Thank you for all the reviews on the chapter yesterday! And here is this one, which is a massive thing.
The poem Rosier quotes from this time is George Meredith's "The Woods of Westermain."
Chapter Five: Never Trust A Rosier As Far As You Can Throw Him
Harry stretched out carefully, with both his body and his magic. He knew what he would encounter, since he'd encountered it many times in his rooms already, but he wanted to feel it again.
Silence and peace met his magic. No one else was in the rooms. There was no one he had to worry about serving or doing things for, no one he had to worry about protecting, no one who might need something from him. He had a soft divan beneath him, cradling his shoulders and back, and making the large book on calming Potions—he still didn't believe they couldn't be improved—that he was reading comfortable, even though it rested on his upper chest. The rooms were still.
He had never been able to get that sense of stillness at Lux Aeterna. He was always aware of something. It could have been Connor, or James, or Remus, or one of the many magical artifacts in the house. Whatever he felt, he just wasn't able to relax.
Here, he could.
Harry rolled his head sideways on the pillow and closed his eyes. He knew that Snape was in his potions lab just beyond these rooms, striving to perfect one of the secret projects that he'd refused to let Harry help him with. He knew that Draco was visiting in a few hours. He knew that tomorrow, they were going to the Quidditch World Cup, and he would see his family again.
But for now, he could calm himself.
If no one was near him, there was no one whom he had to worry about protecting.
Harry let out a small sigh. He didn't mean to do it, since he still had his glasses on and the heavy book resting on his chest, but he did it. His breathing evened, and he slid into sleep, one of his hands just barely remembering to steady the book so that it wouldn't slide to the floor with a thump and wake him up.
Snape entered Harry's library intending to ask him if he wanted to practice his Disillusionment Charm potion—he at least knew, now, not to mix the liondragon scales and the demiguise hair, which he had indeed been doing—but paused at the sight of him asleep. His face looked unlined, and his scar, though revealed by the fall of his fringe, for once wasn't glowing bright red or bleeding, both of which it had done numerous times since Harry had come to live with him.
Snape knew he should probably wake Harry and convince him that sleeping on the bed was more comfortable than the divan. If nothing else, the position his head was in, half-dangling off the pillow, would give him a crick in his neck when he woke.
He didn't have the heart.
Silently, before the mere presence of his magic could wake Harry, he stepped gently backward out of the library and closed the door. Then he moved towards the Floo. He would firecall Malfoy Manor and tell Draco to hold off on visiting for at least another hour.
He could content himself with the knowledge that this had indeed been the happiest summer that Harry had ever spent. He had watched his ward's face grow calmer and calmer in every moment he spent here, and the odd dance of guardianship had grown easier and easier as they practiced at it. Harry did take well to restrictions when Snape could explain them to him, and if Snape sometimes had to use emotional blackmail to get him to rest or slow down, the need for that lessened as the days passed. Harry had laughed at Draco's protectiveness and frowned at potions and discussed magical theory with academic passion as well as with an eye to what the spells could eventually be useful for.
Snape wished he could forget the curse that had made Harry spend his summer like this in the first place, and that it was ending tomorrow, and that Harry should have been able to have a summer like this every year, if it was what he wanted, and that Harry was only fourteen years old and already a soldier.
He shook his head as he made the firecall. He did have to face up to reality, and pockets like the hour of sleep he was preserving for Harry were only that, pockets of softness scattered in a hard world that was anything but forgiving of them.
But for now, he would preserve this one.
Harry blinked and gasped as the tug of the Portkey, a small coin passed from hand to hand in the Three Broomsticks, released him at last. He moved at once out of the way of the rest of the arriving witches and wizards; a large portion of Hogsmeade's residents was attending the Quidditch World Cup, and many of them had chosen to come to Madam Rosmerta's pub for their Portkeys.
Snape steadied him at once with a hand on his shoulder, and glanced around with the faint sneer on his face that Harry was learning to expect. "Disgraceful," he muttered. "No security at all, of course."
Harry rolled his eyes. The day was, rather, brilliant with more security spells than they'd had any right to expect, given the wide-open nature of the place and the fact that people would need to wander in and out of the Quidditch area at will.
The grass around them was thick enough that Harry could feel it like a cushion beneath his feet as he walked, and the voices of wizards and witches were continual and loud, mingled with the cries of children. Harry saw families he recognized and families he didn't, some of the parents hoisting small children to their shoulders as if that would help them see the game, which wasn't happening yet, a little better. He watched a young witch patiently spelling a tiny girl's teeth back to white from blue, while her slightly older brother stood next to her and looked innocent of the magic that had turned them way. Harry, tuned to adults' emotions, shook his head when he saw the witch's tightening face. She'd be punishing the boy in a moment, all his protests to the contrary.
He turned around, scanning the rows of tents, some of them with absurd flags trailing in the breeze. They bore family coats of arms, the symbols of the Ministry or Diagon Alley businesses, sometimes the image of an award if the wizard or witch inside had received one.
Harry blinked and cocked his head, his gaze darting over the bunting once more. More family coats of arms than there should be, he thought, slowly. I don't even recognize some of them. People are digging out old and obscure symbols they have no reason to be proud of any more.
Why?
The answer came to him almost at once. The symbols were those of minor pureblood families, so sunken into obscurity that the only thing really separating them from any other wizard in the world was their blood status. They had the same social standing and amount of money as any Muggleborn, and no wizards powerful enough to be Lords or inventors of wonderful spells had been born among them. Pureblood families like the Malfoys and the Blacks, who had managed to retain prestige, money, homes, and reputation, were fairly rare.
Yet those minor families had chosen to drag out the coats of arms that perhaps only Crazy Aunt Mildred had truly cared about, and display them on their flags.
It was a declaring of allegiance, Harry thought, his mind tuned to an entirely different sort of dance than a young witch's impatience now. These were people who wanted to remind other wizards and witches that, in fact, yes, their family was pureblooded, thank you very much. They might not have anything much to show for it, but damn, they were going to proclaim it.
Why would they be want to be known as pureblooded?
One possible answer: because of what could happen to them if someone were to think they weren't.
Harry breathed carefully. He looked up to find Snape's gaze on him, his guardian already understanding something was wrong. Snape asked the question with his eyes, and Harry nodded to the flags. Snape's gaze darted after his, and it took him only a moment longer to understand what had concerned Harry. Of course, it would, Harry thought. Snape hadn't been raised around the pureblood symbols, and wouldn't know immediately which ones were recognizable.
And then Snape surprised him by thinking of something Harry hadn't.
"Stay close to me," Snape whispered, as they began to walk through the lines of tents to the pavilion where they were supposed to meet the Malfoys. "Absolutely close, Harry, do you understand? At the first sign of trouble, we will Apparate back to Hogsmeade. None of this nonsense about Portkeys. I will simply take you in a Side Along Apparition. And keep your shields on your magic."
Harry blinked at Snape, and then firmed his mouth. Yes, he did understand. The Daily Prophet last year, thanks to Rita Skeeter, had reported on his outburst of magic at the Quidditch game, and circulated rumors about him, including that he was a Parselmouth and had somehow been involved in the attacks on other students during his second year. Many people knew something about him, even if it was only a rumor and a vague sense that he was powerful. It would be best to keep his head down and his magic concealed as much as possible.
It didn't entirely work, he saw as they walked. A few of the people twitched their heads to look at them, and a low murmur spread in their wake. Harry didn't meet the stares, though, and used a breathing pattern to calm herself when he was about to panic at the thought of wizards and witches staring at him. He could handle this. Really. It wasn't all that difficult.
Not at all.
"Harry! You came!"
Harry was able to look up and smile, as they at last neared the elegant ice-blue pavilion the Malfoys had set up. Draco bounced towards him and enveloped him in a tight embrace. Harry hugged him back, amused. They'd only seen each other yesterday, but Draco acted as though each and every absence were some new opportunity for Harry to slip away from him.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry let Draco go swiftly and stepped back, snapping up his magic around him. He hadn't noticed Draco's father standing behind him.
Careless, he reprimanded himself, meeting Lucius's gaze. How many times do you need to be told to remember your surroundings, Harry? This is the second time in as many months that something has surprised you like this.
Lucius Malfoy looked much as he had the last time Harry had seen him, last Christmas, if one excused the lack of a handprint on his face. He leaned on a cane with a silver serpent's head, his robes the old sky-blue ones of celebration. They weren't much lighter in color than the pavilion's cloth, Harry couldn't help noticing. Lucius's eyes were calm, his face as cool, as ever.
"Mr. Potter," Lucius repeated. "Since I was to see you today, I thought I would present my midsummer gift in person. Forgive me the lateness, as it is less than a month until the next exchange, but I wanted to consider my response very carefully." He gave a smile that moved his mouth in odd directions, and reached towards his robes.
Abruptly, his eyes narrowed, and looked past Harry's shoulder. "I promise I am not going to hex him, Severus," he said.
Harry glanced up. Snape had his wand drawn and pointing at Lucius. He didn't move or lower his wand, even when Harry hissed at him.
"The last time you were near my ward but one, Lucius," he whispered, "you did damage to his mind that it took months to reverse. Forgive me if I find it hard to forgive you."
Exasperated, Harry wondered if Snape held grudges against everyone in the universe. He reached up and tugged firmly at his mentor's arm until Snape looked at him. Harry stared back. "The last time I saw him," he said, "not the last time but one, he gave me a truce-gift that exposed his neck to me. Besides, sir, Mr. Malfoy was the indirect cause of my breaking with my mother at last. I would never have gone home at Christmas if not for him, and that means that I would never have summoned the justice ritual."
Snape did not look as though this were a convincing argument.
Harry shook his head at him. "This is a truce-dance, sir. You can't interfere in a truce-dance." He turned to look at Lucius, noting with approval that Draco had stepped aside and stood silent all this while. He was learning, then, probably from his intense study of pureblood manners and rituals. It was bad manners, very bad manners, to interfere in a gift exchange, especially this late in the truce-dance. In fact, Snape and Draco were being accorded an immense honor in witnessing the exchange at all. Harry decided not to point that out to Snape, though, since he wouldn't be sensitive of the honor. Harry lifted his chin. "You said that you had a gift for me, sir," he reminded Lucius, never looking away from him.
Lucius gave him a faint, cold smile. Harry smiled back. He enjoyed this dance with Lucius. They were allies, and it would be a long time, if ever, before they were friends. That meant they had to operate in the dancing ground laid down by ritual and tradition, and that meant no unnecessary attention paid to Harry or suddenly shifting emotional relationships. It was complicated, yes, but it was a complicatedness that was unlikely to change.
"I did indeed, Mr. Potter," Lucius replied, and pulled the gift from his robes this time, slowly, in deference to Snape's snarl. Harry expected to see a folded piece of parchment, a return list of Lucius's ambitions and hopes for the one he had sent him in June, and rather blinked when Lucius extended a slender silver chain with something blue on the end instead. Harry accepted the object and peered at it.
The stone was clear, thought with the blueness actually darting beneath the surface of the facets instead of burning in the heart of it like a diamond, and almost the color of Lucius's robes—
Of course, Harry thought.
—and egg-shaped. It made a faint buzzing noise as it hung on the chain, and Harry could sense that it had magic, though the magic was faint and old. He looked up at Lucius and waited patiently for an explanation.
"From the Malfoy family treasuries," Lucius said casually. "A gift of defense and protection, once handed down from heir to heir. It expended most of its magic on defending my father from a Cruciatus Curse when he was fourteen. Since then, we have kept it, as a sentimental reminder more than anything else." He raised an eyebrow. "But, of course, a reminder of how fierce the Malfoys can be in defense of their own, as well."
Harry understood in a moment. Lucius had chosen to complement Harry's own midsummer gift, not match it exactly. As Harry had sent a gift that looked forward to the future, Lucius had sent one that looked back to the past.
And one that bound Harry more and more tightly, not just to Lucius, but to Lucius Malfoy.
Harry wondered what the man had expected as a reaction. Whatever it had been, it didn't appear to be Harry casually lifting the pendant and dropping the stone to rest against his own chest as he linked the chain around his neck.
"You accept, then, Mr. Potter?" Lucius asked.
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said. "It would be a pity if I did not, after all the dancing we have done so far."
"Harry."
Harry turned in relief as Narcissa stepped out of the pavilion, grateful that she was here now and he no longer had to pretend to a level of comfort with the situation that he didn't feel. He trusted her to mediate between her husband and him. She, too, wore sky-blue celebration robes, but her face was much calmer than Lucius's, her eyes watchful but gentle.
"Mrs. Malfoy," said Harry, and kissed the hand that she extended to him. "I trust that you have been well? I know we have written, but I haven't seen you for almost a month, and there are some things it would be unwise to put in letters."
Narcissa's lips twitched, and she nodded. "Indeed, Harry. Suffice it to say that I must be well, never having got as much exercise as this before. My legs are nearly worn out with all the dancing."
Harry felt Draco's arm settle around his shoulders, and his friend whispered into his ear, "Do you have to discuss this? Couldn't we go and buy Omnioculars for the game?"
Harry patted his arm, and turned back to Narcissa. "I hope you are not too tired to dance any more?"
"I do not think so," she said consideringly. "When one becomes tired of the waltz, after all, there is always the pavane."
Harry nodded. "When you are ready to stop dancing, Mrs. Malfoy, if you are ever ready, just let me know."
Narcissa blinked, once, twice. Then she said, "I would think that I can always find strength in my legs as long as I am still alive."
Harry studied her with narrowed eyes. She was in effect saying that she would continue trying to bring wizards and witches to his side, even though Harry had offered to let her debt to him for her mistakes be fulfilled. Of course, she had the motivation to protect Draco, as well, and that could be one reason that she didn't want to stop the danger she was putting herself in. But Harry would have thought there were less risky ways she could achieve Draco's safety.
Well. If she does want to risk herself, and chooses to do so, then I cannot interfere. Harry inclined his head. "If you say so, Mrs. Malfoy."
"I do," said Narcissa, and then smiled at Draco. "Do go find the Omnioculars, Harry, before my son drags you off your feet in searching for them. Severus, always a pleasure." She extended her hand for Snape to kiss, and then swirled back inside the pavilion. Lucius remained outside, watching them, as they walked away—well, Draco walked, and Harry was tugged after him—with Snape behind them.
"Finally!" said Draco. "They've been talking about you and that damn gift for ages, Harry. I know that your truce-dance is important, but they seem to forget that you're just fourteen sometimes and should be allowed to have fun."
Harry just shrugged and remained quiet. He was here to have fun, as well as to meet with Connor and James, if they could even find them in the immense, shifting sea of people. Now wasn't the time to give Draco another gentle lecture on how hard it was for him to have fun and how he didn't want Draco exhausting himself in that futile pursuit.
"Now, where are the Omnioculars?" Draco craned his head. "You'd think there would a readily identifiable flag, but noooo…."
"Harry!"
Harry turned, smiling, at least as much as he could with Draco's tight grip on his shoulders. After not hearing it for almost a month, his brother's voice was welcome. Connor was running towards him, his fringe flapping up now and then to reveal his scar, and behind him came a mass of red hair that could only mean the Weasleys. Harry looked for James, but didn't see him immediately.
Harry tried to step away from Draco so that he could catch Connor at the end of his dash in the kind of hug that his brother seemed to want, but Draco wouldn't move his arm, and tightened it, making a small sound of protest, when Harry tugged again. Harry rolled his eyes and extended the one hand he could. Connor blinked at him, but then grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down enthusiastically.
"Harry!" he exclaimed again. "How have you been? Do you have Omnioculars yet? Who do you think will win, Bulgaria or Ireland? I know that Bulgaria has Viktor Krum, but I think the Irish work together better as a team—"
Harry tried to answer the questions, but the Weasleys were coming up just then, and he had to make his greetings to them. He'd only met Arthur Weasley once, and the meeting had ended with a fight between him and Lucius. Harry eyed him apprehensively, but if Arthur still remembered that incident, more than two years ago now, he wasn't letting it influence the way he reacted to Harry. He nodded to him, and said, "Harry. Ron has told us that you're recovering nicely from the attack in July?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, relaxing a bit.
"Yes, we heard about that," said Mrs. Weasley, bustling up beside her husband. "You poor dear!" She looked as if she would hug him, and there came an awkward moment when Harry felt like a rope in a tug-of-war contest, since Draco wasn't about to surrender him, and was getting more and more agitated the more Weasleys joined them. Mrs. Weasley settled for giving him a dimpled smile. "Death Eaters are the nastiest people I know," she added.
Harry held her eyes. They were kind, but behind the compassion was sorrow that she had a reason to feel. After all, Death Eaters had killed her brothers, even though it had taken five of them to do so.
Lucius Malfoy had been one of those five.
Harry sighed. Sometimes he felt as though he were walking through a world of contradictions, one of which was about to smack him in the face at any time now. "I'm completely recovered now, Mrs. Weasley, thank you," he said, and looked back for Snape. He found the professor standing slightly to one side, as though he didn't want to risk contamination. "Professor Snape saved my life. If not for his potions, the Blood-Burning Curse would have killed me." Snape raised his eyebrows, as much to say that that was an understatement of what had really happened.
"Evan Rosier is alive, then," Mrs. Weasley whispered. "I hoped that was a rumor. I see it wasn't."
Harry blinked at Snape and turned his head back. "Yes, he is," he said. "He took another Death Eater's place under a glamour of him for years. I'm sorry that you had to hear the news like this."
Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Well, we can only hope that the Aurors find the Death Eaters soon, and that they manage to find some way of caging them up again, now that the Dementors are gone." She shook her head, and managed to drive herself out of sadness as if on a spur. "Of course you know Ron," she added, as Ron joined Connor, "and Ginny." She gestured to her daughter, who had halted beside her and seemed to be waiting for her mother to be finished. Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry, as much to say that yes, they did know each other, and it hadn't been long since they'd seen each other, and wasn't this reintroduction ridiculous? Harry grinned back, while Mrs. Weasley, oblivious, chattered on. "And here are—" She stopped abruptly, and frowned at Arthur. "Where are the twins?"
Arthur's face took on a faint panicked expression as he turned around, scanning the grass behind him. "They were right here the last time I looked—"
"Here, Dad! Here, Mum!"
Fred and George was jogging towards them, wearing identical smug grins. Their pockets bulged and jingled. Harry wondered idly if he should tell them that the coins probably weren't real. With Ireland in the game, there would be leprechauns nearby, and a good deal of false gold.
"We just made—" one of the twins, probably Fred, began.
"A most profitable wager," the other, probably George, finished, and patted his robe pockets.
"You boys should not be making wagers!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising slightly. "What are you thinking? What kind of example are you setting for Ron and Ginny? Did you think—"
Draco tugged hard on Harry's shoulders, which he had managed to nest completely under his left arm. "Come on," he said, whining. "I want the Omnioculars." From the glare he was giving the Weasleys, Harry thought it was probably time that they found some.
"Harry," said someone else before he could move.
Harry turned around slowly. James had come up behind the Weasleys, unnoticed, and stood there staring at him. He appeared to ignore both Molly Weasley's soaring temper tantrum and the long, careful glare Snape was giving him. He had eyes only for his son.
It will be all right, Harry reassured himself firmly. You saw the letters he sent Snape. You know that he wasn't ready for a reunion before now, and neither were you. You haven't damaged your relationship irreparably by leaving. It was better this way.
That didn't quell the guilt churning in his gut when he saw the look of almost-desperation in James's eyes.
"Hi, Dad," he said quietly. "How's your summer been?"
"Quieter and less exciting than it would have been with you there," said James, with a faint grin that vanished in the next moment. "But also lonelier. Connor and I missed you, Harry."
Harry tried to step forward, and found Draco's arms had dropped to his waist and held him firmly. He turned and glared at him. Draco blinked once, twice, then let him go.
Harry was able to walk forward and embrace his father, though it felt awkward, like hugging a stranger who might or might not pick him up and take him somewhere. James's hug felt no less awkward. Harry closed his eyes and tried to loose all his impatience and anger in one breath. You have nothing to be angry at him for. He did nothing wrong. Yes, he shouldn't have let you go outside the wards with only a Portkey for protection, the way that Snape keeps ranting on about, but neither of you knew. So why are you fidgety and anxious and uneasy around him?
Harry didn't know, which made it all the more awkward to hug James and then step back and smile at him. He knew the smile didn't reach his eyes. He wasn't sure what to do about it.
He glanced at Connor, and saw his brother watching them with an expression of sympathy on his face. Connor grabbed Ron's arm and whispered something in his ear, and then both of them and Ginny edged around the Weasley parents and went somewhere else. Mrs. Weasley, still absorbed in yelling at the increasingly sullen twins, didn't notice. Arthur followed his younger children, looking relieved.
Harry sighed. That was both a good move and a not-so-good one. It left him alone with Draco and Snape and James. On the other hand, it left James alone with Harry and Draco and Snape.
And, sure enough, as though he'd been waiting for a smaller audience, James began.
"Did you really choose to stay with Snape, Harry?" he asked, not bothering to look at Snape. "Or did he force you?"
Harry blinked at him, startled by the tone and direction of the questioning, and heard Snape laugh, an ugly sound, back in his throat. "As if I could make Harry do anything that he does not wish to do, Potter," he said.
"He's powerful," snapped James. "Doesn't mean that he's indomitable. And I know you, Snape. You do manipulate people. You tried to manipulate Harry by sending those letters to him in July. So I'll thank you to keep your nose out of my and my son's business—"
"He is not just your son," said Snape, in a voice as sharp as a shout, though much lower than one. "He was not ever your son. You chose to ignore him, Potter, and then he became my ward." His face wore an expression Harry had not seen on it before, an oddly focused and intent expression. It was not the murderous rage he had worn when he'd almost killed Sirius on the Quidditch Pitch last November, but something deeper and darker, something that frightened Harry. "If you had seen the truth before being forced to it, perhaps you would have some kind of claim on Harry. As it is, you have only the kind that he chooses to grant you."
"Merlin take you, Snivellus," James yelled, abruptly losing his temper. "You know why I didn't—"
He abruptly shut his mouth and stared at Harry, blinking. Harry saw Snape wince and touch his head in the next instant. He sniffed. He regretted giving Snape a headache as his power swelled out of control, but he didn't care. Both of them were acting childish, and he wasn't about to take it any more. A guardian and a father fighting over him? It was ridiculous. He was damn lucky to have both, and Harry knew it.
"Please shut up," he said, and then paused when they both stared at him in silence. "Well, that's accomplished." He could feel heads turning around him, and was aware of the Weasleys scratching at their shoulders as they felt his power manifesting, but he had to say this before he put his magic away. "I don't want either of you insulting each other in my presence. I know that I can't control what you write in letters, but this is different. This was supposed to be an outing so that I could see Connor and James one last time before school.
"Don't call him names," he snapped, turning to face his father. "Yes, I chose to stay with him, and yes, I was happy. I know you don't understand the connection I have with him, but that's because we forged it when you weren't there. Of course you're not going to bloody understand it." He felt a hand touch his shoulder, and leaned back into it instinctively. It was Draco, not Snape, and Draco moved when he did, turning to stay behind him as he faced Snape, so Harry allowed it to remain.
"And James is my father," Harry told Snape, meeting his eyes and not flinching before the cold fury he saw in those depths. He was coldly furious, too, if Snape wanted that, the grass silvering with frost beneath his feet. At least it wasn't as dramatic a reaction as would have happened last year, before he learned to control his rage. "I know you don't think I need to associate with him at all, but I want to. And you're making this harder than it has to be. You're the one who prides yourself on your understanding of the situation. You're the one who said I meant more to you than an old hatred. So stop it." He couldn't help the betrayed tone that crept into his voice on the last words. The hand on his shoulder tugged at him, and Harry leaned back against Draco, not taking his gaze from Snape's face.
Snape looked at him with fathomless eyes, then nodded once and looked at James. "A truce, then, Potter?" he asked. "We will only acknowledge each other's existence when necessary for Harry's sake, and ignore each other the rest of the time."
James was breathing fast, his face flushed, but as Harry watched, he seemed to master himself. He nodded once, the motion clipped. "Yes."
Harry sighed, and tucked his magic back behind his shields. He felt Draco inhale as though releasing a long breath, and smiled when he whispered in his ear.
"Can we see about the Omnioculars now? Please?"
Harry turned and walked away with him, along the path that Ron, Ginny, and Connor had taken. Behind them, he heard Molly Weasley draw in her breath and start on both James and Snape.
"Never seen such a disgraceful display—"
"If you please, ma'am," said Snape, his voice tight, "my ward should not be leaving without adult supervision."
"I'm perfectly happy to provide it, Severus," said Arthur Weasley, bustling back towards them from around a tent. "I can show the boys where to buy flags and anything else they might need for the game."
Draco looked disgusted at the thought of associating with a Weasley parent, but Harry said swiftly, "That would be brilliant, Mr. Weasley. Thank you."
He followed, and heard Molly's voice climbing. "Children, the both of you, and when that brave sweet boy has to act like the adult, then I think there's something wrong—"
Harry felt no sympathy with Snape whatsoever, and less for James. Both of them had acted like children, and Molly Weasley was a mother. She could scold children well enough to make the twins sullen and angry. That meant she was exactly the right woman for the job in this particular situation.
"Are you all right?" Draco whispered, sliding his hand through Harry's hair.
Harry sighed, and this time managed to release all the tension. "Yeah. Come on."
"That was a Wronski Feint."
"That was not a Wronski Feint," Harry argued right back, adjusting his Omnioculars so that he could keep track of Viktor Krum as the Bulgarian Seeker angled after the Snitch again. "He pulled out of the dive too soon. You could see the way that he was trying to fool his opponent, and that means that it's not a Wronski Feint. The Feint has to work."
"But it did work," Connor argued, pointing to the way the Irish Seeker circled after Krum like a loon with one wing. "See?"
"Not that well," Harry said, and pulled the Omnioculars from his face so that he could see his brother more clearly. "He tried, yes, but that's not the same thing as succeeding. You should know," he added. Connor had attempted the Wronski Feint the first week they were home, and promptly broken his arm. James was luckily good enough with medical magic to heal that.
Connor made a rude face at him. "He is the greatest Seeker in Europe," he said.
"When he can pull off a proper Wronski Feint, then I'll agree," Harry sniffed, and put his glasses back to his face.
So far, the game had gone well. Draco had wanted to sit in the Malfoy box. Connor had wanted to sit with the Weasleys. Harry had compromised by finding them seats in a row a short distance from the Malfoy box. They could see Narcissa and Lucius if they just glanced back, and Draco was sitting at one end of the row, so that, as he'd complained to Harry in a low voice, "none of the unwashed Weasels can touch me." Harry had pushed him on the shoulder for that one.
The game was taking place over a large Quidditch Pitch in the hollow below them, the grass smoothed with magic and the hollow's sides Transfigured into seats. Harry approved of the arrangement. They could see all the action without straining their necks, and, thanks to the Omnioculars, replay the events in minute detail if they were questionable in some respect. So far, Krum really had been playing remarkably well, but the rest of the Bulgarian team was too used to depending on him, and flopped about in the air. The Irish team kept stealing the Quaffle and scoring handily.
A roar brought Harry's attention firmly back to the game, and he lifted his Omnioculars. He could see Krum arrowing downward, his body bent over his broom, his hand extended in front of him as though trying to capture an elusive Snitch just ahead of him. The Irish Seeker was following, desperately trying to catch up, and obviously knowing he wouldn't be able to.
Harry felt a smile hovering on his lips. He heard Connor cry out beside him, "That's a Wronski Feint!"
Not exactly, Harry thought, and watched as Krum abruptly angled out of his dive and up towards the Snitch, which had always been hovering just above the Pitch. His hand reached out and handily took it from the air.
It took everyone, including Lynch, the Irish Seeker, a moment to realize what had happened, so thoroughly had Krum's dive distracted them. Then they roared, and the roars grew louder when the Irish team were proclaimed the winners, never mind Krum's catching of the Snitch, because they'd managed to score more points with the Quaffle. Harry shook his head and lowered his Omnioculars to his lap.
"You need more help recognizing a feint when you see one," he told Connor helpfully. "I could show you."
"Shut up," said Connor, and shoved him so hard that Harry almost topped on to Draco. Harry laughed and sat back up, though the arm Draco had wrapped around his shoulders wouldn't allow him to retreat far. Harry felt Snape shift uneasily in the seat behind him, but ignored him. His mentor had to be able to tell the difference between actual harmful shoving and the horseplay of brothers, and it looked as though he could use the practice. "It's not as though you could have done that."
"Could too," Harry insisted.
"Show me when we're at school then," said Connor.
"I will—"
Fuck!
The voice in his head wasn't his own, and it was all the warning Harry had before the scene, bright with the whizzing robes of the Irish team as they performed their victory lap, darkened abruptly with a burst of malevolent green. Harry felt his scar burst into fire, too, and reeled back in his seat, one hand clapped to his forehead. He heard Draco shout, but wasn't sure if it was the result of the way he'd moved or the fact that he looked like he was in pain or something else.
Harry's eyes rose and fastened on the source of the green light. He already knew what he would see, but it was one thing to envision it, and another thing entirely to witness the enormous Dark Mark hovering over the Pitch. He could hear the screams around him edging from confusion into panic.
An amplified voice, too distorted by the loudness for Harry to recognize it, boomed around the Pitch. "Let's have some real fun, shall we? Adflo ventum dirum!"
The field darkened further. Harry could feel the air around him whirling, the magic dancing in it, drawn towards the center of the Pitch. He felt the wind being sucked out of his lungs, the harsh pressure in his chest as he struggled to get enough air to breathe, the building desperation as his ears began to ring.
Then the spell let out the wind in a forceful crack, and it came flooding back over them.
And Harry felt the fear begin.
It attacked the minds of everyone around him, and prompted screams of panic from them. The panic turned quickly into terror, and in some cases into sounds of rage, and in other cases into mindless grunts and growls of the kind that animals might make. Harry felt, as if from a distance, the spell attempting to work on his own thoughts, to tip them towards fear and anger.
He didn't let it work. He brought up his Occlumency shields, furiously resisting, and felt the wind slam into them and back out of his mind the way that Connor's compulsion ability did. Snape was snarling behind him, a wordless sound, but not mindless, and Harry knew he must have resisted the same way.
Draco, on the other hand, was struggling beside him, seeming torn between getting his wand out to hex someone and running in fear. Harry grabbed his wrists and thought Ventus firmly, holding his eyes. He felt a clean wind of his own run out of his eyes and into Draco's mind, grabbing and strangling the ill-omened one. Draco let out a loud gasp, then sagged against him.
"What happened?" he whispered.
"The Ill Wind curse," said Harry, glancing around the Pitch. He could see people tearing into each other, or trampling each other as they ran, or throwing their own wands away as the spell convinced them they were snakes or strangling vines or something else equally horrible. Connor and the Weasleys were already gone. "I've heard of it, but I never realized it was like this." He grimaced, and glanced at Snape. "Can you protect yourself and Draco while I change things?"
"Harry," Snape ground out, his eyes so angry that he looked half-human at best, "my first priority is your safety, and you know that." He reached out as if he were going to settle one hand on Harry's shoulder and prevent him from moving. "There are Death Eaters here. We must move you."
Just one, Regulus's voice whispered in Harry's thoughts. Just the one. I can feel him. Rosier. He's waiting for you. The western side of the Quidditch Pitch.
"Regulus says there's just one," Harry told Snape, even as he turned his head. Sure enough, he could see a figure in a dark cloak standing motionless on the western rim of the hollow, a faint empty space around him even as people fled past him. Harry had to shout to make himself heard, but he never looked away from that single solitary figure. "Rosier. I can take him."
Snape shook his head, his eyes in constant motion, skimming around the Pitch. "No," he said. "No, Harry."
Harry gave him a faint smile. "I'm the only one who can stop this, and you know it, sir," he said, and then slammed magic into his limbs, tearing free of both Draco's and Snape's holds on him. He heard them yell. He didn't particularly care. He was already gathering his magic to Apparate, keeping his gaze fixed on Rosier. He had no chance of getting through the sea of seats and the confused, roiling crowd if he didn't Apparate. His only real fear was that the Death Eater would run before he could get there.
He won't move, Regulus whispered to him. I've seen him like this. Once he's taken an interest in you, he doesn't run unless you convince him that you really are stronger. And it's been long enough since that day on the beach that I don't think he believes that any more.
Really? Harry couldn't help but ask sarcastically, even as he heard Snape begin the incantation for a full body-bind. He concentrated, and then the world around him rippled and squeezed him out again as though he were being born a second time, landing him with a crack on the western rim of the hollow.
The empty space around the dark-cloaked figure expanded to encompass him. The figure pushed its hood back, and it was indeed Rosier, and he was smiling.
"There," he said pleasantly. "Now we shall not be interrupted. Accendo—"
Harry was already forming his magic in front of him, pushing it as a blade straight at Rosier's chest. This was something he had thought he might be able to after reading some of Snape's books on wandless magic. Rosier would have to shield against it, or it would pierce his heart.
Rosier abruptly winced, and gasped, and did a nonverbal spell that halted Harry's push. He fixed Harry with a gaze into which some respect had fallen, nodding a bit. "Truly impressive, Harry. 'Enter these enchanted woods, you who dare'. But I had forgotten that the warnings about darkness might also apply to me. You are a Dark wizard, aren't you?" He was swinging his wand back and forth now, trailing sparks that might be harmless or the beginning of a curse, for all Harry knew.
Harry said nothing. He kept an eye on Rosier, but he was drawing his own strength in, too, tucking it close to his chest. What he had to use would be a simple spell, but incredibly powerful. He had to make sure it was just right, while defending against whatever Rosier threw at him.
Rosier raised an eyebrow, and that was all the warning Harry had before he was convulsing under Crucio.
"I tell Bellatrix she has no sense of adventure when she uses this," Rosier said conversationally, from somewhere beyond the pain. "But sometimes the old methods are the best, don't you agree? And since she isn't here tonight, I think I ought to do this, just in remembrance of her." His voice dropped into what was obviously a quote from a poem again. " 'Of dire wizardry no hint, save mayhap the print that shows hasty outward-tripping toes, heels to terror on the mould.' They are all running in terror now, and when I repeat the spell, it will be more than that."
Harry gritted his teeth and rolled under the pain, above it, not letting himself panic as he remembered how the Crucio in first year had broken his ribs, not needing Regulus's whispered reassurances, not letting himself think about anything but resisting the pain and then reaching out and casting the spell at the Pitch—
Finite Incantatem! He cried it silently, but with everything in him.
He heard the tenor of the cries from the Pitch change. The Ill Wind curse was gone. People were beginning to breathe normally again. They would wake up completely in a few minutes, with luck.
Meanwhile, the pain flooded him, since he no longer had a bulwark of determination to shield himself against it.
Harry howled, and screamed, and let the agony out any way he could. There was no point in trying to keep silent under torture. They would just have it out of you in the end, anyway, one way or another, and life was more important than pride. Harry concentrated on gathering up the magic inside. That wasn't hard. It would have been hard to think of anything but the writhing, shrieking pain in his chest.
"This is boring," said Rosier loudly, cheerfully.
The curse ceased, before Harry could do anything about it himself. He lay there, panting for a moment.
Then he brought his head up as a scorching hex came at him, and blocked that with a Protego, and then he was forcing himself to stand and confront Rosier, who danced to the side in a circle, his eyes wide and his face laughing.
"Strong for a child," he said. "Self-sacrificing for a Slytherin. That self-sacrificial side is probably going to get you killed, Harry, especially since the Dark Lord is returning." He gave the Dark Mark he'd cast a fond glance. Harry knew he could turn and see it hovering there, skull and snake.
Harry didn't reply. He thought Incendio, and Rosier's cloak caught on fire. Rosier whirled, dropped it from his shoulders, and continued his circling. At least, Harry thought, they had the clean light of the fire to combat the green horror of the Dark Mark.
"There are some people who will tell you that of course the Light will triumph, the way it always has, but Dark Lords have won before. I think one might win even if you could actually kill my Lord, Harry. After all, you're awfully like him."
Petrificus Totalus.
The body-bind failed to catch Rosier, who'd already lifted a shield against it. His face was lazy as he considered Harry, and then he grinned and gestured with his wand, murmuring, "Adsulto cordis!"
Harry blocked the heart attack spell with a shield, and replied with a nonverbal Tarantallegra that actually made Rosier dance for a brief moment before he dispelled it. He laughed then, and his face was open with honest enjoyment as he peered into Harry's eyes.
"Beware of Moody," he said.
Harry stared at him. "What?" he asked, despite his resolve not to speak to his enemy again.
Rosier tilted him a slow wink, whispered, "Enter these enchanted woods, you who dare," and whirled to cast a spell at the Pitch. "Cremo!"
The intense fire that soared towards the sky from the seats and boxes had destroyed enough homes and safe places in the First War that Harry felt compelled to deal with it, and though he managed to calm the flames in a few seconds, the damage was done. By the time Harry turned back, Rosier had Apparated out.
He let out a harsh breath, and asked Regulus, Does he always do that?
Rosier doesn't "always" do anything, said Regulus, his voice flat and angry. He's completely unpredictable in his specific actions, Harry. And that warning, if you can call it that? What the hell did that mean? Alastor Moody is a respected Auror. He wouldn't betray you to the Death Eaters, and it seems useless to encourage you to distrust him.
Harry shook his head and closed his eyes. Do you know why he might have wanted to come here tonight?
Mainly to frighten people, I think. That was the purpose of the Dark Mark in the sky and the Ill Wind curse, at least. But also to test you, it looks like. I don't know why. It's not as though he's going to abandon the Dark Lord and join you, and you wouldn't really want him on your side, anyway.
Harry snorted. No. He looked down at his trembling hand and sighed. Damn it, he'd been put under Crucio yet again, and though it couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, whatever it felt like, he just knew that Snape would be very unreasonable about all of this and insist on bundling him up again.
Can you feel Snape at all in the crowd? he asked Regulus, while swatting at his hair. There was an insect of some kind in it, but it fell and flew away at his swat. Harry closed his eyes. He could feel the fine trembling that was the aftermath of pain and shock creeping through his limbs, but he didn't want to lie down or faint. There would be time for that later, after he made sure that everyone who mattered to him was all right.
Right behind you, said Regulus, sounding just the tiniest bit amused. Climbing the ridge. Harry?
"Yeah?" Harry blinked and shook his head. He was getting black spots in front of his eyes. Damn Rosier.
Find me and put me back in my body as soon as possible, Regulus said. I can give you advice, but it's patently obvious that you need as many people to protect you as possible, and I'd rather be there fighting in body.
Harry started to respond, but Snape grabbed him by the shoulders then, spun him around, and Apparated. Harry blinked and shivered, then blinked again as he found them standing on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. He looked up at Snape in tired incomprehension.
"But what about Draco and—"
"Mr. Malfoy is fine," said Snape, seizing his wrist. "I saw him reunited with his parents before I set out to look for you." His eyes bored into Harry's, intense and angry. "You promised me at the beginning of August that if you were ever in Rosier's vicinity again, you would not seek him out."
Harry blinked. He had made that promise, and easily, because he could not imagine a situation in which he would be close to Rosier again any time soon. "I'm sorry—" he began.
"I'm very angry that you disobeyed me, Harry."
Harry shivered. The voice was cold and dark, and promised plenty of awful things. "Um. Sorry?"
"You should be." Snape leaned down and stared into his face. "You will remain in Hogwarts until term begins, bar any strictly necessary excursions, in which I will be with you at all times. Draco will not be allowed to visit you again before school starts. And I will require you to brew me as many boil cure potions as you can before September first."
"But boil cure potions are boring," Harry protested, before he could think better of it.
"Exactly," said Snape, and then paused to study him. "What did he hit you with?"
Harry winced. "Crucio."
"Detention for the first week of school, for not telling me at once," said Snape evenly. "Now, come, Mr. Potter. I have potions that will reverse the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, as well you know." He set off towards Hogwarts, not lessening his hold on Harry's wrist. Harry put his head down and followed, sighing when he stumbled now and then over small, hidden hollows in the grass.
He knew Snape's anger was prompted by fear. He knew that he'd broken his promise. But still, what else could he have done? He was the only one who could have dispelled that Ill Wind curse.
But you could have done that without going to confront Rosier, Regulus muttered at him.
You were the one who told me that he was waiting for me! Harry exclaimed, unable to believe how unfair this was. I had to handle him!
No, you didn't, Regulus disagreed. And if I had known for sure what you would do, I wouldn't have told you where he was. What did your duel with him accomplish, Harry? Exactly nothing. You could have dispelled the curse and stayed safe.
But then he might have hurt someone else, Harry protested.
Instead, he hurt you, Regulus snarled. Oh, yes, that was a brilliant solution, Harry. Stop risking your life needlessly. And Harry felt the intense silence in his head that usually indicated Regulus had left and gone elsewhere.
It mirrored the silence outside as they reached their rooms in Hogwarts, Snape fed Harry his potions, and he went to bed. Harry lay awake for a while with his arms folded behind his head, staring at the flames and wondering if Connor was all right, and James, and the Weasleys.
He knew that he couldn't ask Snape right now. His guardian would refuse to answer, and his punishments would be raised.
Harry sighed and closed his eyes. Damn it, he'd just wanted to help, and it did seem as though the people around him were overreacting, but he probably should have been more careful.
He didn't know how to be, though.
He drifted into a restless, troubled sleep.
After the third attempt to pour himself a glass of wine had failed, Snape turned and hurtled the goblet into the fireplace. It broke with a loud, satisfying crash, and he snarled, glad that silencing charms warded his rooms.
He sat down in his favorite chair and stared at the flames.
Was there no end to the trouble that Harry could get in to? Was there no way to protect him?
Snape closed his eyes. Strike at the root of the problem. That is what I must do. Punishments won't do it; I don't think that anything I can say will make much of an impact on Harry's behavior for long, unless I threaten to end the guardianship, and I cannot do that, not now. He would never believe me, anyway.
No, what I must do is change his attitudes, especially the one that says he is to be a weapon and a sacrifice, and it is therefore all right for him to risk his life. He does not think twice about the danger he goes into. Oh, he cares what we think, Draco and I, and he does not want to cause us pain, but in this case he weighed our welfare against the crowd's, and since we were safe and not the object of Rosier's attention, he saw no reason not to go into danger and try to stop it.
Another project for this year, then.
Ah, Harry. You are the most complicated person I have ever known.
A flutter of wings made Snape blink and look up. An owl had found its way through the hole in the wards that he left specifically for owls bearing parchment that was not enchanted in any way, and had landed on his table, waiting. Snape sighed and went to fetch a treat for it.
His heartbeat spiked sharply when he saw that the letter on the owl's talon bore a Ministry seal. He tore open the envelope and drew the parchment inside out.
August 24th, 1994
Dear Professor Snape:
It has come to our attention that your ward, Harry Potter, is a Parselmouth. One may be excused ignorance, but under the newly passed Ministry Edict 6.7.3. For the Control of Dark Talents, Mr. Potter is required to come to the Ministry and register himself as being in possession of a Dark gift. This is being done for the safety of everyone in the wizarding world, and I am sure that you will not refuse such a reasonable request. Please bring Mr. Potter to the Ministry to register no later than the first week of Hogwarts term. Unless he is registered, Mr. Potter will not be able to attend Hogwarts with Light wizard students.
Sincerely,
Dolores Umbridge,
Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic.
Snape dropped the letter and drew his wand, conjuring several light wooden figures in the space of a heartbeat. In a moment, a curse had destroyed one of them, frying it so severely that charred fragments slammed into the wall.
It was obviously a night for breaking things, and in the end Snape destroyed several dozen of the figures before he trusted himself enough to put his wand away and go to bed.