Thanks for the reviews yesterday!

This chapter sets a bunch of clocks ticking in the background.

Chapter Nineteen: Delegation

"Attention, students. Can I have your attention, if you please?"

Harry lifted his head, reluctantly, from the history book he'd been discussing with Draco. Draco had been insisting that one particular unspecified incident of a witch showing up to rescue a bunch of captured pureblood children from Muggles who wanted to burn them sounded a lot like Julia Malfoy. Harry had been trying to point out that Julia Malfoy would have been about twelve years old at the time, but he didn't think he was having a lot of success. That might have been because he kept breaking off the discussion to eat his dinner, while Draco prattled on, but he thought it had more to do with his friend's innate stubbornness.

Dumbledore stood behind the high table, smiling, one hand extended as if he were going to hex everyone in sight. Harry found himself tensing up, involuntarily. He shook his head at himself and sat back, arms folded over his chest. He's not going to hex everyone. You don't cast just dueling spells with your hand held like that. Calm down, Harry. Snape's training is rubbing off on you in all the wrong ways.

"I know that many of you have been wondering why Quidditch has been canceled this year," said Dumbledore, chuckling as shouts came back to him from the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. "It was canceled to give Hogwarts the opportunity to concentrate its attention on another event instead. How many people here have ever heard of the Triwizard Tournament?"

Harry frowned. He vaguely remembered reading a reference to it, once, but he didn't think—

A flow of chatter from around him told him that many other people had heard of it. Harry resolved to pay more attention in the future. There was always something he didn't know about, and any part of it could hurt Connor or someone else he cared for.

"The Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore went on grandly, apparently open to explaining for those who didn't know, "is a great contest held between three of the European wizarding schools—Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Three champions, one from each school, compete with each other for a prize and honor and glory for their school. Once it was held much more often than is the case now, not only for the sake of the champions and the students, but to strengthen the bonds in the wizarding community. However, the tasks proved too dangerous, often killing the champions, and the tradition was discontinued." Dumbledore paused, and Harry could almost see his eyes glowing from where he sat. "But now the tradition has been revived! Students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will journey to Hogwarts on Halloween, and a few days after that, the champions will be chosen!"

A murmur of excitement began to run round the Great Hall. From the Gryffindor table, someone bold enough to draw the Headmaster's attention shouted out, "How will the champions be chosen, Headmaster?"

"By means of the Goblet of Fire," said Dumbledore, with calm cheer. "This will select among the names of many potential champions from each school in order to narrow down the most worthy students to compete. The students will need to be clever, of course, good wizards, and honorable. The Goblet will doubtless decide on the basis of other qualities as well."

Harry shook his head as he listened to the murmurs. Everyone around him seemed simultaneously convinced that he or she might be a champion and convinced that the Goblet might not pick him or her.

"Who cares?" he mouthed to Draco, who'd only just looked up from his book. "It's just some stupid competition anyway. And who would really want to face basilisks or whatever else they have to face?"

"It probably won't be a basilisk," said Draco, and wrinkled his nose at him as if Harry should have known that. "Now, what do you think of this one? 'A lovely silver-haired woman was sometimes seen walking the hills of Wiltshire in early spring, her eyes closed as if she were dreaming.'"

"Lots of Malfoys must have been silver-haired…"

Harry let himself be drawn into the argument. It was easier than trying to figure out why Dumbledore was watching him with shining eyes from the head table.

"Master Harry! Wake up, Master Harry!"

Harry blinked the haze from his eyes and fumbled for his glasses. When he drew open the curtains of his bed, Dobby was waiting for him, leaping from foot to foot. Fawkes hovered above his head. Harry glanced around swiftly, but other than a grumble from Blaise, there was no sign that the house elf and the phoenix had awakened any of the other boys. Harry felt a rush of relief.

"What is it, Dobby?" he whispered.

"Fawkes has done as he said he would," Dobby whispered back insistently. "Harry Potter is to come to the Forbidden Forest and meet with the magical creatures who want to meet the vates."

Harry took a deep breath, and felt his heart speed up until he could literally feel it shaking his chest. But he didn't think of refusing. How could he have, when Dobby and Fawkes had helped him so much the other night?

"I'm coming," he said, and then glanced down at his pyjamas. "Do they want, um, some more formal attire than this?"

Fawkes gave an impatient trill, and Dobby translated without waiting for Harry to ask. "Many of the magical creatures in the Forest go naked all the time, Master Harry. Master Harry is to come on."

Harry shrugged. He supposed he should enjoy the chance to attend a meeting in pyjamas while he had it. It wasn't as though most of his wizard allies would have accepted such a thing.

He grabbed his wand, made sure his glasses were settled firmly on his face, and let Dobby take his hand. This time, the experience of house elf Apparition wasn't so strange, and he could even stand on his own feet, take a deep breath, and look around when he was finished. They were, once again, in that clearing in the Forbidden Forest where the centaurs had tried Draco his first year. There was the familiar hill, the rocks that had formed an impromptu gallows standing on top of it.

This time, though, he was in the exact center of the clearing, with Dobby still holding the wrist. Fawkes puffed into being above him, and let him see that many magical creatures waited around the edges of the place, studying him. Harry lifted his chin and let his eyes meet their gazes, one by one. It was much easier than looking down or shuffling, much easier than he'd had any right to expect, he thought. At least he knew this kind of dancing, or path-walking, the way that Dobby and Fawkes had once referred to it, was difficult. It was not full of human complexities that would turn on him, the way it seemed his relationships with his guardian and best friend had lately.

A contingent of centaurs stood directly in front of him, on the level ground, their arms folded across their chests. They began stamping their left front hooves when they saw him, a sound as low and regular as a heartbeat, but considerably more unnerving. Harry nodded to the two of them he recognized, Firenze and Coran, who had tried Draco in that strange way, and then turned to his left, glancing at the hill.

It was alive with small, lithe bodies. Fawkes's flames gave him glimpses of gold and green and other brilliant colors. The Many were there, then, and multiple-headed snakes that Harry was sure were Runespoors. Some of them had three heads, some only two. Two of the heads would often combine and bite off a third, if Harry remembered his studies correctly. He found himself relieved that he would be able to speak with at least some of the attendees without needing Dobby to translate.

He continued turning, until he could face the edge of the clearing that had been directly behind him when he arrived. He felt his breath catch, tears forming in his eyes.

Unicorns stood behind him, shining silvery in the darkness, their heavy snowfall-like manes and their gleaming horns so beautiful that Harry had to suppress the urge to go nearer and touch them. He settled for inclining his head. He had never seen so many unicorns all together in one place, nor expected to see them. He forbade himself to actually shed the tears he wanted to. This was a formal meeting, and he was a wizard, even if was a vates—in truth, a representative not of these creatures, but of the species that had bound the others. He did not have the right to ask them to indulge any weakness he might have.

He turned back to face the centaurs. As if that had been a signal, their hooves stopped drumming, and Firenze stepped forth from among the others, his face calm.

"Harry Potter," he said. "We have met once before. We came tonight because you have proven your worth to us in formal testing. And because your fate is linked to Mars, and he grows steadily in the skies."

Harry couldn't help stiffening a bit. It was an odd first statement from the centaurs, when he had expected them to speak about the webs that bound them.

"There is a prophecy, that is true," he said. "But the prophecy is not clear about the way in which I am implicated in the war."

"The stars are always clear, shining beyond cloud and storm." Firenze looked unmoved. "They are the only statement we need. You are in the war, but you are also our vates. We would not see you die before you have fulfilled your service to our kind."

Harry frowned, but nodded slightly. I can hardly blame them for that. "There is a problem with haste," he warned them. "I don't know the webs very well yet. If I unbind them too fast, then I might do you as much harm as good."

Firenze's face was calm and blank. "We do not understand you, Harry Potter."

Harry rubbed his forehead. His scar seemed to tingle and burn, though that was probably only because he'd been dreaming about Voldemort before he woke up. "I thought you meant that you wanted me to unbind you now, or at any rate as soon as possible, before I die in this war."

"A vates cannot be hurried," said Firenze, with something like shock in his tone. At least, Harry thought it might have been shock if the centaurs in general weren't so subdued. "He must always be becoming. You must walk the path between the thorns and make your decisions in the right place, without anyone hurrying or urging you on. We agreed to come to this meeting to let you know that we know of the war, of Mars's shining. Though not everyone has agreed—" his gaze went past the centaurs behind him and further into the Forest, as if to indicate people who were not there "—we believe that we must help you survive, so that you can continue this process of becoming."

Harry shuddered a bit. "What kind of help were you thinking of giving?" No need to panic, yet, no need to panic.

Firenze's gaze came back to him, calm and nearly blank again. "You have heard of what centaurs can do in the past."

"I thought those were only legends," Harry whispered. Certainly the last story of centaurs actually helping wizards, rather than simply trying to live apart from them, was a thousand years old. Then a small group of twenty centaurs, joined to a smaller group of wizards, had devastated a group of wizards four times their size. In battle, they were ferocious.

"They are not," said Firenze. "We have not gone to war in a long time, Harry Potter. We are prepared to change that, for your sake and for our own. We are allowed to harm wizards if we are fighting in defense of one of them. A hole in the net." He might have sounded ironic—at least, he should have if he were human—but instead, he went on regarding Harry as if he hadn't said anything at all sickening or horrifying. "We offer you our aid in battle, in return for our freedom."

"You don't need to do that," said Harry, thinking of all the ways in which he was not a general. He didn't know the first thing about pure battle tactics or strategy. His mother had always trained him to fight alone. His first goal had always been defensive, to protect Connor. Even with the Dark Arts spells Snape was teaching him, Harry had no idea how to arrange soldiers, how to best an army on a battlefield. The thought of doing so made him sick to his stomach. What if he put someone in the wrong place and they died because of him? "It is my kind's fault that you are bound. I am prepared to free you, as soon as I study the web and know all the consequences of doing so."

"Nevertheless," said Firenze, "we have decided it is to our advantage to do this, and so it will be done."

Harry hesitated, wondering if he could ask the centaurs to fight under someone else, and then shook his head. The only person he knew for certain could arrange soldiers and, in so doing, win battles, was Dumbledore, and he would not trust the Headmaster not to put the centaurs back under their web again. "I am no strategist, no tactician," he said, deciding that he might as well reveal why he was so reluctant. "I might lose you the war and your freedom and your lives, all three, if you put your fates in my hands."

"We will teach you," said Firenze, his voice implacable. "We ask only for a commitment from you, vates, and that you may give us by answering five questions for us."

Harry swallowed. "Very well."

"Why do you want to become vates?" Firenze might have been Professor Vector, questioning Harry on his Arithmancy problems. Harry found it easier to answer when he thought of this that way, as a test in abstract knowledge, rather than something that might determine the future course of his and other people's lives.

"To spread freedom," said Harry. "And out of some guilt, because I did not know about the webs and was horrified when I did learn about them. And because I lived under a web myself, and I would like to prevent that from happening to anyone else." He knew the answers were all honest.

"When do you believe your work as vates will end?"

Harry blinked and hesitated, caught off-guard. "I do not know if it ever will," he said at last. "I do not know how many webs there are to undo, how many compulsions to break, or at least try to break. Perhaps I might spend years negotiating just to make sure that house elf webs can be removed, for example. I expect that will be my hardest task." Then he thought of the northern goblins, with their webs bound to linchpins, and shivered. Perhaps not. "It might take me until the end of my life, or it might last longer than I am able to live. Or perhaps I will die in the war and it will never end, then. I simply cannot know."

Firenze nodded, with no sign on his face of whether that answer had been right or wrong. "What do you believe would happen to the magical creatures if Voldemort returned to power?"

Harry shook his head. "I think he would enslave some of you, the way he does humans, and perhaps set free those ones who could help him. Others he would probably kill." He could not prevent himself from looking at the unicorns over his shoulder. "Or at least only keep them alive for what they could be useful for."

The unicorns watched him. An incredibly intense vision came to Harry, of a night-covered farm where unicorns huddled in pens, milked for their blood and deprived of their horns. He gagged, and felt a shiver in his belly that made him come perilously near to losing his dinner. He swallowed, and managed to fix his gaze on Firenze again.

"What do you believe will happen if this war ends and the Light side remains in power, untroubled?"

"The continuation of the webs," said Harry. "Dumbledore is committed to keeping things the way they are, with no major changes. He could not be vates, and I doubt he would become one at this point in his life, or want to. He told me that he would have to sacrifice his magic to become vates. I don't think he wants to do that."

Firenze showed no reaction on his face, but did say, "If you sacrifice your magic, you cannot be vates. Only a vates has the strength to break the webs."

I wonder if Dumbledore knows that. Harry shoved the thought away, because it made him uneasy. He knew that Dumbledore was worried about him and his power, but he did not like to think that that extended to actively working against him. They had a truce, after all, and doing this would violate it. "I understand," he said.

"And the fifth and last question, Harry Potter." Firenze's voice became deep and rumbling. Behind him, the centaurs began stamping their hooves again, the drum-like sound mingling well with the tones of his voice. "If it came down to a decision between saving a portion of your own people and freeing a species of magical creature, which would you choose?"

"Which wizards are we talking about, and which species of magical creature?" Harry demanded.

The drumming ended with a full-on, mighty crash as all the centaurs reared and brought both front hooves down together. Harry started, and wondered if that meant he had answered the question incorrectly and the centaurs were about to charge and destroy him.

"We renew our commitment," said Firenze, his face perfectly serene. "We will follow Harry Potter into war, when he fights his battles. We know that he will be vates, or become one from moment to moment." He turned and cantered back to his herd, not looking back at Harry once, though he did say, "Welcome to our hearts, child of Mars, as no wizard has been welcome in centuries."

Harry just shook his head and waited. That seemed to be the end of the ritual with the centaurs, however, so he turned and looked in the direction of the Many and the Runespoors writhing on their hill.

"Greetings," he said, holding a snake in his sight, so that he knew he was speaking Parseltongue. "What can I do for my legless siblings?"

The mingled hissing of the Many came back to him, flowing and ebbing, restless as a tide. "There are many bindings here. We do not like it. The Forest provides a home, but were we to venture outside it, we could not bite wizards for hurting us. We are choking on the taste of webs. Set us free."

"Do you wish to return to your home?" Harry asked, thinking of possible ways that he might convince—well, someone—to help him send a shipment of deadly South African hive cobras overseas. "I could make arrangements for that. You could live in a world without bindings again."

"We wish to stay in the Forest," the hissing returned. "We have made a nest, and our eggs shall hatch soon. But we will have it on our own terms. Our children must be able to learn self-defense, and to extend their tongues and scent no bindings."

"It might take a while before that can happen," said Harry, and relaxed his sight the way he had when first traveling with Fawkes, so that he could see the webs arching everywhere. There was a new, fierce orange glow in front of him, which Harry guessed was the web that had taken over the Many. He wondered who had spun it, then shook his head. It's probably an old spell left by the Headmasters of Hogwarts, to make sure that no dangerous creature can simply move into the Forest and then venture forth and attack the students at any time. "I do not know how long it will take me to remove all these webs."

"We want them gone."

"And I said it may take time," said Harry. He didn't think the Many were stupid, just immensely stubborn.

"We accept that. But we will have your commitment. And we will send a pair of eyes with you, so that we may have reassurance that you are acting on your commitment even when you are away from the Forest."

Harry saw a small, lithe movement low to the ground, and then one of the tiny cobras was coiling around his ankle, sliding up his leg. He extended an arm, and it slithered up his chest and then down to his wrist, coiling there. It was small enough that, when it had wrapped itself around twice, it felt no thicker than a bracelet.

"What do I call you?" Harry asked the snake, making a mental note to keep it out of sight. Snape had been acting more strangely than ever in the past few days, sometimes cold, sometimes snapping at him with familiar rage. Merlin knew what he might do if he saw the snake.

"This is one part of us," said the mingled hiss. "You will call the one part the Many. Through this little one, all of us are with you, all of us are watching, and all of us, if need be, can come to your aid."

Harry stifled his snort at the thought of what would happen if all the Many came flowing out of the Forbidden Forest at once. It probably meant there was something wrong with him that his first reaction to the thought was amusement, rather than alarm. "If you wish," he said. "But I thought you had said that you could not defend yourselves even if you venture out of the Forest."

"If we are doing it to defend a wizard, we can."

Harry narrowed his eyes. He was starting to wonder which Headmaster had set the webs to do this, and to hate him or her. "Very well," he said, and then glanced at the Runespoors. He had only ever spoken to them, briefly, during the wild full moon night last year when he'd run through the Forest with Sirius and Remus. He did not know what they would want of him, other than the ending of their web.

A three-headed Runespoor slid away from the others and raised its necks to look at him. Harry returned the gaze as steadily as he could, though he had to blink and the snake did not.

"Snake-Speaker," said the Runespoor at last, as if something in the look they exchanged had satisfied her and not hearing him speak Parseltongue. "We are not like the centaurs, nor the Many. We will not make bargains for either offensive or defensive protection of you."

Harry nodded, rather relieved. "Then is there anything you would like, beyond the breaking of your web?"

"Do you hear the singing?"

Harry frowned and listened for a moment. He could hear nothing more than the wind in the trees and the shuffling and shifting of the unicorns behind him. "No. What is the music I am supposed to hear?"

"When you can hear the music, then come to us. We will make sure that you learn to listen."

The Runespoor turned and slithered rapidly back in the direction of the hill. The other snakes followed her, and dissipated. Harry blinked. And they say centaurs have a reputation for being enigmatic.

He waited a moment more, but the Runespoors did not return, and so he faced the unicorns. He was not sure how he was supposed to speak to them, until one of them let out a neigh that drifted like snow, and Fawkes trilled, and Dobby translated the trill.

"They would like Harry Potter to break their web this year," he said, his eyes very large, "in return for the debt he owes them."

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand."

Trill, neigh, trill, and Dobby was translating again. "Some time ago, you had the chance to save a unicorn and did not take it," he said. "They sensed your presence when they came to mourn their dead. They did not know who you were then. Now they do, and they want to know why the vates would hurt them so severely."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew what Dobby referred to now. He knew that Quirrell had been feeding on unicorns' blood in his first year, but revealing himself would likely have meant his death. So he had watched Quirrell kill the unicorn, doing nothing to stop it.

"Killing a unicorn is a sin," Dobby whispered. "And watching one be killed is not something the unicorns like."

Harry heard the soft, bell-like clomp of hooves, and opened his eyes to see one of the unicorns coming forward. It stopped in front of him, so brilliant that Harry could barely stand to watch the shine of its coat, and then bowed its head. Its horn rested a few inches from his heart.

Harry could imagine what would happen if the unicorn moved forward, putting all the power of its head behind the blow, and speared him.

He could not pretend that he would not deserve it.

The unicorn stepped back and reared. Harry's eyes helplessly followed the falling-star streak of light that was its horn, and then the golden motion of hooves as it turned and sped into the Forest.

And then the others followed after it, in a blazing rush, like the Milky Way come down and dancing in the Forest. Harry put a hand to his face to hold and wipe away the tears, and felt the tickle of a tongue as the Many on his wrist put out its tongue to taste the salt.

"We could have bitten it, and defended you," said the snake.

"I didn't want you to," Harry whispered, and glanced at Fawkes and Dobby. "What was that about? What did they decide?"

Fawkes trilled, a low and musical sound. Dobby translated. "Unicorns are innocent, Harry Potter. They know the touch, the scent, of the innocent. That close, they could sense that you did not mean to let their fellow die, that you would have given your life in his defense if you could. You are forgiven."

Harry closed his eyes. "You told me once that the unicorns were bound because they were too beautiful," he said.

"Yes, Harry Potter." Harry heard the slight impact of skin on skin as Dobby nodded his head, his ears flopping.

"What are they like?" Harry whispered. "Or what are they going to be like, when they're free, if they're that beautiful with the web in place?"

"Dobby does not know," said the house elf, and his voice was subdued.

Harry took a deep breath and opened his eyes. His tears were gone, and that was all to the good. "I need to break their web," he said. "But I need to break a web on a smaller scale first, to practice, and in a way I know won't be against its owner's will." He looked at Dobby, and Dobby's eyes stared back at him.

"Dobby," Harry whispered, "how would you like to be free? I can at least ask."

Dobby's eyes widened until they seemed to occupy the whole of his face, and then he gave a tiny, halting nod.

Harry nodded back. Oh, Lucius is going to make me pay for this, but I will not trample on anyone's will. I cannot. I am going to write a letter to him, and ask him to let Dobby go. Then I will do what I can. I shall doubtless have to study a bit before I can break his web, especially because he said once that his were half-frayed and not like other house elves' webs, and there will be differences between his web and the unicorns'.

But he did not feel intimidation at the thought of asking, or even what Lucius would doubtless ask in return. He felt radiant contentment, which seemed to spill out of him until he shone in the dark like a unicorn.

I want to do this. I don't know if there's something I've ever wanted so much.

I want to know what a unicorn looks like without its web.

"Harry!"

Harry looked up anxiously, blinking, as Connor ran towards him in the Great Hall at breakfast that morning. This was the morning he expected the arrival of Lucius's letter, since he'd sent his request off a few days ago, and anything else unusual happening made him jump.

It didn't help, of course, that Draco made an annoyed sound, resenting the presence of Harry's brother, and that the Many, who lurked under Harry's sleeve and invisibly ate part of his breakfast, took the opportunity to make softly hissed comments about that. The Many had decided that they did not like Draco. Harry was actually glad for the web, now, that did not permit the Many to simply bite anyone they wanted out of the Forbidden Forest.

"What is it, Connor?" Harry asked, standing and moving a few feet away from the table so that he didn't disturb Draco.

"A letter from Dad." Connor shook his head. Harry didn't understand the expression on his face. He was smiling with his mouth, but his eyes were worried. "I think you should read it."

Harry took it, cautiously. He decided that the potion might have worked, from the simple fact that the lines didn't stagger all over the page, but he didn't know what he expected to find.

Whatever it was, it was not what James had written, since Harry felt cold shock pass into him, pressing tendon to bone.

Dear Connor:

I wanted you to know that I am well again. Harry brewed an antidote to the potion Snape gave me, and I am in my right mind. Remus has told me about the—things I did while under the potion. I am horribly embarrassed, but I will not waste time dwelling on them. If Harry is blaming himself for not stopping Snape, tell him not to. I wholeheartedly believe that he had no idea what his guardian meant to do.

It has, however, increased my determination to get Harry away from him. There are other ways than simply approaching the Department of Magical Family and Child Services, ways that I should have tried in the first place, given what I know about Snivellus. I am going to try them. What are they? You'll know soon enough, since I intend to make them very, very public.

Please do not show this letter to Harry. It would only make him unhappy. I don't want to make him unhappier than he would already be. But this must be done. The man who would do this has no right to be near and in control of my son.

Your loving father,

James.

Harry looked up from the letter to Connor. "But he said for you not to show it to me."

Connor flushed, then scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, well," he muttered to his trainers. "I still thought you should see it. It concerns you." He jerked his head back up and stared at Harry defiantly, as though he thought his brother would slap him for being concerned about him.

Harry smiled at him and shook his head. "Thank you," he said softly, and handed the letter back to Connor. The shock in him was rapidly approaching panic, but he didn't want his brother to think he'd made a mistake in showing him the letter. He hugged Connor, tightly, and felt the embrace returned. The Many made an angry comment about being jostled that Harry ignored. "It's good to know that I've got at least one person I can depend on."

Connor hugged him one moment past when Harry would have let him go, then turned and jogged back to the Gryffindor table. Above him, as if he had been waiting until Connor was gone so that he wouldn't have to deliver the letter in the presence of a Gryffindor, Harry saw Julius stooping down.

He held out his arm for the great horned owl, and resolutely didn't stagger when Julius landed and clamped down hard enough to draw blood. He actually held the letter in one talon, presenting it to Harry. Harry fumbled it open with the hand not occupied with being pressed against the owl's tail feathers.

The message was short.

Potter:

You ask two favors of me, one more than the truce-dance allows. I, therefore, demand two favors in return, one of them in the dance and one outside it. I demand that I be allowed to specify the Midwinter gift I receive, and I insist that you come to a small gathering of Dark wizards and witches that I intend to hold in Hogwarts's Room of Requirement on Halloween night.

You have my permission to free my house elf.

Lucius Malfoy.

Harry smiled in spite of himself. Lucius was being a bastard, treading the edge of courtesy, but Harry's asking for the favor of freeing Dobby had done the same thing. This was the first step to being a true vates. Harry could feel the thorns of the path yielding to roses for the first time.

"What are you doing?"

Harry found himself nearly jerked off-balance as Draco seized his shoulder. Julius gave a dangerous hiss and took to the air again, circling once over Draco. Harry thought for a moment that he would drop a pellet, but either he remembered that this was his master's son or he decided it was beneath the dignity of a truce-owl. He turned and flew out the window of the Great Hall instead, his every feather a-ruffle.

Harry pulled and twisted lightly, and freed himself of Draco's hold. "What do you mean?" he asked his best friend, who was flushed and had that odd look in his eyes again.

"You—I just don't like you touching other people the way you did Connor, that's all," said Draco.

Harry narrowed his eyes and, on instinct, did something he'd never tried, forcing and focusing his sight on a wizard the way he would on a magical creature.

He nearly gagged when he saw a faint silvery-black web crawling over Draco's face and arms and head. It was delicate, and Harry could not comprehend who had put it there, but he thought he knew what it was for. It had caused Draco's strange behavior of late, behavior that focused around Harry.

Could he have borne this web even last year, when he convinced me that he loved me?

There was a disturbing thought, but Harry pushed it away. He didn't have the right to worry about it. What mattered was freeing Draco of that web, and doing it as soon as possible.

"He's my brother," he just said, more mildly than Draco expected, from the blink of his eyes. "Now, come on, I thought you were going to tell me what interested you the most about Julia's actions in Scotland."

Draco let himself be distracted, chattering happily about how he thought Julia must have come to Hogwarts after she was a student and done something—strong—in regards to the school. Harry sat down with him again, his eyes narrowed. He seemed to be seeing the web around Draco all the time now, even when he didn't want to.

"Why do you care?" the Many asked him, the words barely more than darts of the little snake's tongue against his skin. "He is only one web among many. What makes him so important?"

Harry just shook his head. Draco needs and deserves his freedom as much as anyone else would. But it's going to be a delicate balance. If that web focuses around me, then my spending time with him the way he wants is just going to sink its hold deeper. I'll have to try to give him his own life as much as possible.

He found himself almost glad, in a fierce way, of the discovery. Not only would it mean freeing Draco sooner, but it kept him from wondering what his father was planning.