Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter! Writing that one turned out to be surprisingly fun.
And here's the arc it was transitioning to.
Chapter Nineteen: Strength of a SoulSnape watched with his usual blank expression as Black drank his heavily drugged pumpkin juice. Behind the blank expression, of course, he was grinning, but no one else needed to know about that.
It was nearly three weeks now that he'd been giving the empathy potion to Black, and so far everything had worked out the way he had hoped. Black was reliving the same pain that Harry had suffered, the same memories of being bound and tortured and abused. That Harry had not experienced them as binding and torture and abuse at the time did not matter. Black retained his own perspective, even as he suffered the emotional and mental pain. He would know the burden Harry had been laboring under.
His gaze drifted down the table to Remus Lupin, who was picking at his food—understandable, given that the full moon was near. If Snape had not been reasonably certain that Lupin's mind would change when he finally allowed Harry to remove the Obliviate, then he would have been tempted to give Lupin the empathy potion, too. Both of them needed to understand what they had done to the boy. It was justice. It was right.
And it is so entertaining to watch.
A movement near the Slytherin table caught his eye, and Snape watched as Harry slipped out of the Hall. He knew where his ward was going. He would do homework for a few hours, then slip out of the castle, to watch his brother in company with Black. So far, Harry believed Snape ignorant of these little trips outside of Hogwarts, and Snape let him think so. It wouldn't do to make Harry feel caged. So long as he stayed within Hogwarts' wards, Snape could check on his presence and reach him easily.
Eventually, of course, Harry would have to learn that Snape took his guardianship more seriously than wielding it in petty power plays over whether or not Harry could go to Hogsmeade. But that time wasn't yet.
Black's fork cracked loudly against his plate. Snape looked back at him, and this time did permit a smirk. Black's face was pale, eyes unseeing as he stared at the memories that Snape himself knew well, since he had put them into the potion when he was brewing it. That potion would have been impossible to make if he'd never had access to Harry's mind.
Perhaps he is reliving the times Harry cast pain curses on himself, Snape thought contentedly as he picked up his own goblet. Or the times that he was scolded for not studying faster, in case his brother might need him.
Snape hummed as he drank. He had other doses of the empathy potion in preparation. He thought they might make a fine Christmas gift for Lily and James Potter.
Harry glanced over his shoulder, and sighed with relief when he noticed no one coming after him. Millicent and Pansy had been very vigilant lately, as though they really had realized that Harry didn't spend all his time in the Slytherin common room or the library, and Draco was worse. If Harry left him alone too long, he returned to a turned back and a very tight grip on that bloody bottle.
But he thought he'd managed to fool them well enough tonight. A few gentle reminders of what homework was due in every class had made them yelp and scramble to work—and since Harry himself had purposely distracted them from that homework yesterday, he knew how much writing they still had to do.
He shivered as he slipped across the lawn, under the protection of a Disillusionment Charm, and towards the Quidditch Pitch, where Peter had asked him to meet this time. He checked the detailed map he'd created of the Hogwarts grounds, and relaxed when he saw the dot labeled "Wormtail" already in place, with no "Dementor" dots anywhere near it. Three times their conversations had been interrupted by Dementors, who still did not seem inclined to listen to Harry when he asked them to stop pursuing Peter. Harry was hopeful that this time Peter would get to tell him everything, since the phoenix web had calmed down so much. Harry hadn't felt its presence at all in over a week.
A conversation with Peter, and then time to go protecting, he thought as he lengthened his stride. Sirius and Remus would be running tonight, given the full moon, and they had asked Connor to go with them, or so Harry had surmised from overhearing his brother's mysterious hints. Harry was not about to leave Sirius alone with his brother in the Forbidden Forest, with Remus trapped as Moony and largely incapable of helping if something should—happen.
Connor's lessons with Sirius always leave him all right, if more prejudiced against Slytherins than ever, Harry thought as he stopped in the shade of the Ravenclaw stands and removed his Charm.
And they end at a certain time, Harry answered himself. Everyone expects Connor back at such and such an hour, and Sirius wouldn't dare keep him later. But in the Forest, when no one knows he's going along with Sirius and Moony? Oh, no. I should be there.
He really should have been there all along, Harry acknowledged, as he consulted his map by the light of Lumos and looked for Peter. His first duty was to protect his brother. He'd let it go shamelessly lately, frustrated by Connor's inability to speak to him without insulting him and enthralled by the intricate dances that he performed with most of the Slytherins.
But not tonight. If Peter isn't going to come forward—
"Harry," said Peter quietly, and then he was there, seeming to melt out of the darkness. Harry supposed he had to have got used to hiding, to avoid the Dementors and all the people hunting for him so long. "Thank you for coming. I want to tell you what I got interrupted on the last three times, so I'll try to keep it short."
Harry nodded.
"Have you heard of the Soul Strength Spell?" Peter asked, without further preamble. His eyes were wide, and his nose twitched now and then, the only remnant of the rat he showed in human form.
Harry blinked, taking the moment both to search his memory and give the phoenix web time to react. His mind remained blessedly dark and cool, and he shook his head. "No."
Peter smiled grimly. "It's a spell that answers a specific question the caster asks about the strength of someone else's soul. Dumbledore used it on us—" by which, Harry knew, he meant the Marauders "—when trying to find out who would have the strength to betray you and leave you open to the Dark Lord's attack, then go to Azkaban afterwards so that no one would find out what the Lord of the Light had done." Peter spat Dumbledore's title. The weariness Harry had heard in his voice at the beginning of the year had long since given way to ancient, dusty hatred. "No surprise, is it, that he found Sirius would crack if he was asked, and Remus would collapse without his friends, and James was too devoted to Lily? I was the strongest. I was the one chosen to make the sacrifice." Peter closed his eyes and expelled a long breath.
"He sent you to Azkaban primarily so that no one would find out what he'd done?" Harry breathed.
"Of course," said Peter. "That was the only way, with the phoenix web to make me look primarily jealous and a crime so heinous that no one would demand a really detailed trial. Otherwise, we either would have to put up with questions that might uncover the truth—a relative of that blasted Skeeter woman came quite close as it was—or having people know that Dumbledore was a man who would sacrifice children and lose all trust in him. And, of course, if we'd arranged it another way, they would have to do without the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived." He closed his eyes more tightly.
Harry stood there and stared at Hogwarts, and thought about that. His own sacrifice paled next to Peter's, he thought. The man had given up everything, and known he had done it because he was not the weakest but the strongest of the Marauders.
"And you must know," Peter went on, after a pause that Harry thought was shorter than it should have been, "that Dumbledore also used the Soul Strength Spell on you and Connor before the attack, to see which one of you could bear the burdens and sacrifices of being a weapon more easily." His eyes flared open, and seemed to pierce Harry. "And you were the stronger one."
Harry felt himself begin to shake. He sat down in the grass and wrapped his arms around himself. He'd brought a cloak, but he was still cold. Of course he was, he thought absently. It was already the end of November, and the wind carried ice in its teeth.
"Harry?" Peter whispered. "Did you hear what I said?"
"I heard," Harry whispered back, as quietly. He didn't know why he was shaking. He'd heard everything that Dumbledore had done. He knew all his crimes. Why did he want to shake? Why had hearing something else unexpectedly hurt and upset him so much?
It's a good thing that he used that spell, in fact, he told himself firmly. Imagine if Connor had been trained to protect you. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you? You wouldn't want to see him crack and fall apart because he couldn't bear the burdens. Dumbledore chose wisely. He even tried to arrange things so that the person who would be the best savior would become the savior, even though that was really Voldemort's doing. I bet the spell doesn't test for things like compassion or gentleness. That's Connor all over.
He felt Peter grip his arm. "I'm sorry, so sorry," the older wizard whispered. "I wish there was some way I could turn back your life, Harry. Some way I could have carried you from Godric's Hollow that night the Dark Lord fell. Your life would have been so much happier."
"Yes, but what would the cost have been?" Harry said back. He could talk, if he didn't try to talk too loudly. "Connor would have to bear everything all by himself, and you just said he couldn't do that. They might have hunted and killed you for what they would see as a true betrayal. And I would be left without the purpose in life that I was always meant to fulfill."
Peter made a soft frustrated noise. "That's the thing about prophecies, Harry. They're not as simple as—"
He turned his head abruptly, and Harry felt the cold of Dementors. He sighed. He knew it was no good. He couldn't force them to stop hunting Peter, and until he understood how to free them and what the consequences of it would be, he couldn't do that either.
"You'd better go," he said, but Peter had already risen to his feet.
"I will," he said. "Take care of yourself, Harry. But, please, think about what I said. Just because you were strong enough to go through what you have and survive does not mean they should have put you through it."
He transformed and ran then. Harry sat in silence for a little while longer, then stood up and shook himself. The moon was fully risen. Werewolves were running.
It was time to run with them, and guard his brother.
Harry swore under his breath as he stepped carefully along the path that Connor had taken after Padfoot and Moony. He didn't dare use his magic to run through the Forest as he had once before, since he was sure that the stir it would cause would draw too much attention from Sirius and Remus. His only consolation was that Connor couldn't keep up, either, and was pausing to rest every few hundred feet. Harry would catch up to him soon. He knew his brother had his Invisibility Cloak, but Harry had checked his specialized map before entering the Forest. There were thick trees ahead, and Connor would have difficulty changing his path much. Harry was relatively confident that he was still right behind his brother.
His own Disillusionment Charm was beginning to wear away, the ambient magic of the Forest nibbling at it. Harry snorted and waved his wand to renew it.
A werewolf's voice cut the sky. Harry smiled, then shivered slightly. The sound came from ahead of him, and he suspected it was Moony, voicing his exaltation the only way he knew how.
Harry stopped to rest against a tree, not wanting to stumble onto Connor too suddenly, and because he was tired from picking his way over brambles and between patches of moonlight and darkness and what looked like darkness but was actually small hollows in which he could twist an ankle. He looked up at the full moon and surprised a yawn out of himself.
Moony howled again.
Harry abruptly straightened, then, as he realized that there was no way that second howl could have been Moony. It was much closer, and to the side instead of ahead of him.
That might mean it was to the side of Connor.
Harry wrapped his magic around himself and began to pass lightly through the undergrowth. He would draw attention, but that could not be helped. He would rather save his brother than stay in hiding.
That philosophy had been the source of much of his difficulty, he reflected, as he darted around the trees like a wisp of smoke. If he'd managed to save Connor undetectably in his first year, then Snape and Draco might never have suspected he was anyone remarkably different from what he seemed, and he could have remained as he was.
He grimaced. And would you really want that? Your magic would still be bound.
He jerked his thoughts back to the present. Now was not the time to be thinking about the phoenix web and how different his life was now that he knew about it. Now was the time to think about Connor and how he was going to defend him if the second werewolf in the Forest was aiming for him.
Harry followed the path down into a little hollow, leading him between a mounded ridge on the right and a bank of thick trees on the left. He froze as he saw a sudden glint of movement from ahead. He let out a slow breath when he realized it must be the trailing edge of Connor's Invisibility Cloak, and then smiled slightly when he heard his brother cursing under his breath. He seemed to be fine so far.
A scuffling, snapping sound came from the top of the ridge. Harry looked up, and saw a dark, crouched shape silhouetted against the moon.
Then the shape howled, and leaped downhill, heading straight for Connor.
Harry shouted and broke his own Disillusionment Charm. He saw the startled shuffle that was Connor turning towards him, but he didn't care. There was a werewolf coming, and his brother was standing there like a…like a…
Like a child, which was what he was.
Harry flung himself into motion, and arrived, thanks to the lightness his magic inspired, between the werewolf and Connor. The werewolf saw him and altered its stride, impossibly fast and graceful for such a large beast. Harry didn't have time to see much before it spun to the left and then whirled around to face him, paws raking long furrows in the earth, but he did see black fur and eyes full of a wild, alien fire. This was a werewolf not under the control of the Wolfsbane Potion.
And now Harry could see the moonlight striking the long stripe of gray fur that ran from the tip of the immense black wolf's muzzle to his tail.
This is Fenrir Greyback, Harry thought, and felt his heart leap from immobility into sudden motion.
His mind cleared as it did so, though, and his eyesight sharpened. This was the kind of battle he had been trained for. He knew exactly where everyone was. Connor was behind him and slightly to the left, with the way he'd turned. Greyback was in front. The ground beneath his feet was mostly solid, but slippery with rocks and dirt and leaves; he would have to remember that.
A slight snarl was the only sound Greyback made before he charged, bearing down on Harry like the Killing Curse. Harry shifted his grip on his wand, and saw the werewolf's eyes turn towards it.
He didn't use it. He flung his magic forward instead, edging his voice with the same will that he had once used in these same woods to crack an egg-shaped stone and save Draco's life.
"Stop."
Greyback rolled over as though someone had slammed him all along his left side. He whimpered as he rolled, but he came back on his feet almost immediately, and this time he was closer to Connor. Harry turned to cover his brother. He heard Connor ask a breathless question, but he didn't have the time to listen. Werewolves were highly resistant to magic. He had always known that. It was part of what made them so dangerous, even to highly trained adult witches and wizards such as Hawthorn Parkinson.
It was a problem when facing Greyback, but Harry did not intend to let it defeat him.
He looked deeply into those wild eyes, burning with hatred and bloodlust, and sought some trace of humanity, the odd recognition that Remus had displayed on the last full moon night and again at the Quidditch game. If he could find that part of the werewolf, could connect with it, then perhaps he could convince Greyback to back off and not hurt Connor.
He found nothing like it. Perhaps that only worked with people who were under Wolfsbane Potion. Harry nodded, and slowly the priorities in his mind shifted. He could felt his objections shrinking, becoming small and cold and silent. He lifted his wand and held it towards Greyback, in spite of the fact that he probably wouldn't need it.
He was preparing himself to kill, for the first time in his life.
Greyback bounded this time, hitting the ground with all four feet at once and bouncing off, aiming at Harry's chest and head. Harry focused and sharpened all his will, and held it in a shearing blade a few inches in front of his face.
He let it go when Greyback was too near to avoid it.
Greyback screamed, his face and his muzzle tearing open as he landed and plowed into the dirt a few inches from Harry's feet. The strike hadn't blinded him as Harry had meant it to do, though, nor killed him. He scrambled up, snapping his jaws, well inside Harry's personal space.
Harry didn't have time to step back before the heavy body hit him and bore him to the ground.
He tried to shout for his brother to run, but his air was gone. He grabbed Greyback's neck, holding him there as long as possible, wanting to give Connor some time to get away as well as himself a moment to find a weapon that worked.
Greyback's jaws snapped in his face. Harry's arms were already shaking from the effort it took to hold his head back.
He heard feet shuffling, and hoped Connor was running. He tensed, prepared to strike if Greyback should get distracted.
The werewolf didn't even look around, though he must have been able to smell Connor. His claws were plunging into the ground on either side of Harry now, driving him forward. Without his magic lending strength to his limbs, Harry was fairly sure he would have been bitten already.
Revelation struck him like lightning.
He didn't come to assassinate Connor. He came for me.
Harry had just finished processing that when something pale flashed past his vision and struck Greyback. Once again, the enormous werewolf went rolling, this time with a whimper that he could not quite escape, and the sound of cracking bone. It seemed to be his night for it, Harry thought, as he stood and wiped dirt off his robes. He was trembling slightly, and it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing.
Greyback, his tail to the trees, faced a smaller, paler werewolf, probably fawn in color, though it was hard to be sure in the moonlight. He was snarling continuously, and she was replying in the same language. Harry was fairly sure that she turned her head towards him for a quick glimpse, and that he saw the hazel eyes of Hawthorn Parkinson in her face.
Greyback charged while her head was turned.
Harry had no time for finesse. He knew only that he had promised to protect Hawthorn and her family, and here she was, risking her life for him. Granted, their bargain went both ways, but he was the stronger. He should be the one doing the defending.
He reached out and called up the ground at Greyback's paws with the force of a Reducto. It tore itself apart in a fountain of earth, and Greyback screamed, halted and caught halfway through his leap. Harry heard another sound of cracking bone, and this time, when the black werewolf touched down, his left foreleg dangled uselessly.
Hawthorn struck at his right shoulder, silent and blinding fast. Her fangs flashed, and Harry saw a bleeding wound sprout just to the side of the gray stripe. Greyback howled in misery, and snarled for a good show of it, and then turned and limped furiously across the path and up the ridge. Hawthorn snapped at his heels for a moment, then spun back and trotted over to Harry, sniffing at him.
Harry held out a shaking hand. Yes, it was Hawthorn. She graciously permitted him to rest his fingers on the end of her muzzle, and met his eyes with the same grave, calm politeness that she showed in human form. Harry found that recognition in her gaze that he had missed in Greyback's.
"What am I?" he whispered. "Do you know?"
Hawthorn only stepped away from him, with a speedy flowing movement that proclaimed how very much she was a wild creature at this moment, and looked up the slope. Harry tensed and turned, but it was only Adalrico, his hand loosely clasping his wand.
"Good as your word," he murmured, sounding satisfied. "Lucius is a bloody fool."
Harry let out a sharp breath, and glanced along the trail. "Have either of you seen my brother? He would have been wearing an Invisibility Cloak—"
"Then we wouldn't have seen him," said Adalrico.
Hawthorn snarled at the older wizard and began sniffing up the trail. Harry relaxed and started to take a step after her.
"But if you mean the younger wizard currently blubbering like a fool in Black's arms," said Adalrico, "then yes, he's well enough." He tilted his head at Harry in curiosity. "I would have thought you would be more concerned about the other one."
Harry frowned. "Other one?"
"We were following Greyback before he transformed," said Adalrico. "He was muttering something about a second death, something to punish the son of someone reluctant to help raise the Dark Lord—"
Harry never doubted the conclusion his mind snapped to.
Draco.
He ran full out for the school, ignoring the trailing yelp behind him. The trees blurred past him, and his feet no longer touched the ground, and still Hogwarts loomed on the other side of the trees, impossibly far away.
Draco yawned and put his book down, rubbing his eyes. It was all very well to study Charms for hours on end, but he wished Harry would come back—
Harry.
Draco sat up, not swearing, because a Malfoy did not permit profanities to cross his lips in front of a common room full of observers, but angry enough to do it. Harry had maneuvered them all again. Draco could see it now, the continual pattern of fun yesterday that had distracted and cajoled them away from their studies. Harry had chattered at them about there being other things to do than homework, and landed them all with it today so that he could have some time alone.
Draco stood and marched up to their bedroom to put his Charms book away. He was going out into the corridors, curfew or no curfew, and look for one Harry Bloody Potter.
He stepped into the empty room—Vince and Greg were with Pansy, who was trying to teach them both some Potions basics they should already have grasped, and Blaise was in the library—and then paused. Something was…out of place. The room was empty and dark and quiet in the way that it should be, but something was still out of place. Draco couldn't have said what it was, and knew his father would be annoyed with him for that. The curtains did not tremble, as if in a strong wind, but it felt as though they should have. The air did not tense and tighten with a spell resting unspoken on a tongue, but it should have.
Draco muttered to himself, to distract himself from the sudden nervousness, and then bent down to put his Charms book in the trunk at the foot of his bed.
Something under the bed hissed.
Draco jumped back, the pain of his sudden headache from powerful and malicious magic good as a shout of warning. Jaws snapped where his ankle had been, and then the thing slithered into the light.
Draco knew at once it was a magical item, no natural snake. It was just too dark, and its green scales had the sheen of jewels. It inched towards him, silver fangs bared and ruby eyes gleaming. It stank of cinnamon and almonds, and Draco shivered. He recognized the scent from several deadly poisons that had been in their Potions textbook.
He opened his mouth to cry out, and then felt the unmistakable presence of silencing wards on the bedroom. The door locked with a sudden little snick in the same moment.
The snake waited for a moment. Draco stared at it, and felt his mouth dry and his hands clench helplessly in front of him. Malfoys did not become afraid, but it seemed as though he were afraid now.
The snake lunged.
Draco barely escaped. He was sure he felt the fangs tear the leg of his trousers. He scrambled to his feet, his hands shaking so hard he could barely draw his wand. Then his nerves stood up on end and shrieked.
He couldn't see the snake.
He stamped down and spun to the left, trying to think of something that would affect a snake which was clearly made of Dark magic. Serendipity, and not any good planning, saved him. The snake had been waiting to his right, and its next strike missed, too.
Draco stumbled another step away, and rammed into his bed. He aimed his wand as nearly straight as he could, and shouted, "Stupefy!"
The snake moved, and the Stunning spell missed it entirely. Draco jumped up on the bed with a shriek. Now he didn't know where the snake was, under the bed or crawling up the posts. Fuck, the thing was fast.
He caught a glimpse of green off to the side, and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!"
He missed again, at least if the way the coil vanished instead of freezing was any indication. Draco climbed to his feet, balancing as best as he could on the bed, and concentrated on means of lifting himself. He would have to hope that the damn thing couldn't fly.
"Wingardium—" he began.
The snake boiled up and across the sheets at him. Draco shrieked and lost the thread of the spell. He grabbed the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be his favorite pillow, and slammed it down on top of the snake.
Fangs burst through the pillow, shredding the cloth and missing his hand by an inch. Draco let the pillow go and hopped backwards again, nearly in tears from fury and frustration and terror.
The door abruptly exploded.
Harry swept into the room in a roil of power and Dark magic and the scent of roses, at least to Draco. He cried out, this time in relief, and saw the snake freeze on the bed and turn towards Harry.
Harry immediately began hissing. The snake swayed back and forth as it listened to him. Harry went on hissing, his voice low, urgent. Of course, Draco thought everything in Parseltongue, which he couldn't understand, sounded urgent. Harry had a hand out now, coaxing the deadly toy towards him, his hissing never faltering.
The snake moved again, and Draco screamed again in spite of himself. This time, though, the snake shot away across the floor, coiled around Harry's leg and then his wrist, and became motionless, a bracelet clasping its tail in its mouth. Draco felt the aura of Dark magic retreat.
Harry closed his right hand over the snake and squeezed. It crumbled to powder. Harry stamped on the powder for good measure, and then a wind swept into the room and marched the remnants past the kindling of the door. Draco didn't think the wind was a coincidence.
He realized, dimly, he was shaking. So this is shock, he thought, in wonder.
Harry stared at him, his eyes desperate. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Draco managed to nod. He was, wasn't he? The snake hadn't bitten him. He did lean down and check his ankle, but he couldn't see any bite there.
He didn't have time to straighten up before Harry half-knocked him down with an enormous hug. Draco hung on and closed his eyes. There was nothing shameful about holding on to someone else when you'd nearly died, he thought, even for a Malfoy.
"Thank Merlin, Draco," Harry was murmuring, voice half-hysterical. "First the werewolf, and then this. Merlin, if Adalrico hadn't said something, I wouldn't have known, I would have been too late, you would have died…"
Draco opened his eyes and managed to see over Harry's shoulder, to his bottle, sitting on the table. It was entirely fierce, dark purple, the color that meant Harry's protectiveness towards him was in full force. Then Draco frowned. He noticed a bit of black, a color he hadn't ever seen before, in the corner of the bottle.
"What's that?" he asked. His voice was shaky. Draco frowned more fiercely. That wouldn't do around Father.
"What's what?" But Harry did him the favor of turning around and looking, so that Draco didn't have to speak again.
Harry blinked when he saw the bottle. "Huh," he said. His voice was flat.
"What does it mean?" Draco insisted. He already sounded stronger. Good. Being in shock does not present a good impression. He couldn't seem to do anything about the hold his hands had on Harry's shoulders, though.
"It means that if the person who did this was in front of me right now, they'd die," said Harry, his voice still flat. "I probably wouldn't even mean to kill them. They'd just crumple with their hearts stopped."
"Oh," said Draco, and then blinked again. "What was that about a werewolf?"
And then he fainted, because there was apparently only so much that even a Malfoy could take.
Harry hovered beside the bed; Madam Pomfrey had managed to make him back off, but she couldn't make him leave completely. "And you're absolutely certain?" he asked. His voice sounded tired to his own ears.
"I'm absolutely certain," said Madam Pomfrey. She sounded exasperated, but Harry didn't really care. He nodded sharply. He had assumed that Draco had gone white-faced and limp in his arms because of the snake's poison. But it seemed that he really was fine.
"Harry."
Harry turned in startlement. He had expected the voice eventually; after all, he couldn't stay in the Forest forever. But he hadn't known that Connor would come back to the castle so quickly, nor that Harry and the hospital wing would be the first things he would seek out.
He nodded to his brother, whose eyes were focused past him, on Draco. "Connor," he said.
"I…" Connor let the word fade away as though he didn't know how he would continue, assuming he wanted to continue. Then he said, with a determined attempt at cheerfulness, "Going to be all right, is he?"
"We think so," said Harry, ignoring the way that Madam Pomfrey snorted and muttered about presumption. He might not be a mediwitch like she was, but he was the one who had played a part in Draco's diagnosis as much as she had. Without his summary of what had happened in the bedroom, she wouldn't even have known what to look for. "A magical snake was loose in our bedroom, trying to bite him."
Connor blinked. "What happened to it?"
"I destroyed it," said Harry, and clenched a hand as he thought about how. He wished that he had another snake like that with him now, so that he could destroy that one, too. He did not want to use his magic for anything else. It had rampaged up and down the hospital wing until Madam Pomfrey, without glancing away from Draco, had snapped at him to control himself. Harry had therefore spent his time since dreaming of revenge.
"Maybe you should have kept it?" Connor asked tentatively. "So you could know who sent it?"
Harry shook his head. "It might have come to life at any time. I only calmed it because I'm a Parselmouth. It was best to destroy it."
Connor nodded uncertainly, and they stood there in silence for a while more. Harry glanced at Draco, and judged the speed of his breathing and the color of his face. He thought it was all right. He thought Draco was all right, and that was such a huge change from the mood he'd been in as he ran back to the castle that he was shaking from the fierce contrast.
"Harry."
Harry glanced hard at his brother. There was a new tone in his voice, and he had one hand extended.
"Thank you for saving my life," he said formally.
"Sure," said Harry, and clasped his brother's wrist back. He thought this gesture should probably mean more to him than it did, but a lot had happened since he first thought Connor might be in danger. His gaze kept going back to Draco, even when he didn't mean it to. He was a target, as Snape had so snippily informed him some time ago, and even Connor he could accept as a target in a certain light. But someone had tried to kill Draco, just for what his father had done, and maybe because he was Harry's friend.
Harry could not accept that. He wanted to know who it was, and he wanted to destroy that person.
"I'll leave you here," Connor whispered, and his hand tightened on Harry's shoulder for a moment. "I'll explain things to Remus and Sirius."
"Thanks," said Harry tiredly, and leaned his forehead against the bed as his brother walked softly out of the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey bustled off, probably to fetch clothes for Draco. He was tired. Spell exhaustion was catching up to him, and all the running he'd done earlier in the evening, and the sheer effort of using so much wandless magic at once. He yawned.
A hand brushed his shoulder. Harry looked up, blinking through eyes already hazy with sleep, and saw Snape standing there. He nodded. The other Slytherins would have seen the door smashed to kindling. They had certainly seen it when Harry hurtled past them towards the hospital wing, Draco borne behind him on a wave of golden-white wind. They would have fetched him.
"What happened?" Snape asked.
Harry blinked at Draco. "Someone turned a snake loose in his room," he said. "A Dark magical artifact of some kind. I came in and destroyed it, but I thought he might have been bitten, so I brought him here."
"How did you know?" Snape's voice was distant and lulling. It was very easy to speak in response to it, and Harry did so. He had felt lately that he could be honest with Snape, anyway.
"Adalrico Bulstrode told me," said Harry, and yawned again. "He heard Fenrir Greyback talking about an attempt to murder someone in the castle, right before he attacked me."
Snape's hand was abruptly on his shoulder again, gripping like fishhooks. Harry blinked at his guardian, brought half-awake again, but not understanding the terrible expression in the dark eyes.
"What?" Snape said.
Harry tried to shrug off the grip. It refused to be shrugged. "Please let me go," he said, keeping his voice even.
Snape did, but his voice was as firm as his fingers had been. "What happened?"
"I was in the Forbidden Forest, guarding Connor," said Harry. "Fenrir Greyback came for him. The people who are trying to resurrect Voldemort probably sent him." He considered telling Snape that Greyback had been trying to assassinate him, then discarded the notion. He didn't have any proof, just the flashing brief second when Greyback had seemed more interested in him than Connor. The werewolf had probably thought of it as eliminating the greater threat. And besides, then Snape would be more unreasonable than he already was. Harry had survived. He was all right. "I got in the way, and he tried to bite or kill me. But I defeated him with the help of Hawthorn Parkinson, and he ran away. Adalrico Bulstrode was with her. He was the one who told me that Draco was in danger." Harry turned back to Draco. He was stirring towards wakefulness now, muttering, his eyelids fluttering.
"That is the end of it," said Snape.
Harry blinked at him. "The end of what?"
"The end of your little trips outside the castle's wards." Snape's eyes narrowed at him. "Yes, I knew about them. And you are not to venture outside of Hogwarts again unless you are practicing Quidditch or I am with you. I thought I could trust you to take care of yourself. It seems I was wrong."
"I did take care of myself," said Harry, indignant. I'm glad I didn't tell him that silly idea about Greyback wanting to kill me or make me a werewolf, not if he's going to be as silly as this. "I'm alive, and I prevented anyone from getting bitten." He felt Snape wasn't giving the proper weight to that.
"You nearly died."
It was worse that Snape didn't yell. He simply spoke the words fiercely, and made Harry feel as though a cold wind had taken up residence in his bones. He looked at Snape's face, then quickly down and away. What he saw there would be natural on Lucius Malfoy's face when he was looking at Draco, or Lily's face when she was looking at Connor. It made him intensely uncomfortable when it was focused on him.
"Doesn't that matter to you?" Snape whispered. "Doesn't it matter, that you would hurt me and Draco and your brother if you died?"
"Of course it matters," said Harry. "But I would sacrifice my life in an instant if it meant saving one of you. You already knew that."
"That is the thing that we must rid you of, then," said Snape. "You will not be free until you begin to value your own life more."
Harry glared at him from beneath a lock of dark hair. "I'm fine."
"You will still obey me," said Snape. Harry couldn't read him at all now. His face and voice both took on the weight and inscrutability of dark stone. "No venturing outside Hogwarts except for Quidditch practice or if I am with you. No going into the Forbidden Forest again, for any reason. You will spend a portion of every day with me, in which you will tell me what you plan to do that day and where you are going."
"But…that would take up more of your time," said Harry, who knew how much Snape valued the hours he had where he didn't have to be teaching or eating in the Great Hall.
"I said that I was not your guardian only in name, Harry," said Snape calmly. At least Harry could tell that he was calm now. "I meant that. Other children have parents, and have had them all their lives. You have not. You have one now. I promise you, cross me and you will learn how seriously I take this."
Harry shook his head wildly. "What if something happens to Connor or Draco because I'm not there?"
Snape learned towards him. "It is parents who should think that way," he said. "Not thirteen-year-old boys."
Harry clenched his fists and forced himself to calm down. His magic was on the verge of boiling one of Madam Pomfrey's precious potions. "Regardless of whether or not I should, I am," he said. "This is what I am. This is what my training made me. I don't want to be treated like what you think I should be. I want to be treated the way I am."
Snape studied him in silence. Then he said, "And what need do you have of a guardian, then?"
Harry shut his mouth. "I still like the time I spend with you," he said at last. "I'm grateful for your help with the Ministry. And thank you for teaching me to brew the Wolfsbane Potion. I even—I even want a parent, in a way. But the restrictions have to be loose enough that I can still do what I was born –"
"Made."
"—born to do," Harry corrected stubbornly. "And that's protect the people who are important to me."
Snape studied him again. Harry had no idea what he was seeing, and so stood silent, staring back, only reaching out a hand to stroke Draco's hair when the other boy made a sleepy little sound.
Snape dipped his head. "Very well, Harry. If you come and speak with me, then we can work out exceptions to those restrictions at times when you think there might be danger. Until then, I shall expect you to obey me."
Harry relaxed. It was the best compromise he could hope for. And he really did owe Snape something. He couldn't simply take from the guardianship; he had to give, too, though Merlin knew why Snape wanted the things he had to give other than protection.
"Thank you, sir," he said, and turned to answer Draco's questions. Snape laid a hand on his shoulder one more time, and then left the hospital wing.
Snape returned to the dungeons in a rage so deep that he was glad, in a distant fashion, that he had not encountered anyone along the way. Venting his fury would have been enjoyable, but Dumbledore probably couldn't have kept him out of Azkaban if he'd done it.
He stepped into his offices and examined the brewing empathy potion. Then he shook his head slightly.
I will reserve those doses for Black, he thought. Well, perhaps one for James, if I think of no better punishment.
He turned towards the racks of potions, and studied them all, one by one. The rage sank into him, deepened, and turned cold.
In the end, he decided, very calmly, that none of them would work. None of them were vicious enough. He didn't want to hurt Lily Potter for what she had done, nor kill her, nor make her suffer the way he was doing to Black.
He wanted to annihilate her. He wanted to obliterate her.
He went to read one of his Dark Arts books. He highly doubted that anything he found there would satisfy him, but it would turn his mind in the right directions. At least it kept him from contemplating the awful, overwhelming scope of what it would take to heal and free Harry's thoughts, and his own heart-stopping terror when he had heard that Harry was in danger.