And now, the chapter proper.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Compulsion Against Compulsion

Snape recovered from the dizzying swirl of the Portkey, which an owl had delivered to him along with Narcissa's letter, and looked around his landing place. It was a small, pleasant room, laden with frost-patterned windows through which Snape could see fields of unmarked snow. A fire blazed in a huge hearth on the far wall. A house elf hurried forward with a glass of amber liquid, which Snape accepted and sipped slowly. The warmth helped combat both the cold he'd encountered when traveling outside Hogwarts to use the Portkey and the nauseated feeling he usually received from that method of travel.

"Welcome, Severus. I am glad that you felt able to come to our home, when you and Lucius recently had such an overwhelming disagreement."

Snape turned and met Narcissa's eyes. The woman wore a long white gown with silver on the bodice and hem, which Snape hazily recognized as the clothing that a Dark witch wore when she wanted a guest to feel comfortable in a potentially hostile place. Snape supposed that was good. He found that he cared little, right now. He always had missed most of the pureblood subtleties, and he wanted to see Harry.

"I came here for my charge," he said. "Where is he?"

"In a room down the hall, Professor Snape," said Draco, and then slipped in through the door across from Snape.

Snape raised his brows. Draco's face was—changed. He looked as though he had been through some shattering experience, both tragedy and triumph, and it had given him a new depth to his eyes. Snape had always thought the boy would probably have one like it, given his pureblood status and his devotion to Harry, but he hadn't expected it to come so soon.

But he dismissed it, because, while the change in Draco was intriguing, the boy had his parents to watch him here, and Harry had had no one until he arrived. "Take me to him," he said.

"In a moment, Severus." Narcissa glided forward and put a hand on his arm. Snape fought not to shake her hand off. He did glare. Narcissa only looked calmly back at him, blue eyes piercing. "I didn't give you specifics in the letter because I didn't know what your reaction would be, but there are things you should know before talking to Harry."

Snape tilted his head and waited. The knot of tension in his belly got worse. It had been present since he received Narcissa's letter, though, and it could wait a moment longer. At least he was in the same house as Harry now, something that he had wished were true since the boy went to Godric's Hollow.

Narcissa took a deep breath. "From what Harry told Draco yesterday—"

Snape deepened his glare. They had Harry here for at least a day and didn't tell me? He would remember that.

"—his mother tried to do something to him," said Narcissa. "We don't know exactly what it was. But, whatever it was, it smashed directly through the shields of blindness about her that he's been maintaining all his life. He used a pureblood justice ritual on her to remove her magic, and then came here."

Snape blinked. For a long moment, he was not sure what surprised him more: that Harry had had the good sense to flee to Malfoy Manor, or that Lily Potter, the woman he had dreamed of destroying quite often in the last few months, was now a Squib, or possibly a Muggle.

"Take me to him," he repeated.

"You must understand." Narcissa's face was implacable. Snape wondered if Harry realized that he had another protector here. Probably not, if he's still in the state he was in when I last saw him. "Harry has acted differently since he arrived here. He's using the dances to maintain his sanity. If you find him excessively formal, don't expect to alter it with a few words." She took a deep breath. "I believe that it is only the particular ritual Harry used, in which he knows that he can trust the magic's judgment as certain, that is keeping him from breaking. The rituals are the only things he trusts right now."

Snape nodded slowly. That would fit with the boy he had seen leave school. At least Harry could function.

"I still want to see him," he said.

"I know," said Draco, surprising Snape, who had supposed an answer would come from Narcissa. He turned to look at his student, and found Draco's eyes glittering with determination as sharp and cold as the frost on the windowpanes. "Harry's been formal, but it's pathetically obvious that he still thinks he's compelling us into liking him. I want to make sure that he stops that." He tilted his head back, and his hands clenched. "Want to help me?"

Snape smiled. He knew it was not a pleasant smile, because his smiles were never pleasant, but it was the first one he had worn since Narcissa's letter had summoned him. "Lead the way, Draco."

Harry stirred slowly and opened his eyes. He recognized the effects of a sleeping draught in his unusually hazy mind and the way it took him two or three blinks before he could move his head.

He didn't mind. He'd smelled the sleeping draught in the cup of milk Draco had brought him last night, and drunk it anyway. He'd needed rest after a very odd Christmas Day spent with the Malfoys, in which everything was too bright and too sharp-edged, and questions appeared to arrive in his ears after he'd given his answers to them. Narcissa and Draco had allowed him to watch the sunrise with them, which was a tradition they had almost every year, and then to simply sit in the room with them and soak up the warmth while they opened gifts. Harry hadn't seen Lucius at all.

But it was the day after Christmas now, and Harry supposed he would have to face things.

He sat up and picked his glasses up from the table next to the bed. His fingers trembled as he slipped them on. It didn't matter, he told himself sternly. He wasn't in front of anyone pureblooded at the moment. He didn't need to keep up the façade of strength—and that was really all it was—that made him seem invulnerable.

Then the door opened, and Harry turned his head to see both Draco and Snape entering.

Instantly he was on his guard. Harry studied Snape's face, and saw at least some knowledge there. He was grateful the Malfoys had waited so long before summoning his guardian, and he understood why they had done it; Snape was still the one with legal control over him. But he would have to be very careful not to feel much, not to want much. Otherwise, he stood a huge chance of compelling Snape against both their wills.

"Hello, sir," he said, and watched as they both took up positions in the room—Draco on the foot of the bed where Harry's legs didn't extend, Snape standing beside the bed. Harry waited for Snape to sit down, and then decided he wasn't going to. Harry nodded. He could understand that. Snape would probably want to be able to move, to get his wand up between them, if there was a way that he could fend off Harry's magic with a spell. It looked as though the days away from Harry had done Snape at least a little good. His dark eyes glinted with a hard emotion that was certainly not all the affection Harry had pulled out of him.

"Hello, Harry," Snape said, and his voice was soft enough, but with an edge of steel underneath. Harry relaxed a bit. Are there going to be accusations, then? I can offer my formal apologies, and we can put this behind us.

"We have come to prove to you that your ridiculous suspicions are ridiculous," Snape continued.

Harry blinked. "Sir?" Oh, please, don't let that be what I think it sounds like. I don't think my magic has let his mind go after all…

"You heard me," said Snape. "I made a number of mistakes with you at Hogwarts, and the biggest of those was bowing to your stubborn bloody logic and your insistence that I chose to become your guardian only because you forced me to do so. I am going to prove to you, Mr. Potter, that it is not so easy to force me to do what I do not want to do."

Harry shook his head. "With all due respect, sir, you need the time away from me to heal," he said. "If you only—"

"And I'm going to prove to you that I really do want to be your friend," Draco cut in, so smoothly that Harry realized they must have talked about this before they came into the room. Well, of course they did, he thought. They're Slytherins. They would want to have a plan in place ready to strike at my vulnerability. I wonder if they know just how vulnerable they are, themselves?

"You might think you do," said Harry. "But that doesn't mean you can convince me."

"Well, we're going to," said Draco, and his face turned a flushed color. Harry retained his calm posture, but he felt a tight little coil of unease open up in his gut. "I don't think we intend to do the same thing," Draco went on, and gave Snape a quick glance, "but that doesn't mean that we're just going to give you up."

"I formally request that you give me time to prepare," said Harry. "Five minutes, in the name of Merlin." He could strengthen and focus his magic inward in that time, he thought. It was currently curled around him like some sort of enormous snake, lazy and sleepy as he had been before Draco and Snape came in. Five minutes were all Harry would need to tuck it away.

"No," Draco said.

Harry blinked. "But you know the ritual, Draco," he said. "I used the exact correct wording."

"And I don't have to grant your request," said Draco. "I'm the heir of the owner of a home who's given you guest-right. I read about this. The requests a guest makes in the name of Merlin can be refused, unless he makes them of another guest."

Harry seized that information as swiftly as he could. He had indeed forgotten that particular caveat to the rituals, but there was someone else in the room who didn't have that protection. He looked at Snape. "I formally request that you give me a little time to prepare," he said. "Five minutes, in the name of Merlin."

Snape exchanged a glance with Draco, and Draco nodded. "You have to do as he asks, I'm afraid," he said.

Snape didn't look daunted as he went out the door. Harry didn't understand that. He would have guessed that Snape would look discouraged, as long as he kept up this silly, unreasonable reaction of trying to convince Harry he really hadn't compelled anybody. Snape just looked more determined, the way that Draco did when Harry turned back to him.

"I swore that if you came back broken, I'd put the pieces back together," Draco said, when the door had closed. "Do you remember that?"

"Of course, but—"

"And I'm here," said Draco. "And I am never moving anywhere, Harry."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "I formally apologize for compelling you when I'm a guest in your home," he said. "I thought this might happen when Fawkes brought me here, but I was so broken at that moment that I couldn't think of another sanctuary. I'll apologize to your father and—"

"Compel me."

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

"You think you've already done it," said Draco, his cheeks flushing an intense, angry red. Harry opened his mouth to point out that Narcissa and Lucius would hardly like their only son to display such unattractive emotions, but Draco went right on talking, overriding him. "For two and a half years, you think you've compelled me. And now you're apologizing for taking peace and safety that you desperately needed, because you think the same thing's happened." Draco's hand slammed on the bed between them, and he leaned forward. "So one more instance of control isn't going to make a difference. Make me do something I don't want to do."

Harry shuddered as fierce loathing twisted around in him. His magic was certainly awake now, hissing unhappily in his ear. Harry kept it from getting out of control by thinking about the ancient pureblood families whose symbols he'd learned during his very earliest childhood, and having the magic make their symbols in a faint line of light behind him. "I can't," he whispered. "Don't ask me that, Draco."

"You don't want to?" Draco's face had flushed further, so that he now looked as though someone had Transfigured his head into an apple.

"Of course not!" Harry shouted, and then winced as the room around them shuddered. "Apologies."

Draco waved a hand, in a gesture so dismissive that he didn't bother completing it. "Then how can you think you compelled my affection for you, you stupid prat? You hate compulsion so much. Would you ever put someone under it willingly?"

"But I put you under it unwittingly," Harry whispered. "Your father said you had changed—I didn't know—"

"Scary as it is for you to comprehend, Harry, there is a little concept called forgiveness," Draco said, his voice cutting. "You chose to forgive your parents and your brother for all the stupid things they'd done, practically forever. And I chose to forgive you for the compulsion when I realized that I didn't know what was real friendship for you and what wasn't. There's no way that I could ever go through books and find all my reactions in them. I'm your friend, and though it may have begun in compulsion, it's continuing with my full knowledge about the risks of being close to you. Yes," he added, before Harry could draw breath, "that includes risking my life."

Harry hadn't been about to say that; he had been about to talk about the future risk to Draco's free will, even if he thought he could choose right now. But now he shook his head. "No," he said. "You can't possibly forgive me for that."

"Why not?" Draco pushed.

"Because—"

"Because why?"

"Because the desire to forgive me is probably just another compulsion that I induced in you," said Harry, finding the answer and clinging on to it for dear life. "I want your friendship so much that I could convince you to go through this whole charade, just so that I could get you back. I can't ever know what's compulsion and what's not."

"No, Harry, you cannot," said Snape, opening the door and coming right back in. The five minutes must be up, Harry thought, even as he wished that Snape would have stayed away for longer. "But I know my own mind. I am a trained Occlumens, and I have been around powerful wizards who did have a reason to wish to compel my obedience, the Dark Lord and Dumbledore both. I know the touch of compulsion. I know what it feels like on my mind. I have felt none of that from you."

"That probably just means it was too subtle for you to notice," Harry disagreed. His palms were sweating, his magic swirling around him. He could feel himself being backed up against a cliff, and he didn't know what would happen when he felt air beneath his heels. He couldn't think of a pureblood ritual appropriate to handling this. While he had been Lily's victim, they were his, and doing all of this, even wanting to forgive him, because of his influence.

"Harry." Snape's voice all but growled. "Do you think you are a more powerful wizard than Dumbledore?"

"No," said Harry at once. This was a question that he knew the answer to, and since he couldn't think of a reason that he would want Snape to ask it, perhaps it was the first step on a road to freedom, something that had emerged independently from Snape's thoughts.

"What about the Dark Lord?"

Harry shivered as he remembered the feel of the Dark Lord's magic sliding over him at the end of first year, heavy and potent, able to bind him down and defeat him quite easily. It was only Connor's innate ability to love that had saved both their lives then. Granted, Harry supposed he might have grown stronger since he'd had the phoenix web unbound, but surely the web would have allowed him to use all the power he had, because he was trying to protect Connor then, and it approved of that purpose. Voldemort had still triumphed over him. And besides, he'd been weakened himself, a disembodied spirit. If Harry could improve in strength as his restraints lessened, surely Voldemort could as well. "No," he whispered.

"Then why do you believe that you can compel me, when I managed to fight off both their auras?" Snape was glowering at him now.

Harry shook his head frantically. The cliff was behind him, parts of himself spilling out and over into empty air. "No," he said. "I—I compelled you. I must have."

"Why?" Snape demanded.

"My mother told me that I can feed on other wizards' magic," said Harry. A twig. I can grab and hold to this. "If I drained part of your magic, then that would make you weak enough that I could compel you."

Snape snorted. "That, also, is an ability that the Dark Lord possessed," he said. "And I watched him employ it often enough, though at great cost to his own strength for days afterward. No, Mr. Potter, I do not believe that you have done that."

"I did it to my mother," Harry said, and her broken form on the floor when the justice ritual had finished with her echoed like a note of discordant music in his mind. Snape and Draco did not hear it, or did not care. They did not back off. They were still pushing him off the cliff.

"You did not." Draco's voice was a vicious snap, a bite that went home as none of Fenrir Greyback's had. "I know the ritual you used, Harry. Mother explained it to me. There is no way it can be mistaken. It would have hurt you if you were wrong. It certainly wouldn't have drained your mother's magic unless she completely deserved it. Mother says that you know that, too, and that you were certain the ritual was right, or you'd have nothing to hold onto."

He's right. I know the ritual is right. I know it couldn't be mistaken.

And that was the shove that sent Harry off the cliff. He closed his eyes intensely, hunched in on himself, and waited to hit the bottom. His thoughts whirled in chaos around him.

Into them, swift as a spear, came Draco's final words.

"That means that she was wrong, Harry. And she was wrong about other things, too. Like your having to compel other people to get them to like you. That's wrong. I'm your friend. Snape's your guardian. She was wrong, Harry."

And Harry couldn't think of anything to refute that. To admit his mother had been right about him in any respect would undercut the justice ritual, and that was right, that was true, that was absolutely correct—

Harry hadn't noticed the contradiction in his logic.

He hadn't let himself, really, and he hadn't been in any fit state to notice it when he first came to the Malfoys.

But here it was, and Harry tried to think of a way around it, and couldn't, before the contradiction swallowed him.

He became aware that he was crying again, and that Draco had his arms around him. Harry clung back. He wasn't falling anymore, but his thoughts and his magic still ran in confused circles.

"I'm here now," Draco whispered. "I suppose you might compel me in the future, or we might learn that something specific is the result of compulsion. There's always that chance. But for now, I'm here, and I choose to be here, and I am your friend, Harry. I promise."

Harry closed his eyes and hung on, aware for the very first time of how much he really needed this.

Snape watched the scene in silence, as Harry shook in Draco's embrace. His tears had dried up almost as soon as they arrived, but that didn't bother Snape. What amazed him was that they had come at all.

It was not a nice thing at all, what they had done, Snape knew, confronting Harry when he was still vulnerable and acting to drive the truth they wanted him to acknowledge home. On the other hand, had they waited, Snape thought it quite possible that they would never have convinced him. Harry had the greatest ability to heal that Snape had ever known, and Narcissa had said that he was using the pureblood rituals as a channel for his thoughts. Given time, he would have simply grown over the wounds in his being like a sycamore and become a stronger person yet again—but without the ability to forgive himself or listen to his friends. And that would, in the end, have meant another breaking.

This way, building on the one thing Narcissa had said Harry was sure of, they had the chance to truly walk forward.

We are neither of us nice, Snape thought, when Draco finally gently unwound his arms from Harry and nodded to him. I am glad that Draco has this particular kind of unpleasantness within him, however. I will need help with Harry in the future.

He stepped forward and sat down on the bed beside Harry, while Draco slipped out of the room. Snape appreciated that, though he suspected it was courtesy on the surface only and Draco would listen at the door.

Harry kept his head bowed as he whispered, "I'm so sorry for thinking that you didn't know your own mind well enough—"

Snape felt his brows rise in exasperation. He always manages to guilt himself about one thing or another, doesn't he? "Stop that," he said, sharply.

Harry hunched into himself a bit, and waited. He was shivering, Snape noted, though the room wasn't cold.

"I know that you have the ability to compel other wizards, should you wish to," said Snape casually. "And it seems that you might have the ability to drain off other wizards' magic." Now that he thought about it, he believed that Harry had mentioned something like that when describing how Dumbledore tried to attack Draco, but he had not sounded interested in exploring it, and Snape had not pushed. "I assure you I am not eager to be either your victim or your test subject. I will, however, be your teacher in attempts to control both abilities."

Harry looked up for the first time. Snape steeled himself not to simply reach over and embrace the boy. It would comfort Harry, but it would also undermine the seriousness of what he was telling him.

"Had you not thought of getting teaching?" he asked, and made his voice icy. "That is the first sign of genuine carelessness with your magic I have seen from you, then."

Harry shook his head. "I thought Connor could teach me," he whispered. "Since he has the ability to compel other wizards, too."

"And you thought his ability resembled yours?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded, hesitantly.

"They are not alike," said Snape. "The compulsion ability your brother possesses, and which Black also does—" he was not able to keep the loathing out of his voice, but luckily, Harry did not react to it "—are specific magical gifts, such as Parseltongue. Your ability to compel other wizards is more properly a side-effect of your magic, which calls to other wizards. Dumbledore has both abilities, as does the Dark Lord. However, you have only the one. If you had the other, I would have seen signs of it when I entered your mind last year."

Harry nodded. Snape had thought the boy understood this already, but he restrained his impatience. It turned out to be amazingly easy. Next to the importance of the victory they had won with Harry today, the small nuances of what he might or might not already know didn't matter.

And perhaps the boy had never been in a mood so receptive to listening, so likely to let words make an impact on his mind. Remembering that, Snape chose his next words carefully.

"Your brother cannot teach you. And, after what happened to Lily, I am not sure he would wish to."

Harry drew in a sharp breath, and his face paled. But he nodded. He had considered, then, what his actions would cost him with the rest of the people who had lived with him (Snape refused to dignify them with the title 'family' anymore). Good. That will make things easier.

"I will teach you," said Snape. "I will teach you whatever you need to know—Occlumency, Legilimency, Potions, Dark Arts. Whatever will preserve your life and insure that you not only survive, but live. You have had enough pain and sorrow in your life, Harry. I assure you, any grudge I bore you because you are James's son died in your first year, and when I came after you at the end of the second, I knew what I risked. I have chosen, again and again, to take the risks." With relief, he noted that Harry was listening to him, this time, and his eyes were steadily widening. "I will not abandon you."

Harry closed his eyes sharply.

Snape, unable to contain the impulse any longer, reached out and drew him close. Harry didn't look up at him as he leaned against him, and Snape was glad for that. He did not think that Harry would have wanted to see the expression on Snape's face.

What Harry has done to Lily is a beginning. But it is not enough. Nothing will satisfy me but her complete obliteration. And he has not touched James, or Black.

It will be my pleasure to insure their destruction.

Harry paused warily at the entrance to the room. He had thought about not coming; the ritual that Lucius had used to request this meeting gave him the chance to refuse. But then things would have been tense, strained, and unhappy in Malfoy Manor for the rest of his stay, and Harry intended that to last until he went back to Hogwarts. He would have to risk the chances of Lucius hurting him.

He thought it was small, anyway. Narcissa and Draco would—well, do something really horrible to Lucius if he hurt Harry. Harry wasn't sure what it would be. He found that he didn't want to think about it. It was enough to know that they were there, their protective presence wrapped around him even when they weren't in the same room, and that Snape was behind them as well. Snape had refused to leave unless Harry came back to Hogwarts with him, and since Draco didn't want that, he had managed to secure an invitation to stay.

Harry still found it hard to believe that they felt affection for him, but he couldn't not believe it. Not anymore. He supposed he would have to get used to it.

"Come in, Mr. Potter."

Lucius straightened up from the hearth, which he'd been poking at—unnecessarily, since the house elves of course kept the fire blazing brightly—and gave him an even look. Harry blinked. He hadn't seen Lucius since he revealed his compulsive ability to him, and neither Narcissa nor Draco had mentioned anything altered about his appearance. He hadn't realized that there was a huge red handprint splayed across Lucius's cheek.

He kept himself from gasping, which would be a break in the dance as well as rude, and inclined his head, going to one of the two chairs. They were the only furniture in the room, and were severe, dark wood and white cloth. Harry knew the colors, paired, meant apology in one of the older silent rituals. He didn't think that was a coincidence.

Lucius took the chair across from him. For a moment, they regarded each other in silence. Harry didn't know what Lucius saw. He saw a pureblood wizard who looked as if he had witnessed a war.

Or was about to witness one, Harry thought, and then shivered. Well, that's true enough.

"Mr. Potter," said Lucius, breaking the silence, "I need to ask you to accept two gifts from me." He gestured, and a white box rose from the floor beside him and skimmed over to Harry. "First, this one."

Harry opened the box gingerly, his magic humming around him; he saw Lucius wince, though he didn't say a word. He had to fight to keep from gaping when he saw what lay inside. It was the truce-gift for the winter solstice, the carved marble branch of an olive tree, token of peace and negotiation continued. It was traditional for the wizards who gave the gift to add some small charm to it, usually one that made the branch shimmer and look alive, in order to show off their power and remind the recipient of the advantages of allying with them.

Lucius had added the dazzling golden aura of a Charm that Harry knew quite well. He'd studied it in-depth in the histories of the First War, though he had never cast it or expected to see it cast. He raised his eyes slowly to Lucius's face.

Lucius confirmed it aloud for him, though he didn't need to. "Break the branch," he said, "and harm will come to me."

"What will break?" Harry asked, hearing his own voice as though down a long tunnel. That hadn't been unusual since he came to the Manor, but this time, the shock wasn't from what he had done to Lily. He looked down at the Charm, but couldn't tell just from looking. "Your arm, or your leg?"

Lucius bared his teeth in a very faint smile. Harry thought it was directed more against himself than Harry. "My neck."

Harry gently picked up the branch, and saw Lucius shudder along the connection that bound him to it. "You've given me a weapon against you in the case of treachery," he said, hearing the wonder in his voice.

Lucius snorted. "I would have not used that Charm otherwise, Potter."

Harry looked carefully at him. He wouldn't have trusted protestations of sorrow, of course, or simple apologies, and Lucius knew that. It seemed that when he decided to yield, he did not do it halfway.

Of course, he'd just stepped the truce-dance up. Harry would have to think of a gift that was a fit answer to this one, and that meant, properly, making himself just as vulnerable.

Harry put the branch back in the box, and then nodded. "And the second gift, Mr. Malfoy?"

Lucius gestured again, probably performing a nonverbal spell rather than doing wandless magic, and a second box rose from behind him. This one opened on the way to Harry, so that he could see a glass vial nestled within it. The vial contained a tiny amount of dark liquid. When he could see it closely, Harry realized it was blood.

He met Lucius's eyes. "And this?"

"Three drops of my blood," said Lucius. "I gave three drops to those trying to resurrect the Dark Lord, when they threatened Draco. They used it to determine my true intentions." He paused, and bowed his head slightly, in such a motion that his chin shielded his throat. "I thought it only appropriate," he added softly, "to give three drops of blood to the one who saved my son's life.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter. Do you accept my apologies?"

Harry held himself back from the immediate answer he wanted to make. This was not about Draco or Narcissa, however large a part they might play in Lucius's decision to yield to him. He had to consider, rationally, logically, coolly, whether or not he trusted Lucius not to hurt him.

And he did, he realized, a little surprised. The branch secured his trust. So did the three drops of blood.

And so did the knowledge, clear in Lucius's eyes as they squinted against the headache Harry's magic was giving him, that he could utterly destroy Lucius, branch or no branch, if Lucius ever betrayed him. He was stronger than Lucius was. The pureblood rituals were a way of acknowledging that power without coming to blows, and letting everyone preserve their pride. That was their oldest and most sacred purpose.

"I accept them," said Harry quietly.

Lucius gave a small, feral smile. Harry gave back one he suspected resembled it a great deal. What he and Lucius had was nothing like the friendship Harry had with Draco, nor the perhaps-friendship, perhaps-parental bond he had with Narcissa, but it was an understanding nonetheless.

January 2nd, 1994

Harry Potter:

Have Severus bring you to school at once. I know he is there with you.

Your mother has been stripped of magic, and your father has left Godric's Hollow without telling anyone where he has gone. Your brother is beside himself, and Sirius is not much better. Remus returns my letters to me unopened.

It is time that you and I talked.

Albus Dumbledore.