This is more of a 'building-up-steam' chapter, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Chapter Two: Spiders on a Dead Web"Dad, why doesn't Lux Aeterna have house elves?"
James blinked and looked up from his bowl of beef stew. Harry was frowning intently at him from the other end of the table.
"Because we don't need them," James replied, sipping at his spoon again. "You must have noticed by now that our food just appears, the way that it does at Hogwarts, and yet we don't have house elves around?"
Harry frowned. "I should have," he said, his voice subdued. He leaned back in his chair and stared around Lux Aeterna's dining hall. The walls were pierced with half a dozen windows on either side, not that that was unusual; in this case, they let in the late summer sunlight. James sometimes wondered whose bright idea it had been to hang mirrors among the windows, to bounce and reflect the light. Probably his grandmother Matilda, he thought. She was always searching for ways to declare the family's new, formal allegiance to Light in symbolic terms as well as in her words and actions. "But I was focused on Connor."
James glanced carefully around the hall, despite the fact that he knew Connor had gone outside to practice with Remus in a duel. Perhaps now was a good time to speak with Harry about his devotion to his brother, when Connor had no chance of overhearing them.
"So, why not?"
In a minute, then, when he can be persuaded to leave the subject of house elves, James promised himself, and finished his stew and pushed the bowl away. It vanished in a moment. Harry eyed it, then looked at him.
"We don't need them," James explained, leaning back in his chair. "We were able to persuade brownies to work for us a long time ago, and they take the place of house elves."
Harry shook his head slowly, his eyes bearing the glassy look that James knew meant he was searching his head for memories. "I don't know much about brownies. Why did they agree to work for us?"
"Brownies live in colonies," James said, smiling slightly at how much he sounded like his grandmother. Matilda Potter had been so anxious to make the family Light in every conceivable way, and she had delighted in telling the tale of how she had got free-willed but calm and domestic servants to anyone who would listen. "The colony nearest Lux Aeterna was kidnapped by goblins one day, all but their king. He appealed to my grandmother—that would be your great-grandmother—"
"I know," said Harry, his voice bearing just the hint of a snappish tone.
He doesn't like to be treated as if he's stupid, James noted to himself. See, Peter? I'm watching him. "He appealed to my grandmother for help," he continued smoothly. "She not only got his colony back, she worked spells to insure that no goblins could ever kidnap them again. He offered her a service in exchange for her service, and she asked him to care for Lux Aeterna, with the help of his colony."
"I wondered why nothing was ever dusty here," said Harry, looking around the dining hall at the faint golden-brown gleam of the rich wood. James himself wasn't sure what kind of wood it was, only that the trees didn't grow anymore. "I didn't think you'd had time to clean the entire house by yourself, even during the months you were hiding."
James nodded. "The brownies aren't like house elves. They delight in cleanliness, so they'll wash our clothes and cook our food and clean up our dishes and so on, but they don't much like wizards, and they certainly aren't subservient." He winced, and massaged a faint scar on his hand. Trying to trap a brownie engaged in cleaning up wasn't the smartest thing any child could do, even a wizard child who already had his wand. "So they work for us, but they stay out of our way, and we stay out of theirs."
"And the Potters let their house elves go?" Harry surmised.
James nodded. "What made you think of it?"
Harry stared at a point above his head, reminding James of a Kneazle kitten he'd had when he was seven. "I can see the web," he whispered.
James actually turned to look at the ceiling, where it seemed Harry was staring, but could see nothing. He frowned. "What do you mean?"
Harry didn't respond. When James turned around again, Harry was rubbing his eyes. He sighed, and said, "I can see the bindings on magical creatures. The webs that tie house elves to our service, for example, and the webs in the Forbidden Forest that bind unicorns to be less dangerous in their beauty, and the web that tied the Dementors to Azkaban." He looked at James. "I told you about that."
James nodded slowly. He'd gone to Harry when he received the first Ministry letter complaining that they no longer had any reliable means of keeping the prisoners at Azkaban, excepting anti-Apparition wards and wizard guards. James had so far fobbed them off by pointing out that, so far as he knew, freeing Dementors and sending them home into nightmares wasn't an actual crime. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was scrambling among the obscure laws, trying to come up with one that they could charge Harry under.
The latest letter was something of a puzzle, there. It reassured James that Harry wouldn't have any more trouble until the Ministry could actually find the forms that it required to charge him and fill them out, in triplicate. It hadn't been signed, but Harry had given a fleeting grin when he'd seen it.
"Well, I can see the webs that used to tie house elves here, but they aren't engaged," said Harry, and waved his hand. "They're just—floating in the air. I can't describe it, really. They're torn and tattered, and they shine gold, like threads of silk from clothing." He shrugged. "So I figured some other kind of magical creature had to be doing the cleaning."
He shifted to look at his father, and James just barely swallowed a gasp. Harry's eyes were burning. It was a look that James had never seen on him, and one that he couldn't connect to what he knew of Lily, either. It seemed this expression of ferocious, bloody-minded determination was Harry's alone.
"Why couldn't everyone do that?" he asked, with a tone in his voice that might have been anger or simple passion. "Why can't everyone call on a colony of brownies to clean their houses, instead of enslaving house elves?"
James blinked. "Harry, house elves aren't enslaved. I told you, brownies are very different. House elves welcome their service—"
"I spoke with one of them," Harry interrupted him. "He said that house elves have multiple webs on them, and one of them makes it impossible for them to rebel."
James frowned slightly. He was missing something here. He had to be. "Harry, you said that you wanted to be vates."
Harry nodded, eyes never blinking. James winced. Facing a stare like that for long was enough to make sweat pop out on his forehead.
"But you didn't say that you were trying to become it," James continued. "I didn't know you were having…well, conversations with house elves, and learning history that's not normal wizarding history." Freeing Dementors is one thing, they were dangers to everyone and should have gone back to nightmares long ago, but can he conceive of how much things would have to change overnight if he were to free house elves?
"I am," said Harry. "There was a prophecy, Dad, Connor's prophecy that he told you about."
James nodded again. He'd wanted to understand everything about the night that his boys had faced Sirius, possessed by Voldemort, and nearly died. The Maze had shown it to him, but hadn't been able to tell him what Harry and Connor had felt.
"I thought that prophecy applied only for that one night," he said.
Harry shook his head and then leaped to his feet, pacing back and forth. "No," he breathed. "It was about the first decision I'd make as a vates, the one decision that set the path for all. I asked the Dementors what they wanted me to do. They told me. I refused their first suggestion and bargained them down to a different one, going home into nightmares. But now I need to start thinking about the other magical creatures." He turned to James. "I probably should have thought about it before now, but I was busy with Connor."
James leaned forward. I meant to address this, and he got me side-tracked again. Harry has a habit of doing that. "Because you're no longer training your brother in dueling spells doesn't mean that you need to sacrifice yourself to some other cause, Harry," he said. There, those words sound right. "You don't have an obligation to think about freeing magical creatures."
"It's not an obligation," Harry murmured. "It can't be, or it would be against the nature of what being a vates is. It's something I want to do."
"Why?" James asked. Harry had explained what a vates was and what it had to do with webs and how he had freed the Dementors, but he had never explained why his own desire ran so strongly to this odd task. "What do you hate so much about the bindings on magical creatures?"
"That they're there," said Harry, and his face shuttered around his burning eyes. "I was a slave, and I don't see why anyone else should have to be." James felt the burgeoning buzz of his son's magic, which to him had always seemed the smell of the sea. "And you didn't answer my questions. Why doesn't everyone do a service for a colony of brownies, instead of enslaving house elves?"
"Brownies don't live everywhere," said James. "Northumberland has the largest population of them left. They don't do well in crowded wizarding environments like Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. Even the ones here were happier when no one else lived in the house, I think. Harry, you have to see that it isn't as simple as switching brownies for house elves."
Harry laughed. James flinched. It wasn't the kind of laugh his son had been giving lately, contented and free with Draco, or even muted the way it was in the presence of other people. It was wild, and bitter, and it ended with Harry snorting and muttering, "I long ago realized that nothing is ever simple."
He shook his head when James started to stand up in concern. "I really am fine," he said quietly. "Just tired. And worrying on this. I shouldn't worry on it, I know. I should start sorting out solutions. I think I'll go read a book that might tell me how. Thank you for telling me about the brownies."
He slipped out of the dining hall. Frowning, James stood, and watched as the last remnants of their dinner vanished with brisk efficiency.
He was halfway up the stairs to his study when he realized that Harry had deflected him, once again, from asking about how Harry spent his time and poured himself into what he perceived as his duties.
"Hello, Hermione."
Hermione dusted off her hair as she stepped out of the fireplace and nodded to Harry. "That was different from any Floo trip I've been on," she said. "Did you know that there's something in your fireplace that makes you wait while it examines you and decides to let you through?" It had been an ugly face, which fixed red eyes on her. Hermione had frowned back, trying to decide if it was a gargoyle. She had been almost disappointed that she didn't have longer to study it when it abruptly whirled her forward again.
"Is there?" Harry looked startled. "I haven't traveled by Floo since we got here, and I didn't notice that."
Hermione shrugged. "You probably have it easier because you're a Potter." She rummaged in her bookbag. "You should see the histories I've brought along, Harry, your family's in almost all of them. A Reasoned Discussion of Light Wizards. Tactics of the Firestar Wars. Fighting Dark Lords: A Beginner's Guide. I think you'll enjoy them."
She glanced up to find Harry watching her with a faint smile on his mouth. "What?" she snapped, fiddling with her hair. She knew that the Floo journey tended to disarray it, but she didn't see how she was supposed to keep it straight when she was spinning through fireplace after fireplace and brushing her head against their roofs and covering herself with soot.
"I've missed you, Hermione, that's all," Harry said, and moved forward to give her a hug. Hermione hugged him back, and glanced around. The room where he'd met her seemed to be kept as a sort of welcoming room. It had a few murals on the walls, but only simple chairs, and nothing that encouraged guests to linger. "Connor's downstairs," he added, drawing her gaze to him.
Hermione blinked. "Not up here with you?"
"He's playing Exploding Snap with Ron," said Harry, falling into step beside her as she headed for the door. This was more like what she had expected a grand old pureblood house to look like, Hermione thought, as she studied the door. The door was intricately carved oak wood, with a creature that resembled both a griffin and a dragon writhing around whorls of sunbursts. "He didn't know you were coming," Harry added, and that drew Hermione's attention from the door.
"I thought he invited me," she said.
"No. Um. I did." Harry hesitated, then turned his hands up. "I wanted to see you, and I know that you wanted to see Lux Aeterna," he finished.
Hermione frowned and folded her arms. I think we better straighten some things out right here and now. "Is he still my friend, Harry?"
"I don't know," said Harry, running a hand through his hair. "I think so, but I don't know how things stood between you at the end of the year."
"Awful," said Hermione crisply. Her mind tossed her memories of countless uncomfortable nights in the Gryffindor common room, where Connor sat on one end of it, she sat on the other, and Ron shuttled back and forth between them with a desperately unhappy expression on his face. "He sort of apologized, but never properly. And he was always muttering about you all the time."
"You know why, now," said Harry, his voice pleading.
Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry, I can't forgive him that easily," she said. "I had to pry the story out of him step by step."
"But what he went through was awful," Harry said.
"And what you went through was awful, and yet you never did the same kinds of things to me," said Hermione. She tapped her foot when Harry just looked at her in incomprehension. She knew Harry was smart, but sometimes he could be awfully dense about things like this, though he was still better than his twin. "I'm still angry, Harry. He had every chance to patch things up with me, and he didn't."
"Well, maybe now he can?" Harry made it a question, leaving it up to her.
Hermione sighed. She'd thought that the invitation was from Connor, and represented an extended hand that she sorely wanted. She wasn't sure how she felt, knowing that Harry had been the one to arrange things for his twin's best benefit, as always.
Then she smiled. Well, I'll just arrange things so that Connor can't lean on Harry this time.
"I'll talk to him," she agreed. "Alone," she added, and stole Harry's own widening smile.
"Um, I'm not sure—" Harry began.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. There's such a thing as going too far. "Harry James Potter," she said. "Your brother's nearly as old as you are. I'm sure that he can make up with me without you there to hold his hand."
Harry's face abruptly flushed, but to Hermione's shock, he didn't yell at or disagree with her. "That's just what Draco said," he whispered. "That I do too much sticking up for him, too much interfering for him. He's kept saying it, over and over, these past few days."
Hermione wrinkled her nose. She didn't like having anything in common with Draco Bloody Malfoy. On the other hand, he hadn't called her "Mudblood" once in the last few months they were at Hogwarts, which she supposed made him—all right. Not any less of an enormously arrogant and obnoxious prat, but all right.
"Yes, I think you do," she said, keeping her voice gentle. "So let me talk to him, Harry. Alone."
Harry nodded, and opened the door.
They emerged onto a balcony that extended out over a wide, sweeping hall. Hermione caught her breath. She didn't think that she'd ever seen such a lovely, gracious old place. The walls didn't actually spiral inward to settle around the floor, but it felt that way, because of the spiraling grains of the wood. Everywhere she looked was gold—not actual gold, but reflected sunlight from cunningly placed mirrors. Windchimes rustled with delicate music in the breeze through the windows. They weren't made of silver, as Hermione expected, but a delicate amber-colored material. The lower portion of the walls was done in a mural of scalloped wings, curling around the floor.
In the center of it, Ron and Connor were playing Exploding Snap, and laughing their heads off.
Hermione felt her heart lighten and lift when she saw them, for all that it was probably, at least in part, the effect of that beautiful room. She was glad, really, that Connor looked happier than he had in those last few miserable weeks at school. Even from here, she could see that his face was flushed with merriment, and somewhat tanned from time in the sun, and his eyes were much brighter. And Ron looked content as he hadn't when he was trying to keep every second person from asking Connor what had happened and how Sirius Black had really died.
But they were still infuriating.
Connor paused, his gaze drawn by their movement on the balcony, probably, and froze when he looked up and saw her. Hermione gave him her most threatening glare in return.
Ron stood up when he saw her.
Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron had acted like she was about to hurt Connor for at least half the time they were at Hogwarts after the incident with Sirius Black—which meant the times he was on the far side of the common room with Connor. If he'd spent enough time with him this summer, he'd probably forgotten about all the reassurances Hermione had given him, reassurances that she really did want to make up with Connor.
"I think we should go down," said Harry, and guided her to the stairs. Hermione followed him. Ron's fists were clenching, and his face turning red. Connor just watched her. His own face looked pale, but resolute.
Harry halted in front of both of them and met Ron's gaze. "Hermione wants to talk to Connor privately," he said. "So let's let them."
"She'll hurt him," said Ron, and gave her a suspicious glance. Hermione managed to refrain from rolling her eyes again, but it was a near thing. She reminded herself that Ron was just being loyal, and Connor had probably needed that this summer. "He's just starting to recover, and—"
"It's been more than two months, Ron," said Harry, so softly that Hermione wasn't convinced his brother could hear them. "If he hasn't started to recover now, then it's time to pull off the scab."
Ron stared hard at Harry for a moment, then at Connor. Hermione looked at him, too. He'd wiped his face clean of expression, though.
Ron said, "Well, what do you think, mate? Do you want to talk to her?"
"I think I have to," Connor muttered.
"That's not an answer—" Ron began.
"Yes, it is." Harry took Ron's arm and hauled him away, meeting Hermione's eyes over his shoulder for a minute. "We'll see you when you've made up, Hermione. Or when one of you comes storming out of the room, I suppose." He flashed her a faint smile, then led Ron to the far side of the hall and firmly out a door there.
Left alone with Connor, Hermione put her hands on her hips. "You never did really admit that you were wrong," she said evenly.
Connor listlessly turned over one of the Exploding Snap cards he and Ron had been playing with, and then jumped as it exploded. "But I did," he said. "I told you what happened. I am sorry for saying what I did to you, and not really making up with you, Hermione." He stared at her. "What else do you want me to say?"
"That you won't do it again," said Hermione. "And then start acting natural around me again. If you really did think you apologized, why were you looking at me the way you did when I came down the stairs?"
"You can't possibly have seen the expression on my face from that far away," Connor objected, standing up and turning slightly away from her.
"Yes, I did," said Hermione. "And now tell me why you were looking that way."
Connor took a deep breath and moved his hands in front of him, clenching and relaxing on different parts of his arms. It was a gesture Hermione hadn't seen him make before. She suspected he'd been trained to do it by someone else, probably Harry. "I know that eventually this summer will end," he whispered. "I know that eventually I have to go back to Hogwarts and face everyone else. That's going to be hard. Harry's told me how most of the school regarded me by the time the year ended, and I was too blind to see it. But…do I have to face it now, in the middle of the summer? I didn't really want to talk to you, Hermione, and that's why."
Hermione tapped her foot again. It's only too obvious that he's used to leaning on other people to do his thinking for him. That'll have to stop soon. Harry's not always going to be there, and neither am I. "Think of this as practice," she said. "You only need to face one person instead of hundreds. And if you can't face the one person, then you need lots more practice."
Connor turned around slowly. "But how do you get past that?" he whispered. "Are you really capable of forgiving me?"
Hermione snorted. "Of course. I forgave you for that business with compulsion in our second year."
Connor's face reflected confusion for a moment. "I thought you did that by thinking my compulsion gift was good, part of the Light."
Hermione stared at him. "Of course not. I still think it could be nasty, and Hogwarts, A History classifies it as a Dark gift and talks about the Blacks who had it and the nasty things they did with it." She restrained herself from telling a story about Orion Black and how he'd compelled the professors of Hogwarts into doing a jig in the middle of the Great Hall. Connor probably wouldn't understand the comparison, and he'd probably never heard of Orion Black, either. "But I got past it by forgiving you."
Connor nodded slowly.
Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Is that the way you get past wrongs that others have done you? By considering them part of the Light?"
Connor laughed, but it was too loud.
"You do, I think," said Hermione. A few things she'd heard during the last few weeks of the term now suddenly made sense. "You were able to forgive Sirius because he died heroically. You were able to forgive Harry because he fought to save you. And you don't see how anyone can forgive you, because you've been thinking about what you've done, and you can't make it sound good or like it was part of the Light."
"Leave it, Hermione," said Connor, voice gone suddenly tight.
"No," said Hermione. "Not everyone thinks the same way as you do, Connor. I really forgave you for compelling me. And I would forgive you for being a prat, if you would just tell me things like this, that you're afraid I'm going to carry around a grudge against you no matter how much you apologize. Didn't anyone ever tell you it's better to tell people these things?"
"Sirius said not to," Connor whispered, "that it was a weakness my enemies could use against me."
"And was this before or after he was possessed by You-Know-Who?" Hermione inquired.
"I don't know!" Connor let out a frustrated shout, and Hermione sneezed. His magic was rising around him, not as strong as Harry's, but still thick. "I don't know how to trust what he told me, how to forgive him, sometimes, for not saying that he just was possessed."
Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. "It would have all been a lot easier if you'd just told me this."
They stood in silence for a few moments, while Connor's level of power dropped down from dramatic.
"So you do forgive me?" His voice was unsteady now.
Hermione peered at him hard. His eyes were hopeful, bright and endearing, the eyes of a small dog that Hermione's neighbors had once had, which begged for sweets the same way.
Trouble was, Hermione had always got bitten when she put her hand near that little dog's mouth.
"I can forgive you if you make an effort to actually forgive other people," said Hermione. "And stand and learn on your own. I think you've been hiding here." She hesitated for a moment, then forged ahead. "And have you spoken to Harry at all about his version of what happened in the Shrieking Shack?"
"He said it was settled," said Connor. "That he didn't have nightmares about it any more." His eyes reflected envy of that.
"Oh, Connor," said Hermione, feeling both exasperated and sorry for him. It would be hard being stuck with a brother like Harry, who hid everything that was true of himself as a matter of course. "I don't think so. Harry would say anything if he thought it would spare you further hurt. Talk to him, all right? And then when you come back to school, watch him. See how he forgives people. He certainly doesn't have to think they're part of the Light to do it. It can give you some good training in tolerance and compassion."
"I keep making promises to do things," said Connor. "And then people say I don't fulfill the promises, no matter what I try." He looked as mulish as Harry could, for a moment, but it passed quickly. He let out a deep breath and met her eyes squarely for the first time in the conversation. "But I want to try this time."
"Good," Hermione said, and put out her hand. "Friends again?"
Connor grasped her hand firmly and shook.
"Good," Hermione repeated, and turned towards the door at the far end of the hall. "We can tell Harry that neither of us will be storming out of the room."
She was glad that was all settled. When she talked to Harry again, she would have to ask about the history of this house, and the difference between Light and Dark pureblood rituals. The books she'd found on the subject had all been surprisingly reticent, as if neither side wanted to commit too much of themselves to paper.
Maybe I can even borrow books from their library!
"How are you doing, mate?"
Harry blinked and looked away from the scene of Lux Aeterna's lawn that he was contemplating beyond the window. He had expected to stand in silence with Ron from the beginning of Hermione and Connor's conversation to the end of it. Ron didn't generally say much to him beyond quick, embarrassed comments that attempted to include Harry in his and Connor's conversations.
But now he was leaning on the wall and watching Harry with that chess-player's look on his face that Harry had seen once before, when he told Harry about the magic he radiated, which other purebloods could sense.
Harry shrugged. "What context do you mean it in?"
"Only you would want a bloody context," Ron muttered, but he didn't really look upset. "I mean, do you still have nightmares? Connor looks all right, really, but what about you?"
Harry blinked, then smiled slightly. Ron was attempting to express concern for him. It was…endearing, if only because it was so completely different from the way a Slytherin would have. Draco would have charged ahead, asking questions and making assumptions until Harry was forced to correct him. Snape would observe him in silence and pop out with the correct answer later. Ron just asked, and his face was already going red in embarrassment as the silence stretched and Harry didn't answer.
"I'm fine, really," said Harry. "No more nightmares about Sirius." And that was true. His dreams still remained the disjointed, rambling things they had been all summer, full of thorns and plains of ice and a voice murmuring about the sun, how it rose and set and had the earth turn about it on the solstices and equinoxes. He noticed Ron's expression lighten, and decided there was no need to mention the other nightmares, especially when he didn't understand them himself. "Why are you asking?"
Ron rubbed his face with one hand. "Well, you're really important to Connor," he muttered. "And I don't know you much, and sometimes we haven't got on much. I thought I should ask."
Harry cocked his head. "So you can see both of us being important to Connor for a long time?"
"Yeah, something like that." Ron didn't sound as though he'd worked it all out in his head, and he drew his wand. Harry straightened, but Ron didn't seem to notice. "Would you mind dueling with me on a few spells, mate? Something to pass the time. I know nothing I do can hurt you."
"All right," said Harry, and pulled his own wand out. A few spells insured this room was right for dueling, including practice mats and Shield Charms on the walls. Ron watched admiringly. Harry glanced back at him. "What kind of spells would you most like to learn?"
"Something embarrassing," said Ron. "Something I could actually hit Fred and George with the next time they humiliate me."
Interested, Harry peered at Ron. He would have to see what Ron's level of power was, to see if he could ever match the twins no matter what spells Harry taught him. The twins were very odd, magical geniuses who also had a latent ability to deflect most low-level spells aimed at them. The ability manifested most of the time as a simple missing of the hex, which bounced past them and gave Fred and George a chance to retaliate. Harry knew the twins were some of the strongest wizards in the school, right below Hermione, but he didn't know anything about Ron's magic.
He blinked. Well, that's odd.
"What's the matter?" Ron demanded. "Why're you looking at me like that?"
Harry shook his head slightly. "There's a block on your magic," he said. "A level it can't rise past. It looks like a lid on top of a box full of light." He broke out of his magic-seeing and glanced at Ron. "Do you know what that is?"
Ron looked crestfallen. "Yeah," he muttered, scuffling a trainer on the floor. "Bill cast a hex at me when I was seven, and Charlie cast one at the same time. Somehow, they collided in me and…formed that. The mediwitch Mum took me to said that it had to heal on its own, and until it did, my magic would be restrained. I kind of hoped it would have gone away by now, though. I mean, it's been seven bloody years." He scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know, I was really angry when the hexes hit me, and she said it might heal if I could be calm."
Harry smiled. "I don't think you can do that."
"No, me neither," Ron agreed, and lifted his wand. "Unless you think you can heal it?" His face and his words were full of ill-guarded hope.
Harry peered once more at the block. It sat firm and strong, not a web to his sight, but a seamless lid. "Sorry, no."
Ron sighed. "Well, just teach me what spells you can teach me."
Harry showed him the Apis Occaeco hex, which caused the victim to feel as though invisible bees were stinging him all along his wand hand. Ron yelped and dropped his wand, but agreed it was a good one, and even got most of the wrist flicks and pronunciation right when Harry corrected him a few times.
Harry studied Ron as he once again triumphantly repeated Apis, but faltered on Occaeco. He was a good friend to Connor, that was certain. And he was a Light pureblooded wizard. Harry understood a few more things about them, now that he'd spent time in Lux Aeterna.
And I understand more things about my family than I ever cared to.
Harry jumped. That voice hadn't been his. "Regulus?" he whispered. Ron looked at him curiously.
Yes. Did you think I'd gone away forever?
I wondered, Harry said, even as he said aloud, "No, Ron, slight lifting of your voice on the second syllable of Occaeco." I hadn't heard from you in a long time.
I went to try and find out where the bloody hell I am, and I won't ask you to pardon me, since I hear you use worse language all the time. And it didn't work. All I really know is that I'm in some small and dark place, and the worse pain Voldemort tortured me with hasn't come back.
So, not much more than before.
No.
Well, I said that I'd help you get free, and I will, Harry promised him. I—
"Apis Occaeco!"
Harry jumped as the sensation of stinging bees coiled around his left hand. He didn't drop his wand, since that was in his right, but he did nod to Ron and have to shake away the sting. "Impressive," he said.
"I got you!" Ron looked gleeful about his success, one moment away from jumping up and down.
Harry nodded again. "Yes, you did." And that was a lesson, Harry. Never let yourself be too distracted, even by private conversations in your head. Someone might sneak up and kill Connor while you're involved in a chat.
"That was fun," said Ron contemplatively. "We'll see if I can't do it again." He raised his wand.
Hermione and Connor knocked on the door just then and came in, so Harry didn't have to let Ron do it again, or admit out loud why he had jumped. He did see Connor shooting him concerned glances, so he managed several reassuring smiles. He was busy listening to Regulus, though, and trying to figure out from the very limited descriptions he was able to give if he could help.
Well, let's start with the smallness, he said at last, since I don't think I can help much with the darkness or the pain right now.
All right, Regulus said sulkily. I want to see the sun again.
You can see it through my eyes.
Not the same thing.
Harry agreed that it was not, and began naming off a long checklist of small places that Regulus might be crammed into, while Regulus tried to decide if they sounded like they matched his prison. Harry showed Hermione the library, had dinner, and evaded another of his father's ridiculous bouts of being too concerned about him while he was doing it.
No one seemed to notice. It was easy, really, Harry reflected, to hide what was going on in his head.
Harry blinked. He wasn't used to owls waking him in the middle of the night, especially not owls who pecked him on the cheek to deliver their letters. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms, and called Lumos with a wave of his hand, so he could see.
Who's writing you? Regulus demanded.
I don't know, Harry said, and blinked further when he saw that there were two more owls lined up on the windowsill. Three. What do they want with me?
To deliver letters.
I knew that, Harry pointed out, even as he relieved the eagle-owl sitting on his bed of its burden. If I have to have other voices in my head, they should at least think thoughts I wouldn't have.
Regulus sniffed and retreated.
Harry glanced down at the letter he held in his hands, smiling slightly as he recognized the handwriting on the outside of the envelope. Ripping it open, he studied the message.
Dear Mr. Potter:
I am writing this as a request for a formal meeting. I would like to come and see you on your birthday, and of course Draco wants to come with me. I shall bring my sister, Andromeda Black Tonks, with me, as well as her daughter, Nymphadora Tonks. They are both interested in meeting you, and Andromeda may wish to enter into an alliance.
I await your owl.
Narcissa Malfoy.
Harry bit his lip for a moment, but in the end, he could see no reason not to grant permission for it. Draco would have wanted to come on his birthday anyway, Narcissa was welcome, and Harry was curious what Narcissa's sister and niece would have to say. He scribbled out a reply and sent the eagle-owl home happy.
The second one fluttered forward, and Harry realized in some surprise that it wasn't an owl at all; he'd simply assumed it was because it was dark and he didn't have his glasses. It was a gull, which regarded him with even more haughtiness than an owl as he took the message from its webbed foot. Then it pecked his hand—for no especial reason, Harry thought, or maybe just in case he had food.
The message was sharp and crabbed, as though it had been written by someone not used to holding a quill, and it had no salutation.
We have heard the rumors that you are a vates. We wish to meet you and discuss our future freedom. I speak for the goblin class of Northland: Seadampin, Waterrune, Ternretten, Stonecantor.
Our gulls are by far cleverer than your owls. Speak your answer, and he will know it and bring it back to us.
Helcas Seadampin.
Harry felt his breath tingle in his lungs. He had been awaiting a summons like this, and it seemed it had finally come. He met the gull's eye.
"Tell Helcas Seadampin I will come, though I need more information on where and when," he said.
The gull spread its wings, and then abruptly dissipated into a shower of white sparks. Harry watched them rain down on his bed, burning northing, since they fluttered out before they touched the blankets, and swallowed. He had not known that the goblins had such formidable magic.
He shook his head slightly, and then turned to regard the third owl. It looked rather anemic, and barely raised its head when he called. Harry had to walk over to it and remove its letter.
Potter:
Samuel Taylor Coleridge spoke of an albatross hanging around one's neck. He was not really a Muggle poet, but a Squib. Did you know that his mother was a witch who never acknowledged her heritage after her wand was broken for casting an Unforgivable when she was eleven? She cast it at a Muggle, and the Muggle died. And then she married a Muggle. What a waste of talent, in both ways.
Harry stared at the parchment. What?
The letter went on.
The sailors hung the albatross around the Ancient Mariner's neck to be a burden, because he'd shot the sacred bird and thus cursed them, and always had to be reminded of his actions. Let me be your albatross, then.
Greetings.
Evan Rosier.
Harry hissed. The name was the name of a Death Eater, who for a very long time he had believed dead, killed in one of the battles of the First War the year he and Connor were born. But he'd seen the man alive in May, the night he killed Rodolphus—
With practiced ease, Harry cut off the thought, and stared hard at the letter. Why would Evan Rosier be writing to him? Why was he rambling on about Squib poets and albatrosses and witches who killed Muggles?
More to the point, he realized abruptly, how did the owl bearing a known Death Eater's letter get past the wards surrounding Lux Aeterna? They should have kept anything a Death Eater had touched out. They'd made Harry's hand tingle for hours afterward just because he'd touched Snape's arm when his guardian originally tried to come through the wards.
It was a mystery, and one that Harry didn't like.
"No response," he told the owl.
The owl gave a feeble hoot and turned to fly away. Then it collapsed to the carpet. Harry kneeled beside it and watched one talon flex and then slowly close again.
Dead, he realized. Perhaps the effort of getting through the wards was too much for it.
He backed carefully away from it, not needing the echo of Snape's voice in his head to know that touching the dead bird wasn't a good idea, and hoped the brownies would dispose of it. He would write Snape in the morning, and tell him about Rosier's letter. Snape had been a Death Eater, had known him firsthand. Perhaps he would know what Rosier was on about.
With an effort, Harry turned his thoughts towards the meetings with the goblins and the Tonks instead. He felt a pleasant tingle of excitement.
Finally, I'm going to be doing something.