Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter! And yes, I know this chapter is early. This is because I do not know when to stop writing.
The poem Rosier quotes is Tennyson's "Ulysses."
Chapter Four: Battles In Conversation
Harry felt his shoulder all but crunch on the sand as he avoided Bellatrix's first hex. He felt his heart hammering in his ears, heard his own gasping, and felt an ache travel across his sides that might have been the remnant of the bruises he'd earned from Voldemort's justice ritual, were those not healed long since.
He felt all that, but his attention was on the mental world, interpreting the Death Eaters' movements and the repertoire of spells they were likely to use in this situation and the urgent murmurs that Regulus was handing him.
Rabastan—that must be Rabastan with her, from the way he moves—has a weak left side. Strike him there. The one on the very end is Mulciber. Watch out for his Imperius.
That I knew, said Harry, and heard Bellatrix cry out, predictably, "Crucio!"
Of course she would do that, Harry thought, as he raised his Shield Charm around himself without pausing to breathe out the incantation. She liked to hurt people, and he had killed both her husband and her Lord. He wasn't surprised that she had sought him out for vengeance.
Mind, he would have liked to know how she'd found him.
But when he thought about that, as the Unforgivable bounced from his shield and a hex from Mulciber followed it, he knew. There was only one possible candidate for a guidepost. He'd released his magic, at Andromeda's asking, and it would have lit up the sky like a second sun to anyone looking for it.
Merlin take it, he thought in resignation. That was dangerous. Although how I could have refused when she'd asked me to do so, without insulting her…
His Shield Charm cracked apart under a persistent hex from the Death Eater on the far right, and Harry jerked his mind back to the battle. He had every chance of surviving this, but not if he nattered on to himself.
Who's that? he asked Regulus as he cast a full body-bind at the one whom Regulus had identified as Rabastan. The man stiffened and toppled over, but Mulciber was already turning to revive him.
Rosier, said Regulus flatly.
Rosier cast back his hood in the next moment, and confirmed Regulus's statement. He was the same dark-eyed, handsome, smiling man Harry had glimpsed on the night he slew Rodolphus. His gaze was fixed on Harry now, and he spoke a few words, his voice unexpectedly loud in that little pause between the firing of spells. Harry could even hear him over the pounding of his heart.
"How dull it is to pause, to make an end," he said, "to rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life." He raised his wand and sent a blue hex at Harry that he didn't recognize. He summoned his own magic, figuring there wasn't much use hiding it now, and grabbed the hex in midair, flinging it back at Rosier. The Death Eater dodged it easily, and his voice only grew more assured. "Life piled on life were all too little, and of one to me little remains."
"Shut up, Evan," Bellatrix Lestrange snapped at him, and then turned and snarled at Harry, her long black hair flying free around her face. "You're going to die, baby," she said, her voice unexpectedly conversational. "I hope that you like potatoes. Before you die, I'll make you peel them, and then cut off your fingers, and serve to you a stew full of potatoes and fingers stripped to the bone."
Harry shuddered in spite of himself, but decided that he might as well do something with all this time his enemies were giving him as they chattered. He gestured with his hand at Rabastan's right side and murmured, loud enough to be heard, "Incendio."
A fire started in the grass at Rabastan's feet, making him lunge to the left. Harry aimed at his ribs.
There's a good spot, said Regulus helpfully.
"Reducto!" Harry snapped, and Rabastan went spinning and slumping, gasping and wheezing aloud. Harry heard several ribs snap clear across the grass.
"Oh, you'll pay for that, baby," Bellatrix whispered, and there was no warning of a word this time as she sent the Cruciatus at him again. Harry dropped flat. He didn't dare let the curse catch him.
"You have no sense of adventure, Bellatrix," said Rosier, as if continuing a conversation they hadn't finished, and pointed his wand slightly to the side of Harry. "But every hour is saved from that eternal silence, something more, a bringer of new things." He fired a hex.
Harry couldn't understand why it was going to travel past him, at first. Then he remembered the goblins, who had remained still and silent behind him, but apparently not fled.
He jumped into its path, spitting, "Haurio!" The jade-green shield formed in his palm and drank the magic. Harry was reminded that he could, himself, drink magic if he wished, and add some of Rosier's power to his own. He shook off the temptation. He would either be trying to swallow and incorporate it fully into his own magic in the middle of battle, or he would be slinging around raw and uncoordinated power, and that had not worked well in the past.
He felt a stirring at his back. He kept his eyes forward, though he wove another Shield Charm just above his skin. If Helcas was on the Death Eaters' side, there was nothing Harry could do about that.
Instead, Helcas said, "He stood to defend us. Gralashigan!"
A storm of white, glinting shapes flew past Harry, and Mulciber gave a shriek. Harry spun to face him, and saw him tugging at two bone-white arrows, one of them embedded in his shoulder and another in his arm. Rosier and Bellatrix had been quick enough to raise shields against them, and Rabastan still lay motionless on the ground.
Harry smiled slightly. It appeared that the goblins were on no side in a wizarding war, unless those wizards actually fought for them.
Rosier threw back his head and laughed. He looked more mad than Harry had thought he was, this close, with his eyes glinting and his voice whispering out the words of a poem that Harry still did not recognize.
"Death closes all: but something ere the end," he said, bowing to Harry and flourishing his wand, "some work of noble note, may yet be done, not unbecoming men that strove with Gods." His voice dipped into a more normal register. "I think that we are very close to striving with a god now. Accendo intra cruore!"
Harry felt the spell begin within his shields, something that was supposed to be impossible. A moment later, he cried out as his blood began to boil in his veins. He could actually hear his flesh cooking as it flashed and burned, or at least he thought he could.
Hold steady, Harry! Regulus was shouting at him. Unleash that magic-feeding ability you have and turn it on yourself! You can do this. Eat up his spell! Consume into you and make it harmless!
Harry forced himself to listen. What Regulus said made good sense. He would listen. He had to listen. He forced his breathing flat and rolled around the pain, never mind that it was more intense than anything he had ever felt, never mind that he could imagine the fire broiling his liver and his heart. He had to do this, and it was to be done, and he was doing it—
And it was done. Harry felt the fire retreat as his ability hungrily swallowed the curse making its way through his body. It left pain vibrating in him, still, and he wanted nothing so much as he wanted to collapse to the ground and cry, but he could think and feel and function again.
And given the ability that was flooding around him, and the fact that he could have nearly died and so cost Connor and the goblins and Draco and Snape and many other people someone who might matter to them, Harry let go of the hold on his temper.
He fixed his eyes on Rosier, who was cocking his head, not looking really surprised that Harry had survived.
"Tennyson," he explained, when he saw Harry staring at him. "His father was a wizard. Real father, that is. His mother never told anyone about a certain visitor to her bed one night, but I found the letter she wrote, begging her 'demon lover' to come back. I would never quote the words of a simple Muggle, of course."
Harry didn't bother replying, but simply gestured. Around him, the snake of his ability opened its jaws wide.
Mulciber shrieked like a girl, probably because Harry would have swallowed the healing spells he was working on the arrows first. And then Harry felt his magic tearing hungrily at the actual magic of the Death Eaters, eating it and chewing on it, and feeding it to Harry as if down a siphon.
This time, Harry was better braced for the rush of insane strength that came to him, and he knew how he wanted to use it. He concentrated, hard, and glittering blue walls sprang into being behind Rosier and Bellatrix. Those would prevent them from moving, by any means, even Portkey or Apparition.
Bellatrix snapped something out of the front of her robe in response, and cast it to the ground in the moment before the blue walls curled around her and completely restricted her movement. Harry saw a familiar black flash.
"Attack," Bellatrix whispered. "As I am of the Black blood, attack."
The creature, a centipede with a multilegged and multi-jointed body, scurried forward and through Harry's blue cage walls as if they weren't there. Harry focused his ability on it and started to drain it, but his magic rolled off its own with no effect.
They can't be touched by anyone not of the House of Black, Regulus snarled, in any way. But I can do something about this. How dare she steal our family's treasures, when she's not the rightful heir? Open your mouth, Harry.
Harry opened it, trusting him, and spoke in a voice that was not his own. "Back, as I am Black's heir."
The centipede stopped. Harry watched its body sway, blinking now and then as his own body swelled with power. He occupied it in building shields around the goblins, just to make sure that Mulciber and Rabastan, if they recovered, couldn't strike at them.
"No," Bellatrix whispered. "That's impossible. Attack, you cursed creature!"
"I think not," said Regulus's same smooth, self-assured voice, sounding much calmer than it ever was when he shouted in Harry's head. "Toujours pur abstained."
The centipede abruptly self-destructed, rather like Harry's Portkey had, flipping over and ripping itself to shreds. Harry blinked at the gleaming black joints and legs left behind, then lifted his head and met Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"Someone who wasn't as dead as you thought, Bellatrix," Regulus said through Harry's mouth. It was rather an odd experience, Harry thought, even as more magic flooded him and he sent more into the shields surrounding the goblins. "And I see now that you've been hiding in one of the family's estates. No wonder the Aurors couldn't find you. I shall make sure to remedy that. I may not have my body back yet, but I have my voice, and my will, and I am the rightful heir of the Black line. From now on, any doors that have opened in our houses because of your bloodline are closed to you, and to those who travel with you."
Bellatrix let out a long, descending scream. Harry caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned swiftly.
Rabastan was writhing slowly. He placed a hand on his left arm, probably above the Dark Mark, and whispered something Harry couldn't make out.
Harry felt the sucking pull of some immense, stirring magic, as perverted as that which Voldemort had unleashed in the Shrieking Shack. He instinctively coiled his ability back about his body, not wanting to swallow any of the foul power now blasting from Rabastan.
In an instant, the anti-Apparition spells the Death Eaters had established were gone, and his shields and cages, without the feeding of new magic to hold them, were melting. Harry fell back a step and prepared for battle.
But Bellatrix obviously knew when she was beaten, and Apparated out. Mulciber and Rabastan followed her a moment later. Rosier lingered, smiling faintly at Harry.
"You'll want to get to a healer soon," he said. "My Accendo intra cruore—" Harry tensed, but the spell didn't repeat itself "—can leave a lot of internal damage. Why, I've known people who went mad in St. Mungo's, trying to reverse it." He tilted his head to the side and clucked his tongue. "Or was that the people who went mad trying to heal from the pain? I can never remember."
And then he was gone.
Harry sagged to his knees, breathing hard. He felt Regulus retreat into the back of his head, apparently looking at something not visible to Harry, and then murmur, He's right. And I can feel someone else with a connection to Voldemort coming.
Harry struggled to his feet, then sat down hard on the sand again. His body was reeling from the sudden reversal of magic, and he could feel the first pain coming back again, like the first rise of a long tide at sea. He'd just had his veins cooked from the inside out. He had no idea how much damage had been done, or what had to be done to reverse it, or how much agony he was going to be in in a short while.
A clawed hand caught his elbow. Harry looked up, through eyes already going glassy, and met Helcas's gaze.
"We are your allies now," said Helcas. "Formally. You defended us. That is not something many wizards, even one who claimed to be vates, would do." His gaze went abruptly over Harry's head. "We will protect you from those who might come to hurt you, even him."
Harry turned his head wearily to look. Yes, the pain was rising, but he had to remain conscious and sane for just a little longer.
He didn't need his usual wits to recognize the figure coming at a dead run across the sands, though. Snape.
Probably Harry's blast of magic had called him, he thought, or perhaps whatever Rabastan had done with the Dark Mark. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He was glad that Snape was here. He concentrated on remaining conscious, so that he could tell Snape what had happened.
Snape slid to a stop beside him, not even appearing to notice the goblins. Helcas made a motion, but Harry managed to whisper, "He's a friend," and the goblin stopped.
"Harry!"
Harry couldn't even tell which emotion was predominant in that cry, it held so many .He forced his eyes open, and met Snape's gaze calmly.
"Rosier used Accendo intra cruore on me," he said, and then the pain grabbed him and dragged him out to sea. Harry felt himself falling through darkness, with sounds that might be the cries of gulls or the laughter of goblins in his ears.
Snape might have glared at the goblins ordinarily. He might have demanded that Harry keep awake and help him with a little more information about what Rosier had done to him, if he could. He might have suffered a surge of rage about what Harry was doing out here alone, with no one to protect him.
He might have done that, if he hadn't heard the name of the spell that Harry had suffered, and seen the telltale black traces already spreading beneath Harry's skin.
Snape grabbed Harry close and shut his eyes. He let his desperation build, his pain, his resolve, and used them to call up a picture of a place he hadn't been in months.
Together, he and Harry Apparated, and he felt the world around him squeeze and tingle unpleasantly the way it always did when he performed Side-Along Apparition. Or Chest-Along Apparition, as it was in this case, Snape thought, as he came out very firmly on the floor of his potions lab at Spinner's End.
He laid Harry down on a stone bench that he usually kept for potions that needed a flat surface, and moved towards the shelves. He had potions here that could fight the Blood-Burning Curse, potions that he didn't have at Hogwarts and doubted they would have at St. Mungo's. He could save Harry's life. He would move fast enough to do so.
He used those thoughts like iron spikes, hammering them into the yammering, yelping, confused mass of his panic, holding it steady. His hands did not shake as he found the proper mixture of potions and poured them into a vial. The mortar and pestle moved in fine, precise strokes as he crushed a small measure of violet petals and likewise emptied them into the mixture of the potions. He did not spin and slosh the brew wildly all over the room; he turned, with no more than a small flourish of his robes, and strode back to Harry.
He pried Harry's jaws apart and emptied the mixture down his throat. He saw the blackness begin to retreat along the path of his veins almost immediately. Harry gave a little shivering sigh and relaxed.
Snape Transfigured a cauldron into a chair and sat down on it, hard, across from Harry.
Then, then, he allowed himself to put his hands over his face, and shake, from affection and pain and fury and the panic of such a near miss. If he had not been there, Harry would have died—perhaps not for days, perhaps in as little as two minutes. The Blood-Burning Curse did immense damage, contingent on how long it was held and how much the caster wanted to hurt the victim, and Snape had no information on what Rosier's intentions might have been.
Evan Rosier. I wish the Dementors were still at Azkaban, if only so they might contain and cage him.
Snape had thought for the past fourteen years that Rosier was dead, and even though the man had died before he officially abandoned his loyalty to Voldemort, he had been relieved. There was something wild in Rosier, something even more untrustworthy than Bellatrix's unrelenting sadism, something that made him civilized in one moment and then longing for pain and death in the next. He had invented the Blood-Burning Curse, and used it, often so lingeringly that the sufferers had felt their blood slowly boiling away for days. Snape doubted that fourteen years in Azkaban would have improved him.
And Harry had faced him alone—alone. That he had had goblins with him did not matter; goblins would not often fight for wizards. And by the position of the boy's body, he'd been protecting them, not the other way around.
Snape could guess how the Death Eaters had found Harry, too. He himself had felt the beacon rise this morning, the siren song of a magic wild and seductive and alluring, and had identified Lux Aeterna in a few moments. He'd had to control the temptation to Apparate there and snatch Harry away.
Then he'd felt another blast of magic this afternoon, and his Dark Mark had burned the way it did when one of the Death Eaters was using Voldemort's "gift" to befoul all the magic in the area, and he'd Apparated towards both calls without waiting.
And if he had not, Harry would be dead.
Snape slowly dropped his hands from his face and checked on Harry. The boy had uncurled from the tight, almost fetal, position he'd adopted on the way here. The black traces were gone from his hands and his right arm, and had retreated most of the way towards his heart on his left arm. Snape knew the signs. The Curse was dissipating. The few times he'd used this mixture of potions on other Death Eaters whom Rosier had cursed and the Dark Lord had ordered him to heal, the effect had been the same.
Harry was going to live.
But he so nearly had not.
Snape allowed the rage to wake up in him then. This wasn't the wild emotion he had felt when he thought Harry was still in danger. This was the familiar rage associated with James Potter and Sirius Black, the cold, dark hatred that stalked Snape's veins like a chill version of the Accendo intra cruore.
James Potter could not take care of him. He let his son go to meet goblins, alone, after flourishing his magic like a banner outside the wards.
Does he care about Harry at all?
And does he really think that I will let him take Harry back?
He should contact the man fairly soon, Snape considered. Reassure him that Harry was all right, that he hadn't been abducted by Death Eaters. And of course a letter to Draco would not go amiss.
On the other hand, there might be Death Eaters watching Spinner's End, waiting to intercept any owls. Snape really had no way of knowing. He hadn't been here since last summer, and would not have risked coming here now, if not for the potions he'd needed. He should get back behind Hogwarts's wards as soon as possible. The Death Eaters knew his affiliation with the Light, and were hunting him now.
And letters can wait until Harry is safe, he decided, and gathered the sleeping boy up again. This time, he felt almost calm as he Apparated to Hogsmeade. He could actually afford to land outside Hogwarts's anti-Apparition spells, and walk in, without fearing that Harry would die along the way.
He did not feel calm, however, because the rage was waiting under the surface.
I am the only one who can properly protect him. I knew it all along, and still I let him leave. Not this time. Not again.
No matter what anyone says.
Harry woke slowly. He knew that he wasn't at home, as much from the feel of the magic around him as because the sheets didn't fold like his own. He blinked and wiped at his face, and found that he had no glasses. A quick glance located them on the bedside table, and from the thick stone walls around him, he guessed he was at Hogwarts.
His broken memories traced themselves back to darkness, and pain, and Professor Snape crouched over him—
"Feeling better, Harry?"
And here came Professor Snape now, swooping through the door of the room like a huge black version of the gulls on the Northumberland shore. Harry nodded hesitantly at him; he couldn't see his expression that well without his glasses. "Fine, thank you, sir, although I'm still weak," he said. He hesitated, then added, "You probably saved my life."
For a moment, Snape stilled, and Harry wondered what emotions the words roused, how close he had come to death. Then Snape said, in an almost neutral voice, "Yes, I did. And now you are in a private room that I have furnished for your convenience, linked to mine with a magical door. The loo is to your right, and there is a small library beyond this door, already stocked with books, that you may peruse when you are feeling better." Snape came close enough for Harry to make out his expression this time, and added, "I am certain you would go mad if you were left without something to do."
Harry nodded. "Yes, I would, sir." He was uneasy. Something was wrong. He had been certain that Snape would come in raging about the carelessness of parents in general and James Potter in particular, how his father wasn't fit to care for his own sons, how Harry would have been better off with Fenrir Greyback, and how obviously neither Remus Lupin nor his brother could be trusted to have heads on their shoulders, either. Instead, Snape watched him with intent but not agitated eyes, and seemed to be waiting for a first sally from Harry, instead of a response.
Harry finally coughed and said, "Were the goblins fine, sir?"
"They were," said Snape. "None of them were injured that I saw. Granted, my first priority was not injured goblins."
Ah, the first hint of sharpness in his voice. Harry relaxed at hearing it. He would rather deal with an angry, and thus familiar, Snape than the calm stranger who'd come striding into the room. "Then they probably weren't at all," he said. "I did pour some of my magic into shields to defend them." He paused again, and still Snape stood silent. Harry fidgeted with the blankets. Isn't he even going to scold me?
Abruptly, a new thought struck him. Did something horrible happen to someone else, and he doesn't want to tell me?
He stared at Snape, who immediately came over to sit down on a chair beside the bed. "What is it, Harry?"
"What about James and Connor and Remus?" Harry whispered. "Was there a—a disaster at Lux Aeterna? Did the Death Eaters get them?" His mind jumped to people who wouldn't have been in the vicinity of either Rosier or Bellatrix next. "What about Draco? Narcissa? One of the other Slytherins? I—"
Snape caught his wrist and held it, firmly enough that Harry couldn't pick at the blankets any more, or scratch at his scar, as he'd half-raised his hand to do. "No one suffered, Harry," he said. "No one but Death Eaters, who doubtless deserved it, and you. And that is why you are going to be staying with me for the rest of the summer."
Harry let out a relieved breath, and then his mind caught up with his ears.
That's why he's so calm, he realized, as he studied Snape again. He's acting as though this is already settled.
Of course, it wasn't. Harry was damn well going to fight it. What unnerved him wasn't Snape's mask—he would probably have tried to look composed in the face of Voldemort returned—but how genuine it seemed, as though he really thought Harry couldn't make a successful argument.
"I have to let James and my brother know what happened," he said evenly.
"I have already done so," said Snape. "And Draco, and Narcissa. And the Headmaster knows you are here, Harry, and has agreed to let you stay the summer—and stay out of our way. He has learned better."
Harry sighed. "I didn't want to have to say it," he said. "I'll remain with you a few days, enough to make sure all the effects of that curse are gone, and then I'm leaving for Lux Aeterna."
Snape sat back in his chair, releasing his grip on Harry's hand. "Harry," he said, "you seem to be under the impression that if I let you go home, you would do something other than attempt to get yourself killed again."
"That wasn't deliberate," Harry snapped, his temper flaring. He saw Snape wince, and calmed his magic as hard as he could. "I know now that I summoned the Death Eaters by letting my magic flare out of control. That won't happen again. And I won't venture out to meet with the goblins again, either. They can send messages to me through the wards. I really would have tried to save myself, but someone, Bellatrix probably, cast a spell that destroyed my Portkey first thing. And I couldn't have known that Rosier would use that spell. I never heard of it."
"None of that matters," said Snape, immovable as a petrified tree. "Your father was beyond careless in the first place to send you out with nothing more than a Portkey for protection."
"I had an alliance compass, too," Harry said. "In my robe pocket."
Snape sneered. "Much good that would do you when you were under immediate attack."
"The goblins helped—"
"It does not matter." Snape leaned sharply forward. "You are not returning to Lux Aeterna for the rest of this summer, Harry, and not for Christmas or Easter, either, if I have a say in it. I have been worried about you before. My worry increased when you reported Rosier's letter to me. This attack…" He shook his head. "My demanding that you remain here is as much for my sake as for your own. Your absence has been destroying my ability to do useful work. That will stop now."
Harry scowled at him. The thing was, he really couldn't imagine anyone better-suited to protect him than Snape. Snape was harder to evade or distract than most other people, and now that he'd been frightened for Harry's life, he would make it even harder. He would make restrictions, and he would enforce them. He had no other children to care for, as James had Connor. He was a powerful wizard, and wouldn't hesitate to use Dark magic in the cause of Harry's defense, and he could use potions to heal most injuries Harry received, as he'd already proven.
And that was precisely the reason Harry wanted to go home. The restrictions weren't what he needed, not if he was going to accomplish what he wanted to accomplish this summer. He wanted to be around Connor to encourage him and set him on his own two feet; Remus could only do so much, and so could James. Harry needed to get more used to defending himself, too, and brewing his own potions, which was what he'd been trying to do when the orange mess exploded in his makeshift potions lab.
Snape would insist on getting in between him and danger. He hadn't yet come to the realization James had, that Harry was in danger every moment he breathed anyway.
So perhaps I can help him come to it, Harry thought abruptly, and nodded. He knew how stubborn Snape could be, how unwilling to recognize reality when it didn't accord with his preconceptions. Perhaps he needed a blunt, open statement of it to let him face it.
"I could die anyway," he told Snape calmly. "You can't wrap me up in cotton wool, and threats could find their way through Hogwarts's wards if they're determined enough. So you might as well let me go to a place where I can be useful. I understand you care for me, I know that, but sometimes the most caring act a guardian can perform is to step aside and let his charge make his own mistakes."
Snape still looked too calm, though Harry could see his fingers spidering along the edge of the blankets, and knew he was feeling at least some rage. "A mistake is one thing," he said. "And I will indeed be pleased to instruct you in potions and defensive magic, Harry, so that when you face your enemies, you may survive. There is a large difference between that and leaving you to die."
"James didn't leave me to die—" Harry started to argue.
"Regardless, you almost did." Snape's hand came out and closed around Harry's left wrist, in the same place that Helcas had held him, and squeezed with no gentle pressure. Harry winced. Snape stopped squeezing, but didn't let his hand go, instead staring into his eyes with a feral intensity. "And if you are indeed in as much danger as you say, it makes sense that you should be in the place and with the person who gives you the greatest chance of surviving. That person is not James. Or do you disagree with that?" he added, with a little purring tone in his voice that reminded Harry of the way he sounded when he got ready to serve students with detentions.
"No," said Harry. "But you don't understand, sir. I want to be with my brother and my father."
"Why?" Snape asked.
Harry hissed at him.
"I have committed no crime," said Snape blandly. He still hadn't let go of Harry's wrist, and he still hadn't leaned away from him. "I've asked you a question. Answer it."
Harry ducked his head. He hated this. He couldn't think of a subject to distract Snape, and even if he could, it wouldn't do much good, not with Snape trapping him like this and able to detect lies as a Legilimens.
And meanwhile, all that attention was focused. On him.
He didn't like it. Remnant of his training, result of his love for Connor, the fact that it was Snape—no, not the last, he would have felt this way if anyone had stared at him with such intensity, he felt this way when Draco did it—he didn't like it. He didn't like being stared at, and peered at, and remarked about in wondering tones. Rumors were at least better than the stares, because he could pretend that they didn't exist if he couldn't hear them. But he couldn't escape the stares, and he knew that meant the person involved was looking at him, considering him, when all Harry really wanted was to duck into the shadows.
That was another reason he didn't think he could be a leader, no matter what Draco might say. He did well enough in small formal meetings. How in the world could he stand in front of an army or a gathering of wizards expecting a grand speech and not feel frozen and pierced to the bone by the stares? That was Connor's scene, or the scene that Connor would be master of once he was trained, not Harry's.
Someone else can get that attention, he thought, as he hunched his shoulders and ducked his head further and felt, all the while, Snape's hand on his wrist like a manacle, binding him to reality. I know it happens. I have no problem with it. But not me. Not like this. Stop looking at me.
"Answer it," Snape breathed, and Harry decided reluctantly that he would have to answer it, as long as it meant that Snape would stop looking at him.
He licked his lips and whispered, "I—I think I should try to create a family with them again. I want to reconcile with James. I want to give him a chance. I want to make sure that Connor has what he needs, and does heal from the wounds that Sirius's death inflicted on him. He does need attention, you know. He needs—"
"We were not talking about your brother," Snape said. "We were talking about you."
Harry discovered he couldn't look up yet, and brought his head back down. He'd counted on mention of Connor to deflect Snape into a tirade about his brother. That evidently wasn't going to work. He felt stripped naked. "I—I don't feel like I have much to do with them, now that I know James does want to reconcile with me and Remus is training Connor," he whispered. "So I'm trying to study. But it's difficult on my own, and I can't get any peace, and I keep thinking of other things I should be doing, and trying to build a family step by step with them instead of letting it grow naturally, because if that happens, it'll all fall apart again."
"So you don't want to stay with them," Snape summed up effortlessly. "Or, at least, that is not your sole ambition. But you feel as if you should want to stay with them."
Harry nodded, his eyes on his hands. He'd come to that realization early last week, when he'd wondered why his head was filling up with restlessness as he thought of his various tasks, instead of the calm, ordered resolve that he usually got when he made a list of things he had to do. He could have done so many of the things he had to do better at Hogwarts or Malfoy Manor. But he was confined in Lux Aeterna, distant from the people who understood him best, with wards inhibiting his freedom of movement, around a brother who seemed to be doing just fine without him and a father who still didn't understand him, not yet. It would have been all right if he'd just been with Connor and James for a few weeks. But not a whole summer.
But what if they need you for the whole summer? What if they want you there for the whole summer?
Snape abruptly let go of his hand and sat back. "I want you to stay here," he told Harry. "You want to stay here. So you will stay here." He released his breath in small catches, hitches that seemed to stick on his teeth and tongue. "I am not…adverse…to letting your brother and father visit, so long as they do it when I am with you."
Harry jerked his head up and stared at him, so fast that he hurt his neck. "But you said that you were at the beginning of summer," he said. "You said that you wouldn't let them visit."
"Things have changed," said Snape, raising his eyebrows, as if Harry should take it for granted that he could change his mind, even though he'd almost never done it before. "In particular, I have been without your company for nearly two months, and I have found communication by letter an insufficient substitute. If you wish to stay here, and you wish to have your brother and father visit you, I see no reason why you should not have both."
Harry stared at him, waiting for the catch. Snape's face remained bland, but as open as Harry had ever seen it.
"I—you really mean this?" Harry asked, testing. "You won't change your mind later and not let them visit?"
Snape shook his head slowly. "I swear by Merlin that I mean it, Harry," he said. "Of course, I will supervise the visits, and restrict them by length, and they will be dependent on the politeness of the Potters as well as my own. But you matter more to me than an old hatred."
Harry knew his face was blazing, and he fought back the temptation to cry. This was a day for smiling, instead. He let Snape see his fierce grin, rather than ducking his head to hide it, and said softly, "Thank you. That's what I want, then."
"Then you shall have it, Harry," said Snape, and rose to his feet. "You will want something to eat, now, and another potion."
Harry fell back on his pillows and half-closed his eyes, listening to Snape move out of the room. He spent a few minutes, until Snape returned with the food, trying to reason out the tumult of emotions within him.
This is really brilliant, was the best he could come up with.
Snape watched Harry silently from the doorway in the moments before he departed to get a tray. The look on Harry's face had been worth the promise, as he had thought it would be when he made it. He had set himself a rough challenge, but he was determined to overcome it. If nothing else, he could treat it as a competition with James Potter. He was sure the man would crack and be rude before he would.
And it is not as if this is forever, he noted to himself, his glance lingering on a pile of books that had become quite familiar to him, and the parchment and quill ready and waiting for the next letter he would write. Only until a better solution can be found, and James and Lily and Albus all together can be made to pay for their crimes.