Thank you for all the responses yesterday, and the patience with the cliffhanger!
I don't know if this chapter goes exactly the way I imagined it, but we do get some confrontations.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Lady LionessShe had most often believed in the past that if she wanted something done right, she would have to do it herself.
Or get Albus Dumbledore to do it. But since he had grown so untrustworthy of late, Minerva had once more become used to relying on herself.
And one of the things she had to do, which no one else seemed willing to do, was tell Connor Potter exactly what had happened to his mother. Albus had told her at once when he received Lily's letter, which was good of him. Of course, he probably wanted her to use the information to manipulate Connor against his brother in some unimaginable and obscure way. Minerva had decided to counteract that by using the information in as straightforward a manner as possible.
She rapped on the door to Sirius Black's office on the second floor, and then repeated the motion when no one answered. Sirius had brought Connor in just a few hours ago on his flying motorbike. Minerva had asked one of the house elves to watch over the room for her, and knew they were in here.
At last, slowly, Sirius opened the door. Minerva bit back a curse. His eyes were…
She shook her head and stepped past him. She knew why his eyes were like that, and since the memories asking would bring up were even more painful, she would not ask. "I came to talk to Connor," she said softly.
Sirius nodded and motioned a hand over his shoulder. Minerva turned and saw the Boy-Who-Lived in a chair beneath one of the Gryffindor Quidditch banners that Sirius kept hung all over the room, his head buried in his hands.
Minerva approached him as calmly as she could. She had seen Connor when he was in a temper, especially when he was in a temper about something his brother had done. He needed serene adults around him, adults who could tell him the truth and make sure he understood it while retaining an undertone of stern sympathy. Had she had the choice, Minerva would not have left him alone with Sirius so long, but he was far closer to the boy than she was. She had wanted to give them some privacy.
"Mr. Potter," she said, taking a chair across from him. He hadn't stirred when she stood over him. Perhaps this would encourage him to open up to her more. "I want to speak with you about your mother."
Connor dropped his hands from his face at that and looked up at her, and Minerva bit back on more obscenities, which was something she normally never had to do once in a day, never mind twice. Connor's eyes looked like holes in his face, as though someone had scooped all the soul out of them and left dim hazel tunnels into his skull.
"I already know," said Connor flatly. "She talked to me, and Sirius talked to me." He drew in a ragged breath, and then barked like Sirius in dog form. "Harry stole her magic! He stole her magic, and left her a Muggle! How could he have done that! He hates her, that's obvious, and I hate him!"
Minerva's eyes widened, and she turned to stare at Sirius. Even if Lily hadn't recognized the pureblood ritual—and Minerva considered it one of the unmistakable ones—then why hadn't Sirius, who had certainly been raised in a pureblood household and might even have seen that ritual in action, told him the truth?
Sirius hunched and avoided her gaze.
"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!" Connor was repeating passionately when Minerva looked at him again. His eyes had brightened, but only to fill with the emotion that he was describing, something Minerva thought no child so young should feel. "I want him dead. I don't want him near me. Can you arrange things so that we don't have Potions or Transfiguration with the Slytherins any more?" He looked up, seeking sympathy in Minerva's eyes. "Because Sirius was right all along, and that's all he is, really, just a dirty, nasty, slimy, sneaking—"
The door to the office burst open then, and in came Remus Lupin.
But it was a Remus Lupin horribly changed. Minerva didn't think she'd seen him look worse since the sole transformation she'd witnessed for herself when he was a student here. His face was flushed with too much color, and his hands choked the air in front of him. The deep, wild smell that accompanied him made Minerva's nose twitch as if she were already in cat form.
And he aimed straight at Sirius and knocked him to the floor, his jaws—Minerva couldn't think of them as part of a human mouth any more—snapping at his face.
Connor was screaming. Minerva rose and aimed her wand, casting coolly.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The spell hit Remus and simply faded. Minerva hissed. She forgot, not having fought them often, that werewolves were resistant to many kinds of magic, and immune to some of them.
But that was only supposed to be in animal form.
Swift as despair came the next thought: Does that mean that he could pass on the curse to Sirius if he bit him now?
Minerva would not allow that to happen. It would mean a fate worse than death for one of her Gryffindors, and death or life in Azkaban for the other, and she had already lost enough of them during the holidays.
She gathered up more of her power and poured it smoothly into the next spell she used, one that the witches of the McGonagall family had passed down among themselves since Calypso invented it. It had been one of the techniques that the Light Lady had used to control herself.
"Catena cordis!"
It worked, as she had hoped it would. Werewolves had been around long enough to develop more immunity to general spells than specialized ones. Just as Remus opened his mouth and lunged at Sirius's face, he gasped. Then he fell awkwardly to the side, his arms and legs moving as though he struggled against a net. Minerva watched him in pity. The effect of the spell wasn't pleasant, as all the emotions in the victim's heart abruptly jerked sideways, chained and kept from becoming true emotions. He would have to think rationally. He wouldn't have a choice.
Minerva decided that she could do worse than use the spell on the others in the room, and had just lifted her wand to do so, when the door banged the rest of the way open and Harry and Severus lunged in. Harry was gasping, panting, his face flushed as though with fever. Severus was looking at Remus, and the expression he wore was undeniably disappointed.
Minerva opened her mouth to ask what was going on, and then Connor took the matter at least partly out of her hands.
"I hate you, Harry!"
Harry winced and closed his eyes, turning his head so that his chin rested on his shoulder. He supposed he should have expected his twin's declaration, but it still hurt.
What hurt even more was Connor's awkward punch to his jaw a moment later. Harry wouldn't have believed his brother could cross the room that fast, nor that he wouldn't have heard him coming. He supposed his own emotional pain had distracted him.
He rolled with the blow—one thing he had learned in his long training with the Muggle who had given birth to him was how to fall—and lunged back to his feet, only to find Snape's wand pointed at his brother, and McGonagall's wand pointed at Snape, and Connor's wand pointed at him.
"You hurt our mother!" Connor had obviously been crying not too long ago, but now his eyes were dry with rage like a desert sun. "How could you do that? How could you take her magic away?" He steadied his wand with his left hand as it began to shake. "Maybe you'd like it if I did that to you, so that you can pay for it?"
Harry felt the remnants of his sanity begin to slip again. He scrambled after them and grasped them all, holding them firmly in place. No, he would not allow himself to doubt the justice ritual. He could not.
"Shut up, Mr. Potter."
Harry went cold all over. He had never heard Snape sound so hateful. He turned slowly to look at his guardian again, and saw that Snape's face had closed down. What Harry recognized was the same look he had given Sirius on the Quidditch Pitch. They had a Death Eater in the room with them.
"No, don't," he whispered. "Sir. Please."
"He practically killed our mother!" Connor howled back at Snape, not at all intimidated. "She told me so herself. I saw her. He didn't, he ran away, he was too cowardly to stay, but—"
Harry stared at him with horrified sickness rising up in his belly. Of course. He should have anticipated that this would happen. He had left Connor alone with Lily and Sirius, at least, and maybe James, for too long a period of time. Of course they would make his brother believe what they wanted him to believe, and that Harry had taken away her magic as the result of Dark spells, or perhaps the obscene feeding ability that Lily had talked about.
Snape's hand came down on his shoulder just as the room started to swirl, and Snape's low voice said into his ear, "I will not have you fainting. Do you understand? You will not."
That sternness gave Harry an anchor to cling to, and he took it, straightening his shoulders and nodding shortly at Snape. By the time he turned back, McGonagall had found her breath and was speaking to Connor.
"Mr. Potter," she said, "your mother lost her magic to a ritual, and not a spell."
"A Dark magic ritual," said Connor, undaunted. Harry tried to meet his brother's eyes, and could not. The loathing there was too deep. It made him dizzy and short of breath when he attempted to look into it. "I know it. Sirius and Mum told me all about it. He made her into a Muggle just because he wanted to eat her magic. He's a Dark Lord, too." Connor took a step forward. "He has to be stopped before he eats anyone else's magic."
Snape began to say softly, "Adsulto—"
Harry, recognizing the incantation for the heart attack spell, snapped, "Protego!" and stuck a shield in front of Connor that should repel the spell. Of course, that effort sent him to his knees. He really shouldn't have mucked about in Remus's head quite so much, he thought woozily. Then perhaps he would have more strength to devote to the effort of keeping both his brother and Snape alive.
Connor was glaring, and Harry felt a slithering force across his mind that he recognized as the compulsion gift. He managed to bounce it off, barely.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Remus was whispering.
And then McGonagall's voice cut over everyone, saying, very firmly, "Silencio."
Harry gratefully let the spell take his voice. He wasn't sure what would emerge, at the moment, if he tried to speak. He crouched on the floor and concentrated on getting his perception of the world back.
Of course, without the surety of affection from his brother that he had based so much of that world on, it was a harder task than he had expected. And by now his head really hurt.
Minerva caught her own breath and scowled at the wizards sprawled or standing around the office.
That's better, she thought. Not one of them has the sense that Merlin had when he advised Arthur against bedding Morgana. Wizards! If I want something done right, then I have to do it myself.
"Now," she said, when she was sure that she would manage to sound calm and not as if she wanted to bite all their heads off, "I'm going to release you from the spell, one at a time. I've already heard Connor's side of the story." She glanced once at Sirius, but he shook his head and turned away from her. Minerva restrained a growl. That one had been the bravest and most reckless of her Gryffindors, once upon a time, living as though untouched by any dark shadow. She had learned since that he was touched, of course, but she still found it hard to believe that all of his courage had been a façade. She released Remus instead.
He sat up slowly. His eyes still glowed, and the undeniable wild smell still plagued the air around him, but he was calm. He had no choice but to be, under the Catena spell. He looked at her once, and then away.
"Well?" Minerva demanded.
Remus sighed. "I gained some of my courage back, and asked Harry to free me from the Obliviate," he said.
"Why him?" Minerva checked on Harry. The boy really did look bad—pale as the Bloody Baron's blood, with one hand on his head as though it were about to split apart. "Why not Severus?"
"Because," said Remus, looking at her as though she were the one who had gone mad and tried to pass on lycanthropy, "Harry is the vates, and he could enter my mind because I'm a werewolf."
Minerva blinked a few times, and then shook her head. Of course she had suspected that something like that must be true, especially with the books that Severus had been lending her, but she had not thought there was any way that the boy could come to his power so soon.
She looked sharply once again at Harry. And it does look as though he's paid the price.
"And then what happened?" she demanded, to keep from getting angry at the thought of the poor boy suffering again.
"I came here," said Remus. His eyes briefly sparked, and then subsided again. He looked mildly confused. Minerva thought the confusion really belonged to the wolf inside him, who would not understand why it could not summon the rage to attack. "I thought Sirius would probably be in this room, and he was. Or maybe I was following his scent. I don't—I don't really know. I was too lost to the wolf. I only knew that I wanted to punish him for what he had done to Harry." He glared at Sirius. "After all, he was the only one of Harry's family actually at Hogwarts."
"James has gone somewhere," Minerva remembered, from what Albus had shown her in Lily's letter, "and Lily is still at Godric's Hollow."
"Is she?"
Minerva narrowed her eyes. "If it's necessary, Remus," she said coolly, "I will have you swear an Unbreakable Vow to me, that you will not attack or harm Lily Potter in any way."
Remus stared at her, and said nothing.
Minerva shook her head again. What a mess you have created, Albus. It was too bad that Albus was too powerful to take vengeance against, and that they needed him as leader of the Light side. Perhaps there were other ways to do it than straightforward magical assault, or exposing Albus's crimes against Harry and letting the boy suffer again along with him.
Then Minerva remembered the object she'd stolen from Albus's office the last time she'd been there, and relaxed. There are smaller ways. They're slower, but they're more guaranteed to work, too.
"I don't want you harming her, Remus."
Harry. He'd broken through the Silencio—Minerva wasn't surprised, not really—and had crawled over to Remus, one hand out as though to stroke the werewolf's cheek. Remus turned his head and gently nuzzled the boy's hand. Harry stared up at him with wide green eyes. Minerva thought those eyes had seen too much. She wished she could pick Harry up and put him in a place where he wouldn't have to experience pain ever again, but almost seventy years in the world had taught her that only death was like that.
Remus watched him for a long moment, then nodded. "If you're sure, Harry," he said. "But only if you're sure."
"Yes," said Harry. His voice was weary, but utterly determined, in the way that Minerva had felt herself when facing Voldemort in battle. "It's all done, between me and her. That's the end. You know what that ritual means. I know what it cost her, and what it cost me. I never want to hear about it costing anyone else anything."
Minerva couldn't help it. She turned and looked at Connor and Sirius.
She knew from the looks on their faces that it was too late for that—not to mention whatever the ritual had done to James and Lily's relationship. Sirius blamed Harry, in the odd way that he had lately of blaming his godson for everything. Connor blamed Harry, because he thought it was Dark magic that had left his mother a Muggle.
Minerva sighed. She did not know how to fix this. Even if Remus refrained from attacking Sirius or Lily in the future, the other two had heard him declare an intention to do so. They would probably never trust him again. Remus, as much as Harry, had just left half his family behind.
It is good that he has chosen Harry, at least, she thought, as she released Connor from the Silencio. If he had not, the poor boy would have no one among those he has known from childhood with him.
"Mr. Potter," she said, drawing Connor's intense gaze from his twin to her. "I will have your word here and now that you won't attack your brother—in the corridors, on the Quidditch Pitch, in class, on the grounds, or anywhere else."
Connor tilted his head back. His eyes flashed Gryffindor stubbornness and pride at her. They were traits that Minerva had loved and cursed in equal measure since the Hat had shouted out the name of her House for her. At the moment, she had more reason than usual to curse them.
"No," he said. "He has to pay for what he did to our mother. And no one else is punishing him—" the furious betrayal in his voice made her wince "—so I have to. I'll attack him as often as I can."
"Mr. Potter," said Minerva, with a heavy heart. He will not understand. But if it comes to a choice between his not understanding and further suffering for Harry, I know which I will choose. "For every attack on your brother, you should know that you, in turn, will suffer a punishment. For the first one, you will have a week's worth of detention with—" she almost said Professor Snape, but then remembered the glances he had given the boy and decided that wasn't a good idea "—Argus Filch. For the next one, you will not play in the Quidditch game against Hufflepuff. For the third one, you will not play in the Quidditch game against Ravenclaw, either. For the fourth one, you will be removed from the Quidditch team for next year as well." She paused. Connor was staring at her in absolute betrayal and disbelief. "Do you understand?" she added softly.
"But, Professor," Connor spluttered, "if you do that, then we have no chance at wining the Quidditch Cup!"
Minerva thought of the way that Severus would taunt her about that. It was astonishing how little the memory stung, beside the thought of Harry suffering, and not even defending himself against, his brother's attacks. "I know," she said.
Connor's eyes widened, and she saw comprehension flood them after all. Of course, he lowered his head in the next moment and muttered, "Everyone cares more about him than me. I don't understand."
Minerva restrained herself from exasperation. The Boy-Who-Lived really was a boy, a child, and she would not yell at him, no matter how much she wanted to. She would explain instead.
"Mr. Potter," she said, and waited until his gaze was fixed sullenly on her again, "I want to tell you about the ritual that your brother used on your mother. It was an ancient one, and it could not have happened unless your mother had wronged Harry—so wronged him that she deserved to have her magic taken away."
Connor blinked. Then he looked at Harry. "I don't believe you," he said, his voice harsh, "but I'll listen if you can really tell me what she did to you."
Minerva faced Harry. Connor's response made her cautiously hopeful. Perhaps the boy could be rescued from Sirius's and his mother's influence, after all, and if it meant not having to either protect Harry from his brother's attacks or assign the punishments she'd promised Connor…
She was surprised, therefore, when Harry lifted his head and shook it, lips pressed tightly together.
Harry had already made his decision—long before he entered the room, actually, but in concrete fashion ever since he'd realized what he'd done, leaving Connor alone with Lily and Sirius for days.
He's already had his family ripped apart. I can't prevent that. I can't do anything to give him his father back, or his brother, or Remus. But I can let him have Mum and Sirius. They've already chosen to be heroes. I can confirm that.
Giving up his brother's regard hurt him like a branding with a red-hot iron in the center of his chest, but what did it matter? It was only another sacrifice, after all. It wasn't like he wasn't used to making them.
He felt Snape's hand tighten on his shoulder from behind. He felt Remus staring at him. He felt McGonagall's eyes narrow in disapproval. None of that mattered. He had suffered worse when his brother first looked at him with hatred. He could ease past this best if he knew that Connor was also on the way to healing.
Lily had said that she wanted him to preserve Connor's innocence for as long as possible. Harry was doing so. Later, when he was ready to hear it—when his heart wasn't torn into tiny shreds by the loss of his mother's magic and the betrayal of his brother—then perhaps Harry could tell him the truth. But, for now, it would be like hurling himself against a wall while simultaneously tearing open Connor's wounds again, and again, and again, and again.
Harry had suffered enough of that himself in the last year. He would not let it happen to his twin.
Of course, he would not lie, either, but he could see what conclusions Connor was drawing from his silence, and he let him draw them. The victorious light in Connor's eyes grew brighter. Harry breathed a little easier. Anything, anything, was better than the defeat and despair he'd seen there.
"I'll keep your punishments in mind, Professor," Connor told McGonagall casually, and then went over to kneel beside Sirius, ignoring both Harry and Remus completely.
McGonagall tried to say something, but Harry didn't hear what it was. He'd done what he had to, and his body was demanding that he go to sleep. He yawned and did, not even hearing whether or not McGonagall released Snape from the silencing spell. He would have to hope she did. Snape was capable of releasing himself, of course, but if he did, then his anger was probably also severe enough to make him use wandless, nonverbal magic against Sirius and Connor.
"Drink."
Harry blinked, but didn't have much choice, as the cup of pumpkin juice was practically shoved in his face when he awakened. He took it from Snape's hands and downed it, then looked around. He was on the Transfigured couch in Snape's quarters. He could feel the potions in the juice working, one to ease the pain in his head, another to ease his drowsiness. Harry yawned anyway, and sat up, continuing to sip at the juice.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Nearly midnight." Snape prowled around in front of him and stood there, watching him drink. Harry realized his face was blank—utterly so. His eyes held no smoldering hatred, no sarcasm, no anger. If Harry absolutely had to find words to describe his expression, or lack of it, he would have said that Snape looked serious.
Harry swallowed. "Won't Draco be worried about me?" he asked.
"He would be," Snape agreed, "but I have spoken to him, and he knows where you are. He said something about your giving him a Christmas gift tomorrow?"
Harry smiled slightly. "Yes."
Snape nodded. "But that is tomorrow, and this is tonight." He sat down on the chair that Harry had taken earlier, when he was freeing Remus from the Obliviate. "Harry. We must talk."
Harry tilted his head. "About what?" He could guess some of the subjects, but he had not expected Snape to address them this early or in quite this way.
"Your rushing into Lupin's head without any warning or preparation would be a good start," said Snape. He would have said Remus's name with a curl of his lip ordinarily, or the words themselves with dry sarcasm. He didn't. Harry felt his heart begin to pound, and shifted defensively backwards. "Why?" Snape asked.
"I wanted him free," Harry replied. "I was sure I could do it." And he had been sure, a rush of dazzling confidence overcoming him. Of course, there was more to it. "And I thought that Remus might change his mind at any moment and decide to stay hidden behind the barriers," he added.
"If he had changed his mind, then that was surely his choice," said Snape. "And I believe that he would have changed it back soon enough. There was no excuse for what you did, Harry. None."
Harry winced. "Did I hurt him?" he whispered. Remus hadn't seemed that hurt, especially since McGonagall had calmed him before he bit Sirius, but it was possible that Harry had caused mental wounds.
"No," said Snape. "But, quite apart from that, you could have hurt yourself."
Harry looked down at his hands, and said nothing.
"You have been reckless," said Snape softly. "Journeys into the Forbidden Forest. How many, Harry?"
"Just two, really," Harry muttered. "One with Remus and Sirius on a full moon night at the end of October, and one when Connor was in danger from Fenrir Greyback."
Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And then there is the fact that you went to Godric's Hollow for Christmas," he said, "and released your parents from Fugitivus Animus, despite knowing that you could have put yourself in danger by doing so."
Harry looked up. "I didn't mean to release Dad."
Snape pinched his lips shut, as though he would say something about James Potter, but refrained. Harry was glad; it was the first sign he'd seen of the normal Snape since the conversation began. "Nevertheless, he was released," said Snape slowly. "Minerva assured me of that. And he has left Godric's Hollow, and gone Merlin knows where."
"Do you think he's in danger, too?" Harry asked.
"I don't care." Snape leaned forward abruptly, and the growl was back, twisting in cold anger under his voice. This time, though, Harry had the distinct impression that Snape really was angry with him. "The point is, what if he had decided to do something to hurt you before you could get to the Malfoys'? Or if he is hunting you even now? You have insured only that Lily could not hurt you."
"She was the only one I was angry enough at," said Harry.
"Because she used the phoenix web," Snape surmised.
Harry nodded. "Yes."
"You did not tell us about that," said Snape, his voice softer than darkness.
Harry looked away. "I didn't think that I could relive it."
"You managed in the Headmaster's office."
Harry gave his head a quick shake. "What's the point of listing all of these times I was in danger at me?"
"Because I think you have little to no care for your own life," Snape hissed, and reached out to catch one of Harry's wrists. "Or your own sanity, given the way you answered Dumbledore's summons the day it came, or how you stepped into the werewolf's head. Nor do you explain things that badly need to be explained." His free hand swiped across Harry's forehead, and came away covered with blood. Harry started guiltily.
"Draco mentioned something about nightmares," Snape said, staring hard at him, "and blood coming from your scar. Somehow, you had neglected to mention them to me. It is good that he did, or I would have panicked when you began bleeding and I could not wake you."
Harry swallowed. It was true that he'd had the dream of the two dark figures writhing in torment again, and the circle of shadows closing in. But he had kept them from Snape because…
"I didn't want you to worry," he whispered.
"I choose to worry," Snape snapped. "And I worry when I see you continuing a self-destructive course that you have pursued for months, long before you confronted that woman who was pleased to call herself your mother.
"You told me once that I could not treat you as a child, nor coddle you. But you must have restrictions, Harry. You will hurt other wizards as well as yourself if you do not. I consider it a miracle that you turned to a ritual to deal with Lily, and not rage that could have destroyed everyone in the house."
"It was a near thing," Harry whispered.
Snape nodded grimly. "I am going to allow you to choose the restrictions," he said, "so that you can live with them. But there are going to be restrictions, Harry. I promise you that."
Harry met his eyes, and let out a slow breath. "Would you start teaching me Occlumency again, sir?"
The tight lines around Snape's eyes relaxed the slightest bit. "That would be a start."
Harry sighed, and prepared himself for a relatively long series of negotiations. He didn't mind as much as he pretended, though he still didn't completely understand why Snape was so worried about him, as he had managed to survive, and he had trained to make his death, when it came, mean something.
But beneath the incomprehension was a glimmer of warmth.
This is more proof, I think, that he really does feel the affection he says he does.
Draco tore the wrapping away from his present and let out a crow. "Harry! Where did you find one?" He turned the book around in his hands, delightedly, and then flipped open to a random page. He grinned at Harry in the next moment. "This dance says that you're never supposed to have your elbows on the table while eating," he said, prodding at Harry's right elbow.
"I just found it," said Harry vaguely, drawing his elbows back and watching Draco in amusement. The truth was that he'd combined a Transfiguration spell with his wandless magic one day in early December, just before Lucius Malfoy's visit, and managed to create what he wanted: a book of pureblood rituals and dances, drawn from his own memory, that would enhance Draco's training in them. But Draco was watching him like a hawk that morning, and seemed to take any evidence of wandless magic as evidence of exhaustion. Harry was not going to get into an argument by mentioning how he'd created the book. He infinitely preferred a happy, cheerful Draco.
"It's wonderful," said Draco, and admired the book's white leather cover for a moment more before he turned and pushed Harry's own present to him across the table. "Go on, open it!"
Laughing, Harry opened it—and gasped. He lifted the round object gently out, blinking. It was a clock, rather like the family clock that had hung in Godric's Hollow, with hands for his parents, Connor, him, Sirius, and Remus. However, this one had four hands, and thus four names, on it.
Draco, Harry, Snape, Narcissa.
In place of times, the clock displayed titles for TRAINING, SLEEPING, EATING, WRITING, STUDYING, IN DANGER, HAVING FUN, IN CLASS, MAKING POTIONS, and, Harry was simultaneously pleased and disturbed to note, PLOTTING. Snape's hand was firmly lodged under the last one. Narcissa was writing something, probably a letter.
Draco's hand was under HAVING FUN, and as Harry watched, his own hand shifted from EATING to that one, as well.
Harry swallowed several times, and then raised his eyes to Draco's face. "Thank you," he said softly.
Draco smiled at him. "You're welcome." He paused in the midst of saying something else as an owl skimmed overhead and landed on the table, brushing crumbs of breakfast out of the way as it offered its leg to Harry. Harry looked with a frown at Draco, but Draco only shook his head, shrugging. He didn't know what it was.
Harry unrolled the long, slender package, surprised to note that it was a wand made of some polished dark wood, probably ebony. The note that came with it was brief and to the point.
Mr. Potter:
This wand belonged to a friend of yours who has been too long without it, in a gray and dreary place. Please see that it is returned to him. A certain weaver of webs has had it for twelve years.
There was no signature, but Harry didn't need one. He saw the handwriting on his Transfiguration homework all the time.
He looked up the head table, and met McGonagall's gaze. The professor saluted him with her goblet.
Harry gently placed Peter's wand back in the package and nodded to her. He avoided Dumbledore's gaze, and his brother's, because he wanted to enjoy, just for one moment, this feeling of warmth and alliance, without having it spoiled.
"Now you have to tell me what that was," Draco said.
Harry blinked and looked at the family clock, then smiled slightly. His hand was pointing firmly at PLOTTING.