Harry of James's. "Why, Harry? What sin could he possibly have committed to make you reject him like that?"
Harry took a deep breath and stood. He could feel Draco surge up beside him, but he put out a hand, and Draco held his tongue. Harry had to be extremely careful of what was said here. He knew that Draco wouldn't be, tempted as he might be to blurt out the secrets of Sirius's dark past.
"That's what worries you?" he asked Connor. "Not my power, not my beating you in the Quidditch match, but this?"
"I care more about Sirius than some silly magical power, or some silly game," said Connor, trying to sound adult. It would have worked better if he weren't so angry. "I thought you did, too. I guess that was my mistake, huh?" Bitterness cut deep lines into his face.
Harry clenched his hands. Damn it, I can't tell him the truth without revealing Sirius's past, and I don't know if I have his permission to reveal it. He flicked a glance at the head table where the professors sat. Sirius was there, watching without expression. Snape leaned back from taking a platter of food in front of Sirius's plate and gave Harry an inscrutable glance.
It was his choice as to how to handle this, and Harry decided to be safe rather than sorry, especially given their audience.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But you don't know everything, Connor, and until you do, you can't understand. Ask Sirius to tell you everything, or to give me permission to tell you everything."
"Now you sound like Mum," said Connor, his nose wrinkled.
Harry flinched, remembering Lily's often-cried phrase, the one he had hidden behind himself last year. You just don't understand…
"I don't need to ask anything," said Connor. "I know that Sirius was telling me the truth, and that you're being as bull-headed as ever." He shook his head, his eyes hard. "I don't want you to come to my training sessions any more. You can't keep from hurting Sirius, so I don't think you should be welcome during my private time with him. He should know that someone loves him and appreciates him for what he is."
Harry inclined his head, striving to keep his face expressionless. He was not sure how well he succeeded. Connor looked frustrated, which could have meant anything.
"All right, then," said Harry, and sat down, and started to eat his breakfast.
Connor leaned forward. "I won't let you ignore me—"
"Potter," said Millicent, and Harry had never known how coldly she could speak the name. "It might have escaped your notice, but you're near the Slytherin table. And you're threatening our House Seeker, who won the match for us yesterday—the one you lost thanks to your bloody stupid flying. Now get away from us before someone puts a hex up your arse."
Connor paused for a long moment. Harry knew him well enough to see him opening and closing his mouth without even looking up.
He didn't look up.
"Fine," said Connor, in a deeply meaningful tone, and turned to trudge back to the Gryffindor table.
"Bloody stupid sod," Millicent muttered, and sat down again, making a motion from the corner of her eye that Harry thought meant she was tucking her wand away. "He never learns, does he?"
"No, he never does," said Draco, and then leaned against Harry. "It's going to be all right, Harry."
Harry nodded slightly, and flicked a glance at Snape, whose face had relaxed enough to say the same thing with his expression. Harry did think it was curious that he needed to lean right over Sirius's plate again, his sleeve almost trailing in his godfather's goblet.
"Oh," said Neville, and his face lit. "That's a simple way to remember it. I never really thought of it that way before."
Harry smiled. "That's all right. It's not like I ever thought of it before, either." He turned the parchment around, so that Neville could see the whole of the table he'd drawn. The first third of it was a list of Potions, the second third a list of plants from Herbology, and the last part a small box that explained the connection between the Potions and the plants. "See? You can remember what ingredients a Memory Potion takes by remembering it as a series of plants, all of which affect—"
"Memory." Neville leaned over the chart, his eyes already devouring it. "Thank you, Harry." He hesitated, then glanced up again. "Thank you for not making me feel stupid."
Harry blinked. "You're not stupid, Neville."
"I feel like it," muttered Neville, looking down at the chart again as a blush crept over his cheeks. Harry felt Draco shift impatiently beside him. He hated Neville's self-deprecation, probably because he'd never had a moment of truly doubting himself and his purpose in his life. Harry, having been on the other side of it himself, understood it only too well. "Professor Snape thinks I'm stupid."
Harry sighed. He's my guardian, but he's so far from perfect that it's not funny. "Yes, he does," he had to admit. "But that doesn't mean you are, Neville. You can learn Potions, really you can. Just study the chart." He tapped a finger on the parchment and turned to welcome the person he'd felt hovering around the edge of his awareness for the last five minutes. He'd been slightly surprised that she wasn't already here when he and Draco came to meet Neville.
As Hermione drew nearer the table, and her glance flickered at Draco, Harry thought he understood.
"Hello, Harry," said Hermione quietly, and took a seat across from him. Her face was closed, quiet. She had a book held in front of her like a shield. Harry looked at the title, and was only mildly surprised to see that it was Hogwarts, A History. Hermione often carried that one around.
"Hello, Hermione," he said, and saw her cast another anxious glance at Draco. "You don't need to worry about him," he added. "His bark is worse than his bite." Hermione's lips quirked in a smile.
"My bite and my bark are equally as deadly," said Draco, sounding offended, though Harry thought it very likely that he didn't really know what Harry meant. "If I'm a dog at all, I'm a Grim." He turned back to his Charms homework, but Harry knew he was on edge, listening and ready to attack the moment Hermione said something remotely offensive. Harry knew how much of an effort it took for him to sit here and just listen, instead of leaping in or calling Hermione a Mudblood. He did appreciate the effort it took, he thought firmly. He would have to find some way to show Draco that. It would never do to have him think that Harry was ignoring him, or thought better of the Gryffindor witch than he did of his best friend.
"You looked as if you wanted to do some research after the meeting yesterday," Harry told her. "What did you find?"
Hermione took a deep breath and laid Hogwarts, A History on the table. "I've found out that Headmaster Dumbledore is the fourth Light Lord to be Headmaster of Hogwarts," she said. "The first one was Cygnus Hedgerow, in the 1100's. And he was—he was kind of crazy, like Dumbledore. Did you know that he wanted to put up wards so that none of the students could actually practice magic? Just theory until they reached the age of eighteen, and by then they would already have left school. He was more than a little—"
Harry interrupted her gently. "What made you think of Light Lords?"
Hermione leaned forward. "That thing the Headmaster said about you being a Dark Lord," she whispered. Neville jumped a little in the seat beside her, but went on studying the chart of Potions and plants, and Harry trusted him anyway. It wasn't as though Neville would run back to the Gryffindor Tower and blab everything to the first person he saw, especially with the Gryffindors' hostile attitude towards Harry. "I thought I remembered something about the difference between Light and Dark Lords that was interesting, and then I started reading about Light Lords who were Headmasters of Hogwarts. And then I remembered that there was a fifth one. Or, well, he was almost the fifth one. Except not really." Her fingers played with the edge of the page.
"What was his name?" Harry asked gently.
"Falco Parkinson," Hermione said, in a whisper, as if saying the name of another Slytherin student were tantamount to wearing the Dark Mark. "And he…" She shook her head, then flipped rapidly through the book until she reached a certain page and pushed it towards Harry.
Harry leaned closer to read.
Falco Parkinson. One hundred-twentieth Headmaster of Hogwarts, His term endured only one year. It was believed later that the stress of trying to be a Light Lord who set aside the magic of compulsion altogether was what caused him to have the nervous breakdown that forced his retirement.
Falco began by seeking out dragons, leaving the school untended for nearly a month while he did so. He came back with his left arm missing, but insisting that he had learned the secret of freedom from the dragons. Then he attempted to talk to the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, spending much time that he should have spent with his students in secret negotiations that resulted in nothing. It is sometimes thought that the centaurs' wariness and suspicion of humanity dates from this time.
There were rumors that Falco Parkinson was strong enough to tame werewolves, breaking through the grip of the disease on their minds, and he certainly spoke with Veela colonies and the merfolk who have long dwelled in Hogwarts's lake. But in the end he resorted to compulsion to enforce his will, and apparently came into conflict with his own principles, and retired to live a quiet, and short, life at his own cottage in Surrey. On the last day of the summer term, he apparently sobbed continually, and repeated only the word, "Vates."
Harry leaned back from the book as if burned. He could feel a tingling excitement racing through his fingers. He looked up and met Hermione's eyes, though, trying as hard as he could not to betray any of it. He could see Hermione being the kind of witch who would get involved in whatever he was trying to do—the thing that didn't have a name, unless vates was it—purely for the sake of knowledge, of realizing things that she didn't know before. He couldn't lead her down that road. If she took risks for his sake, if she even became a pariah among the Gryffindors for his sake, then she had to know everything.
And he couldn't tell her everything until he was sure that he trusted her.
"What do you think this means?" he asked her.
Hermione shook her head, eyes gone large. "I don't know," she said. "The Headmaster called you a Dark Lord."
Harry nodded, encouraging her to go on.
"And I know that you're strong," said Hermione. "And I know that you have the ability to—"
Draco cleared his throat noisily.
Hermione glared at him, and seemed a moment away from putting her hands on her hips. But then she looked back at Harry, and nodded in resignation. The glare slipped from her face, replaced by a quiet, considering look that reminded Harry of McGonagall. "I remember what you said about being bound by the web," she said. "I remember what you said about wanting Professor Lupin to choose when he had his stolen memories returned." She paused again, and Harry could almost feel her awe at daring to contradict the Headmaster. And then she went ahead and did it anyway. "I don't think you're the kind of person who would choose compulsion over free will, the way that Dark Lords do. That's just not logical."
Harry couldn't help smiling at her. It seemed that Hermione had, after all, arrived by her own road at a place where Harry could trust her.
Hermione held up a warning hand, as though she could hear his thoughts and wanted him to reconsider them. "That doesn't mean that I think what you're doing is right," she stressed. "I think it's stupid, really, to go against the Headmaster. Both of you believe that You-Know-Who is wrong, and both of you value Connor. So I don't see why there should be this much disagreement between you. It's as bad as the goblins and the wizards at the Conference of 1584."
She leaned forward and stared hard into Harry's eyes. "But Connor's my friend, and you're interesting, and maybe right. So I want to help."
Harry let out a harsh breath. "Good. Then can you research the phoenix web for me? I need to know what it is and what it does, exactly, but I haven't been able to find much on it, and the Headmaster would notice if I searched. And I just don't have time to search."
Hermione smiled a little. "You need me because I'm a good researcher?" she asked.
"For right now, yes," said Harry, deciding to be honest.
"That's all right," said Hermione. "I'd rather be needed for that than just because I'm a Muggleborn."
"But you are," said Harry, not understanding.
"I know," said Hermione, standing up. "But I think what you do is more important than what you're a symbol of. I'll look up the phoenix web, and tell you about it." She nodded once to Harry, and then moved determinedly off among the aisles of books. Harry watched her go, brow furrowed, and wondering if he'd made a mistake including her in the meeting yesterday as a representative of the Muggleborn community.
"Harry?"
Harry turned back rapidly. That was Neville, and he flinched at the way Harry moved, but then he took a deep breath and met Harry's eyes. He was trembling a little.
"I don't understand what all of that means," said Neville. "But I'm your friend, Harry. I'm here too, if you need me." He blushed and looked down. "I d-don't know if you'll ever need fat, stupid Neville Longbottom, but I'm here."
Harry reached across the table and caught Neville's hand. "You're not stupid," he said. "You're brave. A true Gryffindor."
Neville flushed again, but this time with pleasure. "Thanks, Harry," he said, and smiled at him.
That was well worth it, Harry thought, as he sat back in his chair. He darted a glance at his best friend, and had to smother a smile. Even though Draco's all jealous over me now.
Harry slid to a stop outside the Slytherin common room, staring. Millicent and Pansy were waiting for him, which might not have been all that unusual, except that they knew the password themselves and usually didn't have this intent, predatory look. And at Millicent's shoulder stood her father, and behind Pansy's shoulder stood Hawthorn.
Harry let out a long breath and lifted his head. "Is there some point to this?" he asked. "Or did Starborn arrange this?"
He got a small smile and a tilt of the head from Hawthorn, but she said, "No, this was entirely of our own initiative, the moment we felt your power." She glanced at Adalrico and received a small nod, after which she went on. "We know, now, which side of the War we would choose to stand on."
Harry blinked several times. He had thought the purebloods would need more time to make up their minds. On the other hand, Hawthorn had already shown she could react fast to situations where fast action was called for, and he supposed there was no reason to think Adalrico wasn't similar. He nodded. "My brother's? Dumbledore's?"
"Yours," said Adalrico, his voice rough with exasperation. "Where is the sense that your magic gave you, boy?"
Harry inclined his head. "You realize that I'm going to have to ask you what you want and work out the formal terms of a negotiation. I'm hardly going to be leading a War yet. I'm still in school."
"There's no need for complicated terms," said Hawthorn, and pulled a knife from a pocket of her robe, unwrapping it from a silken cloth as she did so. Harry blinked when he saw that the knife's blade was made of silver, and the hilt was ebony. Hawthorn flinched as she looked at it, but her expression hardened. "You will know what this is," she said to Harry.
"I don't," Draco complained. "What is it?"
"Draco," said Millicent, with infinite gentleness, "go away. You can't be here. Your father hasn't made up his mind yet. You're not allowed to watch what we're doing."
Draco folded his arms. "I can be here if Harry wants me to be," he said.
"This is intensely private, Draco," Harry said, meeting his eyes and holding them for one moment. "And they're right. If your father hasn't made up his mind yet, then there's no way that you can be here, because you might accidentally tell him what you saw here. Or he might read it out of you with a spell."
Draco opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it. He bowed his head and shuffled dejectedly into the Slytherin common room. Harry turned back towards Hawthorn and Adalrico, his heart pounding with a crazy sort of excitement. He had never anticipated this, but now that it was here, he wondered how he could have anticipated anything else.
"It's going to hurt, isn't it, when the blade cuts you?" he did ask Hawthorn.
Hawthorn gave him a look. "Of course it will. It is silver, and I am a werewolf. But I don't care. It must be done this way." She crouched down and drew back her left sleeve, and Harry saw the gleaming black skull and snake of the Dark Mark.
He resisted the urge to put a hand to his scar, even as it began twinging. He watched as Hawthorn drew the blade firmly across the Mark, bisecting the skull. Rich blood welled in its wake, and the skin to either side of the slice turned red and puffy. But Hawthorn's face, when Harry looked at it, was calm, only a whiteness around the lips revealing her strain.
"I bind blood to blood," she said, "blood across blood, blood in honor of purpose and protection." She raised her eyes to Harry's face. "I am Harry Potter's ally. I will not take up magic or arms against him or his family. I will grant him protection should he ask for it or be in need of it. In any dispute about primacy, I follow of my own free will, and will abide by his decisions." She held her bleeding arm out to Harry.
Harry took the blade from her other hand and cut his own right arm. "I call blood to blood," he said, the words flowing faultlessly from his lips after a moment as he remembered the old ritual, "blood throughout blood, blood in honor of choice and change. I am the Parkinsons' ally." He sought Hawthorn's eyes for only a moment, to be sure it was the choice of her whole family and not just her. She gave him a short nod. Harry felt immensely heartened. "I will not take up magic or arms against their family. I will grant them protection should they ask for it or be in need of it. In any dispute about primacy, I accept their following, and will guard their interests as if they were my own." He touched his bleeding arm to Hawthorn's.
The entire corridor disappeared behind the blinding flash that followed. Harry heard Hawthorn crying out hoarsely, swearing in a language that sounded like German, and hoped that she hadn't been hurt. He hadn't anticipated that the light would be so bright, nor the reactions of their blood so fierce.
When he could see again, Hawthorn was staring at her left arm. It was healed, Harry noted, the swelling from the silver-blade cut going down.
No, he realized abruptly, staring. It was completely healed. The Dark Mark was an ugly scar on Hawthorn's arm, visible if one looked for it, but far fainter than it had been.
No Mark had taken its place. Harry was glad for that. A Mark like that would have meant he was a Lord, and he didn't want to be.
In the stunned silence, Adalrico laughed, his exaltation as fierce as a storm. "If I had any doubts," he said, "they are gone now." He almost snatched the knife from Harry, and bared his own Dark Mark. "Your Starborn did well, finding us this one," he told Hawthorn, and then turned towards Harry and smiled. Harry became aware that his magic was beating around him, radiating away from him and back from the walls in deep waves. He supposed, from the glazed look in Adalrico's eyes, that it was a good feeling and not an oppressive one.
Adalrico made the same vow, and Harry repeated it and touched his bleeding cut to Millicent's father's. This time, he was prepared for the flash of intense light that signaled a successful binding, and when he looked down at his right arm, he saw two silvery scars cutting past each other in parallel lines.
"Those will break open and bleed if we ever betray you," Adalrico told him, though Harry already knew that. "And our Dark Marks will return if you betray us." He paused, his eyes sparking as they fastened on Harry's face. "I hope that you will never betray us. You are the better choice, in a world of Dark Lords and Light Lords."
Harry shook his head, even though he was smiling. "I'm only thirteen," he pointed out.
"Older than that," Adalrico retorted. "I can see the truth, unlike some people."
"Hush," Hawthorn said, very mildly. "Starborn reassures me that he is talking to Lucius Malfoy, and that Lucius is close to coming around."
"Lucius is a blind fool, and should have seen the truth before now," Adalrico said, getting to his feet. For a moment, he met Harry's eyes directly, and his hand clutched Millicent's shoulder. "And you'll take good care of my little girl, I trust?"
Harry nodded, then looked at Pansy. "And you, too."
Millicent snorted. "Don't forget, Potter," she said, sounding like her old self, "we get to protect you, too." Her eyes lit when she smiled. "I'm looking forward to the next time your brother tries to hurt you."
"He's part of my family," said Harry. "So you can't lift your wand against him."
Millicent opened her mouth, then shut it, looking extremely peeved. Harry laughed, and then glanced at Adalrico and Hawthorn.
"What are you going to do now?"
"You could command us to do something," Adalrico said, watching him closely. "We would obey, of course."
Harry shook his head violently. "I don't—I don't like commanding people," he said. "Or compelling them."
"This is an order, not a compulsion," said Adalrico, and then glanced at his daughter. "I see what you mean about him," he said obscurely.
"Terrible, isn't he?" Millicent sighed, and then turned to Harry. "Sooner or later, you're going to have to lead."
"Maybe," said Harry, as he turned towards the Slytherin common room. "But today isn't that day." He did pause, remembering what Hawthorn Parkinson had told him, and looked back at her. "Wasn't it dangerous for you to come to Hogwarts today?"
Hawthorn smiled. "Not since I declared my allegiance to you. I am under your protection now."
Harry shivered a bit. Adults, witches and wizards who were more experienced if not as strong as he was, were depending on him for protection.
He did not want to let them down.
"Thank you," he said. For the vow, for the trust, for being willing to take silver on the arm… she would know that he meant any and all of those.
Hawthorn smiled at him. "You're welcome." Then she turned away to speak to her daughter. Harry slipped inside the Slytherin common room, and patted a sulking Draco on the shoulder.
"Your father will come around eventually," he said.
"He better," Draco said darkly. "What does it look like, when the Bulstrodes and the Parkinsons can see sense sooner than the Malfoys? He's being an idiot…"
Harry listened to a tirade about Lucius Malfoy for the rest of the evening. It was the one way to make Draco feel better, and Harry much preferred having Draco happy to having him sulky.
"You will do well, Harry," Snape said softly, touching Harry's messy hair once more, but retracting his hand before he could muss it further. "They are only an Auror and an Auror-in-training."
Harry nodded.
"And we have discussed what to do." Snape's lips thinned for a moment. "We have spent the past week discussing little else."
Harry nodded again as his gaze nervously sought out the door of Snape's private rooms. This was where they had agreed to meet Kingsley Shacklebolt and Aidan Feverfew. It was the Saturday of the Ministry visit, and Harry kept wondering what they would do, what they would say, if they would really try to take Snape away from him…
"Has Black given you any more trouble?" Snape asked, probably to distract him.
Harry took the distraction gratefully. "No. In fact, lately he won't really look at me, and broke down crying once in the corridor when he couldn't avoid me."
Snape smirked. Harry narrowed his eyes.
"What did you do to him?" he asked, just as a sharp knock sounded on the door.
"It seems that our guests are here," said Snape, and swept away before Harry could question him further. He frowned, and then told himself to straighten up and look as neutral as possible. It probably wasn't possible to look happy, not when he was this worried.
"Auror Shacklebolt, Auror-in-training Feverfew," Snape was saying, his voice soft and courteous. "Welcome. My name is Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts and Head of Slytherin House." He waited a moment, as though to allow the next title to fall on their minds. "Guardian of Harry Potter."
"Where's your ward?" That was Shacklebolt, a tall black man with piercing eyes that put Harry in mind of a lynx. He caught sight of Harry just then, and nodded slightly. "Never mind." He rifled through a box of parchments that he held, and drew out one of them, which he held out to Harry. "Mr. Potter, would you mind explaining this?"
Harry took it, thinking it would be his original letter naming Snape his guardian. But it was, instead, the parchment he'd marked and sent to the Ministry last weekend, listing the coercive magic he was under. It said only phoenix web.
"Why, Auror Shacklebolt?" he asked, looking up and blinking. "It means just what it says. Unless you don't trust the legal magic, of course." He couldn't entirely hide a smirk, and his magic rose around him, shimmering, in response to his amusement. The Auror looked as though Harry had taken a sledgehammer to his head.
"But—a phoenix web isn't coercive magic," said Shacklebolt, blinking and recovering. Harry could see the Auror-in-training now, who was in intense conversation with Snape. He was a slight young man with pale hair and a habit of twitching his nose like a rabbit, and looked slightly awed of Snape. "This parchment means only that you think of the phoenix web as coercive magic. It's perfectly legal."
"Legal doesn't mean morally right, Auror," said Harry, leaning back against Snape's desk. "You ought to know that, when so many Dark wizards got out of Azkaban after the First War by claiming they'd been under Imperius"
Shacklebolt made a slight, irritated gesture. Harry ducked his head to hide his grin. He and Snape had planned this, to knock their visitors off-balance as soon as possible and keep them there. Make this more about them than about us, Snape had said, and we are free.
"I know that," Shacklebolt snapped. "But, as it happens, I know where this phoenix web comes from." He leaned nearer and stared significantly at Harry.
Harry smothered a flare of irritation. How many people had Dumbledore told? Or was Shacklebolt's knowledge something new, something that Dumbledore had told him in an effort to wrest back control of Harry?
"So?" Harry asked, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "All it means is that this web has a different kind of origin than you believed. It doesn't make things right. It doesn't mean I think of it as any less coercive." He stared hard at Shacklebolt. "What questions did you come here to ask me?"
The Auror fumed a moment, then sighed. "Are you happy with Severus Snape?" he asked finally.
"Very," said Harry, and waited.
"Why did you choose him?" Shacklebolt spat the words as if they were pebbles.
"Because he's my Head of House," said Harry. "He has been very supportive of me, especially last year when it was found out that I was a Parselmouth, and some people feared me for what they thought was a Dark gift. He has trained me to control some of the wilder excesses of my magic, and assisted me in finding constructive things for my power to do." The last week had been…interesting in that respect. Harry found it much easier to brew the Wolfsbane Potion when his magic was darting about the potions lab, bringing ingredients over as he needed them. "He is the best guardian I could ask for."
"Not Albus Dumbledore?" Shacklebolt asked. "Not your own godfather?"
"I do not trust the Headmaster," said Harry bluntly. "And my godfather thinks that I have Dark magic merely because I'm a Parselmouth." He adopted an injured expression. "You can ask him, if you want, but he just wants to get me away from my guardian because he can't stand Professor Snape, and thinks all his magic is Dark. It's more a matter of schoolboy rivalries than wanting what's really best for me."
He thought, in amusement, of them questioning Sirius. Oh, yes, do let them question him. I don't think he will impress them much with his sanity, or his fitness as a guardian for a young wizard.
"What about your brother?" Shacklebolt asked.
"What about him?" Harry echoed blankly. He couldn't tell where the conversation was going now. Was the Auror about to suggest that Connor should be Harry's guardian instead of Snape?
"Do you feel resentment towards him?" The Auror's eyes raked him. "Jealousy? Some people in the Ministry and the Daily Prophet have suggested that you mean to take his place as savior of the wizarding world, and that's why you released your magic in public, at a Quidditch match."
"Are you supposed to be asking me questions like this?" Harry asked, imitating the tone that Snape used with Neville. "I'm sorry. I thought you were only supposed to ask me questions about my guardian, and whether I was in my right mind when I chose him." He glanced towards Snape. He had finished with Feverfew, it seemed, intimidating him into a quivering mass. "I want my guardian here if you're going to ask me questions like that," he went on in a louder tone, and Snape's head snapped up.
"Has my ward committed some crime, then?" he asked, taking a step forward. "Why do you look as though you're facing a criminal, Auror Shacklebolt?"
Shacklebolt gave a frustrated growl, and Harry thought he understood. This would be the excuse that Dumbledore gave the members of the Order, to try to pivot them against Harry. He would say that Harry was jealous of Connor's prestige, that he was ambitious enough to try and make people notice him instead for his magic, and that the timing of his magic's release from its cage was not coincidence.
Now that he knew, he could fight it. Harry said, "He was asking me about my brother, if I was jealous of him. And I didn't think he was supposed to do that. I thought he was only supposed to question me about you."
"He is." Snape's voice was clipped. He moved the rest of the way forward, so that his shadow completely sheltered Harry. "Your partner has finished asking me all his questions, Auror Shacklebolt. If you have nothing else to say, then I suggest you leave."
For a moment, Harry thought the Auror might argue. Instead, he inclined his head, neck tense as a bowstring. "Very well," he said, almost spitting the words. "But the Ministry shall require another visit, in a few weeks, to know how your guardianship is progressing, and if Mr. Potter has made any progress in restraining his wild magic."
"Good day, Auror Shacklebolt, Trainee Feverfew," said Snape, and watched them go. Harry saw the awed look that Feverfew cast back at his guardian, and smiled. It seemed they might have won one ally, or at least swayed him closer to being impressed.
The moment the door of his rooms shut, Snape hissed and tore at his left arm. Harry hastily shifted aside the cloth, and stared when he saw the Dark Mark for the first time, ignoring the way it made his scar prickle. It was inflamed, the skull a deep sable and the snake an ugly, poisonous green. Harry could only imagine how sternly Snape must have been controlling himself to appear composed in front of the Aurors.
"What does this mean?" Harry whispered.
"That the Dark Lord is returning," Snape whispered back. "That somewhere, he is stirring, and feels happy, and we—ah!" Abruptly, he went to his knees, his lips clenched. Harry knew how severe the pain he must have been in was, that he permitted even that tiny gasp to escape his throat.
Acting on instinct, he touched the Dark Mark and focused his magic on it. Stop hurting him, he told the Mark, and hissed it aloud in Parseltongue, focusing on the snake, for good measure.
The color vanished from the Mark. Snape stared at him, then at the Mark, then at him again. Harry stepped away, shrugging self-consciously.
"I don't know," he answered Snape's incredulous look. "It just seemed like something I should do."
"It no longer hurts," Snape said softly, and then stood, still giving Harry his piercing stare. For a moment, it seemed as though he might say something. Harry waited, rather nervously, for what it would be.
Then Snape turned away, and Harry let out a breath as the tension relaxed. It grew again with Snape's next words, however.
"The Mark's message remains the same. The Dark Lord is growing stronger, and you will be one of his primary targets. You are to remain within the school unless it is absolutely unavoidable, as for Quidditch practices, do you understand? And then you are to have people around you. I know that you have allies among the purebloods. Let them guard you. You are never to be alone with Black, not at all."
"Surely you don't believe that Sirius is working for Voldemort?" Harry protested.
"I believe in limiting your emotional damage as much as possible, Harry," Snape snapped at him. "And that means limiting your contact with him." He smirked as though something were funny. "Leave him to suffer with full knowledge of what he did wrong."
Harry opened his mouth to ask about that, but then Snape added briskly, "And, of course, you will not be attending any of the Hogsmeade weekends unless you manage to convince a professor who is not Black or Lupin to chaperone." Snape smirked at him again. "I plan to be occupied with brewing."
"What?"
They had an argument about that for a good half-hour, which Snape won, and Harry sulked about for another hour, until Snape sent him off to do Transfiguration homework. He was grinning as he prepared his parchment and ink in the crowded, chattering Slytherin common room, to the accompaniment of Fawkes's sleepy croons, and it took him a long moment to realize why.
It felt…good to have a parent again.