Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter! This one is actually less angsty, or, at least, the angst is a little more personal.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Educating His Brother

"I don't think he's coming."

Harry glanced up, blinking, from Scrimgeour's letter, which he was reading for the fifth time, in an attempt to deduce any useful clues from the bland government-speak that the Auror had chosen to send him in return for his warning about Greyback and Macnair. "Why not?" he asked, when he finally realized Draco was talking about Connor.

"I don't think he's coming," Draco repeated. He gave a sneer around the abandoned classroom they sat in, as though the newly cleared dust was about to return.

"Yes, but that doesn't tell me why," Harry said, folding the letter and tucking it in a pocket. "He said he would be here." He held up the piece of parchment he'd enchanted to communicate back and forth with a piece of parchment Connor held. It was a variation of the spells that made the Marauder's Map, but simpler; it insured that any message written on either piece of parchment would appear on both. Connor's I'll be there. Now stop bothering me was still visible at the top of the page. Harry knew from the scratches on the b's, almost tearing through the parchment, that his brother was angry and sullen.

"Because he's afraid of you," said Draco, leaning back on a desk and kicking at the legs of another. "Because he's afraid of me. Because he's a wanker."

Harry tried to hide a chuckle, though he suspected from the sidelong glance Draco gave him than he'd probably heard anyway. "You're bored, aren't you?"

"Well, that and he was supposed to be here five minutes ago," Draco said.

"You said that you would help," Harry reminded him. "Of course, you can leave, and I wouldn't blame you. This isn't likely to be easy, or pleasant."

Draco shook his head, his face closing. "I said that I would help you get something worthwhile out of him, and I will," he said. "Besides, if I left, you would have to come with me. There's no way that I'll let you be alone with him ever again."

Harry rolled his eyes. Draco often made grand pronouncements like that and forgot them five minutes later. This one would linger, undoubtedly—it had only been three days since Draco punched Connor in the nose—and it was true that Draco was giving up his Easter holidays with his family to stay at the school and help Harry with Connor. But he would have to forget it soon. "Whatever you say."

He glanced up sharply as the door opened. Connor shuffled in, his face red. Harry couldn't tell if it was mostly from sullenness, embarrassment, anger, or something else. He shut the classroom's door behind him and leaned against it, glaring at Harry, his arms folded.

Harry felt a brief and entirely unexpected twinge of sympathy for teachers like McGonagall, who had to coax students determined to resist her teaching methods into appreciating the subject. He knew he couldn't get away with her sternness, though, nor with Snape's intimidation. He thought it better to imitate Remus, so he plastered a smile on his face and said, "Welcome, Connor. I'm glad that you decided to come."

"The Headmaster told me that I didn't have a choice," said Connor. He'd made an obvious effort to strip all the emotion from his tone, but some was still there—bubbling fury. Harry concealed a sigh, making sure he did better at it than he had hiding his laughter from Draco. "And he told me that I can't have lessons with Sirius any more, either. Why did you do that?" He squinted at Harry, ignoring Draco with all the persistence of a child.

"Because I'm worried about you," said Harry. Remus is always honest. He always explains the motivations behind his lessons. "You were spending so much time with Sirius that you were picking up on his attitudes. You'd started to hate Slytherins and think we were all evil."

"Well, you are," said Connor, sidling a few steps away from the door, but not coming any nearer Harry.

Harry sighed. Maybe this is the place to begin, then. He'd intended to start with practical lessons first, to get Connor used to some other kind of magic besides compulsion, but he couldn't do that if Connor absolutely refused to learn. "Do you really think that everyone in Slytherin is evil, Connor?" he asked softly. "The little eleven-year-olds who were Sorted into our House this year? Or the people who work in the Ministry and on the Daily Prophet and in Hogsmeade and in Diagon Alley and everywhere else who were Slytherins?"

"None of them work in those places," Connor insisted.

"It looks like you'll have to give him practical lessons in basic intelligence, Harry," Draco drawled.

"Shut up, you're not helping," Harry muttered at him, and then dived in before Connor's startlement could give way to outrage. "They do, Connor. Did you know that Madam Malkin, the one who made our robes for Hogwarts, used to be a Slytherin?" It had been easy enough to learn that; Hogwarts, A History had a list of past Slytherin students and what they were doing now. "And Zonko, who runs the joke shop? And Rufus Scrimgeour, who's the Head of the Auror Office? He chases Dark wizards all day, and he made a vow when he was twelve that he was going to use Light magic only, and he's kept it ever since. Do those sound like evil people to you?"

"They don't sound like it," Connor admitted reluctantly. "But they could be hiding it. Sirius told me. That's the trouble with Slytherins. You think you know them, and then they turn out to be something else." He glared at Harry. "Like you. We thought you were going to be a Gryffindor all the time we were growing up, and then it turned out that you weren't."

Harry sighed. "I don't think anybody planned where I went, Connor."

"I knew," said Draco lowly.

Harry shook his head at him. "I wanted the Hat to put me in Gryffindor," he went on, turning back to his brother. "That was so I could protect you. I wanted to share the same House as you did, the same friends, the same life. I wanted to do everything for you."

"What changed?" Connor whispered, and Harry was astonished to see tears edge into his eyes. It honestly hadn't occurred to him that his brother, under all the rage and the hate and the fear, might miss him.

"Then? I wasn't sure." Harry shrugged. "Now, I think it had to do with how well I'd been trained to hide everything—"

"Ah-ha!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "That was Mum who trained me to hide things, not anyone else," he said sharply. "No one was ever supposed to know that I could protect you, that I was the reason you were surviving the attacks that you were. I was supposed to guide and protect you into becoming a defeater of Voldemort without ever revealing that I'd done it. I was supposed to die in the final battle defending you, if possible, and no one would ever know that it came from my dedication to your service. It would just be the love of a brother for another brother."

He felt a brief tremor of unease race down his spine as he contemplated that. He had seen his life as a straight line for a long time, running until that final battle, when he would undoubtedly die. If he survived, the images were less clear, but they would still include serving Connor.

And now those were gone, and Harry had, so far, no perfected image of the future to replace any of them.

It's no wonder that so many wizards gave up on being the vates, he thought. I would give much for a path where I knew where I was going.

He shook himself out of it when he realized that Draco's arms were around his waist, and Draco was glaring bloody murder at Connor over his shoulder. Harry turned to face him. "What?" he whispered.

"He's just standing there," Draco snarled back. "Like he doesn't know what to do. Like he doesn't think that his precious Gryffindor Mu—"

"Draco."

"Muggleborn, Muggleborn, I was going to say Muggleborn," said Draco. "Like he doesn't think she could have made someone into a Slytherin. I know that you told him about being forced to act as his slave once before. Why doesn't he believe it?"

"Too much time with Sirius." Harry tried to slip out of Draco's embrace, and couldn't do it. Draco even shook him slightly when he tried.

"No," he said. "I want him to see that someone values you, damn it."

"Or you want to taunt him about having my company and friendship when he doesn't," Harry muttered back.

"That, too."

Harry faced Connor once again. Connor had closed his mouth and swallowed painfully. Then he looked up and said, "But you can't deny that the largest number of Death Eaters were Slytherins, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "No, I can't. But only because Voldemort was in that House and had the most contacts among them—"

"Ah-ha!"

"That's really very annoying, you know," Harry told him. "And Slytherin House existed for almost a thousand years before Voldemort came to Hogwarts, and it went on existing after him. My point is that not everyone who comes out of the House is evil, Connor. I'm not going to force you to judge me as good, or Draco, or Millicent, or anyone else in Hogwarts right now. But if you really think that the Sorting Hat separates out people who are evil or good, then why do you think there are three good Houses and one evil? Why do you think Slytherins are allowed to stay in Hogwarts at all? Wouldn't it make more sense to just exile them the moment the Sorting Hat chose them as Slytherin, and refuse to teach them magic?"

Connor waved a hand. "It doesn't work like that. Sirius explained it to me. They have to keep Slytherins around to keep an eye on you. It would be worse to let you run around loose and become even Darker wizards." He scowled at Harry. "And Gryffindors are the best of the best, the Light wizards."

"And Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," said Connor, with an impatient shrug. "Sirius didn't spend a lot of time talking about them. They're just…there, I suppose. The wizards in them can be good, but that doesn't mean they're really important. They follow Gryffindors when it comes to fighting Slytherins, and that's enough."

"I resent that highly," said a voice from the door.

Harry whirled as much as he could in Draco's hold, which wasn't much. Zacharias Smith leaned against the classroom door. He had a smile on his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. They were fixed on Connor, and they made Harry wince. He had seen Zacharias look like that in class when he thought someone else was being stupid, and it usually meant a series of pointed questions was about to occur.

"And so do I," said Hermione, as she pushed in behind Zacharias. "You're making our House look incredibly asinine and prejudiced, Connor."

Hermione had been feeling like that for some time, really.

She was the one who had all but forced Connor into going to his lesson with Harry, by threatening him with not helping him study for Charms if he didn't. Since Connor was having a lot of trouble with levitation Charms stronger than Wingardium Leviosa, he had slouched off, with a scowl.

Hermione hadn't been able to restrain herself. She'd waited until ten minutes after Connor left, then announced to Ron that she was going to the library. Since Ron was engaged in a game of chess with Ginny, he'd just let out a "Hmm," and Hermione had ducked out without further problems.

I have to see what they're studying, she'd assured herself as she hurried down the stairs from Gryffindor Tower. It might benefit me, after all. If they're studying pureblood rituals, then I can get to see them in action, and complicated spells would help, too. It's not really just nosy curiosity. Of course not.

She did cast the Disillusionment Charm on herself before she reached the classroom door, and was glad she had. Zacharias Smith was lurking there, listening in a way that Hermione was convinced was…evil. Or at least, annoying. Zacharias Smith was an annoying git who only got as many points as he did for Hufflepuff because he was pureblooded, Hermione was convinced, and had mastered pureblood poise. That meant she had to work twice as hard as he did, since she was Muggleborn. And Smith never let her forget it, either; whenever a class, even History of Magic, referred to purebloods somehow, he would catch Hermione's eye and give her a cool smile. She wondered if he knew that only made her more determined to defeat him.

Bloody annoying git, Hermione's thoughts continued, and were so pervasive that for a moment she didn't listen to what was actually happening in the classroom.

Then she did, and was appalled.

Connor's an idiot, she thought fretfully. All right, so I don't like most Slytherins either…well, Harry's all right. And even Malfoy's all right when he's worried about Harry. And I suppose Parkinson hasn't been as bad since that newspaper article about werewolves, though I still don't know why it affected her so much. And Millicent terrorizes people who want to hex Harry, not me.

But still! she added in her head, feeling she was being disloyal to Gryffindor. I don't think that he has any right to spout that slime about Slytherins. How is it any different from being prejudiced against Muggleborns, really? Some Slytherins are perfectly awful people, but some aren't. And I can think of Hufflepuffs who are worse, she thought, with a glance at Smith.

Then Connor dismissed the whole of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Houses as if they weren't important, and that made Smith step in. Hermione had known it would. He couldn't stand being insulted, even if it was by proxy and not personally.

"I resent that highly," he said, sliding into the room.

Hermione hesitated for a moment. Do I have to go in? No one knows I'm here. And I'm sure that Smith will only try to outshine me, again.

No. I know I'm here. And if I don't say anything, then I'm agreeing with Connor, and I don't want to do that. Besides, a preening pureblood shouldn't be the only voice of good sense here.

She lowered the Charm, stepped in behind Smith, and said, "And so do I." For a moment, she wondered if she'd said the words soon enough after Smith's for them to really play off his, but decided she had, from the fact that no one looked at her in confusion, only surprise. "You're making our House look incredibly asinine and prejudiced, Connor."

Connor gaped at her. Harry just lowered his head as though resigned, and Malfoy tightened his arms around his waist, shooting Connor a smug smile that Hermione doubted he noticed.

So, of course, Smith had to fill the void.

"Careful, Granger," he murmured. Hermione glanced at him and saw his eyes narrowed in that squinty pureblood way she hated, but they were narrowed at Connor and not her. "Are you sure you should be using the word 'asinine?' We don't want to strain the little boy's brain-power, after all."

Hermione found an unexpected smile creeping onto her face. "You're right, of course, Smith," she said. "Since Connor's apparently never read any book, at all, that talked about a good Slytherin, I think he can't have read too many books." She nodded at Connor with mock apology in her expression. "Sorry, Connor. Little words from now on, all right?"

Connor went red and began to splutter. Smith cocked his head on one side, watching him. "What do you think, Granger?" he asked her. "Will dramatic speeches from our future leader of the Light consist of splutter, splutter, spittle, spittle?"

Hermione pretended to debate with herself, pursing her lips in a way she'd got from McGonagall. "Add another spittle, I think," she said finally. "There's certainly enough flying from his lips."

"Hermione," said Connor, in a deep, betrayed wail. "You're supposed to be my friend. A Gryffindor. Why are you doing this?"

Hermione's temper flared abruptly. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the overdramatic self-righteous whinging that Connor was doing right now. "Really?" she snapped. "I was under the impression that you didn't call your friends, and I quote, 'interfering busybodies who should know better than to think their brains give them the right to order everybody around.' I was trying to talk to you about my own perceptions, Connor. I wasn't some pawn of Harry's. And I won't be your pawn, either. You're an obnoxious, big-headed, unappreciative, idiotic moron who wouldn't know friendship if it bit him on the arse!"

The room was silent. Everyone was gaping at her, even Malfoy—all except Smith, who just turned to her and raised his eyebrows.

"And when did he call you that, Granger?" he asked.

"Two months ago," said Hermione starkly. "In Divination, when I tried to tell him about a subject I'd learned about in a—a private meeting. Yes, I was telling him because Harry asked me to, but it was the truth. You can't ignore the truth just because you don't like your brother!" The hurt rushed through her again. Connor had made no attempt to apologize about that remark, and neither had Ron. They both seemed willing to pretend it hadn't happened, instead. Hermione wished she could forget it, but she had an excellent memory, and years of experience, in Muggle school, with people who'd insulted her in almost exactly the same terms. She'd tried to be a friend, and look what it had got her.

"And he never apologized?" Smith asked, his eyes flickering to Connor. "But he still wants to think of you as a friend? And he has the gall to think you should lie for him just because you're a Gryffindor?"

"No, and yes, and yes," said Hermione, glaring at Connor. He couldn't have looked more stunned if a Bludger had hit him in the head, she thought. Well, good. Maybe he can start growing up around everyone, not just Harry.

"Then I think your description of him was a bit off," said Smith, his tone clinical. It reminded Hermione of the way that her father discussed tooth problems in his patients. "I don't think he would appreciate friendship if it paraded naked in front of him, wearing a banner that listed the names of all the Gryffindor Death Eaters."

Hermione couldn't help herself. She laughed, and that seemed to be all that it took to break the frozen mood. Smith gave her a narrow smile that couldn't quite be called a grin. Malfoy snickered. Harry stood up straighter and turned to face his brother.

Connor snapped.

He drew his wand, yelling something about making her and Smith sorry they'd ever been born. Hermione didn't think she needed to make out the actual words. She knew their general gist. If Connor did read at all, she thought, it was bad Muggle novels with villains who twirled their mustaches.

She drew her own wand before he could get off a spell, aimed it coolly, and said, "Tarantallegra."

Connor began dancing. He yelped, and tried to keep his wand straight regardless, but it fell from his hand as his body gave a particularly violent jig. Smith and Malfoy were laughing openly now.

Harry said, in a desperate, resigned voice that made Hermione feel sorry for him, "Finite Incantatem."

Hermione snorted in annoyance as the spell ended. She'd put a bit of extra force into her wrist when she cast that one, hoping it would make the spell last longer and resist the first application of Finite Incantatem. Of course, given how powerful Harry's magic was, any chance of studying that was lost.

Connor's legs came free, and he knelt down on the floor. Hermione could see his shoulders shaking, but wasn't sure if he was merely shivering from the force of his reaction, or whether he was crying soundlessly.

Harry squirmed out of Malfoy's arms and walked across the room to kneel beside his brother. He said something Hermione couldn't hear. Connor didn't move. Harry put out a hand to touch his brother's hair, and Connor's arm snapped out, knocking it away. Harry winced a bit and touched his wrist.

Malfoy hurled a spell at Connor then, but Hermione didn't hear what it was in the midst of Harry's barked, "Protego!" She watched in envy as the Shield Charm worked, popping up in front of Harry and Connor and deflecting Malfoy's hex, whatever it had been, away. She had tried the Shield Charm several times so far, but she wasn't getting it right. She didn't know if she didn't have enough strength for it yet, or if it was her wand movement or something else that got in the way.

Malfoy said in a tight voice, "Harry, come out of there. It's hopeless. You have to see that—"

"It is not hopeless," said Harry, in a voice that made Hermione think he thought it was but didn't want to admit it. "And having anyone else here was a bad idea. I need time alone with Connor. Please, Draco, just leave." He turned around and looked at Hermione and Smith. Hermione winced. His eyes were still resigned, not angry, and he looked incredibly weary. "Please," he repeated.

Hermione nodded and backed out of the room, listening to Malfoy argue with Harry. She felt a deep stab of pity for them both. Malfoy clearly despised Connor, and it couldn't be easy for Harry, having to choose between his friend and his brother.

She turned around once outside the room, this time towards the library. She really was going to go there and research how best to perform the Shield Charm.

"I can cast Protego perfectly," Smith announced from behind her.

Hermione turned and glared at him. Yes, he'd been funny in the classroom, but it was clear that he was still the same annoying pureblood git he'd ever been. "Good for you," she said tartly.

"And I can teach other people," Smith offered. He stretched a hand out in front of him as if admiring his fingernails. "At least, when they actually try and aren't hopeless idiots like the big-headed moron in that classroom."

Hermione hastily shut her mouth, because it was undignified to leave one's jaw hanging open. "I can try," she said quietly.

Smith nodded to her, giving her one of those cool not-quite-smiles. "Shall we, then? I know a quiet room where we can practice."

Hermione nodded back and fell in beside him. She supposed Connor wasn't the only one who might need to revise his prejudices.

"Because I asked you to, Draco, that's why." Harry could feel his self-control slipping. He wanted to comfort Connor and slap him both at once. He wanted to hug Draco back for his protectiveness and slap him for that hex. This time, he wasn't sore and sluggish in a hospital bed, and he actually could do something if Draco wanted to hurt his brother. He glared up at his friend from behind his Shield Charm, which he still hadn't lowered. "This is important to me."

"He'll hurt you again," said Draco, darkly. His wand hadn't moved.

Harry shook his head. "I can prevent that." He could, too. Wards wrapped right over his skin would work.

"Not physically," Draco insisted. "Mentally. You're going to have to listen to his stupid babbling. And then you'll come back to the Slytherin common room all self-doubting and needing to be reassured, Harry. I know it."

Harry straightened his shoulders. "I was under the impression that you didn't mind the reassuring, Draco," he said.

Draco blinked. "I don't," he said, and then scowled, as he realized he had just tumbled headlong into his own trap. Reluctantly, he put his wand away. "Sometimes I wish you hadn't learned to be such a good Slytherin, Harry," he muttered.

Harry laughed, and saw Draco's expression alter to one of concern. The laughter did sound bad, Harry had to admit, stretched and scraped thin. "I'll be along in an hour, Draco," he said. "I promise. And I'll tell you everything that happened after you left, and let you reassure me if I need it. Promise."

"What about the next lesson?" Draco still didn't seem inclined to move.

"I don't know," said Harry. This one was an unmitigated disaster, but that wasn't Draco's fault as much as Connor's. "It depends on how well this one goes."

Draco snorted and walked towards the door, pausing to look back over his shoulder when he was there. "He's hopeless, Harry," he whispered. "Too far gone for any teacher to reach, I think, and not worth what you're going to do to yourself trying to teach him."

Harry met his eyes calmly. "It's my decision. And he's my brother."

Draco sighed windily and left the classroom.

Harry sighed in turn and ran a hand through his hair. He felt tired already, and he hadn't even thrown much magic or spent time dodging around the room from hexes. Learning what Connor had said to Hermione probably made him weariest, followed by Connor's never-ending prejudice against Slytherins.

I think it would be easy to hate you, sometimes, he thought, as he looked down at his brother. You make my life harder, and I really don't need that right now. And you're so stubborn. And there are people around me who would be willing to care for me even if I didn't care for you. It's the first time that's ever been true.

But I can't give up on you. You're our hope for the future. The prophecy isn't going to choose anyone else just because we want it to. And I love you, Connor. It's exasperated love right now, but there it is. And how can I justify giving Death Eaters who killed and tortured people another chance, but not you?

My own morality scares me sometimes, Harry finished, and decided that was quite enough time spent in thought. He shook Connor's shoulder. This time, as he had expected, his brother didn't slap his hand away, but only curled inward more tightly.

"Connor," said Harry.

More curling.

Harry sighed and sat down beside him. He looked at the wall, not his brother. Looking at his brother brought too many emotions surging up, thick and choking, and he didn't know how to deal with them. He would just speak aloud for a while and see where that took him.

"I always knew that you were my little brother," he said softly. "Little, even though we're twins. And I fought to protect that innocence in you. Mum wasn't going to tell you about my training, but I could have. Remember all those nights we spent comforting each other when something ridiculous had gone wrong, when Mum or Dad got upset at us for something we didn't do, when Sirius played a prank that went just a little too far or Remus couldn't come and visit because of the full moon? Remember all the secrets we shared? I showed you the fairies near the wards, and you showed me the frog eggs you found near the pond. Remember how nervous you were when we came to Hogwarts? You didn't know how well you'd fit in with other people, because we'd been alone so far. You told me that you envied me for my calmness. That wasn't calmness, Connor. That was purpose. I knew I was always going to be with you. The future was so clear."

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "And now, it's not. Well, it never was from the moment I went into Slytherin, but I wanted it to be. And you did make friends, and you did fit in. But now…now you don't.

"That's hard for you to understand, isn't it? Why people dislike you so much. You know that you're Gryffindor, and Gryffindor is more popular than Slytherin. You know that you're the Boy-Who-Lived, and you get attention paid to you, and you don't see why that attention should be negative. You know you're a hero, and the least everyone could do is thank the hero who saved them from Voldemort.

"But, Connor, it's more than that. Dad loves you because you're his son. I love you because you're my brother. Sirius and Remus love you because they've known you all your life. Mum loves you insanely, fiercely, intently. Dumbledore favors you because of the prophecy.

"But either that doesn't apply to other people, or they don't care as much. They can love you, Connor, but you can't just demand it of them. The Slytherins won't be evil because you want them to be. Hermione won't be your friend unless you apologize or make some other effort at being friendly towards her. I know Ron sticks by you, and the Gryffindors laugh at your jokes, but they're the only ones. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are just as important as everyone else, and they're not going to laugh at your jokes.

"I don't know how else to explain this to you, Connor. The world isn't the way you think it is. Things are never simple. The sooner you can get that through your head, the better off we'll all be. If Sirius told you things were simple, he was lying. If Mum told you things were simple, she was lying. She ought to know how complicated she made her life, and mine, by teaching me to play sacrifice."

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "You know what? I think that's what I hate most out of what she did. I have no idea how much of the love I feel for you is real, and how much was trained into me. I have no idea how I really feel about you, and when you're thirteen and you've lived with someone for your entire life, you're supposed to know, aren't you?"

He stood up and looked down at Connor, who still had his head bowed and his forehead resting on his knees. "I am going to continue teaching you," he said softly. "But I'd like to do it not just because you're the hope of the Light side, but because you're my brother and I love you. You're making that awfully hard right now."

He turned and walked to the door. He was halfway there when he heard a muffled sound behind him. He paused, but didn't turn around. That might well lose Connor his courage.

Connor was murmuring something, the same thing, over and over, and steadily raising his voice loud enough to hear. Finally, Harry could make it out.

"I'm sorry."

Harry released his breath, feeling as though he had just avoided running off a cliff. He still didn't turn around.

"I accept your apology," he said, and then gently left the classroom and shut the door behind him.

It's only a tiny sign of progress, he reminded himself as he made his way back to the Slytherin dungeons. Not a lot. There's an incredibly long way still to go.

But he's not hopeless, whatever Draco says. He's not.

He's my brother, and I love him.